#Right after this pic a man that looked like he was made of crumpled paper towels dropped from the ceiling and killed me

[driftingballoons]

honestly girl same

[and-it-freezes-me]

Little Red Lies - Chapter 1

Or, AUgust 2021 Day 10 - Fake Dating

{Next}

Words: 5,439

[Booked tckts yet? virge wants 2 check u still need 2 places 4 reception dinner]

Trash Rat 22:57

[cant w8 2 meet ur new ~date~]

Trash Rat 22:58

Roman stared at the messages for several long seconds, then groaned.

[Of course I booked tickets. Yes I still need the +1 seat.]

Roman 23:04

[cant believe u havent even sent a pic or yk a name]

Trash Rat 23:06

[no shame if ur still </3 ovr remy]

Trash Rat 23:06

[even tho its been 2 yrs now]

Trash Rat 23:07

[Of course I’m over remy. You’ll meet my boyfriend when we get there. He’s shy.]

Roman 23:07

Roman seriously considered throwing his phone across the room and booking a plane ticket to Alaska rather than Manhattan. That way, he wouldn’t have to go to his brother’s wedding and admit that he was most definitely single and most definitely not over his ex boyfriend (of seventeen months - two years was an unfair exaggeration).

[u kno virge h8s not knowing whos coming to his wedding right]

Trash Rat 23:10

[I know, I know, I’ll apologise as soon as we get there. He’ll be first to meet my bf, promise.]

Roman 23:11

[book ur fuckin plane tckts ro, I know u didnt do it yet]

Trash Rat 23:11

Roman threw his phone across the room.

It bounced off of his Heathers poster and landed on his desk, which was covered in scripts, textbooks, empty takeout containers, balled up bits of paper, crumpled drinks cans, and pens, and Roman buried his face in his pillow and groaned.

Ten months ago, Roman’s sister had flown down to Los Angeles, dragged Roman out of bed and announced that he was actually Roman’s brother. Almost sooner than Roman had been able to take this in stride, Virgil had added that he was marrying his boyfriend in December and would Roman mind being one of his groomsmen? While Roman was still reeling from the bombshell that was the fact that their gremlin of an elder brother Remus was Virgil’s best man, Virgil had leaned forward and asked if Roman was doing alright because he couldn’t help but notice that his dorm room resembled ‘the result of an explosive going off in a pigsty’.

Roman had blinked dumbly at him, nodded, and then started pressing for details about Virgil’s wedding. Eventually, his brother had promised that he’d get Patton, his fiance, to call Roman to discuss every detail, from location to napkin frills, and Roman felt that he had managed to avoid the topic of how he was doing.

When he and Remy had first broken up, midway through last July, Roman had gone to pieces. He had spent the end of the summer holiday between his first and second years locked in his room and listening to the same few songs on loop until Virgil, who was three years older and had been packing his things to move into his new apartment, had put his fist through the wall between their rooms. Then Roman had put his headphones on. It wasn’t Virgil’s fault that he was too uncivilised to appreciate the wonders of ‘Michael In The Bathroom’, ‘Someone You Loved’, or ‘Impossible’, after all.

Then Roman had gone back to university, where he had tried to drown himself in reading for his degree, and instead ended up sleeping through lectures after all-night crying sessions. He had tried to submerge himself in his essays and instead ended up daydreaming about his ex-boyfriend in study sessions. He had tried to get involved in theatre productions, but every audition had gone sour, and he often ended up thinking about the few times he and Remy had met up over the previous year rather than learning his lines.

Everyone had said that long distance relationships would be hard, but Roman, the romantic fool that he was, had insisted that they could do it.

They couldn’t.

Eight months ago, nine months after the two of them had broken up, two months after Virgil had announced his wedding plans, Remus and his partner had flown into Los Angeles and tried to stage an intervention. This had involved Remus trying to seduce the campus security guard and almost getting reported to the police (Roman had always insisted that his mustache only made him look sketchy), followed by Janus sneaking past the pair of them and into the building. Remus had somehow managed to join him moments later, and the two of them had somehow made their way up to Roman’s floor without alerting anyone else of their presence.

Roman had been woken by a furious hammering at his bedroom door at a little after four in the morning, and had to wade through a mess of papers and laundry to find that the two of them had knocked on every single door on his corridor, unable to remember which was his. He had not been popular with his dormmates the next day.

Their intervention had involved sitting on Roman’s bed and sharing the leftover pizza that had been on Roman’s desk for the last three days, and telling him to wash the dirty clothes all over his floor. Then they had tried to persuade him to accompany them to a bar to hook him up with somebody, and Roman had quickly concluded that the pair was somewhat drunk.

He had vehemently refused, and when Janus had eventually rolled onto his back, dark hair dangling off the edge of the bed and onto the sticky patch of carpet that Roman had spilled soda on three weeks ago, he practically whined that Roman was being very difficult when all they were doing was trying to help him.

“Trying to help me? You’ve disturbed the people I live with at fuck-o’clock in the morning! I have class tomorrow!” Roman was sat at his desk chair, trying very hard to ignore the stack of textbooks he was supposed to have read and hadn’t.

Remus rested a hand on Janus’ hip to stop him from rolling off the bed, and raised a lazy eyebrow at him. “Cut the bullshit, little bro. We all know you haven’t been to class in… How long, Jan?”

“Two months, three weeks, and four days,” Janus sing-songed.

“How the fuck do you know that?” It sounded about right, anyway, and Roman had a feeling that if he denied it this would just take even longer. He spun around in his chair and picked up a pen from his desk. “It’s my business if I don’t go to class.”

“Called my sister. Jannie takes all your classes, you know…” There was the sound of shifting fabric, and when Roman glanced back, Janus was sitting up and tucked under Remus’ arm again, looking very much as though Remus had just placed him there.

“You’re right, Ro. It’s not my business if you’re not going to class.” One of Remus’ hands trailed slowly up and down Janus’ arm, so casually Roman could almost believe that his brother didn’t realise he was doing it. “But it is my business that my little brother isn’t taking care of himself anymore. You haven’t answered my calls since before winter break. You obviously haven’t been eating healthily - this pizza tastes like you fished it out of the garbage, by the way, and I would know - and you look as though you haven’t seen the sunlight since last July.”

The assessment wasn’t quite fair. Roman might have been skipping classes, but it wasn’t as though he had just been lying in his room and wasting away! “I went to the gym last week. And I auditioned for the musical in March. I’m fine, Remus! Can I go to bed now?”

“No! We’re going to a club!”

Janus had nodded enthusiastically at Remus’ words, then rested his head on his partner’s shoulder as Roman shook his head slowly. “I don’t want to go to a club. I want to go to bed. I have class tomorrow.”

“Nope.” Remus’ hand rose to tangle absently in Janus’ hair. “We’re going to a club, and you’re gonna find some hottie to fuck all the yearning for Remy right out of you. Then you’ll feel much better!”

“You’re pulling my ha-”

“Fuck no. We’re not doing that.” Roman pressed his palms into his eyes, then stood up and jerked his door open. “Can you go now?”

“Give me one good reason why you getting laid is a bad thing right now, Ro, and we’ll leave.” Roman had gotten as far as opening his mouth before Remus interrupted. “See? You can’t. You need to move on, man. Clinging to Remy is clearly unh-”

“I have a boyfriend.”

“-ealthy, and- What?”

Maybe it was because it was four in the morning. Maybe it was because Roman hadn’t been sleeping well anyway, and Remus had managed to step on the last of his fraying nerves. Maybe it was just because he wished it was true.

“I have a boyfriend,” Roman repeated, and felt a strange sense of satisfaction at the obvious shock on Janus’ usually impassive face. “Three months. Met just after term started. It’s pretty serious, actually.”

“Bullshit.” Remus looked half impressed.

Now it was irritation that flickered through Roman. Was it really so unbelievable that he could have found somebody else? “It’s not.”

“You fucked yet?”

“Remus…” There was a warning note in Janus’ voice, and Remus sighed.

“None of my business. Got it. Do we get to meet him?”

“He’s shy.”

“Which is another way of saying he doesn’t exist.”

“Asshole. It’s another way of saying that it’s four in the fucking morning and he’s asleep. You’ll meet him at the wedding, anyway - I’m going to ask him to be my plus one when Patton sends out the RSVP date.” The words had been out of his mouth before he had had time to regret them, and Roman had spent the last eight months trying to sidestep questions about his non-existent boyfriend.

He had later found out that Remus and Janus hadn’t really come down to see him. They had gone to Los Angeles to celebrate their two year wedding anniversary and decided they might drop in while in the area. (Just because they had eloped rather than holding a big party, Janus had commented idly, didn’t mean they couldn’t celebrate it).

But now it was December, and Roman was partner-less and running out of excuses. His lie had gotten out of control, and he had ended up asking Patton and Virgil to include his partner in the guest numbers. He had invented dates they had been on for his mother when she had asked, and he insisted that his boyfriend was shy and had practically no internet presence anyway, so knowing his name wouldn’t help anybody.

He could just say that the two of them had broken up and go home alone, of course.

But that would mean disrupting the meticulous wedding seating plan Virgil and Patton had been making for months.

Besides, Roman was fairly certain that nobody in his family really believed in his mystery boyfriend, and failure to produce one after months of insisting that they would meet… Well, he didn’t want to open himself to that sort of ridicule.

Of course, it didn’t look as though he had much choice.

He hadn’t managed to make many friends at college.

In his first year, Roman had spent a lot of time trying to keep on top of his schoolwork and working toward the various theatre productions the school had put on; all of his free time he had spent planning dates for when he and Remy finally visited one another, or else video calling his boyfriend. There simply hadn’t been time to make many friends during that.

His second year… Well, Remus had been right. He had spent most of his time in his room, eating junk food, watching sappy romance films, and missing Remy.

So far, he had spent his third year trying to bring his grades back up to something more respectable… And missing Remy.

He knew it was pathetic. It had been almost a year and a half since they had broken up, and he still missed being able to call someone to talk about nothing at all at two in the morning, missed planning extravagant dates, missed the feel of hands in his hair and lips on his.

At least his floor was cleaner than it had been last year. And he had eaten slightly less fast food this semester than the previous one.

Roman’s phone chimed again. With a frustrated groan, he made his way over to his desk.

[Looking forward to seeing you on Monday!!! <3 <3 <3 !!!]

Pops 23:25

Patton.

[Me too, Padre! I’ll bring some of that fudge from the shop you love!]

Roman 23:26

[eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee <33333333 Can you get some of the currents+salt? Vee loved it last time + I want to surprise him]

Pops 23:26

[Will do. Looking forward to seeing you too!]

Roman 23:27

Patton would probably be the most understanding if Roman decided to come clean about his lying - but Patton was the worst secret keeper Roman had ever met. He and Virgil had been dating for almost three years, and in that time the thin voice actor had managed to spill every single plot twist in every single show he had watched or acted in. Roman had no doubt that Virgil would know that he was bringing home fudge within the next hour. If he admitted to Patton that he had been lying about having a date for the wedding, Roman would get Patton’s kind - if confused - reassurances, and half an hour later he would get the mixture of mockery and horrible pity that would come with the rest of his family finding out that he still wasn’t over Remy.

Roman let his phone slip through his fingers and land on his desk once more. Three days, and then he’d have to come clean - until then, he could just avoid thinking about it. Collecting the overflowing basket from the corner of the room (he had been putting off doing laundry for a while now), Roman left his room and headed toward the building’s basement laundry room. Term had finished last week and it was almost midnight - he doubted anybody would be down there now. Most people had probably already gone home, or were making the most of the free time to go out rather than spend it doing chores.

The light was off in the basement when he got there, so Roman left it that way as he loaded his clothing into one of the machines.

Moving around in the dark was far more of a Virgil move than a Roman one, but he couldn’t help himself. There was something comforting about the-

“Sweet fucking Shakespeare!” Roman’s hand flew up to cover his eyes as light burst through the small room, quickly followed by the strong smell of coffee.

“Sorry! I was unaware that there would be anybody in here.” As Roman dropped his hand, blinking owlishly in the sudden light, the newcomer made his way over to the machine on the far side of the room from him. “Most people prefer not to fumble around in the dark.”

Remus or Remy would have made some comment about how fumbling around in the dark could be quite fun really. Roman just shrugged. “It’s been a long day.”

He had expected the other man to say something; instead, silence fell over the room, broken only by the sound of the powder tray being opened, filled, and closed again.

Roman didn’t mean to stare, but he couldn’t help it. He had seen the person in the room next to him only twice so far this term, and only knew his name because the mailroom was organised by room number rather than alphabetically, and the name Roman Prince was right next to Logan Ursa.

Logan looked more tired than he had on either of the other times Roman had seen him. There were deep bags under his eyes, the shadows almost deeper than Virgil’s had been at the height of his eyeliner experiments, and the black ponytail that hung halfway to his waist was missing, replaced with what could only be described as a thicket of tangled hair. It looked as though he had been outside even less than Roman had in the past few months: his skin was so pale it seemed to glow under the fluorescent laundry-room lights. There was a steaming mug and a thick book on the lid of the machine beside him, and Roman had the strong feeling that it wasn’t the first coffee Logan had had that evening.

The washing machine Logan had been loading began to rumble, and as the other student straightened up and picked up his book, Roman made himself duck back down to finish his own task.

He’d have to come back to collect his clothing later - Roman suddenly regretted deciding to get this done now, when it meant he would have to return at almost two in the morning, but there wasn’t much he could do about it now.

“Do you want me to leave the light on?” He was more trying to make conversation than anything else: Logan was perched on one of the machines in the corner, nose already buried in what Roman could now see was a heavy medical textbook.

“Obviously.” 

Yeah, he probably should have guessed that.

-

Logan was still in the laundry room when Roman returned to collect his clothing two hours later. He was still sat on the same machine, although now he was speaking into his phone in what sounded like rapid Italian. (It definitely wasn’t Spanish: Roman was almost fluent in Spanish). (The languages were similar, but although he could guess at a few words, he had no idea what was going on). (Not that he was eavesdropping, of course). Logan’s hair was even messier than it had been before, and out of the corner of his eye Roman caught him jerking his free hand through it once or twice.

Roman pulled his now-warm and dry clothing from the machine and dumped it into his laundry basket, doing his best to ignore the way Logan was practically shouting behind him, but couldn’t stop himself from startling at the wordless, frustrated yell that came from the taller man a few minutes later. He was halfway to the door, but paused and glanced at Logan, who was stuffing his phone angrily into the oversized hoodie he was wearing.

“Everything okay over there?”

“Family stuff,” came the snappish response. Roman watched for a few seconds as Logan knelt in front of his own machine and began jerking clothing from it, folding pants as though he wished he were ripping them to pieces instead, then throwing several dark shirts over his shoulder and stalking over to one of the ironing stations.

“Pretty loud family stuff,” Roman commented, then wondered why he was bothering. It had been clear from his first meeting with Logan that the other student wasn’t there to make friends: Roman had been carrying a large cardboard box into his room the day he had moved in, and bumped into him in the hallway. Logan had looked him up and down, said something like, “Keep the volume down. I’m here to work,” and marched past him as though Roman were no more interesting than a hat stand.

Sure enough, Logan didn’t turn to face him, instead ironing a shirt in a manner that strongly hinted that he wanted to make it beg for mercy. “None of your business family stuff.”

“Are you-”

“None. Of your. Business.” This time, Logan actually did glance over his shoulder, and fixed Roman with a scowl that suggested that if he didn’t drop it, his face was going to be the next thing under the iron.

Roman left quickly. He had done his best to be friendly, and if Logan wasn’t interested, that was his problem. He didn’t seem like the sort of person Roman would really want to be friends with anyway.

Logan’s haggard expression lingered in his mind as he made his way back up to his dorm room and began stuffing his now-clean clothes into his wardrobe. He should probably start packing - his suitcase was sitting open and empty against one wall - but he had plenty of time.

Besides, he was exhausted.

Roman had changed into a pair of sweatpants and gotten into bed by the time he heard the door to the room next to his slam shut. Clearly, Logan was still annoyed by whatever ‘family stuff’ had had him first yelling into his phone and then taking his frustration out on his laundry and somebody trying to be friendly.

How long could Logan hold a grudge? Was he the kind of person who would calm down after a couple of hours of sleep, or would whatever he had been arguing about be hanging over him for the next week or so? That would make the winter break uncomfortable…

Or maybe he wasn’t going home. He had looked pretty invested in the textbook he had been studying earlier, despite it being almost midnight and no longer termtime. Maybe Logan was going to stay in the dorms over the winter break and use the hours without lectures for private study.

That sounded like a lonely way to spend the next three weeks.

The idea struck Roman suddenly, and he sat bolt upright in bed, the kind of elation that only comes with golden inspiration coursing through him. He would persuade Logan to come back home with him for the holidays! If Janus took it to mind to ask Janine about him, she’d be able to verify that Logan didn’t socialise much; all he would have to do would be show up briefly for the wedding, and he could spend the remainder of the holiday studying all he wanted, away from ‘family stuff’!

He would ask Logan the following morning, and when he agreed, Roman would book the plane tickets home - he’d pay, of course. Or rather, he’d use the money his mother had sent him so that he could bring his fictional boyfriend home. Either way, Logan wouldn’t have to spend any money himself!

Laying back down, Roman pulled his thin blanket back up to his neck and rolled onto his side, satisfaction warming him more thoroughly than any hot drink could.

This was the best idea he’d ever had.

-

“That is the worst idea I have ever heard.” Logan glanced into the hallway over Roman’s shoulder as though expecting an audience for a practical joke. “I cannot believe you have wasted my time listening to you.”

“Is… That a maybe?” Roman tilted his head and gave Logan his best puppy eyes.

Alas, Logan’s heart must have been made of stone. “No.” He made to slam the door.

Well, Roman couldn’t have that. It had been difficult enough to get Logan to even open the door in the first place, and harder still to get him to listen beyond the initial “I need you to do me a huge favour, okay, but it works out for you too.” In hindsight, maybe he shouldn’t have led with that. But then he had explained, and for some reason Logan was still trying to close the door on him.

“Ow!”

“That was entirely your fault.”

“You just slammed the door on my foot!”

“You did put your foot there after I had begun closing the door. My point stands.”

Technically, Logan was correct, but Roman wasn’t there to quibble over technicalities. “You got the part where I’d pay for your flights, right? All you have to do is show up for one day in something resembling formalwear, and in return you get rent free accommodation and food all holiday! Plus company!”

“I have too much to do to pretend to be your boyfriend for three weeks for no reason. Find somebody else.” Logan made to close the door again, and this time Roman caught it with his hand.

“There is nobody else!” Roman was aware that he was beginning to sound desperate. “You’re like, the only person I know!”

“That sounds like your personal problem, not mine.” Several strands of hair had fallen from the impressive tangle around Logan’s ears and into his face, and he blew them out of the way. His breath smelled like coffee - bitter coffee. Roman wrinkled his nose. “Let go of my door.”

“Come on, Logan! What else are you going to be doing this holiday?”

“Studying! I have exams to pass!”

“You can study at my place. You won’t have to pay holiday rent there!”

“I won’t have to pay holiday rent if I go to my mom’s place, either! Let go of my door!”

Roman finally pulled his aching foot out of the way, but didn’t remove his hand from the wood. “You don’t want to go back to your mom’s place, though, do you? The phonecall -”

The glare that Logan sent him could have frozen the insides of a volcano, and his voice was suddenly cold enough to make Roman shiver. “Good day, Roman.” This time, Roman jerked his hand out of the way, and the door snapped shut in his face.

Shit. Maybe he shouldn’t have tried to use Logan’s ‘family stuff’ against him. He made a note of that for future reference, then hammered against the door again.

“Please, Logan!”

Silence.

“I’ll be forever in your debt!”

More silence. Maybe Logan would prefer something a little more extravagant?

“I’ll sing of your virtues from the rooftop every night for the rest of the year!”

Nothing.

Okay, maybe that had been a little much. Logan had made it clear that he was there to work and didn’t want to be disturbed in his caffeine fueled study crusades, so something excessive was possibly the wrong way to persuade him to do this.

Oh-

“I’ll pay for your coffee for the rest of the year?”

Roman held his breath and waited.

And waited.

Just when he thought that he had been wrong and that Logan really wasn’t going to be persuaded, the door opened the tiniest of amounts. Logan was still frowning at him, but some of the ice was gone from his expression.

“That’s your dealbreaker? Coffee?”

“I drink a lot of coffee.” A slight deepening in the crease between Logan’s eyes told Roman not to push the subject. “You need a date to a wedding. In return, you pay for my flight there and back, provide accommodation for the duration of the winter vacation, and keep me supplied with coffee for the rest of the year.”

“Well, a wedding, the reception, any pre-wedding parties, and keeping up the act while we’re around other people,” Roman corrected, counting on his fingers. From the irritated twitch of Logan’s left eye, he got the feeling that he hadn’t mentioned the reception or the potential stag night in his initial pitch.

“Blue Moon or Red Planet.”

“What?”

“The coffee. I like Blue Moon or Red Planet coffee. They’re more expensive, so I don’t expect them every time - maybe a ratio of three regular jars to one nice jar.”

Roman blinked. “Uh… Okay.”

Logan nodded once. More hair fell over his eyes. “I’ll draw up a schedule and provide you with estimated projections of my coffee habits for the rest of the year so you can budget accordingly. When do we leave?”

“Um… Monday.” Still reeling from Logan’s sudden and complete 180, Roman cast around for something to say, but the long haired man got there first.

“Monday. That gives us approximately two and a half days to draw boundaries and fabricate enough pictures and stories to give our deceit credibility.” Logan closed his eyes, and Roman realised that he was staring again. He hadn’t expected the other to take this in stride so quickly. “Given that I have work to finish today and you will likely need several hours on Sunday evening to pack… Have you told your family how long we have been romantically involved?”

“Uh, since January. But I told them you were shy, so we don’t have to have any pictures or anything - we can say that all our dates were just pizza and Netflix, and…” He tailed off at the incredulous look on Logan’s face. “What?”

“You expect them to believe that we have been dating for eleven months and you haven’t taken a single photo? Roman, I have listened to you belting the lyrics of more break-up songs than I care to count.” Roman shrugged, and Logan rolled his eyes. “You are quite clearly a romantic. Had we really been dating, the number of pictures you would have taken on whatever extravagance you planned for our six-month anniversary alone would be infinitesimal.”

He had a point.

Roman had already stretched his family’s belief in him to breaking point (and probably well past it) by refusing to share even the smallest thing about his ‘boyfriend’ over the past eleven months; if he didn’t get home on Monday with at least a couple of dozen photos to share, their charade would be over before it could ever really begin. “Right. You’re right. We’ll need to spend the weekend planning, doing a photoshoot - it’ll be fun!”

“You,” Logan started, already retreating, “obviously have a different definition of that word than I do. Eight thirty tomorrow morning, The Roost. Bring a notepad, your phone, and a couple of changes of clothing suitable for various weather conditions.”

“Eight thirty? A prince needs his beauty-”

“Eight thirty. We are going to do this properly.”

Roman’s phone was in his hand barely seconds after Logan’s door had closed (albeit more gently than before).

Groupchat: Princes and Co.

[Can’t wait for you to meet logan!]

Roman 09:58

[a name!!!!!!!!!!]

Trash Rat 09:59

[we have a name!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!]

Trash Rat 09:59

[such a nice name! can’t wait either, ro!]

Pops 10:01

[About time! I’ve been stalling on the place settings for weeks waiting for this name]

Emo Nightmare 10:02

[Was about to fly out to LA to strangle it out of you]

Emo Nightmare 10:04

[he was. i had to physically restrain him from doing so yesterday]

Padre 10:04

[bet u both enjoyed that ;);););););)]

Trash Rat 10:04

Several people are typing…

[Suck a dick, Remus]

Emo Nightmare 10:05

[we did, actually]

Pops 10:05

[would but janjans at work :((]

Trash Rat 10:06

[Didn’t want to know, didn’t need to know.]

Roman 10:06

[Pat!]

Emo Nightmare 10:06

[Logan Ursa??? 4th yr medic??? Coffee addict???]

Snake Eyes 10:06

Roman stared at his phone for a second. That was faster than he had expected.

[u knew????? jan u held out on me??? the luv of ur greyspec life???]

Trash Rat 10:07

[You told Janus?! I’m your brother! He’s not even related to you!]

Emo Nightmare 10:07

[No I didn’t tell Janus!]

Roman 10:07

[I’m omniscient.]

Snake Eyes 10:08

[Plus I just asked Jannie for a list of all the Logans you could have associated with.]

Snake Eyes 10:09

[You and your sister scare me]

Roman 10:11

[He has surprisingly little internet presence.]

Snake Eyes 10:11

[Told you. He’s shy]

Roman 10:12

Sliding his phone back into his pocket, Roman returned to his room and picked up his laptop, this time to actually book the tickets he was supposed to have booked weeks ago. He had no doubt that they would arrive on Monday to discover that his family had already unearthed everything there was to know about his fake boyfriend - should he break that news to Logan before or after they were on the plane? Making the man paranoid might make their weekend photoshoot a lot more difficult.

Their photoshoot! If Logan was really on board, Roman would have to make this as easy as possible for him - and the performance of a lifetime for himself. Given that he was expected to bring a notebook to their meeting tomorrow, they were going to have to do a lot of brainstorming, so he might as well start coming up with ideas now. He already had a few as he grabbed a notepad from the mess on the floor and started hunting for a pencil.

No matter what his fake date said, this weekend was going to be a lot of fun.

[kosmosguk]

Hi!!! Are there any bts yandere profiles we shoud know about?? Like what sort of yandere is each member. Can i request that you do a yandere profile for each member?? Thanks!

I did a brief version of this for my post BTS as yanderes based on their MOTS 7 song, but this gives me an opportunity to elaborate more and be more detailed! Sorry for the slow posting; luckily school’s ending soon which means I get a break to catch up on my inbox :) Thanks to everyone who’s been supporting me and a BIG shoutout to the anon who sent me the long incredibly sweet message because y’all are the reason I’m posting this week<3 (also this gives me a reason to look at pics of heartthrob bts)

warnings: yandere themes (toxic relationships), mentions of violence, mentions of kidnapping, blackmail, implied deaths, gaslighting 

Kim Seokjin

Yandere Type: Controlling

Danger Level: 7

It’s often rare that Seokjin finds someone to take interest in; after all, he’s spent all of his life being the one who people took interest in. Thus, when he sees you, someone he finds as beautiful as himself, he falls too hard too fast. He sees you as a pretty doll, one that he can arrogantly toy with and play with as much as he wants, and, as the son of a wealthy family, he’s spent his life always getting what he wanted when he wanted it; you’re no exception. He’s not above using the power that comes with his family to force you into the role he has applied to you in his mind, whether it be subtle threats against your family or punishments. As his obsession with having control over you continues to grow, you better not refuse to play your role well; after all, if he snaps, you’ll find yourself waking up in a special room that he has designed for his precious little princess. 

