#barbs-xo:7

[captaincxdfish]

@barbs-xo​

James had already been awake an hour. He didn’t sleep much. A few hours a night and then every other week or so would crash and sleep for multiple hours straight. He’d already had one mug of coffee, moving around as silently as possible as to not wake Barbie. He thought of the time she made him breakfast in bed and decided to return the favor. Everyone liked pancakes, right? Again, silently as possible, he began to make them and once they were done he prepared two plates and an extra mug of coffee for her. He made his way over to the bed, carefully sitting on the bed with the tray. “Are you awake, love?” he asks softly, not being able to help the smile on his face. “I made you breakfast.”

[artificialqueens]

Are You in Love With a Notion? (Diamond Chaney) - Ortega

summary: Ellie wakes up in the Lake District with a hangover, an engagement ring, and her best friend in her bed. It’s not quite Vegas, but it’s still a cataclysmic mess.

a/n: this one goes out to the anon that came to my inbox with the concept “diamond chaney but they impulsively get married one night and have to deal with the consequences later”. it was too good to just headcanon for so it’s now a fully-fledged fic. it’s complete and utter silly nonsense and it’s by no means the most groundbreaking writing in the world, but it is FUN! hope u all enjoy and pls enjoy my continued campaign for u all to board the diamond chaney clown bus xo

(do people still use snapchat? fuck knows, but i needed it for plot purposes. if u like u can pretend this is set in 2016.)

***

Ellie wakes up feeling like a bat has shat in her head.

It feels as if her pulse is contained entirely within her cranium given the way it’s throbbing, and every time she blinks it’s as if each of her eyelashes weigh twenty kilogrammes. She momentarily wonders where she is before the heavy cream drapes and the shiny glass-topped bedside table come into focus and she remembers she’s in the hotel room. A’whora had wanted to splash out for her birthday (“you only turn a quarter of a century old once, ladies!”) and no expense was spared since she’d got that promotion a few months back. She’d covered the difference for any of the girls who wouldn’t have been able to afford to go away and Ellie was thankful for her friend’s kindhearted and generous nature. After all, she’s not the kind of girl who would say no to a treat, and she’ll return the favour as soon as her salon takes off.

(And it will take off. She didn’t study business for nothing.)

But the room right now, even with its four-poster bed and the cosy sheets and the four soft pillows, is providing absolutely no respite from the fact that Ellie is hanging out of her arse. Throwing her arm over her eyes as she squeezes them shut, she gives a small, self-indulgent sob of anguish and suffering.

And as she rolls from her side onto her back, she becomes aware of the fact that she’s not alone in the bed.

The dread and fear that grips her heart reminds her of when she went on school camp in Primary 7 and had to jump into one of those freezing cold plunge pools.

She keeps her arm over her eyes for a few more seconds to allow herself to work up the mental stability she needs to face whoever’s at her side. Maybe it’s a dream. Maybe this has all been in her mind and in a moment she’s going to wake up hangover-free with her bed blissfully empty.

Ellie brings her arm down from her eyelids and, without knowing what possesses her (aside from the copious amounts of alcohol that remain in her bloodstream), bites down gently on her arm in lieu of pinching herself.

She can confirm she is still very much awake.

It’s not that a one-night-stand is beyond her; she would even go as far as to say that at one point both she and A’whora were infamous for it back at uni, and she’s admittedly glad that “Dirty Diamond” just isn’t as catchy as “A’whora” and therefore that particular nickname hasn’t stuck with her into adult life like it has for her friend. No, what she’s surprised at herself for is the fact she’s brought someone back at her big age. She hasn’t had a random hookup for a while now, and the fact she can’t remember it is even worse.

She presses the hand that’s under the duvet against her thigh and her heart almost gives out with relief at the fact she can feel clothes. She can’t have gone too far, then. This is okay. This is salvageable. As she runs her fingers over the hem of whatever the fuck she’s wearing, realisation slowly dawns on her that it’s her pink playsuit from the night before.

Ellie genuinely can’t tell if the situation is better because she’s not naked, or worse because she’s still in her clothes from last night.

Her pulse skyrockets again, however, as an arm gently thuds over her waist through the duvet and the person, whoever the hell they even are, snuggles into her side contentedly. Only…it all feels too weirdly familiar for Ellie’s liking. The body beside her, the closeness, even the rise and fall of the breathing is all that of someone she feels like she knows.

Lifting her arm off her eyes and to her forehead, opening them, and finally ripping the plaster off to see who’s by her side, Ellie doesn’t know whether to be relieved or slightly horrified.

A purple velvet jumpsuit with a belt to tie her in at the waist that’s coming undone. Black and purple painted nails. Endless waves of thick lilac hair that are fanned out in tendrils across the white pillowslip. An entire face of perfectly painted makeup that’s still clinging on from the night before.

It’s Lawrence. She’s waking up beside her best friend. This is fine. This is totally normal. They’ve shared a bed countless times before back at uni, and it’s not something Ellie’s ever been adverse to- quite the opposite in fact, she thinks, as her stomach does a flip.

Something still feels off, though.

And then, as Ellie brings her hand down from her forehead and something bumps against it, it hits her- physically and metaphorically- all at once.

The ring Lawrence always wears; her pride and joy, her grandmother’s ring. The one that looks like the heart of the ocean on her finger, a huge blue diamond surrounded by eight small platinum ones. The ring Lawrence guards with her life and would only take off if it was physically tasered off her. The ring that could single-handedly obliterate Lawrence’s entire student debt and probably Ellie’s too if she was feeling generous enough.

The ring- that ring- is currently sitting on the fourth finger of Ellie’s left hand. As if it’s an engagement ring.

“Lawrence,” Ellie says without thinking. Her voice is croaky and too-loud in the silence of the room, but Lawrence still takes a while to stir beside her. She pulls Ellie close with the arm that’s round her, nuzzles her face into her arm. Usually the feeling wouldn’t be an unwelcome one, but just now Ellie’s got bigger problems. She hisses again. “Lawrence, wake up.”

“I’m not shagging you, Ruth Davidson, you wee Tory,” Lawrence’s sleep-coated voice comes from beside her, and Ellie finally draws back, reaches behind her and takes the pillow out from under her head to thump her with.

“For fuck’s sake! Lawrence, wake up! We’re in the shit here!”

As Lawrence finally blinks slowly, Ellie watches her go through the seven stages of grief far more rapidly than she’s just done. She feels like an idiot for the way her heart dips in disappointment when Lawrence shuffles back from her and draws her arm away self-consciously. She mumbles, grumpy and tired. “Ellie, I’m not alive.”

“Yes you are, drama queen.”

“No I’m fucking not. I feel how Prince Philip looks,” she groans in despair, obviously as hungover as Ellie is. She screws her face up and rubs her eyes, in turn smearing her makeup over her cheekbones. “Why am I even here?”

“I don’t know. Maybe we shagged,” Ellie says dryly, before holding the back of her hand up to Lawrence’s face. “Main question is, why the hell do I have this?”

Lawrence’s eyes grow wide in recognition before she groans and thumps her head back against the pillow. “How did you even…? Aw, I don’t know, Ellie, I’m too hungover to be mad about it. Just gies it back before you breathe and lose it or some shite.”

“But why is it…you know. Why is it here?” Ellie asks insistently, pressing her hand against her friend’s face in a deliberately annoying way. Lawrence grabs her wrist and forces it away from her face to get a proper look, and Ellie can see the cogs turn in her head before her face blanches at the implication.

Appearing to try and collect herself, Lawrence frowns, batting Ellie’s arm away. “You were probably getting hit on by some reprobate forty year old man in a suit so I’ll have let you pretend to be married to me. You should be honoured, really, it’s the closest you’ll get to perfection.”

“Piss off,” Ellie rolls her eyes as Lawrence gives a sleepy chuckle. She fiddles with the ring on her finger. It’s a little too small, and taking it off is proving difficult. Combined with the underlying stress of something still not being right, though, and it’s not enough to make Ellie’s dread dissipate.

“Can you remember any of last night?” she asks Lawrence, who’s scrabbling around on the bedside table for her phone.

“Nothing. You?”

“Neither,” Ellie rubs her temples with her fingers as if trying to massage the hangover out of her brain. No such luck.

“A’whora will be worse than us, then, won’t she? Because the last thing I remember is her and Tayce necking the prosecco at pres- oh, shit,” Lawrence has successfully retrieved her phone, and as she cuts herself off she’s frowning at it as if it’s committed a crime against her. “She’s calling just now, actually.”

Ellie already knows A’whora will be perfectly fresh and put together even before Lawrence swipes her phone across the screen to accept the facetime call, and so seeing her looking exactly that plus her girlfriend beside her looking the exact same just makes Ellie want to die even more.

A’whora’s smile is smug on her face as she smirks at them through the phone. “How are you two lovebirds doing this morning?”

Her words are like cold water down Ellie’s spine, and from the way Lawrence’s expression has changed too it seems she’s not the only one. She’s wondering what A’whora’s trying to imply with her joke and really, really hoping it’s just an innocent barb with no meaning behind it. Ellie can’t speak, but Lawrence gets there before her anyway. “What?”

“The married couple! The newlyweds! The babas!” Tayce jumps in, way too energetic and excited and making Ellie feel more hungover just looking at her.

Her words, though, aren’t helping her growing need to spew all over the hotel room floor. “What are you talking about?”

A’whora’s jaw drops open, and she barely conceals a laugh. “Oh my God. What do you remember?”

Ellie doesn’t want to give either of them the satisfaction of admitting that the answer’s nothing, but Lawrence is talking before she can get a chance. “Neither of us can remember anything. All I know is that I woke up in bed with this slut and she’s tried to steal my gran’s ring off me to…fuck knows, pretend she’s married to me. She wishes.”

“Lawrence,” Tayce starts, barely audible from giggling. “You two are married. You got married last night.”

What the fuck.

How can they be married? It’s not possible. Ellie tries to think but she can’t conjure up any clear thoughts. She feels the same smack of dread and fear that she felt when she went on that motorcycle rollercoaster at Flamingo Land two summers ago. Lawrence had been by her side then, too, her hand over Ellie’s white-knuckled one and reeling off ridiculous jokes to try and calm her down. She hates rollercoasters, and this one doesn’t seem like it’s going to be over anytime soon.

Lawrence doesn’t seem fazed. “You’re on the wind-up. Els, don’t give them the satisfaction, they’re taking the piss.”

“We’re not!” Tayce gasps, affronted, and A’whora is protesting adamantly too. “There was a wedding party in the bar last night and the pair of you kept moaning about how single you were and how you’d never find love.”

Lawrence narrows her eyes at her through the camera, offended. Ellie is inclined to feel the same.

“And the pair of you eventually decided you were just going to marry each other. Bimini mentioned they’re an ordained minister, so then you both insisted they married the pair of you in the hotel bar.”

“Get so far to fuck,” Lawrence snorts derisively, but it’s still not helping Ellie’s rising, terrified heart rate. “We’re meanty believe this, aye? Why in the fuck would I ever agree to marrying this wee cow, as if I would lower myself!?”

Ouch. Ellie scowls, screws her face up as she tears her eyes away from the screen and looks at Lawrence pointedly. “Thanks babes, love you too.”

“But you know what I mean!” Lawrence sort-of-not-really apologises. “Right, then, I’ll bite. If we got married, how did we get to the registry office? What registry office is open at eleven at night on a Saturday?”

A’whora shrugs all blasé. “There’s one in the hotel, we just went there. Caught it just before it closed, I think.”

Ellie narrows her eyes. She wants to believe it’s a joke, so she attempts to pick a hole in the story. “If we were that drunk, though, they wouldn’t have married us? Surely? I mean it’s not Vegas, A’whora, it’s the fucking Lake District.”

“Oh no, baby, the registrar said they get couples turning up drunk all the time! And obviously myself, A’whora and Bimini were much more sober than you, so we were the responsible adults. Or bridesmaids, I guess. We were that classy level of prosecco tipsy, you pair were on the vodka lemonades by eight last night,” Tayce explains.

As the story unfolds, Ellie feels more and more nauseous. She wants to crawl up into a ball like a dead woodlouse. Surely not. Surely not.

“Wedding dresses,” Lawrence says argumentatively. “We didn’t have wedding dresses. It would’ve been so obvious we were taking the piss.”

“Oh, neither of you would stop going on about how the colour scheme was pink and purple! Matching pink and purple playsuits! Which I see you’re still wearing, you absolute hounds,” Tayce wrinkles her nose in distaste.

Everything seems to be adding up to a ridiculously clear and yet blurry degree, and Ellie can’t in any way cope with the magnitude of the situation. She throws her arms over her face and curls up into the foetal position with a groan of self-pity. Through the duvet, she feels Lawrence whack her.

“Ellie, shut up! It’s so obviously a joke,” she insists, and Ellie can hear the roll of her eyes. A’whora and Tayce are cackling down the phone like two little Wizard of Oz witches and Ellie’s never identified more with Dorothy in her life.

“Well, believe us or don’t believe us, still doesn’t change the fact you got hitched,” A’whora says lightly. “I mean, you’ll have the marriage certificate to prove it. You had it last night, it’ll be in your room somewhere.”

Ellie pops her head out from under the duvet in horror. Her voice comes out as a horrified squeak. “Marriage certificate?”

A’whora shrugs. “Yeah! If you don’t believe us then maybe you’ll believe a piece of paper.”

“The marriage certificate that doesn’t exist. Aye, nae bother,” Lawrence says, still clearly disdainful of the story. “You coming to breakfast or what?”

“Oh, babe! Been there, done that! We got up at seven, showered, dressed, makeup, breakfast, and we’ve been out for a walk. Get on our level,” Tayce flicks her hair. Ellie fleetingly loathes her.

Lawrence rubs her forehead with her free hand, clearly headachey. “Well I’m starving, so I’m not hanging around to be wound up by the fuckin’ lesbian Prank Patrol any longer. Time’s check out?”

“You’ve got til half twelve. I got us a late one, figured we’d all need it.”

