#but i might just say screw it and give myself an hour to fix what i can and figure it out later | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jodilin65 · 26 years ago

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MONDAY, NOVEMBER 29, 1999 I forgot to say that the day they were finishing up the carpet, we spied on the back, and it looked like people may now be in the house furthest from us (originally, I thought it might be the other way around). These houses and their immediate surroundings look like total dumps. There was a beat-up car outside with two adults sitting out front of the furthest house. I couldn’t get a make on their color/race being at a distance, but I wouldn’t be surprised if they were Mexicans. They may’ve been workers too, and not residents, but it’s still too soon for these renters to be problem enough to know better (till I torch their places). Still, I accept losing the bet, which I had misunderstood the terms of. The bet means I can’t get any dolls till May, not that I can’t get anything at all till June like I thought was the case.

Anyway, it was pretty funny how I insisted I could hear the neighbor’s music the day we pulled in while the carpet layers were there when it turned out it was coming from our own house! Funny, huh? Tom sure thought so. Yeah, the carpet people had a portable radio going.

Here’s something even funnier: I spend over a decade wishing I could keep a schedule, and now I can’t wait to get off of one! It’ll probably be another couple of weeks before I can.

Tom just went a little nuts in his sleep talking again and saying “I’ll check it out for you. I’m a skeptic. I can’t believe what you say.”

Later…

I really hope I don’t need to buy a third journal, but I doubt it. We should definitely be in by the time this one’s done, but boy let me tell ya - if we ain’t, we’re gonna be in court suing these people!

He talked with the well driller today, who says the well will be done this week. Yeah, I’ll believe it when I see it. And what about APS and Gravity finishing his job?

He called the mail carrier and was told there are no mail services on our street, so we can either apply for a delivery extension, put our mailbox on Bitter Root, which is too far to walk to, or just keep our PO Box. We’ll probably just do a PO Box, and remember, now that I’m there, the area will build up quickly enough so our application for a delivery extension will be accepted. As it is now, though, there are not enough houses between us and the two rentals, but once there’s us, four rentals, plus houses across the street and to our right, an extension will be no problem.

I definitely want to check out the land to our right and in front. I want to find out who owns it and what the story with it is. It’s not for sale now that I know of, but give it 6-12 months and I’ll bet it will be.

At the trailer Sunday morning, we were locked in. I couldn’t get the damn door open. Tom loosened some screws and fixed the knob, though. While we were still trapped, he jokingly said, “It’s kind of scary being trapped in here with me, huh?”

I joked back saying, “Yeah, I’m afraid you might rape me.”

The night before this I nearly blinded myself in one eye with a clip that broke and flew into my eye. Miraculously, I had no bruising on the skin, but it did bruise a corner of my eyeball.

Since now’s the time to mail something and hope that Tom doesn’t find out about it, by having the front desk mail it, I’m gonna send the H’s a wacky letter. He still may find out about it if they suspect us, then contact Hilda to contact us about it, but I doubt it. If they do, they do, though. I’d still rather not hand an envelope addressed to them to Tom to mail, cuz he’ll only try to talk me out of it. Meanwhile, what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him, but if he does find out, then I’ll listen to him lecture me for an hour about it and I’ll deal with him being paranoid over it till 2005.

Later…

Last night I called the front desk about the room next door, but not to complain, since they weren’t that noisy and since it wouldn’t have done me any good if they were. I did it to see if I could find out when they’d be leaving. It sounded like the same guy who I complained to about that old crone on the 1st floor (we’re now on the end of the 2nd floor directly above our usual room) and I was surprised he gave me any info. He let me know they were leaving today, which eased my nerves. I didn’t think they’d leave after just one night. Someone’s door woke me up at 7:15, but I’m almost sure it wasn’t theirs, cuz fortunately, their door’s not right smack next to ours. It was probably the door across the hall or the outside stairway door. Unless they arrived late, no one was above us last night, cuz as is my habit lately, I call the surrounding rooms to see what’s empty and what’s not. So far, as far as I know, no one’s above or next door to us now (who cares about below), but someone’s across from us.

The maid called today wanting to know if we wanted our room cleaned. That was a stupid question. Why would we have our DO NOT DISTURB sign out if we did?

Later…

I’ve become sort of friendly with one of the girls at the front desk. She’s the one who helped me get my popcorn that got stuck in the vending machine. She smiled when she saw me earlier making popcorn and asked how long I was staying. I told her about our situation. I stopped by the front desk to chat some more with her just now when I went to get coffee when a man came in saying he needed four rooms. Four rooms! That’s a lot of fucking kids! Next door’s still empty but I’m sure some of them will be unloaded in there any sec.

Last night, for reasons I can only guess, a suite door was left with its door guard in place so anyone could walk right in just like I did. Their suites are identical to the one we were in at the La Quinta, only it was laid out differently. We’re in a regular room with two doubles, a dresser, and a table. This had a king with a table, dresser, couch, and micro/fridge. Since it was on this floor, I used its microwave. I also helped myself to some toiletries. I could’ve made free long-distance calls. However, there’s no one I care to call that’s long-distance.

Tom may be coming down with a cold. I hope not. It could just be exhaustion, though.

My trip to Melanie’s was a waste of time and gas, but at least I don’t have to go back for 8 weeks! The doctor didn’t even tighten the retainers. All he did was look at them and ask if they fit OK.

SUNDAY, NOVEMBER 28, 1999 Back at the Fairfield till Wednesday. God’s up to one of his favorite obsessions concerning me - sticking kids next to me. I was in between CDs when I heard a kid scream and felt the vibration of its footsteps. I peeked out into the hall (this was just after he left for work) and saw a guy with a ton of luggage heading next door. I never actually saw any kids, so I couldn’t say how many are over there. He smiled at me and we went into our rooms. Thank God these walls are thicker than the apartment walls at the Vista, Crystal Creek, and the dive in Snottsdale! Although I’ve heard a few bumps and bangs, they haven’t been as noisy as I thought they’d be. The question is - will I be able to get up in the morning when I say so, or will I have to when they say so? No kid is gonna sleep till 8:30, and you know the parents won’t give a shit if they run around like crazy.

I’d like to say that they’ll be settling down for bed soon and gone for good in the morning, but I know better. One look at the amount of luggage they had told me they’d be here for more than one night. They’re not in the middle of their trip. Here is their final destination. If they were coming/going from some other state, they wouldn’t have that much luggage cuz you wouldn’t need so much for one night. They’ve come to visit someone in the area for at least a few days which is why they had so much crap. Besides, I know what God would have in store for me.

This is also not a very good sign of the “end times,” so to speak, signaling our final hotel stay. I still don’t see how the well could be done, along with APS’s job, and Gravity’s job of connecting the well/septic by Wednesday so we can be in by the 1st. Tom promises to hire new people, though, if they don’t stick to the contract.

SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 27, 1999 If Tom’s right, and if he’s not getting his hopes up for nothing, this will be the last night we sleep in the trailer. If gunshots don’t wake me up sooner than I’d like, then he will, but it’s OK.

The fucking idiots sent the well permit to our old address so that’s part of the reason for the delay. According to the way Tom’s figured things out between the well driller and APS, we should be in the house Wednesday.

The skirting is now on and it really makes the house look better.

Also, the carpet’s down. It’s darker than I thought; sort of like faded denim, but it’s better than brown. I like it.

I found yet more problems, and I’m telling you - there’s no fucking excuse for this! Those fucking goddamn lazy, half-assed Mexicans!

They installed the things for the outdoor lights crookedly, and the utility door handle does not fit right. There’s a large gap in the door.

We went over to the house after the girl and guy who did the carpet left, and we discussed clean-up and preparation jobs, as well as did a little work over there. When we can, I’m gonna sweep the floors and vacuum and he’s gonna wipe down the walls and counters of all their dust.

Today we set up the fridge, oven, and dishwasher, and peeled stickers off of things in the bathrooms. I also took down the curtains I plan to replace.

Anyway, I hope Tom’s not jumping the gun, cuz he’s got a room reserved for us for three nights at the Fairfield. Being there on a Friday night/Saturday morning was just as bad as I figured it’d be. I should’ve known too, that just because it started off quiet, it wouldn’t stay that way. Not once it got well past check-in time. They ended up pretty packed and the early morning door-slamming was pretty wild. I’m amazed they let me sleep till 8:30 like I did. Shortly afterward, we screwed.

There was nothing to say he wouldn’t or couldn’t cum, based on his actions, but then like usual, he had an excuse. A cramp in his back was the excuse of choice this time. Fine, but why make excuses, Tom? Just be yourself.

FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 26, 1999 We decided to check into the Fairfield so we could take showers. It’ll also give me a break from being shaken awake. First he shook me awake, then I woke up just because, and then a fly landed on me and buzzed me awake just before 8:00. I couldn’t have slept much later anyway since the carpet people started their work.

We got here at 11:00 and we were supposed to be on the 2nd floor, the one with the lazy Mexican who doesn’t change sheets (this place has three floors), but the room wasn’t ready, so now we’re back on the 1st. This time, though, instead of being at the end of the hall by the exit door, we’re up in the middle by the lobby. The little laundry room is just across the hall. The laundry room where they wash sheets is across the hall, too. I thought it might be very noisy here. Especially with it being a Friday night, but it hasn’t been too bangy so far. Since it’s the Thanksgiving weekend and not a regular weekend, they may not be as booked up.

The room was really musty when we first came in, but Tom opened the window and we aired it out. I didn’t even know these windows opened.

He went to see his mom since he hasn’t seen her in a couple of weeks.

There was no alarm clock in here. Tom can get me up by 8:30 tomorrow if nothing beats him to it, but I thought it’d be nice to tell time, so I got one at the front desk. Oddly enough, there were no outlets behind the nightstand, so I plugged it in by this table I’m writing on.

I also had to hunt down the maid for a DO NOT DISTURB sign again, but I still like this place the best.

Later…

Tom’s still not back yet. I napped for about an hour, after a shower and doing a little load of laundry.

That musty smell returned, and I noticed the floor by the sink was damp, so I think there’s a leak somewhere. Yeah, I’m a magnet for leaks. We both are. I’m also good at sending out those infertility vibes too, cuz as it turns out, none of these mice were ever pregnant. How amazing too, seeing that they were in a cage with males.

Tom won our bet about it being quiet behind us, although he won by default. No one’s been over there as far as I can tell. Still, I won’t get anything till June. The bet was that I go without any more dolls and stuff like that for six months. I’ll keep my end of the bet, but I wish he’d quit lying and learn to keep his end of things when it came to sex! As you know, I no longer want a kid, but when the guy comes out and says he’s gonna cum regularly, this really burns me up. Not just cuz he’s lied about this before a zillion times, but cuz we don’t even screw regularly to begin with. How can he cum regularly when we don’t screw regularly? Again, part-time, cumless sex is fine 90% of the time, but why bullshit me about it? He is how he is, and like I said before, any guy supposedly unafraid to go to a doctor about it but doesn’t wants to be the way he is.

Later…

Tom got in shortly after I last wrote. With him were a birthday card and a check from Mom. It was a very pretty card, too. Bright and colorful.

The people next door are getting on my nerves and believe it or not, these aren’t kids either. They’re just as rude and immature, though. Totally childish, and fucking males! The filthy pigs always have to go about things in such a forceful, macho way. Maybe I shouldn’t talk, for I’m just as aggressive, but I guess that except for my husband (or else I’d be alone forever or having little flings with women), I’ll always be a die-hard sexist.

I was reading and Tom was napping when a cock, accompanied by his woman, knocked so fucking hard and loud on next door’s door. Poor Tom nearly fell out of bed and I myself nearly jumped through the ceiling. I thought for sure someone was knocking on our door, but it was next door. If he’d done it again I’d have really let him have it. Meanwhile, it appears to be an older couple staying in the room. I guess they recently checked in. I saw the old lady go across to the washer, and she’d gone back and forth slamming the door several times when I decided to take the matter up with the front desk. Unless he just said he talked to them, which very well could be the case, it’s had its usual effect - nothing. However, I don’t chew out or beat up old people in the way that I would with a younger person. Because it’s still early and because we don’t live here and because she’s old, I’ll let her annoy me by rudely slamming her door. If she isn’t finished with the laundry and the door-slamming by 10:00, then I’ll go directly to her, old or not. I could kick myself for going to the front desk, though. Why do I even bother? Why do I waste my time? Again, you got a problem with someone, you want results, you gotta go to them. Also, I still can’t figure out for the life of me why people can’t handle such simple, reasonable complaints without getting so damn hot and bothered. It’s just a door-slamming complaint. I’m not saying their family has to die nor am I requesting their execution. Everyone’s so damn sensitive. So you close your door a little quieter next time you go in and out - big fucking deal. What’s wrong with a little common courtesy?

Instead of complaining, I should’ve yanked all her clothes out of the washer when she went back into her room, but that probably would’ve led to more commotion from over there.

THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 25, 1999 Signing in on a very boring Thanksgiving. There’s just nothing to do. Nothing to do, no place to go.

Tom got up a little before 11:00 last night and stayed in the car till morning so I could sleep without him shaking the trailer. Remember, we’ve got a total of four nights here. I slept in till 10:30. I know it may fuck up my schedule, but I really needed a day in my life to get up on my own. It’s been over four months now of waking up sooner than I planned to get up, or to the alarm. I can’t wait to take a break from early wake-up calls and alarms! Last night’s reason for waking up was that I was absolutely freezing! It sure does get colder out here, if not by much. Trying to heat a little flimsy trailer’s hard. It heats up quickly and well, but two minutes after the heat stops, it’s fucking freezing in here again!

I expected to hear a lot of gunfire this morning, but I didn’t. That’s the only other thing I don’t like for while we’re still in the trailer (we shouldn’t hear it in the house); the goddamn weekend gunshots. They hunt quails and shit like that in the mornings and late afternoons.

I’m not sure if anyone’s behind us or not. I heard a dog, which may’ve been a Doberman, barking from that direction, for a few minutes, but I was pretty sure the Doberman belonged to one of the workers. Unless it’s one of the workers moving in there, or the barks were coming from Dan’s or somewhere else.

The only thing I’ve heard so far, and it’s so soft that I can’t hear it inside the trailer with the windows open, so I sure as hell couldn’t hear it in the house. The house toward the front of us, actually, in front of next door, is playing a radio. Like I said, it’s so soft I can’t even make out what kind of music it is. It’s an old, baseless radio. All I hear is the faint beat of the drums and I can tell when the DJ is talking, too. Although this surprises me, since people aren’t supposed to want to draw attention to themselves out here, I’m not worried. It is a holiday, after all, and who knows? Maybe they’re renters.

I wish it would rain for a change. It hasn’t rained in months. I want to see what it’s like with water running down our washes. That oughta be so cool having a little river run by our house when it rains.

The house’s 6” thick walls and thermo-treated windows really insulate well. It finds a temperature average to maintain. It doesn’t get as warm as it is in the daytime or as cold as it is at night. It’s 55º in there lately. Our highs lately are 70º and our lows are 40º.

WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 24, 1999 We stopped at the grocery store in Sun Lakes before coming to the land, which was pretty crowded being the day before Thanksgiving. If there’s anything I hate about old people, it’s that they drive too slow and rudely block isles in stores when they stop to gab with one another.

During the daylight, it was as quiet as usual, but with the onset of night, the dogs are beginning to stir up.

Tom and I made a bet. Since we know at least one of those trailers in back is now occupied, the holiday changes when the noise starts. If it weren’t for tomorrow being Thanksgiving, I’d say we were a week or two away from their antics/noise, but I guarantee it’ll be noisy over there tomorrow. I’m sure we’ll hear from next door and maybe Dan too, but in back, I bet Tom nothing for me for six months on their barking, screaming and music. Nothing for me, meaning no dolls or anything like that.

Nothing anyone around here can do can compare to how that Mexican household in Phoenix will be and I thank God I am not there to have to hear it. Man is it gonna be a circus over there! I hope the H’s are planning on trying to have a nice, quiet relaxing Thanksgiving cuz they ain’t getting it. I know everyone will go to the freeloaders’ and that they won’t go to someone else’s, and I know there’ll be music from the house and car stereos. Thank you, God, that I don’t have to be forced to be a part of it and listen to it for 12 hours.

The factory still hasn’t called us about outside steps, the globe, cleaning, or a final walk-through, and APS hasn’t been out. What else is new, huh? But the heat pump and carpet are finally being installed. The guy “says” he was putting it in today, but I don’t think he and his partner can do it today. I think they’ll have to come back Friday along with the carpet layers. They took our unwanted furnace out, by the way, too. As for the carpet, the padding’s down, but the carpet won’t be laid till Friday.

Actually, come to think of it, the dogs have been quieter lately. Maybe the colder weather has to do with it.

TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 23, 1999 I’m doing a mini-load of laundry now.

About four days ago, the weather here turned rather wintry. It’s only making it up to the mid-60s, and even in the afternoon it’s nippy. Especially when it’s windy.

Tom called Hilda today and the idiot still doesn’t know where our well permit is. Tom reminded her that our first payment is due on the first, and he said her response to that was, “Then we have a week to get it done.”

Yeah, right! I’ll believe it when I see it. She also says Gravity’s gonna come out and connect the well to the septic once we ever get the damn thing, but this is even harder to believe.

In other areas of the house set up - Brian’s supposed to take care of the skirting, and someone’s supposed to lay the carpet this week.

Our storage bin’s coming out next Monday and the furniture will be delivered on the 30th.

Tom got a plug to fill in the drop-out in the electrical box and he called APS to tell them it’s ready for a meter, as well as an inspection.

We still have to get the washer, dryer, trash compactor, computer desk (for my office), entertainment center, and the project and animal tables. We discussed the possibility of building our own entertainment center since we like being creative and making things.

The kitchen sink has a spot where you can add either a hose spray or an instant hot water spigot. I think I’ll take the hot water. We also have to get a water softener, but we may not need a filter. That’ll depend on how it tastes.

As with most hotels and other businesses, they have fake plants around the lobby, which is usually deserted. I could easily swipe a couple of little ones, and I thought about it, but they’re not that great. Just green leaves. No colorful flowers.

Besides going to a drive-through and to Circle K, we made two stops.

We went to the trailer and house first, spying on the back houses first. What dumpy trailers these are. They’re double-wide, but according to George, only 40’ long.

There’s definitely still no one living in the furthest one yet, but there was a Doberman chained by it. It was there when the workers that are usually there were there, so maybe it’s one of theirs. What is it with people taking their dogs to work, anyway? Amazingly, though, not once did I hear it bark. Dogs do tend to be quieter out there during the daytime, though.

I took care of the animals while he took care of the plug, and even brought Scuttles to run around in the house. He didn’t explore that much, just made a few corner duties. I wish rats could be trained like cats to use little boxes. It’d be so cool to have them run around loose, but they’d chew everything up, of course.

At Walgreens, we got my meds and some toys. They replaced the Flovent with my old stuff - Vanceril. Well good, cuz the Flovent’s not very good. Got my Albuterol as usual too, and that’s it. I only have two things I take.

He got a yo-yo, and just like he said, he’s super good at it.

I got a pocket Simon game where you match color sequences. Also, a Barbie I’ve wanted for my collection for a while with a pink, satiny, glittery dress with a jagged hem. She has a pull-string with a pink plastic star on the end that you pull so she spins at the waist and makes bubbles with wands you clip to her wrists. I didn’t get it for this purpose, though. I just liked the dress. Besides, my fan can make bubbles a lot better than she can.

Later…

Gave Andy another hotel call. I’m not calling him too often cuz I don’t want to drive the poor guy crazy and possibly even into spending money he needs on getting his number changed. I doubt if he’d go to those extremes, though. Andy can certainly handle prank calls better than anyone I know. You’re talking about a phone addict here who loves to do the same thing.

I picked up and he was quiet for the first minute. Then, after a sigh of frustration, he did what I thought he’d have done by now - chewed disgustingly in my ear. I had the fan on, so I couldn’t tell if he was alone or not. All he said was “Don’t hang up. I know you want to hear me eat. This chocolate pudding is so good. I have chocolate swirl, too. Everyone loves chocolate. Everyone loves Raymond, too.” Then he hung up. No, I don’t know who Raymond is or if he even knows a Raymond. Bruce, though, might be the gay guy from Circle K. I’m not sure.

MONDAY, NOVEMBER 22, 1999 Saturday, when I was in the house, I saw a US West truck, plus some other worker’s truck in back. One was driving up as I approached the window, and I watched someone get out of the truck and shut the door and I never heard the door shut. It would have to be slammed hard while it was dead quiet to be heard in the house, but unfortunately, music doesn’t have to be all that loud to be heard just fine in the house.

Later that day, we noticed a small U-Haul back there, and from what we saw, someone had to have stayed there overnight Saturday night, but they were quiet. This is the house closest to us, I’m talking about. The one I’m pretty sure is where the single guy’s going. I wasn’t surprised they were quiet for two reasons. One - their dog’s not here yet. Two - I noticed that people usually wait till they get settled first, then a week or two after moving is when they draw attention to themselves and rub their presence in on the neighborhood.

A gray van I’d never seen before went by our house but I couldn’t see where they came from. I waved and they waved back. There were at least two people, and the passenger may’ve been a fat adult female. Couldn’t tell too well with the sun’s glare.

Saturday we checked out a road that we thought would take off a good 30 miles or so when going to Melanie, but it was in really shitty condition. However, the scenery was breathtakingly beautiful and made our land look dull. It had an awesome mountain view with tons of saguaros one way, then in the other direction, you could see a town far off in the distance. I’ll bet the distant lights at night are gorgeous. You can see that and beautiful mountains from our place too, but nothing like this. And we’re too low for saguaros to grow naturally, although they’ll be fine once we plant them. Saguaros occur in the higher desert. This area, though, wasn’t for sale, had treacherous roads, and no electricity around for miles.

We’re supposedly screwing sometime today, but I’m sure there’ll be some excuse to get out of it, or some problem with it if we do get around to it.

Later…

So, was I right about him having a mid-cycle excuse? Yup. He was too tired. Figures, huh? Well, I know I can’t conceive, but he obviously doesn’t, so from now on I’m gonna try to hide from him just where I am in my cycle so he doesn’t have to get all wound up for nothing. It’ll be easier to do once we get in the house, cuz he’ll seldom be in the bathroom I’ll be using, so I can hide pads and tampon wrappers easier. My cycle isn’t always predictable, but it’s close enough, even if I have erratic spotting at odd times.

I tested him earlier. He passed just like I knew he would, but even so, I still like testing people from time to time, even if I know what their reaction’s gonna be. I just like to see it periodically.

I said that maybe we could bring women into our sex life, and he seemed to truly be disinterested and he said he didn’t want that. He wanted me (just part-time, not that that’s not good enough for me). When I told him I was testing him, he said he thought I was testing to see what I could do. Hope, not at all. Women are fun to fantasize about, but ever since I met Tom, I’ve never had the desire to act on any fantasies. This sort of surprises me, despite how much I love Tom, but then again, love and lust are two different things, so I guess I really should be surprised. As I’ve said, sex is a tiny part of this relationship, as far as I’m concerned, and I love Tom way more than I lust for him. I’m glad this is how I feel, though, and wouldn’t be happy with someone I lusted for but did not love. That would’ve been fine in the past, but not now.

I have a lot to be grateful for. Not just that Tom doesn’t think with his dick, not just that I quit wanting a kid and don’t have the sexual drive I used to have, but that I am finally healthy and happy. I may still get tight at times, but look how long it’s been since I’ve had to go to the ER! God’s blessed us with a great house, nice stuff, and he’s finally allowed me to quit smoking and get on a schedule. If only he’d let me lose weight now! Well, he may choose not to help me with the hunger part of it, but I have to at least not eat. I have to face reality. I’m not in my 20s anymore and I never will be again, so I can only have a bite a day if I want my weight to be somewhat reasonable, and this is the way it’s always gonna be.

Tom got to the hotel right before 9:00 this morning and had me get him up at 1:00. We went to the trailer, and oh my God! Even in the middle of the afternoon, it was chilly as all hell and we had to run the heat for a while. It felt like late August-early September in New England.

The plug he got for the electrical box was the wrong size, so he’ll have to get another one. At least it didn’t cost even a buck.

He measured walls and windows for drapes and murals, and we worked on Jade some more. It wasn’t very easy. The legs set great, but stuffing the body was harder than it sounded, cuz we had to get things evened out and proportioned. I wonder if the cloth body, which is what you fill, is too big for this doll. There’s a lot of bunched material, so it looks like she’s got skinny legs with a fat ass. It doesn’t have to be perfect, though, cuz clothes cover the non-porcelain parts of dolls. We just have to get it close enough so her dress doesn’t appear to have a funny-shaped body underneath.

Hey, I didn’t write about my new cactus clock and paper. We went to a touristy Walgreen and I got a cactus clock, but they didn’t have the cactus plate I wanted as well. I got paper for letters to Paula with pretty watercolor splashes throughout it. I’ll keep a few sheets for myself too, and maybe use some for those lying control freaks in Florida. I still intend to mail them pictures once the house is set up, but I’ll have to use the back.

SUNDAY, NOVEMBER 21, 1999 I thought I’d write and keep from getting overly behind, cuz I can’t focus on reading right now. Writing requires me to focus too, but in a different way.

It appears Gravity’s skipped out on us. I hope he knows this means he won’t be getting paid. Since Gravity won’t haul his blubber out and finish his job, Tom’s gonna get the plug for the electric box so we can have heat Wednesday night and sleep in the house for the first night ever (we’re now at the Fairfield for three days. Same room as last time)! We’ll be able to heat the place, but we’ll have to go to the trailer to the bathroom since the damn well’s still not drilled.

Brian strapped the house down with metal straps that attach to a 3’ pole that he slowly drills into the ground with some really cool tool.

Tom and I discussed plans for outside the house - where the pool will go, the deck, stuff we want to plant, and we even discussed getting a couple of horses. They stink and are more work to take care of than rats, mice and guinea pigs, but if it’s what we want, we can handle it. Tom’s quite an expert on horses, so I can learn from him just like he’s learned from me about things I know.

As I probably mentioned, I had begun growing my bangs out. However, it looked so geeky, so I cut my bangs back again earlier this evening.

I got another sitting music doll on the 19th (Stephanie) at the same store I got Melanie at. So far, I’m shocked to say it still works. We got it in an awesome grocery store in Sun Lakes. Sun Lakes and its stores are great, cuz just like with Sun City, it’s a retirement area, where everyone’s old, white and quiet. They just really annoy you with their 10 MPH driving speed.

Stephanie’s got auburn hair, blue eyes, and wears a blue and white dress with a touch of glitter. She has a white dove on her arm, too.

We began putting Jade together on Saturday. Saturday we wrapped the armature with plastic bags at the legs, then poured Durham’s rock hard inside the leg molds, then squeezed them on. We let it set overnight, but this morning, one leg was loose, so we reset it. Hopefully, we can stuff her up to her waist or so tomorrow, then set her arms.

Tom read a whole Dean Koontz book yesterday. One I bought and haven’t read yet.

He went down on me the day before and says we’ll screw tomorrow. And let me guess - he’ll be too scared to cum being where I’m at in my cycle, right? Good. There’s no sense in taking stupid risks.

I called Andy from the Southgate Hotel, and he said “Hello” in a calm, quiet voice. Then, in a more exasperated way, he said, “Bruce?” He let out a sigh of frustration at that point, then I hung up. This was the only call I gave him from that place, which turned out to be dead quiet. It wasn’t comfortable or convenient, though.

I called Andy three times tonight. He didn’t answer the first time, so I hung up on his machine. He answered the second time while I happened to be fiddling with the clock radio. “Your music sucks,” he said and hung up. I got his machine on the last call and it was perfect! What a funny, ironic coincidence that this God-obsessed guy got the message he got. I was just flipping to a religious station as the machine came on where a guy’s ending words of some speech were, “May God bless you.” He’ll love it! He’ll totally get a kick out of it, as well as a bit curious, I’d think.

THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 18, 1999 Gosh, it’s almost Friday already. We still have biweekly sex, although sometimes 3-4 weeks pass in between sex. I’m glad I’ve gotten used to this and I wish to hell I could know I’ll get used to the hunger once I begin dieting, but it never goes away. Not for me, it doesn’t. Anyway, whatever we do sex-wise, he won’t be squirting this time. Not with me close to mid-cycle and with his cumming just two weeks ago. It still strikes me as odd how God sees to it he doesn’t cum during mid-cycle, although he has a few times. That was quite some time ago, though. I know part of it is Tom himself, but if God can do anything, why put such effort into it and work at the timing and all that? I still say - why not just see to it that I need a hysterectomy? Why work at it needlessly?

Again, not a sound since we returned around 5:00. I let the housekeeper do her thing today, but she didn’t change our sheets. That’s OK. The stuck-on booger is way up by where the bed meets the headboard. We noticed this yesterday if this is really what it is.

APS finally came out today to do their thing, but once again, we’re waiting on fucking Gravity. He needs to get his ass out there and get the meter box up. I’m so damn sick of stupid incompetent little shits! One person says one thing while someone else says another, then Hilda says she doesn’t know who’s doing what. She doesn’t know? Then what the fuck is she in this business for? If she doesn’t know who’s doing what by now, she’s got a real problem. How many years has she been in this business? Well, I think it’s about time people start figuring out who’s doing what and do it! If Gravity wants his money and if people don’t want to get sued, they better get their asses in gear and us in that house by the 1st as the contract states.

One of the guys from APS, who has the same model we do, is in the process of suing Palm Harbor for similar problems we’ve got like with all the staples showing, the botched island trim job, the half-assed baseboard job in the entryway, and the crooked bar. Even Brian, who’s the only one who’s been dedicated so far, noticed the island trim, and he suggested I mention it during the final walk-through. Oh, I will. I’m not gonna necessarily have them fix things, cuz that’d just delay us from getting in there (we’ll fix their fuck-ups ourselves even though we shouldn’t have to. We paid them to do it) However, I am gonna point out these flaws to them. I understand no one and nothing is perfect, but this is a little overkill.

Also, why do people have to die that are associated with those working for us? First Gravity’s mother-in-law dies and now the carpet layer’s friend dies. The carpet would’ve been done today if the guy’s friend hadn’t been killed on a motorcycle. Hilda says it’d be no problem getting another carpet layer if she has to. Let’s hope not, although I still can’t understand why so many different people have to be involved. APS has to be APS, but why can’t Palm Harbor take care of their house’s setup as well? And the septic? We shouldn’t have bothered with separate contractors, but I guess it’s cuz we went through Steven and not Palm Harbor directly.

So we still need the septic filled in after it’s inspected. The electric box needs inspecting. We need carpet. And we need a fucking well, too. Where the hell is the well permit we should’ve gotten two weeks ago?

Again, I can’t wait to get into that house and away from people and their stupidity!!!

Our first stop of the day, after Tom got off work, of course, was to Home Bass. He couldn’t find the tool he needs for the rammed earth wall he wants to make. This is the one to keep loose dogs, coyotes, etc. out, and cut down sound, but we’ll still put up the barbed wire perimeter fence.

We looked at outdoor plants/trees, sheds, decorative light switches, and indoor/outdoor mats. Their indoor mats were a bore, but I got a nice flowery outdoor mat cut around the shape of the flowers.

We also went to Game Works and accumulated about 1400 tickets. Not enough for a 3000-ticket lightning lamp. So I got three 75-ticket velour bears and now I have a yellow one, an orange one, a red one, and a green one (they were out of purple ones) and I have a voucher for 1185 tickets. So, two more trips and we’ll have the lamp. It’s not nearly as cool as the lamp I saw at Home Bass, though, which was amazingly only $50. It’s a stick lamp that’s about 4’ high with water bubbling in it and it changes colors, too.

WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 17, 1999 Just made my hotel call to Andy. I forgot to even bother the last time around. Actually, I gave him two hang-ups on his machine cuz he didn’t answer.

We’re at the Southgate Motel now rather than a hotel as they all seem to be booked. The Fairfield is booked and the Hampton is booked. Something’s obviously going on nearby.

This place, which is the most old-fashioned of all, with real keys/has its doors outdoors like at that dive in Scottsdale. There are stairs you go up and a little walkway that goes down by the rooms so you have an outside hallway. I expected it to be the noisiest, but so far, it’s actually the quietest. With the fan on, anyway. Maybe it’s cuz there’s no hall for door slamming to echo in.

The place doesn’t even have wall lamps. Their lamps sit right on the nightstands. We got a king-size bed on the 2nd floor (it only has two floors) and the bed is awful. The worst thing about the place (I’d rather that than noise). I’ll have to sleep on the pillows and make sure I get my exercise mat to sleep on when we go to the trailer tomorrow (we’re booked for two nights). The carpet is old, worn, and stained, but softer than usual. It also has a little refrigerator and microwave.

There were a couple of not-so-impressive postcards in here. I wrote one up for Paula, then decided it wasn’t worth the stamp just to jot her a few lines. I’ll send her a real letter with more than just five sentences. I made up the other one with gibberish for “Deb Fanny.” Tom agreed it was funny, but said it’d stir things up. I know he’s just being paranoid, but that’s OK. I won’t mail it. They’re not worth it.

Target was the first store we went to, and I got four awesome pails! They’re small-medium sized and are for both baths, the retreat, and my office. I got two that are like soap dispensers with floating objects in oil and water at the bottom. One’s frogs and pink water lilies in green oil. One’s fish in blue oil. One’s just clear plastic with flowers. One’s cartoonish with lots of bright colors.

Got another clothes hamper and a pretty aqua-colored washcloth, so now we’ve got three.

I looked at pictures, and although I did find some nice ones, no big desert ones yet.

Because I’m a woman of variety, the house won’t have any specific theme decoration-wise. I’ve got everything from a picture of a sexy Indian lady, a disco light, dolls, and another broken music box. Yeah, I just had to get the broken one today at Walgreens, and I swear - it was not broken when I bought it, and I did not handle it rough enough to break it. It’s a swan figurine of spun glass with a little pink flower and pink bow that sits on a rotating mirrored bass. Fortunately, though, it can be glued back in place and still look nice, even though a piece is missing (the swans broke free of the base). It’s not like I wanted to play its music, anyway. I just thought it’d make a nice decoration and I always liked these since the first time we saw them nearly a year ago.

Originally, I had planned on getting a cactus clock and cactus plate, but this Walgreens didn’t have them, so I got the musical swans and a four-pack of body mists. I should’ve gotten this $8 4-pack, rather than the one big $8 bottle. The scents are water lilies, sparkling strawberries, Hawaiian ginger, and turquoise seas.

We also stopped in Radio Shack where I found the perfect pair of headphones for my stereo for $50, rather than $100 like at Best Buy.

Later…

This is definitely the quietest place we’ve stayed at. Not one slam or bang.

Our third and final trip to Marie Callender’s was a disaster, and this time I mean it when I say I’ll never go to a restaurant again. Ever! Only drive-through places. It wasn’t only due to screaming, unruly kids, who had to run around the place like wild animals, either. The service was absolutely horrid. I feel guilty for the way I handled it too, but I just couldn’t imagine sitting there without uttering a word and keeping it bottled up. I had to speak out, be blunt, get to the point, and defend both my husband and myself. Mark my words, though - that waitress is extremely lucky I didn’t go in there in a foul mood to begin with or else I’d have kicked her ass to hell and back.