Min Yoongi

Yandere Type: Overprotective 

Danger Level: 8

Yoongi’s a little rough around the edges; he’s cold and distant, or at least that’s what you think about him. You don’t even suspect that he’s harboring such dark, twisted intentions for you, even when those who have hurt you seem to be disappearing in such mysterious ways, and Yoongi always shows up looking scuffled. Those who are fortunate to survive can barely meet your eye, only showing up to apologize before abruptly vanishing; you find it weird, but you can’t help but think that your life has gotten so much easier. It takes a while for you to realize how overprotective Yoongi is; he’s always with you, refusing to part from your side unless you’re using the bathroom. With him by your side, it helps you to evade all of the rumors that’s floating about him, but the one person who brings up the rumor about Yoongi always ends up disappearing. But you barely realize that; not when Yoongi’s so adamant about protecting you from everything outside. 

Kim Namjoon

Yandere Type: Manipulative 

Danger Level: 8

Namjoon’s always been good with words; he can twist a situation that’s horrible into one that sounds like it’s meant to be. At least, that’s what you’ve deluded yourself into believing. He starts out small at first, passing remarks that shed doubt on the choices you’ve made like whether or not the dress you’re wearing is right, and the remarks grow until you can barely look outside the window without practically trembling. After all, Namjoon’s always right; everything he’s said that’s wrong with the outside world has happened, and if you were rational like you were a few months ago, perhaps you would’ve realized that everything that’s happened to you is much too planned out to be just coincidences. But you’re not the you from a few months ago; Namjoon has manipulated you well into placing your heart and mind into his grip. Even if there’s doubt in your heart, it’ll be quickly stomped out by your belief that Namjoon is always right. 

Jung Hoseok

Yandere Type: Two-Faced

Danger Level: 8

Hoseok, as a yandere, is good at fooling you; to you, he’s so nice and energetic, always smiling brightly and taking good care of you. But with others who dare to even look at you, he’s terrifying. If you ever looked at Hoseok in these moments, a callous look in his eyes, the same eyes that practically sparkle whenever he sees you, and his lips set firm in a line, the lips he uses to smile and kiss you tenderly with, and his hands, the ones that softly cradle your face, stained in a horrific red, you wouldn’t be able to recognize him. However, Hoseok is careful about revealing who he really is with you to the point where you would refuse to believe it if someone told you the truth. As long as you don’t suspect your loving and supportive boyfriend and don’t get too curious, you’ll be safe, but if you find out something that you shouldn’t find out about Hoseok, you can’t blame the drastic measures he’ll need to take to ensure you can never leave him.

Park Jimin

Yandere Type: Delusional 

Danger Level: 6-8

Jimin’s yandere type is quite volatile. He’s stuck in his own fantasies and delusions, in which you’re his pretty lover and he’s your doting boyfriend, and his fantasies will continue to escalate if you, out of fear, keep feeding them. One day you’ll be his lover, but then suddenly, he’s proposing to you in public, a bold smile on his face, and you’re terrified to say no as everyone around you claps and cheers. If you dare to try to push him out of them because hell, you don’t even know this guy besides a brief introduction at the start of college and he’s insisting that you’re dating, he’ll snap, and trust me, it will not be pretty. Either way, you’ll end up in what Jimin fondly calls ‘’our happily ever after,’’ the kind where you’ll have children running around, either from the both of you or lovingly adopted, and you’ll have the wonderful duty of prettily smiling by Jimin’s side until your last breath.

Kim Taehyung

Yandere Type: Obsessive 

Danger Level: 8

Taehyung, normally, loves art; he loves the beauty and the blend of emotion-provoking colors and lines that lies within the canvas of a masterpiece. As a yandere, his obsession with art continues to grow and decrease in stability after meeting you; he craves being able to put the image of you down onto paper, and he dreams, fingers twitching unconsciously, of sketching your face perfectly down. His studio is filled with half-finished portraits and crumpled sketches and walls filled with carefully creased photographs of you because no matter how much time and effort he pours into replicating your artistry, he can never achieve it. Taehyung comes to the conclusion that to really replicate your beauty, he needs to have you. You find yourself knocked out one night walking back home and waking up with a throbbing head to a man who’s as beautiful as the marble statues he’s surrounded himself with. You should pray and hope that his obsession with you will only remain at putting your image into art.  

Jeon Jungkook

Yandere Type: Clingy/Aggressive 

Danger Level: 5-9

Jungkook’s initially one of the softer yandere types, refusing to leave your side for even a second. As long as you don’t try to leave him, he’ll remain sweet, like the syrupy taste of honey. But, just like honey, you quickly find yourself getting sick. He’s too clingy, and he’s easily jealous, the kind of jealous that shows his more aggressive side and leaves a numb unsettling sense of terror gnawing deep in your bones. You try severing your relationship with him, and suddenly Jungkook, the Jungkook who’s always been gentle and soft with you if you ignore his bouts of horrible jealousy, changes. He becomes the Jungkook that terrifies you, the Jungkook that only comes out when he’s wracked with jealousy. If you resist him when he traps and confines you, he’ll only get worse, but if you give in and return to being his loving significant other, Jungkook will take it easier on you and become your sweet Jungkook again. 

[let-it-raines]

another kind of green (2/?)

Emma Swan spends her days in pretty white dresses and heavy layers of makeup. Day after day and dress after dress, she poses for pictures and acts like she’s in love and having the happiest day of her life with the man standing next to her.

It’s not. This is all a gig, and at the end of the day, she’s no longer the girl in the pretty dress who’s faking getting married for a magazine cover or a wedding convention. Instead, she’s the girl who probably never wants to get married.

Little does she know, she already is.

Rating: Mature

a/n: things get explained a little more in this chapter, I promise ☺️

For the lovely @xemmaloveskillianx​ as part of my fic giveaway. Thanks to @resident-of-storybrooke​ for reading over this for me!

AO3: Beginning | Current

Tumblr: 1 | 2 |

-/-

“Your husband, love.”

Emma blinks at him, far more than what’s considered normal most likely, and he really should have introduced himself in a different way.

Or reintroduced himself if the look on her face is any indication.

Killian isn’t entirely sure of the best way to go about this, obviously. It’s been years since he felt awkward around a woman, but this isn’t exactly a simple situation where he walks up to a woman at a bar, offers to buy her a drink, talks to her and dances with her for an hour or so before they head back to one of their apartments.

This isn’t a situation where he loves a woman, has her love him in return, and then has her leave the engagement ring on the kitchen counter before she disappears from his life.

This is…different.

Obviously.

And all of the words he rehearsed on his drive here completely slipped his mind and are probably back in Vegas instead of Boston. That’s about three-thousand miles away, and he doesn’t think he’ll ever get them back.

“Oh,” Emma laughs, but it’s most definitely a pity laugh. “You’re the guy who played my husband at that thing. The – ”

“The wedding convention, yeah, but also I –  ”

“Wait,” Emma starts, closing her front door so that he can only see half of her face now, the worried confusion turning into actual worry, “what the hell are you doing here? How do you know where I live?”

“You gave me your address.”

“I would not have done that.”

“You did.”

“I did not.”

Killian sighs and reaches his hand around his back to dig in the back pocket of his jeans to find the crumpled piece of paper that Emma gave him the night they met. “Look, it’s got your name and number on it, and there’s a little scribbling of –  ”

She opens the door so that she can snatch the piece of paper out of his hands, reading it with squinted eyes before they widen until they’re almost comically big. She doesn’t have on makeup like she did that day, but the green of her eyes is still so vibrant. “I’d say you’re a liar, but this is my handwriting. I only wrote Boston, though. I didn’t write my address. And look, dude, as good as the sex was, I’m not going to sleep with a one-night stand again, especially if that someone is creepy enough to show up at my door. So, goodbye, or something like that.”

And with that, Emma slams the door in his face until it shakes in its frame.

Of-fucking-course.

This most likely would have gone better if he’d not decided to joke around at first, but to be fair, it wasn’t a joke.

Sighing, Killian reaches his hand up to knock on Emma’s door once more. He would give anything not to be here right now. He’s got about twenty other things he needs to be doing today, but he can’t do most of them until this is over.

“Love,” he yells through the door when she doesn’t answer. “Swan.”

“I will call the cops on you,” she shouts back.

Irony is everywhere, he thinks to himself.

“Funnily enough, the cops are the reason I’m here in the first place.”

There’s a clatter inside the apartment before he can hear the chain on her door being pulled, and then the door is opening with the chain still attached so that he can only see half of Emma’s face. He thinks she’s even more beautiful than he remembers her being, which is pretty much impossible since he remembers her being the most gorgeous woman he’d ever seen.

There is just something about the emerald of her eyes that he can’t quite forget.

“What the hell are you talking about…”

“Killian Jones,” he fills in, realizing that she likely doesn’t remember his name. She remembers they slept together, though, and he’s relieved over that for a myriad of reasons. They both drank a lot of champagne that night, and he doesn’t want to be sleeping with someone who is too drunk to remember it even if he’d had the same amount to drink. “And look, I don’t know how to say this without sounding like a lunatic, but two weeks ago, we got married.”

“We got fake married. I know we had a lot of champagne, but none of that was real. You know that, right? It was all pretend and scripted and still super weird.”

How the hell is he supposed to explain this when he can’t quite explain it to himself?

“I do know that, love,” he mumbles, scratching behind his ear and then reaching into his coat pocket. He really should have put all of this stuff into a folder instead of every pocket he has. That’s what Liam would have done in a situation like this. Well, no, Liam wouldn’t have gotten himself into a situation like this in the first place. “Take a look at these, if you’d please, and then give me five minutes to explain everything. We can keep talking here, or we can go to a coffee shop and talk so you’re more comfortable.”

Emma glances up at him, taking him in, before she reaches her hand forward and takes the pictures. “If these are dick pics, I will call the cops. I have no hesitations.”

“I can assure you they aren’t.”

She huffs, but then she looking down at the handful of photographs. Her face morphs from annoyed to nothing to utter disbelief. He watches it all happen while knowing that he made the exact same faces while seeing these pictures for the first time.

Well, nearly the same faces. He thinks it might have taken him longer to figure out what exactly is in the pictures.

“Are we getting married by an Elvis impersonator in these pictures?”

“Aye.”

“And they’re real pictures? They’re not photoshopped or anything as part of your arrestable stalking offense against me?”

“They’re real.”

“Like, are they real as in we took them as a joke or real as in we got married in Vegas like we were in a bad romantic comedy?”

“Both?”

“Is that a question?”

“It was an answer.” He doesn’t know much about the lass, but he’s pretty sure she’s about to punch him in the throat if he doesn’t start explaining things soon. “Listen, Swan,” he starts, holding his hands up and plastering what has to be the most unconvincing smile on his face, “I’ve known about this for a week, and this is as far as I’ve gotten with how that night went. We worked all day, got tipsy on free champagne, went back to my hotel and had sex because we both wanted to, and then we proceeded to drink all of the complimentary alcohol until we were drunk off our asses and wandering around Las Vegas applying for a quickie marriage license and then getting married by a quite frankly awful Elvis impersonator So yeah, like a bad romantic comedy, as you’d say.”

He expects the slamming of the door in his face. He really does. He would slam the door in his face too if he showed up at a practical stranger’s apartment spewing this nonsense, but it’s still a shock when all of the sudden he can no longer see Emma’s face and all he can hear is the loudest screaming of the word “fuck” that he’s ever heard in all of his years of life.

Killian had nearly the same reaction when he found out he was married because the Boston PD told him that he’d lied and failed part of his background check because of it.

He’d said it even more loudly when he got home to his apartment later that day and found an envelope mailed to him by the wedding chapel full of pictures from his wedding.

Talk about timing.

What happens in Vegas inevitably does not stay in Vegas, and whoever allowed them to get a marriage license – a legitimate one at that – and then get married while drunk off their asses should be fired from their job. They’re either better actors than they have any right being or the clerk did not care that they were far from sober.

How does he not remember? How does Emma not remember either? They weren’t drunk when they slept together, but they were easily on their way after. And then…what made two practical strangers decide that getting married was a good idea? Was it the fact that they were both attracted to each other? Was it the lore of Vegas and all of those goddamn clichés? Maybe it was the fact that they’d spent the entire day pretending that it was the happiest day of their lives, and all of those thoughts and the falsities of the day seeped over into their thoughts and lead them to a chapel.

He’s never been black-out drunk in his life, despite the times where he was damn near close after Liam’s death and Milah leaving him, and now he never wants to do that again.

“Swan,” Killian sighs, knocking on her door again, “I understand that you’re likely in shock. It’s a lot to take in, but I really need you to talk to me about this so we can figure out how to get it reversed. I think we should be able to get an annulment, but I haven’t actually talked to a lawyer yet. I was waiting to talk to you first.”

There’s no answer. He’s probably never going to see her again.

But then the door is flinging open, and she’s walking out of her apartment with her purse slung over her shoulder and her keys in her hand so that she’s locking the door behind her. “I’ve got a dress fitting in ten minutes, and my manager will kill me if I miss it. So if you have something else to say, you’ve got the seven minutes it takes me to get to the shop to say it.”

Killian is chasing after her now, using his longer strides to catch up to him as she practically power walks out of her apartment building and out onto the streets of Boston, and even though she must want to know more about the fact that they are husband and wife (bloody hell is that still perplexing to think about), she is obviously itching to get away from him.

So he attempts to explain everything as best as he can. He relays his memories of the night, trying to fill in some blanks with her, and while she says she remembers them sleeping together and then deciding to go get something to eat afterwards, everything else is a hazy mess for her. There’s some memory of wandering around various hotels on the strip, but she chalked that up to a foggy dream that she soon forgot.

It was real.

And so is the fact that he only does the modeling stuff to pay the bills and that he’s trying to be hired by the Boston PD, and when he tells her that, she turns around and runs her eyes up and down his frame.

“Oh, you want to be a cop? Is that what’s up with the shorter haircut?”

“What?”

“Your hair is shorter than it was. It’s a neater cut. It was kind of long two weeks ago, and I don’t know, most cops have shorter hair even if yours is a little longer at the top.”

“Why, love,” he teases, leaning into her space, “I thank you for noticing. Couldn’t help staring at me, could you?”

“You wish.”

“Aye, I do.”

Emma huffs and turns away, returning to her quick pace. Yep, he’s definitely always going to be chasing this woman if he hopes to get anything accomplished.

“Listen, Swan, I know this must be confusing, but I’d really like to get all of this handled as quickly and as easily as possible, and I need you to come to my precinct where I’m trying to get hired and explain to the officers that I didn’t lie about being married. I simply didn’t know that I was, but in a way, I’m relieved that we both live in the same city. That’s convenient.”

She comes to a stop in front of a store with a row of wedding dresses, and he nearly plows into her before stopping himself. From the roll of her eyes and her arms crossed over her chest, he can tell she’s not amused. “What’s your district?”

“A-1. It’s – ”

A smile curves onto her lips, but it disappears just as quickly. “I know where it is. Arrange a meeting with your commanding officers or whatever, and I’ll come meet you there. Then we can figure out how to get this marriage annulled because no offense, but I’d rather not stay married.”

“How do you want me to get in touch with you?”

“You have my number, Jones. You can use it. I’d prefer that to you showing up at my door again.”

At that, she’s turning on her heels and walking away from him and into the dress shop. Killian’s got no clue what the hell just happened or if he actually solved any of his problems. All he knows is that it’s over with, and he’s craving a glass of rum.

One he likely shouldn’t have given the situation he’s in, and really, he should probably channel all of his frustration into a run or something like that. He can pass all of the physical portions of his training exams, but he’d like to stay on top of things so he doesn’t fall behind.

His phone rings in his coat pocket, and Killian pulls it out to answer the call. “Hello?”

“Where are you?” Ariel hisses out.

“Back Bay. Why?”

“You have a meeting with the boat tour company over their ads in twenty minutes.” “Shit. I do, don’t I?”

“Yep. How did you forget that? You never forget anything.”

“Ah, I don’t know, A,” he lies, turning on his heels and starting a quick jog back to the garage where his car is parked. “I’m stressed over my interview and all for the department, and all of my other gigs have slipped my mind.”

“You’re going to kill it. Don’t be stressed.”

“That doesn’t help.” “Yeah, well, neither does you missing appointments when this is how both of us are currently getting paid.”

“You have other clients besides me.”

“Yes, but not all of my clients are the younger brother of my husband’s best friend.”

Killian’s heart pangs, but he knows it’s true, and it’s what has him running like a madman through the streets so he’s not late for this appointment where all they’re going to do is look at his face and decide if it can sell people on taking boat tours around the city. It may be the vainest job in the world, but a job is a job.

At least for now.

One day, just like this damned accidental marriage, it will come to an end, and Killian will be able to move on with his life like he’s wanted to for years now.

Or at least he can hope.

-/-

-/-

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You can be removed or added at any time! ❤️

[blackirisposts]

Of Ghosts and Coffee Shop Whispers

This work is part of Spoopy October Writing Challenge 2019 (SOWC19) hosted by me, annnnnnd Happy Steve Bingo (HSB) by: @happystevebingo !!! ❤

Prompt: Day 6: Ghost for SOWC19 && Romance Novel for HSB ❤

Pairing: Darcy Lewis x Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes x OMC, Jane Foster x Thor ❤

Word Count: 2404

❤ Book Shop && Coffee Shop ❤

Reblog will include links and tags! ❤

Warnings: Swearing, Mild Crack and the occasional cameo ❤

A/N:  Special thanks to @pegasusdragontiger and @heartbreaker6995 for both shocking my brain into actually working and cranking out this fic ❤

Darcy’s eyes follow the blond man across the room as he moves to wait for his coffee order.  

“You’re staring.” Jane says, not looking up from the small wired contraption she was fiddling with.

“Yep.” Darcy pops the ‘p’ like the word’s made of bubble gum. “What a sight.”

Jane hums not fully paying attention to Darcy.

“Thor’s off world, your loss.” Darcy says with a slurp of her coffee.

“Thor?” Jane looks up and around in confusion.

Darcy pats her hand, “Off world, dear.”

“Right. I knew that.”

Darcy pushes a barely touched panini sandwich towards Jane.

“Eat, my scientific one. It shall give you strength!”

“Eat later. Science now.”

“Eat now. Science, well, also now?” Darcy sighed dragging her eyes back to Jane. “Don’t make me take whatever the hell that thing is away from you until after you’ve finished your no longer hot sandwich thingy.”

“I dare you.” Jane stares at Darcy.

“Jane.” Darcy arches a brow.

“Fine.”

“Love you too.”

Jane takes a few bites as she fiddles with her contraption.

“Still staring.”

“He’s still a sight to behold.”

“You stare at him whenever you see him here. Go talk to him. Dazzle him with your wit.”

“Yeah. That’s likely to happen.”

“Where else are you going to run into him? The lab?”

“No.” Darcy huffed, fixing her mass of curls. “Maybe a bookshop.”

Jane scoffs.

“You never know.” Darcy takes a drawn-out sip of her nearly empty coffee mug. “Okay, but if I ran into the glory of that in a bookshop, I’d die happy. . . oh, and then I could haunt the bookshop, too. . . okay, Jane. New plan!”

As Darcy dreams out loud, a half-asleep man in a stained purple shirt and black apron sidles up to her.

“It’s your lucky day then, Dee.”

Darcy squeaks in an undignified manner, startled by Clint’s sudden appearance at her side. She glares at him, her cheeks tinted pink. Clint’s an incorrigible gossip. And he will definitely tell Nat, another incorrigible gossip. This will not end well.

“Where’d you crawl out of?”

“I’m on break.” Clint shrugs and sips his coffee.

“You know something, Barton?”

“I could use more tips.” Clint arches a brow at Darcy.

“Ha! You’re lucky you make the best coffee in the city.”

Clint chuckles and takes the empty chair at their table, partially blocking Darcy of her glorious view.

“I might know a little something-something about a certain possibly haunted book shop on 66th street. If you’re planning on taking up an additional post to haunt it.”

“Possibly haunted?” Jane asks, suddenly interested in the conversation and not believing a word he says.

“Yeah. There’s like at least two ghosts. They’re—well they’re really annoying. Funny sometimes but mostly annoying.”

Darcy and Jane share a look and Darcy snorts turning back to Clint.

“So, what are you actually saying?”

“Maybe he’ll be there. Maybe he won’t be.”

“But?”

“But I’d check it out if I were you.” Clint grabs the empty cups and crumpled wrapper that once contained Darcy’s Danish. “You two check each other out far too much for you both to not have noticed yet. It’s driving everyone insane.”

“Whatever, dude.” Darcy rolls her eyes, biting her lip to keep her smile at bay. “If this bookshop is real, it’d be worth it to run into him there. Haunted or not.”

“Whatever you say, Dee.” Clint says walking back to the front counter.

“Okay, Jane, new plan. Same plan. Whatever.”

“Darcy. No.”

“Darcy. Yes.”

“Wait, what’s the address?” Darcy looks from Jane to Clint.

‘Look at your phone.’ Clint signs from behind the counter.

Darcy looks down to her phone to see the address and several emojis light up her phone.

“Who put this here?”

“You know who.” A tired voice replies, muffled by the rows of books.

“Dude. You can’t put this here.”

“I can. And I did.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Fix it!”

“There’s nothing to fix. It should go here.”

“No. No, it shouldn’t.”

“Guys.” The tired voice calls out.

“You cannot put Tolkien in the romance section.”

“Yeah. I can.”

“No.”

“It’s totally a romance novel. You’d know that if you ever learned to read.”

“Guys!” The voice calls out again.

“NO!”

“Yes! He goes in every section!”

“Tolkien. Does. Not.”

“Yep. Every one. That’s what everyone wants to read anyways.”

“Oh my god. It’s like arguing with a wall.”

“Guys. Knock it off.” The tired voice shouts.

A barely discernable pair of ‘sorry’s are uttered without feeling. Hushed arguing can still be heard throughout the book shop that finally stops when a book is thrown down aisle slamming into a wall with a harsh thud.

“You done yet?” Darcy asks, tapping the end of her pen against the table top.

“Does it look like I’m done?”

“No. You’re never done. Even when you are, in fact, done.”

“What?”

“You started spouting equations when you were asleep. Remember? I recorded it incase it was something import.”

“I don’t remember that.” Jane eyes Darcy. “There’s no way I did that.”

“You did.” Eric taps his head. “I remember. It was odd. All your equations where correct but they had nothing to do with each other.”

Jane huffs. “Typical.”

“Nah, just proof you need more sleep, Doc.”

“I need more sleep? Or you want to go ghost hunting?”

“Maybe both?” Darcy holds both hands up defensively. “Can’t we have both?”

“Take the rest of the day off, Darcy.” Eric chuckles grabbing the pen from her.

“Really?”

“Yes.” He gives her an incredulous look. “Go have fun with the—ghosts.”

“I don’t think they’re—”

“I don’t want to know. Just call us if you need help or are pulled into another dimension again.”

“Thanks, ma dude.” Darcy bounces on her toes and presses a quick kiss to Eric’s cheek. “And you’ll take care of Jane-y?”

“Yes. Now, go before you convince yourself not to.”

“Alright, alright. Don’t science too hard.”

Darcy bites her lip, checking her phone one more time for address to the bookshop. The entrance is warm and charming. Totally inviting. Not that there was a bookshop that hadn’t agreed with Darcy yet.

The door chimes softly as the smell of fresh coffee and paper flood her nose.

“Yeah. This is a place I could call my forever home.” Darcy mutters to herself.

Not a soul in sight. Only books and a mismatched pair of leather chairs and a purple velvet couch.

Mismatched fairy lights hang crisscrossing overhead, leading to a small stage. A framed chalkboard sign reads: Poetry reading, Tonight 8pm.

Darcy snaps a pic and sends it to Jane and Eric, found my happy place.

She wanders farther into the bookshop when she hears it.

“Was the fair palace door—”

First it sounds like a whisper.

“Through which came flowing, flowing, flowing—”

Now a little louder. The disembodied voice sounded pensive, annoyed even.

“Flowing, flowing, flowing—”

Darcy’s curiosity gets the better of her and she follows the voice, stifling a snort when she hears it curse in frustration.

She hears papers moving and an irritated sigh.

Rounding a corner, she sees the source of the voice. Not a ghost by any means, but definitely something that took her breath away. Before her perched precariously on a stool is a rather large man in a rust colored sweater, his dark hair tied messily in a bun.

“That was really beautiful.”

The man looks up and blushes. “Th-thanks. I’m trying to memorize it before tonight.”

“You’ll get it.”

“I better.” He sighs, his voice dropping low in embarrassment. “It’s supposed to be a surprise.”

“Oh, for who?” Darcy beams a toothy grin at him as his blush darkens.

He hands her his book, an anthology of Poe, open to the poem that he’s struggling with.

“It’s for my boyfriend, it’s his favorite. If I can pull it off, I’m going to ask him to move in with me, too.”

Darcy squeaks out a noise that makes him chuckle.

“I’m Bucky by the way.”

“Darcy.” She replies. “And that is possibly the sweetest thing I’ve heard all month.”

“I call bull, Bucko.”

“What the fuck now, Sam?” Bucky asks, features going neutral.

“No way.” The man referred to as Sam crosses his arms over his chest making himself look intimidating in the small book aisle. “You paid her to come in here and say that. Admit it.”

“Did not.”

“Did too.”

“Did not.”

Darcy snorts, drawing their attention. “You two don’t sound like ghosts.”

“What?” They ask in unison.

A low chuckle is heard an aisle or two over.

Darcy points in the direction of the laugh. “Now there’s your ghost.”

“Ghost?” Sam asks.

“A friend recommended this place, said it was haunted by at least two ghosts, annoying but sometimes funny. I imagine he was talking about you two. You’re not the boyfriend, are you?” Darcy asks Sam as she draws soft lines of graphite in his book.

“Oh, hell no. He wishes.” He chuckles, holding out a hand. “I’m Sam. I can only stand that man as far as I can throw him.”

Darcy takes his hand, offering her name in return.

“What the hell man? You know you can’t throw down like I can.”

“Knock it off, guys.”

“So, is he the ghost then?” Darcy snickers referring to the voice as both men roll their eyes at the phrase they’ve heard far too often.

“No.” Sam seems to pout. “You’d think so, but no.”

Darcy shrugs and hands Bucky the book back. “Here, try to memorize it in chunks, it has more rhythm that way, might be easier.”

“Thank you so much!” Bucky’s face brightens and he wraps Darcy in a quick hug, nearly crushing her. His movements startling her into laughter and cause Sam to roll his eyes.

“Why you gotta hug everyone, man. Some people don’t like it.”

