#but google says i should wait until the end of the month )-:

[tripably]

It is the year of jellies and jams 😍

[dakotalun]

What Now? | Eddie Munson

pairing: Eddie Munson X Fem Reader

summary: You just got broken up with and you can only think of one place to go.

warnings: none, just some fluffy Eddie moments :)

word count: 1k

a/n: Shit it's been a while. Anyways back to it!

*******NOT MY GIF, CREDIT TO OWNERS*******

Everything was going okay recently, not many nightmares and the ones I did have weren’t too bad. Until…

“What?” The confusion is evident on my face and in my voice.

“I just don’t think we’ll work out. I’m sorry,” Jamie’s head is down and their eyes are looking everywhere but at me.

“What did I do?”

“Nothing! Nothing at all, it’s me.”

I scoff, “Pfft. Okay sure,” I roll my eyes at their words, “Like every other time people say that line.”

“I’m being serious, love. I love you, I really do but there’s shit that I need to figure out-”

“Then we figure it out together! That’s what it means to be in a committed relationship!”

“I just- I feel like having a partner right now is not helping,” Their voice is distant and soft now.

“I get it. I’m too much, too clingy, too needy, too…everything,” The words sting my throat and tongue as they leave but it’s the truth, it’s what they all mean when they break it off with me.

“Not at all! You’re perfect, in every way, shape, and form. Seriously, it's me. I’m going through shit that I feel like would break us if I kept lying about it to you.”

“So this has been going on for a while?” I see their face change for a second then go back to sadness.

“Yeah, it has. But I thought it was nothing-”

“How long?”

“What?” Now it’s their turn to be confused.

“How long have you known and been going through this?” My face is steel and I show no emotion.

“Since Lolla.”

Lollapalooza was in August, it’s November. They’ve known this and not said anything for 3 months! Lying to me about everything for so long and I had no idea. I don’t even know how to feel right now. I begin to grab my bag and stuff my shit in it before getting up off their bed.

"Y/N," They reach for my hand to stop me from leaving.

I pull away before they can touch me, "Don't. I- I need space," I leave their room and head for the front door, looking back at the fuzzy orange cat lying on the back of the chair as he always does for the last time. 

"Bye Cheerio," I twist the knob and walk out of the apartment I had felt so welcome in before. 

I can hear the thunder once in the elevator, realizing that I can't return home because I promised Robin the apartment, assuming I'd be with Jamie all night. I try to think of who else I could stay with tonight.

Chrissy maybe? No, she’s at Jason’s place for the weekend. Oh, Nancy should be free right? I reach for my phone to text Nancy but see a Google Calendar notification on the screen.

Nancy Double Date with Johnathan and Roomie! Damn, I guess she’s out too. Maybe Robin would understand me coming home tonight, if I told them what happened? 

As I think about what to do and where to go, rain starts to pour down, soaking through the loose shirt I had put on. 

Why does this keep happening to me? How do I always end up in the rain with no place to go? I think back to last summer when Kris, Sophia, and I got into it and my brother’s friend had to come rescue me from myself and the rain. I laugh at the thought that this is just going to be my normal from now on.

As I walk, my feet autonomously begin to head to the only other person whom I trust and who might be able to help. I don’t even realize where I’m going until I’m standing in front of the building, not under the protection of the awning even though it’s only 3 feet in front of me.

I take a deep breath before stepping forward and deciding this really is the only option I have left. I’m thankful for the covering once I’m actually under it. I dial apartment 203 and wait for the voice of my best friend to spread through the old speaker.

"Hello?" His voice is low and gravelly; he must have just woken up.

"Eddie, It’s Y/N. Can I come up? I-" I sniffle and before I can continue I hear the lock moving and the door unlock so I can enter. I didn’t even realize I had been crying until then.

I quickly open the door and make my way through the small maze to get to his place on the second floor. I can feel my wet socks and the weight of my bag has risen tremendously since I left Jamie’s. I'm gonna need to check and make sure my computer is okay once I get inside his place.

Soon I reach his door and he's standing there against the frame, in a tshirt and sweats, his signature look. The expression on his face is one of concern and fear. Something I’m all too familiar with.

"Hey," My voice is weak and not at all how he normally hears it. I’ve never cried in front of him and we’ve been friends for over a year now, strange.

"Shit, Y/N you're soaked! Get the fuck in here," He moves out the way and closes the door behind me as I walk into his living room, making sure to take off my shoes before going onto the carpet.

He comes back with a towel and wraps it around me after taking my bag and setting it at my feet. I mumble a thank you before taking a seat at the edge of his couch, completely on the other side from where he normally sits.

To my surprise he sits next to me and rubs my back, comforting me and drying me at the same time. We sit there in silence for a few minutes. I'm tired and not in the mood to fully explain what happened yet, so neither of us speak until I realize I should probably tell him why I came to his place so late and without warning.

Taglist: @ali-r3n @dixontardis @witchwolflea @micheledawn1975 @daydreaming-mood @idfwfeelings @adaydreamaway08 @preciousbumplingbee @rustboxstarr @plk-18 @teary-eyed-egg @needylilgal022 @exploding-bonbon @gagasbee @eddiemunsonsguitarpic @aol19 @thatwitchyoucouldntburn @meanlilbean @sonnyahngel @corrodedcass @pigwidgeonxo @marsmunson86 @lottie-90 @figmentofquinn @sareim123122 @eddies-puppet @gvf23 @kennedy-brooke @rocklees-wife @emma77645 @cherris-n-peaches @breehumbles @joequinn-love @anyoddthoughts @aysheashea @eddiesskittle @uncxmfxrtablex @cherrymedicine13 @mrsjellymunson @shotgunhallelujah @bambipowerblueaddition @hexqueensupreme @josephquinnsfreckles @harrysgothicbitch @paleidiot @smurfflynn @lilyungpeanut @selena-rocker27

[issi-loves-dannyric]

Think I need someone older

DR3 x Reader LN4!ex x Reader

I had this idea for a little while but now just doing it. I would like to use this style in my requests so got to practice.

Your WARNINGS- cheating and angst-type vibes. Horrible writing sorry besties! toxic lando!

1/2 2/2

(Y/N insta story)

caption: Nails done for Aussie GP

The past month has been Lando simply not making time for me. I was hoping that Australian GP would help him out because maybe it was stress. The arguments were over nothing basically and ended with me apologizing. These texts were an obvious lie but what’s the point of fighting right now. The race was yesterday and he had done good. I went supported of course, was with him at the bar until he couldn’t keep his eyes off another girl. The past month has destroyed my self esteem and I can’t be bothered anymore.

TWITTER

User1

Lando Norris seen kissing another woman that is not his girlfriend after Australian GP.

-

There it is. The girl and of course lando. Getting into the shower, I use it to distract from the pain of being in a dead relationship. The second I’m out of the shower I’m on google searching for a nail tech to remove the nails I had gotten done for him.

Y/N insta story

Caption: shoutout to (NailTech) for the emergency fix! 🖤

Rolling my eyes at the messages, I start messaging my own PR team as well as Max. Max might be his best friend but he still is a loyal friend to me.

“We’re going for a hike.” Danny says walking to the couch of the hotel where I’m sitting in a hoodie he lent me.

“Dannyyy” I whine cuddling the blanket only for him to tug it.

“We are in my homeland, no moping. I want you to remember better” he replies finishing pulling the blanket off me while I continue whining. Pulling my hands to pull me up.

“Danny people will see us and talk shit” I pout looking up at him.

“Let them, they need to be shit talking your ex more than you. Plus we can hide you from them.” He explains rubbing my arms. Sighing I lean my forehead onto his chest, “fine”.

Y/nofficial insta

Liked by Maxfewtrell, danielricciardo, carlossainz55 and 850,788 others

Australia you were weird but also stunning. Can’t wait to be back one day, maybe see more cuties.

User1: Mother we miss you come home

User2: No Lando like but Max still liking.

-user3: Max understands how relationships should work.

Danielricciardo: I thought you were going to actually steal the joey.

-Y/nofficial: I would have if you didn’t ruin my fun

-Danielricciardo: IT NEEDS TO BE WITH HIS MOTHER Y/N

-Y/nofficial: I COULD HAVE BEEN ITS MOTHER.

-maxfewtrell: I believe you could have been a good mother

-y/nofficial: thank you Maxie, at least someone believes in me!

-danielricciardo: I’m not entertaining this, don’t steal animals.

-User4: Getting more dany/n content

User5: we see that 9th picture.

-y/nofficial: that’s my bestie 😌🫶 /savior

User6: I believe Y/n could take care of the joey herself.

-Liked by Y/nofficial

—danielricciardo: stop entertaining her, next time I’m going to put her on a leash.

-y/nofficial: mememe

JAPAN GP

Y/nofficial Instagram story:

Caption: Japan Gp nails

-landonorris replied: text me, I’m sorry

-

2/2

[roosterbruiser]

𝐅𝐮𝐜𝐤 𝐎𝐟𝐟

𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞: 𝐅𝐮𝐜𝐤 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐰𝐨: 𝐅𝐮𝐜𝐤 𝐌𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞: 𝐅𝐮𝐜𝐤 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐫: 𝐅𝐮𝐜𝐤 𝐈𝐭 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐟𝐢𝐯𝐞: 𝐅𝐮𝐜𝐤 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬

𝐚 𝐉𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐧 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐀𝐊𝐀 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐢𝐱𝐭𝐡 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐅𝐮𝐜𝐤: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐔𝐧𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞 𝐅𝐮𝐜𝐤: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

It doesn't feel like you're getting ready for a first date.

Really, this doesn't feel like a first date at all. It is--technically and logically--a first real, physical, true date.

But between you and Jake there aren't many firsts left. The two of you have done things entirely out of order. You fucked before you even liked him as a person, you somehow became friends between Plan B and lemon-lime Gatorade, you had meaningful sex, you fell in love, you became an official couple, he took care of you when you grieved, and now you've told each other that you love each other. It's been a whirlwind, really. It's what precisely no little girl's dream off--least of all you--but when your mind wanders and lands on these past few months, the ones that were marked not only by your grief but by the sudden and overwhelming love you have for Jake fucking Seresin, you know in your marrow that this is the way things are meant to happen.

When you lean back, away from the heat of your love with Jake and away from the grief of your father's demise, you still feel winded by it all. You're still catching your breath from that first encounter in your shower cubicle on base. You're still trying to bite that breath of yours that's bated, the one that's been stuck behind your front teeth since your father took his last breath against your cheek.

But things have happened this way and for no certain reason (other than Jake Jake Jake Jake Jake), you're happy. You're the kind of happy that people talk about in anti-depressant commercials; when people play frisbee in golden sunlight and throw their heads back laughing and meet their friends for a glass of wine over lunch. It's an almost synthetic kind of happy when you're with Jake, like you should be wallowing in despair and mourning, but he just makes you too giddy.

So now you're here, a week after you and Jake confessed that you love each other in a stupidly romantic moment on the beach with fucking Mazzy Star playing (sometimes you feel like you're literally filming scenes for an anti-depressant commercial of your own), and you're getting ready for your first date.

If this was a first date, like actually a first date, you'd be more nervous than you are right now. You'd be wringing your hands together and trying not to pick at your fresh manicure and checking your hair in the hallway mirror until your own reflections skewed. You'd be downing a whiskey shooter with your sister as you waited for your date to pick you up and obsessively Googling the menu for the restaurant you're eating at.

Right now, though, you're completely and utterly fine. Maybe it has a little bit to do with the fact that you already know this date is going to end with sex. Maybe it has a little bit to do with you already being head-over-heels, stupidly in love with your date. Or maybe it's just because your date is getting ready alongside you.

"What time should I pick you up?" Jake says as you stand beside him, running a brush through your hair. He's grinning at you in the mirror and you're chewing your own smile, too. "How's seven sound?"

"Seven's good," you tell him. "Let me know if you have any trouble finding the place, okay?"

Jake nods, dabbing a bit of gel on his fingers and sculpting his blonde locks carefully.

"It's just down the stairs and take a right, yeah?"

"Yeah, that'll take you straight to the front door. You could turn left into the living room, too, and we could meet each other halfway in the foyer if you want?"

Jake scoffs.

"Are you one of those girls that's gonna want to split the bill, too?"

"Oh, no," you tell him, furrowing your brows. "You're absolutely paying for my dinner because I'm putting out tonight."

Jake laughs, wiping his hands on a towel before he moves behind you to wrap his arms around your waist. He's very docile with you, letting his hands rest on the bottom of your belly, resting his chin on your shoulder, nuzzling his nose against your neck, pressing warm kisses to your jaw.

He has grown used to you standing here in his bathroom most every morning and night, which is something he was always certain he'd never get used to. Before you, Jake didn't think he was the type that would bask in the intimacy of domesticity.

But now he can't remember what life was like before you padded your way into his bathroom and wrote him love messages with your finger across the steamy mirror while he showered after his morning run. He can't remember a time before your mascara was sitting beside his hair gel or when your hairbrush didn't set just beside his comb. He can't remember a time that your smiling face and tired eyes and messy hair weren't staring back at him in this mirror at Too Fucking Early In The Morning. He didn't realize how lonely he looked as a solitary figure in this mirror until you stepped in place beside him. The two of you fill it up mighty fine now, tooth brushes hanging out of your foamy mouths or palms pressed to each other's cheeks when you insist upon washing each other's faces.

Even now, the two of you washed up nicely and getting spiffy for a date that neither of you are nervous about, you look good. You two just look like you belong here.

Jake takes a deep breath of you--that sweet scent that's always lingering on your skin, the one that he would truly bathe in if he could. And he keeps pressing his lips against your jaw, his heartbeat steady as you melt into his embrace. It's something you can't help now; he just makes you feel held. It's as simple as that.

"I love you," he whispers and his tongue still tingles when he says it. His chest grows warm, the tips of his ears glow pink in the lowlight.

You smile at him, minding the lipstick you've just applied and are waiting to dry.

"Already said I was putting out," you tease, resting your head on his shoulder. "You don't need to try so hard."

But then you turn and meet his gaze in real life, not in the reflection of his bathroom mirror. And his nose brushes yours as he laughs, his chest rumbling against your shoulder blades, and you are so completely and totally in love that you feel dumb.

"Maybe if I try really hard, we'll stop for a Plan B on the way home?"

And that's another thin you love about the two of you--you make each other laugh. Like right now, he's holding you and you're lying against his chest, and you're both in stitches over each other.

"Hey, buddy," you tell him, still coughing up a few giggles as you carefully blot under your eyes, "you buy me steak and a lemon-lime Gatorade and you can so whatever you want to me."

He kisses your temple, gentle enough to not disturb your hair and your makeup, and smiles against your skin.

"I love you," you tell him, your voice quieter. It feels unfamiliar on your tongue still, but not in a bad way; just a new way. For just a moment, you think about your father. You think about the ferocity in which he loved your mother, then your sister, then you. You think about how short his life seemed despite all those years you had with him, all those kisses he pressed against your hair and all the times he carried you against his chest. He loved good. He lived well. You feel that there is not a moment to waste. Fuck it. "I love you a lot, Jake."

Even though it's only the two of you, Jake makes a show of your grand appearance down the staircase. It's something you've grown to adore about him: he makes the small moments in life big. You used to overlook moments like this, but he never has. So before you slip into your dress and put on your heels, Jake exits the bedroom and tells you to call down to him when you're ready.

It's silly, really. And honestly, if some other guy tried to make you do this, you'd tell him to grow the fuck up. But besides the fact that you're downright enamored with Jake, you find that there is a want deep in your gut: you want to do this. You want to do silly little things like this, these boring parts of life that he makes exciting all on his own accord. You want to play along, you want to be involved.

"Okay," you call to him. "I'm ready, stud!"

"Wait for your cue!" He calls back, his voice echoing off the tile in the foyer where you know he's waiting in his nice slacks and button down shirt.

You're biting a grin, careful not to smudge your lipstick. And you just can't help yourself--you have butterflies right now. The good kind, the kind that seem to be a good omen. There's giddiness crawling up the column of your spine and sitting thickly on your tongue.

Then the music starts.

You laugh out loud, your cheeks pink. He's such a sap.

After a moment, you recognize the song. It's My Girl by The Temptations.

You've never been one for grand romantic gestures. But when you walk out into the dark hallway and see the stupid red rose petals littering the stairs and the dim lights in the foyer, your heart almost bursts right out of your chest. It's the highest form of melodrama Jake has ever displayed--cheesy at best--but you don't think you could love him any more than you do right now. The love is choking you.

I guess you'd say / What can make me feel this way

You start down the stairs, hating and loving simultaneously that you feel like you're descending some sort of grand staircase at a fucking ball instead of the foyer of your boyfriend's house.

And because he has probably times this perfectly, playing the song over headphones while stepping down at the pace he thinks you'll step down, your heel clicks against the petal-covered tiles as soon as the chorus begins.

My girl, my girl, my girl / Talkin' 'bout my girl / My girl

To be completely honest, Jake hasn't ever been one to make moments like this matter. He's never done this before--he hasn't even done anything close to this before. Not for any other woman, not for himself. But you make him want to do cheesy things like this. He reckons that he would do just about anything to see that toothy grin on your face, the one that makes your eyes dwarf and your cheeks expand.

It's been a hard couple of months for you--he'd do anything to make it easier for you and he does frequently.

Now here you are, standing there in your pretty dress and your pretty heels. Your toenails are painted that charming blueberry color again and your cheeks are pink and there it is--that toothy grin, those little shining eyes, that flush in your chest. You're happy. You're so happy that he can read it on your body as if it were written across your forehead.

I've got so much honey / The bees envy me

"Oh, baby," Jake croons, clutching his heart. "You're a vision!"

He's even holding a bouquet of your favorite flowers, the bastard.

"Fuck off," you laugh. "You're so ridiculous."

He's grinning even wider now.

"Or romantic?" He says with his brow perched.

"You're an idiot," you say, but you're nearing him with that delicious perfume on your skin and that giddiness sitting in the middle of your chest. "Like, really, Seresin. This is so stupid."

You encircle his neck with your arms and he lets the flowers fall to the floor as he presses his body against yours, basking in your heat. He lets his fingers trail up and down your bare arms as he presses his forehead against yours.

I've got a sweeter song / Than the birds in the trees

"This is really stupid," he agrees, nudging your nose with his, letting his eyelashes kiss your cheeks. "You still wanna be my girlfriend after this?"

You sigh, shaking your head. You can't shake this smile that's eating your face.

"I really, really do," you whisper, pressing your lips against his. "How dumb does that make me?"

Jake pulls you closer, hands cupping your ass in a most delicious way.

"So, so dumb, baby," he whispers against your lips, grinning.

You keep kissing, keep letting his lips make you lightheaded. And Jake lets his hands wander all along your backside and the sweet curve of your spine.

Well, I guess you'd say / What can make me feel this way

"Did you time my entrance to the song?" You ask, not pulling your lips from his.

"No comment," he breathes back.

"Jake," you whisper, giggling. "No, you didn't!"

He pulls back from your lips finally, letting his forehead rest against yours. He thumbs a smudge of your lipstick and grins, shrugging.

"I can neither confirm nor deny."

Of course the date goes perfectly.

You two go to a nice steakhouse, one right on the water, and sit on the patio. He buys a bottle of the white wine you like so much and then another when the two of you accidentally drink the entirety of the first.

He watches the pink sun dip into the sea behind you, watches the way the light bounces off your skin as you sip your wine and cut your filet mignon.

You watch him as he looks up at the sky, the one he is so frequently inside of. And you watch his aspen-colored eyes drink in the white-rice moon and the stars that are beginning to sprinkle across the horizon.

The two of you reach out for each other beneath the table--most of the dinner is spent with your feet resting in his lap with his hands on your ankles.

The food is good, the wine is great, and his company is even better. You ring in the evening with your bellies full, with laughter in your throat, with your heels in his hands, with the crashing waves guiding you back towards the car you rode in together.

And it's there, in the car, with the windows rolled down and the radio turned up that it dawns on you: this is the kind of love that your parents shared. This tipsy grin on your lips and that fond grip of his on your thigh: it is familiar because it's how your parents would fall through the front door after bedtime on date nights. Already, Jake has given you so much comfort; has held you the way only your father ever had, has made you laugh instead of weep, has been so gentle with you. Now he's embodying the best man that's ever lived and settling into this comfortable life with you.

You reach over and comb through his hair. He loves it when you do that--it always elicits an mmm from him when you scratch his scalp or tug on his clean hair.

"You know," you say, your eyes glassy, "you might just be one of the best men to ever live."

Jake Seresin, for all intents and purposes, is an egotistical man. One would maybe expect him to respond with a snort and an eyeball as if to say well, yeah, duh. But this Jake in the driver's seat, the one that's listened to the soft sounds of your breathing each night for weeks and gone out to lunch with your sister to talk privately about her drinking, doesn't roll his eyes. Because to him, it's not a well, yeah, duh thing. It isn't often that people tell him--genuinely tell him--that he's a good man. Especially not someone who had Tom Kazansky as a father.

"You're tipsy," he says, choked up.

You lean across the seats, the center console digging into your side. And very carefully, you press a kiss to the peak of his cheekbone.

"Yeah," you agree, stroking the edge of his jaw with a gentle thumb. "And you're still one of the best men to ever live."

That is the closest Jake fucking Seresin has come to crying on a first date.

𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭: 𝐅𝐮𝐜𝐤, 𝐑𝐨𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫!

guys pls don't be mad that there isn't smut I promise I will write more smut as soon as my classes are over today!!! but I thought you guys deserved some good old fashioned fluff after what I put all of you through the last couple of parts!!! I love all of you!!!

tags:

@avaleineandafryingpan

@popsycles

@thedroneranger

@guacala

@top-hhun-main

@hotch-meeeeeuppppp

@oliviah-25

@zalmael

@chicomonks

@aboutelijahhh

@angelbabyange

@zbeez-outlet

@dempy

@awkwardgiraffe726

@awesomebooklover17

@ofxinnocence

@nyx2021

@callsign-joyride

@flashyourgreeneyesatme

@one-sweet-gubler

@olliepig

@thedroneranger

@beyondthesefourwalls

@cherrycola27

@hangmans-wingman

@malindacath

@thenewdaysalreadyhere

@shehulkracing

@vemonbby

@ohemgeewhat

@emi-flaces

@mishala005

@Marvellover91

@headinthecloudssblog

@depressoespresso616

@anony1080

@bellaireland1981

@djs8891

@fandom-life-12

@xoxabs88xox

@stiles-banshees

@ohemgeewhat

@headinthecloudssblog

@bellaireland1981

@tsnelf7

@widemiffyhappy

@roosterforme

@myfaveficrecs

[discount-shades]

Contract Spouse Chapter 2

Chapter 2: The Letter

A/N: Not so much this chapter but this fic is going to get dark at times, it's not going to be as fluffy like Sleepy Baby.

Pairing: Jake Seresin/Reader (nicknamed Pip)

Warning:  Angst,  

Length: 2000ish

Summary: Jake tells the Dagger Squad about Pip.

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You roll your shoulders and send off the final few texts and emails of the day, checking the time you sign off at 5:00PM. Being a virtual assistant had its perks. You got to wear yoga pants all day and there was no commute, but the biggest perk was the fact you were able to work two jobs. 

One was a fairly involved executive assistant position at a growing company that took up most of your time. The other was as a glorified Google Calendar, keeping your extremely ADHD boss from missing deadlines, meetings, and anything else important. 

The downside was a large L-shaped desk with three monitors set up in your bedroom. You had a business degree but when the opportunity evolved out of your part time administrative assistant job, you had taken it. When you had found yourself with a couple hours of down time during your work day you had subtly asked around and had gotten a second job managing your other bosses emails and calendar.

You walked into the kitchen you would be sharing with Sami until the end of the month. After over five years of it being the two of you she had finally decided to move in with her boyfriend of two years. You were happy for her but unsure of your own future. Should you renew your lease? Find a smaller, cheaper, single bedroom place? Get a roommate? You didn’t know what you wanted to do and time was running out.

That was a lie, you know what you wanted to do but it was impossible. You wanted to move in with your husband, drop everything and move across the country to be with him. But it’s not that kind of marriage, you tell yourself for what feels like the millionth time. It has never been.

Jake had been your teenage crush. Your best friend's handsome big brother, nothing would ever come of it. But when you needed him, he had married you, he had even called you almost daily to keep up the pretense that your marriage was real. 

With every phone call you had fallen further and further in love with your husband. He was sweet, funny, caring, and supportive. You’ve never told anyone of your feelings but sometimes you think Sami suspects it. 

You knew Jake went on dates and hooked up with women. You have tried going on dates, and one night stands, but could never get over the guilt. The feeling that you were cheating on Jake. 

You again consider divorcing him. It would be easier. You could date and start a real relationship. You knew how this train of thought would end. You would have yourself convinced you were going to call it quits and then Jake would call and say ‘hello’ in a tone of voice that told you he was smiling and you would be sucked right back in.

He would sign the divorce papers the minute you asked but you kept torturing your heart. You knew you couldn’t keep waiting forever, knew that eventually you would have to move on but you couldn’t. Not yet, anyway.

– – –

You hear keys in the lock and the door open and glance at the time, it’s 12:30 AM, “You're past curfew.” You can hear Sami chuckle as she walks in and drops two envelopes on your head. 

“I get your mail for you and all I get is sass.” She flops down on the couch beside you. “Are you watching Downton Abbey again?” she groans as you just shrug. 

“I want your final month here to be exactly the same as the past five years of us living together.” You grin at her rolling eyes. “You going out and having fun, and me staying in, watching a period drama.” 

“Goodnight, Dork.” You can hear the fondness in her voice as she gets up and heads to bed. You look at the envelopes, one is a reminder to renew your car insurance, the other has the NCIS emblem. Frowning you open it and your jaw drops as you read the letter inside. It has come to our attention… marriage under contract… opening an investigation…. 

“Shit.”

You scramble and grab your phone, quickly calling Jake, when he doesn't answer you try him again. You are taken aback by a woman's voice answering and feel a twinge of jealousy and guilt. You had always told yourself that you would never negatively impact Jake's life while married to him and you hope you didn’t ruin something by calling him like this.

After rambling at the woman on the phone you hang up and stare at your reflection on the black screen. You are so lost in thought that you jump when Jake's face pops up with an incoming call.

“Pip? What's wrong? Are you hurt?” His sounds worried and, despite this, you immediately relax at the sound of his voice. 

“I’m ok, I’m sorry!” You are talking in a rush. “I didn't mean to ruin your date.” 

“I’m not on a date.” You sag in relief at his response. Happy you didn’t ruin his date or happy he is not on a date, you’re not sure.

“I got a letter,” You stare at the paper in your hand. “Jake, someone reported our marriage.”

“Shit.”

“That's what I said.” You reread bits of the letter to him, giving Jake a moment to process. “It says they are going to be interviewing people who know us,” you pause, ”Jake, I haven't told anyone about us.” Running your hand through your hair, you bite your lip in nerves. “I don’t have a lot of friends or share personal details.”

“I’ll tell the squad.” You can hear it in his voice when he shifts into protector mode. “Rooster owes me his life so he’ll lie for us.” His voice is tense when he says that, bitter in the way he always gets when he talks about the things he never speaks of. “And don't forget the fake marriage plans. No one can say we don’t have a relationship.”

“Yeah,” you agree. “I’ll scan the letter and email it to you.” 

“Thanks, I’m going to head home. I’ll call you when I get there.” You agree and go to hang up but Jake stops you. “It’s going to be alright, you planned for this.” You agree softly. “I love you, Pip. We got this.”

“I love you too,” your reply is quiet and automatic as you hang up the phone, rising to go scan the letter. Jake always said he loved you. It had started as a cover when the two of you were together at a military event, that as his wife, you couldn’t avoid. He had urged you to do the same jokingly.

“I love you, Pip.” His cheeky grin melted and hardened your heart.  “Now tell me you love me too, and make sure I believe it.” 

 After years of saying it you were sure he meant it, in his own way, Just not in the same way you meant it every time the words crossed your lips.

– – – 

Jake rubs his head as he stares at his teammates, he had been up late last night talking to Pip. He had asked them to meet him in the parking lot after training where they could not be overheard. “I need to tell you guys something that if anyone asks you’ve always known.”  

The faces around him show a variety of emotions. Coyote is resigned, but then again, he already knows. Rooster and Fanboy look giddy with excitement, like little kids about to be told a secret. Phoenix’s eyes are narrowed in suspicion. Only Payback and Bob have mastered a look of polite interest. 

“Pip, the woman on the phone, she’s my wife.” 

Jake registers the feeling of his head jerking to the side a millisecond before the pain of the slap hits him and causes his left cheek to bloom red. “Jesus Christ Phoenix!” Jake raises his hand to his cheek, shock on his face. “What the fuck was that?”

Phoenix is subtly flexing her hand to shake out the pain from the slap. “You go home with a different woman every night you can!” Rage is clouding her eyes. “You’re telling me you have been cheating on some poor woman all this time?” Rooster moves forward and places himself between Jake and Phoenix.

