#The previous class just leaves everything dirty and when i got the pan out all three were all greasy and sticky and gross

[eudico-my-beloved]

I fucking hate my culinary class table group soooo bad i should be allowed to hit them with carrots i think

[frobster]

Offer of a Lifetime: Chapter 2

Both chapters now up on ao3!

☆☆☆

Peter stayed where he was for a moment, shocked by what had just happened, before his phone buzzed again and brought him back to himself. He looked down at the number of missed messages and quickly read through them, MJ becoming increasingly frantic when Peter didn’t immediately answer.

> Peter: So, James was just in my apartment

> Peter: Also, he told me to call him Bucky

The buzzing started again before Peter could even lock his phone. He ignored it as he went around getting dressed, pulling on underwear and sweatpants before checking again.

> MJ: PETER WHAT THE FUCK

> Ned: BRO ARE YOU OKAY???

> Peter: I’m fine. He left. Gave me a week to think about his offer. Also said he would leave me alone completely if I turned him down

> MJ: And u believed him???????????

> Peter: He didn’t give me a reason not to. There weren't any threats, and he did wait wait a whole day before contacting me

> Ned: Sugar daddy already getting to you smh

> Peter: Come on, you know it would be amazing to have a sugar daddy

> MJ: Ya but this one could put u in a lot of danger

Peter bit his lip as he thought. MJ was right. While it was his dream to be a kept boy and never have to worry about anything, he wasn’t sure if it was worth the dangers associated with Bucky. He would definitely need the whole week to think.

> MJ: We’re gonna talk more tonight. I’ll see u at 7:45

> Peter: Sounds good 

Bucky was at the forefront of Peter’s mind for the rest of the day. He didn’t really have anything to do until the evening, so he lounged around much like the previous day and tried to find more on the internet about Bucky. 

“Where did that name even come from?” Peter muttered to himself as he clicked on yet another tabloid article. The gossip papers had a lot to speculate about him since they loved to lie about crime and drama. He mostly skimmed the articles since they all seemed to be sensationalized and mostly rumors. 

One thing that stood out to Peter was the consistent inclusion of a broad blonde man almost always on Bucky’s right. The few pictures that weren’t blurry or grainy made the man seem relatively attractive, and Peter had to wonder if he was a past fling or just a confidante. Bucky obviously liked men, given his interest in Peter, but that still didn’t confirm anything.

The day oozed by in a cloud of laziness - naps, articles, snacks. Peter didn’t leave the couch except to get a snack or use the bathroom. By the time 6pm rolled around, Peter finally got up to start getting ready. He never took too long, but he didn’t want to rush either. The weather was still decent, so he decided on a pair of shorts that would help show off his legs and a mesh tank top that wouldn’t really cover anything. Beneath the shorts, he had red panties. Even if it led to him getting misgendered more often, the panties did help him get more money out of clients. 

Peter ran his hands through his hair to make it fluffy and messy, swiped some gloss over his lips before tucking the tube into his bag, then looked at his measly pile of shoes. There weren’t many to choose from and most of them were bought purely for style rather than function. He ended up going back to his room to grab a pair of knee-high socks before sliding on a pair of black high-top sneakers. People still liked scene twinks, right? The socks would help keep his legs warm too once the sun went down and the air got cooler.

Picking his outfit didn’t take very long, so Peter was left with almost an hour until he had to leave. Then he remembered that Ned and MJ went grocery shopping for him, so he took a tour of his own kitchen to see what they got for him. Most of it was canned goods so it wouldn’t go to waste if he didn’t eat it quickly, but there were some fresher foods too like prepackaged salads and frozen chicken. 

Settling on the chicken and a salad, Peter hauled out the bag of chicken tenders to check the required oven temperature. He got the oven set and preheating before wandering back to his couch and flopping over the back of it. Upon checking his phone, he finally saw the few messages from Bucky that he missed while showering.

> I’m coming to visit soon. Try to look presentable.

Sent almost as soon as Peter stepped into the shower. He grimaced at the bad timing and scrolled down to read the rest, sent after Bucky had left.

> Obviously you did not see my message beforehand, as I assume a towel around your waist and a bare chest is not what you would typically consider “presentable”.

> You have until next Wednesday to make your decision. If you do not give me an answer before then, I will assume you’re uninterested and leave you alone, like I promised.

Peter sighed and reread the messages a few times. Then he saved Bucky’s contact number before taking another screenshot to send to his friends.

> Peter: See? I told you he would leave me alone if I turned him down

> MJ: I guess he may not be such a terrible person…

> Ned: He literally runs the New York mafia

> MJ: Yeah, but he knows how to treat a boy right

> Peter: I’m feeling heart emojis. Should I change his name in my phone to Daddy?

> Ned: NO!!!!!!!

> MJ: skjghalfaldfk YES

> Ned: Do NOT encourage him!!

Peter laughed to himself and quickly changed Bucky’s contact name to ‘Daddy’ followed by pink and purple heart emojis. Then he took another screenshot of the saved contact and sent it to the chat. 

> MJ: I expect updates every time he texts you. We have to decide if he’s good enough for our baby

> Ned: I will not approve of Peter being the kept boy of the HEAD OF THE NEW YORK MAFIA

> Peter: Aw dad, you’re no fun

> Ned: Don’t make me ground you

> MJ: Not allowed, Peter and I have work tonight

> MJ: Maybe daddy will bring us some coffee

> Peter: Hey! Only I am allowed to call him daddy

> MJ: Aw, possessive already? ;)

> Peter: ...maybe

> Ned: I’m doomed. We’re all doomed

Their casual, friendly conversation continued for a while until Ned had to put his phone away for class. Peter and MJ switched to single texting as they talked about their plans for that night. She had got them a new corner a few blocks away from where Bucky had picked Peter up, but they both knew that Bucky could find them again if he really wanted to. 

The oven soon beeped so Peter got up to put a couple chicken tenders on a pan and into the oven. He set a timer on his phone then looked around his apartment as he tried to figure out what to do to pass the time.

But rather than finding something to do, Peter just realized how shitty his apartment really was. The walls were thin and dirty, there was a crack spiderwebbing up the wall in a corner, the floors were stained and worn out from countless tenants. He sighed and slumped against the kitchen counter, a cheap laminated wood that creaked even under his slight weight. There were multiple different bug problems through the building - cockroaches, ants, spiders, wasps. He had a roach problem in his own apartment, leading to all food in the cabinets needing to be canned so they couldn't chew into it. 

It was exhausting to live in poverty. Peter hated his apartment but it was all he could really afford. The life insurance policy from his aunt was used to pay off his surgery bills and the rest was funneled to any other medical costs that came up, including his hormone prescription. While he did have some money in savings, it would not be enough to allow him to live somewhere better. He was losing money faster than he made it back.

Bucky’s offer was slowly becoming more and more attractive.

When the timer went off on his phone, Peter swiped it away before carefully taking out the tray of chicken. He set it on the stove to let it cool while he took out the prepared salad bag and set to mixing everything together. Then, since he didn’t feel like using multiple dishes, he cut up the chicken on the baking pan and scraped the pieces into the salad bowl.

���Yeah, I can provide for myself,” Peter said to himself before taking a bite. 

The salad was filling and Peter actually felt like he had a decent amount of energy. He took the time to wash all the dishes he used rather than trying to jam them into the dishwasher, brushed his teeth, reapplied his lip gloss, then checked the time. 

MJ had sent a few more messages with details of their shift that night, and Ned announced the end of his class and the offer of searching Bucky more. Peter bit his lip as he considered it. If he was going to really give Bucky’s offer some serious consideration, he felt he needed to know the man better. Or he could just text Bucky.

Before he could chicken out, Peter sent a quick text to Bucky and pocketed his phone so he could finalize his outfit and wait for MJ.

> Peter: If you want me to live with you, I’m gonna need to know more about you.

There wasn’t any reply before MJ arrived. Peter sighed as he looked at his lack of notifications before he tucked his phone away, grabbed his bag, and headed out to meet MJ.

There was some tension in the car as a lackey drove Peter and MJ to their new corner. The random guy was humming along to music on the radio while the other two held hands in the back of the car. He didn’t say anything as he stopped at a new corner and unlocked the door, a clear signal for them to get out.

Peter stepped out with his mini backpack shouldered and fixed his shorts once he was standing. MJ followed him out and fixed her skirt too, her own bag slung across her chest and accenting her cleavage. Another reason why MJ was slightly better off than Peter was her assets. People just tended to want her more often than him. He wasn’t upset about that, he knew his friend was gorgeous and she deserved the attention and money. He just couldn’t help but feel a little jealous of her slightly better financial state.

“Did Bucky say anything else?” MJ asked as the car drove off. 

“Nope. I don’t really know what he would say,” Peter replied, hyper-aware of his phone in his pocket. He couldn’t remember if it had buzzed while they were in the car since his mind was wandering. Already, just one day after meeting the man, Peter couldn’t stop thinking about Bucky.

