#but if someone is using he/him offhandedly it feels kinda nice?????? but not from specific people

[mapsareforbraindeads]

i have learned that the big feelings spike when i’m sick

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

Am I an asshole for making fun of someone’s name and interests but then apologizing? I (16M) recently became friends with some people in my lunch hour. They are Z (17NB), M (18NB) and K (17M). M is dating A (18FTM), who i have met twice and had maybe two brief convos with, and he seemed sweet at the time. However, A is friends with the whole group, so they all know him and talk about him. We have joked in the past about the fact that A has the same nickname as one of my other friends. For the sake of fake names, lets say the nickname is Alex. I refer to my friend as Alex and Z,M, and K all call their friend Alex too. However, one day i called my friend by his full name- again, fake name, but lets say- Alexander. M makes fun of my friends name, saying its a bad name. In retaliation I jokingly say ‘your partners name is worse!’. A’s full name is a different spelling of a rather nice name, for this lets say its Alexyus (like Alexis). I mention that i like the name alexis, just say “but who spells it with a y!”. I also add, “plus theyre literally a dsmp and homestuck fan!”. OKAY BEAR WITH ME! i will fully accept and admit that thus far i have been an asshole. It wasnt okay for M to make fun of my friends name, but it also wasnt okay for me to make fun of their partner.

Anyways- no one seemed too upset by it in the moment, but later when i got home i received messages from M, K, and A. M’s had some odd sort of long copy pasta which basically said i hope you suffer, but it felt like a joke to me so just responded withh “i aint reading all that”. K’s message was wild tho- he said “i was just hoping you would kill yourself, overdose, hang yourself, or even just cut ur wrists. what is wrong with you, you fing freak!”. which is… wow! After i read the message i saw him edit it to add a “/jay” (meaning joking) at the end, but the original message had no indication of it being a joke. However, i accepted it as a joke because…. Why would he tell me to kill myself lol…. Anyways, A’s message was polite and formal, asking to talk about something i said earlier at lunch (A isnt in our lunch, he wasnt there when i made the comment about his name, but i assume M or K told him). I respond equally politely and we had a good conversation about it, i realized that it wasnt at all my place to make thats jokes or poke fun at A in that way, and i apologized. A said it was all good and honestly i was impressed with their forgiveness and maturity. I hoped A and i could become potential friends in the future, even. I was still peeved that K literally told me to commit suicide, but whatever yknow. The next few days at lunch were awkward but my other friend, Z, and me mostly just didnt talk to M and K. At some point my other friend, who i told about this, mentioned to K kinda offhandedly like “yo it was kinda fucked up u told (me) to kill himself..” and K informed us that he actually didnt send the message, it was A on his phone. M corroborated this story and then we left, but i was honestly so shocked.

Now i dislike and feel uncomfortable around M, K and A (although not Z, who agreed that what the rest of them did was not okay), because to me it feels like they all were okay and agreement of the message. But ultimately i’m really conflicted- it was definitely wrong of me to make fun of A (even if it was not meant to be serious, i dont know A well enough to joke like that), but i feel like telling me to kms is unjustified. Maybe it all is stupid drama tho, and i should just let it go?

*** i forgot to add- if its worth noting, since A is trans, he chose his own name, and mentioned that was one of the reasons he was specifically upset. Should i have not made fun of his name because i know he chose it himself? (Idk if it matters but my friend alexander is also trans and chose his name too. Also i love him and his name to death so maybe thats why i was specifically defensive of it.) but anyways:

Am i the asshole? Are we all assholes?

What are these acronyms?

[littlemisslipbalm]

“it’s not that important”

Summary: Y/N is in Harry’s band and one night they have a drunken hook up. One thing leads to another and they find themselves engaging in a friend’s with benefits type of situation. spoiler: it is important

AKA: A friends with benefits to lovers story :) with some angst in there

This is for @stylesharrys fallinharry10k celebration so my trope is friends with benefits! prompt is “you have no goddamn idea what you do to me. when i’m around you, i have no control of my emotions or my thoughts” and the tenth picture ^ i kinda just used it in the beginning to descripe what he was wearing - i got really carried away with this story but the prompt is in there !! lol, not proofread tho but would love your feedback !!!! :) love y’all very much 

oh boy i’ve had this done for agesss but i hadn’t written the smut until today so now we’re here i dont even remember what happens - i vaguely remember not loving the end but I hope yall enjoy

Word Count: 15.4k (longest fic to date) | Warnings: smut, angst, fluff, alcohol consumption? i dont remember but i dont think theres anything too heavy in here.

-

“Hey Harold!” You smile as you easily hop over the side of the couch and settle beside your bandmate.

Harry groans, yet can’t keep the small smile off of his face when he sees it’s you. “How many times have I told you to never call me that?”

Your eyes narrow at his faux glare. “And how many times have I told you, I simply do not care?” 

You reach a hand out and tousle his already disheveled, unstyled brown hair. Despite his lack of styling, his hair still looked perfect. His chestnut hair fell into a middle part when he did nothing to it and you found it endearing. It made him look far younger than he truly was, like a boy you might have pursued when you were in your early days at college. The waves slightly framed his prominent cheekbones and chiseled jaw that was sporting a tiny amount of stubble.

He moves his arm from around the back of the couch to pat at his hair, trying to put it back in its nondescript position you had just messed with. After he’s satisfied, he uses the same hand to push up his glasses on the bridge of his nose. They’re chestnut brown Gucci frames that match the natural highlights in his hair. You can safely assume that’s why he bought them. The lenses are clear, but you know they don’t hold any prescription. He looks incredulously at you from behind them still.

“Nice glasses,” you mention offhandedly as you reach out to the coffee table to grab the drink you had left there earlier.

Before Harry had arrived, you had been taking up residence on the couch, in the spot he had actually taken up. You had ventured to the restroom for a moment and gotten held up in a conversation when asked your preference for the Beatles. Having to defend your staunch stance for the Beatles and against the Rolling Stones, you had gotten swept up into an argument with Adam. He believed that because the Rolling Stones toured for longer warranted them the title of best rock band. While you countered that despite their long touring and production of music, the Stones had a rotation of members. The Beatles maintained the four of them and held such a large impact even though they were barely together for a decade. They were one of a kind, or at least the first of their kind, you’d allow. You weren’t really in the mood for intellectual conversation tonight, so upon seeing Harry taking up your seat, you had told Adam you’d continue the discussion at a later date and returned to your spot.  

“Thanks,” Harry mumbles as his gaze flits around the room. He wasn’t sure if you were actually complimenting him, but he would take it as one either way.

The rest of your friends are all up and about, drinking, talking, dancing. It was the usual house party scene: a relatively intimate gathering, music you all actually liked, some friends of friends feeling slightly out of place. There was no pressure in this type of gathering but still Harry wasn’t necessarily in the party mood tonight. Usually, Harry was the one instigating these types of get-togethers with his friends and bandmates. He liked to be the life of the party, but as the tour loomed closer and closer, he felt some tinge of longing for quiet and solitude. He knew he wouldn’t have much quiet while on the road, which mostly didn’t scare him. He loved the stage and the high he received from performing and the gratification he felt from all the people in the room being there to see him. But there was also that other part of him that liked the quiet, the privacy. As the lack of alone time nudged itself around the corner, he had been hoping to enjoy solitude, or at the very least peace before he was on the road. Some sort of blissful state before technical chaos ensued. When Charlotte, the host of tonight’s soiree, had texted their group chat about tonight, Harry had politely declined. Then came the slew of private texts from Charlotte giving him all the reasons he should come tonight. He tried to say no again, but had shown up after the continued begging from her.

His appearance mirrored his expression, choosing a not perfectly fitted white t-shirt and random trousers rather than picking something he really loved, like usual. You could tell something was up and as his friend you were wondering what was wrong with him.

“Don’t sound so excited, Harry, someone might mistake you for somebody who’s happy to be here.” You stick your tongue into the side of your cheek, gauging his reaction.

“Has anyone ever told you you’re not very funny?” He quips, green eyes flashing to meet yours.

Your banter is probably how the pair of you communicated the best, never really falling into the whole serious side of friendship. You never shared those late night talks about the future or your fears. It was a fun friendship, so you didn’t fancy yourself one of his closest confidants. When it came to music, you and Harry were a bit more serious which formed a sort of paradox because the music you would share with each other gave a far greater insight into your souls than you probably realized. As a member of his band, you would discuss his music and what was going on with that sort of business part. But the sharing and discussion of other music that you did was part of your friendship, even if you didn’t see it like that. Because of the countless albums you had recommended to each other and the specific songs you had made note of, Harry and you knew each other much better than you thought you did. Music connects to something deep inside yourself and you have to like it enough and know the other person well enough to believe that they will also enjoy it to recommend it. As much tongue and cheek that you partook in with Harry, deep down, unbeknownst to either of you, you were that friend he shared his hopes and fears with, through the way he knew best, music.

“No, most people find me hilarious...”

You take a sip of your drink, trying to cover up the sting that his remark actually left. Most of the time you were great at keeping up with anyone’s banter, especially Harry’s, but tonight you weren’t feeling it. His tone had sounded so harsh it almost sounded like he meant it. His features soften when he sees the way your face falls, despite your sarcastic tone.

“‘M sorry. I’m just not in the best mood tonight. Didn’t want to come, but Charlotte…” He shifts to face you, arm retracting slightly around the couch, landing his hand at the edge of your shoulder. His fingers fiddle with themselves absentmindedly, he turns his rings around his fingers and they ever so slightly brush against your shoulder. You don’t mind, you know its his nervous tick that he did whenever he didn’t have something to clink them against.

“Yeah, same here, actually.” Your tuck an out of place hair behind your ear, returning your gaze to Harry, who’s tilting his head at you curiously. “But might as well make the most of it, though. After all, this is our last week before tour starts.” You raise your glass and tilt it towards him before taking a sip.

You really didn’t have a plan, you were just trying to make him feel a little better. It was seldom you saw him so solemn at this type of gathering. He usually was the one bouncing from group to group, entertaining everyone with his dazzling charm and quick wit. Sometimes he would bring a date and spend the night with them in the corner, but that was usually at bigger parties than this. At these types of gatherings you often found yourself talking with Charlotte for most of the night. You were both new additions in the band and you had clicked immediately. You would travel in a pair between different groups and talk with everyone. Sometimes you would tell a humorous anecdote about your life and everyone would laugh wholeheartedly. Your ability to retell a story and make it hilarious every time seemed to be your secret talent. You could make any experience into a ten-minute retelling and it always sounds like the funniest moment of your life. It ranged from your embarrassing audition for Grease as a tween to your supermarket run in with an old acquaintance or B-list celebrity the day before. It didn’t matter what it was, it just always had the entire circle of people laughing and wiping their eyes with joy. You’d laugh a little with themselves, but usually you just had a triumphant smile on your lips for the rest of the night.

He nods, sipping his own drink for the first time since you had settled down beside him. “Well, I’m all ears.”

“What?”

“Give me your suggestions on how to make the most of tonight.”

“Drinking, mostly, was my plan,” you laugh nervously as Harry continues to stare at you intently.

“Mostly?”

“I mean, what do you want me to say? I didn’t think to pack my bouncy castle, my bad.”

He bites back a laugh but lets some air escape his defined nose, before staring with a deadpan face at you.

You like to tease him. You simply liked him. Harry was different from other men you knew. You were pretty sure most people could say that though. Harry was just different. It seemed like no one could not have some sort of affection for him. With the playful friendship the pair of you had, you always skirted the edge of flirtation. But you also didn’t particularly ever want to cross any lines with him. He was the employer of you, technically. He had brought you into his backing band and you wouldn’t do anything to harm that position. As well, at the end of the day you knew Harry. His tendencies and the choices he made.

When you were around him at parties like this, you had to try really hard to keep him at an arm’s length. Because on one hand, you would drink and suddenly the boundaries you put up didn’t seem that important, instead his lips started to look rather inviting, but on the other, you knew that he was extremely emotionally closed off to any relationship that was more than either friendship or a one night stand.

Harry doesn’t give you a response, just swings back his drink. The pair of you sit and drink in silence. Before you know it, Harry and you are five drinks in, finally talking after the second. The pair of you decide to move to the balcony outside and continue your conversation there after the third. After the fourth, you're getting really handsy and by the end of the fifth, Harry’s arm is wrapped tightly around your waist and you're laughing breathlessly into his neck. It looks like he’s just shielding you from the cold night air, but both of you seemed to be enjoying each other’s embrace for other reasons.

Finally catching your breath, you lean back and pant softly as you meet eyes with Harry. His pupils have blown out from the alcohol and dark light. The emerald green barely surrounds the black and you swear there’s flecks of gold or maybe brown in them. Your brows scrunch at the revelation and Harry asks what you’re thinking. You don’t respond, too entranced and drunk to even hear him.

“Oi,” he bops your nose, “What is goin’ on in there, little lady?”

Your hand reaches up and widens Harry’s eye manually. His inebriated state has no qualms about you doing such an odd thing. “Why’s your green not actually green?”

“What?” He asks before moving your hand away from his face, it instead falls to his chest. The pair of you shift until your caged between his body and the balcony’s ledge. You pout as you stare up at him. His skin looks soft and taught over every inch of his face and neck. The urge to kiss him keeps nagging at the back of your mind. The idea keeps creeping up closer and closer and the drunker you are the less likely you are to suppress it.

“Do you want to fuck me?” You blurt out.

“Sure.” Harry isn’t taken aback. He had been thinking about asking for a while, so he was glad you had asked first, made it easier for him.

“Okay, let’s go.”

He takes you back to your place, the pair of you catching a cab the short distance between yours and Charlotte’s flats. No one blinks an eye at the pair of you leaving together. Everyone watched the pair of you sulk all night about being there and only enjoying the other’s company, so they weren’t keen on either of you staying. Charlotte was simply glad the pair of you had stayed for as long as you did.

The two of you walk casually until you’re inside your bedroom. Once inside, Harry throws you on the bed and fucks you. Hard. He’s got you spread out in more ways than you had ever thought possible. He’s got you saying things you had never even dreamed of saying. And he’s got you cumming and screaming more than you could have ever wanted. He enjoys himself as well. He loves the way you feel around him and the way your eyes look up at him while he fucks you straight into the bed. He loves the way you sound whispering dirty things and screaming his name. He loves the feel of your soft skin all over your body as he pushes deep inside you. He loves the way you’re able to rip a guttural moan from him every time he cums. And he cums three times that night. While it wasn’t quiet, he did find that blissful state he had been in desperate need of.

After the third round, Harry feels spent. He brings himself into a sitting position, legs hanging off the edge of your bed. You’re lying in your bed, completely overstimulated, cumming at least twice as many times as Harry. He scratches at the top of his head, his bicep bulging as he folds his arms around himself.

“That was fucking good, Y/N. Just what I needed.”

You can only hum in response.

Then he takes your blanket and lays it over you. After that he begins to stand up, getting ready to grab his things and go.

“You don’t have to go…” your voice raises when you realize what he’s doing.

“Yeah, I do. This was just a one time thing, yeah? I enjoyed it, but you know...”

“Erm, I guess?” You rolled to fully look at him, he was pulling his t-shirt back on now, his marked chest disappearing beneath the white fabric. “Do you really not stay over at your one night stands?”

He thinks about it as he begins with his shoes and his glasses at the same time. “Yes? Usually I don’t know the person and I don’t particularly want to sign an autograph when I leave in the morning. Best to leave immediately afterwards.”

“That was exactly why I wanted you to stay...Shit! No chance you’ll give me an autograph now? Could sign my tit, right next to your hickies.”

He laughs, automatically in a better mood after the catharsis of having sex. It was also a relief for him that you didn’t seem to be weird about the hook up. “Shut up!”

“You’re a twat, Harold.” He groans instinctively at the annoying nickname, not caring about the ‘twat’ part. “But be my guest, you can freeze your arse off while waiting for your cab outside at this hour.”

“Rude..” He mutters, standing in your doorway now. “You wouldn’t actually make your employer stand out in the cold at this time of night. I haven’t even got a jumper. Could get a cold and ruin my voice. ”

“You’re the one who says it’s best to leave immediately. Get on it, mister.”

Your hand makes a shooing movement, but he doesn’t budge. You sigh as he makes a puppy dog face - eyes wide and a puckered pout with his flushed cheeks and lips - playing into your actual kindness, that he knows is somewhere. Your sweetness that you were keeping hidden from Harry right now. Nothing was serious between you so it made sense that you were trying not to let your innate ability to care show as he’s about to walk out on you.

“Ugh, fine. Stop looking at me like that. Just grab one of my coats from the bottom right, they’re all oversized so one should fit.” He doesn’t relent on the face. “And you can stay inside until your cab comes.” You sigh and throw one of your pillows at him. He catches it easily and throws it back, much softer than your throw. “Also never pull the employer card on me again when I’m naked in the bed you just fucked me in,” you call as he looks through your closet.

Returning with a patchwork coat you had thrifted tight over his shoulders, he looks at you seriously, “Yeah sorry about that part. Definitely wasn’t trying to exert my power over you, it sounded better in my head. Meant more like you could ruin my voice and both of our jobs.”

You nod and chuckle slightly, finding how inarticulate Harry could be as an endearing trait. His explanation didn’t actually make it sound better. “The jacket fits.” You say, choosing to move forward from Harry’s weirdness, knowing he didn’t mean any harm from his initial statement.

“Yeah, thanks. I think my cab is here,” He glances at his phone, “So I’ll go...See you?”

“I’m sure.” You smile, “We do in fact work together and will soon be touring the world. Would be a bit weird if I didn’t see you.”

“Right.” He nods and adds a peace sign before he walks out of your sight. You know he’s gone when you hear the door click shut. What an interesting night.

-

Love on Tour had just started and Harry couldn’t lie. He couldn’t keep his mind off of you. You were both his most recent partner and the best he had had in a while. He found himself rubbing over the spots on his neck and clavicle that you had given particular attention to during the night you had shared together. When he went to bed it was your body he pictured to get himself off. So, after the first show he’s beelining to you at the beginning of the after party. He’s got an adrenaline high and he needs a release. You’re the solution. He’s whispering in your ear, asking if you’d like to meet him in his dressing room. Your eyes study his face when he pulls back and they widen slightly when the realization of what he’s implying dawns on you. Then you’re nodding and excusing yourself from a random conversation five minutes later.

Inside Harry’s dressing room, you find Harry already unbuttoning his shirt. He grabs your face and shoves his lips onto yours once you lock the door. As he kisses you he tries to make one thing very clear, “This doesn’t mean anything.”

“Got it.” You begin to finish Harry’s job of taking off his shirt.

He pulls back to look you in the eye, “Are you okay with that?”

“Jesus fuck, yes, Harry, just shut up and fuck me senseless again!”

He listens to you and begins to kiss down your jaw and neck. His open-mouth kisses leave a searing trail across your skin. He settles on a spot at the base of your neck and begins to suck and nip at it with vigor. You set to work on finishing his job of unbuttoning his shirt. Then you pull off your own shirt, reaching behind you to untie the bows at the back. The new skin exposed grabs Harry’s attention and he moves down to suck over the cleavage of your tits. He’s happy to be back with his ‘bosom friends’. You smack his head when he says it and he chuckles darkly, only sucking harder on them causing you to moan louder than you would like.

Once you’re both in only your underwear, you find your back pressed up against the mirror behind the dressing room counter. Harry’s body is nestled between your spread legs as he kisses down your skin. His fingers dance along the line of your thong as he looks up from beneath his lashes for position, you only push his head closer to your heat in response. He laughs mischievously before tugging them down off your hips.

“Missed this pretty little cunt...All I’ve been thinkin’ ‘bout,” He mutters as he begins to latch onto your dripping core.

Your brows shoot up at the thought that Harry’s mind has been stuck on you for the past week. You definitely had thought about your drunken hook up a bit, but hadn’t thought it had left a lasting impression on Harry, you assumed he had that lovely of a night with every person he chose to spend intimate time with. These thoughts are forgotten when Harry’s warm tongue is lapping at your swollen bud. You’re already panting for Harry and now you’re heaving with moans and whimpers leaving your mouth with every lick and nip of his expert mouth.

“Fuck Harry, feels so good,” you whine as his tongue travels down your folds and swirls and dips into your hole.

He moans at your words and the way your legs squeeze at his head. His hands move to spread you open wide to maintain his control and he smirks at the way your body rolls due to the friction of his voice against your pussy.

“Be a good girl f’me,” he growls still pressed against your wet heat.

Your body rolls again as you get closer and closer to your first release. Your bite your lip trying to contain all of the sounds that are trying to escape your mouth. Harry notices the new silence and glances up seeing how you’re trying to behave. As much as he likes you obeying his words, he also wanted to hear how he was pleasuring you.

“Tell me how you feel, princess,” he demands.

“So-so good,” you hiccup as his fingers caress over your folds now as he looks you in the eyes, his lips wet with your slick. He kisses you hard, his tongue diving into your mouth and you kiss back passionately, loving your taste on his tongue.

He pulls back and your hands trail down his chest, swirling around his familiar tattoos and hair that grace his lower torso as you move. He grins, enjoying the feeling of you on him and how he was affecting you.

Soon enough, his cock is finding its way back to your glistening folds, wet with your own liquids as well as his saliva. His mouth waters at the sight. He only pushes into you a few times like this. Then he catches sight of himself in the mirror in front of him and can’t resist. He pulls out and flips you over, your squeal leaving your mouth before you can stop yourself. His dick finds your entrance once again, not wanting to be without the wonderful warmth for any longer than he must.

“Ahhh,” Harry groans when he slips back inside.

Your head throws back on your neck, the feeling of him as well as the sight of him gripping your hair in one hand and your fleshy hip in the other. His rings dig into the skin as he’s able to slam more forcefully in this position. You gasp and whine at his motions. The sounds coming from between your legs are turning you on even more and they seem to make Harry happy too. He picks up the pace and drops the grasp of your hair for a second. Your head falls down as you try to keep yourself up on your elbows.

Gripping both of your hips, Harry growls, “Look at me while I fuck you. C’mon now.”

You moan in response and tear your eyes open to see your reflections in the mirror. One hand goes up to hold onto the mirror to give yourself more traction, causing your back to arch even more. The new position has Harry’s cock slamming into you deeper.

“Fuck!” Harry practically yells and can’t keep himself from landing a harsh slap on your ass. You jump forward at the sting but his other hand keeps the pace steady. He keeps burying himself into you all the way to his base, his balls slapping at your now slick spread thighs. He rubs over the red handprint he had just left on your ass. You whimper and bite your lip, truly enjoying the sensation.

Still staring into the mirror as Harry commanded, your eyes water slightly and Harry makes eye contact with you through the mirror. You smile widely and he grins back. “This feels so fucking good. Your pussy takes me so well. Fuck…” Harry babbles, still pistoning into you. You had noticed how vocal he was the first time you had fucked, but thought it had just been the alcohol. Apparently not. But you didn’t mind, you much preferred it to partners who barely spoke or didn’t even moan. Like how were you supposed to know what was going on in their minds? With Harry, you knew he was having a good time.

A few more heavy thrusts and you felt yourself nearing the edge. Your panting was getting faster, exceeding the speed of Harry’s thrusts and he could also feel you were close. Your cunt began squeezing him tighter so he hooked a hand under your knee and brought it onto the table. He hunched over you slightly and snaked his hand to your clit. “C’mon darling, I know you're close. Can feel that little cunt putting a choke hold on my cock.” He rubs at your clit with the vigor of strumming a quick paced song on the guitar. It’s enough to overtake your senses and the laugh that had bubbled from his words turns into your orgasm moan. You try to muffle it into the arm that is holding you against the mirror to avoid a full on scream because it feels that good. You felt like you were having your first ever orgasm, it felt that new to you.

