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sweetsweetjellybean · 9 months ago

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Your crush on Eddie was better off a secret and a kiss that should never have happened leads you into a storm.

I wasn't happy with my first version of chapter 4. So I polished it up and added a little more dialog. Feel free to wait for the next chapter but if you'd like to read it, either as a refresher or for the very first time, please let me know what you think. XOXO-Jelly

Masterlist Listen to Fake Plastic Trees Here

What to expect: Second Chance Romance set in 2012 Chicago. Eddie and Steve are in their 30s. Fem!Reader is given a pet name from each of the guys. No other name mentioned. No use of Y/N. No physical description. Reader does have a bit of personality, as I find it nearly impossible to keep her blank for such a long fic. You may find yourself at times making choices that you wouldn't normally make, but I hope you can put that aside and enjoy the ride. Sensitive Content. 18+ Mentions of DV. Smut Guaranteed happy ending. This is my love letter to Eddie Munson.

WC: 11646 beta'd by @superblysubpar

A sharp chill nips at your cheeks as gusts of autumn wind blow through the amber-leafed trees surrounding Hawkins High's parking lot. You pick at the splintered wood of the picnic table beneath you, etched with initials and scribbles. The anguished croon of Placebo plays through your headphones, drowning out the sounds of the start of another school day. Shifting the pile of books on your lap, you steal a glance at where Eddie stands with his back to you a few yards away.

Lately, it’s like your best friend has purchased real estate in your brain. Daydreams resulting in hearts doodled in the margins of your notebooks a little too close to where you printed his name. His dark curls spill over the collar of his worn denim vest, shadowing the frayed edges of the Dio patch he had sown on last week. He's deep in conversation with Dan Shelter, a senior in the same class that Eddie would have been in if he hadn’t missed so much time after his mother passed. They both turn and look at you at the same time.

Eddie’s eyes narrow as his brows pull tighter into a frown. You push one of your headphones back, and the noise of everyday chatter and car engines bursts into your reality.

"You know your girlfriend is deeply weird, Munson," the spiky-haired jock says, shoving his hands into the pockets of his letterman jacket, not even trying to hide his distaste.

Girlfriend. You’ve both tried to stamp out that rumor—yet no matter who else you go out with, those sparks never last and pale in comparison to the steady flame you feel around Eddie. Would it really be so bad if it were true? The answer scares you more than you expect.

"She’s not my girl," Eddie retorts with a swift shake of his head, his voice edged with that familiar bite of annoyance. His foot scuffs against the asphalt, the white Reebok stark against the black jeans clinging to his narrow hips. An impatient sigh pulls the fabric of his Hellfire Club t-shirt tighter across his chest, outlining his lean frame. "You in or out?" His fingers snap near Dan's face, the sunlight catching on his silver rings, "I've got other places to be, and you're not my only customer."

"Sure, whatever," Dan grumbles, extending a hand with a few crumpled bills.

Eddie accepts the cash with an easy smirk, teasing the dime bag between thumb and forefinger, letting it sway like a pendulum. Dan’s hand hovers while he glances around for prying eyes, but Eddie lets the bag drop to the ground before he can take it.

"Oops," Eddie’s voice drips with feigned innocence before he pivots on his heel and walks away without a backward glance.

Dan’s face ignites with anger as he stoops for the bag, muttering a curse.

"Always a pleasure," Eddie calls over his shoulder, flashing a dismissive two-fingered salute. A gaggle of pink-cheeked girls from the sophomore class crosses his path, eyes trailing over him like he's their favorite song come to life.

"Ladies." He extends an arm, waving them on, his voice as smooth as a melody. They flutter past with giggles and heated glances. Despite their whispers of 'freak' in the corridors, they all vie for a chance to climb into the back of his van when no one is looking – to be the subject of the rumors they'd later deny.

He never hides his interest when he likes a girl — everybody knows when Eddie Munson is into someone. But he’s never looked at you that way, never given you that smile meant for those he desires. And that’s something that has never bothered you. Now, it stirs something else — a green thorny vine wrapping around your insides. He’s just Eddie – your friend. The same old Eddie, you reaffirm, even as your heart whispers lies of a different tune.

Without missing a beat, he saunters over, the rhythmic clink of his chain wallet punctuating each step. He leaps onto the picnic table, landing beside you with a thud, sending vibrations through the timeworn wood. His eyes linger on the girl's retreating forms.

"You need to be careful, Eddie," you warn, tipping your chin toward where Dan is stalking off in a dark cloud of annoyance.

"Careful is my middle name, doll." He smiles a big, sly grin, dimples deepening, causing a flutter in your chest, an unexplained sensation that's become strangely frequent these days.

He nods at your leg, eyes dropping to your thigh. "What’s this?" His dark lashes make half-moon shadows on his cheek as his thumb brushes over the square field of bright white crosses covering the denim patch on your jeans. A trail of tingles follows, unbidden and unwelcome. You disguise the shiver as a chill from the wind, even as you crave more of his touch.

"It’s called sashiko," you explain, hyper-aware of the warmth of his skin as the ghost of his touch lingers. "The art of visible mending."

"Looks cool." His gaze meets yours, a little too intense and a little too long. Your fingers clutch your notebooks tighter, a shield against whatever this feeling is.

"Are you coming over after school?" Your voice is steadier than you feel.

"I’ll drop you off, but I’ve got to go back to the trailer after," Eddie replies, his eyes still holding yours in a silent conversation you can't quite interpret. "I’ve got stuff to do." Something in his tone suggests layers you're not ready to peel back. "Not your kind of stuff."

The house where Eddie grew up doesn't look the same anymore. Someone else has moved in – keeping the lawn perfect and fixing up all the broken things, erasing any traces of tragedy. The neighborhood has moved on, absolving themselves like they hadn’t just turned their back and let it happen. As if it wasn't their problem. Eddie's staying on the other side of town now with his Uncle Wayne in a tiny one-bedroom trailer. Wayne's heart is in the right place, even if he drinks too much, just like Eddie's dad did. But he's not bad, just... lost when it comes to dealing with an angry teen, and with him working nights, Eddie's on his own to figure out how to deal with it all.

"I can keep you company?” You try to keep the offer casual despite the hump in your pulse.

He shakes his head, a shadow crossing his features. "Nah, I’ve got to stop at Rick's, then a run." There's a hardness in his eyes that wasn't there before.

You frown and look away, hiding your disappointment. "I don’t see what the big deal is," you argue, keeping your voice low, "We smoke together all the time."

"The big deal," he says, reaching out to lift your chin and forcing you to look at him. "Is that this is business, and I don’t want you involved. Alright?" His voice is firm, letting you know he won’t budge. "I’ll pick you up later," he promises. "Movie night. Just us."

The shrill ring of the bell is your cue to retreat, to put distance between you and these feelings threatening to upend everything. You nod at him, shoving your books into your bag. His gaze holds you for a heavy beat before breaking away. There's a shift in the air, a prelude to something you can't name, like the static before a storm. Eddie's last glance sears itself into your thoughts when you part ways at the door.

As you make your way to class, those feelings nag at you like a forgotten lyric. You hug your arms, trying to squeeze out the persistent ache that spreads through your limbs. It's a tangible pain, this longing, like a hand squeezing around your heart, making it hard to breathe.

But you push it all down, guarding it like a secret. To lock it away in the confines of your ribcage, where it can't taint the one thing you value most. The friendship you've built is too important, too rare to risk on a silly crush that might only live in your head and fade with time. It’s a gamble you won’t take. You can't lose him. You won’t watch that light in his eyes dim for you, awkward silences replacing the laughter. Without him, you’d be alone.

Cold gray days give way to dark, inky nights. The stars and moon are veiled behind thick cotton clouds, stealing the light earlier as fall edges closer to winter. Winds gust, sending wet leaves sticking to the glass of your office windows as the bare fingers of the boxwoods planted around the brownstone scratch against the house in protest.

Lowering the lid of your laptop, the light in the room dims as the brightness is trapped between the two halves. Your arms stretch over your head, loosening the tension in your neck as you push away from your desk, drifting towards the sounds of life from the living room. Steve’s long legs are stretched out on the chaise end of the couch, a Bulls game on the TV, but his attention is stuck on the laptop resting on his thighs.

“My eyes are going to fall out my head if I stare at that screen for any longer,” you declare, rounding the corner of the couch.

“Well, then, come stare at this screen instead.” He nods at the TV, extending his arm to make space for you to crawl onto the couch next to him and fit yourself into his side.

“You’re so warm.” You nuzzle into his chest, and his lips touch the top of your head. “Don’t let me fall asleep.”

“I’ll wake you up when it’s time for bed. I still have a few hours of work left,” he sighs, his finger sliding down the trackpad as he scrolls through a document that never seems to end.

“Is that for the launch?” Your eyes squint at the brightness of the screen.

He groans at the ping of another incoming email while toggling between the many windows he has open. “Yeah, we're in the final stretch. The event team is trying to finalize the details. Maroon 5 and Fallout Boy are locked in to perform, but we’re still waiting to hear back from a few other acts and about a million other details that need ironing out.”

“It’s going to be a great night, baby. Everyone will be so impressed,” you assure, the arm you have draped across his stomach tightening, trying to impress your words into him. “Everything is going to go smoothly, you’ll see.”

He scoffs, doubt clouding his voice. “I wish I had your confidence. The server's capacity is still a question mark, and we're racing to fix streaming delays. Fuck!” The heels of his hands press into his eyes. “All I need is this thing to fail at the last minute, especially with Richard and my dad watching.” He imitates his father's stern tone, “Typical. He’s always been a fuck up. Chokes right before the buzzer.” Letting his hands drop, his eyes turn to you. “I should have listened to you and not invited my parents. I actually never thought they would agree to come. Now I’m running around trying to get things ready for them too.”

“Hey,” you take one of his hands between yours, “That’s not going to happen, Steve. If the servers have issues or if there's a lag, it's just a hiccup. You've got a team to handle that. You've put in the work, and you're brilliant at what you do. Your parents will see that. Everyone will.”

He manages a smile, but it’s just a placation.

“What can I do to help?” You ask, “I’ll make sure we have some Pellegrino stocked and that cheese your parents like.”

There's a pause as he weighs his next words. “I’ve already called the housekeeper and told them to put fresh sheets in the guest room in case they decide to stay here, but I still need to make a reservation at the Four Seasons as a backup.”

Your jaw tightens, but you curb your annoyance at how John Harrington has everyone trained to cater to his high-maintenance whims, but this is for Steve’s peace of mind. “I’ll call first thing tomorrow. Consider it done. Anything else?”

He hesitates, a little apologetic. "My suit... the dry cleaner closes early tomorrow. I hate to ask, but I might not make it in time–"

“No problem. I’ll make time.”

His lips lift at the corners, and this time, his smile reaches his eyes. “I love you.” He leans forward, slotting his lip softly between yours. “I’ll put the ticket in your bag. Thanks for helping out, Ace.”

“I just have Eddie's interview tomorrow afternoon. I should have plenty of time." Standing, you tug at his hand. "Now, can we go to bed? Everything will look better after a good night's sleep.”

His mouth sets in a determined line as he shuts down his laptop, yielding to your pull as he rises. His hand finds a place on the small of your back, grounding you both as you climb the stairs together.

Hitching the strap of your messenger bag higher on your shoulder, you kick at a loose stone on the sidewalk in front of the brick building. Car horns blare in the distance as traffic rolls by in the busy neighborhood. The sun casts a glint off the steel CursedSound sign, its metal already weathering with a faint tinge of color. The heavy door is yanked open, its clank and whine making you jump.

"Hi," Eddie greets you with a soft tone from the other side of the threshold.

"Hi," you return, shyness adding a tremble to your voice that shouldn’t be there. His fingers grip the edge of the door, and light flashes off the Rolex peeking out from under the cuff of the plaid flannel he wears over a fitted v-neck and jeans, the fabric snug against his defined shoulders. It’s still a novelty to see how his slim build has filled in over the years. Part of you still expects the boy you knew instead of this man in front of you. He looks you over in the same way, like he’s trying to decide if you’re really there. Maybe it’s the differences he sees in you, too, or does he still see the lonely girl he once knew? You shift your gaze down the street, your toes curling inside your Converse as warmth climbs up your neck. "Are you going to let me in?"

"I don't know." He pretends to ponder, a smile forming, crinkling the corners of his eyes. "Where's your hard hat?"

Tilting your head to the side, you purse your lips until he breaks into a chuckle. He swings the door open wider, welcoming you in. You pass him with a shake of your head and continue down the hall.

The lobby is in chaos.

"Sorry for the mess. The maid took the week off," he quips, watching you take in the space.

The brown paper has been removed from the windows, allowing bright light to stream through the streaked and dirty glass. All the furniture has been pushed toward the center of the room, and ladders and paint cans litter the floor space. A large mural wrapping around the windows and front entrance has been outlined but not completed. In the same graffiti style as the one upstairs, this one displays more cityscapes with waves of the lake breaking at the forefront. Winged skulls and guitars blend with colorful swirls of clouds rising toward the ceiling.

"It’s perfect," you tell him as your eyes follow the sweeping, colorful lines around the room. “Really beautiful.”

"Was that a compliment?" He asks, coming up behind you, his breath a warm whisper against your ear. "I thought it was a dump."

"Well, what can I say?” You spin around. “It’s growing on me." Your fingers move to your lips, concealing your smile as his deepens with your praise.

"You look really good." His low voice bounces off the empty walls, "I mean…your, uh, outfit is nice." He waves his hand toward you before wiping it on the front of his jeans.

Your brows raise as you glance down at the jeans and plain Lolla tee you put on this morning. None of the trendy outfits you usually wear for interviews seemed to fit right today.

"Wow, that was smooth," he says, shoving his hands in his pockets. "I don’t know why I’m so nervous."

The fluttering in your stomach matches his energy. “Maybe it’s because I’m going to get you to spill all your secrets and print them so the whole world can sit in judgment."

A choked sound comes from his throat as his eyes widen into saucers.

Unable to keep a straight face, you giggle. "Relax, Eddie. I already told you I’m not writing some hit piece. You’ve got nothing to worry about. Besides," you shrug, "It’s only me."

A sharp breath escapes as his shoulders lower. "Yeah, you’re right." He says, taking a step forward, his gaze locking with yours. "After all these years, it's still you.

"Eddie." His name comes out on a breathless sigh as you look away. The shield of anger between you is heavy and battered, and you aren’t sure how much longer you can hold it up. He takes another step forward, and you clear your throat. "Why don’t you show me what else you’ve done?"

He rakes a hand through his curls, "Of course." His lips tighten into a flat line as he gestures toward the stairs. "After you."

You lead the way to the second floor, where the smell of fresh paint permeates the air. A ladder leans against a half-painted wall, and orange extension cords crisscross the carpet in the hall, winding into the studios like work has been suddenly halted.

"Where is everyone?" You look around the abandoned space before stepping inside Studio A. It's come a long way since your last visit. The deck that holds the mixing board is ready, and the wiring is underway.

"I didn’t know how long you’d be here, so I told them to take the rest of the day off." His eyes follow the movements of your hand, brushing over knobs and sliders of the soundboard that's still sheathed in a protective layer of plastic.

"You didn’t have to do that," you say, walking back out into the hall.

"I didn’t think we needed the audience," he shrugs, walking along with you to the next room.

"I hope you don’t fall behind schedule." The walls of the small Studio B are covered with walnut slats to create an acoustic barrier while still keeping the room open, while the mixing room kept the original exposed brick.

"I’ve got time."

"Even so," you move to the window. The sun glints off the mirrored surface of the tall building across the street. "I’m sure you're eager to open. Put out that first album with the CursedSound logo in the liner notes."

"Of course I am." He comes to stand beside you, taking in the bustle of the city at midday. "It’s gonna be good to have nothin’ between me and the music. Let the artists be as creative as they want. Their management can deal with the corporate A&R people and leave me out of it."

"You never did like playing by the rules," you smile, catching his eyes in the reflection of the glass.

He turns his head, studying your profile. "Why should I?" he continues, his tone more determined, "The rules sure as hell never helped me. I'm gonna take my chances as I find them, even if I have to play a little dirty. I deserve happiness the same as the next guy."

"Of course you do." The world has done nothing but take from him.

"What about you?" He asks as you return to the hall. "The rules seemed to be treating you well."

You raise your shoulders with a warm smile gracing your lips, one you have no intention of concealing. "I love my job. I like the city, and…I have Steve."

"You ending up with Steve Harrington," his voice curls around the name, a sneer you can almost see, "I gotta admit, I didn't see that one coming."

Stopping, you pivot to face him, crossing your arms over your chest. "He's a good guy, Eddie."

He sighs in a short, almost defeated breath. "I know he is, doll."

The unmarked door at the end of the hall provides a convenient distraction. "Where does this go?" You wonder with your hand closing over the knob.

"My apartment."

"You're living here?" You let it go like it burned you, swallowing the lump that has made a sudden appearance in your throat.

"Sure. Can't beat the commute." He reaches around you, turning the doorknob to reveal another flight of stairs. "Do you want to go up?"

Flashes of that day are more vivid than they should be for memories two years old. The closet carpet is soft under your fingers as wet tears rain down on the glossy pages. Steve's voice gets closer as he calls out your name. A tightness grips your chest as you attempt to step back, momentarily forgetting that Eddie's right behind you. He supports you with a steadying hand on your hip as he faces you, seeking your reaction.

"No, that's okay. I think we're fine down here. I wouldn't want to disturb anyone," you say, attempting to sound confident as you wipe your palms along the sides of your jeans.

Eddie scratches the side of his head as his brow wrinkles. "Who do you think it up there?"

A hot breath passes your lips as you turn away, walking back down the hall toward Studio C. "I don’t know," you call over your shoulder, too chicken to face him. "Skyler Simmons. Rock royalty. Media darling. According to the magazines, your long-time girlfriend. The one you own a house with. Ring any bells? Isn’t she here with you?"

"My what? Skyler Simmons?" The deep belly laugh that follows has you spinning on your heels to face him.

"Wait. You’re serious?" His dimples make an appearance as his smile deepens. "Me and Skyler?" He can barely get her name out without chuckling.

"The one you’re photographed with constantly."

His brows shoot up. "Keeping tabs on me?"

"Oh, don’t flatter yourself," you huff. "It came up in my research. Do you have a relationship with her or not?"

"I know her," he offers, shaking his head, "She’s a friend. We go to the same group."

"What group? The one for annoying assholes."

He pauses, his arms crossing over his chest. "The one for people with addiction in their families. That okay with you?" His voice escalates. The simmering anger in his eyes mirrors the intensity of his tone. "Skyler is gay. Her girlfriend's usually hanging around, too. Does that mean I’m fucking her too? Jesus."

Frigid water clashes with your hot blood as the fight drains away. Glancing at your feet, your voice diminishes to barely more than a whisper. "Why hasn't she come out in the media?"

"Maybe because it’s none of anybody's fucking business." His piercing gaze bores into you as the sharp words land like heavy stones in the sour pit in your stomach. "Hold on," he waves a hand in front of you, "Why do you even care?"

"I don’t," your voice falters as the dishonest answer leaves you without hesitation. Your eyes trace the patterns on the floor. "It just makes for a better story, is all."

His hands run through his hair, fingers tugging on the ends as his tone softens. "Doll," he pauses, taking a deliberate step closer. His warm fingers cup your jaw, forcing your eyes to meet his. Those amber swirls, always seeing beyond your surface. "No one else is in my apartment, and no one else is gonna be."

His touch sends a searing heat spreading through your skin as the weight of your engagement ring pulls on your finger. "You’re a grown man, Eddie. Do whatever you want." Stepping back, his hand falls from your face as you turn and enter the studio.

"Fucking stubborn," the low murmur carries under his breath as he follows you inside.

"It looks like this one’s almost finished." You spin around the room, taking in the progress, before letting your bag slide down your shoulder and sinking onto the couch.

Gray triangles of acoustic foam now adorn the live room walls in contrasting patterns, and layers of soft carpeting line the floor. The mixing room's mural stands completed, and the furniture has all been placed.

His eyes move around the room, the pride evident on his face. "Just some wiring and the vocal booth, and I’ll be ready to start setting the levels."

"This one’s your favorite, I can tell," you shift, tucking a leg under you as he joins you on the couch.

"Shhh," he hushes you, raising a finger to his lips. "The others will get jealous."

Rolling your eyes, you pull your phone from your bag, open the recording app, and set it between you both.

"How does this work?" Eddie's eyes are fixed on your phone while he rubs the back of his neck.

"Well, typically," your hand slips back into your bag to retrieve the neatly stapled pages of your notes, "I ask a question, and you provide the answer." You set the pages in your lap, drawing in a steadying breath. He’s sitting in front of you with a key to a locked door – one that might be best left closed and forgotten, but it’s time to hear him out.

"Eddie Munson interview, part one."

"Mr. Munson." You slip into your most professional tone. "Thank you for granting us an interview during this busy time. All of us at Stax are very excited to welcome CursedSound to Chicago."

He leans forward, his voice dropping slightly in timber as a much smoother, older Eddie begins to answer, "Thank you. I always have time for my favorite magazine." He winks.

Your lips press into a line as you tilt your head to the side, taking a quick glance at your packet. "In April 2003, Fever to Tell was released by a relatively new band and a completely unknown sound engineer. It went on to sell over a million copies, putting The Yeah Yeah Yeahs and the name Eddie Munson on industry minds. Fever to Tell is still, to date, one of my favorite albums. Were you aware of the significant impact this record would have when you were working on it?"

"At the time, we were really just hopeful, you know? We believed in the music we were creating. Karen and Nick, and Brian flew out from New York with their last dime, and we just got to work. Karen had this kind of raw, untamed energy, and I wanted to capture that, to add an edge to the album. It was this post-punk dance-floor-friendly racket that injected a much-needed dose of authenticity into a musical era that was getting stagnant."

"It's not an exaggeration to say that record helped shape the direction of indie and alternative rock for years to come. But what I want to ask is you before all that. What was the road like moving from Hawkins to having your dreams come true in LA? Was this the path you first set out on, or were there curves in the road?"

"I think 'curves' is a generous term for the absolute shit choices I was making for myself back then," he chuckles. "As you know, I left Hawkins about a year after I graduated. That town had already decided I would never be anything more than a freak– a loser with no future. If I had stayed, that's exactly what would have happened. I was trying to outrun my past without a clue what I wanted for my future. I had my own band back then, and sometimes, we’d open for slightly bigger bands that rolled through town. One of them was about to tour and invited me to go as their one and only roadie, and it felt like a free ticket out."

"Bananafish," you interject, swallowing and glancing down at your notes.

"Yeah, Bananafish. God, they sucked. Did you know they started as a Spin Doctors tribute band?"

"No," you laugh, "And that wasn’t a red flag for you?"

"It should have been. I wasn’t with them for long anyway. I think I lasted for three weeks before they cut me loose for getting in a fight with the drummer." He pauses, shaking his head. "I never knew when to shut my mouth. At that point, they had hooked up with another band called Everly. Slightly better, but not by much. I managed to hold it together for a few months. I was high or drunk most of the time, the only reason they kept me around was because they liked the way I babied their instruments."

"I remember,” you nod. “You’d spend half an hour polishing that Warlock every day after school."