8pm wasn’t very late, the bars were just starting to fill up. Peter and MJ had time to talk before people would start showing interest in them. The sunset was nice to watch and offered a serene backdrop to the chaos of their lives, purples and reds blending together like the mundane and unusual of the past few days.

“I would think that he would try to sweeten the deal somehow, y’know? You’ve clearly been hesitant about accepting his offer, so wouldn’t he want to tempt you?” MJ looked at her nails and flicked a speck of invisible dust off the shiny finish, then winked at someone who was looking at her as they stepped into the nearby bar.

“I dunno how much sweeter the deal could get. He offered to pay for everything for the rest of my life, or leave me alone without any trouble. It’s a win-win situation.” Even to his own ears, Peter knew it sounded lame. He was so tempted to accept Bucky’s offer, and MJ could clearly hear that in his voice.

“You deserve to know more about him at least. Even Ned had a hard time finding anything on this guy. And now that we know he’s got some dangerous connections, it would be in your best interest to find out everything you can before making a decision, especially since you’re tempted to agree.” Peter MJ would’ve been an excellent counselor. Maybe she still could be. If they ever found themselves in a position to start saving up money, she could put it towards college classes.

“Yeah, I know. I’m just not-” Peter cut off when he felt his phone vibrate against his ass. He reached into his back pocket to pull it out and blinked as he read the message.

> Bucky: We could discuss that over dinner, if you’d like. I know you’re working, but I could talk to your boss and have him pardon you for the night.

Before Peter could reply to the text or finish what he was saying, MJ snatched his phone away to read the message.

“Hey! Give that back!” Peter squawked as he tried to grab his phone back.

But MJ was taller than him even without the heels she was wearing, so she just held the phone up and angled it down so she could read the screen. She laughed aloud when she read the message and finally lowered her hand again so Peter could have his phone back. He huffed as he stuffed it into his pocket again without bothering to answer.

“It’s cute that he’s already offering to cover your shifts for you. Maybe he’ll even give you some cash to make up for missing a whole night,” MJ teased with a grin. Peter felt too flustered to really register that she seemed to be encouraging him to leave with Bucky.

“There is nothing cute about this situation,” Peter huffed, cheeks flushed pink with embarrassment. He wasn’t really sure what he was embarrassed about. Maybe he didn’t realize how tempted he was to accept Bucky’s offer until MJ gave him that little nudge.

“Well, you’re pretty cute. It’s cute how often you blush when we talk about him.” MJ’s tone was more genuine that time, and Peter felt a little surprised.

“Did Ned tell you something else about this guy? Why do you seem so supportive of him now?” There was another buzz in Peter’s pocket but he ignored it, wanting to hear MJ’s answer first.

“You deserve a good life, Peter.” She looked at him, entirely serious, and placed a hand on his shoulder. “You’ve been through so much and you’re only nineteen. I want you to be happy, to have opportunities that we could never find in this line of work.”

“MJ…” 

Before Peter could say more, his phone started buzzing like he had a call. He sighed and reached into his pocket, making a brief note that it was Bucky calling before he answered.

“Hello?”

“You didn’t answer my text, Peter. So I called your boss anyway. I’m coming to pick you up. Would MJ like to join us for dinner?”

Peter just squeaked, his jaw dropped open as he tried to think of what to say. MJ rolled her eyes and snatched the phone away again so she could talk for him.

“Hi, Bucky. Peter would love to go to dinner with you, but he seems to have forgotten how to speak.” She snickered at whatever Bucky said, Peter watching with wide eyes as she spoke with him so casually. “Aw, thank you! I would love to join you for dinner. If you intend to steal my boy away, I have to see if you’re worth his time.”

“MJ!” Peter finally came back to his senses and made a grab for his phone, but she held him back just like before.

“Yeah, that was him. He’s just so excited to see you again. We’ll be waiting for you!” MJ hung up the phone before handing it back to Peter with a grin. “He will be here in about fifteen minutes so zip up your hoodie and try to not look like such a whore.”

Peter swatted at MJ’s arm, making her cackle loudly as she pulled a balled-up shawl out of her bag to wrap around her shoulders and cover up her chest. She tended to wear shirts that showed off her cleavage but now that she wasn’t actively trying to attract customers, she wanted to look more modest. Peter had a sleeveless hoodie that he zipped over his mesh tank top, though he started to feel overheated after just a few minutes.

The hoodie got unzipped again as Peter rocked restlessly in place, anxious and eager to see Bucky again. MJ was updating Ned since Peter was too scared to look at his phone, snickering to herself every now and then.

Soon enough, a sleek black car pulled up. The windows were so heavily tinted that they looked black, but neither of them had to guess at who was inside. MJ tucked her phone away and Peter stepped closer to her, seeking out her familiar comfort as his nerves spiked.

The back window rolled down and a familiar face was revealed. Bucky looked at them both before nodding and pushing the door open.

“Come on, we got reservations in twenty minutes,” he said as he shifted to a seat on the other side of the car.

MJ stepped in first then tugged Peter in with her. She sat across from Bucky and not-so-subtly nudged Peter over to sit next to him. The seats were smooth and cool, and Peter was thankful for the air conditioning that let him zip up his hoodie again to hide his chest. Bucky had already seen him shirtless, but he felt awkward about it now.

The car pulled away from the curb as soon as the door was closed. Peter didn’t have a chance to buckle in so he swayed and ended up leaning into Bucky for a moment. He blushed and scooted away so he could clip his seat belt, then sat quietly and picked at the hem of his socks. 

“So,” MJ started casually. “You’re who Peter has a crush on.”

“I do not!” Peter insisted, head snapping up so he could glare at MJ. She just grinned at him as Bucky made an amused sound.

“A crush, huh? That’s cute.” Bucky tucked his phone away and looked over to Peter with a smirk. “Have you given my offer any more thought?”

“It’s been like, six hours,” Peter pointed out, feeling a little more confident with MJ there to back him up.

“Plenty of time to think.” Bucky was watching Peter, eyes glued to him as he waited for a proper answer.

“I mean…” Peter sighed and slumped back against his seat. He did want to say yes, to agree and let Bucky carry him off into the sunset like some perfect romantic dream. It just didn’t feel real.

“We need some proof that you’re the real deal,” MJ finally said.

Bucky’s gaze flicked over to her as he raised an eyebrow. He clearly wasn’t someone who was used to being challenged like that, and for a moment, Peter feared for MJ. But then Bucky laughed and Peter’s heart skipped a beat at the sound. 

“Conveniently enough, that is why I invited you along tonight. It’s good to know Peter has a friend looking out for him.”

“Two friends,” MJ corrected. “Ned has been diligently mining through the internet for information about you. He is the only reason why I agreed to dinner.”

Peter huffed as a faint blush dusted his cheeks. MJ was acting like her and Ned were his parents, and he was feeling a little embarrassed about that. Sure, he was the youngest out of the three of them, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t handle himself. 

“Two friends,” Bucky amended. Then his gaze turned back to Peter and he reached over to gently rub the boy’s back. “You can relax, Peter. I promise my intentions with you are honorable.”

“And what exactly are your intentions?” Peter looked up again, finally meeting Bucky’s eyes.

There was a moment of hesitation and even MJ could feel the electricity hanging between Bucky and Peter.

“I want to take care of you the way you deserve. To spoil you, pamper you, give you anything you could ever want or need.” Bucky sounded honest and there was no nervous tic that would clue Peter in to a lie. But he still couldn’t believe it. 

“Why?”

Another pause. Bucky looked torn between brushing it off and turning to a new subject, coming up with some flowery words that didn’t really answer the question, or actually telling the truth. He took a deep breath to steel his nerves, and decided on the last.

“You are beautiful. Handsome, gorgeous. Whatever term you’re most comfortable with. You are like a work of art, and I don’t want to see you waste away in the streets. You deserve so much more and what am I gonna do with all this money anyway? Hell, you could turn me down here and now and I would still send you money every week. I just want you to be happy.”

Peter blinked. He hadn’t expected such an emotional answer, but he felt touched by it. A quick glance over to MJ showed that she felt affected by it too, her eyes wide in surprise. For all the research the three of them had done, they never would’ve thought Bucky was the sentimental sort of guy.

“Oh.” Peter’s voice was faint as he tried to process all that Bucky said.

Bucky swore under his breath and leaned back in his seat. He had moved closer to Peter as he spoke, but now he felt he should give the younger man some space. But to everyone’s surprise, Peter reached out and set a hand on Bucky’s knee before managing a smile.

“I appreciate that, Bucky. I really do. Thank you.”

There was a beat of silence before Bucky cleared his throat and nodded. He gave Peter a tight smile, seeming a little less confident than when they first got in the car. Then the car stopped before anyone could say anything else and Bucky looked away to the window beside him.