“Ow! No!” Jake’s cheek feels hot. “It’s a fucking marriage of convenience!” He runs his tongue on the inside of his cheek, searching for the telltale metallic taste of blood, but it's not there. “She was sick and needed health care so I married her when I was still in flight school.”

“Is she better?” Trust Bob to do the decent thing and be concerned with the health of a stranger.

“You know, Phoenix, you should listen to your Wizzo more.” Jake says, gingerly feeling the warmth of his cheek. “Ask questions first, instead of slapping.”

“You’ve had it coming on some level,” Phoenix says without remorse before repeating Bob's question. “Is she better Hangman?”

“She's fine, it's been over five years.” 

“Why’d you stay married?” Payback asks. He’s the only other married member of the squad.

Jake shrugs, “the money, and the spousal benefits helped her.” He knows that's not the truth. At least not the whole truth but he doesn’t want to get into the hollow little feeling in his chest every time he thinks about ending the charade. 

“How’d you meet?” Roster asks. 

“She’s my baby sister's best friend.” Jake waits for Rooster to do the math. Rooster and Sami had crossed paths before and Jake had warned Rooster to stay away from his younger sister.

“Jesus, Hangman, was she a child bride?” 

“No!” Jake rubs his face in defeat. “She was eighteen, and it's not that type of marriage, it's just a piece of paper.”

“So why are you telling us this now?” Phoenix crosses her arms and looks at Jake expectantly. 

“Pip got a letter.” Jake sighs. “Someone reported our marriage as fake and now we are being investigated.”

“Shit,” Fanboy muses, “do they have a case?” Jake looks at him in exasperation. Fanboy was brilliant at his job, but some days Jake suspected all other available mental real estate was taken up with nerd trivia leaving no space for common sense.

“Yes Fanboy, they do have a case.” Jake rolls his eyes before continuing. “We talk on the phone and have a joint bank account but we’ve never lived together, most of it can be explained away through health, deployments, and her university.”

“So what do you need us to do?” Payback asks.

“Just pretend you have always known I was married.” Jake looks around at everyone nodding. “Pip hasn’t told anyone so you will have to prove that it wasn’t a secret. Coyote was a witness so he has legal proof of knowing.”

“Don’t worry man.” Rooster claps him on the shoulder. “We've got your back.”

“Thank you.” Jake says sincerely. “I’m diving to Austin at the end of the month. Pip’s lease with my sister is up and she’s going to move in with me to make it look real.”

Coyote nods. “That makes sense, this is the first long term posting you’ve had since she finished University.”

“Sooo, yeah,” Jake spreads his arms out helplessly. “In conclusion, I’ve been married to Pip for six years and you have always known. Any questions?”

“Why do you call her Pip?” Fanboy asks, “What's her real name?”

Jake tells them your name. “She always looked so short next to my sister so I called her Pipsqueak. Pip for short.”

After a few more questions everyone walks to their cars and leaves. Phoenix hangs back until it is just her and Jake. “You did the right thing marrying her.” She motions to the red that has not faded from his cheek. “I feel a little bad that I hit you so hard.”

“You could have not hit me at all.”

“Don’t push your luck Hangman.” She walks to her car before turning around. “Rooster’s right though, we’ve got your back.”

[puck-luck]

new beginnings | may 27 - june 2

note: before i start this, i just want to warn y'all that it's 24.4k. if you want to read this in one sitting, i recommend locking in.

please hit me up in my inbox to give me feedback! or your thoughts! or speculation on what's coming next! i want you guys to talk to me all the time and tell me every thought you have. if i could send each of you the google document and force you to leave comments, i would.

also, i think by the time this fic is finished, it might be long enough to be a novel. should we all work together to get it published?

1:90 – TREVOR

“Do we really think it’s a good idea to spend the summer down here instead of the Michigan house?” Jack asks. “We own that one, after all.”

“Everyone knows about the Michigan house,” Trevor points out.

Cole, who had plotted this with Trevor after last summer’s debacle, sighs. “We can’t keep having the same conversation. We decided that we would train at the Checkers’ rink when we can get down to Charlotte and use the cement slab as our own rink in the yard of the rental house in the meantime. So that’s not your problem. So, what is, Jack? You’re gonna miss the girls?”

Jack fixes Cole with a cutting glare. “Fuck off.”

“You know, there are girls in North Carolina,” Cole says, a grin dimpling his cheeks. “Sweet, southern belles, even.”

Jack rolls his eyes. “I can’t wait for the rest of the goons to get here. We’ll put it to a fucking vote and I’ll get to go home.”

“If you want to go home so bad, why don’t you?” Trevor asks. “We’re not forcing you to be here.”

“You triple-belted me in the backseat,” Jack argues. “You’re taking me away from Michigan and you can’t even let me have shotgun.”

“Talk, talk, talk,” Trevor mocks. “You have hands. And fingers. You’re not helpless.”

Jack huffs from his spot in the back, stubbornly turning his head to the right to watch the trees pass. Cole does the same from the passenger seat, tapping his fingers along the pane of the window.

There are twenty miles, an hour total, still on the GPS. Trevor hasn’t seen a town since they stopped at the gas station at the bottom of the mountain, the closest city being Winston-Salem almost an hour and a half ago, barely more than sparse houses and fields in the time since. They’re driving along a stream now and the latest exit off this small, two lane highway said “Love Valley.” Trevor snickers at the sign and goes to point it out to Jack, but Jack beats him to it.

“Don’t, Z.”

“It’s funny, dude.”

“It’s not, though.”

Cole cranks the volume up, drowning out the continuing argument that floats forward from the backseat. 

They drive on and Trevor thinks about it– everything. They have three unobscured months in Litchton, the only people knowing about their whereabouts are their families and coaches. The goons, as Jack referred to them, would be joining them sometime in the next day or two. Quinn and Luke had to wrap up some loose ends at home (Quinn, closing up his apartment for the summer; Luke, visiting some college friends as their semester comes to an end.

Litchton was the safest bet and Krebs had mentioned North Carolina to Trevor in passing the one time they caught up throughout the year, heaving heard from Leschyshyn that the mountain towns of his home state were notoriously quiet and drama-free and that their inhabitants, although lovers of gossip, kept to themselves. 

After those girls had snuck into the Michigan house at the end of the summer and started showing up wherever the boys went in the evenings, Trevor just wanted a summer off. He wanted time with his friends the way they used to have it, just working out together and drinking until they dropped, swimming and parading around the town like normal guys in their early twenties. 

In Litchton, they could pretend to be guys that were home for the summer, ready to start some corporate finance or everyday-tie job. It was a look into what could’ve been, had they not dedicated their lives to their sport. 

For three months, he gets to be Trevor Zegras, the kid who complained about his name being last on the roster in every class growing up and the kid who worked in his mom’s store after school. But he’s also Trevor Zegras, NHL superstar, ninth overall pick, owner of the best Michigan goal in the United States, so he might toss his name around in Litchton this summer. Just to see if it gets him anything.

If it doesn’t, his good looks certainly will. What’s flirting with a few old ladies on the street? It’ll be the highlight of their year.

Trevor misses the driveway the first time the car passes it. It’s hidden by brush and along a curve. The GPS reroutes them– but they have to drive an extra fifteen minutes along this road before they can turn around. 

They drive into a small town, a strip of eclectic stores littering the main road. There’s a small grocery store with a fruit stand out front that Cole points to.

“We could pick up some food while we’re out here,” Cole suggests. Upon hearing Jack’s mouth open in the backseat, he continues, “Just so we don’t have to come back later.”

Jack slouches against the backseat, huffing about being cut off at the opportunity to express his discomfort. 

“Jacky, will you relax? We’re going to have fun this summer.” Trevor tells him, turning into the parking lot and choosing a spot close to the entrance. 

Cole laughs when Jack unbuckles his three seatbelts in the wrong order and has to untangle them. Trevor flips the mirror down and fudges his hair, fluffing the ends. He had gotten it cut just before they left for this trip, so the edges were still even and sharp. 

Jack is the first to exit the car, practically throwing himself onto the pavement with his excitement to leave the vehicle behind, if only briefly. They’d been driving for hours. Cole flew into New York from Montréal, so Trevor had to pick him up from the airport. They picked Jack up in Jersey in the early morning and started driving south. 

Trevor can’t blame Jack for his annoyance. They’ve been in the car with him for ten long hours and they forced the first stretch of driving on him, having spent about two hours in the car before getting him. He had just woken up and had to drive four hours through the traffic of Philly and into Baltimore. He napped while Cole drove down through most of Virginia, and then woke up grumpy anyway when Trevor took over to take on North Carolina. 

It’s been a long fucking day.

They shop together, but they bicker quietly. After years of friendship, their arguments seem more like brotherly spats. The knowing smiles from the women in the grocery store prove that they’ve heard encounters like this before, likely in their own homes. 

Eventually, Trevor rolls his eyes and goes to sit in the car. He leaves Cole and Jack to pay for the groceries. Upon leaving the store, he pulls his phone out of his pocket and pulls up Instagram, hoping to catch up on the posts that he had missed on the long drive.

Walking past the fruit stand out front, Trevor bumps into someone and he stumbles back.

“I’m sorry,” Trevor apologizes, reaching out and steadying the girl with a touch to her elbow. “I didn’t see you.”

“Hard to see me when you’re on your phone,” she replies with a tilted smile. 

Trevor lets out a little laugh at her reply, barely a breath. “I’ll be more careful next time.”

She nods with an approving hum and turns back to the stand, picking up a peach and turning it over in her hand. 

Trevor turns and walks to the car, climbing into the vehicle and settling behind the wheel. He watches the sliding door for his friends, but his eyes drift back to the girl.

She’s tied a red bandana in her hair and she slips peaches into her mesh bag. She talks to the vendor, using her hands to speak. She’s pretty, he realizes, far prettier than the girls he knows from California. The vendor hands her a basket of strawberries, which she takes carefully, inspecting the red berries by twisting the basket’s handle from side to side, spinning it. Trevor can see her profile this way– the slope of her nose, smooth. Her eyelashes, long. Her lips, pink and pursed into a little smile. Her stance is tilted, one hand on her hips.

Trevor is back outside the car before he can think. He approaches her as she pays for her fruit, standing behind her when she turns around.

She jumps when she sees him. “You’re still here?” She asks.

“No, but I’m back,” Trevor replies, realizing just how lame he sounds. “My friends and I are staying here for the summer and I just wanted to introduce myself.”

When he falls silent after explaining himself, she looks at him expectantly. He can see the bottoms of her teeth as her lips part. “So introduce yourself.” She gestures for him to go on.

“I’m Trevor,” he says, sticking his hand out. “My friends call me Z.”

Her eyes drop to his hand briefly. She considers it before reaching up and taking his hand, shaking it. “Why?” She asks.

“My last name starts with a Z,” Trevor supplies. “Zegras.” The smile he gives her is strained, expecting her eyes to light up in recognition. They do, but it’s not in the way he expects.

“You’re Greek?” She asks, her interest piqued. 

“Yeah,” Trevor replies. “But not, like… Greek. I’m from New York, but I live in California now.”

At the mention of California, her face stiffens. She hums disapprovingly. “Got sick of the West Coast, I take it? Is that why you’re back east this summer?”

Trevor flounders for a moment. “I love California, but the guys and I always spend our summers together. Usually we’re in Michigan.”

“So y’all travel all around, huh?” She asks. She doesn’t sound impressed, which makes Trevor nervous. In fact, she sounds almost disdainful, but the look on her face appears as though she’s holding back a laugh. Whether that is at his expense, he doesn’t know.

“We’re very lucky,” Trevor confirms, nodding tightly. “Most of our travel is for work, though. We all work in the same industry and it involves a lot of, um, business trips.”

“Business trips?” She asks, letting the laugh overtake her this time as she looks him up and down. “You?”

Trevor looks down at his own outfit, the basketball shorts and loose t-shirt. They’re two of the few clothes he owns that are not branded with the Ducks logo. He scratches the back of his head sheepishly. “We’ve been driving a while and I wanted to be comfortable.”

“You certainly look comfortable,” She agrees with a nod, her grin knowing and wide.

“I didn’t catch your name,” Trevor says with a similar grin, shuffling forward just a step now that he’s got her smiling and laughing.

It’s then that Cole and Jack exit the grocery store, each with a hefty load of grocery bags on their arms. They’re laughing, so it appears Cole has managed to cheer up the sullen Jack in Trevor’s absence. Trevor watches the girl’s eyes leave his, drawn to the movement and volume of his two friends. He curses them in his mind, watching as they find him and decide to approach.

“I thought you were warming up the car, Z,” Jack accuses, his eyes flickering between Trevor and the girl. “D’you get distracted?”

Trevor bites his tongue before forcing a smile on his face. He turns back to the girl. “These are the some of the friends I mentioned, Jack and Cole. The other ones, Jack’s brothers, aren’t here yet.” Trevor knows he’s overexplaining, but he can’t help it. Something about this girl has him awkward and tongue-tied, yet his tongue can’t stop forming words and pushing them out.

“Yeah, your business partners.” She rubs a hand over her face, smoothing out the half-smile that was clearly keeping a laugh at bay. “Are they also from California?”

Cole snorts. “Business partners?” He repeats. “From California? No way. You’d never catch me dead in Anaheim, unless we’re playing there. Believe me, I’d be on the quickest flight back.”

“I just said we all worked in the same industry,” Trevor corrects, throwing on his most charming smile to try and salvage the situation. He wasn’t lying, but this girl might think he is, and that would be disastrous. He doesn’t know why, but it would be. He wants her to think highly of him and now he’s made two bad first impressions.

The second one is his friends’ fault, of course.

And she does think he’s lying– Trevor can tell by the way she looks him up and down, then Cole, then Jack. Her eyes squint imperceptibly at Cole’s mention of “playing” in Anaheim, rather than working. It was a statement that could have extended the conversation, but this girl seems to decide that she is uninterested.

She nods sarcastically, then scoffs quietly. “I have to go,” she says. “It was nice to meet you, Trevor. Have fun in Litchton this summer, boys.”

“Oh, we will,” Jack assures her. Trevor hates how his eyes rake over her, combing through each detail of her skin, her clothes, and her hair.

“Nice meeting you!” Cole calls after her as she walks away.

Both boys turn to Trevor, equally annoying smiles on their faces. 

“Shut up,” he hisses before they can say anything. 

“Who was that?” Cole asks.

“I didn’t get her name,” Trevor growls through gritted teeth. “She was just about to tell me and then the two of you showed up.”

“Boo-hoo,” Jack teases. “So you won’t be the first to bed a girl this summer, for… how many summers in a row is it now, Coley?”

Cole’s laughter breaks his face, but Trevor interrupts before he can speak.

“It’s not even a real competition, Jack. You only act like it is because you fuck the same girl every summer as soon as we get to the lake house. It’s trashy.”

“Being a winner isn’t trashy, Trev. In fact, maybe I should go follow after the girl you were just chatting up. I’ll show her how a real man flirts.”

“Shut the fuck up.” Trevor feels a flare of anger well up inside of him when Jack insinuates taking this girl for himself. It should be anger about questioning Trevor’s manhood, but it is not. “Get in the car.”

He stalks off, starting the car this time and situating himself behind the wheel. Jack vies for the passenger seat unsuccessfully, souring his mood yet again. Despite Cole’s smaller stature, Jack is the one left in the backseat with the bags of groceries around him. Soon, Trevor’s shirt joins him after a misguided throw to the trunk of the car where their luggage resides.

When they arrive at the house, Jack only carries the groceries inside. He claims he’s been stilted all day and Trevor can’t really do much to prove otherwise. Cole carries in his and Jack’s luggage into the home– a rental that Trevor paid good money to book for the entire summer. 

“I get the best room!” Trevor yells after them. “I paid for it! I want the ensuite bathroom!”

“Go fuck yourself,” Jack replies. He’ll leave the room for Trevor to take anyway. 

The three boys had planned this ahead of time. They would be in Litchton the whole summer, so they will take the three bedrooms that have king beds. Quinn and Luke will take the queen beds in the other bedroom, and the various guests throughout the summer will take the bunk beds in the basement. From the pictures alone, Trevor realizes that the house could sleep more than ten people. If they can find ten people, maybe they could throw a party. 

and invite that girl, Trevor thinks.

He’s taken aback by the thought and its suddenness. He doesn’t even know her name or if he’ll see her again– so why is he thinking of her?

Trevor shakes the thought and grabs his bags from the back of the car. He used an extra practice bag from the bottom of his closet in Anaheim to pack his clothes for the summer, so he has a free hand to open the door that Cole closed behind him. 

He finds the big bedroom easily and drops his bag in the closet, not bothering to unpack. He looks out the sliding door onto his porch, the wrap-around that encircles the entire back of the house. His porch holds two rocking chairs and a wooden bench. The house is built out of wood– almost overwhelmingly so– and the decorations match. His bedframe, his dresser, his bedside table, his small desk, the fan, even the blinds on the window… all of them are made of wood. 

His bathroom has double sinks and a granite countertop. The handles are gold in color, but likely not in material. The spout of the sink is more like a water spigot that one might find outdoors, but it’s classy. When Trevor enters his bathroom, he’s in awe of the jacuzzi tub and shower on the other side of the room. 

The tub and shower are both built from dark marble, bespeckled with lines of darker ore. The tub has wooden cabinets beneath the feet of marble on either side of the tub, which holds towels and toiletries on the right and left respectively. The tub has jets and a handheld spout that’s detachable. Trevor considers them. He can think of a use for both.

The shower is spacious with an overhead spout, wide and fancy. It has ledges for toiletries, as well as a seat in the corner. The door is glass and there is a hook for towels next to the opening. The shower stands from ceiling to floor, completely confined. Despite the windows to the side of it, the occupant of the shower would be completely hidden from sight, once the glass door steams up. 

Trevor explores the house further, but doesn’t take up residence anywhere. Cole and Jack seem to have put the groceries away while he found his room and looked around. Now, they’re nowhere to be found. They’ve likely taken up residence in their bedrooms for the night, tired from their eleven hour drive.

Lord knows Jack needs sleep before he braves this vacation. He always gets grumpy when he’s tired, part of the reason why he naps prior to every game. 

Trevor is glad that all of the boys can make it up for the summer. He can’t wait to get things started.

2:90 – HONEY

She wakes with the sunrise, as she does every Tuesday. It’s her first day of the week at the bookstore and she has to open. The Reading Nook is always closed on Mondays and she is one of three workers– the owner, Ada and her best friend since childhood, Bea. Ada opens the store on Thursday, whereas Bea opens it on Friday. Every other day of the week, the responsibility falls on her.

She makes her coffee and drinks it on her couch, looking out the window towards the mountains in the distance. It’s clear today and she can see the rows of mountains clearly– ten rows back. Once, her father had told her that if you could count ten rows back, you were looking at the mountains across state lines. If you could count ten mountains, then you could count all the way to Tennessee. 

She believed him, until she realized that the sun always rises behind those mountains. She faces east. Tennessee is to the west.

Still, the memory comes with fondness. It was before she moved away from home to pursue a life of quietness in the mountains, her favorite place in the world. Those days are long in the past. She has no interest in returning to them, given how far she’s come. The only person from her hometown that was welcomed into this new life was Bea and she has proven time and time again that she is deserving of that role.

Not only did they grow up together, but she got her nickname because of her friendship with Bea. As children, a long-forgotten teacher had made a comment about the two being attached at the hip, stuck together like glue. She had corrected herself with a laugh, evidently feeling clever when she said: “No, more like a bee to honey, right, girls?” From that day on, she had only gone by Honey and Bea had shortened her name from Beatrice to keep the analogy. 

She drives to The Reading Nook and unlocks the store, wiping the counter and sweeping the main room while she waits for her regular patrons to enter the store.

On Tuesdays, the “founding” women of Litchton convene in the bookstore and knit. Some days, Honey joins them. Others, she just wishes to sit and read at their table, listening in on the gossip of the week. The women are not so much founders as the grandmothers who lived in Litchton since their birth, having married and worked and raised families here. They are true Appalachian women– driven by superstition and fantastical solutions, lovers of a good story, and wonderful bakers who only crave to share their gift. They are churchgoers, often multiple times a week, and headstrong believers in their chosen politician. These are the attributes that Honey does not share with the women– she was an outsider, although she has been welcomed into the Litchton society since moving here. She attended church when the ladies asked her to, usually for the rare wedding or baptism. Rarer for a funeral, luckily. Honey does not feel any particular way about politics, at least not out loud, and she’s lucky that the ladies try to reserve that topic for the debates of their husbands over dinner parties, not the knitting circle on early Tuesday mornings.

Sacha is the first to arrive to the bookstore that morning, armed with blueberry muffins in a tupperware that Honey will have to wash in the little sink in the back while the women are knitting. Sacha has left one too many tupperwares and bowls in The Reading Nook and Honey won’t allow her to leave another behind. 

Honey plates the muffins for Sacha while the elderly woman secures the long table in the store for her friends. It does not take long for Scarlett, Gillian, Vera, and Rosalind to join. The women each knit their own project, waking up over coffee and muffins before the gossip starts.

It begins with Vera’s son’s divorce, something she had been dreading since he proposed to his soon-to-be ex-wife while they were still students at NC State. They had moved to Raleigh permanently, an action that Vera believes started this whole thing. When her son left home, and his wife finally revealed that she didn’t want children, Vera knew it was over. Or so she said. Honey thinks that she’s just butthurt about her son fleeing the nest… ten years ago. She wonders, briefly, if her own mother feels this way about her.

Honey shakes herself out of her thoughts as soon as Scarlett introduces the next topic, the topic that Honey knew was coming since the night before.

“Did you see those young men at the store yesterday? I know you always do your shopping on Monday evenings, Rosalind.” Scarlett tilts her head like she’s conspiring with Rosalind, like Rosalind has been holding information from the group.

Rosalind nods, eyes glinting behind her wired glasses. “They were such handsome boys. Lord, I tell you, if I were a young lady nowadays…”

She trails off and Honey stifles a laugh, looking down at the counter. She can feel the ladies’ eyes on her, no doubt hoping that the mention of boys piques her interest. Honey knows how these ladies were in their day– boy crazy but also efficient, looking for the perfect match and settling for no less. All of them prevailed, although from their complaints, you would never know their husbands were the loves of their lives.

“Ladies, you know this conversation would be better suited for Bea,” Honey teases. 

“Bea is too forthcoming, you are still somewhat of a mystery.” Gillian lifts an eyebrow. 

“Where is Miss Bea?” Vera asks. “Wasn’t she supposed to be here half an hour ago?”

Honey doesn’t stifle her laugh this time. “Miss Vera!” She exclaims. “It is a Tuesday morning. You know Bea has no interest in showing up to work for at least another hour.”

Vera shakes her head. “You and Ada have got to stop allowing her to show up so late.”

Sacha laughs. “As if they could stop her if they tried!”

All of the women, and Honey, laugh at the joke. It’s well established in Litchton that Bea is the tardy sort, whereas everyone else prefers to be early or on time. Bea has the attitude of a city girl, to quote the old ladies, but the work ethic and priorities of a Litchton woman. She likes her men, she likes her job, but she loves a nice lay-in.

“Besides,” Honey tells the women, hesitating with a coy smile before dropping the bomb of information: “I’ve already met those men.”

The effect is instantaneous. All of them drop their knitting onto their laps and gasp. Gillian clutches at her chest, always the most dramatic of the quintet. 

“My darling,” Rosalind marvels.

“Well?” Scarlett questions. “How? When? Tell us everything.”

Honey moves from behind the counter to an empty seat at their table. She sits next to Sacha, the woman taking her hand and holding it tightly. 

“You ladies seem to forget that I go to the fruit stand outside the store on Monday evenings,” Honey begins. “Which is where I ran into them. Literally, too– one of them had his nose buried in his phone and bumped into me. He could’ve knocked me over!”

“You should have fallen so that he could have helped you up,” Rosalind suggests. The women murmur in agreement.

Honey rolls her eyes. “I did not. He apologized, I told him that he only bumped into me because he was caught up in his phone, and he said he would be more careful next time.”

“Next time,” Gillian repeats, nodding. “So he wishes to see you again?”

“Turns out, ‘next time’ was about five minutes later, when I went to leave the stand and he was right behind me!” Honey reveals, purposefully lacing incredulity into her voice. She places a finger on her lips and widens her eyes, playing into the dramatics of the ladies as if to say “What do you think of that?”

The women gasp in time. 

“Which one was it?” Scarlett asks.

“I only saw the other two for a moment, so I don’t think I could describe them well enough to you,” Honey says. “The one I spoke to is named Trevor.” She pauses to roll her eyes before adding sarcastically, “But his friends call him Z.”

Scarlett and Rosalind nod and look to each other. 

“It must have been the one who left earlier than the other two,” Scarlett says. “With those awful tattoos.”

Honey bites back a giggle. Once a southern mother, always a southern mother. “He did have tattoos,” she confirms.

“You two would get along,” Vera suggests, not so subtly casting a glance at the leafy vines that crawl up Honey’s arm.

Honey goes quiet, glaring at Vera. She has worked to try and get the ladies to stop commenting on her body and habits over the past few years, but the ladies are stubborn and traditional in most senses.

“How long will they be here? Or were they just stopping through?” Gillian asks.

“They’ll be here all summer, so I’m sure we’ll get our fill of them.” With that, Honey effectively ends her role in the conversation. She returns to the counter and opens her book, pretending to read it.

She knew the ladies would have caught wind of the men’s arrival by now and would want to discuss it. She knew that the ladies would be interested in setting her up with one of these new arrivals. They were cute, she’d give them that. At a glance, any of the three could have been nice company at a brewery, but Honey wasn’t looking. She was perfectly content with finding herself and making her own life, even if it meant that she wasn’t finding a husband like most women in Litchton wanted her to do.

The other thing was this: Trevor hadn’t made the best first impression. He bumped into her, then startled her, then told her some story about business partners or colleagues that definitely was not true, and he was from California. He’s a yuppie, a hipster who probably enjoys the bustle of Los Angeles and can’t handle the slow, satisfying life of a small town. To her estimate, Trevor has got a week before he leaves Litchton for something more glamorous and fast-paced.

The ladies relay the news to Bea when she finally shows up for her shift, a travel mug of coffee in hand from which she sips throughout each tantalizing detail of Scarlett’s retelling. Upon Honey’s information, Bea’s eyes flicker knowingly toward the counter and Honey just shrugs. Bea’s eyes then narrow, accompanying a questioning tilt of her head. Honey shakes her head at that, and Bea lets it go.

“Well, I heard the reason that Mr. Mayes wasn’t at church last week wasn’t his hip acting up,” Bea says to the ladies when it’s her turn. That starts a whole new tangent for the knitting club, one that will keep them occupied and in their seats for a number of minutes. It gives Honey the time to slip into the back and cut up one of the peaches that she brought from home to snack on during work. 

The ladies leave The Reading Nook about an hour after Bea’s arrival, leaving the store empty except for the two girls and floaters looking for their next novel.

Bea leans against the counter with a smug smile, blinking innocently at Honey. 

“What do you really think about them?” She asks.

“I think they’re trouble,” Honey says. “They didn’t seem on the same page about their jobs, they don’t know anything about living in a small town, they travel a lot, and I think I saw one of them carrying a 48-pack of beer.”

“Are they cute?”

Honey fixes Bea with a stare that could put a stop to anyone else’s questions. Unfortunately, Bea is immune to Honey’s intimidation tactics and her sarcastic jabs. She sees right through them. Honey’s silence is another thing she sees through.

“Interesting.” She draws herself up to her full height. 

���I think you would find them cute,” Honey says.

Bea hums. “You can’t backtrack now. You said enough without saying anything at all.” She crosses her arms over her chest then leans back down onto the counter. “So, tell me, Honeybear,” she muses. Fortunately, she changes the topic. “Did you get my strawberries from the stand, or were you too enthralled by the pretty boy in front of you?”

“He wasn’t pretty.”

“Sure he wasn’t.”

Honey scoffs, then leaves to the back to grab the basket of strawberries. She does so carefully, not touching the strawberries in case she breaks out in hives like she did last time. Bea swears that more exposure to the fruit would “cure” her allergy, but Honey only picks up the baskets to humor her. Honey doesn’t think she’s missing out on much, being allergic to strawberries. It’s her peaches that she would miss, and the blackberry pie that Ada makes when her vines turn ripe. That’s something to look forward to– blackberry season is starting and Ada could show up with a pie any day now.

The day continues slowly, with Ada making an appearance to close down the shop with the girls and help unpack a new shipment of books. After they’re done, Honey and Bea head to their respective homes.

Honey curls up with her book in her bed and listens to some music before the soft noise of the background and the comfort of her blanket draws her to her sleep.

3:90 – TREVOR

They have to go to the hardware store today. 

Yesterday, the boys wasted the day, sleeping later than they have in weeks. They ate a late breakfast, which turned into their lunch. They played pool on the pool table, ping and beer pong on the foldable table, and sunbathed out on the porch. Cole watched lazily as Trevor and Jack tried to outline half of a rink in chalk on the cement slab. They never finished the other half of the rink.