"Got to treat a lady right if you want her to sing for you," he says with a sly rise and fall of his brows, draping an arm over the back of the couch, shrinking the space between you.

"I was surprised that you left it behind."

Eddie's expression turns more solemn. "There were a lot of things I wished I could’ve taken with me. But back then, I couldn’t even take care of myself."

"I don’t believe that," you swallow, the words sticking in your throat, "You could have tried."

"If I had tried, they would’ve ended up broken, and I’d‘ve lost them anyway." His fingers brush your shoulder, and you flinch. The leather creaks as you sit back against the arm of the couch, just out of reach.

"Back to Everly. Why did you part ways?"

"Oh, well, I fucked it up, of course. They had landed a spot at Bonnaroo, and I got so fucked up the night before I missed sound check. When I managed to pick myself up off the floor of the van, they handed me my duffel and a twenty and told me to pound sand." His eyes drift away, fixating on a point across the room. "I had barely been outside of Indiana, and there I was, stuck on some farm in Manchester, Tennessee, with no ride, no money, and no one to call. I was angry at the world and never felt more alone. People always talk about hitting rock bottom, I thought that was it, but now that I look back, it was more of a crossroads. If I had followed that darker path, there would have been no coming back. I was wandering around backstage where they park buses, hungover, maybe still half in the bag, and that’s when I met Max."

"Max Navarro?" You shuffle through the pages of your notes.

"Yeah. You know him?" Eddie’s eyes brighten as his gaze drops to the pages in your lap.

Your head turns from side to side. "You referred to him as a mentor in the Stones interview, but I couldn’t find much on him besides his name being listed as an audio engineer for several tours."

"That’s Max." Eddie breaks into a smile. "He’d tell you he likes flying under the radar. He was hanging out in front of the bus playing guitar with a couple of guys when I walked over like a cocky shit, picked one up, and started playing. He gave me something to smoke, and it wasn’t weed. All I know is that I woke up face-down in the dirt the next morning. I don’t know if he liked me or just felt bad for me, but he dragged me on the bus and had me start assisting him with the sound for Faith No More."

"Faith No More? Are you kidding me?" Your hands fall to your lap, slapping against your thighs, jostling the cushion enough for your phone to slide toward the back of the couch. "You had their poster in your room. If I didn’t know you better, I’d think you had a charmed life."

"Well, even the sun shines on a dog's ass some days," he laughs.

"So Max is who taught you about engineering?"

"Max is who taught me about everything." His voice holds a reverence when he says his name. "He kept an eye on me. Showed me how to work the boards. He said he could see shadows following me around, so when we got to LA, he took me out to the desert, fed me some tea, and exercised my demons."

"Did it work?" Max wasn't the only one to see shadows looming. Consequences of decisions made by others. Expectations of a community that turned its back. They clung to him like an impenetrable fog.

"I’m not sure. I felt lighter after, but it could have been the gallon of water I sweat out," he chuckles. "After that, he cashed in a favor and got me an internship with a small studio in Laurel Canyon. I parked cars at night and lived in a room the size of a closet at Max’s house. I worked my ass off. I went to therapy–"

"How very L.A. of you," you chime in.

"Don’t knock it until you try it." He looks at you from under raised brows. "It’s, uh, good to talk about things. Be open, you know?"

"No thanks. I tried that once," you tell him pointedly, the tightness in your chest returning, "It didn’t work out for me."

Your arrow hit the target. Regret flashes in his eyes. "Doll–"

"You decided to stay in L.A. and work at a studio instead of going back out on the road?"

"I like studio sessions. Makes me feel like I’m working towards something. I like completing an album and putting it out in the world. Some people thrive being out on tour, like Max. Not me," he scratches at his chin. "Too many ghosts on those old roads."

Like the ones back in Hawkins that jolt you awake in the dead of night, murmuring past shames of a lovesick and foolish girl. Robin had seen it, and so had the entire town, but you aren’t her any longer. She lies resting beneath the frigid earth, her memory an unmarked grave. You've moved forward, and you’ll never go back, the city drowns out the remains of her cries.

"So you stayed and built your life there," you conclude, flipping through the pages of your notes, ticking off the points from your outline.

Eddie leans back, a contemplative look on his face. "I guess you could say that. I got my own place, made some great friends. Sundays are for Max's family and Chile relleno. The weather is always beautiful. But I really stayed for the music,” he shrugs. “Have you been? I could take you some time. Show you around. Max would love to meet you, the girl I won’t shut up about. I think you’d like it there."

The girl he hasn’t bothered to call in a decade. "To Los Angeles?" Your gaze rises from your notes to meet his nodding response. "I've been a few times. With Steve. Mostly for work."

"Oh yeah. Makes sense." His jaw tightens, and he averts his gaze. "Well, I guess the rest is history. Is that enough for your story?"

"Yeah." You reach for your phone, tapping the red square to stop the recording. "It will be a great opening piece for the series." You pick up your messenger, hauling its weight into your lap, tucking your notes inside. The afternoon is ending on a flat note. A stone sits on your tongue, holding back questions that you lack the courage to ask, but maybe it’s better this way.

Eddie sits up suddenly, snapping his fingers. "Speaking of history, I want to show you something." He stands up, looking towards the door and back at you, "Um.. wait here, okay? I’ll just be a minute."

"Okay-"

He holds up flat palms. "Don’t go anywhere." His eyes close as he winces, " I mean, you can wander around if you want. Just don’t leave."

"Eddie-"

"I’ll be back." He holds up one finger as he exits the room.

With a sigh, you push up from your thighs, rising to your feet, walking through to the live room where a drum kit stands at the ready. The snare looks a little worn, and the symbols have lost their shine. Your nails tap the high hat, and you smile at the shimmering sound.

"What am I doing?" You whisper, spinning the gold band on your finger.

The sound of the floor creaking echoes through the hall. Eddie enters the room with the large box he's carrying obscuring his upper half. His name written in Wayne's shaky handwriting, peeking out from underneath his fingers.

"What's all this?" You ask as he sets down the box with a heave in the center of the room and sinks to his knees, hovering over the taped flaps.

"I have no idea," he grins mischievously. "Wayne gave it to me when I stopped by last week and told him I would see you. But you know him, he never throws stuff out. It could be anything." His hand smoothes over the top as he raises a brow. "Wanna find out?"

Your hands slide over your jean-covered thighs before your feet carry you forward. "Mrs. Click better not be in there."

His head tips back with laughter. "I make no promises," he jokes while you take a seat on the floor on the side of the box.

His mouth quirks up, watching you get comfortable. With a fluid motion, he leans and grabs a box cutter beside the soundboard. His shirt lifts slightly, offering a glimpse of hair trailing down his belly and the sculpted muscle beside his hips. His tongue lightly grazes his upper lip as he expertly flicks the knife open, his jeans snug on the contours of his strong thighs. Exhaling slowly, you avert your eyes, scanning the room instead as you wait for him to slice the tape.

"Score!" He pulls out the ragged-edged sheet that was folded and tucked into the top of the box. "Corroded Coffin," he reads aloud the words scrawled across it with something resembling shoe polish.

"Oh no," you laugh, your head turning side to side as you rock in your seat.

"Hey. This is rare band memorabilia. It’s probably worth money," he defends, holding it up proudly.

"Yeah, to the guy you have to pay to haul it away," you giggle.

"Alright, Alright," he folds it up, the smile never leaving his face as he reaches into the box. "These are yours." He pulls out a stack of comic books and hands them to you.

"Still in good shape." You thumb through the copies of Tank Girl and Witchblade.

"My campaigns." He pulls out a pile of notebooks and sets them aside before reaching back in. "Some CDs." He comes out with a hand wrapped around a stack of jewel cases, the one on top catching your eye.

"Hey, that’s my Cranberries Cd!" Your fingers dig into the carpet as you tip forward, yanking it from his hand. "I looked for this everywhere. I knew you took it, you thief."

"I don’t know how that got there," he scratches his head, "You must have left in the van."

"Nice try, Munson." your eyes narrow, "I checked there." You lean over the box, poking a finger into his chest, "I knew you had a crush on Dolores."

"You got me. It was the accent," he admits with a grin full of dimples, his hand closing around your finger.

"I’m keeping it." You drop back into your seat and pick up the case to examine the disc.

"Holy shit."

You raise your head to meet his wide chocolate eyes, a look of sheer delight written across his face. "Close your eyes," he instructs, pulling back the flaps of the box, hiding whatever he's found.

"Mrs. Click?" You set the CD on top of the comics.

"Better," he says excitedly, waving a hand toward your face. “Come on. Close your eyes."

"Fine." You leave one eye open, folding your hands in your lap.

"No peeking." He wags a finger.

Your lips purse as you close your other lid, waiting for the big reveal. Plastic clanks against something heavy, followed by the rustle of cardboard.

"Okay. Open."

"Daisy!" Your hands fly to your mouth before you reach out with wiggling fingers.

He winces as he hands over the two-foot garden gnome. "How can you call something so ugly a pretty name like that?"

Taking the heavy lawn ornament in both hands, you gaze down at her droopy hat and too-large ears, which stick straight out beside her bulging eyes and porcine nose. Her rubbery lips are pulled back in a smile, showing off her buck teeth and flowery dress that barely conceals her body.

"She's beautiful." You cradle her in your arms. "Besides, you're the one who stole her."

"You’re the one who dared me to," he scoffs.

Your cheeks already ache with an unrestrained smile as the memories from that night surface. "I didn’t think you were going to wake up the whole neighborhood crashing into the bushes in Mr. Lawson’s yard."

"I was drunk," he defends, his face turning red.

"You tripped over your feet and ripped your pants," you gasp for air, trying to get the words out with your laughter, "You had on those Garfield boxers with the hearts."

"Of course, you remember that." His laughter joins yours, easy and familiar. "You're the one that woke up the neighbors, making the van backfire."

"It was the first time I drove, and I didn’t have a license." You clutch Daisy tightly to your chest as you try to catch your breath. "Mr. Larson came out in his bathrobe, screaming about shooting you in the ass."

Eddie shakes his head as you laugh at his expense. "He almost caught us when you stalled out. All for that hideous thing."

"Shh," you cover her ears with your hands. "You can’t get rid of her."

"Never," he agrees, reaching out for her. "I’ll find her place of honor around here somewhere."

"Put her on your nightstand," you suggest, handing her over.

"Ugh," he says, setting her aside, "I’ll have nightmares."

You burst into laughter once more, and his eyes ignite. He smiles like he’s savoring every sound, like your happiness is a hard-earned treasure he's been longing for.

The shards of the past press against the scar tissue encasing your heart as if struggling to free themselves and reassemble in the present. Your hand finds its way to your chest, pressing gently on the tender center, trying to quell the ache and remain in this moment—with him.

"What else? What else?" You clap your hands, bouncing in your spot.

"Okay, okay," he gives in, happy to indulge you. "Um, a pack of crayons, a monopoly piece." He places them aside. "Thanks, Wayne. Could have done without that. Looks like some clothes. Oh, this is yours." He tosses a ball of red fabric at you, and you catch it with both hands before he continues to search through the box.

"Is this what I think it is?" His voice brims with excitement as he pulls a rectangular tin from the box. He shakes it, and a sharp sound follows. "Yes." His tongue sticks out from the corner of his mouth as he pries off the lid.

His voice fades into the background as your focus turns to what you're holding. The fabric of your Musicland vest unfurls as you hold it out in front of you, the gold name tag still pinned to the front catching the light. A heavy sensation settles in your stomach, tightening and cramping as a sick, painful feeling creeps in and spreads — nausea churns as each inhale becomes battle.

There’s a scrape of metal as the lid pops off. "Polaroids," Eddie declares, his attention lost to the thrill of his find as he flips through the stack of photographs.

Your heart races as the room seems to shrink. "Stop it," you whisper, your voice quivering, your trembling hands twisting the vest as if folding it small enough can make the pain disappear.

"They’re pretty faded, though," he goes on, unaware.

"I said, that's enough!" The balled-up vest flies from your hands, landing back in the box. Adrenaline surges through your veins as you push yourself up on unsteady legs. "I need to leave."

Eddie's laughter dies in his throat as he looks up, the joy in his eyes replaced by confusion. "Wait a minute." He gets to his feet and follows you. The small pile you made topples over, forgotten as you pick up your bag from the couch. "What just happened?" He moves in front of you, blocking your path. "I thought we were having fun."

"Fun?" The word is a shard of ice. Without hesitation, you sling your bag over your shoulder and maneuver past him towards the door.

“Just hold on a minute.” He blocks your path again, hands up, eyes searching yours for answers. “Tell me what's going on.”

"What do you want?" The words slice the air, eyes locked, a bare blade of anger.

"I wanted to-" His eyes flick toward the abandoned box in the center of the room.

"No." Your head shakes, "Why are you here? Now? After all this time? What do you want from me?"

"I just wanted to see you." His arms cross over his chest as his voice turns softer. "I missed my friend."

"Your friend," sarcasm drips from your words as you quirk a brow, "So you show up here with a box of crap and a ‘hey doll’,” your voice lowers to mock him, "And I’m supposed to what? Forget about everything that happened and hand you a clean slate. Drop everything in my life to follow you around like a puppy because you feel like paying me some attention?"

"That’s not…I’m not asking for that." His hand runs through his curls, frustration building in his tone.

"I'm not going to sit here with you wandering down memory lane and watch you pretend like you cared." Your eyes sting, but tears won't fall. You've shed your last one for him long ago. "Like any of it mattered."

"No one's pretending here, doll." He steps closer, his hands falling to his side, fingers rubbing at the seam of his jeans. "Of course, it mattered—all of it."

Your bag falls from your shoulder with a resounding thud, its weight matching your resolve as you push your hand against his chest. "I don't believe that for a second. If it mattered, you never could have done what you did."

"Done what?"

"Left me!" Your hand lands flat across your heart. "Without a goodbye, just some shitty mixtape full of songs that I can't listen to without my heart breaking over and over."

"You're right, okay." His voice rises to match your volume, his fingers closing around your biceps. "I was a fucking coward, and I ran. I couldn't see that look on your face again, the one you had when I told you I was leaving. I should’ve said goodbye, but I knew you'd try to convince me to stay, and that was never going to happen. I'm sorry I hurt you, but I can't be sorry I left."

"Hurt me?" You push his hands away, taking a step back to control the cracking in your voice. "You didn't just hurt me, Eddie. You destroyed me."

He swallows, looking away. "You were better off."

Fresh anger surges, along with the strong desire to escape – to leave this dead and buried, maybe for another decade until the hurt isn’t so strong.

"See, that right there is why I'll never believe you," you snap, pointing an accusatory finger his way as you step around him, your hand closing around the doorknob. But at the last moment, you turn, wanting him to hear it. At least once.

"I didn't quit Musicland. I got fired. I was a mess after you left. I cried for days, but I clung to this pathetic hope that you’d call to explain everything. To say it wasn't the end for us. You wouldn’t just throw me away, right? Not after everything we had been through together. I wouldn't leave my room, not even to eat. I was so afraid that the second I left, the phone would ring."

There's regret in his eyes as he steps forward, getting closer until he can touch you again, one hand gently gliding up your arm.

"But that call never came, did it, Eddie? Not one. And every day that passed, I died a little. But then I wasn't sad anymore. All those tears, they turned to hate," you say coldly, locking your gaze with his. "I hated you. I hated every song that came on the radio, reminding me of you. I hated Hawkins and everyone in it. But most of all, I hated myself for trusting you. For believing that you ever cared about me. That I wasn’t alone. That's what you did to me, Eddie.”

“You made me hate myself."

"I’m so sorry, doll," his words barely crest the silence as his gentle hand cradles your jaw. “There’s so much I want to explain to you.”

His touch is hot, but inside you, a coldness lingers–inside your stone. "You kissed me. And then you left me the next day. You knew how I felt."

"I know. I know. I’m sorry." He steps closer, trying to pull your rigid form into his arms, lips brushing your temple. "You don’t even know how much. I’ll spend the rest of my life apologizing. Trying to make it up to you. But you’re wrong. It all mattered. I did care. That kiss..it’s the reason…" He pulls back and looks into your eyes, "You knew me, you always did, but there were things I couldn’t tell you. Things I couldn’t admit even to myself. I was scared and angry all the time."

Your head shakes as you swallow hard. "You're not even real!" You shout in his face, your fingers clutching the doorknob behind you. Spinning, you tug hard, but his hand slams against the door above your head, keeping it shut.

"Stop, doll," he pleads. “Let me explain,” but the push-pull intensifies. You're no match for his strength. "Stop it!" he yells. His hand pushes on your shoulder, turning you to face him. Anger flashes in his eyes, and his cheeks flush.

"I made you up.”

“No.”

“The boy I knew could never have done that. He could never have hurt me like that." Your shoulder jerks, breaking his hold as you attempt to turn away again.

His fingers wrap around the side of your neck, keeping you in place. "That boy could never have given you what you wanted. He wouldn’t have had the first clue how to handle you."

"Is that why you’re back?" You ask, still defiant even as his thumb presses into your throat, tipping your head to meet his gaze. "Dragging this all up again, ruining my life? Because you do?"

"Damn right, I do."

His words are a gravelly assertion, barely escaping before his mouth descends toward yours. For a heartbeat, the world pauses until your mouths finally meet — urgent and fierce. You part your lips eagerly, tongues finding their way together in a hungry and unapologetic dance. The firm pressure of his mouth moving in sync with yours is a spark, igniting a fire that seems to spread with each touch. The scent of clove and cedar leaves you lightheaded as the flames lick through your body. The scruff on his cheek is a rasp against your skin, a roughness contrasting with the smoothness of his kiss. He tastes like cinnamon and a hint of coffee. This kiss is filled with years of longing, swelling and crashing like an orchestra's finale.

Minutes slip away, yet your greedy mouths remain desperate. The room falls into a hushed stillness, save for the sharp intakes of breath and the sensuous wet slide of lips. The kisses seem endless, broken only by fleeting gasps for air, compelling you to pull each other closer, savoring every taste. Your fingers tangle in the soft waves at the nape of his neck, evoking a low, guttural groan that mingles with your shared breaths when you tug. His hands trace the curves of your body, touching every inch as they follow a path beyond your hips and ass, seizing the back of your thighs. With a firm grasp, he lifts you, pressing you against the unyielding door. You gasp as he positions you just how he wants — aligning himself hot and hard against your center.

"Fuck," he growls against your lips as his hips roll, igniting fireworks through your body. Your eyes flutter shut, and a kaleidoscope of colors burst in the darkness.

He nips at the plush of your bottom lip, teeth grazing in a tender claim, a muted buzz begins in your bag—a sharp, insistent sting—that yanks you from the haze back into the real world. His eyes remain closed when you pull away. He leans closer, chasing your mouth, but the moment is already shattered.

Your stomach plummets as the harsh reality sets in. His kiss now tastes like the ash of betrayal. The distressed whimper escaping your throat finally has him looking at you, shock written clearly across his features. Slowly, he releases you, your body sliding against his until your feet meet the floor. He takes a step back, hesitating, swallowing, "Doll —"

"No." You shake your head, your hands covering your mouth. The gold band on your fourth finger is a cool scorch against your swollen lips. "I have to go." You spring into motion, rushing to gather your bag.

"Stay, and we can talk about this," he implores, moving one hand to his hip while the other rakes through his hair.

"Please don’t," you plead. "Don’t ask me for anything else." You swing the strap over your shoulder. "I just ch—" But the word stays stuck in your throat, as your eyes swim with tears.

His face falls, "It's not your fault, okay? I kissed you."

"Eddie—"

"You didn't do anything wrong. It was me," he insists, frustration in his voice as you scrub your face with your hands. "I don't want you driving when you're upset."

"I'm sorry," you say with an aching heart, pushing past him and closing the door behind you.

The sidewalk blurs under your feet as you race to your car. Fat raindrops splatter against the concrete like a spray of gunfire, each one a cold, wet slap against your skin. The sky chooses this moment to crack open, unleashing a torrent that feels personal. Your car comes into view, a bright orange ticket flapping under the wiper. Perfect. Just perfect.

With hands slick from the rain, you fumble with your keys before throwing yourself into the driver’s seat. Snatching the ticket from under the wiper as you go and crumpling it into your fist, stuffing it into the glovebox to be dealt with later. The downpour drums on the roof, enclosing you in a watery cocoon as you search through your bag for your phone. A missed call from Steve and a text reminding you about the dry cleaning. You spill the contents of your messenger onto the passenger seat, pens and lip gloss tumbling into the footwell. "Shit!" The word is a half-sob as you clutch the receipt marked with today's hours in unforgiving black ink.

Glancing at the clock on your dash, it hits you with the subtlety of a wrecking ball– six minutes until closing. It might as well be in another time zone, given the snarled rush hour traffic and the river that the streets have become. Your car roars to life, and you pull out onto the roadway, tires hissing on wet asphalt, windshield wipers barely keeping up with the deluge. Your skin still sings with Eddie’s touch, but it's the burgeoning storm of words—cheater, adulterer, betrayer—mixed with the soft hazel of Steve’s disappointed eyes that tattoo themselves across your conscience. This is the unforgivable sin, and you can't undo it, but you'll be damned if you don't at least try.

You're double-parked now, hazards blinking a frantic rhythm. The 'CLOSED' sign on the dry cleaner's door mocks you as you rattle the unrelenting metal handle. "Please, please, please," you whisper, pounding on the uncaring glass, your unheard pleas bouncing off the empty shadows within. A car horn cuts through the rain —"What the fuck, lady?" The other driver yells, uncaring of your predicament.

"I'm moving, I'm moving!" The words are a rain-soaked shout as you slosh back to your car, drenched and defeated.

Another angry horn sounds off as you pull into traffic, carelessly cutting off a Yellow Cab in your haste. Rainwater drips from your hair, soaking your shirt. Even with the heater set to blast, it does little against the chill that has settled deep in your bones. Down the road, a bright blue sign glows like a beacon, and you jerk the steering wheel, the car fishtailing as you skid into the lot.

The pharmacy's fluorescent lights are too bright and too sterile as you grab a small bottle of mouthwash off the shelf in the travel section and wait in line to pay, the store's generic electronic music grating against your already frayed nerves. Outside, you stand on the corner, swishing and spitting the minty liquid onto the sidewalk, repeating the process, trying to cleanse more than just your mouth. A passerby wrinkles their nose at you from under their umbrella. "This is Chicago! You've seen worse!" You snap, arms thrown up in exasperation while the rain and your regrets mingle on the cold pavement.

With pruney fingers, you pull the cardigan you had left at Stax off the back of your office chair. Shrugging it on, the material dampens from your wet t-shirt but offers a little warmth. Your phone buzzes as you settle at your desk — five missed calls from Eddie and four texts. The roar of the heavy rain and being buried deep in your bag had muffled its sound, not that you would have picked up.

Eddie: Answer the phone, doll!

Eddie: Look, I need to know that you’re okay.

Eddie: I swear to Christ if you don’t pick up.

Eddie: Okay, have it your way. I’m driving to your place.

What? No! Your thumb presses the call button, and it rings twice before it connects. There’s no hello, just the slight hum of an engine and the rain pelting glass.

“I’m okay,” you breathe into your phone, “I didn’t go home. I’m at my office.”