“I don’t mind.” Darcy shrugs with a laugh. “Some people need kindness in physical platonic gestures.”

Sam hums, eyeing Darcy and then Bucky.

“What?” She asks confusion written across her face.

“You thinking what I’m thinking, Buck?”

It takes Bucky a moment, but he gets there. “Oh. Stevie. Yeah.”

“Who?”

“They’d be perfect together.” Sam nods, giving Darcy his sweetest smile. “You’d really love him.”

“No, seriously, who’s Steve?”

“For us to know and you to fall in love with.” Sam arches his brows at her.

“Hey, maybe then he’ll spend less time here giving us a hard time.” Bucky says, nudging Sam.

“Give the lady some room otherwise she’ll never come back here, ya crazy mutts.” Says the voice again, this time closer.

“What?” Darcy asks while Bucky shakes his head and goes back to his book. She looks to Sam who throws his hands in the air in mock defeat.

“We try and we try, Steve.” Sam says, his smirk growing into a full smile. “But we can only do so much for you, old man.”

“This is why business is erratic.” Says the voice, who Darcy is now assuming to be the Steve formerly mentioned. “You two aren’t sharing shifts anymore if you keep this up.”

“Uh oh, looks like you’ve upset the man behind the curtain.” Darcy quips, earning a fist bump from Sam and a chuckle from Bucky.

“Yeah! Good one.” Scott cheers coming around the corner, bowl of orange slices in hand. “Who’s the new girl?” he asks, offering everyone to take from the dish.

“Scott, be cool, man.” Sam shakes his head, grabbing a handful of oranges before walking out of the aisle.

“When am I not cool? I’m cool right?” Scott looks to Darcy, like she’ll back him up.

Bucky chuckles and disappears around the corner before being dragged into it.

Darcy laughs and nods, her words caught in her throat as Steve rounds the corner, rolling his eyes.

“You’re the coolest Scott.” Steve confirms, eyes tired until they fall on Darcy and light up. “Can you finish inventory in the back?”

“Can do Cap!” Scott mock salutes, shoving the large bowl into Steve’s hands as he leaves.

“Sorry about him.” He shuffles his feet a bit, suddenly shy at finding the ‘cute coffee shop girl’ in his shop. “’Bout all of them, really.”

Darcy shakes her head “You must be Steve?” Darcy smiles at the flush starting to color his cheeks.

“Yeah,” He says softly, smile as bright as she knew it’d be. “And you’re—”

“Darcy. It’s nice to meet you, finally.”

“How’d you survive the minotaurs that work here?” He asks, putting the bowl on an empty shelf, his free hand rubbing at the back of his neck.

“I know how to get around a maze with minimum casualties.” Darcy laughs, the sound feeling like a wave of sunshine rippling through his veins.

Steve can’t help but laugh with her. He should have listened to Clint and Nat and talked to her sooner.

“Would you—” He’s interrupted with a tap on the shoulder by a guy with a creepy yet happy smile holding three pizza boxes.

“We didn’t order anything.” Steve says with a confused look. “Wait. Guys? Did you order take out again?”

“No!” Come Bucky and Sam’s reply almost in unison, followed by a late and muffled ‘no’ from Scott.

“Sorry, man.”

“Smells good, though.” Darcy murmurs.

“Eh, thought I’d just say hi. This goes next door.”

“What?” Darcy takes a step closer to Steve.

“Hi. Wade Wilson.” The man says with a sigh of admiration. “Big fan.” And turns to leave.

The door hasn’t shut yet and they hear his voice again from the street.

“Fuck! I got distracted by those baby blues. What was my line? ‘Everything’s better with pizza?’ Fuck it, close enough! Can’t I do it again? Shit!”

“What the fuck was that?” Darcy asks, holding a hand over her mouth as she laughs.

“You keep the pizza, boss?” Bucky yells.

“Or are you two too busy making out already?” Sam sticks his head around the corner waggling his eyebrows.

“Why did I agree to hire you two?” Steve asks, giving Darcy an apologetic look.

“Wanna get out of here?” Darcy slips her hand into Steve’s.

“Yeah.”

“Buck!” Sam yells over his shoulder. “They’re holding hands!”

“Ha! Nat owes me twenty bucks!” Comes Bucky’s voice from behind the stacks of books.

“Coffee shop?”

“Coffee shop.” Steve agrees, his smile faulters. “Wait, do you know Clint?”

“Shit.”  

[suicidalcatz]

DOG DAYS ARE OVER : CHAP 6

Pairing : Jake Kiszka x Reader

Genre : College AU

Previous Parts : Prologue ; Chap 1 ; Chap 2 ; Chap 3 ; Chap 4 ; Chap 5

Masterlist : here

AN : Hullo ! As you start hanging out with Jake, Josh seems a little... upset about something. It’s up to you to discover what’s going on in his lil curly head. As always, I hope you’ll like it, I’m excited about the chapters to come because things will speed up a bit from now on. Thank you all for the love and support you’re amazing, please feel free to check my dialogue prompts list and/or tell me what you think of this part!

Chapter six : Jake ?!

By the time I was waiting for Jake in front of the school it was still pitch black outside. The wind was so cold against my skin that my face stung and I kept shivering, all alone near the smoking area. The week end flew by super fast, faster than I had imagined, and even if I had a great time with my family and friends I was so glad to be back. Jake and I texted a lot during those two days, sending each other funny pictures or random stuff, like him watching a movie with popcorn in the common room, and even a selfie with his guitar. That I of course saved and have looked at it numerous times already, smiling and daydreaming. His last text asked me if I could meet him here at 7:30 so we could print the flyers together before class started. A new shiver ran down my spine, and I looked at my phone. He was late and I began fearing that he might never come at all.

Students began gathering around school, all looking tired and carrying their portfolios, chatting quietly in small groups. I watched them pass next to me as I looked at the hour once more. It's when I lifted my gaze from my phone that I saw him walking towards me hurriedly, clothes looking disheleved and bed hair falling on his worned out visage.

- I'm sorry I overslept, he said quickly, did I make you wait ? You look frozen, I'm so sorry.

Showing a small smile, I tried to deny it and shake him off telling him it was okay but he interrupted me by rubbing my sides vigorously to warm me up, before taking my bare hands in his to do the same. An electric feel went through my body when his skin got in contact with mine, and I didn't dare to move an inch. Jake then took them to his lips to blow some hot air on them. I could feel the tip of my fingers tingle but it wasn't from the cold weather, but his mouth being so close to my skin, barely brushing it like a feather like kiss. My face was scorching hot when our eyes met, and he should've seen the shy yet embarrassed look on it because he let go of me, as if realizing that he maybe had gone too far even though he just wanted to be nice. Glancing sideways, his gaze avoided me and he cleared his throat before he spoke in an attempt to break the awkwardness of the moment.

- We should get going before class starts.

Quickly nodding, he went first and I followed him through the hallways before we found ourselves in front of the photocopier. We printed an awful lot of flyers, taking advantage of the teachers' absence to use a ton of paper we didn't pay for. It looked gorgeous, all those colorful flyers together, and Jake's pleased smile while gathering them was even better. Just by watching him I could tell he loved it, and it was so rewarding it was worth spending a few hours of the night making it for him. A relieved sigh escaped from my lips as I put my back against the wall.

- We made it.

- Are you kidding ? You made it. All I did was telling you it looked great and sending you ugly pics of Josh.

A light chuckle found its way through my throat and our eyes met.

- That's what I call good teamwork.

There was a fondness in his eyes I couldn't describe. Jake was a hard to read dude, or maybe he was genuinely that great and simple boy and I was the one trying to find what was the scam while really there was none at all. Collecting the rest of the flyers, he leaned on the copy machine with one elbow and turned to me, standing at the other end of it.

- Hey, are you free during 10am break ? We should give some of them before going to class together, since we share the same lecture.

My heart skipped a beat. His face looked unsure and the hesitant edge to his raspy voice made him sound way more attractive than it should be allowed. Why was he acting like I would possibly send him packing ? How could I when he looked like this ?

- Yeah, sure.

Giving away flyers in this damn weather was way more fun than expected, and Jake had played a huge part in this outcome. The brunette was always cracking jokes, nudging me playfully with his shoulder for no reason, or chatting passionately about music, movies, or the festival. He sounded so pumped it got me excited too, seeing him being this impatient about something.

To his suggestion, or more precisely his challenge, we both raced to the amphitheater, running like madmen in the corridors, nearly knocking people off in the process but we didn't care at all. It was exhilirating, running like that just for the hell of it. It sparked something within me, and a rush of adrenaline spun through my body. I didn't want to lose, but this jackass was fast, sometimes glancing behind his back to make sure I was keeping up with him. A silly grin had spread across my face the whole time and wouldn't leave me, not until we were in front of the amphitheater, both panting and chuckling, cheeks beat red. Jake held the door for me, motioning me to go in first. Shyly giggling, I obliged, looking after him and sharing a mischevious grin.

What made my face fall was Josh's confused look. I couldn't say he was upset but the way he stared at the two of us was unsettling, it told me something was wrong, but I didn't know what nor why. With an uneasy feeling, I sat at my usual spot next to Mandy.

- Hanging out with Jacob, are we ?

She wiggled her brows in a ridiculous fashion and I elbowed her playfully. Of course she wanted the gossips, and wouldn't let go until I revealed everything.

- He's amazing, I whispered, he's so sweet and fun to be around. You'd think he had some hidden flaws but so far he doesn't and it's giving me a hard time Mandy.

My head fell lightly on my arm, letting out a sigh as she patted my hair. Maybe hanging out with Jake wasn't a good idea. The more I knew of him, the more my crush grew. With a pretty face like that you would believe he at least was a jerk but the boy was charming in every way. How could I stop falling for someone so lovable ?

- You're doing great, replied Mandy. You guys spend alone time together, text each other, and you helping him with his flyers was the best idea you had this entire year. I think it's going real good.

- What if he doesn't like me ?

Raising my head to meet her eyes, she brushed a strand of hair out of my face and gave me a soft smile.

- He will.

 - But what if he-

- Then he's not the one sweetie.

It made my heart sink a little, thinking about Jake not being the right man for me. Because at this moment all I could see was him. Being with him was like being the only two humans on Earth.  He suddenly came into my life and took all this space, blocking my view from everything else but him. Every little thing he did got me on edge. My memory was full of the littlest details my brain noticed about him ; the way he put his hand on his hair, the different smiles he gave, the disconnected look he had when concentrating on what people were saying... It was hard, thinking of the possibilty that Jake might never fall for me.

Something light bumped the corner of my head before rolling on the table, making Mandy jump in the process.

- Fuck that scared me, she breathed while unfolding the paper ball.

As usual, Josh was looking at us, but for the first time he arbored that confused, slightly moody expression on his face I couldn't quite point out. Cheek on his fist, brows furrowed, he was staring at us, patiently waiting for a reply. Jesus Christ someone woke up in the wrong side of the bed this morning. Mandy patted me on the arm, a puzzled expression dispayed on her face.

- Uhh... I think this is for you ?

Mimicking her bafflement, I took the crumpled note in my hands and frowned. What the fuck was I supposed to reply ? On the paper, in big letters was only one word :

« Jake ?! »

What did that mean ? Glancing at Josh and raising my hands in confusion didn't help, since the boy shrugged and turned his back to me, ignoring me completely.

I met with Jake again during lunch to try and give the rest of the flyers away near the cafeteria. At least half of the students ate there so we both agreed it was a genius idea. We spent our time together running, calling out students, and handing out papers like we were selling the town's newspaper. One thing I learned while hanging out with Jake was that time flew by fast. So it was no wonder we came in late and exhausted to meet Josh and Mandy who had both already finished their lunch. And while my roomate winked at me, the other just looked downright pissed.

- Sorry we're late, said Jake catching his breath, but Van Gogh right here found the perfect spot, it was crazy, we gave so many flyers, shit I think we'll even have to print more of them.

Letting out a light chuckle, he put his arm behind my shoulder to give me a side hug, showing me proudly. I felt my cheeks beginning to heat at all the praise, a smile playing at the corner of my mouth. The euphoria filling the air around us didn't last long however, because Josh cut his brother to speak.

- You could've asked me for help.

Jake let go of me, losing his smile. Idly scratching his head, not really knowing what to reply to that.

- Didn't know you wanted to.

We all could tell by the sound of his voice he was sincere, and even apologetic, but Josh wasn't buying it, or at least he didn't wanted to. He seemed like someone who was seeking confrontation, and an uncomfortable tension began to rise between them. I stood next to Jake, awkwardly squirming and exchanging glances with Mandy who looked just as clueless as we did. Seemingly understanding my silent question, she shook her head in a discreet way just for me to see, telling me she didn't know what was up with Josh.

- Well then again, you didn't ask, came the cold reply.

In the corner of my eye I saw Jake's chest expand as he took a deep breath, probably trying his best to keep his calm. He was starting to get mad too, mostly for not knowing why his brother was such a bitch all of a sudden.

- Come with us next time if you want, Jake offered.

I could tell it was painful for him not to give in to annoyment but he managed to keep his cool and it made me proud somehow. Yet, talking to a wall was hard and their weird dispute had set an awkward silence between the four of us. That's why Jake decided to leave.

- I'm gonna get going, I forgot my lunch anyway.

It sounded like a lie but none of us dared to contradict nor prevent him from going. If only he had left without adding anything more... but he called my name on the stairs leading to the first floor.

- Text me when you're out of the workshop I'll wait for you.

He disappeared on the crowd of students right after I nodded and I just knew he fucked up by saying that.

- You guys exchanged numbers ?

Of course it was Josh. Mandy already knew. Facing him was hard, and made me feel ashamed for reasons I didn't even understand. Was that jealousy I was witnessing ? Because I was spending time with his brother ? Maybe I've been selfish and should've included him. It made me feel even worse when I answered his question.

- Yeah. We did.

Even if it didn't make things better at all, I at least owed him the truth. Since apparently Jake didn't tell him anything about us texting all week. Which was kind of a dick move, judging by how Josh looked hurt by it. I felt like I finally understood what was up with him and why he was throwing mini tantrums like this one. He probably was feeling left out. Nothing more.

But before I could reassure Josh and invite him over for a drink tonight, the school bell rang and he passed me by swiftly, gently pushing me out of his way. Fuck. I'll have to find a compromise to balance these relationships soon or else I'll end up losing both of them, and I couldn't afford that.

[1dffexchange]

A Star is Torn

To: Christa @wild3flow3r​

From: Rory @verorax​

Warnings: Language, sexual content, mentions of substance abuse and a gunshot.

Summary: Harry Styles is known as the charming, perfect superstar who has not done a single wrong thing in his life. Abigail Quinn is known as the washed away superstar who has been doing tequila shots since she was eleven.

They fell in love, fast and hard. They thought they could make each other 'themselves' again but when you've spent an entire lifetime living a shallow, faux life, you don't really know what you were before the world made you who you are.

A story about tequila, empty homes, being a coward, and a journey down the ladder of success to meet everyone once lost

Or an ou inspired by Lady Gaga’s soul shattering song ‘Shallow’

Author's Note: hi christa! i'm so glad that i wrote this prompt and even more that i wrote this for you!! cheers to our friendship with this 25K story!

November 2022

At twenty eight, Harry Styles found himself sitting in the lobby of a hotel behind the big green chair that was particularly reserved for him in the name of privacy. A cup of black coffee (that he liked with brown sugar and the slightest tint of creamer) was cooling down in front of him, as of yet, lying completely untouched. And a copy of War and Peace remained etched to his eyes despite the fact that he wasn't really paying much of an attention to it.

Most people would sell their souls to live a day in Harry's luxurious Beverly Hills Mansion or the penthouse he had brought on the Sunset Strip last year, but to him they were all mere investments he'd done following the words of his financial advisor. Rather the penthouse he had brought was a gift for his sister, Gemma, on her wedding last summer. Not that it was needed; she barely ever came to LA, mostly loving the land of English too much. Thence Harry still had an extra key of the house just in case he decides to crash.

But that never really happened. Harry Styles wasn't happy being stagnant. His life has been a non stop routine of travelling, often living the same day twice (in different time zones) and then more almost losing an entire day by a few hours.

Travelling meant Harry had lived in Four Seasons more than he had lived in any place that was could be called home.

There was something about sitting in the lobby the way he was right now. He'd done it plenty of times. It allowed him to hear the crying of the toddler in his father's arms behind him or the couple whispering sweet nothings and giggling every once in a while, without worrying about all of the world's attention diverted to him as soon he entered a room (only making him more guilty). It gave him a sense of normality around him, even if he knew he'd never be a part of that normality.

California was the golden state. The first time Harry came to LA, he was still very seventeen, very much of a popboy and very much in One Direction. While rest of the boys found the place cool enough to hang out once in a while, Harry took the liking for it too hard. The fascination with the city of stars lodged itself in his brain, his heart, his soul, in that order. As if it was not enough, it slowly seeped down to the crinkles of his eyes, his dimpled grin and the crumpled papers on his stainless floor forming the subject of his multiple famous tunes. Eventually he realised why almost every celebrity finds LA more endearing than any other land. Sometimes he felt like he came to LA to take a break from reality as if he was on a world detox.

Maybe it was the the warmth of the sun or the lack of gloomy, rain sounds that dominated back in England – giving him an effusively jubilated feeling that maybe life is not as dark as people say when it came to Hollywood. But time made him learn – to get warm you must burn. That is why eleven years later he was still burning yet somehow thought the warmth was worth it.

From : Jeffrey

H!!!! Party tonight remember? At Catch, 7. I'll pick you up. And please get your Chevy from car wash first thing tomorrow morning, Glenne says

From : Harry

Who's party? Say hi to Glenne.

From : Jeffrey

YOUR party, idiot. 125 million remember, Richie Rich?

From : Harry

This is Glenne, I can tell from the tone.

From : Jeffrey

BE THERE BUT.

And yeaaaahhh Glenney here!

Harry chuckled as he kept his phone on his lap and took the coffee that was too cold for his liking now. His net worth had recently reached a whopping 125 million USD – a news that was given to him over the weekend, the first thing as he concluded his third solo tour. His mum was very proud of him, so was his sister, they both being in nearly tears. Both him and his mum had decided to give a good percent of it away on charity, the subject of which was yet to be decided.

But for now his ‘friends’ and tour mates needed a party, a well acclaimed event that his publicist wanted a lot of people to know about.

Harry would be lying if he said that it didn't matter. He had always been an ambitious lad, a perfectionist as Niall and often Liam would term it as. And watching a memento of his success, a new notch on his perfect, splashy, non tainted image as ‘superstar who only keeps on going higher’, it made him proud of his over-working nature. But what made him proud even more of the way his tour ended.

It was the most beautiful show he had ever played despite the fact that he said the same thing after every single show. The final show was in LA as it's always been, the crowd celebrating another Harry Styles Victory and it being attended by most of the people nearest and dearest to him. Of course when he looked back at it, in all those eleven years, there were so many more people he'd left behind than take along. But everytime that feeling started crawling up to him, he tried to push it away. These thoughts only made him guilty of his success. And as much as he tries to convince himself that this is how life is supposed to be, it still stung and each absence left a gaping hole in his existence, never mended by time.

As he finished his coffee, placing the empty cup carefully on the table he knew he had to go back to his room in order to get ready; seven was not long away. And then as he turned around glancing at the once crying toddler who was now sleeping peacefully in his father's arms Harry thought, maybe it was how it's always supposed to be – first it's shallow then deeper. He just didn't know where and when his deeper was going to come.

■■■

LA’s dining scene was a notorious fickle. While Harry usually preferred his Cafe Habana in Malibu or the very paps free zone of Cavatina, when it came to anything in public view it always came down to Catch. Despite Harry and Jeffrey's unlikeliness for the dine-here-drink-here restaurant, Glenne happens to drag them there on several occasions, making sure Harry wears his hair well on those days. She usually says, “Harry it's a pap pic day. I need you in a good shirt and do not forget to brush the untamable disheveled wig of yours.”

Glenne was Jeffrey's wife. Sometimes looking at them, Harry felt ridiculously jealous. He was a man of twenty eight, a hopeless romantic at heart and very unfortunate when it came to his love life. All of his bandmates have had some or the other real relationship in their lives, so did his closest friends after the band and even his very shy often geeky sister. All of this only made him pity on his situation, often making him wonder where he goes wrong when it comes to love.

After a whirlwind of congratulatory hugs and being bubbly, jumping from one group to another, and raising a toast in the name of his entire team, Harry felt his job was done for the night. He had done everything mandatory and the rest left was just chilling. That's when he excused himself from Jeffrey's grip, wanting nothing more than some cool air that could parch down his body temperature, some space to breathe until he finds himself oxygenated enough to go back to his mates.

He usually loves a good party, but what he hates is the aftermath. Once the party is over, everyone leaves. Harry, though would spend hours at the party location, not leaving till the echoes of people from the night slowly dims into oblivion and he can actually hear his heart beating – that's how silent everything becomes. That is when he leaves, trying to find another place so loud that he can't hear his own thoughts.

The rooftop was not a good idea. It had a gorgeous view and that usually meant his model friends and guests were out there taking the best pictures of the night to flaunt brazenly on their Instagram pages. And if Harry happened to be in room, as always, he'll have to pose with them – in groups, solo – all of it sounding nothing but another hour of smiles and cameras to him.

So instead he took the spot beside the door of the rooftop, leaning his back on the wall and closing his eyes in silence. The November breeze was cold on his face, as if opening the pores on his skin that had been closed due to excessive make-up. It was a feel good, the music being lighter than ever and Harry felt that he was deported to a silent room yet with lot of human presence, the body heat around him reminding him that — the exact way he wanted it all to be.

“Tequila?” Harry’s face perked up at someone talking to him. For a moment he gasped at the voice but soon came to a rest when he saw a girl with blonde hair, average height and cocked up eyebrow holding out a tequila glass to him.

“Thank you.” He sighed, taking the drink from her hand, something that made her smile. She was wearing a denim ankle length jeans and an overused washed away Rolling Stones tee. For a moment Harry felt she didn't have an idea of what the party was about. Most females here were kind of dressed up (not the gown dressed up, the fancy dinner dressed up). But what a woman wore was not much of his worry, at all actually.

“You're welcome.” She said crossing her hands over her chest and standing beside him.

Harry was still nursing the tequila when a thought occurred to him. He kind of chuckled speaking, “Is it by any means spiked? I mean I didn't ask for this and you're just coming here and offering me a drink.”

That earned him a laugh. “Ah don't worry, I by no means intend of taking you to bed and stripping you down once you're inebriated.” The blonde shrugged, pushing her hair away. She sounded innocent but the glint of smirk on her face said otherwise. “Just thought the host doesn't look good sans a glass of drink.”

“Very considerate of you… but I'm not buying that. You don't even have a drink yourself.” He suggested cheekily when she looked at him with a bewildered expression.

“Come on, can't a girl be nice?” Harry's expression was still skeptical but he nodded nonetheless. When after a few moments he opened his mouth to speak again, the blonde rolled her eyes giving away the act and taking a hold of his arm. “Okay, listen I know it usually happens later at night but I'll keep it hidden and very quick.”

“Are you by any means asking me for a quickie? I usually chat first, maybe share a drink-”

“A bill. A green note.” She interjected him.

“So you're asking me for money?” Harry still sounded as lost and confused as he did.

This only made the blonde sigh, she stretched on her toes moving closer to Harry so she could whisper into his ear. “A rolled green note? I know you might have it hidden around.”

Realisation hit him, only making his eyes go wide before he awkwardly chuckled. “I..I don't. Sorry, I don't do cocaine.”

“That's a lie, pal.” She scoffed. “It's just me you can let with the nice guy act slip. Nothing wrong in mild spliff.”

It's just me. Harry never understood that line. Maybe because nobody ever said anything like that to him. And nobody did because they were intimidated by him, his name, his fame and things that come along. But now that this girl had said it, he wanted to know what that line actually means.

“You really don't?” She asked moving a hand around his face only getting a guilty shrug. “How do you not? Cocaine is like water for celebrities.”

“I've heard that.” He nodded being reminded the above statement too often. “But I roll away with a weed max, that too very rare.”

“Weed at max? Not even acid.” He shook his head kind of embarrassed at this point the way she was looking at him. In that moment he thought she might rebuke him and leave but when she pouted, still keeping her stand he had started feeling more comfortable. “Damn you. What did I even sacrifice my tequila for?”

He laughed taking his first sip of the tequila. “I am so sorry that you had sacrifice your tequila. But I can promise you that later at night a lot of people can give you a rolled green note.”

“I'm not staying that late.” She announced once she had checked time from her watch. After what looked like a little thought, the blonde added, “And actually thank you that you don't have it. I have a class early morning tomorrow and can't be jammed before that.”

Harry was overwhelmed by this information. It was rare finding people who go to school at such parties. Nonetheless he nodded. “Tequila? If that's not jamming.” He offered her a drink that he had just taken from the tray one of the waiters was carrying. The blonde nodded with a small smile, taking his offer.

“Abigail Quinn.” She brought a hand forward and he gently took it in courtesy.

“Harry Styles.”

Harry said that because it seemed the only right thing to say. Abigail Quinn was no random name. The world knew her as childhood star from a famous Disney sitcom called ‘Bunker Hill’, who's been doing vodka shots since she was eleven. He remembered that he had to meet her somewhere when he was nineteen, very vaguely though. Niall had a huge crush on her, he had stolen Harry's cologne because it apparently ‘attracted woman’, to impress her. She never came to meet them. They were told she got stuck in work hammering Niall's timid heart but the news of her being arrested on the account of drink and drive the next day was not something that could be hidden away from them.

“Where do you study?” Harry questioned in a cautious tone, with everything about Abigail's past it was a rather caution worthy subject.

“UCLA psychology.” She answered without a click as if the answer was lying in the tip of her tongue. Though her further addition came after a good pause. “Well I'm kind of focussing on substance abuse issues.”

Harry tried everything in him to keep his demeanour as normal as it can be, too scared he'd do something that will offend her away. He could only imagine how most people react to everything she does nowadays after the wildest history from her past – all splashed on papers. “So you went back to school?” Harry asked, sounding even to himself somewhat uncomfortable.

“Yeah. My mom said that the only way I'd be allowed to come back in LA is if I go to school.” Abigail shrugged. “It's fine, you can ask if it's weird or not.”

“Sorry,” Harry's voice was like a drawl, genuinely guilty. “No offense but it's already weird being in the public eye. Then school.. I'd never be able to do it.”

“I hope you never have to. At least some of us can stay a stellar superstar.” The last part came as a mutter and Harry could see that Abigail regretting saying it. But it was the first time ever since this conversation began that he had looked at her face properly, brazenly, not peeking a glance but rather studying every feature; not even blinking properly. “What's actually weird is being 27 and an undergrad. I look like a middle aged woman with six children. Even if I talk to guys they act as if I am a madam. ‘Lady Quinn, can you tell me the schedule of tomorrow?’”