First the bitch claims they were having some sort of problem, so she asked for our credit card and has us pay before eating. Then, we ordered. I asked her to hold the extra sauce from my ribs and chicken, but then when she served me, I had the extra sauce. Also, she served me first. That was rude. Everyone should be served at the same time. So I reminded her that I asked that the extra sauce be held, and she kept insisting I couldn’t do that. When I told her I did it the other night, she said I didn’t have to get mad and that she’d fix it. I wasn’t “mad,” although I was reasonably frustrated at this point. She did fix it. But when she brought my fixed food, apologizing like hell, she also brought Tom’s burgers and fries. Well, the fuck of a cook apparently couldn’t handle my complaint and sabotaged his fries with way too much spice. It was loaded with chili pepper. This was obviously in response to my having my food sent back, but why the little shit botched his food and not mine, and why there was no problem returning a too-raw steak at Denny’s one time, beats me, cuz this fuck’s reaction was your classic reaction. So damn typical! Why is it so hard for someone to just redo something, and move on? Everyone’s gotta be so fucking sensitive and take everything so personally.

So the waitress returns to ask us how things are, we mention the fries, then she asks him to sign the credit card thing without even offering a discount like Denny’s did, and I’m like - whoa, whoa! How about one after all this shit? Then she said something about taking care of it, and I asked to speak to the manager. So the manager comes, we tell her the scoop, she says it’s an insult to accuse her cooks of sabotage, she says her cooks wouldn’t do that (yeah, they’re perfect little angels), and on and on and on. When I realized she’d just sit there and make excuses all night, I took the credit card and receipt to sign and said, “Look. Let me tell you bluntly how it’s gonna be. We’re not paying for this. Period.”

Meanwhile, Tom had momentarily pushed his plate away from him and I was under the impression he wasn’t gonna eat his burger. The manager claims she refunded us, it was over, and so we left. Well, we sure hope it’s over. Amazingly, the Siesta Suites didn’t rip us off, according to the statement we just got, but will they? This is why I hate these damn credit cards, as I told Tom. You may as well hand out blank checks to people so they can just help themselves to whatever they want.

Anyway, to wrap this story up, Tom was upset I bluntly refused to pay and that he didn’t get to eat his burger. He wanted to at least eat that, then argue over the bill. He said not to feel bad about it, but I do and from now on, whenever we have a problem with someone, I’ll just sit there with my mouth shut and let him handle it no matter how much my blood’s boiling. I’m so sick of people and their incompetence and the problems they cause. I can’t wait to hibernate in that house, away from people. People are such stupid assholes.

Oh, and the manager also tried to tell us they season all their fries. Uh-huh. Sure they do. Just like the first two times we were there, right?

TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 16, 1999 We’re back at the trailer now, and since being here, I’ve heard a vehicle drive by at least twice that I know of (yeah, they’ll be passing by more and more as they get closer to moving in). The last time I could’ve sworn I heard music. I know I heard music. I am gonna be made to be so miserable once these people get here till I put a stop to it. Why, God? Huh? Why do you insist I listen to others? You really will never let me live in peace, will you? It really is an impossible dream for me.

Anyway, Gravity’s fucked up on putting in our electric pole again. How many years of experience is this cock supposed to have? Naturally, I feel Tom’s being too nice about it. This man just can’t speak out and put his foot down to save his life, and whenever I’m upset with someone, he defends them.

These fucking “professionals” have a contract saying they have to be done by the 1st, but at the rate they’re going, we don’t stand a chance of getting in by then.

No one’s living behind us yet. I can tell this due to the lack of screaming and house music and I don’t hear any new barks yet, either. They won’t play their car stereo really, really loud, though, till they do move in.

Anyway, it’s obvious God wants me to survive, in the sense of the word, and I knew he wouldn’t ruin our lives by having us sell our house only to have the loan fall through and end up indefinitely homeless (or in apartments). But why oh why won’t he leave me the fuck alone with neighbor noise? Why is it so important to him that they be a part of my life? Is it compensation for not having to listen to a kid inside my own home for 18 years? What is it? Just what the fuck is it?

George said his supplies were stolen. He’s some type of engineer, I guess, who works on houses, and he says someone stole his carpet and tiles, but we think it was someone working for or with him that did it cuz he seems like he could be a read bold, arrogant little shit that someone would do that to.

How do I know the vehicles, especially the one with music, were in fact connected to behind us when I never saw them? I just do. Like I said, I know what God has in store for me. He wouldn’t let me live in peace in the middle of the fucking Arctic.

Tom says I’m a “skinny little thing.” Not at 122 pounds (we weighed ourselves on a scale in the store). Not according to the mirror. Yeah, I undid over a year’s worth of work in just a couple of weeks. I still can’t believe it shows in my face, neck and hips now too, and not just my stomach and thighs. My tits are 36-B. I’m no Dolly Parton, but I sure miss the little mosquito bites I used to have for boobs!

Well, if we can just get into the fucking house, I can start losing weight and toning up with a new home gym, but for now, I can cut down on the shit I’ve been having.

I also can’t wait to take a break from being on a schedule (can’t believe I’ve been on one for three months now!). I want to take a break from alarms and just get up whenever I wake up for a change. At least for a couple of weeks.

I’m gonna tear these pages out after I’ve typed them, then rebind the typed version in here. Meanwhile, rather than dump all this writing, I’ll send this to Paula.

There goes another vehicle. It’s true that they may not have turned down Meadow Green, much less been connected to in back, but it’s no shock to me we’ve got all these people moving in and I’m hearing more vehicles. Most of them have to be connected. Getting closer.

Tom reminded me that people out here don’t want to draw attention to themselves as they do in Phoenix, it’s a different lifestyle, the roads are too bad for a lot of company, and they’re too far out for a lot of company. He can say this all he wants, but these will be anything but rural folks. Maybe the family won’t do music (just barking and screaming, but the guy and his gal pal will certainly do it all. I’ll take care of them, though, trust me. This ain’t Phoenix no more. Here, there are no laws. You got a problem with someone - you shoot them. Unless Tom wants to sell off our property in chunks like George did so he never has to work again, I’m not moving. I’ll fight for my peace and home this time, even if I have to literally kill for it.

Later…

Now I’ll cover where we went today.

Poor Tom wasted time standing in line forever at the PO for that thing that was too big, which turned out to be a computer CD that was to the guy who had our box before us.

We went to K-Mart and Wal-Mart and got many of the household items we need, but we still need to get doormats, an extra hamper, and new pails for the offices and baths. Of course, his mom will be in the guest suite on weekends.

I still want to get a cushion for the car too, to boost me up to shield me from the sun better, and some for the blue chairs I’ll use in the retreat.

I’ve decided to wait on the murals and the big Angel Barbie. Yeah, they have this really cool huge Barbie I want to get someday.

I got those glass jar lamps I mentioned. A big one for the living room and two little ones for the retreat and office. One of the lampshades I picked out is a pink floral shade and the others are white. One has gold trim. I’ll put flowers in them.

I got a couple of bras and a beautiful velvet purple dress for only $10 that’s like a T-shirt dress. Freesia floral body mist, a couple of pairs of batteries, and more earplugs, I also got.

Got air and fabric fresheners and a new, bigger salt and pepper shaker set that’s nothing fancy. Just plain glass ones like in a restaurant.

I also got a dish/cup/glass/bowl/silverware set with a beautiful pansy design. Summer Blush, the theme’s called. I liked it better than the garden one. Got pink floral dish towels, too.

For the baths - can I ever get 20 things in a row without a problem? Every time I buy stuff, something’s got to be broken. I can’t get past buying 15-20 things without a problem. I got two cute soap dispensers for each bath with floating swans and ducks (the soap goes in a chamber below it) and one of them has a broken pump. Got a couple of toilet brushes, and since we rarely use washcloths, I got two new ones and four bath towels. We don’t bother with hand towels, so I didn’t get any. I got a purple and a pink washcloth. For towels, I got purple, pink, light pink and light blue.

MONDAY, NOVEMBER 15, 1999 I hope our house is being carpeted right now!

Anyway, things here continue to be quiet. Just a few door slams and hardly any people. Tonight might be different, though. There may be more people and more banging.

OK, here’s what I feel is a nasty vibe and what he feels is pure paranoia on my part. Yesterday morning, a little white pickup that I’ve seen drive by before pulled up between the house and trailer, which by the way, could fit our old house, the freeloaders’, and the collies between it. He introduced himself as George P., the guy who owns the 10 acres behind us. He said that he’s retired and bought several lots that he split up and rented. Yeah, you heard right - he’s renting the four lots in back. I move out in the middle of nowhere and I still have renters next to me to deal with! They may not be subsidized blacks or Mexicans that are three feet away, but tell me they’re not going to be noisy and I’ll tell you you’re full of shit! Tom says the worst thing they’ll do is trash their place, but I know better. If no car stereos are blasting in and out, which Tom says its electrical connectors couldn’t hold up to over these bumpy roads, then there’ll be loud music coming from their houses. And remember, they make even the dumpiest stereos so bassy nowadays, that it doesn’t even have to be “loud” to be heard in our house. Tom says we’re too far away for them to blast music loud enough for us to hear cuz it’d blow their eardrums out. No, it wouldn’t. Dogs bark loud enough for us to hear without blowing their owner’s eardrums out. Granted, they are outdoors, but that’s just the thing - I think they’ll have windows open and music playing from outside.

We know there’ll be dogs to listen to, cuz George told us one of the guys moving in is planning on getting a Retriever. Yeah, I’m sure he is.

He says he only has two of the four lots rented so far, and that he was gonna buy our lot too, to split and rent, but I guess something was on next door’s side. OK, great. God looks out for them, but who looks out for me? And I let George know just how I feel, too. He claims he’s gonna sell, but so what? It’s still too many damn people over there. That’s all the more dogs and people I have to listen to till we get a wall up, and even then, nothing blocks out the sound perfectly.

He says they’re moving in next week, and that one more house is to be brought in. So the house we thought was on the closest lot to us isn’t really the closest to us. There’s gonna be three houses running non-parallel to our land in the back, then one property behind the three properties. The front house, which I guess isn’t rented yet, may sort of buffer sounds from the two behind it, but still, I know they’re gonna be a problem. And I’m not gonna call George (he gave us his card) when the parties get out of hand. I’m not gonna be stupid enough to complain to him just so he can tell them to quiet down so they can get even noisier. I simply have to take care of this one myself, and I will. No more neighbors’ noise! I mean it! They’re not gonna force their noise and their lifestyles on me. I’ll be damned if I’ll put up with their shit, and I don’t care what color they are! I won’t stand for it out there in our new home! And I was a fool to think God was finally releasing me from his near-decade-long obsession with pummeling me with neighbor’s noise! Yeah well, this is it. It’s over! I’ll fight for my right to peace within the walls of my own home even if it means getting a gun and killing them all.

Tom says he’s 97% sure that all we’ll hear from them are dogs. Yeah, right! And pigs can fly. Well, I’ll shut them up ASAP. I’m not taking another 8 years of this fucking shit everywhere I go.

I reminded Tom that before we even bought the land I vibed it building up and getting noisy once we moved in. Well, these renters moving in are quite a coincidence so far, wouldn’t you say? Especially when I have an 80% accuracy rate.

I also reminded him that Dan was upset about all this too, and that had to be a reason. He said Dan would be worried about them not maintaining their place, not about them being noisy. If it were a case of them simply trashing the place - fine. Any trash that made it to our property would be barely noticeable what with how big it is, unlike with the filthy Mexicans in Phoenix.

George said that in the farthest house were three people. Two kids and one adult, I thought, cuz I saw two little boys head over there twice, but Tom thinks it’ll be one kid and two parents. In the middle will be a single guy with a girlfriend and this is the one I’m more worried about as far as music, parties, and vehicles coming and going, but Tom says he thinks it’ll be a guy like Dan.

Later…

I have more bitching I want to do about the problem coming behind us, but first, we went to Game Works again and I had fun playing skeeball again. Then I found the best ticket-spitting game I wish I had known about all along. It’s this needle that spins till you stop it, and you win the number of tickets it lands on. Of course, I missed the jackpot several times by one spot. I think most of these games are rigged like most slot machines are in casinos. Anyway, it was a lot of fun playing both games, although next time I’m just gonna play this spin thing and rake in the tickets so I can get more little velour teddy bears. This time, though, we set out to win 1000 tickets, and according to the guy at the prize counter, I had 1040 tickets, after we counted something like 850. Tom says they usually say you have more. I guess so. So, I got what I wanted most - a disco light. It’s really cool. Nice and colorful. I have it going now in our hotel room.

Later…

Changed my mind. For 600 tickets, I think I’ll get a lava lamp or one of those lights with purple streaks of light that look like lightning bolts.

I was pissed to find no one came to the house at all. No carpet layers, no APS, no well drillers - no one. Tom still believes we’ll be in the house by Thanksgiving. I wish, but that ain’t what I think! I think we have another 2-2½ weeks to go and that we won’t get in there till just after my b-day.

Now for the latest Andy news - I did get mail from him after all. I was wondering when he, or someone, was gonna forward mail to me. Someone other than Paula, Kim, or Bob.

It took me a few minutes to remember and unravel the mystery. When Tom came in he gave me an envelope with no return on it and I immediately recognized my own handwriting. I knew I didn’t send myself anything, though, and wondered if Tom was playing a joke on me, even though this didn’t seem to be his style. Then I remembered. When Andy went through all that bullshit talk about moving back east, I sent him font samples to pick out for letters and enclosed a SASE for him to mail me his selections back in. He never used that envelope, though. I never knew why he didn’t, and I never questioned it, but he used this envelope and enclosed one of my little sheets of paper with mumbo-jumbo on it. But what surprised me was - that was it? No writing or decorations on the envelope? No enclosing anything else, like a fuck you letter? He really does hate to write.

Tom said that it gets even weirder, cuz we’ve got mail waiting for us that’s too big for our box. At first I thought it was a CD from one of his computer clubs or something like that since I couldn’t imagine anyone I knew sending me something that big, but then Tom said he knew what it was - our house payment coupons.

I called Jamie at the doll store who said the dress wouldn’t be ready for another couple of weeks. That’s OK. She won’t be together for a few weeks yet, anyway.

SUNDAY, NOVEMBER 14, 1999 We’re at my favorite hotel now - the Fairfield Inn. He just left for work and I’m finishing up the laundry here which sure beats Laundromats! We’re on the first floor for the first time, at the end of the hall. The washer/dryer is at the other end of the hall by the front desk, so I don’t have to lug the clothes up and down the elevator.

I decided that “mysterylin” has to go. If I’m gonna change cites and addresses, I may as well change screen names, too. This way I can unlock my mail controls when I want to without having to worry about hearing from anyone I don’t want to hear from. I thought of names like doll99, rodent99, but I think I’ll try for desertwinds99.

Later…

Laundry’s all done. So now I’ll cover what we did today, things about the house, then the bad news last.

After leaving the land, we stopped at Circle K in Maricopa for cookies for both of us, coffee for me, and soda for him. Then we went through a drive-through near the here, then came here. We came at 1:00 and were told no rooms would be available till 3:00, so we sat out front for a while browsing through truck ads. Only a few looked like they had any potential. We got machines or no answer on most of them, but there’s this one we may check out.

We went to K-Mart to look at household things we want for the house, but all I got, since the car and trailer are pretty packed and since I don’t want to put anything in the house till it’s carpeted, was a picture I didn’t expect to get. It’s a pretty good size for just $6, too. I was looking for desert cactus pictures, but instead, I came across a picture of a beautiful Indian woman (a copy of an oil painting).

For window treatments, we have flowers and crisscross lines in the master suite (bedroom, bath, and retreat). The den and living room have this very boring yellow and dark blue pattern, the kitchen has crisscross lines, and the other three bedrooms have stripes. The stripes are fairly colorful, and they can stay cuz I really don’t have to worry about them clashing with anything. The retreat’s flowers and crisscross designs can stay too, but the bedroom has to go. I want to get solid-colored drapes in there, so they won’t clash with the comforter. I want a white or cream-colored lace for the kitchen, and I’m not sure about the den and living room. The bathroom windows are frosted and they don’t open. Maybe I’ll take the flowers and crisscrosses that are in the master bath and put them in the den since all they really need is the lace valance under it. And maybe I’ll wrap my silk flower vine around the living room rod.

The lowest part of the ceiling is 7’ and the highest is 9’. I’ve got three walls picked out where there’s no slant above it where the wall/ceiling meets for mini-murals. I still may get borders too, but definitely not door murals.

I don’t exactly have a place to hang wind chimes yet so I sort of wish one of our ugly minute trees, which have a lot of bare branches, were near the house. I could hang them on that.

Perhaps it’s only normal, and perhaps it’s lazy stupid Mexicans and their sloppy workmanship, but we’ve been finding some imperfections with the house. The breakfast bar is tilted. Maybe it won’t show as much with stuff on it, though. Also, they put the dining room light switch in an odd place; on the back wall by the door. The fucking cocks did a sloppy, half-assed job with the trim on the bottom of the kitchen island, and only half a trim job in the entry area. The fourth bedroom’s door doesn’t close all the way and needs sanding. We have a lot of wall panel staples showing too, that we have to caulk.

Hopefully, the carpet will be down tomorrow. Then he can call Hilda to see if a cleaning crew is gonna go through there or what. I’d hope so cuz it’ll be a lot of cleaning to be done, but at the same time, I may as well do it myself to get in faster. We just want in!!! Even if that means tying up loose ends ourselves.

I’m getting a bit tired, so if I don’t get to the shitty news today, I will tomorrow. Tom says I have nothing to worry about other than typical dog-barking. God, I hope he’s right!!!!!

SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 13, 1999 Starting off on a sad note - Vanilla Belly died today. Tom told me he didn’t think he was acting right ever since moving here. All he seemed to me was a bit lazier, but I guess something was wrong all along and I just didn’t see it. Tom buried him in front of the trailer. I’m gonna really miss him. He was a bit shy but very loving. He was so big and I liked how he looked like your traditional brown rat, yet also had a touch of color. He had a sprinkle of white hairs besides a patch of what on his belly and chest.

He never appeared to have any tumors, and neither did/does Mocha, who seems to be dying, too. It’s the weirdest thing I ever saw. When I got her, she looked like a normal mouse who was pregnant, but now she doesn’t look pregnant at all, and her back legs look odd. Like they’ve been disjointed and are too long for her. It’s like they’re suddenly deformed and are sticking out at the hips too, making her look anorexic. Tom said he thought she looked like she was having trouble breathing. Yeah, I thought so too, but she is getting around. I’ve even seen her wheeling.

Today was a pretty leisurely day. I didn’t go anywhere for the first time in ages (it was dead quiet all day, and I heard very little after-dark barking), but he did. He went to get us some lunch and to get more gas. He also dug a hole behind the trailer to dump the shit tank in. It stunk, too!

Baby Scuttles is really growing. I want him to stay my cute little Scuttles, but I also want him to get fat enough for the other cage so he can’t squeeze through the bars.

Last night I slept with an earplug in. The foam kind that was pretty useless for me in the NHA, and it did great for blocking out his snoring, but he did wake me up a few times when he shook me awake by shaking the trailer when he’d toss and turn, then when he got up.

I never finished with all we did on Friday.

We went to a Chinese/American buffet, then to a close-out store next door. I bought an OK-fitting skirt for $5 and a shitty-fitting dress for $5. As Tom agreed, it wasn’t cut right, and that’s why it ended up at that store.

I got a bundle of purple flowers with a touch of yellow. I know the name of these flowers but forgot them. I’ve got to get some vases, though.

Tom picked up a cheap set of utensils and a small frying pan for making hot dogs.

Oh, I also got a couple of silver pin barrettes to hold my bangs to the side.

Later on, at the grocery store, I got a cute little musical doll which I named Melanie. It plays the Barbara Streisand song The Way We Were. It’s a sitting doll with a nice face for just $13. She has brown hair, green eyes, and wears a dress whose color is a cross between maroon and brown. She has white patterned stockings with cream-colored shoes. Her hair has two braids on each side of her head. As figures, though, her music box broke shortly after I got it. Such shit doll luck.

FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 12, 1999 The dogs have settled in for another night of barking. Last night was the worst dog-barking night since we’ve been here. It began as the sun was setting, as usual, and continued on till around midnight. Some of the dogs sounded close enough to be loose and on our property, but we didn’t find any tracks. Maybe some were coming from next door. Having them live two football fields away isn’t always helpful when you’ve got nothing in between to buffer sounds, but we’ll get a wall up of some kind. At least it’s only for a few hours a day, and it sure beats noisy blacks and Mexicans with their fucking ball games and music blaring a few feet away.

No more Friday night stress! Normally, I’d be so stressed out at this time, knowing their company had to be mine too, but no more!

I hope these Mexicans are really dumping their shit on those greedy fucks that bought our house. They did send Hilda a bill, after all. The moochers wanted more than $250, but Hilda let them know that’s all they’re getting. I made Tom promise not to give them one more dime if they try to weasel more money out of us in a few months from now and to drive me to that house to deal with them in person. He agreed. He said he’s only giving them the money to avoid the hassle of having to go to court even though we know damn well we’d win cuz they never set up a final walk-through.

Well, they’ll hear from me one last time and that’s my promise. It just may not be for a while.

We think one of the reasons so many dogs suddenly start going off at sundown is cuz of the coyotes. Coyotes get more active and start howling when it gets dark. We were outside earlier and heard about three of them howling and it sounded so cool.

I’ve seen some wild horses in some of the really deserted pieces of land.

Tom says that the land in front of us isn’t part of this subdivision. It’s not part of an Indian reservation, but it could be some kind of government land. We’ll have to see if we can find out who owns the land in front and to our right and what their plans are.

It’ll be a shame when they tear down “psycho soldier’s” house. This is an abandoned single-wide trailer a few miles from here with military camouflage on it.

It’s a surprise just how many deserted houses there are out here. Also, there’s such a huge mix of nice houses and rundown ones. Mostly rundown ones, though, that are pretty old.

Tom said Maricopa must be a bit of a depressing town filled with broken dreams. This subdivision was somebody’s failed dream. The four or so acres of dead trees in the center of town are obviously someone’s dead dream. We’re not sure what the trees were and what they were supposed to do with them, though.

Speaking of my dream, which is to get moved into that house for once and for all, I’m finding little things I’m not too thrilled with, but I understand that nothing and no one’s perfect. The stupid Mexican left a globe off one of the lights. Also, Tom says he thinks Brian’s done a good job, but I feel like he’s been cutting corners and weaseling out of jobs like putting door handles on all the doors. We agreed we’d do these little things ourselves so we can get in there faster, like cover some of the wall board’s staples that are showing, but we shouldn’t have to. This should’ve been done already.

At least Brian’s leaving us some goodies. Wall strips, caulking, and odds and ends like that.

I marked my vibes on the calendar with Tom yesterday and some of them aren’t great. I vibe the carpet layer coming Monday and the electricity being taken care of by next Wednesday, but that fucking well, among other things, like inspections, could take longer than we’d like. Tom still thinks we can get in the house between the 20th-24th, before Thanksgiving, but I don’t think we’ll be in there till the 29th or 30th. Maybe even not till the first week of December, even though we have papers guaranteeing us that we’ll be in by December 1st.

THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 11, 1999 Back at the trailer now till Sunday. I ended up enjoying my stay at the Fairfield Inn, even though last night was bangier than the first night. There were more people. Just for the hell of it, I called the room next door and told them to shut up. “You have the wrong number,” the cock was saying as I was hanging up.

Thank God housekeeping at the Harley in Enfield, CT wasn’t as it is out here. Out here, housekeeping’s nothing but Mexicans. No white people at all do hotel housekeeping.

Like an idiot, I slept till he came in at 10:00 and brought me a letter from Paula. It was a nice letter I was happy to get and I did write back, explaining all the events from when we left Phoenix till now. She enclosed two pictures. One of her son and one of her car. Like I really care? I mean, I’m glad she’s got a car and her son’s nice, but what about her? I’m just not meant to ever get a picture of her. She did, however, request my email address saying she wanted to send me pictures, so who knows? I let her know, though, that I won’t have access to the computer for a while yet.

She basically asked why she hadn’t heard from me. She enclosed a phone number, but I’m not gonna call. Nor am I gonna give her our cell phone number. I explained that we have to pay for incoming calls we get and that we ain’t that rich (although I’m sure we’re just about the richest people in Maricopa. One look at our house will tell you that much. Also, we made over $32,000 this year). I told her we probably won’t get regular phone service, even though in truth, I’m sure we will. I just don’t want to go back to the constant calls from her, even if she pays for them. I gave her our PO Box address.

Here we go again with the barking. Yeah, it’s been a bad dog night. There must’ve been a loose dog nearby cuz its barking sounded too close to have been coming from the nearest houses. I’ve heard barking coming from all different directions.

After leaving the hotel we went to Game Works again where we played that skeeball game again that I like and a couple of slot machine games, too. We won nearly 400 tickets and I got a yellow teddy bear, and a purple and a blue picture frame to go with my pink one.

We bought most of our furniture too, and I think I may’ve forgotten to write about the living room set we bought a few weeks ago. Both stores we got furniture from are gonna deliver to us, but before we knew this, Dennis, who’s so incredibly nice, offered to haul it here in this truck for us. He’s also gonna hunt really hard to find us a truck. Well, we certainly haven’t had any luck ourselves.

Anyway, the living room set I chose isn’t what I expected. It’s better. It’s a soft crushed velvet-like type of material. It’s solid black with gold trim. We got a couch, a loveseat, and a chair. Got three glass tables too, with gold and black. The tables we can fit in the car. The tables are tempered glass. Not the wood and light-colored floral fabric I planned on originally, but man is it gorgeous!

Got a beautiful gold spider lamp to go with it, and I almost bought this other really gorgeous lamp, but I decided to make my own instead. It had a mauve-colored shade with mauve-colored flowers in a glass bass, but I decided to get K-Mart’s glass jar lamps and put some of my own silk flowers in it.

We got two black stools for the breakfast bar and a black kitchen table with four black velvet chairs with gold and blue streaks throughout the sets and backs.

Instead of getting a tall dresser, a headboard, and two nightstands for the bedroom, I got one nightstand and a long dresser. These are whitewashed with gold trim. The nightstand has two drawers, and the dresser has a mirror.

Now all we need to get is a washer, dryer, entertainment center, computer desk, and a brown wooden nightstand to match the brown wooden dresser in the guest room, and a double bed for that room, too.

We’ve spent a total of $2,406.31 on furniture so far. Tom thinks we’re right on track, but I think we’re ahead of what we budgeted by $400-$600.

WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 10, 1999 This hotel is turning out to be the best. The only thing it lacks is a coffeemaker, but I don’t mind going downstairs for coffee. They have both decaf and regular to choose from, and they have French vanilla.

It’s been quiet overall. Just a few scattered door slams. Tom said the walls are wicked soundproof cuz as he was leaving for work last night he could hear next door’s TV blaring into the hall which we never heard in here.

Tom called at 8:00 and got me up, then he called again after he ate a half-hour later. He went to see his ma and do Mary’s threshold, then I headed down to the continental breakfast where there was only one person. There haven’t been many people here.

As I was heading out, I saw the younger Mexican girl who changed our sheets standing by her cart. I asked her in English for a Do Not Disturb sign since we never had one. I should’ve known better than to have asked in English, so I asked in Spanish and then she called out in Spanish to Mario, the maintenance guy as the old Mexican lady (the boss) that was with the younger one yesterday came up to me and said, “Yes?” I asked again for a sign and they gave me one. The older one then moved further down the hall and in Spanish I told the younger one we didn’t need service today as Mario and I were heading for the elevator. The older one called, “Senora? No servicio hoy?”

I replied, “No servicio, gracias,” then hopped into the elevator.

“Beautiful Spanish,” complimented Mario.

When I returned, the young one smiled at me with mixed emotions. It was cool that the white girl knew Spanish, but she had to have gotten a verbal warning, if not a written one, for not changing our sheets.

Although Mexicans, Puerto Ricans, and the like are notoriously lazy, I understand how easy it is for anyone to want to laze out of a bed or two. I know. I was once a housekeeper too, and here and there I didn’t bother changing sheets, but I was smart enough to at least pluck the hairs off first.

I dozed off for about an hour this morning, then when Tom came in at 10:00 and extended us for another night, we were given a bag of treats cuz of the sheets. This was a really nice gesture. It contained two small bottles of water, two bags of cookies, two Ritz crackers, two rice crispy bars, figs, and cheese crackers.

We headed for the house to take care of the animals and check the house’s progress. At least Brian’s making good time cuz Gravity’s not, and who knows when we’ll have a well.

My view from my “office” is really neat. I can see a row of about half a dozen palm trees off in the distance that’s a few miles away. Right now, there’s nothing but a little bit of natural desert and a lot of farmland in front of the house.

Here goes Tom talking in his sleep again. I couldn’t make out what he said this time.

We spent about a half-hour on the land where I ruined my sunglasses. They just weren’t dark enough, so I painted them purple, using the paint I used on the plastic suncatcher, hoping to darken them. Instead, all I did was make it too rippely so I couldn’t see well through them.

After we left, we went through a drive-through, came up here, and now he’s in bed. I’ll be listening to music and latch-hooking for the remainder of the day.

Later…

I guess it’s not gonna be very full tonight, either. I just went downstairs for coffee and I never passed a soul along the way.

Later…

Again I didn’t pass a soul.

I finished the second out of a 4-book series of V.C. Andrew’s. It’s a little series compared to the other two I read that had 5 books with 400 pages each. This 4-book series only has 150 pages each. Actually, there is a fifth book in this series (I don’t know how many pages), but it’s not due out till next month.

Tom finally received his yearly planner and pen from Ashton-Drake.

I forgot to describe the games we played yesterday. He played a basketball one, but it didn’t give tickets. Another game we played against each other, which also didn’t give tickets, was a mini bowling game thing. We played a slot machine-type game, and a Jet Ski race that you sit on and that shakes while you see an image of a jet water skier on a big screen in front of you. My favorite game was this thing where you throw balls down a narrow strip and up into these bins. Your points depend on which bins you get balls in.

Later…

Went downstairs and got an apple along with my coffee. They had the usual for breakfast - muffins and cereal. I think they had bagels and yogurt, too. This morning I grabbed a couple of mini chocolate chip muffins. I better enjoy all this eating now, cuz as soon as we get into that house, all this eating has to stop, and it will stop.

I’ve decided to place one call to Andy each time we’re in a hotel. I’ll leave hang-up messages when he doesn’t answer. He answered when I called him just now, but I hung up as soon as he did. I wasn’t in the mood tonight to hear anything he may’ve said. Having Tom right here kind of dampens my curiosity, too.

I wonder if Andy ever got the numbers I called from. I wonder if he’d have been confused getting numbers from the La Quinta, the Hampton, and here. Or maybe he figured we were in the house already (I never mentioned the layover) and that I wouldn’t be dumb enough to allow him to get my number. It’s quite amusing to think about, but I’m certainly not gonna be doing this in the house, even if I can block our number from there and even if it’s not long distance. This is strictly a hotel game.

TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 9, 1999 Got my period today (a crampless one). Must be why he came yesterday. I doubt he’ll do that again till April. At least I can never get pregnant and have to lose my life! This is how much I know God is on my side too - he’ll make sure something comes up so we can’t even get together at “prime time,” rather than get together without cumming. My hormones are what I believe God used to ensure me a life of freedom. I really think my hormone levels are wacky somehow.

We’re now at the Fairfield Inn, which is quiet so far, and gives you candy, but is otherwise not very good. Those damn Mexicans. They just can’t do anything right. It was obvious our sheets hadn’t been changed. I could tell by all the hairs on the sheets. So I had them change it. We got a king-size bed just like last time at the Hampton.

Later…

It’s still been pretty quiet here; just a few door slams. I can’t believe hotel doors weren’t created to close quietly. You’d think they’d consider that.

OK, let me cover the day’s events before I get backed up again and end up having more than just one day to update.

We left right after Brian arrived to work on the house. We were inside it right before he came. It’s now joined enough that you can walk throughout the inside, but you have to step around screws and over rolls of carpet and other supplies.

After leaving, we ate at a drive-through, then Tom took us to Game Works. He still had about $15 left in games that he got through the bank. It was fun and we ended up getting nearly 180 tickets from games which we traded in for stuff. I got a few beaded necklaces, a picture frame with stringy, pink shiny crinkled paper around it, and a finger puzzle. I didn’t even know what that was, but he insisted I get it, then showed me how it worked. It’s a little tube of woven straw that you put a finger in, then pull on and get your finger stuck in. You have to sort of scrunch the tube together in order to get your finger out.

Tom slept for a few hours after we checked in here, then we went to Marie Calendar’s, and now he’s asleep again till I get him up at 11:00. Marie Callender’s is a huge restaurant. He got a burger and I got the baby-backed ribs/jumbo shrimp combo. It was pretty good.

Out of all the places we stayed, each has its pros and cons. I like how this place has coffee available in the lobby 24 hours a day. They even have laundry available. Although there was only one washer and one dryer, I was surprised to see them unused and without a ton of people waiting to use them. I’m sure that if I had wanted to use them, there’d be a ton of people trying to use them, too. Although the tub is shitty, cuz its back is straight up and down so you can’t comfortably lay back, this place has the best shower. Most places are too wimpy, but this one’s got a massager on it, so you can make it pretty hard.

MONDAY, NOVEMBER 8, 1999 Brian and a guy named Brandon came to level and join the house today. They were working everywhere; on the roof, underneath, inside.

When we were in the living room yesterday, we could see several other things besides rolls of carpet. There were extra roofing shingles, the air duct, etc.

It’s just so cool having a house custom-built like this! It’s such a neat feeling to be able to look at the house’s color and know that it’s that color cuz I chose it. There’s tulip wallpaper in the kitchen and baths cuz I chose it. The cabinets are whitewashed cuz I chose it.

The shower stalls are pretty neat. They have seats in them. But who wants to sit down while they’re showering? Maybe an old person.

We left the Hampton, which was noisier than it ever was before, at 10:30. We were right by the stairs which were where a lot of the noise came from. I was shocked at how many people used the stairs.

It’s amazing the contrast in Andy since I left Phoenix. People sure are different when they pissed at you. He told me so many times - I’m such a loser, Jodi. I have no life. Yet now he suddenly has a life. How convenient.

I wasn’t fat the last time he saw me, but now I’m fat and ugly.

Well, hopefully he can remember the good times, but if he doesn’t - he doesn’t and that’s just too bad for him.

I asked Tom what he thinks next door thinks about us moving in (they probably took a look at the size of the house and assumed we’re Mormons). He says they’re probably anxious and uncertain, now knowing what to expect. Good. Let some neighbor feel that way about us for a change. It’s about time the tables turned. It’ll be my turn to have those feelings again, though, the more things build up. Wait till all these little boys grow up to get loud car stereos and to have loud, wild parties while their parents are off vacationing somewhere.

He didn’t get to Mary’s today so we did the laundry in Tempe in a quiet place.

Tom had to pee so bad that we stopped at the AK-Chin casino cuz he didn’t think he could make it to the trailer. We gambled $10 each. He doubled his money and I lost mine, so it ended up costing nothing.

SUNDAY, NOVEMBER 7, 1999 Gosh, I’m getting more and more backed up! We’re at the Hampton now (his pick), but actually, I’m here by myself cuz he’s at work.

Last Thursday night we stayed at the Holiday Inn, which was $20 more than the average hotel rate around here. It was the best-decorated hotel, with lots of cactus decorations, and it had laundry rooms but wasn’t worth the $20 extra in our opinion.

Friday we went to Casa Grande to get home insurance, then to a really nice buffet.

Sounds like it’s finally quieted down around here. This time around is not as quiet as the other times we were here.