Today, they have to go get some wood and tools to make the rink into a 3D structure so the pucks don’t go flying into the woods when they shoot them. Trevor and Cole are the ones who are supposed to go to the store– Jack has decided to stay behind and wait for Quinn and Luke if they show up while the other boys are at the store. 

A convenient excuse, even though the goons are planning to show up today. Trevor expects the brothers to try and weasel their way out of working on the rink, claiming that they’re too tired from travel or they need more time to unpack. The thing is, the boys are flying into Charlotte and renting a car for the summer so that there will be two at the house, so they’re only driving for like an hour compared to Trevor’s eleven. They have no right to be complaining, but they will likely enact a vote and outweigh Cole and Trevor because if the Hughes are anything, it’s lazy and loyal to each others’ laziness.

They’re very driven, but only when they choose to work. When it comes to hockey, they’ll work all day. When it comes to creating the hockey rink or putting together equipment, they would much rather watch. Jim spoiled them that way– he was always the builder of the family and the boys were left to go do whatever they wanted as long as they weren’t annoying their father.

Trevor and Cole put off the trip as long as they can, hoping that maybe the Hughes brothers will show up early and they can force them to go to the store before they can even get out of the car. 

When the clock hits two, Trevor decides that the waiting is useless. They could’ve done so much during the day instead of sitting around waiting, but no. He was lucky enough to sit around and do nothing all day and watch stupid daytime TV with Cole while Jack read his texts with his brothers out loud.

The hardware store would be heaven compared to this.

He leaves without Cole at first, driving slowly down the driveway until he sees Cole’s figure run out of the house and after the car. Trevor can imagine what he’s saying as he yells after the vehicle– something about not being left with Jack in case the other Hugheses show up, something about how Trevor is a dick. 

They follow the one road on the mountain up to the strip where all the stores are. The hardware store is just a few doors down from the grocery store, so they park in the same parking lot.

Cole and Trevor walk side by side, Cole’s eyes on his phone as they walk while Trevor takes in the brick walkway beneath them. Names are etched on some of the bricks– Jude Doyle, Frederick Lawson, Ansley Hood… Grandma. Trevor has seen stuff like this before, but there’s something different about these names being etched on the bricks of this small town. Everyone probably knew these people, or knew someone who knew them, when they died. It’s so personal.

When they reach the hardware store, Trevor holds the door open for a man leaving. They give each other a curt nod, just a passing glance. Trevor sees absolutely no recognition in his eyes and comments on it. Cole doesn’t care, and says so. Trevor punches his shoulder.

“Welcome in,” the elderly woman at the counter greets. “What are you boys looking for?”

“Hi,” Cole replies, a charming smile on his face. “Could you point me towards the power tools? I can find my way from there.”

The woman smiles and points toward the back of the store. “They’re on the left, sweetie.” She turns to Trevor. “And what about you?”

“We’ll be needing some plywood,” Trevor says. “We’re building a little roller rink.”

“Oh, how fun!” The lady, named Vera if her nametag has any truth to it, claps her hands. “How much do you need, dear?”

“How much have you got?” Trevor asks. 

Vera waves her hand. “I don’t know. I’ll call Earl, he’ll send you off with what you need.” She turns and takes a breath before shouting the man’s name. Trevor’s heard that shout before– his grandmother used to do the same thing with his grandfather. 

The balding, age-spotted man appears at the door to the back of the shop. “I done told ya I have my hearing aids in, woman,” Earl grumbles to his wife, fond and mean and familiar in the way that only a couple who has been married for fifty years can be. 

Vera smacks Earl’s arm as he ambles by her. Earl pulls his arm away and puts another foot between them. 

“What do you need, young man?” Earl asks.

“Lots of wood,” Trevor says. “A couple of sheets of plywood and some 2x4s, maybe?”

“Boy, you do not think I have all’a that laying around.” Earl fixes Trevor with a stink-eye. 

“Don’t you tell him that!” Vera chimes in. “I know you’ve got plenty of wood out back because you bought all of it and never finished our damn basement.”

“I’m going to finish it!”

“Earl, you’ve been saying that for thirty years, you ain’t never finishing the basement.”

Trevor wants to laugh at the absurdity of this conversation. He wants to laugh at this domestic argument and how unreal it is that it’s unfolding in front of him. Instead, he clears his throat. “Excuse me,” he interrupts gently. “I don’t know if I want thirty year old wood for this. We’ll be hitting pucks off the boards all day and I’d like to keep the pucks inside the rink, please.”

“You’re a hockey boy?” Earl questions with a raised brow. When Trevor nods, he lets out a grunt. Trevor can’t tell what that means. Nonetheless, he waves Trevor to follow him into the back.

Trevor squeezes past Vera– she pinches his butt, he thinks– and catches a glimpse of her knitting under the counter when he walks by. She’s knitting something green. It’s too bundled up for him to tell what it is, though. Maybe he’ll ask later.

When he enters the back room, Earl gestures around. “Take your pick of the wood and make a pile over there–” he points to the corner– “and you can drive around back and we can put the wood in your truck there.”

“Oh, I didn’t drive a truck down,” Trevor says before he can help it. Earl makes a face. “But my friend and I can carry the piles ourselves to the car, don’t worry about that.”

“I wasn’t worried,” Earl gripes, shuffling away to sit at a bench with a circular saw and a half finished product on the table. 

Trevor sifts through the wood, all neatly arranged into piles of similar sizes– but labeled completely wrong. Trevor thinks that Earl might’ve refused to follow Vera’s labels when she first put them up in the shop, but realized that they’re more helpful than harmful. He’s just petty enough of an old man to ignore the labels, but follow the categorization.

Trevor ends up with a pile of ten sheets of plywood– four that are as long as lunch tables, and six that are just squares. Those will go behind the goals, while the long ones will go around the sides of the slab. He picks up a couple of 2x4s, just in case he needs them, and throws them on the pile with a clatter.

“I’m going to go grab my buddy,” Trevor says to Earl.

Earl grunts, but doesn’t budge. He also doesn’t look up from his station.

Cole is chatting up Vera when Trevor rejoins them. He’s leaning over the edge of the counter, asking about Vera’s knitting and her grandchildren. He’s got a bag of goodies next to him– powertools and nails, Trevor assumes. 

“Coley, come help me,” Trevor interrupts.

“No manners, this guy,” Cole says to Vera, scoffing and pointing his thumb at Trevor with a shake of his head. 

“Well, don’t keep the bear waiting,” Vera replies. Trevor watches her pinch Cole’s ass as he passes, but Cole just laughs and bats her hand away.

Fucking annoying. Always so good with the grandparents.

“The bear?” Trevor asks once Vera is out of earshot. “Is that me?”

Cole smirks. “We’ve got nicknames.”

Earl looks up when they reenter the back. He lets out a laugh, just a short bark. “This is your friend who’s going to help you carry all that wood?”

As the smirk falls off Cole’s face, Trevor picks it up.

“I can carry some wood,” Cole insists. “Probably all of it. I’m stronger than Z is, anyway.”

Earl’s gaze slides over to Trevor. “Z,” he repeats. “I hope you don’t stick with that one.”

Trevor laughs. “You sound like–” he cuts himself off. He never did learn her name, anyway. What’s it to this old man, who he sounds like?

Cole picks up on it though. “Like who, Z?” He asks with a tilt of his head.

Trevor glares at him. 

“I don’t give a rat’s ass who I sound like and I don’t want to hear your smug little bickering,” Earl admonishes. “Get your wood and get outta my shop.”

Trevor laughs in Cole’s face, then pushes him over towards the pile of wood. “Go on, strong man.”

Cole makes like he’s going to throw a punch at Trevor– Trevor doesn’t flinch, because he hasn’t fallen for that since their first stint on the US team– and puffs up his chest before deciding to pick up the long pieces of wood.

“Compensating for something?” Trevor asks.

“Go fuck yourself,” Cole replies cheerfully, turning on his heel and swinging the wood around with him, hoping to hit Trevor in the stomach. Trevor jumps away.

He picks up the rest of the wood and follows Cole out of the shop, bidding Earl a quiet farewell.

Earl grunts.

Trevor nods to himself, not surprised by the response. Vera is much more sad to see them go, gushing over how strong they are and telling them to come back soon. 

“What’s your nickname?” Trevor asks suddenly, as they load the wood into the back of the car.

Cole grins, crooked and smug. “Sweetie.”

“You’re fucking with me.”

“Oh, I assure you, I’m not. I’m a real hit with the ladies.”

“Yeah, you’re a real fucking hit with the married seventy year olds,” Trevor scoffs. “Don’t fucking talk to me, dude.”

Cole laughs, tossing his head back. He looks over Trevor’s shoulder. “Hey, isn’t that your girl?”

Trevor spins around. “Where?” He asks, looking to his left and right. 

When Cole starts cackling behind him, Trevor takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. “I’m gonna fucking kill you, dude.”

“Bear, you wouldn’t know what to do without me.” Cole pats Trevor on the chest before rounding the car, settling in the passenger seat.

“Fucking passenger princess,” Trevor seethes. 

“You wish you were me.”

“I fucking don’t.”

“The more fucks you say, the more fucks you give.”

“Fuck off.”

They drive back to the house in silence, Trevor’s knuckles white as he deliberates driving off the mountain and taking Cole with him. There are pros, certainly, the top one being that Cole would no longer be part of this vacation. The cons, unfortunately, outweigh the pros: without Cole, Trevor would be alone with the Hughes brothers all summer, except for the occasional visiting savior.

Quinn and Luke have arrived by the time the duo returns to the mountain house. They brought with them another SUV, this one only slightly bigger than Trevor’s vehicle. It’s got a third row of seats, but it’s cramped– they’ll definitely have to take both cars down to Charlotte when they go to practice. Because of the limited trunk space in Quinn’s rental car, Trevor’s car will likely end up being the gear car. 

Which is lucky, because who wouldn’t want to spend three hours total in the car with smelly gear while the other car gets to have fun and smell nice?

On second thought, the time alone might be good for Trevor. He loves his friends, he really does, but it’s hard to be around them for so long. He’s lucky that they’re all on different teams, that they keep up when they can, and that it’s not constant. Jack can’t escape his brothers, especially not Luke, but Trevor can escape all three of them.

He spends the evening building the outdoor rink, mostly alone. Quinn helps a little bit, mostly chalking up the lines on the remaining half of the slab. He holds the wood for Trevor while he screws some nails into the pieces to keep them in place. They work mostly in silence, as they often do. Trevor is itching to talk with Quinn, see how he is, but he knows that Quinn is a man of few words. He also knows that Quinn is quick to say that Trevor talks too much. They’re at the point in their relationship where Trevor lets Quinn dictate how much they speak.

Luke tries to cook dinner, he does. Trevor can’t fault him for trying. Jack had to jump in to save them from burnt steaks and soggy vegetables, and even if he can’t salvage everything, he does a pretty good job. Luke apologizes and does the dishes. He’s quiet for the rest of the night, falling asleep on the couch during the movie they picked out, and Quinn wakes Luke like a good big brother and shoos him to bed. 

It’s more calm than the lake house, Trevor thinks. They’re not really doing anything differently, are they? And yet, here they are, sitting together in calm silence. They’re drinking bottled beer and laughing over the same jokes they’ve heard a million times, reminiscing about summers past and what they’ll do this summer. Quinn wishes for a lake. Jack tells him they’ll find one.

Trevor goes to bed when the movie ends, frogs croaking past his bedroom window in the depths of the night.

4:90 – HONEY

It’s a Thursday, so Honey gets to sleep in until nine. Sleeping in until nine means that she really wakes up at eight, because she just can’t sleep in late after working at the bookstore for five years now. She sits on her couch on Thursday mornings and reads. She does the crossword in the Litchton Local, the newspaper that comes out weekly on Wednesdays. 

There’s an immeasurable stillness in the mountains.

Honey noticed it the first time she came up to this house as a child. Everything moves, like the bugs outside and the leaves on the trees, but everything is so still. Like it’s being held in place by something bigger. She knows the feeling well, but it’s comforting here. 

At home, it was uniforms and piano lessons after school. She loves piano, even still, but there was something so crushing about the weight of her perfect posture on that bench when there was all the pressure of beauty breathing down her neck.

Home, Honey thinks again, and laughs. 

In the mountains, all of the beauty of the world is there and present and taking up space– but it’s not forced. It’s not the idealized version of everything. It just is.

And everything is so green, especially on a rainy day like this. Honey thinks there’s something sacred about the greenness of the mountains, but it’s the melancholic side of divine that leaves you waiting for another whisper or breath in the wind that never comes.

She used to have a piano that she could play in the mornings. She toted it to the antique store down the road when she made the mountain home hers. Sometimes, she wonders why she did that and regrets it, staring at the dents on the floor where its legs used to stand.

But then she remembers that she’s thinking about the past again and she shakes herself out of it. Five years later, but it’s hard to forget all of the things you grew up knowing.

Honey picks Bea up on the way to work, relishing in the girl’s consistent lateness because it allows her the chance to catch up with her friend. They see each other every day, yes, but the bookstore isn’t suited for some topics.

Such as Bea’s current woes:

“I’ve run out of dating app men,” she complains.

Honey bites back a smile. “Did you run out, or did you just swipe left on all of them?” She asks knowingly.

Bea cuts her eyes at Honey. “All the ones I swiped left on are ugly,” she says. “I can promise you that.”

“Is anyone good-looking in Litchton, Bea?”

Bea’s silence speaks for itself.

Honey laughs, her hair whipping around her face in the breeze from the rolled-down windows of her car.

“If I had known you were dragging me to the Ugly Capital of the World, I wouldn’t have come with you,” Bea announces, like it matters. She’s a liar. She wouldn’t have let Honey leave their hometown without her, no matter where she was going.

“You couldn’t turn it down, you had to come,” Honey replies. “Especially since they asked you to be Mayor.”

Bea gasps, affronted. She stares at Honey, her jaw hanging open. “Are you mad at me? Be honest.” She pouts, her voice whiny.

“Oh my God,” Honey groans, rolling her eyes. “No, I’m not mad at you.”

“Okay, well, stop being a cunt, please,” Bea sasses. If Honey were more annoyed, she’d reach out and slap Bea’s arm for the attitude. “We have to go to work and I need to put all my focus into pretending to like you.”

“Yeah, because it’s so hard to like me,” Honey says. Her voice is dripping with sarcasm, monotone and grating. 

“Yeah, it is, you suck.” Bea flips her hair over her shoulder, digging through her bag to find her Walmart lip gloss. She smears the cherry flavored gloss over her lips and puckers up, batting her eyelashes at Honey exaggeratedly. “Gimme a kiss.”

“No.” Honey pulls up to The Reading Nook and parks on the street in front of the building, parallel parking with the practiced ease of someone who’s been dealing with nothing but parallel parking (except in the grocery store and church parking lots) for the last five years.

“Ugh, one day you’ll kiss me,” Bea mutters, staring forlornly out the window. 

Honey rolls her eyes. “Bea, we’ve already kissed. You weren’t that good and I didn’t like your lip gloss then, either.”

Bea cringes. “That was like ten years ago, Hon. Things have changed since then. Number one, I’m not in middle school. Number two, I’ve had boyfriends and I’ve had sex since then. Number three, you know it wouldn’t mean anything. I want you to try my lip gloss so bad, come on.”

Honey stares. Bea’s got a stupid smile on her face, teasing and annoying. They hold each other’s eyes for too long before Honey speaks. 

“You’re insufferable, did you know that?”

Bea nods. “You are so easy to work up.”

Bea and Honey exit the car at the same time and enter the store through the front, the bell jingling behind them. Ada greets them from behind the counter, teasing Bea for being late again and threatening to cut her pay. She never will, never. Bea is too good with the kids, too happy to talk to mothers, and just dry enough to understand the miserly old man that walks through the door looking for a new World War I book. 

In the back, Ada has a bowl of biscuits and jam that Honey reheats and eats over the counter before she starts her day. 

She’s supposed to reshelve some books from their Borrow Before You Buy section, the part of the store that acts as the town’s public library. It’s a small task. The pile of books that were returned yesterday is less than a hundred. A good portion of the books are little kid chapter books, the kind you could finish in an hour as an adult because the font is so big and there are full-page pictures twice a chapter. 

Bea has to read to the kids at noon– some of the mothers bring snacks, like the end of a youth soccer game. It’s like a potluck lunch and the kids love Bea. Most weeks, it’s just her, but since it’s summer, she’s starting to bring in guest readers. Honey refuses to do it every time. Well, that’s not true– she acts as guest reader once a summer, right before school starts. It’s her one moment of the year. 

As she’s restocking the books, Honey hears the bell twinkle with each new customer that walks in. She’s grown used to the noise over the years, so it doesn’t draw her eye anymore.

What does draw her eye, however, is the blunt tap on her shoulder. When she turns around, Bea is blinking innocently at her– no doubt the offending hand in this scenario– with Trevor by her side.

“I was just talking to Trevor here, Honey,” Bea says. “And he was wondering if we had any books that a man his age might like. I thought maybe you should talk to him.”

Honey glares at Bea, purposefully obvious about it so that Trevor sees. What does she know about book recommendations for a man in his twenties? He probably wants some shit sports biography, or worse– he’s embracing his inner old man and he’s ready to venture into the world of World War I non-fiction. Either way, book recommendations are Bea’s thing, not Honey’s. She just stocks the books, builds the shelves, and bonds with the old ladies who come in on Tuesdays.

Bea shrugs with a coy little smile– Honey wishes she could slap it off of her face– and disappears behind the stacks. Honey can tell that she’s still listening from a few feet away, always nosy and overly interested in Honey’s exploits. If she can’t indulge in her own, she’s happy to butt in on Honey’s.

“Trevor,” Honey says, crossing her arms over her chest. She didn’t wear a bra today. She doesn’t trust him not to look. She also doesn’t trust her nipples not to peak in the cold air. 

“Is Honey your real name?” Trevor asks. 

She balks at him. “What is it with you and my name?”

Honey expects Trevor to back down, to act timid and normal and earnest like he did at the fruit stand on Monday. She expects him to apologize, yet again, for another inadvertent mistake that Trevor seemed unable to avoid. It’s because he doesn’t think– he just says the words as they come to mind, hoping that the sentence comes out fully formed and making sense.

And yet, he doesn’t.

“Just wanted to know what name I’ll be saying when I’m telling you to come,” is what Trevor answers. 

Honey gathers her wit quickly, scrambling to find a response to Trevor’s bold statement. She wants something clever, something to turn him down, something to tell him that he’s a cocky prick for saying such a thing while she’s at work, but she comes up with none of the above. Instead, she settles for: “It’s a nickname.”

A smirk tugs at Trevor’s lips and Honey wants to reach out and strangle him. He’s smirking because he thinks he bested her– bested her– and that he’s got the upper hand.

“What kind of book are you looking for, Trevor?” Honey changes the subject, trying to get back on task. She turns, continues restocking the Borrow Before You Buy shelves. 

“I’m not sure, Honey,” he replies, really milking his use of her name. “What kind of books do you think I’d like?”

She glances at him, looks him up and down. She tamps down a smile and says in a curt, monotone voice. “Guides on how to make the best of your business trip.”

Trevor laughs at that, more of a shake of his shoulders than a real laugh. “You’re funny, Honey.”

Honey raises her eyebrows and waits for him to continue.

“Hey, that rhymed. Maybe a book of poetry? I need to study my craft if I’m going to be waxing poems about you.”

He’s bold, she thinks. He’s really bold, much more sure of himself than he was on Monday. He’s much more confident, a sharp 180º from where he was the other day.

“Why don’t you keep your waxes to yourself?” Honey asks.

“How can I?”

She turns to him, planting a hand on her hip. “Don’t you have something to do today other than bother me at my bookstore? You don’t even know me. Why are you here?”

“I’m here to get a book. I’m not trying to bother you, I’m just trying to make conversation.” Trevor shoves his hands in his pockets and has the decency to look ashamed, even if it’s just for a split second and just to see if Honey will crumble. She knows his type. She’s seen them before.

“You’re flirting with me,” Honey accuses. “Not making conversation.” She puts air quotes around the last two words.

Trevor smiles. “You caught me,” he says simply, no shame evident in his voice. The smile stays on his lips as he and Honey look at each other. He raises his eyebrows and she takes it as a challenge.

“I’m not interested, Trevor.”

“I could show you a good time, Honey.”

“In Litchton?”

“Don’t you hear how good it sounds when I say your name? It’s like we’ve been hooking up for ages and I’ve got a special little name for you.”

“A name that everyone else uses.”

“It’s special to me.”

“How about a self-help book?”

Trevor clutches at his chest, jaw dropping in fake-misery. “You think I need help?”

“If you’re not going to buy a book, then you need to leave me alone.” Honey places the last book in her stack on the shelf and looks at Trevor expectantly. The silence sits between them, suspended for a moment.

“Do you have any books about space?” He asks. 

Honey notices that his voice is softer, a little more genuine. She examines his features, waiting for the other shoe to drop. She waits for the joke about not wanting space from her, needing her in his orbit, or whatever. It doesn’t come. She scans his figure one last time, realizing that her brow is furrowed and she’s chewing on the inside of her bottom lip as she does so. She smoothens her expression, hoping Trevor didn’t pick up on her calculating stare.

“How do you feel about creative nonfiction?” Honey asks.

Trevor scrunches his nose.

“Memoirs, personal histories, stuff like that,” Honey supplies. She softens her voice to match his tone. She almost feels a little shy. “We only have one book about space that I’ve read and it’s creative nonfiction, but it’s really good.” Quieter, then: “I liked it.”

Trevor nods, a little hesitant. This is the Trevor she met on Monday. “Okay.”

“Follow me.” Honey leads him to the nonfiction section, to the rows of books whose authors bear a last name that starts with ‘D.’ She runs her fingers along the titles of the books at the height of her chest while scanning the upper shelves. “It’s there,” she says, pointing to the row just out of her reach. “It’s by ‘Dean.’” She looks down, around her on the floor. “Where’s my step ladder…?”

“I can reach it,” Trevor says, stepping forward. He places a hand on the small of Honey’s back and reaches up, fingers hesitating as he searches for the right book. When he finds the spine bearing Dean’s name, he bounces up on his tiptoes for just a second to slide the book from its position on the shelf. 

Honey has never been more aware of a hand in her life. His touch is light, just a passing glance really, but it weighs on her. It’s like she’s standing in quicksand and she waited too long to try and get out.

He’s so close to her when he stands flat on his feet again. He’s got the book in one hand and his other still rests on Honey’s back.

She steps away.

His eyes follow her, but instead of saying anything, he just flips the book over in his hand. He reads the back cover and as he does so, Honey puts more space between them. She takes a breath, trying to stay quiet, and grounds herself.

“Is it really any good?” Trevor asks. “Do I have to buy it?”

“Yes, and, um.” Honey throws a look over her shoulder. She lost track of Bea while she and Trevor went to find this book. Fuck, her nosey best friend could be anywhere. “You can borrow it. We just usually give people a week or so to bring it back, and if you don’t, we track you down.”

“Track me down?” Trevor asks, chuckling. 

“Yeah.” Honey nods. “Small town. Everybody knows everybody, or knows somebody who knows everybody.”

“Stalking me, Honey?” Trevor teases.

“We’ve met twice, and both times it was because you came up to me. If anyone is the stalker here, it’s you.”

Trevor turns the book over in his hand again, looking down to avoid Honey’s gaze. “Leaving Orbit, huh?” He bites his lip and takes in the sight of Honey in front of him. He taps the book with his other hand. “I’ll let you know if it’s any good.”

“I know it’s good. I read it.”

“Baby, if you knew good, you’d be all over me.”

Honey scoffs. “Alright, fun’s over. Get out of here, Trevor.” She shoos him away, practically pushing him out of the shop. She sticks her tongue out at him through the glass after closing the door behind him. She watches him laugh, run his hands through his hair, and turn away.

‘Zegras’ is written in bold letters across his back, the number 11 in the center of his t-shirt. The detail catches Honey’s eye as she watches him walk away, down the street towards a car with a New York license plate that looks far too perfect and expensive to belong in Litchton. She bites the inside of her lip again, pondering. If anyone asks, she doesn’t care, but Trevor’s different than anyone she’s ever met. She wonders why.

But no, she doesn’t care.

Bea does.

“He plays hockey,” Bea announces, revealing herself. “He’s good, too. NHL. He was a top ten pick when he was drafted.”

Honey just nods. Twice. That’s all she needs. They’re small movements and she’s still chewing on her lip.

“What did he get?”

Honey clears her throat. “Just the, uh, Dean book about space.”

Honey can practically hear the face Bea makes behind her back. “You think he’ll enjoy that?” Bea asks. “It’s really personal.”

“It was the only book I could think of,” Honey replies with a shrug. She finally turns around to face Bea. “You’ve got to stop spying on me. I know you listened to our whole conversation.”

Bea pouts and stomps her foot, the sound echoing along the stacks around them. “How could I not?” She demands. “‘Just wanted to know what name I’ll be saying when I’m telling you to come?’ Honey, girl. Be serious.”

“Bea, you know I’m not looking for that right now.”

“You’re never fucking looking for that,” Bea hisses, pinching Honey’s wrist until she flinches away. “It’s falling into your lap and you’re pushing it out the door! What’s wrong with you?”

Honey glares at her with a tilted head. 

Bea relents. “One of these days, I’m going to kick your ass,” she threatens. “You can’t be a spinstery old maid forever, Honeybear. They’re only here for the summer. Maybe you should embrace it.”

“He’ll be gone within the week.”

Bea sighs. “Whatever you say.”

5:90 – TREVOR

“We need to throw a party,” Trevor says over breakfast.

“Why?” Luke asks, voice scratchy from lack of use. He yawns and runs his fingers through his hair, further messing up his already messy curls. He’s not wearing a shirt– none of them are– and Trevor is astounded by how pale Luke is. 

“We need to get you outside more,” Trevor mumbles, then clears his throat and continues speaking. “It’s like a housewarming thing.”

Unimpressed, Cole rolls his eyes. “Who do you want to invite?” He asks.

Trevor pauses, side-eying his friend. “Nobody,” he deflects. 

Quinn snorts, the spoon he’s using for his cereal clinking against the side of his bowl. “Not much of a party.”

“He wants to invite the girl that he met the other day,” Jack says, butting into the conversation. 

Luke frowns. “What girl?”

“Some townie that he met at the fruit stand when we went to the grocery store,” Jack explains. “He doesn’t know her name.”

“Her name is Honey, actually,” Trevor interrupts. 

The table stills. Each of the boys’ eyes turn towards Trevor and he suddenly feels like an ant under a child’s magnifying glass, boiling under the glare.

Cole pushes up an invisible pair of glasses and raises a finger, pursing his lips. “Actually,” he mocks, then drops the tone. “How do you know her name, Z?”

Trevor shrugs noncommittally. “I ran into her when I went into town yesterday.”

“Oh, when you were supposed to pick up laundry detergent and you came back with a book instead?” Cole asks. “That makes sense, much more sense than what Luke said.”

Trevor blanches. “What did Luke say?”

Jack snickers.

Trevor turns to Luke. “What did you say?”

Quinn smiles and hides his face, taking a large mouthful of his cereal to leave Luke hanging if he asked for help.

Luke flushes. “I mean, you know… that maybe you confused the two.”

“How the fuck would I confuse laundry detergent with a book?” Trevor snaps. “They’re two completely different things, fuckface.”

Luke throws his hands up in surrender. “We were just thinking of reasons why you might’ve come back without the one thing we needed.”

Trevor looks around the table. “You guys are such assholes.”

“Bro, you’re the one that forgot laundry detergent because you were too busy chatting up some chick,” Jack defends the group. “Now we can’t even do our laundry.”

“If it’s so fucking important to you, go get the detergent yourself!”

A smile breaks out on Jack’s face. “Maybe I will,” he says, his voice shit-eating. “I might need to grab a book for myself, too.”

Trevor’s anger increases tenfold, for no fucking reason. “The fuck you do,” he snaps. “You don’t even know how to read.”

Jack’s face twists, his emotions finally aligning with Trevor’s own. “Fuck you, dude. You know I can read, I just don’t like to.”

Trevor scoffs and rolls his eyes. “I just want to have a party,” he mutters, stabbing at his eggs with his fork. 

The boys fall into silence, finishing their breakfasts. Trevor pouts, frustrated that the boys weren’t immediately on board with his idea for a party. 

If they were in Michigan, the Hughes brothers would have the front door of the house unlocked past 10pm. The people they know from the golf course, from the lake, from the pickleball courts would all be pouring through the doorway and into the party. Everyone knows that on Saturday nights, the Hughes brothers invite people over and they have a big bonfire. Apparently, that only applies in Michigan.

Trevor leaves the breakfast table first, to jeers from the other boys about being pouty and bitchy for not getting his way. Trevor knows that he’s going to invite Honey and her friend– Bee? Bea? B?– over tomorrow night no matter what the goons say. There’s not much to do in Litchton, he knows that, so he doesn’t want to leave the girls out. Otherwise, they might just sit at home all night. Trevor can’t have that.