As Lawrence promises to see the other two later and hangs up, Ellie can’t speak. She’s still in shock at the potential truth from last night; that they actually got married. To each other. Over the years, Ellie’s invented made-up scenarios in her head that involve various things: telling Lawrence how she feels, kissing Lawrence, Lawrence asking her on a date. None of them have involved marriage. She’s never even thought to think that far ahead, but now it’s a reality it doesn’t seem like the Disney-princess dream she’s always expected it to be.

It actually feels sort of like a nightmare.

A thud from a pillow brings her back to reality. “Ellie!”

Ellie looks at her friend, who’s managed to crawl off the bed and is standing beside it, looking expectantly at her. Ellie blinks in bewilderment, rubs her eyes before she speaks. “What?”

“I’m gonna go shower and get changed and then we can go down to breakfast? I’ll come back and knock in about fifteen minutes?”

Ellie can’t believe she’s so calm. Sitting up in bed and feeling her head sting again, she looks pointedly at Lawrence. “You’re not in any way bothered about the story the girls just told us? The fact we might have got married?”

Lawrence snorts. “Oh, Ellie, please. You’re so gullible I swear to God someone could tell you Davina McCall’s the new Pope and you’d just nod and accept it.”

“But the marriage certificate, though? The ring? Which, by the way, won’t come off,” Ellie tugs on it again, trying not to panic when it doesn’t budge.

“There won’t be a marriage certificate! You said it, it’s the UK, it’s not Vegas. There’s a reason shotgun weddings aren’t a thing here. You honestly think we could just rock up to a registry office and get married?”

Ellie falls silent. She should feel reassured, but she doesn’t.

“I’m away to scrub the first ten layers of alcohol sweat out of my pores, awrite? You better be ready by the time I’m back.”

Lawrence leaves and Ellie is left on her own with her thoughts, which all seem to ricochet off her brain and pummel it to a husk, making her hangover worse. She still searches lazily for the fabled marriage certificate in between showering and getting ready, looking fruitlessly under discarded clothes on the floor and under furniture. Lawrence is right- she knows Lawrence is right- but there’s still a part of Ellie’s mind that’s niggling away with a what if on a loop.

By the time Lawrence knocks on her door again, Ellie is back not knowing what to think. She finds herself frantically babbling to her on the way down to the hotel restaurant in the lift, but her friend won’t entertain it.

“You’re too easy to prank. How can you believe them, it’s obviously a bam up!”

“Well, it could’ve happened! They brought it up before we even said we couldn’t remember anything, right? I mean, why else would you give me your ring? You barely trust me to hold your phone for two seconds to take a picture,” Ellie runs a hand through her hair, which she didn’t wash and is still in its big curls from the night before.

“Aye! Because you dropped it in the road when we went out for Jazz’s birthday!”

“That was two years ago! And I paid for the screen repairs!” Ellie cries in indignation, but the memory still makes her blush. She grows quiet again before her mind takes her back to the apparent events of last night. “The story makes sense.”

“The story does not make sense!” Lawrence sighs, agitated. “What proof do we have? You’re wearing my ring and our pals have told us the plot of a Hangover film? Honestly, hen, if we got married last night I’ll buy you an Uber back to Dundee.”

As they reach the dining room, the pair of them stop dead in the entranceway. Because there in the middle, almost as if it’s framed, is a table for two surrounded by inflatable red heart-shaped balloons, covered in red sparkly confetti, with champagne flutes and roses and polished silverware.

“What time’s my Uber booked for, then?” Ellie deadpans sarcastically. She doesn’t know why she’s making a joke. She isn’t in a joking mood. She’s nothing short of horrified.

“Calm down. That won’t be for us. A’whora said there was a wedding party last night, remember? It’ll be for them,” Lawrence reassures her, but Ellie doesn’t miss the distinct lack of self-assuredness to her voice that had been there before.

A waiter approaches them and asks for their name. Lawrence speaks (because Ellie can’t quite manage), and in return the waiter fixes them with a bright smile.

“Ladies, on behalf of us all at the Old England, we would like to wish you many congratulations and happiness on this most special occasion. Please, follow me,” he reels off before walking in the direction of the over-the-top, Valentine’s Day-style photoshoot set-up that is apparently where they’re having breakfast.

Ellie is going to be sick.

“You’ve got to be fucking joking,” Lawrence whispers all in one breath, before sleepwalking towards their table and sitting down with a tight smile of thanks to the eager waiter. As Ellie sits in the chair opposite, she notices the affectionate smiles from couples at other tables and feels her face flush with hot embarrassment. The waiter disappears with a promise to be back for their order soon, and the pair of them are left sitting in stunned silence.

“Lawrence,” Ellie says first. Her gaze is stuck on the table, shocked and stunned.

“Don’t,” Lawrence replies. When Ellie finally looks at her she’s sitting with her eyes squeezed shut, her face a picture of strained concentration.

“What are you doing? You look constipated.”

“I’m trying to wake up from this abject fucking nightmare,” Lawrence says through gritted teeth.

Even though Lawrence is right- it is a nightmare, it’s a bad, terrible dream- it doesn’t stop the way her words feel ever-so-slightly like a blow to the crush Ellie’s harboured for an embarrassingly long length of time. She can’t think about that, though. There are bigger issues at stake here. Like the fact they’re married.

“Do you believe me now? Why the hell would the hotel do all this if we didn’t get married in their registry office the night before?”

“It’ll be…” Lawrence begins, trying to explain it away then putting her head in her hands when she realises she’s at a loss. “Fuck, I don’t know. We need A’whora or Tayce down here to talk it through with us. Or Bimini. If it’s A’whora and Tayce’s prank then they might not be in on it.”

“They had to go back to London early for a shoot, remember? They’ll have already left,” Ellie reminds Lawrence, and her face falls in dismay.

The waiter returns holding a bottle of champagne and Ellie watches Lawrence turn over her flute with a little aggressive thud and doesn’t say when until the bubbles climb to the very top of the glass. They both order pastries, Ellie’s appetite completely gone and Lawrence’s appearing to be the same.

Ellie narrows her eyes at Lawrence as she watches her glug the bubbles down. “How the hell can you be drinking at a time like this? Are you not hungover?”

“I am hungover, yes. But I need to be drunk to deal with this situation. So I’m hoping this’ll at least take the edge off a bit,” she says dryly. Ellie rolls her eyes.

“Being drunk got us into this situation, it’s not gonna get us out of it,” she sighs helplessly, realising too late that she sounds too much like her Mum. Lawrence responds appropriately; shaking her head at her moodily and staring off into the distance as she keeps sipping from her glass.

Ellie cups her cheeks, thanks the waiter weakly as he puts down a tray of pastries in front of the two of them. She tries to go over the events of last night in her head but draws a blank every time. According to A’whora and Tayce they’ll have been at the bar, decided to get married…Bimini had married them, somehow and somewhere, and they’d gone to the registrar…then they’d presumably got even more drunk and had a dance, and then…

How had Lawrence ended up in her room? Unless they’d…no. They’d both still had their clothes on from the night before.

But that wouldn’t have stopped them making out.

“Oh, God,” Ellie groans, unable to hold in the regret and the constant pain of her headache. Lawrence shoots her a funny look. Ellie’s loath to explain herself. The idea that the first kiss she’s shared with Lawrence has been messy, drunk, and one she can’t even remember is one that makes her feel stupid amounts of disappointed, but she’s not exactly going to share that with her friend.

“Loz, what if we did something last night?”

“What, aside from get married?” Lawrence talks through a mouthful of croissant. Then, as realisation dawns, her chewing stops. “Oh.”

There’s an awkward silence as they both stare at each other.

“Nah,” Lawrence finally shrugs as she resumes eating. “Because we both still had our clothes from last night on when we woke up?”

“Yeah, but we still could’ve kissed,” Ellie pulls a face, the words feeling too awkward and childish as they come out of her mouth. Lawrence seems to hesitate for a second before smirking across the table at her.

“Aye right. As if I’d ever let you near enough to me for that to happen.”

“Rich from the girl who was wrapped around me when I woke up,” Ellie quirks an eyebrow at her, and it’s Lawrence’s turn to fall silent.

Breakfast doesn’t last long. Between their hangovers and the fact that they’re both trying to make sense of the whole crazy situation neither of them can eat much, and they’re dragging themselves back to their rooms before too long. They continue to discuss everything, purely because there’s not much else they can talk about when the prospect of them being married is hanging over their heads like the world’s heaviest cloud. This time, though, it’s Lawrence who’s doing most of the nervous talking.

“I’m sure it’s easily explained away. They probably just got our table confused with the wedding party’s from yesterday. That’ll be what it is. Just some big coincidence. There’s a reasonable explanation to it all. Have you got that fuckin’ ring off your finger yet?!”

“I’m working on it,” Ellie grumbles. The best she’s managed is getting it halfway to her first knuckle before realising it was cutting the blood circulation off even more and she could get it no higher, so she’d immediately pushed it back down again.

She hears herself huff with annoyance. All she wants to do is sleep but they have to somehow deal with this first, and it’s more inconvenient than she’d ever hoped her first marriage (her only marriage) would be. Thinking for a second, she gives a little gasp as she has an idea. “Why don’t we just go down to the registry office and ask?”

Lawrence stops walking, fixes Ellie with a look as if she’s sprouted another head. “Have you lost the bloody place?! You want to go up to the registrar and go, ‘sorry to bother you, but can you please tell us if we’re married or not?’ We’d get sectioned!”

Ellie thinks that, even though it sounds as if it’s the easiest course of action, Lawrence is probably right.

“Besides,” Lawrence continues. “If there’s the possibility that we did rock up three sheets to the wind last night, I don’t particularly wanty show my face there again.”

“Right,” Ellie agrees. She bites her lip as she reaches the door to her room and puts her key card in. Lawrence waits beside her, a mutual understanding that she’s coming in to continue the conversation.

Ellie supposes she’s her wife now, so it makes sense.

“Who could we phone to confirm it, then? The government?”

Lawrence pinches the bridge of her nose in exasperation. “Ellie, you did not just ask me if we could phone the gov-”

“Oh my fucking God.”

Ellie cuts Lawrence off without thinking, and upon seeing the inside of the room Lawrence is rendered speechless too. There’s more balloons, ones without weights that cover the ceiling over the bed. The bed itself and the floor surrounding it is covered in rose petals, and on top of the pristinely made duvet there’s a box of chocolates and two bathrobes origami-d into swans.

Lawrence is the first to march into the room. She snatches up a small note that’s sitting on top of the chocolate box, unfolds it and reads aloud. “Congratulations to the happy couple, we wish you both a long and happy marriage. From all the staff at the Old England hotel. Fuck me, this canny be real.”

Ellie lets the door swing shut, walks over to the bed and sits on its edge precariously. An idea occurs to her as she retrieves her phone from her pocket. “Here. Check your phone. Messages, photos. There might be clues.”

She doesn’t look up to see if Lawrence is nodding or not, but she assumes she’s following her suggestion. Ellie is busy with her camera roll (where there’s nothing, and the last photo is a terrible, blurry, unflattering selfie of her and Tayce) when Lawrence gives a hum of recognition.

“I got a snapchat from you at one in the morning.”

Ellie cranes her neck. “What does it say?”

Lawrence, oddly, is keeping the phone out of her view. She’s quiet before she brings the phone back into Ellie’s line of vision, and the picture, whatever it was, is gone. “Just a drunk selfie. Nothing that could give us any clues.”

The pair of them are quiet as Lawrence taps against her phone screen. Ellie reflects. They’ve been in the shit like this together before: when they were eighteen and both their phones died before Lawrence’s Mum could pick them up from T in the Park and they got yelled at the whole way home when she’d eventually found them both, when they’d been stopped by the police because Lawrence had carried a traffic cone through the City Centre and tried to put it on top of the existing one on the Duke of Wellington statue. But this is a whole different level of shit.

Through it all, though, Lawrence has always been there with a joke and a laugh and reassurance for Ellie that things are never as bad as they seem. She always has this panicky way of staying positive, delivering comforting words through a voice that’s shaky with her own anxiety. Ellie always helps her in return when she needs it, has done for years: she’s usually good at staying calm, she’s chatty and can talk Lawrence through anything, and she’ll always reach out to take her hand or be there with a hug and a reminder that as long as Lawrence has got her, she’s never on her own. They’ve always seemed to take turns being each others’ anchors, and their friendship is a weird sort of pendulum of support. Today, however, they’re both blindly stumbling through their own process of coming to terms with this situation, and Ellie supposes neither or them are being much of a help to each other. She wishes she could be more helpful, because she cares about her friend so much.

Too much for it to be explained away as a friendship.  

“What are you looking up?” Ellie asks as Lawrence lies back on the bed with a thud, eyes still glued to her phone. Craning her neck, Ellie can see she’s typed how to get divorced into Google.

“Why are there no ordained divorce lawyers?” Lawrence mutters under her breath. “We can get married in a hotel bar but we can’t get divorced in a hotel room? What kind of fucking bullshit is this?”

Ellie lies back too. It’s not lost on her how close together their heads are. “Why are you trying to get us divorced? We might not even be married. I still think we should phone up the government.”

“Nicola Sturgeon’s got bigger fish to fry, babes, there’s an election in May.”

“Not the government, obviously,” Ellie rolls her eyes, scrolls her own phone absent-mindedly. She’d look something up to try and help but she’s at a loss. “Like…the offices! The records of marriage and stuff. They’ll have a department for this sort of thing, won’t they?”

“Will we even be on the system if our marriage is less than twenty-four hours old?” Lawrence wonders out loud. “And if we got married here, would we be registered in England, then? Aw fuck, so many questions and not a single answer.”

Ellie frowns to herself as she thinks. “What if we do have to get divorced? Will we need a lawyer? I don’t have that kind of money, Lawrie, and neither do you.”

Lawrence hums in worried agreement, and Ellie presses her lips together. It’s weird dealing with all of this when there’s a crush at play. In amongst frantically trying to figure everything out and clarify it all, a tiny part of Ellie wonders…would it really be so bad to be married to Lawrence? There’s not really an excuse for them not to date now. It’s really the perfect way of ruining the friendship she’s been so worried about ruining for the past few years; it’s not awkward to say she has feelings for her literal wife, she supposes. But every time those thoughts rest in her brain for a few seconds, Ellie forces herself to chase them away- because really, hen, are you insane? The sheer scale of the situation isn’t lost on her, she knows they have to figure it out somehow and mop this mess up. But pretending would be nice, and safe, and far, far away from this alcohol-soaked bubble of horror she appears to have woken up in.