Your heart drums in your ears with each second of silence. Your eyes flutter shut, relief flooding you when he finally responds. An exhale loosens the tension in your chest. His voice resonates in a dark rumble through the phone, "We need to talk."

“I….I know,” your voice wavers as you wipe your nose on the back of your hand. “I just need a minute here, Ed. Can you give me some time?”

The rhythmic blink of the turn signal punctuates his heavy sigh. “Yeah. Alright. But doll,” he pauses as the sound of water splashing against his vehicle mingles with the whoosh of passing traffic, “You’re not running away from this. And trust me, the irony of that statement isn’t lost on me. Think about what I said, okay? I meant it all.”

With a tight throat, you whisper, "I have to go," and disconnect the call.

Placing your phone on the desk, you dab the raindrops off your face with a tissue. The quiet of the office wraps around you, its half-dark corners and the soft glow from the monitors creates a place for you to breathe and be still. The raging storm and the ticking wall clock echoing in the solitude do little to distract you from thoughts you’re not ready to face. With a deep breath, you lift the lid of your laptop, seeking refuge in the normalcy of work as you coax the screen back to life.

The song erupts from the speaker on the edge of your desk, a jolt of sound shattering the silence like an accusation. You grab it with fumbling fingers, scrambling to press the off button. Covering your face with your hands, you let out a sound that is equal parts sob and hysterical laughter, wondering how you ended up in this situation. With your elbows pressed against the wooden top, you bury your face in your hands.

“What are you doing here, kid?” The gruff voice cuts through your misery.

"Jesus Christ, Hopper," you gasp, clutching at your chest, "You scared the hell out of me."

"Guess we're even since Mr. Brightside nearly sent me into cardiac arrest." Hopper towers over you, standing beside your desk with his hands buried in his pockets.

“You listen to The Killers?” You ask, surprised while he drags a chair from the next desk, its wheels screeching faintly against the concrete floor.

“You kids really think Jim Croce is the only thing on my playlist?” A chuckle escapes him as he eases into the chair beside you, “Now, tell me what’s wrong.”

You muster a puzzled look, shaking your head in feigned denial.

“Don’t bullshit me, kid. I don’t have much time. I’m meeting Joyce for dinner at that Italian place on Taylor Street. Have I told you about it? I’ve been dreaming about the breadsticks. Enzo puts some spice on ‘em, I don’t know what it is, but it’s good. You dip it in olive oil,” he groans, “Forget about it. Those things knock your socks off, and I’m wavering on the main course between—”

“I need you to take me off the studio opening,” you interrupt, folding your arms across your chest.

“We’ve been over this. Unless you have some good reason–”

“Eddie kissed me,” the confession slips out, eyes widening in shock at your admission, hands flying to cover your mouth.

His brows rocket upwards, then draw together, his gaze sharpening, voice dipping into a low, protective timbre, “What do you mean he kissed you?”

“No,” you clarify, squeezing your eyes shut and pressing an elbow against the desk, massaging your temple to soothe the forming headache. “I kissed him. We kissed. It was mutual.”

Hopper reclines, the chair creaking under his weight, his gaze level and unreadable. “I’m disappointed in you, kid. I never thought I’d be having a conversation like this with you.”

“I know. I know. Steve…” you trail off, eyes drifting to the photo of Steve on your desk.

Hopper leans in, his hand cutting through the air. “I don’t give a fuck about Harrington,” each word gains in volume, “This is about you and everything you’ve worked for. It’s 2012. That kind of nonsense ends careers. Do you know what can happen if he complains?”

Your eyes roll. “He’s not going to complain, Hop.”

“You don’t know that,” he counters, his head shaking off your naivety. “These things like this have a way of coming out. That was an amateur move. Where is your professionalism? What were you thinking?”

“I’m sorry,” you mutter, lowering your eyes. “We have more of a history than I let on.”

“Well, stop the presses. I couldn’t have figured that one out.” His voice lowers in resignment, “Maybe this is my fault–”

“No–”

Your protest is swift, but he plows right over you, “I’ve babied you. Maybe it’s because you’re my favorite or because you were just a kid when you started. I let you get away with too much over the years because you’re a damn good writer. But that stops now, I’m going to treat you like all the rest of the idiots in this place.” His hand waves around the room before pointing right at you. “You’re going back to that studio, and you’re going to keep your dick in your pants and get those interviews done. If you want to play kissy face, you do it on your own time. You got me?”

Your mouth drops open, disbelief palpable. “You're still going to make me finish?”

“Damm, right I am,” Hopper affirms, not missing a beat. "If I hand your work off, it raises questions. Big, messy questions. What do I tell downtown when they ask why the piece was reassigned? Unless you’re ready to come clean to Harrington?”

Your lip goes between your teeth as your head shakes.

“I thought so.” Hopper leans back in his chair, his gaze fixed on the ceiling. "This could be both our necks," he mutters, concern filling his voice.

Your head shakes, but your determination is clear. "It won't."

“It better not. I don’t want to hear another word about it until that last story is on my desk. Are we clear?”

Your jaw clenches, the reality of the situation hitting hard. "Crystal."

Hopper's gaze remains fixed on you, ensuring his point has been made. "Good," he says, his voice softening, "Now go on, get out of here. Deal with whatever mess you've got going on. Just make sure it's sorted by Monday."

Your key slides into the lock and you turn it slowly, the tumblers falling into place with a series of soft clicks. You pause, leaning your forehead against the chill of the metal door, grappling with a rising queasiness that sours your stomach.

A wave of home's warmth engulfs you, mingled with the earthy aroma of herbs and roasting potatoes. The vibrant strains of Queen accompany Steve's honeyed tones floating down the hall from the kitchen.

"Welcome home, ace. I was beginning to wonder where you were," his voice, laced with a touch of concern, greets you, “Busy day? Did you write me a Pulitzer?”

Your messenger bag slides from your shoulder, giving into gravity with a loud smack against the hardwood.

His voice grows nearer, warmer as he moves down the hall, the floor lightly creaking with each footfall. “I swung by the Athenian Room, grabbed us Chicken Kalamata, and I have a bottle of Chardonnay breathing.”

Your favorite. Your heart sinks further, receding behind your ribcage, unworthy of his care or devotion.

He stops short when he rounds the corner into the foyer, taking you in, his eyes reflecting your disheveled state.

"I didn’t get the dry cleaning," you admit, struggling to keep your voice steady. "I was... too late."

For a heartbeat, he's silent, but his eyes remain tender. “Hey, that's alright, ace. I'll just skip the gym in the morning and swing by the cleaners before work. Are you okay?”

Traces of the day find a path down your cheeks as you sniffle and draw the cardigan tighter around yourself. "I got caught in the storm."

“Did you forget your coat?” He draws closer as you give a small nod. His hands slide up your biceps, continuing on to wrap around you. “You're frozen.” He uses his thumb to lift your chin. “How about a hot shower, yeah? I'll keep dinner warm. You'll feel better after you eat.” His mouth begins to near yours, but you turn your face away.

"I think I'm coming down with something," you manage, your lies teetering atop your mounting guilt. "My throat is sore."

Concern etches his features, his brows knitting together as he adjusts, pressing his lips to your forehead. “You don't feel hot.”

Pulling away, you bury your face into his shoulder. "I think I'll just shower and go to bed."

“If that's what you want,” he presses a kiss to the crown of your head, though his tone is threaded with disappointment. “Go on up. I'll bring you some water and a couple of Tylenol.”

“Thanks, Steve,” you step away with a weight in your chest. “I'm really sorry.”

“Don't worry about it.” He waves off your apology, his smile faint but sincere. His arms fold over his chest as he turns back toward the kitchen.

As you climb the stairs, the music snaps off, replaced with the distant roar of a sports game, the announcers' voices carrying up the stairwell.

The embrace of the hot shower strips away the cold clinging to your skin, but it cannot wash away the regret. Sliding down the tiles, you draw your knees close while your tears fall, mixing with the stream of water spiraling towards the drain.

Your life is a song made up of the choices you've made, each one a different note that sounded so sure at the time, but now the harmony seems slightly off-key. The steam rises around you like a specter. It's the quiet between the chords. And you're there, just listening, trying to figure out if there's a note you'd change or if every single one was necessary. As you nestle into bed, sleep tugging like an insistent tide amidst the drift into dreams, one truth resonates clear– the music plays on.

Song 5 coming this week! Follow @tornupdates for notifications

Thanks for indulging me with this new version. I wanted to get it right. This next chapter is going to be Steve's launch party and will explore the fallout from that kiss. I love each and every one of you and I hope Torn!Eddie makes an appearance in your sweetest of dreams. -Jelly

#steve harrington #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #stranger things #eddie munson smut #steve harrington x reader #eddie munson fanfic #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington smut #stranger things fanfic #torn series

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lambilegs · 2 months ago

Text

does it happen in a season? (part two: WINTER)

in her senior year of university, lee is ready for nothing more but yet another monotonous cycle of meeting her new roommate, adjusting, then living in separate spheres for the rest of the year. the last thing she's prepared for is: curiosity.

last chapter (FALL) | next chapter (SPRING)

soundtrack: fake plastic tree - radiohead (this is the song I was referring to here :') listened to it a shit ton when writing this chap and I feel the entire atmosphere of it really reminds me of this chapter); linger - the cranberries; lovers rock - tv girl; cherry wine - grentperez; telephones - vacations; eternal flame - the bangles

(contains: even MORE slowburn shit, more pining, 16.4K words (I know... I hate it too), set in the nineties, college!au lee, content warning for: anxiety, depictions of a panic attack, internalized homophobia, religious trauma, religion jokes)

🇵🇸 reading/watch list for palestine + organizations | more media on palestine | decolonize palestine

----

WINTER. SOMETIME IN THE 1990s.

when you hear the key clicking into the lock, you immediately shoot up from your lying position on the couch, flinging your legs over the edge and patting your hair down. fuck, fuck. your fingers mindlessly twitch and move for a second, not knowing what to do, before finally settling on leaning into the couch and crossing your legs. yes, this feels natural. at least you hope so.

when lee walks through the door, you feel the entire facade slip. a smile, one that was always inevitable, immediately tugs on your lips. you’re powerless to the urge. especially when it’s been four days since you last saw her. especially when, for once, her hair is in something other than a ponytail, lying limp on her back as a neat braid. especially when, after catching sight of you, she smiles. it’s small, barely there, but she actually fucking smiles. you can practically sing like a canary.

she sets her duffel bag near the door, sliding her shoes off and placing them on the rack. you wince at the sight of your dirty sneakers half-hazardly lying on the floor. you wonder if she ever hates some of your less-than-clean habits. if they make her cringe or think less of you. god, the mere idea makes you shrivel up in self-consciousness.

but, lee says nothing, silently meeting you on the couch and sitting on the other side, tucked into the corner and far from you, as per usual. even when you guys watched the two movies you picked out from the video store, in a back-to-back feature filled with inquisitive staring from lee, attempts at chattering from you, and some eerily accurate guesses as to what happens in The Shining from her, she sat far from you. at this point, you know she’s most likely like that with everyone, and it’s nothing personal. she doesn’t seem to be the most comfortable with touch or intimacy. but, still, you can’t help but wonder what it’d be like to feel the warmth of her nearby.

“so, how was it?” you ask, turning your body to her.

eyes on her lap, she gives you a small nod. “it was okay.”

you cock your head at her. “how’s your mom?”

“she’s alright.” her voice sounds timid, almost as though the admission carries more significance than just a casual report. “she’s been taking walks, which is good for her.”

you smile gently at her little concern. she’s so sweet. “it is. did you enjoy yourself?”

her gaze slides from her lap to the cushion between you two, which almost feels like a threshold in that moment. her lips part for a second, before closing, then parting again. “no. not really.”

you blink in surprise at her brutal honesty. you aren’t an idiot, you know that most college students don’t exactly delight in visiting home. but, most would also have the self-consciousness, or sense of obligation to their family, to lie about it. you wonder if lee doesn’t lie due to her natural tendency to forgo social cues, or if it’s something more. if things are just that bad – so bad that she doesn’t even have it in her to either muster a lie or continue preserving the protective instinct for her family.

you pause to consider how to proceed, before tentatively settling on, “why? is everything okay?”

the corner of her lip pinches into a small twist, eyelids fluttering hard. “um, yeah. we just… it’s complicated.”

you lean your head on your palm, elbow braced on the edge of the couch. “I have time.”

her head darts in your direction for a split second, before turning to the television. “I… I don’t go there often. not as much as I should. I don’t like going there. but, I always do, for one reason or the other. even when it’s not completely necessary.”

“maybe because it’s comforting and safe?” you supply, tilting your head at her. “even if it’s a place that you’re not so fond of, you grew up there, with your mom. so, you always want to return to it.” even you could sympathize with such a feeling. university, and living with a roommate, brings along a thrill of independence. sometimes, it seems so romantic, like you’re the protagonist of a coming-of-age film, making your way in the world. but, sometimes, during the lonely nights, when you’re up studying late, mind whirling with thoughts of your future, you wish you were back home. you wish that on top of the stress and anxiety, you didn’t have to take care of yourself. you wish you could just melt into the hands and care of someone else.

she’s silent, and you know that means she’s taking a few moments to process your words. finally, she speaks. “maybe. but, it’s also about my mom. I spent so much of my life wondering what it’d be like to be on my own, and already feeling that way a lot of the time. then, I left for school, and I’ve spent these four years feeling like…” she continues, her voice lowering to a whisper, “that life followed me here.”

your voice becomes as small as hers. to see her speak about something so personal, with such tender vulnerability, twists something in your chest. you’re grateful, of course you are, but part of learning more about her comes with the ache of discovering the complications of what she faces. it’s surprising, and humanizing, but also stirs a deep sympathy in you. “why do you think you feel that way?”

her voice cracks – it’s so soft you could’ve easily missed it. “I don’t know. guilt, maybe. or obligation. the responsibility that comes from her being my first…” she sighs heavily, eyes clamping shut tightly.

you keep your voice low, almost feeling like you’re approaching a wounded animal. “your first..?”

“friend.” she sucks in a trembling breath. “it feels wrong to stay away for so long. it also feels weird to not talk to her for a while. but, at the same time, I hate going there.”

you pick at a loose strand of your guys’ sofa, lost in her words. you understand her situation acutely. you, too, have people in your life whom you only really call or meet up with for the sake of retaining a past bond you both are just desperately trying to preserve. there’s no true love or fondness – rather, there’s just a pretense coating the entire meeting, causing it to drip in a kind of insincerity that’s bred through necessity.

“I’m sorry,” you gently say, sensing from her tense shoulders that it must be a sore subject for her. “it must be difficult, to have so many conflicting feelings about the situation. especially since she’s your mom and all. it makes sense you want to talk to her, though, you know? you grew up with her. even if logically, you know the relationship isn’t the smoothest, it’s normal you still go back. for whatever reason – comfort, safety, obligation.”

her nostrils flare for a millisecond, and you start with the sudden thought of will she cry? you almost wish she would – maybe if she let herself cry, she’d let herself be held. and maybe if she let herself be held, she’d have some of the burdens that seem to plague her off her mind. you wish she’d just let it release. maybe she does, but just not with you. the thought causes a bit of a sting, but you know it’s ridiculous of you to be upset over it. regardless, you just hope she gets a release.

finally, she speaks, quietly mumbling, “thanks.” her voice raises to a clearer level. “I just… I don’t know.” she blinks back at the television before abruptly standing up. “I’ll just change.” she stills, glancing at your knees. “we can watch something after?”

she may as well ask you if you’re planning to breathe. the fact that she actually enjoys watching things with you to the point of asking for it makes your chest warm. for a moment, such an idea feels surreal. two months ago, you barely got a word out of her, and now, on this cold november night, she’s going out of her way to watch something with you. it feels almost impossible to comprehend.

you nod eagerly. “yes, yes, of course.”

her lips clamp together in a tight, formal smile before grabbing her duffel bag and heading to her bedroom.

and as usual, you look out for her as she leaves.

–

lee knows it probably sounds a bit odd, but if she likes the class, she actually enjoys studying. there’s something in her brain that gets itched and satisfied through letting so much information travel into her brain. she likes how methodical it gets – the research, the note-taking, the reading. it’s a part of the world she can make sense of. there’s a neat, structured process, and she just allows herself to get swept up in it and feel the rush of learning something new.

there’s one particular library on campus, filled with wood and carvings into the wall, that she frequents almost everyday. sometimes, even when she doesn’t have much work to do, she’ll just get started on next week’s work just for the sake of spending some time unwinding there. it’s almost relaxing to focus on one subject and dedicate her mind to nothing but it for a few hours. it’s almost a trancelike activity, like a puzzle – once she gets sucked in, it’s hard to stop.

she rarely studies with other people. she’s fond of her friends, she is, but god, she can’t help but admit (both to herself and their faces) that they are awful study buddies. they always find it amusing to see lee so focused and will ball up the paper wrappings of their straws and throw it at her face, or the two of them will talk and giggle so much they get asked to leave. she’ll usually only put up with them if the work she needs to do isn’t demanding. other than that, she enjoys doing her work in solitude.

which is why she’s so conflicted when she one day sees you approaching her, bright smile and crinkled eyes. she swallows hard at the sight, forcing her gaze back down to her work. when you slide into the seat across from her, she feels her jaw tense, racking her brain for the right thing to say.

“what are you doing here?”

your face falters, and something in her aches at the sight. her words sound fumbling and messy to her, but she forces her way through them. “no, I didn’t… I was just asking.” it’s weird. sometimes, she’s able to catch what she thinks are expressions of hurt or annoyance caused by her flat tone or blunt words. but, more often than not, it feels like even more of a struggle to navigate asking someone about such facial expressions, either by pointing it out or just drawing her own conclusions. even if she feels a twinge of guilt, most of the time, she’s entirely lost in knowing for certain if the other person in question really is hurt, and if so, what is and isn’t okay to do in response. it’s not often that she leans into the immediate urge to clarify herself – anxiety and uncertainty usually prevent that. but, she supposes now is one of those times.

“I just, I don’t want to be bothering you or anything.”

she blinks hard, eyes frozen on the papers in front of her. “no, you’re not.” logically, she’s never properly studied with you, so she truly doesn’t know if you would be a bother. emotionally, though, the possibility that you could be one isn’t enough of a reason to make her decline sitting with you. she wants to say yes. she just isn’t sure if she’s successfully conveying that to you. “you’re not.”

she tentatively looks up, bracing herself for an expression of hurt or anger. but, you just seem worried, lines deepened into your forehead and mouth folded in. at least that's what it seems like to her, especially in the context of your words.

she mulls on what to do for a few seconds before deciding to close her textbook, folding her arms over it. “what�� what are you working on?”

you blink up at her, eyes a bit wide. she patiently waits on you, her foot wiggling under the table from where it’s crossed over her other. “I have a presentation for my feminism class.”

she nods slowly. her mind starts stirring with questions about your class, curiosity simmering in her. but, she holds back, wanting to try to assure you in some way that she wants you here. “what is your presentation on?”

“we’ve been focusing on media in this unit, so I’m doing it on the exploitation and archetypes of women in horror.”

she pauses, mind lingering on your words. she doesn’t know much of horror, so she isn’t sure of the many examples that exist, but she isn’t surprised at the notion. in most media, she tends to see caricatures made of women, a practice that itches at her in an aggravating way. she herself has received comments from peers on the type of stereotypes she’s expected to encapsulate as a cop, all because of her gender. comments that irk her so much she could never be bothered to respond.

“that’s interesting,” she muses. “I, well, didn’t realize it happens so much in horror.”

“oh,” you scoff, a bitter shrill ringing your laugh, and despite the subject manner, some of the tension slides from her shoulders at seeing you at ease again, “trust me. it happens all too much.”

“why do you think it happens?” she finds herself itching to know what you think, how you feel. it feels like a soft grip at her throat, coaxing and urging her to seek more of your thoughts.

you tap your pen on your notes. “I think it says a lot about how we find women in horror easy to discard, since they’re not even seen as whole, complex characters. and how we see the violence against them as more thrilling due to the power dynamic if the killer is a man.”

“hm.” her mouth twitches at the information. “almost like they’re not even seen as useful unless they’re just used as a victim.”

“victim to a man, which just further produces the reputation of the killer,” you enunciate, pointing a finger at her, leaning back in your chair with a smile, evidently satisfied by your conclusion.

her lip quirks up. it’s not like she hasn’t picked up on your passion before – the wistfulness in your sigh when listening to a song you like, the way your eyes light up and flick to her (without subtlety) when you show her a film. she knows it exists. but, still, she finds herself feeling respect at the way you eagerly speak of your assignment.

“it sounds interesting.” her jaw shifts as she contemplates on her next words, wondering if it’s too forward. “when is it?”

you flip through the pages of your notebook, finger skimming a page before coming to a stop. “december sixteenth.”

she hums in response, silently willing herself to just do it. just ask it. “in the social studies building?”

“yeah…” the word drawls out, and your lips curl into a wide grin. she blinks at the sight of it. do you suspect her? “room 225.”

okay, so, you probably do suspect her. why else would you willingly supply the room number? she feels a twinge of disappointment at her own lack of secrecy, but you look so happy, so she supposes her failure isn’t too bad. she nods, a stubborn piece of her still not wanting to give anymore information away. “okay.”

you beam. “okay.”

