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loudsuitlover · 4 years

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Doctor Harry XIX. Yo me quedo contigo aquí

A/N: Sorry for disappearing, not my best week but I’m back :) Hope you enjoy!

Every previous part here

BLUE’S POV

He holds me up and climbs the stairs towards my side of the house with me on his arms again. He loves handling me like a baby it seems. He only puts my feet back on the floor when we’re standing on my shower and he gives me a big grin before he steps inside with me. We lather each other up in silence and I let him explore my body as I worship his. I think I could remember every freckle of his if I close my eyes.

When we get out of the shower, I grab a fresh towel, open it and press it against his bare chest as he stares at me in silence. He tenses up if only for a second, but his face is calmed and stern as he stares into my eyes. I loved it when he dried my body like this and he also did it without warning so he better stays quiet. I want to do this too.

I love touching his bare skin and enjoy the view of his beautiful body every time he’s close to me, but when his skin is, to top it all, also wet. It’s a gift from heaven. I go on, pressing the towel against his shoulders and his muscled arms until I reach his hands and hold them between mine with the towel. I dry his abdomen and his athletic legs and when I dare to look up at him, I realize his face is still stern and I can’t read his expression.

Without saying a word, he takes the towel from my hands and starts doing the same thing for me. After carefully drying my upper body with gentle touches, he kneels down before me and presses a kiss against my hip as he dries my thigh and the back of my leg. My body still shivers. The way he adores it brings a very novice yet somehow primeval feeling to my spine. He ties the towel under my armpit and pecks my lips, leaving cool droplets of water from his wet hair on my shoulders and then he exists the bathroom. I stand there paralyzed for another second.

When I finally enter my room, he’s not there so I frown yet when I’m about to go look for him, he returns with his boxers on and the rest of his clothes on his hand. He gives me a smile.

“Can I choose your outfit?” He asks.

“Are we going out?”

“No” he grins “I’ll choose something comfortable, I promise.”

I chuckle but shake my head as I let him do what he pleases. I bet he’s going to choose the tightest yoga pants he can find so I wait for him to not-surprise me with a smile on my face. When he joins me though, he’s holding the Natura sweater he got me and my pyjama pants with little rainbows.

“I hope you washed it.” He smiles.

I chuckle.

“I did and… I’m sorry. I love it. Thank you.”

He smiles and slowly nods whilst his finger snakes under the knot of my towel and he lets it fall down my body until it forms a soft circle around my bare ankles. I take a deep breath but don’t hide from him. Instead my eyes bore into his but they’re busy investigating my body as if it was the first time he sees me. I think I’m not embarrassed of my own nudity before him because of the way he looks at me and the way he touches every part of my body. It’s like he likes my hand as much as he likes my breast and that makes me feel comfortable with it; with the whole thing, my body and him and whatever this is between us.

He smiles at me and I know it’s his way of letting me know he’s proud of me for allowing his visual analysis and I smile back at him, carefree, before I lift my arms for him to put my sweater on. He kneels down again and holds my underwear for me so I can slid my legs on the holes and I support my weight on his shoulders as he slips my pyjama pants up my legs too. His antics are so peculiar and I can’t get enough of the caring Harry.

He collects our things from my bed and it surprises me how many things he can hold at once on his big hands. And then he opens the bed for me and motions for me to get inside. Instead of getting inside with me as I expect, he turns around and walks towards my desk, grabbing his phone and distracting himself with a frown. I look away from him and turn on the bed, trying to get his image out of my sight. He might be going home after all. He got what he wanted and now that I’m dressed, I don’t interest him anymore. Well, that’s okay. That’s what friends with benefits do.

“Make some room for me.”

Puzzled, I move away towards the left end of the bed as he turns the light off and gets on the bed with me.

“But not so far away, come here.” He complains holding my waist and pulling me to him.

That surprises me again. I wasn’t expecting his naturalness, as if there is some sort of routine in this, as if we always slept together and cuddling. He slips his leg between mine and wraps his arm around my waist so there’s not a gap between us. He’s so warm and he smells so good. This feels amazing.

“Are you going to sleep?” I whisper.

“I’m going to try.”

He hasn’t taken any pills. I don’t know if he’s trying to prove something to me or if he’s doing this because he thinks that’s what I asked for the other day but whatever the reason, I don’t want him not to be able to sleep because of me. His fingertips draw figures against the skin of my belly.

“In this position?” I yawn.

His drawings on my belly stop and he pulls a little away from me.

“You don’t want me to?”

“No, it’s not about me. It’s just you don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“I held you because I wanted to but I won’t if you don’t want me to. Do you not want me to?”

“I do want you to but you don’t have to. I mean you don’t have to do it for me.”

“I don’t understand, Blue.” He pulls me back towards him. “But good night, baby.”

I giggle and turn around in his embrace so my face is against his chest. He’s so warm he’s like a heater. I bring my hand to his head and caress his scalp until I fall asleep.

I’m freezing. My sleepy eyes open up from the cold after my blind hands didn’t manage to find Harry on the bed and I reach for the little lamp on my bedside table turning it on and finding out that in effect, there’s no Harry. I hope he didn’t have to go home to have a pill after not managing to sleep at all because it’s 4:00 am according to my phone. I rub my eyes and turn the light off again embracing myself under the covers and trying to go back to sleep when I hear my bedroom door slowly opening.

“Blue?”

I stick half of my face out of the covers and look at him. So he didn’t leave. I can barely see him in the dark but I think he’s still on his underwear. I can’t understand how he can be half naked when I’m almost freezing myself. The door closes behind him and he gets in the bed with me, granting me his heat. I get carried away by his warmth and press my body against his before he has the time to wrap his arms around me.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were cold?”

“I didn’t want to bother you.” I lie because I thought you had left seems to aggressive after his attention.

“I wasn’t doing anything, baby. Do bother me.” He pulls my body even closer.

I bury my face between his arm and his chest and he presses kisses on my hairline.

“You’re like a human heater.”

His smile presses against my forehead.

“Yes, raising your temperature is my specialty.”

I smile too. He’s not lying.

His soft voice wakes me up. When I open my eyes, I realize it’s morning and that he’s fully dressed and talking on his phone on my balcony. He’s tried to close the balcony door but you can only close them from inside and the winter wind must have pushed them opened. He’s frowning and one of his hands rests on his hip while the other rubs his forehead. He looks so good even when he’s concerned.

He tilts his neck and gives me a glance and then he gets inside my room. Thank God, I was afraid he was going to freeze to death out there.

“She’s up. I’ll tell her now and call you afterwards. Take care, mate. Bye.”

I frown as I wait for him to break what he’s going to tell me. He bites his bottom lip and frowns.

“Did I wake you up?” He whispers.

“What happened?”

He sighs.

“Mario told me last night your friend Olivia was at Dulce’s and Jack’s engagement party.”

My eyes widen and he hesitates but continues.

“Apparently they were talking, Olivia and Jack, and… They were standing near the mics from the live band they had hired and… Everyone heard their conversation and… He said it was ugly on Olivia. We didn’t know they dated.”

“Oh God.”

I take my phone and check The Golden Girls’ chat group but find nothing new so then I get on Instagram. Thank God nobody was cruel enough to post nothing on the topic. Before I text Olivia straight away, I read Marie’s EMERGENCY text and open our chat.

Marie: EMERGENCY

Marie: SOS

Marie: Fuck I’m about to get out of this fucking seminar but I can’t!!!

Marie: INDIGO BLUE IF YOU DON’T ANSWER IN 2 MINUTES I’M GOING TO FAIL THIS CLASS.

Marie: You need to call Olivia

Marie: She’s freaking out.

Marie: JACK IS GETTING MARRIED

Marie: CALL OLIVIA

Marie: EMERGENCY

I open my chat with Olivia and text her after what feels like forever.

Indie: I’m on my way to your flat.

“I need to leave.”

“I’ll drive you.”

I hold his green eyes and nod before I put on my jeans and my boots and rush outside. The ride to Olivia’s house is silent as I’m still texting Marie trying to understand what happened since Ollie hasn’t answered. I don’t know if she even wants to see me or not but Marie is in this long-ass seminar and Jason is on his beach house with Dick David. The only times I speak to Harry is when I guide him to Olivia’s house. He pulls over where I tell him and his green eyes look into mine with a concern expression.

“Thank you.” I peck his lips and get out of his car.

I run towards Olivia’s flat and even though I know they are not, I still feel everybody’s eyes on me as if they somehow knew what had happened. I ring the intercom and she opens up in a second without questioning. Only when the door closes behind me, I hear Harry’s car driving away.

Ollie’s a mess of tears when she opens the door. I’ve seen her cried before but it never fails to break my heart. She’s one of the strongest people I know and one of the things that make her that is how she is not afraid of crying. She embraces her vulnerability because she knows it doesn’t make her any less powerful or empowered to cry and I admire her for that.

She’s on an oversized hoodie and her thin arms have wrapped around my neck the second I’ve walked inside. Still holding her, I walk her towards her couch and we both sit there as she cries her eyes out.

“How did you hear about it?” She sobs behind her hands.

I caress her knee over her pyjama pants and draw circles on her back and finally her blue eyes stare into mine. She’s still so pretty even when she’s crying but that’s not important now.

“Mario called Harry in the morning and he told me.”

Her eyes sadden even more and she looks down at her thighs. I can’t believe she’s embarrassed with me.

“I’m sorry, Indie.” She pouts. “I’m so sorry, you were so right and what I said to you was just plain nasty and I’m a terrible person.”

“You’re not a terrible person, lovey.” I whisper. “You just made a mistake but we all do sometimes and it’s nothing you can’t fix.”

“Isn’t it?” She dries her tears with the back of her hand. “He’s… Mario’s been calling me. I never answered and he still drove me home last night.”

“I know.” I admit. “We talked at the hospital a few days ago.”

“I should call him.”

“Yes, you should. It’s been tough on him. He really likes you.”

Ollie nods and looks down at her feet.

“Just apologize to him, that way he can forget about you and you can stop feeling guilty.”

Her blue eyes bore into mine. Somehow I know she didn’t like what I said. I frown.

“No one’s ever looked for me that many times… Not even Jack back in the day. Mario’s a really good guy.”

I wrap my arm around her shoulders and she rests her head on mine.

“I know. It’s a shame it didn’t work… But I guess sex is important.”

I feel her body tensed under my arm and she swallows and sighs.

“I… He doesn’t have clumsy anything. It was great.”

I don’t understand.

“Why did you lie to me?”

“I lied to myself and hence to you because it helped.” She shrugs.

She pulls away from me and hugs a pillow against her belly before her blue eyes look timidly into mine. Her eyes are red and puffy and her lips are still trembling. She stares into mine for the longest minute and when she realizes I still don’t understand she puffs and frowns as if she was somehow mad at me for not being able to read her mind.

“I don’t want to feel anything for a guy, Indie.” She reprimands. “I don’t want to get hurt again.” The anger in her eyes leave when they get fill with tears again and I reach her knee with my hand and let her cry. “I can’t go through that again.”

I stay quiet as her sobs return and search for a tissue on my purse. I hand it to her and stare at her in silence. She’s leaving me speechless. I thought I knew Ollie better than I knew most people but apparently I didn’t. Yet her words not only hurt me because she’s my friend. They press around my throat and I can’t identify the feeling but I don’t like it. I think I’m afraid too.

I knew Jack had hurt her but I didn’t know it had been enough for her to be afraid of opening up to someone else. I mean Mario is nothing like Jack and it’s been a year and he really likes her and…

“Ollie, I don’t think you can shut your feelings down every time. You can’t just ignore that person and pretend there’s nothing going on. We all can get hurt. But that’s what life is about.”

“I’ve been doing that for a whole year and so far so good.” She defends.

“Until now.” I smile.

She smiles back despite her tears.

“I’m gonna start with a thank you text.”

“Yes, let him know you’re not alone too. He called Harry in the morning so he would tell me what happened because he was afraid you wouldn’t tell us and be alone. He was concerned about you.”

Her eyes hold all the regret in the world.

“I don’t deserve him.”

“You do.” I smile.

I wait silently while she types away on her phone and then she leaves it face down on the table.

“So you were with Harry? On a weekday?”

Before I can answer, the door opens and Marie rushes inside as if someone was dying inside. She hugs Olivia and cries on her shoulder and my eyes widen at her. More drama?

“Marie, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” She sobs. “Nothing more than this. I was just so nervous because I couldn’t come be with you and I’ve been very anxious on the way here and I guess it shows.”

Marie blows her nose on one of my tissues that I left on the table and Olivia smiles tenderly at her.

“We also get our periods together.” She explains to me and the three of us chuckle.

“Jason told me to videocall me. We’ve been on the phone since I got out of class.”

“But wait, your seminar wasn’t in the afternoon too?” Olivia asks.

“Yes, but we had a break and I left. This is more important.”

She’s not looking at any of us for she’s videocalled Jason and is setting her phone against the tissue package. Ollie sets herself between us both and the conversation starts the second Jason’s face appears on the screen.

“I’m going to kill him.” It’s the first thing he says.

“You don’t even know what happened, do you?” Ollie fears.

“So what? You’re crying over it. That’s enough.”

Olivia gives him a tender smile and Marie wraps her small arm around her shoulders.

“What happened, Ollie?”

She tells us she went to the party almost on accident because she had found this hot guy in Tinder who needed a date for an engagement party. It hadn’t crossed her mind the fact that the engagement could be Jack’s and I reckon it makes sense because I had no clue either. At first she found Mario there but if that wasn’t awkward enough, she then saw Jack with his hand around his fiancé’s waist and she almost chokes.

She didn’t try to leave though. She says she doesn’t know why. If I put on her shoes, I think I might have done the same thing, I’m guessing I’d be as paralyzed as she was. And then at some point of the night, he walked up to her and asked her if she had told anyone that he cheated on her.

“I was flabbergasted. Like, after all this time without talking and how terrible he was to me and how tough it was for me, he comes up to me to talk and it’s once again about him. I mean what he was worried about was me telling everybody what he had done. He didn’t even ask me how I was doing and then… He started talking to me this way… As if he was so much better than me… And he made me feel like shit all over again.”

My fists tense and I feel my nails sinking on my palms. I hate him for that. He’s such an asshole and I can’t think of someone better than Olivia and the fact that even for one second, she thought shit of herself because of him makes me want to kill him.

“I don’t remember perfectly everything he said because I was a little tipsy but I do remember how he made me feel and I swear it was the worst feeling ever. I felt so… Pathetic and embarrassed and used… I remember some sentences like ´because her I do like´ as if he didn’t really like me when we were together… I don’t know… He was like so worried she would find out he had cheated on me with her because he didn’t want to mess it up with her like he did with me, but it felt as if he didn’t care he had messed up with me, you know? As if I wasn’t as worthy as her.” She shrugs and then tears start rolling down her cheeks. “And it was just the fact that he thought that way of me, you know? I mean he’s nothing to me now but he was.” She sobs. “He was so important, damn it, he was my first love… And to learn that feeling wasn’t mutual… It was just all a lie… I- I am not that for him… He doesn’t- he doesn’t think of me as such so then what am I? Just some girl he fucked for a while?”

Marie clicks her tongue, I take a deep breath, Jason curses. Olivia cries. And she cries for at least an hour until she falls asleep on Marie’s arms.

Jason talks about Dick David to us and even though I still despise him, I’m glad to see we’re over the chapter where we don’t talk to each other about him. When J hangs up to go find his boyfriend, Marie and I get Ollie comfier on the coach and start cooking something for lunch while letting her sleep.

We both work in silence. I don’t know what Marie is thinking about but I keep thinking about how hard it would have been for me if Dylan ever said that to me. I feel a dry, strong oppression on my chest when I realize he’d never even have the chance.

“Indie” Marie whispers “are you thinking about Harry?”

I frown.

“What? Why would I be thinking about Harry?”

She shrugs.

“I don’t know… I mean… You saw how terrible Ollie felt when she realized all she was for him was just some girl he had fucked for a while… I guess I don’t want you to feel like that.”

“Harry is nothing like Jack.” I shake my head.

It bothers me that she would even compare them. Harry is so kind and so good and he doesn’t deserve to have someone comparing him with an asshole. Her brown eyes look into mine. I don’t know why I feel the need to defend him. Why do I care what anyone thinks about him?

“He got me a sweater.”

Marie laughs.

“Isn’t that the least he could do?”

“Well, but he didn’t have to get me one from Natura. I don’t even know how he knew it’s my favourite store or how he got one in just one day. He told me he spent the entire day trying to get it.”

“And what did you do when he gave it to you? Did you forgive him straight away?”

“Of course not. I threw it on the rubbish bin.”

“What?” Olivia laughs. “Indie, you’re crazy!”

“What the hell?” Marie all but yells. “And what did he do? I take it he told you to go to hell.”

“We fucked like rabbits.”

Olivia throws her head back and laughs and Marie bites her bottom lip and shakes her head. I’m glad this at least is cheering Olivia up.

“You both are maniacs.”

Olivia keeps laughing and I almost laugh along with her but remembering the way Harry looked at me when I threw his gift to the rubbish bin holds me back. Sometimes I really fear I’m actually insane.

“He’s crazy about you!” Olivia laughs.

That’s not so funny.

“He’s not.”

“He is.” Marie adds. “He talked to me. We had a cup of chocolate milk, well, I think he had a coffee, and he asked me what he could get you so you’d forgive him. He really likes you.”

I frown. No, he doesn’t. He just felt guilty because he had acted aggressive and that was wrong and he had ruined my sweater. He doesn’t have feelings for me. I don’t think Harry is the kind of guy who’s inclined to fall in love like Mario. We enjoy sex, that’s clear, but there’s nothing to add to that.

Marie and Ollie barely know the first thing about him. I don’t tell them much. If he fucked me like that was because at some point I did something that made him horny.

But… The fact that he’s only seeing me now… The girls don’t even know that. It worries me that I’m not gonna be enough for me. It also worries me that, even though he’s given me the power to say ´this is where it ends´, I literally don’t know if I’d ever mean that. I won’t deny I want to still be with him like this. I want to still have him and have crazy orgasms and feel beautiful and desired.

“You’re just thinking too much.” Olivia says before she has a sip of water. “You’re having fun, right?”

I nod.

“And you like the way he makes you feel, right?”

I nod again.

“Then there’s nothing else to say. You deserve to have fun, Indie. You’re 22 and you’re both on the same page and you’re not going to hurt him so he’s safe.” She smiles.

“How do we know he’s not going to hurt her?” Marie points a finger at Olivia and she grins.

“Because Indie doesn’t have feelings for him” she shrugs “right?”

“Right.” I nod.

Wrong.

HARRY’S POV

It’s the third time I do the presentation in an hour. It now feels like some sort of rap I’ve memorized. I’ve never been bad at presenting shit anyway. I am not afraid of talking in public or anything like that and since most of the time what I talk about is what I study myself, is not hard to answer questions either.

I imagine Blue sitting down among the attendee and can’t control the smile. I don’t know what she’s doing to me but I need to get her out of my head. I’m sure this isn’t sane. It’s like all I can think about has to do with her and not only with her naked body which is obviously a thought that never leaves my mind but I also want to know what she thinks of pretty much everything I wonder, if she’d like what I had for lunch today, what she’s doing… This definitely isn’t sane.

She hasn’t talked to me since I drove her to Olivia’s flat in the morning so I’m guessing they’re having a girls’ day fixing the world together. I talked to Mario even though I couldn’t really tell him much but he seemed to be already less concerned just by knowing Blue was with her. I get it. Blue is as calming as a hot bath.