It’s out before she knows it, though. “What if we just stayed married? If we are. If we just stayed married until we could afford to get divorced?”

“Jesus Christ, Ellie,” Lawrence drops her phone onto the bed, covering her eyes with her hands in resigned exhaustion.

“No, think about it! There must be loads of benefits to getting married,” Ellie explains, feeling as if she has to justify the ridiculous thought now. “You get, um. I think you get extra money from the government?”

“The tories have never given out extra money. To anyone,” Lawrence glares at her.

(Ellie knows it’s not what she should be taking from this, but it occurs to her that the way Lawrence has done her eyeliner today makes her eyes look really pretty.)

“Oh! Here, it says you get tax breaks if you get married. It would be good to not have to pay council tax for a bit,” Ellie says, looking up from her phone where she’s just googled what are the benefits of getting married UK.

Lawrence pauses beside her. When she speaks, she sounds contemplative. “Well, you’d be taking my last name, because am I fuck taking yours.”

Ellie gives a choked noise of indignation. “Fuck off, I’ve got the best last name out of the two of us! Diamond?”

“It’s the last name of a porn star! I’m not living my daily life like that!”

“So you want me to go by Ellie Chaney? A name that rhymes? Like a character from Balamory?”

“You already dress like a fuckin’ character from a kids’ TV show, it wouldn’t be that far-fetched,” Lawrence starts giggling, and Ellie can only fix her with an unimpressed pout. “Nah, this wouldn’t work, Els. We’re already arguing and it’s only been one day. We couldn’t stay married. Besides, I’ve got fucking standards, you know? I could so do better than you.”

It’s silly, Ellie knows, but the last comment from Lawrence stings more than it should. It’s got nothing to do with the concept of the two of them actually being married, but more the fact that Lawrence has basically just rubbished any hopes that Ellie’s ever had of maybe-someday-oneday them breaking out of their little bubble of friendship and trying to be anything more. She’s always done it; that’s Lawrence’s way, to shit on Ellie, to gently bully her, but Ellie has always known there’s no malice behind it. Except today it all hits differently, it hits a sore spot that she’s too tired of trying to keep hidden.

“Sorry that being married to me is such a disgusting prospect,” Ellie snaps without realising, turning over on the bed and standing up so she doesn’t have to see Lawrence’s reaction to the comment she already regrets.

“When did I say that?” Lawrence fires back, and Ellie can tell she’s confused by her reaction.

“We need to find this fucking marriage certificate,” Ellie ignores her, opening the drawers of the bedside table even though she sort of knows it’s a futile endeavour since she’s already searched.

Lawrence pushes, though, never one to back down from a confrontation.  “Why are you suddenly raging at me, what am I meant to have done?”

“You don’t have to act like you got landed with the booby prize on a game show, Lawrence, I’m still your friend. There’s worse people to be stuck with,” Ellie continues as she crosses the room to look in the drawers of the dressing table, hating the way she sounds like a petulant child but being unable to help the way her words just seem to be coming out.

There’s a silence that hangs in the air like fog, and then Lawrence’s voice comes again. It’s softer, a comforting note to it that makes Ellie’s heart lift cruelly. “Ellie.”

Ellie opens the wardrobe doors, realising too late what a ridiculous place to look it is but committing to the idea anyway. She’s still way too hungover to cope with any of this, and the prospect of an argument with Lawrence, especially over this, isn’t one she’s able to face. Accepting she’s not going to find the certificate, she sighs and walks back over to the bed. As she sits on its edge and keeps her back to her friend she fiddles with the ring on her finger, and it finally, mercifully, slides off.

Lawrence’s voice is stripped of all its aggression and incredulity from before as she speaks again. This time she’s quiet and sincere. “Ellie. What’s this really about?”

Before Ellie can consider the gravity of the question or indeed contemplate how to word an answer, Lawrence’s phone vibrates against the bedcovers. Neither of them speak as she reaches up to grab it, but when A’whora’s name flashes up on screen again they share a look of weary exhaustion, neither of them wanting to face their friend’s smug expression.

A’whora’s smiling cheekily as Lawrence answers the call. “How’re the young lovers doing after their breakfast, then?”

Lawrence’s nostrils flare. “I’m not even going to dignify that with an answer.”

“So all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, then. Just calling to see if you liked the wedding presents.”

Ellie feels like a crumbling sandcastle as she rolls onto her side next to Lawrence and looks at A’whora through the screen. “What?”

“The decorations at breakfast! The ones in your room! Just thought they’d really add to the atmosphere,” she smirks, unable to keep from laughing.

More confused than ever, Ellie frowns in bewilderment. “But that was from…the hotel did that?”

“No, I did that. I just phoned down and got them to set it up. They still had a bunch of wedding shit left over from that pair that got married last night. It wasn’t cheap, but it was worth it to give the pair of you the romantic equivalent of everyone singing happy birthday to you at a restaurant,” A’whora explains, still giggly.

Ellie and Lawrence are silent as they stare at their friend through the phone. A’whora seems perturbed, then narrows her eyes at them before she speaks again.

“You two didn’t actually…believe you got married, did you? I thought you knew it was a bullshit prank.”

Before she can register Lawrence’s reaction, Ellie’s mouth drops open in shock. She grabs the phone from Lawrence’s hands and yells at A’whora as if she’s in front of her and not in her own room down the corridor. “A’whora! I am going to fucking kill you!”

A’whora’s laugh comes through the phone like a crackly screech, and Ellie doesn’t miss the unimpressed look from Lawrence at having been unable to style out the fact they’d both been duped. Ellie can’t even let that bother her, though, because she’s too busy tripping over herself to retell to A’whora their rollercoaster of a thought process from this morning.

Lawrence shakes her head beside her, loath to admit she’d been fooled too. “I didn’t believe it for a second. She’s talking out her arse.”

Ellie cries out, affronted. “You were telling me I had to take your last name not even five minutes ago!”

A’whora has to wipe tears from her eyes by the time the pair of them have told her the whole story. “Oh my God, guys. This has been the best birthday present of the weekend. I actually think I’m gonna wee myself. Fuck!”

“I can’t believe you told us we got married and we just…believed you!”

“Well, no, you did get married,” A’whora says.

With this revelation, it crosses Ellie’s mind to lock herself in the hotel sauna until she’s cooked through. “What in the name of God-”

As she continues to speak though, A’whora clarifies. “Or at least, you said you both wanted to marry each other. That conversation did take place. Bimini started joking they were an ordained minister. They showed you their provisional drivers’ license and told you it was a minister’s license. You were both so drunk you believed it.”

“Christ in a wheelie bin,” Lawrence groans.

“But you’re not actually married married. It was just pretend. And hey! We had fun. You should do it for real some day,” A’whora cackles.

If she was in the room with her, Ellie would slap her.

They finish the call with the promise to be packed and ready to meet to check out at half twelve, and when Lawrence locks her phone the pair of them laugh softly about the idiots they’d both been. Ellie is glad A’whora phoned. The conversation that had been taking place prior had been about to go down a route she hadn’t wanted it to, and she’s glad there’s no reason for it to be brought up again. She can go back to keeping her crush on her friend a secret, never to be unearthed.

“I should probably go and start getting packed, then,” Lawrence says decisively, getting up from the bed and making to leave. Ellie remembers what she put on the bedside table, and reaches out to pick it up as she tells Lawrence to wait.

As Lawrence turns around, Ellie holds out her grandmother’s ring, feeling a little awkward as she does so. “Here. Since we’re not married anymore. It came off in the end.”

Lawrence looks a little sheepish as she accepts it with a soft thanks. She gives it a little smile, then shoots the same one at Ellie. “Thank fuck for that.”

There isn’t any malice to her words. If Ellie was being hopeful she’d maybe even say there was regret.

Lawrence leaves and she can’t shake the little niggling feeling of sadness that embeds itself under a synapse in her brain.

***

The cold air that comes with the beginning of Autumn is welcome to Ellie as she sits and waits on Tayce to bring the car round. She’s not quite fully recovered from her hangover, but packing, checking out and getting a can of Monster from a vending machine in the lobby has done wonders for her mood. There’s also the fact that she doesn’t have a potential marriage to consider, so that’s good. That’s a relief.

A crunch of gravel behind her makes her turn around, and seeing Lawrence wrapped up in her black hoodie makes Ellie feel mixed emotions. She feels silly for getting so caught up in the whole idea of them having been married, the way she’d panicked and immediately thought it was all real, taking A’whora and Tayce’s comments at face value. She’s embarrassed at how she’d taken it all so seriously, and most of all she’s embarrassed that Lawrence was there for every reaction.

“Hey,” she greets her, already feeling a blush grow on her face. “You recovered?”

“Just about, yeah,” Lawrence laughs softly. She gestures to the mango loco that’s in Ellie’s hand. “Can see you’re clearly feeling loads better.”

Ellie matches her laugh, raises the can up in a solo cheers. As she drops her arm again, she sighs a little.

“Listen, Lawrence, sorry about…this morning. Immediately panicking and getting so worked up and intense with it all. I was just hangy and emotional and I had the fear…you know what it’s like.”

“It’s no problem. Don’t worry,” Lawrence brushes her off. Her expression is troubled though, as if there’s something else she wants to say. The unspoken words are loud and stifling, and then Lawrence finally meets her gaze with a nervous one of her own. “Well, marriage didn’t really work for us. But…d’you think drinks would be better?”

Ellie’s heart is going to give out. She can’t cope with the events of the day at all. She can already feel her pulse speeding up with hope so she frowns at Lawrence slightly, clarifying like a child tugging the string of a balloon to bring it back to earth. “Drinks?”

“Yeah, like,” Lawrence shrugs, looks to the ground bashfully. “For a date. If you want.”

All at once it’s as if her blood has just suddenly exploded in her veins. It feels like Ellie is on some sort of other-worldly come-up as she blinks at her friend, her friend she’s had a crush on since fuck-even-knows-when, and is stunned into silence.

“The snapchat you sent me last night,” Lawrence continues, scrolling her phone and holding the screen out for Ellie to see. “I’ve felt like that too for a while now.”

Ellie is cringing as she reads the white text against the black screen- a screenshot of her message sent to Lawrence at one in the morning, which reads “so glad whe’re marrrued for rwal vc ive reallt luked you for ages and i quitr fancg u a lot acfually x"

“How did you even manage to read what that says,” Ellie screws her face up, failing to address the bigger picture.

Lawrence smiles, a little hint of a twinkle to her eyes that makes Ellie’s heart thump. “I knew what you meant.”

There’s a small pause where Ellie blushes and looks to the ground, handing Lawrence her phone back. Lawrence uses the silence to keep talking.

“I know I like to rip the piss sometimes, and I know I can take it too far. But today all of that was about…verbalising everything I thought you were feeling about me. Trying to reassure you that I wasn’t interested in you because I thought that’s what you wanted. Once I started I just…didn’t stop, I guess. Damage control, you know? I’m sorry, Ellie,” she reels off quietly. She’s not hiding behind any jokes and she’s not making fun of Ellie and she’s not making fun of herself. It’s honest and simple and raw and everything Ellie’s wanted.

She scuffs some gravel with her shoe. “You feel the same, then?”

Lawrence presses her lips together. Ellie can tell she’s nervous. “Yeah. I do.”

“I do? Is that some kind of sick joke?!” Ellie laughs, and as Lawrence joins in she suddenly hesitates. “Wait. This isn’t a joke, is it?”

“Well, I’ve had enough fucking pranks for one day and I’m pretty sure you have too.”

The pair of them share a laugh, and as Tayce’s car appears from round at the hotel car park, Ellie fixes Lawrence with a smile.

“Drinks sound good.”

Tayce and A’whora appear from the car and pop the boot open, and Lawrence and Ellie try and fail to bite back the smiles they’re shooting each other as they carry their suitcases over, a mutual agreement that they’ll talk more about their plans when they don’t have their nosy and shit-stirring friend and her equally nosy and shit-stirring girlfriend with them on their way to drop them off at the train station.

It’s not quite a shotgun wedding, and it’s not quite a marriage in Vegas. But a date and a drink with the friend she’s hidden her feelings from for too many years is a good place to start.

[splendidlyimperfect]

Gray hasn’t seen Natsu in years - not since he moved away with his boyfriend Joel and Natsu stopped texting him. A chance run-in at a bar brings Natsu back into Gray’s life, but the encounter puts Gray in danger when Joel finds out. Natsu quickly realizes that Gray’s stuck in a cycle of violence, and wants to help him escape. But leaving isn’t that easy, and sometimes loving someone might not be enough. 

Chapter Summary: Natsu shows up again, and Gray doesn't know what to do.

Chapters (10/21):  1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Natsu Dragneel/Gray Fullbuster, Gray Fullbuster/Original Male Character(s) Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Abuse, Abusive Relationships, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rape Aftermath, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Natsu just wants to help, but Gray feels like he can’t leave, Non-Linear Narrative, Trans Character, Tumblr: FTLGBTales, ftlgbtpride2019, Coming Out, First Love, Angst with a Happy Ending, I promise

-----

you and i both have to hide, where i can't be yours and you can't be mine

com· pli· ca· tion | \ ˌkäm-plə-ˈkā-shən noun : a difficult factor or issue often appearing unexpectedly and changing existing plans, methods, or attitudes

.

x april

.

“Gray! New table for you in section three!”

Gray sighs, rubbing his face and nodding at Jeremy. It’s busy today – even though the lunch rush is almost over, the restaurant is still packed, and Gray’s both exhausted and hungover. He wipes at the sweat running down the back of his neck before washing his hands and heading out into the front of the restaurant.

“Good afternoon, welcome to...”

Gray trails off as he realizes that the person sitting in his section is Natsu.

Shit.

There’s an awkward silence as they stare at each other, and then Gray’s eyes flick across the table to a vaguely familiar blond man in a police uniform.

Gray’s stomach immediately drops and he’s sure he’s going to throw up.