–

you can feel it happening. the slow, dreary days filled with nothing but work piled on top of work. you try to rid yourself of the feeling and just relax, but it’s there, always scratching at the back of your head, like a neglected cat trying to cry out and itch its way through the door. deadlines, exams, quotations to cite in the library, work. so much work.

you can see it weighing on lee, too. she doesn’t talk about it as much, but after two and a half months of living together, you can see the signs of it. the undereye circles that are darker than usual, greying her eyes. she’s yawning more than usual during her morning coffee, which has doubled in the amount of mugs she usually drinks. between that, and the instant noodles you hear her making at 2:00AM, you’re convinced she has a stomach of steel.

sometimes, when you’re awake in your room, listening to music, or skimming your notes, you can hear her on the phone with her mom. as guilty as it makes you to admit, you’ve been more and more curious about her home life since she got back from halloween weekend. she never contacted you during the trip, and her brief retelling of the four days on the night of her return was all you had received. you don’t mean to eavesdrop, but the walls are too thin to avoid her voice, and your ears catch onto things you never noticed before.

there are lots of pauses. the strain in her voice tightens even more than usual, making her voice sound harder, firmer. but, somehow, she never sounds loud or harsh. it’s always just tentative questions of are you okay? or what are you doing in the house? she offers more information to her mom than she does anyone else – or maybe it’s just you she doesn’t offer it to, and she’s like that with anyone else she cares about. you shake off the thought, and will away the bleeding jealousy caused by it.

lee actually tells her mom about how busy she is, how she can’t sleep because she needs to get an assignment done, how it looks like it’s going to snow soon. she asks if it’s snowing in oregon, and it leads to a yeah, I’ll be there in winter break. you wonder what makes her more open with her mom – if it’s genuine love and adoration, even the kind that lingers before the surface, or simply shared history. if her mom who she’s known her entire life receives uncoaxed admissions of her wellness, you wonder how long will you have to know her before she gives you that too?

she sounds like a good daughter. always patient, always gentle and never missing a call. it’s been like that since september. you didn’t always bear witness to it, but you know it’s a constant in her life. she always ends the calls with a promise of another. it makes you feel a softness inside, to see her being so caring and tender. you had suspected for weeks that it was there, that tenderness, but the confirmation makes you all the more glad to know.

it makes you linger on yourself. are you a good child? you try, in your own ways, to be so. sometimes, this small apartment with lee feels like an entrapment of adulthood you weren’t ever ready for, and all you want to do is crawl back home and bury your nose in the familiar scent of your stained bedsheets. other times, the apartment feels like the first time your foot has ever been planted on the grass after years locked away. you don’t even realize how much of a sanctuary independence is until you visit home, and when you do, it’s a bittersweet mixture of sweetly lying in the palms holding your past, but also being reminded of exactly why you pushed the fingers away before they could hold on too tightly.

a week later, you attend a protest happening for Palestine. while your friend was supposed to join you, the november chill seemed to have unexpectedly preyed upon her, rendering her sick and curled into bed. you had only discovered the news by the time you had reached campus and received a page from her, confirming her absence on the payphone. the last minute change left you with no time to call upon any other peers or friends, and so, you stand alone, shyly holding up your sign.

but, it doesn’t feel lonely. even though you’re technically by yourself, the thrum of mutual support for a similar cause feels like a sort of bloodstream, with each participating member being part of the vein. it makes you feel anything but lonely, the string of solidarity tying you to the crowd in a way that’s indescribable. even though you know you probably would have been a bit nervous to have attended alone had you discovered your friend’s sickness earlier, you can’t help but feel it’s a blessing in disguise that the change of plans were reported so last minute. somehow, being alone gives you even more of an opportunity to observe your surroundings, read the other signs, and watch the power burning in everyone’s eyes – an experience that makes your body feel revived, as though a shock was sent through it. the chants are like a defibrillator, pressing into your chest and restarting the life within you after a week of nothing but hopelessness. you can’t help but allow it to lead to another subject of pondering – sometimes. things can feel so hopeless, so fast, just with the addition of another assignment or test. what is it like to have the kind of resilience reserved for conditions that, to you, can only exist in a figment of your imagination? how much strength does it take for that?

the protest leaves you feeling a sense of fulfillment. you know it doesn’t really matter how it makes you feel – what matters is to show up and contribute to spreading the word and making it known what should and shouldn’t be tolerated. but, still, you leave it with a sense of faith in humanity, and community, restored, one that leaves you uplifted and almost running off a high. but, you know that’s not the point. it doesn’t matter what you do or don’t get out of this – what matters is to help who truly needs it.

when you’ve walked through the march for two hours, your toes numb from the cold and hands aching, you step into a pizza shop, stomach grumbling. you stand in line, eyes roving over protestors who had the same idea as you, exchanging polite smiles, and watching the crowd continue to move like wave through the window.

you blink when you see the flash of light brown hair, wrapped into a ponytail.

almost as though it’s some sort of bodily instinct, like breathing or licking your lips, you exit the line and rush through the door, pushing it open and yelling, “lee!”

the cold air immediately whips against your face, white snowflakes beginning to dot along the trails of wind as you make your way to her. even though you knew it was lee from the get go, the soft doe eyes and tough jaw immediately recognizable after nearly three months together, you can’t help the pang of relief from knowing it’s her.

she blinks at you, lips just barely parting as you walk over, nervous laughter beginning to tickle at your mouth. “hi.”

you smile back. “hey.” you look around, the chants of the protest ringing around you both. “are you here for the…?”

she nods. “yeah.”

you pop your lips. “alone?”

“no, um…” her eyes shift to behind you, and you turn to find two girls approaching you both. the same girls you always see lee walking around campus with. you stiffen, nervous butterflies erupting in your stomach. “I’m here with my friends.”

“oh, hi,” you greet, exchanging smiles with the two girls. their eyebrows are raised in curiosity, gaze darting between you and lee, clearly awaiting an introduction.

you glance warily at lee, and that seems to do the trick, her eyes finally lifting to you three and blinking hard. she pauses before saying, “these are my friends, amaya and maria.”

when she introduces you, amaya’s eyes widen. “oh! so, you’re the roommate!”

her open, friendly tone helps in making you feel more at ease, though her words pique your curiosity. your eyes flick from her to lee, teasingly saying, “yeah, why? has lee been spreading rumors about me?”

maria snorts, patting a hand on lee’s shoulder. lee doesn’t pull back or flinch, and just lets the touch happen. something in you softens at the sight. “oh, please, we’ve been trying to get her to talk more about any roommate irks she’s dealt with from you, but either she’s nicer to you than any other roommate, or you’re just that good to live with.”

the words nearly send you into a euphoric bliss, an embarrassingly high-pitched giggle spilling out. “no, no, I think I’m just that perfect to live with.”

lee rolls her eyes, mouth twitching.

amaya nods at you. “so, you’re here for the protest?”

you lift your rolled up poster. “yeah, I came in right after class.”

she makes small talk with you, asking about your major and the classes you’re taking. when you mention your mythology course on tuesdays, her eyes brighten. “oh, I’m in that class, too! don’t be a stranger, come say hi next time.”

you can’t help but smile widely. “yeah, of course, I’ll make sure to.” it’s strange, really, to think that all this time, someone so intimately connected to lee was sharing the same space as you every tuesday. it’s silly, but it feels almost reverent, in a way, to be near someone so close to lee. lee’s such a difficult person to peel away the layers of, and so, seeing and being near someone who has already done that feels like standing next to a champion of some sorts.

maria, who’s been standing near lee and talking lowly to her the entire time, lee’s only response being some hums and nods, pokes her head out to you. “why don’t we all get food together?”

you hesitate, suddenly keenly aware of being the odd one out. “oh, well, only if it’s okay – I don’t want to interrupt or anything–”

“you won’t,” lee softly interjects, eyes locking with yours. the moment has your stomach tightening, and all you can do is nod, your cheeks warming from something other than the biting, feverish cold.

–

lee doesn’t know what she had been expecting for the day, but it definitely wasn’t this. the protest? yes, of course, she had adjusted her entire week’s worth of work to ensure she could attend today. seeing you? nothing had prepared her for that.

she nervously glances at her friends as they seat themselves at a table to save it when you and her head into the line. she doesn’t know how to feel about this unexpected crossover. her moments with you have felt private, in a way, something only involving the two of you. to merge one of those moments with her friends feels a bit surreal after nothing but conversations between you two being reserved to the privacy of your home, and bubbles of separation from your public surroundings.

still, something stirs in her at the sight of you interacting with her friends. it feels like something is off, like something has shifted, but, it’s not entirely unwelcome. it feels strangely nice to watch you interact with her friends, to see the people she cares about interacting. she blinks at the thought. she supposes she really does care for you.

it’s an experience foreign to her. as a child, she sometimes had people over, but as she grew older, and her mother’s grip on both lee, and every item that passed the threshold into their home, grew exponentially, she found herself unable to handle the humiliation of letting people into such a home. in her teenage and adult life, only two or three people had actually met her mother. her high school girlfriend, or well, whatever she was to lee, did come by once. she had insisted on meeting the mother of the girl she was involved with, and with burning ears and a nauseating sense of anxiety, lee had led her through the snow and into their lonely home. the experience had brought both comfort and pain. the conditions of her home had been a private, shameful secret between her and ruth for so long, and to open it to someone else made her feel like any justifications or comfort she could have provided for herself were now shattered. any illusions she could have convinced herself of were broken now that someone else bore witness to the sight she had been forced to become accustomed to. but, still, what she had received were soothing rubs on her palm, tender kisses at the desk while they were basked in the grey shine of winter, and an assuring hug. it had both eased and lengthened her shame in ways she did not even know how to untangle.

when she glances at you, she starts at the sight of you watching her. her head immediately snaps away. she wonders what you see when you look at her.

“I’m surprised you’re here.”

she stares at your dirty sneakers, curiosity burning through. “why?” was it the crowds? the movement itself?

“well, you seem to hate crowds.”

the corner of her lips twitch. the assumption is both correct and fair to have made, considering you had seen her struggle in the subway station. at the entrance of that memory, she can’t help but shift in her spot, insecurity gnawing at the back of her mind – do you think she’s weak? “I do. but, this matters. and I have ways to… manage.”

when she hesitantly raises her eyes to you, she gulps at seeing your small smile. she looks away, something twisting in her stomach at the sight. you seem to do that a lot – smile, that is. is it like that with everyone, or just her? she shakes away the thought. it doesn’t matter. but, still, her mind keeps straying to your hair, slightly disarrayed from the wind, and the way your eyes seem brighter from being outside.

“that’s really decent of you, lee.”

she says nothing at the praise. it’s not decent of her, it’s simply the right thing to do.

“so,” you drawl, the two of you stepping forward as the line shortens, “what kind of things do you guys do to manage?”

it’s too direct a question for her to evade it. so, with a tight breath, embarrassment crawling through her, she mutters, “we, um… stay to the edge of the crowd. it’s less crowded there. and whenever we – I – start feeling like it’s a lot, we take a momentary break by heading inside somewhere.” speaking the words out loud floods her with a sense of gratitude. not everyone was as patient as the two constants in her life. she knows how lucky she is.

you hum in response, the noise neutral enough to give her a bit of relief. “that’s sweet. they seem sweet.”

she quietly nods in agreement. sweet feels all too simple a word to really describe the care they treated her with. it’s the kind of patience and understanding she had learned to not expect years ago. and then, they came in, and insisted – no, demanded – that she tolerate nothing else but the utmost patience. she doesn’t actually put their lessons into fruition, of course, but their insistence always gave her an overwhelmingly appreciative feeling.

“why don’t you bring them to the apartment?”

her mouth tics at the sound of your voice so small. she realizes how it must’ve come off to you. maybe you thought she was embarrassed of your guys’ place, or of you. she sighs at the thought, staring at your shoes. eye contact is always, well, less than easy for her, but knowing you might be hurt makes it even harder. why was she messing up so much lately?

“it’s not like that,” she says, her voice quiet amidst the bustle of the tables and customers. “I’m just not used to having them at my place. I’ve never really done it.” it’s the truth. her past apartments, what with the blank walls, new roommates and seclusion to her room, never really felt like places to invite her friends to. she also often felt uncomfortable with asking her roommates if it was okay, and besides, she preferred going to someplace else where it could be just the three of them, and in a space bigger than her tiny bedroom. with time, she just got used to things being like that, and continued to never invite them over. even now.

and maybe she still isn’t used to the idea of inviting people over to her place of residence. maybe to her, the idea of home will forever be inexplicably linked to discomfort and solitude.

“why have you never done it?”

her thoughts slide back to you, and she carefully ponders how to place her words in the most respectful way. “well, I always just wanted privacy with them. and no place I ever lived in felt… I don’t know, comfortable enough.”

“I mean, I wouldn’t bother you guys.”

she immediately shakes her head, worry seizing her. she doesn’t want you thinking that. “no, I know you wouldn’t. I just mean, I’ve gotten used to it being this way due to past apartments, so that’s why I don’t bring them over now.” maybe at the beginning, she was unsure if you’d be bothersome. but, now, it’s really just something she avoids out of habit, and the additional awkwardness she feels at doing it after having already lived together for three months. there’s also something vulnerable about knowing you’ll see her with her friends. she can’t help but be cognizant of how different she must seem around them.

you shrug, your shoulders relaxing at her answer, which causes her to feel more steadied in relief. “then, get un-used to it. I wanna see what you’re like with friends.”

her mouth twitches, raising an eyebrow. “have you forgotten they’re about four metres away?”

“yes, but we are in a crowded place, meaning someone–” you jab a finger to her arm, which sends her stiffening, “– won’t be relaxed.”

she hums, unable to resist the small smile creeping onto her face. it’s a bit unnerving, honestly, to hear you easily express knowledge about her. but, it also makes things feel a bit easier, more familiar. “so, you think you know me?”

“not fully.” she nods, suddenly freezing at your next words. “but, I’d like to.”

her mouth feels dry. she swallows hard, breaths shaky at the declaration. she doesn’t know why someone would want to know her, and she was used to not wanting to be known. so, why did your words leave her feeling relieved? did she want you to know her? after a pause, she decides that she does.

she glances at you, blinking hard. “um, okay.”

–

you nearly bark out a laugh. she’s so awkward. how can you not be endeared by her? you try not to think too hard about her dry responses. it’s been clear since the get go that she struggles with, and isn’t keen on, social interactions. and one would think that the longer you know her for, the more frequently you witness proof of this insight, the less concerned and paranoid you’d be of what she thinks of you. but, still, you worry every now and then. there’s something there, you know so. you feel something for her. and you don’t want to get ahead of yourself and make assumptions of her feelings, but you desperately hope she at least generally likes you. but, your feelings seem to constantly stir up worries that she might not, especially since you so badly want more of her. more conversation, more moments, anything.

“is that okay?” you wryly ask..

she peaks at you. “yeah.”

your shoulders sag. please, anything.

“we can… both get to know each other more.”

if it’s scientifically possible for a singular sentence to make a person’s heart light as a feather, that’s what you’re experiencing. you whip to her with a cheek-aching smile. “really?”

she flinches at your sudden turn, then tightly nods. “really.”

her voice is firm with the promise of it, and you feel there’s no other option but to believe her. “I’m flattered.”

you could nearly facepalm the moment you say it. jesus, how desperate do you sound?

she scoffs lightly, lips upturning. “it’s not that surprising, is it?”

you give her a pointed look. “maybe it wouldn’t be if I could read your mind, but sadly, all this college education hasn’t given me telepathy skills.”

her tone is lightened with a teasing lilt. “I’m sure they never made such a claim in the fine print, so you have no one to blame but yourself.”

you can’t help but grin, even at her sarcastic comment. “is this your offer to do all my paperwork from now?”

she shakes her head. “no.” she glances at you. “practice makes perfect.”

you snort. “someone has jokes.” not that you minded at all. part of you is always childishly ecstatic when she reveals her comfort around you through a joke.

she stares ahead to the counter, and you can see her mouth twist in amusement. your stomach practically flutters at the sight. it looks so close to a smirk, and that notion only has your mind hurled with images of lee cocky and arrogant. god, what a sight that would be. how would she look leaning over you with her mouth twisted like that, looking down on you? the thought nearly has you shivering.

you look to her again. her eyes twinkle with what feels like mischief. it feels so foreign a sight on her, but you drink it in, gaze lapping her up. “yeah, I can usually supply them around a half-year into acquaintanceship.”

you bump her shoulder, noting the firm strength of it. “I’m getting them after three months only, so does that make me special?”

her laugh lines deepen as her smile widens. she gives you a side glance. “if that makes you feel good about yourself, sure.”

you roll your eyes, muttering, “asshole,” with no real malice laced. malice for lee? never.

when you guys wait at the high tables and stools for your order to be completed, lee nodding for you to take the stool, leaning her back on the edge of the table, you spot her wringing her hands around her abdomen.

“cold?”

she tears her eyes away from the oven. “hm?”

your eyes fix on her hands with raised brows. “cold?”

“oh.” she glances down sheepishly, shrugging. “a bit. it’s okay.”

you really don’t know what the fuck possesses you in that moment, but this sudden need to dote on her surges through you, wrapping and squeezing without relent. you want to do something, anything, to help her in that moment. so, you sigh, removing your mittens, which have kept your hands toasty warm, then tentatively ask, “can I…?” as your hands slowly extend to hers.

her eyes widen imperceptibly, flicking between your face and hands. her lips part, then close, and suddenly you’re washed with the humiliating feeling that maybe it was the wrong thing to ask. you know how she is about touch – shit, what if she feels disrespected?

your mind is whirling in a panicked tornado of these thoughts when her small voice bursts through. “okay.”

her body is stiff, eyes observing you carefully. it doesn’t feel all too okay. “are you sure?”

she nods, to your surprise. despite her tense stature, she seems certain of her decision, and bearing witness to that makes something eager tug at you, wondering at its meaning. “I’m sure.”

with her confirmation, you shakily grab for her hands, nearly hissing when your skin makes contact with hers. this is so different from that time at the station – that touch was some sort of survival instinct, and this was nothing but pure want. her skin is so cold, poor thing. without the push and pull of an agonizingly large crowd, you can truly feel her hands – the smooth crevices of the lines on her fingers, the way her veins protrude at the back, a deep blue, how bony and long she is.

you rub your palms over her hands, focusing on the task of bringing some warmth to her. you avoid her sharp gaze, which you can feel is examining you, distracting yourself with the twists and rubs of your hands.

when you pull back to blow hot, moist air into your cupped palms, you finally dare to take a peak at her. you nearly suck in a breath at the way she’s staring at you. her dark eyes are honed in on you in the same way she does her readings, almost as though she’s studying you to memory. her jaw is set, mouth in a pressed line. but, her eyes – god, her eyes. they’re latched onto you as though you’re some destination on a map, or a pocket of light at the end of a tunnel. or perhaps you’re just succumbing to wishful thinking.

you wordlessly reach for her hands and she quietly lifts them, patiently allowing you to continue your ministrations, your breaths still trembling. “you’re a good patient,” you joke, the words too breathy for your liking.

she hums thoughtfully, eyes still focused on you. “I heard complacency sometimes helps when involved with odd people.” her lip quirks up.

you bite back a laugh. “shut up. I know you’re enjoying this.”

she gives you a small nod, an earnest smile spreading. “it’s nice.”

the two words, albeit as simple as they are, cause a bloom of satisfaction deep in you.

“am I interrupting?”

you both jerk from each other at the third voice, and you swivel around to find maria standing there, arms crossed with a smirk curling her lips.

“we were just waiting for food,” you nearly squeak, whirling to lee, who’s watching the entire interaction with a blank expression. you sigh, turning back to maria. “we’ll be there in a sec.”

maria’s eyes drift to the counter, and the large pizza box sitting on it. she adjusts her glasses, leaning over to read the paper stuck to it. “you mean this order?”

you splutter, wincing. “I… I guess so.”

maria’s smile widens, and she picks the box up. “whenever you guys are ready.”

as she walks away, your head cocks to lee, who’s staring at maria’s departing figure with slow blinks, as though she’s processing what just happened. “um, you should probably get some gloves,” you mumble, trying to move past the awkward moment.

“I have. I just didn’t bring them here.”

you chortle. “okay, then get better survival instincts.”

she softly snickers, lifting herself from the edge of the table. “yeah, those might actually be handy for a future of law enforcement.”

“glad to be of service.”

sharing jokes with her – you can’t help but feel lucky. suddenly, you don’t feel as estranged from what her friends must experience with her when you two sit with them. that, however, changes when you witness their easy banter filled with a shared history you can’t compare to, but still, they never neglect to give you context and keep you in the loop. it’s sweet, and you can’t help but feel glad that lee has such friends at her side. you can tell she feels lucky too, from the way her eyes fondly linger on them when they recall a funny story.

when you feel her gaze shift to you, you can’t but hope it carries even half of that fondness.

–

“lee?”

lee stiffens at your voice. you can’t see her. not like this.

it all started when her forensics class pushed all their reading up by a week, meaning she’d have to do double her usual amount. already, that wasn’t good. lee latched onto her routine like a lifeline, especially when it came to academics. spontaneity never worked well with her. and so, she panicked. panicked over the significant shift this extra reading would cause, panicked over the limited time she’d now have to prepare for that friday’s exam. she needed to study for it, but she also needed to do the doubled readings, since her forensics exam was the next monday.

she felt scrambled for the rest of the week. she tried to force herself to stay up and get as much reading for her forensics class done as possible, but whenever it became apparent just how little progress she had made, that sent a flood of chest-tightening anxiety through her, which would shatter her focus for the time it chose to linger by.

the reading was put aside on thursday in favour of spending the entire day cramming for friday’s exam, even skipping class that day in order to do so. she barely ate anything, and drank copious amounts of coffee, the lack of sleep from the past few days catching up fast with her.

she did the exam, felt satisfied with it, then continued her relentless schedule of catching up on the readings for monday’s forensic exam. she had a long shift at the library on saturday, but still gave herself no break, immediately heading home and continuing to work, the process extended even more by her bouts of intense anxiety and drowsiness.

your eyes were on her everytime she came out for a refill of coffee, or to eat something small with her books by her side. you had asked several times if you could help, if she needed anything, and the soft look in your eyes made her feel like she was on the examination table. it was nice of you… really nice, she couldn’t deny it. but, she wanted to prove something to herself. and in all seriousness, she’s too accustomed to her specific regime of studying that she didn’t want to undergo the process of learning how you study and potentially dealing with the stress and socially-infused situations of realizing your methods aren’t compatible with hers. so, she politely declined. when you nodded in understanding, a slight frown on your face, she was gripped with the desire to forgo studying for a few minutes to make it disappear. but, she couldn’t. it felt like she couldn’t do anything for herself.

on sunday night, it felt like things were finally taking a somewhat positive turn. she only had one reading left, and it was the shortest one, so she would wake up early on monday, skim it, then go over her notes once more before the 9:00AM exam. she went to sleep with those assuring thoughts on her mind.

except, she forgot to set her alarm. and then, she slept in.

this led to her laying on her bed for ten minutes, the struggle to breathe squeezing at her chest, forcing herself to release the air in steady, consistent breaths. her eyes were blown out and her hands were wringing and pulling at each other, body feeling like it was suddenly afloat and not really attached to earth.

after she took a cold, cold shower, trying to make her body feel something other than sheer fear, she dressed and went straight to campus. she awkwardly stood at her professor’s desk, fingers thrumming against her black coat, quietly explaining what had happened and asking for another chance. she wondered if she should beg, plead, list her credentials – but, decided straight and to the point would do better in preventing a waste of either of their time. besides, she could never convincingly do some of those things in the first place, so why try? she felt sure in how she proceeded.

at least, until he said, “you don’t seem that desirous to retake it. and even if you were, I don’t give redos unless there was prior notice or a medical condition involved. if I allowed every student to miss an exam with the excuse of sleeping in, this classroom would be empty on exam day, miss harker.”

she came home. had another… attack, so it seems to be. then, sat on her floor, back braced against her bed, staring blankly at the wall, trying to intentionally even out her breaths.

it’s now been two hours, and her mind is whirling with thoughts. she knows it’s not objectively that big a deal. she took a lighter load for the spring semester, so if she fails her forensics class, she can just retake it then. but, still, disappointment and shame seep through her. she’s meant to do better than this. she’s meant to be a good student, one who people can take pride in. one who she herself can take pride in. her friends, even you, have always praised her for her focus, her responsibility. how will she face anyone? is this what she left her mom in oregon for?

and that – that is the thought that breaks her. tears slip down her face, and she silently lets them roll down. the image of ruth harker in her head, living in their tarnished home, just waiting for her daughter to return home every break, every long weekend. the mother she left to fend for herself, equally parts ashamed of her decision and happy to leave. and here she is, being neglectful of her alarms, sleeping in, missing an exam. she should’ve done better, should’ve made her decision to leave worth something. worth something that at least can carry the same weight of the shame and guilt that plagues her everyday when she thinks of her mother back home, all alone.

she starts when you knock at the door, your voice ringing on the other side. “lee? are you in there?”

she’s always home around this time, you both know that. the question is merely a formality.

“yeah,” she mutters, her voice raspy.

