#alfie is lying to his parents | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

charlie-pippin-faraday · 1 year ago

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About Jerome’s mum yeah the way Poppy and Jerome talk about her isn’t great and they explicitly state that she wants nothing to with helping their dad even though it clearly means a lot to her kids and that Jerome went to Poppy’s recitals when their mum couldn’t be assed so she’s definitely not the nicest.

[warning: this kind of turned into a long post]

Yeah none of the things anyone ever says about her or the context clues they give about her paint her in a good light. I'm trying to think of anything good Poppy or Jerome ever said about their mother and I'm drawing a blank.

Tbh I'd go as far as to say that she's probably the WORST parent of all the parents ever seen or mentioned. Or at least has the worst relationship with her kid(s). And that's saying something, given what some of these parents are like and some of the things they've done

Let's assess these parents, shall we? I'm gonna go from best to worst (in my opinion, at least)

We never hear any kind of mention of Fabian's or Willow's parents. Amber never once mentions a mother, and Nina's and KT's parents are all deceased, so we're not gonna include them, I'm only touching on the ones I know for sure exist.

Eddie's mom - A lot of this is just me drawing my own conclusions, but there's no way Eddie doesn't have a good relationship with his mother. He never mentions a step-parent, so I'm left to believe that she raised him by herself and it was just the two of them in their house. He got into trouble a lot in school in America but he never implied that caused any issues between him and his mom. He calls her boring at one point during his first date with Patricia but tbh I think that's just him lying to look cool. I think she has the best relationship of any of the parents with their kids, and I have two pieces of evidence for it: 1) Eddie brought his girlfriend across the ocean to meet his mom, who seemingly loved her, and 2) She actively helped Eddie plan a date and even called him (repeatedly) to see how it was going. A teenage boy consulted with his mom on girl problems, and one of two things happened. Either he asked her to help him plan a date/tell him what he should do to woo Patricia and she did, or she offered the date idea unprompted and he took it. That boy loves his mama and she clearly loves him right back. Absolutely none of the other kids are calling their parents and willingly letting them get THAT involved in their love lives like that.

Mara's parents (Francis & Mrs. Jaffray) - We never see them, but we hear about them a number of times, and Mara never says anything bad about them. She appears to be on very good terms with her parents. Despite not sharing their interests/passions/career choices, Mara in my estimation probably looks up to them a lot. They're both professional, gold medal-winning athletes, and I'll bet that's where Mara gets her competitiveness and her drive to be the best at everything. She probably feels a lot of pressure to achieve the same success as they did, and she does mention them being pushy, but it's probably more Mara pressuring herself internally than them pressuring her. Mara says more about her dad than her mom, describing him as normal and a little silly (he apparently dances like SpongeBob lol). Never a bad word about either of them, leading me to believe she has a very good relationship with her parents, though not on the same level as Eddie and his mother.

Alfie's parents (Philip & Marsha Lewis) - We see Alfie's parents once, when they visit the house after the play. And like, they obviously have a pretty good relationship, otherwise they wouldn't even bother visiting. Alfie's mom clearly adores him. And yes, Alfie's dad is very strict and has high expectations, but he never gave any indication that he didn't care. A lot of that comes from his desire to see his son succeed. And Alfie clearly wants his father to be proud of him and tries hard to impress him. I think Alfie's mother probably spoils him, but his dad is very hard on him, and that might have the potential to cause them conflict later in life when Alfie expresses that he doesn't want to go into the family business or even work in that field at all. Alfie describes them as strict and control freaks (his dad being strict in the "I am a businessman and in charge" type of way, and his mom in the "oh that's my baby I won't let anything happen to my baby!!!" type of way imo), but they clearly care a lot, and despite all the pressure Alfie feels from his parents they are definitely on the top end of Anubis parents. (Though tbh it's more Alfie's mom than dad that gets them this high on the list.) And since we know nothing about Fabian's dad, I think I can officially declare that Alfie has the best relationship with his dad out of all the boys in Anubis House, despite how strict he is and the potential conflict they could have.

Mick's and Joy's moms - I'm lumping these two here together because both of them are mentioned maybe once in passing and nothing is ever said about either of them. I know that they exist, and that's it. I know nothing about them or their relationships with their respective kids. So I have to assume that as moms they are just Fine, otherwise Joy and Mick would have talked about them more. And tbh I have nothing else to say about them, so moving on.

Amber's dad - Amber's dad feels like the classic "I don't know what to do with my child or how to connect with them so I'll just buy them everything" type of rich parent. Do they have a strong relationship? I wouldn't say particularly so, probably. But it's not a bad one. The main knock on him is that he doesn't have a lot of faith in her to achieve things in her life and probably doesn't think she's very smart. Does he know his daughter? No, it doesn't look that way. Does he love his daughter? Yes, he never gives any indication that he doesn't. The main thing putting him this high on the list is that Amber seems to adore her dad. She is definitely daddy's little girl. He absolutely spoils her. And she seems to revere him almost, and she believes he has the power to solve almost any kind of problem, which is probably how it went during a good portion of her childhood. He was very worried when he didn't see Amber for awhile while she was trapped in the tank room, and I'm pretty sure part of the reason he let her go to fashion school was concern over her well-being. While they have their tension and certainly their distance, this is definitely a good relationship, for the most part.

Mick's dad (Rory Campbell) - This is the point where we get into the more complex relationships. Mick's still got a good relationship with his dad, but it feels a lot more strained compared to the relationships above just because of the vibes I got while watching. Like Alfie's dad, Mick's dad is very hard on him. They're both rich and important and expect a lot. I think the main difference is that Alfie's dad was more like "I want you to take advantage of your potential so that you can succeed" but he's less particular about what success looks like. I don't believe he ever explicitly stated that he wanted Alfie to follow in his footsteps or take a particular path, it felt more vague and he would likely be more flexible with Alfie's future. Mick's dad, on the other hand, had a VERY particular plan in place that he expected Mick not to veer from, and seemed disappointed when Mick expressed that he wanted to do something else. And tbh one of the bigger transgressions in my mind is that he doesn't listen to Mick, and he doesn't take him seriously. It takes Mara's convincing to get him on board with the exact same things Mick was trying to tell him, and tbh that doesn't sit right with me. He doesn't seem to have a lot of belief in his son, and there also seems to be a fundamental misunderstanding of his son if he doesn't know that he's very talented at sports and not skilled at math and science and is pushing so hard for him to be a doctor specifically and not veer from the "plan" they probably made when he was like eight. Mick expresses a lot of frustration with his dad, both during this incident and when they're taking him out of school to Australia. Another difference between Alfie and Mick: Alfie is actively trying to impress his dad. Mick feels that he's already disappointed his. I imagine the frustration decreased a lot when his dad finally accepted his son's ambitions. So overall I'd say this is a mostly good relationship, and his dad definitely cares about him, but there is tension here that I can FEEL.

Jerome's dad (John Clarke) - I'm gonna have to do the cliffsnotes version of this one, since we got basically a whole season touching on this particular relationship. They didn't make it super clear when exactly he went to prison, but there was definitely a good amount of time where he was at home with the family. Poppy said she barely remembers him, so it couldn't have been THAT long, but it was long enough for Jerome to collect a substantial amount of memories, and none of them were good. Before he went to prison, it feels like John was a pretty crappy father. And not only did his parents put Jerome in boarding school at age 5, essentially abandoning him, but it seems like being at home was awful too. So Jerome had to deal with his dad being a terrible father during probably about the first five years of his life, but he also had to deal with the trauma of his dad leaving them and disappearing. Jerome held onto that resentment for a very long time, as is warranted. And yes, John was a bad dad and disappeared on his kids, but when season 2 rolled around he truly did have a change of heart and wanted to make amends, which is the only thing keeping him from being lower on this list. You can't erase the years of bad treatment and subsequent abandonment, but he looks to have recognized that he did wrong and wants to fix them and be better moving forward, which is more than can be said for some of the parents on this list.

Patricia's parents - First of all, regardless of whether or not they are good or bad parents, it feels very clear to me that Patricia HATES her parents. And since this list is about 75% relationship with their kids and 25% how good of a parent they are, that jettisoned Patricia's parents almost all the way to the end. I'd be willing to bet that they are almost always at odds with Patricia, and that, since she's a handful, they just don't know what to do with her. And they either don't believe her, downplay her concerns, or are convinced she's always making things up for attention (probably a combination of all), because they essentially brush off Patricia's concerns when she calls them after Joy's disappearance, thinking she's talking crazy. Patricia never says her parents were BAD to her, necessarily, but I don't ever remember her saying anything good about them. Just about everything she says in reference to her parents is a negative light. Probably the biggest knock on her parents is their very obvious favoritism of Piper, whom it sounds like they raised as the golden child. They gave her all the attention, put a lot of their time and energy into her music career, and left Patricia feeling very much like the least-favorite daughter. And you know that just has to hurt like hell and also make her so very mad. She obviously still has a relationship with them, since she threatens to call their father on Piper when she ditches music school, but it's clearly not a good relationship, and she definitely doesn't LIKE them or feel respected by them. So I wouldn't say they're bad parents, but they give their daughters unequal treatment and an unequal amount of love, and tbh that's a pretty shitty thing to do. Atrocious relationship with Patricia.

Mr. Sweet - Being the right hand man of the immortality cult was already bad. And then we learned this man abandoned his son on the other side of the ocean for 16 years. My personal hatred of Mr. Sweet might bleed into this a little, but tbh I don't care. It's never made clear when exactly Mr. Sweet left Eddie and his mother, whether he left before Eddie was born or stuck around for a little bit after. If he did, he didn't stick around long, because Eddie didn't know him and he didn’t know Eddie. (Which is arguably better than Jerome where he had bad memories of his father instead of none at all?) It's also unclear what his relationship with Eddie's mother was like, whether they were married (possible but doubtful, given her different last name), or planning to build a life together, if he left without warning or had some kind of excuse for going back, if they were on good terms when he did, and also what his relationship with her is like now. (Also we don't know what he was doing in America, or when and why he decided to reach back out to Eddie and how exactly that all happened, but that's for a different post.) Either way, Eddie grew up without any kind of a father, and depending on what his mother told him, he could've hated the guy, ached to meet him, resented him, and probably every single emotion you can think of. And it undoubtedly led to a lack of trust and feeling unwanted. Not to mention that once Eddie DOES come into his life he has no clue how to be a father, and he's a pretty crap one, especially at first. On repeated occasions he acts like he hates Eddie, says he's disappointed in him (ex. the conversation in Eddie's room that Patricia overhears), and doesn't approve of him or his actions, which is not the best way to connect with your son or help him feel good (and he wonders why Eddie doesn't want to call him dad). Oh, and there's the whole "constantly putting his friends in danger" thing. And being on team evil. The ONLY saving grace here is that by the end Sweet is ACTIVELY trying to build a relationship and be a dad (I'd argue he never really succeeds at the whole being a dad part), and he seems to care and never purposefully tries to put Eddie in danger. But the two of them do not have a good relationship, I would say. And tbh I don't think Eddie should ever forgive him, after all he's done, but that's just my personal opinion.

Joy's dad (Frederick Mercer) - I feel like we sometimes forget just how awful Joy's dad was. Not only was he in the evil immortality club, he willingly used his OWN DAUGHTER for cult activities and ceremonies. Like, he essentially gave her up and said she's cult property now, intending to use her as a pawn. And he kept her locked up and isolated from the world and from her friends for MONTHS. MONTHS!!!!! And for lack of better words he was making her help them kill their friends. Like sir you have traumatized your daughter for LIFE. And it is YOUR FAULT. I have no idea what their relationship was like before all that went down; Patricia seemed to indicate that he was a pleasant guy, and even while she was locked up Joy was convinced that her dad was doing this because the others were "making him," bless her heart. Before all that, they probably had an okay, normal relationship. But tbh, none of that matters anymore. I imagine that absolutely shattered Joy's relationship with her dad. I can only imagine the heartbreak and hurt and betrayal she must've felt, especially if indeed they'd had a good relationship before, and now she probably won't ever trust him again. At one point Joy says she's trying to work on her relationship with her father, which is more than he deserves tbh. This relationship is absolutely not a good one anymore, and it may even be irreparable. The literal only thing saving him is that he at least ACTED like he cared. He repeatedly calls her darling and princess during his appearances onscreen, and he tries to assure her it'll be okay. At the very least, he cares, even if he cares in the wrong way.

And now, last and certainly least, we come to Jerome's mom. "But Liz," you say, "you're rating her worse than the two parents who were literally in the immortality club?!" Yes, and here's why.

We don't see her at ALL, but what we do hear about her paints an ugly, ugly picture. And what makes her the worst is that she does not care and does not even ATTEMPT to care. Alfie's and Mick's dads have high expectations and are hard on their kids, but they both show that they care. Amber's dad doubts her but loves her and protects her. Patricia's parents certainly have the ability to care, even if they need to reallocate their resources to BOTH daughters. Eddie's dad and Jerome's own dad, throughout all their transgressions, expressed interest in mending and building relationships with their kids. Even Joy's dad seemed to care.

Joan Clarke does not care. You said so yourself up there, anon: she refuses to help her kids with their dad in prison and never attended any of Poppy's recitals. And she sent Jerome off to boarding school at age five and left him there to rot, in Jerome's words. Throughout the entire show, I can't recall Jerome ever once saying one good thing about his mother. And he implied that his home life is bad and doesn't go home a lot, which would all be her fault, since she's the only parent there. Based on Jerome's comments and context clues, she just sounds like an unpleasant woman all around. I said this in the tags of the post that inspired this ask, and I'll say it here: I'm pretty sure Alfie has met Jerome's mom, based on clues (and if he hasn't met her, he's met her in my headcanons). In the episode with Alfie's parents, he says to Jerome "yours are WAY worse" when discussing parents, implying that he's met them. But as John Clarke is in prison and Alfie doesn't know anything about him, and also because he's definitely been gone since before Jerome and Alfie met, there's no way Alfie's met his dad. Which means he's only met Jerome's mom, and the comment was just about his mom. And if Alfie's saying it like that, you know she cannot be a pleasant lady. I'm trying to think of any redeeming things Jerome ever says about his mom, but it's difficult. Alfie makes a joke in s1 while they're "contacting Joy's spirit" that Jerome once stole Mrs. Andrews' scarf and snuggled in bed with it because he was missing his mom, but that's about it. Yes, she was technically there for her kids (unlike some of the dads on this list), but it sounds like she wasn't really there mentally. She made it clear to her kids that she doesn't care and doesn't seem to be making any effort. So if I'm Jerome, I'm going home almost never so I have to see her as little as possible [I have a headcanon that Jerome never goes home for Christmas and in fact starts going to Alfie's house for Christmas]. Because not only does he have a bad relationship with her, he has practically no relationship at all.

So, in conclusion it may be a controversial opinion, but I truly believe Jerome's mom is the worst of the parents. In their relationships with their kids, at least.

