#also i meant to finish this season during summer break but ran out of time!! so ig AD will be next week?

[skitskatdacat63]

2009 Brazilian Grand Prix - Mark Webber

[corrodedcoffins-blog]

Making Up

quinn hughes x nhl player!reader

warning: suggestive, mention of food (i think, i dont ever remember what i write after its done)

word count: 1.8 k

Usually, as in every other year, Y/n looked forward to training camp; it meant a year was starting, and with that a new start. Yet all she could think about the few months was how she so desperately hoped that training camp could be farther and farther away. But this year was different. Just like last year was different. All because she slept with Quinn once, well more than once but the first time was the inciting incident. 

But before the end of last season, with their ‘break up’ if you could even call it that, given they never dated. And since then Y/n has done a large amount of self-reflection, this came about when over the summer she had a weird feeling, one she’s only had after she leaves her family for the season. She was homesick, homesick for Quinn. 

She missed him so much, missed how he would hold her at night, and leave small kisses all over her body, she missed feeling his weight on her while they cuddled. She missed him. She wanted him. 

The woman hasn’t seen Quinn for four months, and they had barely talked after their ‘break up’, avoiding all chances during their last few games, and though she couldn’t be more happy and proud of him, the man now being the captain only made everything worse. If he was anything but captain, she could get away with avoiding him a lot easier. But life has never gone easy on her.

- Just as expected, training camp went terribly. Well, that’s an exaggeration, she did great, just not well Quinn was her partner, or next to her, or in her eye sight. And realistically, she was probably the only one to notice. Except for Quinn, he always noticed. But he was also in the same situation of not playing that great when Y/n was involved. 

So after practice, on their way out, Quinn ran to catch up with the girl just as she was getting in her car, he mutters, “Meet me at my house, we have to talk.”

His deep voice, being a small shock, having not seen him coming. And feeling his warm breath on her neck, and his voice in her ears brought up memories. Ones that her body had a physical reaction to being brought up in her brain. The rosy colour rising in her cheeks, and throat becoming dry.

-

Gaining the courage to finally knock on Quinn’s door, it opens before she can finish the third knock. Quinn no doubt waited on the other side, waiting for the woman to finally knock after standing out there for far too long.

“Hey.” “Hi.”

Standing in the awkwardness for enough time, Quinn walked out of the entrance way and towards his kitchen, Y/n assumes she’s supposed to follow so she does. Walking into the familiar room, looking around and seeing no changes in the decorations, or lack thereof. Quinn then passes the girl a beer, the cap already off. Quinn knew she hated twist off because they made the palm of her hand sore, so he always did it for her. Even now. 

“We have to have it out. We have to have everything out in the open. Or we won’t be able to play together like we used to.” “I agree.”

After standing in the awkwardness once again, Quinn decided that for once he was going to be bold and say what he truly felt, and what he truly wanted, “I love you. And that’s not gonna change.” Taking a sip of her beer, feeling she’ll need it for this, the woman listened as Quinn continued, “I love everything about you. Even the things I hate, and that annoy me, I love. I love how competitive you are, not even in sports, just in everyday things; just that you can unlock the door faster than me, so if Micheal Myers was chasing us you would survive and I wouldn’t. And I love the face you have when you’re tired, but you don’t want to admit it, just for you to fall asleep ten minutes into a movie you fought me over to watch. I love that you’re adamant on only having tomatoes once in your life, when I have seen you eat spaghetti and pizza more than once before-""It’s not the same ""-I love you, Y/n. All of you.”

Tears trickled down the woman’s face, tickling as they went down her neck. Because, fuck she thinks she really loves him too. And that was still really scary to say, but she would get over it for him. Because he wouldn’t hurt her like the other guys, he cared for her, and paid attention to the little things, and god, he was perfect. She couldn’t imagine a future without him. She was always on the fence about kids, but he wanted them, she would give him them.Wiping the tears away, looking into Quinn’s eyes, ones she’s missed so dearly.

“I think I love you too.I’ve only said that to someone once before and my love was taken for granted, so it’s been hard for me to give it out. But Quinny, you’ve never given me a reason to not completely trust you, and I think that’s what I was scared of. But I love you, and I don’t think it will ever change either.”

Swiftly, Quinn brings the girl into a deep, and passionate kiss, one they put all of their love for each other into. Y/n bring her hands to the nape of Quinn’s neck, grabbing the hair in her fist, pulling slightly; eliciting a groan from the boy, while he brings his hands from her waist to her hips to her thighs, lifting her and taking her to the couch. His hands now at the hem of the woman’s shirt, beginning to lift it over her head, before Y/n interrupts and he stops instantly.

“Wait- I don’t want this to be like last time. I don’t want the miscommunication, and the friends-with-benefits thing. I want you. I want to be with you.” “Glad we’re on the same page then.” He says, leaning his head down to kiss the woman’s jaw, and down to the spot she loves on her neck. 

“Quinny. So, what does that mean for us?” Quinn, now seeing this wasn’t going fast sits next to the girl, “Y/n. Will you be my girlfriend?” “How would that affect the team, and us playing together, what will people think? I mean- they’ll blame me, ‘first girl in the league, and she goes and dates her captain’ it will look bad. And-” “Y/n, stop thinking. Do you want to be my girlfriend, ‘cause I want to be your boyfriend. A lot.” “Of course! Of course I want to. But-” “Then why are we thinking about what other people will think?”

Quinn would never truly understand. No matter how hard he tries, no man will understand. What people will say. How they’ll think of every reason to hate her and add this to the list. But never will they hate Quinn for it, no. And she knows that Quinn is trying to help, saying not to care what other people think, but it’s hard when if she looks up her own name, everything that comes up is how ‘she doesn’t deserve to be in the league’ or that ‘she doesn��t work hard enough’ even though she is the first in the gym and the last to leave, she gets to the games first, always pushing herself but it was never good enough.

“People will hate me.”

“Y/n, you are the strongest person I know, if any of the guys got the amount of hate you do, they would have quit by now. You don’t let their words make you quit, you push yourself harder. I love you. And I don’t care what those people say, they’re just sexist bastards. You deserve to be happy, and I want to make you happy. Don’t let them take that away.”

That was what she needed to hear. She still had concerns of course, but her happiness will come first and they’ll cross the bridges as they come. Because Quinn was right. Letting those people stop her from living her life, only gave them what they wanted and her nothing. At that a large grin, from ear to ear, spreads on Y/n’s face. 

“I love you.” “I love you too. How ‘bout I show you how much I love you?” “Please, Quinny.”

-

Their naked bodies were now tangled in the bed sheets, Y/n turned her head and gently placed her chin on Quinn’s bare and muscular chest. Just looking at him, his eyes staring into the ceiling gave the woman a chance to observe the changes in him, his new stubble length, and his hair styled differently. Still as handsome as ever.

“It’s rude to stare.” “You don’t know I’m staring, you can’t see me.” “There’s mirrors over there.”

Looking at where Quinn pointed with his chin, there were in fact the mirrors of his closet door that gave him a great few of her face, and their bodies intertwined. 

“Fine. You caught me.” Y/n said, bringing a mischievous smirk to Quinn’s face, his hands now moving from the woman’s back to her sides, Quinn knowing that’s where she is ticklish. The woman squirming on top of him (for the second time today) now screaming out (for the second time today)

“Ahhh! Quinny! Ah stop! Wait, I have to talk- ah! Talk to you!”

His hands stopping, and coming to rub up and down on her sides, “‘Bout what?” Y/n can hear the mild concern in his voice and not wanting to worry him says a quick ‘nothing bad’ before sitting up and continuing her sentence, “I just want to talk so we’re on the same page about.. How this will affect the team and if we’ll tell them, and you’re the captain now so you have to put the team first and I never want to put you in that situation.”

“We’re not gonna affect the team.” “You don’t know that.” “Did it before?” “...That was different. And when we ended things it did.” “Well I don’t plan on ending things. Do you?” Y/n’s hands move to the sides of Quinn’s neck, tilting his head up to look at her, “I don’t plan on ending things.” “Good.” Quinn says, a smile on his face while leaning up to press a soft kiss on Y/n’s lips, then on her jaw before falling back against his pillows.

“Do you want to tell the guys?” “Not yet.” “Then let’s not worry about it. Just see how it goes before we tell them.” “Okay.” Leaning down, Y/n rests her head on Quinn’s bare chest once again, hearing his steady heartbeat and the warmness of his chest, warming her ear.

“And don’t give me special treatment in practice.” “I would never. If anything I would push you harder ‘cause I know that’s what works for you.” “Good.”

~taglist~

@books-hlmc

[infitsovermisfits]

What's Shakin' Baby? - Eddie Munson x GN!Reader

((i'm crying sm look how pretty he fucking looks AAAAAA))

info: took me days to write which I'm honestly pretty proud of- I had this idea for a while and just thought it was cute lads :) hope u enjoy while I work on the other fics. OMG VOL 2 COMES OUT IN A WEEK WHAT THE FUCK??? That's wild I'm so nervous and excited. this is edited but if I missed any warnings or anything woopsie. I also hope people are ok that I change readers home life around? like in 'Tiny Swords' they've got a family but here they're alone- I'm just trying to be fun with it and change things up for u all please appreciate me please please validate this please please (/lh) HAHAHAHA HAPPY READING!!!

also, i have s o many pictures of eddie on my pinterest its so fucking funny. also, if anyone's going to comic con on the 8/10th of July and seeing Joe i hope u have a lovely time <3 

WARNINGS: gender neutral reader, reader is 20, angst, self-conscious issues, underage (America) drinking, drug use, mentions of violence, allusions to season 3, fighting, working through issues ig, angst with a happy ending, reconciliation, confession of feelings, way too long oh my god, idk what else my mind is blank 

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART3 | MASTERLIST

11,979 words

"Sorry, we're closed!" You called, focusing on drying the blenders from any leftover water droplets that remained from the night before. It was bright and early at 7 am, and the ringing of the door behind you signified without fail that a customer had entered 'Sam's Smoothie Shack' without bothering to spare a glance at the "Sorry! We're closed!" sign hung on the door. The chart next to it clearly stated that on Mondays, you opened at 7:30 am, not 7 on the dot. You'd gotten the job last year during spring break, and worked part-time when you had school. After your exams, you worked full-time over the summer to make some more money before leaving Hawkins for good, to go to Franklin College...

You were back now, finally finished with your first semester there, and it was... Vastly underwhelming. Sure, you were happy- and perhaps too eager- to finally leave Hawkins behind and experience life as the adult you were.  Yeah...  Only no one told you how fucking difficult making new friends in a city you had never been in before was going to be. You'd basically lived alone since you were sixteen, so you knew the basics of taking care of yourself. That was nothing you were new to, you just had an issue talking to people. How were you supposed to start conversations? Introducing yourself was weird, and most of the 'normal' people there were judgemental assholes...

Your roommates were nice to you but rarely invited you out to parties. There were a few other goths and punks who studied there but to your luck, you didn't share any classes together, so you rarely saw them. That meant you were often drinking alone by yourself in your dorm, reminiscing on the not-as-shitty-as-you remembered times in Hawkins...

Your whole life, you felt alone, never really fitting in with the other kids. The friends you did have grew into assholes by High School- being alone was better than being talked about behind your back or never included in plans. It made you resent them until it made you a loner. But if you stayed out of everybody's way then you'd be safe, right?

You couldn't be more fucking wrong. It was as if you had 'make this person's life hell' floating above you at all times. Kids, you didn't even know would call you a freak or shove you in the halls. Some days, surviving those 4 years seemed agonising and pointless to you...

At least one person was determined to prove you wrong.

Eddie "The Freak" Munson was the only person you had some sort of a relationship with in Hawkins. When one day, you'd found your lunch being ripped to shreds in the field by some assholes, you ran all the way to the trees, sobbing into your hands. Out of the forest, he emerged, leaves stuck in his shorter hair and round eyes full of worry. He had been the first person to be kind in High School, and that made you admire him so much. 

He hadn't called you a freak- he called the dog collar you turned into a bracelet cool and not weird, and he even shared one of his sandwiches with you. That day, in the first week of freshman year, you decided he was going to be your only friend. 

Over the years, you watched him grow into himself Eddie: becoming the intense, animated and overconfident 'freak' at your high school that taught you how to grow thicker skin. By junior year, you'd developed your own catalogue of insults you'd hurl at anyone trying to give you a hard time, and laughed maniacally at the 'devil worshipping' rumours they'd spread about the two of you. 

If only they knew what you were actually like alone. Eddie was much more laid back, no thanks to the weed he began dealing to anyone who'd be interested greatly helped in relaxing you both. It also jumbled your words and made Hawkins just that more bearable. Through the long summers, you found yourself spending more and more time with him, until you were hanging out every day. If you weren't at work, you were most likely with Eddie- in his van, in his trailer, in your trailer, in the park at Forest Hills, in the woods, wherever. Legal, or illegal it didn't matter because you were there together. 

You largely credited him as being the only reason you managed to survive high school and Hawkins in their own ways- existing with him wasn't as shitty as existing alone. He somehow made things more enjoyable. And you'd be lying if you didn't think about kissing him once, maybe twice. You really would give anything just to feel those soft lips against your own... Once...

You lost your chance when you'd received your Franklin acceptance letter and he broke the news to you that they'd called his Uncle Wayne to inform him Eddie had failed his exams and would need to stay behind another year. And you had to bury that anger deep within you and comfort him through chainsmoking and drinking through the rest of your summer together, considering you'd be gone for most of the year.

For the first time in your life, you were separated. And going to college without Eddie by your side was weird in itself. Sure you'd likely be taking separate classes- maybe he wouldn't even be studying at all? Maybe he'd work, or play with a new band he'd find up there... He'd find some way to fit into your life together... But he didn't. Because he wasn't there. He stayed behind while you moved on.

And yet you came back. You knew you could have stayed in Franklin for the summer but where was the fun in that? The one friend you had made that had a very believable fake ID was gone for the summer so you couldn't drink your way through the sweltering heat. You were sort of forced to hop on the next bus to Hawkins, heaving your luggage after you and staring out the window as Metalica drowned out any worries you may have of stepping back home... Home... Didn't fucking feel like it,

"That's a shame," You recognised that voice. You'd had it making small comments that made you smile to yourself in class, and lulling you to sleep with his songs, " 'I was made for loving you, baby...' " He was behind you now. He tapped the bell three times to the beat of the song as you turned up your Kiss song on the radio by your side. You turned sharply with a large grin,

" 'You were made for loving me...' " You finished excited in unison with him, barely on key from how wide you were grinning at the sight of him: long, raven-black mane of hair cascading down his shoulders and covering some of the pins higher up on his jean vest, sitting just on top of the warm leather jacket who's scent and touch you had long committed to memory.  You could faintly see the red devil beneath the layers, and you could only make out the 'i' with the flaming dot from the 'Hellfire Club' printed over his chest. He was live and in the flesh before you. Finally, together again, "Hey!" You greeted happily, unable to control the laughter that bubbled up from your chest as you moved forwards to the counter. Quickly, you hopped up on it and slid over the smooth top, ignoring the 'Hey, I just cleaned that!' from your younger co-worker as you fell into his arms, hugging him tightly. His familiar scent of cigarette smoke and weed quickly filled your lungs, warmly welcoming you back. Strangely, you could also faintly smell cologne on him; you'd tease him about that later. For now, you were just happy you were reunited, "God, did I miss you, Munson," You grinned, pulling away in his arms to look up at him,  "Did your hair get longer when I was gone?" You teased  playfully, twirling a strand around your finger,

"You missed me!?" He asked in a mocking shocked tone, causing you to laugh, "And yeah, it did. Hair grows like that," You grinned, 

"I had no clue, Eddie," You said playfully, smirking, "But you didn't even cut it or anything-"

"Who's that?" Your co-worker asked from behind you. He'd turned the music down, which caused you to turn and frown at his confused face, "Is he here for the interview?"

"No man, he's just my very... Good friend," You let go of Eddie from where you were holding him and pat his shoulder with a tight smile, glancing up at him and walking back around behind the counter, tightening the bow at the back of your apron, "It's Eddie? Munson?" You told your coworker, motioning to the man inside the store, "I told you about him, Micheal," You sighed,

"Yeah, well, Sam said if it's not part of the official training, I don't have to listen to you," You rolled your eyes as his voice droned on and he turned back to cutting up a few more fruits for the healthier smoothies,

"See what I gotta deal with on a daily basis, Eds?" You smiled as you leaned against the counter, glancing down at it briefly and grabbing a spray and a wipe, cleaning it, 

"Mh- just as awful as last time," He gave you a wink once you were done, and leaned an elbow on the counter so he could talk to you as usual. Things felt normal again- as normal as Eddie could provide you,

"Hey, I like this job," You defended, 

"You tolerate this job, barely," He smirked. He knew you too damn well, and you gave him a knowing smile, 

"Yeah. I do," You sighed, "But it pays me money to work here. And Sam's nice enough to let me wear my apron again a-"

"Hey, where is the old man, by the way?" Eddie asked, and you glanced around cautiously, before looking up at the newly installed security camera that had gotten busted when some middle schoolers thought it would be funny to construct the most repulsive smoothie known to man at you. Without pay. You didn't have the heart to let Sam know so you just prayed Micheal would fuck it up somehow, "Did he uh...?" Eddie made a cutthroat gesture when you turned back to look at him, and you smirked, shoving his hand away,

"Sam is right as rain, thank you very much for your concern," You smiled at the disappointed groan he gave, and reached over grabbing a toothpick and sticking it between his teeth, chewing on it to relieve a nicotine craving he likely had, "He's in the back doing inventory and helping the boys unload- we get fresh fruit here every day, after all," You tapped the sign that you had drawn, that now rested before the register. Eddie hummed, looking over your work with a small nod, "He still very much doesn't appreciate you loitering around," You teased, smiling at him, "But you're A-Okay in my books, Munson," You grinned at him, resting your elbows on the counter and setting your chin on your hands, "So how've you-"

"Why is he still inside then?" Your co-worker asked, unamused, and unsharing your excitement. You cast him a glare for even piping up, "Wait, is this the guy we're not supposed to let-"

"Because I can be," Eddie piped up from beside you, "And if you tell that old ass I was here, I'll punch you," Eddie threatened. Eddie had only ever been punched. You'd never personally seen him fight back; usually he'd just pick himself off the floor and go scowling to you with a bloody nose you'd clean for him, or a black eye you'd lend your ice to. You smirked, raising your brows at him,

"You actually can't be in here though," The younger kid said, moving to stand closer to you, "The sign says we're still closed. We open in fifteen minutes," When you came back two days ago, you couldn't sleep. You arrived at Forest Hills Trailer Park at the asscrack of dawn and spent the better part of that morning digging through your stuff to find your fake ID you'd wrongfully misplaced before leaving for college. Soon though, you wouldn't need it. Your twenty-first was only a few months away. God, you were old...

 The first thing you did was buy yourself beer because Jesus Christ was the summer looking warm as shit. You then went to Sam's to reclaim your apron, only to find your spot taken by Micheal. You didn't know or recognise him- he was either a junior or senior but you weren't paying attention to what he was saying because his voice pissed you off. All mumbly and gross it made you want to rip off your ears. Sam had been convinced he was the best for the job so you didn't question him, and felt relieved to be hired again. 

Micheal, like you, couldn't give a shit about this job, or you. Something you were thankful for. You mostly treated him like an annoying little brother, and rarely spoke to him because you really had nothing in common. He seemed so boring to you, so it greatly surprised you that he was the reason you were getting so many, customers. It was amusing, even now, seeing the line of newly 'Smoothie Cleanse' obsessed moms of Hawkins flocking outside and sending Eddie dirty looks for cutting inside. Micheal would get flirted with constantly, only to obliviously blink and just make the smoothie, while you only received death glare looks. It didn't really matter, considering you two shared the generous tips he'd receive at the end of your shifts,

"Shut up, Micheal," You said, waving him off, "Hey- I just remembered I never taught you how to clean the blenders because it's 'unsafe' so you've gotta go in the back to ask Sam," You said, pointing out the blender. He picked it up, frowning,

"But-" You didn't want to argue, 

"You want our customers complaining about our dirty blenders, Micheal?" You asked, and watched his eyes widen fearfully, "You want this place to shut down and ruin poor Sam's life? No. You don't. Get your ass in the back, find Sam, asking how to take the blender apart," You said threateningly, watching as he disappeared through the 'employee's only' door. You sighed, turning back to Eddie and grabbing a smoothie you'd made earlier for yourself in place of coffee, "How've you been, Eds?" You asked, smiling at him as you took a sip from your straw,

"Oh, you know, here and there," He said, "Everywhere really. You drink this crap?" He gestured to the drink you were holding, "Thought you'd be sick of it," He hummed,

"I was," You shrugged, taking a sip, "But this raspberry blast is so good," You hummed, handing it over to him so he could take a sip of the pink liquid, "I made it myself. Created the recipe and everything- it's part of the hiring process I told you about? Apparently, it's super popular now. I think Sam's even gonna call it the Smoothie of the Summer which means-" You tapped the counter eagerly, "-I get a promotion!" You grinned,

"Nice!" He smiled, holding his hand out for you to high five, before taking another sip, "I finished this by the way- sorry," He said, shaking the empty cup, "It's really good,"

"I told you!" You grinned, watching him toss the cup and miss the trash bin entirely, "You pick that up right now, we're not even open and you're making a mess," You pointed to the cup with a grin, 

"Mmmh- can't I'm still tasting the smoothie," He said, closing his eyes as you grinned, 

"Christ, Eds," You hummed, shaking your head as you glanced through the fresh ingredients in the cooling trays next to you, 

"What's in there? I can taste the raspberries but it's sweet and not weird like raspberries usually are," He said with a frown,

"You mean tart. They're tart," You explained, and watched as he blinked at you,

"Like a pie tart?" You laughed loudly, shaking your head, "You put a pie in there?"

"No!" You laughed, "No, you dumbass- tart is like a flavour it's not entirely sour but it's not sweet it's like... Between those uh-" You glanced behind you at the overhead menus, "It's got raspberries, obviously, but they're the frozen ones cause we have to get rid of them before Sam orders anymore," You said, glancing at the ingredients set out and pointing to them, "It's also got banana and yoghurt to give it the thick texture, apple juice to help it blend and make it sweet and then also honey. For the sweetness," You smiled, "You do have to tweak and really experiment with the ratios because one thing goes off and it's just gross and too sour or gross and too sweet," You stuck your tongue out, 

"I see, I see," He said, resuming his spot where he was leaning against the counter. He had pulled the toothpick from his mouth and was dulling the sharp ends by repeatedly drumming the stick into the counter, "It's nice. Refreshing, babe," He teased, and you rolled your eyes, "Oh and by the way- fuck you for not telling me you were back sooner," He said in mock hurt, putting a hand on his chest. Your eyes widened at his comment,

"Fuck- Shit- Sorry," You hissed, "I know I should have, I'm really sorry," You quickly apologised, "I didn't expect coming back home after so long was gonna be so chaotic but..." You sighed deeply, then shrugged your shoulders "It is," You frowned, "I had to go pay off some bills to Dave 'cause apparently I only paid for six months and not ten," You rambled,

"Oh shit," He said with a frown, looking concerned,

"Yeah, shit," You grumbled, "I was so excited to go buy new clothes for myself tomorrow at Starcourt and bam!- half my savings are gone," You frowned, "Gotta compromise if I want to eat and survive or look nice," You sighed,

"He knows you live alone, right?" He checked; you nodded, "And that you're a student going to college in another city, how many miles from home?"

"Yeah, of course he knows," You said, glancing over at the fruits you had paused in cutting up to dry the blenders. You glanced over to where you kept the single-use plastic gloves and put on a pair, before resuming your task, "He doesn't give a shit about students, though. He's never heard of a student discount," You grumbled,

"He knows you're only twenty, right?" You nodded, "You've been living there for eight years with your parents- three of those alone. He must have... Realised?" He said quietly, and you paused with the knife half sunk in the strawberry. 

To be honest, you didn't want to bother Dave with the news your father, your only caretaker, had passed when he did, so all the bills you'd paid for those three years were marked out in his name. You'd secretly hoped someone else would tell him to avoid having that conversation. You never really got used to admitting to what happened with your father; his sickness... His death. Eddie and his uncle Wayne were the only ones you had that day, and you spent the week over there, not ready to enter your home and realise you were alone,

"...Yeah," You said quietly, resuming your task,

"Then why don't you ask him to lower the rent?" He asked, leaning against the glass display and watching the movements of your hands intently, "Considering you're not even using it as a home while you're away in college,"

"Ugh, that was his point too," You frowned, 

"But you're not using his stuff? Why is he charging you if you're not there?" He frowned,

"He said something like..." You paused to think, remembering back to the conversation you had "Something like 'doesn't matter to me that you can't pay- you're hogging up the space, kiddo'," You mimicked the older man's voice and sighed, "He's annoying and stubborn and he hates kids," You settled,

"Damn..." Eddie sighed, "You should have told me. I could have covered for you," He said, and you smiled softly at his offer,

"Thanks, Eds that's very kind of you," You said sincerely, and noticed the small smile he flashed you made your heart flutter, "But four months' worth of rent is a lot. And I don't think you could magically pull that much out of thin air" You said, eyes widening slightly. You shook your head "Just gotta spend my summer vacationing away from school work with... Normal work," You grimaced,

"Damn," He frowned, 

"Anyhow-" You tried steering the conversation away from your boring life to him. He was bound to have something exciting to tell you, "Anything new with you?" You asked, 

"A few freshmen joined Hellfire," He said, as you 'ooo'-ed for him, "Yes, yes. My illustrious charm and endless charisma convinced them to join," You smiled, at his comments as he waved his arm for dramatic purposes, 

"You kick their asses yet, babe?" You smiled, glancing up at him from your task,

"Of course, babe, who do you think I am?" You could still remember the first night you started using the pet names for each other. One night, you were getting high in his room, giggling away at something, when he had mentioned his 'sweetheart'. He perhaps sensed your mood shift to serious all too quickly, because your giggles had faded and you were staring at him with a curious look. He lifted his hand above his head to affectionately strum the chords on his then, brand new guitar, which got you to laugh again. You'd started calling each other babe that night and it stuck. It was a friend thing, you were convinced. As playfully as asshole, shithead and dickhead were. But sometimes, you liked pretending there was affection behind the word, and not your usual playfulness,

"Good," You hummed softly. You still had a full bowl of freshly cleaned strawberries to get through, before opening time. When he didn't speak again, seemingly focused on your hands working away at slicing up the fruit, you spoke up, "You know how much I fucking love making shakes for the health moms out there?" You said sarcastically, nodding your head to the line of mostly older women queuing impatiently outside,

"Mhm," He hummed, scanning the line, "Yeah, I'm so jealous of em," He joked, making you breathe out a small laugh, "What did you want to get from Starcourt anyway?" He asked curiously,

"Huh?" You asked, not entirely hearing him,

"I asked what you wanted from Starcourt. The mall?" He elaborated,

"I don't know- anything that caught my eye?" You said with a smile, before sighing, "You know I couldn't afford much last year, considering I was putting the money off for rent and school... It was mostly window shopping then, so I'm excited to go now to actually buy stuff! I have my route planned out already- Sam's even letting taking the day off tomorrow so I can maximise on the buying and he hates the mall! I'm so excited, Eds- Wanna hear?" You said quickly, letting your excitement take over before he could utter a word, "Okay so bottom floor, West wing entrance, straight into JCPennies because there was such a cute necklace there that I think if I layered with-"

"I... Hate to disappoint you but uh..." Eddie said quickly, holding a hand up for you, "The mall burned down," You blinked, setting the knife down as you stared at him, 

"It did what?"

"Faulty wiring, I think? If I remember it from the news right... I don't know, my uncle read the paper but he might have burned it..." He said, humming to himself and tilting his head, eyes flicking over the ceiling to try to gather his thoughts, "The ceiling was unsafe and collapsed onto gas pipes and then boom! A fire," He said. Your shoulders dropped in disappointment as you frowned, looking at the pink-stained cutting board and knife. God, it sure had been a while since you were back home... Seems like the most exciting things happened while you were away, "But hey- the stores on the main street were forced to open back up, so that's... Good! You could always go there to shop," He said quickly, seeing your mood shift,

"Nah, that's not the same as walking through a mall," You sighed, "That's... Wow that's so shitty," You huffed, frowning, "So now I just have a day to... Do nothing?" You frowned, shaking your head as you went back to your task,

"You've always got me," Eddie said. You looked up at him, scanning him up and down, "Wherever you wanna go, I'll take you," He smiled, and you narrowed your eyes,

"How are you not burning up in that?" You pointed to his two jackets and long sleeve Hellfire shirt,

"You guys have good air con," He winked, and you raised your brows with a nod,

"We do have good air con," You smiled, "But outside?"

"Well, it's only warm. Not unbearably hot yet," He said, and you nodded, before sighing and dumping the pile of strawberries into their correct, chilled bin,

"If Sam sees you in here-"

"He'll be overjoyed!" Eddie grinned as he finished, "Now come on- hang out with me all day tomorrow. School's out for the summer, you have nothing to do; I have nothing to do. I'll make it worthwhile! Promice. I'll take you around Hawkins and show you everything that's different," He begged, and you sighed as you moved to set the dirty dishes in the nearby sink, 

"That's not gonna take us all day though," You said, and watched him pout, "It might take all evening though," You smiled," I get off at one today," You told him, and watched his face as he smiled in recognition, 

"Of course you get off at one today," He grinned, "Nice- I'll pick you up for lunch and we'll go driving around like old times," He said eagerly,

"Hell, why not?" You grinned as he hissed a little 'yes' to himself, "I-"

"You could always just come in tomorrow," Your co-worker piped in, seemingly appearing out of nowhere and scaring you. You twisted around to see him holding the now spotless blender, and cast him a glare, "And tell Sam your plans got cancelled,"

"Or you could keep your mouth shut and wash those blenders a little better," You snapped back, holding a hand up to Eddie and sliding off the sticky gloves you were wearing, discarding them in a nearby bin "What the fuck is that?" You said, grabbing one of the blenders and holding it out to him to see the blades.

"...I don't know," He said quietly,

"That-" You pointed inside, "-is peanut butter stuck to the blades," You said, "You better clean this right now-"

"But it's been through the dishwasher," He whined, "Can't we say it's... Clean?" You glared at him,

"Fine, Micheal. Don't clean it," You said, setting the blender and throwing up your hands, "But when you use this blender to make a smoothie for a customer who's got a severe peanut allergy and they fall to the ground unable to breathe and die-" You said angrily, "-You are gonna be singlehandedly paying out lawsuits," You threatened, shoving the blender into his chest and sighing as he moved into the back, "Unbelievable," You shook your head as you approached Eddie, leaning your arms on the counter. He seemed stunned, staring at you with an unreadable look on his face, "What? What is it?" You asked, standing up straighter,

"Y-" He cleared his throat, "You're very uhm... Serious about your job," He said, giving you a small smile. You tilted your head as you looked at him, furrowing your brows, 

"Yeah...? I am. I gotta make money and I can't do that if this establishment is paying off hospital bills..." You rambled, noticing the slight pink tinge to his cheeks and smiling softly, "Eds, are you blushing...?" You asked surprised, and stifled a small laugh as his eyes widened,

"No- You know what, babe? I'm actually- I'm late for a Hellfire club meeting!" He said, glancing from the watch on his wrist up to the clock above you reading 7:30 am. It was a warm July day- school was out for the summer- he did not have a Hellfire meeting.

It was always funny seeing him like this, enamoured by something you did. One night, after you were walking home together and drunkenly singing Rocky Horror's 'There's A Light', some asshole thought it'd be funny to follow the two of you yelling insults. The alcohol had added to your enraged state, causing you to stalk up to the creep to punch him in the face. Eddie had quickly grabbed your arm and ran into the forests, but the way he had looked at you in the night made you feel warm,

 "I uh- gotta go. See you later!" Did he call you babe there? You blinked to yourself, before smirking as you watched his hair bounce as he approached the door,

"Flip the sign!" You yelled quickly, "Thanks Eds!" You grinned to yourself as he left. God, it was good seeing him again- you wanted to tell him how much you missed him but alas, your coworker had to get in the way, along with the timer on the front counter blaring loud, and the bell at the door jingling with his sudden exit. With a small sigh, you glanced at the disappointed woman as she entered, "Good morning!" You said in your best, cheery, customer service voice,  "Welcome to Sam's, how may I help you today?" And so your shift began, then seemed to drag on for excruciating hours...

Eddie had remembered to pick you up at one, even arriving a whole twenty minutes early. You could see him leaning against his van outside, nodding along to 'For Whom The Bell Tolls'  blaring obnoxiously loud from inside. His head was downcast, but he'd occasionally look around, or glance inside the shop, a cigarette perched between his two fingers that he periodically brought up to his plump lips, smoke tumbling into the air. Someone had come in a little while ago to complain about the loud music and the man outside, but you simply had to smile and say that technically, because it was a public path he was parked on, you couldn't do anything about him. You kept glancing up, and if you made eye contact, he'd smile or stick his tongue out, making faces to try and distract you as you finished up cleaning for the day. You know he'd come in, but he'd 'overstayed' his welcome, according to Sam.

Sam was an old, old-fashioned type of guy. You didn't mind him- part of you looked up to him.  He did have his own business that was as successful as anything could be in fucking Hawkins... At least he loved his home- he told you the countless stories of the establishment being an ice cream shop he ran with his wife up until Starcourt opened up. 'Scoops Ahoy' took all his profits so he had to pivot to the next best thing: smoothies. You had no clue why he didn't just make milkshakes, considering they were only a temperature difference from ice cream, but he'd simply smiled and told you 'Sam's Milkshake Bar' didn't have the same ring to it as 'Sam's Smoothie Shack'. 

Sam had always been wary of Eddie, not trusting him as he did you. You tried explaining that if he just got to know him, he'd see he was harmless. Though Sam was still cautious, never failing to mutter about 'kids these days' and their 'loud rock music' poisoning their minds. You smiled as you passed by the older man, letting him know you were off for the day and wishing him a good afternoon as you ducked into the back to hang up your apron and grab your jacket and bag,

"Got it stuck in your head, hmm?" You hummed as you exited the store, faintly hearing the jingling of the bell behind you as you left the small shop and approached him. The song had changed to your Kiss song as you approached, almost on queue. You grinned as he glanced up and saw you, appearing to light up instantly. He pushed himself up, the second cigarette he had sparked up falling to the ground and disappeared beneath his shoe,

"Your chariot awaits, my dear!!" He said loudly, moving his arms to gesture to the van you had long missed since you left Hawkins a year ago, "Go on, get in. I've got you for the rest of the day, right?" He said, pushing his hands in his pockets and coming to stand in front of you so you could hear what he was saying over the music. You opened your mouth slightly, glancing from the van back to him and tilting your head,

"For the rest of the day?" You asked amused, and raised your brows as he nodded,

"Come on- didn't you say you missed me?" You knew him. You'd been friends for so long that you could feel the twinge of hurt behind those amused words. Before you could see his face, he moved to the van and opened the passenger side door for you, letting the music grow louder and drown out your worried thoughts, "Get in!!" He yelled over the music, and being left without much choice, you just grinned, walking over to him, 

"You give me no choice, Munson," You told him, before clambering inside and throwing your bag at your feet.

He shut the door once you were inside, you let yourself glance around the van you'd spent most of the summer in. It faintly smelled like weed- you hoped he wasn't high at the moment. Eddie was a reckless driver as it was and being high surprisingly didn't make him more careful. It was still messy, but you could tell he made an effort in cleaning it for you. You turned the music down slightly so you could hear yourself think and pulled the overhead mirror down, glancing over your face to make sure your make-up was still intact after the long day. Glancing to the side, you noticed a polaroid of the two of you that was tucked into the side. It was a little older- from the darker background, you could see it was taken in Eddie's room. Both your faces were grinning back at you. You could barely remember taking it because of how greened out you were, but you couldn't deny the picture was a nice one. You could see the date the picture was taken was scrawled on the bottom, along with a small heart drawn in the corner there. You smiled softly, reaching a hand up to skim your finger over the sharpie. You jumped slightly at the sound of the door opening, 

"Snooping?" He asked, shutting the door and putting his seatbelt on, gaze flicking to the polaroid,

"Just reacquainting myself," You said, shutting the mirror and leaning back to put your own seatbelt on, "I'm so glad I'm not walking home, my feet are killing me," You sighed, getting comfortable in your seat, 

"Mmmh," He hummed, smiling as he started the car, "You should have asked me to take you," He said, glancing over at you, 

"And wake you up at four in the morning?" You raised your brows, "I'd just piss off Wayne. We both know you're a heavy sleeper, Eds," You smiled, grabbing the overhead handle as he pulled out of the spot and began driving off. He laughed softly, 

"Should have gone and thrown rocks at my window," He said, sparing you a glance. You noticed him eyeing your hand, 

"Wouldn't have worked-"

"Then you should have thrown rocks through my window," He said,

"Have you forgotten the possum incident?" You laughed as he shuddered, "Yeah,"

"Those things have to be my least favourite forest creatures," He huffed,

"You have a favourite?" You asked amused, 

"I'm not telling you," He huffed, "You can't even trust me to drive you around, "He said, glancing at your arm again,

"I would trust you if you weren't so reckless. You know, I wasn't gonna mention it but how many curbs have we hit already?" You smirked, 

"Like... Two?" You gave him a look, "...Four," You laughed softly, at his response, shaking your head and humming softly to the 'Creeping Death' playing through the speakers, 

"So is it a wolf?" You asked after a moment, and laughed at the glare he sent you, 

"I'm not answering that," He grumbled, but you laughed it off, "Hey, open the glove box for me," He hummed, and you did as he asked. There was a cassette inside which you pulled out and glanced over. In sharpie, he had written-

"'Darkest Nightmare'?" You asked amused, grinning, "You made another mixtape?"

"Uhuh- put it in, I'm kinda sick of Metallica," He sighed, and you did as he asked, grinning as he turned up the radio. As usual, his driving got worse, focusing more on the music you were yelling and screaming along to at the moment, praying the seatbelt would at least protect you from a crash. 

Somehow, you'd survived his tour of Hawkins: unsurprisingly, not too much had changed. You drove by the remnants of Starcourt and were saddened to hear of the passing of Cheif Jim Hopper. As much as the old cop loved to give you and Eddie shit for trespassing, he'd only yell at you as you sped off in the van or ran into the forest, laughing together. You were glad, because you really couldn't deal with a criminal record.

The stores along the main street were opening up again, and you eagerly started making plans for which ones you'd want to go to tomorrow. There were a few new ones that had opened up that you were eager to go into. In the meantime, Eddie filled you in on Hellfire and his campaigns, stopping at a diner and eating dinner in the van. It all felt right, and normal again, and you kept smiling fondly as he excited rambled on. Occasionally, you'd remind him of his now cold burger and fries, but he didn't seem to be listening much to you. You didn't mind- you preferred listening anyways.

Once you were done, he drove you back home in comfortable silence, enjoying the mixtape that now played a song by Megadeath you didn't recognise. The sun was setting, causing the sky to bloom in pretty colours that captured your attention. When the trees started getting thicker as you approached Forest Hills, you sighed, grabbing your stuff from the floor. You'd called the trailer park 'home' for the longer part of your life. It hadn't changed either, but you enjoyed his quiet comments on who lived where and what had changed with them. Nothing too interesting but it was nice to be informed,

"...And finally my humble abode," He said, parking the van and undoing his seatbelt,

"Damn... I really did not miss the Hills," You smiled fondly as you looked over his home, before glancing across to your own home. You hadn't realised he had gotten out until your door opened. He smiled at you, 

"Gimmie those," He said, and you gently placed the bag in his hand. He quickly extended his other hand to you, and you rolled your eyes as you took it to get out of the van,

"Thank you, oh fair, kind Sir," You said playfully, shutting the door as you got out. He grinned as he slung your bag over his shoulder, 

"Anything for you, fair one," He said as he moved behind you to lock the car. You rolled your eyes, folding the jacket over your arm as you glanced around the area, taking it in again. The playground that separated your homes looked the same, nothing having changed in the almost year you were away. Perhaps there were more cigarette butts and trash around the area but that was common here. You felt his presence near you; the familiar and pleasant scent of smoke and a forest earthiness growing stronger, "It uh... Hasn't felt the same without you here," He said surprisingly softly, and you glanced up at him, 

"Yeah," You hummed, but realised that didn't make sense, "Uh- I mean it's... Been strange. I've never been away from Hawkins for this long it's... Weird to be back," You said, sighing,

"Yeah, I get it," Eddie said, sighing, "Oh, by the way, someone finally moved into the haunted trailer next to yours," He pointed out, "You've finally got a new neighbour," You looked at the house, smiling fondly as you saw a person hanging up their laundry,

"Huh. I'm surprised Dave finally managed to rent that place out to someone," You said, digging through your pockets to produce your keys, "Oh- right," You mumbled, fiddling with the keychains, "Here!" You smiled at him as you turned to place the charm into his hands, "I had to put it on my keys so I wouldn't forget- you have no idea how stressed I was thinking I lost it back in my dorm," You breathed, smiling, 

"Holy shit," He murmured, fingers skimming over the small metal wolf head you'd gotten him, "This is cool," He grinned, "I'll put it with the others," He teased, 

"Thought you liked my keyrings," You said, twirling your keys as you began heading home, eyes flicking to your neighbour curiously, 

"I do!" He said quickly, "Thanks, a lot. I think it's really cool-" 

"Who is that?" You mumbled to him, eyeing the girl hanging up her laundry on your shared line, "Should we go say hi?" You glanced up at him with a small smile,

"Why'd anyone want to say hi to us?" Eddie asked with a chuckle, but you just rolled your eyes and approached her. Her gaze flicked to you both as you approached, and she removed her headphones from her head,

"Hello!" You said as pleasantly as you could. It was the same tone you'd use with customers to appear more friendly. You pleasantly introduced yourself, and stuck your hand out for her to shake, "I live right next door- I haven't uh... Been here though, because I've been in Franklin for college," You said as she placed her hand in yours and shook it, eyes flicking from Eddie to you with an uncertain look, "We share a line," You also added, 

"Uhuh. Yeah I know," The red-head said shortly. You grimaced, glancing at Eddie, before looking down at her. She had headphones around her neck, and you could faintly hear a song playing, "Are you guys just gonna stand there now?" She asked, and you blinked for a moment

"Are you a big fan of Kate Bush?" You asked, recognising the song,

"I guess," She said in a dejected way, shrugging as she went back to doing her chore. You glanced at her trailer before looking back at her,

"She's good, right?" You smiled, still trying to make pleasant conversation and not freak her out, "I love 'Running Up That Hill,'" She nodded once, and turned her back on you, and continued working. With a small sigh, you glanced over at Eddie, who shrugged his shoulders, "What's your name?" You asked,

"I'm Max," She said shortly, casting you a glare. With a sigh, you nodded, trying to uphold your cheery disposition,

"Cool- nice to meet you, Max," You smiled, "If you need anything, I'm nex-"

"I heard," She said coldly, casting you another look that was defiantly a glare, "Do you like bothering people when they're doing something?" She asked, 

"No, not really," You said quickly, "I'm just trying to be nice and introduce myself to my new neighbour," You frowned, "I just haven't had one in-"

"Great- be nice somewhere else, freak," She muttered, throwing a sheet over the clothing line and grabbing the now empty basket, storming back into her home,

"Damn," You frowned, "It was nice meeting you, Max!" You yelled after her, before turning back to walk to Eddie. He had walked away a little while ago and was waiting for you by your door. You stood by him with a sigh, looking down at your keys, "Wonder what's up with her?" You mumbled, "Think she got grounded or something?" You asked, glancing back at him, "Do people still ground their kids...?" You said playfully with a slight smile, though it fell quickly,

"No, don't think so," He said, walking after you into your home and removing the keys from your door, "More like her uh... Brother? No- her step-brother died in that fire at Starcourt," You nodded solemnly, glancing around your small home with a frown,

"So she's taking it out on everyone else?" You hummed, 

"Guess so," He said softly, and you heard the slight thud of your bag as he set it down on your couch,

"Guess she's tired of hearing condolences," You mumbled, eyes flicking to a photograph of your late father on the wall with a small frown. You heard the door close and the clicking of the locks as Eddie closed it for you. You muttered a small 'thank you' as you stretched your arms above your head tiredly, "Did you know him?" You asked, "This step-brother?"

"Did I know Billy Hargreeves?" He said, turning to look at you. You winced at the mention of the name, "Yeah. We did," He said solemnly. Hargreeves was new but quickly established himself as one of the worst assholes you'd ever met. You did what you could to stay out of his way because of how... Violent he usually got...

"God..." You sighed, "Well..." You mumbled, throwing your jacket over the couch and falling back on it. You still hadn't unpacked since you came back- your suitcase stood where you'd left it by the door, along with a duffle bag that was flung to the ground. You just didn't have the motivation to wash all your clothes or get unpacked... And besides, the clothing line was full, thanks to Max.  You could hear Eddie moving around behind you, rummaging through your kitchen to find something to eat, "You know I haven't been called a freak since I left Hawkins?" You said, moving a hand up to your forehead to rub at it, trying to soothe the tension and pain growing there,

"Seriously?" He asked, amusement clear in his tone, "Thought... You know, college? People there would be more..." He trailed off,

"Surprisingly, there are a lot more 'freaks' and 'goths' in the big city," You smiled, leaning your head back all the way to watch him. Eddie had shed himself of his usual jackets, hanging them up on the back of one of the two chairs so he was left in just his Hellfire shirt. He'd rolled his sleeves up so you could see the peaks of the bat swarm frozen in ink on his arm. You watched as he rummaged in your drawer, pulling out a bottle opener and hearing the clicks of two bottles opening. You sighed softly, smiling as he walked over to you, "Have I mentioned you're the best?" You grinned as you sat back up, shifting to give him some space so he could sit with you,

"Mh- you deserve something after a hard day's work," He winked playfully, clinking the bottle with you as you eagerly took a swig of the beer, humming happily as you drank the cold liquid, 

"Yeah, uhuh," You hummed between sips,

"I'd also make you something to eat but-"

"But you're banned from my kitchen," You grinned, "After you set fucking popcorn on fire-"

"It's not my fault your microwave is stupid!!" He grinned, 

"It's a normal microwave Eds! You set it to thirty minutes and not three," You both laughed, "How the fuck do you burn popcorn?" You ask between giggles,

"I guess it's a special talent of mine," He hummed, taking a sip as you continued laughing, "Anyways, you really should eat something. Knowing you and how long you take getting ready, then with the walk... I doubt you've eaten much today," He said softly, 

"When'd you become the food police, Eds?" You smiled, 

"Considering you're drinking and only ate dinner today, I don't want you to get too drunk too fast," You almost spit out your beer, 

"Eds- I'm not gonna get drunk off one beer," You smiled at him,

"Still. Better to eat and drink," He winked at you, clicking his fingers. You sighed, drinking more of your beer, "You've got nothing but drinks, babe," He added, and you glanced over at him as he took a sip, "And when did you get back?"

"Yesterday? I haven't had the time to go shopping-"

"Nope- you got here two days ago," He said, and you turned your head from where you'd been staring at the decorations you had put up to stare at him,

"How did you...?" You asked softly, and watched as he frowned softly, taking a swig before setting the bottle on the ground near your feet, "How did you know?" You asked with a frown, 

"I saw you uh... Coming home," He admitted, "Two days ago..." He said, not looking at you and instead focusing on how much beer was left in his bottle,

"I got here at, like, 3 am Eddie?" You said, blinking,

"Yeah. You did," He nodded, watching you. You were silent for a moment,

"Why were you awake at 3 am?" You asked. He briefly met your eyes, before looking away and taking a nervous, shaky breath,

"I..." His eyes darted around,

"Why didn't you-"

"Dude, who goes to someone's house at 3 am?" He said, quickly standing and walking away from you. You jumped slightly at how fast he moved, before turning your whole body so you could watch him, confused at his sudden mood change, "I didn't want to bother you since you clearly didn't..." He trailed off, back turned to you. Your eyes widened slightly,

"Eddie, what?" You stood, careful of the beer you'd nudged with your foot and following after him, "I didn't do what?" You asked, standing near the couch to give him space. He moved into your kitchen and stood by your table, leaning against it at first,

"You just-" He sighed,  sitting on top of the table, eyes focusing on the floor and watching his shoes shuffling around on the floor for a moment, before speaking "You were gone for- what? Almost a year," He said your name quietly, and you frowned from where you watched him on the couch, "I mean, what was I supposed to think?"

"I wrote letters to you," You said, "I sent you packages and letters as much as I could- we never stopped talking," You said,

"But you didn't visit," He said with a frown, glancing up at you. He couldn't hold the eye contact, and found himself looking away quickly, again. He folded his arms across his chest, "What was I supposed to think? My best friend just... Didn't want to hang out with me anymore?" He shrugged. From the dim, setting sunlight shining inside, you could see his eyes twinkling with tears, and you could feel your heart constrict for him in your chest,

"I wrote to you explaining why I couldn't go," You said defensively, walking closer to him, "Fuck, Eds, I don't have the damn money to be driving back and forth between Franklin and Hawkins!" You said louder than intended, "It wasn't about not wanting to hang out with you, it was about saving money-"

"Okay- I get that," He said sharply, "But my point is... What else do you have here?" He glanced at you, "You and I both hate this place, we made plans all the time to get out of Hawkins- you got out and I stayed behind, I-"

"Eddie, I couldn't stay here another fucking year waiting for you to graduate," You tried, coming to stand in front of him, "You... We both know how awful living here is. This small town will only see us as... Freaks and... Damned devil worshipers when we're not-"

"Right- of course!" He said sarcastically, throwing his hands up and laughing coldly, "I'm sorry, I just thought that if you got the privilege to leave Hawkins, it'd at least... Be with me," He said, looking into your eyes. His wide, brown eyes bore into yours and were tinted slightly pink. A few tears slipped down his reddened cheeks and you could faintly see the tremble in his lips. He'd folded his arms again and was digging his fingernails into his forearms, knuckles going white and small crescents appearing in his skin. You blinked, opening your mouth to say something, but closed it,

"Eddie..." You said softly, watching him move his head to look away from you. Seeing another tear rolling down his cheek, you reached a hand up to try and wipe it off of his face without thinking. He quickly flinched, slapping your hand away with his and shaking his head, leaving you shocked,

"Fuck," He hissed, and stood abruptly, making you back away. He reached to the side, grabbing his jean jacket from the chair, "Forget about it," You heard him mutter his name,

"Eddie!" You yelled after him as he moved quickly to your door, fumbling with your keys to unlock it, "Eddie what is going on- talk to me please," You begged, 

"I said forget about it, okay?" He turned sharply. You stared at him, never seeing him so hurt with you before. You really didn't know what to do, and instead stared at him as you both stared at one another, 

"But- Eddie!" You yelled out of your door as he quickly turned away and began walking away, "Stop running from me- Eddie!" You called again, wincing at how your voice echoed through the park. But he didn't turn. He just walked home faster.

You felt frozen in place, staring after him as his hair fluttered behind him dramatically. You opened your mouth to call after him again, but quickly closed it, feeling tears brimming in your eyes as you disappeared inside. You could hear the door slamming behind him, and you quickly shut your own door, falling back against it as you let your tears fall,

"What the fuck?" You breathed, blinking rapidly. In all the years you knew Eddie, you never... Fought like this: where you were both too distraught to even want to look at one another, or solve the problem. He had never run from you. You had never... Been the problem. 

Hours passed but your mind was still occupied with Eddie and the fight. Your mind was always occupied with Eddie, but you were never worried for him like this... You tried distracting yourself by going grocery shopping before the sun would completely set. The burn in your legs as you walked into town helped- at least that was a physical pain and not... Ugh.

The pain in your arms accompanied you on your way home, and you found yourself regretting your decision to walk. Maybe you should have waited until things cooled off with Eddie so you could at least catch a ride here and there. The ice cream you had bought would surely be melted by now- what made you want ice cream anyways? You also couldn't buy any beer or vodka to take the pain away, so unless you wanted to see the one person you really didn't want to right now, you'd have to... Reconcile your emotions...

Okay.

Eddie was obviously upset you had left, but why on Earth was he pissed off at you? It wasn't your choice to leave- you'd sent your applications together... Though you never saw his, he had drunkenly admitted to you that he'd failed his final year days later and would have to stay in Hawkins to repeat it. He'd said it casually and whenever you mentioned it, he'd just wave it off like it wasn't a big deal to him. It had made you sad to know he wouldn't be leaving with you, but he never... Saw it as a big deal. Or made it look like that.

Did he think you left because of him? Eddie always ran from his problems- that's just what he did. If he knew he wasn't able to pass a quiz, he wouldn't show up for it; if he knew he couldn't finish a project in time, he wouldn't submit anything. You were there for all his failures, and tried supporting him through them, but he'd always make the same comment about 'education not defining him' or the 'project being stupid' and 'pointless'. You never realised how... Bad it was for him...

And perhaps it didn't help that you came home and didn't speak a word to him for the two days. It was purely overwhelming being back in a town where every person you passed cast you disgusted looks simply for how you'd dress or do your make-up. What was strange to them was scary, but it made you feel unwelcome and unwanted in a place that was supposed to be home. It's why you hated it in Hawkins. All you had here was Eddie. You sought comfort in your shared strangeness and unwillingness to conform to society- their 'shunning' hurt less when you were together. You had his comfort.

But you should be angry at him too- he was mad at you for something out of your control, and that hurt. If you could have left with him, you would. Why did he not realise that? You spoke about leaving Hawkins all the time... With a sigh, you flexed your fingers, looking over the empty grocery bags now on the floor of your kitchen. You were done unpacking those, and now had nothing to do. You glanced over at the waiting suitcase and duffle. If you were unpacking groceries you might as well make yourself at... home. Briefly, you glanced up at the window, and froze, noticing the very man your brain was occupied by.

A long plume of smoke left his lips, swirling into the dark sky. The end of the blunt he had rolled faintly glowed orange as he took a drag. He was faintly illuminated by the lights around the area, and you could see his shoulders sag as he looked down. You could faintly hear the sound of his shoes kicking against the metal dome structure of the park you both frequently found yourselves in on your peaks or come downs. You'd lay back on the grass together, staring at the multitude of stars, or giggling and shushing one another as you tried to fit into the tiny seats of the swingset...

 He was sitting in just his vest, the pins glittering in the night- you could see from where you were that he'd pulled the sleeves of the Hellfire shirt down over his arms to fight the chill of the night. You glanced over your shoulder to your kitchen table and sighed- he forgot to take his jacket with him...

