#are supposed to be two of the greatest and most rewarding months i’ve ever had and i’m not letting others taint that x

[pop-punklouis]

-

[hockeyboysiguess]

how to cross a hurricane | m. rantanen

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

word count: 40,379 (eeeep!)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh my god, it’s so good to see you!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So, now is a bad time then, huh?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

------

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

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

Hey friend :) 

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

Hey friend

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

------

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-------

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He does?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“H,” Jo sighed. 

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

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

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

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

“Did you have fun?” he asked her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

------

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

------

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jojo!” 

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you proud?” 

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

Appreciate might have been the wrong word. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey, Mik, I need a pong partner.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jojo’s toothbrush :) 

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

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

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

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

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

“M’kay,” Jo sighed contentedly. 

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

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

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

-------

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

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

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

“I’ll teach you.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay, I really hope you like it-”

“Jo, I love it,” Mikko cut her off.

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

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

“Always, Mik,” Jo smiled softly at him

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

“What are you thinking about?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-------

Let the record show, Josephine Evans vowed to do absolutely nothing other than eat the chocolates she bought herself and watch cringe-worthy Netflix romantic comedies for Valentine’s Day. It was a date she set up with herself and it only involved moving to her couch to attend the date, so she was pretty sure she wouldn’t have a problem making it and therefore wouldn’t let herself down. Until there was a knock on her door in a pattern that had become incredibly familiar to her since her third day in Denver. Jo groaned as she lifted herself from her couch, moving the chocolates to her coffee table and her blanket around her shoulders. He knew about her date with herself today. Why was he here? 

“Mikko,” Jo groaned as she opened the door.

But she couldn’t be mad at the smiling face on the other side of the door. His dark beanie was pulled down over his ears, his coat buttoned up high on his neck to protect him from the chilly Denver air. His cheeks were flushed from his walk from the parking lot he had long received Jo’s second pass to; he was over so much, she finally surrendered and gave it to him. He didn’t have a key yet, but he was well on his way there. He sniffed a little from the cold as he offered her out a red envelope with her name scratched on it in his handwriting. She had never been mad at Mikko, not even for a minute, since they met. She wasn’t going to start now, even when he crashed her self-love date, with his sweet smile and a fucking valentine. 

“If no one is going to be smart enough to ask you to be their valentine, then I will. Jojo Evans, will you be my valentine?” 

Jo looked at the red envelope in his hands, then up to his smiling face, dimple prominent, eyes still a shade of blue Jo hadn’t figured out how to describe. Not an ocean, not the sky. Nothing was quite right. They were all too cold for how warm his eyes always were. Jo was brought back into the moment by Mikko scrunching his nose up at her and wiggling the envelope, waiting for her answer, even though he knew she couldn’t say no to him. Jo sighed and gave him her best displeased look, before snatching the envelope from his hand. Mikko smiled impossibly wider and pushed into Jo’s apartment, taking up residence on the chair by the couch after leaving his snowy boots by the door. 

Jo ripped open the red envelope carelessly; she had never been good at opening envelopes. The card inside was cliche, sweet to the point of being cavity inducing. There was glitter and hearts and everything you would have put on a card in third grade when you made cards for your classmates, except Mikko didn’t hand make this one, which was probably for the better. He had definitely picked out the most obnoxious one he could find at the store though. It was his short note inside that had Jo clutching the card to her chest as Mikko scrolled through his phone in the living room. 

Happy Valentine’s Day, Jojo-bean :) Hope you don’t mind me crashing. Wouldn’t want to spend today with anyone else

With shaky hands, Jo clipped the card to the front of her fridge, like her mom did with Valentine’s Day cards when Jo was little and still lived in Denver and the world was simple. Jo had been thinking a lot about her childhood, well, her early childhood anyway, when she lived in the suburbs of the city. She hadn’t even driven through her old neighborhood since she had been back. She was sort of afraid of it, not because her time there was bad, the opposite. Her time there was so good. It was pure, not yet ruined like Los Angeles where her family had moved after or New York City, where Jo had unfortunately learned what it was like to be an adult judged by millions of people for every micro-movement she made. That neighborhood in Denver was a safe place, housing memories of her childhood untouched by the harsh reality of twenty-four-year-old Jo’s life. She didn’t want to go and ruin it for herself. But she wanted to go. And maybe, maybe if she took the brightest human she knew with her, his light would cancel out her darkness and those memories would stay a safe haven. 

“Hey, did you have anything planned?” Jo shouted out to Mikko as she made her way into her closet, reaching for a pair of jeans to throw on. 

“Honestly, not really,” Mikko admitted. Jo could hear him talking around the chocolate he’d definitely stolen and was currently trying to hide from her in his mouth, but she let it go with a smile and a shake of her head. “Anything you want to do?” 

“You ask a girl to be your valentine and you don’t even have a plan, Rantanen?” Jo chirped, well, as good as she could chirp, as she yanked on a comfy Avalanche sweatshirt Mikko had gotten for her. 

Mikko laughed and played it off well, “I figured if I was crashing your plans, maybe I’d see what you wanted to do together instead?” 

Jo grabbed her snow boots and a gray hat with a bobble on top she knew Mikko would bat at before they even made it out the door before heading back into the living room where he was waiting. There was chocolate on the corner of his mouth and there was definitely more than one extra empty space in the box, but Jo let it slide. 

“Would you be down to take a little drive out to the suburbs near where I grew up?” Jo asked him as she sat down on the couch to start lacing up her boots. “I haven’t been since I got this place and I kind of want to go?” 

She said it like a question, a bad habit she had picked up in an effort to sound more flexible to other people’s needs, diminishing her own at the same time. Mikko knew what she was doing as he lifted himself out of the chair to grab his boots, staying by the door so he didn’t track snow through Jo’s pristine apartment he’d never seen even a pillow out of place in until he messed it up himself. Mikko knew Jo was trying to hide the fact that she really wanted to go to her old neighborhood, so to her old neighborhood was where they were going to go. 

Mikko drove since Jo really didn’t drive much anymore, at least, that’s why she told herself he drove. It wasn’t because she liked being able to look at him while he drove, large hands on the steering wheel, sunlight across his face, making his eyes look like a different color Jo still couldn’t describe for the life of her. That definitely wasn’t why Mikko usually drove. Mikko let Jo control the music. He’d play exclusively Finnish rap music if she didn’t and besides, music was her job. She had introduced him to so many incredible things he could probably never thank her enough, but really, he always let her control the music because she’d talk about it if he did. She’d walk him through the song, commenting on its construction, the originality, the way it fit together, her passion deep in each analysis. If you were ever lucky enough to hear a person you love talk about their deepest passion in life, you should let them talk as long as they want to. At least, that’s what Mikko thought and that’s why Jo always controlled the music in the car. 

Jo directed them into the suburbs, streets becoming more and more familiar as they exited the city. A sense of home Jo hadn’t felt in a long time flooded her as Mikko took the turn into her old neighborhood, her memory flashing back to all the times her mom and dad had taken that turn with her in the backseat, all the times the school bus she rode as a little kid, all the times she turned that corner on her bicycle. She learned to ride it on this street. The feeling of home was distant, almost foreign in how far away it felt from her. 

“Turn right at the next street, Mik.” 

Mikko nodded, shifting to bopping his head to the music as he turned. Jo added the song to the playlist on his Spotify simply titled “Jo’s Music.” Any time she played a song in the car for him and he seemed to like it, she added it to a playlist for him, in case he wanted to go back and listen to it later. Jo didn’t know that Mikko listened to it every single day without fail. It was his everything playlist. When he didn’t have a specific type of music he was looking for, he put it on. It played when he first got up in the morning as he made himself breakfast and in the car on the way to the arena. It kept him company on flights back to Denver, flights back to Jo, after losing roadies. Every time he played it, he remembered these moments, moments with Jo and him alone, something he knew that when she left Denver eventually he wouldn’t get many of anymore. When each song played, wherever he was, he could hear her voice singing over it, hear the little comments she made, see her bad but still better than his dance moves in his passenger seat. He saw her when it played like she was right there next to him, living his life with him.

“Turn left at the next street, then it’s the third house on the right. It used to be yellow, not sure if it still is.” 

Mikko flicked on his turn signal then turned as Jo instructed. It was easy to spot the house Jo grew up in as soon as they turned the corner. The house was still yellow. And somehow, the fact that the house was still yellow, a color Jo demanded her parents paint it when she was three with no concept that it would make the house look like a bumblebee when they put the black shutters on it, made tears come to her eyes. She wiped them on the back of her hands as Mikko rolled to a stop in front of the house, hoping he didn’t see. He did see, but he let her have a private moment in the passenger seat of his car, ready to step in if her tears shifted from ones sponsored by her childhood to something else, something negative she drove herself to instead. 

“I remember making a snowman every year right there,” Jo told Mikko softly, a hand pointing to the spot on the grass near where the driveway met the walkway. “I wanted to pick the most visible spot to the street, I guess.” 

Mikko nodded softly, then turned the engine off, surprising Jo. He grabbed his keys and slid them into his pocket before stepping out of the car without a word to Jo. He had an idea and he was going to see it through and he knew if he told Jo what it was, she would try to hold him down in the driver’s seat to stop him. Mikko was already knocking on the front door by the time Jo had opened the passenger door of his car and had started to shout to ask him what he was doing. 

The front door opened before Jo could reach Mikko, despite her best efforts to run through the snow, in her large snow boots, to peel him off some poor person’s front porch before he created what Jo thought would be a disaster. Mikko put on his best smile as an elderly woman appeared in the doorway, a confused expression on her face as she surveyed the two twenty-somethings on her doorstep that were too well dressed to be trying to sell her something. 

“Hi there,” Mikko was really trying to pour as much European charm into his voice as he could. “We’re sorry to bother you. I’m Mikko and that’s Jo behind me. This might be a kind of weird request, but Jo actually grew up in this house when she was little and I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind if we built a snowman on your front lawn? We won’t come inside or cause any trouble, I promise. We just want to build a snowman, or really, I want to build one with Jojo like she did when she was a kid.” 

The woman looked at Mikko and Jo watched her absolutely melt under his dimpled smile and kind eyes. Her hands came up over her heart, one on top of the other and she gasped softly. She looked at Mikko like he was heaven sent, which Jo thought someday might not be too far off from the truth. She turned to Jo, the look of adoration on her face staying strong. 

“Your boyfriend is the sweetest little, well, big, piece of peach pie I’ve ever seen,” she told Jo, the adoration on her face dripping from each word. “Of course, build away!”

The door closed before Jo could correct her, that Mikko wasn’t her boyfriend, just her boy friend, her best friend really. No one else was even coming close to vying for that job title anymore. Mikko turned and smiled at her and Jo sort of forgot why that distinction even mattered for a second, lost in the moment of one of the sweetest things anyone had done for her in awhile, or, at least since Mikko had show up at her door this morning with a valentine for her. 

“Get our gloves from the car and we’ll get started, yeah?” Mikko asked her. 

Jo turned on her heels to head to the car, but Mikko’s hand grabbing her wrist stopped her and pulled her back to him. He was chewing his bottom lip as his eyes shifted to look at the concrete beneath his feet. Jo used his hand on her wrist as an anchor and leaned into him, her other hand falling on his chest making him lift his eyes back to hers.

“I didn’t overstep, right?” he asked her, his voice much softer than for his first question. “Did I make you uncomfortable?” 

“No, Mikko,” Jo said firmly, her voice solid and sure, strong and supportive. “You surprised me, but this whole day so far is one of the sweetest things anyone has done for me in a long time. You’re the best, Mik.” 

Mikko pulled his lips tight over his teeth, nodded softly, then let his trademark smile come back over his face as he looked down at Jo. Mikko slowly let a part of him he kept tucked far away from the surface come up, letting it guide his hand to transition to holding hers instead of her wrist, fingers lacing together. Mikko tugged Jo closer by their conjoined hands, her boots shuffling against the floor to comply easily with his request. 

Mikko Rantanen wasn’t harboring a secret love for Josephine Evans. It was clear as day to everyone, even Jo herself. It was in his shaky handwriting on the card from earlier. It was in the purple toothbrush at his place. It was in the car rides. It was in the hugs after games. It was in the texts that always started with, “Saw this and thought you’d like it.” It was in the knock on the front door of her childhood home. It was in the way he was looking at her right now. His love was right there, breaking on the surface, begging Jo to jump into the deep waters of his ever growing love for her. Mikko loved her more than she could understand, probably more than he could fully understand either, but he could feel it. She could feel it as his head slowly leaned down towards hers, her eyes fluttering closed as she felt his warm breath fanning out across her face.

But Jo couldn’t jump in. The water might have been deep and warm and crystal clear, the kind she wanted to swim in forever. But Jo was still a hurricane. She would cause a storm over that water, over the lands that made up Mikko touching it, and wreak havoc on it all. Her winds would cause his love for her to destroy him, the water crashing to shore, washing away everything that made him her favorite person, water damage rotting the parts that didn’t wash away.

Jo couldn’t jump in, but she never wanted anything more as she could feel him, his lips inches from hers now. Jo was saved from the moment by the front door to the house she grew up in opening again. Mikko recoiled back before Jo could even open her eyes. 

“Oh, sorry!” the elderly woman said. “Sorry, I interrupted you two sweethearts. Would you like some hot chocolate? I can get a batch going on the stove. Don’t want you two getting too cold out here.”

Mikko looked at Jo all the same, like that moment hadn’t just happened, but it was almost like it hadn’t. Because Jo never had time to pull away. She never stopped it, something outside of both of them did, so Mikko’s love remained untouched, calming waves still washing over her through his soft eyes and kind smile, through the very day he created for her and her alone. She loved him too. Standing on the porch of her childhood home, she loved him too. She loved him as deep as he loved her. That was so clear to her in the place where her heart felt lightest. He knew she loved him too. He knew today wasn’t the day she could share with him, the walls still too high. Mikko believed one day she could. Jo didn’t. And that made all the difference. 

“Hot chocolate would be great,” Mikko told the woman softly, his eyes staying on Jo. 

“Coming right up!” The woman spun to head toward her kitchen, the door almost completely shut before it opened again so she could ask, “Marshmallows?” 

“Of course,” Jo smiled at her.

“Me too,” Mikko added, his voice as embedded with happiness as ever. 

“You got it!”

With that, Jo and Mikko were back to being alone on the front porch. There wasn’t an awkwardness in the air though because Mikko didn’t feel turned down. He didn’t feel pushed aside. He simply felt like it wasn’t the right time and that the right time was just a little further down the road. Some days it seemed a little further down the road than others. Today it seemed close. It didn’t matter how far it was to Mikko though. He’d keep going anyway, even if the right time never came. If their lives changed and Jo found someone else, then he would too, but he’d never stop loving her. The love would just shift and Mikko would continue to keep on walking and being in Jo’s life. You can’t say you love someone, then stop if they can’t love you the same way you love them because then you don’t love them. You love the idea of them. Mikko loved Josephine, not his idea of her. So, he kept going. Today, keeping going meant walking to the car to grab their gloves to build a snowman on the front lawn of her childhood home. 

Mikko tossed Jo’s gloves at her, hitting her square in the chest, as he rejoined her by the snowman spot. Jo glared at him, but it fell into a smile quickly when Mikko laughed at her glare. Jo rolled her eyes at his laugh as she slowly gathered up some snow in her hand, packing it down tightly as Mikko squatted down to start creating an initial ball for the base of the snowman. Jo took her newly formed snowball and shifted it solely into her right hand then, without thinking about any possible repercussions, she threw it as hard as she could at Mikko’s left shoulder. The look on Mikko’s face when he looked over his shoulder at Jo made her instantly laugh, but she covered her mouth to try and be a little sympathetic. Mikko’s jaw was slack, blue eyes wide with artificial horror. His head was shaking softly from left to right as he stared at Jo. 

“Jojo,” Mikko drawled out slowly, taking his time to harp on each syllable like a frustrated mother with a petulant toddler, except Mikko was very, very bad at it. 

“Mikko,” Jo drew out the last vowel in his name as long as she could, until a smile forced itself onto his face. 

“Expect payback when you least expect it,” Mikko vowed. “Now, are you going to help me build us the best snowman ever or are you going to cause problems?” 

“Who said I can’t do both?” Jo smiled slyly as she joined Mikko on the ground. 

“Touché,” Mikko laughed, nodding softly as he did. “Touché, Jojo.” 

The day Mikko had first used that nickname she had hated since she lived in this house was far in the past now. Jo realized as she started to roll a giant snowball around the front yard of her childhood home with her best friend who was too large for this activity in all reality that she didn’t hate it anymore because she couldn’t think about that nickname without hearing it in his voice. Mikko had attached himself to that nickname and Jo was pretty sure there wasn’t anything Mikko was capable of that could make her hate him. The bottom snowball got too big for Jo to roll around quickly, but Mikko easily took over and let Jo get started on the second one instead. Even though it was just snowballs, it felt like a representation of them. Jo’s life felt too big, too tough for her to ever push aside, or to ever brute force into being something beautiful in spite of how messy it really was. But she could do parts of it, the early stages where everything could easily fall apart, Jo was working on her life, part by part, a section at a time. If the snowball fell apart, she tried again. She didn’t fall into her couch and surrender with a bottle of wine anymore. She let out a deep breath and tried again because she knew she wasn’t alone. There was a tall blond boy, rolling a snowball around the yard, would would help her push her life into the shape she wanted it to be if she asked for his help. Jo didn’t even really have to ask. He could see clearly when she was struggling, when she couldn’t get to the end of something, when she couldn’t finally delete that toxic person’s phone number, when she couldn’t cut the final thread holding someone in her life who didn’t deserve to be there, when she was so close to getting out of a thought spiral. Mikko stood behind her, his warm presence and her least favorite nickname, encouraging her with a patience unmatched by anyone she had ever encountered. Any sane person would’ve given up by now. But people in love weren’t really all that sane. 

“Hot chocolate! I even found some to go cups so you kids don’t have to worry about anything.” 

Of course this angelic grandmother would have to-go coffee cups for hot chocolate. Of course she would. And of course she would go to all the trouble of finding a carrot for the snowman’s nose and bringing some coals from her grill out back out front for them to use as buttons and eyes. Of course some people on the planet were this good and pure and wonderful and absolutely deserving of love. 

“You didn’t have to do all this,” Jo sighed gratefully as she took the hot chocolate from her. 

“Oh, don’t be silly,” she hushed Jo with a careless wave of her hand. “I’m happy to help you two kids out. It’s like my grandkids are here, well, like when they were here when they were eight.” 

She disappeared back into the house with another wave of her hand, telling the two of them to have fun. Jo took a sip of her hot chocolate at the same time Mikko did, both of them sighing contentedly at the the warm, sweet beverage. A shiver ran down Jo’s spine as the hot chocolate heated her up from the inside out. Jo scrunched her nose and smiled at Mikko over the top of her cup and of course he smiled back. It was never a question of if he would. 

“I think you might need to be done with that boulder of a snowball you’re making,” Jo noted as she observed Mikko’s handiwork. “You’re going to make it so big that the second one is going to have to be so big we can’t lift it.” 

“You might not be able to lift it, but you’re tiny so,” Mikko trailed off as a smirk lifted the corners of his mouth. 

“Not all of us can be giants,” Jo rolled her eyes at him. “The worlds needs shorter people who don’t mind climbing cabinets and counters and shelves and other people to get what they want in life.” 

“Pretty sure no one could ever stop you from getting what you want, Jo,” Mikko laughed. “At least, I wouldn’t want to be between you and whatever you wanted. Seems like a dangerous place to be.” 

Except there was really only one thing Jo wanted and she couldn’t stop thinking about how badly she wanted it as Mikko set his hot chocolate aside to roll the base snowball into place and transitioned to taking over the second one so Jo could start on the snowman’s head. It was the only thing she could think about as Mikko helped her stack the two smaller snowballs on top of the first, as he accidentally shoved the carrot almost through the snowman’s head in excitement, as Jo had to stop him from directly handling the coals to prevent him from making a mess of his hands. He grabbed some nearby twigs for arms and Jo found the perfect one to bend to make a smile. The elderly woman came out and took their photo with their snowman who was obviously a little lumpy, but Jo thought it was the best snowman she had ever made. 

Still, there was only one thing Jo could think as Mikko slid his hat back on and they climbed back in his car, declaring the day well spent. 

The only thing Jo wanted was Mikko Rantanen and the only thing standing in the way was Jo herself. Jo was only standing in the way because she loved him. She would stand in the way for as long as it took, just to protect him from it all. Jo would stand in the middle of a hurricane for Mikko Rantanen, rooting herself into the ground to keep herself there, category five winds and all. She would stand there for the rest of her life if that’s what it took to make sure he was still this optimistic, still this kind, still her favorite person because she wouldn’t let anyone else ruin him. She wouldn’t. 

------

With the Avalanche in a playoff push from late February to late March when they finally clinched a spot, Jo had seen Mikko on her couch less, but she hadn’t talked to him any less. He insisted she was his good luck charm and talked to her every single night, even if the team had gotten blown out the game before, he still claimed they would definitely lose if he didn’t talk to her. But Josephine Evans wasn’t all that lucky anymore. All the luck she had, her life’s allotment, had been used to get her to where she was now, in this apartment, with her childhood dream made a reality. Teenage Jo was lucky. Adult Jo? The opposite of lucky. 

She had just gone to the grocery store. She was missing one ingredient to bake oatmeal cookies, Mikko’s favorite, and he had asked her early that morning if she could make them to celebrate clinching the playoffs. He didn’t really need a reason to get her to bake them. Jo baked for him whenever he wanted, the smallest token she could give him to show her appreciation for him, her love for him that she couldn’t admit. It had just been brown sugar, stupid brown sugar, and suddenly six months of a secret had been destroyed, photos of her in an Avalanche sweatshirt in a Denver supermarket were everywhere. The only lucky part was that unlike almost everything Jo owned with the Avalanche logo on it, it was a plain sweatshirt, absent of the number ninety-six or Rantanen on it. Mikko was still unknown. He was still good, still untouched by her real life, the one she was starting to wish she wouldn’t have to go back to. 

Jo couldn’t even bake because her hands were shaking so badly. Today was supposed to be a good day, a great day, because her best friend had achieved something great and it was sunny out. Sunny days were supposed to be good days. Instead, there was a barrage of articles slamming Jo about how she had left her career to do absolutely nothing in Colorado, how she was a “has-been” now since no one has seen her in six months. Then the crazy theories started picking up. Rehab was a popular one Jo saw; there were lots of good facilities in the Denver area apparently, unknown to Jo. Her sweatshirt was baggy, so naturally Jo had to be pregnant, a constant rumor that showed itself every six months or so at the press’s whim. The stories were crazier from there, some nonsensical as always. People were saying they wished she would never come back, picking apart every single part of Jo they didn’t like, turning them into reasons she should just stay out of the public eye forever. Everything, from her hair to her smile to the way her voice sounded to the way she talked in interviews, that list quickly becoming too personal, people saying they were the reasons all her relationships had failed, all the reasons no one loved her. Normally, Jo could handle it, but six months without it had made her softly, more vulnerable, more normal, and everything hurt. Her head was spinning and her heart was pounding. Jo needed to stop reading. She threw her phone across the room and took a show to try and catch her breath for a moment. She turned the water up too hot, willing it to burn the negative feelings that were eating her alive to no avail. They were all internal. 

When she got out of the shower, her phone had blown up with the Avalanche girlfriends, wives, and Jo, as it was now named, group chat. Everyone was talking about the bar for later for the celebration. In the chaos of the day and the heavy feeling in her mind and her chest, Jo had forgotten she had promised Mikko she would meet him at the bar with the rest of the team when they landed, the real celebration. The cookies Jo had failed to make were supposed to be used as sponges for the alcohol they would be consuming so Mikko could actually make it to practice in the morning. 

Jo tried. Jo really, really tried. She got all dressed up, black bodysuit, black jeans, black heels, red lipstick, hoping that looking good would make her feel good enough to get out of her apartment. She got as far as her hand on the door knob, purse over her shoulder, before her eyes clouded up again and she realized she couldn’t do this. She tried so hard to put on a brave face, thinking she could get through today and deal with the overwhelming feeling that maybe they were all right and Jo had just given up, taken the heat and let it burn herself away for the sake of success, but the fire was too untamed, too strong, and it burned away everything instead, meaning losing herself was for nothing. The winds were too high, the storm was too strong, and Jo wasn’t making it to the bar. 

Hey Mik. I know you might not have landed yet, but I’m not feeling too good, so I’m not going to be able to make it to the bar. Have a good time without me!

Jo sent the text without reading it over again and tossed her phone aside, knowing if she held onto it, she would just go looking for more things that would feed the hurricane already verging on a category five in her mind that Jo felt like was sucking all of the air out of the room. With still shaking hands, Jo fumbled with her heels, her skinny jeans, the bodysuit she had picked out because it made her feel confident, and returned to her baggy sweatpants and big t-shirt she had been wearing earlier. She went to light the candle on the nightstand, but realized it wasn’t the one she wanted. She pushed around half used candles in the drawer below, until her hands wrapped around one that had made the journey from Denver to Florida in a terribly wrapped box, and back, tucked safely in her suitcase, the one the boy she was in love with gave to her because it smelled like his home. Jo lit the candle after almost dropping the lighter twice then climbed into bed. Jo took deep breaths, trying to calm herself with what Nousiainen, Finland was supposed to smell like and how that made her think of the person who made her happiest, the boy who was from there who wanted to take her there and show her around the place that made him, him. 

Jo wished she was there right now. She wished she was in a place she had never been before and it didn’t fail to dawn on her just how fucking pathetic that was. She hated fame, the thing she dreamed about every night, the thing she wished for when she blew out her birthday candles when she was seven, the thing that gave her everything around her right now, that she wished she was in a place she had never been before. Jo had hundreds of stamps in her passport, but she wished she was somewhere she had only seen in the pictures she painted in her mind from the stories Mikko told about it. She wished she was there because of the way Mikko smiled whenever he talked about it, a calm, warm smile, steady and sure. Home. It was his home, something Jo wasn’t even sure she really had anymore. She was from Denver. She lived in Denver now, technically still temporarily, but she didn’t have a home. She wanted to be home right now, but there was nowhere in her life to get that feeling, so she wanted to see if maybe the home of the person she loved was close enough. 

Maybe that was part of the reason Jo felt empty all of the time because she never truly settled anywhere. There was no place on earth her soul was at rest that she was allowed to stay. She didn’t have a safe haven, just more empty apartments and hotel rooms in cities that tried to swallow her up. Maybe she left pieces of herself in all the places she had been, trying to make a home for herself. But that’s not how homes worked, so Jo had just failed and lost herself in her failure. 

Today, Jo was standing in the middle of a spinning hurricane, getting battered by the winds and the things they threw even though she was trying to stand in the eye, trying to stay out of its way, it was hurting her anyway. And she felt so deeply alone all she could do was cry. 

Except there was a knock on her front door and Jo felt the hurricane stop for a moment. The winds ceased, everything they picked up frozen in time and space as Jo walked to her front door. She opened it without even checking, even though the only person who normally knocked was at a bar, having a great night like he deserved. 

“Okay, I didn’t know what kind of not feeling good you were, so I picked up wonton soup from your favorite Chinese place in case you were feeling sick, ice cream in case you were upset about someone getting engaged or having a baby again, and Sour Patch Kids in case- Josephine, what’s wrong?” 

Josephine. In six, almost seven, months of knowing Mikko Rantanen, he had never called her Josephine. Not once. 

Jo couldn’t answer. She just cried, a sob wracking her body. Mikko shifted forward, dropping the bags on the front table, and reached for her. He pulled her into his chest, one arm around her back, the other letting his hand cup the back of her head protectively. 

“Josephine, what’s wrong? What happened?”

Jo’s hand fisted into his dark t-shirt, the material soft and forgiving under her hands. She was crying harder, sobs shaking her body over and over again. She felt Mikko press a gentle, lingering kiss to her hair. 

“Jo, I’m right here. I’m right here,” he told her softly. “It’s me, Mikko. I’m right here, baby.” 

Mikko was right there, but it was more than that. He was standing next to her in the hurricane. He wasn’t on the outside looking in. This was it. This was what the eye of the hurricane looked like. The storm blocked out all light, anything good, it was pure negativity, daring him to become part of it.Mikko didn’t know what to do. It was the most overwhelming feeling he had ever felt, feeling the storm licking at his back, trying to rip him away from her, but he had her. She was right here, in his arms, and nothing was taking her away. Mikko didn’t understand it all, but he didn’t have to. He just had to be there. He just had to stay. 

Mikko scooped Jo into his chest, arms securing around her waist, just so he could get her to bed. He kicked his shoes off by the door, knowing Jo would still be mad at him if he tracked mud through her apartment even on her worst days. This was the worst day Mikko had ever seen, but she was still Jo, even on her worst days. He still loved her more today than yesterday and he’d love her more tomorrow than today. 

He stripped off his jeans and tossed his jacket into the chair in her room, sliding into bed with her without even thinking about it. Jo wrapped her arms around his torso and pressed her face into his chest and continued to cry. Mikko slowly worked his fingers through her hair, doing his best to keep it out of her face as she cried. He knew it would upset her if it stuck to her face, so he tried to fix that. He couldn’t fix Jo tonight, but he could fix her hair sticking to her face. 