“Ah, looks like we’re here. Don’t worry, it isn’t anywhere too fancy. I figured you two wouldn’t really be dressed for that.”

Bucky’s confidence seemed to slowly come back as he smirked and got out of the car. Then he held out a hand for MJ, and reached out again for Peter once she was standing. But unlike with MJ, Bucky didn’t let go of Peter’s hand. And Peter didn’t really mind. 

☆☆☆

[trulymadlysydney]

Somewhere In Time: Three

“It's being here now that's important. There's no past and there's no future. Time is a very misleading thing. All there is ever, is the now. We can gain experience from the past, but we can't relive it; and we can hope for the future, but we don't know if there is one.” 

― George Harrison

Previous Chapters HERE Songs mentioned in this chapter: x and x

tw: Death, Loss of Parent

***Please do not repost without permission***

2:17pm, June 16th, 1985

“But do you have to go to work today?”  Eleven year old Roni whines as she watches her mother apply her finishing touches to her look.  It’s always been the same routine, a few dashes of perfume, a bit of lipstick, and one more coat of hairspray for good measure.

Tanya sighs.  “Peanut, you know I do.” 

Roni frowns.  “You know I don’t like it when you call me ‘peanut.’  It’s so…. childish.”

Tanya giggles but says nothing as she applies the lipstick.  Roni’s always envied her mother’s lips.  Plump and full and beautiful.   

Actually, Roni has always envied just about everything about her mother.  She’s never known her father, but she thinks he was an ugly man-- especially considering how he left her mother-- and when she looks at how beautiful her mother is she feels almost inadequate.  She worries she inherited her father’s looks.

“I’m sorry, darling.”  Tanya rubs her lips together, then pulls them apart with a smacking noise a few times before she seems completely satisfied with her look. “And I’m sorry I have to leave.”

“Can’t you call in sick?”  Roni follows her mother as she bustles around the bedroom, getting everything together and grabbing a few items to throw into her handbag.  “You never call in sick.”

“Honey, if I called in sick I wouldn’t make money.  And then what would we do?”

“Hang out and go swimming.”  Roni pouts, and it makes Tanya chuckle.

“Don’t you want to go on the eighth grade field trip next year?”

“Well yes, but--”

“I want you to, too.  And money, unfortunately, doesn’t grow on trees, sweetheart.  I want nothing more than to stay home and swim with you.  But I also want nothing more than for you to go on that trip with your classmates.  So I have to do what I have to do.”

Tanya stops moving and takes Roni’s chin in her hand.  She pulls Roni forward and presses a long lingering kiss to her forehead before pulling away with a smile.  “Regardless,  I’ll be back here quicker than you can say Jack Robinson.”  She picks up her purse from the bed and makes her way into the living room with Roni close on her heels.

“Who’s Jack Robinson?”

“Never mind that,” Tanya says over her shoulder.  “It just means that I’ll be back before you know it.”  Tanya grabs her car keys off the hook by the front door.  “Why don’t you call grandma?  I’m sure she’ll take you swimming.”

“It’s not the same,” Roni grumbles.  “She just complains about how hot it is and wants to leave within the hour.”

“Grandma will be happy just to spend time with you.  You know that.  And who knows, maybe I’ll get off early and meet you guys there, hm?” 

“Early as in like, you go to work and tell them you’re taking the day off and show up at the pool in less than an hour?”

“Ha ha.”  Tanya unlocks the front door.   “I’m serious though.  Call grandma and ask her to take you.  Today will fly by, and I’ll be back before you’ve even gotten used to me being gone.  Alright?”

Roni sighs as Tanya slips through the front door.  “Alright, but I doubt it.”

“Be a good girl.  Don’t forget to feed the cat.  I love you.”  Tanya starts to leave, but pops her head back in through the door quickly.  “Oh, by the way.”

“Yeah?”

“You’ve got a little something there, Peanut.”  Tanya points at Roni’s forehead with a smile before winking and closing the door behind her.

Roni rolls her eyes at the pet name, but she misses her mother’s presence the moment the door closes.  She hates when Tanya has to work, especially during the summer.  During the school year it isn’t so bad, because she has her classes and her friends to distract her.  But during the summer she finds herself home alone more often than she’d prefer.  And it isn’t that Roni doesn’t enjoy her alone time, it’s just that she doesn’t enjoy it when it’s an everyday occurrence. 

Approaching the mirror in the bathroom, Roni lets out a groan when she looks at her own reflection and notices what her mother was referring to.   Her lipstick stain, bright red against the skin of Roni’s forehead. 

Roni rolls her eyes as she grabs the nearest washcloth and runs it under cold water before attempting to rub the lipstick stain off.  She’s going to get her mother back for this when she gets home.

-----

11:11am, January 1st, 1925

Roni hates mornings.

She’s hated mornings since she was a little girl, and waking up is number one on her list of least favorite things to do.  This morning in particular, however, feels more miserable than usual. 

It’s the kind of morning where Roni knows she could sleep for several more hours if she allowed herself to.  Her entire existence just feels exhausted, and after giving her body one long good stretch, she rolls over and cuddles the pillow beside her.  Oliver, who's always been an early riser, always leaves his pillow within her range of motion when he gets up. He's well aware of how Roni is not a morning person, so he'll make sure to push his pillow a bit closer to her so that she can cuddle it close in his absence.

Only this pillow doesn’t smell like Oliver. 

It smells like boy, for sure, but it isn’t Oliver’s boy smell, and there’s a touch of a cologne that is unfamiliar to Roni.  She inhales once more, searching for some sign of familiarity, but all she gets is a hint of shoe polish.

Oh god.

Roni opens her eyes and shoots straight up in bed, taking in the room around her and realizing, with absolute dread, that this whole thing hasn’t, in fact, been a dream.  She is in Harry’s bed, in his tiny room, in an unfamiliar New York City.

In 1925.

“No, no, fuck.”  Roni rolls out of bed, the wooden floor cold against her bare feet as she rushes to the window overlooking the city.  It’s much more alive than it was last night, and everyone is dressed the way she’s only seen in black and white photographs in history books and films.   

How can this still be happening?  It can’t still be a dream, because she knows for a fact that she just slept for at least 8 hours-- and that wouldn’t have happened if this were a dream.  But logically, this isn’t even a little bit possible.  She’d done everything right.  She’d made sure she was trying to reach 1985. Not 1925.

Roni rushes for the bedroom door, stopping in her tracks when she realizes how cold her legs are.  She hadn’t bothered with pants last night because she hadn’t anticipated waking up in a strange boy’s house in 1925.  She turns in a flurry, opening each drawer of Harry’s dresser until she finds the one that he’d mentioned contained pants.   She finally finds the drawer of his underwear-- not quite like the men’s underwear she’s used to seeing-- and realizes with resignation that she has no other choice.  She haphazardly pulls them up her legs-- nearly tripping over herself in the process, and ties them tightly around her waist. Since when did boxers have drawstrings?

Swinging the bedroom door open, Roni stumbles through it, realizing she must look a mess when she is met with a startled yet amused grin from a fully dressed Harry.

“Oh,” he says.  “Good morning.”  He goes back to his eggs on the stove.

“I’m still here!”  Roni exclaims, infuriated that Harry doesn’t seem as shocked about this as she does.

“You are.”  Harry nods, the scrambled eggs in the frying pan sizzling under the spatula.  “Did you sleep well?”

“Harry, holy fuck, how is this happening?”  Roni doesn’t dare move, as if moving is going to trap her even further.  She feels like the walls are closing in on her as the full extent of the situation hits her.  She hadn’t allowed herself to fully feel these feelings the night before, because she hadn’t seen this as a permanent issue.  But now here she is, in a year that doesn’t even feel real, with a bastard who doesn’t even seem to care about her concerns.  

Harry smiles to himself.  “I don’t know, pet.  Honestly, I was kind of thinking that maybe you were drunk and just forgot where you were last night.”

“I wasn’t drunk, and I didn’t forget, but thank you for completely invalidating me.”  Roni huffs. Stomping across the living room and plopping down onto the most uncomfortable couch she’s ever felt in her life, she figures this is an appropriate time to just pout-- especially considering that Harry isn’t going to give into her panicking.  “What the fuck am I supposed to do now?”  She props her elbows on her knees and buries her head in her hands.

“Eat some breakfast and relax,” Harry answers.  “We’ll figure this out. Would you like some tea?”

“You have got to be fucking kidding me. Seriously?”  Roni lifts her head to shoot Harry a dirty look.  Why isn’t he concerned?  Why is he so fucking chipper? 

Harry pauses, eyeing her as if considering his next words.  After a beat, he speaks.  “I also have coffee if you’d rather.”

Roni lets out a loud, angry groan.  “Dude, this literally isn’t about the fucking coffee even a little bit.  I am stuck in a year that is fifty years before I was even born, with absolutely no idea how to get back to where I belong-- which is like, seventy-five years into the future.  Do you not understand how fucking massive that is?”