You grabbed it, pulling it over your shoulders and allowing yourself to breathe in his scent. You weren't sure of calling Hawkins your physical home, but you were sure that Eddie's smell was the closest you'd ever feel to describing home... At least now you had an incentive to go make up with him again. Ha... Ha...

Silently, you shuffled to your door, picking the keys up you had dropped. You allowed yourself a moment to gather your thoughts, before stuffing the keys into the pocket of the leather, enjoying the feeling of it brushing against your skin again. As you opened the door, you found Eddie right outside, muttering to himself and seemingly doing the same thing you were a moment ago. You both jumped back slightly in surprise at finding the other person in the same place, and for a moment, you both stared, unmoving and unspeaking. Until finally, you opened your mouth,

"Uh," You tried, clearing your throat and looking down for a moment, "You uh... Got any more blunts we could... Share?" You asked him uncertainly, glancing back up at him. You could still see his face was red in the faint light from inside your home. He had been crying too. He only gave you a small nod, still silent as you turned the lights inside your home off and locked the door behind you. 

Together, you walked to the park again, still lost in your own heads and silent. Your eyes flicked to him and you watched him as he sat beside you in your usual spot on top of the dome. His movements were slow and careful as he handed over a roughly rolled blunt and lighter,

 "Thanks," You said, picking the blunt up in your fingers and reaching for the lighter, only to have him pull it into his grasp and lighting it. Carefully, you lit the blunt and took a drag, "Thanks," You breathed again as you handed it over for him to take a hit of, 

"No problem-" His voice was shaky, "Shit," He whispered. You glanced over at him, noticing one of his hands still shaking. He had this far-away look in his eye that made you fill with a deep sadness for him, 

"I'll uhm... Start," You said softly, glancing behind you and carefully setting your hands on the poles of the dome and grabbing on to them to steady yourself. With a sigh, you began, "Okay," You closed your eyes, nodding your head to collect your thoughts, before speaking, "I'm sorry. For not seeing you as soon as I got back, Eddie. It's just... It's been a lot being back here in Hawkins. You know how bad being here makes me feel, and finding out I might be getting evicted and getting back into a job, I just..." You sighed deeply, "I know you're mad at me for leaving and not talking to you and stuff but... I have responsibilities now," You explained, looking up at him. He was listening but not looking at you, focused on rolling the blunt between his fingers as it smouldered idly, "I'm an adult. I have to... Live. Pay bills, make money... That shit," You said, reaching forwards and taking the blunt from him, taking a drag, "It's just been a lot. I did want to spend time with you just... I wanted to wait until I got everything figured out," You concluded, nodding solemnly, "I didn't mean to make you feel like I... Didn't want to see you or anything," You frowned. 

From beside you, Eddie sighed, and you could see his hair shaking as he nodded to your final statement. It took a moment for him to say anything- he shifted first, moving so he could rest his hands on his knees and clasp his hands together, pressing them to his mouth, 

"Shit," He sighed, pressing his hands to his forehead, "That's... Yeah," He nodded. You stared at him, waiting for him to speak, but frowning as he didn't,

"What's up?" You asked, 

"Well, whatever I'm gonna say is gonna sound fucking pointless compared to you," He sighed, sparing you a glance. You frowned at him, shifting so you could look at him better, only for Eddie to turn his head away from you again. You delicately placed a hand on his shoulder,

"Eds, no I'm not gonna..." You sighed, "If you don't run away from me again, I'm not... Gonna find it pointless," You said, patting him gently. You tilted your head to try and appear in his field of vision and gave him an encouraging smile. He grimaced at you, fully turning his head to look back to his trailer, before sighing. You felt him relax under your touch slightly, and turn his head slightly to look at you, 

"We just..." He sighed, "I missed you so much," He breathed, and you saw the tears quickly rolling down his face, "And after we'd talked so much about... Leaving Hawkins behind- together," He looked at you, eyes finding yours quickly, "It was always together. Leaving, and living together somewhere. Working... Together," He rambled, "And then... Watching you leave without me... It made me realise that... Fuck," He sighed,

"You can say it, Eds," You said softly. He shook his head slightly, and as you opened your mouth to encourage him again, you felt his shoulder move. He took your hand in his, bringing it down to rest on the cool metal below you. You watched, curiously, as he moved his hand so he was holding yours,

"It made me realise that we've... Spent the better parts of our lives together. It made me realise how much losing you hurt me- and that terrified me," He spoke your name worriedly, and lifted an arm to wipe his wet face, "And made me realise that I never wanted to lose you again," He rambled suddenly, his words making your heart thunder in your chest, "And when you wrote saying that you weren't gonna be back for the summer, the winter, and the spring..." He breathed shakily, "I knew it was because you had nothing left here and I guess a part of me thought you meant me too..." He sniffled, "It made me realise I uhm... Actually want to finish school now-" He laughed to himself, "-So I can finally leave and... Find you again- be with you again, like we always were... I mean, sure I can pretend to be confident, and fine without you- God knows I've had practice with that with Hellfire, but-" He took a deep breath to steady himself, "Pretending to be fine without you just made me miss you way more," He said, breathing shakily, "It... Made me realise I..." The words died on his tongue momentarily, and he just sighed, "I think I'm in love with you," He confessed.

For a moment it felt like time stood still, your eyes captured by his, your breath stuck in your throat as those words left his mouth. You blinked a few times and let the blunt fall from your hand, tumbling to the ground. Your now empty hand balled, your nails dug into your palm to wake you up from this most pleasant of dreams. Your own eyes rapidly filled with tears: here was your best friend, who you have loved and pined over for so long, admitting he finally felt the same for you as you felt for him the moment you first met him,

"And I know you might not feel the same for me, and that's fine," He rambled on, seemingly not realising you were completely dumbfounded by his words, "But I just need you to know that I love you and-"

You quickly pressed your lips to his to silence him, and it took him a moment to register what was happening, causing him to let out a startled 'mmph!' as your lips touched. It was a moment before you felt Eddie's lips moving against yours. Your hands moved up to touch his cheeks, skin gentle yet wet with tears against your hands you pulled him closer. His own hands soon moved to your arms, holding you in place so gently, that when you parted, tears spilled down your face too. You let out a gentle laugh,

"Eddie, you big stupid idiot," You smiled at him, moving a thumb over his cheek to swipe a tear rolling down his face, "I think I love you too," You said, "Don't you think if I could, I wouldn't spend all my time with you?" You said softly, 

"Yeah," He breathed, appearing starstruck, round eyes darting over your face for any sign of a lie, 

"Yeah," You grinned back, gripping his hand and shaking it a little, "Dumbass," You said affectionately, 

"But I thought-"

"Thought what?" You quickly said, "I didn't feel the same?" He nodded slowly, "Eddie..."

"I didn't think you wanted to be around me anymore," He admitted softly, "I thought... You know. You'd find new people out in Franklin and you wouldn't need me anymore," He said softly, looking at you now, 

"Oh, Eddie," You said softly, squeezing his hand gently, "I guarantee no one could ever replace you," You assured him, "Besides? It's what? Only a matter of time before you find out if you passed your exams and then you'll move up to Franklin with me," You said softly, 

"You want me up there with you?" He asked uncertainly,

"Of course, Eddie," You said, "Those dorms suck. If we got a place together and split the rent somewhere close, I think it'd work out," You said softly, squeezing his hand again. He stared at you for a moment, before smiling slightly and leaning forward to kiss you again. You smiled against his lips, tilting your head to kiss him better and moving your hand back to touch his face gently, 

"I've uh..." He said softly as he pulled away just enough to speak, his forehead touching yours, "I've wanted to do that for a long time," He said, breathily. He then whispered your name, and you smiled,

"Well, I'm glad you finally did... Babe," You said with a smile, happy to hear him laugh. He glanced down at your joint hands, and brought them up to his face to kiss your knuckles. The act made your eyes widen and you quickly moved your hand from his to put both hands on his face and pull him close, kissing him again. It was almost like now you'd started, you never wanted to stop...

"Ew," You heard from the blue. You jumped, turning to stare at Max, who was leaning against the flimsy metal of the fence surrounding the park and frowning at you two, "Do you always cry when you kiss?" She asked as you whipped away the tears on your face,

"No," You quickly said, "We're just... Having an emotional moment, okay?" You said with a small laugh,

"Yeah, you spying on us, kid?" You heard Eddie say from beside you, and when you removed your hands from your eyes, you could see he had slid off the structure and was waiting for you with a hand outstretched. Ever the gentleman... Gently, you slid your hand into his, moving off the structure and glancing down at the grass, making sure the blunt had been put out, before tightening your hold on Eddie's hand, 

"What're you doing out here anyway?" You asked, turning to look at her. She shrugged, putting her headphones back on and turning on her heel,

"I'm going on a walk," She mumbled, taking a few steps away from you,

"But it's dark?" You said, moving forward with Eddie still holding you close,

"Yeah, kid, it's not safe," He chimed in, and you glanced up at him with a slight smile, 

"Why do you two care? Don't you have more crying and kissing to do?" She said coldly, and involuntarily, you let out a snort. You covered your mouth quickly, but Eddie had heard, and began to laugh, 

"Shut up, Eds," You grinned, before glancing back at Max, "You're funny, kid-"

"I don't need babysitters," She said, "I'm not a kid, either," She huffed, but you were already hopping over the fence and following after her, 

"Sure you do!" You grinned, stuffing your hands into the pockets of Eddie's leather jacket and glancing over as you felt him looping arms with you, 

"Yeah, we'll chase the monsters away k- Max," He said, and though she sent you two a glare, it made you feel better knowing you were going after her and ensuring she was safe. Besides- she had her headphones on and walkman playing a tape. She couldn't hear you and Eddie talking and laughing as you caught up on all you had missed when you were apart. Finally, you were together again, and now that you'd confessed you loved him and begun eagerly planning your future together, you hoped he wouldn't feel as alone as he did without you.

[littlemisslipbalm]

“Harry’s stylist, right?”

Summary: Harry and his personal stylist are great collaborators, on screen and off. She helps his visions come to life and in turn they’ve become close friends. As she helps him to bring his fashion dreams come to life during the Fine Line era, will some other dreams come to life as well?

or

Harry and his stylist go from colleagues to friends to lovers because they’ve been in love with each other from the jump

this fit is very important to this part lmaooo - I literally have no idea what to call this lol, anyway I've been sitting on this for forever and I wanted to get something out for yall and i love this story there will be a part 2 when i get to a writing mood. I love this story bc its my literal dream - anyway!! pls enjoy and reblog and lmk what you think :)

Word Count: 14k | Warnings: swearing, drinking, tame for now, should be smut eventually - aka slow burn (what else would you expect from me at this point i guess)

part 2

-

“Hey, H, I just had a question about one of the SNL outfits? Do you have a sec?”

Harry looked up from his phone and raised his brows at his stylist, Y/N.

Y/N had worked with Harry previously. In photoshoots for Another Man magazine and his most recent Gucci campaign. As well as some other random times, such as one-off award show looks and specific appearances. However, this past summer Harry had hired Y/N to work fulltime for him, exclusively. He had told her that he was planning on releasing his second album in the winter and he wanted someone there to help him plan his clothes for music videos, award season, interview appearances, as well as tour outfits.

Y/N stood just inside the doorway of the room, leaning her back against the wall, looking expectantly at him. Her eyes were wide and her lips were pursed. She was dressed simply in a white satin skirt and a matching cropped button-up, they both had cream flowers embroidered on, paired with horsebit slim Gucci mules. Her style was eclectic, but she had definitely noticed an increase of Gucci in her wardrobe since starting her employment with Harry.

Y/N’s passion in life was fashion and clothes and she constantly worried that one of Harry’s outfits wouldn’t deliver as much as she wanted it to. He was quick to tell her not to worry so much though, as long as they both were happy with it, how could anyone else not love it. Plus, he’d always add, it didn’t really matter what anyone else thought. But as more and more events began to crop up, Y/N’s worry over her work grew. She had only been the head stylist for Harry on projects that were still underwraps - except for Lights Up which had been released a couple weeks ago now.

The first project she ever worked on with Harry as his full-time personal stylist was the Lights Up music video. She had never worked so closely with one person for so long on just one project. Harry was insistent in vision and came in the first day filled with ideas, what he imagined for the video's concept and how he wanted to incorporate clothes. She had been happy to make his dreams become reality.

The two of them spent hours at his house for weeks, pouring over every detail of every outfit he planned to wear. They both wanted it to be perfect. And eventually, it all came together, exactly how they had planned. All of the garments for the video took up two entire garment racks. Y/N had made Harry pose in every single outfit for polaroids that she dated and then put into a lookbook she started for him. She had told him she planned to document every outfit she styled for him and Harry had been so excited. The outfits he wore in the video were received with praise when it was finally released, and Harry and Y/N were overjoyed. There was already a party for its release, but they both were especially happy that night. Throughout the evening, Harry and Y/N would gravitate to one another and fall into side conversations about the outfits and what people had been saying. Even if Harry said it didn’t matter, he and Y/N both knew, at the end of the day, they loved when people were happy with their work.  

“Sure,” he bounced to his feet, but Y/N made a hand motion telling him that he could stay seated. He settled back down as she crossed over and sat beside him on his couch.

She was at his house in London today planning his next few appearances that were promotion for the upcoming album, Saturday Night Live was next. Harry had been taking a break from their work until she had come in.

It wasn’t unusual for Y/N to be at his house, they had been working together for months now. First, it had been for his outfits in his music videos that were filmed in late summer and early fall, like Lights up, but also a few other ones. Now, it was clothing for promo appearances, interviews, and listening parties. Next, it would be tour outfits, which she had already started planning, but officially, they hadn’t started discussions yet. Harry had helped her to get a flat closer to his house in London just for her to be able to head over and help with the planning or fitting of his outfits more easily. She also was constantly traveling with him to his appearances, making sure outfits were perfect right before whatever show it was or making last minute adjustments in case either of them decided something wasn’t right.

While Harry was a big guy, his waist was far trimmer than a usual man built to his size, this meant she had to take in a lot of his trousers at the waist. As well, with his shirts and coats, she’d have to take them in or out depending on how Harry wanted the fit to be - either perfectly tight or perfectly oversized. He was particular, but she appreciated his drive for fashion and how he cared for his appearance. Before performances, she often had to take things in or out based on any body fluctuation that had occurred since the initial fitting.

She was looking at her sketchpad that held all of her notes on his clothes - which was different from the lookbook of polaroids - including patches of the actual colors and little Harry figures dressed in what he was going to wear. Right now, she had the pad opened to a page titled “SNL Opener - November 16, 2019”.

“So I was thinking with your opening monologue outfit, it might look better to have a different colored blazer? A matching yellow would be great, but if you did more of a toned down - maybe light tan or beige - blazer with gold embellishments, you’d elevate it to look sophisticated and stylish, rather than just stylish. It’d be exactly like the runway look - which I know you sometimes don’t like, but I think it’s what looks best.”

She ran her finger between two swatches of what she thought would be the better blazer color and the one Harry had originally wanted. He wet his lips and gazed at the page as he thought about what she said. Normally, she liked monochrome on him, but she thought the deep blue underneath a completely yellow suit might wash him out on the stage.

“Yeah,” he pointed to the top beige swatch, “I think I do like this better.” He paused and turned his head to Y/N, looking in her eyes before asking, “Is that all?”

“Er...no,” Y/N ran a hand over her unstyled hair, slightly fluffed by her constant musing of it. She often fiddled with it while she worked, better than biting nails she always said when confronted about her tick. After a sigh Y/N continued, “I was just on the phone with Jane from Gucci and she said that for Look 57 they could only send your technical size, for some reason they can’t custom make it. Meaning, I’ll have to tailor the whole thing to you when it arrives. Is that alright? Or do you want to choose something else?”

She flipped to a page that said “SNL WS.” Harry followed her hands and nodded realizing she was talking about the Gucci suit he wanted to wear for Watermelon Sugar. It was a watermelon’s inside red. When he had found out the suit came in that color, he had danced around the dining table for what Y/N had felt like was an hour, humming the tune of Watermelon Sugar excitedly. Finally, she had coaxed him to sit back down and get back to their other work, which was still picking out clothes.

“No, that’s fine,” Harry shook his head and used his thumb to scratch under his lips absentmindedly, “It really needs to be that color.”

She nodded, she knew what his answer was going to be, but she also knew he still liked to make the final decision.

“Alright, we’ll just have to meet for longer when everything arrives, to tailor that one. Then the rest of them should just be making sure the fit is perfect.”

She rose up from her seat and patted Harry’s shoulder, leaving him to his thoughts, as she went back to finish up the calls with Jane and the designers.

He caught her hand in his before she completely walked away, “Thank you, Y/N.” He was so grateful he had hired someone who was as driven as he was and understood his fashion sense and wanted to help enhance what he was thinking, rather than someone trying to control him or just going along with whatever he said. Neither would be productive or helpful, thankfully Y/N loved her job and cared to do things right.

She grinned before exiting, “H, you’re going to be this century’s style icon if it’s the last thing I do.” He laughed as she walked out of the room, leaning back on the couch to continue his lurking on Instagram.

-

One week later

“I’m here, H! I come bearing Gucci and more!” Y/N said as she shuffled through Harry’s front door, she held a deconstructed rack and a garment bag filled with heavy suits and things. Inside were Harry’s four most important outfits for SNL, some other garments for SNL, and some clothes they had talked about for his upcoming listening sessions later in the month. Y/N needed to check the fit on all of them and begin tailoring the Watermelon Sugar suit. The key Harry had given to Y/N, previously, had let her in, but she assumed he was home. He said he’d be.

When Y/N rounded the corner she found another empty room. Confused, she set down her large items and went to search for Harry. Y/N literally needed him to be here for this part. It was the only real time she actually needed to see him in person - but that was beside the point.

“H?”

She wandered through the different rooms of his home. Normally, Y/N didn’t go into the other rooms, she was always mainly in his lounge area, the dining room, and a little casual office room he had - sometimes the kitchen for water, his bedroom once. Still not finding him, she decided to venture to the furthest door, Harry’s bedroom, she remembered.

Harry groaned at the sound of a knock on his door, he rolled over in his bed. After a few moments of hearing nothing else than his groan, Y/N felt like she had to go in and check on him.

“H, it’s 12:30 and we agreed we’d meet at noon. Are you feeling alright?”

Y/N moved into the room and found a shirtless Harry surrounded by rumpled sheets, clutching at a pillow. He groaned into his pillow again in response. Her legs bent at the edge of the bed and she reached out to smooth some of his chestnut hair out of his face, “What’s wrong?”

He moved his head to allow his eyes to look at her, “‘M so tired, don’t know why. My stomach kind of hurts too…” Y/N looked at him quizzically, before running her hand over his tan forehead once more, this time checking for a fever. “You don’t have a fever. When did you go to sleep? Have you eaten anything today?” With her help, Harry moved into a seated position, head tilted back against the bedpost. He sat silent for a moment before blowing air out of his mouth. “Went to sleep kind of late for me, I guess...Haven’t eaten.”

“Ok, you’re just tired from staying up late, you old man, and you might be a little dehydrated and hungry. Listen, I’ll go make you some food if you get up and prepare yourself for the day. We need to get all your clothes fitted so that I can fix anything before next week.” Y/N was always good at getting Harry back on track when he got distracted - or even out of the station, when he wasn’t in the mood to work on something. She slid from her perch on the bed and walked to almost the edge of the room before Harry called her back.

“Can you pick out my clothes for me?” His soft, tired voice whined. “So hard...and you’ve got the best eye. Pleaseeee,” he pleaded softly.

Rolling her eyes, Y/N sighed and made her way back into his room. Crossing to the door that led to his walk-in closet, she set to work. As silly as he was being, she could never pass up on a chance to pick out an outfit for Harry.

“You’re literally going to be changing the entire time, H, you could have just thrown on sweats,” she called back to him once inside the smaller room. He repeated how she always picked the right thing, even for just around the house. Again, Y/N rolled her eyes at Harry, but she also couldn’t hide the warm smile on her face that was due to his compliment.

She couldn’t believe how dramatic Harry could be sometimes. Right now, he was a lesser form of hungover and he was acting like his life was ending. Y/N had made a note a while ago to never agree to a meeting on the day after any partying. She learned the hard way one particularly terrible Sunday. She had come round his house at a similar time, noon-ish and found Harry dead asleep, backwards in his bed. When she had roused him, his only responses were grumbles and groans. She had to not only pick out his clothes, but also help dress him. Then, after providing water and aspirin, she moved all their work into his bedroom so they could work from there. Harry had proved to be a baby when it came to hangovers.  But, she hadn’t realized he could get like this even without being truly hungover.

After settling on his live aid t-shirt, that Y/N was eternally jealous of, located at the front of his drawer and his favorite corduroy trousers, she walked out and threw them in the direction of his toned, but slumped body. “I will not get you boxers, that is most definitely not in my job description, Boss.” Y/N sent a pointed look in his direction, moving to finally leave the room. While he was technically her boss as her employer, their work relationship was extremely collaborative and it never felt like he was in control of her, she just liked to give him shit for being a drama queen.

“Guess I’ll be going commando. How’s that going to work with me changing in front of you a bunch of times?” He teased right back, taking the clothes you had thrown at him and giving them a onceover. His teasing signalled that he was already feeling better.

Y/N shook her head and walked out of the room, “For the love of God, Harry, please put on underwear before you come out and continuously strip in front of me!”

The words he shouted after that were muffled, but they were something along the lines of how the human body is beautiful and shouldn’t be covered up. Unbelievable. As she set to work on making both of them some lunch, she finally heard Harry begin moving around. They had a lot of work to do as it was and whenever Harry was in a mood, whether it be a good mood or a bad mood, they always seemed to have a hard time focusing.

One night, that could be seen as the poster child for Harry and Y/N’s procrastination, was during the planning for the Adore You music video. Harry was in a super good mood that day and he had brought that energy to their meeting at his house. Y/N was supposed to be fitting him for the various outfits, but Harry, in his mania, ordered an overzealous amount of Chinese food. It took her and Harry hours to even make a dent in the food. And while they passed the time with eating, Harry and Y/N got further and further from their tasks, opting for conversations that included more fun topics than work. They had gossipped about some of the other people they worked with, Harry had begged for “the tea” about some of his other staffers and Y/N was happy to oblige. As much as Y/N would hate to admit it, she loved when they got off of work subjects and talked about how their day’s had been and what has been on their nerves lately. It was a nice way to decompress, it was like hanging out with a friend, except it wasn’t, not really.

Harry shuffled into the kitchen wearing what Y/N had picked out for him. Her smile grew knowing that he hadn’t changed what she’d picked. His confidence in her and her abilities never failed to feel like the biggest compliment.

“Go sit at the dining table, I’ve made us some little sandwiches and then we can decide the order we want to go through the outfits in.”

Before following Y/N’s orders, Harry continued his shuffling around, first to the cabinet for a glass, then to the fridge for water. At the end of the table, she set the plates between the head of the table’s spot and the one to its left. Harry took the side spot, so Y/N was on the end. After a bite of his food, Harry moaned loudly in contentment. This caused an amused look on Y/N’s face, there had been nothing special in his house so she had just made what was possible. This meant that Harry’s satisfaction was a little over the top.

“You’re acting like you haven’t eaten in a week. What did you do last night that got you in such a twist?” Y/N asked as she took a sip of her own glass of water. Harry nibbled at his lower lip after swallowing, trying to understand why he was particularly tired today.

“I guess I forgot to eat properly yesterday and then I went out running. And I stayed up late on the phone with,” he paused, eyes flashing to Y/N and then away again, “someone for SNL.”

Y/N hummed at his words before going back to her own eating. She didn’t understand why he hesitated about telling her he’d been on the phone last night, it especially irked her that he wouldn’t even say with whom. Professionally, it wasn’t really her business, but Harry was never secretive with her. Plus, it seemed to be work related so why was he being so flighty about it.

Moving forward, Harry peppier from eating and simply moving around, the pair set to work. They decided on trying on everything else first and then saving the Watermelon Sugar suit to the end. The other three main pieces for the night fit perfectly, Y/N had to only do minor reworks of certain areas.

“H, I need you to hold still…” Y/N interrupted Harry’s ramblings as she was crouched beside him.

She had to take up the hem on the pant legs so right now she was trying to pin them in the place she and Harry had agreed upon, without messing with the pleats.

“Sorry,” He mumbled, straightening out his back to stand taller.

He stayed quiet for a bit until Y/N popped back up, she looked at her notebook for reference on what she still had to tailor.

“Okay, next, the pants crotch is looking pretty fitted, so I assume you want it taken down a bit,” Y/N said as she got back into her crouching position. “Look in the mirror and tell me where you think letting it out looks best, I don’t have the best vantage point when I’m up this close…” she trailed off, placing her measuring tape directly on top of Harry’s crotch and running it down his leg a ways.

Once done with her first attempt at where she thought was best to let the pants out, she turned her eyes to the mirror that showed Harry in his suit with Y/N on her knees before him. Harry cleared his throat as he looked in the mirror, seeing Y/N with her eyes wide in anticipation in the position she was in made him want to run and hide. Her hands were extremely close to his dick, but it was literally her job, he knew he had to shake the thoughts that were running through his mind.

“Maybe just a bit further up actually, as much as I like the high waist with dropped crotch, I want this suit to have that specifically tailored look,” his hands motioned for Y/N to bring the drop up a ways.

Her hands then brought the measuring tape up, once again grazing over his area. Again, Y/N looked at Harry through the mirror for approval, and this time he gave it and she placed a single pin in the place where the pants would be let out to.

Standing up, Y/N hoped Harry didn’t notice the blush gracing her face. She was a stylist and used to being around naked bodies as well as touching around a man’s crotch when working. But Harry in this suit must have been magic, because she had felt extremely vulnerable on her knees in front of him in it. She had felt flushed the minute he hadn’t liked what she had done initially and she hated that she felt that way for some reason. Beginning to work on the sleeves of the suit set her at ease, Y/N was thankful to no longer be kneeling or in such close proximity to what was under Harry’s pants.

“Anything on your mind of late?” Harry broke the silence.

Y/N hummed with a pin stuck between her lips, folding up the suit jacket’s right sleeve. Plucking it from her mouth after a few silent moments, she said, “Not really, haven’t had time to do much else lately. Always thinking about you,” Y/N flushed as she realized what she had just said. “I mean, thinking about you like about your clothes and when they’re going to arrive and what I need to do about them, not you personally, sorry that came out wrong,” her blush intensified as she rapidly fumbled through her last sentence.

“Ow!”

“Oh my god!”

While Y/N had gotten flustered with her words, she managed to stick the pin she was using straight into Harry’s flesh. She immediately removed the pin from where it had stuck him.

“Oh god, I’m so sorry, H, we’ve got to get this off. I need to make sure you’re not bleeding onto the suit.”

Y/N rushed around to Harry's backside and began slipping off his suit jacket as Harry chuckled and began to unbutton the shirt as carefully as possible.

“‘S alright, Y/N, if there’s any blood on the shirt it’ll blend in, blood is practically the same color.” She glared at him through the mirror and Harry continued to laugh, “That is not funny, H, I shouldn’t have stuck you in the first place.”

“No, no,” Harry hushed Y/N as she began to slip off his shirt from one side to the other, taking off the sleeve on the side she hadn’t poked, “you’ve got so much on your plate with all the planning for the upcoming events. Then you worked yourself up over a little slip.” As Y/N carefully unbuttoned the cuff of the sleeve to try and slip off the shirt with the least amount of blood on it as possible, Harry finished with, “I wouldn’t mind if you were just thinking about me, though, an’ not the clothes.”

This time, Y/N was very in control, not willing to let herself slip up a second time today. She didn’t know how to respond to what Harry had just admitted. It wasn’t like this hasn't happened before. Both of them were guilty of making little comments that made it sound like they were interested in each other in a way that was a little different than professional or friendly. But every time the other person always had the responsibility to shut the idea down or completely blow past what their counter had just said.

“Harry…” She began, it was soft and pleading, like she was saying she couldn’t entertain that idea. Examining his forearm, after pulling the shirt completely away and resting it on a nearby chair, she saw a little spot of blood protruding from the pin prick she had caused. “Where do you keep your bandages?” Y/N decided that it was best to brush past Harry’s words this time and went off to find his first aid kit. Harry stood there, shirtless, staring at the blood on his arm. It really wasn’t a lot and it wouldn’t have done anything to the suit, but Y/N was always so careful and never wanted to ruin any of Harry’s clothes.

On her return, Y/N came upon a shirtless Harry perched on the edge of the table, with one arm crossed and his other - that was bleeding - being held slightly away from his body, as if Harry was afraid to touch it. His posture was slumped so Y/N could see his spine curving beneath his tanned honey-soft skin and his shoulder blades slightly flexed. While most of Harry’s body was covered in tattoos, she noticed how the closest tattoo to his back was the small line drawing of a guitar on the back of his left shoulder. Other than that his smooth back was bare. Y/N found it interesting that Harry had never chosen to ink his back. She jogged lightly back into the room and Harry’s head turned to watch her approach. His bottom lip was caught between his teeth as he regarded her. She noticed he was being particularly quiet, but she had no idea why. Maybe he was still tired.

Y/N set to work on finding the correct tissue, neosporin, and bandage for Harry’s small wound. As she worked on fixing up her mistake, Harry’s eyes followed her movements. Green eyes flickering between her hands on his arm and her own eyes focusing on her task.

“After this, I actually can just head home and finish the rest of the work,” Y/N said as she unpackaged the bandage, “I already know where I need to take in the suit sleeves and the shirt’s sleeves were looking fine. So, I can get out of your hair and you can get to sleep early tonight.” She placed the nude toned bandage over Harry’s arm, she was a little sad to find he didn’t own fun bandages. That was something that she expected from Harry, but she resigned that maybe she didn���t know everything about Harry.

Before Harry could speak, Y/N continued, “Don’t rehearsals for the show start tomorrow? When are you flying to New York?” She ran her hand over the bandage, smoothing it in place. Her hand lingered there as her eyes looked up and met Harry’s. Harry twitched his arm away from Y/N’s touch and scratched his nose slightly.

“Yeah, I’m flying out tomorrow morning. When are you set to fly out?”

“Friday. I’ll get in before the final dress rehearsal and then I’ll be there for the show.” Y/N stepped back and began to rehang the suit jacket and shirt that they had discarded in her haste to not get blood on them.

Then Y/N stood there staring at Harry. He looked at her slightly confused by her doing nothing when she said she was leaving. “Pants, H.” She said finally when she realized he had forgotten he was still wearing the suit pants. “Oh! Sorry,” Harry exclaimed as he began to unbutton and remove the pants he was wearing. He handed her the pants and she exchanged them with his live-aid t shirt. He took it graciously before slipping it on and disguising his toned body beneath it. Then he took his pants from earlier and fully redressed himself.

“Damn!” Y/N said and Harry’s head flipped to watch her as she began to put all of the clothing back in their garment bags and take down the rack.

“What’s wrong?”

“I just pinched myself with the rack, I’m all left feet today.”

“Here,” Harry chuckled as he walked over to help Y/N, “let me help you with all this. Just in the boot of your car, yeah?” Y/N nodded and smiled in appreciation for Harry. He grabbed her keys laying on the table and then took the rack and a garment bag. Even if things sometimes got tense between them, for whatever reason, he was always quick to move past it and be thoughtful and kind in the best ways for Y/N. After shaking her hand out, she grabbed the last garment bags and followed Harry out to her car. Harry shut the back of her car softly and turned to face Y/N, she stood beside her car door, ever so slightly leaning against it. He walked to her side and smiled.

“I’ll see you in a week,” he said before wrapping his arms around Y/N’s much smaller frame. His body was radiating heat and it felt good against Y/N in the crisp night air of London. She pressed into his hold and wrapped her arms around his waist and squeezed him hard. “Less than...Can’t wait to see you make an absolute fool of yourself out there.” Harry protested her tease with a small, “Hey!” but mostly focused on his hands on her back and the way her hair felt especially soft under his chin. Finally, Y/N pulled away, “Kidding! You’ll be amazing and you’ll look killer while doing it.” She winked before opening her car door and driving off. Harry was left with the lingering scent of her perfume and shampoo mingling in his nose.

-

It was the Saturday night, November 16th, 2019.

Harry and Y/N were in his dressing room before the show started. His outfits for the night were lined up, except for his opener one that Y/N had just dressed him in. His first change would be for Light’s Up, then a couple skit outfits that had to be moved elsewhere for quick changes, then the Watermelon Sugar suit, and then finally his end of the show casual look. The opener looked incredible, it’s fit was impeccable and Y/N knew people were going to love it.

She stepped back from Harry to give his whole body a once over, the SNL hairstylist had just blown out his hair and given him a sort of middle part. It definitely looked good and paired with the suit - Y/N could already tell it was going to be a hit by all accounts. Harry grinned back at her, doing a little dance to show just how much he was loving his clothes and how excited he was.

Grabbing the lint roller, Y/N gave the lapels of his suit jacket a once over and then moved it slightly out of the way to roll the big collar of Harry’s shirt and the bits of the body of the shirt that were showing underneath the jacket. Basically, Y/N was lint rolling over Harry’s clothed abs. Apparently, that was a ticklish area for Harry because he began to squirm and giggle under the tool’s touch.

“Seriously, H?”

She smiled as she said it, so excited for Harry that she couldn’t be mad at his relestness.

“Can’t help it. ‘M so giddy. Plus, I’m a wee bit ticklish.”

Y/N gave him a single laugh before removing the lint roller and smoothing over the shirt against his stomach and then over the lapels when she put the jacket back in place. She adjusted the Gucci reader’s she was wearing today, that were more for decoration than anything, but she liked to pretend they made her see better.

“You look smashing, Mr. Styles. Absolutely gorgeous, if I do say so myself.”

“Are you talking to me or the suit?” Harry asked as he flipped to look in the full length mirror in the dressing room.

“Can’t it be both?”

“Sure,” Harry said, he noticed the clock and realized it was his time to get in places. He leaned down and placed a small kiss on Y/N’s cheek, “It’s my time, thank you, Y/N.” She blushed at his words and actions. As he walked out the door, she called after him, “Break a leg, H!” He sent a final air kiss in her direction before completely disappearing.

She looked at the clothes hanging on the rack in the room and palmed over the fabric. Checking the lapels and brushing the lint roller over the, she finally stepped back and was happy with how they looked. When the show was just about to start, she flitted to the part of backstage where she could watch Harry perform. She giggled along to his monologue and grinned whole-heartedly when the crowd would roar with approval. Y/N had heard all of the jokes already because of the dress rehearsal yesterday, but it didn’t matter. Harry was killing it. She also took time to appreciate how good Harry looked in his suit on stage. In front of the lights and all the people, his suit shined brightly with the pops of blue and yellow and the oversized grey-iege jacket. His soft chestnut hair billowed perfectly to frame his forehead as he sipped from the faux martini. Y/N bit her lip to stifle her laugh. The fact that Harry, her boss and friend, was up on the Saturday Night Live stage with pink and blue nails sipping from a faux martini, it was perfect.

When Harry came back for his first performance change Y/N was right there waiting for him.

“Hi, that was really good,” she smiled up at him as he began to take off his coat.

He smiled brightly back at her as he exhaled a hefty breath, “You think so?”

“Yes! C’mon, everyone loved it. You delivered it all perfectly…” she took over undoing the buttons on the shirt because Harry was moving too slowly. “I’m in a man band now…” Y/N mumbled under her breath before chuckling.

“Did you just imitate my accent?” Harry said, now pulling off his sleeves.

Y/N moved around his back to take the shirt to hang and grab his Lights Up outfit. They worked like a well-oiled machine together, constantly taking over roles to get things done more efficiently, but never stepping on each other’s toes.

“Nope,” she winked before handing him the black sequin jumpsuit and exchanging it for his yellow pants. After rehanging the pants and bringing over Harry’s different set of boots, Y/N said, “Y’know, I’d have to say that your hair is giving your suit a run for its money.” She placed the shoes on the table beside Harry and began to fix into the place different parts of the jumpsuit, moving to zip up the back and then coming to the front to smooth it.

“What do you mean?” Harry looked in the mirror and delicately touched the edges of his hair, considering Y/N’s statement.

“No one ever really sees it how it is, nicely blown out but not too much product so it falls to frame your face. What’d you tell the hair person you wanted?” Y/N stepped back to allow Harry to change his boots from one Gucci pair to another, like he did with most of his wardrobe.

“Just told them to make me look mature. You think it looks good?” He looked up at Y/N when he asked the question.

“Think it looks sexy, that’s what I’m saying, no one’s gonna be able to focus on your clothes with how good your hair looks.”

“Ah,” he deftly runs his hands down his suit as he looks in the mirror.

Y/N just stares at Harry, checking him over one more time. She wasn’t lying about his hair, it was sexy and she wanted to run her hands through it to feel how soft it was. In a complete friend way of course.

“I like it…”

“It looks like you just rolled out of bed, but the bed was made of angel feathers.”

Harry laughed at Y/N’s description. He shifted his body to face her more and moved closer to her in the process.

“Alright, you should probably get back out there,” Y/N closes the gap between them and adjusts the chain of his jade and silver crosses and brushes over his broad shoulders.

They’re professional touches, but her movements hold an undercurrent of intimacy that neither of them realize. If anyone had been looking on, they would see how Y/N’s fingers delicately caressed Harry’s skin right before she cradled the pendants to move them in place. They would also see Harry instinctively lean forward into her touch and breathe slightly deeper to take in her scent. When she brushes over his shoulders, he straightens up at the touch and shows he’s ready to get back out there. It’s as if she prepared him to go.

Harry sings Lights Up and the crowd loves it. Sarah kills her drumming and Mitch eats up lead guitar. The backup singers bring out a different tone to the song. It is all around an amazing performance.

As Y/N clapped along with the crowd from backstage, Aidy Bryant approaches her.

“You’re Harry’s stylist, right?”

Y/N turns her head at the woman next to her, “Yeah?”

Aidy smiles, eyes slightly gleaming, “Well, you’re wonderful at your job.” As Y/N is about to thank her, Aidy continues, “And Harry knows that too, he talked about you all week. We all thought you were his girlfriend at first.”

Y/N laughed lightly and had to keep herself from letting her jaw drop at Aidy’s words. She even choked a bit on her own spit and had to cough slightly before even being able to think of a response, “Well, um, yeah...no, H, Harry is just my employer and...friend. No dating, we just get along well. Which is important since we spend a lot of time together - for work of course!”

Aidy smiled sweetly at Y/N, “Yeah, Harry explained that when Beck asked him how long you’d been together. At first he had said a couple months and then said ‘wait, Y/N is just my stylist, we’ve been working together for a couple months’ and then we all felt really dumb.”

“Don’t feel dumb,” Y/N reassured her, unsure why she was actually continuing this conversation, “He loves to talk about clothes and that’s where I fit in to his life, so I’m sure my name would come up a fair bit. Was that it?”

“Yeah I guess, but-” Aidy began to say more, but Y/N cut her off.

“Oh gosh, I’m sorry, but Harry’s finished and I’ve got to go help him change for his next song.”

Aidy was left in Y/N’s wake, chuckling to herself, fully reassured about the reason that they had all thought Harry had been dating Y/N. Because they already acted like a couple. And they were both helplessly in love with one another and neither of them knew.

The rest of the show went off without a hitch. Harry continued to wow the crowd and Y/N sent him off from his dressing room always looking fabulous. Just as he was about to walk back on stage for his final farewell, Y/N noticed a tiny string on his trousers zipper. Unable to stop Harry and unable to grab at the string without looking odd, she had to let him walk on stage with it. It wasn’t actually a big deal, but Y/N sighed in annoyance because she knew that string was going to bug her for the rest of the night.

“Treat People With Kindness!” Harry finishes off his farewell.

Applause begins to sound and the cast is out front hugging and chatting, while Y/N is watching from the side still fixated on the string on Harry’s pants, now simply dangling. Finally, they begin to clear the stage because it’s time for the after party. Y/N knew there was no stealing Harry away to fix the problem that was now fixated in her mind. Every cast and crew member was trying to talk to him, congratulating him, hugging him, anything to spend time with the incredible man. Y/N couldn’t blame them, but she also wanted to be able to go some place quiet and debrief with Harry about his outfits. She wanted to look up what people were saying about his clothes and discuss the critiques with Harry. She also wanted to start discussing what was coming next with Harry. But most of all, she just wanted to hang out with Harry.

What Y/N wanted wasn’t going to happen anytime soon, which she knew, but it still only grew her annoyance with that string. If only she could get it off of him, maybe then her mind would be able to relax a little.

She meandered backstage, resigned she wouldn’t be talking to Harry for a while. There she went to find the band’s dressing room, knowing she would find Mitch or Sarah who she’d be happy to talk to. They weren’t ones for the spotlight and no one ever really seemed to want to brownnose with them at events like this. Y/N had met them a few times.

The first was when Harry had asked Y/N to meet him in the studio in mid July, Mitch and Sarah had both been there helping Harry finish up something for the album. Y/N never asked what, she liked music quite a bit, but when it came to the technical part of it, it went completely over her head. Harry had introduced them both and they seemed lovely. After that, she had seen them around for an event or two of Harry’s. It wasn’t much, but it was more than any of the other people around right now.

Just as she was about to knock on the door it swung open, revealing Harry’s entire backing band. “Hey,” Y/N said sheepishly, “Harry’s being fawned over by the masses and I don’t actually know anyone else here. Is it alright if I hang out with you all at this after party? I doubt there’s going to be anyone really dying to meet the stylist.”

She smoothed her own clothes as she spoke. Y/N wanted to look professional tonight because sometimes when she was dressed in more fun or “young” clothes she got mistaken for someone who had snuck in. The only thing that got people to not question her authority to be where she was, was a card that read ‘staff’ that she would clip onto whatever she was wearing at places like this. Tonight, she chose a pair of purple plaid pants, a sleek lilac tank underneath a cream knit shawl, and cream Gucci mules.  Ever since Harry took an interest in Y/N’s pearl necklace, she had largely stopped wearing hers because she hoped never to be photographed matching with him. However, she had known the pearls would have completed the look, even putting them on in her hotel room, twisting a pearl in her hand as she looked in the mirror, and then taking the necklace off again and settling on a different silver necklace instead. The ‘staff’ card was clipped to her pants pocket tonight.

“Of course!” Sarah said as the band began to file out of the room, “You might want to take your tag off now, though, you’re done working for the night.”

Her laughter rang sweetly through Y/N’s ears and she smiled back before removing her identifying card. She hated the piece of plastic and was glad to take it off, it never went with her outfits, but she had gotten tired of taking out her business card every time someone asked what she was doing. Y/N was sure that during the tour she’d be fine without it, but as Harry’s show appearances were beginning to ramp up she knew it would be helpful to have.

“Thanks...you all were amazing out there tonight. Second time on the SNL stage right?”

The group of you began to walk in the direction of where the after party was being held. Mitch piped up, “Thanks. Yeah, I love their box stage setup, it’s pretty cool.” Y/N was happy that she had people who were easy to talk to so that she wouldn’t be alone tonight.

Arriving in the room of the party, they were all quick to grab the alcohol that was being provided at the pop up bar. Y/N wasn’t normally a fan of drinking at events like these, mainly because she was not usually invited to this part of the night and when she was she wanted to be alert. But she figured there wasn’t much else to do so she took a hearty sip of the champagne. It was a little sweet, her face scrunched.

“Too sweet?” Mitch questioned when he saw Y/N’s face.

“Just a little for my taste.”

“Harry’s not going to be drinking tonight then. So particular about his alcohol,” Mitch continued.

Y/N laughed, “Well I’m glad, then I don’t have to deal with him being a baby about his hangover tomorrow.”

Mitch quirked an eyebrow at Y/N’s statement. Sarah and the others in the band had dispersed to mingle with the SNL party goers, leaving Mitch and Y/N to their conversation.

Realizing what she said could be seen as slightly weird out of context, Y/N quickly started again, “because I’m supposed to go shopping with Harry tomorrow. He wanted to go to Gucci and a couple other stores here before flying to LA. I’m going back to London until the listening parties, so we need to figure out the finishing touches for those and..” Y/N trailed off trying to remember which looks weren’t completed yet for the next few shows, Mitch waited patiently, “a few of the suits for the Late Late Show. He’s not happy with one of them so we might switch it. But anyway, you know how he is with a hangover. Proper child.”

Mitch threw his head back in laughter at Y/N’s serious look that she gave him. “Yeah, he can be...a lot. I meant to tell you, Harry looked great tonight. All of the clothes were fantastic,” Mitch added.

He was kind and Y/N appreciated him sticking with her. The two of them had rested themselves against a wall near the bar, sipping their champagne and enjoying each other’s company.

“Thank you.”

Mitch opened his mouth to say something else, but Heidi Gardener, another SNL member interrupted.

“Y/N, right!?”

Y/N and Mitch both turn to her, equally taken aback by the sudden burst of energy from this person they didn’t really know. Y/N nodded.

“Oh my gosh! You have to tell me where you got the jacket Harry is wearing!”

Heidi even goes as far to point in Harry’s direction. Y/N knows what she’s talking about, but her eyes still wander to where she pointed. Harry stood in a clump of people, surrounded by Ben Winston, James Corden, and the Gerbers who had all come to watch. She sighed as she watched his eyes shine as he laughed with a smile on his face. She hoped that by now the string had fallen off his pants by now, if not she was going to kick herself later.

“Oh, it’s Bode,” Y/N’s eyes coming back to meet Heidi’s happy face, “but it’s custom made from a vintage blanket. There’s only two that exist.”

Y/N and Mitch watched as Heidi’s face dropped.

“And I’m pretty sure the designer owns the other one,” Y/N added, “Sorry.”

Heidi smiles and jokes, “Know any ways I could possibly get Harry to give me his?”

“He loves that coat. I have no idea what you could possibly do to convince him he didn’t need it anymore.”

“Sex, probably,” Mitch says under his breath.

Heidi doesn’t catch it as she walks back off and Y/N turns to swat him with her free hand.  

“What? He always gives away his clothes to girl’s he has crushes on.” Y/N rolls her eyes at Mitch’s words.

“Probably best if you don’t inform the masses about that,” a new voice says.

Unbeknownst to Mitch and Y/N, Harry had broken away from his entourage to steal a few minutes with his two friends, his best friends if he was being honest. They laugh together as he wraps his arms around their shoulders and pulls them both into his chest. Y/N feels the warmth radiating from Harry’s body as she snuggles into his side. Her hand wraps under his jacket and around his waist to squeeze right about his hip bone. His face is gleaming with a small sheen of sweat, but his smile is so big she barely notices his perspiration as he looks down at her.

“Heard you were talkin’ shit?”

Mitch quips, “Us? Never.”

Harry scoffs, “Come off it!”

When he releases Y/N and Mitch from his grasp, Mitch straightens up while Y/N’s eyes immediately go down to Harry’s crotch. She’s not paying attention to their conversation as she tries to make out in the dim light whether the string is gone or not. The men realize she’s not listening and they both follow her gaze.

Confused, Harry asks, “Y/N, any particular reason you’re staring at my dick?”

Her head shoots up, eyes wide and cheeks flushed from embarrassment.

“I wasn’t!”

Mitch laughs and decides he wants another glass of champagne right then, mumbling something about how that was his cue. Harry smiles, knowing she wasn’t doing what he had said, but still intrigued to know what was going on in her mind.

“You had a string right on your zipper and it’s been bugging me since you went out for your outro. This is the first time I’ve seen you on your own and I couldn't exactly go up to you in a random crowd and grab at your crotch. But now I can’t see in this light…” Y/N bit at her lower lip and furrowed her brow still trying to see if the string was there.

“Have you really been thinking about it this whole time?” Harry asked, slightly concerned.

“Yes...I know it doesn’t matter, but I just want your clothes to look perfect.”

Harry takes a deep breath as he makes a small smile at Y/N. Then he brushes over the front of his pants, hoping he removes the string if it's still attached to him. “There, I’m sure it’s gone now. I’m sorry you had to worry about that. Just know everyone I’ve talked to has been raving about the clothes.” He placed his ring-clad hand on Y/N’s upper arm and squeezed it.

“You did an amazing job,” Y/N said.

Harry pulls her into his chest one more time. This time without Mitch so both of Harry’s arms go around her shoulders and both of hers go around his slender waist. Again her hands disappear under his coat and thumb over his warm white t-shirt, her face resting on his chest right next to the word ‘Sex’. His arms tighten around her back as they rest there for a while. Y/N always has to make herself pull away, knowing that Harry will stay there for as long as he can - in anyone’s embrace - and remembering they’re in a public setting, she didn’t want anyone to assume things, even if she had already been made aware that people had.

“We’ll debrief more later tonight, yeah? The champagne is terrible so I won’t be drinking,” Harry said.

Y/N laughed under her breath as she smiled at his words. Mitch and her knew Harry too well. She nodded about getting together later, “Alright. Get back to your fan club.” Harry narrowed her eyes at her words, not sure if she was trying to sound sarcastic or not.

-

Hey, I’m back at the hotel. Just let me know when you want to debrief :) x

Y/N texted Harry the minute she got back to the hotel, she had no idea if he had left before her or was still at the after party. All she knew was that it was late and she was starting to get tired. Still, it was important for them to talk about their plans for tomorrow and she also really wanted to just be with him alone. Whenever they would debrief after big events Harry and Y/N would laugh at all the outrageous stuff they had seen go on throughout the night.

When she was still a freelance stylist she had helped Harry to plan his Camp outfit at the Met Gala. That night, they never even went to bed and had to debrief about the clothes the next afternoon over tea at the Palace. Both her and Harry were recovering from their exhaustion and nursing equally terrible hangovers. But there they were, sitting in the center of the dining area of the hotel, being served some of the nicest tea and sandwiches Y/N had ever had. It was amazing. Y/N had never felt that rich in her life before and Harry had told her the craziest stories about the most famous people in attendance. It was almost unbelievable what these people would reveal to Harry and Y/N was happy to listen to all of it, promising to never tell anyone else. That outing was probably the first time Harry realized he really liked Y/N and wanted to work more closely with her.

While tonight wasn’t quite as wild as the Met Gala had been, Y/N was still excited to hear any funny stories Harry might have in addition to their clothing talk. They really hadn’t had much time to chat since she had gotten to New York yesterday so it would be nice to just be alone together. Even if Y/N chalked their debriefs up to ‘shop talk’, she was always very excited for them.

As she reached her hotel room door, her phone buzzed with a message from Harry.

I’m still out, but should be heading back soon. Up to you if you want to wait up or we can just debrief in the morning while we shop. x H  

Y/N sighed at the message, she wanted to wait up and debrief before tomorrow, if not for alone time with Harry but professionally for being able to plan out their shopping tomorrow. Where Harry was carefree, Y/N was meticulous and planned out. She liked to have fun, but she knew when she had to get her work done, even when Harry was off in his own mind. Their work styles mostly coincided, Harry could be serious and focused, too, but often when he was surrounded by all his famous friends he had a hard time saying ‘no’ to whatever came up. So Y/N knew that Harry’s definition of ‘soon’ could range from actually soon to almost dawn. She really hoped he actually meant soon, so she shot him a text saying:

Just knock on my room and if I open it we can debrief lol x

Harry smiled down at his phone when Y/N’s text came through, slightly chuckling before double tapping and placing a heart reaction of her text. Then he was pulled into the limo that one of his friend’s had gotten them and was handed a flute of champagne.

Back at the hotel, Y/N threw her phone on the bed and decided to change and simply settle in for the night. If Harry made it back, he made it back and if he didn’t she’d wake up well rested.

Maybe thirty minutes into scrolling on her phone, Y/N heard a rough knock on her door. She was actually quite surprised that Harry had indeed been back soon. Rising from her snuggled place in the bed, she shifted around her night clothes and padded to her door. There stood, rather hung, a slightly disheveled Harry. His hair was whipped into disaster, something was smudged on his face, and she noticed a stain on his t-shirt that hadn’t been there the last time she’d been with him.

He slurred her name as he stumbled through the doorway. Y/N closed her eyes and sighed in exasperation. She was in awe that somehow Harry hadn’t gotten off his ass in the past hour and a half.

“What happened to not drinking tonight?”

She walked beside him and helped shove him into a sitting position on her bed. He flapped his arms, chaotically trying to get his plaid jacket off. Throwing her phone in the direction of her pillow, she moved to help Harry with his jacket. After quite a bit of strugglings, Y/N finally got the Bode jacket off of him successfully and threw it onto the nearby chair. Sighing, she settled beside him.

“So, Harry, care to explain?”

“Hi, Y/N…” He swayed slightly, attempting to face Y/N more. She threw out a hand to his shoulder, gripping him tightly to try and steady him.

“We went in this limousine, and they had champagne - good champagne - and I drank a bottle or so pretty quickly.”

“Or so? Oh Harry...I mean you’re free to make your own choices, but I don’t know if this was one of your best.”

“Wasn’t...wasn’t my idea. I was planning on just going back to the hotel. Then James convinced me to come out for a bit. Then the champagne was looking good so I went for it.”

“Like I said, you can make your own choices,” she patted his arm and went to the en suite bathroom to wet a washcloth to clean off his face.

“So, is it champagne on your shirt or am I going to have to go through hell to get the stain out?” She called.

Harry groaned and leaned back on the bed, fingering at the crisp white sheets. “Champagne,” he finally muttered as Y/N reappeared into the dim room, only the outside world and the light in the bathroom lighting this area.

“And on the face?”

She climbed onto the bed and kneeled beside Harry’s prone body, beginning to swipe at the smudge on his face. He tilted his head to face her, bringing the cheek with the dirt to lay facing perfectly up. His jawline showed perfectly and she felt the strength that laid beneath the skin she was washing.

His eyes flitted up to her face, trying to stop the spins he was currently experiencing. He hadn’t thought he was that drunk until he had been required to find his way up to their floor on his own.

“Lipstick?”

She sighed, running the washcloth over his cheek once more, and tried to push the image of some woman (or man who wore lipstick, she guessed) with her lips all over Harry’s face. She didn’t want to know who it was or why it was. It was too hard, especially after the day of people asking her about Harry and her relationship and insinuating things about him and his romantic life. She just liked to keep the words Harry and romance apart as much as possible, it made her life easier that way.

“It was only from-”

“It’s ok, Harry, I don’t need to know who you were…” She stopped herself, not even wanting to say ‘kissing’ or ‘snogging’ or even worse ‘shagging’. Adults were human beings and they could do a lot in an hour and a half. And again, she didn’t want to know.