But I need to stop thinking about her.

My phone vibrates on the table.

Moody Blue: Thank you for driving me to Ollie’s in the morning x

And I’m grinning.

Harry: Anytime, baby.

Harry: How’s your friend?

Moody Blue: Better :)

Smiley face and a kiss? I’m not even sure this is her. Maybe she’s drunk? I’m going to find out. I send her a screenshot I took of a very pathetic old photo Olivia posted on Instagram years ago. Blue must have been as drunk as she could get and she was dressed up as a bunny.

Moody Blue: WHERE DID YOU GET THAT?

I laugh out loud, picturing her hazel eyes opening wide and her lips set on a thin line.

Harry: HAHAHA Olivia’s profile is public.

Moody Blue: I’m going to kill you. Erase that immediately.

Harry: I think you look sexy, baby.

Moody Blue: Because you’re sick.

Harry: Look at those pouty lips. Such an influencer, you are.

Moody Blue: Seriously I hate you. I can’t believe you’ve been stalking us.

Harry: I was bored because my date stood me up in the morning for a girls’ emergency.

Moody Blue: Didn’t you have anything better to do than stalking me on the internet?

Harry: Actually I’ve been working. I still am.

Moody Blue: Lies. You’re talking to me ;)

I chuckle.

Harry: And working. I can do both ;)

Harry: More or less…

Moody Blue: And here I was thinking men couldn’t multitask…

Harry: I can.

Harry: Like when I kiss you and get my fingers inside your cunt at the same time.

I smile just imagining her reaction. I bet she’s blushing and biting her bottom lip. Shit, I want her. She’s so sexy and smells so good…

Harry: Are you at home?

Moody Blue: Yes.

Harry: Did you see my present?

I smile.

Moody Blue: No, I didn’t.

Harry: Well, look for it. It’s in your room.

Moody Blue: Did you hide it?

Harry: I left it where it belongs.

Moody Blue: What the hell did you leave behind?

I laugh.

Harry: Don’t be impatient, Blue.

Harry: I’m gonna keep working.

Harry: Let me know if you find it.

Moody Blue: When*

I laugh. I try to get back to the presentation but there’s no use. I’d pay to know what’s going through her mind. I hope she thinks I’ve left her a set of naughty lingerie or something like that. She doesn’t need me for that though. She’s got the sexiest underwear I’ve ever seen…

My phone vibrates and my sister’s number appears on the screen.

“Hi, Gem.”

“Hi, Haz. How are you doing?” Her cheerful tone has always contrasted with mine.

“I’m good, thanks. How are you?”

“Great. I was just calling to inform you about the news on my birthday.” She chirps. “Finally Michal and I manage to rent the property I told you about. It’s downtown in Grad where I told you right next to that place Loft 39, I think.”

“Oh, cool.”

“Yeah. Did you tell Indie?”

“I did not.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Because she’s gonna say no.”

“How do you know that if you didn’t ask her?”

“I know her and I know what she wants and it’s not that.”

“She doesn’t want to assist to a wonderful birthday party for someone turning 31?”

“She doesn’t want to meet my family. That’s what I meant.”

“Again, the only way of knowing that would be asking her but you refuse to do so.”

“Do you need to ask Michal if he wants to kill you for you to figure out whether he wants to?”

“How is that the same?”

“How is it different?”

“You know I know you don’t think you’re right when you ask another question instead of giving me an answer? Did you get me a birthday present?”

“Yes.”

“Shit! I wanted to tell you to get me Indie coming to my party… Well, return it and get that one.”

I chuckle.

“You’re indefatigable.”

“I just want to meet her!”

“I already told you about her! Get off my back!” I joke.

“But do you plan on ever bringing her home?”

I sigh.

“Didn’t I tell you we’re just friends?”

“I know Adam…”

I roll my eyes.

“Do you also stalk Adam on Instagram?”

I know this embarrasses her. I almost kill her when she did that. Thank God Blue didn’t ask me anything about it.

“I don’t have to because I know him which could be true for Indie too if you would just introduce us.”

“But I won’t.”

“I hate you.”

“Hate you too.” I chuckle.

“But I’ll see you next week.”

“See you, Gem.”

I’m still amused at my sister’s antics when I see Blue’s been texting me during our phone call.

Moody Blue: Thank God it’s your sweater.

Moody Blue: I was so afraid you would have cum all over my underwear or something like that.

I throw my head back and laugh. She doesn’t know how tempted I was of stealing one of her knickers or anything of hers really but I know she would have gotten mad.

Harry: I’ve noticed you like that sweater.

It’s true, I have, which is why it was such a dilemma whether to give it to her or not. She gets horny when I wear it and that makes me not want to wear anything else ever but I also kind of like thinking about her wearing my sweater to bed.

Moody Blue: I do like it. Thank you :)

Harry: Now you’ll have to give me something of yours.

Harry: Like your knickers ;)

Moody Blue: Oh, so that’s what this is….

Moody Blue: You’re so dirty.

I grin. She isn’t lying but only for her.

Harry: Bring two next time you come to my house

Harry: That way you can also put some fresh knickers when you get home

Harry: I bet it sucks to put your soaked ones back on.

Moody Blue: I’m pretty sure I left one at your house one day because I was knickerless when I got home…

Harry: Yeah but you were still wearing them when I got you under the shower

Harry: They’re washed.

Moody Blue: WAIT YOU WANT THEM DIRTY? YOU PIG! That’s disgusting even for you.

I chuckle at her insult. I love scandalizing her but I wish I could see her. I bet she’s blushing yet I’m sure she’s wet. She’s just as dirty as I am and I am desperate to get my hand under her soaked knickers and feel her wetness against my fingers.

Harry: Not dirty, sillyhead.

Harry: Used.

Moody Blue: What for?

Harry: What do you think I’d do with them?

My sweatpants are already getting tight on my groin just imagining and thinking about her picturing it it’s only turning me on more.

Moody Blue: I’d rather not know

Harry: Liar…

Harry: Why does it bother you so much?

Moody Blue: I want nobody collecting my knickers.

Harry: First of all, I am not nobody

Harry: And secondly, I don’t collect them. I just want one.

Moody Blue: You’re a perv.

Harry: You must not know how incredible you smell.

Harry: Just thinking about it gets me hard, baby.

Harry: I’m dying to eat you out…

Moody Blue: Fuck

I grin. Yes! She likes it and she’s participating! I think I’d come even if she just gave me a recipe.

Harry: What are you wearing?

Harry: If you’re covering yourself with your Barbie cover don’t tell me, make something up

Moody Blue: I just came out of the shower

I smirk.

Harry: You’re naked

Moody Blue: Yeah, I tend to undress to shower

She makes me laugh.

Harry: And your hair is down?

Moody Blue: haha wouldn’t you like to know?

Harry: I most certainly would… I miss you.

Moody Blue sent a picture.

My phone almost slips from my fingers and hits me on the thigh when I open it. It’s not a nude obviously, I don’t think Blue would ever dare to send me one- even though God knows I would love one- but damn it she looks astonishing. She’s smirking somewhat timidly but she knows what she’s doing with her wet hair covering her breasts and that look. Fuck.

Harry: Baby, come over.

Moody Blue: lol that easy? You come over.

Harry: I can’t, I need to finish this fucking presentation.

Moody Blue: What presentation?

Harry: The one I need to present tomorrow…

Moody Blue: Well, you’re a nerd. I’m sure you’ll nail it.

Harry: What’s going on?

Harry: You’re being too nice on me.

Moody Blue sent a picture.

She’s wearing my sweater and her panties and she looks incredible. Holy shit.

Moody Blue: I’m going to bed. Thanks for the sweater.

Harry: Thanks for the pictures.

Moody Blue: I hope you get some sleep and good luck for tomorrow!

I almost text her something I’d regret so I lock my phone and get back to the last review of my presentation. From the corner of my eye I catch a glimpse of the Lorazepam. It’s hard to believe some night I haven’t had the need to take it because of Blue and it’s especially hard because it’s dangerous. I can’t depend on this girl, she can’t be this important because she’ll get tired of me eventually.

I think about telling her about Gemma’s birthday. She would never come. Moreover, she would freak out and remind me again we’re just friends with benefits- exclusive; but just friends with benefits anyway.

Why is she so hard to decode?

BLUE’S POV

Marie and Jason sit beside me as we wait for the next presenter. Marie’s been taking notes like a mad woman but I’ve disconnected with the last few ones. It was half interesting in the beginning but some doctors are really boring when presenting. I guess it has little to do being good at your job and being good at talking about it.

My lips part when Harry makes his way with confident steps towards the centre of the stage. He wears a light grey-baby blue suit with a light aquamarina shirt that so brings out the green of his eyes and he looks just amazing. Jason’s smirking when my surprised eyes search for my friends’.

I don’t think he’s seen me. I doubt he even knows I’m here. He introduces himself and even though he’s acting all shy, he sounds and looks so sexy to me. It’s like he knows what he’s doing. Everyone is staring at him, seemingly interested in whatever it is he’s saying and even though I really want to know, I can’t process a single sound other than the way his heels click against the floor as if he owned the place. I can’t help but think he was somehow born for this, for having people listening and for him to tell all us the truth about the world.

He walks along the stage, makes people laugh with the way he goes through the slides and once again he proves he can be such a great teacher. He explains everything in a very technical way but it’s always comprehensible and I find myself deeply interested in his essay and his discoveries. That’s how you know someone is passionate. It’s the way his eyes shine and the way he seems to be surprised himself and the little smirk when he shows us the results.

Is this what he was doing last night? I think about all the times he’s made me blush and all the time he’s purposefully put me on the spot and like that my hand finds my phone over my folder. No, I can’t be so mean… But then again he wouldn’t check a text in the middle of a presentation… And I doubt his phone has any volume anyway… So I do it.

Indie: Is this what you were doing last night?

I imagine his face when he reads the text later and realizes I’ve been here and almost giggle.

Indie: Nice suit by the way 😉

I sit back on my chair and rest my phone against my folder trying to get back to the presentation and learn something other than how good looking a man can be but my heart stops beating when I see him casually fishing his phone out of the pocket on his suit while words keep spilling out from his smart mouth.

Oh, God, how embarrassing! I hope he doesn’t do anything stupid. Thankfully, he just casually keeps his phone back on his pocket and turns to look at the screen grinning. At least he thought it was funny. His words stop. Oh, boy, I think he’s lost. I feel petrified.

After the longest seconds of silence, the smart words come back to his lips and he goes on with his speech. His green eyes scan the crowd and I got the feeling he’s searching for me so I shrug on my seat and hope for the best. I’m quite hidden behind two tall doctors and the lights are not hitting my seat thank God so I don’t think he’s going to see me. I consider leaving before he finds me but I’m stuck to my seat. His confidence and his intelligence and the way he seems to have been doing this for years have me amazed and every time he smiles I want to go down there and kiss him in front of everyone. Gosh, what is wrong with me?

Our eyes meet when the crowd claps their hands together and he smiles as if the applause wasn’t for the brilliant presentation but for finding me. I bet every female in this room is dreaming with having him but he’s licking his lips locking eyes with me and I couldn’t feel any luckier.

When Marie and I are making our way towards her car after the presentation, someone clears their throat behind us and I giggle before I see him for I know who that is.

“What do you want?” I smile.

He smiles back and I feel the world blurring around us until there’s just him and me. Somehow the intimacy in that smile makes up for everything else.

“I’ll leave you two alone.” Marie giggles. “It was a wonderful presentation, Harry. Congratulations.”

“Thank you, Marie.” He smiles.

Since when are these two friends? I watch my friend walk away towards her black car with a confused frown on my forehead and Harry seems to wait until she’s inside her car to turn around and capture me against the air behind me. I swear it feels like there’s a wall.

“You started the fire, Blue.”

I smile and shrug.

“You were provoking me.”

“More like bothering you.”

“And why in the world would you do that in the middle of a presentation?”

He’s so right. Why in the world would I do that? I don’t know, I’m doing a lot of stupid things since I know him. I shrug.

“I don’t know but I made you nervous, didn’t I? Do I make Harry Styles nervous?” I joke.

He doesn’t answer so I look into his eyes and find his confused ones. He narrows them for just a second and then his expression relaxes.

“Yes.” He admits and my heartbeat speeds up. “I almost lose track of what I was saying.”

“But you didn’t.” I raise my eyebrows and he smirks. “You were amazing.”

“You liked it?”

I nod. He said very interesting things and he’s very talented when it comes about oratory. And oral.

“Then you owe me a pair of knickers.”

I chuckle and start walking ahead of him but he follows. I don’t know where I’m going but I don’t want to stand there and wait for someone from the hospital to see us and start imagining things.

“In your dreams.”

I turn around when I realize instead of following me like I thought he was doing, he’s been leading me to his car. He’s grinning. He raises his eyebrows when I frown at his childish behaviour and traps me between the car and him. I roll my eyes and he pushes against my body until I feel my ass against the body of his car.

“Stop following me around.”

He grins and presses his body impossibly closer until there’s no space between us.

“That’s what you wanted.”

“No, it’s not.”

He leans in until his mouth is inches away from mine and then he smiles. I bet he can tell I suck in my own breath at his proximity. He’s still not touching me.

“You don’t let me see anyone else.” He smiles.

My heart jumps to my throat.

“You can see whoever you want, Harry, it’s just-”

My words die on his lips as he kisses me. I’m hungry for him. It hasn’t been long, yet somehow it feels like forever since last time he kissed me so I feel myself struggling for air as his soft lips mould on mine.

“I don’t want to see anyone else, sillyhead.” He pecks the tip of my nose. “I just want you now.”

My pupils dilate and I give him the look. I want him too.

“Are you going to come look for me every time you get horny now?”

He smirks before he slowly nods.

“Get used to it.” He whispers.

He’s turning me on like a teenager and he hasn’t even touched me. His lips press slowly but firmly against my cheek before he moves to my ear. I can feel his smile against my skin.

“It was your decision, love.” His hand wraps around my hip and he squeezes. “Now face the consequences.”

His mouth descends down my neck and his warm breath covers my hot skin in goose bumps. I want him to lift me up and fuck me against his car but he’s barely touching me, only breathing out against my skin and driving me crazy. My pulse accelerates and my skin reacts to his touch with a thin layer of sweat.

“Do you want me to touch you?” He whispers against my neck.

Fuck, yes; but I can’t speak. My mouth is dry and he knows what I want. He can read my body. He takes the hair tie from my ponytail and buries his nose on my hair, inhaling my scent and granting me his.

“Do you want me to touch you or not?”

I bet he can hear my heartbeat but he still loves to hear me begging for him. Well, I won’t.

HARRY’S POV

I try not to lose all ability of logical thinking as I look into her eyes. I know she won’t give me the Blue I’m trying to get, the one who tells me what she wants and the one who had me wrapped around her fingers just a few days ago… But the sun is setting and the clouds are turning pink and the light is hitting her face and she looks so beautiful… She smiles and my heart tightens.

She bites her bottom lip and moves her hips against mine. Fuck… She knows what she’s doing. Her hand rests on my shoulder as she keeps moving her hips discreetly against mine, it’s barely a friction because we’re still in public and she’s somehow still aware but it’s driving me crazy. My hand tightens on her hip but I don’t stop her movement.

Shit, it’s crazy how something so innocent can be turning me on like this. Sexually, I’ve done a lot of things but no one has ever looked into my eyes like this and no one has ever smiled like this and no one has ever squeezed my heart this way…

But it’s not just now, it’s every time. The way Blue moves is just intoxicating. She moves slowly and she sways and she’s so fucking sexy in everything she does. With her other hand she places her bag behind her back and then buries her fingers on my hair. My eyes shut.

“Don’t stop.”

She smiles.

“Why?”

She pulls from my hair and lifts the leg that’s closer to the tree next to my car so no one can see her even though there’s barely any car left and she wraps her leg around mine so the part of me that’s throbbing for her can feel her closer.

“Fuck, Blue.” I pull from the back of her neck with my fingers to bring her mouth to mine. “I’m so hard, baby.”

She giggles naughtily against my lips before she bites down on my bottom lip and kisses me. I move my hand from her hip to her ass and squeeze her perfect flesh. She’s driving me crazy.

“You’re so sexy” I whisper against her mouth “driving me fucking crazy… Doing this… Only to me…”

My hard on throbs at my own words and she fucking gasps. I don’t want to be possessive, I’ve never been and I’m not going to start being it now; but knowing I’m the only one who gets to have this… It’s just driving me wild.

I can’t take it anymore so I get my hand on her groin and caress her through her tights under her skirt. She moans on my mouth before she calls me out.

“There’s no one around.” I whisper. “And this is what you get for turning me on like that.”

She throws her head back and her eyes roll to the back of her head. I suck on the skin of her neck and move her to the side so we’re under the tree and her body is against the driver’s door. I look around. There’s no one and even if there was, they couldn’t see us.

I slip my hand under her tights and knickers and hiss when her wetness touch my fingertips. Fucking hell.

“You really liked doing that to me, didn’t you?” I lick her skin. “You love what you do to me.”

Her nails sink on my shoulders and I know that’s a sing for me to go on. She loves when I talk dirty to her and when I touch her. She loves it as much as I love it and that’s why for us not to be together doesn’t make any sense.

I bury my fingers inside her and she moans letting me know how much she likes it and I bump my fingers in and out of her, imagining the sounds her fluids make. She pulls her body even closer to mine and sucks on my neck as she begins grinding her hips against my hand, helping me pleasure herself. Fucking shit. I feel her thighs tensing up next to my hand and her gasping becomes faster and more erratic.

“Are you going to cum?”

She half moans half gasps a yes and I encourage her. She bites the skin on the side of my neck and my dick throbs in my pants, trying to burst the zipper and set free. I feel her body weight falling over me as she lets go and I hold her tight. When she looks at me she’s flushed, happy and gorgeous.

I reluctantly take my hand out of her knickers and suck my fingers inside my mouth and she grins. As if nothing happened, she buries her ten fingers on my hair and gets on her tippy toes to kiss me like an innocent princess. I almost laugh at her but gladly accept her kiss.

“Open the car.” She whispers.

My pulse accelerates and I feel like a nervous teenager as I search for my keys on my pocket. It’s hard to reach inside my pocket when my dick looks like a tent. I open the car and she moves aside and opens the driver’s door, pushing me inside so I sit down. Then she leans in to my groin and I think I’m dying when she pulls the seat backwards so there’s room for her to straddle me. I grin at this new naughty Blue.

“I think you’re the person that makes me cum faster in the world.” She giggles.

“So there are more people making you cum?” I feign annoyance but she gets me and laughs.

“No” she pecks my lips “there’s no one else.”

I grin like a kid against her mouth.

“Show me.” I plead. “Show me I’m the only one.”

She grins as she takes her tights off and then her hungry hands get my zipper down and my pants and boxers down my legs. She hums as if she just had a bite of a cake looking down at my arousal that’s for her and I smile. Warm hands caress up my chest until they slip down my jacket and take it off. Then she unbuttons my shirt as she slowly grins her hips against me. I stop her movement with my hands on her hips and her hazel eyes give me a confused look.

“I’m gonna cum if you don’t stop that.” I explain.

She grins and then I lift her hips up and sink her down so I’m inside her. We both groan like the desperate animals we are. In the car, I feel her closer, heavier, more mine than ever. I don’t know why. I don’t know whether it is the trust, the animalistic side of her who didn’t care we weren’t in a house, or the fact that her scent is gathered on a smaller space but I’m not gonna last long.