Her mocking voice was extremely humorous and Harry didn't mind laughing along. “I think you're being too hard on yourself. You look pretty fit and young.”

“You would say that, you're my age. Ask the kid who nearly drools on my shoulder whenever he's too sleepy in class.” She rolled her eyes before they both had started laughing. What seemed like a laughter for eternity but rather lasted a few minutes, she looked back at him nudging his side. “What about you? How do you feel about your 125 million grands?”

Harry sighed at the question. “It's a great feeling of accomplishment and I'm glad I'll be able to help people. A good share of it is going on charity.”

“Charity? I would've brought a wine cellar with it. Not that I didn't have one.” She told, this time being quite more confident.

“That's a very nice investment. At the end of my next tour, I'll be sure to contact you to get a wine cell.” The sarcasm in his voice earned him a slap on his chest.

There onwards, for the first time ever since his last show ended, Harry felt like himself. It was not much except for a constant bicker, throwing in comments about the weird metallic furniture or mocking the group of social media addicts on the rooftop. But it made something alive in him, something that could expand his jaw in wide smile. They were drinking tequila for the longest time known to man, it might even have been a little more than an hour as they sat on the couch right beside the rooftop door, laughing incessantly.

Due to the flame of the fire that was a part of the decor, Abigail's face was lit up highlighting the golden of her hair or the pale skin and pink chaste lips. It made Harry blush slightly when his eyes lingered on her lips a little too long.

“Abigail why don't you go home already? You have a class.” Harry asked.

“Yes but I can't leave yet.” She shrugged sighing in a slurry tone. “All thanks to you this place is very much pap friendly, sneaking inside was already a task now leaving would be much worse. Especially when there's no one else leaving.”

She probably said that all in fun but it made Harry feel ridiculously guilty. Time and again he had been reminded of how he influenced the lives of people around him but he never knew that he even impacted the life of people outside his life.

He offered her a crooked smile, unsure of what to say next. After contemplating in wry silence, he offered. “How about… I drop you? My driver, I mean. There's a backdoor and we will have our privacy.”

Abigail bit her lip opening and closing her mouth several times. “That's very sweet Harry.. but I'll have to pass. It's your party, you don't have to do so muc-”

“I insist, please,” he cut her off, placing a hand over hers.

Abigail lived in a quiet residential area of Century City. It was close to school and allowed her to commute easily, she told him. The entire ride their conversation was very similar to the one in the restaurant just this one delved more into the recent happenings of their lives, superficially. It was blatant that Abigail enjoyed school more than acting, even at an unconventional age, from the way she talked about it. On the other hand Harry seemed more intrigued by the psychology student beside him.

The car pulled to a halt outside a three storied, little building beside a flower shop. He couldn’t help but examine the area outside to see if there were any photographers, who might have been following them. Abigail got out of the car, keeping her head low. It kind of made Harry feel better that she was accustomed to this life just the way he was.

She turned on her toes to a pulled down window, “Thank you so much for this ride.”

He nodded in generous appreciation, beholding for a little while if he should accompany her to the door. So when Harry got out of the car, following her with his hands in his pockets, Abigail looked at him in a strange yet nervous way.

He couldn't blame her though, she must've been used to men thinking it was their right to let into any woman's house if they had offered to drop her. Those terms were often synonymous in Hollywood.

“Uh.. don't worry. I just thought of dropping you to the door.” He reassured, rubbing his neck uncomfortably.

She winced dramatically, “Bad luck Abigail! First I couldn't spike your drink, now I couldn't seduce you to inside.” Harry laughed very hard at her statement and from the looks of it, Abigail appreciated it. “Not every guy gives me a ride home and goes back from the door. That's sweet, popstar.”

“Not every girl gives me a her tequila in order to get a rolled green note. That's-” He spoke cheekily before being cut off.

“I'm taking the sweet back.”

■ ■ ■

December 2022

Abigail was mates with Glenne. Harry discovered this when Glenne asked him how she was in his car – something he was sure the driver must've told her. What more sufficed was that Jeffrey wasn't very pleased with the situation, even after being reassured by Harry several times that he came back from the doorstep.

They were taking some time off. They usually did post touring but with this album being just on the verge of beginning, Jeffrey knew that it wouldn't be the same time next year that they'll be touring. As much as Harry loved believing that Jeffrey was his mate, he was first a part of his management team. Hence his concern of Abigail Quinn was not just a concern of a friend but one of a manager. Harry somehow hoped he'd let this topic pass off.

A few weeks in, Harry had to move into his Beverly Hills mansion. He was glad that his first night in the house was raided by Jeff Bhasker, Alex Salibian and some other of his music colleagues, it only made him feel more in the buzz, the way he was used to. He needed coffee and exercise, in that order. His mum often joked that he had technically turned American given how he has traded his family favourite Earl Grey for darker and bitterer caffeine. Sometimes he wished he was a fan of instant coffee, that would have cut him a good slack of work but he was not and that's why when his coffee machine gritted and didn't respond due to lack of usage he knew he had to take some on his way to his Soul Cycling class.

The Soul Cycling class was a twelve minute ride on normal traffic from his place. Taking on his Chevy, he found a spot closest to the door incase a quick escape was necessary before walking into the tiny coffee shop beside the building. The queue this morning was unnecessarily long but Harry was fine as long as people didn't approach him for anything more than a selfie.

“So tequila at night, coffee in morning?”

He recognised that sound quickly. Particularly he recognized the word tequila said in that sound quickly. Tequila had not been the same word since Harry met Abigail.

“Abigail, to what do I owe the honor.” A very warm smile was an instinct as he turned around.

“Who would've known you enjoy a coffee pre-exercise, superstar?”

“Well being absolutely guilty here but these ones are too good to resist.” Harry shrugged. “Better point, I don't get women asking for a rolled note in exchange of their coffees.”

Abigail rolled her eyes at him without any hesitation. “At least I'm not the person who hasn't even taken acid in his thirty years of lifetime.”

“Twenty eight. And I proudly steer clear of them.” Harry bit his lip once, a certain memory coming in his head. He contemplated for moment if they were on the page of him mentioning one of his ex band mates. He hadn't mentioned them to anyone in a long while, as if they were never a part of his life. But then he remembered her words – it's just me and so he went with it. “Once my bandmate, Louis tried a narcotic, only ended up in fits of nosebleeds. A terrible sight, he was only twenty.”

“Poor guy. But he just needed a good tutor. I'm sure he's got used to it by now. Or if not you can always send him to me.” She winked playfully. “I can even tutor you.”

“Tutor for taking narcotics? Thank you so much but I'll have to decline.”

Harry didn't know how joking about drugs had become so normal to him. This is something he's never done. When all of his band mates, Niall included, were trying their firsts in the world of substance, Harry had steered away. He never judged people who did it, he just didn't want everything he had being wasted because of it. Time and again he had promised himself of discipline. He always thought it was only discipline that could make him who he aimed to be – ‘superstar who only keeps on going higher.’ Harry was an ambitious workaholic – another reason as to why he had missed and lost so many things in his life. It wasn't just drugs or it wasn't drugs at all. It was everything and everyone else his farce cry for discipline sent away.

“I never knew you were mates with Glenne.” Harry said putting a hand in his Nike track jacket.

“Glenne Christiaansen?” Abigail earned a nod compelling her to continue. “Yeah we met through a common friend. Crazy girl to say the least.”

“She says the same thing about you.” Harry could tell that Abigail was amused that she was a subject of his conversations with his friends. He was somewhere hoping she wouldn't say it loud, it'll only make him blush. “Says you two haven't talked in a while.”

“I haven't been in LA in a while, otherwise we're pretty good.”

Harry glanced up to place his order as they were next in the queue. He took a simple americano and moved aside for Abigail to take her turn. But when she instead followed him, he was compelled to ask.“What? You won't be taking a coffee?”

“I left my wallet at home.” She wrinkled her nose.

He furrowed his eyebrows together. “Don't be daft; I wouldn’t let you pay anyways.” "Why not?” “Because I am a gentleman,” Harry explained. And just before Abigail could argue on the topic of feminism, something he knew she was about to, he added “You can always pay me back.”

Abigail didn't actually go for a coffee. When Harry told her about his mother's personal favorite chai latte at the shop she was adamant to try it.

“How will I pay you back?” Abigail asked Harry for the tenth time when he told her that she had nothing to worry about.

“You've got a point. Given how you don't even have my number.” He cheekily commented knowing where this was going.

“If you wanted my number, Harry all you had to do was ask.” Harry was smiling sheepishly as a pink patch crawled up his neck. “Just kidding, you can have it of you want.”

He reached out for her phone that she had unlocked and slid in his direction. “Why do you have emojis in front of all your contacts rather their surnames?”

“Because they're emotions.” Abigail shrugged. “And I associate people with emotions.”

“What do I get, then?”

Abigail put a tongue to her cheek before slowly forming a grin. She took her phone from his hand, keeping him to only watch her deviously pull his contact, sneaking a glance at him every once in a while. She passed it back to him, earning a loud laugh from Harry as he saw the a tequila shot emoji in front of his name.

Abigail was an avid conversationalist, Harry learnt very quickly. The entire forty five minutes of stationary cycling was highly dominated by Harry and Abigail’s inappropriate amount of laughter and bizarre looks that the rest of the cycling mates were sending their way.

“You're not coming?” Harry asked Abigail when he was just a few steps away from the door after their class was over.

She coughed awkwardly in response “I have to meet a friend. Catch with you later.”

Her words only received a tiny nod and respectable smile from Harry though the roll of her lips told him how it was a lot more to do with the line of paps waiting on the road in front than her meeting a friend.

■ ■ ■

February 2023

When Harry returned to LA a week after his birthday, he again went to a hotel instead of pulling into his Beverly Hills ‘bachelor pad’ as the media would term it. He personally thought he was too old for the term. Most of evenings he was not working, were spent in Abigail’s studio apartment that was too tiny to hold a place for two yet managed to grasp Harry's heart every time he went there.

He would cook her dinner as she managed to get her assignments done, mostly a soft tune playing in the background to fill the voids of silence. He would laugh whenever she complained about her professor being a sleepy moronic prick or her not finding her school supplements in the mess of her apartment, but let her go on anyways.

Fact was that Harry loved listening to her. It was probably the way she talked, with expressions and pressure that managed to intrigue him, making him realise why a good population of the world swooned over her acting skills on silver screen back in his teenage days.

“Do you think social media addiction can be qualified as an addiction?” Abigail inquired, eying Harry's plate of remaining Bolognese pasta after she had finished her own.

“Well given how you put the term addiction there, I think that's already a giveaway.” He chuckled, taking a sip of water directly from the bottle lying between them before snapping her hand away when she was trying to sneak in a bite. “Oi!”

“What? You're using my kitchen, my packet of pasta, my utensils. I deserve an extra bite, at least.” She argued, side-eying him before placing her hands in front of her chest.

“And you're having this because of my cooking skills, so steer clear.” He said proudly but when Abigail pouted at him he couldn't help but divide his leftover in half to share with her.

Grinning widely, she took her bite before continuing, “No, I meant, is it addiction enough to qualify in the realms of a post-graduation subject?”

“You're thinking of post-graduation?” He was inquisitive when he got up from the single couch in the apartment where they both had been sitting, having their dinner.

“Not me, just something I heard in the campus. To be frank it was weird in my opinion.” She followed him to the kitchen as he grabbed an apron from the doorstand, “Hey you can leave the dishes, I can do them tomorrow.”

“Yes just like we could've ordered a chinese takeaway but I cooked for us on this Friday night and didn't even get much of a thank you.” He dotted a boyish grin, one that earned him a little slap.

“Correction, superstar. You cooked for my gifted shirt, because it seriously has more pasta than my stomach.” She chuckled looking up and down the simple, white button up that she had gifted Harry for his birthday few weeks back.

She had gotten it on a sale at The Grove while Harry was in England for his birthday. It wasn't much, not any Gucci or Louis Vuitton that he was used to yet it was his favourite ever since he had received it. That is why Harry had gasped multiple times, even freaking out a little when, while cooking, his shirt was contaminated with a good amount of pasta sauce. Abigail told him it was nothing that a little wash won't run away even promising him that they both can wash it together this Sunday.

“I told you I am sorry.” He shook his head guilty but both of them knew that it was only Abigail pulling his leg.

She asked him to stay over, arguing that it was too late and too cold for Harry to go back to his place. Harry tried putting in his courtesy but truth be told he was elated to spend some more time with her. They took turns for the washroom, him going first before changing into a trouser and loose t-shirt for decency.

When Abigail went to the washroom, she left Harry alone amidst his thoughts and some time to vaguely pass. He spent a little while scroll down his newsfeed but eventually gave up, feeling bored. That's when he stood up, examining the walls of Abigail's house. There were numerous pictures, some of her and her family who lived in Pennsylvania, some from her teenage days. She looked very pretty even back then, he thought. He was still in the midst of going through them when he saw a small jammed drawer. It wasn't hidden on purpose but looked like it was discarded, full of old stuff...

“Those are a couple of awards I got for my sitcom back in day.” Abigail broke his trail of thoughts, her wet hair open only sitting on her shoulder. Opening the drawer and picking a trophy from what seemed a bunch of them, she said, “Outstanding Children's Award for Best Actress. Can you imagine I was children's favourite artist at sixteen? I hated children back at that time.”

She showed him the old, stained trophy laughing at it before going for another and another. But Harry wasn't paying much of an attention to the list of awards in her name. He was paying attention to the way she mocked them, as if she was embarrassed about them.

“Have you thought of going back?” He catechised, out of the blue. “Into acting I meant.”

“Never.” Abigail replied closing away the rack and going towards her bed to set pillows and sheets. “There's a reason why you leave some things. Sometimes the reasons are so strong that they control your life.”

Harry nodded knowingly. He knew that feeling, the only difference in their case being that he still didn't know the reason why he had left so many things. Sighing deeply, he picked up a pillow and a cover from her side, walking subconsciously.

“Where are you going?” She asked him with furrowed brows.

“I was thinking of sleeping in the floor.” He replied earnestly.

She laughed at him.“H, we can share a bed. You're cute and all but don't worry, I can control myself.”

■ ■ ■

April 2023

It was five days in April when Abigail finished her winter quarter finals and the first thing she demanded after stepping into Harry's Chevy, was to take her to his home. By instinct Harry turned in the direction of Century City, not long before she pulled him to a halt, rephrasing it as, “Your home, not mine. The Beverly Hills one.”

What would usually make him feel embarrassed, made Harry anxious. She had clearly stated ‘his’ home in the first place. But home was not what he linked with his Beverly Hills pad; actually home has always been an incognito term for him. Yet how he had subliminally taken the word home synonymous to Abigail's tiny apartment bewildered him.

It was a weird feeling creeping down on him. Attachment, he'd tell Glenne or Gemma whenever they brought it up. But then again, he knew better than anyone else that attachment is one thing that ruins you more than love can. At least love is a term of assurance; attachment is love without clarity. Attachment is so near to love yet so far away; attachment almost love. And that almost ruins you.

The entire car ride, Abigail was talking about her exams and her final year nearing by. And Harry was listening, listening and listening. He wanted to listen to her forever, maybe that would help him forget about the devious feeling hovering over his head. And it did, as always.

As Harry gave Abigail the code to the gate of his mansion he suddenly felt more apprehensive than ever.

This house was supposed to be his, but every night that he had to spent here (whenever he wasn't at Abigail's) he felt lost in his own world. He would walk the halls three times at night, unable to sleep, passing through the massive piano in the hall that he didn't play anymore. He would check out the pool, the foyer, the wine cell, even the barbecue lawn that was never used. There were several nights he would simply jump into the pool, sitting alone in the cold water for hours with his equally cold thoughts. There was nothing here except for overrated, comfortable silence.

And now for the first time Abigail was walking into this place, completely unaware of Harry's thoughts on it.

“Voila!” She sang entering the main hall in anticipation, pulling her hands wide in Vanna White style. “Why does this place echo, H?”

“Maybe because of lack furniture. Ain't that what science says?” He said placing the keys of his car on an underused coffee table and following her into the main hall.

“I think it's because of lack of people.” Abigail countered, running her hands over the fine leather of the main sofa. She placed her backpack on the floor beside the table, taking off her shoes and popping down on the sofa.

“Would you like a tour? Or we can first have some wine from the cell.” Harry asked in a humble tone, standing in front of her tired form.

“You have a wine cell?” Abigail gasped loudly at his statement, standing up at the speed of flash. “Do you know how fucking lucky you are?”

“Right, not lucky for having headline tours, back to back albums and awards, being chosen into One Direction. But lucky to have a wine cell. Nice perception.” He mocked her joyously before walking towards the black, all packed wine cellar which could be mistaken for a textured wall. “Which one?”

“I mean it's your cell, you have every right to chose, superstar with a posh Beverly Hills pad.” She spoke, following him into the massive room starred with wine on all four corners. Abigail tried to remain decent but it was evident how much in awe of the cell she was; and Harry was just as much in awe of her.

“Ladies first. My mum taught me manners, remember?” His voice was low and sexy as he spoke into her ear from behind. When she whipped her head halfway to see him in the vicinity he was, he raised his eyebrows, a hand slipping into her waist. They stood there for a while, not breaking their eye contact in between sporadic breaths and growing pulse. Harry took his time to appreciate every corner of her face – from her eyelashes to the highlight of her nose, back up to her glowing forehead marked by a single blonde hair strand and finally down to her lips. The extremely pink, highly kissable lips he often spent time thinking about.

Abigail breathed audibly, something that was followed by an awkward cough. Moving towards the directory of the cell, she scanned through the book aimlessly under Harry's deep gaze on her. He could see that her cheeks were burning red and she bit and chewed her lips nervously. “This is a gorgeous collection, H. I really get to choose?”

When she looked back at him humming a yes, she thanked him with a wide smile before moving forward to take out the wine she had chosen. It was a red Bordeaux encased in dark glass, one they decided to share directly from the bottle. Abigail proposed to toast on their way because she was extremely excited to see Harry's ‘home’ and all other wonders he had kept hidden from her.

They walked down halls through the floors, admiring the kitchen, the foyer, the paintings that Harry had collected over the years but never looked back at, the lawn with its multiple exquisites, moving to the pool area and back into the interior. Abigail gushed over the walk-in closet that was probably more spacious than her entire apartment and the sick, new television launched by Google with virtual space technology, one that Harry doesn't even remember how to switch on.

Half a bottle later they were back in the living room and Abigail was still swooning over the entire place when her eyes fell on a black and red box in the corner of the room. She stood up and trudged towards the corner of Harry's living room, primarily focussed on the cute Crosley record player that was resting there comfortably.

“You are such an untrustworthy person, Harry. First you have a wine cell then a record player and you were keeping them all from me.” She accused him, hands running over the victrola.

Harry followed her suite in order to comprehend the reason of his indict. Realising her reference, he pulled his hands up, “In all of my defense I cook us dinner at least four times a week and I never pegged you for a record player fan.”

“Really? What did you peg me for?” She asked him with a frown.

“You always play Apple Music, you know the modern world girl. Not vintage.”

“Well then you surely had a few strong wrong inhibitions on me.” She countered, looking over to the drawer with his vinyl collections in awe, “ My mother used to play her vinyl collection everytime she had to make me do my homework after shooting. They kind of soothed me because it was usually past dinner when I'd get time touch my books.”

“You worked very hard, Abby.” He enunciated softly as if it was a fact.

“I guess.” Abigail laughed, shaking her head. “Is it vintage? The record player.”

“Sure is.” Harry confirmed.

“Play me some?” It was more of a statement than a request but Harry was quick to abide. Abigail move aside, giving him enough space to go through his vinyls. Music was Harry's reign, his love, his way of expression, his art and Abigail trusted him with it.

After a protracted period, he brought out a single CD, putting it in the player and turning on the sound.

“‘Love Me Tender’, very appreciable.” Abigail raised her eyebrows in reverence, recognizing the Elvis Presley song as soon as words entered the track.

Harry turned around slowly after putting the record on, his hands behind his back as he took long, slow steps in her direction. “Well what would be more appreciable is if you dance with me? For Sir Presley.”

She stared at his outstretched palm, before laughing and shoving him aside. “Bucker off Styles Boy.”

But Harry was quick to get a hold of her hand, swinging her back, right into his arms. “Come on, don't tell me you only study over music. The best way to live music is to dance on it.” It was probably the wine that had given him all the confidence in the world because Harry was too calm and confident for their faces being only inches apart. Abigail on the other hand, wasn't. “Do you trust me, Abby?” He asked looking straight into her eyes receiving a very weak but sure nod. “Then dance with me.”

This time Abigail took Harry's offered palm willingly, something that brought a huge smile to his face. He parted away from her guiding them towards the hall where they had some empty space before pulling her towards him. Her hands snaked around his shoulders and his went around her waist, pretty smoothly to say the least. It was feel good, rhythmic and slow with Harry leading their dance.

“Okay, this is not as awful as I thought.” Abigail observed slowly with a smile.

“I guess I can be of some use.” Harry said proudly, thumb tapping on her hip.

“So tell me, are there any stories to this?”

“A lot of them – few girlfriends, loads of shags, it often starts with a romantic dance.” Harry winked at her cheekily, gaining a deep glare from her. “Oi, I was kidding Abby.”

He took her hand to swirl her twice before pulling her back into his arms, it had her giggling loudly. “I meant the vinyls, how you have them listed and arranged by genre.”

The cheery smile on his face was replaced my one that was slightly sad. Nonetheless he replied, “The entire collection was my dad’s. Every time I visited him, growing up we would listen to it. He.. he left it for me with a note after...after his death last year.”

“Oh,” Abigail took a moment to absorb the new information, stopping her feet slowly. “I am so sorry Harry.”

“Can we please keep on doing this?” Harry gestured, referring to their dance, he knew well he needed some sort of distraction if he was going to continue. Abigail nodded in response, now their once seemingly romantic dance turned into simple swaying in rhythm. “It was weird, him leaving even though I didn't grew up around him much. First Robin left us a few years back, then dad. That kind of made me more of a man of the family than I already was.”

Abigail nodded understandingly, watching live the glint of sadness in his eyes that she'd always seen somewhere hidden.

“You know dad hated my job.” Harry added with a dry chuckle. “He told me that it would ruin everything, that every celebrity goes down into a deep pithole someday. I had challenged him that my behaviour will never falter down, I'd be clean.”

Abigail had her eyes furrowed deep in concentration as if it was the most important thing she had ever heard. “And that's what you've been trying to live upto all this while?”

“You know this world, Abby. It's pretty easy to slip, ain't it?” He looked down, biting his lips.“I did everything in me to prove it to him but… but he didn't. I couldn't make him proud while he was here,” Harry mumbled a ‘shit’ when he realised a little tear escaping his eye.

“Oi,” Abigail instinctively reached the tear before him, wiping it away.

“I'm sorry if I'm a bit emotional.” He chortled nervously between patchy breathing, “I've never really shown these vinyls to anyone, never said these things loud and I mean just.. fuck.. I'm a mess.”

“It's okay. It's absolutely okay.” She lifted his chin, making him look up at her. Harry had never appreciated her more than this moment itself, her look enough to calm down his nerves.

He was still swaying slightly, Abigail's head resting on his chest as she spoke more words of brightness to him. He wanted this to go on forever, her telling him how everything would be okay through and through and him listening; listening to her for hours, days, maybe even years.

“H, can I ask you something?” Abigail’s voice was timid and raw from not speaking for a long time. “Why did you show it to me when you’ve never shown this to anyone?”

“Because it's just you.”

She lifted her head slowly from Harry's chest and he watched her hair stuck on the button of his shirt. To be frank he never wanted to let that strand of hair off his shirt, maybe that would mean that she'll stay here in his arms, her warmth wiping away the coldness of the floor. And maybe for the first time this warmth won't burn him.

Harry couldn't formulate anything, it was all conveniently spontaneous when his hand cradled her jaw, tilting her head upwards. A slight shiver went down his back when Abigail responded by fisting his shirt tightly.

He could smell peppermint on her breath and hear the low, sporadic breaths that escaped from her parted lips. His lips grazed over her own, the simple hesitation casting a shadow of doubt in his mind. But when her mouth met his, all feelings of uncertainty in his mind vanished immediately. It wasn’t much, a simple feathery brushing of lips, mouths moving gently over one another and then fell into a rhythm of sorts.

Harry had never anticipated this with Abigail. They've been friends since November when they first met. Most of his endeavours till date were either quick attraction or purposeful dating. But with Abigail it was so different. There was a built up, like a story with layers. Everything here was slow, everything had a meaning and this everything was what he was getting attached to. With Abigail it was first shallow then deeper and Harry was ready to dive in.

A friendship that started with a simple tequila came here to them taking off each other's clothes tonight. And Harry didn't know where any of this would go ahead. But all of the thoughts and consequences could patiently wait for the next day.

■ ■ ■

May 2023

It was one truth that Harry Styles found nothing more endearing than a productive day of songwriting and recording.

And another that Harry Styles was unstoppable, more because he never really wanted to stop than because he geared competition. When he recorded his first album, he had done it in Jamaica and Los Angeles, purposely renting an entire mansion where all of his mates could sit and focus on making his debut album a hit. During his second album, he was more public – through the year he oscillated between LA and London, in between his MET Gala chairmanship, his Gucci campaigns and a fashion line coming out. The third one was marked by casual dates, meaningless relationships and loneliness, the events in his life at that time. But what all of them had common was that they were never about a single person or emotion. Every song had a different story as opposed to the entire album being one story with different chapters. He blamed it on the fact that he had no one to go home to once the recording was over.

This time it was different, very different. Because this time Abigail was a huge part of his album. The tone, the lyrics and the sounds did not have voids anymore. They seemed somewhat full, somewhat content even if it all was just halfway there.

And it did not go unnoticed.

“What was that girl's name, again?” Alex asked resting on the sofa where Harry, Carl, Mitch, and Alex himself were all seated, drinking water after completing a session.

“I think it started with A.” Carl earned a glare from Harry at his words. He knew well that they were just messing around with him.

“Abigail.” Mitch commented before excusing himself to call his fiancé, Sara.

“Abigail. And now I see what all the fuss is about and who you’ve been writing all these songs about,” Alex commented cheekily, before sharing a clap with Carl.

The songs. They were everywhere – from his antique leather journal to scribbled on the corners of waste newspapers. And every night after Abigail went to sleep, Harry would take out his typewriter, trying to phrase out something tangible from his cluttered words on the journal to printed form. It was not much, just diluted words put into grammatically wrong sentences and a mess in summary. Just like what Harry's mind was everytime he thought about the night they first had sex and every after.

