#all they know from ages 7 to 17..... is Hold and be Held | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

pandorasprongs · 1 year ago

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PROLOGUE | hold on to the memories.

'it's nice to have a friend' fic masterlist + playlist

PAIRING: jamie tartt x fem!reader

WORD COUNT: 5.0k

SUMMARY: stories of jamie and reader's friendship over the years, from age 7 to 17.

WARNINGS: language, slight body image/appearance issues, slight panic attack, vague descriptions of sex

A/N: yay! finally starting this fic with sort of an overview/background on their relationship, but there will be more flashbacks throughout the chapters. no gif for this one cause tbh i could not find one that fits the vibes here, but regardless hope you all enjoy the prologue!

Age 7

"You mind handing that back over?" You hear a voice coming from the other side of the fence as you pick up a loose football.

You turn to find a boy around your age in a football kit. His hair was completely waxed to one side, probably to keep it from covering his eyes while playing. You recognize his uniform as your school's football team's, though you're not sure if you've seen him before. Then again, you didn't know anyone in town yet. You had just moved to Manchester a few months ago, just as the school year started and while you had a few people to talk to in class, you didn't have any solid friends really.

You toss the ball back to the boy, who catches it swiftly. You think that's the end of it, so you start heading back to your house when he calls out to you again.

"Hey! What's your name?" You answer him, with him nodding in acknowledgment. "I think I've seen you around the school. I'm Jamie."

He reaches over the fence and extends his arm for you to shake it, despite the fact that you were already at your front door. You walk back and shake it, as he asks, "Do you wanna play football? I got a game tomorrow, but Mum's too busy to play goalie."

You had hoped your look of glasses, multiple layers of clothes, and generally un-sporty demeanor was enough to dissuade offers to play, but this Jamie didn't really seem to care.

"Maybe another time," You reply, but this boy is persistent.

"Okay, do you wanna watch me score goals?" He offers before glancing at the book tucked under your arm and pointing at it. "You can read while I play."

Once you realize that he wasn't going to quit, you finally agree. You head back inside to tell your mom that you'd be playing with your neighbor for the afternoon and since you already finished your homework, she was more than willing to let you go. She always said you needed some fresh air, which was why you were outside in the first place.

You walk back to your yard to find Jamie still standing where you left him, but this time he was practicing his dribbling. He was pretty good from what you knew about football, and walk over to his side of the fence. He stops when he sees you and starts leading you to his backyard. There was a goal net in the far back and some cones set up, probably to practice maneuvering the ball better.

Jamie turns to see if you're still following him and drags you to a small table with two chairs near the door to the house. "You can stay here and count my goals," he instructs you and you nod your head in understanding.

While Jamie kicked around the football, you continued reading your book, occasionally looking up at what the boy was doing. It was easy to keep track of the score since Jamie would be cheering like he just won the Premier League when he scored.

After getting bored of reading, you decide to ask Jamie to teach you how to play. You see his eyes light up and immediately drags you up from your seat. The first thing he teaches you is how to dribble the ball. He held your hands the whole time to stop you from falling over, but that only seems to make it harder for you to move around.

Once you finally got the hang of that, — meaning you no longer tripped over your own feet — the next few hours were then spent teaching you the other basics of football like passing and shooting. You only started to get decent at shooting when you realized that the sun was already setting.

"I think I have to go home now," You tell Jamie, whose expression suddenly fell at your statement. You go and grab your book from the table and wave at the boy. "It was nice playing with you!"

If he said anything in reply, you didn't hear it because you sprinted back around the fence and into your house. You take off your shoes, relieving the ache of kicking around the ball, and go to tell your parents everything you did that day.

—

The next time you see Jamie was Friday morning. He spotted you leaving your house for school and invited you to his team's football game that afternoon. "You just have to stay in school a little later. My mum said your mum might get worried, so she told me to tell you now so you can ask her."

You run back inside to do just that and after informing her that the other parents would be chaperoning the game, she agreed. You also take the chance to get your scarf and gloves because you hadn't realized how cold it was outside. She went out with you to tell Jamie the good news.

"Thank you, Ma'am," he replied, causing your mom to let out a chuckle at how polite the boy became. She finally sends you off to school and Jamie decides to walk with you too.

—

You couldn't help but be amazed at how well Jamie was playing. You knew that he was at least decent based on how well he taught you that day, but he was practically scoring all the goals for his team. None of the opposing players could even catch up to him, at times. You wonder how he kept his energy up despite the fact that it was freezing outside and he was only in shorts.

After the game, his team got hot chocolate to celebrate their win. You go to congratulate him, but find it hard due to the number of people surrounding them. Jamie was looking for you too, so the moment he spots you trying to make your way through the crowd, he heads to you instead and pulls you aside.

"Did you like the game?" was the first thing he says to you.

You immediately nod, "Yeah, it was really fun to watch! Congrats on winning."

Jamie shrugs, "Thanks, but it's really nothing, we've been on a streak for a while." You don't know if he's just being humble or bragging about his team, but either way, you're happy they're doing well.

Afterward, Jamie decides to bring you to meet his mom. She's quick to embrace you and mentions that Jamie's been talking about you non-stop, much to the boy's embarrassment. She hands you a hot chocolate of your own and you're grateful to be able to warm your hands. You lost one of the pair around lunchtime, so you've been keeping your hands in your jacket pocket the whole day.

While Jamie goes to change, you stay with Georgie as you savor your drink. She notices the lack of cover on your right hand and gives you an extra pair that she kept in her bag. It's clearly too big for you and its orange color clashes with the blue and white on your left hand but you're grateful regardless.

Soon after, Jamie's rushing out of the locker room looking cozy in a sweatshirt under his winter jacket. He's wearing gloves as well and when he notices your mismatched gloves, he takes one of his off and switches them with the orange one.

They're a much better fit and you thank Jamie for it. The boy adds, "My hands are bigger, so they won't slip off as easily."

"Come on, let's go home!" He adds, grabbing one of your hands with his left and his mom's with his right as you walk off the pitch.

After coming home, your mom notices your new glove and decides to bring some cookies for the neighbors as a thank you. That started a months-long gift exchange between the two moms for reasons ranging from watching over their kids on weekdays to lending their kids a pencil for a standardized test.

You didn't really mind it though, because it usually meant you'd get to hang out with Jamie longer. You spent countless weekends riding your bikes around town, playing football, and even camping in your backyards. The boy who threw that ball over your fence was quickly becoming your best friend.

—

Age 15

“Aww, my little girl is so grown up, now!” Your mom exclaims as she opens the door to see you in a pink knee-length sundress. You don’t know why she’s so shocked you’re wearing it considering that she was the one who bought it for you. “Hmm, but do you think you need a necklace?”

“Mom!” You whine and she immediately backs off. It’s not like you minded the suggestion, but you had your own issues to deal with and didn’t need your parents to get involved.

When you said yes to Tim asking you on a date, you knew you’d be both excited and nervous. But you didn’t realize how insecure it would make you. Your parents say all the time that it’s normal for kids your age — being insecure about your looks and body, — but that advice never seemed to help. As your mom leaves the room, you turn back to the mirror and sigh. Something was just off. The dress was pretty, the shoes matched, and your mom did great with your hair, but even then, you still aren’t satisfied.

You weren’t as experienced with make-up and fashion as the other girls in your school and you had long since accepted that. You just didn’t realize it would backfire on you in times like these. You sigh sharply again. If Tim really liked you, it wouldn’t matter that much right? You add the necklace your mom was suggesting before heading downstairs.

After a string of ‘oohs’ and ‘awws’ from your parents, you start heading to the restaurant. Most popular restaurants among your schoolmates were walkable and you didn’t want an even more awkward introduction with your parents there, going there by yourself was the best plan. You had gotten there early, so you settled on the bench outside the restaurant to wait for your date.

Maybe around the first half hour, you should’ve suspected something was off. But you stayed for another hour in case Tim actually showed up. God, you shouldn’t have believed he was sincere. Why would someone ask you out? You always kept to yourself in class, spent most of your time studying, and never even tried to go to parties or anything.

You check your phone again because some hopeful part of you thought he’d text you with a valid excuse, but all you see are some messages from classmates asking for notes and a missed call from your mum. You were not ready to face your parents right now, not after the hopeful looks on their faces that their daughter might be sociable for a night.

Instead, you call the only other person you can. Jamie makes it to the place in record time and the first thing you do is hug him. The moment you make contact with his body is the moment you let the tears flow from your face. It didn’t really matter at that point if people were staring: you just needed someone. You needed Jamie.

“I’m gonna murder that prick,” Jamie threatens as he reciprocates the hug.

“Please don’t,” you whisper into his chest. “I can’t have you going to jail right now.” Despite trying your best to say it jokingly, your voice is too hoarse to properly convey it.

After what felt like hours in that position, you finally let go. You soon realize that your streaming tears had stained Jamie’s shirt. “Shit, I’m sorry.”

The boy looks down and just shrugs. “It was getting too small for me, anyway.” That’s enough to put a smile on your face.

The two of you get into the car – Georgie’s car, since technically, Jamie only had a provisional license – and start driving back to your house. Maybe it was your wrecked emotional state, but you decided to outright ask, “Jamie, do you find me attractive?”

You gasp as Jamie almost crashes the car. You quickly clarify as he steadies the vehicle, “Fuck, I didn’t mean it like that! It’s just, I don’t really know how I look to guys.”

“Right, sorry.” He says but doesn’t look away from the road. “I mean, you are pretty. As long as you don’t let it get to your head.”

You roll your eyes. “Oh, fuck off Jamie, I’m not you.” You could list the number of times Jamie’s flashed that cocky smirk to girls at school during breaks. Those were some of the very few times you were embarrassed to be seen with him and you laugh at the reminder. But your smile quickly disappears when you look down at your outfit. “Do you think other guys think I’m pretty?”

Your voice is as soft as it’s ever been, not wanting to show how insecure you’re feeling at the moment. But Jamie can tell like he always does. You turn the corner to your house and he stops the car in the road and fully turns to you.

“Fuck those other guys. Fine, if you need someone to say it, I will. You are fucking gorgeous, especially tonight.” You cringe at his words, not used to having anyone say that about you, but he gets you to look at him again. “I’m serious. And Tim’s a fucking idiot for ditching you.”

Despite his harsh tone, the soft look in his eyes as he tries to comfort you almost makes you tear up again. As if it’s become a routine, you reach over and envelop him in a hug once more. To make up for the failed date, the two of you spend the rest of the night eating a tub of Neopolitan ice cream and soon enough, you forget that Tim even existed.

—

Age 17

Your teachers always said you were a good writer. But no one ever told you how fucking difficult it was to start your personal statement. You'd never realized how hard it is to prove you should go to university until you forced yourself to sit down and actually try and write something. You started with the outline route, trying to note all your academic achievements, extracurriculars, and things like that before you ended up boring yourself.

You've written 9 possible starting lines at this point, and in the end, you decide to just shut your laptop in despair. Try again tomorrow, you said to yourself. The same thing you said yesterday and the day before that.

You go to lie down on your bed when you hear something hit your window. It's a light clinking sound, and you ignore it till you hear another one. You finally decide to check outside your window and hear shouting from above.

"God?" you ask hesitantly.

"Nope, just me," you look up to find Jamie Tartt sitting on his rooftop, almost giving you a heart attack.

"Get down from there!" You tell him immediately and instantly cringe at how similar your tone is to your mom’s. Jamie rolls his eyes at the order but obliges anyway. He starts going down the roof into his bedroom — carrying an empty bottle of beer in his left hand — and makes it through his window. Once he's safe with his feet on the floor, he turns around to face you in your adjacent bedroom.

"Why'd you even go up there?" you question and Jamie, like always, simply shrugs.

"Felt like it," you shake your head at his reasoning. You knew your best friend could be reckless, but you didn't think he'd do something as stupid as that, especially before scouting season.

"So falling off and breaking your legs wasn’t something you thought could possibly happen?"

"Well, that’s why I have you to warn me," He exclaims, before going back to the conversation. "I'm coming over."

Both your sets of parents were out for the night and they'd known each other long enough to trust each other's kids enough, so neither of you needed to message them about it. You watch him sprint out of his room and after a few minutes, you here the doorbell ring.

You head downstairs and open the door to find a panting Jamie leaning on the frame. "3 minutes, new record time."

"Well, they do say I'm one in a million." He jokes as you let him inside and he takes off his shoes.

"Who's they, in this situation?"

"Mum." He says blankly, collapsing on the couch. "And Simon."

You laugh, before lifting his legs and shuffling on the opposite side of the couch. You rest them on your lap for a second, before a wave of stench from his feet hits you and you shove them off. Jamie goes back to sitting upright and he instead leans his head on your shoulder.

You turn on the TV and start browsing for a movie as your entertainment for the night. Most weekends were like this; hanging out in one of your houses, ordering pizza — which Jamie did as you looked through channels, — and relaxing on the couch.

The order was placed and you settled on the Hunger Games this time. You watched the first part of the movie in silence as usual, but once the pizza arrived, Jamie decided to change things up.

"Wanna play 20 questions?" You look at him curiously. You knew practically everything about each other, so why on Earth would you play a game that's every person's go-to icebreaker?

You don't have a chance to protest because after taking a bite of the pizza, he asks, "What were you doing before I got here?"

Your eyes widened at that. Maybe the one thing you never really talked about with Jamie was your future. Neither one of you would admit it, but there wasn't any chance that you two were going to be doing the same things in your career. You had academia and Jamie had football. It's hard to imagine something that kept the two of you together and also made both of you happy, so you never brought it up.

"Uh, I was having a wank," you joke but Jamie isn't amused. He continues to stare at you with an expression that you rarely ever saw; he was being serious. "I was trying to write my personal statement."

You look cautiously at your best friend who is quiet for the first time tonight. He takes a bite of his pizza again and with a full mouth, says, "And? How's it going?"

You groan and lean your head back. "Fucking terrible. I can't think of anything to say about myself."

"The fuck do you mean? You're like the smartest person I know." He points out and while you're touched he thinks that, you sigh.

"Unis don't just look at grades anymore. They want substance and worldly impact from their applicants. How the fuck am I supposed to change our societal landscape at fucking seventeen?" You admit, and it's like a weight has been lifted off of you. You drop your plate of pizza on the table and lean into Jamie's side.

"You want me to write it for you? I've got a bunch of great things to say about my best friend." He offers and you finally let out a laugh. "I can put how fucking amazing you are at Scrabble, how you can predict the ending of a movie in the first 20 minutes, how loud your voice can get when you cheer me on at a football game, and how you can hear a song once and already figure out how to play it on the piano."

You look up to find Jamie giving you a wide smile and his happiness is contagious. But that feeling is almost instantly replaced when you remember the position you two are in and feel your heart beating faster.

You don't ignore the fact that Jamie has grown up a lot more in recent years: finally passing you in height, having more defined arm muscles, and definitely growing into his features. It's harder to feel normal when you do the things you did as kids like when he rests his head or arms on your shoulders, pulls you into his chest to stop you from walking in front of a passing car, or just like right now when you're leaning into him, his arm pulls you closer to his body.

You slowly pull yourself away, but then he grabs hold of your hand instead. You've held hands before, but again, there's just something different about now. You decide to leave it there before finally replying, "I'm sure with that kind of stories in it, they'll let me into fucking Oxford." The two of you laugh before you grab your plate of pizza again and turn to back to the movie.

—

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” You hear someone say, as you turn the corner to your school’s locker room.

It was normal to hear the players get nervous before the finals, but hearing Jamie Tartt panicking was a whole new thing for most of your classmates. Some league teams had sent scouts for the striker in this game and while everyone knew he’d do great, it seemed like the school’s support still wasn’t enough to convince him of that.

When his teammates couldn’t snap him out of it, their Plan B was to call you.

“Sorry, I’m looking for my best friend, Jamie Tartt. Brown hair, blue eyes, kind of conceited, but pretty nice if you get to know him.” You start out jokingly, but when his panicked eyes landed on yours, you quickly shift gears. “Shit, sorry. Not the time for jokes, I guess.”

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m off my game right now,” He starts, still trying to catch his breath as he moves around frantically. You take his hands into yours in order to steady him, but when that doesn’t work, you grab him by his shoulders.

Usually, Jamie would be towering over you, but with his slumped posture at the moment, you were almost eye-to-eye with the guy. “Jamie, take a deep breath. Focus on me, okay?”

You’ve gone through this enough times — usually with you in Jamie’s place — to know how to calm him down.

He follows your directions and you slowly nod your head. “Keep breathing, just do that for now.” Jamie closes his eyes and slowly starts to steady himself. Your hands move from his shoulders to his hands like you initially planned.

“I know it’s fucking terrifying, but believe me when I say that you are incredible. You know how you always tell me that I’ll smash it as Model UN conferences? This time, I’m the one telling you you’re gonna be the best fucking player out there.” You pause for a moment in case he reacts, but all Jamie does is nod his head. “I believe in you. Georgie and Simon believe in you. Hell, this entire school fucking believes in you. I swear, I saw people planning a chant for you outside.”

That gets the player to laugh and you smile, seeing a glimpse of his usual self. “Also, I know I’m complimenting you right now, but better savor it cause I’m never inflating your ego like this ever again.”

“Not even when I help Man City get another win in my first year?” Jamie finally speaks up.

“I’ll be complimenting Pep, not you.” You playfully roll your eyes. “But to be able to do that, you have to get out and play today.”

Jamie straightens up and starts shaking away the nerves. He turns to head to his team, but not before giving you a quick hug and a ‘thank you.’ Once he enters the locker room again, you start heading back to your seat.

—

Age 18

"Do you really want to do this?" Jamie asks carefully, but you've already made up your mind as you pull him closer.

You were going off to university in a few months and Jamie would be doing his summer training soon. Both his and your parents were out of town on a couple's retreat, so it was either now or never.

You knew that going off for college would increase the chances of your first time being with a random guy you met at a frat party infinitely, so you could say it was a calculated decision to jokingly ask Jamie when you talked about it if he'd be willing to sleep with you.

You didn't really expect anything and for the first few seconds, Jamie was too in shock to actually reply. You immediately tried to dismiss it as a joke, but before you could, he replied, "Sure."

You knew that Jamie had already had sex with girls before, — hearing him try and sneak the girls out of his bedroom window was always a fun story to bring up the next day — so you thought that it would just be another one for him.

But that night was the most delicate you've ever seen him. He didn't rush you or make you feel uncomfortable. He checked up on you constantly, making sure it didn't hurt and you were actually enjoying yourself. You made sure to hug him after, — not being able to say any words of gratitude out loud, — and you eventually went to sleep like that.

You woke up the morning after, still with him beside you, but after you got changed and he went back to his house, neither of you brought it up again. You went back to your old routine of hanging out in the afternoons and movie nights as if nothing even happened.

And it really was for the best, considering that the next time you had sex really was in a frat house’s bathroom.

—

Now, you were loading the last of your things into your car for your family road trip to Cardiff, which was to also move you into your dorm. Your mom was recounting the boxes, making sure you didn't forget anything because in her words, "We are not driving 3 and half hours twice just to bring you your toothbrush." Your dad was in the kitchen fixing up snacks for the trip, so you decide to take this chance and finally say goodbye to your best friend.

You barely saw Jamie in the weeks leading up to this since he spent most of his time at training. Even on weekends, he would be passed out in his room from the painstaking drills of the days prior. So as you knock on their door, you aren't very hopeful.

It reveals Simon who instantly pouts and brings you in for a hug. You always appreciated him for how he accepted Jamie into his life, despite the latter's fears that he'd be just like his father.

"Come inside," He offers, but you shake your head. You had to leave soon and you didn't want to delay the trip any longer. “Alright, but I was actually baking some muffins that you guys can take on your drive there, and you can’t say no to those.”

You laugh as you nod, before asking, "Is Georgie home?"

Simon calls out to his wife to tell her that you're about to leave. You soon hear quick footsteps descending the stairs before you are once again enveloped in a hug.

Simon heads out to presumably pack up those muffins, but you're too distracted by the rising feeling of sadness as you say goodbye to the woman whose practically been your second mother for a decade.

"You stay safe, okay? I know you'll enjoy your life there, but don't make your parents worry too much. Cause then they won't be able to stop talking about you," You laugh at her prediction before giving her one last hug.

Simon races back to you with a brown paper bag which he hands over, along with a pat on the back. You turn around to see if there's any sign of your best friend, but Georgie answers that for you. "He said he might be running late at practice." You feel your heart sink, but do your best to mask it. You wave goodbye to the couple before walking to the car.

You hand your dad the bag of muffins and sigh, "We can go." Your parents exchange a look but oblige nonetheless. You start heading into the car when you hear the call of your name.

You turn to see Jamie, still in his kit — shorts and all, — running towards your house. You decide to meet him halfway and once he's close enough, the football player pulls you into a tight hug, as if he's never letting go.

"Did you really think I'd let you leave without saying goodbye?" He whispered into your shoulder.

"If you're in trouble for leaving practice early, that is not on me." You try and keep it light-hearted, but his laugh only makes the pit in your stomach feel worse.

"Call me, okay? As often as you can. And send me pictures of all the stadiums you're playing in. I don't care if you send ten pictures of Etihad Stadium in a row, just do it. If you ever come to Cardiff, take some time off to see me. And," you try and think of more things to say, but Jamie cups your face in his hands to make you stop.

"I'll see you during the off-season, yeah?" Jamie's look is soft and you can feel the dam stopping your tears about to break.

"Don't you fucking forget me, Jamie." You try and say as angrily as you can, but your voice cracks as Jamie pulls you into another hug.

The two of you finally separate and you head off to your car. You stop yourself from looking back as you get into your seat.

Jamie doesn't take his eyes off you, though. He watches as your car starts and turns the corner off your street.

A/N: hope you all enjoyed this one! if you couldn't tell, some of these flashbacks were based on the song 'it's nice to have a friend' by taylor swift which is what inspired this whole thing! see you next week for the official first chapter !!

#jamie tartt #jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt reader #ted lasso #jamie tartt fanfiction #jamie tartt imagine #jamie tartt fic #ted lasso fanfic #jamie tartt fanfic #jamie tartt fluff #jamie tartt angst #jamie tartt x f!reader #jamie tartt x female reader #it's nice to have a friend series

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writingsfromhome · 1 year ago

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If you Love Something II

A/N: okayy I’m finally going to stop overthinking and just post this one. Please note the tw in part 1. Thank you all SO much for the comments and love on the original…hope this one meets ur expectations. It’s definitely more focused on the lost daughter relationship rather than you and Harry so p dense but...here it is 🫣

——————————————

Age 36:

“Dinner’s almost ready,” Harry informs me over the phone. “I went with chicken noodle soup.”

“Mmm,” I close my eyes. “I could use something hot and hearty right now. I’m freezing my ass off.”

“I didn’t need to make dinner for that.”

“So come here, warm me up,” I crane my neck to the left again. “Stupid delays.”

“I can come get you."

I’d mapped it out before calling Harry, it would take him too long to get here. “That’s alright. Doesn’t make a difference.”

The screen on the platform showed 6 minutes…for the past 15 minutes.

“I’ve either been living in the longest minute of my fucking life,” I mutter. “Or this line is taking the piss out of all of us.”

Two dozen of us had gotten off the last train when it announced it was out of service. Now the number on the platform had tripled waiting for the next one.

“Patience,” Harry says. “Is a virtue.”

“Easy for you to say in the warm flat with the chicken noodle soup.”

“It’ll be yours soon.”

Soon. I sigh and try to release the anxious energy with it. “Thank you for taking care of dinner.”

“Of course.” He replies. Like it was that simple. But being with Harry was like that nowadays.

Despite all the catching up we had to do with the 17 years we had lived separate lives, emotionally it’s like we picked up where we last left off.

I’d be lying if I said it was smooth sailing the whole year we’d been together. There had been a hard few first months where both of us felt unnerved by the peacefulness of the relationship. We weren’t used to such an easy quiet.

I’d tried to self-sabotage first by going awol and working longer hours than I needed to. I think I was scared Harry would wake up one day and realize too much time had passed and he didn’t like who I’d become so I minimized our time together. Until Harry called me out for it.

But then he went off the rails, and for a few weeks I’d been an even bigger ball of anxiety. Ultimately I had to give him the hard truth even though the last thing I ever wanted was to convince someone to stay with an ultimatum. But I’d told him, he had to at least attempt sobriety if he wanted us to work.

There were a few sleepless nights, I didn’t know if we were going to make it. But one morning he asked me to go to an aa meeting with him.

Going together, being in the same boat as a group of people gathered in the back room of a dusty church finally gelled us together. For good. He’d been sober since.

We moved in together 7 months ago. Even though it doubled my commute time—tripled with delays, I had never been more sure that I was exactly where I needed to be.

We held space for each other. Even the heavier bits; we knew what they were. What it was like to hold them on our own. We always joked about how our loads had halved despite taking on half of the other’s. Because just like our venn diagram of love, our venn diagram of hurting was the same.

“Oh god, I better not be hallucinating.” I nearly jump up and down when the twin headlights of the next train peek in the distance. The platform board still says 6 minutes.

“You’re cutting up what?”

“Nothing! Train’s here!”

“I’ll pick you up from the station.” Harry says before I hang up.

I spend the remaining 15 minute ride going over the lecture I’d given tonight.

3 years ago when I applied to be a lecturer I didn’t actually think I’d get it. But in the 10 years of my career I had collected, I had done exceptionally well. It was ironic with all the bullshit life threw at me, I had somehow channeled it into a determined work ethic. After failing many math tests in high school I had found a love for it in uni—it made me work hard, get out of my head with its constant thoughts. Harry now took to calling me a masochist for teaching something mathematical.

In reality it wasn’t that mathematical. I taught Management Econ which was a snorefest on paper but I tried to be engaging and include a whole host of ways to teach—I knew not everyone excelled with a textbook.

It had made the course popular, it went from being offered once a semester to 3 times this year because the waitlist spoke for itself. It was one of my proudest accomplishment—getting students motivated and interested. And because it was mostly first and second year students, they were still eager and not jaded by the uni system.

That was how I spent my evenings on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays. Otherwise I worked for the city the same hours Harry worked his creative exec job at a major firm in the city. Sometimes we met up for lunch. It was the little things like that, making time to see each other in the middle of the day even though we woke up and fell asleep to each other, that made this relationship feel so secure.

It felt like coming home each time I caught sight of his face, and knew his smile was just for me.

My thoughts drift to our daughter. She would have celebrated her 18th birthday a few weeks ago. I always lit a birthday candle for her, this year Harry and I bought a cake and a symbolic drink for her. Our baby was old enough to drink.

“Do you think she takes after her parents?” Harry had asked.

“I think she grew up alright.” I always imagined her to have. “I hope she has no reason to drink herself silly.”

“Being 18 is reason enough.”

We talk about her often. She slips into conversation as easily as inhaling. It keeps her with us.

When I spot Harry’s car at the station I nearly weep.