“I’m sorry,” Jo mumbled. “I’m ruining your day. Today is supposed to be a good day for you and I’m ruining it.” 

“I want to celebrate with you, Jo,” Mikko told her softly. “It doesn’t have to be today. It’s okay if it’s not today. I care about you. If this is what you need today, this is what we’ll do. We’ll celebrate tomorrow, okay?” 

Mikko kissed her forehead sweetly, lips lingering on her again. Jo shuffled in the bed next to him, adjusting so her arm was around his hips as she settled against her own pillow, tears finally slowing. Mikko reached a hand out gently, cupping her face and letting his thumb rub cross her skin to wipe away the tear stains. 

“They found me here,” Jo admitted. “Someone posted a photo.” 

“I’m sorry, Jojo. I know that’s not what you wanted,” Mikko spoke softly, careful not to upset her further.

“I knew it would happen at some point,” Jo shrugged, eyes clouding up again. “I guess I had just been able to hide here for so long I started to think maybe I would never be found? Maybe I could just stay here and I wouldn’t have to deal with it all, you know? I just, I feel like myself here, more than anywhere else, but now I feel like it’s ruined and I’m ruined with it.”

“Jo, you’re not ruined,” Mikko assured her, thumb gently passing over her lips he desperately wanted to kiss. “Things can be damaged, but still be beautiful. You’ve dealt with a lot of shit, Jo, and you’re still here and I’m so impressed by you always.”

Mikko cleared his throat softly, before daring to add, “For what it’s worth, you’re the most beautiful person I know. This version of you. This crying, messy version of you, this real version of you, is the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen. I feel lucky to know you, Josephine Evans, so lucky.”

“Not sure you should, Mik,” Jo told him. “I can be a pretty rough friend.” 

“I play hockey for a living,” Mikko cracked his first smile since walking through her front door. “I like it rough sometimes.” 

Jo smacked his chest, hard, and he just laughed, chest shaking under her hand. Jo tried so hard not to laugh, but Mikko’s laugh was infectious, replicating in her, making her laugh too. His laugh was like sunshine breaking through the clouds hanging over Jo’s head. The storm was breaking, the winds slowing, and Jo felt like there was finally air in the room again. Jo took time away because she couldn’t stop working and she couldn’t stop working because she was trying to please a mass of people she would never meet who only wanted to say terrible things about her. Today, they won, but Jo was starting to see that she wasn’t perfect. She made mistakes, like the angry mob with pitchforks said she did, but a broken clock was still right twice a day, but was wrong for the other one-thousand four-hundred and thirty-eight minutes in a day. 

“Hey, Mikko?” 

“Yeah, Jo?” he replied softly. 

“Is there ice cream melting on my front table right now?” she asked him, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth, noticeable in her voice. 

“No,” Mikko replied smoothly. “It was very frozen when I got here because your favorite flavor was almost sold out and I had to get a frosty one from the back of the freezer, so I was just warming it up to the perfect temperature for us right now. I’ll go get two spoons because it’s definitely perfect right now.” 

“If you say so, Rantanen. If you say so.”

------

From the moment Jo woke up with her legs tangled in Mikko’s, his shirt shed to the floor in the middle of the night, an arm secure around her waist, and his golden hair a mess on top of his head, Jo knew she didn’t want to wake up next to anyone else, maybe ever again. She also knew that if she wanted to, if she asked him to stay forever, he would. There was never a doubt in Jo’s mind that Mikko loved her, not since she unwrapped that candle, sitting on her nightstand now. That was never in question. There was no question really. Jo knew he loved her, but she also knew she loved him. Even if everyone on the outside was wrong, they would still rip him apart. Insults don’t have to be based in any truth to sink deep, to leave cuts and scars. Even if Jo somehow got a handle on herself and could block some of it out, she couldn’t protect him. He would get the same treatment, the beautiful boy with the beautiful soul who loved her, no questions asked. She couldn’t watch it happen to him. Even if she put herself all the way back together, watching him take beating after beating wasn’t an option. She loved him too much to let it happen. 

Jo untangled herself from him as best as she could, sliding a pillow into his grasp as a replacement for her, smiling when he sleepily tugged it into his chest. Jo set out to do something she could do really well, make Mikko pancakes and oatmeal cookies. An absolutely unbalanced breakfast, but the first of things Jo could think to do to thank him for skipping out on his team’s celebration, his celebration, in favor of wiping her tears and braving it all just to hold her as she slept. The least she could do was make him breakfast today, and throw his clothes in the laundry so he could take home clean clothes, while also returning a shirt and sweatpants she stole from him, and send him home with a container of cookies. 

Three dozen oatmeal cookies in the oven, laundry in the dryer, and pancakes on the stove later, Mikko made an appearance in her kitchen. 

“You stole my clothes,” he mumbled, voice gravely with sleep. 

“They’re in the wash. I left you a t-shirt and sweats I stole before,” Jo said, not even bothering to turn around. 

Mikko slid up behind Jo suddenly, and arm wrapping tightly around her waist. From the feeling of him pressed against her, he’d found the sweatpants, but forgoed the shirt she left him. Jo couldn’t help but lean back into him. Mikko’s free hand found Jo’s braced against the counter’s edge next to the stove and tugged her wrist until she lifted her hand to lace their fingers together. His head leaned down, back arching away from hers so he could put his chin on her shoulder. 

“You’re making me pancakes,” he muttered. “God, Jo. I- fuck, you’re killing me.” 

“Did you want blueberry pancakes? I wasn’t sure, but I can add some,” Jo started rambling. “Or should I have made something healthier? Fuck, I’m just feeding you bad food, aren’t I? I’m sorry. I can make you eggs. Over easy right? I think I have some turkey bacon?”

“Josephine,” Mikko said softly, sleep slowly edging out of his voice. There was her full name again. “You know that’s not what I’m talking about. You know what I was going to say.” 

Mikko’s hand squeezed hers softly as she felt his head leave her shoulder. She gasped when he shifted suddenly, hand leaving hers to let his arm around her spin her to face him, spatula ditched in the pan. He was right there, forehead finding hers. He was right there, steady and sure and so ready for her. Except she wasn’t ready for him. He could see it. He could see it in her eyes, the anxiousness, the uncertainty. She wasn’t ready, but she wished she was. Mikko couldn’t kiss the girl he loved, the one who slept in his arms last night, the one standing right in front of him. But he could see the walls falling. He was seeing more of her now, the parts of her that were real, the parts that he knew loved him too. But it wasn’t about Mikko seeing it. Jo needed to say it. She needed to be ready to love him too, and she wasn’t today. And that was okay. 

“It’s okay,” Mikko told her. “I’m not going anywhere, okay?” 

Mikko lifted his forehead from hers, letting his lips drop to where his head had been, kissing Jo’s forehead gingerly. He gave her hips a little squeeze, a smile coming across his face. Just like that, like it never happened, like it wasn’t an open conversation just then about how Mikko Rantanen was in love with her and was ready to love her if she was ready too. Just like that, he was her best friend again, loving her still, just from the other side of the kitchen island, throwing the blueberries she grabbed out of the fridge at her because Mikko did in fact want blueberry pancakes. Jo added blueberries to the pancakes, and letting Mikko pelt her with a few, giggling the whole time, 

The pancakes and the laundry and the oatmeal cookies were just the start. Jo spent the entire playoff run doing her best to do anything she could for Mikko, to try and say thank you. Thank you for that night. Thank you for the previous eight months by the time the playoffs came to end for the Avalanche. Thank you for still being just as patient with her as he’d been the first night on the rooftop. Thank you for seeing something real and worthwhile in Jo, even when she couldn’t. 

Jo watched the Avalanche’s season end on her television since it didn’t end in Denver. All Mikko did after the loss was text Jo and tell her they were coming back that same night and the time they would land. It was an ungodly time, but Jo didn’t hesitant. She slid on leggings, a big sweatshirt, and some sneakers when the time came. The streets of Denver were quiet as Jo drove to the airport. She waited in her car, knowing Mikko wouldn’t want her to make a big fuss. She watched him come across the tarmac, spotting her car. He tossed his suitcase in the back, then climbed in the front seat without a word. 

Jo put on some soft music, something new she’d found during the first series when Mikko was away. He was quiet as Jo drove back to her apartment, just letting his eyes close even though Jo knew he wasn't asleep, just listening to the music. It wasn’t until they were close to Jo’s apartment Mikko finally spoke. 

“Can I stay with you tonight?” 

Mikko’s voice was soft in the worst way, hesitancy, insecurity, and vulnerability showing. He needed her tonight, desperately. He wasn’t asking to stay on her couch. He was asking to stay with her, to fall asleep holding her, in her bed, with her. He’d only done it once before, that night when clinched the playoffs, when Jo needed him. Mikko didn’t ask much of Jo usually, just that she showed up. He was asking for a lot tonight and he felt so guilty for it. 

“Of course, Mik. Anything you need.”

“I need you to come to Finland.” 

The words slipped out before Mikko could stop them. He didn’t mean to say them. He felt that way, like he wanted to pack Jo up in his suitcase and take her with him, but he wasn’t supposed to say it. 

“For a visit in the summer,” Mikko added too late for it not to clearly be an afterthought.

Jo was a better person than everyone often gave her credit for. She took a deep breath and let Mikko’s last minute addition be the full statement to her, even though she knew what he meant. He didn’t want her to visit. He wanted her to come and spend the summer with him. He wanted her to come back to Denver with him the following September and stay. He wanted her forever. That’s what Mikko wanted. That’s what he meant. But Jo, for his sake and hers because that couldn’t be talked about on a night Mikko was torn up about the loss, pressed her foot on the gas, put her eyes back on the road, and pretended like it wasn’t. 

“Well, my little brother’s graduation is in two weeks,” Jo told him, choosing her words carefully. “Then we’re all going to Hawaii to celebrate that. Surprisingly, I do have other friends, a couple bachelorette parties. And you’ve got that trip with your friends mid-June, right?” 

Mikko nodded softly, blue eyes fixed on the road ahead as Jo drove. 

“How about I come for Midsummer?” Jo asked him. “You’ve talked about how great it is. That’s the end of June, yeah? Seems like the perfect time. I don’t really have any firm plans after that honestly, so maybe I’ll just come and we can figure out when I’ll leave later? Leave it open ended?” 

“I’d really like that,” Mikko breathed out. 

It would be seven weeks before he got to see her again after he left. He’d seen her for the next few days as he packed up his life, cleaned out his apartment here, but after that, he wouldn’t see her for seven more weeks. But the thought of having her in Finland, of getting to show her his home like she had shown him hers on Valentine’s Day, of getting to show her off to people Mikko knew wouldn’t give a shit that she was Josephine Evans, and to do it all without an expiration date. Just him and her, for months if he wanted and god, did Mikko want that. But first, he would get to hold her as he fell asleep tonight. 

Jo didn’t even say anything that night when he cried a little into her hair. She just pressed a kiss to his shoulder and snuggled in tighter, which was exactly what Mikko needed. He talked a lot sometimes, arguably too much when he was excited, but when he was hurting, he just wanted silence and assurance that everything would be okay. Nothing assured him more that everything would eventually work out than Jo because he knew things with her would eventually work out like they were supposed to. The chips would fall, a picture would form, the world would keep spinning, and Mikko would keep on loving Jo as best as he could, waiting for her to realize there wasn’t anything that would make him stop. 

------

Jo looked around her physically unchanged apartment, but it still felt different. Mikko hadn’t even been gone twenty-four hours yet and her apartment already felt different. He had been absent from it for longer than that since she had known him, several times over on road trips, but it was different knowing he wouldn’t be back in it until September, if Jo even decided to keep this place. Jo was kidding herself if she thought she would get rid of it though and didn’t even pretend she would for a second. Even when Jo would have to go back to Los Angeles, go back to a version of her life she didn’t like herself in as much, she still wanted to have Denver be an option for her whenever she wanted. When she wanted might happen to frequently line up with home games played by a certain blond Finnish boy, and he would be grateful if that was the choice she made, which meant she was going to make it as often as possible. 

Krista, who had stayed almost completely silent since Jo arrived in Denver in September, reached out under the guise of just checking in on Jo, but really making sure that she was still planning on coming back and getting started on her next album by the end of the summer. If she was, they would need to start looking at possible arena dates for two summers from now because that’s how far that sort of thing gets booked. Jo just answered curtly, saying that was still her plan, and tossing her phone aside. The thought of going back to it all was overwhelming and the one person who made it all go away with a smile and a laugh was nine hours ahead of her where it was three in the morning and she wasn’t going to wake him up for this. 

Jo opened the top drawer of her nightstand all the way, finding the plastic bag tucked safely in the back. She had to put them in plastic because the Valentine’s Day card kept getting glitter in everything else in the drawer. Jo had saved the cards Mikko had gotten her and every Post-It note he left. There was the Post-It note that had been on the now well worn jersey hung up in her closest. There was simple, yet confusing at the time but incredibly unconfusing now, one identifying a purple toothbrush that lived next to his green one as hers. There was the glitter bomb of a Valentine’s Day card where he asked her to be his valentine in the most sickeningly sweet way possible. If Jo ever doubted if she had Mikko Rantanen’s heart, one look at the collection of items covered in his terrible handwriting in front of her would confirm she’d had it for longer than she realized. 

There was a card from when he bought her flowers for his birthday to say thank you for baking him a cake. Of course Mikko would buy her flowers on his birthday. Of course he would. 

Just wanted to say thanks for the cake. Might have been the best birthday cake I’ve ever had, but don’t tell my mom yours is better :) - Mikko

Jo smiled at the memory of the beautiful flowers that Mel had definitely picked out because there was now way Mikko knew any flowers other than roses and the bouquet hadn’t been roses. She found what she was looking for, the card from Christmas. The card itself was simple, very few words or images printed on it by the company who made it, mostly just a little snowman on the front corner and Merry Christmas inside. It was Mikko’s writing on the card that Jo was looking for. 

Hi Jojo, 

Merry Christmas! I hope you like the candle and that you don’t think it’s a silly gift or something. I don’t think you will, but if you do, don’t tell me, okay? I spent way too much time on it :) 

I hope your Christmas is good and that you have a really good New Year’s too. If I can make a suggestion, I think I know what your New Year’s resolution should be this year. (I googled that word to spell it right for you, hope you’re proud.) Anyway, I think your resolution should be to try and realize how amazing you are. I know I haven’t known you that long, but you’re kind of the best Jo, not even kind of. You are the best, Jo. I know that’s a hard resolution probably, but lucky for you, my New Year’s resolution is to help you see it too. :) Because you’re one of my favorite people and I really hope one day, this upcoming year, you can understand why.

Merry Christmas, Jojo-bean. Happy to be your friend always. - Mikko

The words on the card were a little blurred because Jo was crying now. She had waited her entire life, dreamed internally in her mind and openly in the songs she put out, to find someone like him, someone who loved her without any reservations. Mikko Rantanen loved her selflessly, not looking for anything for himself in his love for her. His love was pure and real. Jo could feel it when he was around, in the way he hugged her, in the way he spoke to her, in the constant effort he put in to spend as much time with her as he could, in the message on the card in her hands. His love was focused on her.

Jo took a deep breath and slid the cards and notes back into the bag, a calm coming over her that only came from Mikko. Jo wanted to accept every ounce of love he offered her, let it fill her forever, but in opening herself up to allow that, her toxicity would flow into him. The toxicity Jo picked up from her life would flow back into him and ruin him and Jo didn’t want that to happen, but Jo was starting to wonder how long she could really keep him at bay. How long could she really keep him out? In trying to help her, he was breaking down walls she’d build to protect herself, but also protect people like him from her. She would keep trying to make sure he stayed at arm’s length, make sure he stayed separate from her, because that was the best way she could love him, by preventing him opening himself up to a world of negative feelings and experience he didn’t fully understand. Jo had seven weeks to try and figure out how to keep him at a distance when he was next to her without any other commitments or distractions, when she was so far from her life that she could barely feel it anymore, when it would feel like none of the reasons she kept him out were real. 

Seven weeks did nothing for Jo. Not a damn thing. She got on a plane, knowing she was torturing herself by doing it, giving herself a taste of what she could never have, but she got on the damn plane anyway. She got on the plane anyway because she loved Mikko Rantanen anyway, even though she shouldn’t. She got on the plane anyway because she didn’t know how to do anything else. 

------

“Did you sleep on the plane?” was the first thing out of Mikko’s mouth, spoken too loudly in Jo’s ear as his arms were already around her at the airport. 

Mikko had picked Jo up, her legs wrapping around his muscular waist, before the two had even spoken. His arms were around her, face tucking in her neck. She smelled like the fancy conditioner she used, lavender, honey, and something Mikko couldn’t figure out, and like Jo. He never wanted to kiss her more than he did when her face appeared from the airport tunnel. Seven and a half weeks without her was longer than Mikko ever wanted to go. She wasn’t his, but with her arms about his neck, legs around his waist, the smell of her overwhelming him, in one of his Avalanche sweatshirts with his name on the back, she felt like his to him. Jo felt like she was his too, so much like it was all real for a moment, like with her arms around him like this, he was hers. But he wasn’t hers. The closest Jo could get was a quick kiss to his cheek that travelled a little too far down, hitting more at the corner of his mouth than his cheek. Mikko sucked in a hard breath when she did, wishing more than anything he could tell her she missed and kiss her until she couldn’t breathe. Instead, he smiled and helped set her back down on the ground with steady hands like his heart wasn’t screaming in his chest, like he wasn’t undeniably in love with her. 

“Uh, yeah, I slept pretty good actually,” Jo told him after clearing her throat, both of them trying to ignore their flushed cheeks, their own and the other person’s.

“Want to drop off your stuff then get brunch?” he asked her. “There’s a place with good mimosas near where I live.” 

“Now you’re speaking my language, Rantanen,” Jo laughed, putting one of her bags in his outstretched hand, knowing better than trying to take care of everything herself. 

“Actually, I think you’re going to have to learn a little of my language, Evans,” he chirped back, a smirk crossing his face. “Come on, car’s this way.” 

They talked on the drive to Mikko’s apartment, Jo handling the background music as always. In six, verging on seven weeks apart, Jo had filled some of her spare time not spent with Mikko listening to even more music than she normally did, an arguably absurd amount. Jo had also started writing music again, for the first time since her move to Denver, something she hadn’t admitted to anyone yet. Anyone included the tall, tanned, Finnish boy in the driver’s seat who knew enough about her to fill a series of novels. She couldn’t tell him because everything was about him. All the songs were about him now and Jo still didn’t know what shade of blue his eyes were. 

They dropped Jo’s stuff off, her bags going in his spare room when Mikko really wanted them in his even though he knew that thought shouldn’t cross his mind. He fussed with his phone while Jo got changed from the plane, a message from Burky in the team group chat catching his eye. 

Mik, is your not girlfriend here yet? Bring her to Sweden. It’s nicer here. 

Mikko barely stifled an audible groan at Andre’s text. His teammates knew. Really, everyone knew he was absolutely head over heels, write home to your mom, risk it all, in love with Jo. He couldn’t hide it if he tried. He wasn’t even hiding it from Jo anymore. He was actively acting upon his love for her, asking her to come home to meet his family, see where he grew up, meet his home friends. There was a cabin booked for Midsummer in a few days with friends, a room planned for him and Jo to share, which she said she didn’t mind and Mikko was hoping to whatever higher power that existed she’d fall asleep in his arms one night they were there. That was his favorite thing in the world, the few times Jo had fallen asleep against his chest on his couch. She was right there, safe in his arms. No one could touch her. No one could hurt her. He could just love her as hard as he wanted when she was right next to him, with no one around to say a damn thing about it. Still, Mikko took a deep breath and pulled himself back to center. 

Jo was closer now, closer than she’d ever been before. She felt like she was right there and all Mikko would have to do is reach out and take her hand to pull her in. But Mikko knew better. He knew if he let himself want everything that had just come through his mind, if he openly wanted that, he’d pull her in and if he pulled her, he’d lose her. There was no world in which Mikko Rantanen could do a damn thing other than wait about loving Josephine Evans. If he did anything at this point, with her so close he could practically feel the warmth of her hand near his, he would lose her. He could wait. If she was this close for years, he would wait. He would rather bunch his hands into fist so hard his nails drew blood holding himself back and then lose her.

Still, Mikko let himself act on his love, showing it to her as plainly as he could, showing her he was right here, his love was right here, ready for her whenever she decided to take it.

“Ready to go?” 

Shorts, a t-shirt, a baseball cap, and sandals after an over ten hour flight and she was the prettiest girl he’d ever seen. Mikko led her out of his apartment, opening every door on the way, and pointed across the street when they got onto the sidewalk. Jo looked both ways and went to step into the street, but Mikko caught her hand with his. 

“You’re in a foreign country. You shouldn’t cross the street without holding someone’s hand. Something bad could happen,” Mikko told her, his sweetest, most innocent smile on his face.

“By that logic, I should be holding your hand whenever you cross the street in Denver,” Jo retorted, making Mikko smile even bigger. 

“Sounds good to me.” 

Jo rolled her eyes, but a smile pulled across her face anyway and she laced her fingers through his. His hand dwarfs hers, warm and strong, practically pulling her across the street to keep up with his long strides. They talked like nothing had changed, like this was something they had done a thousand times already. Jo wasn’t worried about who saw. There were no cameras, no people with cell phones waiting to see. She could just hold the hand of the boy she was in love with and walk to a restaurant for brunch. That’s when Jo realized Finland was her favorite and least favorite place she had ever been. It was her favorite because she could love Mikko here, openly. There was no one to hurt him here, no one to hurt him through her. She could just love him as loudly as she wanted. They could be together here, love each other until they were old and gray and they didn’t understand how technology worked anymore and could barely hear anything, loving each other the entire time. It was her least favorite place because Jo couldn’t stay, but the thought of that, of a life with him, was the most heartbreaking thought she had ever had, because it was nothing more than a dream that couldn’t become reality, a thought that could never manifest into an action. It would move from her head, to chest, and fester there, rotting her from the inside out, eating her alive. 

Mikko slid down into the seat opposite Jo when they reached the restaurant, the drink menu already confiscated by Jo before he could even get settled in his seat. Mikko crossed his arms over his chest, a smirk rising on his face as he watched Jo realize she had made a critical mistake. The menu wasn’t in English and she couldn’t read a word of Finnish. 

“Got a problem there, Jo?” Mikko laughed as he asked her, making her blush. “If you ask nicely, I might be able to help you out.” 

“Mikko,” Jo said through gritted teeth, “can you please translate the menu for me?”

“Sure,” Mikko laughed louder, sporting his best shit-eating grin. “Come on over.” 

Jo groaned before tossing the menu carelessly over to him, making him laugh harder. She grabbed the seat of her chair and shuffled herself a quarter of the way around the table, sitting near enough to read the menu together now. Mikko had other plans. He reached one hand out and gripped the seat of her chair and tugged, hard, until the seat of her chair bumped against his. His arm shifted to rest across the back of her chair, like he hadn’t just pulled her closer to him shamelessly, and he propped the menu up between them against his water glass.

“Well then,” Jo mumbled. 

Mikko couldn’t help himself. A grumpy Jo was one of the cutest versions of Jo for him because she was the least threatening person he had ever met. She called Mikko once thirty minutes before midnight because there was a big spider in the corner of her room and she couldn’t sleep if it was still there, but she couldn’t go anywhere near it. Mikko drove twenty minutes across town at midnight to kill a spider for her. He would’ve driven an hour, probably more than that if he was really being honest with himself. Mikko dropped a kiss to Jo’s temple, the fondness of that memory and the cuteness of her grumpiness overtaking his better judgment for a moment. Jo didn’t freeze like he thought she would. Jo just leaned closer into him, accepting the contact, and Mikko swore his heart was about to beat out of his chest when she put a hand on his thigh to lean closer toward the menu. 

“Um, okay,” Mikko stuttered, trying to center himself. “The top one is just a regular mimosa.” 

“Thank you, oh great Finnish speaker,” Jo teased him, giving his leg a squeeze that had Mikko’s mind spinning hard enough he was pretty sure he couldn’t speak Finnish or English anymore. “I got that from the picture next to it. Got any other helpful insights?”

Mikko let a laugh calm himself before walking Jo through the different flavors of mimosas she could try. She settled on the pineapple one before exchanging the drink menu for the food menu so he could walk her through that. It was the littlest thing, but for just one moment, Jo actually needed Mikko in a way she could admit. If something as small as translating a menu could make Mikko feel so warm inside, then what would her being in love with him make him feel like? Mikko didn’t have any way to wrap his mind around how that would make him feel. All he knew was when Jo slid back to the other side of the table, he missed her, even though there was only four feet of distance between them and she hadn’t actually left.

Mikko’s eyes shifted when he heard laughter down the street. Jo’s eyes followed his. It was a little girl, already wearing a flower crown definitely meant for Midsummer at the end of the week. 

“Midsummer thing?” Jo asked him. “Sorry, I’m a novice.” 

“Well, I’ll make you an expert by the end of the week,” Mikko promised. “Maybe, it’ll even be your favorite holiday, if you can let yourself be open to thinking there are holidays better than Christmas out there.” 

“That’s a tall order there, Mik,” Jo laughed before taking a sip of her water. “Maybe aim a little lower?” 

“Don’t tell me to dream smaller,” Mikko countered, a lazy but sure smile on his face. “I’m dreaming big while you’re here. I dream big when you’re involved.” 

------

Mikko had told Jo that Midsummer would become her favorite holiday if she let it be. Less than an hour into the sunny night, something Jo definitely wasn’t used to, she was pretty sure Mikko was right. It seemed like everyone in Nousiainen was here. Guaranteed, it wasn’t exactly a large place, nothing in Finland was, but Jo hadn’t ever been to anything like this before. In her lacy, loose white dress, a cup of white wine in her hand because drinking red while wearing white was just asked for trouble, with Mikko’s arm around her waist, she had never felt more content before. Jo watched the youngest kids from the village run around, carefree and happy. She watched as Mikko’s parents interacted with everyone else from the village, beaming as they constantly gestured to where Mikko and Jo were standing among his friends. Like everyone else, they thought the two were just private. The lines of friendship and romance had blurred on this trip under supportive gazes from Mikko’s family and friends and under stolen touches Mikko would’ve normally kept to himself. But he was home. He was in the place where all his purest memories rested, during a holiday his favorite memories from his childhood came from, with the girl he was in so incredibly in love with. He couldn’t help but secure an arm around her waist and pull her into him. Even if it would hurt when he couldn’t do it back in Denver later. She was comfortable and Mikko would always take up whatever space Jo allowed him to in her happy moments, trying to show her in them what it could be like if this could happen all the time. 

“Are you having a good time?” Mikko whispered softly in her ear, bending down low to do so.

“I’m having the best time, Mik,” she told him, honesty obvious in her voice. “Thank you again for inviting me for this. It makes me feel really special that you wanted me here.” 

Mikko wanted to make Jo feel how special she was to him all of the time, not just here in Finland. He wanted her to feel special all of the time. She deserved everything good the world had to offer. Jo was the purest soul Mikko knew. She had just been handled careless by too many people for so long. They created cracks in her, tried to steal pieces of her goodness for themselves, and covered her in dark stains she tried so hard to get out, but couldn’t, so she just excepted them as who she was now. They weren’t her. They were still stains and Mikko was washing them away day by day, moment by moment, with the crashing waves of his love for her. Jo had built up walls to protect herself, put on thick, clunky armor to try and block the good parts of her that were left. Jo didn’t seem to understand that all of the good parts of her were still left. They just needed to be cleaned and gently put back together so they could shine again and that when they were back together, the world would be a better place if she took down her walls and retired her armor so the world could see her shine. 

Jo was shining right now, in Finland, in the prettiest white dress Mikko had ever seen, during his favorite holiday of the year. There was no pressure here. No one cared who she was beyond that she made Mikko, their local boy, happy. That was the only metric they measured her on and she made him happier than anyone else. Mikko never wanted her to leave if she was going to shine this bright here, if she was going to be this free and happy here. This is how Jo deserved to feel all of that time. 

“Jo!” one of Mikko’s sisters called out from the right of them. 

She walked past without stopping, slowing just long enough to push a flower crown into Jo’s free hand and shout, “Midsummer!” then continue on. 

Mikko laughed as Jo looked softly at the delicately weaved flowers and ribbons in her hands. Mikko sat his drink down on a nearby table so he could take the flower crown from Jo’s small hands. 

“Let me do it,” he told her softly. 

She nodded as Mikko gently smoothed her hair out with one hand first, before gently setting the delicate weaving of flowers and ribbon on the crown on Jo’s head, situating the ribbons to fall with the soft, dark curls of her hair down her back. Jo put a hand on the flower gingerly as she turned to face him. Mikko’s hands fell to her hips naturally as he looked at her, the prettiest girl he’d ever seen in his entire life, the flush in her cheeks from the wine, the flowers in her hair, a real smile on her lips, her eyes bright in the evening sun, and he had never been more in love with her. He didn’t know how to say it. He didn’t know any words in English or in Finnish or in the little bits of Russian he’d picked up from Zadorvo or Swedish he learned from Gabe that could express it. The only thing he knew how to do to make sure she felt his love was kiss her, but he wasn’t doing it for the first time under the eyes of everyone he grew up with. Instead, Mikko let his eyes close slowly as he dropped a lingering kiss on her forehead, just below where the flowers started and wished they weren’t surrounded by everyone he knew, wished it was just her and him somewhere else so he could make sure she knew how much he loved her. 