I fill her up fully once and again and even if it’s just for these minutes she’s mine. I hiss. I won’t take it much longer. She covers my mouth in kisses and helps my movement grinding her delicious hips against mine and I keep moving her body up and down.

“You’re so deep.”

“Yeah.” I gasp.

“I love it.”

One of her hands tangle on my hair and the other gets stuck to the back of my neck with a mix of both our sweats. She’s so sexy… With this energy and this wild side and this earn she has for me… I love the way we connect. I love her on top of me.

“Fuck, Blue.” I groan. “I-”

“I’m so close.” She cuts me off. “Don’t stop.”

I groan against her mouth as her fingers on my hair pull a little more aggressively and I know she’s really close. I love the sting and I- I thrust my hips harder inside her so she jumps a little on top of me and her moans turn louder. I want to see it.

My eyes set on her and I watch the way her body tenses up as the tension gathers on the lowest part of my belly. I’m going to burst soon too. She pulls from my hair as her body trembles on top of mine and I hold her tight and close as I unload inside her.

She rests her forehead against mine and we both catch our breaths, feeling each other’s on our faces.

“Fuck.” She giggles as she climbs off me and into the passenger’s seat.

“Yeah” I chuckle “fuck.”

“I love that suit.” She grins.

“I’ll remember that.”

BLUE’S POV

As Harry drives to my house, his hand moves from the gear to my knee and back to the gear. His green eyes search for me and he gives me a grin in every red light too and even though I’ve just fucked him, I want to lean over the gear and kiss his lips all the time. I don’t know what’s gotten inside me. It must be the suit.

Fast, but not fast enough, he pulls over at my house and I unfasten my seatbelt and wait for him to do the same. But he doesn’t.

I look into his eyes and only then he realizes I was waiting for him.

“I’m not staying.”

“Oh.” Mate, this is embarrassing.

I feel my cheeks and neck heating up and my eyes look anywhere but him. I’ll confess I would have liked him to stay but I need to stop this. Friends with benefits don’t usually spend the night and I can’t get used to it. This is probably for the best.

“I have to be in Dagal very early tomorrow and-”

“That’s okay.” I cut him short because an excuse only makes it more embarrassing. “You don’t have to give me any explanations.”

I hurry up and open the passenger’s door but Harry’s fingers wrap around my wrist and stop me. I look up into his eyes.

“What are you doing?”

“Giving you a goodnight kiss.”

He leans in and captures my lips with his in a sweet, almost couple-like kiss and I hurry up outside on his car as fast as I can.

When I make it inside my house, I make my way straight to my room and leave everything on my bed before I walk in the bathroom. I don’t know why it made me feel so blue that he didn’t stay. It’s probably not normal for friends with benefits to sleep together, like actually sleep, anyway; but he spoiled me to the point where I’m used to his cuddles to sleep. I should be thankful though. He did me a favour. That’s not what this is and he’s just making it clear for me and that’s good, that’s noble.

My phone screen is on when I walk inside my room.

Harry: Open up.

I frown but make my way down the stairs and open the door. His green eyes look into mine from behind his eyelashes and I give him a questioning look but instead of explaining himself he walks inside and closes the door behind him, holding my hand and climbing up the stairs. I watch him, stunned, while he takes his suit off and gets inside my bed in his boxers.

His green eyes don’t leave me while I take off my clothes and put my pyjamas on. I don’t understand. Wasn’t he leaving? Didn’t he have to go to Dagal very early? Why did he change his mind? Did I really look that pathetic?

I get in the bed silently and turn my body to the side to turn off the light and I feel Harry’s hand on my waist pulling me to him. He melts me in one of his warm hugs and my body relaxes despite my busy mind.

I wait very still until I feel him relaxed and then I try to get my phone from the beside table but for that I need to move a little away from him.

“No.” He murmurs behind me. “Don’t pull away.”

“I’m just going to get my phone.”

“Why? Go to sleep, baby, it’s late.”

“Didn’t you have to be in Dagal very early tomorrow?”

“Yes, don’t remind me.” He growls.

“Then what are you doing here?”

“I like cuddling you in bed.”

His words leave me speechless. I feel my heart beating faster and more powerfully as if all of a sudden it carried more blood.

“Why are you doing this?”

“What?” He yawns.

“Why do you treat me like this?”

“How?”

“Well.”

His face searches for mine and I can see him frowning.

“Would you rather I treated you bad?”

“No.” I frown. I love the way he treats me. “It’s just… I mean… All this.”

I move my hand over us, trying to point at how tight he’s holding me. Harry studies me carefully and his eyes, green and intense, end up making me nervous. He finally puts an end to my agony with a careless shrug.

“I like holding you.” He rests his head on the crook of my neck. “I don’t know, it’s like I feel this… urge to protect you.”

“To protect me?”

“Yeah.” He yawns again. “I guess you’re just tender to me.”

“Tender?” I scandalize. “But I’m cold as a floe!”

“Well, yeah, sometimes you are.” He agrees next to me. “But most of the time you aren’t, Blue. You’re a very kind, sweet person and deep down you’re actually quite sensitive. You try very hard to act like you’re not but I know better now.”

“I don’t know what you’re coming on about but I’m not some soft girl who needs a knight.”

“I haven’t said that. I don’t think you need me at all, you don’t need anyone. You’re strong and independent. I’m just saying it’s easy to care for you, as much as you fight it.”

It’s like a slap on the cheek. I feel pathetic for every time I’ve told him he didn’t know me at all. He knows me way better than I give him credit for but this thing… This caring for me… Where is he going with this?

I turn around to face him and find him with his eyes shut. He looks tired and he said he had to wake up very early but I need to know now.

“Harry..”

“Yeah?”

“Do you sleep more than once with the other girls?”

His eyes opened and burn mine.

“What other girls?”

“You know, the ones before...” I shrug.

“Yes, sometimes yes.”

“And did they spend the night?”

He shakes his head.

“I never fucked them in my bed either. Only you can get in there.”

He’s very serious, as if smiling would somehow make it less true. I don’t know why but I also think it would. His eyes shut again.

“Why?”

“You said it yourself.” He shrugs, fighting with his eyelids to keep his eyes open. “You’re not like them.”

I nod. So that’s it? Just because I don’t look like them and I’m younger and not so slender I get a different treatment? I turn back around so my back is against his chest and close my eyes trying to go to sleep.

“I also only go to sleep with you.” He pecks my shoulder.

My eyes widen. I just got it. This is not just sex. He likes me. Harry likes me.

And judging by the way my heart’s pounding, I like him too.

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panda-noosh · 5 years

Text

Change of Plans {Keith x Reader}{The Rockstar Series}

The Rockstar Series: a series of fics documenting rockstar!Voltron falling in love.

Words: 11.4k

Summary: Now that Keith Kogane is a rockstar, it’s become very difficult to decipher whether someone likes him for him, or for his money. So, he’s decided to just stay as far away from love as possible.

Genre: mild angst, fluff

Notes: masterlist - support my writing or ask me about commissions! - I HAVE ONE PART LEFT OF THE ROCKSTAR SERIES WTF

---

Keith Kogane does not care about relationships. He promises.

They're pointless. He has a whole career to concentrate on, meaning he has zero time for anything besides his music. He has zero time for anyone else besides the fans and his band mates.

That's the bottom line.

This is what Keith tells interviewers. It's what he tells fans when they ask him if he's single. It's what he tells his mother when she asks him when she's going to get some grand-kids.

In reality, there's a deeper reasoning behind Keith's slight hostility towards the topic of love.

Being a rock star isn't as easy as some people make it out to be. Sure, he's living the dream, and he wouldn't trade it for anything, but there's a level to it that not many people see. They don't like to dwell on this particular level, because it dims the seemingly perfect life that apparently comes with being a rock star.

This level includes not knowing who loves you, and who just wants you for the fame and money.

Contrary to what the public think, Keith Kogane has been in a few relationships during his time in the spotlight. Of course he has. He's a growing boy, experiencing new things, learning from mistakes – some of his mistakes just happen to contain other people, people whom he trusted before finding out they'd maxed out his credit card, or got mad at him for not putting their relationship on Instagram yet.

Yes. Keith Kogane has trusted a few people in his life, but no longer.

He made the promise a few years back, when his music career was reaching a new peak. Whilst his band mates were busy getting into relationships, somehow managing to find people who actually like them, Keith sheltered himself from that side of things as best he could. It wasn't worth the heartbreak. It wasn't worth the anxiety, either, which is the main reason Keith has decided to dedicate his life entirely to the music.

“I'm married to my bass,” he tells Pidge. It's early morning, and Pidge has just crept into Keith's hotel room due to her boredom. She flops down on the sofa in the corner, watching Keith ruffle up the back of his hair to get his go-to look.

“Right, well, that's just sad sounding,” she replies. “Matt has this friend who I think would suit you perfectly.”

“I'm not interested.”

“Why not?” Keith opens his mouth to reply, but Pidge raises a finger to silence him. “And don't tell me you're married to your bass. It's a bad way to hide your loneliness.”

Keith rolls his eyes. “I'm not lonely. Why don't you understand that not everyone wants a significant other? Before you met your partner, you didn't even mention getting into a relationship.”

“Yeah, but then I fell in love. It's difficult to ignore a socially anxious bartender, Keith.”

Keith scoffs.

Pidge sighs, letting her arm flop over the edge of the sofa. “I just don't want you to be on your own, man. You're a good guy.”

“Thanks.”

“You've just got trust issues.”

“No, I do not.”

“Yes, you do. How else would you explain this isolation you've got going on?”

Keith frowns. It doesn't matter how many times he explains to Pidge he's not isolating himself – the girl will never understand. She's been in a relationship for nearly two years now, and to everyone's surprise, she's certainly head over heels. Pidge was once one of those people who Keith thought he would have by his side forever, joined in harmony by their lack of love lives and their lack of caring.

But alas, that is not meant to be. Keith can put up with it.

So why can't Pidge put up with his decision?

“Can we drop this conversation?” Keith asks. “I'll find someone when I find someone.” Yeah, right. “Besides, I'm perfectly happy being on my own.”

Pidge frowns. She doesn't believe him, but Keith doesn't care. He stands up from his chair and heads towards the snack table, picking up his black bass on the way. Behind him, he can feel Pidge's eyes burning holes into the back of his head, but it doesn't matter – he's made his point, and he plans to stick by it.

He isn't going to get himself hurt. Not if he can help it.

----

Apparently, Smokey Saturdays is a big deal.

You'd heard of them before, of course. The new rising rock group with the millions of fans, and the members who broke hearts. Lance McClain is their front-man, from what you've read. They're on tour for half the year. They perform in sold out venues, and have paparazzi snapping pictures of them from behind bushes when all they want to do is go out to eat.

And apparently, you're their new bus driver.

It's an embarrassing comparison, you have to admit, but you have to pay the bills somehow. You're broke, you've got a drivers licence and an abundance of free time – so why not? When you applied for the job, you didn't think you would actually get it – and yet here you are now, standing in front of a massive black bus with the words 'SMOKEY SATURDAYS' written in red down the side of it. Plastered amongst the red lettering is a picture of the four members, an action shot that captures the sweat-soaked, good looking faces of each of them.

You have to bite your tongue to disguise your laugh.

“They might decide to stay in the hotel rooms,” Bruce, the owner of the bus, explains as he waves his massive hand across the exterior of the vehicle. “But there's beds in there for them, the fridge is kept full, there's a lounge area. The whole heap.”

You nod. “Right.”

“You can just stay up the front. Your job is to get them from point A to point B in time for their shows – not difficult to understand, is it?”

“It is not.”

“So do you understand what you have to do?”

He's talking to you like you're five years old. You're too busy staring at the faces of Smokey Saturdays to call him out on it. So, you slowly nod, hoping that is a sufficient enough answer for him to understand that he does not need to explain this job to a person who has been doing it for nearly a year and a half now.

Bruce smiles, gives you a cheery thumbs up before he wades off in the opposite direction, leaving you alone with his so-called pride and joy – his tour bus.

You step inside. It's not like you have a particular fondness for vehicles – you certainly don't. Most of the time, you can't even tell one car brand from the other, let alone admire them for anything other than surface level stuff. You can appreciate a nice bonnet, can comment on how nice a cars wheels are, but that's about as deep as your love for vehicles really goes.

You honestly just needed the money, and this job showed up on Indeed.com, and you applied for it. They saw you had a drivers licence and seemed to think you were a suitable candidate for the job, and here you are a year and a half later, parading one of the worlds biggest rock bands around the country.

The interior of the bus is leather – already off to a bad start.

Behind the drivers bay is an entire house. That's really what it looks like; bunk beds, sofas, a toilet in the back, a tiny little kitchen area that is blocked off only with an old shower curtain that's on the verge of falling off. There's cups hung up on the wall, and you make a mental note to go over every single pot hole you come across, just to see if the cups hold.

And placed on the coffee table that is nailed into the floor is a Smokey Saturdays poster.

You walk over and pick it up. The poster is the four of them lounging around a music studio, Lance holding a microphone with his hair spiked up, Hunk leaning against a drum kit, Pidge lounging across a sofa with a bass pressed against her knees.

And then there's Keith, leaning against the door in the background with his head down and his bass leaning against his long, slim legs that are hidden beneath a pair of too-tight black skinny jeans. There's a rip in the knee, revealing a bit of pale skin. His black hair is falling in his eyes with the way his head is down, and you wonder if he still has a mullet.

Keith is attractive, you will fully admit.

You've never been the type to latch on to the boy-band-type. You like a celebrity more for their music than anything else, but you would be a liar or a fool to claim that Keith Kogane does not have a side of good looks to him. Though you don't know too much about him, you've seen the posters. You've seen the album covers. You've seen the screenshots taken from interviews, where he's casually gazing at the floor, tapping at his leg, lounging against the chair as Lance and Hunk and Pidge take the reigns; he's just got that casual aura about him, and adding that to the black clothes and the cheeky little smirk he wears when he gets a compliment – god, he knows how to make his audience go insane.

Not like you're part of his audience. You're just his fucking bus driver.

You head back to the drivers bay and sit down. Pulling the keys from your pocket, you set them on the dashboard before finally turning to the radio. There's an array of buttons, all of which you know the meaning of – but you immediately go for the radio. Of course, Bruce – being the kiss-up he is – has already put the Smokey Saturdays album inside, meaning it is Lance's voice that immediately blasts from the speakers.

You don't even bother turning it down. If Bruce was telling the truth, then Smokey Saturdays won't even be out of their photoshoot for another twenty minutes, meaning you have a glorious amount of time to just lean back and enjoy the ambience of your new travel-buddy.

You lean your head back against the leather seat, listening to Lance's melodic voice. Even though he's the front-man, you can't help but zone in on the bass guitar in the background, Pidge and Keith working in perfect sync, as they always seem to do. Hunk's drums pull the whole thing together.

They're actually quite good.

It doesn't take long for you to find yourself nodding along to the beat, letting the album play on Shuffle so you can get a taste for each of their songs. Though they call themselves a rock group – and there's definitely a rock element to each song – there's a wide range of emotions that hit you all at once. There's sad songs, slow songs, fast paced songs, songs that sound more electric than anything else.

It's quite a journey.

The fifth song is playing when someone clears their throat beside you.

Your eyes snap open. Your body lurches, fingers immediately slamming into the radios OFF button.

You spin round, and are met by those weird violet eyes that every teenage girl across the UK seems to be obsessed with.

Keith Kogane can not look any less rock star right now.

He's stood in the door of the bus, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck. His eyes are downcast, though he flicks them up every now and then before looking away when he so much as makes a second of eye contact with you. His ankles are crossed, his shoulder pressed into the door frame, and his mullet is real.

His. Mullet. Is. Real.

“Hi,” you say. Your voice sounds flat. Good. Make him think you don't give a fuck, even though he's just caught you jamming out to one of his songs.

He smiles awkwardly, without teeth. “Hi.”

“I didn't expect you to be here for another twenty minutes.”

“Yeah. The others are getting their make up off.”

“Oh right.”

Keith gestures vaguely to his face. “I – uh – just kept mine on. I need a nap.”

You nod. Are you supposed to say something to that? Does he perhaps want you to give him the Grand Tour of the tour bus?

You stand up and gesture vaguely. “Well, go crazy.”

Keith nods. You two seem to be doing a lot of nodding. It's the only way you can communicate without thinking you're somehow messing up.

He stares at you for a second longer before shrugging and heading towards the bunk beds. Over his shoulder is a single rucksack, and you have the sudden urge to ask him how he's going to survive for the next five months with nothing but a small rucksack worth of belongings.

Then you watch him shrug his leather jacket off and get into bed wearing jeans and a t-shirt, and you think that maybe the answer isn't as difficult as you might have originally thought.

You hollow out your cheeks once he's pulled the curtain over his bed and disappeared from view – great. Your first day on the job and already you've embarrassed yourself. In front of Keith Kogane, to make matters worse. The nations god damn sweetheart.

You slump back in the drivers seat and grumble under your breath. He didn't even seem that nice. He just looked weirded out. Maybe he was just tired.

Or maybe he's an asshole.

You really, really don't want to be dealing with an asshole for the next five months.

-----

Keith is running late.

Yet again.

He tries to keep his schedule clear and concise, but he has learned that is impossible when you live the life that he does; nothing ever goes to plan, and that's something he needed to learn sooner rather than later.

He'd woken up a few minutes late, but god, did Lance really have to start screaming in his ear because of a tiny bit of oversleeping? Now, Keith struggles to shrug his leather jacket on with one hand, the other busy running through his mullet in his attempts to flatten it down, because there's no way in hell he's going to get time for the bathroom this morning.

“We're already here!” Lance yells through the bus. “Y/N, location!”

Keith frowns. Y/N?

“Canduke Studios!” a voice yells back. A voice Keith vaguely recognises.

He straps his belt buckle into place, snatches his bass guitar up and darts to the front of the bus, where his band mates are already lined up waiting for him.

“Took you long enough,” says Lance. “We've got an interview today, then sound check, then the show and then the meet-and-greet at the end.”

Keith nods, too busy fiddling with the straps of his guitar case to really pay much attention to whatever shit Lance is spewing this time – he goes over the schedule before every single show, as if that schedule has a chance of ever staying the same. Something will show up and change it completely. Keith just knows it.

The four of them march out of the bus and are immediately met by the screams of fans who have no doubt been waiting outside the studio for days. Word was going round on Twitter a few nights prior, and there was no doubt in Keith's mind that the dedicated people currently calling his name have suffered through the bad London weather and camped out just for him.

He feels a little bit guilty, considering the only thing he can really do to thank them is put on a great show and wave as he walks past.

One of the girls makes a grab for his leather jacket. Keith smiles at her, even as fear bubbles in his veins. A security guard magically appears at the side of him and swats the girl away, and Keith is forced to listen as she wails his name.

“It's a bit hectic out here today, isn't it?” Hunk asks, leaning close. Hunk always gets a little panicked in public situations – Keith loops his arm through his friends and tugs him close.

“It's okay.”

“You sure?” Hunk glances over his shoulder. “They look dangerous. Those barriers don't look like they're gonna hold.”

Keith follows Hunk's gaze and immediately winces, because the bigger man is right. Behind him, the girls are knocking at the metal barriers, arguing with security and police alike, looking like they're really not going to take 'no' for an answer this time. One of the girls catches Keith and Hunk looking back at her and immediately throws herself into the outstretched arms of a police officer, screaming their names.

