#and you left it unopened as though it was still in the store.

[finnickodaiir]

And like she's not even gonna sell them... she's just gonna trade them at this cd/vinyl shop for other albums from other artists...

[p0ckykiss]

stain on the sink - mingyu

summary - mingyu is sitting on the edge of the tub, staring at his phone. for some reason, he had thought that you, who has never even dyed your own hair, let alone someone else’s, would be the perfect person to bleach his whole head. you agreed after mingyu said he’d buy you dinner if you did it.

-> established relationship, kissing, fluff, sexual joke implication

the smell of bleach stuck to every surface in the apartment, no matter how many windows you opened. you knew it was inevitable but fuck, did it have to be so bad?

you walk back into the bathroom, the smell only worsening.

“your scalp burning yet?”

“i can feel it, but it's not hurting." you sigh in relief at that, you didn't want to have to drive mingyu to the hospital because of your combined stupidity.

you clean the supplies up off the sink, the box of leftover bleach finding a home in the back of the cabinet, shoves the plastic bag you'd received at the convenience store into the corner. after you're finished, you move away from the sink, nudge mingyu's leg with your own to get him to scoot over enough for you to sit. he complies, but even with the added space, you're thigh to thigh, the ledge uncomfortable as all hell.

mingyu looks up from his phone, meets your eyes before slipping a hand into your hair. he combs it back in the way he’d learned you like, done it so much it'd become muscle memory, repeats the action. mingyu thinks this is the most content he’d ever seen you, eyes shut and a soft smile laying across your lips.

you sit like that for a while, it could have been five minutes or fifteen. neither of you know, your only measure of time being that mingyu's phone had faded to black while he was preoccupied with you.

mingyu offhandedly comments, “your hair is so soft, i don’t think mine has been like that ever since i first dyed it,”

you remember that, the shock you felt when mingyu walked into your apartment with dark brown hair. the difference between his previously black hair and the dyed brown wasn’t much, not in reality, but to you it was like his whole world shifted. you can still recount how pleased mingyu looked with it, his laugh when you couldn’t find the words to convey his support. and you could definitely recall the newfound confidence mingyu had after, low hanging shirts and burning grins.

“i liked your dark brown hair, it suited you.”

mingyu hums, then asks, “is it your favorite?”

you don’t think much about his reply, mostly because you'd already spent hours debating this topic on your own, “no, i like that dark black you did a little more,”

“makes sense why you bought that then,” mingyu says, pointing at the unopened box of black dye that's peeking through the wrinkles of the convenience store bag. you may have attempted to persuade him into doing that instead, unfortunately without any luck.

glancing at your phone, you see that the timer you set has a minute left. you shove the screen in mingyu's face, disorienting the other for a moment. when his eyes focus on the numbers, he pats your thigh with his hand, stands up, and stretches his back.

“shampoo?” he asks, elbow stretched behind his head.

you hum in confirmation, get off the tub ledge and grab your gloves again, the tight nitrile meeting your skin once more. you pull the shower curtain to cover the outside, twist the knob to turn the showerhead on.

while turned away, you feel arms circle around your waist, chin digging into the flesh of your shoulder. though you don’t want to, you tug one of mingyu's arms away from you and bring him towards the shower.

“put your head in, dummy.”

mingyu surrenders, leaning forward into the water, allowing you to shampoo the bleach out. you can’t make a final decision yet, but in your unprofessional opinion, it doesn’t look half bad. sure, it isn’t an a-grade job, but you never claimed to be a miracle worker, only someone with two hands and box bleach.

when you're certain you've gotten it all out, you turn the shower off and grab a towel from the rack beside mingyu.

you begin to ruffle the towel against mingyu's hair, intentionally shaking mingyu's head side to side. he looks like a wet dog at this point, head drooped and yielding to the attack.

you think you're as far as you'll get with a towel and tap mingyu's chin to get him to look up.

though you were surprised when mingyu first dyed his hair, and you'd thought that was long enough ago for you to not be affected by any change to his hair color, you felt that breathless feeling from before all over again.

mingyu looked good, even with his shabbily bleached hair and old pajama shirt, because of course he did.

you have been staring for far too long, you know that. mingyu breaks the silence with, “so, you gonna give me a blow job?”

the moment is gone just like that, you slap mingyu on the side with the towel. 

“do you have no decorum, mingyu?”

“i meant the hair dryer,” mingyu quips, but the smirk on his lips says otherwise. 

“sure,” you reply, words coated thickly with sarcasm. 

when mingyu turns away to look in the mirror, leaning over the sink, hands running through his hair, he simply says, “thanks, babe,” before taking the towel out of your hands and beginning to hang it on the rack, in its previous spot.

“you’re so unfair,” you whine, and mingyu has the audacity to look confused, eyebrows scrunching as he looks over at you, extremely lost. you continue, “i bleach your hair, shampoo it out, and towel dry it, and all i get is a thanks? what happened to romance?”

mingyu laughs, head titling to the floor. you hold back a smile, knowing you've got him in the palm of your hand.

“romance? okay,” mingyu's hands meet your waist like they were built to be there, pulls you closer, breath hitting your lips. you like this more than anything else, even if the smell of bleach hasn’t stopped biting your lungs at every inhale you take. “thank you so much, y/n. how could i ever repay you?”

you find you don't need to answer that because your lips have already met, and words that didn’t need to be spoken are shared between your mouths, a secret for only you and the walls of the bathroom.

bleaching hair isn’t so bad. not when you get the reward of your still-gloved hands in mingyu's newly bleached hair and your bodies pressed against each other. you also get your free dinner, so it's a win for you in the end. 

[bluegalaxygirl]

Dead rising (Zosan X reader)

Plot: Trying to find food in an abandoned town takes a turn for the worst when a dead man walks to you.

Warning: Death, blood, violence, injury, mentions of suicide, swearing.

Alternative ending - X

The island was quiet when the Sunny docked, no sign of life not even birds or insects and streets covered in trash but you had no chose but to stop off. The nearest island was days away and there was no food left thanks to Luffy's late night feast. To deiced who would go and explore Nami cut up a piece of paper the three longest strips would decide who would go. Zoro, Sanji and Usopp were picked but with how scared Usopp was you deiced to take his place instead, plus it would be good to spend some alone time with your boys. The three of you set off with big bags slung over your shoulders and empty bottles you could fill with water, thats if this place still had running water. Buildings lined the cracked streets, this place seems to have been abandoned for a long time but the shops still had stuff in them. Book stores still had books on their shelves, furniture stores still had furniture, heck all the tills still had money in them but no shops had food or water. As the day went on with no sign of anything editable you three finally made it to the end of town to find a large store, you've seen one like this before and hoped that because of its big size there would be at least something left.

Stepping threw the shattered glass doors your heavy boots make crunching noises as you step onto the glass covered floor, its clear this place was broken into not broken out of, you still held hope that this place had something left. Shelves lined threw the building but most of them looked empty, you couldn't see all the way to the back though. "Maybe we should split up. We need to get back before dark" Sanji spoke his voice almost echoing threw the place, "Yea. a place like this usually has a warehouse in the back, i'll check that out" you being walking as the two boys nod Zoro going to the right of the store while Sanji went to the left. Heading to the back threw the middle there was only rotten fruit and veg but the mushrooms seemed to be growing very well so you took a few and put them in your bag, you didn't know if they were ok or not but your sure Sanji will tell you later. Soon making it to the back you found two large black doors chained togeather a pad lock on the front holding the chain togeather, one of the handles the chain was attached too was lose so it was easy for you to pull and break it off. The loud sound of the metal handle falling off the chain and onto the hard floor rang threw the building "Y/N, Sanji?" Zoro's voice called out sounding concerned "Sorry, just had to break a door" you called out hoping to calm his nerves. "Be careful" The swords man called back going back to what he was doing

Pushing the large door open was harder than you thought, a few carts on the other side tried keeping the doors closed but you managed to push it open enough to squeeze threw, in hindsight you should have realized something was wrong, there was a reason this door was forced closed on both sides but you just thought they wanted to keep their stock safe. The warehouse was dark almost pitch black except the light coming form the door behind you, big boxes and shelves filled the room, you knew you hit the jack pot when you found several unopened fruit cans. Placing them in your bag you were about to call out to Zoro and Sanji when a thud caught your attention, your breath hitched in your throat as another thud soon followed by a groan sounded came out in the dark. A figure started to appear, swaying from side to side as it walked towards you, you wanted to move to run but the sight before you made you freeze, theres no way this man should be alive. He had ripped cloths and his stomach was wide open, intestines being dragged along the floor, he had no lower jaw just his tongue and dead eyes. The gargling and groaning sounds got louder as it approached seeing more figures behind it moving the same way.

A cold hand grabbed your arm from beside you and teeth sunk into your shoulder, Screaming in pain you managed to shove the thing off you, its teeth still latched into the skin of your shoulder as it tore away from you. You didn't realized that these things were coming at you from all sides but you had to move. You grabbed the knife from your pocked and stabbed it in the top of the head, its limp body now falling to the ground and off your knife, running to the door a hand reached threw trying to shoved the door open more. Zoro shoved against the door as hard as he could while Sanji reached in to help you threw. Just about out you were almost pulled back in as finger nails digged into your hand and teeth latching onto your fingers. The pain was overwhelming, you couldn't help but let out another painful scream, the feeling of rotten teeth biting threw flesh and into bone. Sanji's hand grabbed the things head trying shove it off your fingers as Zoro pulling out his sward and slashed down chopping its head off.

Falling to the floor cradling your hand Zoro pulled the door closed, more of those things trying to get to you three only managing to get their arms threw the gap. Sanji helped you up and moved you away form the door and the still moving head on the ground. You couldn't look away form it. Its eyes were still looking around, its mouth opening and closing stained with your blood. "What the fuck?" you let out Sanji and Zoro now looking at what you were looking at. Zoro's sward stabbed into it, it stopped moving all togeather as zoro pulled his sword out. "Shit, love your shoulder" Taking off his jacket Sanji presses it against the open wound on your shoulder earning a hiss form you pain shooting threw your body again. "What the hell happened?" Zoro asked walking over and taking your injured hand in his looking it over. "I-I don't know" you managed to get out still not understanding what just happened. "Sanji?" you ask reaching up to look at his hand, a small bit mark was on his hand between his thumb and index finger. "I'm ok. one of those things bit me while i was trying to get that thing off you" The cook gives you a small smile and pulls you in for a hug "It's ok. We're gonna get you back to Chopper and get you fixed up"

With zoro's arm around you holding you up and your arm over his shoulder you three made your way back to the ship now keeping a look out for any of those things. You felt worse every second but you put it down to blood loss and maybe even infection until you threw up. Hunching over with red liquid coming out of your mouth you tried to breath only to cough, blood pooled on the floor below you as you threw up again. Zoro quickly set you on the ground holding your hair back as you continued to throw up blood. Sanji rushed to your side, he was sweating and tired but he forced himself to move, he checked your wound to see it was still bleeding, his jacket stained in your blood. he looked around seeing a clothes store "I'n there, we can find something to stop the bleeding" Sanji commented letting Zoro help you up. He could hardly move himself so there was no way he could carry you. You managed to stop yourself from being sick again as you three walked over to the shop, the swords man sitting you down with your back against the shop wall. Sanji was about to head in when Zoro stopped him "Wait.. i'll check it out first, Sit down and rest with Y/n" placing a hand on Sanji's check the swords man kissed the cooks forehead before pulling out his swords and walking in. Sanji sat next to you on the floor near the shop door. He places a hand on your knee for comfort before looking at you, both of you tired, sweaty and feeling sick but you still managed to lighten the mood "You look like death" you whisper a small smile forming on your pale face "speck for yourself love" Sanji laughs back at you taking your uninjured hand in his and kissing your knuckles. "I look fabulous"

With the shop cleared out Zoro helped the two of you inside and placed you both by the counter away from the doors and window. Grabbing the nearest item of clothing he replaced Sanji's jacket on your shoulder "Hold this for me" his demanding voice catches your fading attention as he moved your hand onto your shoulder helping you press down on your now covered wound. He then moved to you hand grabbing a t-shirt and warping your hand up being careful not to hurt you more. Moving over to Sanji he wraps a scarf he found around his hand, the small bit looked worse than before, it hadn't stopped bleeding and the skin around it starts to look dead. Zoro kissing it after though not caring how awful you both looked, he didn't want to show it but he was scared, you two looked like you were gonna die at any second, he couldn't imagine losing one of you let alone both of you. "Zoro" Sanji's voice snaps the swords man out of it looking up into his cooks tired eyes "Sorry.. i just.. we'll rest here for a minute and then continue back" Zoro sat in between the two of you pulling you both into his chest kissing the tops of your heads.

A minute later Zoro noticed the change in your breathing, it was labored and getting louder as you struggles to push air into your lungs. Looking down at you he realized your skin was turning grey, you were sweating more than before and your eyes were blood shot "Y/N?" he asked in panic waking Sanji who had just fallen asleep. Zoro moved to lay you down your head close to Sanji's legs "Shit, their burning up, what do we do?" the cook panicked placing a hand in your forehead, it was hot almost like a stove that had on for too long. "z-zoro,s-sanji" you tried to get out, your vision growing darker, your chest and head hurt, your skin was burning and your wounds itched like crazy you knew you were dieing. "It's alright baby, we'll get you to chopper" Zoro tried sitting you up but you placed a weak hand on his arm, you felt your heart beating fast it missing beets as your hand went up his arm to feel for his face. "I-I love.. both y-you" forcing out those words was hard but you wanted them to know, you wanted them to hear you, everything went black and your body went limp, your hand falling to the floor from zoro's face.

Blurry eyes from the tears Zoro stared down at your lifeless body, a shaky hand went to your neck feeling for a pulse. He couldn't breath, his mind was blank, you can't be dead, your stronger than that, you cant be dead but there was nothing, no pulse. Sanji's heartbreaking screams snapped him out of his depressed state watching Sanji cradle your head in his hands, leaning over your body as tears streamed down his face dropping onto your grey cheeks. The swords man crawled over pulling Sanji into his arms holding him close and the two cry over you. "D-Do some-something" Sanji managed to get out threw sobs and wailing. "They lost too much blood, even if we did get them back, it would be a long journey back and they may not make that" Shaking from his own words Zoro didn't want to believe it himself but he's seen this before. "No No your wrong... we can... we can" Sanji pushed back trying to get Zoro's strong grip off him but failing due to his weak state and broken heart.

The two sat there for what seemed like hours but was only a few minutes, silence filled the shop since Sanji's throat had dried up to the point he couldn't talk anymore and Zoro's tears dried on his face, shock over taking his body his arms still around the cook refusing to look at your lifeless body on the floor. Sanji on the other hand couldn't look away, his eyes fixed on you hoping you would wake up, say it was a prank or a joke or that Zoro was wrong, you didn't die you just passed out but as the minutes went by and your chest didn't rise and fall from taking breaths it slowly started to sink in that you were gone but then your finger twitched. Grabbing Zoro's arm and struggling to sitting up straight Sanji manged to pull his eyes away from you and onto the swords man "they moved" looking down at your body Zoro sighs and shakes his head "Its just muscle spasms, their gone, Sanji" only for the cook to shake his head and look back down at you "No look" you fingers cracked slightly as they moved trying to grip the floor and gargling started coming out of your mouth. Zoro layed Sanji back down against the counter and slowly moved over to you, your eyes opened slowly, they were glazed over white hardly able to see your eye color any more but you seemed to see him.

"Y/N?" Zoro asks looking you over as your hand reaches up to grab at him, your muscles stiff and shaky, mouth opening and closing bearing your teeth as the growls from your throat get louder. "ZORO" Sanji yells out seeming to notice what was going on way before the swords man did. Sitting up with in human speed and grasping your hands around Zoro's arms your body manged to push him over and onto the ground. With Zoro on his back and a hand around your throat you frantically tried to get to him, growling and biting at anything that you could get at, your nails trying to grip onto his shirt and pull him closer, he struggled under you, you were trying to kill him but it was still you, he couldn't hurt you. Sanji manged enough strength to kick you in the side sending you flying into some standing clothes racks. "D-Did they bite you?" Sanji struggled to grab at Zoro helping him over and away form where you were trying to get up tripping over fabric and metal poles. "No... what the hell is going on?" Zoro couldn't believe what was happening, he'd heard stories about this but never thought it was real and yet here you are, your lifeless body coming back to life to consume the living.

Grabbing one of his swords Zoro slowly stood Sanji looking up at him knowing what had to happen "Y/n my love" Sanji let out in a shaky breath watching you finally get up and onto your feet. "Im so sorry baby... I love you" walking forward towards you while gripping his sword in his hand trying to stop it from shacking they both watched you stumble your way over to them, Zoro reaches a hand out grabbing your shoulder and thrusting the sword up and under your chin, the tip pointing out the top of your head. In an instant you went limp, Zoro pulling his sword out slowly and catching you before your body hit the ground. Zoro lays your body on the floor and closes your eyes giving your forehead a kiss before walking back over to Sanji. "Kill me" the words that left Sanji's mouth stopped Zoro in his tracks looking down at the cook "I need you to kill me" Sanji reiterated looking away from your body and up at Zoro with pleading eyes "I'm dying Zoro... i don't want to turn into that and hurt you" Sanji could feel it in him, it was hard for him to breath not form the heart break but form the fever and pain that shot threw his body. He knew he was running out of time.

Sacking his head Zoro sat down next to the cook and pulled him in for a strong hug "You'r still alive, theres a chance we can get back to the ship.. plus how am i gonna get back with out of you guiding me" Zoro states earning a small laugh and then a cough from sanji who pulled away and looked down at the hand he coughed on, there was blood and lots of it, "I'm not going back to the sunny, Zoro. By the time i get there i'll be dead and could infect any of the others." with a sigh Sanji placed his hand on the hilt of one of Zoro's swords, the sword mans hand quickly grabbed Sanji's with a shocked look "I said NO" almost yelling in the cooks face didn't seem to faze Sanji and it scared him, "I'll do it myself if you don't... please Zoro.. i'm scared" with tears now streaming down Zoro's face he realized there was nothing he could do to stop this, there was no hope. Grabbing the same sword he used to end you he went to wipe the blood off only for Sanji to stop him "Don't.. might sound weird but at least they will be with me" setting his sword down on his lap he pulled Sanji close again and kissed his lips "I'll wait until your gone and then i'll do it. i'm not gonna kill you while your still alive" Happy that Zoro agreed to do it Sanji nodded placing his head on the sword mans shoulder.

They wished they had more time with each other but it wasn't long until Sanji's breathing became labored and heavy his eye sight starting to fade. "Ro... i think.." Sanji spoke his throat raw and dry "Its ok.. i'm here. I love you Sanji." Zoro places a kiss on the cooks forehead feeling the burning heat coming off his skin "I l-love you.. Ro.. promise me... y-you'll love again" As the last words left his mouth so did his last breath, everything going dark for the cook. Zoro holding back tears feeling Sanji's heavy body slump against him. Tightly grabbing the hilt of his sword he thrusts the sword up into Sanji's head stopping him form coming back. Zoro's screams of anger and grief filled the shop unable to control how his chest hurt and his mind spun hot tears streaming down his face.

It was dark out by the time he managed to compose himself but his mind was still running wild, conflicting thoughts filled his head and he didn't know what to do. Looking down at the sword on his lap still stained with yours and Sanji's blood he couldn't think of anything else but the two of you, your time togeather, how you both made him so happy. He just wanted the two of you back, to for fill your dreams togeather and enjoy life togeather.

[karikarasuno]

sonder ch. iii

Pairing: Erwin Smith x Fem!Reader x Levi Smith

Rating: Explicit

Warnings/Tags: Angst, Smut (18+ Only), Oral Sex (m!receiving), Vaginal Fingering, Regret after Sex, Alcohol Consumption, Awkward Tension, Arguing, References to COVID Lockdown

Word Count: 10k

song(s) for the chapter: pretend by eloise, jaded by miley cyrus, breaking point by leon thomas

a/n: this chapter took me what feels like forever to write. i had writers block almost 100% of this chapter lol but it’s done at last. it’s pretty angsty though so strap in.

chapter ii | chapter iii | chapter iv

“What are you doing here?” You were positive you were having some kind of hallucination. A delusion brought upon by your temporary forgotten loneliness. To remind you of the guilty conscience that was never far away from you. But he was here, you knew in the crease between his eyebrows that manifested after years of concentration. And in the hopeful laced defeat in his dark eyes. It was real and you couldn’t wrap your head around it because it seemed unfathomable. Because, “how did you find me?”

The only person who knew where you were was, “your mom gave me your address.” He tightened his grip on the strap of his duffel bag as you didn’t make any move to let him in. Still confused. Still partially convinced he was conjured up by your deluded imagination. 

“Why?” was all you could manage. You were still tipsy from the wine tasting. Your heels still strapped around your ankles and the balls of your feet ached as you applied all your weight to them. You were woefully unprepared for this. Slightly terrified of the universe’s ability to shock and punish you as soon as you felt some semblance of contentment. 

“Not too sure why she gave it to me. Probably because she wanted us to talk as much as I do.” He shifted uncomfortably. And while there was a pleasant breeze this evening, it was still warm. Too warm to be out in his hoodie and jeans. 

“No,” you said, before you could think of saying anything else. “I meant why are you here?” 

There was judgment in your tone that you hadn’t meant to apply. And he flinched which caused your body to soften with sympathy. “Can I come in?”

Your hand tightened around the doorknob, but you moved to the side. And now he had a clear shot into your home. It was in slight disarray. Your work bag was thrown on your sofa and a blanket was bunched up in the corner. You left your coffee mug from this morning on the table and mail that remained unopened littered your island. 

He took it all in. Remnants of only you to be found. Which left a pitiful feeling in your stomach at the realization that your house together back home was probably littered with reminders of you. You left almost everything behind. Including him. And a shattering that you had poorly taped together beneath your sternum was beginning to unravel. 

He dropped his bag on the floor by the dining table. You bought it from a thrift store a few weeks back. It was small and round, worn with age but charming with the designs etched into the wood around it. You centered it in front of your bay window, perfectly snug by your bookcase. 

He glanced over half filled shelves, new books and old ones were placed haphazardly there until you decided how you would organize them. So far that was left on the back burner. He grabbed a novel you recently published. A mystery novel by a young author who you spent weeks trying to convince to take your publishing deal. Annie Leonhart was talented and you knew if you didn’t nab her someone else would, but she was particular about many things. She made Nile’s life hell for months, but it was worth it seeing the rave reviews as she slid onto the bestselling list with ease. 

“I read this on the plane,” he said, thumbing through the paperback. “Really good. I didn’t see the ending coming, even though all the signs were there.”

“Yeah,” you nodded, locking the door behind you but not moving towards him. Distance was your only safety net at the moment. “I was a little mad that I didn't put it together sooner.”

“So was I,” he said, finally looking at you. And you sensed something deeper. His roundabout way of saying he was angry with you too. Which you couldn’t blame him for. You didn’t exactly leave with a warning after your fight about your job. 

“I miss you,” he added, tossing the book onto the dining table. Two steps towards you. You locked your knees though, blocking your ability to meet him halfway. Tired of always having to meet him halfway. But you didn’t have to this time. Because his hand was on your cheek soon enough. Warmth radiated from his palm. Your heart skipped and then slowed, a familiar sense of relaxation numbing your limbs because you missed him too. You thoughtlessly pressed your cheek into his hand, eyes fluttering closed and you were smacked with a wave of emotion. Tears built in your throat, but you swallowed around them, blinking them away from your lash line when they stung there for a brief moment. 

“Onyank–”

“No,” he placed his other hand on your other cheek and forced you to look at him, “I miss you. Just say you miss me too.”

Your lips parted but nothing came out, your mind awfully blank and you couldn’t bring yourself to say it back. Your throat was closing around nothing and his eyes pleaded with you. But you couldn’t do it.

“Please.” You’ve never heard him sound so small, like a child. Suddenly the six years you had together were lost and the only version of him was when you first met. Youthful, hopeful, and tired. Your hands rose to grab his wrists, securing him against your skin and squeezing. “I missed you too.”

There was a long moment of just the two of you staring at one another, neither of you knowing what to do or where to go. For so long, things between the two of you were natural and seamless. You never had to worry about overstepping or crossing boundaries. But with the familiarity running so deeply between the two of you, it felt strange to be so hesitant in a moment like this. To be afraid of how the other might react.

“Why did you leave?” His hands moved down to cradle your neck, his fingers sifting through the hair at your nape. 

“Not right now.” You closed your eyes again, incapable of gathering the words to even explain to him the emotional turmoil you’ve been going through for the last two years. “I can’t.”

“Okay,” he said, grip tightening as if he were trying to make sure you were real. That he actually found you after you virtually ghosted him for months. You never answered his calls or texts. Just cut him off completely as if you never existed to each other. “Fine, we won’t. Not right now.”

You could only nod, stepping towards him, suddenly needing to feel him against your body. He was always so warm. You never understood how someone could run so hot, but he was perfect since you always seemed to be nothing short of freezing. He pulled you against him at the same time as you shifted into his arms. He tilted your face upwards, thumb pressing beneath your chin. You knew what he wanted. What he was silently asking for. And the alcohol that riddled your body stopped you from thinking rationally. That paired with your heightening emotions had you leaning upwards, so that your noses brushed one another. This wasn’t a good choice, a sane one, given everything that has happened. But you needed him in that moment. Needed to remember one of the reasons you fell so deeply in love with him in the first place. 

The distance closed between the two of you, but it felt like time was halting as soon as your lips barely touched his. They were just as full and soft as you remembered. He always kissed you like he knew exactly what he was doing and how to have your knees faltering and your lungs devoid of your own air. And suddenly, everything was rushed and hurried. You clung to him with desperation, your hands twisted in the thick fabric of his hoodie and you glued yourself to him. He wasn’t expecting your sudden need, so he stumbled and caught himself on the wall behind you with a hand as your back fell against it. 

“Wait,” he breathed, breaking the kiss before you could deepen it. Just breathing against your lips in gentle puffs of air. Your head rested against the wall, his hand slipping from where it was tangling in your hair to rest at the base of your throat as he tried to keep you at a somewhat safe distance. “We shouldn’t.”

“No,” you agreed, regaining some of your breath, “but I want to. I want you.”

Your hands drifted down his abdomen, bunching up his hoodie where it stopped above his waistband. There was a peek of his underwear. Calvin Klein. After he started making more money, it was all he bought for ages. You traced the elastic with a fingertip, outlining each letter until you stopped at the button of his jeans. 

“Tell me to stop,” you said, pinching the denim and waiting for him to stop you. But he dropped his forehead onto your shoulder instead, using his lips to guide his way up the curve of your neck to your ear. 

“I won’t.” He kissed the space below your ear, his hand finding your waist and tugging the fabric of your dress into his fist. You took that green light without hesitation. You fumbled with it at first, hands suddenly shaking with anticipation. But he kept leaving open mouthed kisses on your neck and shoulder as you unzipped his jeans. He was hard, his erection pressed into your palm as you slid your hand beneath his boxer briefs. He groaned against your skin, the sound so guttural and deep that it made your knees weak. 

You dropped to them as soon as you felt your weight give. The wood dug into your skin sharply, but you didn’t seem to care or notice. Not when you tugged down his clothes and exposed him. He was thick and long, and it was always difficult for you to take all of him into your mouth. But your mouth immediately watered with the memory of him. It’s been a while since you’ve been touched, even by yourself, and so your thighs clenched at the idea of being full again. The two of you fell into an easy rhythm. Your lips wrapped around his head, using the spit that gathered beneath your tongue to make the glide easier. His breath was falling from his lips in stuttered gasps, and when you glanced up at him he held his hoodie beneath his chest. Allowing you the perfect view of the flex of his abs whenever his breath got caught in his lungs. 

You hollowed out your cheeks, eyes closing again to focus on not choking when you fit more of him into your mouth. There was a gentle guiding hand on the back of your head resting there but heavy. When he pinched at the base of your neck you knew he was close, and he wanted you to pause. To give him a second. But you ignored it, pressing down further until your nose hit the base of his cock and he made a choking sound in the back of his throat when you swallowed around him. 

Instead of giving you another warning, he just pulled you off of him, using his grip on your neck to tug you backwards and you breathed out a relieved sigh you hadn’t realized was stuck in your chest. 

“Where’s your room?” It was a weird question to ask. Because you forgot he had never been here before. Momentarily forgotten that this wasn’t like any other night between the two of you. And that he was a visitor in your home and not a permanent resident. Where he shared a bed with you and half of a closet. You didn’t have his toothbrush in your medicine cabinet, or the wave brush he used every morning beside your perfume. It felt strange, this gap in time that you couldn’t account for accurately. 

But still, you rose to your feet, hand finding his wrist and telling him, “it’s this way.”

Your bed was unmade with your pajamas thrown at the end when you got dressed this morning. That seemed like years ago when you were debating between one shoe and another. When you paused at the side of your mattress, Onyankopon was behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist. His lips found your ear, his voice nothing but a rasp when he said, “sit down.”

He helped you turn around to face him, fingers at the hem of your dress and dragging the fabric up your body and over your head. He threw the dress to the floor, splaying a big hand across your abdomen as he pushed you onto the bed. You bounced carefully from the impact, your hands keeping you from falling straight onto your back. He placed a knee between your open legs forcing you to scoot backwards. And he started at your feet. His fingers skillfully unclasped your heels from each ankle, letting them drop to the floor with dull thuds against the fluffy rug you had there. 

His fingers danced up your thighs, massaging the fat of your hips in his hands before discarding your underwear easily. He took little time undressing himself. Eyes trained on the contours of your body the entire time which had your skin heating up under his scrutiny. When you moved up the bed to allow him more room he followed after you, crawling between your spread legs and grabbing your ankle to drag you towards him. Your head fell flat against the mattress, eyes focusing on your fan overhead before he used two fingers to press at your slit and dragged them upwards until he found your clit. 

“Shit,” you hissed between your teeth when he rubbed gentle circles against you. You felt yourself dripping and he played you effortlessly until you were writhing and pleading for more. 

“You always got so wet for me,” he groaned as he inserted one finger and you clenched around it. “God, I missed this.”

He pumped his finger in and out, taking his time before he inserted a second. He directed his focus to your g spot, using the angle to bully the sensitive tissue there until your heartbeat was in your throat. You immediately reached between your thighs and gripped his forearm. You pushed at him, but he was stronger than you and he wanted you to come on his fingers. You could tell he was determined to make you finish like this first. “Just fuck me, please.” There were tears springing from your tear ducts and you whined when he pressed his thumb to your clit. 

“Just gimme one, baby, and I’ll fuck you just how you like it.” The thought was dizzying, and the pressure from his fingers toying with you had your legs shaking. Over and over and over until you were drooling into his hand and the sloppy sounds of your pussy were the only thing accompanying your increased pitch in moans. 

“Fuck yes, that’s it. So pretty,” he groaned when you finally came with a gasp. Your hands scrambled to fist the comforter. You were drifting, his rambling was distant as you attempted to control the rush of endorphins flooding your system. He worked you through it, slowing down his motions until you melted into the bed and you could only blink up at him tearfully. 

He licked his fingers clean after he retracted them from your spasming cunt. Your sweat was cooling on your skin and the fan circling above your head sent goosebumps down your body. But you didn’t have much longer to regain your senses. Not when he took both of your thighs in his hands and folded you easily. His face was right above you, gorgeous as ever with his pupils dilated and his bottom lip secured between his teeth. It was always so insane to you how stunning he was. How effortless his beauty always seemed to be. And he somehow chose you. Until he didn’t.

You were sore as hell when you awoke the next morning. Your thighs tightened whenever you turned and your muscles screamed every time you tried to stretch beneath your covers. The sun slipped between your blinds, which only reminded you of how you needed to invest in blackout curtains. Your internal clock always woke you up with the sunrise, regardless of how much – or how little – you slept the night before. 

Last night felt like some vivid dream. You would’ve sworn that it didn’t happen and it was just a product of all the wine and exhaustion you were experiencing if it weren’t for the arm draped over your waist and the soft snores filling up your usually silent bedroom. You froze, suddenly wide awake. 

That was a mistake. A really big one. And he warned you too. To stop before you got too ahead of yourselves, but you had so little self control. You just wanted him so badly, your brain clouded with yearning and lust. It was hard to say no, not when he looked at you the way he did. Or touched you so tenderly. It brought back all the things you used to feel when you were with him. Before he proposed, and before he started to choose his career over you. 

He was a heavy sleeper. So slipping from out of his grasp was easy enough. Your thighs burned when you stepped into the shower. Muscles so tight and achy. But it was a good ache, the satisfying kind that if you weren’t so caught up in the implications of it all, you would be basking in it. But instead you were all too aware of the questions he would have when he officially woke up. 

Why did you leave? Why haven’t you answered any of my calls or texts? Where do we go from here?

You didn’t know. But that wasn’t a sufficient enough answer, especially given the circumstances of everything. You didn’t know how to tell him that you drifted apart. That your dreams were no longer in line with his and that the paths that life was stitching out for the two of you were just heading in vastly different directions. It seemed like not enough reason to get up and leave from one day to the next. And that you would sound crazy for it. You already felt crazy enough on the inside, but voicing that out loud would make you feel certifiable. You weren’t sure he would even understand. Because he seemed so happy with the little life you created so far. Without even realizing that he was the one leaving you behind. 

The water was lukewarm by the time you stepped onto your bath mat. There was movement from the other side of the door that you could hear now that the water was no longer running. You were very much aware of the predicament you made for yourself. But you wondered, if under a different set of circumstances, you wouldn’t have let him stay. Or slept with him again. You believe it would’ve turned out this way anyway. Because as much as you tried to avoid it, you still loved him. And you missed him so desperately, that even if you hadn’t drank for most of the day before you would have still let him in and led him to your bed. 

You slipped into something casual. Fitting over your head an oversized t-shirt and some slightly ripped jeans. He wasn’t in bed by the time you came out. Instead, you found him in the living room looking through the duffel bag he left there the night before. There was palpable tension circulating the two of you. Neither of you knew where to start or what to say. You knew that he wanted to talk about it. And all that it encompassed, but that’s not how you wanted to start off your morning. 

“Breakfast?” You asked, stuffing your hands into your front pockets and waiting.

“Hm?” He was still groggy with sleep, eyes blinking at you almost confused and a little glazed over from having just woken up.

“Do you wanna go out for breakfast? There’s this little diner not too far from here. They serve chilaquiles,” you said hopefully. You dangled the idea of his favorite breakfast right below his nose. He hardly ever passed up the opportunity for it whenever you suggested going to the Mexican restaurant back home, especially after a late night. And you were also hoping he didn’t see completely through your attempt at steering the day away from why he actually came here. Away from feelings and questions and difficult conversations. So you were grateful when he said, “yeah, that sounds good. Let me go get ready.”

You waited curled up and tense on a corner of your couch. You couldn’t stop fidgeting with your hand, primarily with your empty ring finger – massaging the knuckle right below it. There were texts on your phone. One from Moblit, a link to an article this author you and him particularly enjoyed shitting on. You weren’t surprised that some old tweets of her were dug up that only confirmed your previous suspicions of her being controversial.

You sent a quick: I knew I hated her for a reason, just didn’t think it would be this bad

And he quickly responded: Can’t say that I’m surprised though

You left it at that, hearing Onyankopon turn off the shower and move around the bathroom. You opened the groupchat with Erwin and Levi next. There was a singular text from Erwin about twenty-five minutes ago asking if you were up to get breakfast. A part of you wanted to ignore the text and pretend you were still asleep. Using sleeping in as an excuse to avoid them. Another part of you despised the fact that you even wanted to lie in the first place. They didn’t really deserve that when they have been nothing but friendly and honest with you. 

You settled on: Something came up, rain check?

Before you could wait for a response to come through, Onyankopon stepped into the living room smelling just like he always has. For some reason, you would’ve expected that part of him to change. The part that always wore that rich, musky cologne. With a hint of vanilla. 

“Ready?” You asked, legs still folded beneath your body, hesitant to move.  

“Mhmm,” he hummed. You slipped on your sneakers where they had been left by the door from the other day and grabbed your tote bag from where it was laying on the opposite end of the sofa. 

The morning walk to the diner was done in silence. It didn’t take torturously long to get there but with the tension as thick as it was it felt like a millennia before the green door of the restaurant came into view. It wasn’t as full as you expected it to be and you were seated as soon as you greeted the hostess. A little table for two right by the window. The sun was on the opposite side of the restaurant so it wasn’t unbearably warm where the two of you were sitting. You ordered a cappuccino when your waiter came around. And Onyankopon ordered a regular coffee. Black with two sugars. 

“How’s your new job been going?” He asked it through a tight jaw and he wasn’t looking at you. Just at the way his spoon spun in his mug after he mixed in some half n half from the container by the ketchup. 

“Good,” you said, shifting in your seat and fidgeting with your hands in your lap. “Really good, actually.”

“You like it so far?”

You nodded, chewing the inside of your cheek and saying, “It’s exactly what I wanted. It’s been…satisfying.”

“That’s good to hear.” 

The waiter took your orders. He ordered the chilaquiles like you knew he would’ve and you got the smoked salmon omelet. Afterwards, sticky silence was what you were left in. The two of you were being cordial. Very much unlike who you were as a couple. The genuine fluidity between you was gone. 

“I’ve been writing a lot since you left,” he said, staring out the window. “A few things here and there, but nothing complete.”

“You writing for anyone in particular?” He usually wrote for artists, and helped produce a lot of music in general. He was seemingly a genius when it came down to it. 

“No,” he shrugged, finishing off his coffee and sliding it towards the center of the table. You shifted awkwardly in your seat, nerves sliding up into your chest and filling you with discomfort. Words were trudging like mud up your throat. Thick and difficult to wade through. He seemed to be just as uncomfortable, with both of you knowing what you should be talking about but neither wanting to be the one to broach the topic first. 