Jo’s small arms wrapped around his waist after he pulled his lips back from her skin. She pressed her face into his chest and hugged him tight. Mikko’s strong arms wrapped around her back, securing her to him. Mikko couldn’t pour the same amount of love into a hug. Hugs were too casual, but he was trying. He was trying so hard that he was gripping Jo a little too hard, like she would float away if he let go. But this was the first time Mikko was sure she wouldn’t. If he let go right now, he was sure she’d stay. 

The bright evening passed by quickly, filled with laughter and games and food and the bonfire customary to Midsummer’s Eve, Jo’s hand in Mikko, Jo on his lap, his arm around her waist, always touching her, always checking in, always there. Jo wanted him and it was radiating out of her and into Mikko through every touch, every gaze, every moment he spent with her today. It occurred to him at some point during the evening, a terrible thing to think really, that Jo might look something like she did now on her wedding day and Mikko desperately wanted to be the guy at the end of the isle waiting for her. He’d wait for her for his whole life. He’d wait for her even if she never walked down the aisle to him and he would consider it a life well spent because he spent it loving the single most incredible woman he had ever met.

Normally, most other years, Mikko would have rented a cabin with friends for the evening, woken up too early in the morning considering how late he was up celebrating with all of Nousiainen, but he hadn’t done that this year. When Jo said she’d come, Mikko had still gotten a cottage on the lake, but tonight he had wanted it to just be him and Jo. His friends would show up tomorrow late in the day to join them then. He wanted a night just with Jo with no one around to ask questions and he was so grateful for that decision as he pulled up to the cottage. He’d stopped drinking hours ago so he could drive and so Jo could keep drinking if she wanted to do so. 

“It’s so pretty, Mik,” Jo commented as she climbed out of the car, eyes trained on the water that was still lowly lit by the setting sun, something Jo still couldn’t believe with how late it was in the day. 

“I thought you’d like it,” he told her as he grabbed his bag and hers from the backseat. “Want me to throw these inside and I can meet you out on the dock?”

Mikko didn’t have to ask Jo twice. She was already heading out onto the water before he had even finished his question. Her excitement was child-like, pure and good, something Mikko rarely got to see from her. He felt like he was truly seeing Jo, the one he had only gotten glimpses of before now, the girl he loved more than anything. He carelessly tossed the bags down inside the front door and came as close to running to meet Jo on the dock as he could. She was sitting on the edge when he joined her, her shoes left on the grass at the end of the dock, Mikko’s now next to hers, kicked off haplessly on his way to join her. Mikko dropped down on the edge of the dock next to her, feet dangling into the cool evening water unlike Jo’s which couldn’t reach. 

“Thoughts on Midsummer so far?”

Mikko watched Jo carefully, flower crown still on her head, as a warm smile came naturally across her face. She didn’t have to say anything for Mikko to know she loved it. 

“It’s no Christmas,” she joked, making him laugh, “but it’s pretty spectacular. Thanks again for inviting me to do all this with you.” 

“Anything for you, Jo.” 

Mikko meant it and Jo knew he meant it. It wasn’t something he said as a joke. It was real and raw, sincerity infused into the words.

“Hey, Mikko?” 

Jo’s voice was timid, unsure of both of the words even though they were two she said with incredible frequency. It wasn’t those words she was unsure of. It was the ones that would follow that had her voice shaking, a symptom of her heart quaking in her chest.

“Yeah, Jojo?” Mikko replied, keeping his voice quiet as not to overwhelm hers. 

“I’m sorry,” was all she could get out.

“What are you sorry about, Jo?” 

Mikko lifted his feet from the water and spun to face her, folding his legs in so he could slide closer to her. She froze when he reached a hand out and placed it on her forearm. Her eyes were trained on his hand on her skin, warm and steady and strong. Mikko didn’t move it, just pressed her again verbally, gently, afraid she would break under the slightest pressure at this moment.

“What are you sorry about, Jojo?” 

Jo took a deep breath, trying to steady herself, before she tried to explain, “I’m sorry that I can’t love you, Mik. I mean, I do. I really do, but I’m sorry I can’t be in love with you because if I let that happen, it’s going to ruin you, I’m going to ruin you. Everything in my life is going to come into yours and corrupt everything good about you. I can’t let that happen, not to you. You’re too good. You’re the best person I know, Mikko, and I can’t open a gateway the entire world will try to use to rip you apart. I can’t watch it happen and that’s how I know I love you. I never thought about it before. I never thought about what my life would do to someone else. I just jumped in and let the chips fall where they wanted. Really, I let grenades go off in other people’s lives and walked out right before they could hurt me. I’ve hurt everyone I’ve ever loved just by trying to love them, Mikko. I can’t do that to you. Hurting you, knowing I hurt you, would kill me.” 

Mikko really only heard three words out of the entire thing. He heard Josephine Evans, the girl he loved more than anything, say she loved him. Mikko wasn’t staring at walls anymore. The only thing between him and her was Jo herself and if there was anything Mikko had learned in the almost year he’d known Jo, it was how to reach her through the noise in her own head. He could reach out and take her, but he wouldn’t do it. He was just going to stand there with open arms and wait, because if he pulled her in, she'd just pull away later. He was going to sit here on this dock and show her his open arms with as many words as it took for her to see him standing right in front of her, already having braved the hurricane she was scared of to get this close to her. The hurricane wasn’t her life. It was Jo’s fear of what her life would do to the people she loved. Mikko had already decided Jo was worth whatever storm could come and no one could change his mind, not even Jo. 

“Jo, I don’t think I’ve ever met someone so smart who chooses to be so blind to everything before,” Mikko told her, his voice breaking as he let out a tight breath. His hand rubbed her forearm softly, trying to ground himself in the moment and not the one he hoped would follow. “Jo, stop being so scared of what everyone else has been like and look at me. See me, Jo. Stop seeing your exs and shitty people who never really loved you in the first place. I love you, Josephine. I fell in love with you way too fast and it sort of scared the fuck out of me, but I decided to stay anyway, decided to see what loving you could really be like and I have never been happier with a decision I have made in my entire life. I see you, Jo. I’m right here. I’m right in front of you. Just open your eyes and really look at me. You’ll see I’m not going anywhere. I’m exactly where I want to be forever and that’s with you.”

Mikko shifted slowly, letting his hands ease up toward her face to take it gently between them. He applied just enough force to encourage her to turn to face him. Her eyes were still looking down, unable to meet his. Mikko gently ran his thumb over her lower lip softly.

“Josephine, look at me. See how much I love you.” 

Jo closed her eyes and took a shaky breath in and out. She didn’t want to look. She was so scared she would look and see nothing and that everything would fall apart in front of her when she couldn’t see it. But Jo couldn’t close her eyes forever. She had to face this moment before she could move to the next one, before she had to deal with the consequences of this one. Jo took in another shaky breath before opening her eyes softly, greeted by Mikko’s.

She knew what color they were. After almost a year of trying to figure it out, she knew what shade of blue his eyes were. Real love wasn’t loud; it didn’t draw crowds. Real love didn’t need to scream itself from rooftops and in song lyrics and in front of the entire world. Real love was quiet, honest and true. It was peaceful and pure and good. And it was in Mikko’s eyes. It was Mikko’s eyes, at least, to Jo anyway. Someone else might look at them and think they were another color, but color was individual. No one ever experienced it the same as anyone else. Mikko’s eyes showed his love for Jo in the most true way she had never imagined possible, in their very color to her. He loved her deeply, deeper than the oceans, deeper than the darkness of Jo’s saddest moments. He loved her fully and honestly. He loved her not in the way Jo had ever written about because she didn’t know this could exist. He loved her in a way that Jo knew, just by looking at him now, that he always would, that he would weather any storm to continue to do so, as long as she loved him too. 

Mikko saw Jo see him. He watched the moment she truly understood, just for a moment, how much he loved her. All he needed was the one moment. He could show her the rest. He didn’t hesitate this time. He leaned forward, slowly and steadily, and brushed his lips softly over hers. Jo didn’t hesitate either. Her hands reached out and fisted into his t-shirt, pressing her lips against his more firmly this time. One of Mikko’s hands slid down her neck, down her arm, dipping over to her waist so he could pull her into his lap as he kissed her. Mikko wanted to live like this, Jo as close to him as he could get. He never wanted to not be kissing her now that he'd done it. This was easily his favorite thing to do now, have her under his hands and her lips on his. 

“I love you,” Mikko whispered against her mouth when he pulled back before transitioning to kissing down her jaw.

“I love you,” Jo replied easily, the words she had been so scared to admit that now were the easiest words to say in the world. 

Mikko groaned as his hand cupping her face journeyed slowly down her body, fingers tapping slowly down her neck, outlining the neckline of the white dress he was never going to be able to get out of his mind until it was replaced with her in a different white dress with a certain piece of music playing in the background with all of their friends and family watching. His mouth moved back to hers, pressing his lips firmer against hers. His hand trailed down to join his other on her hips, keeping her grounded against him as he poured everything he had into the kiss. His words could only do so much. Mikko was trying to show her how he felt, pour his love for her into her as he kissed her.

“I love you,” Mikko repeated against her lips, not realizing in his haze of unbridled happiness it had slipped out in Finnish.

“I love you too,” Jo replied in English. 

She didn’t speak Finnish in the slightest. She barely knew a couple of swear words, but those words had felt the same as the others. Based on the way the words made her heart pick up faster in her chest, she knew what they meant. 

“You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever met,” Mikko mumbled softly, his lips beginning to work gently up and down her neck.

“Ever met yourself?” Jo joked, making Mikko chuckle against her neck.

“I’ll keep that in mind, rakas,” Mikko hummed softly against her skin before kissing her neck gingerly. 

Mikko pulled back to look at Jo again, flower crown slightly askew on her head, cheeks flushed due to breathlessness rather than wine now, her lips a deeper shade of pink, slightly swollen. Mikko knew his looked the same. The strap of her dress was pushed down her shoulder, something Mikko must have done accidentally when he was enjoying the feeling of her skin under his palms. She was absolutely angelic like this and she was all his to get to love, to get to cherish, to get to make sure she knew how absolutely, earth-shattering, life-altering loving her was, to get to make sure she knew he considered it the greatest privilege of his life so far.

Jo tried to hide it with a hand over her mouth, but she yawned and Mikko laughed at her poor attempt to hide it. She pouted for him, bottom lip sticking out in a way that made Mikko want to take it between his teeth, but that wasn’t what tonight was. Tonight, he was going to get to fall asleep with Jo in his arms, something she was clearly ready for as he watch her eyes droop closed, and never have to leave her on the couch alone, because she wouldn’t be on the couch anymore. She’d be in his bed with him the entire time and Mikko almost cried at the very thought of opening his eyes and seeing Jo as the first thing he saw on a new day every day. He didn’t have to imagine how her hair would look spread out across his pillow when she slept peacefully. The only time he’d seen it before either Jo had been a wreck or he had and that wasn’t the same. He didn’t have to imagine the way their legs would tangle together as they slept next to each other every night. He would see it and he would feel it in a few short hours. Mikko didn’t have to wait for anything anymore, except maybe seeing Jo in an even prettier white dress. 

“I think we need to get you to bed,” Mikko laughed softly when Jo yawned for a second time. His thumb rubbed her cheek softly now, moving in smooth circles, lulling her softly closer to sleep. “Want me to carry you?” 

“I can walk,” Jo smiled softly at him, “but thanks, Mik.” 

“Anything for you.”

He echoed his words from before, but they meant more to Jo this time because she truly understood what was behind them. It wasn’t cliche in the way that people often meant it, too sickeningly sweet, sticking to everything uncomfortably with artificial love like artificial sugar, only to leave a bad taste in your mouth later. Mikko said it and it was real. He meant anything, from dancing with her in her brightest moments, to holding her hand in her darkest hours; from telling her when she needed to pick herself up, dust off her knees, and get herself back in gear, to using all of his strength to get her back up after she was knocked down. Mikko could say he would do anything for Jo because in saying it, he would do whatever needed to be done to ensure Jo was the happiest, truest version of herself, that she was the woman she wanted to be. 

As Mikko pulled Jo into his chest to fall asleep, he didn’t have to be careful. He didn’t need to worry he was holding her too close, if he was crossing a line he wasn’t supposed to even realize existed. He could just hold her now. Jo fell asleep easily, the exhaustion of the day wearing heavier on her, pulling her to sleep moments after they climbed into bed. Mikko looked down at the beautiful girl against his chest and he smiled because she was smiling. She fell asleep like that. Mikko willed himself to sleep with the promise of that smile being the first thing he would get to see tomorrow morning, what he had been dreaming of for almost a year now, what he wanted to see every morning for the rest of his life. 

------

Jo opened her eyes slowly and she immediately knew it was way too early to be awake. Finland getting less than six hours of darkness in the summer would have been fine if there were blackout curtains like at Mikko’s apartment, but here in the cottage, that wasn’t the case. Jo wanted to fall back asleep, but that wasn’t in Jo’s skillset, so she was up now whether she liked it or not, and she most certainly did not. Mikko had Jo locked against his chest, his strong, heavy, still sleeping arms wrapped around her keeping her there. She fished around under her pillow, sighing with relief when her fingers wrapped around her phone. The time was atrocious, not even seven in the morning yet, but Jo was still happier than she had been in a long time as she let herself look at the boy whose arms were keeping her warm. 

Mikko’s hair was sort of all over the place, blond strands going in multiple directions. His face was soft, dimple hidden since this was one of the rare moments Mikko didn’t have his customary wide smile on his face. His lips were slightly parted, practically begging to be kissed, and Jo couldn’t resist. She knew it might wake him up, but she wanted to kiss him. Jo leaned her head up, wiggling in his tight grasp enough so she could press a quick, barely noticeable kiss to his lips. Except Mikko noticed. Mikko had been thinking about how her lips would feel against his since that September night on the rooftop and he was not going to miss an opportunity to actually feel it, sleep be damned. 

He hummed softly as he reached up to cup her face, keeping her in place as he pressed into Jo’s supposedly quick, unnoticeable kiss. The kiss was broken by both of them smiling into it, the best reason to break a kiss. Mikko titled his head up to press a kiss to her forehead as Jo smiled.

“Morning, rakas,” Mikko told her softly. “A little early for you, no?” 

“Morning, Mik,” she sighed contentedly, burrowing her head under his chin, into his neck, and pulling herself flush against him. “Sorry I woke you up.” 

“No worries,” he mumbled, pressing a kiss to her tangled hair now. “We can sleep more whenever.” 

“Aren’t your friends coming up later?” Jo reminded him hesitantly. 

Mikko groaned before Jo could even finish her question and Jo laughed before Mikko had even half finished his groan. He pressed his face into her hair and pulled her tighter into his chest. Jo managed to get her head up a bit to place a kiss on his jaw, drawing a long sigh from him. 

“If I pretend they aren’t coming, will they still come?” Mikko asked the universe more than he asked Jo. “I just want to spend the whole day with my Jojo.” 

“Your Jojo, huh?” Jo teased him, following her teasing with a kiss to his jaw, the only thing she could reach with his tight grasp on her. 

Jojo squeaked when Mikko suddenly shifted, taking her with him. She was on her back now, Mikko’s large hands on the bed beside her head, strong arms holding him firmly above her. Like this, his body blocking out everything except how the sheets felt under her hands, Jo was reminded just how much bigger he was than her. More than anything though, Jo couldn’t take her eyes off him, with the sunlight pouring in from the window, making his eyes seem even brighter and lighter, shining through his golden waves. He was the most beautiful person Jo had ever seen and he was all hers. 

The funny thing about being in love with someone, about being two people who come together to create something that is somehow more than the two of them were separately, is that sometimes they think the same thoughts. As Mikko looked down at Jo, hair fanned out across the pillow, sunlight showing the golden flecks in her eyes, her lips slightly parted, a deep shade of pink leftover from yesterday, Mikko thought Jo was the most beautiful person he had ever seen and she was all his. 

As Mikko dropped down, his elbows coming to rest where his palms had been, so he could press his lips to hers, all he could think about what how much he loved Jo and how good it felt to be loved by her in return. It was all he could think about as one of his hands trailing down her side, feeling the curves of her body under his palm. All Jo could think about was how lucky she felt to being loved by him and get to love him back, even though she had held herself back from him for so long, thinking she was undeserving of this happiness. With his lips on her neck now, a hand under her shirt on her waist, and one of her hands tangled into his hair, he felt so right to Jo. Everything about him was right, the softness of his hair when she ran her fingers through it, the way his hand felt sliding over her skin, the strength she felt in his shoulders under her hand. Everything about Mikko was right. 

“Mikko,” Jo breathed out when he tugged down the neckline of her t-shirt to keep kissing more of her, “you can just take it off.” 

Mikko held back a sound deep in his throat at her words. This was what he never let himself think about. If he thought about this, he couldn’t have been her friend over the past year. The thought of this would have corrupted that, weaving its way into how he treated her. He never let his mind go here, imagining what it would be like to have her in his bed like this. She needed him to be her friend, so he forced the thoughts from his mind, knowing they would poison everything he was trying to be for her. But now, now this is what she needed. This was what she wanted. He didn’t have to dream about it. He could just live it, right now. 

Mikko took his time. He was pretty sure he would get to do this countless times over the course of the rest of his life, but this would always be the first time he got to make her absolutely breathless, speechless, and he wanted to take his sweet, sweet time. Jo, who normally wanted her life to run at the pace her mind usually did, wanted Mikko to take his time as he pushed her shirt up and off her body, as he kissed every inch of skin as he revealed it.

He took his time learning every curve, every spot that made her gasp, every one that made her giggle. He took his time exposing her in front of him, except Jo didn’t feel exposed. She felt damn near worshiped when Mikko settled between her thighs, kissing her, tasting her, making her fist her hands into his hair desperately. Slow and steady, like the calming waves of the ocean, Mikko pulled Jo over the edge again and again until she couldn’t be patient anymore, until she needed him more than anything else. 

He kissed her as he slid inside of her for the first time, a sensation that made Jo cry out and Mikko almost lose it with how good this moment was, the softness breaking a little as he cursed into her neck, desperately grabbing for anything inside to anchor him before this moment broke way sooner than he would’ve liked. He anchored in the most stable thing he’d ever felt. 

“I love you, Jo.”

“I love you too, Mikko.” 

The entire world seemed to slow down, letting them live in this moment for longer than they thought possible. As long as the world was going to spin a little slower, Mikko was going to spend his extra time like this, with soft moans falling from Jo’s mouth, whispers of his name between them, as he slowly rolled his hips into hers and slowly lost his mind a little at the feeling of her, at the sight of her. Mikko collapsed down onto her when he finally finished, head collapsing into the crook of her neck as her hand ran through his hair gently.

“I love you,” Mikko repeated again. “I’m never going to get tired of saying it, so I hope you never get tired of hearing it.” 

“It’s my favorite sound in the entire world, Mik,” Jo said breathlessly. “I’m never going to get tired of it.” 

Mikko kissed her neck again before he slowly rolled over onto the bed next to her, pulling her partially on top of his chest in one smooth motion. He ran his fingers through the ends of her hair, working out the tangles gingerly as his breathing slowed to normal, as the world starting to spin at the right speed again. 

“Hate to ask and ruin the moment,” Jo spoke as she idly traced circles and swirls onto Mikko’s bare chest, “but what time are your friends coming?” 

“Oh, that’s not happening anymore,” he groaned, reaching for his phone to cancel the festivities that were supposed to be coming their way. 

“As much as I want to spend the day with you, here, you can’t cancel day of,” Jo pressed softly. 

“Watch me,” Mikko laughed, kissing her forehead. “Sanna’s dad has a cottage we were originally going to go to before I found this place. They can figure it out. I’ve got something way better to do right here already.” 

“Mikko!” 

He laughed as Jo smacked his chest, her cheeks turning pink at the literal and intended meaning of his words. He kissed her temple, eyes fixed on his phone screen as he typed out a terrible excuse to his friend group. It was a boldfaced lie. Mikko said that he and Jo both had gotten sick after last night and that it wasn’t a pretty sight and he didn’t want any of them to catch what they had, so they should just go to Sanna’s instead. The lie worked for the length of time it took someone to respond in the group chat, which was about twenty seconds, telling Mikko that if he wanted a private sex trip with his girlfriend, he should’ve just told them that from the beginning. They were teasing, all in good jest, and Mikko knew it, but they also weren’t far from the truth as to why he was telling them they needed to change their plans. 

“They’re good with it,” Mikko told Jo after tossing his phone back onto the nightstand, gratefully she couldn’t speak Finnish so she couldn’t read what specifically had been said. 

“I find that hard to believe that’s how they said it, seeing as you laughed,” Jo called him out easily, “but I’ll let it slide because this is what I want too.” 

“Mmm,” Mikko hummed softly, hand rubbing Jo’s arm softly. “Want to celebrate getting this place all to ourselves today in the shower?” 

“I could be convinced.”

------

Jo ran a towel through her hair again, trying to get a little more of the water out so she didn’t trail it around the cottage. She decided how it was now was as good as it was going to get, slid on one of Mikko’s large t-shirts he left for her and some comfy shorts, then headed into the kitchen where he was. He was shirtless, hair wet from the shower they shared, his hands busy pouring two cups of tea. Jo sighed as she reached him, letting her arms wrap around his waist from behind. Mikko put the kettle down in order to give one of her arms a quick squeeze. 

“Hi there,” Mikko said softly. “Tea’s good right?” 

“Tea’s perfect, baby,” Jo replied before kissing his shoulder softly.

Mikko hummed softly at the feeling of her pressed up against him, her lips on his skin. Mornings with her like this had been the thing Mikko craved most because what they had before had been so close to this, having breakfast together, spending the quiet moments of the morning together. But it was so much sweeter now, now that they were damp from the same shower, now that Jo was pressed up against him, now that she was truly his to love. 

“Want to drink these outside? There’s this big couch,” was all Mikko had to say to get a happy noise from Jo and get her turning for the back door. 

Mikko carried the tea, just enough steps behind Jo to be lucky enough to see her launch herself into the large round couch. She tunneled herself into the pillows as Mikko laughed. He didn’t really understand his girlfriend’s love affair with comfortable couches, but he could get behind it and make sure she had as many as she wanted. Mikko sat the cups on the side table and climbed onto the couch with her. He settled himself among the pillows before he patted his thighs, stretching out his legs for Jo to come sit between them. She slid in between his legs happily, her back pressing against his chest. Mikko wrapped an arm around her waist, large hand spread out across her stomach. He grabbed Jo’s mug and handed it off to her with his free hand before grabbing his own.

Jo was fiddling with the tag on her tea bag and Mikko knew something was on her mind. He didn’t have to push this time. He just gave her a small, supportive squeeze with his arm around her and she let him know what was going on inside her head.

“Do you want to like, tell people? By people I mean like, everyone,” Jo asked him softly. 

“Jo, I want you and have you,” Mikko replied, like what he was saying was the most natural and obvious thing in the world. “The rest of it doesn’t concern me. I don’t care what people say. I care what you have to say. You’re my only stake in all of this, the only part I care about. Whatever you want is good with me. You want to put it on Instagram? Go for it. You want to write songs about me? I’d be honored. You want this to just be us and never talk about me in public? I’ll be just as happy as long as we have our friends and family and I have you. I don’t care about the details, Jo. Whatever you want is good with me. But don’t think you need to protect me, okay? I’m a big boy and I love you more than enough to handle anything to keep loving you, okay? I’m not changing my mind. I’m not going to get overwhelmed. I have you and the rest of it doesn’t matter to me.”

Jo almost cried at his words. She didn’t have a way to express the way her heart rose in her chest and then settled back down, cushioned by just how deeply she loved him, at his words. She didn’t have words for that feeling, so she had to settle for a sort of joke. 

“Sort of already started on the song thing, so good to know that’s okay,” Jo laughed a little as she talked, hands fidgeting with her mug. 

“I can’t wait to hear them, Jojo,” he replied, kissing her temple with a smile on his face. “You don’t have to play them for me, obviously. But if you want to, I want to hear.”

“Of course I’ll play them for you, Mikko,” Jo said as Mikko took a few long sips of his tea. “They’re for you. The rest of the world will just get to hear them at some point.” 

Mikko smiled against the edge of his mug and pressed his nose softly into her hair, letting his eyes close, just breathing in the moment as best as he could. He settled back into the couch, bringing his tea and Jo with him, tea secure in his hand and Jo secure against his chest and Mikko realized there was no place he would rather be. A comfortable silence fell over them as they drank their tea and Mikko’s hand rubbed in smooth circles over her stomach. Jo’s free hand rubbed up and down his forearm as she looked out at the water, thinking there was no place she would rather be either. 

“Thank you,” Jo said softly, breaking the silence after a few minutes. 

Mikko just kissed the side of her head and took a sip of his tea in reply.

“Thank you for being patient with me,” Jo spoke softly this time, voice hesitant, “for waiting.”

“Josephine Evans,” Mikko smiled as he spoke, “I’d wait for you my whole life if that’s what it took.”

Jo sighed, letting herself put all her weight against his chest, and let her love for him settle throughout her, through every inch of her, where it had always belonged. Mikko kissed her head again, face pressing softly into her hair. Mikko would have waited for her his entire life, but he was so happy he didn’t have to.

“Hey, Mikko?” 

Jo’s tone was lighter than when she had spoken the same words yesterday. The question was hesitant, but there was unbridled joy behind it.

“Yeah, Jo?” he replied, just so she knew without a doubt he was listening. 

“I think we should get married here someday.” 

Mikko sat his now almost empty mug down to wrap both arms around her tightly, dropping his face into her neck. He kissed her neck softly and sweetly as his heart swelled on his chest. He had her now, the person he wanted more than anything else in his life, but hearing her say that, those eight words, Mikko knew there was something he wanted more for certain. He wanted her in a pretty white dress, by the water, promising in front of the people who mattered most to them that what they felt was forever. Mikko could see it now, the flowers down the dock, the chairs by the water, he could see it all. He could see Jo barefoot in the kitchen ten years from now, a ring on her finger and a child on her hip. He could see her when she was eighty-five, hair long since gone gray, still making him smile. He could see her in every part of his future, loving her all the same in each thought that felt like memories that had yet to actually happen. 

Mikko had spent almost a year trying to get across the hurricane in her mind to find the girl he loved behind it all. It has been the hardest thing he’d ever done, but holding her now, staring out at the water, with the world quiet except for the small waves crashing on the shore and the feeling of how much they loved each other, thinking about marrying her someday sooner rather than later, Mikko didn’t have a single regret. 

“Whenever you're ready, Jo, I’m ready.”

[melisa-may-taylor72]

Accolades such as “greatest single long-playing achieve­ment since Sgt. Pepper” and “the most important record album ever made” fall over Queen’s latest album as easily as butter melt­ing on a hot potato—but few realize what a hot potato the album actually was in its pre-release days. It took a bevy of high-powered attorneys, some low-life finagling, and more than the usual amount of wheeler­dealing just to get the album out without its being hacked to death by defamation-of-character suits.

Guitarist Brian May explains: “I’m in real difficulty here because I’ve been threatened with libel because our old management had a good go at stop­ping the album coming out. They thought “Death on Two Legs’’ was about them. They wanted us to take the track off and we nearly had to, and in fact they got a load of money out of our publishing company be­cause it supposedly was libelous, but it’s never been proven. It’s all very stupid—they wanted to sue Freddie, the band, the publishing company, and the record company.”

All very dramatic stuff, but a band like Queen survives not on operatic finesse alone, but on gut-level melo- dramatics in the business department as well. When you produce your rec­ords, write the songs, play all the in­struments, and do everything your­self, chances are you’re going to have to pay some legal dues, too. But ah! the rewards—such as the single, “Bo­hemian Rhapsody,” hanging into the #1 spot in the British charts for seven weeks in a row!

“We’re a bit more in the public eye now, we’re starting to get recognized a lot more,” says Brian May. “We’re carrying on working just as we did before, but obviously we’re very pleas­ed with how the record’s doing. It’s sold more than a million copies in England— can’t believe it.” But it’s true: Queen’s stature in England has risen from that of The #1 teenage hard rock band to that of the-group- that-made-the-single-that-every-house- wife-knows-by-heart”.

What propelled Queen in that di­rection is their Night at the Opera album, a slight departure from what Queen fans know to be the Queen sound. The hard rock screams have temporarily subsided, replaced by ex­perimentation with different voicings of instruments and production tricks. Those who found Queen’s approach overdecibelled can relax to the quiet “ ‘39” or “Good Company” and tap their feet to “Lazing on a Sunday Af­ternoon” without fear of being gui- tarred to death. “It’s just what came out,” says Brian. “They’re offshoots of our main direction. There’s plenty of time for the rock.”

“The album wasn’t really supposed to go in the direction that it did, it was just the songs we had. While we were making it we were thinking, ‘Yeah, it is getting a bit light,’ but rather than fight against it we de­cided to do it properly and then think again afterwards. So instead of try­ing to heavy up the lighter things, we pressed on. We had a few things we didn’t use, but we’re getting more demanding of ourselves. There are a few heavy things kicking around, but we may use them on the next record.”