“can I come in?”

she tenses up, eyes scanning her bedroom. it’ll be the first time you’ve seen it if she says yes. it’s clean – no late nights can erase her aversion to a mess.

it’ll also be the first time you’ve seen her in such a state. she wipes the back of her hand along her face. part of her just wants to be left alone, so she can cope with these emotions as she always does. just silently letting them exist, and ride them out in the silence of her room and the chaos of her mind. but, another part of her, a part that’s growing more and more apparent, wants someone here to tell her it’s okay, that things will be alright. she wishes she could call her mom. she wishes she could tell her mom these things, and admit just how lonely she is here, how hard things are.

she’s suddenly struck by such an acute sense of loneliness that she begins to truly linger on letting you in. not solely because of feeling alone – but, also, because it’s you. you, who has seen her panic on the subway. you, who has treated every facet of her with understanding.

she hesitates, then tentatively says, “yes.”

when you enter, your eyes curiously peer around the room and she suddenly feels self-conscious. there’s not much in here at all – no art, no photos, not many trinkets. what do you think of that?

your inquisitive search doesn’t last for long before your gaze finds her, and your eyebrows immediately furrow. “oh my god, what happened?”

she freezes as you sit next to her. “I, um…” her nostrils flare as she inhales a short breath. “I forgot to set an alarm. I didn’t wake up in time for my exam. my professor won’t let me retake it, so I'll probably fail.” the last word comes out as a shaky breath, and she avoids you, humiliation drowning out any other emotion.

“what the fuck?” you hiss. “why?”

her voice lowers. “he said it’s not a valid excuse.”

“yes, it is!” you press, your voice reaching a higher octave. “you’ve been working yourself to death, and it was a genuine mistake, and–”

“I have no way to prove that,” she gently intervenes, finally locking eyes with you. she doesn’t know how she looks, but however she does manages to make you falter. she doesn’t want you to falter, though, not because of her. so, she adds, “but, yeah, I get feeling upset.”

“are you not?”

“I’m embarrassed,” she whispers, eyeing her brown socks. it feels so hard to admit such an honest feeling, and she cringes at it.

“don’t be,” you immediately respond, the words hard and earnest. “we all have slip-ups like this. uni is fucking hard, and you’d be shocked at how many classes I’ve skipped, how many times I’ve missed handing in an assignment and had to weasel my way through it. we all have moments like that – yours just happened to be on an exam day. you’re probably worn out, and the fact you slept in is a clearcut sign you’re overtired. and that’s because you have been working hard. too hard, if you ask me,” you add quietly. “it’s not embarrassing at all. you were just tired and an accident happened. that’s it.”

that’s it. you make it sound so simple. weakly, she murmurs, “but, I should’ve done better or at least more.”

“more than studying every single waking moment of the week?” you question gently, and that makes her mouth tighten, a burst of stubbornness making it hard to accept how right you are. “it was an accident, lee.”

“I should’ve been more responsible.”

“you are, like, one of the most responsible students I’ve met. this wasn’t a case of you being irresponsible. if you hadn’t been so overtired, you would’ve remembered it. meaning that this is just a case of you being overtired.”

she sighs, turning away. you’re right, of course you are, but it’s hard to accept such a weighty mistake without placing the responsibility on herself.

you snicker, poking her arm. “stop being stubborn.”

“I’m not.”

“uh huh.” you pause, and she feels your eyes on her. in the aftermath of her vulnerable confession, she feels like curling in on herself and hiding away. “what will happen, though? if you fail?” the last words are quiet.

she breathes in shakily. “I have enough room to shift it to my next semester.”

a whoosh of air exits you. “thank god. see?” you tilt your head down, forcing her adrift gaze to meet yours. she gulps down at the sight of your smile. “it’ll all work out.”

she nods, eyes fluttering shut, trying to absorb your words. it’ll all work out.

“can I hug you?”

her eyes snap open, surprise coursing through her. it’s a sudden request, but she supposes not totally unreasonable. people usually hug those they’re comforting. she waits for the familiar sense of discomfort to rouse her into a polite decline. but, it doesn’t come. she takes a moment to digest this. it doesn’t come, just as it doesn’t with her friends or her mom. should she give in, then?

partially curious, partially craving more comfort (though, she’ll never admit it), she says, “um, sure.”

you shift closer to her, so that your arms brush together, the fabric of your long sleeves doing nothing to lessen her awkwardness about it. your arms freeze midway, and she braces herself for it. finally, you wrap one arm around the back of her shoulders, and the other around the front of her neck, your grip loose and gentle. you pull her in, and she lets herself lean into your body heat, resting her head on her shoulder, tucked into the curve of your neck. the scent of your soap fills her noses, and she feels the cold of her cheeks lessen against your warm skin and the fabric of your sweater. her body is tense and hard in your embrace at first, but after a few moments of you rubbing her arm, she relaxes, body loosening and sagging into you, the exhaustion of the past few days hitting her with full force.

and so, you two sit like that for a long while, the pale, white light of the winter day filling her room and casting its glow on you both.

–

when you wake up, you immediately flinch at the sight of lee’s face right next to yours. after some bleary, confused pondering, you remember what happened just hours before. you insisting she lay in her bed, then asking tentatively if you can hang out in her room, her just as hesitantly accepting the offer. listening to your walkman as she fell asleep soundly, watching as she curled into the cutest fetus position. and, of course, inevitably, falling asleep yourself, sinking down into her beige blanket.

she’s still asleep, her hands resting by her face, knees lifted to her stomach. you smile at the sight. she sleeps like a little kid, so innocently. her fingers twitch and fidget, and you wonder what she’s dreaming about. you hope her subconscious musings are far from exams, school and the anxiety.

her breaths are deep and steady, long lashes curved in the loveliest way. does she even realize how pretty she is?

your hand practically itches to raise and intertwine your fingers with her long ones. she felt so smooth and right in your hands the day you warmed them. you want more. but, no, you won’t take. not like this, when she’s still asleep.

you slide your most recent mixtape into your walkman, autumn leaves doodled all over the case. Linger by The Cranberries flows into your ears as your eyes take in lee’s room. she’s minimalist, to say the least. it’s not all that surprising, but you wonder why she has such a lack of personal objects. your eyes move to her desk, curiously taking in her copy of the bible. is she religious? from how she made it sound, it had seemed like she was only raised religious. but, perhaps you were wrong and had judged wrongly due to her being a lesbian. she very much could still be religious, you suppose.

you wonder if she’d find your own stances on faith off-putting if it turns out she really is religious. you no longer find yourself particularly attached to any belief system, and the question of whether god exists or not is one you sometimes contemplate on, but still have no real answer for. sometimes, when you find yourself silently praying to some invisible force in a time of need, you’re faced with the question of whether or not that god is someone, or something, you truly want to believe in, or just feel obligated to. like, this silent existence lurking over your shoulder, waiting for you to finally believe in them.

you find yourself so entrapped in the whirlwind of contemplation that you don’t even notice lee waking until she shifts near you, legs stretching out. her eyes are wide as she takes in your figure, which is probably shadowed now from the dim light of the sun setting so early. she seems surprised at the sight of you at first, before understanding seems to dawn on her face. her ponytail is mused, so much of her hair falling out as she rolls onto her back, her turtleneck rising up her stomach. you gaze into your lap, trying not to stare. god, how easy it would be to roll over her in her small mattress, watching her hair become more disarrayed.

you force yourself to speak. “rested well, sleepyhead?”

she releases some indiscernible, mumbled words, groaning.

you laugh. “come again?”

“mm. I slept well.” she rasps her fingers along her stomach, eyes pausing on your knee. “thank you. for before, and for staying.”

“anytime.” and you mean it. you know she’s not one to confide in someone easily, so part of you is immensely honoured she stored such trust in you today.

she sits up, resting her back on the headboard. “you drool in your sleep, you know?”

you immediately reel back, scoffing. “how would you know? you were passed out when I fell asleep.”

her lips quirk up. “I woke up at one point. you were making a puddle all over the pillow.”

you bristle at the comment. “you know, the ‘thank you’ would’ve sufficed.”

she chuckles quietly, sagging back. “just… keeping you on your toes.”

“someone certainly seems to be in a better mood now.”

“I am. thank you.”

the words are quiet, said with genuine gratitude. you soften at them. god. you’re such a fool for her. “you’re welcome.”

you lift yourself from the bed, rising on your toes to stretch long and hard, pulling your arms back. you shut your eyes in satisfaction, and when you open them, you giggle at the sight of lee staring at her wall, pointedly turned away from you. “such a gentleman you are, harker.”

she rolls her eyes. “are you finished?”

“mhm, yeah.”

she turns back to you, and desire stirs in your abdomen again at the sight of her intense gaze, feeling as though it could burn right through you. you’d do anything to have the focus of that gaze sharpened by desire. if you pretend hard enough, you can maybe fool yourself into believing that’s what it is right now.

you force your focus to the window in her bedroom. it’s snowing, the darkening evening flowing with tiny flakes and sending your neighbourhood into a little fairy land. you watch it in wonder for a few moments before meeting her gaze. “do you want to go for a walk?”

the street lamps cast a golden glow on the street, the snowflakes more apparent under their light. the streets are coated in a blanket of milky-white snow, almost like a soft cushion you could fall into. you know you ought to be rehearsing for tomorrow’s presentation, not taking a stroll with lee, but you can’t help but give into this moment with her. besides, after the presentation, you’re a free bird and done with the semester – that knowledge gives you a sense of freedom in choosing how to spend your time now.

you two walk quietly like that for an hour or so, feet kicking up the snow. you stop once at a stall near campus for some warmed donuts and coffee. you joke with her that this is preparing her for her FBI-diet, and she laughs lightly.

“my house back at oregon looks like this. with the snow and everything.”

“it sounds beautiful.”

she nods, eyes roving along the white plane extending from the bench you two are seated on. “it is.”

“do you miss it?”

“sometimes.” she sighs quietly. “other times, I’m just glad to have left. but, around christmastime, it was nice. just covered in snow, only her and I.”

“your mom?”

she nods, lips pursing. “yeah, my mom.” she fiddles with the sleeve of her jacket. “and you? do you miss home?”

“sometimes,” you repeat after her. “I don’t know. sometimes I feel like being an adult is just such a burden, and I want nothing more than to go back home and continue being without responsibility. but, I know with that, comes less autonomy too, so it has its pros and cons.”

she hums thoughtfully. “it’ll get easier with time. right now, it still feels new, but I’m sure you’ll adjust.”

“thanks.”

she nods, letting the silence simmer before speaking again. “it’s easy to miss home when away, even if you know it’s hard there.”

you laugh, no real joy attached to the noise. “yeah, nostalgia just makes everything seem nicer.”

“but, like you said, familiarity too. when you’re always moving and meeting people, constantly dealing with something new, the home you grew up in can feel a lot more comforting. even if it… stifled you back then.”

“yeah,” you agree in a whisper.

she closes her eyes, letting the chilled breeze brush along her face. in the white light of the moon, her cheeks are kissed with the faintest pink, those hard lips softened in the calm of the night. it reminds you of that night at the party when the two of you got high, and you felt like all her worries had dissipated.

“I wish I had a camera, so I could photograph this moment,” you blurt out, your words breaking the silence and sending you slightly cringing.

she keeps her eyes closed. “when do you get paid next? maybe you can find a used one.”

you snort at her practical answer. “it was meant to be a tender sentiment.”

“oh, I see.” she smiles lightly before her face eases back into one of relaxation. “it was.”

you’re suddenly struck with an idea, one that makes your cheeks ache with amusement. you start quietly reaching down to the ground, picking up a ball of snow and patting it into shape.

“what are you doing?” she questions, eyes still shut.

in a flurry of adrenaline, you throw the snowball at her chest. she jerks back, eyes flying open and skimming along her chest in surprise before meeting yours. her face is blank, and you wouldn’t be able to detect even a wisp of the thoughts in her head had it not been for her slowly standing up, idly scooping up the snow gathered on the bench’s arm. “maybe you should start running.”

you don’t think twice, scurrying away through the snow-covered field, laughing in wild anticipation. you turn back, yelping at the sight of lee easily catching up to you. damn her for jogging all the time.

her aim is all too perfect, her snowball smacking right into your back in a whirl of flakes. you stumble at the impact, still squealing in delight.

and so, you two continue like that for a while, until you’re both drenched and tired, the walk home filled with attempts at a rematch from you, and lee trying to escape your efforts.

the next day, your friend in your feminism class is practically shaking your shoulders, encouraging you without a moment’s pause. your stomach is swarming with buzzing bees of anxiety, filling you to the brim with worried thoughts.

“you can do it,” she says, nails tight in your shoulder. “I’ll be watching the entire time, and I’ll clap so loudly at the end, and–”

“ow, ow, my shoulders,” you whine, writhing out of her grip.

“oh, sorry,” she sheepishly says, sliding her hands down to your forearms, clutching tightly. “just know, I’ll be right at the front the entire time.”

“yes, mom.” you drawl out teasingly, your heart flooding with gratitude and affection.

when your name is called by the professor, you smooth down the creases on your shirt, exchanging firm nods with your friend and heading up on the small platformed stage in your lecture hall. your eyes scan the crowd hopefully. you thought lee’s question from a few weeks ago was asked with the intent of attending your presentation. then, again, you had been the one to supply the information about your room number, so maybe her question regarding the building was pure curiosity or just a formality. a small part of you feels wounded at the harsh reality. why did you always get your hopes up so damn much?

shaking the thoughts, and its accompanying sadness, off, you introduce yourself, and say, “and today, I’ll be discussing the portrayal of women and femininity within horror films.” you force yourself to skim your eyes over the crowd, but whenever you make eye contact with someone, you internally wince. nerves are still fluttering in your gut, but you try your best to ignore them, especially after you undergo the mild humiliation of finding yourself distracted by your thoughts for too long a moment, your professor’s clearing of her throat urging you to look back down on your cue cards.

your eyes dart up when the backdoor creaks open, and your heart nearly zips up your throat at the sight of lee. she’s in a button-up and slacks as per usual, her long black trench coat wrapping around her. when some people look to the back due to the noise, you can see her jaw lock, probably feeling embarrassed at being the subject of attention. but, then, she locks eyes with you, and her lips press into a small smile, giving you a nod – whether it’s one of encouragement or acknowledgement, you don’t know. but, she’s here. that’s all that matters. she sits in the back row, arms crossed over the desk, leaning in, eyes focused on you.

you breathe in deeply, feeling as though it’s almost possible to vividly experience the expansion of your lungs in that moment, then continue speaking. “now, we’ll start off by exploring different archetypes…”

as you speak, you intentionally will your eyes to continue skipping along your peers’ faces. whenever you falter in your words, or feel suddenly struck with a feeling of awkwardness, your eyes latch onto your friend, and, of course, lee. lee who watches you carefully the entire presentation, slowly nodding to your points.

when you move to the good representation of women in horror, you add, “an example of a complex female lead in horror is clarice starling from The Silence of the Lambs,” purposely making eye contact with lee, whose lips curl into a soft grin.

when you’re done, and have been sufficiently congratulated and praised by your friend, which triggers a tight hug between you two, you shuffle up the steps to lee, who’s standing up as you approach, her smile wide. “hi. you came.”

she shrugs. “I wanted to see.” she looks up, cocking her head, a stream of hair brushing past her cheek. you want to move it away so bad. “besides, you knew I was coming.”

“no,” you corrected. “I hoped you’d come. but, you had me wondering there for a second.” you feel suddenly bashful at the confession, at letting her know you had truly harboured a desire for her to come.

she seems to feel the same way, hands fidgeting with her sleeve. “sorry. the subway ran late, and I, uh – I brought you this.”

she hands you a chocolate bar, and you could nearly jump her bones right there. you nearly sigh at your own thought – god, you’re deranged. you turn the bar in your hands, rubbing the plastic. “hershey’s cookies and cream?”

she gestures awkwardly at it, movements stilted and stiff. “maria said it was good. it’s a new flavour.”

“we can share it, then.”

her mouth twitches. “okay.”

you drag your friend to the back row, and the three of you sit together for the rest of the presentations. friendly as ever, your friend jokes with lee about any horrible living habits you have, and you know she must be doing a pretty good job, because lee actually jokes back, which incites many well-deserved arm smacks from you.

afterwards, you and lee take the subway, then walk the rest of the way together. the sun is out, shining a warm, golden line on the glittering frost of the snow. you walk together in peaceful quiet, breaking the chocolate bar into two pieces for you to share.

the only interruption is your sudden halt, lee’s shoulder smacking against yours as she stops too late. her eyebrows draw in. “what’s wrong?”

you point at the window display to a stationery store, a mini christmas tree aglow and glittering through the glass. “we should get a tree.”

the lines on her forehead deepen. “why? we both won’t be in the apartment for christmas.”

you pout, the reminder a sad one to you. “I know, but it’ll look festive, plus we can keep it after break.”

“after christmas? what’s the point?”

“it’ll look festive, lee!”

she seems genuinely perplexed. “but, the tree isn’t there just to look festive.”

you roll your eyes, crossing your arms. “is this a catholic thing?”

she snickers softly. “no, it’s just a factual thing.”

“that’s so boring, lee.”

she huffs a sigh, glancing at the tree. “but, won’t it be a waste?”

you continue pouting, emphasizing the act with a kick to the snow. “please?”

she sighs again, staring at you warily.

–

lee doesn’t know how she got herself into this, but all she knows is that she did, and now, you’re being infinitely indecisive about which tree to choose. you’re currently standing between two miniature ones, eyes roving between each thoughtfully. she had agreed to this outing under the assumption it’d only drag her out of the apartment for an hour or so. she checks her watch – between your visit to a cafe and the languid patience at which you’re choosing a tree, it’s been two.

she leans against the wall. “can you pick one soon? I want to go home.”

“please, grandpa, I need silence to think.”

amusement bubbles in her. “I’ve been silent for the past half hour, so I don’t know if I believe that.”

“I have been thinking!” you exclaim. “and you aren’t helping me make the choice, so…”

she sighs, sliding from the wall and picking up the lighter of the two trees, which is a lot more gangly with large gaps in between the branches, walking to the cash register.

“wait,” she hears you softly call out. she turns to find you staring longingly at the rich green, full, thick miniature tree. she supposes it fits more of the traditional standard, but the choice doesn’t matter much to her. “you don’t like this one?”

she walks back silently, swapping the trees and carrying the other one to the counter. as exasperated as she might feel, she finds herself unable to ignore any signs of dejection from you, whether it be a pout or whiny tone. jesus, she even pays for half of the tree, despite your many protestations. but, she ignores you and quietly insists to the cashier to split it in half. she knows you’re just as broke as she is, and she isn’t about to let you pay for it all on your own. and as contradictory as it might seem to her lack of enthusiasm for purchasing a tree, it’s still something you’ll both… enjoy – or whatever it is you planned to do with the tree post-christmas. it doesn’t feel right for you to shoulder the cost on your own.

another hour later of choosing lights (lee chooses golden, while you choose multi-coloured) and ornaments (she chooses one pack of classic, plain ones that are green, red and golden; you go for more more sparkling, ornamental ones for some “contrast,” as you say), you are back at the apartment, decorating it together. lee tried to initially assemble it, but you pushed her to the couch, telling her to relax and let you do it. she isn’t sure how exactly you expect her to relax, with all your stumbling and struggling in putting the parts together. after watching you curiously for a half hour, she finally gets up, silently shuffling in your way and getting on her knees to put it together. you shove lightly at her, begging her to move, but she ignores you, getting to work. she’s good at this kind of stuff – taking pieces of something and assembling it together, putting her mind to work in figuring out something that has a process and structure. in ten minutes, she’s got it done, looking up at you with a small smile, satisfaction and pride trilling through her.

you release a petulant huff, crossing your arms. “you had it easier because you noticed all my mistakes.”

“mhm,” she hums mindlessly, eyes scanning the tree, rearranging the branches.

“look who’s being so picky now, miss what’s-the-point-of-a-tree.”

“if we’re going to be keeping it past christmas, we might as well make it sufficiently nice.”

“‘sufficiently nice,’” you repeat mockingly with a laugh. you, then, bump her shoulder with your hand. “you did damn good, I gotta admit.”

pride swells in her chest at your praise. “thank you.”

you two wrap the lights around it together and she feels like a child having a playdate, the two of you stepping over each other whenever you cross paths when circling around the tree. she can’t remember the last time she put up and decorated a tree with someone like this. maybe it was with her mother back in high school. there wasn’t all that much space in their home, but still, every christmas, lee dragged out the tree from her mom’s closet. her mom would usually watch her blankly for the first few minutes, before eventually joining her, her slow movements stilting the process by an hour. they didn’t talk much when doing it, but occasionally, her mom would reminisce on an ornament she had received from lee’s father, or lee would laugh at her mom dropping something, and for a split second, as short and fleeting as a star winking into oblivion, it’d feel like her and her mother again. her mother who held her as a child and used to dry orange slices with her so they could hang them on the windows together. in those moments, things felt normal again. through those last years of high school, when her mother started fading away more and more, lee wasn’t all that sure why she insisted on bringing out the christmas tree so much. now, on reflection, she’s sure it’s because of what you two had spoken of. she missed the familiarity of her mom. maybe that’s why she hasn’t even resisted going back to oregon for winter break all these years. she wants to spend christmas with her mom, and maybe, just maybe, get to feel like a daughter with her mother again. to have some of the tension, and pauses, and shame, go away, even if just for a day.

“when do you leave?” you ask her, carefully hooking on an ornament.

she stares at you through the branches, your ministrations and the branches both providing her with some subtlety. the soft light of the lights shadow over your face, softening all the edges. she forgets what she’s meant to be doing for a moment, sinking into the sight. when your eyes flick up to hers, she immediately looks down, clearing her throat. “um, what did you ask?”

she feels her face heat up at your soft laugh. “I asked when you’re leaving for home?”

she falters. “two days from now.” she’s known this piece of information for weeks – she planned the trip all the way back in november. but, now that it’s approaching, some sort of discomfort lingers in her. the idea that she’ll be away from the apartment, from you, makes her feel more off than she had expected.

“and you come back on?”

“the fifteenth.” she blinks hard at the tree. it seems like so long, all of a sudden.

“so, you won’t be here for your birthday?”

her head snaps up. she had never told you of her birthday, nor mentioned that she was staying the entire break because her mom wanted her in oregon for it. she doesn’t want any sort of big deal made for her birthday. “how did you–?”

“amaya told me,” you cut in with what she can only describe as a playfully evil chuckle. “you thought you could hide it from me?”

her lips press together. “she shouldn’t have told you. I’m not set on celebrating it much.”

“fine, fine. so humble,” you drawl out with a smile.

she sighs. “it’s not that. I just don’t like… the attention. or people going out of their way.”

“you do realize that if people go out of their way, it’s not because you’re holding them at gunpoint, right?”

confusion seeps into her mind. “what do you mean? I don’t own a gun.”

you giggle, shaking your head. “no, no, I mean, if people do something nice for you, it’s not because you’re forcing them. it’s because they want to.”