Harry makes a face, eyes rolling upward with an equation hovers above his head while he tries to compute what Roni just said. Finally, he shrugs and turns back to the stove.  “I’m sorry.  Perhaps I’m making too much light of this situation.  I understand you’re frightened.  I’m just trying to help you.”

Roni rolls her eyes, immediately feeling terrible for lashing out at him.  It’s just that everything feels awful right now, nothing makes sense, she’s alone-- but not really, because he’s here-- and she’s scared.  She is actually so beyond terrified because she doesn’t know how or why she got here, and she has no idea how to get back, and this boy is being so fucking nice to her with absolutely no reason to be.  But he’s calm, and it’s both comforting and infuriating.  Nothing connects in Roni’s brain, and she feels small and alone.

She runs a hand through her messy morning hair and sighs as she glances back at Harry, who is now taking a long sip of something in a mug.  “I know,” she says.  “I’m sorry, fuck, I’m being a huge dick aren’t I?”

Harry coughs into the mug, sputtering as he puts it down.  “You’ve got quite the mouth on you, haven’t you?”

It makes Roni want to scoff at his reaction but, to be fair, she knows that in these days, it isn’t common for women to curse as often as she does.  She shakes her head.  “Sorry, I-- this is just weird for me.”

“No, no, you’re quite alright.”  Harry bustles around in the cupboards now, retrieving a plate and putting it down on the counter.  “By all means, please don’t apologize.  It’s just strange for me as well.  I’ll get used to it.”  She sound of metal on metal fills the room as Harry scoops the eggs out of the frying pan.

He turns moments later, holding a plate of scrambled eggs and toast, and walks to the dining table with a soft smile.  He places the plate on the table in front of an empty seat and looks at Roni expectantly. 

Awkward silence smothers them for a moment until Roni realizes that he’s expecting her to come eat at the table.  “Oh.” 

She rises to her feet and makes her way over to where he’s currently pulling her chair out for her.  She sinks into the uncomfortable wooden seat with a soft, “thank you,” and Harry moves to take his own seat beside her.

It’s so strange, Roni thinks.  She hardly ever eats breakfast at home, and if she does, it certainly isn’t at the table.   It feels so formal, and she grows nervous under his gaze as she takes the first bite.

Harry doesn’t even sense her nerves, launching right into casual conversation.  “So. I was thinking about your predicament all night.  I don’t know how, and I’m still not certain I understand, but we are going to get to the bottom of this, love.  I promise.”

Roni smiles thankfully at him around a mouth full of eggs, which seems a good enough answer for him. Harry beams, then nods his head toward the plate of eggs.  “Also, I didn’t get a chance to ask you how you like your eggs, so I hope you like them scrambled.” 

Roni swallows. “Scrambled is great.  You didn’t have to do all this.”

Harry dismissively waves her comment away with his hand, picking up his mug of tea.  “I don’t mind it.  It’s nice to not be alone for once.”

As he sips, Roni catches a good glimpse of his still purpling eye, and she frowns.  It looks even worse than she’d remembered it from the night before.  She speaks with her mouth full.  “God, your eye looks like shit.”

Harry sputters into the mug for the second time that morning, and Roni realizes that she’s going to have to be more conscious of her vocabulary.  Luckily for her though, she sees that he’s laughing as he sets the mug on the table.

“Sorry,” she mutters for what feels like the millionth time today. 

“No no,”  Harry laughs.  “It’s alright.  It does look sort of awful, doesn’t it?”

“Does it hurt?”

“Nah.”  Harry shakes his head, but Roni knows he’s lying.  She only frowns deeper, making Harry giggle harder.  “What?”

“You’re just like, stupidly nice to me.  I punch you in the face, and I blow up on you in your own home, and you’re all, ‘Here sleep in my bed.  Have some eggs.  My eye feels great.’”

“It does feel great.”

“Did you even eat?”

Harry nods.  “I did actually.  A few hours ago.”

“Oh.  What time is it?”

Harry grins sheepishly, fingers absentmindedly tracing the handle of his mug.  “Nearly 11:30.”

“Oh my god.”  She hadn’t meant to sleep that late.  She hadn’t even realized she was that tired, but now she’s here as a guest in someone’s home, and she’s slept the entire morning away.  “Harry, why didn’t you wake me?”

“I was going to if you didn’t wake up by the time the food was finished.  But I think the smell may have taken care of that for me, hm?”  He nods his head towards her plate.  “Is it good?”

“So good,” Roni admits, “but I’m sorry for sleeping so late.”

Harry stands up, beginning to tidy up the kitchen as he talks.  “Don’t worry about it.  You needed it.  You had a big night.”  He turns on the sink and scrubs at a dish.  “Any big plans for today?”

Roni shrugs, chewing her food before answering him.  “Doesn’t matter, I’m gonna be back home by tonight.”

“Are you?”  Harry cocks his head again, the same condescending but amused tone in his voice that Roni had grown so endeared yet annoyed by the night before.   “Have you got a plan?”

“Well,” Roni explains through a yawn,  “I figure since this isn’t a dream, I’ll just have to actually put effort into getting back, you know?  Which shouldn’t be hard.  I’m just gonna do the same thing I did to bring me here.”

“Interesting.  Which was?”

“Lie blindfolded on my bed and listen to a recording of my own voice used to guide me through a sort of lucid dream.  If I can get back to that lucid state, I should be able to find my way back the same way I found myself here.  Which reminds me, do you have a tape recorder?”

“A what?”

Roni frowns.  She knows she’s in 1925, but these constant reminders feel like little slaps to the face.  “God,” she mutters, “this is gonna be so much harder than I thought.”

“I’m sure it won’t be,”  Harry says nonchalantly, scraping at the dishes.  “I think you’re right.  And who’s to say you need one of those… recorder things?  Couldn’t you just…”  Harry trails off, eyes to the ceiling as he thinks.  “I don’t know.  Couldn’t you just talk to yourself for the same effect?” 

“I guess so,” Roni pouts, “but it kinda ruins the momentum.  Relaxation is key, you know?”

“Say, I know! You could write me a script.”  Roni can practically hear the smirk in his voice.  “And I could just sit on the bed and read it to you.  Maybe get some relaxing harp music playing softly in the background.”

“Harry--”

“I’ll even fan you with a palm leaf.”  Harry pauses as if realizing what he’d just said, then shakes his head.  “Actually, scratch that.  Not going to find one of those anywhere near here.  Maybe one of those trees from the park down the street.  I’ll get a leaf from there.”

“Harry, that’s not--”

“Although I am afraid you’ll give me another shiner if I get too close to you while you’re defying the laws of space and time, so maybe I’ll just sit on the other side of the room.”

Roni scowls.  “You aren’t taking any of this seriously, are you?”

Harry doesn’t answer her, he only giggles, and it makes Roni roll her eyes.  “God, you’re just like Oliver!” 

“Who’s Oliver?”  Harry only seems to be halfway paying attention, but his question hits Roni like a ton of bricks.

Oh god.  Oliver.

“He’s my boyfriend,” Roni says, horror flooding her features as she realizes how long she’s been here.  “Shit, I didn’t even think-- god, I was only supposed to be in and out.  He wasn’t even supposed to realize I was gone.”

“Don’t worry,” Harry says, turning off the sink and wiping his hands on the dish towel.  “I’m sure it isn’t as bad as you think.  Maybe a day here is only about a second in the future. A minute at most.”

“But what if it’s not?”

“And what does worrying so much about it now do to help, hm?  One way or another, we’ll get you back to Mr. Ollie.  You can explain the situation and Bob’s your uncle, everything is back to normal.”

Roni frowns.  “Who the hell is Bob?”

“What the hell is a tape recorder?”  Harry counters.

Roni buries her face in her hands, only then realizing that her makeup from the night before is still caked onto her face.  God, she’s a mess right now.

“In the meantime,”  Harry says, completely changing the subject.  “I say we get you some more appropriate clothes.”  He shoots Roni a pointed look.  “Not that there was anything wrong with what you wore last night, but because it’s cold outside and I don’t think that dress is going to cover it.  Plus, I’m not sure if you’re comfortable with being an alien from the future, but I would imagine you’d want to fit in while you’re here.”

“There’s no point.”  Roni finally lifts her head from her hands, little pieces of mascara crumbles stuck to her palm.  “I’m going back today  It would be a waste of money.”

Harry shrugs, smiling as if he knows something Roni doesn’t. “Suit yourself. I’m going into town today anyway, but if you don’t want to join me—“

“Seriously? What, do you have to work?”

“Something like that.”

“Jeez,” Roni says. “On New Year’s Day. They don’t mess around in the 20s, huh?” A sudden thought occurs to her, and she turns in her seat to fully face Harry. “Has the Great Depression happened yet?”