A few more thrusts and you’ve come down from it, but Harry still hasn’t finished. It’s your turn to be the partner coaxing the other to get off. “Faster, Har. Want you to cum too.” He grunts, picking back up the pace. He had slowed to let you ride out your stay. “That’s it...want you to cum in me. Your cock feels so fucking good.” You whine, meaning every word. He smiles again at you and closes his eyes, focusing on chasing his high. You watch as his smile widens to that open mouth grin, “Fuck,” he almost whispers. And there it is. There’s a twitch in his hips that mirrors his expression and then he’s pulling out and cumming on your back. His voice is now even lower and raspier than before as he babbles how good that was and how tight your pussy was. It was sweet nothings, but extremely explicit and you sighed heavily, feeling a small orgasm wash over you again. His final thrusts and voice pushing you off the cliff again easily.

The two of you take a minute to bring your breathing back to normal and Harry goes to clean your back off.

“So..how do you feel about maybe doing this regularly?”  Harry asks sheepishly as he begins to pull his pants back on.

“Like a friends with benefits kind of thing? Or bandmates with benefits, rather.” You laugh breathlessly at your not really funny joke, but you’re now truly exhausted. From the show and the fuck, you felt thouroughly worked out.

“I guess that’s what it is, yeah.”

“Yeah, sure. Sounds good.”

“You’re honestly so chill, Y/N. It’s fuckin’ hot.”

You laugh and flip your hair dramatically. You’re only in your bra and panties right now and Harry licks his lips, finding your playfulness to be a turn on. “What can I say?” You laugh.

“But like I said before...it’s just sex.” He’s buttoning up his shirt and looking at your reflection through the mirror now. He watches you slip the pants you had been wearing back on.

“Oh, Harold, I know.” On cue, he groans and turns around to face you after fixing his mused hair in the mirror. Interrupting yourself, you turn your back to Harry, “Can you tie this, sorry it’s hard for me to get the -” Harry walks to you without any hesitation and begins tying the silk ribbons on the back of your shirt. “Thanks. Anyway,” you turn to face him when he’s finished and you place both of your palms on his chest. “Trust me, I know you’ve got your issues and I’m not looking to be the girl that tries to change you. I know what this is. I only ask that you let me know when you sleep with other people, because once you do, you won’t need me.” Harry nods and you pat your hands against him. You both smile and go your separate ways when you leave the dressing room.

-

Harry and you fucked almost every night on tour. Sometimes it was right after, on the counter in his dressing rooms. Sometimes it was later in the evening in his hotel room or yours. He stopped leaving immediately after your hook ups. He never kicked you out of his room so he decided it was fine for him to stay in yours. Especially because you weren’t a stranger who would be weird with him in the morning. He also didn’t like trekking through the hotel halls late at night.

The first few times you stayed in the same bed, the two of you stayed on opposite sides of the bed, not touching after you were finished engaging in your sexual endeavours. Rigid bodies against the edges of the mattress. Then one particularly long night, filled with multiple rounds, Harry was so exhausted from his performance on stage and off that he collapsed on top of you. He fell asleep there and you didn’t particularly mind. It felt nice to be slightly compressed and held. He shifted in his sleep and when he woke up he wasn’t upset to find you nestled into his side with his arms wrapped around you. After that, cuddling sort of became part of the routine. After you were done having sex, Harry or you would get up to clean up and bring back waters. Then you would settle in his arms. Sometimes in a spooning position and sometimes you cradled softly into his chest. You didn’t talk about it, it just happened.

One night it was your head directly on top of his butterfly tattoo, one leg thrown over his lower torso and your arm snuggly wrapped around his middle. He liked to pet your hair when you laid against his chest in that way. His fingers would fiddle with the strands and you liked it because he usually took off his rings before he would do it and his hands felt so soft and delicate against you. Harry liked the way he felt when he would hold you afterwards. It was calming to fall asleep against your soft skin and feel your fingertips trace lyrics to songs he wasn’t sure the name of against his own.

No one knew about how your friendship with Harry worked. To the rest of the world, you seemed to be someone who had become another close friend in the band. You were similar to Mitch in many respects. Except for when Harry winked at you during a show, it wasn’t a friendly wink, it was a ‘this song makes me horny and I can’t wait to relieve the pressure by fucking you later’ kind of wink. You knew this because Harry had gone over and whispered it in your ear during a quick break, when you had only looked at him weirdly after he did it.

Before the show tonight, you pulled Harry aside, “So what are we thinking tonight? I feel like I might want to ride you...Haven’t been on top in a while.” In the darkness of the backstage, you crane your neck to take Harry’s earlobe between your teeth. He groans softly and grips your hips to guide them against his for a second. “Sounds fuckin’ fantastic, love.” You twitch back, releasing him immediately at the word. You always told him not to call you that and he tried to reason with you, that it was just something he called people. But you disliked it a lot, adding it to the growing list of rules the pair of you had for the do’s and don'ts of being friends with benefits with each other.

“Harold,” you groan and he steps back at that pet name. While he hated this, you refused to let him put it on the list because it didn’t cross any lines with your physical arrangement. Not that there was any physical list to put it on, it was more of a theoretical list that the two of you would speak of occasionally.

“Sorry.” He says eventually, “Didn’t mean it.” You both laugh.

You think about how other relationships were sometimes desperate to hear their partner express their love for them and you believe you’re grateful for the simplicity of your arrangement. The term relationship regarding what you and Harry were doing was also in the ‘don’t’ category on the list. If either of you were being honest, there should be no need for a list and you should be questioning yourselves why you felt the need to set boundaries if one part of it was physical and the other part was your friendship and job. If it truly was just physical why were boundaries constantly needing to be set and followed? But right now honesty was not in the cards.

-

After the show Harry gets delayed with press or fans or something that you don’t really care about. You barely read the text that he sends, only caring about the ‘sorry got held up’ and the ‘be there in thirty’.

You let yourself into his room and wait on the bed, flipping through your phone, completely unbothered by the rest of the world. When you hear a knock on the door, you don’t think twice about getting up and opening the door. You only realize your terrible mistake when it’s Mitch and not Harry standing at what you’re also just realizing isn’t your door, but instead Harry’s.

“Shit!” you say under your breath as Mitch looks at you confused.

The room is dark behind you because Harry would have just entered and gotten down to business. He might turn on a side lamp, but you hadn’t felt the need to have light on while you waited. Forgetting all of that, you had just gone to the door and opened it.

Mitch tucks some of his hair behind his ear as he stares at you. “Is Harry here?”

“Er..No?” It comes out as a question. You rub the back of your ankle with your foot, feeling nervous.

“Is he actually not here or?” Mitch trails off, narrowing his eyes at you.

“No, no he’s really not here. I’m waiting for him, too.” You rush your words, but try to remain calm.

“You have a key to his room. And you’re waiting in the dark.” He says. They’re not questions and you’re not sure just how guilty you look.

“Yeah!” You try to come up with a non suspicious response, hoping there’s a way to still salvage your’s and Harry’s secret, “He gave me his key because he wanted to talk about something and I kept it dark because my eyes always hurt after shows. Kind of like a migraine.” You scratch at your head and smile, trying to convince Mitch. He seems to believe you as he nods slowly and opens his eyes more.

There’s a little bit of an awkward silence and Mitch shifts his weight between his feet, looking at you still. Just as you're about to invite Mitch to come wait inside with you, Harry steps out of the elevator and begins to walk down the hall. His key card is already in hand and your eyes widen. Harry’s expression mirrors yours when he realizes Mitch is standing outside of his door and that you are standing with him. “Mitch!” Harry says, placing his hand on Mitch’s shoulder and sliding his key card into his back pocket with the other. Mitch turns to Harry without seeing him put away the other key card and you look at the pair of them.

“I was just telling Mitch how you gave me your key card so we could talk about...that thing.” You interject, flicking the lights on in Harry’s room as casually as possible. Harry shoots you a look about how you couldn’t come up with an actual reason for being there. You shrug your shoulders helplessly.

Mitch looks between the two of you and feels some weird tension and he’s not sure if it's always there and he’s just noticing or if something is going on right now.

“Yeah, well, I came to stop by to talk about the riff in Canyon Moon. Something is wonky with it.”

“Oh! Sure,” Harry nods to Mitch and then glances at you, “Y/N, we can talk about that other thing later. It’s not that important anyway.” His tone is so casual and nonchalant. You stare at him, thinking he can’t be serious. You had been almost sure he would send Mitch away, but instead you were being kicked to the curb. When he doesn’t say sike or anything of the sort, you nod. “Okay,” then you mumble a ‘good luck’ with figuring out the problem with the song. Mitch walks in the door, but Harry’s eyes stay fixed on your figure retreating down the hallway. He watches you disappear and is only pulled from his thoughts when Mitch calls his name from the couch in the room.

After reaching your floor, you key into your room and get ready for bed. Just as you’re about to drift off to sleep, completely alone for once in a long time, there’s another knock. This time you check the peephole, a habit you realized you were going to have to get better at. It’s Harry. You open the door and walk away immediately once he’s entered the room.

“Why are you here?”

“Thought we could still...” He follows you into the room, trying to make out your face in the darkness.

“I’m not in the mood anymore.” Your tone gives away your annoyance. You couldn’t hide that you were mad at Harry for sending you away. It made you feel weird. The way he did it so easily made you feel like you were extremely disposable and unwanted.

“I’m sorry,” he sighs as he lays down beside you. You turn to face him when he places a hand on the small of your back. You’re face to face and your noses are almost brushing. It’s not really possible to see each other’s features, but after months of hooking up you knew each other’s faces pretty well. You could reach out and pinpoint all of Harry’s freckles and moles on his face and neck right now and be correct. He could likely do the same. The theory is proven correct when he reaches out and his hand dances down your cheek. “Just thought it would be less suspicious if I didn’t get rid of him. Couldn’t make him wait either…”

“I know,” your voice is small and soft, just above a whisper, “I forgive you.” You scoot closer to him and Harry instinctively wraps his arm around you, bringing you tightly into him. You sigh into his neck and he shivers at your warm breath on his slightly clammy skin. When you lick your lips, they brush lightly against his skin. He laughs at the feeling, so you decide to press an intentional kiss to the hollow in his neck. In response, he presses a kiss to your hairline, his lips slightly chapped after the concert.

The kisses are tender, filled with that thing neither of you dare attribute to anything the two of you did in the dark. The word you told him time and time again to not call you. So is just about every touch and word that has been exchanged in this room since Harry entered it. You fall asleep wrapped up in his arms, a soft smile resting on both of your faces. Neither of you seem to mind that you didn’t actually have sex tonight or anything even close to it.

-

When you wake up you feel especially well rested. You shift around and realize your bed is empty besides you. It depended on the day, but it was always a toss up between Harry being there when you woke up or not. However, lately, you had found it was usually the former. You would linger longer and so would Harry in each other’s rooms, lounging in each other’s embrace under the soft glow of the morning light peaking through whatever windows the room had. Today you were cold at his absence. Then you look up and realize you aren’t completely alone. Harry is standing at the end of your bed, staring down at his phone, smiling.

“Hey.”

You wait for his reply, but he doesn’t look up from his phone. “Hey, Harold,” you repeat. His head snaps up, a grimace on his face at the name. He slips his phone in his pocket and ruffles his hair. “Hey.” He finally responds. “I’m gonna head out.”

“Okay.”

Neither of you seem to find it necessary to talk about what happened last night. Harry definitely seemed a little off to you this morning, but you try to shake it from your thoughts. There was no reason to be upset with him being quiet. He didn’t owe you anything, you hadn’t even slept together last night, so if anything it was weird he stayed as long as he did.

It was the second night at the Forum in Los Angeles. This means no travelling necessary. No day off either, tomorrow you’d have a day off before the third and final show at the venue though.

Harry and you were talking normally at the venue, mostly about the setlist - him and Mitch had changed something for whatever reason last night, which was fine. Your banter was to a minimum, but you were trying to convince yourself that nothing was off. Even though it felt like something was different, you couldn’t place your finger on what it was, so you thought it was best to ignore it.

When Harry is about to go out on stage, you don’t pull him aside and when he introduces the members of the band to the audience, he doesn’t say anything fun or silly about you. He doesn’t wink or come up to you at any point in the performance. It’s so unusual the rest of your bandmates are giving you funny looks. Charlotte looks at you from across your keyboard in a way that she’s asking if you’re okay. You shake your head at everyone trying to signal that you’re fine.

Mitch goes over to Harry and whispers in his ear to check in with him, Harry looks at him with a bright smile on his face and says “of course, why wouldn’t I be?” Mitch looks between the pair of you, thinking back to last night and how weird the pair of you were being then. Maybe it dawns on him then what might be going on between the two of you, but if he did, he wouldn’t mention it for a long time.

You falter a bit on your back up vocals tonight. You’re trying to give it your all, like always, but for some reason your voice isn’t sounding the way you want it. About halfway through the show, when your voice comes out the exact opposite of how you would like, Harry finally gives you a second glance. His face practically emotionless, save for the single arched brow. He’s concerned, but not concerned enough where he would go over to you. He just doesn’t understand why you keep missing the right note tonight. You make a shake of your hand to say I don’t know either. He just shrugs and turns back around to continue the show, his lively smile returning while he turns his head.

After the show, Charlotte, Sarah, and you are all checking in, going over what had happened during the show in general. They’re both worried about your voice and you’re simply trying to tell them that it was just an off night. Nothing was wrong. As long as you told everyone else that, then it might turn out to be true.

“It’s fine, maybe I didn’t get enough sleep last night,” you fib, having gotten more sleep last night than most other nights on this tour. They both nod, seeming to take that as a reasonable answer.

Then Charlotte gets quieter as she whispers to the three of you, “Did you guys notice anything weird with Harry? He was super lively, but he barely interacted with you, Y/N, which is so unlike him...”

Sarah nods while you look skeptically on. Sarah adds, “He kept looking up to the boxes, too. More than usual at least. I don’t know though…” She trails off and you cross your arms over your chest, not really enjoying the conversation topic. “I mean, what do you think, Y/N?” Sarah adds.

Your eyes dance between the two women, your fellow bandmates, your friends. You sometimes wished you could share with them what you were doing with Harry. The secret was fun, but it’s also nice to be able to share with your girlfriends about the guy you’re seeing, even if it is a casual thing. The friendly gossip of it all is something fun to share, but sadly that was another thing you couldn’t do. You sigh, “You never really know what’s going on in his mind, y’know. He’s just Harry.” Your response is half-assed at best. You figure they’ll both give you shit for the non-answer you just supplied, but instead someone else speaks for them.

“I am in fact, just Harry.” He says and you swivel around to find yourself almost chest to chest with him. Charlotte laughs while Sarah simply smiles. Your eyes are huge as you stare up at him and you hope your blush doesn’t come out too strongly after being caught talking about Harry by himself. “Enlighten me on when I was being ‘just Harry’ though?” You bite your lip and take a step back from him, forming more of a line with the other women. He shrugs when no one offers a response, laughing lightly.

“Oh and Y/N, I can’t talk about that thing again tonight, I’ve got-”

“A date?” Charlotte asks, trying to understand why Harry was acting a little different tonight still. The part that Sarah had mentioned about him looking up into the boxes had given her the idea that he might have plans with someone after the show. Harry scratches his head, his hair slightly wet with sweat right after the show. He’s taken off his coat so he’s just in the almost completely unbuttoned, sweat soaked shirt he had been wearing underneath. It sticks tight to his skin and you can make out all the muscle lines that hide beneath the fabric that you usually get to caress. Your eyes flit from his body back to his face when he speaks again.

“Erm, I wasn’t going to phrase it like that...but yes, I suppose, it’s a date.” He says finally, he avoids your eye contact and you look at him very confused, trying to hide the hurt. He shoves his hands in his pockets trying to look and sound as casual as possible and ignore the strain he sees on your face. Is that what had held him up yesterday? Making plans with someone else? And he hadn’t told you until now? The past twenty four hours stung a little bit more now that you knew why Harry was being so distant. It simply felt icky finding out this way and it didn’t even seem like he was going to tell you it was a date.

“Okay,” you say simply and walk away. You hear Charlotte asking him details about his date, but you try actively not to hear any of it. Sarah watches you walk away and sees the way you wrap your arms around yourself to comfort you. She feels a twinge of sadness as she watches the scene unfold, seeing something she hadn’t realized was there before.

Harry doesn’t text or call you that night. You hang out with everyone else for a little while in Charlotte’s room before heading to bed, saying you think you need an early night tonight. Before you’re able to walk out of the door, Mitch stops you. “I heard Harry blew off whatever conversation the two of you have been trying to have again. Just wanted to tell you I’m sorry.” You try to smile but it comes out as more of a grimace. There is no conversation Harry is blowing off, it’s simply you. “It’s fine. Like he said yesterday, it’s not important.” Mitch nods, but still looks at you with concern. What he had seen last night, then on stage today, and what Sarah had told him about your interaction after the show it all strung together in his mind. It didn’t seem unimportant at all. But he didn’t know how he could tell you that. He felt like he should talk to Harry about the way you looked when you left Charlotte’s room tonight, but he didn’t know how to bring it up to him either.

You don’t realize you’re crying until you're in the elevator, and it’s slowly rising to your floor of the hotel. You’re only one level up, but it feels like an eternity in there. You already weren’t a fan of elevators, but this ride felt impossibly worse. The walls are all made up of mirrors and you see yourself in the reflection, but you don’t exactly recognize the girl in there. Your eyes are tired from the show, dark circles already formed. Your hands are aching, clenching and unclenching on their own accord. Your body is slumped against the back wall, likely leaving a slight imprint from the smoke residue and dust on your clothes. Worst of all are the tears running down your face, smudging at your makeup, the black mascara you had applied dripping down in sinister raindrops against your skin. The sad girl stares back at you as you sniffle slightly, confused at what you’re seeing. “Why are you crying?” you ask yourself, your voice creaking and then breaking at the end as you struggle to get out the word ‘crying’ before a sob wracks through you. You roll your eyes when your reflection offers no explanation for itself. You laugh at your own patheticness and try to shake the feelings you’re experiencing.

Inside your room now, you flop on the bed and stare straight up at the ceiling. Your arms spread to your sides and your legs lay limply below you. You think about every night before last, every night since the tour started. Every night where you weren’t alone, where you were with Harry. Your mind flits to last night, how Harry’s lips had ghosted over your skin after his apology. How you had told him you forgave him and it had felt so peaceful, so simple. It was all so easy. Thinking about him and the things the two of you did together brought a smile to your face, unbeknownst to you. When you realize it’s there, your face drops immediately, deciding not to think about Harry.

But trying to not think about Harry makes you only think about him more and what you think about him now most definitely doesn’t bring a smile to your face. You’re thinking about him out on his date with some person you chose to learn nothing about. Maybe out of fear of what is happening right now. By knowing nothing about the person, you can’t compare yourself to them. Can’t see what’s different about them that would make Harry go out on a date with them. But it doesn’t matter who they are or what they look like because at the end of it all you know one thing for certain. They’re not you. You correct yourself, you know two things actually, because you also know that Harry chose to be with them instead of you tonight.

You fall asleep with tear stained cheeks that night and absolutely nothing positive on your mind. You want to sleep but know it only brings whatever is bound to happen tomorrow, which doesn’t seem very promising.

-

It’s noon when you wake up and you wake to a knocking on your door. You grumble and throw a sweatshirt over your body to hide the underwear you slept in. Not remembering your new habit, you swing the door open without any hesitation to find Harry. He looks wide awake and happy, the way he almost always looks, a fresh beautiful flower of a man. You look at him groggily, “What are you doing here?”

“You weren’t answering your phone.”

“Because I was asleep?” You tilt your head and look at him incredulously. “What about this,” you gesture to your appearance, “looks like I just went for a 3 mile jog for fun and I love the morning?”

“Can I come in?” He ignores everything you just said and enters the room when you leave the door to get back in bed. You often did that with him, you don’t know why, but when he asked to come in the room it was just simpler to let him in then say anything. He knew what you meant.

He sits at the edge of the bed as you reclaim your spot in the middle of it, tucked slightly under the covers, but still sitting up. “How was your date?” You try to sound nonchalant and it seems to work. Harry doesn’t notice your tense figure, but you notice how he tenses up when you ask.

“Good…Her name was-” You don’t let him finish, you already know the answer to this next question and you don’t need her name in order to ask it, “Did you fuck her?”

He’s silent, green eyes staring straight at you. You meet his gaze, your eyes almost burning holes into him. His eyes are begging you to not make him answer the question, he doesn’t want this to end, even if he also didn’t want the commitment he had felt himself exhibiting the other night.

When he had come to your room the other night after Mitch had almost caught you, he knew he shouldn’t have stayed. He didn’t want you to feel bad so he had come to apologize, but when the pair of you didn’t have sex, he should have left. But he didn’t, he stayed and it wasn’t for you, it was for himself. It was for him to hold you in his arms because he liked to. But when he woke up the next morning he knew he needed to leave. Solely cuddling wasn’t part of your arrangement together. It’s probably on the list of don'ts that the pair of you had. So after he realized the line he had willingly crossed with you, he quickly sent a text to Jeff who had tried to set him up with a model they were acquaintances with the night before - the reason he had gotten held up. Harry had initially declined, not very interested in seeing anyone else but you. But looking back on that choice in the light of day seemed to solidify what this relationship was - a relationship - and Harry didn’t like that. The commitment wasn’t part of the plan, so he told Jeff to set that date up for after the second show at the Forum and give the woman a ticket. That’s why he was smiling at his phone the morning after only cuddling with you, that’s why he didn’t joke around with you during the show, and that’s why he wasn’t in your bed last night.

You watch him expectantly, silently waiting for his answer, your veins cold as ice. He finally starts his answer and he wants to make it clear that it wasn’t as good with the other woman, but he’s not sure how to work that part in. He’s not sure how to explain to you it meant nothing if your arrangement also apparently meant nothing. You barely even let him get in a sentence. “Yes, but it was just a one time-”

“Alright.”

“What?” He doesn’t understand what you mean when you nod your head and cut him off.

“I told you at the beginning, Harry. Tell me when you sleep with someone else because when you do this is over. It doesn’t matter if she’s the love of your life or a one night stand. I will not be a backup plan, so if you’re able to find other people to sleep with, you don’t need to be sleeping with me.”

He sits in silence for a moment, his jaw dropped open slightly. He’s unable to keep it shut as his mind races about what to say. “Are you mad with me?”

“No, I’m fine. This was just sex. Charlotte will be happy that I’ll be going out with her more.”

Harry’s brow furrows as you shift away from him on the bed, grabbing your phone and beginning to flick through it. You feel numb and you’d like to not think about why.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” He asks because he does care about you, worry is written all over his face. He just can’t commit, not now.

“What would I be mad about, Harry?” You look up and your eyes widen at him, silently asking him to truthfully say why you should be so upset about this revelation. You always knew it would eventually come to an end, you just hadn’t expected so soon. You hadn’t known the last time would be the last time and it broke your heart even if you knew it shouldn’t.

He shifts to reach his hand out to touch your exposed knee. You move away from him and he sighs, looking exasperated. “I- I don’t know. It just seems like we should talk about this.”

“You didn’t even think it was necessary to tell me you were going on a date last night, so I think it’s best if we just left it at ‘it’s fine, see you around’.”

He spreads his hands out across the sheets, examining his rings and painted nails thoroughly. You’re right, he doesn’t really want to talk about this. Well, more so, he’s conflicted. He would like to talk enough that you want to continue your arrangement but he doesn’t want to talk about feelings or emotions. Even if he has those feelings and emotions, they’re just not part of the things he’d like to talk about. “But-” You set your phone down at his first word, “Were you even going to tell me you fucked someone else today if Charlotte hadn’t asked you if it was a date last night? Would you just have come to my room tonight and acted like nothing had changed?”

“I would have told you.”

“Sure.”

“I swear I would’ve. I would never break a promise to you.”

“But you would make a decision that affects the both of us without telling me until afterwards?” Your voice breaks a little and you beg yourself not to cry right now.

“I thought you said this was just sex?”

You laugh humorlessly, in disbelief, “Of course it’s not, Harry! And it hasn’t been for a long time and that’s why you got scared and went and fucked someone else.” He looks at you blankly, unsure what to say, knowing you’re right. You continue, “But I also told you at the beginning of this, that I wasn’t going to try to change you. So this is me not trying to change you.” You sigh when he still says nothing, his expression completely unreadable, even to you. “Why couldn’t you have left it at ‘it’s fine’?” You say finally, barely above a whisper.