We had our first visitor on our land that wasn’t a neighbor. A woman was doing a neighborhood census. She came knocking on the trailer door since it was more than obvious no one would be living in a house with two separate halves side by side with their inside sides covered with plastic.

Anyway, after Dan, the cowboy, and his Mexican assistant had been around a while, I finally got to meet Gravity. As Dan said - he’s a big boy. Maybe his mother knew somehow that he’d grow up to be so big and heavy and that’s why she named him Gravity. It suits him so well. He brought a Mexican assistant too, the other Mexican’s cousin.

Gravity had his tractor in tow, which he used to dig a trench and hole for our septic/pipes.

Unfortunately, we had to miss seeing the house be hauled in. They were just finishing up as we were pulling in, and I wasn’t too thrilled to see one of the drivers was letting his German Shepherd run around our property. I would’ve ordered it into the truck had they not left when they did. How rude. Not just because some of us are afraid of dogs, but because it’s rude to let your dog out to shit and piss on someone else’s property.

The cowboy had to return the next day to add the grounding rod to the utility pole they put by one corner of the house whose halves were within inches of each other. That’s to prevent people from having an easier way of stealing your appliances, even if that’d be so very unlikely to happen. The chances of that happening where we are are next to nil. Dan did say things weren’t very good a few years ago, though, and that bad people moved out of the area. I don’t know what he meant by “bad” people. I don’t know if he meant burglars or just plain old snobs. The people that are there now sure seem to be the direct opposite of Phoenix folks. So many people wave to us on certain dirt roads out there. Nobody waves in Phoenix. They’re too busy blasting music and slamming doors for people.

Tomorrow morning he’s gonna do our laundry at Mary’s while he visits his ma, then we’re gonna check out a truck for sale in Maricopa I had a hot vibe on.

I can’t wait to type this up on the computer, and as always, my typed versions may slightly differ from my written ones, as I change/add/delete things. I don’t usually delete, though.

I’m on my third V.C. Andrews series, and never before have I ever heard of such a repetitious writer! Everything that happens in one series happens in another, and talk about being loaded with childbirth! Yeah, babies, childbirth, and the like still seem to be everywhere, in everything I do, see, and hear. And I thought I was once obsessed with the subject! The shit’s invading my new home. Tom found an easy way into the back half through the utility door, and so I walk through the den, into the kitchen, and what do I see? A woman feeding a baby in a picture on an ad on the dishwasher! I’m like - Jesus Christ, here we go again! It’s everywhere, and I still get the feeling that God’s got some message behind it, but what hidden meaning could I be missing that’d make any sense?

I called Andy again, curious to hear what he may say. As always, I kept silent. I have nothing more to ever say. My final words were already mailed to him, and as he said, “You got what you wanted, I read it all.”

He was so mean to Michelle tonight. I don’t know if that was really Michelle I heard in the background or not, but either way, what a mean thing to say regarding her.

The first time I called, he picked up, said hello twice, then called out, “It’s Mystery. Wanna torture her?” (pause) “No, we don’t want to talk to you. We have a life.”

Yeah, a life of smoking pot.

The second time I called, no one answered.

The third time, he again asked whoever the girl was if she wanted to talk to Mystery, then he said, “Well, start chewing. You’re gonna be as fat as Michelle. You’re gonna have to share clothes with her.”

I don’t care if someone ranked on me for how I look, but most people do, so that’s why I was like - how mean to Michelle! Michelle, you got a damn good friend in Andy!

Sadly, I’m sure she thinks so, although I can’t forget or deny that Andy and I did have some fun times in the past.

Anyway, Gravity plowed the ground under where the house would be and made it read powdery. Then he put stakes marking the house’s corners.

When I was walking around the house with tears of joy and disbelief a couple of evenings ago, words from a decade ago popped into my head. Back in ‘89, shortly after I’d returned to Woodside Terrace, I cleaned houses for a guy a few different times. I think his name was Jim. He drove me to a house in…Chicopee? Wilbraham? Either way, it was a gorgeous house I’d only end up cleaning once since I couldn’t really hold jobs and handle responsibility in those days. I remember being very sad, and telling the woman who owned it how depressing it was to know I’d never have a nice house, too. Her response - “Someday you’ll have a house that’ll make this one look sick.

She was right. So very right. I never would’ve believed it in a million years. A house like what we got just seemed too impossible of a dream to even dare to dream.

How lucky I am to have all my dreams come true, and those that haven’t, aren’t dreams of mine anymore.

No blessing is free of flaws, though. The fucking Mexicans put dual faucets in the baths, rather than a single lever one, but Tom says it’s more likely that Steven fucked up the order, or we didn’t get that package in the end. Well, at least I got more counter space than I thought we’d get in the master bath. Also, you know how I opted for dual linen cabinets in there rather than dual sinks? Well, one of the cabinets is huge! And just like with the kitchen cabinets, they’ve got adjustable shelves.

Also, not only are the cabinets the whitewash I chose over the oak but so are the doors! They’re even brighter than the cabinets (white) and are so bright and cheery compared to dark wood.

I got more than I thought I would as far as the Catalina window treatments go. I got like five different designs instead of three, and they’re just too “clashy.” The den and living room ones are ugly with shades of yellow and dark blue, and I think they’ll clash with my other decorations, so I’ll probably remove most of them. I didn’t know they were gonna mix so much together. I didn’t know there’d be lines with flowers, and I didn’t know I’d have a wooden floral border in the bathroom above the windows. This may go too, but I love the white lace under it. Both baths have frosted windows, too. They don’t open, either. This is OK, though, cuz we have fans to vent moisture.

Yesterday, a guy whose name we forgot came to level one side of the house, which took all day. Tomorrow, he’s gonna do the other half and join them together, too.

It was pretty neat watching him move the back half away from the front a foot or two. He had hydraulic jacks and as he was cranking this cable, the house slowly moved. It was so funny too, cuz it looked like this bionic man was moving a 22,000-pound house half (I think the front half’s 20,000). Our 2100-square-foot house is about as big as they come. At 76’ long, it took forever to walk alongside it!

Anyway, the guy leveled the front half with a level and water level (a hose). He put metal, cone-shaped stands on top of square cement slabs. Two rows of 15. He left his trailer there, as he asked to, and we nosed about it after he quit work for the day. He had all different size stands, among other things. We’re gonna put skirting around the house since we chose to keep it elevated, but it doesn’t look that ugly without it.

We got here at around 11:00 this morning, but they didn’t have a room ready yet, so we checked out a nearby arts and crafts store where I got a latch hook kit with a piano and rose design, a “stain glass” floral sun catcher, and he got a rock tumbler. I might have fun playing with that myself. We have a lot of quartz rock on our land.

The stained glass thing is a sheet of clear plastic with raised lines outlining the flowers that you apply acrylic paints to, and glitter too, if you want, then hang it in a window. It’s pretty cool looking.

I thought Tom was gonna punish me by avoiding having sex this weekend, cuz I lost my appetite for it last weekend, thanks to the little animals at the La Quinta, but I was wrong. We not only screwed, but he got off. And I had laughed at him, saying I’d heard that before when he told me yesterday that our sex would be fine for making babies once we got into the house. I’m sure it would be for a man who came regularly and a woman who could conceive, and who was meant to conceive. But, not that I’m complaining, he probably won’t cum again this century, and I can’t and aren’t supposed to conceive. Not in this life, anyway.

SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 6, 1999 I wasn’t really in the mood to write yesterday, but I am now, even if it doesn’t last long.

As I was saying about Dan - he says he knows most people around here and he too, isn’t happy that the lot behind us was split into four properties. He says there’s an older woman next door, her daughter, her daughter’s husband, and their 5-year-old son. The couple works in Casa Grande while the older woman watches the boy. The daughter had a fiancée die nearby in a car accident years ago.

Tom, who talked with Dan more than I did, said he was nosy and talkative, but at least he found out the phone prefix out here. The stupid phone company had the nerve to suggest we ask someone out here about prefixes after swearing they have our address in their records and telling us we’re in Stanfield, a little town nearby.

Anyway, Dan, who’s from Indiana, and who goes there during the summers, says next door watches his place while he’s gone, and that they’re nice people.

Where did all this friendliness come from? You mean, there really is such a thing as quiet and friendly neighbors in Arizona? Wow! Although I don’t know how quiet behind us will be once they get settled in. We’ve seen and heard two of the little boys that’ll be living there (why are there only little boys surrounding me?). Although we were too far away to tell for sure, I think they’re white, and I also heard a guy call out to a Matthew. Not a very Hispanic name.

Once they get settled in, though, as well as the rest of the people who are gonna be on that lot, I thank God they won’t be three feet away, cuz there’s gonna be a ton of screaming and barking coming from there. I know it.

We’ve seen quails, roadrunners, lizards, and about half a dozen coyotes. Tom’s seen a couple of jackrabbits, and earlier, when we were returning from Denny’s, our headlights picked up some furry rodent. Maybe a gopher? Fortunately, we have yet to see a snake here, but we did cross paths with what we’re pretty sure was a baby tarantula out on the road towards the back of the property. Tom stepped on it and killed it.

Dan says the high-pitched yipping we sometimes hear isn’t dogs - it’s coyotes. He says he has three dogs that are penned, cuz people here shoot loose dogs. Not fast enough, considering how many loose dogs we’ve seen. Since no one will take their dogs indoors out here, I wish they’d shoot any dog that was outdoors. I mentioned my not liking dogs cuz of their barking, and he said all you had to do was just get a good dog that doesn’t bark. I’m like, how? That’s what dogs do. Babies cry, cows moo, cats meow, and dogs bark. Some dogs may bark less than others, but there is no “good dog.” Not unless it was dead.

I’ve heard cows off in the distance towards the front. Cows make pleasant sounds, but they sure do stink! I hope this place doesn’t end up smelling like one big horse stall. Driving by these huge stockyards in Stanfield is miserable. Totally gross smelling.

God, I wish I had the computer to do all the writing I want to do! I miss it! At least I got to listen to my stereo today for a while.

FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 5, 1999 It’s here! The house is here! But it came today, not yesterday. Yesterday was both a great day and a disappointing one. Tom was called at work by Hilda, who said the house was on its way. He woke me when he got in at 8:00, but no one showed up till around 9:00, and it wasn’t the house. It was Gravity’s assistants, who never did introduce themselves. They were nice, though. The driver, a middle-aged white guy, was accompanied by a young Mexican guy. He spoke virtually no English, so while the “cowboy,” as we call him, talked with Tom, Mr. Mexico and I gabbed in Spanish. He complimented my Spanish, which I was surprised at myself, considering how long it’s been since I used it regularly. Or at least a lot more than I do now. I taught him some English words. Maybe it was my imagination or maybe I’m just crazy, but I think the guy liked me. Don’t get me wrong. He was very polite and never once stepped out of line in any way, but I was like - I’m 33 years old, dude. Not to mention a good 20-25 pounds overweight. Couldn’t he see this? Although there are no laws saying you can’t be attracted to a middle-aged overweight person (even if no one else agrees with the overweight part). After the cowboy and his pal arrived, a middle-aged, skinny white guy pulled up alongside our property in a small white pickup, walked over to us with his hand extended, and introduced himself as our neighbor Dan. He lives alone in a single-wide modular diagonally to us. Behind next door (it figures that the childless guy has to be diagonal and not next to or behind us and I know damn well that whoever ends up next to us on the other side and in front will be anything but childless).

WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 3, 1999 It’s the eve of the house! It’s so hard to believe it’ll be here tomorrow. I just hope nothing goes wrong. We don’t need any incompetent fuck-ups working for us. As it is, we’re wondering things. Things like - why didn’t Palm Harbor check out what roads they’d be driving the house on? When are they gonna get trees and shit like that out of the way? They have to widen the road. The house is way too wide for it. Remember, most of these dirt roads out here only get a few cars a day on them. We’re so remote that we make Tammy seem like she’s in a little city. She can get to a store sooner than 20 minutes, and she doesn’t have 7 miles of dirt roads to drive on before she hits paved roads. Her nearest neighbors aren’t two football fields away, either. Aside from the few main 2-lane dirt roads, most of the dirt roads are single-lane roads that look more like large paths. Some of these roads are actually driveways leading to people’s houses.

Anyway, all I can do for now is hope everyone knows what they’re doing; the people driving the two house halves, Gravity and his crew, APS, the well driller, etc. It’s the damn well permit we’re waiting on. We may be able to get the house set up quickly with electricity and septic but be delayed from moving in cuz of the well, which will hold up the inspection.

They still have some standard procedures to go through too, before the house can be set up. They’ve got to level the land, clear away brush, and do a termite treatment.

I did some ant treatments today. God, I hate those ants! At least you can spot them from a distance, cuz they surround their holes with those weeds that have those stickers I hate. They peel off the little stickers and use those. I don’t know why they do this, but they haul pieces of it that are barely a quarter of an inch long and place them around their holes. I’ve seen them at work carrying the things. They have big black ants as well as little red ants.

I made myself a nice little walking trail that I not only get good exercise on but good color as well. I walk when it’s not too hot or too dark. I’d love to expand my little trail, but I can’t get by these washes too easily where the brush is too dense, and you just never know what creatures could be lurking in there. It’s still a good long trail, though. Way bigger than the perimeter of our Phoenix lot (these lots are numbered and we’re number 40).

At sundown, but while we still had enough light, I took him for a walk on the trail with me. He said he didn’t realize how far around we were going at such a bad time for snakes, and I was like, bad time for snakes?! He says snakes are out in the early mornings and early evenings and that they’re cold-blooded and cannot take heat or cold. Oh. I thought they were mostly out all through the night and were pretty much nocturnal like rats, but nope. Thank God one of us is a native and knows how this stuff works.

While we were out walking Tom said he saw them working on the houses behind us. I’m not looking forward to people moving in there! Not the people, but their dogs. A dogless household is so rare in Arizona and a dog that lives indoors is even rarer. Poor Gloria. She’s got to be going crazy with the two collies and the three dogs the people who bought our place have.

It’s still so weird that I don’t hear dogs here every night. That group of dogs that’s about a mile away were going off yesterday at dusk as we were leaving for our last night at the La Quinta, but not tonight. Tom mentioned the possibility of someone breeding greyhounds when we first heard it, and we saw one running around loose on our way into town earlier, but who knows for sure if what we heard really are greyhounds? No matter what they are, it’s nice not to hear them every evening, but I still wonder why we don’t. Just my inquisitive nature, I guess. Tom suggested it may have to do with the direction of the wind, but I doubt it. Those dogs were still loud enough and close enough to be heard even if the wind was blowing their barks away from us.

Tom refilled the trailer’s two propane tanks today and says we won’t have to empty the duty tank till we’re done with the trailer cuz it’s barely half full. That’s nice to know we don’t have to dig a hole every week to dump it. At first I was like - all this shit and we’re only half full? But we are only here a few days a week, after all.

TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 2, 1999 The house should have a roof now! As Tom said, though, it would’ve been nice to see it moved from one spot to another.

The house is due on Thursday, but when are they gonna drill the well and septic?

Yesterday I finished a book and forgot to get another one from the trailer, so I bought one at K-Mart. I read 255 of its 290 pages.

After work today Tom will be at Mary’s playing car again. Just how much of our time and money will this cursed car eat up this time? It’s the water pump this time.

I got up at 8:00 when the alarm went off, made coffee in the microwave, then went to the lobby for a muffin. I returned to the room and ate it, then I let the front desk know that now would be a good time to send up housekeeping.

A woman and the supervisor, the same one that knocked yesterday, came up and were very friendly. I let them know that all I really wanted was the garbage emptied and the bed changed.

The housekeeper and I chatted a bit, and she too, left Phoenix cuz she was just as sick of everyone wanting to be on stage and in the spotlight. She too, got sick of always having to know what her neighbors were up to, like it or not.

I asked if they had lotion and the supervisor generously gave me three bottles and apologized for disturbing us yesterday. She said new people were just hired and they screwed up and had the room listed as a check-out, so she thought the room was empty. No problem, I told her.

I’ll write about my “free” breakfast later.

Later…

I expect it’ll be hours before he gets back, knowing how car jobs always turn out to be a bigger deal than expected before we go out to the land.

Yesterday was acceptable here - just a few scattered door slams. Hopefully, God will let our last day and night here be peaceful and will let me be the childless woman that I am. But with kids being made to be part of my life anyhow, you just never know.

This place is in Phoenix right on the Phoenix/Chandler border. No wonder the tightness and congestion are back. And we’re by a major freeway too, with lots of traffic to pollute the air.

I had $12 and change and went to the Cracker Barrel restaurant after the housekeepers left, and ordered breakfast. I ate that to the tune of babies crying (usual restaurant sound), then walked out without paying. I left $1.50 for the waitress’s tip, and I would’ve paid if someone had been available to take my check and money, but I was ignored long enough and decided to split. Naturally, Tom would be anything but thrilled to hear this, so I’ll just tell him I got a buck’s worth of junk from the vending machine. What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. It’s nice of me to lie to him, in a sense, what with how paranoid he can get. I mean, why stress the guy out unnecessarily? I just hope he doesn’t suggest we go there later and have me end up accused in front of him, but I doubt I would. I’m sure there’d be different people later, and even if there weren’t, I wouldn’t be remembered. Most people don’t have as good of a memory as I do and that place is pretty packed, so I’m sure one walk-out every now and then wouldn’t even be noticed. Not unless the person left the check on the table.

I have news regarding Andy, but first I want to shower. I’m a grub.

Later…

I called Tom at Mary’s. Mary answered, sounding pleasant enough (I was surprised there wasn’t some hostility cuz of my getting upset with Evie). Tom was just finishing up with the car. Another surprise. I thought it’d take till 6:00. This time it ate about $50 of ours.

He’s on his way here. He suggested going through a drive-through which I happily agreed to, conveniently commenting on how sick of noisy restaurants I am. After we eat, we’ll head out to the land so I can feed the animals, and this time, remember to bring a book back with me.

Later…

Tom’s still not back. For now, I’m listening to next door slam its door, and I thought I heard a little kid over there, too. Figures, huh? Can I ever have just adults next to me?

I was surprised to learn that pets are allowed here. An old couple and their dog passed by me in the hall earlier, and I saw someone out walking dogs, too. Even Tom had said he saw people walking dogs.

Later…

That vicious, no-good rat Polar Bear decided to go for bite number two and got me on the knuckle. It bled and I put a Band-Aid on it. I swear, though, if it weren’t for Tom, I’d fucking kill that rat! Or better yet, I’d turn him loose in the desert for the coyotes and snakes. That rat just will not allow himself to be picked up unless it’s for moving/cage cleaning. And only after the others have been moved first. I bopped him a few times and yelled at him, and like I said, it’s only cuz of Tom’s pleading that I didn’t go any further. That and the fact that Vanilla Belly and Scuttles felt he deserved a little protection and jumped on him. Ratsy kind of acted like nothing was going on and he stayed on his wheel. Tom was going on and on about how he’s just an animal, he’s blind in one eye, it’s his nature to be aggressive, etc.

Then on our way back, we got held up in traffic for at least a half-hour (must’ve been something big going on). At least I remembered to bring something to read, and at least Gravity will be out to put the septic on Thursday when the house comes.

I wondered if the rat attack and the traffic jam were my punishment for the breakfast I stole this morning, but I don’t think so. It doesn’t seem harsh enough.

Anyway, APS was out at the land while we weren’t there, cuz we discovered stakes for poles they put in. So APS is on a roll, and the house and septic are on their way but will the well driller hold us up in any significant way? I kind of think so. I still feel we won’t be in that house till November 20th-29th. I hope I’m wrong for the better, though.

I had a hunch they’d mail guest’s mail and was right. I brought Bob’s letter to the front desk on my way to get a soda.

The stupid shits screwed up again today and had us down for checking-out today, and just like yesterday, our key cards expired at noon and we had to get them reprogrammed. I’m sure this had to do with us changing rooms, but either way, the service is “horrid” as Tom says. They’re totally incompetent here.

I decided that I may’ve been too forgiving in the past, but that I was being too non-forgiving with Evie. I left her a message and let her know that I was sorry I didn’t handle things well and that I understood I was being a bit immature. Also, I loved her too much to be in any hassles with her, and shouldn’t have been so selfish with my conditions. I could simply move stuff if any kids were visiting. Yes, she should’ve come to me first, and no, I won’t be so forgiving if she does something again that I don’t like, but she does have a right to discuss whatever she wants to with whomever she wants to whether or not I agree with it. Nonetheless, I hope we can get along from here on out without offending each other. I explained that we’ll be without computers for a while longer and why, then I gave her our PO box address and cell phone number.

When I told Tom about my message to Evie, he had an amused smile on his face, but what was so funny about it - I don’t know and I didn’t ask.

Wow! He’s actually snoring! A good 90% of the time he sleeps in hotels, though, he doesn’t snore for some strange reason. I wish he’d be this quiet in the trailer. And in the house, too. Then only his talking and his movements could wake me up, but he doesn’t talk that much. Not as much as he moves.

I’d have loved to have called the black bitch to see if I could get a reaction, and therefore a confirmation, that she did receive my mail. However, I couldn’t remember her damn number, and she probably would’ve been out at the time, anyway.

As for Andy - he read it all. At least that’s what he said, so maybe God did answer my prayers about that. I express myself best on paper, and I really wanted Andy, the blacks, and the Mexicans to “hear me out,” so to speak. That goes for the losers back east, too. When I’ve got something to say, I want people to listen to me in my writing. I think that the reason I prefer getting my point across in writing is that I can then edit a sentence easier if I decide I don’t quite like the way I worded it the first time around, and so I don’t get interrupted. Out of all the people I’ve had a heart-to-heart with upon moving, Doe, Art, and Larry would be the least likely to be such captivated readers. This is why I bluffed them. Hope the curiosity got to them!

Anyway, I knew Andy would be home, and wanted to see if he’d mention my mail or not. As it figured, he was on the phone for ages, so I left several hang-up messages on his machine. Sometimes I’d breathe heavily for the hell of it.

When he finally answered, I was surprised, not surprised, and baffled by what he had to say. I wasn’t surprised that he was angry and bitter and “counter-attacking” me, so to speak. He and Tom are similar in that they either accuse you of exactly what you accuse them of, or they accuse you of something, whether or not you’re guilty of it, for accusing them of something.

I was surprised that there wasn’t any trace of sadness in his voice, but hey, I dumped him. I didn’t die.

I was sort of surprised he was willing to stay on the phone as long as he did like he would with Quinn when they were having problems. I used to tell Andy he should just hang up right away on people he has trouble with and not bother giving them a second of his time, no matter how bored he is. As Andy always said, he doesn’t give up on people easily. He’s too forgiving, not that he’d forgive me any more than I’d want to resume our friendship. I just hope I haven’t upset any of his other friendships. Meaning, I hope he’s not afraid to continue his friendship with Michelle out of the paranoia that she’ll dump him.

There were two different phone calls, but of course, I never said a word. Not surprisingly, he knew it was me and said “Mystery, Mystery. You’re so bored. Such a schizophrenic, crazy loser, so bored, so bored.”

Why does he think a prank phone caller has to be bored in order to make prank phone calls? That may’ve been his case, but not mine, although I can sure get bored waiting for this house to be ready.

Then he said “You’re a phony, a fake, pretending to be my friend, and I believed it. Surprised I’m not eating? Should I get a Twinkie and continue this discussion? Everything you detest, you are. Just look in the mirror at that fat ugly face and you’ll see.” Then he hung up.

Everything I detest, I am? I don’t get that one.

When I called right back after he hung up, I wasn’t the least bit surprised to find him not answering the phone. He no doubt was seeing if he could get the number. Well, if he could, wait till he gets a hotel number, I thought. That ought to confuse him. He might now have had time to call here, though, in between my calls to him. He may not have found out where the calls came from till after our last chat.

In our last chat, he said, “If you have something to say, just say it. You wouldn’t be calling if you didn’t want to talk.”

Wrong. Very wrong, Andy. I wanted to hear you talk.

I grunted at one point, and he said, “Yeah, Jodi, I know it’s you, and you know I know it’s you, so let’s not play stupid games.”

He was getting frustrated on top of being angry by this time, then the confession came he said, “Well I obviously can’t be prank calling you now. I don’t even know your number. So if someone’s calling you now, don’t take it out on me.”

The ‘I obviously can’t be prank calling you now’ part totally confirmed my gut feeling that yes, it was him pranking us from time to time. Any innocent person would not have used that choice of words.

By this time I really was getting bored with him and hung up on him as he was saying, “What the fuck are you calling me for? You got what you want, you have no neighbors, you live alone, have no life…”

Live alone? I don’t think so! Have no life? He wishes! I have more of a life than ever before!

MONDAY, NOVEMBER 1, 1999 We’re now on our way to see our new house!

I slept really well and got caught up on my sleep last night. We extended for another couple of nights. Hopefully, God won’t let any rowdy kids be placed next to me, but I won’t count on it.

Later…

I really oughta write before I get too backed up. I’ll finish with yesterday first.

When we checked in on the 4th floor yesterday, I had us moved to the 2nd floor shortly afterward due to kids running around screaming in the halls, knocking on doors, and slamming doors.

You don’t know how much I hate kids! I am so sick of them interfering with my day-to-day living. I can’t dine in a restaurant in peace, I can’t shop in peace, and I can’t even get a room in peace some of the time. There’s just no end to my being forced to deal with kids! I try to tell myself - at least they’re not inside your house, but still, I’m sick and tired of kids. Not that I’d have gotten very far, but I backed out of having in vitro for a reason. That reason was that I didn’t want kids to be a part of my life. I’m sick of living with blacks, Mexicans, and kids and I resent God’s forcing them on me. A person who doesn’t want kids should have the right to live without them and I wish to hell they’d have their own areas for them. They separate smokers from non-smokers in restaurants, so why can’t they have a section for kids? People want smoke-free areas, but what about scream-free areas?

Anyway, the room we were moved to is tolerable, but that doesn’t mean I won’t get stuck with the same shit next to me today or tomorrow.

My only other complaint about this place is, well, I thought DO NOT DISTURB meant exactly that. Why did a woman have to knock on the door and wake poor Tom up to ask if we wanted our room done when I put the fucking sign out? Well, now I’ll know it doesn’t do me any good to put it out if they’re just gonna knock anyway.

Anyway, this room is different than most hotel rooms, and even has a microwave and a mini-refrigerator!

The main part of the room is square, rather than a rectangle, and rather than two double beds, we’ve got a king-size bed. We can deal with that since he’s at work while I’m asleep. It not only has a big bed but it’s also got a love seat with a bed in it that folds out. Instead of the usual round table and two chairs most hotels have, we have a desk-like, rectangular table with a nice office chair.

All the pictures in here are right-side up. One of the pictures upstairs was upside down. Was the person who put it up actually that stupid? Or was it done as a joke?

We stopped at a drive-through before coming here yesterday and I got a kid’s meal cuz the adult portions tend to be too much. An interesting toy came with it. A toy car with wheels you rev up, then you set the car down and watch it take off. Tom says he loved playing with those as a kid, but I don’t remember anything like it.

Later…

Still not done with yesterday. Yesterday we walked to a nearby restaurant that was not what I expected. It had a gift shop with lots of dolls. They had nice faces and clothes and weren’t ridiculously priced. JBS Dolls are better, though.

I got shrimp, catfish, and steak fries which were excellent.

We left just before 9:00 today and although we arrived at Palm Harbor’s factory 20 minutes early, we only had to wait 5 minutes for the manager to give us a tour.

The tour was great. There was only one thing Tom wasn’t too happy with and one thing I wasn’t too happy with.

Tom wasn’t thrilled that they were putting in a furnace when all we wanted was a heat pump. He said he didn’t mention it cuz he didn’t want to risk the house being delayed and cuz it wouldn’t add to our costs.

I wasn’t too thrilled with having a Mexican-made house. There wasn’t one white person in there but the manager, but if they do the job right, other than installing a furnace we didn’t ask for, I guess it’s all right. I certainly can’t call these Mexicans welfare bums. They were rude as usual, though, staring us down.

It was nice to see they had some women there, too.

The house was further along than we expected, and Tom felt better seeing its guts. It’s one thing to be told something and another to see it. The house has 6” thick walls instead of 4” and will be packed well with insulation. I can see how well it’d cut down sound, compared to the brick house we used to have. It’ll also help with cooling/heating.

The house had its floors, walls, and some of its electrical work and plumbing. No windows or roof yet, but the roof, which was suspended nearby, was about to be placed on it after its paint dried.

It sure made me feel filthy rich and spoiled rotten to see our custom-made house being built by a total of 180 people within its assembly lines! A house I chose and designed, that nobody else has ever lived in.

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mercy-burning · 3 years ago

Text

Honeybee

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary: While attending Seraphina's wedding, Y/N discovers that her crush on her best friend’s older brother hasn’t gone away after all these years. Category: SMUT (18+) Content: Strong language, alcohol consumption, fingering, penetrative/protected sex Word Count: 5.7k

MASTERLIST

NOTE: I know I promised a oneshot over the weekend, but I’m a messy, inconsistent bitch, so you get it a day late 😅🥰

———

Looking back, I was starting to wonder if Seraphina only got engaged and asked me to be her maid of honor just to witness my slow descent into a heaping puddle of lovesick mush.

Truly, it was pathetic.

Yeah, yeah, she was getting married because she loved her fiancé and whatever, obviously, but she was also using it as an excuse to try and get me to admit my feelings for her older brother. Feelings, I might add, that only surfaced when I was a middle schooler and went away once he went off to college.

Sure, I'd thought about him on occasion when he was inevitably brought up around Sera's house throughout the years, but that was it. I'd hardly say I was hard-core in love with him. And I was totally prepared to see him for the first time since our high school graduation.

At least, I thought I was.

And Seraphina—the little shit—knew it, too. The smirk on her face the moment we were all in the same room for the first time in ten years made me want to run and hide more than her brother's figure, right in front of me and hotter than ever.

I was mad. Not at Sera as much, because really there was nothing she could do about the fact that he was her brother, but I was mad at myself. Because how in the hell had it stood to reason that a man I actively didn't think about for a whole decade had this much of an effect on me after all this time?

Honestly? I blame the FBI.

If he'd done literally anything else with his life I probably could have made it. Well, not by much if we're being honest, but come on...

Where he'd been a bit nerdy and reserved as I knew him, the man in front of me had clearly changed. Not just physically, though that was also a pleasant surprise. He looked like he'd been through some shit... And he carried himself taller. There was a new air of confidence that perched on his shoulder and helped him along as he talked with old friends and family members at his sister's rehearsal dinner.

Spencer Reid was older and more experienced this time around, and somehow even more goddamn delicious...

I was a total wreck. And it was about to get a whole lot worse.

He was coming this way. Right for me. He'd noticed me staring at him all night, because I couldn't keep my shit together, and now I was absolutely doomed.

Guess it was a good thing I'd practically grown up with him and knew how to act outwardly.

Still, the moment he was up close and flashing me that little smile of his, I felt the pit of my stomach scream out loud, sending shockwaves through my bloodstream.

"Hey, Honeybee. It's been a while."

Fuck. That fucking nickname...

"Spencer... It has."

When we hugged briefly, I tried as hard as I could not to inhale his scent, knowing that not only was that pathetic and embarrassing, but also I'd never stop smelling it otherwise. I did take note, though, of how strong he was now. He wasn't a bodybuilder of any kind, but he was certainly less bony and more defined.

I had to hold back a whine as I felt him let go of me, because I didn't want to leave his warm embrace but also because I didn't think I could stand to look at his face anymore without losing any and all semblance of my cool.

Still, I let him release me, and even then he didn't go far. We only stood inches apart, and my whole body was practically numb at the proximity. It also didn't help that I had to tilt my head up to see his face— It made me feel extremely submissive, and I could already feel myself starting to shrink.

Whether he was amused at that or just at me in general, the feeling I got was the same.

"Sera tells me you've been busy..." He paused, seemingly searching for the right word, though I could tell he already had it on the tip of his tongue. "Modeling?"

I closed my eyes with a sigh. "It was one job for some obscure European magazine, no one in the country's probably ever heard of it... It's not that big of a deal."

Spencer huffed a laugh. "You sound embarrassed..."

How was I supposed to respond to that? If I lied and told him I wasn't embarrassed, he'd figure it out, and if I told him the truth? I'd still be screwed. Honestly, my best bet was changing the subject.

Though, maybe it wasn't— When I asked him about his travels for work, he ignored it and responded with, "Ah, so you are embarrassed."

"N— I am not!"

"You changed the subject so fast I barely had time to blink... There's nothing to be ashamed of, Honeybee, I don't know why you'd—"

"Look, dude, I'm not ashamed, and I'm certainly not changing the subject. We were on the subject of jobs. So there."

I was aware of how childish I sounded, but I stood my ground nonetheless. And thankfully Spencer seemed to let it go, though not without amplifying that amused sparkle in his eye.

"Okay... Well, I've got some more people to see, but, uh... I'll see you around. Maybe you can show me some of your work."

He didn't even give me time to protest. Though if he had, I was sure I wouldn't have been able to get any words out what with that goddamned face he had, twisted and sculpted into all these beautiful ways that were designed specifically to make me a blubbering hot mess.

I could only gather the courage to nod in response, though he'd turned his back and walked away by the time I got it out.

———

All things considered, I'd managed to avoid him for the majority of the wedding festivities. I focused all my energy on being happy to see my best friend get married, and likewise it seemed that Spencer was inclined to do the same.

He walked his sister down the aisle, and seeing them both so happy truly made my heart sing. To think I'd known them since we were all kids more or less, and now they were both successful, beautiful human beings... It warmed me to my core, and despite the other flames that stung my insides at seeing Spencer in his tux, thing were going swimmingly.

That being said, we were just about two hours into the reception, and there was absolutely nothing stopping me from begging Seraphina to put me out of my misery.

Except maybe pints upon pints of alcohol.

In hindsight, that may not have been a good idea, though. Because as much as the open bar had it benefits, it also hated me. It was mostly my fault, because I was stupid enough to forget that I get frisky when I'm drunk, but that didn't stop me from blaming the bartender for continuing to serve me.

I wasn't quite at the point of all-out inebriation, but I was definitely toeing the line between tipsy flirting and total disaster.

And when Spencer came over to ask me to dance, I knew I was doomed.

I didn't find myself caring about what he was saying, only the fact that he was there, in front of me, putting his hands on me and breathing in the same air that I was putting out. My entire body buzzed, and while I would have panicked otherwise, my tipsy brain welcomed the tingle and made me a bit bolder.

"You enjoying yourself tonight?" he asked, like he couldn't already tell that I was having the time of my life.

"No way. You suck at dancing." The joke rolled off my tongue with ease, a product of years spent teasing him for countless things.

And just like all those times before, he rolled his eyes and then immediately flashed an affectionate smile all the same.

I should have stopped there, maybe tried to do something a bit more romantic like teach him how to dance... Placing his hands and fixing his posture, taking the time to gracefully have an excuse for exploring his body with my hands...

But romance took a backseat when I pressed myself in even closer to him and hummed just under his jawline. "Mmm, but I bet you're good at other things..."

I felt his hands grip my waist just a little tighter, and his throat visibly twitched. "How much have you had to drink, Honeybee?"

"Spencer," I whined, pressing my face into his neck. "Don't tell me you're turning me down, please..."

I could tell by the way he was touching me, his hands wavering and undecided, and the way his heartbeat thrummed loudly and quickly against my own that he wanted nothing more than to entertain my desires.

