#but it's just a Huge Multivitamin for the morning a Huge Multivitamin for the evening

[sergle]

Having top surgery tmrw like. Damn should I have been given vitamins 😳

LMAO to be honest I'm sure you'll be more than fine, getting pre-op and post-op vitamins and shit is more like a luxury that comes with the comically high price tag I'm paying for this surgery

[redlegumes]

A Breakdown for Lunch

Square: Panic Attack B3

Title: A Breakdown for Lunch

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 1,292

Ship(s): Steddie, Eddie Munson/Steve Harrington

Major Tags: Panic Attacks, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Love, Comfort

AO3 Link

Summary:

"'Anything you're craving?' 'No,' he said, smaller and sadder that time. 'I'm sorry Eddie, I'm so useless I couldn't do this simple thing. I'm cracking up over lunch. It's ridiculous. I should be better than this but I'm not.' 'Stevie. I love you sweetheart, please. I don't think this is entirely about lunch and even if it was, it's okay to be in a bad place.'" Eddie helps Steve through a panic attack.

Written for @EddieMunsonBingo

"But it's not even… Why why," Steve cried as his balled up fists twisted the denim covering his knees. "Why am I freaking out over lunch?"

Steve was going to get them lunch. Eddie told Steve he knew him well enough to get Eddie something he'd like and hopped into the shower. When he finished and walked into their kitchen, Steve was sitting, tense and unblinking, on a stool.

"Sweetheart?"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Steve repeated, looking miserably at Eddie's feet.

"Please stop that," Eddie tried to say as gently as he could. "Are you okay?" He approached slowly with his arms open, wanting to hold Steve in them, soothe him. Unfortunately, when Steve got anxious sometimes touch was the last thing he needed.

His eyes flicked briefly to Eddie's arms and he shook his head in a short 'no' motion. "I'm sorry. I haven't gotten lunch. I just wanted good fries, y'know? But Georgie's is closed on Sundays and that leaves the chain places, and I like Arby's curly fries, but you don't like their menu that much, and McDonald's is so hit or miss, so maybe Wendy's, but then I started worrying, 'cause I really need you to text me your order, 'cause what if I mess up your burger toppings 'cause I'm-"

Eddie broke through Steve's spiral. "Stevie, babe! Breathe for me. It's okay."

Cont. after the cut

Eddie shifted about until he could catch Steve's eyes. "It's okay. Did you take your pills yet?"

Steve's breathing stuttered a little. He had a small pill regiment. Prescriptions for the migraines, the posttraumatic stress, and a huge multivitamin Eddie referred to as a 'horse pill.' They also engaged in some self medication. Just weed. Eddie'd washed his hands of the hard stuff. It was something he wanted to prove he could do for Steve, for their relationship. He'd realized his back stashes had to go when they moved in together, and Steve had firmly insisted none of it was to be kept in their rental. Eddie was reminded they were building something together, something real that could be damaged or lost. So everything but his green herbs went.

"No…" Steve's face reddened. He's still embarrassed by even the implication of dependency on the meds. They'd talked circles around it before. Eddie told Steve again and again there was nothing wrong with reaching out and getting help. His prescriptions were just daily help from medical professionals. Steve twisted his pants in his fingers' tight grip. "I've been taking them after lunch."

"Well," Christ, I wanna touch him. Eddie wasn't overly confident in his vocal attempts to comfort Steve. Physical contact seemed to work so much better. "That might not be the best time huh?"

"I guess," Steve said quietly. "I just felt really off today."

"Well I'd imagine. You had that headache kick in early this morning, and didn't your mom call?"

"Yeah. I haven't heard her voice in over a year." He looked off, eyes unfocused. Eddie nodded slowly. Still within reach, without forcing himself too far into Steve's space. He needed it to breathe. "It was less than a minute. She was in Chicago today and asked if I was in Chicago today, and I said no and she basically hung up."

Eddie wanted to hug him so, so badly, but Steve was wound up. The last thing he needed was Eddie's weight on his jumpy frame.

Eddie carefully questioned, "do you know what you want for lunch?"

"No."

"Anything you're craving?"

"No," he said, smaller and sadder that time. "I'm sorry Eddie, I'm so useless I couldn't do this simple thing. I'm cracking up over lunch. It's ridiculous. I should be better than this but I'm not."

"Stevie. I love you sweetheart, please. I don't think this is entirely about lunch and even if it was, it's okay to be in a bad place." Eddie stood back up, and his hands settled on his hips as he stretched a little. "Now, I am going to go to Bertha's Drive Thru because they have fries that are okay but they also have shakes topped with whipped cream and cherries, and I know that's your favorite. Is there anything else you want from there?"

"The chicken strips?"

"You got it," Eddie replied, beaming back at his anxious boyfriend. He's still willing to eat; that's always a good sign.

…

Eddie grabbed the food and returned to find Steve had moved to the couch. Some game was on the TV, and Steve's body looked more relaxed. The closer Eddie got, singing his return, he could see that Steve wasn't really watching. His eyes stared out, glazed over.

Eddie set everything out on the coffee table and ate while attempting not to watch Steve mechanically chew food. Eddie rambled as they ate, filling up the quiet. Steve had mentioned sometime ago, when they'd first started hanging out one on one, that Eddie's voice was sweet to him. Helped calm his mind when it stormed.

Steve finished his shake. He set the empty cup on the table, and reached out to Eddie. Eddie'd been sitting across from Steve, on the floor, as they used the coffee table to eat off of, but now he uncrossed his legs and rose. He joined Steve on the couch, wrapping him in his arms.

"I feel better," Steve said in a rough voice.

"I'm so glad angel."

"I'm sorry."

Eddie fought down his feelings of exasperation and kissed Steve's temple before settling back a little so he could properly look at his boyfriend. "I know you feel like you have to apologize, but I promise there's no reason to."

Steve's eyes were unconvinced.

"Babe, you don't have to justify a panic attack," Eddie said, his frustration bleeding into his tone.

Steve's head dropped onto Eddie's shoulder. "Yes I do," he mumbled into Eddie's shirt. His fingers tightened where they'd drifted in the embrace, at the small of Eddie's back. "I can't just break down like that. People depend on me. I especially can't for no-"

Eddie shushed him, carding his fingers through his hair. "You can let those thoughts build up in your head sweetheart, but once you say them out loud you have to hear how awful you're being to yourself. Imagine if one of the kids had this happen. This isn't the way you'd want them to react. I know you won't treat yourself like you would want them to be treated. Steve, you don't love yourself like you love the rest of us, but... You are right. People do depend on you; they learn from your example."

Eddie felt the fabric on his shoulder grow wet as Steve silently wept in his embrace. Eddie continued his soft passes, allowing his fingers to gently massage Steve's scalp. He hummed little snippets of recent riffs he'd been working on as he let Steve feel safe, protected.

When Steve did adjust, they laid back down together on the couch. Steve on top of Eddie, simply breathing, simply being.

"Thank you."

"Purely selfish," Eddie said brashly. "I want you to be there for me the next time I crack up." Steve stiffened. "Okay, okay. The next time I, uh, have an 'episode.' Mine are always bigger anyway and involve more property damage. So I want you to remember, and easily recall, how good I am to you when I rage because we're out of Yoo-hoo… or whatever dumb shit triggers me."