He blinks a few times after your final question. He flexes his hand one more time and then stands up from the bed. He adjusts his clothes and stares at you. You feel helpless, but you’re still trying to look pulled together, even after your outburst. You stare back. A thousand words floating through your heads, all the things you want to say and likely never will.

“I know, I’m…” he pauses, trying to get himself to say it, but he can’t. He can’t admit that he’s completely ruined whatever messed up paradise you had created together. “I’ll see you later.”

The apology or lack there of hangs in the air as he walks silently out your door. You don’t move, you barely even blink, still staring at the spot he had just occupied. Your breath finally escapes you, a large sigh. Then some nervous laughter. It was over...just like that. But things like this, left like this are never really over.

-

It’s awkward for a good amount of the rest of the tour. You hang out with your bandmates more and Harry rarely ever comes out with them after the shows. He either hangs out with Mitch on his own or is going out with random people he knows on the road. You and him speak, but it’s never a lot or about anything relatively meaningful. It’s not the fun back and forth of before or the fiery heat of sneaking around. You try to be normal with him, act like his casual friend and bandmate.

He does his best to do the same, but it’s difficult for him. He doesn’t know how to talk to you anymore. He misses being with you, but can’t bring himself to fix it. He doesn’t do much to right his wrongs with you. He also doesn’t even know what he would want if he did apologize. It scared him to think about the step that came after ‘sorry’ so he saved himself the trouble and never did that part either. One night he texts you: “I’m trying, it’s just hard.” and that’s it. You don’t give him a response, he doesn’t need one. You know he’s trying and he knows you know.

Near the end of the tour, he comes out with the rest of you for drinks one night. Only Mitch is between the two of you in the booth, so you feel closer to Harry than you’ve felt in a long time. The group of you are chatting and having a good time. You somehow get onto a story from when you were still in college. You explain how you had narrowly avoided getting Chlamydia right before your Christmas break junior year. You act out the conversations you imagined would have happened at all your Christmas events if you had indeed gotten it. Your impressions of your mother, father, and sister have everyone laughing the most. Harry is shaking with laughter from your story and you smile at him in appreciation when he says, “That is the funniest story I’ve heard in a long fucking time.”

The rest of the night goes really well, for the most part. No one bickers or is short with each other. Everyone is laughing and drinks are flowing. Eventually Mitch gets up to go to the bathroom and you feel Harry slide back into the booth closer to you after letting Mitch out. Your hand had taken up residence next to your thigh, resting on the vinyl of the booth. You sense something next to it now and notice Harry’s hand is resting close beside it. He shifts his hand closer when he sees that you’re looking down at it. He’s almost touching you and you look up to his eyes, wondering if he’ll close the distance. He makes an imperceptible shake of his head, but you know what he means. As you’re about to shift your hand so that your pinky connects with his, Mitch returns and your head shoots up to his figure. You instantly remove your hand from the vinyl and shift closer to Charlotte. Harry gets up, but doesn’t sit back down once Mitch is settled. He instead walks off to get another drink, risking one last look at the table where he makes eye contact with you, but he doesn’t come back. Mitch informs everyone that Harry went back to the hotel because “he was tired” after Harry doesn’t return and Mitch gets a text. You roll your eyes, sure that you saw him slip out of the side door with a woman he found at the bar after he had gotten his drink. If that’s what ‘tired’ looked like on Harry, it was fine.

You start to speak to Harry on a more regular basis after that night out. It’s not funny or lighthearted. It’s just ‘I saw this song the other day, thought you might like to listen’. It went back and forth, it wasn’t everyday but it was something. The last text between the two of you before you began sharing songs again was his ‘I’m trying it’s just hard’ text that he had sent randomly one night. Then after one of you would listen, you would see each other at sound check and mention the song and what you thought about it. It can be noted that it was Harry who sent the first song.

For Harryween, Adam couldn’t be there. He has some family emergency the day of and doesn’t come with the rest of you to Madison Square Garden or the hotel you were staying at. Thankfully, Charlotte also plays keys and you can play bass. The band had to shift around some things on stage and make minimal changes to the setlist since you weren’t rehearsed on the covers Harry was doing. You spent the whole day running through the chords of those songs with Mitch, trying to memorize them so you didn’t mess it up during the show.

It was weird because for Harryween the setlist was switched up a little from the regular set for Love On Tour. Harry was playing the entire new album as well as half of the first album, Medicine, some of his other unreleased stuff, and about six covers, including old One Direction songs. It was going to be a long show and a challenge for you.

Before the show, Harry pulls you aside, to a dark corner backstage, and your mind flits back to the last time you had been in this type of position. The last time he had called you ‘love’, the last time you bit his earlobe - which always drove him crazy, the last time he ground his hips against yours, those and more and you had no idea that it was the last. By then you had already had sex with Harry for the last time, kissed his lips for the last time. It made your heart race to be so close to him and so alone once again. But it’s nowhere near the same as it once was. You shake the memories from your mind and look up expectantly at him.

“Have you got this?” He asks seriously, tone concerned. Of course it’s a music question, nothing more. Like it always was now.

“Yeah, of course.” His stare is unwavering and you try not to falter from it.

“I can get someone else to cover tomorrow, it was just such a short notice today. You know bass really well too, it made sense.”

“I’ve got this. Seriously, don’t worry, Harold.” You pat his chest lightly and for once Harry smiles at the sound of your nickname for him. You had stopped using it after the end of your arrangement. It never felt right to use when you were talking about music, and that was about the only time you had been talking. In this moment though, it felt right. His warm, large hands held your upper arms as you stared up into his big eyes. You missed staring into them, the shimmering emerald of his irises were constantly intriguing. You instinctively reach up to move back a curl that has fallen onto his forehead. He doesn’t shy away from your touch and continues to smile down at you.

“Y’haven’t called me that in forever.” He grins, his lips a shiny pink from the lip balm he had on.

“No, I suppose I haven’t. But where was the groan? The whole point is to annoy you.” You smile coyly. He tips his head back and laughs, releasing your arms from his grasp as he laughs wholeheartedly.

Then he does a soft groan, a playful sound, “How was that?”

“Eh. I’ll give you a four out of ten. Not enough emotion behind it.” You slide from the area the two of you have been occupying and make your way onto the stage to start dealing with the bass you would be playing. You hear Harry call out to you, “I think I deserve at least a five, maybe even a six!” You turn back for a second to look at him with an unimpressed expression and shake your head no. He laughs again and you hear him even when you walk out onto the stage. You smile to yourself as you pick up the bass.

When he introduces the band, he waits to talk about you last. “And sadly this evening Mr. Adam Prentergest, our usual fabulous bassist, was unable to attend our fancy dress party! However! Our lovely Y/N L/N is also a superb bassist and was kind enough to step into his place. - Anything to add?” He saunters across the stage to you and you laugh kindly, feeling at ease in this part of the stage even though you were usually on the opposite side and further back from the crowd. You nod at Harry and he leans his portable mic towards your lips. You wet them quickly and eye Harry before turning out to the crowd. “Just please go easy on me if the bass sounds a bit wonky. It wasn’t on the job description that I’d be playing songs I didn’t know, with a few hours notice, on not my main instrument.” You say this in a kind of list format, holding up your fingers as you tick off all the ways that this was out of your comfort zone. You scratch your head dramatically after you’re finished and the whole crowd laughs and cheers. The rest of your bandmates chuckle along and Harry nods and smiles at you.

“You’ll do great, love.” He leans into your ear and says without the microphone. Then he winks and turns to go back to the center of the stage. You press your lips together to contain your smile, both happy and concerned about the flip your stomach just did.  

The show is going great. Harry is killing it with the crowd. Everything is electric. You’re entirely focussed on your bass playing, but Harry has been coming over every so often to do something fun or have you tell a joke.

“She’s truly the funniest person I know! And I know a fair amount of people I think.” Harry says as he walks over to you have you tell another joke. Mitch has been looking at you and Harry interacting all night and he’s sure that it isn’t your different position that has him coming over and talking to you so much tonight. Something has definitely changed once again. First the pair of you were always together and having fun, then it was silence and stolen glances that neither of you realized you were taking, now it was back to the beginning.

“That’s because you think puns are part of the top tier levels of comedy.” You say easily, “Here, I can guarantee Harry will love this and the rest of you will likely groan.” Then you stop and act as if you’re thinking for a little, everyone’s waiting expectantly. “Sorry, thinking...Well, I’ve got some skeleton puns I could do, they’re very humerus or y’know classic vampire ones..eh but those ones kind of suck. What do you think, Harry?” You look out at the crowd, face deadpan, as Harry laughs beside you. You roll your eyes playfully and push him back to the center of the stage. Leaning into your own mic now, you say, “I told you.” That’s when everyone laughs. Harry throws another look at you over his shoulder and laughs a little more, his smile wide and eyes bright.

A little over half way through the night, it’s time for ‘to be so lonely’. You already knew the bass chords for it before today and you were confident in yourself by now. It wasn’t as hard a song so you were happy for the little break. This song allowed you to not be looking down at the notes you had stuck to the floor in front of you. Harry’s voice comes in after Mitch’s intro and you watch the way his lips move against his mic. You laugh a little as you watch the crowd yell the first “arrogant son of a bitch” line. You used to not particularly like when people did that, but after it had ended with Harry you had started to enjoy it a bit more. Having those people yell the words you couldn’t, but truly felt about him sometimes, was cathartic. Tonight you weren’t angry with him, but you enjoyed the energy in the room when everyone said it. We’ve all got our own ‘arrogant son of a bitch’ that we want to scream at sometimes. Tonight yours wasn’t Harry for the first time in a long time. The song moves along and Harry takes the microphone off its stand, he walks towards your side of the stage. When the lyrics get to:

“I miss the shape of your lips, your wit, it’s just a trick, this is it so I’m sorry”

Harry isn’t looking at the crowd, he’s looking straight at you. You don’t understand the way he’s looking at you. Or maybe you don’t want to understand it. This song, its lyrics, explains Harry really well. You saw the relationship you had with him in the words. Maybe not precisely, but a part of it was in it. Harry had unknowingly foretold your lives with his words. You know he has trouble connecting and committing, you know his issues, and you accept them. But you knew what had happened between the two of you was far more serious than meaningless sex and you knew Harry couldn’t bring himself to be that serious. He ran off and that was fine, but the face that he couldn’t even apologize hurt you the most. But the song lays it all out for you, he’s not one to be able to apologize quickly. The fact that he looks at you and means the apology he sings in the song for you, it’s a big step, but it’s not enough. The banter, the technical apology, it was all a good start, but it’s just that - the beginning. If Harry wants to make things better with you, a lot more needs to be discussed. So when you sing backing vocals for the following chorus you mean the words for Harry completely.

“Don’t call me baby again, you got your reasons, I know that you’re trying to be friends. I know you mean it, but don’t call me baby again it’s hard for me to go home and be so lonely”

His eyes flick to you again and see your lips moving around the words as you play the bass. He sees the emotion in your face and understands what you’re saying. It’s hard for you to go to your room at night and be alone while he’s out with someone else. It’s hard for him to act like everything’s all fine and perfect, back to normal, because for you it isn’t really. He can’t call you ‘love’ and tell the world you’re funny and expect it to be enough. He can’t sing his sorry that was initially for someone else to you and expect you to accept it. And he knows it, too.

After the show everyone decides they’re exhausted and need to rest before tomorrow. You all planned to celebrate the whole day and you knew it was going to be a wicked Halloween. Knowing this, you’re surprised with the knock on your door after about an hour of being back at the hotel. You’ve given up the habit you had once hoped to cultivate and swing the door open haplessly. Truly having no idea who to expect, you are still surprised to find the man standing before you.

“Mitch.”

“We need to talk.” He stares down at you, his shoulders slumped from tiredness.

“Come in,” you usher him in when you hear the urgency of his voice. He saunters in before you and you close the door. You move to the small couch in the room and sit down. Your hands gesture for him to sit as well, but he shakes his head. He stays standing and brings a hand up to smooth his hair back on the right side. His eyes staying on the floor and flickering up to you every so often.

“What is going on with you and Harry?”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh come on Y/N. You’re seemingly best friends with him for a good portion of tour, then you’re barely on speaking terms for the second half, now you’re joking around again. What is going on?”

You sit there in a stunned silence, “I don’t know what to say.” Your arms go to hug your body, feeling anxious about being confronted about this topic.

“Were you seeing each other?” His voice is soft, eyes taking in your body language and knowing it’s a difficult topic.

“I wouldn’t put it like that…”

He holds back the ‘I knew it’ statement because of  how sullen you look, b..ut in his mind all of the pieces he had watched unfold came to fit in a perfect puzzle. He decides to sit beside you when you don’t say anything else.

“We were having sex,” it felt weird to say it out loud, no one but you and Harry had actually known, “But it ended. I don’t know what today was...but it felt different than how it’s been.”

“Why are you so sad if it was just sex?” He places a hand on your shoulder and your tear-filled eyes meet his. “Oh…” He knows why.

“I’m sorry, Y/N.” You sob at his apology because he’s not the one who should be at your door apologizing. You sniffle and lean your head into his chest. He takes you into his arms and holds you as your cries become muffled sounds in his shirt.

You cry without words for a few minutes, Mitch coos some soothing words, his voice soft and kind. He was always a good shoulder to cry on for all of your bandmates, he was extremely strong and you made a mental note to thank him thoroughly when you actually were capable of forming coherent thoughts. “I’ve never told anyone before. It feels so weird even saying it out loud,” you say as you pull back from Mitch’s embrace. You're thankful his shirt is black, no tear stains can be made out.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He asks gently, gauging your reaction. You wipe at your eyes and nod.

Taking a deep breath, you decide to start from the beginning. “Do you remember the party Charlotte had a week before we left for tour?”

Mitch nods and his eyes widen at what you’re saying as he remembers the night. “It started back then?” He’s unable to contain his incredulous question. He had suspected something, but hadn’t thought it had been going on for that long. He was truly astounded. You nod, “Well sort of,” then you go on to recount the last couple of months. All the way up until the Forum shows. “That night, when I opened Harry’s door and it was you standing there...Harry and I didn’t have anything to discuss. It was just…” Mitch nods again. He hadn’t spoken much since you had gotten into the story, wanting to let you be in charge of what you were saying and believing he could probably ask questions at the end. “Then the next night he blew me off for his date with that model and I cried in the elevator because I knew what was going to happen next.”

“So that’s when it ended?” Mitch asks when you don’t speak for a rather extended period of time.

“Yeah, the next morning he came over and I asked if they had sex and he said yes so I told him it was over.”

“But I don’t get why he went out with that model. He had told me she wasn’t his type the night before…” Your eyes shot up and looked at Mitch. His eyes widened when he realized what he said.

“What?”

“When we were talking about Canyon Moon, he mentioned that Jeff had tried to set him up with some woman but he had declined. Said he wasn’t interested. I don’t get what changed between then and the next morning.” He figured it was best to put all the cards out on the table right now. You’d be going your separate ways for a while, now that the tour was over and he had seen how unhappy both you and Harry had been over the last part of the tour.

You shift your leg to have it folded beneath you as you continue to stare at Mitch. “He came over after you and him had your meeting,”  you say quietly. Mitch hums, waiting for you to continue this time.

“He apologized for choosing you over me to talk to. Then we slept together, but we didn’t have sex...I think that’s what wigged him. It had felt too real, sleeping in the same bed with me without having sex beforehand made it feel like something more than just two people fulfilling needs.” Mitch nods and sighs heavily. He looks around the room and then back to you, taking in your full appearance. Again he feels terrible for you, how he had felt the second night at the Forum even though he hadn’t known the full story yet. “Now we’re here.”

“Tonight, it felt like he was trying,” Mitch finally said and you smiled sweetly, thinking back to Harry’s behavior. No matter how far from him you were, all those good feelings you associated with him never went away.

“Yeah, it’s been getting better. He texted me once saying he was trying. Then he came out with us one night and it almost seemed like that would be the night he’d apologize, but then he didn’t. Then we started sharing music with each other again. Then tonight… was tonight. It’s just confusing. He’s confusing.”

Mitch smiles sadly and brings you in for another hug and you’re actually so thankful he

showed up at your door. It was your first time telling anyone all of this, because Harry didn’t even know how you felt about some of these things. It felt amazing to be heard and to be told it was okay to be feeling like this.

Pulling back, Mitch says, “He’s definitely different. But his differences are what make him special and that’s why I think he clings to them even if they sometimes can hurt other people. The fact that he’s trying is a good sign. I hope he can find it in himself to make it right between you two because I had never seen either of you happier than when you were apparently together. Especially those few weeks leading up to Los Angeles. Sarah had kept asking me why Harry was so smiley back then. When I had asked him, he had just said “have you ever found something and realized you wanted to keep it with you forever?” I had no idea what he had meant, but I feel like he meant you now.”

Your awestruck at what Mitch has just told you. He was right about the first part about Harry trying to change, but the last bit, that’s what had left you speechless. You turn your body to face the rest of the room and put your chin against your hand as you think.

“Mitch...I have to go.”

He understands what you mean and you walk out of the door with him. He walks down the hall to his room and you walk quickly past the elevator and opt for the stairs. Before you know it you’re running up the stairs, taking two at a time even though you’re not the most athletically inclined. You can’t stand to wait for the elevator and your mind is racing.

You knock on the door that is Harry’s after reaching his floor. It swings open and reveals a confused and sleepy Harry. Thankfully he’s still fully dressed because that would have been a whole other problem you would have if he hadn’t been. You push past him and walk straight into his room without any invitation. He follows behind you, still unsure of why you’ve come here.

“Have you ever found something and realized you want to keep it forever?” You ask him, repeating the words Mitch had just told you.

“Pardon?”

“You told Mitch that about me before we ended things. If that’s how you felt, why didn’t you do what you said?”

Harry sighs as the words register in his mind. The memory of when he had smiled at Mitch so giddily and asked the vague question, his thoughts only of you as he asked it. The shit-eating grin he had plastered on his face after Mitch had looked at him confusedly flitted across his mind. As well as the way he had gone to his dressing room and had a quickie with you after that conversation.

“It’s not that simple…”

“It is, Harry! Why can’t you just be honest with me for once?”

“Okay, fine. You want me to be honest?” you nod at his harsh tone. The two of you standing only a few feet apart. “You have no goddamn idea what you do to me, when I’m around you, I have no control of my emotions or of my thoughts. I pushed you away because I didn’t like feeling out of control. I got out because what had started as a fun time had turned into me longing to be with you every waking hour. I found myself not caring what we did as long as I got to hold you and be around you, but that wasn’t part of the plan.”

“Plans can change, Harry.”

You step closer to him and he meets your eyes. He had left his music playing softly on his phone before he had opened the door so now as the two of you stared at each other, he must have been playing his Etta James playlist because her voice faded out of the song “I’d Rather Go Blind” and straight into “A Sunday Kind of Love”. Harry had shared her At Last album with you over the Christmas holiday of last year and you had decided to listen to her entire discography afterwards, so you knew the songs. The transition was a little too on the nose and you wondered if Spotify ever listened to your conversations.

His emerald eyes examine your face and take inventory of your features, measuring whether anything had changed since he had looked at you this close up. Your hand goes up to cup his cheek and he nuzzles into it, dropping his head closer to you ever so slightly and closing his eyes at the feeling of you.

“I am sorry,” he whispers earnestly as he reopens his eyes.

You can’t take your eyes off of him even if you tried. He looks so soft in the moment, so vulnerable in this light as the music swells in the corner of the room. Etta sings about how she needs a love that is going to last as the pair of you inch yourselves closer together.

“I forgive you, Harry,” you whisper back.

He nudges his head further down and your lips finally press together, slotting back together after months apart. Your lips are eager to press back against their favorite companion. You oblige them, but pull back for a second, just far enough to say, “I will always forgive you, so long as you tell me when you’re scared so we can work through it together.”

He nods, “I promise to never let you go again.” Before taking you back against his lips and gathering your body up in his arms. His lips missing yours just as much.

-

[hadtochangemyurlquick]

do you have any headcanons for the unsinkable 8?

sure do!

dot gets a “world’s best dad” mug as a joke gift from the gang on her birthday and she immediately gets into dad jokes. one of her fave is pronouncing kind like the kind in “goodkind” whenever she’s talking to Shelby, and to sneak it into the conversation as much as possible. it is quite literally sooooooo dumb.

Dot: it takes all kinds, thank you kindly, that is so kind of you, ect.

Shelby: get a hobby

Nora doesn’t stop counting days. she keeps track of them in a notebook and has a “days since the island” count that the girl’s periodically ask her about. but she also has a “days since I’ve last been kissed” and a “days since leah got out of rehab” and a “days since toni’s mom last used” and a “days since fatin played the cello” and a “days since Dot had a panic attack” and a “days since Rachel had a bad food day” and too many others to name. most of the ones the girls know about but sometimes in conversation they’ll offhandedly mention something and Nora will input a highly specific number that makes everyone realize how tight she’s keeping track of things

Rachel has perfect pitch. she doesn’t realize she does, doesn’t really care that she does, but Fatin finds out and starts demanding she help with the cello which is when they learn Rachel can sing. like, sing intensely amazingly. she doesn’t really care enough to pursue a music career but sometimes she’ll post a jam session with shelby or something on insta, and get tons of support. there’s a running gag that they should release an ep and while everyone in the eight is very musical and artistic, it’s all in entirely different ways. Fatin really is classically trained, Shelby is partial to country, Toni loves rap while Dot loves heavy metal. Martha and Rachel both love pop but have wildly different opinions regarding it and Nora listens to a ton of indie by artists no one has heard of before. once they tried to put a song together just for shits and giggles and it entirely collapsed within five minutes

Shelby and Toni don’t want to settle down and they don’t want to conform to capitalism and while the island sucked in every way it sucked they also don’t want to live as separated from nature as Shelby was forced to for most of her life. they end up buying a van and living out of their car, just driving around Texas. they visit the girls a lot, but they enjoy the freedom of not having to go anywhere or do anything but having the only responsibility be to themselves. Toni gets pretty into nature photography, which brings in some income, and Shelby starts learning other instruments just for fun: guitar, flute, violin, sort of whatever she happens to run into. she asks Fatin to teach her the cello and gets a flat and very understandable “no way in hell i’d rather get trapped on an island again” in response

Martha starts a little animal rescue and falls in love with the the boy who runs the cafe across the street and it’s like a gross rom com. he’s stupid, though not a himbo bc he’s kinda mean at first, more of a womanizer than anything. it’s this frustrating enemies to lovers where Martha cannot stand him and his perfect abs and his passion for cooking and his attention to detail. whenever there’s a new development the entire gang has to hear about it individually on a phone call from her. his meanness comes from a place of insecurity, pushing her away so that he never has to put himself out there bc he doesn’t think he’s good enough bc he’s mean bc the insecurity (vicious cycle, you get it), and once he’s kinda forced to bc c’mon, it’s Martha, if any of us met her we’d all instantly fall in love, he transforms into a himbo, stupid pretty and also stupid. they adopt four dogs, six cats, three guinea pigs, a chinchilla, two hamsters, an aquarium filled with fish, five birds, and so on and so on. once Martha asked Toni to pet sit and Toni faked her death for seven weeks. they also end up having like a stupid amount of kids. like so many kids. it’s a zoo it really is. and they still have that animal rescue and cafe right across from one another. sometimes they’ll send their employees to pass notes to each other and when Rachel found out she stopped talking to Martha for nine days bc it was soooo gross.