Last time you were together you threw your engagement ring at him. The tinkly clattering of it still resonated around your skull when you thought back to it. He was just about to leave for another business trip. The argument started when you made an offhand comment about how he was never home because he must have a secret family on the other coast. His reaction was unexpected, the sudden outburst accusing you of being inconsiderate of his job and all the time and energy it takes to be successful. That one in particular stung because it felt like he was insinuating you weren’t successful. But it didn’t hurt as much as when he said, “the reason we have this house is because of me. Your ring, that you love so much, is because of my work and what I do. So maybe don’t throw around shitty accusations like that when you know better.” 

You could reason that he was having a particularly bad day that day. Long hours spent in the studio because one of the artists he worked with was known to be quite difficult. And maybe you weren’t enthusiastic at the idea of spending another week alone. Because what good was a house when you were the only one in it. Not when it was meant to be shared. 

So when he boarded his plane the next day– after you told him he could keep the ring– you boarded yours two days later. The entire time he was away neither of you reached out to the other. It was radio silence on both ends, so you could only imagine his surprise when he returned and you were gone. Besides the ring. That sat on the dresser in your bedroom with a note tucked beneath it. 

The server slid the food in front of you, warning you that “the plate is hot, so be careful.”

Conversation was stiff and uncoordinated the entire time you ate. You danced between topics, and stumbled into abrupt lulls when you weren’t sure how to respond. But at least the meal was good, delicious even. You cleaned off your plates, sliding them to the side of the table and stacking them to indicate you were finished. When the server came back with the check, neither of you having asked him to split it, you both reached for it. Just three hands extended towards each other in a very awkward moment. But you dropped yours first, if only to stop the moment from continuing. 

Onyankopon paid. Much like he always did. You didn’t argue it either, fearing that if you mentioned anything remotely close to the fragility of your relationship that it would devolve into a depressing confession of feelings– the ugly ones. And you would rather not begin to cry in a restaurant or in the middle of the sidewalk surrounded by way too many people. That was too mortifying to even think about. 

The afternoon had warmed considerably by the time you walked out, but there was still enough wind cutting around the corners of the buildings for it to be bearable. You were reluctant to go back home, though. Despite the creeping heat, you wanted to stay as far away from home as possible. Because you knew what would happen as soon as the two of you were alone behind closed doors. And you weren’t ready to ‘talk things out.’ 

“The pier isn’t too far from here,” you offered, tugging your bag further up your shoulder. “We can hop on the train or even walk if you want.”

His hands were stuffed deep into his pockets, muscles tense and flexing in his arms which gave away his discomfort– even though his expression remained neutral. You stood beside one another in stiff silence as he contemplated your suggestion. He knew you better than anyone else, so he could tell all you were doing was deflecting and avoiding. It was your default when it came to situations that were tricky or overwhelming. But instead of confronting it, like he usually did, he just said, “that works.”

Work was at the forefront of your mind as you fell into step with each other, and whether it was worth it. This torturous process of falling out of love with someone and choosing to leave rather than fighting to stay. You loved your job. There was a purpose in it that sparked an ambition in you that you lost a while ago. But it was still there; the flame that you thought was blown out only dimmed in comparison to what it used to be. 

“How long is this walk?” He grunted as he stepped around a stroller that’s wheel nearly sent him to his knees. The mother pushing it sent an apology over her shoulder, but it was caught in the wind. You assumed she was in a hurry, as was almost everyone in the city. 

You scoffed out a small laugh. It was humorless when you added, “about 40 minutes.”

“You’re kidding?” He caught your elbow and stopped you in the middle of the sidewalk, earning a disgruntled swear from the person walking behind the two of you briskly. His eyes were wide when you met them and there was genuine surprise written blatantly across his features. Shock looked funny on him. And when you smiled in response it was sincere. 

“I’m not.” You shook your head, stepping towards him to allow a person walking their dog to get around you. “The pier is like 40 minutes walking and maybe a little less than 20 by train.”

“Why would you think I’d want to walk? It's hot as hell today.” There was a small smile tugging at his lips, probably in response to the one you were wearing. And it was strange, the warmth that skidded down your spine, centralizing right where he held onto your bare elbow. 

“Don’t be a baby,” you teased, turning on your heels to the direction of your desired location. “It’s not that bad. We can take the train back to the house if you’re so against it later.”

He seemed to internalize your teasing tone as a challenge, squaring his shoulders and setting his jaw. “Fine,” punctuated with a dazzling grin. 

Sometimes it was hard to even look at him. A flickering of last night danced across your mind and the warmth returned, but you ignored it. Instead nodding before guiding him once again to your destination. 

You couldn’t describe what being with Onyankopon felt like. There was really no way to explain how or why he made you feel the way he did. Other than that it always felt like summer. You appreciated when the winter started to melt away, the chill being cut to nothing by the endless beams of sunshine. But there was always the rain that accompanied it. And somehow, even when you saw it in the forecast, you never brought an umbrella. With him the unexpected storms never seemed to bother you, the fat drops of water sometimes were enough to blind you but as long as you had him there was nothing to worry about. 

In the beginning you were grateful for the heat. For the opportunity to pull out your shorts and summer dresses. For the ability to shed all of your layers in favor of a select few. It was freeing, like taking off your bra after an exceptionally long day. But sooner rather than later the heat began to become nauseating. And every time you planned on leaving the house felt like a chore. A groan about it being too hot or too humid. And you found yourself wishing for autumn and on some days even the snow. You craved the layers you once longed to shed, so summer became something you despised. When at the start it was all you ever wanted. 

You wondered when Onyankopon became the person you wanted to the person you resented. When being with him began to feel like more of a chore rather than a breath of relief or a presence of comfort. It was painful, trying to walk backwards in the dark to figure out where everything went wrong. But it was unavoidable. There were roots lifting from beneath the ground that were ready for you to trip over along the way. But it needed to be done. 

For now though, the earthy smell of the lake was seeping into the air. The skyscrapers were getting more sparse, and the ferris wheel was peeking through the skyline. Forty minutes, while seeming excruciatingly long, passed by relatively quickly. Only accompanied with small talk here and there, mainly initiated by you when the silence began to feel like too much. 

When you arrived at the enormous wheel, you paid $20 each to ride it. Which you felt immediate regret about. The enclosed pods were smaller than you imagined them to be. And with the two of you sitting on opposite sides, his knees bracketed yours and every small swing had them tightening around your thighs. You were starting to believe that you were claustrophobic. The air that surrounded the two of you was thin and not enough. Because every time you breathed in, it was shallow and left your lungs more deflated with each exhale. 

“The city is nice,” Onyankopon said, eyes locked on the skyline. The sun was at its peak at the moment, the star burning its way down to earth and reflecting off of the water’s surface. There were people out on their boats and many more hanging around the shore to enjoy the weather while it lasted. Especially with autumn so near and the weather dipping into cooler temperatures in the late evening. 

“It’s been good to me,” you said, eyes still stuck on the water even when you could feel his gaze on you as the wheel descended the opposite side. 

“Yeah,” he agreed, knee shifting to intentionally press into your thigh. It forced you to look at him, his eyes boring into you with unidentified emotion. “It looks good on you.” 

By the time you left the pier, the tension between you had reduced itself from being awkward and off-putting to strangely calm. You took the train back home, sitting side by side in familiar comfortable silence. He offered you an earbud and the song that played was unfamiliar to you. You wondered if it was one of his. The lyrics were vaguely ringing a bell in your head. Maybe the one he was tinkering with all day the week before you parted. 

You tried to maintain some distance, but every time the train lurched to a stop or rounded a corner your bodies would press together – knees to shoulders. Neither of you made a move or even an effort to add a few inches between you. It was as if that distance would leave enough room for reality to come crashing in and that you wouldn’t allow. Not when reality would burn through the little progress you had made. At least what you had convinced yourself you had made. 

When you stood up for your stop he reached his hand behind his back in search of you. And, initially, you were going to pretend you didn’t see him because that would be weird. Too much like a past version of yourselves that has been too edited and revised to go back to. But those around you had other plans. An elderly man shouldered into your back unexpectedly, his cane caught between your ankles forcing you forward and grabbing Onyankopon’s hand in order to stabilize yourself. 

Instinctively, he squeezed. His hand was warm and sent a jolt of yearning up your arm that sparked and fizzled around your heart. Awakening a slumbering beast that only visited you on your loneliest nights. You swallowed around nothing and allowed him to guide you off the train and onto the platform. There was an almost numbness settling in your chest as you walked hand in hand back to your house. The awkwardness was starting to trickle in again. But you were probably the only one noticing it. Especially with the way his hand remained steady against your palm.

The garden outside of Levi and Erwin’s home came into view first. The flowers were still as stunning and vividly colorful as they were at the beginning of spring all those months ago. When you asked how Levi kept the garden so healthy, he managed a half-attentioned shrug. Which irked you to no end, except the next day on your way home you found him outside of your residence pulling out weeds and digging into the dirt. That was when you knew he hadn’t told you because he was keeping some well kept secret, but because he was going to do it himself. Much like he always did. 

You led Onyankopon up your steps, but paused at your door when you heard the familiar living sounds of your neighbors. Guilt tugged at you at the realization that you had been ignoring them. For people you have only known a few months, you spoke with them every day and falling out of sync with your routine was doing a number on you. When you unlocked the door and set your things aside you checked the notifications on your phone first. There were two texts. Both from Erwin. 

The first one read as: what came up? 

Quickly followed by: Just let us know if you need anything

Before you could think of a response though, you were reminded of the company you had. Onyankopon had stepped around you to the bathroom, forcing your eyes away from the screen in your hand and following his back until it was hidden behind a closed door. Your palms were beginning to clam up, an antsy energy trailing up your spine. You grabbed two glasses from the wine cart that were hanging from the hooks. With your hands busy it was easier to ignore the sounds of the toilet flushing and the sink’s water running. You over-poured one glass, almost over three-quarters of the way. So you claimed that one, offering the half-full glass to Onyankopon when he exited the bathroom and met you on the other side of the island.

“What’s this?” He spun the red wine around the glass by its stem, bringing the lip to his nose to smell it.

“Cabernet,” you said with your lips around the rim and taking a rather large sip. “Your favorite.”

He hummed in agreement after he tasted it. Actually savoring the flavor while you just chugged down another unattractive gulp. The alcohol was working quickly though with the lack of food you’d eaten today. Aside from your practically digested breakfast the only thing left in your stomach was an unsettling queasiness.

“What year?” He asked after another sip.

“2020,” you responded.

“Our best year to date.” Which made you laugh into your drink. It was peak lockdown and most couples despised spending every second of every day together. But not you two. It somehow brought you closer with every hour spent writing, reading, catching up on tv shows, or fucking. 

“We were stuck inside our house for a year,” you countered, leaning your elbows against the marble. 

“And I loved every second of it.” He smiled, even though there was a sadness lingering in his eyes. One that you could hardly swallow and thudded into your stomach, uncomfortable and heavy. 

“Oh is that right?” You took another sip. 

“Mm, wouldn’t have proposed if I didn’t.” His glass was nearly finished, so you offered him the bottle. 

“Of course,” you muttered, staring at him over your glass without knowing much else to say. 

“You know Munchies misses you,” he said over the glug of wine falling from the bottle. 

Munchies was your shared cat. You’d found him four years ago as a kitten. He was so tiny he fit in the palm of your hand. Just a tiny ball of orange fluff that wouldn’t stop screaming. Only issue was when you found him the both of you were high off your asses and on your way back from ordering way too much food. Onyankopon ended up carrying him back to your home in his jacket pocket while you lugged around bags and drink containers. 

“I miss him too,” you said sadly, head falling into your palm as you gazed at the red liquid moving languidly around your glass. 

“He ruined the puzzle you finished before you left,” he shrugged, smiling a little at the memory. “I think he was pissed at you for leaving, and probably pissed at me for ignoring him.”

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled, your heart aching even though he said it as if it didn’t affect him. You know the truth though, you could see the cracks in his resolve so vividly. Because they mirrored yours. 

“It’s whatever.” He gave you another shrug, offering nothing but a blank stare. 

“But it's not.”

He managed a hum under his breath in response, leaning over and filling your glass for you. Words were hard and neither of you knew what to say. It was a very strange push and pull, ebb and flow. Nostalgia and suffering. Years of history, but it only took a few months to become strangers. Written out of each other’s lives just as quickly and sincerely as you drunkenly stumbled into them. Just years of growth and development, all for a flight to rip it out right at its root. 

“Do you wanna watch a movie?” You asked while grabbing the wine by its neck and heading over to the couch. He followed, taking your movements as an answer enough. Not that he had much of a choice because you were running out of things to say that steered you clear of talking about you leaving. 

There was a cushion of space between you. But the distance could’ve been filled with a mountain range. The both of you ignored it, though. And you scrolled through Netflix until you picked some tacky romcom that was just released. 

You had zero clue what the movie was even about thirty minutes in. Onyankopon kept shifting his weight beside you—legs extending and spreading while his hand moved from his thigh to rest on the cushion between you. 

The wall of the living room was shared with Levi and Erwin’s bedroom, so you could hear that they were home. And usually at this time you’d be prepping for dinner either taking up residence in their kitchen or them in yours. You fear that you’ve used them to replace the void and emptiness in your chest that Onyankopon left. Now that he was back though, you expected some of that painful yearning to subside. Especially now that you could actually get some sort of closure. But now the pain only deepened, so much so it felt like your bones were breaking or your organs were beginning to fail. All you wanted was for him to leave so you could slip back into the routine you’ve become so accustomed to. But that would be impossible if all you did was avoid your past instead of confronting it. 

When the credits rolled and the entire bottle had been drained, instead of feeling comfortably tipsy there was a curdling sensation like spoiled milk rolling around your stomach. Steady breaths were hard to come by, especially since the silence was no longer filled with a poorly written script and subpar acting. 

“That movie was fucking awful,” he exhaled, stretching his long legs out in front of him and groaning when his knees popped. 

“But you love rom coms,” you said sarcastically, humor seeping into your tone despite the emotional turmoil settling somewhere between your heart and stomach. 

“Yeah, pre-2010,” he said with a roll of his eyes and a tiny smile. “And only because they remind me of you.”

“Onyankopon,” you sighed, wanting to desperately curl into yourself. There was a hopefulness in his eyes that you couldn’t return. Six years of loving him and it should be easy to fall again. Even for the sake of familiarity, but you didn’t have it in you. Not after falling so gracelessly out of love with him.

“We should get something to eat,” you deflected. And it was scary how easy it was becoming for you. “Do you have any cravings?”

“Not really,” he said, but you knew it was only for your sake. Everything he wanted to say was so visible on the tip of his tongue. 

“There’s a bunch of good places around here.” You stood to take the bottle to the kitchen along with the red stained glasses. “Italian, Chinese, Indian…”

“What would you want?” He followed.

“Any one of those work,” you shrugged. 

“But what do you want?” You hesitated for a moment. Unsure. “You’ve always been like this.”

“Like what?” Your tone was defensive as you filled the empty glasses with water in the sink. Your fight instinct triggered after years of the same argument.

“Indecisive,” he stated coldly, clearly agitated. 

“Right because you’re known for always choosing what we have for dinner. If you even bothered showing up,” you said bitterly, irrational anger building in your gut. 

“Don’t do that.” His jaw tightened when you faced him, your palms bracing you against the edge of the sink. 

“Do what exactly?” You were baiting him, immaturity in your response was evident, but it always seemed to be your default in moments like these. 

“The thing where you make it all out to be my fault.” His nose scrunched with frustration. “I’m never home. I work too much. I never spend time with you…” 

He rattled off months worth of your constant complaints, making them seem like you were delusional for feeling that way. 

“And none of that was true? I’m just crazy for feeling that way because I’m the one who canceled our vacation last minute because I got called into work.”

That memory in particular stung. It had been months since the two of you had a moment alone and you went out of your way to plan the perfect weekend trip to the mountains. You hated hiking, but he loved it. And you’d do anything to keep him happy and to get him to stay. He didn’t have to lift a finger for it, just agree. Which he did. You rented the car and the cabin. Even going as far as buying him new hiking books since the pair he had were from college. But a week before he had to fly out to the studio’s headquarters and wouldn’t be back in time. There were adjustments that needed to be made to one of the artists’ albums. And you tried so hard to be understanding and accommodating. But sickening resentment started to make its home in your chest.

“I had to work.” He was exasperated. This conversation was old and tired and played out. 

“Exactly. You had to work. But you never had to spend time with me.” The words were accompanied with the souring taste of alcohol on your tongue.

“That’s not fair,” he said through gritted teeth, pointing an accusatory finger at you.

“You’re right. It’s not fair that I waited around for you all those nights you said you’d be home for dinner. It’s not fair that my presence became so low on your list of priorities, I was just an afterthought to you.”

“That’s never what you were and you know that!” He shook his head and shut his eyes. Tension pulsed in his neck and shoulders and the haphazard bandages you stuck over your broken heart were peeling away agonizingly slow. 

“Then what was I?”

“I love you,” he pleaded. Pain etched into his facial expressions and it hurt to look at him. Maybe it was a last ditch effort for him, but you couldn’t keep doing this. 

“Love isn’t everything when it feels like you stopped caring.” Your voice cracked, a sudden wave of exhaustion weighing down your body. 

“I stopped caring but you’re the one who left? Without so much as a warning or goodbye. I deserved more than that.”

“You did and that’s on me, but you never tried to understand what I was going through. For fucks sake you laughed when I told you about this job,” you shouted, and your heart started beating rapidly against your chest. 

“No.” It came out more as a question than anything. His brows pinched in confusion and nausea settled in your stomach when you recognized that he really didn’t see the signs at all. He didn’t even remember. 

“You were on your way to the airport,” you started, head hanging a little lower at the memory. “I called you when I found it because I got excited. For a while I felt like everything was stagnant in my career, especially after watching yours be so great. So when I told you I was hoping to apply, all you did was chuckle and say ‘go ahead, but it's not like we’ll relocate.’

Like it wasn’t even up for discussion. Like my dreams weren’t even worth a conversation. So, no I didn’t tell you when I applied or left for the interview. I planned on it after they offered me the job but after that argument on our last night together, I made my decision. I felt like it wasn’t up for debate at that point.”

His hands gripped your marble counter. The tension in his shoulders remained and you could see the gears turning in his head. The rewind of events until he reached that moment. And the sudden realization. 

“Why didn’t you just talk to me? Why did you have to do something so drastic to get my attention?”

“I wasn’t looking for your attention! All I ever wanted was for you to listen and every time I tried, I was brushed off and the conversation was tabled for later and later and later. I wasn’t going to wait around forever for you!”

He walked around the island in three easy strides, anger bubbling behind his gaze as he seemed to corner you. “If you had told me I would’ve tried. I would’ve changed something to make it work.”

“Would you have put your career on hold for me? Would you have moved with me? Would you have even tried to split your time?” 

Tears of frustration were building behind your eyes and they burned so badly it was as if a fire was lit behind them. Your throat threatened to shut with how violently you were swallowing away the tears. Because you didn’t want to cry. You were over crying. 

“I…” he stopped himself, considering all of your questions, but his silence was your answer. His hesitation said it all. He wouldn’t do that for you and you knew and accepted that. But seeing it was different. Knowing that your assumption was true tore you apart in a way you didn’t fully understand. Like a knife digging deep into your chest and puncturing your heart. 

“I was tired of making sacrifices for you that went unnoticed. You just started to expect me to be there even when I was losing myself.”

“But what you did wasn’t something you’d do to someone you love,” his voice broke with sadness and anger. Bitterness coated each word and he could hardly even look at you. 

“This was never about loving you. I never stopped loving you. And yes, maybe what I did was selfish and cruel, but I was unhappy and you didn’t even care to ask. It was like I wasn’t even there. Did you really expect me to live the rest of our lives like that?”

“No, but I expected more from you. More from the woman I asked to be my wife.” He stressed the word, making it sound more like an insult that cut you straight open rather than a promise of being together forever. 

“We both know I’m not the one for you,” you shook your head to force the tears away. “Regardless of everything that we’ve been through, you have to admit that I was never the one. No matter how hard I tried to be, no matter how much I wished to be that for you. I'm not.” 

It took months for you to come to terms with that. And it was even harder to admit out loud, evidenced by the betrayal of water gathering at your lash line. If life were easy, simple, you could’ve been the wife he wanted. The person he craved and desired. But that fizzled out quicker than either of you craved to admit. It was just the truth. As ugly as it was. 

He stepped away from you, reaching a hand into his pocket until he pulled something out that you didn’t see. Not until he grabbed your wrist and held your palm up for him. He closed your engagement ring in your own hand. Stepping away from you completely, while taking whatever oxygen was left for you to breathe. 

“I do-,” you choked around the words because of the thickness gathering in your throat. “I don’t want this.”

You tried to hand it back, but he stepped further away from you until his back met the edge of your island. “Sell it, pawn it, give it away. I don’t care,” he threw his hands up in defeat. 

“But I can’t keep looking at it everyday. You left everything behind, and that I can deal with. But not the ring.” 

There was a desperation in his voice that clawed at you. One that you couldn’t argue because he was right. You left it all for him to clean up and dispose of. Especially the ring. You opened your fist to look at it, a fresh wave of agony resonated through you. 

“I’m sorry,” you said, this time looking at him. Watching his face fall and his emotions displayed plainly for you to witness. 

“I want to forgive you,” he said, his shoulders dropping and his eyes watering. “I really do. But I can’t. Not right now.” 

“And I can’t ask that of you,” your lips trembled, chest full of regret and guilt and pity. For him and for you. Because it shouldn’t have ended this way. “I know what I did and we both have to live with that.”

A stray tear fell down your cheek. It left a hot, wet track behind as it slid down your face and dropped off of your chin. This was the closure you wanted. The one you needed. But it didn’t make anything easier. Instead it carved open a fresh wound that was deeper than the last one. And for a second you wish you could take it all back. Just told him that you were sorry and that you would marry him. But that was just the regret talking. It should pass eventually. Hopefully.

“I should probably go.” He was retreating slowly, his eyes downcast, but you didn’t miss the tear that stained his own face. It was a direct reflection of your own. A cracked mirror with a distorted image of yourself. One you didn’t recognize. Not anymore. 

You stood in the kitchen as you heard him gather his things. Your back stuck against the sink’s edge as your palm grew sweaty where it was tightly secured around your ring. You were afraid to move. Afraid that it would make the situation real and honest. And then you’d have to deal with the consequences of that. The consequences of loving and losing. 

He refused to look your way as he exited your bedroom and headed towards the front door with his duffel secured over his chest. You tracked his every movement. From the squaring of his shoulders to the hollow breathing of his chest. 

“I hope she’s out there,” you called out to him and he stiffened. His back still to you, but you continued, “the love of your life. I hope you find her someday.” 

He turned to look at you over his shoulder, eyes taking you in for seemingly the last time. For what very well might be the most tragic you’ve ever looked in your years together. 

“I hope you do too,” he said solemnly, “find whatever happiness you’re looking for.” 

Another wave of tears threatened to spill over. His dejected voice was devastating enough to haunt you even in your dreams. You swallowed and looked away, breaking eye contact and concentrating on a spot on your counter. You heard the door click shut after a few seconds of strained silence. The ring, now slick from your sweat, was dropped onto the counter as your vision blurred and your mind clouded over. 

You should clean up. Your legs moving before you could stop them. You turned and washed the glasses in the sink and hung them upside down to dry. You folded the blanket on your couch next. And then put the book Onyankopon left on your dining table back on your bookshelf. A pang of something familiar and painful made its way through you and you nearly dropped the book. Your fingers trembled and shook. 

You walked back to the kitchen, shaky fingers wrapping around the wine bottle left on the island. They traced over the label, over the tiny clean numbers of 2020.

Our best year to date. 

Your hand tightened around the thick glass, and you were so angry. So pissed at where life has led you. And all you wanted was to lash out, to blame the universe or God or some other being that you couldn’t see for the mess you brought upon yourself. When the image of him walking away from you slammed back into your mind, the bottle that was secured in your grasp was flung against the wall. Remnants of red liquid splattered against the white paint, staining it so aggressively but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Not when your heart dropped into your stomach, the shards of broken glass scattered across your floor irreparably. 

You knelt as tears fell from your eyes— inevitable as they dripped down your neck and into your shirt. You were blind with them. Sobs wracked through your body as you tried to control your breathing but couldn’t. You gasped for air like each breath would be your last. All sense of control gone and lost, and you didn’t know when you’d ever get it back. 

You gathered the huge chunks of glass into shaking hands, attempting to clean up whatever you could, even while it felt like everything else was slipping through your fingers. You tossed whatever you could pick up into the trash, and as a jagged piece slipped from your grasp, it sliced open your fingertip. You hissed from the sudden pain, but you only stared as blood began to pool at the opening and drip down your finger. That was the least of your worries though. The stinging pain was nothing in comparison to the gaping hole residing where your heart used to be. 

And you weren’t sure when or if you would ever recover. 

[taco-bee]

Do ya ever look be scrolling though your old minecraft worlds

And you find that one from years ago from when you had your old friend group...

And you load it- making a copy so the new update dosnt break it

And you see the store you built, the pets you had, all their houses and the pet shop and horse driving test area where it all fell apart

You see still working trampolines

You ride the rollercoaster, and you ride it. It's still as awesome as you left it

As you search you see things you haven't before...

A player left their card in the bank- you still know the name that gose to those initials

You read the unopened mail- oh that's who built that tool shop...I remember helping him stock the shelves

You see a old prank still standing and laugh as you remember building it

You stand in the middle of the road- you built it with sidewalks, you really liked rules.

And you hit 'save and quit' just like you did last time

But this time, it's quiet

And you cry

But it's of missing the past and knowing

That you'll never go back

And it's your fault they left you

[lucolocoo]

spilt milk

The cashier was checking out the last customer of the day even though it was 30 minutes after closing time. He glanced at the clock on the register and sighed while scanning the bag of chips "your total is 25.90. Will that be cash or card, no we don't take apple pay" The elder lady handed him her cash and grabbed her bags, He unlocked the doors and waved the lady on her way and closed and locked the door back he huffed and checked his phone 9:35 he put his phone away and walked to the back grabbing the mop and bucket going through and mopping the store. He finished and checked the time again 10:25... he runs to put the mop in the back takes his key and shuts off the lights he turns to close the box then CRASH he spins on a heel he stands there frozen; he slows his breathing to listen out heart pounding, nothing, he walks from the back to investigate the sound he comes around the aisle and looks down; milk. just milk he tilts his head slightly confused he looks to the left the shelf intact just the unopened milk on the floor sitting there with no cause huffs out a laugh wondering why he was scared and picks up the milk and stocks it back on the shelf it fell from he locked up the store for the night, though he still knows of no cause and he was just happy nobody was there. well he's lucky he didn't look over the other shelf or he might have just caught a glimpse of what caused it but maybe that's for another time don't you think?

[exrankluck]

Dear Vocalist Unlimited Veronica Translation — Shadow births light [track one]

disclaimer: this is 90% AI-generated transcription and translation, some things might be inaccurate or awkward.

ディア ヴォーカリスト Unlimited エントリーNo.5 Veronica / モモチ (CV: 豊永利行)

- Drums: YAMATO (CV. Shunichi Toki)

- Guitar: OHGI (CV. Makoto Furukawa)

- Bass: AMA (CV. Kengo Kawanishi)

- Keyboard: SHIZURU (CV. Yoshitaka Yamaya)

Yamato: Wow, this is great. It's so exciting!

Shizuru: Haha, but it's so dark. Was it like this during rehearsals?

Ohgi: I asked them to turn it off. Don't worry about me, go ahead and turn on all the lights.

AMA: Oh, when you were talking to the staff with your sleeve earlier, did you mean...

Ohgi: Yes, this is the right choice for Veronica, isn't it? Momochi-kun should be the only one in the spotlight.

Ohgi: Mr. Veronica is enough on his own.

mmc: Um...

It's crowded, isn't it?

Yeah, thanks to everyone.

Excuse me, but is there a limit to the number of people allowed here?

Oh, sorry about that.

I still have another joint performance, so I have to go back for a makeup touch-up.

Gah, wait a minute -

Why did he just barge in like that? We were here first.

Sigh, what's his deal?

This is why I hate Kagaribi!

[02:07]

Shizuru: Eh? But that was because Akkun...

AMA: No, I mean when I looked at his reaction, Yamato made eye contact...

Ohgi: Oh, Momochi-kun, you did a great job tonight.

Ohgi: I thought you were going to change clothes and come back.

mmc: Yeah, that was the plan, but some things came up.. ha… ha…

Shizuru: But Momochi-kun was amazing in the park at night.

mmc: It was amazing! Thank you so much. By the way, is there any water? I'll need it again soon.

AMA: Oh, that one's still unopened, so go ahead and drink it. There are still some left from the joint show.

mmc: Hmm, really? It's right after NSFW, so I don't have much time.

Yamato: By the way, when did you make that? It's so cool!

mmc: Ah, yeah. Actually, Reo-kun from Lumiere invited me to try it as a surprise.

Shizuru: He could have told us about it, though.

Shizuru: But it turned out to be a Veronica song, it’s impressive.

mmc: Hehe, right?

mmc: I haven't really arranged other people's songs in my style before, but it worked better than I thought.

AMA: I hope we can do it at Veronica's live someday. It would definitely be exciting.

Yamato: Nice, nice! I wanna get excited with Cheers too!

mmc: Y-Yeah, we'll definitely do it if we get the chance… ahaha…

mmc: Hai, I’m leaving now!

Ohgi: Good luck! We'll be watching on the monitor.

Shizuru: There will be champagne after you finish. Look forward to it.

mmc: Eh? Is the champagne for the after-party again?

Shizuru: Yeah, it's a Fes, so we splurged and got a better one than before.

Yamato: I’m excited!

mmc: I see. But isn't the after-party for all the bands? If we drink champagne, wouldn't it be unfair?

Ohgi: Oh, that’s true.

Shizuru: It's okay, don't worry. I brought 30 bottles for everyone, and if we run out, the staff from our store will bring more.

mmc: As always, you're amazing, haha…

AMA: I wish I could join the after-party too.

Ohgi: Eh, Akkun, you can’t come?

AMA: I have to leave for a shoot in the countryside tomorrow.

Yamato: That's right. It's been a while since we had a toast with all five of us.

Shizuru: Akkun, you're still busy, huh?

AMA: But everyone's busy, right? Anyway, I'll be here until the night performance ends. There might be a result announcement for the Survival, and I want to see that.

Ohgi: I see. But that's true, huh? Today marks the end of this season, and I suddenly feel lonely.

Shizuru: I still want to work with everyone. I hope we succeed in the Survival.

Yamato: No, we will succeed. We're all so excited about it. And if we've come this far, I want the five of us to go as far as we can together!

AMA: Yeah, I feel the same way.

*shiny sfx flashback*

[06:24 Ohgi]

Ohgi: I wonder who it is at this time.

Climax Records?

Oh, the other day.

Hello?

As I mentioned in my email response, I'm sorry, but I'm currently quite busy with music production.

Thank you for considering me, but I can't work with any specific band right now.

What do you mean by 'special request' exactly?

I understand that if I can't deliver good results, I'll be fired, but to judge it based on just one single? This is a pretty severe project.

Oh...

Well, you're right about that.

In some cases, we might get overwhelmed and quit, so it's like we're at the mercy of this situation.

Oh, sorry. Actually, I haven't read the email yet because I intended to refuse the offer.

The song?

Well, yes...

I understand.

[08:08 AMA]

AMA: How about your foot? Is it okay?

Good job. Didn't you say you weren't coming to the set today?

I see. Is it because of a new job?

Another regular feature in a magazine, or something like that.

Well then, I mean...

Oh, really?

Sorry.

Anyway, after this photoshoot, tell me more about it. You mentioned an offer from a band, right?

Now?

[09:55 Shizuru]

Shizuru: Yeah, well. This tour is over after tonight's final performance, and it seems like it was a success. Thank goodness.

Oh, about that, actually, I might quit after all. There's talk of going to Europe next year.

Yeah, actually, I've got an interesting offer.

To play keyboard for a certain rock band.

Haha, right? I mean, isn't it unexpected for me to join a band?

It's so off the wall that it's piqued my interest.

I'm also graduating from university this spring, and my parents are pushing me to do more serious piano work abroad.

Honestly, I still want to try doing various things in Japan.

And also, you know, I mentioned it before, right?

I've been into wine lately, and I'm interested in food and drink.

The agency said that even if I join them, I can continue my personal work as usual.

At this point, it might be okay to try everything at once.

No, that's...

Heheh...

It's kind of complicated, you know?

They have been active as a band for quite some time, but all the members except the vocalist have left.

Hmm, I think the name was Veronica.

[11:48 Yamato]

Yamato: Yosh, okay. Also, let's load it up in my car.

Oh, thank you, thank you. Thanks for reaching out to me again. Playing with this group really gets my energy up.

Tour? Really? Of course, I’ll do it, I'll do it!

Yeah, well, I can't go into too much detail because the agency that offered me the job made me sign a non-disclosure agreement, but... just between us, I might be joining a certain band for a while.

Uwah, I was actually considering freelancing, but maybe joining a band would be a better fit.

But there are still a lot of unknowns. Even if I join the band, I might end up freelancing again soon.

Anyway, why don't we work together for the few months that I've been hired for? And if it goes well, the company president might want me to continue.

It seems like a weird project, though. I tried to dig a little deeper into why they're doing it, but I don't really know.

Apparently, the vocalist is a pretty difficult person to deal with. The band even broke up once, but he stayed behind.

I don't really know. But the band's songs are really cool.

I saw some old live footage, and it was amazing. Apparently, all the songs were made by the problematic vocalist.

And actually, the new members joining this time are really amazing. They're all well-known and talented people from various scenes.

Anyway, it's luxurious, and I can't even imagine what it'll be like when everyone's together, but I said I'd do it because it seems interesting!

No, don't make it sound like I'm always some impulsive guy who's not thinking things through. I'm actually doing a lot of things, you know.

Actually, my younger brother and I have been talking about expanding our family business for a while now.

He just graduated from a local university this year, so we’ve both started to move seriously.

Basically, I have a stable job on the side of being a freelance musician.

Well, it's a pretty well-established store in Kyoto, and things seem to be going well.

But, you know, they've been selling the same traditional Japanese sweets since the Edo period

Even though it’s a super long-lasting regular hit product, isn't it risky to rely only on that?

Yeah, that's right.

So, I was thinking if there was something else we could do on the side.

The artisans we have now are getting older, and there are only a few good apprentices...

Anyway, while we still have strong brand power, let's do something completely different and new.

Oh!

Thank you! Good work! Well then, I should be going now. I'll contact you later about the tour.

Huh? After-party? Of course, we're going!

At the usual dart bar, OK. Then, I'll go as soon as I put my instrument at home.

Oh, by the way, is there any girls coming?

[16:10]

Yamato: Oh, I just had a good idea!

Yamato: If we succeed in this Survival, why don’t we have a separate after-party just for Veronica?

Yamato: Then, Akkun can come too, and we can all toast with five people, right?

AMA: Really?

Ohgi: Sounds good.

Shizuru: Since we're already at it, should we do it? Oh, and you can use my store for it, actually, I've been tweaking the layout a bit...

Shizuru: It should be finished by the end of the month, and I want everyone to see the new interior. What do you think?

Ohgi: Didn't Shizu's store just get renovated?

Shizuru: No, that's not the case.

Shizuru: That was during the last hiatus of the Survival, which was about a year and a half ago. We just bought the adjacent tenant's space and knocked down the wall.

Shizuru: There were some subtle things that bothered me about it. Alright, it’s decided then.

Shizuru: I have to ask Momochi-kun about his schedule later.

[axvwriter]

Trash That Threaten

Characters: Xia-lin, Betts

Warnings: Mentions of threatened animal violence, no animals are harmed though. Mentions of humans getting drugged.

Please scroll past if any of this may upset you.

—~—

“Xia-lin! Xia-lin!” Betts cried out upon seeing her friend approach her own home. The girl ran over before her friend could enter. Xia-lin paused, looking distressed by the shouting. Betts’ friend turned and met her half-way.

“Why are you shouting? …why do you look so upset? What happened?” Xia-lin held Betts by her shoulders, keeping her back from fully embracing her.

“Th-these guys… these guys said they’re going to come k-k-kill my animals. Wh-what do I dooo?!” Betts cried out hysterically, forcing herself closer to hug her friend.

“. . . We tell my dad. If they really come, he’ll dispose of them.” Xia-lin frowned, slowly moving her hands to wrap around Betts. “When did this happen… and where?”

“I-I was just walking home fr-from school… and th-these men saw me… th-they started telling me how I don’t belong here and how I should… should… I ignored them… and I-I guess they know where I-I live be-because they s-started des-describing my-my farm ani-animals!” Betts bawled out. Xia-lin had to soothe her for a little longer before Betts could tell her where exactly this happened.

“…wait here, I’ll go tell my dad.”

~~~

Xia-lin found herself staying up late, constantly looking out her window and towards her neighbor’s plot. Her mother sat nearby, stress practically rolling from her.

“Mother… Should we call Father back in?” Xia-lin quietly asked. Her mother responded with a clack.

“No. They could very well decide to try striking at night.”

“How idiotic would they have to be to do that? Nearly all monsters can see way better than humans can during the night. Do they think they can threaten someone and not have them be on their guard?” Xia-lin seethed.

“…Your father has told me that there’s a lot of stupid and fool-hardy humans out there. …Xia-lin you should sleep. You have school. Your father isn’t the only one up tonight.” Xia-lin’s mother stood up, helping her stand up as well.

~~~

Xia-lin waved Betts off, telling her not to wait. Betts reluctantly left, clearly not wanting to walk alone. It couldn’t be helped. Betts needed to learn how to be strong. Plus Xia-lin always stayed behind to use the school’s lab. Though this time she had a change of plans. One that would start once she approached the cornerstone that Betts had been harassed at.