The two strongest forces in Queen have always been Brian and Freddie. With A Night at the Opera, where experimentation and branching out in new directions are the most obvious characteristics, the personalities of the band are often obscured by the newly emerging elements. “Some­times I feel that Freddie and I are going in different directions, but then he’ll come up with something and I’ll think, ‘My God—we do think alike.’ When I’m working on one of his things I can tune in very easily to what guitar part he wants, and vice-versa. In terms of what we’re trying to do in songs, we are moving in different directions, but I think that could be a good thing.”

QUEEN II: Critical response to the band is now almost unanimous­ly favorable in both Great Britain and the United States, which is quite phe­nomenal when you stop and think of how anxious many critics were to pan them two years ago.“I’m not going to take it too seriously,” Brian says, “because I remember what the critics said about Queen II. It would seem that everybody is beginning to like us. … very much. I can take it at that level, but there’s no doubt in my mind that sometime in the future there’ll come a time when we get slagged for everything. Queen II is still my favorite of the Queen albums, certainly the most daring. Especially for the time. I think we’re still finding our feet now, and the way I feel about the new album is that we’re searching for new directions and most of them are sort of half-formed. We’ve got the Queen II feel in some places, and in others we’ve got the Sheer Heart Attack polish. I don’t think we’re quite sure where we’re going”.

“This album, at the very least, ne­gates all the comparisons to Led Zep­pelin that we’ve been living with for the past three years. I think Physical Graffiti is amazing, by the way. I saw Zeppelin at Earls Court, and I met Pagey afterward, for the first time. It was great, he was very nice and gentle. I respect him a tremendous amount for “Kashmir” and “The Light,” for being able to put his brain on record—- it wouldn’t matter if he couldn’t play a note.”

Economic criticism has been less favorable, however. A Night at the Opera was wide­ly rumored to be “the most expensive album ever made” when it was released, a point which Queen’s management denies. Nevertheless, Queen has been taken to task by quite a few English journalists for spending so much money estimated at £30-40,000—making one record. Brian has a retort: “We wouldn’t have spent so much money if the studios weren’t so bloody expensive!

The album was recorded in seven of them, sometimes three at once.” We weren’t mucking about for any of it, it was four months of solid work. It came down to having the equipment available for four months, and we didn’t begrudge the amount of time spent in the studios, but it comes to a fair amount of money. There’s a lot of things that seem light, like “Good Company,” which actually took a great deal of time and care. All those trumpets and clarinets being fashioned from guitar sounds—I took it quite seriously because I wanted to do it right, even though it was a light­hearted thing. We worked too hard for our own health, we got a bit down and depressed.”

While Queen was laying about England between record and tour, a few of them got going on some independent projects. Brian and Roger produced an R&B group’s single, but there were some record company hassles and it may be some time before the record gets released. And on the eve of the Amer­ican tour, Freddie Mercury went into the studios with a singer/songwriter managed by the Rocket Organization (which manages Queen as well) to try his hand at production. “Eddie How­ells is the guy’s name, and he’s man­aged by David Mead, and they’re do­ing a single for Warners. I’m play­ing some guitar on it.” Brian re­strained himself from going out on any limbs before the American tour in order to get himself physically fit. His health had been a crucial prob­lem on an earlier American tour, and he’s not particularly anxious to spend time in hospitals when he could be on­stage instead. “I actually get more tired offtour than ontour,”he admits. But I am in good health.”

HAIRY LEGS: Once the English leg of the tour did get started, word started to flow very quickly back to the States about Queen’s dramatic stage show—a stage show to end all stage shows, with Mercury donning short-shorts to add a bit of the hairy leg to Queen’s otherwise pristeen pre­sentation. “The show is the same, but different,” Brian says confusedly. “We’ve merely developed what we did before with some new material from the new album. It’s a bit of re­shuffling. Plus we do “Doing All- right” from the first album, which we’ve never done onstage before. And “Seven Seas of Rhye,” which we’d do in England but never in America be­fore. It’s quite a lot different, ac­tually.”

American audiences got their first chance to sample the new presenta­tion on January 27 in Waterbury, Conn., when the first concert of Queen’s scheduled 32-date, 21-city American tour got underway in the Palace Theatre. After arriving in the States at Kennedy International on January 20 and spending a couple of days in New York for interviews, Queen began five days of rehearsals at the Palace to ready their show for American fans across the country.

After Waterbury they dove headfirst into the intensive six-week tour, which featured extended runs in New York, Philadelphia, and Los Angeles before its scheduled end March 12 at the San Diego Sports Arena.

Despite the novel direction of the new album, onstage Queen proved to be the same rocking outfit they’ve always been, letting loose with the same kind of guitar-bass-drums-piano barrage they’ve delivered in the past. “We don’t do “39” or “Lazing on aSunday Afternoon” in our show,“ Brian explains. He seems a bit defensive of Queen’s rock spirit, which is kept intact in the live set by “BohemianRhapsody,” “Sweet Lady,” “Prophet Song” and the deletion of the “experimental tunes” from A Night At the Opera.

By the by, those who missed Queenon earlier tours but want to see how they’ve changed now have the means. Queen bave joined the prestigious ranks of the Zeppelins, the Beatles, and the Rolling Stones whereby sorne illegal entrepreneur has issued a boot­ leg album of one of their American concerts. “I hate those things-they rarely give an accurate picture of the group,” Brian states unequivocally, and in this case he’s right. The Queen bootleg has transistor radio fidelity, and the only truly audible members of the band are Brian and Freddie. Yet the fact that a bootleg exists confirms the fact that Queen is now well on their way to the top.

CIRCUS MAGAZINE, APRIL 1975

@natromanxoff, @mephisto92, @moviestorian, @x5vale, @39-brian, @onegoldenglance, @crosmopolitan, @an-abyss-called-life, @his-majesty-king-mercury, @i-live-for-queen, @brian-39-may, @toomuchlove-willkillyou, @brimaymay, @sail-away-sweet-sister, @drummerqueenrmt, @old-fashioned-roger-boy-deactiv, @briianmaay, @l-over-bo-y, @inui-mycroft, @deacytits, @iminlovewithrogscar, @drowseoftaylor, @brianmayislongaway, @balticlover, @astrophysicist-guitar-god​, @miez-lakatz, @brianmayoucease, @jesus-in-a-life-boat, @roger-taylors-car, @silapril, @sherrifanciesfriskyfreddie, @tenderbri, @brianmydear, @thosequeenboys, @millionairewaltz-carpediem, @painandpleasure86, @bribrifrenchfry, @xlucylennonx, @a-night-at-the-abbey-road, @inthedayswhenlandswerefew, @madformeddowstaylor, @queenrogertaylorfan, @let-roger-get-a-lunch, @queen-for-life, @rethought, @darlinginnuendo, @mymakeupmaybeflaking, @old-but-still-a-child, @let-roger-get-a-lunch, @warriorteam1924, @funnydressesweirdhairanddance, @painkiller80, @thefanhuman13, @yourtieddownmother, @hgmercury39, @brimi-stardust, @thefairyfellermercury, @retroromantics, @foxmonkey, @sophiaintheskywithdiamonds, @holybrianmaywritingbear, @lydiannode, @39-yellow-daffodils , @ure-gonna-loveme-when-u-seeme, @kaykaybeachgirl, @rhysjoejoshtomfarisblog @redspecialandclogsandcurls, @briansrainbowsocks, @delilahmay39, @ohmybribri, @bless-the-queen, @infunitehearbeat, @sketchiesscketches, @everythingaboutfreddie, @doitforthevine67, @recordsoftheseventies, @tenementfunsterwithpurpleshoes, @drummah-in-a-rocknroll-band, @beatlegirl1968, @maylorsqueen, @shearrehartatacc, @gralto, @alittlepeoplemagic, @rainbowsockbrian, @sailawaysweetbrimi

[purplerose244]

My thoughts on Tales of Arcadia: Wizards 💚💚💚

LOOK OUT FOR THE SPOILERS!!!

...

...

...

...

SHORT VERSION

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA 😍😍😱😍😭😍😍😱😱😱😱😭😭😍😍😍😍😍😭😭😭😱😱😭😭😍😍😍😭😭😱😱😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😱😱😱😱😍😍😍😍😍

REGULAR VERSION

I don't know if I can fully express how emotionally exhausted I am right now. I cried. And I'm not talking about metaphorical tears or stuff like that, no-ho-ho, I'm talking real freaking tears. A roller coaster of emotions, truly. You stood by your words Aaron 👌

Douxie gets into the best protagonists I've ever seen group ASAP. Like, I knew I was going to love him but GREAT GAYLEN this is ridiculous. I WOULD DIE FOR THIS WIZARD AND HE WOULD PROBABLY WANT TO SAVE ME ANYWAY LIKE HE IS A POOR BABY WHO JUST WANTS TO BE RECOGNIZED BY HIS MASTER AND FIX EVERYTHING AND SAVE HIS FRIENDS AND FAMILY AND I LOVE HIM SO MUCH AND AAAAAAA 🤯🤯🤯

JIAIRE 💙💜💙💜 Everything about them, from them wanting to find the other, to how much they just love each other so MUCH, to the kisses, to Claire not giving up on him, not even once. This is the ship, the OTP, the couple that went through so much yet somehow still made it. Bless them 💕💕💕

I'm biased because I love Steve and I generally don't mind comic relief, I think they are more useful than people think. That being said, yes it did feel a bit... useless? The part with Lancelot was still very cool anyway so good on that. Kinda felt like Steve found a group of dads in Camelot 😚 Also him sending that one message to Aja, that was something 😂 Can't help it liking Staja 💙💙 Although him calling out Eli so much was also very interesting 😏😏

Do I even have in me the words to fully express how amazing was Claire's arc in this? How she wanted nothing more but to save the man she loves? How she managed to get a hold onto her dark powers even though they are scary and she didn't want to become like Morgana? HOW CAN I FULLY EXPRESS HOW MUCH OF AN MVP WAS CLAIRE NUNEZ IN THIS??? 💜💜💜

Also Morgana? MORGANA??? We saw her point of view, the heart she used to have, the compassion that somehow brought her to the edge of darkness! And her redemption, AND ACTUAL!! REDEMPTION!! FOR MORGANA!! 😱😱😱😱😱 Her working with Claire, heck yeah, omg, I don't have words for such awesomeness 👌👌

Deya was glorious. I think we all kinda knew Callista was going to become the first trollhunter 😅 But she has such a strong and unique personality, and a background that makes sense for her to acquire a new identity as the first defender of the two worlds. I loved how much she connected with Jimbo, loved her A LOT 👌👌

Seeing Blinky and AAARRGGHH!! meeting for the first time and slowly building their friendship, that's the sappy stuff I'm looking for 😍😍

... wait now that I'm writing I realized, Angor Rot was there? Just that one cameo? That sounds a little suspicious 🤔

Okay sorry, I need preparation for this one *clears voice* Why is- No that's not right *cough a bit* Why is that...! No no still too low *deeply inhales* Okay so...

WHY IS THAT BEST BOY JIM ALWAYS GETS HORRIBLE STUFF THAT HE DOESN'T DESERVE?!?!? 😭😭😭

The luck of this kid, my world 😞 Besides this, man that was heartwrenching, loved it even thought it hurt a lot. And the best part is that, nothing was out of character, it all made perfect sense. Jim is and remains an altruistic person, even to a fault, who would and will think about others before himself, even if that means putting himself into such danger. I think him turning back into a human will generate a bit of controversy through the fandom, which I can understand, but personally I think it makes sense how they did it IN THIS WAY. Especially since he is now without amulet, after such a strong experience, in need to reshape himself... is this why in the game he doesn't have a troll form? NOW I'M WAITING FOR THE GAME EVEN MORE!!! 😍😍😍

The bonds. The bonds, freaking, how refreshing they were? Not only we didn't get a useless triangle with Jiaire and Douxie, him and Claire had a genuine friendship and he even taught her magic! And Archie was MAGNIFICENT?? 😭😭 Fully supportive, so close to Douxie, he clearly loves him dearly and wants only the best for him I LOVE THIS FAMILIAR SO MUCH 😍😍😍

And then Merlin... Wizards actually managed to make me feel sorry for him. And I would like to applaude the season for not making him fully good, like just because it was proved he cares about others doesn't mean he is not the known jerk that thinks about "the bigger picture" first before actual lives. Toby said it that nobody likes him (I know it was a joke but there is a bit of truth for me), Claire clearly despised him, even Douxie said it at the end that he wasn't perfect. But I think half his entire kind of redemption was right into his last words. He said his greatest accomplishment was saving Douxie. The greatest magician of all times said he did better saving a "nobody" than stuff like helping prevent the Eternal Night, or saving Camelot. I think he realized there the real bigger picture, and that actually made it hard for me to watch him pass. I really thought if he was ever going to die in the show, I would've been ecstatic 😅 But no, it felt like he died right when he was understanding. And that hurt... dang it TOA crew, playing with my heart!

But what hurt the most was just how much Merlin meant to Douxie. He was everything. His master. His friend. His father even. Not the perfect one, but one that made him who he is. He gave him a purpose, a path to follow, and a reason to be. And at the end he was someone who was even glad to see Douxie making choices different from his, like he was happy to see him taking a different path... I cried okay 😢

I know a lot of people were hoping and got rewarded to see Zoe involved, me included 😂 Didn't really explain much of the relationship between her and Doux, maybe another time? Still nice to see her pink hair again 💕💕💕

If any of you heard some kind of strong explosion coming from the general direction of Italy... that was me after seeing Krel again 😅😅 I am disappointed that he was barely involved (although him tinkering with Akiridion tech and magic was DOPE LET HIM DO MORE OF THAT) but apparently there's a movie coming next year so I'm guessing that one will show the arc Diego told us about?... I WANNA SEE MY LITTLE BOY IN ACTION AGAIN 💙💙💙💙

Also too bad Toby also didn't have that much of a role, hopefully they will fix that in the next installation 👍

I did like the Arcane Order, they all have cool as heck powers and amazing designs. With that being said, it felt like there's still stuff to discover? I freaked out for a month because of Skreal since he looked so much like an Akiridion, but Krel didn't acknowledge that? Is it just a coincidence? It didn't help the fact that they even have a similar name 😅 Also fire pal there had a mask... maybe it's just me but in my opinion masks should always be there because of a reveal. And they seemed pretty unknown. I loved these villains, they are cool as HECK and Skreal cracked me up 🤣 It just feels like we still don't know much about them

Also Nari is absolutely adorable and cute and PRECIOUS and I'm happy she's with Douxie and has that super cute disguise omg so freaking CUTE 💚💚💚

What a ride. What. A. Ride. I'm more than ever looking forward to this movie, because I hope we'll get Akiridions fully into this. Is this why the Genesis Seals are made of three parts? That would make sense

... wait wasn't Jim's dad supposed to be revealed here? Did I miss something? Or is it for the movie? I STILL HAVE QUESTIONS!!! 😱😱 The movie might actually be like a second season of Wizards. This one presented Douxie, the next one will be the final fusion of all the three franchises. CAN'T. WAIT. NOW ONTO THE VIDEOGAME 😍

FULL EMOTIONAL ROLLER COASTER 😭😭😭 Amazing, really amazing, and I'm really happy it's not the last we've seen of this franchise. The end will come, but not today my friends 😉

[cutie1365]

A Kid from Queens Part 20

Pairing: Peter Parker x Stark!Reader

Info: CA: Civil War Era. Tony Stark enlists his daughter to find the web slinging spider in Queens.

Word count: 2.6k

Warnings: Language

A/N: For my sweet, sweet anon- Happy Birthday my love! This is for you, as you wish.

Any and all feedback is much appreciated!

Masterlist linked in my bio. Taglist in the reblog.

- - - - - 🕷 - - - - -

With the gala a little more than a week away, you began to make your preparations. You’d already gotten your dress and had it fitted with your tailor. That left Peter. It wouldn’t be a stretch for you to assume that he’d never been to a gala before. Meaning most likely, he also didn’t have a suit. Or one that wasn’t a hand-me-down.

Of course, you’d already picked out the perfect Tom Ford black suit for him. You were the one that invited him and wanted him to come, the least you could do is get him a nice suit that he can wear for years to come. For that to happen, it would have to be tailored to perfection, and luckily you knew just the place.

Yes, you already had all of his measurements from his Spider-Man suit so you could just give them that, but where’s the fun in that? Everyone deserves a private audience with the best tailor in New York at least once in their life. The thrill of almost being impaled with tiny pins is completely worth the reward of having something made so perfectly for you. To have an item that no other person owns, and only fits you. Your body gets to be the canvas that the garment is painted on.

You’d already made the appointment when you texted Peter.

Are you free after school today?

Nearly an hour later, in what you suspected was a passing period, you got a reply.

Yeah, why?

You smirked as you typed your response, you wanted this to be a surprise.

You’ll see ;)

Peter shook his head with a smile at your cryptic message, if he knew one thing, it was to always expect the unexpected from a Stark.

As the final bell rang, he leisurely made his way from his locker out to the entrance of the school. He walked absentmindedly, hands in his pockets before he looked up and his eyes grew wide.

On the street in front of the school, you were leaning against your convertible. Sunglasses on, arms crossed as Flash stood before you. Your body language was a clear indication that you weren’t amused with Flash’s feeble attempts to flirt with you.

As you looked up and your eyes met with Peter's, a smile spread across your face as you wiggled your fingers in a wave. Flash whipped around to see what, or rather who, had drawn your attention.

“Penis Parker, your ride’s here.” Flash teased as Peter approached the car. You slowly lifted your sunglasses to the top of your head.

“You know Flash,” You took a long breath, drawing out your words, “For a straight guy, you really love to talk about Peter’s dick.”

Laughter erupted around you from the small crowd of Flash’s cronies that had gathered to watch him shoot his shot with a Stark. You lowered your sunglasses as you held your smirk, Flash’s face turned beet red and he stormed off with a huff.

“I think that was the greatest thing I’ve ever witnessed.” Peter beamed, a giddy smile on his face. You walked around the hood of the car and hopped back into the driver seat.

“I was just stating a fact,” You chuckled, “Hop in.”

Peter did as instructed, closing the door behind him. You kicked the car into drive and sped off.

“Did Flash ask why you were here?” Peter asked curiously, and you nodded in response.

“I told him Tony Stark needs Peter’s help on a project for his internship and asked me to pick him up right away,” You smirked, “That shut him up.”

Peter chuckled, imagining the look on Flash’s face when he realized that Peter wasn’t making any of this Stark Internship stuff up, and that Tony Stark actually knew who he was.

“So where are we really headed? Your text was very mysterious.” He smiled, you turned to face him once you’d reached the stop light.

You lifted your glasses and smiled at him, your eyes meeting. You couldn’t believe the two of you were here like this. A month ago you weren’t even speaking, and as much as that broke your heart it was worth it. The hiding and sneaking around was worth it to be here now with him, driving around New York with the top down, not caring who saw you.  

You reached to take his hand, giving it a squeeze. Peter leaned closer to you and you met him halfway, your lips meeting for a moment in a chaste kiss.

A honk from the car behind you forced you apart as the light turned green.

“Let’s get a move on!” The driver yelled.

“We’re having a moment here!” You yelled back, earning a middle finger in response as you took your foot off the break.

“I love this fucking city,” You laughed, and Peter joined in.

“Are you gonna answer my question or am I supposed to guess?” Peter smirked, his hand still in yours.

“Queens.” You answer, glancing at Peter and seeing him raise a brow, “We’re going to a gala, and you need a suit. We’re going to my tailor.”

“So does that mean I get to see your dress?” He wiggles his brows, causing you to laugh.

“No, it’s a surprise.” You shook your head, using the heel of your hand to turn the steering wheel, taking you onto the Queensboro bridge. The first place you’d met Peter. If your father hadn’t enlisted you to find the webslinger, you would have never met him. Or maybe you would have. Maybe you were destined to meet and no matter what path you followed it would always lead to him.

“Where is this gala again?” Peter asked after a moment, he had been glancing out the car at the bridge. You wondered if he was also thinking about your chance encounter.

“Inside Belvedere Castle in Central Park.” You answer, it had recently reopened but you’ve never been to an event inside. It normally housed exhibits or small private parties. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t excited, and a little nervous. You didn’t want anything to go wrong, you needed a good night, especially considering what had happened last time. You knew you’d be safe with Peter by your side, but you just wanted one smooth night with no heroes required.

“Cool,” Peter nodded, having never been there himself. How he got wrapped up in a life of billionaires and crime fighting, he’d never know.

“So I figured we could get some food after the fitting? And maybe bring May some, because we need to do some schmoozing.” You said, causing Peter to raise a brow.

“Why?” He asked, curiously.

“Soo... they always book rooms in a hotel near the venue for after the gala. They collect the most donations at the bar of the afterparty and this year they picked The Plaza. They gave me a room, so I thought we could stay there, order room service, kinda have a mini vacation.” You explained, hoping this wouldn’t be too much. A gala is one thing, but spending the night in a big fancy hotel is another.

“That sounds amazing!” Peter beamed.

“But,” You said, drawing out the word, “I don’t want May to kill me, so we kinda need her blessing.”

“Yeah that’s a good idea. I don't think she’ll mind.” He said casually.

“I’m prepared with more shoes if she says no,” You laughed, but you weren’t kidding.

“I’m sure that won’t be necessary.” Peter chuckled, shaking his head.

“I don’t know... If my son asked to spend a night in a fancy hotel with his girlfriend I’d be a little hesitant.” You shrugged.

That was the first time Peter had heard you refer to yourself as his girlfriend, and that was the first time you’d said it outloud. You liked the way it sounded, you could get used to that.

- - - - - 🕷 - - - - -

After a fitting full of laughter and you shamelessly checking out Peter’s ass, the two of you were sitting at the kitchen table eating dinner and chatting.

“Hey guys,” May says as she walks in the door, “Oo that smells good.”

“We got you some.” You smile, pointing back to the box on the counter.

“Aw, you guys.” She smiled as she made her way to the kitchen, ruffling Peter’s hair on the way.

“How was work?” Peter asked Aunt May while he tried to flatten his hair.

“Good, good. What are you kids up to?” She asked, taking a bite.

“We were just talking about that charity gala I told you about.” Peter said.

“Oh right, the childhood cancer one.” She nodded, chewing.

“Yeah, so Y/N was just telling me that they gave us a room in the Plaza for that night, but we wanted to make sure that was ok with you first.” He said, and this was the moment of truth.

“I don’t know Peter, let me think about it.” May said, just as you’d suspected.

Peter looked at you, worry evident in his eyes, he wasn’t expecting her to say that. You shook your head in a “don’t worry, I got this, follow my lead” kinda way.

You picked up your phone, and stared at it for a moment, forming your plan.

“Oh shoot,” You muttered, pretending to read and scroll through something on your phone.

“What is it?” Peter asked, looking over your shoulder, seeing the screen was black as you continued to tap on it.

“I forgot I had booked a salon and spa appointment for tomorrow but I have a meeting with the Robotics Board upstate,” You explained, turning and speaking directly to Peter.

“Can you get it moved?” He asked, playing along.

“No, it’s nonrefundable,” You shook your head, and went back to swiping on the blank screen before pretending like a brilliant idea just popped in your head, “Aunt May, why don’t you go?”

“Me?” She asked, surprised.

“I mean, it will just go to waste otherwise and I can’t make it. We’re starting trials on new nano-tech prototypes so it’s probably going to take all day.” You explained. If this whole engineering and CEO thing didn’t work out, you might have to go into acting, because you were killing this.

“Well... I guess if it’s gonna go to waste. I haven’t been to the spa in forever.” May smiled. Hook, line, sinker.

“Perfect, problem solved!” You smiled, and quickly changed the subject back to Peter’s day at school to not seem too suspicious.

Now we wait.

- - - - - 🕷 - - - - -

The three of you talked for hours, about life, about school, about work. It felt good, normal even. Like this was something you could get used to. Peter and his Aunt accepted you so quickly into their world and their lives. You felt like you’ve been doing this for years, like you’ve known each other for years. They didn’t treat you like the daughter of a billionaire, they just treated you like Y/N.

Before you knew it, it was late and about time for you to head home. When you were with Peter time seemed to fly by. You were gathering your things when May spoke up.

“When’s this gala again?” She asked Peter, and you knew your plan was coming to fruition.

“Friday.” He answered.

“The Plaza you said?” She asked, and the two of you nodded in response.

She sighed, knowing you’d both be safe there and it was close to the venue.

“Ok.” She nodded and both of your faces lit up. It worked!

“But no alcohol.” She pointed at both of you with a stern face.

“No alcohol.” You and Peter repeated in unison, nodding along. That wouldn’t be a problem, you’d learned your lesson from last time you were drunk around Peter.

“No drugs.” She maintained her protective stare.

“No drugs.” You both nodded.

So far the bar was pretty low. If it were your father he’d be saying ‘No hacking government agencies, no lazers, and don’t do anything I would do’ which really took a lot off the list.

“And use protection.” May said finally, your eyes going wide. Peter dropped his head into his hands.

“May....” He groaned in embarrassment. You hoped your cheeks weren’t betraying you and turning a bright red. You never expected that to come out of May’s mouth.

“I’m just saying. You’re both adults, I just want you to be careful.” She answered, and you smiled and nodded awkwardly.

“I’ll um, I’ll walk you out.” Peter pointed to the door, and you followed him.

Peter was silent on the trip from the apartment to the elevator.

“Told you we’d need the spa day,” You smirked, trying to cheer him up. He still looked mortified by May’s comment.

“You know, my father would have said something much worse, so you shouldn’t be embarrassed.” You tried, comfortingly grabbing onto his arm.

“I know, I just... I don’t want you to think that’s the only reason I want to go. Especially after what Thomas said-” Peter began to ramble, but you cut him off.

“Hey, hey. I know you Peter. I know you’re not like that. I don’t want you to worry about that. We’re in no rush. It’ll happen when the time is right.” You said, still surprised that clearly what Thomas had said was weighing on him so heavily. You knew he’d said it just to get under Peter’s skin, but you couldn’t let him win.

“Ok.” He nodded, seeming to be convinced by your words as the two of you stepped off the elevator onto the first floor.

“Now we can have a relaxing night out where you don’t have to lie about where you’re going.” You smiled, trying to lighten the mood as you were approaching the door.

“Yeah you’re right, I’m sorry.” Peter shook his head for even bringing up Thomas. You grabbed his arm once more, stopping him from opening the door. He turned back to you, and furrowed his brows slighting in anticipation.

“There’s no need to apologize for caring, Peter. It’s sweet.” You assured him, and he smiled. He bent down to kiss you before leading you out to your car.

“Text me when you get home safe.” Peter instructed as he opened your car door for you, a true gentleman.

“I will, I’ll see you Friday. I actually do have a meeting for the Robotics Board tomorrow. Now I have to go book May a salon and spa appointment. Maybe I’ll throw in a manicure for good measure.” You rambled as you got into the car and started the engine, lowering the window as Peter closed the door.

“You’re gonna spoil her.” He teased, leaning into the open window.

“Who else am I going to spoil? Unless you want some Jimmy Choos and a mani pedi?” You teased back, making Peter chuckle.

“Drive safe.” He kissed you once more before backing up back onto the sidewalk.

“Bye.” You smiled with a wink before pulling out onto the street.

Once you had returned home and gotten into your pjs you raised your phone to take a selfie. Snapping the picture, you sent it to Peter to let him know you’d made it home safe.

Proof of life ;)

Almost immediately you saw the three flashing dots appear as Peter typed his reply.

Cute pjs, goodnight, don’t let the spiders bite.

You chuckled, shaking your head at your phone screen.

I don’t think that’s how the saying goes lol, stay safe on patrols tonight x

Pulling your blanket over yourself as you settled into bed, you heard your phone ding.

I always am ;)

You shook your head, that boy was going to be the death of you.

- - - - - 🕷 - - - - -

Any and all feedback is greatly appreciated!

[queenmylovely]

High Infidelity III

Summary: Ben hardy x fem!reader. A fancy event with Ben leads to unforeseen cirumstances

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings: cussing, Angst...

A/N: Here it is y’all, the final part of HI, this fic has really challenged me since I’m not used to writing angst and I had to have a completely different relationship with reader to write it. Since this was part of my 800 celebration, I do want to thank everyone who follows me for supporting me and especially for all the feedback I have received on this series 💖 and with this part especially please leave any feedback you have in the form of tags, replies, asks, or messages, because I really do love hearing from you!

Part I, Part II, Masterlist; BLM Resources, Register to Vote (U.S.)

(gorgeous Benny in a gif by @arthursleclerc)

💖💖💖

As the weeks went by, everything in your relationship with Ben evened out. It was like the big fight and any resulting complications had never happened. Except for the fact that the two of you were trying to be better with communication and understanding, which was great and really rewarding.

So when Ben came to you with the news that he had been invited to some fancy gala, you couldn’t have been happier to go.

“Who’ll be there? Am I going to meet any fancy celebrities?” you asked excitedly.

“You already know a fancy celebrity, you sleep next to him every night,” Ben replied, looking at you with mock hurt.

“Yeah, of course, of course. I meant any new fancy celebrities?” you changed, still wanting to hear the answer.