Obviously, that’s his only motive. He would never have any other reason to invite Honey and Bea over to the house at night. Never.

Maybe one other reason.

But that’s irrelevant. 

He spends the morning outside, using the extra wood from Earl to build a fire pit in the half-circle clearing near the edge of the forest. When they were younger, Trevor’s sister might’ve thought this area was where the fairies lived, and maybe she would have built them a house. He wonders briefly if Honey was the same way when she was a child, when she was growing up in rural Litchton with nothing else to do but imagine.

Come to think of it, he doesn’t know if Honey grew up here. She seems so intimately integrated into the town that she has to be from here, has to have grown up here. She must know all the town secrets and all the town gossip and fuck, Trevor wants to know all of that and more. 

He can’t explain the feeling he has about Honey. He’s just… drawn to her. It doesn’t make sense– he doesn’t know her. He’s barely met her. She did not exist in his life a week ago and yet, she’s popping up in his thoughts like they’ve known each other for years. Like they’ve been inseparable for years. When he thinks about it, he decides that Honey is like one of the girls he would have met in elementary school in Bedford. Honey is one of the girls that he would have grown up with, one of the neighbor girls from down the street with whom he rode his bike on hot summer days. 

She’s got a hometown charm feel to her. Trevor has to see her again.

He finishes building the wooden part of the fire pit before realizing how stupid it was to build the pit out of wood. A lightbulb seems to go off in his head, though, because it’s an excuse to go see her, to invite her to his party. He can go to the hardware store on the way, pick up some stone and gravel to line the wood, protect it from catching flame. He can pick up some firewood from the grocery store for their first fire and pick up the laundry detergent he forgot yesterday. Jack won’t be so annoying then.

Trevor doesn’t bother telling the boys where he’s going– he just gets in the car and drives away. 

It takes all of fifteen minutes to make his way to the bookstore. It’s still early, so he doesn’t even know if it’s open yet. Trevor and the boys are so used to waking up early for hockey that they’ve been up for about two hours and the whole day is still ahead of them.

When Trevor pulls at the front door of The Reading Nook, it doesn’t swing open the way it did yesterday. He knows the doors are easy on their hinges, considering how easily Honey slammed the door behind him yesterday, but today, the wood is barely budging. He knocks on the door, loud. 

Honey’s friend’s head peeks out from behind a stack, confusion written all over her expression. Trevor waves at her, gesturing at the door. She laughs, then approaches the door. She points down at the ‘Closed’ sign hanging near the handle.

Trevor tilts his head, unimpressed. “I have to talk to you,” he says through the glass.

Bea unlocks the door and opens it with a snorted laugh. “What’s up, Trevor? Honey’s not here yet.”

“I have a proposition for you.”

Bea steps aside and lets him into the store. “You want her.”

Trevor sputters at her honesty. “I don’t know her.”

“You want her,” Bea repeats with a nod and a knowing smile. “And you want to know how to get her.”

“Well, yes,” Trevor says. “But also, no. I wanted to invite you– both, you both– to a party tomorrow night.”

Bea smiles. She crosses her arms over her chest. “You want my best friend and all I get is some measly party? Come on, Trevor. What’s in it for me?”

Trevor thinks for a minute. “What do you want?”

Bea laughs. She pokes her tongue into her cheek and looks expectantly at Trevor.

“Whoa,” Trevor says, taking a step back. “That’s really… forward, but–”

“I don’t want you, Trevor,” Bea scoffs. She shakes her head and rolls her eyes. “So self-centered, Honey was right about that. But, I’ll help you get her and I’ll make sure we make it to your party if you give me what I do want.”

Trevor hums, narrowing his eyes. “What do you want?”

Bea smiles, devilish and conniving. “The dating pool up here is pretty dry, and I hear you’ve got a few friends.”

Trevor nods.

Bea blinks at him. “Do you have any pictures of these friends? I would’ve looked you up, but Honey and I swore off Instagram years ago.”

That makes sense. That’s why he couldn’t find Honey when he looked her up last night– not that he had much to go off of. Still, “Honey Litchton NC” didn’t reveal many results.

Trevor fumbles with his phone, showing her a picture of the group from last summer. He watches her fingers pinch and zoom in on the picture, on each individual. She keeps her expression neutral, a poker face that impresses Trevor. She hums, thoughts racing behind her eyes too quick for Trevor to understand them. 

“We’ll come to your party,” Bea says simply, handing the phone back to Trevor. She snatches it back at the last second. “Wait,” she says, and clicks around for a second. 

Trevor waits, then she hands the phone back. On the screen is a contact page for ‘Bea McLean.’ 

“It’s pronounced like McLane,” Bea tells Trevor. “Since you’re so obsessed with names.”

“Okay,” Trevor cuts her off with a sarcastic nod. 

Bea laughs. “Don’t get sassy with me, I have all the power here.”

“Yeah, but I have your number,” Trevor flaunts.

“I could just block you, easily,” Bea points out. “Then where would you be?”

Wisely, Trevor bites his tongue. After a deep breath, he asks, “So, I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Wouldn’t miss it. Now get out, Honey’s supposed to get here soon and I don’t want her seeing you. She’s annoyingly on time. She’ll know we’re in cahoots.” Bea, much like her best friend did yesterday, pushes Trevor to the door and shoves him through it. She slams it behind him, flipping the sign so it says ‘Open’ instead, and waving Trevor off with a blown kiss.

she’s a flirt, Trevor thinks. those guys will not survive her for a second.

He doesn’t know which boy she has her eye on, but it doesn’t matter. Quinn’s too quiet for her, Luke is too awkward, Jack is too cocky, and Cole is too… short. 

Trevor snorts at the insult, laughing to himself. He heads to the grocery store, where he parked, and purchases two gallon bottles of laundry detergent and a Sharpie. He writes “JACK” on one and puts them both in the trunk of the car. Then, he walks to the hardware store. 

“Bear!” Vera greets from behind the counter, joints creaking as she moves from her chair behind the counter to give Trevor a hug. 

“Oh, Vera, you don’t have to come all the way over here,” Trevor says awkwardly, but hugs the woman back nonetheless.

“Of course I did!” Vera exclaims. “You look so handsome, young man.”

Trevor blushes, shying away from Vera’s examining fingers. She squints at the logo on his chest, one of his shirts from Anaheim. 

“I live in Anaheim,” Trevor explains to the woman, catching her hands in his and holding them securely in front of her body before letting go. “Do you have any stone that I could secure a fire pit with?”

“Yes, baby!” Vera claps and leads him to a section of the store that’s, somehow, even more peculiar than Earl’s workshop. There’s bags of gravel, sure, but it looks like fish food compared to some of the other bags and miscellaneous stones on the shelves. “Pick whatever you’d like. I’ll give you a discount for being so darn cute.”

Trevor chuckles. “I bet you give that to all your customers,” he teases.

“I had a local girl put it in the computer for me after we met you and Sweetie on Wednesday,” Vera teases back, batting her eyelashes. Her cheeks are red with blush, too much blush. “His discount is a little more because I see you’ve changed the body God gave you.”

Trevor follows her eyes to his tattoos. He rubs his opposite hand over them sheepishly. “Yes, ma’am.” He tries to smile charmingly. “Maybe I should’ve sent him to do the shopping today, since you like Sweetie so much.” He throws a wink into the mix to punctuate his sentence.

Vera laughs, a twinkling sound.

“Plus, it’d be cheaper for me,” Trevor says, like it’s a scandalous secret.

“I know that’s right!” Vera claps again, waves a hand at Trevor like she’s slapping her knee. She walks off, back to the counter, leaving Trevor to shop for his stones. 

He shops through the stones for about half an hour, choosing his favorites. He settles on a midsize gray stone, one that he can stack and seal with cement. He buys the quick drying cement as well, and carries it all to his car. Vera carries the quick dry cement and giggles when Trevor easily shifts the stones in his grasp when she complains about the bucket being too heavy for an old lady. He picks up the bucket and shifts the stones again, knowing he can carry more than this if he needed to. He swears he hears Vera sigh dreamily behind him as he packs the car up.

Like he said, what’s flirting with a few old ladies?

When he bids her goodbye with a kiss on the cheek, Trevor makes eye contact with Honey in the bookstore window. He grins at her and winks to her for good measure. He thanks Vera for her help while he escorts her back to the store, just for the sake of Honey seeing how selfless he can be. He’s not self-centered, no matter what she told Bea. 

Vera insists that Trevor and “his band of boys” join her and Earl at church that Sunday morning, pledging to introduce them to the other members of the community. Trevor agrees, thinking that being on Vera’s good side might get him even closer to Honey.

Trevor drives back to his home for the summer to find that the boys are playing in the rink he built.

Come to think of it, he’s making a lot of improvements to this property, and the only one who has actually helped is Quinn.

Not self-centered at all.

He deserves a party.

“We’re having a party,” Trevor calls out, carrying his stones toward the fire pit. He dumps his supplies on the ground. “And I invited two girls.” He wipes the dirt and dust from his fingers. “Someone else needs to finish this fire pit because I’m tired of building your shit. C’mon, Quinn.”

He leads the way inside, to grab a beer from the fridge, and Quinn follows after kicking off his skates, eager to avoid the work. The other brothers and Cole are left dumbfounded on the concrete. Jack makes eye contact with the cement mix first, and he smiles. 

They always did love a little project, and maybe they can hide a drawing of a dick in the cement for the owners to find at the end of the summer.

6:90 – HONEY

“Where are we going?” Honey asks. 

Bea has barely crossed over the threshold of Honey’s home before the question falls from her lips. Bea’s been cagey about it all day– just explaining that “we have plans” and that “you’ll enjoy them.” Honey loves her, sure, but this is absurd. She feels like she’s being kidnapped. 

“More like when are we going,” Bea corrects. “Let’s get you an outfit.”

Honey stumbles back, Bea pushing her out of the way. She closes the door behind her friend, following Bea as she stomps up the stairs to Honey’s bedroom. Bea knows Honey’s place as well as she knows her own, a little townhouse off of the main street in town. Honey’s lucky to live a little farther from city center, closer to the magic of the mountains. 

“What kind of plans do we have, at least?” Honey presses. She looks at Bea’s outfit– a jean skirt that falls like an old Poodle skirt and a white bandeau top. It’s sort of see-through– Honey can see the shadow and outline of Bea’s nipples through the skimpy top. “I don’t want to dress like you,” Honey says.

Bea scoffs and turns to Honey. “My plan tonight is to get laid, your plan tonight is to accompany me while I evaluate my prey.” 

Honey pretends to gag. “I hate when you say that.”

“Maybe you’ll find someone to flirt with,” Bea says. 

“So, where are we going tonight? Statesville? Winston?” Honey asks again, hoping Bea will relent since she now knows the purpose of their adventure. 

“Dude, I’m not telling you,” Bea laughs. 

She reaches Honey’s closet and throws the curtain open. She strolls into the closet, looking through Honey’s clothes. 

“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” Honey asks, looking down at her athletic shorts and little tank top.

Bea turns around and surveys Honey. “The shirt is fine.” She returns to her task. “Nice tits.”

Honey looks down. It’s a revealing top and she’s not wearing a bra, because it’s a Saturday and she didn’t know they had plans until Bea told her this afternoon. “Maybe not, then.”

Bea glares at Honey out of her peripheral. “But that’s your favorite tank.”

“I have a feeling I’m going to get hit on if I wear this shirt.”

“You’re going to get hit on anyway. Keep the shirt.”

“No, I won’t, because my bitch face will keep most of the guys away.”

“Most of the guys. Which is the whole thing. Those ones will come to me.”

“Ew, you’re going to have a threesome tonight?”

“A threesome?” Bea spins around. “God, no! One at a time for me, thanks. I’m just going to fuck the other ones.”

“Other than who?” Honey asks. “I’m not fucking anyone tonight.”

Bea rolls her eyes. “You don’t know that.”

“Trust me, I do.”

“Whatever.” She digs through the closet, finding a long-buried white tennis skirt, the back pleats of the skirt puffy. Honey would never wear something like that, but Bea would– it’s probably Bea’s skirt in the first place. 

“I’m not wearing that,” Honey states.

Bea wrestles her into it– seriously. She tackles Honey onto the bed and literally redresses her, the absurdity of the situation so bizarre that it completely bypasses both girls’ minds. Honey fights Bea the whole time, but Bea comes out on top. She gets her way, Honey wears the skirt, but she’s not happy about it.

“Do I, at least, get to drive?” Honey asks.

“Oh, I was going to force you,” Bea laughs. “You don’t expect me to drive you home, do you? I’ll be… indisposed.”

Honey scowls the rest of the time they spend getting ready– Bea does Honey’s hair and forces Honey to put on some light makeup, just a bit of mascara, eyeliner, and some lipgloss. 

The only problem with Bea and Honey’s relationship is that Bea likes to go out, likes to meet people, likes to have a wild time, whereas Honey prefers to stay in. She’d rather watch a documentary or read a book or be present in nature than packed into a club dancefloor like a sardine in a larger can. Not that that matters to Bea.

By the time they get in the car, Bea is jumping off the walls trying to keep her secret destination to herself. Honey keeps trying to push, hoping for the right moment, but Bea won’t reveal her plans. All she does is direct Honey to the main road and type away at her phone, sending text after text to an unknown recipient, an unknown recipient that Honey is sure they’ll be meeting up with later.

They drive further into the mountains, to Honey’s surprise. They don’t head towards Winston or Statesville. They drive up, farther from town, farther from their neighbors. Near the top of the mountain, the houses are miles apart.

Perfect for a party.

Perfect for a party… thrown by boys in their twenties.

It clicks in Honey’s mind as Bea tells her to turn into the hidden driveway along the curve. “You’re not,” Honey says.

Bea laughs. “I was wondering how long it would take for you to catch on. I thought for sure you would’ve clocked me when we turned left instead of right.”

“Bea,” Honey scolds, her voice sharp. They’re on the driveway now, safe from the curves of the road, and Honey stops the car. She turns to her best friend. “You can’t be serious.”

For all of her audacity, Bea manages to understand the gravity of the situation at hand. It finally clicks in her head, why Honey isn’t happy with her plans, and why she’s even unhappier that she was dragged out here without knowing what she was walking into. She can’t just drop Bea off and leave– she would be abandoning her best friend in a house of strange boys all evening. Bea might be outgoing, but she hasn’t been hurt like Honey.

“It’s not going to be like that,” Bea reassures Honey gently, grabbing Honey’s hand with both of hers. “I promise, they’re not like that.”

“You don’t know them, Bea,” Honey explains. 

“You don’t either,” Bea points out. “And this time, we’re together. The second they do something– I mean it, the second– we’ll leave. I’ll go with you. Fuckery be damned.”

Honey grimaces, rolling her shoulders to try and relieve some of the tension. She takes a deep breath, then squints at Bea. “Are you really going to fuck all of them?” She asks.

Bea grins, knowing that she’s convinced Honey to at least try and hang out with the boys. She’s smug, getting her way once again. She winks at Honey, coy. “Just the ones you don’t want,” she simpers, giggling. “You get your pick of the litter.”

“I don’t want to fuck any of them. I don’t know how many times we have to go over this.”

“So, you don’t want Trevor? ‘Cuz I was thinking–”

“Don’t fuck Trevor,” Honey groans. 

“Why not?” Bea teases.

“You’re better than that, Buzzy,” Honey scoffs with a shake of her head. “He’s weird and a flirt and annoying.”

“I’m weird,” Bea says. “And a flirt. And annoying.” She puckers her lips and blows kisses at Honey as she shifts the car into drive and begins to creep down the driveway again. “Maybe it’s a match made in heaven, me and Trevor.”

“You don’t want him,” Honey growls, her voice short. 

Bea shrugs and faces forward in her seat, her hands tapping her thighs. Whether it’s from nerves or excitement, Honey can’t tell. If she had to guess, though, it would be excitement. Bea is the least anxious person that Honey knows, the kind of person who can talk to anyone or anything no matter the situation.

While they might be athletes, they’ve never met anyone like Bea. Honey never has, not since she met her best friend all those years ago. They’re fucked– and she’s irresistible.

Honey and Bea pull up to the house and park under the cover, right next to the front door. This house was a point of contention when it was being built the first year Honey moved to Litchton. It was her first introduction to the gossip of the founding ladies. Scarlett and Gillian had felt particularly perturbed by the building– a five bed, four bathroom house complete with a hot tub and a game room and two stories of wraparound porches. 

And it’s all made of the same wood, the same stain, the same ugly pattern. Honey cringes when she thinks about the number of trees that were cut down to make this house match. She’d think the same thing if it was made entirely out of the same stone. 

Bea knocks on the door as Honey wipes her sweat from her palms. It takes a minute, but then Honey hears the scrambling of feet and the shouting between one man and his group of buddies, who are just giggling as they do what they can to cut him off from the door. Honey can see it through the thin windows bordering the door, how they rush up the stairs and down the hall. She can also see how they’re holding Trevor back as much as they can.

The brunet from the first day opens the door with a charming smile. “Hi,” he greets. “Can I help you?”

“Jack, you motherfucker–”

Honey bites back a laugh as Trevor curses and struggles, still in the grasp of the shorter boy from the first day and one of the newcomers– another brunet, a taller one. She looks at him carefully– the curl of his hair at the nape of his neck, partially hidden under a baseball cap, the curve of his eyebrows, and the slope of his lips give him away. He must be one of Jack’s brothers. 

“We were invited to come over tonight,” Bea replies.

No matter how many times she hears it, Honey is always impressed by the way Bea turns on her charm and makes the people around her melt. It worked on her, too, when they first became friends all those years ago, and then less and less when Bea moved into Honey’s place when they first came to Litchton together and shared a bed for almost a year before Bea found her own townhouse. Then, her charm just got annoying, like a younger sibling who tags along with you everywhere because Mom said they had to.

It’s better for them when Bea and Honey have their time apart. Honey, especially, needs her time alone.

Jack’s eyes finally find Honey behind Bea and he grins. “That’s right,” he says, tapping his forehead like he just remembered. Honey can tell that all he’s doing is messing with Trevor, though. “The party! You must be the girls that Z invited. Hi, Honey.”

“Hi, Jack,” Honey replies, short and sweet. She turns on her customer service voice just for this. She finds Cole next to Trevor and smiles when her eyes slide over the imprisoned boy, as passive as she can be. “Hi, Cole.”

“Hey, Honey,” Cole says with an easy smile. Honey wants to snort and laugh– he’s got a smile that could get him into or out of anything. She wonders briefly if he’s childish and impish, still, even in their adult age, just because he’s got the smile to match.

Jack steps aside and lets the girls enter the house. He closes the door behind them and Honey has a sneaking suspicion that if she turned to glance at him, he’d be staring at one of their backsides. She doesn’t look. It’s not worth the joke that she could make if she caught him.

Bea nudges Honey and points up.

Honey tilts her head, and– “A chandelier made of moose antlers. Wow,” she marvels. She makes a face at Bea, then continues. “That’s really… something.”

“Isn’t it sick?” Cole asks, finally dropping Trevor’s arm and joining the girls where they stand. He spreads his arms out from his sides and spins in a slow circle. When he makes a full turn, he looks at both girls and wiggles his eyebrows. “Want a tour?”

The girls agree and Cole takes them throughout the house, leaving the other boys behind. From their pounding feet, Honey figures they’re headed downstairs, while Cole takes them upstairs. He shows them the bedrooms, the bathrooms, the common areas, the hallways, the outlet in his room that doesn’t work, and much more. They go back downstairs and get the same treatment– Cole even opens the fridge and helps himself to a beverage before offering anything to the girls. They see the kitchen, the living room, the den, the dining room and patio. Cole shows them the wraparound porch and its chairs. Honey takes in the view– it’s just as good as the one from her living room. 

Finally, finally, they make their way down to the basement. It’s a smaller room, minimized by a covered porch and larger patio with a hot tub. The basement is clearly the man cave, the game room, or whatever you want to call it. There’s a pool table, a large TV, a ping pong table, a foosball table… everything a boy could want. 

As evidenced by the two boys sitting on the couches near the pool table, while the other two wield sticks and study the position of the balls on the table.

Honey finds Trevor on the couch with Jack. His eyes found her first as she walked down the stairs and he hasn’t stopped staring. Neither has she, to be fair.

“Pool,” Bea notices. She looks at Honey and Honey shakes her head. Bea nods. “Honey and I are next,” she announces anyway.

“Oh, yeah?” Jack asks with a little laugh. “Are you any good?”

“I’m okay,” Bea says. She pauses, lets a smirk on her face grow as she looks over to Honey. “Honey’s worse.”

The boys turn to Honey. “Are you?” Trevor asks. 

“I wager she could still beat you, Z,” says the only boy that Honey had not seen when they arrived at the house earlier. He’s got dark hair, but it’s also hidden under a backwards cap. The only difference between him and his brothers, assuming he is one of the brothers that Trevor mentioned on Monday, is that he’s smaller, more sullen. The telltale sign is that his comment is offhanded, delivered with the calm venom of an older brother who knows exactly where to bite. He doesn’t even look at Trevor as he lines up his shot and sinks the ball.

Honey likes him immediately.

When she looks over, she notices that Bea likes him too. Her lips are pursed in thought, only the minutest pout on her mouth. There’s a tiny smile pulling at her cheek and her eyes are twinkling under the bright lights, but they would be hazardous in a club.

It’s a game they’ve played before. Bea sucks at pool– she always has, but… when you suck at pool, either the person you’re playing with will laugh at you or they’ll try to give you tips. The night usually ends with Bea sinking the 8 ball with a little bit of help from her gentleman caller and a celebratory, “thank you” kiss. 

Honey, however, loves pool. She wasn’t always great at pool, but found that, like almost everything, the more she practiced, the better she became. When Bea’s celebratory kisses turned into rushed hookups in the Winston-Salem dive bar bathrooms, Honey got her fair share of tips and tricks from the other men around. Usually, she would try to shack up with the alcoholic middle aged men who had nothing better to do than sip on their beer and play pool after dinner with their wives. It was rare that they flirted with Honey and she liked it that way.

The game goes like this: Bea finds a group of men that puff up their chest at the idea of beating a woman at pool, she “lets them win” against her (as if she would’ve won in the first place), and then it’s Honey’s turn. Honey, of course, feints a few shots and lets the men get comfortable before coming from behind and beating them. Usually, her win results in two drinks for her and her friend.

Today, the drinks won’t be her bargaining chip.

“What would you wager?” Honey asks the boy who last spoke. “If it were a real bet.”

His stormy eyes look her up and down while Jack’s brother, the tall one, paces around the table to find his best shot. “Money, normally,” he drawls. “But I’d rather not lose my money betting on you if you’re worse than her.” He nods to Bea, who takes the chance to blatantly look him up and down.

“How about this,” Bea proposes, twirling a strand of hair between her fingers. “I’ll play the winner of this game and then we’ll see if Honey can beat Trevor. If I win, I get whatever I want, obviously. If Honey wins…”

Honey meets Bea’s eyes. She nods, knowing that Bea is thinking back to the night when they visited ECU their junior year of high school and witnessed a rugby party in the flesh. It’s their usual punishment when their outings feature a house party and a pool table.

“...Trevor has to do a Zulu Run,” Bea finishes. 

Honey finds Trevor again and smiles, overexaggerated and sickly sweet. 

“What’s a Zulu Run?” Trevor asks, looking to the other boys and finding nothing but confusion. On the girls’ faces, he just sees plotted mayhem. 

“It’s fun, don’t worry,” Honey reassures him. “You only have to do it if you lose. Which, I mean, if I’m worse than Bea, then you should be fine.”

Honey sits on the loveseat across from Trevor and Jack, while Bea sits down next to Jack. Her knee presses against his, subtly, just enough that you can’t tell if it’s deliberate or just a lack of room on the couch and Honey presses her hand to her lips to hide a smile.

“So you’re Jack,” Bea says, interrupting the conversation that he and Trevor had been in when the girls walked down the stairs. 

Honey watches as Bea makes her eyes look wide and soft, very flirtatious and fairy-like. She’s got the perfect complexion for it– the light dusting of freckles over her skin, the ounce of baby fat still left in her cheeks and all the right places along her body, her expression just the right amount of interested but not desperate.

For a brief moment, Honey wishes she was more like Bea.

“You’ve heard of me?” Jack asks with a little smirk.

Bea scoffs and waves him off. “Don’t flatter yourself. Honey didn’t even tell me your name.”

Jack’s bright eyes turn to Honey. “Oh, yeah?” He tilts his chin up in challenge. “What is it with you and names? You wouldn’t tell Trevor yours, you haven’t properly introduced me to…”

“Bea,” Bea supplies.

Honey shakes her head fondly at her best friend’s eagerness. Honey bites her tongue to keep her comments at bay, and instead plasters a tight smile on her face. “I didn’t realize I would be seeing you all again,” Honey says, forcing politeness into her voice. “And I’m not the one who’s weird about names.”

Jack and Trevor share a look. Jack hides a snort poorly.

“What?” Honey asks, her eyebrows raised and her mouth in a straight, unimpressed line. 

Jack smirks and Trevor shakes his head. Jack speaks anyway. “I don’t know how you would have avoided us,” Jack says. “Considering.”

“Considering…?” Bea asks, leaning around Jack to look at Trevor. Honey catches Trevor’s panicked glance and can guess what Jack’s alluding to. She jumps in, hoping to switch the subject.

“Nothing to consider,” Honey and Trevor say at the same time. Trevor sounds rushed, Honey sounds indifferent. Both of their jaws drop and they stare at each other, Honey affronted and Trevor surprised. 

Cole, who had been sitting on the stool-saddles near the pool table, steps over the back of the couch and weasels his way between Trevor and Jack. “Creepy,” he says. “You’re like the twins from the Shining.”

Trevor cringes. “You know, I don’t think we are.”

Honey just hums, picking up her drink and taking a sip. She clears her throat and turns back to Jack. “So those are your brothers?” She nods over to the pool table, where the shorter boy is lining up the 8-ball with the corner pocket. “Trevor said you had family coming.” 

Honey doesn’t miss the smirk and blush on Trevor’s face when she says his name, even as he dips his head and takes a gulp of his beer to cover it up.

Jack smiles, a genuine smile. It’s easy to tell the difference with him, when he’s really smiling or if he’s smiling because he thinks he’s supposed to. 

“Yeah, the goons.” Jack looks over his shoulder and grins as his taller brother loses his game of pool. “C’mon, Rusty, you brought that pool stick all this way and your game still sucks?”

The taller boy glares at Jack and sulks, re-racking his stick. He walks over and stands awkwardly behind the couch, but flicks Jack on the back of the head and Honey giggles before she can help it.

She looks down at her lap after letting out the little laugh and misses the way Trevor’s eyes light up and train on her. 

“Luke, you fucker,” Jack swears, flinching at the impact of Luke’s flick. Jack frowns, his eyebrows furrowed as he rubs the back of his head. “He’s my little brother.”

“Little brother,” Honey repeats. “And you’re just going to let him flick you like that?”

Jack rolls his eyes. “Very funny, Honey. Obviously I’m not going to let him get away with it.” He reaches around and half-asses a punch to Luke’s dick, just hard enough that it expels an “oof” from the younger boy and he doubles over a little bit.

The other boy interrupts. “Quit it,” he says. He glares at his brothers, then his eyes fix on Bea. “Your turn.”

Bea stands and smiles, a smug little smirk reserved for her conspiratory looks with Honey that signifies that she’s getting what she wanted. She joins the man by the rack of sticks and clasps her hands behind her back, looking up at him through her eyelashes. “Which stick should I use?”

Jack looks a little put out by the loss of Bea at his side, and casts a glare toward his other brother. “And that’s Quinn,” he says curtly. “Pool master, or whatever.”

“So he’s the best in the house?” Honey asks.

“We’ll tally scores at the end of the summer,” Luke jumps in as Quinn says, “Absolutely.”

Jack scowls. “You just think that because you’re older. Remember, Quinn: first is the worst. Second is the best.”

Trevor snorts and takes another sip of his beer. 

He’s unnaturally quiet, Honey thinks. Trying to be cool in front of his friends, maybe.

“I take it you’re the second child,” Honey says. “That makes sense.”

“That makes sense?” Jack asks, repeating her statement like he can’t believe she dared to say that. “What the fuck does that mean?”

Honey looks over at Bea, who presses her lips together and raises her eyebrows. Daring Honey.

Honey rolls her head back, stretching the muscles of her neck. “You…” She starts, trailing off because she’s not sure how to finish the sentence without sounding mean. She scratches her eyebrow and scrunches her nose. “You like attention,” she decides, trying to keep her voice as free of judgment as possible. 

“Do I?” Jack asks, sounding unimpressed.