Keith tugs Hunk a little harder. “It'll be fine.”

They enter the studio and are led down the hall to the room in which they'll be doing the interview. The interviewer is a tall man called Donny who has a thick Yorkshire accent; Keith decides then and there that he won't be participating too much in this interview, considering he has to stop and ask Donny to repeat himself every two seconds; Lance is the best with accents, so he'll leave him to it.

Keith sits down, puts his bass guitar behind him and digs inside his pockets. Hunk, Pidge and Lance go off to get their make-up done, but Keith's make up takes about two minutes, so there's no rush. He can calm down, cool off from the hectic morning he's already been subject to. He hates being woken up by Lance's overreactions, but it seems to be a more and more common occurrence recently. Keith can hardly blame the guy, of course – Lance was the one who set this whole thing up in the first place. He just wants the band to get bigger, and he doesn't want Keith oversleeping getting in the way of that.

Nonetheless, it's a bit annoying.

Keith searches for his phone in the pockets of his leather jacket. He finds his keys, a packet of gum, a picture of his dad and his dog Kosmo. He even finds a piece of string he'd tied around Pidge's finger once to see how long it would take till the lack of blood flow made her finger numb.

But no phone.

He groans. “Hey, Pidge?”

“Hm?” she calls back, lips clamped shut as the make-up artist applies some black lipstick.

“Did you see me lift my phone off the charger this morning?”

“Mate, I didn't see anything this morning. You think you're the only one Lance harassed?”

Keith sighs and stands up – alright then. This is fine. Just because nothing has gone quite to plan this morning, does not mean the rest of his day is being set up for disaster. He just needs to keep a positive attitude and take it one step at a time.

The first step, however, is him retrieving his phone from the bus.

He doesn't even ask his manager if he can leave. He just walks back down the halls of the studio, ignoring the awestruck glances of the people working around him, and strolls right out the front doors.

Sometimes Keith forgets he's a worldwide known musician.

The fans immediately start screaming, startling him out of whatever daze his lack of sleep and lack of positivity had driven him into. He jumps, looks up just in time to see the police basically crumble to the ground as the fans dart towards Keith in a frenzy.

It's a fucking mob if Keith has ever seen one.

His first reaction is just instinct – he runs. He runs and he runs and he's dodging hands and trying to remain so, so polite but holy shit someone's just tried to grab his hair, and holy shit they're going to trample each other, and holy shit he was so stupid for thinking this was a good idea.

He didn't even think.

He heads directly towards the bus, ignoring the fans screams. He loves his fans – he really does – but he doesn't love crowds. He doesn't love frenzies. He doesn't love the risk of being crushed beneath a bunch of people who love him so much that they're willing to risk everything just to get close to him.

He stampedes up the steps of the bus, hits the OPEN button and throws himself inside.

“CLOSE THE FUCKING DOORS!” he wails.

Your head shoots up, but you listen nonetheless. Keith has to give you props on your quick reflexes.

The doors slam shut just seconds before the fans ram into the glass.

He pulls the privacy curtain over and falls to the floor, trying to catch his breath before he passes out.

“Alright then.” You slowly stand up. “Should I – like – call the police or something?”

Keith waves a dismissive hand. “They'll tire themselves out.”

“Right.”

He looks up from the ground, trying for a smile, but he's certain he just looks scared. Your eyebrows shoot up – that's enough confirmation for Keith. He sighs and slumps back against the wall, running his hands through his hair.

“Sorry,” he says, but he isn't sure why.

You nod. Keith remembers you did that a lot yesterday.

“Do you mind if I stay in here for a little while?”

You gesture towards the lounge. “Make yourself at home. Mi casa es tu casa.”

“Right. Uh. Gracias.” Keith pushes himself from the ground and flops onto a sofa instead. You continue staring at him, hovering awkwardly in the drivers bay. He kind of wants to ask you to mind your business, but then he remembers that you've just played a big part in the reason he isn't currently crushed beneath the weight of about fifty people, so he bites his tongue.

Instead, he says, “So you just stay in this bus all day and wait for us to finish?”

“Something like that,” you reply. “It's all good, though. I read a lot.”

“Oh.”

You clear your throat. “And I – uh – listen to the radio sometimes, too.”

Keith nods, picking at a loose thread on the pillow beside him. “Yeah, I heard that yesterday. You were listening to our second album.”

“Was I?”

“I think so.” He points at his head. “They get muddled up sometimes.”

“I'm sure that's a sign of dementia.”

Keith's lip twitches. “Fuck, I hope not.”

It goes silent. It's kind of awkward. Keith shifts on the sofa, bites his lower lip, looks at the floor because what else is someone supposed to do when they're stuck on a tour bus with an absolute stranger? What kind of things are you even meant to talk about in this situation?

You lean against the drivers bay and narrow your eyes. “Are you not gonna get in a shit ton of trouble if you don't get to your interview?”

Keith shrugs. “They'll put my safety first, I think.”

“You don't sound so sure.”

“No, no. Pidge and Hunk will definitely put my safety first – Lance might try and stab me when he gets back, but he'll come round eventually.” Keith pauses. “Hopefully.”

You slowly walk into the lounge. Keith stiffens on the sofa, suddenly afraid of you sitting beside him, but you instead take a seat across from him. He admires the way you so casually lounge against the cushions, propping your head on your hand, looking at him like he's a person and not just a rock star.

“How long is it gonna take for that crowd to clear out?”

Keith frowns. “It usually takes about. . . ten minutes, fifteen minutes. Depends how many police are on the scene.”

You glance over your shoulder. “Depends on how many police are left. I'm pretty sure poor Officer Baldy's broken his leg.”

Keith winces, and before he can think better of it, he leans over and yanks at your hand, tugging you away from the window. You slump back against the sofa, an amused grin now forming on your face.

Keith groans. “Don't do that.”

“I was just having a look. They don't care about me.”

“They'll get your picture, and then it's over for all of us.”

“Oh, yes. Scandalous. Who would have thought that Smokey Saturday's bus driver would be in the tour bus! I wonder what they've been doing this whole time!”

Keith gives you a blank look. “Ha.”

You grin. “So we're just gonna stay in here until the police come and get you?”

“Pretty much.”

“Awfully boring.”

“Better than getting trampled.”

You pause.

Keith raises a brow.

You roll your eyes. “Okay, I guess so.”

“You're not one of them teenagers who love the idea of death, are you?”

You guffaw, placing a clawed hand over your heart. “First of all, I'm an adult. Second, there's nothing wrong with being prepared for death. It's when you wish it upon yourself that it becomes an issue.”

“Was that meant to be philosophical?”

“I took psychology in university.”

Keith raises a brow. “And now you're a bus driver.”

You shrug. “Gotta pay the bills somehow.”

There's a little sad note to your voice when you say this, and Keith doesn't want to dwell on it, because he barely even knows who you are, but huh. It makes him feel something. He looks at you, and he genuinely thinks he kind of wants the best for you – just because you've shown him this ounce of normalcy for a few minutes.

He pulls his feet up onto the sofa, swinging one arm behind his head. “Did you want to do something with psychology, then?”

You start, clearly not expecting Keith to dwell further on the fun little fact you'd thrown into the conversation earlier. However, Keith feels like it would be a disservice to let this opportunity go to waste – the opportunity to get to know you a little better.

“I guess,” you reply. “I mean, I left university not even knowing what I wanted to do, so I don't really know. I think I just wanted to – like – survive.”

Keith nods. “A good goal to have.”

“I definitely didn't want to be a bus driver.”

He glances at you. “Do you not like your job?”

You shrug. “It's meh.”

Keith doesn't really understand that. His job isn't meh. He's never had a meh job before, because he's been blessed with the life he's always dreamed of. Nonetheless, he's seen people like you before, people who take what they can get. They settle for the bare minimum for the rest of their lives, not even taking into consideration that perhaps there's something better for them out there, something more.

Keith would have been one of those people if Lance hadn't dragged him into his makeshift band when he was only seventeen years old. Keith would have been rotting away in some rickety old house, just Kosmo there to keep him company.

But no. Keith is living his dreams, travelling the world, performing on stage every single night with three of his four best friends.

He smiles.

A pillow hits him in the face.

Keith yelps, throwing the pillow down to glare daggers in your direction.

You blink. “You were smiling at nothing.”

“Did you really have to do that?”

“I thought you were having a stroke, Keith.”

He narrows his eyes. “So you threw a pillow at me?”

You raise your hands in mock surrender. “I took psychology, not medicine.” There's a pause, and then, “When are you performing?”

“The show starts at eight,” Keith replies. He glances at the clock hung on the wall, immediately winces when he sees what time it is; the interview would have definitely started by now, meaning Lance is probably sitting there with that awkward, strained smile on his face, trying not to completely lose his head over the fact that Keith is nowhere to be seen.

Already Keith can picture the scolding he's going to get when his other band mates get back. There's going to be very little mercy shown tonight.

“You're doing it again.”

Keith's eyes snap up. “What?”

“That thing.” You gesture to Keith's face. “You're zoning out again.”

“Sorry.”

“It's not a bad thing. I just – you know. . . There's two of us in here. It would be nice if you could share your thoughts so I'm not left thinking you're going to kill me.”

Keith knows he should laugh – that was a joke. Definitely a joke, but Keith can't bring himself to feel anything other than pure disappointment. Disappointment towards himself, because he promised himself he would put his career first, and yet here he is, letting his fans down again.

He hates when his thoughts get like this. In the back of his mind, he knows he's not the one to blame. He can hardly help it if there's a dangerously large swarm of people outside the tour bus. He can hardly help the fact that he won't be able to move without the risk of getting trampled.

But still. He doesn't want to make the fans sad. He should be sat in that studio now, talking about his celebrity crushes and his plans for the next album – not sat here with a stranger.

You shift, and suddenly you're sat beside him. You keep your distance, though you lean forward in your attempts to catch his eye. Keith bites his lip and looks away; he doesn't know how good your analysis of other people is. He doesn't want to run the risk of you seeing his guilt.

“You feel guilty.”

Keith silently curses.

“Hey, that's not cool,” you continue, shifting a little bit closer to him. “None of this is your fault, dude.”

“I know that,” Keith grumbles, because lying is so much easier than sounding like a complete wimp.

And maybe its your psychology degree that makes you so good at picking up on deceit, but you don't let the subject drop as easily as Keith would like. “I'm not just saying that to – like – get in your pants or anything. I'm not like that.”

Keith's eyes widen. “I never said-”

“I mean, I know you're a big rock star and you have the nice hair, and you dress in all black, but I'm being serious when I say none of this is your fault. You can't help that them fans went batshit crazy.”

“Lance isn't gonna see it like that.”

“Lance can suck a dick.” Your eyes widen. Even Keith swings round, an amused grin bursting to the surface before he can even fully comprehend it.

You shake your head. “Please don't tell him or Bruce I said that.”

Keith snickers. “I won't.”

“You know what I'm trying to say though, right?”

Keith pauses. “You were trying to be comforting, weren't you?”

“I tried my very best.”

“Well, it worked.” Keith shrugs. “A little, I guess.”

You grin. “Good. Now, how about we play a game of Monopoly whilst we wait for the police to get their shit together?”

----

Keith is surprisingly good at Monopoly.

He's also surprisingly competitive.

He sits on the other side of the coffee table, legs folded beneath him, his head in his hands as he gazes out over the tiny plastic empire he's been building for the past ten minutes. His lower lip is raw from the abuse his teeth have given it. You're fairly certain you can see steam rising from the top of his head.

“I don't want to sell my property,” he mumbles.

“It's an important move to make.”

“I know. I know that. It's just . . . . god, that's 50k per turn that I'm losing. I don't know if I can afford that.”

You slap your hand against the table. “What the fuck do you mean? Your bank account is bloody thriving right now! You have six other properties!”

“But this is my best one!” Keith raises a hand. “You know what, you're just trying to distract me. Shut up and let me decide-”

“No. No, you're taking far too long, and it isn't fair. Give me the dice.”

Keith's eyes shoot up. He snatches the die from the middle of the table and presses it into his chest. “You're not allowed your go until I've made up my mind.”

“Then make up your mind!”

“Don't fucking rush me!”

“Keith Kogane, I swear to god, I have properties to look after as well, and I'm three steps away from Go, so if you-”

“Do you think real estate is a joke?”

You flip the Monopoly board.

Keith cries out as the pieces slap him in the face and crumble in his lap. Paper money litters the tour bus floor. The Chest cards disappear beneath the nailed down sofas.

You stand up, trailing your hands through your hair. “I had to. I had to. You gave me no choice.”

Keith raises his hands above his head, his jaw open. He can't break his eyes away from the wreckage of his plastic village. “Y/N...”

“You gave me no choice!” you exclaim, desperate to defend yourself. “I had properties to care for as well, Keith, and you were fully prepared to sit there and make me watch them crash and burn!”

Keith stood up. “You're a murderer. An actual murderer.”

You scoff, folding your arms over your chest. “Give me a break.”

“Another round,” he demands. “I want another round right now. I want my houses back.”

“You're not getting your houses back. I'm not playing another round with you.”

“Why? Scared I'm gonna take the lead again?”

“No! I'm not scared of anything.”

Keith rolls his eyes. “Then you'll play another round.”

“No. Neither of you are gonna be playing another round.”

And suddenly, you can hear a pin drop.

You know who it is before you've even turned around. You continue to stare at Keith, but his eyes have long since flicked away from you, darting over to the now open door of the bus where Lance and no doubt everyone else stands waiting for you to notice them.

You slowly turn around, flashing Lance a smile that he does not return. Behind him, Hunk and Pidge are awkwardly scratching the back of their necks. You're fairly certain they're trying to blend in with the walls or something, as they are making it exceptionally clear they do not want to be here whilst Lance scolds Keith.

Because he is definitely going to scold Keith, if his face is anything to go by. Furrowed brows, flared nostrils, tanned arms folded over his chest.

“This is what you were doing whilst we were in that studio trying to come up with an excuse as to why you weren't with us?” Lance says. He's keeping his voice quiet, but you can hear the waver in his tone, the way he's trying to keep himself as calm as possible.

“There was a mob,” replies Keith. “Y/N and I thought we might as well play a bit of Monopoly while we wait for the police to sort it out.”

“The police sorted it out fifteen minutes ago, Keith,” Pidge mumbles.

Keith pauses. “What?”

“The mob was controlled fifteen minutes ago,” Lance confirms. “We were waiting for you to come out of the bus and join us, but it looks like you had more important things on your mind.” Lance raises a brow, points between you and Keith. “So how long has this been going on?”

You splutter. “What?”

Keith waves his hand in the air, stepping forward. He pushes Lance back a little bit, and you can just barely make out the amused grin forming on Lance's face at the sight of Keith's suddenly flustered state. “No. No, don't even start. You've got this twisted.”

“Wait.” Lance pops his head around Keith's shoulder. “You two aren't together?”

Hunk snickers. “You seem awfully close.”

“You're acting like a bunch of ten year olds,” Keith growls. “Look, I'm sorry I missed the interview – it was a one-time thing. I swear. But the only thing we can do now is move on, get to sound check and put on the best damn show to kick off the tour. Right?”

“You know I have the bunk above yours, right?” says Lance. “If you two want to get it on, I expect you to go into the hotel to do it.”

Your stomach curls. Quickly, you slip past Keith and his band mates and make your way back to the drivers bay, no longer wanting to be part of this conversation; had the crowd really been controlled fifteen minutes ago? How had neither you nor Keith noticed that?

You slump down in the drivers seat and turn the radio on. The band will be ready to move in a few minutes, so at least you'll have something to keep your mind occupied whilst they're out there teasing Keith over something that honestly isn't worth teasing him about; you two are just friends.

In fact, even the word friends seems like a bit of a stretch. He's a rock star, and you're a bus driver – you are on two separate planets.

You just happened to play a game of Monopoly together to pass the time. Where's the harm in that?

---

“You told me you didn't plan on getting into a relationship.”

“Shut up, Pidge. It's been two weeks.”

“Yeah, two weeks where you and Y/N have barely stopped talking. I've never seen you this chatty with anyone.”

Keith rolls his eyes; his band mates are so immature sometimes. Yes, he loves each of them more than words will ever be able to explain, but there continuous insistence over Keith's love life is starting to get under his skin.

He made a promise, both to himself and to his fans, that he would not be in a relationship any time soon. He doesn't have time for a relationship. He isn't really in the correct mindset for a relationship right now. And yes, he can't deny that you're nice, and your personality clicks with his almost perfectly, and you make him laugh more than anybody has ever done before-

But that's not enough. That doesn't change the fact he's currently on tour. That doesn't change the fact he barely has time for himself, let alone another person.

He plucks at the string of his bass. “You're all a bunch of nosy bastards.”

Pidge pushes herself up onto her knees. She's sat on the sofa across from Keith, the two of them being the only ones currently occupying the hotel room. Hunk and Lance decided to stay on the bus; the longer Keith is stuck in this room with Pidge, the more he's starting to see the sense in their decision.

“Tell me this,” she says.

“No.”

“Do you like this person?”

Keith pauses.

Pidge leans forward. “Well?”

“We get along,” Keith admits. He's treading on thin ice here. He doesn't want these rumours to continue. “We have. . . good conversations.”

“Mm.” Pidge slowly leans back, keeping her eyes firm on Keith. It makes him uncomfortable. “I hope you know you're blushing.”

Keith looks away. “It's hot in here.”

“It really isn't.”

“Can you just drop it?” Keith snaps. “I swear to god if things get awkward between me and Y/N because you lot can't mind your own business-”

“You just cherish their friendship so much-”

“Yes!” The word bursts from him before he can stop it, and he knows exactly what it sounds like, and there's really no coming back from it, but he means it. He really does mean it. It's been two weeks since you and Keith started talking, two weeks of tour, two weeks of him sitting up the front of the bus with you, eating Strawberry Laces straight out of the bag as you and him share stories of times neither of you will ever be able to relate to. He cherishes those moments, after shows when you meet him at the doors of the bus and ask him how it all went, and he wishes wishes wishes he could just ask you to go to the next show so you can see for yourself, but he never invites you because what if it sounds like he's asking you out?

Pidge goes silent. So does Keith, unwilling to take the confession back but even more unwilling to dwell on it.

Pidge clears her throat. “Oh. Right then. Sorry. I didn't mean. . . . You know I love you, right? You're like my brother.”

Keith mutters something under his breath.

“I just want you to be happy, that's all. I get worried when you. . . when you get that attitude, you know? The fuck the world attitude you seem to favour nowadays. You may think it's cool, but it's just worrying sometimes.”

Keith shrugs, slumping further down in his seat. He plucks another low string on his bass guitar, cringes at how out of tune it is.

“But Y/N looks like they make you happy,” she continues. “And I promise, none of us are going to get in the way of that. At least, not on purpose.” She smiles sheepishly. “Who knows? Maybe they like you back.”

Keith groans. “I don't-”

Pidge raises a hand, silencing him. “I wasn't trying to start anything. I'm just saying.”

Keith lets the subject drop after that. He stays curled up on the love seat whilst Pidge crawls into her bed and goes to sleep – she's always been good at falling asleep fast. Though she has a habit of pulling all-nighters, she's definitely not an insomniac.