#sry anon this went in a slightly different direction to your original ask #but i had a good time going in depth with this #even though it took me FOREVER #anon #asks #house of anubis #eddie miller #mara jaffray #alfie lewis #mick campbell #joy mercer #amber millington #jerome clarke #patricia williamson

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ladysophiebeckett · 1 month ago

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I just binged Emily in paris for the first time and let me just say Camille's family's obsession with Gabriel is kinda creepy and her mom is deranged. I love Gabriel but does he really deserve all this drama...

I haven't done a full rewatch but i did go back and watch some old scenes bc i forgot a lot of stuff and.....ooh boy. yeah, sorry gabriel but do deserve all this suffering.

I think the biggest mark against gabriel is when he drunkenly confesses to her that he fell for her when he met her and then the next day says he doesn't remember what he said (lying!). obviously Emily was never gonna hold him to it, but still. Or when she helped him pick out engagement spots (alfie's fault for volunteering gabriel). but Gabriel accepted (!!!!). so yes, he deserves to lose Emily. he deserves to be on the sidelines pinning while she makes out with Marcello on a vespa. its equality.

Camille's family is weird. her dad is by far the only nice person but he's still weird. camille's brother has a weird obsession with Emily that needs to die. Camille's mom IS deranged and one of the reasons why Camille is Like That (not the sole reason tho). Something I thought was interesting was in 3x10, there's a throwaway line fm Camille's mom that implies she didn't always like Gabriel, implying she thought he lacked ambition. And before that we learn that Gabriel's grandmother Gigi, doesn't like Camille, like at all. Camille even confirms it by saying 'She hates me'.

At some point Camille's mom warmed up to Gabriel, like she saw his value\potential. But I also think Camille's parents are supportive of what their daughter wants to the point where they'll do anything help her get what she wants. Remember they wanted to loan Gabriel the money for the restaurant in S1 and he rejected it. It was something he and Camille were fighting about bc she saw it was him choosing to struggle\pride getting in the way. And he tells Emily that he can't accept it bc then they'd own him. I also think he couldn't accept it bc it would like an Official Commitment to Camille (And her family) and he was unsure about his relationship with her even then.

Gabriel's been indecisive for his entire arc, proving yet again that he deserves to lose what he wants most. like sorry, my guy but I dont think a plane ticket to rome is going to fix all this <\3.

#anon #ask #emily in paris

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cityandking · 5 months ago

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darkness, dew, ophelia for lira, dai and vesper?

thanks dear! // ask my oc stuff

Darkness: Any fears/phobias

LIRA — well she definitely has some lingering anxieties about losing everyone close to her in brutal violent bloody ways. but y'know, nothing specific DAICHI — I think post-abyss he'd have a sort of panicked reaction to having something stuck over his face. too much like being encased in living metal. and he fears letting down everyone he loves and/or has to protect, but that's kind of general background radiation in his life VESPER — fears tranquility and also losing control. these things are separate fears, but definitely linked. also: spiders

Dew: What’s something someone could do for them to make them instantly relax?

LIRA — sit her down with Alfie to decompress. tbh it's less about actions and more that there are a few people whose presence will immediately help her relax (chiefly zevran; morrigan and alistair too, so long as they aren't asking her to do anything and nothing is on fire) DAICHI — I'm not sure there's anything out there that would make dai instantly relax, but telling the truth tends to go a long way. he could also really really use a massage. rip the spa arc. (petting orum helps too) VESPER — if someone were to draw her a nice big hot bath with salts and oils and leave her to her own devices with a glass of wine and a few lit candles it would literally take years off her shoulders (cullen does this)

Ophelia: Who are the different pairings they have/brief synopsis of those relationships

you are so good to me 💕 under the cut because it got long (rip)

LIRA —

lira/alistair — they're the canon-est. they have an undeniable attraction in their youth during the blight, but lira's too caught up in her own grief and misery to let him in, and then she goes out of her way to make him unavailable to her (and herself unavailable to him) and they go their separate ways as king and warden until she goes off to cure the calling for him and they fall in love (again) long-distance over a year's worth of letters. romance at its finest lira/zevran — there's a universe out there where zevran's incessant flirting with death lira genuinely gets under her armor (literally and metaphorically) and somewhere between their shared grief and confusion and the tender sprouts of hope they find a happier ending lira/zevran/alistair — all of the above except when zevran wears her down, she sets her pride aside for .2 seconds, and they fall into the strangest puppy pile romance. I love them. lira/morrigan — genuinely I just think if they could make out and then have a surrogate kid together it would fix 80% of everything wrong with lira. (could even be lira/morrigan/alistair let's get a throuple parenting situation out here. warden!lira + warden!alistair + morrigan + kieran is kind of a perfect happy ever after for them)

DAICHI —

dai/zaref — canon coworkers to lovers! dai respected zaref from the beginning, but after their first trip into the void and the discovery that zaref was actually a void tiefling and had been lying/in hiding for the past couple years, that trust/respect kind of collapsed. in its place they made an active effort to be honest and supportive and watch out for each other (and the party). when daichi promised to bring the void to an unsuspecting world to get zaref back (it's a long story) and then returned three months of zaref's lost memories colored by dai's own admiration and respect and love, it was kind of inevitable. is it healthy? probably not, but get you a boyfriend who will stay in the abyss and/or die for you

VESPER —

vesper/cullen — canon! they have a slow burn romance built on endless war councils and late nights and exhaustion and quiet humor and trust and friendship and meeting the other where they were, and they were in love before they realized it had started. a real port-in-a-storm romance, only good and true and forever. vesper/ellana — companion!vesper tries so so so hard to keep it professional with inquisitor lavellan but unfortunately no one can resist ellana lavellan's heart and spirit and tendency to be right exactly where vesper is trying to train vesper/morrigan — sometimes you are the inquisitor and hosting the empress of orlais' court mage, who is the only person you know even More unhinged than you are about lost histories and magical theory and you have long meandering conversations so so so late into the night and could almost imagine a world where— [vesper was privately, quietly bestotted from the beginning; it would be cool if they kissed about it] vesper/solas — *train noises*

#once again I am blogging from the trainyard #I JUST THINK THEY'D BE NEAT #hang on lemme tag all these ships #r: never ours #r: flowering wounds #r: light through stained glass #r: beneath this bold and brilliant sun #r: like quiet #r: tbd #daichi #vesper #lira #memery

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whentommymetalfie · 6 months ago

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God I can just imagine when tommy and alfie welcoming their first child after such a gruelling and life threatening birthing (because obviously there needs to be a situation where tommy also dies giving birth because we love drama!!!) and alfie just can’t keep his eyes away from how tommy dotes and cuddles to their newborn. alfie is unable to keep the water works under control because he’s just so happy that they’re both healthy and alive!!! just thought I’d add to the omegaverse conversations because all your thoughts and ideas are amazing! take care ❤️

You're so welcome to join the omegaverse conversations 🥰 and thank you! Really, I can only take half the credit, since I've been proving with so many ideas to expand upon. Got a whole little collection now!

The thought of Tommy dying during labour is enough to make me want to retreat into a pile of blanket 💔 And Alfie sitting there with him in his arms, refusing to leave his side. Being left alone to care for their child. Oh but the angst. There'll always be a part of me that loves the suffering.

But to end on the fluffier side:

Tommy and Alfie being the happiest new parents ❤️ Tommy lying in bed with their newly delivered baby in his arms, exhausted and completely wrung out but still so happy. And Alfie holding both of them, unable to fully comprehend that he's a dad now. So proud of Tommy, who's gone through this long and difficult labour. Which he keeps telling him, over and over, how strong he is, how much Alfie loves him, and their baby. The entire Shelby clan hovering by the door, and eventually Tommy sighs and tells them to stop creeping and come in instead, so they all bundle in and they're absolutely on their best behavior, no loud noises, (using The Inside Voice), as they gather there around the bed. And surprisingly (but still not surprising at all), Arthur's the one who cries the most ❤️

#tommy x alfie #omegaverse #requests and inspiration

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invisibleraven · 2 years ago

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It's not what you lost, it's what you gained

Written for the Year of the OTP challenge prompt: No, I'm not dating your brother

Pairing: Julie/Luke/Reggie

On AO3!

Man, took long enough for me to get to my OT3 with this series huh?

Reggie has a brother when it's plot convenient, so I'm using my OC Alfie because no parents who name their first child Reginald are going with the name Steve for their second.

Hand waving any medical inaccuracies, and please enjoy!

Alfie is on his way to class when his phone rings and he almost ignores it. This final review is paramount to him passing this Chemistry class, and he’s running late as it is. But it’s an LA area code, so he reluctantly swipes to answer it.

“Mr. Peters? This LA County General. We have your brother Reginald here as a patient…”

The rest of the words are eaten up by the rush in Alfie’s ears as the fear rushes through him. The thought of Reggie, lying alone and broken in some hospital bed, he can’t even think about it. He thanks the nice nurse and books the first flight he can back home, rapidly throwing things in a duffel bag. Screw classes, screw his finals, his brother is more important than anything.

He’s sure Reggie would disagree, having slaved away at a million dead end jobs to afford Alfie’s tuition, but the man had practically raised him when their parents failed to be present, and then fought to be his legal guardian the second he turned eighteen. Alfie owed him the world. So it was off to LA, hoping and praying that he wasn’t going to be too late.

He doesn’t remember much of the flight or the cab ride from the airport, only that it seems to take forever. He hasn’t missed California traffic, nor the intense heat, part of him longing for his cool Portland spring, but at least he had the sense to pack a few lighter shirts in his bag, pulling one on as the taxi rounds the bend to the hospital. He’s sure he overtips as he all but shoves bills at the cabbie, but he doesn’t care, he barely remembers to take his bag as he rushes to the front desk.

“Hi, I got a call about my brother? Reggie Peters? Can you tell me where he is?” he asks at the front desk. The woman purses her lips but nods, typing into her computer, and with each clack of the keys he prays she isn’t about to tell him he’s too late or that he can’t see Reggie after all this.

“Fourth floor, room 450. Follow the yellow line to the elevators, then the blue line once you’re up there. Visiting hours are over at 9.”

Alfie nods in thanks and quickly locates where he’supposed to go, heart pounding as he finds the elevator, jamming repeatedly on the button, as if that had ever made them go faster. He’s tapping his feet and is just about to give up and find a stairwell when the doors open and he enters, pressing the 4 harshly in hopes it will hurry things along. The mindless music is grating, but Alfie’s brain is too full of thoughts to even register it.

He knows Reggie was in a car accident, had multiple fractures and a concussion. There had been some worry about a bruise to his kidney, and they had already done a surgery to clean up some internal bleeding. The prognosis was good, but Reggie had yet to wake up.

That’s what worried Alfie the most.

What if he didn’t wake up? What if he woke up and didn’t remember anything? Remember Alfie? What if he woke up and he was all alone and scared?

His thought spiral was interrupted by the doors opening, and Alfie frantically looked around for the blue line, finally locating it and counting off the numbers of the rooms as he went. 415, 423, 437… 450!

The door was partially open, and Alfie peered in, not wanting to interrupt if a doctor was seeing Reggie. But no, instead he saw people on either side of Reggie, a Latina woman with dark curly hair who is clutching his left hand, and a guy with shaggy chestnut hair on his right, hand on Reggie’s shoulder since that arm is in a sling.

Alfie has no clue who either of them are.

Look, between his classes and Reggie’s jobs, they haven’t had a chance to catch up lately okay? But still, these people seem to be very concerned for his brother, and neither of them are in scrubs, so that rules out medical professionals. “Hello?” he calls out and they both look up at him with wide, red rimmed eyes.

“Oh, you must be Alfie,” the woman says. “You look just like your pictures.”

“I am,” he says. “Who are you?”

“I’m Julie, this is Luke. Reggie is our best friend.”

“Jules-” Luke starts, but she waves him off. Alfie can question all that later, and how close the two of them could possibly be to Reggie when he can’t recall either of their names being mentioned. But they were here, and maybe they had answers that the doctors wouldn’t give.

“How is he-really?” Alfie asks as he looks over Reggie. Aside from the arm in the sling, he can see his left leg in a cast, bruises littering his exposed skin, a collar around his neck and a plethora of machines whirring and beeping away.

“He’s tough,” Luke says, “But he got pretty beat up. The other driver was drunk, plowed through a red light, he’s equally messed up, but his family is covering Reggie’s care, since he was at fault.”

“Well that’s a relief,” Alfie said as he took Julie’s spot, grasping Reggie’s hand tight. “I’m here bro, I’m here.”

Reggie’s pulse is there below his fingers, and Alfie finally felt the tension flood from his body. Yes, Reggie is bruised and broken, and there is a hard road ahead of him in terms of rehabilitation, but he’s still there. Alfie just needs him to wake up now, smile that crooked grin of his and lambast him for taking time off from school when he’s perfectly fine.

He looks up, seeing Luke and Julie still there, Julie standing beside Luke’s chair, pushing Reggie’s hair from his face.

“Thank you both for being here for him,” Alfie says quietly. “I would hate to think he was here alone.”

“Of course,” Luke replies. “He’d do it for either of us.”

“It was the least we could do for him,” Julie finishes, sending Reggie a fond look. A look that Alfie had only seen in movies, in fairy tales really. It’s the look of someone who genuinely loves the person they’re looking at, in the deepest way you could love someone. He hadn’t had much experience with it in his own life, but he still knows it when he sees it.

“Are you dating my brother?” Alfie asks. Julie and Luke exchange a worried look, and Alfie doesn’t know what to make of that. “It’s just… he never talks about himself. He tells me this and that, but he’s never mentioned either of you, and if it’s new that’s fine, but I need to know.”

“No, I’m not dating your brother,” Julie finally answers. “We… we both wanted to. Took forever to convince him we loved him like that.”

Alfie got that. After their parents it had taken years and lots of therapy for him to believe that he could be lovable to anyone, so it stands to reason that Reggie would also have a harder time believing anyone could want him. Or that romantic love could be anything but toxic. So no wonder he had a harder time convincing himself that two people could want him like that.

Luke reaches up and squeezes Julie’s hand on his shoulder. “But we finally did. He was driving to our first date when he got in the accident.”

“It’s not your fault,” Alfie says, as if that will assuage the guilt they’re surely feeling. “He might have been out getting groceries or going to work, the fault is with the guy who decided to get behind the wheel drunk.”

“I just wish it had never happened,” Julie says with a sniffle.

Luke gathers her into his arms at that, soothing her. “Sssh, it’s okay boss. We’ll be here for him the whole time right? Take him to every appointment, help him with whatever he needs help with. He’ll be sick of us by the end of it right?”

“Right,” Julie says wetly, giving Luke a weak smile.

“You two don’t have to do that,” Alfie says.

“Of course we do,” Luke says. “We love Reggie. He’s our whole world. And he’d kill us for letting you take more time off of school just to take care of him.”