“You keep doing that. Are you mad at me?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Calling me Harry, not ‘H’. Is it because you’re mad at me?”

“No,” she sighed, shifting to sit more casually, “No, I’m not mad at you. I just wasn’t expecting you to show up at my door like this. I try not to worry about you, but then when you show up like this, it kind of affirms I had reason to be concerned.”

She took a hand and smoothed over Harry’s tousled hair, he rolled his head back to face the ceiling. “Like I said, you’re an adult, capable of making his own decisions. And, I am just your stylist. I’m just glad you made it up here and knocked on my door. Probably would have given someone else a fright.”

He laughed, starting to sober up as the spinning in the room stopped. Her hands on his face and hair were soothing and sobering.

“Thank you for caring about me, love. And going beyond being just my stylist, you’re my friend Y/N.”

His eyes flickered shut and Y/N stared at his soothed features. His words were still slurred and she was sure the use of love was just his britishness slipping through his drunken state. The part about being more than a stylist, she tried to push it away, telling herself not to read more into it than her heart would like to. Even though he said she was a friend as well as a stylist and not anything more, it still sent so much joy through her body. He didn’t just see her as a work colleague and he had said it. But in his inebriated state, Y/N didn’t want to take everything he said as gospel.

She moved him up the bed with a little bit of his sleepy self’s help into a more comfortable position. It was pretty late now and she wasn’t going to kick him out. It would have been rude and unkind and that were two things Y/N rarely was. She went and grabbed the extra blanket from the cabinet and draped it over Harry’s large body for extra warmth since he refused to get under the covers. She also slipped off his boots and stained shirt per his request before getting into the other side of the bed and falling asleep.

-

She awoke to a shifting body beside her and she sat up confused as to who it could be. Quickly, Harry showing up drunk at her door came flooding back and she turned to look at the groaning Harry beside her. His arm was thrown over his face as he moaned, just waking up as well and experiencing the first bits of his hangover. This was going to be a long day.

“Hullo,” his voice was especially low, groggy and hoarse from the night before. He peaked over at her from behind the crook of his elbow. His eyelids barely open and his eyelashes weighing them down so much so that she could barely see his sleepy jade eyes.

“Good morning, H. Have a nice rest?” Y/N sat up and began to ready herself for the day, rummaging through her suitcase for an outfit and moving about the room.

Harry’s arms went to his sides as he worked to sit up, eyes following her figure as she moved around, seemingly not groggy very much unlike him. “Erm...I’m sorry for showing up pissed.”

“S’fine, H. Just glad you didn’t end up in a ditch or someone’s bed - someone’s that you might regret…” She barely regards him, throwing a single glance his way before shuffling to the bathroom to change. She knows they’ll be photographed today, it’s almost inevitable right now. Everyone knows Harry is in New York and people are buzzing to see him after his performance last night. She slips on the 70s inspired dress, the v-neck and long sleeves settling perfectly on her frame, it hugs her curves and lands around mid-thigh. Rolling on the bold mustard yellow tights and strapping up the brown leather mary jane heels, she looks herself over in the mirror. She then tries to tame her hair and do the rest of her routine, knowing she needed to get on with the day, shopping first and flying home second. Making sure Harry was okay was also on that list, but she couldn’t pretend like she wasn’t a little disappointed in him after last night.

When she returns, Harry is sitting with his legs hanging off the edge of the bed, head hanging as he’s hunched over himself. “C’mon, you gotta get going, kid. Lots to do today.” She’s pacing over to Harry’s deflated figure to pick him up and prompt him to get moving. When she arrives by his side his head lifts and his now more awake eyes stare up at her.

“I’m sorry for yesterday, really. I mean it.”  

“I told you already. It’s fine.”

“It’s not - or it wasn’t. You called me ‘Harry’ last night. I don’t think I’ve heard you call me that to my face since we started working together. I took your answer last night because I was swimming in it, but now, thinking about it. I know you were upset.”

She huffs, taking a seat beside Harry on the bed, choosing to not look at him, slightly confused why she had been so upset and why he was pushing it. “Ok, yeah I was annoyed, but I was also genuinely worried. I didn’t know you could physically get that drunk in that small amount of time. And then you show up at my door with somebody else’s…” Y/N falters, catching her slip up and deciding to fix her gaze on her shoes and their intricate design built into the leather.

“You’re upset that I had lipstick on me?” He’s trying to meet Y/N’s gaze, but her eyes are really interested in her shoes. His tone is confused, he’s trying to understand what’s going on in her mind.

She scoffs, risking a glance to Harry but then returns quickly back to her dress this time. “Please...it was just inconvenient for me, okay? Thought we were going to debrief and stayed up late for you. Then I had to take care of you after you hung out with your famous pals and I had barely even seen you all day. Felt a bit used.”

Harry shifted in the bed, turning to face her by tucking one leg beneath him. He places a hand on hers that was placed on the end of her dress. Her eyes finally meet with his and she feels her breath slightly catch in her throat. His eyes are piercing, his gaze intense, maybe even a tinge of anger. “Y/N, I would never have come to your room if I even had an inkling that this would be how you’d interpret it . Even though I was drunk, I wanted to see you, that’s why I came up here, because I wanted to be with my friend, one of my best friends, not because I just needed some pushover to care for me.”

She sighs, feeling icky still about the whole situation. She sometimes found herself in fights that she never intended, she wished she hadn’t said anything at all. But she also knew that wasn’t healthy either. Flipping her hand, she intertwines her fingers with Harry’s and smiles for the first time that morning. His expression softens at it. “Look, I’m sorry too, H. It honestly wasn’t that big of a deal, but I appreciate that you’re such a great guy and boss to want to truly apologize and make sure I’m comfortable and happy… Oh, and I promise I’ll never call you anything but H from here on out - unless you tell me otherwise.”

He cackles unabashedly at her words, before suddenly clutching at his temple with his free hand. “Fuckin’ hangover,” he mumbles. She smiles and stands up, beginning to throw his shirt and shoes from the end of the bed at him, “You need to get ready. Go pop some advil or whatever. My flights at 5 so we haven’t got all day, H.”

“There she is,” Harry grins, beginning to put back on the stained ‘Sex’ shirt.

As he hustles out of the room, shoes in hand, she calls to him one last request, “When you’re in fresh clothes make sure you bring me that stained shirt. Gonna have to spot clean it when I’m back in London!”

“Of course! And we’ll debrief as we shop, yeah?”

“Yes!”

The two of them were shouting to each other as the door continued to close on them. Chuckling to herself, she begins to pack up her room, knowing she had to check out before they left. Her spirits already lifted, she doesn’t even notice as she throws Harry’s forgotten Bode jacket into her suitcase with some other items that had been on her chair. She wouldn’t notice it until she was back in London unpacking from the trip.

Shutting the case, she springs back up from her crouched position and walks to look in the full length mirror again. Her fingers run the length of her dress, leafing over the slightly darker brown embroidered flowers that were woven into the tan fabric. She squints as she turns sideways and pops a heel up behind her. It looks good, but something is missing. Rummaging through her carry-on she pulls out her old butterfly bandana she used as a head scarf and begins to fix it into place on her head. Placing large sunglasses on the bridge of her nose, she feels like the look is complete and gives herself some poses in the mirror; a peace sign, an air kiss, a Marilyn Monroe. She laughs at herself.

A knock on the door shakes her from her childish fun. Straightening up, Y/N saunters over to the door, swinging it open with ease. “H?”

“You ready?” Harry stands in a fresh pair of Marni trousers paired with a striped orange and mauve Marni sweater. He, like Y/N, had this thing about wearing the brand you planned to shop at. He didn’t always stick to his rule, but he usually didn’t like to wear Gucci when he shopped at Gucci.

“Yeah, just need to check out and drop my baggage at the front to be held for later.” Y/N slips through the door and notes how his outfit compliments hers. She wouldn’t mention it, but it's something to think about since he had known what she was wearing. She wasn’t sure why she noticed things like that, if asked, her answer would probably be that it was the stylist in her, just her job.

-

Stepping out of a black town car on the side street next to Gucci to go in the side entrance would never get old for Y/N. She had never really enjoyed the idea of fame, but from a young age she had known she wanted to be able to afford the finer things in life. Going into the Gucci store now, especially with Harry, was like going to the candy store once you’re a grown up and can buy whatever you want rather than what your parents will allow you to.

Today, Harry and Y/N didn’t have as much time as they would usually like to spend in the store, but they were just happy to be doing what they loved. Y/N had been ecstatic to find out Harry found shopping to be an essential part of his life and that he liked to do his outfit shopping in person rather than online. Trying on clothes and picking out things you liked just was so much more fulfilling when you were in the physical store. Then make that all happen with Harry Styles as the buyer, then it was a real party. The stores liked to pull out their Champagne and clear the store to allow him privacy, specifically when it was for clothes for projects under wraps. In the beginning of her employment, it was only ever Harry who would do the trying on of clothes, but as the two of them got acquainted and comfortable with each other, she found herself trying things Harry would pick out for her. At first, she would veto some items saying they were too expensive for her, but eventually she learned that her new salary covered whatever it was. She had always enjoyed designer labels and choosing to be a stylist meant she had nice clothes, but only working for Harry had caused her closet to double in size and triple in value.

“So we are looking for some trousers today,” she tells the worker at the store, reminding them of what she had already called ahead about. The employee nods and proceeds to lead them into the room where they had laid out an assortment of pants for Harry to pick from.

“What do you think of these?” Harry walks out and strikes a pose, popping one of his hips to the side and his hands on his hips. The pants strain around his thighs, but fit practically perfectly everywhere else. His slim waist is perfectly encircled by the fabric and he’s decided the sweater he was wearing didn’t match them and he’d rather go shirtless. This choice technically should allow her to solely focus on the pants, but it actually makes her focus that much more diverted. She makes a spinning motion with her pointer finger as she purses her lips. He takes a quick spin and the boot cut slightly flares with his movement. The pants are a dark brown with a single plaid crossing in a lighter brown. They are only lightly flared, which she prefered to the extreme flare that some of Harry’s suits had. She narrows her eyes at the pants to keep her gaze from shifting to the taut muscles of Harry’s arms and torso or the dark ink that licked over his skin in the beautiful designs of his choice.

“They’re nice,” she pulls up a picture of the top part of the outfit he was planning on wearing, “Do you think they match with this though?” Harry walks over to her seated position and bends to look at her phone. His skin radiates heat and the smell of his cologne and she sniffles slightly with her sensitive nose. His eyes flicker to her face when he notices her little noise, but returns to looking at the phone when she doesn’t spare him a glance. She felt his gaze on her, but couldn’t bring herself to look from the phone. She knew his proximity would make it even harder for her to keep her eyes off his naked torso. The expensive smell of Harry mixed with the expensive smell of the store was a lot to handle.

“Yeah...no. You think they’re not right,” she widens her eyes at Harry’s words when he pulls away. He turns to the mirror in the open dressing room and fiddles with the waistline of the pants. “I agree,” he finishes before stalking back into the room and shutting the heavy velvet curtain that worked as the door to it.

He tries on five more pairs of trousers and finally settles on two pairs for the two different listening parties. A heavier, wool-tweed pair that was dark brown and then a lighter brown tweed pair. He was still in the lighter pants as he stared into the mirror. He beckoned to Y/N, and she quickly set down the flute of Champagne she had been sipping at lazily as he admired himself.

“Is it possible for you to take it in a bit more,” he says in a hushed tone to her, not wanting the workers to overhear. They were helpful but if they overheard they would wait for the store to tailor the trousers and he preferred for Y/N to do it. He rubs at the waistline again and she moves closer, her hands going to his sides. Her fingertips graze the naked skin above the trousers and Harry shivers at the coldness of the new touch. She ghosts softly over the waistline herself and smooths the fabric until she’s pinching a small amount on each side. She hums, pulling back from Harry and looking at the fit of them now, examining whether that makes them look better.

Then she nods and smiles up at Harry, “Ever the slender waist,” he grins right back as she admires him. She knew how much he liked praise and she was happy to give it to him, especially when he was so deserving. “I’d say size down, but then your thighs and bum might strain the fabric too much.” His face turns to a smirk as she blushes at her words. She releases the fabric and takes a hand to pat Harry’s smooth chest before walking back to her seat on the lovely couch.

“You sure you don’t want to try anything on, Y/N? Saw some killer boots when we walked in that screamed you.” Harry calls from behind the curtain, presumably getting redressed. Her laugh comes through the curtain slightly muffled, yet still a sweet melody in Harry’s ears.

“Definitely not now, we’re leaving any minute. Plus, I’ve got plenty of Gucci boots, don’t even show me them or I’ll be tempted.”

His laughter rings through the curtains, loud and unrestrained. She smiles to herself, unable to discourage the pleasure that weaves through her at the sound. His presence in all the different ways she experienced it was instantly comforting.

-

When she arrives back to her London flat, she practically flops on her couch once she’s inside the door. Her luggage forgotten at the door, as she shrugs off her coat. It was around 7 am because she had chosen to take the red eye for some reason. She groaned as she thought about the day ahead of her. Even though Harry was halfway across the globe, she still had plenty of work to do. She had to finalize the outfits for the listening parties now that they had the pants to complete the looks. Then she had to start thinking about Harry’s December appearances. She had sent ahead his Late Late outfits that he had needed in Los Angeles for the pre-filming, but she still had to deal with the outfits for the live part of the show.

Today, she was set to go pick up the other pieces needed for the listening parties as well as items for the Graham Norton Show and Jingle Ball. She was most excited for her travels because that meant looking at brand new clothes that were perfect and gorgeous. She also knew she needed to spot clean Harry’s shirt, which didn’t spark as much joy in her tired mind.

The idea of the shirt staining with alcohol was what brought her out of her snuggling with her comfy couch. Sure, it couldn’t get that bad, but still she was a worrier and it would pain her if the iconic shirt got ruined. She padded back over to her luggage, now without her jacket or shoes. Her major suitcase got flipped on its side and she began to unzip it. It came open easily seeing as it was stuffed with her clothes and various items. She had to rummage a minute for Harry’s shirt that seemed to have run away inside the bag. Finally, the large white shirt made itself known and she grasped it happily.

As she looked over the stain near the collar of the shirt, her eyes traveled to a piece of fabric peeking out of her suitcase. It was a familiar blue, cream and white. A specific fabric she would never misplace, would never not recognize. Harry’s plaid Bode jacket. It was iconic and she loved it, but why did she have it in her suitcase. She definitely didn’t mean to have it, it’s genuinely just one of Harry’s jackets so it wouldn’t make sense for her to bring it back with the show's wardrobe. She tries to think back to yesterday, when she was still in New York. Thinking about why she would have it, she places the memories of Harry coming to her room, taking off his coat, and accidentally leaving it in her room all fit together. She must have just absentmindedly placed it in her suitcase without even realizing. She’s sure Harry wouldn’t mind, she’d shoot him a text, though, to tell him she had it. So he wouldn’t worry about whether he’d lost it or not.

When she gets ready for the day, she finds herself being drawn to blue and cream. Her outfit is understated and she just knows the jacket would finish the look. She loved that jacket and now that she had it, would it be a big deal if she wore it out. She figured it was fine. After she grabbed her purse, keys, and other essentials, she slipped on the coat. Harry was very broad shouldered and it hung oversized on her. She loved the look and snapped a selfie in the mirror before she headed out. While it felt a little narcissistic to constantly take photos of herself, she felt like as a stylist it was important to document her looks just as much as she documented her clients.

What she didn’t think about is just how much the rest of the world liked to document her client and those who were seen with her client. She didn’t think about how she had just been seen with Harry yesterday. That thought didn’t even cross her mind as she walked around the streets of London picking up her work. As she saw some photographers out and about (whom she assumed were for famous celebrities, not her). How it might seem with her wearing the Bode jacket Harry had worn on SNL two nights ago. The Bode jacket that there were only two of.

None of it crossed her mind. Not until it was the end of the day and she had a whole slew of texts from Harry’s manager. A few from Harry, and others but the other fifteen were solely from Jeff. She was a bad texter so as she walked into her flat and finally looked at her phone after putting down all of her garment bags her eyes went wide.

Please tell me you’re not out in London right now!

What are you wearing??

That cannot be Harry’s jacket Y/N

Seriously?

Please call me.

CALL ME. NOW.

      - All from Jeff.

She grimaced. The others from her friends including Harry would have to be ignored right now. Even if Harry was her boss, Jeff was who she had to deal with when it came to public appearances and it didn’t seem like she could get around this one. Normally, she never had to deal with him, but it seems today wasn’t normal.

- 

part 2

[hockeyboysiguess]

how to cross a hurricane | m. rantanen

a/n: well... she’s finally here. i’ve had this idea in my head since early july. i’ve rewritten parts of this a ton since then, but it’s finally here. i’m really proud of this fic and i hope you all really love it! shout to @nolypats (who has been with me through EVERY version of this story, god bless you) @slapshot-to-the-heart, @jasondickinsons​, and @danglesnipecelly​ for all of your supportive words. this would not have been finished without any of you. all that’s left is to say enjoy!

word count: 40,379 (eeeep!)

warnings: some swearing, a little vague smut at the end. 

wine pairing recommendation: something with a low alcohol content because you’re going to be here for a while honestly. whatever you have in your fridge with the lowest alcohol content.

After eight months on the road, twelve countries, seventy-two cities, without more than a few days stop at the house she owned in Los Angeles, the apartment furnished by some local interior designer who thought they knew her tastes but never actually asked her what she liked, felt as good a home as any other. Really, after eight years of consistent travel, near constant comings and goings, the next stretch of time, the almost year in her calendar that was completely blank, was going to be the single longest Josephine Evans had spent in any one place since she was fourteen and still lived with her parents.

Taking time off, an entire year, wasn’t Josephine’s idea. She was a workaholic to the levels practically unheard of, but it was hard not to think about work all the time when her work was the only thing she had ever really wanted to do, a childhood dream made reality that people constantly tried to take away from her. She had almost broken when her manager, Krista, acting more like a general sending a soldier home from war than a manager, told her to pack a bag, pack a lot of bags, and get the hell out of town for a while. It hadn’t been a suggestion. There hadn’t been any room for debate. She made it clear to Jo, who she had known from the time she was eight years old, that this wasn’t a discussion. Jo had tried to argue for a month off, that was all she said she needed, but that had earned her a one-way ticket out of Los Angeles, and a firm ban on stepping foot in New York City either. Krista had told Jo that the fact that she was a twenty-three year old woman who worked her ass off every single day, but couldn’t even take a month off at a beach somewhere was something that needed to be rectified, immediately. Jo couldn’t do anything halfway, all or nothing, everything or bust, so she was chased out of a town she sort of ran with a wave of Krista’s hand, telling her that the world would continue to turn without her. Krista added insult to injury when she told Jo the world she ran would probably spin better if she actually took the time to rest her voice, get her head on straight, and deal with the recurring issues in her life before coming back.

Jo walked over to her fridge, finding nothing but the takeout she had picked up on her way to the apartment, her apartment, from the airport, and instead going for the wine fridge under the opposite counter. No one had stocked the fridge for her, but Krista had made sure the wine fridge was stocked and honestly, what more could she want? It took Jo a few attempts to find the wine glasses, mentally making a note to move them to a shelf she could reach without climbing onto the counter, taking her glass and a bottle of something white and sweet looking to the only part of the apartment that was exactly her taste, the massive, pillow-filled couch. 

The wine was thankfully almost as sweet as it looked when Jo finally poured herself a glass. She let out a long, deep sigh, willing some of the stress of the day to melt away. No one in her life seemed to get that the very act of trying to take a break was stressful for Jo because all she was thinking about was everything she wasn’t doing, everything that was going undone, and what the results of the lapse in activity might be. Could she really put her entire career aside for a year? Jo had kicked and scratched and clawed her way to success in spite of a veritable army of men who thought they knew better than her. They tried to tell her she wasn’t talented enough, that she wasn’t a good enough song writer, that she wasn’t a good enough singer, that she didn’t have the “it” factor to make it. She had looked those men in the face, spit on their blatant sexism, and won every award they said she couldn’t, made number one album after number one album, sold out headline arena shows, all before she turned twenty-four. She was, unfortunately for them and the bets they made against her, a ubiquitous in the most unavoidable way possible. 

The only problem was it was also unfortunate for Jo, something she hadn’t even been aware of when she was six dreaming of being the one on stage on the television, something she didn’t fully understand all the repercussions of when she signed that record deal when she was fifteen. Twenty-three-year-old Jo was now reaping the rewards of that contract, and the even more lucrative extension she had gotten two years ago, but paying a steep price for them. She got to live in penthouse apartments like the one she was in and pay for a sweatshirt that didn’t need to cost anywhere near as much as it did while not giving a damn if she spilled wine on it tonight. She got to go to parties people would die for just a glimpse of and hang out with people others dreamed out. But now, Jo didn’t feel like a little girl whose greatest wish came true. She felt absolutely and utterly alone, staring out at the beautiful Denver skyline, high rises and mountains sharing the landscape, without even her work to distract her.

Jo picked Denver much to the surprise of almost everyone in her life. She had grown up here. Well, Jo had done some of her growing up here. Her parents picked up and moved to Los Angeles for the sake of Jo’s dream that wasn’t even close to a career when they did. Jo left before she was even double digits and had tried her hardest for years not to spend too much time here. Nostalgia was a dangerous thing when experienced unchecked. Being in Denver was a veritable fire of unchecked nostalgia for Jo. She looked out and remembered her childhood with those same mountains in the background, remembered when things were simpler, when dreams were just dreams and not her everyday reality. Dreams were meant to be inside one’s head, not out in the world. They were always tainted during the move from one’s head to the real world. Being here in this city, Jo remembered when the life she lived was the purest dream she had ever had and she longed for simpler days. 

Jo debated texting one of the few friends she knew was around the city; people were always coming in and out of Denver, which was just a hop away from her unfortunately beloved Los Angeles. Actually, Jo deeply hated LA and she didn’t really feel all that bad for saying it. She hadn’t grown up there, an LA transplant like almost everyone she knew, so there was no loyalty. The best things in Jo’s life had happened in LA, but so had the worst, some of the things Krista has been referring to when she had told Jo to get her head on straight out here in Denver. Jo wasn’t going to deal with any of that tonight. Instead, she was going to try and think of all the things she could possibly do in Denver that she couldn’t do in LA, both for the constant paparazzi and for the fact that LA had summer and not as much summer as its only seasons. Plans calmed her, even when she wasn’t supposed to have them. 

She could go skiing, or, she could learn to ski anyway, maybe in the winter. It was only September, not exactly peak skiing weather. Winter reminded Jo of Denver always, a place she rarely made it back to anymore since her parents had since moved to Florida, like it seems most people’s parents do eventually. Jo’s success had just allowed them to go sooner than they would have otherwise. Winter made her feel like a kid again, the one that lived here in Denver with big dreams and missing teeth and frizzy hair that was supposed to be curly but no one had known how to take care of it. Jo couldn’t wait for the first snowfall, even though the leaves hadn’t even started to change color yet. Maybe she could go ice skating, if she wore a scarf around her face. Maybe she could build a snowman, even if she had to do it all by herself, and even if she didn’t have any gloves yet.

Maybe a return to Denver would be good for her. The mile-high air could lighten the heavy weight on her shoulders of people’s expectations and the pressure she put on herself because of them, letting her take a deep breath of non-suffocating air, nothing like what she was forced to breathe in LA. Maybe Jo might just learn how to take a break and give herself a break for the first time in a really long time, maybe in her entire life. Tonight though, tonight wasn’t going to solve anything. Tonight, Jo found the bottom of a bottle of cheap wine, the only kind she really liked, and then fell asleep in foreign sheets, but she didn’t really know what her own sheets were supposed to feel like anymore, so it didn’t make a difference. Jo slept like shit anyway. 

Jo woke up not enough hours later, but when she was up, she was up. It had always been one of her biggest problems with remaining rested and level headed on the road; she couldn’t sleep just anywhere, anytime, no matter how tired she was. She stumbled into the kitchen with a sliver of hope Krista had supplied her with coffee along with wine, but her hopes were dashed further and further with each cabinet she opened, until her hopes were nonexistent. She knew her only option at this point was going out, not her strong suit, but a baseball cap from a local sports team, some old Levis, a plain white t-shirt, and pair of Raybans might have hid all of her best features, but that’s exactly what she was looking for at seven shitty in the morning on her first full morning in Denver. 

Jo managed to get through a Starbucks drive through unseen and ended up just driving around under the guise of wanting to get a better feel for her new neighborhood, but really just needing to drive for a bit. A bit turned into hours and hours turned into needing to get gas. She finally checked her phone that day. Her phone was usually the first thing she did in the morning, the last thing before she went to bed, and a whole lot of what she did in between. She scrolled through, a few from her mom, asking about the apartment, some lingering group chats about some party going down in LA tonight, and one from her friend Helena that was actually relevant. 

Hey Jo! Welcome to Denver!!!!! The hometown gaining the BEST old/new resident :) anyway, having a thing at my place tonight, chill people only, I promise. Think you might wanna show that Vogue covergirl face???

Chill people only was LA code for people who wouldn’t take her photo and post it all over the internet with a glazed over look in her eyes that the media would only infer terrible, inaccurate things from. Jo didn’t even get to think about her response before a second text came through. 

Also some REALLY cute REALLY single guys if you’re looking for a little Denver somebody ;) 

Jo was absolutely not looking for a little Denver somebody. Jo was looking for a little Denver nothing. After a series of relationships that all ended the same way with guys who were all essentially variations on the same concept of a man, Jo was not looking for anything at all. Jo thought a lot about love; it’s the reason she wrote music, in a bid to understand her emotions, love being the one she understood the least about. Jo knew that she was difficult to love, at least, that was the core behind every breakup she had ever gone through. The circumstances surrounding her, the ever present hurricane of the media and fans and the prying eyes of naysayers, made her almost impossible to reach, even though she tried desperately to make herself available for people to love. Josephine tried so hard, but the answer was always the same. She would always be too hard to love, require more effort than another nice, pretty girl with good intentions. Nothing about her was worth fighting through the category five hurricane made by the crowds in the stadiums she performed in, and the people outside the walls of them with pitchforks and daggers. No one ever got out from her attempt to love unscathed. She always caused the people she loved immense, insurmountable pain, and there wasn’t a fucking thing she could do about it. She just sat in the eye of the storm because she knew what it felt like to walk through it. She had tried over and over again, each time coming back to the calm of the eye, battered and bruised and worse for wear than the times before. It was uncrossable and as long as it was uncrossable, Jo would be unlovable. So, no, she wasn’t looking for anything in Denver, absolutely nothing at all.

Jo did need more than a couple of friends in Denver and drinking a bottle of wine alone in her apartment for the second night in a row wasn’t exactly the image she tried to portray. She shot Helena back a quick text asking for the details for tonight. Helena was a good person with even better intentions, but if Jo let it slip to even one good person with good intentions that she wasn’t looking for anything, she should prepare for a rumor to get out that she was seeing someone, which would start the witch hunt through her Instagram and Twitter follows, through every public record to find someone it could be. No one Jo trusted, Helena least of all, ever meant to; their intentions were pure. Someone would just tell a slightly wrong person that Jo wasn’t available who would tell another even more slightly wrong person and so on until the game of telephone reached the ears of someone whose mouth would move for a price from the gossip columns. Jo ignored her racing thoughts, rejected the option for a receipt at the gas pump, then drove to the apartment that didn’t quite feel like hers. 

A delivery of groceries, a hot shower, and the removal of some odd pieces of art and decoration someone else had placed did go a long way in making Jo feel like this was more of a home. Jo had fussed around enough for ten people already before noon, so instead she dusted off her old list of shows she swore to various people she would get around to watching when tour was over, letting Netflix play episode after episode until it was actually time to get ready. Jo didn’t take a lot of time to get ready for things, much to the surprise of most people. She preferred sleep, something that she often lacked, so her getting ready routine was condensed to exactly the things she wanted, no more, no less. She wasn’t too picky about outfits either. Almost everything she owned for casual purposes went together. She wore extravagant, out of the box things all the time. Sometimes, it was nice just to be able to put on black jeans, ankle boots, and a black cropped long sleeve shirt and head out the door without any fussing. People fussed about her enough; Jo wasn’t about to join them. 

The address was close enough for Jo to walk, something else she rarely got to do, just go for a walk outside. The early September air was chillier than she thought it would be and she briefly wished she had brought a jacket, but she would be drinking her jacket for the walk back and drunk Jo was liable to forget everything that wasn’t in her pockets. She punched in the code to the building Helena had given her, and made her way up to the penthouse suite, thrilled to find the party already in full swing when she arrived. Arriving too early usually gained her a lot of stares and whispers that made her regret ever getting off her couch. 

Jo walked through the party with her head hung low, in search of Helena and her bright red hair. She was the easiest person to spot at a party because you could hear her from a mile away and if the music was somehow louder than her, she had fire engine red hair you could spot from across town. She was in the living room, tucked among a crowd of people Jo didn’t recognize anyone in, so she veered toward the kitchen instead where the drinks were most likely to be found, grabbing the first thing she could get in a hand on, none too picky after too much time being picky when she was younger and everyone wanted to impress her, to be her friend based solely on their own self-interests. Now, Jo drank anything she could get herself without making too much of a fuss. 

“Hey, are you Josephine Evans? There’s no way, but my buddy swears you look just like her. ”

Jo let her eyes droop shut as she mentally searched for the right personality to put on for this occasion. The problem was Jo wore so many faces, so many different personalities put on in an attempt to protect the real her, that she felt buried under all the faces and the expectations they represented. People always wanted her to look a certain way, talk a certain way, act a certain way, be a certain, pleasing way. What was pleasing to some was abhorrent to others and Jo had fractured herself a very long time ago, putting pieces of her in all of the faces she wore, just enough so they were all believable as the true Josephine Evans. She used to think the faces were entirely false, things she created to protect herself. But if Jo’s time alone so far had told her anything was that there really wasn’t much of her left when you stripped it all away. And she already knew she was a bad actress. 

Jo settled on the version of her that was cool, calm, and collected, could both crack and take a joke without feeling too much about it. The ideal party version of her that contained most of the self deprecating humor she possessed. Jo spun on her heels to face the guy who had spoken. Your standard man, tall but not too tall, medium colored hair, eyelashes that were too nice, a trait too many boys had, and a smile his parents paid good money for. Nothing to write home about, nothing to shrug your shoulders at, a median household income of a human being. 

“I hope you didn’t make a bet on that,” Jo let herself, more like forced herself, laugh it out, “because, yeah, that’s me. Just call me Jo.” 

Just call me Jo was probably one of her most used phrases, the ultimate ice breaker. For some reason, people were convinced that using her extremely public and logical shortening of her name opened a door to friendship, and guys tended to think the door was to her bedroom. It was just her name, like anyone else. The guy was talking and Jo wasn’t listening, hoping her neutral expression with active eyebrows was doing the work for her. His name started with a J, Jacob, Jason, Josh, something like that; all Jo knew is he was hitting on her, swinging way out of his league for the potential experience of Josephine Evan and well, Josephine Evans didn’t really give people who thought like that the time of day. She excused herself from the conversation shortly after it started in search of Helena or really, anyone else at the party who wasn’t like that guy had been. 

Helena was virtually free, as free as a hostess could get, when Jo saw her next and took her opportunity to slide in next to the tiny redhead. 

“Oh my god, it’s so good to see you!”

Helena wrapped Jo up in a crushing hug, impressive given how small Helena really was compared to almost every other person at her own party. She left an arm around Jo’s shoulders, somehow, after releasing her from her grasp. 

“It’s good to see you too, H,” Jo sighed, taking a sip of her beer. “Thanks for the invite.” 

“For you, Jo? Always,” Helena assured her. “So, how’s the time off going?” 

“It hasn’t even been forty-eight hours,” Jo reminded her softly, beer hanging near her lips as she spoke to take another sip when she finished. 

“You and I both know that’s practically a lifetime for you,” Helena laughs. “Wouldn’t surprise me if you’d driven yourself mad or taken over a small country with half that time.” 

Jo nodded softly. Helena might not have been too far off with driving herself mad in all reality. She has too much time to think. Jo with too much time to think led to far too many introspective thoughts that almost always became negative. She couldn’t help it though; she had always and probably would always be her own worst critic, including the people who were paid quite a lot of money to critique her. Jo did it for free, well, at the cost of her relationship with herself, and they lined their pockets with the profits off their critiques of her poorly wrapped as critiques of her art. 

“Well, you know me,” Jo laughed it off. 

“That I do, that I do,” Helena mused softly. “Which is why I single handedly have brought together Denver’s most eligible bachelors for you.”

“H,” Jo started, but Helena waved her off. 

She grabbed a flower from the vase on the window sill, a daisy, but the sentiment was still the same, and tucked it behind Jo’s right ear, much to her chagrin. The look she was giving Helena could melt glaciers, but Helena just smiled wider at her friend, resisting the urge to crumble under Jo’s icy stare. 

“Come on. You’re going to be here for a while. You can’t honestly tell me you want to be alone,” Helena’s small hands gripped Jo’s shoulders and pointed her toward the general population of the living room, “your whole time you’re here. Plus, there’s some real untapped snacks here and you need to broaden your horizons.” 

“My horizons are exactly as broad as I want them to be,” Jo quipped back easily, the response sliding off her tongue effortlessly. 

Helena scoffed and Jo could hear her friend’s eyes rolling, before she verbally blew past Jo, “Anyways, some Broncos players, some classic rich elite who live here because they just really like it, a couple of Denver Nuggets, and I hope you like hockey players, because I think the Avalanche boys are your most solid options in terms of looks and being decent human beings.” 

“H, I’m not interested,” Jo said firmly, fingers crushing the daisy under her fingers as she yanked it out from behind her ear. “I don’t care what sports team they all play for. I’m not looking.” 

“Oh, come on,” Helena groaned softly, popping up and down on her heels a little, making Jo scoff this time. “I get to live vicariously through you.” 

“You assembled all the hot guys in Denver you wish you could fuck so I could do it and then tell you about it?” 

If this was anyone other than Helena, Jo would’ve already been out the front door for this stunt. Helena deserved Jo’s presence more than almost anyone. There was no one who had stuck with her through more tsunamis of bullshit in Jo’s career than Helena. Helena actively supported Jo through thick and thin, ups and downs, diagonals and double-backs and every single ebb and flow. Also, Helena truly did mean well; she just couldn’t read between the lines to save her life. 

“Hey, I did this for you,” Helena pushed back. “You haven’t been seen with anyone since whatever his name was, I can’t remember, they’re all the same. It’s time for you to, you know, dust off the vaginal cobwebs and have some fun.” 

“I could engage with that,” Jo tipped her beer back and took a healthy swig, “but I’m not going to. I appreciate what you tried to do, but it’s just not where my head’s at right now. Maybe in a couple of months or something, but you know me. Too invested for casual, not enough time for serious, forever just drifting in the weird in between, destined to die alone.”

Helena breezed past that, knowing Jo long enough to know she was trying to change the topic by forcing Helena into a corner where the only way out was to accept the change of topic and correct Jo’s self deprecation. Helena knew well enough to know she wasn’t actually in a corner at all, just being made to seem like she was in one. 

“Whatever.” With a shake of her head, Helena surrendered for the night. “Just talk to some of them though. They’re decent guys and you could use more than one friend in Denver.” 

Helena failed to mention that apparently all of these men had geared themselves up for a night on the Bachelorette. Four conversations in that all seemed to start nicely, asking her about her tour, her asking about their seasons or whatever else they did, restaurant suggestions. But restaurant suggestions became asking her on dates. Asking her how she was liking Denver turned into neighborhood recommendations where they just so happened to live. 

By the fifth conversation, some rich guy whose dad paid for him to have an apartment nice enough and a car nice enough that he knew people he didn’t have the talent or personality to know, Jo had officially had it. She needed a break, eyes scanning the party for Helena, but there wasn’t any red hair to be found. She could’ve ducked into the cluster of women in the far corner, but she couldn’t differentiate a single one of them from any of the other girls who looked and dressed exactly like they did at parties crazier than this one in LA. They could’ve been the same women, but even if they weren’t, they were trying to be the same as them and Jo wasn’t in the mood to be asked to follow them all on Instagram and if they could tag her in their stories. Jo spotted the next best thing, a back stairwell tucked out of the way, vacant of any other partygoers, and slipped away from the guy with more hair product than her to make a break for it. 

Any empty rooftop greeted her at the top of the winding staircase and for that, Jo couldn’t have been more grateful. The rooftop air was cool, cooler than when Jo had walked over. She let out a long, drawn out breath, hands gripping the railing’s edge to ground her. She felt weightless in the worst way possible, without substance, like she could float away with the nighttime breeze. Despite the fact that millions of people would probably miss her, Jo felt like no one would if she floated away right now by a breeze from another realm taking pity on her, carrying her to some place that wasn’t this life. People would miss Josephine Evans, their favorite singer, their idol, the girl they could sleep with and instantly catapult themselves to a new level of fame, the girl whose coattails they could ride to the highest of heights. But no one really knew Jo, not even Jo herself, so who would actually miss her? 

Jo felt the tears fall down her cheeks before she even registered that her eyes were cloudy. They came too fast for her to notice. Maybe it was dumb, letting something like too much attention from guys, something a lot of women would kill for, make her cry, but it was all too much for Jo. It just made her feel hollow, like only the faces she presented mattered, not her. Jo was really crying because she knew under the faces people liked and wanted to be seen with, between the girl who went to galas and toasted with ungodly expensive champagne, between the one who Jo consciously chose to be at this party tonight and the brave face she put on for in depths interviews, there wasn’t a whole person left, just a few unused fragments, the least likable pieces of her. That's what was making her cry and had been making her cry for a long time.

Jo apparently wasn’t even allowed to cry in peace because the door swung open in the middle of her moment. 

“So, now is a bad time then, huh?” 

The voice was deep, deeper than she expected, a thick accent, either Finnish or Swedish if she was venturing a guess. Jo wiped her eyes, but didn’t turn to look toward the voice, so she was genuinely surprised when she heard the dull thud and felt the vibrations of a body making contact with the railing next to her. 

“Definitely a bad time to tell you I think you’re pretty, huh?”  

Jo couldn’t help but laugh, but it was clogged, the laugh catching on the lump in her throat from crying. She wiped her nose on the back of her hand and shook her head softly. A weak, pitiful smile pulled at her lips. She sighed before turning her head to look at the owner of the voice. 

“Definitely a bad time,” he said, his voice softly than before. “Need to talk about it?” 

He was everything Jo had expected, but somehow more. She was right to think Swedish or Finnish, but his hair was blonder than she had expected, gentle waves at the ends. Jo wanted to know if they were as soft as they looked. Even in the dark, she could tell his eyes were a stunning shade of blue, the kind that looked like the oceans that he grew up near, the kind people wrote albums’ worth of songs trying to find the right words to describe. His jaw was sharp, cheekbones even sharper, but softened by dimples between them, endearing in a way that made Jo wish she was a better person for a moment. Even with him leaning against the railing, Jo could tell as soon as he stood he would make her feel as physically small as she felt inside right now. 

“No offense, but I’m not interested,” Jo managed to get out in a way that vaguely sounded curt. 

“I’m not anymore either, so glad we’re on the same page,” he told her with a smile that had to have cured cancer somewhere once. “You seem like you need a friend more than you need some other guy telling you that you’re pretty tonight.” 

“And you, random rooftop guy, want to be my friend?” 

Jo couldn’t help but snort a little and roll her eyes at her own question. 

“I’m Mikko,” he told her, “and yeah, I do. I think you could use a friend and I’ve been told I’m a bad texter, but a pretty good friend.” 

“You come up with the intent to what, hit on me, and switch gears into friendship like that?” Jo asked with a snap of her fingers, her voice heavy with disbelief.

Mikko nodded softly, “Yeah, just like that. I came up because Helena said we’d get along and you’re pretty. That second thing is still true, you are, but you need friends more than you need some guy asking you out. So, guess I’ll take the upgrade to friendship.”

“I think you mean downgrade,” Jo corrected him gently. 

“No, definitely upgrade,” Mikko laughed. “I don’t have to buy you dinner or try and impress you, but I still get to hang out with a cool new person who needs a cool person in her life. That’s an upgrade, baby.” 

Jo was careful about the people she considered friends, the people who got to see her cry. Before her life became something unrecognizable to the little girl with a dream, Jo had still been careful about her friends. Jo used to understand that she wasn’t for everyone when she was younger, that she was who she was and people could either take her exactly as she was or they could leave. That girl didn’t exist anymore and her reasons for being careful about her friends came from a place of looking to protect her reputation and her career over herself, because what, in truth, was she really even protecting? But Mikko was different. Jo had moments like this, of someone attempting to become her friend at a party, but this wasn’t that. He already felt like her friend. He felt like someone the little girl with a big dream and no idea what would come out of it would have been friends with too. Jo hadn’t met someone like that in a long time. 

So, Jo took a deep breath and did what seven-year-old Jo would’ve done; she made a friend. 

------

Jo pulled herself out of bed the next morning, displeased but unsurprised at the pounding in her head. She drank and she cried, two things bound to make her head pound the morning after. It was Advil or bust for the first thing she would do today, even before checking her phone, something she religiously did first. Jo let herself fall back into her covers after swallowing three Advil, eyelids drooping closed for another half an hour as the medication kicked in well enough so she could actually do her normal routine the next time her eyes opened. 

She dragged her phone off the nightstand, groaning at the volume of texts that were waiting for her. Thankfully, it seemed to be largely group chats and could just be cleared and ignored. One text stuck out, just two words from an unsaved number, less than an hour old. 

Hey friend :) 

Memories of last night, technically this morning if you were into technicalities or booked a lot of airline tickets, flooded to the front of Jo’s sore head. Mikko. Her thumbs hovered over the keyboard, debating on if she, now sober, was really going to entertain this or not, which hinged entirely on if she really believed he had set aside any intentions he had walking up onto that rooftop and was capable of keeping them set aside. Jo’s thumbs twitched over the screen, debating on what she should do, but one thought kept coming up again and again. She wanted to understand why she had thought about him like she thought about friends when she was a kid, full of nothing but wonder, still believing in forever and magic and the idea of everlasting happiness. He had reminded her of all of that and Josephine needed to know why. 

Hey friend

Keeping it easy breezy, beautiful, Covergirl. Jo rolled out of bed after saving his phone number then ditching it in the covers before going to wash her face and start a pot of coffee for the day. After the coffee had started to drip into the pot, the best sound hungover Jo had ever heard, she went back to collect her phone, seeing she already had a reply from Mikko. 

Still down to do lunch today? Or are you too hungover from all those tequila shots? ;)

Jo furrowed her brows down, but she couldn’t help but smile a little at the message. 

I don’t do tequila shots, must have me confused with some other girl who you bullied into being your friend on a rooftop last night ;) but lunch is still good

Mikko hadn’t taken no for an answer yesterday on having lunch with him today. He had insisted that friends who caught other friends crying on rooftops during parties didn’t let the aforementioned friend have lunch alone the next day. Jo told him it wasn’t a rule. Mikko said it should be. The bit went on for far too long considering Jo was just fighting about lunch and the fact that Mikko seemed nothing but persistent, a fact he had proven true by texting her before ten in the morning after a night out to confirm her presence at said lunch. Luckily, lunch was at her place so she didn’t exactly have to commute anywhere. Lunch out was risky for her and Mikko’s eyes had lit up at the prospect of being able to wear sweatpants to lunch because if he was going out with her, he could be photographed and might have had to wear jeans, something he’d been horrified of last night. Jo looked over the menu Mikko sent her, pleased that he picked a taco place because tacos were very publicly Jo’s favorite food of all time, and sent him her order. He said he’d grab it on the way to her when practice finished later.

By the time Jo managed to pull herself together enough to shower, she needed to get ready. Well, as ready as someone had to get for lunch at their own apartment with a new friend who had already committed to showing up in sweatpants. Jo figured matching his style commitment was her best play, comfortable joggers and one of her dad’s old Colorado Rockies t-shirts she had confiscated years ago. It reminded her of home, of the city she was in now. Jo was home, technically, even though it didn’t feel like it just yet. 

Mikko more than fulfilled his end of the bargain when he showed up, in sweatpants and a sweatshirt, both carrying the logos of the team he played for, and two bags of take out definitely too full for what they’d ordered, even taking into account that Mikko could definitely out eat her based on body mass alone. Jo didn’t account for the fresh from practice look though, hair still damp, waves more pronounced now than they had been last night. There was a small cut on his cheekbone that looked fresh, making them appear even sharper somehow. In the bright light of her kitchen, a smile like a lazy afternoon on his face, Jo, who was very used to being around very pretty people, was getting a little bit distracted by Mikko Rantanen in her kitchen. Until he spoke, anway. 

“I should get you an Avs shirt,” was how Mikko said hello after already pushing his way into her apartment. “You’ve got to rep the best team in Colorado.” 

“I thought you,” Jo opened a cabinet opposite Mikko who was already ripping into the bags and spreading the food out, “were supposed to be supportive of all of the local teams.”

Mikko smiled at her and Jo felt like that smile could fix a heartbreak and cause it at the same moment, “I am! I just think you need to be more supportive of your friends.” 

“When would you have liked me to have gotten this?” Jo asked Mikko after grabbing two water glasses from the cabinet. “We just became friends twelve hours ago. Is water okay, by the way?” 

“I thought it would be a top priority for you. And yeah, water’s good.” 

Mikko laughed as he talked, something Jo was realizing was common place for him. He was fidgeting, feet tapping on the hardwood floor, unable to settle, but it wasn’t from anxiousness like Jo’s almost always did. Mikko seemed to just have more energy than he knew what to do with, energy fed by pure childlike joy he had possessed every second Jo had seen him so far. His hands fussed with the takeout containers, his right foot hadn’t stopped bouncing, but he was doing it all with a smile on his face, dimple showing itself almost constantly. His energy was overwhelming Jo who was used to people completely unlike him. She was used to people who were so bogged down by the lives they lived that continuing to live them was exhausting in a way that bred negativity and squandered joy. Mikko seemed genuinely happy to be here in Denver in Jo’s apartment with her right now and more than that, he seemed genuinely happy to be Mikko Rantanen, something Jo just couldn’t understand. 

“You seem eager, so get me one and I’ll wear it,” Jo threw back at him, an easy smile coming across her face as she started to fill their water glasses from the fridge. 

“Oh yeah?” Mikko raised his eyebrows at her. “You can afford to get your own. Plates are where?” 

“Wow, rude,” Jo scoffed, but it was fake and Mikko knew it before she’s even finished her rebuttal. “But if you can get me one for free, why would I buy one? And upper cabinet to the right of the stove. Silverware is the drawer below that.” 

“Because you want to support the Colorado Avalanche organization because your friend is a part of it,” Mikko retorted, snagging two plates and way more silverware than Jo thought they needed from the drawer. “I got a few extra things I thought you should try, by the way, since you’re looking at me like I got too much food. I did. I did it on purpose. ” 

With everything spread out and open on the table, Jo placed the waters, her only contribution to the spread, by their plates and sat down in a previously unsat in chair. Everything around here was too new. Things like this would make it feel more like her place eventually. Mikko had pretty much gotten one of everything on the menu as far as Jo could tell from her brief memory of reading it over earlier, but she could see why he had with the pretty incredible smells and sights laid out on her table. 

“Half and half of everything, yeah?” Mikko asked Jo, fork and butter knife already in motion to the taco closest to him. 

“You know,” Jo reached out and placed her hand on Mikko’s hand holding his fork, ignoring how warm and soft and large his hand was under hers, “I’m going to dip into traditional gender roles for a sec and briefly force them on you. How about I get a real knife and do the cutting?” 

“That’s definitely a better idea,” Mikko agreed, the ever present laugh in his voice ringing more prominent.

Jo grabbed a knife out of the block on the counter and got to work cutting everything in half. Mikko took his half as she went, until his plate was full. Jo may have hit him with her elbows a couple of times and whined he was getting in her way. Mikko was apparently experienced enough with being elbowed over food due to having two sisters and the team that he just continued on, acquiring half of each taco, burrito, and side dish he could fit.

“I’m coming for my other halves,” he threatened Jo emptily with his fork when she finally finished the cutting. “Don’t get greedy.” 

“Mikko, I consider myself a woman who can really eat,” Jo informed him, nabbing two half tacos to start, “but I think eating even my half of everything is beyond me.”

“Quitter,” Mikko smirked before shoving a large bite of a taco into his mouth.

“Not a quitter,” Jo countered before taking a bite of one of the half tacos on her plate. She almost moaned at the taste, but kept it inside. “I’m just a girl who knows her limits.”

As they both devoured their meals rapidly, Jo filled up much faster than Mikko who somehow cleared his first full plate and was creating a second, casual conversation flowing easily between the new friends. When Mikko finally reached a point where his inhalation slowed, his plate mostly cleared again, he looked over at Jo, who watched the smile fall from his face for the first time since she sat down across from him. She noticed instantly. It was easy to notice a lack of something that had always been there than to notice new things sometimes. All Jo saw was the lack of a smile on his face, not the genuine concern that had replaced it.

“Want to talk about why you were crying last night?” he asked Jo softly, watching as she pushed unfinished rice and beans across her plate to avoid making eye contact with him. “You don’t have to, obviously, but there’s no way there isn’t something worth talking about.” 

“It’s nothing,” Jo tried to assure him, but Mikko wasn’t buying it for a second. 

“Look,” he sighed, tossing his napkin onto his plate, “I said I was going to be your friend and sometimes friends tell you shit you don’t want to hear. You don’t have to talk about anything you don’t want to, but it just seemed like that wasn’t the first time you cried at a party like that and I don’t think you should be crying at parties is all.” 

Mikko was right. Even Jo, as stubborn as she could be sometimes, could admit Mikko was right. But Mikko could be right and Jo could still not want to deal with it. Those might be conflicting views, but Jo could deal with conflict better than anyone else she knew. She could put it in a box and ignore it, pretending it didn’t exist, pretending that it wasn’t eating her up inside how much she truly felt like there wasn’t anything good enough left in her to be worth anyone’s time, that the dream she first had here in Denver, the dream she had worked her entire life for, meant she lost herself. At least, that she had lost a version of herself anyone could love. 

But that was too much for lunch on a Saturday with someone she had known for under twenty-four hours, even if she felt like she had known him for longer, even if he brought a blanket of comfort around Jo with his words, even if seven-year-old Jo would’ve liked him, even if he was asking.

“I don’t really want to talk about it. It was stupid,” Jo brushed him off. 

Mikko sighed again and nodded softly, “Okay, you don’t have to talk about it, but it wasn’t stupid. How you feel isn’t stupid.” 

How Jo felt was stupid though because she had more than almost anyone could ever ask for. She had apartments like this one. She had the ability to take a year off on a whim. She could go anywhere she wanted, buy whatever she liked. She had friends that other people would kill to even meet, even if a lot of them weren’t what people imagined them to be. She had a life millions of people would kill for, and yet Jo felt like no one really knew her. Jo knew that no one really knew her because Jo couldn’t even find herself, the real her, among everything she created to become that person that lived the life she lived. She didn’t think the real her existed. She was just the personalities and faces she created. It was almost hollow space underneath it all, with just a few useless fragments, the worst parts of her, left floating in the space. 

“Thanks, Mikko,” is all Jo could come up with. 

“You don’t believe me,” he told her, catching on to the sigh in the way she said his name. “It’s okay for today. I’ll try again tomorrow.” 

Jo almost laughed at his words. No one kept trying and that’s how Jo wanted it. She didn’t want to admit everything underneath, the emptiness of it all, because then, if a person who cared enough to keep trying discovered there was nothing worthwhile under the facade of it all, they’d leave too and there was no way Jo could stomach that. Jo didn’t laugh though. She simply nodded and changed the topic to ask Mikko about the preseason game they had tomorrow. He noticed the look in her eyes when she changed the topic, but didn’t say anything. He just memorized it, how her eyes shifted, the heaviness in her face, the glossiness of her eyes, and put it in his growing folder of things he knew about Josephine Evans, even if he didn’t understand the expression at all. One day, he would. He would keep trying until he did.

------

Jo hadn’t gone more than four days without Mikko Rantanen showing up at her apartment post-practice, or requesting her presence at his when he was feeling particularly lazy, with wet hair, a dimpled smile, and some incredible smelling takeout since she moved to Denver a month ago. Even after training camp transitioned into the first games of the season, Mikko showed up, bag of food and charming personality in hand, ready to fight Jo’s demons. Really, just ready to crush her at Fortnite. He was horrified she had never played and brought over his old Xbox so he could teach her and they could play at her place too. Jo was terrible, absolutely tragic at it really, but Mikko made her laugh while trying to play, even though Jo was normally such a perfectionist she didn’t really want to do things she was bad at. Doing things she was bad at with Mikko was the exception. 

A knock on Jo’s door let her know what time it was. Mikko didn’t even text beforehand anymore. He just showed up, several entrees in tow in case Jo didn’t like something he picked out after the olives incident. Mikko had brought Jo over some Greek takeout, a personal favorite of Jo’s because of the prevalence of olives in Greek food. Except Mikko ordered everything on the menu that didn’t contain olives. 

“Why didn’t you get the little olives?” Jo had asked Mikko when he laid out the food on the coffee table. “The yummy marinated ones?” 

Mikko looked at Jo with absolute disgust. His mouth dropped open, lips curling back, before he stuck his tongue out and made a gagging noise. 

“You like olives? Gross, Jo. I don’t think we can be friends anymore,” Mikko told her, fake gagging when he said the word olives. 

Jo shrugged off Mikko’s gagging, “Actually, it means we’re supposed to be friends, if you’re familiar with How I Met Your Mother anyway.”

“Nate talks about that show a lot and Tyson too, but I’ve never seen it,” Mikko told her, sitting down on the couch with a falafel in one hand and a messy plate of food covered in tzatziki in the other. 

“It basically, well, they applied it to couples and stuff, but it totally works for friends too.” Jo caught herself before she could start, trying to walk back how the show had intended the meaning before she came off like she had feelings she was certain she didn’t have for Mikko. 

“Anyway, it’s called The Olive Theory and it suggests that in every relationship, whatever kind of relationship, that there should be one person who likes olives, me,” Jo pointed at herself, “and one person who doesn’t like olives, you,” she pointed at Mikko now. “That way, I can eat all the olives I want and you don’t have to eat any. Plus, I can be your hero and rescue you from olives on your pizza so they don’t go to waste. It’s the whole like, two halves of a whole, opposites attract, people balance each other out, thing.” 