“still. I don’t know, it just feels like a lot.” lee has friends, but she still experiences bouts of discomfort at being doted on, especially for something that takes as much effort as a birthday celebration. the gifts, the cake, the balloons. she doesn’t know exactly why it makes her so uncomfortable. maybe it’s a multitude of things. the fact that for most of her life, her birthday was a private celebration with just her and her mom, disconnected from everyone else. or maybe it’s because she’s just generally not used to people other than her mom treating her with such tenderness. or maybe in these recent years, she just got so used to being the one depended on at home, the one to provide the basic care, that it seems wrong vice versa. maybe part of her is still the wounded child who feels connection, and the gifts that come with it, just aren’t in the cards for her. no matter how many people try to prove it otherwise.

“okay, well, will you accept at least one birthday gesture from me? since you won’t be here.”

your eyes have that pleading look, and her resolve slowly wanes. “fine. what gesture?”

you clap your hands, racing to your bedroom. she lowers her hands from the tree, twiddling them together, nerves suddenly spiked in anticipation. she also hates surprises. so, maybe that’s another reason.

you return with a box neatly wrapped in red wrapping paper with shimmering gold stripes, an elaborate bow placed on top. lee nearly stutters at the sight, suddenly overcome with mixed emotions of surprise, awe and discomfort. she gulps, waiting for you to proceed.

“happy early birthday,” you say, head ducked down, thrusting the gift at her abruptly. she easily catches it, ignoring the tingling feeling her fingers get when they brush yours. “don’t open it till the fourteenth, though.”

“I… okay.” she cradles it gently, staring down at it. her fingers skimm over the wrapping, the creases on the paper indicating your repetitive attempts at folding. you did this just for her? she feels all the more uncomfortable under your gaze now, acutely aware of the fact that her face probably isn’t best translating the gratitude pulsing through her. she looks up, intentionally willing herself to stare at you. “thank you.”

she’s relieved when you seem more than satisfied with that, a wide smile cracking through your face. as she puts the gift down, she wonders if she ought to give you your gift now. it’s laying in her drawers at this moment, but she still hasn’t prepared its presentation, which will undoubtedly pale in comparison to yours, but still. she knows you’d enjoy the anticipation of her gift being hidden in wrapping.

she places the present on the table your guys’ tree sits upon, feeling desperate to change the topic to ward off the awkwardness of saying nothing more about your gesture. “when will you leave?”

“the day after you.”

she nods, suddenly feeling a sense of something akin to guilt at leaving your guys’ apartment alone without either of you here. but, obviously, she knows it’s impractical to stay back just because it feels wrong. and it’s just as impractical to ask you to stay back with her. she knows that.

but, still, it feels unsettling to think of leaving, especially as you two finally finish the tree and admire it, then go to the movie store for the tape of Home Alone, then watch it together on the couch. she won’t admit it to you, but you were right. the tree really is nice – a sentiment she can’t help but muse on as it glitters in its corner of your guys’ apartment.

–

the day lee leaves, she plans to take the 5:00AM train, insisting you don’t have to wake at 4:00AM to see her off. but, you do so anyways, groggy and bleary-eyed, watching her as she slings her duffel bag over her shoulder.

“oh, you don’t need your walkman?” you ask, pointing to its spot on the coffee table.

her eyes dart to it, widening a bit. “oh, right.”

you retrieve it and the two tapes next to it. one is kate bush, and your eyebrows furrow at the sight of the Radiohead one. you turn to her, waving it. “you listen to them?”

“no.” her lips fold, eyes hooked onto the tapes. “I bought it after we heard that song at the party.”

surprise surges through you, and a desperation to know more clings onto your next words. “why?”

“you liked them, so I thought they might be good.”

you try not to grin too hard. liking lee is so easy. it’s a thought that suddenly strikes you in that moment. she’s not someone whose fatal flaws you need to ignore or minimize to feel at ease with her. she’s not someone who only gives you droplets of kindness to drink up like a starved man at a lake. she’s not mean, or cruel, or even annoying. she’s just lee. hard at the edge, infinitely soft inside, undoubtedly awkward, and oh-so considerate and sweet.

you hand her back the tapes, still in awe, chest churning with affection. “that’s really… thank you, lee.”

she gives you a single tilt of her head, wrapping the headphones around her neck and tucking the walkman into her pocket. her hand lingers on the doorknob, eyes frozen on your shoulder. “I should, um, get going.”

don’t leave, you suddenly ache to say. listen to the tape with me and tell me what you think of every song.

but, you can’t. it’s too selfish and stupid a request, especially since you, too, are leaving tomorrow. so, you swallow down the words and say, “I hope you get there safely. also, you can call this time, you know? you never did last time.”

“um, yeah. okay, I will.” her gaze shifts to yours, eyebrows drawn in in a steady, hard promise. “I will.”

“good. so, I guess I’ll see you soon? after the break.”

after three weeks. the unspoken words linger between the two of you. you ignore their presence in the air, trying to be encouraging. she repeats, “after the break.”

she gives you one last long look, her eyes roving along your face, and it feels as intimate as a kiss or hug. then, she nods once more, turning and leaving your guys’ apartment.

in your sleep-deprived state, the emptiness you feel in the space as soon as she departs makes you nearly want to cry. you pad back to your room, the silence deafening, wishing over and over again that she forgets something and you can hear the familiar turn of her key.

but, it’s lee, and you know that even if she did forget something, she’d ensure she makes that train for her mom.

you turn on Pablo Honey, curling into your bed and hoping she, too, is listening to the tape. at least then, it can feel like the two of you are listening to it together.

when you wake up again after sleeping in all too late, weeks of packed schedules and due dates compounded into what feels like an everlasting slumber, you lay on your back for a while. lee was just a stranger four months ago. now, she’s someone whose absence makes you ache and the apartment feel abandoned.

you go through your normal motions of the day, making coffee and breakfast, then sitting down to finish the second half of Home Alone 2 that you didn’t get to complete with her the day before. it feels different, and weird, to not have her there, rolling her eyes at your commentary. you sag into the couch, sulking, longingly staring at your guys’ christmas tree.

but, something seems off. your eyes flick down and you leap out of your seat at the sight of a box neatly wrapped in plain brown paper. on top of it, your name is scrawled in lee’s handwriting, a little note on top. you gingerly pick it up, holding it like some ancient artefact.

I know you’ll probably be too excited to wait for Christmas before opening this, so you have the ex-Catholic’s permission to do so whenever you want. I’m not really good with this kind of stuff, but thank you for being my friend. I hope your break and trip home go well.

you laugh at the note, nearly kissing it out of the sheer joy bursting through your body and sending you so much energy that your prior sadness feels like a lifetime away. you set the note down, immediately setting to carefully unwrapping the gift. you’d rather do it alone in the privacy of the apartment, away from any prying eyes at your childhood home, anyways.

when you behold the gift in your hands, your eyes gush with tears, dry lips aching with how hard you grin.

it’s a film camera.

–

whenever lee visits, her mom embraces her as though it’s been years. lee feels both accustomed to and like a craving in her is sated by her mom’s affection. her mom pets her hair like she’s a child again, and she asks after lee’s classes, even lee’s roommate. lee gives her a rundown of the former, but chooses to vaguely allude to the latter. she’s scared of what her mother will see on her face if she speaks of you. most of all, she’s terrified of what she herself will feel if she talks about you. will she feel shame under the gaze of her mother? fear? she doesn’t want to feel those things when talking about you.

on christmas day, her mom has them sit together in the living room, the television softly playing in the background, and read some prayers together. lee knows them all – they’re practically engraved into her memory from all the years spent hearing them in church and having private sessions just like this with her mother. when her mom reads them, lee is torn between spacing out and getting lost in her own thoughts to ignore the numbing words, or soaking up this moment. her mother’s voice, the worn out bible, the childhood floor she used to sit and lie upon when falling asleep with her head in her mother’s lap.

“will you visit church today?” her mom asks.

lee hesitates. “alone?”

her mom slowly blinks at her. “we can go together.”

even if she had been asked to go alone, lee would’ve still done so. one might say that she could simply lie, but there’s something about being in such close proximity to her mother that makes it harder to lie. at the apartment, she can easily tell her mom that she’s still praying. but, when confined to these walls, with her mother’s wide, trusting eyes on her, lee finds that it’s impossible to fib.

and so, they go to church, lee pretends to pray with her mom, and then she sits with her, watching the television, letting her mom pat down her back. when her head is guided into her lap, she has to suck in the tears.

two weeks later, it’s near to mid-january, and lee can’t wait to leave her house. she’s started to take extra long walks through her old neighbourhood, and spend long hours in the library, just so she can escape the walls of her mother’s home, feeling like they’re closing in on her with the stacks upon stacks of items. her mom at least has the consideration to never store anything in lee’s bedroom, so she finds herself there a lot of the time, reading and listening to music. she can’t evade the guilt that doing these things causes her. she’s finally here for more than a few days in what’s been over a quarter of a year – and already, after two weeks, she can barely stomach staying inside for too long. how did she ever live here?

the guilt is made even stronger by how much her mom clings onto her. lee knows that she is missed when she is away at school. it had always been just the two of them in their pale, white home since she was born. no family, no friends. her mother had grown to distrust the world a long time ago after she had gotten brutally cut off, so as a child, lee had always been used to their isolated life. but, after enduring a lot, perhaps too much, during lee’s childhood, her mom had started to pull back from what was once normalcy. she stopped throwing anything away, and got upset if lee tried to. she started to have this haze veiling around her, and so often, got lost in her own thoughts – but, in a way that made lee feel like she was lost and couldn’t escape. she latched onto lee tighter and tighter, for now it was not just solitary and a rejection of the world driving her to grasp desperately at her daughter, but paranoia too. fear of being alone, stranded, and fear of lee being out there, with people.

sometimes, lee wonders if the hoarding is her mother’s way of trying to go back to a time before whatever happened to make her this way. maybe it’s her way of trying to go back to when lee was still a kid, and she didn’t have to watch her leave all the time.

when it’s the twelfth of january, she gets a phone call when cooking mac and cheese in their kitchen, trying hard to not focus on the mess surrounding her and just how crowded in and disarrayed she feels from it. it’s such a contrast from her bedroom in the apartment that she always, relentlessly keeps empty and pristine.

she picks up the phone. “hello?”

“hi.”

it’s your voice. the tension in lee’s shoulders loosen – but, just a bit. “hey. all okay?” it’s not all that bizarre that you called. she’s spoken to you a handful of times over the break, the first call initiated by her to tell you she arrived safely. the rest were interchangeably done, her initiating the one on christmas, and you wishing her happy new year’s.

“um, not really.”

she stiffens. “why? what’s wrong?”

your voice is small, timid. “well, I came to the apartment today, just to prepare some stuff for next monday’s classes. and I don’t know, maybe it’s because I’ve never come back to our place empty after time away. but, I feel kind of scared.”

her eyebrows furrow, worry burning through her. “why, did you hear anything? did something happen?”

“no, no. I mean, I checked every room. but, I don’t know, I still feel anxious.”

her eyes flick to the cat-shaped clock in their kitchen. her mom’s car is just outside. “should I come back?”

“lee!” you gasp out with a laugh. “it’d be hours of driving for you.”

“yeah, but you’re scared,” she says flatly. suddenly, that’s all that matters. that, and the fact that she can get to you. even if she drives back for her birthday, she’ll manage.

“no, no, please, don’t leave your mom. I promise, it’s okay. I just – I just wanted someone on the phone.”

lee softens at your insistence. you could be nice – so nice – sometimes. she sets the keys she had retrieved back on the kitchen counter. part of her itches to ask, someone or me?, but she resists. it shouldn’t even matter to her. yet, still, the curiosity gnaws at her. “what made you call me?”

“I don’t know. I just thought of you.”

she wants to ask more, but decides against it. it’s too much, too open. “okay. well, what do you want to do?”

you yawn loudly, and she smiles at the noise. “I’m kind of tired. but, that’s what made me scared. the apartment is so dark and it feels so isolated right now.”

she racks through her brain for a few seconds, trying to find a solution. “I have some lamps in my room. they’re dim enough to sleep with. unplug whichever you want and take it to your room.”

“really?”

“mhm.”

after a few minutes of rustling and soft clattering, she can hear the shuffle of fabric and can picture you curling into bed. she wonders how you look tucked into the blankets on this winter night. “are you in bed?”

“yeah.”

she hesitates, another idea sliding into her mind. it’s more intimate than her last, so she pauses, taking a moment to carefully choose her words. “we can… stay on the call for a bit. I’m talking on a wired phone, so I’d have to hang up later. but, I can stay till then.”

your voice crackles on the other end, but still, she can hear the softness. “really?”

“mm,” she hums.

“okay, yeah, that’d be nice. what time will you sleep?”

“not for another few hours.” it was only 10:00PM – she knows she still has a few hours left in her to spare. “I’ll be right here.”

“thank you, lee.”

she nods, even if you can’t see her. “yeah.” she feels a bit embarrassed at how grateful you sound. it really isn’t that big a deal.

when your breathing evens out, and melts into soft snores, she sets the receiver down on the counter, continuing to cook. when she’s done, she drags a creaking, wooden chair to the counter, seating herself there, and remains in place, just as promised.

when the clock hits 1:00AM, and her body begins to sink into a tired, bodiless feeling, she tightens her hold on the receiver. she doesn’t want to hang up. but, why? you two aren’t even speaking on the call.

she stares at the phone, perplexed. why? why did she want to remain on the call? why did it feel so wrong to hang up? the pondering only leads to more questions. why did she not want to mention you to her mom? why did bringing you up feel more weighted than it was with any of her other friends? she knows with them, there’s no romance involved, so logically, she doesn’t need to worry about bringing them up. which means, if she was hesitating to bring you up, that’d naturally indicate…

she gulps down, staring at the phone, her breaths getting shaky.

shit.

----

tags ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂)⸝♡ @allofyourthings @mykaelaaa @bloshik @drain-bby @makipedia

#lee harker x reader #lee harker #lee harker fanfiction #longlegs fanfiction #longlegs 2024 #maika monroe #s.writing #does it happen in a season?

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onyx-syn · 25 days ago

Text

Ya know, the more and more I get into mouthwashing and falling more in love with the characters and story - having a deep connection to it- I think about how the crew would celebrate holidays, more in particular Christmas and new years. And with the holiday seasons coming up, I think I'll write something little about it.

So take this

How the Tulpar Crew celebrates Christmas/Winter Holidays!

Warnings: Jealousy, this is just really sweet and full of fluff!

🌹So taking as it isn't clear as into there destination and there exact main transportation station they deported from (unless I missed that part and they said earth-) so for this I'm going based off of Earth's time!

🌹Pony Express has different transportation stations on different planets, but their main one is on Earth, so much of the calendars found on Pony Express ships align their calendars with Earths time. However, only these calendars can be authorized to the captain or co-pilot

🌹As to why that is, no one really knows but it's a tiny detail in the Pony Express Employee handbook underneath Captains Protocols Section, which was to keep check on calendar

🌹Anya has access to the up to date calendar that aligned with Earth's time. Anya still wanted to have some form of a connection with the outside world, almost like being home sick in her own way

🌹She kept the calendar so she could figure out what days were which holidays. However the reason that she gave Curly on why she wanted authorization to the calendar, was so she could updated records on all the crewmates time of psych evals and medication, which was true but she also had another more personal reason

🌹Anya turns the radio channels in medical bay just right to a music station that plays 24 hours Christmas music

🌹Is Christmas music her favorite music? No. Does she enjoy listening to it? Of course. Hearing Christmas music while being so far away to enjoy it with family and friends makes her feel closer to home

🌹Daisuke is the same way, but more on listening to more 'modern' versions of the songs, remixes sort of speak. As the youngest he would be the most appealing to gen z, so most of his taste and interests would be brain rot and memes

🌹Regardless, as much as he seems like the enthusiastic outgoing intern who always has a smile plastered on his face, deep down he felt a part of him become increasingly lonely, mostly due to the fact this would be his first holiday without being with his family and friends while being up in space

🌹Some of Daisukes games on his gameboy actually update their game during the holiday seasons to bring the spirit of the holiday into the game

🌹It brings him comfort seeing the snowy aesthetic on his game as he played. Reminds him of when he would sit on the couch and play, the window beside him displaying snow falling down, coating the ground and trees in a pure white scenery

🌹Out of all the crew members, Anya and Daisuke are for sure the ones who decorate. You don't wanna ask how long it took for them to go through the deep trenches of the ship to find even ONE Christmas decoration. Let's just say Daisuke has never been more happy to find plastic fake snow. Swansea just shook his head at Daisuke but deep down he loved the enthusiasm and determination this kid had to actually go in the back to find all of this stuff with Anya

🌹Now, when it came down to the Christmas tree, that's where the problem of decorating came to. Solution? Use the statue of Pony Express’s mascot as the Christmas tree (I think you can imagine who’s idea this was)

Curly and Swansea stared at the statue of Pony Express mascot, now covered in an abundance of different Christmas lights and taped on Christmas ornaments, with a look of wonder and confusion.

Before either one of them could mutter out a word about the look of their ‘new’ statue, in comes Daisuke walking through the automatic door with a gleeful look on his face and a star shining in his eyes as he carried in more lights and ornaments.

His attention turned to Swansea and Curly, seeing their expressions. “See you guys found the tree!”

Swansea raised an eyebrow at him, “You mean the mascot?”

“No our tree, don’t disrespect Mr.Tree like that Swansea”, Daisuke exclaimed walking over and placing more ornaments on the mascot with an over amount of tape -like a concerning amount- that made Curly question for a second just how much tape they would have left after Christmas day.

🌹Speaking of Curly and Swansea, these two are the worst ones with homesickness during the holiday seasons, especially Swansea

🌹Years back when Pony Express had the budget for it, they used to have a televised transmitter, where the crewmate could set up a small static TV panel in the lounge area and get a live feed of a similar TV panel back at home, so they could connect and communicate with their friends and families

🌹Swansea has been around so long that when he first began the job, he remembered when they first introduced the invention and took them away. Whenever he was out on a delivery and Christmas came around, he was always eager to get the transmission up and running to watch his family open presents. His wife and he would buy their kids Christmas presents before he departed. He always kept up with his kids, in what they like and don't like, even if he didn't fully understand some of their interests, and on the side to buy his wife a gift as well

🌹Swansea is both the type to buy appliances for his wife to use around the house cause she mentioned one time that she wish she had this or that for the house, and the type to get his wife an expensive new jewelry set. He loves that woman to death and will do anything and buy anything to see that look of surprise on her face, it brought a small quirked smile on his face every time

🌹When they took the transmitter away due to budget cuts, Swansea was stern and protested about it, sadly his complaints were left unanswered

🌹Anya and Daisuke would help cheer up Swansea’s sour mood during this time to help decorating and sticking tape on eachother. Swansea couldn’t even turn his back from these two unless he wanted a rough slap of tape on his work shirt

Swansea, Anya, and Daisuke were working on decorating the dining area to make the place feel more lively and get into the Christmas spirit more. It brings back memories to Swansea when the transmission TV’s were still here, he would watch his wife and kids decorate the tree. It was honestly cute seeing his kids walk up to the TV to ask daddy where he would like some of the ornaments to go on the tree.

It still made him upset that Pony Express took that luxury away, but you can’t have everything in this world.

Swansea bent down to look for more garland in the cardboard box to put on the ends of the counter, finding none left in the box. There was another box situated across from the counter over near the mascot.

Swansea saw it as no big deal, walk over, open the box, get some more garland, bada bing bada boom. It was a simple task that he could’ve done with no problem, had it not been for when as soon as he turned his back towards Anya and Daisuke, he felt a long strip of black scotch tape being slapped onto his back.

Swansea quickly turned around and looked back at the two.

The two of them were humming to themselves as they continued to decorate the area. Swansea put his hands on his hips and spoke, “Okay which one of you did that”.

Daisuke shrugged his shoulders, “Don’t know whatcha talking about Swansea” Swansea rolled his eyes at his naivety and fake innocence. Swansea's hand went back around and pulled the tape off his shirt with a loud sheer tear. “Talking about this shit”, he said sternly.

In the corner of his eye he could see a sly smirk appear on Anya's face as she snickered, turning her head away so Swansea couldn’t see the look of mischief her face had.

Daisuke answered Swansea, “Oh that? Damn, must’ve flew over to you”, with Anya adding on, “Must’ve grown hands to slap your back life that Swansea”. Both Daisuke and Anya snickered to themselves as they messed with Swansea.

Swansea’s nose scrunched up as he rocked his head side to side mocking their laughter, “So you think you can mess with ol’Swansea aye?” He asked, almost challenging like. He walked over to the table where more black scotch tape was scattered across it. He grabbed one and pulled a long black stripe from it, looking at Daisuke and Anya with a hint of mischief in his eyes now.

“You two better start running before this tape is gonna be in your nightmares”.

🌹Lets just say that a lot of tape was used that day, but it definitely did help bring Swansea’s mood up, much to Anya’s and Daisuke liking

🌹As for Curly, it was hard on him for the simple fact that back on Earth, he was a social butterfly, liked by everyone, had many friends an family that he would celebrate Christmas with. Him and Jimmy would celebrate Christmas at their family’s house, inviting one another to each one and then go out that night to drink to end the day. It was a tradition to them at that point

🌹But being up in space, with Jimmy’s new found position as a co-pilot that Curly helped him get and Curly as Captain, it felt oddly lonely. Curly wouldn’t admit it to anyone, even his best friend and Anya. Curly also had many duties as Captain, which caught him to be occupied with work after work so he couldn’t spend time with the crew and helped decorate, which just added more to the feeling of loneliness

🌹Whenever he did get the chance to take a step back from having to do work, he would check up on everyone to see how they were hanging in, always lending a helping hand with decorating, joking around. Sadly, he too was a victim to tape slapping, he was confused at first but once he realized it was a free for all, no one was safe

🌹Jimmy, however, didn’t spend much time out socializing much with the crew to his liking, if anything he despised the Christmas spirit. Only time he would come out to help, was either for Cury’s sake or for simple human interaction

🌹It was a lot different here in the Tulpar then back on Earth. His jealousy for Curly grew more and more with each passing day, seeing how the crew idolized him even for the smallest thing, seeing how eager Curly was to help them. Jimmy was in control just like Curly, but not to Curlys level, and it pissed him off to no end. How could he be so happy? Jimmy always wondered, questioning Curly’s mental strength of control on this ship

🌹It’s not like Jimmy felt excluded, Daisuke would always try to joke and invite Jimmy along with Curly, but god did he despise everyone on this ship for some reason or another

🌹When Christmas day finally arrived, everyone was in the dining room and lounge area. Anya and Curly were in charge of making food and drinks, mostly Curly, as most of which had to be done through Captain authorization. Curly was able to find in the deep cupboards of the cabinets an old recipe book that contained holiday recipes both food and drink

🌹He made a quick thing of ham and mashed potatoes, not the most lavished or the most tasteful that the crew has tasted, but it was good nonetheless and added more to the Christmas mood. He also made some eggnog, surprisingly as they had the resources for such. It was Daisuke’s first time trying eggnog and his last time, he didn’t enjoy the taste as much as he thought but he kept telling himself it’s good

🌹The crew sat in the lounge area after eating, drinking eggnog and conversing, discussing old Christmas stories of theirs back at home and folktales that ol’ Swansea might remember

🌹“I’m not that old, i’m not a fucking dinosaur” Swansea kept telling Daisuke who kept asking about Christmas folktales like Swansea was some magical being

🌹Anya would tell stories of how her and her mother always went downtown for the Chritsmas parade after eating and opening presents. Anya loved taking photos of the wintery scene as people in jollyful clothes and jingle bells. She would talk about how that parade had real life reindeer and how the people in the parade would give the onlookers carrots to feed them. She giggled back on the memories of where the reindeers lips would tickle her hand as they took their carrots out of her grasp

🌹Curly reminiscence on the times with him and Jimmy celebrating Christmas at both of their parents house, mostly at Curlys. Curly has a huge family, so a lot of gift wrapping paper would be scattered all over the floor, making a huge pile. His family’s dog would jump in and out of the pile having zoomies, they always said that Christmas day was ‘Sammy’s’ favorite day. And after that, the family would play game after game. Curlys siblings themselves were very competitive during these, which led to arguments spurring out during games like go fish -yeah, that competitive

🌹Jimmy didn’t add much to it, only chuckling and adding on to Curlys tales of him and Jimmy back on Earth, adding onto his stories from his point of view or a forgotten detail. It was almost surreal seeing Jimmy have a genuine chuckle over something that he liked and enjoyed

🌹This is one of only a few times, where the crew felt like a crew, a moment where they would all chill and lay back and have a fun time with each other. However, all good things come to an end, don’t they

#onyx writings 🌹#mouthwashing #anya mouthwashing #curly mouthwashing #swansea mouthwashing #daisuke mouthwashing #jimmy mouthwashing #jimmy #curly #anya #daisuke #swansea #captain curly #mouthwashing headcanon

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valentoru · 4 months ago

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|| Limitless ||

[CHAPTER 15]

SYNOPSIS: Gojo Satoru, a big time artist, who’s known for leaving a trail of broken hearts in his wake wherever he goes. And you, the lead guitarist of an upcoming band, who’s absolutely certain that no one will ever love you. Through an accident in which you happened to kiss Gojo in a frantic state, you both decide, via convenience alone—and zero regard for both of your managers—to pull a fake dating stunt what could go wrong? Any press is good press…right?