“The what?” Harry snorts.  “That sounds awful.”

Roni freezes mid-bite, immediately wanting to take back the question she’d so inconveniently word-vomited.  Is that even something she can talk to him about?  What year did that even start anyway?  “I… it’s… I... don’t know.”  Her sentence sounds like it should end in a question mark, and she offers Harry a measly shrug. 

A few awkward moments pass, in which Harry stares expectantly at Roni and she stares miserably back.  When Harry realizes she isn’t going to say anything, he laughs.

“Alright.” The word has a finality to it, and Roni is relieved that Harry is dropping the subject because really, what does one do in that situation?

 Harry picks up a cap from where it rests on the corner of a chair at the table. “Anyway. If you aren’t coming with me, I’ll just be on my way then.  I’m going to pick up a few things, do you need anything?”

“Again,” Roni says,  “No point.  I’m going back.”

“Right.”  Harry nods, placing the cap on his head and securing it with a little head nod.  “Well, you’ll still be here when I return, yes?”

“I dunno.”  Roni shrugs.  “I’m gonna try to go back like, as soon as I finish eating.”

“Well, at the very least, don’t try to go back before I have the chance to say goodbye to you.”

Roni doesn’t know why Harry’s words strike her so heavily, but the way he says them mixed with the genuine, dimpled smile on his face tugs at her heart, and for a split second she doesn’t want to leave.   Her whole body physically relaxes into the seat, and she swallows thickly. “But, I have to…. I mean, Oliver--”

“Oh right,” Harry says, seemingly completely unfazed.  “I forgot about that fellow.”  He makes his way towards the door, then stops.  “You know, Veronica, I mean no offense by this, but I don’t think this is going to be as easy as you seem to think it will be.”

And just like that, any soft feelings Roni was harboring evaporate.  “Why not?”

Harry shrugs.  “Just a hunch.”

Roni huffs.  “Well just for that, I think I will try to leave before you get home just to piss you off.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

Harry beams now, turning on his heel and opening his door. “Well in that case, goodbye Veronica.  Safe travels to the future.  I’ll be back around seven.”

Harry is out the door before Roni can get another word in edgewise, and she groans in the silence that she’s met with the moment the door closes behind him.  

Fucker.  

Regardless of his annoying antics, however, she does sit and take her time finishing her breakfast because, if anything, the boy is a damn good cook.  She meanders around the kitchen, helping herself to a glass of orange juice while she chews her food, and when she’s finished she sets to work washing the dishes that remain in the sink.  She’s never had to spend this much time hand-washing dishes, and she sighs in frustration once she’s nearly done, because god, she’d never realized how much she’d taken her dishwasher for granted.

Orange juice in hand, Roni makes her way to the single window in the living room that overlooks the city.  The people below bustle around in outfits that Roni has only seen in the old films she binges on her guilty pleasure days.  It’s surreal to see, yes, but it’s also so incredibly strange how normal it all is.  People living their lives with not even a hint of an idea about the world Roni comes from.  It’s so casual, and it’s just like any other day in New York, except they’re dressed like that, and the cars look like that, and Roni is so ridiculously out of place that she almost feels she’s barging in on something she wasn’t meant to see. 

Logically, she’d known that the world wasn’t actually black and white during these times, of course, but for some reason her brain had never processed it this way; seeing it alive and in front of her is the weirdest experience she’s ever had. 

And then there’s Harry, so beyond kind to her with zero reason to be.  Roni knows that if the shoe were on the other foot-- if she were just living her life and was approached by someone claiming to be from the future-- she’d laugh in their faces and call them crazy.  Maybe even call the cops.  But sweet Harry is so unconditionally compassionate, (albeit a bit of a pest), and if Roni thinks about it too much she might cry, because she doesn’t feel she deserves it.

She glances around the kitchen then, a sudden idea popping into her mind.  She’s a woman of her word, and she does intend on being out of here by the time he returns from work-- or wherever it is he’s off to.  But at the very least, he does deserve a goodbye.  And a ‘thank you.’  So she searches until she finds a piece of paper and what looks like the fanciest pen she’s ever come across in her life, before sitting down at the table to jot down a quick, yet heart-felt goodbye note.

---- 

5:04pm, October 29th, 1987

Thirteen-year old Roni has a lot on her plate-- literally and metaphorically.

She uses her fork to push her food around the plate slowly, watching it with dull eyes.  Her chin rests in the palm of her free hand, essentially scrunching up her face so much that her eye is nearly shut.   She’s got far too much on her mind to even think about dinner right now; and besides, her Grandma Judy’s chicken and broccoli casserole has never quite sat right with her stomach anyway.

“Veronica darling, sit up,” Judy scolds, bringing Roni back to earth.  “What’s the matter with you tonight?”

Roni says nothing, she only sits up and frowns at Judy, offering her a half-hearted shrug.

“Well you’re not getting up from this table until you finish everything on that plate, so I suggest you start eating.”

Roni groans, holding her fork properly and stabbing a piece of broccoli.  She shovels it begrudgingly into her mouth and slouches in her chair.

Judy sighs, her features softening.  “Honey.”  Her voice is sweet and calm, and it makes Roni want to cry because it reminds her of her mother.  “What’s on your mind?”

Roni chews her food slowly, thinking about how to properly go about this conversation.  It’s been on her mind ever since her mother had passed, and with each day she grows increasingly more frustrated trying to find a solution to her problem.  She shrugs again, settling on a simple non-committal answer.  “I don’t know.”

Judy’s lips form a line, and she knows Roni has more to say.  “Well,” she says slowly,  “Is there anything you’d like to talk about?”

“No.”

The only noise that follows is the ticking of the grandfather clock that looms in the corner of the dining room.  Roni hates how thick and almost threatening it feels, and she clears her throat as she stabs another piece of broccoli.

Judy clears her throat, reaching for her glass of water.  She knows Roni well enough to know that she’ll come around when she feels like it.  Especially in the past two years that Roni has lived here, Judy has had many conversations with Roni that turn out similarly to this one, and she’s always ended up getting to the bottom of things.

“Actually--”

Judy smiles into her glass.  Bingo.

Roni sighs, her ears tinging red as she refuses to look her grandmother in the eye.  “Grandma,” she says slowly,  “Do you believe in time travel?”

“Time travel?!”  Judy scoffs.  “Oh sweetheart, not you too.”

Roni isn’t sure what kind of answer she was expecting but it most certainly wasn’t that.  She scowls. “What does that mean?”

“Your mother had a strange fascination with traveling through time.  I don’t know where she got the notion that it was possible,  but she was obsessed.  She was constantly asking me about it, always riding her bike to bookstores to pick up books about it.  She never gave up, even after you were born. She was always speaking about it.”

“And?”

“I loved your mother, sweetheart.  I still love her.  But that was one thing I’ll never understand about her.”

Roni blows a bit of her hair out of her eye, realizing that she’s leaning across the table excitedly.  Her grandmother’s words are meant to discourage her, yes, but they don’t.  They do the opposite, in fact, only spurring her on further.  She takes this as a sign from the universe that this is absolutely something she must look into.   “Did she ever… try it?”

“I think so, yes.  Although I always discouraged her from doing it.”

“Where did she try to go?”

Judy raises an eyebrow. “You seem awfully interested in something that is entirely impossible, Veronica.  In any case, I’m not sure.   She did love the 1920s, though.”

“The 20s?”  Roni giggles.  “Why?”

Now Judy laughs, softening once more at the memory.  “As someone who was alive during the 20s, I can assure you I have absolutely no idea.  She loved the music, the clothes.  I don’t think she understood how hard things were. She just fell in love with all the positive things she saw.”  Judy’s smile turns sad, and her voice grows quieter.  “That was so like your mother.”

“Yeah,” Roni says, eyes growing misty.   

Roni misses her mother.  She knows Judy does too.  Not a day has gone by in the last two years in which she and her grandmother haven��t spoken of Tanya.  Every day there’s another memory, another story shared that has them laughing, crying, or even sometimes both simultaneously.  Sometimes on school nights, Roni will sit on the floor in front of Judy’s chair, and Judy will tell a story about Tanya as a child while she braids Roni’s hair.  Tanya very much lives in every corner of the house; she is kept alive in the stories and the laughter, and she lingers in the comfortable silences.  Roni feels her every day, but it doesn’t stop the pain of missing her. 

“You remind me so much of her,” Judy says with a smile.  “And it terrifies me.”

“Why?”

“Because you question everything,” Judy laughs.  “And you are so incredibly smart that I can’t even begin to wrap my mind around it.  You know what you want, and you’ve never given up until you’ve gotten it.  You are strong-willed, and stubborn, and brave just like her.  You have her sense of humor.  Her smile.  Her beautiful eyes.”  

