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heliosunny · 4 months ago

Note

Hi, hi, hi!

I know he's not from Honkai but I saw that a long while ago you did a Neuvillette post. So I was wondering if I could get a Neuvillette Lucky Egg?

LUCKY EGG

Yandere!Neuvillette x Reader

You had never believed in luck. If you did, your life wouldn’t be what it was now—stuck in a tiny apartment with your childhood friend, Melis, who made sure to remind you of every single bad decision you’d ever made. She wasn’t cruel, exactly, but she had a way of making you feel like an idiot.

So when you saw the Lucky Egg Dispenser at the back of a convenience store, promising "A once-in-a-lifetime blessing!", you almost walked past it.

But something about it made you stop.

It looked old, the paint chipped around the edges, but the golden lettering still shimmered under the fluorescent lights. A sign above it read:

"One egg per person. No refunds. Your fate awaits."

It was probably a scam. A cheap plastic trinket inside, or some useless charm. But before you could talk yourself out of it, you fed a few coins into the slot and turned the crank.

Clunk.

A round capsule tumbled into your waiting hands. The plastic casing snapped open, revealing—

An egg?

It was smooth, cool to the touch, and a pale blue color, almost pearlescent. Strange, but… oddly pretty. You turned it over in your hands, half-expecting a hidden button or compartment, but it was just an egg.

Three Days Later

The egg sat on your nightstand for days, untouched. Melis had scoffed when she saw it.

"Really? You wasted money on that?"

You ignored her.

Something in you didn’t want to throw it away.

Then, on the third night, you woke to a soft crack.

Blinking the sleep from your eyes, you turned toward the sound and saw the egg trembling, thin fractures spreading across its surface. You barely had time to react before the shell split apart, breaking open like a delicate flower and something small tumbled out, landing in the nest of blankets you’d unknowingly made around it.

A child.

No—a dragon.

He looked human, mostly, but too otherworldly to be mistaken for one. His silver hair curled softly around his face, and from his head sprouted two smooth, curved horns. A long, sinuous tail flicked behind him, twitching as he adjusted to his new surroundings.

Then, slowly, he lifted his head—his purple eyes locking onto yours.

"You" he murmured, his voice like distant thunder.

The little dragon boy—because that’s what he was—blinked up at you, his eyes filled with something… old. Too knowing for a child. And yet, he was small, barely bigger than a toddler, his limbs still weak from hatching.

His tail flicked, curling slightly around your wrist where your hand had instinctively moved forward. His warmth seeped into your skin, gentle but noticeable.

"You’re the one who called me here" he said.

"I… I just got an egg from a machine. I didn’t—"

Your heart pounded. This was insane. But the weight of him, the warmth of his tiny body, the way his delicate claws curled into the fabric of your shirt—

He was real. And cute? Extremely cute.

And now he was your responsibility.

The First Day

By morning, you had accepted two things:

You had somehow acquired a baby dragon.

Melis could never find out.

So far, you were lucky. She had left early for work, grumbling about her awful manager, and you had time to figure things out.

Your new… companion had been surprisingly quiet. He sat on your bed, watching you with eerie patience as you gathered whatever food you had—some bread, a few leftover scraps from last night’s dinner.

"Do you eat?" you asked awkwardly, holding out a piece of toast.

He stared at it, then at you. Then, very deliberately, he leaned forward and bit your wrist.

"Ow—!" You yanked your hand back, but he barely broke the skin. It wasn’t an attack, more like… an experiment. His small fangs left the faintest indentations before he pulled away, licking his lips.

"Strange" he murmured. "Your energy tastes different than before."

Your what? You stared at him, but he only blinked, as if you were the one being weird.

"I require no food," he finally said. "I only need you."

The Second Day

By the next morning, he was taller.

Noticeably so.

The clothes you had scrounged together for him—a too-big hoodie and some old shorts—fit better now. His limbs were longer, more proportional. His horns had grown slightly, and his tail swayed behind him with more control.

"You… grew."

"Yes." He looked at you, unbothered. "I told you. I only need you."

What did that mean?

The Third Day

You had a problem.

Not just because your mysterious dragon child was now nearly a teenager overnight, his voice deepening slightly, his presence too much for your small apartment—

But because Melis was starting to notice.

"You’ve been acting weird," she said over dinner, narrowing her eyes. "And why is the place so damn warm? Are you messing with the thermostat again?"

"I haven’t touched it" you lied smoothly, forcing a smile.

Neuvillette—he had given you his name the night before—was hidden in your room. But even then, you swore you could feel him listening.

Melis huffed. "And where’s all the food going? I just bought groceries, and half of it’s gone! I swear, if you’re sneaking in some loser boyfriend—"

"I’m not."

She leaned forward, glaring. "Then what the hell are you hiding?"

Before you could answer, a faint sound came from your bedroom.

Melis’s eyes snapped toward the door.

And then—she stood up.

Your heart stopped.

"What was that?"

She took a step forward.

"Nothing," you blurted out, moving to block her. "Just the wind. Or—"

Melis reached for the doorknob and it swung open on its own.

Neuvillette stood there.

Not as a child. Not even as a teenager.

But taller now. Older.

His horns had grown sharper. His eyes glowed faintly in the dim light, his pupils slit like a predator’s. He tilted his head, looking at Melis like she was something insignificant.

Something inhuman curled in his voice when he spoke:

"You should not be here."

Melis froze.

And for the first time since you had known her—

She looked afraid.

The morning felt strange.

You had woken up groggy, expecting to hear Melis grumbling about the bills, the temperature, or whatever new complaint she had for the day. But instead—silence.

It wasn’t until you shuffled into the kitchen that you noticed the note on the counter.

I’m leaving. Don’t bother looking for me.

The handwriting was hers.

It wasn’t that you’d miss her exactly. She had been exhausting, always watching you like you were one bad decision away from ruining your life. But… leaving without even saying anything? Without fighting first? That wasn’t like her.

You stared at the note a little longer. Something felt off.

But you had work. You didn’t have time to dwell on it.

The moment you left, Neuvillette stirred from where he had been lounging on the couch.

You had grown more comfortable with him—enough that you no longer questioned how much he had changed, or rather, how fast he had changed.

Your strange little friend was gone. It had been easy to remove them, even easier to mimic their writing. You hadn’t suspected a thing.

But… there was something missing.

Even as he sat there, waiting for your return, he felt restless. Hunger, but not for food.

For strength.

Something called to him beyond the walls of your home, something old and brimming with power. He followed it.

He hadn’t expected to find a dungeon.

The entrance was tucked away in the city, hidden beneath the ruins of an abandoned building. The air shimmered with faint, magical energy—ancient, untouched.

The moment he stepped inside, something stirred in the darkness.

A goblin—small, filthy, and sneering.

It laughed when it saw him.

"Hah! A lost little human?" It bared its crooked teeth. "You won’t last a second, boy—"

His claws tore through the creature’s throat before it could finish its sentence.

Warmth flooded his body, like a surge of raw energy. The moment the goblin died, something deep within him awakened. His strength sharpened, his magic expanded, and for the first time—

He understood.

This place was meant to be his.

One by one, the creatures fell.

They thought him weak. Human-like.

They were wrong.

Each battle only made him stronger. Magic pulsed beneath his skin, ancient and limitless. The dungeon itself seemed to acknowledge his strength, bending to his will as he carved his way to the top.

And when he reached the end, when the last beast knelt before him, trembling—

Neuvillette smiled.

He was no longer just an intruder here.

He was the ruler.

And when he returned to you, stepping through your front door like nothing had changed, he was stronger than you could ever imagine.

Dinner felt… strange.

You weren’t sure when it had started, but something about Neuvillette was different now.

It wasn’t just his appearance—though that was the most obvious. He looked fully grown, his body lean and strong, his movements refined. His silver hair was longer now, and his once-uncontrolled tail was nowhere to be seen, no horns, either.

If you hadn’t known better, you would’ve thought he was entirely human.

You swallowed another bite of food, trying not to stare. He wasn’t looking at you anyway—just calmly sipping his drink, completely at ease.

"You work every day" he said suddenly.

"Yeah? That’s normal."

"And what do you do?"

That was an odd question. You had talked about work before, but maybe he was just curious.

"Nothing exciting. Just a regular office job." You shrugged. "It pays the bills."

"I see." His gaze lingered on you, thoughtful. "And the machine? Where did you find it?"

"Machine?"

"The one that brought me to you."

Oh. That machine.

You leaned back in your chair, thinking. "It was at a small convenience store near my office. It looked kind of old, like no one had used it in years. Why?"

"No reason."

You were deep asleep when he left.

The world outside was quiet, the streets bathed in the dim glow of streetlights.

Neuvillette moved silently, his presence blending seamlessly with the shadows as he arrived at the convenience store. The Lucky Egg Dispenser sat in the corner, just as you described.

From a glance, it seemed ordinary.

But when he raised a hand to feel its power, he felt nothing.

No energy. No magic. Just cold, lifeless metal.

His brows furrowed. But then-

A system board flickered to life in front of him, glowing with strange, shifting symbols.

[NAME: NEUVILLETTE] [RANK: ???] [LEVEL: 62] [TITLES: DUNGEON RULER, ???, ???]

So this was the truth behind his existence.

This machine wasn’t just luck. It was something more—something that had brought him to you for a reason.

But what was that reason?

The board flickered again, shifting—

And then, a new line of text appeared.

[NO ADDITIONAL EGGS AVAILABLE]

So… there wouldn’t be another.

There wouldn’t be another like him.

That meant one thing.

You were his.

And there would be no one else.

----

The whispers echoed.

"Hydro Dragon, Hydro Dragon, don’t cry."

The voice was distant, layered with something ancient, something aching. It wasn’t just words—it was a feeling. A pull deep within his very being, like something forgotten was trying to resurface.

The darkness in his dream twisted—

He woke up. His body jolted upright, breath uneven, sweat clinging to his skin. His heart pounded, the lingering sensation of the voice still curling around his mind.

"Neuvillette?"

His head snapped toward you. You were sitting beside him, your brows furrowed in concern.

"Are you okay?"

You were here. That was all that mattered.

Forcing a smile, he wiped the sweat from his brow. "It was just a dream."

But deep down—he knew it was more than that.

----

Neuvillette had grown stronger, but it still wasn’t enough.

The moment you left for work, he sought more. More power, more understanding—more of what he was meant to become. He followed instinct, the same strange pull that had led him to the dungeon before.

But this time, it led him to water.

A large, secluded lake, untouched by the city's influence. The air here was heavier, richer with something old.

A creature surfaced. A strange otter, sleek and dark-eyed, watching him intently. The creature did not flee. It did not fear him. Instead, it gave a small chuff and turned, swimming toward the center of the lake.

Then—it dived and vanished.

Neuvillette stepped forward, the water lapping at his ankles. Then his knees. Then his waist—

Then, with a final step, he let himself sink.

The water welcomed him.

He found the ruins at the lake’s bottom, hidden beneath the shifting currents. Stone pillars jutted from the depths, covered in carvings that glowed faintly when his fingers traced them.

The moment he touched them, something awakened.

A pulse—deep, rushing power.

And then the water moved. It bent at his will, swirling around his arms, surging through his veins. He lifted a hand, and the currents obeyed. He pushed outward, and the lake trembled.

The sheer force of his ability sent a wave rolling across the surface—too large, too noticeable.

Figures stood on the shore now. He had revealed too much.

It was time to leave.

The house was quiet. Neuvillette sat, fresh from his bath, dressed in a loose white shirt and dark slacks. His hair was still damp, strands falling over his shoulders as he leaned back against the couch.

He was waiting. But the night stretched on, and you did not return.

Not until much later, the door creaked open.

You stumbled inside, your movements slow and unsteady, the unmistakable scent of alcohol clinging to you. Your pupils were blown, your gaze unfocused. Behind you, a man lingered in the doorway.