Keith isn't an insomniac, either. He's just an over-thinker, and that's the only thing that keeps him awake. He lowers the amplifier to it's lowest volume and sits up for another few hours, gazing out the windows because he refuses to close the curtains just yet – he can see the bus parked outside, you no doubt sleeping in one of the bunk beds at the back. Keith hates the fact that's where his mind goes, but he doesn't try fighting it off – it's too late for that. His brain can't handle that kind of denial at this time of night.

So, he lets himself think, and think, and think, until the sun is peeking up over the horizon and suddenly his eight hours of potential sleep has dwindled to three hours, and then two. He finally falls asleep, knowing he's meant to wake up in an hour and a half, but not really minding, because at least he'll get to see you when he finally rises.

-----

“'Keith Kogane talks about staying single in latest interview with Rolling Stones!'” you announce as soon as Keith steps foot into the drivers bay. You've been waiting on him for the past hour and a half, flicking idly through one of the magazines Bruce provided for you in his last care package. Of course, the majority of it includes Smokey Saturday merch and magazines – you once would have complained, but this particular issue of Rolling Stones is one you're quite interested in.

Keith freezes in the door. He's sweating, a fluffy towel draped over his shoulders. He narrows his eyes when he sees you, to which you simply raise a brow and wave a hand, urging him to explain.

He shrugs. “I want to stay single. Where did you get that?” He snatches a Strawberry Lace out of the packet you have opened on the dashboard.

“Bruce sent it to me,” you reply. “That's a bit of a sad headline, isn't it?” You cup your ear. “If you listen closely, you can make out the sound of millions of hearts shattering-”

Keith snatches the magazine out of your hand and slumps down on the seat next to you. “Gimme that.”

“Have you not seen it yet?”

“I don't really make it a priority to read these things any more. They just put me in a bad mood.” He shows you the picture they used for the article; it's Keith leaning against his amplifier, his head down in his usual, mysterious fashion, hair in his face. If you didn't know of him, you wouldn't even know it was Keith in the picture, considering they hardly ever show anything more than his famous black locks draped over his forehead. “Do you see that picture? That was my least favourite picture we took, and they chose it to be the one everyone sees when they open the article.”

“Hunk said he was holding back a sneeze in the picture they used for him.”

Keith scoffs. “Hunk always looks like that. I, on the other hand, have the potential to look good.”

“Well....”

Keith shoots you a glare. You raise your hands in mock surrender.

“Yes, you're right. Fabulous. You look fabulous.” Keith grunts and looks back down at the magazine. Slowly, you lean in. “Is there a particular reason you want to stay single?”

The question is a risky one. Your feelings for Keith have undeniably grown these past few weeks, but you've successfully managed to squash them down into nothing. However, reading that article left you no other choice but to just ask – just ask. Just get the answer from him, and if he says it's true, and he gives you a valid reason for his feelings, then you'll back away. You'll be able to tell yourself there's absolutely no hope and move on before things get even deeper.

Keith chews his tongue. He looks like he's thinking, eyes never leaving the glossy paper. His jaw ticks.

“Has anyone ever used you for your money?”

You flinch back. That certainly wasn't the response you'd been expecting. “Uh....”

“Not even just your money,” he hastens to add. “You're gorgeous. Has anyone used you for your looks? Or maybe they've seen something you have that they don't, and they use you to get to it?”

“Uh....”

“It's not a good feeling.” He closes the magazine and sets it on the dashboard, his boots following suit. Usually you'd scold him from putting his feet up like that, but you're at a loss for words at the moment. “It really puts a damper on the whole experience of falling in love. I don't even wanna risk it any more.”

You pause. “Someone used you for money?”

“Multiple people have used me for money,” he confirms. “Money, fame, to get one of the others. It's just. . . happened too many times. I'm not really keen on risking it again.”

“How is that a good way to live life?” you ask before you can think better of it.

You know it's none of your business. Keith doesn't have to explain himself to you, and you certainly have no right thinking you have a say in whatever plans Keith has for his future.

Keith looks at you, raising a brow. “It's the safe way of living life.”

“Are you not lonely?”

“No. I have my band mates. I have my fans.”

“Yeah. Okay.” You nod. You understand that – not everyone needs a romantic partner to feel accompanied in life, but there's a difference between comfortably going through life without an interest in love, and avoiding it because of a bad experience.

“I don't know why you're chastising me,” he says suddenly. “I never see you with anybody. You just sit in this bus all day and melt.”

You should probably be offended.

“I'll have you know, I don't actually have a partner at the minute, but it's not because I've got trust issues.”

“I haven't got trust issues.”

“So what would you call it?”

“Self care.”

“You're scared of getting hurt. You think every person you meet is out to get you.”

Keith rolls his eyes. “Your psychology major is showing again.”

“I'm serious!”

“So am I!”

“I think you'd make a great boyfriend.”

You wince. Okay. Shit. You didn't think that one through at all.

Keith's eyes widen for a fraction of a second before you're standing up and stretching. Your arms very nearly hit off the overhead light, and your lower back cracks painfully with how quickly you twist. “Okay! I actually have some errands to do right now, so if you don't mind, I've had enough of your company for one day.”

Keith doesn't respond, simply shifts his legs so you can squeeze past him. You give him one final smile – anything to play off whatever mess you've just made – before stumbling down the steps of the bus and marching across the road, fanning yourself the entire way to the corner shop.

No. That did not just happen. You did not just say those words to Keith fucking Kogane.

Things like that only ever happen in movies, right? People don't actually blurt out cringy confessions like that, because most people in real life have a thing called common sense. Most people in real life have a thing called self awareness. Most people in real life have this thing where they can tell when someone likes them back, and Keith certainly wasn't giving off those vibes.

So why did you feel the need to say something so stupid?

You bump your head against the shelf of ramen noodles. How are you ever meant to go back to that bus and face him now? How are you ever meant to cover this up and make it seem like an innocent slip of the tongue?

It seems impossible. You've bloody doomed yourself.

----

Keith stares into space.

Fuck.

So this is it then. This is what it feels like when someone's plans get thrown out the window because of a single mishap. This is what happens when every single promise you make to yourself is suddenly broken, because you've just realised that those feelings you've been hiding away can no longer be ignored.

Keith actually has to deal with his emotions.

That's not something he's particularly good at.

Your words echo in his ears. You'd make a great boyfriend.

The thing is, Keith hears that almost every day, or at least a variety of that sentence. He reads it on Twitter, on his Instagram – hell, even people in real life will often come up to him and confess that they believe he would indeed be the perfect candidate for them, that their personalities match so well according to the Buzzfeed quiz they took the night before.

Keith is usually so quick to ignore those kinds of confessions, but hearing it from you. . . It feels real, somehow, more than an in-the-moment fan confession that usually just leaves him feeling uncomfortable and uncertain how to respond.

He actually feels as if he could respond.

He closes his eyes, digging the balls of his palms into the sockets as if that alone could help dispel the feelings bubbling to the surface. They were previously hidden behind some kind of trap door, but your confession opened the latch. Your confession is the reason he's feeling anything at all. You're the reason he isn't able to hold back any longer.

A knock sounds on the drivers bay. Keith doesn't look up.

“Where did Y/N go?” Lance asks. “And what's up with you?”

Keith spins round and stands up, already grabbing his leather jacket. “Did you see where they went?”

Lance presses his hands into Keith's shoulders. “Woah, dude. What's going on? Is everything okay?”

“Everything's fine. I just need to know where Y/N went.”

“I don't know,” says Lance, before raising a brow. “But we have an interview in ten minutes. You didn't forget again, did you?”

Keith falters. Fuck. Now is really not the time to fill his schedule with pointless interviews.

He bites his lower lip and glares down at the floor. Lance chuckles.

“Y/N got you a little distracted?”

“Do I have to do this interview? Will it really be that bad if I just don't show up to this one?”

Lance frowns. “You didn't show up to the one in Canduke Studios. People are gonna start getting suspicious.”

Lance is right, of course, and Keith knows this. Nonetheless, he looks out the window towards the road in which you'd just run through, away from Keith and his silence, away from Keith and the confession that is teetering on the edge of his tongue.

But Keith has other priorities. He has a job. He has duties that he can't just abandon because he's had an epiphany that maybe – just maybe – feeling things for other people isn't such a bad thing.

He stuffs his hands in his pockets and nods. Lance grins, swinging his arms round Keith's shoulders before leading him down the steps of the bus towards the studios.

---

Do the lights really have to be that bright?

Does there really have to be twenty people staring at him right now?

Does he really need this much make up on his face?

Keith dabs his forehead with a tissue and scowls when his foundation comes off with it. Now he's going to look like an absolute idiot when the camera turns to him.

It's been rolling for a number of minutes now, but Keith has done what Keith does best and hidden himself in the background. Hunk and Lance are sat in front of him; Pidge had thankfully taken the seat behind Lance, meaning Keith could easily hide his form behind Hunk's build. If he's lucky, you won't even be able to properly see him.

That is, until he gets addressed, which really doesn't take long. News of the mob from a few weeks ago still has not died down, and Keith is growing tired of the questions asking him if he's okay, if he's recovered from such a scarring event. The amount of times Keith has laughed it all and said it was no big deal is uncountable at this point.

“So, Keith,” the interviewer says. He's an elderly man, grey haired with circular glasses. He doesn't know the first thing about Smokey Saturdays, and perhaps that is why not a single question about their music has been asked. “You were recently part of the Rolling Stones interview we were talking about with Lance; your article caught the eye of quite a few people.” He waits. Keith pauses; is he meant to fill in the gap here?

“I saw that.”

The interviewer nods. “Tell me how you manage that. You know, the whole wanting to stay single thing. It must be pretty difficult when you have thousands of people throwing themselves at you every single day. Do you never look in the crowd and think you know what, I like the look of that one?”

Pidge snickers. Lance and Hunk are biting their lower lips to keep their own laughter at bay.

Keith kicks the bottom of Hunk's seat as subtly as he can before replying. “Nah, that's not really my thing.”

“No? So you were serious when you said you don't want a relationship?”

Keith opens his mouth to say yes, that's exactly what he meant, but his words falter. He remembers you, and suddenly he doesn't really know how to respond, which is weird because he's been trained for this. He spent weeks with his publicist, trying to perfect his responses to questions like this, going through media training that left his mind numb and his entire life feeling like a lie.

How could you just come around and undo all of that?

Keith doesn't know, but he doesn't have time to dwell on the specifics. The interviewer is expecting an answer. Keith can't just stare into space, he can't just stay silent, he can't just-

“I mean, I wouldn't mind a relationship. Like, I'm not against the idea.”

Pidge nearly falls from her seat.

Keith barrels on, gripping his arm rests so tight he's certain he's got no nails left. “When I did that interview, I was in a place where relationships just weren't the top of my priority list – and they still aren't. But I was a little bit angry at the fact I couldn't find the time to dedicate to someone else. I was a little angry at the fact I couldn't live a proper, adult life that includes things like falling in love, and one-night-stands and all that bullshit.” Keith shrugs. “But I think I realise now that you shouldn't make decisions like that on a whim. All it takes is finding the right person to change your mind.”

The interviewer blinks. The whole room goes quiet. Pidge is breathing so heavily that Keith genuinely contemplates sprinting back to the bus to retrieve her inhaler.

You might not even be watching the interview, which is the funny thing. Keith has just poured his heart and soul out – as best as Keith Kogane really can – and the only people who will hear it is the entire world, but not the person he wants.

He bites his lips and slumps back in the uncomfortable directors chair. “So yeah.”

“Wow,” the interviewer says. “It sounds like you've found someone special, Keith. Are we correct in assuming you've fallen in love?”

“No.”

The interviewer frowns. “So that all just. . . . came from the heart?”

Keith nods. It's the best he can do. He thinks he's going to throw up.

Lance sits up. “Okay, anyway! Did you know, Larry, that we actually have a brand new EP coming out at the end of the year...”

---

You stare at the TV.

You're crying.

It's so stupid. This whole thing is so god damn stupid. Why are you being so emotional? What right did you have to sit here and cry over something as stupid as heartbreak?

You push a pillow against your face, letting the tears sink into the fabric. Maybe you're just being overly emotional because of earlier on – you'd already eaten two cups of ramen to try and soothe your anxiety and regret, but it clearly wasn't enough. You'd then decided to just say fuck it – this was basically your bus. You can sit in the lounge if you want to. You can put your feet up on the coffee table if you want to and nobody is allowed to tell you otherwise.

So that's how you've ended up in tears, watching Smokey Saturdays live on the Larry Newman show.

And it really is live. Keith really said all of that on live television.

You turn it off once Lance starts going on about the new EP; you've heard it all before, considering it's all he talks about. Plus, after hearing Keith talk like that, you're a little bit jarred to say the very least.

You finish up your third cup of ramen and place the empty cup on the sideboard, ready to be taken to the bin when you next pass one. You pace the bus for a little while, because that's all you can think to do – there really is nothing else. Keith said it before – you just sit on this bus and melt, wait until they're finished living their lives so you can get on with your own. Apparently, all your life currently consists of is driving a world famous band around.

And the thing is, you don't even mind.

That's the crazy part. Once upon a time, you would have felt complete shame and embarrassment when you had to tell people this was your job, but now it's just. . . . a thing. You enjoy it. You can sit up front, listen to music, eat Strawberry Laces.

You can talk to Keith.

You close your eyes. You don't want to admit that that's a bonus, because it just sounds so sad. Your life has never been perfect, and you're still wasting your degree, and your parents would be shaking their head at you right now, but you're happy. You're genuinely, utterly happy.

Despite what the tears pouring from your eyes may suggest.

You hear the band making their way to the bus shortly after seven pm. It's dark now. The street lights are on, and when you look out the window, you nearly choke on your own tongue because Keith looks so good, even though his head is down and he's walking with a determined march in his step that you're not stupid enough to be oblivious to – you know exactly why he's walking like that. You know exactly what he plans to do for the rest of the night.

You tuck yourself into the drivers bay, hoping and praying he'll just walk past.

The doors of the bus open and the band walks in. Lance, Hunk and Pidge all yell a little “Hello Y/N!” over their shoulders before marching off to their designated bunks. Keith, on the other hand, pulls open your privacy curtain and says, “Can we talk?”

“Do we have to?”

“Can we go outside? Do you need my coat?”

“Is it cold?”

“A little bit.”

You snatch his leather jacket out of his hands and follow him down the steps of the bus. You might as well get this over with. The sooner, the better.

You shrug his jacket over your shoulders. The two of you stand on the pavement, the glow of the street lights illuminating his pale skin and his black hair, those violet eyes burning into the crown of your head as you make it a priority to keep your own eyes on the floor.

He sighs. “Did you watch the interview?”

“A bit of it.”

“Did you see the important part?”

“Yeah. Hunk balancing that tooth pick on his eyelash-”

“You know what I mean.” Keith pauses. “You saw it, right?”

You bite your bottom lip. That's really the only confirmation Keith needs.

He inhales shakily, scrubbing a hand against the back of his neck as if he's nervous. Him! As if he has anything to be nervous about.

“Sooo...,” he drawls. “I – uh – just want you to know that I changed my mind.”

“I gathered that.”

“And the only reason I changed my mind was because I met you and realised that missing out on this chance really isn't something I like the idea of.”

You open your mouth to respond, but nothing comes out once his words settle.

Your eyes snap up, jaw opening and closing, words on the brink of your tongue but not quite making it that far. Keith grins down at you, a smile you've never seen on his face before – he almost looks excited. Perhaps if you pay extra close attention, you'll be able to see him jumping up and down on the balls of his feet.

You take a single step back. “Wait, what?”

“I like you. A lot. More than – More than I think I have a right to, considering I've been going on for months about how I don't want a relationship.” He hollows out his cheeks. “I'm so sorry you had to put up with that.”

“Keith-”

“And I get it if you don't like me back. I'm not – I'm not one of those celebrities who thinks everyone should be honoured to be liked by me, because that's such a – a douche thing to do, but I just can't sit in that bus with you and pretend you're not the only person in my life right now outside of the band who makes me feel completely normal.”

This is happening so fast. He's talking so fast. Your heart is beating so fast.

“So – uh – yeah. Yeah.” He waves a hand as if to say Now that that's over. “Basically, the interview explained it all. I was a bit vague, but it was all about you, really. Yeah.” He scratches the back of his neck. “Anyway, it really is cold out here. We should probably get back-”

“You like me back?”

Keith blinks. “Yah.”

“Keith. I don't even . . . . You said all that about me?” It shouldn't be such a surprise; at the end of the day, you and Keith are trapped in a bus together for a good portion of the day. You two get along like best friends. He brightens your day, so why is it so hard to believe that you brighten his?

Nonetheless, your heart is beating at a million miles per hour and your smile is forming so fast you can't even think of stopping it. Keith looks at you, eyes tracing every inch of your face before his own smile appears, slightly lop sided and forever cheeky, but so, so perfect.

He cups your face. “You're smiling. That's a good thing, right?” He tilts your head side to side, pokes at the corner of your lip. “Right?”

“Right.” And then you throw your arms over his shoulders and pull him into you. The kiss is a little bit unpractised, and Keith stumbles a little bit, but then your back is pressed against a lamp post and his hand is on your waist, and your hand is trailing through his hair, and for once, nothing really seems out of place, even though everything is out of place and this is the most bizarre thing you've ever done in your life.

Keith laughs against your mouth. It's such an uncharacteristic thing for him to do that you're nearly convinced to pull away, but he presses his fingers deeper into the flesh of your waist and that idea quickly slips from your mind.

He pulls away first, only when he needs air. You could have gone for another minute, at least, but you'll tell him that another time.

He groans, bumping his forehead against yours. “Holy shit.”

“Romantic.”

“I'm sorry for being such a depressing bitch a few days ago.” His voice has dropped to a mumble. “I was just. . . so scared of getting hurt again.”

You stroke your thumb along his jaw line. He closes his eyes, nuzzles into your touch. “You don't need to apologise for that, Keith. But – like – just so you know, I don't want you for your money. I actually think you're quite a decent bloke.” You twirl your finger in his mullet. “And you've got a nice bit of hair, too.”

Keith pinches your waist. “I actually think you have a really nice bus, and you listen to our music.”

“Not all the time!”

“Every time you turn on that radio, there's a Smokey Saturdays album playing.”

“Bruce put that there.”

Keith pulls away and laces his fingers with yours. “Right. That's the excuse you're using now?”

“I actually hate your music.”

Keith drags you towards the bus. You stumble after him. “Mhm.”

“I'm serious.”

“Okay.”

“Keith, I swear to-”

213 notes · View notes

packsbeforesnacks · 4 years

Text

Contact Improv || Blanche, Orion, & Winn

TIMING: Tuesday, February 11th, 2020, Early Afternoon LOCATION: UMWC PARTIES: @harlowhaunted, @3starsquinn, & @packsbeforesnacks SUMMARY: Blanche tries to exit out a fifth-story window. Orion kisses a wolf and likes it. Winn unleashes his personal trauma on some freshman. WARNINGS: None.

Acting class had to be one of the most stressful parts of Orion’s day, and that was saying something. He had switched into the class the week prior, after dropping a class that his sister had joined at the last possible minute. He spent enough time around her.

With the late notice and the already limited amount of availability for entry level classes, he had been down to only a few options. From the moment Rio had walked into the class his hair stood at the back of his neck. He had felt this same feeling a few times before. There was a supernatural creature somewhere in the class.

Unfortunately, he didn’t have much time to dwell on it, as the teacher, Miss Darbussy, had embarrassed Rio half to death by putting him on the spot to introduce him to the other students. After, Rio had scurried to the back of the class and hidden there for the rest of the class.