Mikko nodded softly, thinking about Jo’s words carefully for a moment, before saying, “As long as I don’t have to eat any olives, this is good with me.” 

Jo laughed before taking a bite of her falafel wrap, moaning openly at the taste. Mikko might be a shit teacher at Fortnite, and a kind of stupid boy sometimes, but he had figured out exactly the kind of food Jo liked and had never failed her. Mikko laughed a little at the sound, but he enjoyed that she liked something so simple as the food he brought over. Mikko liked Jo, genuinely and honestly and fully. Jo liked Mikko, cautiously at first, but even she, the self-coronated queen of denial, couldn’t deny that she did really like him. She liked being around him. She liked who she was around him and she couldn’t deny it. She noticed herself changing when he was around, that she felt lighter and more at peace, finding it easier to feel happiness and to laugh when he was around. Jo had spent a lot of time over the last month trying to figure out why she was feeling like that. 

People could think about themselves as much as they wanted to, journeys of self discovery, self exploration, what have you, but part of it was looking through the eyes of other people at herself and the life she chose to live. Jo looked at herself through the rose-colored glasses of other people’s eyes all the time for affirmation, for support in her times of self doubt, but she also used it to validate her own negative views of who she was, finding the angriest, reddest view of herself when she felt like she deserved the worst pictures of herself that were out there. Jo had millions of eyes to view herself through, millions of slightly different versions of herself to see, to choose from at any point, but she couldn’t figure out which was the most accurate, many swaying too positive or too negative. It all was so jumbled, people’s misconceptions getting the way of seeing her with clear eyes and an honest mind. It overwhelmed her often. But the most overwhelming thing that had happened to Jo in a long time was realizing she was looking at herself through the eyes of one person a lot now, one person who seemed to actually see Jo, the real Jo she thought was lost in the hurricane forever ago. Jo was starting to think the way Mikko Rantanen saw her was her favorite way to view herself and it scared the hell out of her.

-------

Jo made it all the way to two days before Halloween before Mikko sent her an incredibly aggressive but incredibly Mikko kind of text. 

Since you haven’t been to an avs game yet, I’m assuming you are only my friend because I bring you food. I will no longer be bringing you food until you come to a game. You’re in luck though because I reserved a box seat for you for the game tomorrow and have already pre-ordered one of everything our kitchen makes to the box for you because I do care that you eat, but I feel like our friendship is very one-sided right now and would like to see more effort out of you. Bring a friend if you want! See you tomorrow, Jojo!!!

The text was immediately followed by another with the information on where Jo could pick up her tickets and wristbands tomorrow before the game. As much as Jo had been trying to avoid public places, deeply enjoying the hunt the media was having, “Where In The World Could Josephine Evans Be?” Jo was excited about the prospect of getting to do something. She texted Helena, knowing she would reply immediately, which she did, and want to come with, which she did. Helena ordered a car for tomorrow to pick her up, then Jo, because Helena didn’t want to DD, a fair thing, and neither did Jo, also a fair thing, so calling a car was the only remaining option. Jo sent Mikko a quick text back, confirming her and Helena’s presence at the game tomorrow, and she had gotten a smiley face in return. The little smiley face text had Jo falling asleep with a smile, and waking up with it still on her face the next morning. 

Despite earlier bullying less than a day into their friendship, Jo still lacked Avalanche gear, something that greatly upset Mikko when she had snapped a picture of her watching the first game of the season, an away game, team-spirit-less. His displeasure had been well known, a pouting photo of sweaty, post-game Mikko with his thumb turned down coming over in return that day. Jo still hadn’t acquired any Avalanche gear since that day though. As she was getting dressed later, she realized the closest she could get was a long sleeve burgundy t-shirt and that Mikko would just have to deal with it. She knew she’d get an earful after the game, especially considering since sport-averse until you were talking the athletes Helena was wearing an Avalanche t-shirt when the car picked Jo up later. She didn’t judge Jo for not though, just decided to leave it up to Mikko later. 

Picking up the tickets was easier than Jo had thought it would be and a baseball cap low on her head in addition to the heavy crowds was letting her keep a low profile. Her and Helena managed to make it up to the box level without incident. Jo double checked the box number on her phone, confirming 256, before following the signs towards the box. As Jo got closer, she started to hear more and more people fussing about, boxes inhabited by people nearby. She stopped in her tracks when she reached 256, finding the door wide open, many voices floating out from inside. She glanced over at Helena, who shrugged, fearless in the face of the unexpected, and breezed past Jo to walk right in. Except Jo didn’t realize Helena had wrapped a hand around one of her wrists and pulled her into the box right along with her. 

The first person who made eye contact with Jo, a girl wearing a Compher jersey, went wide-eyed when she saw Jo. Jo immediately wanted to spin on her heels and get herself anywhere but here when the girl turned and aggressively tapped the shoulder of a blonde wearing a Landeskog jersey. Helena on the other hand was already filling a plate full of snacks, blissfully unaware of Jo’s desperate need to throw herself out of this box headfirst to avoid whatever was next in a box of people who recognized her who she didn’t know. Jo was, fortunately, wrong about what she thought would happen next. 

The blonde girl turned around and she smiled brightly when she saw Jo, making a beeline over to her. She wrapped her arms around Jo before she even said anything and Jo couldn’t hide her confused expression when the woman released her from a tight, crushing embrace. 

“He didn’t tell you, did he?” she sighed, then shook her head softly. “I’ll have to yell at him later. I’m sorry. I’m Mel, Gabe’s wife. I’m sure Mikko’s told you about Gabe, right?” 

Mikko had told her about Gabe. And Mel. He often came over to her place after being at the Landeskog’s, in search of a friend without a young child who would kill a bottle of wine with him without any judgement. Still, Mikko loved and idolized Gabe. That much was obvious from how he talked about his captain, and he talked about Mel almost like a mom sometimes. Jo took a deep breath, and then nodded softly, deciding to give Mel a fair shake herself, see what she thought. 

“Okay, good,” Mel laughed a little. “Sorry Mikko didn’t tell you anything. I told him to give you a heads up what you were walking into here.” 

“Yeah, he didn’t tell me anyone would be here,” Jo said, crossing her arms tightly over her chest, a naturally defensive posture. 

“Of course he didn’t,” Mel groaned, head falling back in obvious displeasure with Mikko. She sighed before lifting her head to look at Jo again, “Well, this is where all the wives and girlfriends and I guess some friends watch the games usually. You’re welcome to food and over there’s wine and beer. Everyone’s really excited to meet you, by the way. Mikko talks about you a lot, you know.”

“He does?” 

Jo didn’t mean for her words to come out as floored as they had, shock dripping from each letter. Why would Mikko talk about her to his teammates and their partners? Why was Jo watching the game from this room, of all places? Why would-

“All. The. Time.” Mel punctuated each word, cutting through the fog of questions in Jo’s mind. “We were wondering when he’d bring you around. I think he was trying to make sure everyone would be cool or whatever before he did. Oh, reminds me, he left something for me to give to you.” 

Mel walked over to where she’d been sitting, then came back with a black bag and handed it to Jo, a wide, knowing smile on her face.

“There’s two seats open next to me after you put it on for you and your friend,” Mel told her before sliding back down to her seat. 

Jo felt a little silly opening a sort of present right now, but Mel kept glancing over her shoulder at her encouragingly, waiting for her to open it. Jo looked into the bag and knew what it was. It wasn’t wrapped, so it wasn’t difficult to guess. She grabbed the small Post-It note sitting on top of it first, recognizing Mikko’s sloppy handwriting instantly. 

Figured you wouldn’t pick up any Avs gear before the game because you hate me. Hope it’s not too big :) - Mikko

Jo pulled out the brand new Avalanche jersey from the bag, fingers tracing over the logo on the front, sliding over to the number stitched onto the shoulder. 96, Mikko and Jo’s birth year. She sighed as she flipped over the burgundy and blue jersey, Rantanen in bold letters across the shoulders. She knew as soon as she looked into the bag this was what it would be, but holding it in her hands, standing in a room full of the women who were actually with the guys warming up on the ice below wearing them too, Jo didn’t really feel like she should put it on.

“God, you two are so cute,” Helena whined at the sight of the jersey in Jo’s hands with a plate of food in one of her hands and a chicken wing in the other.

“H,” Jo sighed. 

“I know, I know, I know,” Helena rolled her eyes in reply. “I know you’re not like, boning or whatever, but something is going on. You’re holding the proof and you better put it on. Don’t make me put down this chicken wing to fight you over it.”

Separating Helena from her food was one of the highest crimes Jo could commit. Plus, Helena’s threat to fight her wasn’t completely empty. Jo sighed, defeat sinking in heavy on her shoulders, before she tugged the jersey over her head without a second thought. She slid her arms into the sleeves, letting it settle over her, tugging at the shoulders and the neckline to try and make it feel more comfortable. It wasn’t the fit that was the problem. The name on the back made Jo feel like she was on fire and that fire was seeping into her skin, becoming burning questions Jo was trying so hard to think about. She didn’t want to know the answers to them. She didn’t even want to think about them. She took a deep breath and let it out forcefully, trying to blow out the flames, turn the questions into ash, and forget about it. She was partially successful and that was probably as close as Jo was going to get today. She picked up the Post-It note from where it had fallen on the floor and folded it up carefully, sliding it into her wallet for safe keeping. His handwriting was terrible and his gift was causing her mind to race in directions she didn’t want it to go, but they were both reminders that Jo knew at least one really, really good person. Some days, one good person was more than enough. 

Jo watched the game from her seat between Mel and Helena, mind everywhere but on the rink in front of her the entire time. She was so zoned out, she missed when Mikko even scored, but she didn’t miss his name and face across the Jumbotron for what felt like ages after the puck hit the back of the net. Jo couldn’t catch a break to think about what the gift of a jersey with his name on it along with a ticket to sit among the wives and girlfriends of his teammates meant. There were no other friends present; Mel lied. Jo couldn’t take a break from his face on the screen, his name emblazoned on what felt like every inch of the building, on the screen, on the backs of the fans in front of her. She couldn’t find enough air to try and think about what it all could mean and took it as a sign from the universe that maybe the question needed to go back into the box, into a mental vault, for the time being. A sign that now wasn’t right. She wasn’t supposed to complicate this, just let a jersey be a jersey and a ticket be a ticket and a Post-It note be a Post-It note. Jo took a deep breath, and locked the question of intent in a deep vault and threw away the key for now. 

She joined the wives and girlfriends down by the locker rooms after the game, getting Mikko straight from the shower, hair fully wet as her reward. He smiled bigger than Jo had ever seen when he saw the jersey actually on her, shuffling over to her with his head rocking side to side with each step. He wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her up off the concrete, making her yelp in surprise, before setting her down quickly. He was laughing as he did, an open mouthed smile on his face, eyes crinkling shut. 

“Did you have fun?” he asked her.

“I did,” Jo nodded softly, leaving out the internal turmoil she had been working through throughout the game and left purposely unfinished. “Congrats on the goal.” 

“And assist,” he added with a playful smirk. “Were you even watching?” 

“I show up and you critique how I watch? That’s rude of you, Rantanen,” Jo verbally tossed back at him, a smile pulling up the corner of her mouth as she looked up at him. 

“Eh, guess a guy can’t win them all,” Mikko shrugged. “Want to come back to my place? We can watch a bad movie, well, part of a bad movie until I fall asleep. It’s closer.” 

“Was sort of counting on it,” Jo admitted. “Kind of already told Helena she could leave if she wanted to.” 

Mikko put a hand over his heart, face twisting into shock as he faked like he’d taken a shot to the heart. His knees even buckled slightly, trying his best to sell it. 

“Using me for my couch, huh?” he asked Jo with a shake of his head. “My couch and food.”

“Those are your only redeeming qualities,” Jo joked, scrunching her nose up at him as she smiled again. “Come on. Let’s get out of here and to that bad movie, yeah?” 

Mikko threw a heavy, tired arm over Jo’s shoulders, and pulled her into his side for a moment as they headed out toward the parking lot. Jo let him drag her into his side as they walked, enjoying the warmth he gave off in the cool, fall Denver air. 

“Everyone was good, yeah?” Mikko asked her softly when they neared his car. “I told Mel to make sure everyone was cool and not to like, take pictures of you and post them or anything. I really didn’t want to be the person that ruined Denver for you.” 

Jo felt his words hit her chest and soften everything for a moment. The walls she built to protect herself shook from being hit with the full force of how much he cared about her, gaps forming in the walls that his words slid between and found her behind it all. Jo had never said she didn’t want to go to a game because of the risk of people finding out she was hiding out in Denver. Mikko had never even asked why. He didn’t ask because he already knew the answer. He was desperate to make it work for her, to try and make space for her in his life so she could be in it as much as she wanted without feeling like everyone in the world was watching. It had taken him a month to work out the best way to get her at a game, but let her have her privacy, let her be just Jo. 

“Everyone was great, Mik,” Jo replied. “Thank you, for everything, honestly. Everything since I came here really.” 

Mikko’s heart swelled in his chest. Not just for today, but for everything. It was small, nondescript, but the feeling behind the words rang true because it was. Without Mikko, Jo wouldn’t have started to feel at home in Denver. Without Mikko, Jo would know one person in this city. Without Mikko, Jo would’ve never found her favorite taco place and her third favorite Greek restaurant of all time. With Mikko, Jo wouldn’t smile so much. 

Without Jo, Mikko wouldn’t know what it’s like to see someone and immediately realize that that person is supposed to be in your life. There was no rhyme or reason to that feeling, but Mikko had gotten it that night on the rooftop and every single interaction with Jo since had done was prove that feeling to be correct. Josephine Evans was supposed to be in his life and he was supposed to be in hers, the least complicated part of it all. 

------

Jo didn’t think when the year started that this was how she would be spending her Thanksgiving. For most of November, which passed like October had seemed to, Jo didn’t think she would be spending her Thanksgiving like she would get to. Her parents usually travelled since Jo often wasn’t able to make it home for Thanksgiving and Christmas in the same year. One or the other was tied up in some performance or a series of flights that couldn’t time out to get her home when she needed to be for family dinner, so her parents often spent the holidays on a beach somewhere. However, with Jo semi-permanently parked in Denver for the time being, and her younger brother a short flight away in Los Angeles, Thanksgiving was coming to her for the first time ever. Her mom had promised to do a large chunk of the cooking, not because Jo couldn’t, but because her mom’s cooking was her favorite and Jo didn’t get to have it much anymore. 

Jo was like a kid at Christmas, which her apartment was already decorated for, when she found out she was actually going to get her mom’s cooking for Thanksgiving and that her little brother, who was a little annoying but also one of the people Jo loved most in this world, was coming too. Mikko had been over when everything was officially confirmed and Jo started to worry if she had enough serving dishes or not. 

“I’ve only done Thanksgiving a couple of times,” Mikko shrugged when Jo asked him if the stack of serving dishes she managed to collect would be enough, even though she had verbally gone through and assigned each one a dish on her family’s traditional menu. “I really couldn’t say, Jo.” 

“What are you doing for Thanksgiving?” she asked him when she realized she didn’t actually know. 

“Gabe and Mel usually host something? I’m not really sure actually. No one has really made any specific plans,” Mikko replied, horrifying Jo a bit. 

Someone not having plans for the holidays? Josephine Evans’ true nightmare. She didn’t even think before she spoke. 

“You could always join us,” Jo told him. “You know you’re always welcome with me.”

Mikko smiled so brightly in response to Jo’s words, brighter than all the lights on her Christmas tree combined. He accepted her invitation easily, and promised to bring a dish before he seemed to remember he couldn’t actually cook. He promised to bring whiskey Jo’s dad would like instead of trying to cook, deciding to spare her family from the potential horror show that could be. 

It didn’t surprise Jo when Mikko showed up thirty minutes earlier than she had told him to, her hands a complete mess of flour and pie dough when he knocked on her front door Thanksgiving afternoon. Jo groaned when he did because she wasn’t exactly in the position to get the door. Her mom was an equal amount of a mess next to her, elbow deep in the turkey, and her dad and brother were immersed in football. They hadn’t even heard the door. Jo rinsed off her hands as fast as she could, not fast enough not to earn a second knock from Mikko before she could get to the door. 

“You’re covered in flour, Jojo,” Mikko chuckled when he saw her. 

“And you brought a box?” she challenged, eying the cardboard box in his hands. 

“Brought a couple of kinds of whiskeys Gabe told me to get,” he smiled at her, dimples prominent on his cheeks. “I’m not even going to pretend I picked them out. Anything I can do to help?”

“Yeah, stay out of my kitchen,” Jo laughed as she opened the door wider and motioned him inside. “You made a mean box of leftover Chinese takeout, but that’s about it, Mik.” 

“We all have our strengths, okay?” he countered, scrunching his nose up at Jo. He shifted the box to his left hip to free his right hand up to tug on the end of Jo’s French braid, “This is cute.”

“It’s just a French braid,” Jo mumbled, brushing a few loose pieces out of her face in a vain attempt to hide the slight color that had risen in her cheeks from his compliment. 

“It’s cute,” Mikko repeated as he kicked off his shoes, knowing full and well how Jo felt about shoes in her house. “Should I take these to the bar then?” 

“Come meet my mom first, then I’ll introduce you to the father and the brother,” Jo told him. 

He followed her, halving the typical length of his stride to do so, literally making space for Jo, something he did in the figurative sense all of the time. Mikko dropped the box off on the edge of the counter, as far away from Jo’s baking as he could get, when he reached the island. He didn’t want to even sort of maybe possibly get in her way and mess something up for her today. She had been talking constantly about it, smile growing impossibly wider each day as Thanksgiving got closer. Mikko had spent all of his Thanksgivings so far hosted by European transplants who knew next to nothing about the holiday itself. This one, with the Evans men screaming at the television in the living room, the Evans women in the kitchen where they loved being together, there was something in the air that separated this Thanksgiving out from the others Mikko had seen. Family. Mikko could feel it hanging heavy but comfortably in the air. There was a lightness to Jo though, something Mikko had only seen glimpses of before when he’d managed to temporarily lift the clouds. The lightness seemed constant today, something Mikko wished for Jo all of the time. 

“You must be Mikko! We’ve heard so much about you!”

Jo’s mom reminded Mikko of Jo, but it was distant. Jo might have been thirty years younger, but Mikko swore Jo’s soul felt older. Their smiles were the same though, even if Jo’s was rarer, Mikko got it to show more than anyone else and knew it well enough to recognize it on her mom’s face. She was wearing earrings shaped like turkeys with multi-colored feathers and an apron with a corny pun Jo would never be caught dead in, no matter how old she got. 

“Mom,” Jo groaned, giving her mom a firm look for her comment. 

“Aw, Jo does like me,” Mikko joked before giving her a little shove that was a little too hard causing Jo to stumble sideways. 

Mikko caught her wrist, keeping her from stumbling too far. She glared at him as he pulled her back solidly on her fuzzy sock covered feet. Mikko laughed at her glare, knowing Jo who was almost a foot shorter than him really couldn’t do a thing about her anger with him if she wanted to, regardless of her motivation. 

“I like him,” her mom nodded in approval. 

“I’m not even sure you liked me that fast and you gave birth to me,” Jo mumbled, not quite loud enough for her mom to hear, but plenty loud for Mikko to, who snorted in response. 

Jo’s mom surveyed the two before deciding to let whatever she had just missed go in favor of returning to her bird, the turkey that was going to be her number one pride and joy that day, kids included. Jo tugged Mikko’s forearm to get him to follow her into the living room. Mikko grabbed his box on the way, bottles inside clinking together as he walked. Their entrance into the living room went entirely unnoticed by the men engrossed in the football game on the television. Jo cleared her throat as the whistle on the television blew, seeing an opening to introduce Mikko. 

“Dad, Luke, this is my friend Mikko. He brought whiskey.”

Jo gestured over to Mikko, who put on his best smile, the one Jo still thought must have cured cancer somewhere once, and shook the box a little to make the bottles inside rattle. Her dad looked him up and down, the assumption among Jo’s family being that they were either dating or almost dating and for one reason or another not admitting it to anyone, so her dad was giving Mikko the look he’d given Jo’s past boyfriends. 

“Dad,” Jo sighed, “cut him some slack. We’re friends and he brought whiskey.” 

Mikko flushed a little when he realized he was getting the stare down because her dad thought there was something beyond what they could see going on between him and Jo. Mikko fidgeted with the edge of the box where there was a small hole, trying to avoid her dad’s harsh gaze. It was unearned, but it just reminded Mikko more of what he didn’t have, what he couldn’t have, which was all of Jo. Mikko was trying so hard, so incredibly hard, not to fall in love with Josephine Evans, but it wasn’t really working for him. He knew she wasn’t ready. He knew there was too much noise, the storm in her head was too strong, and that he would lose her if he tried right now because he wasn’t through it. Mikko wasn’t even sure he had gotten into the storm yet. He felt like he was just on the edge of it, staring into the darkness of it all, watching the winds pick up and toss aside everything. He couldn’t even see Jo through it all most of the time, but he caught a glimpse of her before, the real her behind it all and she was the most beautiful person he had ever seen, infinitely better than how he had ever imagined someone could be. He was going to get across it. He just had to wait, take his time, otherwise the storm would pick him up and deposit him miles away from her, battered and bruised, unable to even get back to the edge of it again. 

“Whiskey?” her dad perked up, eyeing the box with a raised eyebrow.

Mikko nodded, dropping the box onto the wet bar in Jo’s living room. Her dad was up off the couch and next to Mikko before he could even get the box open all the way. Jo had understated how much her father loved nice whiskey, because his hands were already grabbing a bottle before Mikko could and Mikko was closer to them. Mikko pulled the other out while her dad read over the first one and Mikko thanked his lucky stars that Landy had not just recommended four bottles to get, but also took the time to run Mikko over each whiskey, the important flavor notes, how they were aged, and some basic information about each distillery. Still, he was grateful that the first one her dad had a question about was one Mikko had actually been to the distillery that made it before. 

“Is this local? I haven’t seen it before,” her dad told him, eyes not leaving the bottle. 

“Yeah, it is,” Mikko confirmed. “This local place, treats them sort of like a rye whiskey even if they aren’t. It’s a cool place too, actually. Jo and I have been. They have a bunch of small batch stuff, all really good.” 

“Oh, that place we went with Nate and Landy?” Jo called out from the kitchen, hands already back in her pie dough, figuring Mikko’s personality plus whiskey could manage her father from here.

“That’s the one!” Mikko called back, grabbing a glass with each hand from the back edge of the wet bar. 

“Ah, that was fun! We should do that again,” Jo replied, followed by a loud huff as she worked to combine the crumbly pie dough by hand. 

“Luke, you want one?” Mikko asked Jo’s brother who hadn’t left his spot on the couch. 

“Yeah, pour me whatever you guys are having,” he told him, obvious in his tone that his eyes were still trained on the football game.

Mikko dropped down on the couch, two glasses in hand, and passed one to Luke, Jo’s dad dropping down on the opposite side of Luke with his own glass in hand. Mikko watched her dad sip the whiskey carefully, and let out a breath of relief when he nodded softly in approval and went for another sip. Mikko didn’t know if he was ever going to have to impress Jo’s dad in the way he wished he would have to, but impressing him now would go a long way to making that future conversation easier for him. Her brother was much easier. 

“So, catch me up on the game,” was all it took for Luke to start talking to him.

In the kitchen, Jo’s mom finally got the turkey in the oven as Jo started to roll out the dough for the apple pie. The game picked up in the other room, the boys all shouting at the television over something that happened. Jo’s mom used the increase in volume as cover to try to pull some information out of her daughter that she knew she would never willingly give. 

“You failed to mention he looked like that,” her mom told her with a bump of her hip against Jo’s. “He’s a gorgeous young man. Seems sweet too.” 

“Mom,” Jo groaned, her attention still on the pie dough on the floured counter.

“Josephine,” her mother countered, stealing Jo’s tone, “he’s a catch. Catch him already.” 

“Mom, stop,” Jo sat the rolling pin down, pivoting with her hip now on the counter’s edge to face her mother. “He’s a friend, a good friend, but I don’t want to be with anyone right now. You know that. Being single is good for me right now.” 

“Sweetheart, do you even notice how he looks at you?” her mom replied, exasperation heavy in her voice, but her volume staying low. “He looks at you like you say you’ve always wanted someone to look at you. You’ve literally written songs about how you wanted someone to look at you like he looks at you. He really likes you and it’s so obvious. So what if it’s not the best time?”

Jo wiped her hands off on a dishtowel as her mom spoke. Her mom was genuinely trying, something she often did, but she wasn’t really listening to Jo, something she often did as well. Her mom cared, deeply, but she cared about what she thought other people’s priorities should be, her vision for someone else’s life, more than what the other person actually wanted. Right now, and honestly moving forward into forever as far as she was concerned, Jo didn’t want to put anyone in the war path of her love. Her love wasn’t gentle. It was calamitous, life-altering in the worst way possible. People she loved lost their privacy, their independence, their ability to decide if they even loved her back without the pressure of millions of peoples’ expectations. They also had to endure all of Jo and the chaos in her mind. Jo wasn’t easy to love, so difficult she didn’t even see how loving her could ever be worth it to anyone. Even if someone was stupid enough to decide she was worth it, Jo couldn’t put anyone she loved through the experience of loving her. Least of all someone like Mikko. 

“Mom, if I wanted your opinion, I would’ve asked,” Jo said curtly, knowing her mother would keep pushing if she didn’t stomp out any hope, blow out the candle she had lit for the idea of her daughter with the tall Finnish boy on her couch. “There's no chance that’s ever happening, okay? That’s not how I feel about him. It’s not how I want to feel about him. I want to be friends with him and I am. It’s not settling. It’s what I want. Please, stop pushing.” 

Her mom threw her hands up and shook her head at Jo, displeasure evident on her face, but she let it go. She didn’t even call Jo out for the most bold faced lie she had told her since she was a little kid here in Denver and pushed her brother off the swing and broke his arm. Jo felt a hell of a lot of things for Mikko Ratanen friends didn’t feel, but her mom didn’t call her out on it because she knew her daughter was still lying to herself too. 

By the time dinner was on the table and the Evans family plus Mikko sat around to eat it. Luke and Mikko were in a heated debate, well, heated for Luke, over if football was a better sport than hockey. Mikko wasn’t one to actually get heated. He was just enjoying getting to talk about one of his favorite things in the world, hockey, as much as he wanted with the brother of a person fast moving their way up the list of Mikko’s favorites. Mikko’s fork was in hand, moving toward his plate, ready to consume the amazing spread in front of him, but Jo’s mom cleared her throat and unnecessarily tapped her wine glass. It was unnecessary in a group of five people, but also unnecessary because the glass shattered when she tapped it just the wrong way with her knife. Thankfully, she hadn’t poured herself wine yet and it seemed to break in just a few pieces, but unfortunate because Mikko’s fork had to return to his napkin.

Jo was, as she often was, a step ahead of Mikko, collecting the shards in a spare cloth napkin. Mikko stood up to try and help, but really couldn’t figure out any way to help as Jo was already on her way to the trash can, glass shards in tow. Not even a step later, she was opening the cabinet to grab another wine glass, her mother still flustered and rambling apologies from the table. Mikko saw his opportunity to help as Jo looked up at the cabinet. He watched her shoulders drop when she realized a replacement glass was out of reach for her. Luckily, it was very much within Mikko’s reach. He headed over into the kitchen, sliding up easily behind Jo. 

“Need a hand?” he asked her softly, a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. 

She huffed in reply, knowing her need for his help was obvious and that he was just milking everything he could get out of her actually needing him openly for once. Jo needed Mikko Rantanen more than just for his height, but she definitely wasn’t ready to admit that yet. Jo’s eyes went wide, before she blinked to cover it up, when one of Mikko’s large hands rested on her waist from behind as he reached up with his free hand to grab another glass. The feeling of his warm palm over her shirt over her skin shouldn’t have been enough to send her mind racing, questioning, but it was. It was one simple touch and Jo was ready to do anything to make it stop so she wouldn’t feel her heart picking up in her chest anymore. 

Mikko sat the glass down on the counter in front of Jo, a smug smile on his face as he looked down at Jo who had no choice but to tilt her chin up to look at him. Jo watched Mikko’s smile fall, soft pink lips parting a little as his eyes widened, pupils growing. She saw his eyes jump down from hers to her red wine stained lips, then back to her eyes, then back again. His head moved down just a little, almost imperceptibly, and Jo’s breath caught in her throat. Mikko knew he shouldn’t be doing this, but she was so beautiful and she was right in front of him, right there, with his hand on her waist, and her lips dark with wine, and he just wanted to know what it felt like to kiss her. But he shouldn’t. He couldn’t. Doing this now would mean his days doing it were limited, a trial period he couldn’t extend. He couldn’t do this. He forced a smile on his face, leaned down quickly, and tapped his forehead against hers briefly. He grabbed the wine glass and spun out from her, mind and heart racing with what could have been. He gave up that moment, for the chance at a lifetime of others with her. He’d give up any single moment for a chance at infinite ones. He made that choice again and again, like it wasn’t one of the hardest things he had to do. 

------

November bled into December, Thanksgiving gave way to Christmas, and the last vestiges of fall disappeared under the first blankets of winter snow. Jo watched it all happen, from her apartment, from Mikko’s apartment, from the wives and girlfriends and Jo box at the Pepsi center. She felt the season change, stretching across the two months, but that wasn’t the only thing that was shifting. Jo was shifting towards something she didn’t want to say sometimes for fear saying it would ruin it. She was shifting toward happiness and it was all Jo could think about as the car rolled to a stop in front of Gabe’s driveway. 

Jo she tugged at her sweater, pulling at the sleeves, at the slightly too tight bottom band, at the neckline, really any part that was touching her skin. It was itchy beyond belief, but she was pretty sure that she was about to take home the non-existent prize of ugliest Christmas sweater at the party tonight. Jo had been out with Helena for dinner, so she threw the sweater on in the car on the way over to Gabe’s and was regretting never having tried it on before this moment. But, the look on Mikko’s face when he saw just how ugly the sweater was would be worth her temporary discomfort. 

She punched in the gate code at Gabe’s and made her way up the driveway, smiling the whole way, something Jo had been doing a lot more of lately than she usually did. She told herself it was the hometown air, mile high and clearer than any other city. She told herself it was the fresh snow falling regularly now, deep into December. She told herself it was Christmas and a lot of people were happier around Christmas. Jo’s happiness wasn’t temporary though. It was a shift, slow and steady, a constant pressure forcing her out of the mindset she settled in years ago, the one where she always needed to be pleasing other people to be happy, the one where she needed everyone’s approval to find her own joy. She knew the clearer air, the snow, and the holidays weren’t the pressure. The pressure was a tall, somehow clumsy Finn who wanted nothing more than to see Jo smile every single day.

He didn’t try to make her happy with jokes and gimmicks and other things that were essentially bandaids to Jo’s heaviness. He didn’t try to pull a funny face while jumping just high enough for Jo to see from the other side of the walls she has built to protect herself, the ones she thought were too high for anyone to climb. Mikko wasn’t climbing them, knowing full and well that him getting over them wouldn’t truly help Jo. It would make her just okay for a little while longer, make the way she lived a little more bearable, until it destroyed them both. Mikko was taking the walls apart, brick by brick, his patience and his steadiness guiding the way. He never got frustrated when some of the bricks went back up in the middle of the night while he slept. He got up the next morning all the same and went back to work, taking the walls apart piece by piece, at whatever pace Jo would accept. Mikko hadn’t given up in four months, and he wasn’t planning on it, not until all the walls were gone and the bricks were destroyed, crumbled back into dust, and Jo could see herself the way he saw her the few times he managed to make a hole in the wall and actually see her behind all her defenses.

Jo opened the door into Andre Burakovsky. It was an accident and he shouldn’t have been standing directly in front of the front door and he wasn’t hurt in the slightest, but Jo felt bad about it all the same. 

“I’m dumb, it’s my fault,” he assured her. His mouth dropped open when he saw her sweater as Jo hung up her jacket in the front closet. “That’s the best thing I’ve ever seen and I wish we had a contest because you’d so win.” 

“I would so win,” Jo agreed, fussing with her curls to get them reasonably back into place

“There should be a contest. Maybe you can bully Gabe into getting some sort of prize anyway because you deserve it, ” Andre told her, his signature wide smile on his face. “He’s in the family room last I saw him by the way, since I know you’re looking for him.” 

Jo blushed at Andre’s words. He had caught her eyes tracking over the party that was in full swing, looking for the guy who had technically invited her, but she probably could’ve shown up anyway without his invite. She ducked out on Andre, blush still deepening with him laughing in the background, and made her way through the living room and kitchen into Gabe’s family room. She was old news by now, a days old newspaper no one wanted to read anymore, and it was Jo’s favorite thing about the Colorado Avalanche. She was Mikko’s friend Jo. Full stop. No additions necessary. 

“Jojo!” 

Jo heard Mikko before she saw him. She technically felt him before she saw him either as two heavy, muscled, ugly sweater covered arms wrapped around her stomach and lifted her off the ground, making her squeal.. He was laughing as soon as her feet left the ground. Jo’s hands gripped one of Mikko’s forearms around her waist to steady herself as Mikko rocked slowly side to side, weight shifting from foot to foot, with Jo in the air in his arms. 

“Mikko!” Jo shouted through her laughter. “Put me down!”

“You’re so easy to pick up though, and now you can actually see the party,” Mikko pointed out unhelpfully. 

He set her down anyway, knowing that when Josephine Evans made up her mind, such as wanting to be put down, she was a woman who would figure out how to get her way, Mikko’s shins be damned if that’s what it took. Mikko had a game to play the day after today and wasn’t excited about doing it with shins bruised by Jo’s boots. 

“This sweater,” Mikko breathed out as Jo turned to face him. He was in disbelief as he looked at it, “Jo, this is the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen in my entire life.” 

“Are you proud?” 

Jo spun slowly on her heels, letting Mikko take in the absolute monstrosity she had bought to wear just for this. Mikko was in disbelief, written plainly all over his face, as he observed the sweater in all its terrible glory. Jo had more than delivered when he texted her and said it was an ugly Christmas party. Mikko loved the sweater, a true ugly beauty, but he thought the best part was that Jo put her hair in those little half space buns, the rest of her hair in curls falling down her back. He thought she was the cutest person he’d ever seen and he only knew one way to deal with it in a healthy way Jo would actually appreciate.

Appreciate might have been the wrong word. 

Mikko reached out with two large hands and gave her little half buns a squeeze while saying, “Your antlers are cute.” 

“Mikko, I swear to god, one day you’re going to die and it’s because I kill you,” Jo informed him with a tone so casual you would think she had just ordered a breakfast sandwich. 

“And what a way to go,” Mikko just laughed in response. “Mel made spiked eggnog. You interested?” 

Mikko knew Jo was interested before he had even asked, which is why it didn’t surprise him in the slightest that she took off for the kitchen, dragging him by his hand to get to the eggnog. Mikko had released when he stepped into Jo’s apartment on November 3rd, almost two months ago now, just how much Jo loved Christmas, because it had already been decorated that day he walked in. She had offered no explanation for the decorations being up so early other than that it was her apartment, she could do what she damn well pleased, and if Mikko didn’t like it, he could damn well leave. He stayed. Mikko always stayed when Jo was involved. 

“Those are some pours there, Jo,” Mikko told her as he eyed the cups Jo was already filling for them from the pot. “Trying to get me drunk?” 

“You’re a growing boy,” Jo countered, shoving a full cup into Mikko’s waiting hand. “Drink your milk and maybe you’ll grow big and strong.” 

Mikko couldn’t help but laugh. He might make Jo laugh a lot and Mikko laughed a lot in general, but no one made him laugh more than Jo. Even on his worst days, even on Jo’s worst days for that matter, she could always pry a full bellied laugh out of him. It wasn’t even prying. Mikko would willingly give it over to her even when all she offered him was a shitty joke in exchange. It wasn’t lost on Mikko why that was. It wasn’t lost on anyone in the room, or really anyone who had ever spent four minutes in the same room as Mikko and Jo. Mikko looked at Jo differently from other people. Debate what you want about loving someone or being in love with someone, Mikko knew Jo didn’t want him to be in love with her and he respected her wishes more than how he wished she felt, but Mikko Rantanen loved Josephine Evans and it had taken only a few months for it to happen. Mikko realized it the other day on the plane coming back from a road trip. All he wanted was for the plane to get to altitude so he could turn on his phone and text Jo about something funny that had happened since his phone had been in airplane mode. All he wanted to do was get home and see her. All he wanted was her. And that’s not how you feel about people you don’t love. 

“Does the alcohol mean that the good stuff in milk cancels out?” Mikko asked Jo with one half raised eyebrow and one fully raised eyebrow. 

He couldn’t lift one without the other, but he tried anyway. Mikko always tried. 

“I don’t know,” Jo shrugged as she put the lid back on the pot, her full cup in her hand now. “Drink it and we’ll see if you grow some more. You’re still a little too small. A couple more inches and a few more pounds and you’ll be perfect to dress as Fezzik from the Princess Bride next year for Halloween.”

Mikko smiled and laughed through his reply, “I’d rather be the Wesley to your Buttercup though.” 

“That’s actually a pretty solid idea. You’re even already blond, no wigs necessary,” Jo smiled up at him, lips at the edge of her cup.

“Hey, Mik, I need a pong partner.” 

Josty was standing in the kitchen doorway, ping pong ball in hand, already with a slightly glazed over look in his eyes, a few drinks clearly already in him. Mikko definitely wasn’t the best pong player at the party, but his long arms meant he could be kind of shit and still get away with it. 

“You good?” Mikko asked Jo, attention focused solely on her as he waited for confirmation. 

Jo nodded and shooed him off with a wave of her hand to go play a round or two or seven knowing Josty. She could see the pong table set up in the corner of the family room from here and watched Mikko’s face light up when he sank the first cup. It might have been the bitch cup, but he lit up nonetheless. Jo lasted all of about thirty seconds at her observation point in the kitchen alone before Mel slid in, leaning up against the kitchen island next to her.

“Nice sweater,” Mel told her, giving the younger girl a little shove on the arm to get her full attention. 

“It’s itchy as hell, but you know the sacrifices we make for beauty,” Jo joked with her, an eye still on the tall blond boy in the corner of the other room. 

“You two are cute, by the way,” Mel told her with a smile edging at her lips. “I know there’s nothing going on, before you even say it. I’m just saying you two are cute together, that’s all.” 

“Mel,” Jo groaned, but the older girl cut her off with a wave of her hand. 

“I said what I said,” was all she offered Jo in response. 

Jo was pretty sure every single member of the team had cornered Mikko and every single significant other had cornered Jo at least twice now since September about their friendship. Several people insisted they were hiding it, a “real” relationship. Jo always turned her nose up at the idea that friendships didn’t count as real relationships because her friendships had always been the most consistent, best kind of relationships Jo had ever had in her life. Her romantic relationships were unnecessarily complicated with what felt like the entire world feeling like they had a right to an opinion. She felt exposed, like she wasn’t allowed to love people without the world’s approval and even if she had it, she had to love at the pace they wanted, which was so fast that Jo felt all the air rush out of her lungs every single time. Romantic relationships thrived on patience and time, letting them flow as they were supposed to rather than forced up a river before the boat was big enough to handle the rapids. Jo had never gotten to do that and so, they all failed. Her friendships weren’t like that; they were genuine and pure and good, like Mikko. She would ruin him if she tried to turn this romantic, him and them at the same time. She cared about him too much to do that, so she never dwelled on the thought, never let it foster. She refused to witness what the world would do to someone as good as him. 

“Don’t overthink it though,” Mel tossed into the mix of everything that was already swimming in Jo’s mind. “Don’t force it, obviously, but don’t resist it.”

Was Jo really resisting it if she tried, even though she wasn’t one hundred percent successful, to never even let a thought form about it? If she never even let herself for a single second daydream about what it might feel like to be loved by someone as good as him, did that even count as resisting it? Besides, Jo wasn’t even sure it was really on the table. For romance to be on the table, they both had to want it and Jo didn’t know if Mikko wanted that. 

“You’re overthinking,” Mel sang softly. “Don’t sell yourself short, Jo, okay? For someone who loves to kick ass and take names, you won’t take the smallest risk here.” 

Mel didn’t get it. Jo wasn’t risking herself. She was already so damaged, bent until she broke, utterly unlovable that it didn’t even matter. She would be risking Mikko. Mikko with his beautiful smile and his positivity and his determination to make Jo realize she was just as good as him when she knew she never would be. Mikko with his kind eyes and his warm hugs and his patience unmatched by anyone else Jo had ever met. She would be risking one of the best people she had ever met and Jo couldn’t do it. She wouldn’t let her life darken him with a permanent ink stain, coating everything bright and good with an inky black residue that would always weigh him down. There was a version of Jo, a version of her that she hated to admit ever existed, a version of her that believed people could be in love with someone and that their love would fix them, that wouldn’t have thought twice about it. She would’ve reached out and taken him anyway, hoping some of his goodness would transfer over to her without a care in the world for if she took everything he had from him. That version of Jo was thankfully dead, but the one that stood in her place only saw the harm she could cause him, would cause him if she exposed him to what loving her looked like. Jo wouldn’t do it. She wouldn’t watch it happen, not to him, not if it was the hardest thing she ever had to do. 

So, Jo drank her eggnog. She took photos and laughed and smiled and told Mikko he was her best friend, because he pretty much was at this point. No one else even got half of what he got from her. She wore that itchy sweater all night because Mikko thought it was the best thing ever. She wore it until she got to Mikko’s apartment after the party. His was closer to Gabe's and Jo didn’t feel like the effort of going to her place was worth it when Mikko had the best couch in the entire world. Jo kicked her shoes off and threw herself onto the couch the moment she set foot in Mikko’s familiar apartment. He laughed as Jo tucked herself into the cushions, letting herself be swallowed up in them. 

Mikko vanished down the hallway for a moment, returning with one of his t-shirts and sweatpants for Jo to put on instead of her itchy, but iconic, sweater and jeans. Jo groaned as she took the t-shirt from him, knowing it meant she would need to get up to go to the bathroom to put them on, arm flopping down on the couch in disgust. 

“Could be a little more grateful I’m providing a place to sleep and pajamas,” Mikko told her, not able to fake a scolding tone without laughing for more than a few words. 

Jo glared at Mikko as she lifted her head from her spot on the cushions and slid unceremoniously from the couch to head to the bathroom to change. She changed fast, sleep calling her name from the couch she was forced to vacate, brushing her teeth faster than her dentist would approve of with her purple toothbrush Mikko had gotten for her specifically and left it next to his green one. The toothbrush had just shown up one morning after Jo crashed on the couch and Mikko left early for practice. It had been in the bathroom when she had woken up, a little sticky note with Mikko’s horrible handwriting on it.

Jojo’s toothbrush :) 

They had never spoken about it, the sticky note being the only communication they exchanged. Jo had used it, her mind trying not to think about everything a toothbrush at his place was implying, and had put it in the holder next to Mikko’s, trying further not to think about how her toothbrush was next to his. Jo shook the thoughts from her mind again as she rolled the bottom of Mikko’s sweatpants up so she wouldn’t step on them on her way to the couch. Mikko had pulled her favorite blanket out of the closet for her and was waiting on the couch when she came down the hall. 

“You’re so tiny,” Mikko practically giggled as he saw how big the sweatpants and t-shirt were on Jo. He’d seen it before, but he thought it was hilarious every time. “Little Jojo.” 

Jo hated the nickname Jojo from everyone. Her mom didn’t even use it anymore because of the way Jo’s face scrunched up after she said it, disgust plain as day on her face. She let Mikko use it and it even made her smile sometimes, like just now, and like the toothbrush, Jo didn’t let herself think about what it all meant as she climbed onto the couch and snuggled up into Mikko’s broad, warm chest. Mikko was always the perfect amount of warm, enough that his warmth sunk into Jo’s bones, into the places that never seemed to warm up enough. 

“You should sleep in your bed,” Jo mumbled as her eyes started to close. 

“I’ll leave when you fall asleep,” Mikko assured her softly, letting his thumb rub her upper arm softly, crossing the edge of his too long t-shirt sleeve she was wearing on her skin and back gently. 

“M’kay,” Jo sighed contentedly. 

Jo’s eyes didn’t open again that evening. Her breathing slowed, naturally timing with Mikko’s deep breaths, his chest rising and falling against her back lulling her softly to sleep. She was almost asleep, just on the edge of it, when she heard Mikko’s voice whisper softly. 

“I wish you could see how great you are, Jojo.” 

It wasn’t meant for her to hear, so Jo didn’t reply. She drifted off to sleep, trying not to think about what that sentence meant. She also tried not to think about what the purple toothbrush next to his meant and why she slept better next to him than she ever did by herself. But that was a lot of things Jo couldn’t think about and instead, she fell asleep reminding herself exactly why she couldn’t dwell on all of those things. 

-------

Christmas passed with Jo leaving Denver for the first time since she had arrived to spend it with her parents and brother in Florida. Mikko stayed in Denver, but his family came to him at least. She stayed through New Year’s, taking a week-long trip before her brother had to return to school in the Bahamas with her family. Being on a beach somewhere remote, the sun on her face, sand in her toes, made Jo miss Denver more somehow. A week on a beach in the Caribbean plus a week in Florida on a different beach and she was itching to get back to the snow, back to Avalanche games, back to the mile high air. A part of her brain whispered one more thing she wanted to get back to, back to Mikko. Jo already knew that was part of it, and she knew why that was. She loved him. There was no way around that anymore, no vault she could put it in that would even close due to the amount of ever growing love she had for him. Two weeks apart came with almost daily Facetimes and texts, the Christmas morning one standing out brightest of all. Mikko had sent Jo to Florida with his gift for her, covering in wrapping that would’ve made an eight-year-old proud, but horrified a precocious nine-year-old.

“Mikko, this is half tape,” Jo whined into her phone as she tried to break into the box. 

“Not all of us can wrap like we’re a Pinterest mom, Jo,” Mikko scolded her softly, holding up the box she had wrapped for him as evidence. 

“I’ll teach you.” 

Jo laughed as she said it, and Mikko joined her, because they both knew Mikko couldn’t be taught how to wrap a present. He didn’t care enough about crisp lines and details like that. If it was wrapped, it was good for him. Jo had wrapped all of his gifts for everyone this year, except her own. Hers had been Mikko’s only present to wrap this year and he had done an absolutely horrible job. Jo finally managed to get through all of the tape and into the box. She tossed the tissue paper aside to reveal a candle. A candle, of all things. 

“So, okay, remember how I said you have to come to Finland in the summer?” Mikko told her, offering up his explanation for the seemingly random gift in her hand. “Well, that candle smells like Finland. I did a bunch of research and got like, ten or whatever from Etsy, you know Etsy? Anyway, I smelled them all and that one does smell like Finland. I want you to know what it’s like before you get there and you really like candles and stuff.” 

It was objectively a mediocre gift without the context. In context, it almost made Jo cry. The amount of thought behind it. The effort he went into to find the one that reminded him most of where he grew up. The fact that it was a physical representation of his wish to bring her back to the place he grew up. Jo almost cried looking at it. She popped the top off and smelled the candle deeply, ocean and forest mixing with some smells she couldn’t identify but hoped she would be able to soon. She smiled as she put the lid back on and set it aside. 

“I love it, Mik,” Jo smiled at him now. “It’s one of the most thoughtful gifts I’ve ever gotten. Thank you.” 

MIkko smiled widely, dimple popping out as it often did, “There’s a card in the bottom, but you can read it later. I want to open my gift.” 

Jo laughed as Mikko took one last glance at her pristine wrapping job before ripping it to shreds, busting open the box in an effort to find out what was inside as fast as possible. The fact that he had the present under his tree for three days and hadn’t opened it yet was a miracle within itself. And besides, some beautiful things were supposed to be temporary. Jo felt some days like maybe she was one of those temporarily beautiful things and like her beautiful moments had already passed, then she would see the way Mikko Rantanen looked at her for a second and think that maybe some beautiful things were supposed to be beautiful forever and maybe she was one of those things. 

“Okay, I really hope you like it-”

“Jo, I love it,” Mikko cut her off.

Mikko pulled the sweatshirt out of the box and immediately yankedit over his head, smoothing out the image on the front. It was a cartoon caricature of his dog back in Finland, who he missed constantly during the season and talked about often. Jo ordered Mikko’s actual size instead of his preferred too large one. It fit tightly, but comfortably around his shoulders and arms, sleeves managing to be just long enough to cover his arms and reach his wrist. It fit perfectly and Mikko was staring fondly at the image on the front. Jo had picked the cutest picture she could find, one of his dog wearing one of Mikko’s helmets on his head. 

“Fits perfect,” Mikko told her, bright blue eyes lifting from the sweatshirt to his phone to look at her again, his dimple showing itself again. “I love it, Jojo. Thank you.”

“Always, Mik,” Jo smiled softly at him

Maybe it was the holidays getting to her brain, the warmth and comfort of it all, but Jo was inches away from spilling words she could never take back, ones that might alter the beautiful boy on the other end of the phone in a way Jo didn’t want for him.

“What are you thinking about?”

Mikko knew something was up, something was pressing itself forward in her mind, demanding to be said. He could always tell, even from that first night on the rooftop he could always tell. He was always checking, looking for the smallest signs since Jo had never given anything larger than a single grain of sand compared to a beach of outputs. Mikko knew he must have missed thousands of signs by now, so it was important for him to acknowledge all the ones he saw. The worried glance to the right, following by a tap of her short nails on the table, and a quick sigh. She was overthinking.

“I just,” Jo let out a long breath and Mikko waited. He just waited, giving her time and space to choose her words. Jo wanted to tell him she loved him, but she couldn’t use those words, so, instead, Jo let him in for a moment. “Um, remember how you asked me that, um, first day you came over for lunch why I was crying?” 

“I remember, Jo,” Mikko assured her softly, support coming over through his words that somehow seemed to take a physical form, something Jo could reach out and grab onto now to help stay on her metaphorical feet and continue talking. 

“I was upset because I just felt,” Jo took another deep breath and looked at the face on the screen. Mikko’s eyes were steady and true, grounding her, calming her nerves. “I just felt empty. I felt like, I don’t know, it’s stupid, but I just feel sometimes like I’ve worked so hard that I don’t really know who I am anymore, like there really isn’t anything left of me after everything, after everyone took something, I guess.”

Mikko smiled softly, but it wasn’t pity in his eyes. It was love, raw and real and true. But Jo couldn’t see it. She wouldn’t let herself see it.

“Jo, how could there be nothing left when you’re my favorite person I’ve ever met?”

Jo felt the tears well up in her eyes because she knew they were true. Mikko genuinely believed them. Mikko was a lot of things, but he was a terrible liar. He really believed Jo was his favorite person he had ever met. But what was he seeing that could possibly make him feel like that?

Mikko saw all of the fractured parts of Jo hiding in the pieces of her personality, the faces she put on, all living behind the walls she built. Mikko saw all the parts of Jo and he could put the parts together in his mind and see just how beautiful she was. Broken things could still be beautiful. Things that used to be broken and were put back together one piece at a time could also still be beautiful. Things didn’t have to be exactly as they were originally made. 

The word Mikko didn’t know to explain it was kintsugi, an old Japanese tradition of repairing broken pottery with gold. It wasn’t about trying to make the pieces look like it had never been broken. If you tried to do that, the lines where it had broken before would always look like faults, like unsightly scars. But if you joined it back together with gold, you weren’t hiding the past. You were making it beautiful, letting past fractures create an even more beautiful, unique piece when it was all finally assembled again. That’s what Mikko thought about Jo, that all of her pieces were beautiful and that the person she had been before she fractured herself was beautiful too. But Mikko thought that Jo, stitched back together with trust and love like gold, would be even more beautiful, the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. He could see her now and who she would be when she put herself back together, and he loved her all the same.

The conversation ended and Mikko didn’t bring it up again while Jo was in Florida and in the Bahamas with her family. He let his words sit with Jo and acted as a constant reminder of the care and love he showed her, confirming them every single day without ever talking about them again. Jo still didn’t know what Mikko saw in her, but he kept the daily FaceTime calls, never missing one while she was away.

When she got back to Denver, he picked her up from the airport, even though Jo had tried to tell him he didn’t have to. There was takeout in the car for her when she climbed in, the best gift a girl could ask for. Mikko had just laughed at her excitement and driven her home, taking his place on her couch, to go container and a fork in hand, and listened to Jo talk about her trip. Mikko was on that couch or she was on his practically every single day in January with the Avs on a stretch of home games for a good chunk of it and All Star break Mikko didn’t feel like traveling for. He wanted to spend it with Jo, so he did. It wasn’t a decision that required much thought for him, nor was it one he felt the need to defend to his teammates who kept pushing for him to go to a beach somewhere with them. He knew where he wanted to be for All Star break, the same place he wanted to be all of the time, with Jo. 

Since the Christmas morning conversation, Mikko was getting more and more pieces of how Jo’s mind worked and what she thought of herself. They didn’t come in big reveals of insecurity like that one. The comments were small, something about missing being a kid without any worries, something about how Los Angeles felt suffocating, something about how she felt like Denver was too good to be true sometimes. After too many glasses of wine one night as January bled into February, Jo let one bigger thing slip out on Mikko’s couch, something that he couldn’t understand how she could possibly think when he was right there next to her, loving her louder than he meant to. 

“I just don’t think I’m really all that lovable,” Jo admitted one night. “I think loving me is too hard for someone.”

It had almost broken Mikko’s heart, not because he loved her and she didn’t see him. It wasn’t about him. It hurt because someone he loved so deeply, who his love for kept growing every second he spent with her, someone he wanted to give all of his love to, didn’t even think they could be loved.

Mikko would keep showing up at her front door. He would keep loving her until one day she couldn’t deny that just because she might be difficult to love, that didn’t mean she wasn’t worth it. 

-------

Let the record show, Josephine Evans vowed to do absolutely nothing other than eat the chocolates she bought herself and watch cringe-worthy Netflix romantic comedies for Valentine’s Day. It was a date she set up with herself and it only involved moving to her couch to attend the date, so she was pretty sure she wouldn’t have a problem making it and therefore wouldn’t let herself down. Until there was a knock on her door in a pattern that had become incredibly familiar to her since her third day in Denver. Jo groaned as she lifted herself from her couch, moving the chocolates to her coffee table and her blanket around her shoulders. He knew about her date with herself today. Why was he here? 

“Mikko,” Jo groaned as she opened the door.