"Who—"

The man’s smile faltered. "Oh, uh—hey, didn’t know you had a roommate."

His hand was still on your waist.

"I’ll take them now."

The man hesitated, then forced a chuckle. "Come on, I was just—"

Neuvillette moved. Faster than the man could react, he wrenched you from his grasp, pulling you into his arms.

The man stepped back, startled. "Whoa—relax, man. I was just making sure they got home safe—"

"Leave."

"Tch. Whatever, dude." He turned, muttering under his breath as he left.

Neuvillette watched him go.

Then, once you were settled, breathing softly against his chest—

He followed.

The man was still muttering when Neuvillette found him.

He hadn’t gone far—only to the lake’s edge, kicking at the dirt, grumbling about “weird possessive freaks” and “wasted effort.”

He didn’t notice the water stirring.

Didn’t see the way the waves rose.

A sudden wave surging forward. The man barely had time to scream before it dragged him under.

Neuvillette stood at the shore, watching, his eyes glinting in the moonlight.

The man thrashed.

Neuvillette lifted a hand.

The water tightened.

Bubbles surfaced, erratic at first—then fewer. Slower. Until, finally—

Nothing.

With a flick of his wrist, the water carried the body further—deep into the lake’s heart, where no one would find it.

At least, not until it was too late.

Three Days Later

"Did you hear?"

You paused mid-sip, blinking. "Hear what?"

Your coworker leaned in, lowering her voice. "They found a body. In the lake. Some guy—totally eaten up. They think he drowned a few days ago."

You set your cup down carefully. "That’s… awful."

"Yeah." She made a face. "I mean, what kind of freaking fish do we have in there?"

----

The weekend arrived with an unbearable heatwave. You had spent the afternoon outside, running errands beneath the scorching sun. By the time you got home, you were practically melting.

"Neuvillette, I’m back!" You called out as you kicked off your shoes, holding up the bag in your hands.

He emerged from the other room, his expression unreadable as always, but his gaze immediately flicked to what you were holding.

"Ice cream?"

You grinned, pulling out one of the containers. "Figured you'd like something cold. Want to try?"

Neuvillette took it carefully, staring at it as if it were something foreign. But after a small, experimental bite—his pupils dilated slightly.

"…It’s pleasant."

"That’s it? Just ‘pleasant’?"

He hummed, taking another bite, letting it melt slowly on his tongue. His expression remained composed, but you noticed the way he leaned ever so slightly into the sensation, as if savoring it more than he let on.

A rare sight.

You chuckled, opening your own and sitting beside him.

"Guess I’ll take that as a win."

It was later in the day when it happened.

You were standing. Walking. Moving through the house with no real thought, no resistance, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

There was something you needed to do.

Something important.

The bathroom door was open. Steam curled from within, the scent of fresh water pulling at you.

You stepped inside.

The moment your foot hit the tile— The trance broke.

You blinked, the haze lifting from your mind. Your breath hitched slightly as you realized you were standing in the doorway, fully clothed, about to step into a warm bath—with Neuvillette sitting in the tub.

His sleeves were rolled up, his silver hair cascading over his shoulders. He was waiting.

And he looked surprisingly unfazed.

"…What am I doing?" you muttered, shaking your head.

Neuvillette tilted his head slightly. "You wanted to shampoo my hair."

What?

"I… wanted to—" You stopped yourself.

That didn’t sound right. That didn’t even feel like something you had decided. But there was no sign of deception in his gaze, no indication that he was lying.

It was weird.

The heat had left you sluggish, and thinking too hard about it made your head hurt.

You exhaled, rubbing your temples. "…Whatever. Just—move over."

Neuvillette did, watching in quiet satisfaction as you stepped forward, kneeling beside the tub.

Your fingers combed through his hair, lathering the shampoo, your nails scraping lightly against his scalp. His lashes fluttered at the sensation.

You didn’t see the slight curve of his lips. Didn’t notice the way his fingers twitched—resisting the urge to pull you in completely.

----

Your office was always a mess of rushed deadlines and overworked employees. The company thrived on exploitation, squeezing everything it could from its workforce before discarding them like broken tools.

Today was no different.

"Did you see the latest report?" One of your coworkers, Kael, whispered as he slid into the seat beside you. His hands trembled slightly, holding a file.

You sighed, not even bothering to look up from your screen. "Which one? They dump a new crisis on us every hour."

"The dungeon." His voice lowered further. "The one that just appeared."

That caught your attention. You finally glanced at the report in his hands.

A massive fluctuation had been recorded at a previously empty lot on the outskirts of the city. A dungeon had emerged overnight, far more dangerous than expected. The first wave of hunters and warriors sent to clear it had suffered heavy casualties. The survivors reported unusual conditions—monsters that grew stronger after each battle, as if they were learning.

But the company didn't care. They just sent in more people.

"How many deaths so far?" you asked quietly.

Kael hesitated. "Too many."

You stared at the screen, unease curling in your stomach.

Something about this didn’t feel right.

Far beneath the dungeon’s surface, Neuvillette stood in the heart of his domain.

His gaze swept over the carnage left behind—the remnants of another failed attempt. Weapons lay shattered, armor broken, bodies scattered across the cold stone.

He stepped forward.

The air hummed around him, the essence of the fallen swirling into his being.

Another level gained.

"Foolish," he murmured. "They send their people to die… yet they do not realize they are only feeding me."

He exhaled slowly, his body adjusting to the newfound strength.

He was still growing.

And soon—

He would be unstoppable.

----

You barely made it through the front door.

Every muscle in your body ached, exhaustion settling into your bones like lead. You dropped your bag, kicking off your shoes with little care as you stumbled further inside.

The damn company had kept you overnight. Again.

Piling up more work, more pressure, more demands—until you were left wrung out and barely functioning. You were too tired to even be angry. All you wanted was sleep.

"You're late."

You managed a weak chuckle. "Tell that to my boss."

He stood near the couch, arms crossed, gaze sweeping over your disheveled form. You could feel his displeasure—palpable, simmering. But before you could say anything, he stepped forward, placing a hand on your forehead.

Warmth—no, energy—seeped into you, flowing through every aching limb, easing the tension in your body. It was like stepping into cool water after burning under the sun.

You barely had time to register what he’d done before sleep pulled you under.

Neuvillette watched as you finally rested. Your breathing was slow, steady, free of the exhaustion that had plagued you moments ago.

How many times had they done this to you?

How many times had you come home like this—drained, miserable, struggling just to stay upright?

"This world does not deserve you"

If it was unworthy of your existence—if it continued to break you down—

Then he would rebuild it.

Piece by piece.

A second dungeon appeared—then a third, then dozens more, blooming across the city like festering wounds. What was once a rare phenomenon became unstoppable, warping the landscape into a nightmarish battleground.

From the depths of each dungeon, Neuvillette’s forces emerged.

Creatures of the abyss—twisted beasts, eldritch horrors, dragons that roared with primordial fury. They poured into the streets, overwhelming police, military, and the so-called “heroes” who thought they could reclaim what had already been lost.

The city fell apart within days.

And through it all—Neuvillette watched from above, his eyes as cold and endless as the ocean’s depths.

The world had tried to break you.

Now it was his turn to break the world.

---

You woke up in a different place.

The suffocating weight of exhaustion was gone, but something felt off. The air smelled of rain, fresh and crisp, yet there was an eerie silence outside.

You sat up.

The room was luxurious, but unfamiliar. You swung your legs over the bed—only for the door to open before you could take a step.

"You're awake."

"Where… are we?"

"The outside world is no longer of concern to you. This is our home."

No longer of concern?

You moved toward the window—only to feel an invisible force halt you mid-step.

"There’s no need to leave," Neuvillette murmured. "Everything out there is beneath you now. You only need me."

His fingers brushed against your cheek.

"And I will never let them take you from me again."

"Neuvillette, stop this."

Your voice was firm, but your hands trembled as you pushed against his chest.

"I don’t need protection. I don’t need you to tear everything apart for me. I’m okay."

"Okay?" he echoed, as if the word was foreign to him. His hands trailed up your arms, "You were never okay. They drained you. Used you. You just didn’t realize it."

You shook your head, frustration building. "Even if that’s true, it doesn’t mean you get to decide for me!"

He sighed.

"You don’t have to decide anymore."

Before you could react, his hand cupped the side of your neck—then he bit down.

A sharp sting bloomed where his teeth sank into your skin. You gasped out of pain, but he didn’t let go—not until he was certain his mark was there to stay.

When he pulled back, his lips were tinted red.

"Now, even if you run…" He brushed a thumb over the wound, smearing the blood. "I will always find you."

Your vision swam, the pain dulling into something hazy, sluggish. He was doing something.

"Sleep" he whispered. "It’ll hurt less that way."

Your body betrayed you before your mind could protest, the exhaustion swallowing you whole.

Even in sleep, you weren’t safe.

Soft lips traced the curve of your throat, pressing lingering kisses against your skin. The warmth of his mouth sent shivers through your unconscious body, his breath hot against each fresh mark he left.

His hands moved with deliberate reverence, tracing the shape of your collarbone, your shoulders, the delicate lines of your pulse.

"Mine" he murmured between each press of his lips.

#yandere x reader #yandere #yandere genshin impact #genshin impact #genshin fanfic #genshin x reader #neuvilette genshin #neuvilette x reader #neuvilette x you #heliosluckyegg

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nikunjdudhat · 3 months ago

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wardenparker · 11 days ago

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The Secret of My Success, ch 1

Harry Castillo x plus size reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

When not even a professional matchmaking firm can help Harry Castillo find love, he turns his attention to helping his best friend meet their soulmate instead. The surprise of finding his own in the process will challenge the attitude Harry has taken toward dating for his entire life, and open up a whole new world of romance.

(This story picks up where the last chapter of The Unbearable Weight of Perfection leaves off, and will weave in a few other soulmate characters from previous stories just for fun. Don't worry if you haven't read those stories though! I'll be dropping the pertinent references in each chapter's note section to read along with Harry and his soulmate's adventures.)

Rating: M for Mature but this blog is always 18+ Word Count: 12.6k Warnings: *Reader is nicknamed Mack* Continuous warnings for: food/alcohol consumption, tobacco smoking. Mentions of past bullying and mistreatment, a bit of humanizing judgmental behavior. Summary: Harry attends his best friend's engagement party, only to find that Percy's old childhood partner in crime is quite charming in her own right. Notes: In this first chapter, we have references to Tamara's friend the fashion designer whose husband is from Mallorca. Wave hi to Javi G and his amor as you read!

The ringing telephones and buzz of activity from even down the hall doesn’t reach the plush, insulated capsule of this office. The windows are encompassing, giving a sweeping view of the city that would stun visitors and impress investors. The power harness from floor to ceiling views of the most powerful financial district in the world. His back is to that view, phone pressed to his ear as he talks. “I think that with that kind of margin, we would be stupid to invest.” He says bluntly, aware that the news won’t be well received but that’s not his problem. “No, they’ve significantly overstated their assets and at this point, it’s looking more like fraud than idiocracy.”

The knock at the door draws Harry Castillo’s attention, making him look up and frown as his best friend motions for him to wrap up the call. Shaking his wrist and looking at the Patek Philippe watch on his wrist makes him wince. “No, I understand.” He murmurs. “Tom, we will have to discuss this later. Think about what I’ve said.” He tells the man on the other end of the line, rolling his eyes with annoyance when the entire point seems to fly right over that man’s head. “Uh huh, uh huh.” He stands. “Yes. Well, that’s an interesting way of looking at it.” He shakes his head, nodding towards Percy Stokes, rushing him along. “Okay, well, I have a meeting that I’m walking into, so I’ll get back to you on that.” He says abruptly, finally managing to break through the endless monologue before saying a hurried goodbye and pulling the phone away from his ear.

“Come on.” Percy huffs. “We’re gonna be late.” He shakes his head. “And Tamara will kill me.”