“Your cheeks are so cold,” Harry says after a peck hello. He holds them both in his heated hands and plants exaggerated kisses on each cheek.

“Please sir,” I kiss his mouth and continue in what Harry called my Oliver Twist accent. “Take me to the chicken noodle soup. I hunger.”

Harry responds in the same accent (although it wasn’t as good as mine) and pretty soon I’m forgetting the 20 minute delay, the lecture with 100 technical difficulties, and anything in between.

After dinner and completing my 20 step night time routine I crawl into bed beside a cozy-looking Harry.

“Whatcha reading?” I peek at his book. I can’t believe he was the reading-before-bed type. In a way it was so different from the 17 year old guy I knew. It was also a reminder that even though we knew each other through and through, there were still so many habits and stories and quirks to discover.

“It’s a boring as hell sci-fi novel, don’t ask.”

“Then why are you reading it?”

“I accidentally joined a book club at work!?”

He tells me the story of how he told some people he enjoyed reading, and then being unable to say no when they bought this month’s book for him and presented it to him a week later.

“I bet you that’s their ponze scheme. It’s like an MLM, the latest recruit has to guilt the next joinee. You’ll be doing it soon.”

Harry laughs and holds his book out to me. “That actually brings me to my next question with this very generous gift, do you like reading?”

“Nope.” I push the book away. “I also don’t like book clubs.”

He tosses the book down lightly. “Damnit!”

We laugh. I cuddle into his side and lay my head on his chest as he finishes his chapter. His heart beat is steady, like the life he’s helped me create as we committed to each other. I listen to it as it lulls me to a calmer place.

“So how was work? How’s your students this semester?”

“Work’s good. Same old right now. Teaching was interesting. It’s the second week of classes so still seeing a lot of people come and go. You start to see the regulars by week 3.”

“Full class?”

“Almost,” I tell him. “A few empty seats. There was one girl who was obviously watching tv the whole time, another guy that fell asleep halfway, and this other kid kept looking at the door like he was physically trying to decide whether he would stay. Weird lot.”

“They won’t be there next week.”

“Nope.”

“You think she’s starting uni? I wonder what she’s decided to study.”

“Mmm, I always think it’s something creative like you.”

Harry squeezes his arm around me. “I think she’s a masochist like you.”

We talk more about her, about the upcoming weekend, and as sleep visits we drift away still intertwined like most nights.

***

“Does anyone know why?” I ask the lecture hall. Just like I predicted, most of the people I knew wouldn’t make it were gone. Now there were just under 60 students in total. What had surprised me was the guy who looked nervous the second week stayed. He’d been joined by two friends who only showed up in week 4. He was probably the designated note taker.

A girl to the left puts her hand up and I point to her. “The growing gap between upper and middle classes?”

“Yes.” I give her a reassuring smile. Until I started teaching, I forgot that most answers they gave were questions. “Anyone else?”

The girl beside nervous guy puts her hand up. “The ageing population, it skews the demographic from what was initially projected?”

“Exactly,” I try not to show favourites but that was beautifully said. Maybe she didn’t need to come to all the classes.

“That would also affect the workforce,” a guy sitting in the front pipes in. I smile, pleased that a discussion was forming.

A few others join in and I nod at each point. I loved this job.

After class is over I always got a few stragglers asking questions. The nervous guy comes up to me.

“Um professor,” he hitches his backpack and glances back at his friends. “For the assignment due next week, can groups of 3 be okay?”

I glance at his friends, it was supposed to be in pairs but what the hell. “Sure. But I’ll need extra stuffing in the assignment to make up for it.”

I say it with a joking tone but he’s so wound up that he takes me seriously.

“Of course. We’ll increase the citations and make sure to include more research-“

“Philippe,” one of the girls is suddenly a few feet away.

“Thank you.” He says, finally meeting my eye. I smile and he relaxes. I turn to his friends, to acknowledge them but they stare at me like I’d grown a second head. One of the other students asks her questions and I turn my attention away—weird.

***

“Mid-terms?” Harry asks. I’m reading a textbook while I stand over the simmering pot. We had accidentally ordered 4 times the tomatoes on our online order last week and with three still left I’d decided to batch make spaghetti sauce. It had been a long time since I made it from scratch.

“Kind of.” I push the book aside. “Someone in the department wants to update the textbooks and they left notes in the old one for what needs updating. They asked me to take a look.”

“That’s cool,” Harry walks over to me. He smelled like cologne and outside, the way he usually did right after he came home on chillier days. “That he wants your opinion?”

“She actually,” I poke him. “And it is! I can’t believe I get paid to lecture about one of my passions.”

“Economics,” Harry makes a face like he smelled something bad.

“Makes the world go round,” I smile sweetly.

“Remember when you liked things that were cool like Harry Potter and Coldplay-“

“I still like them! If I recall you’re the one who motivated me to do well in maths.”

“I did?” Harry looks off into the distance but his slow smirk is evident that he was remembering. He tilts my chin up and brushes my lips. “You’re right. So how about now? Would that still work?”

“Do you want me to stroke your ego right now?”

“Amongst other things,” he muses, his hands drop down to my hips and then lower, giving my bum a squeeze.

“Cut it out,” I scold him but it’s cancelled by the smile on my face. I shake my head and go back to the simmering pot.

“Is that tomato soup?” Harry’s suddenly distracted by the pot. We’d been having a lot of it this week because…well tomatoes.

“Nope, I’m making spaghetti sauce. From scratch.”

“Hey, didn’t you make that one time? When we were kids.”

“Hm,” I think back. It felt like so long ago but something niggles at me. “I think? I used to help my mum—it’s her recipe. Maybe you had dinner on a night we made it?”

“Yes. Dinner at your place, around Easter.”

I remember that Easter clearly but not for dinner. It was a night Harry and I had talked our lives all out.

“Aw. We were so young then.” I wrap my arms around Harry.

“I’m still young,” Harry says. “I’m in my prime.”

I pat his cheek. “Of course you are love.”

***

“Taylor I can’t really do this right now!” I tell my sister as she whines to me. No matter how old we got we were always somehow 17 and 12.

“C’mon just call mom! Tell her you met him and he’s really awesome.”

“I’m not lying to mom so you can invite your newest loser boyfriend to dinner. Anyway I can’t talk. I have to get to class!”

“I know.” She says weirdly. And I understand why when I walk into class and see her sitting in the front row. Ugh she knew I would try to blow her off!

My sister had somehow taken up the bad habit ever since her mid-20s of having a string of shitty boyfriends. We all blamed it on her longterm bloke breaking it off around her 26th. I don’t think she ever fully let herself heal from that.

After two separate guys were invited to two separate family dinners and both ended in mum or dad exploding over something, they were banned. This new guy, as she insists, was different. Mature. He deserved an invite.

She holds up 9 fingers and mouths, 9 months! That’s a long time!

I shake my head and start setting up my laptop.

“Hiya,” one of the students, Kim, walks up to me as I do so. “Sorry I was just wondering when we’re getting our assignments back? Will it be before midterms?”

Midterms were in 2 weeks for this class. The assignments were in my bag, marked and ready. I tell her and watch the relief spread through her.

I spend the next hour teaching, and before we break at the hour I announce I’d return assignments. As I call them out student walks down to me and pick them up, leaving with a smile or a frown.

“Philippe?” He had stuck to his word and his group had gone above and beyond. It was a beautiful paper, albeit overly-sourced. But I appreciated it.

“He’s not in,” one of his friends comes down to get it. She looks at me in that same way again, with just as much fear as curiosity. It’s odd.

“C’mon then,” I shake the paper I was holding out. “I don’t bite.”

“Oh sorry,” she grabs it from me in a rush I nearly get a papercut. She doesn’t even look at the grade, turning quickly away before halting, pivoting halfway, changing her mind, and running back up the steps to her seat. That group of kids were weird. Maybe they were on drugs.

I catch eyes with Taylor and she raises her brow. I shrug and continue handing out the papers.

I don’t expect the girl to come up to me after class. Her friend stays hovering behind, close to my sister who I know must be desperate to have sat here the whole lecture.

“Um ‘scuse me. Professor?”

“Yes?” She was the last person in the small line that had formed after class.

“I had a question about the assignment? You um, you said we missed the equations for our answers but they’re um-“ her hands are shaking as she flips the pages to the last page. “They’re on the bottom here.”

“Oh,” I did remember they were missing it but my pen marks were all over the back of it. “I must have missed that, bloody hell sorry about that!”

“Yeah um, do we get the extra points?”

“Of course but I-“ I glance back at Taylor. She’s talking to the friend. I had to get her out of here before she said something ridiculous. “I have office hours after my Monday class. I’ll have it remarked by then and you can pick it up?”

“Um, okay?”

I quickly shut my things down and grab my sister, getting her out as quick as possible.

“I’m a professional,” she reminds me. “Jeez. Anyway Y/n listen it’s the longest I’ve been in a relationship since, well y’know. 9 months! It’s different with this guy. He works like you! A cushy office job. He’s serious. Please!?”

I hadn’t seen Taylor since last month’s dinner when she had tried to convince me to get on board with this guy. She’d been pleading for a month. “Fine.”

“Oh I love you!” She squeezes my arm. “Text me when mom gives the okay.”

I sigh. I’d really got myself in the middle again.

I retell this to Harry when I get home.

“She’s persistent. But 9 months is a new record.”

“I know!” Harry knew all about her string of boys, I’d caught him up months ago. “Anyway I can’t believe she sat through the whole lecture.”

“Maybe this is the guy. The One.”

“You don’t believe in that do you?”

“Yeah?” He squints at me. “Of course I do?”

“So I’m The One?”

“Baby do I even need to say yes? I knew it as soon as I saw you when we were 14. You confirmed it when you kissed me on the roof that day.”

“I can’t believe I did that. I had my first drink that day by the way so I might’ve been drunk.”

“You were not drunk when you kissed me,” Harry points his fork at me.

“Look at you getting all worked up,” I tease.

“I’ll get you all worked up,” he mutters into his plate. I grin as I stretch my leg out under the table and run it up his leg. He grips my ankle when it gets too high and the look he gives me across the table sends my heart racing.

“Oops,” I drop my foot and go back to eating.

We put on a movie after, something we can zone out to. It doesn’t take Harry long to get bored and nuzzle into me, and it doesn’t take much longer after that before the movie is just for show and we’re tangled in our sheets.

There were 17 years of experience Harry showed up with now, and it was another one of those things that made catching up on lost time all the better.

***

In the first half hour of my office hours, the girl walks in. I should remember her name but I just associated her group with Philippe. I was surprised he wasn’t here actually. He seemed to be their spokesperson.

“Hi come in!” I wave her into the tiny cubicle-like room I borrowed for a few hours every Monday. “I’ve got your assignment here all done.”

“Thank you,” she hovers over my desk and I hand it over. Her fingers fidget with the strings of her hoodie and I seriously consider the drug angle. Or maybe her and her friends had serious anxiety issues. I didn’t miss that part about being a teen.

“You wanna flip through one more time? I try not to make mistakes twice but…”

She sits down tentatively and buries her head in the paper as she flips through.

“It’s alright,” she says. Her expression is so serious it nearly makes me laugh. She had pretty hair—blunt cut bangs that I remember rocking in my early 20s, but on her they hide the expression in her eyebrows. Maybe that’s why she always looked so sullen. Her lips are painted a pretty mauve colour and it complimented her green eyes.

“I really um…your class is really interesting.”

Kids saying that was like injecting pure joy right into my veins.

“I’m so glad you’re enjoying it,” I smile at her. But it still doesn’t crack a smile on her end. “It’s dense material but that’s nice to hear.”

“Yeah, I didn’t know if I was gonna keep the class.” It’s subtle but she inches back in the seat. The more she talks the more she relaxes back. “But I heard it was worth taking. And people were right.”

“Are you in your first or second year?” I ask.

“First,” she tucks her hair behind her ear. It’s covered in piercings.

“How are you liking uni so far?”

She meets my eyes for a second before they shift away. “Yeah it’s nice? I’ve never lived away from home but I have some friends here that I’ve known since before so it helps. It’s really different, less structure but I like the freedom.”

Wow, she really spoke a lot more when she was comfortable. But I find it endearing.

“That’s really nice. It’s good to have a support system, especially with such big change.”

“Yeah,” she agrees. Her eyes dart around the desk as she goes silent. I wait for her to get up and go but a minute passes and the room starts to feel even smaller.

I could ask her if she needed anything else, or maybe continue the conversation? Did she want me to ask about her? No, that would be weird.

“So um, was that your sister in class last week?”

Okay, didn’t see that coming.

“It was! My baby sister, although she’s not really a baby. Did she tell your friend that?”

She nods again. “She was talking to her.”

“You have any siblings?”

“An older sister yeah.”

“So you get it,” I say. “You love them, they get under your skin, you’d do anything for them, and the cycle continues.”

For the first time she smiles and my breath catches. For a moment…no. No, I was imagining things.

“Yeah. My sister and I were close growing up, but she’s the one person that really knows how to get under my skin. I swear she does it on purpose sometimes.”

“Probably,” I want to say something funny again. I just want to see her smile.

Back off, my inner voice says. Don’t do this again.

Some years back, when I was still in the throes of alcohol, I had followed a girl at the mall for nearly an hour. She had looked so much like my sister but with brown curly hair. I could have sworn it was her—my daughter. But after an hour of drunk stalking she had met up with her mum, a direct clone of her.

I couldn’t be obsessive again. Nobody knew about that phase. Not even Harry.

“D’you have any kids?” She asks. I don’t expect the question and it throws me off what with the thoughts looping in my head. She watches me, waiting for an answer.

“Um,” I usually answered no. To anyone who had asked in the last 18 years. But for some reason I nod today. “Yeah. One.”

I imagine it, I must have. Her face draws in for a second before she looks down. “Does she ever come to your lectures?”

“Oh no,” I feel the prick of tears and try to blink them away without being too obvious. “I’m not sure she’d find them interesting.”

“Oh.” She finally stands. “Maybe when she’s older…but I’ll see you on Thursday I guess?”

“Yeah,” I watch her go and realize she’d forgotten something. “Don’t forget your paper hon!”

She stiffens by the door before coming to get it.

“Sorry, it probably makes me a bad prof but there were two female names on the paper. Which one’s yours?”

“Bridget,” her voice cracks.

“Bridget,” I try to match the name to her face. It fit. “That’s lovely.”

She scurries out and I hear someone say “well!?” Outside followed by a “shh!”

I shake my head and try to focus back on my work, my heart racing an unusual amount.

***

It takes a couple days but I confess to Harry. He’d decided to meet up with me after class on Wednesday to eat out. We didn’t go far from the uni, a pub a few roads down. I actually spotted a couple former students there and they’d waved at me warmly.

“You’re not crazy,” Harry holds my hand on the table. “A few years ago I realized the volunteer interns we took on from the nearby school? They were the same age as her, teens? And I used to check up on them all the time, make sure they were feeling comfortable, until one of the guys on the team told me to quit being so weird and find someone my own age. I don’t know if it came across that way but…I got lost in that.”

“Oh Harry,” I squeeze his hand. “I didn’t know that.”

“I’ve never told anyone.”

“Me too,” I pop another chip into my mouth. “But really I’d kind of pushed those memories out of my head until the other day. I can’t explain it, when she smiled it just felt like I knew her.”

“Yeah. Maybe she just looks like Taylor?”

We finish dinner while Harry tells me about a story about some friends of his I knew. We reminisce about our old friends as we wrap up and head out into the brisk November air.

We’re near the station when I gasp and clutch Harry’s arm. Standing outside one of the nearby pubs, smoking with her friends, was Bridget.

“Harry! That’s her!”

“What? Who?” He’s so oblivious as he whips his head around.

“Hushhh!” I nod towards the northwest side. His eyes scan the group. “Red beanie. We have to walk past just look at her okay? Tell me if you see it.”

Harry laughs to himself, “This feels like we’re in high school walking past a crush.”

“Is that how you walked past me?” I tease.

“I did.” He looks at me in that way that still gives me butterflies. It never got old.

“Stop making me want to jump your bones out here. I have a reputation to uphold!”

“Hey I’ll still have a job to support us,” he whispers as we near closer to the group. “Feel free to do whatever you feel.”

“You’re a bad influence.” I whisper back. By now we’re a few feet away and I sense Harry slow down beside me.

Bridget’s nodding to whatever her friend is saying. Philippe is waving his drink around as he responds. We almost pass by unnoticed when someone completely different calls my name.

“Hey professor! Can we buy you a drink?”

I turn and spot a group of students I taught last semester. They were all friends, always battling out their wits during group discussions. It made my class lively, even distracting at times. But I tried going with the flow of whatever group of students I got.

“Hey kids!” I say. Then I have no choice but to acknowledge Bridget and her friends. “And more kids! Is this the new spot to be at?”

I sounded so lame but shite! We weren’t supposed to get caught.

“It’s always been popular,” one of my old students says. “Can we pick your brain? Buy you a drink? We can buy one for your friend too.”

“I uh,” I glance at Harry but he’s frozen solid. I look to what he’s looking at and it’s Bridget. They’re locked in some silent conversation and her friends eye each other. “Harry?”

“Huh?” He focuses on me, flushed and just as confused as I had looked on Monday.

“We’ve gotta get him home,” I pat Harry’s arm. “Our alcohol metabolizes differently at our age.”

“You’re not that old,” Bridget says. She seems to be surprised she said it at all and her eyes widen. “I just mean you look younger than my parents.”

“We’ll take that as a compliment.” I smile up at Harry who still looks a little lost.

“Miss aren’t you going to introduce your male friend?” One of my old student goads.

“Don’t assume,” the other chides.

“Aren’t you a nosy lot after a few drinks.” I missed dishing it back in class with them.

“Oops!” They laugh.

“Anyway. This is Harry.”

“You can call me Mr. Professor,” Harry jokes and it’s a crowd pleaser. God they were drunk. Harry leans into me, “I can see why you like teaching. They’re an ego-booster.”

“Not in a 6pm lecture on a Thursday night.” I whisper back. He hides his laugh.

“Are you guys heading home?” Now it’s Philippe. I’m surprised he was getting involved in the conversation. He was usually the quiet nervous type.

“We are. Need a good night’s rest so I’m not falling asleep in your lecture tomorrow.”

“We wouldn’t mind,” Philippe goes for joker but his face flushes. It’s cute.

“Philippe you take way too many notes during class for me to believe that.”

His two friends, Bridget and the other girl, look at each other wide-eyed before losing it. And I watch Bridget’s face transform again and I get the same feeling. I look up at Harry and he’s transfixed.

I tug his sleeve and he looks at me, swallowing like he was parched.

“Weird right?”

“Yeah,” he whispers but his mouth turns down ever so slightly.

The girls are too busy cajoling Philippe to say goodbye to so we make our exit quietly. We don’t talk much on the train ride home but Harry simple holds his hand out on my thigh, palm up, and I lock my fingers into his. Even when we didn’t have words, we never stopped staying in touch.

***

It’s exam and holiday season before I know it.

I was actually looking forward to Christmas this year. It was the first that Harry was going to join with my family. Taylor’s bloke was also showing. He had been a hit with my parents and even I could admit he was the better of all the guys she’s every brought over.

It’s the last 30 minutes of the last exam I was facilitating this year. I announce the time left to the group. There were only about 15 kids left.

Bridget is one of them. I watch her tuck her hair behind her ear and bite her lip. She’d been pretty quiet the remainder of the semester, and I tried not to let my eyes wander to her too much.

After that night, bumping into her with Harry, we hadn’t spoken much about it. The hope that was initially so buoyant turned crushing as we faced the reality that the odds were slim to none. That our wishes were just pennies tossed in a fountain, sinking to the bottom of the pool.

Dreary winter days pass by and Harry and I try to keep the seasonal depression away with regular outdoor dates, cozy nights in bed, and seeing friends as often as we could.

On Christmas we go to my parents’. It’s a loud affair as my grandparents and a few cousins join us. After dinner I go up to my childhood bedroom, it’s now a guest room but some of my things still lay around. I open the window, it was cold so I drag a blanket out and sit outside. The street is quiet, I see families in a few open windows and I watch the festivities through them. I feel a mix of nostalgia and an ache that goes even beyond that, like I was missing something.

“Y/n?” Of course Harry would find me even though I’d left the door closed and the window tilted.

“Here,” I say.

“Ah,” he struggles to hoist himself out. “Some things never change.”

“You need help?” I watch him climb on all fours.

“I’m steady,” he grins as he crawls to me. I open the blanket and he gets in.

We sit in silence for a bit.

“It was getting really loud downstairs wasn’t it?” I ask.

“I think your grandma’s in love with Taylor’s guy.” Harry says so bluntly that I burst out laughing. He joins in.

“I feel like old people get to flirt with whoever they want because it’s always harmless.”

“Maybe that’s the case with older women,” Harry grimaces. “Can’t say the same thing about old men now can we?”

“Jesus!” I laugh and then laugh even harder when Harry says: “it is his day.”

By the time I wipe my tears Harry’s gazing down at me.

“Sorry,” I lean my head against his shoulder. “You have to stop being so funny.”

“Nah,” he kisses my head. “Have I never told you how much I like your laugh?”

He had. On a night many years ago on a roof like this.

I go to remind him but he’s pulling away. I watch as he shifts to face my slowly. He pulls something out from behind him and my brain only connects the dots as he starts talking.

“Y/N, this is something I wish I could have done 18 years ago but only feels incredibly right to do now. Especially out here.”

“Harry,” I gasp. When did he get the ring? When had he planned this?

“We somehow found our way back to each other again y/n, and you know I love you more than ever before.” He clears his throat as it clouds with emotion. “Some 18 years ago I told you I knew you, because the first time I ever laid eyes on you my heart knew. You were something special. And I never ever want to spend another moment apart again. So Y/N Y/L/N, will you do me the honour and finally be mine? Will you marry me?”

“Yes!” If I wasn’t sitting on a roof I would launch myself at Harry. I settle for pulling his face down to mine and kissing it. “I’ve always been yours Harry. But yes, of course yes!”

He slides the ring on and it fits perfectly.

It was perfect.

When we go back down my mum knows right away, and if it was loud before it’s absolute chaos as everyone descends on me and demands to know how he proposed and how the ring looks.

“On the roof? When there’s a perfectly pretty tree here?” My grandma asks. Harry and I exchange a look then, trying not to laugh all over again.

We ring in the New Year with friends, as fiancés. I can hardly believe it. Apparently most of our friends knew Harry was going to propose and they all toast to us and our happiness.

Somewhere in mid-January, I drop by my parents’ house to drop off some groceries. That’s when my dad hands me a letter that had been mailed home.

“It came for you, I dunno who thinks you still live here but it looks handwritten.”

I take it from my dad as I say one last goodbye. I barely make it to the tube with wobbly legs. Because somewhere inside I know.

It’s a long and agonizing 2 hours that I wait for Harry to come home. He finds me sitting in the dark; the sun had set while I waited, and I’d been too busy staring at the feminine scrawl on the front of the letter to turn on the lights.

“Hello-y/n, what are you doing in the dark?”

Harry drops his things where they are when I look at him. “Y/n are you alright? Say something.”

I open my mouth but nothing comes out. I just push the letter forward.

He walks towards it. It’s like he hits a brick wall when he puts the pieces together, he halts a foot away.

“What is that?”

“Is was…” I try to swallow so my voice doesn’t sound so hoarse. “My dad gave it to me. It was sent to the house.”

“Is it…”

“I was waiting for you.”

Suddenly he’s in motion. He puffs his cheeks out and lets out a noisy sigh. Then he paces the floor one, two, three, four times before standing in front of the couch.

“We should read it.” I say.

“Yeah,” he deflates into the couch. I want to join him but it feels like my arse has been glued to the chair.

I inch it towards me and Harry nods. He wanted me to read it.

My mouth is parched. I can barely make out any sounds as I open it up. It’s three pages folded in two, the paper itself isn’t anything very special, it’s typed up so it’s literally just ink on paper. And yet it’s worth a whole goldmine.

“Y/n and Harry,” I read before my voice breaks and I bury my face in my hands. Our baby girl had written to us. She had reached out.

“C’mon love,” Harry’s suddenly beside me and his hand squeezes my neck. The touch gives me enough strength to stand with him. He sets me down where he just sat and leaves again, returning with water and the letter.

“Can you read it?” I ask.

He settles in beside me, we touch along every edge of us. The letter sits in between us like our love, our hurting—it’s where it belongs. He begins to read in his soothing voice.

“Y/n and Harry,

I hope it’s okay I’m calling you that. I don’t know if it’s proper but ever since I found out about you two last year that’s what I’ve been calling you.”

Harry lets out a shaky breath and I intertwine my arm through his. He kisses my temple and continues.

“When I turned 15, I asked my mum about you. I started to wonder where I came from. I knew I was adopted for as long as I could remember but it didn’t mean much to me for a long time—I had a mother, a father, and a sister. I had a family so why did I need to know where I came from?

But over the last few years it’s been like an itch I couldn’t get to. See when I was 15, what set it off is that my sister decided to look into her birth parents. They were separated, her father lived in Tokyo and her mother lived in Wales. It took her a year to convince our parents to go to Wales. I went with and I found myself in the home of a woman who looked just like the girl I grew up with. The whole time it ate away at me. I wanted this ending too.

I asked my mum and dad when I turned 15 but they were weird and evasive. I turned my skills to the internet but I didn’t really know where to start.

I felt the missing part more and more as I turned 16. I used to fall asleep thinking about you two, if you were alive, what you looked like, where you were, what you did.

I love my parents. They’re wonderful and amazing, they are supportive and never made us feel like we were anything but theirs. But I wanted to know my background.

On my 17th birthday my parents gave me a letter like the one I write today.” Harry stops reading and takes in a deep shuddering breath. “She got the letter.”

His shoulder shake and he pinches the bridge of his nose. I clench my teeth so I wouldn’t cry too. I wanted to finish this letter. I wrap my arms around him and hold him.

This was unbelievable, what we’d dreamed of. Her words, in our hands.

“Here.” I take the letter from him and continue. “Let me read it.”

Harry stays hunched over, so with my hand on his back I continue, “in it you told me how much you loved me. How much you loved each other, your families, where I came from. And Why you had to give me up. For a better life. I saw the picture of you, and I felt broken and complete at the same time. I realized I was the same age as you in the photo, I had to meet you but I was terrified. And I didn’t know how.

I spent a year agonizing and looking through every google page I could find about you. I learned a lot! But I needed to meet you.

I don’t know how to do this. I’ve made decisions that may not have been the best but I’ve left my number and a picture of me when I was 5 in the envelope.

I hope you call.”

With shaking hands I turn to the third page that has one of those polaroids taped to it and a phone number in the same handwriting as the envelope.

“She’s beautiful,” Harry says while tears continue streaming down his face. I can’t even hide mine anymore.

She was beautiful indeed. She had his eyes, and her curly locks in a deep brown frame her chubby face. She had my nose, she looked a little like my sister as a baby. A scatter of freckles over her cheeks confirm it. She was ours. Our baby had reached out. We knew what she looked like.