The thought made me quiver and press further into him. I kissed his jawline tenderly, silently begging him to whisk me away and finally make me his, but it broke my heart a little to feel him peel away from me.

When he looked into my eyes though, I swore the gleam in his own is what put me back together. It could have been the liquor swimming around in my body that made me feel lightheaded, but when Spencer lifted my chin with his fingers and looked me over, I knew that wasn't it. It was wholeheartedly, without a doubt, him.

"Tell you what... You get sobered up by the end of the night, and maybe I'll come find you."

I wanted to nod, but his gentle grip on my chin held me steady—At least until he glided his fingertips down my throat and over my shoulder. Then I downright slumped forward with a whine and a weak nod that seemed to make him smile.

"Thank you for the dance," he said earnestly, leaning forward to press the lightest of kisses to my temple.

Just like that he was gone, and I wanted him back almost immediately.

———

And so the night dragged on, and the longer I sobered up the more it dawned on me what the fuck just happened— What the fuck was going to happen, too, if I played my cards right.

It didn't help that I could practically feel Spencer's eyes on me the whole time. Probably to make sure I really wasn't drinking anymore, a fact that only made this feel more real.

On top of it all, I was starting to lose count of the amount of men here who were trying to buy me drinks. Even if the one man I really wanted tonight hadn't given me a deal, I still wouldn't have accepted them, if only for the pathetic fact that I would have been trying to catch his attention instead.

So much for trying to convince myself I wasn't in love with him...

Was that really what it was? It had to be, right?

Either way, I was determined to find out, and that meant declining every flirtatious offer to drink and dance.

Unfortunately, Seraphina seemed to notice, even on the one day in her entire life she shouldn't have been thinking about anyone but herself. "You're not having fun," she pouted, plopping down next to me and handing me a shot. "Have fun."

I laughed and set the tiny glass down on the table. "I am having fun, I'm just... tired. And being hungover tomorrow does not sound fun."

"Mmm," she responded, visibly suspicious.

I didn't really know what to say to her to convince her not to be though, so I grabbed her hand and smiled. "You're having fun though, right? 'Cause I will not hesitate to kick someone's ass if you're not."

With a bellowing laugh mildly tainted with the smell of champagne, Seraphina squeezed my hand and leaned in close. "I'm having the best time. I couldn't be happier."

"Well, good. You deserve it."

After a small moment of silent shared smiles, my best friend glanced over elsewhere and then back to me with that look in her eye that kind of scared me.

And her words were even scarier... "So, you talk to Spencer at all tonight?"

"Uh— Yeah... Briefly."

"Mhmm... Y'know, I saw you two dancing together earlier. You seemed reeeally close..."

There I was, getting defensive in front of a Reid sibling for the second time that night. And just like before, I was awful at being subtle. "Sera, stop it! It was just a dance..."

"Bullshit! He had his hands all over you, and he had that gross-ass, dreamy-ass look in his eye! He so wants to sleep with you!"

"Sera!" I gently shoved her and tried not to smile at the goofy smile she had plastered on her face.

"Am I wrong?"

"I... I don't..."

"Ha! I'm not wrong!"

The defeated look in my eye did nothing to disconfirm her story.

"So, what's stopping you from letting him?"

I went wide-eyed. "Se—You... You seriously would... You're okay with this? It doesn't... gross you out?"

There were a lot of things I could have seen Seraphina do in that moment, but pinching and yelling at me were not any of them. "Y/N! You idiot! I've been trying to get you two together for years! If I knew all it took was me getting married, I would have accepted Theo Decker's proposal..."

"Wa— In fifth grade? Sera, that wasn't—"

"I know, but you get what I mean! You two are so painfully attracted to each other, it physically hurts me. It's actually disgusting, but if it means there's a chance that you might get to be my sister? I say go for it."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. "You... You really mean that?"

"What, you think I'd joke about that?"

Everything that she conveyed to me within the look in her eyes, her words, and the squeezing of her hand over mine told me she was sincere.

"I love you, you know," I told her just as sincerely.

Her smile was as radiant as ever, but the teasing tone in her voice was enough to make me scowl again. "Right back at'cha, Honeybee. Just do me a favor and don't tell me any details. I don't wanna know."

I stuck my tongue out at her, followed by a short shove. "Oh, and as soon as you get back from your honeymoon? I'm kicking your ass for telling him about that nude shoot I did for that magazine..."

She only grinned. "Why? I think I did you a favor..."

I rolled my eyes at her, but in the end, I guess she was right.

———

I shouldn't have been pacing. Really, it was pretty fucking embarrassing the way I walked in circles around my hotel room, waiting for a knock at the door or a text message on my phone, or something to let me know that Spencer had really meant what he said and was on his way to come find me.

I didn't have a single drink after we danced, and I swear to God, if he made me go through this entire night all nervous without the liquor to calm me down, for nothing? I was going to kill him tomorrow.

Later today... Whatever.

The point? I was well and truly ready to feel him taking up my personal space, and I was going to feel like a real idiot if I waited around and prepped and everything, only for him not to show. The funny thing was, it was almost two in the morning, and I would have stayed up until the sun rose for him.

Thank God he had the decency to save me the trouble.

A short two-rap knock on the door made me jump, but I ran at it full-speed, flinging the large wooden panel open and letting its momentum blow cool wind over my body. And I needed it, too.

Because standing right in front of me was Spencer Reid in all his semi-exhausted glory. His outfit was loosened, buttons undone and bowtie untied, hanging limp around his neck. His hair sat wild atop his head and a thin layer of sweat coated his skin. Maybe that last part sounded gross, but looking at him? It was anything but.

Especially when he flashed me that damned smirk. "Someone's eager..."

I tried not to sound as dumbfounded by his presence as I felt. "Well, you made me a good offer I couldn't refuse. Excuse me for being excited."

"And here I thought all this time you hated me, Honeybee..."

"That would be easier, wouldn't it?"

His grin transformed into a full-on beaming smile then, and it only made my skin feel warmer and my heart beat faster. I returned his smile with my own, so genuinely happy to see him again after all this time, and with the brightest show of happiness I'd ever seen.

Turns out, smiling like a lovesick idiot was all I was capable of.

"Are you... gonna let me in?"

The low suggestive tone in his voice had me springing into action, stepping back and allowing him the space to come in. And though he had plenty of room, Spencer still decided to brush his body over mine as he passed. His eyes bore into my own as he gently kicked the door shut and enveloped us in a dimness that came from cheap hotel lighting.

Still, I was unable to speak, and hardly able to even breathe, with each passing second.

And then, his hands were on my waist, pulling me to him with a softness that matched the whisper in his throat as he said, "C'mere..." Looking up at him then, his fingers burning holes through the thin fabric of my dress while he looked back down me, eyes swimming in tender desire... It almost didn't even feel real.

And it certainly didn't feel real when he leaned in, one of his hands coming up to touch my face while the other pressed me firmly against him.

The moment his lips touched mine, I was gone. I positively melted into him, so much so that it felt like I was just becoming a part of him entirely, losing myself in the moment and unwilling to let it go.

Even when he sighed against my lips and parted his own to kiss me deeper, I just followed suit and let him take the lead. We moved together as one, fluidly and with as much eagerness was possible. I'd wanted to get a taste of him for so long, and he obviously felt the same way, what with the thorough and precise exploring his tongue did with my own. It shot warmth throughout my whole being, and my legs threatened to buckle underneath me from how weak they felt.

Spencer seemed to understand what was happening to me, because as soon as I'd thought it, he was just as quick to literally sweep me off my feet, scooping me up bridal style and carrying me over to the large bed in the middle of the room.

"I know we're at a wedding and all, but geez," I laughed, watching as he laid me down gently and crawled over my body. "A little much?"

He only rolled his eyes. "Well, excuse me for trying to be romantic..."

"Mmm, I think you're just being an overachiever. As per usual."

That remark earned me a pinning of my wrists above my head, and the fire that erupted in my very core at my current position only cemented that this was very real.

Spencer grinned, his hips coming down to roll over mine teasingly. He spoke nice and slowly, his voice slicing through my soul like smooth butter. "Oh, Honeybee, I'll show you an overachiever..."

Once again I was rendered speechless. Not like I expected to be talking his ear off or anything, but words genuinely escaped me.

Luckily, Spencer didn't seem to mind. In fact, he knew exactly what to do next, and it made me even hungrier for him than ever before.

He captured my lips in another dizzying kiss, his hands still flexing over my wrists to keep them steady. I moaned softly and writhed against him, and though I would have liked to say that it was a conscious choice to coax him to give me more, really it was just me being unable to handle the fact that this was actually happening.

Actually, if not for the overwhelming and familiar scent of him, I would have thought I was only imagining it.

But alas, here he was in all his floral peppermint glory, grinding his hips down into mine and kissing me like I'd never been kissed before, driving me mad with each adept movement.

Thankfully he seemed to get as lost in the moment as I was, because he loosened my wrists in his grip, and I broke free, flying my hands in between us and down to his belt.

His lips pulled away from mine with a soft smack, a smile forming smugly upon them. "Have you no patience?"

As my fingers fumbled with the metal and leather, I pressed my nose to his and quickly pecked his mouth. "I thought we already established that I have no patience the moment I opened the door..."

"Fair... But still..."

Spencer grabbed my hands again, moving them to my sides and then hiking my dress up slowly. His skin was hot against my own, and it took everything I had not to break down begging for him.

And then he spoke again, his lips barely grazing mine as he did. "Teasing you is so much fun..."

I couldn't really explain what sound escaped me then, but it reminded me of a disgruntled animal, erupting from my throat and getting muffled the moment I took my hands and brought his face to mine. I kissed him fervently as his hands matched the intense nature of my affections— With every soft groan I gave him, he returned it with an inch higher up my leg, until eventually he was toying with the hem of my underwear.

Unable to take it anymore, I gave in and mumbled the most desperate plea I could think of. (Like I had to think that hard...)

"Spencer, please..."

I half expected him to tease me again, but this time I felt him tremble over my body. His fingers slipped under the satin of my underwear and he sighed into my mouth. "God, how could I ever say no to you..."

No sooner had the words left his mouth did he spread me apart with his fingertips, getting a feel for me and a broken sigh falling from his tongue and onto my own. I captured it and kissed him with as much precision as I could while under the influence of his hands working wonders.

Truly, his hands hand a magic of their own that should have been considered as an eighth Wonder of the World. They flexed in all the right places, splitting me open and caressing the most sensitive parts of me, simultaneously breaking me apart and putting me back together...

God, and those was only his hands...

The thought of what else he had waiting for me made me cry out into his mouth, though I'm sure it also had to do with the fact that his fingers were curling expertly inside me and summoning an orgasm that I knew would satisfy us both.

I almost cried out again when his lips left mine, but then they travelled to my neck and paid it the most glorious attention. The alternation of his fingers and his tongue on different spots of my body had me in shambles, and it took no longer than a few seconds to snap.

"Fuck, that's my girl," Spencer grumbled into my neck, helping me through my orgasm. "That's it, honey..."

What I wouldn't have given to hear him talk to me like that until the end of time... His words, their tone and praise seeping into my skin and bringing my soul to life... Coupled with his soft hands and his even softer breath fanning over my neck, I was just about ready to ask him to keep talking to me, to say my name and never stop.

He pulled away though, removing his hand from my lower half and bringing it up to his mouth, and I had the feeling my request wouldn't be a problem.

Spencer's eyes rolled back and his tongue gathered my arousal off his long, well-endowed fingers. And though I could hear his groan well and clear, I felt it more than anything. It reverberated through my body and brought me more to life in a way I never thought imaginable.

No one had ever made me feel that way with one single sound, and that's how I knew.

I thought I knew it from the start—from when we were growing up—that I wanted to be near him forever. But It was always just a silly dream, something I was never quite able to reach, and as I got older and we rarely saw each other, it got harder to even imagine anymore.

Now I didn't have to imagine.

Spencer Reid was right in front of me, touching me, tasting me, verbally praising me with sounds I'd only ever dreamed of...

I wanted him to have his moment, because I was positive he'd wanted this just as much as I did, but this sappy sort of revelation I was having made it nearly impossible to not be utterly wrapped up in him, and I wanted more.

So I wiggled and adjusted myself underneath him before grabbing his hand and placing it over my heart. His eyes widened softly at the sight of me, and I knew then that he was taking the time to memorize my face, and the image of his hand resting at my chest, right where my heart was encased beneath bones, flesh, and fabric.

"I could look at you forever," he whispered then.

I would have been ashamed to admit that I whimpered when he said it, but the way he looked at me afterwards made me feel the exact opposite.

He smiled, using his other hand to come up and touch my face. "You want it bad, don't you, Honeybee?"

I didn't even argue with him this time. My head nodded and my hands reached out to pull him closer. "I want you... More than I've ever wanted anything."

Before he leaned down to kiss me, I could have swore he looked like he was going to shed a tear. The duality of him, his ability to be all teasing and cocky one second and then reduced to a lovesick mess at just a few words from me the next, made my heart sing.

And it kept singing, a sweet, steady melody as Spencer kissed me and touched me like he meant it.

Only this time, he didn't pause or tease me with theatrics. He went straight for the kill, fetching a condom from his pants pocket and then sliding the material down, all while keeping me trapped under his embrace. I welcomed it naturally, humming happily into his neck and jawline and anywhere I could reach as he got us both fully undressed and situated, until finally he had the condom on and his hands rested nicely on either side of my head.

"Promise not to sting me?"

I laughed, draping my arms over his shoulders and flashing him a wink. "Mmm, only if you promise to give it to me good..."

"Deal."

He slowly pushed into me then, and the stretch was far more satisfying than his fingers, though I was in no position to complain either way. If he was even half as skilled with his hips as he was with his hands (which I had no doubts about whatsoever), then neither of us had anything to worry about.

It didn't take long for us to find our rhythm, but I didn't have time to think about that. I was so consumed with just the feeling of him being everywhere that technicalities didn't matter.

That being said, the technicalities were really fucking good.

His hips snapped into mine with sharp precision, and I felt it deep within my bones. My cunt clung around him willingly and accordingly, as did my legs, which hooked over his waist as I dug my heels into his ass.

Meanwhile Spencer grabbed my hands and pinned them above my head again, this time interlocking our fingers and then leaning down to kiss me deeply. It was met with my undying welcome, of course, but with the way he was fucking me, deep and with a devotion that nearly exploded my heart, I couldn't help but whine out for more.

His name was all I could manage.

"What do you want, Honeybee?" he cooed, holding himself deep inside me and grinding his hips in small circles that made it harder to breathe.

"M—More... I..."

"Can you be more specific?"

How he could be such a cocky little shit in this moment I wasn't sure, and it frustrated me to no end. He knew damn well what I wanted, and I knew just the thing that would make him give it to me.

I have him the biggest pout I could, also whining out the most pathetic, "More," in my arsenal. And with a roll of my hips up into his, I gasped out at how deep he got, and whined out again.

"Spoiled brat," Spencer grunted in defeat, retreating only to slam into me at full force.

My small gasps and cries turned into full-blown howls of searing pleasure as he fucked me then. My head tipped back and my back arched slightly, exposing my neck and chest to him, and he took it as an invitation to lean down and put his mouth anywhere he could reach. I was sure there would be small nicks and bruises littered over my skin the next morning, and just thinking of everyone seeing them, seeing Spencer's mark on me, made it harder to prolong the inevitable.

I came with a shout, flexing my hands into his as my body tensed then relaxed, over and over while he whispered praises into my skin. He followed soon after, shoving his face into my neck and muffling the most beautiful sound I'd ever heard as he came.

By then his hands had loosened, so I snuck my own away from his and brought them over to hug him close. One hand knotted into his hair while the other grazed over his back. The thin sheen of sweat forming over his skin once again was more enticing than it probably sounded, but I loved it all the same. I felt him relax and bring his arms down to rest at my sides, his fingertips dancing lightly over my skin and giving me goosebumps.

Then out of nowhere, he said something that confused and mildly panicked me. "I thought you said you wouldn't sting me..."

I pulled away to try and look at his face, loosening my grip on his body. "A—Am I hurting you? I'm sorry..."

He laughed though, peppering tiny kisses up my neck until he got to my jaw. "You're not hurting me, Honeybee... You've just... stung my heart, that's all."

"I... Is that a bad thing?"

"It's a strange thing..."

He looked at me like I was the one thing on the planet he adored, but his words sounded different.

I raised an eyebrow. "You're not helping me understand..."

With another laugh, Spencer Kissed my cheek and rolled off of me, settling for laying on his side and turning me to face him. "Do you remember how I gave you your nickname?"

Despite my confusion about all of this, I entertained him with a huffed laugh. "Yeah, I spilled honey all over my shorts without realizing it, and I had ants all over me in a matter of minutes. I was terrified."

"I was highly amused."

I shoved him. "Yeah, dork, I know you were! You and Seraphina both thought it was the funniest thing on the planet, and then your mom had to come out and spray me down with a hose before I came back in the house."

Spencer barked a laugh, and I wanted to punch it right out of his mouth.

"Tell me again why this is relevant to our current situation?" I reminded him with and sigh, already over his antics.

Thankfully he seemed to take pity on me; He reached a hand out and played with a strand of my hair, smiling even brighter than when I opened the door for him. "That's when I started to feel it. You were just... so cute all angry at me and Sera for laughing, and it... It changed everything."

"You know, that would be more romantic if I hadn't been covered in bugs," I responded with a laugh.

"It's true! And it confused the hell out of me, because how was I supposed to cope with the fact that I actually had a crush on my little sister's best friend like some stupid cliché? You were always so feisty after that, too, and it certainly didn't help... And when I graduated and went off to college, I thought... I thought there was no chance you would ever be able to break the heart you'd managed to steal."

He swiped his thumb gently over my bottom lip and smiled, his eyes going all tear-y again. It sent butterflies through my whole body.

"I would never even dream of breaking your heart, Spencer..."

Our foreheads pressed together then, and the unwavering adoration in his voice when he spoke made me forget all prior confusion and minor embarrassment over re-living our origins.

All that mattered was that he was here, holding me in his arms and making me feel like the luckiest woman in the world.

"I know you won't, Honeybee."

———

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twistedmusings · 4 years ago

Text

Doing Anything for Heat

“Do you always refer to yourself in third person when writing these up?”

“Legalities, Prefect, although I do not expect you to know anything about that.”

Guess who can’t write as much anymore because she got a nasty bite at work! So yes, I was working on requests so diligently and then bam--this happens.

As an apology for my late ass writings, please take this mini scenario for the Octavinelle Trio! Azul’s SSR card got translated and I just...god I love these boys so much q wq Reader: [G/N] Warnings: Casual flirting, possessive thoughts from all the boys and just MC striking up a contract with Azul and taking a very creative approach towards it~

“[Y/N]!!!!” Grimm pulls at your arm as you sit down across from Azul, the man holding out a contract to you as he tilts his head with a smile. “What will it be, Prefect?”

Your hands sweat as you rub them on your legs. “Hehe~ Little Shrimp looks so scared~”

The contract is placed in front of you slowly, Azul taking care of minding his manners as you lean back and go over the simple specifications. Made simpler, of course, since Azul had ‘such’ a kind heart.

What a con artist.

Winter was hitting Night Raven College hard but was hitting Ramshackle even harder.

How many blankets had you bought from Sam’s shop? Ten? Twenty? You honestly didn’t know but you and Grimm were close to freezing some night and you had just about enough of living in an ice cube for a dorm.

You were acting out of desperation.

And, ever the businessman, Azul had stretched out his hand for your unfortunate soul.

“Bring sixty customers during our lunch rush tomorrow and Azul Ashengrotto will personally see that a heater is installed in Ramshackle the same day.”

You put the contract down and look him in the eye. “Do you always refer to yourself in third person when writing these up?”

“Legalities, Prefect, although I do not expect you to know anything about that.”

Great, more insults towards your intelligence.

Sixty customers. If you were to break that down it would be ten from each dorm not counting Octavinelle. You could rope Ace and Deuce to come, guilt trip Jack for not helping you with that assignment due last night, kindly ask Epel to make his way over here and maybe if you promised Sebek that you would listen to him rant about his dorm leader he would reluctantly agree.

But that wouldn’t be near enough.

Azul clicks his tongue while Jade speaks up, “We will have to take that answer today, [Y/N]-san. If not, I guess maybe we could let you take some blankets from Octavinelle--”

“Fine! Fine.” you sign your name on the dotted line and hand the contract back to Azul, the other grinning as he handed it towards his right-hand man. “How wonderful! I’ll be waiting with baited breath to see what you bring us tomorrow~”

You give Azul the fakest smile you can muster, waving goodbye to the twins as you make your way out of the lounge with Grimm by your side. “Fgnaaa~! We are screwed! [Y/N] how could you! We are going to be stuck waiting tables for ETERNITY now!”

“Not if we bring them what they asked for.” you bite your bottom lip as you look at the Monstro Lounge, your eyes falling on the small stage.

Oh right. Some students played here. Well, students deemed worthy enough to play. You remember the Music Club trying to do a gig here but failing miserably the moment Lilia opened his mouth. Despite the failure, it did bring some people in to get Azul over the red.

A floorshow.

That’s right! A floorshow!

“Grimm!” you grab the cat and bring him close as he freaks out.

“What--what!”

“I got it!” you hold him out in front of you, “We are going to have to let go of our pride a bit and this experience might humble us but...we will have heat!’

“[Y/N] you are scaring me--”

Grimm barely gets to say what he wants as he is dragged back into your arms, your feet running as fast as you can into Mr.S’s shop for the stuff that you will need.

--------

“Ah! Little Shrimp!”

Jade looks up from the numbers he was crunching, smiling as he sees you approaching the table. You wave at Floyd and nod politely towards Jade, sitting down and tapping your fingers against the bar.

“You are here rather late, [Y/N]-san. We have two hours until closing time.”

“I’m just…putting my plan into action. Azul said he wanted sixty by tomorrow, after all.” Floyd grins as he finishes cleaning up the remaining glasses.

“Eh? You are doing something tonight, little Shrimp?”

“...yes.”

He leans close, smiling wider as he sees a certain change in your appearance. The Monstro Lounge was always dark in order to provide a more atmospheric mood at night but with the little light he had to work with he could clearly see traces of makeup all over your face. “Little Shrimp looks so shiny...just like a pearl.” You pull away as he tries to get closer, putting your hand out to stop him and turn your attention towards Jade. “Right. Do you have a backroom next to the stage? I just need to get some things ready--”

“Go into the kitchen, farthest door to the back. There should be a door that leads you towards the back of the stage.” “Do you guys have a light booth--” “Next to the stage.” Jade’s eyes shine, interested in what you are about to pull off, “Do you need our help--”

“Nope that is alright I can take care of this myself thank you.”

Both twins watch you trot towards the kitchen, Grimm following close behind and about three ghosts ‘matching’ his step.

“...Floyd.”

“Yes?”

“Call Azul. I think he’ll be interested to see what is going on.”

--------

“For heat. For heat. For heat!”

You were doing this because of your situation. The situation was desperate so you had to take desperate measures.

Grimm clears his throat as you finish fixing his bowtie, the transparent fabric looking beautiful with the stitched shells all over it.

“Are the ghosts ready?” you ask.

“Just waiting for the curtains to close.”

The crowd goes quiet as you press a few buttons and close them, hushing the late night crowd as you step onto the stage. You try to step softly so that the click of your heels won’t be heard while Grimm opens up the rather large shell in the middle of the stage. This was usually used as a promotional device, customers taking pictures inside it to promote their visits to the lounge. It had a soft cushiony seat inside and could fit a whole student.

You give a thumbs up to your other roommates, the ghosts smiling as their instruments manifested in front of them.

Spectral instruments really came in handy in these situations. “Breathe...Breathe…” you sit down inside the shell and pull your legs up with you, fixing the train of your dress and touching the small shell tiara on your head. It was fashioned after King Triton after all, maybe Azul would get the reference?

Or rather, you hoped Azul wasn’t watching at all. “Okay...close it, Grimm.” He nods and brings the top of the shell down slowly, trapping you both inside as he gave the cue to start up the lights. This was all for a heater...and maybe some tuna.

-----

-At first he wanted to laugh as he saw the curtain slowly being drawn back, when was the last time they used this stage? Student players just weren’t ‘in’ as much anymore and he had to keep up with the trends. What were you planning to do with this?

-Yet his mouth clicked shut as the lights landed right on the shell, the music starting as your voice rang out softly from inside.

-He barely paid attention to the band as the shell slowly opened, Grimm flying out elegantly as he opened it while your frame was slowly being revealed to him as every student’s jaw almost hit the floor.

-Azul clutched his cane as he watched you cradle your legs close to yourself, the lyrics completely blowing past him as you stretch yourself out to show off the outfit you had on. It seemed to shine like a pearl under the lights, your chest being accentuated by how snug it fit against your frame.

-He licked his lips when his eyes landed on your undecorated neck. It was as if you were begging for it to be decorated with bites. Surely he could make a nice necklace for you.

-Dammit he should have sat closer, students were actually getting up from their booths and moving to any tables that were closer to the stage as you start getting up, the train of fabric in your outfit resembling the top of a shell as it brushes across the ground as you make your way to the floor.

-He bites his bottom lip as he sees you making your way around the tables, your voice soft and melodic as the students watch the performance flabbergasted. You are letting your fingers glide against the tables, winking at some of the more bold students who put out their hands so they could touch yours.

-If you were to look at his face you would see no trace of emotion but inside his head he was screaming at you to pass by his table already don’t you know anything about customer service?

-You finally make eye contact with the table he was sitting at, Azul feeling a shiver go up his spine at how your flirtatious eyes suddenly turned nervous. Nobody else had gotten that look.

-Again, he needed to see you looking at him like that again.

-So this is what you were planning. How interesting~

-He watched from behind Azul, taking off his coat and laying it on the back of the plush booth as he took in your form. Where had you gotten such a cute outfit, he wondered. The color made you shine like the rarest pearl and every time the light hit you just right he could see the glitter in your eyelids as you started to approach their table.

-You made eye contact with him, clearly trying to keep up the act of ‘mysterious’ floor show guest but failing as his eyes took you in the closer you got.

-The students groan when they see you sit right next to Azul, pressing close to him as he dares to put an arm around your waist and squeeze. Oh he could bet Azul was happy with how jealous all the students looked.

-Jade couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped him when you took Azul’s hat and shoved it in his face before pulling away as quickly as possible.

-He follows your movements as you walk behind him, the sudden hand on his back making him hum in thought as the idea of pinning you right to the back of the booth so you would sing only to him suddenly seeming like the only thing to do in this situation.

-You really had no idea what you could awaken in him if you kept playing around.

-His eyes meet yours as you start walking away but his hand catches your wrist as he tugs you back to him--!

-But Jade, ever the unpredictable man, only presses his lips to your hand before letting you go.

-You were doing a floor show for the customers after all. Didn’t mean that he wouldn’t be talking to you later~

-Floyd had moved himself to the table closest to the stage, tie undone and smile wider than anyone had ever seen as he watched you pay attention to almost every table. The table he was sitting at had been filled with students who deemed themselves rather lucky to get so close only for them to scram when they saw who was approaching it.

-He waves at you when you finally make eye contact with him, licking his lips and smiling as he sees your reluctance to get near him.

-Which he didn’t mind, the fact that you were so wary of him made you all the more adorable.

-You try your best to be as flirty as you had before, merely touching his hand as he holds it out to you but for Floyd that is not enough. The moment your fingers pressed against his palm, he snatched your wrist and brought you to his lap, students gasping as his hands landed on your sides.

-Oh the material was so soft! He ran his fingers up and down as you press hand to his chest while you sang the last few notes of the song.

-Floyd couldn’t help the little giggle as he saw the embarrassment on your face, your hand clearly pushing on his chest but his hands clearly weren’t letting you go. What were you going to do, little Shrimp?

-His eyes widen at your sudden improvisation, your hands taking his and pressing them to your face so he could cup your cheeks. Instinctively he pulled you closer as the song suddenly stopped---

”Floyd-senpai, I have to go.”

-The whisper is only for him to hear as you catch him off guard with that soft look and pull away, you holding out the last note of the song as if you had planned to be caught by him all along.

-He clicks his tongue and leans back, eyes watching you go back up the stage and sitting inside the shell as you pull your legs closer to you before blowing a kiss to the now applauding crowd as Grimm closed the shell.

-Surely the kiss had been for him, right? If it had been for any of these other bottom feeders...well no matter. Even if it hadn’t been for him, Floyd would make sure to squeeze you real tight the moment you got off stage.

-----

You lay down on the cushion as you put your arms over your eyes, groaning as you tried to get your thoughts together.

If this worked out the way you thought it would, word of mouth would get around and you would bring around sixty customers so that they could partake in what they had missed tonight.

Has it cost you your dignity? Yes.

Was the outfit embarrassing? Yes.

Did you have to flirt with all three Octavinelle members so they would see that you were serious about finally going to sleep without shivering? Yes and yes.

At least it was over.

“Yo Grimm. Can you open this? I want to change!”

Your hands tap the top of the shell, sighing in relief as it slowly opened.

Only for you to yelp as hands pin you down to the cushion, a very familiar face grinning down at you as Floyd laughs merrily.

“Ahaha~! Nee, that kiss was for me, right Little Shrimpy? You blew that my way, right?”

Jade sighs and steps behind his brother, pulling him up by the collar so that you could get your bearings.

“It was at the customers, Floyd. I believe [Y/N]-san wanted this to be spoken about tomorrow, correct?”

You nod as he lets go of Floyd and holds out his hand for you to take.

“What an interesting plan...right Azul?”

The Octavinelle dorm leader isn’t really looking at you, he is still staring at everything that you had on taking it as much as he could before your voice brought him back. “So...how did I do?”

Azul blinks before smiling as he steps close and holds out his arm for you to take.

“I have yet to see the terms of the contract be met but...we can discuss how you did in my office. Mind telling me how you came up with this plan? ”

“Y--Yeah! Sure!”

You take Azul’s arm and speak about your thought process, not noticing the grins on the eel’s faces as they hold themselves back until they reach Azul’s office.

How nice, it would be the first time you would be staying over at Octavinelle, even if you didn’t know it yet.

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #octavinelle #octavinelle trio #azul x reader #jade x reader #floyd x reader #Azul Ashengrotto #Floyd Leech #Jade Leech #twst mc #G/N reader #available books #//im...im a simp

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utopianvoices · 4 years ago

Text

past, present, future → b.chan

synopsis: Your best friend drags you to his high school reunion against your will, and never have you encountered such chaos. Alternatively, you go on the journey of making more friends, and a potential lover.

genre: high school acquaintances to lovers au; fluff, one second of angst

pairing: bang chan x reader

word count: 14.4k

warnings: explicit language, alcohol consumption, kinda dialogue heavy (oops)

note: i am BACK with this mess of a fic. it took me too long to finish this, and i apologise for any shitty writing :3 thanks to my little babie @curanonemu for making sure i finished this and supporting me as usual muAH. new formatting on posts too weeeee (new year, new me fsdhfgs jk no)!! also, synopsis kinda sucks i’m sorry :P hope y’all enjoy! x

You did not want to go for your high school reunion dinner.

High school is a time for many that is either the best, or worst time of their lives. Forever friends are found there and painstakingly embarrassing memories are made in run down buildings with people you care about. Except, you didn’t have any such attachments.

Those three years were nothing but a filler for you as you studied, helped out in the library, and hung out with one person you called your best friend.

And on top of it all, it wasn’t even a high school reunion dinner meant for you.

The night the bomb is dropped on you, Changbin walks into the living room of the apartment you both share just outside the grounds of your university, and goes straight to the kitchen to fix himself a bowl of cereal because cooking and Changbin did not get along well. The apartment was way cheaper than the dorms your school provided, and it definitely did not have any nosy RAs who were just out there to torture students for their own viewing pleasure.

On top of all that, you could live with your best friend and not some random stranger who might very much as well be a psychotic killer. Perhaps, Changbin could have some questionable habits, like talking to himself in a baby voice while looking in the mirror, but nothing that threatened your life.

You hear Changbin’s phone ringing from the kitchen as you aimlessly flip through the shows available on Netflix, deciding which new show you should watch and commit to, when your best friend’s boisterous laughter fills your ears. Used to the noise, you roll your eyes before increasing the volume of the TV, finally deciding to rewatch Sherlock.

Fifteen minutes later, you’re about to solve the known mystery together with Benedict Cumberbatch when Changbin walks in front of the TV, automatically eliciting a whine from you as you crane your neck left and right to catch a glimpse of the screen.

“What the fuck, Bin?” You finally yell, frowning at the boy in front of you. Realising that he probably wanted something, considering the fact that he wasn’t moving till you asked him, you switch the TV off and settle back into the sofa, throwing him a death glare. “What do you want from me, pest?”

Something’s definitely amiss when you see Changbin shuffling his feet and looking at the ground, a guilty smile ever-present on his face.

“Whatever it is, my answer is no,” you say distantly, leaning back into the sofa with crossed arms. “So give it up.”

“Oh c’mon Y/n! At least hear me out?” Changbin cries out loudly, dropping onto his knees with clasped hands.

Heaving out a sigh, you slowly unfold your arms and lean forward, eyebrows raised as you nod at the poor boy in front of you. “I’ll hear you out. But don’t expect me to say yes.”

“Um...” Changbin starts, eyes darting around the room as he tries to find the right words. “So my high school friends are having a reunion dinner next week and I told them I’d go, but I also said I’d bring you along and they were too happy and so now I think you’ll have to come with me but-”

“Woah woah woah, a high school reunion party? Absolutely not.”

It’s not like you had anything against his friends. You did have brief interactions with a few of them in high school and you knew they were pretty decent lads, but there was no way you were following Changbin to what was meant to be a friends’ gathering.

“But why not!” Changbin whines, waddling over to you on his knees. “It’ll be really fun!”

“Yeah, fun for you,” you deadpan, staring at your pitiful best friend who has now resorted to throwing you puppy eyes. “They’re your friends after all, not mine.”

“That’s right. But they could be. Don’t you think it’s time you start finding more friends who are not me?”

Changbin’s once pitiful eyes held something other than desperation at that moment; they held concern.

It was true that you had no other friend other than Changbin. You knew lots of people, sure, but you wouldn’t call them your friends. With no friends to your name other than that one, it also wasn’t hard to guess that you never dated too. But all that mattered is that you were fine with it, right?

“You know that I don’t need any other friends. You’re more than enough for me. Truthfully, I don’t think I could deal with another Changbin in my life.”

Your words incite chuckles from Changbin, but that doesn’t stray him from his original goal.

“How about this,” he starts, opting to sit cross-legged on the floor because his knees were starting to hurt way too much. “You come to the reunion with me, and the moment you feel uncomfortable, we both can leave no questions asked. Deal?”

As tempting as that sounded, you knew it was not fair to cut Changbin’s precious time with his friends just because you did not want to hang out with new people. “That’s not fair to you.”

Shaking his head, Changbin stares at you, the fire in his eyes clearly visible, and you know that he had made up his mind. “I don’t care. It’s either you follow me and we can leave whenever, or I don’t go at all.”

There was no turning back now. You knew that in the end, what Changbin wants, he gets.

You sigh numbly before nodding your head in defeat, dreading the day that was to come where you had to leave the comfort of your apartment.

With no warning, you’re engulfed in a tight hug by a nuisance chanting “thank you” a million times. You ease into the hug, wrapping your arms around him and giving him a light squeeze, before pulling back to see that he had a smile similar to the one on your face.