Harry grins, sliding his phone into the inner pocket of his suit and pulling down the edge of his jacket to straighten it out. Luckily his tie was still straight and he hadn’t run a hand through his hair. “She would if you were late to your own engagement party.” He agrees.

“Which is why we’re not gonna be late.” Percy says with absolute certainty. He’s waving Harry toward the door with enthusiasm, checking his own appearance in one of the mirrors build into the walls of the office. Harry is technically his boss but he’s far more of a friend. He’d become that along the way, as they both came up through the financial game together. The Castillo family’s connections were pure gold and Harry hadn’t minded being a sort of big brother figure to the new guy in the family firm when Percy had started years ago. Now they’re each other’s number one fan and best supporter in work and out of it.

“Do you have her gift?” He asks, knowing that it’s customary to give your fiancée a gift before the wedding. He had voted on the Tiffany earrings, but he didn’t know what Percy had chosen.

Percy pats the breast pocket of his suit jacket and beams. “The earrings were perfect,” he tells Harry as they dash for the elevator. “I went with the platinum setting. Matches her engagement ring that way.”

“Nice.” He holds the door open for Percy and steps in after he’s in the car, pressing the button for the lobby. “The car is outside; we should be there with time to spare.” He promises.

"Only because your guy finds like...pocket dimensions to drive through." Percy jokes. Harry's driver, an older man named Stanley with a sharp tongue and a hell of a sense of humor, is a goddamn treasure and everybody knows it.

“He’s driven in Manhattan.” Harry snorts. “That qualifies as a combat tour.”

"You're not wrong." Percy snorts. He leans back in the elevator car as it drops swiftly down the controlled track from the thirtieth floor down to the ground. He's jittery and excited and can't stop grinning. Tonight is going to be perfect.

“So who all is Tamara gonna invite from her end?” He asks. “I know that you’re moving to L.A., but we’ve planned all the wedding activities here.”

“She’s got some family coming down, and a few people in from LA.” His Canadian-born fiancée seems to have friends and family everywhere, and he fiddle with the cuff of his shirt sleeve where it lays over the white ink maple leaf tattoo he has from her. “Basically her family and her bridesmaids. If I read the guest list correctly for tonight, the husbands are all home with their kids and the girls are making a weekend of it.”

“That’s a shame.” Harry chuckles. “Seems like I’ll never get to meet the famous Javi Gutierrez.” He jokes. “People say we look like we are related.”

“He’s coming to the wedding,” Percy assures him as the elevator touches down on the ground floor. “His wife is one of Tam’s bridesmaids and apparently he loves weddings, which doesn’t surprise me after having met a bunch of their friends.”

Harry hums as the doors open. “Good, I’ve been wanting to talk about property in Mallorca.”

The two men stride out the glass doors of their office building and slide into a car, but Percy scoffs even before they get settled. “So that’s the travel obsession this month? Mallorca?” Harry itches to travel but never makes the time for himself and everyone knows it. Last month he had been pouring over travel itineraries for New Zealand.

“Yeah, I was thinking that it could be a good investment.” He admits. “Maybe a diversity into a resort style property.”

“You’re going to buy a hotel?” Percy’s eyebrow ticks up skeptically.

“Why not?” He shrugs slightly. “No different than owning the apartment buildings in SoHo.”

“From finance heir to real estate mogul.” The younger man laughs, nudging Harry’s shoulder. “Hey man, if that’s what you want to do? Enjoy it. Make sure they keep an owner’s suite ready for you to drop by whenever.”

“Exactly.” He grins as Stanley guides the car out into traffic and away from the skyscraper. ‘Castillo Holdings’ is proudly proclaimed in large gold letters at the top of the building and on the plaque mortared into the stone pillar beside the doors. “Name it ‘Harry’s Place’ or some whimsical kind of thing.”

Percy snorts. “This from the man who gets a giggle out of taking business dinners to Harry’s instead of Delmonico’s. Of course you would call it Harry’s Place.”

He smirks slightly, tapping his fingers on his knee. Forcing himself not to trace the scars on the side of his thigh like he would do if he was alone. “Like you wouldn’t do the same.” He huffs back playfully.

“Percy’s Palace,” he answers without hesitation, smirking right back at his friend. “Gotta have that alliteration.”

“Palace, huh?” He chuckles softly, nodding in agreement. “I like it. It would be a place that people would talk about.”

“Hell yeah they would.” Taking the approval as a compliment, he grins. “Build it right on the Vegas strip. Blow Caesar’s out of the water.”

“Now you’re talking serious investment.” It’s almost immediately that his mind starts turning over that information. Running the numbers.

"Tam loves Vegas." Percy reveals, his smirk slipping into something much more besotted. After meeting at that fateful Met Gala a month ago, he and Tamara had flown to Las Vegas for a week and spent time wrapped up in each other learning everything they could about the soulmate they had been searching for, for so long.

“You’re lucky.” Harry will admit that easily, not a hint of jealousy, even though he knows that he hides really well. “Honestly, she’s perfect for you.”

"You're next." Percy insists. He leans back in his seat and watches Manhattan roll past the windows, contended as a house cat. "I know you're bummed about not having marks, but I know we can find you the right girl."

“Yeah.” Harry nods, not willing to bring down Percy with his own depressive thoughts. He had tried that route, went logical. Lucy had ended up breaking up with him. “She’s out there.”

"Who knows?" He's trying to be encouraging, but Percy is in that giddy, dreamy place of a new relationship where everything is love-centric. And more than that, his love-centric. "Maybe it's one of Tam's friends?"

“It’s possible.” He chuckles, doubting it. He honestly doesn’t know if he’s meant for love. Maybe he doesn’t have marks because he’s not suitable for that kind of relationship. It happens. It’s just convincing his mother than it’s not the universes fault.

They're a little bit quieter by the time they arrive at the party. The Clover Club is a favorite bar with excellent crafted cocktails, unique beers, and gourmet bar food that is a perfect choice for the intimate engagement party of two people who grew up casual but like to indulge in the finer things now that it's not out of budget.

Tamara, radiant in a white dress with pink flowers, squeaks with delight when she sees the sleek, black Maserati pull up to the curb. She is getting out of an Uber with her parents and little sister but her focus has immediately shifted.

“There she is.” Percy barely waits for the car to stop before he is jumping out. Harry chuckles as he follows behind him a moment later after the car actually stops rolling. “See? We arrived at the perfect time.” He calls out to Percy, waving to Tamara politely even though she only has eyes for her soulmate at the moment.

The couple murmur to each of quietly for a moment, savoring a few sweet kisses after three impossibly long days apart. When Tamara can finally do something other than gaze adoringly into Percy's eyes, she sighs happily and looks back to the people around them. She introduces her mother, father, and her sister to her newly-minted fiancé and Percy introduces Harry in turn.

They seem like nice people, although it’s clear that they are a little out of their depths. He doesn’t miss the speculative looks as they try to take everything in all at once.

"It's our first time in New York City," Tamara's sister Renee explains. "It's...a lot."

"It's beautiful," her mother sighs happily.

"We can't wait to show you the sights." Percy ushers everyone inside. They're the first arrivals, and others will be coming momentarily, but he wants to have everyone settled. "Harry's going to come look at venues with us this weekend but I promise we won't overwhelm you with it. We'll have fun while you're here."

“Yes.” Harry nods, motioning everyone towards the doors. “Honestly it should be quick to pick the venue.”

"Mack is coming too, right?" Tamara asks, glancing over her parents' heads at her soulmate as he holds open the door for everyone.

"Absolutely." Percy nods emphatically. "She's going to be our best ally."

“Mack?” Harry frowns slightly as he looks towards Percy. “The roommate I’ve never managed to actually meet?”

"She works nights a lot," Percy reminds him, waving it off. When Tamara's parents look curious, he goes on. "My best friend growing up became a wedding planner. The event business that she works for offered her a transfer from a smaller office so she took it. She only got to the city a few weeks ago, so there hasn't been a lot of chance to get everyone together yet."

Harry rolls his eyes at the slightly protective tone to his friend’s voice. He had asked about this friend, only to be stonewalled. It had made him a little apathetic about meeting “Mack”.

"You're gonna like her." Percy predicts, pointing one knowing finger at Harry. He'd been cautious about the introduction because he's protective of his friends, not because he thought they would butt heads.

There is no more chance to talk about it though, as they step into the club and Percy turns his attention to the staff. They've booked the event space for the night and paid premium for plenty of the gourmet food and drink options for all of their guests, and he wants the night to be perfect. As perfect as Tamara is. As perfect as their wedding and their future will be.

The warm lights reflect off the brick walls. Gleam against the tap that line the wall, but Harry is more interested in the whiskey. He slides up to the polished bar and taps his fingers lightly, eager for a drink.

"What can I get for you tonight, sir?" The bartender assigned to the private event space is a beautiful young woman with a bright smile and platinum blonde hair swept up in a ponytail. She slides over to him with ease, measuring him up at a glance just the way everyone does in this city.

He shoots her a small smile. “Double Highland Park.” He orders. “Straight up.”

"Coming right up." Her interest at least momentarily piqued, she takes another glance before sauntering away to pour the whiskey that was so very rarely ordered. That's a hell of an expensive glass. Maybe this won't be just another average party after all.

“Thank you.” Harry watches her pour, admiring the way she makes it look elegant. The smooth amber colored liquor in the heavy crystal cut glass is slid across the bar to him and he nods. “Thanks.” The twenty in his palm is left in the lacquered top as he takes the glass to lift it for a quick sip.

There is a commotion at the door as more friends pour in. This seems to be a particularly punctual group of friends and Harry tucks that information away appreciatively.

Music starts to pour in through the speakers, a little more festive than most parties, but it’s fun.

Jovial chattering fills the space as more and more people arrive, and people come and go from the bar around him as guests truly join the party. About ten minutes into the stream of arrivals, a tall woman in silk walks through the door to be greeted by raucous shouts from Percy.

Turning towards the commotion, Harry watches as Percy grabs Tamara’s arm and rushes forward to wrap his arms around the woman and squeeze hard enough to make her squeal. Intrigued by the display and wondering if this is the Mack Percy had been talking about.

They're almost of a height, Harry notes with interest — Tamara being fairly tall for a woman he doesn't suppose that she often meets others her size. But the new arrival is decidedly curvier than the willowy actress.

"Let me breathe, Perce!" The woman is laughing, shoving Percy with an air of sibling playfulness. "And let me say hi to Tam Tam, for crying out loud!"

Harry finishes his drink, watching the entire time as the statuesque woman pulls away from Percy and gives Tamara an equally enthusiastic greeting. Whoever she is, she is confident. Many women might be intimidated by the radiating beauty and obvious size difference between her and a famous actress, but not her.

"My mother Bernadette, my father Joe, and my little sister Renee." Tamara introduces her family in turn. "This is Mack. She's been Percy's best friend since they were kids."

So it is Mack. Harry hums, trying to figure out how he is feeling about this development. Percy had never mentioned that his roommate was positively beautiful, confident and voluptuous.

"Next door neighbors," he hears her explain to Tamara's family with ease. "Our mothers served together and we ended up in the same class at school. We were pretty much connected at the hip for a long time."

"I thought you moved a lot when you were a kid?" Renee asks, trying to place all of the story's ducks into a neat row.

"Oh, I did," Percy nods. "We both did. We ended up in Fayetteville when we were...twelve?" Mack nods and he goes on. "I had been in Florida before that, and Korea. But I was born in Illinois."

Harry moves back over to the bar, asking for another refill as he continues to watch the introductions and the way that this friend interacts with the people closest to Tamara and Percy. Sometimes he wonders if he’s too detached, but he also likes to people watch. He learns things about people that way. Reading them.

"We're not doing official business tonight." He hears Mack insist. "We're here to celebrate, not split hairs. I'm gonna go get a drink before you start quizzing me on vendors."

The sharp click of heals announces the approach and he has the new glass of whiskey in his hand right as the figure draped in black silk approaches.