“We need to call her,” I say. “We need to meet.”

“Yeah,” Harry wipes his face. “We…we need to do this carefully. It’s delicate right?”

I wanted to call her right now but what would I do but cry into the phone? No, I had to wrap my head around this. Harry was right. “Right.”

“She’s out there,” Harry turns to me. “She wants to know us. Y/n she wants to meet us! She saw the picture I-“

“I can’t believe it,” I whisper. “Our daughter wants to—did she leave her name?”

We open the letter and flip over every piece of it but her name is nowhere.

“Maybe she didn’t want us looking her up?” Harry offers.

“Maybe she has an awful digital footprint.”

Something about it makes us laugh and we can’t stop. But pretty soon it shifts back into tears and we’re left holding each other on the couch, tender and content and anxious.

Our daughter had made contact. Would she like us? Would she be mad at us? What did this mean for us?

The thoughts continue to spiral the rest of the evening. We don’t make much of an effort, we reread the letter and try to get dinner in us. We face each other as we try to fall asleep, whispering questions into the darkness. The darkness doesn’t answer, it grows heavier as does the night, and we fall asleep for the first time in our lives knowing the weight of a decision so long ago was a tiny bit lighter.

***

It’s a few days later. All I’d been thinking about was the letter, when I woke up, at work, during my commute, during breaks, when I went to bed.

It sits on our dining table, we glance at it as we pass by. It becomes part of the decor, three pieces of paper and an envelope. It’s so much weightier than that.

I come home from my lecture on Wednesday, a slight buzz of anxiety humming in the background. It wasn’t unusual for Harry and I to get busy at work and not talk the whole day but today Harry had been radio silent. He hadn’t answered my texts or phone calls in a very un-Harry way.

I walk in to Harry sitting on the couch in the dark, staring at the coffee table. On it sits the letter.

“Hey,” I don’t even take off my jacket. I slide next to him. “Is everything alright?”

“Hey,” he whispers. He stays frozen sitting forward, elbows on his knees, head cradled in his hand.

I wait for him to speak, to say something about what was going on. I rub my hand over his back and he glances up. I tip forward until our foreheads touch. “What’s going on in that brain of yours? Let me help you.”

“It’s a lot,” he whispers. It tears me in two.

“Hey,” I remind him. “Just one day at a time. Let’s just talk about today.”

“I want to call her so bad,” he leans away and buries his head in his hands. I wanted to call her too, I’d been waiting for Harry to give the cue since I knew I could be rash and impulsive about something like this. But something was going on with him.

“We will.”

“We gave her up. What if she hates us?”

“She wouldn’t have written us that beautiful letter, or sent a photo, or left her number if she did.”

Harry sniffles and then asks what he really wanted to, “what if she hates me.”

“Harry look at me,” He unfolds slowly and I make sure he’s looking at me. “You’re her father, you’ve carried her with you for the last 18 years. You love her. She wants to know you. Why would she hate you?”

“I’ve fucked up so much!”

“You’re not your mistakes.” I remind him. I get teary eyed as I feel the echoes of his insecurities. I’ve thought about it too: what if I didn’t meet her expectations? “She’s not going to see you and see every good and bad decisions you’ve ever made. She’s just going to see her father—her biological father, and see where she got her eyes from and her hair from and every other quirk she has.”

“You’re not worried?” He asks, looking at me with grief.

“Of course I am,” I confess, tears leaking out of my eyes damnit. “I’m so fucking worried. But my curiosity overtakes that, my love for her is what I’m focusing on.”

“I love her,” he says.

“That’s all that matters.” I cup his face and press a reassuring kiss to his lips. “That’s all she’ll care about.”

Harry untangles himself from me and my heart sinks. He paces the length of our living room a few times, running his hand through his hair.

“We really should talk about the letter,” he says.

“Yeah. I know. I want to call. Badly.”

He pauses. It’s like all the anxious energy drains out of him at once. He sits back down beside me.

“What do we do?” I ask

“How about Saturday? She’s probably going to be home then right? No school—if she’s in school.”

Two days. Two more days of agonizing over the letter.

At this point the letter is memorized, seared into my brain like I had an exam on it. I want to know the person behind it.

When we wake on Saturday it’s a cloudy day. I don’t take it as a bad omen.

We sit with our phones out after breakfast, just staring at everything before us.

“You should do the talking,” I tell Harry. “I’m too nervous.”

“I think you should.” Harry says. “She sent the letter to you.”

“Only because that’s the address my mum gave…gave her mum.”

It hits me again in another wave I try not to drown in. She was eighteen, she’d lived a whole life with a whole family. There was everything of her we’d missed out on.

“Please Harry?” I was already overwhelmed with the realization. I just couldn’t.

He watches me, must hear the desperation in my voice, and slowly pulls his phone forward.

It rings, and rings a few more times. When it goes to voicemail he turns it off.

“I didn’t think that was an option,” Harry says and we laugh. It feels good.

“It’s only 10 maybe she’s asleep. Try one more time?”

He pulls my phone and tries again but it still goes to voicemail.

We sit there, unsure of what to do. We agree to try again later, in the afternoon.

But around half past 12, while Harry’s working in our spare room and I’m scrolling through my phone, it rings. I don’t think much of it and pick it up automatically.

“Hello?” It’s silent on the other end. “Hello?”

I wait, but as I do it dawns on me. Who called me?

I check my phone screen and swipe through as I say hello again. I match the number. It was her.

I run to Harry but the phone is still silent. I wave the paper with the number saying hello again.

“Is this…well you never gave us your name. But we got your letter. We’re so gl-“

The line goes dead and so does my heart.

“You called her again?” Harry whispers, his brows furrowing as he stares at the phone.

“She called.” I think about calling her back but that was pushy. She was backing out of this.

All of a sudden I feel myself giving out. I catch myself against the wall and slide down.

“She’s backing out. It must be…too much for her.”

Harry stares at a spot on the ground, a million thoughts flickering through. Finally it settles on acceptance. He sighs.

“We can’t force her to talk to us,” he says softly what I already know. But his words are like a saw to my resolve and I just start crying. He gathers me in his arms but the grief feels endless. It felt like she was slipping away again; I’d lost so much and I lost her again. She had been so close. How could she do this? Why did she reach out if she wasn’t ready?

Questions without answers. More of them piled on top of the lifetime of questions I’d built for her.

I know Harry feels the weight of them too. We carry them together. That’s the only reason I hadn’t broken yet.

But I come close to it that day. We don’t hear back from her. And we don’t try to call her back. It didn’t feel right.

It killed me she was so close. And something changes inside.

For weeks I feel like I’m on autopilot. It’s like my first semester of uni all over again.

Harry tries his best to keep me together but he struggles too. It makes me feel worse I was taking the bigger hit, not being there for him as much as I wanted. But life feels like a a million blankets covering me.

I try to keep my usual momentum for my classes, but I’m always exhausted after. It pulls me deeper into my sadness, something I loved made me so tried.

It’s a Thursday at the end of the semester and I’m marking exams during my study hours when there’s a light knock on the door.

I’m surprised to see an old student.

“Bridget,” I wave her in. “Come in, what can I do you for?”

“Hi professor-“

“Call me y/n, I’m not teaching you anymore am I?”

“No,” she says with a stiff smile. The last time I saw her was in February, I’d spotted her with Philippe and a few other friends at a local coffee shop. She had been explaining something to one of her friends from a textbook.

Now her hair was short and more pronounced with waves. I wonder if she styled it, her longer hair had been pin straight.

“I had a question?”

You already asked it, I want to joke. But she was usually wound up so I knew it wouldn’t land well.

“What’s that?”

“Um, well.” She perches on the chair and I wait patiently for her to continue. “Are you taking any applications for TA next year?”

I wasn’t expecting that. She always found a way to take me by surprise. I stare at her for a few seconds, trying to remember what year she was in.

“Aren’t you in first year? If I do TAs they’re usually 3rd or above.”

“I know,” she tucks her hair behind her ear. “But seeing that one of my majors is in econ and my gpa is really high, and I did well in your class, I wondered if you would consider me?”

I hadn’t done TAs since my first year of teaching. I found I liked the work because it got me more familiar with the class.

“What’s your other major?” She had said one of them was econ.

“Sociology, I’m pre-law.”

Ambitious. “Why TA for my class?”

She balks as she meets my gaze. There’s something that flits through her face that I can’t quite read before she drops eye contact.

“Um, I really enjoyed it. I did really well. I think you’re super smart and would learn a lot by TA-ing for you.”

“I don’t give special lessons to my TA,” I let her know. “You’d typically attend some of the classes, mark assignments, and maybe teach exam tutorials, and have office hours of your own for students.”

“I’m okay with that.”

“Why should I pick you?”

She pushes her shoulders back, “I’m responsible, dependable, I submit all my assignments on time and have experience teaching.”

“Teaching?”

“I used to tutor when I was in high school. I didn’t really get an allowance so I found a way to support my hobbies.”

“What are your hobbies?”

She blushes a little, was she still nervous? “I love reading, books are expensive.”

I nod. For Harry’s birthday I’d told him he could get any books from Waterstones and it had been over £100 for 3 only.

“I also enjoy cooking. And um, it’s been a while but my friends and I sometimes go to like. Do you know comic con?”

“Yes,” I’d seen things online.

“Yeah we liked to dress up for that sort of thing. We used to make our own outfits and usually the cost varies depending on what you’re making and how realistic you want it and…” she trails off as I smile. She was really enthusiastic about it. I couldn’t help it.

“Tell you what. Leave your number with me and I’ll think about it. I haven’t had a TA for the last few semesters but I am going to take this into consideration.”

“Really?!”

I laugh. “Yes. Really.”

“Um…” she starts to fidget again. “Can I leave my email? I’m getting a new phone soon so I-“

“Sure. Anywhere I can reach you.”

I expect her to get out a pen but she says it verbally and I type it out.

“Um, are you alright?” She asks out of the blue after I type in the last letter.

“Alright?” I raise my brow.

“I mean, you seem…I just heard, um.” She tries to backtrack but I ask her again and she spills. “Some people just said your last few classes seem scattered. Not that people don’t like you. I just…that’s what they were saying. And I don’t know if having a TA would help? And I just wanted to ask if you’re okay sorry I shouldn’t…it’s none of my business.”

God, this girl was so awkward. But she was sweet for caring, I think. “You’re not applying for the role because you feel bad that I seem…scattered right?”

She blushes. “Sorry. I think I said too much.”

I want to laugh but it strikes me that my students had noticed. I’d let it affect their learning. It didn’t feel very good.

“Life’s hitting me hard recently,” I tell her simply. “But I’m alright. Thank you for reaching out Bridget.”

As I finish up the semester I think about her. It wouldn’t hurt to have her TA for one of my lectures, see how she does. I didn’t care for TAs as a lecturer but something about her is compelling and I find myself emailing her in the middle of the night in June. She responds back a few minutes later,

Thank you!!! You’re the best. I’ll do whatever you need just tell me I can do anythingggh

Sent from iphone.

I laugh to myself as I put my phone away and go back to bed. My guesses were she was drunk at a party.

Harry’s asleep beside me and I reach out to touch his back but think better of it. He’d been busy at work with a project nearing its deadline and I didn’t want to accidentally wake him.

I turn around and try to drift off, thinking about my daughter, about how Harry and I hadn’t really talked much in the last two weeks, about my teaching, and my new TA.

Age 38:

It’s a depressing summer. The air of dashed hopes still hangs around Harry and I. It’s less thunder clouds and more of a fog.

One weekend morning, it’s one of those mornings that start off heavy. I can’t get out of bed, but I hear Harry pattering about doing his weekend morning thing. I hear the dishwasher turn on, and soon after he walks in with our laundry folded in a basket. I feel awful as I normally do, but not awful enough to get up and do anything about it. I think I’d have to feel less awful, to do that.

I don’t expect him to get in beside me once he’s finished putting everything away. He smells like laundry and shampoo, I must smell like rot and decay.

“Y/n,” he says gingerly. I just look at him in response. I felt too heavy to even reply. He sits up and calls my name again.

“Mm,” I say.

He sighs. Despite months of this Harry’s been nothing but understanding but this morning seems different.

Suddenly I’m being pulled up by my shoulders and I find myself sitting up in bed.

“Y/N,” Harry says again. I fold my arms as the duvet slips down and the cool air raises goosebumps. “I love you, which is why it’s so hard seeing you like this. You have to get on, my love. We have to move forward. It’s been months.”

All I could remember after our daughter hung the phone up on us was when I almost got to hold her. Right after she was born, I almost got to hold her but they took her away. And that piece of me that followed after her was nearly returned. It was that almost that was a death blow.

“It’s hard,” I feel myself tear up. It was hard not to these days.

“I know baby,” Harry scoops me into him. “I know. It’s hard for me too but we have to get better. We have to live our lives. She’ll come back to us, I just know it. She’s scared, we’re hopeful. Fear’s gonna keep her away. Hope keeps us patient.”

I cry into his shirt and he rocks me.

“I’m sorry,” I say into his shirt.

“It’s alright,” he grips the back of my neck.

So for Harry, for us, I try to get back to myself. I start to pick up my outdoor hobbies, I try to keep conversations going with Harry, I reintroduce my multi-step night routine. I look forward and re-light the candle of hope, even though I ache to blow it out before it can burn down to its wick.

My wounds inside stay tender.

We had booked our wedding for November and as the days approach we find ourselves with one thing on our mind.

Harry and I finally talk about it.

“I always thought she’d be there at the wedding once she reached out.”

We’re sat in an outdoor space near King’s Cross, coffees in hand as we people watch. We’d just come back from a cake tasting and neither of us felt like going home with such a glorious August day. Kids splash in the water sprinklers and couples sit around arm in arm. I touch shoulders with Harry unconsciously.

“Me too. I think that’s what’s kept me from mentally committing to the fact that the date is coming closer.”

“It can’t be forever,” Harry says. “She reached out. She just needs time. She’ll call again one day and we’ll meet her.”

“I know.” I lean my head on his shoulder. This was a realization I’d also been slowly digesting. I’d waited 18 years, what was a few more months, another year? Her baby picture lived on our fridge, at least we were one step closer.

And the love, I had to remind myself in these moments. Hold onto the love.

***

“I can’t stay for this class,” Bridget tells me. It’s the second week of classes and there were still 10 minutes until it officially started.

“Is everything alright?”

“Not really,” that’s when I notice her nose is red and her eyes are too. “My um, my parents had to put my dog down. She…she wasn’t feeling well yesterday and the-they found cancer? And she was in a lot of pain but she never showed it? And-“

I put my hand on Briget’s shoulder and lead her to the exit. There was no reason for the whole class to see this.

“Sorry. I’m-“

“Don’t apologize.” I rub her shoulder. “I understand. Take the time you need I have this covered.”

True to her word, Bridget had been a loyal TA over the summer. I considered it a trial run not expecting much but she had shown up, aced marking, and I’d gotten good feedback from the students at the end of the semester.

I’d also taken to her. She’d join me during my 2 hours every Monday and when no students would come she would loosen up. She’d told me all about the dog she grew up with, she showed me costumes her friends and her made, I’d asked her about the books she was reading and the classes she was taking. It was like having a younger sister again, except I was mature enough to appreciate her.

“I didn’t even get to say goodbye,” Bridget says and this statements seems to be the breaking point. She curls in on herself, shoulders shaking. I don’t even think, I just pull her into me like I would for Harry, for Taylor, for any of my friends.

“You have a lifetime of memories with her,” I hold her. At first she stiffens up and I almost let her go but she only breaks down further and wraps her arms around me. Tighter than I expected.

“I wish I said goodbye,” she says into my shoulder.

“I know hon,” I squeeze her against me, something maternal washing over me. “I know.”

After a minute or so she regains her composure, wiping her face with her sleeve. When she looks at me she looks so much younger, her face grief-stricken and regretful.

“I’m sorry-“

“Don’t be.”

She seems to want to say something more but whatever it is, she swallows it and takes a step away.

I don’t see her for two weeks and I miss her.

When she walks into the lecture the first week of October I try not to rush her but I’m overjoyed seeing her face. It had become so familiar to me.

She smiles shyly when she walks up to me and I pull her into a hug. This time she doesn’t stiffen.

“How are you?” I whisper. Students were still trickling in so I use the time to catch up.

“Okay. Better than that day I cried all over you sorry again. I went home last week, thanks for letting me take it off.”

“Of course. You forget I’ve been doing this without a TA before you. I can hold down the fort.”

She cracks a smile, her dimple making a rare appearance.

“By the way, week 10’s lecture is supposed to be cancelled.” I tell her later during office hours. “But I wondered if you wanted to hold a tutorial that week for some of the material?”

“Really?” A light comes on in her eye. It’s fiery and bright with excitement.

“Yeah! You know the material! I’ll leave you with slides and you can go about teaching them.”

“I’d love to!” She grips her laptop close to her. “Wait why is it cancelled?”

“I’m getting married that week!”

The light dims. Or maybe I imagine it.

“Oh! I thought you were married already?”

“No,” I’d referred to Harry as my partner any time he was brought up. “We’re getting married in November. You’ve met him actually, kind of, that night we ran into you and some students at the pub. Last year?”

“Oh yeah I remember,” she says but her eyes are somewhere else. “So you’re getting married?”

“Yes Bridget,” I laugh. “Married. Tying the knot. You alright?”

“Yeah,” she blinks and she’s back. “You never mentioned the wedding. Do you have a dress?”

“Yeah! Just finalized the tailoring last week. Most things are ready, we’re just finalizing the rings!”

“Cool!” She fidgets with the hem of her shirt. “Is it in London?”

“Yeah, it’s not too big but we didn’t want people travelling too far. This is where Harry and I were born and raised so this is where we want to marry too.”

“Wow,” she seems lost in thought and she stays pretty quiet the rest of the time. I didn’t realize my news was that surprising.

Maybe I still didn’t have Bridget completely figured out.

***

“Harry I can’t pick them up! I need to get home and then head back out to class!”

“Y/n it’s on your way home!”

“Not really! It’s a 30 minute detour. Why can’t you do it?”

“Because you can still get to him right before he closes. I won’t be done here until after he closes. I’m sorry love!”

“Agh and why can’t he do tomorrow?”

“He’s off until Saturday! We need it today.”

It’s the Wednesday before we marry and our rings are still at the jeweller’s. He’d finished them last weekend but we’d been so busy with other things we hadn’t had time to pick it up. And now it was either today and be late for class, or the day of the wedding.

I had gotten delayed at work and missed Harry’s texts explaining the situation. I’d only responded while on the tube, but going out of my way for 30 minutes meant I’d be 30 minutes late to get back to class. And since I’d left marked assignments at home that the kids needed for next week’s tutorial, I had no choice but to head back.

The idea hits me at once.

I hang up on Harry and ring Bridget. She picks up right away.

“Bridget, I’m on a crazy tight schedule. I’m going to be late to class by half hour at least.”

“Oh no. Is everything alright?”

“Yeah it’s just wedding thing but can you do something crazy? And feel free to say no okay?”

“Okay?”

I explain to her that if she rode to my flat, Harry would be there by then and she could pick up marked assignment. She can delay class by taking them up.

She’s silent but eventually I get a yes. “Okay. Can you text me your address?”

“Yes! Yes. Thank you Bridget. I owe you your trip fare and lunch or something. I’ll text you now, leave as soon as you can!”

I call Harry again and confirm he’d be home by the time she arrived. Everything works out.

I get the rings, and have to head home so Harry can try his on. The jeweller was expecting both of us, and let me know he couldn’t do adjustments if I didn’t text him by today. Just my luck!

When I get to the flat I tell Harry not to read his inscription but to try it on and thankfully it fits.

“Hey,” Harry calls out as I try to rush back out the door.

“What?” I was out of breath and frantic.

“Slow down,” he pulls me into a lingering kiss and despite being breathless before, I get some air into my lungs when we part.

“Sorry, so hectic.”

“I know I’m sorry,” he strokes my cheek. “I would have gone if I could make it. Also don’t be mad.”

“Be mad?” I let go of the door handle. “What did you do?”

“Your TA stopped by, Bridget. I forgot she was coming so I didn’t have your papers ready. I invited her in and she was in the living room looking at our pictures and she stopped in front of the baby picture. Of our daughter.”

“Okay,” did Harry tell her our history? I get antsy. “And?”

“Well she asked if that was our daughter. And I didn’t know what to say, if you’ve said anything to her? I panicked?” Harry runs his hand through his hair. “I just changed the subject.”

“Okay, that’s not bad. What’s the bad part I don’t get it?”

“Well. I changed the subject and told her she should come to the wedding.”

My jaw drops. “Harry.”

“I know! I know I’m sorry! I know she technically works for you, she was a student, all that! You’re so fond of her though maybe it’s not a bad thing?”

“Harry that’s…she was my student! I’m a prof at that school I…is that even allowed?”

“Yes? I panicked and googled it.”

I groan, “I swear you’re getting worse the closer we get to the wedding.”

The other week he had tried to buy out a whole bakery in case there wasn’t enough cake for our guests.

“You can tell her we have a full guest list? I don’t know what came over me! She just looked at me with those puppy eyes and she asked about the picture and I tried to talk about something else but the only thing on my mind-“

I kiss him. Just to shut him up. I was getting really late.

“This is like that book club you were tricked into joining all over again-“

“Hey I really like that book club now! It might be a good thing!”

“We’ll talk later.” I shake my head at him. “It’s fine, it’s not a big deal. It’s weird but what’s one more guest?”

“I also said plus one.”

I let out a long exhale and then kiss Harry again. I didn’t want him spiralling while I was gone.

“Baby don’t worry, it’s okay. I’m fine with it. We’ll talk when I get home?”

I mull over it on the ride to uni. But I can’t find a way to uninvite her without it being awful. I text our wedding planner if we could squeeze in two more seats and she gives me the thumbs up.

I did have a soft spot for Bridget, and technically I’ve known her for over a year now.

During office hours, we get a few people in for the first half hour. Then we’re back to just the two of us.

“Thanks for taking over today,” I tell her. “I really appreciate it.”

“That’s alright. Happy to help out.”

An awkward silence slithers in.

“So my partner invited you to our wedding.”

“Yeah! I didn’t know if that was serious am I…?”

She looked so hopeful I couldn’t shoot her down. “Yes! I have a couple people from the faculty coming. And some colleagues from my day job. You’ll probably have to sit with them but?”

“That’s fine!” She’s chirpy Bridget again. “I’d love to. That would mean a lot.”

I watch her as the smile stays on and she gets out her phone, typing away. Maybe her friends, her plus one.

I realize I’m not entirely against it. It had happened, and I was okay.

***

I stare at myself in the mirror, smoothing down my dress in a nervous habit. I never thought I’d get married twice, I always thought after Tatum I was done with marriage, but Harry would always be the exception.

I feel a flutter of nerves thinking about him. Walking down the aisle to him. We started talking on a rooftop one day, we had just been two kids.

“You better not cry,” Taylor threatens as she walks into the room. She had gone to fetch lash glue after my teary eyes loosened an edge.

“I’m not,” I say weakly.

She stands beside me in the mirror, “They’re all waiting downstairs.”

Just 30 minutes ago this room had been a chaotic mess. From my mum, to my friends, to the wedding planner. I’m kind of glad my lash came loose, I’m able to ground myself in these few minutes of silence.

Taylor talks about our family downstairs as she fixes my face. I get up with her help and she beams, but her eyes look misty.

“What is it?” I ask.

“Nothing!”

“Why do you look sad what happened?”

“Oh my god calm down, I just can’t believe you and Harry are getting your happy ending! I’m just…emotional.”

“Aww,” I cup her face even though I want to squeeze my baby sister against me. But my white dress, although not entirely traditional, would be ruined for the ceremony.

A ping on her phone—mum. We rush out. It feels like getting caught when we were younger and quickly getting away from the scene of the crime. I grip my sister’s hand until I stand in front of the doors leading down the aisle.

I don’t remember walking, it felt more like floating. Even if there was a chimpanzee and a talking dog in the pews I wouldn’t have noticed. My eyes are locked on Harry’s teary ones, they anchor me as I glide towards the man I’ve never stopped loving. Who always saw all of me.

When he reaches for my hand I grasp it and I know I made the right decisions. Even the painful ones. After all, I wanted to be nowhere but here.

“Y/N,” Harry reads his vows to me and I try not to cry as he sweeps me away with his delicate words about our love story.

“To be so deeply known by another, without even saying a word, shouldn’t make sense and yet with us we have a language that goes beyond words. A brush of your hand or a look in my direction, it can be enough to unload whatever burden I’d just been carrying. I promise to do the same for you, and to never end this dialogue between us. To love you and to cherish you forever.”

Harry couldn’t keep the tears in and they slide down his cheeks as he reads his words out to me. I reach out instinctively and brush his tear away and he laughs because I was doing it again.

“You’re can’t make me cry in my makeup,” I tell him and our guests laugh.

I had sat and thought so hard about my own vows. In the end after 50 versions, I’d settled on short and sweet.

“Harry, when we first spoke on the rooftop of that party in high school,” I say at my turn. “You told me everything you wanted. One of them was to make the world a better place. And I don’t know if you still want those things as much now as you did then, but one thing is true. You’re made my world a better place. I can’t imagine doing life without you. I love you with all of my heart, there’s no equation that could calculate how much.”

Harry grins at me and my breath catches. My man, he was my Harry.

We finish our vows with a kiss and a lot of noise from the crowd. When we turn to everyone I’m struck by how lucky we were.

The absence of our daughter was tough but when it came to love we had an abundance of it. I see it in every smiling and shiny face in the crowd. It’s like photographing a sunny day with one of those old school films, the sun is covered by a dark spot but the rays still wash everything in gold.

Harry squeezes my hand and I look up to him. He’s already looking at me.

He holds his hand up and lets out a whoop before he pulls my face towards him again for an even longer and borderline inappropriate kiss. I feel myself start to blush in front of the crowd.

We start down the aisle and this time I beam at every guest I catch eyes with.

My mum and Harry’s wave with tear-streaked faces. My friends from high school shout out, always the biggest supporters of our relationship. I catch eyes with Bridget, forgetting for a second she was here. Philippe is beside her, but what’s surprising is her blotchy face. I didn’t take her for someone who got emotional at weddings. I throw her a wave and she smiles through the tears.

Whoever ordered weddings to have a small break between the ceremony and the reception deserved a billion dollars. Harry and I spend the quiet moment doing our outfit change but afterwards we hold each other and let the moment sink in. The day sink in.

“We’re married,” Harry whispers when I tell him we should get going so we weren’t late.

“We took the long way to get here didn’t we?”

“Yeah,” he tucks me under his chin again and even though we would be late we just sway together for a little while. Our own private first dance, before the one for our family and friends.

“We did it all quite backwards actually.” I look up to him.

“Yeah, but we were never ordinary.”

“No, and I don’t think anything we’ve ever done is either.”

“Including our kid. I really wish she were here.”