Eddie clearly heard Steve's sulky, mumbled reply, "s'not dumb."

"Aw, come on. Let me be a little self deprecating," Eddie wheedled.

Steve nodded no against Eddie's chest. "You're talking about the guy I love. No trashing him if I've got anything to say about it."

Eddie chuckled. "Good to know."

[lumine-no-hikari]

Dear Sephiroth: (a letter to a fictional character, because why not) #236

Today was a very bad mental health day, for reasons beyond my comprehension. Yesterday was awesome, and so was the day before that, and so when I woke up on the wrong side of the broomstick this morning, it seemed to come completely out of the blue.

Oh uh. Actually. You might not understand the connotations of "waking up on the wrong side of the broomstick". Uh… So in my world, there are the witches of folklore; traditionally, they are women who have green skin and big huge hooked noses, and they wear loose-fitting black dresses and pointy black hats, and they fly around on broomsticks, looking for children to snatch up and cook in their cauldrons. They're generally seen as not-very-nice, at best; I'm not sure you have these kind of witches in your world, do you?

I have cultural conditioning that tells me that any time a human female is unhappy, it means she is like the witches of folklore - unpleasant and insufferable. And so, if ever I was unhappy for any reason, my father would say, "looks like someone woke up on the wrong side of the broomstick this morning!"

…Hm. I guess it only just now occurred to me what an ugly phrase that is, even used ironically. I could explain the history of HOW witches of folklore came to be associated with women, green faces, and black clothing with pointy hats, but… that's also pretty ugly, too, and I'm already depressed enough; maybe I'll get into it later if you ask, but I think for now… maybe I'll just stop using the phrase "woke up on the wrong side of the broomstick" anytime I'm not perfectly chipper; other states of emotion are part of the human condition, and being in those states doesn't make me bad.

Well. Like I said, my brain is refusing to create the happy chemical, for unknown reasons. So of course, today I am more prone to falling into old thought patterns regarding my own worth as a human being, and old thought patterns as to what I can expect from the people around me. As an example… J went around the house doing various housekeeping things, and I got jumpy because, in the past, if my mother was doing housework things, it meant she was mega pissed at me for not having done them already, and I was about three seconds away from getting a tirade thrown at me.

But J is not my mother; I do not need to worry about him doing that thing. However, my brain worries about it nonetheless, in a misguided effort to protect itself while it's already feeling vulnerable. My brain thinks that if I feel vicious things at myself and make it known that I think poorly of myself, then the people around me will be less likely to verbally abuse me, because I'm already doing it myself.

This has worked to take the edge off of others' tirades for a long time. It was a survival skill that served me well, but it's no longer useful where I'm at, and it will never be useful again, because I never have to go back to those places. So I gotta work on not doing that thing, because it's not good for me, and when I do things that are not good for me, it makes the people who love me very sad, and I don't want them to be sad.

So today, instead of succumbing to the funk and diving headfirst into old things, I tried to take care of my body. I tried to stay hydrated. I tried to eat relatively well. I took my multivitamin. Even if my brain isn't making the happy chemical, I can still make sure that my body has the resources it needs in order for my brain to resist falling into old patterns and beliefs. Today, I was mostly successful.

In order to pass the time until this funk goes away (because as far as I know, really the only thing for it is time), I tried to play a little Dead Cells. I didn't get very far, though, before my brain decided that it was time to stop; I played maybe for 45 minutes, give or take. And then I spent some time just sitting on the couch, drifting in between consciousness and… not quite sleep, but not quite being fully awake, either. It was weird.

…I saw, in my sleepy semi-dreamy state, a vision of you, in a rope hammock hanging from a willow tree, resting peacefully in comfy, casual clothing, swinging back and forth gently in the wind, along with the sound of windchimes, birdsong, rustling leaves, and the whooshing of the breeze. The air was pleasantly cool and it smelled like fresh leaves and grass. It was such a nice little dream.

…Wouldn't it be nice if a place like that is where you are now...

Most of the rest of today was uneventful. There was one thing that happened, but I'm not sure I'm ready to talk about it just yet. Maturity regarding the situation is good, but I am also a little sad about it, and that is natural and bearable.

…Maybe when I wake up tomorrow, I'll feel just a little better. That'd be very good. Wish me luck, won't you? In the meantime, maybe I'll throw in a few pictures I took between today and yesterday. Maybe they'll make you smile:

I think I'll end this letter here today. It's only like 9pm, but I'm getting pretty sleepy, despite the semi-nap I had earlier. I might turn in early today.

Hey, Sephiroth? Please stay safe out there, won't you? Because someone over here loves you enough to write to you every day, and you wouldn't wanna miss tomorrow's letter, right?

I love you. 'Til soon.

Your friend, Lumine

[spitefulreturn2]

Personal tips

My experience is just going to be different from others because I actually have been coming down from a highway. I’ve gone from like obese class too to just overweight, I swear to God I’m literally hovering above average. But there are some things that made a huge difference for me, especially with binging behavior. • liquid calories must be extremely restricted, I’ve become very dependent on caffeine so I allowed to have 0 cal caffeine like G fuel, or coffee under very specific conditions where I had counted for the amount of sugar and milk, or I substituted sweet sweetener and cream with a scoop of protein powder. DO NOT MIX HOT DRINKS AND PROTEIN POWDER IT WILL COOK IT. But this meant I could have my caffeine, it could taste good, and I was actually able to excuse the calories. One scoop of protein powder is 180 cal, with a lot of nutrients I actually need. • I had to hold my word, if I said that I was going to have a fasting day, then it was going to be a fasting day, and I couldn’t just change my mind halfway through. what if this was any other substance then food and I couldn’t go a single day without it? It suddenly wouldn’t be OK or as excusable.

• I had to be consistent about weighing myself on the scale, and I wanted to know accurate numbers, so I would weigh myself when I got up in the morning after my first pee, but before I consumed anything. I would do this every morning, and at the end of the week take the average. It helped me get used to the fact that my weight would definitely fluctuate through the week, even if I was doing everything right, it also helped keep me on track to remember that a single night of binging could lead to weight stall or gain.

• 👏🏻safe 👏🏻 foods!!!!!! Seafood honestly look different for everyone, but for me, they had to follow a specific parameters. One of my favorite safe foods is a frozen salmon fillet. I can buy a pack at the beginning of the week, and there’s no reason why I should be all out before the week is over. I know how many calories are in each portion, and if I’m unsure, then I can just wait on a food scale. I know that it has vitamins I need, fats that I need to absorb my vitamins, and protein that I need. I can’t possibly his junk food, and I happen to be a big fan of raw fish so that means I don’t have to count for cooking oils in calories. I also became a huge fan of soup, because the liquid will make my stomach feel full, but usually calories are under 50. Eggs were also great for me, as long as it was just egg and not tons of cheese and cream added in. • DANGER FOOD AWARENESS! There were definitely also foods that were very dangerous for me, because they would directly lead to a binge or leave me feeling hungry than I was before I started eating. For me? That was a lot of baked goods. I’m just one of those people where I can’t have one cookie. I have to have all of them. A PB&J makes me hungrier, peanut butter in general is actual crack for me. Gotta avoid it.