"Hi honey." You smile when the bartender comes over and it's a bright, confident dazzle of white teeth and red-painted lips. "What's the best thing on your menu for a rum drinker?"

"Do you like mint?" The bartender asks. When the woman identified as Mack say yes, the bartender smiles back. "I've got just the thing. Give me one second."

Harry studies you up close as you turn to appraise him. Noting the carefully crafted makeup, professional but bold with the red lipstick. Like you had come from work and dressed up the look with a quick trip into your cosmetic bag. “Rum is best on a desert beach.” He jokes. “Burned to signal a ship to rescue you.”

"Only if you're a snob," you counter, leaning against the bar and noting his simple, straight glass of brown liquor. A subtle whiff reveals it's whiskey. "Sometimes it's okay to just enjoy things because they're fun."

Okay, not a Pirates of the Caribbean fan. “And rum is fun?” He asks curiously, tilting his head as he watches you judge his drink. He lifts his brows and offers it to you to try.

"Oh fuck, that was from a movie?" You snort, laughing at your own self for being the actual asshole in this scenario. "Sorry, no, I clearly haven't seen it. Them? I'm more of a Star Wars girl." When he motions to his glass you raise your own eyebrow in turn. "What is it?"

“Expensive, snobbish, whiskey.” He smirks, wiggling the glass enticingly. Playfully. Something that is a little surprising to him, normally very serious in life. “Highland Park.”

"Sounds like something I can't afford to breathe near," you joke, but since it's just a sip being offered to you by a ridiculously handsome man at a private party being thrown by your best friend, you figure it's safe enough and also too intriguing to pass up. "Cheers." You raise his glass to him and tip it back, taking just a sip but immediately shutting your eyes and practically sighing over the deep, complex flavors.

The smirk turns to a genuine smile as he watches you appreciate the whiskey. The bartender brings back a drink and announces the name “Queen’s Park Swizzle.” She grins and Harry nods. “Another glass of Highland Park.” He orders with a wink and nod towards you. “I think she’s stolen mine.”

"Well I do drink pirate liquor," you joke, and have another sip since he's offered. Once you put the glass down again, you hold out your hand. "I'm Mack." The nickname is more than a decade old now, something that you've absorbed into who you are and made a part of you. So much so that it's obvious who knows you intimately versus who knows you through business based on what they call you. Friends and family? They've all called you Mack since you were fifteen.

“Harry.” He takes your hand and instead of shaking it, he bends down and presses a kiss to the back of it. Smelling the fruity, spicy fragrance of whatever lotion you have used.

Motherfucker. He's charming, too? Your stomach twists, but only because you're not used to this kind of thing. Gentlemanly behavior, most people call it. The men you spend your days around are usually either very in love grooms or very out of love grooms. The former can look right at you and still not see you, which is somewhat sweet. And the later are decidedly not gentlemen. It's such a distracting moment that it actually takes you another few seconds to process who he is. "Wait, Harry Harry? Like Percy's boss? Apparently the only competition I've ever had for the position of that weirdo's best friend?" You motion over your shoulder with one thumb and make a mental note to smack Percy soundly for not telling you his other best friend was so hot. "It's really nice to finally meet you."

“I was starting to wonder if you were real.” He admits as he smirks, standing tall but not letting go of your hand just yet. “Percy has been frustratingly tight lipped about you.” Now he wonders if it was because you were not built like supermodel, but he would hate to believe that Percy thought he was that snobbish.

"A lot of people..." Finance bros "find it weird that we're still friends after so long. They expect one of us to be gay, or for there to be some secret romantic history or something. And there's none of that. We're kind of...extra siblings." Maybe that's why he hasn't said much. It is certainly why you tend to be tight lipped about him to people you aren't sure of. But then...Percy is sure of Harry. He talks about him all the time. "Well, here I am. And here you are. Maybe he didn't introduce us before because he thinks we'll get along too well."

He contemplates that and shrugs. “Who knows?” He snorts after a moment, “maybe it’s because he thinks we wouldn’t get along.”

"Maybe." That has you smirking as you tip back another sip of the whiskey that you're sure costs more than your car payment. "You are a snob."

He chuckles, tilting his head as he picks up his new drink after it’s been delivered. “Tend to be.” He can admit that. “Only about certain things.”

"Like whiskey." Which, you have to admit, he's right about.

“I have been known to drink Jack Daniels.” He admits. “At gunpoint.”

You snort, shaking your head at him. The last sip of the pricey whiskey is gone a moment later, and you set the empty glass aside. "You would not like my liquor cabinet."

“Let me guess…..” he narrows his eyes playfully and looks up and down at you. “Tito’s vodka, a bottle of Whipped Smirnoff, Sailor Jerry, Captain Morgan Original…” he takes another sip of his whiskey. “Annnnnd a bottle of Malibu.” He grins. “The original coconut one.” He points a finger at you from the hand holding his glass. “How did I do?”

"I was just going to say there's no whiskey there, but damn!" Clutching your proverbial pearls, you are doubled over laughing on the bar as you try to recall what is actually on your bar cart at home at the moment. "The vodka is definitely Tito's, but the rum is Kraken. Yes to the Malibu, but you missed the tequila. El Jimador Silver. Which is so much better than anyone gives it credit for."

“It actually is a good tequila.” Harry admits with a grin. “But I prefer Tapatio 110.” He doesn’t have anything against any of the alcohol you’ve listed, if he’s honest.

"That's an excellent choice." He has good taste, you'll give him that without hesitation. The cut of his suit is another, much larger, indicator of that. "So what do you do, Work Friend Harry, other than judge other people's liquor habits and quote movies to strangers?"

He chuckles. “I work.” He admits, shrugging slightly.

"I think we've solved the mystery of how we've never met." You pick up your cocktail now, enjoying the feeling of the cold glass and the sweet, sharp, sour scent. "We're both workaholics."

“Wedding planning, right?” He asks, even though he knows that what you do. “I bet you do a lot of business around Valentine’s Day and oddly enough, Christmas, right?”

"New Years Eve is popular these days, too. And all summer long is pretty constantly busy." You've also been seeing a rash of people lately getting married on their birthdays, which is kind of fun as long as the marriage is a happy one.

“I don’t understand that trend.” He admits, shaking his head. “It smacks of selfishness. Making all of your guests give up their holiday, plus all the staff.” He huffs, watching you switch to your swizzle. “Making them give up their holiday to work a wedding is just wrong.”

"I get wanting to make your event memorable." After all, wasn't that the goal for pretty much everyone? To remember their event forever? "I just think it's an unfortunate truth that sometimes people forget the staff that work these things are actual people with their own families and lives."

Harry nods, thinking about Lucy’s John. It’s strange to think about her again so often lately. Maybe it’s because he met her at his brother’s wedding. “Just promise me you won’t put me at the single’s table?” He snorts. “I’ll pay you whatever you want.”

"I promise." Not that there's even been any discussion of how tables will be set up at all, but you'll find a way to make it work. Something about Harry is very endearing despite being so easy to tease. He's a likable guy. "No bribe necessary."

He chuckles. “So how will it work being both the planner and a part of the wedding?” Other guests are mingling and talking but his focus has stayed on you since you’ve joined him at the bar.

"One of the junior girls from my firm is going to help out during the ceremony. It will help her get her footing on a big wedding with a safety net in place, because I'll still be there." The whole thing was already worked out, of course. You weren't the first planner at Sparkling Nights to ever plan a wedding they were in.

“Do you ever work with Adore?” He asks.

Your nose wrinkles, but you nod. “The matchmakers? Yeah. Our firms have a contact but I don’t like to work those events if I can help it.”

He lifts a brow again, noticing the judgement in your voice and expression. “What, you don’t like them?”

“Those girls are…deeply judgmental, at best.” Have you done some judging tonight too? Sure. But nothing like what they do. “Not in the every day way like we’ve done. Drinks or taste in movies or whatever. The ones I’ve met are all shallow to the bone and turn people into math equations. They talk shit about their clients behind their backs all the time, which is just horrifically unprofessional.”

He hums as he finishes his drink. Seeing how it could be seen as judgmental when you job is to literally assign value to someone as if they were an asset. He had stopped his subscription over a year ago, because it seemed like the women just kept getting younger and more obvious in their want of being a trophy wife without having any substantive value beyond their looks. “Well,” he says after he swallows the last burn of his drink. “Worked for my brother.” He tells you. “Married two years.”

Well shit. You glance down at the glass in your hand and remember all over again that there were multiple reasons why you got made fun of in school. Not being able to keep your mouth shut was a pretty old problem. “Good for him,” you manage, feeling very much like you’ve put your foot in your mouth.

“Um hmm.” Harry sees Scott Bledsoe behind you, motioning to him to capture his attention and call him over. “Excuse me.” He murmurs politely, setting his drink down and pulling another twenty out of his pocket to put on the bar. “I see someone I need to speak with.”

"Fuck..." you mutter under your breath, groaning at your own idiocy as he walks away.

******

The party has been going on for hours. Harry has spoken to, or greeted every person in this room and it’s sad to say that his thoughts still drift back to the conversation at the bar. He shouldn’t have walked away like that, it was rude, but it had kind of cut him when she was insulting a service that hadn’t even been successful in finding him a partner. He’s had a few more drinks, probably more than he should have, so he’s outside to clear his head and secretly craving a cigarette.

The scent of smoke is distinct, he knows there is someone out here enjoying the thing he is craving — but it’s to his dismay when that person happens to be a tall, curvaceous woman in black silk.

Harry assumes that you don’t see him, standing farther down the railing and looking over the surprisingly nice view from the roof deck. Groaning quietly when the fresh puff of nicotine wafts his way.

“Would you…like one?” That particular groan is the sound of an ex-smoker who misses it, but there’s definitely a risk that he might be offended by the offer because he’s quit. At this point you’re well aware this man doesn’t like you, but that’s your own fault. You just don’t want it to be too difficult for Percy during the wedding planning.

“I shouldn’t.” His answer is automatic, but he’s moving towards you. Towards the rich and sweet smell of burning tobacco. “My mother always scolds me, but I can’t help it.” He tells you as he pulls an ornate zippo out of his pants pocket.

"I won't tell on you." The antique cigarette case you found at an estate sale ten years ago is still with you, and you click it open to offer him one of the ill-advised treasures inside.

The case is beautiful, sterling silver and trimmed in gold. He plucks a slender cigarette out the case and nods as he puts it up to his lips.

"I'm sorry I put my foot in my mouth earlier." It's the adult thing to do, to apologize, and you'll do it even if it's only to keep things smooth for Percy. I had just come from a meeting at the Adore offices and I was still all riled up about them. I have nothing against the people who use the service, I just think it's shitty the way some of those girls talk about their clients."

He chuckles and shrugs after taking a long drag off the cigarette. Groaning slightly at the taste and approving of the flavor. He glances over at you. “You never talked back about a client before?”

“Not to another professional in any kind of connected field,” you insist. He looks good smoking. A little more rugged. Less like he’s been sculpted from marble. “Usually only to Percy, if I’m honest.”

“So the problem is that they are analytical.” He hums. “And you are emotional.” It makes sense. You probably have an emotional connection to every client you work with by the end.

"The problem is that they treat analysis like the only answer and demean anyone who believes in emotion." You have to qualify it, since you feel like he's barreling toward being upset with you again, and you're trying to prevent that. "Again, I'm only talking about the half a dozen or so women from that office that I've met."

He’s relaxed a little not that he’s figured out that you are malicious. He shrugs slightly. “It’s a numbers game to them. Basic addition and subtraction.” Dating Lucy had given him some insight into that world. It hadn’t been too far from his own, surprisingly.

"How do you figure that?" If his brother had used Adore then he might have some perspective on the whole thing that is different from your own.