“We’ll tell her all about it one day,” I promise him. His face eases into a loving smile, the fact that we’d made it to a place again where I can comfort him about this said a lot. Said we’d make it through everything, despite.

“I don’t want to do life with anyone else y/n, I have everything I need right here.”

“Remember that day at Whole Foods?” I remind him. “The first time we bumped into each other.”

“It’s a core memory,” Harry remembers. “I feel like the sun never set on that day. Getting to see you after all those years…it’s cheesy but it felt like coming home.”

“Yeah,” I nod. “Me too. I recognized you by the back of your head did I ever tell you that?”

“Stared at it enough in maths, of course you did.”

“That’s probably why I did so poorly that year remember,” I laugh. “Just staring at the back of your head.”

“That’s why I never sat anywhere but in front of you.” He swipes lightly down my nose and I smile. “Now I get to see every angle of you whenever I want.”

“Oi,” I slap his chest. “Save it for tonight.”

He brushes my cheek. Under his gaze I’m stripped naked. There was nothing to hide with him, ever.

“I understand how long it took you to get ready,” he says in his deep silky voice. My stomach flips. “So I can’t do anything right now. But y/n, our wedding night will turn into a wedding dawn, and then to day again. I promise you.”

I tip-toe, even in my heels, and brush my lips along his cheek. In his ear I whisper, “I don’t expect anything less.”

I step away, feeling unravelled by the look of desire in his eyes. I’m sure I had the same look of want. But before we can give in to what we wanted to do, I open the door to our suite and embrace the gust of cool air.

“You should get some air too,” I say and he laughs, following me behind.

***

“Bitch!” Taylor comes up to me on the dance floor later that night. We had dinner, Harry and I had our first dance, there’d been toasts and tears in between. I was finally letting loose as the wedding party crowds the dance floor. We had been taking pictures all night, after this next glass of champagne I was going to call it quits on photos lest anyone captures anything that’s not an elegant bride.

“What?” I turn away from Harry to face Taylor. She’d been running around all day making sure my wedding day was perfect and seeing her just warms me with love. I squeeze her against me despite her protests. “I love you Taylor. Thank you for everything!”

“Ugh c’mon,” she wriggles out. She’d never been very affectionate.

“Where’s your bloke?” I look out for him.

“He taking a call. Anyway don’t change the fucking subject!”

“What subject!?” I ask as someone dances past me, fluttering their fingers in my direction. I blow them a kiss.

“C’mere,” she’s annoyed I’m distracted. She drags me off to the side and I hold a finger up to Harry as he watches us. “When the fuck were you going to tell us about her? And you invite her to your wedding and everything and nobody knows anything!?”

“What?” I was drunker than I thought or Taylor was making no sense. “Wha?”

“The girl you just took a photo with? Don’t act stupid Y/N jeez I can’t believe it. You hid it from me when it happened but why are you still hiding…”

My sister grows more upset as she talks, I realize it was serious. Taylor rarely allowed herself to get this worked up in public.

I put my hand on her shoulder but she shakes it off. I think hard about who she was talking about. Who had I just taken photos with?

Some of Harry’s friends took a picture lifting us up, then there was a photo with my cousin but that can’t be who Taylor was talking about. There was Andie, a few other friends and their partners, then Bridget and Bridget and Philippe.

Bridget.

“Wait what are…who do you think that is? Taylor I work-“

“Your daughter! Why are you still acting fucking clueless!”

“What’s happening?” Harry walks in mid-way into the conversation.

“God you too!” Taylor turns to him and hits the back of her hand on his chest. He rubs the spot and stares at her like she’d gone crazy.

“Me too what?”

“Harry?” His mum walks up to us, her brows pulled together the same way Harry’s does when he’s confused.

“Yeah?”

“Who’s that girl? With the brown hair? Purple dress?”

She’s eyeing Bridget who’s laughing with Philippe.

“Bridget?” Harry glances at me and Taylor grows more pink.

“Bridget? That’s her name?” Taylor blinks away tears. “Really y/n? I get when it happened I was a child, you and mom kept it from me. But she’s, you invite her to you-“

“Invite who?!” I shout. What the hell did Taylor think.

“Y/n,” Harry puts his hand on my lower back in warning.

“Your daughter?” Taylor says with teary eyes and a look of betrayal on her face. “That’s your daughter isn’t it? She looks just like…”

“Jesus I thought the same thing,” Anne looks at all of us. “Harry?”

“That’s not-“ he stops talking and we all look over at her. I had to say, right now she really could be. With her hair curled and wearing what she’s wearing. She could be family.

“She’s my TA. I’ve known her for a couple years guys I’ve bloody taught her. That’s not our daughter. She wasn’t even supposed to be here tonight? Harry invited her last minute.”

They all turn to look at me. Taylor looks miffed, she bites her lip as she looks at her one last time.

“That’s weird. Nevermind.”

She leaves like she didn’t just make a big scene. Anne covers her hand with her mouth and shakes her head. “I’m sorry loves, I didn’t mean to upset anyone-“

“You didn’t do anything,” I reassure her. Taylor did. And she couldn’t even say sorry.

“Don’t worry mum,” Harry pays her arm. She fades into the crowd and Harry stands in front of me so all I see is him. “She’ll get air, she’ll be fine.”

“But how could she just cause such a big scene like I’d hide something like that from her? On my wedding day! And then leave without even apologizing ugh! She is still such a brat sometimes!”

“I know, she’ll apologize later just let her be.” He knew Taylor enough. He knew her at 13 and he knew her now. That’s exactly what she would do. “We’re getting you a shot.”

“That’s the last thing I need! I’m already kinda tipsy Har.”

“This won’t tip you over c’mon. Shake it off.”

He leads me to the bar and we take a shot. I nearly spill half of it, it was awful whatever it was. I lose Harry as we get back to the dancing and end up behind Bridget instead. Philippe noticed me first and slows his dancing, which signals Bridget to turn around.

“Y/n!” Her smile is so bright it hurts to look at. It dims as I just stare at her.

It would be crazy. It was a big fat coincidence. She had a mum, a dad, a sister, she told me all about them. Her childhood dog and the time she twisted her ankle playing football in year 4. She wasn’t who we wanted her to be.

“Are you alright?” I read her lips. There’s only ringing in my ears. “Hey! Y/n!”

Philippe is suddenly on my other side and I’m being led to a chair. He disappears and Bridget pulls a chair beside me.

“What’s,” my voice sticks and I clear my throat. “What’s going on between you two? He’s your date?”

“Philippe?” Bridget’s brows draw together and I can’t stop looking at where they meet. I knew her. I didn’t know her. I was too afraid to ask. “No just friends.”

“That’s not the way he’s looking at you.”

“What?” She tucks her hair back. “No we’ve been friends since high school. It’s not like that?”

“What would you do if he got a girlfriend?” It was a random conversation to have, here and right now but it helps me from tumbling anywhere else. Especially into a pool of what-ifs.

“I’d,” she shrugs but a flicker passes through her face, for a second her jaw clenches. “Be happy for him.”

“Liar!”

“I’m not! Why are you asking?”

“You two like each other. I see the way he looks at you when you’re not looking. Why did you invite him tonight?”

She shrugs, picking at something on her arm. “I dunno. He’s good at being a plus one. He always supports me? He’s always been there for me.”

“Sorry,” he shows up with a glass of water. “I swear the guy behind the bar was ignoring me.”

“Thank you Philippe,” by now I didn’t really need the water but I hold the icy glass in my hands. “Let’s see the pictures you took. I want them in my inbox or something soon. We don’t get our official photos for months.”

“Oh yeah here,” Phillipe hands over his phone after opening the photo. There are a couple of all of us, and then a few with just Bridget standing between Harry and I smiling.

I look between all three of us and feel something in my gut. But it’s too scary and big to unpack right now. I shove it away. I couldn’t do this. Not today, not tonight.

“You look beautiful Bridget,” I touch a lock of her hair. “Did I already say that?”

“Yeah,” she smiles awkwardly. “You said that before the photo.”

“You do. And so do you Philippe. Thank you for attending my wedding.”

“Thanks for inviting us,” Bridget looks at me wide-eyed, like she’s about to say something but when Philippe’s hand lands on her shoulder she looks down.

“What?” I ask anyway. Her eyes dart like prey to me, to Philippe, and down to her hands. I grab her hand and force her to look at me, like I could read something in her eyes. Like I would know. “Bridget.”

She looks up and her eyes well with tears as we look into each other’s eyes. My throat feels tight like I was having an allergic reaction, it travels down to my chest, I inadvertently feel myself squeezing her hand.

“I’m so-“

“Bridget,” Philippe’s voice cuts through whatever Bridget was going to apologize for. I look up at him and he’s burning a hole staring at her that hard. Over his head I see Harry.

“Oh look I see my husband,” Harry’s spots me too, relief in his features. His eyes stay on my face as he walks towards me and his eyes keep my steady. I want to tell him something, but everything that just happened was so non-verbal and unreal that I think I made it all up. I must be because this was insane and there was no explanation other than I was drunk, and sadder than I realized. “Gotta go kids. Have fun. I think I need another shot.”

I remember the rest of the night in snapshots. I forget myself later, giving myself up to Harry after that. We actually make it to dawn in a mixture of love and declarations, filthy words and I love yous, laughter and deeper conversations. It’s everything we were. It’s just like he promised.

***

Life moves on and I don’t bring anything up to Harry. I couldn’t, either I’m wrong and get his hopes up, or he thinks I’d gone insane in my sadness.

I feel like Bridget avoids me the week after, I return to class and she sits there, even takes questions after class, but she makes an excuse of studying during office hours and I barely get a few words with her. The week after she has an exam and she skips out after class.

I’m antsy. I want to know more about her; from her. I’m tempted to find a way to access her profile, get more info via the school. But I wait.

Harry notices, as we prep for our honeymoon booked over the holidays, he continues to ask if I was alright. And I try to convince us both I was.

About 3 weeks after the wedding, it’s a Saturday afternoon. Harry’s making lunch and I’m sitting in a pile of our books trying to decide what can be donated.

“Can you get that?” Harry asks.

“Hm?”

“The door?” He says just as there’s another knock. I’d been so entranced in the book I’d randomly started reading a passage of I hadn’t even heard.

I scramble to get it before the next knock and nearly stumble back when I find Bridget at the door.

“Hiya,” she says with an awkward wave.

“Hi…Bridget. What…come in what’s going on?”

“Sorry? Now that I’m here I should have called first.” She comes in and I go further in, waiting for her to follow. She hesitates before peeling her wet boots off.

“Harry? We have a guest,” I announce as I take her further into the home. I guess she’d already been here once before. “Bridget what can we do you for? Did you need something?”

“Bridget!” Harry pops out of the kitchen into the adjoined living room when we get closer. “Nice to see you again! I’m nearly done lunch, did you want to stay?”

What was it with Harry randomly inviting Bridget to things that were not pre-discussed.

“Um, I no. I probably shouldn’t. I just, came by to talk?”

“Sure,” I lead her to our dining table. “Is it about school? Did something happen?”

I sit across from her and Harry mumbles something, turning the dials down on the stovetop before sitting beside me.

Bridget’s eyes dart everywhere, from me to Harry, to the pictures on the wall, the kitchen, the books all over the floor.

“I was just doing a clearout,” I say to fill the silence. “Hey you like books right? Look through that pile there later if you want any of ‘em.”

“Actually,” she tucks her hair behind her ear. I feel Harry tense beside me. “I have a book for you.”

She leans down to where her tote rests and pulls something out. She lays it on her lap first, where we can’t see it. When she looks up to us she has tears in her eyes and her chin quivers.

“Please,” she whispers before pausing. My stomach drops as I take her in. Her face is blotchy and her hair hangs around her face, hiding half of it. She’s definitely cried before coming here, and I almost feel like deja vu as she places the book on the table. “Please don’t hate me.”

She slides it across to us. It’s just a simple leather hardcover, about 30cm by 30cm. The thing in my gut, the suspicion or the intuition, it turns into a cackling ball of energy and moves up to my sternum. I put my hand over it, and then move it to Harry’s leg. He’s frozen like a statue, staring at the book.

“Please open it?” Bridget says with tears streaking her face.

When Harry doesn’t make a move I pull it the rest of the way towards us. I open the first page to a few baby pictures.

I’d never held her in my hands, never even saw her. I’d pushed her out into this world, into another’s arms. But somehow I know who this is.

“Bridget,” I don’t even look at her. I start to frantically flip through the pages. The baby grows, 2 months, 6 months, 1 years old. Another girl joins in some photos, she always has an arm around the other child. I flip and flip and flip and even though I’m expecting it the photo stops my breathing.

I stare at the clone, or the original, of the photo on my fridge.

I’m frozen until another photo is slid towards us. It comes into view: two teenagers on Halloween night. The guy is dressed like the girl, the girl is dressed like the guy.

I throw my chair back and in the time it takes to walk to Bridget she stands too.

“I’m so sorry,” she sobs but I just do what I wanted to do the second she was born.

I hug her. I hold her to my chest the way I never got to over 19 years ago. She belonged here. She never got to be here.

She was finally home. My daughter.

“Bridget,” I cry into her hair. Harry’s hair. She had Harry’s hair, his eyes. She got my nose and everything else. I was holding my daughter. She was in my arms, finally.

She really did look like Taylor as a baby.

“I’m sorry,” she cries again. “I was so scared and I screwed up and-“

“No.” I say fiercely. I push her out of the hug so I can grab her face. I wipe her tears and I nearly cry again. How many tears had I missed? Over skinned knees, playground taunts, first crushes and friendship breakups. How many tears had I missed? “Don’t say that. You’re here. You’re—Harry!”

I turn to him, why wasn’t he here?

He’s sat exactly where he was before. Frozen, staring at a spot between the picture of us and Bridget.

I let go of Bridget and move back to him.

“Baby,” I touch his arm and he springs up. Tears coat his lashes.

“‘Scuse me,” he brushes past me and heads out into the hall. Away from us. I want to go after him but I don’t want to leave Bridget—our daughter, alone.

“I’m sorry I knew I would ruin things I-“

“Please,” I want to go after him so bad but I go to Bridget and pull her into a gentler hug. When we part I keep hold of her shoulders. I never wanted to let her go. “He’s just processing it. He’s fine. He’s not mad at you I promise. Promise.”

She bites her lip, it reminds me of Taylor. She was a bit of everyone I knew and loved. She was the love that Harry and I always had. She was ours.

“I just got so scared when I tried to reach…I didn’t mean to deceive you. I didn’t. I felt terrible every day.”

“It’s okay,” I tuck her hair behind her ear. “There’s nothing to be sorry about-“

“But I saw you,” she cuts me off. “After I finally called you back and then just like, ghosted you. And every time I saw you at school it was like…I knew I was to blame. And it made me want to tell you even more but I got more scared any time I came close to it. I almost said it at your wedding—it would have been so stupid. Philippe stopped me.”

“I understand,” I did. I also didn’t care about any of it. She was here. That’s all I cared about. I wanted to know everything about her, I needed Harry here though. “Look Harry…your…Harry. I’m just going to check on him. You stay here and just…”

I trail off and leave. I had to be sure he was okay.

He’s not in the bedroom, or the office. I try the door to the toilet and it opens, he’s sitting on the edge of the tub with his head in his hands.

“She leave?” He asks in a hoarse voice.

“Oh baby,” I crouch in front of him. “No. She’s still here but I just wanted to check on you.”

“I’m pathetic,” he buries his hands in his hair. “I’ve been waiting my whole adult life for this and all I do is freeze. Her first impression is of her dad just freezing and then running away.”

I try not to laugh at his dramatic retelling. “Har you know that’s not true. She’s known you before this. It was a shock-“

“You were fine.”

“You know I…always suspected. Especially after the wedding.”

He looks up at that, finally. “You never said.”

“Harry, I felt crazy. Saying it out loud would have forced me to check myself into the psych ward. We all react differently, it doesn’t matter though. Our baby girl is here. The day we talked about!”

He takes a deep breath, and then another one. I guide him to stand and he looks so limp and sad that I squeeze him in a hug. “She doesn’t care how you reacted. She just wants to know you.”

Harry sighs again, he splashes his face with water and we walk out. I was nervous for him.

We walk back into the living room and my heart sinks when Bridget isn’t there. But her things are?

A few steps further and she’s at the stovetop, stirring a pot.

“Oh sorry,” she steps back and nearly throws the spatula into the pot. “It was boiling a lot and-“

“Bridget,” Harry ignores most of what she’s saying and she freezes at the sound of her name. He’s a foot away from her now. I watch him raise a hand to her face and then drop it. His face is a cross between heartbreak and awe as they drink each other in. I wait in anticipation.

“Hi,” she finally says shyly. But it breaks the ice. Harry pulls her into a hug and she returns it tenfold from the looks of it. I can’t tell who’s crying, but I give them their moment as I turn the dials off on the stovetop.

It was just a regular Saturday, except it wasn’t. Our worlds exploded with our past and was putting itself back together again, all the old broken pieces were being mended back together with love. My chest drowns in it, I can barely breathe. In Harry’s arms, there’s no denying she’s ours.

***

“Thank you,” Bridget says as we tuck into dinner. Harry’s lunch prep had gone cold as we’d all sat down and talked about how Bridget found us (looking me up, finding out I was teaching a course she was interested in, forcing her friend Philippe to take it to see if I was who she thought I was), and going through her album. I found out more about her sister Louisa and her parents. It was weird seeing pictures of them, in my mind they were the people that took my baby as their own and for Bridget they were mum and dad.

We finally decide to do something about food when our stomachs rumble. Harry goes back to cooking, showing Bridget what he’s doing until she leaves to take a call. I recognize Philippe on the caller ID.

I take Bridget’s place but I’m more of an extra weight tied to Harry’s back as I hug hun from behind. We don’t even have words on what this all means to us. For now, just touching each other keeps us grounded, it keeps is in what was happening together.

Bridget comes back from the call when we’re nearly done.

“I just want to say I am sorry—and I know you said not to be,” Bridget says quickly before I can get a word in. “But I never meant to deceive the both of you. My plan was to take your class, leave the letter and then talk. I Googled you so much it felt like I knew you. Yet when we spoke in your office that day, you felt familiar but In a different way than the person I studied. I just liked you so much, and I wanted you to like me. I was scared maybe you wouldn’t. So I just screwed the plan and messed up everything.”

“Hey,” Harry hands her a tissue and she takes it. Under the table he squeezes my hand. “It’s in the past.”

“I know. Still made me feel awful. And I couldn’t tell you but I also couldn’t stay away. I applied for TA and, it felt like having a friend and a sister and a mentor all in one. And I…I screwed up. I took it too far. And then you invited me to your wedding—I got to attend my parents’ wedding! It was so absurd. I couldn’t stop crying.”

Sounded like me. But I don’t say anything. We listen to her attentively.

“I only told my sister. I wanted to tell you two before I told my parents.”

I think about my parents. Harry’s. I didn’t want to overwhelm her but I couldn’t wait to introduce her to everyone that already loved her.

“I just hope…no, I know I hurt you two a lot. I didn’t mean to. I am really sorry about it all.”

“Bridget,” Harry’s hand comes down on hers. “What’s done is over. There are so many things we wish we did differently but ultimately it’s all done. All that matters is you’re here, now. You’re our daughter we never got to meet and you’re finally here.”

Harry’s voice cracks on the last word and he sits back and laughs away the tears. “Sorry. I’m a mess today aren’t I? Your first impression of me is a crying mess.”

“That’s not my first impression,” Bridget laughs but her eyes also fill with tears. “That night at the pub. When I saw you two together I nearly bloody fainted! When I looked you up y/n, there’d been an old wedding registry with another bloke. But then seeing you two together?! I just couldn’t believe it—I thought I dreamed it. And then I nearly cried because my bio parents were somehow together?? And the way you just stared into my soul it felt like you knew who I was.”

I laugh, remembering but also knowing exactly what look Bridget was talking about. “He does have a piercing look doesn’t he?”

“Yeah. It could gut someone!”

“That makes it sound awful!” Harry laughs. “Don’t say that.”

“It nearly gutted me! I really thought oh shite—“ Bridget freezes and looks between us like we were gonna scold her for swearing and I nearly leap across the table to hug her again then. “I uhm, I thought you knew who I was.”

“We thought it then,” I let my eyes roam over her. I realize I’d always been a mother, despite not having my daughter. Holding her earlier had awoken an instinct in me and now every time I look at her I feel a rush of love and something fierce. I wonder if Harry felt it too. “But we thought we were mental!”

Her phone chimes as we laugh. She flips it around and then tucks it into her purse.

“You need to take that?” Harry asks.

“No it’s just Philippe. He was at the wedding? I was just talking to him, I hadn’t texted him in a while he wanted to know how it went.”

“Philippe,” I say with a knowing smile. Bridget blushes and Harry asks what he’s missing out on so I fill him in.

“He sounds like a good lad,” Harry comments.

“A good lad?” I repeat. “Are you hearing him?”

Bridget laughs behind her hand and I can’t stop staring at her. I have to force myself to go back to eating.

“He is. I might have told him about how I felt?”

“Wow,” I put my fork down. “You’re confessing an awful lot lately.”

She blushes even deeper. And suddenly I’m grateful of the weird and layered way she’d come into our lives. Despite hiding the truth, it had allowed us to get to know each other as people first. Without any baggage or give me any inclination to fit who I thought she should be onto who was in front of me.

I got to know her for the young woman she was first, so did Harry in a way. And I would be forever grateful for that despite all the pain in between.

“Sorry,” I get up. The affection was overflowing from my cup. “I’m going to give you another hug because I just can’t believe all this.”

“Ohh,” Bridget stands to meet me and we wrap our arms around each other. Here was a girl I already knew, here was my daughter waiting to be known.

“God, she really is our daughter.” Harry quips from his side of the table. He explains when Bridget looks over at him, “y/n is known to be a big touchy person, I’m kinda like that too.”

“Oh my god,” she smiles at us. “I’m like that too! My sister hates hugs. My dad’s 2 pats on the back man, 3 if he’s feeling a lot. I always wondered if…”

She trails off. It seems to hit all of us all over again every so often. For me it’s when she talks about her mum and dad and it’s not Harry and I. The reminder that she went 19 years becoming her own person that we now were catching up on.

For her, it seems it was realizing all the parts of us that were in her.

“You got Harry’s hair, and eyes.” I comment.

“I did! I realized that as soon as I saw a photo online. But I do look a bit like you.”

“You do! I should show you some younger pictures of us and our families. You’ll see more similarities.”

“Wow. So you have a younger sister. How about you Harry?”

“Older sister. Seems we all have sisters.”

Bridget and I make eye contact, remembering a conversation we had what feels like ages ago about having sisters.

We continue our dinner, swapping stories and filling her in on anything she wants to know. She leaves after, claiming to have to get back home, she had an exam on Monday to study for.

When she leaves Harry and I can’t stop talking about her. Or gushing would be more accurate.

“Did you see the way she laughs?” I’d tell him. “Pure you!”

“The way she tucks her hair back,” he would retaliate. “Just like you. You did that especially back in secondary.”

We talk until we’re exhausted, crawling into bed just staring in wonder. There were still so many details to figure out, so many things to cover, it could drown a person thinking of it all.

But like an anchor in the sea, Harry and I fall asleep with hand clasped together. We keep each other buoyed amidst it all.

It was going to take time for this all to sink in but all I’ve ever had was time, and questions. I think I was finally getting time and answers.

Age 39:

Harry’s pov: Having our daughter in our lives is simple and complicated at the same time. At first there were a lot of things to untangle but as time went on, the knots loosened until our lives became their own knots, tangled into each other.

Meeting her parents, the people I met once many years ago, was likely the strangest part. They already felt so familiar as soon as they greeted us in a warm embrace, as if we were there own children. I guess the last time they saw us we were.

“Oh look at you,” Bridget’s mum had squeezed us tight. Her dad had pat us three times and we took it to mean as much as a hug.

In my mind they were always the age they had been then. They were probably around the age we are now. Seeing them sport greys and fine lines, it was like stepping into a time portal.

Lou, Bridget’s sister, eyes us for the first little while before warming up and sharing all kinds of stories—especially the embarrassing kind with us.

When Bridget meets Y/n’s family, I can tell they’re loud and overwhelming at first but we’re all surprised when Taylor embraces Bridget and takes to her immediately.

She brings out old pictures they had of Y/N and I, but every time she says, “your mum and dad…” when she talks about us through the pictures, I notice y/n protesting less and less.

It makes me feel funny, I keep thinking I was going to wake up and find out it had all been a dream.

“This feels very full circle to me,” y/n’s mum says. She’s watching Taylor talk about her baby bump—she was 3 months along. “I saw Bridget as a wee baby when they handed her over to her parents. I remember running late to hospital and making it to the room just in time to see it. I blinked and now she’s in my living room!”

“Sometimes I feel the same way,” I confess.

My family is slightly quietier but they all fuss over our daughter. They ask a million questions and when it’s all over we take Bridget for ice cream. It’s a pseudo-recreation of a life we never had.

Bridget eases into it too. At first she had bouts of disappearing on us. No more than a couple days. But we give her space, understanding it was overwhelming.

Every time I see her, I see her mum—y/n. I was never there when y/n gave birth. We had to drive up from London when we got the news and by the time I got there the dust had settled.

I never even had the potential of seeing her. I’d always been more sympathetic of y/n; her loss had been physical, mine was slightly more abstract.

Even though I’d spent every year since regretting that I wasn’t there to at least glimpse her, I’m glad now I hadn’t been there to see her. If I had to live the last 18 years with this feeling in my chest I don’t think I could have lasted that long. I don’t know how y/n did it. It’s a concoction of deep unconditional love, and tenderness, and recognition, wrapped in a shell of protectiveness. It took me a while to sort through it all but I had a conversation with my parents one night at dinner Y/n and I had visited. And they’d laughed because they had told me that was simply what being a parent was.

“Maybe she regrets it,” I had said the second time she ghosted us. Really it had just been over a day where she hadn’t gotten back to us. But I couldn’t help the overthinking, being tuned into any potential of loss with our daughter.

Somehow, y/n was the cool headed between us two in these moments. Maybe it was being a mum, maybe it was knowing Bridget beforehand, but she was very in sync with her.

“She needs space. The last thing we want her to be is overwhelmed too. Now don’t overwhelm yourself love, at least she’s in our lives.” She’d say.

It takes us the start of the summer and all those meets later for Bridget to finally feel at ease.

We invite her on a road trip, we were renting a place in the Cotswold for a few days and told her to bring Philippe. When she doesn’t even hesitate to say yes Y/n tells me we’d done it: she was finally more comfortable than overwhelmed.

“Y/N made me a better man,” I say after a couple drinks. We’re all sat around a fire outside the house. Despite it being a warm day of hiking the night had cooled significantly and we’d decided that boozy hot cocoas was the way to go. “I’ve lost my ways a lot of times as an adult. But she’s always been my north star. Even when we got back together she led me to being sober and getting my shite together.”