Honey shrugs. “You– I mean. Jack, you asked. You opened the door for us because you knew it would annoy Trevor, probably because you knew it would bother him that you were opening the door for m– us, instead of him. You flirt and smile when Bea sits next to you but you lean back and manspread when she gets up like you don’t want us to notice that you’re sitting without a girl at your side. You call your little brother a “fucker” and retaliate because you can, honestly escalating the situation from a flick to a punch to the dick. You act annoyed because your older brother is beating you at pool already this summer and it only just started, plus he took the girl from your side. It’s, uh… yeah. You like attention.”

Everyone but Jack starts to laugh.

“Stand up,” Cole says to Honey.

She does, her arms resting by her side awkwardly, her fingers twitching as she waits for him to do something.

Cole looks around the room and swears under his breath. “I didn’t think this through, one second,” he mutters, and disappears upstairs. 

Honey continues to stand there. She pats her hands against her thighs and looks around the room, trying not to make eye contact with anyone, but especially not Bea. If she makes eye contact with Bea, she’s going to burst out laughing. 

Trevor is still snickering, hiding his face in his shirt. Honey can still see the little crinkles by his eyes.

“She clocked you, man,” Quinn says with a shrug before pulling out a pool stick and standing it next to Bea. It comes up to the tip of her shoulder, Quinn’s chest. He nods in satisfaction and hands the stick over. Honey lets out a relieved breath of air at his approval, and then stifles a second when she watches Bea’s fingers brush over Quinn’s on the stick, her eyes lingering on his for just a second too long.

It’s too easy for her. 

Cole comes bounding down the stairs with a plastic soccer trophy in his hand. “Found this when I was snooping,” he says, approaching Honey and holding it out. He stands directly in front of her, makes eye contact with her, and stares into her eyes. “Thank you,” he says with a sincere nod. “For taking Jack down a peg. He needed that. We all needed that.”

And he hands the trophy off to Honey with a handshake, like she’s graduating from high school and he’s the principal handing her a diploma. He takes the handshake and pulls her into a hug, the trophy crushed awkwardly between them. 

When he pulls away, Cole puts both hands on Honey’s arms and stares into her eyes again. “If you’re going to do that again, please don’t do it to me.”

Quinn breaks the rack with a crack of his stick, standing at a slight angle, and Honey sits back down, cradling her trophy in her hands.

Cole engages Honey in conversation for a few minutes, with Luke jumping in here and there. Jack turns on the TV and pouts. As much as she tries not to notice it, Trevor just stays quiet and sips his beer and sneaks glances at Honey out of the corner of his eye. 

Eventually, the conversation dies out and the group turns their attention to the television, which is streaming some hockey game that Honey doesn’t have an interest in. The boys are chitchatting away, throwing out names and positions and yelling at the TV when a call doesn’t go their way– Honey can’t tell who’s cheering for what team, but she can also tell that Jack and Luke don’t like the team in white… at all. Trevor seems to prefer them over the team in red. Cole doesn’t seem to care. He’s just laughing, still, at Jack. Jack just sulks, but he seems to cheer up once the team in red scores, late in the first period.

“You all really like hockey, huh?” Bea asks between turns. Quinn has sunken a ball almost every turn, but Bea has only sunken one. Honey grins at her, then glances at the pool table and back to Bea. Bea sticks her tongue out at Honey, playful and easy. If Quinn’s the kind of guy that Honey thinks he is, it’s only a matter of time before he starts teaching Bea some tricks to tighten up the game. 

Cole laughs. “Yeah, I mean, I’d hope so.”

“What do you mean?” Bea asks, batting her eyelashes innocently, like she didn’t read all of Trevor’s Wikipedia page before coming here. 

“We play,” Luke says with a shrug.

Honey and Bea lock eyes and Honey plays along with her game. She tilts her head and blinks, as if this is the first time she’s hearing it. “Are you any good?”

Quinn snorts and shakes his head as Bea leans over to line up a shot and Honey notices his hand on her waist when he points at a different ball, explaining that that would be the better shot for her. Bea sinks the recommended ball and jumps up with a cheer, smiling brightly at Quinn and standing just a little closer than she would if she wanted to be just friends.

“We’re alright,” Trevor says, the first words he’s said to Honey since she walked through the door. He stands. “Does anyone want another beer?”

The boys’ voices ring out in a chorus of yesses, whereas Honey stays mostly quiet. Bea agrees to another drink as well, which is when Trevor turns to Honey. “You’re sure you don’t want another drink? I’m already getting them for everyone.”

“I’m sure, but thank you,” Honey says. 

“Why don’t you go and help him carry the drinks,” Bea suggests from her post next to Quinn. 

Honey glares at her, but stands. She leaves her trophy on her seat, saving it. “Fine,” she replies, hoping the edge in her voice is only detectable to her best friend. She follows Trevor up the stairs to the kitchen, like an antisocial cat who has FOMO, but only when it comes to their owner. She crinkles her nose in disgust when she realizes that that’s how she looks, not that Trevor would notice or care. Actually, he would probably be elated if she compared herself to a cat following him around.

Trevor opens the fridge and sifts around, the bottles of beer clinking. The beer takes up most of the bottom shelf, unsurprisingly.

“Do you think you have enough?” Honey asks, unable to help herself when Trevor passes her a third bottle, each a different brand of beer, to carry. 

“Q and J like Michelob, Luke is a Miller guy, Coley likes Budweiser, and I’m more of a Modelo drinker.” Trevor’s head is buried in the back of the fridge, rifling through a pack of Millers that seem to be running low. “We’ve had to go to the store three times since that first day because we keep running out of the one beer that someone wants.”

He retreats from the refrigerator and turns to Honey. He’s got two beers in his hand. He holds them up and asks, “Which one do you think Bea wants?”

Honey weighs her choices, but ultimately chooses the Michelob. Bea will use it as a jumping point for her conversation with Quinn– it’s a no-brainer. As annoying as Bea’s boy-craziness is, Honey is always going to be her wingwoman and helper when she can.

“Cool,” Trevor says and returns the other beer to the shelf. He turns back to Honey and takes two of the beers she was carrying, leaving her with just two, the Budweiser and the Modelo.

“I thought you were a Modelo drinker,” Honey says.

“I am,” Trevor replies, heading towards the stairs. 

Honey follows. “Then why am I holding your beer?”

“Because I want you to hand it to me.”

Honey snorts out a laugh. “Okay.”

When they return downstairs, they distribute the beer. Honey hands Cole his Budweiser and waits for Trevor to finish handing out the beers to the Hughes brothers and her friend. Bea has finally managed to get Quinn to do the work for her, with him leaning behind her and guiding her arms over the cue, pointing out where she should be looking and where to hit the ball. There are no other balls on the table except the 8 ball, which makes Honey chuckle. There’s no way Bea sunk all of hers– Quinn had to have “mistakenly” knocked a few in for her.

Trevor returns to the sitting area and Honey stands, offering him the Modelo in her hand. On purpose, she realizes, Trevor closes his hand over her own to take the beer from her and thanks her with a smile, his eyes far too kind to be harmless and friendly. 

Honey shakes her head with a look, then frowns when Trevor plops his happy ass right down on the other side of her loveseat. She shakes her head again and chooses to watch the end of the pool game, sitting on one of the stool-saddles near the table. She claps when Bea finally sinks the 8 ball after her third whiff. The ball only sinks because Quinn leaned over Bea again and did it for her, working together to finish the game.

“I win!” Bea squeals in delight, jumping in celebration in front of Quinn.

He lets out a little chuckle, the most awkwardly and quietly endearing laugh that Honey has ever heard. “You won,” he agrees. “With my help.”

Bea tilts her chin up and smiles at Quinn, proud of herself. “So we both win,” she says. “That means we both get whatever we want.”

Honey bites her tongue and ducks her head, waiting for what’s coming next. She wants to turn around and look out the window, even though you can’t see anything in the dark mountainside now that the sun has set. The thing is, she also wants to see the boys’ reactions to what Bea is going to say next.

Quinn smiles, a little tiny smile. His focus is only on Bea, who has inched her way closer to him somehow. There’s not much more room between them. “Whatever you want,” he repeats. “What do you want, Bea?”

Honey watches Quinn’s face, but she’s torn. She also wants to watch Jack.

“You know that tour Cole took us on when Honey and I first got here?” Bea asks, reaching out and smoothing out the turned-up fabric of Quinn’s sleeve.

“Yeah,” Quinn replies, a little confused.

Bea rests her hand on his arm, slowly making her way down so she can wrap her hand around his fingers. She watches herself do it, then looks up at Quinn through her lashes. “I don’t think I saw your bedroom,” she says. “Would you care to show me?”

Quinn’s lips part in surprise and Honey watches his eyes search Bea’s own for… insincerity, maybe? 

At the same time, Jack chokes on a sip of his beer. Honey’s eyes fly to him and Cole pats his back as Jack coughs it out. 

“Jesus Christ,” Jack says, clapping his hand against his chest and coughing one last time.

Bea smiles at him, oozing confidence and a little showmanship, as Quinn leads her to the stairs. He lets her climb them first and Honey giggles when Quinn sneaks a glance at Bea’s ass and visibly relaxes before hurrying to catch up with her and get his hands on her hips. Bea’s twinkling laughter grows softer and softer as she bounds up the stairs, her footfalls growing heavier as Quinn closes in on her.

“Well shit, Jack,” Cole says. “I guess you’re not the first to fall into bed with a girl this summer. The streak is finally over.”

“You don’t know that,” Jack says, pushing Cole’s hand off of his shoulder. He turns to face Honey, looking hopeful and a little desperate. “Wanna help me keep my streak up?”

A loud honking laugh escapes Honey. “Absolutely fucking not,” she replies, still laughing. She shakes her head at Jack, then notices the small, but mightily proud smile on Trevor’s lips. 

Choosing not to focus on that smile, a smile that she’s inadvertently becoming very fond of because she’s never seen him smile at his friends the way Trevor is smiling at her, Honey hops up from her stool and starts to gather the balls from the pockets of the table. She racks them, then grabs her cue and waves Trevor over. “I believe we had a game to play.”

“You had a game to lose,” Trevor corrects, standing and approaching Honey. He grabs his own stick, the one Quinn abandoned on the edge of the table when Bea proposed her bedroom shenanigans. 

“Hmm,” Honey voices, raising her eyebrows and exaggerating a grimace. “Consider me scared. Your break, Trevor.”

“When I win,” Trevor says. “I want to buy you dinner.” He lines up the cue ball and shoots, the colorful triangle of balls destroyed in a single swoop. One of the solids finds its way into a pocket and Trevor smirks.

“What a boring prize,” Honey muses. “But if you insist on those terms, then I agree.” She sticks out her hand to shake his. “And when I win…”

She leans down and eyes a line of three balls. The striped nine is farthest from the hole, but Honey wants to prove a point, so she angles her stick down at a steep slope and pushes– noticing Trevor’s mouth flattening into a line when her ball jumps over the other two and tips into the hole. She stands back up to her full height, tilting her head to the side. She cocks her hip and positions her hand against it, holding the cue up on her other side.

“I’m really going to enjoy your Zulu Run, Trevor.”

Cole whistles lowly from the couch. “I need to find you another trophy, girl.”

Honey shoots him a wink.

They play on. Trevor takes it easy– plays the safe route. With each easy fall into the pocket, he fistpumps to celebrate. Honey can only imagine how insufferable he is at the bowling alley. 

She shows him up, not even daring to let him pull ahead in their race and convince himself that he has a chance. She sinks the final black ball into the right-center pocket, bending herself all the way over the table to give him a good view of the girl who’s beating him. Her hips are high on the other side of the table, balancing up on her tip toes, facing the seating area. She doesn’t even look at the ball when she hits it, no, she’s looking up at Trevor with a tilted smile and mocking, bragging eyes. 

His eyes evaluate her– eyes, to lips, to chest, to ass. To the boys, making sure they aren’t looking, aren’t gawking at the round globes of Honey’s ass that are presented before them. Back to her ass. Her ass.

Honey stands, slowly, making sure Trevor memorizes the curve of her waist when she does. Her eyes drop to his pants, a smirk growing in time with his bulge, and she rests her hands on the edge of the table. She pulls her shoulders back, broadening her chest. 

It’s just a dominant stance. All Honey enjoys about this is the fact that his resolve and dignity crumble at the mere sight of a pretty girl bent before him. She likes knowing that he’s weak for her, but that she’ll never do anything about it.

She’s not looking for that.

“A Zulu Run,” Honey explains, clearing her throat to rid her voice of its sultry tinges. She shakes her hair back, over her shoulders. Trevor’s eyes darken at the sight of her throat. She smiles, but continues. “Is when you have to strip, sing a song, and streak around the house until the song is over.” She throws a glance over her shoulder at the other boys. “Usually your friends get to pick your song.”

Jack perks up at that. Honey turns and hops up on the ledge of the pool table, knowing that Trevor’s eyes have fallen to her behind. Jack looks at Honey with delight in his eyes, seeming to forgive her in an instant for psychoanalyzing him earlier in the night. His eyes slide to Trevor and the look in them seems more akin to yearning for vengeance.

“So, boys,” Honey drawls. “What’ll it be?”

They scramble over each other to reach her, shouting song suggestions as they fly into their head. Honey can’t hear anything they’re saying, so she laughs until they fall silent. Cole’s hand presses into the side of her thigh, she looks down at it in disgust, then back up at him. It falls to the edge of the table, noticeable space between her and the appendage. 

“How about this,” Honey decides. She sneaks a glance at Trevor, gloating as she lets her eyes roam all over his body. She takes in his arms, his thighs under his shorts, the way his shirt falls over his shoulders. “Trevor looks pretty fit. Why don’t we all pick a song?” She winks at him. “Make him run for, oh, eleven minutes or so?”

A flicker of recognition passes through Trevor’s gaze, but it’s quickly replaced by disbelief. He doesn’t know how she would know– weren’t they subtle about it? She lets out a breath of a laugh at the look– no, Trevor, you weren’t subtle, she thinks. but it’s cute that you think you are.

She realizes what she was thinking in a split second and shakes herself out of it, snapping her face forward and crossing her legs knee-over-knee. 

“But only his friends get to pick, so I guess I’m out.” Honey hops down from her perch and breaks through the boys, settling herself on the loveseat with her trophy, laying out to take up as much space as she could. She picks up the remote from the table and places her other hand behind her head, navigating to the Roku menu screen. “Do we have Spotify on this thing?”

Luke, Jack, and Cole each pick a song and Cole helps Honey connect to the outdoor speakers. He re-presents her with her trophy with a flourish and a bow, playful and lame. The boys push Trevor out to the patio with a whoop, pulling at his clothes even as Trevor fights them. 

Honey follows at a distance and watches through the glass door. She looks away when Trevor sheds his underwear and waits for Luke’s countdown to end before looking back up. She doesn’t want to see it. That’s just too far. She gets an eyeful of his ass as he rounds the corner of the house, though. 

As Trevor starts his third song, Cole’s cheesy Taylor Swift pick (“You can’t outrun my music now, bitch!”), Jack joins Honey at the door. 

“I think I’m going to head home,” Honey tells him, rubbing over the skin on her arms. 

Jack nods at her, shrugging easily. “I’ll walk you out.” 

Honey leads him up the stairs, hearing Trevor’s whoops grow louder as he finishes the second verse of the song. She knows he catches them walking up the stairs because his singing falters for a moment. His steps speed up. So do Honey’s. 

She walks briskly to the front door, bordering on a speedwalk, with Jack behind her. She swings her keys over her finger and wrenches the front door open. Jack catches it before it hits the wall. 

“What about Bea?” He asks, calling after Honey and making her pause. 

“She’ll find her way home,” Honey replies and steps off again. She has to get out of here before Trevor races up the stairs to stop her from being alone with Jack and she gets an eyeful of his– junk.

“Honey!” Jack calls again. 

She lurches to a stop and cringes, turning to face the boy. 

"Honey, I don't think I'm going to flirt with you anymore."

Honey takes a breath, walking back and reaching up to pat Jack's cheek, just forceful enough that it'll sting for a moment after she walks away. It's not quite a hit, but it's definitely not a love tap. "That doesn't hold the power that you think it does," she tells him with a nod and a close-lipped smile. She goes to leave, but Jack stops her by grabbing her hand.

"Trevor likes you, you know. He was quiet tonight, but he likes you. He's reading that book you gave him and everything," Jack says in earnest, his blues boring into Honey's own eyes. 

Honey picks up on the unsaid words. He's trying, take it easy on him, he might be annoying but he's good, and he likes you. You should like him too, and all of that.

The edges of Honey's smile soften and she gently pulls her hand from Jack's. "It's nice to know he can read," she replies, deflecting. Whatever Trevor feels for her, not that he can really feel anything because he doesn't know her like that, doesn't matter. She's not looking for that right now. "Thanks for hosting us, Jack. I'm sorry for what I... said."

"It's okay." Jack shrugs. "Thanks for coming."

"Goodnight," Honey bids him, and starts to walk away.

"Come back," Jack says, and Honey whips around and finds him looking like the words surprised him when he heard himself speak. He clears his throat. "Friday. Um, it's— it's National Chocolate Ice Cream Day and National Donut Day." He scuffs the tip of his shoe against the ground. "Really... important holiday."

Honey can't do anything but laugh. "I'll bring the donuts."

She walks to her car and ignores the chirping of bullfrogs echoing in her ears as she drives down the mountain to her home, alone.

7:90 – TREVOR

Jack glares at Trevor when he walks down to the kitchen early the next morning. As Trevor rubs the sleep out of his eyes with a yawn, Jack shifts under the frozen pack of peas that rests precariously on his shoulderblades. Trevor had barely touched him last night, he was just being dramatic. So he had a bit of soreness on his back from where Trevor pushed him against the wall and asked him what the hell he was doing, who cares? He went upstairs with Trevor’s girl. Alone. 

“Bea’s taking you to church with her this morning for laying a finger on me,” Jack growls out when Trevor looks at him and laughs.

“No shit,” Trevor replies, snorting.

“It’s true,” comes the female voice from the couch. Bea leans forward, her tube top skewed and tilted enough to draw a wandering eye. Trevor rolls his. “You shouldn’t get violent, not on my watch.”

“You weren’t even with me last night, Bea,” Trevor says sweetly, tilting his head down to dismiss her. “You didn’t see me do shit. How can you prove it was me and not Luke?”

“Luke put a video of it on his private story, then showed me,” Bea snickers in the same tone. “So you’re taking me home and helping me choose my best church outfit to hide these hickeys, and then you’ll join me at the service. It’ll be good for your reputation in town.”

“I don’t really care about my reputation in town,” Trevor laughs.

“Honey cares about your reputation in town,” Bea clarifies, a tight, ‘there’s no room for discussion here’ smile on her face. She pointedly looks him up and down. “Little Bear.”

Trevor scowls at her condescending tone and use of the nickname. How dare she flaunt her inner circle-ness to Trevor. 

“I was going to go to church anyway,” Trevor boasts. “Vera told me to bring all of the boys.”

“Well, you’re the only one resorting to violence–” Jack begins, seething, before Bea cuts him off.

“No, this is a good idea,” she says, waving her hand to quiet him. “We should all go to church.”

Jack scoffs. “I don’t think we need to go,” he says. “Sounds like you’ve got an ulterior motive.”

“I don’t want the town to think y’all are reclusive party folk who have no interest in the happenings of Litchton,” Bea snaps. “You’d be surprised how quickly the old grannies will turn on you.”

“And you get to walk into church with five guys on your arm,” Jack says, still scowling. This time, his attention is focused on Bea, not the man who physically hurt him the night before. 

“Said she wanted five guys, she ain’t talking ‘bout burgers,” Trevor deadpans, a disgusted look thrown Bea’s way.

She’s unperturbed by it, probably from many years of Honey– Honey.– throwing her similar looks. All Bea does is smile and reply, “My pussy already got murdered, Trev. I didn’t need five guys.”

“No way Quinn ‘murdered’ your pussy, Bea,” Jack jumps in, air quotes around the word. “The dude doesn’t fuck.”

Bea laughs. “I assure you, he fucks.”

“Yeah, I fuck,” Quinn agrees, descending the stairs. He veers to the couch first and drops a kiss on Bea’s head in greeting.

“Well, fuck your way to church,” Jack says. “Bea’s making everyone go with her.” Jack looks at Quinn expectantly, maybe waiting for pushback.

Quinn shrugs. “Okay,” he says. “It’s not like there’s anything else for us to do on a Sunday morning in this place. Everything is probably closed.”

“It’s true, everything is closed on Sundays except the grocery store and the gas station,” Bea says with a nod. “And the church, of course.”

Jack scowls and removes his pack of peas from his back. Trevor takes his opportunity to approach the fridge, conveniently behind Jack. “Why can’t we just stay here?”

“Because it’ll be fun,” Trevor replies, trying to exude optimism now that he’s not the only boy being forced to attend church and wash themselves of their sins. He turns and purposefully claps his hand down on Jack’s shoulder, hard. Jack howls in pain. Trevor squeezes just to watch him tense up. “It’s our chance to become one with the community, Jacky.”

Bea smiles, voice dripping with cheerfulness. “Yeah, Jacky, it’ll be good for you. Why don’t you two head upstairs and change?” Her eyes fix on Quinn, whose shirt rides up as he grabs a glass from the upper shelves of the cabinets. “I want to chit-chat with Quinn for a second.”

Trevor and Jack make a face, but scramble towards the stairs. They push and shove each other all the way up– Trevor is particularly satisfied when Jack bumps into the wall and groans– then split off into their respective rooms. Trevor treats it like a race– whoever finishes changing first wins.

Jack is already back downstairs by the time Trevor returns. Cole is there, and Luke, and both of them seem to be dressed for the service too. None of the boys have the best church clothes, but it’s a small town with farmers. Surely not everyone will be in their Sunday best every Sunday. Quinn is noticeably missing, but Bea is standing by the door with a smile on her face. Her lips look a little more red than they did before Trevor went upstairs. He narrows his eyes at her.

“You, and you,” Bea says, pointing at Jack and Trevor. “Come with me. Trevor, grab your car keys. You’re driving.”

“What about Luke and Cole?” Trevor asks, picking up his keys from their spot on the hook next to the door and trailing behind Bea. Jack trails behind Trevor, still grumbling and pretending like his shoulders hurt for dramatic effect. Trevor ought to show him some real pain next time.

The three people climb into the car, Trevor behind the wheel and Bea in the passenger seat. Jack, once again, finds himself relegated to the backseat. He straps himself in and Trevor catches his murderous glare in the rearview mirror.

“Quinn’s going to drive them,” Bea explains. “They’ll meet us at the church.”

“Whipped,” Jack coughs out. He does a terrible job of masking the word. 

Trevor rolls his eyes, just like Bea. She opens her mouth to say something, sass him, but thinks better of it.

They drive on in silence, the occasional sigh or grunt from Jack as he shifts in his seat. Trevor glares at him again in the mirror and Jack hits him with a fake smile before looking out the window to watch the trees whip by.

Bea directs them to the main strip of shops, then tells them to take a left onto one of the sidestreets near The Reading Nook. They pull up to a big brick house, separated down the middle by a massive staircase. Bea climbs the stairs and turns to the left again, unlocking and pushing her front door open.

She leads the boys into her living room, which is decorated exactly how Trevor expected it to be. The couch is white with pink pillows and a white shag rug beneath it. Her furniture is odd, thrifted and worn in. None of it matches, although Trevor suspects that her theme was “Barbie girl aesthetic.” It’s messy, and comfortable, and Trevor almost envies how she lives. His apartment in Anaheim is sparse– when you’re on the road so much and as busy with your job as Trevor is, you really only need a place to eat and sleep. His decorations reflect that.

Trevor sprawls out on the couch, leaving Jack standing awkwardly next to the coffee table. Bea disappears down the hall and enters her bedroom, her closet door creaking open.

“Jack, come here, will you?” Bea asks. 

Jack’s eyebrows furrow in confusion, but he starts down the hallway nonetheless. 

Trevor snoops in his absence, Jack’s presence no longer a threat to his comfort. He drags himself off of the couch and stands, advancing towards the shelves of knickknacks on the wall near the television.

Bea has got a number of books on her shelves, overtaking two of the four rows. The other rows are sparse and far more interesting– there are picture frames spread along the rows, six frames that depict Bea’s life and what she loves.

Four of the pictures feature Honey. The other two are groups of people that Trevor assumes are Bea’s family, her extended family on each of her parents’ sides. He can ignore those easily, not caring about about Bea to scan each of her cousins’ faces. The pictures with Honey are a different story.

There’s a picture of the two when they were ten, or eleven, riding their bikes down an asphalt street lined with suburban houses. Bea’s bike is pink with streamers and flowers and a little basket. Honey’s is dark green and sporty, similar to Trevor’s own bicycle from childhood. Honey’s smile is wry, whereas Bea’s is glowing.

The second, from a birthday party. It’s Honey’s birthday and they’re four, from the looks of the lit candle on her cake. Honey’s smile is wide, much wider than the previous image. Her hair is messy and her tongue is stained green, probably from a lollipop or a Jolly Rancher. Her arms are wrapped around Bea’s neck and she’s pulled her friend close, their cheeks pressing together. Bea’s expression is a little different. Only one of her eyes is squeezed shut, the one closer to Honey. Her lips are pursed like a duck and her little fingers are raised in a peace sign.

Trevor chuckles. If his mom had been the one taking the picture, she would’ve said “What a ham” about the girls’ goofiness.

In the next picture, they’re older. They’re sixteen, probably. Bea’s wearing these short jean shorts and a bikini top and Honey wears a matching top under some long, gray sweatpants. She rolled the waistband up and her back is mostly to the camera, Bea lifted off the ground in a swooping hug. Bea’s legs are kicked up behind her like she’s experiencing a really good, Princess Diaries kind of kiss and her face is frozen in laughter. Honey’s is the same. Trevor’s heart clenches at the smile on her face and the way her hair blows out behind her.

Finally, there’s a selfie of the two of them in a handmade frame. It’s from a high angle and Trevor can’t tell if it’s a .5 picture or a regular one. Honey’s eyebrow is raised and she wears an exaggeratedly thoughtful expression, goofy enough to tug at Trevor’s smile. Bea’s mouth is open and she has a hand pinching Honey’s chin, while the other is raised to take the picture. Behind them is the Welcome to Litchton sign that Trevor passes each time he goes into town. 

Trevor’s eyes glide down to the handmade frame, the written message along the top and bottom borders.

“New Beginnings!” and smaller, in the corner, a more personalized message. Trevor thinks that she wrote the message in a thin Sharpie– it’s too pristine still, after years. “There’s no one I would rather have join me in Litchton than you. Thank you for always being the Bea to my Honey! Honeybea 4ever <3”.

Trevor reaches out and takes the frame in his hand, inspecting it. He turns it over. More script, also in a Sharpie: “2019”, it reads. He replaces the item, making sure it’s back in the exact right spot. 

“Bea, hurry up!” Trevor calls, returning to the couch.

“Don’t get your panties in a twist,” she replies, leading Jack out of her bedroom. She’s clasping a necklace as she walks, then holds out her wrist and a bracelet for Jack to clasp. “We can go now.”

They leave the apartment and climb back into the car, Jack beating Bea out for the passenger seat this time. He’s smug about it too, grinning to himself while he buckles up. Trevor opens the back door for Bea and helps her into the car with a guiding hand in hers. When Jack realizes that he fumbled the chance to look like a gentleman, his face returns to its scowl. 

“If you’re not careful, your face will get stuck like that,” Trevor warns when he finally sits behind the wheel again. He shifts the car into drive and pulls out of the parking space.

Bea directs them to the church and Trevor pulls into the parking lot next to Quinn’s car, which is still running. They’ve got about five minutes before the service begins and Bea chastises the three boys for not going inside and reserving seats early. 

“There’s only a few instances where the whole town goes out to do something,” Bea complains as they walk inside. “Church is one of them. We’re never going to find a spot for all six of us.”

“No Honey?” Trevor asks, taken aback. He expected her to join them, especially since the ‘whole town’ is here.

Bea casts Trevor a look and snickers into her palm. “You’re sweet, Trevor,” she says and Trevor rolls his eyes at her saccharine tone. “But Honey decided a long time ago that she had enough religion in her life growing up. She and God know where they stand.”

Trevor reaches the door to the church first and holds it open for the group, letting them file in. He’s grateful that they’re in the church now, because all of the other boys are either too respectful of the space and what it represents or too awkward in a silent building to make fun of Trevor for seeking out Honey. Or they don’t want to get on Bea’s bad side and act a fool in church and suffer her wrath.

They file into one of the back pews, Bea sandwiched between Quinn and Luke. Trevor sits on the other side, right at the aisle. 

For an hour, he stays quiet and moves and speaks with the congregation. He counts the number of times that Cole tases Jack’s side, sticking his fingers between his ribs to cause him to flinch and make noise in the reverent area. He does this five times throughout the mass before Bea leans forward and threatens to cut his hands off herself. 

For an hour, Trevor stares forward and lets his mind wander to Honey, and all the thoughts he has about her. She’s a mystery and she’s quiet like Quinn, but confident in a way that Quinn never achieved. She knows exactly who she is and won’t budge for anyone, won’t change herself or act in any special ways around certain people. 