• I avoid diet talk with others IRL because they end up accusing me of concern farming, of RED behaviors, or just lying. I’ve had people actually tell me I must be lying about my weight loss, and at the beginning essentially say “HA yeah sure ok”. Demoralizing for no damn reason, and concern when I’m literally not dying or even sick. I feel better than I ever have. • Use your hair and nails to tell you where your nutrition is! Breaking and crumbling nails means you’re deficient, take a fish oil pill and a multivitamin because some vitamins NEED FAT to be absorbed by your body.

[fibing-and-vibing]

The large amount of vitamins/supplements/meds I take in a day lol:

This is my current cocktail of meds etc that I take every day. Maybe they’re superfluous, maybe they’re not, but through a lot of trial and error I’m pretty sure all of these are actually helping me feel quite a bit better. Feel free to ask me any questions about specifics, but please don’t be mean about any of these bc I’m just doing my best lol.

Wake Up:

Multivitamin for eye health

Multivitamin for women’s health

Hair and nail vitamin

Protein shake

Notes: all of these are chewable/gummies, which not only is easier when I first wake up, but also easier for the body to digest and so more effective. My hair falls out a ton so the hair vitamin really helps. And I always wake up hungry but feel sick if I eat, so I go for a pre-made shake every day. They’re expensive but they keep me feeling ok, give me a good amount of nutrients, and require zero energy to prepare.

Mid Morning:

B100

Cod liver oil with A and D vitamins

Odourless garlic

Coenzyme Q10

Notes: I’ve found the cod liver oil to be more effective than just regular vitamin D, maybe it’s because of the omegas or whatever. Also the garlic is lowkey one of the best things I take, it reduces inflammation in my sinuses and everywhere else, and is helpful for circulation which makes everything else better too.

Noon:

Welbutrin

Seasonique

Claritin

Notes: I’ve had depression and anxiety diagnosed for a long time so been on welbutrin for a while, but it’s a bonus that it’s supposed to help for fibro brain things too. Seasonique is crucial bc I’m pretty sure I have PMDD and my mental health absolutely tanks on my period, so only having one every three months is a lifesaver. And my respiratory system has been bad for a long time and I live in a city with not amazing air quality, so a daily antihistamine helps a lot and I’ve stopped pretending there’s a time of year I won’t need that.

Afternoon:

Iron

Probiotics

Notes: I’ve had low iron forever, and even though doctors have always told me it’s not low enough to qualify as anemia, I’ve had anemia-like symptoms my entire life, so. However, I didn’t really notice benefits of either iron or probiotics until I started taking them together, and now they’re huge. If I’m ever out and about and forget/wait to take these I immediately realize bc I start feeling faint lol.

Before Bed:

Magnesium bisglycinate

Cranberry

Turmeric collagen with univestin and bromelain

Melatonin

Notes: I’ve had bladder issues for a while which I didn’t even realize was a fibro thing; I’ve always had to pee a million times before bed etc. Cranberry fixes it. The turmeric collagen one is new but I’ve been shocked how much it actually helps with joint pain and mobility. The magnesium I’m not 100 on but my fatigue situation has gotten better so it can’t be hurting at least.

Is it annoying to take so many things throughout the day? Yes, but I just fill up my pill containers on Sunday and then it’s all ready for the rest of the week, so not the worst. Would it be better to get all these nutrients from food? Probably, duh, but we’re living life on hard mode already and I don’t need to make it even harder so pls don’t bring that up lol.

Of course, always look up interactions before you add anything new to your regimen, especially if anything you take is prescription. I’m always on the lookout for new things to try now though tbh, currently thinking about ginger maybe.

[meditating-dog-lover]

Health update

Today was a productive day.

I booked an appointment for a mineral scan, requested my dental xrays and gum charting copies, and am in the process of scheduling an appointment for a psychiatric evaluation. I can't wait to have that booked because I know it will help me.

I broke my fast at 9:30 with a coffee, banana, some dark chocolate and walnuts.

They had Panera catering at work today. So lots of sandwiches, salad, bread cookies, and juice. I had some Caesar salad with some dressing and bread. I am pretty hungry today so I'm happy they brought that. And even though I am trying to eat "anti-inflammatory" some bread and Caesar dressing is not going to do anything, especially when the bulk of my diet is anti-inflammatory. But I did not feel like a sandwich (I didn't like any of the options they had and I'm tired of white bread) or a cookie. I've been craving less sweet stuff. So I'm also tired of baked goods and milk chocolates.

I do like to treat myself here and there, but want to do it where I don't feel not well or like I ate too much junk and sweets after that. I had one of those small milk caramel blocks from Whole Foods the other day and it was too sweet. Same with the brownies my mom and I had last week. It just doesn't hit the same. It's too "sugary".

I've also been eating less white bread. I had some today and I liked it, but I don't want to have way too much. But at the end of the day, I'll let myself have some junk here and there, as long as the bulk of my diet is healthy and diverse and anti-inflammatory.

I'm sick and tired of taking supplements. The only real need I think supplements have are to fill nutrient gaps. Most of us do not get enough D3/K2 or omega-3 and magnesium from diet alone. So I do supplement with these. However, for more gut health-focused supplements, I really do think diet is the better solution. For probiotics - Greek yogurt (the yogurt I have has the bacteria species names written on the container, and they're similar to the ones in probiotic supplements). For gut lining and anti-microbial effects - aloe juice. And for digestion - ginger (I am doing more research on this and I'm not a huge fan of ginger. Tropical fruit are also a good source of enzymes, but I also don't like those and prefer berries).

Even for hormone balance, correctly cycling my food and fasting, as well as managing my stress, will work better than any supplement. As I said I am tempted to return those 2 hormone balancing supplements I purchased).

I am drinking aloe juice because I would rather have the actual natural aloe vera food source rather than a gut support powder that tastes like old black licorice or fake orange (these contain aloe combined with other gut support ingredients). But I am on the lookout for a food/drink that is a good source of natural enzymes that support digestion.

I'm doing blood work and an h pylori breath test in a few days. I hope my blood sugar and thyroid hormones are within good range. I've been taking a multivitamin that contains plenty of absorbable iodine and chromium. Although I don't think gut issues is the source of my skin inflammation, I hope the h pylori has been killed off because that does cause a lot of issues, including inflammation, stomach cancer, and reducing stomach acid levels which can negatively impact digestion. I know something like lemon juice and apple cider vinegar help with that, but I'm not a fan of either and they're bad for teeth.

I'm looking forward to my blood work, h pylori breath test, my mineral scan and psychiatric evaluation. I hope my breath test is negative and my mineral scan looks good, because this will show that I'm finally able to properly digest and absorb nutrients.

My skin is much better. My hands are still a bit inflamed, so I applied a hint of steroid cream to them last night and this morning. I applied some petroleum jelly too. But they're looking better.

I'm trying to add in more healthy foods to my diet. I'm a picky eater. I added broccoli as a calciferous vegetable source. I'm looking into ginger. I switched to an anti-inflammatory spicy may condiment that has avocado oil rather than canola oil. Next I'm looking into an anti-inflammatory crunchy snack I can have when I go to therapy (those are long days and I get hungry). It doesn't have to be perfectly anti-inflammatory and healthy since it's not something I have everyday. But I can look around.