Fatin’s approach to life is very very strange. she makes a decision and she goes for it. like once she decided she was gonna summit Mount Kilimanjaro, and she trained for it and did it and then was like “okay great never climbing a mountain again, i no longer care.” she got elected to congress and she stayed there for a single term, she got a doctorate in musical theory then gave up music, got a million subscribers on youtube then gave up social media, just running through things like she’s running through a bucket list. she learned to speak five languages, (one of those martha’s language, can’t remember the name of it, typing too quick to look it up) then stopped. successfully campaigned for an area to be named a natural park so it would stay protected and gave up activism. like, she just runs around on side quests doing shit. she got her boating license, her pilots license, a real estate license, a license to practice law, and a license to kill. sometimes one of the girls would come with her on her grand crusade (Dot climbed the mountain with her, Toni and Shelby learned the language with her, Rachel helped her in her music classes, Leah helped with the activism) but like sometimes she’d just be doing stuff on her own. and she was learning to be okay with that.

Leah starts collecting really old books. and it’s not really a big deal at first it’s just her at a garage sale or a used book store picking up a title that feels nice against her fingers or that she recognizes the author of, until suddenly it is a big deal. until she has people calling her asking her to pick up a box or else they’ll get thrown away. entirely on accident she becomes well versed in book preservation and restoration, building a library and releasing it to the public, keeping copies of books that went out of print ages ago with signatures by authors who’s hands have rotted away in their graves. it’s a lot of little work, a lot of careful focused work so her brain can’t run away from her, and a lot of isolated work too. some days she wakes up and realizes she hasn’t talked to the other girls for weeks and it’s tangible, the missing them. the books stack up higher and higher in her shelves. when she’s dead and gone someone will write a biography describing all of the incredible work she did for the preservation of history and writing. the island will be a footnote.

[yacoka]

the journey back

iii. haunting sovereignty

character(s) — tsukishima kei, matsukawa issei, hanamaki takahiro

pairing — tsukishima kei x reader (and matsukawa x hanamaki if you squint a little)

genre — royalty!au, reincarnation!au, soulmate!au

warning(s) — none

beta(s) — @/doughnuts-5ever

masterlist

“It’s been half a year and you still get lost on campus,” Tsukishima teases as you flop into the seat beside him, dumping your bag onto the table with a heavy thump.

“Shut up,” you groan, slumping onto his shoulder. “This class is on a whole nother side of campus, and I’ve never been here before.”

Tsukishima doesn’t say anything, opting to respond with an aggravating hum and an unnecessarily loud sip of his coffee. Eight o’clock classes weren’t good for you, especially if you hadn’t had time to drink any form of caffeine. Leaning more of your weight onto him, you stare down at the table, eyes crossing in and out of focus...

“Alright class, get into your pairs!”

You jerk away from Tsukishima, eyes wide as you watch the class shift around. “What’s going on?”

Tsukishima straightens up from his position, rolling his right shoulder back. “Your head’s heavy.”

You shoot him a glare, and he sniffs, tilting the screen of his laptop towards you. “We have to do research and present on the history of Japan’s monarchy. The teacher assigned us to the Forgotten Years. It’ll be a difficult topic to cover, but I figured we’d be able to handle it.”

“The Forgotten Years?” You furrow your brows in confusion. “Honestly, did you even open the textbook to read?” Tsukishima sighs, and explains. “They’re the years that the majority information of the ruling sovereignty at that point of time was lost. Hence, Forgotten Years.”

Nodding, you read through the project brief. This might be a challenge to research on, but lost things always called out to you, and this was no exception.

“You know, my grandmother used to tell me her grandmother’s grandmother had sovereign blood in her, though I think she just wanted to say she had royal blood in her,” you muse, grinning at Tsukishima. “You think you could have royal blood? You certainly have the looks for it, and that haughty personality to complete it.”

He starts, a light blush spreading across his cheeks as he processes your hidden compliment. “Well, you definitely don’t have royal blood in you. I doubt royals are ever late, nor would they walk around with a toothpaste stain on their collar.”

Glancing down, you do indeed find the red stain of your strawberry toothpaste on your collar. You frown, rubbing at it furiously until it goes away.

“Shut up.” You grumble, glaring at the offending collar as Tsukishima snickers.

“You’re welcome, Princess.”

You slump into the sofa next to Issei, curling up into his side as he and Makki argue over dinner. Without missing a beat, Issei wraps an arm around you, and you watch in amusement as they continue to yell.

“We had that last time, and the time before that, and the time before that time! It’s my turn to choose, and I’m choosing the ramen store on the corner of the street!”

“Oh, you’re just choosing that ramen store because of that cute delivery boy,” Issei sneers, tossing a pillow at your now-pinked face friend.

“Wha-shut up, no I’m not,” Makki splutters, tossing the pillow back.

You grin, pulling out your phone and placing an order for pizza. They were never going to settle on dinner, not tonight at least. A text from Tsukishima comes in, and you reply to him, tuning out the two idiots as their argument progresses.

“Y/n, back me up- what are you doing?” Issei frowns down at you, snatching your phone away and squinting at it. “Is that a boy? Are you texting a boy?”

Makki yelps and bounces off his seat, practically landing in Issei’s lap. “She’s what?”

You scramble for your phone, trying to wriggle out of Issei’s death grip. “He’s just a friend, we have a few classes together.”

“Just a friend?” Makki says incredulously. “Do you give all your just friends emojis like his?”

You flush and jab Makki in his side. He squeaks, jerking up in Issei’s lap. Issei wraps his free arm around Makki’s waist. “Dude, don’t bounce around like that. Your bony ass doesn’t feel good.”

“Then get her royal highness not to assault my sides,” the pink-haired man argues back, going as far as to elbow Issei’s stomach.

“If Princess wants to attack you, then attack you she shall.” He winks at you. “I am merely her servant, here to carry out her wishes.”

“The Princess wishes for her phone to be returned.” You shoot them a pointed stare.

“Here to carry out most of her wishes,” Issei amends. “Sorry Princess, but we gotta see who this mysterious boy is.”

“His name is Tsukishima Kei, and he happened to be from the same prefecture we lived in.”

“Tsukishima Kei? His name sounds familiar…” Makki scratches his chin thoughtfully. “Show us his photos.”

You hold your hand out, staring them down. “I’ll need my phone back for that.”

Issei returns your phone reluctantly, and you go to his Instagram, flashing them brief photos of him.

“Oh! I remember him, he was one of the volleyball players on Karasuno. Defeated us in our final year of high school, remember that Mattsun?”

Issei glares at Makki, their third year still a touchy subject. “So what’s he like?”

“What do you mean what’s he like? Didn’t you just say you knew him?” You shake your head incredulously.

He waves a hand dismissively as he rolls his eyes. “Yeah, as a volleyball player, not as a person. Besides, you didn’t see us hang around others much did you?”

“Mmm, that’s fair.” You sink back into Issei’s side as Makki rolls onto the ground, resting his head on your leg. “Well, he’s..., he’s a nice guy I guess?” You shrug helplessly.

At their prodding glares, you scrunch your face up and continue. “He’s smart, he has nice handwriting… oh, he has a mean streak, but it’s kinda funny I guess. He likes provoking people, and it’s quite funny to see people get worked up because of his comments. He gets this really pleased look when he successfully riles someone up, it’s kinda adorable.”

The duo stares at you in disbelief and you shift uncomfortably as the silence drags on.

“Someone has a crush,” Makki waggles his brows.

“Someone has a very, very big crush.” Issei corrects, his thick brows rising so high they almost meet his hairline.

You flush deeply and smack them both. “I do not! You asked me what he's like and I told you.”

They exchange incredulous looks and turn back to you in unison.

“Did you even hear what you said and how you sounded?”

“It’s okay Mattsun. You know what they say, denial is the first step to acceptance.”

“I do not have a crush on him, he’s just a friend.”

The doorbell rings then, and you jump up. “The pizza’s here, I’ll go get it.”

You silently thank the delivery boy for his fortunate timing, stuffing a little more than what’s necessary into his hands.

“Wait, when did you order pizza? I thought we were getting ramen!”

The delicate flower crown sits atop your head, a beautiful mixture of red, orange, and yellow wildflowers intertwined with each other. You wear it with pride and love, a bright smile shining at every stranger that walks past you in the cafe. Issei had made it for you this morning, with flowers he had illegally plucked from the park he jogs at.

It doesn’t take long for Tsukishima to arrive, perpetually in his cool composure and signature headphones. He usually greets you with a nod, but today all he can do is stare at you, stunned.

“What?” You touch your face self-consciously. “Is there something on my face?

The blond shakes his head, pushing his glasses up slightly.

“No, you just- you look pretty.” A light blush coats his cheeks, and you can feel an answering flush creep down your neck.

“Thank you.” You aren’t quite sure how to respond, having never received such an outright compliment from the snarky blond before. It brings to mind the conversation you had the other day with your boys, and your flush deepens at the maybe-not-so-outlandish idea of you having feelings for Tsukishima.

“Crowns suit you,” he says offhandedly as he settles down in the seat opposite you.

(Your heartbeat definitely does not speed up even more at this. Not one bit.)

“I bet you’ll look good in crowns too! Flower crowns in specific.” You send a wink his way, relishing in the blush that creeps down his neck and past the collar of his shirt.

(You definitely do not enjoy that blush of his, especially since you caused it. You just like seeing him ruffled, that’s all.)

Flower crowns must be special, as despite the flustered expression he sports, Tsukishima replies steadily, “I look good in many things, but I doubt I’d pull off this look as well as you do.”

Your mouth drops open at his smooth reply and he leaves you no chance to gather a retort before he gets up to order your drinks - he has long memorised your order at this cafe.

He returns with your orders and sets your drink down. It has a little flower doodled on the side, with a large loopy ‘Princess’ scrawled beside it.

(Tsukishima, of all people, you scream internally. Tsukishima Kei.)

[jennycalendar]

hello! do you have any headcanons for if either Jenny or Giles' birthdays fell at any point where they're actually together? how do you think they would spend it? (or on the flip side, if one of their birthdays falls after The Dark Age or after Innocence, do you think the other would acknowledge it at all?) x

GOD. OKAY. i don’t have any actual headcanons for giles’s or jenny’s birthday, but i looked up their actors’ birthdays and if we use those, giles’s is in mid february and jenny’s is in very early july. which i honestly kinda like! literally polar opposites right down to the seasons they were born in. that said, this makes both of them celebrating a birthday together a canon impossibility, since they weren’t really together-together during the one summer they knew each other & jenny died about four days after this hypothetical birthday of giles’s. (yikes.) so taking THAT tentative canon into account, i will say that giles’s birthday would likely be a very difficult and sad day for jenny, who probably did a lot of haphazard coding in an effort to get angel’s soul restored as a present for him & ended up setting herself back a few days due to impetuous carelessness. she had a very upsetting drive home. 

THAT SAID, since i am not TOTALLY TIED DOWN with regards to canon birthdays, let’s throw down some headcanons for what might’ve happened if a birthday fell into one of the brief periods of time where they were actually together!

giles’s birthday is extremely cute, because no matter WHERE it’s set in canon, a secretly soft-hearted jenny gets so swept up in giving him a Happy Special Birthday that she forgets to do her usual “mercilessly tease rupert” thing. giles, who had kind of been expecting jenny’s usual biting wit and acerbic comments, is very taken aback when his girlfriend shows up with a huge bouquet of flowers and five different kinds of tea that she paid a Lot Of Money to import in from england. they’re all teas that he’s offhandedly mentioned liking and missing. also she got him a handful of fun novels by up-and-coming authors, which was initially intended to be another “haha you only read classics” joke but she actually ended up stammering out something about how she really enjoyed these books and thought he might like something new to read.

giles is so deeply touched that HE forgets to be nervous, takes the books, and tells jenny that he’s very lucky to have someone who brings new and intriguing concepts into his life. jenny, who has the distinct sense that she’s lost all control of this situation, very quickly turns the situation into them making out in his office so she doesn’t have to think about feelings. really what happens though is they kiss for like five minutes and then they have a very shy conversation about literature. sickening.

jenny literally forgets to tell giles about her birthday because she just genuinely doesn’t care that much about it (and she strikes me as someone who makes “another year closer to death” jokes that somewhat concern other people in the room), but giles finds out about it from the roster like a week before it happens and buys tickets to a professional football game. jenny is over the MOON. giles very specifically bought the non-expensive tickets because he knows his gal and knows that she likes getting in the loud, messy thick of things, and he spends most of the football game either trying to keep condiments off of his nice blue sweater or holding jenny back from fistfighting a guy in the bottom row who’s cheering for the other team. it’s genuinely one of their best dates ever. he buys her a teddy bear with the home team’s logo on it and she puts it in her classroom the next day.

[there-must-be-a-lock]

Someone asked in a previous post about Everything headcanons how J2 would celebrate their anniversary, and whether the reader would be involved...

So, basically, everything is going super fucking wonderfully after the season wraps. The boys go home, and she goes to visit them in Austin, and she’d initially said she’d stay for like ten days but they’re already hinting that she come back again as soon as freakin possible.

They have a fantastic time showing her around Austin, eating at all the little food trucks, trying on silly hats in the vintage stores, and watching live music downtown every night. They even get her her first pair of real cowboy boots from this huge store where the owner comes out to say hi to the guys and help them personally. It’s all very rom-com and wonderful.

Their house is sorta small, it’s where Jared was living on his own before they got together, but it has a great backyard with a fire pit and a pool and they have some truly excellent loud outdoor sex, which is fun because usually when they’re in Vancouver they do have to be relatively discreet. And they have a massive bed, which is a plus. She wakes up in the morning all tangled up in them and usually they have coffee on the porch while Jensen noodles around on a guitar, and it’s close to her idea of heaven.

The fifth or sixth day she’s there, Jensen mentions something offhandedly about their anniversary coming up. They don’t mention specifics but they talk about wanting to do something that evening, and then the conversation moves on and she pretends like it’s not a big deal but she starts thinking about it. She doesn’t want to intrude, she doesn’t want to crowd them, she already worries about being the third and feeling unnecessary around them (still) and so she decides she’ll leave that day. She changes her plane ticket to that afternoon, which is a day earlier than she originally planned but they haven’t invited her on their Special Date and she feels like that’s a pretty clear sign they don’t want her there. And going back to LA will suck but maybe they’ll come out and visit her next, right? It’ll be fine (she tells herself). She tries to put it out of her mind and enjoy her time in Austin and eat as much barbecue as physically possible before she has to go.

So the day before, she’s packing, and Jared comes in and sees her trying (and failing) to cram her three new pairs of boots and all her other souvenirs in her suitcase, and he gets his big puppy eyes going and asks what’s happening. Jensen comes in behind him as she’s explaining that she wants to give them their space. Jared gets stuttery and sad and tries to protest, but Jensen cuts in all calm and firm and says “Okay, we’ll drive you to the airport then.” And he gives Jared one of those we will talk about this later looks, and she hears them whispering super urgently later, but she doesn’t think anything of it, she’s too busy trying to hide how mopey she feels.

Early afternoon the next day, they help load her suitcase (and an extra backpack she had to borrow, because all the new clothes just did not fit) into the car, and they start to drive, and everybody’s kinda quiet, and she’s sad. She’s jealous and she wants them to be more upset than they are, and she’s like THIS close to saying something bitchy about it when she notices a plane flying in the opposite direction of them and landing behind them. She looks around and they are nowhere fucking near where she remembers the airport being; they’re sorta out in the suburbs, in a super nice area with lots of parks.

“Wait a second,” she says, and she’s all set to panic about getting lost when Jensen turns into a driveway. There’s a big tall gate that’s open, and they drive up over a rise and past a little stream and then she sees a house, a great big gorgeous ranch house with huge old trees shading the front lawn, and there’s somebody waiting out front, a lady in a suit who hugs the guys and hands them a set of keys.

“What the fuck?” she says, but they’re ignoring her.

“Mind if we go in on our own for a second?” Jared asks, and the lady shakes her head and waves them in.

“Thanks for squeezing us in early,” Jensen adds.

And the guys are looking all innocent as they lead her into this stunning home with all these exposed beams and tall windows, and she just snaps and shouts, “Can somebody tell me what is happening right now!?!”

They exchange a Look and big smiles, and Jensen says, “We were thinking of buying this house, but we didn’t want to do that before you could see it. Because I know it’s soon and I understand if you don’t want to deal with a mortgage, or whatever, but...”

“Move in with us?” Jared finishes.

She stands there and her jaw drops and she makes wide-eyed fish faces for a second. Jared starts to look nervous.

“We wanted it to be a special occasion for you, too,” he says, kinda shyly.

“For all three of us,” Jensen adds. “So this is something we’ve been talking about for a while, but... it’s a decision we wanted you to be involved in, too. Because it’s all three of us, now, for everything, all together. If you want.”

...and obviously the answer is yes.

More of Everything over HERE. 

[istheresomebodywhocanimagine]

New York Minute PT. 2

anonymous said: I saw you say your requests are open (but your bio doesn’t say they are so I totally understand if I misunderstood and I apologize). I was wondering if you could do a ben hardy imagine where the reader and he aren’t together but he gets jealous about one of the other boys (and realizes his feelings) and the rest is up to you ;) thank you! and anonymous said: Ooh could you do an age gap thing with either roger or ben of like roger being in the early 1980s and reader/oc being in their early 20s and Ben being the age he is now with someone in their early 20s??

(a/n: she is here, and she is BIG!!! LORGE!!!1 she’s 13k+ im so sorry anyways theres some more pining in here, boundaries questioned, and mcdonalds. dont say i didnt warn you. also funny joe moments because we love neighbor joe)

"I mean, it's not the first thing I'd want to sit and watch with you guys. It's kinda sad, isn't it?" You were fiddling with the buckle on some strappy high heels as you sat in a chair adjacent to where they were lounging on two folding chairs. They were dressed down, ready for an impromptu night of binge-watching Chernobyl that they'd just planned maybe a couple hours ago, accompanied by a homemade recipe you'd been wanting to try out for a while. You, on the other hand, had planned a Tinder date tonight, but you agreed to help cook and stick around for a while until you went to grab drinks with Jameson, who was lanky, had a small man-bun, and apparently quite an interest in American Pale Ales. You knew that Joe (and probably Ben, once Joe told him) would clown you off the face of God's Green Earth for your choices - but, Jameson was cute, and drinks on him, so why not? You'd asked Joe that exact question as you prepared the food. "What a catch," Joe had teased as you'd worked around him in the kitchen, having directed him to start making the cream sauce for the chicken you were currently baking. 

