#Workin Coworking Space

[workingspace123]

Coworking Space, located on Baner Pashan Link Road, offers an ideal environment for professionals, freelancers, and startups seeking a flexible and productive workspace. This coworking space in Baner Pashan Link Road is designed to foster collaboration and creativity, providing all the modern amenities you need for success, including high-speed internet, ergonomic furniture, and dedicated meeting rooms. Whether you're working solo or with a team, Workin Coworking Space ensures a comfortable and professional setting to boost productivity. Its prime location on Baner Pashan Link Road offers easy accessibility and proximity to major business hubs, making it convenient for daily commutes. The space is also surrounded by various dining and leisure options, allowing you to take breaks and recharge. Choose Workin for a coworking experience that combines convenience, community, and cutting-edge facilities at an affordable price.

[cyrsed]

cutting commentary? dead space remake adds nonbinary character and all-gender restrooms but keeps promotional article about the ishimura containing the phrase "the men and women who serve aboard her" unaltered from the original

[swordsandholly]

Hiiii ❤️ Ferverently following Cherry bomb over here. 😊

For the ask game 🎁 and/or 💌? I know not everyone wants to share WIP so feel free to ignore that one 😊

🎁 Have a piece of a WIP you want to share?

Since ur enjoying Cherry Bomb here’s a (unedited) clip from a future part:

You chose something easy. One of Kyle’s more dainty, simple flash designs for the back of your thigh, just below the curve of your ass. A little bow with minimal shading. Something he’s practiced a thousand times and an easy enough starting point. At least he has plenty of space to work with.

A nasty part of your brain complains about exposing your cellulite to these two fit men but you push that deep down into nothing. A second, more embarrassing part wonders if you should have chose a more appropriate spot… that maybe you shouldn’t be laying in front of your boss and coworker in teeny-tiny biker shorts that barely cover you. You shove that down right next to the mean thoughts.

“Hey.” You whisper while John steps away to grab something. “Get through this without beating yourself up and I’ll give you a reward.”

“A reward?” He tilts his head, smile turning from an nervous curl of his lip to a boyish grin.

You bat your lashes. “I’ll give you a kiss.”

Kyle chuckles. “With tongue?”

You gawk, face hot. “How uncharacteristically forward of you, Mr. Garrick! Where’d my knight in shining armor go?”

“Just tryin’ t’ figure out exactly what I’m workin’ toward.”

You hum, pretending to mull it over. “We’ll see. Depends on how well you do.”

💌 Is there a favorite trope you like to write?

I love a knight in shining armor fmc saved from a creepy man trope. I know it’s played out and not the most progressive trope but I love it. I’m a simple woman who wants to be cared for lol

[andhumanslovedstories]

I’m looking for a second career after working corporate. I’d like something away from a computer, workin with people, in demand, and more flexible. I do have some autistic traits though (one therapist floated it but never officially diagnosed). Do you think nursing would be a bad choice?

Here's a useless answer: it depends! I'll also give my usual caveat that nursing is a very broad field and a school nurse versus a dialysis nurse versus an ICU nurse versus a home health nurse vs a community health nurse are all going to have different experiences. You'll probably spend more time at a computer than you might like (documenting......), but if you get efficient at it, you can blast through it alright. Except when you can't.

And you will work with people! In any part of nursing, you'll be working with people, often in intimate and vulnerable ways. You meet a lot of cool people and get to be there for a lot of cool moments, cool and funny and profound moments. Working with people when they aren't at their best can be exhausting. Working with people when they aren't at their best and also you're understaffed and also someone is complaining of new onset chest pain at the same time someone else is calling to be cleaned up because they've been incontinent--it's really easy to exhaust yourself out of compassion. You have to care and actively engage with people's often tragic situations, but you also have to protect yourself from secondhand trauma. It's okay if this is not something you're comfortable or good with, but if so, you should probably think critically about whether nursing is for you.

And flexible--maybe??? Again, different jobs will have different perks. A lot of nurses work prn which means they have to pick up a certain number of shifts a month, but they aren't on the schedule normally. You just pick up as you want. Very flexible! But also a lot of these nurses are getting their healthcare elsewhere, usually a partner. Like any shift work, you can always swap shifts with a coworker if you can find one who'll do it. When I worked in home health, it was very hard to adjust my schedule because there wasn't necessarily another nurse that could fill in. And often units in the hospital will have various schedule stipulations--work every other weekend, work a certain amount of holidays, work night shift until you get the seniority to go to days or become a nocturnal little freak (me). I currently work in float pool, which makes it way easier to call out and adjust schedules because I'm not assigned anywhere specific until like ten minutes before the shift starts.

And with regards to the last bit, the autistic traits, I don't know exactly which ones you mean, but none of them are an inherent obstacle to being a nurse. We need neurodiversity in nursing. Some patients might find you cold or awkward or weird or whatever way you worry you might come across. Other patients will resonate with those exact same traits. No one's the perfect nurse for all people. Some people want to that extra care, some people want competent work and then to have space for themselves, some patients want to learn everything about their situation, some patients don't even want to know what pills they're taking. Think of yourself as a specialty nurse. An oncology nurse can take care of a variety of patients, but they're most well suited and situated to take care of cancer patients. There's a patient type that is a perfect fit for you. And the same way cardiac nurses deal with strokes, and orthopedic nurses deal with respiratory infections, you work competently outside your specialty because you have a good base for your practice, but you also know that you have specialties that you are uniquely equipped to handle. Specialties like cheerleading through physical therapy, calming down dementia patients, knowing the shit out of telemetry, making sure patients get a bed bath and clean sheets, using a machine to pump a patient's blood outside your body--whatever you most like, you're most good at, what gives you energy to work. I think mine are working well with "difficult" patients, managing pain, and stealing cranberry juice from the patient fridge. for me.

I'll say too if you're worried like a lack of empathy or easy understanding of other people will be an impediment to care--I'm not saying I'm autistic, but I don't think I'm particularly empathetic. I NEVER know what people are thinking or feeling. I struggle to tell when patients are like "talk to me more!" versus "I am being polite to you, but please leave." I have never once been comforting a crying person and thought, "I am NAILING this. I am making them feel better." But I don't think I'm a bad nurse. I reverse engineer empathy by finding a situation that I was in that's similar to the situation a patient is in, and I think about what I would have wanted and appreciated in that situation. I think about what evidence says is a good thing to do in this situation. I think about what experience tells me has worked in this situation in the pas. I also just ask patients what they're feeling and what they want and why they do what they do instead of assuming I know. (That last one is so choice, we should all do it more.)

The job puts you in a lot of Situations that are hard for anyone to manage. So you can study up for a lot of Situations. I read conflict resolution books and writing by sick people, I think about how adherent I am to my own treatment plan when I get judgy, I ask patients a lot of questions in part so I can understand them but also so I can understand the next patient like them, I practice difficult conversations I can predict before I go into rooms, and I make sure I have certain phrases and reactions in my back pocket in case I'm caught by surprise. I've figured out my safe topics of conversations that I can chat about with patients that are personable but not intimate (cats, how long you've been in the area, how hard it is to sleep in the hospital at night). I periodically try out new conversation styles and topics to see how those work. I find people I admire and I try consciously to emulate them.

I make a shitload of rules too that help me structure my behavior so I can act like a person I'm proud of. If I can't get something for a patient, I have to go back and tell them that instead of just never returning to the room. Whenever I leave a room, before I go, I make sure the call light is within reach and I ask if there's anything I can do before I go. If someone is sad, ask if they want hot chocolate, and if they say yes, ask if they want it with hot water or milk. If I have a patient that is very chatty and always on the call light, allot conversation time with them like I'm scheduling wound care in case they're lonely. Whenever I tell a patient that they can't do something, I explain the clinical reasoning for that. If the only reason I can think of to tell a patient why they can't do something except "it's against hospital rules", I reconsider the refusal. I've got so many rules and guidelines I've developed for myself so I can best act in a way that I think a good nurse should act.

(usual disclaimer that this does not mean I always accomplish this or that I always behave in a way I'm proud of. but I do think developing these rules and following them makes behaving like I want to more habitual.)

All this to say--I care tremendously about my patients when they're my patients, but I don't take most of them home with me. I feel often feel very distant from the emotions of the situation. I used to feel like I was watching the world through glass. Now I still feel like that, but not in a bad way. I don't get mad when patients yell at me. I can view their problems as quests to solve. I'm engaged but I'm not flustered by distress.

look alllllllllllllllllll that to say is have you considered making nursing a special interest? works for me. oh and YEAH. The job security is AMAZING. It's such a weight off my mind to know that if I don't like my current job, it's so easy to get another somewhere else.

[fishfooddude]

I'll Raise You One Better

Richard "Richie" Jerimovich x Reader

Part of the Double Trouble universe, it was a brainworm that didn't stop diggin'

The Bear MasterList

Directory

Part 1

“Yeah, my sister sucks sometimes.” Sierra frowned as Richie paced Carmy’s living room. She looked over to see a shit-eating grin plastered on his face, “You really thought Sierra would cheat on me with you?” Carmy managed to ask without laughing too much. Richie’s arms flew up in the air, “Cousin- I’ve been beating myself up for fuckin’ days about this! Why the fuck didn’t you tell me Sierra had a fuckin’ twin?!” he grunted in a mix of annoyance and anger. He felt like a fool. Since he’d staged at Ever, he felt like he’d found his place in the culinary space. All of that could have been thrown away if he’d actually had sex with Sierra at that party. Carmy would’ve finally cut him off, Natalie would have followed suit due to family ties, and he’d lose his job, his friends, and everything else he’d worked for.

“Richie? Sit down, okay- you’re gonna worry yourself into having a fucking aneurysm.” Sierra sternly cooed as she guided the man to sit on the couch. Carmy leaned back in his chair, absolutely loving this; Sierra rolled her eyes before shooting him a dirty look. “Do you want me to beat her up?” Sierra offered as she sat down next to him. Richie flinched and shifted further away from her. “I just feel like shit Sierra. I thought she was you. I thought I fucked Carmy’s girl- what the fuck does that say about me? I’m a fuckin’ loser scumbag. I fucked my cousin’s fuckin’ girl.” 

Sierra frowned. “I can deal with this if you want, Richie,” she offered, hoping to appease some of the man’s guilt. Richie shook his head. “I just—I don’t know.” He was defeated. A silence fell over the room. Sierra looked at Carmy to see a quizzical look on his face; he had an idea, and she felt like it would be bad. 

“She fucked with you- you fuck with her,” Carmy suggested breaking the silence. Richie looked at him, “What do you mean?” he queried, raising an eyebrow in Carmy’s direction.

~

Sierra invited you out for dinner only to stand you up. You ended up ordering dinner to go and then went outside to wait. As you scrolled through your phone, you heard someone call out, ‘Sierra?’ You looked up and felt like a deer in the headlights—it was none other than Richie. 

“Thought you were workin’ tonight.” Richie laughed as he walked up to you. You shrugged, still playing into the idea of being Sierra, “Nah, I got a coworker to cover for me.” you bluffed. “Surprised you’re not hangin’ out with Carmy. We closed early- he said somethin’ ‘bout havin’ plans with you.” Richie said as he shoved his hands in his ill-fitting track pants pockets. You glanced toward his crotch and could swear you saw the outline of his cock; even soft, it was impressive. The thought of it filling you up again made your core quiver in anticipation. “Nah- I wanted some alone time, ya know…” you played off quickly, looking back up in his stormy blue eyes. “I told Carmy about what happened at Marcus’s party…. I didn’t think you two were that kind of couple.” Richie sneered, hoping you didn’t see through his own bluff. 

You shrugged in response. You tried not to think about your sister’s sex life, but now you were a little curious: what were Sierra and Carmy doing behind closed doors? Growing up, Sierra told you everything and the idea of her being some kinky sex freak would be an interesting lure reveal. “Things were gettin’ dry, ya know? Turns out Carmy’s into some… interesting stuff.” you subtly flirted back at him. Richie chuckled before quickly swiping his tongue over his top lip, “You know my place is just up the street. Wanna have some fun before the big night?” he asked as he stepped closer to you. 

“Big night?” you wonder, fidgeting with your phone case as you blankly stare at Richie. A wicked smile spread across Richie’s face, “Didn’t he tell you ‘bout it? He said he did… wanted to watch you get fucked… by a real man.”

You felt your breath hitch at Richie’s words. What the fuck did you get yourself wrapped up in? Richie sensed your hesitation and moved his hands on your hips and slowly pulled you toward him, “You scared princess? What happened to my good girl? Carmy said-”

You cut Richie off, “I’mnotSierraIdon’twannadothis!” 

Richie chuckled and shuffled his hands from your hips to your lower back, dangerously close to the top of your ass. “I know you’re not Sierra, Y/N. Why did you let me think you were?” 

“Uh- I uh- I never um said-” you mumbled softly as you looked away from him, “You let me believe it. You let me believe I fucked my best friend’s girlfriend. You know he’s gonna propose to Sierra, right? You let me think that I ruined the one thing that makes Carmy happy.” Richie hissed.

You swallowed, “I-I-I-” 

“I-I-I,” Richie taunted, “What! What you tryin’ to fuckin’ apologize for being a fuckin’ bitch? You’re just such some dumb little slut, aren’t you? Get off on fuckin’ up people’s lives? Makin’ think the worst of themselves?” he laughed letting his hands fall. “Fuck you, Y/N. You’re nothin’ but a fuckin’ whore.”

Part 3

[browngonzo888]

Update: long story, so tldr, I’m workin on the last page of the comic

Long story: after surviving Covid, I’ve been in supporting a bunch of different situations all at once for the past month or so (it’s all blurred together). Firstly my sister had long Covid and couldn’t work in the gardens, her job, which is already short staffed, so myself and others picked up the slack by all showing up an hour earlier to work and taking a daily garden chore. I also went home and cooked and prepped meals and washed dishes and clothes/ take out trash/ cared for only running vehicle because sis was really down for the count. She was depleted of almost every vitamin and had very little strength! Also I’ve taken on a 59 yr old Iraq Vet as a woodcarver apprentice. He was in debt and lonesome in this very xenophobic town. I took time to train him and make accommodations for his place in my shop. In the last two weeks he was propositioned to take over a sister wood shop that primarily sells wood toys. The craft jury already rejected him once so he’s stressed about this second jurying. I’m trying to keep him focused. The other workers are trying to push him around but I’ve been a brick wall about what they tell him. Not to mention I gotta keep up with my inventory in my work space. I don’t order any premade stuff, I have to build and carve it all myself. I’ve been drained of creativity but managed to grind out another part of the Psychonauts 2000 prologue. I am just as excited as anyone would be.

So many beef-based meals and peanut butter cups later, the sister is feeling better and was able to work last week! Also her car was finally taken to the shop and awaits fixing.

As for my boomer coworker (no negative connotation), he has been trying to work around the curse of the toy shop. Previous shop owners passed down their debt and pile of un-sellable junk to the next unfortunate inheritors and to the next. I’m hoping it ends with him.

here’s hoping everything improves to the point I can crank out more art at a faster pace.

Sincerely, your brick wall

[inspireofficespace1]

Why should you consider working from a coworking space?

The recent epidemic has brought a lot of changes to the corporate world. One of the biggest changes among these is the way that employees and small companies are now operating. This refers to the employees starting to prefer working from a remote location, other than their home. This is mainly because the distractions that are caused by the various things and people in our can easily distract us from our work and hence, distort our focus.

This will result in a lack of productivity and eventually cause your work efficiency to decrease. This is where a co-working space can help you out. Co-working spaces are the places where several individuals or teams that belong to different companies work under the same roof, alongside each other. 

A co-working space provides you with a professional working environment where you can not only perform your tasks in your own separately assigned workplace but could also experience many other benefits of the place.

Some benefits of working in a coworking space

To get a better understanding as to why or whether a co-working space can be the solution that you’re looking for, some of the benefits that a co-working space provides are stated below.

1. Ability to increase your network 

When you work in a co-working space, not only do your get to work in a professional environment but also with professionals who make that environment the way that it is. These other employees that work under the same roof as yours are the ones with which you can interact and form a network. 

A co-working space houses employees from several different fields. This allows you to form a connection with the people that can allow you to grow your network and hence, provide you with a better understanding of the functioning of several different job sectors. This can prove to be helpful in the future.

2. Benefit of working in a professional address

Co-working spaces are based on providing you with a professional environment. This makes it necessary for it to be constructed in a way that it displays a professional working environment too.