“It’s simple.” He takes another drag of his cigarette. “Some men want a 5’6” woman who weighs less than 130 lbs, preferably with natural blonde hair and reasonably well educated.” He watches as your eyes narrow and wonders if you think he’s listing off his own preferences. “If 47% of their female clients don’t meet that specific criteria, then they have to narrow it down to what fits in that remaining 53%.” He chuckles. “It’s a numbers game. What adds up and what can be overlooked to get to that match that you could possibly tolerate grinding teeth or leaving the towel on the floor for the next 25 years.”

"I guess I don't understand why people care about the height and weight of their partner , or even the hair color, instead of their joys and hobbies and passions." Although, from his estimation? It certainly does hit home how you're still single. It stings like a burning welt but you don't flinch, just cast you eyes down at your cigarette and swallow a sigh.

“Not everyone is blessed to carry scars from their soulmate.” Harry hums with a shrug of one shoulder. Hating how he doesn’t carry them.

"And some of us have them but still haven't made that match." You just shrug, pretending — or pretending to pretend — that it doesn't matter. "It is what it is. I don't believe you have to find your soulmate to be happy. It's just one way of many."

“I can understand what you mean.” He admits. “You don’t have to like those ladies. They are just providing a luxury service to a lot of assholes.” He jokes.

"I guess I just don't like that the ones I've met act like they're the only right answer and still don't respect the people who use their service." A dry, low chuckle escapes you and you shrug. "Or maybe I'm just a bitter, single, fat girl. Who knows?"

He huffs slightly. “You aren’t fat.” He counters, frowning as he looks you up and down. “Not a part of you is disproportionate.” Yes, are you thicker than most women hoping to bag a rich husband in New York? Maybe, but your confidence is refreshing and it doesn’t seem to be steeped in arrogance.

"I don't think I am, either. But to most of New York, it's a sin for women to enjoy food." Either way, you wave it off and take a last drag from your cigarette.

He chuckles. “But they love to go out and be seen.” He reminds you with a smirk. “Where’s your favorite place to eat?”

"I've only been in the city a few weeks." You smile at the question, taking it to mean that he isn't one of the people who thinks eating is a sin. "So far I really like the sandwiches from the bodega at the end of my block."

“You should go to Keen’s.” He suggests. “Real old world vibes and the steak is good.”

"Should I?" A smile curls your lips up, red lipstick unbothered and un-smudged by smoking, and when faced with an abundance of Fuck it energy and the hottest man you've ever spoken to in real life, you sort of throw up your proverbial hands. "Is that where you take your dates to impress them?"

He tilts his head as a curious look enters his eyes. “Only if she’s a steak woman.” He admits. “If it’s sushi, I take her to Sushi Noz.” He arches a brow as he waits.

"I sincerely hope you're not too attached to the sushi idea now that you've said it. I'm definitely a steak kind of girl." The mischievousness of your smile hides the uncertainty there, because you don't necessarily have a lot of experience with guys like this. And even less success. But why not try? "What time should I pick you up?"

You’re bold. His curiosity turns into near amusement, lips smirking slightly as he takes another drag of the cigarette, his last. He grinds out the coal and blows out the smoke. “8.” He decides, chuckling.

"Eight." You echo it, tucking away the disbelief, and nod. You'll have just enough time after the appointments tomorrow to go home and change into something far more flattering and less practical. "Sounds good."

He nods, “sounds good.”

Wandering back into the party so you don't ruin the beautiful (and slightly unexpected) tension of the moment, you find Percy and Tamara by the bar when you slide up to get another drink.

“Sooooooo.” Tamara grins, still riding the high of actually celebrating being engaged this man, as she clings to his arm. “Tell me what you think about our choices for venues?” She asks.

“It will depend on the size of your guest list and how faithful to Manhattan you want to be,” you remind them, but extract a small notebook from your purse anyway. You know they want to stay in the heart of the city and they’re both fairly traditional. “Places like the Central Park Boathouse, Sony Hall, or the Foundry all have very different vibes but still give the traditional elegance you’re looking for.”

“Too bad we couldn’t have the Met.” Tamara sighs dreamily. “Since we met there.”

“You can,” you remind her. They have the budget, after all. “It’s just booked two years out.”

She sighs softly and shakes her head before turning those big, expressive eyes up to Percy. “I don’t want to wait that long to marry you.” She admits softly.

“Me either.” He leans down, kissing her twice and then a third time for good measure. “Wouldn’t it be easiest to book a hotel ballroom?” He looks back at you. “We’re going to have guests flying in from all over.”

“We can certainly do that,” you nod and glance back at your list. “And book a block of rooms for your guests in the process.”

She hums and looks over at Percy. “Where did Harry’s brother get married?” She asks softly. “Maybe we can book there.”

“Lotte?” Percy looks to you and you nod. “It was beautiful. And they were pretty easy to work with, I think.” Expensive, obviously, but he doesn’t care about that. He can afford it and Tamara is worth it.

“Exactly.” He had struggled with the idea of moving himself, but he knew that Tamara needed to live in LA.

“Buck up, soldier,” you tease, nudging his arm. “This is another adventure. You’ll love LA.”

“I know.” He tilts his head and shoots you an apologetic sigh. “I just wish that the timing was better.”

"That's sweet of you," you promise him. He really is your best friend for a reason. "But who are we if we can't handle a curveball here and there?"

“Have you had any luck?” He asks. “You know I can just keep paying rent.” He reminds you.

"You don't need to do that." The little two bedroom in Washington Heights that he welcomed you into when you arrived in the city had been more than enough for him alone and it was just enough for two. Without him, your savings will stretch a few months before you start to struggle, but you just can't let him pay rent on a place that he isn't living in anymore. It doesn't sit well with you. "I have a couple of interviews next week, we'll see if any of them pan out."

“This is my fault though.” He insists. “At least let me pay until you find someone.”

“We’re not talking about rent at your engagement party,” you scold. Truth be told you’ve been looking at moving out to Brooklyn or Queens as soon as his lease is up and there’s not too terrible options that way. Nothing fancy, but you don’t need fancy.

“We’ll discuss it later.” He points at you playfully. “For real.” You had a nasty habit of changing the subject if you were uncomfortable with the subject, and your finances were one of those touchy things for you.

“Sure.” An off-hand dismissal of the topic is pretty on point for you, but you squeeze his arm before turning back to the bar to order another drink. You’re not trying to be flippant, but this is a celebration.

Harry rejoins the party and mingles with the other guests. Laughing and trading jokes, telling stories about when Tamara and Percy met, proud that he had facilitated the entire thing. He chews on his lip as he considers getting another drink and decides that it’s a little too soon for another so he wanders over to the buffet spread.

“Have you tried any of the food yet?” Percy comes up on his side and picks up a small plate with an artfully styled piece of fried chicken with some kind of slaw on it. “It’s incredible here.”

“No,” he admits with a small grin. “I’ve been drinking my dinner so far.” He glances over towards you and then back to the artfully arranged appetizers.

“Any reason for that?” He isn’t going to pretend he didn’t see Harry talking to you earlier. Or that he doesn’t smell like your cigarettes now. You’re the only person he knows who still smokes Camel Turkish Royals and Harry always buys American Spirits when he stress smokes.

“Annoyance.” Harry snorts. “Intrigue.” He admits a moment later. “Ever met someone you shouldn’t like, but you do?”

“Plenty of times.” The two men stand in bespoke, expensive suits and eat gourmet finger food, surveying the pastry around them. “But I assume we’re talking about something a little more striking than a professor or coworker?”

“I’m apparently going on a date tomorrow night.” He snorts softly and picks up a plate with two teriyaki meatballs on it. “I guess I should call and make a reservation.”

“You sound…” Percy frowns. “Less than excited?”

“Given my history with dating?” Harry asks, lifting a brow. “I guess I’m not exactly hopeful.” He admits.

“So you’re not grumpy about it because of the girl, but because you don’t think it’ll go anywhere?” He’s itching to ask who. To find out if the glances he saw amounted to anything. But he doesn’t want to spook Harry too early.

“It never does.” Harry taps the plate and looks around the room. The very symbol of love existing is right here, but it always eludes him.

“It only has to be different once,” Percy reminds him.

He huffs slightly, unable to argue with that, but it’s so vague. “Of course.” He doesn’t want to bring his best friend down, tonight of all nights. “There’s plenty to look forward to, after all.”

“Not to be nosy,” Percy smirks. “But I’m gonna be nosy. Why did you ask if you weren’t excited about her?”

“I didn’t ask.” Harry admits, although his lips twist up slightly in amusement. “She did.”

“Oh shit.” That promotes the younger man to burst out in a fit of surprised laughter, though Percy quickly smothers the sound and peaks it down to an amused giggle. “Are we talking about who I think we’re talking about?”

“I’m sure we are.” Harry rolls his eyes at his friend as he picks up a meatball on the slender toothpick and takes a bite.

“Well shit.” Percy repeats, grinning at Harry like he’s just gotten the best gossip ever. “I mean, I’m not surprised, but I am impressed. I that makes you the third guy that she’s asked out ever.”

“Bullshit.” Harry pulls a disbelieving face because he isn’t swallowing that load of garbage for all the money in Manhattan. “That woman has only asked out three men?” He huffs, nodding towards where you are clearly chatting happily and smiling almost flirtatiously with an older man. He’s old enough to be your grandfather, but still.

"Don't let the extrovert exterior fool you." Lowering his voice, Percy glances over at you and then back to Harry. "That's a girl who lives on romance novels and period dramas, dreaming about her soulmate sweeping her off her feet." He huffs softly under his breath. "But kids are mean. She when through a hell of a lot of shit in school and got bullied pretty mercilessly. The big, brassy, bad ass thing is...it's a defense mechanism. If she asked you? She went out on a pretty big limb."

“I think she felt bad about insulting me.” Harry chuckles quietly. “She was talking shit about the women at Adore.”

"She...kinda hates them." Percy laughs along with him, but he meets Harry's eyes meaningfully. "She was telling me about the meetings she's been having and how shitty they are to her. Personal attacks. She said one of the women in the office had done a statistics sheet on her and it was awful."

“That’s because she doesn’t fit the assumed vision of what a valuable woman in this city is.” Harry agrees, knowing exactly who would have done that statistic sheet on her. “It doesn’t really mean it’s personal to them.”

"No," Percy agrees. "But it's personal to her."

“Believe me, I can understand that.” He had been encouraged to not discontinue his engagement of Adore but he hadn’t seen the point when no one had been compatible.

"All I'm saying is that if she asked, it's not out of guilt. It's genuine interest." Percy does take a moment though, letting that sink in to Harry's mind. "But if you're not really interested in return? I'm gonna ask, as both of your friend, that you tell her up front."

Harry frowns slightly. “So you don’t think this is a good idea?” He asks.

"I want you to accept because you want to," Percy says. "Not because I want you to."

“I would have said no if I didn’t want to go.” Percy should know him better than that. He sighs softly. “I guess I’m just worried that it will turn out badly.”

"No one is saying you have to marry her. But you both deserve a good date." Eternally honest Percy shrugs again. "You've both had a string of bad luck lately, that's all I'm saying."

“We are going to Keen’s.” He tells his friend, knowing that he can count on the other man’s opinion. “She’s gonna pick me up.”

Percy smirks, this time because he knows the restaurant vice was Harry’s. You would have picked Italian. “Her favorite flowers are zinnias. Just…in case you were wondering.”

“Zinnias.” Even though he hadn’t thought about getting flowers just yet he tucks that bit of information away. “Any particular color?”

“Reds. Oranges. Pinks. Yellows. Anything that reminds you of sunrise.” Patting his shoulder twice, Percy is still smiling when he steps away. “Tomorrow is going to be a hell of a day.”

Harry stares down at his plate. “Yes it will be.” He murmurs softly.

******

The morning is a complicated and energetic affair. A large, black rental car arrives in the heart of Washington Heights to pick you up with your best friend and his fiancée inside, then it’s off to get Tamara’s family from their hotel and finally Harry from his place in Tribeca. You’re in business mode this morning, dressed professionally and carrying your necessary resources. Today you’re more than the groom’s best friend. You’re the wedding planner.