"Don't act like you aren't any less of a white boy than him, Joe," you snarked right back, sending him a quick scowl before checking on the chicken, frowning when it didn't appear to be cooking very fast. "Did you turn the oven down?" "No- Oh shit, I must have bumped it," he mumbled, turning the oven back up to cooking temp and grinning sheepishly. "My bad." Sitting his spoon to the side, he went to the fridge and grabbed two beers while you started chopping mushrooms, mumbling to yourself about terrible sous chefs. "Dummy. When's Ben going to be here?" you asked offhandedly, remembering that he'd mentioned a specific time in the group chat you were all in. Joe had started it to send a shitty meme to the both of you, after which he'd been properly roasted, and the three of you hadn't shut up since. Neither you nor Ben had taken it to the next step - texting one on one. There was still an unspoken barrier there, and neither of you were brave enough to cross it.  "Dunno. Why? Is he secretly your Tinder date?" Joe teased, popping the top off of the bottle before holding it out to you with a devilish grin. It was eye-roll inducing, and you took the bottle with a small thanks before leaning back against the counter, taking a sip.   "I told you I saw him on Bumble, not Tinder. And I haven't been on there since." "Did you swipe right?" Joe pried, popping the top off of his bottle as well before tossing the two lids in his trash. As he came back to lean his butt against the counter across from you, he wiggled his eyebrows. "He's single, you know. And he doesn't obsess over local brews." "Joe, shut up, Jameson's nice! And no," you admitted, hiding behind the bottle a bit as you took another sip. "I kind of.... exited the app and haven't been back on it since. It spooked me. Don't want to get caught up in that." "Why?" he laughed, a bit of beer trickling over the lip of the bottle before running down to rest between the crook of his thumb and index finger. "What would you have done if you swiped right and you matched? Is he not attractive to you? Is he really that bad?" "No, no, shut up," you groaned, letting your head fall back for a moment before laughing and shaking your head. "It's not that, it's just.... awkward after hearing about all those stories about London and the pubs. I don't want to mess around with someone like that, I'm fragile. And he's your friend!" Translation: Your hot womanizer friend could ruin my life in about two texts and I'd probably still thank him. "Our friend," Joe corrected, taking another sip of his beer and raising an eyebrow.  "Do you really think it's been long enough for us to be considered friends like that?" you wondered aloud, frowning a bit as you pondered the idea. "I mean, I don't want to overstep boundaries, but I guess we do have each other added on Facebook now. And we did have a good talk while you slept on my reclining chair - again." "Boom. Friends," Joe simply replied, gesturing vaguely with his hand to imitate an explosion. "And what about the London stories are so bad that you just cannot consider him at all? I think you guys would be good for each other." "Joe, have you been paying attention to my dating life the last few years?" Raising an eyebrow, you watched as he nodded, still seeming like he didn't see what made Ben the same as the rest of them. "You told me stories about a young, smooth-talking guy who was gifted at the pump and dump and not gifted at the 'get their name and call them the next day to go out for dinner' part. That sounds like.... literally over 80% of the guys who have destroyed my life recently." "Ew... don't call it the pump and dump." He wrinkled his nose in disgusted, then grinned a little bit and shook his head. "To be fair to the man, he had just gotten out of a pretty serious relationship. They were just rebounds." "You're destroying your argument even more. Who's to say I wouldn't be a rebound too if I matched him?" You had him there. Pursing his lips, he looked quizzical, as if he was questioning his own argument, and it took him a few seconds to gather his thoughts before he shrugged reluctantly. He had many things he could say to you, but he was running out of ways to say them. "Exactly. I cannot be another rebound. And imagine how awkward that would make things between all of us if I was!" "It would only be awkward if you let it be awkward." When you rolled your eyes, Joe frowned, clearly frustrated with how you weren't budging an inch - he really thought you two would be a fun match, and he didn't understand why you were failing to see that. Sighing, he took another drink of his beer before sitting it on the counter and crossing his arms. "What do you think of him? Honest opinion, no bias from what I've said before. Just your impression of him these last few weeks." "Honestly?" you echoed, taking another drink of your beer as you thought back to all the exchanges you'd had with him since he'd moved here. "I thought he wasn't really like the guy you told me about at all." Joe's frown slowly morphed into a smug grin, and you gave him a warning look as you tried to shut it down quickly. "That doesn't mean anything! Guys like Ben are really good at seeming harmless! I'm not convinced-" "I can already hear the wedding bells." When you sent him an unconvinced look, he just laughed and reached out to gently push your shoulder. "I'm just joshing ya! He's really not that bad. Like I said, all those stories I told you about going out with them in London are only partially fact. I was pretty drunk." "He seemed nice the other night, so I really don't want to know which parts are true. I'd like to keep a somewhat pristine, at-arm-length image of the dude," you dismissed, grimacing a bit. "He is cute, though, I will give you that. All of you damn actors are lookers and it pisses me off." "Was that a compliment?" Joe asked after a brief silence, raising an eyebrow. "You sounded so mad, I couldn't tell." When you rolled your eyes in response, he just rolled his eyes too before crossing his arms again. "If Ben's cute, why didn't you swipe right? You don't have to keep him at distance, what's the harm in being closer than that?" "Dude, you don't understand!" Huffing softly, you looked up at the ceiling for a moment and attempted to collect your thoughts - and more importantly, your half-assed excuses. Closing your eyes, you tried to be as level as you could, speaking almost in monotone. "I know that Ben is out of my league, and he probably just sees me as your weird neighbor girl. He's like, a solid 9.9 and on a good day I'm pushing 7. I also know that he's got too much game and he'd easily ruin my life. And he probably swiped left!" Opening an eye, you peeked over at Joe, who was watching in amusement, and pointed your finger. "Don't make a joke about Jameson." "I didn't say anything!" he laughed, holding up his hands in surrender, and you sighed before opening both eyes and turning to burying your face in your hands as you propped your elbows on the counter. "Oh, come on, stop being such a drama queen. It's not that deep. You're both young - well, you're a little younger-" "Wow, no shit, Sherlock," you grumbled, not even moving an inch. "As I was saying," he snipped, narrowing his eyes a bit at the rude interruption before continuing. "You're both young, single-" The sound of the door opening stopped him in his tracks, and you shot up from where you'd been wallowing in your own self pity, turning to the stove quickly to see the cream sauce turning an odd consistency. "Joe, seriously, who taught you to cook?" you lamented quietly, grabbing the pan and making a frustrated noise before pouring out the sauce that he'd managed to scald already.  "I let down my guard for two seconds and you do this? Now we gotta start over, dummy!" "No one! No one taught me to cook!" Joe answered in mock frustration as he gave you a knowing look, snickering a bit when he shuffled past you to get to the fridge again, his hand just ghosting over the small of your back to scoot you out of the way. You reacted like it was instinct, moving over and letting him into the cramped area as you turned the other way, headed to rinse out the sauce pan in the sink when you suddenly saw Ben in the doorway, looking a bit sheepish that he'd walked in on such an oddly domestic scene. Offering him a rushed smile, you turned on the warm water before turning to give Joe a gentle but firm kick in the butt, making him cry out in confusion and whirl around to give you a really pissed-off look. But the look only lasted for a moment as he pretended to just notice Ben, and a delighted smile quickly replaced the insulted scowl as he sat the cream down on the counter, shutting the fridge behind him. "Hey, bud, you hungry?" he asked, once again skirting around you to greet his friend with a quick handshake and a one-armed hug. Turning to face them, you placed a hand on your apron-clad hip and smiled a bit at the bromance. The apron on you read 'EAT MY MEAT' in bold white lettering atop the black fabric, and Ben couldn't help but chuckle at the juxtaposition between the aggressive statement and the homely kitchen it currently resided in.  "We're making enough for four," you chimed in, giving Ben a pointed look and smiling pleasantly. "One for me, one for you, and two for Mr. Black Hole over here." "Oh my God, I can't help that I'm hungry sometimes! Why do you always have to roast me for everything?" "Yes, yes, yes!" you cheered excitedly, clapping and jumping a few times as Joe returned to making the cream sauce. "You said roast!" Joe's face scrunched up for a moment, then he huffed softly and shook his head, bowing it a bit. "I fuckin' did, didn't I? I hate that. We're not allowed to hang out any more." Snickering at his upset tone, you greeted Ben with a quick hug before grabbing the other apron on the counter and holding it up, raising an eyebrow in silent question. Ben looked down at himself, gesturing at the stained gym clothes, and you shrugged as Joe started talking again, unawares of the silent conversation. "So I was thinking we can eat and watch Chernobyl, maybe get a little crazy on some American Pale Ales before Y/N leaves," he hummed, laughing when you sent him a withering look and smacked him with the apron. "I'm not letting it go, dude! You were the one who fucked up and told me about the pale ales!" "Joe, I'm literally trying so hard just to find someone decent, so what if he's a white boy that's snobby about beers? I'm running out of options," you lamented, sitting the apron down on the counter and pouting a bit as you went to check the chicken again, huffing when the inside temp only read around 140 degrees. "So close." "Tinder date tonight, huh?" Ben asked, taking over on the mushrooms that you'd neglected as he looked over at you. There was a somewhat hesitant look in his eyes, and you nearly choked on air when he took a deep breath and added, "Or is it Bumble?" An awkward silence quickly fell over the three of you - both you and Ben had talked to Joe about it, but neither of you had any idea about the other reaching out. So many words left unsaid hung in the air as you straightened up again, shutting the oven and forcing on a smile despite your embarrassment. What a fucking cheeky bastard, just blatantly throwing that out there like that. Maybe he was more alike to London Ben than you'd thought. "Um, no. Tinder, actually." And that was that, Ben looking back down to the mushrooms with a mildly amused expression as he finished slicing them, the three of you lapsing into another momentary silence. "Well," Joe finally sighed, giving the both of you an awkward smile as he turned back to the cream sauce, putting the seasonings in again. "I'm really banking on the slim chance that I have some Lactaid in the medicine cabinet." To punctuate his sentence, he dipped his finger into the cream sauce to taste test, humming in appreciation as you looked on in mild disgust, however thankful you were for his diversion. "Are you for real? I'm not taking care of you if you don't have any," you chastised gently, Joe pouting a bit at your harshness and crossing his arms. "I'll take care of you, mate," Ben offered up, holding out the bowl of sliced mushrooms for Joe and grinning when Joe gave him exaggerated eyes, taking the bowl and blowing a kiss at him before starting to saute the mushrooms in the extra skillet you'd been heating on the back-burner. "I'll go check and see if you've got a few left." With that, he was wiping his hands on his shirt, nodding at you before leaving you both alone. As soon as you heard his footsteps retreat down the hallway, you turned to Joe and let your jaw drop, Joe doing all he could to not burst out in laughter as his knees buckled a bit, a hand flying out to steady himself on the counter. Throwing his head back, he let out a quiet gurgling noise akin to an animal dying as a smile practically cracked his face in half, his amusement with this whole situation having grown tenfold in the last minute or so. "That was so...." you trailed off, genuinely shocked that Ben had felt cheeky enough to hint at something so personal for the both of you, and you furrowed your eyebrows at Joe's continued silent laughter, crossing your arms. "Why are you laughing? Did he talk to you about it too?!" "It might have come up," Joe admitted between inhuman noises, his face red from the effort of silencing his peals of laughter. He conveniently left out the part where Ben had been pestering Joe about what you'd said about him all week - Ben had swiped right, after all, and the longer he didn't know if the feeling was mutual, the more antsy he'd gotten. "Joe! Are you fucking serious?!" you whined, trying to keep your voice down as you peeked down the hallway quickly before throwing your hands up in a questioning manner. "What did he say?" "I will not disclose any discussions between me and my client-" "Oh shut up shut up shut up!" you whisper yelled, quickly trying to rush Joe and smack at him but getting caught at arms-length when he reached out and pressed a hand against your forehead, effectively stopping you in your tracks. "Joe, this is so unfair," you almost whimpered, dropping your hands to your side as you leaned into his hand, huffing. "That was so awkward! Did you hear how smooth that was? I'm going to be so mad when I get on Bumble and find out he swiped left." "I think you're underestimating yourself waayyyyy too much," Joe laughed, resting both of his hands on your shoulders like an encouraging coach as he grinned down at you. "And what about the arm's-length thing? I'm not going to tell you what Ben said about the Bumble thing. Whatever it is, it's between you two. You're both adults." "Joe, please," you whined, pouting so exaggeratedly you probably looked like a five year old asking for one more Girl Scout Cookie as you gazed up at him sadly, trying to guilt it out of him. "I need validation." "Stick that lip out any further and birds will shit on it, kid," he teased, snickering when you just gave him a wilting look and stopped pouting, instead crossing your arms. "Aw, come on. Cheer up, stupid. He told me he liked your bio on Bumble! Is that enough?" After considering it for a moment, you shrugged and tried not to look as grumpy. "I guess." Pursing his lips, Joe deadpan stared at you for a moment before smiling cheerily and reaching up to pat your cheek in a friendly manner. "It's not a no!" At that moment, Ben popped back around the corner, holding a slightly used box of Lactaid and raising an eyebrow when he saw Joe's hand quickly retracting from your face, dropping to his side, but not before his fingers brushed against your cheek. It was glaringly intimate from an outsider's perspective, but all you felt was Joe's grimy hand leaving shit behind on your face. As much as you wanted to continue throwing a fit, especially with the added awkwardness from what Ben had just 'witnessed,' you stepped away from Joe and picked up the spoon next to the stove, forcing anything but a pout onto your lips as you wiped your cheek off on your forearm. "Looks like your boyfriend's got your anti-diarrhea pills." "Stop calling them that!" Joe sighed, exasperated as he turned back to the mushrooms. "I can't help it that my taste buds love dairy just as much as my body hates it." Ben sat the box down on the counter, watching as you gave the cream sauce a quick, indifferent stir. You were really just trying to find something to do to avoid facing the blonde anyways, but he didn't seem to mind as he leaned against the counter across from the two of you, crossing his arms.  "Anything I can do to help, MasterChef and MasterChef Junior?" You smiled at the names, Joe furrowing his eyebrows for a moment before looking over his shoulder at Ben. "I'm not Junior, right?" Ben shrugged, feigning apathy, and Joe made an appalled noise before huffing a bit, turning back to focus on the mushrooms. Giggling quietly, you looked over your shoulder and nodded to the fridge. "There's bacon in there. Do you want to slice it up into little pieces so Joe can add it to the mushrooms in a bit?" Uncrossing his arms, Ben pushed himself up off the counter and nodded with a smile, which you reciprocated before turning back to the cream sauce and chewing on your lower lip. You could hear the sound of him shuffling past, his proximity so dangerously close that you could have sworn you felt the heat radiating off of him even when he retrieved the bacon from the fridge, tossing it on the counter where he'd been chopping mushrooms. You heard the sound of him cutting into the package of bacon with the knife. What you didn't expect was a clearly disgusted noise from him, followed by a slightly rancid smell that immediately made you wrinkle your nose and look at Joe, who was making the same face. "I think the bacon's expired," Ben finally said, and you both turned to find him standing there with a pallid, overly-greasy piece of bacon pinched between his fingers, dangling down in front of Ben's mildly horrified face. "Jesus, Joe, I thought you said you had bacon," you groaned playfully, wiping your hands off on your apron before peeking around Ben to see the whole package was expired. "That smells awful!" Joe was silent for a moment, mouth open as if he was trying to find the words to say before he began to stutter. "Well - I did, it just looks kind of....." "Disgusting," Ben finished for him, dropping the piece of bacon back in the package. "Do you have more anywhere?" When Joe shook his head, you grumbled and sat the spoon down, heading for your apartment. "I think I still have some. Ben, can you keep an eye on the sauce so Joe doesn't cause any other disasters?" "Yes, ma'am," he replied cheerily, Joe whining in indignation as you grinned, grabbing your phone and heading back over to your place for a second. As you walked across the balcony, you unlocked your phone to check a message from your friend when the app icon caught your eye. The yellow square, with a white, honeycomb-ish icon in the middle, taunted you as you slowed to a stop, your free hand resting on the door handle. Glancing back over to Joe's side of the balcony, you made sure they weren't on your tail before looking back to your phone and biting your lip. Should you do it? Maybe Joe was right. "No, no, no, don't be stupid," you muttered. Pulling open your door, you retrieved the bacon without so much as looking at the Bumble app again. And you managed to avoid it for the next hour while you helped Ben get rid of the spoiled bacon, eventually getting the creamy bacon mushroom thyme chicken finished and in your stomachs, after which you started to get ready for your date while they took a quick break on the folding chairs just outside Joe's balcony door. Whatever they were expecting, it clearly wasn't what they saw as you slid open your balcony door, stepping out in a little black dress-type number that definitely cut the conversation off immediately. They both stared shamelessly, making you suddenly regret getting all dolled up when you still had an hour to go before Jameson even planned on dropping by to pick you up. In fact, it made you regret getting dolled up at all as you tugged at your hoop earring, smiling sheepishly.  "That bad?" you joked, but from the look in your eye, Joe could tell you weren't exactly completely cocksure at this exact moment, so he flashed you an encouraging grin and shook his head. You read like a book, and no one was more in tune with you than Joe. "Far from it. You'll knock him dead, kid." Taking another sip of his beer, you spotted the mischievous glint in his eye too late, his mouth already dropping open to continue before you could redirect the conversation. "Don't you agree, Ben?" "Huh? Oh yeah, mate, for sure," Ben stammered, feeling like a deer in the headlights as he nervously kept his eyes above your neckline. "You'll be the prettiest bird in the place. Jaden will have to keep an eye on you." "Jameson," you corrected, grinning a bit at the compliment and trying not to laugh at his failed attempt of remembering your date's name. Chalking it up to forgetfulness, you fell down in the chair on your side of the tape line, leaning down to adjust the buckle on your heel. "But thank you. Both of you." "Ready to watch Chernobyl?" Joe asked, kicking a cigarette butt that Ben had just stomped out and watching as it tumbled over the edge of the concrete, falling to the sidewalk below. "I mean, it's not the first thing I'd want to sit and watch with you guys. It's kinda sad, isn't it?" Frowning, you finished adjusting the buckle and bent down to check the other one, Ben checking you out for just a second before turning to Joe to send him a distressed look. Joe only pressed his lips together, fighting back a snicker and stifling his words completely with another drink of his beer. "Let's watch something else. Let's watch BoRhap." Groaning, Joe dropped the hand that held his beer to the armrest on his chair again, letting his head fall back in annoyance. "Not again!" "Why do you want to watch that?" Ben asked curiously, crossing his fingers that you wouldn't say it was your favorite movie, but you only shrugged and grinned before sitting up again, running a hand back over your hair. Joe answered for you. "She likes watching so she can.... roast me. Started as payback when I printed out a bunch of pictures of her in middle school and posted them all over the building. Which was payback for God knows what. Which was probably also payback." "Oh," Ben said quietly, a slow grin appearing on his face as he looked between the two of you. "I'm all for it, then." "That's the spirit!" you cheered, standing up and holding out your hands for the both of them. Joe grumbled as he took your hand, pulling himself to his feet and shooting both of you dirty looks before stomping inside. Ben took your hand next, and you helped him to his feet with an excited grin before pulling him inside, dropping his hand just past the door under the watchful eyes of your neighbor, who couldn't suppress a knowing smile before he grabbed the remote, flopping down on the couch. You had an interesting concept of what arm's-length meant. And so you sandwiched yourself between the two of them on the couch while the movie started, Joe's arms propped up on one arm of the couch while Ben spread his arms out over the back of the couch. You were hugging your waist, legs tucked to the side and your knee just barely brushing up against Ben's thigh whenever he'd shift to get more comfortable. He was manspreading, which came as no surprise to you - every Ben Type you'd known before was especially gifted at taking up an abnormal amount of space. But Joe was curled up and slightly turned away from you, his arms crossed as if an instinctive need to defend himself was setting in. Soon, Ben knew why. "That perm..... iconic," you laughed, Ben snickering along with you as Joe pressed his face into his hands, groaning quietly. "Somehow, the wig manages to add a staggering half a foot to your height and you're still almost the shortest one in the group." "Why is no one making fun of Ben's wig? Why am I being targeted here?" he asked exasperatedly, Ben gasping in mock hurt that Joe would try to redirect. "Ben was probably wearing heels anyways!" "Wow, mate, way to try and change the subject. Why do you want me to be bullied too?" "Why do you want me to be bullied too?" Joe repeated mockingly, shooting a withering look at the both of you as you giggled incessantly, reaching over to elbow Joe teasingly. "70's suburban mom wig. It's a 70's suburban mom look! You look like you nail rail cocaine on the reg but also think rock and roll is the devil's music." Raising an eyebrow at Joe, Ben stared with narrowed eyes for a moment before tilting his head indicatively at the screen, where Joe was in his full glory with his perm. "Joe, is that your hair, or did someone throw a toaster oven to you while you were in the bath?" Your eyes widening, you laughed once and pressed a hand to your mouth, impressed with Ben's saltiness. "Who am I kidding, why would you be in a bath?" "Cleaning you out of the drain," Joe fired back almost immediately, casually turning his attention back to the screen despite his bitter smile. "Bold of you to assume I don’t bathe anyways, you still currently smell like the Bay of Pigs with that rotten bacon shit." "Joe, holy shit!" you yelled, looking at Joe in shock before bursting out laughing and turning to Ben. He was almost shocked, jaw slightly slack as he stared over at Joe in what seemed to be a mix of surprise and mild offense. "Ben, you're done for! Joe literally just insulted the way you smell and also called you one of the biggest failures of the last century. Roasted!" "It was a military failure.... fuck you both," Ben weakly shot back, running out of ammo as you and Joe both turned on him. "Why do you always say roasted? You Gen Z shit." "Wow! Okay?! I was born like maybe 6 years after you. You're like... not even a decade older. And I'm not Gen Z. Stop acting like I was in the womb while you fought in the Bay of Pigs. Even if you do smell like it." Joe burst into a fit of giggles, burying his face in the armrest next to him as he kicked his feet a bit, beyond amused at how quickly this had turned on Ben, who was now staring at you in shock. After  another few seconds of silence, he shut his mouth and pushed himself up from the couch, smoothing a hand over his hair and letting out an exaggerated sigh. "I'm sensing hostility and I think this is my opportunity to leave for a smoke break so I can cry about how all of my friends like bullying me." "No, no, we're just joking!" you laughed, leaning over on Joe and covering your mouth to stifle the giggles as Joe nodded weakly, trying to contain his as well. "Yeah, come on, Ben, we're just fucking with you!" "Why should I sit back down if I smell like the Bay of Pigs?" Ben pointed out, and you rolled your eyes playfully before reaching out and wrapping your hands around his wrist, tugging him back towards the couch. "We like you even though you're stinky. Come back and finish the movie with us!" Even though it passed over your head like a bad joke, your pull on Ben was magnetic. Joe watched, amazed as the usually hard-headed blond just rolled his eyes and sat back down next to you without another protest. Joe couldn't have pulled him from a smoke break even if he'd gotten on his knees and begged, but one teasing, pleading moment from you and Ben was seated right back next to you, his arm around the back of the couch and resting near your shoulder as you made a content noise and settled back into the couch again, redirecting your attention to the TV. That's when Joe caught Ben's eye, trying to send him a subtle 'You're fucking whipped and she's not even at full power' look, but the blond just furrowed his eyebrows, failing to decipher Joe's cryptic gaze. "Aw, shit," you mumbled, distracting the both of them just as Joe was about to make a kissy face. Both men shifted their attention down to your phone, where a text chat was pulled up with none other than Jameson. "I gotta bounce, I'll see you guys later." Rising from your seat, you smoothed down your dress over your curves before heading for the door, the heels clicking against Joe's wooden floorboards. "Pray for me, 'kay?" "Pre-marital sex is a sin!" Joe called after you, grinning as he heard your laugh resounding down the hallway just before the door was opened. And then, you were gone, leaving the both of them to spread out a bit on the couch in silence before Joe finally broke it again. "I'm turning this off." "Yeah, might as well," Ben cringed, settling into the couch more and watching as Joe switched his Roku back to the main menu. "Might actually have that smoke break now." "Oh no, Ben, don't leave. We want you here even though you smell like rotten bacon," Joe schmoozed, fluttering his eyelashes for dramatic effect as Ben laughed, flipping him off and sitting up a bit. "Man, the power of the p-" "Stop, I was just being nice! It has nothing to do with... what she has downstairs." Grimacing, he afforded Joe one quick look before he was focusing on the screen again, nervous for whatever reason about the conversation at hand. Huffing softly, he decided to turn it on Joe before he got the upper hand. "Besides, you're the one that let her convince you to turn on this movie and get roasted for a full hour! And you guys looked pretty cozy when I came back with your anti-diarrhea pills." "Lactaid. Just.... call it Lactaid," Joe grumbled, pulling up Netflix and scrolling through the choices slowly. "And we were not cozy. I was just comforting her, is all." "About what?" Ben pried, raising an eyebrow and looking dreadfully curious about it all, a sly grin just showing on his lips. "Looks like you two were just about to snog to me." There's certain types of people who like to be blatant matchmakers. Mrs. Bennett from Pride and Prejudice comes to mind - a person who very clearly is sizing up every eligible bachelor just to place them with a daughter, or a friend, etc. They take pride in very obviously urging a pair of people together, and then like to take credit for it afterwards. Joe was not one of those people. As much as he wanted to match-make with you two, he was not the type who was going to lay it all out on the table for either of you. It wasn't his place, and it certainly wasn't his battle, so he told a little white lie, one that piqued interest but also completely concealed what was really happening.  "Dude, she's a little bit too young for me, don't you think? And she was nervous about the date tonight. Doesn't want it to go wrong. Completely innocent." "Sure." Ben remained unconvinced but painfully curious, quiet as Joe finally settled on That 70's Show, snuggling back into the couch and wrapping his arms around a pillow that laid in between him and Ben. "Does she go on a lot of bad dates, then?"  "Oh, tons," Joe replied, fighting back a smug smile as Ben went down the exact path Joe had so graciously opened for him. "She's really good at picking the douchebags, you know? A talent that a multitude of women seem to possess for God knows what reason. The one tonight is a real doozy - hear me out." Turning so he was facing Ben, he lifted his hands and formed a picture frame in the air for a second, then grinned. "Jameson. 33 years old. Scrawny looking guy. Man bun! And here's the best part - he's passionate about American Pale Ales." "Oh, Christ," Ben laughed, rolling his head back to let it rest on the couch while he shook his head. "I feel bad for her!" "I don't!" Joe countered, waving the thought of dismissively with a flick of his hand as he went back to watching the show. "She's capable of making her own shitty decisions. We just get to hear about it afterwards." "I still feel bad, though," Ben hummed, raising his head again to stare at the TV for a few moments before clearing his throat, glancing at Joe quickly. "Did she say anything about Bumble, by chance?" Joe smirked. Not a good sign, Ben thought, but he tried not to panic as he watched his friend take another drink of his beer, keeping his eyes glue to the TV and nonchalantly tapping his fingers on the armrest. "Not really. She's only been on this Jameson guy for the last few days and I think he was Tinder." "Oh." Silence followed, then Ben shifted his legs and scratched at his knee nervously, wetting his lips before continuing. "Probably hasn't been on Bumble lately, then, yeah?" "Probably not." Nodding to himself, Ben decided that would have to satiate him for now, and he relaxed back into the couch as much as he could while the sound of Hyde roasting someone went in one ear and out the other. "Jameson going to last long?" "With the way she acts?" Joe tore his eyes away from the screen slowly, meeting his friend's gaze. "No way." Hope flooded Ben's heart once again, and he tried not to smile too wide as he nodded again, trying to play off his excitement with an offhand joke. "If she's so mean to us, imagine how she is to rubbish dates." The two of them considered the thought, then burst into laughter and looked back up to the screen, slowly quieting down and just watching the show with almost imperceptible grins on their faces. --- you: guys you: i'm swearing off of men forever joe-brainer: Finally! joe-brainer: How was Jameson? you: I'M STILL HERE you: i've heard about the difference between hops and malt THREE TIMES you: and he's really serial killer material he's creeping me out you: and he's got an accent?? big ben: Ouch, that's rough. Why are you texting in the middle of a date? you: why are you texting in the middle of ur date you: with joe joe-brainer: Yeah Ben wtf. I thought we had something. big ben: I want to see other people. big ben: Back me up please Y/N You giggled, quickly quieting yourself as Jameson returned with your drinks again. It was about your fourth or fifth round, and you were starting to get a buzz that made this date slightly less miserable than it had already been. But that wasn't saying much at all - as you looked across the table at your date, you almost had to fight back the urge to cry at how lost you felt. How in the hell were you going to talk your way out of this one? "Thank you." Smiling softly, you took a sip of the new lager that he'd brought over, fighting back a disgusted expression as the acrid aftertaste rocked you to the core. Jameson just nodded, offering a small smile before taking a disgustingly large drink of his own, apparently unfazed by the bitter taste. Must have been an acquired one. As you pretended to listen, he launched right back into his tangent about English beers - you'd found out he was from Northern England when you'd asked about his accent, and somehow he'd managed to come back around to that fact every 10 minutes or so. His voice was like a drone as you stole glances around the pub, feeling the spinning feeling in your head grow subtly with each word he uttered. God, why were you here? Yet another disastrous date with a egocentric male who found personality traits in mugs of shitty beer made by shitty local breweries with shitty hops. Or malt. Who fucking knows?  "My ex and I actually went to this one village, just outside of my hometown-" Oh Jesus, now he was bringing up his ex. Rubbing your fingers up and down your thigh, you continued to feign interest with a strained smile, but every muscle in your body itched to bolt out of this booth and out onto the street before you were too drunk to walk in heels. God, why did he have to be good looking? That 'no sleep/scrawny/scruffy guy' look always did you in. Ben's name flashed across your screen, followed by Joe, and you sighed softly as you locked the phone again, wishing you could reply. Instead, you flipped the phone over and propped your chin up on your hand, staring blearily at the slight, long-haired man who was genuinely convinced you gave a shit about the 500-year old liquor he got to try with his ex that was probably skinnier and prettier than you - and he'd probably bring that up by the end of the night too.  