So once Betts was out of sight, Xia-lin left to take Betts old path to and from school. The jerks had never approached last night, which only peeved her more. Such lowlifes wouldn’t even try to carry out their threat? Or did they find it fun to keep her parents and her neighbors awake with fear at night? Like Xia-lin didn’t already have enough on her plate.

She pulled her hoodie up over her head before she got within sight of the small, dingy store. Xia-lin surveyed the area, almost scoffing when seeing the men that Betts had described. Were they waiting for the girl to pass by again? What idiots they were. The perfect ones to stone.

Xia-lin went to walk past them, purposefully stumbling as she dropped a candy bar. The guys noticed, but waited until she was gone to investigate further. One snatched it up, noticing that it seemed to be an unopened plain chocolate bar, and teared open its wrapping.

“Dude, give me some.” The second man complained. Xia-lin watched from afar, exasperated at how the three men childishly fought for the bar. Though that was perfect for her, having all three of them partake in it meant she wouldn’t have to tail them all day to sneak more drugged candy to them.

Now she only had to tail them to see if the serum she conducted worked as planned.

~~~

“Thank you again, Xia-lin’s dad for walking us here.” Betts beamed, still clutching Xia-lin’s hand. If Betts didn’t have the same condition as her, Xia-lin was sure Betts would be squeezing hard enough to leave a bruise.

“Well, after hearing about what happened a couple of days ago… I couldn’t help it. I know the city often overlooks… but… nevermind, don’t worry about it. If anything I might get to petition to the city to be more aware of what’s going on with its citizens.” Xia-lin’s father responded before reluctantly leaving.

Xia-lin huffed. Betts just had to see the news and tell her parents about it. At least her parents and Betts were just as dumb as everyone else. Betts had identified the men that fell into comas were the same men that threatened her farm. The news seemed to think it was a drug overdosage and warned people about meeting with shady dealers.

At least they were smart enough to know that if it was an attack from a monster, there would be clear signs of that being the case. Now she had to keep an eye out for any news on the coma patients dying or not. Xia-lin had pre-maturely tested her stasis sleep medicine on them after all.

[evidentlyhuman]

I’m expecting something... hmm, before the ending there’s some things I think I can reasonably expect:

I’m expecting we’re going to further interrogate what Darkners and the purpose to their stories even is- I don’t expect the elephant in the room with Ralsei saying they exist “to serve Lightners” to go unopened.

I’m expecting we’ll also explore the reality/fantasy allegory between the two worlds further.

Literally, I think the closest thing, what I’d pick without an Other option is that Lightners can still visit the dark world but not vice-versa since that would be consistent with the fantasy allegory but I’m… also not quite expecting that? I don’t the the dark world- outside the storage world- will continue to exist. Just that… ack, hold on:

Excuse me as I spoil the ending to OneShot for a moment, a game that you should totally have already played if you like Deltarune- and should otherwise pick up for a few bucks on sale right now without reading spoilers:

Okay. Over the course of OneShot (particularly Solstice iirc but my first playthrough was after the update so the two have blended together in my mind) that you realize it’s world isn’t what you thought it is.

The simulation of its world, it’s world machine, was made by The Author so their world can live on. At first it’s easy to assume that’s very literal- that through the game being on your machine the world is textually “alive” in the same way Niko is textually “real” in a way everyone else isn’t, despite them being just more of the same game assets in reality.

The Solstice run slowly pulls back the curtain on that and reveals that The Author meant that differently from how you’d first assume.

In the misattributed-to-banksy quote sense of dying twice- once literally and a second time when you’re forgotten- The Author is fighting the latter. The world, through his simulation, is still not textually alive, it’s as unreal as in the story as it is on your hard drive. The way it lives on is through the memories of you and Niko. (Who is still textually real.) You two remember and care about them, and so they’re not really gone yet.

I think those dark worlds have been “gone” since the moment we sealed their fountains, their stories played out and finished. There will be more dark worlds, more stories, maybe even more places called “card kingdom” or “cyber city” if the conditions are right, but not ours.

I don’t think it’s going to be a “ohoho! None of this real” level cheap twist though- I hope was already obvious, but let’s make that clear. I can’t be sure how it’ll be handled, but…

If you’ll indulge me in something that’s more of a reach- honestly just a guess, really, as to how that might be handled:

I can see the storage closet Castle Town world being a place of remembrance- these stories are finished now, their occupants don’t have stories to tell anymore, but they live on because we experienced them and cared about them. Any enemies we considered too trivial to care about may become lost, left with their world in being “finished.” As long as people care, though, their occupants are not doomed to nonexistence- it would be mean and thematically inconsistent with what I assume to be the messages around fantasy are intended to mean.

As long as Lightners care, those stories can be stored away in memories, saved so those feeling, emotions, and the characters that inspired them can be revisited. But the stories themselves will be over.

[sanjisprincesswifey]

i love this event, i too am procrastinating on studying for finals. to distract myself, may i request prompt 21 (“i don’t deserve you. but i want to. i’m trying to.”) with law and a female reader? thanks a whole bunch and i hope you pass your finals with flying colors! 💕

note: oh sweet anon, i hope your finals went very very well because i passed all of mine, thank goodness! this was a little bit angsty, but when is law ever not angsty, ya know?

♡: gender-neutral reader. 600+ words. sfw content.

the thunder booms against the walls, the lightning flashing shadows throughout the motel room. it was just your luck you ended up living on one of the rainiest islands in the grand line.

the only source of light came from the few candles you had acquired during your time here.

the multiple boxes throughout your house remained unopened despite weeks passing since you had arrived. you weren’t exactly complaining though, the reminisce of the life you left behind was probably better sealed away. even if you had tried to open them, it would be pointless.

you realized early on that making yourself sad and heartbroken over a couple of photographs and sweaters that still smelled like him was not a good idea.

“out of sight, out of mind maybe?” you question, figuring the boxes would be better suited stored away somewhere. you grab the bottom of the top box, able to hear the clattering of the picture frames as you lift it up.

you weren’t sure who taped up this box for you, but as you watch the bottom give out, all the contents from inside spilling out onto the floor, you want to scold who’s responsible. sighing heavily, you bend down picking up the framed photos of you and your friends trying your best to not think about how much you missed them. one of them in particular, more so than the others.

a genuine smile peeks at your lips when you find your favorite photo of you and law, remembering the exact moment as if it was yesterday.

the tears creep up on you, falling down onto the glass as you could only imagine where he must be by now.

you missed him, more than anything in the world and all you wanted to do was see him again. but you couldn’t.

the two of you always joked that his stubbornness would get the best of him, and this time you were the one that got hurt because of it. 

a sharp knock at your door causes you to jump slightly, a visitor? at this hour? in this weather?

“hello…?” you trail off when you identify the person on the other side of your door.

“law? wh—what are you doing here?” you stammer, noticing how both his hair and clothes are completely drenched from the rain. you motion for him to enter, his head hanging low with his hands stuck in his pockets.

there is so much you want to say, but even with his back facing you, you can feel your lip quiver at the thought of confronting him after all this time.

“i had to see you y/n-ya,” he whispers, turning around so you can see his face.

his under-eye bags are darker than ever, and his face is swollen and pale. his eyes soften when he can finally get a good look at you, even in his wildest dreams your beauty couldn’t have compared to the real thing.

in a swift motion he takes hold of your hand, his touch is cold and wet from the rain. “i don’t deserve you. but i want to. i’m trying to,” he speaks, pressing a kiss to the back of your hand. “please come back home.”

a tear trickles down your cheek as you reach up to cup his cheek. law leans into your touch, sighing contently at the warmth you provide him just as he always did.

before he can say anything more you press your lips to his, the bitterness of the coffee he had that day still lingering behind.

and law wastes no time kissing you back, feeling your lips link together like two puzzle pieces: a perfect fit. his hands rush to wrap around your waist, tightening his grip as if you’d disappear if he’d let go.

a soft groan escapes him when you pull away, he wasn’t exactly expecting that as an answer, nor did he want it to end. “i missed that,” his breath fanning your face, the space between you two almost nonexistent.

you bite your bottom lip, “yeah, i missed it too,” you giggle.

likes, reblogs, and comments are always appreciated! (✿◠‿◠)

[unicyclehippo]

one word prompt: childcare

when eddie and nancy go toe-to-toe, robin and steve make themselves scarce.

ordinarily, robin would put every cent she has on nancy but playing this game as they have every weekend for a few weeks now has shown her a new side to eddie. rumour made it out that he was this, like, barely scraping-by dude: drug-addled, rude, tattooed, long-haired freak. but as it happens, he also has a stubborn streak a mile wide. immovable object, meet unstoppable force: nancy wheeler. the impact of which is catastrophic for anyone in the room.

steve snags robin's collar—because one man's catastrophe is another woman's weekend entertainment—and drags her out to make hot dogs.

'pass. i've cooked enough for a lifetime.'

'when have you ever cooked?' he demands, slinging a teatowel over his shoulder.

'uh, hello? scoops a-hoy? maybe you don't remember because you literally never did your job but i worked there every day the whole summer long.'

steve pulls a face. 'that's not cooking, though.'

'yes it is.'

'no it's not. it's icecream.'

'it - it's - it's cooking adjacent. and it's nothing i ever want to do again. plus - plus - pb and j's. for hours, steve. hours.'

'again, not cooking. but hey - there's a silver lining for you,' he says with a forced smile, eyes so fucking sad that she's already mentally flailing for something to distract him, 'with the mall burned down and a giant demon cross cutting through the main road, you'll probably never have to work fast food again. yay.'

she fake cheers with the same enthusiasm she does for the basketball games she's required to attend (that is, not much) and starts to back away to the kitchen door.

'hey - wait! you're really not going to help?'

'sorry steve. hot dogs freak me out. whatever you're thinking of saying,' she says, holding up a hand to stop him and his stupid smirk, 'do not. it's the smell. and also i read this article recently that said that store-bought sausages are made from all the left over waste and processed with chemicals before being stuffed into a weird skin tube and the article said that each sausage—each one, steve, not one in a dozen or one in a unit, each one—has an average of four human body parts in it.'

steve gags. 'like, fingers?'

'what? no, steve.'

'you said body parts!'

'like hair or nails. not fingers.'

'still. gross.' he frowns down at the sausages in his hand. while he's distracted, robin steps backwards out the door and wanders off. behind her, she hears, 'i got these from the butcher, though? does that make a difference? robin?'

//

the henderson mum had a brief flirtation with the idea of a home gym, which is why robin finds a stationary bike crammed into the corner of a little study. actually, it might have been a semi-serious relationship with those late-night infomercials because she's also got a stack of workout videos, a pastel selection of sweatbands (unopened), a do-it-yourself home perm kit, a huge container of off-brand lollipops, and a stack of encyclopedia's from A through G.

'well, well, well. don't mind if i do.'

she's idly peddling on the bike, mismatched sweatbands on her head and wrists and ankles, sucking on a lollipop that tastes a little like lemon and a lot like soap, and part-way through the history of braces—which goes into some interesting further reading on the fluoridation of water in the states—when steve's kid storms into the house like he owns the place. and sure, it's his house, but he doesn't have to be so loud about it, all slamming doors and stampeding down the hall, past the study and deeper into the house. probably his room, but soon he is back and flings open the study door with a loud,

'STEVE?'

robin glances up from the encyclopedia she has balanced on the bike handles to see him drop to the ground—like steve would be hiding under the desk?—and scramble up with a (loud) huff. he slams the door behind him without even a hello or how are you.

she's gonna have to have words with steve about that. she's not the expert on polite conversation—that's steve's realm of expertise, which is precisely her point. what the heck is he teaching this kid?

a second later, he throws the door open again and comes to stand in front of her, hands on hips.

'robin!'

'steve's kid,' she acknowledges without looking up. the pedals squeak as she slowly pedals.

'i have a name.'

'good for you.'

he waits a few seconds, presumably to give her time to use it; when she doesn't he rolls his eyes so forcefully his head rolls too. dropping his chin to his chest, he groans, like talking to her is the hardest thing ever.

'do you know,' the kid says, nice and slow, 'where steve is?'

'nope.'

'do you know where he was?'

robin drags out the seconds before she answers. she flicks the page, even though she wasn't quite finished. the kid takes to pacing in the five seconds she delays and she has to scratch her nose to hide her grin. it's her right to irritate him—a right hard-earned through nothing more than the chaotic universe spitting her out years before him—and it's a right that she wouldn't give up for anything.

'did you check the bathroom?'

the kid scoffs. 'what do you think i am? stupid? don't answer that. the bathroom was the first place i checked.'

'hm.'

'robin, please. enough misdirection.' he stops his pacing directly in front of the bike and grabs the handles, yanks himself forward so that his face is right in front of hers. 'let's be frank with each other,' he says like he's a particularly condescending businessman instead of a twelve (maybe?) year old kid. 'you and i both know that steve is here, somewhere. just tell me where.'

she pulls the lollipop from her mouth and points it at him, accusatory. 'has anyone told you that you need to work on your attitude?'

steve's kid closes his eyes, weary. with her specifically. 'yes.'

'hm. did you try the kitchen?'

'what? no. why would i?'

'um, because he's a teen guy and needs to eat, like, all the time? and because ever since he's started babysitting you guys,' she reaches out, ruffles his hair, 'he's really stepped into the roll of nanny, which includes,' she spreads her hands dramatically, 'food preparation.'

steve's kid scowls. reaches up to fix his hair. she watches him fondly; when he panics just so about his precious curls, it makes him look so much like steve.

'i'm going to tell him you called him that.'

robin just arches a brow and salutes him lazily, lollipop held between two fingers like a cigarette.

he leaves and he does not close the door. little shit.

his friend—the one that got lost, or kidnapped, or - and it's wild that it's only just now occurring to her - got sucked into the upside down—is left standing alone in the front room like a scarecrow, all gangly height and stock-still.

before she can think better of it, robin is abandoning her sweet set-up and sidling over to him and then she's halfway there and he's seen her approach, is turning toward her with a confused look, which means she can't divert even if she is thinking better of it now. she stops in front of him and digs into her jacket pocket, offers him one of the handful of lollipops she snagged from the stash.

'lemon soap candy?'

'uh. thanks.' he takes it but doesn't unwrap it, just fiddles with the foil, which makes a quiet rustling sound. his eyes dart left and right but there's no one else around—eddie and nancy took their fight to the basement, steve in the kitchen—so he resettles.

'robin.'

'oh. will.'

she nods like she doesn't know he's been kidnapped and traumatised by otherworldly monsters. 'yeah, the other one, he's mentioned you. you used to run these games. for the other,' she wriggles her fingers in the direction of the kitchen, where steve's kid just thundered toward, 'children.'

will doesn't take offence at the moniker; rather, his face lights up and there's not enough baby fat left on it for the expression to look cherubic, as she's sure it once did. now, it makes him look so damn vulnerable, moved that she knows who he is and robin gets it. in that moment, she gets why steve stole a kid. because this one is taller than she is but she's having to actively fight the urge to tuck him under her arm and throw a molotov at anything that so much as looks at him wrong. it's hard, being different in this world, and something about him screams out that he's like her; it's like at some point in their youth everyone decided, everyone knew it about them—stamped WEIRD across their forehead, metaphorically speaking, or slapped a sticker on their back that is the social equivalent of KICK ME—and when the town is as small as hawkins, you can't run far enough to start anew.

something swells in her at the thought of this kid getting treated the same, something sharp and hot and fierce. she's felt it before; it usually leads to her saying things she shouldn't to people who are more important than her, or just. ignoring it. running it off. but something about will—maybe his awkward sway, maybe his oh-so-neatly tucked in shirt, maybe everything—makes her grind her teeth and her knuckles pop in her hands. she swallows hard; shoves the feeling aside to focus on what he's saying to her.

'yeah! um - mike and lucas and dustin. sometimes max, but she didn't like it as much. i think she mostly came to hang out with lucas,' he says softly, like he's telling her a secret and not something that's abundantly obvious to everyone who has ever seen max and lucas ever. 'are you, um, familiar?'

she blinks. 'i'm learning. eddie gave me the rulebook a few weeks ago—he taped the second half of it shut? apparently i'm not supposed to see -'

'it's the adventure, the second half. you can't see that.'

'that's what he said but he didn't explain.'

'oh. oh, okay!' will doesn't jump up and down with excitement, but there's as much visceral delight in the way he smiles and straightens up, just a little, that he might as well have. 'so the adventure is all the information about the story as well as the monsters you're going to fight and the - the dungeon, which is the environment. so if you read it, you'll know everything about what is coming which, it's just not going to be as much fun because you won't be surprised. but also, um, eddie? he might not be running one of those adventures.'

'what do you mean?'

'he might, you know. make up his own. but those adventures, they're a good back up if he's busy and doesn't have time to prepare something.'

she nods.

he nods. folds his arms across his chest, tucking his hands under his pits. unfolds himself because he forgot about the lollipop in his hands and he shoves that into his back pocket before folding himself up again. it's the kind of stance you develop after shooting up six inches over a summer but gaining exactly zero friends, so the height only makes you a target and you learn quickly to keep it down.

'do you - have a character?' he asks when the silence stretches on uncomfortably.

'guinevere. she's a ranger.'

'oh cool. rangers are cool. um.' another quick glance for a friend but, seeing that no one is around, or needs him, he offers, 'do you want me to get some of the extra books for you? they're in dustin's attic - he stored them when i- when we left.'

robin grins. it must come off a little maniacal because he rocks back on his heels but he doesn't get far. she sets her hand on his shoulder and looks him square in the eyes.

'yes, william, i do. i need rules. i need to learn them and commit them to memory and crush steve with them.'

he looks a little shocked at being touched but then her words hit him and he laughs, loud, and uncurls. presses up into her hand like a cat. eyes bright, smile lingering, he asks,

'have you played yet at all? or is this all set-up still?' gesturing to the messy table in the dining room.

'we've played two sessions so far. but the set-up, the set-up took forever. does it always take that long? and i'm still trying to remember all my abilities.'

'no. i mean, it depends. the remembering is hard, especially later when you get more stuff, that's why the sheet is good - and so important to write everything down so you don't overlook it - but the - the set up, yeah. it depends. since it's your first time,' he explains as they wander through the house to the attic hatch, where he grabs the rope without needing a chair or foot stool or anything, 'you have to learn all the main rules first so that can be hard. especially if you're coming into it without reading a lot of fantasy or playing other games like that. but when you start playing, it's more fun. still takes ages, but fun.'

robin nods. they hadn't left the town where eddie had them start, and steve had accidentally insulted some random person on the street which meant that they had to run away or start a brawl, and nancy was surprisingly fixated on plants, but she could see how it would be fun.

'you're really selling me on it, kid,' she says, and quirks a smile when he looks nervous, like he might have scared her away. 'what's it like in california?'

will grunts, yanks down the hatch and the ladder. 'sunny,' he says, and climbs up.

that startles a laugh from her. 'sounds nice.' he pauses at the top of the ladder. 'something wrong?'

'no. it's just,' he hesitates.

robin peers up past him and sees the problem. from the inside of her jacket, she pulls a small, powerful torch and knocks it gently against his ankle, passing it up wordlessly. he clicks it on and sighs with relief before scuttling up into the space. after a moment, there's a dragging sound and then he calls down,

'watch out!'

he drops a box to the floor; it kicks up a cloud of dust and robin sneezes, backing up. eyes watering, she sneezes again. will hurried down the ladder and crouches next to the box, pulling through the neatly arranged contents. when he stands, he has four books in his hands and he looks almost apologetic as he holds them out.

'i know it looks like a lot, but -'

'you're a miracle child.' she grabs them eagerly. 'which one first? is there an order, or is it all -'

will, who gets the honour of her remembering his name because she's gonna keep him, huddles into her side so he can take one of the books and hold it open for her. he flips eagerly through what he calls "the beginner's handbook" even though it clocks in at a hundred plus pages. he's a fount of information and, she notes with interest, doesn't stumble over his words or hesitate while he's talking about the game. robin settles in to listen, slings an arm over his shoulder.

'and you said you're a ranger?'

'yeah. beast master.'

'oh that's sick,' he enthuses. 'have you chosen your beast? because there's some really cool options—here, check out this one, this is the monster manual. it has to be a beast type, obviously, but it's cool to look at the monsters too. they don't have many aberrations,' he says with an apologetic tilt, 'so i tend to design those myself—'

'wait, you can do that?'

'yeah. i like drawing and dungeons and dragons so...' he ruffles his bangs, ducks his head.

'that's really cool, will.'

even with his head dropped to hide his face, he's tall enough that she can just make out a pleased smile anyway. 'thanks. i didn't do it heaps. mostly i drew our characters.' he peeks up at her. 'i can - draw your character. if you want?'

'really?'

'yeah, totally.'

'that would be awesome, yeah!'

'okay!' he gathers the books and shoves the crate to the side of the hall, for steve to hoist into the attic again later. they head to the table where will helps himself to her character sheet and flips through it with a keen eye, nodding occasionally. 'this is nicely balanced for a first character,' he says when he's done.

'well, nancy and eddie helped.'

'oh nancy is playing?' will smiles. 'she played with us once.' he bites his lip, glances about.

'she's not here,' robin assures him, grinning. 'she's scary, huh?'

he nods enthusiastically. his eyes are bright, delighted. 'brutal.' then, 'um. is it okay if i draw in your notebook?'

'go for it.' robin pops up to sit on the table, facing him, and kicks her feet as she flips through the beast book he gave her. she's finally settled on a hyena when he puts down his pencil and hands back the page, which has a female archer sketched out on it. she looks more handsome than pretty, with short hair and a cap like robin hood, and for something that only took him a few minutes, the sketch is really, really good. she tells him as much and he turns away, turns his big smile to the wall.

'WILL!' steve's kid bellows from the door. 'WE'RE LEAVING!'

'oh, uh.' will jumps up, starts toward his friend. after a second, he rushes back, wraps his hands around the back of the chair he had been sitting in. drums his fingers against the wood. 'it was, uh, nice to meet you,' he says, and sticks out a hand.

she takes it. shakes firmly, once. 'see you round, william.'

he pulls away, hurries to the door. turns at the last second to wave, a tiny awkward wave low to his hip, and runs out to join his friends. it's a half second later that steve sidles over and drops an elbow hard on her shoulder, props himself up at her side.

'well, well, well. look who went and adopted a kid.'

'shut up, steve.'

'if it isn't miss your-dumb-kids-are-here who now has a dumb kid of her own.'

'my kid is an artist.'

'yeah, well, mine is a genius!'

'mine doesn't yell.'

steve concedes that point with a grimace. 'my kid trained a demodog.'

'the thing that nearly killed you?'

'that's so not the point, robin. geez. it was totally cool, obviously.'

'right. well my kid - okay, so i don't know that much about him,' she admits, forfeiting the bragging match. 'but i like him. he's cool.'

steve looks at the slammed door (courtesy of his kid) with a thoughtful look on his face. 'do you think...' he glances around to make sure there's no one near enough to hear them. even so, he lowers his voice. 'obviously, this is just a rumour but...people thought that he was kind of...'

robin waits, brows raised. he pauses.

'well. that he might be, you know.'

'and?'

'i'm not saying it's a bad thing,' he says, sounding exasperated. 'come on, give me some credit here. i'm just wondering if that's, like, why you like him.'

robin considers the question seriously, leans her weight against him until he swears and has to adjust his footing to hold her up. 'maybe,' she admits. 'it's like that movie we watched.'

'blade runner?'

'no. but i knew you liked that one.'

'it was fine,' he denies. 'E.T.?'

'no, steve,'

'we work in a video store, robin, we have watched a lot of movies. rocky. rocky two. rocky three.'

'you made me watch those.'

'and you're welcome.'

'i was going to say breakfast club. how they were all, woo, we're a group now.'

steve laughs. 'now i'm not sure you even watched it.'

'i did, i was just focused on the important parts. the chick who looked worse after her makeover,' she elaborates.

'oh interesting. not claire?'

she shrugs. 'anyway, it doesn't matter. my point is that people like us have to stick together—'

'people like -' he lifts his brows meaningfully. 'or people like...what?'

'weird people, steve. people who - who fight monsters and can't tell anyone. or who talk too much, or don't fit in for whatever reason. and yes, people like,' she lifts her brows right back at him. 'you've never had to deal with being weird but it sucks. especially in high school. i found marching band and that was literally my haven because kids aren't nice to anyone who is different.' she jumps down off the table, that sharp hot fierce angry feeling boiling in her again, and starts to pace. 'and life is hard, steve, it's really hard, when you have to avoid people who want to enforce the status quo when you can't do it, when you've tried to be normal because you'd really like to stop being bullied but it's no use because no matter what you do, it doesn't work. but you can have a place where that doesn't happen and it's so much more important because of what's going on outside and these kids had hellfire and now they don't even have that officially so they have to have each other and we have to have them!'

when she stops, panting, and swivels to look at him, steve is looking at her with that wide-eyed, dopey, totally fond look he gets when she's been rambling about something he already agreed with but didn't feel like stopping her. he pulls her into a hug and she collapses into it, grips the back of his shirt tight and buries her face into his shoulder. a few deep breaths gets the rest of the prickly anger out of her system.

he pats her back and says, voice warm and low, rumbling in his chest, 'yeah. we've got them.'

'good.' she sniffles. 'get off me.'

'make m—' he gets out before doubling over, wheezing, as she jabs two knuckles into his solar plexus. 'ouch, robin.'

[somebodycall911onabc]

Spoon me, you idiot

Post ep4x13 Buddie because my brain is just that episode on loop. Hands up if you're not ready for the season 4 finale, folks. Have some cuddling and love confessions in the meantime.

Buck helps Eddie over the threshold with one hand at Eddie’s elbow and the other pressed against his hip. Eddie’s fine, he’s fine, he’s alive, but he’s exhausted. Pain and shock weigh down his shoulders, make him unsteady on his feet.

Carla breathes in sharply at the sight of him. Then she’s stepping forward, folding Eddie into a soft embrace, pulling his head down cheek to cheek with hers. Buck drags his eyes away from his living, breathing, living friend to find Chris, who’s lying on the couch with his glasses askew, mouth open in sleep. Buck’s heart clenches like a fist. He’s going to remember Chris’s haunted, horrified expression for the rest of his life, the light dying in Chris’s eyes as Buck had to tell him… had to tell him that his dad wasn’t coming home that night.

Buck walks over to Chris and kneels down beside him. He’s pretty sure it’s the first time Chris has slept since he heard about it. The first time in more than 48 hours that the kid’s closed his eyes. Buck brushes the curls back from Chris’s forehead, trying to be gentle, not wanting to wake him.

Eddie gets down next to Buck, their knees pressing together. Buck feels the shudder that runs down Eddie’s spine, feels it echoed in his soul. Buck isn’t the religious type, but he feels like this is another miracle. Years after his first brush with death, Eddie coming home once again to his son.

With a hand on Chris’s shoulder, Eddie murmurs, “hey, my little Superman. Chris, I’m here.”

Chris’s eyes open slowly, reluctantly, until he sees his dad’s face and wakes up all at once.

“Dad!” Chris shouts, hands flying up to attach themselves to Eddie’s face. “Dad!”

Eddie’s smiling, huffing out laughter in pure, unadulterated joy at seeing his son’s delighted expression. Chris is grinning and whooping, falling forward to curl himself into his dad’s chest. Eddie lifts one arm to hold Chris close and buries his face in Chris’s hair.

Buck blinks back tears, feeling relief crash over him. He rubs his eyes and starts to get to his feet, wanting to give the Diaz boys some space, until he feels a tug on his shirt. Eddie’s hand twists in the fabric. He’s not even looking at Buck, head tucked against the curve of Chris’s skull. Buck sinks back down and tentatively puts his arms around the both of them, Chris’s knobbly spine and Eddie’s strong back, his cheek brushing Eddie’s forehead. Buck lets out a breath that trembles like an earthquake.

It feels like home. It feels impossible. It’s what he’s always wanted. It feels like something Buck isn’t allowed to have.

When they finally let go of each other, what could be a minute or a year later, Buck notices Carla standing at the end of the couch. She’s smiling fondly at all of them, and Buck realizes abruptly that this is the first time he’s seen her since the pandemic started. He gets up—although it’d be more fair to say he tears himself away—and moves toward her, and there’s always been something magic about Carla because she takes one look at him and she knows.

“I missed you,” Buck says, his nose smashed into her chin. She’s hugging him like she’s trying to pack Buck down tight and snug him into a little box where she can keep him safe. Or maybe that’s just Buck’s wishful thinking. He’s so goddamn tired.

“I missed you too, Buckaroo,” Carla says, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. Buck swallows the lump in his throat her tenderness causes.

She pulls away and very gently pats his cheek, looking Buck in the eye. “He needs you, you hear?” She whispers, holding that eye contact like she’s bet money on a staring competition. “Take care of each other.”

Buck can only nod.

She lets go of him and Buck shakes himself into standing straight, even though he’d much rather crumple to the floor. But he needs to get Eddie and Chris to bed, he needs to figure out what’s still edible in the kitchen and take out the trash, he needs to call the pharmacy for Eddie’s meds and the station for Eddie’s med leave, he needs to—

“Alright boys, get some rest.” Buck blinks and Carla comes back into focus. She’s addressing all of them, voice firm. “I’ll be here bright and early tomorrow to help out.”

“Thank you, Carla,” Eddie says.

“No need for that.” She bends down to give Eddie a quick hug, and Buck hears her tell him, “just try not to get on the bad side of any more sniper-rifle-wielding nut jobs, alright?”

Eddie’s reply is somewhere between a laugh and a choked-back sob.

Buck walks Carla to the door. Before she leaves, she looks at him, sharp-eyed and commanding again. “You call me if you need anything. Anything. You look just as bad as he does.”

“I’ll be fine. Thanks, Carla.”

She narrows her eyes at him, but this is what Buck has always been best at. He wades through the hurt and the pain and just keeps going. He gives her a tight smile, reminds himself that he wasn’t the one shot (no, just the one sprayed with Eddie’s blood, he can still feel it on his skin, still taste it on his lips), and closes the door behind her.

Getting Chris and Eddie to bed is easy. Buck lifts Chris up, carries him to Eddie’s room, and pulls the covers over both the Diaz boys. Eddie tries to catch Buck’s eye while Buck leaves the room, but if Buck stops moving then he’s not sure when or if he’ll start again. Buck pulls the bedroom door most of the way closed, leaving a tiny crack in case Eddie or Chris need him in the night.

In the kitchen, the clock on the stove informs him that it’s just past 9 pm. It’s jarringly early. It feels like time doesn’t really exist, that he’s been moving in a place defined by the hours since Eddie dropped, the hours since Eddie went into surgery, the hours since Eddie woke up.

Buck opens the fridge and looks into it without seeing anything, like when you’re reading only to realize that three pages have gone by without you remembering a single word. He closes the fridge door and opens it again, and oh, there’s the carton of milk and bottle of ketchup on the top shelf, the egg carton down to its last egg, a container of left-over fried rice from… was it yesterday? Buck folds back the top flap and sniffs it, decides it will be fine for one of the boys to eat when they get up.

He closes the fridge and investigates the pantry next. Two boxes of spaghetti, a can of beans, three cans of chicken noodle soup, an unopened bag of quinoa that is probably the result of Ana because Buck’s not sure Eddie has ever heard of quinoa—like he’s taking inventory of the truck. Thermal blankets, C-spine collar kit, 3L of sterile water, 3L sodium chloride, hug-a-bear. The 118 has a blue elephant courtesy of Athena. Buck could honestly really use it right now.

Buck runs a hand through his hair and pulls out his phone, planning to make a grocery list. He sees two missed calls from Bobby and eight from Maddie. One from Chim. Hen texted him at 4pm: How you holding up?

Buck very slowly puts the phone down.

He takes a step back and grips the edge of the kitchen counter. Breathe, Buck, he thinks. Just breathe.

His vision is spotty when he opens his eyes, like he’d shut them too tight. He doesn’t remember shutting them. It doesn’t matter. Buck finds a scrap of paper in the recycling bin and a pen from the junk drawer and writes a list. It’s late, so he’ll go to the grocery store in the morning, early, make sure breakfast is on the table for when Eddie and Chris get up. Oh fuck, does he have a shift tomorrow? What day is it?

Buck puts down the pen and presses the heels of his palms to his eyes. He can’t do this. He can’t stand here and pretend like he can take care of Eddie because he can’t stop seeing Eddie die. It’s in the back of his head every moment, it’s what he sees every time he closes his eyes, it’s the memory rewritten by his cells as they multiply and decay, it’s in his fucking genome now or whatever they call it—

it’s in the air he breathes, the reminder that for a moment that lasted an eternity, Eddie’s heart had stopped beating.

It’s a loud silence. Deafening.

Buck thinks, take a breath before you pass out, idiot.

Buck thinks, get a glass of water and pull yourself together.

Buck thinks, your best friend just got shot, you don’t have time for this bullshit.

Buck peels his hands away from the counter slowly, carefully, like if he makes one wrong move he’ll come away with flayed palms. He pours himself a glass of water and makes himself drink the whole thing. He picks up the list he wrote and reads it over and over and over. He thinks: what do I know is true? I’m standing in Eddie’s kitchen. I’m alive. Eddie is alive. And: I should get carrots.

Buck hiccups. Carrots—fucking—

No. Get it together. DAMN IT, Buck!

Buck bites the inside of his cheek until it bleeds and does not add carrots to the grocery list. Because apparently they cause emotional breakdowns, and Buck can’t afford one.

He puts himself to work. He ties the trash bag and then he wipes down the counters, and then he unties the trash bag to throw some paper towels in. He transfers the dishes from the sink to the dishwasher, quiet as he can, and locates a broom at the back of Eddie’s hall closet to sweep the floor.

When he’s emptying the dust pan into the trash (he’d tied and untied the bag again, but nobody’s counting, so what does it matter), Eddie says: “Are you OK?”

Buck jumps at least three feet in the air. He’s got the quads for it.

“Hey!” Buck whisper-shouts, turning to face Eddie. “What are you doing up?”

“Was wondering where you were.”

“Uh,” Buck looks around at the spotless kitchen and the broom in his hand. “Just, you know. Thought I’d be of service.”

Eddie raises his eyebrows at him. “Buck, the last thing I’m worried about is the state of my kitchen.”

“Right. That’s why I’m taking care of it. You know, so you don’t uh. You don’t have to.”

“OK.” Eddie squints at him like maybe a closer look will explain why Buck is sweeping his kitchen at 9:45pm three days after he got shot in the street in broad daylight. Buck sincerely hopes he doesn’t figure it out. He leans the broom against the counter and clips the dust pan to it in a rare display of tidiness. The pan slides down the broom handle until it hits the floor.

“When’s the last time you slept?”

Buck shrugs.

“Answer, please.”

God, what a dad.

(Not that Buck would know.)

“Uh… I think I got a few hours while you were in surgery.”

“That was two days ago, Buck,” Eddie says, frowning at him. “You look like a stiff breeze could knock you over.”

“Well, we’re inside.”

“Why are you being so stubborn? You need to sleep.”

“I’m just not really feeling it,” Buck says, folding his arms and resting his hip against the counter.

“Not giving you a choice,” Eddie says, looking extra grumpy because he can’t fold his arms. Unless you count the one in a sling as folded.

“I’m fine, Eddie. Don’t worry about me. You should be with Christopher.”

Eddie lifts his hand to his face and rubs his temples.

“Buck,” he says, “the only thing I need you to do right now is come to bed.”

“But I—“

“Come to bed, Buck.”

And it’s the repetition. It’s the look in Eddie’s eyes like a slow, early flame: the promise of a fire.

Buck’s throat is very, very dry.

“I… yeah. OK.”

Eddie gives him a small smile. Buck’s reeling. Because here’s the thing—they’ve shared a bed before. They’ve shared a too-small bunk at the station and a backseat and even a beanbag once (courtesy of a very poor decision on Buck’s part, but at least Chris likes it). But it’s always been “just bros.” It’s always been necessity. It’s been about efficiency and familiarity. Which maybe Buck is reading this all wrong and snuggling up with your best friend and his son after a near-death experience is totally no homo but… come to bed. Come to bed. Like it’s their bed. Like Buck belongs there.

Buck’s ears are ringing while he follows Eddie down the hallway to his bedroom. Their bedroom? He’s losing it.

The hallway light illuminates a strip of the room as they step inside. Buck can see Chris tucked in the sheets, curled into the rumpled spot where Eddie slid out to fetch Buck. This has to mean something, right? They’ve been dancing around and on the edge of something for so long, Buck doesn’t know how to interpret anything anymore. He loves Eddie, though. And probably the only way he’ll sleep right now is if Eddie’s in arm’s reach. So it doesn’t really matter what this is, because Buck will take any scrap of Eddie he can get, not just tonight, but always.

Eddie slips into the bed and scoots forward, leaving a space behind for Buck. Chris makes a heavy, sleepy sound and turns his head into his dad’s shoulder. Carefully, so, so carefully, Buck lowers himself onto the bed and fills the space Eddie made for him.

“What are you doing?” Eddie asks, exasperated.

Buck blinks at the ceiling. “What?”

“Idiot,” Eddie mutters. “Spoon me.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Buck, this bed is small enough as it is with one person. I know you’re hanging half off it right now.”

“You’re not even looking at me.”

“Call it intuition,” Eddie says, dry as the desert.

Buck gingerly turns on his side, his chest just a breath away from Eddie’s back. “I…” He swallows. “Where should I put my arm?”

“Buck, you must have done this before.”

“That’s your bad arm, Eds.”

Eddie shifts a little, his calf coming into contact with Buck’s shin. Buck breaks into a cold sweat.

“Shit, well… under the sling, then. Around my waist?”

Dry, dry, his throat is so dry.

Buck lifts his arm up and drapes it over Eddie’s waist. He shuffles in closer, pressing them together from head to toe. His nose is in Eddie’s hair, his dick is nestled in the curve of Eddie’s ass, his ankles are knocking into Eddie’s. Buck feels like he might reverberate out of his skin.

“You sure you wouldn’t rather have Ana here?” Buck whispers. His mouth is like, one inch from Eddie’s ear.

Eddie turns his head a little, so his ear actually brushes Buck’s lip. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Eddie says, “There’s no one in this world I want here more than you.”

Buck stutters on his next breath.

“I wish it’d been me,” he says, suddenly. Eddie has to know. Eddie probably already knows. Buck’s grateful, so goddamn grateful, that Eddie survived. And sure, part of it is that self-deprecating shit he’s been working through with this therapist: Eddie has more to live for, Eddie has a kid, Eddie is a better man than I’ll ever be. But mostly, it’s far simpler than that.

If Eddie had died, the sniper may as well have shot Buck too. Because Buck doesn’t know how to live without Eddie. He’d found that out ages ago, when he lost Eddie under fifty feet of mud and water.

Eddie’s next words are nearly a growl. “The only good thing to come out of all this,” he says, “is that you didn’t get hurt.”

“What are you—“

“After it happened, when I was… when I was lying there, I—I looked at you. I looked at you, Buck, and I was terrified. Not because I might die, but because if I did, who was going to protect you? Who was going to keep a sniper off your self-sacrificing, heroic ass, and make sure someone came home to Chris? Who was—“ Eddie cut himself off with a sigh. “I was worried about you.”