“I guess you’re right about me needing more friends. I can’t be annoying you for the rest of my life, right?”

ii.

You’re once again reminded why you don’t go for social gatherings as you take in the various clothes strewn all over your room.

“Hey- Woah, what happened here?” Changbin asks, bewildered at the sight in front of him. “It looks like a hurricane hit your room or something.”

“Yes, it’s called Hurricane Y/n Is Screwed,” you reply sarcastically, before sinking down into your bed in defeat. Looking up at your best friend, you decide to give it a shot and put on your most pitiful face. “Do I really have to go?”

“Yes, you really have to go,” Changbin replies without sparing you another glance, as he sifts through the heap of clothes on your bed. “And get that ugly look off your face, please. It makes me want to barf.”

Flipping your best friend off, you manoeuvre yourself such that you’re facing Changbin, and look upon him in curiosity.

After what felt like forever, pieces of clothing are thrown at you, along with a reminder that you had three hours before you had to leave.

“Three?!” You screech, causing Changbin to wince and cover his ears. “You should’ve told me earlier so that I have more time!”

“What are you so loud for, you damn pterodactyl? And three hours is more than enough. We’re just going to a cheap restaurant a few blocks away because we’re all broke college students.”

Huffing at your insolent best friend, you grab the clothes he threw at you and make your way to the bathroom, not bothering to contemplate his decision because you knew he had pretty good taste in fashion. In fact, half the clothes you had in your wardrobe were bought with him as your advisor, so you’re really in no position to criticise his choices.

You stare at your reflection and let out a nervous breath; you weren’t used to meeting new people, and there was no way you were going to be able to handle a hoard of newly turned adults. The last thing you wanted was to cut Changbin’s time short with his friends, and as you stare at yourself in the mirror, you make a promise to yourself that you’ll get through the night by whatever means. Even if it meant hours of torture.

Changbin, with absolutely no urgency, is sitting on the couch watching the fourth Harry Potter movie, when you walk into the living room, makeup half done and still dressed in your stay-at-home clothes. Boys, you think.

“I think I need to know who and how many people will be there,” you finalise, watching Changbin pick up the remote and pausing the movie at exactly when Cedric dies; poor chap. “ So that I can, you know, mentally prepare myself.”

“You really don’t, but okay. There’ll be nine of us, including you. Minho, Hyunjin, and Felix from the dance team, Jeongin and Seungmin from the baseball team, Chan from the swimming team, soccer team, and honours board, and Jisung who was pretty much useless like me.”

“Wow.”

“In my defense, you’ve seen all of these dudes at least once,” Changbin says, shrugging his shoulders. “Anyway, they’re all really nice and fun so you have nothing to worry about.”

“Says you,” you mutter under your breath, before returning to your room to prepare for your doom.

iii.

The sign of the restaurant flickers periodically as you stand in the middle of the street with Changbin by your side. People brush past you as they hurry to meet their friends and families in the various restaurants lining the street, excitement evident in their steps.

Taking a deep breath, you push open the door. Immediately, a gush of warm air welcomes you, causing you to let out a content sigh.

“Hey Changbin!” A loud voice calls out from behind you, and the both of you turn in your place. The sight in front of you gives you equal amounts of anxiety and fear, as you wonder how you were going to handle the table of one, two, three… seven boys, including the embarrassment standing beside you, who was now busy doing some sort of weird wave in favour of a greeting.

“Changbin, please,” you plead, burying your face in your hands as you willed for someone to transport you back to your apartment so that you didn’t have to face reality and stand next to your shameless friend.

Chuckling sheepishly, your best friend finally stops, patting your back before walking towards the table at the back of the restaurant. “Oops sorry. Let’s go meet the rest!”

Here goes nothing.

Reaching the almost-filled table, your eyes dart from face to face, trying to see if you could remember anyone currently seated in front of you.

“Guys! This is Y/n, my best friend,”—at this, a few complaints erupt from around the table—”Gosh, fine. My other best friend.”

Immediately, at least three people shout their greetings your way.

“Hi Y/n! Nice to meet you!”

“Yo~ Changbin’s told us lots about you.”

“Y/n, sit beside me!”

Exasperated, your eyes flit around the table, trying your best to smile at all of them (which honestly turns out to look more like a pained grimace). Luckily, there was one seemingly sane person present.

“Shut up, everyone.” A boy with blue hair and sharp eyes shushes everyone. “Hi Y/n, it’s nice to have you here. I’m Jeongin.”

At this, the once quiet table is back to chaos as complaints are directed towards Jeongin for sneakily introducing himself first. Taking advantage of the mess, Changbin guides you towards the empty seats and finally settles the both of you down. Now all the seats were filled, except for one empty seat left beside you.

You’re about to ask Chanbgin about the empty chair, but before you can, he claps his hands, attracting everyone’s attention. “Okay, everyone will take turns introducing themselves. Seungmin, you start.”

The sandy haired boy seated on the right of Changbin waves both his hands while bouncing in his seat, reminding you of a puppy. “I’m Seungmin!”

Next is Jeongin, who just gives you a small smile.

Beside him, you see a blonde haired boy, what is up with the hair colours, who just smiles brightly, eyes shining brightly and freckles visible. “Hello, I’m Felix. It’s great to meet you!”

Taken aback by the deep voice, which was a total contrast to his cute appearance, you’re unable to hide the shock from your face. This triggers a bout of chuckles from the table; it was probably common for people to display similar reactions when meeting Felix.

Before pretty boy (that’s what you decided to remember him as) could introduce himself, the black haired boy resembling a squirrel interrupts him. “I’m Jisung!”

You recognise him as the one who shouted when you and Changbin entered the restaurant, and you’re about to acknowledge him when you’re cut off.

“Oi Han, it was my turn to introduce myself! Who allowed you to skip the line?”

“I do what I want,” was Jisung’s response, and pretty boy looked like he was one push away from murder.

Just as you’re sure that you were about to witness a murder, Changbin chides the two boys and breaks up the petty argument. “Just introduce yourselves without any nonsense, please.”

“I’m Hyunjin,” pretty boy mutters sulkily, giving Jisung a death stare. “And I can dance better than Jisung.”

“You motherf-”

“And I’m Minho,” the last person introduces himself, successfully cutting off Jisung’s profanity mid-word. “Sorry, don’t mind those two. They’re like Tom and Jerry.”

Smiling weakly, you muster up the courage to introduce yourself to the four pairs of eyes staring at you. Hyunjin and Jisung were busy having a staredown, while Changbin was eyeing the meat sizzling on the grill. “Hi, I’m Y/n, Changbin’s friend. It’s nice to meet all of you. Thanks for having me here.”

And just like that, everyone is back to their own conversations, with Changbin piling the perfectly done meat onto his plate. You take in a deep breath and look around the table at the happy faces.

This isn’t so bad, you thought, a little chaotic, but otherwise entertaining.

“They’re overwhelming huh?”

Any effort to mask your bewilderment vanishes as you catch the knowing look on Minho’s face. A guilty smile blooms on your face and you nod your head. “Just a little.”

“I get that,” he starts, but soon enough, there’s a content smile on his face that shows his love for his friends. “But at the end of the day, I know that these monkeys will be there for me no matter what, so I guess it makes it all worth it.”

Smiling softly at his words, you almost coo at the light blush dusting Minho’s face as reality catches up to him.

“Ahem anyway. How’s living with Changbin?” He clears his throat before changing the topic, instinctively putting some meat on your plate before helping himself, earning a grateful smile from you.

“It’s not too bad,” you start, feeling Changbin’s gaze on you after having overheard Minho’s question. “Except sometimes, he talks to himself in the mirror and it’s pretty scarring.”

“Y/n!” Changbin whines as Minho guffaws beside you, nodding his head to your answer, clearly having witnessed that side of Changbin before. “Wait till Chan comes. At least he’ll support me.”

At the unfamiliar name, you furrow your brows and the name in the form of a question tumbles out of your mouth before you could stop yourself. “Chan?”

“He’s not here yet,” Minho addresses your confusion, having heard your little slip up. “He had to oversee the training for the upcoming soccer match, being the captain and all, and apparently he had a tutoring session after. He should be here soon though.”

That explains the empty chair beside you.

“Oh, he needs to get tutored after training?” You ask, feeling bad for the unknown boy. Having to absorb information after physical activities is torture. You couldn’t even focus after 40 minutes of gym. “That’s rough.”

At your assumption, a cat-like smirk spreads across Minho’s face. “Oh no, darling. He tutors after his training.”

There’s no way you’re to be blamed for the first thought that pops into your head after discovering that said Chan was responsible and smart. You’ve seen people struggling with just one extracurricular, and begging teachers for extra credits because of poor time management.

So, it’s really not your fault that the first words that enter your head is, that’s hot.

Just then, the bell situated above the door rings, indicating that someone was entering the restaurant. You’re not bothered by it, until Felix’s deep voice fills your ear.

“Chan!”

It’s almost comical how slowly you turn towards the sound, blush threatening to fill your cheeks at your first impression of Chan, without even meeting him. And as Giovanni Torriano has once said:

Talk of the Devil, and he's presently at your elbow.

Your eyes follow the figure of the devilishly breathtaking boy walking towards your table. He’s still dressed in what you assume was his soccer jersey, black hair tousled from the wind and practice. Shaking your head, you rid yourself of that inappropriate thought and opt to stare at the bowl of radish that looked the most interesting to you.

“Hey guys!” Chan smiles widely at the group of friends, as a few of them immediately get up from their seats to greet him with their usual bro hug. He sets his things down beside Minho, and is taking his seat when he spots you. Confusion clear in his eyes, he looks around the table, silently asking for an explanation as to what a stranger was doing at their usual table.

You realise his staring and try to introduce yourself, but you find yourself unable to form sentences as the reality of who Chan was hits you.

The star swimmer of your high school’s swimming team, and the top student of every single year. He was the epitome of popular. Everyone knew his name, and apparently he had never missed one day of lessons or training. On top of that, he used to regularly tutor in the library.

“Oh, this is my friend Y/n!” Changbin pipes up, slinging an arm around you. “Same high school as us, and my roommate now.”

At this, the confusion clouding Chan’s hazel eyes clears up, and he turns to face you, extending a hand. “The one who used to carry thick books everywhere and helped out in the library right? I’m Chan!”

Being the complete opposite of your best friend, you’re sure no one has ever noticed you in the library. You blend in perfectly with the shadows and shelves, and you didn’t usually help the students out, opting to arrange the books in the storeroom—the one small thing you could do to help out the aged librarian who brought you mouth-watering brownies every Thursday.

The thick books, in your defense, was your attempt at trying to finish the Harry Potter series whenever you had the spare time. You never had to explain yourself because you never expected anyone to notice. Especially not the most popular guy in school who had a million other friends.

But there he was, in all his glory, eyes crinkled into crescents as he waits for you to shake his hand, seemingly remembering you when nobody else did.

A small nudge to your side from Changbin breaks you out of your reverie and you grab his hand, silently noting how soft they were. “Nice to meet you.”

Smiling at you, he gently shakes your hand before turning to the other boys, immediately making jokes and laughing along.

“What was that about?” Changbin whispers harshly, eyeing you and Chan suspiciously.

“What was what?”

“Chan remembering you! You’ve never even met before.”

Looking at your best friend, you shrug before reaching out for another piece of meat. “Beats me.”

Changbin opens his mouth to interrogate you more, when he’s successfully cut off by Seungmin.

“Y/n! Tell us more about yourself! I’m bored of hearing about these idiots.”

Jeers sound from around the table as you let out a nervous chuckle, aware of how everyone’s attention was on you. “Me?” You ask, pointing to yourself for extra confirmation.

Yea!” Seungmin replies, nodding vigorously. “What are you doing now, and how was high school for you, and just everything!”

Noting your hesitation, Changbin is about to step in to save you, but your hand on his thigh stops him. Looking at you curiously, he realises from your expression that you’re finally about to do what he had been nagging at you to do since day one of becoming your friend.

iv.

‘Is it possible for a stomach to burst from too much laughing?’ is what runs through your head as tears stream down your face from laughing uncontrollably at another joke Jisung was saying.

“Wait, I remember Changbin telling me that people used to refer to you as Baby Photos when you all played at the school shows,” you ask after you had recovered from your laughing fit, curiosity piquing. “What’s that all about?”

At the mention of the familiar name, the boys let out groans and Hyunjin starts hitting Jisung. “It’s all Jisung’s fault!”

“Basically, he somehow got ahold of all our baby photos and submitted it to the administration on behalf of us,” Changbin explains, rolling his eyes at the memory. “So if you see our yearbook, all eight of us have our baby photos instead of the actual photo we were supposed to submit.”

How is that even possible?!

“We still don’t know how he managed to do that.” Chan answers your unasked question, shaking his head fondly at the ridiculous memory.

At this, Jisung pipes up. “Everything is possible when you’re charming and handsome. You lot won’t be able to relate!”

And you finally agree that the beating Jisung gets after was well deserved.

“Restaurant’s closing in ten!”

The owner of the restaurant, a nice old lady who had a soft spot for the boys, calls out from the back. She had already let all of you stay past her usually closing time, and even gave you some free side dishes, together with a loving chide about how the boys don’t come and visit her anymore.

The screech of the chairs fill the place as everyone gets up, stomach and heart full from the meal and company. You smile to yourself, glad that you let yourself be convinced to follow Changbin because you had one of the best days in your life.

“Did you have fun today?” Your best friend asks with a smug smile, already knowing the answer.

“Shut up,” is all you can say—a clear sign that you were admitting defeat. “It was okay.”

“That wounds me,” someone speaks up from behind you, having heard your conversation with Changbin. You whip around to see Chan clutching his heart and wearing an exaggerated hurt face. “I thought we had a connection.”

“I-you, no, that’s not-what” you splutter, horrified at the thought of Changbin’s, and now apparently your, friends thinking that you didn’t have a good time with them. There was no way you could let them think as such when they had made you feel so comfortable, and have so much fun.

Your stuttering and horrified expression does it, and Chan bursts into laughter. “I’m so sorry, it was a joke. But your face!”

The guilt and regret is replaced with relief and irritation, and you smack his arm out of habit, something you always did to Changbin when he was being a pain in the ass. But as soon as you do it, you’re once again filled with regret because Oh my God it’s only been two hours, you’re not supposed to just smack people.

“Stop overthinking it, idiot,” Chan cuts you off, adding in a low tier insult to make you feel a bit better about your reflexes. “We’re friends now; all of us.”

Friend to friends. Now that’s an upgrade.

You’re about to say something, when you’re cut off by Changbin screeching unceremoniously as he glances at the time displayed on his lockscreen (it’s a picture of the two of you making ugly faces—he refused to change it).

“Shit, we’re going to miss the last bus that leaves from here!” He almost shouts, grabbing his and your things. “Adios bitchachos!”

A snicker or two echoes through the empty restaurant at Changbin’s farewell, together with requests of bringing you the next time they meet.

“Make sure Y/n comes for the next dinner! Doesn’t matter if you’re here or not!”

Jisung earns himself a string of vulgarities from Changbin for that, as he guffaws and hi-fives Hyunjin.

You’re barely able to say your farewell to the boys with Changbin dragging you out of the restaurant, but you manage to shout out a few words while waving. “Thank you for today! See you soon!”

The bus arrives just as you reach the bus stop, and Changbin all but collapses on one of the empty seats from the running you both did.

“I think I’m going to throw up.”

“You’re foul.” You’re staring at your best friend in disgust when he starts questioning you about the dinner, nausea forgotten.

“So…” he starts, pivoting in his seat to face you, cheek leaning against his hand which rested on the seat in front of him. “For someone who was dead set on not coming, you sure looked like you had lots of fun.”

Rolling your eyes at his words, you turn to face Changbin. “Isn’t that what you wanted? Me making more friends?”

“Of course, of course~” he drawls, smirk ever-present on his face. “And who do we have to thank for that?”

“And you ask me why I don’t listen to you or ask you for favours.” Turning your attention back to your phone, you open up Temple Run in hopes of keeping yourself occupied for the bus ride back; but Changbin had other plans.

Whining, he snatches your phone from your hands and slips it into his pocket. “Y/n! Tell me everything!”

“What do you want to know?!” you ask, exasperated. “You were there literally the whole time.”

“Yes I know, but I want to know what you think of all my friends!” Changbin claps his hands in excitement, leaning forward in anticipation. “Well, our friends now.”

You can’t help but sigh as you prepare for the long bus ride ahead—but somehow, you don’t miss the sudden warmth enveloping you as you recalled the past few hours.

“First of all, Jisung and Hyunjin are hilarious, it’s like…”

Two weeks later, and you’re knee deep in shit. Not literally, of course, but you might as well be.

It’s the infamous hell month in your university, where every student (regardless of major) has a shit ton of assignments and tests to complete, and the library is open 24 hours for poor souls like yourself.

It’s two in the morning when you’re working on your second essay of the day. There are crumpled balls of paper all over your desk and surrounding your bin, courtesy of your pathetic aim.

“You’re cleaning everything up later,” Changbin speaks up from across the dining table you both were sharing to get work done, tapping away on his equipment as he works on some new beat. “I don’t expect every ball to go in, but to miss everything? That’s some serious talent.”

“Shut your mouth, Seo.” Flipping your best friend off, you finally push yourself away from the table, stretching a bit before making your way to the kitchen to fix yourself a bowl of ramen in hopes of satiating the beast growling in your stomach.

As you open each shelf, you slowly come to the realisation that you were completely out of snacks and food. Even the single frozen bag of peas and empty ice cream tub stares back at you in pity as you scan the fridge.

Taking a breath to calm yourself, you slowly turn around to face your unsuspecting, so-called, best friend. Walking towards him, you knock the table a few times to get his attention.

He notices your presence, and removes his headphones to look at you quizzically, his full attention on your blank face.

“When were you going to tell me that you had consumed every single food item we have?”

It’s almost comical how quickly the blood drains from his face, as his eyes dart all around the room, skillfully avoiding you. If it were any other situation, you would’ve definitely laughed while falling onto the floor. But this wasn’t any other situation.

This was war.

And honestly, it would have been a war that you would’ve definitely won—if not for the loud sound your stomach just produced.

Narrowing your eyes at the accused seated a few feet away from you, you walk over to the countertop with your wallet, eyes not leaving Changbin for a second.

“I will deal with you when I am back from the convenience store.”

And with the sight of Changbin gulping imprinted in your mind, you slam your apartment door behind you and make your way grumpily to the 24-hour convenience store located seven minutes away.

vi.

The electronic chime sounds throughout the store as the part-timer throws you a friendly greeting from the counter. “Welcome!”

Reciprocating with a smile of your own, you take slow steps towards the shelf with the various assorted packets of ramen, and your hand automatically reaches for your favourite one. Just as it comes into contact with the plastic, you can feel yourself salivating and your stomach growls in appreciation. It’s a myth, you think. There’s no way food like carrots and asparagus is what gets students through school. The only saving grace you have during this period is packets of ramen and chocolate milk. Countless numbers of assignments and tests are already torturous enough; healthy, tasteless food on top of that? No, thanks.

Clutching the ramen packet in your hands like it was the treasure of your life, you walk towards the milk section to complete your meal with your favourite carton of chocolate milk. There was something about the combination of milk that combats the spice from the ramen, and you’re about to drop onto your knees right there and then to worship the people who invented ramen and chocolate milk, when you see the last carton being taken away right in front of your eyes.

Without any second thoughts, you rush towards the person and grab their arm, already getting ready to pull out the sob story of how you absolutely need the chocolate milk to survive. Surprised by the sudden contact, the man holding the carton whips his head towards you, eyes wide.

There’s a fleeting sense of familiarity that passes through you when you see the hazel peeking out from above the mask that covered the rest of his face, but you’re too preoccupied to dwell on the thought. Just as you’re about to open your mouth to beg, you’re cut off by an all too familiar voice.

“Y/n?”

Huh?

You stare at each other for a few seconds before the realisation of who you were holding, no, clinging onto dawns on you.

“C-Chan?”

In a lively city that thrived at night, there were a thousand other 24-hour convenience stores scattered all around in every corner. It also wasn’t everyday that you decided to go to the convenience store for food, opting to go to the grocery stores instead. So, if you calculated correctly, the chance of you bumping into Chan at 2:30 a.m. at that very particular store should be close to never.

Yet, there he was standing right in front of you, chocolate milk clutched in one hand.

“What are you doing here?”

“Oh I came here to water my plants.”

Plants?

You’re more than confused, till you hear the soft snicker that escapes his mouth. Narrowing your eyes at his antics, you decide to bite back with a “Ha ha, very funny.”

“So… Are you planning to hold onto me forever?” Chan teases you, eyes gesturing to your hand that was still clutching onto him, before looking back at you with a twinkle in his brown eyes. “Because I wouldn’t be opposed to that.”

With the whole bumping-into-Chan thing that happened, it had completely slipped your mind that you were still holding onto him. You snatch your hand away in horror, eyes widening as you feel the heat creep up your neck. “S-sorry.” And before you could stop yourself, you also continue to spill why you had grabbed his arm in the first place. “I was just craving for chocolate milk, and the one you took was the last carton left.”

Looking back and forth at you and the carton, you start to feel like an absolute idiot, until he reaches out and pushes the carton into your hands. “You can have it then,” he says, and walks away. “Stay right there, let me grab some ramen and we can have supper together!”

You stare at the carton for a few seconds, the droplets of water that formed on the outside cool against your fingers. On a normal day, you would have refused the milk vehemently, telling the other person not to worry and to have the last carton. But today wasn’t any other day.

And Chan wasn’t any other person.

We’re friends, after all, is what echoes in your mind as you look up at the boy walking towards you, two packets of ramen in his hand and a carton of strawberry milk. Smiling at him, you finally express your gratitude for his kind sacrifice.

“Thanks for this,” you say, waving the carton in front of him. “I don’t think I would have made it through the night without it.”

Nodding with a smile, he tears his two packets of ramen open and pours in the hot water that was situated at the back of the store, grabbing yours from you in the process. “What brings you here at this hour? I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t be craving ramen and chocolate milk in the middle of the night on any other day.”

“You’re right about that,” you reply dejectedly, recalling the big pile of assignments waiting for you back at the apartment. “It’s hell month in school, and I’m drowning in work. On top of that, Changbin exhausted every single food source we have at home!”

Chan does his very best to hold back his laughter at your expression; he knew you were angry, but you looked as threatening as a kitten. And thankfully he succeeds, because he really did not want to be on the receiving end of your wrath. Although, he thinks, you really are not going to be able to do much damage.

“How dare he,” Chan agrees, finally taking a seat beside you, the steam from the ramen warming his face up. “Hey but, if he hadn’t done that we wouldn’t have bumped into each other here.”

You nod your head in agreement, thinking about how to start a casual conversation, when you are suddenly hit with the realisation that you knew essentially nothing about Chan. You didn’t know what university he went to, what he majored in, and what he was doing in the convenience store that late at night too.

One question at a time, you decide.

“What are you doing out this late anyway?” you ask, slurping the noodles and breathing out in relief at the taste of the ramen against your tongue.

“I come here often,” is what he replies, before taking a sip of his milk. “My uni’s about fifteen minutes from here, and I usually work the best at this time. Being a music production major, there aren’t very strict deadlines, but I’ve still got to get my shit done.”

Oh. That’s all your questions answered.

You know the trouble of trying to get questions out, especially for you, who has never really made the effort in going the extra mile in interacting with people. It’s annoying and nerve-wrecking, and probably the biggest reason why you refused making new friends. The whole process was just painful. So, when Chan answers your unasked questions, you feel the hypothetical weight lifting off your shoulder, and you open your mouth to express your gratitude. At least, that’s what you had planned to do.

“Are you a mind reader?” you blurt out, before immediately clamping your mouth shut and facepalming. “Ugh, sorry. I have a really bad habit of blurting out whatever comes to my mind.” You groan at your inconvenient habit, and Chan pats the top of your hand in hopes of comforting you.

“I just meant to say that I was thinking of asking you those questions and you answered them even before I asked.” Chan looks at you with a smile, intrigued by your personality. You clearly didn’t have any other friends other than Changbin—but you never looked as if you were upset about it. It was also clear that you were content with not interacting with people, but when you did, you were never rude about it and you really did try your best. Never in a million years would he have thought that the student scurrying around the library with tons of books would turn out to be someone like you.

“At least that means you’re an honest person!” Chan says, beaming at you. “C’mon, learn to look at the brighter side of things.”

Shrugging your shoulders with a tired smile on your face, you turn back to your ramen, which has now gone soggy due to your little chit-chat with the boy beside you.

There’s a comfortable silence that hangs between the two of you, until Chan speaks up again. “What’s your major? I realised I never asked.”

At the mention of school, you pull an automatic stank face before replying. “English Lit with a minor in Philosophy. The worst decision of my life.”

“And why’s that?”

“I never knew there’d be this much essay writing!” you cry out, throwing your head against the table. The rest of your words come out muffled, but somehow Chan manages to catch it. “I mean, I knew there was going to be lots of essays. But not this much.”

“In the major’s defense, that’s kind of a dumb move on your part, Y/n.”

“Yes, I know. Please don’t remind me of my idiocy.” You finally sit up, before sadly chewing on your noodles. “At least I have ramen and chocolate milk to keep me going.”

And as the night went on, both of you continued the conversation back and forth, you learning more about him and him about you. You talk about your assignments, how annoying some of your professors were, and how living with Changbin was. All the times you had to chase him to clean up after himself, or all the times he stayed up with you until ungodly hours just because you had procrastinated too much and was rushing an assignment in the last hour. You also learnt more about Chan; how he was studying music production because that was his dream since he was young, and how he actually roomed with Jisung, who was equally as messy as Changbin. The only difference was that Chan couldn’t be bothered about the mess.

“Changbin, Jisung, and I actually used to make tracks and post them on Soundcloud,” Chan says, smiling as he recalls the three high schoolers cooped up in his room with the bare minimum equipment that wiped out half their savings. “We even had rapper names.”

“Ooooo~” you tease, nudging his shoulder as his ears start to turn a bright red. “What was yours?”

“What’s in the past should stay in the past, Y/n. Let bygones be bygones. No point talking about it now.”

“Awww, c’mon!” You plead, fidgeting in your seat. “Was it something embarrassing like Cheminem, or something?”

“I can’t help but feel more relaxed when your standards are that low,” Chan says, with some form of relief in his voice. ��Uh, mine was CB97.”

“Don’t tell me…” you mutter, eyes wide as the laughter threatens to escape your lips. “Did you really just use your initials and your birth year? Talk about bare minimum!”

“Hey! It’s better than Meminen, or Cheminem, or whatever you said earlier.”

Sticking your tongue out at him, you decide to probe further. “What were Jisung’s and Changbin’s?”

Chan stares at you with wide eyes, your mischievous eyes giving away your evil plans. “No. Changbin will kill me.”

“Don’t be a party pooper! I’ll treat you to ramen next time if you tell me.” You try tempting Chan with food, with no hopes that it would work. But somehow, you see his resolve crumbling, and realise that you just needed one final push.

“I’ll get you chocolate milk and two packets of ramen.”

At that point, Chan regrets telling you his habit of eating two packets of ramen with chocolate milk almost every night when he stays up. “You shouldn’t have given me the milk then!” is what you said while chiding him, and he just claimed that “you looked like you needed it more than me” while saying that he really wasn’t picky about the flavour of milk.

So when you tempt him with his cravings, he has no choice but to give in.

Twenty minutes later, you walk into your shared apartment, a mysterious smile playing on your lips as you drop the keys into the little holder by the door. It was made by yours truly during a random pottery workshop you signed up for. The shape was slightly off, and the colour wasn’t bright or vibrant—but it worked and that’s what mattered.

At the sound of the keys clinking in the holder, Changbin’s head shoots up to gauge your mood from your expression. Surely you would be at least a little less angry after your little run to the convenience store, he thought.

But instead of seeing a blank expression, or even an angry one, he sees the smile on your face and his heart drops. Why were you smiling? The fact that you were smiling made him feel a hundred times worse, and he had already started saying his prayers.

“So, Changbin…” you start, leaning against one of the chairs at the dining table. You weren’t even angry about the empty shelves anymore, but you just could not pass on the opportunity of teasing your best friend. “Or should I say, SpearB?”

And you’re more than content with the way his face morphs into that of horror, as he grips the edges of the table. “How did you know?” he asks, his voice strained and barely above a whisper; one would think that the whole world had found out about his darkest secret from the way he was reacting.

Shrugging playfully, you go back to your seat and sort out the papers scattered around the table, grabbing your laptop to start working on your assignment again with a full and happy stomach. “Who knows~”

“Y/n, tell me,” he starts to whine, making his way to you on his roller chair. “No one knows other than the boys-”

And the realisation of who the culprit was hits him.

“It was Chan, right?” he asks, already reaching for his phone to scold the older boy. “You must have met him when you went to the store—he’s always getting ramen there.” Typing furiously on his phone, he pauses to look up and whine again. “I can’t believe you two gossiped about me! And it was me who made you both become friends. The disrespect!”

Finally the laughter you had been holding in breaks out and floods the living room, the sound bouncing off the walls. “I can’t believe,” you start, trying to catch your breath as you continue laughing. “SpearB! What do you do? Impale people with your sharp flow and rhyme?”

“Just shut up, please,” Changbin pleads, plugging his ears with his fingers. “La la la, I can’t hear anything you’re saying.” He rolls back to his side of the table and grabs the headphones, shoving it over his head to drown out your laughter.

Your laugh fest is cut off by your phone vibrating, signalling that you had a new text message. Grabbing it, you tap your phone a few times to open up the messages page.

chan: can’t believe you outed me to changbin chan: traitor y/n: drama queen y/n: i said nth, he figured it out on his own chan: ఠ_ಠ

Giggling at the emoticon Chan used, you unconsciously lean back in your seat as you search your gallery for an emoticon to reply with, assignments forgotten.

“Who’re you texting?” Changbin asks, having heard you giggle at your phone. He’s eyeing you suspiciously, and you knew it was better to answer him, because a curious Changbin is a dangerous Changbin, and he’ll probably stomp over and snatch your phone to see who you were texting anyway. “It’s Chan.”

“When did you two exchange numbers?!”

“Earlier, when we met at the convenience store.”

It was right before the both of you parted ways; when Chan had proposed something that was pretty much impossible to turn down.

“I had fun today,” he said, one hand stuffed in his pocket while the other swung the plastic bag containing some chocolates to add to his secret sweet stash. “You said you’re having hell month, right? Hit me up whenever you need an emergency ramen run.” And with that, he pushed his phone into your hands, signalling for you to do the same.

Smiling to yourself, you keyed in your number into the phone clutched in your hand, saving yourself as “Y/n”, and before you could regret your decision, you quickly added a smiley after your name and tossed the phone back to Chan. “Here you go.”

The cool metal is being pressed into your hands, and before you know it, you’ve said your farewell to Chan and were on your way back home.

“Look at you socialising out of your own will,” Changbin states proudly, wiping an imaginary tear as he gives you a fatherly (or what he thinks is fatherly) smile. “Albeit, at the expense of my shame, but if it means my little Y/n making more friends then why not!”

“Please stop, you’re an embarrassment to me, yourself, and literally everyone around us,” you deadpan, clearing your side of the table up. It was time to call it a night, because God knows you’re not going to be able to do anymore work. “Besides, it’s really not that big of a deal. I doubt we’ll continue talking after tonight. It’s probably a one-off thing.”

“Hmmm I wouldn’t be too sure,” Changbin muses. “I feel like there’s something that’ll come out of this.”

vii.

Seo Changbin isn’t a lot of things.

He isn’t tidy, opting to throw his clothes all around his room instead of folding it; he isn’t patient, always screaming at you to “Hurry your ass!” when he had been waiting barely three minutes; and last but not least, he definitely isn’t punctual. “Changbin is my name, and being late is my game” is something you’ve heard way too often from him that it was a wonder you hadn’t murdered him yet.

Changbin isn’t a lot of things—but what he somehow is, is intuitive when it comes to you.

So when you find yourself back at the convenience store at 12:30 a.m., ramen and chocolate milk in front of you as you laugh over some stupid story Chan was saying, you can’t help but curse at how right your best friend was.

You were reaching the end of your hell month, which also indicated it being four weeks since you and Chan had developed the routine of pigging out at the convenience store at terrible hours.

“... and he just fell off the tree!” Chan concludes his story of how Hyunjin fell off a tree in high school, words coming out breathless due to how much the both of you were laughing. “Ah, that brings back memories.”

“I can’t believe I never talked to you guys more then,” you say, shaking your head slightly. “It would’ve been hilarious.”

“Someone was too busy with Voldemort,” Chan teases, pushing his nose down flat in what you could only describe as a Voldemort impression. Laughing, you swat his hand away while rolling your eyes at the boy you’ve grown so fond of in a span of four weeks. “Why’d you never talk to us?”

Thinking back to high school, you ask yourself. Why didn’t you ever bother talking to them?

“I guess it’s just cause I already had Changbin,” you start, pausing to think back to the past few years. “As much as I complain about him, he’s really one of the greatest best friends anyone could ask for.”

It was true; Changbin was there for you during high school like no one else had been, and for that you were eternally grateful for him.

“So you were scared to take any other chances since you already got the best?”

People always asked you why you didn’t make more friends in high school. Hell, even your mother kept asking, when other parents struggled to keep their children at home just because they were spending too much time out with friends. But the answer to that question was something you never thought about, and you can’t stop the feeling of shock spreading through your body at what the boy in front of you had just so casually uttered.

You were scared.

“I-I…” you stutter, eyes wide as you stare at the boy in front of you. Chan can’t help the worry that seeps into his face at his words, and he’s starting to wonder if he said anything wrong. “I’ve never ever thought about it. But, oh my God, that makes so much sense.”

After years of waving everyone who asked you why you never made any other friends away just because you yourself didn’t have the answer to the question, you’re hit with a huge realisation of just why you didn’t want to find more friends. And it wasn’t even you who figured it out.

This boy sitting leisurely in front of you, skin pale and soft, with messy black hair framing his face that he never bothered brushing away. This boy, who was as kind as he was hardworking, always willing to help out anyone, even with his own responsibilities. This boy who had been readily there for you at the devil hours for almost every day in the past four weeks, always checking up on you to make sure that you were surviving.

Never in a million years would you have expected someone to figure out something that was locked away so deep inside of your heart, and for it to be Chan, out of everyone. The thought makes your heart race a little, but you decide to blame it on the conversation the both of you were having. It was definitely not because of the boy seated beside you.

“Shocking, huh,” Chan starts, laughing slightly as the worry he had felt earlier replaced with something he could only describe as fondness. “It’s a pity though.”

You look at him questioningly, and what he says next makes you realise a few things that maybe you were better off not realising.

“We would’ve been much happier in high school with you there. I would’ve been much happier.”

As much as you regretted not befriending the other seven boys in high school, you were starting to regret bumping into Chan that very first night even more. If you hadn’t bumped into him, you would’ve never spent so much time with him, never realised how great of a person he was, and lastly, you would’ve never started falling for Bang Chan.

viii.

It’s like déjà vu.

With your exams and assignments completed, you find yourself watching the latest season of Haikyuu when Changbin enters the room, waltzing towards your reclined figure.

“Y/n~” Changbin starts, poking your shoulder to get your attention. “Whatever your annoying ass needs now, it’s a no,” you say without even turning to look at the boy beside you.

“Oh? Even if it was an invitation to dinner with the boys later tonight?”

And when your head whips to the side to look at your best friend, you’re so tempted to just wipe that smirk clean off his face, because the bitch knew you would have said yes.