But she couldn’t be mad at the smiling face on the other side of the door. His dark beanie was pulled down over his ears, his coat buttoned up high on his neck to protect him from the chilly Denver air. His cheeks were flushed from his walk from the parking lot he had long received Jo’s second pass to; he was over so much, she finally surrendered and gave it to him. He didn’t have a key yet, but he was well on his way there. He sniffed a little from the cold as he offered her out a red envelope with her name scratched on it in his handwriting. She had never been mad at Mikko, not even for a minute, since they met. She wasn’t going to start now, even when he crashed her self-love date, with his sweet smile and a fucking valentine. 

“If no one is going to be smart enough to ask you to be their valentine, then I will. Jojo Evans, will you be my valentine?” 

Jo looked at the red envelope in his hands, then up to his smiling face, dimple prominent, eyes still a shade of blue Jo hadn’t figured out how to describe. Not an ocean, not the sky. Nothing was quite right. They were all too cold for how warm his eyes always were. Jo was brought back into the moment by Mikko scrunching his nose up at her and wiggling the envelope, waiting for her answer, even though he knew she couldn’t say no to him. Jo sighed and gave him her best displeased look, before snatching the envelope from his hand. Mikko smiled impossibly wider and pushed into Jo’s apartment, taking up residence on the chair by the couch after leaving his snowy boots by the door. 

Jo ripped open the red envelope carelessly; she had never been good at opening envelopes. The card inside was cliche, sweet to the point of being cavity inducing. There was glitter and hearts and everything you would have put on a card in third grade when you made cards for your classmates, except Mikko didn’t hand make this one, which was probably for the better. He had definitely picked out the most obnoxious one he could find at the store though. It was his short note inside that had Jo clutching the card to her chest as Mikko scrolled through his phone in the living room. 

Happy Valentine’s Day, Jojo-bean :) Hope you don’t mind me crashing. Wouldn’t want to spend today with anyone else

With shaky hands, Jo clipped the card to the front of her fridge, like her mom did with Valentine’s Day cards when Jo was little and still lived in Denver and the world was simple. Jo had been thinking a lot about her childhood, well, her early childhood anyway, when she lived in the suburbs of the city. She hadn’t even driven through her old neighborhood since she had been back. She was sort of afraid of it, not because her time there was bad, the opposite. Her time there was so good. It was pure, not yet ruined like Los Angeles where her family had moved after or New York City, where Jo had unfortunately learned what it was like to be an adult judged by millions of people for every micro-movement she made. That neighborhood in Denver was a safe place, housing memories of her childhood untouched by the harsh reality of twenty-four-year-old Jo’s life. She didn’t want to go and ruin it for herself. But she wanted to go. And maybe, maybe if she took the brightest human she knew with her, his light would cancel out her darkness and those memories would stay a safe haven. 

“Hey, did you have anything planned?” Jo shouted out to Mikko as she made her way into her closet, reaching for a pair of jeans to throw on. 

“Honestly, not really,” Mikko admitted. Jo could hear him talking around the chocolate he’d definitely stolen and was currently trying to hide from her in his mouth, but she let it go with a smile and a shake of her head. “Anything you want to do?” 

“You ask a girl to be your valentine and you don’t even have a plan, Rantanen?” Jo chirped, well, as good as she could chirp, as she yanked on a comfy Avalanche sweatshirt Mikko had gotten for her. 

Mikko laughed and played it off well, “I figured if I was crashing your plans, maybe I’d see what you wanted to do together instead?” 

Jo grabbed her snow boots and a gray hat with a bobble on top she knew Mikko would bat at before they even made it out the door before heading back into the living room where he was waiting. There was chocolate on the corner of his mouth and there was definitely more than one extra empty space in the box, but Jo let it slide. 

“Would you be down to take a little drive out to the suburbs near where I grew up?” Jo asked him as she sat down on the couch to start lacing up her boots. “I haven’t been since I got this place and I kind of want to go?” 

She said it like a question, a bad habit she had picked up in an effort to sound more flexible to other people’s needs, diminishing her own at the same time. Mikko knew what she was doing as he lifted himself out of the chair to grab his boots, staying by the door so he didn’t track snow through Jo’s pristine apartment he’d never seen even a pillow out of place in until he messed it up himself. Mikko knew Jo was trying to hide the fact that she really wanted to go to her old neighborhood, so to her old neighborhood was where they were going to go. 

Mikko drove since Jo really didn’t drive much anymore, at least, that’s why she told herself he drove. It wasn’t because she liked being able to look at him while he drove, large hands on the steering wheel, sunlight across his face, making his eyes look like a different color Jo still couldn’t describe for the life of her. That definitely wasn’t why Mikko usually drove. Mikko let Jo control the music. He’d play exclusively Finnish rap music if she didn’t and besides, music was her job. She had introduced him to so many incredible things he could probably never thank her enough, but really, he always let her control the music because she’d talk about it if he did. She’d walk him through the song, commenting on its construction, the originality, the way it fit together, her passion deep in each analysis. If you were ever lucky enough to hear a person you love talk about their deepest passion in life, you should let them talk as long as they want to. At least, that’s what Mikko thought and that’s why Jo always controlled the music in the car. 

Jo directed them into the suburbs, streets becoming more and more familiar as they exited the city. A sense of home Jo hadn’t felt in a long time flooded her as Mikko took the turn into her old neighborhood, her memory flashing back to all the times her mom and dad had taken that turn with her in the backseat, all the times the school bus she rode as a little kid, all the times she turned that corner on her bicycle. She learned to ride it on this street. The feeling of home was distant, almost foreign in how far away it felt from her. 

“Turn right at the next street, Mik.” 

Mikko nodded, shifting to bopping his head to the music as he turned. Jo added the song to the playlist on his Spotify simply titled “Jo’s Music.” Any time she played a song in the car for him and he seemed to like it, she added it to a playlist for him, in case he wanted to go back and listen to it later. Jo didn’t know that Mikko listened to it every single day without fail. It was his everything playlist. When he didn’t have a specific type of music he was looking for, he put it on. It played when he first got up in the morning as he made himself breakfast and in the car on the way to the arena. It kept him company on flights back to Denver, flights back to Jo, after losing roadies. Every time he played it, he remembered these moments, moments with Jo and him alone, something he knew that when she left Denver eventually he wouldn’t get many of anymore. When each song played, wherever he was, he could hear her voice singing over it, hear the little comments she made, see her bad but still better than his dance moves in his passenger seat. He saw her when it played like she was right there next to him, living his life with him.

“Turn left at the next street, then it’s the third house on the right. It used to be yellow, not sure if it still is.” 

Mikko flicked on his turn signal then turned as Jo instructed. It was easy to spot the house Jo grew up in as soon as they turned the corner. The house was still yellow. And somehow, the fact that the house was still yellow, a color Jo demanded her parents paint it when she was three with no concept that it would make the house look like a bumblebee when they put the black shutters on it, made tears come to her eyes. She wiped them on the back of her hands as Mikko rolled to a stop in front of the house, hoping he didn’t see. He did see, but he let her have a private moment in the passenger seat of his car, ready to step in if her tears shifted from ones sponsored by her childhood to something else, something negative she drove herself to instead. 

“I remember making a snowman every year right there,” Jo told Mikko softly, a hand pointing to the spot on the grass near where the driveway met the walkway. “I wanted to pick the most visible spot to the street, I guess.” 

Mikko nodded softly, then turned the engine off, surprising Jo. He grabbed his keys and slid them into his pocket before stepping out of the car without a word to Jo. He had an idea and he was going to see it through and he knew if he told Jo what it was, she would try to hold him down in the driver’s seat to stop him. Mikko was already knocking on the front door by the time Jo had opened the passenger door of his car and had started to shout to ask him what he was doing. 

The front door opened before Jo could reach Mikko, despite her best efforts to run through the snow, in her large snow boots, to peel him off some poor person’s front porch before he created what Jo thought would be a disaster. Mikko put on his best smile as an elderly woman appeared in the doorway, a confused expression on her face as she surveyed the two twenty-somethings on her doorstep that were too well dressed to be trying to sell her something. 

“Hi there,” Mikko was really trying to pour as much European charm into his voice as he could. “We’re sorry to bother you. I’m Mikko and that’s Jo behind me. This might be a kind of weird request, but Jo actually grew up in this house when she was little and I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind if we built a snowman on your front lawn? We won’t come inside or cause any trouble, I promise. We just want to build a snowman, or really, I want to build one with Jojo like she did when she was a kid.” 

The woman looked at Mikko and Jo watched her absolutely melt under his dimpled smile and kind eyes. Her hands came up over her heart, one on top of the other and she gasped softly. She looked at Mikko like he was heaven sent, which Jo thought someday might not be too far off from the truth. She turned to Jo, the look of adoration on her face staying strong. 

“Your boyfriend is the sweetest little, well, big, piece of peach pie I’ve ever seen,” she told Jo, the adoration on her face dripping from each word. “Of course, build away!”

The door closed before Jo could correct her, that Mikko wasn’t her boyfriend, just her boy friend, her best friend really. No one else was even coming close to vying for that job title anymore. Mikko turned and smiled at her and Jo sort of forgot why that distinction even mattered for a second, lost in the moment of one of the sweetest things anyone had done for her in awhile, or, at least since Mikko had show up at her door this morning with a valentine for her. 

“Get our gloves from the car and we’ll get started, yeah?” Mikko asked her. 

Jo turned on her heels to head to the car, but Mikko’s hand grabbing her wrist stopped her and pulled her back to him. He was chewing his bottom lip as his eyes shifted to look at the concrete beneath his feet. Jo used his hand on her wrist as an anchor and leaned into him, her other hand falling on his chest making him lift his eyes back to hers.

“I didn’t overstep, right?” he asked her, his voice much softer than for his first question. “Did I make you uncomfortable?” 

“No, Mikko,” Jo said firmly, her voice solid and sure, strong and supportive. “You surprised me, but this whole day so far is one of the sweetest things anyone has done for me in a long time. You’re the best, Mik.” 

Mikko pulled his lips tight over his teeth, nodded softly, then let his trademark smile come back over his face as he looked down at Jo. Mikko slowly let a part of him he kept tucked far away from the surface come up, letting it guide his hand to transition to holding hers instead of her wrist, fingers lacing together. Mikko tugged Jo closer by their conjoined hands, her boots shuffling against the floor to comply easily with his request. 

Mikko Rantanen wasn’t harboring a secret love for Josephine Evans. It was clear as day to everyone, even Jo herself. It was in his shaky handwriting on the card from earlier. It was in the purple toothbrush at his place. It was in the car rides. It was in the hugs after games. It was in the texts that always started with, “Saw this and thought you’d like it.” It was in the knock on the front door of her childhood home. It was in the way he was looking at her right now. His love was right there, breaking on the surface, begging Jo to jump into the deep waters of his ever growing love for her. Mikko loved her more than she could understand, probably more than he could fully understand either, but he could feel it. She could feel it as his head slowly leaned down towards hers, her eyes fluttering closed as she felt his warm breath fanning out across her face.

But Jo couldn’t jump in. The water might have been deep and warm and crystal clear, the kind she wanted to swim in forever. But Jo was still a hurricane. She would cause a storm over that water, over the lands that made up Mikko touching it, and wreak havoc on it all. Her winds would cause his love for her to destroy him, the water crashing to shore, washing away everything that made him her favorite person, water damage rotting the parts that didn’t wash away.

Jo couldn’t jump in, but she never wanted anything more as she could feel him, his lips inches from hers now. Jo was saved from the moment by the front door to the house she grew up in opening again. Mikko recoiled back before Jo could even open her eyes. 

“Oh, sorry!” the elderly woman said. “Sorry, I interrupted you two sweethearts. Would you like some hot chocolate? I can get a batch going on the stove. Don’t want you two getting too cold out here.”

Mikko looked at Jo all the same, like that moment hadn’t just happened, but it was almost like it hadn’t. Because Jo never had time to pull away. She never stopped it, something outside of both of them did, so Mikko’s love remained untouched, calming waves still washing over her through his soft eyes and kind smile, through the very day he created for her and her alone. She loved him too. Standing on the porch of her childhood home, she loved him too. She loved him as deep as he loved her. That was so clear to her in the place where her heart felt lightest. He knew she loved him too. He knew today wasn’t the day she could share with him, the walls still too high. Mikko believed one day she could. Jo didn’t. And that made all the difference. 

“Hot chocolate would be great,” Mikko told the woman softly, his eyes staying on Jo. 

“Coming right up!” The woman spun to head toward her kitchen, the door almost completely shut before it opened again so she could ask, “Marshmallows?” 

“Of course,” Jo smiled at her.

“Me too,” Mikko added, his voice as embedded with happiness as ever. 

“You got it!”

With that, Jo and Mikko were back to being alone on the front porch. There wasn’t an awkwardness in the air though because Mikko didn’t feel turned down. He didn’t feel pushed aside. He simply felt like it wasn’t the right time and that the right time was just a little further down the road. Some days it seemed a little further down the road than others. Today it seemed close. It didn’t matter how far it was to Mikko though. He’d keep going anyway, even if the right time never came. If their lives changed and Jo found someone else, then he would too, but he’d never stop loving her. The love would just shift and Mikko would continue to keep on walking and being in Jo’s life. You can’t say you love someone, then stop if they can’t love you the same way you love them because then you don’t love them. You love the idea of them. Mikko loved Josephine, not his idea of her. So, he kept going. Today, keeping going meant walking to the car to grab their gloves to build a snowman on the front lawn of her childhood home. 

Mikko tossed Jo’s gloves at her, hitting her square in the chest, as he rejoined her by the snowman spot. Jo glared at him, but it fell into a smile quickly when Mikko laughed at her glare. Jo rolled her eyes at his laugh as she slowly gathered up some snow in her hand, packing it down tightly as Mikko squatted down to start creating an initial ball for the base of the snowman. Jo took her newly formed snowball and shifted it solely into her right hand then, without thinking about any possible repercussions, she threw it as hard as she could at Mikko’s left shoulder. The look on Mikko’s face when he looked over his shoulder at Jo made her instantly laugh, but she covered her mouth to try and be a little sympathetic. Mikko’s jaw was slack, blue eyes wide with artificial horror. His head was shaking softly from left to right as he stared at Jo. 

“Jojo,” Mikko drawled out slowly, taking his time to harp on each syllable like a frustrated mother with a petulant toddler, except Mikko was very, very bad at it. 

“Mikko,” Jo drew out the last vowel in his name as long as she could, until a smile forced itself onto his face. 

“Expect payback when you least expect it,” Mikko vowed. “Now, are you going to help me build us the best snowman ever or are you going to cause problems?” 

“Who said I can’t do both?” Jo smiled slyly as she joined Mikko on the ground. 

“Touché,” Mikko laughed, nodding softly as he did. “Touché, Jojo.” 

The day Mikko had first used that nickname she had hated since she lived in this house was far in the past now. Jo realized as she started to roll a giant snowball around the front yard of her childhood home with her best friend who was too large for this activity in all reality that she didn’t hate it anymore because she couldn’t think about that nickname without hearing it in his voice. Mikko had attached himself to that nickname and Jo was pretty sure there wasn’t anything Mikko was capable of that could make her hate him. The bottom snowball got too big for Jo to roll around quickly, but Mikko easily took over and let Jo get started on the second one instead. Even though it was just snowballs, it felt like a representation of them. Jo’s life felt too big, too tough for her to ever push aside, or to ever brute force into being something beautiful in spite of how messy it really was. But she could do parts of it, the early stages where everything could easily fall apart, Jo was working on her life, part by part, a section at a time. If the snowball fell apart, she tried again. She didn’t fall into her couch and surrender with a bottle of wine anymore. She let out a deep breath and tried again because she knew she wasn’t alone. There was a tall blond boy, rolling a snowball around the yard, would would help her push her life into the shape she wanted it to be if she asked for his help. Jo didn’t even really have to ask. He could see clearly when she was struggling, when she couldn’t get to the end of something, when she couldn’t finally delete that toxic person’s phone number, when she couldn’t cut the final thread holding someone in her life who didn’t deserve to be there, when she was so close to getting out of a thought spiral. Mikko stood behind her, his warm presence and her least favorite nickname, encouraging her with a patience unmatched by anyone she had ever encountered. Any sane person would’ve given up by now. But people in love weren’t really all that sane. 

“Hot chocolate! I even found some to go cups so you kids don’t have to worry about anything.” 

Of course this angelic grandmother would have to-go coffee cups for hot chocolate. Of course she would. And of course she would go to all the trouble of finding a carrot for the snowman’s nose and bringing some coals from her grill out back out front for them to use as buttons and eyes. Of course some people on the planet were this good and pure and wonderful and absolutely deserving of love. 

“You didn’t have to do all this,” Jo sighed gratefully as she took the hot chocolate from her. 

“Oh, don’t be silly,” she hushed Jo with a careless wave of her hand. “I’m happy to help you two kids out. It’s like my grandkids are here, well, like when they were here when they were eight.” 

She disappeared back into the house with another wave of her hand, telling the two of them to have fun. Jo took a sip of her hot chocolate at the same time Mikko did, both of them sighing contentedly at the the warm, sweet beverage. A shiver ran down Jo’s spine as the hot chocolate heated her up from the inside out. Jo scrunched her nose and smiled at Mikko over the top of her cup and of course he smiled back. It was never a question of if he would. 

“I think you might need to be done with that boulder of a snowball you’re making,” Jo noted as she observed Mikko’s handiwork. “You’re going to make it so big that the second one is going to have to be so big we can’t lift it.” 

“You might not be able to lift it, but you’re tiny so,” Mikko trailed off as a smirk lifted the corners of his mouth. 

“Not all of us can be giants,” Jo rolled her eyes at him. “The worlds needs shorter people who don’t mind climbing cabinets and counters and shelves and other people to get what they want in life.” 

“Pretty sure no one could ever stop you from getting what you want, Jo,” Mikko laughed. “At least, I wouldn’t want to be between you and whatever you wanted. Seems like a dangerous place to be.” 

Except there was really only one thing Jo wanted and she couldn’t stop thinking about how badly she wanted it as Mikko set his hot chocolate aside to roll the base snowball into place and transitioned to taking over the second one so Jo could start on the snowman’s head. It was the only thing she could think about as Mikko helped her stack the two smaller snowballs on top of the first, as he accidentally shoved the carrot almost through the snowman’s head in excitement, as Jo had to stop him from directly handling the coals to prevent him from making a mess of his hands. He grabbed some nearby twigs for arms and Jo found the perfect one to bend to make a smile. The elderly woman came out and took their photo with their snowman who was obviously a little lumpy, but Jo thought it was the best snowman she had ever made. 

Still, there was only one thing Jo could think as Mikko slid his hat back on and they climbed back in his car, declaring the day well spent. 

The only thing Jo wanted was Mikko Rantanen and the only thing standing in the way was Jo herself. Jo was only standing in the way because she loved him. She would stand in the way for as long as it took, just to protect him from it all. Jo would stand in the middle of a hurricane for Mikko Rantanen, rooting herself into the ground to keep herself there, category five winds and all. She would stand there for the rest of her life if that’s what it took to make sure he was still this optimistic, still this kind, still her favorite person because she wouldn’t let anyone else ruin him. She wouldn’t. 

------

With the Avalanche in a playoff push from late February to late March when they finally clinched a spot, Jo had seen Mikko on her couch less, but she hadn’t talked to him any less. He insisted she was his good luck charm and talked to her every single night, even if the team had gotten blown out the game before, he still claimed they would definitely lose if he didn’t talk to her. But Josephine Evans wasn’t all that lucky anymore. All the luck she had, her life’s allotment, had been used to get her to where she was now, in this apartment, with her childhood dream made a reality. Teenage Jo was lucky. Adult Jo? The opposite of lucky. 

She had just gone to the grocery store. She was missing one ingredient to bake oatmeal cookies, Mikko’s favorite, and he had asked her early that morning if she could make them to celebrate clinching the playoffs. He didn’t really need a reason to get her to bake them. Jo baked for him whenever he wanted, the smallest token she could give him to show her appreciation for him, her love for him that she couldn’t admit. It had just been brown sugar, stupid brown sugar, and suddenly six months of a secret had been destroyed, photos of her in an Avalanche sweatshirt in a Denver supermarket were everywhere. The only lucky part was that unlike almost everything Jo owned with the Avalanche logo on it, it was a plain sweatshirt, absent of the number ninety-six or Rantanen on it. Mikko was still unknown. He was still good, still untouched by her real life, the one she was starting to wish she wouldn’t have to go back to. 

Jo couldn’t even bake because her hands were shaking so badly. Today was supposed to be a good day, a great day, because her best friend had achieved something great and it was sunny out. Sunny days were supposed to be good days. Instead, there was a barrage of articles slamming Jo about how she had left her career to do absolutely nothing in Colorado, how she was a “has-been” now since no one has seen her in six months. Then the crazy theories started picking up. Rehab was a popular one Jo saw; there were lots of good facilities in the Denver area apparently, unknown to Jo. Her sweatshirt was baggy, so naturally Jo had to be pregnant, a constant rumor that showed itself every six months or so at the press’s whim. The stories were crazier from there, some nonsensical as always. People were saying they wished she would never come back, picking apart every single part of Jo they didn’t like, turning them into reasons she should just stay out of the public eye forever. Everything, from her hair to her smile to the way her voice sounded to the way she talked in interviews, that list quickly becoming too personal, people saying they were the reasons all her relationships had failed, all the reasons no one loved her. Normally, Jo could handle it, but six months without it had made her softly, more vulnerable, more normal, and everything hurt. Her head was spinning and her heart was pounding. Jo needed to stop reading. She threw her phone across the room and took a show to try and catch her breath for a moment. She turned the water up too hot, willing it to burn the negative feelings that were eating her alive to no avail. They were all internal. 

When she got out of the shower, her phone had blown up with the Avalanche girlfriends, wives, and Jo, as it was now named, group chat. Everyone was talking about the bar for later for the celebration. In the chaos of the day and the heavy feeling in her mind and her chest, Jo had forgotten she had promised Mikko she would meet him at the bar with the rest of the team when they landed, the real celebration. The cookies Jo had failed to make were supposed to be used as sponges for the alcohol they would be consuming so Mikko could actually make it to practice in the morning. 

Jo tried. Jo really, really tried. She got all dressed up, black bodysuit, black jeans, black heels, red lipstick, hoping that looking good would make her feel good enough to get out of her apartment. She got as far as her hand on the door knob, purse over her shoulder, before her eyes clouded up again and she realized she couldn’t do this. She tried so hard to put on a brave face, thinking she could get through today and deal with the overwhelming feeling that maybe they were all right and Jo had just given up, taken the heat and let it burn herself away for the sake of success, but the fire was too untamed, too strong, and it burned away everything instead, meaning losing herself was for nothing. The winds were too high, the storm was too strong, and Jo wasn’t making it to the bar. 

Hey Mik. I know you might not have landed yet, but I’m not feeling too good, so I’m not going to be able to make it to the bar. Have a good time without me!

Jo sent the text without reading it over again and tossed her phone aside, knowing if she held onto it, she would just go looking for more things that would feed the hurricane already verging on a category five in her mind that Jo felt like was sucking all of the air out of the room. With still shaking hands, Jo fumbled with her heels, her skinny jeans, the bodysuit she had picked out because it made her feel confident, and returned to her baggy sweatpants and big t-shirt she had been wearing earlier. She went to light the candle on the nightstand, but realized it wasn’t the one she wanted. She pushed around half used candles in the drawer below, until her hands wrapped around one that had made the journey from Denver to Florida in a terribly wrapped box, and back, tucked safely in her suitcase, the one the boy she was in love with gave to her because it smelled like his home. Jo lit the candle after almost dropping the lighter twice then climbed into bed. Jo took deep breaths, trying to calm herself with what Nousiainen, Finland was supposed to smell like and how that made her think of the person who made her happiest, the boy who was from there who wanted to take her there and show her around the place that made him, him. 

Jo wished she was there right now. She wished she was in a place she had never been before and it didn’t fail to dawn on her just how fucking pathetic that was. She hated fame, the thing she dreamed about every night, the thing she wished for when she blew out her birthday candles when she was seven, the thing that gave her everything around her right now, that she wished she was in a place she had never been before. Jo had hundreds of stamps in her passport, but she wished she was somewhere she had only seen in the pictures she painted in her mind from the stories Mikko told about it. She wished she was there because of the way Mikko smiled whenever he talked about it, a calm, warm smile, steady and sure. Home. It was his home, something Jo wasn’t even sure she really had anymore. She was from Denver. She lived in Denver now, technically still temporarily, but she didn’t have a home. She wanted to be home right now, but there was nowhere in her life to get that feeling, so she wanted to see if maybe the home of the person she loved was close enough. 

Maybe that was part of the reason Jo felt empty all of the time because she never truly settled anywhere. There was no place on earth her soul was at rest that she was allowed to stay. She didn’t have a safe haven, just more empty apartments and hotel rooms in cities that tried to swallow her up. Maybe she left pieces of herself in all the places she had been, trying to make a home for herself. But that’s not how homes worked, so Jo had just failed and lost herself in her failure. 

Today, Jo was standing in the middle of a spinning hurricane, getting battered by the winds and the things they threw even though she was trying to stand in the eye, trying to stay out of its way, it was hurting her anyway. And she felt so deeply alone all she could do was cry. 

Except there was a knock on her front door and Jo felt the hurricane stop for a moment. The winds ceased, everything they picked up frozen in time and space as Jo walked to her front door. She opened it without even checking, even though the only person who normally knocked was at a bar, having a great night like he deserved. 

“Okay, I didn’t know what kind of not feeling good you were, so I picked up wonton soup from your favorite Chinese place in case you were feeling sick, ice cream in case you were upset about someone getting engaged or having a baby again, and Sour Patch Kids in case- Josephine, what’s wrong?” 

Josephine. In six, almost seven, months of knowing Mikko Rantanen, he had never called her Josephine. Not once. 

Jo couldn’t answer. She just cried, a sob wracking her body. Mikko shifted forward, dropping the bags on the front table, and reached for her. He pulled her into his chest, one arm around her back, the other letting his hand cup the back of her head protectively. 

“Josephine, what’s wrong? What happened?”

Jo’s hand fisted into his dark t-shirt, the material soft and forgiving under her hands. She was crying harder, sobs shaking her body over and over again. She felt Mikko press a gentle, lingering kiss to her hair. 

“Jo, I’m right here. I’m right here,” he told her softly. “It’s me, Mikko. I’m right here, baby.” 

Mikko was right there, but it was more than that. He was standing next to her in the hurricane. He wasn’t on the outside looking in. This was it. This was what the eye of the hurricane looked like. The storm blocked out all light, anything good, it was pure negativity, daring him to become part of it.Mikko didn’t know what to do. It was the most overwhelming feeling he had ever felt, feeling the storm licking at his back, trying to rip him away from her, but he had her. She was right here, in his arms, and nothing was taking her away. Mikko didn’t understand it all, but he didn’t have to. He just had to be there. He just had to stay. 

Mikko scooped Jo into his chest, arms securing around her waist, just so he could get her to bed. He kicked his shoes off by the door, knowing Jo would still be mad at him if he tracked mud through her apartment even on her worst days. This was the worst day Mikko had ever seen, but she was still Jo, even on her worst days. He still loved her more today than yesterday and he’d love her more tomorrow than today. 

He stripped off his jeans and tossed his jacket into the chair in her room, sliding into bed with her without even thinking about it. Jo wrapped her arms around his torso and pressed her face into his chest and continued to cry. Mikko slowly worked his fingers through her hair, doing his best to keep it out of her face as she cried. He knew it would upset her if it stuck to her face, so he tried to fix that. He couldn’t fix Jo tonight, but he could fix her hair sticking to her face. 

“I’m sorry,” Jo mumbled. “I’m ruining your day. Today is supposed to be a good day for you and I’m ruining it.” 

“I want to celebrate with you, Jo,” Mikko told her softly. “It doesn’t have to be today. It’s okay if it’s not today. I care about you. If this is what you need today, this is what we’ll do. We’ll celebrate tomorrow, okay?” 

Mikko kissed her forehead sweetly, lips lingering on her again. Jo shuffled in the bed next to him, adjusting so her arm was around his hips as she settled against her own pillow, tears finally slowing. Mikko reached a hand out gently, cupping her face and letting his thumb rub cross her skin to wipe away the tear stains. 

“They found me here,” Jo admitted. “Someone posted a photo.” 

“I’m sorry, Jojo. I know that’s not what you wanted,” Mikko spoke softly, careful not to upset her further.

“I knew it would happen at some point,” Jo shrugged, eyes clouding up again. “I guess I had just been able to hide here for so long I started to think maybe I would never be found? Maybe I could just stay here and I wouldn’t have to deal with it all, you know? I just, I feel like myself here, more than anywhere else, but now I feel like it’s ruined and I’m ruined with it.”

“Jo, you’re not ruined,” Mikko assured her, thumb gently passing over her lips he desperately wanted to kiss. “Things can be damaged, but still be beautiful. You’ve dealt with a lot of shit, Jo, and you’re still here and I’m so impressed by you always.”

Mikko cleared his throat softly, before daring to add, “For what it’s worth, you’re the most beautiful person I know. This version of you. This crying, messy version of you, this real version of you, is the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen. I feel lucky to know you, Josephine Evans, so lucky.”

“Not sure you should, Mik,” Jo told him. “I can be a pretty rough friend.” 

“I play hockey for a living,” Mikko cracked his first smile since walking through her front door. “I like it rough sometimes.” 

Jo smacked his chest, hard, and he just laughed, chest shaking under her hand. Jo tried so hard not to laugh, but Mikko’s laugh was infectious, replicating in her, making her laugh too. His laugh was like sunshine breaking through the clouds hanging over Jo’s head. The storm was breaking, the winds slowing, and Jo felt like there was finally air in the room again. Jo took time away because she couldn’t stop working and she couldn’t stop working because she was trying to please a mass of people she would never meet who only wanted to say terrible things about her. Today, they won, but Jo was starting to see that she wasn’t perfect. She made mistakes, like the angry mob with pitchforks said she did, but a broken clock was still right twice a day, but was wrong for the other one-thousand four-hundred and thirty-eight minutes in a day. 

“Hey, Mikko?” 

“Yeah, Jo?” he replied softly. 

“Is there ice cream melting on my front table right now?” she asked him, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth, noticeable in her voice. 

“No,” Mikko replied smoothly. “It was very frozen when I got here because your favorite flavor was almost sold out and I had to get a frosty one from the back of the freezer, so I was just warming it up to the perfect temperature for us right now. I’ll go get two spoons because it’s definitely perfect right now.” 

“If you say so, Rantanen. If you say so.”

------

From the moment Jo woke up with her legs tangled in Mikko’s, his shirt shed to the floor in the middle of the night, an arm secure around her waist, and his golden hair a mess on top of his head, Jo knew she didn’t want to wake up next to anyone else, maybe ever again. She also knew that if she wanted to, if she asked him to stay forever, he would. There was never a doubt in Jo’s mind that Mikko loved her, not since she unwrapped that candle, sitting on her nightstand now. That was never in question. There was no question really. Jo knew he loved her, but she also knew she loved him. Even if everyone on the outside was wrong, they would still rip him apart. Insults don’t have to be based in any truth to sink deep, to leave cuts and scars. Even if Jo somehow got a handle on herself and could block some of it out, she couldn’t protect him. He would get the same treatment, the beautiful boy with the beautiful soul who loved her, no questions asked. She couldn’t watch it happen to him. Even if she put herself all the way back together, watching him take beating after beating wasn’t an option. She loved him too much to let it happen. 

Jo untangled herself from him as best as she could, sliding a pillow into his grasp as a replacement for her, smiling when he sleepily tugged it into his chest. Jo set out to do something she could do really well, make Mikko pancakes and oatmeal cookies. An absolutely unbalanced breakfast, but the first of things Jo could think to do to thank him for skipping out on his team’s celebration, his celebration, in favor of wiping her tears and braving it all just to hold her as she slept. The least she could do was make him breakfast today, and throw his clothes in the laundry so he could take home clean clothes, while also returning a shirt and sweatpants she stole from him, and send him home with a container of cookies. 

Three dozen oatmeal cookies in the oven, laundry in the dryer, and pancakes on the stove later, Mikko made an appearance in her kitchen. 

“You stole my clothes,” he mumbled, voice gravely with sleep. 

“They’re in the wash. I left you a t-shirt and sweats I stole before,” Jo said, not even bothering to turn around. 

Mikko slid up behind Jo suddenly, and arm wrapping tightly around her waist. From the feeling of him pressed against her, he’d found the sweatpants, but forgoed the shirt she left him. Jo couldn’t help but lean back into him. Mikko’s free hand found Jo’s braced against the counter’s edge next to the stove and tugged her wrist until she lifted her hand to lace their fingers together. His head leaned down, back arching away from hers so he could put his chin on her shoulder. 

“You’re making me pancakes,” he muttered. “God, Jo. I- fuck, you’re killing me.” 

“Did you want blueberry pancakes? I wasn’t sure, but I can add some,” Jo started rambling. “Or should I have made something healthier? Fuck, I’m just feeding you bad food, aren’t I? I’m sorry. I can make you eggs. Over easy right? I think I have some turkey bacon?”

“Josephine,” Mikko said softly, sleep slowly edging out of his voice. There was her full name again. “You know that’s not what I’m talking about. You know what I was going to say.” 

Mikko’s hand squeezed hers softly as she felt his head leave her shoulder. She gasped when he shifted suddenly, hand leaving hers to let his arm around her spin her to face him, spatula ditched in the pan. He was right there, forehead finding hers. He was right there, steady and sure and so ready for her. Except she wasn’t ready for him. He could see it. He could see it in her eyes, the anxiousness, the uncertainty. She wasn’t ready, but she wished she was. Mikko couldn’t kiss the girl he loved, the one who slept in his arms last night, the one standing right in front of him. But he could see the walls falling. He was seeing more of her now, the parts of her that were real, the parts that he knew loved him too. But it wasn’t about Mikko seeing it. Jo needed to say it. She needed to be ready to love him too, and she wasn’t today. And that was okay. 

“It’s okay,” Mikko told her. “I’m not going anywhere, okay?” 

Mikko lifted his forehead from hers, letting his lips drop to where his head had been, kissing Jo’s forehead gingerly. He gave her hips a little squeeze, a smile coming across his face. Just like that, like it never happened, like it wasn’t an open conversation just then about how Mikko Rantanen was in love with her and was ready to love her if she was ready too. Just like that, he was her best friend again, loving her still, just from the other side of the kitchen island, throwing the blueberries she grabbed out of the fridge at her because Mikko did in fact want blueberry pancakes. Jo added blueberries to the pancakes, and letting Mikko pelt her with a few, giggling the whole time, 

The pancakes and the laundry and the oatmeal cookies were just the start. Jo spent the entire playoff run doing her best to do anything she could for Mikko, to try and say thank you. Thank you for that night. Thank you for the previous eight months by the time the playoffs came to end for the Avalanche. Thank you for still being just as patient with her as he’d been the first night on the rooftop. Thank you for seeing something real and worthwhile in Jo, even when she couldn’t. 

Jo watched the Avalanche’s season end on her television since it didn’t end in Denver. All Mikko did after the loss was text Jo and tell her they were coming back that same night and the time they would land. It was an ungodly time, but Jo didn’t hesitant. She slid on leggings, a big sweatshirt, and some sneakers when the time came. The streets of Denver were quiet as Jo drove to the airport. She waited in her car, knowing Mikko wouldn’t want her to make a big fuss. She watched him come across the tarmac, spotting her car. He tossed his suitcase in the back, then climbed in the front seat without a word. 

Jo put on some soft music, something new she’d found during the first series when Mikko was away. He was quiet as Jo drove back to her apartment, just letting his eyes close even though Jo knew he wasn't asleep, just listening to the music. It wasn’t until they were close to Jo’s apartment Mikko finally spoke. 

“Can I stay with you tonight?” 

Mikko’s voice was soft in the worst way, hesitancy, insecurity, and vulnerability showing. He needed her tonight, desperately. He wasn’t asking to stay on her couch. He was asking to stay with her, to fall asleep holding her, in her bed, with her. He’d only done it once before, that night when clinched the playoffs, when Jo needed him. Mikko didn’t ask much of Jo usually, just that she showed up. He was asking for a lot tonight and he felt so guilty for it. 

“Of course, Mik. Anything you need.”

“I need you to come to Finland.” 

The words slipped out before Mikko could stop them. He didn’t mean to say them. He felt that way, like he wanted to pack Jo up in his suitcase and take her with him, but he wasn’t supposed to say it. 

“For a visit in the summer,” Mikko added too late for it not to clearly be an afterthought.

Jo was a better person than everyone often gave her credit for. She took a deep breath and let Mikko’s last minute addition be the full statement to her, even though she knew what he meant. He didn’t want her to visit. He wanted her to come and spend the summer with him. He wanted her to come back to Denver with him the following September and stay. He wanted her forever. That’s what Mikko wanted. That’s what he meant. But Jo, for his sake and hers because that couldn’t be talked about on a night Mikko was torn up about the loss, pressed her foot on the gas, put her eyes back on the road, and pretended like it wasn’t. 

“Well, my little brother’s graduation is in two weeks,” Jo told him, choosing her words carefully. “Then we’re all going to Hawaii to celebrate that. Surprisingly, I do have other friends, a couple bachelorette parties. And you’ve got that trip with your friends mid-June, right?” 

Mikko nodded softly, blue eyes fixed on the road ahead as Jo drove. 

“How about I come for Midsummer?” Jo asked him. “You’ve talked about how great it is. That’s the end of June, yeah? Seems like the perfect time. I don’t really have any firm plans after that honestly, so maybe I’ll just come and we can figure out when I’ll leave later? Leave it open ended?” 

“I’d really like that,” Mikko breathed out. 

It would be seven weeks before he got to see her again after he left. He’d seen her for the next few days as he packed up his life, cleaned out his apartment here, but after that, he wouldn’t see her for seven more weeks. But the thought of having her in Finland, of getting to show her his home like she had shown him hers on Valentine’s Day, of getting to show her off to people Mikko knew wouldn’t give a shit that she was Josephine Evans, and to do it all without an expiration date. Just him and her, for months if he wanted and god, did Mikko want that. But first, he would get to hold her as he fell asleep tonight. 

Jo didn’t even say anything that night when he cried a little into her hair. She just pressed a kiss to his shoulder and snuggled in tighter, which was exactly what Mikko needed. He talked a lot sometimes, arguably too much when he was excited, but when he was hurting, he just wanted silence and assurance that everything would be okay. Nothing assured him more that everything would eventually work out than Jo because he knew things with her would eventually work out like they were supposed to. The chips would fall, a picture would form, the world would keep spinning, and Mikko would keep on loving Jo as best as he could, waiting for her to realize there wasn’t anything that would make him stop. 

------

Jo looked around her physically unchanged apartment, but it still felt different. Mikko hadn’t even been gone twenty-four hours yet and her apartment already felt different. He had been absent from it for longer than that since she had known him, several times over on road trips, but it was different knowing he wouldn’t be back in it until September, if Jo even decided to keep this place. Jo was kidding herself if she thought she would get rid of it though and didn’t even pretend she would for a second. Even when Jo would have to go back to Los Angeles, go back to a version of her life she didn’t like herself in as much, she still wanted to have Denver be an option for her whenever she wanted. When she wanted might happen to frequently line up with home games played by a certain blond Finnish boy, and he would be grateful if that was the choice she made, which meant she was going to make it as often as possible. 

Krista, who had stayed almost completely silent since Jo arrived in Denver in September, reached out under the guise of just checking in on Jo, but really making sure that she was still planning on coming back and getting started on her next album by the end of the summer. If she was, they would need to start looking at possible arena dates for two summers from now because that’s how far that sort of thing gets booked. Jo just answered curtly, saying that was still her plan, and tossing her phone aside. The thought of going back to it all was overwhelming and the one person who made it all go away with a smile and a laugh was nine hours ahead of her where it was three in the morning and she wasn’t going to wake him up for this. 

Jo opened the top drawer of her nightstand all the way, finding the plastic bag tucked safely in the back. She had to put them in plastic because the Valentine’s Day card kept getting glitter in everything else in the drawer. Jo had saved the cards Mikko had gotten her and every Post-It note he left. There was the Post-It note that had been on the now well worn jersey hung up in her closest. There was simple, yet confusing at the time but incredibly unconfusing now, one identifying a purple toothbrush that lived next to his green one as hers. There was the glitter bomb of a Valentine’s Day card where he asked her to be his valentine in the most sickeningly sweet way possible. If Jo ever doubted if she had Mikko Rantanen’s heart, one look at the collection of items covered in his terrible handwriting in front of her would confirm she’d had it for longer than she realized. 

There was a card from when he bought her flowers for his birthday to say thank you for baking him a cake. Of course Mikko would buy her flowers on his birthday. Of course he would. 

Just wanted to say thanks for the cake. Might have been the best birthday cake I’ve ever had, but don’t tell my mom yours is better :) - Mikko

Jo smiled at the memory of the beautiful flowers that Mel had definitely picked out because there was now way Mikko knew any flowers other than roses and the bouquet hadn’t been roses. She found what she was looking for, the card from Christmas. The card itself was simple, very few words or images printed on it by the company who made it, mostly just a little snowman on the front corner and Merry Christmas inside. It was Mikko’s writing on the card that Jo was looking for. 

Hi Jojo, 

Merry Christmas! I hope you like the candle and that you don’t think it’s a silly gift or something. I don’t think you will, but if you do, don’t tell me, okay? I spent way too much time on it :) 

I hope your Christmas is good and that you have a really good New Year’s too. If I can make a suggestion, I think I know what your New Year’s resolution should be this year. (I googled that word to spell it right for you, hope you’re proud.) Anyway, I think your resolution should be to try and realize how amazing you are. I know I haven’t known you that long, but you’re kind of the best Jo, not even kind of. You are the best, Jo. I know that’s a hard resolution probably, but lucky for you, my New Year’s resolution is to help you see it too. :) Because you’re one of my favorite people and I really hope one day, this upcoming year, you can understand why.

Merry Christmas, Jojo-bean. Happy to be your friend always. - Mikko

The words on the card were a little blurred because Jo was crying now. She had waited her entire life, dreamed internally in her mind and openly in the songs she put out, to find someone like him, someone who loved her without any reservations. Mikko Rantanen loved her selflessly, not looking for anything for himself in his love for her. His love was pure and real. Jo could feel it when he was around, in the way he hugged her, in the way he spoke to her, in the constant effort he put in to spend as much time with her as he could, in the message on the card in her hands. His love was focused on her.

Jo took a deep breath and slid the cards and notes back into the bag, a calm coming over her that only came from Mikko. Jo wanted to accept every ounce of love he offered her, let it fill her forever, but in opening herself up to allow that, her toxicity would flow into him. The toxicity Jo picked up from her life would flow back into him and ruin him and Jo didn’t want that to happen, but Jo was starting to wonder how long she could really keep him at bay. How long could she really keep him out? In trying to help her, he was breaking down walls she’d build to protect herself, but also protect people like him from her. She would keep trying to make sure he stayed at arm’s length, make sure he stayed separate from her, because that was the best way she could love him, by preventing him opening himself up to a world of negative feelings and experience he didn’t fully understand. Jo had seven weeks to try and figure out how to keep him at a distance when he was next to her without any other commitments or distractions, when she was so far from her life that she could barely feel it anymore, when it would feel like none of the reasons she kept him out were real. 

Seven weeks did nothing for Jo. Not a damn thing. She got on a plane, knowing she was torturing herself by doing it, giving herself a taste of what she could never have, but she got on the damn plane anyway. She got on the plane anyway because she loved Mikko Rantanen anyway, even though she shouldn’t. She got on the plane anyway because she didn’t know how to do anything else. 

------

“Did you sleep on the plane?” was the first thing out of Mikko’s mouth, spoken too loudly in Jo’s ear as his arms were already around her at the airport. 

Mikko had picked Jo up, her legs wrapping around his muscular waist, before the two had even spoken. His arms were around her, face tucking in her neck. She smelled like the fancy conditioner she used, lavender, honey, and something Mikko couldn’t figure out, and like Jo. He never wanted to kiss her more than he did when her face appeared from the airport tunnel. Seven and a half weeks without her was longer than Mikko ever wanted to go. She wasn’t his, but with her arms about his neck, legs around his waist, the smell of her overwhelming him, in one of his Avalanche sweatshirts with his name on the back, she felt like his to him. Jo felt like she was his too, so much like it was all real for a moment, like with her arms around him like this, he was hers. But he wasn’t hers. The closest Jo could get was a quick kiss to his cheek that travelled a little too far down, hitting more at the corner of his mouth than his cheek. Mikko sucked in a hard breath when she did, wishing more than anything he could tell her she missed and kiss her until she couldn’t breathe. Instead, he smiled and helped set her back down on the ground with steady hands like his heart wasn’t screaming in his chest, like he wasn’t undeniably in love with her. 

“Uh, yeah, I slept pretty good actually,” Jo told him after clearing her throat, both of them trying to ignore their flushed cheeks, their own and the other person’s.

“Want to drop off your stuff then get brunch?” he asked her. “There’s a place with good mimosas near where I live.” 

“Now you’re speaking my language, Rantanen,” Jo laughed, putting one of her bags in his outstretched hand, knowing better than trying to take care of everything herself. 

“Actually, I think you’re going to have to learn a little of my language, Evans,” he chirped back, a smirk crossing his face. “Come on, car’s this way.” 

They talked on the drive to Mikko’s apartment, Jo handling the background music as always. In six, verging on seven weeks apart, Jo had filled some of her spare time not spent with Mikko listening to even more music than she normally did, an arguably absurd amount. Jo had also started writing music again, for the first time since her move to Denver, something she hadn’t admitted to anyone yet. Anyone included the tall, tanned, Finnish boy in the driver’s seat who knew enough about her to fill a series of novels. She couldn’t tell him because everything was about him. All the songs were about him now and Jo still didn’t know what shade of blue his eyes were. 

They dropped Jo’s stuff off, her bags going in his spare room when Mikko really wanted them in his even though he knew that thought shouldn’t cross his mind. He fussed with his phone while Jo got changed from the plane, a message from Burky in the team group chat catching his eye. 

Mik, is your not girlfriend here yet? Bring her to Sweden. It’s nicer here. 

Mikko barely stifled an audible groan at Andre’s text. His teammates knew. Really, everyone knew he was absolutely head over heels, write home to your mom, risk it all, in love with Jo. He couldn’t hide it if he tried. He wasn’t even hiding it from Jo anymore. He was actively acting upon his love for her, asking her to come home to meet his family, see where he grew up, meet his home friends. There was a cabin booked for Midsummer in a few days with friends, a room planned for him and Jo to share, which she said she didn’t mind and Mikko was hoping to whatever higher power that existed she’d fall asleep in his arms one night they were there. That was his favorite thing in the world, the few times Jo had fallen asleep against his chest on his couch. She was right there, safe in his arms. No one could touch her. No one could hurt her. He could just love her as hard as he wanted when she was right next to him, with no one around to say a damn thing about it. Still, Mikko took a deep breath and pulled himself back to center. 

Jo was closer now, closer than she’d ever been before. She felt like she was right there and all Mikko would have to do is reach out and take her hand to pull her in. But Mikko knew better. He knew if he let himself want everything that had just come through his mind, if he openly wanted that, he’d pull her in and if he pulled her, he’d lose her. There was no world in which Mikko Rantanen could do a damn thing other than wait about loving Josephine Evans. If he did anything at this point, with her so close he could practically feel the warmth of her hand near his, he would lose her. He could wait. If she was this close for years, he would wait. He would rather bunch his hands into fist so hard his nails drew blood holding himself back and then lose her.

Still, Mikko let himself act on his love, showing it to her as plainly as he could, showing her he was right here, his love was right here, ready for her whenever she decided to take it.

“Ready to go?” 

Shorts, a t-shirt, a baseball cap, and sandals after an over ten hour flight and she was the prettiest girl he’d ever seen. Mikko led her out of his apartment, opening every door on the way, and pointed across the street when they got onto the sidewalk. Jo looked both ways and went to step into the street, but Mikko caught her hand with his. 

“You’re in a foreign country. You shouldn’t cross the street without holding someone’s hand. Something bad could happen,” Mikko told her, his sweetest, most innocent smile on his face.

“By that logic, I should be holding your hand whenever you cross the street in Denver,” Jo retorted, making Mikko smile even bigger. 

“Sounds good to me.” 

Jo rolled her eyes, but a smile pulled across her face anyway and she laced her fingers through his. His hand dwarfs hers, warm and strong, practically pulling her across the street to keep up with his long strides. They talked like nothing had changed, like this was something they had done a thousand times already. Jo wasn’t worried about who saw. There were no cameras, no people with cell phones waiting to see. She could just hold the hand of the boy she was in love with and walk to a restaurant for brunch. That’s when Jo realized Finland was her favorite and least favorite place she had ever been. It was her favorite because she could love Mikko here, openly. There was no one to hurt him here, no one to hurt him through her. She could just love him as loudly as she wanted. They could be together here, love each other until they were old and gray and they didn’t understand how technology worked anymore and could barely hear anything, loving each other the entire time. It was her least favorite place because Jo couldn’t stay, but the thought of that, of a life with him, was the most heartbreaking thought she had ever had, because it was nothing more than a dream that couldn’t become reality, a thought that could never manifest into an action. It would move from her head, to chest, and fester there, rotting her from the inside out, eating her alive. 

Mikko slid down into the seat opposite Jo when they reached the restaurant, the drink menu already confiscated by Jo before he could even get settled in his seat. Mikko crossed his arms over his chest, a smirk rising on his face as he watched Jo realize she had made a critical mistake. The menu wasn’t in English and she couldn’t read a word of Finnish. 

“Got a problem there, Jo?” Mikko laughed as he asked her, making her blush. “If you ask nicely, I might be able to help you out.” 

“Mikko,” Jo said through gritted teeth, “can you please translate the menu for me?”

“Sure,” Mikko laughed louder, sporting his best shit-eating grin. “Come on over.” 

Jo groaned before tossing the menu carelessly over to him, making him laugh harder. She grabbed the seat of her chair and shuffled herself a quarter of the way around the table, sitting near enough to read the menu together now. Mikko had other plans. He reached one hand out and gripped the seat of her chair and tugged, hard, until the seat of her chair bumped against his. His arm shifted to rest across the back of her chair, like he hadn’t just pulled her closer to him shamelessly, and he propped the menu up between them against his water glass.

“Well then,” Jo mumbled. 

Mikko couldn’t help himself. A grumpy Jo was one of the cutest versions of Jo for him because she was the least threatening person he had ever met. She called Mikko once thirty minutes before midnight because there was a big spider in the corner of her room and she couldn’t sleep if it was still there, but she couldn’t go anywhere near it. Mikko drove twenty minutes across town at midnight to kill a spider for her. He would’ve driven an hour, probably more than that if he was really being honest with himself. Mikko dropped a kiss to Jo’s temple, the fondness of that memory and the cuteness of her grumpiness overtaking his better judgment for a moment. Jo didn’t freeze like he thought she would. Jo just leaned closer into him, accepting the contact, and Mikko swore his heart was about to beat out of his chest when she put a hand on his thigh to lean closer toward the menu. 

“Um, okay,” Mikko stuttered, trying to center himself. “The top one is just a regular mimosa.” 

“Thank you, oh great Finnish speaker,” Jo teased him, giving his leg a squeeze that had Mikko’s mind spinning hard enough he was pretty sure he couldn’t speak Finnish or English anymore. “I got that from the picture next to it. Got any other helpful insights?”

Mikko let a laugh calm himself before walking Jo through the different flavors of mimosas she could try. She settled on the pineapple one before exchanging the drink menu for the food menu so he could walk her through that. It was the littlest thing, but for just one moment, Jo actually needed Mikko in a way she could admit. If something as small as translating a menu could make Mikko feel so warm inside, then what would her being in love with him make him feel like? Mikko didn’t have any way to wrap his mind around how that would make him feel. All he knew was when Jo slid back to the other side of the table, he missed her, even though there was only four feet of distance between them and she hadn’t actually left.

Mikko’s eyes shifted when he heard laughter down the street. Jo’s eyes followed his. It was a little girl, already wearing a flower crown definitely meant for Midsummer at the end of the week. 

“Midsummer thing?” Jo asked him. “Sorry, I’m a novice.” 

“Well, I’ll make you an expert by the end of the week,” Mikko promised. “Maybe, it’ll even be your favorite holiday, if you can let yourself be open to thinking there are holidays better than Christmas out there.” 

“That’s a tall order there, Mik,” Jo laughed before taking a sip of her water. “Maybe aim a little lower?” 

“Don’t tell me to dream smaller,” Mikko countered, a lazy but sure smile on his face. “I’m dreaming big while you’re here. I dream big when you’re involved.” 

------

Mikko had told Jo that Midsummer would become her favorite holiday if she let it be. Less than an hour into the sunny night, something Jo definitely wasn’t used to, she was pretty sure Mikko was right. It seemed like everyone in Nousiainen was here. Guaranteed, it wasn’t exactly a large place, nothing in Finland was, but Jo hadn’t ever been to anything like this before. In her lacy, loose white dress, a cup of white wine in her hand because drinking red while wearing white was just asked for trouble, with Mikko’s arm around her waist, she had never felt more content before. Jo watched the youngest kids from the village run around, carefree and happy. She watched as Mikko’s parents interacted with everyone else from the village, beaming as they constantly gestured to where Mikko and Jo were standing among his friends. Like everyone else, they thought the two were just private. The lines of friendship and romance had blurred on this trip under supportive gazes from Mikko’s family and friends and under stolen touches Mikko would’ve normally kept to himself. But he was home. He was in the place where all his purest memories rested, during a holiday his favorite memories from his childhood came from, with the girl he was in so incredibly in love with. He couldn’t help but secure an arm around her waist and pull her into him. Even if it would hurt when he couldn’t do it back in Denver later. She was comfortable and Mikko would always take up whatever space Jo allowed him to in her happy moments, trying to show her in them what it could be like if this could happen all the time. 

“Are you having a good time?” Mikko whispered softly in her ear, bending down low to do so.

“I’m having the best time, Mik,” she told him, honesty obvious in her voice. “Thank you again for inviting me for this. It makes me feel really special that you wanted me here.” 