Today is casually business. He dresses down, if he’s honest. Jeans, a sweater and a sports coat. Formal enough for some places but casual enough to not scream uptight. Tonight, he’ll change into something else before taking you dinner.

You go over the list of appointments for the day with everyone in the car, because everyone had (of course) had an opinion in where the wedding should be held. Even Percy’s parents had called you to give their opinion, despite currently being deployed overseas. Thankfully, the hotel that Percy and Tamara had mentioned to you last night had actually had availability today to be seen. They’ll be setting up for another wedding while you’re there, but that isn’t a bad thing.

“The hotel is fine.” Harry assures them. “Peter and Charlotte loved it. It held everyone and the staff there is very discreet.” He chuckles. “Uncle Phil got too drunk and they escorted him up to his room without any issues.”

“Everybody has an Uncle Phil of sorts,” Tamara chuckles, thinking specifically of an aunt of hers. “When in the day are we going to the hotel?” She asks, keenly interested in that particular location.

“Second,” you assure her. The earliest appointment of the day is the venue that her parents were most interested in, though you think there’s very little chance of Percy or Tamara falling in love with it. Neither of them cares much for rowing. “The Central Park Boathouse is first. It’s a beautiful venue that will hold your whole guest list with a little room to spare. And it’s perfect for some lovely photos so you wouldn’t have to leave the property for them.”

“I still wish we could book the Met.” Tamara sighs fondly as she snuggles into Percy’s side. “But I don’t want to wait two to three years.”

“I did it in a call this morning,” you let them know, but qualify it carefully. “If they have a cancellation, we’re on the waiting list.”

“Ohhhhhh you’re the best.” She beams and is a hopeful gleam to her eyes. “Whenever.”

“We’ll keep our fingers crossed, but I have a good feeling we’ll find something we love today.” If you’re honest, you don’t hold out hope for the Met. But for Percy you’d try just about anything that would make him and his soulmate happy.

“I think you have to align your expectations with reality.” Harry hums quietly. “It would be nice, but it’s a lofty goal.”

“It’s a dream,” Tamara admits. “But there are no shortage of beautiful places in Manhattan to get married.”

“That is very true.” He agrees. “You just need to find the venue that matches what you two have dreamed about together.”

It doesn't surprise you when the Central Park Boathouse isn't to their taste. You can tell almost instantly that they aren't going to take to it, and while Tamara's parents ooh and ahh and encourage them, everyone ultimately agrees that it isn't right. Focusing on professionalism means you are doing your best not to be distracted by how good Harry looks dressed down for the daytime.

You are dressed very professionally, although he can tell that the carefully crafted outfit has been one that is well used. Still, he admires that your outfit is tailored to your body, fitting it perfectly and enhancing your curves rather than detracting from them.

On the ride over to the hotel, you review numbers with Percy and Tamara. Their guest list stands at just about 150 people and all the places they’re looking at can accommodate that easily. It will feel luxurious and intimate, rather than bustling or crowded.

“Here we are.” Percy pulls the rental car into the hotel’s parking lot and smiled up at the building. He’d been a guest at Peter Castillo’s wedding and thought it was nice, but hadn’t been thinking about his own wedding at the time. The girl he had been dating at the time was…not exactly long term relationship material. By her own admission.

“The bridal suite and groomsman suites are very nice.” Harry assures them. “Separated by a floor but there is a stairwell between them in case you need to access either party.”

“Your brother got married here?” Tamara’s mother asks, remembering that had been mentioned the night before.

“Yes madam.” He tells her with a proud smile. Charlotte and Peter aren’t soulmates, neither one of them has marks either, but they have created a strong and meaningful bond. “Very wonderful societal event.”

“But did you enjoy it?” That is the important part to her. Their family isn’t a part of anyone’s society. They’re not looking to climb into it, either.

“I enjoyed it.” It wasn’t to his taste. It wasn’t even to Peter’s taste, but it was what his bride wanted so he had happily conceded. Peter had always talked about a wedding on a beach. Harry had no idea what he would want.

His tone is soothing. Smooth and reassuring, and she smiles happily, momentarily mollified. The girl is large and grand, more imposing than welcoming, but Tamara has hearts in her eyes. “Even if we don’t have it here,” she hums excitedly. “This is where everyone should stay. We can book a block of rooms.”

“The hotel is a great place to host a large group.” Percy agrees. “The room service is amazing.” Even though he had not been a part of the wedding party, he had booked a hotel room, making a little weekend of it.

“Well let’s get inside and see what you think of the event spaces,” you urge, bringing them into the lobby with you. They can Oo and Ah while you check in at the desk.

This is a space that Harry is quite familiar with. There is a charity function held here every year, so he doesn’t walk with the others. Instead, he hangs back as you talk with a sharp dressed concierge.

The woman in all black with nearly done hair and sharp make up speaks with you for a few seconds before nodding and stepping away. “You’re not going to have a look around?” You ask Harry, surprised to find him wandering toward you as the others inspect the lobby with interest.

“I’ve been here enough.” He shrugs, taking note of the way your back straightens slightly and the toe of your heels is scuffed. “How about you?”

“Never.” You shake your head, suddenly far more focused on the man in front of you than the hotel. “I haven’t had much time to explore since I got to New York.”

“Well then we should change that.” He huffs. “You have to be able to be completely blasé about every venue.” He jokes.

“Is that what’s required out here?” You let out a soft chuckle. “Raleigh has a…we’ll call it a slightly different vibe, but that’s an understatement.”

“Absolutely. New Yorkers aren’t impressed with anything.” He tells you. “They’ve seen it all, done it all and will complain the entire time.”

“Well,” you shrug. “I’ve lived in plenty of places and seen plenty of things. But I don’t mind enthusiasm.”

He chuckles. “Give it time.” He jokes. “You’ll be just a sullen as everyone else.”

“I hope not.” But rather than judgmental, your smile is beaming. Like you’re daring the city to take away your joy. “Or at least I hope it takes a long, long time.”

“You just have to find the beauty in the small things.” He suggests. “Or sarcasm.”

“Or both.” Why does he make you smile like this? It’s like your stomach is doing flip flops.

“Now you’re thinking like a New Yorker.” He jokes. “‘Why not both’ should be etched onto the Statue of Liberty.”

“That would sort of change the tone of the thing,” you joke with a grin.

“Maybe.” He snorts, shrugging slightly. “Never actually seen her up close.”

"But..." you startle, actually taken aback by that. "You live here!"

“And how many times do the locals avoid the tourist traps like the plague?” He asks, arching a brow.

That makes you huff, albeit playfully. "If I find out you've never been to the Met, I'm changing our date tonight."

He chuckles and tilts his head. “No, I’ve been to the Met.” He hums in amusement. Apparently Percy had never shared how he had met Tamara.

"Right..." you realize it just a second later and flinch, hating that you've said something stupid. "Never mind. Forget I said that."

Thankfully, like an answer to your awkward prayers, the event coordinator for the hotel appears in the lobby in the same instant and you don't have to see the realization dawn on Harry's face that his date tonight is with someone who speaks before they think.

Harry watches as you hurry away, embarrassment bloomed on your face and it finds it fascinating. You don’t weigh or measure your words around him. ‘No filter’ his mother would say. He likes it. Makes him wonder what you will say next.

The tour is fairly standard. The ballroom is available for you to tour while it is being set up for tonight’s wedding but the bridal suites are not — for precisely the same reason.

“It’s got enough space for everyone plus dancing.” Harry reminds Percy. “And we can honestly use the penthouse for the after party if you want.”

"The best man?" The event planner asks you with a knowing half-smile. The extra guy in the group who is talking about the after party? At this stage in the game, that is absolutely the best man.

"Of course." Your return smile falters a little, just in the second afterward when you catch her give Harry an appraising sweep of her eyes. Do you have any right to be jealous of someone else checking him out? Absolutely not. Yet? You can't help it.

Percy has already gone off on a tangent about the after party vibe, Harry encouraging him with an arm around his shoulder. The wedding would be for family, for memories. The after party was gonna be for getting wild.

"What do you have as far as available dates?" While Percy, Harry, Tamara, and her parents are all watching the ballroom be set up, you are going to get a little business done. Maybe it will help distract you from that touch of irrational jealousy, while you're at it.

“The first date we have is in nine months.” She rattles off a date with a smile. “There are weddings booked every weekend until then.”

Making note of the date for yourself, you know that's a little longer than Percy and Tamara are eager to wait but they seem to really like this place. "And if the couple were interested in booking a block of rooms here for there guests as well?"

“Of course.” She clicks her tablet and looks at the bookings for that date. “The bridal suite is available as well as a large block of rooms we can hold in reserve for the guests.” She clicks through pages. “We can reserve floors 5,7,9,10,11 and 14.”

"And your team is prepared to work with extra security for the night of the wedding?" Percy isn't willing to take any chances with Tamara's safety and you don't blame him. Being a Hollywood star has its benefits, but also some distinct drawbacks.

“We are equipped to handle all manner of security.” She assures you. “Though some do decide to hire independent advisors as well.”

“Of course. One can never be too careful.” She’s given you a packet of information — printed statistics and suggested floor plans along with contact information for preferred vendors — which will best going over with Percy and Tamara. You’re about to open your mouth for the next of many questions when your work phone rings.

Normally it would be on silent while you’re in a client meeting. Your personal cell phone certainly is, but the cell given to you by your company buzzes insistently in your pocket. And since there is a minimal chance of hearing from some vendors today, it’s good that you left it on. “Excuse me,” you offer the woman a polite smile. “I’ve got to take this.” The number looks familiar but you can’t remember which of the twenty calls you’ve made in the last twenty-four hours it could be returning, so you just excuse yourself to the lobby to take it.

“Hello, this is—” You use your legal name for business, and answer accordingly, “from Dragonfly Events, how can I help you today?”

“Good morning, this is Charlotte Evans, event coordinator for the Met.” She speaks clearly, albeit, a bit rushed. “I believe you had spoken with one of our assistants about being placed on the cancellation list?” The only reason she is calling is because of the name you dropped. Tamara Wilson is one of her niece’s favorite actresses and she had been given so much grief when she had learned that Auntie Charlie had breathed the same air as Tamara the night she met her soulmate.

“Yes, good morning. Thank you for calling me back so promptly.” If this is a polite refusal, as you expect, the call should be over with quickly.

“Of course.” She clears her throat. “The notes say that your clients are Tarama Wilson and Percy Stokes?” She asks. “Would that be the actress, Tamara Wilson?”

“Yes, that is correct.” And you absolutely left their names of purpose. “My clients met at the Met Gala this past May and are quite keen to be married in the same place they met.”

“I see.” Her voice doesn’t betray the wide, excited grin on her face. Auntie Charlie is gonna be the favorite for years to come. She doesn’t add that she had literally been there that night, but hadn’t realized it until the People article came out revealing the announcement about the soulmate pairing. “Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately for your clients, we have just had a cancellation this morning.”

“Oh?” Tamara is going to lose her mind with excitement. “And what would the date be for that?”

She gives the date and pauses. “That is sixty-two days from today. I do understand if that is not plausible for your clients.”

“Are there any constraints with that date?” You ask, not wanting to blurt out that they’ll be thrilled to have a date so soon. “Vendors with contracts that must be honored, or anything to that effect?” Your own pauses, Mid note taking. “And could you tell me please, what portion of the museum the cancellation is for?” Met bookings for different areas accommodate different numbers of guests. You want to have all the information before you go talk to Percy and Tamara.

“That is actually why I contacted you first.” She says, saying without saying, that she thought famous clients would appreciate this more than anyone else. “The previous contract had booked the entire venue.” She tells you. “Although the catering contract was booked with the venue, So that would also have to be absorbed into the new contract.”