“Hmmm I’m not actually totally sure, but if there are a lot there, you’re probably going to have to introduce yourself because I don’t know them either,” Ben said teasingly. Then he got another look on his face, “I do think Lucy, Rami, and Gwil are going to be there though.”

You could tell Ben was nervous because him spending a lot of time with them had been part of your last fight, so you reassured him, “Don’t worry, Ben. We can definitely spend most of the time with them. I’ve been wanting to catch up with Lucy.”

“I promise not to let Gwil drag me away from you for any reason, which will be easier since Joe won’t be helping him,” Ben told you and you smiled good-naturedly, leaning in for a kiss when he did.

___

The week leading up to the event was filled with lots of trips to different stores, trying to find a suitable dress for the event. You sent pictures of options to Lucy since she had a lot of experience with such things. Finally you found one two days before the event, and luckily it didn’t need any tailoring other than wearing high heels so it wouldn’t drag. It was a black silk floor length dress that had a gathered waist and spaghetti straps that led to a neckline that was low but not too revealing where you would feel like you were on display. Once it was paired with a pair of heels you already had and some jewelry Lucy was loaning you, you knew it would be perfect.

The only thing you were unsure of was your hair. You knew how to style it in about three different ways, curled, bun, and ponytail, and none of them seemed right for the event. Looking on pinterest, you found a couple “easy” hair tutorials, but when you tried one a couple days before, you couldn’t get the right result and got increasingly frustrated.

“Ugh I just can’t get it to work,” you said in exasperation.

Ben came up behind you and rested his hands on your shoulders, “Can’t get what to work?”

“My hair,” you whined, leaning your head back to rest on his stomach. “I’ve tried like five times but it just doesn’t work.”

“Why don’t you just go and get it done, or we can have someone come here,” Ben suggested easily.

“Doesn’t that seem a little frivolous?” you asked, not used to having other people do stuff like that for you.

“The whole event is frivolous, and you should feel as confident and comfortable as possible at the event. I know that they can be intimidating so if that would help, I think you should definitely do it,” Ben reasoned, looking at you through the mirror and you couldn’t help but smile at his words.

“I love you so much,” you said to him, tilting your head back even further. Ben got the hint and leaned down to kiss you, both of you laughing at the upside-down kiss.

___

The day of the event started with a small sleep in, but just until 9:00am. The two of you had breakfast and then started getting ready at 10:00am so that you wouldn’t have to rush and could relax throughout the whole day.

Sharing a shower and helping each other wash your hair and bodies eventually turned into something else, which only further helped with the relaxing.

After the shower, you put moisturizing face masks on both you and Ben and leave-in conditioner in your hair. While you were letting the masks do their work, you started on lunch together, later taking them off to eat.

You started your makeup soon after, Ben watching you in fascination and keeping you entertained with questions. When the hairdresser arrived, they got your hair in curlers and then did Ben’s quickly. Watching them work so quickly and easily convinced you that Ben had made the right choice by hiring them.

Once your hair was done and you both got dressed, it was time to go. A town car was taking you and the two of you talked excitedly about the night.

As soon as you arrived and got out of the car, there was event staff welcoming you and guiding you to the carpet where all of the photographers and reporters were. Ben asked if you wanted to be in any pictures, but you declined, more comfortable to walk around back and watch him interact with the photographers and do one or two question interviews. It was nice to see Ben having fun and laughing and you could tell that he was really enjoying himself and getting into his element.

While you were watching, you felt someone come up next to you and turned to give them a smile but what you saw made your spine run cold. It was the guy, the one that you had slept with, the one that you hadn’t given another thought to since a week after the incident.

“Hey, y/n,” he said with a knowing look. You looked closer and saw that he had a recorder in one hand and was wearing a press badge and realized he must’ve been a reporter for a smaller site or magazine. Reading the press badge, you finally got his name, Jake, though it really didn’t matter now.

When you didn’t say anything and just looked at him in shock, he continued, “Still got that boyfriend, I assume?”

To that, you nodded and he laughed wryly.

“‘Course you do. Well, next time you decide to cheat with someone, let them know that’s what they’re doing first so they can make an informed decision,” he told you derisively.

“I’m not going to--” you tried to reply, but he was already walking away. You took a deep breath to calm yourself and fixed your face as well as you could then turned back to watch Ben. You were just in time to see him find you in the crowd and then wave you over because he was done.

The two of you walked into the main event area. While you were grabbing drinks, you ran into Rami who said that Lucy and Gwil were already at a table and there were two spots saved for you.

The following hours of the event passed exactly as they were supposed to, and you breathed a sigh of relief when you reminded yourself that the press usually didn’t actually attend the event so Jake must be gone.

Once the formal activities were done, everyone was free to roam around, and there was a band that was playing music in the background, with the option of a dance floor for those who wanted.

You were having a good time with Ben and his friends, probably the best time you had ever had with them because for the first time you didn’t feel like an outsider. You thought that Ben had probably asked them to include you a little more. Part of you was a little embarrassed that they might think you were being childish, but a larger part of you was glad because you could see your friendship with all of them growing.

Gwil saw someone he knew and went to ask her to dance and Lucy and Rami decided they wanted to do the same. You suggested dancing as well, but Ben, who was not the world’s greatest dancer, said he wanted to have another drink first. Agreeing to wait at one of the high tables by the dance floor, Ben went off to the bar to get the refills.

As he was waiting for the drinks to be made, Ben watched you swaying to the music and looking at the dancers with a small smile on your face. The sight made him smile and he was content to keep watching while he waited but someone said something to him from his left.

“She’s quite the looker, huh?” the guy said and Ben noticed his press badge and name, realizing that he had met him at a couple other events.

Because he knew him, Ben thought it would be weird not to reply. So he made a face but replied, “Yeah she is.”

“She’s got a boyfriend though, or something,” Jake told him matter-of-factly.

“Yeah I--” Ben was about to say that he was actually your boyfriend but Jake cut him off.

“Wish I'd known earlier. She waited until after we hooked up to tell me. Now I just feel bad for the bloke that’s stuck with her. Thought I’d let you know so you don’t end up in the same situation,” Jake said shaking his head.

Ben hid the tsunami of dread and rage he felt upon hearing this near-stranger’s words and instead asked, “Oh that sucks, when did that happen?”

“Just a couple months ago, sucked finding out. Anyway, better take these drinks back. See you later man,” Jake clapped Ben on the shoulder and walked away.

Back by the dance floor, you were wondering what was taking so long and looked over to the bar to see Ben receiving the drinks. You smiled, ready for him to look your way and walk over with the drinks. But instead, he started walking to the exit, shooting one angry glance over his shoulder to where you were.

Confused, you were stuck in place for a moment before you started to follow him. You hurried to catch him, calling his name a couple times once you got past the bulk of the crowd. But he didn’t turn back and he’s too fast and you’re in heels. He rounded the corner to the exit and by the time you got through the doors, all you saw was a group of cars, ready to drive the guests home or wherever they were going.

Movement caught your eye as you kept walking towards the line of cars and you saw the door of a car close and then start to drive away, a frowning Ben barely visible through the back window.

Immediately, you tried to call him but he hung up on the second ring. You sent him a text asking if he’s okay and where he’s going but he didn’t even look at it which you could tell because he always has his read receipts on.

You had been moving too fast to think, but now your stomach dropped and you flagged down a car, texting Lucy to tell her you’re heading home as you slid in and told the driver the address. On the way, you tried not to panic because there were a thousand possibilities for why Ben had left. Left looking angry, without telling you, ignoring you calling his name, and not answering your calls or texts. Left from an event where you had run into Jake just hours ago. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

You got home and unlocked the door, opening it slowly, not prepared for what was about to happen. Closing it behind you quietly and walking through the apartment, you could feel adrenaline rushing through your body, making it hard to breathe. You didn't find Ben until you reached your bedroom. He was on the balcony, staring over the edge and though he’s standing in place, his leg shaked.

“Ben?” he refused to look at you. You made the split decision to play innocent. “Ben what’s wrong?”

“I talked to Jake,” he said in a low voice, still staring out into the night air.

“Jake? What do you--?”

“I swear y/n, if any sort of lie comes out of your mouth that’s it. I deserve the truth and for you to respect me enough to tell me the truth,” Ben said harshly and your breath got shaky.

You rushed out, “I respect you Ben, I do.”

“How am I supposed to believe that when you fucking cheated on me?” this was when Ben turned to look at you and the mix of anger, betrayal, and despair in his eyes was enough to bring tears to yours.

“I’m sorry, I--” your voice cracked as you looked at him.

“How could you do that?” he asked loudly and you could hear the hurt in his voice.

The intensity of his searching gaze was too much to bear and you looked away as you answered, “I don’t know, you were away and I missed you and we were fighting. It felt like you were never coming back and I didn’t know what was going on with us.”

“If you weren’t sure, you should have asked. Talked to me. Not ignored all of my phone calls when I was trying to reach out to you,” Ben implored, sounding almost confused because he couldn't understand. “When was it?”

You thought about what would be the best answer. Would it make him feel better to know that it was deep into your fight or would it be worse that it was just days before he got home?

“The Friday before you came home,” you said solemnly, still not able to look at him.

Ben let out a big exhale but you couldn’t tell what he was feeling. He brought his hand to his brow like he was trying hard to remember something.

“Okay, so you weren’t just sitting at home watching tv,” he commented like he was piecing together something.

“I did do that for part of the night,” you defended, looking up to see his reaction.

“That’s not the point and you know it,” he snapped. Another moment of concentrating passed and his tone changed, “Fuck, that bruise on your hip, was that from him?”

“Yeah,” you said quietly.

Ben looked worried now, “Did he hurt you?”

Probably the worst part of yourself wanted to say yes, to run into his comforting arms and use the fact that it had gotten a little rough to serve as an excuse. But that wasn’t the truth, and it would be unforgivable to Ben and ultimately yourself to lie about something so important.

“No, well, not in any way I wasn’t okay with,” you explained, trying not to say too much.

“Wait-- you wanted him to do that? You like stuff like that?” Ben’s tone wasn’t accusing, just questioning. When you just looked away again, he knew the answer. He scoffed, “I thought we were trying to be better with communication! We’ve been together three years, why wouldn’t you tell me that? Dammit am I just not worth the truth to you?”

“Of course you are, I don’t know why I didn’t tell you. Maybe I was worried that you’d judge me or--”

“Three years, three years, y/n! I would never write you off for something like that. But I guess if you can’t even tell me about stuff like that, stuff that I could do for you, it makes sense why you didn’t tell me you cheated. You just don’t trust me,” Ben sounded defeated.

“No, I do trust you, I just didn’t tell you because it was never going to happen again, I didn’t want it to. It was a mistake, it didn’t mean anything. All telling you would have done was hurt you, just like it is now. I was trying to make it up to you without ever hurting you with what happened,” you rationalized, chancing a look at his face. He looked disoriented; your words made him feel lost.

“I don’t believe that. The truth is always better than a lie to me, I thought you knew that, I thought you knew me. And if you felt okay lying about it, I don’t think it’s a big step for it to happen again,” Ben ran his hands over his face and his voice was quiet now, like he was slowly accepting what had happened and what he had to do. The thought of that made you panic.

“No, no Ben, I love you and only you and you’re the only person I want to love. I promise, I promise, I promise, I love you and--and it will never happen again,” you tried to reach for Ben’s arms, but he just walked past you.

“I don’t think I can trust a word you say anymore,” he said softly, looking at his hands.

“No, Ben, Ben, I can be honest, I promise. I won’t ever lie to you again, I won’t. Please, please look at me. Look-- look at me, please, Ben I-” you were rambling now, but you would have said anything for him to turn around and take you in his arms.

Ben did turn but now his face was stone, “I’m gonna go. I’ll pack a bag for now and come back tomorrow for the rest of my stuff.”

He moved to the closet for a bag and you just stood still, frozen because you couldn’t process what was happening. Then there were tears running down your face and feeling them hit your crossed arms that were hugging your middle is what made you move again.

“No, no, Ben we can’t be over, you can’t leave. We can work on this, I’ll change. I’ll tell the truth, I promise I’ll never cheat, I never will. Please Ben, please I’ll do anything,” you knew you sounded desperate, but that was because you were, you couldn’t lose Ben after all you had done to keep him.

Ben was done packing the bag so he paused and looked at you. There was just one sliver of hope in his eye. “Was it here?”

You knew you could only answer honestly. “Yes,” then the light in his eyes was gone as he thought back to the week following his return. All of the stilted answers you had given him but he had accepted as just a little awkwardness after the fight made sense now; he knew why the sheets were gone and most likely where the lighter had come from.

“I can’t look at you, I can’t be here, without thinking about it,” he said simply. And somewhere inside you knew that was it, but the rest of you refused to accept it. “I’ll never be able to look at our bed without thinking that someone else was in it with you. I won’t be able to touch you without wondering if that’s how he touched you too. All I can think about is that I can’t understand how you would risk everything, risk our love, us, our future, compromise our home for what you say is meaningless sex. Cause to me, our love was worth everything.”

With that, Ben walked out of the bedroom. You followed him, trying to grab his arm, saying his name over and over, anything to stop him. He didn’t slow down, didn’t look back, until he got to the door and pulled it open. Even as your mind didn’t realize, your body knew he was done and your arms went slack, dropping from his. When he looked at you one last time, the anger and hurt was no longer at the forefront. What you saw in his face as he looked at you now was pity and that made you want to retch because it was so far from the love he used to look at you with.

“Goodbye, y/n, I truly do want the best for you in life,” Ben said, touching your hand softly and slowly, almost as if he was remembering all the previous times he had, briefly remembering when you loved each other with no question. Then he turned around, walked down the hallway, and out of your sight.

Holding your hand with the other, you tried to retain the feeling of his touch as long as you could. You closed the door with your shoulder and then collapsed against it, sliding until you sat. The floor no doubt dirtied your designer dress, but you couldn’t focus on anything as sobs started to wrack your body, and you didn’t even notice as your tears stained the silk.

💖💖💖

Permanent taglist: @riseetothesun @caborhapch​​ @drowseoftaylor​​ @queenlover05​ @johndeaconshands​ @supersonicfreddie​ @stardust-galaxies​​ @madamsledge​

Series taglist: @theonsasheart @itscale

If you would like to be added to my permanent taglist, just send me a message or ask!

[aenwoedbeannaa]

Toe-To-Toe | Geralt of Rivia x Reader

Summary: Life as a Nilfgaardian in the Northern Realms is not exactly wonderful. In fact, it’s dreadfully boring – at least until a Witcher shows up, responding to a message left on the local notice board.

Word Count: 4,111

Warnings: Smut with, like, a dash of plot. Mostly just #DaddyGeralt vibes. (I’m going to hell lol.)

A/N: This one-shot is based off one of these writing prompts. If you like my work, check out my masterlist for more! 

You hate everything north of the Yaruga. Except, of course, the steady stream of your father’s money that he feels guilty enough to provide you with. He’d been sent to this gods-forsaken hold by Emperor Ehmyr two years ago now, and in those past two years, it’s been nothing but a bore. The populace is rude, and just about everything else is dull – not to mention the weather, which is shite.

So, naturally, you are intrigued when you notice a man with two swords slung over his back heading up the winding path leading to the estate the Emperor oh so kindly provided your father with when he informed him of his new position as the baron of this dump of a hold in Velen. You are not particularly fond of it, even if it is objectively beautiful.

You watch from the window as the stranger approaches, eyes fixed on the two swords slung over his back. You don’t even need him to draw close enough to see his eyes to confirm that he is a Witcher. The peasants around here are lucky if they own one sword, let alone two. The only people on the Continent who walk around with two swords like that are Witchers; or so you assume. You’ve only ever read about them in books and heard stories of their exploits sung in ballads.

And this is no ordinary Witcher. You’ve heard the ballads about this one – the one with the long white hair that rides a mare and carries two swords on his back and walks with a confident swagger. Oh, you know who he is straight away.

* * *

“Geralt of Rivia,” you eye the man up and down as you stand blocking the entrance to your family home.

If he’s curious to know how you know who he is, he doesn’t show it. More likely than not, he knows all about the bard, Jaskier, who has made quite a name for the both of them, singing about their exploits across the Continent. The man just nods in acknowledgement.

You study the Witcher for a moment longer, eyeing the yellowed parchment in his hand. You know everything that goes on in this town, so you happen to know that the piece of paper he is holding has been tacked to the village notice board for at least a month; unlike the numerous Imperial notices that the villagers tend to rip from the weathered wood within a day or two of them being posted.

“So, going toe-to-toe with the big bad then, are you?” you ask with a smirk.

The white haired Witcher, to your surprise, returns a sort of half-smile, raising his arm to wave the water-damaged paper in front of you, “If you still intend to pay the reward, I suppose I am.”

Your father posted the contract before he set off on some Imperial business you didn’t deign to ask him about because the villagers had been bugging him about a couple of ghoul nests in the area. No surprise that they were there – there seemed to be no shortage of bodies turning up left and right thanks to the bloody war. More seems more likely than not that even after the Witcher dispatches the creatures, new nests will crop up within months; but you’d prefer not to have a hoard of angry villagers on your tail.

So, you push open the door, talking over your shoulder as you walk into the large hall, trusting that the Witcher will follow you inside. “My father posted the contract a month ago,” you inform him, “Left a bag of coin for me to give to whoever takes care of the ghoul nests north of town.”

When you turn around to face the Witcher, you find his yellow eyes set on you, as if he’s studying you or something. You’re not sure whether to be amused, offended, or flattered, but you don’t have much time to think on it before he speaks again.

“So happens I took care of the ghoul nests already,” he speaks in a deep and gravely voice quite unlike any other you’ve heard.

“Hmm,” you muse, studying him for a moment and realizing for the first time that his black leathers are smeared in places with fresh blood, “That ghoul blood or human?”

The Witcher smiles impishly, shrugging, “Smells like ghoul blood to me.”

You raise your eyebrows, taking several steps toward him. “I don’t have superhuman senses, Master Witcher.”

He cocks his head to the side, looking down at you, “Guess you’ll just have to take my word for it.”

You are silent for a moment, though you are not actually concerned. The Witcher seems trustworthy enough, and you were fairly certain that if there’d been some sort of slaughter in the wilds around the village, you’d have already heard complaints about it. After all, with Father gone, you were the only one here for the villagers from across the hold to complain to.

“Fine,” you finally say. “You do smell of a thousand deaths.” That much is true. From your position only a few inches in front of him, you have to admit he does not smell particularly good. You’d witnessed more than one death, and human blood smelled more metallic than anything – it took a while for them to smell quite like this.

“What a lovely compliment,” he says with a slight laugh.

“It wasn’t a compliment,” you say matter-of-factly. The Witcher does not respond.

“I’ll get your coin,” you tell him, “And have the servants draw you a bath.”

The Witcher seems to be intrigued; at least the expression on his face leads you to believe so. The suggestion had been a serious one. You are enjoying the banter with this stranger, and you aren’t in a hurry for him to leave. It grows awfully boring here, especially with your father gone. You are alone with the servants and guards, which is not necessarily the greatest of company. The servants dislike you, no matter than you treat them respectfully enough. The guards, on the other hand, like you a bit too much – as if you would be interested in some hired guard from the Northern Realms.

You expect him to say something about taking the coin and being on his way but, for whatever reason, he did not. He just nodded gruffly, eyes scanning the empty entrance hall, do doubt wondering what servants you were speaking of, as there were none here.

Catching his searching eyes, you cross you arms over your chest and look at him, “I don’t need servants trailing after me all day.” It was true enough. Of course, you are accustomed to life as a noblewoman, but one thing you did not enjoy was being tailed by servants at all hours of the day. You were perfectly capable of dressing yourself in the morning, thank you very much. “But they’ll come if I call,” you add hastily.

“Hmm,” the Witcher says, as if he is musing over something. When he doesn’t follow up with anything, you look at him curiously.

“What?” you ask, raising an eyebrow, “Going to let me in on those mysterious thoughts?”

“Am I supposed to keep you informed on my mysterious thoughts when I do not even know your name?” He smirks, amber eyes locking on yours.

You ignore the heat creeping into your cheeks and answer quickly, “You never asked.”

“Then I suppose I am asking now,” he says. You are sure that you are blushing now, thanks to the look Geralt has fixed on you. It is hard to describe, really, but there is a slight glimmer in his yellow eyes that hadn’t been there before.

“Y/N Aep Hedhal,” you respond. Your name would, among many circles, cause as stir. With so many Nilfgaardian noble families vying for power, those who are successful in that endeavor are looked to with a mixture of adoration and jealousy. But if the Witcher knows anything of your family, his cool and even expression does not give it away.

He nods, repeating your name as if tasting it on his lips adding, “From Nilfgaard?”

“How’d you guess?”

“The guards outside, for one,” he responds easily, “Your last name for another, and even without those two, your accent would be enough for anyone to guess.”

You laugh, somewhat bitterly. Your accent did indeed mark you as other here. Even when you were out in public without guards, servants, or other nobility, your accent gave it away nearly immediately. You thought, of course, about adopting the Nordlings’ way of speaking, but you couldn’t quite bring yourself to do it. You did not intend to stay here and changing your way of speaking would only make it seem as if you did.

“Brilliant deductive reasoning skills,” you quip.

“Necessary skill for a Witcher,” he says casually. “Have to deduce what monsters people have me chasing after.”

“Ah, I see,” for a moment, you feel uneasy.

Perhaps he was only engaging in this conversation for that purpose. You were, after all, seen as a monster by most of the people here. What’s more, it might even be true. You had no idea who occupied this land before Emhyr cleared them away to provide your father with this grand estate. And, you could not deny that very often, the bodies found in fields and on the sides of the road were victims of violence perpetrated by your fellow Nilfgaardians.

“And have you found a monster?” you ask.

The Witcher studies you for a moment longer before finally answering, “Don’t believe I have.”

You hold back the sigh of relief you had the strong urge to release and speak instead, “Interesting...   Thought everyone here hates Nilfgaardians.”

“I’m a Witcher,” he says, “We don’t take sides.”

“Ah yes, I’ve read about that,” you muse, “Apolitical monster slayers.” You not your head toward the man, “Honestly thought that part was made up.”

“Out of all the things that book probably said about us, that is the part you thought was made up?” You are slightly caught off guard by the fact that he seemed genuinely interested in your answer. Not many people seemed to be interested in your opinions; even when your father was away on business and the responsibility of responding to issues in the hold fell to you. Oftentimes, they’d be in the great hall, standing in front of you as you sat in the plush chair in the center of the room, but they would be looking past you all together, looking to the guards at your sides. Typical.

“Does that surprise you?” you ask, eyebrows raised. “I’ve never known anyone who didn’t take sides, especially during wartime.”

“In my experience,” he says slowly – thoughtfully, as if he is carefully weighing every word, “Two warring nations care little about their people’s wellbeing. If they did, they certainly wouldn’t send their youth out to kill and be killed for the sake of redrawing some lines on a map.”

You realize you are nodding in agreement only after your head is already moving, quickly responding, “Well, Master Witcher. It seems like you do take sides after all.” He looks back at you, eyebrows knitted together in vague confusion before you continue, “You’re right next to me with all of the other cynics.”

“Next to you, Lady Aep Hedhal?” You swear he’s inched closer to you, but you cannot be sure it isn’t just your own wishful thinking. “I’d be honored.”

Well, perhaps it wasn’t in your head. Unsure of how to respond to his words, you fumble for a moment before finally settling on the easiest response, “Oh, Lady Aep Hedhal is my mother, Master Witcher. Call me Y/N.”

“If you call me Geralt, Lady Aep Hedhal.”

“Fine.”

It seems as if there is an invisible thread linking the two of you together becoming more and more taught as the conversation continues. Loose strands of you hair flutter as he breathes out. You could easily close that small distance by rolling up onto your toes, and if you were to tilt your head…

But that smell, it is impossible to ignore. As much as you’d like to tangle a hand in his long white hair, you’d rather not come away smelling of ghouls’ blood. And besides, you enjoy keeping men on a string – like a cat with a mouse. It’s a game for you; to see how far you can push it before they cave in. And, well, most of them do.

So, you take a step back, taking care not to wipe the small smile from your lips. “Your bath, Master Witcher, just down that hallway, the last door on the right. I’ll send someone in after you.” After studying his soiled clothes for a moment more, you add, “I’ll have some clothes sent for you as well, so the servants wash those.”

The Witcher holds up his hands, about to protest, but you silence him with a hand, “You will stay for dinner, won’t you? With father gone and mum still in Nilfgaard with my siblings, dinners are dreadfully lonely.” You blink up at him all doe-eyed, the way that you’ve learned most men cannot resist.

“Of course, Lady Aep Hedhal,” he says, “A feast for cynics.”

* * *

“So, you tend to business while your father is away?” the Witcher asks before taking a sip of wine.

You nod, taking a sip from your own goblet as the servants clear away the empty plates, “Someone’s got to,” you say. “Parents got dreadfully unlucky; four children and not one of them a boy.” Your voice is dripping with sarcasm, betraying your displeasure with the way of the world.

“Why are your mother and sisters still in Nilfgaard?”

You hate to admit it, but you are basking in the glow of his attention. It is rare that anyone asks you any question that doesn’t involve lowering their property taxes or trying their very clearly much more successful neighbor as a witch. Though, the wine is probably also a contributing factor in why the words seem to fall from your lips so easily.

“My youngest sister is sick, wouldn’t have been good for her to travel. And mum didn’t want to come, anyway. ‘Supposed to be a temporary position,” you explain, unable to stop yourself from rolling your eyes at that last bit.

“Not so temporary?”

You laugh, shaking your head as a rueful smile plays on your lips, “Two years now, and no sign of anything changing.”  

You see Geralt’s expression soften to something akin to pity, and you immediately narrow your eyes at him. “Don’t look at me like that,” you snap. “I don’t need anyone’s pity,” you say, waving an arm to indicate the grand room you’re sitting in, “I mean, look at this shit.”

Geralt glances around the room and laughs, “I suppose it is a decent setup.”

The décor is simple enough, much different from when you arrived. You’d taken the liberty to remove most of the gaudy, ridiculous décor and replace it with equally expensive but simpler ones. You aren’t quite sure where they put the boar’s head that used to hang in there, but you are nevertheless glad that it’s gone.

“Thanks,” you say, draining your glass, “Had to spend the illustrious Emperor Emhyr’s money somehow.”

He smirks, eyes settling on you, “Fancy décor and pretty dresses.”

This time, you do blush. Of course, he isn’t wrong. One of the few things you like more in the Northern Realms are the clothes. There is no shortage of fancy silk and gauze, linens, chiffons, and lace for you to buy. And the colors—you can find such lovely colors here, like the dark navy silk you’re wearing now.

“Geralt,” you drawl, “I had no idea you had an eye for fashion, especially since you didn’t bother to put on the doublet I sent you.” Not that you really care – the shirt he’s wearing is white linen and the loose tie at the middle leaves a good deal of his chest exposed. It is not a bad view, you have to admit.

“I hate doublets,” he insists, shaking his head. “Can’t stand them.”

You raise an eyebrow, shaking your head. You can’t say you’re surprised. You highly doubt that Witchers ever have much occasion to wear fancy clothes. Even you can’t be bothered to wear a full corset. You don’t like wearing anything that requires help getting in or out of.

Silence settles over the two of you for a moment before Geralt turns to look out one of the large windows. You are surprised to see that the sun has set and the only thing you can see out the window is a smattering of stars. It must be quite late.

“It’s late, Lady Aep Hedhal,” he says, “I should probably be on my way, wouldn’t want to keep you awake.”

You look at him, eyes alight, “Oh, I didn’t know how much you cared about my bedtime, daddy.”

The moment the words leave your mouth, his eyes widen, and you swear that they’ve dilated slightly. You grin to yourself – who knew it would only take one word to disarm the Witcher. He has that look on his face – one you are quite familiar with from several of the guards and townsmen alike.

“But, since you are,” you speak slowly, taking advantage of the moment, you stand up, letting your dress rustle about as you take a few steps around the table, dragging your hand along the backs of each chair until you reach the Witcher’s. “Maybe daddy could tuck me in?”

It takes all of two heartbeats for Geralt to stand up, pushing the chair off to the side as he turns to face you, eyes drinking in your form as you blink up at him. “Gladly, princess.”

Your breath hitches in your throat as he places one hand at the side of your face, letting the other slide over your shoulder and down your back, coming to rest firmly on your waist, pulling you flush against him. You shiver at the feeling, nerves on fire as you look up at him towering over you. You would very much like to kiss him, but you’ll wait for him. The game of cat and mouse was fun, but now that you’re held flush against him, you fully intend to let Geralt take it from here, especially after the way he looked at you as he said princess.

He presses his forehead against yours, talking slow steps, backing you toward the oaken wall, the hand on your face sliding down ever so slightly so that his fingers are on your neck, raising goosebumps on your skin. All the while, he speaks in those slow, deliberate sentences, “I cannot guarantee, though, Princess,” his fingers press slightly harder into the soft skin of your neck, making you bite your lip in anticipation, “That you will sleep very much.”

He finishes his sentence at the exact moment you feel the wall behind you, and it takes all of your self-control not to melt right there. You heart races as his amber eyes lock on yours for a seemingly endless amount of time as he pins you there against the wall.

Finally, you break the silence, biting your lip and looking up at him with wide eyes, words sounding innocent as possible, “Why not, daddy?”