“Gray, right?” The man smiles at him, and Gray realizes with relief that it’s just Natsu’s friend from the bachelor party last night. He rearranges his face into something neutral while he desperately tries to remember the man’s name. Stan? Stiles? Sting.

“Y-yeah,” Gray says after a second. He can feel Natsu staring at him, and Gray’s suddenly incredibly conscious of the faint red mark across his cheek. “Sorry, I, uh—there was a mistake, I...”

Gray’s vision blurs and for a terrifying moment he thinks he might pass out. He catches himself on the table, refusing to meet Natsu’s gaze, then turns around and all but runs back into the kitchen. His heart is pounding, and he leans back against the wall near the staff room, taking deep breaths.

“What are you—Gray? Are you okay?”

A gentle hand lands on Gray’s arm and he’s about to shrug it off when he realizes that it’s just Lucy.

Continue reading on AO3

A gentle hand lands on Gray’s arm and he’s about to shrug it off when he realizes that it’s just Lucy.

“Sorry,” he says, leaning back against the wall and taking a deep breath. “I just—I...” His hands won’t stop shaking and he clenches them into fists, digging his nails into his palms to try and focus. “Can you take my new table?”

Lucy looks out across the restaurant, then back to Gray. “The cop and the guy with the pink hair?” she asks, and he nods, crossing his arms over his chest. Lucy sighs. “Are you in trouble?”

Gray sighs, forcing himself to look up at Lucy and give her a wry smile. “It’s silly,” he says, trying to keep his voice even. “He’s my ex – the guy with the pink hair – we haven’t talked in a while and it’s just...”

“Gotcha.” Lucy squeezes Gray’s hand and gives him a grin. “Want me to spit in his drink?”

Gray manages a laugh as he shakes his head. “I appreciate it,” he says, “but he’s not actually a bad guy. I just don’t think I can handle him right now. He’s... a lot.”

“Uhuh.” Lucy rolls her eyes. “You’ve met my ex, I know a thing or two about ‘a lot.’ I’ve got this.” Then she squeezes Gray’s arm and heads out to the front of the restaurant.

-----

Gray manages to avoid Natsu’s questioning gaze for the rest of the lunch rush, and when he and Sting finally leave, Gray breathes a sigh of relief.

“Honestly, I think you downgraded,” Lucy says, appearing behind Gray in the break room and sitting down on the couch. “He’s cute.” She holds out a piece of paper to Gray and he groans, grabbing it before slumping down on one of the chairs.

“What does he want?” he grumbles, unfolding the note.

I swear I'm not stalking you, I had no idea you worked here. I hope you got home ok last night. I’m gonna be hanging out at Second Beach this evening, I'd love to see you again while we’re both sober. xo

Gray groans, dropping his head into his hands. After Joel had fallen asleep last night, Gray had read Natsu’s note one last time, then burned it and washed the ashes down the sink. The fifty dollars is hidden in his work locker, tucked in the sleeve of his extra shirt.

A touch on Gray’s wrist drags him out of his reverie and he looks up to see Lucy crouched down in front of him.

“I’m fine,” he says immediately, and she rolls her eyes at him.

“Go,” she says, gesturing to the note. “Yes, I’m nosy, and no, you’re not fine.” When Gray tries to protest, she shakes her head. “How many times have you covered for me when the twins have been sick, Gray? I owe you.”

“But I—”

“If Joel shows up, I’ll text you.” The look Lucy gives him is so knowing that Gray feels his cheeks start to burn. He glances down at where Lucy’s hand is resting on his arm – over the bruises that are hidden by the fabric of his shirt.

“I can’t,” Gray says softly. Lucy takes both of Gray’s hands in hers and squeezes them.

“Gray,” she says gently, “I just want to help.”

“I don’t need help,” he insists. A spark of anger ignites in the midst of his fear, and he pulls his hands away from her, pushing the chair back and standing up. “Everything’s fine. I just don’t want to see my stupid ex.”

Lucy sighs, pushing herself up to her feet. “Okay,” she says, pulling her hair back into a messy bun and straightening her apron. “But if you change your mind, I’m here.”

-----

Despite spending the rest of his shift convincing himself to ignore Natsu’s note, Gray finds himself walking down to Second Beach later that afternoon. Joel’s working until nine, so Gray calls and tells him the closest thing to the truth that he can – he's taking Bella to the beach to meet Lucy and the boys.

He convinces himself that the only reason he’s going is to apologize for his drunken mistake. It’ll be the last time they talk, because he promised Joel, and Joel trusts Gray, even when he doesn’t deserve it.

“You came!” Natsu’s face lights up as soon as he sees Gray, and he runs across the sand, dropping down to a crouch in front of Bella. She’s already hyper, so she launches herself at Natsu and starts licking his face while her tail whips back and forth.

“Bella, sit,” Gray says half-heartedly, but Natsu’s grinning and rubbing behind her ears and telling her what a good girl she is, so she ignores Gray in favor of the attention.

Eventually Gray gives up and just watches them. Considering it’s been five years, Natsu looks remarkably similar. His hair’s longer and his ears are pierced, but his smile is the same. He’s still got those freckles on his shoulders that Gray used to kiss, and the scar on his neck from the time his brother pushed him into a barbed wire fence, and...

Gray stops himself and looks away before Natsu can catch him staring.

Eventually Natsu stands up and tucks his hands into his pockets, then raises an eyebrow at Gray. “How’s your head?”

Gray snorts, tucking his hair behind his ear and shrugging. “Could be worse,” he says. “You?”

Natsu laughs, tipping his head up to watch a flock of gulls fighting each other over the scraps of somebody’s lunch. “I’ll live,” he says eventually. “I, uh... definitely haven’t had that much to drink in a while.”

Gray sighs, wishing he could just avoid this conversation entirely. “Me neither,” he says quickly. “I’m sorry I led you on. I wasn’t thinking, and I was surprised, and—”

“Hey, it’s okay,” Natsu interrupts, shaking his head. “I just... I was worried about you.”

“Well, don’t be,” Gray snaps. He exhales slowly, then shakes his head. “Sorry. It’s been a long day.”

Natsu nods, and they both stand in silence for a minute before Natsu gestures to a bench not far from them. “Can we... talk?”

“Aren’t they gonna miss you?” Gray asks, gesturing to a group of guys down at the edge of the water. He can see Sting’s spiky blond hair again – he's not in uniform, now – and a few other people that Gray vaguely recognizes from the bar last night.

“They’ll live,” Natsu says, reaching out for Gray’s hand. Gray pulls away from him, wrapping Bella’s leash around his wrist, and Natsu sighs. “Fuck, sorry. Can we... please?”

As soon as they sit down on the bench, Bella leans her head back into both of their laps, tongue lolling out of her mouth as she begs them to pet her. Natsu laughs, stroking the soft fur on top of her nose.

“What do you want to talk about?” Gray asks softly, watching a little girl chase the waves out along the beach, then giggle and run back to her mother, leaving wet footprints behind to get washed away by the next tide.

“I missed you,” Natsu says, looking sideways at Gray.

Gray snorts. “You’ve got a funny way of showing it,” he mutters, and when Natsu gives him a puzzled look, he rolls his eyes. “I haven’t heard from you in years,” Gray says, and he can’t help the bitterness that seeps into his voice. “You barely even recognized me.”

“I... what?” Natsu sounds genuinely confused, and Gray looks over at him, frowning. “Ellie, I—”

“Gray.”

“Gray, shit, sorry,” Natsu says, shaking his head. “You’re the one who stopped talking to me.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone. “Erza and I—”

“Seriously?” Gray’s trying hard to keep his voice down, but hurt and anger are coloring his words. “You both stopped talking to me when I told you I was moving here with Joel, so—”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Natsu looks so taken aback that Gray stops mid-sentence and stares at him. “You told me ‘hope life treats you well,’ then never texted me again!”

“...what?”

“Look!”

Natsu holds out his phone and Gray stares down at it, then back up at Natsu again.

“No, I...” Gray closes his eyes and runs his hand over his face. This is a mistake. He shouldn’t be here. “I have to go.”

He stands up and Natsu makes a soft sound of protest, reaching out and grabbing his wrist. Gray tries to mask a wince as he pulls away, glaring at Natsu. He doesn’t miss the way Natsu’s eyes quickly drop to his arm.

“Gray, please,” Natsu says, standing up as well. He doesn’t reach out again, but his eyes are sad. “This isn’t right, something—I didn’t abandon you, I swear to god, you have to believe me.”

“I don’t have to do anything,” Gray says, tugging on Bella’s leash. She whines at him, thumping her tail in the sand. “You can’t just show up after five years of not talking to me—”

“I have texted you a hundred times!” Natsu insists, holding out his phone again. “Gray, I don’t know what’s going on, but I promise, I— ”

Gray shakes his head, taking another step backward. He needs to leave. He promised Joel, and Natsu is dangerous. He’s the spark that’s going to burn down everything Gray has built over the last five years.

“Gray, look at me,” Natsu begs, putting his hands out placatingly. “Please, I just—something doesn’t feel right, and I’m scared for you... you’re not acting like yourself—”

“You don’t know me!” Gray shouts. Bella looks back and forth between the two of them and lets out a soft, rumbling woof, then settles down next to Gray. People are starting to stare, and Gray can’t cry, not here. “There’s nothing wrong with me, just leave me alone.”

“Please,” Natsu whispers, and Gray stares at the ground. He doesn’t want to see the confused, pitying look on Natsu’s face. “I just want to help.”

“I don’t need help,” Gray says, fingers tightening on Bella’s leash.

“You... c’mon, Gray, you’ve got bruises, and you were crying, what the hell am I supposed to think?”

“I was drunk and I fucked up,” Gray insists. “This was a mistake. I have to go.” He doesn’t look at Natsu as he whispers, “please leave me alone.”

Then he turns on his heel and walks away, biting his lips as hard as he can and trying not to cry.

[uphillbothways0621-blog]

February 9, 2019

It was windy again today- and we got some drizzles later in the evening for a change. It was a normal morning here-school, work, lunch, etc. Jax has been complaining of his arms “burning” the past few days. I have been putting lotion on them but I am thinking that the CDC didn’t put sunscreen on when they went to the pool the other day. The poor kid-his forearms are red and raw! I showed Francey a picture and she is going to bring it up at work on Tuesday.

After lunch today I had to go to the Commanders office to see the notary. I had to get something notarized for work. It was SOOOO windy. And the ocean looked so rough. Sure enough when I got home and checked there was a “small craft advisory” which translated into no fishing/boat for today. (The pictures don’t do it justice.)

This evening we had plans for the kids to have a babysitter, Graeson (man I wish I could bring her back to NJ with us!) and we were going to the Ocean View Club, aka the Snake Pit, with some friends. Barb and Maurice are PCS’ing on Monday and Francey and Lou met us as well. We took the boys to the family pool around 730 and dropped them off with Graeson. She was reffing the water polo game from 7-8. We headed next door to the Snake Pit and had a blast. It was a ton of fun-more laughs then I could have imagined.

We came home to Jax completely asleep on the one couch and Anthony half asleep on the other. Time for bed!

Xo

[crzcorgi]

Tattoo

Part of a new AU series -  Keep Calm and Love

Negan x reader (y/n - your name)

You need a job. He needs a new artist. You both need each other. But will it work?

2600 words

Warnings- Sexy aesthetic, Negan language, unprotected sex, hopefully not too tame for Negan Smut Week!

Want on or off my taglist? Just let me know!

@mypapawinchester @kijilinn @may85  @mamapeterson @flames-bring-a-ton-of-ash @negandarylsatisfaction @rapsity @strangersangel9 @wickednerdery @hannibalssweaters @ladylorelitany @angelak72081 @scarygoodfanfics @superpinkkcat @gageef @ericas-negan77 @miss-nori85 @ali-pennell @smuttwd @purplejellybean @concertxjunkie @magical-spit  @jotilpip @thedeadwalks @negantrashlucille23 @johnthackerys @pandainfinitely @xdaddy-neganx @almostinwonderland @myheart4ever47-blog @lauryphelps1d @texasgal2222  @rizflo-blog @catleesi-xo @negans-network @negansmutweek   @melodicdolls @ohmyneganimagination-twd  @kitcat44

I apologize if I forgot to tag you, Just let me know with a slap aside the head! And @#% Tumblr won’t tag everyone, I’m sorry!

  Reader’s POV

I was an artist, and least that's what I liked to believe I was. I started drawing at an early age, progressed to painting, eventually getting a degree in it. So why was I taking my friend’s advice and applying to work at a tattoo parlor?!

 “It's perfect y/n! It's art, it's fun, it pays, real money, which you desperately need!” She sounded so enthusiastic, it almost rubbed off on me. Almost.

 “Natalie, I don't know about this. Aren't most tattoo artists wild? I mean, look at me!”

 “And that is why we are going shopping before your interview. Plaid skirt with a sweater doesn't scream tattoo artist.”

 After a traumatic shopping experience. Ugh I am NEVER letting Natalie take me clothes shopping AGAIN! I was now home trying on my new outfits.

 “It's perfect y/n! I was wearing black skinny jeans, a Ramones tee and my own combat boots.

 “Can I at least wear a sweater, I'm cold!”

 “This one would be fine.”

 I laughed. “Natalie, that's old and ratty, really?!”

 “Yes, really, now get going or you'll be late!” She shoved me out the door, yelling good luck and try not to be too nerdy. Gee, thanks!

I arrived at Captain Morgan’s tattoo shop with time to spare, so I sat in my car giving myself a pep talk. You can do this y/n. Ugh.

 I exited my car, heading right into the shop.

 “Can I help you?” A very pretty young blonde greeted me.

 “Uh, I'm y/n y/l/n, I'm here for a job interview.

 “Oh, yes, just a second please.” She stepped out into the back rooms, so I started l glancing around at the tattoo artwork on the walls. There was the usual hearts, flowers, birds and tigers. But many had their own spin on them.

 I stopped at one gorgeous lotus blossom. “Wow, breathtaking.”

 “Yeah, you fucking think so? Thanks doll.”