 This location will be more professionally appealing if it is located in a place that is known for being the working center of a city. It is even more of a necessity for you if you are the owner of a business, its representative, as having face time with your clients while being at home can send the wrong message.

3. Ability to find your spot

There is no seat or place allocated for anyone in a co-working space and this is one of its best perks. This means that you can roam around the place and find the pace that fits your mood at any point in time that you are working. 

Unlike a traditional office space, where you are confined to your desk and have to think 10 times before going to take a stroll around the office, in a co-working space, you can do both without giving it a second thought. It might not sound as important but anyone who works for 8 hours on their computer while sitting on their chair the whole time, knows the importance of this benefit.

4. Affordable rates

Co-working spaces have a variable fee that they charge you. This fee mainly depends on the address of the place, its maintenance cost, the amount of space that it covers, the additional benefits that it provides to its customers, and whether or not you are a member of the place, as an existing member get increased discounts. 

You should look for the co-working space that suits you the best as you look for a place to rent. This refers to seeing multiple co-working spaces, then counting down the few that you find the best, and then finalizing the last one after comparing all of their rates. If you are looking to find a co-working space that suits you the best, then consider opting for the services of our team of experts at Inspire Networks.

5. Attend some events

Many coworking spaces conduct events in order to lure more clients. By joining a co-working space, other than working, you would also be able to join other people in offices for conducting several different events. This can let you become more active and interested in the place and the people that work there alongside you. 

This also provides a huge opportunity for you to interact and socialize with the people around you. Doing this even increase your networking abilities and allow you to be able to talk more openly in front of others, without any hesitation.

6. Improve your productivity

Working in a place that consists of a professional environment and workmates that are work-driven can also allow you to blend in the environment and become more productive. Productivity is one of the very main aspects of one’s work. 

Your productivity gets directly displayed on the work that you do and hence, your work’s quality increase with the increase of your productivity. Working in an environment that is free from any sort of distraction can also allow you to work with more focus for increased durations.

7. Ability to be flexible 

Working in a co-working space is all about working flexibly. You can work in a co-working space whenever you want in a day. As long as you pay the fee of the place, there will not be any flexibility restrictions that will be imposed on you. 

This makes coworking space the place for you if like to work whenever you want to, without any time restrictions. 

Conclusion

Working in a co-working space can provide you with a lot of great benefits. Other than these benefits, there are some other perks too that much co-working space provides only to their clients. All these benefits along with many others more are making many business and self-working individuals consider working in a co-working space. 

If you are considering looking for a co-working space after reading this article too, then try entrusting our team at Inspire Network with the responsibility of finding the best co-working space for you.

[byanyan]

ㅤㅤ" he— ...huh? "ㅤthat's a new one. for all the gossip they have heard around school, one of the students living with raccoons has somehow flown under their radar.ㅤ" strange doesn't feel like a strong enough word. y'sure he wasn't just messin' with you? "

haneul is pretty naive. the kind of kid they'd have a lot of fun seeing what sorts of ridiculous things they could make him believe if he hadn't somehow barged in and practically forced friendship upon them.

ㅤㅤ" nah, no friends. he's kind of a nerdy loner. we're workin' on it. "ㅤthough the words could easily come across as an insult, there's an affection in their tone that keeps it from sounding too harsh.ㅤ" could ask him 'bout his coworkers though, might be a cute barista we could set you up with. "ㅤrelaxing again themself now that han is back to his bubbly self, byan doesn't bother to suppress the snicker that rises as he just keeps going, giving them little room to interject.

ㅤㅤ" aliens? "ㅤnot where they expected the list of boyfriend musts to go, but okay. to each their own, or whatever. a somewhat incredulous amusement curling at the corner of their mouth, they shrug.ㅤ" i mean, i guess? never really thought about it that much, been a little too focused on shit on earth. aliens're that important, huh? knew you were into space 'n whatever, but i didn't expect you'd draw the line at whether someone believes in aliens or not. "

“ oh.... yes, you are like a raccoon. ” he nods thoughtfully. that makes much more sense. cute on the outside, but also kind of rabid. that describes his friend well. “ oh ! there is a boy in my biology class that lives with raccoons, did you know ? he is strange. ”

he seemed nice enough, though. he let haneul borrow a pen once, and it didn't take much to make the boy endeared to someone.

haneul relaxes instantly with byan's response. he knew they wouldn't be mean about it, but it's still nice to actually experience. he's not quite used to it yet, the way people here are more open about sexuality. cheeks redden at the mention of helping him get boys. “ ah, byannie didn't tell me they have a boyfriend ! does he have friends ? ” the timid nature from before is gone now that he feels safe, replaced with his usual cheekiness. “ i am not picky ! he just has to be nice, and handsome, hm... rich would be good too, you think so ? and he has to like cats, because of my daughter ! oh — he has to believe in aliens too. very important. byan-ah, do you believe in aliens ? you do, right ? ”

[the-office-pass]

If you are looking for a good coworking place then you will want that the coworker's place is in such a place where you and your client can reach easily. If you use your own vehicle, then you would like to adequate and secure parking space within or near the office. There should be good connectivity to the colleagues' space so that they can reach the office using many transport systems both in public and private.

The coworking space should have all the basic amenities like a good and decent looking office, high-speed wifi connection, printer and scanner facility, coffee and tea facilities, preference, conference and meeting rooms and good air conditioning system etc.

For all such facilities, you can choose TOP's (The Office Pass) best coworking space in Gurgaon. The Office Pass (TOP) is best coworking space in Gurgaon and Delhi-NCR, that connects companies & professionals to warm, friendly, ready to use & high quality Neighborhood Coworking offices. TOP is a ideal place for start-ups, small business and freelancers.

[ask-spider-man-61610]

The Infiltration: Part One of Three

To say that two shapeshifters stood in the basement laboratory of a government building wouldn't be quite accurate. One shapeshifter stood in the basement laboratory. The other could more honestly be described as meticulously sculpted into shape. The particles that made up his body were arranged into the shape of a standing man, held in place by static cling, but that wasn't really standing. It was a rough approximation of standing, just like everything about Flint Marko was a rough approximation of a human being. He'd long since gotten used to the fact, but that didn't make it any less unpleasant.

The other shapeshifter, Reed Richards, leaned against a table that was great for projecting holograms but terrible for holding papers or drinks. Fancy and impractical equipment like this was one of the Cape Code Authority's most well-known features.

A third man stood in this laboratory too, off to one side. He was, in a way, the exact opposite of a shapeshifter. More on him later.

"I've taken some time to look into your request," Richards said as he tapped a few icons on the tabletop. "Here's the basics of my thoughts so far. A shell to house your nervous system and respond to electrical signals."

There was a sound like sand sliding down a dune before Flint began to speak. It had taken him a long time to relearn how to talk after becoming the Sandman; even now, it took effort to hold the shape of those granular vocal cords as he spoke in a deep and raspy voice. "Yeah. Y'said that last time, Doc. What's changed?"

Richards, in response, pinched an image on the tabletop and widened it out, his fingers stretching like rubber bands to expand the picture further. He raised his arm--he seemed to ignore his joints, the entire limb bending like a garden hose--and flicked one finger up, and a hologram rose out of the table's display to cast a soft white glow over the room. The hologram looked like eggshells glued to an Erector set, arranged into the shape of a bipedal form that lay on the table as if it were a stretcher. "What's changed is that I've done some research into actually making that shell. Take a look, I've drafted up a basic schematic for what it'd look like."

"And you decided it'd look like a Phantom?"

Richards snorted, but ignored the question. "The outermost shell is solid-light holography," he continued, making a vague swiping gesture through the air above the image. The eggshell faded out, revealing the bare animatronic beneath, which (judging by the sculpted face made of sand) Flint found even less impressive. Frowning, Richards looked down at the hologram again and added, "We could, given some finagling, calibrate it to resemble an actual human. But generating these 3D models is a pain, so I didn't bother."

Perhaps a more critical mind would have asked why, if 3D models were such a pain, they bothered to use holograms at all instead of pen and paper. But Flint's mind had never been an especially critical one; he was in no way stupid, but for all his life had tended to take things as they came. Instead he asked, "Is that why it looks like a Phantom? 'Cuz you're just recycling a picture you already had?"

"Not letting that go, eh?" Richards replied, the ghost of a smirk on his face as he glanced up at the Sandman again. He waved his hand again, and the computer misinterpreted his gesture and deactivated the projection of the suit. Rolling his eyes, Richards reactivated the hologram and said, "No. Well, partially. It looks like a Phantom because that technology is what a lot of my idea is based on. You see, what you're asking for is very similar to how the technology works anyway--an artificial support structure for a unique nervous system. The only difference is that your nervous system is two gallons of granulated silica, whereas the Phantoms are currently working with--"

And here he stopped, falling silent and stoic. His eyes, suddenly devoid of their smiling crow's feet, glanced Flint's way before his disgusting elastic fingers returned to typing on the touchscreen between them. The pile of sand, insomuch as it could, looked confused.

"What?" he said, in a voice like a seashell crushed underfoot on a beach. "What're the Phantoms workin' with? I thought they were just robots."

This was a common misconception, and Richards, like most of the Cape Code Authority, had a vested interest in upholding it. "Phantoms" were the colloquial name for Perpetual Holographic Avatar/Nano-Tech Offensive Monsters. Bipedal, autonomous drones with light weaponry, they were the foot soldiers of the CCA, the beat cops, the cavalry when an agent wanted reinforcement. They had been in development since the War of the Worlds had brought the Chitauri and all their technology to Earth six years ago, and some of the core technology of the drones was better kept unknown. What Richards had said threatened to jeopardise that secrecy.

The third man in the room chose then to speak. Stepping forward, his black cloak obscuring the entirety of his six-foot-plus form, he spoke with a voice that was digitally altered to be an octave deeper. "They are robots," he said, his white face mask moving like genuine flesh. "Their processors have a unique method of operation, though. They have some of the most sophisticated A.I. in the world, and their microprocessors are similar enough to a human's that it won't require too much tinkering to render it compatible with your...situation."

This was Scrier--or rather, a Scrier; one of many--and he was a champion liar. Nobody quite knew when he had joined the CCA or what level he occupied, but the executives of the organization seemed to treat him as a special case. He never answered distress calls, except to break up protests and strikes. He had no patrol routes, no assigned partners, and the only training courses he attended were the ones he taught--the ones about corporate rights and the agency's responsibility to them. Agents weren't allowed to try and investigate Scrier's identity. For all they knew, he was an undercover boss trying to hear his subordinates' opinions on him.

This was true, but it was a little more specific than that.

"Yes!" Richards said, gesturing towards the man gratefully. "Thank you, Scrier. I didn't know how exactly to put that. Yes, Phantoms run on a very human-like system. In theory, adapting it to suit your nervous system should be far easier than trying to create something out of whole cloth."

"I thought you were like a super genius," Flint said, sounding a bit annoyed. "You've invented flying cars and indestructible fabrics that let you go to space. You have yer own interdimensional portal. Why is this taking so much thought? Why does this need to be made out of other stuff and spit and prayers?"

Richards gave him a blank glare for a few seconds before sighing. "Okay," he said, leaning on the table. "First of all, I am a genius. I'm one of the smartest people to ever live, but that doesn't mean I know everything. I have to research and experiment. Any innovation, even one from me, takes time." He waved his hand again and the hologram vanished. "Second of all, remember: I'm doing this out of the goodness of my heart."

"You're doing this because that was my condition!" Flint shot back, and the pile of sand swelled slightly and grew almost half a foot. He raised his arms; granules fell from the sculptures and scattered across the floor. "That's what I said when I joined this stupid super-cop thing! I hate being the Sandman, Doc! You guys offered to give me this--this job of disrupting protests and taking down unregistered super-guys because your bosses told me you could make me...not."

He glanced down at his hands. And indeed hands they were; years of practice had let him sculpt the sand at the end of his arms into an incredibly realistic form, with perfectly jointed fingers. You could almost see what must have once been his fingerprints. But as he looked at them a small stream of sand fell from them to the ground.

"I'm not expectin' you to make me human again," he said. "But just...something that'll make me feel more human. Something that feels like a body." His features hardened again, sand dunes into sandstone. "If you're just half-assing that--if you're just giving me something that-that makes people treat me like a Phantom and that'll break in like a week--"

And here he stopped. There was more than just a salary that kept agents of the Cape Code Authority in line. You had a lot of wiggle room as a superhero registered under them: you could slack off on the job, you could issue arrests for what you were pretty sure was a crime, you could stop and frisk anyone you liked, you could be sure that the beatings you gave to unarmed suspects were graciously forgiven by your superiors. But one thing you couldn't do was leave. Quitting the CCA was a surefire way to bring the coworkers you had once trusted down on your head; no longer registered, you had no more immunity than a child experimenting with the most basic powers did. Nobody wanted to find themselves imprisoned in Complex 42--stranded inescapably in the Negative Zone, tortured by armed guards and experimented on to replicate your powers, only protected from the hostile, annihilating environment outside the prison by a few wafer-thin force fields. But that was exactly where Flint's line of thinking threatened to take him.

"...Forget it," he mumbled, defeated, and as he slumped down slightly his face and body lost much of its detail.

Richards stared across the table with an uncomfortable air. Glancing down at the table, he tapped a few keys on it and the hologram vanished. With one hand he pushed his glasses up, and then his arm stretched the five feet across the table and patted Flint's semblance of a shoulder.

"Look," he said. "I can't make any promises. You're...unprecedented, Marko. The only shapeshifter of your kind. I'm doing the best I can to help you. But if I can use technology we already have to do it, then I'm going to. You're not my only job in the CCA. But I'm working on it." He took his hand back, and then needed a second to brush off the sand that had come with it. "...It's getting late. We ought to call it a day, I need to head home."

"Have to convince Susan not to walk out on you again?" Scrier suggested, already heading for the door.

Reed just dragged his hand down his face, his features stretching in his grip, and didn't answer. His eyes were bagged and his posture tired. Instead he began to trudge towards the door, each leg bending like it was made of plasticine, and followed by an animate pile of sand.

The light of streetlights and storefront signs shone through the windows as the three of them stepped out of the laboratory. About ten feet away, a custodian looked up from the floor he was mopping and gave the trio a quizzical expression, but the only one who paid him any mind was Scrier, whose expression was hard to parse through the prosthetic mask. Richards and Flint just began to head the opposite direction down the hall.

"Hey! Scrier! Don't you have some skulking to do somewhere else?!" Flint called back.

As the door to the lab swung closed, the janitor adjusted his grip on the mop and looked back down at his work. Scrier, after a second more of staring, turned away and began to saunter off.

It was a long hallway. They kept walking for a good long while before they turned and were out of sight. And for all that time the janitor continued to mop and silently sweated, waiting for them to notice that the security cameras weren't moving like they usually did. Even when the three Cape Code Authority agents were gone, the custodian continued to work. He worked until the vibrations of their footsteps through the floor had faded into the background tremors of the environment. And even longer than that, until the buzz of spider-sense in the back of his mind had subsided slightly, no longer quite so focused on them.

[workingspace123]

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[atlafan]

Take it Slow - Part Sixty-One

a/n: okay this is my first shot at a harry:y/n fic, and it will be multiple parts. y/n had a bad experience with an ex over a year ago, and finally accepts her coworker and good friend Niall’s invitation to go on a blind date with his friend Harry.

Warnings: Fluff and Smut.

a/n: i’m baaaaaccckkkk. mama came home from vacation. she’s still tired, but she missed her babies too much to stay away. niall and sarah did a great job babysitting. let’s gooooooooooo

Masterpost (all previous parts can be found in the masterpost)

…a week or so later…

Harry was sleeping peacefully on his back with you resting your head on his chest. One of your legs was over his and you had an arm draped over his lower stomach. He woke up to the feeling of something wet on his thigh. It took him a second, but he swore he could feel you moving back and forth on him. He looked down to see your eyes screwed shut and teeth gritted. There were beads of sweat on your brow-line.

You were dreaming. You were having a steamy dream of you and Harry. You were riding him out in an open field of sunflowers. Your hair was flowing in the wind, and he wouldn’t stop telling you how beautiful you were.

When you gasp, Harry fully wakes up. He didn’t want to wake you, but he did want to have some fun with you. He raises his thigh slightly to add a little more pressure for you. He wanted to give you a little more friction. He wiggles his thigh from side to side as you continue to grind on him in your sleep.

“Harry.” You moan. He always wondered if you dreamt about him. He always had a hunch, but the small bit of confirmation was delightful.