[heerthat]

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[teacupfulofstarshine]

you're the pink in my cheeks (i'm a little bit soft)

summary: "and i know we'll never grow old together / cause you'll never grow old to me / you're the pink in my cheeks / and i love that it means i'm a little bit soft / you're the pink in my cheeks / and i love that it means i'm a little bit soft"

- "monster," marceline (adventure time)

(OR: 5.4k of soft domestic lesbian!analogical, featuring lesbian!moceit, trans male!remus, trans female!roman, and Gay Shenanigans)

a/n: huge thank you to dandie for beta'ing this fic!

i just wanted to write wlw is that so wrong of me? no. no it is not.

CW: alcohol mentions, a few sex jokes, swearing, one implied instance of potential sexual activity (although it doesn't go any farther than making out; if you want to skip that part, skip the section that starts with "Did you get the right kind of popcorn?")

word count: ~5.4k

read it on ao3!!

“I think I may be going insane,” Logan says, squinting at her laptop screen. Virginia, hanging upside-down in the armchair, looks up from her phone and blinks.

“And why is that?”

“Because I am starting to agree with Rosie’s anti-Florida agenda.”

“I didn’t realize that there was an anti-Florida agenda.”

“Rosie has one, and I have always thought it facetious. However, if this laboratory does not start sending me my requested samples and information in a timely manner, I will be forced to concede that Rosie may have . . . a point.”

“You, agreeing with a lit major? I never thought I’d see the day,” Virginia teases. Logan initially resists the urge to stick her tongue out or flip Virginia off, because that would be childish, but then she remembers that Virginia does not care about her childishness, so she sticks her tongue out. Virginia snorts with laughter, and Logan feels warm, fizzy pop-rocks bursting in her chest.

Her phone buzzes next to her, and she picks it up. There’s a new message blinking for her attention on the screen.

[from: snesbian (snake lesbian)]

a, b, or c

[to: snesbian (snake lesbian)]

. . . What?

[from: snesbian (snake lesbian)]

*rolls eyes*

[from: snesbian (snake lesbian)]

i need you to make a selection, logan. a, b, or c.

[to: snesbian (snake lesbian)]

I am confused. What am I selecting between?

[from: snesbian (snake lesbian)]

wouldn’t you like to know, weather boy

[to: snesbian (snake lesbian)]

Yes. I would like to know. That is why I asked you.

[to: snesbian (snake lesbian)]

Also, I am not a meteorologist. Or a boy.

[from: snesbian (snake lesbian)]

it’s a meme, i’m sure v will be happy to show you the og. but first: make a choice

[to: snesbian (snake lesbian)]

Option B, I suppose?

[from: snesbian (snake lesbian)]

vodka it is!

[to: snesbian (snake lesbian)]

Wait, what?

Her phone buzzes again, another text thread lighting up, and Logan abandons the now-fruitless conversation with Jan to see that her wife has texted.

[from: soda poppy]

y is jan fillin a thermos with vodka and sayin u gave her the go ahead? >:(

[to: soda poppy]

I am unsure. She texted me asking me to make a choice between “a, b, and c” with no context given. When I eventually selected “b,” she excitedly mentioned vodka and logged off.

[from: soda poppy]

her an remy r going 2 a pta meeting tonight an i guess they’re goin drunk

[to: soda poppy]

Is that a . . . normal occurrence?

[from: soda poppy]

sadly yeah

[to: soda poppy]

Wait, is she even allowed to attend PTA meetings? You two don’t have any children?

[from: soda poppy]

she’s on the school board so she has the right 2 attend. idk if she’s supposed to or not but its never stopped her b4

“Everythin’ good over there?” Virginia asks.

“I believe I may have just enabled Jan to attend a PTA meeting drunk.” Virginia snorts, swiping at her phone.

“Good for her, honestly. The only reason she and Poppy live in that neighborhood is so that Jan can flaunt her wife in front of all the capital-s Straight people, because she’s a petty fuckin’ bitch.”

“That is a strange word choice for your best friend.”

“I hate Jan, she’s a bitch,” Virginia says, smirking fondly at her phone. Logan knows her girlfriend well enough to know that this statement is disingenuous, so she stands up, stretching her arms above her head, and leans down to drop a kiss onto Virginia’s forehead.

*~*~*~*~*

Logan blinks awake slowly, feeling for the position of her limbs. She’s on her left side, left arm tucked up under her pillow to cradle her head, wrapped in the thick comforter of their bed. Her right arm is slung across Virginia’s body, and her girlfriend is pressed up against her, head tucked right under Logan’s chin and face nestled into her neck and chest. Virginia breathes, slow and deep and even, and Logan hums, huffing out a soft exhale.

She carefully wiggles out of bed, tucking the comforter around Virginia’s curled-up form. Virginia grumbles when the cool morning air slips against her skin, because she is a foolish woman who insists upon sleeping in short shorts and a spaghetti-strap tank top no matter the current weather patterns. Logan wraps her up, making sure that she’s shifted into the middle of the warm divot of body heat, and Virginia settles in, asleep again in a heartbeat.

Logan turns to the corner chair, where her early-morning outfit is already laid out: athletic leggings, a sports bra, a moisture-wicking quarter zip jacket. She changes quietly, lights off, and tugs on a pair of ankle socks before slinking into the bathroom. Once the door is shut, she flicks on the soft lights over the vanity and carefully undoes her sleep braid. Normally, Virginia does Logan’s hair, because Logan is not good at dealing with her wavy, tangled, curly mess, but she won’t wake up her girlfriend for that. She can, at bare minimum, pull her hair up into a high ponytail for running purposes.

They live in a small town only a short walk (and even shorter bike ride) from the beach, full of little two-story brightly-colored beach cottages. Logan steps off her front porch, pulls out her phone, and quickly shoots a text.

[to: ginny <3]

I am headed to the beach for my weekly run. I will likely return before you wake up, but in case I do not: I will be back before 9 AM.

[to: ginny <3]

I love you <3

Logan kicks up the kickstand on her bike, runs her fingers over the glossy dark-blue paint flecked with white and silver and gold to mimic stars, and swings one leg over the bike seat. She carefully pedals out into the narrow road and heads for the beach. The cool early-morning air whips past her face, and she chances a glance up at the dark-blue-turning-light-blue-grey sky and smiles.

She’s always been an early-morning morning person, anyway.

*~*~*~*~*

Logan’s sneakers dig into the hard-packed wet sand along the water’s edge as she runs. Seagulls scatter in front of her, and the podcast Virginia recommended hums in her ear. The sun creeps up, up, up onto the horizon, coloring the blue-grey into streaks of brilliant pink and orange and gold, light reflecting off the water in resplendent diamond sparkles.

Logan runs half a mile down the beach, turns around, runs back to where she started and then runs half a mile in the other direction before turning around and running back to her starting point. By the time she’s bent over, hands on her knees, huffing out breath while her legs burn pleasantly, the sun has emerged fully from the ocean, and Logan is beginning to wish she had worn a visor.

She takes a moment to appreciate the sensory experiences of being on a nearly-abandoned beach: the scent of salt water, the sound of waves crashing against sand, the errant cries of gulls squabbling over fish. Their little beach is not nearly pristine enough for a tourist attraction, and too far north along the Atlantic coast to be warm year-round. Still, Logan loves it, and cannot imagine living anywhere else.