“Oh…” Philippe looks down at his drink. “Are you…”

“No,” I laugh, Philippe was the most-conscientious teen I’d ever met. “I got sober to get my life in order. But…it’s in order now. I haven’t done anything crazy for over a year now.”

A little before our wedding I decided I wanted to end my sobriety. It had been a thought for months, and I had waited before giving in. But I really felt more in control of my life. I faced my life decisions head on, I confronted my past with y/n’s help, and I didn’t think I’d lose control again. It had been a shaky first week but I was right. It was a proud moment for me.

“You two really have something special,” Bridget comments.

“They do,” Philippe adds. “I can’t believe you got your happy ending after so many years!”

“Yeah,” y/n says as I lay my hand on her thigh, palm up. “Y’know what they say about loving someone and letting them go.”

“I guess you did that with me,” Bridget says so quietly we almost don’t hear her. But out here in the countryside we do.

“We didn’t want to,” I remind her.

“No I know.” She smiles, it’s a bit sad. Philippe tugs her closer. I could see how much he cared for her in that small gesture. “I’m not saying it like that. I hear your story and I just imagine how different my life would have been if I was raised by my, by you two. I wouldn’t have this life. And I really like this life.”

She looks at Philippe and I feel y/n squeeze my hand. She often said they reminded her of us when we were younger; the kind of love you’d do anything for.

“But you two loved me enough to let me go. To let each other go. It’s fucking sad but it’s beautiful. Life’s weird.”

“Here here,” Y/N raises her nearly empty cup of hot cocoa. “Life’s weird, sad, beautiful, but lately my life’s been full of so much love. I wish I could sell all the excess, I think I could solve a lot of world problems with it.”

“Wow,” I lean over and kiss the top of her head. “That’s one hell of a speech.”

“I have a speech,” Philippe stands, a little tipsy, and clears his throat. Bridget rolls her eyes but they shine for him. “Bridget you’re the love of my life. Since we were 13. But Harry and Y/N, I think I love you too. Ever since we were 15, I’ve watched Bridge struggle for answers about her past. And you two have given her all the answers, welcomed her—and me actually, into your lovely life. I’ve watched her become old Bridge but even more confident. I’m falling harder for her these days. And I can’t thank you guys enough.”

“Aw Philippe come here,” y/n lets of my hand to walk around and give him a hug. How quickly strangers became family.

Bridget grumbles about being left out and joins the hug. Soon I join in too. I want to create a mold of this moment, I think as I squeeze them against me, I’d make it out of plaster and let it dry. Any time we wanted, we could always find our way back to this moment here.

Age 40:

Y/N and I watch our daughter cross the stage. Beside us are our parents and in front of us sits Bridget’s parents and her sister. She has a whole army cheering for her. This was the first milestone event we could all really show up for, and show up we did.

“I can’t believe this,” I was so proud of her. I know the kudos went to her parents, and herself, but I beam with pride. Honestly Bridget could spin in a circle in front of me and I would be a proud dad.

“We need to get photos,” mum leans over and says so seriously, as if we hadn’t planned on getting a million already.

We have a framed picture in our hall, Y/N and I on our wedding day, our daughter in between us. Her graduation photo is definitely making it. She makes fun of this wall, calls it the Styles hall of fame, and I never mention it but she always lingers a few second longer in front of the photo of the three of us.

I do too.

“It makes me so sad you won’t be so close to me anymore,” my mum tells Bridget later. We’re all piled in our flat, drinks and celebratory cake in everyone’s hands.

It reminds me of mine and y/n’s 40th birthday, we had gathered our family and friends here and it was some of their first times meeting our daughter. Today is more intimate, and focused on Bridget.

“I know it makes me sad too, but I’ll be here often, visiting Philippe.”

“Only visiting Philippe?” I raise a brow.

“Is there someone else I’m supposed to be visiting?” She mirrors my raised brow.

As Bridget’s gotten more comfortable, me and her could banter for hours if you let us, it’s one of those things that brought us closer together—having the same sense of humour. It’s allowed us to have just as deep heart-to-hearts, a handy joke always close to the surface.

Y/N always says seeing me like that, thoughtful and silly, reminds her of the boy she fell for. I can’t deny that I’ve been feeling closer to my 20 year old self than my 40 year old self lately.

“She’s too cheeky,” Bridget’s mum says. “But I have to say I’ll be glad to have her back.”

Lou, Bridget’s sister, was moving to Wales. Apparently she wanted to know more about her background, and take a trip with her bio mum to visit her bio dad.

I think Bridget was moving back to Coventry to keep her parents’ loneliness away; she said she would commute to Birmingham for school. Even though she got accepted into law schools in London, going to a uni close to her parents just showed me how close she was to her parents. It was a bittersweet feeling.

“I’ll have somebody to watch cricket with again,” her dad says.

“Ohh,” Bridget throws her sister a side-eye. “I love cricket…”

We all laugh at her complete lack of concealing her true feelings.

Later that night, it’s just Bridget’s parents and us. The kids are on the balcony talking.

“I know we’ve said it before,” I say after a long silence. We’d just been watching the kids talk and laugh outside. “But I want to say thank you again.”

Bridget’s dad shakes his head. “It was the greatest pleasure of our lives getting to raise those two girls.”

He looks over at his wife and they smile at one another. Seeing them interact, I’m grateful that somehow fate had led us to them. While Y/N and I were figuring life out, while I fucked up a lot of things, she was raised on a steady and stable foundation.

“She’s incredible,” I murmur. “She’s gonna be a lawyer. She’s going to change the world.”

“She sure will,” her mum says. “We should be thanking you two. For giving us Bridget. I know it wasn’t easy, you told me you thought about her nearly every day. But we can’t imagine our lives without her.”

We sit in a comfortable silence, looking out at the kids until they notice and start to ask questions through the glass.

“She’s happier,” her mum says smiling at Bridget and Lou exaggerating their words through the glass. “She stopped being like this before she left for uni. We thought we lost her but…I think everything worked out for the best.”

Y/N glances at me. Her eyes crinkle when she finds me looking at her first, her eyes steady me as she says what I was thinking, “I think so too.”

Age 45

Your pov: “When did she say she would be here?”

“6?” Harry says for the tenth time.

“It’s 6:20 do you think something happened? She hasn’t texted has she?”

“My love,” Harry puts down the cutlery he was arranging on the table and holds my face in his hands. “They’re driving from Coventry, they probably hit some traffic.”

“Maybe I should call her?”

Harry sighs and squishes my face.

“Don’t! You’ll make more wrinkles.” I warn.

“I love your wrinkles,” Harry kisses my forehead right where the pesky wrinkles had been growing deeper over the last few years despite the additions to my night routine.

Harry always said our wrinkles were just the stories of our lives showing through. I told him to get himself undereye cream.

“You don’t think I’m aging handsomely?” He strokes the moustache he started growing last year. At this age, even I couldn’t deny it made him even more attractive.

“Well it’s no good if you’re ageing handsomely and I age like a troll.”

“I will love you if you age into a troll.”

“But will you love me if I turn into a worm?”

“Do you even have to ask? I’d buy you the best soil and keep you in a beautiful pot.”

“You wouldn’t take me fishing?” I ask. He sighs. Last year while we were taking a trip up north for Lou’s wedding, we’d gotten into a fight and when I asked him the question while he was still stewing he said he’d take me fishing. It had, ironically, broken the iciness of his anger and we’d laughed about it so hard he’d nearly had to pull over.

“I wouldn’t do that to you,” he wraps me into his chest nearly suffocating me.

I’d spent half my life with a lot of difficulties, but life now felt easy compared to it. I had the privilege of getting older with the man I adored, got to watch my daughter flourish as an adult and a lawyer, watch her get married to the love of her life, and all the while live comfortably in the heart of this city I called home.

When Bruno starts barking though, I gasp and push myself off of Harry, “that’s them!”

Bruno continues to bark as I rush to the door. We’d got him a couple years ago as a pup and I can’t believe it had taken us that long to get a dog. He filled our lives with laughter and long walks. We loved him.

“Down.” I say to him. I open the door and hold my hands out while Bruno runs in circles beside me.

“Ahhh sorry we’re late!” Bridget steps into my hug and I tug Philippe’s hood so he can join. Bruno goes for Philippe when they walk in, he’d gotten obsessed with him after Philippe took care of him while Harry and I took an anniversary trip last year.

“Where are my hellos!?” Bridget says to Bruno and he barks, standing on his back legs to paw at her leg.

I hadn’t seen the two of them since March, that was 6 months ago. It had been their wedding, and they’d gone on a month long honeymoon after that, after which Harry and I had taken time off to road trip around Europe with Bruno, and then time had just zipped by.

After a hearty dinner, Harry and I carry out the birthday cake we’d been hiding.

“You didn’t have to do this!” Bridget fans her face but we treat it like we do any special occasion, plus making up for all the ones we’d missed. We get photos and exchange presents, she cries reading the cards and the whole time she says she had a present for us.

It’s a small bag, Harry and I guess that it was something for Bruno but when we take out a box it doesn’t sound like much when we shake it.

“Is this a prank gift? There’s nothing in it?” Harry asks.

“Open it!” He was making me antsy.

“You open it,” he hands me the box. Bridget and Philippe stare intently at my hands.

I undo the bow and slowly open the box. There’s a small square of tissue paper, and then a piece of paper. I remove both but something catches my eye.

I flip the paper over and stop breathing.

“Is that-“ Harry stops talking too. We stare at the piece of paper in our hands. It looks so much like one I had held 28 years ago. But it’s not.

“Bridge,” I look up at the couple. The parents-to-be.

“We’re having a baby,” Bridget says. Philippe and her are gripping hands and I throw everything off of me to launch myself at her.

“A baby!” I hear Harry say and joining us. “You’re having a baby! Y/n!”

“I never thought we’d be grandparents,” I look up at Harry.

“Those wrinkles were coming in for a reason,” he teases.

We never did have any other kids. Quite frankly, neither of us wanted any. When we first got together we were just starting to get comfortable with the reminder that we had a daughter out there and we could talk about her freely with each other. It felt like having a third person in our little family.

After Harry proposed, while we planned our wedding, we talked about it but we never thought it felt right. We both had first marriages where a lack of conceiving had just put a strain on the relationship we didn’t think we needed. We’d also felt like it was betraying something, before we met our first child.

When Bridget did reach out, it became about catching up on lost time. And then with her in our lives we knew what we suspected all along. We had each other, and that was enough. Bridge was our bonus. And getting to be aunt and uncle to our nieces and nephews it was enough. It was a full enough life.

We never even dreamed in our 20s we’d get to be parents and now we would get to be grandparents! I never realized until this moment that I wanted this. Really wanted it.

“Do you know the gender?” Harry asks.

“No,” Philippe answers. “We were thinking of doing one of those reveal parties? But not for a couple months.”

“Wow,” my hands drift down to Bridget’s belly and I remember I had something. I leap away from the group and find the box in my closet, it’s painted pink with random collages from old magazines. It hosts old diaries, photos, a hospital bracelet, and an ultrasound.

“This was you once,” I show her the picture when I get back. “I carried you like that once upon a time.”

She takes it with teary eyes, holding it close to her face to make out the shape of her. She hands it to Philippe and grabs my hands.

“I’ve thought about it before, but when I got pregnant I couldn’t wait to tell you-“

“She kept telling me I had to make a trip out to London just so she could give you the news.” Philippe interrupts, eyes scanning the ultrasound still.

“No really,” Bridget laughs. “I did. It’s like I got this new perspective.”

She puts my hands on her belly and covers mine with hers. I feel everything at once then, all the heartbreak I ever went through to get here.

“I can’t imagine giving this baby up. And it’s barely 3 months. What you were willing to do to give me a better life-“

She breaks off and Philippe squeezes her shoulder. I watch my daughter try to gain control of her emotions. I remember when I was pregnant with her, anything would set me off.

“It must not have been easy. After carrying me like this for 9 whole months. Thank you-“ she looks up to where Harry’s standing. I barely register his hand on my shoulder. “Thank you as my mum and dad, for making the hardest decision I can imagine ever making, so I could have something you knew you couldn’t provide.”

I reel my tears in, save them for later that night in bed while Harry holds me tight against him.

Right now I kiss my daughter and tell her what a good mother she will make. I tell her and Philippe how proud I was of them, how excited, how wonderful this was.

Age 46

The day we meet our granddaughter is seared into my brain. We get the call at 8:35pm, Harry and I were staying in a B&B in Coventry despite Bridget’s mum insisting we stay with her. We’d been here all weekend, booked it all week, not wanting to miss Bridget’s delivery date.

“Y/N she’s here,” her mum whispers into the phone. Her voice is filled with joy and giddiness. “She’s here.”

“We’re coming,” I say. Harry’s already at the door and we rush out into the night to see our granddaughter.

She has the perfect little face, and when she finally wakes up I gasp when I see Harry’s eyes looking back at me. I turn to him, to see if he noticed, but he’s teary-eyed and gazing at the baby in awe. I soak it in for a second, imagining this exact look if we’d kept our baby so many years ago.

Bridget’s parents had given us the room, to give us a moment alone, and I can’t be more grateful. Bridget encourages us to hold her and as her soft body is pressed into my body I let out a sob and hand her over to Harry. I excuse myself and step outside the room.

Lou’s kids sit on the floor outside, playing with whatever toys are spilling out of a miniature backpack. I focus on the flashy colours, trying to calm down, counting the number of toys falling out.

My life was a 180 from 10 years ago. This moment would go down in our history books as one of the best days of our lives.

But I can’t deny the bittersweet. The experience threatens to push me into the bitter past of not even getting to hold Baby Bridget. But with it comes an undeniable sweetness of getting to experience this now.

I take a deep breath and walk back in. Harry and Bridget stop mid-sentence and turn to me. Bridget’s face is streaked with tears, Harry’s looks concerned but I smile. He sits with the pink bundle to his chest and I ache.

“Don’t look so obvious you were talking about me,” I try a joke.

“Are you alright?” Bridget asks.

“May I hold her?” I ask in return.

I sit on the edge of the bed and she’s placed in my arms; she’s perfect. Just as perfect as Bridget must have been.

“She’s got Philippe’s hair,” I gently stroke the wispy blonde strands.

“She’s got my eyes, her grandpa’s eyes.”

I look at Harry. And he catches the stricken look on my face when Bridget tips forward and whispers to her baby.

“Look baby, this is your mumma’s mum, and your mumma’s dad. You’ve got his beautiful eyes. Say hi to grandma!”

My throat tightens. “Bridge.”

She leans away, her eyes dart between us. “I know I call you Y/N and Harry. It made it easier at first but…you are my mum and dad. Even though I have another pair. You are my mum and dad. And I want her to know you like that.”

“Oh love,” Harry leans down and kisses the top of our daughter’s head. She keeps her green eyes trained on me, grasping my hand that’s wrapped under her baby’s.

I mouth a thank you, my voice couldn’t pass through the block in my throat. She squeezes my hand and it sets the baby off. Remembering when my nephews were this young, I just hand her back to Bridget knowing she only wanted her mum.

Harry and I stay in the waiting room. We couldn’t go home, even though we had spent our allotted time we had inside the room, we stay there.

We watch Lou’s kids as Bridget’s family gathers in her room. We stay as they fall asleep, draped over us. I remember when Taylor’s kids were this small, they would fall asleep anywhere.

We talk in whispers, I don’t remember what about exactly. Mostly how excited we were. How there was so much to look forward to. How different our lives looked a decade ago.

“One day we’ll tell our grandkids,” I remember Harry saying. “We’ll tell them all about us, how we met, how our love burned so bright it shone in the sky. We lost each other but our love was always there to guide us back home.”

“We’ll see them grow up, all the memories we missed.”

“We’ll change diapers.”

“We’ll change diapers,” I giggle, half-delirious by the lack of sleep. It was probably 2am and I was tired.

When I gaze up at Harry I remember him holding our granddaughter. I replace her with Bridget. For a minute I allow myself to imagine how that would have been.

“I think you would have made an amazing mum if we did things differently,” Harry whispers into my hair.

“You too.” I whisper back.

“An amazing mum? You think?” The edge of his lips tug upwards.

“Harry,” I warn. We had kids sleeping on us we were trying not to wake.

“I love you.” He says in response. “To the stars and back.”

On our drive home I can’t stop looking at him. I always wondered how it would be like to grow old with someone; when I was younger and watch my own parents celebrate anniversaries. And then when I was older and my first marriage was so rocky.

But thinking about it now is like a simple mathematical equation. You take two lives, two individuals, and you bracket them in love. You add an exponent—the decision to continue choosing each other. And you get a lifelong commitment. No matter the situation, no matter the challenges or the changes, you choose to choose each other.

His side profile lights up by an oncoming car. For a second he’s the same boy I feel in love with, a few more gray hairs, a few more wrinkles, and a moustache. But he’d always be the boy I followed out to the roof, who held my hand in our high school hallway, the one who turned an I into a we when I got pregnant, I see the man I had coffee with after a run-in at the Whole Foods, I see the broken heart from a harsh life sitting on the steps of a church, I see a bookworm, I see a father, a husband, and now a grandfather. I see the one person who knows me like the back of his hand. The one I am home with always.

“What is it?” Harry asks as we pull into our b&b. “Have you been asleep this whole ride or have you been staring at me?”

“Staring at you?” I ask. “You think I was staring at you the whole ride?”

“Well you were really silent. And facing me

“I was thinking.”

“About me?”

“Why are you so desparate!? Do I not show you enough love regularly?”

“I could always use more,” Harry looks half asleep as we reach our door.

“The people are right: you give someone a hand and watch as they take the whole arm,” I tease.

“When you gave me your hand, I made you a wife.” Harry retorts.

“Ooh,” I poke him. “I have to say that’s a good comeback for being half-asleep.”

Harry grins back. “You keep me sharp.”

“And you keep me happy. Now open the door so I can stop freezing out here!”

We walk into the warmth of our b&b.

For so much of our lives, our past decisions haunted us. We let so much go. Now life was repaying us, returning it all back, with interest.

***

In a small b&b in the middle of a town called Coventry, two lovers crawl into bed. They’d just become grandparents and they carry an exhausted buzz about them as they try to fall asleep. They’re both thinking of the other, of their daughter, of the tiny bundle they held in their arms today.

Some 20 minutes away their daughter lays in a hospital bed, an exhausted buzz putting her to sleep. She dreams of her mother who gave her up, how she had found her parents in the end, and dreams about the kind of mother she’ll be.

A few doors down lay her newborn daughter, she doesn’t dream of much, not yet, but she’s in for a lifetime of love.

Most of life is what we made it. Y/N and Harry loved deeply enough to make it.

———————————————

TAGLIST: @quinnwritezz @unknownnbihh @dilfhrrys @umadirectioner @hermionelove @anonymous-91 @meganxfddf

#harry styles fic #harry styles x reader #writingsfromhome #harry styles #harry styles fanfic #harry styles imagine #fic #harry styles angst #harry styles fluff #harry styles series #if you love something #dad!harry #its not my fave but I was getting tired of tweaking it #to shorten it #theres just so much to catch up on #kinda nervous #but also kinda done

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lovelyladyabsinthewrites · 1 month ago

Text

From the Ashes Pt. 37

Pairing(s): Pairing(s): Rhaegar Targaryen x Lannister!Reader, one-sided!Jaime Lannister x Lannister!Reader, Jaime Lannister x Cersei Lannister

Warnings: slow burn fic, changing povs, MC POV, slight incesty vibes, partying, drunk reader, alcohol consumption

Words:

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 3.5 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25 Part 26 Part 27 Part 28 Part 29 Part 30 Part 31 Part 32 Part 33 Part 34 Part 35 Part 36 Part 38 Part 39 Part 40 Part 41 Part 42

Book Two of Dārilaros hen ōrbar se perzys (Heir of Ash and Fire)

Thalina sat in front of you the wooden figures of Balerion, Meraxes and Vhagar. Toys you had grown to love as much as you did Thalina. The fear that had taken deep root in you once Rhaegar left Dragonstone was replaced by a sense of wonder and joy. Thalina knew you needed a friend, at least one, on the foreign island.

The light on your nightstand flickered comfortably, setting shadowy characters behind her as Thalina sat down next to you on the edge of your bed. She smiles at you, long honey brown hair that was normally elegantly braided, hung off of her shoulders. “Tonight I have a gift for you to accompany your story.”

Giddy about your potential surprise, you sit up against your pillow. Waiting expectantly while Thalina opens a drawstring bag. Onto your bedspread, she dumps out its contents and you smile when you see more dragon miniatures like the first gift she had ever given you. Together, along with the three you already had, there were fourteen of them.

“Now, my little one, do you know the names of these eleven other dragons?”

There were a few you could easily name and point to. You insisted that your nannies read you books upon books of dragon history, but there was only so much you could remember at such a young age. It had been quite a while since you had last refreshed on this subject matter.

“Famous Targaryen dragons, of course.” Thalina nods and toys with one that was an off-white color but had a golden chest. “And where did they get such names?”

“From Valyria?”

She chuckled. “Yes of course. But even Valyrians can not take credit for them. You see, these fourteen dragons are named after the Gods of Valyria. The very gods that created the men of valyria created dragons first. And this handsome fellow,” Holding up the one with the golden chest, Thalina names him “This is Arrax. He is considered the father of ancient Valyrian people. No, the gods weren’t dragons, but they did share some physical attributes. The gods have a body like men but also have wings, horns and tails, much like the creatures they created: dragons.”

You loved these late night rendevouz with Thalina. The grouchy septa that was in charge of looking after you didn't much like it when Thalina spoke of the other gods in Essos. You would often hear your septa call them heathens. So Thalina was forced to tell you stories when she knew that old grouch wasn't around to eavesdrop. Her stories always gave you the most exciting dreams. Dreams where dragons still existed and you were lucky enough to ride them.

"It must have been fun to ride dragons." You had mused outloud. "Imagine being able to touch the clouds and go wherever you wanted! I could see Rhaegar at any time if I had a dragon. King's Landing isn't that far."

Thalina chuckled and kissed your brow as she tucked you back in; setting your new collection of dragons on your nightstand. All fourteen lined up perfectly. "Maybe one day when you're older things will change."

Your attendants had rushed you back to your apartments as you held the small hatchling in your arms. Her warmth calmed your rapidly beating heart and tampered the trembling of your muscles. By the gods. . . you had done it. Everything leading up to that moment meant nothing. Training, defeating a darkin, conjuring your own flames for Lightbringer; none could compare to the tiny life you pressed against your chest. Rhiannon’s cloak draped over your shoulders, the burnt orange material covered the little dragon although every once in a while it would flap open to show her beautiful, pearlescent scales along with your bare skin. Ash and smoke prevantly clung to you as your entourage passed through the corridors, your Fiery Hands making the way as if they expected a sudden enemy to pop out from around the corner. You couldn’t blame them or think they were too paranoid. What had happened out there was a miracle, a complete game changer to the history you were forging.

Too shocked to completely comprehend what was happening, you hadn’t even realized that Weles had opened your bedroom door.

Jaime’s protective hand falls onto your shoulder and he guides you inside. A muffled conversation between a red priest and Weles vaguely floated through your ear but you couldn’t discern what they were saying. All you could hear was the small chirps coming from your arms.

Your older brother sits you down and Rhiannon moves around him. “Nuha kosh, are you alright?”

“She’s in shock.”

“Obviously. She just hatched a dragon egg! The first one in centuries.”

Those who were deemed unimportant were shooed out of your room by Melisandre; Sirvart being her muscle to enforce her order. Alizah’s sweet, dream-like voice beckons

Inanna, who had been quietly watching, forward as the small girl was already holding a change of clothes for you.

“(y/n), I’m going to remove the cloak from you now.” Rhiannon gently informs you and you stiffly nod. Tyrion, Jaime and Inniros turn away to offer you at least some sense of privacy. There were still so many voices talking outside of your chambers, you wondered what chaos you had caused.

Inanna’s small shriek seemed to snap you out enough to focus on her as she literally jumped back. On your lap, the dragonling stretches her delicate looking wings. Curiously, the dragon cooed at her, tilting her head at the new person in front of her but not moving from you.

Melisandre quickly swoops in and motions for Inanna to leave. The girl shakingly bows before scurrying out of your room. Alizah follows after her quietly and you hope its to comfort the poor girl.

Presented with a new gown, you shoot a cautious glance over at the boys who had their backs turned to you before standing up and shifting the little dragon onto your bed. She- at least you felt like it was a female- didn’t like being separated from you even if it was just for a moment. The dragonling shrieks and hops around on the bed.

“Already the hatchling is bonded to you.” Melisandre’s red eyes sparkle exquisitely, watching the dragon’s movements with awe. Along with Rhiannon, the two red priestesses help you into a much more comfortable dress that flowed freely and didn’t restrict your movements. They also used a wet washcloth to run along your arms and legs to clean you off.

Nodding once the sunburst dress makes you decent, Rhiannon tells the boys they can turn back around. At that point, Siofra makes an appearance with a pair of shears and hands them to Rhiannon; all while eying the dragon on your bed.

Her bright ember eyes stare inquisitively at Siofra and the others who flitted about your room. Bravely, Tyrion approaches your bed and makes eye contact with the dragonling. His expression was filled with light and wonderment. “What are you going to name it?”

Jaime’s brows furrow and he walks next to Tyrion. “How can you even tell if it's a boy or a girl?”

You admit “I don’t know why, but I feel like this dragon is a female. Just something about her expressions.”

That makes Jaime chuckle a bit and he hesitantly holds out his hand in front of the little dragon. Startled by his actions, she moves back and snaps her toothpick sized teeth at him. Tyrion’s turn to laugh at Jaime’s rejection, your older brother scowls and holds his hand close to his chest. For being so small, the dragon was already showing the fire inside of her.

“I haven’t really had time to think of a name.”

This made Tyrion excited and he could barely contain himself when he asked “Can I choose her name? I’ve always wanted to name a dragon.”

You smile, finally feeling like yourself again and the shock dying down. “Make sure to decide on a good name fitting for her.”

Learning from Jaime’s mistake, instead of putting his hand over the hatchling’s head, Tyrion holds out his hand in front of her so that she may sniff it first. A natural connection was made between Tyrion and the hatchling when she allowed your little brother to gently pet her snout. “Her scales are so warm. Almost hot.”

“All dragons emit a natural heat from their bodies. Hotter than human skin, it could even scald.” Inniros comments out of the blue, Melisandre turn to face him. That was right, both were originally from Asshai so they must already know of dragonlore; secrets and knowledge that no one else knows about. With his single blue eye, Inniros glances at the Red Woman in an almost hostile way that you didn’t understand. Not for the first time either. The darkin, not getting along with the Fiery Hand for obvious reasons, didn’t seem to get along well with the temple’s priests and priestesses. They moved as far away from him as possible and Melisandre appeared to be the only one to tolerate Inniros’ presence.