His cock grows harder as you move faster on him. Your hand moves to grip at his throat and you squeeze it, causing him to choke slightly.

“Jesus.” He coughs, and you wake up immediately.

“Wh, what’s happening?!” You spring up and feel the wetness from your center stick against him. “Ew, oh my god, I’m so sorry, what was I doing?”

“You were…” He coughs again, you really grabbed his throat hard. “Grindin’ against my thigh. I was tryin’ to help yeh along, but you grabbed my throat and started choakin’ me. What were you dreamin’ about?”

“I was…um…riding you.” You rub your eyes.

“And did you choke me in your dream?”

“I…don’t remember.”

“Liar.” He smirks. “It’s okay, wanna choke me?”

“Harry, stop.”

“You’ve gripped my throat before, wanna do it a little harder? S’okay, if you do.”

“Harry, it’s like two in the morning.”

“Yeah?” He reaches between your legs to collect some of your wetness, and brings it up to his face. “Seems like you’re a little riled up. Let’s fix that, hm?” He sucks his fingers into his mouth then pulls you on top of him. “Got hard while you were goin’ to town on me.”

“We ran out of condoms.”

“Take your pill yesterday?”

“Yeah.”

“Gonna take it in a few hours?”

“Yeah.”

“Alright then baby girl, nothin’ to worry about.” He kisses you tenderly.

“Fuck it, okay.”

You raise your hips and slide down on him.

“Holy shit!” Both of your eye brows raise at his exclamation. Harry would moan and groan, but in the almost eight months you had been together you had never heard him yell in such pleasure. “Haven’t fully felt yeh in so long.” You smirk at him.

You raise and lower yourself on him and his hands move to your hips to help you get a rhythm that suits the both of you. The way you were grinding on him brought you right back o the euphoric state you had while dreaming.

“Go ahead, angel, wrap that pretty little hand around me.”

You kiss him first and then slide your hand up to his throat. Did Harry like being choked, or did he just like that you wanted to do it to him? Your thumb brushes over his adam’s apple, and then you apply a little more pressure. He groans as he thrusts up into you, and your head rolls back. It felt so good to feel him without the barrier of the condom.

You weren’t grabbing him as hard as you had grabbed him while you were sleeping, he figured you just felt shy now and he wasn’t going to push you. But he’d be lying if he said he didn’t love when you were a little more dominant. His sweet baby girl liked to be rough, and it drove him crazy.

One of his hands dips between the two of you to rub your clit and that’s when you’re your grip tightens around him. You didn’t stop to think your fingers might leave lsting bruises, you were so far gone you couldn’t think about anything. He nearly gasps from the pressure on his throat, but he can handle it. He’d do anything to be able to see you the way you are now. Totally lost in pure ecstasy.

“Harry.” You groan. He feels you pulsate around him and he knows you’re close.

Another sharp thrust up into you and you come undone. You moan loudly and your voice cracks as he continues rubbing your clit as you get through your orgasm. Your grip on his throat loosens and you tuck your head into the crook of his neck.

“Will you, will you come on back?”

“Course.”

You lift off him and get on your stomach, lifting your ass in the air for him. He gives himself a few pumps before you feel his warmth all of over back and bum. You hear a few curse words leave his lips and then he sighs. He leans down to give you a kiss.

“Lemme get a rag, hang tight.”

Harry comes back a moment later with a warm rag to clean you up. You get up shortly after to use the toilet and then you return to him, spooning him and getting cozy.

“I didn’t hurt you did I?” You whisper to him.

“Not at all, felt good. Do it anytime yeh want.”

You knew you’d be exhausted when you got up in a few hours for work, but this one of the many things you loved about having a boyfriend like Harry. You could wake up incredibly horny in the middle of the night, and he’d be right there to help take care of you.

//

Today was the first day you’d be starting your video chats with Mark to work on your big project. You weren’t looking forward to it in the slightest, but at least in another week or so you’d be in Aruba. Harry’s mum and sister decided to stay in the U.K. for Easter since they knew Harry would be really busy with work while you were gone. That just meant he’d be spending three weeks over there during the summer instead of two, not a big deal.

You were dreading the call with him. You made sure to wear a shirt with a high neckline so he’d have nothing to look at but your face. Niall came into your office with a deep frown.

“What’s up?”

“You’ll never who’s here…”

“No.”

“The three of ‘em…CEO is putting them up in a hotel so we can all work together in person. Said it would be more productive. They’re taking over the conference room as a shared office for the foreseeable future.”

“No!” You whine.

“We have to meet with them in ten minutes. Could be worse, at least you don’t have to share your office with him.”

“True.” You stand up and grab your laptop. “Can’t fucking wait for this all to be over and it hasn’t even started yet. Now I’m almost nervous about my vacation.”

“Don’t be, you’re leadin’ what you’re workin’ on. Leave a list of to do’s with me and I’ll make sure that’s all he does.”

“Thank you.”

You both walk out to the conference room. You see three men setting their things up. You wondered how they’d get anything done working in an open space, but you certainly weren’t going to question it. Your supervisor comes in and gives you all the run down for how things were going to work, when it’s over it’s around lunch, and Mark follows you down the hall to your office.

“Hey, I was thinking maybe we could grab a bite? It’ll give us more time to go over things, and –“ You both stop short when you see Harry standing in your office.

“Sorry, I already have lunch plans.” You close the door in his face. It was unprofessional, and a little rude, but you didn’t care.

“What’s he doin’ here?” He asks, wrapping his arms around you.

“They’re here for the foreseeable future. CEO thought it would be more efficient this way.” You roll your eyes. You look at him and kiss him. “Can we go for a walk or something, I need to clear my head.”

“Sure.” He smiles and kisses you again.

You go over to your desk and reach underneath for your sneakers and change your shoes. You give him a thumbs up and grab his hand as you leave the office. Niall shoots you both a smile and wave as you walk out.

“Were you tired this mornin’?”

“A little yeah…” You say blushing.

“Me too.” He walks with his arm over your shoulders, pulling you into him. “But it’s the best kind of tired, you know?”

“Mhm.” You kiss him on the cheek.

“So you’re gonna have to spend a lot of time with that guy?”

“Unfortunately.” You groan. “At least I leave soon so it’ll break it up.”

“I know Niall’s there, hell, I know you can take care of yourself, but I’m a phone call or text away if you need me.”

“Thanks doll.” You give the hand on your shoulder a little squeeze, and continue your walk.

//

That afternoon Mark was in your office for hours. You were both going over different techniques you used while editing.

“Well, I use Vegas so…”

“Well, you’re going to learn Premiere because that’s what I use.” You tell him. “In fact, you’re supposed to use the Adobe products here since they’re paid for already. It’s really easy to learn. There’s tons of tutorials online. I’m sure someone as smart as you can pick it up.” You say smugly.

“Okay.”

“I think we should put a schedule or some type of calendar together for this. We’re going to be sent certain clips each day, so we need to get them into the sequence ready to go.”

“Makes sense to me.” He looks over his notes. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Does your boyfriend always visit for lunch?”

“That’s not really an appropriate question to ask me.”

“Come off it will you, we’re not robots.” You roll your eyes at him.

“Yes, he visits often, and sometimes I go to his work for lunch.”

“Right, he’s at Plant Geo?”

“Yes.” You look down then back to him. “Why do you care so much what I do with my personal time? We’re given an hour or so for lunch, and I’m allowed to do what I want during that time.”

“Never said you weren’t, I was just curious. Couple of the guys have girlfriends and they never see them during lunch. Usually too busy.”

“I use my time wisely during the work day. Plus, working through lunch is stupid, and doesn’t make you look better. It just shows poor time management if anything.”

“No, I just meant like they see them at home, ya know?”

“I see him at home too, we live together.”

“And you still visit during lunch?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because he, we miss each other during the day. And sometimes we both have late nights…we don’t meet up every day. When I don’t eat with him I eat with Niall.”

“Your ex?”

“I never dated him! I just told you I did because I wanted you to quit asking me to dance.”

“I was drunk.”

“No excuse. When someone tells you no, they should listen. You’re a good looking guy Mark, but you radiate douche-bag energy, and I’m just not here for it. So, while we’re working together I really would appreciate it if we didn’t talk about personal things. My goal at the end of this is to not have gained a new friend, okay?” His mouth was hanging open. No one had ever really talked to him like that before.

“Okay.”

That was that, and you get back to work. You notice the way he steals glances of you while you both work on your own computers, but you choose to ignore it. When you get home later Harry gives a relaxing back massage, knowing that you were stressed.

“You have magic hands, you know that?” You say as his thumbs press into your lower back as you both sit on the couch.

“I live to serve.” He jokes and you both laugh. “You’re so tense babe, full of knots. Maybe it’s time we get another massage together.”

“God that sounds amazing.” You sigh happily. “You know what would be relaxing too? Forever ago we talked about doing one of those wine and paint nights. That could be a really fun group date with everyone, don’t you think?”

“Yeah! Why don’t we see what everyone’s up to Friday night?”

“I’ll text in the group chat.”

Yes, the six of you had a group chat. Mariah was officially Rachel’s girlfriend now, and none of you saw her going anywhere anytime soon.

“Rachel should just teach the bloody class.” Harry chuckles. Your head rolls back as he works out a particular knot in your neck.

“Fuck.” You say. “Right there.” Your eyes screw shut as he applies a little more pressure.

“Poor thing.” He coos. “I should really buy some oil, give you a proper massage.”

“And get our things all gross?” You laugh. “This works just fine.”

//

Friday night rolls around and you couldn’t wait to hang out with all your friends. They had all agreed the wine and paint night would be fun, and to go to a late dinner afterwards.

You and Harry split and uber with Niall and Sarah.

“I’m begging the two of you, when we come home later, please don’t hump each other in the back of the car again.” Sarah says. “It was disgusting.” She says giggling. Before you can answer, Harry speaks.

“Can’t make any promises, sorry.” He winks at her.

“Make an effort then.” She sticks her tongue at him and he sticks it right back. You shake your head at the two of them with a smile.

You meet Rachel and Mariah at the place and you all head in. You each pick out the wine you want, and are given aprons to wear over your clothes. Harry helps you ties yours and you help him with his. Everyone else just sort of tied their own. Were the two of you cute or co-dependent? It was hard to tell from time to time.

You grab a stool and listen to the presenter who shows you what you’ll be painting. You all giggle and take sips of your wine. You’d be painting a lighthouse by the water. Not terribly difficult. Since you were left handed you had to be a little more careful than the others so you wouldn’t smudge anything. Harry watched as you took your first strokes. You always did everything with precision.

“Everyone look over here.” Sarah says. She had her phone up to take a group selfie. You all smile.

The painting was a lot of fun, and super relaxing. Of course Rachel’s painting looked the best. Yours was okay. Harry’s came out beautifully.

“Looks great, love.” He says, admiring your work.

“You’re just saying that.”

“No! I mean it, your shadows look good.” You give him a kiss on the cheek.

You’re told that the paintings will be stored to dry, and that you could come pick them up during the week if you wanted. The six of you head out to a pub for dinner. There were more drinks and lots of bar food. Harry kept his arm around you as he always did. He was more relaxed than usual. He liked having Mariah around. Someone else to talk to when Niall would join in on the girl talk.

“Y/N, are we still going to the mall tomorrow?” Sarah asks.

“Yup, was thinking we could leave around eleven.”

“Sounds good.”

“What are yeh shoppin’ for?”

“Just need to pick up some things. Rach, you’re still coming?”

“Yup, I’m gonna meet you two there.”

“You’ll be busy at an engagement shoot tomorrow anyways, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Mariah, do you a lot of freelance work?” Niall asks her.

“A little here and there, not as much as H though.”

“Okay, I need to ask.” Sarah starts. “What is with H? How does that nickname get started?”

“I’ve been wondering the same thing actually.” You say.

“I don’t know when it started. S’not like I said call me H or anythin’.” He shrugs.

“I feel like I heard someone call you H and it just stuck.” Mariah explains.

“More formal.” He says. “Niall never calls me H.”

“Nope, always Harry.”

You lean into him, feeling slightly tipsy. You decide to switch to water for the rest of the time at the pub. This time in the uber home, Sarah and Niall take the way back seat, but it didn’t stop Harry from nibbling on your neck and whispering in your ear to make you giggle. It was a great night.

“Night guys, see you tomorrow Sarah.” Harry has it arms wrapped around you to hold you from behind.

“Night, just text me before it’s time to go.” She says and nod.

You and Harry head up to your apartment, and practically race off to the bedroom. He couldn’t wait to get his hands on you, all over you. His hands cup your cheeks and he brings you in for a deep kiss. He walks you into the bedroom and presses you up against the wall next to the door. Your tongues mold together, and you’re in pure bliss.

His hands move to the hem of your shirt, breaking your kiss only for a moment to lift it off of you. He unhooks your bra with ease, and lets it fall to the floor. He takes his won shirt off and pulls you close to him so your breasts are pressed tightly to his chest. He kisses your jawline and moves to the skin just under your ear, sucking it in between his teeth and biting down.

“Oh god.” You moan, hands flying up to his hair.

“Need to taste you tonight.”

He picks you up and puts you on the bed, yanking your jeans and panties off. You giggle as he spreads your legs apart. He kisses down your chest, stomach, and hips. He kisses your inner thigh and leaves a few love bites behind as his tongue trails to your center. He licks a flat stripe up to your clit, and starts to suck on you. Your head slams back into the mattress. He’s done this to you more times than you can count, but it always felt like the first time. A vast amount of pleasure sweeps over you, and you gasp when you feel two of his fingers plunge up inside you, curling right away. Harry knew where your sweetest spot was. His mouth continues on your clit as his fingers pumped in and out of you.

“Harry.” You whimper.

He pumps faster, and flicks his tongue back and forth on your clit. He feels you clench around him, he knows your close. Your stomach tightens, and your back arches as you come undone. He takes his fingers out and laps up everything while you come, only adding to the wonderful sensation.

You catch your breath as he moves to hover over you. He takes one of your nipples between his lips, and sucks on it.

“Wanna, ngh, return the favor.”

“Later, need to be inside you now.”

He spreads you back apart and lines himself up with you. He slowly pushes inside. You gasp as his throbbing cock enter you. You pull him down close to you as be begins to move, rocking his hips against yours. You wrap your legs around his waist, and cross them at your ankles.

“Fuck, you feel so good.” He groans in your ear.

“Keep talking, love when you do this.” Your nails scratch at his back.

“You like havin’ my cock inside you?”

“Yes, it’s so big.”

“Yeh like the way I stretch you out?”

“God, yes.” One of his hands moves between where you’re connected to rub your clit. “You know my body so well.” You moan. “Always give me just what I need.”

“That’s right, always here to take care of you.” He moves to make eye contact with you as he pinches your clit and feels the beginning of your orgasm take over.

Your mouth parts as you look at him. He wants to watch every emotion you go through as you come, and you intend to show him. You nails sink further into his back and he knows he’s almost done for.

“Want you to come on my tits Harry, will you do that?” You say as you come down from your high.

He pulls out of you, and you squish your boobs together to give him a better target. That was all he needed before he released on you. You moan when you feel the heat of him on your skin. He collapses next to you and tries to catch his breath.

“Look at me babe.” You turn your head to face him. He was laying on his side. “I’ll clean yeh up in a second, but…”

“What baby?”

“Are yeh havin’ me come on you so much because you’re still afraid of me comin’ inside? I’m not complainin’ cause it’s so fuckin’ hot, but…”

“It’s just that we never do it is all…and yeah I’m still a little nervous, but at least I’m over using condoms right? Small steps.” You smile and he kisses you.

“I do like the way you look with my jizz all over you.” He smirks and gets up to grab a rag. He comes back over and cleans you up.

“Yeah, you like it when I’m dirty, huh?”

“Now, I have to go to sleep so I can get up on time, so none of that.” He gives your bum a little smack as you roll over after he’s done cleaning you up. He gets in with you and faces you.

“Oh, so I can’t be your dirty girl?” You giggle.

“You’re gonna be the death of me.”

//

Harry got up early, as much as he just wanted to lay in the warm bed with you, put on a nice outfit, and headed to the engagement shoot that was an hour or so away. You got up shortly after, showered, and texted Sarah. She met you down at your car.

“Thanks again for coming with, definitely need your opinions on what I want to buy.”

“No problem! You know I’ll never turn down a shopping trip. What do you need to get?”

“I’ll tell you once we’re with Rach.”