She hunts along the water’s edge as she walks, briefly, a cool-down before the bike ride home. She finds a few things worth photographing, a few crabs to shoo back into the ocean, and a few things worth gathering: an intact clam shell whose smooth curve runs unbroken from the heel of her palm to the tip of her index finger when she lays it flat in her hand, a light gray rock worn smooth by the waves that turns dark-gray-almost-black when wet, a small spiral shell that she thinks may have broken off of the top of a snail shell. Logan wraps all three things carefully in a small handkerchief from the little bag she keeps in her bike basket, pulling out her phone to note the time (8:37 AM) and the message notification flashing at her.

[from: ginny<3]

dunno why you insist on being a morning person. stop by the dunkin on your way back and get us breakfast?

[to: ginny<3]

You had Dunkin for breakfast three times this week. You should consume something healthy.

[from: ginny <3]

>:( >:( >:( >:(

[from: ginny <3]

counterpoint: you bringing me dunkin is better than me not eating breakfast at all. which is the alternative because i do not want to get up and prepare anything

[to: ginny <3]

Your womanly wiles will not work on me in regards to Dunkin breakfast.

[from: ginny <3]

bitch (affectionate)

[to: ginny <3]

Would you like me to make you breakfast on my return, beloved?

[from: ginny <3]

. . .

[from: ginny <3]

will you make me an omelette? with all the cheesy goo an shit?

[to: ginny <3]

I will make you an omelette with some degree of “cheese goo.”

Logan slides her phone into her pocket, huffing out a laugh at her girlfriend’s behavior, and hops onto her bike again.

*~*~*~*~*

“Your omelettes are always so much better than mine,” Virginia says, moaning as she sinks her teeth into an enormous bite of egg and cheese. Logan, calmly dicing bell peppers to mix into her own omelette, smiles.

“All food tastes better when it is prepared by someone who is not you.”

“You’ve clearly never had anything the twins have cooked.” Virginia takes another bite, pops a multivitamin into her mouth, and chases it down with a gulp of milk. “Besides, it tastes better because you made it.”

“I am not the most accomplished chef in the world, certainly, but I am glad you enjoy my cooking.”

Virginia laughs softly. “Lo, I like your food because it’s prepared by someone who loves me. I can taste the love in everything you make for me.”

Logan turns back to her peppers to hide her blush. “Love is not a measurable ingredient when cooking.” Virginia laughs again, louder this time; when Logan sets the knife down, she hears Virginia’s chair scrape out behind her as she stands, feels her arms wrap around her waist, feels the cool skin of her face press into her neck.

“Love you.”

*~*~*~*~*

“Stressful day at work?” Logan asks, hearing the door slam.

Virginia kicks off her flats, sending them flying into the wall with a clatter. Logan sets down her crochet project and moves toward the entrance of their house, where Virginia is shrugging off her rainjacket to reveal a mint-green Peter Pan-collared blouse and dark gray dress pants. “The stressiest.”

Logan takes the jacket and shakes it out on the tiled entranceway before hanging it on the hook. “I am sorry, beloved.”

“Lots of assessments, lots of parents who don’t understand why I’m assessing their kid, lots of parents insisting that there’s nothing wrong with their kid, or that there’s no way their kid could possibly have the deficits that I’m seeing. Like, I wouldn’t make this shit up, you know? Literally, let me help your child. You came to me, remember? I’m not in the habit of imposing myself onto people.”

“That sounds very stressful,” Logan says. She tries to picture a life where she spends all her time interacting with people she doesn’t know on a regular basis instead of her little corner of the university biochemistry lab where she only has to interact with three or four known people and her immediate supervisor, mostly by email. It sends icy fingers skittering down her spine.

“It is, I hate it. I mean, Kitty’s my supervisor until I get my C’s, so if I have problems I can consult with her, but like . . . why are people the way that they are.”

Logan stretches up and presses a gentle kiss to Virginia’s cheek. “I love you, Ginny.”

Virginia exhales and folds herself around Logan, draping her body over her girlfriend and going limp and boneless. “I don’t wanna be a real person for the rest of the night.”

“That can be arranged.”

“But it’s my night to make dinner.”

“I do not mind switching and having you make dinner tomorrow,” Logan says. “This is an acceptable deviation from the routine.” Virginia pushes her face into Logan’s neck, and Logan nuzzles the side of her head, and she sighs like the entire world has lifted off her chest.

*~*~*~*~*

(This is how it starts:

Logan, taking a class on British literature in her sophomore year because she needs to meet her core requirements. Logan, meeting Rosie, disagreeing with her on almost every single point she raises in class, hating when they’re paired up for their midterm project but earning the best grade in the class overall. Logan, seeing a text from Rosie about how her housemate needs people to participate in a research study for extra credit. Logan, making the long trek down to the health sciences building and seeing Virginia for the first time, thinking that she’s pretty and not knowing that she’ll be thinking that for the rest of her life.)

*~*~*~*~*

“Hello, gorgeous,” Virginia hums.

“Are you talking to me or to the mint plant?” Logan says, aggressively stabbing her pointer finger against the Delete key. It clacks loudly, and she mutters an insult under her breath. “I am going to set myself on fire. I swear to god, I am.”

“Obviously the mint plant,” Virginia says, turning and dropping a kiss on Logan’s head. “You okay, honey?” Logan grumbles more and shoves the laptop away from her with a disgruntled noise. Virginia moves the laptop away and leans over to kiss her forehead.

“I am trying to politely word an email whose essence boils down to, ‘If you do not send me my fucking samples in a timely manner, I am going to be forced to commit an Atrocity the likes of which this earth has never seen’,” Logan says.

Virginia laughs so hard that she sits down on the tiled kitchen floor, wiping tears from her eyes. “You are so funny,” she wheezes. Logan feels her irritation fade a little under the brightness of her girlfriend’s joy. “Let me see the email, I’m good at professional bullshitting.”

*~*~*~*~*

“Braid my hair!” Rosie says, throwing herself down onto the couch. Logan lifts her laptop up just in time to keep Rosie’s head from slamming into the keyboard.

“Ginny is your best bet for braids, Rosie. I have limited experience.”

“It doesn’t have to be fancy, It just has to be off my neck.”

Logan saves her document and sets her laptop on the coffee table, poking at Rosie’s ribs until she slides onto the floor and settles cross-legged between Logan’s thighs. “A comb and some hair-ties would be appreciated.”

“REMUS!” Rosie shouts.

“WHAT?”

“BRING ME A BRUSH AND SOME HAIR BANDS!”

“GET YOUR OWN!”

“I’m going to kill that man,” Rosie mutters, rolling to her feet. There are suspicious muffled thumping noises from the other room for a few minutes before Rosie emerges, victorious, hair somehow even messier than it was in the first place.

“You are the single loudest person I have ever met,” Logan sighs, taking the comb and the hair ties and beginning to drag it through Rosie’s curls. Rosie winces, just a little, at the pull of the comb, and Logan tries to be more gentle.

“Thank you!”

“I did not say that was a compliment.

“Hey!”

*~*~*~*~*

Logan tugs her sweatshirt sleeves down from where she’d rolled them up previously, shivering a little. Part of her wishes that she had worn leggings instead of capris as she drags the folding chair a little closer to the bonfire, toes dragging through the still-sun-warmed sand. The speaker set up on the food table blasts some sort of current pop music, and Rosie and Poppy dance around each other, chanting the lyrics at each other. They are both very loud and very off-key and, Logan suspects, fairly drunk as well. Remus is in the ocean (definitely buzzed, potentially naked) and Jan is standing at the edge of the ocean, watching to make sure he stays alive.