When there’s a knock at your door, Sirvart leaves her station to crack it open. A brief conversation was carried out before she closed the door once again. “High Priest Benerro wishes to see you before the feast commences. For obvious reasons. And he would like you to bring. . .” Sirvart needn’t finish her sentence. Everyone looked over to Tyrion and the hatchling who was now climbing onto his shoulders. Her snout tussled around his wild hair as she inspected him.

“He’ll have to wait. (y/n) is in dire need of a trim.” Rhiannon holds up the shears that Siofra had handed her.

That’s right. Your hair must look a mess after the flames ate away your long tresses. You lift your hand to feel the choppy, dry ends. The longest piece you found barely reached your jawline. Never had your hair been so short. Vaguely you remember when Thalina was forced to cut off her own luxurious hair because of Viserys. Honestly, you thought she looked even cuter with short hair as it framed her round face better. Her hair curled into ringlets and there was nothing you enjoyed more than decorating her hair with various wildflowers that you found on the hills of Dragonstone.

Once Rhiannon cleaned up your hair, you were escorted to the temple’s chapel hall where the High Priest was attended by several others of his guild. Their whispering voices immediately stopped dead when your presence was made. The dragonling was on your shoulder once more; once she saw you moving away from her, she had quickly clambered off of Tyrion’s shoulder and leapt onto your back.

While your hair was being trimmed, the rest of your entourage had decided to dress themselves up for the upcoming feast that was to be held at sunset. Those of the Fiery Hand, including Jaime, wore exquisite robes and sashes. Siofra had dressed Tyrion in a nice shimmering beige tunic and over it was a burgundy short sleeve doublet that greatly reminded you of the Lannister colors. Both of your brothers looked charming in their outfits. Even Tyrion’s wild hair had been brushed and braided in the warrior style of the Fiery Hand.

The men present in the chapel all at once fell to their knees in front of you making you blush from embarrassment. You weren’t used to such adulation and you doubted it was something you would ever get accustomed to.

Even the High Priest bowed his head low, too old to actually get down on the hard ground. “Nuha kosh.”

Walking down the aisle that the other priests had made, you go up the small steps that led to the main altar. Benerro’s eyes fall upon the small dragon on your shoulder. She flapped her wings slightly to steady herself as you took each step carefully.

“Arlie ēza issare vēttan tubī (History has been made today).” He announces in that alarmingly strong voice that betrayed the feebleness of his mortal body. “Īlva kosh, Azōr Ahaī sigligon, ēza maghatan arlī se ēlī zaldrīzes pār pōja morghon(Our champion, Azor Ahai Reborn, has resurrected the first dragon since their extinction).”

The priests held up their hands to the vaulted ceiling, raising their praises in loud chants of jubilation. It startled your hatchling and she moved closer to the side of your neck and face.

In the Common Tongue, Benerro personally addresses you. “While this is certainly cause for celebration, unfortunately it also means we must address the safety of both you and the temple.”

You frown. “What do you mean?”

“The news of what has happened today has already spread. Many witnessed your miracle firsthand and have been quick to tell others. Some priests have voiced their concerns. There is fear among them that this news will bring upon assaults on our temple in order to acquire your dragon. While our Fiery Hand is strong, against another larger army, they could not possibly defend the temple properly. Which is why your journey to Asshai must proceed tomorrow morning.”

At first you gawked at him before clearing your throat. “Tomorrow?”

He nods solemnly. “You will be safer in Asshai until the dragon grows enough to defend itself. It would be best for you to depart as soon as possible, but tonight you can still enjoy yourself at the feast.”

You look behind you to Tyrion, wishing you had had more time to spend with him before your departure. Paining you to leave him so soon. This was necessary though. Pursing your lips in a firm line, you nod. “Of course.”

“It is best that your traveling group remains small, to attract less attention. Melisandre, Weles, and a priest have already been chosen to accompany you as well as the darkin.”

“Alizah will not be coming?” For some reason the assumption you held was that Alizah, being the most gifted priestess, would also be there.

>From the group behind you, Alizah steps forward. “While I would love to join you, unfortunately duty calls me to somewhere else. I will actually be leaving right away. Time is of the essence. I have faith in Lady Melisandre and Priest Rayzer that they will take good care of you. I will keep you in my prayers though.”

You hadn’t met a Rayzer before, at least you don’t remember. A lot of people have been introduced to you during your time at the temple. Some were merely visiting, others had quickly left to go on one of their missionary work.

“Your Grace,” Rhiannon slowly makes her way next to you, looking up imploringly at the High Priest “Please allow me to follow nuha kosh to Asshai. I may not be as useful as Lady Melisandre or even Lady Alizah, but there is nothing more I would greatly desire than traveling with (y/n).”

“Yes, please, Your Grace.” Humbly you bow your head and the High Priest hastily urges you to raise your face.

“If this is what you desire.”

“It is.” It would be hard enough leaving your brothers, but leaving Rhiannon behind would prove to be a lonely journey for you.

With the High Priest’s blessing, Rhiannon was permitted to go with you to Asshai. A great weight had been lifted off of your chest. While you would definitely miss Tyrion and Jaime, you would still have Rhiannon with you.

The day wore on, hasty plans being made for your departure, and the sun slowly dipping down below the horizon. Already the yard which was normally used for training was being decorated with braziers and great pits of fire that gave off plenty of natural light. Nobility from the Black Wall had ventured out and were already filling out the yard, replacing the sparring Fiery Hands with long gowns and exquisite robes. Even local merchants were in attendance, sporting their fineries.

You watched them from your balcony. Tyrion sitting at the table you normally ate breakfast at; your dragon playfully hopped around on the table, her nails clacking against the tile top. Jaime stood next to you, his arms folded in front of him. Just the three Lannister siblings. The others were preoccupied with their own tasks, reassuring security was set in place.

Sensing your rising nerves, Jaime says “You should be used to all this attention by now.”

A small laugh leaves you and you shake your head. “No. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to it. I’ve spent all of my life being unnoticed. Even when I was married to Rhaegar, I was overlooked. I didn’t mind it, honestly. There were no expectations that I could ruin.”

“I don’t think you can ruin any now. You have done the impossible, (y/n).” He turns to you and the orange-pink glow radiating off of the sunset made Jaime appear to beam with warmth. The green of his eyes was so bright that they seemed to glow. A scar below his eye, courtesy of Inniros, was the only thing that blemished his otherwise handsome face.“Once father hears of this he’ll feel so ashamed of the years he disregarded you.”

You shrug, not particularly caring of what Tywin thought of you anymore. All of the things you had accomplished, you had done without the help of the Lord of Casterly Rock. What you were more so excited about was Rhaegar. If the news was spreading fast, then you hoped that Rhaegar would hear it too and know you were still alive.

“I’ve decided on a name!” Tyrion abruptly claims.

“Well, lets hear it.” Jaime grins and leaves your side to wander over to Tyrion. If Jaime looked beautiful in the light of sunset, then your little dragon certainly outshined him. Her scales, glittering with soft colors like that of an opal, were enhanced as she flapped her wings experimentally.

You left the balcony rail and joined your brothers.

Tyrion pretends to clear his throat. “I am proud to present to you Latilth.”

Jaime rolled the name around in his mouth before nodding. “A pretty name for an equally dazzling creature.”

“I like it. Latilth.” As if already knowing her name, Latilth cocks her head and waddles over to you. You smile and stroke the top of her head. Her small little horns were mere buds on her head. Everything about Latilth was so delicate. For now. One day this little hatchling would grow into the most deadly of predators that the world has ever seen. She would lead your army and help you defeat your enemies. On her back you would fly all the way back to Westeros. Some day you hoped for Rhaegar to see the both of you and how much you had grown. You still considered yourself to be meek, that was something that would take more time to remedy, but you weren’t that same little girl dying on her bed. The way Rhaegar left you.

Quietly, Tyrion asks you “How long will you be in Asshai?” He didn’t meet your gaze and you knew that he didn’t like you leaving him so soon.

You hug him from behind and hide your sad face in his hair. Tyrion smelled of sweet jasmine and citrus. “I don’t know. I don’t even know how long it will be to get there. But I’ll try to be back as soon as possible.”

“Remind me why you have to leave again.”

You chuckle. “There are secrets in Asshai that will help me. Plus as Azor Ahai reborn it is my duty to gather the darkin over to our cause.”Plus there was something that had been bugging you about the relationship between the Temple and the darkin. An off-hand comment that both Melisandre and Inniros had made. From what you had experienced with Inniros, he generally wasn’t a very friendly person. Around the priests and priestesses though (especially around the Fiery Hand) he seemed especially hostile.

Tyrion’s small hand grasps at your arm. “Here I thought we would have more time together.”

“Once I get back I promise we will. For now, you’ll just have to be satisfied with Jaime.”

“Rude.”

Both you and Tyrion giggle and you release him. “I know there is no one else who could take greater care of our little brother than you.”

“Of course. I’ll see what he learned from Ser Barristan. Hone his skill.” He promised and winked over at Tyrion.

There was a slight worry that the men of the Fiery Hand would be too rough. But you couldn’t coddle Tyrion because of his defect. You knew he hated that more than anything. Tyrion wanted to be just like Jaime no matter what.

You trusted Jaime to not let serious harm fall upon the youngest sibling. How much time would pass during your stay in Asshai? Upon your return you didn’t doubt that Tyrion would grow into a young man in your absence.

Calming your nerves about the future, you gaze back out to the yard. Watching the small figures below scurrying around like ants.

Latilth, wishing to be closer to her mistress, hobbled on the tile surface and made her way up your back. Tiny claws dragging along delicate fabric and eventually the skin of your back. Latilth’s claws could not yet compare to the ones that had originally torn into your skin.

Finally situated on your shoulder, Latilth rubs her forehead against your jawline. You grin and nuzzle against her. “Happy name day, Latilth.” You considered this celebration more for her. She would be the star of the show.

“I hope this party won’t be like the stuffy ones father always took us to.” By his voice, he’s already anticipating a boring occasion. Jaime had never been one for ceremony. Dressing up in formal wear and feigning his best behavior, Jaime loathed such gatherings. A cousin of yours in Lannisport had thrown a lavish gala and your parents had dragged all three of you along. Of course it was Cersei who flourished in that environment. She was dazzling, enchanting those around her while you stuck close to your mother’s skirts. Jaime could have been charming his relatives like his twin, but that held no interest to him. Instead he had incited rowdiness among male cousins closer to his age. Tywin, for everyone knew that Jaime was his favorite, merely gave him a quiet scolding on how to act. After all, Tywin still had hopes that Jaime would someday become the Lord of Casterly Rock.

“We’ll see if Volantis knows how to have fun.” you smile and bump your shoulder against his arm playfully. He replies with a grin.

For the first time in quite a while your life was content. At your side were both of your beloved brothers that you had so longed for during your lonely childhood. And on your shoulder was your sparkling future.

Jaime stares at (y/n)’s peace filled smile, her eyes no longer anxious but relaxed. It did indeed feel like Jaime could afford to breathe and rest. At least for the moment. He will have to watch his sister leave come tomorrow morning. Being parted from left a foul feeling in his chest. For nearly two years they had been traveling together, learning to trust one another enough to clash blades. Having suffered through a lot, Jaime was apprehensive about not going with her to Asshai. (y/n) could physically take care of herself, that was certain, yet that knowledge itself did not make the separation any easier for Jaime.Who knew what will befall her in the strange country known as Asshai. All he had ever heard of that place were horror stories.

Now he would take the opportunity to engrain her face into his memory. (y/n)’s short hair really suited her despite her short bangs revealing the scar above her eyebrow. Sparring under the swollen sun had gifted her with a dust of freckles over the bridge of her nose. Faint but still visible to Jaime’s admiring eyes. She shimmered before him, much like Latilth, the dragonling that had just been brought into the world but several hours ago. Already aware of herself, Latilth turned her head at every new sight and sound with no fear. Rather it was curiosity of the world, a world she could one day possibly rule.

So this is what Thalina had envisioned for (y/n). Jaime kicked himself for thinking the maid a raving lunatic. Had he truly understood, maybe he could have saved her in time too.

“You must do this. She is more important to the world than you can truly understand.” Thalina’s eyes had been so angry, that’s what Jaime had thought at the time. Even as tears reddened them and welled up. Now Jaime was older and wiser. Thalina had never been angry. It was fear that made her words tremble. She had clutched onto him so desperately, knowing that she would not be around for much longer. From living in the temple, Jaime was aware that Thalina had been able to see into the future by reading flames. Something that (y/n) seemed capable of at a rudimentary level. Jaime wondered how much of (y/n)’s future Thalina had seen.

Taking him a few moments to register that (y/n) was now looking at him, her thick brows crossed with concern. “Are you okay?” Her gentle tone automatically brought a light smile to Jaime’s lips. He loved her for many reasons but above all it was the fact that her tender heart still remained with her. After heartbreak and devastation, blood and tears, (y/n) held onto her kindness. This world would not tear her down. She was strong in her own way.

Just to wipe that look off her face, Jaime softly pinches the tip of her nose with his index and middle finger. The face and noise that came from her made both brothers laugh. She sputtered and slapped his hand away. “Yes I’m okay. What about you? It’s been a hell of a day.”

While rubbing her abused nose, (y/n) grins. Latilth seemingly cooes like a dove at (y/n)’s smile. What a strange creature. “Honestly I would enjoy a nap, but I suppose I’ll sleep plenty tonight.”

“They really don’t let you rest here.” Sighs Tyrion. “These people run you ragged. I guess that’s what happens when you’re a god’s chosen hero.”

(y/n)’s whole demeanor loses edge. “Even so, being here. . . I have some kind of purpose. The most fulfilling events of my life have happened here.”

Guilt and shame arise in Jaime whenever he is reminded of (y/n)’s childhood. For good reason too as Jaime should have been the one to protect his little sister, even if that meant going against Cersei. His childhood errors would always haunt him, even looking at how happy (y/n) was now. They could have been so much closer had he been a proper brother in the beginning. Maybe then he wouldn’t be so wrapped up in Cersei’s web. His cruel, lovely Cersei; Jaime’s heart still called out for her like a wandering soul. She was his other half after all. All the terrible things she had done to (y/n) though couldn’t be overlooked. Jaime would not stand idly by like he once did.

Jaime puts a hand on (y/n)’s vacant shoulder. Her beaming face when she looks up at him was enough to melt any negative wonderings that swirled in his head. “If you can get through today, I’m pretty sure you can survive anything. Asshai better watch out for you.”

Tyrion lowers his voice, glancing over his shoulder and back to his sister’s room. “Are you sure you trust Inniros?”

Not wasting a second, (y/n) confidently nods. “I do. Our meeting may not have been ideal, but I”ve spoken with him. The darkin aren’t a blood thirsty breed, not like the stories we heard. Inniros, above all things, is still just a mortal like us.”

The way she spoke of the darkin sparked a green flame like wildfire in Jaime. Her voice had turned soft when discussing Inniros. (y/n) held such sympathy for the man that would have so readily killed her. Jaime was not as trusting. In the blink of an eye, Inniros easily slaughtered Feichen and several other servants of R’hllor. Nightmares of being held captive by his own shadow still tormented Jaime in the night. He had been utterly helpless, an entirely new concept to Jaime. Helpless and forced to watch men he had trained with, men he had grown comfortable around, taken down like they were nothing. The scars that both he and his sister bore were courtesy of the darkin, but (y/n) seemed eager to forget that.

Underneath his skepticism belied his jealousy. A jealousy he had continuously tried to squash down. “Lets hope you’re right.” He wanted her to be right. The alternative was something Jaime didn’t want to entertain like the thought of Inniros turning the darkin against her when she got there.

Only thing for Jaime to do was simply place his faith and trust in his sister. After all this time, (y/n) was constantly surprising him.

Rich red wine flowed heavily in your veins. It was the only thing to tamper down your natural shyness. Indeed this party was better than any you had attended in Westeros. Even outshining your wedding banquet which had overall been an awkward occasion.

Torches and braziers were lit and a large campfire had been erected in the center of the training field. Pleasing you to see many of the occupants in the temple letting loose and enjoying themselves. Weles looked absolutely stunning in his formal attire, so unlike his sparring robes that he normally dawned. The captain was completely at ease, enjoying the atmosphere and even more so admiring that his own warriors were having fun as well. You noticed this as Weles watched Yophiel and Sirvart covertly flirting with one another. This supposed secret interaction made Weles smile to himself and take a sip of his wine. Light from the torches made the yellow tattoos on his face stand out against his dark skin. You enjoyed watching your friends be carefree and wild.

Friends.

You had never really had friends before. Thalina and Tyrion were the only friends you could conjure up from your memory. Even then Tyrion was too little to even be speaking full sentences.

Now you observed Rhiannon dancing with Iyan in a ridiculous manner, but they didn’t care. Dritan walks up to them middance and Rhiannon leaves Iyan, the other Fiery Hand coaxing her off to the side in a private conversation. Iyan goes back to his dancing as is soon joined by the beautiful Ilta. You could even hear some of the red priests who stood off to the side cackling with laughter and slapping one another on the back. In the very center was Inanna teaching Tyrion a traditional dance.

Eyes catching those you didn’t recognize and who Nuahlin had whispered to you in the beginning as those who lived behind the Black Wall. Beyond the Black Wall is what many referred to as “Old Volantis”. No outlander, freeman, or foreigner is allowed inside the Black Wall. These were nobles above all else. In turn they watched you with lingering gazes. Nuahlin told you that while they don’t believe in R’hllor, they were nevertheless curious about the young girl whom the High Priest celebrated as Azor Ahai reborn and her newborn dragon.

Latilth, enjoying the pieces of cooked meat that you fed to her here and there, kept to either your shoulder or the comfort of your arms. While she was small, many did not dare come up to you. Intimidating for the very fact that one day the little dragon would become something to fear.

“Naejot se ābri hen bantis! (To the ladies of the evening!)”

“Vidarr!” You chirp and clink glasses with him.

His lavender eyes are filled with good tidings and he siddles next to you. A temple handmaid quietly walks over to Vidarr, offering another decanter of wine which he gladly poured into his empty chalice. “They haven’t had a party like this in decades. So I’ve been hearing at least from the old men.”

Interested in the new face before her, Latilth leans off of your shoulder slightly to sniff at Vidarr.

He chuckles and holds out his hand in front of her nose so that she may inspect him. “She is beautiful for such a dangerous creature. May she grow to be as big as the temple!” Latilth eyed his fingers before giving one sniff then retracting her body back to you. It was clear that she saw you as security.

“I hope so. Once she’s big enough then we can return to Westeros. Who knows how long that will take though.” You hoped that in that time, Rhaegar would prove triumphant in the war against Aerys. In your heart whispered something else “Wait for me, Rhaegar”. Was the whisper of your heart doomed to shrivel up and die? He was technically free to remarry as everyone believed you to be dead. If he wanted, he could take Lyanna as his bride; she was the woman he had wanted all along. Now that he was allies with the north, this would look to be a great opportunity for both sides. The north could claim that their Lady Lyanna was a queen to the Dragon Prince.

“There are many secret magics in Asshai.” Vidarr commented. “Perhaps you’ll find something that will make her grow fast. Although I know the temple will miss you desperately when the time comes for you to return to Westeros. Many of us will go with you, of course, but those who don’t have a high station will be forced to stay here.”

“Some of the Fiery Hand will have to stay here to protect the temple.” You wonder who would be chosen to stay. Of course Weles couldn’t, he was the captain and most skilled out of any of his men and women.

The Myrenese smile at you. “Matters to worry about come tomorrow. For now, enjoy these last moments. Have you spoken to any from the Black Wall?”

You tell him that while you haven’t actively gone up to one, they seemed to want to examine you and Latilth from a distance.

Those from the Black Wall believed in the religion of Old Valyria. Vaguely you recall Thalina telling you these tales with the dragon statuettes that she gifted to you.

A dragon after so many years is exciting for anyone, but you guessed they were especially holding high hopes for Latilth. Dragons held an intricate position in their religion.

“Are you able to dance with the Lady Latilth on your shoulder?” Vidarr sets aside his cup and holds out a hand to you.

Laughing at calling Latilth a ‘lady’ and warn him “Even with Latilth, I’ve never been much of a dancer. I have two left feet.”

“I can attest to that.” Jaime buds in, his thick arms crossed in front of his chest. “I believe (y/n) owes me a dance first.”

Vidarr holds his hands up innocently with a smile on him. “Of course, Ser. I will wait my turn patiently.”

The gold bracers on his forearms shimmered when he held out his hand. “Lilagon lēda nyke, ñuha kosh.(Dance with me, my champion)” His Valyrian shocked you and you neary didn’t register what he said. It was flawless, unlike his usual struggle with the pronunciation.

You stare at him with wide, enchanted eyes. “Who taught you that?”

“The best teacher there is: our own brother Tyrion.”

No time to hear any of your protests, Jaime guides you to the center ring of the dancing figures. Latilth excitedly flaps her wings, startling those around you at her abrupt movement. With his fingers entwined with yours, he unexpectedly twirls you around and you try your best to keep your steps as fluid as possible. The dragon on your shoulders clung to you but beat her wings as if dancing along with you and your brother. Live music that was being played by local musicians, picked up speed with their notes. In reply you and Jaime acted accordingly. He was so light on his feet, you panicked when you tripped over your own feet. Jaime had a tight hold on you and prevented you from falling. Elegantly he moves along with your desperate steps.

Pulling you closer to him, Jaime whispers in your ear “Relax, (y/n). Just pretend we’re sparring. You’ve always said it’s like a violent dance.”

Pretend we’re sparring. . . Okay, I can do that.

You take a deep breath before Jaime releases you in a spin. Right in front of him, the sparring began. Pivoting around him, your arms acted as swords. When they clashed, Jaime was actually touching your skin in a manner that sent shivers up your arms. His smile was brilliant as he matched your footsteps, going along with the fast paced music.

At this you were much better. Regular dancing had always scared you but this was freeing. You felt wild and untamed in this faux fight. Jaime. . . Jaime was the perfect partner for you. If you had danced with him at your wedding, you wondered if it would have been as easy as this. Probably not, not with those oppressive eyes on you. The eyes of your father, sister, and those who didn’t care an ounce about you.

Now you used your training that Weles had drilled into to keep light on your toes to keep up with Jaime. More surprising was the way Latilth moved her body along to prevent the movements from making her fall off of you.

Then as the music came to an end, you wound up staring right up into Jaime’s eyes in the final position. Both of your were flushed and grinning wildly as your audience clapped and cheered at your performance. A spark, perhaps it was the wine, energized your chest as you smile at Jaime. The two of you had been through so much but he had proven that he was there to stay by your side. So much love thrummed in you for Jaime. You gave his hands a squeeze since he still held onto them tightly. How would you survive Asshai without your knight?

Your body, out of its own accord, wrapped arms around Jaime and embraced him tightly. With your ear pressed against his chest, you heard the strong beating of his heart. Maybe it was an inappropriate time to show this display of affection but you didn’t care.

Slowly Jaime returns the embrace and places his cheek on the crown of your head. How long had it been since you received any kind of physical attention from a man? You couldn’t even remember the last time you laid in Rhaegar’s bare arms. It had to have been when you were heavily pregnant before. . . before the poison took everything away from you.

Not until Jaime had returned your desperate embrace did you realize how much you had missed such contact.

You close your eyes and try to capture the moment. Something you could replay on lonely nights in Asshai.

Jaime laughed at you as he helped you back up to your room. You had never consumed so much wine in your entire life and you feared you had overdone it. Unsteady on your feet, you relied heavily on your older brother to safely get you to your bed. At your stumbling, Latilth had fled from your shoulders and onto Jaime’s.

Through some garbling, you managed to get out “Serry Latilth. . .”

“Lets hope you don’t wake up hungover.” Jaime chuckled more so to himself as you were hovering in and out of consciousness. You had so much fun after dancing with Jaime. Vidarr danced with you in the same way and even lumbering Yophiel wanted a turn. Drinking helps you to get out of your shell more and interact with others. A priest whom you had never spoken to before had the interesting hobby of stone carving while another showed off his “fire breathing” skills.

“Waz dat?”

“That’s what happens when you drink too much. You get sick the following morning.” Jaime shakes his head, still holding his smile at your slurred speech.

“Oh nooooo.” Groaning, at least you were somewhat coherent as to realize that you could possibly be sick when you board the ship to Asshai. That was the last thing you needed. The relationship between you and the sea had never been a kind one. Crashing of the waves and the jostling of the vessel always made you sick to your stomach.

Reaching the door to your chambers, Jaime jostles both you and Latilth so he could open the door. “Don’t worry. We’re going to get lots of water into you. Hopefully there’s something they have to combat nausea.”

Very carefully he made his way to your bed and gently laid you down. Latilth hopped off of him and nuzzled against your side. Her presence sobered you up a little so that you could watch Jaime go to your wardrobe and pull out a comfortable night shift.

He holds it up for you to see. “Do you think you can dress yourself?”

Even lifting yourself up to your elbows was hard work and in the end you let yourself fall back onto the mattress.

“I guess not. I can go call upon Siofra-”

“No. Dun bover her.” You waved at him. “I’ll just. . . sleep in my clothes.”

Jaime shrugs and tosses your shift off to the side. From the decanter on your table, he pours water and lifts your head enough so you could easily drink. The water tasted sweet against your tongue. Drinking until you had your fill, your brother puts aside the decanter and lays right next to you.

“Jemmie?”

You hear him laugh quietly. “Yes?”

You roll onto your side that faced him. Never during your journey had you been so close to him. Even when sharing the same room and bed there was always a distance. Now though you could easily see the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed quietly. What you really wanted to ask him was whether or not he thought Rhaegar would marry Lyanna in the end. You were reminded of how he naturally had a dislike for Rhaegar after what had happened. That seemed so long ago but he still held a hatred for him. Even on your way to Volon Therys the two of you had gotten into a spat about Rhaegar.

He doesn't want to hear about Rhaegar, (y/n).

The last days of your normal life at King’s Landing felt like a far off dream. You had thought that maybe against all odds that Rhaegar was finally falling in love with you. His kisses, caresses and eyes when he gazed upon you all screamed love. There was your uncertainty though. Was he pretending? Did he still desire Lyanna Stark? The thought that killed you the most is if Rhaegar had been pretending the entire time. No, you didn’t want to believe that. That wasn’t Rhaegar. Rhaegar’s love couldn’t be faked.

Jaime will think he was pretending all along. That Rhaegar could never love you because he already loved Lyanna.

In your inebriated stupor, all words left you and you burst into tears.

Her tears dried up after some time of letting (y/n) cry herself out. Jaime held her close to him, feeling his exposed chest grow wet from her eyes. Quivers raking her body eventually subsided as her breathing returned to almost normal. At first he wanted to laugh when he first saw her crying, chalking it up to the immense amount of alcohol that she had consumed. But there was a genuine sadness in the way (y/n) sobbed.