Trevor admires it– he’s spent his whole life performing for people, in a way. Hockey is his life and always has been, but sometimes it’s tiring to realize that all of his friends are people he met on ice. To think that he can be surrounded by his teammates and the fans in any arena and still feel lonely– it’s the kind of thing that leaves Trevor wondering if this career was a good idea. 

In another world, he’s playing in a beer league in a town like this, with a girl like Honey on his arm. 

The thought leaves him feeling heavy, weighed down. It ruminates in his mind, even after the service is over. It sours his mood completely and Trevor wishes he was back at the house so he could take a shower or something and stop the prickling feelings from taking over his skin.

In the parking lot, the group chats about nothing. Trevor doesn’t listen. Bea introduces the boys to come of the townsfolk and Trevor smiles and shakes the men’s hands, hugs the ladies or send a special look their way. Vera and Earl honk as they drive past the group, Vera blowing a kiss towards Trevor and Cole through the passenger window. Cole catches it and sticks it to his cheek, then sends one back. It makes Vera laugh.

Trevor tunes back into the conversation as the boys discuss plans for the upcoming week– Jack edges away from Trevor before he mentions that he invited Honey over that coming Friday and that Bea should come too. 

“Well, you’ll rarely find a Honey without its Bea,” Bea teases. She claps. “Okay. I’ll see you guys then. Quinn, take me home?”

Quinn nods and puts his hand on the small of her back to direct her to the car. Bea pauses and waves Trevor over, shooing the other boys away. Quinn stays, his hand still on Bea’s body.

“There’s a fruit stand outside the grocery store on Mondays,” Bea says.

“I know, I’ve been,” Trevor interrupts.

Bea quiets him with a click of her tongue. She chooses her words carefully, her eyes hard. “Go tomorrow at, like, six,” she suggests, a faux-nonchalant shrug lifting her shoulders. “You might find something that you like there. I recommend buying the strawberries. They make a lovely gift, Trevor.”

Trevor frowns, confused. “I don’t like strawberries,” he replies.

Bea closes her eyes and processes his words for a moment, a tight smile on her lips. “They make a lovely gift, Trevor,” she repeats.

“Sick,” Trevor says, his voice hard. He doesn’t understand what she’s saying. “I’m not buying strawberries for you, Bea. I don’t know you enough to give you gifts.”

Bea stomps her foot. “Good fucking God, Trevor. Quinn, can you explain this shit to him?” She asks, then walks off to the car. She takes Quinn’s keys from his hand and gets behind the driver’s seat herself. 

Quinn watches her walk away, then turns to Trevor. “She’s telling you that you’ll run into Honey, you fucking idiot, and that you should buy her strawberries.” 

He leaves Trevor standing there, eyes wide.

Yeah, he’s definitely heading to the fruit stand tomorrow and buying strawberries.

He concocts his plan on the drive home, silent compared to the other three boys, that are laughing and flopping around the backseat with every turn in a game of Jell-O. They’re not wearing their seatbelts. When they get too loud, Trevor envisions ejecting them from the backseat, leaving them sailing down the mountain, falling through the air.

He holes himself up in his room to nap when they get home, too excited to see Honey to let the time pass organically. It’s like time travel, this way. Trevor will wake up and be two hours closer to seeing her, to getting another chance to win her over. This time, with a gift.

In the afternoon, he laces up his blades and skates with the boys. Quinn has come back by now, not spending much time at Bea’s apartment after church, according to Luke. They all skate and shoot for a couple of hours, playing a game of pickup with an extra player to sub in and out. When that ends, they run some drills. Luke and Quinn play defense, like always, with Trevor, Cole, and Jack recreating their legendary line from USNTDP. It works out perfectly, and each boy pushes himself like they’re playing a real game. It’s the brotherly competition that fuels them– and when the drills start to fall into disarray from hits and other penalties that would certainly be called out in a game, they head off to shower.

The night ends slowly, fizzling out compared to the way it ended the night before. The boys lounge in the game room, sprawling out on the couches and snacking and sipping their beer. Trevor isn’t made to perform another Zulu Run, no one picks up a pool cue, and they watch shitty TV movies on the Spanish channel instead of English. They make up the dialogue as they go and Trevor is the first to go to sleep. He makes it to midnight, but then he forces himself to go to bed. 

He’s got a big day ahead of him… after 5 p.m., anyway.

–end–of–chapter–one–

[vanishxcanvas]

Pool Table

Joakim "Jolly" Karlsson x F!Reader x Noah Sebastian

Oneshot / Imagine

Tags: @ladyveronikawrites, @lma1986, @blackveilomens, @cookiesupplier, @thcfountain

Content Warning: Fluff, Smut. 18+ only, mentions of dom!jolly, switch!noah, orgasm denial, male receiving oral, unprotected p/v sex, female receiving oral, use of a vibrator.

Note: This is my first "threesome" fic, trying to write more stuff out of my comfort zone. Actually ended up being 6 pages long on google docs. I'm not sorry for how long it is. Might as well turn this into a series LOL, part one here (also this one is inspired by the photo).

Ever since that comment Noah said on Christmas, you couldn't stop thinking about it. Of course, you kept it to yourself. It was a few months later, and since then, Jolly decided to buy a pool table for some reason. Why, you didn’t know. 

You had just woken up from a nap, as you got home from visiting your friend a couple hours ago. Upon waking up, you hear voices. You recognized them immediately as Jolly and Noah's. 

Of course, you were still wearing your outfit. You get up from the bed, and freshen up. Not feeling like changing your clothes, you decided to keep them on. You wore a black top, a leather jacket, and a skirt. Before taking a nap, you took your boots off. Finally deciding to leave the room, you leave. 

As you enter the kitchen, you feel a pair of eyes staring at you. You ignore it, and grab a bottle of water from the fridge. “Where were you earlier?” Jolly asked you. You suddenly turn around, and see him crossing his arms. 

“With a friend, why?” You ask.

“I see, I see.” He replies.

“Did I miss out on anything?” You ask.

“Just Noah and I chilling in the basement.” He says.

“Mind if I join? I’m bored.” You ask.

“Of course you can. If you wanna play a round of pool with me, sweet girl.” He says, smirking. 

“It’s on.” You reply, smirking back at him. 

You both go to the basement, and as you enter the room, Noah looks up from his computer. “Oh hey.” 

“Hey yourself.” You reply. 

He smiles, then looks back at his computer. You and Jolly play a round of pool. That is, until you decide to tease him. 

As you’re thinking about your next move, you bend over to do your turn. Showing Jolly your bare ass, he notices you're wearing a thong. 

“You’re cheating.” He mumbles.

“What? No I’m not.” You reply.

He places a hand on your ass and caresses it. Your breath hitches as he does this. 

“Yes you are. I have a suggestion for you, pretty girl.” He says.

“Go on.” You reply. 

“You remember what Noah said at Christmas? What if we make that happen..” He suggests.

“I’m not opposed..” You say. 

He smiles, and tells Noah. They walk back over to you, your pool stick falling to the floor. Noah presses his erection against your ass, and ruts into you.

You gasp as he does this, and you grip the edges of the pool table. Biting your lip, you can feel yourself getting soaked. 

“Fuck,” You breathe out, leaning your head back. 

“Gonna be good for us sweet girl?” Jolly asks you.

“Yes, fuck.” You reply. 

“That’s my girl.” He smiles, then kisses you while placing his hand on your throat. You moan against his lips, and Noah moves one of his hands to your thong. He can feel how wet you are and he groans. 

“You’re so wet for us baby” He says.

"I wonder why," You breathe out.

"You've wanted this for a while, haven't you?" Noah asks.

"Yes" You say.

"All you had to do was ask, baby." Jolly says, kissing the bottom of your jaw. 

Noah smirks, and moves your thong to the side. You groan as you feel his fingers on you.

"Give it to me Noah, please." You beg.

"Since you asked so nicely," He replies, sinking two fingers into you. A loud moan escapes your lips, and Jolly kisses you once more. 

A while later, as you feel that you're about to cum, Noah removes his fingers. You whine, and Jolly tells you to be patient. 

"Think we should make her wait for whining?" Jolly asks Noah.

Noah smirks, and agrees. You whimper, and Jolly pushes you so you’re on your knees. He also tells you to get on all fours, and you listen.

“I’m going to fuck your face,” Noah says.

“And I’m going to fuck you,” Jolly tells you.

“Please.” You beg. 

Noah moves so he’s standing in front of you, and Jolly behind you. Noah unzips his pants, he was hard, especially after feeling how wet you are. “Open.” he commands. You listen, and you open your mouth. Noah tests the waters at first, then starts to fuck your face. 

Because of Noah distracting you, you don’t hear Jolly unzipping his pants. When you feel Jolly against you, a moan leaves your lips. Noah feels it, and a whimper leaves his lips.

When Jolly slides into you, another moan leaves your lips, making Noah whimper again. But louder this time. Jolly notices this, and raises an eyebrow. 

“You like it when she’s moaning?” Jolly asks Noah. He doesn’t reply, so Jolly speaks up again.

“I asked you a question, Noah. Answer me.” Jolly demands.

“Yes. I like it when she moans on me.” He answers finally.

“Good boy.” He praises Noah, and he grows harder in your mouth. 

“Fuck. I’m close.” Noah says.

“Well that’s too bad, you don’t cum unless I say so.” Jolly says.

“Please let me cum, I’ve been good.” Noah begs, with pleading eyes.

“Pull out of her mouth.” Jolly demands.

Noah does so, and Jolly makes Noah watch him fuck you.

Jolly leans in your ear, “I know you’re close. Cum for me, doll.” 

You cum, and Jolly pulls out, releasing over your back. Then, he picks you up and places you on the pool table.

“We’re definitely going to have to clean this later.” Jolly laughs, and you agree.

“What about me?” Noah asks.

“What about you?” Jolly asks.

“I need attention.” Noah says.

“Maybe if you’re patient, I’ll let someone here give that to you, after another round. Now, stay seated and look pretty.” Jolly replies.

Noah sulks where he’s sitting, and Jolly looks at you. “Now, how about another round before we focus our attention on someone over there?”

“Sounds like a plan, babe.” You reply.

“Good girl.” He replies.

Jolly kisses down your neck, and leaves love bites all over your body. When he reaches your thighs, he of course leaves them there too. “Do me a favor Noah, and praise our girl while I take care of her.” He says before diving into you.

When you feel Jolly’s mouth on you, a loud moan escapes your lips. Noah smirks, and decides to praise you. “Good job, taking it like the good girl you are.”

As Noah keeps praising you, the closer you get to your edge. “I’m close,” You finally say, and Jolly just keeps at it.

When you cum it gets all over the lower half of Jolly’s face. Jolly pulls away, and you see it all.

“You taste fucking delicious every single time.” Jolly says. He kisses you, making you taste yourself. You feel something against your thigh, and you smirk.

“Is that for me, sir?” You ask.

Jolly smirks, then slides into you. A moan leaves your lips as you feel him enter you, as you were starting to feel sensitive from two orgasms already. “Think I can get one more out of you?” He asks.

“Mmhhmmm.” You mumble. Jolly smiles, “Atta girl.”

His hands go to your hips, caressing your skin as he’s fucking into you. When you finally clench around him, Jolly notices. “Close, sweet girl? Cum for me.”

You lose it at the name, and you cum around him. He pulls out, and releases on your stomach. Picking up some with your finger, you lick it off. Jolly grabs a cloth, and wipes your stomach with it, cleaning you up. 

“You okay?” He asks.

“I’m perfect.” You say.

“Good. I was wondering if you wanted to take care of someone over there, since he’s been patient enough to wait for us.” Jolly suggests.

“Yeah? Anything specific?” You ask.

Jolly hands you a vibrator. “Use this on him.” He says. “Will do, baby.” You say, kissing him. 

“I thought I was going to rail the fuck out of her?” Noah asks.

“Next time.” Jolly says.

“Oh. We’re doing this again?” Noah asks.

“If you want. It’s all up to you. Isn’t that right?” Jolly says, looking at you.

“He’s right, sweet boy.” You say, looking at Noah.

“I wanna do this again, in that case.” Noah says.

“Got it. Let her take care of you then, I’ll get things ready for when you’re done.” Jolly suggests.

“Okay.” Noah says.

Jolly leaves the room to get stuff ready for a shower, for when you’re all done. You walk up to Noah, and kiss his cheek, down to his neck.

Switching the vibrator on, you place it on his already hard dick. Noah immediately whimpers, and starts squirming. 

“I need to cum already, please let me cum.” He begs.

“Go ahead, sweet boy. You’ve waited long enough.” You say. He immediately cums, and it gets on the vibrator and your hand. You lick it off, his eyes widen. 

“This can be cleaned later,” You say turning off the vibrator and setting it on a nearby table, “let’s get cleaned up, okay?” 

He nods, and you take his hand, leading him to the restroom where Jolly is waiting. By the end of the night, you’re all cleaned up and in bed, getting some rest after the long day you had.

[the-lighthouse-lit]

BBRae Week Day 4: “You’re burning up”

Length: 1,639 words

Rating: K

Excerpt:

But she was left wondering what if she’d hurried. Taken him up on that date, been a little warmer, trusted a little faster. If she’d made herself important to him a little quicker, maybe he wouldn’t have cared when his ex came calling again.

She’d just thought she had a little more time.

@bbraeweek24 📣

───

Raven’s hands laid idly over the keyboard. In front of her was the catalogue of new arrivals, but her eyes were on Garfield past her monitor. He looked at her stricken, like he hadn’t been the one to say the words.

The, “I’m probably moving away… at the end of the month, or something.”

It was nine twenty in a fucking Tuesday. Raven had been eying the growing pile of books on the reshelving pile and giving herself strength to load them up and file them back in their places, and generally prepping herself to get through a particularly miserable day of work, when he’d come in.

And usually his presence was enough to turn her morning for the better, not that she was admitting that yet. So when he’d come in, it hadn’t immediately registered with her how serious he’d looked—she wasn’t in her best frame of mind herself. She’d been waiting for him to notice she was off and ask what’s wrong. It didn’t click that today was different until he started talking.

“I’m… my ex, actually, contacted me, and… she wants to make things work. And I want that too. So…”

His hands opened and closed as he strived to explain—that he was moving for her, that she had a place in Bloomington and she was getting him a job there. The movement made her think how she’d never held his hand. It would’ve been unprofessional here, in front of the patrons of the library, and they’d never gotten out to that date he kept floating. And now they never would.

She nudged her keyboard to be centered on her desk, pulled up a random tab on her computer, like she did when she really got to work in front of him on any normal day, while talked about anything across for her. Today his worried stare burned her like it never did when that was the case.

“The ex you mentioned,” she said, for something to say.

His eyes widened a little. “I mentioned her,” he remarked, almost a question.

“The one who left to travel the world?”

It was funny how a story he’d told her to explain why he’d moved here, and consequentially come into her life, now became the reason he was leaving it.

She had to suppress a shiver. A gust of wind filtered through the cracks in the window, the kind of change in the atmosphere she wouldn’t normally notice. She’d been about to get her jacket when he’d come in.

“Yes. Her,” he admitted. Clearly, thought Raven, she’d been in his mind more than even he realized.

And then a stretch of silence.

She could’ve gone, ‘Why are you telling me this?’ She could’ve forced him to say it. But she didn’t feel like drawing it out. In fact, she felt like letting him right off the hook. “So I guess you won’t be coming around anymore.”

His explaining hand dropped, with hopelessness, but also possibly with some relief, she thought. “I’m sorry.”

The simple confirmation brought on a fresh wave of nausea she thought she’d curbed this morning when she’d skipped breakfast in favor of plain tea. She took a deep breath before she started loading the books to reshelf onto the cart.

She told herself she was being ridiculous. You couldn’t get your heart broken from a guy you’d only known a few months. She bet if she did the math she’d find she had known him for less than that.

He’d come into the library by accident the first time. He’d been looking for some store that sold rare video games memorabilia, that Google Maps swore should be next door.

She couldn’t get him out of the library fast enough that first day. She’d fought him on the fact that there had never been such a store next door, and it was pure bravado on her part: the truth was Raven didn’t know the neighborhood, just this library. She got on a bus in the morning and rode fifteen minutes to this part of town she hadn’t bothered to get to know yet.

When it turned out the store had recently changed locations, and Gar found out about it, he’d come back to the library to tell her about it. Then he’d kept finding reasons to come in. He had never hid that he kept coming back to talk to her. He was new in town, he said, and he could use a friend. She had always wondered if he could somehow tell she had no friends here either.

And now it was back to the real world for her. Back to her thoughts being hers and hers alone. Back to closing up what he’d been prying open slowly over the course of weeks. Why had she got so used to having him here?

Just like all the others, the thought snuck into her brain before she could check it. It was weakness of character to think on those terms—like her life was organized by some dire prophecy that dictated she should always wind up alone again, but it really did seem that way. Nothing good seem to last.

“I couldn’t forgive myself if I didn’t try to make it work,” Gar was saying now. “...I didn’t know how it would feel to see her again.” At that point she made an effort to tune him out.

Her heart thumped against her chest as she fixed the books neatly on the cart. It was hard to breathe, but then, it had been all morning. It didn’t have to be about him.

He was just a guy who’d made a friend at a town he’d lived in for a while, and she was just a lonely librarian who was being notified she’d no longer have that hyper blond distraction in her day to day.

But she was left wondering what if she’d hurried. Taken him up on that date, been a little warmer, trusted a little faster. If she’d made herself important to him a little quicker, maybe he wouldn’t have cared when his ex came calling again.

She’d just thought she had a little more time.

She shivered. This proved too much and he could finally see what was in front of him. Suddenly she was feeling his touch on her forehead: a warm hand connecting with her hot forehead, erupting into her cold morning. She slapped his hand away, but not before he’d felt it.

“You’re burning up.”

She was so, so angry—the feeling had taken over her before her mind parsed the reason why: it was the first time he touched her, and it was just as he was leaving her life.

“It’s just a cold,” she spat. And she faced him defiantly. She hoped her eyes said it: ‘Why would you care? It’s not your problem anymore.’

She was red in the face from wrath, but ironically it supported the fever he’d discovered: it was like he’d made her sprung into color with his touch, brought out all the symptoms she was struggling to keep at bay. It enraged her because it exposed her: no carefree guy on a random visit to the library reached out to feel the forehead of an uncared-for librarian. With a move he’d uncovered everything she’d tried to bury.

She looked away from his useless contrite expression, which she assumed he kept on her as long as he stood in front of her—all the way until a patron coming up behind him forced him to step aside.

The teenage girl smiled at the librarian, oblivious, as she returned two books and checked another one out.

Out of the corner of her eyes Raven saw Gar had stepped aside, and now made as if he was looking at the books on the front desk. She was annoyed—maybe if the girl had only come a moment later, he could’ve taken his leave. Now they had to wait out the whole transaction, and for what? He was leaving anyway.

Inside her was some vindication, and she dug to find out why; she guessed it was because she’d made him say his piece before he noticed she was sick. If he’d noticed before, he might not have said it. She didn’t know why that made her feel better, but she’d take it.

She would get over him and the cold together, she told herself: when in a few days her lungs were clear and she felt strong again, she wouldn’t remember how he made the world feel. She willed it to be true.

When the girl left, Garfield still stood by. Raven put her hands on the cart. She knew if she left now, he’d be there when she came back, and the thought made anger mount inside her again.

Why was he here, and why was she here? He was going back to his ex, and now she knew that. Why were they lingering?

Now, as she began to push the cart, she faced him at the last second and said, “Well…” a sign of finality, a final snapping of the feeble cord that united them.

And when she said it she found out why neither of them were making the cut.

His eyes met hers, and she felt like she’d brought forth a catastrophe. She wished she could take it back.

But he obeyed. He left the book he’d picked up and left, sparing her the humiliation of another ‘Sorry.’ She followed his steps out of the library, as it may well be the last time she saw him.

She couldn’t wait for him to leave and she never wanted him to finish crossing that door. But in the end he did.

When she went to refile the books, she decided not to pick up her jacket, so that she may pretend a little longer that the feeling she was left with was just cold.

───

Notes:

NO idea if I I did what I envisioned in my mind with this one (probably not) but here it is! 😔 This one seems like a thing I would've left in my files for months and eventually rewritten completely but fuck it! Out it comes now!

I’m late but I have an excuse! A thunderstorm forced me to flee my computer after work yesterday and I didn't want to post without a last read-over!😁

[vinnystarxx]

NEGLECTFUL DESIRES : EPISODE 05

about 4 months ago; February 25

Neglect. Neglected. Neglectful.

Containment: fighting(?), minor cussing, cheating

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You watched as your boyfriend drove himself into stress and madness, his hair disheveled, heavy eye bags, but a bright smile towards his fans. But at home is a different story.

“Ajax, please rest, you’re tired.” You stood behind him at his desk. He slouches over his desk, looking over contracts, partnerships, and shoots, you frowned on his your boyfriend belittled his health. “Ajax.” you called out his name and started walking closer to him. “Love, please answer me.”You placed the tray of dinner you made, coffee, and cold water on the end of his desk.

You stood behind him, watching him read some paperworks. You get tired of calling his name just for him to neglect you once more. You tugged slightly on his loose white shirt that was slipping down his back.

He flinched and snapped around towards you; making you jump back, “love? Are you okay?” He didn’t say anything but just stare at you. “Lumine?” He stood up, hovering over you. Now you’re confused. Who’s lumine? Is it that blonde girl who works with celestia? The singer, lumine? Or someone else with the same name?

“Baby I miss you so much” he hugged you, squeezing “lumine” “Ajax.” He hummed in response. “Are you okay?” He nodded into your neck. “I think you’ve gone delusional.” You spoke in s Stern tone. He stood up, staring at you in your eyes. Have the sleep gotten to him this badly? He’s staring directly into my eyes and can’t see I’m not his side chick?

“Wow. You really are fucking dumb..” he looks at you confused, “after everything I did to keep you stable and happy, somehow that isn’t enough and you has to go look for a side chick.” You walked towards the door, “lumine? I’d this about y/n? I thought you hated her.”

He watched as “lumine” walked towards the door of his office. Wait when did she get into the house? Does y/n knows she’s here? Is y/n asleep? Where’s she?

His thought were stopped when someone flipped on the lights. He shut his eyes and blinked for a short while until his eyes adjusted to the brightness of the once dark room. He stares at the female figure.

“Y/N…” he stares in complete horror. Was she here the whole time? Did he call her lumine? Was he hallucinating? Sleep really did hit him like a bitch.

“We should break up.” He heard lumine. “Huh? What? Lumine.” He looked up, he hears lumine but sees y/n. “You should really rest if still sense lumine here.” You gave me a fake smile, “go rest, dear.” He said lumine’s voice fall from your lips.

“Ok then.” Sleep really did hit him.

“Y/N?” He woke up to the cold side of the bed, half of the stuff in the room was gone. Y/N’s stuff to be exact. He pulled out his phone and tried calling her to no avail.

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If your tag is italic & orange; means your tags for everyone isn’t on. Go check your settings !

Typed this all with my cellular mobile device (on Google docs tho)

It’s off hiatus now !

I was going to post the new story but I’m not even halfway done with this so I said no🫶🏽

[holidaywishes]

lilacs and ice cream

Requested: 👍

Summary/Request: Idk if your taking requests but, If you could (if your doing it) write something about Bo Bichette again please, preferably with a gn or fem reader. I’ve read everything that I can read about him that also applies with me.

Author's Note: Alright, @goodiesinthecloset21, I'm gonna do my best with this one. I want to add that I know absolutely nothing about baseball so any terminology is the work of a quick Google search or something I've heard in a movie. Anyway, I know that you sent your request like a million years ago so I hope after all this time, it gives you a bit of what you're looking for. I decided to do something softer this time, more fluff, since the last one was smut but let me know if that's not the way you wanted it to go and I can give it another shot. Thanks babe! Love ya, stay golden!

P.S. some of this is kinda giving “strained family relationship” which was unintentional, so I’m sorry about that. Hopefully, that doesn’t take away from the story.

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xx

Summer in Toronto was beautiful. You loved the way the flowers bloomed, the bright purples popping against the bright green grass; even on the smoggiest days. There was only ever one thing missing - someone to share it with. That is, until Bo came into your life. You had gone to the baseball game with your family begrudgingly, but the seats were good and you knew it was something that your dad had wanted for a long time

“I just want to be in that stadium,” he’d say at least twice a month for most of your life, “just once. To see a game and watch the Jays win”

It was nice to see him, and the rest of your family, so happy. You watched the game, intermittently laughing at your dad as he tried to start a wave that barely made it past your section, or when he spilled his popcorn after jumping up in excitement. You really started to get into it around the 3rd inning, the crowd was getting loud and rowdy and it started to rub off on you. By the time the game ended, you were beaming with excitement, so much so that you weren’t watching where you were going and you somehow walked right into a crowd of people.

“Oh my goodness I’m so sorry!” you laughed, “I guess that’ll teach me to watch where I’m going next time”

“That’s alright,” one voice said, “are you okay?”

“I’m fine. A bit embarrassed maybe,” you added before finally looking up to see who you’d bumped into. Speechless when you saw Bo Bichette smiling back at you, “but you know…” you continued, trying not to blush as you stared, “fine”

“Glad to hear it,” he said cheerfully before his teammates called him to the bus that was waiting for them, “don’t go running into anybody else now.” You watched for a second while he hopped on the bus, feeling a small tug on your arm from your mom pulling you towards your family

“(Y/N), come on, what are you doing?” she laughed

“Yeah, yeah,” you answered distractedly, “I’m coming.” Your mind wandered to that encounter all through your family meal and you weren’t sure you could ever forget it - or that you wanted to.

xx

It had been nearly a week since you bumped into Bo Bichette at the Jays game. Honestly, it kept you going during your boring serving shifts at the pub you worked at.

“I mean it was a fun story,” your co-worker, Brit, smirked as she leaned against the wall where you were cleaning a table, “but don’t you think you should be over it by now? I mean.. it was a chance encounter,” she teased, “we don’t live in a rom-com”

“I’m sorry,” you laughed in return, “but it’s one of the more exciting things that have happened in my life. And.. yeah, maybe I’ve been single for a little longer than I would like.” Brit gave you an almost pitiful look before the door was burst open by a loud crowd of men, laughing amongst themselves before stopping at the host stand to ask for a table; you could only watch for a moment as they were directed to your section before you were pulled away to run food. When you finally got to the table of boastful boys, you noticed who exactly they were

“Well, hello again,” Bo smiled as he greeted you, “I was hoping I'd see you again. Maybe get a name this time?”

“H-h-hi,” you stammered, as you looked at him until you realized you should probably be professional, “hi, I'm (Y/N),” you course-corrected, “I'll be your server today. How is everyone doing today?” It was an awkward segue but you didn't know what to do

“Hi, (Y/N), I'm Bo. Nice to meet you,” he said, introducing himself in return and it calmed you down enough for you to... not look like a complete moron when doing your job, “officially.” You felt a blush creep across your face as you continued to take everyone’s orders. When you finally left the table, you exhaled sharply while your co-workers giggled

“I can’t believe this,” you whispered to yourself, “this is insane”

“It’s gonna be fine,” your friend said with a smile, “think of it this way: you’re finally continuing your rom-com”

“Come on, Brit,” you replied, hanging your head, “this isn’t funny. I’m too flustered to give them… to be a good server”

“You’ll be great!” she continued, “just be your bubbly self. They’re just people, don’t think of them otherwise”

“Yeah, just people,” you repeated, “incredibly well-known, well-recognizable, wealthy people”

“You know you also have other tables…” one of your other co-workers, who had been listening to the entire conversation, interjected, forcing you to snap out of your pity party

“SHIT!” you said quietly, rushing out to check on your tables, refilling water glasses and clearing plates where needed, all the while keeping an eye on the players of the Toronto Blue Jays. At some point in the night, the host came to grab you

“(Y/N), they’re asking for you,” the host said, “I don’t think they’re upset but they don’t want to talk to anyone else. Not even the managers”

“How long ago did they ask?” you asked

“Like less than a minute” she answered

“And they’re not upset?”

“No.. I mean I don’t think so but maybe they’re pretending? Being ‘polite mad’?” You chuckled a bit before thanking her and heading back to them, greeting them happily, making sure everything was alright

“We just wanted to ask you a question” Bo smiled

“Bo wanted to ask you a question,” one of the others clarified, and your interest was suddenly peaked

“Ah, okay,” you returned, placing your hand on the back of Bo’s chair, “what’s the question?”

“What are you doing after your shift?” he asked

“It’ll be late,” you admitted with a chuckle, “so I’ll probably be going to bed”

“What time are you off?”

“I’m on a split tonight, so I’m here until at least 10pm” you replied

“Do you work tomorrow?” Bo continued, earning a shy smile from you

“Tomorrow’s my day off. I hardly ever work Sundays”

“Are you free around.. noon?”

“Sure,” you said, “for what?”