You both meet Rachel outside the main entrance of the mall, and walk in together. You lead them to a lingerie store.

“So…” You start blushing. “While Harry was in Florida a while ago, I found these pictures he had taken of himself…they were intimate.” You cough nervously as they nod. “He had mentioned he wanted to take pictures of me like that sometime, so since I’m leaving at the end of next week, I thought I would surprise him and let him take picture of me before I go.”

“Hot!” Rachel says.

“But I need your help picking out some outfits. I want to look sexy, but…I don’t know…elegant? I want it to feel like one of his professional shoots, only I’ll be wearing minimal clothing.”

“We’re on the case.” Sarah says. “Everyone, divide and conquer, we’ve got some work to do.”

[vanchlo]

The Firsts / #5, “The First Time Without”

*not my gifs*

---> NEXT BLURB: Um, not sure with finals coming up . . Check the series masterlist for updates!

READ THE ASSISTANT, AKA WHAT CAME FIRST

SERIES MASTERLIST    

READ ON WATTPAD

LEGEND:

+ : a break in the story; a time jump.

and i’m too lazy for italics bc tumblr ignores formatting like that i do in Docs so sorry

WARNINGS: Swearing, distressing topics, hella lotta angst and sadness

WORD COUNT: 16.5k words (WOWZAS!!!)

SONG: Hurts Like Hell by Fleurie (click to listen)

                                          * Sneak PeeEEEK! *

“‘ve rehearsed it so many bloody times in me head, but now, I actually get t’ talk t’ you and I can’t rememba,” he admits softly with shame painting his voice, and an out of place smile.

“All I know . .  ‘s that I miss you and it scares me how much I can miss you sittin’ at a meetin’ with you across tha table. I miss you like you’ve gone . . but inna way, you have. I miss you in so many ways, walkin’ in tha door at home t’ you, findin’ you’d claimed me sofa again fer anotha day workin’ t’getha, or even that you’d be usin’ one o’ me favourite coffee mugs or jumpers. I miss those small things, and then, I even miss wakin’ up next t’ you, talkin’ t’ you ‘bout songs, ‘bout art, or gettin’ yer advice on a recipe or an argument inna case. ‘d missed you like mad befo’, but nuthin’ compares t’ this. Didn’t know I could miss somebody so much that ‘m always sore from it, that I ache when I see you and can’t touch you or talk t’ you.”

“Things we lose have a way of coming back to us in the end. If not always in the ways we expect.”

- Luna Lovegood

*

“You can only actually help someone who wants to be helped.”

- Jojo Moyes, Me Before You

+

It smelled of metal and disinfectant around me, but I tried to drown it out with the images I scroll through. The electronic beeping wormed its way into my thoughts, but I welcomed the respite from the chaos toiling around in there. Images of friends and casual strangers litter my Instagram feed and instead of looking away when the dinging stops, I continue, distracting myself. That in itself seems to be my job for the last few weeks, owned by the number one job of not thinking about it. It’s followed by another important task of not crying in public, and saving it for at home despite the place owning that name changing recently. I’ve failed at all of those jobs the second I think about the person who I called my home for so long now, and can’t any longer. 

The new smell is what gets me at first, and immediately, the pictures are forgotten. I know before I look up that the facade is broken. Then, everything is shattered within a few moments, no matter how good I’ve gotten at ignoring him, or pushing down the feelings when I see him across the table at a team meeting. I’ve gotten good at the pretending part, but the only person I’ve never been able to do that around is the very one who accompanies me on the elevator now. My bad luck echoes when I finally chance a glance and I leave it for too long, because then he looks up and meets my eyes. 

Harry. My home . . but he’s not that any longer. 

“Hi,” he risks with a gentle curve of his lips, and a softness in his eyes that he holds in his hands for me too. A softness that never left him once I worked my way into his heart all of those years ago, it’s one that I still can’t allow myself to get rid of. 

“Hi,” I return curtly, tearing my eyes away from him, and his new suit. A mauve ensemble with a raven black button up underneath. Spiffy, indeed. It feels like a mini marathon to look away from him in that suit, and how it hugs him in all of the right places. The biceps, the chest, how it opens at his wildly attractive throat, reminds me of the base that we never hit when my eyes venture too low, and his bum. No, I can’t see it from my view right now, but I’d made sure to have seen it earlier today. 

“‘s good timin’, I was wonderin’ if we could talk,” he ventures out on a limb to say, and my eyes are rolling before he gets to finish. 

“I don’t want to talk, Harry.” 

“Becks, please, jus’ lemme finish, bug,” he says, and I wonder how he can be so gutsy to use those two coveted names within one sentence. Despite his bravery, the gesture does its job, and I gulp against the longing that climbs up my throat. 

“No, you don’t get to.” 

                                     Several Weeks Earlier . . . 

“And just what are you mmming about?” I giggle under the spray of kisses he scatters across my face. 

“‘ve been waitin’ all day t’ smother you in kisses, that’s why,” he hums against my skin, bringing goosebumps to the surface with his warm breath so near. A laugh sings from me when his fingers linger to a ticklish spot on my side. 

“Harry, don’t you dare!” 

“Sorry, swear I didn’t mean t’,” he giggles in between kisses that he sponges down my chest. “Mmmm, I love these so much.” 

“And why is that?”

“Why all tha questions, lovey?” he says, asking one of his own. He lifts an eyebrow at me from under the hood of his dark, thick eyelashes. A dimple collapses into his cheek while one corner of his mouth raises. “Can’t I love yer tits without havin’ t’ say why? Rather sure y’know why, anyways.” 

“Yeah, you’re obsessed with them,” I say, a laugh sputtering from my lips. A groan interrupts them when he teases me with those lips. “It’d be nice if you could not make jokes about them while our coworkers are around.” 

“Hey, I didn’t know My was in tha copier room, ‘s not me fault. Y’know he doesn’t give a shit about our PDA at work, and c’mon, Becks, they really did look incredible in that blouse t’day,” Harry winks from below me, lips venturing to the space above my belly button. “I love ‘em, they’re pink and perfect.” 

A redness sits in my cheeks as I titter, pressing the back of my hand against my shy lips, embarrassment coating them thickly. “We should be taking down the Halloween decorations instead of this.” 

“Hush you,” he murmurs. 

His hair is tangled and yet handsome when I catch my fingers in it, scratching my fingernails against his scalp. My eyes stay glued to it and his figure hunched over me, lips stopping at the hem of my underwear. I already know about the smirk lining his lips when he lifts his head to pose a question to me with his eyes. 

“Hmmm?” he murmurs, but I shake my head, again. “C’mon, Becks, it’d feel good, love. I wanna taste you.” 

Shaking my head once more, a refusal hums from me as my cheeks turn to the color of apples that I hope he can’t see. He sighs with a shake of his head, clucking his tongue at me while pressing kisses to the inside of my leg, soon reaching the pillowy flesh of my inner thigh. Closing my eyes, I press my lips together and sigh, my arm falling over my chest. I try to remember when I had lost my shirt and when he had lost his, but these days, it’s hard to remember if it was after the first kiss or the fiftieth. 

His lips reach further down my thigh and close to my blush colored underwear, a lacy part I’d bought recently. Once his lips had ventured down there, a knot inside of my stomach appeared, and it only grows tighter as his lips drop lower. It threatens to unravel when his nose brushes against the hemline, pushing it back to kiss the recently hidden flesh of my hip. 

“Harry!” I exclaim, tugging softly at the hair on the nape of his neck. 

“What? I was jus’ gettin’ t’ tha good part.” 

“You know I’m not-.” 

“I know,” he groans, situating himself high over top of me again like we had started, and with a kiss to the lips too. Despite the gesture, I can see the tension in his jaw and the annoyance in his eyes. “I can’t eat you out and I can’t fook you, so what ‘s there left fer me t’ do, huh?”

“Kiss me,” I say, and for some reason, it comes out sounding like a question. He huffs and bends down to place his lips on mine, but from the start, it doesn’t feel right. Now, I can feel the tension in his shoulders and the rigidness of his lips on mine. “What, are you not into this anymore?” I inquire after ending the kiss, twirling a curl of his around my finger on his neck. 

“No, ‘s not that,” Harry answers, eyes straying from me. A hand lifts from the bed and he draws invisible shapes on my skin with the lightest of touch until it runs loose on me. 

“Stop playing with my boobs and look at me,” I laugh, laying an arm across my bare chest and lifting his chin. The playful glint he so often holds in his eyes is there, but once my laugh falls away, it does too. “You’re being impatient again, aren’t you?”

“I jus’ dunno why we can’t do mo’, Becks, we’ve been t’getha ten months. Loads o’ couples have sex befo’ then and tha girlfriend lets their boyfriend eat ‘em out too.” 

“We’re not other couples, Harry, and I’m just not ready,” I say, combing the stray curls off of his forehead. My hand wanders to his smooth cheeks that already feel sandpapery despite him shaving this morning, right next to me as I washed my face. 

“I know, ‘m sorry.” 

“It’s okay. Does Mr. Impatient want some head?” 

“Nah, ‘m good. Let’s jus’ go eat dinna, ‘m hungry,” he says sadly, climbing off of me and the bed. 

“That’s not what your dick is saying,” I respond, sitting up and pulling my shirt over my head, watching as he pulls a pair of joggers over his briefs to hide the bulge in his underwear. 

“‘m fine. Now, what d’ya want fer dinna?” he continues, stepping in the hallway, forgetting his shirt on the bedroom floor. 

“Dick.” 

“Fine, you can make yer own dinna, sassy pants!” he calls to me, joined by the sound of his bare feet slapping on the wooden stairs. 

With a sigh, I close my eyes and fall back onto the bed with a little bounce, thinking about him. I think about the look on his face when it was between my thighs, then between my breasts, and nosing at my underwear. What is wrong with me to deny that man? I don’t know, I want to do the deed with him- I want to make love to him and for him to make love to me, but for some reason, I’m just not ready. I have a weird feeling about the whole thing, like I should wait. I just wish that I knew the why.

+

I hear it before I see it, like I so often do. It runs a trail down the hallway and to my ears, pulling my lips into a smile long before I see the one sitting on his. 

“What on your phone is so funny?” I inquire, stopping in front of his desk and dropping his mail next to his keyboard. Another giggle tickles his lips as he pinches his bottom lip between his fingers, staring at something on his phone. 

“Yer dad ‘s what.” 

“I should’ve known,” I sigh, falling onto one of the chairs in front of his desk, watching as his thumbs flit across the screen. “I swear, you talk to my dad more than I talk to him, and he’s my dad!” 

“Uh oh, ‘s somebody gettin’ jealous now?” he teases, lifting his eyes to look at me as he sets his phone down.  

“No, why would I be jealous of you texting my dad? It makes me happy.” 

“Hmm, not sure I believe you, bug,” he remarks, popping a mint into his mouth, immediately chewing it. Sometimes, I really don’t get him. “Then why d’ya get so bent outta shape sometimes, hmm?”

Clucking my tongue, I huff with a smile that hugs the corner of my lips, “Maybe because he doesn’t answer when I call because he’s talking to somebody else.” 

“Hey now,” Harry titters, gesturing a hand at me to come to him once I’ve stood up. “Don’t be that way.” 

“I’m not being any way,” I say, turning around after considering the books he’s added to a new shelf of his. These ones are music biographies, big surprise. 

“Sure ya aren’t. C’mere, me stubborn girl,” he beckons, and I obey, taking slow steps over to him until I walk between his legs. “Hi.” 

“Hi,” I return, just as softly as he had uttered it. His rose lips spread into a sweet smile, reminding me why it’s always so damn hard to stay mad at him. 

“Are you grumpy?” Harry asks with the most adorable of pouts poised on his lips, winking at me. 

“No, I’m not grumpy. Are you ready to get started on this case? We really can’t be dawdling, you know.” 

“I know,” he answers, sadness stuck to his words. It guides his actions that lead him to look away from me, pulling me closer until he rests his forehead below my collarbone. 

“Then why are you these last few days? I thought you were so excited that we got this case, everybody else fought us for it.” 

“I am, but ‘s intimidatin’. I dunno if ‘m cut out fer it,” he says, slowly extending his fingers along the small of my back, and then pulling them back into a fist. In and out. In and out. “What if we can’t win it, Becks?” he asks, lifting his head to meet my eyes, and I wish I couldn’t see the blatant fear held in them. 

“Then we can’t. We can only do our best, Harry, that’s what you’ve always told me.” 

“And what if my best isn’t good enough? Ev’rybody ‘cross tha whole bloody world ‘s watchin’ this case, waitin’ t’ see what happens,” he continues, avoiding my eyes entirely, now tracing the pattern on the front of my blouse. 

“It will be, and it is, Harry. I promise you.” 

His head slowly moves up and down, but no words leave him. His questions bounce off the walls in my mind, replaying themselves, and I only wish that I could express my worry too. I’d certainly grown more confident in my abilities since I started working with him, and I owed it not just to his teachings, but also the confidence that he’s instilled in me. I hadn’t given him the go ahead for us to split a case equal between us, and I never knew when I’d be ready for that, so I’d always leaned on him and his skills, but now I was worried to do that. I’m afraid to, and I’d never been before. 

“Everything will be okay, Harry.” 

“I hope so, Becks,” he croaks, laying his forehead on my chest and his closing eyes flutter against my skin softly. I hold in the sigh that I want to let fall, but instead, I run my fingers through his hair and down his back, unsure of what more I can do. If there was anything I couldn’t be sure of, it was the future and what it held, and how little I knew what was coming.

+

It started that night, daunting and unwilling to let go, and if only I’d known what it was the beginning of. 

I kept checking my phone, staring at the clock that moved like molasses, and waiting for the text that wouldn’t come. Exhaling loudly, I swipe across the screen until his name is waiting for me, and I do it before I can stop myself. 

Are you on your way home yet? It’s supposed to snow tonight, maybe it is already. I don’t want you to get caught in it with bad roads

The word ‘delivered’ appears and then stares back at me, almost taunting me. Before my eyes, it changes to ‘read’ and I wait for the gray bubble to pop up on his side, but it doesn’t. I watch and I wait, and nothing happens. No thumbs up, no text reaction, no ‘b home soon,’ like he so often sends. Not a thing. I forget how long I sit there watching my phone screen, tapping at it when it grows dark, and wishing he’d send something. It got even later when I finally press the lock button and set my phone down on the nightstand, glancing at the alarm clock beside it. 

11:38. 

I tried not to worry and I tried not to overthink it, but I was already past that when I turned off the light. My heart continued to ram against my ribs as I slid under the cold blankets in an empty bed, watching the steady glow of the streetlamp outside the window. I lied there and I tried and I wanted to, but I couldn’t fall asleep. I had a hard time remembering the last time I had slept in a bed without him, even before I moved in we had sleepovers at his. I wasn’t sure how I’d get any sleep for another day of work tomorrow, knowing that I’d be up in seven hours, and so would he. That’s if I could shut off all of this worrying and fall asleep, if only. 

I listen to the whir of cars passing along on the street, and I find myself wishing one of them is his, but it’s too long until it actually is. The space around me had grown warm, but if I move a leg too far, I’m greeted by icy sheets. It had never been that way, I could always move a little and find him and his warmth. Sometimes, I’d wake in the morning and he was all around me, clinging to me and my heat. 

It was in the middle of a long, sleepy blink that I heard a door open downstairs, and shut. It was loud, a clumsy kind of one, and so are the footsteps that soon come up the stairs. A sigh tickles my ears before the door opens slowly with a squeak, and his feet pad through our bedroom. I only see a flash of him before he ducks into the ensuite bathroom with what looks like a handful of clothes. I watch the shadows that interrupt the bar of light under the door, and listen to his whistling and humming amidst the sloshing of running water. 

His eyes are tired when he opens the door again, and they only look all the more exhausted when they find mine in the lit darkness. 

“Why aren’t you sleepin’, bug?” he rasps, stepping forward in his outfit of nothing but joggers donning his legs. He claims that he can’t wear a shirt without getting too warm, because I heat the entire bed, or so he says. Right now, I don’t believe it. 

“I couldn’t . . without you.” 

“Oh, Becks,” he frowns, padding across the hardwood floor and pulling back the sheets to slip under them. “Brr, ‘m cold, warm me up, would ya?”

“Ugh, you’re freezing!” I exclaim, my nervousness melting away into giggles that tickle his neck as he wraps me in his arms. 

“Mmmm, now that’s better.” 