Before that night, Jaime had never touched her in such a way. Close and intimate like the way she had embraced him earlier. Due to his afflictions he tried his best to keep himself at arm’s length from his sister, a sister he greatly desired. Things couldn’t be the same way it had been with Cersei. (y/n) wasn’t Cersei. She was pure and untainted by malice and sin. He wanted her to stay that way. And if (y/n) were to ever find out about his secret? She certainly would never look at him the same way. When she had confronted Jaime about his incestuous relationship with his twin, the expression on his face made him want to shrivel up and die on the spot. The dirt of such immoral acts suddenly weighing him down. All those times he had been with Cersei, Jaime had never cared if it was a sin or not. To hell with everyone who thought what he was doing was wrong. Until he saw the disgust on her face. When tempers did die down and (y/n) willing to discuss it, she seemed to understand that no one could help who they fell in love with. Her past with Cersei though added a tone of hurt in her words. Cersei had caused great trauma to her, physically and mentally. While Jaime never got the feeling that (y/n) hated Cersei, (y/n) definitely did not like her.

To her, Cersei was the most revolting creature there could ever be.

Jaime learned a great deal about self-control around (y/n). He couldn’t afford for her to find out about the dreams he had of her at night. How he longed to kiss her and know her as a lover as well. It would never and could never be.

Her silence prompted Jaime to peek down at her face. The tears were no longer and she appeared to be fast asleep. He sighs in relief and moves his arm out from under her. The gem colored dragon peered over (y/n)’s shoulder and at Jaime. Two small balls of fire.

“Take care of each other.” His whisper is picked up by Latilth. There was an almost human intelligence to her that startled him. She looked like she was listening to each word he said and understanding them.

Without making much movement, Jaime gets off of the bed and walks around it until he stood on the other side. Staring down at his sleeping sister, his body refused to move. When the sun rose back into its proper place in the sky, she would be gone. How odd her absence will be. This would be much different from when she left Casterly Rock for Dragonstone. He would miss her terribly.

If you’re really there, Lord of Light, hear my plea and do not take it lightly. Protect her. She is your champion. If YOU prove to be worthy, then I will dedicate myself to the cause of the Fiery Hand and get one of those damn tattoos. I will live out the end of my days in service to you and (y/n). Just bring her back to me safely.

Leaning over her, Jaime made sure that she was deep in sleep before kissing the corner of her mouth; the only thing he would allow himself. R'hllor better bring back his sun, for without (y/n) there could be no sunshine for Jaime.

When he walked out into the darkened corridor, he felt something off; a very familiar sensation shot up his spin. In mere seconds a dagger was in Jaime’s hands as he glared into the shadows. “Alright, come out you darkin bastard.”

There was no way Jaime would ever get used to witnessing the darkin’s power at work. This creature was the perfect predator. No matter what (y/n)’s views on him, Inniros was nothing more than a monster to Jaime and many of the other Fiery Hands. His union with darkness itself, well, it was simply sinister in nature.

A ghost white face meets Jaime followed by a shock of red hair that was sheared close to his scalp. One lone blue eye greeted him and it was enough to make Jaime’s stomach ill. “You have escorted (y/n) safely to her bed, I presume?”

Indignation flared in Jaime, desiring nothing else but to bury his weapon deep into that remaining eye of his. “Were you spying on us?”

“You sound like you have something to hide.” replied Inniros, aggravating Jaime’s last nerves.

“You’re lucky my sister needs you to get through Asshai.”

“Both your sisters required my skill.” He nods. “But only one do I truly adhere to. My only target to ever survive. I haven’t had such a fight in quite a long time. (y/n) though, she bested me. My master will be curious to see her.”

He didn’t trust him yet Inniros was the one to go with (y/n), not Jaime. His fears crept back up on him about (y/n)’s safety. No way was he letting her go now, not without him.

Inniros sighed at the deadly glare that Jaime was stabbing into him. “Put away your daggers. I didn’t need to spy to understand your affections for her.”

“Then why are you here?!” Snapped Jaime. He wasn’t dumb enough to believe that he could take on Inniros one-on-one. Indeed Jaime possessed an infamous swordhand that won him a spot on the Kingsguard at the youngest age any had seen, but meant nothing against a darkin. The lighting of the sconces mounted on the hallway walls gave Inniros the complete upperhand as more shadows were flickering about.

Putting it bluntly, Inniros said “I’m sorry I killed your comrades. I’m sure they would have had more of a chance against a normal man.”

Not sure whether to laugh or to rip him apart, Jaime pressed his back against the hard stone wall and slammed his head hard. How easily he apologized with not an ounce of emotion! Then again, could darkin even have emotions? (y/n) had said he was a mortal just like them, but how could one still be human and wield such a villainous power and not be poisoned by it. . . Certainly there had to be a price that your soul paid.

“Your sister instructed me to kill anyone who was in my way. And she ideally wanted you returned to her alive.”

“Don’t talk about her.”

Waiting and allowing for Jaime to calm down, Inniros remained silent until he felt Jaime’s heart beat slow to a moderately normal rhythm. From a pocket within his black cloak, the darkin pulled out a leather pouch; tossing it at Jaime’s feet. Reaching his arm down to retrieve, Jaime’s eyes were trained on Inniros who didn’t seem to ever blink. In the sconce’s light he saw gold coins from varying countries in both Westeros and Essos. Jaime picked up a golden dragon coin, pursing his lips when he imagined who it came from.

Cersei. . . even I didn’t think you so hateful. Not the mischievous girl he had grown up with. The very one who would sneak off from her own lessons and switch with Jaime. As small children it was hard to tell them apart if they were not wearing gender distinguishing clothes. Many times unbeknown to the sword master himself, it would be Cersei wearing Jaime’s clothes; both having had the same length of hair.

“Do with it what you will. I don’t want it anymore. All of what Cersei gave me is there as well as my own from years traveling through Essos. You do not trust me and you are right not to. I hold no ill will toward you, Jaime Lannister. The condemnation I feel is for myself.” Clear that Inniros had no more words left to exchange, he begins his way past (y/n)’s door. He didn’t even pause as he passed by a gaping Jaime. No sound came from his footsteps but Jaime knew when he had turned the corner. The atmosphere that normally enveloped the general area when Inniros was around had disappeared.

Jaime weighed the pouch in his hand.

Thinking of Cersei.

Thinking of (y/n).

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84reedsy · 5 months ago

Text

The Mentorship, Part 21

The Mentorship

Characters: Curt Hennig/FemOC , Scott Hall/FemOC

Part 21 of 22 (Parts not chapters, parts length varies)

Warnings/Considerations: Smut, Age Gap, Power Dynamics, Dirty Talk, swearing

Word Count: 2812

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20

Taglist: @writeandsurvive @theweaselandthekilt (DM or comment to be added!)

Scott locked the doors, if anyone came they’d just have to wait outside until he was ready to let them in. Just as she was starting up the steps, he came in behind her and scooped her up in his arms. She squealed a little in surprise, her arms instinctively wrapping around his neck to hold herself.

“Is this ok?” He asked, realizing she’d never said outright that she was ok with him touching her, “I’m just worried about that traumatized leg of yours,” He slightly teased.

“Yes…” She looked up at him, realizing how much she’d missed the feel of his arms, his hands, his body, “I’m ok with it.” She severely understated exactly how she was feeling in the moment. She felt butterflies passing through the doorway to his room. He set her down in the bathroom, backing away.

“I’ll be right back” He held up a finger as he exited, grabbing her silky robe and the pajamas that lay on top of her suitcase. He knocked on the doorframe before entering, finding her exactly as he left her. He set down her things on the counter, sitting on the edge of the large soaking tub as he began to draw her a bath.

Brinkley felt oddly flattered by the gesture, waiting for his full attention.

“Shouldn’t take it too long…” He tested the temp of the steaming stream, adjusting it accordingly, “I can…” He motioned towards the door, implying he could leave if she wanted him to.

“No…you should stay,” She shook her head, taking a step toward him, “I might need some help,” She could feel her core tremble. She could hardly comprehend how much she wanted him.

“My help?” He cocked his head sideways slightly, “What else could I possibly help you with?”

“Well…” She blushed even though she was the one coming on to him, “for starters, taking my clothes off,” she looked at him even though it only made her cheeks burn hotter. She felt as if even the temperature of the room shot up, as his eyes flickered up and down her for a moment, looking hungrier by the second, “I am hurt, after all,” She poutedly remarked.

“Oh your gruesome injury?” He couldn’t help but smile at her weak excuse, “You need me to kiss it and make it all better, too?” He widened the spread of his legs from where he sat on the edge of the tub, rubbing his thighs as if his hands were just itching to get a hold of her, “You better c’mere then…”

Why was she so nervous for him to touch her, especially in this way? It was nothing new, it wasn’t any different than any way he’d touched her hundreds of times before. But it felt like it was. She stepped up closer to him, stopping as she stood just between his knees. She was still just in her workout gear…she suddenly became self conscious that she might smell sweaty after 2 hours in the ring. But, it was clear that Scott didn’t seem to mind even if she did.

He lifted her shirt first, tossing it to the side. He slowly pulled down the zipper of her sport’s bra, each inch building the sexual tension between them. Part of her wished he’d move more swiftly, it might dispel the smidgen of anxiety that rested in her. But as he met his eyes, and really saw him, she felt that bond of trust again. She knew it seemed too soon, but she didn’t want to punish him any more.

“You know, you drew me a bath once before,” She tried to subdue the tension.

“I remember,” He looked up at her with a wry smile, “I remember that night explicitly,”

“Me too,” Though she blushed, remembering how nervous she was feeling a stranger's hands but somehow knowing they were his.

“My only regret,” He slowly slipped her bra from her shoulders, letting it fall to the floor, but his eyes remained on hers, “Is that our first time wasn’t just you and me,”

“Part of me thought that was going to happen a few times before that night,” She admitted, “Like that one time you were in my room and I was only in that towel,” She recalled that interaction, knowing it would have led to more if Curt hadn’t walked in.

“It was absolutely going to,” Scott said firmly enough that it made her shiver. He peeled her tights off, sliding his hands to her waist and pulling her to move closer to him. He gently kissed the valley between her breasts, feeling her let out a long breath.

“I wanted you…so much,” She admitted, knowing that at the time they’d been dancing around their attraction. She wasn’t now, “I want you even more now,”

Scott growled, his teeth grazing along her nipple, his hands still holding her steady as she slid her hands in his hair. He left it down now, knowing how much she liked it that way. Her hands slid down his back, pulling at his shirt until she could lift it from him.

Soon she found herself in the steamy water, Scott laying behind her. She could feel his entire body against her; his manhood throbbing against her backside. But he didn’t rush her, one hand rested across her chest as one hand teased her breast and the other slowly worked between her splayed thighs. She gripped onto his forearm that rested on her chest. As his fingers slipped between her folds, he used two to circle her clit at a mind numbingly slow pace.

Brinkley tried her best not to squirm, feeling his intimate touch. He’d slow if her arousal flared too much, backing off to the lightest, whispered touch until she calmed.

“Scott, please,” She murmured, pressing against him as she begged for firmer, faster stimulation. Though underwater, he could feel her pussy was saturated by her own wetness, he could feel her sex pulsing beneath his fingers. He could hardly manage the sensations he felt from the way she was moving against his now achingly hard shaft.

He kissed her earlobe, her cheek, along her jaw as he gave into her insistent pleas of sexual respite. The warm water lapped over her, the heat of it surrounding her submerged body. She felt as if she were his submissive captive, willing to let him decide when she could cum. His touch was controlled, but vigorous as he held her as still as he could, making her submit to his demand. She cried out his name as she came, her hands gripping tightly into his thighs.

“Scott, please…please baby, I need you,” she writhed slowly as his fingers continued their exploration over her sensitive folds, “Don't you want me?” She whimpered, wishing he would release her so she could slip under the water and find out how long she could really hold her breath.

“I’m about to fucking lose it, I want you so bad,” He growled in her ear, “But my dick is gonna explode the second its inside you…I’m gonna need a minute, baby girl,”

Brinkley thought for a moment before speaking, knowing in her heart she wanted to say it.

“I can wait for you, Daddy…” She murmured, feeling Scott tense just a little under her.

“Brinkley, baby, you don’t have to-” He started, knowing that his jealousy over that term alone had been part of his undoing.

“I wouldn’t if I didn’t want to,” She interjected, reaching her hand up to glide her fingers along his stubbled cheek, “Don’t you want me to?” she reverted back to a feigned tonal innocence.

“God yes…” He slipped his fingers down farther, working them slowly in and out of her, “turns me on so fucking much…”

She was barely dried off before Scott threw her on the bed. He kissed her slowly at first, barely resisting the urge to bury himself inside of her, his cock pulsing against her thigh.

“Scott, please,” She begged, arching a little as his lips grazed along her neck. She didn’t think she could take much longer without feeling him inside of her. She felt herself insanely consumed with want, her patience waning. She calmed slightly when he lifted up slightly, looking down at her with an intense but soft stare. Her hands paused from wandering over his body.

“Brinkley,” He looked down at her, his gut cramping with nerves for a moment, “I love you,” He felt the words slip from his lips and he didn’t immediately regret them or even in the moments after. He let out the breath he’d been holding as her hand slid across his cheek.

“I love you, too…” She said, the corners of her lips lifting into a gentle smile, happy to hear the words from him.

Her smile only lasted a few moments as Scott slipped himself into her fully with an urgent motion. She gasped, her fingertips digging into his ribs as she held on to him tightly, afraid to let go.

“What, baby?” He said a hint of teasing in his tone, “too much for you?”

She nodded, licking her lips to wet them quickly.

“Way too much…but don't stop, please don't stop,” she held on to him tightly, bracing herself for his next thrust that was just as deep and firm as the first. She loved the way he made her feel; this was the way she wanted to experience him. Should could feel his emotional closeness, could feel the desire in his movements that this was as much for her as it was for him. He kissed her as their bodies melded together, his lips hungry to touch all of her, trailing along her neck, her shoulders.

He hooked one arm around her leg, making her whimper as he drove himself deeper, his pace controlled by the collision of lust and love he’d tried to keep buried but could no longer.

He couldn’t lose her. Not this one. He’d lost so many before, but he had to be better for her and for himself.

Brinkley felt as if her body were on fire, aching for him so deeply, she thought she might cry. She wrapped her arms around him as if she were worried he would float away. She held him so tightly the friction between them nearly rubbed her skin raw, but she only begged him for more.

Her thighs quivered, her muscles felt weak, but she didn’t dare let him go. Each climax was a gift she felt grateful to receive. SHe knew he was holding back, desperately trying to give her all the pleasure he possibly could. But she wanted him to feel the same.

She begged for his release, impatient to feel his explosive seed. She wanted to hear the pained grunt that rumbled from his throat when he came. She begged him again, Scott submitting to her call as well as the one inside of him desperate for that flood of pleasure.

Each pulse of his cock made Scott nearly lightheaded, his world spinning except for the grip of her arms and legs around him, holding him steady. His breathing was so heavy that he nearly shuddered against her. He knew the weight of him must’ve been considerable, but she didn’t loosen her embrace. She adored the feel of him against her.

------------------------------------------------

When Brinkley woke the next morning, she felt weightless, as if every care was lifted from her when she turned and saw the mass of black waves on the pillow beside her. She grinned slightly at the gentle lope of his snores. He only seemed to do that after he’d been exhausted by sex. Knowing that made her love it more. When he’d pass out drunk, his snore was far more obnoxious.

As she lay on her side, watching him sleep, she noted how peaceful he looked. She wanted to do anything she could to make him happy. She knew he struggled with himself. She hoped he trusted her. She hoped she wasn't foolishly trusting him, but she wanted to. Only time would tell; she'd have to be patient.

Scott stirred and stretched, humming as he felt her laying against his side. His bed was so much colder when she was far away on the other side of it. He noticed the sheets were still pushed to the side, seeing the varying shades of their flesh intertwined. The feel of her soft thigh laid over his hip was the most comforting weight he'd ever felt.

“Good morning, “ he pressed his lips to her forehead softly, “Big day today, huh?”

Brinkley felt her stomach flip, her nerves flaring. The only thing that was changing officially was their in ring activity. But she knew it represented much more.

“Yeah…I hope I can do you guys proud…” she did not sound as confident as she had before.

“Baby, you'll do amazing. This is what you've been working so hard for,” he reminded her, his hands gently rubbing her back, “You have a lot of talent, this is just gonna be that push you need to make your own name,”

“I feel ready,” she knew this was the goal, it just felt different than she'd anticipated, “Just…nerves, I guess,”

“I'd think there was something wrong if you weren't nervous.” He stretched again, letting out a vocal yawn, “let's take a look at that leg…” he groaned as he sat up, his body often sore first thing in the morning. Brinkley propped herself up on her elbows as he took her calf in his lap, running his thumb over the slightly broken skin, “You definitely got some rope burn. Probably won’t be the last time either,”

“I’ve had it before, but not quite this bad,” She winced a little when his thumb passed over the deepest laceration, “But I’ll live. It doesn’t really hurt,”

“Good to hear, because you’ve got a big match tonight, you big baby,” He pinched her thigh lightly as she playfully kicked him. He looked back at her, biting his lip, “You better get dressed or we’re never gonna make it out of this bedroom.

-----------------------------------------------------------------

Kevin met them at Scott’s house and the two rode together to the arena. Still trying to subscribe to kayfabe, Brinkley rode with Curt, who’d stayed the night again. She was happy to be riding with him, she felt safe venting her anxieties to him.

“What if I forget everything when I’m out there? What if I just freeze up?” She rambled on about everything that could go wrong. He smirked as he saw her sitting on her hands, trying everything not to chew on her nails.

“Brink, you won’t forget the moves. You won’t freeze up. You’re going to be the star out there and you know it.” Curt tried to bolster her confidence.

“What if I fall flat on my face and like break my nose,” She continued rambling.

“Then you come over to me, I’ll reset it and you keep going. It won’t bruise until tomorrow so you’ll be fine,” He shrugged.

“OK, Mr. I-Have-An-Answer-For-Everything,” She tried to be snide, but she was fighting a grin.

“You won’t fall, because one of us will be there to catch you,” He looked at her while they waited at a stop light, his tone soft, but more serious.

“What if I -” She looked away from him, down at her knees unable to look him in the eye, “What if I miss being your valet - what if this is a mistake?” She knew she wanted more, but she still felt unproven.

“I’m not going anywhere, Brinkley,” he reassured her, “I’ll always be backstage, we’ll be traveling together all the time. I’m sure you’ll have plenty of chances to come out and interfere with my matches,” He teased a little, trying to get a smile out of her while also knowing there was a likelihood that would happen, “Not that much is going to change…”

“Yes it will. Everything is changing,” She cut him off, “I just wanna feel like I’m ready,” She shrugged.

“You will. It’ll hit you. We all already know it. We see it. The bookers see it.” Curt could see the arena approaching ahead of him and he knew she saw it too as she took a deep breath, “You’re probably gonna usher in a new era of women in this business. It's about time, too,”

She smiled at that thought, for some reason that idea leveled her out. Though the idea of carrying the future of the women’s division on her shoulders should have been pressure - it didn’t feel that way. It gave her motivation to do better - she felt the nerves in her loosening.

“Thanks, Curt,” She looked at him as they drove through the gates, a few screaming fans on either side, “For everything,”

#wrestling fan fic #wrestling fic #wrestling fanfiction #curt hennig #wcw #wwe #wrestling #fanfiction #pro wrestling #1999 #Scott hall #kevin nash #The Mentorship #wrestling smut #cameos by a lot of wrestlers

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rorywritesjunk · 7 months ago

Text

There's no race, no ending in sight

pg-13 rating. title comes from "two of us on the run" by lucius

((⁠◕⁠ᴗ⁠◕⁠✿⁠) hehehehh)

pt 1 + pt 2 + p3 + p4 + pt 5 + p6 + pt 7 +Pt 8 + Pt 9 + Pt 10 + Pt 11 + Pt 12 + Pt 13 + Pt 14 + Pt 15 + pt 16 + Pt 17 (End)

Pt 2

Buggy was still alive. For now.

Sunny was in the tent's kitchen, making sandwiches for the two of them. No discussions to be had over an empty stomach. Was she going to poison him? He didn't expect the wife of Sir Crocodile to... Be kind of nice and offer to make him lunch. He didn't expect she could cook. Didn't she have helpers to do that sort of thing?

He stood by, watching her every movement, ready to fight but he wasn't sure he could win against her. He had apologized profusely when he realized who she was. On his knees, hands clasped, begging for forgiveness and his life. Sunny asked if he was hungry. She liked cooking. It was something her husband liked her to do for him.

As terrified as he was of her, Buggy still had to admit that she was quite pretty. Blonde hair, blue eyes, freckles. Going off of looks alone he wouldn't place her as the type for Crocodile. No glamor, she didn't come off as uptight. If anything - and Buggy felt disgusted for thinking this - she would almost be with someone like Shanks, perhaps. Not some dangerous man like Crocodile.

"So, you owe me husband money." Sunny said as she put the sandwiches on plates before holding one out to him. "A lot, by the sounds of it."

"I-I'll get it paid back!" He assured her as he took the plate from her.

Sunny shrugged. "How soon? I want him to buy me these nice cake pans. He's stingy with money, even for me." She cocked her head to the side. "Which makes it all the more interesting that he loaned someone like you money."

Buggy held the plate in his hand, trembling. The top slice of bread slid off the sandwich, resting on the plate, from his shaking. "S-Soon, ma'am, I promise."

Sunny picked her sandwich up and took a bite. "Yea?"

"Promise!"

She narrowed her eyes for a moment, taking a few more bites before setting the plate down and wiping her hands on her overalls. "Do you know any funny jokes or tricks since you're a clown?"

"Jokes?" He squeaked. "I-I know some! Yes! And card tricks!"

"Can you do a card trick?" She grinned. "If it's good I'll convince my husband to go easy on you."

Was this some kind of trick? Have Buggy let his guard down for her to do something? It could be worth it, though, to impress her enough that Crocodile wouldn't bash his skull in.

"Well, you're, uh, in luck!" Buggy said as he reached into his pocket. "I just so happen to have a deck of cards on me!" He pulled it out and took them out of their case, letting his hands shuffle around as he tried to turn on his showman's charm for her. He leaned against the counter as his hands floated nearby, shuffling the cards. "So, how are you liking it on the island so far? A nice romantic getaway for you and the husband? I know some great spots for smoochin' under the stars."

Sunny looked amused by his words. "My husband isn't really the type to 'smooch under the stars'." She took a bite of her sandwich, glancing around the kitchen before looking back at him. "I went to the circus once as a kid. It was amazing."

"Yea?" Buggy stopped shuffling and fanned the cards out in front of her. "Pick a card, memorize it, then put it back in the pile." He watched her carefully, making sure she did as she was instructed but also to keep his guard up. "I went ages ago as a kid. Guess it made an impact on me."

"Looks like it did." She chuckled as she put her card back in. "I was seven and my parents and I lived on Cantaloupe Island. Some troupe set up there and I begged to go so they took me."

Buggy started shuffling the cards around once again. "You don't say. That's where I saw a show. The crew I was on stopped there for a month to resupply."

"Really! Small world." She laughed softly. "Well, Buggy, where's my card?"

He paused for a moment before cutting the deck. "This is it, right? Ace of Spades?"

She shook her head. "Wrong."

"Huh." He shuffled them a few more times before pulling out another one. "King of Clubs?"

"You're not really good at this." She commented as he continued shuffling through the deck. She allowed herself to watch him, just for a moment, noticing that even covered in grease paint, sweat, and dirt, he was kind of handsome. His blue hair was eye-catching and his nose definitely stood out. The stubble along his jaw made her want to run her fingers across it. Apart from the scar across his face, Crocodile kept his face clean of such things.

"Well, you try next time then!" Buggy huffed as he held up another card. "Well?"

"That's the Joker card, clown."

"Dammit-"

Sunny rolled her eyes and put her hands in her pockets as she waited, only to pause when she felt something in there. She withdrew her hand, holding a card between her fingers as Buggy looked at her with a big grin on his face.

"Is that your card?"

"Queen of Hearts." She nodded, looking it over curiously. "You slipped it into my pocket. How?"

"A magician can't reveal his secret." Buggy chuckled as he took the card from her and shuffled the deck.

"My husband won't be pleased that some clown snuck his hand in my pocket..." Sunny mused as Buggy's jaw dropped. "But I won't tell him. You're no use to him dead after all."

The charm turned off. Buggy looked nervous again. "So, are you going to talk to your husband?"

"Mmm... About what?" She asked. Buggy stared at her. She couldn't be serious. "Oh, right. You still have to pay him back somehow. I'll just tell him to be a bit more patient."

"Patient?! What makes you think I even have that kind of money?!"

"You're a clown. Open up your circus and charge people." Sunny shrugged. "I don't really care but I'm tired of him."

That was a weird way to end the sentence and she seemed to realize that because she cleared her throat and continued, "I'm tired of him being such a grouch over this."

"It's not my fault I haven't paid him back yet!" Buggy shot back. Sunny crossed her arms and looked at him. "I have men to feed! It's a lot!"

"Pay my husband back or else, clown." She warned as she grabbed her sandwich. "I'll come back in a few days to work it out with you if Crocodile hasn't killed you yet."

Buggy grabbed her arm before he could leave but immediately regretted it by the look she gave him. He let go, knowing he was a dead man now. "Look, Miss, we can come to an agreement, right?"

Sunny turned to face him. "For payment? Maybe."

"I'll do your suggestion. Get a show going under the tent." Buggy hoped this could work. "If it wows and amazes you, wipe the debt in half."

"One quarter."

"One third." Buggy suggested. "One third of the debt gone if you like the show, how about it? You can even bring that husband of yours! I can work reptiles into the show!"

Sunny stared at him, letting the suggestion sink in before taking a step towards him. He backed up to the counter as Sunny reached up to grab him by the face, pinching his cheeks, causing his lips to pucker like a fish. She tried to ignore the feeling of his stubble underneath his fingers.

"I'm not easily impressed, clown." She said through gritted teeth. "If you are serious, then wow me. My eyes better sparkle in amazement by whatever show you want to put on." She released him. There was grease paint on her fingers so she wiped it on his shirt, making a note not to think about how firm his chest felt under it. "I'll be back tomorrow then. You better have something to show me."

"D-Deal!" Buggy didn't know why she had to touch him but he wished she'd do it again. "Tomorrow! Come by in the afternoon and I'll have something! M-Maybe I can get Richie to jump through a ring of fire!"

"Whatever." Sunny took a step back from him. "I'll be back tomorrow then."

Buggy nodded, watching as she turned and left. He managed to survive somehow but he hated how his heart slipped a beat when she touched him. If Crocodile found out that Buggy thought his wife was easy on the eyes then he would for sure be a dead clown.

#mini fic #buggy the clown #buggy the clown x oc #buggy x oc #sunny x buggy #sunny x crocodile #sir crocodile x oc #crocodile x oc #lmao when will it end

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youremyheaven · 7 days ago

Note

Princess here. Hey babe how are you?