Buck feels like… like an unbroken, empty tundra. Like a fried electric socket. Like someone dropped him to the very bottom of a very deep well.

“Eddie, Eddie I—“

“Shh,” Eddie murmurs, as Buck shakes apart. As he bends his head to hide his tears in the nape of Eddie’s neck. As he bites his tongue to stay quiet and not wake Chris up. Eddie presses backward into Buck’s hold. “I know, I know.”

“I can’t lose you,” Buck grits out between several halting breaths.

“You won’t,” Eddie says.

“I almost did.”

“You had my back.” Buck’s throat makes an awful, wheezing sound as he fights a losing battle against crying. “You got me out of there. You saved me.”

“I love you,” Buck says, losing the fight against that too.

“Buck… I…” Eddie sounds like someone knocked the wind out of him.

“Sorry,” Buck hurries to say, chest icing over with panic. “Sorry I just—“

“I love you,” Eddie interrupts. “I do. I know it took me a long time to realize, but… I’ve been in love with you, Buck.”

“Oh my god,” Buck says. I mean, what else do you say to that? No wonder Eddie froze up. Buck is in shock. “Is this real?”

“I hope so,” Eddie says. “And if it isn’t, then I’ll just have to tell you when we wake up.”

Buck feels fit to burst with more emotions than he can name. Relief, joy, fear, disbelief, pin-prickly. It feels like another miracle.

“Deal,” Buck says. And places a kiss to the fatal, devastating spot behind Eddie’s ear.

Eddie is the first thing Buck sees when he wakes up. “Good morning” are the first words he hears.

And then:

“Just so you know, I love you.”

[valkyrieofedenia]

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Strawberry Mentos

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Pairing: Cassie x F.Reader, slight Kabal x F.Reader

Warnings: angst

Summary: after a rough night, Cassie decides to call you again

Note: I was gonna write Rain angst but suddenly I got this idea while brainstorming so

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Cassie sat on her bed in the pitch dark room, the only light that burned her eyes more than the tears was her bright phone screen. A bottle of whiskey was settled in his lap unopened, she couldn’t bring herself to drink it after she found her sweater that you always used to wear on her floor, you had either forgotten it when you had left her or couldn’t be bothered with it, she felt it was a mixture of both. It still smelt like you though.

She scrolled through your conversations on imessages through the past few days, each harsh word she typed out made her cringe, how could she had ever been angry with someone as sweet as you?

The back of her mind tried to blame you for breaking up with her and falling in love with that new girl, that new boy was all you would post about, pictures of you two being that ideal couple, all the things that Cassie regretted not doing. He was always so busy with her parents and the special forces, training, she always said she had no time for you, how stupid could she have been?

She couldn’t even glance at the bottle in her lap anymore, everytime she looked at it she would feel the tears brimming at her eyes and a choked sob leave her lips in the dark room. She couldn’t forget the image of you two in the nearest convient store at two in the morning, always getting the same thing, two bottles of whiskey and a strawberry mentos. The taste always lingering on Cassie's lips when she would kiss you.

Cassie licked her bottle lip, scrolling through your social feed, staring at all the photos of you and your new boyfriend, you looked so much happier. The taste of the strawberry mentos was gone from Cassie's lips, it made her feel empty.

Falling back onto the bed, Cassie clung to the pillow she had on her stomach, trying to imagine she was hugging you but it was never the same. She let it all out just like how she had let you go, the tears streaming down her face, only stopping once her eyes started to burn.

She knew she had fucked up, she should’ve been there more. Cassie shouldn’t have ignore your phonecall requests when you needed her most, she shouldn’t have put off date nights to train more with her dad, she shouldn’t have left you in those times you needed Cassie most to go across the country on missions.

She lifted up her sleeve to wipe away the tears from her face, Cassie's eyes puffy and burning, her face red and tear stained. Her phone was abandoned beside her on the bed, the temptation driving her crazy as she picked up the phone, quickly typing in her passcode and opening her text conversations.

‘Y/N can we talk?’

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Your hands gripped the wheel tightly as you stared at the bright lights surrounding you, some from the cars behind and in front of you, some from the lamp posts. Phone buzzing quietly beside you in the car seat, you had glanced from the road towards your phone, the picture of you and Kabal smiling together without his resperator on your lock screen just made you feel more guilty.

It was a bad idea, you knew that. Driving for an hour to see your ex-girlfriend at four in the morning after hearing her broken voice over the line. You wanted to just turn around and go back home to where Kabal was still sleeping, unaware of your disappearance, but you couldn’t just leave Cassie like that. She sounded so broken, so tired, you knew you needed to see her, even if it was for the last time.

It was Cassie again, you knew from the caller ID being My Cass <3, you never bothered to change it after your break up, it didn’t feel right.

You were scared to start crying, you knew you needed to but you feared you wouldn’t have time to get to Cassie, you didn’t want her to feel alone. You couldn’t answer her worried texts because you were driving and already trying hard to keep your tears back so you could see properly.

You stirred sharply when you saw the neon sign of the apartment building, pushing your car door open, not even bothering to properly park as you ran to the door, pulling it open. You knew her floor like the back of your hand, the fifth floor in the fifth room, 505.

Only calming down when you got to her apartment door, you didn’t even bother to knock before you opened the door.

It was quiet, way too quiet for your liking, it was awkward for Cassie's apartment to be silent. As you walked into the dark apartment, you jumped at the sound of crunching at your feet looking down to see an empty energy drink cans and bottles of whiskey, looking closer to see almost a trail of them.

The only faint light in the entire apartment was leaking from under a door at the end of the hallway, it was Cassie's room. You braced yourself for what you were gonna see as you opened the door, eyes landing on Cassie who was curled up in a ball in her bed, her phone in her shaky hands, empty bottles and cans scattering the floor along with piles of clothes and garbage.

“Cassandra?” was all you could say, you didn’t know what to say. You had never seen Cassie in this state, normally she was so happy and confident, it hurt to see her like this.

Her head perked up as you were met with her puffy eyes, a small gasp leaving her mouth before she pushed himself off of her bed and wrapping her arms around your waist, falling to her knees with her head on your stomach as Cassie cried, muffling into your stomach making it hard for you to understand her.

You hesitantly placed your hand on Cassie's head, massaging her scalp as she cried, clinging onto you for dear life.

“Cassandra you know I didn’t come here for you to cry, we need to talk,” Cassie nodded, refusing to let you go, “can we sit on your bed?” Cassie nodded standing up on her feet and moving over to her bed, sitting down beside her as Cassie hesitantly placed her hand ontop of yours, scared you’d pull away but you didn’t, just intertwining your fingers.

For the first time in a while, a smile appeared on Cassie's face, “I love you.”

Your eyes widened looking at Cassie shocked, “Cassandra, please don’t.”

A small sigh left Cassie's mouth as she turned to face you, taking both of your hands in hers, “Y/N listen to me, I know I fucked up in our relationship, I should’ve been there for you more but look I’ll change, just whatever you want. I don’t think I can take another night alone Y/N. We were perfect together, we had a few hiccups here in there but–”

“Hiccups?” you narrowed your eyes at Cassie's, pulling your hands away from her, “you ignored me when I needed you the most, all my calls were declined because you were too busy with your 'training', even a simple text was ignored because Sonya had taken you across the country. I’m sorry Cassie but I don’t want to get back together with you.”

“Because of Kabal, he’s perfect to you I know, I’ve seen all your posts, he’s everything I’ve wanted to be for you,” Cassie's face fell into her hands as she started to cry again. Trying your best to soothe her as you ran your hand up and down her back, “maybe this was a mistake, I never should have called, just go be with mr perfectly burning.”

“Cass please don’t make me choose between the person I love and the person I care about–”

“I thought I was the person you love,” Cassie was silent after she said that, refusing to answer anything you would say to her. Cassie just sat in silence, her face tucked in her hands hunched over her bed.

Finally you had given up, your phone ringing in your pocket from a call from Kabal when you had noticed the time being way earlier than you thought. You had saw Cassie tense up when you had said Kabal's name.

Cassie had watched you leave and get into your car from her window, watching you drive away. Why couldn’t she be the one you love again?

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Thank you for reading, don't forget to like and maybe reblog as it really does help me out

Taglist: @icy-spicy

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[animefreak1145]

For Whom the Bell Tolls(Adler x Bell!Reader)

Previous Next

Chapter 4| I Am Thee and Thou Art Me

Chapter Summary:

The action's you do is for survival and no other reason.

You don't understand other's actions though.

Cold War Reset AU| Undertale Reset AU

Warnings: Torture, Brainwashing, Manipulation, Possible Non-Con/Dub-Con, Trauma

Chapter Warnings: Mental/Emotional Anguish, Toxicity, Self-Loathing

A/N: Bottled beer is liquid hope and you love pictures.

Footnote: Translations at the bottom.

“Bell” Second Life 08:16 | February 26, 1981 West Berlin, Anita Wronski Cafe

“Looks like you’ve met death in the face, Bell. Rough night?” Lazar questioned, poking fun as they grabbed breakfast for everyone in line.

You rubbed your eye before pinching between your brows.

“Something like that,” you said tiredly as you  looked around the small cafe. Distantly taking note of Lazar’s statement with a dry smirk. “Didn’t sleep well.”

Small metal tables inside with metal chairs to match, both with interesting swirls for patterns making up the surfaces. There were more outside, the cafe a bit cramped in the first place even with just three tables again the wall. The smell of sweet German pastries and salty breakfast flooded your nose, making you lick your lips despite yourself not being hungry yet.

You were already up an hour beforehand, wondering to yourself how you and Adler could be in the car once more into the safehouse. Only to ‘volunteer’ when Lazar knocked on your door to help him grab food for everyone, apparently Adler already gone and left to the safehouse.

You internally frowned at that, you’re not sure why before you felt grateful. You would rather not talk about. . .whatever happened in his car. Which was nothing.

The flash of a clenched hand on the wheel as if holding back and a taut jaw came to the forefront of your mind.

Marionette’s should stick with their role.

It was nothing.

Lazar snorted, making you turn towards him as they both stepped up to the cashier. Lazar pointing towards the dessert window of what to get in a box as you spoke in German to the woman. Several more items of breakfast were ordered that will take some time to make, so they moved to sit to the only open table inside the quaint café.

“You drunk what—four cups of coffee yesterday, Bell? And looking at a bunch of nonsense for hours as if your brain is steel and your eyes can’t melt out of your head.” What a nice vision. Lazar took a sip of the German coffee he got for himself, eyes lighting up at the taste before looking back at you. “All that must’ve been stuck in your head and probably even in your dreams. Had any floating codes flying around your mind as you slept by any chance?”

That’s not quite right, but you’ll take the excuse handed to you as you shrugged. Lifting your own cup of coffee that you doused in three creams and two sugar’s, humming for a moment in agreement to Lazar at the strong and bold taste before taking another one.

“You can say that. I would have kept going and working until I got tired. You would call me a night owl so to say.”

“You seem pretty alright to me now,” Lazar observed as he leaned back in his chair.

“I have an impressive work ethic. Better than others I think. I’m used to going to sleep late and waking up early.” You can infer that your body is used to this schedule, harsh and strict work ethic that you must’ve gotten when you worked with Perseus. “Although, I admit I’m not very hungry right now. You chose a bad partner in this.”

“But you volunteered,” Lazar stared ever so seriously and another sip to his coffee. You could see he was fighting a smile.

You huffed through your nose, shaking your head.

“Yes. How could I have forgotten. Like I did for Kraus.” Lazar slightly winced at the reminder of how you got kidnapped, muttering an apology which you waved away. “It’s fine. I was the best to do that anyways.”

“You sure are pretty accepting with all this work. Just asking and taking files like nothing, ” Lazar rose a brow, you couldn’t tell if it was for being impressed or disbelief. You didn’t say anything to that, the both of you just sipping on their coffee and waiting for their meals to take to the car before heading back to work. You’ll walk past the center table easily and just sit in your chosen desk. Maybe get a lecture about professionalism which you will just absently nod at since you will make yourself feel numb if you have to, just to get away from the man in any way. Lazar paused at your far away look, your cup by your mouth yet you’re not drinking, instead of looking at a simple framed painting of Germany’s hills at the wall. ". . .As much as the boss man likes to act like it, we're not machines,” you blinked out of your reverie, your eyes flicking towards Lazar. “You're not either. Even though you understand numbers with little pattern and words that would have no connection normally—be able to put it together and have it make sense."

You blinked once more, albeit slower.

"I...I know I'm not a machine."

"Do you? Acting like you don't sleep and eat, besides those seeds of yours like you're a bird yesterday outside of the one meal I brought you. Do you sing too?" You released a surprised laugh at that, short as it was with lips still up. "That's better. Thought your lips stay flat like that. I swear, it seems both you and Adler are obsessed with Perseus. See why you're his protege now."

You were struck at Lazar’s words, focusing on him with a frown. The implications that the both of you were similar making you look down.

“Guess we're two peas in a pod.”

You mumbled the last bit, as if to yourself as you lowered your cup on the table.

"What? Oh. . .guess you could say that. But remember this Bell," He throws a pastry at you as you quickly catch it before it met your face(you would always have to be prepared for that before), blinking down at your hands before looking at the kind faced Lazar. "Lighten up. We'll get him so don't push yourself so much. And eat real food too! Seeds! As if that's food."

Your mind showed you moments from your previous life, Lazar always teasing and making you eat and try as much as different food as possible. Away from your decryption tasks as he would wave your plate under your nose as if to entice you.

“No point in being greedy,” The kind man would say, wry smile playing his lips with a tone to match, after letting you try food from his plate, even encouraging it. “Memories—memories with food should be savored and light and new dishes should be enjoyed.”

You thought of when you first found out the truth, still recovering from wounds of Cuba as you sat—away, away from that gurney—and guilt with Lazar—should’ve been quicker, perhaps you would’ve been kinder, kindness is a lie—and asking Park if Lazar knew. About you. About this. MK-Ultra. Everything.

You stared at the Israeli man for a moment before smiling, a mischievous thing. Genuine. Like the man in front of you.

"I am smaller than you, it's enough for me."

"Now you're just poking fun."

Lazar was always kind.

Oh, how he played his role perfectly for you.

At this point, you’ll take what you can get and stop wondering with him. You’ll go mad.

Foolish американский щеноk. The collar around your neck has choked all the trust for others in you.

Best, you think as Lazar easily teased you again, an unreadable look in your eyes as you take another sip of your drink. To just not feel at all.

The breakfast the both of you ordered came, Lazar grabbing the bag as movement behind the counter caught your eye. A worker bringing in a new dessert towards the other German sweets, yellow and round and looking spongy similar to a cake but with a crust like a pie. You walked back up to the counter, pointing and asking the worker in fluent German what was that. Her replying with a smile that it is their pineapple kasekuchen, the German’s take in a cheesecake.

You turned your gaze to the sweet, lost in thought before raising your hand with two fingers up to order, the worker nodding.

You grabbed the box and walked up to the curious Lazar by the door, his brow arched as if asking a silent question. As the both of you exited the bakery and walked towards the car, you still not saying anything and only periodically glancing down at the box with the kasekuchen, even tightening your grip a tad around it when the crowd around them got a little too close, Lazar decided to speak.

“You know,” he began, and you took note that he sounds amused. Almost knowing. You pretended to stay oblivious. “There was this mission I was on in Thailand with Adler a few years back.” At the mention of Thailand, your memory of yesterday in Adler’s car still fresh, you looked towards Lazar as they walked. “Something covert and recon with the usual stray chance of a suicide bomber. The standard for our great unpredictable job. Keeps us in our toes.” His tone was a mix of sarcasm and easygoing, as if suicide bombing in a country was like if he stated it’s going to rain again. Where is he going with this? “Anyways, when we weren’t doing that—we’d stop at this corner store near the safehouse we were in. Boss man would always buy his precious cigarettes, leaves the other stuff we need to actually sustain us to me. Except, he would get something else too. To eat and I always thought each time I saw that, that Adler is human after all.” He glanced down at you, one brow raised. “Do you happen to know what it is?”

You huffed, turning your head away. Them reaching the car and you going to the passenger side as Lazar stood by the driver’s side—still unopened and leaning his crossed arms on the top of the car.

“You sure like playing games today,” you dodged with quirked lips, shuffling the box in your hands to hold it in one as you moved your free one to open the door. “Volunteering me again and calling me a bird and now having me guess what a man like Adler would get besides his addiction. You want to talk about machines, look at him.”

How the puppet lies so so sweetly.

Lazar hummed, deciding to open the car and the both of you going in and settling as they placed the bags down by you to make sure none of it spills. After they pulled out from the space, Lazar spoke once more, offhandedly and an interesting turn of the lips.

“Pineapples sure are sweet and tart. Pretty good too.”

You don’t say anything.

Just made sure your hold on all the boxes of food for everyone didn’t tip over as Lazar would turn. If your grip with the kasekuchen was firmer than the others, you didn’t notice.

Feed the god and you might get a reward.

✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯  ◁ ◁ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯

You squinted behind your closed eyes, shifting in your uncomfortable sitting position in the foxhole with only dirt and soil to help cushion you within the trench like pit. The crickets were loud, deafening in the jungle with a periodic squawk or call from a bird deep within. You shifted, your M-16 moving down in your lap from the movement  despite your lucky green cloth gloves holding it as you blearily opened your eyes, blinking them against the darkness until they got used to it. The half moon helping somewhat in giving light as well as the fireflies flying around in the dance where only they heard the music.

They were still on their way to Hue City, night coming upon them quicker than expected. The jungles are harsh and thick, especially with the route they’re taking due to their stealth and recon mission, but the planned route was still underestimated. It did not help the planned foxhole they were going to got covered, completely useless and the time to make another one is time they don’t have. Luckily, they were able to find another, although this one was tighter. Two small foxholes that barely fit the five of you, hence having to sit basically in a ball against the wall of dirt behind you.

All of you were doing one hour intervals in keeping watch, the watcher usually standing up in the foxhole in order to watch their surroundings. And if an attacker did come, they could duck within the foxhole for cover.

You felt like you should’ve woken up for your  shift already.

Your eyes focused next to you, finding the spot where Larson was supposed to be standing empty. You hastily stood, pack heavy against your back as it tensed in protest at the sudden weight, your hands tight against the M-16 and about to call the other’s names at the missing soldier only to stop.

Your standing position giving you new access to see more besides the sky above you, surrounded by brush and green foliage of all types with high grass upon the ground. Larson sat, just a few inches away from the foxhole a little to your right, staring up in the starlit sky. He turned his head towards you at the sound, seeing you were awake before turning his head back, as if you weren’t there.

“Larson,” you whispered, not wanting to wake up the others in the foxhole next to yours. When Larson didn’t move so the two of you could switch, you reached out to tug on his pack on his back. “You can’t be out in the open like this. You don’t know if VC or NVA might come by in the area.”

“Let them,” Larson said brazenly but just as low, making you release his pack in surprise. “Besides, there’s a bunch of shit around here to cover us. Even this grass is kinda covering my face. Nothing will happen. Now, go back to sleep and leave me be.”

You stared, before sighing. Carefully looking around once, twice, before coming out of the foxhole as quietly as you could—using the open holes on the dirt walls to place your feet to get out. You sat by Larson, who ignored you and went back to staring up at the twinkling sky.

You took a moment to stare at it too. This far in the boonies, away from cities and cars and just filled with wildlife, it has a sort of bewitching air around it. Despite the loud chirp of the crickets, the call of the birds, and how one would sometimes have to smack any open skin for stubborn mosquitos—the trees, the grass, all the greenery that looked dark in the night outside of being lit by the fireflies and the stars and moon above. You were struck once more, just how beautiful this country was. With it’s natural serenity as the moonlight not covered by clouds touched lightly upon to aid somewhat with the darkness but not as much as a flashlight would do, still, the moon did its best even if it was just at it’s half tonight. The stars were there to support it and you wish you learned more about constellations than your books, you’re sure you could spot all of them and weave stories of your own instead of reading them.

“You know,” your attention shifted to Larson, who still gazed up as he spoke, lost in thought and appearing away from here as he spoke quietly. He does not wish to wake the others it seems. “I don’t know if you remember me telling you this, but I grew up on a farm. Small. Not very fancy and it was just me and my family—Ma, Pa, and my two brothers and sister. Out just taking care of our cattle and our horses. Middle of nowhere, we would have to drive about an hour to get to a good grocery store that isn’t just a corner store or gas station. I hated it more that the closest school was about the same length. . . But what could I do? Needed an education, at least some, and than spend the rest of my life worried about a farm. With all it’s cow and horse shit, waking up before the sun does and at the end of the day you smell like all the shit you cleaned up.” He ended, sounding tired and yet with the bitter words it had an iota of equal bitter amusement.

You maintained your silence, instead moving your gaze back and forth around them. Not looking at how Larson’s lips quirked begrudgingly, head tilted up towards the silent night.

“. . .there were a few good things though. When me and my brothers and sister were done with work, and the moon was out—we’d head out to where the cattle were. Laying down on the grass without a care, why bother? We were already dirty with sweat and dirt and shit. And we’d look up—and than—“ Larson reached an arm out, as if to reach the sky, only to clench his hand and put it down back by his lap before gripping his MP40 hard where you could spot how white his knuckles were. “. . .laying down, in the grass, in the middle of nowhere, with just a dark black sky over you. . .it felt like it could swallow us. Whole. Not caring about how we looked or smelled or how old we were. . .it made us feel small. Yet huge. If we pretended enough, we could act like we can really touch the moon. The stars. I guess it just showed all of us there was more, than this little farm. With it’s shit and it’s smell and being in the middle of nowhere. The black sky might just eat us to put us out of our childish misery. Maybe that’s also why we kept going back, not just cause of fucking beautiful it was, but maybe. . .”

Larson trailed off and you decided to speak up, softly. Not wishing to break this odd aura around them, because this was more than talking about how small a human’s life is.

“‘If you gaze long into the abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you,’” you quoted, Larson cocking his head slightly and glancing at your from the corner of his eyes. You released a small fleeting smile. “It’s a quote. By a German philosopher called Friedrich Nietzsche. A depressing guy but. . . I feel like his words fit. The abyss swallowing. . . perhaps it is more you become one with it. A fusion. Where you don’t know where you begin and the abyss ends.”

Larson turned his head away, grabbing a handful of some grass and pulling as he moved his eyes back up.

“Who knows? Maybe. . . shit,” Larson dryly chuckled, “maybe, I should’ve stuck with staring up at my family’s farm home—staring up this abyss right here but there instead. Than maybe. . .you know, I would say sappy shit in my letters to her?” You didn’t ask who ‘her’ was, you could fill in the blanks as you wisely kept silent. “All words about the moon and stars and we were staring at the same one so I wasn’t that far away cause we stared up at the same thing’s. That she had stars in her eyes and if I looked up, I could see her in them. That she pulled me to her like the moon does water and just—shit. Fuck. ”

Larson hissed, putting his head to his hands. His shoulders slightly shook, you could barely tell in the darkness but you imagine he is holding himself back.

“I loved her,” Larson said, voice all cracked and broken as his breath hitched. “I love her still. And she’s—she’s leaving. What will I have when I come back? Go back? I—there’s nothing. We were. . .I went to war for  her . Our  country .”

You kept your mouth shut. Letting him release his sorrow and emotionally charged words that made zero sense such as that. You learned, especially on the beach night, it is not wise to depend on another’s support when it comes to actions of war.

You didn’t even give Larson the full quote earlier either. You do not think he needed the full one, but you know yourself what Nietzsche was going for. You think Adler might like it actually.

Eventually, you managed to put Larson back into the foxhole as you took watch by him. Standing in the foxhole as you did your shift. A few minutes officially in however, you took note of noise in the foxhole next to you. You turned your head, noticing Adler’s head was out, helmet on and war paint slightly losing their color. You can see his stubble starting to really come in now. He had his shades on, even at this time, in this darkness—but you could tell he was staring at you. Something clicked as you lightly sighed.

“How much of that did you hear?”

“Enough.”

You nodded, turning your eyes around their surroundings with your M-16 in front of you and gripped at the ready just in case.

“You left something out,” Adler said after a while, voice low to not wake the others that it sounded husky to your ears. You glanced at him, brow raising questioningly as Adler’s lips lifted to a knowing smirk. “I don’t know much, but my high school education isn’t too laughable I think. I know that quote. You missed the whole beginning and just gave him the end.”

You blinked, before shrugging as you peered up at the sky for a moment.

“He didn’t need the beginning. Just the end.”

“Some might call that yellow journalism. Or lying.”

“Others might call it wise,” you retorted lightly. “He didn’t need to know it. It wouldn’t have helped. So why give it? Besides, we know it. We’re the only type of people who need it.”

Adler hummed, whether it was in agreement or in thought, you couldn’t tell. You took note of him shifting, hands a little fidgety around his M60 and you felt sympathy swell in you. He hasn’t been able to smoke since the start of this mission, having to be cautious with any type of smoke. You don’t know personally, but you know that the craving for cigarette’s were mind consuming if you did not have one to quell it. Perhaps this conversation was a welcome distraction.

You wonder if this night is just you going to be playing silent therapist.

“Do you think Larson should’ve heard it?”

Adler answered as he kept his dutiful watch around, him facing the area behind you as you focused in front.

“No. He just needed someone to listen. Poor bastard should ask for R&R after this. I’ll grant it to him, maybe he could go to Australia and just wind down there for a week.” He scratched at his face, the war paint surely feeling a little off since he first put it on. “Forget about all this. All of it. The States. The war. He needs it. Hell, we all do.”

Your lips formed a teasing smile.

“Even shadows and monsters need a smoke?”

Adler chuckled easily.

“Everyone needs a smoke as far as I’m concerned. Maybe less people will act like they’re one push away till they make a shitstorm the rest of us need to clean up. But sure, kid, ” he half shrugged, focusing on the sky above with all its celestial like bodies. “Larson might’ve been onto something though with what he was saying.”

“Which part?”

Adler chose silence as his answer, staring up for another moment or two before huffing and turning his attention back onto the ground.

The two of you stayed guarding for a few more moments. You didn’t bother asking Adler why he was up and you had this watch, just like how he didn’t seem to bother to order you to go to sleep. You felt like once more, there was an understanding between you two. Still though, it didn’t stop you from the question bubbling in your throat.

“Since you know the quote,” Adler hummed lightly, showing he was listening. “What do you think Nietzsche was referring to, that the reader itself hasn’t fought with other monsters yet or from experience because he is a monster to not have other’s fight him?”

Adler scoffed quietly, amused.

“Just cause I know the quote doesn’t mean I constantly wonder about it’s meaning, Bell.”

“Humor me.”

“I thought I told you earlier I’m not here to spoil you.” You threw him a sheepish grin, Adler sighing and shaking his head as his expression turned inquisitive with how he pressed his lips together for a moment. “It’s a warning. That’s how I always saw it. But it’s not one we need like you said earlier, kid.  We don’t need it.”

You didn’t ask anymore. Because as you thought more into it, he was right.

Nietzsche wrote a warning, to the innocent reader and the oblivious society that put emphasis on morals and truth that he did not agree with.

‘Battle not with monsters, lest you become a monster. And if you gaze into the abyss, the abyss gazes into you.’

Monsters do not fret about what they already are. Just as they are not worried if the abyss ends with them or if it begins.

“Get ready, kid.” Adler said much later as they all slowly woke the others up to move, his eyes squinting behind his glasses as he stared past the trees, the bushes, and the greenery as the beginning of dawn started to rise. “It’s going to be a shit show in a few hours.”

✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ▷ ▷ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯

“Bell”

Second Life

14:02 | February 26, 1981

CIA SAFEHOUSE E9, “DIE LANDEBAHN”

You see yourself as one with patience.

When it comes to this sort of line of work, it is required. A sort of fortitude and composure that not all can be able to acquire but must be needed for this—for lives at stake based on whether you can put up an act or have the tact of an eagle capturing a snake, all sharp claws and silent feathers against the hissing strike. ты хочешь быть американцем товарищ.

“The two most powerful warriors are patience and time,” as said by one one of your favorites, Leo Tolstoy, from one of the best works in history: War and Peace.

You recall last time—stop clinging, you stupid dog—when you stood outside the safehouse in the cold with your head to the book, Adler stepping out and taking note of your book with a cocked brow. Stating his surprise at your book choice as you mumbled something or other as you read, that it is an integral book. You even stating the same quote back to him, a surprise to you when Adler didn’t know of it. Listening as you explained it with a flick of his lighter and calm inhales and exhales of his addiction, showing off where the quote was as he leaned in slightly. Your heart pounding as his warmth was felt without even touching, than a brush of his shoulder to your back as he drew closer. Than it was gone.

“All grim thoughts and wise words with you, eh Bell?” Amused. A fleeting turn of the lips that stayed longer and a gaze that lingered as he stared through you under those shades. “Make sure you take a breather when you raise your nose for air from your books. Can’t do this without you.”

He would tease, but didn’t stop you from taking your reading breaks outside for fresh air. And he’d always ask, curiosity in his expression when you’d show him a line each time. You thought it was special. Their own little thing where you would raise your book and he would lean to you and they would touch.

“Bell, open the door.”

It was just cruel kindness.

Patience, you are using it to your fullest. You can do what you must and see if your actions can work up to something—all your effort and hard work being seen as a good little tool.

Though, time—time is something you may not have. Unless you make sure you’re loyal.

You were quick to drop off the breakfast on the center table, ignoring Adler’s rose brow as you moved. The pineapple kasekuchen in their rightful place. You avoided and didn’t speak outside a quick “good morning” to everyone else and went to work, breakfast by you whenever you got truly hungry.

You didn’t think about why you bought the dessert. Outside the rationalization it shows your loyalty. Perhaps a peace offering to ignore what happened the night prior. You didn’t think much about that at all.

американский щеноk.

Until he called you over to his desk with a wave of his hand, your chest thundering with your eyes wide as you wondered if he’ll say anything. Take you aside in private to talk. About last night or the sweet, you’re not sure. Only for him to motion for you to sit, tapping his knuckle against the file on the desk. You took note the box of the kasekuchen wasn’t there anymore(must’ve already ate it or threw it away) as you blinked, slowly sitting in the seat across from him as he slid the file towards you as he asked your opinion on it.

You scanned, mind wandering and flying, before you glanced up at him. His favorite mahogany leather over him that is second skin, a lighter shade of blue for his collared shirt today under him and his mouth free of a cigarette as well as his hands. Those aviators still on his head, a part of him. Sort of like the beanie—ski—mask over your head as he looked down at another report in front of him. As if he didn’t call you over from your desk to his to help with a file when he could’ve just left it on your desk. As if you didn’t cross a line—you always cross the line, over, behind, or creating a completely new one to do what you must like he does whatever it takes but it was wrong, you are no saint, pitiful mutt—yesterday with your words and questions.

A hand reached towards the file in front of you, knuckle tapping twice, more force this time.

You focused back on the file, only to see Adler already took his hand back. Continuing to read as he patiently waited for your consensus on the file before you.

You were struck than how he’ll handle this, understanding dawning on you as your gaze focused and turned to the file below you and picking it up.

If he wishes to pretend as if it never occurred, it’s fine with you. It’s best either way for both of you. You have too many worries already, Adler included. Best to leave certain things out your mind about the man lest you’ll get clouded. You’re trying to survive. Not get caught up in and tangled in mind games.

You spotted in the corner of your eye Adler give a ghost of a nod, the tiniest tip of the head, imperceptible to others but you knew. He gave a similar one when you captured Volkov, walking up to you with a calm swagger and gloved hands around his weapon, as he moved his head in approval. Such a good girl to be happy with just a nod. Satisfied. He’s satisfied. He knows you understood. Understood him.

“You know me too well.”

“Guess we’re two peas in a pod.”

“I need Bell.”

You raised the file closer, over your mouth formed in a subconscious echo of a pleased smile. You didn’t even feel it. Nor did you feel electric blue eyes behind shades glance towards you before turning back to his work—the silent agreement to keep what happened last night to themselves written and signed without the two of you having to open your mouths.

Coward, you wanted to snarl. To who, you’re not sure. You just focused on what Adler gave you. You’ll need to have Adler let you live so you’ll need to not just be a perfect asset to the others but a person to him.

You have to do what you must.

“Damaged goods.”

You have to.

“You remembered.”

You flicked your eyes towards him, file momentarily forgotten. He didn’t look up from his own file, continuing to read it with the expression he always has when concentrated—a hint of pressed lips that reveals his dimples and brows lowered than usual where it would be difficult to see due to his shades. You would think that mania has truly taken a hold of you, with it’s dark tentacles filled with dark thoughts and mental anguish or rather slithering and multiplying vines where Lykourgos grew mad due to Dionysus’ vengeance except for you it is with choking collars and stifling leashes and cutting strings. He looked as if he didn’t speak at all. All the quiet focus of a war hardened CIA agent that didn’t have a ring on his finger but was married to his job with a badge to show all the same.

But you knew his voice. As if it was your own.

“We’ve known each other for years.”

“Fought together. Bled together. Been through Hell in Vietnam together.”

“We got a job to do.”

“ B e l l,  o p e n  t h e  d o o r . ”

The poor американская сука loves pain like a drug.

“I wasn’t sure what you would,” Adler spoke again, your eyes focusing on him once more. His head still was tilted down and a little to the side, shades facing the paper but you believed he glanced towards you. “The coma did a number on you with your memories. I know you’ve been saying it’s only been about Vietnam but you never specified about what. Or if you happened to remember anything else.” He didn’t state it like a question but he might as well have.

Of course he would ask. Why wouldn’t he?

Nonetheless, you knew what he was referring to in his earlier statement. He ate them. You picked up your file with a small huff.

“Hard to forget, Adler. Of course I would remember. You would hold those cans like a lifeline,” your lips lifted at the memories, of Adler trading with others if he must to get his precious golden ambrosia that would appease him similar to his cigarettes. You kept your lips up despite the quick recall the memories were fake—the trading of trash, the quiet understanding to not speak of it, of beautiful Vietnam foliage and unforgettable talks—just as you glanced at him and continued easily. “Glad you liked them. Wasn’t sure if you would. As for other memories. . . it’s still only been with Vietnam. I haven’t gotten anything else.” Adler hummed, cocking his head a tad before your lips formed more of a smile that you felt. “But at least I still know what I like or don’t. Can’t imagine a clean slate.”

“That’s normal,” Adler said, shades now facing you as you somewhat hid your face with the file. The only thing him being able to see fully was your eyes. “Learn how to calm down and that you can’t take all these shots like you’re a target in a shitty gun range. Might remember more.”

You found yourself snorting, rolling your eyes. Finding dark amusement at his words despite yourself. Perhaps you are growing insane.

“Based on what you told me in the hospital, you would’ve had some holes instead.” The way you said it, it sounds like you still believe it. Like it was real. Dance puppet, dance. You turned up your lips into a semblance of a smirk as you looked over the file towards him. You maintained it even though you think the both of your eyes connected despite the shades hiding. “You don’t have to worry, Adler. I got your back. Always. A few shots is nothing.”

It’s what you would’ve said before. It scares you how much you meant it previously. As if your life was forfeit if it came to having Adler live longer. Nothing else would matter as long as he lived. Nothing. As if the world would come to an end if he fell—the only one that could hold it and keep it straight.

Perhaps he is Atlas after all. . .

The loyal dog with the pretty collar will always protect the master.

Cursed due to his cruelty.

What are you, Russell Adler?

Adler stared at you for a moment, as if assessing your words. Scrutinizing them. He than reached into his jacket, taking out a cigarette and lighting it. Once he did the first drag and released his puff, away from you as you observed the smoke curl around them, he looked back down to the papers on the desk.

“How lucky am I that I got you around than, kid,” he replied, all low and earnest as he took another drag. “Just don’t go dying on me. Can’t have Sims talk to his shrink about something else. He’d be heart broken.”

Adler said that sentence a little louder, so it was no surprise that Sims by the desk put down his magazine and called out.

“I resent that!”

Adler’s lips twitched in response, but kept his gaze down as your heart thundered.

You thought of an explosion to the chest, your heart open and bare for more reasons than you planned. Of soft words to your ear that sounded like regret and something else as you coughed. Of a gentle touch that held you up, hands wandering from your waist to your stomach—stopping just short of a bleeding chest as if they wanted to stop the red—redredredredred—from flowing out but hesitated. An encircling of arms that released heat as you grew cold—you don’t like the cold much anymore—while an expression was carefully guarded with eyes hiding behind a shaded curtain.

You felt your throat tighten. The need for answers to unanswered questions reaching a head.

“Just Sims?” you asked softly, a little breathless and a little confused at said breathlessness.

He glanced up, aviators slightly down and you could barely see his eyes as he exhaled a puff, eyeing you. You staring as his brow lifted for a moment before it settled, an interesting look in your eyes that one might call forlorn. And something else that is dangerous and not meant for monsters who are better alone.

“Maybe another life, kid.”

Mind thine eyes dog, for they show you yearn the impossible.

“You know the answer, Bell. Everyone would be,” Adler leaned slightly back in his chair, cigarette between his fingers in his customary hold between his ring and middle finger. “You’re part of the team. What kind of question is that?”

“You’re still one of us.”

He knows what he’s doing. Just as he knows what you mean.