 I swung around to see the face to match the gruff voice. He was every bit of what I expected, tee-shirt, jeans, boots, and many tattoos. I knew he was older, but lord, was he attractive, very much so. Stop drooling y/n!

 “It's gorgeous, is it your’s?”

 “Every fucking one on these walls are mine. You're here for the interview? Have you got a portfolio?”

 “Yes, I am here for the interview, but I don't have a portfolio. I just got my degree from the Maine College of Art, first in my class.”

  “While that is pretty fucking impressive doll, how am I supposed to know whether to hire you or not, without knowing if you have any fucking talent? There is quite a difference between traditional art and tattoo art”

 He came up right to me, his face just a foot from mine. His eyes were a gorgeous shade of brown, hazel? I was beyond nervous I hadn't even thought of a portfolio for this, shit, I better come up with something quick.

“How about I draw something for you right now?”

 He looked like he was thinking about it. “Hmm, I guess that might fucking work.” Suddenly, he grabbed my arm. “Who did this?” He was running his fingers over my butterfly tattoo I had on my forearm.

 “Oh, that.” His touch was causing goosebumps to break out on both of my arms. Jesus, I need to get laid if just having him touch my arm is causing such a reaction. “My friend’s father used to run a place a few towns over.”

 “Hmm, interesting. Follow me.” He dropped my arm, turning and heading out back.

 He led me out into one of the rooms. “Sit at the desk doll, I'll grab some pens.”

 I sat down, spinning around on the stool, checking out the equipment. Well, his language sure is colorful. I laughed out loud. And shit, why is he affecting me this way? Get a fucking grip girl. I laughed, not realizing just how loud.

 “Something funny doll?”

 “Uh, no, sorry, just thinking of something funny my friend said earlier.”

 “Well, okay, here you go darling, pens, pencils, whichever the fuck you prefer.” He laid the supplies down, leaning over me. Lord, help me.

  “Now, I'm going to just pick something fucking out of the air.” He glanced around the room, looking at the photos and drawings on the walls. “OK, doll, I want you to draw a baseball bat, wrapped in barbed wire, blood dripping from it, with a ring of flowers circling it.”

 “Okay, that is certainly different, and very specific.” I laughed.

 “Think you can do it?” Once again, he was very close, I could feel his breath on my neck. Ughhh.

 “Sure, realistic or more abstract?” I squeaked out.

 “Most people want their tats to be more abstract, colorful, put some of the art degree to work, doll. Make me something that will fucking knock my socks off.”

 I began drawing. At first I thought he was going to stand behind me, making me very nervous. Luckily he got a phone call and had to excuse himself.

 When I was finished, I walked out into the lobby area. He was sitting at the counter, the blonde gone.

 “Finished, doll? That was fast.” He stood up walking around the counter to come closer to me. “Let me take a look.”

 He turned, picking up a pair of glasses that were on the counter and put them on.

 I should not stare. Look away y/n, he's going to think you're a freak. Just look away.

 “This is good, real good sweetheart, I really like your style.”

 “Really? Honest?”

 He snickered, “yes, doll, really. If you want the job, it's yours, but only on one condition.”

 “Oh, okay. And that would be?” Please don't be something bad!

 “You have to let me take you out for dinner, you know, to fucking celebrate.”

 Dinner? Dinner?! I was almost shaking, calm yourself y/n!

 “Dinner would be great, and I would love the job, thank you!”

 “No need to thank me, yet. I'll pick you up at 7, that okay, doll?”

 “Yes, that's great.” I started towards the door, needing to get some fresh air.

 “Uh, doll, I kinda need your address.” He was laughing and oh my god, he has dimples.

 “Haahaa, oh yes, of course.” I wrote my address down, then turned to head out.

 “So, see you at 7 sweetheart. No need to change.” He looked me up and down, making me simultaneously a touch uncomfortable and turned on.

 “I'll be ready, and thanks.” I smiled at him, trying once again not to stare.

 “Can't wait, and like I said before, no need to fucking thank me yet.” He licked his top lip and winked at me.

 I walked outside, taking in a giant rush of fresh air. Oh boy, I am in trouble!

Negan’s POV

 I knew I should be more fucking professional, but Jesus, she did something to me. She was gorgeous, sexy and fucking talented.

  I could tell she felt something too. I wanted to make sure she did sense something, it's why I asked her out to dinner. I don't fucking force myself on a woman, but shit, if she didn't return the attraction I might have to convince her.

 It has been a long time, too long, since I had felt something, anything, for someone. Yeah, I had plenty of one night stands, getting pussy was not a problem of mine. But fuck, even I got lonely, and no one, in a long time, has made me feel like what that girl did. And I only knew her for 60 fucking minutes. Could there be something there? I am fucking nuts.

 I quickly stopped by my house to feed my pup, Bear. “Sorry bud, no walk tonight. Daddy's got a fucking date.”

 I quickly changed my shirt into a cleaner tee, then headed into the bathroom. Looking into the mirror, I sighed. Jesus, why the fuck would I think she would want me? I'm old enough to be her father. Besides, she is probably already dating someone and is only going out with me because she fucking thinks she has to to get the job.

  Goddamn if I don’t sound like a fucking teenager! Okay, enough talking shit about myself, I look great. I can get any pussy out there. I'm fucking Negan Morgan for shits sake!

 I got on my bike, headed to y/n’s house. Starting up her front walk, I noticed she was sitting on her front porch.

 “Eager for dinner, doll?”

 “I haven't eaten all day, so yeah, I guess I am.” She laughed and fuck, if I didn't want to hear more of that.

 “Well, come on, let's head out.”

 She stepped off the porch, still dressed the same, except for a different jackets.

 “Good choice doll” I took a hold of her arm, leading her to my bike.

 “Nice bike, all black, sexy.” She put her hand on the tank, rubbing back and forth.

 Hmmmmm, je-sus! I turned back to her so I could adjust myself.

 “Here’s your helmet doll.” I helped put it on her, hooking the chin strap. Shit! Her skin is so soft. I have got to keep my hands to myself.

 She looked at me with those big sweet doe eyes. “Thank you, Mr. Morgan.”

 “Negan, doll. I'm not old enough to be Mr. Morgan.” I snickered.

 “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to imply you're old.” She looked down, embarrassed.

 I couldn't help myself. Putting my hand under her chin, I lifted her face to look at me.

 “No need to apologize sweetheart, it's OK, I'm just teasing you. Let's get on.”

 I got on, then helped her up. I could tell she was hesitant to put her arms around me.

 “No need to hesitate doll. I don't bite, usually.”

  She wrapped her arms around me and goddamn if it didn't feel perfect. Shit, I was in trouble.

 When we got to Harry’s, she got off first, I missed the feel of her arms already.

 We took a seat towards the back and ordered., both of us ordering a burger and fries.

 “I like a woman that eats real fucking food.”

 “Well, I do enjoy a salad now and again, but in case you didn't notice, I like to eat. “ She giggled, glancing at my through her fucking perfect eyelashes.

 “Not sure what you mean doll?”

 “Mr., I mean, Negan, I'm not exactly skinny.”

 “Let me tell you something sweetheart. I prefer to look at, talk to, something with substance.” I took ahold of her hands.

 She stared up at me, I stared back. “You feel it to doll?”

 “Mmhmm”

 I stood up, never letting go of her hands. We walked over to the bar where I paid, making our way outside, fast.

 I backed her up against the building, grasping her face. “Are you okay, with this?”

 “Yes, I…never…”

 “It's okay doll, I know.”

Reader’s POV

  The kiss started out soft, sweet, like testing the waters. His tongue, begging for entrance, which I granted. It quickly became more heated, tongues dancing, tasting, intertwined. His hands moved down, grasping my ass. Mine went around his neck, playing with the curls.

When we came apart for a breathe, he spoke.

 “We need to get out of here, now.” I soon felt what he meant, as he brushed his groin against me.

 “Yes, please.” I gasped out.

 I hardly remember the ride back, my head too full of what if’s, I shouldn't, but I quickly shut them down when we arrived back at my house and he picked me up. I had never felt so right, so at home, in someone's arms before.

 He put me down when we got to my door so I could retrieve my key. But he held me from behind, kissing my neck, rubbing his hands all over my ass.

 “God doll, I don't know what the fuck you've done to me. Shit.”

 When we got inside, I had barely turned around and he was on me.

  “Bedroom now doll.”  

  “Up the stairs, second door on the left.” Just as I answered him, he picked me up, tossing me over his shoulder as if I weighed nothing.

 He grabbed a hold of my ass, causing me to squeak.

 “Goddamn doll, this ass is perfection. Mmhmm!”

 We reached my room and I slid down off his shoulder. What the fuck am I doing? I never do this kind of thing, especially with my future boss!

 He placed his arms around me. “You okay doll? Second guessing? Want me to leave? Although I don't know how fucking far I will get with this.” He smirked, grabbing at his crotch. “But I am nothing if not a fucking gentleman, I'll go if that's what you want.” He sat down, picking up one of my stuffed animals.

 “No, don't go. It's just, I don't know. Is this okay?” I pointed to the two of us. “Not only have I never done this, but I've never felt what I'm feeling for anyone, especially this soon, this quick. Know what I mean?” I sat down next to him, grabbing my stuffie from him.

 He laughed. “First off, if you're concerned about your job, don't be. I was fucking impressed by your work, very much so. As fucking attracted as I am to you, that is not why I hired you. It's not how I do business.” He leaned over, placing loose hair behind my ear, then kissing it. “And believe me, I am super fucking attracted to you doll.”

 Throwing caution, and morals, to the wind, I got up and stood in front of him. I moved to straddle his legs, settling down on his lap. I grabbed his neck pulling his head closer, while leaning down.

 We began kissing, the hard and hungry kind, nipping each other's lips, tongues. Coming up for air, I slipped my tee off, tossing behind me. Negan made an obscene sounding groan,  which only spurred me on.  I unhooked my bra, letting it fall between us.

 “Holy shit doll! I didn't think you could become any more fucking beautiful. Those are certainly one glorious pair of tits, mmhmm!” He instantly latched onto one, twirling the neglected nipple in his fingers.

 I began the groaning now. I started grinding into him, wanting, needing to feel more. I reached down, unzipping, unbuttoning his jeans, placing my hand inside and gasping out loud when I realized just how large he was.

 He whispered in my ear, “Keep calm, dont worry baby, I'll fit just perfect.”

 “Why don't you show me then.”

 Everything became a blur of ripping off clothing, covers flying, skin on skin. And he was not lying, he fit perfectly, oh so fucking perfect.

 “Negan…oh…god…”

 He grunted, growled. “I know baby, I know. Come with me.”

 And we did, screaming each others names and every deity known to man. I could feel every drop of his hot seed pulse into me. I could feel his muscles rippling, I could feel my own, tensing, releasing. Our skin, so damp, wet with sweat, clinging to each other. I felt like I could stay like this, forever.

Negan’s POV

 We just laid there, her cuddled into me, so soft, so sweet smelling. Jesus, I could be like this forever.

 Her eyes were closed, her breathing even. Not risking waking her up, I lightly began rubbing her back with one hand, the other stroking her face. She was absolutely breathtaking, every dream I had ever had, perfection.

 “Negan?” She whispered.

 “Yes, doll?”

 “Stay?”

 “I don't plan on going anywhere baby.”

 She smiled, grasping onto me tightly, a sweet sigh escaping her lips.

 I'm not going anywhere but where you are.

[artificialqueens]

Me and You Together, 7/10 (Taywhora) - Ortega

fic summary: The cardinal rule of having flatmates is that you Do Not Catch Feelings For Your Flatmates, because everything inevitably goes to shit and gets made horrifically awkward. A’whora and Tayce both know this, but being in first year of uni and making good decisions have never really gone hand in hand.

a/n: thank u so so much for all the continued love and support on this!!!! i am absolute dogshit at replying to comments but i do see them all and screech at everty single one, so thank you sosososO much for every like, ask, reply and reblog! in this chapter u all get some answers to the questions the last chapter brought up........apologies if ur not keen on them though xo

last chapter: the girls broke their own rules and had their own kind of kitchen "afterparty" after Lawrence's friend's flat party, but Tayce couldn't give A'whora the answers she desperately wanted.

this chapter: tensions run high in block 4 flat 10, as feelings struggle to stay hidden and truths begin to surface.

***

A’whora is happy.

Really, why would she not be? She gets to hang out with and sleep with the girl that’s been on her mind for months and months and months. They go out for drinks with the others and fall into bed together afterwards, steal glances at each other in the kitchen which end in holding hands and pulling each other into one of their bedrooms. They’re incredible and intense and their chemistry rages like a fire and A’whora can never get enough.

The thing about Tayce paying for brunch on Valentine’s day is that they’re caught in a cycle of having to pay each other back, one that A’whora doesn’t ever want to break. They go for lunch after lectures and treat each other to dinner and walk around the city together where they look through the windows of the designer shops and gawk at the bags and shoes. Tayce brought her car up from Newport at the end of last month and she’s driven A’whora anywhere and everywhere too, day trips to the beach and the forest and the huge reservoir just outside the city. They smile at each other across tables and link arms when they walk and laugh and chat like it’s easy. It is easy. It’s nice and it’s comfortable and it feels right.

They’ve started sleeping over too, sometimes. If it’s late and they’re both that sleepy, overwhelmed way after they’ve tired each other out, Tayce will chuck A’whora one of her huge t-shirts and a pair of pyjama shorts and they’ll curl up together, Tayce spooning her with her arm around her waist and resting on her tummy. It’s strange- A’whora’s always felt a little self-conscious of her stomach, the way it isn’t flat like a supermodel’s despite the fact she knows that’s not how human bodies work. But when Tayce is holding her like that she doesn’t feel embarrassed or ashamed; just appreciated and protected, like she’s as beautiful as Tayce tells her all the time.

It’s funny knowing how Tayce sleeps: the way she flops over onto her side and stretches out in the middle of the night, the way A’whora will sometimes get an arm to the face or a kick to the shin; because if a single bed isn’t enough for the pair of them at the best of times it’s certainly not enough to accommodate Tayce trying to spread her entire body over every square centimetre of it while unconscious. What’s equally strange is having Tayce know how she sleeps too. A’whora’s always been a sleeptalker, she knows this, but it gives sleeping next to Tayce a new element of terror any time she wakes up to her giggling, telling her the stupid things she’d been saying punctuated by forehead kisses. A’whora worries that one night she’ll say something she’s deliberately been keeping hidden.