I hum a reply into his chest, dragging my fingers along his spine, touching the wispy baby hairs that cover his body like down. The questions from before still rummage around in my mind, looking for purchase. 

“Why were you out so late?” I decide to ask, smelling the toothpaste we use on my own breath, and then his. 

“Didn’t mean t’, jus’ lost track o’ time with Rore. We had some drinks and I didn’t wanna drive home buzzed, so I waited it out and had some waters.” 

“Good boy,” I reply, nuzzling into his cozy chest, feeling the feathery hair there tickle my face. Yawning, I let my body relax now that mine is finally back with his, one specific question hiding in the back of my mind. “But why didn’t you answer?” I mumble without caution, feeling myself begin to melt into a puddle of sleep against him. 

“Answer what?”

“Your phone,” I drawl, losing the feeling of my fingers and then my feet. 

“Jus’ go t’ sleep, bug. It doesn’t matter.” 

“Okay,” I hum in reply, not even sure of what he’d just said. “Goodnight, Harry. Love you.” 

“Night, my Becks,” he responds with a peck to my head, sounding far away.

+

The tapping of my shoes against the tiling fills my ears as I flip through his mail, noting which ones should go on top for him to see first, and what can remain at the bottom to be forgotten about until later. Something I’d accidentally fall back into the habit of when I returned to the firm, despite being a lawyer now, and not his assistant. Humming a tune I had heard earlier today, I look up and stop in his doorway, finding myself in an odd moment. With his eyes bent down, I can tell that he doesn’t know I’m there yet, and that he does it because he doesn’t see me. 

“What are you doing? It’s nine o’clock,” I titter, covering my mouth when my voice scares him, causing the brown liquid to spill over the side of his mug. 

“God, can ya maybe not scare tha shit outta me next time?” Harry almost retorts, mopping it up with a napkin before screwing the cap back onto the bottle. 

“Harry, I said, what are you doing?” I repeat, click clacking my way into his office and dropping his mail on his desk, yet again. 

“What? ‘s jus’ whiskey. Can I not make my coffee a li’l irish ev’ry now and then?” he questions, lifting the tall mug to his lips to sip from, steaming wafting against his face. 

“I guess so,” I trail off, waltzing back to the sofa and picking up my laptop. Sitting down, I place it on my lap and open it back up, watching the long pull he takes from the mug. Bringing up the internet browser I was using before, I scroll through the document as I try to forget watching him fill the mug nearly half of the way with whiskey.

+

“Harry?” I call out, toeing off my chestnut colored winter boots, hoping he won’t notice the puddle of water next to the shoe mat. He’s such a dad with the things he gets cross about, I swear. “Hello, are you home yet? I brought you some leftovers from Skye’s, you know, for dinner.” 

Padding into the house, I’m met with darkness and a soft silence. I don’t find my boyfriend sprawled out on the sofa in the living room, a show on the telly. I walk past the large flat screen and knock on the door of his study before pushing it open, finding that that room is also dark. 

“Harry, hello?” I almost shout again, taking the steps two at a time until I reach our bedroom, wondering if he was taking a nap after his early morning, or if he happened to not be feeling well. Once again, I come up empty handed, and my head begins to spin as the cogs turn inside of it. 

“Hullo?” the voice on the other side says whilst I pad down the stairs quickly. 

“Hi, where are you?”

“‘m at tha pub with My, why?” he says, and I can tell by the sound of clinking glasses and loud voices coming from his side. 

“Oh, just wondering. I thought you said you were coming straight home to work more on the case,” I begin, intending to continue but I don’t get the chance to. 

“No, I spent all bloody day workin’ on it, why should I spend me night off pourin’ over it too?” he nearly retorts, and I stop in my tracks before the island, taken aback by his tone. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t say you had to or anything, Harry. Is something wrong?”

“No, ‘d jus’ appreciate not havin’ you nag me like yer me mother or sumthin’. ‘m an adult, can’t I go out fer a drink at tha pub afta work? Reckon ‘ve deserved it, dontch’u think?” he continues with a carry to his voice that I don’t like, and it only begins to make sense once I’ve picked out the slur in his words. 

“Yeah, of course, just don’t drink too much, okay? And drive safe. Maybe don’t stay out as late as last night, you have an early meeting.” 

“I jus’ said don’t bloody nag me, and look what ya start doin’,” he bites back and I shudder, taking a seat at the island to steady my feet. 

“I didn’t mean to, Harry, I just care-.” 

“If ya fookin’ care so much, Becky, then stop treatin’ me like a damn baby,” he spits at me, and I hear the dial tone. 

“What the fuck?” I mutter under my breath, pulling my phone away from my ear. I grimace at the image on my lockscreen that only makes the wound sting worse. 

Dinner went down harshly and so did the glass of wine that I had with it although regrettably. Watching FRIENDS without him was a bore and it didn’t last long, afraid I’ll only piss him off further if he came home to see me skipping ahead in our show without him there. I whittled away at the next things to be done in the case - research this, research that, take notes on this, get these statements, bladdy blah. All just to busy my mind and to make the clock speed along until he came home, and hopefully, when things would go back to normal. 

Before I knew it, it was getting late and I was still home all alone. A warm bath didn’t calm my nerves and it only made me wish that he was sitting across from me under the suds, but he wasn’t. He wasn’t lying in the bed waiting for me when I got out, skin all shriveled like prunes, no matter how badly I wished he’d be home after my long bath. He hadn’t walked in the door after I read a chapter from my book, spoke on the phone with my dad, or wrote in my journal. I at last flicked off the bedside lamp and tried to fall asleep in a cold bed, once again.

I woke with a start to a loud slam! downstairs on the main level of the house, presumably a door. Failing to ignore it, I turn over and tug the covers higher, unable to tune out the sound of his loud footsteps climbing the stairs. Sinking lower into the messy covers, I keep my eyes shut and listen to his sloppy movements before they arrive him in the bed next to me with a huff. Words sit in my throat, itching to be said, but I only let one of them out. 

“Harry?”

+

It had become old, very swiftly and very quickly. For the next few nights, I sat alone at home, wondering and waiting for texts that never came, only to fall into a fitful sleep in a cold bed, all alone. I’d awake the next morning to the sound of him emptying his stomach into the toilet, and either leaving for work without me, or being a monumental crab-ass on the drive there. As the days carried on, I couldn’t remember for the life of me the last time his coffees weren’t Irish. I ignored it, and after a few days of doing that, I knew that that’s where my mistakes had begun. 

The door slowly creaked open and dragged in was him, glossy eyed and surprise etched on his features. 

“What d’ya want, mum? Gonna chew me out fer stayin’ out past me bedtime?” he jokes at me, closing the bedroom door behind him as he waltzes in wearing a disheveled version of today’s suit. 

“What’s going on with you?” I ask, twisting the rings around on my fingers, lingering on a new one that had appeared on my hand last week. Sometimes, it hurt to remember that it was there, but I could never get myself to take it off.  

“Oh, here we go,” he sighs, slamming closed a drawer to his wardrobe. Avoiding my eyes, he unclasps his belt and lets his trousers fall to the floor. “Nuthin’s goin’ on with me, I dunno why ya think sumthin’ ‘s.” 

“Yes, there is, Harry. You’ve been out late drinking every night this week, and I’m sick of it!” I confess quietly, unsure of where to find the fervor in my voice, or well, the volume. An ironic laugh curves at his lips as he undoes the buttons of his crimson red shirt. 

“I don’t rememba askin’ how ya felt ‘bout it, or needin’ yer permission eitha,” he retorts, achieving malice and cruel intent in a matter of seconds. It’s all too much when he meets my eyes with his unforgiving stare, and I have to look away. 

“Why are you acting like this?” I say, the incoming tears already decorating my words. His heavy sigh only makes my throat burn worse with its impending dryness. 

“What, are ya gonna fookin’ cry now? Bloody hell, ya can be a brat when ya wanna be,” he slurs, slinking off his button down that hits the floor silently. Sniffling, I look up and watch him slide on pajama bottoms to cover his dark black briefs. 

His tattoos grab at my attention from across the room, but I don’t want to fall asleep tracing them like I would any other night, because that’s not him standing across from me. It may have taken me a few days too long to realize this, but it’s not. That’s not my Harry. No, it’s the Harry that I first met that September day when he barked his Starbucks order at me. 

“It’s the case, isn’t it? It’s taking too much of a toll on you, Harry. You should give it up, or hand it off to somebody else. I don’t like this you, you’re drinking too much and-.” 

“Did I ask fer yer opinion? Y’know what? No, I don’t rememba that. Now, my bloody god, would ya leave it be so I can get some sleep?” he interrupts in a retort, heavy feet padding around to the other side of the bed with a wobbliness to them. He rips back the covers and sits down, grabbing his charger to plug his phone in. Swiping at my cheeks, I grab my pillow and anxiously begin my trek to the door. “Goin’ t’ sleep on tha sofa, are ya now? Good, maybe you’ll stop naggin’ on me then.” 

His voice that usually would lull me to sleep and drive the demons away instead keeps me away, guiding me down the steps until I stop on the last one. My butt burns when it falls onto the wooden step and I bury my face in my knees, my chest shaking with a new sob. 

I eventually scrounge up the might and energy to pull myself off of the staircase and across the room until I collapse onto the sofa, and cry myself into an uneasy sleep. 

The smell of eggs and toast wakes me the next morning, but the illusion is broken when I hear the slam of the door to the garage, and the hum of his car pulling away.

+

The sounds of Mozart and Beethoven meander around my office, but they fail to drive away the incessant thoughts that have buried their way into my mind. They mask the signalling sound of his footsteps that I could pick out from a crowd. 

“Hey, ‘m done with me meetin’ now. Ya wanna come t’ mine and we can finish up the openin’ statement?” he says, but as much as my heart reaches out for him, I can’t do it after the other night. Sure, casual conversation had happened since then, but he had also been missing in action for almost the entire weekend recently. A nice dinner together last night wasn’t enough to wash away the hurt from that night, and all of the others. “Becks?” Harry repeats, taking a step into my office. The door closes with a squeak that I’ve been meaning to ask him to get fixed, but something as simple as that hadn’t seemed possible in the last week, and neither had a kiss or a hug. Not even on our official ten month anniversary that came and went uncelebrated yesterday, despite his urging last week that we should do something to celebrate it. 

“No thanks, I’m fine in here,” I say softly, feeling the eggshells underneath my feet as the words make their way out. 

“Uh, okay,” he answers. “‘ll grab you fer lunch with me mum in an hour then. She picked Henry’s down tha street fer pizza. We haven’t been there in a while,” he finishes, and I wonder how he can manage such small talk after the things he had said to me. I ask and come up empty when I question how I could even let him. 

+

“And again, why are you hiding out in my office?” 

“I’m not hiding out in your office,” I insist, tucking a lock of hair behind my ear before resuming my typing. 

“Uh, yeah you are. You have your own office, don’t you remember?”

“What, I can’t hang out with my friend and work together?” I say, lifting my eyes to meet Asher’s sky blue pair that squint at me in question. He shakes his head with his lips parted, ready to say something, but he just sighs without an answer. 

“What tha hell?” somebody shouts, the blinds on Asher’s door swinging and swaying after the initial shock of its opening. I see Ash’s look before the intruder’s, but I’m afraid that I already know what it will be. 

“Harry-,” I begin, standing to my feet and pushing my laptop to the side, unsure of how I didn’t see this coming. 

“I was waitin’ fer you fer half an hour at tha restaurant, and so was me mum. You stood us up and wouldn’t answer yer fookin’ phone!” he explodes, taking another step inside Asher’s office. Asher begins to say something to him, but I get lucky and push Harry out of the room before he can get a chance to respond. “And you’d been sittin’ in there tha whole fookin’ time?” he continues, his words soon sounding different when I push him into the lift. 

“Now, you know how it feels.” 

“Know how what feels?” he bites back, prying my hand from his arm and taking a step back. I press a button at random and try to push down the hurt I felt when he picked my hand off of him. 

“To be waiting around for you, and to be stood up by you. You’ve been doing it to me for the last week, so it’s only right that you feel a little bit of my pain,” I say curtly, swinging around to face him, watching the smug grin plaster itself to his face as he wipes at his mouth. 

“So, this ‘s ‘bout you, ‘s it? God, what’s fookin’ new?” he sighs with an ironic laugh that feels gross in my ears. 

“No, it’s not about me, Harry, I-.” 

“D’ya know how that looked t’ me mum? I couldn’t get you on tha phone and ya never showed up. Ya made it look like we’re havin’ problems, Becks,” he says, stepping into my sentence, and this only gets me going further. 

“Who’s to say we aren’t, Harry?!” 

“‘Scuse me? We aren’t havin’ problems,” he begins, denying my claim as he uses his hands to talk. “We’re fine!” 

“Yes, we are, Harry! You get drunk every night after work- wait, let me start over. You pregame with Irish coffees all day at work, and then disappear every night to the pub only to come home around midnight out of your mind drunk!” I exclaim, feeling my blood boil as he shakes his head in disagreement, but I wish I could say that I’m surprised. 

“Yer not turnin’ this ‘round on me,” he tuts, pointing a finger at me as ice coats his words. “I have a drink or two at tha pub, there’s nothin’ wrong with that.” 

“It’s not a few drinks, Harry, it’s more than that and it’s becoming a problem! You have a drinking problem!” I insist, wishing I knew the magic key for how to get my words across to him, but they falter and run off on me. 

“I don’t have a drinkin’ problem, Becks, and ‘m gettin’ real fookin’ sick o’ you always monitorin’ me like ‘m a bloody baby! ‘m not, ‘m a grown ass adult, and if ya forgot, ‘m yer bleedin’ boss ‘round here. ‘m not likin’ tha attitude yer havin’ with me and if ya continue it, ‘ll take ya off the Gellar case.” 

“Fine, take me off it. I don’t give one fuck, Harry, because it’s hell working with you on that case. You’re almost drunk all day at work, you give me the shitty jobs to do, and now, here’s a perfect example of you taking your shit out on me!” I argue back, but the fire soon disappears in my words, and with my next ones, I watch it extinguish on his face. “Why are you treating me like this? I-I’m concerned for you and I’m trying to help, and you’re being so mean to me. It’s inexcusable . . I want my Harry back . . I wish you’d never taken this high profile case, because it’s destroying you, and I’m scared that it’ll do the same to us.” 

A flash of my Harry appears on his face, but I don’t wait to watch it disappear, walking off the lift and back onto Seventeen and away from him.

+

My feet seem to have a mind of their own the next day, inching one way and then itching to go in another. I ignore them and remain in my office for another day of sulking, trying to apply myself to this new case with Rose, but it’s a swing and a miss. The buzzing of my phone is something I’ve learned to ignore, but when I see that it’s my dad or Skye, both of whom I’ve neglected to tell about Harry and I, it becomes all the harder. 

That thought is dislodged by the knock at my door, a simple gesture that as of late can send my stomach into somersaults, wondering who it is. I’m reminded too quickly of the times when I sat at that shitty desk in the corner, and how I feel far too much like that person right now. The girl who was unappreciated and who was treated like shit by her boss. 

“Hey. I thought today’s meeting was cancelled, something about Myles being out and the drunk that I regrettably call my boyfriend is well, drunk again,” I say, hoping the man of the hour isn’t passing behind Rose right this second to hear my speech. 

“No, um, it’s still off. I uh . . “

“Spit it out already. What’s wrong?” I ask, screwing open my water bottle and slowly pouring a small stream of water into the succulent on the corner of my desk. Harry’s plant, the very one he’d named Frankie all that time ago. For what reason, I don’t remember. “I don’t know what that look is for, it’s not like my life could get any worse right now . . or can it?”

“It can,” she says, breaking the ice, but I’m not sure if she’s doing it slowly or ripping off the bandaid in one pull. “Harry’s telling people that you quit the case because you were afraid you wouldn’t be able to handle it.” 

“God, I really am going to kick the shit out of him one of these times,” I groan, setting down the steel water bottle loudly and haphazardly screwing the cap on. 

“Becky, don’t,” she warns me, stepping forward and trying to block my path to the door, but she hasn’t even made a dent. “Starting another row with him isn’t going to help anything. I just saw him and he’s practically asleep at his desk, he’s drunk so much.” 

“I don’t bloody care, I’m not going to let him spread rumors about me, his own fucking girlfriend,” I retort, taking the last step until she’s practically shoving at my shoulders. Huffing, I meet her eyes and for an instant, I feel bad for her and what she’s had to watch. “Rose, don’t. Please. I need to speak to him. I’m sick of his immature teenager act, he’s being a right asshole, and he deserves to be told it.” 