Mikko wanted to make Jo feel how special she was to him all of the time, not just here in Finland. He wanted her to feel special all of the time. She deserved everything good the world had to offer. Jo was the purest soul Mikko knew. She had just been handled careless by too many people for so long. They created cracks in her, tried to steal pieces of her goodness for themselves, and covered her in dark stains she tried so hard to get out, but couldn’t, so she just excepted them as who she was now. They weren’t her. They were still stains and Mikko was washing them away day by day, moment by moment, with the crashing waves of his love for her. Jo had built up walls to protect herself, put on thick, clunky armor to try and block the good parts of her that were left. Jo didn’t seem to understand that all of the good parts of her were still left. They just needed to be cleaned and gently put back together so they could shine again and that when they were back together, the world would be a better place if she took down her walls and retired her armor so the world could see her shine. 

Jo was shining right now, in Finland, in the prettiest white dress Mikko had ever seen, during his favorite holiday of the year. There was no pressure here. No one cared who she was beyond that she made Mikko, their local boy, happy. That was the only metric they measured her on and she made him happier than anyone else. Mikko never wanted her to leave if she was going to shine this bright here, if she was going to be this free and happy here. This is how Jo deserved to feel all of that time. 

“Jo!” one of Mikko’s sisters called out from the right of them. 

She walked past without stopping, slowing just long enough to push a flower crown into Jo’s free hand and shout, “Midsummer!” then continue on. 

Mikko laughed as Jo looked softly at the delicately weaved flowers and ribbons in her hands. Mikko sat his drink down on a nearby table so he could take the flower crown from Jo’s small hands. 

“Let me do it,” he told her softly. 

She nodded as Mikko gently smoothed her hair out with one hand first, before gently setting the delicate weaving of flowers and ribbon on the crown on Jo’s head, situating the ribbons to fall with the soft, dark curls of her hair down her back. Jo put a hand on the flower gingerly as she turned to face him. Mikko’s hands fell to her hips naturally as he looked at her, the prettiest girl he’d ever seen in his entire life, the flush in her cheeks from the wine, the flowers in her hair, a real smile on her lips, her eyes bright in the evening sun, and he had never been more in love with her. He didn’t know how to say it. He didn’t know any words in English or in Finnish or in the little bits of Russian he’d picked up from Zadorvo or Swedish he learned from Gabe that could express it. The only thing he knew how to do to make sure she felt his love was kiss her, but he wasn’t doing it for the first time under the eyes of everyone he grew up with. Instead, Mikko let his eyes close slowly as he dropped a lingering kiss on her forehead, just below where the flowers started and wished they weren’t surrounded by everyone he knew, wished it was just her and him somewhere else so he could make sure she knew how much he loved her. 

Jo’s small arms wrapped around his waist after he pulled his lips back from her skin. She pressed her face into his chest and hugged him tight. Mikko’s strong arms wrapped around her back, securing her to him. Mikko couldn’t pour the same amount of love into a hug. Hugs were too casual, but he was trying. He was trying so hard that he was gripping Jo a little too hard, like she would float away if he let go. But this was the first time Mikko was sure she wouldn’t. If he let go right now, he was sure she’d stay. 

The bright evening passed by quickly, filled with laughter and games and food and the bonfire customary to Midsummer’s Eve, Jo’s hand in Mikko, Jo on his lap, his arm around her waist, always touching her, always checking in, always there. Jo wanted him and it was radiating out of her and into Mikko through every touch, every gaze, every moment he spent with her today. It occurred to him at some point during the evening, a terrible thing to think really, that Jo might look something like she did now on her wedding day and Mikko desperately wanted to be the guy at the end of the isle waiting for her. He’d wait for her for his whole life. He’d wait for her even if she never walked down the aisle to him and he would consider it a life well spent because he spent it loving the single most incredible woman he had ever met.

Normally, most other years, Mikko would have rented a cabin with friends for the evening, woken up too early in the morning considering how late he was up celebrating with all of Nousiainen, but he hadn’t done that this year. When Jo said she’d come, Mikko had still gotten a cottage on the lake, but tonight he had wanted it to just be him and Jo. His friends would show up tomorrow late in the day to join them then. He wanted a night just with Jo with no one around to ask questions and he was so grateful for that decision as he pulled up to the cottage. He’d stopped drinking hours ago so he could drive and so Jo could keep drinking if she wanted to do so. 

“It’s so pretty, Mik,” Jo commented as she climbed out of the car, eyes trained on the water that was still lowly lit by the setting sun, something Jo still couldn’t believe with how late it was in the day. 

“I thought you’d like it,” he told her as he grabbed his bag and hers from the backseat. “Want me to throw these inside and I can meet you out on the dock?”

Mikko didn’t have to ask Jo twice. She was already heading out onto the water before he had even finished his question. Her excitement was child-like, pure and good, something Mikko rarely got to see from her. He felt like he was truly seeing Jo, the one he had only gotten glimpses of before now, the girl he loved more than anything. He carelessly tossed the bags down inside the front door and came as close to running to meet Jo on the dock as he could. She was sitting on the edge when he joined her, her shoes left on the grass at the end of the dock, Mikko’s now next to hers, kicked off haplessly on his way to join her. Mikko dropped down on the edge of the dock next to her, feet dangling into the cool evening water unlike Jo’s which couldn’t reach. 

“Thoughts on Midsummer so far?”

Mikko watched Jo carefully, flower crown still on her head, as a warm smile came naturally across her face. She didn’t have to say anything for Mikko to know she loved it. 

“It’s no Christmas,” she joked, making him laugh, “but it’s pretty spectacular. Thanks again for inviting me to do all this with you.” 

“Anything for you, Jo.” 

Mikko meant it and Jo knew he meant it. It wasn’t something he said as a joke. It was real and raw, sincerity infused into the words.

“Hey, Mikko?” 

Jo’s voice was timid, unsure of both of the words even though they were two she said with incredible frequency. It wasn’t those words she was unsure of. It was the ones that would follow that had her voice shaking, a symptom of her heart quaking in her chest.

“Yeah, Jojo?” Mikko replied, keeping his voice quiet as not to overwhelm hers. 

“I’m sorry,” was all she could get out.

“What are you sorry about, Jo?” 

Mikko lifted his feet from the water and spun to face her, folding his legs in so he could slide closer to her. She froze when he reached a hand out and placed it on her forearm. Her eyes were trained on his hand on her skin, warm and steady and strong. Mikko didn’t move it, just pressed her again verbally, gently, afraid she would break under the slightest pressure at this moment.

“What are you sorry about, Jojo?” 

Jo took a deep breath, trying to steady herself, before she tried to explain, “I’m sorry that I can’t love you, Mik. I mean, I do. I really do, but I’m sorry I can’t be in love with you because if I let that happen, it’s going to ruin you, I’m going to ruin you. Everything in my life is going to come into yours and corrupt everything good about you. I can’t let that happen, not to you. You’re too good. You’re the best person I know, Mikko, and I can’t open a gateway the entire world will try to use to rip you apart. I can’t watch it happen and that’s how I know I love you. I never thought about it before. I never thought about what my life would do to someone else. I just jumped in and let the chips fall where they wanted. Really, I let grenades go off in other people’s lives and walked out right before they could hurt me. I’ve hurt everyone I’ve ever loved just by trying to love them, Mikko. I can’t do that to you. Hurting you, knowing I hurt you, would kill me.” 

Mikko really only heard three words out of the entire thing. He heard Josephine Evans, the girl he loved more than anything, say she loved him. Mikko wasn’t staring at walls anymore. The only thing between him and her was Jo herself and if there was anything Mikko had learned in the almost year he’d known Jo, it was how to reach her through the noise in her own head. He could reach out and take her, but he wouldn’t do it. He was just going to stand there with open arms and wait, because if he pulled her in, she'd just pull away later. He was going to sit here on this dock and show her his open arms with as many words as it took for her to see him standing right in front of her, already having braved the hurricane she was scared of to get this close to her. The hurricane wasn’t her life. It was Jo’s fear of what her life would do to the people she loved. Mikko had already decided Jo was worth whatever storm could come and no one could change his mind, not even Jo. 

“Jo, I don’t think I’ve ever met someone so smart who chooses to be so blind to everything before,” Mikko told her, his voice breaking as he let out a tight breath. His hand rubbed her forearm softly, trying to ground himself in the moment and not the one he hoped would follow. “Jo, stop being so scared of what everyone else has been like and look at me. See me, Jo. Stop seeing your exs and shitty people who never really loved you in the first place. I love you, Josephine. I fell in love with you way too fast and it sort of scared the fuck out of me, but I decided to stay anyway, decided to see what loving you could really be like and I have never been happier with a decision I have made in my entire life. I see you, Jo. I’m right here. I’m right in front of you. Just open your eyes and really look at me. You’ll see I’m not going anywhere. I’m exactly where I want to be forever and that’s with you.”

Mikko shifted slowly, letting his hands ease up toward her face to take it gently between them. He applied just enough force to encourage her to turn to face him. Her eyes were still looking down, unable to meet his. Mikko gently ran his thumb over her lower lip softly.

“Josephine, look at me. See how much I love you.” 

Jo closed her eyes and took a shaky breath in and out. She didn’t want to look. She was so scared she would look and see nothing and that everything would fall apart in front of her when she couldn’t see it. But Jo couldn’t close her eyes forever. She had to face this moment before she could move to the next one, before she had to deal with the consequences of this one. Jo took in another shaky breath before opening her eyes softly, greeted by Mikko’s.

She knew what color they were. After almost a year of trying to figure it out, she knew what shade of blue his eyes were. Real love wasn’t loud; it didn’t draw crowds. Real love didn’t need to scream itself from rooftops and in song lyrics and in front of the entire world. Real love was quiet, honest and true. It was peaceful and pure and good. And it was in Mikko’s eyes. It was Mikko’s eyes, at least, to Jo anyway. Someone else might look at them and think they were another color, but color was individual. No one ever experienced it the same as anyone else. Mikko’s eyes showed his love for Jo in the most true way she had never imagined possible, in their very color to her. He loved her deeply, deeper than the oceans, deeper than the darkness of Jo’s saddest moments. He loved her fully and honestly. He loved her not in the way Jo had ever written about because she didn’t know this could exist. He loved her in a way that Jo knew, just by looking at him now, that he always would, that he would weather any storm to continue to do so, as long as she loved him too. 

Mikko saw Jo see him. He watched the moment she truly understood, just for a moment, how much he loved her. All he needed was the one moment. He could show her the rest. He didn’t hesitate this time. He leaned forward, slowly and steadily, and brushed his lips softly over hers. Jo didn’t hesitate either. Her hands reached out and fisted into his t-shirt, pressing her lips against his more firmly this time. One of Mikko’s hands slid down her neck, down her arm, dipping over to her waist so he could pull her into his lap as he kissed her. Mikko wanted to live like this, Jo as close to him as he could get. He never wanted to not be kissing her now that he'd done it. This was easily his favorite thing to do now, have her under his hands and her lips on his. 

“I love you,” Mikko whispered against her mouth when he pulled back before transitioning to kissing down her jaw.

“I love you,” Jo replied easily, the words she had been so scared to admit that now were the easiest words to say in the world. 

Mikko groaned as his hand cupping her face journeyed slowly down her body, fingers tapping slowly down her neck, outlining the neckline of the white dress he was never going to be able to get out of his mind until it was replaced with her in a different white dress with a certain piece of music playing in the background with all of their friends and family watching. His mouth moved back to hers, pressing his lips firmer against hers. His hand trailed down to join his other on her hips, keeping her grounded against him as he poured everything he had into the kiss. His words could only do so much. Mikko was trying to show her how he felt, pour his love for her into her as he kissed her.

“I love you,” Mikko repeated against her lips, not realizing in his haze of unbridled happiness it had slipped out in Finnish.

“I love you too,” Jo replied in English. 

She didn’t speak Finnish in the slightest. She barely knew a couple of swear words, but those words had felt the same as the others. Based on the way the words made her heart pick up faster in her chest, she knew what they meant. 

“You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever met,” Mikko mumbled softly, his lips beginning to work gently up and down her neck.

“Ever met yourself?” Jo joked, making Mikko chuckle against her neck.

“I’ll keep that in mind, rakas,” Mikko hummed softly against her skin before kissing her neck gingerly. 

Mikko pulled back to look at Jo again, flower crown slightly askew on her head, cheeks flushed due to breathlessness rather than wine now, her lips a deeper shade of pink, slightly swollen. Mikko knew his looked the same. The strap of her dress was pushed down her shoulder, something Mikko must have done accidentally when he was enjoying the feeling of her skin under his palms. She was absolutely angelic like this and she was all his to get to love, to get to cherish, to get to make sure she knew how absolutely, earth-shattering, life-altering loving her was, to get to make sure she knew he considered it the greatest privilege of his life so far.

Jo tried to hide it with a hand over her mouth, but she yawned and Mikko laughed at her poor attempt to hide it. She pouted for him, bottom lip sticking out in a way that made Mikko want to take it between his teeth, but that wasn’t what tonight was. Tonight, he was going to get to fall asleep with Jo in his arms, something she was clearly ready for as he watch her eyes droop closed, and never have to leave her on the couch alone, because she wouldn’t be on the couch anymore. She’d be in his bed with him the entire time and Mikko almost cried at the very thought of opening his eyes and seeing Jo as the first thing he saw on a new day every day. He didn’t have to imagine how her hair would look spread out across his pillow when she slept peacefully. The only time he’d seen it before either Jo had been a wreck or he had and that wasn’t the same. He didn’t have to imagine the way their legs would tangle together as they slept next to each other every night. He would see it and he would feel it in a few short hours. Mikko didn’t have to wait for anything anymore, except maybe seeing Jo in an even prettier white dress. 

“I think we need to get you to bed,” Mikko laughed softly when Jo yawned for a second time. His thumb rubbed her cheek softly now, moving in smooth circles, lulling her softly closer to sleep. “Want me to carry you?” 

“I can walk,” Jo smiled softly at him, “but thanks, Mik.” 

“Anything for you.”

He echoed his words from before, but they meant more to Jo this time because she truly understood what was behind them. It wasn’t cliche in the way that people often meant it, too sickeningly sweet, sticking to everything uncomfortably with artificial love like artificial sugar, only to leave a bad taste in your mouth later. Mikko said it and it was real. He meant anything, from dancing with her in her brightest moments, to holding her hand in her darkest hours; from telling her when she needed to pick herself up, dust off her knees, and get herself back in gear, to using all of his strength to get her back up after she was knocked down. Mikko could say he would do anything for Jo because in saying it, he would do whatever needed to be done to ensure Jo was the happiest, truest version of herself, that she was the woman she wanted to be. 

As Mikko pulled Jo into his chest to fall asleep, he didn’t have to be careful. He didn’t need to worry he was holding her too close, if he was crossing a line he wasn’t supposed to even realize existed. He could just hold her now. Jo fell asleep easily, the exhaustion of the day wearing heavier on her, pulling her to sleep moments after they climbed into bed. Mikko looked down at the beautiful girl against his chest and he smiled because she was smiling. She fell asleep like that. Mikko willed himself to sleep with the promise of that smile being the first thing he would get to see tomorrow morning, what he had been dreaming of for almost a year now, what he wanted to see every morning for the rest of his life. 

------

Jo opened her eyes slowly and she immediately knew it was way too early to be awake. Finland getting less than six hours of darkness in the summer would have been fine if there were blackout curtains like at Mikko’s apartment, but here in the cottage, that wasn’t the case. Jo wanted to fall back asleep, but that wasn’t in Jo’s skillset, so she was up now whether she liked it or not, and she most certainly did not. Mikko had Jo locked against his chest, his strong, heavy, still sleeping arms wrapped around her keeping her there. She fished around under her pillow, sighing with relief when her fingers wrapped around her phone. The time was atrocious, not even seven in the morning yet, but Jo was still happier than she had been in a long time as she let herself look at the boy whose arms were keeping her warm. 

Mikko’s hair was sort of all over the place, blond strands going in multiple directions. His face was soft, dimple hidden since this was one of the rare moments Mikko didn’t have his customary wide smile on his face. His lips were slightly parted, practically begging to be kissed, and Jo couldn’t resist. She knew it might wake him up, but she wanted to kiss him. Jo leaned her head up, wiggling in his tight grasp enough so she could press a quick, barely noticeable kiss to his lips. Except Mikko noticed. Mikko had been thinking about how her lips would feel against his since that September night on the rooftop and he was not going to miss an opportunity to actually feel it, sleep be damned. 

He hummed softly as he reached up to cup her face, keeping her in place as he pressed into Jo’s supposedly quick, unnoticeable kiss. The kiss was broken by both of them smiling into it, the best reason to break a kiss. Mikko titled his head up to press a kiss to her forehead as Jo smiled.

“Morning, rakas,” Mikko told her softly. “A little early for you, no?” 

“Morning, Mik,” she sighed contentedly, burrowing her head under his chin, into his neck, and pulling herself flush against him. “Sorry I woke you up.” 

“No worries,” he mumbled, pressing a kiss to her tangled hair now. “We can sleep more whenever.” 

“Aren’t your friends coming up later?” Jo reminded him hesitantly. 

Mikko groaned before Jo could even finish her question and Jo laughed before Mikko had even half finished his groan. He pressed his face into her hair and pulled her tighter into his chest. Jo managed to get her head up a bit to place a kiss on his jaw, drawing a long sigh from him. 

“If I pretend they aren’t coming, will they still come?” Mikko asked the universe more than he asked Jo. “I just want to spend the whole day with my Jojo.” 

“Your Jojo, huh?” Jo teased him, following her teasing with a kiss to his jaw, the only thing she could reach with his tight grasp on her. 

Jojo squeaked when Mikko suddenly shifted, taking her with him. She was on her back now, Mikko’s large hands on the bed beside her head, strong arms holding him firmly above her. Like this, his body blocking out everything except how the sheets felt under her hands, Jo was reminded just how much bigger he was than her. More than anything though, Jo couldn’t take her eyes off him, with the sunlight pouring in from the window, making his eyes seem even brighter and lighter, shining through his golden waves. He was the most beautiful person Jo had ever seen and he was all hers. 

The funny thing about being in love with someone, about being two people who come together to create something that is somehow more than the two of them were separately, is that sometimes they think the same thoughts. As Mikko looked down at Jo, hair fanned out across the pillow, sunlight showing the golden flecks in her eyes, her lips slightly parted, a deep shade of pink leftover from yesterday, Mikko thought Jo was the most beautiful person he had ever seen and she was all his. 

As Mikko dropped down, his elbows coming to rest where his palms had been, so he could press his lips to hers, all he could think about what how much he loved Jo and how good it felt to be loved by her in return. It was all he could think about as one of his hands trailing down her side, feeling the curves of her body under his palm. All Jo could think about was how lucky she felt to being loved by him and get to love him back, even though she had held herself back from him for so long, thinking she was undeserving of this happiness. With his lips on her neck now, a hand under her shirt on her waist, and one of her hands tangled into his hair, he felt so right to Jo. Everything about him was right, the softness of his hair when she ran her fingers through it, the way his hand felt sliding over her skin, the strength she felt in his shoulders under her hand. Everything about Mikko was right. 

“Mikko,” Jo breathed out when he tugged down the neckline of her t-shirt to keep kissing more of her, “you can just take it off.” 

Mikko held back a sound deep in his throat at her words. This was what he never let himself think about. If he thought about this, he couldn’t have been her friend over the past year. The thought of this would have corrupted that, weaving its way into how he treated her. He never let his mind go here, imagining what it would be like to have her in his bed like this. She needed him to be her friend, so he forced the thoughts from his mind, knowing they would poison everything he was trying to be for her. But now, now this is what she needed. This was what she wanted. He didn’t have to dream about it. He could just live it, right now. 

Mikko took his time. He was pretty sure he would get to do this countless times over the course of the rest of his life, but this would always be the first time he got to make her absolutely breathless, speechless, and he wanted to take his sweet, sweet time. Jo, who normally wanted her life to run at the pace her mind usually did, wanted Mikko to take his time as he pushed her shirt up and off her body, as he kissed every inch of skin as he revealed it.

He took his time learning every curve, every spot that made her gasp, every one that made her giggle. He took his time exposing her in front of him, except Jo didn’t feel exposed. She felt damn near worshiped when Mikko settled between her thighs, kissing her, tasting her, making her fist her hands into his hair desperately. Slow and steady, like the calming waves of the ocean, Mikko pulled Jo over the edge again and again until she couldn’t be patient anymore, until she needed him more than anything else. 

He kissed her as he slid inside of her for the first time, a sensation that made Jo cry out and Mikko almost lose it with how good this moment was, the softness breaking a little as he cursed into her neck, desperately grabbing for anything inside to anchor him before this moment broke way sooner than he would’ve liked. He anchored in the most stable thing he’d ever felt. 

“I love you, Jo.”

“I love you too, Mikko.” 

The entire world seemed to slow down, letting them live in this moment for longer than they thought possible. As long as the world was going to spin a little slower, Mikko was going to spend his extra time like this, with soft moans falling from Jo’s mouth, whispers of his name between them, as he slowly rolled his hips into hers and slowly lost his mind a little at the feeling of her, at the sight of her. Mikko collapsed down onto her when he finally finished, head collapsing into the crook of her neck as her hand ran through his hair gently.

“I love you,” Mikko repeated again. “I’m never going to get tired of saying it, so I hope you never get tired of hearing it.” 

“It’s my favorite sound in the entire world, Mik,” Jo said breathlessly. “I’m never going to get tired of it.” 

Mikko kissed her neck again before he slowly rolled over onto the bed next to her, pulling her partially on top of his chest in one smooth motion. He ran his fingers through the ends of her hair, working out the tangles gingerly as his breathing slowed to normal, as the world starting to spin at the right speed again. 

“Hate to ask and ruin the moment,” Jo spoke as she idly traced circles and swirls onto Mikko’s bare chest, “but what time are your friends coming?” 

“Oh, that’s not happening anymore,” he groaned, reaching for his phone to cancel the festivities that were supposed to be coming their way. 

“As much as I want to spend the day with you, here, you can’t cancel day of,” Jo pressed softly. 

“Watch me,” Mikko laughed, kissing her forehead. “Sanna’s dad has a cottage we were originally going to go to before I found this place. They can figure it out. I’ve got something way better to do right here already.” 

“Mikko!” 

He laughed as Jo smacked his chest, her cheeks turning pink at the literal and intended meaning of his words. He kissed her temple, eyes fixed on his phone screen as he typed out a terrible excuse to his friend group. It was a boldfaced lie. Mikko said that he and Jo both had gotten sick after last night and that it wasn’t a pretty sight and he didn’t want any of them to catch what they had, so they should just go to Sanna’s instead. The lie worked for the length of time it took someone to respond in the group chat, which was about twenty seconds, telling Mikko that if he wanted a private sex trip with his girlfriend, he should’ve just told them that from the beginning. They were teasing, all in good jest, and Mikko knew it, but they also weren’t far from the truth as to why he was telling them they needed to change their plans. 

“They’re good with it,” Mikko told Jo after tossing his phone back onto the nightstand, gratefully she couldn’t speak Finnish so she couldn’t read what specifically had been said. 

“I find that hard to believe that’s how they said it, seeing as you laughed,” Jo called him out easily, “but I’ll let it slide because this is what I want too.” 

“Mmm,” Mikko hummed softly, hand rubbing Jo’s arm softly. “Want to celebrate getting this place all to ourselves today in the shower?” 

“I could be convinced.”

------

Jo ran a towel through her hair again, trying to get a little more of the water out so she didn’t trail it around the cottage. She decided how it was now was as good as it was going to get, slid on one of Mikko’s large t-shirts he left for her and some comfy shorts, then headed into the kitchen where he was. He was shirtless, hair wet from the shower they shared, his hands busy pouring two cups of tea. Jo sighed as she reached him, letting her arms wrap around his waist from behind. Mikko put the kettle down in order to give one of her arms a quick squeeze. 

“Hi there,” Mikko said softly. “Tea’s good right?” 

“Tea’s perfect, baby,” Jo replied before kissing his shoulder softly.

Mikko hummed softly at the feeling of her pressed up against him, her lips on his skin. Mornings with her like this had been the thing Mikko craved most because what they had before had been so close to this, having breakfast together, spending the quiet moments of the morning together. But it was so much sweeter now, now that they were damp from the same shower, now that Jo was pressed up against him, now that she was truly his to love. 

“Want to drink these outside? There’s this big couch,” was all Mikko had to say to get a happy noise from Jo and get her turning for the back door. 

Mikko carried the tea, just enough steps behind Jo to be lucky enough to see her launch herself into the large round couch. She tunneled herself into the pillows as Mikko laughed. He didn’t really understand his girlfriend’s love affair with comfortable couches, but he could get behind it and make sure she had as many as she wanted. Mikko sat the cups on the side table and climbed onto the couch with her. He settled himself among the pillows before he patted his thighs, stretching out his legs for Jo to come sit between them. She slid in between his legs happily, her back pressing against his chest. Mikko wrapped an arm around her waist, large hand spread out across her stomach. He grabbed Jo’s mug and handed it off to her with his free hand before grabbing his own.

Jo was fiddling with the tag on her tea bag and Mikko knew something was on her mind. He didn’t have to push this time. He just gave her a small, supportive squeeze with his arm around her and she let him know what was going on inside her head.

“Do you want to like, tell people? By people I mean like, everyone,” Jo asked him softly. 

“Jo, I want you and have you,” Mikko replied, like what he was saying was the most natural and obvious thing in the world. “The rest of it doesn’t concern me. I don’t care what people say. I care what you have to say. You’re my only stake in all of this, the only part I care about. Whatever you want is good with me. You want to put it on Instagram? Go for it. You want to write songs about me? I’d be honored. You want this to just be us and never talk about me in public? I’ll be just as happy as long as we have our friends and family and I have you. I don’t care about the details, Jo. Whatever you want is good with me. But don’t think you need to protect me, okay? I’m a big boy and I love you more than enough to handle anything to keep loving you, okay? I’m not changing my mind. I’m not going to get overwhelmed. I have you and the rest of it doesn’t matter to me.”

Jo almost cried at his words. She didn’t have a way to express the way her heart rose in her chest and then settled back down, cushioned by just how deeply she loved him, at his words. She didn’t have words for that feeling, so she had to settle for a sort of joke. 

“Sort of already started on the song thing, so good to know that’s okay,” Jo laughed a little as she talked, hands fidgeting with her mug. 

“I can’t wait to hear them, Jojo,” he replied, kissing her temple with a smile on his face. “You don’t have to play them for me, obviously. But if you want to, I want to hear.”

“Of course I’ll play them for you, Mikko,” Jo said as Mikko took a few long sips of his tea. “They’re for you. The rest of the world will just get to hear them at some point.” 

Mikko smiled against the edge of his mug and pressed his nose softly into her hair, letting his eyes close, just breathing in the moment as best as he could. He settled back into the couch, bringing his tea and Jo with him, tea secure in his hand and Jo secure against his chest and Mikko realized there was no place he would rather be. A comfortable silence fell over them as they drank their tea and Mikko’s hand rubbed in smooth circles over her stomach. Jo’s free hand rubbed up and down his forearm as she looked out at the water, thinking there was no place she would rather be either. 

“Thank you,” Jo said softly, breaking the silence after a few minutes. 

Mikko just kissed the side of her head and took a sip of his tea in reply.

“Thank you for being patient with me,” Jo spoke softly this time, voice hesitant, “for waiting.”

“Josephine Evans,” Mikko smiled as he spoke, “I’d wait for you my whole life if that’s what it took.”

Jo sighed, letting herself put all her weight against his chest, and let her love for him settle throughout her, through every inch of her, where it had always belonged. Mikko kissed her head again, face pressing softly into her hair. Mikko would have waited for her his entire life, but he was so happy he didn’t have to.

“Hey, Mikko?” 

Jo’s tone was lighter than when she had spoken the same words yesterday. The question was hesitant, but there was unbridled joy behind it.

“Yeah, Jo?” he replied, just so she knew without a doubt he was listening. 

“I think we should get married here someday.” 

Mikko sat his now almost empty mug down to wrap both arms around her tightly, dropping his face into her neck. He kissed her neck softly and sweetly as his heart swelled on his chest. He had her now, the person he wanted more than anything else in his life, but hearing her say that, those eight words, Mikko knew there was something he wanted more for certain. He wanted her in a pretty white dress, by the water, promising in front of the people who mattered most to them that what they felt was forever. Mikko could see it now, the flowers down the dock, the chairs by the water, he could see it all. He could see Jo barefoot in the kitchen ten years from now, a ring on her finger and a child on her hip. He could see her when she was eighty-five, hair long since gone gray, still making him smile. He could see her in every part of his future, loving her all the same in each thought that felt like memories that had yet to actually happen. 

Mikko had spent almost a year trying to get across the hurricane in her mind to find the girl he loved behind it all. It has been the hardest thing he’d ever done, but holding her now, staring out at the water, with the world quiet except for the small waves crashing on the shore and the feeling of how much they loved each other, thinking about marrying her someday sooner rather than later, Mikko didn’t have a single regret. 

“Whenever you're ready, Jo, I’m ready.”

[mattzerella-sticks]

metamorphosis

Chapter 3 (ao3)

Prologue (ao3) (tumblr)

What if, when Jack was born, he stayed a baby?

A retelling of season 13, with a few key differences.

No planned schedule, will update when I finish chapters lol

               Chapter 3 - the Sacrament of Confession

“Forgive me Father, for I have sinned…”

           Mia sat at her kitchen island, rivulets of wine drip and form legs like tiny, burgundy tear tracks each time she swirled her drink. Hours passed since Buddy died, since the hunters and their magical baby left with the shadow that hung over her life for the past few years, rolled up in her antique rug, and she didn’t feel like doing anything else but this. It was funny, though. With Buddy gone, Mia was free to do anything, go anywhere, and all she did with her newfound freedom was climb the few feet from her lobby to her private floor. She camped in her kitchen for hours, drinking; the empty, nearby bottle of wine was full when Mia first retrieved it, an older vintage the cashier advised her to pop open during celebrations.

           She guessed this counted.

           Finishing her drink, Mia pushed both empty glass and bottle to the side. She laid her hands flat against the dark, marble counter and pushed, steadying herself as she stood. The room hardly spun. It wasn’t that strong a wine, especially given her inherited tolerance. Mia chose not to waste another.

           Rather, she felt like taking a lengthy soak in her bathtub. With fancy bubbles and salts mixed in the water, and scented candles perched upon pure porcelain and wooden shelves and whatever space she could find.

           She needed a relaxing bath. She needed to relax. Buddy dying meant she finally could relax.

           Why is it so difficult for Mia, then?

           On her way towards her bathroom, the intercom buzz annoyingly sprang to life.

           Mia jumped, hitting the wall at her back and rocking the few picture frames hanging there. Her chest expanded with frantic breath, mind immediately conjuring an image of Buddy, angry, leaning his whole weight on the buzzer. Soon, she calmed, reminded how that was impossible, now and forever.

           She approached the intercom with more confidence, slapping the receiver in response, cutting off another round of buzzing. “Yes?”

           “Hey, Doc,” a familiar voice drawled, low and raspy, “can I come in?”

           Dean Winchester lapsed into a weighty silence after. He said nothing else that might clue Mia in on why he stood on her porch for the second time this evening. And as Mia learned early on, there’s a lot that can hide beneath such silence.

           A troublesome thought surfaced from the depths of fear simmering in the back of her mind, cloaked in the voice of her mother, sounding like advice she passed onto Mia from her mother who learned from her mother’s mother and so on in a long line of ancestors. “Hunters only come by for one thing,” they warned, “the best thing you can do is run.”

           What if Dean, despite killing Buddy, wasn’t satisfied? What if he returned for her, to make good on his earlier threats? If she let him inside, will he prove her mother and mother’s mother and so on true? Fire a bullet between her eyes in the half a second it took to open the door? Or, if she refused, would he barrel inside regardless and steal this newly returned peace from her?

           Would he stand outside all night, if Mia stayed quiet like she was, and think she abandoned her practice and skipped town halfway through his question?

           Already she drew out her answer too long, and either she spoke in the next few seconds or fled to her bedroom where she’d stay awake until morning, hoping he left. The latter didn’t appeal to Mia. She promised herself that she finished running. That it wasn’t what Mia wanted to do, not anymore. Mia cleared her throat and pressed her finger on the button again. “Sure. I’ll be down in a moment.”

           Mia detoured, grabbing a steak knife from a drawer and hiding it within the folds of her skirt. The knife wouldn’t overpower a gun, if it came to that, but Mia might take him with her.

           Hopefully Mia’s fears stayed exactly that.

           Mia opened the front door slightly, peeking onto the porch through a sliver. Dean stood, his shoulders stooped from exhaustion and a haggard expression across his face that exaggerated every wrinkle on his pretty face. Quickly scanning him, she saw no sign of a weapon. She couldn’t decide if it were better or worse. Mia unfastened the final lock, fully welcoming Dean back into her home. “Dean,” she started, “what can I help you with?” Her grip tightened on the knife, sharp line of its blade shifting against her skirt’s fabric.

           He shuffled towards her, Mia flinching as he did. The knife perked at her side. “Sorry,” he said, both hands rising to greet her. His open, empty palms soothed her somewhat, and weakened her hold on the knife, it wilting into her skirt. “I didn’t come here for a fight.”

           “Then why are you here?”

           “I…” A shudder ran through him like a summer storm, righting his posture instantly. He glanced behind him, into the waiting shadows, as if a ghost might step out of that inky blackness. “Can we talk inside?”

           She owed him nothing. Still, Mia swore an oath when she accepted her diploma. As she noted during his first visit, this was a man who needed help.

           Who would she be if she turned him away, hunter or not?

           “Follow me,” she instructed, turning on her heel without waiting for his answer. His clacking heels let Mia know he trailed after her, from the entryway and up the stairs until she was in her kitchen again. Mia set her knife down on the island, facing Dean as she did. He snorted, raising a brow at the weapon. “What?” she huffed, “a girl can be cautious, can’t she?”

           “You’d be stupid not to be.”

           She rolled her eyes, “Yet here we are.”

           Mia waited for Dean to respond. Instead of snagging the obvious bait, he hunkered down on one of her brass stools, shoulders hunched and fists mangling each other in a facsimile of prayer. She busied herself, setting the empty bottle nearer the sink while she washed clean her glass. Then, Mia asked Dean if he wanted anything. His non-answer meant she needlessly flipped cabinets open and shut, trying to fill a void with something other than words. Mia hadn’t much she wanted to say to Dean.

           But about when Mia checked her refrigerator a third time, her mouth spat loose a question that dripped like drool past her lips and splattered everywhere by the time she realized she asked. “What you do with Buddy?”

           Dean awoke, his eyes darting away from the swirling, enchanting pattern of her countertop. “Do you really care?”

           A deflated no sat on her tongue, unwilling to rise from a lack of something Mia cared too little to analyze at the moment. It wouldn’t do Mia any good doing so, either. She sensed an answer that, in her current state, she might not like. Mia also recognized what Dean tried doing. Therapists smelled avoidance like vamps did blood. She glossed over his question with attempted ease, shrugging, breaking their locked gaze. “Call it being sentimental,” she said, “or curious. Whatever you feel like.”

           Dean kept his judgment close to his chest but offered up what she asked for. “I dropped Sam off at the motel with… with the kid, then I took your ex past city limits. Dug a shallow grave, struck a match – that paint enough of a picture?” She nodded. “Thought so. Sorry ‘bout your rug, by the way. It was nice.”

           “It was Home Goods. I’ll find another just like it.”

           “Of course…”

           Mia stood across from him, separated by the island. Her fingers lightly brushed the knife’s handle. “And you decided the next best place to come was back to the scene of the crime?”

           “I stopped for gas in between,” he told her, “Bummed around at the Gas’n’Sip, bought some gum… not like I was dying to bother you again, or whatever.”

           “But you’re here,” she pestered him, a sly smile crawling across her face as she noticed him squirming, like a worm wriggling for traction in mud. “Why?” Dean remained tight lipped. Mia pushed further. “Therapy didn’t seem like your thing earlier.”

           “Therapy’s for people who have time to whine about their problems.”

           “I think you’re afforded a little time,” Mia said, “especially after losing your mother.”

           Dean grinned, his features stretching like saran wrap to barely conceal his frustration. “Can’t believe you bought all that crap, doc,” he laughed, “Sam and I were stringing you along. None of what he said was true.”

           “So then she didn’t die a few days ago?” she asked, “And this little diversion, this hunt, wasn’t some sort of distraction from that big blowout?” Mia slid the knife towards her, studying her reflection in the blade. “It’s late, Dean. I’m tired. I’m betting you are, too. Sam sure was, only reason I could think of for why he’d spill all that to me while we were alone.”

           She angled the knife Dean’s way, staring at it still. He looked furious in the silver mirror. “Did he mention anything else?”

           Mia returned her gaze, arching her brow. “Was there anything else to mention?”

           This contest ended with Mia the victor, Dean bowing his head in surrender. “…No. I guess there isn’t.”

           A little, natty voice at her ear warned what he said was a lie. She didn’t call him on it, showing some mercy. Mia returned the knife to its drawer, her back facing Dean. “Is there anything you feel like mentioning?” Mia asked him, “About your mom… about what happened… about, hell, why you’re here?”

           Her hand stayed on the knife’s handle as she kept turned away from Dean, her spine rigid and ready to snap at the first scrape of the stool. All she heard was a low exhale of a man with a lax grip on his sanity and some rustling.

           “I was thinking about what you said during our… session,” he mumbled, “about how you practice. How you shift…”

           Mia smiled, closing the drawer with a soft tap. She rounded the island, laying a soothing hand on Dean’s shoulder. “Is there something you want to say, that you didn’t get to?”

           Dean nodded. He pulled his hand out his pocket – she hadn’t noticed it disappeared – and revealed a photograph. It was old. It was bent every which way. It was given to her with trembling hands. “If you don’t mind?”

           She studied the profile, committing details to memory as the beginning pinpricks of the shift startled like morning waves lapping at her feet.

           “Give me a few,” she told Dean, “I won’t be long.”

           Mia retreated for her downstairs bathroom. That room was more accustomed to handling the ooze produced from her shedding. Plus, a bubble bath wasn’t out of tonight’s equation entirely. If she used the one upstairs, that wouldn’t be the case.

           She slipped the photograph between the cabinet mirror and its frame, thumb tracing the profile captured there. Her body roiled with change. Her cracking bones echoed within this small space, bouncing off tiles as she changed to better fit what she saw. In the process, Mia stripped free of her clothes. Then, she peeled away her dark skin for something lighter and, by her guess, calloused.

           Tiny hands doubled in size and calloused. Her jaw became squarer, stubble shadow obvious once her eyes adjusted to their new color. Mia’s hair sat flatter atop her head, lifeless.

           When she dropped the last piece of dead skin into the tub, and her body fell silent as the hum inside quieted, Mia examined her appearance in the mirror. She compared what she saw with the picture. “Not bad…” she coughed, voice and octave deeper, and with a similar twang she heard Dean and Sam speak with earlier. Mia approximated this detail, like she had the height.

           He looked tall, in the photo.

           Mia left the bathroom, diverging briefly for the armoire in her office. She kept a few outfits inside, at least one article of clothing for each size. Her eyes caught a simple, grey button-down and a pair of jeans, not caring to put on much else.

           It’s not like she’ll wear them long.

           Dressed, she shuffled back towards Dean. He moved from the kitchen since Mia left, sitting on one of her sofas in the living room. Dean didn’t flinch when she stepped on a loose floorboard, though its creaking startled her enough to make a tiny gasp. Dean’s focus lingered on his lap, held there with grit and determination if his trembling shoulders were any indication.

           Mia approached him with care. “Dean,” she started, voice gruff but also soft, “I’m right behind you.” She laid her hand on his shoulder, overtly aware how he tensed from his words and then again, somehow worse, once she touched him.

           Dean’s head whipped around so fast she felt the breeze against her now-hairy forearms. “Wow,” he chuckled, a grim sound that didn’t rest easy, “you really look like him.” Mia moved to sit beside Dean, her hands off and in her lap. “So,” he continued, “do I call you Mia, or…”

           “It’s best you speak to me as if I were the man in the photo.”

           Nodding, Dean slid away from Mia, widening the distance between them. He tried meeting her gaze. She noted how his eyes stayed fixed on a point behind her. “Okay,” he said, “uh… this is… this is so weird…” It’s not an unusual reaction to this method. Mia was well accustomed to this routine, waiting, watching him cycle through his discomfort still and silent as an ice sculpture. Every patient, no matter their differing problems, responded the same. “Hey… hi,” Dean squeaked out, deflating, “dad.”

           Mia’s lips thinned in response, the only cue she gave for Dean to keep talking.

           Dean cleared his throat. “It’s… it’s been a while, I guess. That is – that we’re here like this. I know it’s not – you’re not… if you were you, it’d sure be a shock. What am I? Nearing forty… neither of us probably predicted that happening, did we…” He sighed, rubbing away some glistening wetness crowding his eyes. “Fuck, I don’t – I don’t know what I’m doing. Dad… Mia… I don’t – I don’t know what I’m supposed to be doing here?”

           He begged for an answer with pouted lips and hollow cheeks. Mia, resilient, ignored his pleas. She dipped her chin and raised her brow in practiced ease.

           The combination provoked something terrifying from Dean. A wildfire tore across his face, razing the sadness and confusion. Those softer emotions flew on windswept smoke while the only thing left to see was an ugly fury.

           “You want me to yell?” he asked, voice climbing higher, more frantic, “Is that it? Yell at you? Scream and rant and rave at you until I’m hoarse – because I can do that! I want to… I… I’ve wanted to, for so long.” He leaned closer to Mia, snarling, scaring her. She kept playing statue, not to comfort wounded prey but to protect herself from a rabid predator. “Swallowed so much shit, since good little soldiers didn’t talk back to their drill sergeants. Because that’s what you were. You weren’t a dad, I was. Hell, I was mom, too. I had to be both of these things while you spent every day playing hunter, chasing down the demon that killed mom. To what end? Revenge, for mom? The last thing she wanted was for any of us to get involved in this life, becoming hunters like she was… not like you’d know, since she kept that from you.” He sunk into the sofa, chest heaving, ripping breaths out of the air with deadly intent. Dean spoke, again, in a much calmer tone. His words were sharp and precise, aimed to kill. “You didn’t know who she was. You didn’t know Sam… and you sure as hell didn’t know me. All you ever were concerned about was yourself. You lied to everyone, pretending what you did was for something much more noble than it was. Justified being a shitty dad with excuses, like how hunters can’t be good parents or have childhoods, or that, when mom died, a part of you died, too…”

           Dean paused for far longer than a beat, giving Mia a moment to digest what he said. Recovering from her stupor, she reached across the divide and laid a hand on Dean’s knee. “Dean…”

           He jumped. “I get it,” Dean whispered, “I really do, how you must have felt after mom died. When Cas… I didn’t know I could get more broken than I already was. Seeing him there shattered what little of me there was left. And what sucks is that I can feel myself… feel myself turning into you, but also being aware of who I used to be. It’s like I’m going crazy…” Dean shook with the force of an earthquake, except nothing else in the room moved an inch. “I want to blame someone for making me like this. I want it to be you, I want this to be your fault so bad because it feels like it should… because you didn’t step up when mom was taken from us. You didn’t try to be the adult and forced that job onto a kid who wasn’t ready. You made me become a nurturer, then into a killer – now I’ve got a kid and every few seconds I’m flipping between comforting him or destroying him.” Dean sucked in a deep breath, eyes flooded and red-rimmed. “I hate Jack and I hate that I hate him, but I don’t know if there’s anything I can do to fix it. And I can’t stop thinking about you, because you sure didn’t ask for Yellow Eyes to kill mom. She made that deal… same way Cas did what he did, to protect those they loved. We were the suckers who got stuck picking up the pieces, is all.”

           Dean’s trauma reminded Mia of her first shift, of skin strips peeled slowly one by one, left in a pile of blood and pus. She wiped her own teary gaze, clearing her throat. “Dean –“

           “I don’t,” he talked over her, “I don’t need to hear that you’re sorry. I understand you… but I doubt I’ll ever forgive you. I just… I want to stop feeling like this, so… so full of anger and hate and venom… but empty, at the same time.” Dean sagged, shoulders drooping as he shunted the heavy baggage he carried for, what Mia guessed, decades. “This was stupid,” he said, “I shouldn’t have come here –“

           “Dean,” Mia started, rising, “Wait –“

           “Thanks for trying anyhow, doc,” he mumbled, scurrying towards the stairs, “I’ll see myself out.”

           She stood there, letting Dean run from her home. He clambered down the steps, and when he slammed the door open Mia heard the hinges scream as they rocked from the force.

           Mia sighed. Those hinges called for her. They warned that someone might take advantage of her open front door to come do harm.

           Except no one could hurt her tonight. Nor would they any other night.

           She stripped off the borrowed clothes she wore, marching to her bathroom naked. Mia twisted the knobs beside her faucet, hot water cascading from the spout and filling her tub. Then, she opened her mirrored cabinet for supplies: perfumes, bubble baths, a box of matches and a green cylinder of pre-rolled joints. As she closed the cabinet, her stare lingered on the features of the face she borrowed. Mia traced the edges of Dean’s father’s face, frown deepening with each passing second. “You must have been a real rat bastard when you were alive,” she said.

           Mia struck a match, lighting a joint and all of the candles littered about her bathroom. She dumped a capful of bubble bath into the half-filled tub and added a few drops of perfume. Once the tub reached the inner rim, it looked like a field of bubble-shaped flowers that smelled of lavender with a waterfall she slowly eased to a trickle and then a drought.

           It was the perfect environment for relaxation. Unfortunately, that was the furthest thought from her mind.

           Mia, however, accepted that.

           She slipped into the tub, taking a drag from her joint and huffing smoke past her lips. It clouded the past events, of Buddy’s attack and his death, of Dean Winchester’s breakdown, but didn’t fully remove them. Tonight carved itself a firm place within her mind as a turning point in her life.

           And though her heart ached for Dean, wishing him luck in finding his own version of peace, Mia learned from their session.

           Freedom came slowly, bit by bit, one piece of skin at a time.

           Mia wasn’t sure who she’ll be on the other side of this transformation. She smiled, content with who she was now and reveling in the uncomfortableness of freedom.

[eagles-translated]

Season 3 Prediction Post | Felicia Kroon

This is the prediction post for Felicia in the upcoming season of Eagles! I will be making prediction posts for the other main characters as well.

I think Felicia is going to have a really tough time this season (as per usual, even if I would've liked to see her happy through this season).

The description of season 3 on SVT Play mentions that "Ludde and Felicia’s relationship is still affected by their history and it also turns out that their plans for the future are not entirely in sync". From this, I'm pretty certain that something is going to happen between her and Ludde that causes yet another rift in their relationship. I'm sure they'll spend at least a few episodes together before this happens, though. From these shots alone there doesn't seem to be any problems between them. They're also seen together at Ola's funeral (which will happen in the first episode of the season), so my prediction is that something will happen that creates tension between them but they won't actually break up. They'll spend time apart and maybe even take a break from each other, but they won't officially be over.

I think it would be too repetitive to have them break up again after spending a whole season apart. That isn't to say that they won't have problems—namely with Felicia's drug problems that still haven't been properly addressed, plus the abortion Felicia had that we still don't know anything about. During a fight with Jack, he threatened to leak Felicia's abortion to the press. We don't know when this abortion took place but I have two guesses to this. My first guess is that maybe she found out she was pregnant after she and Ludde broke up, and that she decided to have the abortion around the time when she ran off to the US. If this is true, then it makes sense that Felicia told Jack about it. When Felicia came back from the US in the beginning of season 2, she had virtually nobody she could talk to. She wasn't friends with Amie anymore, Elias was in Karlskrona, and her parents were right in the middle of a divorce. Felicia didn't even feel like she could talk about the divorce with her mom when they were together in the US, so she certainly wouldn't open up about having had an abortion. Being in a situation like this where she was really struggling and having nobody to talk to, I'm sure Felicia really overwhelmed. And when she reconnected with Jack and they got closer she finally had someone to talk to about all her problems and tell this secret to. All this was of course prior to Felicia finding out that Jack had cheated on her. The other alternative is that Felicia got pregnant after getting together with Jack, and then got the abortion. In season 2, episode 7 (conveniently titled Secrets) we see a scene of Felicia and Jack making out on a bed. Things are getting pretty steamy between them but Felicia stops Jack and quickly apologizes. He's confused and asks what wrong—it's not that she didn't want to do it or that she was still upset over the text Jack sent to his summer flirt Olivia, so what is it? We get the explanation that Felicia has a lot going on in her head and that things are tough for her. Jack says she can tell him anything and the scene ends there.

Maybe she'd just found out she was pregnant, and that's why she didn't feel like doing anything with Jack. It's very plausible that Felicia told him after the scene ends and maybe Jack knew she was going to get an abortion (or had already done it, prior to that moment, and felt ill because of that). Point is, that scene could be where Jack found out about the whole thing only to use it against Felicia later when his true colors came out. Anyway, knowing Felicia had an abortion at some point and that Jack will most likely use the information to ruin her reputation, maybe this is the reason for the drama between Felicia and Ludde. He might even find out from the tabloids and question her about it. I think when the news drop in these gossip magazines is when Felicia has her mental breakdown (or maybe the culmination of everything). We've seen a few behind the scenes shot of her being emotional and possibly having cried in a forest.

Here is that scene pictured in the trailer, where we see Felicia reacting to hundreds of comments (most likely) made about her from people on social media. There's also a shot of her running through the forest, maybe trying to run away from all her problems.

These are, from the looks of it, all hate messages. In the trailer we hear Felicia say "I'm so ashamed", which could allude to her being ashamed over the news of her abortion spreading. Maybe Jack even twisted the circumstances to make her look bad, which could explain why these comments seem so aggressive. When Ludde finds this out (maybe preoccupied with the whole trial where Jack reported him for getting violent at the party where Ludde hit him with a crutch and also his brother potentially getting out of prison) I'm sure this will cause a strain in the relationship. It would probably be really overwhelming to find out this secret in the middle of all that. I also feel like Ludde is the type of person to get angry over Felicia not having told him—in the trailer we hear him yelling "what the hell are you thinking?"—rather than being calm and collected over it. This could lead to Felicia's drug problems getting even worse. There's this shot of her in the trailer saying "What do you have?". This could be about anything, really, but it could also be Felicia going back to her bad habit of abusing hard drugs when she hits a low point.

I'd like to think that Ludde notices how Felicia is having a really tough time and helps her with the drug problem, but I doubt it. Maybe it would make more sense if her family helps her, considering how Mats knows a little about the struggles she's had and how Elias is aware of it.

There are two more shots in the trailer that I'm unsure of, namely these ones:

The first one is Felicia being caught off-guard after noticing a man having walked up to her. This could be Ludde or even Jack, who has been pretty absent from both trailers. Maybe he goes back to the US after the whole trial ordeal and having told the media about Felicia's abortion, or maybe not.

The second picture is Felicia reacting to something. She's shocked. I don't really have any guesses for what this could be except for maybe her seeing for the first time that her abortion secret is no longer a secret. But for all I know the abortion could be a way smaller plot point than I originally thought, or maybe even something that was completely made up by Jack?

To finish this off, I revisited this comment made by @elliephunk80 on an old prediction post i made on the final three episodes of season 2 where I claimed that Jack probably cheated on Felicia.

I really ship Felicia and Ludde but I hope you’re wrong about Jack being unfaithful. If she reunites with Ludde I dont like the thought of her going from one unfaithful man to an other. Can’t even think of what that would do to her… If that’s the way its gonna be I just hope she stays single for a long time to rebuild.

I think this is a really interesting point to bring up. Felicia and Ludde are framed as the main couple of Eagles and that they're destined to be end-game no matter all the obstacles they have to go through to get there.

But perhaps they're not really meant to be together? As the season description from SVT said, "[...] it also turns out that [Felicia and Ludde's] plans for the future are not entirely in sync". We also know how many problems these two have had from the relatively short time they've spent together as a couple. Maybe the best thing for Felicia is to be single and work on her mental and substance abuse problems, and the best thing for Ludde is to reconnect with his brother who probably needs a lot of support after getting out of prison.

Nevertheless, I'm really interested in seeing how season 3 turns out and how much of this was completely wrong lmao. My main hope for Felicia is just that she's happy and getting proper help at the end of the season, because I'm getting a little tired of how much the writers have been bashing her. For some reason Felicia always has it the worst—and I can understand to some degree why with her whole backstory and the pressure of being a public figure—but that doesn't mean we necessarily need three whole seasons to show how much Felicia is struggling. I really hope season 3 is when she finally receives the support she needs from the people around her.

[midnight-inthe-kitchen]

“Hotel Potter” (Part 3)

Paring: Remus x Reader (Marauders Era)

Warnings: Fluff, James is bad at fixing things, More awkwardness haha, and mentions of eating issues?

Word Count: 1775

A/n: I didn’t proof read this, so enjoy/I’m sorry... (Also, we’re getting close to the part I had in my DrEaM✨)

You watched as Sirius dropped his bag on the floor before immediately breaking into a sprint to fling himself onto the bed. The bed...

You didn’t know exactly why you were expecting there to be two... I mean that would be a bit excessive for a regular house... but not until this very moment did you realize the consequences of your poor decisions.

“Hey, Y/N,” Marlene called out from the hallway after hearing Sirius’ loud running start. “Good luck!” Her laugh echoed throughout the hall.

Lily came from around the corner to let you know you were always welcome in her room if Sirius turned out to be an actual dog. You simply accepted and just smiled while shedding a singular, figurative tear. “Nah, I’ll be fine... Probably ;)”

It didn’t take you very long to choose a side of the room and stick to it. You were just going to leave most of your stuff in your suitcase to avoid any huge messes. This obviously left you with some time to kill so you wandered back into the hallway.

When you got there, however, all you saw was Remus sitting on the floor in front of the first door James had tried so hard to open. When he saw you step into the hallway, he stood up.

“Where’s James?” you asked confused since they were supposed to be ‘bunking’ together.

Remus shifted his weight, “Oh um, he went to get a hammer, I think.” He shoved his hands in his pockets in hopes of looking less awkward.

“Oh,” you laugh. “Wh- why on Earth does James need a hammer?” You laugh at he thought of James actually fixing anything successfully.

He turned and jabbed his finger behind him to the door. “It, uh... locked us out.” He laughed under his breath as he rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment.

You laughed as well. “...Did you try Alohamora?” you offered to your ‘genius’ friend.

He straightened up a little, almost offended. “We did, actually,” he smiled, “...Except James kept saying ‘Hola-ha-mora’, so it shouldn’t have worked the first three times anyways.”