Because even though she’s happy...she’d be lying if she said she doesn’t want more. Not much more. Just to be able to call Tayce hers properly. She would love to tell Tayce just how much she likes her; more than a friend, more than a friend with benefits.

“Why don’t you just be honest with her?” Ellie had asked, when they’d gone for a debrief drink together after a lecture that had ended at six at night.

They’d had a couple of these kinds of drinks; the first being the evening of Valentine’s day after Ellie and Lawrence had inadvertently walked in on them both. Ellie had practically dragged A’whora to the nearest bar and demanded to know details, something in her sparkling eyes growing dull after A’whora had told her it had been going on for over a month. A’whora had felt guilty- aside from Tayce, Ellie is her best friend in the flat, and not telling her about what had been happening between her and Tayce had admittedly felt weird. It was clear that keeping it from Ellie had hurt her too even if she didn’t say it, and even after A’whora had apologised twice she’d still felt guilty even though Ellie had batted her away with a ���don’t be silly!’ and ‘it’s fine!’.

To make up for it, A’whora has let Ellie be her agony aunt about all things Tayce-related ever since. Which has been great, until she gives her ridiculous suggestions like telling Tayce how she feels.

A’whora remembers scrunching her face up as she sipped her too-strong cocktail, shaking her head in a no . “There’s no way. I’m not risking her telling me she doesn’t feel the same, are you insane?! It’d totally ruin the friendship.”

Ellie had choked on her drink in a laugh, rushing to explain herself to A’whora as she gulped. “Babe. You’re literally shagging without putting a label on it. You ruined the friendship a long time ago.”

A’whora had shared the laugh but something heavy and uncomfortable had settled itself in her gut in response to Ellie’s words.

It’s the same feeling that settles in her gut whenever Tayce reacts to Lawrence’s jokes. On the whole, the reaction from the others to her and Tayce sleeping together has been relatively muted- Bimini will just smirk at them every so often, a knowing smile on their face, while Tia will just grin at them all dippy and tell them that they’re cute- but Lawrence has really gone off the deep end. She sends memes to the flat group chat about them (a screenshot of her Google searching ‘can you write fanfiction about your flatmates’ springs to mind) and will constantly poke fun at the apparent ever-present sexual tension between the pair of them.

A’whora knows Lawrence doesn’t do it to be malicious; it’s half borne out of jealousy, as A’whora knows by now how much she’s infatuated with Ellie. If she’s being honest, she actually doesn’t mind the jokes. Even though they’re a bit embarrassing, they serve as a little illustration to A’whora that she and Tayce are in this together. Lawrence joking about the pair of them is like a validation; that they’re good together, that they work, that they’re seen as a unit by others. It’s silly, but it’s almost contributing to the argument that they should be together for real. That they should be girlfriends.

Girlfriends. Even just thinking about being Tayce’s girlfriend sends 100 volts through A’whora’s bloodstream.

But Tayce doesn’t seem to appreciate Lawrence’s jokes like A’whora does. At first Tayce had given them a courtesy snort, the sort of reaction an adult would give a child telling a weak knock-knock joke. But the more jokes Lawrence makes, the less time Tayce seems to have for them. She’s started firing back with biting quips of her own about Lawrence’s own single situation, balls of rolled-up barbed wire lobbed at a friend just trying to take the piss. Of course, Lawrence being Lawrence sees that Tayce is bothered by the jokes and uses this as an invitation to continue making them. She enjoys winding her friends up because it always comes from a place of love, and A’whora knows this. She knows they’re just jokes.

She doesn’t get why Tayce doesn’t appreciate them the same as she does. The wondering puts doubts in her head, ones she wishes weren’t there.

A’whora’s glad, then, when the heat is off them and on the other couple in the flat- the official one, that is. It’s an ordinary Thursday evening and Lawrence is rifling through the fridge looking for something to make for dinner from the sorry selection of food in the fridge. Bimini is perched on one of the sofas with their head in their phone smiling slightly at the screen as they type, and Ellie is at the other end with her head in one of the books she needs to read for her course, a frown deep on her face and her mouth moving silently as she tackles each line. A’whora is cuddled up next to Tayce on the other sofa, both of them on their laptops as they allegedly begin research for their final essay of the year but are simply using it as a guise to watch old Vivienne Westwood runway shows.

It’s calm and it’s quiet and it’s chilled until Tia nearly boots the fire door down, an excitable smile on her face like a puppy as she carries her open laptop in her hands, Veronica in tow behind her.

“Ladies and gentlethem, a moment of your time please!” she announces with a grand gesture, making all heads snap her way. Having got everyone’s attention, Tia places the laptop on the dining table and claps her hands together with pride. “I’ve decided...I’m running for activities officer in the student elections!”

There’s a small cry of delight from the girls, but the moment is short-lived as Bimini snorts a laugh from the sofa. Horrified at this out-of-character unkind moment from her friend, A’whora whips her head around only to find Bimini’s head still in their phone. Suddenly realising eyes are on them, Bimini blushes red, flinching a little as they look up.

“Shit, sorry. Just Asttina...sent something funny. Anyway, sorry, activities? G’wan, girl, you’ll nail it!”

Veronica pipes up with pride beside her girlfriend. “Oh, she absolutely will with what we’ve just put together. Come see!”

Intrigued, A’whora shares an amused gaze with Tayce as they slide off the sofa, gathering round the laptop with the others and waiting with bated breath as Veronica hits play, Tia standing bashfully beside her.

What follows is what can only be described as a hallucinogenic trip. It’s Tia standing in the middle of the campus square as Tik Tok by Ke$ha plays in the background, and a second later she begins singing.

“ Wake up in the morning thinking we need more, we need more space, we need more storage, we need more sup-port…”

“STOP!” Lawrence yells with delight, reaching out and clutching Tia’s arm in excitement.

A’whora, for her part, genuinely can’t tell if it’s the most iconic thing she’s ever seen or a total disaster. The campaign video rolls on with Tia singing the parody of the song as a soundtrack to her popping up around campus; in the union, in lecture theatres, in the square outside the graduation hall. She can’t quite believe it when it reaches the chorus, though, and Tia, Veronica, and a couple more students start dancing in what appears to be the library foyer.

“ Vote Tia for Activities if you want bet-ter facilities, it’s al-right, I’mma fight for more events on inter-site…”

“Oh, Tia. What is this?” Tayce giggles beside A’whora. She doesn’t miss the glare Ellie shoots her way.

“Shut up, ya shady cow! I think it’s brilliant.”

“Did you just get random fuckers off the street to do that dance with you?” Bimini inquires patiently.

“They’re my flatmates. You’ve met them,” Veronica explains, not without an edge of irritation.

The video continues for the full duration of the song, and when it’s over A’whora has to fight every shady urge she possesses and clap for Tia, because she does look proud of what she and Veronica have made, even if it’s making A’whora cringe so much she feels her muscles constrict.

“Fuckin’ brilliant babes. You’ll walk it wi’ that,” Lawrence thumps Tia on the back encouragingly. Her face turns scheming as she opens her mouth again. “When you do become the activities officer, d’you think you could officiate some kind of anti-sickness pill for whenever Tayce and A’whora start cuddling on the sofa?”

A’whora can’t help the laugh she blurts out as she curls her fingers around Tayce’s. Tayce’s don’t wrap around hers in the same way. Instead she stiffens, smiles falsely at her flatmate.

“Yeah, Tia, do you think you could officiate some sort of anti-bullshit procedure for whenever Lawrence opens her bloody gob?”

“Aw, alright, alright. I’ve clearly touched a nerve,” Lawrence protests apologetically, but the twinkle in her eye suggests there’s more to come. “Although not as many as A’whora’s touched, clearly, aren’t there 8,000 of them in the clit?”

“Lawrence!” A’whora yells in outrage, but she’s laughing like the others are in spite of herself. Her heart drops though when Tayce tugs her hand away, crosses the room briskly to the hall door and wrenches it open, gone before she knows it.

All that’s left is a silence as awkward as it’s long.

Bimini bites their lip as they move first. “I’ll go talk to her.”

A’whora frowns. “Should I-”

“Best to leave it a bit, yeah?” Bimini advises apologetically, opening the door gentler than Tayce had before they disappear.

The silence only resumes for a second before it’s Ellie that breaks it.

“Lawrence!” she hisses, narrowing her eyes at her. Lawrence’s mouth drops open, shocked as she is offended.

“What the hell did I do?!”

Ellie gives a derisive laugh before A’whora can even say anything. “Are you joking?! You keep winding her up and it’s so obvious she doesn’t like it. You need to stop that shit.”

“Would you chill out? Tayce will be fine in about five minutes. The girl’s got a life threatening case of cannae-take-a-joke-itis and she fell and bruised her pride. I didn’t fucking...come in her mouth.”

Ellie gives a colossal roll of her eyes, folds her arms over her chest. “Cut the jokes out for a goddamn minute. You’ve hurt your friend’s feelings, are you not even going to go see what’s up with her?”

Lawrence gives a light shrug, unbothered. “Aw, listen to yourself! You’re being so overdramatic, Tayce is my friend, it’s just banter. She knows I don’t mean it. Anyway, it’s not like A’whora minds!”

“Well a relationship consists of two people, Lawrence. Not that you’d know,” Ellie snaps. Her bluntness shocks A’whora and she’s vaguely aware of Tia and Veronica making a slow, awkward exit from the room, but this doesn’t stop Lawrence from firing back.

“Aw, says little miss loved-up herself? Where’s your fuckin’ other half then, eh? Since you know so much about relationships, clearly?”

For a moment, Ellie’s face is slapped with a look of pure hurt. It’s clear she didn’t expect Lawrence to match her energy, hit her with words she doesn’t mean just like Ellie has done to her. But then her expression steels and her jaw sets tight before her mouth opens again. “I might not have a boyfriend or a fucking girlfriend but at least I have the common sense and emotional range not to rip the piss out of my flatmates’ fragile fucking friends with benefits setup!?”

Lawrence scowls back, shakes her head with derision. “You know what, maybe you would have somebody if you didn’t spend half your fucking life moping about your flatmate, who by the way, is in love with her girlfriend and has been for fucking months!”

“Well at least I have feelings! What the fuck are you, a joke book in a skin suit?” Ellie retorts quickly.

All of a sudden it looks like part of Lawrence crumbles. Shutters fly down behind her eyes and A’whora can see Ellie regrets her words. It’s too late, though, because they’re out, and before Ellie can say anything else Lawrence is turning to A’whora and laughing with a sneer.

“Jesus Christ, who left the gate to the cunt farm open?!”

“Fuck you, Lawrence,” Ellie spits, before storming towards the door just as Tayce had done minutes earlier.

All that’s left is A’whora, Lawrence, and a tense silence. A’whora bites her lip. She knows she should go after Ellie, and she will. But Lawrence is standing rooted to the spot, her eyes trained on the door Ellie’s just left through, and they’re drowning in a deep regret.

“Lawrence,” A’whora starts, making to comfort her even though her mind is still on Tayce and what the matter with her is too.

“A’whora, it’s fine. I’m not arsed,” Lawrence waves her away, crossing the room to the kitchen. “Well, the human fucking joke book is gonny go make her dinner, if you’re wanting a bowl? I’m just making bolognese-”

“Babe,” A’whora cuts in again, without really knowing what she can say. Just then the door opens again and her heart rises with the thought that Tayce might be on the other side of it, but it’s Tia and Veronica, concern on both their faces.

“Sorry. We thought it was best to give you both a minute,” Tia explains, hovering nervously with her girlfriend at the door. “Is everything okay?”

“It’s fine, Tia,” Lawrence sighs, her back turned and her shoulders heavy as she grips the side of the countertop. “I’ve just…”

There’s a pause that’s left lingering in the air like a heavy fog that not one of them can see clearly through.

“...fucked it with the girl I’ve liked for two years.”

A’whora watches Tia’s face contort in recognition. “...Ellie?”

As Lawrence sighs, her shoulders sag. “Yeah.”

Tia blinks, appeals to Veronica as if she would have any more of an idea. “Oh, Loz. I never knew.”

“To be fair, you’ve been pretty wrapped up in tiny blonde puppy love since the end of January,” A’whora says, unable to muster up the joy or good humour to make it into the joke it’s intended to be.

“Well if she was never going to see me as anything more than a friend before, she definitely isny going to now,” Lawrence says quietly, shuffling her feet as she moves to the fridge. “Especially since she’s got her heart set on someone else.”

“Who?” Veronica asks. A’whora holds her breath. Tia and Veronica clearly hadn’t heard what Lawrence and Ellie had said when they’d been arguing. If Lawrence is angry at Ellie for the things she’s said, now would be the perfect time to throw her under the bus, to make things awkward between her and Tia.

But Lawrence just shakes her head as she starts taking out her ingredients for dinner. “It’s not anyone you’d know. Someone we know from back home.”

A’whora takes the opportunity to distract the two girls, namely since her head is beginning to fill up with worst-case-scenarios involving Tayce. “Did you two hear Bim come out of Tayce’s room at all?”

Veronica shakes her head at the same time Tia speaks. “They’re still in there.”

A’whora nibbles on a little ragged nail on her right hand. Is Tayce annoyed at Lawrence or is she actually annoyed at her ? She doesn’t know what she’s meant to have done. Lawrence’s joke was lukewarm, fair enough, but she can’t help but think about Tayce’s reluctance to take her hand, the way she didn’t even crack a smile at the joke.

She shakes her head to clear her mind and moves to the kitchen door at the same time. If Tayce is busy with Bimini, she’s at least going to be there for her other close friend in the flat. “I’m going to go talk to Ellie.”

Before anyone (Lawrence) can protest, A’whora’s making her way down the hall and knocking on Ellie’s door. There’s a rapid snuffling before a thud of heavy, irked footsteps on the other side, and then the door is thrown open to reveal Ellie; mascara smudged, eyes red, and her mouth set in a line of irritation before her expression softens when she realises it’s A’whora.