As your stomach rumbled, you slid your free hand to rest on it, regretting that you'd ate so early with Joe and Ben. The chicken had done nothing to tide you over, and the beer was making you crave disgusting things. Images of greasy fries and shitty frozen-patty burgers tantalized you from the back of your mind, and it was all you could do not to sprint down the block to the McDonald's you'd seen on your walk there with Jameson. "I'm going to head to the loo really quick, do you mind? It's all that beer, I swear," he asked, already sliding out of booth by the time you shook your head, sending him off with a warm smile that lasted just a second longer than it took for him to turn around and make his way to the back of the pub. Unlocking your phone, you leaned down to hit your head against the table a few times before pulling up the group chat again, catching up on what you'd missed. The screen was beginning to get a bit blurry, your fingers fumbling as you finally jumped back in. big ben: I don't appreciate being hung out to dry like this Y/N joe-brainer: Ben, come back inside. We can talk through this you: you are both MORONS you: god i fuckin love you guys joe-brainer: Do I spy drunk Y/N? That text was too nice you: idk what's in these beers but it tastes bad and also has fuggggged me up big ben: Uhhhh that's not reassuring. You're buying the drinks for yourself, right? you: asbolutely not you: asbolutey** you: ABSOLUTELY you: not. Joe sent a gif of Jim Lahey from Trailer Park Boys stumbling down the trailer steps, and you replied with a few laughing emojis before locking your phone, putting your head down on the table while a few patrons of the pub looked on in pity. They'd seen your horrid date play out for the last few hours, yet no one seemed to want to step in for the drunk girl who was minutes away from kicking off her heels and taking the subway barefoot if it meant getting away from this self-obsessed, stuffy Brit. Jameson had been throwing you off all night. When you'd found out he was from Northern England, you were excited because you'd picked up a few things about Ben's home country from him over the weeks. But Jameson was different. He wasn't as friendly, for starters. Also, his accent was more aggressive, harsher on the vowels and generally less friendly on the ears than Ben's was. Ben. You missed him. Your mind was all over the place, but those green eyes taunted you from the recesses of your brain, warm and inviting and so clearly not here right now that you felt like crying. Ben would be so nice to see right now - memories of his lush accent lured you even further away from the date at hand, and you couldn't even see a single reason to stay here and be miserable any longer when you had an even better Englishman at your disposal.  So much for arm's-length. "I can't do this anymore," you finally groaned, pulling up the group chat again and hurriedly clicking Joe's name, texting him 'SOS send help' in a sloppy manner before locking the phone again, climbing up out of the booth and throwing a twenty on the table. Maybe you'd text Jameson later, apologize for ghosting, but you doubted you would as you stumbled out of the bar, texting your location with another quick 'S O S send englishman i need back up' as you slumped down on a bench around the corner, unbuckling your heels with trembling hands. If this date were any different from the last few that you'd had, you might have been upset. But the alcohol in your system coupled with the constant disappointment of this city's dating scene numbed you to the horrifying disaster that you'd just went through for the last few hours. Your phone buzzed, but you were so worried that it was Jameson that you silenced the ringer, instead heading  for (see: drunkenly stumbling towards) the McDonald's sign that blazed just down the block. Meanwhile, Ben was in a panic. He'd been in the bathroom when he received two texts from you that he assumed were meant for Joe, a drunken mistake out of context that set off a very loud, persistent alarm in the blond's head. Though, it had to be noted, he did get a chuckle out of 'send englishman.' At least you were talking to Joe about him. "Fuck, pick up, Y/N!" he muttered quietly, calling you again to no avail. He'd been trying to contact you since you'd sent your location - however, you had all but dropped off the face of the Earth, currently enjoying a Big Mac and a large fry in the window seats of the dingy McDonald's somewhere in Manhattan. "God damn it," Ben muttered, your phone going to voicemail once again as a million possibilities whirled through the blond's head. You could be drugged out, kidnapped, killed, anything terrible - all kinds of scenarios spooked the hell out of him as he exited the bathroom, Joe still lounging on the couch. "Has Y/N texted you?" Ben asked, Joe laughing at something Hyde said on the TV before glancing at Ben, raising an eyebrow. From the current look on his face, Ben suspected that he hadn't a single clue, nor was he really worried about whether you were alive or dead right now. "In the group chat, yeah," he replied noncommittally, taking another drink of his beer as he looked back to the TV. "She's probably just listening to him drone on about local beers still. Wonder if he's trying to explain how American Pale Ales are superior." "Uh-huh," Ben replied vaguely, staring off at the opposite wall as he tried to figure out what in the hell his game plan was here. If you hadn't texted Joe, would it have been for a reason? Did he really need to bring Joe into his panic too, or should he handle this by himself? "I'm gonna head out, I think. It's getting late. Let me know if Y/N texts you." "Okay, Mr. Worrywart," Joe teased, giving a smug grin to the TV that only made Ben roll his eyes before he grabbed his keys, heading for the door. "Bye! Don't forget, same time next week! You better not come back a changed man from Fashion Week!" "See ya," Ben replied, but his head was already out the door and in game mode as he let the door swing shut behind him, heading for his car in the parking garage. As he walked there, he called you again, but no dice. Sighing, he resigned to texting you. big ben: Are you okay? I'm on my way The Big Mac was delicious. You smiled happily as you munched away, completely forgetting you'd just spent the last few hours wanting to gouge your eyes or eardrums out, either or. In fact, you forgot so much that you flipped your phone back over, your fear of confrontation with Jameson filtered out of your mind for the time being. Instead, a few missed calls and a text from Ben greeted you. Furrowing your eyebrows, you put down the Big Mac to reply, fingers still typing clumsily with the weight of the alcohol in your system, grease from the burger smearing on the screen a bit. you: why are you on yourway you: oh fuck HAHAHA i meant to text joe. im sorry you: welp awkward but this works anyways you: but what if i cant finish my bif mac in time you: then what :( At your response, a huge weight lifted off Ben's shoulders as he sighed in relief. You were alive, and getting some food in your system, which was already a good sign. Your spelling and execution? Still a bit concerning, so he climbed into his car and requested your location again, which you obliged to almost immediately. In the traffic on the way, he got anxious. What if you were still with the guy? What if he had to step in? Worse, what if things escalated? He didn't want to have to fight someone tonight, especially someone half his size horizontally, but probably double his size vertically. big ben: Where is Jameson? Is he with you? you: nope you: no idea you: are you on your way im tryinf to eat fast big ben: Don't hurt yourself, traffic is crazy lol. Slow down big ben: For fucks sake, please don't scare me like this again either big ben: When you text SOS from a date, I assume you’re getting kidnapped or drugged or something big ben: Since Joe says you really know how to pick em you: ew wtf you: stop acting like my dad you: do you ever text like a reg person?? you: send a gif once in a while its goodfor ur soul Scoffing, Ben just locked his phone and shoved it in the center console, only digging it out again when he'd reached the location you'd provided. Texting you he'd made it, he watched as you nearly fell off your stool trying to dismount. A worried sigh escaped his lips as he glanced behind him to make sure he was clear before getting out of his car, rushing to meet you as you exited the sketchy McDonald's and cheered, reaching out for him and almost falling in the process. He met you just outside the doorway, your arms flinging around his neck in a messy hug, which he gently reciprocated while mouthing 'sorry' to an annoyed passerby who'd nearly met the wrath of your flailing arms. "Oh, Ben, I'm so glad you're here! I finished my Big Mac!" you informed him, smiling widely and pulling back to watch him with hazy eyes. Trying to ignore how painfully close you were to brushing noses with him, he chuckled to himself nervously and pulled out of the hug, carefully wrapping an arm around your waist to help you to the car. "This is the most excited I think anyone's ever been to see me," Ben joked lamely, but you laughed anyways and sent a light tinge of pink seeping onto his cheeks while he smiled.  As you began to walk, you leaned against his side more, rubbing your stomach. "Tummy hurts a little bit from eating so fast." You were almost dead weight against his side, his broad hand gripping your waist tightly and digging into the black fabric that clung to all of your curves. If you weren't deliriously drunk at the moment, he figured he might have enjoyed that brief contact more - but right now, he was just focused on getting you home. Opening the passenger door, he looked on cautiously as you slid your way into the car clumsily, hitting your head in the process and making him flinch. "You okay?" he asked as he walked around the door to reach out for your head, but you just slid down in the seat, giggling and closing your eyes. "How much have you drank? He's got you silly, love." "Ohhhhh, that's a cute nickname. I love that. Love love," you laughed, letting your head loll to the side before opening your eyes again slowly, smiling widely up at him. "Can you call me that more often?" "What, you mean love?" Ben asked, raising an eyebrow as you raised your hand to your head to rub the sore spot where you'd just smashed it against the car. When you nodded and giggled once more, nursing your head, it was all Ben could do not to grin ear to ear. Instead, he forced himself to give you a small smile, then he nodded once. "Of course. D'you mean, like, all the time?" "Yes, yes, all the time," you confirmed happily, letting your eyes close again as the sound of the hazard lights steadily distracted you, the rhythmic clicking drawing your attention away from Ben for a moment. But you couldn't push the sound of him saying 'love' out of your mind, a deep, velvety baritone in that posh accent that made your skin tingle. Although you couldn't tell whether it was the alcohol making you so susceptible or just the fact that he was so damn good all-around, you had your suspicions that it was the latter sneaking up on you. "God, I'm so fucked. Say it again?" Taking a deep breath, Ben tried not to sound too eager as he crouched down on the sidewalk next to you, steadying himself on the car door and clearing his throat. "I hope you aren't gonna make me carry you all the way home, love." Laughing at his mild teasing, you opened your eyes again and had to look around for a moment to find his eyes, your gaze going from the traffic lights down the street, to some strangers passing by, to the McDonald's sign. Finally, you turned your head to meet his gaze, making Ben's heart skip a beat as that same look you'd given him a while ago made a reappearance. It was tender, a soft look in your eyes almost making it look like you were about to cry.  Oh. You were crying. "Oh fucking hell, what's wrong?" Ben cursed, fumbling for some napkins in his glovebox as a tear ran down your face despite the peaceful smile that still barely graced your lips. Finally locating the napkins, he began to wipe at your under-eyes, his free hand coming up to cradle the back of your head gently, offering him better leverage. It pained him to see you so upset, and he wondered why in the hell you were crying so hard until you leaned into his hand and gave a little laugh, then spoke. "I forgot to get a McChicken for Joe. He gets so mad when I go to McDonald's without him! Do you think he'll yell at me?" The smile slowly disappeared, replaced by a worried look that coupled well with more tears. Ben's eyes widened as he tried to keep up with the waterworks, but his attempts at dabbing away your tears were pointless as they kept coming, overwhelming him. "Joe's going to hate me, Ben! What if he takes my reclining chair?" "No, shhh, he's not going to hate you. Hey, hey, I'll go in and get one for him. How does that sound?" You sniffled at his words, nodding slowly as you gazed at him, teary-eyed and messy from the sudden crying. He used his thumb to brush some stray hairs out of your face, then offered you the napkins. "You stay here and listen to whatever station you want and I'll go get the McChicken, okay?" "Okay," you mumbled, your voice pathetically plaintive as you took the napkins from him, trying and failing to wipe at your tears as well. "You're so nice, Ben. You're seriously the best, I owe you. Joe was wrong." "Stay here, okay, love?" Ben repeated, trying not to think about your words too much, and he shut the door with a small wave goodbye, locking the doors on you for extra measure. As he bought a McChicken for Joe, he stole regular glances back towards his car on the side of the road where it was clearly not supposed to be, considering he hadn't paid for the meter, but he managed to get the sandwich and go before the meter maid caught him. As he climbed back in, you greeted him cheerily, a slap in the face after the gloomy mood he'd just left you in. "Ben, you're back! Look!" Showing her phone to you, he was greeted with Joe's smug grin, a smile that told Ben he was caught in the lie - well, not really the lie, but the absence of information. "Hey, bud. Did you get my McChicken?" Pressing his lips into a thin line, Ben held the sandwich up to the camera and Joe made a satisfied noise before shifting a little bit, getting comfortable on his couch. "Perfect. I told Y/N I'd hate her forever if she forgot." "Jesus!" Ben cursed, a bit horrified that Joe would be so mean to you when you were this drunk, but you didn't seem to register that you were being played as you looked between the two men, a dopey grin on your face. It was placating enough for the moment, and Ben gave the phone a clear look of dismay before turning his car on, shutting the hazards off. "Joe, we'll be back in 20. Y/N, you can hang up." "Okay," you replied happily, hanging up the phone as you both heard Joe yell something unintelligible about his sandwich. Looking over at you, you grinned despite having bloodshot eyes from the crying, and Ben gave you a reassuring smile as he stole glances at you, trying desperately to watch the road but not doing very well. "I'm assuming your date went swimmingly?" he asked, one hand resting on the steering wheel while the other laid on the center console. Driving in America was odd, so he found it weird to be looking to his right to see you instead of his left, but you were none the wiser as you giggled at his words, shaking your head. "You would not fucking believe," you started, your head lolling to the left a bit as you closed your eyes for a moment, trying to focus enough to get your story out. "I walk in and I'm like 'Jameson's so cute, but can I call you Jamie?' and this is what he did!" Turning to face Ben, you tried to make your face as neutral as you can before you deadpanned a quick "No." "What a lovely personality," Ben observed, laughing a bit as you pressed a hand to your forehead, amazed at how heated your skin was. "And then I tried to order a drink of my own but he was paying, so he made me get some drink that seriously tasted like straight ass! And then he wouldn't even let me get anything else but beer, and I don't even like beer! And then he talked about his ex!" "Ouch." Ben grimaced a bit at that, sympathizing with you while you rambled on and on about how awful the date was, ending with some complaint about how the beer wasn't even that cold. "Well, at least it's over now, right?"  Nodding, you slumped down in your seat, not really caring that your dress was ridden halfway up your thigh at this point. Out of respect, Ben glued his eyes to the road, but there was a creeping redness to his face that was pretty much indiscernible to your drunk goggles. Higher powers seemed to be testing him the more and more he hung out with you. Why hadn't you matched him on Bumble? What did you mean 'Joe was wrong'? The worries plagued him, making his finger tap nervously on the center console as he drove. "God, men are just garbage sometimes," you sighed out of nowhere, Ben lifting an eyebrow at your sudden woes before turning on his blinker, staring ahead at the red light. "Surely you don't mean that. Joe and I are men." "Joe is hardly a man! He screen peeks during Mario Kart." Snickering, Ben couldn't help but smile at that, fascinated by your measurement of Manliness. "I don't know if you screen peek, though. Do you screen peek? I'll never forgive you if you do." "Thank God I don't screen peek, then," Ben reassured you, chuckling once more as you sighed in relief and turned to look at him fully. This would certainly not be the first or last time, but you once again found yourself drowning in his good looks, the world around him spinning but everything about him clear as day. The way the NYC traffic lights reflected in his eyes, his messy hair that had been shaved at the sides - how hadn't you noticed that earlier, before the alcohol? It made him look broader, more statuesque than he already was, which seemed impossible. But most of all, the amused smile playing at the corner of his plump lips, lips that made you chew on the inside of your cheek as you fought back the desperate need to lean across the center console and- "I like your haircut," you blurted out, distracting yourself from your own thoughts, and Ben smiled even wider, looking in the rear-view mirror before looking over at you. The skin at the corner of his eyes crinkled adorably as he watched you for a brief moment, his smile toothy and endearing and making him look even more attractive than before. Well, that didn't help. "Thank you. I'm still not sure if I like it, but I wanted to get it cut before Paris Fashion Week, since I fly out the day after tomorrow." "Oh," you replied quietly, images of skinny models and beautiful outfits blurring through your mind. Again, a blatant reminder that Ben was on a completely different level than you - while you had to sit and listen to scrawny men lament about getting paid more than you, Ben could easily take a model back to his hotel room in Paris of all places. A pained look crossed your face, and Ben furrowed his eyebrows in question before looking back to the road, chewing on the inside of his cheek in thought. "That's dope." God, why were you being so lame? "Yeah," he replied just as quietly, baffled as to why you'd clammed up all of a sudden. A minute ago, you were a chaotic ball of energy, crying and cheering and laughing all over the place, and now here you were sinking back into the leather of Ben's passenger seat, tugging at the bottom of your dress self-consciously and forcing yourself to stare straight ahead. You looked hurt, and he wondered if he'd said something wrong again. A minute or two passed in painful silence before Ben cleared his throat, deciding to end the awkward moment and offering you a smile as he spoke eagerly. "I like your dress. It's a shame you had to waste it on such a dickhead. Where was he from, anyways?" "Sheffield. Or some place nearby, I don't know," you sighed noncommittally, resting your head back against the seat and closing your eyes as his attempts to banter with you went unnoticed. The world was beginning to tilt a bit, and being upset about someone who wasn't even in the same ballfield as you was not helping to fix it. "Northern England, for sure." "Oh, fuck those Northern bastards," Ben groaned playfully, smiling wider when he saw the faintest of grins playing at your lips. "I swear we're not all self-important pricks. Don't let him paint a bad image of all of us." "I could never," you murmured, reaching up to rub the side of your face as Ben strained to hear your mumblings over the sound of the radio. Before he had a chance to react, you moved on, desperate to keep the conversation going before you felt like curling up into a self-loathing ball of shame. "Going to Fashion Week to see anyone?" "Nah. Just got invited, is all," Ben replied slowly, still clueless to the jealous heat that was rising from the tips of your toes to the top of your head, making your whole body feel like it was alight. Flames licked at your heart, vaguely stinging, and you tried to push away the pain as you focused on his words, trying to choose your own carefully. "Fun, fun," you mused, opening your eyes slowly and glancing over to see he was casting curious looks at you when he was stopped at another red light, about halfway to Joe's at this point. Suddenly, you remembered that you'd forgotten your shoes at the McDonald's, and you burst into laughter as you pressed your hand to your forehead, a couple more tears springing to your eyes. "I'm such a fucking dumbass! Oh, God, why do you and Joe even hang around me?" "Because it's hard to ignore someone who shares a balcony?" Ben answered tentatively, realizing you were crying again a moment too late and cursing before fumbling for the glove box again, trying to get you more napkins. "Fuck, I'm sorry, I didn't mean that! It was just a joke, love, I didn't mean to make you cry. I swear, I'm not as mean as Joe-" "Ben, shut up!" you laughed, snatching another napkin from the glove box before turning towards your door and dabbing at the tears, in between laughing and bawling at your current situation. "God, you're too nice, stop it! You're supposed to be that Ben that Joe told me about, not apologizing every time I go baby!" Pulling down the overhead mirror, you tried in vain to fix your makeup, sniffling between your slurring words. "I forgot my shoes back there." "Oh. What did Joe tell you about me?" Ben asked curiously, pulling up at yet another red light that was just a few blocks from your apartment building. This one seemed to take forever, though, realization weighing on your shoulders as you wished desperately that alcohol didn't make you vocalize every single thought you had. "I hope it was all good?" "I shouldn't have said that," you hiccuped, reaching up to smack your forehead a few times before laughing and burying your face in your hands, your seat belt struggling to hold you back as you leaned forward and went a bit limp, angry with yourself and upset with Ben for being so curious. "Of course it was all good. God, I'm too drunk for this. Drop me off at the curb and I'll make it back upstairs." It was a green light again. Ben pressed on the gas, side-eyeing you a bit and staying quiet for another block before he took a deep breath, shaking his head. "You said it yourself, you're drunk, so there's no way you are going back up there alone. Friends don't let drunk friends go home alone." Your phone began buzzing, sidetracking any response you could have had to Ben officially calling you his 'friend,' and you lifted it to find that Joe was Facetiming once again. Swiping right, you answered, and Joe's face lit up the screen, prompting a genuine smile from you that didn't go unnoticed by Ben, who was now pulling in to the parking garage he'd just left less than an hour ago. "Hi, Joey!" you answered softly, the sentimental look back in your eyes as you rested your head on Ben's window, watching your phone screen blearily. Ben glanced over at you, trying to keep a neutral expression despite the fact that he was once again convinced that you and Joe were even closer than you appeared. These dates - what did they mean? Were they distractions? As much as he wanted to convince himself that it was just that you guys had been living in blindingly close proximity for over two years, he just couldn't shake the feeling that the touchy-feely nature of your relationship was something beyond that. "Ugh, I told you not to call me that! But hi. Are you guys about here? I snuck over to your place and got your hangover cure ready." Joe's phone shifted, then turned to reveal he was in your kitchen next to two glasses of water and four ibuprofen. "Oh my god," you whined softly, slumping in your seat a bit and fighting back more tears as you smiled at the phone, pressing your hand to your forehead again. "You're too nice to me. I could cry right now." "Please don't," Ben begged, making you laugh a bit in embarrassment and close your eyes, hitting your head against the window a few times. "We're in the garage right now. We'll be there in 5 minutes." "Joe, can you pleaseeeee please please go to my closet and get out my fuzzy white bathrobe?" you pleaded, giving your best puppy dog eyes/pout combo that you could in your hazy state. "I'll do anything." Ben finally found a parking spot, and your eyes lit up when you realized you could climb out, completely forgetting all about your shoes that you'd left behind as you managed to unbuckle yourself and stumble out of the car before Ben could make his way over to help you. Cursing under his breath, he locked the door and shoved his keys into his sweatpants as he hurried over to your side, where you were leaned against the back passenger door of the car and rambling on to Joe about how you really needed your bathrobe to be put in the dryer so it was 'like a warm hug' when you got back. "Why can't Ben or I just give you a hug?" Joe groaned, shuffling through your closet before locating the big white piece of fabric and heading for your dryer. Ben reached around you to shut your door for you, putting the McChicken in his other pocket before raising an eyebrow at you and silently questioning whether you were ready to walk alone again. Confidently, you began your trek back to the elevator, but a few steps and you were already swaying again, steadying yourself on the trunk of his car. Damn, this thing looks expensive. These fucking actors. Sighing, Ben quickly caught up and wrapped an arm around your waist, his keys digging into your side as he supported your dead weight once again and led you towards the elevator. "Because I'm upset with the male species right now," you replied, your actions completely betraying your words as you draped an arm across Ben's shoulder and leaned your head on it, sighing melodramatically. "He wouldn't even let me call him Jamie." Ben could see the amusement even in Joe's horribly pixelated face, the WiFi connection understandably horrid out in the garage, but he chalked the amusement up to Joe thoroughly enjoying drunk you. His free hand went out to press the elevator button as a night security guard eyed you both warily from afar, Ben nodding curtly, and you pressed the button again for what you thought was good measure before closing your eyes, humming tiredly. Ben was warm, and the body heat radiating off of him was dangerously comfortable. "That sounds awful," Joe replied faux-sympathetically, though he seemed more like he was having the time of his life witnessing your dependency on Ben despite the fact that you were basically saying all men were trash. Ben's lips pressed into a thin line, silencing any nagging thoughts as he listened to you continue. "I know! And he made me drink beer all night, and kept talking about his ex, and then he made a fat joke!" You continued rambling about everything that had gone wrong that night, disparaging men in your drunken state while simultaneously leaning against Ben's side, your arm draped around his shoulder and fingertips occasionally brushing against his chest. The elevator rose to your floor steadily, a happy noise escaping the back of your throat when the doors finally opened, and you gripped Ben's shoulder tightly to steady yourself as he led you into the hallway, ignoring the sharp dig of your fingernails in his skin. Right now, he just wanted to get you back home before his arm fell off, his hand almost asleep from how hard he had to grip your waist to keep you steady.  When your door opened and Joe appeared, you couldn't contain your excitement, nor could Ben's grip contain you as you propelled forward into Joe's arms, wrapping him up in the tightest hug you'd ever given him. Laughing, he returned the hug as he slid his foot out to hold the door open for Ben, who made his way in with a mildly exhausted look on his face that Joe just barely witnessed. A knowing smile snuck its way onto his lips, and he shut the door as you let go of him, stumbling down the hallway after Ben and making your way to the kitchen.  "Joe, you're seriously the best," you practically moaned from the kitchen as you took the ibuprofen and chugged one of the glasses of water, Ben raising an eyebrow as he turned to look at Joe, who shrugged and grinned. "It's like I'm chopped liver or something," Ben remarked, just loud enough for Joe to hear but quiet enough for it to pass under your radar as you started on the second glass of water, drinking it down like a ravenous beast. Reaching into his pocket, Ben pulled out the sandwich and tossed it to Joe, who cheered in excitement and unwrapped it quickly, biting into the partially-cold chicken and not caring one bit. As he tossed his keys on the counter, Ben took a look around your place, realizing he'd never been there before. It was just a flipped carbon copy of Joe's, all the cozy dimensions the same. The two men made their way into the living room where you were fully out of earshot, and both settled into the couch as they listened to you rummaging around the kitchen. "Well, you kind of still smell like it," Joe offered, talking through his sandwich and not bothering to chew at all before he spoke. "I swear to God, if either of you makes another joke about me smelling bad, I'm going mental," Ben hissed, running his hands back through his hair and wincing at the sharpness of the freshly shaved hairs on the side that pricked at his fingertips. "I'm not your girlfriend's Uber, you know? Why would she text me to come pick her up?" Joe grinned and shrugged, very clearly enjoying how irritated Ben was becoming as he took another bite of the McChicken, vaguely gesturing with the hand it was in as he spoke again. "Not my girlfriend, but whatever. Two, ask her. I'm not your couples therapist, Mr. Fashion Week. I can't ask your girlfriend for you. God, the power of the pussy." "She's- you're one to talk!" Ben sputtered out, reaching over to give Joe's shoulder a mild-mannered smack. "Let yourself in to a bird's apartment and get her hangover cure - which you know by heart - ready, and throw her clothes in the laundry for her, and you want to talk to me about the power? Get out. Just stop dicking around already, mate, it's clear you two have a thing and you're just fucking with me at this point." "Ummmm, I believe I'm just a friendly neighbor. You're the one that risked losing a parking spot in the middle of the city just so you could go pick up a drunk girl  and carry her home."   Ben was gearing up to fire back that he'd never seen two neighbors so close, but at that moment he heard you walking out into the living room, and both of them turned to see you snuggled up in the bathrobe you'd retrieved from the dryer, your dress laying in a heap by the washing machine. "Mmmm, perfect," you hummed to yourself, your eyes just barely visible over the oversized bathrobe that disguised most of your figure. Padding over to the chair adjacent from them, you flopped down it in rather ungracefully and curled up against the armrest, staring at the both of them with a silly grin. "Whatcha talkin' about out here?" "Nothing," Joe calmly lied, taking another bite of his sandwich as he sat back, offering an unassuming smile. "You missed That 70's Show." "I should have stayed and skipped my date," you huffed quietly, pouting as your eyelids fluttered closed and you nuzzled the pillow you currently had tucked underneath you. You were getting sleepy, and Ben could tell that you weren't going to last much longer at this rate. "Jameson was a big, stupid bitch. Why do guys suck?" "Damn, Benny-boy over here drives to pick you up and I get your stuff ready for bed and all guys suck?" Joe questioned, raising an eyebrow and watching as you whined and furrowed your own eyebrows, peeking open your eyes. There it was, the tender look that managed to send Ben's mind into a frenzy once again - he wasn't sure now if it was because he knew crying might come with it, or if you just had that much of an affect on him.  "That's not what I meant, Joe, I'm sorry!" Your eyes were starting to look watery, and Ben sent Joe a panicked look that just prompted a heavy sigh from his friend. Taking the last bite of his sandwich, Joe rose to his feet and brushed the crumbs off of his shorts before ambling over to the chair. His hand wrapped around your wrist and he carefully pulled you to stand as you sniffled and whined quietly, tears  threatening to spill over - Ben observed stiffly as you fully wrapped your arms around Joe's torso, leaning into his grasp as he started to lead you to your bedroom. "Okay, crybaby, you've trashed males enough and made Ben lose his parking spot, I think it's bedtime, yeah?" Joe asked, wrapping an arm lazily around you and maneuvering you around the maze of your living room before glancing over his shoulder to nod at Ben. "I can take it from here. Night, dude. Have fun in Paris!" "Ben, I'm sorry I made you lose your parking spot! I'm such a bitch," you wailed as Joe made futile attempts to shush you, his hand only partially muffling your cries as he led you down the hallway just like a doting boyfriend caring for his drunk girlfriend. "Bye, guys." Raising his hand, Ben waved once, but neither of you saw it as you whined into Joe's hand, gripping onto his shirt tightly while Joe tried to distract you to no avail. Ben was already no longer in the picture, reduced to a background character while Joe took center stage once again. When you disappeared out of sight, Ben took a long, deep breath before rising to his feet as well, stretching and slowly making his way to where he'd sat his keys before exiting. The sound of you wailing from your bedroom accompanied his exit, and he could faintly hear you in the hallway as he pressed the elevator button, shuffling into the cramped space when the doors slid open with a dinging sound.  As the doors closed behind him, Ben turned and leaned against the wall, closing his eyes as exhaustion slowly set in. "Fucking hell," he muttered, his voice the only sound in his ears besides the creaking of the elevator shaft, an odd shift from having someone around him almost constantly all night. Though he hated to say it, he almost would have rather been trying to stop you from crying right now - he missed your voice, and Joe's too. The virtual silence was deafening, and a dull ringing sound started to assault his eardrums. The elevator doors slid open, and Ben reemerged to find that the same night security guard from before was watching him curiously, the window to his little shack slid open partially. "She get home okay? Seems like she was quite a handful," the guard remarked, the wrinkles around his face deepening as he punctuated his sentence with a little chuckle. Ben laughed once, nodding as he sifted through his key ring and strolled past the guard's stand, shaking his head. "She's alright. Just had a few too many and needed a babysitter for a little bit." The guard's eyes never left the blond as he passed, his arms folding in front of him as he watched Ben fiddle with his key ring, failing to find the remote to unlock his car. "Must have been hell getting her to settle in. She's lucky she's cute, huh?" That slowed Ben's pace down considerably, and not just because the night guard was out of pocket. He paused in picking his car key out of the key ring, looking up for a moment before nodding and heading to get in his car, his smile faltering just a bit - again, he was reminded that it was Joe up there with you right now, not him.  "Yeah. Very lucky." --- sorry i was such a mess last night, i'm 100% paying for it now! thanks for coming to get me even though i'm a straight up moron. and i didn't forget, i definitely owe you... joe says have fun in paris :) Ben reread the text one more time, unable to smile despite the cutesy emoticon at the end. Even though you'd taken the time to message him personally and thank him with an open-ended IOU, there was Joe's name, popping up at the end like an annoying little fly that just kept reappearing despite his best efforts to swat it away.  "It's not his fault," he mumbled, locking his phone as he went on to his 16th hour of ignoring your text. What would he say anyways? Hey, no sweat, I basically would drop everything to come pick you up from a shitty date. Actually, why don't I just take you on a shitty date and we can skip- "Blanket?" The flight attendant's voice jolted him out of his wallowing, and he gave the clean-cut man an embarrassed smile before nodding his head, accepting the packaged blanket gratefully. Dealing with his problems was going to be a lot easier when he could sleep them away for the next 7 hours, and then promptly drown them in fancy outfits, rich foods, and outlandish cocktails. "Thanks, mate. Definitely going to need it."