It had become a routine. After initial hesitation, Abigail and Harry had eventually given the shadow cast of doubt away and used actions more than words. They would kiss each other every time they were leaving the house (his mansion or her apartment wherever they had spent the night), snog incessantly over tequila and sleep on the same bed often waking up to each other's naked bodies.

But never talk about it.

Nonetheless Harry was happy. Now he was no longer jealous when Mitch would call Sara everytime they finished a session (whenever she wasn't there herself) or when Glenne would surprise Jeffrey over lunch in the studio.

Sure Abigail hasn't done any such thing, but now he had someone to think about. It was strange, really, how Harry transitioned from having no one ‘special’ in his life to having Abigail.

“What about Abigail?” Jeffrey walked inside the record room to a cracking Carl, Alex and Harry. Seeing him, Harry immediately stopped laughing knowing well of his disapproval on this subject.

Carl and Alex took their time pulling Harry's leg in front of Jeffrey – from laughing about Harry smiling like an idiot to his phone sitting on the patio between recording sessions to the excessive crumbled papers in the bin filled with frustrated words. Jeffrey laughed with them as well but on the contrary his laugh sounded very shallow.

So when Alex and Carl excused themselves, leaving only Harry and Jeffrey back in the room, Jeffrey was induced to ask. “So… Abigail. These songs are about her?”

“Jeffrey...” Harry nearly winced, closing his eyes. He felt too old for this conversation.

“No, they're nice, pretty songs. One of your best works, Carl told me.” Jeffrey added with uncomfort dominating his voice.

“Mate, can't you just be happy for me because right now that's exactly what I am.” Harry explained in a very sure tone.

“Harry I know you like that girl but-”

“But what Jeffrey? I like her, ain't that all what matter.” Harry cut him off in a slightly frustrated tone. He had never really felt the need to rebuke Jeffrey, thinking that he understood Harry in the best way.

“She doesn't have a clean past. She's done drugs all life, was highly arrogant at the peak of her career, addiction, rehabs. You've never associated with such people, H.” Jeffrey breathed a moment, “Believe me or not pal, you both are a combination of a catastrophe.”

“Yes but those were things of past. She's a changed person. She goes to school, focuses on course work and exercise, even stays away from media.” Harry defended, clearly unamused on the topic of Abigail's past being brought up.

“Then what is she doing with you?” he finally said, “A person who wants to stay away from media will never be with you.”

■ ■ ■

August 2023

“Harry I'm not coming to Vegas with you.” Abigail announced, trying to take her pen – one which Harry had purposely held high in air – from his grip.

“It's just one weekend and your entire schedule is clear.” He reasoned, pulling the pen higher. “Your last class ends Thursday evening at six. I'm pretty sure you don't have any homework in the first week of school so we can conveniently leave Friday morning at three and coming back your Health Science class is due Monday, two in afternoon. We'll be back and fresh by then.”

Harry had been trying to convince Abigail almost ever since she walked into her apartment to the smell of paninis and heath milkshake. It was only the second day of her term but she was certain holidays had a terrible impact on her circadian rhythm cycle. Especially with Harry being around. It could be easily said that they had somewhat moved in together. Not officially but none of them ever questioned walking into their homes to find the other sprawling on the couch watching television or cooking dinner.

The summer went away quick – something Abigail dreaded a lot. Not only because going back to school sounded hectic but also because Harry had become like a habit to her and school definitely meant she could not spend as much time with him as she did over the summer.

Abigail went home for a week in summer to visit her family. Harry and her had talked of dates so they could mutually come back to LA. But when Abigail came home anticipating that she had to wait another day for Harry to arrive, she was welcomed by Harry himself. Turns out, Harry never really left LA. It was a weird feeling that had crept on him, stopping him. His mum visited him over the weekend but that was it. He was in no mood of leaving the place that smelled lavenders and peppermint due to a certain blonde haired girl he had grown too fond of. And his mum recognised that way better than himself.

As of now Harry was trying to convince Abigail to accompany him to Vegas for the Video Music Awards due coming Sunday.

“Whoa! Is a multi millionaire, VMA performing superstar my personal assistant now?” She bulged her eyes, overwhelmed while going around to her study table to grab a spare pen.

“I've done my homework, thank you my lady.” Harry followed her, adamant on his stand “On a serious note whatever coursework you have, we can do it together in the plane.”

“As tempting as that sounds, Harry I don't think you are literate enough to do my homework.” She turned around, hitting his forehead with a new pen lightly.

“Oh I am.” His voice had an exclamatory tone. “And even if I'm not, I'll do anything. I'll hire you someone to do the coursework or maybe I'll personally meet your professor. I'll do anything. Please come with me, please, please, pretty please.”

When Abigail understood that Harry was not going to give up anytime soon, she sat on her bed defeatedly. “H it's not the coursework. It's…”

“It's the media?” He completed her sentence as the air around them got thicker. “Abby you have an invite yourself. We don't have to go together but I really would love it your were there. It's my first live performance since last year and I've been nominated for four awards. I would love if you’d be there.”

He was now seated beside her, his eyes on her while her was on the floor. “Harry you don't understand this.” She explained, “Every time I'm in front of those cameras I see pictures of me doing those horrid things I did back in time. It makes me feel like I'm still her, the girl who set fire in a rehab to escape the place… what bullshit.”

“Oi, you're not a horrible person.” Harry took her hand in his and she closed her eyes at his touch. “You are the person who would take an injured cat to a vet even if it means you'll miss a test, you are the simple girl who hates color orange and has abnormal amount of love for tequila. Your allergies flare high in March, and out of everyone Pearl is your favourite in Nemo, you-”

“Pearl resembles you, so don't complain.” She frowned though the tiny hint of her smile was enough to make Harry smile himself.

“You are an adorable, amazing human being. Never think otherwise, Abby. It's fine, you don't have to come if you don't want to.” He reassured her before giving her hand a comforting squeeze.

The next hour went with them having food and catching up generally. Harry told her about the funny guardsman he met at his fitting for the award show while Abigail imitated an eighteen year old boy in college asking her out.

After awhile they both split work, with Harry doing the dishes and Abigail setting their bed straight. Harry was in the middle of wiping away the last spoon clean to the stand when a pair of hands slipped under his arms, running over his shirtless torso.

Abigail planted several kisses on his back, slow and soft before he turned around giving her all the attention she deserved. His hand slipped down on her hip and hers encased his shoulders, both of their mouths attached, when he lifted her leg up to his waist, guiding them both back to their bed.

Somewhere in between their lazy and long snog, running hands and aching bodies, Abigail mumbled, “H, I'll come with you.”

Harry pulled apart, brows furrowed in confusion. “What?”

“To Vegas. I'll come with you.”

■■■

The arrangement was crystal clear. Abigail had insisted on staying back at their hotel (that was merely a walk away from the event hall) for the show at least. If it was upto Harry, he would've preferred her as a date or at least as a friend but the fact that she had agreed to come to Vegas solely for him, was enough at the moment. He knew if he asked for anything else, it would just be him pushing his luck.

He was enamoured though, he got an entire weekend to spend in the bounds of a luxury hotel room with first class room service and no phones or impending coursework to disturb them. Except for the few hours of the show and few hours prior for checking the stage and dressing up, Harry had all the time in the world to spend with Abigail.

They arrived early morning on Friday through his private jet. He was lucky that it was awards season and LAS was a busy place, storming with celebrities who all arrived in short spans between each other. There was a special car arranged in the back that would directly take Abigail to the hotel while Harry walked through the main gate, knowing well that he'd be mobbed.

“Steven Nicks? You didn't get a better name?” Abigail laughed when they had first checked into the hotel under a fake name.

Soon after breakfast, the duo explored the hotel for a while, finding different locations to hangout. Abigail was particularly in awe of the spa where she decided to spend a good chunk of her Sunday when Harry would be busy with the stage practice.

Saturday morning was pool time. Harry booked the entire rooftop pool for four hours straight, where he and Abigail could spend hours under water and many more in each other's arms back in the hotel room. Vegas was a sight at night and Harry made sure Abigail got a whiff of it when they took a helicopter ride over the most enlightened city of the States. Abigail might have even shed a few tears at the sight itself.

Despite the show marking Harry's comeback on stage the first time since last November, Sunday was the worst day of the trip according to him. What he had anticipated to last only half day was dragged to the entire. He could barely sit through the countless hours of pre-show interviews and red carpet nonsense coupled with the actual award show itself. The only part where he thoroughly enjoyed was his performance; it made him realise why he had been here, in this world in the first place. It was sterling if Jeffrey and his team were to be believed, Harry Styles showing the world how to truly be a superstar.

Harry was proud of himself, with smiles and dimples prominent but he was equally nervous about what Abigail had to say about his performance. She was watching it live from the television in their hotel room like the rest of the world but her opinion still mattered the most for him.

The after party was a mandatory, though Harry wasn't able to sit through it for long. There were interviews lined up for him soon after he had won three of the four awards he was nominated for and that made him curse deep under his breath. His feet popped up and down restlessly as the interviewer standing in front of the entrance of the after party location asked him one over the other questions.

“So Mr.Styles, are you seeing anyone right now?” The young man inquired turning the direction of the mic towards Harry.

Harry had his jaw slightly clenched as he pulled a fake smile, frustrated enough that he could not be done with this soon and meet Abigail. He was about to dodge the question the way he was trained to when his eyes fell behind the glass door of the entrance. He squinted and blinked, even thought of pinching himself to assure it was real. It indeed was; there stood the blonde girl who had his heart in her hands, behind a bush of pink roses wearing a pink and gold dress that made his breath hitch tight under his chest.

Harry didn't know what possessed him when he said, “I am.” He bit his lip in order to hide the smile growing widely on his face and in the moment of realisation, hugged the interviewer joyously. “Thank you mate, you have no clue what you have done for me.”

Without sparing another glance at him, Harry literally ran inside, taking Abigail in his arms, walking a little way from the glass door and swirling her around. They were lucky for the bunch of roses that their little act of amour was hidden away from the cameras.

“Harry!” She exclaimed, hitting his shoulder.

“I can't believe you are here, you look absolutely stunning babe.” Harry giggled through the widest smile on his face as he put her down on her feet. He could see that she was a bit taken aback by the usage of the term but instead of calling him out on it, she blushed.

Abigail gushed over and over again about his performance, his awards, his awards speech, his suit - actually everything. She had made it to the show with the help of Glenne and Jeffrey, taking a seat somewhere between them, with his team. Harry had his lips between his teeth, the smile too wide, the blush to deep, all the while as she spoke about him and him alone.

He thanked Glenne and Jeffrey the moment he saw them at the party. Jeffrey patted Harry's back with a wink when he hugged him, whispering, “Reach out to me for any boyfriend guidelines.” Harry smiled, nodding to him appreciably. The four of them shared a couple of laughs over drinks. All the while, Harry had his hand on Abigail's lap, rubbing circles in request to return back to their bedroom. Abigail glared at him on occasions, shoving his hand away playfully.

It was a little while later when they both finally got a while to make their escape. Harry's lips were on hers the moment he entered the elevator, and it did not leave until they were on the bed. Her hands had somehow managed to get rid of his blazer and shirt in the time being.

“God, I've been meaning to take that dress off you even since I saw it.” He whispered, searching in all directions for the zipper.

Abigail giggled at his frustrated form and decided to help him by turning aside, “It's a side zip, H.”

And just like that it was gone as well. They were in the hotel bed, under white lights and lavender room freshener with Harry nibbing on the bottom of her lip.

“Need you now, H.” Her voice was soft hiding under the deep moan. Harry didn't needed to be told twice. He closed his eyes, pushing in slowly feeling her inside contract and expand around him. He swallowed every moan that left her throat and intertwined their fingers as their bodies moved in a perfect rhythm they had created for themselves.

Harry fell down once they had reached their climax, rolling over but keeping their fingers intertwined. He watched her closed eyes and sweaty forehead that must've resembled his own, both their chests heaving up and down breathlessly.

That's when it kind of hit him. He needed to say this now or it might become too late. All the faux confidence that he had donned all night disappeared almost immediately as he rested his head on his palm supporting his body by the elbow. “Abigail I want to tell you something.”

She hummed in response, still with closed eyes. It made his heart beat faster.

But with a deep breath, he continued. “Tonight an interviewer asked me if I was seeing someone.” He spoke softly, playing with her her hair. “And I said yes.”

That lead to her opening her eyes, pronto. Her heavy, quick breathing converted into slow, inaudible one as she asked. “Why?”

“I don't know, Abby,” He spoke nervously biting his lips, “I saw you there and I knew I was seeing you, I was seeing you and I wanted to see you forever. You were behind the rose vase and even thinking that you'd seen me perform live, that you had seen me take up that award – it made me feel like there's a star everyone wants to look at but that star was looking only at me. I..I know I'm sounding stupid and mad and you might want to slap me right now-”

Harry's speech was cut off by a loud laugh from Abigail. He watched her laugh with equal amounts of bewilderment and anxiety. “I didn't know I had such a nervous wreck of a boyfriend.”

“I'm not usually this nervous but you do something - wait, did you just call me your boyfriend?”

“I can again, if you'd like it.” She shrugged with a notorious smile.

“I would love it.”

■ ■ ■

December 2023

Harry had locked himself in one of the washrooms of the hotel where his album listening party was supposed to be held. Nerves were high on him as he walked back and forth in the washroom, rambling worst case scenarios that even under the light of Satan, could not occur.

“Harry, slow down.” Glenne said, knocking on the door of the loo and inhaling deeply when all she heard was more rambling.

Anyone could decipher from the bags under his eyes and the shortness of his breath as he talked, that he hadn't slept well, maybe even not at all. The last few weeks were dreaded with the finalising of contracts, one over the other, going through the labels and concluding the order of the songs in the album that Harry had changed at least four times.

He was extremely scared for this album, especially because it was dominated by two of the most important things in his life - his dad (and family) and Abigail. Both the emotions were completely in contrast to each other and arranging the songs in order that it would not only hit best with him but his fans was a task that had Harry up for days.

If the exhaustion from work was not enough, Abigail had her finals going on just in the while. That indicatively meant that she could not mumble soothing words into his ears to calm him down, not give him a comforting massage after a long day of work and he could not tell her about all of his rising anxiety. Harry had no intention of distracting her from the exams, he even told her it would be fine if she couldn't make it to the album listening party. Her third exam was due next day, after all.

Truth be told, he was extremely down that she wasn't here with him tonight. Maybe if she was, at least for some time, some of his thoughts would be calmed down.

“Harry I'm seriously going to call Abigail if you don't open the door now.” Glenne warned Harry from outside.

“She won't pick up the call. Her phone is on silent whenever she studies, so don't bother.” He replied, soon before sitting on the bench, his hands going in his hair in absolute, torturous frustration.

A million thoughts ran through his head back and forth about what everyone would think about his album. Harry always knew that no one else can ever know the actual meaning, story or feelings behind any song no matter how many music journalists sit and over analyse his lyrics and tunes. But it petrified him how well he did or did not put his own thoughts into words, if he even did them justice.

“I heard somebody is being a baby tonight,” Harry's trail of thoughts were broken by a distinct female voice which was not Glenne’s. There was a split second before her speaking and Harry's face breaking into a grin. He rushed towards the door opening it, pulling Abigail inside and closing it - all within a span of two seconds. Taken aback, she squeaked, “Harry, what are you doing?”

“They will force me to go out. I'm not going out Abby.” He answered without a breath, quickly wrapping his hands around her.

“Harry-”

Pulling away, he added nervously, “It's bullshit, the entire album.”

“Harry-”

“I think this hotel is a curse, absolute curse.”

“Harry-”.

Harry interjected her again, “You know that feeling when you're super excited about a new idea and you give your entire self to complete it. You even like it when it's complete, but then after a few months you see it and you know that you could've done so much better… that the songs are dumb and everyone will laugh at you.”

Abigail looked at him with a stern look before pulling a fake smile. “You know what, I think I should be leaving.”

He held her hand stopping her before she could filling turn. “What? Why?”

“I was your muse for the album,” she pointed at herself raising her brows, “but since you think the entire album is dumb, that probably means our feelings for each other's dumb or our relationship is dumb and what else did you say… yeah a laughing stock. So what am I even-”

“It's not dumb.” He interjected her with a serious face, holding her arms to still her. “Babe, how can our feelings for each other be dumb. It's the purest thing I've ever felt, it's the purest thing that has ever existed.”

“Then how can the songs that tell our story, be dumb Harry?” Abigail reasoned, her voice now low and calm. She lifted Harry's chin to make him look up at herself. “Hey, please look at me. I know that I'll always be proud of whatever you do but this.. this is seriously the closest music to my heart, Harry. This is us, it's the one album that may or may not be the biggest hit of the year but it's the biggest hit of my life. It's about us.”

Harry looked at her in awe, eyes twinkling as if he was watching the reflection of a star. “How do you always do this?” He shook his head, chuckling to himself before he pulled her into his arms. They stood there for a while until realisation hit Harry, “Shit, Abby what are you doing here? You have an exam tomorrow. I'll take you home directly, just give me moment-”

“Don't worry,” She stopped him from taking the keys of his car out of his pocket, “ I'm good with the exam, might walk through the party with you.”

Harry's eyes almost doubled in size, a shadow of uncertainty in his voice. “Abby, there are a lot of cameras. It's a public event… public.”

“I'm pretty cool with that.” She reassured him with a squeeze of his hand.

“Are you sure? We don't have to do this now.”He asked her, not at all trying to do anything she wasn't ready for.

“H, they have to find out someday right. Don't worry, I'm ready.”

At her words, Harry's smile grew two folds. This was not something he had thought about much but right now he loved the idea of the world knowing about them. Them, together. Harry and Abigail, Abigail and Harry - as couple.

Abigail's hair brushed Harry's arm as they sat in their respective seats, listening to the songs he had spent last year working on. He was already on the edge, hyper-aware of everyone’s reactions in the room, attempting to analyze whether they were pleased or not.

“Relax, my boy.” Abigail whispered in his ears, intertwining their hands together. She probably had the biggest and proudest smile in the room after his mum and sister.

What Harry didn't know was that he wasn't in need of comforting squeezes and uplifting words. She was.

■ ■ ■

January 2024 to July 2024

Harry Styles blinded in love!

This new year did not start on a great note. Looks like it's going downhill from there. Sources confirmed that Harry Styles has been swiped off his feet by troubled, former actress Abigail Quinn who you might remember from Disney's super hit sitcom Bunker Hill somewhat a decade ago.

The couple first photographed in early 2023, had as of yet kept their amour under wraps, but looks like they are just ready to go public now.

“He is smittened by her,” a close friend said. “It's completely different watching Harry play a dotting boyfriend but we were quite sure this one would be serious. She is a huge part of the album, if not whole.”

Quinn made an official appearance alongside Styles on his album launch party end of December last year where she was seen posing for the cameras first time since 2019.

With Styles latest record speaking bounds of being in heart-wrenching love, it's safe to say that rockstar is off the market, this time for a long while. Tell us below in our comment section, which song did you love the most from his latest album.

■■■

Popstar Harry Styles buys a new Los Angeles mansion in a family friendly neighbourhood

Riding off the success of his latest album, our favourite popstar recently splashed a whopping $29.6 million on a Bel-Air Mansion in the neighbourhood of David Beckham and Beyonce.

The six bedroom three bath household was formerly resided by musician The Weekend. As of yet it is believed to be undergoing a makeover under LA based famous interior designer, Vaughn Turing.

“Abigail is in direct contact with the designer,” a source referred, “Harry wants the house to seem exactly like a home Abigail wishes to have. All he is doing his signing cheques while she is leading the planning of their future house along with Anne and Gemma.”

“He wants a family friendly neighbourhood. He's always been close with the Beckhams and dreams to have a family like them with Abigail,” another source added.

■■■

Harry Styles and his girl Abigail Quinn make their MET Gala debut in New York City!

No year is complete without seeing Harry Styles on the red carpet of MET Gala. The handsome hunk has been co-chairing the event ever since his debut back in 2019 and this year is no different.

Or maybe it is. Styles, for a first time attended the MET Gala in hand with girlfriend Abigail Quinn. The pair were unabashedly displaying their affection all through the event. Both matched each other's outfit in a modern fairytale-esque piece by Ralph Lauren, seemingly looking like a pair made in heavens.

Prior to this, they attended Audi's pre-gala party in New York together before they were spotted dining in The Rainbow Room within the Rockefeller Centre.

Being etched to each other makes sense though, since Harry would be hitting the road with his fourth solo tour in beginning June and his lady love graduates last week in May. So maybe the in-love duo are just trying to makeup for all the time they are about to lose.

■■■

Is Abigail Quinn trying to get back to acting by using Styles?

Uh-oh! Former actress Abigail Quinn, better known today as superstar Harry Styles’ girlfriend might be using her beau to get back into acting.

As per reports, Quinn who recently graduated from UCLA as a psychology major has refused a few job offers, instead choosing to travel with her beau for his tour.

She has been spotted at a lot of industry affairs ever since she publicly started dating Styles back in December last year. A few directors maybe interested in working with her, now that being with Styles has cleared her act a bit.

Does that mean Abigail is using her relationship for professional purposes? We don't know but what we know is that Harry doesn't mind one bit.

■■■

At this rate, can Harry Styles go bankrupt?

Harry Styles donated a total of $2.2 million in just the first half 2024 to various non profit organizations. But if you think that's a huge money, wait till you hear the next.

This year Styles seems to be very reckless about his bank account. Beginning from splashing almost $30 million on his and his girlfriend’s current residence, to various exotic vacations around the world, Harry has been throwing in an unexplainable sum of money.

If LA famous investment banker Oliver Logan is to be believed, Styles could've got the mansion for less than $23 million had he waited for a few months. But apparently he wanted the place as soon as possible and ended up paying a lot more than the market price.

A lot of people have also mentioned this could be Quinn, Styles’ girlfriend's influence on him, who herself is known for being bankrupt in the past.

“It is slightly disturbing how enamoured Harry is with her,” an insider close to Styles’ team told us. “He seems like being at the top of the world nowadays. As if following the ‘only live once’ motto.”

If sources are believed, Styles’ tour was supposed to start end of May but he purposely shifted the dates so that he could see attend his girlfriend's graduation. The entire shift almost costing his team $1.3 million.

With Styles adamant to stay a charity god, and a boyfriend who spoils his girl, can we assume that the guy might be drilling a hole to bankruptcy soon, just like his girlfriend?

■■■

Couple of the Year alert: Harry Styles and Abigail Quinn were the most publicly in demand couple this summer

It's only a little over half of 2024 gone but we already know our ‘couple of the year.’

The pair have been dating for almost half an year under public scrutiny and unlike rest of Styles’ relationship, this is going strong as ever. From soul cycling in Beverly Hills, taking trips to the beach, shopping at Rodeo – we've seen the couple do all that a typical celebrity couple would do in LA.

Residing amongst Los Angeles’ elite, Styles and Quinn are the youngest couple in their neighbourhood and as per an interview of Victoria Beckham, they are the most in love couple she has ever seen. Not to forget, very respectful, ideal neighbours.

And with Abigail featuring on Harry's Gucci campaign as their first couple photoshoot, it's safe to say Harry Styles and Abigail Quinn are taking the world by storm.

■ ■ ■

August 2024

Harry loved a lot of things about his Bel-Air Mansion. The perfect sunshine invading his room every morning at the perfect hour, the white curtains flying under the wind, the green sight of the entire city that made him feel that he indeed was at the top of the world; but the thing he loved the most about his Bel-Air Mansion was the woman in his bed.

She had recently got back to the bed, clad in his ‘Treat People With Kindness’ shirt with two cups – one of chai latte and the other black coffee. It was early morning and Harry smiled rubbing his eyes. He doesn't even remember how Abigail slowly fell in love with chai latte so much that she made sure to wake up earlier than him to make her own cup. She hated it when Harry made her the chai. The only other person she would accept it from was Anne, Harry's mother.

Harry's usual dark circles had vanished just like the darkness in his life. He no longer woke up every morning still feeling exhausted beyond his life. Rather there were a lot of moments in the day he would agree with gratitude that he was well rested. And all of it's credit went to one woman.

“Good morning,” he mumbled in his ever so raspy voice as she bend down to press her lips against his chaste ones.

“Good morning, superstar. Did you sleep well?” Abigail asked, her entire weight on his body as she put her chin on his chest.

“Do you ever let me sleep well, babe?” His smile was still very persistent.

At his statement, Abigail squinted her eyes before lowering down his body. Slowly, very slowly. It was torture for Harry to say the least. He was only in his Calvin Klein boxers, the one he had changed into after having sex last night because sleeping clean is something Abigail insists on.

It was maddening to Harry, how even after an year together, he was still extremely nervous when it came to Abigail. She was his, she was his. He knew that yet couldn't believe that.

Her face was somewhere near his navel when he chuckled nervously, “It's okay babe. You don't have to.”

Abigail rolled her eyes, hitting his side with a couple of envelopes that lied beside. “I was only getting these. Why? What did you think?” When she rose her eyebrows all in faux innocence, Harry rolled his eyes still found himself chuckling along. Getting up from above him, Abigail reached for the other side of the bed, popping down the mail envelopes in front of her. “There's an invite to a charity ball by Disney for the 23rd, its entire hamper waits downstairs for you. There is a thank you note from Gucci headquarters for our campaign. And there is a...”

Harry was happily taking a sip from his coffee listening to the mails he had received when Abigail suddenly stopped, prompting Harry to look up. “There is a what, Abby?” He didn't receive much of an answer instead a frown and her just rolling her lips. “Here show it to me.”

It was a bank notice.

Harry sighed opening the envelope and reading the context before throwing it on a drawer on his bedside like the many others stocked up there. When he turned around he saw Abigail looking at him with an anticipated, concerned expression.

“Oi, it's nothing.” He pulled her onto his chest and she softly kept her head there. “They want me at the bank. I'm sure Smithers only wants to discuss investments regarding the tour.”

“Please don't lie to me H,” Abigail said. “I told you we don't need these extravagant purchases and vacations. You spent $32 million at this place Harry. That was a terrible bargain.”

“Abby what are you saying. It's our home. For me this is the only one that hasn't felt entirely empty.”

Abigail shut her eyes at his words. They were absolutely true, she knew that. “I know babe. I'm just saying… we could've avoided the vacations. I mean Bali, Miami, Australia, Valentines day, my birthday, the lawsuit against paparazzi – it was all too much H.”

Harry chuckled at her tone, well aware that she was blaming herself for this entire situation. “It's nothing, darling. The lawsuit was for your safety. I don't want them following you everytime you're out. Trust me we don't have financial issues to take care of. I'll just get the meeting done quick.”

“I'll come with you,” Abigail insisted as Harry got up to the wardrobe, grabbing a towel.