“I fucking hate you,” is what you can mutter, before switching the television and throwing the remote to the side, choosing to ignore Changbin as you walk towards your room to pick an outfit. But you’re forced to stop in your tracks when Changbin casually utters the next few words.

“Chan’s especially excited to see you.”

You’re not sure what Changbin means by that, but there’s no denying the increase in your heart rate at the mention of the dimpled boy.

“What?” You try your best to sound as nonchalant as you could, hoping that your best friend wouldn’t pick up the slight quiver in your voice. But, of course, he wasn’t your best friend for nothing.

“I said, your little boyfriend’s excited to see you.” Changbin smirks at your expression, stretching his legs out to rest it on the coffee table in front of your sofa. “And it looks like you’re just as excited.”

Red travels up your neck and spreads across your face, as you sputter at your best friend’s preposterous words. “W-what are you- I- Huh-”

Realising that your little breakdown wasn’t helping your case at all, you take a deep breath to calm yourself, before speaking to the insolent brat in front of you. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

“But you like him, don’t you?”

You freeze like a deer caught in headlights, and the first instinct you have is to play dumb. “O-of course I like him. He’s my friend.”

“I will pretend like I did not hear that pathetic attempt of you trying to act dumb,” Changbin states robotically, rolling his eyes. “C’mon, Y/n. It’s obvious. So stop pretending and just fess up. It’ll be easier for the both of us.”

You had two choices now: Either fess up and prepare yourself for at least a thousand years of teasing, or just completely deny it till your deathbed.

Clearly, the second option was much more appealing.

“No, Changbin,” you snap with as much conviction as you could. “I do not have a crush on Chan. He’s just a really good friend.”

The knowing look on his face wavers, and you know that you’re seconds away from success. It’s not that you did not trust your best friend with the information of you having a crush on one of his friends. You just did not want to say it out loud—saying it out loud would mean that you were confirming it, and there will be no going back. And that scared you.

You were scared of liking someone who was way too perfect, and who probably would never like you back.

So the best solution was to keep your little crush hidden away in the depths of your heart, and slowly get over it as soon as you could. It was as easy as it could get.

ix.

Apparently, you realise, it wasn’t at all easy to get over a simple crush.

The smell of meat fills your nostrils as the eight boys chatter loudly over the sound of the sizzling of the food. You’re back at the same restaurant, with the same boys, except it wasn’t exactly the same as the last time.

This time, you had a raging crush on the boy who insisted on sitting beside you, leg brushing against yours every few seconds as he piles the food on your plate instead of his.

It definitely didn’t help that every time your hands brushed while reaching out for the side dishes around the table, you pulled your hand back as if you had just been burned, ears immediately heating up.

“Did you know Chan told Y/n about 3RACHA?” Changbin whines to Jisung, making him stop his actions mid-way, meat hanging from the chopsticks just a few inches away from his mouth. “All I heard the past few weeks was ‘SpearB, help me’, ‘SpearB, go there’. It was torture.”

The table goes silent at the new information Changbin had revealed, and all you can do is smile sheepishly as your friends stare at the both of you.

“These two have been meeting almost everyday the past few weeks to get ramen at weird timings, and I’m pretty sure Y/n has lots of quality dirt on us now,” Changbin says pointedly, completely ignoring the way your eyes widened because why would he just say that?

It already wasn’t easy keeping Changbin in check with his little fantasies every time you went out to meet Chan, and now it was going to be worse because you just knew that the six other boys were going to question you from their expressions.

You turn to look at Chan, expecting to see the same ‘busted’ expression on his face, but all you see is a guilty smile, before he opens his mouth to speak. “In my defense, I was bribed.”

“Yes but, you never told us your 3RACHA names even after we kept begging you for weeks,” Hyunjin speaks up, eyes wide in disbelief. “We had to bribe you with a new game for your console, but you just told Y/n after two packets of ramen and chocolate milk?”

Your heart rate picks up speed just a fraction after hearing Hyunjin’s words, and you can’t help but feel a little special that Chan was comfortable enough to tell you things he refused to tell others. There’s a small smile playing at your lips as you look at the boy beside you, who was now rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly as he tried his best to defend himself from the accusations that were now pouring out from all his friends.

Unbeknownst to you, your own best friend was watching the both of you since the night started, a glint in his eye as he catches the way you threw small glances at his friend, blushing every time your hands brushed or when Chan purposely picked out the meat that was grilled best to put on your plate.

He also didn’t miss the soft smile playing at Chan’s lips every time you laughed at another stupid joke Jisung cracked, head thrown back slightly as you clutched your stomach, or the way his eyes widened every time you leaned a little too close to him to reach for a side dish.

Fools, is what he thinks when he eyes his two best friends. Fools in love.

The night goes on, and it’s Changbin who proposes a game of who can finish a bottle of soju the fastest to make things more exciting. You already know how it was going to end when you see the soju bottles crowding the table, all screaming the obvious outcome of the night.

“Rule’s simple. We’ll have two people against each other, and the one that loses has to pay their opponent’s share for tonight’s dinner.”

You notice Changbin avoiding your eyes as he speaks and distributes the bottle, which could be attributed to the very scary death glare you were throwing right at him.

Here’s the thing—your alcohol tolerance was shit. And Changbin knew that, making you wonder what he had planned up his sleeve.

“Right, here’s the lineup,” he announces, making it seem as if the lot of you were in some world championship of sorts. “Hyunjin and Jisung”—there’s a loud ‘Die, bitch!’ that resounds from Jisung as they both get ready to win against each other—“Seungmin and Felix, Minho and Jeongin, and Chan and Y/n!”

You were going to kill that idiot.

Changbin starts off the game with a recap of the rules, and makes sure that everyone has their own bottle of alcohol. Disaster is the only word flashing in your mind, and you’re on the verge of ditching your friends to return to the comfort of your room.

“Jisung and Hyunjin first!” Changbin instructs, to which the two boys grab their bottles and have a stare-down with each other.

“I’m gonna win so hard, your ancestors are gonna feel it.”

“Let’s see you try, pretty boy.”

On Changbin’s cue, the two boys start gulping down the alcohol, and you visibly cringe at the ghost feeling of the taste on your tongue.

“Are you okay?” Chan whispers from beside you, eyebrows furrowed. “It’s a stupid game. You don’t have to do it if you don’t want to.”

There’s a grateful smile on your face as you shake your head, letting the boy know you were okay. “I’m fine. Just worried because my alcohol tolerance isn’t that good, and I don’t want to inconvenience all of you.”

“I promise I’ll take care of you,” Chan mutters softly, staring right into your eyes. The smile slowly drops from your face as your heartbeat echoes in your ears at his words and the way he was looking at you. You so badly wanted to look away, not being used to such eye contact, but there’s something about the way he’s looking at you that makes it almost impossible for you to tear your gaze away from his twinkling eyes.

The sound of a bottle being slammed onto the table snaps you out of your little moment with Chan, and you immediately turn away to look at what was happening at the table, taking deep, cleansing breaths to calm yourself.

On the other side of the table, you realise that Hyunjin was the one who finished his bottle first, now having the time of his life teasing Jisung, who had about one quarter of the bottle left.

All the boys, except Chan and Felix, were laughing their asses off—Felix was the only one comforting Jisung, while Chan was staring at the table, an unreadable expression on his face.

“There, there. It’s okay, Sung,” Felix coos, patting Jisung’s hair, as the latter sulks at his loss.

The next two rounds proceed quickly, with Seungmin and Jeongin emerging as the winners. Everyone stares shell shocked, as Jeongin gulps down the liquid with vigour and speed, and slams his bottle down onto the table with a grin.

“There’s no way! I can’t believe Minho lost to a baby!”

“Just because he’s the youngest doesn’t mean he’s a baby, Changbin.” Seungmin deadpans, swiftly moving the empty bottles to the side of the table. “And how come you’re not participating?”

“Someone needs to bring Y/n back,” Changbin shrugs, passing the bottles to Chan and you with a guilty smile in return to your scowl. “And I’d rather stay sober when taking care of drunk children.”

You turn to pass the bottle to Chan, quickly avoiding his gaze when he looks at you. You’re not confident in your abilities to keep the blush down if he was going to look at you the way he did before.

“Okay,” Changbin cues, making sure both of you were ready with the bottle caps off. “Ready, set… Go!”

You didn’t mind paying for Chan’s share for dinner, you really didn’t. But if there was something about you that was both your downfall and pride, it was your competitiveness. You were competitive to the point where you tended to disregard the consequences of your actions.

So, your brain doesn’t register the painful consequences of your actions as you gulp down the bottle of alcohol like your life depended on it. You weren’t the best drinker out there, but you were going to try your very damn best because it was a competition.

With no expectation of winning, you swallow the last drop of soju and slam the bottle back onto the table, when you realise that everyone was staring at the two of you with their mouths open—specifically at Chan.

Following their gaze, your eyes widen in surprise as you see the boy holding an almost half-full bottle of soju, clearly indicating that you were the winner of your little game.

It’s like a dam breaks, and suddenly everyone’s shouting at the unexpected outcome. Hyunjin and Jisung scream while looking back and forth the bottle and Chan, while Felix, Seungmin, and Jeongin sit with wide eyes and open mouths, unable to process that Chan just lost to you.

On the other hand, Changbin watches Chan with a smirk, which slowly drops when he realises that Minho, who was sitting beside him, was staring at him with raised eyebrows, clearly asking the question ‘What the fuck just happened?’.

Just as he’s about to pull Changbin to the side to question him, you shoot up from your seat, stumbling around almost immediately because of the sudden bout of dizziness that hit you. You fall back onto your seat as fast you had gotten up, and Chan wraps an arm around you almost instinctively, making sure you didn’t fall off your seat.

The table is back to having their own conversations a few minutes later, as if they weren't just screaming over your victory, with Hyunjin and Jisung having a rock-paper-scissors tournament between themselves, proposed by Jisung who was still sore about losing to Hyunjin.

Alcohol clouds your mind as your head lols back and forth, with soft giggles spilling from your lips. In your drunken state, you register the arm wrapped around you, and you turn your head to look for the owner of said arm.

Chan looks at you with the fondest smile as he tries to hold back his own chuckles at how cute your giggles were, at the same time being extremely conscious of the way you fit perfectly around his arms. He thanks his lucky stars that you were drunk as he held you, assuring him that there was no way you were going to hear how fast his heart was beating.

“Oh?” you drawl, squinting at the boy beside you. “Who might you be?”

And at that very moment, Chan hopes with all his heart that there is no one else who will get to witness what he was seeing right in front of him.

There are strands of hair covering your face, cheeks red from the alcohol (and from the close proximity to him, but he doesn’t need to know that) and eyes drooping from the oncoming sleepiness. Yet, to him, you were still the most beautiful in that moment.

“I’m Chan,” he replies sweetly, hesitating for a moment before adding more to the sentence. “Your friend.”

An exaggerated gasp escapes you as your eyes widen comically. Words tumble from your mouth, with hiccups disrupting your sentences every now and then. “Chan? Bang Chan? From high school? The really, um-" hiccup "-cute boy who tutored in the library? The super popular dude? You’re my-" hiccup "friend?”

There’s a light pink flush dusting his cheeks at your words, but he laughs nonetheless while nodding, finger reaching out to tap your nose. “Yes, I am.”

Scrunching your nose at the contact, you continue giggling when the sound of someone clearing their throat interrupts the little exchange you and Chan were having. Chan turns to face his friends, and immediately starts coughing when he realises that they had been watching the whole scene with amused expressions. He awkwardly retracts his arm from around your waist, only for you to get up and stumble over to where Changbin was sitting, arms reaching out towards him while making grabby hands. “Changbinnnn~”

You plop yourself onto his lap, arms encircling his neck as you pull his ear closer to your mouth. Used to your drunk antics, he concedes, knowing that he’ll end up with more damage if he didn’t listen to you when you were drunk.

When he is close enough, you cup your hands around your mouth and whisper into his ears. At least, you thought you were whispering.

“You have really cute friends, Changbin.”

The whole table erupts into cheers at your words, and you immediately cover your mouth with a horrified expression. “Did everyone hear that?”

“You weren’t very quiet, darling,” Changbin snorts, pulling you up with him as he stands. “How are all of you getting back?”

“We’re all crashing at Felix’s place,” Seungmin speaks up, tapping away on his phone. “The uber’s about to arrive… right now.”

Grabbing their things, everyone except Minho, Chan, Changbin, and you, make their way out of the restaurant, shouting out hurried farewells and promises of ‘I’ll wire the money to you when I get back!’ to Changbin.

“Okay, Minho and I will go settle the bill,” Changbin says, readjusting his grip on you. “Chan, can you look after Y/n for a bit?”

“Sure,” Chan replies, looping your arm around his neck as his snakes around your waist. “We’ll be out at the front.”

The moment Chan leaves their sight with you by his side, Minho turns to bombard Changbin with all the questions that had been bothering him the whole night.

“What was that?” Minho asks in bewilderment, pointing to the door that Chan and you had exited from. “How on earth did Chan lose that game when he’s the best drinker amongst all of us?!”

“It’s called being in love,” Changbin scoffs, shaking his head at his two friends. “Disgusting.”

The distressed look on Minho’s face dissolves, and is replaced by what one could describe as enlightenment. “No fucking way. I was wondering why he kept smiling at them like an idiot. That explains so much! Have they confessed?”

“You think?” Changbin rolls his eyes, knowing that there was no way either of you had the courage to confess first. “The only way either of them will confess is if they are drunk.”

“But Y/n is dru-” Minho starts in confusion, when he stops mid-sentence, realising what Changbin had just done. “You evil genius.”

“What can I say,” Changbin states proudly, brushing imaginary dirt off his shoulder. “I wonder what’s going on outside,” he mutters under his breath, staring at the door.

On the other side of the door, Chan finally succeeds in getting you to sit down with him on a curb, his jacket folded neatly under your bottom to make sure that you were not sitting on the hard cement. “I’m tired,” you whine, head dropping onto the warm shoulder beside you.

Chan tenses up at the sudden contact, staring at the top of your head, when you nuzzle your cheek against his shoulder. At the feeling of your cheek against his shoulder, he relaxes, and positions himself such that you didn’t have to strain your neck.

There’s a comfortable silence between the both of you, until you decide to break it by asking Chan a very obvious question.

“We’re close friends right?”

You lift your head from Chan’s shoulder, almost whining out loud at the loss of comfort, but you decide that asking him that question was more important. Clearly, drunk you had very different priorities.

Chan just nods and replies with a soft “Of course”, wondering why you were suddenly asking that question. “Why?”

“Since we’re close friends, can I tell you a secret?” The last few words are spoken in a hushed whisper, as you reach out and grasp Chan’s soft and warm hands. His larger hands clasps yours, as he chuckles at your question. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Y/n. You’re drunk, and you might regret telling me when you sober up.”

“No!” You almost shout, alarming Chan who looks around to make sure no one heard your exclamation. You continue in a softer tone, to Chan’s relief. “You’re my close friend! So I won’t regret it.”

And the wide smile you show Chan almost makes him want to kiss you right there and then. Almost.

“Alright then,” Chan agrees, rubbing circles into the skin on your hand. “Go ahead, tell me your secret.”

Giggling, you use your free hand to beckon him closer, your face moving closer to his at the same time. Just as his ear is close enough to you, you whisper out the words that make his heart stop.

“I think I like you.”

He freezes in place, eyes staring at the black tar road ahead of him as his heart hammers against his ribcage because of your nonchalant words. He gulps before slowly turning to face you, the person he had grown to like more than he could ever imagine coming into his view. He takes quick, shallow breaths as he continues to stare at you, unsure of what to say.

Luckily (or unluckily, for Chan), you decide to continue talking, baring your heart and soul to him.

“It’s like...” you start, trailing off after your first two words, before finding the right words to continue. “It’s like I was always happy in life, but you made me realise that it was possible for me to be happier when you are there with me.”

And the smile you give Chan, accompanied with the words you had just uttered, makes him want to protect you from the rest of the world. He’s not sure if he loves you, but what he’s sure about is that all he wants to do is hug you and never let go, to be there for you every minute, every second. And he thinks that’s enough.

That’s enough reason to hold onto you and never let go.

Opening his mouth, Chan is about to reply to your drunk confession, when the sound of soft snores fill his ears.

Leaning against the light pole that was situated very conveniently behind you, you had fallen asleep in the split second Chan had taken to make his move. Your chest rises and falls with every breath you take, and Chan can’t help but breath out a laugh at your timing.

There’s always tomorrow, he thinks.

There’s white noise playing in your ear as you stare up at your ceiling.

Changbin is seated at the edge of your bed saying something important, you assume. You aren’t listening; your brain cells have decided to go on a strike and replay the scene from yesterday on loop.

I think I like you.

You want to scream. You want to scream and murder the boy sitting beside you so bad. After all, it was his fault that you ingested that goddamn devil liquid that made you spill more than your guts.

It was a wonder that you were able to find a friend as precious as Chan, and there you lay in despair, all thoughts of facing Chan again slowly slipping away from your fingertips. There was absolutely no way you were going to be able to see him after the stunt you pulled yesterday.

“Y/n, are you listening?!”

“No.”

A hand wraps around your arm and you feel yourself being pulled up, coming face-to-face with your distressed best friend. “Stop being stubborn. Calm down and listen to what I have to say.”

And that’s when you snap.

“Stubborn!?” you shriek, clutching the ends of your hair. “I just confessed to your friend, Seo Changbin. I was drunk, and I confessed my very large and real crush to the person I am crushing on. I have ruined any chance at friendship with him, so don’t tell me to stop being stubborn and to calm down!”

Taking a deep breath, Changbin pulls you towards him, both his hands resting against your cheeks. “Listen here. Stop being a wuss. Yes, you confessed when you were drunk. Yes, it’s embarrassing as fuck. But get over it. You know Chan. Is he the kind of asshole who drops friendship over small things like rejection?”

There’s a pout playing at your lips as you shake your head, partly due to the way Changbin was squishing your cheeks, and the other half because you knew he was right.

“But I still don’t want to face him yet,” you whine, pushing his hands away from your face and diving back into your covers. “I just want to wallow in self pity, and hopefully waste away on this bed so that I’ll never have to face anyone ever again.”

Changbin knows that there was no convincing you otherwise, so he settles for sighing and getting up from your bed.

“Don’t stay in bed for too long. I’ll order us food for later.”

Muttering something under your breath, you roll over and bury your face into your pillow, sighing as you think about the boy whose smile gave you more warmth than the sun could ever provide.

You’re in the midst of imagining how different today would’ve been if you hadn’t opened your dumb mouth when your phone rings and cuts off your thoughts. Reaching out for it, your mouth runs dry when you see the name displayed on your screen.

“Chan :)”

Your finger presses the decline button and your phone clatters against your bedside table as you decide that you are not ready to talk to Chan yet. And you’re not sure if you’ll ever be ready to talk to him, let alone face him.

A minute after declining the call, there’s a series of knocks on your door, and you shout out a “Go away!”, not wanting to hear anything related to Chan and how you need to stop being a coward. But as the knocking continues, getting louder as time passes, you start getting annoying and realise you have no choice but to open the door.

“What the fuck do you want, Chang-”

You cut yourself off as you take in the person standing in front of you with wide eyes, looking as handsome as ever even with the furious look painted on his face.

The silence is thick with tension, and you can’t help but avert your eyes, choosing to look at anything but the boy in front of you.

“Why are you ignoring me?” Chan asks, voice quiet and flat. “I’ve been calling and texting you all morning.”

“Um, I-” you start, not knowing how to answer his question. You imagined your day going various ways, but this definitely wasn’t in your plans. “Did Changbin call you?”

“I asked,” he starts, walking towards you. You take a few steps a back, and continue walking backwards until your hands come into contact with your dresser. You were trapped. “Why are you ignoring me, Y/n?”

You blink rapidly, not used to this closed-off version of Chan. The usual warmth and softness in his eyes were missing, and instead all you saw was disappointment and anger. You open your mouth to speak, but it wasn’t easy to get the words out.

“Was it funny messing with me?” Chan continues, not breaking eye contact with you once. “To just get my hopes up and disappear like it all meant nothing?”

“W-what?”

“How was it so easy for you to just start ignoring me?”

“No I-”

“Is that all I mean to you?” And instead of the disappointment and anger, you see pure, unfiltered hurt, and that was enough for your walls to come crashing down. Tears well up in your eyes as you look at the boy in front of you, and it’s like a dam breaks.

“I’m sorry.” Sobs wreck your body as you wipe the tears that don’t seem to stop. “I-I’m so fucking sorry, Chan. I was scared.”

“Scared because you just said that in the spur of moment and you don’t actually mean it?”

“No, I was scared because I like you too fucking much!”

There’s a pregnant silence between the two of you, and you continue staring at the floor, vision blur with stubborn tears that refuse to fall. And that’s when you hear it.

A chuckle.

It’s soft, and you would’ve missed it if not for the pin drop silence in the room.

You slowly lift your head up to confirm if you actually heard what you heard, or if you were hallucinating, when you see it.

Chan was smiling.

“Can’t believe it worked.”

What on earth did that mean?

“W-what do you mean?” you ask, sniffing softly.

“This was Changbin’s idea. For the record, I was against it.” Chan’s hands come up to rest on your cheeks, his thumb wiping away the tears on your cheeks as he smiles softly at you. “I mean, of course I was hurt and worried. But I just wanted to come over and talk it over like a normal person.”

His smile widens as one hand continues cupping your face, while the other reaches to tuck the one stray strand of hair behind your ear. “He said you’ll never admit things unless I, uh, scared you a little.

You stare at Chan as the gears work in your head, putting the pieces of information. The moment the last piece clicks in place, you stare in shock at the boy standing in front of you with a sheepish smile.

“What the fuck?!” you yell, equal parts of relief and anger taking over your mind. “I fucking hate you!”

And with that you storm off towards your door, Chan chasing after you with apologies spilling from his mouth. But the both of you knew that you weren’t actually upset, which can be seen by the giggles accompanying every apology.

Just as you’re about to leave your room, you’re pulled back into warm arms, and you fight every urge to melt right into his embrace. His arms wrap around your frame tightly, but gently. You feel his strong heartbeat against your back, and it’s enough to make you shiver, goosebumps erupting all over your skin.

“Do you hate me?” Chan asks, chin resting on your shoulder as you feel his breath tickle your neck.

“Yes.”

“Really?” Chan asks in amusement, lips against your ears and voice just above a whisper. “That’s a pity then. Because I like you too fucking much too.”

He whispers the last part of the sentence, making your knees go weak and your heartbeat pick up its pace as it usually does whenever the boy who stole your heart was involved.

You turn around in his arms to face him, sighing contentedly at how things ended up turning out. “I’m really sorry about the ghosting.”

“It’s okay, love,” Chan assures you, the pet name inducing butterflies in your stomach. “I would’ve been embarrassed too, if I had confessed to you when I was drunk.”

“I would’ve loved to see that.” You whine at the unfortunate circumstance of you confessing instead of Chan. “I probably looked like an idiot while confessing.”

“Since I’m your boyfriend, can I tell you a secret?” Chan teases, repeating what you said the night before with a little twist. Smacking his arm lightly for the jab, you nod with a laugh, ignoring the way your face heats up when he refers to himself as your boyfriend.

“I really wanted to kiss you when you were confessing.” There’s mirth in Chan’s eyes as he gazes at you the same way he did back at the restaurant. The only difference was that you knew he liked you back. And you had never been happier.

“Go for it.”

And that’s all the confirmation that Chan needs to lean down and press his lips against yours in a feather-light kiss, as your hands rest on his chest, appreciating the strong beat his heart was playing.

You part a few seconds later, eyes still closed as a smile plays on both your lips, before you’re pulled for another kiss, this one more forceful than the one before. His lips press against yours harder, and his arms pull you closer—as close as you could be. You respond with equal fervor, pouring every emotion you have into the kiss, when you’re interrupted by a loud cough.

“I would appreciate it if I didn’t have to bleach my eyes every time I see the two of you.”

Oh.

It completely slipped your mind that Changbin was just a few steps away from your room, and you want to crawl under your bed and befriend the monster there when you see the haughty smile on your best friend’s face.

“I think a thanks is in order.”

Removing yourself from Chan’s arms, you walk over to Changbin, who smiles wider when he realises you are walking towards him. Opening his arms to welcome you in for a hug, he can’t help but shriek when you start punching him everywhere possible.

“Dude, what is wrong with you?!”

“That’s what you get for coming up with stupid ideas to get me to talk!” you snap at your best friend with words that carry no real bite. “Were you that desperate?”

“Clearly!” Changbin replies, exasperated. “It was getting depressing. He wouldn’t stop calling me because he was worried, and you were being a stubborn bitch!”

At his words, there’s a tinge of guilt that pinches at you when you realise the trouble you had put your best friend through.

“Okay, I’m sorry,” you say with a pout, burying your face into Changbin’s shoulder. “And thank you.”

“Yes yes, you’re welcome,” Changbin says with a soft smile. He wouldn’t admit it just yet, but seeing his best friend who meant the world to him end up with someone who just as much deserved nothing but the best made him eternally grateful. “Now go smooch your boyfriend. We don’t want him becoming too jealous of the attention you’re giving me.”

“Oh, shut up,” is what Changbin gets in return, as Chan intertwines his hand with yours. Just as Changbin walks out of sight back to his room, Chan turns to you with the biggest smile.

“Now then, shall we go on a date to celebrate our first day?”

“Absolutely.”

And as you and Chan sit on the beach that evening, surrounded by sand and accompanied by the sound of the waves and the soft breeze with a orange hue enveloping you, you think:

Life had never been sweeter.

#stray kids imagines #stray kids x reader #bang chan x reader #stray kids #bang chan #stray kids fluff #stray kids oneshot #stray kids scenarios #skz imagines #skz scenarios #skz oneshot #skz x reader #skz fluff #chan x reader #bang chan imagines #bang chan scenarios #bang chan oneshot #dee scribbles

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writefasttalkevenfaster · 4 years ago

Text

John Munch / Simple

Prompt: “Suck it” “oh i’m gonna suck something”

Word Count: 3,887

Warnings: canon typical situations and violence, discussion of rape (non-graphic), hurt/comfort apparently, fin and munch are literally some of my fav characters to write for lmao, some discussion of the psych evals from 1x22

A/N: what is this? how did this happen? I don’t know - i blame @laneygthememequeen mostly, but also my friends for enabling me beyond belief lmao.

“Am I allowed to come in or must I bow and show my allegiance before I am deemed worthy?” and you didn’t need to look up from your desk to know who it was. Your pen still moved, scribbling notes in the margins of the answer that was given to you by Roger Klessler — more hassle than law.

“No need for allegiance, Detective Munch — I know you only give that to your squad and your string of conspiracy theories,” you finish with the page, sparing him a glance, “only compliance is needed — the one thing you didn’t do on the last case.”

“Your hands aren’t exactly clean yourself, counselor,” he shuts the door behind him, slipping his hands into his pockets, “what did you do to get that warrant again?”

You raise an eyebrow, “Are you questioning my integrity?”

“Funny, I didn’t know lawyers had any,”

“They don’t, but I can try, can’t I?” you lean on your elbow, “what do you need?”

“We have a suspect in holding who just invoked, we thought they might be a little more conducive to having an A.D.A. in the box with them,” he tilted his head.

“Alex isn’t available?”

“Alex told us to get you,” you held in your sigh, “don’t you lawyers talk to each other?”

“No, we communicate through telepathy,” you reply drily, grabbing your coat and bag, “Let’s go.”

~~~

“Counselor, you should remind your client that his options are running out,” to say this meeting was going poorly would have been the understatement of the century, “and my patience is running thin.”

A serial child and women abuser — with videos abusing so many children and women over the last twenty years, videos that made your stomach turn — and to make matters worse, he had made into a business, selling these children and women and their pain for profit — and now it was time to make his pain your profit.

“You have no evidenc—”

“We have a witness who saw your client, we have his DNA being run against the blood that was found at the scene, and when it comes back it will match and your client will be facing life in prison—” your teeth grit, “And I’ll be sure he gets it. Or, give up your sick buddies. And maybe you’ll have the possibility of parole in the far off future.”

“You fucking bitch—” he spits at you.

“Is that the best you can do?” you raise an eyebrow, as you see Munch tense out of the corner of your eye, “Mr. Bradford, I’m not scared of you. I’m not a defenseless child or battered woman you can intimidate—” you cross your arms, “not so easy picking on someone who can fight back, is it?”

Bradford lunges, but Munch shoves him back into his chair, “Do we need to add assault on an A.D.A. to your laundry list of charges, Bradford?” and you blink, slack jawed, a shiver going down your spine — if Munch was a second later— “Try that again and I’ll have you—”

There’s a knock on the window, and your eyes snap over, “Control your client, counselor, or I’ll have him locked up in solitary,” your jaw is set — you wouldn’t give him the pleasure of seeing you waver, “the offer had 24 hours — it now has an expiration date in ten, so look forward to hearing from you in one.”

The door shuts behind you, your fingers white knuckling the handle of your briefcase. Liv frowns, “Are you—”

“I’m fine,” you wave them off, as Munch emerges from the room as well, “tell me when he caves to my offer. And when you’re setting up the sting to get the other guys — I want to be there to make everything go smoothly. No screw ups this time.”

“All due respect, counselor, but we don’t need a babysitter,” Fin says.

“All due respect, Detective, maybe you do,” you swallow the lump sitting on your throat, “we need to nail these guys — we have all of New York, 1PP, and the D.A.’s office all breathing down our necks — it needs to be airtight,” you scan all of their faces, “unless all of you would like to take the heat?”

“I don’t think any of us want that, counselor,” Cragen cuts in, “we appreciate your help. We’ll let you know when we decide to go ahead with the sting.”

You nod curtly, intent on leaving the precinct as quickly as you could — the image of Bradford lunging at you still fresh and stinging — but nothing was that easy, “Counselor,” Munch was at your side, standing beside you at the elevators, as you pressed the button, “in a rush?”

“To go home? Yes,”

“I just wanted—”

“Wanted what, Munch? What do you want?” you sigh exasperatedly, fighting a losing battle for your voice not to break, “I’m not in the mood for a verbal sparring match, so why don’t we take a rain check?”

The elevator doors ding, and you step in, hoping to spare yourself the agony of a response, but he follows, the doors shutting behind him.

But surprisingly his voice was soft, “I wanted to make sure you were okay,”

“I’m fine,” you cross your arms, hoping that it would hold you together, until you got to your office, “I’m not scared of him, Munch—”

“I know you could kick his ass, counselor, I’m not asking you if you’re ready to go seven rounds in the ring with him—” he leans against the wall of the elevator, “I’m just asking if you’re alright.”

You raise an eyebrow, “John Munch asking me if I’m alright? No sarcastic remark?”

“I know, I’m surprised myself, I might have to ask Skoda to do a psych eval on me,” and you crack a smile, shaking your head.

“It was scary,” you admit, something you didn’t want to, “I’ve been threatened before — messages, verbally, even had a guy say he would kill my family—” you bite your lip, “but I never had someone try something, physically before.”

“It’s okay to have been scared, y’know,” the elevator doors ding, and you step out, shaking your head, “no one expects you to be strong all the time, counselor.”

And you pause, looking back at him, “But I do,” you blink away the tears, “good night, detective.”

~~~

“It’s too risky!” you ignore Munch, continuing to fix your makeup, “You saw how you acted when Bradford lunged at you — why—”

“I would do anything to make sure these men get put away,” you finish your makeup, grabbing the outfit Liv had handed you, “and that includes this.”

This being an undercover operation designed to get names of victims, ages, and dates if possible, before arresting the group for exchanging pictures and videos of their crimes.

“Putting yourself in the middle of this chaos? You’re being reckless—”

You slide past him and into a bathroom stall, “I know what I’m doing,”

“Do you? Do you know how many things could go wrong?” he continues, “I could list them for you for posterity — assault, battery, rape, and let’s not forget murder—”

“I don’t think Liv will let me get murdered when she’s in the room with me, and I would you, Fin, Stabler, and the Captain wouldn’t either—”

“Things go wrong on these ops, counselor — the field isn’t as safe as a courtroom — court officers, a metal detector right outside—”

His words fail when the door swings open, a skin tight bodysuit clung to your figure, crimson, just as his ears nearly were, his eyes raking over your outfit, before finding their way back to your raised brows, “You were saying?”

He stumbles over his words, “I was saying that—” you cross your arms, waiting and he finds himself distracted all over again, before he shakes himself from his stupor, “I was saying that this is too dangerous—”

“Munch—” you cut him off, “I appreciate your concern, really I do, but I’m going to nail these guys anyway I can, so you can’t change my mind,” your hand finds his shoulder, squeezing, “but I can count on you to have my back right?”

He simmers, sighing, his eyes softening, “Of course,” and you squeeze his shoulder, and he calls after you as you head towards the squadroom, “I just hope they taught you taekwondo in law school,”

“And I hope you know by ‘having my back,’ I meant more than my ass,” you flash him a smile over your shoulder, shaking your head, and flexing your fingers.

It would be fine.

You would be fine.

~~~

It wasn’t fine. He couldn’t find you.

“Where is he? Where is that son of a bitch, he took—”

“Munch, calm down,” Liv starts, and he’s shaking his head, his finger in his face.

“You were supposed to watch them, you were supposed to—”

“Hey, Munch,” Elliot cuts between him and his partner, his hand on his shoulder, “we all were there, Bradford slipped out during the raid, there wasn’t anything we could do. We’re going to find them.”

Munch brushes him away, finding Fin, “Where are we on Bradford?”

“Got him sneaking out during the takedown,” Fin points you out in the crowd, “looks like he had a knife pressed against counselor’s back, just out of view.”

“How the hell did that scum sucking, gangrenous low life of a—”

“Looks like he stole it off one of his buddies he was setting up,” Fin rewinds the tape, and points it out, “lifts it right from his pocket.”

“Where does he go?” Fin fast forwards, until he gets to the cameras outside, shooting from the van itself.

“He steals a car down the street, must belong to that brownstone,” Fin shoves the equipment at another officer, “Let’s get the license plate and get a bolo out.”

Liv and Elliot join the two of them, handing a report to Fin, “We got a list of places that Bradford was known to hang out at—”

“What are we waiting for?” Munch brushes past them to the car, rounding the car to the driver’s seat, pulling it open, before Fin stops him.

“I’m driving,” Fin says, holding his hand, and Munch opens his mouth to rebut, “do we really have time to argue right now?”

Munch glares at him, before handing him the keys, “You better not abide by any traffic laws,”

“Do I ever?”

~~~

“Can we go any faster than this? I swear my great uncle could drive faster than this,” Munch expects his partner to be angry, but he’s only sighing and shaking his head, “what?”

And Fin side eyes him, “If you’re in love with—”

Munch gapes at him, “I’m not—”

“--then why don’t you just say something, man?” Fin scoffs, “you can deny it all you want, explain it away with one of your crazy ass conspiracy theories, but it’s there, John.”

Munch pulls off his glasses, running his hand over his face, fingers resting right below his nose, “You know every time I got married, I thought I was in love,”

“I know, and then your ex-wives screwed you — what about it?”

“This is different,” he sighs, “and I don’t want to admit that to myself.”

“What’s so bad about that, Munch? You want to try again,” and Munch is shaking his head.

“You know a psychiatrist once told me that the reason all my marriages failed was because I chose women who were spoiled, beautiful, and not my intellectual equal?”