“He’s so proud of you,” Julie adds. “Always going on about his genius baby brother and how he’s going to change the world.”

Alfie looks down at Reggie’s sleeping face. “He really talks about me?”

“All the time,” Luke promises. “I think he was waiting until after our date to tell you about us though.”

“Don’t hold it against him for keeping it secret, not everyone understands polyamory,” Julie says.

“I could never-Reggie is the greatest guy there is,” Alfie says, wiping away a tear. “I don’t care who he loves, or how many people. His heart is big enough to hold the whole world, I’m just happy he found people who realize it.”

Julie and Luke smile at him, and then they all look at Reggie, willing him to wake up. But he stays stationary, the machines still beeping and whirring around them. They sit there, getting to know one another as time goes on. A nurse reminds them about the end of visiting hours, but none of them move.

None of them want Reggie to be alone.

Finally it ticks over to 9, and another nurse gives them a stern glare, the three of them exiting the room, each promising to be back the next day. Alfie looks away as Luke and Julie press kisses to Reggie’s face. Then they invite him to stay at their place, or a ride to Reggie’s, if he wants. He decides to stay at his brother’s, and is shocked by the tiny studio apartment. There’s a cherry red bass in the corner, plants on every surface, and a dog dish in the corner. “Dolly is with my dad until Reggie can come home,” Julie says.

Alfie can see the walls covered in photos; shots of Reggie and the pit bull mix he’d adopted after finding her hurt on the beach during a lifeguarding gig, pictures of him playing his bass alongside Luke and a blonde guy playing drums while Julie is singing behind a piano.

“We’re in a band together,” Luke explains. “Julie and the Phantoms.”

“Tell your friends,” Julie says, though the phrase makes her a little melancholy.

There’s a bunch of shots of Alfie, and he almost cries when he sees the one of him and Reggie at his graduation, beaming faces smiling wide as MeeMaw took the shot. Plus another with her hugging them both tight that he touches reverently. God, he needs to call her in the morning, she’s in a home now after breaking her hip one too many times, but she’s still in full capacity of her senses.

“We already called Chavala,” Julie says. “She made us promise to take good care of you both.”

“Thank you,” Alfie says. Wonders how much more of Reggie’s life he’s missed out on, if even their grandmother knows about Luke and Julie when he’s been in the dark.

But the evidence is there, staring him in the face, because the bulk of the photos are of Luke and Julie themselves. Some alone, some together, a great deal more with Reggie. They look so happy together, all smiles and lovelorn expressions. Without going on a single date, if he looked at these photos, he would have assumed they had been together for years.

“The fridge is stocked, but if you need anything, you can call us,” Luke says, writing down their numbers on a piece of paper. “We’ll pop by in the morning, we can all go in and see him tomorrow.”

Alfie nods, and sees them out, but when he crawls into bed that night, he breaks down in tears, relieved that Reggie’s alive, but mourning the lost time between them. He sleeps restlessly, and barely manages a bowl of cereal before Luke and Julie show up. They chatter mindlessly as they drive towards the hospital, but all conversation ends once there, all of them silently waiting for Reggie to make some sign of consciousness.

But he’s just as still as he was the day prior. Alfie takes the time to email all his teachers, letting them know where he is, and most of them get back to him giving him extensions. Not the terrible Professor Martinez for Chem of course, but one email to the dean has him excused until he gets back. The doctor comes in to do a few more tests, so the three of them go to get something to eat.

“I hope you guys aren’t missing too much work for this,” Alfie says as he picks at his salad.

Luke and Julie exchange a look. “Um, the band is our job,” Luke finally says. “Our demo is doing really well, and we just got picked up by a label. The night we got signed is the night we told Reggie how we felt.”

“But Reggie…”

“Reggie works at the animal shelter because he likes it,” Julie says with a giggle. “Our friend Willie is covering for him. He quit all the other part time gigs once the band started taking off and our merch sales more than made up for it.”

Once again, Alfie aches inside, thinking back to every conversation that he’s had with Reggie over the past little while. He goes on and on about his classes, his friends, the cute guy who’d asked him out. That had led to Alfie finally coming out to Reggie who laughed and told him he didn’t care, and hell, he was bi, so he couldn’t say shit. That had been months ago though.

Reggie never told him squat about his own life though, sticking to his job walking dogs or serving coffee. He never mentions his friends, or his band, or the people he loves. He always demurred, like he thought Alfie wouldn’t be interested, and Alfie realizes he stopped pressing ages ago, not wanting to fight if Reggie didn’t want to be known. He silently curses their parents for screwing them up so royally, and vows then and there to be a better brother, to push more.

He just prays he gets the chance.

When they get back to the room, the doctor pulls Alfie aside. “His brain is active, the swelling is gone, and we’re going to remove the breathing tube. I’m hopeful that he’ll wake soon.”

Reggie does look a little better when they enter the room, the tubes and wires greatly reduced, and the bruises are starting to fade, just a little. But he still doesn’t wake up. Alfie squeezes his hand tight. “Come on Reginald, wake up. I’ll be so mad if you don’t.”

“Come back to us cariño,” Julie whispers, pressing a kiss to Reggie’s face.

“We have a date to get to, you can’t sleep through that bud,” Luke jokes. “And you know Willie can’t play bass for shit.”

“Maybe we should sing to him,” Julie jokes back.

“My acoustic is in the trunk,” Luke perks up at the suggestion and when Julie sends him a look, he shrugs. “You know I don’t go anywhere without a guitar!”

“Go get it,” Alfie says. “I’m willing to try anything.”

Luke dashes out and returns a few moments later with his guitar, beaming as he sits back down, nodding at Julie who starts tapping out a beat on her thighs, which Alfie clumsily copies. Reggie’s the one who got all the musical talent between them, he’s practically tone deaf, but he can follow this a little.

“Can you, can you hear me?” Julie sings softly.

“Loud and clear!” Luke sings back.

“Gotta get, we gotta get ready.”

“Cause it’s been years!”

“That's my song,” comes a creaking voice from the bed and three pairs of eyes fly to where Reggie is blinking up at them. “Hey darlin’, babe. Was going on?”

“Reggie!” Julie cries, hugging him as much as she’s able. “Dios mio, never scare us like that again!”

“I’ll try not to sweetheart,” Reggie replies, though his voice is more of a croak than anything. “As soon as you tell me what I did.”

“You got in a bad car accident hun,” Luke says, bringing his free hand up to press a kiss to the knuckles. “Had us worried sick.”

“Sorry,” Reggie replies, licking over his dry lips. Then he turns his head and sees his brother. “Alf, what the heck are you doing here? You have finals!”

“You’re more important dummy,” Alfie says, swiping the tears from his eyes as he chuckles. “And we need to have a long talk about you not telling me stuff.”

Reggie flushes, looking at the couple beside him who nod and vacate the room. “I meant to tell you, I just… you know how it is, I never think my stuff is all that important. You’re in college, going to change the world one day. I’m just…”

“A future rock star with two pretty damn good partners?” Alfie finishes for him. “Reggie I wouldn’t care if you were just sitting in your sweats playing MarioKart all day, I still wanna know about your life. It’s important to me, because you are important to me.”

Reggie sniffles, and lets out a little okay. “We’re not dating, you know. Not yet.”

“Bud they’ve been by your side since you got here, safe to say that you are,” Alfie replies.

“I love them.”

“Good, because they love you too. And I approve, so we’re golden.”

“So… how’s life?” Reggie asks.

Alfie barks out a laugh and the two of them spend the next hour catching up, only interrupted by doctors doing some tests and Luke bringing them food while Julie gets Reggie’s care instructions from the nurses.

Reggie finally convinces Alfie to go home the next day, he’s in good hands, but promises to call him every night. “If not, I will,” Julie vows.

So Alfie goes home, aces that Chem final-take that Professor Martinez! And he’s back in LA for when Reggie can play his bass again, smiling and bouncing all over the stage at Julie and the Phantoms first gig since he got his casts off.

And Alfie shouts louder than anyone when Luke and Julie kiss his cheeks during their bow, all three of them smiling wide, looking happier than he has ever seen his brother.

And a year later, he’s happily standing at Reggie’s side as his best man as the three of them have a commitment ceremony that beats any wedding Alfie’s ever been to. But Alfie’s favourite moment is when Regige picks him to dance with during the family dances, and they boogey away on the floor. Sure, he wishes that Reggie never had the accident that led to this, but a part of him will forever be grateful that he and his brother are closer than ever. He soon returns Reggie to Luke and Julie’s arms, and smiles at the three of them swaying together.

He doesn't even care that Reggie is leaving the Peters name behind, because Luke and Julie's families have adopted them both as their own, and Alfie is half convinced that if he was a few years younger, Victoria Alvarez would be fighting to be his mom for real. So surrounded by his new family, and his brother looking ecstatic with his spouses by his side, Alfie has no complaints about the road that led them here. Yeah, this was alright by him.

#my stuff #writing #fanfic #rukebox #peterpatterlina #otp 2023 #year of the otp #julie and the phantoms

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ellynneversweet · 2 months ago

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Right???

El’s absolutely a pessimist who would take the worst case scenario numbers and assume those are the most accurate, but where is she getting these numbers from? Scholomance history textbooks? Wizard newspapers? Wizard puberty pamphlets (she gets one)? Who is producing these texts (enclavers, presumably) and why? To push that the scholomance and enclaves are the best and only solution for survival, so that any ends to build any number of enclaves justify the means?

I mean. It makes sense for El to be an only child, because her parents were star crossed lovers and her father died before they could produce a second baby (and Gwen had stepfather trauma and little El probably scared the piss out of any wizard man interested in Gwen). It makes sense for Orion to be an only child, because he was turned into an eldritch abomination in the womb, which sort of indicates his parents aren’t super broody and sentimental, and he was high needs in a very specific way, and maybe Ophelia did some damage to herself in whatever ritual she used. You can make the case that it kinda makes sense for Liu, because she was born before the official end of the one child policy (2016), although in practice that policy had softened dramatically in the 2000s so if you paid a fine or were an ethnic minority or a rural family or had a disabled child you could get around it, so I don’t see how wizards aren’t falsifying paperwork like they do passports. Because 1. we know from Liu’s grandmother that magically extending out fertility has a cost and 2. she is supposed to come from a big family, and I’m sorry but one uncle and two cousins do not a big family make. You can also make the case that Aadhya’s parents were so traumatised by her sister’s death that they didn’t want another baby after she died, but it makes less sense for them to have a five year age gap between baby one and baby two, and a three year age gap between baby two and the non-existent baby three, assuming their cultural values are for large families. You can make the case that Liesel is an only child because she’s illegitimate, because we don’t know when her mother was cursed, so maybe her mother was in a similar situation to Gwen’s, but in a less lovelorn way (and we also don’t know if she has half siblings on her father’s side).

But it makes no sense for Chloe, Alfie, Magnus, or any of the enclave kids to be only children. Given Alfie is Alfred, descendant of Sir Alfred, we might reasonably assume he is his family’s oldest or only son and has younger siblings coming through the Scholomance.

But okay, let’s play this out some more. Financially, wizarding parents have no disincentive to not have children because they’ve hacked the mundane economic system and can magic themselves up a do-nothing, moderately well-paid job and forged banknotes, so long as they don’t do so to a degree that it makes life difficult for the enclaves (who do stock and housing market manipulation instead). They do have a housing security issue, because although they can and do buy mundane housing, that’s no protection against mal incursions (and, off topic, I am massively and continually enraged that cost of living estimates deliberately exclude housing costs, at least in Aus, which is just lying with numbers). We know that some of the Beijing enclave kids offer to give up their places to Liu’s clan, so maybe those born into enclaves are only granted replacement-level inheritance of enclave spots, and there’s a risk that your third, fourth, fifth child have to become indie wizards, join another enclave, or you or they have to pay for enclave space for them in an expansion or a new satellite/outpost enclave.

Then there’s the question of when the population boom El mentioned happened. We know that modern enclaves are only modern by the standards of ‘made after the golden stone enclaves were destroyed’ so that covers iirc two or more thousand years, well before Industrial Revolution. But, the building of the Scholomance itself happens in the late IR, and contributes to the population boom. And it’s stated that enclaves, while safer than out in the wild, are still not particularly safe places for teenage wizards to be. We know the methods of modern enclave building have been industrialised (see: the mana brick stamper), and that the Scholomance was built in flatpack form in Manchester, and that modern enclaves have skyscrapers, so, possibly the IR contributed in that enclaves have a footprint area and found themselves suddenly able to build up when previously they’d been limited by building out.

We also know that magic doesn’t produce reliable contraception, that they go to science for that, and while forms of contraception have been around forever, reliable contraception that is minimally impactful on a woman’s body (ie, actually holeproof condoms, cervical caps that aren’t made of half a hollowed out lemon, the pill, IUDs, abortifacients that aren’t moderately likely to poison the woman taking them) starts in the 1960s. And on a related note we know that wizard healers who aren’t Gwen with her speciality of spiritual healing tend to go to medical school post-Scholomance and use a presumably more effective and mana-efficient blend of scientific knowledge and magical boosters, which indicates there also might be a greater survival rate among the very young and very old (since Scholomance students don’t have access to doctors, mundane or wizard), thereby increasing the population but also increasing the average age of the population.

So…we might say that the population boom took place between the mid-twentieth century and the 1960s, and by the 1970s the same cultural issues were coming into play in the magical world as in the mundane world — an existing population boom putting strain on resources, the ability to choose when and if to have kids pointing prospective parents towards a quality over quantity mindset, women’s lib (Deepthi’s parents wouldn’t have planned to send her to the Scholomance even if they could have got her in at the age when she predicted she would go, because she was a girl, while in El’s era the head of the most powerful enclave, New York, and her prospective heir are both women), and an aging generation with limited sympathy for the young except as a resource they can extract. Maybe even a sort of environmentalism in which mals (produced by humans) are a stand in for pollution.

In conclusion: ???

Also, the TFR in the scholomance books does not…make sense. Or possibly all the characters we meet are massive outliers for not having 6-10 siblings to account for what’s apparently a population boom in a population with a 20-80% child mortality rate. Or possibly El’s an outlier in just about every way possible (or possibly it got handwaved away by Ophelia’s speech about the increase in the mal population and the corresponding increase in mal attacks). Speaking of Ophelia, what a terrifying evil matriarch, I love her and want all the fic about her.