You, having the heart of a Hufflepuff but intuition of a Ravenclaw, made your way over to him to see the doorknob yourself. Remus shuffled out of the way after first being stunned by your unexpected approach.

“So what’s actually wrong with it, then?” you question, getting on one knee to peer though the keyhole.

Remus awkwardly leaned over your head to look down on the situation but quickly realized how weird it looked from everyone else’s perspective and simply took a step back. “Um... You know I was actually thinking there might be internal rusting somewhere?”

You tutted your tongue on the top of your mouth, still very concentrated. “I mean sure, but that seems very unlikely due to the appearance of the rest of the house. You would think if someone could take the time to polish the toilet-paper holders, the inside of the room locks should be in perfect condition...” Remus nodded in agreement. “... And James doesn’t have the key?” you asked, confused by the concept of poor safety measures.

Remus just shrugged, “He said the house is so old that with unlocking charms, you know, because they are so common in wizarding communities, his parents figured ‘what would be the point’ of keeping any of the keys I suppose? I don’t know... Anyways, I told him that was dumb and then he went to go get a hammer.”

You stood up, having to steady yourself first from the fast rush of blood to your head. “What does he exspect to do?” you wonder out loud, “It’s not like he can just smash the handle off— though that would solve the problem,” you mutter that last part. “...But come on... I mean Mr and Mrs Potter would kill him and let Sirius bury his bones...”

“What?”

“...Nothing,” you continued. “But by the looks of it, all the handles look like an original artist’s craftsmanship which means not only are they more valuable and rare as a completed set, but they’re also way more expensive.”

Remus marveled silently at your quirky fountain of knowledge. For such a quiet and peaceful-minded soul, he often forgot that in the moments you weren’t tarnished by the boisterous personality of everyone else, you were more than bright enough to light up his world for a moment.

Just then, you and Remus turned to where you could both hear quickened footsteps making they’re way up the staircase. “Not to fear, Moony!... You’ll be reunited with your precious books in no ti-” James stopped mid-sentence before he nearly ran into the two of you.

“Back from your quest, oh key-less one?” You watch as James furrowed his brow before glancing at Remus then back to you.

”Ah, yes, I almost—”

“Is that a screwdriver?” you bite your lip to prevent yourself from laughing right in his face. James lifted up the “hammer” he got from heaven knows where with pride.

“No. It’s a hammer, Y/n, jeeze, I would have though you’d know, coming from a nice muggle community.... Now will you please move out of the way so I can fix this thing?” He readjusted his glasses sassily.

By this point in the conversation, Remus and you were nearly having a seizure trying not to burst out in laughter at your friend who really was trying his hardest. You eventually caved and shrunk up against the wall in a ball. “You ca- You can’t fix a door know with-”

“James,” Remus chuckled as he tried to pry the screwdriver from his hands. “That’s not going to-”

You both burst into another fit of laughter as James broke free and started whacking the lock with the butt-end of the device.

When the knob finally came loose, the three of you let out a little cheer. It was you, of course, who realized that the door needed to be lifted up a little while opening or closing becuse the real probably was with the hinges, not the lock.

About fifteen minutes later, when everyone had finally “set up camp”... James gave everyone a grand tour of the house. Your favorite bits were probably the drawing room because of the gorgeous window view and the library/study for obvious reasons. The part that you couldn’t quite get over, though, was the fact that there was a fireplace in practically every room. YAAAS WARMTH���

When dinner finally hit though, you were definitely hungry. (You weren’t exactly starving because, well, eating had always seemed like a chore to you... Just thanks to the many perks of living in a 26% functioning body... But of course, you would push it aside unless you were on mental overload and therefore stress-ate an entire box of Cheerios plus a whole bag of goldfish and chocolate all night during that one OWLS season). But right now, in the midst of friends and good food, you were excited to spend the first evening of the weekend with them :)

The table (the smaller one meant for family not business guests in the main dining hall, was seated with James and Mary on both ends. Lily had somehow slithered her way to James’ left putting her, Marlene, and Sirius between the two. Peter sat on the left of James, smushing you between Remus on your left and Mary on your right.

You watched as the conversation switched from quidditch fowls, to hot quidditch team players, to James, Sirius, Mary and Marlene competing on who had gone out with the hottest Gryffindor member.

You obviously stayed out of this one as the three of you, Remus, and Peter all watched... Lily would throw in some deviously timed mention about her short flings with Slytherin team boys just to throw James off his lead.

“Sorry about not answering earlier...” Remus stated out of nowhere.

“What?” you muffled, trying not to choke on the soup you were currently obsessing over.

Remus was hoping he would t have to repeat himself, but just when he was about to, your brain registered his words.

“Oh! Oh, no no, that’s totally fine. I actually had just told Sirius that I didn’t care where I was- Wha- I’m sorry,” you laugh nervously, stuttering on every new sentence. WhY wAs iT sO HaRd To TaLk RiGhT NoW? “I just didn’t want to put you in that position, you know having to choose who to sleep with- I MEAN not sleep-sleep with just you know...” You could practically feel your face cooking.

“...Sirius(?).” You both finish as you gesture to the boy across the table from you, trying to stick his spoon to his nose using only his breath.

You both sat there, distracted and watching him until he actually succeeded. “Mary, look!” Right as he turned to show her however, it slid off and splashed soup up in his face.

You propped your head off your hand after a long moment of thought.... “Bet I could do it longer...” you start, turning back to Remus.

A confused smile stretched across his face. “...What?” he questioned again as if he hadn’t hear you properly the first time.

Without answering, you picked up the second spoon placed at your table spot (for whatever reason) and you watched as your reflection became more and more cloudy.

“Are you—”

You turned calmly to meet his face with a spoon now hanging from atop your nose.

After a good couple seconds of Remus staring at you, it finally clicked in his head what you were doing. A rare grin stretched up his face as he grabbed his own spoon and tried it himself.

It took a couple of tries for the spoon to really stick, but as soon as it did, Sirius saw from across the room and automatically turned it into a table-wide competition.

By the time pudding came around, you were holding the record of four minutes and twelve seconds versus Peter somehow who was thirteen seconds shy.

When the competition had ended though, Lily finally asked what the heck the plan was for the rest of the weekend...

In the morning, James said, everyone could go up to an abandoned village area where a muggle summer camp once stood and they could spend the night there. He promised the plumbing still worked for whatever reason, so it could be totally doable.

Every fiber of your being was telling you that was a dumb idea, especially a bunch of teenagers in the woods alone, but whatever right? Majority votes are always won by the delinquents.

[uwua3]

helloo! i was lurking through ur blog and ur writing is so good??? ur angst fic for tsumu was so painful and now i'm 😭😭 so can i pls request for hcs for tsumugi with an affectionate s/o? thank youuu 😭😭😭💖

i promise you i have 5 drafts right now but the moment i thought about this prompt, it wouldn’t leave my mind and i knew i had to write it! also, i’m so happy you liked my tsumu angst 🥺 it’s my least popular writing so i didn’t know if it was just awfully written or T___T but yes! angel deserves love ♡

summary: when all else failed, flower language was there to win over your crush

author’s note: this might be a bit different from what you were expecting, anon! the affection so much isn’t... obvious? well, you’ll have to read it and tell me if you think flower language is affection ♡

i absolutely adore flowers, so i was so thankful to put this romantic knowledge to use! if you are looking to be timeless, woo your crush with flowers please~

word count: 2,992

music: dream – suzy & baekhyun, love is the way – red velvet

yellow tulips means there’s sunshine in your smile.

❄️📚 tsukioka tsumugi

tsumugi loved flowers

it all started when he worked as a florist. the store was the same as always, even after he came back. it was overgrown, with decades of flora & fauna taking over the storefront as there wasn’t a single dead leaf in sight. greenery gave the usual urban, grey road life as the sunshine felt warmer in the makeshift forest. displays of annual flowers made tsumugi smell the roses, and he came by daily ever since he was a teenager

tsumugi liked to check out the produce and greet his favorite little old lady nicknamed “ma” that ran the small store. she always coddled him, pinching his cheeks and affectionately saying he grew up handsome as he blushed under the praise. she liked retelling stories she remembered of his young self working in her shop, laughing at his low stamina but unbreakable will

she reminded him of his own grandmother, and often arrived after work with new flowers he had harvested from the mankai courtyard to impress her

it was a particularly lucky day. one of tsumugi’s blooms came earlier than expected, and the moment he noticed it whilst gardening and whistling a tune, he took one as he left the dorms in his gear. when tsumugi arrived nearly out of breath for attempting to run the entire length, he was about to call the grandmother’s name but noticed someone else was tending the plants

(strange, ma never needed help, tsumugi thought before he glanced at your smile and was blinded. you were the sun)

when you bloomed into his life like the most beautiful flower, tsumugi swore he nearly dropped his pot when he saw you the first time. you saw him in gardening overalls stained by dirt and his rural appearance, and he admired you like you were at full bloom

tsumugi wasn’t good with words, in fact, he couldn’t even speak when he saw you. he just nodded quickly, gesturing to the random new arrivals he was pretending to be interested in. as you went further into the store, tsumugi sighed and could feel the vines within his lungs crawl and tighten around his chest

he wanted to talk to you, but he was afraid you’d be a cherry blossom that lasted for two weeks before fluttering away

so tsumugi approached you the only way he knew how: with flowers

it was your first week working as ma’s apprentince florist, but you had found a minature flower bouquet by your door. it was tarragon, a herb with tiny green & yellow flowers, gently wrapped with a delicate pastel yellow ribbon

tarragon: lasting interest

when ma came upon the boquet, she smiled knowingly, as if she had some dirt on the secret giver. however, you couldn’t get ma to budge (that woman was incredibly stubborn and had seen too many things to yield to a young adult!)

you decided to keep the herbs, pressing the flowers so they’d dry and twirled the ribbon around your finger as the empty lackluster hours expectedly came and went throughout the day. you wondered if the person who brought you such a beautiful present knew of flower language?

tsumugi did

tsumugi was a hopeless romantic at heart despite living in a world of fleeting love. he remembered learning flower language for situations like this, though, this was the first time he ever had to (or wanted to) use it

he still came to the shop every other day to be the victim of ma’s endless teasing, her short frame not stopping her from jabbing him in the ribs with her elbow. but this time, with a knowing smile. nothing ever escaped ma, she was too observant for her own good

(tsumugi was the only person she knew who tied his ribbons that way)

(she only knew because every mother’s day, tsumugi liked giving her the best assortment of flowers she had ever seen ever since he worked for her)

as the days went by, you had begun to notice the quiet, timid boy with the shyest smile and brightest eyes always standing near the front in the sun as you hid away inside wherever the fan was

(perhaps you regretted that, when you heard his gentle laugh twinkle across the shop like wind chimes, you thought of tarragon)

one day, when you decided to look up after intensely reading a library book on botany behind the register, you saw him immediately avert his eyes and awkwardly laugh at something ma said. she glanced back at you, gesturing you over with a flick of her hand. you didn’t even bother arguing against it, closing your book and heading out front

(no one fought ma and won)

“this is my newest employee, tsumugi! they’re such a green thumb, it’s like they bring my flowers back to life.” ma bragged, laying a hand on your arm and pushing you forward so you were even closer to the boy you’ve been noticing out of the corner of your eye. he couldn’t look you in the eye, he was staring at everything but your eyes

(tsumugi couldn’t look at you because you shined so bright, he almost had to cover his eyes)

you introduced yourself properly, and as tsumugi finally tore his sight away from the new red roses in season, his eyes widened at something around your neck. you subconsciously lifted your hand to it and—oh

it was the yellow ribbon you had been gifted last week

ma grinned, feigning shock at your new acessory around the collar of your uniform. “my dear, i never noticed such a pretty little thing! haven’t you been wearing it everyday?” ma pretended to reach out for it but you leaned back, protectively putting your hand over the bow

(for some reason, you had become oddly attached to the ribbon)

“i... i have. just thought it was lovely, that’s all.” you justified, seeing tsumugi’s shoulders drop when he exhaled with... relief? tsumugi complimented the shade of yellow, saying it often fit the summer season and compared it to a dahlia

so, when it was the next day and you saw ma waiting for you with another knowing smile and a single yellow dahlia in her hands, you remembered tsumugi

the dahlia was pastel yellow, just like the ribbon you had on today. when you took it, you turned it over and watched the petals rustle in the summer wind

dahlia (single): good taste

“you know who it is, don’t you?” you interrogated ma, holding the dahlia close to your chest. it was clearly grown with care, in fact, it almost saddened you to see such a beautiful flower given to you when it could’ve kept on growing

ma just shrugged, doing her morning round of watering as she slipped on her gloves and got to work. you were about to do the same before something caught your eye

blue salvias

you didn’t even need to ask ma before she passed you a pen and floral tag you could attach

you bundled up blue salvias, tying a navy blue ribbon (you thought of tsumugi’s eyes and hair that glistened in the sunlight) with a note attached

“thank you, may all your flowers bloom during this summer season!”

you finished it off by signing your name, and left it in ma’s very capable hands. she complimented your ribbon choice with a snicker, but you didn’t question it. ma knew way too much neighbourhood gossip from being the local cupid with her flowers

(you were out back on break, taking notes from a herbs textbook you borrowed. while you were dutifully learning, you never noticed ma pass tsumugi a bouquet of blue salvias and his shocked, flustered blush as he accepted the flowers graciously)

blue salvias: i think of you

(“next time, my boy, just give the flowers to me. you’re much too obvious for your own good.” ma patted tsumugi’s cheek with her wrinkled hand, an aged look to her as if she knew it all)

(when tsumugi went home, he tied the dark blue ribbon around his watering can and put the salvias in a vase)

it didn’t take long before ma whacked a bouquet of flowers over your head, reprimanding you for slouching while reading

you took the gift, noticing a note but before you could read, you smelled the white camelias. but when you realized what it meant, you turned as red as the carnations beside you

white camelias: you’re adorable

“if only you were the sun, then all my flowers would be happy. though, they could never be as bright as you.”

as you unlooped the white ribbon this time, you put aside the note as you tied the ribbon around your neck. now, you had two equally cute ribbons that had you thinking of this secret admirer all day

as the fan blew towards you, the note floated to the floor as you leaned down from your stool to catch it mid–air. you checked the back of the tag, there was a name you would’ve missed: tulip

did they want you to address them as tulip? without a second thought, you had an assortment of red carnations held by a red ribbon and another note

“tulip? why is that?”

(you signed the back with “sunflower”)

red carnations: alas for my poor heart

next day, you received a dwarf sunflower with a bright yellow ribbon and a note you held closest to your heart

“perhaps, i just wanted to make you smile. — forever thinking of you, too, tulip”

dwarf sunflower: adoration

for the next month, you slowly forgot about the shy boy with the blue. tsumugi stopped by less, or at least he came during your break time. you wondered why, since he refused to look into your eyes and hid his face during the rare chances you did get to see him

(tsumugi always gave ma the flowers when it was break, he didn’t want you to find out)

you and your secret admirer kept exchanging flowers like it was mail. by this time, you had so many ribbons and you always received questions on why you wore them all

(“no reason.” you’d lie, and gently ran your fingers over the thread)

(tsumugi began tying the ribbons you gifted him everywhere just so he’d remember you. sometimes even around his pinky when he wanted to feel connected to you like soulmates would. he’d lay his head on his desk, pretending he was pulling on your string of fate and watched the ribbon flow elegantly around his hand with a small smile)

you had grown fond of tulip. his handwriting was delicate and light, you could tell he didn’t push down hard on his pen even when he doodled the flowers he was giving you that day. he had such a unique style, it was comforting to write to someone so genuinely kind and pure–hearted

although your affections to tulip were unparalleled, you often smelled the flowers he gave you and stared out at the horizon, wondering who this person was. you wanted a real name to connect to a face

(maybe, you were scared that whatever you were feeling was too much for a nameless unknown)

you knew it might have been too soon to demand answers, but your actions were readily supported by ma as she took the bouquet without letting you think it over

a purple bittersweet, also known as nightshade, with a deep violet ribbon and short note this time

“i must ask you, tulip, is it truly too much trouble for you to share your name? — best, sunflower”

(when tsumugi received these flowers with an impatient look from ma, he faltered, looking into the store but seeing you were no where in sight. ma jabbed him again, frustrated with his fear. “tell her!” ma insisted, but tsumugi shook his head and left)

(ma sighed, rubbing her temples as she shut her eyes. “kids, these days.”)

bittersweet: truth

“i am afraid, once you know the real me, you won’t want me anymore. i know it is selfish of me, but i just want to have you, just for a little longer. — always yours, tulip”

you read the next day and twirled the red columbine with a sigh. maybe you were afraid, this love would only bloom in the summer and tulip thought the same thing

red columbine: anxious, trembling

(you didn’t respond for a few days. you couldn’t, you were just as scared of what you felt for them)

you had started your day off bright and early, arriving at the local library to continue your research into flower language. you had chosen a book after becoming interested by its familiar drawings on the cover and took it to the shop, waving to ma as you rested in the back moss garden

you wanted to find the perfect flower to comfort tulip. even though your curiousity was overwhelming, you couldn’t help but understand where they were coming from. the relationship you guys had built was so nice, it would be a shame to question it

you turned the page but furrowed your eyebrows, automatically opening to a bookmark. it was custom, with dried flowers and a ribbon at the end through a hole. you noticed two initials at the bottom in light handwriting

T.T.

you were about to take it out to return it before the wind made you lose your place, going to the back of the book where the card pocket was. you put the bookmark at the back and found the letters aligned to a name that borrowed the book most recently

T.T. tsukioka tsumugi

tsumugi... that must’ve been the full name of the blue boy who came by so much. then, you noticed it

the handwriting was familiar, for a good reason. tsumugi crossed his t’s the same way as tulip, the ends of the t’s were curved in a similar fashion, too

you remembered the first time you met tsumugi

(“yellow, like a dahlia.” tsumugi hummed, reaching out to fix the way it was uneven. he almost didn’t notice it, until he looked up at your eyes. he moved back, made some excuse of how busy he was, and disappeared)

(you had touched the ribbon, wondering why you didn’t stop him)

you quickly moved to the front desk, shuffling through the countless stacks of paper and decorations until you reached the drawer where you kept all the notes. you took a random sample, realizing it was one of the more recent ones before you had asked their name

it had been stained with dirt. they must’ve wrote it in a hurry, like they just had to say it

“would it be too soon to say i want to see you, even though i know i can’t? — i miss you, tulip”

(you remembered this. pink camellia, pastel pink ribbon)

pink camellia: longing for you

you put the scrap of paper side by side with tsumugi’s name, tracing the letters with a shaky hand. how had you not realized it, was the boy you had become fascinated with the one you actually liked? sure, you thought the silent affection for the client was temporary, like a cherry blossom

turns out, he had survived the summer and would stay with you even until winter

was tsumugi tulip?

you had closed the book, attempting to process the revelation. all those things you said, all the secrets you exposed to the world, and he felt the same. sure, it was silly to think you could fall in love with the way someone wrote

but then, you thought about when you saw him the first time under the sun. he was glittering and sparkling like a streaming river, blue and beautiful. you wanted to see tsumugi again, you had to know

you didn’t usually send bouquets first, so when you handed one to ma, her face hardened and she seemed to know

“you know who it is, now? are you ready?” ma asked, placing the flowers down to envelop you in a motherly hug. you hugged back, nodding with resolve as you placed your chin on her head

“i... i need to know,” you chose your words carefully, but you glanced up and saw all the floral ornaments you had made from their gifts. their sweet, well–meaning flowers that brightened your day. then, your gaze fell upon the red columbine

“i need to know if this is real love.” you finished, ma patting you on your back comfortingly as she listened

“he loves you, little sprout.” ma simply said, but it meant everything when you waited until the next day with the flowers yourself

it was your break time. tsumugi came in with a bouquet just like you, but his steps stuttered when he saw you standing out front with flowers at your chest

you looked at him and softly smiled, the admiration and affection you had for a mysterious boy flourishing out of you. you took a small step forward, but tsumugi took two steps back. he hid the flowers behind his back

tsumugi was about to apologize, beg for your forgiveness before you smiled, your neck decorated with the tens of ribbons he had gifted you

“i love you, tulip.” you confessed, needing no note to hide behind when you held the bouquet out to tsumugi

red tulips, red ribbon

red tulips: passion, a declaration of love

tsumugi took a moment to admire you, the way you stood tall just like a sunflower. maybe it was too fast and he was being impulsive, but he felt it. he felt love, he wanted you to feel it, too

tsumugi offered you a bouquet in return as you laughed at the situation, pulling him into a close hug and taking in his warmth

yellow tulips, yellow ribbon

yellow tulips: there is sunshine in your smile

“i love you, too, sunflower.”

[wavesmp3]

our corner of the world

pairing: yoon jeonghan x fem!reader genre/theme: apocalyptic au wc. 2k 

you come across him on the abandoned strawberry patch in the spring. when you first see him it’s through the barrel of your gun. you wait for him to beg or plead for you not to kill him or for him to make some indication that he’s no longer human. 

but he does neither. 

and you hesitate. 

you’re not one to show mercy, but something about his clean clothes and tousled blond hair stops you from pulling the trigger. 

“are you Gone?” you try asking, praying for some sign that he’s human and for another that he’s worth your mercy. 

he doesn’t look scared, laying on the brown dirt between the strawberry bushes. he looks free. he looks alive. 

but then he laughs, and you think he looks kinda high. 

he whispers, “i’m not Gone yet. put the gun down and lay with me.” for some reason you do. and as you settle down next to him, your dirty and mud-stained clothes centimeters away from his crisp, clean dress shirt, you assume that the divide between you two is much greater than the few centimeters keeping you apart. “and don’t worry, i’m as human as they get.”

you turn your head so that you can watch his face. and when his lips turn up in a dazed smile, you think he must be more human than you. 

“i’m jeonghan,” he says to you, meeting your eyes, “thank you for laying down with me.” 

you break the eye-contact and look up towards the sky. you don’t remember the sky ever looking this blue before. 

he’s still looking at you. you hope he’s waiting for you to say your own name back. you don’t. instead you say: “jeonghan’s a nice name.” then, as an afterthought you add, “let’s watch the clouds together.”

he complies all too happily. “you’re cute,” he mutters. 

and you swear the sun shines a little brighter in that moment. 

>>><<<

you remember the day it all began. the Gone roamed the streets and worries roamed your mind. you tried to forget that day. but it appears it's harder than it seems to erase the image of a bloodstained joshua sitting lifeless on the kitchen floor of the place the two of you called home. 

you push the memory away as soon as it had surfaced. 

>>><<<

jeonghan took you in that night. he stayed in the large barn at the edge of the farm, and after that day in the dirt, you did too. 

the Gone that appeared near the farm were slow and uninterested. for the first time since it all began, you felt safe.

you spent the days in the strawberry patch or underneath the shade of the peach trees. other days, you spent roaming the vegetable gardens, walking along the orchard paths, and taking leisurely dips in the lake. 

the blond boy was good, easy company. he never asked you to share your life before the day you met him. 

so you never did. 

>>><<<

“it was quiet for a few days before anything happened here,” jeonghan tells you one night. the night you spent in front of the fire in the living room. “by the time the Gone had reached our corner of the world, the chaos had already begun.” 

“our?” you ask carefully.

“me and my mom.” he says with a sad smile. a smile that says all you need to know. “this was her farm. i was only supposed to stay with her for the summer.”

with the glassy look in his eyes, you already know that you’ve gone too far. but you figure it can’t hurt to go further. 

“is she Gone?”

he doesn’t say anything for so long that you begin to wonder if he even heard you. 

“that’s enough for today,” he whispers as if talking any louder would physically hurt him. the next part he says with a chuckle. “especially coming from someone who’s name i still don’t know.” 

you decide it’s time to go to sleep. 

he decides to call you peach.

>>><<<

the days turn longer and hotter. but you swear, time hasn’t moved since the day you laid down in the strawberry patch and watched the clouds with him.

the day you spent under the apricot tree was the first time you had the will to ask. 

you sit with your back against the tree and his head in your lap. you twist and twirl twigs and flowers into his hair. you create a crown for the boy who took you in. the sun was bright and hot, but underneath the apricot tree, the sun was welcoming and warm. 

as you twist one last purple flower into the peaking brown roots of his hair, he says, “Gone. at the pig sty.” 

you watch the Gone unsheathe itself from the outline of the trees next to the empty pig sty. it’s slow and limping. but quiet and small. you almost don’t shoot out of pity. 

the ring of the gunshot and smell of the bullet echo in your ears. 

after the Gone drops to the ground, jeonghan’s head flops back onto your lap. a couple twigs fall out of his hair when he does. 

“jeonghan” 

he hums.

“how come the Gone don’t come here very often?” 

a cloud ghosts over the sun and for a small second the world is shady and cold. 

“my mother used to say it was because of the strawberries. something about the scent or the patch repel the normal ones.” 

“what about in the off season?” you ask, retwisting the twig that fell out. 

“i don’t know if that’s the truth. it’s just something my mom used to say.” 

you nod, in understanding even though he can’t see. 

a new question teeters on your tongue. one that fills you with equal parts of fear and curiosity. one that spills out from the corner of your mouth before you can even begin to repress the thought. 

“how long since she…” 

he stops breathing for a second. so you stop speaking. 

for a moment, it’s like the two of you disappear. and the only thing left on earth are the birds and the trees. 

“she was sick before anything had started,” he says in a low voice as if it’s only meant for himself to hear. “it’s the reason why I came to stay with her. she died in the winter.” 

he turns his head, and you follow his eyes to a small, crooked cross hidden behind the greenhouse. you didn’t take jeonghan to be a religious guy, but you suppose the cross was put up as a plea for normalcy.

you feel a tear drop onto the leg of your jeans. 

for a moment, it’s like the only thing left on earth are the birds, the trees, jeonghan, and you. 

>>><<< 

things are different after that day. jeonghan doesn’t smile as much. and there’s a pain behind his eyes. yet somehow, he manages to look even more alive. 

after that day, it’s like a piece of jeonghan was ripped from him. it’s like you broke him, and you aren’t sure you know how to put him back together.

the day he starts coming back is the day of the first summer storm. the windows slam against the barn, and lightning illuminates the sky. the rain beats against the roof with an intensity that shakes the walls a little. as if they’re trying to get rid of the spring. as if they are cleaning themselves for the summer. 

jeonghan disappeared that morning. you hadn’t seen him all day. 

you sit in one of the rocking chairs on the front porch. the rain brushes against the dark wood of the porch and sprays itself onto your extended toes. you flinch every time thunder sounds across the sky. 

you wait for him to return. you wait until the seconds and minutes and hours bleed into each other like water colors. you wait until you can’t any more. 

you find him behind the greenhouse. he doesn’t hear you come up behind him, sloshing your boots through the mud. for the first time since you met him, he’s dirty. his clothes are mud-stained and drenched with rain.

his head is bowed. he kneels in the mud by the crooked cross. the cries of his heart are silenced by the storm raging above, but the strife of his loss spreads to you like wildfire. and it burns all the way through you. it makes you ache. you didn’t know his mother yet in this moment you’re grieving with him. or maybe it’s just that you’re grieving for him. you want to gather his cries in your arms and throw them in the pig sty. you want to hold him and hug him and tell him everything is fine. but you’ve lost yourself in the muddy puddles beneath your feet and you aren’t sure if it would be any help anyway. 

he catches you standing behind him. the ends of your white dress dyed with mud. your boots are filled with rainwater. and water pours from your eyes with the same intensity that it pours off the side of your umbrella.  

he sees you for the first time. he sees you before you’re certain you’ve really seen him. 

you fall to your knees in the mud beside him. and you cry and let your heart ache for the first time since everything began. you grieve for joshua. jeonghan grieves for his mother. you grieve for each other. and when the next thunder claps across the grey sky, you both grieve for this world. 

things change again after the first summer storm. 

it was during the first summer storm that you realized your denial ran deeper than you had known. deeper than you had thought possible. 

it was during the first summer storm that you realized the beautiful boy who cried by your side was in denial too. 

it was during the first summer storm that you realized jeonghan was just as human as you. 

>>><<<

it’s two days after he makes strawberry jam for the first time that you tell him your name. it also happens to be the day you tell him everything.

you tell him about your life before the chaos. you tell him about joshua. you tell him about the day it all began. you tell him how you ended up at the strawberry patch that day.

when you finish, he wipes the tears you didn’t know were falling. he holds you in his arms. and calls you peach until you fall asleep. the last thing you remember from that night is the smell of strawberry jam off his shirt. 

the next morning he brings you jam and toast in bed. you eat with a smile. 

>>><<<

you think that the days after the first summer storm must’ve been some of the best days of your life. 

nothing about the world had changed, but something about you and jeonghan had. something about the way you felt when he smiled at you. something about the way he laughed so hard that you could see his gums. something about the way he stopped bothering to dye his hair blond. something about the way he brings you food when you sit by the lake. something about the way he sits with you after he does. something about the way your chest clenches and your heart contracts. something had changed. and every single day after the first summer storm, you prayed it’d never change back. 

you loved his corner of the world. you wanted to grow old between the strawberry bushes and listen to him tell you that strawberries don’t grow on bushes. you wanted to fight with him in the midst of the orchard. you wanted to thumb wrestle under the apple trees. you wanted to make jam at the end of each season with him. you wanted forever in the barn at the edge of the farm. 

the night he kisses you for the first time is the night that his corner of the world becomes your corner of the world too. 

[trashfor-imagines]

My Senpai | 4

Ushijima x Reader

Summary: You’re Goshiki Tsutomu’s older doting sister, second year at Shiratorizawa and captain of the girl’s track & field team. At your brother’s first practice you sneak in to support him and end up meeting the impressive force that is his captain. Warnings: None really. Mentions sex. Spoilers: We’re encroaching on manga territory. Takes place after Karasuno v Shiratorizawa.

Author’s Note: Sorry for not updating in forever! I lost my original chapter and got discouraged. I started rewatching Ushijima episodes to refresh my grasp on his character.

[1] | [2] | [3] | [4] | [5]

-

It was a shock. You never thought Shiratorizawa was capable of losing this year. Ushijima appeared unaffected, but that was just him. It was always mental for him and he had the ability to act with a sort of chivalric grace whenever faced with conflict. God, your boyfriend was really cool. Your brother, however, it broke your heart to see him cry.

After the award ceremony, you raced down to wait by the bus. Ushijima walked out first, his head held high. Noticing you, he simply rested his large hand on your head before getting on the bus. Quiet hello’s and thanks for coming’s were whispered to you. Your little brother could barely make eye contact, the last one to get on the bus. Reaching for his hand, you gave it a squeeze before letting it go and heading for the bus that brought the cheer squad.

The ride felt long. You spent most of it listening to music and playing with the sleeve of Ushijima’s spare team jacket he’d given you shortly after dating. You smiled and chatted occasionally with your fellow students, but the topics of discussion were focused on how Ushijima and the third years were doing. They expected you to have the answers and quite frankly, you thought it was obvious.

Getting back, you made your way into the gym to see the team working on serves. You sat quietly on the sidelines and watched as everyone gave their all, letting out their frustrations from the day. You never knew you could find the slams of volleyballs to be comforting to where they could put you to sleep. Or maybe you were just exhausted. Either way, you woke up from being carried.

“Wakatoshi,” you mumbled, snuggling closer to his chest.

The two of you snuck into your dorm room, stripping down into your underwear and entangling under the sheets. Ushijima’s body was like a radiator, warm and comforting.You ran your fingers through his hair patiently. If he wanted to talk, then he would. Until then, you whispered little praises to him, pressing kisses to his shoulder between sentences.

“I won’t lose again,” he spoke quietly.

Months passed and things continued to go well between the two of you. They were better than ever honestly. During Christmas you visited each other’s families at his request. You didn’t even have to prompt it! Your parents loved him. They thought he was quite the protector type and approved. His mother ended up accepting you once she realized you were intelligent and genuinely loved her son. Your personality had definitely thrown her for a loop.

Graduation was soon approaching and the two of you decided on a five year plan together. Long nights were spent discussing goals and dreams, wondering if they would be compatible with one another. He intended on going pro right after school; the Schweiden Adlers seemed most likely and they were based in Oita. You still had your third year of high school to finish, but you were applying to Kyushu University for architecture. It was in Fukuoka and closer than your other options to Oita. It was just a couple of hours by train or car. You also had plans to stick with track and field and keep your spot on the national team for as long as you could. You both had your eyes on the 2016 Olympics.

For a year the two of you managed to maintain a healthy long distance relationship.

After graduation, there were farewell and congratulatory parties almost every day, but the most fun for you was going apartment hunting, together. It was like a vacation, enjoying the beaches and hot springs. You spent a week staying at his apartment where the lease was ending soon. He said the two of you needed a new place together, that his current apartment wasn’t fitting enough for you. On your third day in Oita, Ushijima decided on the place, a 2 bed and 1.5 bath townhome instead of a one and one apartment. When you told him it was a bit expensive, he said it was perfect because he wanted you to have your own space at home to study for school without being bothered by him. You cried right there and he handled it like a champ. The two of you moved in a week before you started school.

“Wakatoshi!” you called to him from the rooftop terrace. He appeared, sticking his head out from the sliding glass door. You wiped your cheek, smudging dirt across your face. “Can you help me move this bag?”

He slipped on his outdoor shoes and walked over, lifting the bag of dirt and moving it to one of the two raised garden beds that he built earlier today. The two of you had plans for a small vegetable garden. “I thought we were going to plant seeds after lunch. I’m almost done cooking.”

“I know, I just got really excited. I was staring at your beautiful work and couldn’t help myself,” you cooed, giving him starry eyes.

Sighing, he set the bag down where you needed it before taking your hand and dragging you back inside. “We’ll do this after lunch. Together.”

“Aw, are you jealous I tried to start before you?” He didn’t say anything in response, making you grin. “My handsome farmer, I’m so sorry.”

After lunch, the two of you filled the garden beds with dirt and carefully planted seeds for carrots, lettuce, tomatoes, peas, basil, parsley, rosemary, thyme, marigolds, lavender, and scarlet plume celosia. Ushijima had done quite a bit of research on complimentary plants. Hours really. Hours spent doing online research and drawing diagrams of how the garden should be set up for its fullest potential.

You were watering one of the garden beds when you caught a glimpse of Ushijima squatting with a spade in his hand. It was so cute how concentrated he was and how much attention he was giving this simple task. Biting your lip, you sprayed him briefly. He blinked, as if not comprehending what happened and looked up, as if blaming the sky. A muffled laugh escaped you. You went back to watering the garden bed as he went inside. Minutes later you heard the glass door slide open and didn’t pay much mind to it. Suddenly you felt chilled and were thoroughly soaked. Moving your hair from your eyes, you looked up to see your boyfriend holding a bucket over your head.

“Wakatoshi!”

Soon you were off to university, moving into a small dorm room with a single suitcase. Your dorm was littered with photographs of you and Ushijima and it was hard to cope with the fact that you wouldn’t see him through at least the rest of summer, maybe not even until the end of September if your school’s track team did well.

For a month you and Ushijima would call or FaceTime every night and tell each other about your days. He was quite proud of the garden the both of you planted and would send you progress photos and then describe what he saw in fine detail. Honestly, you didn’t realize your boyfriend was capable of being so invested in something other than volleyball. There were a few times you tried spicing up your phone calls, but honestly Ushijima didn’t get it. He was terrible at phone sex. It was fine though. Summer break was.... just a few months away.

It was a Saturday night after track practice when you got a phone call from your boyfriend.

“Wakatoshi! You’re calling early. I haven’t gotten back to my dorm yet,” you spoke, excited to hear from him.

“(Y/N), I’m lost.”

Your brows raised in surprise. “Lost, how? Do you need me to look up how to fix something?”

“No, I’m somewhere on your university’s campus.”

You felt your heart skip and you immediately ran toward main campus. “Okay well tell me what you see.”

In thirty minutes you were in your dorm taking a shower and Ushijima was reading the newest shonen jump he picked up at the train station on your bedroom floor. You came out with your hair in a towel and one of Ushijima’s t-shirts you had stolen. He set aside his magazine and pulled you down into his lap, holding you tight.

“I’m so surprised you came. I’m so happy,” you squealed, burying your face into his neck and running your fingers through his hair.

“I missed you too. I can stay for two days, but then I must go home.”

Pulling back, you let your fingers run over the stubble on his jaw, pouting a bit, “So what do I owe this short visit?”

His stare was intense and a faint blush kissed his cheeks. “I recognize that a few times you’ve tried to... initiate some things on the phone. I admit I’m not very good at it, so hopefully my presence now can make up for my... lack of experience.”

“Wakatoshi,” you breathed out in surprise, gazing at him with so much love. He literally traveled almost three hours because you were horny without him. Pulling the towel from your hair, you knocked him over onto his back as you jumped him.

Visits like these happened sporadically and soon it was fall. Track and field season was over which meant you could make your weekend visits home to Oita. You’d leave Wednesday nights and head back to school on Sunday mornings. Despite the second bedroom serving as a private study for you, you found yourself curling up to Ushijima almost always - as long as he wasn’t busy.

This was life for a couple of years. The two of you had become quite the duo. In fact, throughout your relationship, you had only argued about two things:

You broke your phone once and he wasn’t able to contact you and he freaked out from not knowing what was going on.

He forgot your anniversary and cancelled on your date for volleyball and you laid in on him for it.

Things were great until the 2016 Olympic qualifiers came around. You had broken a metatarsal in your right foot at the first qualifying meet of the 2015 season. You were out for the next eight weeks and even then, you weren’t going to be in shape to qualify because you had to go through physical therapy and get your athletic abilities up to par. Your coach told you that staying on the national team, going pro, and qualifying for 2020 was still possible for you. It didn’t stop the feeling of complete and total devastation that wrecked you and you were jealous.

Ushijima wasn’t sure of how to help you; he’d never seen you so vulnerable before, never seen you so sad, but he did his best to support you, even if that meant being a punching bag. He was consistent, despite things he had going on for his own Olympic goals.

After two months it was summer break. You had to go through physical therapy and you moved back home to Oita, transitioning to online classes for the second term of the year. Because Ushijima’s love language was different from most, you found yourself being forced to do your PT homework exercises, no matter how down and bratty you got.

“Wakatoshi, I don’t want to do stairs,” you groaned, curling up into a ball on the couch.

“You must, or you won’t be ready to start training any time soon,” he replied simply.

Your foot was throbbing and you were on your period, and everything just felt like shit. All you wanted was to watch anime and eat the small bag of chips you had hidden under the blanket you were under. Ushijima had been so strict with your diet and honestly all you wanted were trans fats, sugar, and carbs. With ease, he ripped the blanket from you, exposing you in your underwear clutching a bag of Calbee honey butter flavored potato chips.

“You should get up and walk the stairs now,” he said, prying the bag of chips from your hands, “if you want these back.”

Throwing your legs over the couch, you winced, balling your hands into fists in frustration. You got up, favoring your left foot, which he noticed. He walked up the stairs and sat on the top step, waiting for you to follow. Biting your lip, you moved slowly, trying to ignore the pain. There were 14 steps to the top and you had to go up twice and down twice. You were doing fine until your second trek up the stairs. It was a misstep and you slipped and you were clinging to the stair case, crying. It was embarrassing for you to be like this in front of him. This sweet giant quickly enveloped you in his arms and had you lying on your side of the bed, gently caressing your foot as you sobbed through it.

When you were calm again, Ushijima left for a while before returning, dinner in hand. The two of you sat in bed and had the meal he made in silence. You’d barely eaten, but you waited until he finished before you curled up to his side.

“I’m so sorry, Wakatoshi.”

“I would be surprised it you took this easily. You’re a competitive person. It’s one of the things I find attractive about you,” he replied. He wrapped his arm around your shoulders, his fingers gently running up and down along your own arm.

“Really?” you asked, feeling shy. He hummed in affirmation, glancing down to make eye contact. Smiling, you played with the hem of his shirt that was beginning to ride up. “What else do you... find attractive about me?”

“You’re thoughtful, kind. The way you pursue your passions and you’ve encouraged me to pursue my own; you believe in people wholeheartedly.” A thoughtful expression settled on his face as he spoke on effortlessly. He paused and his brows furrowed briefly before settling into a relaxed expression. “You’re beautiful.”

Placing a kiss to your forehead, you watched as he got up and headed to take his evening shower.

While you couldn’t compete, you concentrated on therapy and school and finished your courses early for your degree. You picked up a simple class to stay enrolled until your four years at school were up*, this way you could go back to competing your last year of university. The summer of 2016, Ushijima took you with him to Brazil. Japan didn’t win, but the competition was incredible. You got to meet with track and field athletes and it reignited your passion for competition.

You’d graduate come spring and then your focus was on 2020 Tokyo.

-

*In Japan, early graduation doesn’t exist. It was explained to me that if you attend a 4 year university, you have to be a student for 4 years before graduating, even if you complete your degree early.

tag list: @hihiq​

[footballxwrites]

Love in Paris

It was your first night of your weekend away and you were so excited, it was first proper holiday as a couple, just you and him. The closest to a holiday you both got together was center parks with your family back in October during the international break with your parents and three siblings and their kids where you all had to share this little caravan thing and it rained all week, so yeah it wasn’t great, but this time it would be just you and Alex, on a break in the city of Love. It was also the end of the season, so it meant neither of you had work which made it even better... a whole three days to eat and drink as much as you want, going for romantic boat trips, eating at fancy restaurants and splashing the cash, and on the nighttime a little “time to yourselves”, just perfect.

It was around 9 in the evening and you were all dressed up in a stunning gold dress, which complimented your skin and glowing face so well, paired with nude heels, trying to be somewhat close in height with your boyfriend, while Alex was in a smart white shirt, half unbuttoned, and tight grey pants showing off his very muscly legs paired with simple Alexander Mcqueens, as you set off for your date under the stars. Where you were sat in the restaurant, you had the perfect view of the Paris streets and the number one tourist attraction in France, the Eiffel Tower. The two glasses of wine in front of you twinkled in the light as you ran your finger around the rim waiting for you food to arrive.

You looked up to meet the eyes of Alex, his hair slightly ruffled, just the way you liked it, with his Ray-Ban shades sat on top, his nose a dim shade of red along with his cheeks from the sunburn the two of you got after you boat journey earlier, his deep brown eyes shimmering in the natural moonlight as he gave you a wink before taking a sip of his wine, you giving one back. The aroma of fresh pasta took over your nostrils as the plate of spaghetti was placed on your table, the sound of a piano in the background could be heard, filling the room as a calming tune was being played, it felt like heaven. The two of you dug into your food, taking a large mouthful of your dinner and, without realising, you let out a small moan at how good it tasted before looking back up at Alex when you heard him faintly laugh, hoping no one else heard your little noise.

Once you’d finished what felt like the biggest meal of your life, you took a stroll, your amour having a protective grip on your hand as you lightly traced patterns on his arm as the two of you walked through the fresh summer breeze. You reached the the La tour Eiffel and suddenly Alex stopped in his tracks and wrapped an arm around your waist before spinning around and crashing his lips against yours, you couldn’t care who was watching or if you were in the way of the crowd of people, you were enjoying the moment too much, taking it all in, knowing you probably wouldn’t get to experience the city of Paris again. His lips were soft and plump as he went in for a deeper kiss, his hand travelling down your body till it reached your bum and he gave it a squeeze which caused you to smile and let out a laugh, still trying to continue your little make out session with your boyfriend. The rest of your night consisted of the two of you roaming the French streets hand in hand, having random kissing sessions, eating some more, then ending with a drink on your balcony, watching the beautiful sites in the city.

This really was...Love in Paris ❤️

- I would love to go back to Paris, I went in 2019 for New Year’s and had the best time... would love to experience it again with mon amour...when I find him

[unfolded73]

Husbands: Two Years In (3/5) - schitt’s creek ff

This fic is complete, posting every other weekday. While I'm including it as part of the "Labels" series, the preceding fics are not required reading. Previous fics in this series: Boyfriends; “I Love You”, Partners, Fiancés

Warning: This fic deals with depression as one of its major topics.

Rated Explicit, this chapter 5153 words. (ao3)

Thanks to @high-seas-swan for cheerleading and B13_MaybeThisTime for many valuable comments (and also cheerleading).

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 3: Summer

Wherever Patrick Brewer might have expected his the trajectory of his life to lead, even after he’d broken it off with Rachel and left his hometown, even after he realized he was gay and fell in love with a man, he could never have imagined a future that included walking down a sunny sidewalk in SoHo on an August afternoon with a woman like Moira Rose on his arm.

This trip to New York City had been in the works for months, planned for the break between the filming of Crows IV and the date when Moira would need to return to set for season three of the Sunrise Bay reboot. The entire Rose family had converged to visit Alexis on this trip, and this afternoon the plan was shopping, which Patrick had gone along with good-naturedly. He didn’t care about the shopping, but it was still fun to be in a city like this, to people-watch as Moira, Alexis, and David orbited around him. Johnny Rose, meanwhile, was meeting with an old friend and hadn’t joined them for this particular outing.

Alexis and David were several feet behind him and Moira, standing outside the Burberry store and arguing about the merits of a coat. Patrick assumed that even had he lingered to listen, what they were saying would have gone in one ear and out the other. So since Moira had taken his arm a few minutes before, he continued their slow promenade, figuring her kids would catch up when they got bored with their debate and noticed that they’d been left behind. Moira moved gracefully in platform heels and a vintage silver dress that probably cost more than Patrick’s entire wardrobe, a hat and large sunglasses obscuring most of her face as she attempted to avoid being recognized.

At the very moment that Patrick was thinking this, a middle-aged woman stopped in front of them, her hands flying to her mouth. “Moira Rose? Oh my god, I’m a huge fan!”

So the attempt to hide her identity only went so far, Patrick realized, watching Moira’s reaction. She pulled off her sunglasses and smiled. “I’m out with my family at the moment, but I would be delighted to pose for a quick photograph.”

The fan gave Patrick a once-over, seeming to consider and immediately reject the idea that he might be anyone important. Moira let go of Patrick and leaned in, almost but not quite touching the woman, and smiled wide for the two seconds that it took for the selfie to be taken.

“They didn’t really kill you off at the end of the last episode, did they? I mean, no one saw your body,” the woman said.

“Now now, surely you don’t think you can dragoon me into revealing spoilers for Sunrise Bay out here on the street like a common newsboy.” Patrick stifled a laugh at the idea of a newsboy out on the sidewalk, selling papers full of TV show spoilers. “But I do appreciate your apprehensiveness about poor Vivian. It would be an inauspicious ending for her if after all this time, her life was snuffed out at the bottom of that cistern, wouldn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

“Do keep watching!” Moira said with a flourish of her sunglasses to indicate that the woman was dismissed.

“My mom texted me with that same question about your character,” Patrick admitted, holding his elbow out again for her.

“I was trending the night that episode aired,” Moira said, tucking her hand in the crook of his elbow as they began walking again.

“You’re very kind to your fans,” he said.

“I remember what it was like to feel like I didn’t have many fans left,” she said in a lower register, her accent less ostentatious, the way it got when she was admitting something real, something true. “I don’t take this revival of my career for granted. Not for a second.”

His heart squeezed in his chest for her, for everything she’d gone through and everything she’d managed to claw her way back to achieve.

“Ooh, that’s a lovely handbag,” she said, leading him over to the window of another store.

Patrick thought it was hideous, but what did he know? “Do you want to go in?” he asked, looking down the street to see David and Alexis had finally started to wander in their direction, albeit slowly.

Moira shook her head, resuming their walk. “After those years of deprivation, I find I’m still not used to buying things on impulse. Isn’t that curious?”

“I mean, it’s no surprise those years left a mark. And being frugal is… wise.”

She smiled at him, then glanced back in Alexis and David’s direction. “Do you know, I find I’ve almost forgotten what David was like before he was with you, Patrick. He’s so… secure. It used to surprise me, seeing him like that, but now it’s who he is.”

He winced at the idea of taking credit for David’s growth. At the same time, he knew that David still had deep wells of anxiety lurking under the surface. Marriage hadn’t turned either of them into different people, much as they might sometimes look idyllic as a couple from the outside.

Before he could respond, Moira’s phone chirped from inside her large bag. “I bet that’s John,” she said as she rooted around for the device.

“There you are,” Patrick said to David as he and Alexis joined them.

“Yeah, no thanks to you, just leaving us behind,” David complained while Moira stepped away and spoke into her phone.

Patrick laughed. “We were a half a block ahead of you, David.”

David reached out and put his hands on Patrick’s shoulders. “Yes, but you’re new to the city,” he said with a crooked smile. “You could get lost. Or abducted.”

“I’m sure your mother would have protected me if it came to that.”

Moira finished her call. “I’m going to meet John back at the Plaza and have a little repose before dinner. Shall we reconvene later?”

“We could go back to the hotel too,” Patrick said to David. The Roses were paying for David and Patrick to stay at the same Manhattan hotel, a generous gift that meant they didn’t have to cram themselves into Alexis’ tiny apartment or rent a room in Queens, which David had recoiled at when Patrick suggested it. Pointing out that David had absolutely no logical reason to be picky about hotel rooms, all of which were a step above the place he’d lived for a few years, didn’t sway him.

“I’m still trying to get ideas for your anniversary present,” David said.

“My goodness, have you been married a year already?” Moira asked. “How time does fly.”

David brought his hands up to his cheeks and shook his head in disbelief. “Oh my god, we’ve been married two years, Mother. At least, in a few weeks we will have.”

Alexis reached over and booped Patrick’s nose. “And Patrick hasn’t even mentioned divorce once yet, David, which is impressive.”

“Mm, eat glass,” David said. Patrick grinned — he’d missed their ridiculous banter.

“There’s a gelato place across the street,” Patrick suggested, pointing. He wouldn’t have minded going back to the hotel to rest, but stopping for ice cream would be a good compromise.

David’s eyes lit up. “My husband knows me so well,” he said.

~*~

Patrick let himself be pushed down into the soft mattress, David’s naked body covering his, his mouth working, wet and insistent, against his jaw. “God, good hotels make me so hot,” David whispered.

Chuckling, Patrick ran a palm over the stubble on David’s cheek and back into his hair. “Then it’s a good thing that your parents’ room is on another floor,” he said. He was still a little tipsy from the wine they’d had during dinner at a very nice restaurant, and the process of getting undressed with David once they got back to their room had been a frantic blur.

“A very good thing.” David reached down and cupped Patrick’s hardening cock. “What are you in the mood for?”

Patrick thrust against the inadequate friction David was giving him. “Can I fuck you?”

David squinted an eye closed. “Don’t think I can do that right now, not with the way I’ve been eating today.”

That was fair; Patrick didn’t think he’d be able to bottom at the moment either, now that he thought about it. “Or you could suck my cock?”

“Mm, yes, I can do that,” David said, already sliding down the bed and positioning himself between Patrick’s legs like he didn’t want to lose this momentum, this sloppy, slightly drunken desperation.

The first flutter of David’s tongue against him had Patrick throwing his head back and groaning. But then it quickly became clear that David was in the mood to tease, to savor him, licking him from base to tip with swipes of his tongue like his dick was some kind of obscene ice cream treat, and then only taking him inside his mouth with the gentlest of pressure, not giving him enough suction to get anywhere close to coming. Patrick’s fist clenching in David’s hair only made David chuckle in the back of his throat, like Patrick’s impatience was exactly the goal.

David pulled off, replacing his mouth with his slowly jacking fist. “If you’d let me pack the way I wanted to, I’d have you tied up by now so that I could really take my time with you.”

“I wasn’t going to haul an entire suitcase full of sex toys through customs for a one week vacation,” Patrick said, his hips rising in time with David’s hand. “I wasn’t that interested in giving U.S. airport security a thrill.”

“Your loss,” David said, turning and sucking a bruise into the skin of Patrick’s inner thigh.

When his thighs were mottled with hickeys and David was still only giving him incomplete friction with his hand, Patrick surged up from the bed, flipping their positions. “Your turn to be tortured for a little while,” Patrick said, biting David’s lower lip hard enough to make him grunt.

He worked his way over David’s chest, nosing through his chest hair, pausing to suck hard on one of his nipples, scraping his teeth against the skin stretched over the side of his ribs, then further down to position himself between David’s thighs. He tried to hold out, tried to stretch out the time before he took David’s cock in his mouth, but he felt too hungry for it to wait long. The saltiness, the weight of it on his tongue, made Patrick moan. He still could remember the first time he did this, that night at Stevie’s, and how that final tiny doubt that maybe he wasn’t actually gay, maybe it was just some spell that David Rose had woven, evaporated in the face of how much he loved sucking cock. How he powered through that first blowjob fueled by determination and desire, a puzzle piece of his sexuality slotting into place.

Now he knew David’s responses so intimately, he could play him like an instrument. If Patrick wanted David to come in under two minutes, he could usually manage it. Or he could edge him over and over until David was clutching fistfuls of the sheets and begging, voice hoarse with desperation. Tonight he wanted to tease him, to pay him back for the bruises he could feel now on the inside of his own thighs, but his arousal was pushing him to suck harder, to take David deeper, the tip of his cock brushing along Patrick’s soft palate as he drew him in over and over, matching his rhythm to the shallow thrusts of David’s hips.

“Fuck, I love your mouth,” David gasped. “God, Patrick…” and then he was coming, Patrick letting it pool on the back of his tongue as he soothed David down, slowing and finally pulling off when David relaxed. Patrick swallowed as he wiped saliva from his chin.

“Come up here,” David whispered, gesturing vaguely with one hand. “Let me finish you off. Fuck my mouth.”

Even in the midst of his intense arousal, Patrick was tempted to joke that David was just offering that so that he didn’t have to move, but he elected to hold that comment in as he shuffled up the bed. David put an extra pillow under his head and then grabbed hold of Patrick’s hips, opening his mouth and letting Patrick push his cock inside.

Usually Patrick could grab hold of the strong metal bars of their bed when he did this, but in this hotel he only had the faux headboard that was affixed to the wall. He braced one arm against the wall and reached down to thread his fingers through David’s hair with the other, holding him gently in place as he fucked into his mouth.

“God, that’s hot, David. I love the way you take me,” he gritted out, trying to resist the urge to lose too much control, to thrust too deeply even though he knew David could tap out if he needed. Still, it was an overwhelming visual, the sight of his erection sliding into David’s mouth, and it didn’t take long for Patrick to tip over the edge, crying out as he came, fist clenching in his husband’s hair.

He collapsed at David’s side as David exhaled a long breath, ending on a giggle. “How is the sex between us even better now than it was three years ago?”