I feel like you're the only anon left here 🤭🤣

I currently have a slight cold and feel a bit out of it but I'm going to use this opportunity to do a bit of an inventory for 2024 as it is the end of the year. If anyone's interested, you can do the same and drop me askszz

Things I did in 2024:

1. Moved away from the place I lived in for 8 years 😭

2. Grew my hair down to my ass and then cut it chest length??? (My first haircut in like 3 years??)

Not all growth is meant to stay. Sometimes we grow in ways that help us protect ourselves during difficult circumstances but you can't live wearing your armour 24/7, so it's important to shed the layers we've accumulated every once in a while (me philosophising the heck out of my hairdresser telling me my hair is damaged and needs to lose length lmao 😭😂)

3. I cut off friendships I'd maintained for 8 ish years. Just because something has lasted a long time doesn't mean it has to stay. Especially if things aren't working out.

Don't tolerate disrespect and don't hold on just for the sake of it.

4. I went to therapy for 3-4 months and then I quit therapy

I needed it at that time but I'm also glad I quit when I did because I felt myself microanalysing everything through therapy speak and it wasn't healthy lol

5. I went back to my ex after 6 years and then it gave me the reality check I needed and I promptly left him

6. I dated someone who treated me like a princess but still somehow didn't respect me or value me lmao (yes, they exist)

7. A friend I had for a long ish time behaved inappropriately with me when he was drunk and despite having a gf, told me he thinks I'm hot etc etc this cemented my belief that men and women could perhaps never actually be friends

8. I started abusing substances after being sexually abused.

I never thought I'd have a substance addiction era bc that's sooo not me like no one would ever think I was a chainsmoker but that was the lowest point of my life this year. I didn't brush, shower, eat or even get out of bed for weeks. I stayed high and drunk bc I felt so unsafe in my body and was dissociating severely. I'm so glad to have recovered from it and move past it and to have had someone in my life who held my hand through that journey bc it was messy asf and I have sooo much compassion for people who stay stuck in that loop for years and lose so much of their time, like I completely get how easy it is to lose yourself entirely

9. Adult relationships are so different??

I wish I had been in a relationship in my early 20s or when I was in college so that I could get a little bit of a crash course on this stuff and not feel so overwhelmed by expectations bc im already 24 and things start getting serious at this age 😭😭

But I'm also glad I stayed single throughout college bc it really helped me solidify my own identity and understand who I am, what I want and what I expect. I think 18-22 are very personality cementing years and I'm kinda glad that my personality wasn't shaped by a romantic relationship even if I was madly in love with someone all those years (unrequited, one sided stuff). The act of being in love with someone unconditionally like that has perhaps altered me in ways I can't even express but I'm glad there's no trauma or drama to recall from that experience

10. What someone tells you when they're angry is exactly what they've been thinking of all this while.

11. I make my own money??? And pay my own bills??? And I have a job that I like??

12. You don't know a person until you live with them. Don't ever marry anyone you haven't lived with 🫡🫡

13. Sex is nothing special without love

14. Had really good sex and really bad sex

15. Met new people, made new friends

16. I modelled??? I've done a couple of photoshoots now??

17. Had ₹80 left in my bank account and still somehow survived

18. I learnt to cook and I loveeee to cook now

19. I got a tattoo!!!

20. I got many more piercings

21. I resolved a 1.5 year long "crush" twin flame esque situation I had with a guy

22. I travelled 💛

23. Built a new identity for myself 🫡

24. Restarted my creative journey

25. Lost touch with myself and then now I'm finally going home to me

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foundtherightwords · 3 months ago

Text

The Hollow Heart - Chapter 17

Pairing: Hellcheer, Gothic AU

Summary: To escape her mother's control and the stifling society of Gilded Age New York, heiress Christabel Cunningham impulsively marries Henry Creel, a charming and seductive stranger, and accompanies him to his remote mansion on the West Coast. There, as Henry grows cold and cruel, Christabel must uncover her husband's sinister secret before it's too late. But can she trust Kas, her husband's enigmatic assistant, who seems to be her only ally in this strange place, or is Kas's loyalty to his master stronger than his attraction to Christabel?

Chapter warnings: violence, blood, fire

Chapter word count: 4.8k

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9 - Chapter 10 - Chapter 11 - Chapter 12 - Chapter 13 - Chapter 14 - Chapter 15 - Chapter 16

Chapter 17 - Crossed the Shade of Night

"What the hell is this?" Henry's angry voice floated toward the side of the house, where Christabel and Kas were hiding. "What did you mean by shooting down my front door like this, you crazy bastard? Leave at once before I have you committed to an insane asylum!"

"Shit," Kas murmured by her ear. "If they stay by the front door, we can't leave." Whoever standing at the front door would have a clear view of the drive and the dock. There was no way they could reach the boat without detection.

"What shall we do?" she asked.

"Let's hope they go inside, or that man leaves soon."

As if to contradict Kas's wish, Hargrove's voice rose in defiance. "You don't frighten me, Creel," he said. "I know what you are. I'll have it out with you here and now."

"I don't know what you're—"

BANG! A gunshot cut off Henry's voice. Christabel jumped. If it hadn't been for Kas holding her tightly, she would've bolted out of her hiding spot like a partridge that just heard the first bark of the hunting dog.

The silence stretched unbearably while they held their breaths, waiting. It was broken by a roar, like that of a wounded animal, a protracted, inhuman sound that reverberated around the island, froze Christabel's blood, and made her grip Kas's hand in fear. She didn't know who made that sound, Henry or Hargrove. Then there was a scream, a different voice, full of pain and terror, then a crack like a branch snapping, which cut off the scream, and all was quiet again.

"My God," she mouthed. "What's happened?"

Before Kas could answer, Henry's voice came through the front door, so loud that Christabel jumped again. "Kas!!!" he shouted, sounding furious. "Kas!!!"

Kas got to his feet. Christabel grabbed his hand, frantic. "No, don't go! Don't leave me!"

"I have to. I'll head him off. Just wait here." He shook free of her grip and went around the cypress bush, to make it look like he just came from the back of the house.

"Mr. Creel, what—" Christabel heard Kas say, then gasp. "My God, sir. What's happened here?"

"Shut up and get rid of it!" growled Henry. "And clean this mess up! It wouldn't have happened if you had answered the door for me."

"Yes, sir, but let me take a look at that wound first—"

"Just do as you're told!"

A moment later, Kas came back to the side of the house, breathing hard. "He's killed that man," he said.

"What?!"

"And he's gone upstairs. Let's go."

Without another question, she took his hand. They ran down the drive together. Christabel looked over her shoulder as they went, and glimpsed a body lying face-up on the front steps. Hargrove. His neck looked broken. That had always been Henry's favorite method of killing.

Once they reached the dock, she threw her valise into the boat and climbed aboard, while Kas untied the rope.

Another roar from inside the house made Christabel turn around, her heart in her throat.

"Don't look back!" Kas said, jumping into the boat and picking up the oar. "Just go!"

Christabel picked up the other oar to help him, trying to ignore the pain in her arms and her wrists.

Something exploded behind them.

Despite Kas's warning, Christabel found herself looking back, like Lot's wife. And like Lot's wife, what she saw nearly turned her into a pillar of salt.

The stained glass window of Creel House had been blown open, the red rose dripping glass shards onto the front lawn like drops of frozen blood. And, standing on top of the staircase behind it, sighting down the barrel of a rifle at them, was Henry, half of his face covered in blood.

"Get down!" she screamed at Kas, but it was too late. A bullet ripped through the air, and Kas pitched backward in the boat as if pushed by an invisible force. The boat rocked, dangerously close to capsizing.

Impossibly, miraculously, Kas managed to sit up. "Silver bullet," he said through gritted teeth, as blood poured from his right shoulder. "I'm fine. Keep going."

Christabel tried to maneuver both oars with her clumsy hands. There was another crack, and something whizzed through the air. Kas shoved her roughly over the side of the boat. She fell into the frigid waves, but not before white hot pain seared through her upper arm, and she knew that she, too, had been shot.

The freezing water of the bay numbed some of the pain, but it also numbed everything else, and she floundered, coughing and spluttering, unable to find her footing. Then Kas was next to her, pulling her up, and somehow her feet found firm land. It must be the path leading to the shore. She scrambled upon it, trying to stay on the path while moving through water that came up to her knees. Her skirt and petticoat stuck maddeningly to her legs, tangling up like a fishing net, so she had to lift them out of the way, though this was not much better, for her legs were now so frozen that she couldn't move. Kas stumbled next to her, and she dropped her skirts to help him.

"Come on," she said, trying to ignore the sound of furious splashing behind them. This time, she felt no desire to look back. "We're nearly there." Somehow she felt that as soon as they got to shore and escaped the ominous fog of Creel House, they would be safe. It was foolish, she knew. They couldn't get far in this condition, and Henry was getting close.

And then he caught up with them.

There was a metallic sound. Kas cried out as Henry threw a silver chain around his neck. His flesh instantly reddened and scorched wherever the chain touched him, forcing him to his knee. Christabel spun around to face Henry, and drew back in horror. Though the blood had dried on Henry's face, it was clear that Hargrove's gunshot had been much more serious than a bullet or a knife to the chest. Where Henry's left eye had been, there was now only a blackened, gaping red hole. A chunk was missing from his nose, and his left cheekbone had sunken, dragging down the whole left side of his face, making his mouth twist in a grotesque way. At last, his outside reflected his inside. He looked like the monster that he was.

"Are you going to come quietly, or do I have to knock you out again?" he asked her. "And this time I won't be using chloroform." Holding on to Kas's chain with one hand, he turned his rifle around with the other, ready to hit her with its butt.

"Christabel, don't—" Kas gasped.

"Shut up, traitor." Henry whipped at Kas with the end of the chain, and Kas let out a muffled scream. The chain left a burning welt on his cheek.

"Stop it!" Christabel screamed. "Stop hurting him!" Her voice barely made a dent in the silence that engulfed the island and the stretch of shoreline. How alone they were, how utterly alone, in this place of sand and fog and sea. She could scream herself hoarse and nobody would come, nobody would know what happened to them. She swallowed. "I'll go with you."

***

Henry marched them back to the house, pointing the rifle at Christabel's back and holding the silver chain around Kas's neck like a dog leash. He led them to the attic. The worktable had been pushed against a wall, leaving a large space in the middle of the floor. Hundreds of candles were placed around the attic, on the shelves, on the cages where the spiders and the snakes were moving about in agitation, not used to all the bright light and activities. Arcane symbols had been drawn on the floorboard, glistening dark red in the glare of the candles.

Henry pushed Christabel and Kas to their knees and bustled about finishing up the symbols with a brush dipped into the blood-coated glass he'd taken from Christabel's room. When he ran out of blood, Henry rammed the brush into the wound on Christabel's arm. The bullet had only grazed her, thanks to Kas's quick thinking in pushing her out of the way, but the wound was still bleeding. Ignoring her pained whimpers, Henry continued drawing until the symbols formed a complete circle.

"Now, you won't do anything stupid again, will you?" he asked.

Christabel shook her head dully.

"Good. Why couldn't you be this amenable from the start? It would've saved so much trouble. But I guess all of you are the same. You're so full of bravado until you have to face your own mortality, and then even the bravest man is reduced to a bubbling, sniveling mess." He sniggered. "That's why I do all of this, you know. So I can rise above it. Don't worry," he added in what he undoubtedly thought was a reassuring voice. "I'll give you a quick, clean death. As for this"—he turned to Kas, who was slumped over next to her, bound by the chain from neck to wrists—"this traitorous vermin, death is too good for him."

He aimed a sound kick at Kas's torso. Kas curled up without a sound, and Christabel grimaced, feeling that kick deep within her as though Henry had directed it at herself. But she tried to swallow her sob, knowing any display of weakness would only raise Henry's contempt for them.

"After everything I've done for you, this is the thanks I get?" Henry was still raving and ranting at Kas. "I've raised you! You would be dead without me!"

"Didn't you mean 'everything you've done to me'?" Kas said, breathing heavily as he tried to sit up straight. "You killed my mother. You turned me into a monster."

Henry looked between the two of them, sneering. "I see that you two have compared notes, while you're not busy cuckolding me. That's all you puny minds could think of, you can never see the bigger picture... Yes. I admit it. I killed your mother. And I'm going to enjoy killing you too. Once you've watched me drain the life out of her"—he pointed at Christabel with a knife, the same steak knife he'd confiscated from her—"I'll leave you outside to be finished off by the sun."

Christabel turned to Kas. Their hands found each other, and he gave her a smile, still sweet and gentle despite the splatters of blood on his face and the paleness of his skin. I'm here, that smile said. I will always be here. I'll never leave you. She smiled back and squeezed his hand, finding strength in his touch, his eyes, his smile. They were going to die, she accepted that now. But at least they would die together.

"Enough of that," Henry said. He didn't seem particularly angry to discover their affair; rather, he was more annoyed at their display of human affection than anything else. He pulled them apart and checked his pocket watch. "Now, it's time for you to witness my genius."

He brought the bottles of blood and venom out of the icebox, took the arsenic and belladonna down from a shelf, and started measuring and mixing them in a large glass jar, his movements rapid but precise. Soon, he had in the jar a thick mixture, so dark it was almost black.

Henry turned upon Christabel once more, brandishing the knife. She braced herself for the worst, but he only took her hand, pricked her finger with the tip of the knife, and squeezed a drop of blood into the mixture. It immediately glowed with a sinister blue sheen.

Nodding at the mixture in satisfaction, Henry lifted the pendant that hadn't left Christabel's neck since the day she came to Creel House and pressed her cut finger into it. He then pricked his own finger and smeared it across the red rose, mixing their blood together. The pendant started to glow blue as well, turning the red rose a dark shade of purple, like a bruise.

Henry put the pendant around his own neck and strode into the circle. He started chanting in a strange language, the attic carrying his low voice around and echoing it back, making it sound like he had a choir of men behind him. That sound brought an unknown, unspeakable terror to Christabel's heart, and she scrambled across the floor toward Kas as he, too, reached out for her. Wordlessly, hands clutching each other, they watched as Henry continued his ritual, not understanding any of it, unable to guess what horror awaited them at the end of it, only knowing that it was there, and it was inevitable. The pendant glowed more and more brightly, overpowering the candles, forcing Christabel and Kas to turn away from its glare, as blue and as malevolent as Henry's remaining eye. That eye was open, but Henry didn't appear to be seeing them. To him, they had ceased to exist, save as a part of his spell.

Finally, mercifully, the chanting stopped. Henry stretched out his arms on either side of him, lifted his face to the ceiling, closed his remaining eye, and fell silent. The pendant continued to glow, pulsating like the beating of a heart. Watching Henry, Christabel had the same feeling she'd had in her dream of Luna's death, that feeling of waiting, waiting breathlessly, endlessly, as she fell through the air to the freezing water beneath the cracked ice.

The glow went out.

The sudden loss of such an intense light made it seem the room had been plunged into darkness, despite the candles still spluttering all around it. When Christabel's eyes adjusted, she saw that Henry had not moved from his spot in the middle of the circle, though now his uninjured eye was open again and clouded in confusion. For the first time since starting the ritual, he seemed unsure of himself.

He chanted a few words.

Nothing happened.

He repeated them. Still nothing.

He lifted the pendant and examined it, frowning. It seemed to Christabel that the stained glass had lost its brilliance and was now a dull red, looking no better than when she'd dug it out of the chimneypiece at the original Creel House.

"This is impossible," Henry mumbled. "I did everything right... it has to work..." He whirled around to Christabel. "Did you do anything to the pendant? Did you try to break it?"

She shrank away from him, from the hateful stare of his cyclopean eye. "No."

"Tell me the truth!"

"I don't know what you're talking about," she said desperately. "I didn't do anything!"

Somewhere below, in the bowels of the house, the clock chimed solemnly. One, two, three, four, five. It was five o'clock already. Daybreak was coming soon.

The sound of the clock threw Henry into a panicking rage.

"But you've made your vows—with the phylactery in your hand, at the site of its discovery, under the moon!" he screamed at Christabel, spittle flying from his mouth. "You've pledged your heart and soul to me! It has to work! You must have done something to it!"

So that was the purpose of those vows, the ones she'd found so romantic, the ones she'd said with such naïve glee in the woods of Tuxedo Park. That was the ritual mentioned in the diary. Heart pledging ritual successful. It was to keep her bound to his will...

No. Not his will. She'd said the vows again, just earlier that night, to someone else.

"What have you done?" Henry seized Christabel's arms and pulled her up until their faces were mere inches apart. Blood-flecked saliva hit her, and she turned away in disgust. "What have you done?!"

"I've made my vows to someone else," replied Christabel. She glanced at Kas. Understanding dawned on Kas's face and lit up his eyes. She turned back to Henry now, looking straight at him. "A tip for you, Henry," she said. Somehow she managed to keep her voice steady, triumphant, despite her fear. "If your spell depends on your wife pledging her heart and soul to you, then don't treat her with such coldness and cruelty that she falls in love with someone else. But you wouldn't know anything about love, would you?"

With a snarl, Henry backhanded her, sending her to the floor. Black fire burst before her eyes. Through the ringing in her ears, she could barely make out the rattling of the silver chain as Kas strained against it, and his voice cursing Henry.

Then the curses turned into a roar. Kas broke free of the chain and lunged at Henry. Holding the chain between his hands, Kas wrapped the chain around Henry's throat and pulled, heedless of the burn. Henry, his face turning purple, grappled with the chain with one hand, while the other reached for the knife, which had fallen on the floor beside him. Christabel's eyes cleared just in time for her to see the knife flash in Henry's hand. She cried out a belated warning, which turned into an anguished scream when Henry buried the knife between Kas's ribs.

Kas pulled the knife out dripping red and threw it away, far away, before going back for Henry, hitting Henry with his bare fists now. Henry picked up the silver chain Kas just dropped and used it to parry off the blows, shoving Kas toward a bookshelf in a corner. Kas went sprawling, knocking over the shelf in a shower of candles and books and jars. He shook himself off and got to his feet again, but his movements were slower now, less sure, and he kept a hand over the stab wound on his side. He was losing strength.

The rifle. Where was the rifle? Christabel cast wildly about for it until her eyes landed on the rifle leaning against a corner near the worktable. Henry was stalking toward Kas, his back to her. She made a dash for the rifle and pulled the trigger without aiming.

Bang! The kickback sent her reeling, and the bullet, missing Henry by a mile, only alerted him of her presence. He turned around to her, his mouth twisted in an ugly grimace.

"Kas, here!" she shouted, sliding the rifle across the floor toward Kas.

Kas caught the rifle with his foot, and, almost too fast for Christabel to see, he lifted it and pointed it at Henry. But he didn't shoot. Christabel thought she could see the old fear and something almost like regret in Kas's eyes. After all, Henry was the only family he ever knew...

That brief moment of hesitation was all that Henry needed. In a flash, he grabbed Christabel, pulled out another knife, a silver dagger with a wickedly curved blade, and put it to her throat.

"Your choice, Kas," Henry said, his voice dripping with ice and malice.

Kas kept the rifle pointed at Henry, but the barrel was shaking. He looked between Christabel and Henry, hatred and fear waging a war across his face. Christabel wanted to tell him to shoot anyway, to not worry about her, but she seemed to have frozen up, afraid that if she even moved an inch, that razor-sharp blade would split her throat open.

Kas threw the rifle to the floor and took a step back.

"That's better," Henry said. He turned to Christabel, pressing his mouth close to her ear. "Now, this may be another failed experiment, but I'm not writing you off altogether, darling. You still have a working, beating heart. That will buy me another thirty, forty years, enough to find me another bride. And trust me, I won't make the same mistake with her as I did with you..."

Fear and revulsion rose within Christabel, making her shake from head to foot. Then Henry's grip on her unexpectedly loosened, and she realized it wasn't she who was shaking.

It was the floor.

"Earthquake," Henry growled under his breath, more to himself than to anyone else.

He backed away, bracing against a shelf, without letting go of Christabel or the dagger. On the other side of the arcane circle, Kas stumbled to all four, struggling to keep his balance. His fingers were a hair's breadth away from the rifle, but he didn't dare make a move, not when the dagger was still at Christabel's throat.

The entire attic trembled, the content of the shelves crashing to the floor. The edge of the worktable pressed painfully into the small of Christabel's back, while the many glass jars and bottles and vials on it clattered and fell, shattering into a million pieces. Henry didn't seem to care about the loss of his potions. He was too busy watching Kas and the rifle, while keeping a firm grip on Christabel's arm, fingers digging painfully into her gunshot wound.

The table tipped, and Christabel felt something roll over to her hand. She grabbed at it, feeling the heavy glass under her fingers.

Strange. A moment ago she'd been ready to die with Kas. But now, knowing that Henry's spell had failed, she wanted to live more than ever. To live, and to be free.

Without pausing to think, she lifted the glass thing and slammed it into Henry's face. It turned out to be a spirit lamp, which broke, sharp shards of glass embedding themselves in Henry's cheeks and forehead.

A terrible shriek went up as Henry clamped his hands over his ruined face.

Christabel ran over to Kas's side and helped him to his feet. Clinging to each other, they found cover under a shelf while the whole house continued to shudder violently around them. The glass cages were shaken out of their moorings; some crashed to the floor and broke open, their inhabitant swarming free, all fleeing, through the cracks between the boards at the windows, under the door, any way they could, as fast as they could, away from the destruction. Christabel bit back a repulsed cry when a snake crawled over her legs to safety. Kas picked it up and flung it away, and the snake didn't even react. It just frantically slunk under the door and disappeared.

The alcohol inside the broken lamp spilled across the floor, joining the toppled candles. Fire erupted all over the attic.

"We have to get out of here," said Kas.

They sprinted out from their cover, jumping over snakes and spiders and fire, toward the door, only to find their way barred by Henry.

"Where do you think you're going?" he said, the dagger in his hand glinting in the fire. "You won't get away with this, you know. There is no court of law in this country that will fail to convict you. Oh, I can just see the headlines now. Woman engaged in affair with servant, plot to murder husband. You cannot escape me!"

The rifle lay forgotten on the floor behind him. He could still stab either of them before they could reach it. They stood facing him, wavering, neither knowing what to do, while all around them, the fire reached higher and higher, and the earthquake threw more paper and books and wood and chemicals into it, feeding it, the creaking of timbers mixing with the crackling of the flames.

From outside came a strange rumble, starting from afar and getting louder and louder, as the Earth tore itself apart. It was mixed with the frantic clanging of the bell hung by the shore, rung by some phantom hand, as though the ghosts themselves were trying to sound the alarm.

With a great groan like that of a dying beast, the house split in two.

The force of the break threw them all off their feet. By the time Christabel scrambled to her hands and knees, the trembling of the earth had subsided. Kas was picking himself up next to her. They surveyed the scene before them with astonished eyes.

The earthquake had shaken Creel House from its very foundation and rended the house into two halves like a loaf of bread. A jagged hole lay gaping before them, where the floor of the attic had been broken up, and the slowly brightening sky looked down on them through a crack in the roof.

Dangling over the hole on the floor, holding to its edge for dear life, was Henry.

His face was coming off—literally, with patches of skin melting away like candlewax under a flame, showing the raw flesh underneath. This wasn't the work of Hargrove's bullet, or Kas's fists, or Christabel's spirit lamp, or even the raging fire. Two hundred years' worth of aging was catching up with him. His hair disappeared. His nose and lips and ears shriveled up. His remaining eye, once a brilliant blue, now clouded over, but its malevolent glare was still fixed on Christabel and Kas, terrible in its fury and hatred.

Then the house gave one last dying shudder, jostling his hands from their purchase, and the vicious look in his eye was gone, replaced by, for the first time, fear. Henry managed to hold on to the edge with his left hand.

"Save me, please," he begged through his shriveled-up lips, extending his right hand to them.

Neither Christabel nor Kas moved.

"Save me, Christabel," Henry repeated, turning to her. "I'll let you two go free. I promise."

Christabel couldn't stir even if she wanted to, too horrified by the decay happening before her eyes.

Henry turned to Kas. "Please," Henry muttered with his last strength. "I'll tell you your real name. Your mother, she whispered it to me before she died. I'll tell you who she was..."

For a dreadful moment, Christabel felt Kas waver. Then he looked at her and squeezed her hand reassuringly.

"My name is Kas," he said to Henry. "That's all I've ever been, and that's what I'm content to be."

Henry's beseeching look vanished in an instant. His lips twisted up in a horrible snarl, showing his teeth. He started to lift himself up by his remaining hand, pulling himself up from the edge, like a skeleton rising from the fiery mouth of Hell.

Kas snatched up the silver dagger from the floor, rushed forward, and, in one swift movement, chopped off Henry's left hand.

Henry's mouth fell open in shock. He tumbled backward. As if this finally released them from the binding spell they were under, Christabel and Kas ran to the edge and caught the last baneful glare of his eye as he stared at the bloody stump where his hand used to be and back at them, before he disappeared into the abyss.

Time seemed to be held on suspension while they stood there, looking into the destruction below. Some of the candles had toppled through the attic floor, and fire was now raging throughout the house.

The heat and the smoke reminded them of their predicament. Seizing Christabel's hand, Kas kicked down the door and pulled her out of the attic. More flames blocked their way. Throwing his arms around Christabel to shield her from the worst of the fire, Kas ran through it. They stumbled downstairs. The earthquake had knocked down doors and walls and torn the staircase apart, and more than once, Kas made the wrong step and would've fallen through a crack if it hadn't been for Christabel pulling him back to safety. Leaning against each other, they made it to the second floor. The air was thick with smoke. Christabel bent over, coughing and choking, her eyes watering.

"Let me carry you," she heard Kas say through the roar of the fire.

"No," she gasped. Kas was in no better shape than she was, she would only slow him down. "I can manage."

They pushed on. The landing now, where billows of smoke were flowing through the broken stained glass window. Now the first floor. She was so close to freedom. They both were.

The smoke was now so thick and so dark that she couldn't see where the front door was. She was back in her nightmare, surrounded by the ghosts of Henry's victims, being erased little by little, only this time, it was not by a cold, damp fog, but by smoke, thick, black, suffocating smoke that invaded her throat and her lungs until she could breathe and taste nothing else, until she was nothing but smoke. The last thing she was aware of was stumbling to the ground, hitting the floorboard with her cheek, then her whole body was jostled up and down violently, like the earthquake was coming back, and she knew no more.

Chapter 18 (last chapter)

A/N: It would be a lie if I said I chose the setting for this story (San Francisco in the early 1900s) solely so I could feature the 1906 San Francisco earthquake in its climax… but it was a very early decision. The moment I chose an Edwardian and US setting, I knew SF with all its fog and its earthquakes would be fun to explore. I also had some fun with the DnD lore in this chapter, with Kas chopping off Vecna's left hand, and the bit about Creel offering to tell Kas his real name was borrowed from Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrel. Only one chapter left! Stay tuned!

#hellcheer #hellcheer fic #eddie munson #chrissy cunningham #joseph quinn #eddie x chrissy #eddissy #hellcheer au #henry creel #joseph quinn fic #kas!eddie #vampire!eddie munson

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