That seems to finally snap his resolve. He presses his body against yours, pinning you more tightly against the wall. “I’ll show you why not, Princess,” he growls, finally capturing your lips in a hungry kiss.

Your lips part for him almost immediately, allowing him access that he fully takes advantage of, tongue exploring your mouth as you whimper into the kiss, lost in how good this all feels. With the men from here – the guards, the occasional traveler – it has always just been a diversion. This is the first time in quite a long time that you’ve ever actually felt anything.

The Witcher pulls away, leaving you gasping for more. He stops for a moment, grinning just centimeters from your lips. You grip at his shirt, his shoulder, trying to draw him closer so that you can kiss him again, but he doesn’t budge. Instead, he just laughs silently, cocking his head to the side. “You’re an eager little one, aren’t you Princess?”

Your only response comes out much softer than you intended. You aren’t used to being this, well, charmed by anyone. “Y-yes,” you whisper, “I do.”

Geralt breathes deeply, as if memorizing your scent, and hums appreciatively before pressing his lips to your neck.

You sigh, tipping your head back to give him better access, and he takes full advantage of it. His lips trace across your neck, gently sucking and licking at the skin there drawing several moans from you. You grasp at his shirt, clawing at his chest with both hands, vaguely aware that you are trying to rip the thin material from his chest.

He obliges, pulling back to pull the material over his head, tossing it behind him. You grin appreciatively as you drink in his form. Strong muscles and a body full of scars that somehow look good on him. You bite your lip before wrapping his arms around his neck, burying your face in his neck, tasting the skin there. He grunts appreciatively, gathering the silk of your dress and pulling it up using firm but gentle fingers. You are all too happy to allow him.

His hand snakes up under your dress, traveling higher and higher, leaving you breathing heavily, wanting more. For a moment, you pull away to look at him, eyes silently begging him to move his hand just a little higher. And, much to your delight, he does exactly that.

He snakes his hand up underneath the thin material covering your core, fingers gliding easily thanks to the wet heat pooled there. “You are eager, Princess,” he whispers, letting his fingers ghost over your clit – his touch so feather light it only stokes the flames, doing nothing to abate them. Until finally, he looks you in the eyes as he drags a calloused finger from your entrance to your clit, moving over the bundle of nerves in small circles – first slow and then faster, applying more pressure as your eyes roll back in your head, his name spilling from your lips.

Your breath hitches in your throat as he works you with his skillful fingers, massaging your clit just the right way so as to keep you like putty in his hands, legs bucking beneath you as he holds you upright, firmly against the wall – begging him for more but earning only a smirk as he continues to tease you.

“Open your eyes,” he demands in that intoxicating baritone. You never listen to anyone, but something about the way he says it has you snapping your eyes open immediately.

His amber eyes fix on yours as he toys with your clit, a smirk on his lips. You whimper, trying in vain to move your hips against his hand, but he has you locked right where you are.

“I bet you want to come,” he breathes, leaning down to nibble your ear.

You can only whimper in response as he flicks his tongue over the sensitive skin of your earlobe. His breath his warm on your neck as he speaks again, “Don’t you want to come, little Princess?”

You not emphatically, finally able to make your mouth form somewhat coherent words, “Y-yes…,” you breathe, “Please.”

“Please, what?” He growls in your ear as his fingers continue to rub slow circles that have you seeing stars.

“Please, daddy.”

He grunts in approval, lips moving to your neck, as he begins to work his fingers faster, flooding you with so much pleasure your body can hardly keep up. Between his fingers working over your clit and the soft kisses and licks he is placing all over your neck, you let out a desperate mewling sound as you come undone, hips bucking against his fingers as your knees buckle beneath you.

You would have fallen, but his reflexes are fast as lightning, and he catches you with one arm around your waist, holding you upright as your body slackens and you slump against his chest, breathing heavily.

Geralt slowly moves to brush back a few strands of your hair, moving his mouth up to whisper in your ear, “Oh, we’re going to have fun tonight, Princess.”

[a-land-of-shadow-and-substance]

I finally got to ride Rise of the Resistance! Here’s my review

To put it succinctly: It’s a great artistic achievement (despite some awkward writing issues), with a wonderful and dedicated cast, but the stupid virtual queue system absolutely ruins the experience.  This is the worst experience I have ever had with a new attraction. Possibly the worst I’ve had with any attraction in general.

Now, for the longer version, under the cut because BOY do I have a lot to say:

I’ve handled “difficult” popular attractions before.  I visited Pandora only a month after it opened, and rode Flight of Passage.  To get on without an hours-long wait, I got there for park opening, and was rewarded by getting to ride with a shorter wait, as well as getting on earlier in the day, thus freeing the rest of my schedule without the pressure of “will I get to see the new ride?”.  On days I arrived later, I knew that the tradeoff was that I would have a longer wait, or risk that the ride would be down by the time I got there.  Still, I could definitively get in line to ride regardless of when I arrived, and if I arrived early there was a tangible reward.

There are no such assurances or advantages with the ROTR virtual queue.

I arrived before park opening, found a spot with optimal phone connection, hit “get boarding group” as soon as the clock hit opening time... and got a backup, non-guaranteed boarding group on my SECOND early morning of attempting to get a boarding pass.  Passes proceeded to run out within a minute of opening.

Aside from getting a pass, there was no advantage to arriving early.  I basically showed up before opening only to get shoved to the back of the line, when in a traditional queue situation I could have been one of the first riders.  I essentially had an 8 hour wait when, in a traditional queue situation, I could have had a 1 hour wait.  This also left my waiting situation vulnerable to ride breakdowns happening throughout that day, which did happen-- twice.  

One breakdown happened immediately before my group was called, leaving me stuck hovering around the entrance for an hour, just in case they did manage to get it running again and my group got called (they seem to be much stricter with backup groups showing up than regular groups).  I lost out on my Radiator Springs Racers fastpass (which are themselves frustratingly hard to get) waiting around for this.  So the cast member spiel that “the boarding pass system eliminates the wait and lets you enjoy the rest of the parks!” is absolute BS.

In fact, the only thing the boarding groups seem to do is tell most people they’re not allowed to ride, or even try to ride by risking a long standby line.  The possibility of experiencing the attraction is limited to the elite few who happen to be 1) in the park before opening 2)with their cell phones out with an optimal connection, 3) understand exactly how you’re supposed to get the boarding group (I noticed several non-English-speakers having issues understanding the process) and 4) are lucky enough to be the first few clicks among hundreds trying for the same groups.  And then even if you do get a group, you’re nail-biting your way through the day, hoping a breakdown doesn’t eliminate your group from the lineup.

Unfortunately, this stressful experience completely colored my introduction to what is probably one of the greatest artistic and technological achievements Disney has ever made.

The videos DO NOT do this attraction justice.  The set pieces, the pacing, the detail, the dedication of the cast members acting their hearts out as Resistance and First Order members...all of it really makes Star Wars real for a few glorious minutes.  I’m not even a Star Wars diehard and it still felt pretty special.  I was also lucky and got to see everything working in A mode, as intended.

Furthermore, it actually contains two standout effects that actually made me go, “Whoa, how did they do that?”  As someone who reads and writes about theme parks a lot, I know how most illusions are done.  However, ROTR actually surprised me twice.  The first is with Bek’s ship.  I thought this would be a pretty obvious illusion, since the ship has two doors, with one being opposite the one you entered.  I thought you’d enter from Batuu on one door, and walk out to the First Order ship through the other--an obvious trick where your “ship” is merely a room attached to the First Order building.  But no, you exit THROUGH THE SAME DOOR YOU ENTERED!  Somehow, you’ve actually moved somewhere while it was doing its mini-Star Tours thing.  I’m still not sure how that’s achieved.  The second illusion that impressed me was that, when something gets shot, there are chunks missing out of it afterwards.  Pieces of the wall will be there, and then just... not be.  As if they were actually shot!  I think it’s done by a combination of projections and pieces of wall that retract on cue, but it’s incredibly realistic and effective in selling the illusion.

I have gripes about the story writing, however.  Aside from the queue system, the story is probably Rise of the Resistance’s weakness.  The elephant in the room is that (spoilers for Rise of Skywalker) both villains you’re supposed to be running from turn out to be good guys in the last movie.  Hux turns out to have been a Resistance Spy all along, and Kylo Ren reclaims his identity as Ben Solo and becomes Rey’s love interest.  Hux makes a little bit of sense, as one might be able to assume that he’s secretly assisting our escape on ROTR, but Kylo’s antagonistic role remains awkward.  It’s like if Disney made a Beauty and the Beast ride where the riders are meant to be running from the Beast the whole time.  It’s technically a correct possibility, but weird because basically everyone knows how he turns out in the ending.

Still, it’s hard for me to even focus on the ride itself because the queue experience was just so bad.  The stressful effort of trying to obtain a boarding pass outweighs the positive aspects of the ride, and quite frankly it’s just not worth it.  Unless they change to a normal queue, I’m never riding Rise of the Resistance again.

[365daysofsasuhina]

[ 365 Days of SasuHina || Day Two Hundred Eighty-Five: Scissors ] [ Uchiha Sasuke, Hyūga Hinata ] [ SasuHina ] [ Verse: A Light Amongst Shadows ] [ AO3 Link ]

For most of her life, Hinata had no sway over her appearance. Hiashi kept her attire neat, always sporting their clan crest as not to let her forget who her actions represented. And even her hair was never allowed to grow, restricted to a traditional hime cut through all of her schooling, and even upon becoming a genin.

For the most part, Hinata didn’t really mind. Her clothes suited her well enough, especially with how baggy they were. Her lack of confidence coupled with her early blooming meant she was more than fine with being hidden under fabric. And in all honesty, her short hair was useful, keeping it out of her face when training or doing missions.

But after graduating from the Academy...things began to change for Hinata. Her teammates, a far cry from her own timid nature, helped bring out a subtle shift in her mindset. Watching her inspiration, Uzumaki Naruto, continue to defy odds made her believe that maybe there was still hope for her. 

The greatest change, however...came from her first attempt at the chūnin exams.

With mounting tensions behind the scenes, it was already slated to be an interesting year. Konoha’s junchūriki, as well as Suna’s, were going to be participating. Otogakure, a new village, was submitting entrants. And both Hinata and her cousin Neji would be thrown in together for the exams. At first, she’d simply hoped that they would skate past one another, never truly interacting.

But due to the high rate of completion in the Forest of Death, the proctors declared a preliminary round before arranging for the final task. And that was when random chance intersected with fate.

Hinata was to face Neji.

On one side, a girl attempting to change and defy the expectations and opinions of her clan. On the other, a boy born into servitude and mistreatment by that same clan, his genius overshadowed by his birthright. Hinata had long questioned the seal, knowing it was the reason behind her cousin’s anger and hate...and she knew it was justified.

If she were to be the outlet for that hate...then so be it.

But nor would she just give up…!

No matter her pain or stumbling, she refused to stay down, even as those around her cried for the match to end. It wasn’t until her heart was struck and Neji restrained that she was removed from the arena, rushed to the hospital and barely saved from an early death.

And still she wondered...had she changed? Even a sliver?

Would everyone be...proud of her?

Neji’s match against Naruto was quite the upset, Hinata torn between her cousin defying his fate, and her idol continuing on. In the end...Naruto was victorious, and Neji left to think. And his considerations were only deepened when Hiashi finally told him the truth of his father’s death.

From there...Neji too began to change. And Hinata was eager to see it, forgiving him his aggression and wanting only to rebuild what should have been a friendship from the start. Together, they began to train and strive to improve, gauging their progress against one another.

Hinata, finally, was flourishing. No longer did she have Naruto to worry about, the Uzumaki set to leave Konoha for three years. In those same years, she was determined to become someone worthy to walk beside a student of a sannin...and everyone else in their year. No longer would she be the timid, hesitating little genin. Hyūga Hinata was going to blossom at last.

And with her confidence...her hair began to grow. With Hiashi’s acceptance of her and Neji’s growth and independence, she was left to craft her own image. Foggy memories of her mother always included long, dark hair. So Hinata decided to emulate.

The next four years were filled with constant effort. Even upon Naruto’s return, she refused to waver. Though still soft compared to others she knew - Sakura’s take-no-shit attitude, Ino’s unshakable confidence, Tenten’s self-assured will to reach her goals - Hinata nonetheless kept training.

So when she stood before her village’s greatest enemy in the pits of its ruination, she did not tremble or flee. She stood her ground...even if, in the end, she knew it would be useless.

No more running away. No more second guessing. No more doubt. Even if she would face death...she’d do so with her head held high.

But Pein did not kill her, despite his best intentions. Hinata scraped through, her second near-death experience only serving to harden her resolve. Come wartime, she was ready, giving her all for her village, her country, her world. All of her hard work, all of her effort...it couldn’t be for nothing.

...and then the mokuton speared through her most beloved cousin’s chest.

Neji...unshakable pillar of strength and inspiration. Her cousin, her mentor, her friend...choosing his ultimate destiny. For her sake.

It shattered her, it boiled her...but only for an instant, heart pushed back to let her mind do what had to be done in the aftermath.

In the end...they were victorious. The cost was high, but that of losing would have been the ultimate price. Priorities, perspective...everything was changed.

A long-standing friendship would see her cousin brought back to her, and Hinata vowed then and there that she would never again let a brother die for a brother unless it was his own will. The Hyūga seal would die with him...but this time, stay dead.

Looking in the mirror of her rebuilt room, still novel after the leveling of Konoha, Hinata tries to recognize her reflection. The past several months after the war have been...difficult. Rewarding, but a test of her resolve and spirit. Hanabi has been working with her, alongside Neji, to end the Hyūga seal. Their Uchiha allies stand with them. But there’s still something missing...and she can’t quite place it.

She looks into the mirror...and in some ways, she doesn’t recognize who she sees. Hinata of the past is only caught in glimpses, pieces of the face that stares back. Her face isn’t as round as it once was, stripped of the stubborn baby fat that always made her look so childish. Still heart shaped, it’s more mature than it used to be. Her eyes are the most distinct difference. Hardened with all they’ve seen, shadowed with a lingering exhaustion she can’t seem to shake. So many time she closes her eyes and sees the war...sees Pein...sees the Tsukuyomi dream that now feels more like a nightmare.

...she really has changed. But has it been in all the way she’s wanted?

Studying her own face, she grips a pair of scissors in her hand. The tradition of long hair in the Hyūga is a prominent one. Her father, her cousin...Hanabi is the only exception, but she’s still young despite her heiress position. Soon, Hiashi will let her grow it out as a symbol of recognition.

Hinata, however...knows of another rite of passage. That of severing the past, giving oneself a clean slate. For four years now, she’s let her locks grow unfettered. These strands know of her failures, her victories, her joys and her sorrows. If she cuts them off - if she severs them now - will she get the rebirth she wants?

...for now, she sets the blades aside.

A bit more time to think.

“...you want to what?”

“It just feels like...maybe I should.” Hinata brings her hair around her shoulder, stroking at it slowly as Sasuke watches. He’s become a close companion during his stay in Konoha after his brother’s return. There’s only a handful of people she would consider breaching this topic with, and he was the first to come to mind that would give an honest answer. “...while I’ve grown a lot from all I’ve faced these past few years...it also feels like it’s all weighing on me. Part of me...wants to be rid of that weight.”

Sasuke knows the tradition well - Sakura did it during the chūnin exams, and another dear friend did the same for a fresh start so many years ago. “...I suppose that decision lies most with you.”

“...you really don’t have any o-opinion?”

“If you want to cut it, cut it. If you have any doubts, don’t. While it will, in time, grow back...it’s a lesson in consequences. This decision will have lasting ones. But…”

She glances up as he fades to silence, and then stiffens as he takes a section of strands. For a moment, Sasuke’s gaze is miles away...and she has to wonder what he’s seeing.

“...the rumors were true back then. I’ve always been fond of long hair. But no one ever really knew why.”

“...what was the reason?”

“...on most people, it’s never really mattered to me. Sakura’s didn’t, Ino’s didn’t...because it wasn’t quite right. But in your case...it fits rather well.” Slowly, he lets the hair slip from his grip. “...I like long hair because it reminds me of my mother. It’s not quite the same shade, but...yours reminds me of hers the most.”

In spite of herself, Hinata feels her heart quicken in her chest. She...she reminds Sasuke of his mother…?

“...but it’s still your choice. I can see the reasoning from both sides. Don’t make a call on my account, or anyone else’s. Like I said, your choice will have consequences, but...yours, at least, won’t be forever. It can grow back again. Not everything - or everyone - has that luxury.”

Hearing the weight in his words, Hinata swallows dryly. “I...I understand.”

“...good. Did you need anything else?”

“No, um...that was - that was all I wanted to ask you. Thank you...for being honest with me.”

“It’s one of my few virtues,” he replies, giving a hint of a smile. “Hope you find some peace, whatever you decide, Hyūga.”

Nodding, she watches him go, her heart finally calming as she finds herself alone. Pale eyes flicker back and forth as she thinks.

...maybe...the scissors can wait.

                                                            .oOo.

     I am...v tired, so I dunno if I'll have much to say this time around xD      Hinata's hair, as small of a detail as it might seem, is interesting to me. Kishi obviously kept it short to signify her lack of care about Sasuke's supposed preference, but...well, it obviously is a little different in a universe where they get together. The verse I write really only changes post 699, so maybe her motivations ARE still the same when she's little. But I also like the idea of the Hyūga influence, too. Neji is a bit of an outlier there, but that COULD be explained by his genius, even if he's not Main House.      ...I dunno, I'm too tired to elaborate as thoughtfully on this as I want to, but hopefully you get my meaning xD      With that tho, I'm gonna wrap up. Thanks for reading!

[honekitteh]

FIC: Countdown - Chapter 1

Fandom: SWTOR Pairing: Theron Shan/f!Jedi Knight Rating: T (this chapter) Genre:  Angst, H/C, Romance, Canon-Typical Violence, Humor Synopsis: A distress call leads the Jedi Battlemaster to Ziost, but time is running out.  Follows the storyline of The Rise of the Emperor and inserts missing scenes.   Author's Notes: First installment of an actual chaptered fic in this fandom. Hopefully there will be more in the future.   Warnings: Future chapters will raise the rating to M/E.

Crossposted to AO3

How did I get to this point?  That is an excellent question.  One would expect the so-called Hero of Tython to have a far more heroic introduction.  Jump in to save the day.  Say something suave or clever.  Jyana Kai, the “famous” Jedi Battlemaster who was reported to have killed the Sith Emperor would be able to jump into the fray and defeat anything.

Sure, you would think that.

Instead I was standing underneath a domed barrier with SIS Agent Theron Shan, just waiting.  My bruises had bruises; my mental defenses were on high guard.  He didn’t look too much better but calling down Archiban Frodrick “Doc” Kimble, the most humble doctor I’ve ever known, from the orbital station was out of the question.  

He straightened up after ensuring the shield was properly set and looked to me.  “Okay.  We should wait until they’re good and close.”   

I closed my eyes briefly, allowing my senses to reach out to get a good feel for how much time we had.  It wasn’t much.  I moved slightly closer to Theron and said softly, “I wasn’t sure when I’d run into you again.  Not the greatest circumstances, but still.”  I very nearly reached to him but halted myself with a small glance behind me.  It wasn’t my fellow Jedi and closest friend Kira Carsen though that I sensed when I could feel we weren’t alone.

He offered a weak but knowing smile.  “Maybe next time the lives of an entire world won’t be in danger – but, yeah, feeling’s mutual.”  

I felt my heart flip flop a bit at his smile and met his with my own.  Soon though, I could feel them.  His amber eyes shifted from mine to behind me.  Closing my eyes for a brief moment, I took a deep breath, then reopened them to follow his gaze.  Kira had already drawn her dual-saber, its green light reflecting against the metallic floor.

Theron pulled out his data pad and started tapping. “Okay, here comes the puppet brigade.  Fingers crossed…”

It was a fairly sizeable group, Imperials, Republic troops, and even some Jedi.  I silently cursed the Chancellor and added it to the growing list of matters I will add to a report, should I bother to file one.  At this particular moment, the choice words I had planning were significantly less Jedi than they had been the beginning of this entire fiasco.  The horde moved closer and Theron triggered the device.

That Theron even had to modify it to be non-lethal was not lost on me.  As I saw the soldiers all be stunned and fall to the ground, I could not help but wonder what the result would have been had that modification not been made.  The Empire, putting a weapon in one of its capital cities with the capability to kill a vast amount of their own citizens?  If they had one of these in New Adasta, they could have it on Kass City, or in a number of other cities.  But why?  Because of riots?  Gee, I wonder why anyone would riot against a ruling body that had no regard for their lives.

My eyes glanced over to a Republic soldier that had collapsed.  Were we even better?  The Republic should be better than this.  Theron followed my eyes and let the shield dome collapse.  He approached the soldier and knelt.  “This one was closet, took the biggest hit.”  He reached for his neck, checking his pulse as I walked up beside him.  I looked out towards the door and across the landscape of unconscious bodies.  “Still alive,” Theron confirmed, relief in his voice, “We did it!  Let’s just hope we got all of them.”

“Let’s hope,” I murmured, still scanning the surroundings.  Something still felt off.  This moment was far from over, I could feel it.

“We should call Lana now, see if she has a plan for what’s next.”

The bodies began to float in the air.  “I have a better idea,” a booming male imperial voice spoke through a woman sauntering onto the platform.  With a small flick of a hand motion, the bodies crashed back away from her, clearing a path.  Her eyes yellow and wild, she smirked as she drew her lightsaber.

“Master Surro.”  Theron’s entire stance sunk and he moved to stand between me and the unconscious puppet army and the approaching Jedi Master.  “No...”  I lightly reached an arm to his shoulder, trying to pull him back and shift him behind me, but he stood his ground.

“Watching you believe you had a chance; it’s amused me.”   Master Surro raised her hand sluggishly as if it were pulled by string, the Force lifting a dazed Imperial lieutenant into a sitting position. “Now this whole charade is pathetic.”

I shifted my own position, trying to assess the situation and moved in front of Theron.  Not soon enough, as Master Surro summarily executed the dazed man she’d just set up.  The range of emotions in the man beside me went from shock, to horror, to anger.  It took a great deal of my own willpower and Force meditation to not absorb Theron’s pain and have it fuel me and complement the dread that I felt; the very dread I’ve been feeling rising since the moment I’d received his distress holo.

Master Surro’s lips turned in a cruel sneer.  “Now, how do you wish to die?  In combat or on your knees?”

Lana Beniko, Sith Lord and Director of Sith Intelligence, raced from within the building, lightsaber drawn and poised to attack.

“Go away, little Sith.”  Master Surro easily shoved the approaching Sith Lord with a shove.  Theron moved in front of me again and drew his weapon but was immediately lifted in the air.  He gave me a wincing glance before he was unceremoniously thrown against the wall and crashed the ground.  I looked between Lana and Theron and took the last reserves of my energy to take a deep breath. 

Emotion, yet peace. Ignorance, yet knowledge. Passion, yet serenity. Chaos, yet harmony. Death, yet the Force.

Glancing back to Master Surro, I furrowed my brow and drew both my shoto.  The Emperor controlled puppet smirked.  “This has nothing to do with your friends.  This is you and I.”

Igniting my sabers, I leaped into the air.

So how did I get to this point?  I guess I could start from the beginning…

At some point in my early life, I was brought to Hasshimut to take up training to be a Jedi.  I have no recollection of much before this point, no memory of a mother or a father.  The Jedi didn’t see a need to enlighten me and eventually I never truly thought to ask.  Perhaps that was a mistake looking back.

But I digress.  While that may be the beginning of my story, it is not the beginning of this particular story.

Approximately a year or so ago I became more than what was called the Hero of Tython.  I was now the Battlemaster, a reward for helping bring together both Empire and Republic to defeat Revan and to attempt to stop Vitiate from regaining power.  The latter failed however, and a team had been put together to continue trying to find out where he’d gone. 

 “I’ll get the shuttle started,” Kira stated and walked towards the shuttles at the edge of the camp.

Not a second later, I felt another hand brush mine, startling me out of my thoughts and I turned around.  “Theron?”

Theron Shan smiled a bit awkwardly and scratched the back of his neck. “Jedi Battlemaster, huh?”

I shuffled my feet and looked down.  “Yeah, that surprised me too.”

“I suppose we’re both going to be pretty busy.”

“Guess so…” I looked back over the ridge across the lush green jungle moonscape of Yavin IV.  I took a deep breath as the wind blew through my hair.

“So Jy… I guess this is...”

I spun quickly and grabbed his neck and pulled him down into a kiss.  He startled, but then opened his mouth and met my tongue with his own. He wrapped his arms around me, one of his hands lowering to my waist, palm spread out slightly as one of his fingers slightly hooked underneath my belt.  A flash of memory of this morning where a very similar kiss led into a shuttle caused my cheeks to heat up slightly.  Slowly easing myself out of the thought, on how much I wanted to get lost in his arms again, I lowered my hands to rest on his chest and pulled out of the kiss, both of us breathless.  I attempted to play it cool as I said, “Don’t be a stranger, Agent Shan.”

He smiled softly and his eyes seemed to twinkle as he leaned his head against mine.  He traced his fingers against my cheek and whispered softly, “I won’t.”

I slowly opened my eyes and wondered when I’d drifted off.  The pilot chair wasn’t the most comfortable place to nap, but I supposed I was tired.  Pinching the bridge of my nose I leaned back in the seat and sorted through my thoughts.  The Defender was quiet as it usually was when I opted to take the night shift.  No bickering over space or Doc being a bit confused why he was suddenly thinking of all his old ex-girlfriends.  I usually used this time to meditate.

Or accidentally fall asleep and dream about...

It’d been months without a holo.  Just a small message about actually having caf with his mother.  That’s progress though, so I don’t begrudge him that.  It’s not like I’d entirely made a lot of time to reach out either, so I couldn’t pin it all on him.  Flying from planet to planet, seeing where I can lend my hand with the war effort or even some of the little things like Master Orgus reminded me, didn’t always lend me a lot of time to go to Carrick Station or Coruscant just to see what a good-looking SIS Agent was up to.

The planet I was in orbit of wasn’t extremely remarkable, though that was from the eyes of someone who had been staring at it for the last five days.  It was an unnamed Jovian type gas giant, swirling with green and teal colors of gas.  It had two ringed belts, one full of asteroids and the other vibrant and as colorful as the world surrounding it.  The two rings intersected in an X shape. 

There has been a mine there within the asteroid belt, though it had been long abandoned many years ago.  There were some fairly rare minerals that had been mined from within the asteroids and within the gas giant itself.  There were numerous reports of a space whale like creature called Purrgils that frequented this system as well.  Those creatures were apparently fairly notorious for knocking spacers out of hyperspace so I had to fly carefully in this region.  I vaguely recalled images of them, which reminded me of something I used to dream of as a child.  The dreams didn’t make them out to be a menace, but no one ever said spacers told accurate tales.

The Council wanted me to send a few probes within the system to assess its strategic worth.  An odd task for the Jedi Battlemaster I thought.  I’m a Jedi, not a Scientist.  I solved problems easier with a lightsaber.  But I could sense there was definitely more within this system than just a simple mineral assessment.  Though this seemed it would have been better to just send an actual expert in this field.  Everything I found I just forwarded to Barsen’thor Sheridan to show to her scientist companion, Tharan Cedrix.

I thought I caught a blip of a lifesign flying into the gas giant when suddenly, a holo comm started breaking through.  Staticky at first, I fiddled with the settings.

“--repeat: Repubic call sign Aurek Nen—hey! Finally!”

It felt like time stopped.  I was walking through a desolated world: buildings, ground, even the sun all washed out in shades of brown and grey.  My own bright white clothing, faded with the terrain.  As soon as the vision hit, it was over, and I heard Theron’s voice trying to get my attention.

Snapping out of it, I took a quick breath and quickly responded, “Theron. Are you all right?”

His voice came across frantic.  “That would be a negative, Master Jedi! I’m in Imperial space, over Ziost.  Tried to slip in, help out my ground team, but I used the wrong set of clearance codes and shields are low!”

I furrowed my brow slightly but tried to keep mostly calm. “Focus on getting yourself to safety, then we’ll talk. “

“No, you really need to hear what I have to say. I was getting reports: demented soldiers; slave and civilian populations under fire. Had suspicions of what it meant, but I wasn’t sure.”  My heart sunk even lower as he continued speaking.  “I sent a team in dark to investigate, maybe handle it, but it’s all gone out of control now. I think it’s him. The Emperor.”

“I’m supposed to be the first one you contact when it comes to him, not your last resort,” I snapped.

“I should have said something—I know.”

I closed my eyes briefly to try to settle my own racing heartbeat.

He continued, “Sending through the right set of clearance codes along with the coordinates to meet my-- “ There was a loud explosion and he lost balance as his ship rattled.  “I’m hit! Going to try to land this thing! Don’t come looking for me, I’ll—”

“Theron? Theron, come in!”  I frantically tried to get the signal back.  When that didn’t work, I just mashed the buttons on console and the Defender quickly jumped into hyperspace.