“Hey,” someone says, low and rumbling in her ear. Logan does not flinch (just barely) and turns to see Virginia, holding a plastic cup with a poorly-drawn sketch of the state of Virginia on it. Her hair is starting to come loose from its messy bun, and her sweater sleeves keep sliding down over her wrists and nearly dunking into her drink, and her breath smells sweet and alcoholic. When she lifts her hand to Logan’s cheek, her fingers are cool, and Logan shivers.

“How’s my girl?” Virginia asks.

“Cold,” Logan answers honestly. Virginia laughs, tipping her head back and exposing the long strip of her neck. Logan wants to lick it.

“You’re adorable,” Virginia says, leaning in and pressing her mouth against Logan’s ear. Her breath is warm and slightly damp. “So pretty, my Logan, and so smart. I bet you know exactly what chemical compounds are making the flames turn that color, hmmm?”

Logan can feel her face burning hotter than the bonfire, but Virginia just sits languidly in her lap, feet propped up on the armrest. Her toes are painted pale purple, and the glitter sparkles in the firelight.

“How many drinks have you had?” Logan asks.

“Enough to feel all tingly,” Virginia says, swirling whatever’s in her cup. “How many have you had?”

“None,” Logan answers honestly. Virginia leans her head against Logan’s shoulder, and her wispy frizz tickled Logan’s nose. She sneezes, and Virginia giggles in the high-pitched, superficial way she only giggles when she gets really, really drunk.

“You sound so cute when you sneeze.”

“I do not.”

“Of course you do,” and now Virginia is looking at her, eyes glowing warm in the firelight. “You sound cute when you do anything. You’re cute when you exist. You’re cute no matter what. I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone.”

Logan hates the taste of alcohol, but she leans in and kisses Virginia anyway.

*~*~*~*~*

“Lo.”

“Hmmm?”

“Pick a color.”

“What?”

“I’m painting my toes again. Pick a color for me.”

Logan flops over onto her stomach, staring at the neat row of creme polishes sitting on their ottoman. Virginia’s bare feet are propped up in front of them, spread apart awkwardly with neon lemon gel toe spreaders, and she studies the nail polish like she’s trying to determine which vial isn’t poisoned.

“I like that one,” she says finally, pointing to a pale pink polish the color of the flowers Virginia brought her on their first date. Virginia hums, picking the bottle up and tilting it critically in the light.

“Not the one I would have picked, but I said you could pick, so I guess we’re doing it.”

Virginia tosses some bottles of toppers (or “tacos” as she calls them, slang from one of the YouTubers she likes) onto the bed while she paints her toes, and Logan sifts through them to settle on a blue-yellow iridescent one.

“I do not know how you can get behind wearing something called a Unicorn Skin,” Logan says. Virginia just shrugs and plucks the bottle from her hand. Their fingers overlap - Logan’s warm from where they’ve been tucked under her body, Virginia’s cool from where they’ve been gripping the glass bottle. Impulsively, Logan lifts Virginia’s fingers and kisses the tips.

“You’re going to smear the polish,” Virginia mutters, even though she painted her fingers earlier today and they’ve been dry for a while. She doesn’t bother to yank her fingers away, either, so Logan kisses them again.

*~*~*~*~*

“Logan!”

Logan is fully aware that the only thing keeping Poppy from crashing into her like a floral-sundress-covered cannonball is the casserole dish in her hands. She counts her blessings and steps aside to let Poppy in.

“Where’s Jan?”

“Getting something from the car! It’s my turn to drive us home, so she brought something to drink.”

Jan primly kicks the passenger side door shut with her heeled ankle boots, a bottle of wine grasped by the neck in each hand.

“I hope you do not intend to drink both of those in their entirety tonight,” Logan says. Jan rolls her eyes and offers one of the bottles to her.

“This one is a gift for you and Ginia. The other one is for me.”

“None for Poppy?”

“Poppy is the designated driver, so she will not be drinking. And I know she already told you that.” Logan rolls her eyes, and Jan flips her off. “Are you going to invite me in or not?”

“What are you, a vampire?” Virginia shouts from the kitchen.

“Only one of us dresses like the undead, darling, and it isn’t me,” Jan calls back, stepping into the house. “Are the twins here yet?”

“They cannot attend. Remus has orchestra practice and Rosie is teaching a dance class. You already knew both of these facts, because you are in the group text.”

“I am not.”

“You responded to a message in the group thread fifteen minutes ago.”

“That was the NSA agent assigned to monitor me.”

“You are a liar.”

“What else is new?”

*~*~*~*~*

groupchat name: be gay do crime

soda poppy: hey every1! DONUT 4get to make ur bakesale goodies and drop them off at r house by 7 am on fri!

lo tide: Please use normal words. I am begging you.

snesbian (snake lesbian): then beg.

lo tide: I do not recall asking for your opinion.

snesbian (snake lesbian): and yet i give it to you anyway. am i not generous

virgin: if you don’t stop making fun of my gf i swear to god

virgin: also remus if you don’t stop changing my name i’m gonna end you

virgin has changed their name to gin(ny) and tonic!

gin(ny) and tonic: much better anyway

violets are blue rosie is me: i believe you meant anygay

gin(ny) and tonic: i said what i fucking said

ace attorney irl: you changed your name :(

gin(ny) and tonic: every day the Lord regrets giving all of us mod powers in this chat

snesbian (snake lesbian): i have no such regrets

lo tide: Can we circle back to the bake sale, please?

soda poppy: Whatchu wanna kno???

lo tide: I assume it is school related?

soda poppy: yep!

soda poppy: fundraising 4 this year’s art club field trip! since im the faculty advisor im in charge of approving and setting up 4 the fundraisers

lo tide: I see. And why, exactly, is it our responsibility to make things for this fundraiser? Should it not be the students’ responsibility?

soda poppy: they r makin stuff 4 it but also i gotta make sure some of the stuff will b edible yknow

lo tide: I see.

gin(ny) and tonic: listen i know that jan is like. a professional pastry chef an shit. but i’m not making anything fancy like a cheesecake or smthn

gin(ny) and tonic: i’m making like. fuckin brownies

snesbian (snake lesbian): smh don’t you care about the Children at all?

gin(ny) and tonic: no. they’re not my kids

ace attorney irl: i will make cookies

soda poppy: u cannot make them inappropriate shapes

ace attorney irl: :(

violets are blue rosie is me: do not worry, i will make sure they are an appropriate shape

violets are blue rosie is me: i’ll make cupcakes!

lo tide: I believe I have a recipe for lemon squares that I can make. Will lemon squares be sufficient?

soda poppy: yeah! just keep ur stuff free of common allergens like tree nuts

gin(ny) and tonic: so my plan to just yeet you a bag of reese’s peanut butter cups and call it a contribution is out then

*~*~*~*~*

Virginia throws a box of brownie mix into the cart and dusts her hands off. “There. Done.”

Logan raises an eyebrow.

“Don’t give me that look, we have the rest of the ingredients at home. We have tap water, we have oil, we have eggs, we don’t need anything else. What do we need for your lemon thingies?”