“There’s this path I love hiking, how do you feel about that?” you said that would be great, both of you smiling at each other, almost completely ignoring everyone at the table. It took you until you got into the kitchen that you realized you had just been asked out on a date - ‘I guess it has been a while’ you thought - and now you didn’t know how to act. Bo was the one who confirmed the date, leaving you with a blush that covered your whole face; you were sure it looked like you were having an allergic reaction but you hoped he wasn't embarrassed of you...

“I'll see you tomorrow” you managed to get out after what felt like an eternity

“Tomorrow,” he said with a smile, walking backward as he left the pub, keeping his eyes locked on you until one of his teammates turned him around so he didn't hurt himself by running into the door.

xx

You woke up the next morning and practically hopped out of bed, immediately texting Brit

“Did I dream Bo Bichette asking me out on a date?” you asked

“No,” she replied plainly, after about 10 minutes

“I'm going hiking with a professional athlete today?”

“Yes”

“WHAT DO I DO?!”

“First of all,” she started a string of texts, “it's 8 in the morning, calm down.” You chuckled at her text, knowing that she had probably bitterly rolled out of bed after hearing the chime of her phone, “second, what do you mean what do you do? You go on a date with Professional Baseball Player, Bo Bichette”

“Okay.. sure," you typed, “but what do I wear?”

“You're going on a hike. Don't wear jeans”

“Thank you for that”

“Always here to help”

“I should start getting ready...”

“Again, it's 8AM” she repeated

“And the date is at noon...”

“Yeah”

“You don't need four hours to get ready”

“I need to shower”

“20 minutes”

“I have to find an outfit”

“5 minutes, 10 max”

“I have to do my hair and make myself look presentable”

“We'll say 30 minutes to be safe”

“I have to eat something...” You were grasping now but what could you do, you were nervous

“Maybe he's planning on taking you somewhere after the hike?” she countered, "I don't think eating before a hike is recommended”

“BRIT!” you text-shouted, "I'm freaking out. I don't want to be freaking out but I am. I don't want to make a fool of myself. Or him...”

“Okay, okay, okay,” you could practically hear her sigh through the screen, "you're not going to make a fool of yourself or him. No one's gonna be made a fool today. But you don't need to worry so much. Wear a pair of shorts, the ones you really like, bring a bandana or something - to get your hair off your neck a bit but also to get rid of any sweat you don't want him to see - and make sure you wear sneakers. Don't wear boots or flip-flops. And sunscreen. Always wear sunscreen!” You thanked her quickly, jokingly saying that you were glad she was finally getting on board, and placed your phone back on its charger before hopping in the shower.

“Maybe Brit was wrong. Maybe this really was a mistake…” you grumbled to yourself as you fixed your outfit in the mirror, nearly jumping out of your skin when the doorbell rang. You tried to be as calm as you could, letting out a deep exhale before answering the door

“Hey!” Bo said with a wide smile

“Hi,” you said simply, any doubt you had was now replaced with butterflies in your stomach - being nervous was so basic but you couldn’t help it.

“I.. you ready?” He stammered. It made you feel better that he seemed a little out of his element as well

“Let me just grab a water bottle” you smiled, leaving the door open as you ran to the kitchen; a way of saying ‘you can come in, judge my apartment a little if you want,’ but you were maybe just a little too quick.

“Let’s get going then,” he remarked happily and the two of you were on your way. You weren’t sure what to expect with this hike but Bo using the word path led you to believe it wouldn’t be that bad - which would be ideal since the last time you properly went hiking would be at least 5 years ago. However, it turns out, you forgot to take into account that Bo Bichette was, in fact, Bo Bichette: Professional MLBer. In the middle of the hike, you leaned against a tree, claiming you needed the shade

“I forgot to put on sunscreen and I don't want to burn,” you falsely claimed, catching your breath as Bo leaned against the tree with you

“Sure,” he smirked, bringing out his water bottle to take a sip, “I mean I don't burn as easily but we can stay in the shade.” Once you had finally evened out your breathing, you took a sip of water and looked out at the path that you were about to continue walking

“It's beautiful out here,” you smiled, leading both of you back onto the path at a slower pace now, “I can tell why you like it so much”

“I almost brought you flowers, lilacs,” he gestured to the flowers on the path, “but I knew the path and I knew there would be lilacs here, so I decided against it”

“Aww,” you said, pouting slightly to hopefully show how cute you thought it was, “that's really sweet. I would've appreciated it either way but I'm glad I got to see this first”

“I chose right then?” he asked eagerly

“Yes,"”you smiled, “you chose right.” Bo kept your pace for the rest of the walk but you could tell it was not what he was used to and you felt a little silly not telling him you hadn't been hiking in so long. “I'm sorry that this wasn't a very.. exciting hike,” you laughed uncomfortably, “I haven't been on a trail of any kind in about 5 years. I used to do a lot more physical activity and then I guess I just kinda... stopped”

“That's okay,” he smiled in return as the trail came to an end, “it was nice to see it at this pace. Yes, I do typically go a bit faster,” he laughed to himself, “but I don't always take in the beauty of the actual walk. So, I guess I should thank you”

“You're very welcome,” you returned jokingly and he bowed to add to the humour. The two of you finally got to the car and you hesitated as to what was going to happen next

“Everything okay?” he asked, noticing your reluctance to open the door

“I just... had a really good time,” you admitted, “I'm wondering, I guess, what's next?”

“What do you mean?”

“Are we going somewhere else or should we end it here?” you said, “I mean, sorry,” you continued awkwardly, “I don't want to be presumptuous. I'm just flushed”

“What would you like to do?” he smirked

“Whatever you had planned” you admitted

“Then, I think we should go get some ice cream,” he offered, “I know a great place nearby.” You happily agreed before hopping into the passenger seat of the car. You felt butterflies the entire car ride to the ice cream shop and tried not to stare at him too often but would occasionally catch him looking back at you.

“Is Rocky Road your usual choice?” you asked, as you scooped a bit of your favourite into a spoon and bringing it to your mouth

“No,” he admitted, “I’ve never actually had it. I just wanted to try it”

“And…?” you giggled, “what do you think?”

“It’s okay,” he laughed, “I’ve had better but I’ve also had worse.” You smiled at his words and continued eating your own ice cream, taking in the pastel colours of the parlour at the same time, when you heard Bo giggle slightly; your attention immediately drawn back to him

“What?” you blushed

“You just have…” he began, gesturing to his mouth and it took you a minute to understand that you must have ice cream around your mouth.

“Oh,” you said in surprise, tinged with embarrassment, but his finger soon grazed your lip, wiping away the small mess there. “Thank you,” you whispered in this unbelievable rom-com moment, his finger lingering slightly before he cleared his throat and removed it

“My pleasure” he grinned. You wondered if there might be a kiss but let him take the lead - you didn’t want to set expectations. As he drove you home, you couldn’t help think how sweet this all was - the walk, the lilacs, the ice cream, the moment - but the one thought that kept sticking in your mind was: I really hope there's a second date. He walked you to the door to your apartment building, stopping short of entering the lobby, “I had a really nice time”

“I did too,” you returned, “thank you for… everything. It’s been one of the best dates I’ve had in the city”

“I’m glad,” he smiled, reminding you of your first meeting, “maybe we can do it again?” You felt giddiness take over you and you rushed to agree, hoping that did not throw him off. “Perfect,” he finally said after what felt like a long pause, “then I think the lake is open. It’s another physical activity, I know, but paddle boats are always fun. What do you say?” The smile that spread across your face felt like it might consume you and all you could do was nod your head in agreement, “I will pick you up tomorrow then, same time?”

“I’ll bring the sunscreen,” you joked, “I wouldn’t want to burn.” He smiled at you lightly before placing a small kiss to your cheek, a feeling you’d think about until the very moment he picked you up for each and every date.

[sug4rcoats]

introducing . . .

welcome  to  excesstv,  SAVANNAH  ROSE OVALLES  —  or  should  i  say  the  GRIT AND GLITZ?  …  a  quick  google  search  tells  me  you’re  a  TWENTY SEVEN  year  old  SINGER  who’s worth 12M.  you've  called  avalon  home  for  SIX MONTHS,  however  something  tells  me  there’s  more  to  you  than  a  flashy  resume  and  penthouse  19B  on  your  door  ?  it  seems  you’ve  managed  to  earn  a  reputation  around  the   city   for  being  PASSIVE,  yet,  upon  further  investigation  it  seems  you're  also  quite  CHARMING.  but  hey,  thats  the  kind  of  mix  that  keeps  people  guessing.  i'm  sure  as  a  PISCES  you're  used  to  people  commenting  on  your  VANILLA SCENTED PERFUME  /  EYES SHADOWED WITH AMBITION AND DETERMINATION, A STAR SHINING IN THE DARK WITH OWN GRAVITY, HANDWRITTEN LYRICS FILLING IN MARGINS OF NOTEBOOKS, A SUBTLE MYSTERY.  but  still  we  can't  wait  to  watch  you  flourish  (  or  fail  )  these  next  few  weeks  … 

statistics .

full  name  :    savannah  rose  ovalles

nickname(s) /  alias(es)  :    sav,  savvy,  s.  

age  /  dob  :   27,  march 10th.

hometown  :    new orleans, louisiana

length  in  the penthouse :   six months

ethnicity  :  mexican .

nationality  :   american 

gender  /  pronouns  :   cis woman,  she  &  her

orientation  :   bisexual  ,  biromantic

character  label  :   grit  and  glitz 

faceclaim  :   priscilla quintana

language(s)  spoken  :  english  and  spanish

accent  :   southern 

hair  :  natural  brunette, long

eyes  :  big  ,  green  eyes.

height  :  5 ‘ 5.

tattoos  :  an array of tiny tattoos scattered in different areas of her body

piercings  :  two  on  each  ear  lobes .

biography .

triggers: alcoholism and death mentions .

despite  what  others  may  believe,  life  for  savannah  ovalles  hasn’t  always  been  as  sweet.  in  fact,  it  was  quite  the  opposite.  a  mother  who  bailed  on  her  family  when  savannah  was  merely  fives  year  old,  a  father  who  cared  more  about  his  next  bottle  than  his  kids  and  her  brother  –  who  had  been  her  rock  through  everything  –  passing  away  when  she  was  sixteen  years  old.  it  seemed  like  she  was  constantly  being  hit  with  brick  after  brick  and  her  only  means  of  escape  was  writing  in  her  journal.  song  lyrics  about  her  life,  her  dreams  and  everything  in  between.  it  was  an  outlet  for  her  and  always  had  been.   it  was  when  she  turned  seventeen  that  savannah  finally  grew  sick  and  tired  of  her  life,  her  home,  her  horrible  father.  all  it  took  was  one  bad,  and  final,  dispute  between  the  two  did  savannah  pack  her  things  up  and  go:    no  longer  wanting  to  hold  onto  anything  that  new  orleans  had.  honestly,  she  never  wanted  anything  to  do  with  that  city.  she’s  always  known  that  she  deserved  better  than  the  life  she  had  —  her  brother  constantly  reminding  her  of  that  when  he  was  live  —  and  now  she’d  hit  her  wits  end.  savannah  wanted  nothing  more  than  to  be  somebody.  anybody.  a  completely  different  person  than  who  she  was  currently.   the  journey  hadn’t  been  an  easy  one,  but  she  fought  her  way  through.  moving  to  los  angeles,  working  part  time  jobs  and  going  to  every  single  record  company  that  she  could  find  until  someone  finally  decided  to  give  her  a  chance.  by  the  end  of  that  year  and  immense  hard  work,  the  brunette  managed  to  get  her  first  album  out:    everything  seemed  to  go  uphill  from  there.  2024  being  her  biggest  year  yet  —  moving  to  new  york,  selling  out  arenas,  more  people  knowing  her  name  and  she’s  basking  in  it.   though,  there  are  people  that  know  of  her  that  are  constantly  bringing  her  past  into  the  forefront  but  savannah  refuses  to  discuss  any  of  it.  she  won’t  talk  about  her  mother,  her  father  and  only  speaks  about  her  brother:    telling  everyone  that  he’s  the  reason  she’s  where  she’s  at  today.  

discography .

albums.

can't  blame  a  girl  for  trying,    2014 .

eyes  wide  open,    2015 .

evolution,    2016.

singular  act:  act one,    2018 .

singular  act:  act two,    2019 .

emails  i  can't  send,    2022 .

emails i can’t send fwd : ,    2023 .

fruitcake,    2023 .

short  n'  sweet,    2024 .

[glitterge1pen]

Have you ever stood in an empty hallway and been put into 2005-2009?

Rukawa Kaede x reader, sfw, fluff, word count 3,490

guys I've done it again I have wrote something vague and tender

Stadium Operations Manger had not been the job you thought you would find yourself in. At least according to the results of the career aptitude test you took in high school.

Scheduling and preparing the stadium for events was your main job. Working with musicians teams to figure out how their touring stage would fit in your space. What nights were for basketball or hockey or monster jam trucks.

What charity wanted to sing at that hockey game? And there's a new food vendor right? These were questions you handed off to other people, the managers beneath you. With a walkie talkie, clipboard, and google calendar you hoped yourself invincible.

That was of course until Rukawa. His name squeezes its way out of the corner of your mouth, it tingles the tip of your nose and turns the ends of your ears hot. Your staff in aprons, yellow crowd control vests, and black security jackets moves out of your way as you pass.

There is twenty minutes until the doors open and then another hour until the game.

Your shoes clunk on the tiled floor, your legs burning from the fast pace. Where could he be this time? You were almost back at where you had started and there was no sign of him.

Pressing on the walkie you ask if anyone has seen him. They don't have to ask who. But he is still amiss and you don't know if you should be angry or impressed.

Deciding that he can wait just a couple minutes you walk over to the glass wall that overlooks the city. In the summer doors lead to a rooftop cafe, a balcony, but now in the colder months the doors are locked and you can only look.

At night the lights and reflections of the city are like rain. You often find yourself taking in this exact view, either on the first floor or higher up on the third floor where you are now.

Next to you is one of the smaller merchandise shops. The front of the shop also glass. All the local sports teams merch is stocked here and tonight the basketball teams logo is most prominent amongst the jerseys. Especially Rukawa’s jersey. That number of his, 11, seemingly mocking you. Where was he?

The shop door was propped open, you'd have to check the schedule and remind whoever closed last night to make sure to shut it. A sneaker. There behind the cashier counter on your right is a sneaker on the floor.

You leave the door to investigate. There is Rukawa on that blue shop carpet. His arms crossed over his chest and his breathing even. You kick the bottom of his shoe.

"Come on," he groans, "Get up, game time is soon,"

"You're lying,"

"I'm not lying you got to get your ass up and back downstairs,"

He doesn't say anything. You huff, knowing that the next part of this charade is trying to yank him off the floor. Rukawa is tall and mostly muscle, you tug on his arm but never get him very far. Today he is limp dead weight. You set your clipboard down to use both hands, in a misstep you tangle your shoes with his. Your hands loose grip on his forearm and you're tumbling backwards.

This is what seems to wake Rukawa up. His own hand grips onto your wrist pulling you in his direction just as he’s standing onto his feet. You bump into his chest and are momentarily in a whirlwind. Rukawa smells nice, his cologne faint but there, beneath the vague spicy citrus is the gentle sweat of sleep. His jersey isn’t pressed to flat clean lines but it is clean, it smells fresh. He’s looking at you not saying anything and you can feel his gaze but do not meet it.

“Your boss is going to kill me,”

“He’s not my boss,”

“He's your coach and that’s close enough, come on we have to get you down there,”

Rukawa follows you out of the store and into the massive stadium halls. He keeps pace with you, employees eye him but don’t ask for pictures or autographs. Around the bend is the employee only elevator and your shoulder brushes against him on the ride down to the basement floors.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,”

You say with a nonchalant tone, your eyes feasting upon your clipboard trying to find when the medic team is supposed to arrive tonight.

“I didn't mean for you to trip,”

This time he can't look at you while you look at him. You don’t know what to say, your mind trying to find some other instance where you’ve heard him apologize but can't. It's the thing that twitter accounts, sports journalists and other players say about Rukawa. That his head is too high, that he can't admit when he's over stepped but instead will say what he plans on doing next. The elevator dings open and you tell him that it's alright.

༓･*˚⁺‧͙·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

Your office is tucked away in the basement. It's barely big enough for the desk, couch and shelf of binders that hold it together. Rukawa is there on the couch, his back to you as you type away on your computer. Players were required to arrive at the stadium at least forty five minutes before the games. Most came earlier than that. Rukawa's teammates were lounging in the locker room with take out, in the seats below the announcers box playing Xbox on the jumbotron and listening to music on the court.

Rukawa was napping. You wondered if he had some sort of sleep disorder. Since finding him in the shop several weeks ago Rukawa had stopped napping in various places around the stadium and taken up your offer to sleep in the office. You turn to look at him now and find that he is already looking at you.

“You're awake,”

And he nods, sitting up.

“You ready for the game,”

He scoots the couch closer to the desk.

“I’ll take that as a yes,”

“We’re weak on defensive because Miller is out. Their good scorers, and so are we but our weak point is shining,”

“You can still win,”

Rukawa is close to the desk so that he can rest his head in his arms. His breath itches your skin as your attention battles to focus on the computer screen in front of you and not him.

“And you have to move the couch back when you leave for warm ups,”

༓･*˚⁺‧͙·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

The team was on a losing streak. You did not bring it up to Rukawa. He sulked in your office before games, twisting in his sleep. He had been spending even more time in the gym. The training center was only two blocks away from the stadium. He parked his car in the same lot as yours, you saw him in there sometimes before you had to clock in, the training center not open yet. Most often he was napping, but sometimes you caught him watching game highlights. You always made sure to bump your fist on his window as you passed by.

Today, in the cold night air, he was there again. The trunk of his car slamming shut as he tossed his duffle bag inside. His eyes widened when he saw you, having caught him off guard. Another thing that you had not been able to do before. You see the bags under his eyes, the red creeping around his pupils.

“Rukawa, what are you still doing here, its really late,”

He shrugs, “I could ask you the same thing,” you were carrying a box full of posters. The new ones for the holders had come in, you liked to keep the cool ones of bands you liked. Rukawa held the box for you as you unlocked the car. Your breath came out in white clouds, the air slithering around you, Rukawa put his hands in his pockets.

“Hungry?”

He asks. The restaurant of Rukawa's choosing was at first surprising. Empanadas served over a counter. Traditional ones, and ones with more flashy fillings like Vegan Caprse and Spicy Bbq Chicken. The place is small with few tables, it's on the mall strip downtown and has doors on either side. People filter in and out easily, their empanadas wrapped in wax paper, steaming hot as people head back outside. Most seem drunk, rosy, and loud as they wait for their food.

You order first and snag the window seats, gliding onto the high stools. It's Friday so even though it's late the street is still buzzing. When Rukawa slides into the seat next to you, he hands you a cellophane wrapped pastry.

“For letting me use the office,”

“Oh you didn't have to do that,”

“I did. I have to do something for you,”

He's so matter of fact about it that it makes you want to roll your eyes. He's serious and dead set on small things like this, it makes you grin. You watch the people on the street, your reflection mixing with the lights, the people behind you in the small restaurant just blurry shapes in the window. The food is good and warm, the bread flaky and filling.

“Are you okay?” He doesn't answer but instead just looks at you. If he was going to be stubborn about it you supposed you could be a little mean, “I know you don’t like losing and…” You trail off hiding a smile behind your empanada. He twists around in his stool, propping his elbows up on the counter. You don’t stop looking at him and eventually he sighs and swivels the stool to face you.

“Fine. I don’t like it. And I can't do anything about it,”

“And have you done other things?”

“Like what?”

“What you've never taken, like a spa day or something?”

“I’m not going to a spa,”

“I’m not saying go to a spa I just mean when you aren’t playing basketball what do you do?”

༓･*˚⁺‧͙·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

“When I first moved here this is where I would come,”

It's the next day and you had spent more time than you'd like to admit thinking about what to wear. Only to find that Rukawa was bringing you to a bridge looking down at the freeway. It was the massive freeway too, the one with ten lanes and the toll. The bridge had nothing but chainlink, that enclosed the concrete path, and a single iron railing keeping people from throwing rocks and themselves down at the cars. It connected a neighborhood of houses to a strip mall.

“And why would you come here? There's like nothing here,”

He shrugged, “This path connects to the river, the one down by the stadium. I used to run it every morning and sometimes I’d stop here at the bridge.”

There's stairs you have to descend, they seem clunky and odd next to the freeway. Drivers slow down as they approach and merge from the ramp onto the lanes. The city is still in view and you find your eyes wandering to the skyscrapers and glistening windows. Rukawa nudges your shoulder with your own.

“This is the part I like,”

A car gets on the exit ramp.

“What about it?”

“Look at the drivers,”

The next car comes, a blue honda, and the girl driving looks over her shoulder to see if she can merge. Almost everyone does this, the peek over the shoulder. Of course everyone does this, but it is charming to see that Rukawa has picked a spot just to watch people do this mundane task. You try to think of other things like this that everyone must do but your mind comes up blank, too busy watching the cars pass by.

There are easy things to think of, like breathing, drinking water, sleeping, that all people somehow complete. But smaller things, like having to check over your shoulder, escape you. But you know still that other people exist in the same way you do.

“I get why you come here,”

༓･*˚⁺‧͙·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

“That just isn't going to work sir,”

The grody man in front of you was trying to convince you that his musicians stage set needed another rig for lights.

“There has to be some way you can do this for us, we’ll downsize if we have too,”

“You're going to downsize over some lights?”

All the pleasantries between you two had been used up. The past ten minutes had been very tense, the forty five minute meeting was entering two hour meeting territory and you were jittering with nerves. Not because you couldn't handle this man but because there was a game tonight and you still hadn't made your first round of check-ins with your team.

“Hell yeah we’ll downsize over this. This is money that you’ll be losing,”

“It's not possible, we simply don't have the room for it,”

“Then make room!”

The door to your office swings open, Rukawa is there, duffle bag slung over his shoulder and frozen as he takes in the atmosphere.

“Oh, I didn't know you had a meeting today,”

He’s about to turn away but you usher him in.

“No, no, its alright we were just finishing up,”

“No we aren't!”

Rukawa’s eyes dart between you and this man, he tosses his duffle bag onto the couch, stepping aside to let the man pass. But the man is still in the chair across from your desk, his face red and his palms up like can catch him an explanation for this interruption.

“I’m sorry but we are done. I've explained several times that we don't have room for another rig, and even if we did I couldn't let you use that space because the amount of lights you're suggesting is a fire hazard,”

“Other places have given us the space so why can't you?”

“Because we don't have it!”

You are practically yelling and the man's mouth is open in shock, his hand on his chest like he has the right to be appalled.

“You have to leave,”

Rukawa says. You don't take your eyes off the man in front of you.

“You don't have any say in this matter!”

“They told you to leave, leave,”

Finally, after a long, long beat of silence the man gets up and leaves. He slams your office door hard. Your fists balled up at your sides, you jump at the door. Opening it only to slam it shut even harder than he had. You stand in the middle of your office unsure of what to do now. Your whole body burning hot, your eyes brimming with tears, and your hands still clenched tight.

“Come on, you have to get out of this office,”

You run your fingers over the lines in your forehead, the ones that appear before you're going to cry.

“No, no, I have to check in with security and-”

“Do you think it's a good idea to do that when you're not calm and ready?” “But I have to,”

“Just ten minutes,”

You follow Rukawa to the elevator and find yourself retracing steps to the merchandise store you had last found him in. To your surprise Rukawa walks past that and to the doors that lead to the patio, and he opens them. He somehow has a key and though it's chilly out you still stand on the rooftop. It's afternoon, the sky a strong blue, clouds fluffy.

“Thanks,”

You say as Rukawa tosses you his warm up jacket.

༓･*˚⁺‧͙·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

“Can’t you go talk to him,”

“Isn't that your job,”

Rukawa's coach, a balding middle aged man who wears too many rings, sighs, and shakes his head.

“Your better at it, he likes you better,”

“Which is it, am I better or does he like me better,”

“You know it's both,”

You hum and continue typing on your laptop.

“I’ll go with you if you're scared,”

“I’m not scared!”

“Then why aren't you going?”

“Beucae Rukawa is a professional athlete and I trust he knows what he's doing,”

“And I’m his coach and I’m saying he's doing too much, get him out of the gym, hes pissing everyone off,”

“Why do I have to do it? It's not my responsibility,” 

“I already told you, he likes you best”

This is the conversation you had with him in your office that led to you braving the night and walking to the training center. You show your stadium badge to the secretary behind the desk and she does not let you in. So you call coach and he doesn't answer, which leads to you calling Rukawa.

“Can you come down to the front desk,”

He's breathless as he speaks, “The front desk where?”

“Here, like where you are, the training center,”

Suddenly you are scared and nervous and don't know exactly what you’ll say to Rukawa. When he gets down to the lobby he bursts through the doors, head whipping back and forth to find you.

“Did something happen?”

“What? No? Did coach not tell you I was coming?”

Rukawa's shoulders drop, and he shakes his head no.

“He wants you out of the gym,” He runs a hand through his hair, “he says you're stressing everyone out,”

Rukawa hunches over on his knees, he huffs.

“He couldn't tell me that?”

“He says he did and you didn't listen.”

He flops back onto the couch that's in the lobby. You stand there holding the strap of your work bag. You aren't sure what's supposed to happen next, are you supposed to sit down with him? Is he actually going to leave? He wraps the healthy leaf of the house plant that's next to the couch around his fingers. It shines underneath the lights, green, vibrant, of life.

“Have you ever been inside?”

༓･*˚⁺‧͙·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

Since Rukawa had given you a tour of the training center he was more prone to dropping by your office on days that he did not have games. He had also begun inviting you to practices. You had only been able to make it to two but they were interesting to watch. You didn't sit in the bleachers but rather in this hallway with windows that looked down onto the court. There were hardly any people there, and they appeared to be other employees.

You were not in your office though when Rukawa had popped in. He saw the drink on your desk and the light of the computer screen. He went wandering the basement offices in an attempt to find you. He grabbed his lunch too, he had come from a practice and was starving. He knew the building pretty well from his adventures in napping. He checked the water fountain, the break room but found you in the office supply closet. Which is where the big xerox machine was.

“Hey,”

You said to him as he entered the small room.

“You weren't in your office,”

“Well, yeah I had to make copies of these,”

Rukawa hoisted himself up on the cabinet next to the printer. He clipped the stacks of paper you were making with paper clips and set them aside for you as he munched on his food.

“Is that a whole bag of tomatoes?”

You asked, lifting up the scanner lid. Rukawa had brought a ziploc bag full of tomatoes to eat. He nodded.

“Do you want one?”

None of the tomatoes were of the same size or color, but most of them were small. He handed you one of the bite size ones, and you don't know what compelled you to do this, but you put it on the scanner with paper. You pressed the start button and bright light illuminated the room. With the lid open you could see the bar of light as it whirred left and right.

Rukawa took the paper off the glass and dumped the rest of the tomatoes on. You scanned dozens of different piles of the tomates. Flipping them over and rearranging them on the glass. All the images were being sent to your computer but also being printed out. Rukawa assisted. Moving the red bulbs this way and that.

“When we’re done can we go to the roof?”

“Sure,”

You say to him. Many weeks later you will visit Rukawa's apartment and find the printed tomatoes framed in the hallway of his house.

༓･*˚⁺‧͙·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

A/N;  @z_adeh on tiktok has this video of them scanning tomatoes and it zapped my brain

[kellyvela]

Do you think you would be as big of a Sophie Turner fan as you are based on her other works alone and not Sansa? I ask b/c i think many ST fans (myself included) have become biased in Sophie's favor and tbh not sure she deserves the unwavering support she gets simply b/c she played Sansa Stark.

Sophie's Vogue interview was a shock b/c the lies she told that could be easily disproven as well as being incredibly disrespectful to her kids. Throwing the pregnancy test to her husband and then contemplating abortion b/c her 20s were a time to be frivolous - what was the point in making that story public? All it does is hurt her daughter who will no doubt be bullied by her classmates once they learn how to Google. Sophie is not a planned parenthood ambassador so really the story was fruitless to make public. She should have waited until her daughter is old enough so she hears it from her mother first then if ST decides to share it fine but to do it this way seems selfish and disrespectful to her daughter. The other albeit frivolous lie she told was how she was so used to going with her ex to the LV shows yet last year she clearly went by herself and she went by herself in 2016 when she went for the first time.

Lastly, Sophie's whole having fun dating lie. Sophie lied about barely dating b/c a simple Google search (2019) shows that she said she said on the record that she dated so much that she was ready to marry. I tried to give her the benefit of the doubt but her actions say otherwise. Sophie soft launched Peregrine at her first public work event not even 2 months when her divorced was filed. Her brothers and dad are huge rugby fans, why did she take someone she barely started dating or is being frivolous with where he would be photographed? Celebs don't take flings to places where getty photographers are esp in the middle of a divorce/custody battle unless the guy is serious. But what shocked me was when she deleted her IG post to launch Peregrine. If her marriage was already crumbling why did she do an IG story wishing her then husband a happy birthday (in a gushy way right after their fight) then then proceeded to do an IG post where she's kissing his hand which she only deleted to post her ski post with Peregrine and his friends?