---

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[shitty-tf2-headcanons]

Mercs with a girlfriend whos autistic and has body stims, and is insecure about it? Specifically rocking and chewing? Maybe include them catching her rocking while she was alone or seeing maybe one two many chewed up bottle caps or plastics in the trash? As you can tell im self indulgent and I like comfort

Ayy there ain’t nothing wrong with being self indulgent, self indulgence is why I created this blog. And hey, who doesn’t like comfort? Being comforted is like the 2nd best feeling in the world.

Scout- He doesn’t know why he looked. Something in his gut told him...but that doesn’t make any sense to him. Why would a gut feeling tell you to look in a trash bin and pick up a green bottle cap. It looked chewed to all hell. Teeth marks littered the small piece of plastic. Another one was pulled out at random. A yellow cap with the same marks. Rooting the trash revealed more and more chewed up caps. He wasn’t confused or upset. He was more...curious than anything. He decided that the best way to sate this curiosity was to talk to her directly. He tells her that he found the bottle caps and he of course panics when she looks just as panicked as him. 

“No no i-it’s okay! I chew on my pencils sometimes! And-And I chew on my fingernails! Look look, see? You don’t have to feel b-bad...”

The bandages are peeled off his hands to reveal red nail bitten fingers. He tries to joke that at least chewing on caps doesn’t lead to an infection...he hopes anyway. He doesn’t want you to feel ashamed about the way she is. If he mocked her for chewing on plastic, he might as well wear a sign that says “BIG FREAKING HYPOCRITE”. He always makes sure to remind her she has nothing to hide from him.     

Soldier- He’s caught her a couple of times. He’s seen her rocking in their bedroom and sometimes the rec room. She always seemed to do it alone though. Soldier was never known for his wits or intelligence. No, this man is famous in the team for jumping to conclusions. Once he saw you rock again, he thought back to his time with Merasmus. The wizard sometimes rocked in a similar manner...was his girlfriend a wizard too? Was this some sort of summoning ritual? But what would she be summoning? Aha! A warm blooded American like her (he thinks this even if she’s not American) must be summoning the spirit of George Washington! The next time he catches sight of her rocking, he busts right in and take a seat next to her. Not noticing the panicked look on your face, he copies your rocking movement. She asks him what he’s doing. He, of course, tells her that he’s helping her summon the ghost of George Washington. She then has to explain to him what stimming is.

“Oh. This is...stimming. Can we still try to summon George Washington?” 

She tells him that they can try and he is beyond excited to see George again. Her rocking doesn’t bother him, it never bothered him to begin with. To him, it’s just something she does. Nothing to feel bad about. Though he promises to beat the crap out of this “Insecurity” she keeps talking about. She has nothing to worry about when around her Soldier (though she still worries he somehow summoned Washington without her knowing).    

Pyro- At first, they didn’t think much of it. So she liked to chew on bottle caps, that wasn’t a big deal at all. They remember all sorts of weird things they used to chew on as a kid. Rubber, hair, plastic, nails, etc. You name it, they chewed on it. They’re about to move past it when they realize something else. All that chewing eventually lead them to chewing on more meaty parts of their body, like their arms and hands. What if...what if she was doing that too? The thought of their girlfriend harming herself brought tears to their eyes. His girlfriend was in for quite a shock when Pyro burst through their door, sobbing loudly behind their mask. They gesture for her to hold her arms out and she obliges. They check her arms and let out an audible sigh of relief when her arms looked to be bite free. His girlfriend asks him what all this was about. Pyro pulled out one of her chewed up caps, though they quickly put it away when they saw the look of shame and embarrassment. They explained (or mumbled rather) that they used to do the same thing, so they understand why she would feel embarrassed and insecure. Pyro reassures her as long as she’s not hurting herself, she’s perfectly fine. They even collect clean bottle caps and give it to her as a little gift.

Demo- He sees her doing it. It’s stimming, right? He sure hope it is, he remembers some of the kids from his orphanage were autistic too. He was even friends with a few of them. They used to do the same thing, rocking and such. He used to laugh about it, it was a little funny to watch honestly, but he quickly realized his mistake when they made an even bigger effort to hide from him. He admits he could be a shitty little kid sometimes. So it’s not surprising that he feels like that guilty little kid again. Why does she feel insecure about it? Did somebody say something? He just sighs and takes a sip of scrumpy. He can’t have his fav lass feeling so down around him or anyone. So he walks into the room, right when she was in the middle of rocking, and takes a seat next to her. He sighs and slowly grabs her hand, squeezing gently

“Aye lass...ya know I love ya, right? Nothing ya do is ever gonna change that.”

He’s not going to make her stop. It helps her with her emotions, right? So why make her stop doing something that’s beneficial to her? Plus, just like when he was a kid, it’s going to make him chuckle sometimes. He’s obviously not going to say it aloud but it’s funny to watch. But also calming in a way. Just watching you rock puts him in a state of tranquility. 

Heavy- He keeps finding soda caps in the trash. They always appear to be chewed on? He’s confused to say the least. Is somebody so hungry that they resort to eating plastic? Why though...there’s plenty of food on the base. He considers leaving out sandviches for this mysterious chewing person. He’ll do that later. Maybe his girlfriend might know something. He presents her with a few chewed up caps and asks her if she knows something. The look on her face  simultaneously breaks his heart and strikes fear in it. Oh no he made a mistake, here here, just take $7000, go shopping, please don’t be sad. He’s gonna go to Medic and ask him about it. He’s gonna feel like a big insensitive idiot when the doctor explains to him that she’s simply stimming. Oh, that makes sense. He’s gonna bashfully approach her and apologize for making her feel a certain way.

“Am sorry for embarrassing you. Heavy did not understand. This...stimming...is fine. You are fine.”

He wish he could say more but his English is still in need of work. He just wants you to be comfortable and happy. If that means chewing on bottle caps, go right ahead. Heavy does not judge. He may even give her some bottle caps if she wants some. Anything for his beloved. 

Engineer- Dad mode activated. Is she okay? Is something wrong? Seeing her rocking alone is immediately gonna worry him. He has a vague idea of stimming and autism since a few of his classmates and cousins were autistic. Though he only really saw them do it when they were overwhelmed and that worried him. She’s overwhelmed, isn’t she? Well that won’t do at all. Cue the montage. This man is gonna do everything in his power to make you comfortable. Dim the lights, quietly berate the team for making too much noise, make the team dinners into something you like all the time. Engie is nice and all but everyone (gf) can see something is bothering him. His gf is probably gonna have to confront him. He’s gonna look embarrassed and try to make it seem like something isn’t wrong. But, being the honest good boi he is, he’s gonna crack and admit the truth.

“I see you rocking sometimes. I know you’re different and all but are you okay? I just want you to feel at home in the base here, honey bee. 

That’s when she’s gonna have to explain to him how stimming works. Yes, she does it do because she’s overwhelmed, but she also does it when she’s feeling a strong emotion. It’s calming for her. Engie is gonna be both relieved and happy when he hears that it’s a calming mechanism for her. But he’s gonna be worried again when she admits that she’s insecure about it. Insecure? Why should she feel bad about something that makes her feel better? Either way, he doesn’t want his love to feel bad anyway. So she’s gonna have to deal with his constant reminders that he loves her and his constant feats to make her comfortable in the presences of the public and himself. 

Medic- Oh, she’s stimming. He isn’t surprised considering she’s autistic. He already kinda knew she was autistic after the first few days of knowing her. He is a doctor, after all. A crazed one but not a dumb one. So he’s okay with her chewing. But he’s really not okay with her chewing on bottle caps of all things! Gott, doesn’t she know how dirty these cheap factory made caps are?! Think of all the germs!! Their wearing down her precious teeth!!! Ahem, as a semi professional doctor, he doesn’t scream these complaints at her. Rather, he tells her out of nowhere while he’s working that he knows about her cap chewing. 

“Those caps of yours carry so many germs, mäuschen, you don’t vant a dirty mouth, do you? Not to mention that they wear down you’re lovely teeth.”

He says it so calmly and offhandedly that it’s easy to assume that he doesn’t care that much or he’s insulting you. Quite the contrary, he cares very much about matters that concern your health. He doesn’t mean to sound mean. Plus, he does show he cares when he gets you a couple of chewy toys or items, ones that won’t wear down your teeth. Wait you’re insecure about your stimming? Now you’re just being irrational. It’s completely natural for someone like her. How can he shame you for stimming, he would have to admit he has failed as a doctor and boyfriend if he did such a thing. He encourages you to stim with the items he bought you.

Sniper- Growing up in the middle of nowhere with two parents and spending most of his life in near isolation, he’s not gonna know much about autism. Least of all what stimming is. So he’s not gonna judge her for her behavior or mannerisms. That’s just how some people are, can’t really do much when it comes to how people’s minds work. He’s caught her rocking sometimes. Though he only sees her doing when she thought he was asleep or in the other room. Ah, he figures that it’s something she likes to do in her private time. Perfectly understandable. So he just pretends he doesn’t see anything and just moves on with life. Though there comes the day when he accidentally walks in on her rocking. They both freeze and just stare at each other. The look on her face reminds her of his own face when’s been caught pissing in jars or baby talking a cute stray. Shame and embarrassment. He closes the door and just isolates himself. He embarrassed her. He loathes embarrassment and he just hates himself for just making her feel that way. After returning from his self banishment, he’s gonna immediately apologize.

“Mmm sorry...didn’t mean to barge in on your personal space, roo. Wasn’t thinking straight...” 

Whether or not she tell him what stimming is, he’s gonna respect her privacy. He’ll leave the room if she starts stimming or stay out if she is stimming. It’ll always be “her” private activity so he’s not gonna invade her privacy. He’ll gladly stay if she says it’s okay for him to stay with her. He knows that she’s insecure about it and he understands completely, he’s one of the most insecure people on the team. To combat her insecurity, he’ll chase everyone out of the room if she needs to stim or remind her that you just do you. 

Spy- He’s not gonna actively root through some trash Scout  but he does notice some chewed up caps. He’ll raise an eyebrow. Well, sees like someone on the team has a bit of a chewing problem. He’s willing to bet that it’s either Scout or Pyro.  Being the nosy bitch he is, he’s gonna pay extra close attention to his team. His girlfriend isn’t safe from his snooping either.  He quickly learns it’s her when he’s cloaked and he catches her chewing on some bottle caps in the (supposed) privacy of her room. He watches her for a bit before slinking out the room. He doesn’t tell. Of course he doesn’t. But he does want to talk to her. He’s just not sure what to say. He’s not bothered by her chewing, it’s just another special little quirk of hers. He’s mostly worried that confronting her about it will lead to her getting emotional and he’s just not ready to handle that. But he sometimes say things that hints that he knows about her stimming.“Mon amour, do you want me to buy you something from the grocery store? Some water bottles, perhaps? Or some sweets, maybe?”She shouldn’t be too surprised when she sees that some brand new chewy items have been left in her room. If she doesn’t use the items as left, then she’s gonna find a stack of bottle caps. The caps look and smell cleaned? It’s obvious who's leaving these gifts around. To help with her insecurity, she’s gonna be receiving a lot more soft kisses that seem to last longer than usual. Still insecure? He must buy more of what she wants and needs.

Miss Pauling- She’s rarely home long enough to catch her stimming. She usually comes in, gives her a quick kiss, drinks some coffee, and is out to work again. So her girlfriend can stim all she wants in the safety and privacy of her home. Pauling is well aware of stimming so she already knows her girlfriend stims. But she does find it a little odd that she never sees her stimming in front of her. But she doesn’t dwell on that thought too long since she needs to focus on the work at hand. She only catches her gf in the act when she finally gets her yearly day off. She stumbles into the house in the dead of night, ready to crash and enjoy the day sleeping and cuddling her girl. She walks into the room and sees her rocking. At any other time, she would sit and talk with her. But now? She was already half asleep and didn’t fully comprehend the gravity of the situation or how embarrassed her girlfriend looked. She just sleepily mumbled.“Sorry babe, did I interrupt...I’m so tired. Come lay with me please...I wanna lay in those soft arms forever...”She’s gonna hit the bed and pass right out, whether or not she was in her girlfriend’s arms. She only realizes everything in the morning. She’s kinda embarrassed about how she acted. But at least she got to see you stim! But she looked embarrassed...was that why she did it alone. Then she feels shitty for interrupting. She doesn’t feel the need to talk with her about it. She just lays with her on the couch all day and watches whatever she likes. She’s a lot more affectionate with her that, but only if her girlfriend is okay with it. When she’s busy at work, she’ll make sure to leave little cheesy love notes everywhere. And her short breaks are spent in her girlfriend’s arms. She loves her for who she is.

[gastricpierrot]

Title: When Stars Align

Series: Daiya no Ace

Pairing: KuraRyou

Rating: T

Summary: Nothing good ever comes out of an intimate relationship between a human and a youkai, Ryousuke knows. He’s heard more than enough stories on betrayal, on disasters, on families being shunned. And being an onmyouji, he knows better than anyone else.

And yet, he lets himself fall.

Note: WELP THAT ONLY TOOK LIKE 3 MONTHS OR SOMETHING IM SO SORRY _(:D tagging @public-benches​ and @hailing​ because i feel like i need to personally apologize to you guys for taking so long ahahah OTL

Also on AO3! 

[Ch.1][Ch.2][Ch.3][Ch. 4][Ch.5]

[Ch.6]

Youichi has no idea who the guy is.

The one thing he knows is that he’s going to annoy him a lot, just by the looks of him. Really, no one with a grin that mischievous should be trusted with anything, even if he did have a pretty face and an onmyouji's outfit. Youichi notices the tell-tale signs right away as well; the unusual light in the newcomer's eyes, the way his footsteps seem to echo a tad too loudly in the open space around them. Guy's a youkai.

“So, you’re the new tengu,” Pretty Boy observes, in a sort of mocking, calculating way that instantly prods at Youichi’s temper. What is his problem? Actually, scratch that—what's with everyone here who's walked up to him questioning his ability? He knows Tetsu's probably set ridiculously high standards during his time here, but still. He's trying his best and he's not about to whine at this smug racoon.

"There anythin' you need?" Youichi's proud of how stable his voice comes out. Go a few years back and he'll probably be grinding their foreheads together and asking for a fight. Definitely not the volatility people would want from a protective deity.

"Oh, nothing much." A dismissive wave. "Just thought I'd check out the new guy."

"Uh...huh." That reason's way too vague to sound legitimate. "And you are?"

"Name's Miyuki Kazuya," Miyuki says with absolutely none of the formality the mountain youkai insist on using with Youichi despite his efforts to be casual with them. Youichi can't say he fully appreciates that coming from this guy, though. "Youkai-onmyouji extraordinaire! Feel free to use honorifics while speaking to me, yeah?"

Youichi snorts at that, crossing his arms. "You wish, pal. Even I don’t get those all the time here.”

“Have you considered that’s because you look a lot like a troublemaker?” Miyuki suggests offhandedly, so much so that Youichi almost fails to take offense at his tone of voice. Almost.

“And have you considered minding your own business?" Youichi tries hard not to snap. He's not letting this newcomer just waltz in and start judging him. He's already had enough of that the first time.

Miyuki simply laughs in response, hands raised in an unconvincing gesture of placation. "Sorry, didn't mean to touch a nerve there."

Youichi glares at him. "If you're only here to see how I look like, you're done. Go home, wander around—whatever, I don't care. Pretty sure you're at least smart enough to find something else to amuse yourself with."

Miyuki has the audacity to look offended at that. “Rude.”

Youichi allows himself two deep breaths. It’s his loss if he loses his temper, he knows. And despite only having known Miyuki for a grand total of ten minutes Youichi decides he’d rather kiss his master’s feet than to give him the satisfaction of winning whatever stupid little game he’s trying to play here.

“Alright, you know what?” Youichi works to keep his hands from clenching into fists. “Just be honest. What are you here for?”

“I told you, I’m just here to check out the new guy.” Miyuki’s smile turns wry. “I wasn’t trying to flirt, by the way.”

“Wow, I am so disappointed.” Youichi doesn’t think his tone could go any flatter. Miyuki, expectedly, is not at all bothered by that.

“Also, I didn’t catch your name?”

Youichi proceeds to spend several seconds trying to decide if he's still in the middle of making fun of him, or if their entire conversation up until this point was just Miyuki sucking at trying to make friends and probably being nice in general. Thinking back, Youichi figures he's probably kinda in the wrong as well; Miyuki technically hasn’t directly insulted him or anything yet. He can definitely trust his gut that long-term exposure to him is going to be a pain in the ass, but he supposes there’s no harm in trying to be a decent person for now. He shouldn't stoop as low as this tanuki so fast.

“It’s Youichi.” He manages to keep it from sounding like a grumble. Miyuki nods once.