[darkarfs]

This is gonna make so many horrible people unhappy. EVERY Takeover has had at least one match-of-the-year candidate on it. Some of the most emotional moments in that brand have come from cards that even aren't quite as good. I even considered not doing this list, because, by all accounts, NXT Takeover: Tampa isn't even going ahead. But then I thought, fuck it, let's celebrate, taken all together, for my taste, the best wrestling product in the history of mankind. It's not just moves; it's emotional investment, sharply-focused, character-based storytelling, intricately-performed spectactle from the greatest physical specimens ever to lace their boots. It FINALLY legitimized Western women's wrestling in the mainstream (Michelle McCool, Trish, Molly, Mickie, Jazz, Victoria, you all were stunning performers in your own right, but you and your kind were, until NXT, only given 3 minutes: the longest women's match IN HISTORY, until 'Mania 32, was Trish Stratus vs. Mickie James at Wrestlemania 22, and it got 9 minutes.), it's got some of the greatest tag wrestling ever seen on ANY brand, it's created the longest-drawn storytelling ever, it's the best of the indies, the best of the WWE, wrapped up in a sequence of shows that were epic without being FIVE FUCKING HOURS LONG.

Where do I even start...?

Honorable mention: Takeover: R Evolution (I have to, because I've only got 10) Sami Zayn spends over a year, clawing and sweating and tearing walls down, just to get to the top of the mountain in NXT. He has the opportunity to cheat, but does it his OWN way, as beautiful, unique babyface Sami Zayn...before being no-scoped by his best friend, who debuted THAT NIGHT. The undercard isn't as strong, so I can't officially include it, but this payoff, this triumph, and this tragedy represents everything the first era of NXT was, and kickstarted it, truly, onto its first golden era. So, properly, then...

10. Takeover: Rival If you leave this list feeling like the title reigns, and thus, ERAS, of Zayn/Owens are a little under-represented by it, I completely understand. After all, so much good came from that time. American Alpha soldifying themselves as the dominant tag team, the Iron-Woman match between Sasha and Bayley, Becky Lynch putting all the pieces together, Enzo and Cass actually being GOOD...it was, still, at its heart, a developmental brand at that time. It had indie megastars, yes, but it also had the likes of Bull Dempsey. And that's not a dig at Bull Dempsey, it's just that those early Takeovers were an eclectic mix of skill levels, which is what NXT was at that time. It was a place to showcase these people. That said, some of these cards were truly *fantastic.* Case in point: Takeover: Rival. Not only was the undercard completely stacked (Hideo Itami vs. Tyler Breeze over-delivered; we had the first and still SOMEHOW ONLY Fatal 4-Way match between the Four Horsewomen; and Finn Balor vs. Neville was a solid match of the year candidate), but the main event was the first step in one of the most storied rivalries in the history of wrestling: Zayn vs. Owens. The video package is one of the best NXT ever did, and the match...was a masterpiece of simple-but unexpected booking. Zayn mistimes a leap to the outside, hits his head, and Owens responds by powerbombing him over...and over...and over again, until the ref stops the match. Zayn loses nothing, because he was never pinned, Owens is made to look even MORE the loathsome monster, and Zayn's title reign ends after just a month, without the champion nor the championship devalued in any way. It showed that NXT knew, even then, how to reward fans for their emotional investment.

9. Takeover: Portland Right now, NXT feels like it's approaching the very end of a special time in its life. Like it's on the verge of hitting critical mass. One of either Gargano or Ciampa probably leaving the company after the next Takeover, and the reign of the Undisputed Era seems to be crumbling, too. In yesteryear, this would indicate a raft of very important call-ups, neccessitating a shift in the roster and a period of calm centered around more patient character-building. NXT's existence now as a third brand throws that formula into uncertainty, but it definitely feels like they're ramping up to a finale, because goddamn, this is NXT almost at a point of self-parody. Every match is so. MUCH. Lee/Dijakovic is the pinnacle of HOT wrestling (and Lee, will you marry me?) Bianca Belair breaks out as an actual superstar...just as Charlotte decides to visit and to ruin everything, which is just dreadful timing. Gargano/Balor being everything we need it to be, and also Balor pinning Gargano with his fucking dick. And the Broserweights being VERY DUMB...but also VERY, VERY GOOD. The only thing that lets this card down...and this is obviously subjective...is that NXT has almost come TOO FAR, now, in its delivery on its main events, in that every kickout starts to beggar belief. On the level of Triple H/Undertaker at Wrestlemania 28, in that I still love it, but...hoo, it can be exhausting. Depends on how much Ring of Honor you like in your gumbo, I guess, but it feels like everyone on the roster is racing toward Tampa to explode, like a wrestling Crisis on Infinite Earths, and then MAYBE...things can calm down. Just a hair. Y'know, if Tampa even...still happens.

8. Takeover: Philadelphia If there's one man that's become synonymous with NXT, it's Johnny fucking Wrestling. You know, what would happen if a meerkat put on muscle mass and became the best set-piece wrestler this side of Daniel Bryan. We knew since he started his tag team with Tommaso Ciampa that he was an exceptional wrestler, but it wasn't until Philadelphia, and his INSANE match with Andrade "Cien" Almas, that we saw him as truly the industry's next star. It was the first Takeover match to go over 30 minutes (Sasha/Bayley at Respect went EXACTLY 30, don't @ me), it was the first NXT match to get 5 stars from Dave Meltzer (if that matters to you), and it set a new bar for Takeover main events. And while the undercard doesn't live up to it, it's still loaded with excellent matches. A.O.P. vs. the Undisputed Era is something special. Shayna Baszler makes her Takeover debut, and while she's nowhere near her prime, it cemented her immediately. Velveteen Dream and Kassius Ohno have a very fun match, and Aleister Black and Adam Cole have a ludcriously stupid no-holds-barred match, featuring two men doing with chairs what no one ought to do with chairs. But as good as all of that is, it's really a one match show, but what a match, and Ciampa ending it by being an utter bastard yet again.

7. Takeover: Brooklyn I Does the first Brooklyn Takeover feature Canadian Destroyers, 18 kick-outs and "fight forever" chants? It does not. Does it create moments of wrestling happiness that are rarely, if ever, replicated? It sure does. Firstly, Blue Pants appears and helps the Vaudevillains defeat Blake and Murphy. Seems quaint to look back on it, but it made everyone SO goddamn HAPPY that night. If you're forgetting, Leva Bates (that wrestling librarian in AEW right now) was once a comedy jobber in NXT, who wore Blue Pants. Adorable. Ignore what happened on the main roster (which is something you'll probably have to do with a lot of these shows, I imagine), but the Vaudevillains were once incredibly over (I promise!), and their win was one of several beam-inducing moments from this stellar night. Samoa Joe destroyed Baron Corbin at the height of his game, Apollo Crews debuted brilliantly (again, ignore what happens next!) and Balor and Owens' ladder match was also fantastic. Also, what's Jushin Thunder Liger doing here?? Wrestling like he's in his early 30s, that's goddamn what!! But of course, the reason we're all here is Sasha Banks vs. Bayley, and...there's still something in my eye. Anytime people want to rag on NXT for being "predictable," remind them that giving the people a moment they've genuinely prayed for...is a good thing. Bayley besting Sasha Banks at her prime just made us all...so happy. All of us. Everyone. When that curtain call took place, it was so earned. The narrative of women's wrestling dominated most of 2015, and this moment, this match, was the apex of that narrative.

6. Takeover: Chicago I And speaking of feelings...hello, Ciampa, you godless fuck. And so begins maybe the actual greatest rivalry in all of NXT. It is truly an odyessy, with twists, turns, injuries, betrayals, wounds torn open, and this is the nexus point. Well, the seeds had already sort of been planted, because Triple H knows what he's doing. Ciampa almost ALMOST turns on Gargano after their terrific match in the Cruiserweight Classic, only for the team to die another day...and what a death it was. After a great ladder match, the two stand atop the ramp, and you think "will it happen?" And the absolute bastards show you the copyright logo, just to make you think the show ends there, because it always does, seconds after that happens. You unclench, you breathe out, relax...Ciampa whispers "this is MY moment" and then...It is a perfectly engineered bait-and-switch, and exactly as vicious as it needs to be. Pats on the back, all 'round. This moment alone makes this a worthwhile Takeover, but there's also a hell of an undercard. The women's triple-threat (Ruby Riott vs. Asuka vs. Nikki Cross) is stellar, Bobby Roode and Hideo Itami have their respective best Takeover matches ever, and then there was Tyler Bate vs. Pete Dunne. An absolute show-stealer of a match, a star-making performance for both men (especially Dunne), it cemented the career of several men, and was a fully-formed GREAT show, as opposed to a good show in service to a storyline.

5. Takeover: Brooklyn IV Gargano and Ciampa's battle of brotherhood, betrayal and brainwashing was supposed to blow off at Takeover: New York, but because God hates necks, Tomato Champion was out of action, making this the final singles encounter to date, until Tampa (again, IF it even happens). This is the weakest of their 3 excellent encounters (which still makes it better than any match over SummerSlam weekend), but it also features Johnny Stupid running into a speaker, because his dumb ass can't seem to quit Ciampa. It's one of the greatest long-form feuds for a reason, mirroring Bret and Owen from 1993 into 1994, with all the repeated imagery, the callbacks, the nuances, the psychological cruelty. The street fight at Chicago II is MAYBE better, but this undercard, for me, is a lot stronger. It featured the Undisputed Era vs. Moustache Mountain, aka the Brothers Shithead vs. the Proud Circus Bear and His Beautiful Son. Velveteen Dream vs. EC3 was the closest NXT got to WWE-style storytelling and was still brilliant (remember when EC3 wrestled?), and HEY, wouldn't you know it, Kairi Sane was once a character with dimensions, as evidenced by an amazing match with Shayna Bazsler. But what makes this undercard truly stellar is Adam Cole vs. Ricochet. It is so nice to see Ricochet used well, etc., but I will still never stop pissing myself at Cole nailing him square in the jaw with a superkick WHILE HE'S MID-MOONSAULT UPSIDE-DOWN SWEET JESUS. Sometimes...sometimes...things fall exactly into place.

4. Takeover: WarGames (2018) The WarGames Takeovers are just so silly. It's a silly shoebox, filled with huge, silly men who only barely know why they're killing each other. It's as close as we ever get to WWE's now-terminal problem of "set aside whatever feuds you have right now, because it's Stipulation Month!" (see: Hell In a Cell, most Money In the Bank shows, though Elimination Chamber largely sidesteps this). The other Shoebox Takeovers are really good, no doubt, but this one stands head-and-shoulders above the rest. But there is not a bad match on this card. Kassius Ohno rides Matt Riddle's knee all the way to heaven; NXT shows why 2-out-of-3-falls is fast becoming its signature stipulation with the excellent blowoff between Sane/Baszler; Sexy Mindgames Prince had a star-making match against Tommaso Ciampa, showing why he may be the best overall character in NXT right now, and sweet lord, Aleister Black vs. Johnny Wrestling. It somehow showed that Gargano was JUST AS, if NOT MORE engaging as a dirtbag than as a good guy. And those Black Masses are presents just for me, a guy who tends to like more community theater in his wrestling than flips ("I ABSOLVE YOU...OF ALL YOUR SINS!"). And then we get to the Shoebox, and gosh it's silly! The Viking Experience, Ricochet and Pete Dunne take on the Undisputed Era, and...its a fucking LOT. 45 minutes of spots and smashing, with just a sprinkling of story, with Fish locking Dunne in his cage so he can't participate in the match. Since this seems to be what this match is designed for...let's rattle off some spots! Ricochet, jumping from one ring to the other! That amazing face-off that recreates the Captain America: Civil War poster! Perhaps the beefiest Tower of Doom in all of wrestling! And then Ricochet proving just how amazing he is...with the double moonsault off the top of the cage. What a stupid thing to do in an amazing, amazing show.

3. Takeover: Dallas I get it; a lot of people might not rank this Takeover quite so high. But it might be my actual personal favorite...? Overall...? More than any other Takeover, this show feels the most like it's filled with living, breathing superheroes. Many NXT stars are seen as just indie guys whose only gimmick is "I'm a very good wrestler," making them almost anti-WWE at the core. But NXT doesn't get enough credit for being, at its core, the best aspects of WWE. The showmanship, the things that elevate mere wrestlers to things like monsters, gods, and demons. I will always like my NXT WWE-style: the best wrestling cut with the most theater, the most camp. And Dallas is that concept, writ large. Baron Corbin coming out with lil' skulls on his shoulders. American Alpha finally becoming Super Saiyan Nerds. Asuka killing our hero, because Bayley is a person, and Asuka is a goddess who can perform brain surgery with her feet. Finn Balor coming out and going actual Texas Chainsaw Massacre on Samoa Joe. It's excellent wrestling, near-mythic visuals...and then we get to Nakamura/Zayn. The most special moment of a very special night. It is, from nearly every perspective, perfect. The hype of the crowd, salivating with anticipation. That moment when Nakamura appears in silhouette, and that violin note slides like a knife across steel, to reveal the man who set New Japan aflame. Sami Zayn getting the best possible swan song in a promotion built almost entirely on HIS back. The end of his era. That bit where they just KEEP PUNCHING ONE ANOTHER. I know it's not a perfect show (Balor/Joe stops for 3 minutes to address a cut on Joe's forehead, stalling its momentum; that Corbin/Ares match isn't as good as it could be) but that all means nothing. It's a sentimental choice, and I'd make it #1 if I could.

2. Takeover: New Orleans I went around and around in my head, and this one and #1 kept jockeying for position in my brain. But these top two Takeovers are literally note-perfect, from ship to shore, soup to nuts, top to tails. So if this is YOUR favorite? (Honestly, maybe 1 person I know who loves wrestling as much as I do will even see this mess). I'm here for you, and I understand. But this show has TWO 5-star matches from the Wrestling Observer, and I don't ever agree with that. In this case, I agree with BOTH, in the North American Championship ladder match, and the first (and so far, BEST) match in the Gargano/Ciampa feud. Everything. Is. Amazing. Shayna Bazsler became Women's Champion after BEAST-MODING her SHOULDER back INTO IT'S SOCKET to show that, YES, she gets pro-wrestling. Roderick Strong shocked the world (and the System) by joining the Undisputed Era and becoming the final Chaos Emerald needed to make that stable Super Sonic. Aleister Black took the championship from Andrade "Cien" Almas and SMILED, I fucking SAW IT! And it all depends on what you want from your wrestling, but Gargs/Tamps might actually be the best main event in Takeover history, at least from a storytelling standpoint. The crutch, the neckbrace. Each man going back to their DIY roots (the tag team - they didn't build another ring when that one broke), and then sitting side-by-side, like they did at the Cruiserweight Classic. Brothers. Completely spent. Destroyed. No one but each other. And then Ciampa shits any chance at redemption up the goddamn wall, cementing his own destruction. Every. Bit. Counts.

and #1...

Takeover: New York For a whole bunch of other wrestling fans, this has the greatest main event in Takeover history. But first, let's take a minute to appreciate how lucky we are, or were, that NXT exists. It justfies the existence of WWE, artistically, almost by itself. If this one's only slightly worse than New Orleans, it is argued, it's that the North American title ladder match was TOO good, and hurt every other match on the card. It has been argued. Not by me, but this one is somehow the most perfectly paced, perfectly sized wrestling card, on its own, ever. Every match, through alchemy or magic, manages to enthrall the crowd equally, and completely. The Viking Raiders vs. Grumpy Smaller Undertaker and the Human Pinball was off the hook incredible, and that warm "thank you" feeling has translated, currently to a man trapped in a room and a man trapped in Vince McMahon's scorn for smaller wrestlers, respectively. Matt Riddle and Velveteen Dream put on an absolute fantasy match, pitting the best of MMA vs. the best of WWE-style theatricality, and adds to the complete, demented character-world of this brand, and the fact that Dream WINS against one of the hottest new prospects is so deserved, and shows that he can, and will, shine forever brighter. Then AAAAGH WALTER vs. Pete Dunne! WALTER LAYS into poor Dunne, his chops alone having you believe that after the match, he's going to run into the arena's parking lot to FIGHT THE CARS. Then Shirai vs. Baszler vs. Sane vs. Belair and goddammit how do I even expound on that without crashing thesarus.com? And then Johnny Gargano and Adam Cole wrestled for. 40. MINUTES. With Gargano as the defacto heel because it was allegedly Cole's time. And by the match's end, he had the crowd more behind him than maybe they ever had been before. Is it a bit much? Yes. Too many kickouts? Probably. But it stands as the apex of Johnny Wrestling's journey. After everything had been taken from him: DIY, his health, his sanity, even his chance at revenge...the only thing he has left is the NXT Championship. And in that moment, he is invincible, he is more than enough.

What a show. What a host of shows.

Thanks for reading, everyone.

[imgilmoregirl]

Gift of Love

AO3 Link

Summary: Gideon missed the mother's day with Belle because of a really sweet - and for him, a really annoying - reason, but it doesn't mean they can't make it for the lost time and Rumplestiltskin will help with it.

Notes: Written specially for the @rumbellemdm, which finally made me write for my favourite couple after months, so YAY! I hope everyone enjoy it, this is a very sweet family fic that I loved writing.

What is a gift of love? Some people would say it is partnership and devotion, other - the most pretentious ones - would guess it was some piece of jewelry or anything made out of gold, and in some cases you could hear some saying it was the bliss found in one's arms. However, although all of these could be considered gifts, none of them is the only and one, gift of love, the present that can only come from the pure passion between two human beings. The ultimate gift of love, is a child.

Of all people in this world, Rumplestiltskin understood the importance of bringing someone entirely new to life, he had lost two children and got his heartbroken by their absence. It was all in the past now, of course, but he only got one of his sons back and his heart would lack his Baelfire until the end of his days, but it wasn't enough motive to make him bitter and dark anymore, that thanks to his wife and the best mother he knew, Belle.

Storybrooke wasn't the place he had imagined staying his whole life at, but after many trips, he and Belle had decided it was right to have a home to come back to and raise their family. The pink house had always pleased her, as it did him and most of their memories were there, so when they permanently moved back, it didn't seem strange at all, not even for Gideon who was used to struggle through his first nights in whatever hotel they stayed at. It was really like finally finding the peacefulness of constancy they needed.

Gideon had just turn four which was just another reason for them to decide to settle down, it was time for him to start school and as afraid as they were of how he might react staying away from his parents for so long, the boy was doing great. Rumple was proud of him and was more than happy to be able to pick him up that specific day. His car was full of the silliest stuff that would have only made him roll his eyes some years ago, but that now only made him imagine his wife's happiness when they arrived home. The flowers were a big part of it: a full box of red, white and yellow roses to bring some colour to their house and make everything a bit more special.

He was waiting inside the car, watching as the people slowly gathered in front of the school's gates in that cloudy Monday morning. Gideon had been a bit angry in the day prior, said Granny, who had taken care of him during the weekend for them. His poor boy had a plan for Mother's Day, but life had another, so he hadn't seen his precious mama when he was supposed to fill her with kisses and cuddles. Now, however, with the surprise he had carefully prepared, Rumple hoped everything was going to be alright and Gideon would be more than satisfied with this replacement for the weekend he had lost.

The gates opened and Rumple let most of the parents in before he left the car to follow them in search for his son's class. And there he found him, wearing his cute uniform and holding his Batman bag with pleedy eyes, probably hoping Granny wouldn't come to pick him up again, just like in the last Friday. A big smile crossed his lips when he saw Rumple and ran past his teacher, throwing himself in him papa's arms with a squeal.

"Papa, I was missing you," Gideon whined.

"We saw each other yesterday," Rumplestiltskin pointed out, carrying his son out of the school's building. "You've only slept at Granny's."

The boy with his eyes and his mother's sweetness looked down at the ground, clutching his bag closer. Rumple knew he was sad and wished everything could have turned out as Gideon expected, but it was time for him to understand that some things come for the best and that we doesn't always get exactly what we wanted.

"I want to see my mama," he sniffled. "I've made another card for her today."

"Two cards and a bracelet, huh? Your mother is certainly very lucky," the father answered, kissing his son's forehead. "But you're also lucky, but you're getting to see mama in just a bit."

"So she is home?"

"Aye, my boy," Rumple said with a smile. "Your mother is finally home."

The happiness in Gideon's face was as clear as the bluest sky during Summer break. He jumped out of his father's arms and pulled the car's door open, letting out a surprised grasp when he saw the flowers and the balloons filling the space that was usually empty in there. Gideon threw his back on the bench, sitting up on his car seat, adjusting the belt without even being asked to do it, which was a surprise for Rumple, because they always struggled with the use of that stupid thing.

"Papa," the boy called, pulling at the hem of his overcoat. "Did you buy all of this for mama?"

"I surely did. Do you thing she is going to like it?"

"Of course!"

Ruffling his hair, Rumple locked the door and set himself in front of the steering wheel, finally driving them home.

Right in front of the house, was parked a cute little blue car, Belle's most recent acquisition, although she wasn't really fond of driving and preferred to watch the road from the passenger's seat, she had insisted that it would now be needed and Rumple was more than happy to give her another thing that could make his daring wife feel free. Gideon, who was used to see her listening to some music and reading a book inside the car rather than driving, immediately rose from his own seat to peek a look through the windows, just to find out the other vehicle was empty. He made an angry noise, crossing his arms and kicking his bag in deception, a feeling that Rumplestiltskin could very well understand, as he also hated to stay away from his Belle.

"Calm down, son," he said in his wisest voice. "Your mother is just inside the house waiting for you."

Gideon nodded, still a bit torn. They parked the car and Rumple started picking up the things he had brought, but even before he could have picked up the second box of flowers, Gideon slipped out of the car and ran towards their house, entering it as if he was a hurricane.

Rolling his eyes, the pawnbroker continued his work, locking the Cadillac before he managed to enter his home with all that baggage in his arms, but once inside there, he was rewarded with the amazing sound of his wife and his son's laughs, that sound of happiness that always reminded him of how lucky he was. And, as he didn't want to bother them now, when they were just meeting after that first long - not that long - separation, Rumple prepared the living room, settling down the roses, the balloons and serving the cupcakes in their best china, just the way Belle would do had she been preparing something like this.

Then, when the laughs had become a lower conversation, he followed their sound through the house and on to the backyard where he finally found them. It was the most beautiful image he had ever seen in his whole life, like a glimpse of Heaven. A giant tea towel was stretched out on the grass, Belle laying above it under the sunset, wearing silly black leggings and a long blue blouse, her hair forming a dark pillow under her head. She was beauty and their four-year-old son wrapped around her arms was just what joy could be described as. A warm smile formed on his lips as Rumplestiltskin got closer, admiring his family and settling his curious glare on the Moses basket that laid beside them.

The pink blanket was falling out of it, just as did one little hand. He got even closer and kneeled to brush his fingers ever so softly on the baby's chubby rosy cheeks before picking her up and bringing her close to his chest where his heart beated fastly at every new breath of that new life. He run his nose along her face and kissed her eyelids, watching as she yawned and brought a fist up to her mouth so she could suck something.

"I don't think I've ever seen you so awestruck in my whole life, Rum," Belle said lazily, cuddling Gideon closer. "I'm probably the second girl in your life now."

He let out a laugh, adjusting Rosie's weight in his arms before benting down to kiss Belle's lips, which made Gideon make a disgusted noise.

"You'll always be the first, sweetheart, after all it was you who gave me her, wasn't it?"

"What about me?" asked Gideon, his head appearing between them and making them both laugh.

Belle sat up, holding him in her arms just like she did when he was a baby, wrapped in blankets just as his newborn sister was. She filled his face with butterfly kisses and tickled his belly, almost making the boy lose his air before she stopped, looking at their son with the same adoration that Rumple had probably been looking at their daughter.

"We will always love you, Giddy. Always. You're the most handsome and special boy in this world for us."

"And I will be a hero," added him.

"Well, let's see what future holds for you," Belle winked.

Just on cue, baby Rosie opened her mouth and let out the loudest wails of all, making Rumple freeze in place for a second. He had taken care of Baelfire and then Gideon when they were babies, but every time seemed to be a brand new experience and now that they had girl he was sure that it was. Rosie seemed too small and fragile and most of the times although he wanted to keep holding her and protecting her from the world forever he also felt afraid of doing the wrong thing. It had been the very first time he had watched his wife's pregnancy, that he had felt a child of his kicking from the womb and that he had been there for the scariest thirth hours of labour and then fourteen hours of NICU and now he thought Belle was definitely the greatest warrior he had ever known.

Rumplestiltskin had broken down in tears twice during this complicated progress of bringing Rosie into the world, whist Belle had stayed strong and held her tears until they were tears of happiness and relief. Maybe that was the reason he froze and needed to let Belle pick up the baby from him, giving him a reassurant smile as she shushed for their daughter until she calmed down in her mother's loving arms.

"Why is she so small?" Gideon asked.

"Well, she came for weeks earlier, darling," Belle replied, pulling herself up to her feet with such a grace that she could have been a ballet dancer for all he knew.

Rumple copied her, grabbing the basket and the towel to take them inside in case it started raining.

"But your belly is still quite big," their boy pointed out with a curious face.

Belle laughed out loud.

"Well, thank you, I know I look giant," she added in a sarcastic tone. "But yes, it will take some time for my belly to go back to normal, but there is no other baby in there, I can guarantee."

This time, Gideon shrugged, rushing back into their house to pick what Rumple knew were the presents he was waiting for forever to give his mother, but they took their time making their way back and Rumple enjoyed it, wrapping his arm around Belle's shoulders and kissing her cheek.

"Just so you know, you look wonderful for me," he reassured her.

"Thank you, Rum, but I'm not actually worried about it right now, I'm just happy Rosie and I are both alive and well."

With a quick nod, Rumplestiltskin agreed with her, because even when life was the most peaceful and calm for them the bad times still existed. No Black Fairies didn't meant no danger this time, as nature itself had its dangers and an early difficult labour was included in it. Funny it was, however, that they were so worried about Dark Magic and monsters that neither Belle nor Rumple had been prepared to the normal difficulties of life. Not that anyone could actually blame them. But in the end, however, Gideon had been the most surprised - and frustrated - by his sister's birth, because Belle had gone into labour on Friday and couldn't come home until now, which meant that for the very first time they missed a Mother's Day together.

The maddening hormones that still worked in Belle's body plus her usual tendency of being easily overwhelmed, brought clear tears to her eyes the moment they stepped a foot back inside the house and saw their little Gideon bouncing around with his gifts in hand and pointing at the living room. She looked up at her husband with a mesmerized glare and all he could do was to smile back at his beauty, taking the baby from her arms to allow her to silently follow their son on to the next room.

"God, you two did all this?" Belle questioned, as she kneeled on the floor in front of their coffee table, which had been filled with delicious red velvet cupcakes which together read best mother in the world.

"No, mama," Gideon laughed. "These are cupcakes from Granny's, don't you see? But I've made you something all by myself."

He presented her the sparkly cards, full of glitter and too much glue, but Rumple doubted that Belle had even noticed it. She opened both, sighing happily to see her name written in that four-year-old clumsy calligraphy and kissed him twice on each cheek.

"Oh, Giddy, this is lovely! Thank you! I've missed you so much these days."

"Me too," the boy replied. "I was angry Doctor Whale said I was too young to pay visits at a hospital. I have told him that when I grow up and get powerful like papa I will turn him into a toad for that."

"Gideon," Belle exclaimed in disbelief, giving Rumple the kind of glance that said how much that boy was his son through and through. "Remember what I said, magic is not for that."

Shrugging he reached for the second gift that was waiting on the table, a bracelet he had made at school with blue and yellow threads. The smile on his face when Gideon handed it to her, could have stopped the whole world. It surely made Belle's heart stop for a second, Rumple was the love of her life, but her children were her pride and soul. She let Gideon slid the bracelet around her wrist and kissed his cheek, hugging him so tightly that he made a whiny noise.

"This is perfect, darling. I can't believe you're old enough to make things like this."

"And someday I'll be big enough to have money and buy you golden, sparkly things from those nice stores," Gideon guaranteed. "I will become smart, wear suits and punch every boy that tries to marry my sissy Rosie."

There were loud laughs coming from both Rumple and Belle. It was fantastic for the beauty how much their son had taken from his father, but how now-a-days it made her just happy to realize it than it had made in the past when her Gideon had been that tortured young man they so tried to save. The darkness of their past just made her present days more beautiful.

"Poor, Rosie, then," Belle giggled. "Just make sure she chooses the right one, huh? We want her to have a good boy by her side."

"No," Gideon insisted. "No boys for my sissy."

Belle looked up at Rumple, seeing him shake his shoulders as he smiled back at her, getting comfortable by her side and placing their baby girl on his legs, carefully. He knew that eventually Gideon would change his mind, knew that they would make everything for him to grow up being the best of the both worlds and he couldn't see the future failing them in any way.

"He is a protective one, sweetheart."

"Yeah," the wife agreed. "Just like his father."

When she reached up for his lips and brushed hers against them Rumple sighed joyfully realizing that he didn't need to reach out for the darkness anymore, never again. He was now a changed man who got his second chance and Belle had done exactly what she had told him to do: she taught him how to love again and she gave him the family he had always longed for.

"Happy Mother's Day, my love, belated or not you are still the best one of them."

[taronunwin]

My thoughts on the Game of Thrones finale that no one asked for and pretty much a script of my perfect ending.

Honestly I’m so much happier after writing this and I can move on with my life now.