“No, no need I'll take care of it and Jeffrey will be there as well. Nothing to worry about,” Harry shook his head getting out of his briefs as he held a hand out to Abigail. She took it willingly, her own thumb rubbing her man's wrist. “As I bathe please pick me a good dress shirt and while I'm gone you can pack our bags. We leave for New York tomorrow morning, remember?”

Harry watched Abigail bite her lip hardly for a little moment before she broke into a grin and pressed a kiss on his lips in a gesture of agreement. But for some unknown reason, Harry felt the grin was highly undermotivated.

■■■

The negativity he felt was bound to happen. It was something that Harry felt whenever he had to go through these meetings with his financial adviser, lawyer, managers and a group of bank officials. What was supposed to be an hour of discussion turned around four hours of it, more because Harry could not see eye to eye with any of these men who claimed that they were trying to help him.

Most of the time, they listed his newly developed, heavy ‘spending more than earning’ habit with examples of his recent splurges – most of which were on Abigail. Harry could not even imagine cutting any of those. The mansion, the lawsuit, the occasions – according to him it was all necessity rather than luxury.

The lawsuit itself caused him a big chunk of money but Harry was adamant not to sacrifice on Abigail's safety. As much as he loved posing in front of the camera and proudly showing off his girl to the world, he liked doing it on professional platforms – events, galas, photoshoots. Not when they both were walking down the street to grab coffee, and especially not when she was walking alone.

“I'm so fucking exhausted, Jeffrey.” Harry exhaled running his hands over his face. He sat with Jeffrey in the cafe at the bank, their coffees and lunch placed in front of them.

“Why the hell are you exhausted? You have done nothing but throw money and listen about it.” Jeffrey said through his deep frown.

“Not you as well, mate.” Harry licked his lip reaching for the silver fork to cut his food. “You're my friend.”

“And that's exactly why I am telling you this.” Jeffrey reprimanded, hitting their table with his fist in a clear sign of pique. “Right now you're in a bubble of love but one day that bubble would burst and you'll see nothing will stay pretty in pink.”

Harry watched his friend in a vexed manner, too sure of his own tone. “I don't care if the bubble bursts. I'll still have her. It's her, us I'm spending my money on and I'm sorry if I don't see how her safety is bargainable.”

“Her safety is not bargainable, H.” Jeffrey replied exasperatedly, “ I care about Abby as well. I'm talking about the vacations. You've spend the entire summer abroad, taking flights every other day.”

“Let me live, Jeffrey.” Harry rolled his eyes, he was too tired from everyone telling him the same thing over again. “I worked so hard on the album, I'm working my arse off on the tour. Let me spoil my girl, she deserves an extravagant life. Don't tell me if you earned that much, you won't be doing the same for Glenne and Thea.”

Jeffrey winced audible at Harry's choice of words, “Even if your extravagant life is on debt?” Jeffrey spoke this time in a lower tone than earlier. “$2.2 million on charity, seriously?”

“Don't talk about charity.” Harry said, “You know I've always done it, it gives me a sense of purpose.”

“It gives you a fucking reputation, Styles.” Jeffrey replied in a dark chuckle. “Till one moment it was because you wanted to help but right now it's nearly mandatory. As if you want to outdo your own amount, you don't even give a damn for the cause. Fuck pal, you don't get it you're hurting yourself.”

“Shouldn't you be pleased?” Harry narrowed his eyes at Jeffrey, “I am the most charitable musician right now, I have a girlfriend, a stable home, perfect life. And the world knows it, they know it and they are jealous. Maybe you're too because I'm not longer a pathetic, sad pop star you can save, Jeffrey. I am happy.”

Harry had always been perfect professionally for the world. For once he was perfect personally as well, for the world. Harry Styles was at the top of the world, it was a different kind of high he was experiencing and by far, he had loved it.

Jeffrey kept his eyes on the untouched food on his side for a little too long. He tried cutting his food but instead only ended up playing with with silverware all the while as Harry took bites over bites of his food. “I care about you more than this faux rep, H.” He let out a deep sigh, “But I suppose we we have very different working styles now.”

That caught Harry's attention and he suddenly stopped eating. “What.. what do you mean?”

“I quit.” Jeffrey announced raising his hands up in air. “I.. I can't deal with you any longer. You're not the guy I signed up for, the guy who used to be private. You're just another bag of celebrity bullshitery – the one you were so determined not to be.”

“I'm not. I'm fucking not.” Harry rebuked too quickly and too loudly. “I'm tired of hiding everything. For years I've seen you and Glenne in public, holding each other's hands, proudly telling the world you both are in love. I was jealous...I was fucking jealous that I have to keep my single label open so that my fan base is not hurt. And whenever anything I did went public the media ruined it.”

Jeffrey chuckled shaking his head. “What tells you they won't ruin it this time?” With that he got up from his seat, leaving his food untouched and his once best friend bewildered. “I might not have as much money as you but I've paid my share of bill. I hope you get a better manager, H. Good luck.”

Jeffrey left after that but Harry could only hear the words he said before leaving – ‘What tells you they won't ruin it this time?’ He shook his head, throwing away the thoughts and continuously telling himself that this is different, this is love and this is Abigail. No fucking one would ruin it.

What Harry didn't know was playing with fire and not touching it was practically an impossible task that even knew the man who could conquer the world, couldn't do.

■■■

“Thank you, Abby,” Harry said taking the champagne filled flute goblet from Abigail's hand before patting the space beside him. She took it, instantly putting her head on his chest. He could tell that she was tired, so was he, both of them trying to find solace in each other. They sat there, on a faun leather seat of Harry's private jet, their breathing synchronised and so were their thoughts.

“I am sorry about Jeffrey.” Abigail mumbled softly.

“No, I am sorry babe. I am so fucking sorry.” Harry let out in an exhausted tone. “We.. we had this argument and he doesn't see it. He's one of my best mates, I didn't want to let him go. But why is it always me who should understand, with him, with the boys, with dad. Why can't they understand?”

“Hey, hey. It's fine.” Abigail got up from his chest to rub his arms in an attempt to calm him down. “You don't have to understand anything, Harry. You don't have to keep it so hardcore. You can talk about your dad with me, if you want to. Especially today.”

It was his father's birthday. It would've been his 67th birthday had he been alive. That is why today was no less than a day of mourning for Harry.

“I know you're really tired and probably don't want to be bored-”

“Don't do that.” Abigail stopped him, her hand lifting to his shoulder. “Harry, I’m here to listen to you for as long as you want me to, about anything.”

Harry watched her in awe. Sometimes it filled his eyes how lucky he had gotten to have this woman by him. There and then he knew that as long as he had her, he was ready to take all the daggers thrown at him; by others or by himself. “Okay.”

So for the next hour their conversation centred around Desmond Styles and the life he lived. Harry left out no details about his father, even marking the smallest bits that could easily go unnoticed by people. There were stories all scattered before the band, during and after. There were a lot of open ended points that Abigail wanted to question; like the time his dad called him out after a fight with Zayn, the time he went straight to his father's house disappearing when the there was a drug racquet in the band's hotel, but she decided against it, giving him his own time. Abigail could figure out that Harry felt a plethora of things about his father – anger, disappointment, love, resentment but the one he felt strongest was guilt. But she also knew that guilt was a significant part of who Harry Styles was and with every passing year, the amount of people he felt that emotion towards increased. After a while the chat lingered from Harry’s family and past and moved onto the tour and his plans of the rest of the year.

“Don’t worry. Glenne told me he is a bit angry right now but he'll be fine.” Abigail caressed him but a cloud of anxiety hovered over herself. “Soooo… this afternoon I went with Glenne for Thea's check up.”

“Yeah right. I completely forgot about that. How's her fever?” Harry perked his eyebrows, asking about his goddaughter and Jeffrey's biological one, in concerned tone.

“She's okay, just a common cold. They said it will be better in a few days. But Harry I… I had a checkup for myself.” She rolled her lips in after saying that.

“Y-You?” His eyes were wide, her words more the cause of perturbation to Harry. “What happened? Are you not feeling well? We can call off the show, I'll take you to the best doctors as soon as we land. Tell me-”

“I'm fine.” Abigail announced before sighing deeply. “Harry I'm… I'm pregnant.”

And just like the entire hole of guilt Harry felt towards his father vanished. He had spent last three years wondering why, despite being on his best behaviour always, he could not convince his father that this life would not ruin him. Maybe he was at fault somewhere or maybe his father was, for not supporting his son. But all of that vanished the moment he heard this news. This was his chance, his chance of rectifying all of his mistakes, all of his father's mistakes.

“Harry?” Abigail shook him out of his thoughts.

“Can you pinch me?” She rolled her eyes pinching him just hard enough. Harry let out a wince before tears swelled up in his eyes, so fast he didn't know how to control them. “I love you, I love us… fuck I love… thank you so, so much babe.”

He pulled her into him, wrapping his arms around her before showering her face with kisses. Usually he would have her pressed against himself in the closest hug known to man, but today his hands were slow and cautious. Abigail pulled away from him with a frown. “Oi this is the hug I get?”

“I don't want to crush our baby.” He remarked slyly.

“Jesus, you're an ass.”

■■■

It was impossible to miss Abigail in the crowd. Even in the sea of fans, the silk white fabric of her dress stood out. She sat with her family, sandwiched between her parents, beside her brother and his fiancè. Harry felt extremely lucky that her parents took the liberty of time to make a quick trip for his concert before they returned back to Pennsylvania.

There were thousands of people crammed into Madison Square Garden, fans of varying age groups, some with him since his One Direction days others finding his solo career their new favourite thing about pop music. Harry doesn't remember a single tour he had completed without playing in The Garden, each time the entire hall making him feel at home.

But this time it was different. This time his real home was here, amongst the attendees and now that a part of his own lived and breathed in her, Harry wasn't sure what else heaven sounded like.

His attention was on each part of the crowd, making sure his fans had the time of their lives as long as they were in this room, but every time his eyes fell on Abigail it made him grin so wide that his jaw ached. There was a certain patch of the show he saw she wasn't in her assigned location but when she returned back he assumed she must've gone to the loo.

She swayed with the crowd, whistling every once in a while. They were seated far back in relation to the stage, so Harry imagined the proud smile Abigail sported. It was the same one she showed off backstage when Harry was greeting his fans after the show was over.

He invited her family with his tour mates to their hotel lobby for drinks and dinner. Abigail's brother and his fiancè chatted with Harry while her mother praised his performance to no ends. Abigail was equally celebratory before she urged to return to their room. Harry assured her he will be joining her shortly.

Harry sent Abigail's family off with leftovers, hugging each of them before their flights back to their respective homes. He didn't bother as much to see off his mates, instead making his way up towards his hotel room, the urge to finally talk to the love of his life making him smile like an idiot in the elevator.

“Abby, Abby, Abby. You have no clue how much-” He started saying but stopped abruptly when he saw her bent down over drawer closet with a vial in her hand.

Abigail looked like she’d been caught trying to steal something, but rather she addressed it completely innocently.

“Uh, hi ” She blurted, abruptly closing the drawer behind her and taking a step towards him. “I didn't see you there.”

“All good, love?” Harry's voice cracked asking her this. He didn’t know why he felt like he was the guilty party here. She had been clean for years and as far as Harry remembered not once had she touched a drug in their entire year of relationship. Especially not now that she had a baby in her.

“Yeah, just a few medicines the doctor gave me. Pregnancy stuff.” She shrugged.

He believed her, completely relieved. Maybe the logical part of him didn't want to given how he had been the one in contact with their doctor. But because of the pious fact that she would never lie to him and his belief that she would never want to harm their baby, Harry believed her, he believe her, he believed her, he believed her.

“But I'm glad you're back.” Abigail said, walking towards him.

“Me toooooo.” He drawled, hugging Abigail from behind in the entire process showering her with limitless kisses. “So tell me how are both of my babies?”

She giggled in his arms, her blush exceeding even though she had wiped away her makeup. “They are very happy and very proud of Daddy.”

“Of Daddy?” He pulled apart to look at her with a prominence of a smirk and haughtiness.

“You're ridiculous,” she said rolling her eyes. “But since I love you here's an offer. I'm in shower, you can feel free to join anytime.”

“I'll join you in a while.” Harry smiled pressing a lingered peck on her cheek. For a solid minute after she left, he contemplated checking the vial label but finally shook his head smiling in thought of how his girl would never lie to him. He was stupid to even think that, of all, at this point would she lure back into drugs.

He had to change out of his tour suit before giving in to any kind of cruel desperations. That was an expensive item made exclusively for his tour and as many others, this wasn't his in the least sense of words.

Harry retreated to the bed, carefully taking off his shoes and watch, placing them on his bedside. His blazer and button up followed next. When he was in middle of pulling the black fabric of his shirt over his head still humming to the tunes of one his closing songs, his phone buzzed. Without even sparing a glance he answered it, putting it on speaker.

“Hello,” He sang through the speaker of his phone. Anyone on the opposite end would be sure to figure out his extremely bewitched mien.

But what followed next put his brain in a kind of turmoil he hadn't ever experienced. The weight of the voice on the opposite end overburdened his soul, making him feel as if even the sturdiest anchor in the sea could not prevent the drowning he was feeling. This drowning throwing him into a past full of stormy, tumultuous shadows, from where he has continuously tried escaping but has still not managed to succeed.

He wasn't sure if it was the words, the voice or both. Or it was when the person called him ‘mate’ after all these years. But he knew he was blanking. Harry could not hear what the person at the other end was saying, but he could only hear the echo of the words that person said the last time they had met. Over and over again.

Fuck you, Harry. Fuck you, Harry. Fuck you, Harry.

Contemplation wasn't even an option, he had to escape this. So the first thing he did was press the red sign blinking on his phone so hard, he might have broken tiny little blood vessels underneath his skin.

It petrified him how fast his heart was beating. He had no clue that this pace was even medically possible for the human body to endure. He wondered what if the walls of his arteries were not strong enough to hold the amount of blood rushing through him and they would burst, bathing his organs in the plasma, too demented to find their own place – the place they had held to for so long. Just like him.

Harry didn't know how long he sat there, on his bedside with his head down in his knees and the bubble of his perfect world struck by a meteor of his own skeleton.

“H, you didn't have to-” Abigail closed off the door behind her, but stopped mid sentence when her eyes fell Harry's timid frame. It was either shock or fear that stood on her face because as opposed to a concerned one, she had a terrified tone. “W-What happened, babe? Are you okay?”

“Yes.” He was too frantic, speaking robotically. “Absolutely. I am perfectly okay.. look at me… I'm completely okay..”

Abigail stood there for a moment clearly trying to comprehend what could drive Harry to the extend she hasn't seen him in almost two years of knowing him.“Okay,” She added with caution in her voice before moving on to change the subject. “So who was it? On the phone?”

“No one. No one important. No one at all.” He replied a little too quickly, his head knowing only two phases – turbulence or blankness.

“Are you sure? It looked like the person knew you and was in need of help-”

“Yes I'm sure. It was no one.” His reply was too stern and too certain to be true.

“Harry is everything-”

He didn't want her to complete that. He didn't want to talk about anything regarding the phone call. So he changed the subject. “Do you want to watch a movie? I was thinking we could watch a romcom.”

Abigail watched him for a moment before nodding defeatedly. “Yeah. Yeah.”

The following hour Harry and Abigail spent cuddled in their suite bed, under dim yellow lights watching Love Actually. Despite this being one of Harry's all time favourite movies, he could not concentrate one bit. He didn't laugh in the moments he usually does, he didn't smile in awe at the mention of his favourite line, he didn't even rub circles on Abigail's arm. He simply sat there like statue. Any signs of him being alive were blinking and breathing – just the mandatory.

Abigail wasn't concentrating much either, her eyes more on her boyfriend than the television in front. She did try to make a little comment here and there but never really received a reply from Harry. Not even a hum. After a while, she switched over to catch over the news channels. It was the regular as well, the weather, the gossip from who's dating who that both of them were too old hear. It was only one certain live report that caught their attention.

Harry's attention.

Everything after happened in slow motion and all Harry could do was watch in horror as the video of his once-closest friend taking a bullet shot surfaced on the screen in front of him. Abigail suddenly sat up from her position, watching just in as much of a shock, glancing back at Harry. But Harry, he didn't move, he couldn't move. Anything that could move were the little droplets of tears from the corner of his eyes.

“Covering live outside Zayn Malik and Gigi Hadid's New York apartment. Ex-popstar Zayn Malik has been shot on his chest by an invader who reportedly held his wife, supermodel Gigi Hadid and four years old son Eric Malik hostage in their Upper West Side house for nearly two hours.” Harry watched as the reporter on screen spoke, “Malik was supposedly visiting a friend in Queens when the invader, identified as an ex fan of his former band, One Direction called him in demand of a ransom. As per reports he, a serial criminal, was not keen on the money but blamed Malik for the dispersion of the band and was seeking revenge. Ex-popstar Zayn Malik has completely given up on his music career after the failure of his third album in 2020, ever since taking care of his son's upbringing. What do you think Malik's ex band mates would like to say about this? Harry Styles, the most successful member of the band is indeed in New York City for his fourth solo tour. Malik has been immediately admitted to New York Presbyterian Hospital and fans are requested to respect privacy.”

“Harry,” Abigail snapped at Harry. He suddenly gasped as if he was breathing after a century worth of time. Guilt surfaced his body, rising higher and higher until it practically lodged itself in his throat. Harry felt nauseous all over again, his stomach tying itself into knots, twisting and turning until he cracked. “Harry we need to go.” Abigail repeated in commanding tone. She was already in front of their half packed luggage hunting a decent piece of clothing for herself and him, one that could be worn in a hospital.

“A-A-Abby.” He mumbled through broken words still catching his breath. “Maybe we don't.” Harry licked his lips again and again, reaching for her hand to stop looking through the bag all the while as his own body shaked tremendously. “H-he didn't need me. He doesn't need me. He's been living in this city for years, he has so many people here to call, to help him. I don't even know his son, fuck I don't even know his wife. Why would he need me? Why would he call me? I'm the last person he would ever like to see, he hates me. He-”

The guilt surfaced again in him, terrifyingly clutching his lungs. Harry was rambling, probably not even listening to himself but Abigail could. And so the one thing she did there and then was slap him. Hard enough to snap him into reality.

“Are you even listening to yourself?” She screamed, shaking Harry by his arms before closing her eyes in at attempt to calm herself down. “Harry I have no fucking clue what went down with you two. But if you have a single decent bone in your body, change your clothes now. I'm driving.”

■■■

The first thing Harry heard as he reached the VIP floor of the hospital was the crying of a little boy. It very much resembled his own when his dad left the house for the first time after his divorce. Shockingly it also resembled his silent crying in the washroom of his childhood home in Holmes Chapel after the burial of his father's body, even though at that time he was a man of twenty seven.

The boy had Zayn's features. The shiny dark hair, the exact almond shaped eyes, and same sleeping posture. Gigi, his mother had him cradled in her arms telling him how his father is okay but she herself could not help the excessive black tears flowing from her eyes. It was a slow process, him going to sleep but as soon as he did, Gigi couldn't help but ball her eyes out with her son clutched close to her chest.

Harry came back to reality when a hand slipped down his own. He looked at the two hands joined and then up at Abigail giving him a tiny smile of encouragement. She raised her brows for consent to move further, one that Harry replied to with a little nod.

“Gigi?” Abigail spoke cautiously.

It took Gigi a moment to realise she was being addressed and another to realise who was addressing her. Her expression moved from glum to fury in the same synchronicity. “What the fuck are you doing here?” She growled placing her child on the seat beside her and getting up.

“Gigi-” Abigail attempted to reason, being the only one with a stable head in the moment but she was soon cut off.

“I'm sorry.” Harry abruptly said not even knowing what he was sorry for.

“Sorry? What all are you sorry for?” Gigi screamed at the top of her voice. “Actually it's not you, it's Zayn. He is the stupid one in this entire situation that he called you out of everyone to help us out. You've bailed him so many times in the past, he should've known that you'll fucking cut his call. Cut. Even after knowing what was going on and here you are showing up now. My son could've died, Zayn could've… can..can fucking die.” Her tears were endless, so was Harry's guilt and what else was endless was Abigail's shock. “And it's all because of you, Harry Styles. All because of you. I hate you, he hates you… we all hate you. You don't understand this now but the day you'll have a child and will be on the brink of losing it, you'll know how he felt when he called you and you cut his call.”

Before she even knew it, Gigi was on the floor in front of Harry's feet and the only thing audible was her cries, one after the other. Abigail knelt down to hug the blonde woman in front of her, giving her a shoulder but her own eyes never left her guilt stricken boyfriend.

Harry could not stay there anymore. He had never felt more real and vulnerable in his life as if he was being stripped naked, this time not only of his clothes but his soul. So he left, straight for the empty staircase behind a hospital door.

Abigail came there after almost an hour, the entire time Harry feeling like a child who has recently failed in a test and was waiting outside as his parent read his horrible report card.

“I didn't know. I didn't even hear him, I couldn't. He called me for first time after eight years. What did you expect me to do?” Harry spoke robotically not even looking her in the eye. “I should be leaving.”

“Harry, stop.” Abigail held his hand, stopping him in his tracks.

“You heard her, he hates me. And if anything else I hate him too.” He had his lips bitten too hard after saying the last words.

“How much do you hate him?” It was more of rhetorical question Abigail had asked him, her brows together in frustration. “You hate him enough to leave him dying?”

Harry whipped around scoffing loudly, “Come on, I'm not that person. I told you I didn't even hear what he was saying on the phone.”

“You know very well that's not what I am talking about. As opposed to your thinking running away from this will not solve this issue.” It sounded more like a warning coming from her mouth. “Zayn might be on his deathbed right now. If anything you should be begging for one fucking chance to reprimand everything, but here you are.”

“Reprimand? There is nothing left. The person who needs to reprimand is on the other side.”

Abigail was high on frustration, clenching and unclenching her fist. “Harry, fuck do you suppose your ego needs any more inflation than the fact he himself called you when he needed to save his son and wife – the most crucial point of his life? What if this happened to me and our baby? Would you still not talk to Zayn for help?”

Harry felt like he had been slapped, a combination of solemn and shock in his eyes. “Abby-”

“Exactly that.” She pinpointed. “That's what he would've felt. Yet he called you, Harry.” Abigail breathed loudly before speaking.“ I have said this before and I am repeating that this is an issue. You hide the most important things, all your stories are incomplete because somewhere they are altered versions made by you that you've repeated to yourself so many times that they have become your own version of reality . The bank notice, your dad, Jeffrey and now Zayn.”

“I know that, I know this very well. Everyone have their issues, you had past issues of your own. You can't throw them on my face in an argument like that.” Harry turned around from her, taking one step down the staircase.

“You can't avoid them forever either. Somebody needs to tell you this before you make a big mistake and decide not to see Zayn,” She chided, taking a single step towards him. “I promise you, you’ll regret it if you don’t.” “You don't even know Zayn, why are you so sure about that?” “Because he so easily could be dead right now, if that happens you wouldn’t be able to live with yourself. It's been more than three years your father passed away and you still beat yourself everyday that you couldn't change his opinion,” Abigail's words had suddenly dignified in Harry's opinion. He closed his eyes, running a hand through his hair before he slid down to sit on a stair platform. “If Zayn leaves too you'll be carrying another pile of guilt for the rest of your life Harry. And even for king of tolerance that you are, it's no easy task.” Abigail slowly followed his actions, sitting right beside him. “Be honest with me H, why don’t you want to see him again? Even after this? What’s stopping you?”

“Because I’m terrified,” He admitted pathetically. “I have done terrible things to him as well. I was twenty one, Zayn and Louis were taking morphine in a hotel room beside mine when we had a raid, it was illegal in the country. They called me and I… I left the fucking hotel, Abby.” He cried for a while, his voice reeked with guilt. “Zayn wasn't any better, though. I almost went to prison for him.”

“You both were pretty close?”

“Closest.” He replied with a tiny smile, still keeping his head down. “Growing up, things changed, what we wanted with life changed; within the band there were disagreements, but especially we both disagreed on everything. Everyone saw it, Niall sided with me, Louis sided with him and Liam was mostly trying to cool things but he was busy in his relationship back then. Worst thing, none of us ever said sorry. And,” Harry breathed deeply, “and then I did one unimaginable thing. ”

Harry looked as guilty as he sounded when he sneaked a glance at Abigail. It was difficult for him to contemplate whether telling this to her was a good idea or not. Abigail was Harry's everything and he had every intention to shower her life with confetti and roses not thorns of his own.

“H, it's just me.” She reassured him in her raspy voice.

He nodded weakly, “One night Zayn and I wrote a song together, in one sitting. He was high off his ass but I was sober, he didn't remember much of the night… so, so I never told him he wrote that too.” Harry inhaled because he needed oxygen at the moment. Abigail had her eyes closed in disappointment but what else was even expected. Harry was more disappointed with himself than anyone else could ever be. “It went to my first album, was a massive hit. Abby sometimes I really wonder what if I didn't have that song, would I still be this huge.”

“Yes,” She recited abruptly, snaking her arm around his and keeping her head on his shoulder. “Your entire album was a hit, Harry. Not just one song.”

“I know that, just can't get the thought off.” He admitted apologetically. “And what if he had it, would his career still be going strong? Mostly I think maybe that song could've helped us rekindle our friendship.” It was something Harry thought about a lot but never cared to admit. Sighing deeply, he added, “But it's been years, I'll only hurt him more by talking to him now.”

Harry has always been ricocheting to the next high, striving to be better than himself. So much so he never even realised that the skeleton in his closet was no ones but his own. And the thing about skeletons was that they were the most deep-seeded part of your body, under the fascia, beyond the organs and tearing the strong inbuilt network of nerves and vessels – the most difficult to reach. But then once you throw them off your body, all that was left was your flesh – immovable, raw, useless flesh.

So was there really a question? Sometimes keeping your skeletons in was only viable option.

Abigail nodded in that moment, pretending to understand but Harry could see very well that this was another story he had left incomplete. And with the law of life, every incomplete story needs to be completed. The more you delay the ending the biterrer the climax gets.

■ ■ ■

November 2024

“I have that covered, Mr. Styles,” Fearne, the manager of West Hollywood restaurant Catch, replied to him after a minute long listings from Harry regarding the event.

As soon as he received a nod, Harry rushed over to the foyer where a number of cameramen were assigned their positions, to take a look over the setting in the area. The restaurant was enlightened in black and gold, fire playing a important part of the decor, in a complete modern gala esque demeanour.

It was a charity party organised by GQ magazine and hosted by Harry himself, one like so many others he regularly attended.

He stood in the foyer wearing a Dior black suit and hair trimmed for the event because he wanted to personally receive his guests, especially over the first half hour. As and when his guests arrived, he would smile, hugging them all before guiding them towards their introductory glasses of champagne.