You bit the inside of your cheek, looking down with squinting eyes at the file. Your hand making it a little wrinkle and you don’t know what you expected. What you’re expecting. He hurts. He pretends. Why would he even answer truthfully when he can dodge and feel less guilt about a hole in you caused by his hand?

He’s—

You felt a nudge against your knee, you looking up in shock with a quick inhale at the unexpected touch. It staying there—his knee, he’s touching you—as you watched Russell tilt his head at you, brow up and lips quirked with a cigarette around it and looking wry and relaxed—what is this, why, what could this be for, why is he doing acts that are pointless yet mean everything when he could just be distant, you are getting worked up over just knees touching, you touch starved little thing—as he motioned his head an iota to the left. Your eyes following the movement to see Park where she was, nearby with her desk and a headphone to one ear but the other still able to listen in despite how naturally quiet you and Adler are with your soft voice and Adler’s low tone.

Park? What does she have to do with anything? And why would Adler of all people care?

You frowned, only for your lips to flatten in realization of her words to you about Adler. To stay away. You now wonder if she did a similar warning to him.

“Insanity breeds insanity as they say.”

You wonder if the pissing match that was imperceptible and the slight tension was more than just two agencies trying to come to an accord.

But why would Park warn Adler?

You glanced back at Adler, who gave a half shrug as if to answer your silent question. It only raised more. You moved your knee back closer to your form and Adler didn’t react as you did so. The both of you turning back to the files that Adler requested your assistance.

Not thinking in the back of your mind of fleeting touches, lingering looks, or a voice to your pounding ear that tinged with remorse even though you couldn’t see his face.

✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ◁ ◁ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯

You and Park just recently finished going through the report you and Woods got from Ukraine. Sims and Lazar were in the back rooms where the gun range was while Park was in the Red Room. Last you checked, Adler was still in his office with a call while Mason and Woods were by the weight lifting equipment and taking turns to work off some steam due to what was discovered. You were putting the findings up on the evidence board with tacks, careful to not stab yourself. You wouldn’t be as concerned if you were wearing your gloves which you put away earlier by your bunk bed, but than again, you’re quite careful with your gloves. Not only because of the quality, but who got the leather gloves for you when you were just recently discharged out of the hospital back in the States.

You smiled, putting the last tack on the board only to have a sudden weight around your shoulders. You widened your eyes, briefly alarmed only to turn your head to see it was a smirking Woods.

“Done? Good! I’ve been holding off till now but it’s time to fucking see what you’re  really  made of Bell.”

You blinked, confused and still reeling at the fact you didn’t sense his approach at all. Your mind will zone out over the littlest of things lately. It concerns you. But it hasn’t been a problem so far out in missions, so you think it’s alright.

“And how exactly I’m going to do that? Thought I showed you enough back in Ukraine.”

At that, Woods laughed as he basically tugged you to where Mason was, who was shaking his head at his friend and shooting you an apologetic look as you just smiled that you were okay with it. Their van door open in the back as well as a table and chairs in front. You took note of the packs of beer and you see what Woods meant as he sat by Mason in the van on the floor, you sitting down and observing as Woods took a hefty gulp of a beer.

“I think I know now. But,” you glanced to where Adler’s office was, “is this wise? Isn’t Hudson coming over here soon?”

Woods slammed his beer down, causing some of it to come out as Mason sighed at the wastefulness.

“Man,  fuck  Hudson!” Woods wiped his chin harshly, irritation coloring his features. “I want to forget about that nutsack for the rest of the day. When he comes, he better not say shit or I’ll punch him again. Maybe with that shit will stop coming out his mouth.”

Mason chuckled, having his own beer in his hand as his eyes wandered to his longtime friend, shifting as he got comfortable in his seat.

“How’s the hand?”

Woods scoffed.

“Pfft. Nothing fancy,” Woods looked at said hand, clenching it as he moved to crack his knuckles as he grinned wildly. “Ready enough, like I said, if Hudson says something smart.” He punched his fist against his hand, muscles flexing noticeable despite his jacket as you couldn’t help but laugh along with Mason.

“I still can’t believe you punched him yesterday,” you spoke up, shaking your head in disbelief. You can’t even imagine anyone punching the intimidating harsh man that is James Hudson. Soon after your discharge, you had to meet with him back in Langley for the mission before all this Perseus business—although you suppose supporting the Polish union Solidarity in fighting back communists have everything to do with Perseus. You don’t understand why the man seems to dislike you so much, especially if the two of you worked briefly before which you sadly can’t remember. He must always be like that with others, Woods doesn’t seem to like or appreciate Hudson’s icy countenance either way. You don’t quite appreciate the man’s secrecy about the nukes, so you see why. “If I even breathe the air wrong around him, I think I will be dead come morning. I don’t think I’m exaggerating.”

“You?” Woods asked, amused incredulity in his tone as he faced you. “The one who basically took out three Heavy’s by your lonesome? Scared of that ball face? You’re shitting me!”

Mason rose his brows as he turned towards you.

“You didn’t say that in the report. You holding out on us, Bell?”

“Right?! Now open a bottle and tell Mason here everything that happened.”

You rose a brow, amusement shining in your eyes, your hand moving to the pack of beer before stopping. The memory of the arcade room making you smile knowingly.

“Everything?”

Woods made a face, cheeks looking an interesting color that Mason caught as he nudged his friend with his elbow.

“What’s she talking about Woods?”

“Nothing! Jesus Christ Bell, didn’t know you could be a little shit like Adler can.”

The words bounced off you easily, already used to the man’s vulgar personality from the mission and even before the mission to go over details, as you shrugged, smirking as Mason kept pushing Woods on what happened as Woods would grumble or drink his beer to avoid answering. At Adler’s name however, you looked back at the office, slightly biting the inside of your lip.

Your breaks thus far outside of eating has just been reading your books or a quick game in the back room. Never for a drink like Lazar would do with Sims and Park at times. Adler, at least what you know of, hasn’t drunk and just has stuck with his cigarettes. You don’t even remember the last time  you  drank. All you know is that you like it.

But. . . you’re not sure if Adler would approve. You’re always focused on your work and great at it, he depends on you to maintain your focus to catch Perseus.

You subconsciously put your hand in your jacket, feeling the polaroid as you thought.

Woods noticed your apprehension and called out to you, you turning your head back.

“Whatcha fuckin’ worried about? You’ve been working all day from those codes and whatever the shit you put on the board. I don’t think Adler would want you to be worked dry where you don’t even think straight.”

“Only booze can do that,” Mason added helpfully.

Woods nodded, looking too serious it was almost comical since they were just trying to persuade you to drink.

“What he said.”

You took a moment before you shrugged, grabbing a beer and opening it as you stated that you guess you could drink with legends. Woods huffing at you, soon calling you cocky in realization as to why you made fighting Heavy’s not a big deal and not impressed with him. Mason seeming to find it funny as the three of you drank and talked about the mission more freely and colorful words with Woods. You did slightly flush when Woods told Mason you were a nerd for playing a quick game while there were Russians preparing for their training course, Mason snorting as you hushed them when Park grew near them. Not wishing for her to find out.

Quickly hiding it by inviting her to join just as Lazar and Sims came back, the two men seeming to easily join in as Park contemplated as she stared at the beer. With a sigh though, she sat by Lazar as she took one.

“Next time, I’m buying the alcohol here. You bought rubbish, Woods.”

“‘Rubbish?’ And beer is beer, nothing wrong with good ol cheap beer sometimes,” Woods defended. “Adds to the flavor.”

Lazar smiled, raising his bottle.

“Cheers to that.” Lazar and Woods tapped their bottles in the middle when they reached over, an easy aura settling between the group.

Sims got a bottle, assessing the name as well as the pack as he did a dog whistle.

“Germans know how to do one thing right, and that’s beer. You’ll be fine Park. It could be worse,” Sims took a drink, humming as he did so while Park frowned at her bottle when she took a few sips.

“Worse?”

“It could’ve been canned,” Mason answered, speaking from experience that made you raise a brow as you took a drink, settling further into your seat. “Canned cheap beer you can basically taste the metal. There was one time back in the States where I practically shitted myself due to this cheap beer I got at this random gas station in the middle of nowhere. Ruined my night.”

“And your pants it seems,” Lazar commented, mirth clear in his tone before he released a laugh along with Sims guffaw at the Israeli’s words. Park shaking her head but anyone can see her smile on her lips as Woods stated that’s what happens when you’re in “bumfuck nowhere” and probably got experimented with weird moonshine.

You snorted in surprise, covering your mouth as your imagination pictured the soldier rushing to the bathroom lest an accident happens. Mason? He seems so serious all the time, which you can understand why. You’ve read up what you could on everyone here, the description’s were small but you could fill in the lines. He’s lucky that he has such a good friend like Woods.

It soon became a trading of stories between everyone about drunk nights and how they reached that point, Lazar running with a bowl of chili and Woods determined to make condom water balloons and Sims was just finishing his own passed out in random deck chairs story when the door of the office opened.

You immediately turned towards where Adler now stood, staring at all of you as he closed the door and currently free of a cigarette. Your anxiety only grew when Adler turned his head towards you, as if he was asking you personally on the situation as you could only throw him an apologetic yet impish smile. Adler’s brow rose.

“Adler!” Woods called, raising a hand and motioning it for the man to come over. Adler approaching the group as you could only stare and tried to get a read on him. Alas, it was hard to discern his mind even if you could spot him glancing at everyone and the table with bottles. “Join us while there’s still beer left! Planning to drink all of this before Hudson comes. He can’t say anything if there’s no evidence.”

Adler hummed, stopping behind you and Sims as he appeared in thought. A trickle of hope coming up your chest at Woods offer.

“All of you are in luck,” Adler eventually answered, the subtle amused tone not lost on you as you intently focused on it. “Hudson isn’t coming till early in the morning tomorrow. Got caught up with something with Black. Can’t imagine how he would react if he saw all this.”

“Fuck ‘im,” Woods spat, reaching for a bottle and throwing Adler one. Adler catching it with his hand, shaded eyes turning towards the bottle to read the label. “We’re not here to please his every whim and cater to him like we’re his butlers. I say it’s a perfect time to wind down. We were just trading stories of getting shit faced.”

“All of you were,” Park corrected easily, “I don’t plan on sharing any such event.”

“Never say never, Park,” Lazar said, a grin playing on his lips as he winked at the British woman. “I’m sure a lady like you has quite a collection of stories.”

“A lady never says her secrets.”

You were still staring up at Adler as Sims playfully groaned at Lazar’s flirt tactics that Park didn’t seem to mind, Adler tilted his head down and met your eyes. Seeming to assess before turning his gaze towards the evidence board, which now had additional papers than previously since he entered the office, assessing. He than turned back towards you, you impatiently waiting as you shifted in your seat to see if he would let all of you continue, his eyes seeming to follow when your hand went to your jacket pocket.

Adler released a huff of soft exasperation, a shadow of a smirk playing on his lips.

“Don’t see the problem. We can all use a break from all of this.”

You practically beamed as Woods whooped, you moving a seat over where you were now next to Woods. Adler taking your seat as he sat by Sims now, opening his bottle as he asked whose story they were on. Sims continuing it and finishing before Lazar had another one. You listening with a smile or laughter, feeling the most at ease since this whole mission started you think. You believe that Adler must feel the same way, appearing relaxed as he sat and leaned back against the chair, beer forgotten and customary cigarette on his lips as he listened.

It made you want to take a picture of this moment. You standing up and announcing to the others you’ll do just that, Woods raising a brow at you.

“You and pictures. You a photographer or something? I hope you’ll at least show me what pics you took of me instead of those Red’s building.”

Your cheeks felt heated as you turned towards Woods, standing over him with fists clenched by your side as you called his name, askance. Making the man laugh at your expression, your irritation leaving you due to it but you gave him a warning look and call of his name which he caught. Not wishing for you to say the story, as Adler watched nonchalantly.

“Pictures? Got distracted again, Bell?” He asked, almost sounding like a tease only for the others to join in that you really loved that camera. You pursing your lips and appearing like you were pouting, as you turned away and got the camera from the Red Room quickly. Taking the picture of everyone only for Woods to motion his hand for it to your bewilderment.

“What? Don’t you want one with you in it too?” Woods asked, grabbing the camera from your hands as he grinned up at you. Adler and Park glancing at each other behind you, Adler flapping his cigarette hand uncaringly in answer. Mason raising a brow at the exchange but staying silent as his eyes moved back towards his loud friend.

You didn’t think of that but you stated you wanted one with everyone than, Park raising her hand for the camera to do the setting for it to be timed and placing it on top of Sims car he was working on earlier. All of you turning your chairs slightly, getting close with beers in hand and you trying to maintain a perfect smile even with Adler’s knee touching yours. The camera flashed, you feeling something by your head only for you to lightly punch Woods shoulder once you saw he must’ve gave you bunny ears in the photo. Him laughing away as you fought your own smile, his rugged charm rubbing off on you as Adler inhaled quietly as he watched the exchange.

The stories than eventually moved to mission stories, and than, unsurprisingly—to Vietnam. At this point, Park and Lazar retired for the night—Sims eventually doing the same when he noticed it turned to Vietnam. Which left you, Mason, Woods, and Adler—Adler just finishing up the story about what happened in Hue City, leaving a few details out you noted but loyally and wisely kept silent, as Mason took it in with a slight nod of his head.

“So that’s what happened on your side. Shit. . . that whole place was a shit show since the beginning. Lucky I only had to do a quick in and out by just getting a dossier.”

Woods snorted, nursing his fifth beer.

“That whole war was a shit show. Only good thing that came out of it is telling stories about it years later in a depressed warehouse. While a whole other type of war is happening.”

At the mention of the reminder of them losing that war, you spoke up.

“Not the only thing,” you couldn’t help but say, lost in thought as you looked at the ground.

Adler turned his head towards you as Woods and Mason did the same, curious.

“And what’s that, kid?”

You kept your gaze down for a moment more before flicking your eyes to the side towards Adler.

“We’re all still here, aren’t we?”

✯ ▙ ✯ ✯ ✯ ▞ ✯ ✯ ✯ ■ ✯ ✯ ✯ ▞ ✯ ✯ ✯ ▙ ✯

Ȳ̶͇̝͐ó̶̘̈ṵ̴̡͑͒ ̴̯̗̅ŵ̴̭͘â̸̭̼̤n̵̼͚̘͑t̶̠̮̯́̏ ̶̭̝̱̄́̅ţ̶̠̑̈̚ǫ̶̳̉́ ̴̘͖͊͊͘ͅ ̵̡͋́ṣ̶̞̆̚ ̴͚̲̕ț̸̓ộ̴̍̐p̴̣͓̾́ ̴̫̗̆͜ḫ̴̛̦͓́́ẽ̴̛̻̋ṛ̵̲̞͈̅͠ę̷̼̯͔̍̌͌?̶̫̩̆͆

̷̼̈́

̵̣̽̉͛

̶̝͋͂B̷̝̾̾u̸͚͊̕ţ̷̛̭͖̈́̾ ̶̱͑̔i̷̩͇̤̐ṯ̴̪̓̓ ̷̜͊d̸̆͜į̶̩͔̉̏d̵͔̓͝n̴̨͇͒’̵̰͑́͂ţ̸̯̯͋ ̷̧͖̣̿̒e̴̥͋͝n̴̘̱̿̕d̸̛̤̹̔ ̵̡̡̩̈̐h̷̫͔͂͜ë̴̺̜́͑͊ȑ̶̺͉͠ĕ̴̥̉.̴͕̭͌̕͠

̸̠̹̿̊̿

̸̠͊̅

̸͙͓̬̂͒͝Ë̶̼̙̭́͘̕ ̶̳͆v̵̱͙̿̋ ̴͔̇̋ę̷͚̫͆̃̈n̵̥̣͈̏̅ ̷͇̮͒͊ ̴̛̺ ̶̡͆t̶̢̘͒ḧ̷̺̉ě̸͓̼̂ͅ ̶̬̲̫̈b̶̟̪̒̒ę̵͊͝s̶̟̱̐ţ̴͙̳̆̚ ̶͔̈́d̸̝̭͑̈́͒o̸͖͑̓g̸̨͌̈́̀s̴̹̫̖͗̅ ̶̯̝͛ḷ̶̬̔͌̐i̷̘̥̓́k̴͕̓͝ĕ̷̡̿̽́ ̵̖͗̾͘ţ̵̟̤̈́́̽ö̴͖͕͙́͗͝ ̴̦̂͊͝r̶͉͈̊̆̔ų̴̝̋̈ņ̶̼͛ ̶̭̦́.̶͔̇̄

̶̫̘͒̌̿

̵͓̱͇̆̕͠

̷̧̰̙̇͝B̶͕̐̐̓e̸̖̟̋ŝ̶̨t̵̗̎̀,̴̯̥̐̕ ̶͚͓̓̀́ť̶͐̂͜ŏ̸̢̿̉ ̵̨͎̄̿͆ć̷̣̓͑́ơ̶͔͓̋̿̔m̵̧̢̩̃ê̸̘̠̠ ̴̰̫͠͝ͅb̶͇̔̒ą̶̤̯̰̽͊c̸͈͗k̸̩͉͙̓̿ ̷̻̼̰͆ẃ̶̞͙̃͒͌ḧ̵̘͑̒̃e̵̜̰̓͘͝ń̶͙͒̚ ̵̪̖̥̊̈́ȑ̷̢̌̎ẽ̸̛͇̂ͅà̴̞̖̫d̸̤̺̽͛ỳ̴̰̊͝ ̷̠̌͝f̴̢́͊o̴͉̒͠r̷͕͙͙̽̋́ ̶͈̾̉t̴̥͒͘r̷͉̘̐́ų̸̠̔̋́t̴̨͚́̾h̷̖͕̯̀̒͛.̵̫̟̬̄

✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ▷ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯

“Bell”

Second Life

15:47| February 26, 1981

CIA SAFEHOUSE E9, “DIE LANDEBAHN”

Soon after you said your thoughts to Adler about the file, you moved to go back to your desk only to pause by the T.V. You turned back, Adler raising a curious brow as he put out his cigarette with his ash tray nearby. You asked him for any other files he may need help with, Adler saying nothing as he reached another file by him and handing it to you. You grabbed it, your black leather gloved hand grazing against his bare one as you took it. Taking note of what he said about it before turning to your desk and staying there. Ignoring a probing stare in the back of your neck.

You’ll do what you must, but if he expects you to stay by his side when he inconvenienced you earlier by making you come to him. . . Well, you think a little petty action is worth it.

Besides, you have to think by yourself for a moment. The call about Volkov squeaking his rat mouth should’ve came already. By nighttime—you, Adler, and Park should already be on the way to Ukraine and meet up with Woods and Mason.

Woods and Mason, you think fondly with a sad smile of a whirlwind of a man drinking back beer after beer like water with a deep throated laugh and the silent soldier with sad eyes yet listens attentively and a kind smile that brightens. Oh, I’ve missed you guys.

They were barely in the safehouse, out in missions constantly when you would decode and just being the team’s powerhouse duo. When they were here though, the safehouse was louder. More easy and free, less stifling and grim due to the work they were doing. They had a certain charisma very different than Adler’s, one’s that captured you in a different manner so it is no surprise you managed to get close and hang with them more than anyone when they were here. Sims being distant, Park communicating with MI6 about the CIA, Lazar determined to woo the agent when he wasn’t cleaning and prepping weapons, and Adler was. . .busy watching you were in line you suppose.

Card games and stories being shared, Woods and Mason not seeming to mind when you were around them. You suspect Woods let you get close to make sure you don’t tell his precious secret and blunder back in the arcade room in Ukraine. Although you would tease him that you might at times.

You feel like that in your other life, Park was right. You don’t think those two knew about your situation. It just made you like them more.

Because at least with them, you’re positive it was real.

“I knew I could count on you.”

You wished they were able to save you from Adler though. But they were tired and celebratory of what they accomplished. They took in Adler saying you and him were just taking a detour at face value.

“Do not trust Adler. He is lying to you.”

Adler always lies.

You have to remember that. And to just brush away any kindness he may show.

It’s not real.

Is it?

A loyal and trained dog through and through.

When you saw it was nearing 1700 hours, you looked around where Park was. Seeing she was with Adler in the corner by the weights, conversing with him with a crease in her brow while Adler looked as if he was only mildly taking note of her words as he puffed along his cigarette. A trait of his you knew frustrated the British woman. Adler likes to feign disinterest a lot. It could be seen as a weapon to make others talk due to how irritating it could be or make one cautious at how apathetic the man can act or look.

You walked over to them, your ears getting the tail end of whatever was ailing Park.

“—not making light of this and reign it in. Oh, Bell.” Park’s tone softened, a sharp contrast that stood out to you as she noticed you step up to them. Adler not even glancing at you as he continued his smoke, or at least not turn his head towards you. It’s dark in this corner so you wouldn’t be able to tell if he turned his eyes towards you or not unless he moved his head or body in your direction. “What’s wrong? Any new updates on the decryptions?”

You shook your head, looking between the two of them before settling on Park.

“What’s the word on Volkov? He talk yet?”

Park sighed.

“I’m afraid not. He’s proved himself stubborn despite his tastes being similar to what makes the U.K. great.”

You cocked a brow, a teasing smirk playing on your lips.

“Medieval torture devices not his style?” You asked, calling back to what Park said about Volkov’s hobbies.

Park matched you, amused as she shrugged lightly.

“I believe the lack of scotch is what will do him in personally.”

“He has to talk soon,” Adler cut in, exhaling a puff as you and Park turned towards him. Adler faced Park, arching a brow as he continued calmly. “Your guys over there aren’t giving him a good time right now, I imagine. The last thing we need is for him to be tight lipped.”

Your throat turned dry. You think you regret mentioning this as Park answered.

“He’s not the type to remain loyal if his back is to the wall. His selfish demeanor and arrogance will what cause him to try to strike a deal with us. It will benefit us than him in the end once he breaks.”

“If he breaks,” Adler added with a frown. “If he still doesn’t talk by the next two days, we might as well have killed him once we saw him. He’s useless.”

“She’s of no use to us anymore.”

You swallowed, moving to pocket your hands in your black bomber jacket as your hands clenched along with your jaw.

Park frowned at Adler, disapproving.

“He knows a great many things. Not everyone can handle interrogation for so long and be able to stay silent about anything that might give them reprieve.”

Oh, look, you thought sourly, bitterness starting to rise once more as you maintained your blank expression besides your taut jaw. They’re complimenting me. How nice of them to say I wasn’t easy for them.

Control your tongue, you stupid dog.

Adler huffed, it almost sounding like one mixed with amusement and exasperation as he shook his head slightly.

“Perseus’ people are almost as slippery and conniving as Perseus himself. And dangerous.” Adler took another inhale and exhale, the smoke curling around them and going over your head as your gaze lazily followed it to distract yourself while Adler did the same, tipping his head up to watch. “Perhaps he knows if he talks, he might as well be dead. We don’t need an Aldrich in the MI6 either.”

Park’s demeanor straightened at Adler’s accusation, the possibility of having a traitor or spy in her agency a great insult. She was about to say a scathing retort surely, but you cut her off.

“He’ll talk,” you say cooly, unreadable gaze towards Adler as he finally turned his head in acknowledgement towards you.

“What makes you so sure?” He asked, curiosity lacing his tone along with intrigue as he moved to place his cigarette for another puff.

You straightened your shoulders as you stared deep into his aviators that shadowed him properly to be America’s Monster.

“They all eventually do.”

Adler paused his hand, lips not around his craving as he stared towards you. Both your gazes not breaking even as Park looked between the two of you before settling with staring at Adler with slightly narrowed eyes.

Adler pressed his lips, a whisper of a smirk as he did it and nodded towards you once more before turning back towards Park.

“You hear that, Park? No reason to worry. Everyone talks. Right, Bell?”

“Yes, sir.” You say, ignoring how your stomach churned yet your heart pounded. You’re no saint. “We both know how to make them.” You slipped out, knowing eyes not leaving his face as you twisted a knife.

Adler didn’t seem to notice, or care really as he seemed to throw Park a mildly triumphant look. You don’t know why it would. You wouldn’t either and can care less about those you tortured—whether false or real.

Monsters do not worry over every drop in the red ocean they created.

Y o u’r e  n o  s a i n t, д е м о н.

✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ▷ ▷ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯

You had headphones in, listening to the audio log to finish up the decryption despite the lack of other Intel so you could put all your focus on Operation Red Circus. Instead of the exchange earlier, all of them.

So you didn’t hear when the garage door opened and a van to come in, but you did when it got slammed closed. You jumped in your seat in the corner on your desk, hidden behind the evidence board and the T.V. You lowered your headphones, curious to see what was going on and if Sims brought in another car, only for your breath to hitch in your throat. You standing up so quick your chair almost fell back as you stood next to the T.V., heart thundering only for it to stop as you stared avidly, wildly, madly, hopefully.

Adler moved his hand to guide the red van in, sighing out a puff of smoke as the driver came out.

“Hudson barely gave me any warning about this before you guys arrived. Didn’t think he was going to give the okay on this based on the latest call on Volkov.”

“Well, you know Hudson,” the voice that spoke was quiet yet deep with how it spoke in easy amusement. If one strains their ear, you could spot the reserved soldier with sad eyes and a kind smile. “Always the one that loves to talk.”

“Pfft, yeah,” this one, this one was all rough and throaty as if it got abused in the past from events unknown but one can guess. If one just takes a glance, you could discern the storm stuck in a body yet does a light drizzle for friends despite the thunder. “Hudson’s a real charmer. Don’t tell me that the Russian Godfather decided to finally open his mouth right when we got here.” At Adler’s nod, the one man army groaned. “Man, jet lag is going to be a fuckin killer! Forget hotels, I’m sleeping here until we head out.”

They’re. . . Your hands shook by your side. Not paying kind to Park who stepped out the Red Room, head turned towards you and approaching you as she called out to you. You only stared as you bit the inside of your lip.

Sims, who helped pull the van in and was now leaning against the side of it, shook his head amiably with a chuckle.

“I wouldn’t do that unless you’re fine with a raggedy ass mattress that looks like hasn’t seen the light of day since the ‘60s.”

“I believe the ‘70s personally,” Lazar spoke up as he sat on his desk, empty plate of takeout near him. “It still has potential if one’s desperate.”

“Yeah, well I’m desperate. Now where is it?” He turned his head along with his friend, comrade, forever ally just as they took a few steps close to where Park’s desk was and seeming to notice you the first time. Adler tilting his head at you, you silently just staring at the two as if you haven’t seen them in years, puffing silently as his brow rose curiously. But you could only look dumbly, eyes feeling a little pressure. They’re here. “Who are you and what the fuck are you looking at?” Woods asked sharply.

You blinked. Once. Twice.

Your lips lifted into a smile before it opened, letting a loud bark of a laugh come out. You’re laughing.

When was the last time you laughed? Genuinely?

You could practically feel the stares, but you didn’t care. They’re here.

They were real.

Once your laughter calmed to chuckles and giggles, clearing the corner of your eyes for any possible tears, Adler stepped up between you and the two soldiers. Giving you a quick once over behind his glasses, you waving your hand at him dismissively slightly at his unanswered question, his brow furrowing before relaxing as he put an arm out towards you.

“Woods. Mason. This is Bell, my protege. I spoke to you about her before.”

You quickly fixed yourself and your expression as you took a polite step forward, you probably look absolutely insane. They don’t know you despite you knowing them. Calm down. You just didn’t expect that a change like the others would be this.  Oh god, you looked insane.

“Sorry,” you began, a tiny sheepish play to your lips, “I just—you guys are both legends and I just didn’t expect to see you guys here. At least, so soon. You could say I was a bit. . . excited to put it lightly. Hope I didn’t scare you off?”

Woods and Mason stared at you, Mason having distant amusement playing in his brown eyes as Woods non-subtly leaned towards Mason, a hand slightly covering his mouth.

“Careful Mason,” Woods falsely whispered as he eyed you with suspicion. “We have a rabid fan on our hands.”

“I think she can hear you,” Mason didn’t try to whisper but it didn’t matter as Woods suddenly snorted as he crossed his arms.

“Listen here, Bell. The last thing that’s gonna scare us is someone who got excited about seeing us like we were the fucking—what is it these days? Someone gimme a hand.”

“You talking about bands?” Lazar questioned, Woods nodding as he glanced behind to where the dark skinned man stood by his desk, Lazar staring up in thought. “There’s Fleetwood Mac still going on.”

“Not like how the Beatles was going on,” Woods answered, a little too seriously as you fought a smile while Mason moved and leaned against the evidence board.

“Hear there’s growing popularity with AC/DC and Kiss. They’ve been on the radio a lot lately.”

Woods swiped his hand back and forth as he made a sound of disgust.

“You comparing us to those guys that look like they came out of hell, Mason? What do we look like?”

“I think it fits,” Adler dryly stated, clicking his lighter on to light his cigarette. Woods telling Adler he’s not helping as Park came by next to you with a hand to her hip.

“If demons don’t work, there’s always the Queen. And I’m not talking about the one I serve.”

“Queen is pretty good,” Sims said from behind, “but you guys had to have heard that new song Celebration by the Kool and the Gang. That shit hits.”

“Whichever!” Woods turned towards you asking you how exactly you know about them, you answering honestly that you read up on them on the computer. Seeing no point in hiding it as Woods gave a vicious grin towards you. “Well, aren’t you a nosy little shit. You always read up on everybody?” You were once again honest, saying you like to be thorough with everything but you only had a brief description to go off about them. Whatever secrets they may have is safe with them. Woods sniffed, slightly backing off and Mason appeared to have relaxed his shoulders. “A nosy shit with manners at least. And balls to say all of that to our faces despite what you read.”

True, if you did not know Woods and Mason. Despite that one time where you truly felt their intimidating aura on you, once you get to know them, they’re softies that are loyal. Even with Woods barbed and vulgar words and Mason always observing quietly behind with an assessing look in his eyes, you know they’re shields. Walls. To help with whatever occurred before—just like everyone else here.

And, just like there’s walls. . .

“There’s no innocence here,” you answered, shrugging with a bitter smile.

Woods stared at you for a moment before guffawing, pointing in your direction as he turned to face Adler who stared at you behind his shades as he inhaled his addiction.

“Where’d ya find her, Adler?” Woods asked, before than flapping his hand. “Answer that later. I need food and to knock the fuck out for tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” You repeated, even though you already knew as Adler answered.

“Let’s go over the details briefly. You were right, Bell. Volkov talked.”

✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ▌▌ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯

You watched after the meeting how Woods moved, all loudness and an army in one body with the propriety of one would find in any soldier—none at all. Refreshing. Needed. Even though he looked at you strange when you offered to help with setting up his bed that was all dust and old in the storage room by the generator.

You wonder in the end, after the cliff, how Woods reacted after just saving you from a large sheet of metal debris. Is it naive thinking that he might’ve been mad?

You looked at Mason, more careful with your approach as you smiled softly at him while you gave him the quick rundown that everyone has a spot chosen for their work. That they could use the desk by where they put the projector if they want. Mason raising a brow at you but letting you once you wisely gave him his space.

Would Mason be furious? You were unlucky because you were under the wrong flag. You were born a Russian. If you weren’t than, maybe, they would’ve kept you like they did him.

Meanwhile, Adler—a gaze that never falters, and eyes that are all-seeing with how hawkish they could be, does he see(?)—observed you silently as you moved to and fro with an energy that wasn’t there before. And a smile that looks genuine. He sits back, and watches.

“Shame you were born in the wrong country.”

There’s a lot of shameful things that are tied to you. But like any good monster, any foolish Icarus, and any stupid girl—you’ll ignore them.

.

.

.

American pup—американский щеноk

American bitch—американская сука

You wish to be American, comrade—ты хочешь быть американцем товарищ

Demon—демон

I don't know if it's been too subtle--but Bell isn't exactly. . .mentally/emotionally healthy right now. Adler is just everywhere. But maybe Woods and Mason can help now by just being there.

I love those two a lot.

This Second Life of Bell is coming to a close soon, this has gone longer than planned but thank you for everyone that has been with me so far! ^///////^ Happy Late 6th Anniversary of Undertale that inspired this story's plot <3

I am having trouble contacting my beta due to Tumblr being stupid with messages. Maybe I can reach them here, please contact me on Discord under username: Animefreak1145 (Code #8517)

*PM me if you wish to be Tagged*

@quizzyisdone @zulema117-blog @efingart @pinkpinkboota @nuclear-boston @lifeisthemoments @jintana-critical @eclectriccanoeseven @hurricanesyd-blog @parkeepingparker @moonchild365-blog @aurora-windu @imperfectophelia @dvesinthewind @holy-crap-i-am-russlle-adler @i-will-give-you-love @adlerboi @preciouslilcreature @saynotohydra @mayaibnlaahad @smokeywhalee @0shuni0-blog @multi-fandom-imagine @littlepotatowizard @direwolfspostsrandomshit @darlingor @collinnmckinley @kayalect @nikkibell1937 @fuzzybonkeggsopera @ppfedd @bro0kebxrter @actuallyilya @stayb1ack @frankwoodsmalewife @tr1ppylady @nocturnalblurbee @salvija @gojocat247 @dallmaistir @animecriminal @weirdoartist21

[outofsstyles]

AU | Famous!Reader x Fashion student!Harry

☁️ FIC PAGE ☁️

word count: 22.9k

warnings: explicit language, mentions of alcohol

//

Time, mystical time

Cuttin' me open, then healin' me fine

Were there clues I didn't see?

- Invisible String, Taylor Swift

//

Harry huffs a sigh of relief as he stumbles his way up the last steps of the staircase, being greeted with the familiar sight of the front door to his flat. His shoulders are hunched from the stress of a long day, still getting used to the hectic routine after coming back from the holiday season. Eyelids blinking slower with each step, he sniffs as he reaches for his set of keys in the side pocket of his backpack. Cold drops of rain slide down his neck from his hair and his face feels cold from the whisks of wind that whipped around him in the short jog from the tube station to his building. His feet are sore from standing around for so long, and the beginning of a headache sparking under his temple, making him frown as he takes a beat too long to unlock the door. To say he’s tired would be an understatement, and as much as the warm scent of the vanilla candles welcomed him are soothing, he can’t help but ache for a hot shower.

His bag drops to the floor with a faint thump. The sound of the television takes over the small space, and not long after he shrugs himself out of his coat he catches the sight of a recognizable set of  curls from Julia’s spot in the couch across the room, snuggling against the cushions with a bright pink blanket wrapped around her and a big bowl of popcorn popped in her lap. Harry envies her for a moment, for getting the chance to work as she’s cozied up inside their warm apartment. From where he stands, he can still feel Julia’s gaze taking in his undoubtedly drained appearance, her expression softening a bit.

“Rough day?”

“Jus’ tired.” He reaches up to pull out the hair tie that keeps part of his locks from his eyes, massaging his scalp as he does so. “S’raining a lot.”

“You should’ve taken my umbrella.”

“I’m not going out in public with that.” He scrunches his nose, a hand resting on the wall for support as he reaches down to take off his vans, the shoes suddenly becoming too tight on his feet.

He’s referring to the umbrella she got  roughly a year ago. She had bought it for her mom at a souvenir store and forgot to take it with her on her flight back home for the holidays, so when she came back she’d made the decision to keep it. The top of it is filled with all sorts of typical figures related to London, big red cabins illustrated on the material, surrounded by matching busses and marching soldiers, and of course, an image of a couple Big Bens standing tall next to it. It’s nothing too bad, Harry reckons there’s many uglier gifts she could’ve gotten, but it’s far too touristy for him not to cringe at the thought of parading it around.

Julia scoffs at him, rolling her eyes with a shake of her head. “Buy your own then!” She brings her attention back to the screen in front of her. “Or just catch a cold from walking around in the rain, see if I care.”

He breathes out a laugh at her dramatics, scratching his nose slightly and feeling his icy skin as he makes his way to the bathroom, not indulging further in the banter with his flatmate. Once he’s locked in, Harry can’t help but shrug out of his clothes in an almost impatient manner, eager to finally wash the tension and sweat off of his body.

He takes his time when he finally gets under the hot jet of his showerhead, not holding back a relieved sigh  as the water hits his skin with a hard pressure that’s just as painful as it is satisfying.

When he sees Julia again, stepping out of his room clad in an all grey sweats set (except from a couple paint stains decorating the sweatshirt, result of an art course he attended a few months ago), she’s sitting straighter against the cushions, her hair now up in a ponytail, a small computer propped on her lap taking the place of the popcorn bowl, that’s now by her side. She peeks at Harry for a second from under her glasses before focusing again on typing something he assumes must be work related.

“You know, for someone who’s a fashion major you sure have a questionable taste in clothes.” She doesn’t look up from her screen as she teases.

“When I have money for Gucci I’ll make sure to parade it around the flat.” His steps are still lazy as he reaches the messy counter that separates the kitchen area from where Julia sits on the living room couch. Not paying any mind to the stacks of course books and loose papers on top of it, he leans to rest his hands over the mess. “Until then, you're stuck with my paint-stained sweats. Tea?”

“I’m good.”

Harry’s hand hits the countertop with a faint thump as he turns. The wooden cabinets creek as he opens them in order to locate a hand painted blue mug with colorful little chicks dancing around it. He rests it on the counter as he reaches for the kettle to fill it with water. A woman’s voice takes over the space, her tone pitching louder in enthusiasm as she comments on the name of a couple artists. He recognizes some from scrolling around Spotify playlists or seeing it written on magazines before.  Glancing over his shoulder, Harry catches an image of a red carpet of sorts being transmitted on the screen. An awards show.

It’s the kind of program Harry’s gotten quite used to seeing by now. From the moment Julia landed an internship at a music magazine, there had been enough occasions in which she had to write a piece regarding an award show. Usually, though, those evenings are prompted with the presence of her girlfriend, Blake, (who happens to be Harry’s classmate -- and he still prides himself in his matchmaking skills for introducing them to each other)  who enjoys making snarky comments about people’s outfits as Julia gushes over their performances. Harry’s even joined them a couple times when those nights are held at their flat and not over at Blake’s, not much so for the content -- actually finding most of it boring -- but more for the company. It’s about listening to the two girls bicker as he steals a handful of Julia’s popcorn.

The odd setting of that night doesn’t go unnoticed by Harry, though, and once the kettle’s set on the stove he turns to her, leaning back on the counter,  “Is Blake not coming tonight?”

“She left early ‘cause she promised to babysit for her neighbors. Oh! You got mail, by the way.” She doesn’t look up from her computer as she motions with her head to the spot on the counter in front of him where a couple letters sat, some with their seals already ripped.  “Quite fancy if you ask me.”

Harry frowns slightly, not expecting any mail, much less anything fancy. sure enough, it doesn’t take him long to spot the one she’s talking about, as the black envelope easily stands out amongst the regular ones as well as his name written in cursive letters on top of it. When he picks it up, turning it around, he notices a small leaf branch with a golden ribbon attached to the front by a wax seal matching its color (it’s the first time Harry’s actually seen anyone seal a letter like this outside period tv shows and satisfying video compilations on his instagram explore page, and it only helps to deepen the crease between his brows). He can make out the figure of a fern engraved on the seal, but no other indication of the content inside of it.

With a quick motion, Harry breaks the seal, barely catching the tiny branch mid-air as it falls to the ground. He leans forward, resting his arms on the counter as he retrieves the card resting inside. It takes a single read of the words printed on it  for him to realize what's it all about. A wedding invitation. One he’d completely let slip from his memory that was even happening in the first place. Not that he could be blamed for it, considering the last time he’d chatted with the bride and groom he was seventeen living under his mum’s roof a good four-hour drive away. It’s still nice of them to have him in mind, Harry thinks, setting the letter down once he hears the whistling sound of the kettle behind him.

Not thinking much more of the mail, he moves around the small space of the kitchen, humming along to an overplayed song that comes up on the telly, as he finishes preparing his cuppa. Once he’s done, he walks to the couch, making himself comfortable on the opposite end to where Julia sits. His eyes set on the screen in front of them just as an older woman, with her hair pulled back and a silver gown cascading down her body, speaks into a microphone.

“So, what are we watching?” Harry asks with a sip of his tea.

“The Grammys.”

Harry’s brows shoot up. “Is it today already?”

“Yup.” Julia says, not looking up from her computer as she keeps typing. “Have to write an article about it.”

“Look at you!” Harry stretches his arm to bump on his friend’s shoulder. “Getting that permanent spot, I see.”

“Trying to.” She glances at him, motioning with her head to the counter where the mail now lays open. “What have you got there?”

He reaches for the half empty popcorn bowl resting by her side, stealing a few pieces and quickly tossing them into his mouth. “A wedding invitation.”

“Ew, who eats popcorn with tea.” His friend states, moving the bowl to her other side, out of his reach  “A wedding? Since when do you have friends who have their lives together?”

“It’s an old mate, back from school days and all that.” Harry shrugs. “Haven’t spoken to him in a bit, though.”

“Are you going?”

“Think so.” He takes another sip, unpocketing his phone from his sweats. “Will be good to see everyone again.”