#mals as a stand in for environmental damages raises the intriguing proposition that we could understand Ophelia as magically akin to #the sort of people who join PETA and happily euthanise animals they ‘liberate’ from people PETA disagree with #on the principle that it’s better to be a dead dog than the beloved dog of a homeless person (fuck PETA by the way)#the scholomance #full disclosure I’m presently lightly fascinated by the fertility discourse that is happening in which #millennials and older gen z’s who are of baby having age who have been told their entire lives that they shouldn’t have children if they #can’t afford it have gone ‘okay then! I won’t since I can’t afford it’ and governments are going ‘but we need children as a society?!’#I feel like the wizard world is 5-10 years behind this current real world discourse in which sometime in their near future someone will go #‘actually. current stats indicate a population decline and that ALSO threatens our economic forecasting’

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hughiecampbelle · 2 years ago

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Imagine your father Alfie thinking you're out of control:

Your faces were inches apart, your voices loud enough to shake the foundation of the building. The both of you were impossibly explosive, but it got even worse when your father was particularly upset with you. He was furious, hearing you'd been skipping school to go to London with the youngest Shelby and his friends. You were running around town like you owned the place, sneaking out at night and coming back in the early morning. You were disrespectful to him, to his people, and he couldn't take it anymore. You were going to school. When you weren't in school you would be home, studying. No more friends, no more films, and no more fucking lying. You thought you were so good at it, that you were making a fool of him. No one made a fool of Alfie Solomons, especially not his own child. Your fists balled, pounded against the table beneath you, screaming at him about how unfair he was. He could do as he pleased, forgetting all about you for days at a time, but when he decided it was convenient for him to actually be a parent your life was over. Sometimes you were an adult, other times you were a child. Pick one, you dared him. It was one or the other, not when he decided to switch. As far as you were concerned, what he wanted was unrealistic. Hypocritical. He could disappear all he wanted. You had that same choice, regardless of your age. Screw him. Screw this.

#alfie solomons #alfie solomons imagine #alfie solomons x reader #peaky blinders #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders x reader

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darklydeliciousdesires · 2 years ago

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Not One of Many - Chapter Twenty Seven.

Thanks to those still showing interest and interactions on this, but lamentably as of now the story is on hold as I need to finish it, and I’m just not feeling motivated to write at the moment. I’ve had too many knocks, too much take, take, take from readers and not enough feedback (but I do see those who have remained loyal in that respect. I see you and appreciate you hugely) which has resulted in me basically losing my creative drive.

I did always say this would happen... content creators do warn people that lack of interaction causes us to lose our love of writing, so here I am now, living proof of that. The only people who should feel bad about that are those who don’t bother interacting, because it’s your fault. I’m not mincing my words or being gracious in the face of it any longer. Selfishness can only be tolerated for so long, and I’ve really had my fill of it.

Previous chapters - Prologue One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine Ten Eleven Twelve Thirteen Fourteen Fifteen Sixteen Seventeen Eighteen Nineteen Twenty Twenty One Twenty Two Twenty Three Twenty Four Twenty Five Twenty Six

Tag list - In the comments

Words - 3,358

Warnings - 18+ content, adult audience only. Minors DNI!

“She sprayed his car? Jesus Christ, I bet he was bloody livid!”

Shaking her head, Amira looked a picture of shocked, she and Mimi being brought up to speed on Talia’s most recent antics, Beth deciding to take up her offer for the three of them to meet up. It had been a relaxing day, her most recent articles finished and submitted, the housekeeper cleaning in preparation for her parents, grandmother and Alfie’s mum to visit them for dinner later that evening, and the man himself currently with Steve, playing a few games of squash.

“Oh, he most certainly was. He got it fixed the day after, but that isn’t the point,” Beth began, Mimi quick to pipe up.

“It’s that she’s continuing to do it in the first place, and as yet, you can’t even prove any of it is coming from her!”

“Thus nixing your plan to file a restraining order,” Amira sighed. “I suppose in that way, she actually is quite clever, because she knows you’ll need proof of identity to facilitate such. Can’t file a restraining order without concrete evidence detailing the person whom you wish to restrain”

“You seem very up on all of this, miss legal mind?” Mimi questioned, Amira’s eyes widening.

“When I was eighteen, I had a stalker, too. Some guy who’d seen my pictures in the lad’s mags and took a bit too much of a shine to me. It was easy for me, though, because he wasn’t threatening me. He just followed me everywhere I went as soon as he’d managed to find out where I lived. He was a right creep, but it meant I could take photographs and keep a diary of whenever I spotted him. It was plentiful evidence in keeping him away from me once I got in touch with the police.”

“Gosh, I didn’t realise that. It’s spooky, though, isn’t it? When you know you’re being followed,” Beth empathised, Amira nodding knowingly. “I mean, she could be watching me right now, for all I know.”

She was then entertained greatly by Amira’s defiance, holding up both middle fingers and waving her arms around, muttering ‘bugger off, you bitch!’ as she did it. She laughed at herself, placing her hand atop Beth’s. “You seem to not be letting it rattle you, though, and that’s good!”

Beth smiled, stroking the side of her finger with her thumb before lifting her coffee cup to her lips again, giving the burning hot cappuccino a cautionary blow. “I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t, but I’m trying not to let it get me down too much. I have enough on my mind as it is, I’m meeting Alfie’s mum for the first time tonight, and he my parents and nan as well.”

Amira’s eyebrows rose significantly. “Not cooking, are you? Sarra will be all over you like a rash!”

Beth laughed immediately. “Yes, Alfie told me all about the roast dinner fiasco, and the half a bottle of vodka that followed it, so no, we have caterers coming in.”

She shook her head, her and Mimi exchanging knowing laughter, remembering it well. “Mimi had only just moved in at the time as well, Sarra giving her the once over and huffing ‘another bloody shiksa, Alf?’ at him before coming to bother me and my roast lamb.”

Mimi threw her head back, clapping with entertainment. “I’m laughing now, but she was scary!” she then corrected herself quickly, realising it was probably not what Beth wanted to hear. “I mean, she is a lovely lady, very quiet and polite, but she has this fierceness beneath her exterior, a bit like Alfie, except she doesn’t really blow her stack as monumentally as her son can.”

“Nah, Mims is right. Sarra is nice. She’ll adore you the second she finds out you’re Jewish, so you have that going for you. Oh and don’t wear anything too low cut, because she will comment on your boobs. Or lack of them, as the case was with me.” She snorted into her hand, whacking Mimi on the thigh when she began to giggle loudly. “It wasn’t funny!”

“Then why are you pissing yourself?” she cried, slapping her in return. “Oh, I wish I could have been there to see it! She told Amira that she had boobies like two aspirin on an ironing board!”

Beth gasped, her eyes widening. “That’s a bit personal!”

Amira leaned closer, raising an elegantly shaped eyebrow. “The more Chablis she drinks, the looser her tongue gets.”

“But overall, a nice lady, right?” Beth quipped, cocking her head slightly to the side, her face escalating the girl’s laughter. They reassured her that she was, but did have her little quirks about her. Alfie had confirmed such, mentioning in the past that she was a very relaxed woman, but sometimes, did make the odd sassy comment. Either way, Beth knew she’d be nervous regardless, finishing her coffee morning with the girls and then heading for a massage, meeting Oliver for lunch before she arrived home, finding a glorious sight asleep on the sofa, a freshly showered Alfie, dressed in just a low-slung pair of black sweats.

“Well, ain’t that a nice wake up?” he murmured sleepily, feeling Beth circling one of his nipples with her tongue, her fingers tickling over his abs.

She grinned, kissing her way to his mouth. “Give me a few minutes and it’ll be even nicer.”

His mouth tilted up, chuckling. “Oh?”

“Mmm.” Her confirmation preceded a scorching kiss, her hand grasping his hardening cock, massaging his shaft through the confines of cloth. “There it is, just what I was looking for.” she purred, her mouth hungry at the side of his neck before it trailed down, her hands tugging at the elastic waist of his sweats, pulling them from him before she moved to kneel between his thighs, her tongue running up over the line of hair between his pubes and navel a few times, her hand continuing to massage his rapidly thickening erection.

When her mouth finally met the silken skin encasing such heated steel, he groaned deeply, her eyes meeting his as she made him vanish into her mouth, sucking him softly to begin with, her lips gradually adding the kind of pressure that had the taut muscles of his thighs dancing beneath the skin. “Bloody hell, darlin’. You always look so fucking pretty with a mouthful of cock.”

She slid her mouth back up in slow ascension, spitting a mouthful of saliva onto his erection, licking the very tip of it, his lust burning at such a sight. “Yes, you’ve mentioned that once or twice.” Winking, she took him into her throat again, steadily working her lips in a seductive drag over his shaft, her nails raking over his chest.

He was transported to ecstasy rapidly, chest rising and falling faster as her mouth sped up, his gritty groan arrowing right to her cunt, her walls opening, stinging with want. While she kept him happy with her mouth, she managed to undress herself with her free hand, pulling and shimmying out of her dress, undoing the ribbon tie of her thong and unhooking her bra, her hand then pushing between her legs to caress her wetness, elegant fingers stroking over her clit as she moaned around his cock.

He looked down at the sight, his heart throbbing, arousal charging through him as he watched her touching herself, her soft moans vibrating along his shaft, her eyes never leaving his. The combined ministrations of her lips tightening, tongue pressing and hand stroking on him had his veins blazing, Beth stopping to trail her tongue in long, seductive licks over the very head of his hardness, purring seductively.

“Want me to fuck you yet, big fella?” He was out from under her in a second, pushing her face down onto the sofa, yanking her hips up to plunge into her.

“Nah, but you will lie there and take it while I rail the life out of you, treacle.” The clutch at the back of her neck was hard, imposing, forcing her down as he daggered her insides with rapacious thrusts, her wail filling the space along with the sound of his flesh smacking against hers, their sex utterly brutal, a hundred percent primally charged.

He was completely barbaric with her, escalating her cries by spanking her bum hard, his hand shifting to her hair, grasping it at the roots and flexing his fingers in tug, lifting her head up, creating a warm throb of delicious pain at her scalp, his cock battering her walls. “Like it like this, don’t you, baby beast, ay? When I fuck you hard and nasty?”

“Don’t you dare fucking stop, oh god, yes!” she exclaimed, a raspy moan leaving her lips as she felt her insides decimated so thoroughly, she knew she’d likely have issues sitting down later.

He spanked her a few more times, his hand pulling at her hair harder. “Fuckin’ dirty girl, you take my cock better than anyone.”

His words of praise had fire licking her veins, tingles shooting through her spine as she felt the rising tide of heat pulsing from her trembling walls, shattering into nirvana shortly before his own fervid culmination had him groaning out each pulse, cock spurting thick, hot ropes of release deeply within her fluttering cunt. They lay in an entanglement of limbs in the wake of it, stroking one another, Beth departing with a kiss to go and have a bath before getting ready.

She’d been rendered so blissfully cock drunk by Alfie that she didn’t feel much in the way of nerves as she enjoyed her bath before slowly getting ready, curling her hair into loose waves and applying eyeliner and false lashes, her lips nude but a smear of balm. When it came to choosing an outfit, though, Amira’s words playing heavily on her mind, she became a little unglued.

“Low cut, low cut, high necked, but it’s too hot, oh, lord,” she sighed, moving onto maxi dresses. Most of those were too low. Finally, she came across a floral patterned one that covered her chest without stifling her, the floaty fabric light enough to keep her cool. Now, if only her insides were fixable by such means. For that, she had wine, though, entering the kitchen and pouring herself a glass before going outside to keep out of the caterer's way, finding Alfie playing with Cyril.

“Look at your mum, Cyril, don’t she look lovely!” Her heart fluttered at his cute words; Cyril unmoved completely as he yanked on the end of his rope toy.

She smiled, glad he approved. “Thanks, boo. Shouldn’t you be getting ready, though?”

“Yeah, I’ll go up in a bit. Only need ten minutes.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Our guests will be arriving in just under fifteen.”

“Blimey!” That did the trick, Alfie leaving Cyril to it, Beth deciding to take over.

“No, leave it, leave,” she told the dog, Cyril dropping the rope obediently. She then threw it across the garden, the gargantuan beast charging in the cutest lollop she’d ever witnessed, like a hench spring lamb, picking up his rope and dutifully trotting back to drop it at her feet. “Just a few more, and then I have to go in and resume panicking.”

A couple more throws and Beth re-entered the house, Cyril following her call when he made a beeline for the kitchen, coming with her into the lounge and sitting down in his plush bed, Beth noticing a lovely tray of varied little finger foods lined up. Chicken satay, mini beef wellingtons, smoked salmon blinis, and oh god, there went the door.

“Baba!” her father greeted her with warmly, giving her one of his usual bone crunching hugs. “What a fantastic pile of bricks this is, wow! Oh, and there’s a dog! Is he friendly?”

“Very much so,” Beth confirmed, kissing her mother. “His name is Cyril.” While her father made friends, delighted by the fact he asked for his paw to shake and Cyril gave it up immediately, she opened her arms to her darling grandmother, who could hardly keep her eyes in her head. “Hi, bubbe.”

“Is this one of the Queen’s residences, love?” she joked, kissing her granddaughter’s cheek as she entered, her mouth dropping. “Oh, your grandfather would plotz. Look at it!”

“I think you’re doing a good enough job of that for the both of you,” Beth confirmed, Alfie arriving with them. After all introductions were given, they led Beth’s family on the grand tour of the house, Alfie excusing himself halfway round to answer the door to his mother. Once the tour was done, they headed back down to the lounge, Beth dutifully taking her bubbe’s arm to help her on the stairs, entering the lounge to see Alfie, and his older, female double standing there waiting for him.

“Mum, this is Beth,” he began, Sarra reaching for her hands.

“Oh, you’re so lovely, look at this dress, and your makeup!” she announced, narrowing her eyes a touch and cocking her head, as if she was trying to work something out. “Alfie, she looks Jewish. Is she Jewish?”

A little ripple of laughter went around the room, Alfie beginning to nod. “Yeah, mum. She is.”

“Oh! Oh!” she began, pulling Beth into a hug, kissing her cheek. “Finally!” She then went to her son, bundling him in a hug. “Mazel tof, Alf. I’m so flippin’ happy! Have you been waiting for this as much as I have, too?” she then asked Beth’s family, coming to shake hands and give kisses of introduction.

“We have, yes,” Beth’s mum began. “I’m Helen, by the way. My husband John and my mother, Miriam.”

“Sarra, I’m thrilled to meet you all. Well, I think this calls for wine!” Beth made her way to the kitchen in order to furnish their guests with their drink's choices, breathing a little sigh of relief. All was going well thus far. That was, until they sat down to eat, her father’s choice of question causing her a little flutter in her chest. Of course, she knew such would likely be coming, though. She just hadn’t anticipated for it to be right away.

“So, Alfie. I have to ask, just as any father would. What was the deal with you prior to your relationship with my daughter, seeing three women at once? Not exactly a conventional set up,” he asked, his daughter ceasing chewing for a second, Alfie noticing and patting her hand.

“You’d be right to observe that, John, because it was,” he began, sipping his water. “The deal was simple; I had three girlfriends because I could. I was greedy in that respect, and I liked it, the nature of a polyamorous homelife, and it suited me very well, until it didn’t. Until I met your daughter and realised that I’d found everything I’d been searching for in one woman, rather than little pieces in three or more. That’s what made me change my stance, realising that she was the perfect woman for me and because she wouldn’t budge on my asking her to move in and be one of three, I had to be the one to change my life to accommodate her. She was more than worth it.”