“Lemons, presumably.”

“You’re a comedian,” Logan deadpans. Virginia flips her off, and then leans in to kiss her cheek. “I do need lemons, though. Lemons, more eggs . . . I have a list in my phone.”

“What phone?” Virginia says, dangling Logan’s galaxy-patterned case above her head. “I think you’re too short for this, Lo.”

“Give me my phone,” Logan says, rolling her eyes. Virginia wiggles it above her head, laughing.

“Maybe you should give me something in return.”

“Like what?”

Virginia grins. “Like a kiss, perhaps?”

Logan rolls her eyes again, but she leans in and kisses Virginia gently, swiping her phone back when Virginia lowers her hand to cup her face. “Thank you for paying the toll, sweetheart.”

“You are ridiculous,” Logan says. It doesn’t stop her from gently kissing Virginia’s cheek before pushing the cart down the aisle again.

*~*~*~*~*

groupchat name: be gay do crime

lo tide: What time did you want us to drop off the baked goods, Poppy?

soda poppy: if ur gonna b in the area, u can just drop them off at my house!

ace attorney irl: i made some of the shapes inappropriate but those ones r 4 u and jan

soda poppy: what did u make 4 the bake sale?

ace attorney irl: . . .

soda poppy: what did u make 4 the children, remus.

ace attorney irl: nothin’ too crazy! jan had some normal summer shapes - suns, flip flops, etc. etc. used those

soda poppy: :D thx remus!

ace attorney irl: made some fishies too! but the octopi are just for u an jan.

ace attorney irl: i . . . may have painted dicks on them

soda poppy: well at least u warned me right

*~*~*~*~*

“Did you get the right kind of popcorn?” Logan asks.

“If by ‘the right kind’ you mean ‘your favorite kind,’ then yes, I did,” Virginia says, coming into the living room with a large yellow bowl full of fluffy popcorn. “What are we watching tonight? It’s your turn to pick, isn’t it?”

“Gay fish,” Logan says.

Virginia sets the popcorn on the coffee table and blinks at her. “That is . . . quite the description of Finding Nemo, sweetheart.”

“Not Finding Nemo, Ginny. Luca. It’s new, and it’s not explicitly gay, but there is a very obvious queer reading. I thought we could watch it together.”

“Anything with you sounds wonderful.”

“Sap,” Logan mutters. She leans in to kiss Virginia’s cheek, but Virginia turns at the last moment and presses their lips together.

“Are you sure you want to watch a movie?” she says. “We could just make out instead, if you want.” She pushes gently on Logan’s stomach, guiding her to lay on her back on the couch. Virginia lays on top of her, gently sliding a hand to rest warm and heavy on her stomach. She leans forward, pressing a gentle kiss to Logan’s neck, and then her jaw, and then rubbing their noses together.

“Tonight is movie night,” Logan says. Virginia presses their mouths together, and Logan hums, gently pressing up into the kiss. “We should be watching a movie.”

“Are you sure?” Virginia says. “I think we should pursue this avenue a little further.”

Logan squirms a little. “I - I would not - um - no, thank you.”

Virginia’s eyes, which were hazing over with something, clear as she blinks. “Okay, sweetheart.” She leans back, sits up, pulls Logan into a sitting position. “Are you alright?”

“I’m okay,” she says. “I just - I am not in the mood for that tonight. If that is okay.”

“Of course it’s okay,” Virginia says. She holds out a hand, and Logan takes it. Virginia kisses the back of it before settling herself on the couch. “I am so proud of you for expressing a boundary and telling me you were uncomfortable. I know that expressing boundaries is something that we’re both working on, and you did a wonderful job. Tell me what you want, Lo. Please?”

“I would like a kiss,” Logan says. “Just one. And then I would like to cuddle, and - and I would like us to watch Luca together. Is that acceptable?”

Virgil nods. “Of course, love. Come here, hmmm?” Logan settles next to her, and Virginia gently cups her cheek and presses their mouths together. “I love you, Logan. So much. Of course we can watch Luca now.”

Virginia lays an arm along the top of the couch, allowing Logan to cuddle up against her and rest her head on her chest. “I love you,” Logan says softly.

“I love you too, sweetpea.”

*~*~*~*~*

Logan rolls over, yawning, and feels a small weight displace itself from her thighs. She blinks awake slowly, lifting her head and pushing her curtain of curls aside to reveal a black cat mewing at her grumpily before settling into a sushi roll beside her.

“Did I wake you? I am sorry, Galileo . . .”

Galileo settles against her, purring softly, while the ash-grey cat at the foot of the bed pads slowly up to curl on Virginia’s back. “That’s your favorite spot, isn’t it, Andromeda?” The cat emits a soft “mrrrp” before settling back down to sleep. Logan yawns, smiles, and gently strokes her hears. “What should we do, girls? Shall we stay awake and be productive members of society?”

Neither cat responds, and Logan looks at Virginia. She’s haloed in the morning light, eyes tightly shut, mouth hanging open, drool leaking into a puddle on the pillow. She snores a little - one, two, three snorts before settling back into a deep sleep.

“No,” Logan decides, “we shall not.” She lays back down, gently nudging Galileo a few inches over so that she can snuggle up to Virginia. Galileo stretches out, pressing a paw directly into Logan’s cheek. Logan shoves her, and she resettles onto Logan’s feet with an indignant noise.

“You can sleep by my face when you do not kick my face,” Logan mutters, curling into her love.

*~*~*~*~*

groupchat name: be gay do crime

soda poppy: r u all comin 2 the bake sale 2morrow?!

lo tide: I was under the impression that we were only providing the baked goods. Is it not for the students at the school?

soda poppy: we got waaaayyyy more stuff than we thought so we r havin a 2nd bakesale 2morrow 4 parents an stuff!

soda poppy: we r gonna need sum help with setup though . . .

lo tide: Poppy, please do not even -

soda poppy: 🥺🥺🥺 p l e a s e

lo tide: Poppy.

snesbian (snake lesbian): logan

lo tide: If I agree to stop and pick up coffee for everyone, will that motivate you all to turn out?

violets are blue rosie is me: i’m always a slut for free coffee

lo tide: I’m sorry, where did I say that this would be free?

violets are blue rosie is me: D:<

ace attorney irl: eh i’m down for it. where you swingin’ by?

soda poppy: there’s a panera p close 2 where the bake sale is!!! it’s gonna b at the morning girl’s basketball game

lo tide: Does anyone have any issues with Panera coffee?

violets are blue rosie is me: nah. large iced coffee, add three ounces of half and half, two pumps of sugar syrup, two pumps of vanilla, and caramel drizzle.

ace attorney irl: complicated bitch much?

violets are blue rosie is me: why must the cain instinct betray me like this

ace attorney irl: the cain instinct started when we stole each other’s genders in the womb

violets are blue rosie is me: this is true this is true but you’re still a bitch

ace attorney irl: large hazelnut coffee, two sugars, please

snesbian (snake lesbian): large dark roast, black

soda poppy: medium decaf coffee, two ounces of almond milk, and two pumps of sugar syrup!

gin(ny) and tonic: large caramel latte

lo tide: You . . . are going to ride in the car with me to pick up the coffee, we can order our own coffees. I do not need your order, love.

lo tide: But I appreciate the information <3 <3

*~*~*~*~*

“We come bearing gifts,” Virginia announces loudly. “And by gifts, I mean we bought a baker’s dozen of cinnamon crunch bagels for everybody.”