Now, a few classes down the road he had safely remained mostly unnoticed in the classroom. He always found a seat towards the back and tried making himself as small as possible and trying his best to disappear from existence. Now if only he could keep this up for the rest of the semester.

Introduction to Theatre was the bane of Blanche’s existence, but for Winn it was just another Tuesday. Winn knew the former fact for a number of reasons — not least of which was Blanche’s griping (and his complaining back, in solidarity) about the class any chance that she had. Today seemed… different, though, and not only because Blanche had begged Winn to let her skip another class. But Winn didn’t want to see Darbussy’s face (or feel her wrath, by simple association with Blanche), nor did he want Blanche’s GPA to tank because she was being dramatic (ha), and so he’d driven them both in.

Then, on the elevator ride to the fifth floor, he sensed it. He heard her heartbeat pounding, knew the telltale signs of fight-or-flight from years of experience as both a wolf and a psychology student. So, he did what any reasonable person would do and, as the elevator chimed that they’d hit the fourth floor, sighed deeply, and said, “Don’t.”

And, because really saying it aloud was more of a Band-Aid solution, Winn reached out with his good arm and hoisted the shorter woman up and over his shoulder as they hit the fifth floor. “C’mon, B. You’ll survive.” He ignored the stares from the faculty and students as he made his way to the room, as well as the hole that Blanche’s glare was burning into his back. (And thank fuck he’d kept her hands away from his nips, eesh.)

Darbussy tittered as they entered the studio, mumbling something about the “drama” of it all. Great. Grimacing, Winn deposited Blanche into one of the Department-standard padded floor chairs, gripping her hand tight within his as he sat down next to her. He looked at the new kid from across the room, waved sunnily (mostly to bug Blanche), and ignored Marissa’s pointed gaze — Blanche could take her.

“Don’t make me go—” she had said it at least a hundred times on the drive over, another fifty on the way to the building, and at least twenty-five on the way to the elevator. Blanche was not happy and it was because of fucking Orion Quinn of all people. Or, as she remembered solemnly, Onion as she called him repeatedly because she forgot how to make the Or sound with her mouth. How embarrassing. She had a plan though. Blanche decided it between floors two and three, and was gearing up to absolutely fucking book it out of the elevator and hurtle herself down the emergency staircase when Winn clearly caught onto her plan.

Well what the fuck was he going to do about it? Carry her?

That was exactly what he did. As a smaller human, she was used to being jerked and pulled around, and hell, Alain had literally thrown her the other day. It just made her even more mad that she was used to it, that Winn had just plucked her off the ground like an angry cat, and strode into class with her like that. Blanche waited till she was deposited safely on the padded chair and immediately tried to bolt —

Oh, wait, Winn was holding her hand like she was a five year old. She shot him a glare. “You’re the worst,” Blanche grumbled, crankily settling in her chair. No getting out of it now. She looked ahead, all the color in her face draining when she saw Orion from across the room. “Oh no, Winn this is! So! Bad! He probably hates me!”

“AS I WAS SAYING—” Darbussy interjected loudly and dramatically. “We are all going to experience scene work — we’re working on the dynamic shifts between each other and how power shifts between actors. And why don’t our late arrivals, Mr. Woods and Ms. Harlow, join our newcomer, Mr. Quinn, to start us off?”

The last two that walked into class were a shock to Orion in a lot of ways. He hadn’t expected Blanche Harlow to walk — or rather, be carried through the classroom doorway and join the class. Orion had figured that his one off with Blanche the other night had been exactly that — a one off. He was fully prepared to never see her again, but fate had apparently had different plans. And if Orion knew anything about fate, it was that fate sucked ass. But even more shocking than that, was Winn. Of course, he had picked Winn out of the group right away. Easily the tallest in the class, Winn’s seemingly carefree nature and habit of waving at anybody that he made eye contact with had been dangerous to Orion. Just like the other classes, Winn waved at Orion as he carried Blanche to their seats, Orion giving a small wave before realizing how ridiculous he was and face planting his forehead against his lap.

Still, that hadn’t been the part that had shocked him. It was that feeling that Orion got when his parents had set the werewolf loose on him and Athena. The goosebumps that had prickled at his skin and hummed at him. Until now, he had only known that it was somebody in the class. But the late arrival of Blanche and Winn coupled with the sudden appearance could only mean one thing. Winn must have been a werewolf. That complicated things even further.

His thoughts were interrupted when he heard his name being called. He perked up from his near fetal position, meeting the eyes of Miss Darbussy and finally connecting the rest of the dots to what she had just said. Rio’s eyes grew wide and his face felt flush, he could only imagine how red it must be. He was stupid to think that he could have escaped this all semester, but he had hoped he would at least make it a couple more weeks. Not to mention, Winn and Blanche? This was the absolute worst case scenario. “Oh uh — Ma’am. I don’t want to ruin the scene or anything. Maybe someone else should go first so I can, uh… observe?” He tried his best to get out of what could only be the single most horrifying experience he could possibly imagine.

“Oh no, acting is learning by doing. There is no such thing as ruining a scene, there’s only such things as a scene running flat — and if a scene runs flat, we fix it. It’s that simple, Mr. Quinn, now please, join me up here. And Mr. Woods and — oh for the love of God, Ms. Harlow can you two stop gripping each other like you’re both going to die. Get up here. Now!”

At his core, at his most essential self, Winn knew he just wanted to please others. It was something he’d worked through, first with the pack, and then in therapy for a few years. There were times when it was helpful — like when he needed to charm the pants off someone who was angry at him — and times where it overwrote his impulse control, and he just moved as quickly as possible to fix whatever was wrong.

A stern voice from an old white lady might, in retrospect, be a trigger of Winn’s. He wasn’t proud of the way he yanked Blanche up off the ground, mumbling a “sorry” (RIP to her arm) before letting go of her hand, or of the way he scurried up, tail between his legs, to stand at the front of the studio. He took some deep breaths. He could do this. He lifted his head, regarding the rest of the class — and avoiding Marissa’s gaze, Christ — with a smile that, he hoped, read as cheerful and even a little dopey.

He understood the newbie’s hesitation, but, really, how bad could it possibly go?

Blanche yelped loudly in pain as she was wrenched upward. Unlike Winn, she was not afraid of the old white lady. In fact, she relished in watching them get angry. Maybe that was why her and Darbussy had such an antagonistic relationship. Blanche glowered at Darbussy.

“I could climb out that window right now,” Blanche said to Winn under her breath.

“No,” Winn said.

“I could do it, there’s a tree right there.”

“If you two are done—” Darbussy cut in, waving them over to join Orion. “I’m going to give you an improv scene. Shall we?”

“N—”

“Alright! Since you two are so… handsy today—” Blanche looked up at Winn, wrinkling her nose.

“Didn’t like that,” she muttered under her breath.

“You two are the married couple.” Blanche snorted. “With the added tension of you, Mr. Woods, have been having an affair with Mr. Quinn’s wife. Would any of you like to explain the struggles of tension and power here?”

“After you, newbie,” Winn said, gesturing to Orion and winking.

At the teacher’s insistence, Orion crawled up from the chair and slumped towards the front of the room to stand with Winn and Blanche. For wildly different reasons, they both made him extremely nervous.

He kept his head trained at the ground at all times, only glancing up when someone spoke. “My uh—my wife?” Orion asked, laughing nervously which sent him into a fit of coughing. His wife. Clearly this wasn’t meant to be realistic. He made the mistake of looking up to Winn when he spoke and caught the man's wink at the wrong moment. Orion’s mouth went completely dry and he struggled to form anything close to a coherent sentence for what felt like minutes.

“I — uh— well— um, you see…” Orion fumbled through words and finally paused to take a deep breath. His voice was still shaky but at least he was able to speak in full sentences. “So, uh, clearly the tension is a man confronting another man about the affair.” He hated being here. He was smarter than this. His brain was practically the one useful thing about him, something his family had constantly reminded him of since childhood. But even that damned thing was useless as soon as he was in front of a crowd or hot guy.

“And I guess the struggle of power will be shown through us two... uh, fighting for control of the scene?” Either this class needed to be over, or Orion needed to finally pass out. He didn’t care which one came first.

“Good, Mr Quinn!” Darbussy said, enthusiastically. “That is one level of tension. Would you like to explain a second leve—”

“I’m here,” Blanche said flatly. This was bad. This kind of shit made her want to just keel over and die for the hour and thirty minutes, but Orion looked like he was legit going to drop like a rock. At least she was usually joking. Darbussy turned to glare at her.

“What?”

“If I’m Winn’s wife, and On— Orion is confronting Winn about the affair with his wife in front of me, that means I know, and that probably means I didn’t already know. So Winn is, like, totally in the doghouse.” Blanche grinned cheekily.

Winn covered a laugh with a cough.

“And what are two other—”

“Layers of tension in a scene. L.O.R.T. Stuff we covered in class last week while I was sick. Initial Tension, the T, is Winn sleeping with Orion’s wife. Relationship is our relationship—” she nudged Winn with her elbow “—as husband and wife, and if we wanted to add a secondary relationship, we’re all friends. Two couples doing… things married couples do today kinds of friends. Objective is Orion pointedly telling Winn he knows about the affair with his wife. Location is — uh —”

Blanche faltered slightly, and Darbussy grinned. “Yes, Ms. Harlow?”

She thought for a moment. “... Public.” Blanche said. “We’re in a restaurant. O— Orion’s wife went to use the ladies room.” Darbussy frowned. Ha, get fucked, she was right.

“I have a question,” Winn said, with a soft frown, perfectly oblivious to the mental standoff. “Why does it have to be Orion’s wife, Professor? Doesn’t that sort of uphold the tired tropes inherent in our society, tropes which value the drama and interiority of opposite-sex couples over the drama, melodrama if you like, of same-sex couples? Isn’t it more compelling, true to life in the twenty-first century even, for the couples to have inherent troubles of attraction and a more, I don’t know, nuanced dynamic than simply an affair? Aren’t the stakes higher when it’s Orion, and not some nebulous Other, whom I’m in love with, my best friend, someone whom I didn’t know I could love until I did? Doesn’t it mean more to him if his stake in it isn’t just personal, it’s internal?”

He stopped, taking in the slack-jaw of Darbussy, of the class, of Blanche, and the look on Orion’s face. What was that look?

“What? Did I say somethin’ weird?” he asked, to no one in particular.

Everyone in the class went silent at Winn’s monologue. Clearly nobody expected him to have that much to say about a scene, especially some randomly chosen one during a class. Orion felt like he was going to puke. He could only imagine what he must have looked like to the rest of the class right now. A million things ran through his head. He wondered why Winn had been so adamant about changing things up. Was he legitimately some LGBT ally? Or had he noticed Orion staring not too discreetly at him the last couple of classes and had decided to fuck with him? He was mortified either way.

“I—uh that’s a twist,” was all Orion could think to say. Was the room suddenly baking or was he just him? He felt sweat gather at his palms and wiped at his forehead just to be safe. He was pretty sure the back of the class could hear his heart pounding right now. It was ridiculous how worked up he was getting over some stupid scene. He needed to calm down or he may legitimately puke on one of his co-stars.

“I’m not sure how believable it is that he would be in love with me,” Orion mumbled, mostly to himself at that point. He had seen the look in Darbussy’s eyes. Whether she wanted to admit defeat or not, she loved Winn’s idea. And apparently all of them had some vendetta against Orion. They clearly wanted to see him embarrassed to death. “How—how do you feel about this new development Blanche? Does it make sense for the scene?” He turned to her, non verbally begging for her assistance.

Blanche could see the annoyance on Darbussy’s face as she scowled at Winn. Really, Winn was right, but Darbussy hated Winn, but she also had this… begrudgingly proud look on her face? She loved the idea and she was going to have to admit it. Ha, get fucked. Blanche snorted, before her head snapped to Orion when he addressed her.

“Uh—” Dude! Don’t drag her into this! She could see the begging in his eyes and could practically feel the anxiety rolling off him. Blanche glanced to the window again, the only viable option to get them both out of there at this point, especially if Orion was actually looking as green as she thought. “Uh—”

“Yes, Miss Harlow, what do you think?” Darbussy asked.

Shit. Blanche’s brain went static. No! Bad! Stop that right now! Why?! “Uhhh, I think that… The scene makes sense with how Winn said,” she blurted out. Shit. That was the opposite of helping. She shot Orion an apologetic look. “But—uh—uh—the dramatics don’t come from Orion. But from Winn’s reaction!”

“And what about your reaction, Miss Harlow? To being cheated on? And with friends no less?”

Bitch, Blanche thought. “Well, I’m probably sad. But to be honest, it’s probably a good thing! Well, not a good thing, good thing, but like, if Winn’s happy with Orion, that’s good! And it probably means our marriage wasn’t working out that well in the first place, so maybe it’s really best for everyone? Right, Winn? We need a divorce!”

Winn got the sense he’d maybe done something, well, not wrong, but definitely off. Orion and Blanche were, well... stumbling was generous. (And what was that comment about it being unbelievable that Winn could love Orion? No one else had heard it, just Winn. Hmm.) He didn’t know Orion well, even a little bit, but he knew Blanche “Filthy Cave Sex” Harlow pretty well at this point, and knew when something was up. Alright, improv. He could do this, right? He’d gotten them here, and he’d lead them out. Confidence, Winner. Confidence.

“Y...eah. Yeah. I think my character has, um, trouble being honest with his feelings, some trouble expressing himself. He hasn’t been clear to Orion or to Blanche about what he wants. So, even as his heart is, like, pushing him towards Orion, Blanche is the, uh, safer choice in some ways. If he stays with her, the story of his life has been written. It’s good and predictable. And maybe he likes that.” Winn took a deep breath. Alright, this was bad, but it was good. He knew how this story continued.

“But with Orion, there’s, you know, a deep friendship that could be something so great and, um, I don’t think my character’s a bad guy. I think he’s told Orion something, but maybe not the most important things, and I think he’s let it get a little physical, but only, um, recently. But he’s,” a pause, “a little religious? So, he’s got that, um, Catholic guilt. He needs absolution. He needs to be clear, with both of them, right here and now. He needs to make… a choice.” He knows he’s looking at the ceiling, knows there’s a light blush on his cheeks, knows that there’s something in his voice that’s maybe a little too wistful, maybe a little too emotionally honest. There was a nakedness to what he was doing, and it burned at his neck and his ears.

But, being as he’d just based a character on his ex, he probably deserved whatever came next.

At this point, Winn rambling felt like he was reading Orion his last rites. But a few things piqued Orion’s curiosity. Safer Choice. Catholic Guilt. Was Winn inside Orion’s head? His family was obsessively Catholic, a religion Orion had abandoned long ago, along with any other religion. For many reasons, Orion never saw himself disclosing his sexuality to his family. Not only because of the religion, but because Orion rarely pictured himself having a future at all, and definitely not one that included his family. His family would never approve anyways, so it just seemed best to keep those things to himself. This scene, the one that Winn stood directly in front of Orion pitching to the teacher, the class, him; that was the sort of resolution Orion could never see for himself. It made the idea for the sketch all the more gut wrenching.

But Orion also understood that the longer that this planning went on, the more his torture would be prolonged. He was clearly not escaping it, unless by some miracle a fire started on the campus or the sky literally fell. The best plan now was just go jump in, get it over with and then dip out as quickly as humanly (or hunterly) possible.

“Um, I guess I — or, um, my character is feeling very confused. He probably feels backed into a corner, approached in public, in front of Winn’s wife. But in a lot of ways I think he also feels sort of, relieved? That things are finally coming to the surface and everything will be out in the open. Assuming he survives the conversation, I imagine there must be this overwhelming cathartic feeling that goes with it.” Orion shrugged, accepting his fate. “Or something, I guess.”

“Great! Now that you all have deep and personal connections with each of your characters—” Darbussy said, happily. “Do the scene!”

Blanche froze. “What?”

Darbussy looked at her expectantly. “Do the scene,” she said, slowly. “Anyone can start. Rapid fire now, remember that there’s no wrong answer, but to always be accepting. Yes and, remember?”

Blanche looked at the other two, a little fearfully.

“Whenever you’re ready,” Darbussy said, helpfully. “Start in the middle of the tension, rather than before it happens. It’ll rip the bandaid off.”

Blanche almost let out a frustrated scream. This was so terrible! Why did she have to do this?!

Finally she turned to Winn. Whatever, shoot for the moon, or something.

“I can’t believe you.”

Oh, they were just… jumping into it? Winn knew his role well, for better or for worse. Hopefully, it went better for Winn than it had for César, when he’d been here years and years ago.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I… I don’t know what else to say to make you understand, Blanche.” He looked askance, focusing on a stain from where he’d knocked over Darbussy’s coffee a few weeks ago, and hoped it looked sufficiently “torn.”

Nervous laughter started pouring from Blanche as she looked between the two. That was always a problem with her whenever they did improvised stuff, she couldn’t help it. “I—” nervous laughter. “Don’t—” Crap. Crap. Crap. Tears sprang to her eyes. Oh! Wait! That was a good thing. She could work with that! Blanche looked between the two and immediately burst into tears. “I just wanted everyone to be happy!” she wailed.

“Uh,” said Winn unhelpfully, looking away from Blanche to stare into Orion’s eyes for a long pause, searching for something. “I— What do I do, Orion?” Right, ‘cause Orion — Winn, in the actual past — was supposed to have all the answers. Super fun trip down memory lane, Winner. He sighed. “What can I do?”

Rio helplessly looked back and forth between Blanche and Winn as they began their scene. Rio forced his gaze forward, too afraid to glance out at the class who had been staring at them silently this entire time during setup. Orion’s face must have been so red that it looked like it was ready to pop. He was relieved that there was nowhere around that he could see his own reflection. All the feelings of confusion and embarrassment were building up. He needed to find a way to relieve the pressure before he passed out. Copying Blanche’s tears seemed tacky, but not exactly unnatural for a scene full of emotion. It only took a tiny bit of motivation for the tears to start rolling down his own cheeks.

“I—I don’t know what you want me to say…” Orion’s voice was barely a whisper as it escaped his lips, but he could make that work for him. The character was confused and flustered, much like Orion. And even more like him, he hated how public Winn had made the scene. “I can’t tell you what you need,” Orion hissed, letting a single, humorless laugh escape. “And God knows I can’t make your decisions for you.” He finally risked a look around the room, now self-conscious about how long he had been staring at Winn with tears running down his eyes. “But do we really have to do this here? In front of all these people?”

Winn had never been totally comfortable, facing down multiple crying people, and, even though he knew it was all just an act, he felt a bubble of anxiety sit in the pit of his gut. Fuck.

“I didn’t—I wasn’t planning this or anything, Orion. You both,” Winn paused to glance between the both of them, his hands clenched tightly at his sides, “do you really think I’m such a coward? I just… I c—can’t.” His breath stuttered out, a soft chatter to his teeth. Shock. He remembered that. Winn hadn’t been comfortable either, especially given his status. Winn backed away from the two of them, leaning against the wall. He brought a hand to his hair, letting out a nervous laugh as he ran it through.

“I’m fucking it up. I’m fucking this all up. I’m going to lose both of you, aren’t I?” He slumped, sliding slowly down the wall. All the while, he looked at Orion, too guilty to look to Blanche. Winn remembered the way César had stared at him, ignoring Oleana. Winn had been too shocked to think about it, then, but — shit, this had probably sucked for her. He had to say something. But all that he could choke out was: “I’m sorry, Blanche,” he said again, uselessly. “I didn’t… I didn’t mean for this to happen like this. This was the last thing I wanted, but I can’t lie anymore.”