John nodded, clearing his throat. “And forgive me, but what’s to stop you from enjoying it again and thus hurting my daughter in the process?”

He received a shoe in the ankle from his wife, and a sharp look from both Beth and Sarra for such a comment.

“Because everything I’ve ever wanted is sitting right here beside me,” Alfie told him cordially. If it wasn’t Beth’s father, he’d have likely made some sarcastic barb over whether or not he’d been listening, but out of respect, he held it back. Before their arrival, he’d also put himself into John’s shoes as well, preparing for the line of questioning he knew he could possibly face, thinking how he’d react should it be his own daughter in question. He didn’t blame John at all for seeking answers.

“Alfie, I have to say, this wine is absolutely beautiful,” Helen piped up, wanting to move the conversation along. “I notice from the bottle it’s from Palermo? We had a beautiful holiday out there when Beth was nine, gorgeous place, absolutely stunning.”

“Yeah, yeah I couldn’t agree more, Helen,” he began, relieved. “It’s from a vineyard my business partner and I are considering buying at present, so I should think I’ll be heading out there again before the winter for a little holiday with Beth, once London has become all rainy and miserable.”

“You’ll be back before Hannukah, though, yes?” her grandmother asked, Alfie reaching to stroke her hand affectionately.

“Oh, absolutely. The Solomons’ make a bloody big deal of Hannukah, bubbe, don’t you worry about that, yeah?” He kissed her hand, Miriam beaming, loving that he’d referred to her as bubbe. She loved everyone to call her that, even to the boy who brought her paper from the local shop, she was bubbe.

“A vineyard, eh? Blimey, so that brings up your business portfolio by another notch, then,” John spoke, pacified nicely by the answer he’d received, seeing for himself quite clearly how the young man sitting across from him truly adored his daughter. “So, tell me about some of your other ventures?”

Alfie did, in turn asking him about his own career, never hogging the spotlight of conversation as he worked hard to make sure everyone was included, finding Beth’s family to be just as polite and charming as her. She definitely came from good, Jewish stock.

“I’m thrilled it all went well, and thank you so much for handling dad’s questions about your former relationship dynamic as well as you did,” Beth said later that evening, aiming for the red ball in the middle pocket, just she and Alfie, dressed in casual, comfy clothes after taking a bath together, enjoying the quiet of the house over a bottle of Merlot and a game of pool.

Alfie grinned, stopping to scratch a nearby Cyril on the head before chalking his cue. “Well, my darlin’, I weren’t about to be rude to the man, absolutely not. Especially when before he even got here, right, I put myself in his shoes for a moment, thought about it as if it were my daughter’s boyfriend I was meeting for the first time, and he’d been with multiple women at once. Gave me a bit of perspective, it did, because I have to admit, I’d have exactly the same concerns. I know that makes me sound a bit hypocritical an’ all, but you know, it’s different with offspring, ain’t it?”

Beth watched him take his shot, biting the corner of her lip slowly, reaching for her wine. “What’s that dreamy look all about, Bethany?”

“Nothing,” she blurted, shaking herself from her daze.

He wasn’t convinced. “Come on, baby beast. Out with it.”

She laughed softly through her nose, placing her wine down again. “I was just imagining you as a dad. It’s much too soon for us to even begin thinking about that!”

He chuckled, nodding. “I’ll bloody say!” taking his shot, he hissed a curse at missing, Beth bouncing with triumph when he set her up for a very easy corner pocket shot she didn’t miss. “I mean, if it happened then I wouldn’t be unwelcoming to it, but as far as planning goes, I dunno, a year or two? Have some time for us to just enjoy it being the two of us and the dog, yeah?”

“Are you happy being mummy’s little boy, Cyril?” Beth cooed, crouching to rub his ears. “Yes, I think he likes being an only child.” she confirmed to Alfie, looking back at the table. “A year or two sounds great as well.”

Their families meeting, and now the very simple and easy discussion of when they would start one for themselves. It truly was a lovely way to round of what had been a fantastic day.

#alfie solomons #alfie solomons fanfiction #alfie solomons fanfic #alfie solomons smut #alfie solomons fic #alfie solomons x ofc #tomy hardy #tom hardy fanfiction #tom hardy x ofc #tom hardy smut #peaky blinders #peaky blinders smut #peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky blinders au

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hedgy-hog · 3 years ago

Text

Let Yourself

Charlie Barber x F! Reader

Words: 12.3k

CW/Tags: Reader has a child, Mentions of food, Alcohol, Implications of Masturbation, Reader is referred to as “mom”

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A/N: This fic was written for the @adcuficexchange Fall 2021 Exchange and inspired by a prompt that @kittensmctavish sent to me. Thank you for the amazing ideas!

When Henry befriends a boy at the park, Charlie finds himself gaining a new friend as well in a single parent. But as the days pass, and the text messages grow in abundance, so does Charlie's apprehension. He can't afford to lose a good thing. But when you smile at him like that, the risk may be worth it.

His sneakers skip through the mud, reminiscent of the rain that happened last night. Rain in California is a rarity. So when, to your surprise, you heard the crack of thunder and the pounding of heavy rain against the roof of your home, you thanked Mother Nature and cradled your son tightly to you. The thunder rattled him, as much as he didn’t want to admit it to you. Now you wish you purchased rain boots. The mud is going to be torture to get out of his sneakers fully. But for now, you let him play, hopping over the puddles and splashing about in the enclosed playground.

His father canceled again, stating he had to take care of business and would make it up to him. Little by little, you watch your pride and joy become crestfallen, head slung as he hears your harsh whispers over the phone. Alfie doesn’t deserve this. No child does. Your arms cross over your chest as you watch him play without a care in the world, distracted for the time being by the pain you know he has to be feeling. He doesn’t understand what an asshole his father truly is, rather spending time on his escapades than his own child. He uses the excuse of business; he’s just too busy to take him to lunch today, loads of meetings. But you know, and he knows you know. You hate lying to Alfie, but you are not going to tell your nine-year-old son that his father would rather be with another woman than him. You sink in on yourself at the thought. Sometimes he gets it, he’s a smart kid, but the times he curls in on himself, eyes glazing over with unshed tears asking why Daddy doesn’t want to see him, you wish to cradle him close and punt your ex into the sun at the same time.

You should have seen it coming -- he had grown distant the moment you announced you were pregnant. He tried to be a dad, at least you think he did. But it was just too difficult for him to handle. The marriage had already been on the rocks when you found out, your husband leaving earlier and staying out later. You did all you could to make your home more appealing to him: having meals prepped and set although you had to go work all day -- which left you exhausted, making sure the space was clean, appealing to his every desire in hopes he’d be satisfied to stay around. But it was never enough for him, slowly morphing away from the man you had fallen in love with. You thought maybe the pregnancy would save all of this, your combined love for this human you created soaking into one another. Even Alfie wasn’t enough to make him stay. You two separated by the time he was four, the divorce finalized two weeks before his sixth birthday. You believed there would be a silver lining with it landing like this. Alfie would get two birthdays, twice as many gifts, twice as much cake. His father called the day before, apologizing that he had to cancel so late. No gift had been sent, not even a card. Already broke from the divorce, you took Alfie to Disneyland in hopes of making it up to him with the money you received from your last paycheck, your mind clear of any thought that would cause your chest to cave in as you witnessed your pride and joy giggle more than he ever had in his entire life

You’re pulled from your thoughts at the familiar sound of his giggle, eyes refocusing to capture what has grabbed his attention. Coming into view, you see he’s not alone. There’s another boy at his side, scratching his head in curiosity as to why he would be splashing around in the mud. He’s nine, yes, maybe too old to be hopping around like this, but who are you to deny him. You listen keenly as he explains that he finds it so fun and that this new friend should try it out. The new boy is still hesitant, waiting to see if his dad would let him play.

Charlie’s long legs help him navigate up the minuscule hill, the charm of his car locking behind him. Henry insisted on getting a head-start, afraid the playground would be occupied by the time they got there. Charlie doubted, most of the parents not wanting their child to get dirty from the recent rainfall. But it is his day, and who is he to deny his son? He huffs, shoving his keys in his back pocket opposite his wallet, fingers escaping from the fabric holder to brush the hair that fell into his eyes away from his face. The damp earth slightly gives way beneath his soles, making his steps a bit quicker to avoid sinking. Cresting over the hill, his gaze finds his son almost instantly, Henry’s shoe digging into a wet patch of grass. But today, he’s not alone.

“Dad, can I play in the mud?” Henry inquires, eyes alight and brow raised.

“Honey, mom just got you new shoes. Don’t dirty them,” he vetos, “go play on the jungle gym instead.” Henry turns to this new friend of his, eyes just as wide.

“Wanna go on the swings?” he asks. The other boy is hesitant before he looks over at his mother.

“Mom, can I go on the swings?” He has to be a bit younger than Henry, voicer soft and less assured, Charlie observes.

“Sure. Just stay where I can see you, okay?” he nods, looking over at Henry before dashing towards the unoccupied swing set. That’s when Charlie’s eyes span over to the sound of the voice, locking on your slouched-in form on the bench. Even like this, curled up on yourself, Charlie can’t seem to look away. Your eyes are captivating, tired smile soft as you make room for him on the bench.

The first thing you notice about him is how large he is. Large and wide, the man practically casts an exaggerated shadow. He dresses nice, dress shirt buttoned and tucked into his slacks. It fits him well, nothing too loose or baggy except for where his stomach would dip. He towers over you even when he sits, bending his knees further to accommodate his size.

“What do you have against mud, huh?” you quip, sitting up a bit straighter to meet his eyes. On anyone else, they would seem too small. His features are a mismatch of slopes and angles, yet they all seem to work for his long face. You worry your bottom lip between your teeth, afraid you have come off a bit too strong. But when he huffs a laugh, the corners of your mouth turn upward coyly.

“Well, it’s dirty and wet and it bullied me as a kid,” he leans towards you slightly, pointed canines peering out from curled lips. The tip of your tongue presses up against the back of your bottom lip to quell the grin from breaking out on your face. Only a line in and this stranger’s already got you smiling.

“Oof,” you force a sigh once you finally regain some composure, “that must have been hard for you. I’m sorry.”

“I survived -- narrowly, but I did,” he nods, reaching a hand out after a few beats, “Charlie.” You take it, the heat from his palm melding into yours, and give it a firm shake. You can’t help but notice his hands are incredibly soft. You give him your name in return.

Charlie can’t help but notice how soft your hand is. Your grip is strong, self-assuring. He pulls away first, hand finding its proper place upon his lap.

“What brought you to the park today, Charlie?” you ask, and oh, his name sounds so nice on your lips. His name is spoken constantly; by friends, by students, by Nicole. But there is something about the way you say it. It’s light, carefree, even if it’s such a simple question.

“Henry’s been talking about wanting to come here all week. I thought on my day with him, it’s the least I could do,” his hands run down his thighs, squeezing his knees slightly before working his way back up. Had he thrown caution to the wind? Spoke openly about the normalcy of divorce so casually with a stranger? You had only told him your name.

“You too?” you ask.

“Hm?”

“Divorced,” you complete your thought. He nods, pushing a sigh through slightly parted lips. His fingers tap in his lap, a rhythm of anxiety making its debut. Did he really have to say that? Put it out so freely that he was divorced? He pulls it together, the words that were just spoken bouncing off his brain.

You too.

It seems so common now, this way out. What once had stirred scandal had become as normal as breathing. It really makes him think. How many people have fallen in love just for it to crumble to dust? How many people believed they would spend the rest of their lives together just to sign the dotted line and continue on? How many had their own days with their children meeting strangers in the park? At least one.

“You’ve got a pretty cute kid,” you chime in, taking in the sight of the two of them conversing on the swings. Henry had said something funny, watching the smaller one cackle wildly as they both pump their legs to continue on the swings, “how old is he?”

“Ah, thanks. He’s ten. Got his looks from somewhere .” So many say he looks like Nicole. The lighter hair, the doe eyes. But Henry has his lips … and his ears, hidden away by his long hair as he does. “How about yours?”

“Alfie’s turning ten next month. It’s a big thing. I want to throw a party for him but I haven’t even begun to plan yet. I fear it’s going to be a disaster being so last minute.” He’s got a cute name to match his cute demeanor. The way he beams at Henry, curious eyes not leaving his son as they continue with their muted conversation.

“If you play into his interests and get him his favorite cake, I’m sure he’d love it. I will never forget when I got him a cake with strawberries in it for his fifth birthday and he suddenly came to the conclusion that he didn’t like them. He didn’t let me live it down for a good three days.”

You discover rather quickly that you like his laugh. You like his laugh a lot. It’s deep and hearty, originating from somewhere deep in his chest. You’re certain if you look over at him, you can witness his chest rumble from underneath his buttons. Strawberries in a cake have never been so funny. You can only imagine Alfie giving you the cold shoulder for something so simple.

“Don’t get a cake with fruit in it. Noted,” you laugh along, tearing your eyes away from the kids to take in the way his eyes pinch at the side when he laughs. It’s endearing, the redness pushing against his swollen cheeks, lips stretched wide. His arms cross over his chest, slinking further down into the bench. That’s when it hits you. This feels … comfortable. Usually, the back and forth about kids is so mechanical, asking their age, what school they attend, if they have any hobbies. Parents take the time to boast of their kid's successes, most of the time a reflection of themselves which the other parents have to question. But this is refreshing, even for being two questions in. Your index finger inches forward to scratch at the dip of your nostril, sniffling between your laughter. You don’t pick up on the way his eyes flicker down to witness the gesture.

It’s another hour and a half before the sun starts to set. The park is bathed in gold, twinges of deep oranges and pinks beginning to peek through. Charlie checks at his watch, mumbling to himself that it looks like dinner is going to be late tonight. Peering up, he takes in the sight you have been watching for the last few minutes. Alfie cheers Henry on as he swings from handle to handle on the monkey bars, lurching himself to the other end and landing smoothly. You and Charlie have rattled on about the most mundane things. You find out he’s extended a residency at UCLA for theater, originally a director back in New York. You find out he enjoys classic films, has more records than any other forms of music, and enjoys cooking. You share your interests, and how you seem to have no time for them between work and taking care of Alfie. You discuss a new film you’ve seen recently, how although it’s been over a month, you can’t seem to get it out of your head. Charlie gives in to your pleas to get him to see it, even if it’s just pretense. He excuses himself from your banter, the body that had been slung in on itself, and turned towards you returning to its previous state to look over at the boys.

“Sweetheart, we gotta get going! Say goodbye to Alfie!” Charlie calls out. Both of the boys’ faces fall knowing their playtime is over, your lower lip jutting out at seeing your little boy so disappointed. He stands, a human-shaped cloud shading you from the setting sun. “It was nice meeting you.” You peer up at him, neck almost straining to take all of his form in.