Julia simply hums in response, and, as Harry focuses his attention on his phone, he can hear her typing resume. For a while they stay like this, as he scrolls mindlessly through his social media feeds, even answering a text or two --which is rare for Harry since he often left messages unopened for days - except for a comment or two coming from her side of the couch. Every now and then he glances up to the bigger screen, either when he’s asked for his opinion on someone’s outfit or when Julia wants to know whose designer is behind it -- and Harry prides himself on recognizing most of them, having studied their collection campaigns for his marketing class in his last term. What calls his full attention, however, is the mention of a particular name, making his ears perk up and his eyes glue themselves to the screen.

It’s not unusual for him to hear your name, of course it isn’t, as you have settled on  top of several radio spots for the past year or two. He’s grown used to hearing your name plenty, but it doesn’t get any less odd for him, to have what once was such a familiar face  become such a distant yet still reocurring figure.

Going through a breakup, especially when it’s your first relationship, is already hard enough as it is. Harry reckons most people probably do their best to distance themselves in order to heal and move on, try not to think of the person who hurt them. But it’s not like he had much of a choice with you. He could delete all your pictures from his computer, wipe it all , hide the letters and polaroids in a box under his bed and he still wouldn’t be able to run away from you. It’s as if the moment he was out of your life you’d grown bigger than either of you could’ve imagined as you lied together on his bedroom floor. In a matter of a year or so your name was up in lights, your face greeted him everywhere he went; that being printed in the front of the gossip magazines lined together as he checked out his groceries, or at an editorial cover as he studied for his design theory class. There wasn’t much of an escape.

It was hard in the beginning, of course it was. Mainly  when he inevitably had to read the scandalous headlines about you being all over some big haired bloke from a boyband at some extravagant party in West Hollywood. Yeah, that was a hard one. But as most things in life, Harry had to get over it eventually. And with you quickly becoming more and more out of his reach, your image being just as sweet as it is strange of a memory to him, he  learned how to desensitize himself.

That  doesn’t mean he’s not curious, though, which is what shifts his focus to the tvonce he hears your name. Sure enough, there you are, the most familiar stranger he’s ever known. Your smile is discreet, but still charming in a way that makes whoever’s watching you want to know what kind of secrets you’re keeping, and Harry can’t help but wonder as well. He doesn’t recognize the emerald sequined dress you have on (and makes a mental note to check later who it from) and he figures it was probably custom made for you, as it hugs your body perfectly. He doesn’t mean to notice that, he really doesn’t, but as the camera zooms in, panning from your golden heels, up your leg that appears from the side slit of your skirt as you walk down the carpet, and stopping at your face, still sporting a smirk as you divide your attention between different photographers screaming your name, he can’t help but notice how good you look.

“Look at her.” Julia sighs, snapping Harry out of his thoughts. That's when he realizes he’s slouched forward.. Relaxing back into the cushions, he takes another gulp of his tea, which has gotten considerably cooler as it rests forgotten on his lap. “Don’t blame you for being her groupie, I would too, if I had the chance.”

“Wasn’t a fucking groupie, I told you that.” Harry rolls his eyes at his friend, knowing her love for torturing him since she’s learned the information of his past relationship.  “We dated before she even set foot in America.”

“So?” She looks at him, eyebrows shooting towards her hairline as she keeps nudging. “You were her first groupie before she even had them.”

He shakes his head. “Enough with the groupie talk, please, not in front of my tea.”

“I’ll never fully process the fact that you dated her.” Julia pushes the topic, her hand motioning to your image still being shown on the telly. “You got to kiss her and everything! Wild.”

“Julia, can you stop talking about my ex and write whatever it is that you have to.”

“Not when your ex is one of the biggest names in the music industry, no.” Julia pauses and, for a moment, Harry thinks she might’ve finally dropped the subject. However, once he doesn’t hear the sound of her fingers going back to typing on her computer he looks back at her, catching  her eyes still glued to the screen, her brows set in a frown.  He can almost hear the wheels inside her head turning. He focuses back on his phone, saying a silent prayer that whatever it is she’s thinking, she’ll just drop.. His wishes are futile, however, when she speaks up again, her words coming out slow but full of intention, “Is she friends with this dude that invited you to his wedding?”

“Julia…”

“I’m serious! Imagine if you bump into her at their wedding!” She fully turns to him, her voice pitching in excitement at the scenario.

“Even if she did get invited.” Harry starts, refusing to meet her eyes. “I doubt she’d go.”

“Why not?”

“Cause she’s one of the biggest names in the music industry? Haven’t you just said that?”

“Right.” The girl sits back on the couch, gnawing at her bottom lip before bursting again, “But what if?”

“She won’t.”

“You seem very sure of that.”

“And you’ve been reading too many romance novels.” He scoffs. “It’s starting to affect your perception of reality. It’s worrisome, really.”

“As if you didn’t watch The Notebook every day religiously before going to sleep.”

“Not everyday.”

The two friends keep pestering each other for a bit,  until the opening performance starts, signaling the beginning of the award show, and Julia had to focus back on her work . as the silence set in the room, except for Highway To Hell stretching around the walls, Harry let his mind zoom out, his flatmate’s words painting every inch of his brain.

He’d never let his mind wonder what it would be like to see you again. Would you even recognize him? No. And even if you did, , he’d probably become as much of a far-off memory like you have to him. One of those people you think about once or twice after it happened and greets the nostalgic feeling as it embraces you in a brief moment, quickly moving on to more important things. Surely, you have plenty more important things to worry  about than your ex boyfriend that you left in your hometown  four years ago.

Shaking his head, Harry scolds himself for letting his mind wander. It has been five years, for god’s sake! He’s moved on. He has! But there’s still the tiny voice, whispering annoyingly in the back of his head, like an insistent child trying to get him to listen to them, saying it over and over. What if?

//

Golden specks of sunlight peeked from the cracks of the bricked buildings outside, shining through his window as a silent reminder of the sun setting in the horizon, and you knew it was almost time for you to go home. You ignored it, though. Only snuggling back on the arm resting behind your head as you laid on the ground next to him, focusing on the feeling of his fingers playing with yours that rest on top of your stomach, and the soothing voice of Joni Mitchell singing softly in the background.

Harry was adorably excited to show you the vinyl he got from the weekend getaway with his father and stepmum, pulling you up the stairs before you could even properly greet his mother in the kitchen. You sat on his bed as he went through all the relics he managed to snatch at the local fair he had visited. Barely holding back a smile, you bit your lip as you watched him ramble about a vintage camera he got from a dutch lady. His hair had grown a bit, you’d noticed, messy curls poking out of his head, dancing slightly as he talked. Once he got to the record, you didn’t shy away from placing a peck on his cheek, right next to the dimple the deepened after your action, asking him to play it for you, as you reached for his pillow and placed it on the usual spot you’d hangout right under his window.

He was telling you about some new paint set he wanted, lying on his back looking mindlessly at the ceiling. You closed your eyes, listening to the sound of the words slipping easily out of his lips along with the sound of his breath as you moved your head closer to his chest. What made you blink your eyelids open again was when he stopped talking, a new song starting with gentle strokes of an acoustic guitar.

Looking up at him, you met his gaze already staring back at you, and you adjusted your position, turning on your side so you could take a better look. He was wearing his favorite navy blue Fleetwood Mac tee, one you’d gifted him on his sixteenth. You loved how it enhanced the color of his eyes, and you were reminded of it once again when you looked into his jade irises, almost forgetting to take a breath as you did so.

“What’s this one called?” You broke the silence, softening your voice as you were afraid to speak too loudly, almost feeling as if you were interrupting Mitchell’s declaration of love.

“A Case of You.” Harry answered, turning his body to face yours.

You didn’t say anything back, instead, you took a minute to pay attention to the lyrics that painted the four walls of his room at that moment.

I remember that time you told me / You said, “Love is touching souls.” / Surely you touched mine / Cause it pours out of me

“It’s beautiful.” You whispered, not daring to look away from him.

Harry hummed in agreement, his hand reaching up to move a strand of your hair away from your face. Smiling softly, he said, “‘S my favourite.” You watch him chew on his bottom lip, hesitating for a second before whispering, “I got something for you.”

Your smile  widens. “Really?” He nodded. “Why didn’t you tell me before?”

“Dunno.” He shrugged, looking down to where his fingers fidget with the hem of your shirt. “Didn’t know if you’d like it.”

“I’m sure I’ll love it, H.” You sit up, crossing your legs under your bum, a spark of excitement and curiosity shooting through your body as you rush him, “Go get it!”

“Okay, okay, calm down, love.” He laughs, sitting up from his position and reaching back for his backpack resting on top of the bed.

You watched as he retrieved a small pale pink box, wrapped with a silver ribbon, tied in a pretty bow on top. There was a nervous hesitance to him as he handed you the gift, you noticed a reddish tone painting his cheeks, it was subtle, you could’ve easily missed it if the light wasn’t shining on his face, still, you couldn’t help but reach forward, pressing your lips to the tip of his nose. It’s quick, but you still earned a giggle that escaped his throat, mumbling afterwards, urging you to unwrap the box as he bit down his lip.

Wrapping your fingers on the ribbon that sealed the package, you swiftly untied it, allowing it to fall on the carpet next to you. A gasp eased out of your lips as soon as you opened the lid, revealing a heart-shaped gold pendant hanging on a delicate chain.

“‘S a locket.” He revealed quietly, eyes jumping from the jewelry in your hands to your face, watching your reaction. “It’s empty now, can put whatever you want in it.”

You touched the piece gently, feeling the texture of the engraved flowers under your fingertips, there’s a knot threatening to tighten your throat at the tenderness of his action but you swallow it back in order to speak, even though your words tremble out of your lips,

“I love it.”

You reach your free hand to touch the necklace being presented to you, craning your neck the slightest bit - as to not disturb Amie’s work on your brows - to get a better look at the piece. It’s a short golden chain, white crystal stones placed carefully around it. As you hold it in your palm you can tell how delicate it is, and you guess it’ll probably barely be noticeable as you strut your way down the red carpet in a couple of hours, but you assume the simple jewelry will make the whole difference in your headshots. With a final look you give a small nod to the short brunette still watching you closely, reaffirming your approval as you gently hand the necklace back to her.

She disappears from your sight in a beat and you relax back on your seat, not bothering to say anything else. It’s clear that everyone else has realized by now that you’re in a mood (if your unusual silence isn’t a big indication, you’re sure your face says it all), as they’re mostly speaking with each other and leaving you be. Acting like a stuck up egocentric diva was never in your plans to start the day of your first attendance at the Grammy Awards. It’s not like you can help it, though, but you try your hardest to make up for it. You force a smile for a bit too long, say please and thank you way too many times in a voice that makes you cringe to yourself. When they ask how you’re doing, you simply brush it off as a bad night of sleep.

Well, that isn’t entirely a lie, you are tired. The routine of staying out until dawn to catch a nap for maybe two or three hours everyday seems to have finally taken a toll on you. And of course it would all hit you like a brick in what feels like one of the most important nights of your career. Because why the fuck wouldn’t it?

Still, you know the main reason for your sour mood has got to do with much more than just a burnout due to a thread of poor sleep nights. You know the reason lies deep within the prior months that led to where you are now. But it’s not like you’re ready to unravel any of that.

So, with barely three hours of sleep under your belt, you woke up with your eyes still sticky from the previous night (due to the poor job you did on taking off your mascara before slipping under the covers) to be met with the high ceiling of the penthouse suite you booked for the week. Most times, when waking up after a night out, mind still buzzing and tongue slightly numb from the alcohol, it’s a slow rise. It starts with lazy blinks and a slow recollection of your surroundings, a lethargic way your head has to process the fact that it needs to start working again. But this morning you didn’t have that privilege of easing your way into consciousness. No. Your eyes snapped open with the sudden invasion of sunlight into your room, the chirping sound of voices coming muffled from the living room.

It’s almost noon, a voice lets you know, coming into your eyesight with a long floral dress flowing all the way down her calves, the sleeves tight on her elbows as she types something on her phone. Sonia, your manager, knows you too well as to not coarse you into waking up, but rather doing the most efficient way, that being not to give an option unless getting out of bed. She doesn’t waste a second before pulling you covers back, the action causing a whine to escape from your lips as the cool air of the AC embraces your body like a bucket of cold water.

“There’s breakfast waiting for you outside.” She gazed up at you, her eyes nudging into a motherly glare at your state.

“Coffee?” Is all you mumbled, sitting up.

“Later. Right now caffeine is not ideal for your headache.”

“I don’t—“

“There’s ibuprofen.” She motioned with her head to the nightstand right next to you, her attention back to the phone in her hand as it started to buzz. “And water. Lots of it. I’m sending in hair and makeup in ten.”

In reality, you had just about five minutes to wash away the night before you heard a commotion outside the bathroom door. There was just enough time for you to swallow back the painkiller that was settled in the nightstand as a good morning gift and to strip out of your clothes when people started knocking on the door. You ignored it, though, as your head pulsed with the continuous streak of sleepless nights and strong drinks and the cold rush of water from the waterfall shower did very little to lighten up your mood. And it doesn’t help that those five minutes were the last relaxing moment of the day before people started rushing in like a violent stream of water.

So, yes, to say you’re moody can be an understatement.

Right now you’ve been munching on an apple for the past half hour, using it as an excuse to not barge into conversations. The leather of the chair you’ve been on for what feels like forever now (which is code for about a full hour) is starting to stick to your thighs as your robe has ridden up your body. There’re what feels like hundreds of hands on you. Pulling at your hair, swiping products on your face, poking onto your nails. Their voices every minute or so smoothing in request as if you’re one of those voice controlled dolls of sorts — turn your head, stay still, close your eyes, don’t move.

This is a process you’ve always found near excessive, and probably your least favorite part of going to an event of such importance. Recalling the first time you had this many people in charge of helping you get ready, you remember the excitement. It was easy, being the center of attention without having to lift a single finger. However, it did lose its glamour rather quickly. You like your independence way too much. That ranges from being able to get ready by yourself to going alone to a cocktail party.

Though you know there’s not much you can do about it, so you just relax back, knowing the less you think about it, the quicker it’ll be over.

The moment you let your eyes fall closed, feeling the smooth brush color your eyelids, you hear it. It’s faint, and you have to focus on the low sound of the speaker in the background, under the rushed voices of what feels like too many people in the room, to really hear it. But once you do, your ears perk up as the oh so familiar voice starts to sing, and you can’t help but let your eyes snap back open at the opening verse of A Case of You. This earns a small scolding from Amie but you don’t register it, instead, you turn your head to the side to listen to it better.

“Whose playlist is this?” You ask, lips twitching upwards as the first chorus comes up.

“Think it’s Mia’s.” Someone from behind you answers it with a slight pull to your hair.

It takes you a second too long to answer her at first, the melody embracing you like a nostalgic hug, “‘S a good one.” You nod, not knowing who Mia is but still appreciating her choice.  “I love this song.”

“I remember, back in college, when my ex broke up with me as he was dropping me off from my cousin’s birthday party,” Amie starts, interrupting your moment as she holds your chin between her fingers, gently positioning you to face her and you let your eyes fall closed again. “I sat down in my dorm, put on Joni Mitchell and cried for the rest of the night.”

“Ouch, that must’ve been harsh.” You breathe out a laugh, the action worsening the throb in your head and you immediately fall sober again, recalling your own experience of crying listening to her disks.  “Good choice, though. It’s a good song to cry to.”

“Sure is.”

Amie quickly strikes another conversation with the girls in charge of your hair and you fall silent again. The song still plays softly in the background, but as much as you try to focus on it, to let the comforting words of the familiar song detach you from the position you’re in, make you forget about the suffocating feeling of having this many people so up on your personal space, you can barely hear it under their voices. A loud laugh disrupts your attempt and you have to refrain from cringing in frustration.

Suddenly, you feel yourself become too aware of the tangle of noises swiping around the place. The door to the hotel room opens and closes a couple of times. Muffled sounds of steps rushing around on the carpeted floor. Someone calls a name from the living room area. The woman in charge of your nails chats with the one doing your hair as she finishes her work (giving you at least one bit of relief). The overwhelming feeling comes back, hitting you like a brick, and you start feeling too hot under the ring light. You’re about to speak up, excuse yourself for a moment so you can walk to the balcony and feel the outdoor air untangle the knot in your chest. But before you do, you hear a familiar voice coming from behind you.

“How are we feeling here?” Sonia appears in front of you as you blink your eyes open (slowly, as to not mess up Amie’s work on your eyeshadow). She holds up a cup of coffee in your direction and you accept it gladly, holding it carefully with your freshly manicured nails.

“We’re certainly feeling.” You take a sip, wincing slightly at the hot beverage. “Sorry, I don’t know what I’m saying.”

“Nervous?”

The question makes you suddenly become too aware of the nerves tugging at your belly, like when you only feel the sting of a scratch one someone points it out. The reminder of your first time attending the ceremony as an official Grammy nominee gives your stomach a funny twist. However, it’s not your anxiousness that’s bugging you as you feel another gentle tug at your hair. But you choose not to voice your annoyance, afraid of sounding too much of a diva (something you’ve been policing yourself closely not to do for the past few months), only letting out a slight wince. “A bit.”

“It’ll be alright.” She places a hand on your shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Not that different from other award shows, you’ll see.”

“I guess.”

“Oh!” Sonia exclaims, unlocking her phone on her other hand. “I’ve changed your flight back home like you asked.” She scrolls for a bit before stopping with a sip of her own coffee.  “You’ll be leaving on the twenty first, is that good?”

“It’s alright.” You sigh, knowing it’s not the ideal scenario you had planned, to catch an early flight the day after your birthday, but being used to the hectic agenda and the sudden change of plans.

“The driver will pick you up at five.” She gives you a look. “In the morning.”

“I know. I know.”

“That’s sorted, then.” She locks her phone again, turning her attention to Amie, who’s brushing a product gently against your cheekbone. “How much longer do you think?”

“Give me fifteen and she’s all yours.” Amie peeks up at the older woman.

“Perfect.” She smiles back at you. “You look beautiful, and you’ll do great tonight.”

“Thanks, Sunny.” You grin at the brim of your cup, addressing her by the nickname you’d given the first week she started working for you.

True to her word, Amie finishes off her work not much longer after Sonia disappears from the room after turning around the threshold leading into the living room area. And, just as you take the last sip of your coffee, while scrolling mindlessly through your phone in an attempt to keep your mind distracted, you hear a commotion coming from the other side of the walls.

It takes another minute for you to get up from the spot you’ve been sitting for what feels like hours now to go investigate. You enter the living room being greeted with a trail of croissants, and you take one, biting carefully before letting out a satisfied hum.

From this moment on, time moves relatively quickly. Soon enough, you’re standing in front of a full body mirror, feeling the poke of the last few adjustments in your gown. It’s a sequined emerald gown, one you’d find a bit too much of a safe choice upon seeing it at first, but as you see how it hugs perfectly at your curves, you’re sold.

You arrive at the red carpet with twenty minutes to spare before the show starts — not too early to be quickly forgotten by the ones that arrive after you, but also not too late to be glazed over. The Los Angeles January sky is cloudless, but despite being in the peak of wintertime the air surrounding you is warm, almost too warm, even.

The screams quickly swallow you, some coming from people on the other side of the street, waiting for a glance of whoever’s stepping out of their cars at the entrance, others are hidden behind bright flashes that you can force yourself to look at for too long. You wave, giving the same smile you’ve perfected over the years, the one that Amie says makes it look like you hold all the secrets of the world, but still friendly enough to avoid headlines about being too pretentious.

A girl, not much younger than you it seems, directs you further down the carpet. You pay little mind to her, only directing a small smile as you blindly follow her steps. Scanning your eyes through the crowd gathered before the entrance, you manage to catch familiar faces all around. Everyone’s at their most presentable, and you feel like, even if you didn’t know any of them, you would’ve easily been able to pick out the stars as they parade around the place like sore thumbs. It’s the Hollywood glow, one that can easily be spotted on their stuffed chests and their cheshire cat smiles, bodies clad in thousand dollar fabric as they spill out the big names behind it. You’re not different from any of them, you’re aware.

It takes longer than you’d expected to finally walk inside the Staples Center, following behind the same girl that greeted you when you made your entrance. Once she directs you to your seat, you hold back a relieved sigh to find Ayame standing right next to it -- you had requested to be seated next to her but considering her tendencies of skipping red carpet for the sake of arriving fashionably late (her words) you’d been scared you’d have to sit through your anxiety by yourself for a good chunk of the show.

Your brows shoot towards your hairline to the sight of her newly dyed bright orange hair, the locks gelled back, allowing her neon colored eye makeup to stand out on her face. She’s in a black latex dress, the silhouette mimicking a classical 50s gown with an off shoulder neckline. The top part of it seems to be clad so tightly to her body that you mindlessly hold your breath for a moment as you approach her.

It takes a while for her to notice you as she chats excitedly with someone you recognize as the lead singer of some pop punk band you haven’t really tried to learn the name of (but you do know is nominated with you for Best Pop Group/Duo Performance). The second her eyes meet yours, however, she’s rushing the couple steps to close the distance between you two, pulling you into a hug as she squeals your name. Her excitement is one of the first things to bring a genuine smile to your face all day, truth to be told.

“Hi, Aya.” You mutter over her shoulder, minding where you place your hands to hug her back so as to not mess with her hair.

“Hey you.” She pulls away, taking a step back to take in your appearance. You’re aware you two probably look like quite the duo together, her out of the box choice of a look certainly contrasting with your safe option (one that can look quite plain as you stand next to her, you realize.) But she doesn’t pay any mind to the antithesis, instead, only clapping her hands together as she moves her gaze down your body. “You look so beautiful! Oh my god, your dress even matches my eye!”

“That’s true.” You giggle (a real one) at her observation, taking notice of the way her thick green eyeliner curls down her cheekbone. “Guess we coordinated even without meaning to.”

“Oh god!” Her shoulders lump, eyes softening, and her lips plumping into a small pout. “Please, will you ever be able to forgive me for not coming with you?”

“Aya, it’s fine.” You reassure her.

From the moment your name started circling around different magazines as one of the favorite’s for snatching a couple nominations, Aya told you how she wanted to be with you for your first official attendance at the awards. You chatted over glasses of wine and endless bowls of oyakodon (on those rare nights that’s just the two of you in her New York apartment and she’d decide to try teaching you yet another japanese dish), making plans for today, daydreaming about getting ready together and walking down the carpet with linked arms and matching smiles. But this was before Aya signed for her Chanel campaign, and before you stopped feeling excited about mingling outside your comfort zone.  

“Nothing I’ve never done before.”

“I know but it’s your first Grammy Awards!” She sighs, her voice on the verge of a whine. “You’re the star of the night!”

There’s a sound announcement that the show is merely five minutes away from starting that cuts you as your lips part. As you two move to take your seats by the center-left of the main stage, you say, “Not sure about that one.”

You feel her gaze from the corner of your vision as you glance around the space, watching the biggest names in the industry pacing around just an arm reach away from you. After a second, you meet her concerned eyes, and when she speaks up again her voice is gentle, verging on cautious. “How are you?”

You look away from her, picking at your nails for a moment before you realize you’re ruining the fresh manicure. With a shrug, you try to dodge from the real answer she’s looking for with her question. “Good. Nervous. Tired.”

“Grumpy.” A teasing smile tugs at your friend’s lips.

“Tired.” You repeat.  “Didn’t really get any sleep, if I’m honest. Think I might actually pass out this time around.”

“Were you out last night?” She hesitates before continuing, her voice lowering an octave. “With Dora?”

“We just went to a cocktail party, nothing too crazy.”

A photographer stops by, interrupting you to take a picture of the two of you next to each other. As soon as he’s gone you look back at Aya, she’s the one not meeting your eye this time.“I don’t like her.”

You sigh. “I know.”

“I don’t.” She shifts in her seat, looking down at her lap before gazing up at you. “I just don’t think she has your best interests in mind.”

“And I don’t think this is the best place for us to discuss this. Again.”

“You’re right.” Aya nods, more to herself than to you. “Tonight is about you. Screw Dora and screw--”

The music playing around the arena pauses, and you both know this means the ad break is over. Cameras start moving around you and that’s enough for Aya to drop the subject and relax back on her seat. With the lights dimmed and the attention set on stage, it’s much easier for you to let your frown deepen for a moment as you take in the words she was about to say.

It takes just a minute for you to go back to your alert state, however, as a camera dances its way in front of you. A silent reminder of the eyes watching you all around.

The greater half of the show drags by and you find yourself zooming out more times than you wish. You know that Aya notices, giving you the same concerned look when you take a beat too long to clap for someone’s speech, or when you keep repeating the same robotic movements during someone’s performance. Award shows are known for crawling their way to the end, but most times than not, you can easily carry yourself through it with not much yawning. But right now that’s shown to be a harder task than you thought, and you find yourself urging for something to keep you at ease (it’s why you like the Brits so much, at least there you could down a glass of tequila and let its warmth drown the nerves in your belly.)

What bugs you even more is the fact that this was supposed to be the best night of your life. The weight of its importance should be translated into flaps of butterflies in your stomach not a tangle of thoughts clouding your brain. And the pressure you put on yourself to force some enjoyment out of you only helps make it harder for you to fight a crease to form between your brows.

The first time you let go of living inside your head is when the sound announcement for your first category echoes around the arena during -- yet another -- commercial break. You’re talking with Dua Lipa, exchanging the formality of compliments on each other's work (in your weak attempt at networking when you don’t feel like talking), when you hear it. There’s an electric spark that shoots down your spine, and you’re sure it's evident in your face as she comments on your nomination, earning a nervous laugh in return. It jolts you like a flip of a switch, and you have to hold back from bouncing on your feet at the prospect of finally allowing yourself to enjoy the night. Your night, you correct yourself, hopeful.

Around you, cameras come alive again as you reach your seat. It’s like your whole body feels numb, every cell electrified with anticipation in a way that the only thing you can focus on is the speed of your heartbeat. The rush of your bloodstream spreads warmth from the apple of your cheeks to the tip of your toes. You realize Aya’s hand is in yours when she squeezes it tightly, forcing you to share a quick glance at her to find an expectant smile adorning her face.

It’s only when they call the nominees for Best New Artist that you realize you never really thought you had a chance of snatching it. Maybe in a way you tried to keep your expectations low, knowing the set of talents that share the category nominations with you. So you wait for them to call someone else’s name. You prepare to put on your best smile, to clap politely for the winner. But that’s not what happens.

Because they call out your name.

Aya hugs you so tightly it brings tears to your eyes, your mind suddenly snapping back into reality and you realize that yes, this is really happening. You’re sure you float all the way upstage, you mind blank and your hands shaky as you accept the statuette. In a few days, people are gonna ask you about this moment, how it was looking back at the arena with your new Grammy in hands to give your acceptance speech, and you’re just gonna laugh it off charmingly about how you had it at the tip of your tongue. In reality, the moment you gaze back at the ocean of people, all in their black tuxedos and extravagant gowns, the only thing you focus is to fight back the knot in your throat, keeping your voice surprisingly steady as you barely register a single word that leaves your mouth.

Still shaking, you walk backstage, accepting congratulatory words and receiving a couple hugs along the way. You talk to reporters and take pictures, words coming a bit throaty as you allow yourself to feel a bit teary. The award feels heavy in your hand, the golden record player glimmering back at you, the shot of adrenaline waving off as you stare at the blank spot waiting to be engraved with your name.

Once you’re back on your seat, the buzz in your body starts to wear off. You feel your phone going off in your clutch and, when the familiar signal for the commercial break goes off, you reach for it. The screen lights up immediately, showing a thread of messages coming up at the second. You unlock it, feeling the urge to call someone as you let your thumb glaze over it before tapping the phone app. It opens up, showing a couple of missed calls from when you were backstage that you make a mental reminder to check back on it later. You look at the screen expectantly, as if waiting for something to happen when it hits you. You have no one to call.

Looking up, you try desperately to catch some friendly eyes, but you come back empty handed. Aya has gone backstage to get ready for her performance, and Sunny, along with other people from your team, have taken this time to celebrate, mingling around the place.

The messages are still lighting up on your screen as you blink back the tears that now threaten to fall down your cheeks, your chest heaving when the knot gets tighter. It’s a bit ironic, you think, the amount of people reaching out to you and yet you’ve never felt this alone. This was all you wanted, right here in your hands. All you focused on. Your life has never been better. Climb all the way to the mountaintop, isn’t that what they say? Then why does it feel so lonely?

There’s all these people, smiling at you, offering their kind words. Celebrating your achievement. But none of them feel like someone you can rely on, and you can’t help but wonder:

Shouldn't you have someone that you could call?

//

Harry’s not having a good day.

He’s not having a good week, actually.  Just as he’s stuck on a hectic routine in the middle of arranging costumes for the next musical (they’re doing Beauty and the Beast which requires a lot of layering that, as pretty as he finds the final result, can be a pain to sew) he managed to come down with a cold. So, whereas he wanted nothing more than to take a couple days off to snuggle under his newly acquired electric blankets while binging the new season of How To Get Away With Murder, the dress rehersal dates are just around the corner, so he just had to ignore his runny nose and throbbing head in order to rush into the final tailoring of the costumes. And if being sick wasn’t enough to throw him off a curve, he’s been having an special difficult time with Lumière’s full-skirted coat, his hazed mind causing him to misplace the golden laser cut detailing twice, as well as poke himself with the needle enough times to leave the skin of his finger red and sore. All of this also warranted him three scoldings from Lisa, who’s the head costume designer and whom Harry had prided himself on never getting on her bad side, so to say he’s been grouchy all week is an understatement.

On top of it all, like the bright red cherry on top of the shit cake that was his week, he’s late. He’s late to a wedding he’d all but forgotten about, and if it wasn’t for the annoyingly loud alarm reminder he’d set on his phone (that rang conventionally just a minute after he finally got to lay back on his bed after getting home from work -- he doesn’t usually work on saturdays but Lisa messaged him about an emergency with Belle’s dress, so he’d spent the entire morning hopping around fabric stores) he’d have probably slept right through it.  Harry thought about rain checking it, literally, as he hit the snooze button just as gentle raindrops started tapping against his window. He actually considered it. But as soon as he let his eyes fall closed the guilt started settling in. He had confirmed his presence directly with the groom when he called to send his congratulations after receiving the invitation. He gave him his word, and he’ll stick by it.

But it still doesn’t help the fact that he’s late. Which is why he’s rushing up the escalator on the tube station. The rain hasn’t gotten any better from the moment he’d jumped out of bed, still showering from the sky much like a last goodbye from winter as it blends into spring. This time he took Julia on her offer, grabbing her umbrella before leaving home -- and making sure to avert his eyes from the tacky imprints on the fabric to keep himself from cringing, as the only reason for him to be taking it in the first place is to keep his hair and his clothes as intact as possible (at times like this is when he’s the most thankful for the degree chose, because he’s not quite sure how else he’d be able to get his hand on a suit at the last minute if he hadn’t had one he’d tailored himself on his first year.)

He gets a few looks as he stumbles on the last step, a line of apologies rushing out of his lips while he struggles to open the umbrella. When it finally flings open with a thud, the gush of wind prepares to take it away but is prevented from doing so as Harry tightens his grip on the handle, he checks his phone again for the time. The screen lights up with the indication that he’s got five minutes for the ceremony and Harry mutters a cuss as he remembers the venue is a ten minute walk from the station, so he picks up his pace, the sound of the heels of his boots against the cobblestone blending with the pitter-patter of raindrops hitting the ground.

He knows he’s arrived as soon as he turns around the corner. The 18th-century building takes over most of the block, its stoned walls take a camel tone contrasting with the black of the iron railing that hugs its front--only giving space to two dark oak wooden columns located on each side of the front entrance. There’s a small group stepping out of a black taxi, a suited-clad man helps a woman out of the vehicle as she holds onto the skirt of her navy blue gown to prevent it from dragging it into the damp concrete sidewalk. They’ve clearly just arrived for the ceremony that’s set to happen in just a couple minutes now, and Harry can’t help but let out a relieved sigh as he realises he’s just about made it in time.

Letting his pace slow down to a jog, his shoulders relax as he tries to even out his breathing as he approaches the group in an attempt to not give away the fact that he was properly running for the past five blocks. But just as he does so, as a stronger gust of wind whips against his face. Harry barely has time to process it as the umbrella in his hand inverts its shape, the wires holding the fabric together snapping broken. It’s so sudden that it takes him backwards a couple steps, a high pitched yelp falling from his lips as the raindrops start to hit his face like needles, quickly sinking through the fabric of his suit.

“Fucking--”

His struggle catches the attention of the group standing outside the building, and he can feel their heads turning in his direction from the corner of his vision. There're a few repressed laughs that still make their way to his ears, and one of the men speaks up, his eyes lit in amusement, “Alright, mate?”

Harry glances down at the broken umbrella in his hand, his other arm coming up in a weak attempt to shield him from the drops now sliding down his cheeks. He looks up, clicking his tongue. “I’m good.”

There’s a shame in his walk as he makes his way to a trash can right next to the group, giving them a small nod before throwing the now-useless tool inside of it. He tries not to think about how perfect it would be for the earth to swallow him whole as he jogs again the few steps towards the entrance of the house.

At least now he’ll never have to look again at that tasteless thing every time he enters his flat, he tries to reason.

Thankfully, the weather consists mostly of sporadic gusts of wind, rather than a proper rainstorm. So, by the time he reaches the covered white-painted entrance, the thin droplets of water were only good for dampening his hair and shoulders (and tangling a few knots into his strands that he feels once he runs his hand through it), but not powerful enough to soak through his clothes.

“Good afternoon, sir.” A lady greets him as he steps inside the venue, she holds a cream clipboard on the crook of her arm, hugging it against her body. Her freshly dyed red locks contrast with the beige tone of the ambient, matching with her earth-brown dress. A smile stretches in her face, accentuating her age lines, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes, brows shooting up in surprise as if she didn’t expect him to walk in.

“Afternoon.” Harry reaches his hand to push back his hair, nose scrunching as he feels a few droplets slide down his neck. The lady looks up at him expectantly, her eyes moving down not so subtly, smile tightening as she takes in his appearance. He clears his throat, speaking up when she doesn’t offer any response, “Uhm… I’m here for Michael and Elise… For their wedding, I mean.”

“Right!” She nods, and Harry notices the way her eyes glance down at his blazer one more time before she focuses on the clipboard, moving it so it stands on her eyesight. She opens her mouth but before any word can leave her lips her hand reaches up to press her finger against the ear device, brows furrowing in concentration as she listens in. He stands there awkwardly for a moment,waiting for her instructions as she nods along to whatever’s being said. “I just have one more guest coming in.” She mumbles into the device, shooting a quick glance to down the hallway, before she focuses back on him, her voice coming a bit rushed. “May I have your name, please?”

“Uh, course, yeah. Styles.”

She gazes down at the list in her hand, flipping the pages as her eyes scan through the names. “Harry Styles?” He offers a hum in agreement as he watches her check his name. She looks back up, motioning towards the end of the long hallway, where there are double glass doors, only one of them open, leading to what seems like an outdoor area. “You can just head  straight ahead to the courtyard for the ceremony. The reception afterwards will be upstairs.”

“Alright, thanks.” He has half a mind to ask her for the men’s room so he can at least fix his undoubtedly rumpled appearance but, before he even thinks of doing so, she already has her back to him, taking long strides towards a closed door located to the side and disappearing inside of it. He huffs out a breath, eyes widening slightly as he mumbles to himself. “Okay, then.”

Harry walks through a threshold leading to a second part of the hallway, this one with a darker cast to it, thanks to the walnut tone of the wooden walls, passing by a number of ash grey armchairs set neatly on each side of the corridor -- looking so sleek that Harry wonders if anyone has ever used them for anything other than a decoration piece. The low mesh of voices invades the indoor space, getting just slightly louder once he enters the courtyard area.

The glass door he enters from leads to the right side of the seating plan, all the white wooden chairs with their backs turned to him (thankfully, as he doesn’t really feel like making a grand entrance to announce how late he is). He notices another set of double glass doors to his left that are set right at the center, a tan colored carpet stretching from it all the way to the altar, and, opposite to where he stands, a white piano is being played, the soft melody serving as background noise. The last few rolls of seats near him are mostly empty, apart from a few people that chose the ones closest to the aisle, so Harry manages to sneak his way to a chair by the far end without catching anyone’s attention.

Once he’s finally able to relax back into the -- not so comfortable -- seat, there’s a relieved sigh that escapes his lips unintentionaly, and he finally allows himself to take a better look at his surroundings. The first thing that he notices as he stretches his neck (in an attempt to relieve some tension he’s been holding throughout the entire day) is a glass roof serving as a shield from the raindrops that still fall stubbornly from the sky. It’s definitely a semi-new addition to the construction, Harry reckons, as it gives a modern touch to the historical building. It’s almost transfixing the way the metal structure bends in the shape of a simple mandala, one that’s now being colored with easing streaks of water running down its dome-esque build.