Judy trails off, voice wet, and Roni knows that if her grandmother thinks much longer about this she will cry. “I watched your mother work herself up over this topic to the point of getting sick.  I watched her cry over being unsuccessful.  I watched her want it to work so badly, just to be let down so many times.”  She takes a shaky breath, fingers drumming slowly on the table before lowering her voice. 

“I know why you’re asking me this, Veronica.  And don’t think I haven’t thought about it myself.”  Her blue eyes glisten with moisture, and she reaches across the table to take Roni’s hand.  “I want her back just as much as you do.  But I don’t want you to get into something that’s going to break your heart.”

Roni swallows, absorbing the seriousness of her grandmother’s words.  She’s about to speak, when Judy cuts her off once more.

“To answer your first question,” she says,   “I don’t know what I believe.”  She gives Roni’s hand a squeeze before adding pointedly, “But, I know I met someone when I was a little girl.  She was… this beautiful woman with the kindest heart.  And she had a mood ring, similar to the one your mother wore. Those hadn’t been invented yet, which hadn’t occurred to me until I was several years older.  And she seemed…”  Judy trails off again, smiling to herself.  “Otherworldly.  I don’t know how to explain what I saw in her.  I don’t think I ever will.”

“Was it mom?”  Roni’s voice is hardly above a whisper, and Judy shakes her head.

“It definitely wasn’t your mother.  I don’t know who she was.  Just a stranger, I think.  But I could just tell that she knew something I didn’t.  I’ve always wondered what happened to her.  Where she came from.  Where she went.”

Judy sits back in her seat with a quiet exhale then, taking a few more sips of her water while Roni hardly even moves.  Her hand remains frozen in the spot where Judy’s had been holding it, and she doesn’t even want to blink as she tries to register everything going on.

“Do I think time travel is real?”  Judy asks, setting her glass down.  Her voice carries a tone of finality, and Roni knows this is the end of the conversation.  “Possibly.  Do I think it’s safe?  No. So please, Veronica, for my sake, just quit while you’re ahead.”  She picks up her fork and stabs a piece of broccoli to it, raising it and pointing it towards Roni’s plate.  “And finish your dinner.  It’s getting cold.”

----

7:11pm, January 1st, 1925

It’s nearing seven-fifteen when Harry returns to his apartment with arms full of grocery bags. His wallet feels like he’s just burned a hole in it, but his logic had been that he may as well spend the money he has now (albeit very little) to buy enough food to last him through the week.  He’ll secure himself a job, he knows it.  But for now he needs to focus on surviving long enough to see that day. He lets out a long sigh of relief the moment the door closes behind him and he finds himself back within the comfort of his own four walls.  

As it turns out, job hunting is much harder than he’d anticipated-- especially on a holiday. All shops were either closed or insanely busy to the point where he couldn’t even speak to someone without waiting for hours on end.  So here he is, returning home fruitless with a bruised ego, a bruised eye, and a hungry belly. 

Much to his chagrin, Roni is nowhere in sight, and his heart admittedly sinks a little.  To think that she actually did leave before he had a chance to say goodbye. He didn’t think she’d find a way. He frowns as he twists his way through the apartment, careful not to drop the several bags he’s carrying.  As soon as he plops them on the counter though, he realizes his bedroom door is cracked open, and a little bit of hope is restored. 

Harry tiptoes his way over and peaks in through the open door, relief washing over him when he finds Roni lying flat on her back.  She’s on the bed, hands folded across her stomach, eyes closed, as she mutters something to herself through a most displeased frown.   It takes everything in him not to choke out a laugh, and he knows Roni can hear him, but she doesn’t even acknowledge his presence. So Harry decides its best to leave her be, and closes the door for her.

He smiles to himself as he makes his way back to the kitchen to put away the groceries.  Truth be told, he doesn’t know why it makes him so happy that she’s still here, and he shakes his head when he realizes how red his cheeks are.  She makes him laugh, he thinks, and that is why he wants her around so badly.

It’s been nice having company, and Harry really does look forward to spending a little bit more time with her,  however short that time may be.   He finds her so interesting and funny, especially considering the fact that she comes from a year that doesn’t even seem real.   He wants to ask her so many more questions, he wants to hear her curse like nobody’s business, and most of all, he just wants a friend.  She brightens his small world, which is something he hadn’t realized he’d needed until he’d met her.

Christ, he’s only just met her yesterday.  

Harry shakes his head again, the cap placed on top of his curls jostling a bit.  He puts away the rest of the groceries, shifting his focus instead on what to make for dinner.  He doesn’t want to bother Roni now, not when she’s so determined, and he’s sure she’s eaten while he’s been gone.  He, however, had not had the chance, and he decides to make himself a chicken sandwich.   If Roni is hungry later he’ll make her one as well, but his belly groans in protest of the thought of waiting any longer for food.

Harry wanders over to the Victrola Phonograph in the corner of the room, a gift from his father many years ago.  His favorite record sits on the turntable just itching to be played, and he flips the switch on the side of the box, watching it slowly whirl to life.  With delicate fingers he takes the needle and presses it against the grooves, and he smiles to himself when his favorite song fills the silence of the room. 

With one last nod towards his closed bedroom door, Harry sets to work making dinner. 

---

It’s an hour later, and Harry is beginning to think that Roni has either fallen asleep or actually figured out his whole time traveling business.  He's considering checking in on her, when out of the corner of his eye, he sees her approaching from his spot on the couch."

Her figure makes him nearly jump out of his skin, and he has to take a few moments to calm down once he realizes he is, in fact, looking at her and not a ghost who’s found its way into his apartment.  

She looks worn out and frustrated, and she doesn’t so much as blink when Harry flinches.  She just stares back at him, emotionless, while he tries to catch his breath.  The only sound between the two of them is the record he’s playing, and she blinks uninterestedly.

Harry clears his throat.  “I take it you didn’t make it back.” 

This time Roni does show signs of life, shooting Harry a scowl from hell that makes him laugh out loud.  She ignores his remark. “I thought it might be a nighttime thing,” she says.  “Like, I thought maybe it would only work at night and that’s where I was going wrong.”

“That would be strange.”  Harry rises to his feet and takes his cap off to run a hand through his hair.  “Like conditional time travel.  I suppose it makes sense though.  Did you eat today?” 

Roni sighs, folding her arms across her chest and trudging defeatedly over to the dining table.  “No, just breakfast.  I was too busy doing this shit.”

Harry frowns.  “That’s not good.  You need to eat something.”  He makes his way into the kitchen and opens the cabinets.   “I bought some things to make sandwiches.  I know that’s not much, but I’ll make you one.”

“You really don’t have to do that.”

Harry busies himself, ignoring her half-hearted protest.  “You’re going to need all the energy you can get to travel back to the future.”

Roni glowers at him.  “I literally cannot tell if you’re on my side or if you think I’m crazy.”

“Perhaps a bit of both.”  Now Harry does meet her gaze, a soft smile on his face.  “You’ll make it back, but I think you’re trying too hard.”

“Do you have any better ideas?”

“No,” Harry admits, turning back to the food.  “But I suspect that if you gave it some time, we could probably figure it out together.  Like I said, I don’t think the answer is really as simple as you’re hoping.”

“Harry, I don’t have any more time to give this.”

“I’m not sure that you have a choice, love.” 

Roni rolls her eyes, mostly frustrated because she knows he’s right.  “Well, you’re wrong.”

Harry doesn’t respond to her. Instead, he just continues retrieving everything he needs for her sandwich and placing the items on the counter.  Roni watches him for a moment, all tension in her body starting to fizzle out when she realizes there’s no point in trying to convince him.  She sighs.  “How was work?”

Roni doesn’t notice the way Harry tenses up for half a second, or the way his breath hitches in his throat.  He coughs, and Roni thinks nothing of it-- thank God.  “It was good.”

“Yeah?  What did you tell your boss about your black eye?  I can just picture you all, ‘Hey man, I met this crazy chick from the future.  She can really pack a punch.’”

Harry snorts.  “Yeah, something along those lines.  It wasn’t a big deal.”

Roni laughs to herself, tucking her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms around her legs.  The tips of Harry’s ears go beet red when he sees her sitting this way, and he tries desperately not to gawk at the way his own boxer briefs-- which are already too large for her-- ride up the delicate skin of her thighs.  He’s never seen a girl sit so comfortably exposed like this and, as much of a struggle as it is for him not to stare, he can’t say he doesn’t love it.

They spend the next few minutes in silence, and Harry is about finished with her sandwich when she nods her head towards the phonograph.  “Who is the guy playing?”

Harry stops moving and gapes at her, his jaw nearly reaching the floor in shock, and it annoys Roni. She rolls her eyes.  “What could I have possibly said now?”

“You mean to tell me you’ve never heard of Louis Armstrong?”