“You too. We’re here all of the time, so if you ever have more days with Henry that he wants to come and play, you know where to find us.” Charlie nods, hands coming to rest upon his hips.

“Well, I could always take down your number so we definitely know when you’ll be here.”

He really just said that. So openly and with a practical stranger. He wasn’t asking you for his own sake, no. Definitely not. It was for Henry. Henry could use more friends and people to rely on when neither he nor Nicole can fully immerse themselves in his creative world. Nicole has grown busier with her show going into its third season. It’s won more Emmys than originally expected, so the broadcaster wants to keep it on for as long as they can milk it. Charlie’s got his long rehearsals and monologue evaluations that take him late into the night. Henry deserves time with kids his age to explore and learn.

You quirk a brow at him, lips pursed at the offering. You’re silent too long for him to be comfortable, bearing his weight from one foot to another. Has he made you uncomfortable? He parts his lips, readying himself.

“Or-”

“That would be nice. I think Alfie really likes him.” He breathes a mental sigh of relief, giving you a slight nod. You reach for your phone in your back pocket, navigating some tools and whistles before gesturing for him to start. He gives you his number slowly, making sure you give a noise of affirmation at every digit spoken. “Got it, thanks. I’ll shoot you a text soon.” He gives a kind smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling up ever so slightly.

The boys trek back to the bench, hugging each other before parting. Finally close, he’s able to take Alfie in. There’s no doubt that he is your son, he shares so many of your features. Your eyes, your nose. His lids appear droopy, seeing that Henry has taken all of his energy with their playtime. You part ways with lingering eyes and lingering smiles, pulling your boys close as you make your way to your cars.

It’s during dinner that Charlie’s phone vibrates in his back pocket. A quick buzz, the reminder of a text waiting for him. He waits to open it. Dinner is finished, the table is cleared and the dishes are washed, and Henry is safely tucked away in bed before he finally checks his phone. A photo from an unknown number. His brows furrow, believing it to be a mistake before he sees the context. Before him shines a photo of a professional cake sliced open. Inside, the moist sponge is stained with red, giving way to the giant chunks of strawberries.

Charlie smiles.

Hey, it’s Charlie. Is Alfie there? Henry wanted to say hello.

Hi, it’s Charlie. I’ve got a day with Henry tomorrow and wanted to know if you wanted to meet up at the park.

“Hey, it’s Charlie. I was wondering if you and Alfie wanted to come over for a movie night? Henry and I are watching Jurassic Park.”

“Charlie, you know you don’t have to say ‘it’s Charlie’ every time you call, right? I have Caller ID,” you chuckle, the phone pressed up to your cheek as you finish the final touches on your son’s peanut butter and jelly.

“Oh. Sorry, just force of habit,” he explains on the other end of the line. You wonder what he’s doing. Is he also preparing lunch for Henry? It’s quiet where he is. Maybe he’s alone.

“It’s okay. Let me see if Alfie wants to go,” you pad into the small dining room, plate in hand. Alfie peers up at you with eager eyes, licking his lips at the sight of his sandwich. It’s become his new obsession, having to have it for lunch every day for the last two weeks. Who are you to deny him? You place the plate down just for him to snatch up the sandwich, grabbing a half and shoving it into his mouth. “Do you want to see Henry tonight? His dad invited us to see a movie at their house.” Charlie waits patiently, the hand not occupied by the phone sliding into the back pocket of his slacks.

“Yesh pwl-”

“Don’t speak with your mouth full, sweetheart,” you warn, watching as he struggles to chew his too-large bite. Charlie’s chuckle fills your ear, knowing those words all too well. The corners of your mouth tug up at hearing the sound you’ve grown rather fond of these last few weeks, your teeth pressing into your bottom lip to quell the impending smile. It takes Alfie a few more moments to chew, taking one large swallow before reaching for his glass of milk. “So you wanna go?”

“Yeah,” he reaffirms before relieving his previously stuffed mouth with his ice-cold drink. You shake your head, laughing again before shifting your focus.

“Did you hear that?”

“Yup,” he beams, reaching down to pick up a pair of shoes that sat neatly by the door to place in his room, “I was thinking around 6:30. I can order a pizza for dinner.”

“Pizza sounds great. We’ll see you at 6:30.”

He ordered two pies just in case. You offered to reimburse him for them, much to his rebuttal. You let him win just this once, promising to treat the next time. You have never seen someone eat like him before. Even though he tries to restrain himself, he can’t help but devour slice after slice like a man starved. It’s still not as good as pizza in New York, but he’s found a place that’s close enough.

Both of the boys are sleeping before the T-Rex shoves its nuzzle through the glass roof of the truck, the volume of the television set low enough that they will not awaken to screams. You and Charlie finish off the last of the pizza, the slice you occupy now cold. There’s always an upside to it, though. The sauce always tastes sweeter when it’s not piping hot.

“So, you’ve directed stage productions,” you begin, tearing off a piece of crust from the corner, “have you ever thought of breaking into the world of film? Direct a movie or a show? Commercials, even.” Charlie ponders at the thought, his slice moving like a hand puppet’s mouth as he folds and unfolds it. Nicole can’t seem to stop raving about the times she gets to direct. But she grew up with the screen. Charlie grew with the stage. It had always been his home, his space. Behind a camera would seem so incredibly foreign. He’d have to learn from the ground up. But he knows he could take on the challenge. He’s more than competent.

“Hm. I don’t know. I never really gave much thought to it. Theater was always sort of my thing, you know?” he takes another large bite of his slice, questioning as to why this tastes better colder. You nod with a hum, following him in popping the broken-off piece of crust between your lips. You make a note to ask about when he has an upcoming production.

“Understandable,” you reply after you swallow, “never hurts to try though.” Charlie hums, working on scarfing down the rest of the pizza. “I wanted to be an actress when I was younger.” His brow quirks, settling the remaining scrap of crust on the plate in his lap.

“What stopped you?”

“Life stopped me,” you snicker, leaning over to grab your glass. “I was a little kid, asked my parents. They said no. I didn’t ask again.” He scoffs, finishing off his slice and wiping his hands on a napkin.

“You should’ve kept asking. I bet you’d be an incredible actress.” Now he’s just running his mouth. There’s no way for him to know that unless he sees it for himself. You would probably never speak to him again if you had the guts to do so. He’d have to control himself from giving you notes. There is always a vision, always more work to be done.

“I doubt that,” you take a sip from your glass, inwardly scoffing at the irony that the colder your pizza becomes, the warmer your drink. It finds its place back on the table, rotating your front back to its previous state.

“Well, how about this: I direct a film, and you be the lead? That way, we’d both do something new and I could ultimately prove you right.” The back of your neck grows hot, a shiver tinging upwards from the base of your spine. You know it’s just banter, but why is your skin burning? You rub at the back of your neck, sending a grin in his direction.

“You’ve got yourself a deal.” Charlie shares in your smile, grateful his hair covers the bright red tips of his ears. He scratches at one of them, his gaze unyielding from your face. Your smile only grows, wishing you can tear your eyes away. The soft hum of Dr. Sattler gives you the strength, shifting to the screen and finishing your slice in silence. As the movie drones on, Charlie daydreams of viewing you from behind a lens.

Maybe you’re as bad as you let on. Maybe it would be torture to work with you. But what if it wasn’t? Sure, playful words will go nowhere, but that does not allow his mind to cease. He watches you intently, wondering what it would be like to thank you as he stands with an Academy Award clutched in his hand for best director. He pictures how you would beam at him, your clap the loudest in the room as you cheer him on for his accomplishment. Every other face is blurry except for yours. You blow him a kiss, and his dream state shares the same burning ears as his real-life counterpart. In the now, he studies as your fingers gently massage Alfie’s scalp, his head slumped against the front of the couch.

And the Academy Award for Best Actress in a Leading Role goes to …

The four of you take a walk together the next time you’re in the park. Alfie’s birthday party is tomorrow and all of the finishing touches have been completed. You were the good parent, opting for a cake with no fruit in it. Charlie, upon hearing this, snickered with a shake of his head. The boys race in front of you, playing a game of two-person tag. They’ve grown closer, the time they share is cherished every few weeks when Charlie has a weekend with Henry. You find yourself reaching for your phone more these days, the man semi-inept with technology sending you texts and photos almost every day. Sometimes they’re subtle things: passing by the coffee place you said was your favorite, the stage that is prepared for the theater majors’ monologue assignments, a screen of his television showcasing a movie you recommended to him.

You send him the meals you make, asking for advice on how to spice things up (literally and figuratively). You send him photos of dogs in sweaters that they don’t need (“They do”, Charlie counters every time.) You send him party plans, asking for his opinion. You send him his song recommendations, a little too modern for his tastes, but he gives them a listen anyway to humor you.

You send each other photos of your children, some with wide smiles, others with pouts. Charlie forwards them to Nicole, letting her know his friend Alfie misses him and can’t wait for him to see the photo. When your schedules are too busy, photos are sent of your time together, selfies of you and Alfie sharing fried calamari and a blondie from Connie and Ted’s. Charlie shares photos of Henry asleep in an audience member’s chair from later nights at the theater, helping out the students with their showcase.

“Did he really puke?” your eyes shoot open, mouth agape at the story Charlie is recollecting. He laughs, running a hand through his hair as he nods.

“He really puked. First thing, he was slating. Next thing, blech,” he mimics the sound of the upchuck, the sound causing shivers to run up your spine in disgust. You tremor along with it, shaking the feeling from your system.

“God, that sounds awful .” Charlie’s laughter calms, looking ahead to take in the smaller boy running after his son, a hand shot out and ready to strike.

“It all turned out fine in the end,” he reassures, “he was able to reschedule and after settling his nerves, the monologue went smoothly. He also got new shoes.” You wrap your arms around your middle as you continue your stroll, smiling once your eyes follow the path that Charlie’s have taken. Henry groans in defeat, Alfie giggling as he breaks off in another sprint to begin the game again.

“Well, that’s all that matters, right? New shoes? Who needs to ace a monologue when you got new shoes?” you jest, gaze landing upon Charlie once more. His smile only grows, the pointed tips peeking out again that you’ve come to adore.

“Oh, definitely. Words don’t matter when you’ve got new shoes.” You sink your teeth into your bottom lip to prevent the growing smile at his response.

“When I puke on my shoes when I make my film debut, will you buy me a new pair?” Is this what flirting is like? Are you flirting? No, this is simply bantering between friends, right? Two friends where one finds the other extremely handsome. Two friends where one does not wish to admit that the other has been in their dreams on more than one occasion, two friends that will never admit the way their one’s stomach flips when the other friend’s name is the first thing they read in the morning and the last thing they read at night. This isn’t a crush. No, this can’t be.

“Pick out the designer and it’s yours,” his smile morphs into something you had never seen from him-- a smirk. He squints his eyes when he does, only one cheek bunching up and swelling. Your heart jumps against your ribs, banging against the bones like a feral lion in a zoo.

“I’ll take a pair of Louboutins, please and thank you,” you pray your voice remains steady, your arms tightening around yourself in the hopes of steadying your frantic nerves.

“You’ve got yourself a deal.”

It’s one of those nights; the night where he’s slumped in on himself in a too-quiet apartment. He stares at nothing, eyes glossed over and growing blurrier with every tick of the clock. Blinking does no help, not when his gaze is so focused on this spot on the wall. His chest feels empty, yet weighs a ton. His fingers twitch for a cigarette, yet there’s close to no strength to grab them off the top of the drawer on the other side of the room. He sighs, clearing out his throat in the dead silence of his room. The bed he occupies is too cold; the sweats he wears are not comfortable enough as he lays on top of his cleanly-made sheets. He picks at the material, trying to focus on the soft feeling between his fingers, yet nothing alights in him. With another sigh, almost on instinct, he reaches over to the bedside drawer to reach for his phone. His eyes finally focus as they look on the screen, fingers tapping a few times before he finds what he needs.

“Hello?” your voice fills his ears, an instant calm washing over. He continues to toy with the bedding, something to occupy his other hand.

“Hey,” his voice is gravelly, the sound of his voice foreign to his own ears. There’s silence for a moment, afraid he’s lost you.

“Are you okay?” you sound concerned, voice raising in pitch by the end. Had his voice given it away without having to say anything? He sighs again, taking in the solemn sight of his room. There are constant reminders everywhere, yet his home is still empty.

“Yeah. I just,” he pauses, trying to find the right words, “I miss Henry. Today was supposed to be my day but something came up and I won’t be able to see him for another two weeks. I know we FaceTime every day, but it’s just … it’s not the same.”

“Oh, Charlie ,” you coo, causing his stomach to do the tiniest of flips, “I’m so sorry. I can’t begin to imagine how awful that must feel.” He can explain it. It does feel awful. It hurts everywhere, consumed by this all-encompassing emptiness. Part of his brain screams at him that he’s doing the right thing, seeking out a comforting voice in hopes of being less alone. The other half screams to hang up and toss his phone out the window; he doesn’t deserve comfort, doesn’t deserve anything.

“I’ll be okay,” he mumbles, “just wanted to see what you were up to.” You’re quick to jump at the opportunity, the sound of raising from wherever you are evident by the squeak of the floorboards.

“Actually, I don’t have Alfie for the night and I was thinking of seeing a new movie that just came out. Why don’t you join me?” Charlie hesitates, fingers stilling. Sure, you’ve had alone time together, but the children were never far away. You texted before, called before, but this would be different. It would just be you and him -- alone, no kids.

“Eh, I don’t kno-”

“Oh, come on! I am not going to let you sit and mope around when you can be sitting in a ridiculously cold theater eating overpriced popcorn and sodas that will cause your bladder to burst. Come on. Please?” Although your arguments as to why it would be better are awful ones, what could be worse than sitting here alone? Charlie swings his legs over the edge of his bed, sitting up and running his finger through his hair again to neaten it.

“Let me come pick you up. Give me half an hour,” He doesn’t need to ask for your address. He’s driven there enough times that he could do it with his eyes closed. He can practically hear your smile on the other end of the line.

“You’re not even going to ask me what movie it is?” you observe, “you must be down bad.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbles, fumbling with getting out of his sweats to put his slacks back on. “See you in thirty.”

“If you’re a minute late, I’m leaving without you!” you threaten. Charlie rolls his eyes in response.

“Then I’ll only be forty-five seconds late.” It’s such a bad joke, something his students would call a signature ‘ dad joke ’. Still, you laugh. He likes your laugh, likes it a lot. Maybe he should tell more of these dad jokes if this is your response.

“ Goodbye ,” you sing, a forced vibrato causing Charlie to laugh before the line goes dead.