From where he chose to sit there’s not much of the rest room he can really make out, most of his vision being obstructed by a wall of heads. What he is able to catch sight of is the waterfall fountain standing tall right behind the altar, the blanket of water falling along the stoned wall is so clear that one could easily miss it if it wasn’t for the lights located right above of it, bright and shimmering in contrast to the dim lighting of the rest of the room. The sound of it is soothing, like an indoor drizzle, and it blends so perfectly with the melody of the piano that Harry wonders if the man playing it is even aware of himself doing it. Right next to it, at the opposite far end of the space, is large light up letters spelling the word LOVE in a yellowed light. It’s something that he’s certain he could easily find corny if he didn’t consider himself a hopeless romantic of sorts.

Which also can justify why he’s not able to keep his eyes dry throughout most of the ceremony.

It starts just about a minute after he’s settled on his seat, barely having time to sit back before he finds himself standing up again with the rest of the crowd. And, from the moment Harry caught sight of the groom's face as the bride finally made her entrance, he’s a goner. He remembers as a young boy, being forced by his mum to attend a handful of weddings during his childhood, how boring he used to find them. Funny how time changes things, he feels like, as now he finds himself paying close attention to the whole thing, not being able to help the warmth that grows in his chest all the way to the tip of his nose as he feels his eyes getting glossier at every word being spoken. By the time the vows come up, the intimate declamations of love being spoken in teary voices and shaky hands, he gives up on trying to brush away the tears that tickle their way down his cheeks.

Once the newlywed couple strut their way back the aisle, rings now hugging their fingers and paired smiles stretching their cheeks, Harry’s managed to control his emotions to some degree. When they pass through him, just before disappearing inside the building hand in hand, the groom, Michael, meets his gaze, throwing his hand up in a wave-like gesture. Harry wonders for a second if he’d recognized his face amongst the certain euphoric feeling he’s in right now, or if it was just a blind gesture that he barely registered before disappearing inside the double doors. Regardless, he still brings his finger to his mouth to let out a sharp whistle in felicitation.

The second they’re out the door, everyone starts moving, and that’s when Harry realizes his seat also allows him to be the first out the door. Following the crowd that makes their way back into the building, it comes to him that he never really got the chance to find a toilet so he could check the damage left by the rain-- and he’s sure his emotional state throughout the last hour or so did very little to help him in that department.

So he keeps an eye out as he steps inside the same hallway he came from, this time being directed to an open door by the left that leads him to a staircase. His boots click against the marble steps as Harry climbs up along with the rest of the guests that make their way towards the reception, a light chatter taking over the building as the talk amongst themselves. All the doors along the way are closed, all except the one at the very front of the stairs as he reaches the third floor.

Harry looks around as he waits for the elderly couple in front of him to finish talking with the lady that’s standing in front of the open doors. All the rest of the floor is shut tight, and none of the double white painted doors really seem like they would lead to a bathroom. Soon enough, though, he’s being greeted by the receptionist of sorts.

Like the one when he first walked into the building, she also holds a clipboard close to her arm, and, with her hair being pulled up in a tight ponytail, he catches sight of a matching earpiece poking at the side of her face. He gives her his names and, once she starts directing him to his designated seat, he finds himself scanning the room for what he’s been looking for. He’s not planning on staying long enough to need to know which table he’s in, anyway, only wanting to express his felicitations to the couple before rushing back to his warm covers that call for his name.

“I’m sorry, which way is the toilet?” He interrupts the lady, who only raises her brows for a moment before shooting him a polite smile, gesturing to a set of doors not too far from where he stands. “Thank you.”

Upon entering further inside he notices, the space is much smaller than the courtyard. The room takes an ‘L’ shape, the turn of the place being a small platform to which he assumes must be the dance floor, considering the few musicians tucked in the far corner. Thanks to its shape the place is as narrow as it is long, not giving him much space to walk between the perfectly set tables. Harry doesn’t dwell on it too much, though, only rushing towards where he was directed, and quickly locking himself inside where it's indicated to be the men’s room.

Turning to the circular mirror to his side, Harry takes in his appearance with a sharp inhale. It’s not too bad, he thinks, more or less what he was expecting to find. His tearful state earlier has definitely enhanced the puffiness in his eyes that are still slightly glossy. There’s a reddish tone to his cheeks and at the tip of his nose, light circles under his eyes displaying his poor sleep schedule. He looks like someone who’s still recovering from a cold, if he’s honest. Which was to be expected. His hair, however, took most of the damage of the rain. What once were his neatly locks curling around his jawline, now sits a frizzy nest of strands tangled on each other.

It’s still damp when he runs his fingers through it, trying to undo the knots he finds on the way but, somehow he only makes it worse. He clicks his tongue, shaking his head at his reflection as he lets out a chuckle, thinking of a Friends reference.

He sighs in frustration at the stubborn mop of his hair refusing to stay in place, surrendering to its rebellion as he fetches the hair tie wrapped around his wrist. Maybe he should’ve just listened to his mum’s wishes and just cut it all out when he had the chance, it surely would’ve saved him the embarrassment of walking around a wedding reception with a fucking man bun. But Harry is as stubborn as he is proud, sticking to his statement of allowing his curls to run wild down his neck. So he might just have to suck it up to his knock off hipster image for the night, at least he’ll probably won’t see these people again until the next baby shower, he figures.

What Harry doesn’t expect as he walks out the foamy white restroom after his inner head monologue was to be met with the one person he was not expecting to encounter in a million years. Standing just a few steps away from him, hair neatly wrapped on top of your head, body clad in a pearly green cocktail dress, the top crossing tightly around your chest and its skirt drapes beautifully down your body. It’s Dior, Harry recognizes, and on any other occasion he would’ve been too transfixed on the piece to even notice the person sporting it. But not right now, no, there’s not a chance that the hiccup on his heartbeat and the sweat on his palms are due to the article of clothing.

He freezes on his spot, his eyes shutting tightly for a moment, hoping that when he opens up it’s all just a fragment of his -- very vivid -- imagination. Perhaps he’s falling ill again, and his fever is acting up, creating mirages to trick his mind. But as he opens his eyes that possibility seems to dissolve as quickly as it was created, and Harry’s convinced that this must be some twisted sick joke the universe is pulling on him. Not satisfied on making him walk in the rain after breaking his friend’s tacky umbrella, or having him attend a wedding reception with a fucking manbun of all things as well as a face that’s most likely resembling a dried apple. No, that didn’t seem to be enough of a punishment for him. Because on top of it all, here you are, standing just a few steps away from him, this time not through a screen of a printed paper but in flesh and bone.

It takes him a second to realize he’s been frozen on his spot for quite a while now, and as panic starts to zip through every cell of his body his gaze flickers around the room. He’s not sure what he’s looking for exactly, just trying to find a way out. But how, when he’s not even sure where he’s supposed to sit? His eyes find the lady that greeted him at the entrance and he cusses himself for not paying attention to her instructions during his rush, because now she’s standing on the other side of the room speaking with the musicians and there’s no way he can reach her without bumping into you first.

Why does this place have to be so fucking small?

His foot stops midstep, almost too afraid to move and catch your attention. Frowning to himself, Harry  He dares to look in your direction again. You’re turned towards him, but thankfully you’re too caught up in your conversation with a blonde lady, nodding along to whatever it is that she’s saying, that you don’t catch the way he lets his eyes linger in you for a beat too long.

Long enough that you undoubtedly feel the weight of his eyes on you as your gaze meets his, and Harry’s sure he could dig a hole for himself right through this perfectly waxed lightwood floor. But he can’t because you’re looking at him. You’re looking at him and your eyes widen just slightly with recognition, mouth agape as your lips form the shape of his name, your voice standing out amongst the mixture of others chatting around the room.

The girl talking to you turns around as she realizes your focus has gone elsewhere. Melanie. He remembers her from his chem class -- she dropped a whole beaker of hydrogen peroxide on her arm and had a skin burn, her round face is still the same but now she’s a blonde. He barely pays any attention to her, however, letting his eyes bounce back to yours just as quickly as they left, only to find you’re already making your way towards him.

“Harry?” You say again, this time he hears it loud and clear as you get closer, the sound of your voice saying his name again causing an electric spark to shoot down his spine. You stop just before him, as if you’re also unsure on how to properly greet him.

His lips part, taking a sharp breath as he tries to learn how to speak all over again, “H-hi.”

“Hi.” Your smile grows. “I didn’t know you’d be here, didn’t see you at the ceremony.”

“Yeah I-- I got rained on.” He lets out a nervous laugh, hand coming up instinctively to run through his hair but he stops it midair as he realizes his locks are tied back. Clearing his throat he speaks up in an attempt to cover the awkward gesture, “I mean, didn’t know you’d be here as well, you know? Figured you’d be busy and stuff.” He wants to punch himself.

“I made it just fine.” You throw him a playful wink, shooting a look over your shoulder to where Melanie now stands talking to someone else, her eyes still stealing a few curious glances in your direction. “Where are you seated? Figure it can’t be that far from where they seated me.”

“Uhm… To be honest, I’m not quite sure.” His eyes scan the room for a second before meeting yours again. “Was in a bit of a rush when I walked in, actually.”

You laugh, “Well that’s perfect, then, you can just sit with us!” You motion back to the table where you came from. “I’m sure you remember everyone from back in the day.”

“Sounds nice, yeah.” He looks back to where you’re pointing, trying to spot any other familiar face.

“Great! C’mon I’ll get you some champagne.” You catch him by surprise as you lock your arm around his, leading the short way towards the table.

True to your word, you hand him a flute of champagne just a beat after directing him to a seat that seems to be right next to yours. He doesn’t miss the way you’re able to do so with a simple smile shot towards one of the caterers, making him find his way to you in barely a second, handing you another flute without even questioning the fact that you already have one in your hand. Harry doesn’t really blame him, a smile from you would be enough to have him rushing to you, too.

As he figured, you take the seat right next to his, raising your glass briefly in a cheers with him before both of you relax back into your seats. The table is entirely decorated in different shades of white and gold, as well as the rest of the space. Honey orange plates are set in front of each of the seven seats, their tone matching perfectly the color of the fancy patterned curtains around the room that block the outside view. A full bouquet of flowers is set at the center, pale pink roses contrasting with bright red dahlias as they bloom proudly amongst the green leaves. Two other empty glasses are set in front of him, they shimmer under the light coming from two high-hanged chandeliers that illuminate the room, and Harry wonders what they could be for, as their shapes differ only so slightly from each other.

His thoughts are cut shortly as the empty seats quickly begin to fill, and he notices how your attention has gone back to Melanie who now takes the chair on your other side. She seems to have taken a liking to having your attention on herself, Harry notes. Soon enough, though, his own focus is called elsewhere, once he’s greeted by the other people that have taken the rest of the seats. You were right when you told him he’d recognize most of them, and Harry’s thankful that it mostly consists of people he actually used to be relatively close to back on his school days (not close enough to have survived the graduation mark, but still, most of them he still follows on a couple social media platforms, getting sporadic updates on their lives).

Jamie is the first of them to arrive, who takes the chair right next to Harry’s, startling him with a strong grip on his shoulder. “Styles?” His voice chirps in the air, and as recognition comes to him, Harry gets up, greeting him as he’s pulled in a side hug. “Almost didn’t recognize you, mate, are you wearing heels?” The man jokes at the clear height difference between them, earning a polite laugh from Harry.

“Kind of, actually.” He looks down at his foot as he bends his ankle, showing off the black leather boot that has a bit of a heel to it.

“Oh, there he is! Always the stylish one, it’s in the name, innit?” Harry huffs out a chuckle. “With the hair too, right? Heard those buns work wonders with the ladies.” The shorter man motions to Harry’s hair, giving him a playful shove as he laughs, looking back to catch the gaze of a woman that’s standing behind him. She gives Jamie a tight smile and a raise of brows, her eyes flickering from him to Harry. His laugh hauters, arm reaching back to grasp her waist,  “Yeah, yeah, H, this is my wife, Faye.”

At the mention of his spouse, Harry’s brows shoot toward his hairline for a second, lips parting before quickly recovering his shocked expression as he leans to greet her. It’s not that he’s surprised that Jamie has gotten himself a wife, somehow (well, a bit of that too) but it always comes like a bit of a jolt to find people his age settling with their life partner. Part of the shock comes mostly to Harry as he thinks back to himself, and he can’t help the comparison that comes as he’s never found himself nearly close to having someone so dearly close to his heart that he can think of such commitment.Well, he had you. But people always talk about how puppy love is usually supposed to be like that anyway. That first love, in which you’re still taking baby steps with the new found feeling of sharing your heart with someone else. The one when you’re too young to really know anything.

Harry still cherishes that feeling, which can also explain the effect you hold on him. But there’s something in him that wonders if he’ll ever have what he saw on Michael’s eyes when they locked gazes at the end of the ceremony. The bliss that comes with the knowledge that you don’t have to take those baby steps anymore. You don’t have to hold on to them in fear of what path they’ll take. If they’ll decide that where they need to go is no longer next to yours. He wonders what it feels like to learn that love doesn’t come with dread, and watching people around him find that so easily, it comes to him that maybe he’s the one doing something wrong.

It doesn’t really help that, after Jamie and Faye have settled in their seats, all the others that follow after come with similar introductions. Harry never expected coming here that he’d hear the words “fiancée” and “wife” being thrown around so often, and, quickly, he comes to the realization that he is the only one without a date.

As much as those thoughts keep bothering him, they become dulled as time starts going by and he nurses his second flute of champagne. The conversations that make their way to the table mostly consist of the recollection of times when each other’s faces felt like more than just a “used to be”. They make rounds with digging up old inside jokes, and Harry finds himself stealing glances in your direction more often than he’d like. He tries not to, of course, but you seem to be the only place his eyes want to travel to. With your voice so close to him, more than he ever thought it would be again, it’s like someone’s lighting a candle at the deep of his chest (those nice vanilla ones you used to have in your room, giving the whole place a scent that still sticks to him as yours to this day). It’s nearly scary to him, how easily he falls again to the sound of your laugh.

His nose scrunches in a laugh at a joke Chris blurts out from the other side of the table about their old math teacher the moment there’s a tap in the microphone that echoes through the walls of the small space. A woman stands in the far side of the room, standing on a small platform that was settled for the musicians. She’s the same one that greeted him at the entrance, her hair now pulled up in a tight bun exposing a thin layer of sweat on her forehead that shimmers under the lighting directly above her.

“Good evening, everyone.” Her voice chirps a bit too loud and she throws a look over her shoulder to a man standing next to a speaker, before testing a word again to see it come out now in a more composed tone.

She proceeds to go into a short speech that Harry, in all honesty, zooms out for a great part of it. His body has twisted on his seat to have a better look at the center of the room where she speaks into the mic, but as a result of that, he’s now facing you. From this angle, he has a better look at the side of your face, as you find yourself turned in your seat in order to look at the woman as well. Your makeup is light and most of it falls into a natural tone, and Harry wonders if you’ve made any effort at all into looking this beautiful.

The familiarity of your features tugs at his heartstrings, you’ve grown into them over the years, the lines in your face having matured with time. Still, he can pinpoint reminders of when he last got to gaze at you this closely. A scar just below your eyebrow, now faded, but still very much present, from when your sister scratched you with a branch at the first barbecue he attended at your family’s home. A few beauty marks painting your skin, that he used to press his lips or trace his finger over as if connecting them. Even the tiny golden ball poking through your second ear hole that he held your hand through when you got it pierced, afraid it would hurt too bad. Those details he thought he’d all but forgotten about, now staring right back at him.

Once again, it’s like he’s lost track of how long he’s been looking at you, and surely you can feel him watching, as you turn your head to meet his gaze. Harry blinks a few times, lips parting as he realizes he just got caught staring. There’s barely enough time for him to try and avert his eyes to pretend nothing ever happened, however, as your lips twitch in a gentle smile. The action causes a matching one to poke on his face almost immediately, a reaction Harry himself barely has time to register, a warmth deepening along with his dimples on his cheeks. You let out a slight laugh, bringing the brim of your glass up to your lips before gazing back over your shoulder at the lady that now seems to be wrapping up her speech.

“And with that being said, it’s now an honor to introduce for the first time, mister and missus Michael and Elise Browne!” She gestures to the entrance at the couple that appears through the doors, smiles still stretching their faces as they make their way to the far end of the room where there’s a space reserved for the dance floor.

With everyone’s attention being called towards the two newlyweds, Harry lets out a shaky breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Biting into his lip he claps along with the rest of the guests, trying to relax his shoulders to ease the nerves that still tickle deep in his stomach.

Quickly, though, the atmosphere of the place turns into more of a cheerful one.

After the couple’s first dance (which, this time, Harry has to blink away the tears that threaten to spill, knowing he’s much  more exposed to someone’s wandering eyes here) there’s a round of short speeches, mostly thanking everyone’s presence, before they start to serve dinner.

During most of the course, however, it’s like you’ve become the main attraction of the table. And it’s not that Harry’s surprised by it, even before you’ve gotten this big in your career, you’ve always held this magnetic aura within you. Something about you draws people’s attention, and you’re good at holding it to you. It’s not something you do consciously, he knows, but as soon as you’re in a room no one else holds a chance at stealing the spotlight.

It’s always been like this, even all those years ago. But now it’s like it’s intensified by tenfold. Harry doesn’t know how you manage to split your attention into so many conversations, and still remain your charming demeanour after hearing the same celebrity joke for the third time in a row. You don’t seem bothered by the amount of questions thrown your way (and he’s sure this is probably the most amount of times he’s heard Beyonce being mentioned in a conversation), in fact, he’s sure you’ve grown more than used to it by now.

Harry, on the other hand, is the one that grows slightly annoyed with time passing. Oddly enough, from the moment he sat next to you, something in him urged to be alone with you. He wants to be the one to hold your attention, your full attention. He wants to talk to you, to really have an actual conversation with you-- none of those ‘what does Adele smells like’ type of questions.

It took him seeing you again to make him realize, he’s missed you.

The chance presents itself, though, just as the empty plates for the main dish get collected by the caterers. Chris mentions something about one of Jamie’s school flings, causing a tension as his wife -Faye- storms out of the table with the man following close behind after shooting a dirty look towards his old friend. Melanie, who had been the main one to be on your shoulder throughout the night, excuses herself to the toilet right after. And, as soon as she’s out of her seat, Harry sees you let out a sigh, reaching for your wine glass before you turn to him for the first time in the night.

“I love your suit, by the way!” You exclaim, eyes moving down his jacket briefly. “Never seen anything like it.”

Harry clears his throat, feeling a heat raise at the back of his neck now that your focus is entirely on him. The suit in question, the same one that got an odd look from the lady at the front door, is actually one he’d firstly tailored on his first year of uni. It’s mostly made with a royal blue fabric, except the lapels that take the same material, but in a deep blood tone (initially, his first plan was to make the entire suit in this tone, but as he realized he barely had enough fabric of the same shade to finish the jacket, he settled on using it only as a detail on the lapels and at the bend of his elbows and knees). His favorite part of it, though, was actually added semi recently. Lisa had ordered some flower detailing to sew to Belle’s dress, but the girl in charge of it embroidered them a shade too dark and, before she got the chance to throw the work away, Harry asked to have them. Now, they’re bound to the lapels of his jacket, twin garden roses on each side, their blooming petals matching beautifully with the darker tone of the fabric. From the moment he added them on, he was in love with it, and now he’s even more glad he did so, because it also caught your attention.

“Thanks, I-” He looks down at his attire, as if he hasn’t seen it a million times before, scratching his nose with the side of his finger as his voice comes out lower than he intended, a shy smile taking over his face. “I designed it myself, actually.”

“Oh my god!” You gasp as the realization hits you. “Really? Wait how-- I mean, I didn’t-- Well, it looks incredible!”

“Thank you.”

“I didn’t know you…” You trail off, motioning vaguely down at his attire.

“Uhm, yeah.” He breathes out a laugh, rubbing his nose with the side of his finger in a nervous tick. “I dropped out of art school, actually, to get into fashion.”

Your eyes widen just slightly, blinking back at him a couple times, lips parting. “How did I not know that?” You ask in a mumble, seemingly more to yourself than to him.

“It was just uhm…” Harry looks down at his lap, not knowing how to finish the sentence without making it awkward. “It was right after we…”

“Oh.”

He clicks his tongue. “Yeah…”

“You must be almost done, right?” You change the subject as you bring the brim of your glass up to your lips, barely taking a sip before adding, “With your degree, I mean.”

Harry nods. “Got a year left, yeah.”

You take a full sip of your wine, setting it back to its place on the table before leaning to rest your elbow on top of it so it can support your cheek as you lean forward, turning your body so to show how he has your full attention. “And how’s that going? Do you have any idea of the path you want to take? I know fashion has so many possibilities, it must be exciting.”

“It is.” He nods just as a certerer comes to settle the deserts in front of each of you. After muttering a quick ‘thank you’, he continues, “I had some internships last year, actually. Worked with a couple designers in London, it was pretty cool.”

“That’s sick.” Your eyes still haven’t left him. “Any names I might recognize?”

He uses his fork to play around with a strawberry, focusing on the way it falls from the small piece of tart painted with white ganache, using it as a silent excuse to himself as to not meet your eyes. Truth to be told, it’s a rather strange feeling to him, having someone’s full attention like this, being asked about his life with a genuine curiosity behind your words. Harry’s used to being backstage, is what most of his career choice consists of, anyway. He stays behind the stage lights, doing the work no one cares for when they see the final product; even when working on runway pieces, people weren’t thinking of whoever did the stitching of the tule or the embroidery over the bustier. But the way you’re watching him, eyes glimmering under the warm lights, it’s the closest he’s felt to being thrown under the spotlight.

Which could explain why he feels this nervous.

“Maybe, yeah, I was with Christopher Kane for a semester.” He lowers his voice without meaning to, a rush of shyness tinting his face. “Also worked on a campaign with Molly Goddard.”

“Holy shit, Harry, that’s, like, huge!” You gasp, hand coming to hold onto his shoulder, pushing him back gently as to bring his eyes to meet yours. It’s sweet, really, how you most likely have accomplishments much bigger than he could ever dream of achieving, still, your smile grows as if it’s the most impressive thing you’ve ever heard. It brings a small giggle to escape from his lips. Letting your hand fall from his shoulder, you relax back into your seat. “One of my favorite dresses is Christopher Kane, he works with his sister, right?”

“They’re both creative directors, yeah.”

“I love their work.” You say, a smile still present and he hopes it never fades. “Are you doing any other intership right now?

“Yeah…” He starts. “I’m working right now, actually, doing some costume design for theatre.”

“Really? Now that’s an interesting path.” You point, fingers fiddling with the hem of the tablecloth. “Where are you working?”

“Uhm…” He knew this question was coming, still, he’s not sure how to present you with the information. His voice lowers, eyes falling to his lap before he looks up at you through his lashes. “Act One.”

He hears your hand fall to your lap, eyes widening just barely before you let out a chuckle, “You’re taking the piss.”

“I’m afraid I’m not.”

“Act One?” Your lips part in disbelief.  “With my mum?”

The thing is, Harry was only aware about Act One opening a London unit when he saw the job advertisement stuck to the wall of his university’s building about five months ago. He recognized the name, of course, knowing your mother worked as the music director while you two were together, and also knowing you had been part of a fair amount of productions before your career started growing as it is now (having even attended a handful of them himself, back in the day). What he didn’t know was that your family moved to London with the company and that your mother was still part of the crew when he joined for the spring production. So, the news came with a surprise to him as much as it is to you.

He thought maybe she would have mentioned it to you-- and maybe she has and you just brushed past the information, not caring much for it. But the way your face is still hung in shock, blinking at him as you try to process what he just told you, he figures that’s not the case.

“The same one, yeah.”

“I can’t believe it!” You reach for your glass, twirling it in your hand to watch the dark liquid swirl inside, still shaking your head slightly. “She never- She never…”

“To be fair, I don’t see her that often.” He tries to reason, and it’s true, they work in two different spaces. “I’m usually at the atelier.”

“Still, that’s…”

“Can I have everyone’s attention for a moment, please?” Someone cuts you off before you can even process how to finish the sentence you started. Everyone’s attention is called back to the makeshift stage, to a woman with the mic in her hand-- she’s in one of the bridesmaid’s navy blue gown, holding up a flute of champagne on her free hand. Once all eyes are on her, she continues. “For those who don’t know me, my name’s Lara, the bride’s best friend...”

The rounds of speeches start with her, then. Halfway through her second childhood story, that you’re only paying half mind to, you realize your mouth’s still parted in shock from your conversation with Harry. You try to subtly cover it, taking a sip of your wine, before you let yourself zoom out completely for the rest of the toasts.

How come he’s been working with your mum for months now, and you’ve only now become aware of it? It’s what keeps bugging you. The possibility of her mentioning the fact comes to you, but you brush it off as quickly as you think of it. You surely would’ve remembered it. There haven't been many mentions of Harry’s name since your breakup, really, and those become less frequent as the years go by. But you hold on to each one of them, trying to grasp the smallest piece of information about his life as you can.

Truth to be told, you’ve missed him. Before you started a relationship, he had been the closest friend you had. And the fact that the worst possible scenario of turning a friendship into something more came true tore you apart.

After you distanced from each other there was very little contact. Your mother would mention every few months something about him moving out how his family had adopted a new kitten. Those informations were received by you with single word answers or a simple nod, even though on the inside you were desperate to ask for more. Harry’s never really been very in touch with social media, so those updates from your mum were pretty much all the glimpse you had on his life without you.

That is, until they all moved two years ago. Then those small comments stopped all together.

So you tried to turn your mind off of it. Off of him. But every now and then something would happen. You’d listen to a song that you used to dance to in his bedroom, or you’d find one of his necklaces lost deep in your drawer and it would all go back to him. How was he doing? Where has his life gone? Who is he friends with? Who’s loving him?

The only time you ever vocalized those thoughts was once during a wine night with Aya. People often compliment you on how good you are with your words, but every time they do, you can’t help but think they’ve probably never got the chance to meet her. She was the first person to reassure you how normal it is to hang on to an old feeling. Harry was your first love, after all, and he’d always hold a place in your heart, no matter how hard you try to mask it.

After that, you stopped trying to bury something that was so valuable to you.

And living in harmony with your feelings, old and new, is something that you found to be so tranquil. Or, well, at least you were able to say that once.

Still, the conversation with Harry only helped to enhance that curiosity that used to consume you. It was a short one-- due to the circumstances you’re in, you can’t really catch a break to have much of a profound chat; but it still was enough for you to realize how little you know of him. There are still many cues that showed you that he’s still the Harry you once knew with the fullness of your heart. His quiet demeanor, and the shy smile that stretches his lips when the attention is on him. His dimples that you used to poke and kiss just to feel them deepen under your touch. His eyes that you always could get lost in every shade they take.

Those traces that make you want to explore each new one that you don’t know about anymore. The curls in his head, that even being pushed back in a bun, you can still tell are much longer than the last time you ran our finger through them. The tattoos that peak under the sleeve of his jacket, and you can’t help but wonder how many more are hidden under the material. The rings hugging his fingers or the necklaces set on his chest. There’s so much you want to ask him about.

And the next time you get the chance to do that is hours later.

The party is starting to feel like it could die out at any moment, when the children have fallen asleep on the armchairs and the early risers start to bid their goodbyes. There’s still a fair amount of people stumbling their way on the dance floor and making the last few rounds on the free cocktails that are being served. Your table is still pretty much filled, except for Chris that got his way around with one of the bridesmaids, which is why you haven’t managed to catch another time to be alone with Harry.

Throughout the night, as the alcohol started to make its way on people’s bloodstreams, you’ve probably been approached by every person within your age group. And, as much as you’ve gotten used to being the main attraction of those types of gatherings, being thrown around and pointed at like an animal in a cage. At this stage in your career, you know you have to suck it up and smile through it. But this night in particular, you find it especially hard not to roll your eyes in annoyance or let out a frustrated sigh when someone interrupts your eighth attempt at trying to talk to Harry.

But your freedom comes when Melanie -fucking Melanie- finally announces she and her boyfriend (Dan, Dave, Don - something like that) are calling it a night. And when she leaves, it’s just you and him.

You glance over your shoulder, making sure no one’s making their way towards you, but, thankfully, everyone else is pretty occupied with the karaoke machine that was introduced an hour ago.

“I’m sneaking out for a smoke.” You reach for your clutch, eyes hopeful as you glance back at Harry. “Wanna come with?”

To your relief, he nods. “Sure.”

You guide him towards a door you had peeked at when you were taking pictures with the bride’s family.

Just like you’d reckoned, it leads to a terrace of sorts, looking out into the courtyard where the ceremony was held from above the glass ceiling. You shoot Harry a short smile as he holds the door open for you, following just behind into the breezy night.

The sky is clear, the way it is after a rainfall, but a few clouds indicate that it might not be just done yet. The first whisk of wind makes you regret not bringing your coat, but you quickly brush away the idea of going back inside, afraid someone might notice you sneaking out a second time. So you two settle in a place right by the railing, turning to the party so you can relax back into the metal.

Reaching inside your clutch, you retrieve a package of cigarettes, pulling one out before offering it to Harry, who shakes his head in a  quick decline. You hold it between your lips as you grab a small lighter that it’s almost lost inside the tiny purse. There’s still a gust of wind dancing around the air, a chill that comes with the aftermath of rainfall. You find it nice, though, the way it brings goosebumps to rise on your skin. It’s a nice balance with the warmth of the flame as you flicker the lighter awake, bringing the flame to the butt of the cigarette that’s propped between your lips. You inhale the smoke, holding it for a moment as you appreciate the peace and quiet of the night, something you haven’t had in a while now.

For a while, both of you just stay quiet, enjoying the other’s presence.

It’s almost funny to you, how people compare meeting again with someone from your past, especially an ex, to seeing a ghost. Because right now, spending this night with Harry after years of being apart, you feel like that couldn’t be further away from the truth. Being in his presence again is everything but haunting. Feels like how it is to go back to your hometown, to walk the streets you memorized growing up, knowing you still know your way around them by heart. Like seeing the places you would go to when you were younger change over time, but still never quite lose the nostalgic feeling they’ve always held. Something that time is not powerful enough to change. The feeling of coming home.

Being with Harry is like that. Still the same, but different.

Harry speaks up first, he could’ve startled you if his voice hadn’t come out as soft as the brush of the wind against the tree branches a couple floors down from where you stand. Nearly shy, as he says it while gazing down at his boots, “Congratulations on your Grammy, by the way.”

“Did you know?” You ask, genuinely surprised.

He’s the only person that hasn’t brought up the elephant you bring to the room every time you walk in a gathering like this. A shadow of your status that people glaze at before even attempting on making a normal conversation. You knew it was coming sooner or later, and you appreciate the fact that he chose the latter.

Somehow, you had convinced yourself that maybe he hadn’t cared about you enough to know anything about your career throughout the years, especially knowing how much he had going on for himself. So to have him mention it, to congratulate you on top of it all, comes as a bit of a shock.

Harry seems oblivious of your surprise, however, as his words come out nearing a nonchalant tone. “Of course, hard not to.”

“Were you…” You start, suddenly feeling oddly shy about the prospect of him knowing this information about you. You wonder what else he knows about, what kind of assumptions he’s made about the person you’ve become. “Were you watching it?”

He nods, looking up at you. “I was, yeah.”

Your chest warms at his confession and it almost unsettles you how he’s got you flustered so easily. Usually, if it were anyone else, you wouldn’t hold back a snarky reply, knowing most people wouldn’t bat an eye before showering with compliments.

You blink at yourself with this thought, hating how truthful it is.

But with Harry there’s something in you that wants to impress him, to show him you still have the girl that he knew so well still somewhere inside of you. It makes you want to question him, desperate to know his impressions of this life you portray for the public. But you hold back, almost scared of the answer you could receive. So instead, you simply offer a vague response,  “Seems like so long ago.” You let out a dry laugh. “It’s been barely three months.”

He offers you a small grin. “‘S what they say, time rushes by when you’re having fun, and all that?”

“I guess that’s it, yeah.”

There’s a sudden urge inside of you to tell him the truth. Tell him how miserable you felt throughout most of that day. That you weren’t having fun at all, in fact, you were so preoccupied over the fact that you were supposed to be having the best night of your life that it only made your nerves swallow you in an avalanche. You want to tell him why that entire week was close to miserable, fuck, that entire month, actually. You wish you could cry on his shoulder about all you’ve been bottling up inside of you. You want to open up to him in a way you haven’t opened up to anyone.

You shake your head. What is wrong with you?

You have to remind yourself you barely know him anymore. This is the first time you’ve spoken in years and your first instinct is to throw all your baggage on him. To scare him away before you even get the chance to let a word out.

Instead of letting your big mouth say more than you’d be willing to share, you try to lighten up, thinking of the one part of that night that you actually enjoyed yourself, “I chipped my tooth with it, you know.”

“What?”

“The Grammy.” You reply, taking a short drag of the cigarette as you ponder how much information you want to pour on him of that night. “Chipped my tooth. I was jumping on the bed with it.” He chuckles, causing a loose strand to curl against his forehead. You want to brush it off, folding your arm under your elbow as you avert your eyes from his. “God, that night feels like a blur now. I think I pretty much convinced myself I dreamed a good portion of it.”  

You let out a chuckle, watching the way the smoke blends with the air. Harry doesn’t say anything, but you can feel his eyes looking at you from the corner of your vision. You meet his gaze, sensing a silent question from his jade irises, as if they’re waiting for you to keep talking.

“It just-- I don’t know, took a while to click, you know? To realize what had happened.” You elaborate, looking down at the skirt of your dress dancing along with the breeze as you grin to yourself at the memory. “ I got home that night, downed half an old bottle of whiskey that I found in my cellar.”

Harry’s brows shoot up, his voice coming with the verge of a teasing tone. “A cellar?”

“Shit, uh-- yeah it kinda-- I don’t know, came with the house.” There’s the warmth again, you feel it at the tip of your nose and you almost want to facepalm yourself for the slipup. “But yeah, after the ceremony, I went home by myself and just… Well, got drunk.”

“That’s understandable.” He giggles, and the sound makes you glance up at him again. “So you jumped in your bed with it?”

“Yeah, that’s pretty much how the story ends.” You click your tongue, giving him an exaggerated nod that turns into a shake. “Was so gone I didn’t even notice I chipped my tooth until I woke up a few hours later.”

He lets out a full laugh now, his eyes squinting and you can’t help but join him. “Sounds like you had fun.”

“Uhm.., I did, yeah.”

Harry falls silent, his smile toning down slowly. He puckers his lips, as if pondering what to say next. When he does speak, his words are slow, “How is it to like…” His words trail off, and you have to bite back a smile when he starts gesturing, remembering how he used to do that before. “I mean, talking to you now, even with this whole fame thing, you’re still so… Shit, I don’t want this to come off the wrong way.”

“It’s fine.” You let your cigarette fall to the floor before crashing it with your boot, the only reason you lit it was to have an excuse to leave the party with him. “Can guarantee you I had worse questions asked.”

“It’s just you’re still so… Well I wouldn’t say the same cause none of us really are the same person we were, like, five years ago.” He lets out a nervous laugh. “But you’re still so… grounded, I guess is the best word to describe it.”

You allow a grin to tuck at your lips, hoping he doesn’t sense the sincere apprehension that comes with your tease. “Were you expecting me to be a stuck up diva, is that it?”

His eyes bulge out. “No! No, of course not! Is just-- I think, well, most people think...And it’s not a you thing but more of a, I don’t know, celebrity thing? Fuck, I really dug myself a hole, haven’t I?”

“Harry, relax. I was just teasing.” You interrupt as he starts to ramble. “But I know what you mean, yeah.”

You ponder his question for a moment. The answer for it being far from a simple one, but, once again, the last thing you want is to overwhelm him with your problems. So you choose your words carefully, chewing at your bottom lip as you feel him watching you patiently.

“It’s not easy, I’ll tell you that.” You start, you voice slowing to an almost cautious tone. “I had… Worse times dealing with it, you know? I…”

“You don’t have to talk about it.”