“That is perfectly fine with us, as my clients have not booked a caterer yet. Can I have their name?” The entirety of the Met? That is hundreds upon hundreds of guests, or a different location for every single part of the wedding. They’re going to scream when you tell them.

Charlotte gives you the name and telephone number of the catering service. “They are quite good, and luckily the menu has not been contracted, so there is that.”

“Wonderful.” Looking down at the notes in your book, you know this is going to work. This is going to be perfect. “I’ll speak to my clients, of course, but I’m prepared to say that we will accept the cancellation slot and the reservations that have already been made. May I call you back in about five minutes to confirm?”

“Please do.” She hopes that you will. “If not, I will have to contact others who have been requesting to be informed about cancellations.

“Five minutes,” you promise her, before politely saying goodbye and pocketing your work phone again. There’s no way it will take that long for them to decide, but you want to be sensitive to the woman here at the hotel who has taken time from her day for a last minute appointment.

Zipping back into the ballroom, you catch Percy’s eye and shoot him a grin. “Pardon me,” you reinsert yourself into the conversation politely but definitely. “If I could check in with my clients for a moment?”

Harry had drifted away but he catches your grin and knows that something is up. He quickly walks over to the very nice coordinator. “While they are talking, would you tell me about hosting cooperate events?” He asks.

It doesn’t take much effort for Harry Castillo to utterly charm just about anyone into conversation, and as he lures her away you make a note to thank him profusely tonight if the date goes well.

“So…” you wave Percy and Tamara over to you and lower your voice so it won’t echo. “The Met called.”

Percy cocks up, attuned to your mannerisms and he knows it had to be something good. “Please don’t tell me the wait time is five years now.” Tamara groans.

“They had a cancellation,” you tell them, barely containing your grin. “It’s fast, but I think we can make it happen.”

“How fast is fast?” Percy asks, eyebrows raised.

“Sixty-two days.” An amount of time that seems fleeting, but your first wedding planner job had been at a soulmate agency. You can do fast and you can do it well.

“Sixty-two days?” her eyes widen and her heart sinks. There is no way that a wedding could be pulled off in sixty-two days. Not the way that they had dreamed of. “Oh god. No. I don’t—”

"Tam." Reaching out, you set one hand on Tamara's arm and smile reassuringly. "I promise you, I can do this if you want to say yes. The previous client had rented out the entire museum, and the caterer comes with the reservation. I've got a florist that owes me a favor and a photographer who will move mountains to be able to take your wedding photos."

Her eyes widen and she tries to let the panic subside. Pushing aside the little voice of doubt in the back of her mind. Her gaze darts to Percy, but he’s already nodding. “Yes.” She whispers, clutching his hand. “Yes!”

"How do we feel about booking that block of rooms while we're here, and even the penthouse if you want that after party?" You know Percy will want it, and it was Harry's idea, so this is going to be a good bridge. It will help the hotel here feel a touch less slighted after pulling out this appointment for you, and it will still get Percy and Tamara the wedding of their dreams.

“I think that is best.” Percy nods and looks towards his bride for her input. “It’s central to all the attractions and just a half dozen blocks down from the Met.”

Tamara hesitates for just a second, but looks to you with pleading eyes. "Do you really think you can do it?"

"I do." A little nod to wedding vows is cheeky, but you mean it. You do think you can do this for them. "I really do, and I think it will be great."

“I really want the Met.” Tamara admits. Grinning at Percy and batting her eyes playfully. “Are you okay with two months? Or should we wait longer?”

"Tam..." Percy takes both of her hands in his and faces her, placing a kiss on the tip of her nose. "I would marry you at the bottom of the Gowanus Canal with nothing but mutant fish for witnesses." They both giggle — the weirdos. But they're cute weirdos. "Two months in the place we met sounds perfect."

“Are you sure?” Despite wanting this more than anything else in the world, she wants to make sure it’s what he wants too.

"I love you," he reminds her, with a sort of bashful, gleeful expression. "That's all that matters."

“I love you too.” She promises. “If you told me you wanted to get married in the subway, I’d question your sanity….” That makes him laugh and she giggles. “But I would do it. But it seems like the universe wants us to have this.”

"So we're going to do it?" You ask, letting them have their moment and a sweet kiss to seal the sentiment. When they excitedly say yes, you pull your phone back out. "Let me call Ms. Evans back and get this settled. And then we can get the rooms and the penthouse booked here, as well."

“Not the bridal suites though.” Tamara tells you. “I don’t want another couple to have to book that somewhere else because I was selfish.”

"That sounds more than reasonable." This place probably has a dozen rooms gorgeous enough to host a newlywed couple, so you aren't worried about them having a nice place to crash that night. Not at all. "Let me make this call so we can really dig our fingers into planning."

“Okay.” She is immediately turning and pressing close to Percy. Both of them whispering in excitement. Harry glances over several time as he listens to the many amenities the hotel can offer for a conference or corporate event. He normally just holds any events at the penthouse, but he’s seriously considering this for the year end party.

It takes only a few minutes to step away and make the call, but when you come back to your friends they have their dream wedding venue booked and ready. All you have to do is drop off the deposit check before the museum closes tonight.

The next half hour is spent with the very nice woman who took the time to meet with you today, and she seems more than happy to be able to book the penthouse for a private party along with two full floors of rooms for wedding guests. It may not be the full night, but it is certainly a large check and damn good business for the hotel.

Harry is pulled aside by Percy, hearing the good news and smiling happily. Congratulating the couple and agreeing that it feels like the stars have aligned for their wedding.

By the time the six of you are leaving the hotel not too long after, it seems silly to think anything else could be more productive today. "Well," you tell them, grinning as you mark of Friday, August 6 on your phone with Percy and Tamara's initials. "I know we made a big decision but we have a lot to do now in not a huge amount of time."

“I already have my dress.” Tamara tells you with a happy sigh.

"And we did agree on colors already," Percy reminds you. A clean palate of white and silver with small accents of blue will be doable with any caterer, and blue bridesmaids dresses will be easy enough to achieve. His groomsman probably all own blue ties in the right shade.

“And the caterer has already been decided, right?” Tamara asks. “What’s the meal?”

"They booked the company but they hadn't picked their menu yet." Which was an incredible boon, and feels like it's a little too lucky. "I'm going to give them a call and see how fast we can set up a tasting."

Harry hums. “What’s the name of the company?”

"It is called..." Double checking your notes, you find it scrawled under the guest count for the museum. "Stand & Deliver."

Inside, Harry is groaning quietly but he nods. "They have good food." He assures them. "They catered Peter's wedding." He tells Percy, immediately making his best friend nod and grin.

“Perfect.” Tamara is grinning so widely that her face is threatening to split in two. “So what do we do now?” She asks you, bright with excitement and anticipation.

“Today? Go and enjoy having your parents in town,” you tell her, holding in your private sigh of relief. “I’m going to spend my afternoon setting up appointments for you to meet with your vendors as soon as possible so we can get everything squared away.” Looking at the group of them, you see a hell of a lot of work in those joyful faces, but it will be worth every second. “Why not take your Mom shopping for her mother of the bride dress, or even visit the Met?”

Harry watches you manage the nerves, the expectations with an aplomb that leaves him impressed. “Why don’t you take them to lunch?” He suggests. “I can help her with anything that she needs.”

“There’s a sit down restaurant in the museum,” Tamara remembers, perking up brightly.

“Then that’s what we’ll do.” On the sidewalk, Percy gives you a squeezing hug. “Text me appointment info when you have it?”

“I promise.” There is even a pinky swear involved. A long held tradition from childhood that is an unbreakable promise. “You guys go have fun. Harry and I will take care of some business and I’ll talk to you later.” It’s sweet of him to offer, and you won’t say no, but you also don’t really expect him to want to sit around while you made phone calls and scribble notes to yourself for a few hours. Especially not when you’re supposed to be taking him to dinner tonight.

“I’m assuming the Met needs a signed contract and a payment to reserve the space?” Harry asks when you’re alone for the first time since landing their dream venue. He checks his watch as he estimates how long it would take to get there.

“We have an appointment to sign the papers tomorrow.” You had made sure that was acceptable, otherwise you would have rushed over today. “I’ll have to drop off the physical deposit check today but we’ll give them the rest tomorrow.”

“What do you need to do today besides that?” He asks.

“Phone calls. Lots of phone calls.” His expression is so earnest that you soften a little, feeling your cheeks burn. “And I was going to change before I picked you up tonight,” you admit.

“Do you have an office or do you normally work from home?” He asks, unsure of your business model.

“I do have an office.” You were going to go hang out on your couch with some leftover pizza for lunch, but something nagging in your stomach doesn’t want to separate so quickly. “Are you asking to see my cubicle?” You ask, tone teasing like he has asked to see you naked or something equally as scandalous.

He snorts and shakes his head, amused by the way you are asking. “I actually was going to offer you my conference room if you needed a space to work.”

“That sounds fancy.” There’s still teasing in your voice, but it’s softened.

“Espresso machine.” He ticks off with a small smirk. “There’s a vendor that caters lunch in the breakroom.” He shrugs. “Changes every day. Not sure what today is.”

“You have enough people working on a Saturday to warrant a catered lunch?” In your office, your company was just part of one floor. Staff are in and out all the time because of the nature of what you do. You hadn’t figured his family’s financial empire had anything but a 9-5 existence.

“It’s for the people who come in to work on the weekends.” He tilts his head. “Sometimes normal working hours don’t fit our business. We try to treat everyone like we care.”

“That is…” Your head tilts a little, considering him as much as the offer. “Both unexpected and very nice to hear.” He has a warmth to him that makes you want to believe he knows every employee by name and every birthday, anniversary, joy, and hardship. It’s easy to picture Harry giving a shit about his staff. So easy that you catch yourself smiling again — maybe even a little dreamily. “Alright, sure. Let’s go to yours.”

He nods and he finds himself smiling back at you. You have this way of slipping past his defenses. Making him go on instinct and try to figure you out like some kind of puzzle. “Good, because I’m hungry.”

------ Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit @mikeyswifie @guelyury @lizzie-cakes @for-a-longlongtime @vabeachazn @purplerain04 @weho2kcmo @madnessofadaydreamer

#Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal fanfic #Pedro Pascal character fanfiction #Harry Castillo #Harry Castillo x reader #Harry Castillo x female reader #Harry Castillo x f!reader #Harry Castillo x plus size reader #Harry Castllo x ps!reader #plus size reader #Materialists #Materialistis fanfic #soulmate au

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ilovemilestellersmoustache · 9 months ago

Text

I’ll Be Yours For The Weekend

WC: 2K

Summary: Highschool sweethearts Connor and Y/n reunite in their hometown for thanksgiving where their breakup after graduation happened and their reaction to seeing each other was to call each other babe for the weekend inevitably creating two different f reactions when returning to their separate lives across the country.

Warnings: None but ANGSTY ANGST ANGST

Connor Bedard stepped off the plane, the cold autumn air of Canada wrapping around him like an old, familiar blanket. It felt surreal to be back in the hometown that had shaped so much of who he was, yet everything felt heavier than he remembered. Months had passed since he was drafted by the Chicago Blackhawks, and now he stood on the cusp of a new life—one filled with expectations, pressure, and a dream he had long chased. But despite the excitement, an emptiness gnawed at him.

His thoughts drifted to Y/N, the girl he had loved for three years. The one who had stood by him through countless late-night practices, who had cheered him on from the stands, and whose laughter had filled his world with joy. Breaking up before the draft had been a decision they both had agonized over, but the weight of their separate futures had felt insurmountable. Now, as he drove through familiar streets, he couldn’t escape the memories. The school they attended together, the coffee shop where they spent endless afternoons, the park where they shared secrets, her parents house—it all felt achingly close yet impossibly distant.