Blanche didn’t like this. Of course, Darbussy was eating this shit up, and she seemed all too delighted by the steady stream of tears that were rolling down Blanche’s face. Good one, she mentally patted herself on the back. Granny was going to be so proud. The thing that struck her panic down and actually made her feel something was the what seemed to be genuine distraught on Winn’s face and in his voice, and the I can’t lie anymore. It was like she was suckerpunched in the gut.

“Holy shit, they’re really going for it, huh?” Dray was whispering to Echo, she was pretty sure.

“Good for them! Get it!” Echo cheered quietly.

“I never asked for you to lie!” Blanche bawled, hurriedly using the sleeves of her sweater to start dabbing at her face. All her makeup was waterproof, thank god. Later, on the way home with Winn, she would make a joke about her eyeliner being on point even in the middle of a crisis, but now she could be grateful there were no eyeliner or mascara stains on her sweater. “I don’t want anyone to lie, I don’t want any of this! I just need— ” Blanche tearfully looked over to Orion. “— I just want everything to be okay and everyone to be happy and I don’t want — I never wanted — I don’t want to lose anyone! I’m sorry.”

The whole class was staring at them and Orion couldn’t have possibly been more embarrassed. All three of them were in it now. For better or worse. Definitely worse. It was too late to back out now, he supposed. It only made it worse that they were using each other’s real names. It made it that much more painful when Winn called Orion by name. “I can’t do this.” He whined, resting his face between his palms and staring at the ground. He took a deep breath, forcing tears into his eyes and then made a loud sniffling noise for dramatic effect.

“Don’t be sorry. This wasn’t you—this was…” He focused on Blanche. Despite the two’s short history he was more comfortable around her than anybody else in this class, hell maybe even this town. She could help ground him, make sure he didn’t completely lose his cool in the middle of this acting exercise. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Blanche. This was us.” Orion pointed at Winn and then back at himself. “… All us. I’m so sorry, I—” He let himself choke on his own words. For once his awkwardness and stammering could work in his favor. “I never meant to fall in love with him.”

Winn laughed, sharp. He knew his voice was harsh, bitter, but he couldn’t keep it out — or, more accurately, he had to get it out. “I didn’t even know I could fall in love with him. That’s the bitch of it all, right? It should be clawing out of me, should make me feel like crap… But…” He smiled, a little sad. “I’m sorry for how this is happening. Really, I am, Blanche. You deserve better — so, so much better. I can only hope you find it in your heart to forgive me — us.”

Orion was either very convincing, or there was something here for him, too. Winn looked him in the eyes, a step forward to him. “I’m not sorry that I fell in love with you, Orion. This feels good, feels right. And… I do love you. I love you. So much.” He could feel tears prickling at his own eyes, moved by the emotion of the memory and of his fellow actors. He leaned in. Big moves. Winn took another step forward, roped an arm around Orion’s back, and looked deep into his eyes. “Kick me if this isn’t okay,” he whispered low, before kissing Orion soundly.

This was fine. Everything was okay. Surprisingly, Orion was not freaking out as much as he thought he was going to. Once they got into the groove of the scene and they got into whatever characters they were pulling from, things didn’t seem so bad. Orion noticed that he had a habit of staring towards Blanche, only looking at Winn when he was directly speaking to him or if Orion was feeling really brave, he would glance at the class. But despite the fact that Blanche and him couldn’t really be considered friends, she was sort of a constant in Rio’s life. From childhood up to high school and now in college, they had known each other. That in itself was comforting.

“I— I’m not sorry either,” Orion managed to say, his breath catching as he realized that Winn was leaning closer to him. He heard Winn mention something about kicking him, but still hadn’t connected the dots until Winn’s lips touched Orion’s. He immediately tensed up, the new sensation shooting up his spine. He couldn’t tell if that was just from the kiss or because his werewolf senses were going haywire. If it was the latter, his body either really hated the idea of a hunter kissing a werewolf or really liked it. Since he didn’t feel like he could move anything at the moment he couldn’t really assess. The problem was… Orion knew he didn’t hate it. Even if he should. For so many reasons he should hate it.

When the kiss was over Orion stared at Winn for a long moment, his breath caught in his throat. “I—” he began finally, trying to find something to say. Something in character. “That was— I just—” Then he felt it. The pain in his chest. The trembling. Sweat collected at his palms. Not here. Not now. Please, anything but that. “I can’t do this.” He forced himself to speak aloud, before shoving past Winn and Blanche and heading for the classroom door.

He made it out into the hallway and stumbled into the bathroom, turning the faucet on and collecting water to splash onto his face. Of all the places to start a panic attack, it had to be here? He couldn’t go back into the classroom. Not in the state that he was in right now.

Blanche wasn’t able to speak real words, if only because she muffled crying had mixed into half hysterical laughter because this was getting way too deep and she laughed when things were uncomfortable. And she was certainly uncomfortable, especially with this fake situation. She wiped her eyes on her sleeve, holding up her hands defensively as she saw Winn go on for the kiss — only realizing what was happening the second before it happened. “Oh, Winn, wait—” Blanche said, eyes widening in shock. She definitely hadn’t been expecting that. Make bold choices. Or something like that. But with Orion already being the most anxious of the three, maybe that was a bad idea. “I — er — uh — uh-oh,” Blanche said, dumbly as Orion shoved past them, with a simple I can’t do this.

“And scene! Excellent—” Darbussy had started and Blanche shot her a look, looking over her shoulder. She reached out to tug on Winn’s good arm.

“I think we should go after him,” Blanche said.

“Fuck,” Winn said, going with Blanche out of the room. He took a long pull of air in through his nose, zeroing in on Orion’s scent. There was a bathroom down the hallway that seemed a likely candidate, especially since the last thing had heard from Orion had been a pounding heart. Fuck. He’d given the dude a panic attack.

It had been a good kiss, all things considered. Orion’s lips were very soft, and he smelled nice, and— Well, and Winn had maybe made a dumb move. But it hadn’t been a pass! He’d just… leaned into the moment. Maybe a bit too hard. Maybe the nostalgia was getting to him. Maybe he should reach out to Ber— No. Firm no. He had bigger problems, for one. And for another… Just. No.

He pushed the door of the bathroom open gently, gesturing for Blanche to watch the door. He’d ask later, maybe, how she knew Orion. But first. Orion looked… well, he looked like shit. But Winn wasn’t going to tell him that. Instead, he walked up to the sink, squatted, and tried to look up at the other man. Shifting power, or something. Plus, good angle for Orion if he wanted to break Winn’s nose. He started talking, low and firm, “Hey. Breathe, buddy. Just breathe. I’m sorry. That wasn’t cool of me. I’ll ask before I kiss you, next time.” He mentally swore at himself, choking out a weak laugh. “Let’s get out of here, yeah? I drove Blanche in, and I can take you home. No one’s gotta see you if you don’t want ‘em too. Promise.”

He knew Orion likely wouldn’t appreciate his touch, no matter how gentle, right now, and so grabbed a paper towel for the younger man to dry himself with when he came off the anxiety rush. It didn’t seem like a “straight person freaking out about a gay man kissing him.” But Winn wasn’t going to push, or to pry. It wasn’t his business and, besides, asking Orion if he was some flavor of queer right now felt sleazy. He needed a friend. Winn could be that.

Orion heard the footsteps. Could smell Winn coming towards him. Plus that stupid tingling feeling came back again. He really hated that feeling. He hurried to try to make himself look normal before realizing that Winn probably heard him from the classroom anyways. Orion wasn’t the only one with super senses, it seemed. Still, because he had always been told that image was everything, he couldn’t stop himself from trying to wipe the tears from his face and control his breathing before Winn got into the bathroom. It wasn’t perfect, but he was at least sort of able to calm himself down before Winn knelt down and was looking him in the eyes. Again.

Winn’s words were a jumble. On one hand, his voice was calming, but on the other than just knowing that the words were coming from somebody like him made Orion inherently nervous. Still, he was able to calm himself enough to laugh nervously at Winn. Had he just said next time? Best to ignore that. And repress that memory. Forever. Less painful that way. “Sorry— sorry it wasn’t that. It was just… all of it.” That certainly played a big factor into it, but he wasn’t about to make Winn feel worse about the situation. Because he hadn’t hated it per say. He just hated himself, for liking it. “I’m always a nervous mess. I’ll be fine.” He sniffled one last time, his breathing now back to relatively normal and he smiled, flashing a thumbs up at him. “See? Good to go.” This was so embarrassing.

Outside of the bathroom, they met up with Blanche. “Well, that was embarrassing. Can we do me a favor and just like… never talk about this again?” he begged the two. If he was lucky, maybe the teacher noticed his pain and would take pity on him for the rest of the semester.

“Your call, bro. But I wasn’t askin’ about ditchin’ the rest of Darbussy’s class. I was tellin’,” Winn said, signaling to Blanche to steer Orion out the door. Darbussy could kiss his ass, for all he cared. They’d killed the scene, for better or worse. They deserved the rest of the day to fuck off.

And off they went, a new friendship (?) forged.

#wickedswriting #para #Blanche #Rio #Contact Improv #//#52 Days Later Cody Meri & Zee Manage to Put Out a Chatzy

11 notes · View notes

andrea-lyn · 5 years

Note

Malex prompt! Slowly getting to know the love of your life better as friends is perhaps the most awkward time to have to pull off fake dating for the investigation, but needs must.

“I don’t understand why you can’t go,” Michael feels like he’s losing his mind, because Alien Club is a) way too populated right now and b) telling him that he and Alex need to go undercover at some alien collector’s house the next town over. He gestures wildly to Noah and Isobel. “You two are actually married!” He’s shouting now, but he knows it’s a front for his panic.

Better to be angry than to let anyone see how much he’s freaking out about the fact that they want him and Alex Manes to pretend to be a happy married couple interested in some items for their home.

“Because he knows me,” Isobel counters. “Not to mention, of the three of us, you’re the one with the power to manipulate security cameras and pick locks with his brain,” she snaps. “So, your choice of spouse. Do you want Valenti, who can defibrillate a security guard if things go wrong…”

“Hey,” Kyle cuts in. “I’d make a very convincing loving husband.”

“Or you can pretend to be married to Max?”

“That’s not an option,” Max informs the group, raising a hand like he needs to make that clear.

“What about Liz? Cameron?” Michael is starting to flail wildly with options, because he knows how this is going to end.

“Guerin, they want me to hack into the system while I’m there to plant a keylogger,” Alex sounds way too calm considering what they’re being asked to do.

It’s only been a few weeks since Alex turned up at the junkyard and told Michael that he wanted to start over and be friends. Michael’s been trying so hard to give him what he wants and needs, backing off every time things get too close or tense, trying to open up and genuinely be Alex’s friend.

He’s just not sure he can actually be Alex’s friend and pretend to be married to him at the same time.

“Then why married?”

“You wouldn’t bring a casual boyfriend to a collector’s house to buy something. He’s supposed to have actual alien artifacts, Michael, and we need to know if there’s something worthwhile there.” Isobel’s gaze is steady and she has the look in her eye of a woman that knows she’s winning the fight. “Just go in, put on a good show, and maybe we’ll learn more about ourselves. You want that, don’t you?”

It’s not a problem of want.

Michael wants everything that’s about to happen.

He wants to learn more about his past. He wants to be with Alex in a way they’ve never had a chance to be, but pretending to be married feels like skirting a huge line that feels dangerous to step over. “Fine,” he says, trying not to look at Alex (which is good, because then he won’t have to see the puppy-dog mooning eyes Alex is sending him). “I’ll pick you up at six,” he tells Alex. “This better be a good lead, Isobel.”

He storms out of Isobel’s house without looking back at anyone and heads straight to the trailer.

Once there, he opens one of his junk drawers and pulls out a ring box that he’s had since he was twenty-one. It had been a wildly stupid summer with Alex back in town. That summer, Michael had very nearly run away to UNM, begging Alex to come with him instead of going on his second tour.

He’d bought a ring. Michael Guerin, twenty-one, stupid and in love, decided that the next natural step would be to buy a ring. Only, then Alex hadn’t showed up for their date where Michael planned to ask him to run away with him. Years later, he’d found out that he couldn’t, because Jesse Manes had pulled some strings when he’d found out about Alex’s plans, making sure that he’d be required on base.

Michael had put the ring away at twenty one and never brought it out again. At least, not until tonight, because he’s supposed to be playing married.

He taps the box against his chest a few times, his mangled fingers clasping it tightly, and he stares out the window, trying to figure out what you wear when you’re trying to impersonate a married couple.

He has a hard enough time impersonating a normal human being most days, how’s he supposed to do this?

Michael turns off the part of his brain that does feelings and heads to the meet-up point for six, getting in Alex’s car because apparently his beat-up Chevy doesn’t carry the right impression (thanks, Isobel, for that encouraging text).

“You ready?” Alex asks.

“Fuck no,” Michael responds, “but if this guy has anything that belongs to us, I need to know. What do you want to say if he asks about our history?”

“I made us up a background that should hold,” Alex says, as they start driving to the next town where David Trapper lives. “Let’s keep it pretty close to reality? We met in high school and started dating there, off and on. When DADT got repealed, we decided to get hitched, and now we live in Roswell.”

The way he says it is clinical and official, but even that is more than Michael’s ever thought he’d get from Alex. “Okay,” he says, tapping his fingers on the dash to get out some of his nervous energy. “And uh, our names?”

“I took yours. Alex Guerin is the ID he’ll find if he looks me up, which I anticipate him doing.” Alex is doing his Listen To Me, I’m In The Air Force voice, which means they’re about 0010 minutes from Michael being given an order that will get him embarrassingly hard. “I’m not going to mess this up for you.”

“I never said you were,” Michael replies heatedly. “This isn’t me freaking out because I don’t think you can do it, Alex, you have to admit this is awkward. We’re playing pretend. You broke us up, twice, I slept with Maria, now you want to be friends and the first thing we do is decide to get fake married to look into alien artifacts.”

Alex shakes his head in disbelief, but he’s smiling, so clearly he understands how weird this is.

“It’s not, admittedly, how I expected us to start over, but is it so bad? Friends investigate things together. They go out for drinks every few days to decompress and talk about their day. We’ve been doing that. It’s been nice, even.” Alex shrugs as he takes the turn down the long driveway of the address they’ve been given. “Maybe this is a good test for us.”

It’s dark, now that they’ve arrived and it doesn’t help with the ominous mood that’s been creeping up on him the last few minutes. Alex parks a fair distance away as they both peer out the windshield at what awaits.

The house is a creepy looking mansion in the dark and Michael hates it. He thinks he’d hate it even if he didn’t know the guy inside was collecting artifacts like it’s some creepy kink. It’s that gaudy flaunting of wealth that makes him sick, the same as it always did when he was a kid.

“Hey,” Michael murmurs, heart racing as he digs out the box from his pocket. “Gotta sell this, right?” He opens it and it’s probably sad to be as proud as he is about the fact that he doesn’t fumble the ring, but he manages to get it out and offers it out to Alex.

He’d fashioned himself one from some scrap metal and he’s hoping Alex doesn’t look at the ring too long and hard to notice that the platinum band doesn’t match the stainless one Michael’s wearing.

Luckily, Alex says nothing, even if he does give Michael a wary look as he slides it on, his eyes softening. It looks like there’s something on the tip of his tongue, though, but Michael can’t cope with a fake marriage and a mission in the same night as hearing real feelings, so he gets out of the car before Alex can say anything.

He’s pretty sure that Isobel didn’t think about the tension between the two of them when she’d sent them on this little mission of hers, because already he feels like they’re fucking it up. He comes to a stop outside the steps to the porch when he sees a figure standing there.

Someone’s been waiting for them.

Michael tries to convince himself this isn’t like an awful horror movie, and turns to find Alex using his crutch as he makes his way to Michael’s side.

“Mr and Captain Guerin,” David Trapper greets them from the porch of his lavish estate, and Michael threads his fingers into Alex’s hand not just to sell the bit, but because he could use the support. “Please, come in. Isobel mentioned that you had come into some money recently and were interested in seeing my collection.”

“We’re aficionados,” Alex smoothly agrees, giving Michael a nudge to get him moving. “We’d heard that you were intending to sell some of your items and were interested in seeing what you have to offer.”

“I do love to show it off. Please! Come in!” Trapper encourages. “I have the best collection of items I’ve purchased this side of Roswell, but I’m always willing to part with one of them for the right amount of money.”

Michael presses his lips together and tries very hard not to think about sending one of the suits of armor telekinetically flying into Trapper’s face.

Rich asshole bastard.

“Here we are,” he says, ascending a flight of stairs and leading them down a long hallway, with wood floors and heavy oak paneled walls. Everything here is behind a case and looks to have its own security measures. “Seventy years of collecting has yielded this, my own personal monument to our little green friends.”

It’s insulting, is what it is. Michael’s never been green, if you exclude the time he gave himself accidental acetone food poisoning by combing a bottle of it with some really bad sushi.

As much as he’s predisposed to hate this man and his house, his collection is actually incredible. Sure, there’s a few pieces of useless meteorites, but the technology looks genuine and he’s seen copies of the memos on display on the dark web, including the original transcripts from Brazel.

Michael drifts away from Alex’s side to keep going down this rabbit hole, barely paying attention to the small talk Alex is offering to keep Trapper occupied.

Considering he thought this place was going to be a bust, he’s quickly learning how wrong he is. The sound of a phone ringing cuts into his focus and he turns to watch Trapper taking a call, wishing he could listen in on whatever it is he’s being told, but he doesn’t seem keen to even be near them while he talks.

“I have to take this call, you two stay here, enjoy the Alien Wing,” he says, ducking out to the main foyer and leaving Alex and Michael alone.

The minute he’s gone, Michael shorts out the security cameras. “Asshole,” he grumbles, but his eyes are fixed on the various display cases on show, wondering how the hell he got his hands on these items, but the real prize possession seems to be at the end of the hall, with three times as many alarms as anything else. It looks like a glowing piece of the ship, but the placard makes him sick when he realizes that it’s alien in nature, but it’s not mechanical.

It’s organic.

He stares at it for a long time, his brow furrowed.

“Michael?”

“Organ from the 1947 alien autopsy,” he reads, staring at the iridescent shimmering before him, wondering if it belonged to a family member, a friend, a guardian, or someone else all-together. Did this person die to protect him? He’s staring at it while Alex starts to jimmy the panel loose, hooking up his device so he can hack into the security system.

Glancing up as he works, Alex looks worried from what Michael can see out of the corner of his eye. “It’s real?”

“I think so,” Michael says, feeling numb. He can’t explain why he thinks he’s so sure, but there’s a connection and a pull towards it.

Alex finishes with the software he’s sending, a conflicted look on his face as he presses in close to Michael, a hand on his hip. “Hey,” he murmurs. “You know we can’t take it. He’ll call the cops and that’s the last thing we need.”

“I know,” Michael replies, but it’s monotone, like he’s on autopilot.

“Michael…”

“I know,” he snaps, because he does. He has to leave this place because this is only recon and he’s not allowed to use his power to smash the glass and take back this stolen piece of his history.

“We’ll come back.”