Patrick wasn’t sure if the question was rhetorical, but he thought about the answer anyway. While he thought about a serious answer, he gave a non-serious one. “It’s the hotel turning you on so much.”

David smiled. “It’s not, though,” he said softly, signaling his desire to have a sincere conversation.

Patrick rolled toward David and settled a hand on his chest, feeling for the thump of his heart. “Because we know each others’ bodies so well,” he said.

“Mmm. By that logic, when we’re in our eighties, our orgasms will be visible from space.”

“Visible?” Patrick asked, laughing.

“You know what I mean.”

Leaving that aside, Patrick said, “Well, by then I imagine that our aging bodies will have something to say about the sex being all that amazing.”

“Impossible. We’re immortal.”

Patrick lifted his head and pressed a kiss to David’s cheek, and then to his lips. “We’re not.” He knew it wasn’t what David wanted to hear, that he was killing the post-coital mood by saying it, but for some reason he couldn’t stop himself. “If we stay together for our entire lives then there will be messy physical stuff. There’ll be… one or both of our dicks will stop working—“

“Okay, that’s not going to happen.”

“It might happen at some point.”

“You can just feel free to smother me with a pillow if that happens to me,” David said.

“But David, if I murder you, I can’t be the beneficiary of your life insurance,” Patrick replied with a smirk.

“Mmkay.”

“I’ll love you even then, you know,” Patrick said. “When we’re old and wrinkled and have unreliable dicks.”

“That’s very sweet, but can we get back to talking about how great the sex is now?” David whined.

Patrick kissed him again. “The sex is excellent.”

David gave him a warm smile, one of those smiles that filled up his whole face and radiated out of his eyes. “It’s nice seeing you so happy.”

Something about the way David said it gave Patrick pause. He pulled back, putting a little bit of space between them. “You say that like it’s a rare thing.”

He could see a spark of worry in David’s eyes. “No, not rare. You’ve been… exhausted a lot this year, and… and I think this vacation came at a good time, that’s all. I’m glad you’re enjoying the city.”

“I am enjoying it,” Patrick said, but his brain was focusing on the first part, the part about how he’d been exhausted. How David had noticed. He didn’t want that. He didn’t want his mental state to be a burden to his husband, or to make him feel like he was in any way lacking. “I’ve been fine.”

“Okay.” David leaned up and kissed him gently. “Let’s get some sleep.”

Patrick shifted over onto his own pillow, watching as David rolled to face the opposite wall, scrunching his pillow under his head. Sometimes Patrick took it as an invitation to be the big spoon, but tonight he turned onto his back and stared up at the ceiling.

He just wasn’t getting as much enjoyment out of things these days, that was all. And that was to be expected, wasn’t it? They’d been running the store for close to four years, so of course the day-to-day tasks had gotten dull. At the same time, the stress of deciding whether it was the right time to open a second location was wearing on him, because no matter how much planning and calculating he did, ultimately it was a gamble. And Patrick wasn’t a gambler.

Meanwhile, the novelty of being a homeowner was wearing off a bit, and he’d found himself focusing on the downsides of it lately more than the upsides. Rather than spending his early mornings in their warm kitchen, looking out onto the back yard and feeling content, he was struggling to wake up when his alarm went off, brushing his teeth and noticing the water-stained vanity for the hundredth time, feeling inadequate because he hadn’t figured out how to fit replacing it into their budget when the Rose Apothecary expansion was looming.

But the truth was, even with all of that, sometimes he did feel happy. He’d been happy while he was planning for this trip to New York with the Roses, looking forward to seeing David with his family again and excited to see what the city was actually like with his own eyes. At times like that, it felt like depression was just in his imagination. It felt like maybe he hadn’t been depressed at all, or that he had been in the winter, but that he was over it now. But at the same time he could feel it lurking in the back of his mind, waiting for a weak moment. Telling him he was a bad son, or a bad husband, or a bad business partner. Telling him that he didn’t deserve David’s love, not when he couldn’t bring himself to get started on fixing up the bathroom.

Patrick lay awake for a long time, listening to David’s sleep-breathing, before finally falling into uneasy slumber himself for a few scant hours before waking with the early morning sun.

While David continued to sleep, Patrick pulled on some underwear and a t-shirt and shifted the curtains aside enough to look out. The view of Central Park from their room was breathtaking, and he paused to wonder how much the Roses had paid for rooms with that view. Unplugging his phone from the nightstand, he went back to the window and took a picture through the glass.

He looked from the window over to David, tousled black hair against acres of white bedding, bare shoulders on display. Patrick took a picture of that too.

After brushing his teeth and taking a shower, Patrick got back into bed to read until a more reasonable hour to wake David up. The rest of the morning passed with a leisurely breakfast and an Uber ride downtown to the Whitney Museum, which David had been talking about visiting for months. It had the added benefit of being close to Alexis’ apartment in Chelsea; they were planning to meet her later in the afternoon.

Patrick soon learned that he and David had different approaches to art museums. Patrick liked to read the placards about each painting, circling each room methodically as he went from painting to painting. David liked to take it all in for a while from the middle of the room before deciding which paintings to approach for a closer inspection, stepping forward and back as he looked for the best viewing distance. His failure to study the text about each painting didn’t mean he didn’t know things about them, Patrick quickly discovered.

“I love this one,” Patrick said as David approached from behind him.

“Mm, I knew you’d be a Hopper fan. What do you like about it?”

Patrick studied the sewing woman’s shoulders, the way her dress bunched, the prominent veins in her hand. “I don’t know, I just like it.”

David was waiting for him to say more, Patrick could tell.

“She looks delicate but also, look at her back and her arm. She’s strong.” Patrick glanced at his husband. “She reminds me of Alexis.”

David pinched his lips together, which could mean he disagreed, or it could mean he agreed but didn’t like that he agreed.

Patrick squinted at the painting again. “So what’s the meaning behind it?”

David waved his hand at that dismissively. “It’s something to do with the post-World War I isolation of the early 1920s, I seem to recall. But it means whatever you want it to mean.”

In the next room, Patrick gravitated toward a couple of strikingly colorful oil paintings of factories, criss-crossed with lines that carved out contrasting geometric shapes on the canvas. As he was reading the name of the artist, David joined him.

“Charles Demuth was gay, you know,” David said.

“Oh yeah?”

“Mm hmm. He started out doing watercolors of flowers and men in Turkish baths in the nineteen-teens and twenties. Then he switched to painting…” He gestured unhappily at the works Patrick had been admiring. “This.”

“You don’t like these,” Patrick said, although the answer was obvious.

“There’s a theory that he was attempting to shrug off the stigma of being an effeminate man with these Lancaster oil paintings. Also, the art world didn’t take his watercolors that seriously,” David said, twisting up his face like he smelled something bad, and… right. It didn’t take a genius to figure out why David wouldn’t like these paintings.

Patrick nodded, and stepped over to put his arm around David. “Do they have any of the Turkish bath paintings here?”

“Sadly, no,” David said with a smirk, still gazing at the oil paintings. “There’s also a theory that all those smoke stacks are just dicks.”

Patrick barked out a laugh.

Leaving the museum, they went to a nearby café to wait for Alexis. They sat at one of the outdoor tables, a wrought-iron railing topped with pots of white and purple flowers separated them from the foot traffic on the sidewalk. While they waited and David munched on a pastry, Patrick texted the picture he’d taken of Central Park from the hotel room to his parents, telling them that they were enjoying the trip. Then he texted a couple of the photos he’d taken of paintings in the Whitney to his cousin Justin. Justin usually didn’t respond to Patrick’s texts, but occasionally he did.

Justin 🌈: You should have gone to nyc in june for pride

Patrick realized that was a topic he’d never talked to David about. “Were you ever here for the Pride parade?” he asked.

David looked up from his book, eyebrows high on his forehead. “Sure, lots of times. I mean, I wasn’t down in the streets with the heaving mass of humanity, but I could usually get an invite to a party along the parade route, back in those days.”

Grinning, Patrick repeated, “Heaving mass of humanity?”

David scoffed. “You know how I feel about crowds.”

Patrick turned back to his phone. David doesn’t like crowds, he typed. I did learn today about a gay artist who painted a bunch of smoke stacks either to seem less gay or possibly to be super gay. Jury’s out on which.

Lol, Justin responded.

Patrick smiled at the fact that he’d achieved a successful interaction with his cousin.

“David Rose?” a voice called out, and Patrick looked up to see who was speaking. He got a quick impression of an attractive woman with a stylish haircut and clothes before he looked toward David to gauge his reaction to the approaching woman. As he watched, David put on a simpering smile, the one he used with difficult customers, and held out his hand.

“Eloise,” he said flatly. “What a surprise.”

“David, how dare you not tell me that you were going to be in town?” she said, ignoring the offered handshake and sitting down at their table without invitation. “Oh my god, how are you.” She phrased it as a statement, and Patrick doubted if she cared how David was.

“I’m very good — in town for a few days to visit Alexis.” Patrick felt David’s hand settle on his shoulder, scratching absently. “This is my husband, Patrick. Patrick, this is Eloise; she’s an old friend.”

Eloise’s eyes widened as she took Patrick in. “Hi, nice you meet you,” Patrick said.

“I feel like maybe I heard that you got married? And I didn’t believe it. David Rose wouldn’t get married, I said. No way.”

David’s eyes narrowed. “Well, I did. Two years ago.”

“But you’re not living in the city? Surely you’re not still in… where was it? Somewhere in Canada?”

Here it was, the thing that still nagged at Patrick every time David expressed displeasure with Schitt’s Creek. Every time he acted disgruntled about the lack of restaurant options, or grimaced at Jocelyn’s opinions at a social gathering. Because the reason they were ‘somewhere in Canada’ was that was what Patrick had wanted.

“Our store is in Canada, yes, so that’s where we are,” David said, and to his credit he didn’t look the least bit ashamed of that fact. His fingers continued to move over Patrick’s shoulder. “Patrick and I own a lovely cottage on quite a large plot of land out there for a fraction of the cost of a one bedroom apartment here. We love it.”

“But the culture, David. How do you live without the culture?” Eloise asked.

David smirked. “How much culture did we really take in back in the old days, Eloise? The VIP section at the hottest club of the season isn’t exactly the Guggenheim. Besides, we get back here to visit Alexis regularly.” Regularly meaning once in two years, Patrick thought, although they did intend to visit more often in the future, now that there was more money coming in from their online sales.

Eloise immediately started talking about herself, about parties she’d been to or people she’d seen. Patrick tuned her out — she hadn’t shown any interest in him and the feeling was mutual. He watched people passing by on the street, walking dogs or going quickly to jobs or moving slowly and hesitantly like tourists. Eloise quickly seemed to run out of steam, maybe because David wasn’t hanging as desperately on her every word as she wanted, and she stood from the table.

“I’ve gotta run, David, but how much longer are you in New York? We really have to catch up.”

“Absolutely,” David said, standing with her. “I’ll text you.”

They kissed in the vicinity of each other’s cheeks and Eloise loped away, her attention mostly on her phone.

David dropped back into his seat with a puff of air.

“Nice lady,” Patrick muttered.

“She’s a monster,” David said. “I’m not texting her.”

“Uh huh, I cracked that code.”

David laughed softly. “Wow, she was boring.”

“Probably not as boring as your husband, to be fair.”

That made David’s eyes flash. “You aren’t boring.”

Patrick chuckled, fiddling with a spoon on the table. “Yeah, I’m super interesting. Is it my knowledge of tax law or my books about baseball that do it for you?”

David looked a little bit hurt at that. “Everything about you does it for me,” he said seriously.

Alexis arrived at that point, interrupting them, and Patrick rose from his seat to accept her cheek kisses. David excused himself to the restroom.

Watching him go, Alexis said, “Is he okay?”

“Oh, some old acquaintance of his was just here.” He frowned; that wasn’t what had bothered David. “Actually, I think it’s me that’s been making him anxious.”

“Well, don’t do that, Patrick,” she said with a frustrated groan and a birdlike bob of her head. “Surely you know how to manage David’s anxiety by now.”

“No, I do, but…” What should he say? That he couldn’t exactly be the guardian of David’s emotions when he was struggling with his own? That he swore once, standing with David for the first time in front of their house, to make David happy, and that now he was doubting his ability to do so?

“Anyway, did you guys have fun today?” Alexis asked, unaware of his inner turmoil.

“Yeah,” he said, because he had. “David could have been an art museum tour guide in another life.”

Alexis nodded. “Because he talks too much and thinks too highly of his opinions?”

“I was going to say because he knows a lot about art, but sure, that too.”

“Well, I hope you didn’t wear yourselves out, because Mom and Dad have plans tonight and so we are going to go out and party like the young and vital people that we are.”

Patrick felt exhausted at the prospect of such an outing. “I mean, some of us are getting close to forty; I don’t know if young—”

Alexis flapped her hands. “Ugh, just David. You and I are young still.”

Laughing, Patrick consciously relaxed his shoulders. He could go with Alexis’s flow, surely. He was on vacation, after all.

Which was how he found himself a few hours later, a tiny bit drunk and grinding against David on the dance floor of a gay bar that Alexis had dragged them to. It was ridiculous and they were maybe too old for this and yet he loved it, loved getting to have this experience that he’d been robbed of by not figuring himself out sooner. Loved being sweaty and a little dizzy and watching a man with criminally nice arms dancing just over David’s left shoulder while David grinned at him.

“I love you,” Patrick shouted over the loud beat, euphoria swelling out from the bubble around him and David to encompass the other people on the dance floor and the DJ and Patrick’s sister-in-law, who appeared to be flirting with the woman tending bar.

David squeezed his ass in answer. “I’m glad you’re having fun,” he said against Patrick’s ear.

“I am,” Patrick said honestly. At a time like this, unhappiness seemed impossible.

(Chapter 4)

[sunsetminho]

handhold – h.hyunjin

summary: it’s your first time flying alone, and the thought of it makes you nervous. luckily, the boy sitting next to you has a big heart. 

pairings: reader x hwang hyunjin (stray kids) 

word count: 2.7k 

warnings: anxiousness about flying, otherwise nothing! 

a/n: this is my first fanfic and i’m starting off with something very cute, hope you all enjoy <3

*

When the calls for check-in started ringing through the speakers, you stood up from the spot you’d been sitting in for the past hour and stretched with a groan. You had been sitting cross-legged by the charging outlet, on the floor, and you felt and heard your knees crack as you stood.

“Check-in for Flight no. 348 at Counter 3–,”

You packed up your phone and carefully folded up your earphones, before sticking both items into the pocket of your jeans, and then taking out your passport. After making sure you had everything, you started heading towards the counter.

It felt familiar to you, even though you’d only flown overseas one other time—on your trip here, from Korea to L.A, for college. Your first year of schooling had finished, and you were on your way back to Seoul to see your family during the Summer. But even though you’d done this before, and you knew what to do, you were still nervous, because when you’d flown here, your mother had accompanied you. Just to make sure that you got settled in okay—it was a completely different country, after all, and since your mother had grown up in L.A, she had no trouble helping you out.

“Check-in for Flight no. 348 at Counter 3–,” the speakers repeated, and you hurried on over, picking up your pace to get in the line behind the three other people who had arrived crazily early, like you. When it got to your turn in the line, though, the man at the counter went through the routine things, helping you check in your single suitcase, and then he got a call, during which he talked in low tones and kept glancing up at you. Once he put down the phone, he told you to hold on, and then ran off to talk to the lady at the next desk down. You just watched in confusion, and stood there awkwardly. Had you brought something that was suspicious, or that you shouldn’t have brought? Was your bag overweight? No, that wasn’t possible, you’d weighed it at your dorm and it was fine—

“Miss,” The man said as he returned, looking a tiny bit more puffed than he had been before, “Since you’re travelling alone, how would you feel about being upgraded to Business class? We have a—uh, situation and it would do us a big favour—,”

You couldn’t help but sag in relief as you took in what he was saying, “Of course that’s fine, why wouldn’t it be? Thank you.” The man looked extremely relieved as well, and then he started typing away at the computer, and at last, after having stood there for a good twenty minutes, he handed you your boarding pass, and then saw you off with a smile and wave.

The boarding pass, with ‘Business Class’ written in fancy silver letters at the top, seemed far too prestigious for your hands; you were a college student who would’ve definitely not been able to afford this and you suddenly felt extremely special. Feeling that way then made you feel kind of silly, so you quickly shook it off.

But then you realised that having a Business Class seat meant that you could go into the Business Class Lounge—and then those thoughts of feeling special returned in full force. This time, you didn’t bother to push them away, because you were too overwhelmed with genuine excitement.

After making it through security and customs, you rushed to the Business Lounge. You had an hour and a half to kill before the flight, and you were determined to spend it all in the Lounge, pigging out on ice-cream and those fancy cakes your friends always posted on Instagram whenever they travelled.

The woman at the entrance did a one-over of your ticket and then let you in—you excitedly found a nice couch to sit in, dropped off your too-heavy backpack and then headed right to the ice-cream and dessert fridge. It was far too easy to pick out what you wanted. You just grabbed one of everything, one of every flavour, one of every dessert there was, and then you nestled back into the couch, at the corner of the space, and put your earphones in, sinking into the pillows and feeling like you’d just peaked in life.

After a tiring year at school, you felt like this was the universe rewarding you for your hard work, and the thought just made you shovel cakes into your mouth even faster. But not ten minutes later, somebody said to you, their voice muffled by the music, “Can I—uh—sit here? The other—um—tables are full.”

You pulled out your earphones and glanced up from your plate to meet the eyes of a tall boy, who was awkwardly standing with his two bags at the table next to yours, eyeing up your ice-cream.

Putting a subtle, protective arm around your food, you quickly swallowed your full mouth of cake and then responded, “Yeah, sure, no one is sitting here.” You smiled a bit, just to make sure you weren’t coming across as too nonchalant. As he smiled thankfully, sat down and adjusted his things, you got a chance to get a good look at him.

He was very good-looking, around your age, with blonde-ish brown hair and dark eyes, skin clearer than a sunny day. He smiled at you when he noticed you looking, and you bit your lip in slight embarrassment as you ended up blurting out, “How come you haven’t gotten any food?”

“Um, I ate, earlier,” He said, seeming to stumble through his English a bit…maybe he wasn’t from around here? “But I will—,” and then he suddenly switched to Korean, “get some ice cream later, probably.” Even though you barely noticed it, since you could speak both languages and had grown up with both, with your Korean father and American mother, he immediately realised his mistake and blushed. He quickly added in English, “Sorry, I’m…” He was lost for words, unsure of how to express what he meant, and he quickly flushed in frustration.

“It’s okay,” You said in Korean, offering him an understanding smile, and the moment he heard those words he sagged in relief, his eyes lighting up, “I speak Korean, too. I just came to L.A. for college. Where are you from?”

He seemed much more comfortable now, his body language relaxed and his expression less tense, “I’m from Korea, too. I came with some, uh, friends, but I missed the flight and now I’m flying later than them. That’s a lot of cake, by the way.” He glanced down at the multiple plates on your table with an amused glimmer in his eyes. “Oh, um—yeah, it is,” You said, and then bit your lip, unsure of what else to say, “Well, enjoy your ice cream, I guess.” You pulled out your laptop and pulled up your favourite Netflix show to watch, just so that you wouldn’t have to make the boy feel like he was obligated to talk to you. Also, you just really wanted to watch Netflix, after having little to no time during exam season.

You decided to head out of the lounge after you were finished your food. Yes, both plates of cakes and bowl of assorted ice-cream flavours, just to be at the gate early, get on the plane early, and take full advantage of the Business class privileges as soon as possible. As you were packing up your things, you unintentionally caught a bit of the conversation that the boy next to you was having on the phone, in very fast, urgent Korean:

“Hyung, I’m sorry, I’m already in the terminal, I’ll get on the next flight I can, I promise, no, no, I won’t miss the show, I’ll be there I promise just—I’m sorry,” He said in a low voice, focused on his conversation. He kept chewing on his lip, too, and your curiosity was piqued as you wondered what he could possibly be missing that was so important—exams, perhaps? No, but it was summer break now, even in Korea…

However, you brushed that away and decided that it was none of your business, before picking up your things. You hesitated a bit before slipping off, wondering if you should disturb the boy and say goodbye, but decided against it, and just headed out of the lounge with your bag.

*** Hwang Hyunjin groaned when he turned off the phone, and then groaned again when he turned around and realised that you were gone from your seat. Your empty plates and bowls were still there, but you were nowhere to be found. He kicked himself for not being brave enough to ask for your number, or at least just your name. He’d really wanted to see you again...

Too late now, though.

He heaved a heavy sigh and then swore internally—did Chan have to call at the exact time you’d decided to go? Any other time and it would’ve been fine…

Whatever. Too late now, anyway.

***

As you made your way down the aisle to your seat—third row, aisle seat, you kept repeating to yourself—you tried not to bump into the many flight attendants who were rushing around, directing passengers to their seats, passing drinks to the other business class passengers, and just bustling about doing their job.

You found yourself feeling very self-conscious, seeing as most of the people in the other seats in the business class section were all dressed in fancy blazers, reading newspapers. And then there was you, in your college’s grey hoodie, and black leggings, your hair no doubt a mess, looking extremely ordinary. Not only that, but you were definitely the youngest one here—even though you doubted that anyone cared about your appearance.

You approached your seat and took off your backpack, sitting down in your seat and then slipping your bag under the seat in front of you. You also did a quick check of your phone, simultaneously patting down your hoodie pocket to ensure that your passport and wallet were still safe.

You hadn’t even noticed the person next to you, too afraid to talk to a stranger, until they tapped you on the shoulder and exclaimed in fluent Korean, “Hey, you’re the girl I sat next to in the lounge!”

You whipped around, and sure enough it was him, the boy from the lounge earlier, and your eyes lit up. It was probably relief that burst through you at the sight of him, because even though you weren’t familiar with him, at least you wouldn’t have to sit next to a completely unfamiliar, older, and far more mature adult. That would’ve been far more awkward.

Even though you doubted they’d care. But even though you tried to hide your nerves, being on the plane, especially alone, made you feel a tiny bit anxious—you hoped there wouldn’t be too much turbulence. “Hey!” You exclaimed, turning around fully to face him, once again taking in his incredibly beautiful face, “I was going to say goodbye, but you were on the phone…”

“I know, I’m sorry,” He said, shaking his head slightly, “My friend called me just to check on me, so I never did get your name…”

“It’s Y/N,” You said, smiling, and when he did the same, you swore your heart skipped a beat. He was far too pretty—even though he wasn’t wearing anything fancy. In fact, he was dressed in a hoodie and jeans. This time, he was wearing a beanie that covered his blonde-ish brown hair. Sure, he was dressed very ordinarily, but still… “What’s your name?”

“Hyunjin,” He said very excitedly, seeming to be ecstatic at seeing you again, “Oh, my god, I thought I wouldn’t see you ever again and I really wanted to talk to you more.”

You flushed, flattered at his remark. He probably meant nothing of it; it was probably just an off-handed comment, but you still felt the heat rise to your cheeks, “I’m glad to see you again, too, Hyunjin.”

The two of you shared some light conversation, and it flowed easily between you. For some reason, it was easy to talk to Hyunjin, even though you often found it hard to socialise, especially with strangers. But you talked about everything—your life in L.A and your life in Korea, and he talked all about his friends and his home in Korea. He was very charismatic and bright, and you found that to be a nice change from the dreary environment of the college campus for the past few weeks, what with everybody being so drained from the exams. At some point, a flight attendant came and gave the both of you some pineapple juice, and you took it gratefully.

When the message came through on the intercom that the plane was about to take off, though, your nerves suddenly peaked and your words became stiffer. You could tell that Hyunjin had noticed, what with his eyebrows creasing in concern whenever you had to ask him to repeat a question because you were too distracted from your stress to hear him. He didn’t say anything until the plane started moving, the lights in the cabin dimmed, and you immediately grabbed hold of the armrests on either side of the chair you were in. “Y/N, hey, you alright?” He asked, shooting you a concerned look, turning his gaze away from the small airplane T.V and to you, instead. “Do you feel sick?”

“No, no, I’m okay,” You reassured him, trying to appear as calm as you could, “I’m just—,” but when the sound of the engine became louder, the plane speeding up to take-off, you gritted your teeth and couldn’t continue with your explanation. Instead, you focused on your breathing, staying calm. It wasn’t the thought of flying itself that scared you. Instead, it was the feeling of the inertia slamming into you, and the feeling of your stomach dropping during turbulence, that really made you anxious.

Hyunjin turned his whole body to face you, appearing completely unbothered by the velocity of the plane, and when the aircraft started to lift-off, you sucked in a breath and then audibly whimpered, shutting your eyes.

Suddenly, you wished Hyunjin would look away because you didn’t want him to think lesser of you—he probably thought you were a coward, and a weirdo, and you didn’t want this boy you’d just met (and found very cute)

Oh my god this is so embarrassing, why am I like this—

But rather than hearing a remark making fun of your fear, or a judgemental snicker, you suddenly felt Hyunjin’s hands taking yours and squeezing them gently. He laced your fingers with his, and the warmth of his hands made your cheeks blush the colour of a pale sunset.

“It’s alright,” He said, and when you finally opened your eyes, you met his gaze—he was smiling, and he gave your hand a comforting squeeze, “If you feel scared, I’ll hold your hand.”

The plane jolted a bit, and you squeaked.

“Hey, don’t worry,” He said reassuringly, “I’m here, just focus on the feeling of my hand, alright? We’ll be okay.”

You closed your eyes and leant towards him, and he wrapped his other arm around you gently, holding you. You took in the warmth of his hand, and the feeling of his arm around you, and the comfort of the circles he was rubbing into your back, and you finally steadied your breathing.

He held you, and didn’t say a thing—just leant you a hand and his smile, and it was enough.

Maybe this—all of this, being upgraded to Business class, then meeting Hyunjin, and then sitting next to him—maybe this was the universe rewarding you.

Whatever it was, you couldn’t be more grateful. You smiled as the plane steadied, and you finally opened your eyes.

[captain-jinguji]

I finally finished the story for @the-musing-lonely-heart (which tumblr still wont let me tag smh). Congrats on winning once again, and i hope you enjoy it ❤

Setsugetsuka ( OTOYA ITTOKI X EMMA)

The world is an ever changing place. From kingdoms rising and falling to the seasons changing. "That's Setsugetsuka. It's the seasons of the year, always changing. It's winter into spring and spring into summer before diving into fall and back to winter." You recalled him telling you when you asked what his current project was about. 

It was funny really. The theme was change, and the beauty of it all. You remembered your own self changing with the seasons; well, more so your feelings. 

Winter was when you met, cold hands buried deep within your coats to get some warmth while your cold breaths filled the air from laughing so hard. You just met Otoya, but you could tell he'd be around for a while. Then spring came. 

Spring forced you to change from the warmth of your coats to light sweaters that got too hot from chasing each other across the soccer field. You've made new friends during this season too, successfully letting your relationship between the rest of STARISH bloom into something beautiful, just like the flowers outside. 

Summer brought you out of your comfort zone and you remember the shy glances exchanged on the beach that day. Ironically, you matched every part of him. From his hair, to the color of his swimming shorts. It was kind of funny, really. 

But then fall arrived and you slowly realized that, just like the leaves which fell and now embraced the earth, you were falling and embracing the redhead that somehow snuck his way into your heart. 

He felt the same way. 

It was fate that he met you on that winter day, he was sure of it. From the minute he saw you, he, too, could tell you were meant to stick around for a while. 

You stuck with him through spring and ran with him through the fields; not afraid to fall or get hurt, and he loved that. 

Then you were still there in the summer when he awkwardly commented on your swimwear and joked about how you guys were just a match like that. 

And in the fall he slowly realized that it wasn't just a joke that rolled off his tongue a month prior, it was the truth. He knew it. He felt it. 

It was Winter again now and the snow had started to fall softly. You were currently seated in the entrance hall, watching the snow fall from the starry night sky through those ceiling high windows Shining Agency had. A hot cup of coco was in your hand, keeping the parts of your body warm that weren't covered by your fuzzy blanket. "Emma!" You could recognize that voice anywhere and quickly turned your head to greet the smiling redhead. "Otoya! What are you doing up so late?" Your voice was soft, quiet. It almost felt like a sin to disturb the quiet night air like the idol had just moments ago. 

Otoya made himself comfortable beside you. His cheeks were carrying a soft hue of a blush and snowflakes were slowly melting on top of his head. Your worries quickly kicked in and you placed your cup down to take the blanket off your shoulders and wrapped it around his own. "Huh? Oh n-no it's fine Emma!" You shook your head, "no. You can't run around in such light clothing, when it's snowing outside. You'll catch a cold." He smiled sheepishly at you and pulled the blanket tighter around his shoulders. It smelled like you and he almost drowned in the scent. Willingly so. 

"I'm sorry… I didn't mean to worry you. Practice ran late and it wasn't snowing earlier and---... Is that hot chocolate?" His eyes seemed to light up and you could tell he was dying to gulp down the little treat. 

Laughing at him, you nodded "yeah! Do you want some?" The question sounded so innocent but it was.. Different to him. You offered him something, were willing to share something with him without him having to ask. It was kindness that came from you, and he loved it. "N-no! It's fine… it's yours! I-i don't want to take it away." He would rather watch himself catch a cold than see you give up your warmth but you shook your head, insisting. "You need it more than me…" 

With a soft smile you handed him the cup, your fingers slightly brushing together as he took it from you and you didn't know if the blush on your cheek matched his. You watched him. The dimly lit room in the Agency enhancing his features even more. He was so beautiful, unbeknownst to him. 

Unbeknownst to you, he felt the same way. Your hair was illuminated softly and the snow behind you, falling behind the thick glass, was just so pretty to watch. It was a painting he never wanted to take his eyes off of. 

He quickly brought his thoughts back to you, setting the cup down once he finished it. "Ah~ that warmed me up so nicely." You giggled at his words and nodded at him, "warmth suits you better anyway." At that, he gave you a look of confusion, "what do you mean?" 

You bit your lip, mentally face palming for letting that slip. Should you tell him? "I-its nothing!!!" But this time, he didn't let it go, "no you can tell me! I won't judge." He smiled encouragingly and you took a deep breath, "well… I mean you're so bright and optimistic. You bring happiness and warmth to those around you, including me. The cold doesn't suit you. It's the summer sun shining on your skin that does. Or the crackling of a fireplace. Not snow or rough seas." With every word, his heart grew a couple sizes. The fact that you compared him to so many beautiful things without realizing that he feels the same, is so… indescribable to him. 

This time it was him biting his lip, trying hard not to blush but failing miserably. Maybe.. Just maybe… 

He took your hand in his all of a sudden, letting the blanket fall on the couch as he stood up and pulled you with him, "come here Emma." It was soft, almost more like a question than a statement and you fell into his arms as he took you away from the couch, into a more open space. 

"I want to teach you… our dance." He smiled softly, one hand clasped around yours while he guided your other to his shoulder, letting his own hand settle on your hip. His feet moved slowly at first, letting you get used to the foreign feeling of being guided around. Otoya's cheeks were matching his hair by now; the feeling of you so close almost overwhelming, but he was determined. Determined to make you see all the things he saw. 

"You remember… when I told you the meaning of Setsugetsuka?" You nodded shyly at him, your hand suddenly becoming sweaty against his as you felt the own heat rise to your cheeks. "W-well… I think y-youre all of it… you're cold like snow, but so beautiful against the scenery… but y-you're also spring, blooming l-like the flowers in the field…" he was getting nervous, but his feet didn't stop from carrying you around the room; you gliding now, losing your body against his and it felt so good; so natural. "A-and you're warm like the s-summer sun...against my skin. Making everyone happy to be underneath it… b-but you're also like fall… coming and changing the scene, changing… my feelings…" his voice got softer, quieter with each confession and your heart was beating so loud, it's almost all you heard, until his last words, "I love you, Emma…" it was barely above a whisper, and only now did you realize that you long stopped dancing, stopped gliding. You were simply nestled against him. 

It was hard to meet your gaze; scared of rejection and heartache. He could feel your hand slip out of his, but instead of stepping away, you stepped closer, joining your hand with the other one over his shoulders, "O-otoya…" it sounded shaky, unsure… but you weren't. And you looked up at him, seeing the angst in his eyes, knowing that it was there for nothing, "I love you too…" it felt like a sin once again, to break the calming night air. To speak anything above a whisper. 

He smiled, pulling you closer before placing a soft peck upon your lips, his cheeks still holding a pink hue that matched yours. 

It was a soft kiss, like the snow falling outside. Unsure. A little clumsy. But full of love. And for a while you just stood there, your head against his chest and his resting upon yours. Otoya wasn't known to be calm, to stand still like this, but you set him at ease and he wanted to stay like this forever. Just watching the snow falling softly, only the dimmed lights illuminating the room, while he kept you close, soaking up the warmth into his heart. You were Setsugetsuka. Changing him throughout the seasons. But you were also Ai; his love for you growing stronger with every passing moment. He can only hope you feel the same. 

[redwallthoughts]

Redwall Midwinter Miracle: Day 3 part 3

As always, huge thanks to @raphcrow for her help with beta-reading and editing

*looks back at previous chapter*

Ch. 6 might be a little bit longer in coming...

I promise I didn’t actually mean that it would take three years. That was an accident.

However, I don't anticipate new chapters of RMM returning to the original once-a-month schedule. You see, during the three-year break, I have begun working on a piece of original fiction. It's still in the early stages of development (first draft hasn't been completed and there's still a lot of world-building to do), but I've been trying to work on it diligently. I'll be posting small updates on it at the end of new chapters from now on, but if any of you lovely readers would like to see more in-depth info on it, please feel free to follow the blog I've started for it, Moiranvall-official.

FF.net, AO3, DA

[Ch. 1] [Ch. 2] [Ch. 3] [Ch. 4] [Ch. 5]

Rose followed Martin through the cellars and up the passageway toward Great Hall. He was talking animatedly about the collection of books, new and old, in the Redwall library. Rose smiled as she listened to him talk. When she first met him on the northland coast they hadn’t had time to discuss books and reading. They’d been far too focused on the rescue of the other slaves to be bothered with such  mundane activities. Now she wished that she would have shown him her father’s books. Perhaps Urran Voh would not have reacted so strongly to him then.

“I'm hoping Vurg and the others will be up there,” Martin was saying as they walked up the sloping passageway that led to Great Hall. “I think they'll enjoy meeting you.”

Rose shook herself, recalling her mind back to the present as she placed a steadying paw on the wall of the passageway. Her footpaws were feeling a bit sore. “Who?”

Martin grinned at her over his shoulder, matching his pace to hers as she slowed down. “Vurg, Denno, and Dulam were all good friends of my father when I was a baby. They came back to Redwall with us after we found them in the North two summers ago. Though I should warn you that it may be a bit rowdy if Beau is up there too. He and Vurg are always engaging in friendly arguments.”

Rose giggled. “Sounds like Rowanoak and Ballaw,” she said, smiling at the thought of her two friends. Wanderers though they were, they had become quite fond of Noonvale, even coming to call it home.

“Do they argue often?” Martin asked.

Rose rolled her eyes in mock exasperation. “All the time. Oh!” She nearly ran into Martin as he came to a sudden stop at the end of the passageway.

“Sorry,” Martin murmured. He peered around the corner into Great Hall looking both ways before he stepped out of the passage. He held up a cautionary paw, still looking around the hall.

Rose peered around at the empty room. There was nobeast in sight. “What are you looking for?”

“Dibbuns.”

Rose rubbed a paw in her ears, not entirely certain she’d heard right. “Dibbuns?” As far as she knew, all the abbey youngsters were engaged in the scavenger hunt.

Martin nodded. “Call it habit,” he said, “You never know where they're hiding. Normally it wouldn't be a problem, but they’ve figured out that I usually award the prize for the scavenger hunt. A few of the rogues have taken to trying to find it in my pockets before the game’s finished.”

Rose grinned. “So that's why you've got those candied chestnuts with you. Tintin said he saw you pocketing them on your way through the kitchens this morning.”

Martin nodded. “Aye, and I don’t want you getting caught in the crossfire if they spot me.” He peered around once more and began across Great Hall.

The sandstone floor of Great Hall was warm from the heat of the kitchens below. Bright spots of color danced about on the stones, cast by the sunlight streaming through the colored glass in the windows. Rose could hear dibbuns laughing somewhere in the distance.

Martin, it seemed, had heard them too. He turned back toward the steps that led down into Cavern Hole, staring briefly into the shadows of the passage before grasping Rose's paw. “Hurry!” He hissed, walking faster

Rose did her best to keep up, but her footpaws were beginning to ache.“Ow!” Rose's footpaws twisted beneath her and she nearly fell to the ground. Martin caught her before she hit the ground, his face creased with concern. Looking over his shoulder Rose saw the shadow of a great cat climbing the stairs from Cavern Hole. She struggled upright, her left footpaw still twinging painfully as she pointed at the approaching shadows.

“Hold on!” Martin hissed in her ear. Looping an arm about her waist, he swung her up and carried her into a nearby alcove.

Rose froze as Martin pressed her against the pillar, keeping her close as he peered around the edge. They were in no real danger, but the short, sudden run and the intensity in Martin's eyes had startled her, to say the least. Martin still had a paw around her shoulders, pulling her close. He had gotten taller, Rose realized with a start. They'd been nearly the same height when she first met him at Marshank. But now, pressed close as she was, she realized that he was at least half a head taller than her. She caught his eye as he glanced away from the dibbuns, and found herself captivated by the soft grey stare. He did not look away. She felt as though her heart might beat out of her chest. Martin's stare intensified, and for a moment Rose thought she saw a faint trace of recognition in his gaze. If her heart had been pounding like a drum before, then Rose thought surely it must be doing a decent impression of a percussion ensemble.

“Hoi, what's all this?” The moment was shattered as Tintin's voice carried across the hall.

Rose found herself shaking as Martin looked back to the dibbuns. He whispered in her ear. “We'd best make a run for it while your nephew has them distracted.”

Rose was about to remind Martin that she couldn't run, when he threw one arm around her waist and the other behind her legs, swinging her up once again as easily as if she were a dibbun herself. She barely had time to grab hold of his shoulders before the warrior mouse took off toward the stairs, grinning broadly.

It took only a pawful of moments to reach the stairs. Martin did not set Rose down until they were sufficiently hidden from view of Great Hall. “Sorry about that,” he said, still grinning as he caught his breath. “I had to take the chance while we had it.”

Rose leaned against the wall, the rush of the moment having left her breathless. Now in the relative safety of the stairs she could finally catch her breath. A sudden burst of giggles overtook her, and she clamped a paw across her mouth in an attempt to stifle them.

Martin looked at her in confusion. “What?”

It took a moment before Rose could answer. “Look at us, two grown mice running away from dibbuns.” She broke off as the giggles returned.

Martin soon joined her, chuckling at the supposed danger they had just escaped. “I suppose if dibbuns are the only thing I have to run from for the rest of my life, it'll be more than enough for me.” He held out a paw for Rose to lean on, and the two of them continued up the stairs, still laughing.

Brome froze, temporarily robbed of breath. The silence of the infirmary hung in the air nearly as tangible as a sheet of dust brushed from something long forgotten. He swallowed, trying to think of a coherent sentence. How had the abbess known? Taking a shaky breath, he forced a smile onto his face and shook his head. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what you mean.”

Abbess Germaine smiled knowingly at him, her dark eyes shadowed by sadness. “Come now young one, there is no need for secrets.”

The smile fell from Bome’s face, and he stared at his paws in shame. She was right, of course, there was no need to keep her in the dark.  “How did you know?” he asked.

“I may be old and hard of hearing,” the Abbess said, leaning forward with a smile, “But I still have my wits about me, and my eyes have yet to give out. I saw you and your sister the night you joined us here in the abbey, when Martin came into Cavern Hole. Any other creature who had not seen a dear friend for some time would have run to greet him, yet you did not. I also saw the look on your sister’s face when Gingivere told of how Tzarmina broke Martin’s sword before throwing him in the dungeon. Many passing travelers have heard that tale, and many of our own. And yet, until that night I had never seen a creature whose face, upon hearing the tale, so perfectly mirrored the agony our warrior must have felt at the loss of his sword.”

Brome nodded, blinking back the tears that threatened to fall each time he thought of how Martin must have felt when the sword snapped. “Rose knows how much that sword meant to Martin, and how much it cost him to retrieve it.” He stood, and moved to sit next to the abbess, staring out the window at the snow-covered wall beyond. “Many of the creatures I travel with believe it a good thing that the sword was reforged. They feel that remaking the blade has removed the tarnish on it from the seasons spent in the paws of a warlord. I only hope Martin would agree. He doesn’t remember us, but he doesn’t remember the seasons he lived as a slave either, and I can’t decide if that’s a blessing or a curse.” He fell silent, waiting for the Abbess’ response, still watching the sun play upon the snow on the wall.

Dust motes floated gently through the air, dancing through the sun like specks of gold while the silence stretched on.

Finally, the Abbess spoke. “Perhaps it is not for you to decide. Martin may not remember anything from his time as a slave, but that does not mean that he does not know that he once was one. Scars may fade over time, but they do not always disappear. It is a noble thought to try and spare him unnecessary pain.” She sighed softly, and, turning to her, Brome saw the hints of a smile playing across her mouth. “But a part of me wonders if perhaps it is akin to my wish to spare new mothers the pain of childbirth. Sometimes a bit of pain makes the joys of life that much brighter.”

Brome nodded, turning the thought over in his head. “I hadn’t thought of it that way.”

“I cannot blame you for that,” the Abbess said. “You’ve only just recently learned of Martin’s lack of memories. Two busy days is hardly enough time to consider all the different ways you might approach the problem.” The smile fell from her face. “A part of me worries, though, that if you leave without telling him his past then he may never regain those lost memories. Martin is a strong creature, and quite brave. But even the strongest and bravest among us have their struggles.” She paused, as though considering her next words. “I cannot tell you what you should do, that is something you will have to decide for yourself. But I do hope you will consider telling Martin what you know about his past. In the past few seasons he has begun to stress over his lost memories far more than he had previously. After the events of this past summer I fear it has begun to affect his health.”

“What happened last summer,” Brome asked, his chest suddenly tight at the thought of his old friend suffering in any way.

Abbess Germaine smiled reassuringly. “Oh, not to worry, he’s perfectly fine now. Had a nasty summer cold that turned into a fever and had him bedridden for the better part of the season.” She laughed quietly. “Although I wouldn’t be surprised if part of that was because of the dibbuns that kept sneaking in to play with him. I had to threaten to have him moved up here to the infirmary before he agreed to tell them to leave him alone so he could sleep.”

“He does seem to be quite popular with the youngsters,” Brome said with a chuckle. He wiped his eyes briefly with the edge of his sleeve. “I’ll ask Keyla and Yarrow what they think we should do. They spent a good portion of their dibbun days together with Martin, and know better than I do what all he’s forgotten.”

Abbess Germaine nodded. “Very good. You might talk to Gonff as well.”

“Gonff?” Brome asked. “The Mousethief?”

“He was largely responsible for helping Martin remember their journey to Salamondastron. He might have a few tips on how you could jog Martin’s memories now,” Abbess Germaine said with a smile.

Brome considered her suggestion for a moment before nodding. “I’ll do that.”

“Thank you, Brome,” Abbess Germaine said. She lay back against the pillows. “Would you please tell Bella that I’ll be taking a short nap up here before dinner? To much celebration and not enough sleep wears down on these old bones of mine.”

Brome nodded, standing and walking toward the door. “I will. Sleep well, Mother Abbess.”

A hush lay across Cavern Hole as Gonff emerged from the kitchens later that afternoon with a bundle under one arm and munching on a honey biscuit. Dibbuns sat clustered in groups of three and four around the hall, some huddled around adults, others off on their own as they pondered over scraps of parchment and slate.

Gonff spotted Columbine sitting with a group near the stairs to Great Hall and made his way to her.

“How goes the scavenger hunt, my Dearest Darling?” he asked her when he got closer.

He was answered by a round of shushing from the nearby dibbuns, and one baby squirrel who glared sternly at him.

Columbine stood quickly and beckoned for him to follow, guiding him onto the stairs. Her eyes shone with laughter.

Gonff looked back over Cavern Hole, whispering, “Goodness me, Columbine. What did you give those babes to make them so ferocious?”

Columbine laughed aloud then, shaking her head at him. “They’ve nearly solved their riddles for the prize,” she said. “You distracted them.” She looked at the bundle under his arm. “Have you finished moving Martin in from the gatehouse?”

Gonff nodded and patted his bundle. “Aye. Found the last of Brother Scrittum’s measuring tools too. Figured I’d bring ‘em up with me and save Martin the trip.”

“How very kind of you,” Columbine said, smiling at him. “If you happen to see Martin, could you let him know the dibbuns are nearly finished with their quest?” She didn’t wait for his response but kissed him briefly on the cheek before returning to her group.

Gonff smiled after her for a moment before continuing on his way upstairs.

He found Brother Scrittum in the library,  in the company of Sister Amyl. The pair were pouring over some old text on the desk in front of them with extra quills, ink, and parchment arrayed on either side.

The library was a cozy little room situated on the western end of the second floor of the Abbey. Afternoon winter sun streamed in through the single window above Brother Scittum’s desk, tinting the air with a warm, golden glow. Candles supplemented the fading sunlight and banished shadows from the corners of the room.

Soft murmurs sounded from one of these corners, and Gonff turned to see Martin and Rose sitting together pouring over a book. He recognized the book immediately not as the Legend of Sheodin, which he had expected, but rather as the hefty tome Denno, Dulam, Vurg, and Beau had written on the last quest of Luke the Warrior. They looked so natural sitting there, with Rose wrapped in a blanket and snuggled next to Martin while he held the book so they could both see, that Gonff almost would have thought that they did this regularly. Martin had a soft, quietly content smile on his face. A smile Gonff had seen before, but only rarely. He cleared his throat softly, making his presence known.

The pair looked up quickly with matching quizzical expressions. Gonff couldn’t help but laugh.

“Shall I have the kitchen send yor supper up ‘ere?” he teased. “You two look comfortable enough to stay there for hours.”

Martin scowled at him, although Gonff knew the look well enough to know that there was no real weight behind it and merely continued to grin. A moment later Martin’s resolve cracked and he began to grin as well. “Is it that late already?” he asked.

Gonff shook his head. “Not quite. But Columbine wanted me to let you know that the dibbuns are nearly done with their scavenger hunt. They’ll be wanting their prizes soon.”

“I s’pose I should head down to hand them out, then,” Martin said. He set aside the book and stood from the pillows he and Rose were seated on, stretching languidly. Turning, he retrieved the book and offered Rose a paw to help her up. “I hope I haven’t bored you.”

Rose shook her head as she stood. “Not at all.” She smiled at him. “I enjoyed it immensely. Thank you for sharing it with me.”

Martin stared at her for a moment before turning sharply on his toes to put the book away, his ears practically glowing red.

Gonff let out a hearty laugh and patted Rose on the shoulder. “Ahaha! I don’t think I’ve ever seen anybeast fluster ‘im so quickly.” He turned to Martin. “Don’t hide yor face, you great lump. The maid’s being sweet, you’ll make ‘er think you took it the wrong way.”

Slowly, Martin turned back to them, his ears still red. He glanced around for a moment before motioning to the bundle Gonff carried. “What’s that?”

“What, this?” Gonff held it up. “Dinny found th’ last o’ Brother Scittum’s writin’ tools for you. I figured I’d bring it up ‘ere.”

“Thank you,” Martin said. “I’m sure you can leave it with Brother Scrittum and Sister Amyl.” He turned to Rose. “I’m going to head down to Cavern Hole to give the dibbuns their prizes, would you like to come along?”

Rose sighed and lifted a footpaw. “I’d love to, but I’m afraid I need to fetch my crutches first.” She shooed Martin toward the door. “You go on ahead and don’t worry about me. I can still walk, I’ll just have to go a bit slower.”

Martin nodded slowly, reluctantly making his way to the door. “Gonff, could you-”

“I’ll stay with ‘er ‘til she gets ‘er crutches,” Gonff said. He mimicked Rose’s shooing. “Now off you go, those dibbuns won’t wait forever.”

Martin nodded. “I’ll see you both downstairs in a bit, then,” he said and left the room.

Gonff watched him leave before returning the measuring tools to Brother Scrittum. The elderly brother patted his paw several times and tried to offer him a candied chestnut.

“No, no, really, I don’t need anymore,” Gonff said, waving his paws.

“What he means--” said Sister Amyl, taking the candied chestnut and placing it back in Brother Scrittum’s pocket-- “is that he’s probably already filched a few from you.”

“Oh yes, I see,” said Brother Scrittum, winking at Gonff. He patted the mousethief’s paw once more. “You take care of yourself now, lad.”

“O’ course, Brother,” Gonff said, carefully extracting himself and returning to Rose. He doffed an imaginary hat and swept into a deep bow. “Might I have the pleasure of escorting you to Great Hall, miss?”

Rose giggled and bobbed a curtsy. “Why thank you very much, my kind sir.” She took his offered paw and they swept out of the library, both still giggling.

Once out in the corridor, Gonff allowed Rose to set the pace as they meandered their way down to Great Hall. She was humming a happy tune to which Gonff began to whistle once he caught the pattern. After they’d repeated the tune three times, Gonff turned to Rose and said, “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen a beast turn Martin red that quickly. You’ll have to tell me yor secret sometime.”

Rose giggled. “I’ll be sure to tell you when I discover it for myself,” she said with a wink. “It was a good story.”

“You didn’t get all the way through, I assume,” Gonff said. “It took Denno most o’ the night to read the whole thing to us when we found ‘em on the Arfship.”

“No.” Rose shook her head. “We only just made it past the part where Luke left on his voyage.” The smile faded from her face and she stopped walking. “It explains a lot, really.”

Gonff cocked his head to one side. “Y’mean like where he got ‘is sense of honor an’ such?”

Rose nodded slowly, her eyes looking through Gonff to some distant past. “And why he didn’t believe me the first time I told him he was a warrior.”

Gonff scratched his ear. “I must’ve missed that conversation.”

Rose shook her head, opening and closing her mouth a few times.

Gonff didn’t press her, but simply stood in the silence, waiting for her to speak again.

Finally, Rose let out a long sigh and looked up at Gonff resolutely. “I-”

“Rose, there you are!”

Both mice turn to see Brome making his way up the stairs. “I’ve been looking for you,” he said, “And Gonff.”

“Is something wrong?” Rose asked.

Brome shook his head. “No. Were you on your way to somewhere?”

“I’m escorting Miss Rose to Sister Amyl’s room to retrieve her crutches,” Gonff said, standing up straight and striking a pose.

Rose and Brome both giggled at him.

“Shall I join you, then?” Brome asked. “We can talk while we walk.”

Gonff nodded, once again offering his arm to Rose. “Very well. Now, why’re you looking for us?”

Brome fell into step on the other side of Rose. “It’s a bit complicated.” He turned toward his sister. “You recall that I was helping Abbess Germaine in the infirmary this afternoon?”

Rose nodded. “I remember.”

“She’s a rather sharp old mouse,” Brome said.

Gonff chuckled. “That she is.”

“Anyways,” Brome went on, “she told me that she’s figured us out.”

“I see,” Rose said, nodding slowly.

“Figured out what?” Gonff asked, dropping his usual joking manner.

Rose turned to him. “Figured out that we knew Martin before he came to Redwall,” she said quietly.

“You’re not surprised?” Brome asked when Gonff didn’t react.

Gonff shrugged and pulled some pieces of paper from his pocket. “Nearly had it figured out m’self after finding these.” He handed the sketches to Rose, who in turn handed them to Brome.

Brome examined the sketches of himself and Rose before handing them back to Gonff. “Martin’s work, I assume?”

Gonff nodded.

“So he hadn’t completely forgotten us,” Brome said.

Rose shook her head. “But he doesn’t seem to consciously remember us, either.”

The trio had reached the bottom of the stairs as they spoke and entered the bustling noise of Redwallers and travelers preparing to descend to Cavern Hole for the night’s feast.

Gonff motioned Rose and Brome off to one side. “I take it you want my help in jogging Martin’s memories?”

Brome nodded. “Aye. Abbess Germaine said you were the one who helped him regain lost memories after the war with Tzarmina was over.”

Gonff frowned. “I was. But that was pretty soon after he lost those memories, and he still doesn’t remember everything we went through. Gettin’ ‘im to remember now will likely be a bit harder.”

Rose’s face fell.

Gonff smiled at her. “Now, now. Don’t give up hope. I didn’t say it was impossible.” He looked back and forth between her and Brome. “Tell you what, I’ll think this over for the evening and we can meet again after brekkist tomorrow.”

Brome grinned and held out a paw. “We’ll gather the rest of the Players together and let them know what we’re trying to do. Thank you for your help.”

They shook paws and parted ways, Gonff heading off to Cavern Hole, and Brome and Rose to find the rest of Players after retrieving Rose’s crutches.

Gonff found himself distracted during the night’s performance, trying to watch both Martin and the Players as the feast progressed. He did, however, notice that Martin was in unusually high spirits, joining in the laughter and applause with far more energy than he had the previous two nights.

“Are you quite alright, Gonff?” Columbine asked him as they prepared for bed in their little room. “You’ve been a bit quieter this evening. Tummy ache?”

Gonff shook himself and pulled his wife into an impromptu dance. “Wot? Me, quiet? Never!” He spun her around the room until they both collapsed, giggling, onto the bed.

“Hahaha-hu-haha-hush, Gonff!” Columbine gasped. “You’ll wake Gonfflet.”

Gonff smiled at her, cupping her cheek with one paw and planting a kiss on her nose. “The little rascal’s already fast asleep. No need to worry about ‘im.”

Columbine giggled again and sat up. “Maybe not, but you still haven’t told me why you’ve been quieter this evening.” She put her paws on her hips and fixed a stern expression on her face. “Now you’d best tell me before I’m forced to tickle it out of you.”

“No! No tickles!” Gonff cried, throwing his paws in the air in mock horror. “I’ll tell.” He sat up, taking Columbine’s paws in his. “Just a conversation from earlier today that I haven’t quite figured out an answer to yet,” he said. “That’s all, nothing to worry about.”

“You’re sure?” Columbine asked.

Gonff nodded. “I am. Now-” he grinned and flung himself backward onto the bed- “We’d best get to sleep ourselves to make tomorrow come sooner.”

Columbine giggled and joined him. “If you insist, my Prince of Mousethieves.”

“I do.” He blew out the candle next to the bed and they both went to sleep.