He’s too large for the theater chairs, he always is. Still, if being scrunched upon oneself in a freezing room means spending time with you to help with his loneliness, he’ll take the sore muscles and the crook in his neck. The movie is rather interesting, a drama with much-needed comedic breaks. Otherwise, it would be too much. He takes it all in, the expressions, how it would translate to the stage if he were to take on something like this. He laughs at the right moments, knowing you made the right choice in your selection. In particular, one moment strikes him, a moment between two friends who know they have to go their separate ways. He feels it before it comes: an ache in his chest and sinking to his stomach. His sinuses go first, stuffing up at the tears well up in his eyes. He breathes a heavy sigh, shooting his head up in hopes the tears somehow get reabsorbed by magic. You see him out of the corner of your eye, the light of the screen illuminating off of him. You turn to head to look upon him in time that he brings himself to look back at the screen.

“You okay?” you lean over to whisper to him, making sure he meets your eyes. He nods, swallowing a forming lump in his throat in hopes of fighting it off for longer.

“Yeah… yeah, I’m okay,” he lies, the dam breaking with a quivering lip. You cock your head, taking him in. He knows he’s lost, the tears making their descent down his cheeks. You mouth an ‘aw’, reaching for the napkin you had for the buttery residue on the popcorn and pat just below his eyes to soak up whatever remnants remain.

“Got to you, huh?” you implore under your breath, continuing to dab at his cheeks. They burn under the paper, nodding with a breath of a laugh. “You’re passionate about this stuff. You’re cute. .” Suddenly, the breath he holds hitches in his chest. Cute? You think he’s cute? God, why do his cheeks burn even harder? Why do his ears feel like they’re on fire? He’s not fifteen anymore. “It’s alright. You’ve got me to comfort you.” Your hand drops the napkin in your lap before taking a hold of his, giving it a reaffirming squeeze.

He hasn’t touched you like this since you first met. Sure, you gave each other hugs in passing, but to feel your soft skin against his is unlike anything else. Suddenly, his eyes widen. This isn’t a date, right? Like a date date? This is just two friends watching a movie and holding hands. You ask if it’s okay, if you can continue holding his hand. He doesn’t stop you. He would never refuse you, he concludes.

Later in the night, when he takes himself into the hand you held, your name on his lips, spilling all over himself with the thought of your soft hands and kind smile occupying his mind, he knows why his body burned so bright.

You think of him often, too often. You’ve memorized his work schedule throughout the last few months although you tell yourself you haven’t. You know when he wakes, know the exact time when he sends his good morning text. During one of your outings a few weeks ago, he told you that he was never the one for texting when he could call, but you changed his stance on it. You speak whenever you have the chance, reaching out to Charlie rather than banging your head against a hard surface at work like you want to. He’ll check in during his day, pointing out things that caught his eye: a performance, good or bad, images of your favorite animal that he comes across. You ask him what’s for dinner, he tells you. Your dishes, even when he’s cooking just for himself, never amount. When you can find someone you trust to watch Alfie, you’ll offer to meet him for a meal. It’s the perfect time to decompress and just be . No work, no kids, just venting and enjoying one another’s company. It gets harder to look him in the eyes the more you spend time with him. You find Charlie, your friend , attractive. So what? Friends can find their friends attractive, right? Nothing wrong with that. Nothing wrong with looking into your friend’s eyes and getting lost in them. Nothing wrong with holding your friend’s hand when you take a walk. Nothing wrong with thinking of a friend before you drift off to sleep.

You find yourselves this time at Du-Par’s, way too late for the rest of the world to be awake. Alfie is with someone you trust, Charlie leaving work way too late for his own good. You sip on your respected coffees, Charlie indulging in his dinner as you pick at a muffin.

“So, I don’t mean for this to be intrusive, but you never told me why it never worked out for you and Nicole,” you pop a ripped-off piece of the confectionery into your mouth, large flecks of sugar pieces coating your tongue. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to. I get it if it’s overstepping, but I can’t help but be curious.” Charlie chews slowly, for once. The chicken pot pie he ordered is far too hot for him to devour like he usually does.

“Hmm,” he ponders, swallowing once the meat is cool enough on his tongue. “No, it’s okay. It just … wasn’t working anymore. We both wanted different things, not just for ourselves but for one another. Nicole wanted to go to LA and get back into film, I wanted to stay in New York and expand Exit Ghost. Our visions for one another in these scenarios just didn’t line up and it hurt us.” You nod, idly sipping at your coffee. He hesitates for a moment to speak about Mary Anne how a slip in judgment and a need for affection led him to her bed. You admit, it’s a bit of shock hearing of this revelation, but it makes sense. The number of times your chest would ache when you were sharing a bed with someone who felt like a stranger to you after you believed they were your soulmate, wishing for a pair of comforting arms to pull you close and keep you safe. You never entertained the thought as he did, but there were times your mind would wander. His brows furrow when you take it all in, appearing to be without a single thought. But you can’t help to feel the way your stomach flips, a fear ingrained in whatever … this is. Nothing is what it is.

You share what you haven’t already about your divorce. You share how you kept holding on longer for the sake of his family, finding out you enjoyed their company more than his. His siblings always made you feel welcome, even when he didn’t. Not having that support other than in regards to your son scared you. You share how at first, you felt as though it was your fault. You feared you weren’t pretty enough, weren’t giving enough. You would bend over backward for him to receive nothing in return.

“It wasn’t your fault. He just didn’t know how good he had it,” Charlie casually lets slip between bites. Your throat is suddenly dryer than the Sahara, controlling a few coughs with another sip of your coffee. Your eyes shoot down, afraid of how he would react if he saw your eyes bulging like they are threatening to do. It was simply a compliment, nothing more. Your other friends had said just as much.

“Well, it’s not my concern anymore,” you murmur once you regain some composure, eyes honing in on the seasonal pie presented behind the glass dome, “he’s got others to deal with his issues now.” Charlie nods, his forkfuls becoming more plentiful now that the filling has cooled down considerably.

“You ever think of maybe going back out there?”

“Hm?”

“Dating again,” he clarifies. You ponder it, how at times you long for a pair of arms around you and a set of plump lips to ease your worries. You don’t want to be alone, not really. But right now, your focus is on Alfie. If someone comes along with sparkling eyes and a charming demeanor, perhaps you would entertain them.

“Maybe,” you admit, chewing on your bottom lip. “I don’t know. Having to sit through all of those awkward conversations again and hoping something sticks is not really my forté.” Charlie chuckles, teeth flashing you. You respond with a smile of your own, fingers toying with the paper wrapping of your muffin. “You?” Charlie hesitates, thumb and forefinger pinching the corner of his eyes to keep them in focus.

“No, I don’t think so. Like you said, those awkward conversations aren’t for me, either. It’s too much trouble. But there’s also so much to focus on. I’ve got this residency, I’ve got my company back in New York. There’s just not enough time to focus anywhere else.” For some reason, his answer makes your heart fall into the pit of your stomach. It’s a shame, truly. Charlie is a great guy and anyone would be lucky enough to have him.

“And what if someone came along? Just stumbled into your life sans awkward ice-breakers,” the crumbs of the muffin break off from the paper and stick to your fingers, rolling them off with the friction between your fingertips. Charlie ponders again, taking another bite of his potpie.

Would he? Hell, even he doesn’t know. What would happen to him? To Henry? Would both of their lives spiral into something completely new? Nicole has a boyfriend and Henry seems to be doing fine. But for both parents to be seeing someone else, the fear of Henry not liking them or vice versa? Perhaps the risk is too much. It’s still a struggle to look upon you fully, a one-time promise becoming a regular occurrence when there are no prying eyes around. There’s nothing wrong with having a face put to fantasies -- better someone he knows than a faceless, nameless person, he argues with himself every time he cleans himself up. Maybe it would be good, dating again. But Henry and himself were no longer the only factor.

What would happen if they didn’t get along with you?

“I don’t know. I still think I’d be too busy,” he disregards. You nod, the ache only growing stronger as you empty your cup. Suddenly, the muffin is too sweet, the room too stuffy. Half an hour later, you part with a hug, making him promise to send you a text that he got home safe. He promises only if you do so in return. Calm returns once you slink into your home, kicking off your shoes and padding over to get ready for bed. The notification distracts you from washing your face, skin still soapy as you read over the message.

Home safe. Thanks for coming out with me. Sleep well.

The ache returns. You also forgot to text him.

I just stepped in too. Goodnight.

You hate him. You may actually hate him. If you could have spoken to your younger self all of those years ago, you would have screamed at yourself to run far away the moment he started speaking to you in the lunchroom. The way you had been so foolish to accept his advances, his touches, his kisses. The way you had been foolish to accept his proposal. You regret so much, regret close to it all. There is only one thing you don’t regret, his head propped in your lap as you run press your fingers into his scalp. Alfie has always enjoyed scalp massages; it was one of the things that put him to bed after a nightmare when he was a toddler. You will never stop, even when he comes to you in his teens with a broken heart, in his twenties when his job is too rough on him. You will always be there, unlike him.

He didn’t call, didn’t text. Nothing. Alfie was supposed to be picked up six hours ago. Now it had grown dark and with no sign of his father coming, you stop yourself from letting the tears flow. You have to be strong for him, have to be the protector. How can someone not care about their own child enough to bail again without a single mention? It is when you put Alfie to bed that you check social media, discovering a post that makes your blood boil. You close out of the app and rush to your texts.

Can you come over? Bring something strong

He responds quickly, almost too quickly. Doesn’t even ask if anything is wrong. It’s sudden and affirmative.

Be there in 20.

He’s at the door earlier than you expect him, a bottle of wine grasped in his paw that is far too expensive for a late-night crying session. You let him in, arms instinctively wrapping around yourself. Everything hurts, yet the warmth of Charlie’s presence is more than welcome. It soothes you almost as good as the wine will.

“Thank you for coming,” you whisper, “Alfie’s asleep, so make yourself at home.” Charlie slips off his shoes, nudging them with his foot to press up against the wall.

“I thought your ex had him today,” he remarks. Your eyes meet his, chocolate and whiskey observing how you try to blink the formation of your tears away. Swallowing the growing lump in his throat, he carefully places the bottle down before reaching out for you. You welcome it as he pulls you into him, wrapping his arms around you. You sink into his embrace, arms unraveling from yourself to wrap around him in return. Your head rests against him, eyes shutting and breathing in his comforting and familiar scent. It’s clean, fresh, yet deep. It feels like an eternity, standing there in each other’s arms. Charlie has become the safe haven that you never wish to lose. The physical being of all-consuming comfort holding you close, letting you cry if you chose to do so. His hand rubs calming circles into your back, you drawing in a shuddering breath as you try to quell any tears. He would let you cry if you wished to and without judgment, you know this. But you don’t feel like crying right now. His chin rests atop of your head, eyes searching for the familiar cabinet in the kitchen. “Let me get some glasses.”

You don’t wish to part from him, not when his embrace is the closest thing to home besides your son. Reluctantly, you nod, sliding out of his arms. You find a spot on your couch, letting Charlie rummage through your drawers for a corkscrew. Your kitchen is too small for him, the image of him hulking around in it when he offered to make you dinner one night bringing the slightest of smiles to your face. It doesn’t take him long to find what he’s looking for, holding everything he was looking for in one hand. He’s quick going through the motions, settling down next to you before uncorking the bottle of red and pouring you each a glass. You grab for it like a lifeline, impatient to let the ruby liquid coat your insides. You down almost half of your glass in the first sip, hoping it will loosen you a bit.

“Do you wanna talk?” he pipes up, swirling the wine in his glass before bringing it to his lips and taking a few sips. You white-knuckle your glass, allowing yourself a calming breath before beginning.

“My fucking ex. I have never met someone so inconsiderate,” the ache finds itself reemerging without you. “I’m used to this, him bailing. The way he thinks he can send some money every month and believe he’s being a parent when he rarely sees his son is beyond me. He rarely calls, rarely texts. He constantly bails on our son,” your breath hitches in your chest, your teeth gripping onto your lip to prevent it from trembling. No crying. Not now. “It takes two people to make a child from what I remember. I don’t understand how he can see this perfect boy that he helped create and treat him this way. It’s not fair to him.” Charlie nods, letting you speak. His chest is hollow, stomach tightening with what can only be described as rage. Charlie does anything he can to spend time with Henry. Hell, he even asks when it’s not his day in hopes Nicole will say yes. Henry is his world and that will never change. To see this gift of a child, your son, one that Charlie has come to care for so deeply, and brush him aside like he is nothing? It rattles him to his core, twists his guts to the point of sickness.

“I’m sorry. Some people don’t deserve their children. He sh-”

“But here’s the real kicker,” you don’t mean to cut him off, but it must be said before you swallow it away forever. “After he didn’t show, I was just scrolling through social media. He didn’t even bother to text because he was at a party … for his girlfriend. I’m sorry, his fianceé , now” the last word is seethed through gritted teeth. Your dam breaks, your jaw quivering as the tears overflow your tear ducts and pour down your cheeks. “They’re getting married. They’re getting married and there he is holding her, and kissing her, and looking like he’s on top of the goddamn world with no regard for someone who already is his family. He didn’t even invite Alfie to the party, and that’s going to be his stepmother. I just--” you sniffle, the back of your hand rubbing the moisture into your skin. “I hate him. I love him for our son, but I hate him.” You down the rest of your glass, reaching clumsily for the bottle with your tear-obscured vision to pour yourself another glass filled to the brim.

He says your name so quietly, his own voice breaking. His heart shatters into a million pieces for Alfie, for you. Your second glass is gulped down, rarely coming up for air. You don’t give yourself time to savor the flavor, the deep fruit and spicy notes skipping over your tongue and sloshing into your belly. You shake your head, trying to do anything you can to make the tears stop. Your shoulder wrack, blubbering sobs causing you to fumble at putting your glass down. Charlie does it for you, once again doing all he knows he can. Placing down his glass, he scoops you into his arms and sits you down on his lap. You cry into his chest, two splotches on his shirt deepening in color with the absorption of your tears. How could he do this? How could he deny your pride and joy so adamantly and gush over this new marriage? Your heart hurts for Alfie. What will become of him in this new chapter of his father's life? It is almost non-existent as it is, but now? Now you just don’t know. You don’t want to know.

Charlie says nothing for a while, doesn’t shush you. He just lets you be, lets you cry until there are no more tears left. His hand rubs your back again, lips that you have dreamed of but never wish to admit pressing kisses into your hair. When he does say things, they are only affirmations.

I’ve got you. You’re okay.

You re-emerge from his chest with burning skin and swollen eyes. You clear your sinuses, wiping at your nose haphazardly in hopes of clearing it.

“I’m sorry you have to see me like this,” you mutter, voice hoarse. Charlie shakes his head, his hand not ceasing their movement.