“Can I come in?”

Ellie relents and opens the door, snuffling as she pads back to her bed and grabs the soft and well-worn Piglet plushie from on top of it, curls up into the foetal position, and thuds her head against the pillow.

“I just wanted to see if you were okay,” A’whora says softly, crossing the room and sitting down on the edge of Ellie’s bed beside her. “Obviously, like...things were said.”

“Obviously,” Ellie snorts out snarkily. A’whora narrows her eyes at her before realising Ellie’s got tears in hers, and her voice is thick with upset as she speaks again. “Fuck...I’m just so hurt and angry but I feel so guilty at the same time? I know I was nasty to Lawrence, and I know we argue all the time but this was different. This was real, and I hurt her, and…”

Ellie sniffs and wipes her nose on the back of Piglet’s ear. A’whora fights with every embryo she possesses not to screw up her face at the action.

“But fuckin’ hell, Lawrence...she hurt me too, you know? I mean she knows how much I liked Tia, and it’s taking me a while to get over her, and fuck, I know that’s stupid because we didn’t even go out, but like...I fucking take things to heart, you know? I care, and it’s not my fault she’s never cared about anybody other than herself.”

“Lawrence cares about you,” A’whora says, and it’s out before she knows it. She bites her lip as if to prevent any more words from coming out, but if Ellie’s picked up on her transgression she doesn’t show it. Ellie’s scowling as she sits up in bed, fixes A’whora with a disbelieving glare.

“She’s got a funny fucking way of showing it, then, doesn’t she? Lawrence’s default is just joke, joke, joke, deflect, and then joke some more. She’s incapable of being serious.”

“Ellie…” A’whora tries to interrupt. She doesn’t know what she wants to say, and she doesn’t know how she can make Ellie understand without revealing Lawrence’s secret. All she knows is that her exasperation at Ellie’s blindness and Lawrence’s moping is reaching a boiling point, and she’s never been so dangerously close to letting things spill.

“I mean I know that joke book in a skin suit thing was harsh, but she said it first, not me! She said that ages ago on my birthday night out, when I’d been upset about Tia and she was trying to cheer me up. And she’d said she had a heart underneath it all but fuck that, she doesn’t know the first thing about feelings.”

“Ellie-”

“Do you know of all the years we’ve been friends, she’s never once told me about anyone she likes? I mean I’ve told her every single time I like someone new. But it’s like, if she can’t even open up to me, who’s like, her oldest friend, then really who the fuck will she open up to-”

“Ellie! For fuck’s sake, listen!” A’whora cuts in, exasperated and at her wit’s end and still all too aware of the fact Tayce ran from the kitchen and hasn’t returned or attempted to see her. Squeezing her eyes shut and apologising to Lawrence in her head in case this goes disastrously wrong, A’whora opens her mouth again. “Lawrence likes you. Properly.”

It’s only when it’s out that A’whora feels the drop in her stomach, not least because she’s questioning how loud she actually blurted the whole thing out. She wants to say it’s worth it from the way Ellie’s left silent, slack-jawed and wide-eyed, but the possibility that she’s just completely wrecked a friendship only makes the guilt and dread sink in her stomach like a stone in a canal.

“I…” A’whora begins, unable to formulate her words properly for the upteenth time that day. She wishes she could be more like Bimini- think first, speak after- and, with a stab to her heart, she imagines what Tayce could be telling them in her room, how she could be opening up to Bimini in a way she couldn’t with her.

“Well,” Ellie finally formulates, her mouth still wide like a goldfish’s. “That’s, um. Unexpected information.”

There’s another silence where A’whora is just about to apologise, but then Ellie speaks again, wiping her eyes with her tears now completely gone. “Did she tell you this?”

A’whora scuffs her foot awkwardly, bites her lip before she lets her words out. “Lawrence told Tayce a while back. And Tayce told me. But nobody else knows, I don’t think.”

Ellie exhales heavily. “Okay. Good.”

There’s another pause where A’whora reaches out and takes Ellie’s hand. “Babe, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to ruin anything-”

“No, you’ve not. It’s just…” Ellie looks up to the ceiling, then squeezes her eyes shut. “...fuck, it’s complicated.”

A’whora’s stomach stops twisting with anxiety at Ellie’s words, and instead she finds her eyes widening a little as her curiosity is piqued. Ellie clearly notices her response and huffs a little sigh, tense and anxious and reluctant to reveal what it is that’s bothering her.

“Like...two years ago? Three years ago? A while back, anyway...I had feelings for Lawrence,” Ellie mutters into her plushie, and A’whora can’t stop the way she gasps Panto-style in shock. She would never have guessed that at all- in fact at times Ellie's friendship with Lawrence seemed one based on mutual exasperation- so to know that she had once felt the same about her friend is a revelation to say the least.

A’whora’s managed to elicit a smile from Ellie at her over-the-top reaction, and it seems to prompt her to keep going. “We were still in high school and we lived on opposite sides of the country...it would never have worked, and fifteen-year-old me knew that despite what I wrote in my diary and the initials I drew hearts round in my notebooks. So my feelings just ended up...dying off, I guess. We ended up being friends, and that’s been fine, you know? It’s not like I’ve been hiding a crush from her for years. But now...knowing she feels like that about me...it’s weird. It’s like all those feelings from when I was fifteen…”

“...have all come flooding back because you know Lawrence is a possibility for you now,” A’whora finishes for her, completely in sync with how Ellie’s rationalising things. Ellie rapidly points at her and nods emphatically.

“That’s exactly it! It’s strange. Like even though I know she’s my friend and nothing’s changed between us...I know I’m blushing, I can feel it, and my stomach’s got wee nervous butterflies. For fuck’s sake,” Ellie shakes her head in exasperation, covers her face with her hands. “It’s so embarrassing. And it’s awkward? What the hell am I meant to do, just go through there after a bust-up and be like ‘oh by the way, heard you fancy me’ ?”

A’whora hums in understanding. She thinks for a moment, both girls sharing a comfortable silence that’s cushioned by the secret that’s just been shared. And then she speaks. If only she’d had the wherewithal to do things in that order when she’d been with Tayce.

“You don’t need to do anything about it now. I’d say re-establish the friendship first. Sit on it for a bit,” she says. “See how you feel about her knowing what you know now as time goes by a bit.”

“Yeah,” Ellie nods slowly. She smiles gently, squeezes A’whora’s hand in gratitude. “Thanks, chick. I’m lucky to have made you as a friend.”

A’whora smiles back in affirmation, and she’s about to say the same when the door to Ellie’s room cracks open a little to reveal Bimini on the other side.

“Sorry to interrupt,” they say, apologetic and quiet. “I’m off round to Asttina’s. Just thought I should let you know so you could go talk to Tayce, A’whora.”

“Oh, okay. Thanks, Bim,” A’whora frowns minutely, a little thrown by their phrasing. She’s about to dig a little deeper when Ellie interrupts, a mischievous smile on her face as she addresses her other flatmate.

“Bimini, what’s actually going on between you and her? I know a lady never tells, but what about an enby?”

“Depends ‘ow much wine you put in ‘em. Laters,” Bimini winks, tuning on their heel and letting the door shut behind them. It leaves A’whora and Ellie alone to laugh, and then fall into a comfortable silence.

“I know you’ll want to talk to Tayce. I’ll maybe phone Anne. Talk this fucking...Eastenders episode of my life through with them,” Ellie laughs, shaking her head in disbelief and running her hands down her face. A’whora’s thankful for her permission, and she gives her hand a squeeze in return as she slips off the edge of the bed, pads softly to the door.

“Wish me luck. Got a feeling I’ll need it.”

Ellie bats her away flippantly. “‘Course you won’t. It’s Tayce. She’s so bloody gone for you it’s ridiculous.”

As A’whora smiles shyly and waves Ellie goodbye for now, she really hopes her friend is right.

The walk to Tayce’s room from Ellie’s is only a matter of metres, but with every step A’whora takes it only seems to drag longer, the mixture of apprehension and dread a deadly cocktail in her gut. She finds herself replaying Lawrence’s joke and her own reaction to it in her head, trying to figure out what she’s done wrong. She can’t come up with anything. So why does she feel responsible?

Finally reaching Tayce’s door she knocks gently and hesitantly, everything in her body tense as she waits to hear the yell of permission to enter. What comes instead is a come in that’s so muted A’whora’s left wondering if it’s even Tayce’s voice at all. She pushes the door anyway just in case, and as it slowly opens it reveals Tayce sitting on her bed with her knees up to her chest and her phone in her hand, her thumbs twisting furiously as she taps out a message on the screen.

Presumably a message to her friends back home about how much she now hates her. Good.

Tayce’s gaze flicks up from the screen when she enters, and unlike in Ellie’s room where she chose to sit on the end of the bed, A’whora remains at the door. “Hey. Am I alright to come in?”

Tayce gives a disinterested shrug. “Free country.”

A’whora feels her shoulders sag in response. Well, we’re off to a great start here.

Trying not to get too disheartened too quickly, A’whora moves to sit on the chair at Tayce’s desk. On top of it are scattered sketches, pieces of paper with little brush strokes of paint samples that resemble the colours cast against a wall when a diamond catches the light. In amongst the clutter of creativity, the scraps of insight into Tayce’s mind, A’whora’s eyes are caught by a sketch of a girl she thinks looks a lot like her.

“What’s up?” Tayce tugs her out of her observations, reminding A’whora why she’s here.

“Uh, just wondering what that was all about in the kitchen there,” A’whora checks her nails, picks at one of her cuticles nervously. “Just wanted to check you were alright.”

As A’whora looks up, she finds Tayce with her eyes still on her phone and her eyebrows raised. Her body language is tense as she nods slowly. “Mhm. I’m fine.”

A’whora can’t help the exasperated laugh she gives, finally prompting Tayce to look up from her phone with annoyance. “Tayce, come off it. You never hide how you feel. You practically held a UN summit that time Tia accidentally knocked your chicken shawarma on the kitchen floor. Look, don’t take anything Lawrence says too seriously, you know she just does it for a reaction.”

“I’m not annoyed at Lawrence,” Tayce says almost immediately, throwing her head back against her pillows and staring up at the ceiling before covering her face with her hands.

A’whora’s stomach feels tight. She’s never seen Tayce this in her own head. Normally she’s honest about her feelings, upfront and real. Throughout their whole situation together, Tayce has always been open about the fact that they’re only hooking up, that they’re just friends that happen to have good sex, to the extent where it sometimes hurts A’whora’s own feelings. It doesn’t make sense that she’s in such turmoil about a pathetic joke.

“So you’re…” A’whora puts the pieces together, frowns at her deeply. “...what, annoyed at me?”

Tayce doesn’t reply. Her hands are still over her face. A’whora’s gut ties itself in a knot.

“How come? What have I done?” she asks, instantly hating how pathetic her words sound as soon as they’re out of her mouth.

“I just feel humiliated, alright, A’whora?” Tayce sighs exasperatedly, hands suddenly launching themselves away from her face. She won’t look at her. “I’m sick of being embarrassed while you laugh along with the shitty jokes like an idiot. There. Happy?”

A’whora’s bottom lip sticks out in response to Tayce’s words, feeling like she’s been punched in the stomach. It’s the delivery that’s almost worse; Tayce isn’t a shouter, and her anger isn’t loud, instead quiet and muted and so out of character. Her annoyance clashes so violently with the way she expresses other emotions that it knocks A’whora for six. She’s confused and she’s hurt and that feeling of dread just won’t go away.

“Tayce, I can’t...I can’t apologise to you and make up if I don’t know what I’m apologising for. I’m really sorry I’ve made you feel like shit but...I don’t get how me laughing at Lawrence’s stupid jokes has affected you that badly?”

“Brilliant. Because famously any apology that’s followed by a “but” is always an award winner,” Tayce finally looks at her through narrowed eyes, sarcasm dripping from her words.

“You’re being unfair,” A’whora says, unable to help the way she glares back at Tayce. The upset and the guilt is slowly being mixed with frustration and irritation, the emotions seeping together like watercolour paints down a drain when Tayce washes her paintbrushes. “I want to give you a proper apology, but I can’t if you don’t tell me what I’ve done wrong. You’re this upset over me laughing at a couple of jokes? I don’t buy it. Tayce, what are you not telling me?”

Tayce gives a laugh of irritated disbelief, launches herself up to a sitting position. “Oh my God, do you hear yourself? You’re literally telling me I’m not allowed to be as annoyed as I am about the situation? ‘You can’t be this upset over a couple of jokes’, well what if I am?”

A’whora falls quiet, but she can feel the fury bubbling in her blood, simmering under her skin until there’s goosebumps forming on her arms and she has to fold them across her chest, hoping that the slight hug she’s giving herself is going to make her feel better. She bites her lip as she flounders in her thoughts, not quite drowning but not quite keeping her head above water either. She needs some coherency. Nothing seems to make sense.

“Tayce, please. What is going on? You’ve been off with me for a while,” A’whora sighs helplessly. A little puzzle piece slots itself together in her brain, a small speck of clarity in the chaos of her thoughts. “In fact things haven’t been the same since everyone found out about us.”

“Don’t just start making shit up,” Tayce shakes her head, but her voice is quieter and with less conviction than it held previously. It sounds as if even she doesn’t believe what she’s saying.

It’s with this that A’whora seems to find another puzzle piece, and then another, and then another, until they all fall together as a clearer picture with only perhaps one or two bits still missing. The fact Tayce hates the jokes. The fact Tayce gets embarrassed when A’whora laughs at them. The fact Tayce only seems to be herself when they’re together just the two of them.

“Oh my God,” A’whora says quietly, realisation making her face drop. “You hate that people know.”

“You know what? Yeah. I kind of do,” Tayce’s voice is heavy with exasperation, and she huffs another sigh that seems to rip through her whole body. The irritation flares up at A’whora’s heart again like a pilot light, and she feels her hands fly out wildly and her voice raise as she speaks again.

“Christ, Tayce, well if the idea of the others knowing we’re shagging is such an embarrassing prospect to you then where the fuck do we go from here?!”

Tayce shakes her head, rubbing her forehead with a free hand. “I never said that.”