“What?”  Harry’s question takes Roni aback.  “No, of course I have. I just didn’t realize…. This is him?”  Roni trails off with a smile.  This is another one of those moments where she finds herself coming face to face with the fact that she truly is in a whole different world.  She grew up on Louis Armstrong; her mother owned nearly every record there was to own.  He’d died three years before Roni was born, but now she’s living in a time where he isn’t someone who used to exist; he exists.  Present tense. And he’s still so early in his career.

“You’re surprised?”  Harry walks over to the dining table and sets the plate in front of Roni, along with a glass of water.  “He’s one of the best.”

“Agreed,” Roni nods.  “And he is for like, ever.”

“Yeah?”  Harry beams, walking over to the phonograph.  “So he’s a big deal where you’re from, too?”

“Oh god, yeah.”

“I can’t wait to hear more from him, then.  What else can you tell me about the future?”

Roni speaks through a mouthful.  “What else do you want to know?”    Harry’s back is turned to her, so she isn’t exactly sure what he’s doing.

“Hmm.”  Harry thinks out loud, bending down to rummage through a cardboard box at the foot of the phonograph.  “Do I ever become a world famous singer?”

Roni raises an eyebrow.  “You want to become a world famous singer?”

Harry shrugs.  “Never thought about it until right now.  Could be fun.”

“Oh,” Roni giggles.  “Well I’m sorry to say I’ve never heard of you.”

“Figures.  Ah, here we are!”   Harry straightens himself up once more, holding a record in his hand.

“What are you doing?” Roni pouts as Harry switches out the records on the strange machine.  “I was into that.”

“I want to see if you know this one in the future as well!  No peeking.”  

Despite his command, Roni still tries to get a look at the title of the record in his hand.  Her eyesight, of course, fails her, and she’s forced to sit and wait impatiently until the scratchy music begins to pay through the horn.

She recognizes the tune almost instantly and beams.  “Oh my god,” she shouts over the music.  “Is this the Charleston?”

“So you do know it!”  Harry’s beaming right back at her, swaying his hips in time to the music and snapping his fingers.  He taps his toes a bit, kicking his legs every now and then and slowly getting into the rhythm.  “Do you know how to do the dance?”

Roni giggles with every sway of his hips, especially the more elaborate he gets.  “I don’t, I never learned.”

“What?!” Harry stands up straight, halting his movements.  “You must be joking.”

Roni shakes her head, her smile only growing wider because she knows exactly what is about to happen.  “Not joking! All I know is there’s like, some sort of…. This action… type thing…”  Roni wiggles her pointer finger and her head simultaneously, and Harry bursts into the loudest, happiest laugh Roni thinks she’s ever heard.

“Oh my god,” He says, the crinkles around his eyes becoming so adorably apparent.  “I mean,” he makes his way over to the phonograph to restart the song,  “You’re close.  It’s a very good attempt.  But we’ve got to teach you.”

Harry launches right into it the moment the music starts again, and Roni covers her face with her hand.  “Noo,” she whines,  “I’m not a good dancer.”

“You don’t have to be!”  Harry says, perfectly executing the dance moves that Roni has only seen in old films.  “It’s quite easy once you get the hang of it.”

Roni snorts at how goofy he’s being, but she’s actually impressed.  His timing is impeccable, and he’s right on beat with every step he takes.  His whole body seems so effortlessly into it, and he shoots her a silly face that makes her belly-laugh.   

“Come on!” he says, waving her over.  “You aren’t going to learn this sitting down.”

“I can’t!” Roni says again, giggles now completely overtaking her.  It’s the first time in the past twenty-four hours that she has felt this genuinely happy, and she doesn’t notice the way Harry beams every time she laughs.  

She needs this.  So does he.

“Come onnn,”  Harry says again, dancing his way over to her.  He takes her hand in his own and yanks her to her feet, not giving her a choice in the matter.  She squeals when he flings her around a bit, and its an awkward shuffle as she tries to mirror his feet.

“You’ve got it!”  He says.  “Step, kick, step, kick, step-- good!  See?”

Roni knows she’s a mess as she fumbles around through every beat.  She keeps stepping with the wrong foot despite keeping her eyes glued to the floor, and she’s out of breath within fifteen seconds from laughing so hard.  While she watches their feet, Harry watches her, and he giggles every time she does.  

“Come on,” he encourages, “now a kick to the side… no, the other side… Veronica, oh my god.”  His eyes grow misty with tears from laughter, and Roni nearly shouts in his face through her own guffaw.  

“I told you I’m not good at this!”

“You are, you just need to practice!”  Harry continues to move, practically swinging her around like a ragdoll now.  He’s half given up on giving her instructions, and he grunts when she accidentally kicks him in the shin.

“Oh god, I’m so sorry!” She says, hardly even intelligible through her cackle.  She stops attempting to move all together,  doubling over and letting her laughter bubble up throughout her entire body.  “I can’t do this!” 

“You can!” Harry insists, bending down to try and look at her face.  “It isn’t that hard!”

“It is when you’re me!  God, did this song get faster?” 

“You’re doing fine!”  Harry takes her hands and straightens her up again.  “Come on, the song is almost over.”

For the next minute and six seconds, more laughing and shouting is done than actual dancing.  Harry and Roni trip over one another constantly, and neither is sure why this is so incredibly funny but here they are, tears in their eyes and cheeks hurting from too much laughter.  

When the song comes roaring to an end, Roni flings herself down onto the couch, clutching at her belly.  Harry collapses onto the ground in a fit of giggles as well, only just now realizing that his hat has come flying off and now sits discarded on the floor beside him.  He picks it up and runs a hand through his sweaty hair before placing the cap lazily back on his head.  

“God that was fun,” Roni says through her residual giggles.  “I don’t even know the last time I laughed that hard.

“Me neither,” Harry admits.  “Sorry to interrupt your eating.” 

“What?”  Roni’s sandwich sits completely abandoned at the table, and she laughs when she sees it.  “Oh!  Forgot about that.”

Roni rises and heads back over the table while Harry remains on the floor,  smiling to himself and wanting nothing more than to keep dancing with her.  Before he even has a chance to bring it up, however,  Roni is off on a tangent about how different dancing is in 1999.

“Don’t get me wrong,” she says,  “it’s a lot of fun.  But dancing here is so like… pure, I guess?  Just like, pure fun?  And there’s something to be said for that, there really is.”

Harry is only half-heartedly listening to her.  Instead he’s watching her, fascinated by how casually she sits cross-legged on his uncomfortable dining chair, as if it’s no big deal that her bare legs are so exposed to him. How her hair falls into her face so frequently that she doesn’t even realize how often she brushes it back.  How much more chatty and bubbly she is when she’s completely comfortable.   And the way her eyes sparkle when she smiles.  Had they sparkled like that last night?

Roni chats away, and Harry occasionally adds in his two cents when it’s needed.  But in his mind he’s trying to pinpoint that exact moment where he started noticing these things about her.  Where did the shift occur, and why is it occurring?  

Harry tries to be quicker than Roni when she finally stands with her now empty plate.  He jumps to his feet and rushes to her side.  “I can take that,” he says, but she twists away from him, taking the plate with her. 

“Nope,” she says.  “Dude, relax.  You’ve done like, way too much for me already.  The least I can do is wash my own plate.”  She smiles at him from her new spot at the sink, letting the water run over the plate.  “Gotta earn my keep around here somehow, yeah?”

Harry smiles, frozen in place.  He senses that she’s going to suggest going to bed soon, and his brain scrambles to come up with any excuse to keep her awake with him.  He swears it isn’t anything more than a fascination with her.  He just considers her an interesting person and that is all.  There is nothing more to it. 

She yawns as she finishes up her scrubbing and turns the faucet off.  “Anyway, we should head to bed.  I know you must be exhausted after working all day.”

Harry doesn’t allow himself to dwell on that comment, instead just blurting out, “Wait!”

Roni seems almost startled by his outburst, but she covers it quickly with her signature smile.  “What’s up?”

There’s a moment where he isn’t sure what he wants to say, and he realizes he’s holding his breath.  He laughs awkwardly.  “I’m not exhausted.  Not yet.”

“Oh. But I thought--”

“I want to teach you one more dance.”  It isn’t a lie.  

“Oh god, Harry I don’t know if I can handle--”

“You can,” Harry insists, immediately feeling bad for cutting her off.  “This one is much easier.  Promise.”

When Harry is met only with a skeptical look from Roni, he points to his face.  “You can give me another good sock to the face if I’m lying.”

This coaxes a laugh out of Roni, and she shakes her head.  “You’re so stupid. Fine.”

Harry grins in triumph, already heading back to the phonograph.  “Wonderful.  I bet you’ll love it.  And if you do, I’ll take you out dancing tomorrow.  I know tons of great places.”  Harry pauses, shooting Roni a pointed look over his shoulder.  “That is, if you’re still here tomorrow.” 

Roni rolls her eyes.  “You know I’m still gonna be here tomorrow.  We have established that I will be here until we figure something else out.”