I will always love Sansa esp book Sansa. I say that b/c maybe you can provide counter points to everything I said which is why i'm doing the ask. Sansa is an amazing character that deserves love and Sophie well for as fun and cool as she appears to be, her actions show she's prob the exact opposite of Sansa.

Maybe a lot of Sophie fans love her mainly because she played Sansa Stark, but in my particular case, I started loving Sansa Stark because of Sophie Turner.

But right now, I care about Sophie Turner for more reasons than Sansa Stark. Since Game of Thrones aired the irrational and undeserved hate for Sansa Stark that surpassed the fiction to reality and became irrational, undeserved hate and bullying for the actress, made me very protective of Sophie Turner. So I decided to love her even more, and protect her, and defend her, and support her career after Game of Thrones, and wish for her happiness and wellbeing.

I'm not saying she's perfect and never did wrong, but I won't judge her because at the end of the day I don't know her personally, I don't know her reasons, I don't know her circumstances, she's not my best friend.

Now, about the *lies easily disproven* and being *incredibly disrespectful to her kids,* that is your opinion, and I doubt whatever I can say to you will change that opinion.

It would be easy to argue every one of your critics and accusations against Sophie, but I think it's pointless, not only because you can think whatever you want, but because you pretty much sound like one of those Sophie haters from Twitter that is really a fan of her ex.

However, I recommend you to actually read/re-read the interview and stop repeating the clickbait headlines that took lines without context and/or twisted her words.

Have a good day.

[secretlythepits]

Telling the Kids

We keep pushing it off. Waited for a birthday to pass. Waited for the birthday weekend activity to pass. Waited for the busy day to pass. Last night we we supposed to, but there was a basketball practice we had forgotten. Also, we were both exhausted from long days. Husband works up his nerve at 9:30. No, that’s too late. We can’t tell them this and then send them to bed.

Maybe over the weekend so they have time to process it? he suggests.

I need a friend to take our kid when you have your biopsy next week. I need to be able to talk to people, but I can’t say anything until the kids know because we can’t risk their friends overhearing something before we talk to them.

Maybe I should do it alone. After school. Otherwise it will be so late. I’ll be the one talking anyway.

Ok. But I want to make sure you don’t say—

The word I’m going to use is “serious.” The cancer is back and it’s more serious this time. You have tests that will give us important information and then the doctor will tell us more specifics. I won’t say stage 4 because they can google that. I will answer questions truthfully.

Ok, that’s fine. You do it.

________________

Today is Tuesday. Our son has an important Algebra test on Wednesday that I have been begging him to study for. If I tell him today, will that impact the test? He also told me about a hothead friend who seems to be itching for a fight and trying to get everyone else involved. I asked him what he thought his friend should do and he was level-headed and practical about it. I warned him about being inadvertently caught in the crossfires and told him to remove himself from a situation if his friend starts talking stupid. But now I worry, once he has this news, will he want to jump into aggression to let steam out? He has never been in a fight. He lifts weights but is aware that he has a smaller stature than other guys. Kids’ emotions usually come out sideways.

Right now, as I type this on my phone, early in the morning, a backhoe is tearing up the street in front of our house. A bulldozer approaches and the backhoe pushes the broken asphalt into his front loader. Dump trucks and rollers will come by soon. We are getting a new street.

There were many, many years when this would have been the highlight of the year. My boys, who loved trucks, would have been outside in their footie pjs, star struck by the worker guys. For weeks or months, they would have re-enacted the job with their Tonka trucks.

Simpler times.

The juxtaposition of what would have been the greatest thing to ever happen in their little boy lives and the impending news that will mark the official end of their childhood—

Is more than I can bear.

But bear it, I will.

Wednesday or Thursday or next week or when the tests come back or after the school year or after the beach trip…

At some point, maybe hours from now, maybe days, I will muster up the courage to say:

Dad’s cancer has come back. It’s more serious this time.

[bvannn]

Weekly update July 26, 2024

I’m still sick. Pretty sure it’s a normal cold, not much to be worried about. It’s lasted a while but google says I don’t need to see a doctor about it for another week yet, so if it doesn’t clear up by next week then I’ll start to get worried. I’ve been a bit slower on stuff in general this week but still got a fair amount done.

Artfight is still kicking, I have a few more sketches on backlog to get done but the event was extended a couple days so I’m not too concerned about it. I’ll try to get at least one done tomorrow, because I’m trying to take it easy tonight. I want to mess with more of that watercolor strategy I tried on the one but I’m going to maybe watch a tutorial on how to use actual watercolors first. I think I’m maybe not doing the lines the way I should, and I want to use the style for a music video.

Music: I’ve been listening to my own songs the past few days and have a few that I like that either are finished or almost finished. There’s a gabber/breakcore one I want to add some samples to but I’ve had the unfinished track on loop today and yesterday, which is great. Made some progress on the SOS medley but it needs to be mixed, sound balanced, EQed, and the last chorus is still missing. RR and BATB are basically done until vocals get done, and RR has an in-progress VPR that I plan to continue on tonight. There’s also an ambient instrumental that’s done-done, but I’m waiting for next month to have time to put together some visuals for it. Got a nice comment on my last ambient piece on Newgrounds the other day so hoping this one goes over well too.

OEB has hit a point where it’s probably not getting any better than it already is, so next month I’ll get to finishing up the storyboards and puppet rig. The storyboards need to get imported into Adobe and then split up into shots, but it’s going pretty quick so hopefully shouldn’t be too bad.

Writing going decent too, got unstuck on an outline for O’Malley yesterday. I also have been outlining a first chapter for Backstage as well, seeing as Josh has been a surprisingly popular character on here and on Artfight (which is great because he is the lead), but I’m at a writing hangup there too. I think I need to watch more media for inspiration, so I’ll try to do that at work next week (don’t worry boss knows and it’s allowed). I’ve been jittery because I’ve been sick but once that subsides I’ll get Epithet TTRPG statblocks done too, hopefully. I did get a bit of comic paneling done this week too, but not as much as I’d like. Again, that’s mostly going to be an issue for next month.

Next month is going to be a bit of a challenge to balance all the stuff I want to do, but I’ll try to get a schedule done over the weekend so I can be as optimal with my time as possible. The first week after Artfight ends I’m going to go easy on myself, so I’ll write up a list of less physically intensive tasks to dedicate my breaks and evening to that week, then the following week I’ll go back to animation and comic paneling.

[whatever-fanfics]

Hang on Me

~~~

Ikemen Vampire

Dazai Osamu x Reader, pt 1

A/n: First part of the Stalker series, also I am NOT fluent in Japanese at all, I apologize as there are most likely many mistakes in translations of informal/formal speech and so on, I mostly used google translate and other websites. But expect there to be mistakes. Additionally, I don't know if Dazai has a pen name in the events of the his route so I just didn't give him one directly. I also don't remember the editor having a name so I also gave him a random name.

Tw: Contains depression, stalking, destruction of property, threats

Translations:

Dazai: Ohayo/ Morning (informal)

Sebastian: Ohayo Gozaimas/ Good morning (formal)

Y/n: Ohayo/ morning (informal)

Sebastian: Matte/wait (informal)

Dazai: gochisosama, itte kimasu/ thank you for the meal, I'm leaving (informal, formal)

Y/n: Deeto/ Date (informal(?))

Dazai: nande/ why (informal)

Y/n: iya-dōiu imidesu ka? Shuji-kun?/ no,what do you mean? Shuji-kun (formal)

Dazai: Dou shita no?/ What's wrong? (informal(?))

Y/n: kiete shimatta, kako ni wa inai!/ It's gone, it's not here! (informal(?))

Theo: dwass/ fool

Theo: Verdomme/ Dammit

~~~

Dazai's blissful slumber crudely comes to an end as the suns glare unwelcomingly attaches itself to his face. As his face scrunches in brief discomfort, he opens his eyes and his gaze travels downwards to what, or rather who, should be occupying the space next to him, his sleeping lover. His discomfort from the sun intensifies as he opens his eyes to see that you were not in his arms. A shiver racks his body, he'd left the window open and the winter months have not been kind.

As he shielded his face a groan escapes his lips when he decides to haul himself up and look around the room for you, a pout rests on his face and he sighs as you are nowhere in his peripheral vision. Dazai knows there are only two options as to where his beloved is.

Quickly changing from his yukata into his daily kimono, he sets out to your room.

You weren't in your room Dazai crossed off one place from his mental list and quickly made his way to the kitchen in search of you.

~~~

Upon nearing the kitchen he heard Sebastians most recent scolding. "...honestly" the butler sighed more in concern than in irritation or anger.

"Ohayo~" a light smile graced Dazai's face as he made himself known. Upon taking in your latest creations "oh my, Toshiko-san, you've truly outdone yourself a true pâtissier" Dazai says as he picks up a piece of cut bread, 'mm banana' he thinks as he chews it. "Ohayo gozaimas Dazai-sensei" Sebastian greets, "Ohayo" you say rising from your apologetic bow. Dazai hides his frown as he takes in your appearance, disheveled sleeping attire, hair partially rusted, most likely from the little sleep you were able to get, eye bags darker than they were before, you could almost confuse them for a make up look.

"I'll go out and get more now" at your words Dazai's attention was gathered, "matte, at least wait until after breakfast" Sebastian pleaded. You nodded and started gathering the many pans and platters filled with pastries and cookies, etc.

As both men watched you exit the kitchen "Dazai-sensei..." Sebastian knew he didn't need to make his concerns vocal, but he knew you weren't well. He could see it, they all could. "Mm" Dazai agreed, his smile vanishing, while he was concerned for his lover he trusted that you would come to him, if and when you needed him, which you do. He was aware of your 'coping mechanisms' as you put it, it was healthy and yummy, in his opinion, but he knew that wasn't enough sometimes. After all you were approaching the one year mark of your saying good-bye to your home...and your time.

Putting the last of breakfast on the table as everyone, almost everyone, sorry Napoleon, trickled in. You took a seat, still in your pajamas, as opposed to everyone who were dressed for the day. "Hondje" you looked up from your plate. "Yes?" you answered, "do you need more training or did you actually forget your brains this morning" Theo confidently asked, he was worried. "Huh? Oh, no, I just didn't want my clothes to smell like food for when I go out later so.." you trailed off. You wanted to get an early start on the groceries, to make it up for Sebastian for using most of the baking ingredients for tomorrows breakfast. "Is anybody else finished?" you ask, multiple heads turn to look at you.

"You're done already?" Isaac asks, making a rare appearance at breakfast. "Ah, I'm not really that hungry, kept snacking while I was baking" you say as a matter of factly, you smile at the rest of them and take your plate to the kitchen.

Dazai decided, this was his time to act, "gochisosama, itte kimasu" he said as he followed you in pursuit.

"Shuji-san" you called him as you turned on the tap "you're not going to eat more?" you wonder if the food was to his liking, he usually likes the food, seeing as it is usually a traditional Japanese breakfast, but you made it like you always do, so maybe you did something wrong? "Mm-mm" he dissuaded your worries, "I've got and early meeting with my editor, after that I am mostly free. I thought we could get the groceries together and after..." he trailed off.

"Deeto!" a brilliant smile lit up your face in turn let up his and he nodded in affirmation.

Finishing up the dishes you animatedly told your boyfriend to wait for you by the stairs as you briskly walked to the doorway, then hiking it up to your room to change and fix your-everything.

~~~

You held a bit of breath as Shuji helped you down from the carriage. Still not used to balancing your weight on such a small step.

"This meeting shouldn't take long" he said hoping it would ease you, you nodded not worried at all. Happy wherever and whenever you were with him.

"You made it" Dazai's editor stood from the booth, as he greeted you both. After shaking Dazai's hand he took yours, you gave a slight bow more out of habit than anything else. He clumsily returned your slight bow as best he could, not wanting to be rude. He only stopped when you gave him one of your kind smiles.

Ever the gentleman Shuji let you sit first while he and his editor, Auguste, got their greetings out of the way and settled down into the booth to discuss Dazai's newest short story. As you waited for their meeting to end you pulled out your latest re-read, 'The Call of Cthulhu', H.P. Lovecraft. Though you knew to be careful, this book wouldn't be written for almost, another twenty years. You had carefully folded a cover over the book, a simple Lovecraft written on top.

As the meeting came to an end barely an hour later, Auguste took notice of your book. "Love..Cra..ft" he announced, gathering yours and your lovers attention. "English?" he questioned, you nodded, "I have to say I've never heard of them" he looked up at you, eyes shining with childlike curiosity.

"Ahh, he is..rather unknown..mostly known in Japan. Not very popular here" you chose your words very carefully. "Really, well you should introduce him to me then!" You and Shuji gently laughed as Auguste playfully boasted about his profession and skill. As you three stood up to say your goodbye's and leave.

"Monsieur, would you like me to pack this to go?" the waitress asked the elderly man sitting at the counter. His eyes which were so glazed over only moments before they sprang to life once more, "No!" he hollered moving fast enough that his hand had gotten caught on the edge of the cake, sending it toppling over, plate and all. Making a rather loud crash, as the plate broke in three and the cake landed smack onto the floor. Gathering the attention of many in the cafe, including your boyfriend, yourself, and the seniors son.

"Papa!" Auguste turned to the scene. "Please accept my apologies. I'll pay for the plate of course. Papa are you alright" you and Shuji watched in silence, while most of the cafe patrons went back to their own business. "If it's not too much trouble, can we have two cakes to go?" He asked the waitress as went to get something to clean up the mess only bending down to help once he received an affirmative nod. Your heart cracked as you saw his expression, grief and sadness written all over him "She was going to take it away, how will she know we're waiting for her if there's no cake. She loves cake" he accentuated his point with his hands and body. You could tell by what seemed like gibberish to most were the signs of something much more painful.

"I know papa..." you didn't need to see his face to know Auguste had a painful expression on him. One that you and Shuji wore often. "Please excuse me" he briefly excused himself to Dazai before fussing over his father and trying to get him to calm down.

As Auguste's father was calming down he turned his head to the side, where the glass window was and locked eyes with you. "Anne!" you could have sworn you saw tears in his eyes "Anne!" the elderly man eagerly made his way towards you, a look of fatherly love evident on his face, only now did you take in the rest of his appearance. Well dressed for a person of upper middle class, though the type of coat he's wearing was generally something you'd seen on a younger sort of man. "Anne where have you been, your brother and I have been waiting for hours! You didn't go off with that Beaudet boy did you? He's not as kind as he seems." You watched him go off in a fatherly rant, that seemed familiar in a way. You didn't pull away as he took hold of your hands and engulfed them in his own gaunt and thin hands, holding strong and firm the opposite of how he was perceived. "Would you like to sit down" you offered a kind smile gracing your features.

Dazai was unsure of what to do.

The older man did as you asked but kept his hands on your own regardless.

"Papa..." his son looked at his father a deep sense of sadness in his eyes.

"Why don't you go on to your next appointment and I'll see you later" you ended in a question so as to give him control, just like a daughter would with her father. "Ohh.." he trailed off seriously thinking it over "al-alright we'll see you at home, come Auguste say goodbye to your sister. I'll wait for you by the entrance" he said not looking back once.

You all watched him walk off in the direction of the entrance of the cafe, muttering to himself, but more calm than he was moments ago.

"Are you alright" your beloved asked you, worried of you'd been shaken up at all. "I'm alright" you eased his worries.

"I'm sorry about him, it's..it's gotten worse these days..he was confused because your stature and features well, they remind him of my sister, Anne. She has long since passed" you gave your condolences and shook your head in understanding. "I went through something similar like this with my grandfather, in my experience it's best not to try a break them out of it." you recounted. "Hm, yes that's what the doctor has been telling us as well" Auguste explained. You both saw how he didn't want to go much farther into it, so you decided to say your goodbye's and quickly took your leave.

~~~

"I think we can make it to the supermarket on foot from here" you leaned outwards on the curb than on the sidewalk, looking out as far as you could while trying to balance your lower half on the curb and your upper half trying to catch sight of the grocery store. Shuji kept his arm around your waist, firmly, as you leaned out further, "be careful" he reminded you, you mindlessly agreed and set yourself straight again. "Okay, I think I see it from here" you say, matter of factly, when you didn't get an answer you turned to your lover to find him staring off into space. "Shuji-san" he looked down to you as he felt your hand softly caress his cheek, your expression tightening with worry. His hand easily encompassed your own as he met your worry with his own gentle smile.

As you two started to walk he asked "Y/n, is it common there? That people are aware, and know what to do with elders who aren't well?" As you walked together through the semi crowded sidewalk Dazai took hold of your bag so you could hold hands, you were always more comfortable with affection than he was. Though, you trusted he would tell you if he was uncomfortable with anything. "Hm, of you mean back at the cafe right?" you asked, to which he nodded. "Not really, in my case it was because I was exposed to it so much. But unless you work in that sort of field or you or someone you know are affected by it, not many people know how to act." you finish. "it was like that before too" you were surprised by his answer, not by what he said, but because Dazai doesn't talk about his past very often.

"I think I heard about a Love-uh Craft-eh, when I was young" Dazai admits changing the topic quickly, "really?" while you knew they operated around the same time period you didn't think he would be big or even available in Japan at that time. "Ah" he confirmed, "do you like him" you hear a tinge of jealousy in his voice, swallowing your humor you answer. "As a writer, sort of...yeah" you shake your hand to and fro to accentuate. "As a person absolutely not" the matter of fact tone in your voice makes Dazai press further, "oh? Why is that" he turns to you. "Well" you start "it doesn't help that he was a raging white supremacist" you finish, "hm?" oh, 'that term might not be in use yet', "he was really really racist." you explain, "ahh" you saw him nod in understanding.

"After we're done maybe we should visit the children in the park?" he proposed, changing the subject. "Mmm, maybe, though they might not be there, it's getting colder now" you answer, winter was getting closer and it was getting dark earlier as well. You thank him as he holds door open for you, "do you wanna split up or do you want to get everything together" as if you even have to ask, he smiles at you. You converse as you gather the essentials flour, sugar, yeast, etc.

You were almost done with the list, you and Dazai split up to get the last two ingredients. Unfortunately for you, the sugar you needed was on the top shelf. Your face turns red from frustration as you try and fail to grasp the item. An angry pout settles on your face, as you drop your feet evenly back to the ground. Taking a deep breath, you reach up again, this time your fingers grasp it wobbling it back instead of forward. you squint in concentration.

You feel a hand on your shoulder, pushing your weight back down. They go for the item, reaching farther than you could. Your brief surprise dissipates as you realize who it is from their side profile. "François!" your surprised voice reaches his ears. The young man s boyish smile accentuated by the light outside. "Thank you" he sheepishly waved you off, his smile softening for you. "How was your day" he asks "oh, it was good, my boyfriend's taking me out after this" You replied unable to hide your blush at the mention of your lover, though you were surprised by his question, even so you shouldn't have been considering he almost always asks how you are.

"Hello" the way Dazai lowers himself to your ear to whisper softly to you has you scarlet red. "Dazai!" Neither man miss the way your face brightens when you notice his presence. "François" you motion to the young boy, "Dazai" you motion to your love. "Dazai Osamu" Shuji said cooly, offering his hand, he saw the way François looks at you.

Shuji looks at you the same way.

"Ah, François Beauvais" he hastily shook Dazai's hand as he introduced himself, Dazai's eyes narrowed ever so slightly as he felt François' grip squeeze. A sensation he returned, his Cheshire smile widening by a fraction.

Sensing the tension you put your hand on Dazai's arm and asked "did you find it alright", as the sound of your gentle voice serenaded his ears, Dazai's tense expression lifted as his eyes met your own.

'You are the Euridyce to my Orpheus', Dazai thought as stars were held in his eyes.

An uncomfortable cough breaks you two out of your reverie. "Please pardon us" your sheepish answer only makes Dazai inwardly swoon more, you're so cute when you're flustered. "Did you find it alright" you repeat, to which he replies "yes, are you ready" as you nodded Dazai got ready to depart.

"Are you ready to pay, I can go with you to the register that way you won't have to wait in the line" the young man rushed out. Jealousy dripped down into Shuji's stomach, a silent breath made its way out his mouth. "Are you sure that's alright, won't you get in trouble?" Your worried expression matched the tightness in your chest. Dazai nodded in agreement wondering the same thing.

"Don't worry just don't tell anyone" François playfully winked at you as he held his finger to his lips. Shuji doesn't like him, "that's alright, I don't want you to get in trouble" you decidedly announced, "hm?" the young man voiced his confusion, not expecting your rejection. "Thank you for your assistance" Shuji abruptly ended the interaction. As he took the woven basket, provided by the store, in one arm placing the item he'd gotten in alongside the rest and took hold of your arm in a gentle yet firm grip, making his way toward the cashier.

You fell into step with him as you both heard the owner call out "François! Get moving!".

As you two made your way to the front to pay, your eyes met François' once more, a quick flat smile made it's way onto your face as you waited for him to finish bagging your items and for Dazai to finish paying the cashier. "Thank you" you bowed slightly, he waved you off, "it's nothing, this is my job".

You and Shuji walked out of the store hand in hand as he held the bag in his other hand.

"You wanted to go to the-" "Ggrrrrrr..." your blush more apparent then Isaac's bright hair. "Hey!" a chuckle Shuji failed to hide made it so much worse, you looked like you were ready to cry. "Ahh, I can't help it when my beautiful dove makes such noises" he confessed as his laugh died down. "You keep saying stuff like that people are going to get the wrong idea" you mutter an out evident on your lips as you look away in embarrassment.

~~~

You leaned back as a waiter brought your sweets and tea over, you both thanked him quietly. You don't think you'll be able to see the children today, looking at Shuji noticed the forlorn look upon your lovers face, "what's wrong" your worried tone reached him. "Y/n, are you unhappy" his grave tone and matching expression put you off guard "eh?" small, curt and full of confusion "iya-dōiu imidesu ka? Shuji-kun?" being completely unprepared by such a confrontation, it felt like your defenses and walls were being pulled apart. Like you were put bare for the world to see, you wanted it to stop, but you knew you couldn't do that. Not to him. "Is this about from this morning" you continued switching back to French, gathering enough of your bearings to switch languages.

"Mm" he confirmed, "are you unhappy here...with me" he added the last part quietly casting his head down in fear, maybe it's not that you don't want to be with him maybe it's that you don't want to be awa-"No" he looked up your eyes full of resolve. Sure and as unwavering as the glaring sun. "No I am not unhappy here nor am I unhappy with you" you repeat, "if this is about this morning, I just..get tired sometimes and...that's just my way of dealing with things, I have other ways but not many that I feel secure doing..here anyways" your confident look washed and faded away as you answered him.

"If that's what it is then why don't you come to me about this, that's what we're here for" you know what he means. Not the others not Le Comte, not Napoleon, not Leonardo, him, just him. "There are so many reasons as to why I don't talk about this to people, but one of the most common reasons is because..." he waited for you to continue as a lump formed in his throat from anticipation? Anxiety? Fear? Still he kept quiet as you found the words.

"I tried that before-before I met you that is..." your voice trailed off, your hands fiddled with one another your gaze downcast in anxiousness. "'Stop being lazy', 'we all have problems', 'you have too much time on your hand you just need to exercise'... I've told people close to me about this before and they always told me stuff like that, eventually...I just..stopped" your confessions tore a crack in his heart. How can someone, anyone, say this to you. You who are so kind, so amazing, so beautifully you.

"When I decided to tell them that what they said wasn't helpful..." he waited in silence as you tried to find the proper words "they would just stop...in-in a way...when I got more comfortable telling them that I wasn't..okay. They would always get this despondent, sorrowful look their face and that felt worse then being pitied...because I knew that they didn't know how to help me. And I don't want to make anyone feel like that, least not-especially not you. You are my happiness, how could I do that to you"

"I'm sorry" you bowed, you didn't mean to hurt him. "I'm-I'm not angry, I'm worried, I don''t want to lose you. I want to be someone you rely on" you look up at him your gaze filled with pure adoration, love and affection swirl in your heart. Your eyes water as you nod.

As you begin to eat he tells you about some of his ideas for his next stories. Never once missing how your face softens every time as you converse back and forth.

~~~

An irritated breath left your lips as you hastily emptied your bag and its contents onto the desk.

You two had gotten back barely an hour ago, you were supposed to meet him in la thermae, but when you began to empty your bag from the day you noticed, it wasn't there. The knot in your chest getting bigger and bigger.

"Dou shita no?" you were so worried about your missing item, Shuji's voice and the light from the hall surprised you. "The book, the one I had with me today, kiete shimatta, kako ni wa inai!" you cried in fear and self blame. He put a comforting hand on your shoulder, a sigh of defeat exits from you "perhaps Auguste has it? If not we could go looking for it tomorrow" he began listing off the numerous places it could be. "I can't tomorrow I promised to help Theo with prepare for the upcoming gallery" you whined in exhaustion and defeat. "Still, if it turns up it'll most likely end up at Theo-kuns office" he reminded you.

You'd forgotten, you asked Theo if it was alright to write his office address on the inside of your books incase any of them ever got lost. Since the mansion can be hard to find with it being deep in the woods. He'd said it was alright as long as you help him out from time to time.

It was getting late, while you were anxious about your missing book you were also worried about bothering everyone who were all most likely starting to get ready for bed.

~~~

While you found it hard to fall asleep completely beside yourself with worry. What if someone finds it and it and you end up ruining the future? But with Shuji soothingly rubbing circles on your back as you clung to his yukata, your mind going in circles from anxiousness.

While the thought of baking again did seem appealing you knew that Sebastian wouldn't have enough of the ingredients he would need for tomorrow's breakfast. Also you have not had a full nights sleep in almost 48 hours.

The lack of sleep did outweigh your anxiety eventually, you and Shuji fell asleep intertwined with one another.

~~~

"Ready" Theo turned to you checking his pocket watch, one of his treasured gifts from Vincent. Yawning you nodded in response while covering your mouth, he looked at you eyebrow raised in slight concern, to you it came off as offense "sorry, I didn't get much sleep yesterday" you answer sheepishly. "I don't need to know your night activities hondje" he teases turning away so you won't see his face. "What? No! I lost one of my books so I was worried about how to find it, I have the address of your office written down but still" he turned back around at the sound of your worried voice reached his ears. "Tucking your tail between your legs isn't going to solve anything, it should turn up sooner or later, I'll have some of the others keep an eye out at the office incase someone comes in" he told you as he tussled your hair.

"Thank you" your worry mostly easing over at the moment, you bow slightly in thanks. "Tch, you don't need to thank me, let's go hondje" he tells you as he starts walking back not looking back once. You wordlessly follow him jogging up to match his pace.

Dazai smiles at you as he watches silently behind the stairs railings.

~~~

A little while after you'd reached the gallery Theo noticed that some of the papers he'd needed weren't with him. You offered to help him look for them.

"Did you find them?" He hollered from across the room. It was mostly just you and a couple of Theo's employees. Most of which were moving the paintings around. The others were helping to look of rhte papers, "No" you called out definitively. "Is it possible you left it back at the office?" You turned back to look at him walking over, "If not maybe they're still at the mansion" your voice quieter not only so no one else would hear you but also because Theo was right in front of you.

He nodded in agreement "Verdomme!!!" He exclaimed, you quickly leaned back and away from him as he quickly breathed out through his nostrils to calm himself down. "Sorry, sorry" he apologized and took a few more calming breaths, "lets's-let's look again" he decided pinching around his eyes in frustration.

"We've searched three times" you reasoned. "Look, if it's not here then it's at the office. If it's not at the office then it's in your room. Documents don't just disappear like that, they have to be somewhere" you really hope you're right.

"You're right, let's head to the office and search there if not then I'll head back and you and one of the others can hold down until I get back." Theo decided, you nodded in agreement and you two swiftly made your way to his office in town. Luckily it wasn't far from the gallery.

~~~

"You start by the door, I'll start by the-" "Theodore!" you both turned to the voice that cut Theo off, it was the owner of the gallery. "Go on ahead I'll meet you inside" he told you while handing you the key, which you accepted.

You locked eyes with the other person who was staying at the office that day, the acknowledged you and went back to their cigarette.

Opening the door your gaze was immediately drawn to the papers on the floor.

"Wha...!!!" your train of thought was cut off by the sight in front of you.

~~~

"Theodore, I'm not so sure about-" "AAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!!!"

The two turned immediately at the high pitched shriek of terror. And before the owner could ask, he saw Theo darting towards the door and up the stairs.

It was you

"HONDJE!!! WHAT-!!!" he froze at the sight in front of him. Upon entering the room a foul familiar smell of iron intruded his nostrils. Covering his nose and mouth with his arm, he reached down to help you off the floor where you fell. "We-we need to...we need to call the constable"

~~~

Tag list: @loverofmanyrandomthings

A/n: I am so sorry this took so long. 😓

Please interact and tell me what you think, I would like to know what I should improve on.