Slowly everyone around him started filtering inside, filling the once empty interiors of the restaurant. They were all in groups, of friends, associates and uncos who laughed together a bit too much to be strangers. At one point, he greeted Jeffrey and Glenne as they arrived, giving Glenne a long, friendly but keeping it highly professional with Jeffrey with a mere handshake. There was tension between the two, one that Glenne attempted to crack with a joke but she failed miserably.

But Jeffrey didn't occupy much of his thoughts, Abigail did. As time kept on rolling, Harry frowned everytime a car would arrive but it won't be Abigail's. She had told him she was feeling tired and would rather join in with the guests a while later.

After multiple calls from his new manager to come back to the party, Harry finally did. It had been forty-five minutes since the event began rolling but Abigail was not there yet. His manager guided Harry, both of them jumping from one group to another, laughing with strangers. Abigail was mentioned every time, her not being clutched to Harry's arm like she always was, questionable to people.

Harry though, could see nothing bad in it. He smiled everytime her name was taken telling them how she would be arriving soon.

After a whirlwind of congratulatory hugs and dismissable conversations, Harry excused himself from his manager's grip to look for an isolated area. He wanted nothing more than hearing Abigail's voice for once. As if on instinct his feet rolled towards to rooftop, stopping right beside the door of the rooftop as he leaned back on the wall; all the while his eyes were busy scanning through the 4000 contacts on his phone down to one name.

It was the same line repeated: ‘The number you are trying to reach is currently unavailable, please try later.’

With every passing moment, Harry’s concern kept on growing but he tried not to over think about the situation. Closing his eyes he allowed the November breeze to hit his face, as if opening the pores on his skin that had been closed due to excessive make-up. This felt like a deja vu for him, the light music, the silent haze in a busy room, the rooftop of Catch, November… of course November of 2022 — two years back when he had first met the love of his life in a very similar environment.

“Tequila?” Harry’s face perked up at someone talking to him. For a moment he gasped as if all of his last two years were a dream and they were about to come to reality, restarting right from the beginning.

“Abby,” He said abruptly opening his eyes, the rate of his heart ricocheting to a new high. But there instead of his girlfriend, stood a waitress dressed in a uniform holding out a tray full of tequila to him.

“Sir, tequila?” She repeated in a melancholic tone and Harry smiled taking a glass from her tray before thanking her. The waitress left but he stood there on his spot smiling faintly at the glass of liquor in front of him.

Abigail had slowly engraved herself in Harry's life. Starting from the party at Catch when she asked him for a rolled green note, then the soul cycling trip, when he first took her to his Beverly Hills mansion, when she gave him the privilege to call him her boyfriend, when she told him she's having his baby, Zayn's accident — everything had and breathed her. He breathed her.

Harry had always been a musician, he never knew he was an artist until now that he had every picture of them together, painted right in his brain.

And it all started with tequila.

It was in the midst of his thoughts when Harry heard a prominent thud from the lower floor. He ushered as quickly as the crowd around him, excusing himself through the mass. There on the ground floor, in the foyer was Abigail arguing with a guardsman over something.

Something about her didn't seem alright. Instead of the designated, sophisticated dress of Gucci, she was wearing a silver-blue sequined piece that was too short to barely cover any part of her legs, it's strap falling miserably. Her hair was untamed and wild and her eyeliner was too thick and smudged for her usual liking.

She was in the midst of an argument with flailing hands and uncontrolled movements when Harry reached there, “Abby,” he called out.

“Haarryyy! Babyyyy!” Abigail's face lit up seeing him and she took a single step towards, tumbling and falling in the process. This made Harry rush ahead so that instead of the floor, she landed in his arms. She giggled like a child, squirting in his grip. “Don't I look the hottest of all? They said this is not the dress code. Something fucking sophisticated.”

There were endless clicks from the photographers in the foyer and all Harry wanted in the moment was to protect her from becoming a public nuisance. “You look brilliant, just come with me.”

“Sir I apologise, but she does not have an invitation. I'm afraid I'll have to take her.” The guard beseeched him.

“Don't dare touch her.” Harry warned in an aprising tone.“She's with me.”

While Harry was busy talking to the guardsman, Abigail had somehow managed to release from his grip moving towards the fountain that was placed as an ornament in the foyer. “Fountain?” She gasped dramatically, “That's so much water here. No, no close it. We're saving water. Harry and I will save water.”

She was pathetically trying to close the fountain, jumping in her heels to reach its top. Harry flustered even thinking how badly she reeked alcohol; and his concern proliferated as soon as the thought of his baby came to his mind.

Just then Jeffrey came up to him with a concerned tone. “Harry is she okay? There are cameras around, she's causing a scene.”

In an alarmed tone, Harry rebuked. “She's fine, I'll take care of her.” Moving towards her, he held her arms ever so lightly whispering into her ear. “Babe your strap is a little off, let me help you.”

“Oh this, let it be. This is what they live for.” Her voice was loud and messy. “Abigail Quinn can't handle herself and her dress. Abigail Quinn using beau for getting into acting. Abigail Quinn purposely got pregnant to take relationship to the next level.” She enacted them all in a mocking voice before letting out a laughter, “Let them live, H. Let them talk and slander me all they want.”

“Babe please let me take you home.” He closed his eyes, trying to take her hand but she immediately withdrew, moving closer to the main foyer where she was under the direct gaze of the cameras.

“Home? Who's home? Your $30 million mansion that I didn't even pay a penny for? Sorry-sorry, stupid me. I don't even earn, how can I pay for anything.” She laughed like girl gone mad.

“Abigail you are not in your senses right now. Come with me, please.” Harry was begging her now, him being too sure that it was the alcohol speaking not her.

“Glenneyyy!” Abigail greeted cheerly, escaping Harry's grip. She hugged a frantic Glenne almost taking her down to the floor with herself. “I missed you so much. You and Jeffrey left us and this idiot didn't even talk to Zayn, we have no friends.”

Jeffrey and Harry fast approached the two women, trying their best to protect Abigail from being hurt. Glenne on the other hand, was a frustrated figure. “Guys, what the hell? Abigail why are you shouting?”

“I am shouting? I think I'm talking too low. There's so loud music here, I can't hear a thing.” There was indeed no music. Rather everyone's attention was only on her in a pin-drop silent mode. “Can you guys hear me? Helllllooo.”

Abigail was flailing her hands, asking for a response. It provoked Glenne to quickly shove her into Harry's body, herself holding her from the other side. “Jeffrey, I need a car fast.”

Together the trio helped Abigail into Glenne and Jeffrey's car, quite like the first time they had met before Harry gave away the address to his Bel-Air Mansion.

■■■

The night seemed infinite for Harry. From the car ride to the bedroom where Abigail dozed off like she was a dead girl — Harry was only left to process what had happened. There were multiple occasions she woke up to throw up making the floor of their once paradise room a mess of bile and tears. Harry desperately cleaned it three times, spraying his best perfumes through the room to somehow wipe away everything that happened.

But what was done was done and it was out there for the world to see.

The remaining night went with him watching her sleep on their bed as he sat on the floor close to her side, running his fingers through her hair. His eyes were bloodshot and no amount of makeup could hide the once etched dark circles that had started showing up again.

It was a little over three in morning when Abigail winced loudly, almost crying while opening her eyes. Harry immediately smiled through broken lips and glistened eyes trying to contemplate what to say. But before he could, Abigail shoved him to the side and stubbed her toe on the way to the bathroom.

Twenty seven minutes from there she came from the bathroom, now dressed in a loose trouser and a tank top of her own. She stopped in her way when she saw Harry sitting on the little sofa in their room, repeatedly hitting his forehead with his knuckles, still dressed in his white button-up and dress trousers from the event.

He sat up alarmed as soon as he heard door creake close. “Are you feeling alright, now?”

She scoffed lazily taking the seat beside him on the sofa. “How would you fucking feel after pulling a stunt like that, huh? Alright? Fantastic? Sorry, sorry you don't know this feeling. You have never pulled a stunt like that, you're all clean Styles.”

“Hey, it's fine.” Harry breathed deeply keeping a light hand over her shoulder but she pushed it off as if opposed to a hand, a bulldozer was put on her. “I'm not mad at you at all for last night, we can forget it happened. I forgave you the moment.”

“You forgive me? I didn't even apologise, Harry. I don't fucking need to,” she retorted in derision. “And of course, forget. Let's forget it happened, like you forget everything else that happens.”

“Babe-”

“Don't babe me out of this.” She snapped in the instant, the next thing that followed being a little cry. One that grew into complete balling with time. Harry tried pulling her into his chest being that his own face was wet with tears. But everytime he tried touching her, Abigail would hold his hand to stop that. And this final time she kept her hold strong caressing the anchor tattoo on his hand. “The things I said last night...in.. in that condition they were all true.”

“No, no Abigail. They are not, you said them because you were not in a clear state of mind. You didn't even know what you were talking about.” He replied in a light voice yet was very sure of his statement.

But Abigail only watched him with a disgusted, ill look, “Say it loudly… no, actually face it. What do you mean by ‘not in a clear state of mind?’ Say it loudly that I was high. That I was so fucking high that I ruined your perfect image, that golden man fantasy that you worked your ass off to create.” She was frantic using hands and all. “And yeah then throw me out. Throw me out of your sick, shallow popstar life and this mansion because you're too ashamed to be near this nuisance.”

“Are you gone mad? What are you talking about?” He was too aloof and naive.

“Even now Harry? Even now you are not going to say this loud? How much of a shallow coward are you?”

Any other day Harry would probably sit her down and talk to her about this issue but right now she was guilt stricken and maybe those were the kind effects drugs brought to people. So he thought he'd only talk to her once she was well rested. What Harry didn't know was that she was too tired from being well rested.

“You're not feeling okay right now. Let's get you some rest.” He tried getting a hold of her.

“Okay? Frankly Harry I haven't ever felt better because we might just be talking about this.” She replied in a much more energetic tone. “You can't keep on avoiding the topic as if it's bleeding nothing.”

There hasn't been a word made in the Oxford dictionary for how Harry was feeling. It was chaos in the least sense of words — his heart in knots this time instead of his stomach.

“It's them ain't it?” He bit his lips to prevent any more tears to fall down — an attempt that miserably failed. “It's the media who did this to you. They always, always fucking do it to me. They chide everything that is ever good for me. It always ends this way. People have no choice but to leave me.” “Where are you in this equation, Harry?” she asked him earnestly, leaning back to the sofa before getting up from there. “You think it's the media who fucks up things for you? Goodness you blind man, you are the one who fuck things up for yourself, Harry. At least a hundred celebrities live in this city alone, the media slaughters them all, but you act like you’ve got no say in any matter. As if they are the cause of every problem of your life and you are nothing but perfect. Flashnews, you're not. It's just a fantasy crafted for the world, that's not real. At what point do you realise only you’re responsible for all the people who left you?”

“You think my whole existence is a fantasy?” He scoffed and then shook his head, “You know how terribly difficult discipline is. Yes, fucking yes, I've never touched drugs, I've always kept my behaviour in check, but do you know how damn difficult that is?”

“And what I do isn't difficult?” Abigail berated in him putting a hand on her waist, “Being a trophy girlfriend you show off to the world, who has nothing else to do but chose your clothes, make you coffee, socialize with your friends and roam like a puppy to each of your shows — isn't difficult. Fuck Harry I graduated six months back and yet I have no job.”

Harry was everything synonymous to confused. “You said you needed time. You told me you didn't want any of those jobs.”

“Did you ever ask why? Everytime I went to an interview, they pinpointed every scandal of life and turned it into a resume not even looking at my real one till they came to the final. ‘But seeing how you've cleaned up your act, being with Styles, and keeping off substance abuse, we would be willing to hire you.’” She spoke her heart out. “They didn't understand I wasn't clean. You don't fucking make me clean Harry. There were still nights I tempted to unlock that closet, to take that vial out and just-just do it. Just inhale the coke so badly that even I can't hear my voice — feel so damn high. It's such a vicious cycle that even if you touch it once, you can't get off it.. you fucking can't. That is why I never ever wanted to do it again, not even think about it again.”

Her voice broke at the end of it, one that even softened Harry's own. “W-Why didn't you ever tell me? You always told me you were clean ever since you returned to school.”

“Because you would've left me.” A chuckle escaped her lips just as a tear did from her eye, unapologetically, “You would've left me like you leave everyone else who's a threat to your image.”

He winced, “I wouldn't have left you, babe.”

“How do I know?” She shrugged, “You left Zayn and Louis. You always stay away from these things, these people.”

“They were different.” He replied with a slight frustration.

“They were your fucking best mates.”

“What do you want me to do? Be reckless like they were. And see where they are now, nowhere. There is a cost for success, I have to pay it.” Harry tried reasoning his life choices despite knowing he was somewhere always wrong.

“They are in their homes, the ones that may not be as huge as this but at least it's not empty. They have people in their lives whom they love more than fame, and who love them. They have spouses that have fucking names, Harry. Not just ‘popstar xyz's girlfriend.’” She spoke without a breath. “You see where they are now? They are exactly where I am.”

Silence was Harry's only answer as Abigail sat on their bed with a thud. A million things ran through Harry's head and for the first time since the end of the band did Harry feel that life was happening too fast.

“Babe, we both have it right? I love you more than fame and you love me as well.” He spoke timidly.

“Oh you do? Because I don't see it one bit. Do you even care how I imagined my life when I started school? Do you remember the times I told you I could do anything to not be in the public eye anymore?” She stood up facing him again, “No, you don't, otherwise you wouldn't have thrown the cameras on my face. I don't blame those outsiders Harry, but what when you yourself aren't with me. Why would this – us, even be a thing then?”

“I am not on your side? I?” He tried everything in him to not bring this up, but now he had had enough. “I have been so fucking patient with you, Abby. I kept on tell myself that vial in your dresser is just a medication, that the rolled packets of paper in the kitchen just have sugar. But no, no I am not on your side.”

She clenched her jaw, speaking ruthlessly. “That's not called being patient, that's called being in denial. That you've always been, you still still are. These are the decisions you take in your life? Avoid, deny, close your eyes when you see something wrong, cut a phone call when it's from a person you don't like, fucking leave your best mate to die.”

They were cut throat in this fight. It was not anywhere near to a discussion now.

Harry said pacing through the room. “He's not my best mate. He's a terrible human.”

“And you aren't?” She followed him before snapping at him. “You are worse Harry. You are worse.”

“At least my decisions didn't ruin my life… And if we are talking things, I think you owe me some good explanations.” Harry crossed his arms in front of his chest. “How long have you been taking that poison of coke? How long have you been planning to assassinate our baby with that never ending addiction of yours?”

“Wrong question boy.” Abigail had a deep mockery in her tone. “The right question is why am I taking it. After three years of being clean, why I jumped back into something that fucking ruined me. And the answer is you… because of you and the countless articles tagged in your name.”

“Abby, you can't completely blame me for your addiction and you know that.”

“I know that and I'm not blaming you for it. I'm blaming me, that I even thought you were worth it. Do you have a clue of how fucking entitled you sound nowadays? Have you bleeding seen your attitude over everything?” She chided him. “Or maybe that's been you always. You've just plastered a princess face to the world and me when I met you. But when I got to know you, this boy,” she pointed up and down at him, “he is a dammit disaster.”

“What do you want me to do Abby?” Harry deadpanned defeatedly.“I.. you want me to get a plastic surgery that people won't recognize me. It's a part of me. Famous is a part of me, you have to accept that. You knew what you signed up for.”

“Yes but I expected you to be there for me, you never have.” She cried, “And buying this outside-your-budget-house, getting me gifts and taking me to your fucking stupid vacations don't count as being there for me.”

“I… I d-don't c-choose this Abigail. I don't.” He shook his head as an array of tears fell down to his hand. Harry could see what was coming, he has seen this apocalypse too many times to discern, he just didn't know why everytime it hurt more than before.

“It's history repeating right? This happened with everyone else. With Zayn, the boys, your dad?” She accused, too sure of herself. “You are given a choice to choose between your fame and these people. And you always, always chose fame. Didn't you?” It was rhetorical question but Harry wanted to shake his head at it. Denying it, but maybe even denying it will be of no use now. “You just look for escapes. Soothing escapes. Before me your work was your escape.. then I became your escape and now that even I am ruined enough to stay with you… you'll find another escape.”

“Please don't say that… I'll leave it all.” He spoke suddenly alarmed. Harry wiped his tears abruptly before holding Abigail's arms, trying to promise her something impossible through frantic words, “I promise, I'll make the world forget who Harry Styles is. For you Abby, for us, for our baby.”

“There's no baby.” She broke through his grip so harshly that it also broke his heart. “I aborted it. I.. I knew if I keep it, I'll always somehow be associated with you. I don't fucking want that.”

Just like that Harry's entire world was ripped apart. The bubble of love disappeared, the haze of their perfect world — one with him, her and their baby — burned in the warmth of Hollywood, leaving back not even ashes.

His back hit the wall and there stood no one but a lifeless man.

It felt like a few minutes expanded into eternity, breaking the dimensions of time. And eternity was a long enough time to comprehend a lot.

He spoke exanimately before a tear dropped off his eyes. “You hate me, don't you?

“No baby, no. I love you… I love you so much I can't even tell you. I just hate your choice,” she wailed, just like him. “And Harry if you want the world to forget who Harry Styles is, tear yourself apart. Fucking get a pair and apologise, Harry. Apologise to everyone you did this to. Everyone you never stood up for. Everyone you lost for fame. That's the only goddamn way you’re gonna get yourself out of this mess. And I…I have my own mess to clear, once again.”

The fight seemed closed off on both the ends. Silence enveiled the air around them as he slid to the floor, his knees pressed to his chest. He wrapped his arms around his legs, burying his face into his worn out jeans.

“You're right, this is me. I ruined it all and only I can fix this.” He said exasperatedly before looking at her with begging eyes.“B-But.. n-not... us. Not us, right Abby?”

Abigail's face crumbled at his words as endless tears dripped down her cheeks. “Maybe Jeffrey was right when he said we are a combination of a catastrophe, hmm?” she chuckle half-heartedly, taking Harry's face in her hands, his tears wetting her palm. Harry didn't reply. He had never felt more tired in his lifetime, but watching everything you've ever built, slowly and painfully crumble down in front your eyes could do that to you. Rumours and articles had never bothered him much because the things printed were nowhere near truth. But what she said, each word off her mouth was true and that cut him like a piece of glass.

He had her head leaned against his shoulder as she briefly closed her eyes and letting time escape them. For one moment, just one moment, he needed to feel okay again. But okay was not going to come so easily, it would take years to walk down the ladder of success, to meet and apologise to everyone he had once lost, to find Harry more that Harry Styles and worst part; even if he did all of that he would never get the one woman he wants in his arms ever again.

He knew he had to start with Zayn. He owed him more than he owed anyone anything and if he is anyhow lucky Zayn would accompany him in his trip ahead, only if he was lucky.

In that one night numerous stars garnished the moon on the navy skies of California, children slept in peace between their parents in their tiny beds, concert shows sold out in a single moment, birds slowly started waking up before the break of dawn, the entire universe worked just in the equilibrium it was supposed to – amongst it all in an empty house of a posh street – a star was torn.

[snowbellewells]

“Run to Me (in the Dead of Night)”

Well, folks, here we are at last - the final installment of my CSSNS MC.  I can’t believe it’s really over (or that it has carried all the way into the new year.) But I have had a lot of fun exploring the world of this werewolf AU, and I am so thankful for everyone who read and encouraged me along the way as I wrote.  I am sorry I kept you waiting for the loose ends to be tied up and the happy ending achieved, but I hope you will enjoy this last segment.  I may check back in with these versions of the characters and this verse with a shorter look into the future if there is a second CSSNS. (After all, I did leave a small hint or two for things that might yet be brewing in the plot!) But for now, here we are at the finish line complete.

***Thank you once again to @wingedlioness for the gorgeous story banner she made for this piece that I have been using throughout.  Enjoy the final story pic she made for this as well. It’s just a fun little fluffy glimpse at a part of their happily-ever-after! :)

epilogue ~ moments in the moonlight

A few days after Emma and Killian’s successful deal with the Dark One, a hesitant sort of waiting peace had fallen over Storybrooke as life seemed to return to its version of normal. Gold had made no noticeable moves to break his word, and though none of those who had fought for a sense of safety against he, Cora, and Regina were going to quit watching him closely, the intensely charged atmosphere of the previous weeks and the sense of constantly awaiting the next calamity or attack, had begun to subside. Henry and Snow, both as student and teacher, had returned to their regular school routine. Emma and Graham had gone back to regular shifts at the station handling once-more mundane complaints of dwarf squabbles, Mr. and Mrs. Sprat’s domestic disturbances in the grocery aisles, and Widow Shue’s numerous kids making too much noise in the backyard and bothering the neighbors. Killian seemed to be settling into town as well, planning to make it a more long-term home. When not with Emma and Henry, or out and about with David and Graham, both of whom were becoming the closest friends he’d had since the loss of his brother, the pirate puttered around on his ship, either cleaning or seeing that it was airtight and warm enough to remain habitable in the fast-approaching winter months.

Tucked away in her cozy office in the very back corner of the library however, one evening just a few days before Thanksgiving, Belle French fought to keep recent events and the distressing tangle of emotion knotting her gut from overrunning her mind. It was easier, admittedly, now that she wasn’t alone. Graham had stopped in after he was done at the sheriff’s station for the day, Granny’s takeout in hand for their dinner, and they had just finished eating in warm companionship, both of them more than anything grateful to no longer be eating alone, to have the other’s presence beside them to dispel the regrets and doubts whispering in their minds.

When at last she looked up to gaze full in his focused, understanding face, already looking back at her and seeming to read behind her attempt at a casual smile and false normalcy, Belle found herself catching her breath at the zing of warmth and electricity that went skittering through her. Tossing the napkin she had already crumpled into the paper bag on the table between them, she reached for the sheriff’s large, calloused hand, already held out open and waiting for her on the wooden tabletop. She couldn’t have imagined before this just how much comfort there was in simply being known - truly known, accepted, and understood intrinsically by someone else. She had come to feel nearly invisible with Rumple quite quickly upon regaining her sense of self (and more memories of the Enchanted Forest). There had been good moment long ago, but in truth she had been more of a shadow of the brave adventuress she’d always hoped. Yes, Rumple had needed her, but as an extension of himself, to keep him behaving as the good person he should have already been.  Graham needed her too, but in the way any person would need someone they cared for; moreover, it was the same way that she needed him as well.

There was no judgement or impatience on Graham’s face, only concern and a desire to help as his thumb rubbed soothingly over the back of her hand. “What is it, Belle?” he asked, voice low and calming in the dim light of her single desk lamp in the silent echoes of the library closed for the day. “Something is clearly bothering you… Maybe it would help to share it?”

Belle squeezed the hand that held her own reassuringly, before wrapping her free hand around their interwoven fingers, wanting to hold onto him that much more for his compassion and his intuition, traits she knew had made her initial gratitude and attraction to him swell into all that she felt for him now. It wasn’t that she couldn’t share her worry with him, she thought as she shook her head in agitation, it was that she didn’t quite know how to try. Finally, she bit her lip and then, with a released whoosh of breath, she plowed ahead impulsively, “It’s just that...well...I don’t really feel relieved. You know? I mean, I assumed that if we were able to stop Rumple - and Emma and Killian forcing his hand into that deal seems to have worked, at least for the time being - then I would feel more at ease, like I could safely move on. But I don’t feel any better about it… more sort of hollow...and anxious too, like I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

Graham scooted his chair closer, obviously trying to offer a shoulder if she needed it; despite her having noticed that in most situations he didn’t tend to get overly close in proximity to other people unless absolutely necessary. “If you’re worried that we’ve dropped our guard, we haven’t. Everyone knows Gold is quite possibly only safe until he finds a way out of the deal he struck-”

But she interrupted him, shaking her head and turning away from his searching, deep eyes that she felt could look right into and read her very soul if she let him. “No, it’s not that. Well, there is the worry that he’ll find a loophole and attack us the first chance he gets, but it’s more that I can’t believe I was ever foolish enough to think he would change, that he could be different. So much wasted time, so much of my own life lost for a cause that was always hopeless.”

Graham’s fingers were tender, barely brushing over her skin as he ever-so-softly touched her chin to move her face back to his. “Please don’t say that,” he husked, his voice raspy with strangled emotion as he continued. “Your faith in others, your hope, your belief that we can overcome and change, that we do control our own fates… I… I love that about you.”

Her breath caught at his admission, long lashes blinking rapidly as she met his eyes now, transfixed and unable to look away.

“Don’t let him take that from you,” Graham finished breathlessly, his chest heaving as if he had just run for miles, and a surprising red flush climbing up his neck before his eyes dropped to the wood of the desk between them and then finishing with a murmured, “I couldn’t bear it.”

It took Belle a minute to get her wits about her, her thoughts pinging and racing in every direction at once and her heart beating as though it might pump right out of her chest, but she felt the sheriff beside her tensed to move, as if embarrassed to have said too much and preparing himself to withdraw. Quickly, she gripped his hand a little tighter, until he looked back into her face.

“You...you love me?” she whispered, not at all certain she could believe her ears.

Graham wordlessly nodded at that without saying anything more aloud. She could read his expression just then, as much as she had ever felt that he could read hers. She had been beating herself up for her own mistakes, both in the past and the present, fearing that her failures would always be laid out before her, but she could see in that weighted moment that her werewolf boyfriend carried all the same self-doubt and fear. He wasn’t sure that what had happened to him, what he had been made into and forced to do, would ever be fully behind him, or if anyone could look at him without seeing the damage, and yet despite it all, he was reaching out to her.

Belle didn’t know if it was right or if it was wrong, too much or too fast, but in that moment, with the flood of emotion he’d brought forth in her, she couldn’t hold back. Leaning forward over their joined hands, she pressed her mouth to his, savoring the soft feel of his lips in a first kiss full of the hope he had just reignited within her, and everything else she felt for him besides.