“Then it’s a date.”  Harry smirks, turning back to the task at hand.  When he finds the record he wants, he replaces the current one, taking care not to scratch either of them.  He can feel Roni’s eyes on him, and he takes his time in the process of starting the new song.  When the jazz music starts, he turns slowly on his heel and holds his hand out to her.   “May I have this dance?”

Roni laughs, but she makes her way to him anyway.  One arm slings loosely against his shoulder, and she slides her free hand into his.  She looks up at him expectantly, waiting for him to lead the way.  He wants to linger like this, but he realizes that if he stares too long his slight fascination with her will blossom into something he isn’t quite sure he’s ready to admit to.

So he takes the first step.

Harry marvels at how easily Roni falls into stride with him, this dance clearly coming more naturally to her.

“You’ve waltzed before?” he asks.

“Kind of,” Roni admits.  “Like, I know enough about waltzing to know how to do it, I think.  Why, do I suck at it?”

Harry snorts.  “No, not at all.  You’re actually quite good.  You’re redeeming yourself from earlier.”

“Yeah well,” Roni shrugs, “I’m a woman of many talents, what can I say?  Plus this song makes it easy.  What is it called?” 

Harry continues his movements around the living room with Roni in his arms, happy that she seems to be enjoying this just as much as he is.  “It’s called What’ll I Do. It’s a bit of a sad song.”

“Is it?”  Roni asks.  “I was gonna say, it doesn’t have a necessarily sad vibe to it.  Just more melancholy than anything really.  Does it have any lyrics?”

“It does.  I mean, obviously not this version, but yes.”

“Oh, yeah?  I want to hear them.”

Harry smirks down at her.  “Are you trying to get me to sing?”

“I want to see if you have a future as a world famous singer.”

“Oh, I already know that I do.  Just because you’ve never heard of me--”

“You’re stalling.”

She’s got him there, and Harry chuckles to himself.  “Alright,” he says after a beat.  “I got you to dance with me again, so I suppose it’s the least I can do.”

It takes him only a split second to realize where exactly the song is at, and he subtly pulls Roni closer so that he can sing softly by her ear. 

The moment hits them both at once, and Harry realizes that this is the closest he’s ever physically been to her.  He clears his throat, eyes cast straight ahead but lips caressing the stubborn wisps of hair around her ears. Through a shaky voice, he half sings, half speaks, and he isn’t sure if she’s moving her own body closer or if he’s selfishly pulling her in. 

 Admittedly, this singing isn’t his best. But for some reason this moment seems too soft, too fragile, to be shattered by full on singing.  

With her this close to him, he can smell a hint of the perfume that lingers on her skin from whatever she was doing the night before, and it smells so wonderful that he almost pauses a tick too long.  He chuckles when he realizes he’s skipped an entire line of the song, then falls right back into the melody, crooning gently into her ear.  

It isn’t long before they’re swaying more than waltzing, and Harry feels Roni physically melt into him the closer he gets.  Her stiff arms become loose against his own, and the hand that rested on his shoulder nervously slides its way further along his back and around his neck.  She allows him to really guide her, as if she’s completely unsure of her movements. He gives her hand a squeeze, a silent reassurance, and continues to sing.

He doesn’t know when this moment turned into something so intimate, but he is sure as hell significantly more self-conscious than he had been before. Now, he is suddenly so acutely aware of the warmth radiating from small of her back beneath the palm of his hand.  She feels delicate, like one squeeze too hard could break her-- and yet all he wants to do is hold her as close as possible. 

Roni is so close to him now that he feels her eyelashes flutter closed against his chest. He hadn’t realized how much taller he was than her, and it makes his breath catch in his throat.   She’s so lovely he could cry, and his cheeks grow hot.

“I’m not a very good singer,” he mumbles.

“You are.”  Roni doesn’t even lift her head, and her voice sounds far away and slow.  “Keep going.”

What the hell is happening to him? He hardly even knows her for fucks sake,  and suddenly he’s in this dream-like trance, holding her and swaying around his living room to a sad song about a relationship that’s ended.  He can’t get enough of her smell or her warmth, and he wishes more than anything he could see her face right now.

“With just a photograph… to tell my troubles to…  when I’m alone… with only dreams of you…”

Harry and Roni seem to realize at the same time that they are no longer waltzing, and hardly even swaying, and Harry swallows thickly around a newly dried throat.  

“That won't come true… what’ll I do?”

Roni stops completely now, and Harry stops singing.  The song continues to play softly, and neither makes an effort to be the first to move.  Harry wasn’t expecting to feel this way when he’d woken up this morning or hell, even when he’d met Roni last night, but dammit, here he is, body on fire and heart pounding in his ears.

It��s Roni that breaks the tension first, but she takes her time doing it.  Without removing her hand from his or her arm from neck, she clears her throat and looks up at him, completely doe-eyed. “That... that is a sad song.”

“It is.”  Harry’s voice sounds thick and distant and strained in his own ears.

Still neither of them move, letting the song play away in the background and looking at one another’s faces-- something fizzing in the air that hadn’t been there before.

Roni doesn’t look scared, but she looks almost surprised. Harry refuses to exhale, watching her eyes scanning his own face as if she’s looking for something. He can’t tell if she wants to say something, and he isn’t sure of what he’s even thinking right now.  His hand feels sweaty around hers, and he licks at his lips.  It’s the most intense tension he’s ever felt, but in a refreshingly good way.  He feels like he never wants it to end.

The song, however, has other plans, and the last few chords echo through the room before stopping completely.  This seemingly breaks Roni from her trance, and she finally pulls away, averting her gaze to the floor.   “Um,” is all she manages to say. 

Harry isn’t even sure what to do in this situation; he just stands there blinking stupidly at her until she smiles again.

“I do think you have a future.  In singing I mean.  That was great.”  She’s smiling like nothing has changed, and Harry isn’t sure if it delights him or crushes him.

He returns her smile with one of his own, and he gives a half-hearted laugh.  “You think so?”

“Definitely.  You’ll be the next big thing for sure.”  She reaches up to run a hand through her own hair, and it makes Harry laugh because he hadn’t noticed her doing that until he’d realized how often he did it himself.

“Anywho!”  Roni’s voice is completely back to normal now, and she turns on her heel to head to the bedroom.  She speaks over her shoulder.  “That was super fun.  I’d love to take you up on that whole ‘going out dancing’ thing tomorrow night.”

Harry’s ears perk at this.  “Really?”

“Yeah! I can show off my new moves.”  She turns in the doorway, putting her hands on either side of the frame. “And besides like, maybe you’re right.  Maybe I need to get out and like, see 1920s New York or something.  I’m clearly not going to find out how to get back by just sitting in your room all day every day.  Let’s go out and like, have fun and stuff.  Not every day I get this opportunity, you know?”

Harry nods, already planning out everywhere he’s going to take her tomorrow.  “Exactly.”

“Awesome.”  Roni forms her fingers into the shape of a gun and uses her thumb to pull an imaginary trigger.  “Soo, yeah.  Cool.  See ya there, dude.  Goodnight!”

Roni doesn’t even wait for him to respond before she’s closing the bedroom door behind her.  The moment she’s safe in the confines of her-- his-- room, she lets her jaw fall practically to the floor. 

What was that?!

One moment it was two friends having fun and the next she was feeling things.  Things that she’s not sure she’s ever even felt with Oliver.  How?  Where had that initial switch happened, and how does she put a stop to it?  Why is she suddenly feeling glad that all of her attempts to go back so far have failed?

Fuck, she’d only just met him last night.

She rubs at her face, realizing how disgusting her skin feels. She’s definitely going to need to shower tomorrow, which presents an entirely new set of challenges like asking for more clothes to borrow and being naked in this boy’s home and… god, figuring out how the hell that weird looking shower works. 

Roni decides that, to the best of her ability, she’s just going to ignore her anxiety (and the dull tingling between her legs that had started the moment she’d gotten close enough to smell Harry’s cologne) and just hop into bed.  If she pushes the feelings down far enough, they’ll probably evaporate. She’s done it with so many other things, so she knows that it’s going to work with her situation, or whatever this is, with Harry. 

When she glances at the bed, however, she sees the goodbye note she was leaving for him to find, completely untouched, and she feels ridiculously silly.  Why would she have any reason to leave without saying goodbye to him in person?  After everything he’s done for her?  She takes the note and tosses it onto the floor before turning off the light and sliding in between the sheets.

It doesn’t take her long to get situated, and she gives her eyes a moment to get used to the thick darkness of the room before letting out a deep and heavy sigh.  She uses all of her efforts to not think about her current situation and to ignore the delicious smell of the sheets she’s wrapped up in, opting instead to hum softly to herself.   

She hums every 1990s hit pop song that her brain can remember until she finally forgets that the light under the bedroom door is still on, and that probably the most handsome and lovely person she’s ever known sits right outside her door.  And to the tune of some Backstreet Boys song, she finally drifts.