“Meeting some of your ex-wives, I could believe that,” Fin’s eyes fall back to the road, “what’s your point?”

Your name slips from his lips, “this is different — this is someone’s who's my equal — smarter than me, beautiful— it could — we could be—” he cuts off, “I don’t know what I’ll do if I lose--” and he cuts off, sighing, “I don’t know.”

“Well that’s easy, John,” Fin pulls over, the car screeching as it does, “we won’t,” and he jerks his head, “whose car does that look like?” Munch calls in the car, unbuckling himself and slipping from the car, “We have to wait for back-up—”

“I’m not waiting—” before he adds, “you don’t have to come—”

“I’m not letting your bony ass get shot again,” Fin is already shutting the car door, pulling his gun out, “let’s go.”

~~~

“Are you scared now?” Bradford asks, circling you — a predator gauging its prey — no, he was simply playing with you now. Your wrists flex against your restraints, the wood grain of the chair digging into your skin the more you struggled, the rope around your wrists ungiving, “are you, counselor?”

It was rhetorical — judging by the tape stuck to your lips and the fact he continued to speak, and his fingers fist into your hair, pulling your head back, “Come on, no smart remarks now?”

Are you that stupid that you’ve forgotten that you taped my mouth over?

No, wait he was that stupid.

And he slaps you — the sting of his palm against your cheek dazes you a moment, and then his fist lands a blow in your stomach, choking on the same air you breathed, tears burning before slipping down your cheeks.

“Do you think this is bad?” and now he’s holding your face between his fingers, nails digging into your cheeks, and he grins, a shiver going down your spine, “just wait.” And he disappears a moment, his shadowy figure rifling through a bag on a table.

Your eyes darted around, looking for something that could help you, something to help you escape, but nothing was within reach. Your chest squeezed — what if you died here? What if you never saw your family again? What if you never saw your friends again? What if they never found your body? Fear claws up your throat, eyes burning.

What if they found your body?

What if Munch found your body?

You had promised him you’d be careful, but you were careless. You didn’t watch Bradford close enough, you didn’t stick with Liv, you were stupid — so stupid.

And you wondered if he’d rape you before he was done — if they would find your body like so many victims that came across your desk. You wondered if he’d kill you at all — or just let you live with the memories of his torture.

And you didn’t know what was worse.

But then something clatters in the distance, and his head is whipping around, there are footsteps, and he’s grabbing a knife, cutting your restraints free, “Come here bitch,” he mutters, hurrying to cut the ropes, at your feet before moving to the ones at your wrists, “they aren’t taking me before I get a chance to slit your throat.”

Blood roaring in your ears, you know you have to do something — he’s almost done cutting the last rope at your wrist. You couldn’t wait for help.

You rear your head back, before smashing it into his, hard. His groan gets caught in his throat, as you lunge for the knife, the handle within grasp of your fingers, and you’re trying to crawl away, a deep ache in your skull. You’re stumbling to your feet, but his fingers close around your ankle.

“I should have fucking killed you from the start,” and you kick him with your free foot, hearing him scream and the satisfying crack of his nose breaking, gripping the knife in your hand and pushing yourself to your feet.

And you rip the tape from your mouth, “Get the fuck away from me!” you point the knife at him, heart pounding against your ribcage, as he lays clutching his bloody nose.

But he’s still getting to his feet, “You better hand over that fucking knife—”

“You better not take another step before I blow your brains out,” and suddenly Fin and Munch are there, Fin stepping forward to arrest Bradford, as Munch is beside you.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” and he’s trying to ease the knife out of your fingers, but you won’t let go, “let go of the knife, it’s okay,” he’s murmuring in your ear, slipping the knife from your fingers, “you’re okay. I got you.”

Your knees are buckling, and he’s holding you, your head buried in his chest, “I thought he was going to—”

“I know,” he says softly, “I know, but you’re okay.”

“Because of you,” And he’s helping you up, and police sirens in the distance, as he helps you out of the building, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he whispers, “I’m sorry,”

“For what?” and his arm around you squeezes you gently.

“For not saving you sooner,” And suddenly EMS and police are flooding the scene, Fin is shoving Bradford into a car. And you spot him, glaring, but Munch steps between his view, his arm around your shoulders, “don’t bother with that scum. He’s not worth it.”

And he wasn’t — you knew he wasn’t, but you know that you wouldn’t be able to prosecute him now. But, you craned your neck to watch him be taken away, you wanted to see the bastard get put away at least.

It’s over, you tell yourself as you rest your head against Munch’s shoulder.

It was over.

~~~

“I just want to go home,” you shake your head, but he pulls you along regardless, protesting all the same.

“Just let them look at you, please?” he asks, “if only for my sanity.”

And you scoff softly, “I thought you lost that a long time ago,”

“There’s that wit,” he replies, and you go with him, fingers intertwined with his. E.M.S. examines you, insisting on taking you to the hospital for a possible concussion. But you don’t want to — you just want to sleep, you want to take a shower, you want to forget this ever happened—

“Please just let me go,” you’re pleading with him, tears slipping down your cheeks, “John, please let me go home.” and he’s wavering for a moment, before his hand is on your shoulder, gently pushing you back down.

“I can’t, and you know that, counselor,” he never wanted to see you cry like this, he never wanted to see you as a victim — because you aren’t just another victim at his desk or in photos spread across his desk — you were you.

But you were also a victim now.

“Why not?” you lie against the pillow in defeat, tears slipping down your cheeks, and he’s leaning down to your level, running his fingers through your hair.

“Because you’re hurt, and you need to be seen. I don’t trust doctors as much as the next conspiracy nut, but you still need to see one,” he tilts his head, “do you want me to come?”

And you’re blinking back tears, before nodding, “I’m sorry, I’m—”