When Graham opened for her, drinking her in with a low hum of pleasure and kissing back, it was so enthusiastic that before she knew it, he was pulling her toward him over the table until she was curled, giggling in his lap, sheltered by his warm embrace as he peppered more kisses to her hair, cheeks, and forehead. They might both still be broken, but together they were going to mend the jagged edges.

~~~~~~***~~~~~~***~~~~~~~

High on the hill overlooking Storybrooke, later that same night, Emma and Killian sat on the hood of her VW Bug, alternately stargazing and making out like the two carefree teenagers neither of them had ever really gotten the chance to be. Emma was just pondering the fact, when the idea of her deputy father on duty tonight catching them up here, flashing lights and stern expression and all the trappings he would have certainly pulled out if he’d actually been able to parent her when she was sixteen, seventeen, lost and living on the wild side. A chuckle escaped her at the both preposterous and yet utterly plausible mental image, causing Killian to pull back with an affronted look as she buried her head in his shoulder, her own shaking with silent mirth.

“And just what is so funny?” he questioned. “A man could begin to doubt himself when his lady love begins to laugh instead of melt at his romantic overtures.”

“Easy there, Wolf Man,” she soothed, trailing her hand along his open collar and into the exposed hair of his chest with idly stroking fingers, both their heart rates picking up at the gesture. “No need to get your hackles up. You’re doing just fine, trust me.”

A teasing grin quirked her delectable lips as she stared up at him, offering a seductive wink for good measure, even as she decided for herself that though she would definitely tell him later what had made her laugh and let him gain a chuckle from it as well, it wasn’t the time just then, nor did she want the heavy chemistry rippling between them broken with humor.

Killian, for his part, saw her green eyes darken from sparkling jade to forest deepness with want and was more than happy to let the matter drop for the present. All sensible thought fled him at that moment anyway, as Emma’s hand crawled up his neck to scratch behind his ear, making it all he could do not to whine in the back of his throat like a mere pup begging a treat from its owner. Emma did own him, body and soul, in all the ways that mattered. Killian saw no purpose or sense in denying it.

However, once he managed to gather a few threads of coherent thought, he leaned forward to growl warningly against her skin, not quite willing to let her win the upper hand so easily. “You’re playing with fire, Emma...as you well know. Toying with me that way wakes the beast within…”

She shivered at the husky intonation of his words, his meaning all too clear. In truth, she couldn’t help thinking that might be just what she was after; she was only too eager to let him devour her with tooth, tongue, and claw. Still, there had been a reason they’d chosen this particular spot for the evening, and the time was fast approaching. The full moon above was nearly at its peak.

Seeming to recall himself just as Emma did, Killian pulled back from her slightly, his forehead resting against hers as they both tried to catch their breath. Finally, with a quick kiss to the tip of her nose, he slid off the hood of the car and stood, looking back at her with hope and uncertainty warring in his eyes. “Swan, in all seriousness, are you sure about wanting to wait for me? It could get quite chilly up here tonight.

Emma could only nod her head at him at first, wondering how he still didn’t quite see his own worth in her eyes, how intensely she wanted to be with him every moment she could. “Yes, Jones, I’m sure,” she said at last, with some exasperation, not failing to notice the affection and joy that flooded his face with her confirmation. “It’s only a few hours, right?  Go - have your run. Maybe it’s the loosed beast I’m anxious to see when you get back.”

Killian visibly swallowed hard at her last words, but then a devilish gleam entered those mesmerizing eyes of his, and she could see his tongue poke into the corner of his mouth as he replied with a promise that set the blood in her veins on fire. “Have it your way, Love. I can say with some certainty that he’ll be salivating to see you too by the time I return.”

With that, he divested himself of his shirt, pulling it up over his head and baring his scarred and heavily furred chest as well as the ripple of stomach muscles that accompanied the action. Emma’s mouth went dry at the sight, even as she reached out her hand dumbly to take the shirt from him, along with the pants, socks, and boxers that followed. Looking up at her once more with a smirk, knowing that she was staring at his nude form as she clutched the discarded clothing to her chest, Killian then jogged into the treeline and was gone.

A few minutes later, Emma heard the singular, haunting and powerful howl of a wolf from well within the forest and knew that his transformation was complete. It had taken Killian a huge amount of trust to bring her here and let her into as much of the process as he dared, still not completely willing to shift into lupine form right in front of her; knowing that for a brief amount of time, just when the change was complete, he was purely a wild animal. Though he could swiftly regain control of his mind, he refused to risk even the slightest chance that he might hurt or frighten her in that minute lapse of time.

He had told her that he could actually hold the transformation off completely, but she sensed within his statement that it wasn’t a pleasant option, and when pressed, Killian had admitted that it was distressing - like an itch under the skin that couldn’t be scratched - if not downright painful, when one continued to fight nature. He didn’t know if it could do permanent damage, but Emma hadn’t wanted him to test the theory anyway. Yes, Henry was with her father tonight - out on a camping trip with him, Graham, his friend Nicholas, and Nick’s father, but she could wait a few hours. Plus, if she were honest, she was more than a bit curious, and not in the least turned off. So there she was, waiting for her love’s return.

It really was almost more than a cynic like her could believe, all that had happened in the last few months. At Thanksgiving this year, she had more to be grateful for than she could have fathomed possible not so long ago. She had the son she had lost - that she’d broken her own heart to give up for his best chance - back in her life, she had parents who loved her and had always wanted her, she had found love with a man she knew was devoted and true, she had genuine friends in Graham, Ruby, Belle, and many more of the quirky inhabitants of their little hamlet, and she had a job she enjoyed, that she was respected for doing well. Most of all, the lost girl who had still been hiding beneath her armour, had finally found her home.

Musing on all of that, Emma also had to concede that of course life still wasn’t perfect. There might yet be dark magic and curses that could come their way, along with everyday human heartache and trial, and of course she wasn’t going to turn her back on Mr. Gold, deal or not, but things were as near perfection as she had ever known. She felt stronger in belonging to a place and to these people than she had ever been before all alone.

A rustling of dried leaves and underbrush alerted her to turn back to the forest just in time to see a familiar dark black wolf emerge from the trees, its startling blue eyes intense and knowing, even in the face of a different being. The majestic animal lifted its snout slightly, as if catching her scent on the wind and savoring it before gazing back at her and taking another step forward.  Speechless, Emma could have sworn the animal licked its chops before pacing toward her. Then, as suddenly as he had appeared, he seemed to stretch and rearrange before her very eyes. She blinked disbelievingly, even though she had known it was him and what he was capable of, and when she looked again, it was Killian stalking toward her purposefully, nearly knocking her off her feet as he reached her and swept her up in a breathless, hungry kiss.

Tagging a few who may enjoy... @cssns @kmomof4 @laschatzi @jennjenn615 @therooksshiningknight @aloha-4-ever @spartanguard @searchingwardrobes @hollyethecurious @linda8084 @branlovestowrite @winterbaby89 @teamhook @revanmeetra87 @resident-of-storybrooke @kday426 @quicksilvermad @capswantrue @kiwistreetswan @bubblegum1425 @ultraluckycatnd  @gingerchangeling @bmbbcs4ever @thislassishooked

[talyn-amathas]

Ease: One Winter’s Veil

Caleigh would prove a lot easier to figure out. She was forthright and honest, no matter how she preferred the quiet, and someone Talyn had grown oddly closer to over the course of... months? Had it been that long? 

“I can’t remember when we met,” she’d written, and he’d smiled behind his cup of cocoa at the memory.

But there was no need to wait for signs, or watch for hints as to how to get it right. They had a knack for knowing, when it came to one another. 

He’d opted for beaver hide for its warmth and how it resisted the damp, venturing through the portals to Highmountain in search of the perfect game. And he’d taken his kill back to the lodge there to see to the work himself... those hours drawn out in spirited silence, a smile in every stitch. 

This afternoon he carried the heavy parcel, wrapped up only in crisscrossing ribbons, shiny and red and tied with a bow. He skipped over the docks, her favourite haunt, arriving instead at the animal shelter, just to be sure she got it safely.

It was no small matter, setting the weighted blanket up at her door frame, arranged and rearranged, only to be turned about and arranged once more. He fluffed the silken bow again, then the sleek, dark fur, standing back from his work at last with a nod, before he remembered the note card still tucked in his pocket. 

Digging this out, he discovered another slip of paper, this one a little crumpled after weeks on end, though really no worse for wear. On a whim, he slipped the latter into one of many hidden pockets, aligned just so with each strategic packet of sand he’d sewn into the thing. The former, of course was tucked beneath the bow, where Caleigh would be sure to find it right away. 

And with that Talyn was done with his Winter’s Veil efforts, save for some special treats for his dogs and whatever festivities the others still had in store. And maybe it wasn’t so bad. Vynix had been tricky, but the man was his boss, after all. And Caleigh-

He felt around the now empty space in his pocket, chancing a quick glance back at the parcel left behind. 

Maybe not that easy after all.

Caleigh,

A long time ago someone tucked me into one of these, and I remember it made for a good night’s rest. I know you aren’t really one for a lot of other people either, so I figured maybe you’d enjoy it too. It’s beaver hide, straight from Highmountain, where they’re everywhere (and sturdy things). So you should be able to sit outside, even at the docks, and stay warm and dry.

(Don’t worry- there’s jerky on the way that I bet a lot of animals at the shelter would like too).

Happy Winter’s Veil,

Talyn

Inside the liner’s pocket, should Caleigh happen to look, the crumpled paper remained. (Pic below cut!)

(( <3 For @caleigh-lightbreeze! @heartoftheravenwra Winter’s Veil Funtimes ))

[itoshit]

'The journey lasted 4 hours so it's now...8pm. Ran is waiting for you at 9pm, don't forget that.'

Both in Sanzu's office we were discussing the past events.

'Yeah yeah I know. Vee stays here. She can sleep at your place with her friend I don't mind that. I won't be back before at least 1am. I might have other things to do so I'll go to my office right after the meetings. I'm gonna pass by my penthouse real quick, I need to take a shower and recharge my gun, get ready and take my car'

'I guess I'm the one who needs to bring you back there?'

Nodding I stood up quickly followed by Sanzu.

Meeting Vee and her friend in the living room, both sat on the sofa, I cocked an eyebrow at the sight.

'You're gonna get drunk?'

'Yeah, except if you take that off our lives too hm?'

Not answering to Natalie I put my shoes on. My injuries were still fresh and stung my body but I wouldn't ask Sanzu to help me put my fucking jacket, I still had my pride.

'Are we leaving?'

Not throwing a glance at Vee I shook my head negatively.

'You're not but I am. I won't come back before tomorrow so stay here and have fun with your friend I guess. Sanzu is bringing me back to my place so don't do anything stupid while he's away'

'All good?'

'Yeah'

Now in his car, I could feel Sanzu particularly tensed.

'What's up?'

'This girl... Senju. How did she look like?'

'Eh?... white pastel hair, baby blue eyes... why?'

His knuckles were literally white, meaning that he was mad.

'So she's Takeomi's sister ?'

'Yeah'

'Alright'

'She wanted my dick'

Hitting the brake abruptly caused my body to jolt forward.

'The fuck Sanzu?? I'm bloody injured!!'

'She wanted to fuck you??'

Trying to stay calm at his antics I took a deep breath before answering.

'Who the fuck do you think you are? I'm your boss. Keep driving.'

Silence settling between us, I had my fingers on my lips.

'I don't know if she was serious but she tried to get into my pants.'

'And what's going on between Vee and you?'

'Honestly? I don't know. We did some stuff in Osaka, and I don't want her to see someone else. I'm not thinking of fucking another girl but we're not even having sex'

'You should get drunk together. Nat and I get wasted together and fuck the sex is amazing!'

Snorting at his reply I didn't answer, too preoccupied by your face in my mind.

'I would have advised you to come back tonight to have her but with your current physical condition you need rest. Your body heals quickly though'

Finally arriving at my place, I briefly thanked Sanzu before entering the building.

Home sweet home right?

My gun was in its strap, another one was safety stuck on my hip in its holster. Seeing Ran from afar I simply fastened my pace.

Whistling at my form he raised his eyebrows. Seemed like people won't stop commenting on my injuries.

Ready to speak I cut him by raising my hand.

'Just don't. I'm here for one reason, I still need to do many things'

'As you wish Mikey. So! Natalie's father is indeed dead. We found pieces of his body around Tokyo's Bay. Must be dead for months.'

A glass of whisky in my hand I sighted. This was getting more and more complicated.

'So Natalie offered her body for nothing ?'

'Hm.'

'We won't tell her when her father died. She's probably unaware of body decomposition so even if she wants to see him, we could explain his state with the water.'

'You're softening. Few weeks ago you wouldn't have cared and would have thrown the new to her face with even a cute picture of her daddy'

Waving his comment away I took a gulp of my drink.

'The Yamaguchi-gumi is our target. La Costra Nostra will probably join us soon. It's December, I want to have their leaders heads before February. Have you found their hideout?'

'Not yet. Give us a week'

Nodding, I finished my glass and stood up, patting Ran's shoulder.

'Good job Ran, you never fail to amaze me. Maybe you'll get a salary increase yeah?'

Hearing him laughing loudly at my comment made me grin too.

'Perfect then, goodnight Mikey'

-Mikey

I want to write so much more but I can't write a whole fic everytime 😠

Also I hope we'll be able to still find our time when you'll be back home 🥺

i’m sure we will mod darling don’t worry!

Four wine glasses to Natalie’s five, I was well on my way to getting plastered. Our spontaneous runway session became different things the tipsier we got. First, we mixed and matched outfits, pretended a certain outfit had a specific occasion assigned to it, and then did a full serious haul of all my clothes, majority of which Nat gave impressed nods to. Now, we had a twist— truth or dare while I modeled the clothes off. Wearing a cute black bodycon dress Mikey had bought me, I had gotten away with picking truth the last seven rounds; Natalie called me out for it by the eighth.

Another truth? she groans aloud. Anymore and you’ll be a fucking saint!

Sober, I would never have given into the obvious peer-pressure, but I’m far from sobriety. I cross my arms, challenging. Fine, dare.

Natalie grins. I dare you to go downstairs and ask the first hot guy you see for your number.

Immediately I regret not picking truth. Can we even go downstairs without Sanzu?

I went down to the pool without him this entire week. Stop deflecting, unless you’re chickening out. You know what you’ll have to do if you wuss out.

I did. When we were teenagers, where the worst possible thing to be called by your peers was a slut, we’d created a rule in truth or dare that if you didn’t complete your dare, you’d have to send nude pictures to your entire contact list.

It was such a scary thought when we were younger, that we did every single dare we were given, regardless if the dare was worse. Now that I’m older, the wuss out option didn’t seem so bad. Especially now that I had a new phone with only three contacts. Mikey would definitely appreciate any picture I sent— he saw the real thing anyway— and Natalie and I had seen each other naked all throughout our life. The only thing that stopped me from truly taking that route was Sanzu. Sending a nude pic to Mikey’s right hand and the man Nat was fucking didn’t sit right with me.

I begrudgingly stand and Nat cheers, already knowing what I would’ve chosen. We exit the apartment and wait an hour in the lobby for someone to come in. The entire time I thought of Mikey, wishing he still had a phone so I could’ve called him and gotten out of this night from my second glass of wine. I curse the Italians in my head.

When a man fitting the criteria of the dare’s stipulations walks in, I immediately rush him, honest about the situation and how I’m quite literally in his face only because I’ve been dared to do it. I even tell him how he doesn’t have to give me his real number and that a fake one would suffice, he insists it’s alright, scribbling down some digits and a name in pretty scrawl. I thank him, but not without looking him up and down. He has a cute, but forgettable face.

And judging by the amount of wine in my system, he’d be forgotten soon enough.

We head back to Sanzu’s apartment with Natalie screeching the entire way there about how cute he was, how I needed to give her the number if I didn’t plan on using it, and it all made my head hurt. I perform miracles drunk, seeing as I undressed, got dressed in pajamas and snuggled up into Natalie’s unused bed (she spent all her time in Sanzu’s) and instantly knock out with the crumpled paper with the guy’s number watching me sleep from the bedside table.

[that-one-awkward-anon]

The Cursed Scribe

[if i have to repost thing one more time i might just kill tumblr with my bare hands]

Steven Scriptor probably had this coming.

With how little he knew about his powers, he should have been extra careful when writing about himself. But of course, he just had to be dramatic and write about how much he wanted to die. It wasn’t how he was expecting to go out, that was for sure. As he fell from the balcony in what seemed like slow motion, his life did indeed flash before his eyes. Well, the important parts did. His first job as a news reporter, watching Morris live for the first time, discovering his powers, how jealous he was of Otis, getting fired… it all spun by in a blur. Maybe if he hadn’t written that stupid story, he would have never discovered this power, and he could have continued living a normal life. ~ Steven adored Morris. Of course, he had never actually talked to him, but he could still admire him from afar. He visited that club almost every day, just for the chance to see the white-clad singer perform. He would just stare, lost in his songs until the next act came on and he’d head back to his crummy apartment. Perhaps he should have just left it at staring. But he was just too moved, and fantasized too much. He needed to get his feelings out somehow! So late one night, he scribbled out a poem. It was teenage level stuff, honestly, nowhere near his best work. But hey, he didn’t have anyone to impress but himself. “One True Love The singer in white had a new song One directed right at him And it was beautiful. The song was about a one true love About how everything about them was perfect And how they were beautiful. Then the singer in white looked at him And he knew the song was made for him And that feeling was beautiful.” Steven forgot all about that poem by the next morning, the embarrassing paper having been crumpled up and thrown across his room after he had gotten it out of his system. And as always, right after work, he went straight from the headquarters to that little club to watch his hero. He hadn’t really connected the dots until halfway into the performance. Morris stopped for a moment to talk about how he had a new song, and how he hoped they’d like it. Then, he started singing about a “one true love”, and how “beautiful” that person was. It took a few seconds, but Steven suddenly realized what was happening, and straightened up significantly. No way. There was no way a sappy poem he had written at midnight was actually being sung about in front of him. This had to be more than a coincidence. He was barely paying attention to the song anymore, and instead left the club and made his way back home the second it was over. Perhaps it really was just a coincidence… but he couldn’t just leave it at that. As soon as he got home, he tore out a sheet of paper from his work notebook and scribbled something down. “We’re very sorry, but Mr. Annus won’t be performing today. Unfortunately, he’s completely lost his voice, and is unable to sing.” There. That was the most specific thing Steven could think of at that point. This time he didn’t just toss the paper away- he folded it up tight and shoved it in his jacket’s pocket. Only then did he go to bed. The next day, Steven couldn’t wait to just leave work. He actually ran out and back to the club the moment he was off the clock, now fidgeting in his seat waiting for Morris to come on. But when the hour struck, instead of the singer, there was a bit of a commotion, and a server nervous came onto the stage. “U-Uh… We’re v-very sorry, but Mr. Annus won’t be performing today. Unfortunately, he’s c-completely lost his voice, and is unable to s-sing,” the man mumbled into the mic. There were groans and mutters throughout the club, but Steven was silent and white as a sheet. He shakily pulled out the sheet of paper and read it over. Save for the stuttering, it was exactly as he had written it down. Once again, he didn’t stick around for much longer, and instead headed back to his apartment. He sat in silence, his mind racing with fast enough to make him dizzy. Whatever he wrote came true. He had no idea where this power had come from, but he had it now. Of course, when he was able to start making coherent thoughts again, he decided to test his limits. “Best Day, Worst Day For Steven Scriptor, this Day was made of pure bliss At the end of the day His boss gave him a raise Just because he could exist For our lovely mayor, though His car got stuck in the snow And there he would freeze In the minus degrees And end his run of the show” There. It was awfully written, but the point came across. If whatever this power was could effect the mayor, he could keep upping the ante to federal stuff. But for now, he simply folded the limerick up and put it in his pocket like before, then once again headed to bed. The next day, Steven’s little experiment had interesting results. There was a massive snowstorm seemingly out of nowhere, which came and went by sunrise. He walked to work anyways, so he wasn’t that affected by it. Halfway into his workday, he got a new job- the mayor had been in a limo that got stuck in the snow, and only now had he been freed. Alright, half of what he had written had come true- the mayor had been stuck, but he didn’t freeze to death. It was a pretty easy story, all things considered, which made the fact that he got a bonus from it all the more ridiculous. It was a good thing to note, however. Everything he had written about himself had come true, but only the nondeadly parts of the mayor’s verse had happened. Which meant that whatever power this was seemed to have a moral code of sorts. Fine by him. He never had any real urge to kill people, it was just a test. He didn’t think he had the balls to try and kill someone anyways. ~ The next couple of months were like a dream. Anytime someone was out of place in his life, Steven could just write a quick poem and fix it. Promotions at his job, a better apartment, a new car- you name it, Steven had given it to himself. There was only one thing he couldn’t fix. The person that had started going up on stage with Morris- Otis Unus. He had heard the other performer once or twice on his way to work, but had never stopped and listened. And all of a sudden, this random guy was up on stage with his hero, instead of him. Perhaps things would change if he could gather the confidence to just go up and talk to the pair. Maybe it could be a threesome? He could write lyrics for them! But no, he was stuck watching from the crowd, jealously slowly but surely building. Jealously was a truly awful thing. It came to him while he was still sitting in that club. If he could affect Morris, could he do the same to Otis? He quickly pulled out his notebook and scribbled something down. “On their way backstage, Otis tripped. He landed right on his face, and with a grunt of pain. Nobody laughed out loud, of course- they loved him. But the chuckles were there, and he knew it. He got up and made his way off the stage, a bit quicker than necessary.” There. Nothing that could cause lasting damage, but the embarrassment would be there for sure. He folded the comment away and turned his attention back to the stage. The next day, just as he had written, Otis tripped on a wire and fell flat on his face at the end of the pair’s show. There were gasps at first, then muted giggling. The man in black quickly gathered himself and ran backstage as the giggles grew louder, but the moment quickly passed. Steven slipped out of the club after that. A tiny part of him felt guilty- he was being petty, and he knew it. But the majority of him was giddy. Sure, he could never be on stage with Morris… but he’d make life hell for the person that could be. And so it went for the next couple of months. It was never anything too damaging- the logical part of Steven knew that Otis had done nothing wrong and that he didn’t deserve any of this. But the dramatic, emotional side? The side that had taken this power and ran with it? That side didn’t care. That black-clad idiot had taken Morris for himself, and he was going to pay, one way or another. Then, all of a sudden, it stopped. Morris was going on stage alone again, and Otis was nowhere to be found. Steven worried for a moment, but he managed to talk himself out of any paranoia. He had never done anything to actually hurt Otis, so whatever had happened wasn’t his fault. Besides, he had eased up on pestering the black-suited man and hadn’t written anything damaging about him in a while. So it couldn’t have been anything he wrote! A month later, news broke that Otis Unus had died. Food poisoning, the doctors said. Every newspaper in the city was reporting the story, and Steven’s place was no different. But, unfortunately, he just couldn’t put his jealously aside for long enough. “FAMOUS SINGER, OTIS UNUS, FOUND DEAD IN HOUSE: POISONING? OR SOMETHING MORE?” Yeah, looking back at it, maybe that assignment should have been given to someone else. Not once in that whole article did Steven write anything positive about the dead man. It boiled down to “he grew up alone, and he died alone, and nobody cares”. Unsurprisingly, that had led to a wave of backlash towards his company, and less than a week later, he was let go. Not that it mattered all too much, as he had spent a year giving himself anything and everything he would ever need. To say he was well off was an understatement. Still, it stung. His job had been the only place where he had friends of any sort, and now that it was gone, he realized how empty his life actually was. It only took two days of unemployment for Steven to be moping in his room all day. That sadness, however, soon turned into anger. How dare he get fired for speaking his mind?! And of course, he was never going to get another job in the journalism world with that article floating around. Without his job, he really was alone. Dammit, life wasn’t fair! About then was when he picked up a pencil and pulled out a notebook for the last time. “The End He fell from the balcony And he was scared Not that he was dying But that nobody cared” After taking a few more seconds to calm down, he crumpled up the middle poem and threw it away. He wasn’t thinking about the consequences at that point, instead storming back to his luxurious bed and falling into a fitful sleep. The next day, the poem had completely left his mind. Instead, he was feeling more refreshed than usual. Maybe writing his feelings had actually helped! He made his way out of his bedroom and to his balcony to get some fresh air, his mind no longer a storm of negativity. He leaned against the bars, taking in the chilly morning air… And then the railing snapped. ~ His death had been pretty pathetic, now that he thought about it. He didn’t have any friends or family outside of his old job, so it took a whole day for someone to even recognize who the corpse with a broken neck and bashed open skull was. But now, Steven was properly alone, and he was genuinely scared. He was stuck in a completely white field, with miles of nothing in all directions. Inside of pajamas, he was wearing what he had usually worn to work, jacket with pens in it and all. That wasn’t the strangest part of his situation, however. Time seemed to not flow the same way here, now did space feel the same. He would be walking in one direction for what felt like days, but never get tired, and never find any kind of marker. After going through the five stages of grief three times in a row, he finally accepted that he was probably in hell. He must have used his powers in a way that was considered evil, and was now cursed to be truly alone forever. That is, until he found a piece of paper. His reaction to seeing a random sheet of scrap paper was probably embarrassing, but he didn’t care. He searched through his pockets for a working pen, then quickly wrote the first thing that came to mind. “Steven asked if he could go home, and the world listened.” Suddenly, he was back in his apartment, laying in his bed. Had that actually worked?! He sat up straight, looked around his room… and felt defeated all over again. He was still wearing his usual clothes instead of pajamas, and a quick glance out of his window led to white nothingness. He was still in this hellish realm. Either way, he had some sort of comfort, even if he knew it was fake. But where to go from here? Well, he could ask about his job, but he doubted anything would actually come from that. But maybe… “Steven asked the world to tell him what he missed, and the world listened.” Suddenly, there was a strange device sitting on his lap. There was a split second of panic- it looked like a typewriter, and those things were heavy. But when his legs decidedly weren’t snapped in half, he could take a few moments to examine it closer. It took a while for him to figure out how to turn it on, but when he did, he was even more confused. It was like one of the huge machines he had seen- the ones that could figure out arithmetic and things like that in an instant- except ten times as small, and much more complex. Well, at least the bottom half still resembled a typewriter. It didn’t take him all that long to figure out what to do, all things considered. Or maybe it did, and he just didn’t feel the time passing. Either way, he figured out how to use this new device, and was understandably amazed. It was the most technologically advanced thing he could have ever dreamed of- something out of science fiction, really. But apparently, this was what he had missed while dead. After a bit more discovery, Steven managed to find his way onto something called “YouTube”. It seemed to be an infinite amount of television shows in one place! It ranged from present-day to videos from before his time, and he watched what felt like every single one, until something hit him. Perhaps someone had recorded Morris singing all those years ago! He quickly went down a rabbit hole of every old recording uploaded that he could find. Unfortunately, there was no mention of the white-clad singer in any of them, and Steven was slowly starting to grow discouraged. All of these videos, and not one mention of his hero? He was about to give up before he noticed a video on the “trending” page. Two men standing in front of a black and white background. One dressed in a black suit, and one in a white suit. They were advertising a new channel: Unus Annus. Steven was torn. He had found Morris again… and Otis was next to him. Sure, they were calling themselves “Mark” and “Ethan”, but he knew it was them. It wasn’t fair! Why had they been brought together again, but he was still alone?! Steven sat in angry silence for a while, before realizing something. Wherever he was now, his powers were still working. And if they had worked on the pair before… A much-too-evil grin started to grow on his face as he thought more. If he still couldn’t have Morris, then Otis couldn’t have Morris! And there was one sure-fire way he knew of to mess with that idiot’s life. He picked up his pen.