“Fine,” she sighs softly, hands dropping before she steps to the side. 

My feet pound around the corner and down the hall, taking only a few moments until I arrive at his door. I savor the way he jumps in his chair when I slam his door shut, only to sink back into the expanse of pricey leather. 

“What d’ya want? ‘m tryin’ t’ sleep here, haven’t ya noticed?” Harry drawls, sleepily. His eyes flutter closed again and he swallows before trying to get comfortable in his chair again. 

“Well, maybe if you came home at a half decent time each night you wouldn’t be falling asleep at work, but I guess you just can’t put down the bottle, Harry. By the looks of it, you can’t at work, either,” I say, curling my lip when I see the empty bottle of vanilla whiskey sat open on his desk. God, he really is going to get his ass fired or demoted one of these times, not to mention start a smear campaign for the firm. 

“This shit again? I don’t wanna fookin’ hear it, Becks. Give it a rest, ‘m a grown adult, I can do what I please.” 

“So talking shit about me to your coworkers is doing as you please, is it now?” I say, coming out and dealing it, right then and there. Something in him stills and his eyes slowly open and try to focus on me. I think I see apology and regret in them, but I whip off any rose colored glasses I still had on and chuck them to the side. “I’m your girlfriend, Harry . . What the fuck is wrong with you?” I exhale, feeling the first tear when I blink and turn away from him. I try to ignore the pang I feel in my chest when I don’t hear my favorite voice calling my nickname from behind me, but I guess it’s time that he stopped chasing after me. It seems to be coming to an end . . I just wish I’d known when the beginning was. 

After a quiet cry and a few YouTube videos, I meander my way to the break room for my lunch, bumping shoulders with somebody when I walk in the door. Automatic ‘sorrys’ leave our lips as I continue my mission to the fridge where my leftovers sit. Leftovers from another lonely dinner without Harry last night. 

“You alright, Becky?”

“What?” I ask in surprise, at last looking up to find the culprit of the question. “Oh, Myles, hi. I’m fine.” 

“You don’t look it. Harry doesn’t either lately, there isn’t a theme, is there?” he almost jokes, but I don’t laugh as I press random numbers on the microwave. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“I’m alright, thanks. No offense, but you’re kind of the biased best friend. Trust me, I know. I have one of them too.” 

“Well, trust me, ‘cause I’m not,” he insists, and when I look around, pretending to take a gander, my eyes drift to the door habitually. “Here, maybe this’ll help.” 

I watch him cross the room to stick a key into the door and the lock flicks with a metallic sound. 

“What will people do without their tea and lunch? You may as well be starting a mutiny,” I say, trying to lighten the atmosphere around us, but I find it’s no use when he stops at my side with a grim expression. 

“I haven’t seen him drink this much, since well . . you left.” 

“Huh,” I hum, less of a question and more of a realization, one I hadn’t wanted to make. “He’s sure doing a good job of working towards that again . . I hear he’s been saying things about me.” 

“Swear I haven’t heard a thing, and if I did, I wouldn’t believe a word that comes from his drunk ass lately.” 

“It seems you’re the only one,” I laugh almost ironically, but it comes out sounding sad as can be. Hoping and praying, I try to hide the sniffle as the microwave door opens with a pop! 

“Sure I’m not.” 

“Rose told me he’s telling people I left the Gellar case because I was scared, when in truth, he kicked me off it because I’ve been on his ass about staying out late every night drinking,” I risk, staring down at the steaming container of food, forgetting the spoon set to the side to stir it at the halfway mark. “He’s my boyfriend, and my best friend. He’s supposed to protect me from the people who want to hurt me, not become one of them,” I reveal, each word becoming heavier with tears that try to swallow my voice. “Why is he doing this, Myles? This isn’t the Harry I know . . it’s that one I first met.” 

“Oh, Becky,” he sighs, stepping forward and pulling me into a hug. “I don’t know. I wish I could tell you why, I’ve wondered meself . . He’s got issues, even he knows it, but . . he has a hard time of dealing with ‘em. He ignores ‘em instead, with whiskey. You shouldn’t take it like this, it’s not fair to you.” 

“I try. I’ve tried talking to him and being nice about it, but he doesn’t listen to me. He won’t stop drinking and it scares me, how he acts and the things he says,” I confess in a blubbery voice against his suit jacket. “I never thought I’d have to do this and I hate that I have to . . but I don’t want him to be my mentor anymore, Myles, please. Maybe Rose, instead. Can you do it without him finding out and getting even more mad at me?”

“Yeah, I can sneak it past him, don’t worry.” 

“I wish I could,” I nearly whisper, pulling away and grabbing the hot container whilst I swipe at my wet cheeks, ignoring the burning heat against my skin, knowing that that’s the mildest pain I’ve felt in days.

+

A few days later, I’m greeted by darkness and silence after the key clicks in the lock, and my footstep is the first sound in the house. 

“You’re sure you want to do this?” the words echo inside of my skull, but I can’t find the confidence I had when I had first heard them, when I need it so badly right now. “I’ll support whatever decision you make, Ree, and you know you always have a place to stay here.” 

“Thanks, Skye,” I had said then, and I mutter now too as I stop in front of our bedroom door. The quiet embeds itself into every nook and cranny, but I welcome it and only wish that it could replicate itself in my mind. 

The pounding of my heart grows louder when I push the door open, and the beginning tears don’t mask it when I drop the suitcase onto the bed. The sounds only worsen as I open drawers and take items out to fill the zippers, leaving an emptiness behind that couldn’t compare to that I hold inside of me. 

My head moves every which way, trying to memorize the sights around me, but all I see and all I hear are the rows we’d had the last few nights here. In the kitchen after he tried to sneak inside reeking of whiskey, or the night before in the living room when he came home shouting at me about why I didn’t finish the opening statement, despite being dropped from his case. Then another over him growing mad with me for not answering my phone, deciding if he wasn’t going to answer my texts and calls, then why should I bother to answer his. 

I feel the grooves and the raised edges, sure I’d at least memorized those as I pull it from my pocket, watching the color blur before my eyes. My thumb slides across the medal wet from my uncontrollable tears, and at last, I place it on the island counter with a small clack!, finally letting go. 

“What’re ya doin’?” a voice says softly out of nowhere. Spinning around, I blink back the tears until Harry focuses in front of me. His thick eyebrows furrow above his murky greens, and only then do I see his boots kicked off by the doorway that had gone unnoticed by me, and his coat draped over the staircase newel. 

“H-Harry,” I stutter, swallowing against a dry throat that deprives me of any explanations I could muster. 

“Becks, what’re ya doin’? It looks like . . . ,” he trails off to look at the item, his words escaping him until they shine brightly in his eyes, and wrench at my heart. “Looks like yer movin’ out, and without even tellin’ me. What, was I supposed t’ come home t’night t’ find yer key on tha counter, and piece it all t’getha meself? And tha night befo’ I leave fer me case? How in tha hell ‘s that any fair, Becks?” 

“Harry, I- please-.” 

“No, why should I let ya explain? It doesn’t seem ya were gonna bother t’ leave me a note or even break it t’ me,” he continues quietly with astonishment wild on his face, and in his voice that smells rough and hard with alcohol. 

“Harry, I was just going to stay at Skye’s tonight and while you were away. I-.” 

“Then why leave tha key, huh?” he asks, voice growing firm and so does the green in his eyes. “God, ‘m so sick o’ arguin’ with you, seems that’s all we do lately. ‘m jus’, ‘m done, Becks. I really am.” 

“Harry, no. Please, don’t say that. You’re drunk, you don’t know what you’re saying,” I say hurriedly, stepping forward and dropping the bag. It hits the floor with a bang! just as he turns away while dragging a hand down his face. 

“I know what ‘m sayin’, Becks, and I know ‘m done dealin’ with all o’ this shit. Fer havin’ such an ungrateful girlfriend who nit picks ev’ry li’l thing I do, ‘cuz ‘s jus’ never good enough fer her.” 

“Harry, that’s not true,” I sob, following him with my steps that feel more heavier as I continue, but he seems to be moving further and further away from me. 

“It ‘s tho’, y’know it ‘s. ‘m . . . ‘m doin’ it fer you, ‘kay? ‘m doin’ what ya can’t do, ‘m callin’ it. We’re done, we’re breakin’ up. We both knew it was comin’,” he mutters, and I no longer can make out the sounds in his voice or what it holds, because I can barely see him through the waterfall of tears. 

“Please, Harry, I don’t want to break up. I’m sorry.” 

“Sometimes sorry doesn’t cut it, isn’t that whatch’u say t’ me?” he retorts, at last stopping to face me fully. The splashes of black and brown covering his body turn ashier and darker the longer I look, but it doesn’t compare to the look on his face. 

“But I love you . . and I know that you love me too.” His eyes run away from me and finally, so do his words. “Harry, say it back, please. We can just pretend this didn’t happen, and go to bed together. We can sleep it off and talk about it in the morning before your flight,” I cry, watching his face devoid of emotion show me nothing when I can’t stop showing him. When I could never learn how to close myself off to him, he finally learned how to close his book to me so I could stop reading him. 

He stares at the floor, his only movements are his eyes blinking and his hand scratching at the back of his head. The seemingly permanent glossiness to his eyes wavers and tears appear in them, but something pulls me backwards and away from him. I take the steps and wish that they could rewind time too, but they only bring me to the case that I place in my hand without deciding to. I look up and walk over to him, unsure of when my legs had begun to move, or if my body was doing all of this for me, because it figured out that I can’t. I just, I can’t. 

“Go, Becks, ‘kay? ‘ve made me mind up, we’re over. Leave befo’ tha snowstorm gets too bad,” Harry announces in an absent, choked voice, his hand falling from his head as my chest shakes with sob after sob. His eyes budge up a little but they avoid mine entirely, and so does he as he walks around me and up the stairs. 

I don’t remember deciding to walk out the front door, or getting into my car, but I’m there when I curl inward on myself as tears cascade down my face. I’m fully there as the stitches that he put in my heart are ripped open and all of the memories that he filled my heart with spill out, stinging one by one. I’m there as I watch the lights in the house turn off and the one for our bedroom turns on, and I immediately correct myself, knowing that it’s not ours anymore. I sit there until I can muster the energy to drive, telling myself that he’s not mine anymore, and I was a right idiot for ever telling myself that he was.

+

The sheets are cold when the blaring of the alarm awakens me, and I turn over, inching a foot across the mattress in search. It’s met with only coldness and I slowly peel my eyes open, searching with them now, for her. Sitting up, I rub a knuckle into my bleary eyes, trying to focus my sight on the emptiness on the other side of the bed. 

Questions fill me and answers fleet me as I pad down the stairs and past the front door, arriving in the kitchen. Turning a light on, I squint at the sudden brightness that sends throbs through my head. It’s accompanied by another throb when I spot the lone purple key sitting on the marbled countertop, away from the half burned candle and the cribbage board with a deck of cards atop it. 

I’m not sure how I got there, but I feel the cold of the wood floor all around me next, accompanied by the hot tears flowing down my cheeks. The answers come fast and painful in my insides, and opening my eyes, I watch last night replay before me, and what I did. What I did to her, and to us. Myles’ words over the last few weeks resound in my head, and they won’t stop. 

“The fuck are you doing? You’re going to screw everything up if you don’t stop before it’s too late!” 

“It is too late,” I mutter under my breath, feeling the cool wooden floor beneath my forehead as I curl inside myself, wishing she could come and save me. But that’s the last thing that’s going to walk in that door, because I made it so she has to save herself, and so do I.

+

Violins and harps dance around my empty office, and I try not to look up and lose myself in the images of memories that seem to stick to every corner of the room. Him opening birthday presents on the sofa, the makeout sessions on the same piece of furniture, the almost first kiss by my window, the first time I saw my office with him in tow, and all of the times he’d work over my shoulder planting kisses along my neck. So many more of them float around the space vying for my attention, but it’s stolen away when there’s a rap on my door. 

“Come in,” I say automatically, looking back at my computer screen, putting back on the mask that I’ve donned for however long it’s been now since it all started, and the three days since he left. The ‘I’m okay’ mask, something I can’t even believe. 

“Look at my pretty girl,” they say, and despite the way I could never mistake that very voice, for a split second I want to and wish that I could be right in my mistaking. It takes more than I have to look away and up at him, and the tears are already close and on their way when he smiles the saddest kind of one at me. 

“Dad, what are you doing here?” I ask in near alarm, standing to my feet, afraid of what his answer might be. His lips fall flat and my confirmation is right there, although I’m unsure if I ever needed it, because he speaks for it himself. 

“Skye told me what happened with Harry. I’m so sorry, sweetheart, I’m so sorry,” he almost coos, and holds out his arms before I could ask. They’re open for mere seconds before they close around me and my shaking figure. “It’s okay, Boops, I’m here. It’s all going to be okay.” 

“No, it’s not. I don’t know if there will ever be a time again that I feel okay,” I sob into his shoulder, gradually finding my words and feeling the sting of having to repeat it for the second or third time. The sting grows worse remembering the morning after crying on Skye’s lap and not knowing if I’d ever be able to stop. No matter what time it is, it never gets easier. I don’t think if I’d had any warning, it would’ve been any less harder.

+

The raucous of laughter, shouts, and praises sound outside the door and I wish I knew why. Shaking my head at the obscene volume, I flip to the next page of the magazine, finding DIY Christmas decorations that according to this magazine, everybody and anybody can make. 

“No, thank you,” I mutter to myself, completely vetoing Christmas this year, despite knowing that I’ll have to make it to Madley for the traditional weekend spent at my dad’s in only a few weeks. I just don’t know how I’m going to manage it knowing the person I can’t take with me anymore whose name will be on presents sitting under the tree. The same name claims gifts that I’d hidden in the attic at ho- at his home, long forgotten by now, or I wish. 

“Hell, you really do get prettier ev’ry day,” somebody mumbles from behind me, and I pause mid page flip. I’m glad that I wasn’t holding my tea, or else I know it’d be painted all over the front of my heather gray dress. Now, that would be a disaster, but I know it doesn’t compare to the one that intends to unfold within the next few moments. Swallowing hard, I silently turn to the next page and ignore the greeting. 

“Ya weren’t at me welcome home party that the firm threw fer me.” 

“There wasn’t enough room,” is all I say, neglecting to mention that I had no idea until now, despite should’ve knowing how the pieces went together. His appearance. The loud voices and cheering just outside the door that’s only a few steps from the lift. It’s my saving grace for how I was rarely ever late back in the day. “You won it,” I remark, sure it’s less of a question and more of a statement. 

“I did.” 

“Congrats, you put on a good defense from what I hear,” I announce in a voice devoid of the emotion that usually accompanies that word. 

“Thanks . . but I don’t deserve it,” he begins shyly, and I hold back my response that only eggs his self-deprecation on. “I dunno how I did it tho,’ ‘cuz all I could think ‘bout tha whole I was there was you. Ev’ry second fer that entire week it was, ‘what ‘s Becks doin’?,’ ‘what’ll I say t’ her when I get home,’ ‘what can I say t’ her,’ ‘I dunno what t’ do at this part, what would she do?’” he pours out, and I gulp past the impending desert that’s signalled its return. No, I’d made it a few days now without them, I can’t break that streak now. No, not now. Please. 

“It seems you didn’t need it, you did just fine without me,” I answer bleakly, aware of the knives that my voice holds and how they stab with the voice devoid of anything happy and bright. 

“That’s not true,” he argues, and I hear the first step, and feel it in the hairs rising on the back of my neck. I feel it in the squeeze of my heart and the goosebumps on my arms that long for his touch and also fear it. I hear the crack in his voice and the wet sniffle that plays in the empty room. “I couldn’t stop thinkin’ ‘bout you and how I fooked ev’rythin’ up, even befo’ I left. I woke up that mornin’ and knew ‘d done it . . ‘d jus’ been home befo’ here and all o’ yer things were gone, and I never thought comin’ home could be so fookin’ hard . . I-I tried so many times t’ get ahold o’ you but ya wouldn’t answer, and I can’t blame ya. I can’t believe how I treated you, Becks, and ‘m so fookin’ sorry . . . I haven’t touched a bleedin’ drop since that last night, and I never want t’ ‘gain. I never want t’ go that long without talkin’ t’ you ‘gain, it felt like I was losin’ me mind ev’ry fookin’ day missin’ you so badly. Meant it when I said ‘m not sure how I won tha case when I couldn’t get you off me mind.”