“You didn’t have to. So what now, then? What, you just want us to stop?”

And then it’s only in the way Tayce avoids her gaze and the silence of the pause that follows that A’whora feels her worst fear launch itself into the forefront of her mind, so visceral and powerful that it seems to grab her throat in a chokehold, rendering her incapable of saying anything more.

Another puzzle piece falls into place. The fact that the reason A’whora secretly likes Lawrence’s jokes is the same reason why Tayce doesn’t; because they’re a reminder that, for all intents and purposes, that they’re together, that they’re seen as a unit.

Maybe Tayce doesn’t want that.

A’whora finally speaks again, her voice plaintive and small as it breaks the silence like a mirror. “Tayce?”

Just as Tayce exhales, runs a hand through her hair, and opens her mouth to speak, there’s a cataclysmic screech from down the corridor in the direction of the kitchen, followed by a litany of swearing in a voice that couldn’t be anyone but Lawrence’s. They both immediately look at each other in horror and, even though there’s still a sick feeling of dread in A’whora’s stomach, she shoots up from her seat and opens the door to Tayce’s room. As she runs down the corridor urgently, Tayce is following after her.

What they find in the kitchen is nothing short of chaos; Tia and Veronica are standing in the middle of the room helplessly while Ellie stands near Lawrence in the same way a lion tamer would approach a lion, as Lawrence hisses and growls and clutches her hand. It soon registers to A’whora what’s happened judging from the blood on the countertops, the blood on the kitchen knife, the blood on a half-chopped carrot, and the blood that’s currently flowing out of either Lawrence’s fingers or her hand (A’whora doesn’t want to look hard enough to check).

“What in the name of Christ has happened here?!” Tayce asks quickly, as Lawrence looks at her with exasperation.

“I don’t know, Tayce, I’m no Taggart, but it would appear I’ve sliced my fucking finger off!” she bites back sarcastically, tears of pain in the corners of her eyes as Ellie tries to hand her the kitchen tea towel. Lawrence looks at it as if Ellie may as well have handed her a toddler’s shit-filled nappy. “Not the tea towel, are you off your nut?! I cannae mind the last time we washed that. I’ve sliced through my fucking finger, I don’t want to add sepsis into the fuckin' mix!”

“I’m just trying to help!” Ellie fires back, equal parts hurt, worried and cross.

“I’ll get a clean towel,” Tia says quickly, running through to her room with urgency.

“Should we call an ambulance?” A’whora asks, biting her lip and unable to do anything except watch the events unfold. Veronica shakes her head.

“It’s not really life threatening, we shouldn’t phone 999.”

“Not life threatening?!” Lawrence cries in outrage, as Tia returns with a towel and hands it to her. “Have you seen the amount of blood I’m losing? I’ll be amazed if I’m still alive within the hour!”

“Don’t be dramatic. It looks worse than it is,” Ellie shakes her head, helping Lawrence wrap the towel around her hand and getting blood on the sleeve of her jumper in the process. The gesture renders Lawrence less hostile towards her than she seemed to have been before, and she grips Ellie’s hand with the one she hasn’t injured.

“I think it’s Accident and Emergency or Minor Injuries for something like this,” Veronica explains calmly, looking at her phone where she’s presumably just looked the information up.

A’whora turns to Tayce quickly. Even though they still haven’t resolved their argument, their friend is still in need of help and they have to work together. “Could you drive her?”

Tayce pulls an awkward face, looks at the blood splatters surrounding Lawrence. “Is there not a bus that goes out to the hospital? I’m just thinking about the stains in my car-”

“Aw aye, that’s right, yeah. I’ll hop on the number six out to A&E just so you don’t get blood stains in your ‘13 plate fuckin’ Corsa,” Lawrence snaps, Ellie looking at Tayce with a similar incredulity.

“No, no, you’re right, fuck, of course,” Tayce shakes her head, running her hands down her face. Even after everything they’ve said, A’whora feels her heart hurt for Tayce; she’s clearly distressed by the sight of the blood, and A’whora can see her growing more tense with each passing second.

“If you drive I can come with you and keep an eye on Lawrence while you concentrate on getting us there,” she suggests. Tayce nods with a grim acceptance.

“Okay. I’ll need someone to direct me anyway, I’ve got no idea where the fuck I’m going.”

“I can come and sit with Lawrence in the back and A’whora can do the directions?” Ellie immediately suggests. It seems as if her argument with Lawrence has been forgotten, and the two of them are still holding hands.

“Okay, great. I’ll get my keys,” Tayce shrugs, dashing out of the room.

Tia turns to the rest of the girls. “While you guys are gone, me and Ronnie can clean up? I don’t know if we’ll get our deposit back at the end of the year if there’s blood stains on shit.”

“Tia, babes, there’s a human element to all of this, fuck the deposit!” Lawrence hisses, her eyes squeezing shut in agony. Ellie’s face is distressed, and her eyes dart to the kitchen cupboards.

“Do you want ibuprofen? Might help with the pain?” she suggests. If the situation wasn’t so dire, A’whora would laugh.

“Are you joking?” Lawrence asks incredulously, then upon seeing Ellie’s face realises she isn’t. A’whora watches as Lawrence pulls a face and a tight, uncomfortable smile takes hold on her face. “No. I don’t think ibuprofen is going to do much good somehow. But thank you for offering.”

Tayce returns with her car keys and rallies the four of them out the door, getting some odd stares from the other students in the courtyard as they run past frantically, Lawrence’s entire hand still wrapped in a too-big towel. They have to jog for a considerable length of time to get to Tayce’s car, the busy nature of the winding city streets rendering parking anywhere near their flat nigh on impossible. Usually A’whora wouldn’t mind the distance. Usually she’s happy to stroll easily, one hand in Tayce’s and the other relaxed by her side, butterflies in her stomach and a tug in her chest as they talk about their plans for wherever they’re headed.

This time, though, with an argument still hanging over their heads like a thundercloud which isn’t yet resolved and a friend with half a finger hanging off, the journey to the car is more than a little unwelcome.

Soon enough though they’re all scrambling to get inside, Ellie helping Lawrence with her seatbelt in the back seat and A’whora scrolling her phone ferociously to bring up Google Maps for the directions to the hospital. Tayce drives irresponsibly with scant regard for road safety regulations. In any other situation, A’whora would find it insanely attractive that Tayce is driving like she’s in a game of Gran Turismo just to get Lawrence to A&E quicker. Fuck, she does still find it attractive. But her stomach is still in a huge tangled-up knot over the note their conversation got left on.

“What actually happened, Lawrence?” Tayce asks, A’whora having to hold in her gasp of a reaction as Tayce narrowly avoids getting rear-ended while pulling out into the overtaking lane of the dual carriageway.

Lawrence gives another hiss of pain before she answers. If A’whora didn’t blink she could’ve sworn she saw Ellie squeeze her hand in the rear-view mirror. “Was talking to Veronica and Tia while I was cutting up the carrots. They said something and I turned around to respond and I didn’t look as I chopped. Stupid fuckin’ cow.”

“You’re not stupid. It’s an easy thing to do, I’ve nicked myself so many times when I’ve been cooking!” Ellie placates her. Lawrence gives a laboured chuckle in response as A’whora checks the map and tells Tayce to take a left at the next roundabout.

“Aye, fuck’s sake. The most un-co-ordinated, clumsy bitch is sat beside me with all ten fingers in tact after nearly a year of having to fend for herself meanwhile I’m sat fighting for my life. Honestly, if you fell in the Clyde you’d come out wi a salmon in your mouth.”

A’whora sneaks a look in the mirror to see both girls giggling softly and quietly, their gazes either in their lap or out the window. They’re still holding hands. A’whora thinks it’s ridiculous to be jealous of two girls who haven’t even so much as kissed, but their soft friendship and what could eventually become a mutual crush makes her nostalgic for what she and Tayce used to have.

They eventually arrive at the hospital, and once they’ve all collectively recovered from the prospect of having to pay £5 for parking they run into A&E and up to the little desk, where it takes an infuriatingly long length of time to check Lawrence in. They then are required to wait amongst the other invalids of the city on four hard blue plastic chairs, which are uncomfortable after five minutes, never mind how long Lawrence will inevitably have to wait to be seen.

The little whiteboard on the wall says that the wait time is eighteen minutes.

The conversation between the four girls is stilted; it’s not the free and easy style A’whora has come to expect between any of her flatmates. But there’s still two sets of arguments without a resolution that’re preventing them from interacting like they usually would, and a hospital waiting room that’s already covered in a blanket of tense, awkward silence shared between strangers is not the place to reconcile either of them.

Eventually, and long after the promised eighteen minutes, Lawrence’s name is called. She half-walks half-jogs up to the nurse at the little door through to the hospital, then hesitates as she reaches her.

“Can I have one of my friends in with me?” A’whora hears her ask, her voice still strained and the pain she's feeling evidently still very much present.

The nurse nods kindly, and as Lawrence turns around there’s a sudden hesitation to her usually confident body language.

“Ellie?” she calls over, gesturing with her free hand for the other girl to come with her. Ellie barely even looks back at A’whora and Tayce as she gets up from her seat quickly, tossing her hair over her shoulder as she follows Lawrence into the hospital.

There’s a moment’s silence where A’whora looks at the squeaky green linoleum floor, and then Tayce speaks.

“Aw. You’re welcome, love,” she says, soft and sarcastic and already putting a little smile on A’whora’s lips. “All I did was drive you out to the arse-end of the suburbs to get your finger sewn back together. But go on. Pick Ellie. Heard getting stitches is a great time to shoot your shot.”

A’whora laughs softly. Maybe this whole situation has been forgotten about. Maybe their entire argument was just a dream (a nightmare) and she’s just happened to have woken up in a hospital waiting room.

And then Tayce gives a heavy sigh, her body tense beside her own. No such luck.

A’whora thinks it’s apt that they're stuck in the waiting room. She feels like she’s waiting herself. For what, she doesn’t know. Waiting for an end to her and Tayce’s conversation from earlier, waiting for closure. Waiting for Tayce to reassure her that things are okay between the pair of them, or at least for her to explain what she’s meant to have done wrong. With every passing minute her stomach grows tighter, to the extent where it’s almost painful. She feels like following Lawrence and Ellie through those doors to get it checked out. Her heart rate alone would probably break the machine.

Sitting in the heavy emptiness of the lack of conversation, A’whora attempts to muster up the courage to breach the topic they both had to drop so frantically earlier that day. The thing is, she doesn’t want to. The fear of not knowing Tayce’s response to her question- the fear of the worst-case-scenario answer- is enough to lock A’whora’s jaw shut. If she doesn’t speak, they’ve still got what they’ve got. If she doesn’t speak, their relationship hasn’t changed.

She’s not even fooling herself.

Sure enough, Tayce eventually gives another huge huff. A’whora can see her turning to look at her but she doesn’t tear her eyes off the floor. She doesn’t want to acknowledge the conversation that’s about to take place.

“I’ve been thinking about what you asked me earlier.”

A’whora stays still and quiet, like a child hiding under her duvet. Tayce’s tone doesn’t hold a lot of promise. It’s flat and quiet and sincere and so lacking in life that maybe A’whora can try and pretend it’s not her that’s speaking at all.

“And I think, yeah. I think we should stop.”

A’whora is glad she’s looking at the floor. It’s suddenly an anchor that she never knew she needed. The walls of the hospital seem to crumble, the people around her seem to disappear. Her gaze is concentrated on the shiny green, that horrible shade of shiny green, and she holds onto it because if she lets go she’s going to have to look at Tayce and she can’t look at her right now. Not if the way her eyes are stinging painfully and her heart has dropped into her stomach and her throat has gone all tight and constricted as if she’s being choked is anything to go by.

“I think things have changed between us and I don’t want to lose the friendship we’ve got. And to be honest, the others knowing is weird. And we said it’s only awkward if we make it awkward, and I think at this point things are awkward. So...yeah. We should go back to just being friends,” Tayce continues quietly.

A’whora barely even registers her words, just their pitch and tone that burrs like an organ at a funeral. There’s a horrible, sickening sense of finality that grips her body, so much so that she feels as if she can’t move. If she moves she’s acknowledging that life goes on, that Tayce’s decision is final. The small background noises that were once so present in the room seem to cease to be, and instead a ringing, buzzing silence fills her ears. She blinks and she’s relieved when tears don’t appear. She takes one slow, deep breath and takes her time before she trusts herself to speak.

“Okay.”

What else can she say? She’s not going to sit and plead and ask Tayce why, even though she doesn’t really understand her reasoning. Tayce doesn’t owe her an explanation; they weren't girlfriends, she reminds herself cruelly, and it’s not as if they’re breaking up. They’re just...stopping. Going back to being friends, just like that. As if nothing had ever happened. It’s something that’s clearly going to be easy for Tayce to manage.

A’whora feels like an absolute idiot. For being in too deep, for doing exactly what Ellie had said would happen way back in December when she first got with Tayce. She feels like she’s sunk with her heart to the bottom of the ocean and has to swim to the surface and her lungs are so tight as she tries to keep her breathing steady that she feels like she might as well be drowning.

She’s being dramatic. Maybe she isn’t. She doesn’t know. She doesn’t know what this is all meant to feel like.

Tayce doesn’t say any more, so neither does she. She keeps her blinking methodical and her breathing deep, having to concentrate on doing both. When she’s sure she’s mastered them, she brings her hand up to the pocket of her hoodie and takes her phone out.

How can it feel weird to move?

Her fingers are slow and deliberate as she hits each letter on the keypad. Ellie’s Whatsapp picture stares back at her, her happy smile clashing so violently with the situation at hand. Maybe it’s a strange first reaction, but A’whora is just going through the motions like a robot. Anything beyond not crying in front of Tayce is a bonus right now.

A: me and Tayce not together anymore please tell the others x

She stares at the screen after it’s sent, reads it over and over again torturing herself. She hopes Ellie will read it before she and Lawrence come back. Having to act as if everything is normal is so far beyond her at the moment.

It takes what must be her twentieth time reading her own message to realise what she’s sent, and in spite of everything she feels like laughing at her mistake.

Because she and Tayce were never together.