"And I hear you've pulled off the miraculous feat of having Ryousuke-san like you?"

"I'm not sure if Ryou-san's exactly capable of harbouring any fondness towards people who are not Haruichi," Youichi deadpans, cursing himself for feeling blood creep to his cheeks at the way Miyuki worded his sentence nonetheless. "But we’re tolerating each other, I guess."

"Aw, no need to be so shy about it! You're even on a first name basis!" Miyuki flashes him another of his smug-ass grins, and Youichi's seized with the overwhelming urge to send him flying over a ledge in the mountain. Fortunately, he manages to settle for a heavy sigh instead.

"What exactly is your problem?" he asks, running a tired hand across his face. Of course, Miyuki looks at him like he doesn't even realize he's being a problem.

"Just curious over the person Ryousuke-san’s acknowledged, really,” he says, finally letting a bit of his mirth fade from his tone. “You may not believe it, but I’ve known him for a while now and I know how ridiculous his standards could be. I suppose you really must be impressive to some extent—though it’s not that I’d find out for sure, haha.”

Youichi’s taken aback for a second. “Huh. So you can be nice.”

“Though, it’s either that or—” Miyuki continues musing as if Youichi hadn’t spoken— “he has a soft spot for you somehow?? Wow.” His eyes widen dramatically as though he’s come to a mind-blowing discovery. “Didn’t know he liked the scruffy type.”

“I’ve no idea what you’re on about and I frankly do not want to know,” is what Youichi says but he actually has a pretty solid idea on what Miyuki’s implying and he can’t help but wonder how in the world does he come up with these conclusions. Does Ryousuke seriously treat him that differently compared to other people? Or is Miyuki just talking out of his butt to get some sort of golden reaction from him so he could have some good laughs?

“Eh, come to think of it, though,” Youichi decides on the safest course of action, and that’s to change the subject, “are you Ryou-san’s colleague from the Capital or something? Since you showed up around the time he came back.”

“By definition, yeah.” Miyuki raises his eyebrows, obviously bemused by Youichi’s evasion. “The big guys thought it’d be best for someone to accompany Ryousuke-san back after what happened during the ceremony, so.” He shrugs.

“What exactly happened over there?” Youichi’s asking before he could think it over, before it could occur to him that saying so would just further imply more investment on his part towards Ryousuke’s wellbeing.

The humour visibly fades from Miyuki’s face upon hearing the question, and Youichi feels the concern that’s temporarily receded upon Ryousuke’s return flood back to him full force. But it’s better if he knows what’s going on...he thinks. Ryousuke would no doubt try to keep it all to himself until he can’t—it’s better for them to be able to keep an eye on him and to at least be prepared in case something bad happens. He’s his sort-of partner in keeping this place safe; he has the right to know if there’s any necessity to start working solo anytime soon. What more with the Fox on the loose now and all that.

“Long story short: the Fox passed through him during her escape and he collapsed on the spot.” Despite Miyuki’s efforts to seem impersonal, Youichi senses that he’s bothered by this as well. “It’s not unusual given how that would’ve tilted his entire inner balance off axis no matter how spiritually strong he is, but we were aiming to take her down and with her nature it seems unlikely that she’d leave us unscathed even while making a quick escape.”

“You think she was aiming for Ryou-san specifically?”

“Hard to say, honestly. He was the person closest to the window, so it could very well be a coincidence.”

“Fair point.” Youichi slips into a lapse of silence, unsure where he should steer his thoughts next. There are too many uncertainties for them to make any proper conclusions and settle for a solid next course of action. And with the possibility of Ryousuke keeping quiet of any symptoms he might be having, there’s really nothing much anyone else could do.

Youichi’s attention flickers to Miyuki once more when he hears him exhale a heavy breath; his first sign of weariness and perhaps honest display of emotion. The smile he offers him then seems to be the most genuine one he’s encountered so far.

“Y’know, I get the feeling he’ll talk if it’s you,” he says, and Miyuki could only stare at him in confusion.

“And what gave you that idea?” Really, if Ryousuke doesn’t open up to even Haruichi, Youichi doesn’t see how he would have much of a better chance.

Miyuki shrugs. “Just a gut feeling, I guess.”

He sounds so confident about it that Youichi couldn’t help believing him, even just a little.

xXx

Truth to be told, Ryousuke doesn’t know how to feel when Haruichi declares he’s made up his mind to be an onmyouji over dinner.

For the most part—the selfish part, he didn’t like the idea. The profession has started dying out; many who now join the Bureau train to be clerks rather than exorcists or diviners. Ryousuke wouldn’t be surprised if it’d disappear altogether along with their generation. Unless Haruichi manages to earn his qualifications as quickly as he did, the field would have nothing to offer him by the time he’s a full-fledged onmyouji.

Of course, Ryousuke’s fully confident Haruichi could do it. He’s already got a head start, and he’s even more stubborn than him when he puts his mind to things. And if sheer will isn’t enough, Ryousuke knows more than anyone just how much potential he has. If he’s to begin training in earnest, he’d surpass even him in no time.

Perhaps that’s mainly the thing that leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. He’s worked so hard to claw his way to where he is, yet it’s undeniable that his younger brother could easily catch up to him if he tries. Maybe it’s just him holding on to the last bits of immaturity he allows himself, maybe it’s just his swollen pride affecting his judgements, he doesn’t know.

But he knows he shouldn’t let his personal feelings interfere with Haruichi’s resolve. It’s not all unexpected; he’s considered the possibilities of this outcome since the day he decided he’ll let him practice on his own. So he tells him to do what he wants, to make sure he’s prepared to not sully the Kominato name or else.

It really is a pain to be the older sibling at times.

Though, Ryousuke can’t help feeling the slightest bit relieved as well. At least this way, Haruichi would be able to protect himself if anything happens to him sometime in the future. As much as he tries not to think about it, the Fox’s unknown curse still weighs heavily in his thoughts. At this point it’s difficult to not question if the curse was one of paranoia. Could his stressed mind have imagined the sound of that nail? Could they all perhaps be depending much too heavily on assumptions?

The breeze is cool against his skin, gentle despite the altitude. The smell of rain mingles with the sweetness of the nearby flower bushes, a largely refreshing change from the stench of the Capital. Ryousuke taps his fingers against his flute, waiting for the youkai to assemble before he begins. It’s turning out to be a rather big crowd tonight; he’s received almost as many questions as requests so far. Ryousuke didn't bother going into details; it's always difficult to tell if they're genuinely curious or if they're only trying to extract more gossip material from him. He isn't doesn't plan to indulge them either way.

If asked by a stranger, Ryousuke would most likely claim he doesn't have a hobby or any sort because he's a busy, busy person. But if he's to be honest to himself, playing the flute would be one of his only sanctuaries from the demands of his job. He finds freedom in the music, expression in the melodies he composes. Hell, if he doesn't enjoy it as much as he does he would never have bothered with these fortnightly performances. Playing has helped him through difficult times, no doubt. Especially back then all he had was his fue to earn a living and support both Haruichi and himself after their parents left.

Ryousuke spots Youichi joining his audience some time in between songs. Really, if Ryousuke’s the master of hiding behind a mask, Youichi can probably be considered the exact opposite; he could almost sense his questions all the way from where he sits.

It’s strange, how he only realizes a bit later that he’s going over the things he should and shouldn’t tell him.

“Something happened while you were away.”

It’s a statement, not a question. Ryousuke meets his eyes, finding the earnestness in his gaze making him waver not for the first time. Perhaps he's partly influenced but this newfound concern over his own wellbeing after his encounter with the Fox as well; his burdens seemingly trying to pile up more and more until he's crushed under their weight.

"Mind telling me what it is?" is what Ryousuke responds with in the end anyway because he can't have Youichi know he's getting soft. Youichi doesn't take the bait, instead staring at him levelly as if to let him know he's not taking any of that tonight.

"Ryou-san." His voice sounds clear in his mind, just as it had a long fortnight ago. Ah, figures why he's so sure. Ryousuke nearly scoffs at himself. Imagine him being so distracted that he hadn't even noticed the stupid link still being around.

He lets out a breath, turning away to watch the fireflies drifting lazily in the forest. "What do you already know?" he asks through their link, mindful of the few youkai still lingering around in the area. Wouldn't want even more rumours causing mass panic now.

"That the Fox probably cursed you and that no one's been able to figure out what exactly she's done." Ryousuke hears the ruffle of clothes; probably Youichi crossing his arms.

"That about sums it up, yes.” He keeps looking away, half wary of what he’s unconsciously showing in his own expression right then. Youichi’s bluntness in putting it strangely makes it all sound all the more dire. The cries of cicadas in the background fill in the silence that settles over them, sounding especially shrill that night as though they were trying to dramatize the situation further.

“And Ryou-san,” it’s Youichi who speaks again first, albeit hesitatingly, “there’s something else...”

Ryousuke has a bad feeling about this one. He gathers the courage to ask, nonetheless, “what is it?”

Youichi takes his time trying to figure out how to go on, so much so that it’s long enough for Ryousuke to find his calm and face him once more. He watches him swallow, gaze darting aside for a second before finally mustering the courage.

“You’re...you’re not fully human, are you?”

He really shouldn’t have been as taken aback as he is. The guy has access to his mind; he’s bound to find out somehow or another. Yet Ryousuke’s breath stops, his body tensing as his heart hammers in his chest against his will. What is he doing? He shouldn’t be this bothered; there’s absolutely nothing to be flustered about. It’ll be a pain in the ass if the humans were the ones to find out, but Youichi? Him knowing shouldn’t change anything much. Whether he’s part youkai or a pure human shouldn’t make a difference to him.

Deep down, Ryousuke fears the truth is that it would. That Youichi would react exactly the way he expects the people would; that he’d just brush off all his efforts and accredit his current abilities to some innate power magically available to him. Or worse—he’d treat him like some dainty young lord lest he overuses his power and loses control to the entity within him. Youichi's one of the few people who treats him as an equal and... Ryousuke doesn't want to lose that. He’s got too few of them to lose.

“And what if I really am not?”

Youichi’s eyes widen; Ryousuke can’t tell if he’s more surprised by the truth or the ease in which he’d admitted it. He doesn’t look away this time, even silently challenging him to make some sort of comment on that. Prove me wrong. Show me you’re not like them.

“Does that mean Haruichi’s not, too?”

Well that’s definitely unexpected. For once Ryousuke’s the one momentarily loss for words. Youichi doesn’t seem to be feigning it, in fact looking genuinely curious—and perhaps even a bit scandalized for not knowing anything. In the spur of the moment, Ryousuke thinks he probably won’t mind telling him everything one day.

A laugh escapes him, mostly one of relief. “No, he’s human.”

"Oh, thank god," Youichi breathes, albeit a bit belatedly as if abruptly breaking out from a sudden stupor. "I thought my senses were really getting that dull."

"You definitely still have a lot to work on, though," Ryousuke points out helpfully, expecting the usual call of his name in half-hearted protest. But this time, Youichi merely nods in agreement—giving off an air of determination oddly similar to what Ryousuke’s felt from Haruichi.

“I’ll keep doing my best,” he says, with a sort of newfound earnestness that Ryousuke can’t help suspecting to have stemmed from the discovery of his situation. It’s...unexpectedly reassuring, to say the least. Ryousuke might've felt severely offended if someone were to even insinuate he needs any kind of support just some months back, but with the recent events that mentality's definitely begun changing. As prideful as he admits to be, he's not stupid. He knows his own limits, how to overcome them, and when to accept help when it's offered. Knowing there’s still someone behind him alone takes a large load off his back.

“I’m counting on you.”

And for the first time in a long while, those words feel true. Ryousuke doesn’t know how much time he has left before the full effects of that curse kick in; if it’ll take days or weeks or months or even in just a few hours. He doesn’t know if he’ll die or turn into a fox or lose his spiritual prowess, or all that and more. But at the very least he knows one thing for sure, and that Youichi’s someone he can rely on if he goes out of commission.  

“You’re unusually honest tonight, Ryou-san,” Youichi observes, eyebrows arched. “Wonder if it’ll snow tomorrow?”

He lets out a very undignified yelp when sparks flared around his feet. Ryousuke lowers his hand, realizing how much easier it is to breathe now.

“Don’t push it.”

[roseamongroses]

Antithesis: “we can be seventeen”

[Specific-Summary]: They should expect growing pains. For not everything to feel right or make sense. That doesn't mean it'll always hurt, nor does it mean they can't have fun along the way. It's senior year. Everything may be different. It won't be senior year for long. Everything will be okay.

[General Warnings]: Implied Emotional Abuse, Implied Physical Abuse, Bad Parents are Bad Parents, Mild Sexual Content/jokes,Mentioned Homophobia, Mentions of underage drinking (backround), Some Catcalling,Cursing , Self Hate,implied pregnancy talk/inability to become pregnant, adults arguing where the “kid” can hear it, adults drinking,

[Tags/mood:] highschool au,  fluff and angst but its all good, chat fic, teen stress, its flordia no snow we die like men [Pairing:] Roceit (Roman Sanders/ Deceit Sanders), hinted future/possible logince/roloceit/loceit [Characters]Roman Sanders/Deceit (Dmitri) Sanders, Virgil Sanders, Logan Sanders, Patton Sanders, Remy (Sleep) Sanders, Nate Sanders, Dragon Witch (Diana) Remus “The Duke” Sanders (minor/brief)

(Ao3) (Previously)

(8) (9) (10) (11) (12) (13) (14) (15)

(16) (17) (18) (19)

“Listen, Listen, she killed Clarisse,” Roman insisted, papers sprawled around him as he sat up on the couch, “Even if it wasn’t like fuckin’ cold-blooded slaughter it has to at least be manslaughter.”

Logan groaned from his spot on the floor, legs crossed and math textbook in lap, “You’re looking too far into it, Mildred wasn’t even that important of a character, more like a minor nuisance than anything or an example of the status quo--plus what would that even add to the plot?”

At that Roman snorted, “Plot? Lo, it’s all about the imagery,” he waggled his fingers for emphasis, “But I swear to hell I’m right about this. Sure I haven’t read it in ages, but like-- like c’mon babe back me up on this,” he whined.

Dmitri didn’t look up from his laptop, “Never read it,” he mumbled, scanning the screen.

“The shit,” Roman groaned, “You’re in AP Lit, what the fuck Dee,”

“Just because I read doesn’t mean I read for school,” he said eyes still concentrated on the screen.

Roman rolled his eyes, before snapping his fingers, “ Okay, in the beginning right,” started, “It’s established that she has two personality traits, right? She doesn’t pay attention to shit and likes to run things over with her car,--” he said, “Then a couple of chapters later Clarisse just fuckin disappears? It’s like a gun being introduced the first act, the being pulled the second act it’s not a stretch.”

“She could’ve gotten caught by the government,” Logan offered, setting aside the textbook since it’s long past the time since they’ll get any work done, “Or her death/disappearance was simply for plot convenience.”

“Yeah but that’s boring,” Roman drawled, “Plus of course it would allude to be being a big bad government conspiracy or deep dark secret--- that always could be a red herring distracting from the simple facts of the situation. She hit Clarise with her car.” he stretched his legs.

Dmitri lifting his laptop briefly so Roman could plop his legs down into his lap, “Like why would a character who we are told doesn’t pay attention nor care suddenly know how Clarrise died unless she was the one to do it? Hell, I doubt Mildred would even know Clarisse was dead unless she was directly involved. Sure she would have forgotten to tell Montag as it says in canon but it could be how she deals with guilt--with everything. Avoidance-- forgetfulness--the whole shebang.”

Logan rolled his eyes, “Mhm, sure thing,” he said, flipping the textbook back open, “Now about your math test.”

“Noooo,” Roman flopped back, “Why can’t we just watch a movie? We’ve been at it for hours-- It’s the weekend-- Plus Dee hasn’t seen high school musical we cou--” He frowned, voice a bit softer, “Dmitri you okay there?”

Dmitri blinked, a bit startled, “You could say that” he said, “Just thinking, that’s all.”

Roman cocked his head a bit, exchanging looks with Logan, “Bout what?”

He sighed, “Nothing just my birthday—“

Romans lit up at that, “Oh yeah! Where do you wanna go for that? I know you’re stingy about me getting you stuff but still—”

“Am I supposed to drive myself to my birthday date?” Dmitri mused.

“No of course not,” Roman rolled his eyes, “Lo’s driving you so you guys can look at the stars and make out while playing chess or some shit. I’ll be rewatching Princess and the Frog in my jammies.”

At that Logan finally tuned into the conversation,” Excuse me wha-“

Dmitri cut him off, “As much as you’re fond of projection Roman -- The jokes on you I like that idea.”

“For clarification which part of Roman’s ide—“

“Of course you do you fucking nerds—“ Roman said, and Logan resigned himself to a life of internal screaming.

Dmitri didn’t look phased, smile sly, “Funny, you seem to always have a thing for nerds--”

Roman’s face fell, and he was now stammering. Once again it felt like something unspoken went right above Logan’s head.

“Okay,” Logan loudly injected, wincing at how high his voice was, “ Let’s—move on and do some calculus okay? Plus Roman can drive you himself there’s no reason to get me involved.”

At that Roman had stopped, not so subtly inching away while Dmitri paused, “Huh,” he said, glancing at Roman, before nodding, “When did you get your license?”

“Who said anything about a license,“ Roman deflected.

“When did he get his license?” Dmitri asked again to Logan.

“A month or so ago—you didn't tell him?” Logan asked Roman with a raised eyebrow,

“I like him driving me around,” Roman lied.

“I’d drive you regardless Roman,” Dmitri said, redirecting his attention to Logan, “ He didn’t tell me for the same reason he never lets me edit any of his writing homework or help him practice driving, to begin with—he still gets embarrassed around me.” Dmitri corrected, hand tracing Romans calf.

“I do no—,” Dmitri shot him a look and Roman huffed,” Okay so I do—but that’s only because you tease me about it and it’s distracting,”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Dmitri said like a liar, “But one time we were at a cafe and he got so flustered because someone offhandedly said we looked cute together but that same night without even hesitation he—“

Roman not too gently rolled the ground, bringing his papers and books crashing to the ground with him as he loudly exclaimed, “Oh we should get back to work, Lo— can’t be slacking can we!”

“But I kinda want to know—“

“Calculus,” he squeaked ignoring Dmitri all together, “Now.”

—

Roman rubbed his eyes, vision adjusted to the dim light of his living room. A few more seconds and he processed the stark glow of Dmitri’s laptop from the couch and the distinct, albeit much slower than usual typing.

Carefully, he shifted Logan from his chest onto the collection of pillows and blankets, slipping onto the couch beside Dmitri, “You still working…?” he said yawning, plopping his head onto Dmitri’s shoulder. His eyes decided to flutter close rather than try and fight the obscene brightness level of the laptop to snoop.

The typing paused, a hand wrapping around Roman’s waist, allowing him to further snuggle Dmitri’s chest, before the typing resumed, “I...ca...can't sleep.” Dmitri said, voice still hoarse.

“Still thinking’ ‘bout your birthday?” Roman asked.

“More or less,” he said, sounding much more irritated.

“Then tell me more,” Roman countered. He was too pleasantly tired to bother with changing the subject and all too aware that the nice circles Dmitri was rubbing under Roman’s shirt was more calculated then Dee was willing to let on.

“I...I don’t know It’s just…” he said, “I want to ta...but I can…” he sighed, “I can’t find the words.”

“We have time babe…”

“You have a shift in a couple of hours, you should sleep,” Dmitri said.

“Mmm, fuck retail,” Roman eloquently mumbled.

Only then did the typing stops. Sounds of the cicadas, the occasional siren or car passing by, and the slow breaths of Logan filled the room before Dmitri finally answered.

“Do...I make you uncomfortable?”

“I’d so hope not,” Roman snickered, “Seeing as you’re already trying to work off my shirt.” Upon not receiving an immediate response, he opened his eyes, blinking back his remaining sleepiness, “Wait—shit sorry were you serious?”

Dmitri avoided his gaze,” Forget I said anything—never mind,” he said voice dropping to barely a whisper.

“No-No-no,” Roman objected standing up, the sudden loudness of his voice causing Logan to shift groaning before settling again. Roman dropped his volume, “Dmitri are you serious right now? Why would you think that?”

“You didn’t answer the question.”

“I won’t until you answer mine,” Roman said hugging his arms. Dmitri glanced over him curiously, their eye bags much more evident despite the dim light. Combined with their bed head and ruffled too big attire—

“Stop fucking checking me out and just explain,” Roman snapped, and Dmitri’s focus cleared again.

“I’m not…” he finally processed the pinched expression on their face. They were tired.“ I do make you uncomfortable.” He said, easily letting dread wash over him, “I do don’t I...I always…”

At that Roman sighed, “No I know you didn’t mean it like that--” he saddled next to Dmitri, careful, “But you were drifting, I need you to try and focus okay? I can’t answer your question without knowing why. I don’t want to lie to you, but I don’t want you to use that as an excuse to be an ass to yourself. ”

Dmitri still looked doubtful and Roman waited for him to gather his words.

“I’m just like her,” he managed to say, “I complain and complain, but I act just like her,”

“Dmitri-”

“No, I do, “ he cut Roman off, tone divisive, “There’s a reason nobody likes me Roman---A reason Virgil fucking hates me, a reason why I don’t have any friends and probably shouldn’t--people call me a fucking snake.”

He slouched over, hair falling in waves to obscure most of his face, “I push and I prod and fuckin-dissect---for fun---because I can get away with it and I know it. Then I go and complain about how manipulative and toxic she is, like a fucking hypocrite. ” he paused for a moment, his face splitting into an unnerving grin, “Then I….Than I’m surprised when people start leaving.”

“I haven’t left,” Roman said.

“I’m terrible, you really should.”

“You’re not terrible,” Roman mumbled, a bit more firmly as he tucked himself back into Dmitri’s side.

“I make you uncomfortable.”

“Yes, a couple of times you did,” Roman relented, “But that doesn’t mean you’re terrible, it just means you’re a person and not my build-a boyfriend.”

“You never make me uncomfortable,” Dmitri said, shoulders relaxing despite himself as Roman pushed his hair back, “A real-life prince charming.”

“Liar,” Roman scoffed, “I know for a fact my dumbass frustrates you.”

“You’re not dumb,” Dmitri said, frowning.

“Yes, I a--” Roman inhaled stopping himself, “I can still frustrate you regardless, babe. Spending a lot of time with someone can do that sometimes. Does it mean you should ditch me and never look back? I sure hope fucking not.”

“I wouldn’t ditch you,” Dmitri grumbled.

“I know you wouldn’t,” Roman said soft, “So stop assuming I would.”

Silence filled the space comfortably again, Dmitri mulling this over.

“I’m still terrible,” he said.

“Dee,” Roman groaned, rolling up enough so he can take Dmitri's face between his hands, “God knows I can’t and won’t play therapist but can we agree to the fact that ---You. Are. Not. Your. Aunt,”

He smooshed Dmitri’s face eyes narrowed in a challenge,” You might have similarities to her, but that’s because you live with her, not because you are her. She’s made her decisions to be the way she is and you still can choose how you want to be.” Only then did Roman release Dmitri’s face with a dignified huff.

“I…”

“If the next word involves any form of calling yourself terrible I swear--”

“No no,” Dmitri assured, “ I wasn’t... It's just you sounded,” he looked away embarrassed, “A lot like Emile…I guess it caught me off guard.”

“Oh,” Roman said, “Is that a good thing?”

“Yeah...it is,” Dmitri said, “It’s just been a while…I miss him...a lot,” he admitted quieter and Roman looked up startled, but Dmitri quickly moved on, “Still…”

Roman frowned, vaguely compliant as Dmitri slowly drew him into their lap, “Still?” he asked, rubbing his eyes.

“You didn't mention what I did to make you uncomfortable,” Dmitri said.

“Dee,” Roman whined, “It’s st--”

“It’s not stupid,” he said, “You said it yourself, I can still choose how I want to be, I’m choosing now.” Roman still looked concerned, so Dmitri added on a bit softer, “Please? I want to know.”

---

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