“Get used to it,” I retort, closing the magazine swiftly and spinning around. Flashes of color greet me, but I turn away from his figure and make for the door. 

“Becks, please, don’t,” he begs in a voice spilling with emotion. “‘m sorry, ‘m so sorry,” he whimpers, the warmth of his fingers pressed to mine feeling like the first rays of sun in the spring. Ripping my hand from his, I don’t let him try to melt the ice that he planted inside of me. 

“No, Harry, you don’t get to just waltz in here and sorry your way out of this. It’s not that easy this time,” I say, hoping he feels the bite of my words, but I see it when I take the leap and look into those endless greens. “You really fucking hurt me, Harry . . You were my best friend and you hurt me more than anybody I know . . You were supposed to protect me from others doing that to me, but you did it too. How can I ever trust you again?” I begin to cry, knowing that it’s about to be Niagra in here if I don’t skedaddle. Whimpering, I dash out of the door with the image of his flooded sage eyes stinging in my own, and how my heart lurches at the regret of not wiping them away.

+

His eyes drift repeatedly from the floor to ceiling window and back to his wrist, tapping at it only to walk away with disappointment. He may have closed his book to me, but I still remember so many of the pages, and I can’t figure out how I could ever stop knowing what they say. After Myles finishes speaking about the upcoming elder’s meetings, his bottom lip becomes caught between his teeth like a vice, and then I know it’s bad. I look away when a few too many seconds have followed, risking that he’ll catch my stare. If he’s found it in the recent few days since we last spoke in between tears and in between pages of a magazine, he hasn’t made it known. 

I feared this team meeting, the first one with him back and sitting at the helm with Myles. He looks fresher and no longer sporting the alcohol sweats and beard, but something is still missing. He’d gotten his hair cut and it’s hardly any different, but it’s not that. His suits are perhaps a little more wrinkled, but that’s not the last puzzle piece, either. I knew what it was, but I didn’t want to say it. No, not after I saw the way he smiled at his new intern, Frankie, she called herself. Francine something or other, it is. Beats me. I’m sure she probably had a name for each of her boobs as well, seeing as how they could probably be seen from space. I watched her admire him too, but I doubted she saw the circles under his eyes, or the way his lips looked like they’d never smile again. I was almost positive she couldn’t see the way his suits hung a little looser on him, or how he rubbed the naked skin of his left hand’s middle finger, missing something. 

I wondered whether or not to linger once everybody was dismissed, but even if I had wanted to, how could I? She followed him like a puppy. I hope I had never done that, or that somebody would have put me out of my impending doom- I mean misery, if I had been. He walked out of sight, and somehow, all I could think about is how the back of his head is still just as cute, and so is his bum. 

Several coffee refills and trips to the loo commenced until I found myself pulled to his doorway, pretending to be walking to Gwen or Rory’s office. God forbid, I ever give that asshole the time of day, I’d never hear the end of it. For the first time, Ms. Boobs is missing in action, and I never thought I could be more grateful for somebody’s absence. Last week only seemed to argue with that, now that I think of it, and how something inside of me warmed every time I saw him in the hallways. It sparks until a fire ignites when I catch sight of his backside facing me until it turns around, and at last, I’m caught. 

Defeat covers his features and the surprise inches away, leading him to look down at his messy desk. “Hi,” I say, stuffing my hands in the pockets of my slacks, still wishing they made fleece lined ones. 

“Hey,” he returns in a squeak that shrinks in comparison to his beautiful voice. 

“It’s today, isn’t it? Your gran’s surgery . . the hip?” I ask, taking one step forward, and then it’s two. 

“Ya,” he hums in reply, sorting through what appears to be an overflowing stack of mail that’s been forgotten since his trip. 

“How’d it go?”

“She’s still in. I keep waitin’ t’ hear sumthin’ but there’s nuthin’,” he answers plainly, tearing certain envelopes in half and others automatically go into the bin for shredding. 

“I’m sorry. I’m sure everything will be okay, she’s really healthy and strong, Harry.” 

“I dunno, Becks, ‘m so worried. It shouldn’t take this long,” he sighs, bringing a hand to his face while his head goes back and forth. It’s only a moment until I hear the hiccuping of his breath and the sound of tears shed against skin. 

Against better judgement, or any for that matter, he’s in my arms in seconds. My hands are running courses up and down his back, even daring a go at his hair now and then, whilst he sheds sadness into my neck. 

“Everything will be okay, Harry,” I insist, and which he only shakes his head at. “It will be, you just have to believe it. I have a feeling.” 

“How can ya say that? How ‘m I s’posed t’ believe that, Becks?” he whimpers, pulling away and staring at me bleary eyed with tears coating his cheeks. “I dunno that there’ll ever be a time ‘gain where things are okay,” he finishes, spinning on his heel and escaping down the hallway, leaving me high and dry. I only wish that my eyes could claim that truth, as well, but that’d be a lie.

+

It smelled of metal and disinfectant around me, but I tried to drown it out with the images I scroll through. The electronic beeping wormed its way into my thoughts, but I welcomed the respite from the chaos toiling around in there. Images of friends and casual strangers litter my Instagram feed and instead of looking away when the dinging stops, I continue to look, distracting myself. That in itself seems to be my job for the last few weeks, owned by the number one job of not thinking about it. It’s followed by another important task of not crying in public, and saving it for at home despite the place owning that name changing recently. I’ve failed at all of those jobs the second I think about the person who I called my home for so long now, and can’t any longer. 

The smell is what gets me at first, and immediately, the pictures are forgotten. I know before I look up that the facade is broken. Then, everything is shattered within a few moments, no matter how good I’ve gotten at ignoring him, or pushing down the feelings when I see him across the table at a team meeting. I’ve gotten good at the pretending part, but the only person I’ve never been able to do that around is the very one who accompanies me on the elevator now. My bad luck echoes when I finally chance a glance and I leave it for too long, because then he looks up and meets my eyes. 

Harry. My home . . but he’s not that any longer. 

“Hi,” he risks with a gentle curve of his lips, and a gentleness in his eyes that he once held in his hands for me too. A softness that never left him once I worked my way into his heart all of those years ago, it’s one that I still can’t allow myself to get rid of. 

“Hi,” I return curtly, tearing my eyes away from him, and his new suit. An ensemble a shade of mauve with a raven black button up underneath. Spiffy, indeed. It feels like a mini marathon to look away from that suit, and how it hugs him in all of the right places. The biceps, the chest, opens at his widely attractive throat, reminds me of the base that we never hit when my eyes venture too low, and his bum. No, I can’t see it from my view right now, but I’d made sure to have seen it earlier today. 

“‘s good timin’, I was wonderin’ if we could talk,” he ventures out on a limb to say, and my eyes are rolling before he gets to finish. 

“I don’t want to talk, Harry.” 

“Becks, please, jus’ lemme finish, bug,” he says, and I wonder how he can be so gutsy to use those two coveted names in one sentence. Despite his bravery, the gesture does its job, and I gulp against the longing that climbs up my throat. 

“No, you don’t get to. You haven’t earned that just yet.”

“What d’I have t’ do, Becks?” Harry questions in a sigh, a hand dragging through his hair. It falls with an impatient slap to his thigh. 

“I dunno, Harry, maybe you shouldn’t have become a neglectful drunk in the first place,” I retort, stepping forward to stab the button of the closest floor, so I don’t have to do this. 

“How many times d’I hafta say ‘m sorry? I could say it a hundred times and ‘s not gonna be enough, ‘s it?”

“No, it won’t,” I answer, continually hitting the button. 

“Stop pushin’ it, yer gonna break it or sumthin,’” he warns, and just like he said, the contraption lurches to a stop. “Now, look what ya did.” 

“I didn’t break the bloody elevator, Harry.” 

“Sure, ya didn’t,” he sighs and even in the near dark, I know that he’s biting at his lip beside me. 

Huffing, I step back until my back hits the wall, watching him in the soft glow of the emergency lights. Slowly, that night from Halloween comes back to me. I watch how he pulls his phone out and dials a number and talks to some invisible person, just like the time before. His fingers card through his hair similarly, and his lips utter sighs and curses like then too. 

“‘s tha snowstorm, ‘s shut off tha power in tha entire firm,” he announces after saying goodbye and pulling his phone away from his ear. “They’ll get t’ us but it might be a while.” 

“Doesn’t the firm or at least the elevator have a backup or something?”

“I dunno, ‘m tha lawyer, Becks, not a bloody mechanic. I don’t deal with that shit,” he mutters with a shake of his head, typing away on his phone. 

Groaning loudly, I slide down the sleek metal wall of the elevator until my bum meets the cold and dirty floor, just like before. 

“I guess we’re stuck with each other for a while then, it’s your dream come true,” I mumble while folding my arms across my chest. He flits his eyes over to me only to roll them before looking away. “Oh, so you don’t want to talk to me now?”

“No, ‘d rather not, if yer not gonna try and listen t’ me,” he admits sadly, stepping back and leaning against the wall. A similar sound leaves my lips and I look down at my lap until my eyes habitually return to him. I finally let myself look at him for the first time in, what, a month? It seems like a lifetime ago that I could at last look at him for however long I wanted without it being weird or him saying something. Without my hidden feelings being betrayed. “There’s mo’ t’ do than jus’ stare at me, y’know.” 

“Sorry,” I whisper, looking to my lap and turning a ring around my finger absentmindedly. 

“Ya still wear it?” 

My eyes dance to him without a decision to do so, like they so often did, and my nod is immediate as well. His smile seems rather instantaneous too, appearing before my eyes as I watch him. His ring on my hand had caught my eye, one of his I’d stolen at the before everything went to shit and slid it on my thumb. It’s the only finger it’d fit on, and I’d almost forgotten it was there, but it’d become a nervous habit of mine as of recent, although hypocritical in the slightest. 

“I thought you’d taken it off, hadn’t seen ya wear it.” 

“It felt too weird not wearing it,” I reveal softly, embarrassment fighting for a spot in my voice, but I’m not sure if that’s how it could be described. 

“I guess that says sumtin’, or ‘least I hope it does,” Harry says, looking to his feet with a sad laugh that’s short, like a staccato. This all feels like one, a standalone chapter. Perhaps an episode from The Twilight Zone, almost. 

“You were my best friend, Harry, that’s not something you just forget,” I say quietly, unsure of if he hears me, but his nod tells me so. If that hadn’t, the emotion that swells in his face does it for me. 

“Then why did you?” he asks, meeting my eyes and I find the pain in my heart matched in the greens. A shade I’ve missed so immensely, and that grows hazy in moments. “Why’d you forget about me?”

“You really hurt me, Harry. I never thought you could hurt me so much.” 

His sniffling encourages the tears that flow from my eyes to join his just as the sound of his footsteps initiates him sitting down beside me. At first, it feels too close and too dangerous, but then I look at the gap that separates us. It’s been larger and unbreakable before, but somehow, this feels exponential too. It somehow had returned after its departure when I had pressed my lips to his, because after that, neither of us let it live again, and we always took the step that wasn’t there. 

“So, what do I say if I can’t say sorry?” he says in a voice choked with pain, propping his arms on his bent knees out of the corner of my eye, holding his wrist with a circle of fingers. 

“I dunno,” I answer tearfully, wiping below my waterline, wishing I had the answers so that all of this could stop. “I wish I knew, but I don’t. If I knew I’d tell you, because then this all could be over, and I could stop missing you so fucking much every literal second. Then I could stop getting jealous of that booby intern who won’t stop throwing herself at you. I tried not to be jealous by not caring, but I couldn’t lie to myself, because I do care and I always will, Harry. I’ll always miss you . . in bed next to me with your arms always waiting for me, your face at our table at Pedro’s on Tuesdays waiting there for me, every day after work waiting on my sofa until I’m ready to go home with you . . ,” I trail off in a sob, thoughts bubbling inside of my lips but they become too hard to speak. 

“‘m still waitin’, Becks, ‘ve never stopped since that day I first met you,” he says in a voice softer than marshmallows and sweeter than honey. “‘ll always be waitin’ fer you.” Since that first day I had met him, you never could’ve made me believe that looking into his face I’d see a mirror, but I believe it more today than I ever thought I could. Because I am, in the way the tears silently fall down his cheeks, the openness of his eyes that beg for me, and the way that mine beg for him too. 

“‘s it true ya put in yer two weeks?” Quickly, I shrink and I avoid, ignoring everything altogether, but if I’ve learned one thing through this all is that I can’t do that as badly as I wish I could. “‘m still yer boss, Becks, sumthin’ like that can’t get away from me. I saw tha letter on My’s desk one day and when he saw me readin’ it, he told me . . Becks, please don’t leave. Yer learnin’ so much and we all love you here. Yer doin’ so well, and there’s so much I want t’ teach you. Turner and Jones ‘s . . . ‘s not yer home, love, this ‘s yer home.” 

“I thought you were my home once and I was wrong,” I don’t know why I say it, but I do, and immediately I regret it. Without seeing him, I know that he wishes I hadn’t said it too, by the intake of air and the way he turns away from me. 

“Y’know, I think ‘ll get sick o’ fightin’ fer you, but I don’t. I get tired, but I don’t get sick o’ it. I never wanna stop. I wanna tell our kids one day that I never stopped fightin’ fer you, and sometimes I think it’ll happen. But, I dunno- When I saw you kiss that bloke, I stopped believin’ in it.” 

Gulping, my eyes find him immediately and the tears ricochet throughout my body from his words. The sounds of his crying prick at my ears, but I don’t see them fall down his face, just the way he plays with his lips. 

“Harry-.” 

“I love you and ‘m sorry. ‘ll never stop showin’ you that fer tha rest o’ me life, what more do I hafta do?” he begs, turning to face me. My heart squeezes inside of my chest at the mere sight, and my lips press themselves together. “But if ya- if ya tell me that . . yer happy with him, then ‘ll stop. I want yer happiness mo’ than mine,” he croaks, words stolen from him at times as mine are drowned in salt water. 

Whimpering, the sight of my hands wringing each other appears in front of me, and then his pained sigh meets my ears. Hiccups rack my chest and I stop hiding the crying, listening to it echo off of the walls that remain still around us. 

“His name’s Ben-.” 

“I know who he ‘s,” he says gingerly, but with disdain that tries to push me back, and make me stop. “‘ve argued cases against him . . both lost and won.” 

“I met him during my clinicals there, he-.” 

“I don’t wanna hear ‘bout him, Becks, I-I can’t,” Harry announces firmly, standing to his feet and beginning to walk in circles. 

“I ended things with him last week, not that there was much to end . . that same day you must have seen us kiss outside the courts . . after he shoved me to the floor that night. And he wasn’t you, nobody else could ever be you.”

“What?!” he nearly explodes, the words ringing loudly in my ears again and again as they resound off of the walls. “Oh, that bloke’s not gonna know what hit him when I get my fookin’ hands on him.” 

“Harry-.” 

“Tell me that you don’t want me t’ beat tha shit outta him, Becks,” Harry insists, but with my eyes not looking at him, I remain silent. “That’s what I thought . . Bloody minute this lift starts workin’ ‘gain, ‘m gonna make him regret ever touchin’ you.” 

Nodding, I brush the back of my hand against my nose and feel a sob overcome me. My shoulders fall and I pull my knees into my chest, soon feeling the tears soak through my slacks. 

“Aw, honeybug,” he sighs pitifully, and at last, one of my dreams comes true when I feel him surround me with his warmth. Him. “I had no idea you’ve been dealin’ with that, ‘m so fookin’ sorry, Becks. ‘m so sorry you’ve had so much shit t’ deal with, ya don’t deserve any o’ this. He’s a fookin’ sorry excuse fer a man fer doin’ that t’ you and trust me ‘m gonna make him sorry. He’s a right wanker, and he only ever won one case against me, anyways. Damn idiot, he ‘s.” 

Swallowing dryly, I meet his eyes and receive anything but that. The green is drowned in tears nearly, and I know that my blue is, too. 

“Reckon ‘m not much betta than him, afta all,” Harry confesses with a fight played in his eyes. 

“No, you’re nothing like him, Harry,” I coo, reaching out a hand to cradle his cheek, thumb swiping at tears. 

“Yer right, ‘m much worse than him fer how I treated you.” 

“What? Harry, no, you’re not. I know you’d never lay a hand on me,” I confess in a voice that cracks, breaths laden with unsaid words, and so many that I don’t know how to say. Nodding, his eyes leave mine and his arms prematurely do too, and I only feel worse. “Talk.” 