PREVIOUS : MASTERLIST : NEXT

“Now go right.”

“Got it.” Megumi’s finger flicked the indicator. A clicking sound filling the small car. “Going right.”

“No don’t listen to Inumaki. Turn left.”

Inumaki, who had now apologised to you for lashing out at you, leaned forward and swatted Maki’s arm. “Megumi, trust me. Maki’s never been to the farm. It’s on the right.”

“Google Maps says left.”

“Google Maps is wrong.”

“What do I do?” Megumi made a face in the rearview mirror. “Left or right? N/N, what do I do?”

In the back seat, you looked up from the car window and shrugged. “Try right; if it’s wrong, we’ll just turn around.” You shot Maki a quick apologetic glance, but she and Inumaki were too busy mock-glaring each other to notice.

Megumi grimaced, though his voices stayed his usually monotone, “We’ll be late. God; I hate these stupid picnics.”

“We are, like”—you glanced at the cars clock—“one hour late already, I think we can add an extra ten minutes to that. I just hope there’s some food left.” Your stomach had been growling for the past two hours, and there was no way everyone in the car hadn’t noticed.

After the minor argument you’d had with Satoru over text, you’d been tempted to simply skip the picnic. Hole yourself up in your room and practice the drums—just like you had all weekend—ignore the fact you had told him to fuck off in one of the messages later on, and with every little reason. You could use the time to work on a report you were doing for your friend, which was providing a trickery time than you had originally thought when agreeing to it—probably because you were essentially unprepared for everything. But you’d changed your mind last minute, telling yourself that you’d promised Satoru you’d meet here and show off to the department chair. It would be unfair of you to back out after he’d done more than his share of the deal when it came to convincing Maki.

That was of course in the very unlikely case he still wanted anything to do with you.

“Don’t worry, Megumi,” Maki said. “We’ll get there eventually. If anyone asks lest say that a mountain lion attacked us. God, why is it so hot? I bought sunblock, by the way. SPF thirty and fifty. No one is going anywhere without putting it on.”

In the back seat you, Yuta and Inumaki exchanged a resigned look, well acquainted with Maki’s sunscreen obsession.

The picnic was in full swing when you finally arrived, as crowded as most events with free food. You made a beeline for the tables and waved at your advisor, who was sitting in the shade of a giant oak tree with other PR advisors. You’d advisor waved back. No doubt please to see that her advice is probably what got you here. You smiled weakly in a valiant attempt to not look resentful, grabbed a cluster of white grapes, and popped one into your mouth while letting your gaze wander around the fields.

Maki was right. This may was uncommonly hot. There were people everywhere, sitting on the lawn chairs, laying down in the grass, walking in and out of barns—all enjoying the whether. A few were eating from plastic plates on folding tables close to the main house. There were at least thirty games going on—a verity of ball games, some with the players standing in a circled, a soccer match, and something that involved a frisbee and over a dozen half dressed dudes.

“What are they even playing?” You asked Maki. You spotted Choso tackle someone from admin and looked back to the almost empty tables, cringing. Slim picking was all that was left. You wanted a sandwich. A bag of chips. Anything.

“Ultimate Frisbee, i think? I don’t know. Did you put on sunblock? You’re wearing a tank top and shorts, so you really should.”

You but into another grape. “You Americans and your fake sports.”

“I’m pretty sure there are Canadian tournaments of Ultimate Frisbee, too. You know what’s not fake?”

She paused and you looked at her.

“Melanoma. Put on some sunscreen.”

“I will, Mom.” You smiled. “Can I eat first?”

“Eat what? There’s nothing left. Oh, there’s some corn bread over there.”

“Oh, cool. Pass it over.”

“Don’t eat the corn bread, guys.” Yuta popped up between you and Maki. “Yuji said that some guys needed all over it. Where did Megumi go?”

“Parking—holy shit.”

You looked up from your perusal of the table, alarmed by the urgency in Maki’s tone. “What?”

“Just, holy shit.”

“Yeah, what—”

“Holy shit.”

“You mentioned that already.”

“Because—holy shit.”

You glanced around trying to figure out what was going on. “What is—oh there’s Megumi. Maybe he found something to eat?”

“Is that Gojo?”

You were already walking toward Megumi to find something edible and skip the whole sunscreen nonsense altogether but when you heard Satoru’s name, you stopped dead in your tracks. Or maybe it wasn’t Satoru’s names but the way Maki was saying it. “What? Where?”

Yuta pointed at the Ultimate Frisbee crowd, his white hair sticking out like a sore thumb. “That’s him, right? Shirtless?”

“Holy shit,” Maki repeated, her vocabulary suddenly pretty limited, given here twenty something years speaking English. “Is that a six-pack?”

Yuta blinked. “Might even be an eight-pack.”

“Are those his real shoulder?” Maki asked. “Did he have shoulder-enhancement surgery?”

“That must be how he used the contract money,” Inumaki said. “I don’t think shoulders like that exist in nature.”

“God, is that Gojo’s chest?” Megumi leaned his chin over your shoulder “was that thing under his shirt while he was being a dick and shredding my chords a new one? N/N why didn’t you say he was shredded?”

You just stood there, rooted to the ground, arms dangling uselessly at your sides. Because I didn’t know. Because i had no idea. Or maybe you had, a bit, from seeing him push that truck the yesterday—though you’d been trying to suppress that particular mental image.

“Unbelievable” Maki pulled your hand toward herself, overturning it to squirt a healthy dose of sun cream on your palm. “Here, put this in your shoulders. And your legs. And your face, too—you’re probably at thought risk for all sorts of skin stuff, freckles McFreckleface. Megs, you too.”

You nodded numbly and began to massage the sunscreen into your arms and thighs. You breathed in the smell of coconut oil; trying really hard not to the about Satoru and about the fact he really did look like that. Mostly failing, but hey.

“Are there actual studies?” Yuta asked.

“Mmm?” Maki was pulling her hair into a bun.

“On the link between freckles and skin cancer��

“I don’t know.”

“Feels like there would be.”

“True. I wanna know now.”

“Hold on. Is there Wi-Fi here?”

“N/N do you have internet?”

You wiped your hands in a napkin that looked mostly unused. “I left my phone in Megumi’s car.”

You turned your head away from Maki and Yuta who were studying the screen of Yuta’s iPhone, until you had a good view of the Ultimate Frisbees group—fourteen men and zero women. It probably had to go with the general excess if testosterone in your work place. At least half of the players were people you were sure you’d never seen before except Satoru, of course, and Geto, and Yuji who despite his usual jittery self and then was doing a fairly good job at not-jittering to say he’s usually pumped up with caffeine to a point of concern. All men were equally shirtless. Though, no. Not equal at all. There was nothing equal about Satoru.

You weren’t like this. You were really not. You could count the number of guys you’d been this viscerally attracted to on one hand. Actually—on one finger. And at the moment said guy was running towards you, because Suguru Geto, and bless his heart, had just thrown the Frisbee way too clumsily, and it was now in a patch of grass approximately ten feet from you. And Satoru, shirtless Satoru, just happened to be the one closest to where it landed.

“Oh, check out this paper.” Yuta sounded excited.

“Khalesi et al., 2013. It’s a meta-analysis. ‘Cutaneous markers of photo-damage and risk of basal cell carcinoma of the skin.’ In cancer epidemiology, biomarkers and prevention.”

Yuta fist pumped. “Y/N are you listening?”

Nope. No, you were not. You were mostly trying to help the your brain, and your eyes, too. Of your fake boyfriend and the sudden warm ache in your stomach. You just wished that you were elsewhere. That you were temporarily blind and deaf.

“Hear this: solar lentigines had weak but positive association with basal cell carcinoma, with odds ratios around 1.5. Okay i don’t like this. Yuta hold the phone. I’m giving Y/N more sunscreen. Here’s SPF fifty; it’s probably what you need.”

You tore your eyes from Satoru’s chest, which was alarmingly close, and turned around, stepping away from Maki. “Wait. I already put some on.”

“Y/N,” Maki told you, with that sensible, motherly tone she used whenever you dipped and confessed that you mostly got your veggie servings from french fries, or that you washed your colours and whites in the same load. “You know the literature.”

“I do not know the literature, and neither do you, you just know one line from one abstract and—”

Maki grabbed your hand again and poured half a gallon of lotion in it. So much of it that you had to use your left palm to prevent it from spilling over—until you were just standing there like an idiot, you hands cupped like a beggar as you half frowns in goddamn sunscreen.

“Here you go.” Maki smiled brightly. “Now you can protect yourself from basal cell carcinoma. Which, frankly, sounds awful.”

“I…” you would have face-palmed, if you’d had the freedom to move your upper limbs. “I hate sunscreen. It’s sticky and it makes me smell like a piña colada and—this is way too much.”

“Just put on as much as your skin will absorb. Especially around the freckled areas. The rest you can share with someone.”

“Okay. Maki, you take some, you too Megumi. You’re a pale for God’s sake.”

“Pale with no freckles, though.” He smiled proudly like he’d created his genotype all on his own.

You turned to Yuta. “I already put on a ton. Thanks, babe.” He leans down for a brief kiss to Maki’s cheek, which almost devolved into a make out session.

You tried not to sigh. “Guys, what do I do with this?”

“Just find someone else. Where did Inumaki go?”

Yuta snorted. “Over there, with Sukuna.”

“Sukuna?”

“Yeah that sadist that’s related to Yuji in some way but none of us know how, you know the one.”

“Is he pissing him off? Or—”

“Guys.” It took all you had not to yell. “I have no mobility. Please, fix this sunscreen mess you created.”

“God, N/N” Maki rolled her eyes. “Your so dramatic sometimes. Hang on—” she waved at someone behind your, and when she spoke her voice was much louder. “Hey, Gojo! Have you put on sunscreen yet?”

In the span of a microsecond your entire brain burst into flames then crumbled into a pile of ashes. Just like that, one hundred million neurones, one thousand billion glial cells, and who knows how many millilitres of cerebrospinal fluid, just ceased to exist. The rest of your body was not doing very well, either, since you could feel your organs shut down in real time. From the very beginning of your acquaintance with Satoru there had been about ten instances of you wishing to drop dead on the spot, for the earth to open up and swallow your whole, for a cataclysm to hit and spare you from the embarrassment of your interactions. This time, though it felt as though the end of the world might happen for real.

Don’t turn around, what’s left of your central nervous system told you. Pretend you didn’t hear Maki. Will this into nonexistence. But it was impossible. There was this triangle of sorts, formed by You, Maki in front of you, and Satoru probably—surely—standing behind you; it wasn’t as if your had a choice. Any choice. Especially when Satoru, who couldn’t possibly imagine the depraved direction of Maki’s thoughts, who couldn’t possibly see the bucketful of sunscreen that had taken residence in your hands, said, “No.”

Well. Shit.

You spun around, and there he was—sweaty holding a Frisbee in his left hand and so very, very shirtless. He walked over to you, a perplexed look briefly occupying his face before he returned to his regular stoic one, then one of slight shock upon seeing your hands. He knew exactly what was coming.

“Perfect. Y/N has some extra, why don’t you let her put it on you?” Somehow the complete severity of the situation only just dawned on you when the words left Maki’s lips. You were going to have to touch him. Touch his abs. And his large shoulder blades. His large shoulders—

“Oh okay, sure.” He threw the Frisbee back to the game telling them that he had to do something. Your eyes shot to him. Why was he agreeing to this? Many thoughts circled your mind. The main one being panic. You couldn’t do this. No way. There was no way you would lather Satoru Gojo in sunscreen in front of every person you have ever—and will ever know. Your eyes flickered between the sunscreen in your hands and Satoru’s broad chest. You were not going to do this. No way in hell. You couldn’t. And yet the sunscreen in your hands had started to seep through the cracks in your hands leaving you with only one choice.

Fuck your life, for a real one.

You took once glance at Satoru to check his expression, you wanted him to retract his former statement, tell you that it was absolutely unacceptable considering the fact that you had only known this guy for a little over two months now and had spoken to him a total of twenty-three times and hardly knew anything about him. And despite all that wishing his expression didn’t change.

You raised your hand and started to massage the sunscreen into his chest. His firm chest. You tried your very best not to panic, but the sweat began to collect in your hairline and the way that the sun was shining on you there was no doubt he could see it, glistening.

“Y/N.” Satoru said, it wasn’t loud enough that the group now behind you could hear but it was loud enough that you could hear. You looked up at him, his mouth did one of those twitch-things of his again. “Don’t worry about it.”

You heaved a sigh. He was right, you guys were going to find yourself in situations like this all the time now, considering you had a track record for it with Maki. However that didn’t make the situation any less embarrassing. If anything that made you more embarrassed at the mere thought of something of this monstrosity happening ever again. Part of you couldn’t believe what you had gotten yourself into the other part told you you were insane. Of course this was your life, of course because what other purpose would your best friend had than to make it hell?

You continued to massage it into his skin. “Hey, Y/N are you good for a room when we go to Geto’s thing?” Your head whipped around to Maki as a small seed of anxiety planted itself in your thoughts. What on earth could that question entail?

“I thought we’d be sharing?”

“Well, about that. I’m going to share with Yuta, do you mind?”

Right, of course. “No! Not at all.” You forced a tight smile onto your face and looked back at Satoru, trying to focus all your attention on him.

“You’re gonna be okay for getting a room? You’re sure?”

“Positive!” You were lying to your best friend. While it felt shitty this is what you had wanted, this is what you had asked for at the start of all this, you had to be happy.

You focused fully on Satoru, blocking all of the thoughts about how you were going to stay in LA for a week out of your head and to be thought about on a later date. By now, you had fully coated Satoru’s front. You looked up at him. He cocked his head ever so slightly. His thick brown hair sticking to his forehead.

“Can you turn around? I finished your front.” He nodded then turned around. You were now met with his back. Holy shit was his back big. You couldn’t see all his muscles. Which wasn’t something you were typically attracted too but considering when he’s dressed he looks so skinny, his sleeper build was causing that heat to erupt in your stomach again. You were going to fight it off but you were interrupted by Satoru’s awkward swaying, you’d been buried in your mind for far too long.

You began to massage the sunscreen into his back, his muscles moved a little, jolting when you hit tight spots. This felt wrong. Like an outer body experience. Part of you thought you were going to double down on yourself at any moment. It was all just too much. You wanted you laugh at the pure idiocy of the situation but at the same time you wanted to cry at it. It was wrong—on every level possible.

You finished his back as fast as you could finishing it off with two taps on his back to let him know you were done—something you would cringe about when trying to fall asleep that night. He turned back to you. You looked at him, straining your neck. Why was he so goddamn tall?

“Well, thank you Y/N and thank you Maki for…watching out for me?” With that he ran back to the game. Maybe he was still annoyed at you for yesterday’s mini argument. You stood rooted to the spot for a moment before turning around and grabbing the same napkin you had used the first time to wipe your hands and wiped them again.

“Wow.” Megumi said, approaching you. “That was an insane amount of sexual tension I just saw.”

You whipped your head around to Megumi, a breathy laugh forcing out of your lungs. “I have no clue what you’re talking about, Megs.”

“That was like hella sexual. You just lathered him up N/N.”

“So what? It’s just an acquaintance helping an acquaintance.”

“Psh. Yeah right.”

“What? I’m being serious Megumi.” Your voice went a few octaves higher than you would have liked.

“Sure. If you guys ever fuck don’t say I didn’t tell you it would happen.” You rolled your eyes and shoved his shoulder. He dramatically stumbled away from you causing you to roll your eyes once again. Before he could get back up you walked over to Yuta and Maki who were now finally joined by Inumaki.

“Y/N I just saw that scene with Gojo when I was talking to Sukuna, what was with the PDA?”

You stared at him. Dumbfound.

“Well come on. You used to complain about how gross couples who publicly doted on each were, where’s that same energy now?”

You stared at him a second more. Toge Inumaki. Your childhood “best friend” and known for being a notorious asshole when it came to teasing. There was nothing Toge did better then pissing people off, which was being shown ever so clearly to you in that moment, one of the main factors to answer for why people don’t like him.

It took you more than physically restraint to not tell him to fuck off, or to sock him right in the face, instead you opted for the latter’s latter and shoved his head back, plopping yourself next to Maki leaving a spot for Megumi next to you.

You would be counting down the seconds till you could go home.

TAGLIST(33/50): @bbmsxlene @lunavelha @satoryaa @tranzumaki @k-kkiana @luvkvni @lysaray @kalulakunundrum @arysbruv @r4veeen @stillnotherapy @catobsessedlady @colortheoryrocks @minzxec @dazqa @packsvlog @luvvmae @simplysm1le @mintfyi @disenchantedzs @littlecritteryay @fackeraccount @astro-stars @lavender-hvze @miizuzu @rayrayline @kanaojacksonofc @letsmyy @serenadesvt @art-n-rot @aastrobliss @herdemisee @tikideedee

AN:

…Heh…

It feels so jobless to ask you guys to talk to me in my ask box….

Bruh this chap is SO DUMB

#⤷limitless #jjk #jjk smau #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #jjk x reader #jujustu kaisen #jujutsu gojo #jujutsu kaisen smau #maki zenin

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gardenialver · 5 months ago

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School Festival

synopsis - them going to see you at the school fair

pairing - keiji akaashi, hajime iwaizumi, tooru oikawa

content - reader is fem, I'm sorry I'm working on a gn reader I promise, Oikawa's a little cocky, second hand embarrassment slightly, mentions of infections, I may or may not have stolen the plot of hsm 3 in one of them, the schools I mention in here are fake, fluffy fluffy

Keiji Akaashi

You had told him that since it would be you two's last high school festival he absolutely had to come see you, of course he already was but this made him anticipate it the slightest bit more.

Seemingly the drama clubs booth was the most spoken of, making the boy a little nervous. He'd go back and forth from his phone, waiting for you to message him and despite Keiji's often cool demeanor, the moment he received a text from you, he stood up with so much energy and speed the chair fell, the impact causing everyone else in the room to jump.

The setter ran out of his class to the school's gymnasium, only stopping at a gray plastic table, a cloth with the school's colours draped over it, 'Senior Year: American Style'

The first years sat behind the table smiled at the volleyball team captain, "Hello, Akaashi-san, 50 yen please?" Smiling, Keiji began to regain his breath as he took out the coin. They traded the coin for a ticket, "We gave you a discount, only Ikari-san is inside" they winked, referring to the drummer's boyfriend.

Looking at the array of chairs, the boy immediately took a seat close to the front, right in front of the orchestra and right in front of center stage. Looking to the side, the drummer's boyfriend smiled and greeted him, returning the gesture, Keiji listened to the announcement that followed, allowing the entire school to know to gather in the gymnasium for the drama club's festival wrap up performance.

Thankfully for Keiji, most people had already been anticipating the performance and the gymnasium was almost full within 7 minutes of the announcement. The number of people was often the queue for the orchestra to begin setting up and that they did.

Keiji had memorized the timing of performances after 3 years of attending them. After 4 minutes, the lighting settled, a single spotlight aiming at the pianist who introduced the musicians with a wave of each arm to each side.

As they sat down and began to play a few notes, the performance had finally started. With a soft and serene melody, the pianist and choreographer introduced the musical, that was until a second year dressed in a referee outfit blew a whistle.

A basketball hoop, soccer net, volleyball net, and scoreboard, were lowered, the audience immediately began clapping for the cheerleaders who came out. They cheered for the Fukurodani sports teams, the atmosphere becoming slightly tense, as if they were at a real game.

And as if the crowd wasn't already excited enough, members of both girls and boys teams of Fukurodani came out, the audience now standing and clapping, cheering for the members of the teams out, Keiji scoffed at the sight of Anahori and Wataru also there dancing, still clapping for them nonetheless.

The fun atmosphere was upheld for the next few performances, one of them being of the choreographer being twirled around by other second years and first years in pink wigs.

Keiji's eyes peeked down at the pamphlet, getting his phone out to film your performance, camera pointed at the stage, instead a boy spun out of the prop windows.

Another voice sang but from the other side of the gymnasium, and there you were, a little flower-patterned sundress on, elegantly bouncing and twirling your way towards the stage, winking as you caught eye contact with your boyfriend.

Stepping into the orchestra, you begun to play around with pianist and musicians, your boyfriend shaking his head with a smile at your childish behaviour.

Your way onto the stage was by climbing the tree prop, the boy's face leaning close to yours, that was until he walked in the other direction of the prop patio, the two of you playfully taking little steps and glances at each other, your glances making eye contact with Keiji every now and then.

Despite the fact that you and the boy were supposed to be romantic interests in the musical, Keiji could only focus on your voice, how perfectly melodious it was, and the way your sundress would float around your legs, just as it would when you would twirl to show your outfits to him.

The two of you danced around stage and while you sang lyrics about only wanting to be with the boy, your mind was on Keiji, and every other moment so were your eyes.

The rest of the senior cast also made their way behind the prop clear door, some of them sticking their faces out, and as you sung the lyrics "cause we'll always be together" while being spun by the boy, the rest of the cast joined you.

You held onto the guards of the patio, facing the audience while the boy had opened the doors for the rest of the cast to enter, with the lighting, Keiji smiled softly as your eyes glassed over.