“It’s fine, I trust you.” The words leave your mouth before you can register. You try not to show your surprise at them, and you do a better job than Harry, who audibly holds a breath. “Having so many people loving you, being praised for everything you do… It’s easy to let it go to your head, and I can’t say I’ve always been the best at managing it, but--” You regret your next words before you can even stop them from spilling from your lips. “I had a breakup a couple months ago that was uhm… A bit hard, but looking back at it I feel like it was like a bucket of cold water, in that sense.”

His eyes soften, and you have to look away because the last thing you want is to catch his reaction. “I’m sorry about that.”

“Don’t be! Really, I’m fine-- I’ll be fine.” You reassure quickly, shaking your head in hopes to shake the subject away.

It seems to work, as silence takes over the space once again, and both your eyes glance towards the party mindlessly.

You two watch Jamie appear in front of the glass doors leading to where you stand. He has his back to you, and from what you see it’s like he’s trying to pull Faye in the direction of the dance floor. She has a frown adorning her face, not giving into her husband’s attempt on pulling her with him. It’s clear, even from where you are, that he’s far off his mind now, his hips swaying with the muffled sounds of an attempt of a Céline Dion cover, still persisting even though it’s clear his wife wants nothing to do with his drunken ideas.

Faye gently pushes his hands away with a roll of her eyes, causing him to give a couple steps back, walking backwards into a chair before crumbling down with it. Neither of you can contain your laughs at the scene, even when you bring your hand up to muffle the sound, it’s too late. Jamie’s eyes look up from where he lies on the floor, catching sight of the two of you, he mumbles something you don’t understand, gesturing for you to come inside. You answer it with a small wave, and, thankfully, his attention is brought to his wife as she tries to help him stand.

You exhale a small laugh, moving so you’re no longer leaning back into the railing. “I think this is my cue to go before they try to convince me to try out that karaoke machine.”

“Yeah, I told myself I’d be out right after the toasts.”

You stop, pondering for a moment before looking back at him. “How are you going home?”

“I took the tube here.”

“Let me drive you back.”

“You don’t have--”

“It’s fine! I--” You pause, chewing down your bottom lip as you glance around him, feeling oddly embarrassed.  “I got a driver waiting for me, you can just tell him your address, won’t be a problem to drop you off.”

He hesitates, waiting a beat before nodding. “If it’s not a bother.”

“It’s not.” You say a bit too quickly. “I’m suggesting it, after all.”

“Okay, then.”

//

As soon as you dropped Harry home, when the sky was awaking lazily with an orange bloom of dawn, he started to wonder if the entire night had even been real. By the time he woke up, just a couple hours later, he was sure it had been a spur of his imagination. He must’ve fallen asleep while getting dressed, yeah, that must’ve been it, he got ready and decided to lay down for a bit, which led him to fall asleep and dream of the whole thing.

That night feels like a blur now. I think I pretty much convinced myself I dreamed a good portion of it.

You said that to him. But how convenient is it, that describes perfectly how he feels about that night? Of course, you were talking about the night you won your first Grammy, and he’s merely thinking about how it was to meet you again. The two reasons for each of you to feel this way are so polar apart, Harry can’t help but feel like it translates well into the time in your lives you two are in. After all, you’re out there winning prestigious awards, wearing Dior to go out for groceries (do you even go out for your own groceries?), and having a whole cellar in your house, for christ's sake. Meanwhile, Harry’s still a full year away from getting his degree, wearing the same mismatched vans as a fashion statement, and having cheap bottles of wine tucked in the back of his creaky wooden cabinet.

It’s not that he hates the life he has, of course not. But it’s clear to him how distant you are from each other, even when he got the closest he had been to you in years.

So it doesn’t come as a surprise to him when he doesn’t hear from you for the next couple days. It’s what was expected, even. It doesn’t take away the fact that he’s a bit disappointed, though, but there’s no one else to blame for that but himself. What did he expect? That after spending one night together after five years you’d suddenly get close again as if nothing happened?

But it’s not his fault that he’s hopeful, not when you’d been so friendly that night, seeming so eager to catch up with him. So, yeah, you can’t really blame him for the hiccup on his heart every time he phone vibrated-- only to be left with a frustrated crease marking his features and a slight pout.

The day after was the worst one. It was a Sunday, after all, and Julia had left early in the morning to spend the week at Blake’s, which meant Harry had spent the entire day alone, dwelling on his confusion about what had been the night prior. He almost felt a bit stupid about how sure he had been that you’d text him, as that was the reason for you to exchange phone number with him, wasn’t it? As hours went by, however, and the loneliness of the tiny apartment got louder than the Friends’ rerun he was binging, he started to question it.

Maybe he got too nosy, asking too much about something you clearly weren’t comfortable answering. Maybe his question had offended you, and that’s why you wanted to leave early. Maybe you only gave him your number to be polite. Maybe that’s not even your actual phone number, he reckons, how many do you probably have?

He slept with the telly on that night, trying to muffle the maybes that kept nagging him.

It got better once the week started. Between classes and work, he barely had enough time to let his thoughts wander off. He was still going back to an empty home, but this time he brought back work with him. As a result of his late night on the weekend, Harry’s sleep schedule got completely spoiled. So he resorts into spending the wee hours of the morning perfecting a detailing he wasn’t all that satisfied with, or working on a draft for his fashion sketching class a week before it’s due (he even tries to cook for himself some recipes Julia sent him to try and keep his mind occupied).

Once Wednesday night rolls around, he has all but swept it out of his mind completely. And that’s when he finally hears from you.

Seems like you’ve taken a fancy on catching him off guard.

He’s on the couch when it happens, snuggled under his heated blanket as he tries to fix the embroidery at the hem of an extra’s jacket. The pilot of Stranger Things makes for background noise, and he pays half a mind to it while humming a tune that’s been stuck on his head throughout the whole day-- they started tuning in on the radio at the atelier and now he gets the privilege to listen to the same four songs about ten times a day. His alarm for a meditation app he’s trying out has just gone off on top of the side table - indicating it would be around time for his regular night routine - and just as he reaches for it to turn it off, the screen lights up again. This time for a phone call.

When he catches sight of the name displayed on the screen he almost chokes on his own saliva, the hoop in his hand falling to his lap as he rushes to catch the device. Harry blinks twice at the screen, thinking his eyes might be tricking him into seeing your name shine at the caller id. And for a moment he just stays like this, mind blank before realizing he should pick up before it goes to voicemail.

Taking a deep breath, he tries to even the thumping on his chest as he clears his throat, quickly pressing the accept button before bringing the phone to his ear. “‘Lo?”

“Harry?” Your voice comes in a higher pitch.

“Hi.”

“Are you home right now?”

His brows furrow at the question. “I-Uh- Well, yeah, Wh-”

“That’s perfect! I’m at your front door now…”

“What-” He just about jumps from his spot, tripping over the blanket as it falls around his ankles.

“And I’ve just realized I don’t know which flat to ring!” You continue, oblivious to the hectic man on the other side of the line.

“You’re outside?” Rushing to the window just a couple steps away, he pushes back the curtains to get a view of the street right below. And there you are, leaning back against a black car, similar to the one that gave him a ride, one hand holding the phone to your ear as the other is occupied with something he can’t quite figure out from where he stands. What calls his attention, though, is the gown you’re dressed in, definitely something way too lavish for a wednesday night.

“Yup.” You say simply, and he catches how your gaze moves up, meeting his. “Oh! Hey you!”

“Right. I’ll- I’ll be down in a minute.”

Harry’s not sure how he doesn’t break an ankle on the way down the steps of his building, flying three floors down at a near record speed. Once he reaches the ground floor, he takes a second to catch his breath, leaning with a hand against a wall as he cusses himself out for forgetting about his asthma in the midst of his rush. He manages to ease his breathing, but is still unable to calm the speed of his heartbeats, that now send an electric flow on his bloodstream, and he suddenly feels too warm.

He opens the door to find you just as you were when he saw you from the window. A smile stretches your face when you see him, giving him a wave. You turn back to say something on the driver's window he doesn’t quite catch, but just as you lean away from the vehicle, he watches as it drives away.

From this distance, he has a better look at you, and he’s sure now that your wednesday evening has most definitely played out much different than his. You’re wearing the new Valentino collection, a strapless navy blue dress with golden sparks detailing resembling a firework explosion right at your waist and going all the way down the skirt and up the top. Your hair is done in an updo, leaving your shoulders bare to the night breeze and he wonders if you’re not cold.

Harry barely has time to notice the silver statuete in your hand before you’re stepping towards him, embracing him into a hug. “Hey!”

“Hi.” He tries not to focus on how you smell like fresh roses, or how soft your skin feels when you nuzzle against his neck for a second before pulling back.

“I was around and decided to stop by for a bit!” You grin up at him. “So, are you not gonna invite me up?”

The last few words come out just a bit slurred from your mouth, and that’s when he realizes.

Oh.

You’re drunk.

“Uh, sure, of course.” He holds the door open, waiting for you to step inside before closing it behind him.

You don’t say anything on the way up, and Harry’s got his head going way too fast at once to try to wrap his mind at what’s happening. There’s too many questions he wants to ask, more than he can really make out at the moment. And on top of it all, he’s just started to worry about the state of his tiny little undergrad flat and how he’s about to receive someone who probably has a house with a washroom the size of the whole thing.

His lips part to try to apologize for the mess you’re about to walk in when you two reach his front door, but before he can let a word out, you beat him to it. “Do you have a loo I could use?”

He blinks. “Yeah, it’s just to your right.”

You step out of your heels once you walk in, quickly making a beeline to where he directed, not bothering to glance around the place.

Harry darts towards the living room, trying his best to tidy the mess he left before you step out. He throws the blanket that’s lying limply on the floor over the couch, gathering his embroidery tools that fell to the side of the couch and making his best attempt at folding them. The screen has gone to the second episode now, and he quickly shuts it off. Pondering for a moment if he should put on some music, he decides against it. Instead, he decides on pouring you a glass of water, now that he understands you’re still at least a bit tipsy, he finds it that his best option is to help you get on your best mind so he can figure out why, out of all places, you’ve decided to come here.

Because that’s the thing.

He still doesn’t know why on earth you’ve decided to show up on his flat unprompted, and all he can do is thank every outer force for Julia being out tonight. She would probably fall dead if she knew about this.

A minute too long passes as Harry waits for you, leaning on his kitchen counter with the glass of water sat in front of him. He feels as if he can’t keep still, leg bouncing nervously and fingers tapping against the countertop as he bites into his inner cheek. It’s only when he finally glances in the direction of the toilet that he notices. The door is wide open.

He strides towards the room, stopping just as he reaches the doorway. “Is everything alright in there?”

“Oh! Yeah! You can come in!” Your voice echoes from inside.

Peeking in slowly, his brows shoot up as he sees you sitting at the edge of the bathtub, phone in hands and the statute lying on your lap. You shoot him a smile.

He gestures back vaguely to the kitchen behind him. “Got you some water.”

“There’s no need for that, tonight it’s to celebrate! --Oop” You try to straighten your back, but you end up falling back into the tub, the tulle of the skirt almost swallowing you in the process.

“Fuck-” He rushes towards you, reaching from your arms to try to help you as you burst into giggles. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m great!” You assure, waving his hands off as you adjust yourself to sit more comfortably. “Do you have any wine you can pop?”

“I--” The question takes him back, and he racks his brain to think if there’s still a bottle he’d purchased a couple weeks ago.  “I think so.”

“Bring it, then, let's make this our little after-party.” You throw your arms around dramatically. “A very exclusive one, as you can see.”

“Right.” He chuckles. “Give me a minute.”

“I’ll be right here!”

Turns up there’s just about half a bottle left sitting inside the creaky cabinet. He chooses the glass with the smallest crack at the base-- the glasses are very cheap and Harry’s not very careful with them.

He decides to leave the bottle at the counter, grabbing the filled glass of water as well before heading back where he left you sitting inside his bathtub.  

“There he is!” You exclaim when he walks in, handing you the glass of wine and setting the other next to the sink. “You didn’t pour one for yourself?”

He closes the lid of the toilet, sitting on top of it. “Uhm… Not really a drinking kind of night for me.”

“Oh god!” You gasp. “Of course, how could I be so stupid? I’ll leave you be--”

“No!” Harry quickly asserts,  “No, I mean- It’s fine, really. I was just surprised, is all.”

When you speak, your voice comes out softer, “I don’t mean to disturb.”

“You aren’t!”He assures. “Really, stay I-- It’s nice to see you again.”

You smile up at him, he can tell from this close how your eyes are a bit glossy, and he wonders if he should’ve told you he didn’t have any wine. But still, it’s live you have him at the palm of your hand. “It’s nice to see you again, too.”You scoop a bit to the side, tapping the space next to you. “C’mon.”

“What?”

“Come join me here.”

“I don’t think it fits us both.”

“Of course it does! Here,” You attempt to pull at your skirt with one hand, barely budging the tulle from where it spreads inside the tub. “See?”

He chuckles as you look back up at him. “I’ll ruin your dress.”

“It’s okay, it’s not like I’ll wear it again.” Your eyes widen. “Oh my god, I sounded like a bitch, I didn’t mean it like that just--” Trying again, you do a better job at containing the skirt, giving it enough space for him to sit. “There. Now we can both sit inside, my dress will be intact!”

He laughs, dropping next to you inside the empty bathtub. The hem of your skirt tickles his skin, and he mindlessly reaches to hold the fabric between his fingers. His eyes fall to your lap as he does so, the silver of the statuete catching his eye, he taps the base of it, “What is it for?”

“Huh?” You stop midsip, brows creasing slightly before gazing down to where he’s pointing. “Oh! It’s a Brit. Best New Artist.” Picking it up, you offer it to Harry. The award feels heavier than he thought it would as he holds it, the shape of it resembling a woman’s shape, her body curving in an ‘S’. You sigh next to him, taking a small sip. “Funny, innit? Been doing this for so long, it feels like, but I’m still being treated as if I’m new blood.”

“That’s true.” He turns the award in his hand before handing it back to you, and you simply let it fall back to your lap. There’s a moment of silence as he mulls over the question he’s been wanting to ask since you showed up at his doorstep. “Why didn’t you go to an after-party?”

“Not really in the mood.” You shrug. “Needed a familiar face, I guess.”

He hums in response. Surely, you’ve got plenty of familiar faces in London, ones that you probably see more often than you’ve ever seen him. Friends. Family. So why was it your first instinct to go to his building? You didn’t even text him after you parted ways after the wedding, he was sure you had even forgotten about him once again.

It’s all much too confusing to him.

“H?” You speak up first, your tone is gentle, even a bit uncertain.

The sound of his nickname falling from your lips causes a stutter on his heartbeat.

“Yeah?”

You’re looking down at your lap, watching the liquid inside your glass twirl as you move it slowly. “Is it… Is it too weird that I came here today?”

Harry shakes his head. “Not weird, no.” He comforts. “Was just surprised, is all.”

“I just-” You sigh, a soft frown set between your brows. “Seeing you again, it was really nice, you know?”

“I do.”

“Really.” You meet his eyes with a nod, trying to show how truthful your words are. “Felt like I could let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding for so long.”

He relaxes his shoulders. “I know.” Harry nods. “Yeah I-- I know what you mean.”

When you speak up again, it’s barely above a whisper. The words so sweet it brings the prettiest butterflies to flutter on his belly. “I missed you.”

Harry’s lips part, he wants to say the words back, he can feel them at the tip of his tongue. Because he’s missed you, too. He’s so sure of it. But nothing comes out, his mind going numb as he blinks at you.

“I’m sorry, this was weird, It’s just--” You shake your head to yourself, letting out a nervous laugh. “What I mean is that… I don’t know, I wish we could’ve still talked, you know? After…”

“Yeah.”

You grin. “At the reception, when we chatted, and you told me all those things you’ve been up to, it just… I don’t know, I just wished I could’ve been there with you.” Your eyes look between his, searching for something he can’t quite put his finger on before you take a breath. “And I don’t mean that, like, in a weird way! But as a friend, you know? Wish I could’ve been there with you.”

He clears his throat, forcing himself to speak. “I didn’t…” He opens his mouth, closing it before finally saying. “I never thought you felt that way.”

“I don’t think I realized how much I needed someone close to me that knows me until I saw you again, really.”The words spill out of your mouth, adorably switching from a gentle tone to a rushed one. “And I mean, I have friends that I love and that I trust but… Having someone that’s like…”

A smirk tugs at his lips. “Normal?”

“Don’t say it like that!” You shove him playfully. “But, yeah, someone that knows me without the lights, and the expensive clothes, and the big houses.” Your lips frown as you shrug.  “That just wouldn’t care if I didn’t have all that, that would still like me regardless.”

“You can still have that.” He tries to reassure you, the confession making him want to comfort you. “It’s not too late.”

Looking down at your lap, he sees your breathing halter for a second. “Have we become strangers?” You meet his gaze, chewing down at your bottom lip. “It’s what I kept thinking after I dropped you off, I don’t think I want you to be a stranger.”

Then, he reaches up, brushing a strand out of your forehead. “I don’t think I want that, either.”

Your smile grows. “It’s settled, then.” You nod. “I’m officially promoting you from distant ex to the close friend position.”

Harry lets out a full laugh. “That’s a very sudden rise of positions.”

“We’ll make it slow, then.” You reason, your words starting to stumble out of your mouth again. “Get to know each other again, we can do it when I’m not drunk inside your bathtub. Do you like coffee now?”

“I do, actually.” He replies with a grin. “Hard not to when you’re a uni student.”

“Lovely! We’ll have a coffee and chat.”

“Sounds great.”

You hold up your almost empty wine glass.“To caffeine and friendship.” Tilting it. “Cheers.”

He lets a moment of silence settle, before smirking down at you. “Now, what you said about the expensive clothes…”

“Oh my god, cut the deal.” Rolling your eyes, you try to make it as if you’re about to get up. “We don’t need to get to know each other again, I can tell you’re still a pest.”

“Don’t know what you mean, pet.” He giggles, brushing his hair off his shoulder in dramatics. “I’ve always been a dream.”

//

A/N: I’ve been so excited to share this one with you all!! Thank you so much for reading it :D I’m so curious to know what you all will think about it so please, if you enjoyed it, reblog it or send some feedback to support!! Also, make sure to check the fic page where I keep all my inspo for Curious Time :)

[jean-does-not-have-a-horseface]

Hot Chocolate (Birthday/Christmas Special)

Summary: Levi is bound to spend this birthday on his own, seeing that you're halfway across the globe as an exchange uni student. What he doesn't know though is that you have planned a huge surprise for him. NSFW 18+

Notes: sorry for any mistake you guyss please enjoy this

Pairing: Levi/ Reader 

Tags: f l uff, nsfw

Warnings: nsfw, the sexies

Disclaimer: I do not own the gif, I simply found it on Pinterest.

White heavy cream fell fluidly out of the carton it was stored, squeezed by Levi's calloused hand and into the small metallic pot that he rested his other hand onto. The mixture, an aromatic, dark brown hot chocolate, lightened in color upon a few stirs of his tool. Slowly with his hand he disposed of the empty carton in the recycling bin, making sure to wipe any stray droplet of white on the counter.

He blinked as his mind went blank, forgetting the next step of the recipe but only momentarily. His thoughts once again traveled to what troubled him, but he continued with his stirring in fear of burning the beverage he was set on making. With his teeth sinking dangerously at the tip of his tongue what he needed clicked in his head. Corn flour. A quorter of a cup.

He didn't bother tasting the mixture as he lowered the fire of the stove to the minimum, he simply marched to the corner built in cupboard, hands searching furiously for the porcelain vase that held this oh so precious corn flour that would act as the stabilizing factor to his hot chocolate beverage.

Seconds later he brought the fire to an halt absurdly, never ceasing with his stirring careful as to not have the mixture stick to the pot. He didn't like his chocolate adorned with burnt flakes or the taste they brought to his mouth neither did he like cleaning the burnt pot before having to pop it in the washing machine. As his hands reached for the cups he had set beside the stove beforehand to his alchemy, he helped the thick mixture in with a spoon.

The cups were immediately transfered inside the over; an attempt to keep them from any predatory fly that could have entered the apartment before Levi had a chance to realise and in addition keeping them sheltered as they reached a drinkable temperature. Levi threw the pot into the sink next, sighing to himself as he grabbed his thick latex gloves and out them on his hands. With a twist of his hand at the handle the watered started running on his gloves hands pot making him grab his steel wool.

His hand came to his forehead, wiping some sweat as he sighed again, hanging his head low as he gritted his teeth in frustration. His eyes squinted in anger, his hands dug into the inox of his sink and his heart sink dangerously low as he felt the room run cold due to the sun quickly setting behind the horizon.

Why had he made that chocolate, it beat him. The two of you hadn't spoken in at least two days and he liked -or rather chose- to blame it on your busy studying schedule, rather than the fight the two of you had over that call two nights ago. He had been to angry to admit he was acting like a brat to you, he had been too proud to simply say that he wanted your attention, instead he had resolved his anger into grumpiness, causing your overworked mind to snap.

You were gone as an exchange student in Japan for too long and both your busy schedules and the enormous time difference had dug their ways into Levi's life very negatively. Before you he had never lonely when he was alone, but now, now that he had gotten a taste of what it was to be with you, now that you had been ripped away from him from so long, he definitely felt lonely. And angry. And it killed him that he was almost on time for your arranged video chat, when you didn't even show any sign of being in existence still.

It made his boil though, by now, it must have been the 26th in Japan and you had spent your day ignoring him, not even bothering to open his message. Had he been so cruel to you while admitting he wanted you here with him? Was it that you didn't have enough decency to let him you know you were alright? That was what he simply wanted to know, in the end.

Sighing again he ripped the gloves off his hands and grabbed his phone. His fingertip touching the button provided him immediate access to his homescreen and he quickly entered Instagram dragging the homepage down a couple of times to let it load any new activity. Internally he knew, he would have been glad if he was to see a story or a post by you, any sign that you were alright would do for him.

Of course, as if on cue to shake him of his miserable thoughts his phone rang, buzzing in his palm. His eyes fell on the small window the revealed the caller id to him. It was Erwin, naturally, as he always used to shower him with phone calls on his birthday even up until the moment he was at his front door. Levi didn't missed out on those signs of affection, it's was quite the opposite really. He cherished them deeply. Seeing how much of an impact he had on his friends' lives moved him whether he showed it or not.

And so, while holding back his saddened sigh he picked up the phone, greeting his friend through greeted teeth.

"Hey Levi, uhm, I kind of need you at the moment, am I interrupting anything?"

"No," Levi spoke, biting painfully on the inside of his cheek in an attempt to hold himself back from sprinting out on his frustration. Of course Erwin could try and hide behind his finger, Levi knew that much. The blond was aware he wasn't interrupting anything, but he was still kind enough to ask; he always was sappily kind when it came to such sensitive subjects.

"Great look, I'm on route twenty two, fifth exit, I'm out of gas can you please come to my rescue and bring me some?" Erwin paused for a moment and then proceeded to mumble through an overly amused breath "I'm sorry I'm doing this to you tonight."

"Did you take your father's run down car again?" Levi questioned.

"No... yes. I'm sorry Levi I felt like I wanted to drive his car tonight. I shouldn't have to drag you here too, I'm sorry."

"No it's fine," Levi bit back, hissing at Erwin's unhealthy habit of wanting to drive his father's antique due to its sentimental worth. But then again, he reminded himself he wasn't in a place to judge. "Give me 15 and I'll be there."

Fidgeting his fingers on the counter without throwing a second look he came in contact with his car keys. The familiar jiggling sound gritted through the air proudly as Levi pierced his finger inside the key loop, finally pressing the keys steady to his palm. With another grunt, he hang up the phone, bringing the device to the palm of his hand once again.

His mind begged him to open his texts with you again -his initial goal ever since the moment he opened his phone- just to stare at the screen or at his unopened text, his insides begged to boil with concern at the process but he figured had all night to do so, prolonging his misery could definitely wait now that Erwin was in need. And thus he simply marched to the hanger behind his front door, eager much to quickly get a hold of his warmest jacket before having to step out in the cold apartment corridor and consequentially outside in the cold December weather.

___

You forced Hange to suppress her giggles as you slipped the metallic key inside the lock to your shared apartment with Levi. With an exaggerated jump though Hange let out another scream fill the air, ignoring yet another playful rasped gaze you consequentially threw her. Laughter bubbled from the both of you as you kept on locking eyes, amused by the upcoming execution of your plan.

The plan was simple really. You had Erwin call Levi for any emergency he could come up with and only when he left the house you and Hange would sneak in, light up the aromatic candles you spent weeks picking. You would make some hot buttered rum and light the fireplace to warm up the house. Then, Hange would leave right when Erwin would call you to announce that Levi was on his way back and you'd wait for him with the biggest smile on your face.

"Okay now let's see how much time we have." You said and rubbed your hands together to warm them up. Leaning with one hand over the wall you moved the heel of your left foot on top of your right one, pressing down enough so you could wiggle your foot out of the shoe. Doing the same for your other foot, you removed your jacket and hung it behind the door.

"Erwin said it will take Levi about twenty minutes to get to him, they shall spend about ten to fifteen minutes fueling his car, but he promised he'd try his best to delay Levi if we need to. And then add another ten minutes for him to get back." Hange spoke, fixing her glasses onto her nose.

"You think I have enough time to take a bath?"

Making sure to slip her shoes off after you, Hange nodded in your direction and proceeded to set her heavy backpack on the couch. One by one she took the candles and a lighter out, eventually smirking to herself as she tried to come up with a plan on how to neatly set them around the living room.

"Hange!" Can you put those in the bedroom?" You spoke, ripping your shirt off of you before your finger came to graze the side of your mouth as your mind sunk in your thoughts.

"Ha!" Hange huffed "as if you're even going to make it to the bedroom!"

Your cheeks burned as she spoke, eyes widening slightly at how your mind told you she was completely right. Of course you and Levi wouldn't make it to the bedroom at least until later tonight. It had been months since you had last seen him and it was his birthday, you wouldn't even be able to rip yourself off of his arms. Thus you simply threw a mellow smile at Hange as you sprint to the kitchen checking to see if you had all the ingredients you'd need to make your choice of drink.

Coincidentally, you opened the oven and your eyes immediately fell on what was inside. Your expression softened as two grey toned cups shone in your orbs, the smell they emitted deliciously filling your nostrils. You smiled to your self as you thought about how your lover didn't miss out on making your traditional Christmas drink.

It was unbelievable how kind hearted Levi was, in contrary to what people thought of him, you thought. Most of the times -and simply because he didn't allow otherwise- the only thing people who weren't close to him saw was a cold demeanor, a sharp tongue and a foul mouth. It all would be too ironic if they knew how Levi was behind closed doors. Taking notice of small everyday details, sticking to his beloved routine, cherishing moments with his loved ones, remembering everything most people would ignore about others and showing his love in the sweetest yet most Levi way were only a few of his virtues.

Of course he wouldn't miss on making your favorite strawberry scented thick hot chocolate, even if you had spent the last few days not speaking to him, even if as of now he remained ignorant as to why. You assumed he believe it was about that ridiculous fight and you could admit you purposefully riled him just enough for him not to expect to see you. You were sure, seeing he had shown a previous liking in surprises like this, that his jaw would hit the floor when he'd see you.

Guilt rushed through you at the thought of you making him feel miserable even in the slightest, but Hange couldn't just have you standing there, sulking in your anxiety over how things had led up to this moment. If you wanted to make it in time for when Levi came home you'd have to rush. Hange insisted on shooing you out of the kitchen and into the bathroom, urging you to act fast, before Levi came. Sensing she was right, you settled for running to retrieve a new pair of underwear and a clean towel before jumping in the shower.

Stretching your arms to close the curtain behind you as you stepped on the white marble tiles you twisted the faucet handle to the right, letting a deep sigh escape from the depths of your chest as the hot water started running.

___

The sound of keys jiggling together filled what should have been an empty apartment, making Levi's arrival known only to you who stood inside the kitchen. He stepped inside a few seconds later, ripping his shoes off of his feet before slipping into his fuzzy slippers.

His hands immediately reached for the wipes and rubbing alcohol he kept on a stand right next to the door, silently grabbing a wipe and coating it in the strong smelling disinfectant before bringing it to his phone and keys. He spent a good minute cleaning the items meticulously only stopping when he felt satisfied to set them on the stand. He took a step to turn around with his goal to walk to the kitchen and heat up his got chocolate. Judging by the time he could still try to reach out to you before the day ended.

With a quick glance around the room, though he found himself freezing in his spot.

"Great, now I'm so shit mad I'm seeing fucking things." Levi announced -seemingly only to his own self- the moment he laid his gray orbs upon you.

"No Levi, you're not seeing things baby."

Standing up for your seat on the kitchen table you shot him an adorning look; your eyes squinted and your cheeks puffed up, coated in a sheer scarlett color. You silently watched as his eyes grew impossibly wide, flickering between you and each lit candle that showered the room in plenty of romantic golden light.

His legs were slightly trembling, his knees going weak at the sudden need to intake all of what was unraveling before him, but with his heart hammering in his whole body he only managed to part his lips before even beginning to thing if what to utter.

"Merry Christmas and happy birthday my Vee." You smiled again, mouthing the tooth rotting sweet nickname as you walked to him with open arms and a longing look on your face.

He wasted no time, even if his head was starting to buzz in confusion and uncertainty, he bucked in his stand before sprinting towards you. His hands quickly wrapped under your bum, lifting you up on him while prompting you to wrap your legs around his waist. With painfully squinted eyes his nose nuzzled up between your neck and your chest, inhaling your magnetising aura sharply as he span you around. You wrapped your arms around him tightly, embracing his head in a loving manner as you couldn't supress your bubbling giggles.

His strong grip on you wasn't ceasing, not even for a moment as he began mouthing his questions; he didn't even care that his voice was muffled by your own form.

"How- I mean when?" He spoke and only hugged you tigher onto him.

"Well, you thought I'd ever miss this day?" You placed a kiss on the top of his hairline. "I was supposed to be here days ago but my flight got delayed, so Erwin and and Hange came up with this surprise plan."

Levi's hands loosened their grip on you slowly was you tried to slide down his body carefully; this breathtaking moment could only ever last for so long, Levi figured as he set you down. Kissing you was the next task he assigned to himself, but it could only happen after he got a good look at your face.

God, he had missed you so much.

So many months had passed since the last time he had been graced with seeing you this close to him and in the moment what he was witnessing almost felt too unreal. Your tender eyes looked into his with adoration and warmth, your chest dwelled with tainted breaths as your hands slowly came to cup his sharp face.

"I'm sorry I wasn't responding at all, I really had to leave to go to the airport after that silly fight we had, I couldn't just tell you I was coming." You said and placed a kiss on the tip of his nose. "Although I was really temped to."

Levi wrapped his arms around you again and hugged you to his chest- this time he missed on levitating you if the ground, even more fiercely than he had done before. He simply huffed in amusement in the crook of your neck, mouthing a sole 'thank you' against you.

The next kiss you shared was maniac and passionate in nature. His lips didn't just graze over yours, the engulfed them. He sucked onto your tender flesh as if his life depended on it and you couldn't get enough. You found yourself grabbing his shirt, then running your hands through the short spiky hair of his undercut.

His slick hands cupped your own face as he pulled back only to catch his breath for a moment.

"I've missed you much I can't even be patient to talk with you."

"Me too" you announced, a hazed look masking your face.

You took a few leading steps to the couch, careful not to disturb the candles in the corners of the coffee table that before it, much afraid of setting everything on fire in your despairate state to have him. Your mouth launched feverishly onto his as you threw him onto the gray sofa.

Levi didn't fight it, not even for a moment. His tongue shoved inside your mouth, rolling around yours, slurping and cherishing each corner of your mouth as he took small intakes of breath through his nose from time to time. His tender hands loosened their grip on the sides of your face, the action eliciting a small whine from your occupied mouth but to was quickly gulped down by the movement of his lips that came to suck on your tongue.

You felt his fingertips travel down your clothed body, skillfully sinking underneath your shirt before restlessly traveling back up taking the cloth away with them. You only broke away from each other for a singular moment, breaths hitching and tinting the air around you, so much that you could almost ignore the way your heart sped it's throbbing in your ears. His hips bucked longingly int you from underneath, the friction already driving you crazy.

As his hands shoved longingly inside your pants you let another moan slip from the depths of your throat, though it was guickly muffled by your lover's mouth attaching on yours , making you melt into him. You felt his fingers graze ever so slightly over your still clothed crotch, painfully flicking their way through your flesh.

Roughly, he pulled back, detaching his want body away from yours while fixing his gray eyes into you. He didn't bother speaking as he tagged at the sides of his shirt, ripping the article of clothing away from him in such quick movements, as if it was the only thing getting in his way from getting close to you.

With hanger widening his eyes he stared at you again, prompting you to put your hands into him, to feel him all the while he run his hands into your form. He failed in exploring your body as he had wished though, with a shagged breath he only managed to bring you close, in a proximity that didn't even allow a kiss to be exchanged. You simply nuzzled into the crook of his bare neck, rubbing the tip of your nose in calm circles against him as you breathed hot huffs of air onto his skin.

His back was still so muscular and ripped despite his skin being so overly smooth under your tender touch, the more small trails you rubbed over him the more he sighed in greed and over exaggerated longing. Licking his lips with a constipated look on his face, he placed a tender kiss on your collarbone before traveling back up, just to teasingly rub his bottom lip over yours.

Breaking the kiss you grabbed his hand, bringing his palm close you your face. You teasingly picked his pointer finger, making sure to scratch the inside of his hand with your nails as you brought the digit to your mouth. His mouth, running ahead of his own desire to stay quiet, blurted lewd moans at your soft suckling and with all blood boiling in his body he was unable to even think about chocking down on his sounds.

He was on his back before he even knew it. It seemed like squirming was the way to go now, right underneath you as you placed kisses all over his chest and torso. With slow hands you reached for his pants, fidgeting with his zipper and buttons before wiggling your arms inside the dark denim.

Quickly, any remaining article of clothing was discharged thrown anywhere on the floor; you could worry about that later but right now you couldn't seem to be able to pay attention on anything else than each other. You had missed him, he had missed you, there was only so much that the two of you could process momentarily.

It was the high of the moment mixed with your scent that pulled him even even more as you craddled him to your chest while never ceasing the bobbing of your hips. The kisses that he sucked in you, sped up the beating of your heart against his as soft skin mingled with your own. Even that was painful to him, the extend to which he had missed you didn't leave any space for him to pull just an inch away from you, as if he wouldn't ever be able to get enough.

"My Levi, I've missed you so much." You spoke with hitched breaths, lips grazing his earlobe ever so slightly.

Levi allowed him self to eventually grunt in response letting harsh huffs of air through his nostrils while trying to guide your hips to an alt.

"Keep talking like that and I'm not going to last." He spoke, his fingering digging into your thighs to put an halt to your movements.

It didn't work -he should have known it wouldn't work- because you only slid down on him longingly and fast, sending his mind in the familiar pre orgasmic haze he so wished to momentarily be freed from.

"Who said," you paused only for another tainted moan to slip outside your lips "I want you to last?" You placed a kiss on the skin behind his ear, careful not to suck and create any loud noise that close to his eardrum.

Levi only threw his head back, his hips starting to work onto a hard, quick rhythm against you. He trembled under your words and every deep thrust, every feel of your insides on his throbbing length was only contributing to the build up in his abdomen.

He hair, sweaty as it was, stuck on his forehead as it dripped, but you paid no mind in his salty taste as you kissed your way all over his forehead and cheeks, nose and jawline, trailing your tongue on any sharp edge of him.

Your legs were shaking now and much to your best wishes you struggled with your thrusting onto him. You only managed to gyrate your hips, earning another moan of him as you ceased your movements, sweat dripping off of your own forehead as if mimicking his antics.

His hands nearly slipped from your thighs as wet as they were but he managed to get the message you were trying to convey; with jaded breaths he started thrusting maniacally from underneath you, damaging through you as pleasure dueled in both your bodies.

Yearning splashed all over his face and his grunts only got louder. Your foreheads collided as you cupped his face, noses nuzzling up, eyes staring deep into eachother.

Gentle. His ultimate indulge into you was gentle and earth shattering at the same time. His veins popped in white hot pleasure and his chest boiled with numerous erotic moans as his abdomen screamed throughout him, leaving him with barely enough time to mechanically reach just to pull out. His head hung low onto your collarbone while his head throbbed, unable to come down from his high just yet. He couldn't even move his eyes to see you, although he knew by listening to your panted breaths that you were in the same position as him.

Pushing him back to lay down on the couch, you kissed all over his face for the thousandth time tonight.

"I'd never ever miss this important day, you know." You smiled, pressing your lips to the tip of his nose.

"It's not that special, brat" he spoke shyly as he cooed into your face rubbing his upper lip to your cheek. You recognised the action; it was a habit of his to coo in such way, any overly soft thing grazing his top lip indulged him in endless calmness and you hummed to yourself in amusement to the feeling.

"I missed you."

"I know. You said that." He huffed, his lips puckering to hide the playful demeanor behind his next words. "But I don't think I heard it right, mind repeating it?" His fingers trapped your nose between them and swayed your head from side to side before moving to your naked back to press you closer to him him once again.

"You're such a tease. I love you Levi."

"I love you too," He blurred with eyes that burned into yours and proceeded to place a sweet kiss onto your sweat drenched hair "so much, you brat."

Taglist go off: @ackermans-freedom-inc @hawkssnugget @berrijam @levisbrat25 @nobody-knows-anymore @callmepromise