“Don’t apologize,” he’s wiping your tears away, “don’t ever apologize for this.”

~~~

You don’t remember much else — it’s a blur of testing, until finally they let you sleep. And you don’t know how long you sleep. But you don’t dream, and for that much, you’re thankful. You awake to the low hum of hospital machinery, and quiet voices in the room. And you blink, the fluorescents much too bright for you, and your eyes flutter shut again, before not before voices creep in.

“—been asleep?”

“It’s been a few hours,” Munch whispers, assumedly trying to keep from waking you, but that was out of the question already, “docs gave something for sleep.”

“Have you said anything yet?” and it’s Fin asking.

“When? In between the ambulance ride here and the C.A.T. scan and the fifty other tests they ran?” Munch replies drily, sighing, “it’s not the right time,”

“You know there’s never going to be a right time, John,” and you’re grateful that you’re turned away from them, your brow furrowed, their voices growing louder, “you have to say something or is counselor a mind reader now?”

“Well—”

“Don’t spout another conspiracy theory or you’ll be the one in the hospital bed,” you could almost see Fin crossing his arms.

“You know that psychiatrist also told me I could make a conspiracy theory from a five-year-old’s lemonade stand,”

Fin raises an eyebrow, “Well now that I believe,”

“What am I supposed to say?” Munch asks, “‘hi, I know you almost just died, but I think I’m in love with you?’”

And your eyes snap open, the air sucked straight from your lungs — “It can be that simple,”

He was in love with you? John Munch was in love with you. Your heart squeezed at the thought — you hadn’t a clue that he was. You knew he cared — but you didn’t know he… loved you.

“Nothing is ever that simple,” and you turn around, the words leaving your lips without a thought.

“It can be, John,” and both him and Fin’s gazes snap to you, a small smile on your lips, “if you let it be.”

Munch is staring at you slack jawed, while Fin is grinning, elbowing him, “I’ll leave you two alone,” before he adds, “remember that there is an officer at the door—”

“Fin—” and he’s gone, disappearing out of the door, and Munch is wiping a hand down his face, his cheeks flushed red, “so how much of that—”

“All of it,” and he’s covering his hands with his face, “for someone who claims to be so evolved, you’re very cute when you’re embarrassed,”

“I’m cute?” he repeats, and you hold out your hand to him, and he’s staring a moment — as if he can’t believe it — before taking your hand, “how cute?”

You snort, “Just cute enough, don’t go getting an ego,”

“You’re sure it’s not just the concussion? And the almost dying?” and you roll your eyes, tugging him closer, by his coat’s lapel, and he’s whispering your name.

“How’s this for an answer?” and you kiss him — his lips barely brush yours a moment, but he’s already pulling you back in, parting and meeting until you hold him there a moment, fingers twisting in the hair resting on the small of his neck, “John—” you breath against his lips.

“I don’t understand why…” he whispers, your foreheads brushing.

“Why...?”

“I don’t understand why me,” his fingers cup your cheek gently, as if you’d disappear between his fingers, “you could be with anyone — why would you choose this paranoid, old detective?”

“Because it’s you,” you softly chuckle, and you draw your lips to his again, “and I wouldn’t want you any other way,” before you add, “except maybe sharing your feelings more so I don’t have to overhear any other conversations to know how you’re feeling.”

“I could say the same to you, counselor,”

“Excuse me, I said how I felt first,” you gape at him, in mock offense.

“Only after hearing how I felt,” but you shrug, smiling as your noses brush.

“Still, I was the first, so suck it,” you reply, and he laughs, a warm sound that makes your chest stir.

“Oh,” his lips brush yours, a smile on his lips, “I’m gonna suck something.”

#john munch #john munch x reader #john munch imagines #john munch fanfiction #svu imagines #svu #law and order: svu #what the fuck is this dkfsnjfn

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pascalpanic · 4 years ago

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Fixer Upper PART ONE (Frankie Morales x f!Reader)

Summary: Nothing seems to go right in your new house. When yet another thing breaks, a certain handyman comes to your rescue.

W/C: 2k ish

Warnings: language, joking mentions of a house being cursed (it isn’t), reader has dirty thoughts bc it’s Frankie and he’s hot

A/N: this one goes out to my anons who’ve been sending me stuff about frankie as a repairman! I loved the idea and I thought it would be super fun to write! This will be part ONE of three-ish! ps idk if any references to reader’s gender are in this part but there certainly will be some in the future so.

It’s been a while that you’ve lived in this house. Since that day you hauled in the cardboard boxes, you’ve been feeling that your life is the epitome of Murphy’s law. Or rather, this damned house is.

Nothing ever goes right. The heat breaks in the winter and the air conditioning breaks in the summer. The plumbing needs work when you need it to work, and the oven only ever breaks halfway through cooking something. Seriously, you swear this place is cursed by some hex determined to pester you out of living here.

You’ve never exactly been the handy type. You don’t know much about mechanics, heating or cooling, the electricity and wiring in your house, any of it. By now, you wish you’d taken the time to learn it at some point rather than hiring someone every time.

The first sign was that the June heat seemed inescapable. You’d been outside all day, and you figured it was just your body taking its time to adjust to the cooler, indoor temperature. Then you never cooled down. When you stepped out of the bathroom after a shower and found the air to be nearly as muggy as that of the steamed bathroom, you realized that the air conditioning must be off.

Well, it was on. The problem was that it wasn’t working. You opened all the windows, and figured the night breeze would cool you, then you became worried about serial killers and crimes and promptly shut and locked all of them again. With the fan in your bedroom on, the air at least moved, but was still thick and heavy.

In the morning, when you wake with no blankets on and sweaty sheets, you dial the repair company as fast as you can. You inform them of the situation, and they tell you they’ll send someone out your way in the next hour or two.

The air is still somewhat cool outside, so you give the front porch a shot once you get changed out of your pajamas and take yet another cool shower. The heavy dew is an indicator of just how humid the air is, and you relish every little breeze that passes by and cools you down. You conduct your morning business outside, hoping to have this problem fixed before the sun reaches a height where the temperatures will rise exponentially.

About an hour after the call, the repair van rolls up into your driveway and parks. “Thank God,” you murmur to yourself.

Your focus returns to your computer, but you hear the door slam shut and look up to find the repairman there. He wears khaki cargo pants and a gray t-shirt, complete with a ball cap on top, with dark brown curls peeking out from the bottom. He fastens his tool belt around his waist as he walks up to the porch. “Hey there. I’m Frankie. I’ll be taking care of you today,” he informs you, a kind smile on his face. You already like him. “I got the basics from the boss, but can you tell me more about the problem?”

Looking up at him from the seated position you’re in, you give an awkward smile. Suddenly, you wish you’re better dressed, fixed up and looking nice. Even in work clothes, this man is beautiful. It makes you a little nervous, you in your pajamas and him looking like a god even in cargo pants. “I wish I could, but I don’t know anything about the air conditioner and how it works other than how to change the settings. All I know is that it isn’t working.”

He gives a good-natured chuckle, a soft bounce of his chest beneath the shirt. He looks down at his tool belt and his scruff brushes against the collar of the gray. “Well, let’s go give it a shot. I’ll need you to show me around, show me the control panel and the main system.” God, he’s handsome.

“Oh, of course,” you nod and stand, leaving your laptop on the small table. “Well, right this way. And please, you don’t need to take your boots off. Those look complicated,” you laugh as you look at the heavy tan boots at the bottom of his body.

Frankie nods and looks around as you lead him through the house. He doesn’t take his boots off, since you insisted, but he does give them a generous wipe on the doormat, careful not to track anything in. “It’s a beautiful place,” he tells you honestly, with a half-smile that just tugs at one of the corners of his ridiculously soft-looking lips.

“Thanks,” you shrug and show him to the control panel. “I try. Okay, here’s the button thingy.”

“The button thingy?” he teases, which leads to laughter from the both of you.

“If I knew what it was called, you wouldn’t be here,” you tease him back and shake your head.

Frankie uses the tools from his belt to take off the casing. You lean against the wall as he works, admiring the way his hands nimbly check the wires and paneling behind it. He holds a small flashlight between his teeth to look into the wall cavity.

“I can hold that for you,” you offer, and he moves his mouth for you to take it from him.

“Thanks,” he says, popping his jaw slightly to adjust from the awkward angle of holding it between his teeth. “You don’t have to. I’m just here to fix it.”

You point it at the same spot. “I might as well be some help, considering I don’t know shit about my own house.”

Frankie laughs at that, stealing a glance your way that makes your face warm before his gaze returns to the electrical situation. “Well,” he declares after a few seconds. “The wiring must not be the problem here. This all is working fine, so it must be with the actual system.”

“Great,” you groan. “The part I know even less about.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” he chuckles and screws the panel back into place on your wall, making sure everything works properly and he didn’t mess with any functions.

Leading Frankie to your basement, you show him the cluttered laundry room and the central air conditioning unit. He’s already analyzing the system, and you back off to let him work. He looks focused. “Holler if you need me,” you tell him as he gets on his knees to look at something, daring to gently pat his shoulder. It’s strong, muscular beneath your palm.

Heading back to the kitchen, you open the fridge and sigh. For a moment, you allow yourself to close your eyes and just enjoy the cold air it produces. Hopefully, your house will be the same soon enough. Grabbing two tall glasses, you fill each with ice before pouring half sweet tea and half lemonade into the glasses.

You stand in the kitchen with the freezer open, sighing at the cool air it provides. Not sure how long he’ll take, you scroll through your phone. It’s surprisingly quick, you find.

“Hey, I found it!” Frankie calls from the basement.

Carrying the two glasses, you return to the laundry room to find him reorganizing his tool belt. “Here,” you tell him with a smile as you hold out the drink. “Least I could do. It’s unbearable in here.”

“Thanks,” he smiles and lifts the glass to you in a miniature salute before taking a sip. Frankie then launches into a detailed explanation of the issue with the A/C unit, using all kinds of terms you don’t understand and mentioning parts you didn’t even know were included in the machine. “I got it all fixed up, though, and it shouldn’t take long before it’s working just as good as normal.”

You sigh in relief, swallowing the sweet drink and smiling at him. “God, thank you so much. You don’t even know how awful it was in here.”

“If it’s anything like right now, I do,” he chuckles. The man takes the hem of his t-shirt and lifts it to wipe his face, revealing a muscular but soft body beneath it, with a beautiful little trail of dark hair leading to beneath his belt. Is it terrible that your first thought is that you want to lick it?

You force the image from your mind with another swig of the drink. “Yeah, just about. Well, how much do I owe you?” You ask the man, leading him out of the laundry room and into the basement that’s already feeling cooler.

“Oh, nothing right now,” he shakes his head as you lead him upstairs and to the kitchen. “I just tweaked some things for you, didn’t need any parts or anything, so it’s just gonna be labor.” He seems to remember something. “Ah, shit. I gotta have you sign something. I’ll grab the paper from the van and be right back,” he tells you and leaves his drink on the counter, half-jogging outside.

While he’s outside, you lean against the cool kitchen counter and let yourself daydream. This Frankie guy certainly is attractive, and his personality is definitely something you’re interested in. What if the situation right now played out like a porno, and he fucked you on the countertop? You certainly wouldn’t complain. You noticed his hands and feet are large. Certainly he must be big somewhere else too. “Oh Jesus Christ,” you murmur to yourself. Why did my mind have to go there? And why is the thought so hot? He’s a sweet man too, clearly goofy and sweet. Why is your mind going there then? Really, upon further pondering, you just want to hug the man, admire his strong body pressed to yours in an intimate but innocent gesture.

“Sorry, what was that?” Frankie calls out as he walks into the house again.

His voice snaps you from your daydreaming. “Oh, just talking to myself,” you say quickly and cheerfully, taking the paper from him. The top is printed with repairman name: Francisco Morales. Francisco. That makes you smile. What a cute name. The rest is filled with the details of what he did to the machine to fix it, and you sign and date at the bottom. “Here you go, Francisco.”

His tanned skin turns a little pinker on the cheeks. “Great,” Frankie smiles and takes it back.

“Before you leave,” you tell him quickly, darting to grab your purse from the entryway, “here.”

Frankie walks to you and you hand him a generous cash tip, with a stupid smile stuck to your face. “Thank you, wow,” he says, voice honest in its surprise as he notices the total of the money.

“Of course. I really can’t thank you enough. God, it’s been painfully hot in here and I really just can’t stand the heat,” you ramble, your voice speeding up. “And… yeah. Thank you. For your company, too.”

“Just doing my job,” he tells you with a smile, putting his hands in his pockets. “Oh, here.”

From his pocket, he pulls a little rectangle of paper with his name and company on it. “The shop number is on here; if anything changes, just call and ask for Catfish.”

“Catfish?” You ask with a smile, puzzled.

“My old military nickname. It’s what the guys around there call me,” he shrugs, shy at the nickname.

It makes you laugh a little, and you tuck the card in your purse. “Well, Catfish, thank you. I’ll be sure to use this next time I have some stupid thing I can’t repair myself.”

“Please do,” he chuckles, a shy smile on his face. “I’ll see you around.”

“Thanks!” You call again and cringe. That’s, what, the ninth time you’ve said that now? He walks to the van and you give him a wave before retreating back inside. God, now you can’t wait for this shitty house to need another repair. You’ll certainly be asking for Catfish.

taglist:

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#frankie morales #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales headcanons #frankie catfish morales #frankie catfish morales x reader #frankie catfish morales headcanons #francisco catfish morales #francisco catfish morales x reader #francisco morales #francisco morales x reader #catfish morales x reader #catfish morales #pedro pascal #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal x reader

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frombeyondtheblackhole · 3 years ago

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Hermit DSMP Swap AU: Part 6

George didn’t mind this Hermitcraft place too much. The people here were nice, even if he had only met two of them. X, their admin, had even offered to let George stay in what he was calling his starter base, though it was bigger than most houses on the Dream SMP.

X was working tirelessly trying to figure out what was wrong with the server. Sometimes he would ask George to help him, or ask George questions but at this point it felt like they had tried everything already and George had been asked the same questions over and over again.

There wasn’t much to do, the one time he had tried to explore, he got dreadfully lost and wandered around in circles for hours before X found him again. He didn’t want to build anything, he wasn’t planning on staying here. So mostly he just entertained himself by borrowing whatever he could find in X’s chests. There were these cool fish-cat things here called axolotls. He had become very attached to this yellow axolotl that he named Dream. Ok so maybe he did miss Dream... but that wasn’t anything new.

X was taking a break and working on a tower for his nether portal and George was playing with Axolotl Dream in the shallows when several other Hermits showed up, and wait, was that Skeppy? What was Skeppy doing here? George scooped the axolotl up in a bucket and climbed up the rocky bank, not bothering to put on his shoes and his pants still rolled up to his knees.

Skeppy stopped and pointed at George “You too!?”

“What are you doing here?” George said holding the bucket with the axolotl in it carefully in both hands.

Skeppy just shrugged “Who knows.”

“Same,” George sighed.

“Wait, there are two of you!?” the Hermit with wings and a red sweater practically squeaked. He looked a bit ruffled. “This is bad, this is bad,” He muttered as he started pacing.

“Um hi, I'm Scar and this anxious mess is Grian,” The other hermit introduced them. “He usually isn’t like this I promise.”

“You don’t understand, this is bad!” Grian interjected.

“Um... I’m George,” George introduced himself, still not moving from where he stood.

X came down from his tower wiping his hands off on a rag and looking at the gathering group. “What’s going on? What seems to be the problem?” He asked. Then he saw Skeppy “Oh... we have another one... well maybe it isn’t that bad. I’m sure I’ll find a solution soon.”

“No, no, no, you don’t understand. I think I broke the Server...” Grian interjected, “I may have... um- Well, you know, Watcher stuff-”

“Take your time, don’t worry about dumbing it down for me, I’m sure I can keep up,” X said, returning the rag to his inventory.

“Well, I wanted to get into the Dream SMP. There is another Watcher who lives there. The only one aside from me that I know of who was able to escape the Organization. I needed to find him. But the Dream SMP is notoriously hard to get into, even for Watchers. So I used the Hermitcraft Server restart to give me a boost and get me through... I wasn’t able to find him before my window closed, I barely made it back as it was... But I think I may have inadvertently damaged the server. I think the two servers are leaking into each other.”

X pressed his knuckle to his chin. “Well that would explain a few things, George showed up several days ago. The server thinks he is Etho and Etho is nowhere to be found.” He looked up at Skeppy, “I'm sorry, I’ve been rude, I’m Xisuma Void, this Server's Admin, I’ll do everything I can to fix this mess,” He said, reaching a hand out to Skeppy.

Skeppy squinted at X for a moment before taking the offered hand and shaking it “Skeppy,” He said as a means of introduction. He wasn’t sure if he believed him when he said he would do everything in his power to fix things but what other option did he have.

“Nice to meet you, Skeppy. If you don’t mind I would like to try some tests to figure out who the server thinks you are,” X explained.

Skeppy recoiled and screwed up his face, “Hell no, I’m not something to be kept in a cage and experimented on” He had never really trusted Dream and after he heard about what Dream had planned to do to him if Dream hadn’t been locked up in the Prison he knew he had been right not to trust him. This admin wasn’t any different, he just saw him as an anomaly to study.

“Oh no, It’s nothing like that,” Xisuma quickly corrected, shaking his head and waving his hands as if to undo any misunderstanding. “I was just going to try and private message a bunch of hermits and see if any of their messages showed up in your inbox.

Skeppy pursed his lips and squinted at X for a minute before relenting “Fine, I guess I’m ok with that.”

X proceeded to send a quick message that read ‘just ignore this, i am testing server stuff,’ to as many hermits as he could think of. He was almost at the bottom of the list when a whistle was heard from Skeppy’s phone. He picked it up and saw the message staring back at him.

“It worked! So who does the server think he is?” George asked, looking around X’s shoulder at his HUD, still holding the axolotl.

“TFC,” X said, looking up at Grian and Scar.

“That makes sense,” Scar said, “He showed up near Boatem and TFC’s base is just over the mountain from us.”

“That’s all well and good but how do we fix this?” Grian interjected.

“Well, I wanted to figure out what was wrong with the server and possibly why it thought George was Etho and now Skeppy and TFC too, but under the circumstances it might be best to send you two back now and we can work on getting our people back on our own. We have already inconvenienced you two enough as it is.”

Grian shook his head “We already tried that, Skeppy was rejected,”

“Of course he was rejected, he didn’t have admin permissions,” George scoffed.

“Wait so you are saying that you need permission from your admin to leave your own server?” Scar asked.

“Yeah, he didn’t usually give them though. I think I only left once after joining the server and that was to go with Dream to watch him compete against Technoblade,” George shrugged, finally putting the bucket down and sitting next to it, it was getting kind of heavy.

“Oh right, I think I remember hearing about that Deul. Didn’t Technoblade win?” Grian added. George pretended not to notice.

“But this still doesn't make sense,” Xisuma mused “The Dream SMP server might not let it’s members leave but that has never been the case on Hermitcraft. And if the Server thinks they are hermits they should be allowed to leave... unless... if they are here then our hermits are Probably on the Dream SMP Server, perhaps if the Servers think they are someone else then they aren't letting them in.”

“But the error message specifically said they didn’t have permission to leave, not that they didn’t have permission to enter,” Grian pointed out.

“Hum, true. Scar do you mind testing something for us. Can you try and leave the server and come back.” X asked

“Sure thing, where should I go,”

“Anywhere should be fine, a public server or a personal one. It shouldn’t matter,”

“Ok, here goes,” Scar said, opening his HUD and pressing some buttons. He flickered for a second, going translucent and then returning to full opacity. His HUD read the same message that the others had “You do not have permissions to leave this server.”

“Well that’s not good,” Scar muttered.

Xisuma moved to look over Scar’s shoulder. “Well that complicates things. Grian, do you think you might be able to go back to the Dream SMP server if you had some help.”

“I mean, maybe, it was pretty sketchy the first time I did it, and that was before we were having problems on our end. I’ll do what I can though.”

“That’s all I can ask for,” X reassured.

“Well for now Skeppy can stay with us in Boatem, and George you are free to join us if you want,” Scar said.

“Beats hanging around here by myself,” George shrugged.

“Alright, with that settled, I think we're done here. Grian, can I see you here tomorrow so we can get started on fixing this server glitch-”

“Well it’s more of a crack than-” Grian started

“Alright, crack then, are you free tomorrow,” X interrupted.

Grian looked sheepish “Yeah, yeah, of course. See you then,”

[Notes: Here you go, I hope you enjoyed. Things are really starting to pick up pace and I am looking forward to where this is going. I really got in the groove with this and just sat down and wrote out several parts at once so those will be coming out every couple of days. I still need to edit them and I don’t want to overwhelm you guys with too much at once.]

#dsmp #dream smp #hermitcraft #dsmp au #dream smp au #hermitcraft au #hermitcraft dsmp swap au #xisuma #georgenotfound #grian #watcher grian #good times with scar #skeppy #philza #dreamwastaken

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omg-im-such-a-masochist · 4 years ago

Text

PROVE ME WRONG

Prompt: Requested by my sister from another mister @ziasaph I hope I made you proud, babe 😉

Word Count: Long-ish

Pairings: Roman Reigns x Reader (ft. A flirtatious Damien Priest)

Warnings: +18, smut, angst, power play, brat taming, cursing, fingering, blood, jealousy

Editor: @thenightmareismyreality

Tag: @marlananicole , @akiko-tanaka , @waywardwrestlewritingwaif , @sassymox , @nicolewoo , @saccreigns , @wickedsunfire @mindofasagittaruis , @reigns-5sos , @auawdo , @lustyromantic , @yungbludjazz360 , @babydee17 , @drewmcintyrekoccsrocbwdgfan

Notes: *places suitcase down on the floor* Ah, it feels good to be home (aka Roman Reings) 😂 If you’d like to check out my previous works, you can find them on my Masterlist 😉

“Are you looking for someone?” A male voice asked from behind me

I turned around to find Damien Priest staring at me

“Oh no, but thanks for asking” I smiled

“Are you waiting for somebody?” He asked

“Not really” I tilted my head to the side

I wasn’t waiting per say - since Roman didn’t know I was here, it was more of a surprise visit. We hadn’t been able to see each other in two months and I couldn’t stand the distance anymore.

“Do you have a boyfriend?”

“No” I answered and he smiled widely as he scooted closer “But I do have a husband” I laughed

“You’re mean” He joked “But so gorgeous”

“My husband thinks so too”

“He’s a very lucky man” He said, as he leaned into the wall in front of me

“And who’s the lucky gal?” I asked

“I was hoping it would be you” He smirked

“That was smooth” I chuckled “Nice try, though”

“What is it, huh? I’m not your type?” He teased

“You’re a very handsome man. So I’m afraid your looks aren’t the problem” I giggled

“So what is it?” He asked

“She’s taken, that’s the problem” Roman spoke from behind him

“Hi, Ro-“ I began

“What are you doing here?” He spat

“I wanted to see you-“

“Couldn’t you have called first, to let me know you were coming?” He asked abruptly

“Hey man, you don’t need to talk to her like that”

“And who the fuck do you think you are to tell me how am I supposed to talk to my wife?” He stared at Damien “Oh yeah, you were signing up for the lovely ‘new husband’ post a few minutes ago, right?” He smiled coldly

“Keep your fucking dick away from my wife, if you want to keep your manhood intact” Roman pulled me by my arm and made me walk in front of him

“Go to the parking lot” He said

“But the locker rooms are over there” I pointed to my left

“Are you deaf? I said go to the fucking parking lot, Sapphire” He almost screamed

“You better watch your tone with me, Roman-“

“YOU better shut your fucking mouth, go to the parking lot and wait for me there because I’ve had enough of you and Priest for today” He snarled and stormed off

He didn’t utter a single word the entire trip back to the hotel, not even in the elevator

It was only when we were inside the bedroom that he finally said something

“Do you wanna split up?”

“What?” I asked, confused

“Do you want the divorce? Do you want to be single again? Do you want to move on with your life?”

“Of course not! Why would I-“

“Then what was that little flirting scene with Damien back at the arena, huh?”

“Roman, I wasn’t flirting with anyone”

“You’re a very handsome man. So I’m afraid your looks aren't the problem” He mocked me “If that wasn’t flirting, then what is it Sapphire? Please, enlighten me” He stated bitterly

“He asked if I was looking for someone, then he flirted a bit, I told him I was married, he still tried his luck and asked if he ‘wasn’t my type’ I said he was a handsome guy and end of story! There was nothing else”

“Do I really look that dumb to you?” Roman laughed hysterically

“I’m telling the truth!” I answered, completely in disbelief by his lack of trust

“And that was it?” He asked, drying up his tears of laughter

“Of course that was fucking it!” I crossed my arms in front of my chest “What the fuck did you think happened?”

“Do you expect me to believe that nothing happened?” He asked, cynically

“What are you implying? That I fucked him in some dark hallway?”

“Or maybe it was in some empty locker room” Roman tilted his head to the side

“Fuck you!” I spat “I drove eight hours today just to see you, because I miss you! And when I get here I’m kicked to the curb like a sick dying dog? I don’t need this bullshit!” I made my way towards the door but Roman grabbed me by the arm

“I’m not done talking to you”

“But I am!” I tried to pull my arm away from his grip, but he didn’t let go “Let me go”

“No” He said, nonchalantly

“Roman, I’m serious, let.me.go”

“You’re gonna pull out some attitude with me now? Cute” He smiled

“I’m not playing, Roman. I don’t want to talk to you right now” I huffed

He pulled me towards the bed, and shoved me on it. When I tried to stand up and leave, he pushed me down again.

“We can do this all night if you want to” He said, when I tried to leave again

“Fuck off!” I snarled

Roman quickly pulled me by my ankles towards him and straddled my hips, holding my wrists down on the mattress and placing them by the side of my head.

“Sharp tongue today, huh?” He sucked my on bottom lip “I can fix that”

“Screw you!” I screamed

Roman growled and secured my wrists on top of my head with one hand, while the other squeezed my neck

“You’re going down a very dangerous path, baby” He squeezed harder “So you might want to be a little bit wiser with your choice of words”

“How fucking dare you doubt me?” I tried to release myself from his grip “Doubt my fidelity” My knees tried to hit him “Doubt my love and respect for you”

Roman released my wrists and went back to sitting down

“You fucker” I use this new freedom to hit his torso “Get off of me! I want to go back to my house, grab my stuff and leave you alone”

“You won’t do that” He calmly said, as I continued to hit him

“Yes I will! And don’t you worry, when you come back from the road, you will have the house all to yourself! So feel free to bring one of the many road whores with you!”

Roman chuckled “Why would I bring a whore from the road when I already have one waiting for me back home?”

When my attack against him was getting weak from tiredness, he secured my wrists on top of my head once again

“Aren’t you, Saph? My good little whore, so filthy, and all for me” He leaned down and kissed my lips roughly and I took the opportunity to bite his lip harshly, until I felt the taste of blood on my tongue

“Oh, my feisty little bitch!” He smiled at me, with blood staining his teeth “I missed you so fucking much”

Dipping his free hand inside my pants, Roman didn’t waste any time and slid two fingers in me

“My dirty girl is so fucking wet” He began to wiggle his fingers inside of me “You drive me crazy” He growled, biting the top of my breasts through my shirt

“Fuck me, fuck me right now!” I moaned

Roman removed his hand from my pants and shared the juices on his finger between my tongue and his, right after kissing me aggressively as he yanked my pants down, followed by his own.

Holding his length by the base, he slid it in between my folds and teased my clit with his cock’s head

“You want it? Beg for it!”

“Please fuck me, daddy! Destroy me, use me, ruin me, please?”

“That’s more like it” He grinned, before harshly entering me

“Got even tighter without daddy, baby?” He moaned, pounding forcefully “Don’t worry, I’ll fix that for you” He smiled, grabbing my hips and thrusting himself deeper and harder into me

When I was reaching my orgasm, he stopped his actions, which made me look at him confused

“You thought it would be that easy?” He laughed, turning me onto my stomach “No, baby” He slid in me again “I’m very far from being done with you” Roman pulled my hair back, until I was staring at him “You’ll take what I will give you like a good girl”

When I opened my mouth to talk back, he said

“And remember: bad girls don’t get to cum” He chuckled when I kept my mouth shut

And so he began a level of torture that would last all night long...

Please, if you’re comfortable with it, let me know your thoughts on this? Feedbacks are always appreciated 🥰😘

#roman reigns one shot #roman reigns x reader #roman reigns #roman reigns fanfiction #roman reigns smut #roman reigns imagine #wwe x reader #wwe smut #wwe imagine #wwe fanfiction #wwe one shot #wwe superstars #masochist writes

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pastelwitchling · 4 years ago

Text

Journey to the Past

read on ao3

This was meant to be part of my one-shot collection, it turned out to be too long, and now it’s a separate fic. If you enjoy reading even a little bit, please comment and share/reblog, it always makes the world of a difference ❤

Michael woke to find he’d fallen asleep at Alex’s bedside. Before anything, he sat up, checked to see if Alex’s eyes hadn’t fluttered, if he wasn’t finally waking from his coma, but his hand remained perfectly still in Michael’s, the heart monitor echoed steadily into the otherwise empty room and echoing off Max’s bedroom walls.

They would’ve taken him to the hospital, but since the attack that did this to him had been by his father’s rogue Project Shepherd agents, they couldn’t risk leaving him in a room that any enemy could access. At least here, Isobel and Michael could set up forcefields around the grounds. At least here, Max could strike anybody that came too close with lightning and they could blame it on the weather. At least here, Michael could cling to Alex and no one would bother him about it.

Michael wasn’t Alex’s boyfriend, he knew. Alex’s actual boyfriend – or his ex, that is, as of two weeks ago – was back in New York, unaware that the man he’d fallen so deeply and treacherously in love with had fallen victim to his father’s pissed off and ridiculously loyal minions.

Michael followed the bruises on Alex’s jaw and cheeks with his eyes, the cut on his lower lip, visible under the thick respirator. There was a stitched up gash in his forehead, and his knuckles on his right hand were scraped and bloody from the fight he’d given the attackers. He’d fended most of them off, before Michael had arrived to blow the rest of them into the walls and knock them out, but not before one of them had managed a stray shot in and got Alex in the stomach.

Max had done his best to heal him, but the bullets had been laced with yellow pollen. Jesse Manes’ last attempt to kill his youngest son, apparently, had followed him out the grave.

Michael shut his eyes against the thought, and instinctively gripped Alex’s hand tighter. He didn’t want to think about Project Shepherd and what they’d intended. They’d failed, and that was all that mattered. His grip turned painful on Alex’s hand. They’d failed.

A knock came at the door, but Michael did not look away from Alex’s face. He heard Max’s voice from the end of the room ask, “How’re you holding up?”

“Why isn’t he awake yet?” Michael demanded. “You said he’d be awake by now.”

“No,” Max sighed, and closed the door behind him. “I said Kyle hoped he’d be awake by now.”

“It’s been two days.”

“We’re doing everything we can –”

“Well, it’s not enough!” Michael snapped, and the room collapsed back into silence.

“He’ll wake up,” Max promised him. “He will. Just give him some time.”

“I need him,” Michael whispered.

“I know –”

“No,” he growled. “I need him.” He rubbed his face roughly with one hand. “Where’s Is?”

“Outside,” he said. “Why?” When Michael didn’t answer, Max’s shoulders slumped and his frown deepened. “Michael, no.”

“I know we said there were risks –”

“Risks?” he scoffed. “I already told you it’s too dangerous to go digging through Alex’s head! Isobel told you it’s dangerous!”

Michael stood. “Valenti said his brain waves are normal, he’s just asleep. If I can find the part of him that doesn’t want to wake up, then – then I get him back.”

“Or you guys screw something up,” Max argued, “and change something that can’t be changed back.”

Michael clenched his jaw. “He won’t wake up, not like this, and I can’t just sit here and wait.”

“Michael,” Max tried, purposely calming his voice in that way when he knew Michael was seconds away from blowing up and wanted to ease him back down. “Listen to me. I know you’re worried about him, but if you go into his mind, you could make things worse.”

Michael swallowed. Max was right, he knew Max was right. But he remembered Kyle’s voice when he’d hoped Alex would wake up soon. He had been too quiet, his eyes downcast like he was praying and didn’t want the others to know it was that bad.

He had no idea that when it came to Alex, Michael paid attention. Only when it came to Alex.

“If I do nothing,” he said, “Alex stays asleep.” His fingers curled to fists at his sides at the thought. He looked back at Alex, the slow rise and fall of his chest as he breathed softly. His unmoving fingers and closed eyes.

Michael sniffed, and decided, “If Alex doesn’t wake up by tomorrow morning, I’m going in to wake him up myself.”

They waited until the next morning, then noon. Michael had been ready to start at dawn, but Kyle had seemed anxious, and Max argued for “Just a couple more hours, Michael, he’s the doctor here!”

Michael had argued that Alex didn’t need a human doctor, and Kyle had argued that Alex was human, so who else was going to treat him?

Michael forgot that sometimes; that Alex wasn’t actually an alien like him, that he didn’t have any superpowers like the others did. He’d just always seemed so strong and intelligent that it slipped Michael’s mind. But Alex was human, and more fragile than Michael allowed himself to believe. He’d been too careless, too willing to ask for Alex’s help fixing this or fixing that without ever considering what he might’ve been doing to him. What it might cost.

Maybe that was why Michael was so eager to go into Alex’s mind already and wake him up. It was time for him to save Alex for a change.

“Just for the record,” Isobel said, “I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“You deal with brains all the time,” Michael argued.

“Not like Kyle,” she insisted. “And not memories. It’s like . . . time travelling! If you touch something in the past, you could change the future forever!” She swallowed. “And Alex is . . . he’s too important.”

She didn’t need to say the words for Michael to know what she was thinking. He’s too important to you, she seemed to be telling Michael. If I hurt him, it’ll break you, and I could never forgive myself for that.

Michael took her hand. “You’re gonna do great,” he said resolutely. “If anyone can do this, you can.”

Her brows pinched, unconvinced, but Michael didn’t have any more time for doubt or hesitation. Alex hadn’t woken up in too long, and his nerves were fraying with every passing second.

“Do it,” he said.

Isobel glanced hesitantly at Kyle. Kyle looked to Alex, as if weighing the damage that they could do, but even he must’ve known that Alex being asleep for this long was abnormal, because he looked to Isobel and nodded, clearly unhappy about it.

“Be careful,” Max warned. “For your sakes, and his.”

Isobel’s hand on Michael’s tightened, and she shut her eyes. Michael kept his gaze on Alex for as long as he could. Then he felt a sudden chill shoot throughout his entire body from his hand, and he inhaled sharply. One second he was looking at Alex’s sleeping figure, and the next, the world around him turned to smoke, and he found himself standing in the desert on a bright, sunny day.

He was still holding Isobel’s hand, but nothing looked familiar. There was just desert and gray-steel buildings built high with tall glass windows, clustered like boulders in the sea.

In the distance, he could see uniformed soldiers, marching in formation. Men and women training, sergeants barking orders, laughter from friends somewhere hidden. Where were they?

“What the hell?” he muttered, looking around. He didn’t recognize the area at all.

Isobel shook her head. “I don’t know.”

“Where’s Alex?”

Michael turned and found they were inches from a doorway that opened to a large, steel room. There was a raised platform at the very opposite end, and several soldiers fighting, sparring, exercising – but Michael couldn’t see any of them.

Isobel gasped. “Michael,” she pointed. “Isn’t that Alex?”

Michael had already spotted him. He was on the platform, fighting another young man. But even before Isobel and Michael approached him, Michael knew this was a much younger Alex. He looked barely eighteen, his hair having lost its spike and was cut short, he was throwing punches and kicks in a way that seemed very unnatural for the man who hardly had to raise a finger to induce fear. And he was losing. Badly.

“I don’t think anybody can see us,” Isobel murmured, looking around at the other soldiers as they passed. “Or hear us.”

Michael’s eyes were on Alex. His heart was hammering, beating painfully against his ribs with every beating Alex took, every time his body fell to the floor. His opponent delivered a roundhouse kick that had Alex on his face again, and Michael snapped. He held a hand up to blast the other fighter back, but his powers wouldn’t work.

“Are you crazy?!” Isobel hissed, slapping his arm. “You can’t change anything, remember?”

“Literally,” Michael spat, hoping Alex’s opponent could feel his glares. “My telekinesis isn’t working.”

Isobel looked around before her eyes focused on another soldier who was doing pushups. Her brows furrowed for barely half a second, then she winced and put a hand to her temple.

Michael tugged on her hand. “Are you okay?”

“It’s taking all of my power for us to just be here,” she sighed. “My other powers won’t work either.” She frowned. “What’s he doing?”

Michael followed her gaze, and saw that Alex, beaten and bloody, was slowly pushing himself to his feet with trembling arms.

“His face is covered in blood,” Isobel shook her head. “He needs to stay down!”

Michael guessed he shouldn’t have been surprised to see Alex so resolved to stay on his feet. His hair was plastered to his temples with blood and sweat, his breaths were quick and short, like his chest ached, but his shoulders were straight and his eyes were filled with a fiery anger. Alex was looking at his opponent like he was every other person who’d ever beat him down and ordered him to stay there. He was screaming, without any words at all, that he wouldn’t.

It didn’t seem to matter to the opponent as he threw hit after hit, hurting Alex again and again, making Michael flinch and burn with rage every time.

When the fight was over, the other soldiers jeering and eager to start their own training match next, Alex’s opponent crouched down beside him and whispered, loud enough for Michael and Isobel to hear, as though they were in Alex’s place themselves –

“Nobody cares who your daddy and brothers are, Manes,” the opponent sneered with disgust. “Your kind will never survive here.”

Michael clenched his jaw. He felt Alex’s anger, his frustration, his grief. He’d often wondered what happened to Alex after he’d enlisted, how a soldier trained and what that did to them, whether it was hurting Alex the same way.

No one offered Alex a hand, no one knew what to make of this lesser Manes. Michael wanted to kill them all for hurting him, for pushing him down. Alex, on the other hand, seemed to see things differently.

With all the charge of that emo kid from high school, Alex groaned and pushed himself to his feet. He spat the blood in his mouth out, and wiped his forearm against his nose. His eyes were dry, his expression unreadable, but that same anger stayed.

More than a few soldiers looked surprised and even impressed, but Alex, already walking away, didn’t notice.

The scene changed.

Before Michael could blink, they were outside again. A cursory look around told them they were behind the building this time, where rocks and stray blades of grass grew out. Alex was sitting against the wall, his knees pulled up to his chest. In the distance, soldiers marched on, but nobody seemed to see Alex as he cried.

He hadn’t wanted anyone to see him.

Michael glanced at Isobel, and saw her eyes were wide and sympathetic. Alex wiped the tears away faster than they could fall. He sniffled, and pulled a picture out of his pocket, hiding it between his eyes and knees, a secret for no one else.

“I’m sorry,” Alex sniffled again, and wiped his cheek on his shoulder. “I’m trying not to. I’m getting better at it. Not that I think you’d be disappointed that I cried, I just . . . don’t want to cry in front of anybody else. Never again.”

Michael and Isobel each went to a different side of Alex to see whose picture he was talking to, all the while Michael trying not to scrunch up with the uncomfortable thought that Alex had taken enough comfort in someone else that he would sneak a photo of them into base, even back then.

When he saw the picture, he froze. Isobel breathed, “Oh my god . . .,” and Michael had to kneel down next to Alex. It was a picture of them – him and Alex – similar to the picture he had in his airstream. Except this one was taken at a different angle, and they were smiling at each other, taken in the exact moment Alex had noticed Michael watching him play guitar, and the two had laughed, giddy at being so close together and knowing what they knew about their feelings for one another.

Michael tried to breathe, but a lump lodged itself in his throat. Alex had kept a picture of them with him when he’d first gone to the base, and he pulled it out whenever he needed strength and comfort. All this time, he’d thought Alex hadn’t thought twice about him . . .

“I’m scared, Guerin,” Alex confessed to the picture, his grip on the edges tightening. “I don’t – I don’t know what to do. I’m not strong enough to be here. I don’t want to be here.” His lower lip trembled. “But that’s why you started to pull away, right? I was too weak to protect you . . .”

“No,” Michael breathed, shaking his head. “No, please, don’t say that, please.”

“That’s why Alex enlisted?” Isobel said. “Because his dad hit you?”

“It was after Rosa,” Michael croaked, eyes on Alex. “Everything changed, and I . . . I could never tell him what happened. But he – he thought . . . I didn’t know he thought . . .”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Alex cried, hiding his face with one hand. “I’m trying not to cry, I swear I’m trying. I just miss you so much, Guerin. You’re the only person that’s ever felt like home to me, and now I’m here, and I’m more lost than ever.” He exhaled shakily. “All I wanted was a goodbye. I keep thinking about the way I left. I didn’t even get to say goodbye.”

Isobel’s own eyes were glassy. “Michael?”

“I didn’t want to,” he whispered in response to her silent question. “I didn’t want to say goodbye. It felt like I would never see him again if I did.” He clenched his jaw. He tried to press his forehead to Alex’s temple, to inhale his scent, but he couldn’t feel Alex at all. He could only watch him suffer.

“The last thing I ever said to him before he left was –” he scowled at the bile in his throat “—that I’d be better off if he left. I was just angry, and – and hurt!” he tried. “I didn’t mean it!”

“It doesn’t matter,” she said firmly, pulling her eyes off Alex. “It’s in the past, Michael. That’s what all of this stuff is. Memories. You know Alex now, you know what he thinks of you. He loves you.”

Michael shook his head. “That’s not what hurts, Is.”

“Then what does?”

“It’s that he loved me this much even back then.”

“Private Manes,” a voice sounded, and Alex gasped just quickly enough for Michael to catch it before he was on his feet, straight as a board.

Michael looked up and found none other than Sergeant Ramos, Alex’s mysterious leader who’d come to Roswell a mere few weeks ago. The man Alex had looked up to and smiled around and trusted. The man who seemed more Alex’s father than Jesse Manes had ever been.

Sergeant Ramos, looking about twelve years younger, raised a brow at Alex’s right hand which was subtly pushing the photo back into its hiding place in his pocket.

He tilted his head at Alex. “You’re the new kid, right? Jesse’s youngest. Alec?”

“Alex Manes, sir,” Alex said loudly, coherently. Like a soldier.

“Alex,” he nodded. “You miss your friend, Alex?”

Alex faltered. “Sir?”

“Your friend,” he nudged his chin at Alex’s pocket. “In the picture.” His eyes were meaningful when he said, “You must’ve been very close.”

Alex swallowed. It was no use trying to hide the panic in his eyes. He’d just come back from his father’s house, he was too used to being afraid. He hadn’t spent a decade learning to hide that fear.

“Is he the reason you’re here?”

Alex raised his chin. “I’m here to be stronger, sir!”

Ramos smiled, like he knew something Alex didn’t. “You seemed plenty strong to me up on that platform, Private.”

Alex frowned. “I was . . . losing, sir.”

“No,” he shook his head. “No, you were getting back up. No matter what he hit you with.”

Alex clenched his jaw. “I don’t like bullies, sir.”

“Did a bully hurt your friend there?” he asked. “Is that why you’re here?”

Alex said nothing, and Michael could see the questions in the furrow of his brow. What would happen to him if a sergeant discovered he was gay? Would he report him to Jesse?

Ramos sighed and looked around. “If you don’t know why you’re here,” he said, “you won’t last long, I can guarantee you that. You know where you are?”

Alex blinked, confused. “The – the US Air Force Base?”

“Are you asking me?”

He straightened. “The US Air Force Base, sir!”

“You ever been in a plane?” he asked. “Ever seen what we see up there?”

Alex hesitated, then shook his head. He quickly caught himself and said, “No, sir!”

Ramos hummed, then patted Alex’s shoulder once, hard enough to make Alex stumble. “All right, follow me! I’m about to show you the few good things about being out in this godforsaken desert.”

Alex followed as he was supposed to, though doubt never left his face. He seemed convinced that there was nothing good about being out here.

Michael and Isobel exchanged a glance before they quickly followed. Michael stayed close to Alex and reached for his hand several times, until they passed right through each other and Alex hardly seemed aware of him.

They went into a hangar with several smaller planes inside, and Alex tensed just for a moment at the sight of them all before he realized Ramos was leading him to a little aircraft at the far right of the room.

“Stay with me, Guerin,” Alex suddenly whispered, his eyes wide and betraying some fear. Michael looked to him, surprised, but realized that Alex was just talking to himself. His hand covered his pocket where his picture of him and Michael was, and with a deep, shaking sigh, he followed Ramos to the plane.

When Alex got close enough, Ramos tossed him a helmet. “Hop in, kid!”

Alex swallowed. He looked like he wanted to stutter an excuse not to, but he gripped his pocket tightly and nodded once, putting on the helmet.

“Oh my god,” Isobel said with a smirk tugging at her lips as realization dawned. “You’re like his good luck charm.”

Michael swallowed, though he definitely didn’t want to smile. When did it stop? When did Alex realize that he wasn’t good luck at all? When had he stopped needing him?

Before Michael and Isobel could say anything else, they both ended up in the backseat of the little aircraft, Ramos and Alex in the front, the plane on a wide stretch of road. Michael didn’t know if this aircraft had initially fit two people in the back, but it was like the memory warped and changed for them to be able to follow.

“We’re tied to Alex,” Isobel told him. Despite the roar of the engine, they heard each other, and the other two passengers, perfectly. “We’ll keep getting tugged along with him.”

Alex gripped the edge of his seat tightly as the plane took off into the air. Michael could hear his gasp, his eyes wanting to close but unwilling to do it in front of his sergeant. They rose high to the clouds, Alex’s knuckles white. Michael wanted more than anything to reach for him, to hold and comfort him, but this Alex was on his own. He’d never had Michael there as Michael had had Max and Isobel. It was just him, alone, with nothing but a picture to comfort him.

“Better hold onto somethin’,” Ramos laughed and pulled up high above the clouds.

What they saw knocked the breath out of their lungs. High above a bed of white, the sun shined brightly, turning the sky around it to gold and pink and purple and blue. It looked like the color of their spaceship surrounding them.

The sunlight hit Alex’s wide eyes, and Michael watched him breathing quickly, emotions turning from fear to shock to grief to wonder to amazement to grief and shock again. He could’ve done anything in that moment. He could’ve cried, could’ve screamed. Instead he smiled, a surprised burst of laughter escaping his lips.

He held up his hands and yelled, “WOOOOOOO!” and Ramous laughed harder. Isobel couldn’t help but laugh along, and Michael couldn’t look away from Alex. The bright sunlight had turned his tear-filled eyes to crystal green, and if Ramos noticed his crying, he didn’t say anything. Alex just laughed and ran his hands through his hair, marveling at the sight before him, as if he’d never expected that such a beautiful treasure could be right over his head this whole time.

After they’d come back down, Ramos handed Alex his half of a ham and cheese sandwich. “Every year,” he told him, “I look at new recruits, try to decide if there are any worth keeping an eye out for. This year, that’s you.”

Alex blinked. “Why me?”

“Because a soldier who can start a battle is a dime a dozen,” he said simply. “I need the kind of person who can win them. I think I can make you captain in record’s time.” He raised a brow, and finished his sandwich in one bite. “Would that be something you would want?”

Alex’s eyes widened. “That would outrank my dad – er – Sergeant Manes.”

“Yes,” Sergeant Ramos said slowly, as though he’d just figured out the bully’s name. “It would. He would have to answer to you.”

Alex’s cheeks were red, but his expression fierce and hopeful. “You can really make me captain, sir?”

“If it’s what you want,” he said. “If it’s the kind of person you want to be. But you ‘aint gonna get it getting beaten down the way you do.”

“I’m – I’m trying –”

“Trying is for excuses,” he said. “‘Round here, you do. If you want to outrank your old man, there’s only one way to do it, Manes. I can train you, but the work’s gotta come from you. What do you think?” He tilted his head. “How far are you willing to go to be the stronger one?”

The look on Alex’s face said it all. He would become whatever he had to, do whatever needed doing. He had enemies, and he wanted them to burn.

The picture changed. It was like walking through a film, memories too blurred and passing now for Michael and Isobel to cling to.

“What’s going on?” Michael asked Isobel, and she shook her head.

“Alex doesn’t clearly remember any of this stuff,” she said, “so we can’t see it any better than he can.”

They saw Alex get older, training harder, running faster, shooting better than anybody else around him. They saw him rise in ranks quickly, uniformed men pinning medals to his chest, congratulating him. Alex laughing with a team of his own, men with muscles larger than Michael’s head, following him like he was their hero.

The memory then stopped, and Michael and Isobel found themselves in a hospital hallway.

Isobel shivered and clung to Michael’s arm. “What is this?” she asked. “Where are we?”

Michael looked around, and pointed at a familiar man pacing along the wall, his thumb pressed to his lower lip.

“Gregory?” Isobel blinked. “What’s he doing here?”

A doctor stepped out, and Gregory was on him in an instant. “How is he?” he demanded at once.

The doctor sighed. It sounded sad. Gregory’s face fell, anguish overtaking his expression. “We did all we could,” he said, “but we couldn’t save the leg.”

Isobel gasped, covering her mouth with her hand. “No,” she breathed. “I don’t want to be here, I don’t want to see this.”

Michael couldn’t hear anything else she said. He was watching Alex who was sitting up in bed, staring numbly at the ceiling. Michael went inside and stood at Alex’s bedside. He did not look at the sheets and what they revealed.

“Private,” he whispered, leaning in as close as he could without touching Alex. “Can you hear me?”

Alex said nothing. He didn’t look down or move. The circles around his eyes were dark. He slowly reached over to the tray beside his bed where a few of his belongings sat in an opened plastic bag, and took something out. It was a picture, his picture of him and Michael, tattered around the edges and stained with specs of blood on the back. He hugged it against his chest as a tear wordlessly rolled down his cheek, though he remained expressionless.

“Alex,” Gregory came in. He looked over Alex’s missing right leg, and swallowed thickly. “Hey,” he brushed his hair back from his face. Alex was either half-asleep or still filled with anesthetic. “Hey, can you hear me?”

Michael knew Alex could, that he remembered this moment perfectly, or he and Isobel would never have been able to see it.

Alex’s lips tugged up in half a sad smile, his brows furrowed as another tear fell down the bridge of his nose. “He’ll think I’m broken now. He’s so beautiful, he’d . . . he’d never love me like this.”

Michael stepped back, feeling like he’d been shot. Alex had kept the picture. Alex had thought Michael wouldn’t love him without his leg. Even now, after all these years, he’d kept the photo of them together. Even now, Michael was still his comfort.

The scene changed.

“I’m getting dizzy,” Isobel groaned. “Where are we now? It looks like Alex’s house, doesn’t it?”

It did. It was night, and they were right in Alex’s driveway, the trees lit with fairy lights, and there sat Michael, or a previous version of Michael, on the bed of his truck.

Michael’s heart fell into his stomach. “No,” he breathed. He remembered this.

“Whoa,” Isobel looked between Michael and Memory Michael. “It’s like Inception.”

“No, please, no,” Michael whispered as Alex pulled up. He stepped out and saw Michael shaking his head.

“What?” he asked in that cute way Michael had never admitted to.

“Pick another memory,” Michael told Isobel. “Any other memory!”

“I can’t control where we go!” Isobel said. “Why? What happens here, Michael?”

Michael pressed the bottoms of his palms into his eyes as Alex’s plea to help him find out more about his mom sounds in his ears. Then Michael’s own cruel words, “I like Maria, okay?”

Isobel’s hand tightened on Michael’s. “Oh.”

Michael was about to say something, though he didn’t know what, when the image before them blurred. It didn’t go away, it just faded to darkness.

“What’s happening?” Michael asked Isobel.

Isobel’s brows were furrowed. “It’s Alex,” she said. “He – he stopped paying attention.”

Michael swallowed thickly as the colors ran around him. Then he and Isobel were in Alex’s living room as Alex came in. It was right after Michael had left his house.

Alex sat down on the couch, staring off into the distance. He pulled off his cap, and his arm fell limp to his side. Slowly, Alex let his head fall back against the wall, and he stared at the ceiling, the same numb expression on his face as when he’d woken up to losing his leg. Any pretense of being fine or indifferent to Michael’s confession was gone.

Alex sniffled, then straightened. His eyes were dry. He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out that same picture of him and Michael. He stared at it for a long time, but he didn’t say anything.

“He kept it,” Isobel breathed. “All this time, he’s loved you so much.”

“I didn’t –” Michael croaked, shaking his head. “I didn’t know.”

He’d thought Alex didn’t care who he was with. Then he thought to the way Alex’s eyes had fallen time and time again; in his driveway, his backyard, outside Michael’s airstream over and over and over again. Never surprised, just afraid that his suspicions had been right. That he was too broken for Michael to love anymore.

Alex lied down with a deep sigh that sounded frighteningly like resignation, his hand with the picture hanging off the couch. Slowly, his jaw clenched, Alex let the picture flutter out of his fingers and to the floor. He turned over to his other side and closed his eyes. He didn’t pick the picture up again.

“Alex . . .” Michael whispered, but before he could try reaching for Alex, the picture changed again, and he and Isobel were standing next to Alex in front of a short building. Kids played outside and elders swept their front porch.

Isobel leaned her weight against Michael. He put an arm around her waist. “Whoa, are you okay?”

“Yeah,” she breathed, “yeah, I’m fine. Just tired. I don’t think I can keep this up much longer, Michael. We have to find the broken part here, fast.”

Michael looked Alex over. “I think we’re getting there. Wasn’t this what he was wearing the day he was ambushed?”

Isobel straightened, eyes narrowed. She gasped. “Kyle told me Alex had gone to visit his mom that morning! He called on his way to the bunker, and –”

“That’s where they got him,” Michael growled, his hands turned to fists at the thought. “We’re close.”

As if hearing the urgency in their voices, a woman opened the door to greet Alex. She had Alex’s dark eyes, dark hair, and kind smile.

“My baby,” Alex’s mother pulled him in for a hug. Alex hugged her back just as tightly.

“Hey, mom,” he said. He sounded exhausted.

His mother quickly noticed and her smile faltered. She cupped his cheek. “Okay, baby, come in. Come on. I’ll make you some tea.”

That was how they found themselves minutes later, seated in a small but comfy living room with plush floral couches, Michael and Isobel on each side of Alex as he and his mother nursed hot cups of tea.

“What’s going on?” Alex’s mother said. “Why do you look like that?”

Alex scoffed halfheartedly, “Are you saying I look bad?”

She brushed his hair back from his eyes. “My son is the handsomest in the world.” She brought her hand to his chin and lifted his head. “So why is he so upset?”

“I’m not upset, mom,” he said, smiling weakly. “I’m just . . . so tired.” His smile fell away and he pinched the bridge of his nose. He took a sip of his tea and set the mug down. He rubbed his hands together. “When you called last night, I told you everything was fine. I lied, mom.”

She nodded, like this didn’t surprise her in the slightest. “I know.” She tilted her head, and softly asked, “Is it your breakup? I thought you were okay with that.”

“I was,” Alex shook his head, eyes shut. “I – I am, but I . . .” He sighed and pulled something out of his pocket. He huffed a miserable chuckle. “I tried to burn it. I couldn’t.”

She took the picture from him, and Isobel gasped softly. It was the same one Alex had had of him and Michael for all of these years. He’d never gotten rid of it. Michael had never stopped being a comfort to him. Until, apparently, now.

Realization dawned on Alex’s mother’s face. “This boy. What was his name again?”

Alex rubbed his face. “It doesn’t matter. None of this matters anymore. Forrest and I broke up, and he still won’t tell me anything.”

She frowned. “I thought you said you loved each other?”

Alex nodded. “I used to believe that.” He sighed shakily. “Not anymore.” He chuckled sadly, and covered his face with his hands. “I’m so tired, mom. I’m so tired of – of excuses and being afraid and – and being brave just to find out that it makes no difference. It’s not enough. I’m not enough.”

“Alex,” Alex’s mother looked horrified at her son’s words. “Did he tell you that?”

“He didn’t have to,” Alex confessed in a whisper. “He showed me. He told Maria he loved her.”

Isobel’s eyes were wide. “Michael, you what?” she demanded. “Why would you lie like that?”

“I was scared,” he said, his eyes on Alex. “I wanted to hold onto something easy.”

But he didn’t know this was what he’d been doing to Alex. That he was hurting him this badly, all to date someone he’d never actually wanted to date. Michael looked at the dark circles around Alex’s eyes, his hollow cheeks, his tousled hair, and wondered how long it had been since Alex had eaten or slept.

“I can’t do this anymore,” Alex said. “I’d always hoped that . . . that we’d end up together. But it’s not something he wants anymore. If he ever wanted it at all.” His eyes shut tight. “I can’t keep clinging to bread crumbs, mom, I don’t want to.”

His mom looked concerned, but she took Alex’s hands in both of hers and said steadily, “Alex, what’re you trying to say? You can tell me.”

Alex exhaled shakily, and lifted his gaze to his mother’s. “Mom, I’ve thought about this a lot. I’ve thought about it since he and Maria first started . . .” he clenched his jaw and looked away, like just the thought of Michael and Maria together pained him. Finally, he said, “I’m leaving Roswell.”

“No,” Michael breathed.

“And I’m not coming back this time.”

“NO!” Michael stood. “Alex, you can’t leave!”

“Michael,” Isobel tried. “He can’t hear you.”

“Alex can’t leave me,” he shook his head. “He can’t.”

“I can’t see him anymore,” Alex said. “I can’t pretend he still loves me. It hurts too much.”

Despite Isobel’s protests, Michael leaned over Alex and grabbed his arms. He kept going through him.

“Alex, look at me!” he demanded. “I’m right here, look at me!”

Alex flinched just as Michael’s hands collided with his arms, grabbing onto him. He could feel Alex, and Alex could feel him.

Alex looked startled, his mother’s voice was gone. Everyone’s voices were gone but Michael’s, Isobel’s, and Alex’s. The world around them was turning to black as Alex searched the air in front of him, as if looking for the source of the sound.

“He can hear me,” Michael muttered, eyes wide. “He can – he can hear me!”

Alex’s eyes fell onto Michael’s, and his brows furrowed. “Guerin?”

“This is it,” Isobel stood. “This is the faulty memory! The part where Alex’s brain is screwed up and is keeping him asleep!”

“Isobel?” Alex blinked. He tried to stand with Michael clinging to him. Michael was afraid that if he let go of this memory, Alex would disappear from him for good. “What’re you guys doing here, what is all this?”

They were standing in darkness. Nothingness upon nothingness.

“You were attacked,” Isobel told him, “by Project Shepherd agents.”

“You’ve been in a coma for three days,” Michael said. “We couldn’t get you to wake up, we had to come into your mind, try to wake you from here.”

“You’re not making any sense,” Alex shook his head. “Attacked? Coma? None of this makes any sense!”

“Remember!” Michael demanded. “Remember! This is just a memory, the real you knows what happened! Remember, Alex!”

Alex looked shocked, doubtful, disbelieving. Then something in his expression slotted together. “I was – I was at the bunker . . . the door was open . . . it all happened so fast.” He blinked, and gasped. “A gunshot. Someone – someone shot me.” He frantically patted down his stomach, looking for the wound, but he wouldn’t find it in a memory. He looked back to Isobel, then Michael. “You’re telling the truth.”

“You have to fight it, Alex,” Isobel urged. She leaned forward on her knees and huffed, like just breathing was getting tiresome for her. “You have to want to wake up.”

“Want to wake up?”

“Yeah,” Michael cupped his jaw. “Come on, baby. Wake up for me,” he breathed. “I miss you, please wake up for me.”

Alex searched his face, then said, “No.”

Michael faltered. “N-No?”

“No,” Alex tried pulling his arms out of Michael’s grasp, but Michael held on. “Guerin, I don’t want to.”

“What do you mean you don’t want to? Alex, this is your life we’re talking about –”

“My life?” he laughed. It sounded so sad. “What life, Guerin? The one where the man I love won’t say two nice words to me? The one where my friends don’t think twice about what their decisions might do to me? Where my own brother tried to kill me because I got in his way?”

Alex shook his head. “No, Guerin. No. I’ve been tired for a long time, and I want to rest now.”

Michael gripped his arms harder. “You think I don’t know the real you?” he demanded. “You think I don’t know that you’ve had hope for us even when I didn’t? You think I don’t know that no matter what you say, you’ll believe in us whether you want to or not? We’re cosmic, Alex, this won’t kill us, and you know it won’t. If you don’t wake up, I’ll just come after you again, you know I will.”

Isobel stared, shocked. “Michael . . .”

His grip on Alex turned painfully tight. “I’ve never trusted anything, Alex. I’m not like you, I can’t see the good even when everything just feels bad. But I trust you. If you don’t wake up, I’ll die.” He shrugged, a sad smile tugging at his lips as a tear rolled down his cheek. “And you won’t let me. I believe that.”

His grip loosened.

“What’re you doing?” Alex said, though he seemed to already know the answer.

“I’m trusting you to come back to me,” Michael said, his whole body trembling. “Because you always do.”

“Michael,” Isobel warned, “if you let him go now, we might lose him for good.”

Michael smirked, and a tear fell down Alex’s face. “I’m not letting you go,” Michael told Alex. “I can’t.”

“Guerin,” Alex tried, but Michael was already straightening, bracing himself.

“You’ll come back,” he said, sure of this more than anything else.

Without another word, he let go of Alex, and a sudden wind hit his face. Then he blinked, and he was back in Max’s bedroom. He and Isobel both broke apart and fell to the ground.

“Oh my god,” Kyle gasped somewhere in the distance and helped Isobel up while Max came to Michael’s side.

“You guys have been frozen for hours!” he said, pulling Michael to his feet. “What happened?”

“Michael had Alex,” Isobel said, and looked to her brother. “Why?” she demanded. “Michael, after what he told us –”

“What?” Kyle said, looking between them. “Told you what?”

Michael lumbered out of Max’s hold and took his place at Alex’s bedside again, taking his hand in his. “Come on, Alex,” he begged in a whisper. “Come on. Come back to me.”

“He said . . . he said . . .”

“It doesn’t matter!” Michael snapped, and Isobel fell silent. “He’ll wake up. He will. Come on, baby,” he murmured into Alex’s hand. “Come on.”

The minutes ticked by in silence, like everyone was holding their breath, waiting for something to happen, but nothing did.

“Michael,” Isobel said quietly. “He’s not going to wake up.”

“Yes, he will,” Michael said at once, his grip on Alex’s hand bruising. “He will.”

“Just give him a minute,” he heard Kyle say. He must’ve been clinging to that hope just as desperately as Michael was.

“Come on,” he pleaded. “Come on, Alex. Stay with me.”

A moment. Two. Michael’s eyes burned, and his hands started to tremble. Then he felt it; he felt Alex’s fingers move in his.

He gasped, and waited. Alex moved again.

Kyle pointed at one of the monitors. “Brain activity’s increasing!” he all but yelled. “Alex?”

They looked to Alex, waiting, waiting, waiting. Then Alex’s eyes fluttered open, and a sob escaped Michael’s lips before he pressed them to Alex’s fingers, kissing each one. Kyle gently pulled off the respirator, and he and Michael both helped a confused Alex sit up.

Alex’s brows were furrowed as he took in the room. When he spoke, his voice was dry and hoarse. “I had the weirdest dream.”

Isobel collapsed into tearful giggles, and Max, relieved, patted Alex’s shoulder twice. Kyle ruffled his hair, and Michael moved to sit next to him, hugging him tightly and keeping him close.

“Don’t ever do that to us again, Manes,” Kyle warned him with a trembling smile.

“Do what?” Alex asked. “I don’t remember anything – ow!” He lifted up his short sleeve to reveal red nail marks. Michael’s nail marks from when he’d been gripping him a little too tightly, terrified of losing him.

Alex met Michael’s gaze with furrowed brows, realization quickly dawning. Michael pressed their foreheads together and took a second to breathe Alex in before he closed the distance between them, taking Alex’s lips in his own.

He tilted his head, deepening the kiss, and then Alex broke away, panting, though they kept their foreheads together.

“Get off him,” Kyle slapped Michael’s shoulder. “He still needs a minute to breathe.”

“No,” Michael said simply, resting his head on Alex’s shoulder and nuzzling his neck, feeling as much of him as he could.

“Oh!” Isobel started. “Alex, what ever happened to that photograph?”

Michael tensed.

“What photograph?” Max asked.

“Alex,” she said, “had this picture of him and Michael when they were seventeen. We saw it in all of his memories.”

“Isobel,” Michael warned through grit teeth. He expected the same out of Alex, to see him embarrassed or shy, but Alex simply blinked like he’d forgotten about the picture.

“That?” he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the small photograph.

Michael hugged his waist with one hand and took the photo with the other. “I have one just like this.”

Alex laughed. “Yeah?”

“I’ll show it to you,” he promised into his shoulder.

“I don’t know,” Alex sighed. “I think it might be time for a new one.” He smiled at Michael like he adored him. No, more than adored him. The thought made Michael’s heart flutter and made him cling tighter.

Michael kissed Alex’s neck, then his shoulder. “Good. ‘Cause I have a few ideas.”

“Um,” Isobel said testily as Max and Kyle looked away with red faces. “Y’all know we’re still here, right?”

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