“It’s what I’m here for. But … is it alright if I share my opinion? You can say no.” You snuffle again, nodding at his request. Your fingers pinch at the fabric of his shirt, twisting the dry material laying at his collarbone into pinwheels before unraveling and starting again. “He never deserved you and never deserved Alfie. I never met the guy but I don’t have to to know he’s a piece of shit.” Peering up at him, you try to clear your nose again with another sniffle. His eyes find yours, his other hand hesitantly reaching out to cup your cheek. Your face feels so small in his palm, so fragile. He scans every inch of your countenance, trying to take in any detail he could. “I’m glad I haven’t met him. I could never imagine knowing I have Henry and not wanting to see him. The next time he bails, you call me whether Henry is around or not. We’ll all go out and do something. My treat. It doesn’t even have to be when he does. Just whenever you two want.” You thought there were no tears left until a few fresh ones roll down your cheeks. The pad of Charlie’s thumb collects them, wiping them away.

Your heart pounds against your ribs, ready to burst through and tear through your chest. Uncertain if it’s the exhaustion settling in or the wine beginning to hit, but you take a hold of his hand in your own. Charlie’s lips part, the impending dialogue never arriving. You slowly examine his hand, unraveling each one of his fingers until his hand lays completely flat. Without a second thought, you bring his hand to your face, pressing a kiss to the meaty part between his thumb and palm. His breath hitches in his chest, pupils dilating at the first feeling of your lips. They are as soft as he imagined, more swollen than usual from biting down on them.

“I don’t get it,” you utter against his skin. You give him one last kiss before releasing his hand.

“Get what?” he talks lowly, his palm burning with your lips on his skin being the only remedy.

“You’re just -- you’re amazing. If you were my husband, I’d never let you go.” Every inch of his body tenses; it’s like he’s being thrown into an ice-cold bath. You must be drunk, a lightweight, unsure of what you’re talking about. You’re tired, so tired, he surmises. There’s no way you would mean such a thing. He finds the fantasy in your eyes, you propped up on his lap just like this in the park, Alfie and Henry running around like usual. His dream self plants a gentle kiss against your cheek, his thumb tracing the smaller version of identical bands on your finger. He whispers sweet nothings for only you to hear. You respond with a nuzzle into the side of his face. The words are never heard, but he can read them from your lips. The tidal wave of reality that washes over him is chilling, jolting him into full sobriety. He clears his throat, pulling himself away as much as he can with you still propped on his lap.

“Let’s get you to bed,” he asserts, arms sliding themselves from you. You ache all over, but you nod, realizing this time has come to a close. Did you say something wrong? Did he really see how this cry took a toll on your body? You slide yourself off him slowly, steadying yourself as you stand. His hand finds the small of your back, helping you into your room. Thankfully you are already in your pajamas, changing into them when you decided it would be a movie night to make up for your ex’s flakiness. You sit on the edge of the bed, your arms finding their previous position around themselves.

“There’s a key under the mat. You can lock it from the outside,” you murmur, body feeling too heavy to move as you sink deeper into the mattress. He nods, stopping himself from crossing the threshold of your space.

“Goodnight,” his tone borders on bleak, shuffling out of your space and doing as he was told. His heart is racing as he stands at the door, unable to focus on anything but the grain of the wood.

If you were my husband, I’d never let you go.

He doesn’t send his good morning text the next day. No photos either. It’s odd. Ever since you had each other’s numbers, there has always been an exchange of messages. You start it this time, or you hope to. You’re the one who sends the messages, the photos. He never responds. You brush it off for the day, as much as you feel your heart nestling in the pit of your stomach all day. He’s a busy man. He has other priorities. He doesn’t text you the next day, nor the next. He’s gone radio silent. Every text goes unanswered. You resort to calling him. His phone rings and rings and rings. At least it’s on. But it goes to voicemail every time.

Charlie, I hope everything’s okay. Please let me know if you need anything.

Charlie, please let me know that you’re okay. A call, a text, anything. I just need to know you’re alright.

Did I do something wrong? Charlie, please talk to me. If I did anything, I’m sorry. Please let me make it up to you.

It’s been weeks since you’ve last heard from him. Time and time again you have thought about showing up on his doorstep and demanding an answer or traveling to UCLA to ask what happened in the middle of one of his classes. He’s been in your dreams, almost every one of them. You wake up with your chest hallow, limbs too heavy. It’s when Alfie asks why he doesn’t see Henry anymore that’s the final straw. He can hate you all he wants for something you didn’t know you did, but to deny his son a friend of his makes your blood boil. You reassure that they must be busy and you bet you’ll see him soon. When he leaves the room, you scroll for his number again. You pull up your messages, all of them the last few weeks only being flushed on the right.

I don’t care if you don’t want to see me right now, but it’s not fair for the boys to not see each other. Please talk to me so we can settle this for them. Meet me at the park tomorrow at 12. With that, you slide it into your pocket, hoping for once he reads this.

You sway on the swing, rocking on the balls of your feet as you search for any sign of him. Charlie’s not the one for being late, so you know if it was anywhere beyond 12:05, he wouldn’t come. You check your phone for the millionth time, glossing over the time and if you have any messages. 11:58 and none. You release a quivering sigh, your palms clammy as you grip onto the chains and swing yourself further, hoping the rocking movements will calm you. It hits noon before you know it. With another sigh, you go to push yourself off the swing when a broad frame crests over the small hill. You see a tuft of dark hair first, then wide shoulders in a too-pressed button-up shirt. Your breath hitches in your throat, grounding yourself to the swing. Charlie came. Your stomach flips as more of him comes into view. You find yourself in a natural state, your teeth quelling your trembling lip. Fuck, you’ve missed him. You have missed him so much. Even the sight of him is enough to send you into a spiral like this.

You want to rush off the seat and throw your arms around him. You want to rush off the seat and scream at him until your throat goes raw and you see red. You want to cry at him, you want to hold him and be held in return. You want to-

“Hi,” his baritone tears you from his thoughts. You blink him back into focus, tilting your neck up to take him in fully.

“Hi,” you try to retain your composure, your moist palm gesturing to the swing beside you. “You wanna sit?” His lips purse as he contemplates, giving you a nod before joining you. He’s too big for the swing, much like he’s too big for a lot of things. The bottom of the seat squeezes his hips and legs in, looking out of place.

“So,” he begins, palms laid flat on his lap. “You wanted to talk.” You hum an affirmative, hand returning to the chain and holding on tight.

“I do.” You can’t stop your leg from bouncing, as much as you try to dig your foot into the ground. “Why have you been ignoring me?”

“I’ve been busy,” he lies, unable to meet your eyes. You shake your head. It’s not good enough.

“You’ve been busy before. I know when you’ve been busy. You always warn me if you’re going to be busy, Charlie.” You’re right, he knows you’re right. If he knows he can’t come to his phone that day, he warns you in his good morning text. You always tell him to have a good day regardless with a heart. Even then, he’s always made time for you. “Why are you avoiding me?”

Charlie pauses, drumming his fingers on his thighs. It’s so hard to explain without having to admit it. He doesn’t want to avoid you, not really. The last thing he wants to do is hurt you. He doesn’t wish to admit that Henry has asked for Alfie as well. He knows he’s being selfish, but was there ever another choice? Did he want to do go down the path of the other choice? The one of constant pain and longing?

“It’s complicated,” he tries to explain, truly. But the words won’t come.

“I’ve got all day. Alfie's going to a friend’s house after school. I’ll stay here as long as it takes.” You’ve always been a spitfire. He loves that about you. One of the many things he loves about you. It’s why he had to go. “Did I… Did I do something wrong? Say something wrong?”

“No, no,” Charlie’s quick to counteract. “I just didn’t handle something well. I thought putting space between us would help.” Your brows furrow, wondering what would have been the factor in which Charlie wanted to leave.

“Why didn’t you tell me you just needed space? Why was that so difficult?” you ask. Charlie runs his hand through his hair, gently tugging at his roots to keep him in check.

“I would have never been able to do it. You would have asked what was wrong and I wouldn’t have been able to go through with it.” You shake your head, sighing in disbelief. Go through with what? What had you done to make him hate you so much?

“You have to understand, it’s fine if you hate me,”

“I don-”

“But it’s not fair to the boys to be kept from one another. Henry is Alfie’s best friend. He’s been devastated not seeing him recently.” He knows. So many hearts were hurting because of him.

“You’re right. I’m sorry,” he murmurs. You push yourself up from the swing, rounding out to face him.

“What did I do to make you avoid me, Charlie?” you inquire, arms folding over your chest. “I never meant to upset you.”

“You didn’t upset me. I just …” he huffs, “I got scared.” Your head cocks to the side, approaching him slowly.

“Scared?”

“The last time we spent time together, you said this… thing . I couldn’t stop thinking about it, and it scared the shit out of me.” You raise your brows in hopes to get an explanation from him. Now his knee bounces. “You told me that if I was your husband, you’d never let me go and I just--”

“Why did that scare you so much?” your stomach flips, inching closer to him.

“Because I had this thought, okay? We were there and we were -- fuck, we were married, and that scared me because the thought itself wasn’t so bad,” he finally lets loose. You stop dead in your tracks, unable to breathe. Charlie had thought of marrying you? You? You attempt to swallow the lump forming in your throat. You had not been the only one with the thought, then. If you could freely share the dreams you wake up from, growing lonelier each day as you wake in your bed alone.

“Why?” you manage to croak, fingers digging into your side. Charlie bends in on himself, exhaling all puffs of air left in them. He practically folds in on himself, fist pushing against his bottom lip.

“Loving someone is scary, okay? Things can be great. There’s love and happiness, and in a second, that could be ripped away. People get married, and then they get divorced. Everything that was once good gets broken and destroyed. There’s nothing but pain and loss and-” He’s silenced by the feeling of your hands on his shoulders. He shivers at the contact, missing your touch. Looking up at you, your hands run upwards to cup his cheeks. He could die right here, your skin on his. How he burns for you.

“Will you not let yourself love?” your eyes take in every inch of him, heart wracking against your chest. “Will you not let yourself be loved?” His lips part at that. Not only is it a question, but an admission. You … oh god , you-

“I don’t know,” he swallows, pupils blown wide and following your own. You don’t give him time to think. Pulling him towards you, you slant your lips against his. It is euphoria, the feeling of your lips together. His lips are soft, slightly chapped in the middle. He tastes of spearmint gum and hints of cigarettes. His lips move against yours like a man starved, large paws coming to rest upon your hips to pull you in further. This is bliss. This is months in the making. This is right. Terrifying, but right. You pull away with a heaving chest, both pairs of lips kiss swollen and glistening.

“Let me love you, Charlie. Allow yourself to be loved. I know it’s scary, I’m scared too. But you deserve love.” Half of him wants to run, the fear of inevitable heartbreak looming in his mind. The other half wants to kiss you and never stop. He wants this. He’s always wanted this. One half decides, hands running up your sides to mimic the placement of yours on his face. When he joins your lips again, he makes his choice.

Charlie practically inhales his falafel sandwich, parts of the balls clumping off and falling into his to-go tray. He’ll never stop eating like a man starved. You can’t help but laugh, grabbing a napkin at the pooling white sauce at the corner of his mouth.

“For someone so uptight about their appearance, you sure do eat like you have nothing to lose,” you tease before pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“Blegh! Gross” Alfie groans, palms pressing into his eyes to prevent from seeing anything else.

“Better keep your eyes closed, then, buddy,” Charlie reaches for you once he swallows, hooking his fingers underneath your chin to pull you in for a kiss. Henry is the next to groan, draping over his friend to bury his face in the back of his shirt. You laugh against his lips, chasing a few more pecks before pulling away.

“Okay, boys. The kissing is over. You can look now,” you chuckle, reaching for your boba tea. Your friend had recommended Berlin’s, neither of you expecting to see falafel and boba on the menu, yet you won’t complain. You’re still on cloud nine in his company, your free hand reaching over to take a hold of his.

“When you’re older and with someone you love, you’re going to want to kiss them too,” Charlie remarks. Alfie makes another exaggerated gagging sound, Henry’s head cocking to the side, lost for words. It didn’t take the boys a long time to accept either of you into their lives in this sense. If anything, they saw it as a plus knowing they would see each other more. Even with their farce at your affection, the transition had gone smoothly. Your fingers lace with him, shooting him a knowing smile before bringing the thicker straw between your lips. Charlie hones in on the tapioca pearls along their journey through the straw and into your mouth. He’d make your last words a lie if your mouth wasn’t occupied.

“When I love someone, I will never kiss them!” Alfie argues. You laugh as you swallow, leaning to the side to rest your head against Charlie’s shoulder. His lips find the top of your head, lingering to take in the scent of familiar shampoo. The last shower you took was at his place, insisting on using his shampoo. Warmth floods him and the tip of his nose nudges at your scalp.

“We’ll talk about it when the time comes,” you smile, squeezing Charlie’s hand. He squeezes back, a gentle reassurance of his presence, his awareness. During your time together, you’ve come to learn more things about him that you love. You love how he looks when he first wakes up, hair dark and disheveled, practically sticking out in all directions. You love how specific he is about his eggs for breakfast. You love how he takes his coffee and how he blows on it to cool it down before taking a sip. You love how he’s an incredibly safe driver, even when it drives you up the walls when he can go faster and chooses not to. You love his awful dad jokes. You love how attentive he is with Alfie. You love how he holds you when you have time to yourself. You love how his heart still races when you press your ear up against his chest after all of this time. You love how he loves.

You love him.

There are so many things he loves about you. He loves how you’re always there to wipe his tears away during movies. He loves how you support him in any way you can, showing up to his work with lunch when you can, showing up to his shows and residencies. He loves how much you love New York after he takes you there for a week to follow up with Exit Ghost. He loves how your hand feels in his, so much smaller than his own and so very soft. He loves how you feel in his arms when he holds you close. He loves the way you smell, the perfume he gifted you settling perfectly into your skin. He loves how you love.

He loves you.

His previous fear seems foolish looking back. Why would he deny himself something so pure and whole? Of course, the fears are still there. He knows losing you would crush him beyond compare. But he lives for the now, the now in which you love him wholeheartedly and he loves you in return. Fears be damned, he will live in the now.

“What do you say?” he murmurs into your hair, “should we give them one more thing to lose their minds over?” You shift your head to take him in, a soft smirk spreading across your lips.

“Lay it on me.” Who is he to deny you? His lips slot over yours, and all is right again. In the background, the boys groan again,

“Love is weird,” Alfie comments before popping a fry into his mouth. You laugh against his lips, pulling away to lean your forehead against his.

“And yet deserving,” you whisper, just for him to hear. For the moment, it is only the two of you, love surrounding each other like a bubble. Neither of you wants it to pop. The tip of his nose brushes against yours, sharp canines peeping out from his lips. The wrinkles on the edge of his eyes crinkle with his smile. Right there, you fall in love all over again.

“Can we go to the park after?” Henry chimes in before taking a fry from his own. Charlie sits back to his normal height, the loss of you causing a slight twinge in his chest. But there will always be more time.

“Sure, honey. But the swings are ours.” Henry doesn’t question as he chews on his fry. You squeeze his hand again at the thought.

“Only if you push me this time,” you smirk, bringing your joined hands up to your lips for more adoration.

“You’ve got yourself a deal.”

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