Meanwhile, thousands of miles away, Y/N stared out the window of her Los Angeles dorm. The palm trees swayed lazily in the warm breeze, but she felt frozen in time. She had thrown herself into her studies, trying to push the aside the remaining gaping void Connor had left behind. She followed his journey from afar through screens, proud yet heartbroken, knowing their love was now just a bittersweet memory. Thanksgiving was approaching, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that she needed to go home, despite the ache that came with it.

When she arrived back in their hometown, Y/N felt an overwhelming sense of nostalgia wash over her. Every corner of the town whispered Connor’s name, from the diner they had frequented to the bench where they’d carved their initials. It felt like a time capsule, preserving their shared moments, while the reality of their separation weighed heavily on her heart.

The day before Thanksgiving, she found herself at the local grocery store, running errands her mother sent her to do before the feast. The store buzzed with activity, filled with the sounds of laughter and chatter, but Y/N felt isolated, her mind still wandering back to Connor. Suddenly, as she turned a corner, she collided with someone. The familiar voice broke through her thoughts.

“Y/N?”

Time stood still as she looked up into Connor’s eyes. It was as if the universe had conspired to bring them back together. They both wore expressions of shock, disbelief washing over them like a tidal wave.

“Connor-” she managed to breathe, a mix of surprise and warmth flooding her heart.

“I didn’t think I’d see you here,” he said, a smile breaking through the initial surprise.

They stood in the aisle, surrounded by shelves filled with holiday treats, but all they could see was each other. After a brief moment of hesitation, they fell into an easy conversation, sharing updates about their lives. The chemistry between them felt electric, as if no time had passed since their last encounter.

“Do you remember that time we got lost on our way to the lake?” Connor asked, laughter bubbling up from somewhere deep inside her.

“Of course! We ended up at that diner and ordered way too many fries,” Y/N replied, her smile genuine, igniting memories that warmed her heart.

As they continued to talk, the hurt of their breakup began to fade, replaced by a sense of comfort and familiarity. It was as if the months apart had been nothing more than a fleeting dream. They spent nearly an hour wandering the aisles, the grocery store fading into the background as they rediscovered each other.

“Hey,” Y/N said softly, the words barely escaping her lips. “What if we drove around town this weekend? Like old times?”

“Like old times?” Connor replied, a playful glint in his eyes.

“Yeah,” she said, her heart racing at the prospect of reclaiming a piece of their past.

The next day, they met again, the air crisp and fresh as they set off in Connor’s car. As they drove through familiar roads, every turn brought a rush of memories—each place was a snapshot of their past, a reminder of the love they had shared. Connor played their favorite songs, and they sang along, the laughter spilling out of the windows and into the crisp autumn air.

The first stop was the park where they had spent countless afternoons. They parked and stepped out, taking a moment to breathe in the nostalgia. The leaves crunched under their feet as they walked along the path, the same path they had walked as teenagers, hand in hand.

“Remember when we used to come here every weekend after school and just sat on that swing set?” Y/N asked, pointing to the rusting swings in the distance.

Connor chuckled, “And that day you pushed me so hard I flew off!”

“Hey there was in no way that was my fault! You leaned over!” she teased, nudging him playfully.

They made their way to the swings, their laughter echoing through the park. Y/N settled onto one swing while Connor took the one beside her. They began to swing gently, the rhythmic motion stirring memories of simpler times.

“Do you ever think about us?” Y/N asked, her voice softening.

“Every day,” Connor admitted, his gaze fixed on the ground. “It’s hard not to. You were such a huge part of my life.”

“I miss you,” she confessed, the weight of her words hanging between them.

“I miss you too,” he replied, the honesty in his voice wrapping around her like a warm hug. “But what do we do about it?”

The question lingered in the air, unanswered. They swung in silence for a moment, each lost in their thoughts. The connection they shared felt as real as ever, yet the reality of their separate lives loomed large.

After leaving the park, they drove past their old high school. Connor slowed down, memories flooding back. “Can you believe we actually graduated?” he said, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Yeah, and now look at us,” Y/N said with a hint of irony. “You’re an NHL player, and I’m… well, trying to figure out college.”

“Hey, you’re doing amazing,” he reassured her. “You’ve always been the smart one.”

As they reminisced, the hurt from their breakup felt like a distant memory. They were just two teenagers again, laughing and teasing one another. The conversation flowed easily, the comfort of their shared history creating a safe space to explore the unspoken tension.

Eventually, they found themselves at the local diner, a spot they had frequented during their high school years after discovering it instead of the lake. They settled into a booth, and as they browsed the menu, Connor glanced around, taking in the familiar sights.

“I can’t believe this place hasn’t changed at all,” he said, grinning. “Still serving the best milkshakes in town.”

Y/N laughed. “And the greasiest fries! Some things never change.”

They placed their orders and continued to chat, the conversation flowing seamlessly. With every laugh and shared memory, the walls they had built around themselves began to crumble. It felt natural, as if they were slipping back into their old rhythm.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said before,” Connor said suddenly, his tone shifting. “About driving around town. I mean, we’re here now. Why not make the most of it?”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “What do you mean?”

“Let’s do everything we used to do,” he proposed, excitement sparking in his eyes. “Let’s revisit all our favorite spots.”

“Haven’t we been basically doing that?” she asked, her heart racing at the thought.

“I guess, but I mean for the whole weekend. Let’s call this weekend ours… Please?” he said, a pleading grin spreading across his face.

She couldn’t help but smile back. “Okay, but I’m in charge of the playlist!”

They left the diner, laughter bubbling between them as they jumped back into the car. Connor cranked up the music, the familiar tunes flooding their senses, and for a moment, everything felt right.

They visited the arcade where they had spent many Friday nights, laughing over games and sharing fries. They drove down the streets where they had cruised in Connor’s old car, the wind whipping through their hair as they sang along to their favorite songs. Each stop brought a rush of emotions, a mix of happiness and melancholy that only deepened their connection.

As the sun began to set, painting the sky in shades of pink and orange, they found themselves back at the park. The air was cooler now, but the warmth between them was undeniable. They wandered to the same bench where they had spent countless afternoons, lost in conversation.

“I can’t believe how easy this feels,” Y/N said, leaning back against the bench, looking up at the sky.

“Yeah, it’s like no time has passed,” Connor agreed, his gaze drifting to her. “It’s just us again.”

“Do you think we could… I don’t know, make this work?” she asked cautiously, the vulnerability in her voice palpable.

“I don’t know, Y/N,” he replied, the seriousness in his tone cutting through the lightness of the moment. “I want to. But everything is different now. You’re in L.A., I’m in Chicago…”

“But what if we tried?” she urged, her heart racing at the thought of losing him again.

Connor took a deep breath, the weight of her words pressing down on him. “I don’t want to hurt you again. We’ve come so far.”

“I know,” she said softly, her heart aching.

“But we’re happy now. Can’t we just enjoy this?”

She looked at him, and for a moment, it felt like the world faded away. “Yeah, let’s just enjoy this.”

As the weekend unfolded, their connection deepened

As the weekend drew to a close, the once bright spark of excitement began to dim, leaving behind a lingering sense of melancholy. Y/N and Connor spent their final hours together in quiet reflection, driving through the small town that had witnessed their shared history. It had been a weekend filled with laughter and warmth, but the uncertainty about their future remained.

The day they had to say goodbye arrived too soon. Connor was scheduled to fly back to Chicago, and Y/N had a flight back to Los Angeles the next morning. They stood in the driveway of her house, the chill of the autumn air pressing in on them.

“This feels harder than I thought it would be,” Connor said, his voice low as he looked down at Y/N.

“I know,” she replied softly, wrapping her arms around herself, as if the cold wasn’t just from the air, but from the inevitable goodbye.

Connor reached out and took her hand. “We’ve always had something special. But with you in L.A. and me in Chicago… I don’t know if I can handle the distance. I don’t want to keep dragging this out just to end up hurting each other.”

Y/N nodded, though her heart twisted painfully. She knew what he was saying was logical, but the emotions they had shared over the weekend had reignited something in her she wasn’t ready to let go of.

“I get it, Connor. But I wish it didn’t have to be this way,” she said, her voice trembling slightly. “I wish we could try.”

His hand tightened around hers, his eyes softening with regret. “I do too. But we agreed to just enjoy the moment, right? And that’s what we did.”

She looked up at him, eyes shining with unshed tears, but she forced a smile. “Yeah, let’s leave it at that.”

They hugged for a long moment, neither one wanting to let go. But eventually, Connor pulled away, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead.

“Take care of yourself, Y/N.”

“You too, Connor.”

And just like that, he was gone.

Back in Los Angeles, Y/N threw herself into her studies again. The first few days were tough—she found herself replaying every conversation, every moment she and Connor had shared. She kept telling herself that she had made peace with their goodbye, but the quiet moments between her busy schedule reminded her otherwise.

But as time passed, she started to heal. University life picked up pace, and she found herself surrounded by friends and new experiences. Slowly, the ache of their goodbye lessened.

Meanwhile, in Chicago, Connor felt the opposite. Life in the NHL had been his dream for as long as he could remember, and playing for the Blackhawks was everything he had worked for. But the high of being in the league didn’t fill the emptiness inside him. He found himself thinking about Y/N constantly—about how she had looked at him with such hope in her eyes that weekend, and how he had let her go. He had told himself it was the right thing to do, but each day, the weight of that decision felt heavier.

Despite the distance, they hadn’t completely severed their connection. A few weeks after their goodbye, Connor followed Y/N on social media again, and she followed him back. It was a small gesture, but one that kept them tethered. Small texts started to trickle in—wishing each other good luck during games, asking how school was going, commenting on random things they saw online. It was casual, almost like two old friends who had drifted apart but still cared about each other.

For Y/N, these texts became easier as the months passed. She no longer felt the pang of loss every time she saw Connor’s name pop up on her screen. She had started dating again, nothing serious, but enough to remind her that life went on. She was healing, slowly but surely.

But for Connor, each message was a reminder of what he had walked away from. His teammates noticed he wasn’t quite himself—he was playing well, but there was a distance in his demeanor. Every time he texted Y/N, a part of him wished he could say more. He missed her, missed the way she understood him, missed the way she made him laugh. The loneliness gnawed at him, growing more unbearable with each passing day.

One night, after a particularly tough game, Connor found himself scrolling through his messages with Y/N, rereading their short exchanges. He stared at the screen, his fingers hovering over the keyboard. He wanted to reach out, to tell her he’d made a mistake. That he was willing to try long distance, that he didn’t care about the miles between them, that he’d wait for her—however long it took.

With a deep breath, Connor typed out a message: Hey, can we talk? I’ve been thinking a lot, and I miss you. I want us to try again, and I’m okay with long distance if you are. I just need you to know that I’ll wait for you.

Just as he was about to hit send, he hesitated. His thumb hovered over the send button, but something stopped him. Instead, he opened her Instagram, a habit he had picked up over the last few weeks. He scrolled through her recent posts, his heart aching as he saw her smiling, surrounded by friends, seemingly happy. And then he froze.

There was a new post—a picture of Y/N and a guy. They were sitting close together on a bench, the sun setting behind them, casting a warm glow over their faces. The guy had his arm around her, and though it wasn’t an overly intimate photo, the look in Y/N’s eyes as she smiled up at him said everything.

Connor’s stomach dropped. His hand clenched around his phone, his heart pounding in his chest. The words he had just typed out seemed suddenly foolish, pointless. She was moving on. She was happy. And he had no right to disrupt that, not after he had been the one to let her go.

Without another thought, he deleted the message, staring at the blank screen as the reality of his decision came crashing down on him.

Connor shut his phone off and leaned back on his couch, closing his eyes as regret washed over him. He had made a choice, and now he had to live with it. But in the back of his mind, the thought that maybe—just maybe—he had lost the one person who truly understood him, refused to go away.

#connor bedard #connor bedard x reader #jack hughes x reader #trevor zegras x reader #quinn hughes x reader #connor bedard imagine #luke hughes #umich boys #chicago blackhawks #nhl x reader #chicago #luke hughes x reader #umich hockey #nhl imagine

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