PLEASE NOTE: I’ve been watching GoT for like 4 months now and I know that probably most of the names below are misspelled as I know how they sound but not how they’re spelled exactly. Please forgive me. I’m literally too lazy to spell-check every word and name from the show. Please autocorrect them in your mind ;)

So my fear going into this episode was that Jon was going to die, or come very close. To some extent, yes I’m very pleased that he didn’t but the ending was still incredibly unsatisfying for his character. Why build up all the King of the North/True Heir to the Iron Throne/Prince that was Promised stuff only to have him go back to where he ‘came from’ and be a nobody at the wall? I saw someone say that he rejected it and became a Wildling with them. I dunno about that, I took that last scene as Jon helping to return the Wildlings to their land and help them resettle before returning to the Watch. Maybe, maybe not. Either way, incredibly unsatisfying with no real explanation of what that last scene meant for him.

Here’s what I really hoped would happen, in a perfect world where I wanted some tragedy but also a good ending for Jon:

Excluding what I would change in the rest of season 8, the one major thing I would change is that Jon kills the Night King. Obviousfreakingly. He wasn’t on a dragon the whole time, he was in the trenches with his men. Epic battle, some explanation for who the Night King was and what the motives were (and I love the headcanon that Bran was in fact the Night King but I’m going to ignore that for this), and a satisfying end to that really cool storyline. After that, Jon is even more loved by the people and hailed as the hero who saved Westeros. Dany continues being jealous of the love they have for him and trying to convince him to hide his identity. The rest happens as it happens because I don’t have the energy to change everything else, haha.

At the finale, after talking to Tyrion, Jon is terribly torn. He can’t reconcile what Dany did at all and he’s struggling to figure out his next step. He goes to the throne room and talks to Dany as he did but instead of giving the ‘You are my Queen’ thing with the kiss and what happened next, he says, “I can’t stand beside someone who would slaughter an entire city because of their ruler’s choices. Dany, I beg you. Offer mercy now and lead with kindness and justice, not fire and blood.”

Daenerys cooly steps back, hearing an unspoken ‘or I will be forced to take my rightful place’, and calls for her soldiers. Jon doesn’t fight, he knows he’s signed his death warrant by opposing her while his lineage makes him more of a threat now than ever, and he’s taken outside. The remaining terrified people left in the city are gathered, the Unsullied, Dothraki, and remaining Northmen stand nearby. Jon is brought to the same place that Ned was beheaded and forced to his knees. Dany assumes that Jon has enough Targaryen in him to be fireproof so Drogon isn’t called.

We see Arya in the distance. Her eyes widen in horror. She was waiting at the city gates for Jon but knew something was wrong when he didn’t come. She starts pushing through the crowd. Jon closes his eyes without seeing her, accepting his fate, just as Ned did.

Dany says that opposition will not be tolerated and orders Grey Worm to behead Jon. The Northmen begin to riot and the other two other armies clash with them. Dany looks over the crowd and doesn’t notice Arya coming up behind her. A blade, Needle, stabs through Dany’s chest, straight through her heart. She cries out and Jon’s eyes jerk open. He looks over and sees only Dany. Arya is already gone, but Needle is left. Jon focuses on it and his eyes widen even more. Dany falls to the ground and Grey Worm rushes over. Jon stays on his knees, taking in the chaos and the blood pooling. He’s in shock.

The soldiers are fighting each other, barely noticing their Queen’s fall. She stares at Grey Worm, in pain and terrified, until her eyes slip closed and she dies. Grey Worm wants someone to blame but Jon was clearly not at fault. Jon slowly stands and walks to Dany, settling beside her. This wasn’t how he wanted it to end. He had so hoped that she would change her mind, and he knows that Arya did it so he’s equally afraid that she will be caught. He looks around uselessly, knowing that he won’t see her anywhere.

Grey Worm removes the blade and lays his Queen down. He stands, lifting it high. He calls for justice, gaining the soldier’s attention finally and they see what’s happened. He demands to know who the blade belonged to and whoever finds the owner will be given a reward. Jon stays silent, staring at Daenarys. He stays there as Grey Worm and several of the soldiers leave in search of Dany’s killer. Jon lifts her the way he did with Ygritte and cries for her. In the distance, Drogon is heard screaming.

Some time has passed by the time we see Tyrion as he’s being released from jail by Jon. Tyrion asks if Jon was the one who killed Dany. When he finds out that Jon is innocent, he manages a smile. “I suppose nothing stands between you and the Iron Throne now.”

Jon isn’t pleased and he repeats, for the last time, “I don’t want it. I’ve seen what that thing does to people, how it corrupts them, how it makes people insane. I want no part of it.”

Tyrion is thoughtful. He completely understands Jon’s fear, after all the majority of people who have sat on the Throne in recent years were crazy, in one way or another. “The throne is not what changes people, Jon. It’s the lust for power that changes a person. And you have no such lusts. Even if you were a bastard and your father wasn’t a Targaryen , I can’t think of anyone who would be a better fit for power. You have had it and you have used it well. You have shown both mercy and justice. You’ve made hard decisions and you’ve seen the good and the bad that comes from them. You killed the Night King. The people love you—and not because of everything you’ve done but because of who you are: a good man. And isn’t it time that a good man sits on the Iron Throne?”

Jon sits, overwhelmed. “Would you want that kind of power?”

“Me? No. No, I fear it might go to my head, too. I am a Lannister after all and our lusts have always been our downfall.” Jon is silent so Tyrion sits next to him and quietly asks, “What do you want, Jon? You’ve said time and time again what you do not want, but what do you want?”

The young man’s eyes are filled with tears when he replies, “I want my father to be alive. I want Catelynn to be alive. I want Robb and Rickon to be alive. I want Sansa to have been protected. I want Arya to have stayed in Winterfell and never seen how awful the world outside is. And I want Bran to be... Bran.”

Tyrion smiles faintly. “Your greatest desire is for your family’s safety and protection. That is good. But what about you? Where do you want to go from here if not up those steps?” he asks, motioning to the throne room.

“Home.”

“Is that Winterfell?”

Jon nods.

“Then go.”

Jon glances at him, frowning. “I thought you’d put up more of a fight.”

Tyrion smiles. “Imagine for a moment that the Ruler of the Seven Kingdoms doesn’t rule from the Iron Throne. Imagine that he lives among his people and protects them, as a King should. Imagine if he ruled from the dining hall in his beloved home instead of a throne room painted with blood.” Jon is obviously doing just that. “You’ve already been the King in the North. You need only add a few more titles after that.”

Jon is silent for a long moment before a bell outside sounds. He stands suddenly. “I have to go.”

The former Hand of the Queen sighs. “Will you not even consider it? I thought I made some good points here.”

“No, it’s not that,” Jon says, inching toward the open door. “I have to go. I’ll find you later.”

Tyrion is a bit confused but he watches Jon leave. We follow Jon out of the destroyed Keep, through streets, passing people as they try to figure out how to start life over. Some people have bread for sale and a small marketplace is beginning to take shape. Jon is clearly in a hurry but he slows as he takes in the sight of people that he feels a deep longing to protect. He may not want power, but he wants to protect them. The thought stays with him as he continues and we follow him to to the beach. A small boat sits in the water with a man inside and a girl on the sand. Ser Davos waits in the boat, acknowledging Jon, and Arya smiles when she sees Jon approaching. They hug.

“You weren’t followed, right?” Jon asks, pulling away to look at her face.”

“No, no one knows we’re here, I’m sure of it. Do you have it?”

Jon smiles and removes Needle from under his cloak. He hands it to Arya and she grips the hilt tightly, possessively. “Thank you, Jon. I didn’t think I’d ever get it back.”

“You almost didn’t. Grey Worm had it under a close watch but when no one found the owner, I think he got tired of the reminder.” Jon’s smile fades. “What you did was foolish. You could have been caught.”

“But I wasn’t.”

“I know that, but you could have.”

“Jon, she was going to kill you. I couldn’t let that happen. Not again.”

He looks confused. “‘Not again’?”

“I couldn’t do anything when Father was killed. I just stood there and listened.”

Jon’s eyes widen. He didn’t know that she had seen it, or at least been close enough to hear it. He looks at the girl and sighs. She’s seen so much, and grown so much. “You know, I’ve wished for many years that things were different—as they were. But... I am so proud of you. And your sister. You both have become such strong women.”

Arya beams under his praise. “You may not be my brother by birth, but you will always be my big brother. And I’m proud of you, too.”

He smiles. “Thank you, Arya.” They hug again. “When will I see you again?”

Arya glances behind her to the boat. “I don’t know. I’m going West.”

“What is West of Westeros?”

“Exactly. I want to find out. And no one there probably even knows the name Daenerys so I’ll be safe.”

Jon’s eyes are sad. “Be safe. Please.”

She reaches as high as she can and Jon bends the rest of the way so she can kiss his cheek. “I will. And I will come back someday.”

“You’d better. I don’t know how I’ll be King with you to protect me.”

Arya’s expression blanks. “King? Are you going to take your place?”

He exhales. “I’m thinking about it.”

She smiles wide. “I can’t think of anyone better suited for it.” She turns and starts toward the boat before turning back. “You know, I don’t need someone to go with me. I can go alone.”

Jon’s sweet smile returns. “Oh I know. He’s there for my peace of mind. And he can tell me where you’ve gone when he returns so, perhaps, I can come visit.”

Our view pulls away, far away, as Arya nods, grins, and walks to the boat; gets in, and they head off while Jon watches.

Time moves forward once more as our view of a start-of-repairs Red Keep comes back into focus. Jon steps out in the same way Daenarys did at the start of the episode, but there is no great crowd awaiting him. He’s not there to make a speech, he’s ready to leave. Tyrion follows. “We will miss you here, you know. There are too many ghosts here for my liking.”

Jon looks over the city. “We all have our ghosts to live with.”

“Yes, some more than others.”

Jon looks down. “Thank you for all you’ve taught me, Tyrion. You’ve always been honest with me, even when others weren’t.”

Tyrion is obviously honoured. The two men hold each other in very high regard. “And you, Snow. Though I suppose I can’t call you that anymore.”

Jon smirks. “I like it better than Targaryen, actually.”

“Well, I certainly can’t call you the Bastard of Winterfell anymore.”

“No, and I can’t call you the Imp of Casterly Rock, either.”

Tyrion extends his hand. “Farewell then, King Jon of the Seven Kingdoms.”

Jon extends his own and they shake. “And you, Lord Tyrion of the Red Keep.”

“Actually, I like those better,” Tyrion replies with a smile.

Before Jon can reply, Drogon flies in and lands at the bottom of the stairs, bellowing in Jon’s direction. Jon looks from the dragon to Tyrion, a question in his eyes. Tyrion states, “I think your ride home has arrived.”

Jon looks unnerved. “I don’t know how to care for a dragon. And the North is no place for one.”

Tyrion gives the animal a sympathetic look. “I imagine he can take care of himself just fine, but... he’s lost everyone. You’re probably the only one he trusts now.”

With a sigh of resignation, because he still feels guilt over Dany’s death, he gives Tyrion a last nod of goodbye and descends the long staircase. At the bottom, Drogon squeals and lowers himself so Jon can step on. Still a little wary of riding a dragon, especially without Dany’s guidance or aid if necessary, he climbs on. Not knowing what to say, he simply commands, “Winterfell.”

Drogon stands, stretches his long wings out, and starts to fly. We watch the pair fly out of sight from Tyrion’s perspective. Tyrion smiles.

Winterfell comes into view after a long flight and Drogon descends, carefully landing nearby. Jon, clearly not at ease after the flight, stumbles a bit as he gets off. Turning back to face the gorgeous beast, he removes his glove and gently pets Drogon’s face. The dragon’s eyes close and sounds of contentment come from deep within. “I’m sorry about your mother,” Jon says quietly. “She was a good woman and I loved her.” He pauses, not sure what to say next. In a sense, he feels like he’s just as much apologizing to Dany herself as the dragon’s eyes focus on him. “Go. Go wherever you want and do whatever you want. But, please... don’t kill anyone. Those days are over now.”

He has no idea if the dragon understands or not but somehow, he feels like it does. Drogon stands back, makes one last noise at Jon, and then flies away. Jon watches, his cloak billowing in the wind. He turns to the gates of Winterfell and, for the first time in so long, exhales a breath it seems like he’d been holding for years. He is home.

The gates open and Sansa, Bran, Sam, Tormund, and Ghost await inside. Ghost bolts as soon as he catches sight of Jon and nearly knocks his owner over. Jon laughs, balancing himself and giving the wolf a proper rub. “I missed you, too, boy. It’s good to see you.”

He enters the city and hugs Sansa tightly, shakes Bran’s hand, hugs Sam, and stops at Tormund. “What are you doing here? Did you get too cold in the ‘Real North’?”

The bearded man laughs. “We came as soon as I got the letter from Sam. Your dog wasn’t eating much and I knew he needed his real owner. Besides, I wanted to see if you looked any different now that you’re a real King.”

Jon laughs. “And? Do I?”

"Besides the belly you have from eating like a King, no.” Tormund laughs uproariously as he strikes Jon’s abdomen before pulling him into a hug.

When they separate, Sansa, smiling, steps forward. “Can I still call you Jon?”

Jon rolls his eyes. “Yes. If I can still call you sister.”

She hugs him once more. “I will always be your sister.”

Bran clears his throat, gaining everyone’s attention. “Jon, you have work to do now. The Seven Kingdoms need you.”

Jon sighs. This isn’t what he wanted, but he knows that it’s his duty. And there was nowhere else he’d rather be, and no one he would rather be surrounded by than his family and friends.

“Do we have time to celebrate his homecoming first?” Sam asks.

Bran gives a faint smile. “So long as there are no more stories about giant’s milk.”

Jon frowns and turns to Tormund. The man’s lips are pursed out, his brow furrowed. “How did you know about that?”

“I know everything,” Bran replies.

Tormund’s confusion seems to grow. “Do you also know about the time that I killed a bear with my own hands?”

Bran nods without emotion. “Yes.”

“Can I tell that story?”

“Yes.”

Tormund throws one arm around Jon’s shoulder as they all walk into the main hall, Sam pushing Bran’s wheelchair as he and Tormund continue going through a list of Tormund’s appropriate stories. The people of Winterfell are pleased to see Jon and smile and greet him as he passes.

Their true King had returned.

THE END

[marginalgloss]

gold leaf

There is a passage in Levels of the Game, a short book about tennis by John McPhee, where the narrative pulls back and begins to consider the family of the tennis player Arthur Ashe. Names cascade, one after the other, starting from back in 1735 when a ship full of slaves sailed from Liverpool to Virginia, and ending in the present day: 

‘…On the Blackwell plantation, where Hammett had lived, the plantation house—white frame, with columns—still stands, vacant and mouldering. The slave cabin is there, too, its roof half peeled away. Hammett’s daughter Sadie married Willie Johnson, and their daughter Amelia married Pinkney Avery Ashe…and Amelia had a son named Arthur, who, in 1938, married Mattie Cunningham, of Richmond. Their son Arthur Junior was born in 1943…’

The details here have been taken from an immense family tree, painted on a huge piece of canvas at the home of one of Ashe’s relatives. There are over fifteen hundred leaves on that tree. Only Ashe has his leaf trimmed in gold. This is not all:

‘The family has a crest, in crimson, black, and gold. A central chevron in this escutcheon bears a black chain with a broken link, symbolizing the broken bonds of slavery. Below the broken chain is a black well. And in the upper corners, where the crest of a Norman family might have fleurs-de-lis, this one has tobacco leaves, in trifoliate clusters.’

Ashe was one of the greatest American tennis players. He was a black man who forged a career in a sport dominated by white faces. He is one of the two subjects of Levels of the Game by John McPhee, which is really a sort of long essay. It documents a tennis match at the 1968 US Open between Ashe and Clark Graebner. They made for an ideal contrast because Graebner was everything that Ashe was not: white, conventional, republican. The passage I have quoted above is immediately followed by the following line, before any break in the paragraph: 'Graebner has no idea whatever when his forebears first came to this country.’

The book alternates between a point-by-point description of the match and a dive into the lives of both players. The reportage is startling in the amount of detail it captures, to the degree that I began to wonder how McPhee had actually managed to write it at all. I read somewhere that he had access to a recording of the match, though exactly how he watched it again is unclear — this is long before the era of home video recording. At times the writing has all the quality of slow-motion, long before live action replays became an expected part of watching any sport. But beyond these practicalities, there’s a sense here of authority in McPhee’s writing, and of implied trust between the writer, their subject, and the audience. 

He addresses us like a professor, and his grand statements are taken to be the work of careful consideration. He quotes both players extensively throughout, but doesn’t care to mention the context in which they spoke. At times he delves into their thoughts, their fears, their hopes. None of that is cited, of course; how could it be? I suppose we oughtn’t to care. There’s a feeling throughout of being invited to experience a certain kind of privilege. Are there room for questions? Sure, but if McPhee tells us that Ashe or Graebner strikes a ball just so, then they did. We have no recourse to say: I thought he hit it differently, or, that wasn’t what he was thinking at all. Were this written about a tennis match that happened yesterday, that’s what we would expect. But now nobody will ever see this match except through McPhee’s language.

A simple description of the match won’t suffice. We need to know about the players themselves: ‘A person’s tennis game begins with his nature and background and comes out through his motor mechanisms into shot patterns and characteristics of play. If he is deliberate, he is a deliberate tennis player; and if he is flamboyant, his game probably is, too.’ This is entirely true. Tennis is an unusual sport in the degree to which it becomes a battle between the abilities, physical and otherwise, of two individuals. No outside interference is permitted. The person you are shapes the things you will do on the court. 

Ashe is mannered, careful, polite. He is well-read and quietly radical. He plays difficult, risky tennis — he takes clever shots. He has a full arsenal at his disposal: slices, dinks, lobs, volleys. Graebner, with his huge serve, is altogether more conventional. He relies heavily on serve-and-volley to get him through. But Graebner’s was the game of the time, especially on fast grass courts with heavy wooden racquets. According to McPhee, the longest rally in an average set is six shots. But most points between Ashe and Graebner are over in two or three swings of a racquet. By comparison, rallies in a modern match in men’s tennis will start at about six shots and go for up to fifteen or twenty strokes. (I’ve seen rallies go past forty.)

It was a different game for other reasons. Both Graebner and Ashe were amateurs; they had full-time jobs outside of the tennis life. It seems almost cute today that these men should take the subway home after their matches, and no doubt pay for their own fares. Today’s top players make millions from prize money and endorsements, although hundreds of professionals still struggle to eke a living at the lower stages of the tour. 

In 1997 they opened a vast stadium named after Arthur Ashe in New York, which became the centrepiece of the US Open as it stands today. Played on a hard court rather than grass, it is today the largest tennis venue in the world. It is so grand that you might easily forget the unintentional pun in the name: Ashe Stadium, built on top of what was once New York’s largest dump of incinerated ash. The seats are clustered so tight and small and high around the court that the effect is vertiginous and slightly nauseating, even when glimpsed on TV. A couple of weeks from today the US Open will start up again and it’ll become a hot, humid cavern for a brawl, packed every night to the rafters with screaming fans. 

It’s odd somehow that they still manage to do it. I’m a fan, but even to me tennis still seems like an odd, anachronistic sport; a sport for people who don’t really like other sports. When there isn’t a Grand Slam on, it’s difficult to watch, and when there is a Grand Slam there’s inevitably too many matches spread across too few channels, squeezed into too few hours of the day. It is supremely impractical, elitist, difficult. It also has a strangely internationalist flavour. Devout fans of particular flavours might drape themselves in a flag, but for the most part you don’t go to a tennis match to support your home country. (That the Davis Cup, once the great international World Cup of tennis, is now teetering on the verge of irrelevance, is surely the exception that proves the rule.)

Today’s big name players reside in Monte Carlo and travel the world for ten or eleven months of the year. Their home country is relegated to the status of the little flag alongside their name on the scoreboard. They play for themselves; the extent to which that self represents that flag is entirely up to them. And yet that only serves to make the achievements of its early masters more impressive in retrospect. That Ashe in particular did all that he did in an era where tennis stars had no expectation of the level of reward and popularity they enjoy today, and when he in particular faced such outright racism while rising through the ranks, seems nothing short of miraculous. But again, such is the nature of tennis that while Graebner and Ashe could share a stage as Davis Cup teammates, they represented entirely different ways of life. That American flag next to their names meant nothing at all when they faced each other across the net. 

[nosleepuntilvacation]

Hello. Could I request a more... serious and dull Mettaton/reader? I mean not THAT dull but. The topic is serious. So reader is afraid of the fact that their and Mettaton's friendship is becoming something more simply because they're scared of relationships. Never been in one, but emotional openness scares them (yet they yearn for it) and they fear that they won't be good enough for him. They talk to Mettaton about this, he reassures them and they decide to take it slow. Hope this is okay. Thank

Sorry it took a little while to get to this one, but I hope it turns out well.

Below the cut: In Which It Worries You to Say, You’ve Never Felt This Way…

One of the absolute worst feelings in the world is wanting something so badly while being utterly terrified of it at the same time. Unfortunately, you’ve become more and more familiar with this sensation recently.

For your entire life, you’ve been a very private person. The thought of opening up to people feels so liberating, but you’ve always been afraid of actually doing it. You would be trusting someone with some of your greatest weaknesses; what if things between you and this person go sour one day, and they end up using your weaknesses against you? Or what if they end up teasing you about it without realizing just how touchy it is to you?

Because of this, you’ve only had a small handful of close friends in your life, and you’ve never even had a romantic relationship. For the longest time, you’ve tried to tell yourself that this arrangement was perfectly fine.

And then he became a big name in your life.

You definitely hadn’t expected to ever become close to a celebrity before; if you ever did, you’d figured it would probably be because one of your friends became famous (with you being one of the people who knew them before they made it big). But so many things happened - a chance meeting here, a phone call there, a few interactions on social media in the interim - and before you knew it, you’d started bonding with the biggest celebrity in all of monsterkind.

It had certainly been quite confusing to you. Weren’t celebrities supposed to spend their time hanging out with other celebrities, being mysterious and inaccessible to the common people? Celebrities don’t just randomly strike up legitimate friendships with everyday people who live unassuming lives… do they?

Apparently, Mettaton either didn’t get the memo or he didn’t care.

Whatever the circumstances may have been, he had sure seemed to enjoy your company; in fact, he still does. He’s opened up to you about things that you’re sure only his closest friends and family members know about.

Wouldn’t it just be amazing if you could do the same?

The two of you have been friends for quite some time now, and in the past few weeks, a certain thought has been gnawing at your brain. You’ve been doing all you can to try to silence it, but it just keeps getting louder and louder.

As much as you don’t want to admit it to yourself… it’s possible that you may love Mettaton.

And good god, if there was ever a thought that could be so unsettling and so exciting at the same time, this would be it.

It’s not that you don’t like the man - if you didn’t like him, you probably would have stopped talking to him a long time ago. The two of you have gotten along well in all your months of friendship, with nothing worse to report than the occasional disagreements. Going by the subtle ways he lets himself relax around you, it’s clear that he really does like you and isn’t just trying to get something from you.

But there comes a point in certain relationships - especially romantic ones - where the parties involved are expected to tell each other everything, and secrets are only acceptable when you’re trying to surprise the other person with a gift or something similar.

It’s a high-risk, high-reward situation. If you let your guard down around someone and they accept you as you are (while possibly working with you to address things like bad habits), you’re well on your way to becoming a happier person.

If you’re not accepted, though… even just the thought of that situation makes you want to fortify your walls.

Even as the rest of you wants to remove them brick-by-brick.

Mettaton may have made a number of goofs when running his old resort underground (as you learned from stories he personally told you), but on the whole, he is not an unintelligent man. He’s good at reading people - it must be that acting experience.

And this comes to bite you when you accept his most recent offer of a hangout.

It’s nothing overly fancy; you’re just spending the afternoon at his house. (At least one thing seems to be going right; if he’d taken you out in public, you’d be under even worse pressure than ever to play it cool.) He’s brought out some classic board games, as he’s done at least a few times before. Most times, you’re easily able to go toe-to-toe with him in these games.

This, however, is not most times. Your hands are a little shaky as you move your game pieces, and sometimes you almost don’t even notice when it’s your move. Eventually, it even descends to the point where you make a couple of rookie mistakes.

And he notices.

“Darling,” he says upon winning one game, “is everything all right?”

You try to stay calm - he calls everyone “darling”, he probably doesn’t mean it in that way, it’s possible he doesn’t even like you like that - and take a deep breath. “Y-yeah, everything’s fine! I’m just… kinda thirsty.”

And the award for least convincing explanation goes to…!

“But you just had a glass of water not too long ago, sweetheart.” He seems to notice the little ways in which you’re tensing up right now; the look on his face grows concerned. “…There’s something on your mind, isn’t there?”

Oh, no. He’s onto you. And aside from not being unintelligent, Mettaton is also not the kind of man to give up on things easily. You know he’s not going to buy it for a second if you say no, so you just end up nodding.

He stands up and walks over to your side of the table. “Come with me, beautiful.” You can barely even think as he leads you over to his plush couch and sits down with you. “Would you like to talk to me about it?”

After a few seconds, during which the different sides of your conscience battle it out, you finally work up the nerve to bring it up. “Promise you won’t freak out?”

“You have my word.”

Well… there’s no going back now. You take a few more deep breaths before finally admitting it to his face.

“Mettaton… I think…” Your voice grows a little quieter and your throat a little tighter, but you still somehow manage to get the words out. “I think I’m in love with you.”

The silence afterwards is very brief, but it’s almost suffocating.

His eyes seem to widen a little and his mouth forms an “oh” shape before he finally breaks the silence. “…Is that so?”

You nod. “And - the thing is… I don’t know how to feel about it.” In stark contrast to just a moment prior, your filter seems to switch itself off. “I mean, it’s not you specifically that I’m afraid of; it’s just, I’ve never felt this way about anyone else before, and the thought of dating someone feels really great, but also… kind of scary.”

As you tremble a bit, reeling from the disbelief that you’ve just confessed your feelings, you feel a smooth hand resting on top of your own.

“You’re worried about letting your guard down, aren’t you?”

When he notices the surprised look in your eyes, he just gives you a knowing grin as he answers your silent question. “I’m a celebrity, darling. My fans expect me to be the image of perfection all the time.” His grin wavers a bit. “If they found out about some of the more questionable ways I’ve treated certain people in my life…”

Indeed, you can still remember his stories of his more fallible times, and how he’s trying to change his ways. The fact that he trusts you with the knowledge that he’s made mistakes, and that he’s a person just like you… but at the same time, his words strike a different nerve.

“Well… you’re still a celebrity. I’m not even famous.” You look down. “I don’t want to make you look stupid in front of the paparazzi or whatever… I can’t afford to buy you expensive gifts…”

“And that’s perfectly all right, sweetheart.” He rests a hand on your shoulder. “I appreciate the thought behind a gift more than the price tag - it’s something I sort of have to do, considering I’m easily the richest person in my circle of friends.” He chuckles a bit. “As for the paparazzi? I’ve learned to stop caring about what they think. So many of them would rather focus on celebrities’ flaws, or what they consider to be flaws. If they don’t like my tastes in music and fashion, then that’s their problem, not mine.”

Silence fills the room for a little while longer as you try to gather your thoughts. For some reason, this confession is getting easier and easier.

“It’s just… I want to be accepted for everything about me. Even if other people can’t understand why I’m scared of some things, I still want them to at least respect it instead of making fun of me, or telling me it’s no big deal, or trying to make me get over it before I’m ready…”

You feel his arms wrap around you and gently hold you. “I promise I won’t criticize your fears, darling. My cousin Napstablook is often afraid of being the center of attention, and even though they’ve been growing more confident, I still don’t want to force the issue. They’ll take center stage when they’re ready.”

While part of you is almost tempted to fire back with do you even know some of the things I’m afraid of?, his tone of voice feels so sincere, and this combined with everything else makes you gently return his hug in silence. The two of you stay like that for a little while before he speaks up once more.

“You know, darling… I truly enjoy having you around.” He has a warm smile on his face. “I love playing board games with you, and listening to music, and even just sitting and talking. To be quite honest… I think I’m in love with you, too.”

“R-really…?”

He nods. “I feel like you really understand me, beautiful. Like you understand Mettaton the person, and not just Mettaton the celebrity. You make me feel so safe…”

You can hardly believe what you’re hearing. He hasn’t known you for as long as he’s known some of the other people in his life, and yet he trusts you this much?

One of his hands trails downward and gently holds yours. “And I want you to feel safe with me. I won’t make you go any further than you’re willing to go. You just mean so much to me, sweetie…”

You tighten your own grip on his hand. “Thank you so much, Mettaton… I’m just… not ready to be completely open about everything. It’s nothing personal; I’m just not used to the thought of being so open.”

“You take as long as you need to, beautiful.” He looks down with a smile. “I don’t mind waiting, as long as it means you’re as comfortable as possible.”

“Thank you…” you repeat.

By the time the two of you go back to the table to play some more board games, your heart feels just a little more free than it did when you started. And Mettaton, who used to make you both so excited and so nervous, is starting to feel like a safe haven.

Love can be a scary thing, and sometimes you just don’t know what you’re up against, but if you can just take it little by little, removing each brick in your walls one by one, you know in your heart that you’ll come out of it a much happier person.