The first one to greet you was your best friend and Keiji was of course impressed as you managed to hold your tone and pitch as you hugged her close, you spun around the patio, hugging the choreographer, bumping hips with the cheerleader you would eat lunch with.

Two athletes picked you up, spinning you around and coming close to kiss your cheeks, a grin encasing your face, Keiji's heart warm at your reactions, Anahori had wrapped his arms around you from behind, your hands going up to his arms and leaning side to side with him.

As he let go you came face to face with the boy and he gave you a bouquet. Your shoulder leaned into him and he pressed a kiss to your forehead, that was when Keiji finally realized that the boy was your childhood pen pal.

You continued to sing, this time harmonizing, your voice clear and loud, Keiji had wished someone recorded your microphone when you sang the next few lines because your voice simply sounded the epitome of beauty.

Keiji had got up and started clapping, one of his only moments of extraversion in contrast to his usual recluded personality, your eyes going to him with a smile, a smile that you would only use with him and he returned it, the rest of the crowd quickly followed his actions.

Pulling out a flower, you tossed it down to the pianist, blowing a kiss at them, the two of you slightly teary-eyed at each other. As the song came to an end, a wild round of applause greeted you. With a sigh and a smile you ushered people off the stage, one of the second years running in front of the closing curtains with a sign that read 'intermission'

Not having noticed this before, Keiji's body was stiff, having watched his girlfriend's performance closely, he allowed his body to relax and awaited the curtains to open again.

A bright light made him take out his phone, 'curtain opens in a minute ;P' and as promised the second year came out again, taking the sign, "Curtains open in 30 seconds" He projected before running back in.

This time a more upbeat melody took over, 4 senior boys sang about not wanting to swear suits, it then transitioned over to 4 girls, you being one of them. You spun around holding a dress to your body. As the song progressed Keiji couldn't help but be impressed at the choreographers attention to detail.

The consistent changes in levels between the two sides, Keiji had never been to prom and only had a loose understanding of it from American movies but it sounded as if you'd be pampered and pretty and he enjoyed both of those.

The stage turned around and Keiji smiled at the small sight of you running off to change your costume. When the stage turned back around, the boy's eyes widened at how quick this costume change was.

Thin wooden house props were shown with a boy in front of each one, the only other feature being a small square piece that was cut from the top of each house to look like a window.

Each window frame was aggressively opened with the doorbell sound effect and Keiji had to cough to cover up his snort, the action receiving many looks from around him.

Even though there was a small moment of humour, seeing you dressed up in a very glam style was incredibly fulfilling to him. He watched amazed as always at the full stage, other cast members dancing around synchronized, it was hard to believe you were all only high schoolers.

And when the number ended Keiji chuckled at the number of students scampering off stage, specifically third years. The curtain had reopened very slowly this time, a low, soft harmonizing from the juniors up front, clad in white graduation gowns.

Cheers erupted at the sight, "Ladies and gentlemen, our seniors," The head theatre club teacher introduced, 8 of you walking to the front, differentiated by black and gold gowns. You stood lined up to his seat.

The teacher began to reveal the recipents of the top music school's scholarships, joking around with other students that had passed until the attention had landed on you.

"Now I believe a graduate who has a decision to make, Ms. [Last Name]," With a sharp exhale you stepped up the stage, only a few centimeters away from the edge.

"I've chosen music and dance," Cheers erupted, Keiji smiling up at you, "But I've also chosen archery, the Central Tokyo University offers me both. But most importantly I've chosen the person who inspires my heart,"

Throwing a pink rose at your boyfriend from the stage you pointed a hand at him, "Only 12 kilometers away from you, Akaashi Keiji, captain of the Fukurodani boys volleyball team, Atama University, Literature, Psychology, and Art Management,"

Applause headed through out and your often level-headed lover was now sinking slightly into their chair, hiding their face while maintaining eye contact with you. The wildest grin on his face and when the show was finally over, he was the one to smother you before you could leap into him.

As the two of you embraced each other he kissed your temple, "Thank you, thank you so much [Name]," You giggle into him, the fabric of your graduation gown making you slide down. "Of course Keiji"

Hajime Iwaizumi

You and your boyfriend stared at each other in disbelief. "Babe what the eff is going on?" He looked at you with an equally confused expression, "I don't know either,"

Behind the two of you laid a background of pink, hearts blooming everywhere and a large arch, bold letters glaring at both you and anyone who cared to watch, 'Aoba Johsai's Couple Contest" It read and you felt your eye twitch.

Since the floral club was fairly small apparently they had banded with the volleyball club to volunteer the two of you for the contest. While Hajime glared at Oikawa, you sent one to your club exec she gave you a sorry look with prayer hands, taking out her phone and showing it to you with large font on her screen.

'I'M SO SORRY [NICKNAME]-CHAN THE PRIZE WAS A 5000 YEN GIFT CARD FOR THE CLUB AND A PAID CLUB DINNER' Your eyes remained on her, lifeless and burning holes into her. Turning her phone, her thumbs frantically wrote one more thing.

'THE WINNING COUPLE GETS A 70 000 YEN GIFT CARD TO EVERY DEPARTMENT STORE IN MIYAGI AND 10 FREE TICKETS TO ANY BOOTH HERE' reading that part you straightened up and sent a reluctant thumbs up, the members of your club sighing with a hand to their chests'.

The volleyball club however didn't seem to have as much luck with their vice-captain who was mouthing curses and shaking his fists at them. Gently placing a hand on his bicep "Hey babe, if we win we get to have a chicken and burger party, and a 70 000 yen gift card to every department store in Sendai, and also get to go to 10 booths for free, I could get that ducky plushie I saw."

His brows furrowed at first but then nodded, your eyes sparkling at the thought of going shopping and the duck you had gotten attached to. He nodded with pursed lips, "Ok, we'll do it, let's do our best ok?" You nodded with a smile.

He leaned in towards your head before being aware of his surroundings and taking a step back, the volleyball boys making teasing noises at him.

You could see his veins popping and stopped him with an arm, turning to the boys you looked at them with a smile. A smile that wasn't persay necessarily kinda, moreso 'do you want to know what happens if you continue to act like monkeys?'

Shuddering they took a step back, bowing at you. Before anything else could occur, the announcer took place, "Welcome everyone to the Aoba Johsai couple contest, the winning couple will win a meal for their club, 5000 yen, a 70 000 yen gift card to every department store in Sendai, and 10 tickets to all booths at our annual school festival!"

Cheers rang out and you and Hajime turned around to the other couples, staring at each other jaw-dropped at the sights around you. High school couples were cuddling each other, exchanging kisses and leaning on each other. To say the least both of you were shocked at their shameless PDA.

"O-oh sh-should we or?" You asked confused if you two should be following their lead, awkwardly the two of you tried to hug, your arm sort of flailing around each other and rotating a few times. Out of embarrassment you just shook hands with thumbs up as if you just contracted to be a brand ambassador.

Your clumsiness in public romance however was saved by the MC "Our first event will be the all time favourite bridal style endurance challenge, our contestants will carry their partners in a wedding style fashion for 5 minutes, if they drop their partner they will be eliminated"

The big timer on the screen began to countdown 10 seconds and you stretched your legs slightly getting ready for them to be slightly cramped. At the beep you were scooped up and just like before you had blank faces, your hands covering your face out of self-consciousness.

Hajime was narrating for you, "The basketball team and chess club lost, the poetry club as well, actually they lasted longer than I thought they would, their legs were shaking the entire time."

"The mechanics club, actually the camping club just lost, I thought they would've won since you know they're always carrying equipment, oh they just started fat shaming each other, the light rock band is doing pretty good, so is the soccer team, the fencing club, and the theater club is doing well. The home economics club is shaking but they're still in-"

Your boyfriend was cut off by the MC "Come on volleyball club, floral arrangements club, show some more love!" You felt your eye twitch and with a shaky smile you made a finger heart Hajime snorted at.

"Stop this is so embarrassing where is that gift card, I wanna go home." "I'm actually enjoying this dear," He teased and you groaned into your hands.

A beep signaled that the event was over. "Congratulations to the soccer club, volleyball and floral adjacent, theater club, debate team, home ec, and light rock band for remaining, now we'll have a representative from each couple come and pick a mystery bag.

Waiting for everyone to pick a bag you took the last one and scurried over to Hajime, opening it, the two of you stared at what was in it, both of your heads tilting.

"WELCOME TO OUR SECOND CHALLENGE, OUR COUPLES WILL BE DRESSING EACH OTHER UP AND TAKING PHOTOS IN THE MAKESHIFT PHOTOBOOTH PROVIDED BY THE ART AND PHOTOGRAPHY CLUB, AUDIENCES WILL THEN VOTE FOR THE TOP THREE CUTEST PICTURES, WHICH COUPLE HAS BAG ONE?"

The light rock club raised their hands and went in. "Tiaras, gloves, earrings, ooh scepter, rings, necklaces, which colour do you want?" Squinting at the contents of the bag, then to the screen, then to Oikawa he sighed, "Uh, the blue one? I don't think purple suits me." You nodded, separating the two colours so it'd be easier to put on.

"OUR FIRST COUPLE IS RETURNING, COUPLE WITH BAG NUMBER TWO PLEASE GO TO THE ART AND PHOTOGRAPHY CLUB." The debate team went to the back of stage and you and Hajime whispered to each other on what poses you would do, "Heart" "Heart, kiss?"

You pursed your lips, unsure if you'd be comfortable with that much PDA, "Ok kiss on cheek, confetti," His brows furrowed, unsure if it would be too messy. For some reason the debate team came out pretty quickly, satisfied looks on their faces. "Oh" You two shared, assuming the worst.

"OUR THIRD COUPLE" The soccer club and manager began to go in, smirking at you two as you stood cluelessly and just as they disappeared the boy who's name you couldn't remember for the life of you sliced his neck and stuck out his tongue at Hajime.

You made a question mark with your fingers and he shrugged although you could see a vein of his popping out. Gently reaching out to his hand you patted it, similar to how a grandma would after giving you candy.

The theater club went in and you two followed as they exited. "[Last name]-senpai," "Oh Chiyo-chan?" You questioned at your kouhai, "I'm helping with the art club, I designed the frames," Laughing endearingly at her enthusiasm, you ruffled her hair. "That's pretty cool Chiyo, do you think you could make confetti and throw it on us for the last photo," She threw a thumbs up at you and you pressed your thumb to hers.

"Iwaizumi-san, [Lastname]-san-" "Stop being so formal Takahiro" You warned, Hajime leaning against your hand as he tried to grab at his teammate.

He simply stuck his tongue out at your boyfriend before turning to you, "You two can choose from 4 frames and 6 frames, you can choose your frame design with [Name]'s kouhai, we'll give you 3 minutes to get ready since you guys have the most intricate costume, I'll buy you ramen after this Iwaizumi," He apologized and left to talk with the photographer.

Taking out the tiara from the bag you placed it on your crouched boyfriend's head, giggling at him, "You look very pretty my love" You teased and he rolled his eyes, clasping the plastic necklace on you. Having gotten used to you constantly adjusting your hair, he brushed it away with fingers and placed the purple tiara on your head, you clipped the earrings to him.

Almost done you passed him blue gloves and began to wear purple ones. Both of you holding onto plastic scepters with your respective colours in the middle of hearts.

You gave your boyfriend a little twirl, touching your scepter to his, "You look cute" He commented, tipping your tiara back in place. "Ok couple 5 how many frames would you like, 6 ok please stand on the X marked in front of the camera" You snickered at Hajime's face when Hanamaki had answered for the two of you without even looking.

"WAIT IWAIZUMI WHAT ARE YOU WEARING" He began chortling at the sight of the tough volleyball vice captain in a blue gemmed tiara and earrings. It came to an end though when you threw the bag at his face, "Shut it Takahiro," "Sorry ma'am, no wonder you two got together" He muttered at your violence.

The first two photos were the given heart hands hugging, his cheek pressed close to yours as you both spelled the camera. He then leaned in to kiss your cheek, his ears tinged red and you laughed at his reaction, your arms hanging off of his shoulders.

As a joke you pretended to propose with the little blue heart ring and he faked surprise. In the next photo the two of you were showing off your heart rings to the camera.

And as per to your request Chiyo threw confetti, well cut up pieces of tissue paper, at the two of you as Hajime spun you. Hanamaki whispered something to cameraman who was also pink in the face, having been talking to the club member next to him about how this was the type of stuff to only be shown in romance mangas or dramas.

"We're gonna go for 4 more extra photos in case you want to replace any." Hajime sent a thumbs up to Hanamaki as you were trying to clean up the confetti with a random broom.

Kicking the broom away, your boyfriend grabbed you by your legs and you held onto his chest to steady yourself, your other sceptered hand holding onto your tiara, a surprised expression on your face and a grin on his.

After calming down you asked Hanamaki for any plushy and the camera man offered a dog plush he won at a booth. Kicking your boyfriend away you placed the dog plush on the floor after doing a lot of wiping on it and pretended to use magic on it.

Returning it you dragged your boyfriend back into frame, pointing your wand at him this time and he kissed your forehead. Bending he motioned for you to get on, he piggy backed you, the soles of your shoes pointed at the camera and so was the wand, however, you kissed Hajime's cheek this time, one of his hands squishing your cheeks mockingly.

Jumping off you ran over to Chiyo while Hanamaki, the cameraman, and the cameraman's friend clapped for a blushing Iwaizumi. "Did they come out ok Chiyo?" You asked, your cheeks warm as the realization of what happened coming back to you.

"Sorry senpai, I kinda chose everything for you since I know you so well," Quirking an eyebrow at her you motioned for her to at least show you the frame designs. Scrolling on her tablet you complimented her skills.

"Oh this one's pretty Chichi," You pointed to a frame with pink, blue, and purple mixing while ribbons, hearts, and flowers were scattered around. "See I told you I know what you like senpai," Rolling your eyes you patted her back, "You did well, thanks for your hard work Chiyo," She wrapped her arms around your waist, "Anything to witness romance up close"

You rolled your eyes, taking off everything except for the tiara, Hajime was doing the same thing except he kept the ring, "We're married now I have to show people that," You furrowed your brows but went along with it, keeping yours.

Now that you were all finished, a few of the other couples kept their accessories on, a few with matching headbands and sunglasses. "NOW THAT OUR LAST COUPLE HAS RETURNED LET'S START WITH OUR VOTING, WHILE OUR COUPLES WERE BUSY DOING THE MISSION WE HANDED OUT CLICKERS. WHEN YOU WANT TO VOTE JUST CLICK THE BUTT. ON, YOU CAN ONLY VOTE TWICE,"

You sort of zoned everything out, simply staring at the screen rather than the audience. The first couple had matching bunny headbands, the second had matching berets and just as you assumed they were doing too much and Hajime's hand went to cover your eyes.

"Oh Lord," You heard him mutter at the screen change, apparently the Soccer team had Judy Hopps and Nick Wilde hats on and the audience loved it but they did kinda makeout at one point and so Hajime's hands remained over your eyes.

The other couples passed and you could finally see what was on the screen, it actually wasn't bad. Sure it was fun but you assumed they wouldn't turn out that great given you had been mostly goofing off together.

It was actually really cute and you marveled at how happy the two of you appeared. When it was official voting time after everyone was presented, you received printed copies of your photos. The 'extra' photos you had taken in case the others weren't the best were put into a larger 4 framed film. You smiled at them, "Hajime you look really handsome here" You pointed out where he was grinning at your surprised expression.

He smiled and nudged you, "Look it's a princess" He pointed to you changing him from a dog to a human. You pouted embarrassed before the photography club returned to take the photos to put in a bag for when you'd leave.

"Well then our audience has voted and the three couples that will stay are, in third place, the theater club with their matching sunglasses, in second place the volleyball club florist club adjacent who's chemistry we got to finally see, and in first place is our soccer club with their matching character hats. Other teams please exit through the back where the art and photography club will hand you participation bags.

You stood with your boyfriend, teetering back and forth trying to entertain yourself, the soccer club had looked at the two of you cockily but you just looked at them confused.

"FOR OUR LAST EVENT AND TO DETERMINE THE WINNING COUPLE AND CLUB OF, I'm too tired to repeat it again, ANYWAYS WE WILL DO THE INFAMOUS POCKY CHALLENGE, OUR TALLER CONTESTANTS WILL PUT THEIR HANDS BEHIND THEIR BACK AS OUR SHORTER ONES WILL TRY TO GET THE SMALLEST PIECE POSSIBLE OF POCKY!"

Your boyfriend held your forearm, "Babe try not to get greedy and eat all of it," You stuck your tongue out at him but agreed. As a student came to give you a pocky stick you thanked them and placed it in Hajime's mouth who's hands were placed behind his back.

With a hand covering your mouth you giggled at how he looked, pushing him down with your shoulder to match your height. "Ok everyone is ready BEGIN"

You held onto his shoulder, your ring clad hand holding his face, "STOP CHEWING" Hajime yelled at you and you rolled your eyes. "Do vou shink dish ish shamll enough" "Nor go a litle more" Your lips grazed and suddenly you frowned, "Eughh I von't vant to do PDA" You complained, before moving forward and biting.

You dropped the remaining biscuit in your hand, it could've honestly been mistaken for a crumb rather than the remanent of this challenge. The MC made their way to you, measuring it before giving up.

They went to the soccer couple before going back to you, "THE WINNER OF THE AOBA JOHSAI SCHOOL FESTIVAL CLUB COUPLE CONTEST IS THE VOLLEYBALL FLORIST ADJACENT CLUB" Cheers rang out from where the volleyball players were and you put the crumb back in your mouth.

"Really?" You simply shrugged before leaning into him, "Thanks Hajime but I'm never doing this again." A few students came up to the two of you, placing a sash over your shoulders and giving you clear files with the yen for the clubs, the gift cards, the meal party tickets, and tickets for the festivals booths.

You smiled at the gift card before smiling at your boyfriend, receiving a bag to place everything in, you looked at the participation and winner awards, two packs of pocky in each, a bottle of banana milk, your photos from earlier and a larger framed one as well as a few polaroids of that moment, and an Aoba Johsai test notebook.

"What is this?" You asked holding it up, but Hajime shrugged, grabbing your hand in his, "Come on I'll win the duck plush for you, it has a partner apparently" You giggled at his enthusiasm, walking away with him, the tiara and scepter were put in the bags for you to take home but the rings were still sitting on both of your ring fingers.

Tooru Oikawa

"Ok so just let it dry for 3 more minutes and it should be ok just don't touch it for 5 minutes from now ok? Our class pres has some candy when you exit so just tell her which one you want." You waved the girl at your station off, to be fair you were the only one really working at your class' attraction, of course everyone else was doing what they could but unfortunately you were the only one who could paint.

You began disinfecting the brushes you just used, even if everyone you met didn't have it, you were scared of being liable for passing on ringworm in any way. You dried the last set of brushes for your next client? As the curtain was pushed open you greeted the next student without looking, "Hello," This time a more masculine voice greeted you.

"Would you like anything to eat or drink," You smiled at him, "Dou you have any electrolytes?" He asked and you pulled a few from the cooler beside you, "We have grapes, citrus, white peach, guava, and strawberry lemonade." "Can I have a white peach?"

You put the rest back and popped open the bottle, placed a straw and placed it in front of him. Grabbing a book you opened it to let him know what options he had, "We have flowery and butterfly like designs here, character and animal designs, smaller ones, fantasy like ones, ones that resemble tattoos, more makeup like ones."

Flipping through them he quirked his lips while you took out a few palettes and add-ons. "Could you free-hand but with this style?" You looked and nodded, "Do you want to add anything else, we have metallic paints, pearls, gems, glitter, and shells."

"Just surprise me, all the girls have been raving about your work so," You nodded and began to activate the paint. Passing him a headband you pointed to his bangs and he slipped it on. "Is there any part of your face you're uncomfortable with being touched?" "I'm fine with anything but lips, I'd rather yours touch those."

You stared at him confused, eyes going back and forth between your paint and his face, "Um, huh?" Embarrassed he hid his face, "NOTHING I AM SO SORRY," Awkwardly you patted his shoulder, "Um I need you to look up to you know paint your face."

He looked up with a red face, not knowing what to do with the complexion change you held a hand-held fan up to him to try and cool him, offering the drink as well. "I'm so sorry please continue,"

You nodded and dipped a sponge in a blue, green, and turquoise, wiping the excess on the back of your hand, you diluted it and then began to pat on his face, holding the back of his jaw with two fingers. Going over his eyes, his nose bridge, over his eyebrows, and lower to his cheeks.

Dabbing it, you dipped a new sponge into orange, purple, pink, and yellow and dabbed it in smaller portions with more saturation. Satisfied you took out a brush and dipped it in white, holding onto his face as you carved out parts of his face with intricate lining, the corner of your lip bit in concentration.

Fluttering his eyes open while you worked on his forehead he stared at you. He wasn't completely sure who you were, you were often in the art room during break periods, he'd see you running in the halls with a half tied ribbon hanging off your neck, some sort of new colour in your hair.

The proximity caused his ears to blush, your lips were right above him, your delicate fingers gently brushing his cheeks as you'd move his face and his eyes shut close again, what he couldn't tell was that you were also slightly flustered.

You were so close to the boy you could smell his shampoo which was honestly slightly distracting because it was a bit strong but you could tell it was at least not a 5 in 1.

Tucking your hair behind your ear you exhaled through your nose as you finally got all the tiny detailed lines out of the way. "Would you like something to eat?" "Uh, yeah on the sweeter side." "Is hard candy ok?"

And he gave a thumbs up while is eyes remained closed. Tearing the wrapper you held the candy by his lips and pushed it, your fingers just lightly grazing his lips, nonchalantly throwing the wrapper away and returning to your work.

"Um, is it ok if you pass me the white peach, I'm sorry I'm thirsty," "No it's alright." And as your sorted through the gems and pearls you held the straw up to his lip and flustered Oikawa drank, opening one of his eyes to see what was happening.

You were holding the drink in one hand for him and again focused, it was kind of endearing for him, you were so committed to your craft and expressions of concentration made him want to smother you in affection which didn't make much sense for the boy, you two barely know each other so why did he feel like if he got up he'd trip over himself.

"Ok I'm almost done, thank you for being so patient, I just have to add last minute details. Rubbing some highlighter on your middle finger, you applied it on the parts you wanted to be focused, under the eyes and where the background colour was heaviest.

You then stuck the pearls and pale blue gems under his eyes. Taking off his headband, you fixed his hair and held up a mirror, staring at him, waiting for his reaction.

He stared at his reflection, the mix of colour in the background looked like light radiating off onto him and the intricate lines ontop replicated a soft image of wings but the bottom of each wing sort of faded and blurred and spiraled almost like mist, the shimmer brought attention back to his eyes and so did the small gems, almost as if he were the personification of a sea maiden or the beautiful goddesses told in the stories his older sister used to tell him.

"Woah, how much does this cost," "It's free since it's a school event" You winked with your tongue sticking out of your lips slightly at the corners and a thumbs up. Grabbing a tissue he wrote something down ferociously, "Please let me repay you then, you can choose where to go as well,"

"It's a date" You winked before folding it carefully but as you were about to give him instructions about what to do after so it wouldn't smudge he disappeared. As you felt the small bump in your pocket you slumped in your chair, steam radiating off of your flustered figure.

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