He knows, but it doesn’t make it any better. “What do you want to tell him?” he asks, searching Alex’s face for advice and finding a flood of warm sympathy there. Maybe they’re pretending to be hitched, but he’s pretty sure Alex has nailed the whole ‘support your spouse’ part of this. “What should be we be making an offer on?”

“The memos,” he says. “We don’t want him thinking we’re into the alien stuff just yet. I’ll tell him we’re going to go home and think about it, then we’ll make sure he’s not connected to the government in any way.” He steps into Michael’s space so he catch his eye, clearly trying to calm him down. “Okay?”

It’s really not okay, but what choice does Michael have? He rips his gaze away from the glowing and pulsating object, swallowing back his stubbornness so they don’t get caught.

“Okay.”

It takes another ten minutes to conclude their business with Trapper and get out of there, but he doesn’t seem suspicious and that’s all Michael can ask for. The drive back is spent in silence, because Michael can’t stop thinking about the organ in the case, and he can’t stop thinking about the rings on their fingers – fake in Michael’s case, but so real when it comes to the one Alex sports.

Once they’re back in Roswell, Michael knows that he’s going back once he figures out a decoy to swap with the items in Trapper’s care. He’s not leaving anything back at Trapper’s place, but he doesn’t need a fake-husband for that. Alex has brought him back to the junkyard and parked the car, turning to face Michael as he lifts his hand, starting to work off the ring. “Here,” he says. “Before I forget, you should take this back.”

Watching Alex pry off the ring, Michael feels a wave of courage wash over him.

He reaches out and folds Alex’s fingers over it. “Keep it,” he says.

“Michael, it’s yours, it must have cost…”

“Keep it,” he says. “But the next time that you and I do something that requires a married couple to go, I’m not faking it with you,” he warns, a promise he intends to keep. Seeing his family’s body on display like that has filled Michael with a need to make sure that he doesn’t take anything for granted. “I spent fifty years in a pod, in stasis, but I came out at the exact right time. I don’t know how, but maybe you and I were meant to. I was protected by someone, and maybe this isn’t what they intended for me, but one year more or less and everything would’ve been different. I’m gonna make it right. I’ll talk, I’ll be your friend, but one day, I’m gonna earn that ring back from you because otherwise, if I waste away my life, what does that say to the people who worked so hard to keep us safe?”

He can’t keep fucking up with Alex and he knows they’re not ready, but he really needs Alex to understand that.

Alex slides the ring back into his pocket, nodding, looking thoughtfully at him. Michael’s expecting Alex to tell him to stop being unrealistic or to stop pushing, but he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he presses Michael against the door of the truck and kisses him like they had at the reunion, crashing into each other as Alex’s fingers tangle into Michael’s hair, kissing him until desperate sounds are wrenched from Alex’s throat.

When he eases back, Alex presses his forehead to Michael’s. “I knew you were secretly a romantic,” he teases. “You’re saying we’re fated?”

“I don’t know what else to call it,” Michael admits, because he believes in coincidence, but them finding each other feels like more than that. “Come on,” he says, swallowing the lump in his throat. “We need to tell them what we found and I need to go plan a heist.”

“Not alone, you don’t,” Alex guarantees, and Michael feels his heart pounding in his chest to know he’s got a partner in crime. “For better or worse, until government agencies do us part.”

“Yeah,” Michael agrees, and he’s ready to go reclaim a piece of his history, with the best fake-husband ever at his side.

#Anonymous #malex #fake marriage #alien artifacts #michael guerin #roswell new mexico #fic prompts

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superiordragonlorde · 5 years

Text

Don’t Forget Me

April 6: Sunset | Forget-Me-Not | Sunshine of Your Love by Cream

Here’s day 6 for @kiridekuweek2k19 . Hope you all enjoy!

Eijirou sat on the edge of his bed, chewing on a nail as his mind ran in circles. It was three in the morning and sleep had eluded him like a bar of soap in the shower as he’d tossed and turned in the large bed. The left side, which he was sitting on, was warm and messy, with the sheets thrown aside haphazardly, while the opposite end was cold and untouched. The mere sight of it made a hole rip open in the middle of Eijirou’s chest.

He stood, wincing at the creaking of mattress springs, and crept down the hallway. Peering into the living room, he could make out the dim silhouette of a body sleeping on the pull-out couch, curled under the blankets. A disembodied hand gripped Eijirou’s heart, digging its claws in deeper with every pained beat. He clenched his fist, nails biting into his palm.

The world had turned itself upside-down when a villain, going by the name Wasuregusa, had attacked Izuku while he had been out on patrol with one of his sidekicks. As soon as Eijirou had received the call that his husband was in the hospital, he had raced over and tore the place apart in his search. When he’d finally found him, instead of relieved hugs and tender kisses, he had been met with wide, terrified green eyes, and a hesitant voice that had stuttered, “I-I’m sorry, but... I don’t know you.”

Izuku’s sidekick, an anxious yet headstrong girl, had later relayed to Eijirou that while they were on patrol, the villain had tried to attack her. Izuku had shoved her aside and lured the villain away. When she had finally found him again, he’d been lying, unconscious in an alleyway, with a small, blue flower tucked behind his ear.

Forget-me-not, it had later been clarified.

About a week after, the villain had been apprehended, and Hitoshi had called Eijirou, asking to meet with him privately.

“Look, I’m not going to beat around the bush,” he had started, his standard eyebags darker and heavier than usual. “This isn’t looking too good. Midoriya’s going to be fine. The quirk doesn’t affect him physically in any way, but according to past records and Wasuregusa, it does affect him mentally. Wasuregusa’s quirk causes a specific form of amnesia, so there’s going to be some... things Midoriya won’t be able to remember.”

“Ok.” Eijirou had nodded, inhaling deeply to center himself as the news swirled around his brain like a hurricane. “Can he... Will his memories come back?”

Hitoshi had slowly shaken his head, looking mournful. “None of the other victim’s have shown signs of their memories returning, and Wasuregusa said that he hasn’t had any luck either.”

“What do you mean ‘he hasn’t had any luck’?” Eijirou had inquired cautiously.

The underground hero had sighed and shrugged. “Apparently, he doesn’t have a lot of control over his quirk, so sometimes it gets out of hand. He’s accidentally used it before on family, friends, and romantic partners. I guess, after seeing its consequences so many times, he’s on an open-ended vengeance spree. Y’know, the whole ‘if I can’t have it, no one can’ mindset.”

“Sure, but—” Eijirou had started, then swallowed before pushing on— “But what kind of memories is he taking away? What is Izuku not going to remember?”

Hitoshi had fallen quiet and he’d fiddled with the trademark scarf wrapped around his neck and looked as though the weight of the world had been shoved onto his shoulders. With another deep, heavy sigh, he’d looked straight into Eijirou’s fearful, red gaze and had quietly said one word that had shattered his heart and world: “You.”

Hitoshi had haltingly explained that Wasuregusa’s quirk made his victims forget about the people they were in love with, which had meant that Izuku would have absolutely no recollection of Eijirou. The very fact that he could be so easily taken out of his husband’s life made Eijirou want to curl under his bedcovers and never see the light of day again. Or run and scream until he’d reached the end of the world.

Two-and-a-half months had gone by since the earth-shattering incident, and Izuku was still no closer to recovering his memories.

Eijirou had tried everything he could think of to help stimulate any of his memories. He’d recreated their first date, took him to the place where they’d first kissed, reread his wedding vows, and when those didn’t work, showed him the videotape of their wedding. Izuku had only watched and listened with a distant, uncomfortable gaze and a slight downturn of his lips, even if he was smiling. So, Eijirou had tried with smaller, more trivial things, like cooking Izuku breakfast in the morning, making katsudon for dinner, and even buying him special hero memorabilia. Each loving action had been met with a bright, excited smile that was still dimmed with confusion, but it had given Eijirou hope. That was until he’d brought home a Red Riot hoodie.

Izuku had held it up, brow furrowed in deep concentration. Eijirou had found his heart rising from its new residence in his stomach, soaring at the chance of Izuku finally getting his memories back.

“Who’s this? I’ve never seen this hero before.”

His heart had crashed to his feet like Icarus and his melting wings.

Maybe things would have been easier if Eijirou had someone to turn to, someone who understood a small part of what he was going through, but he was alone, the only person erased from Izuku’s life. Every member of Class 1-A, even if they had only been a part of the group for a year, still had a place in Izuku’s memories, like pieces to a puzzle. Eijirou couldn’t help but think of himself as a small, insignificant corner piece. Sure the picture was incomplete, but it wasn’t blatantly obvious, like if a middle piece was taken out, like Katsuki, for example.

Eijirou had tried so hard not to be jealous, but it was a herculean feat. Especially when Izuku was so close and happy around his friends, but politely distant with him, his own husband. He would pick up Ochako, pat Shouto’s arm, hug Tenya, hold Tsuyu’s hand, and playfully push Katsuki’s shoulder; all with a beaming, joyous smile that Eijirou would have sacrificed everything for just to have aimed at him one more time. He felt like he was a lone survivor in the desert, and Izuku’s soft, gentle touch was an oasis he would never be able to find.

To make matters so much worse, he knew that it was only politeness and concern for another human being that made Izuku stay in the same apartment as Eijirou. Not to mention, Izuku’s friends had probably somehow managed to convince him to try and be with him, a person whom he had no memory of ever meeting, more or less marrying, and yet knew almost everything there was to know about him.

Eijirou bit his bottom lip and watched Izuku’s chest rise and fall for a few more moments. He gripped the corner of the wall with all of his strength, fighting against the suffocating urge to lay in the open space behind him, wrap his arms around his waist, and bury his nose into the soft, curly hair. He shook his head hard enough he was sure he heard his brain rattle and headed back to the empty bedroom. His mind scrambled desperately for a single idea that could trigger the forgotten memories. One slowly started to form and Eijirou grabbed it tightly with both hands, watching it grow between his fingers with hesitant excitement. It was a long shot, especially when nothing else had worked, but, he decided, it was worth a try.

Eijirou looked out over the pale sand and dark blue water of the beach with trepidation. Izuku stood beside him, rubbing his arm and looking at the vast space in mild confusion and caution. The space between them felt as though it could fit the entire ocean between them, despite the fact that they were close enough to reach out and hold hands.

Eijirou settled on walking through the sand instead, picking out the perfect spot to lay out the blanket tucked under his arm. Izuku timidly sat beside him, knees curled to his chest and arms wrapped around them. Eijirou’s heart constricted at the submissive posture. His mind unwillingly flashed back to the stuttering, anxious high schooler he had first met in Class 1-A. It was like they were strangers again, but only one of them knew any different.

“Do you remember this place?” he asked, head tilted as he watched Izuku with tentative hope.

He nodded slowly, gaze darkened with foreboding, like a man about to be interrogated for the second time that day. “Y-yeah, I, um, I came here, a lot, when I was a kid.” To train with All Might, was left unsaid. Izuku had told him about his quirk after they had been engaged, with twitchy fingers and fearful eyes, like the truth would mean the end of their relationship. Eijirou had kissed him as deeply as he could and held him close to his chest, loving and adoring the new part of Izuku he had just discovered.

“Did you ever come back as an adult?” he pushed, the hope flickering dangerously in his chest.

Izuku cringed like he was waiting for a final blow as he rested his chin on his knees. A long, heavy sigh slipped out of him. “No.”

The hope, with one last, staggering gasp, died, leaving a cold ember in its place. Eijirou held his head in his hands, his eyes growing hot and burning.

He had proposed to Izuku three years ago on this beach after he’d gotten a very tearful blessing from Ms. Midoriya. Her son’s reaction had been fairly similar, except he’d dragged Eijirou up from his knees, without even using One for All, to capture his new fiance’s lips. It had been a day Eijirou had thought would be unforgettable.

He hated how wrong he had been.

“I’m sorry,” Izuku murmured, causing Eijirou to look up. “I just... I can’t remember. I know we’re married. I mean, it explains this—” He held up his left hand, the metal band on his ring finger reflecting the sun’s dying light— “And everyone tries to tell me stories about you. They really like you. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Kacchan care about someone so much in my life! Well, I mean... I think I’ve seen him like that before, but it’s... it’s kind of fuzzy.”

Because I was there, Eijirou bitterly thought.

“I know that I’m supposed to love you,” Izuku continued on, the words rolling out of his mouth like boulders down a cliff. “And that we’re supposed to be happy together, but I just...” He sucked in a shaky breath and turned to pin Eijirou down with watery green eyes. “I just don’t know you.”

Eijirou sighed. “I know.”

“I’m really sorry,” Izuku whispered.

Eijirou shook his head. “This isn’t your fault, you don’t have anything you need to apologize for.”

“Kacchan seems to think otherwise,” Izuku admitted, a dry smile stretching his lips crookedly. “He told me that if I hadn’t been a self-sacrificing idiot, none of this would have happened.”

“You were trying to save your sidekick,” Eijirou argued, his mouth curling softly up. “And you always put other’s needs before your own, so that’s not really surprising. You’ve been like that since the day I met you, back when you punched that robot in the face, during entrance exam. You were trying to save Uraraka and— damn, that was the manliest thing I’d ever seen!”

A bark of laughter burst from Izuku. “Sorry—” He shook his head, waving a hand to disperse the sharp laugh— “It just still surprises me how much you seem to know and care about... me.” He swallowed and looked down at his hands. His lips moved and Eijirou held his breath to catch the quiet words. “I’m sorry I can’t love you back. You obviously deserve it.”

A dull numbness settled in Eijirou’s chest, like a cheap, knock-off brand of relief. “That’s ok.” A small part of him tried to stop the words coming out of his mouth, but they kept falling off his tongue. “I get it— Well, no, I... I guess I don’t get it. But, I know that you need to do whatever helps you. You give up so much of yourself for others, and that’s what makes you an amazing hero and friend.” He turned to face Izuku, forcing his mouth to morph into a comforting smile. “But, right now, you need to take care of you, and I’m just getting in the way of that by being a really crappy friend.

“I’m... I’m going to be completely honest with you, Izuku. I—” He paused, taking in a shuddering breath as his vision blurred with tears— “I don’t want to lose you. I wanted to help you get your memories back so you wouldn’t forget about me, b-but that just— I made you do things you weren’t even comfortable with, and you went along with them, because you’re— Dammit, you’re so fucking amazing and manly and—” Izuku laughed wetly, covering his mouth with a scarred hand. “Wh-what?”

“I’m so sorry,” he apologized. “Kaminari said that was a catchphrase of yours and I didn’t believe it until just now. This is the second time you’ve said it in less than five minutes.”

Eijirou flushed and a wobbly grin stretched across his face. “Do you like it?” The question slipped out before he could catch it.

Izuku’s smile tilted into something softer. “Yeah, I do. It... it makes me feel... I guess better? Stronger? I just... I don’t know, but I really like it.”

Eijirou was sure a knife had been plunged and twisted into his chest. “Izuku,” he breathed, voice trembling. “I don’t want this to freak you out, but... I love you, and I know that I’ll never stop loving you—” He reached down and grabbed Izuku’s hand— “ But I think, the best thing I can do for you right now is to step back and let you go.” He took the ring and slid it off with gentle fingers. It sat heavily in his hand like his entire world rested within it.

“I-if you want to,” he started, failing to keep his words steady and calm. “I’d... I’d really like to become friends, with you.” He glanced up to find Izuku staring at the ring in his hand, tears dripping down his face. Eijirou’s quickly brushed them away before he could second guess himself. “H-hey, hey, it’s ok—”

“Sorry, sorry,” Izuku sniffled, wiping his eyes. “I-I— I don’t know why I’m crying. I mean, I don’t even remember you giving me that, but...” His gaze sank back down to the ring. “I feel like I just gave up something really important, and... now I’ll never get it back.”

A twisted, painful smile pulled at Eijirou’s mouth. “You don’t have to worry about getting this back,” he swore. “I’m going to keep loving you, Izuku. This—” he held up the ring— “Is always going to be yours, even if you decide you don’t want it.

“I-I’m not going to lie, I want things to go back to the way they were, when we were married and happy together, but I would still be the happiest and luckiest man in the world if you and I were still able to be friends. Do— do you want to be?”

Izuku’s gaze flickered up to his and a soft, trembling smile lifted the corners of his lips. “Y-yeah, I’d... I’d like that, too. You’re a really cool guy, Kirishima. And very manly.” He giggled and Eijirou would have kissed him if things had been like what they once were. He would have kissed him, trailed his fingers through his green curls, stroked his freckled cheeks, and told him how beautiful he looked with the sunset’s rays caressing his face.

But he didn’t. Instead, he took a lesson he’d learned from Izuku when they were still in high school together. He gave the love of his life the biggest, brightest smile he could muster, even as his heart withered with an agonized cry.

Their silence was both companionable and foreign. If Eijirou let himself imagine the past two-and-a-half months had never happened, it would be almost like the evening they’d strolled together down the beach, a ring sitting lightly in his pocket as a promise for a wonderful future. But Izuku was too quiet, too fidgety, and too uncomfortable for it to be the same.

With jerky awkwardness, Izuku lightly patted Eijirou’s hand and stood. Eijirou scrambled up with him, feeling the end of a soothing lie looming over him. As soon as Izuku was gone, reality would come crashing around him, and Eijirou wasn’t sure if he could survive it.

“Well, I, um—” Izuku rocked on his feet, rubbing his arm again. “I guess, since we’re not really together anymore, I should stay here with my mom for the night.”

“We can still head back and call one of your friends along the way. I’m sure none of them would mind,” Eijirou offered, selfishly wishing for one last moment together with Izuku on the train ride back.

Izuku shook his head. “That’s ok, it’s getting late and I don’t want to bother any of them. Besides, it’s been a while since I’ve last visited my mom, so, I think this will be a nice surprise for her.”

It was an obvious excuse, and Eijirou felt a crushing weight slam down onto his already fragile heart. He nodded, forcing himself to stay true to his promise of letting Izuku go. “Ok, sure. I get that. Um, you have my number, so, if you ever want to hang out, just... y’know.”

Izuku huffed a soft chuckle. “Right.” He took a step back then hesitated, biting his bottom lip. “Hey, um, do you— do you mind texting me when you get home? Just so I, um, I know you got there safely?”

Eijirou’s wounded heart warmed despite the suffocating pressure crushing it to dust. His smile curled into something more genuine. “I will. Don’t worry.”

Izuku nodded, relief followed by mild confusion flashed across his eyes before he blinked and they disappeared. He took another step back, pointing his thumb in the general direction of his childhood home. “I-I guess I better, um, go... before it gets too late.”

“Yeah.” Eijirou smothered the longing that tried to slip into his voice. “That’s, uh, that’s a good idea. I, um, I’ll see you around?”

Izuku’s smile was a soft blanket that Eijirou’s heart quickly snatched and huddled underneath, savoring its warmth. “Yeah, I’ll see you later.” He took another step back and raised a hesitant hand to wave. “Bye, Kirishima.” He spun on his heel and hurriedly strode through the sand.

Eijirou watched his receding back, calling out a soft “bye” in return. He hoped it wasn’t a final farewell, but he couldn’t shake off the feeling that there was something that would forever be missing from his life. As soon as Izuku disappeared from sight, he looked back down at his palm where the ring still innocently sat, heavy, cold, and empty. He closed his fingers around it, tight enough to leave an imprint in his flesh, and collapsed onto the blanket, clutching his last piece of the past to his chest.

#kiridekuweek2k19 #kirideku #bnha #boku no hero academia #eijirou kirishima #izuku midoriya #hitoshi shinsou #my fic #my writing

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