“What?” he whispers, quirking a brow at the floor. 

“Talk, Harry . . like you had wanted to . . to me,” I explain, my hand lingering on my knee, so close to his. Bravely, it finds the courage and reaches out towards him, finding the warmth soon after between his fingers. 

“‘ve rehearsed it so many bloody times in me head, but now, I actually get t’ talk t’ you and I can’t rememba,” he admits softly with shame painting his voice, and an out of place smile. “All I know . .  ‘s that I miss you and it scares me how much I can miss you sittin’ at a meetin’ with you across tha table. I miss you like you’ve gone . . but inna way, you have. I miss you in so many ways, walkin’ in tha door at home t’ you, findin’ you’d claimed me sofa again fer anotha day workin’ t’getha, or even that you’d be usin’ one o’ me favourite coffee mugs or jumpers. I miss those small things, and then, I even miss wakin’ up next t’ you, talkin’ t’ you ‘bout songs, ‘bout art, or gettin’ yer advice on a recipe or an argument inna case. ‘d missed you like mad befo’, but nuthin’ compares t’ this. Didn’t know I could miss somebody so much that ‘m always sore from it, that I ache when I see you and can’t touch you or talk t’ you. I lost it when I saw him kiss you, I went and vomited in tha car park befo’ goin’ home t’ cry in bed. Our bed. I wanted a drink and thought ‘bout it . . I even had one and I felt worse, knowin’ that it only made it mo’ likely ‘d never get ya back then. Thought seein’ that I.T. intern flirt with you in tha copier room hurt, but god, that was nuthin.’” 

“You try seeing that intern who dresses like a hooker be all over you,” I tut, refamiliarizing myself with the grooves and peaks on his rings. 

“Are ya quite finished?” he almost giggles and I nod with a fleeting smile. 

“It hurt not seein’ you reject him and then ‘course My’ had t’ guilt me ‘bout it, and -.” 

“Okay, that’s enough talking,” I announce inside of my head with a shake of it, my lips parting to utter the same declaration. But I’m interrupted almost immediately, and so is Harry by the whirring and movement of the lift starting up again. 

“Looks like tha power came back on or sumthin’,” he mumbles, standing to his feet as the lights flick back on. 

“Yeah, looks like,” I say under my breath, so many more ready to be spoken but they’re whisked away when the doors part on Seventeen and soon, we’re ambushed with concerned colleagues who mistake our tears for fear. Quickly, so much was forgotten, but what hurt was how easily we both did it too.

+

The notes of cinnamon and nutmeg cling to my tongue, accompanied by the sweetness of the last traces of whipped cream. With a sigh, I set down the mug and hear its emptiness fill my ears. I continue to dance my eyes across the page, soaking up the words that I try to drown myself in. The dinging of the bell atop the door interrupts the words echoing in my mind, as do the clap of footsteps entering the cafe amongst the soft Christmas music. Without fail, they attempt to weed their way into my heart, making me think that they’re his, but everything sounds like him and feels like him as of late. 

Pushing it away, I shake my head free of the nagging thoughts and start the sentence over. At the sound of a voice that steps into my mind, the words are forgotten, and no rereading them could ever bring them back to me. 

“Since when d’ya read ol’ granny romance books?” 

Tearing my eyes away from the imaginative words, I find the pair of green eyes that I’ve been avoiding and longing within all of the same breaths. 

“I see yer mug ‘s empty. Can I buy you anotha?” he murmurs with his charming smile that finds its old way back to me, and into my heart. Just like all of those times before. 

“I uh, was actually just leaving,” I mutter, the book already having closed when my hands left it in shock. Picking it up, I drape my purse over my shoulder and walk away from him. No matter if it doesn’t take the cake for how much it hurts to do so, the pain still stings in my mind and every inch of my limbs. 

“Becks, wait!” he calls after me, the clanging of the bell loud and obnoxious in my ears. The winter cold shocks my warmed skin when I step back into it. “I wanna talk t’ you ‘bout sumthin’, yer two week-.” 

“I don’t want to,” I retort, rounding a corner and searching for the familiar sight of my car parked on the street. I’m feeling cold rather than hot in finding it before his always gentle hands settle on my shoulders. He turns me around to face him, once again finding those piercing greens that root me to the spot. 

“I thought we could still be friends, Becks. Y-Yer me best friend, I can’t lose you as a friend too, bug. Please,” he pleas, but I’m spinning around before the last of his syllables grace my ears. 

My head shakes from side to side, willing my eyes to dry up and forget their recent best friend that drowns my sights in a haze. My lips sing with pain from my teeth sinking into them as my face collapses from the debilitating weight of misery. 

“I-I can’t. We can’t, you know that, Harry.” 

“Why not, Becks?” he begs, the cool feeling of his rings welcomed by my flushed skin. 

“I shouldn’t have to tell you when you know why,” I spit back, sure that three seconds ago he had already heard the tears in my voice. The multitudes of words shared between our lips over the last ten months has only led me to open myself to him further, and I still can’t figure out how to close my book from him reading. 

“I dunno what yer talkin’ ‘bout, Becks.” 

“It only took you a month, Harry?!” I exclaim, unsure of whether I’m making a statement or posing a question. 

“Care t’ clue me in what yer talkin’ ‘bout, ‘cuz I still dunno?” he replies with an exasperated sigh. I rip my wrist from his gentle grasp, the sooner the better because I knew another second longer and I’d let it live there. If I stand here another second longer, I may let myself float back to him. 

“You’re already over me and with somebody new after only a month, huh?” I respond curtly, turning around slowly to face him as the first hot tear cascades down my cheek. 

“Becks,” he sighs, the emotion carried in his voice spreading across his unshaven face. A whimper escapes my lips as the sob trembles throughout my chest, my lips returning to their permanent frown. My heart shudders at his expression and the confirmation I hear in it, making my head shake quickly from side to side. “I still dunno what yer talkin’ ‘bout, love. ‘m not datin’ anyone, y’know tha only person I wanna be with ‘s you. N’body else in tha entire world I wanna date and love fer tha rest o’ me life . . Where ‘s this comin’ from, bug?” 

“Wait, what?” I exhale, blinking away the tears that I’m afraid to believe hold lies and forgotten fears. 

“‘m not with anybody new, Becks. I dunno what people are sayin’, but ‘m not. You know tha only person I wanna be with ‘s you,” he repeats with emphasis, stepping forward and pulling my hands into his. “What’s goin’ on, bug?” 

“I don’t know,” I exhale shakily, leaning into his hand that cups my cheek, wiping away the wetness coating my skin. “People at the firm were saying they overheard you talking about some girl you were gonna ask out and were trying to win over.” 

“Oh that,” he snickers, the dimples hinting at his cheeks when I dare a look. No matter how hard I’d ever try, the high pitched song that flows from his lips could never stop being my favorite, and my ears welcome it with a familiar warmth. “That was ‘bout you, bug. I was bouncin’ ideas off o’ sumbody ‘bout takin’ you onn’a date. Well, it was actually havin’ you ova t’ mine fer dinna and watchin’ FRIENDS, jus’ like tha old times. Reckon Rore misheard and his big mouth spewed it t’ ev’rybody. That fookin’ git, I swear t’ God, he’s a bloody bastard sumtimes.” 

“Yeah, it was him, now that I think of it,” I admit quietly, peering down at our joined hands and our mingling rings, just like all of the times before. 

“‘m gonna fookin’ knock him out one o’ these times, I swear t’ it. He’s been such an arse lately, and he thinks I didn’t see it, but I did see him flirtin’ with you tha otha day.” 

“It’s fine, Harry.” 

“No, ‘s not, Becks. You put yer bloody two weeks in, and yer last day ‘s t’morro’,” Harry sighs heavily, bringing my eyes back to his at last, and ever so briefly. The purple gemstone ring that I bought him as a late Valentine’s present grows blurry before my eyes, and only worsens when I see that he never took it off. My wrist feels all the more bare without the multicolored purple gemstone bracelet he gifted me after my accident, and that’s sat on my nightstand at Skye’s for weeks now. 

I’m issing that coffee right about now with the state of my throat. Perhaps it would push down all of the words that I have been aching to say for days and weeks now. 

“Please stay, bug. Not even jus’ fo’ me, but I don’t wantcha t’ lose a good job. Yer doin’ so well and e’rybody at tha firm loves you, babe . . ‘specially me. I know I fooked up real bad, but I promise it won’t happen again if ya gimme another chance-,” Harry begins in a plea, the same emotions that bubble inside of me echo within his voice. When I steal a glance at his olive green eyes, I find them swimming in tears, and that’s what pushes me to surround his lips with mine. 

His buttery soft curls feel like home between my fingers, and my rickety heart begins to slow at the smell of his sweet-peppery scent. Neither of those compare to the feeling of his lips upon mine for the first time in weeks, and the passion carried behind both of ours. Unspoken words, profuse apologies, and hundreds of ‘I miss you’s are left on the other’s lips. His nose leaves slippery marks against my cheek slick with tears, and I can taste them on his skin as well. 

Air trickles back into my burning lungs when I gasp for air below him, stealing whispery kisses from his sweet lips now and then. 

“Was that a random kiss or a ‘get back togetha’ kiss?” he rasps against my lips, finalizing his words with one last peck to my mouth. 

“A ‘get back together’ k-kiss,” I stutter with a soft titter, feeling it fill me with warmth at the sight of his dimples returning to his cheeks from their few week absence. “I missed you . . even r-right now,” I sob, the breath leaving my lungs when my chest collides with his after I dive into his arms. A surprised noise sputters from his mouth but his arms coming around me is instantaneous, and so is the comfort I feel in them. 

“Missed you mo’, bug,” he whispers into my hair, laying kisses on every inch of my head that he can find while I laugh at our inside joke. “Fook, ‘m so sorry fer how I treated ya and fer gettin’ drunk all o’ tha time ‘cuz o’ that stupid case. I meant what I said when I came back from me trip - I haven’t had a drop since that night we broke up, and I won’t fer as long as you want me t’. ‘ll do anythin’ ya want, we’ll do therapy or counselin’- jus’ want us t’ be okay, and fer you t’ let me love you ‘gain. There’s n’body else in this entire world that I wanna be spend me life with, or have babies with one day.” 

“Harry,” I chuckle against his neck, my forever favourite hiding place, whether happy or sad. “We’ve been back together for two seconds, chill on the baby talk.” 

“No, I mean it. I want ya t’ have me babies one day, nuthin’ eva changed ‘bout that, and nuthin’ eva will. Think I love ya mo’ now, Becks, so much mo’,” Harry sighs, and with his confession I can feel his body relax against mine. It’s quite contagious, really. 

“I reckon I still want you to be the father of mine . . teach them how to play footie, how to play guitar, and how to play a shit game of Scrabble.” 

“Hey now!” Harry exclaims, the words rumbling through his chest with his deep chuckle. When I pull away from him to peer into his glassy, green eyes, his lips quiet. The laugh disappears from them, but shouts of happiness and relief fill my eyes, and I think mine feel rather similar to his. “Bloody hell, if they’re as stubborn as you, we’re in fer some trouble.” 

“Like you’re any better,” I giggle, but it’s stolen away by his lips, and I couldn’t be more thankful. 

“This mean you’ll be me mentee ‘gain, and forget ‘bout that crazy talk o’ quittin’ tha firm?” he poses to me, dragging a few fingers through my hair, sending jolts of comfort through my limbs. “Please, Becks?” 

“Of course, Harry. There’s no other lawyer I’d want to learn from- don’t tell Rose that, because she’s been amazing, but she’s just not you. She’s not my favourite teacher or my best friend . . and I’ve really missed them,” I reveal softly, and sadly, the tears adorning my words. The both of them fall onto the pad of his thumb that nudges at my bottom lip affectionately. 

“‘ve missed me favourite lawyer as well, Becks. God, so fookin’ much. I can’t lose me best friend, not again,” he whimpers, the last word breaking under the weight of his tears that match mine. 

“And please, for the love of God, get rid of that intern before I do,” I groan, and a snicker springs from his angelic lips. “Because if I see her flirt with you one more fucking time, I will puke . . on her.” 

“Don’t worry, ‘ve been lookin’ fer a good reason t’ get rid o’ her, so this ‘s perfect, bug,” he coos happily, pulling me back into his arms where I’ve been craving to return for oh, so very long. “Hope y’know I still want ‘bout five kids.” 

“Shut up, Harry,” I titter, my arms tightening around his middle as I find the sweet spot in the crook of his neck. 

“Five babies, Becks, and all with you, honeybug. Li’l girls that look like you and li’l boys that look like me, all with yer gorgeous blue eyes. They’ll have tha best mum eva, they will,” my happy hum accompanies his, almost accentuates it as I toy with the cross sat at the junction of his throat and his shoulders. “Can’t say sorry enough, ‘m afraid, so ‘ll spend tha rest o’ me life sayin’ it t’ you. Promise you that.” 

“I’ll hold you to it,” I almost joke, and when I hear his songlike laugh, I at last let out the breath that I had been holding for far too long. 

[secrettreestuffidk]

Asthma culture is sitting up late at night fantasizing about how practical a plague doctor’s mask would be

Like, filter out my coworkers body sprays and cigarette smoke and the 10 air fresheners they put in every bathroom

Stuff the beak full of peppermint—smell nice plus menthol soothe lung bitchfit

Look rad

Breathing space keeps things cool

If full face one, I can get lenses to match my prescription, hell yeah Or, doubles as sunglasses 

Cons:

Currently encourages public freakout about corona virus (though, considering my chronic respiratory illness, I am of the minority that should be legitimately worried about getting it)

I workin a bank building

[shockwavepulsar]

Zell had to get someone who specializes in wine, as it wasn't his region of expertise at all. All he knew was this cost a pretty penny but was told its flavor was well worth it. He finds her in her office, setting the bottle down close enough to notice, but close enough to interrupt what she's doing. "Workin' on your birthday? C'mon now, there's gotta be something else you wanna do!"

Quistis’ knowledge of wine is rather limited, although she swears she has at least some of the basics when it comes to expected flavor profiles. Perhaps she’ll be unable to determine the tannic content, but she’s at least able to differentiate a Syrah from a Pinot Noir. So, when he sets down the bottle, she glances up at the familiar shape, letting her eyes lead her up the neck, to his arm, and upwards to his face. The gift has piqued her interest. Not just because she always appreciates a free bottle of wine, but because it has come from Zell. Surely, he’s gotten some help picking it out. Unless, of course, he’s secretly a Sommelier? She’s been surprised by his amount of knowledge on specific unexpected subjects in the past. It’s not too out of reach for him to be familiar with wine, of all things, though she can’t recall him going out of his way to consume it unless offered.

“There are plenty of things I’d rather be doing. This, being one of them.” She lifts the gift and nods in his direction before searching the top drawer for her wine opener. Perhaps it’s not entirely professional to have such a tool in her office space, but given her general workload and her rank at Garden, it’s fair to assume she deserves a break every now and then. Most of the time, she doesn’t indulge so her quality of work rarely suffers. The consistency has allowed her coworkers to kindly turn a blind eye so long as she doesn’t get carried away—or in some cases, as long as she is willing to share. It’s then that she takes a peek at the label, and her eyes widen. “Zell! Wow!” The grape, the region, the year. She’s completely taken aback, to the point where she sets the bottle back down and stares in awe at it. Sure, her range of knowledge isn’t anything particularly impressive, but from the few wine classes she’s taken, it’s easy to tell this isn’t just any ordinary table wine. “This must have cost so much, I—thank you, Zell. This really means a lot, you really didn’t have t—” she’s distracted, looking around for anything she can possibly use to decant the wine. She doesn’t even have proper glasses! Perhaps it’s best to hold off and wait until dinner to pop it open. It’d be such a waste to treat it with anything less than the respect it deserves. “Join me for dinner,” she says, firmly placing her hand on the desk as if to warn him there’s no possibility of refusal. “This is too good of a wine. It would be criminal of me to keep it to myself, especially with how much you spent on it.” She’s wondering if she can pull some strings to get a last-minute reservation at one of the finer restaurants in Balamb (being a prominent card player in a town full of Triple Triad fanatics has its benefits), but then she considers Zell’s comfort in having to dress up for it as well as the pressure of expected behavior. Maybe she can order something to carry out and dine comfortably at her apartment instead. “My place. Nineteen-hundred hours.”