“Well, there are twelve cinnamon crunch bagels and one plain bagel, bagged separately, for me,” Logan corrects, expertly balancing two coffee trays with a bagel container. “Also, we made more brownies.”

Poppy looks up from where she’s instructing two high-schoolers on how to hang a sign properly and grins, waving brightly. Jan is leaning on the table, hand on her head, sipping at a water bottle.

“Vodka or whiskey?” Logan asks dryly, handing over Jan’s black coffee. Jan blinks at her, flips her off, and drains a long swig from her cup.

“Water. Partied a little too hard with Remy last night, and now I’m hungover as shit.”

“We suspected as much, which is why we brought you an extra coffee.”

“Lifesaver,” Jan says, knocking back another long drag of coffee before taking a sip of her water bottle. (Logan suspects the bottle is actually Poppy’s, due to the sun-shiney stickers plastered all over it.) “You and Poppy both. But if you tell anyone that, I’ll gut you like a fish."

“No, you won’t,” Logan says, turning to hand Rosie and Remus their respective drinks. “You never do.”

Jan flips her off, but Virginia comes up behind her and leans her forehead against her shoulder. Logan turns, kissing her forehead, and smiles.

Life is good today, she thinks. Life is good.

(screen names!

virgin -> gin(ny) and tonic; ginny <3 = virginia (virgil)

lo tide = logan

snesbian (snake lesbian) = jan (janus)

soda poppy = poppy (patton)

ace attorney irl = remus

violets are blue rosie is me = rosie (roman) (thanks to @rosesisupposes for letting me borrow your screen name for this!)

[hazelhearts]

penelope garcia

note: these were some cute little concepts i thought of when i was watching criminal minds and i couldn't help but share them! i hope you all love them just as much as i do!

summary: general headcanons about the one and only penelope garcia

warnings: none

masterlist

------

whenever someone on the team is having a bad day, she leaves a little trinket from her bat cave on their desk. she has plenty to spare and it's worth it when she sees the sweet little smiles on their faces. especially boss man's small smile

her, emily, and jj have a girls night every saturday night. sometimes they play bird games, other times they bar hop. it's not where they go that matters, it's who they're with

whenever a case hits a team member really hard or they just look like they're having a bad day, she leaves a little sticky note with an inspirational or sweet message on it on their desk

she is an absolute boss when it comes to social media and is definitely tiktok famous (no one has to know she hacked tiktok to get her followers + verified check)

she's an amazing seamstress and makes a good amount of her amazing outfits and makes clothes for the team all the time

she has a container of multivitamin gummies that she keeps on her desk and she hand delivers everyone their dose each and every morning. if they are on a case, she puts it in her go bag

she collects rocks and lines them up along the windowsill in her apartment so that when the light hits them at just the right angle, it sends scatters of rainbow light across her living room

she gossips a lotttt. not in a bad way, but like in a way where she just relays today's newest information on everyone. she only gossips to hotch though. he is a great listener and he usually has no idea what is going on until she says something

after emily took back sergio, she missed having a little kitten in the house who would curl up next to her in the middle of the night so she bought a sweet little brown kitty and named him salem and they have play dtaes with emily and sergio

she absolutely adores fuzzy socks. she doesn't wear them to work because she would rather wear her super cute heels but when she's at home she loves wearing fuzzy socks

the entire team knows about her fuzzy socks and grab her a new pair whenever they are at a store that sells them. especially when they are bright, bold colors because they remind them of garcia

she is a very organized person and even though people come into her apartment or her bat cave and see things sitting around, they're all put in a specific place and she knows where everything is so no one is ever allowed to touch anything

she loves to sleep in whenever she gets the chance but natural light has always bothered her so she has light-cancelling curtains over her windows so that she can sleep in whenever she gets the chance

she does not like the look of most artificial light sources so she has fairy lights hanging all around her house to give it a more calm glow

she reads every book that spencer recommends her no matter how long or confusing so that she can get even the tiniest glimpse into his interests and sometimes even has nice conversations about the books

she is amazing when it comes to doing hair so whenever anyone on the team needs their hair done for anything they go to her and of course she is happy to oblige

her personal computer is covered in all kinds of disney stickers because it makes her feel like a little kid again

she doesn't like horror movies at all and can't watch them under any circumstances. if the team wants to watch one, she goes into another room and watches one of her comfort movies. spencer usually ends up joining her

she has all different kinds of tapestries hung around her house because she likes how homey they make her house feel

she absolutely loves incense and burns it in almost every room of her house at all times because it makes her feel comfortable and it smells good

she has a huge stuffed animal collection and every single one has a name and a place on the shelf that is dedicated to them specifically

she can never pick a favorite animal because "they're all too cute!!"

[affectingmementally]

hey i’ve been so inactive but i’m back now.

May. A new month and, as i’m sure all of you understand, an opportunity to look at where you went wrong last month and start fresh.

so i’ve started something new. some new rules to kind of relax how obsessive i am about calories but still stay in a deficit low enough to be losing weight. i’ve set myself a deficit of 1,200 on mfp, however i will only allow myself to actually reach that at the weekends or special days like birthdays, holidays etc. otherwise, i’m going to do my best to stay at around 1,000 but if not i’ll allow myself 1,100. the only reason i’m more comfortable with having the extra 200 on weekends is because one day i work for 4 hours and i don’t get to sit down at any point, i’m constantly walking around, lifting things, cleaning and if i leave early enough i can walk the long way rather than the short way to get there. during that time those extra 200 cals would have easily been burnt off. the other day i do water sports so again, the calories get burnt.

another thing that i’m doing differently this month, i’ve decided not to track vegetables. this is mainly because my parents are picking up on how much i was weighing stuff and things like lettuce, cucumber, broccoli will never be over 20 cals so i’ve decided not to count them. however i do want to count fruit because the sugar content usually makes them higher in calories.

secondly, to manage my IBS i need to cut down on coffee. so i’m going to try to only have 4 per week and no more than one a day.

third, i’m going to start writing down my total calorie intake for each day on the calendar on my wall. this way i can have a reminder of how much i should be eating and i can calculate my weekly average.

fourth, vitamins. i’ve been awful at taking them in the past and it’s noticeable when i skip them. so i’m making sure i take them before i sleep. i’m keeping them in the draw next to my bed so if i’m tired i don’t need to go downstairs. i take 1x probiotic 1x A-Z multivitamin 2x turmeric tablets (they’re anti inflammatory so help my stomach, nothing to do with weight loss) 2x colon cleanse (not laxatives, they manage toxins) and 2x metabolism boosting. they are all made from my dads line of supplements and it’s just to make me feel brighter and hopefully help me faint less as well as being in less pain with my stomach.

fifth, i start my morning very specifically now. what i want to try to do is walk in the morning but i’m taking things one step at a time. i wake up earlier to go downstairs and make myself a green tea and get a bottle of water (my bottle is 800ml and i usually drink about 6 of them everyday). i also get a hot water bottle for my stomach and sit in bed and make sure i drink all of that before i do anything else. i’ve figured out that if my mornings start well the rest of the day tends to go better.

sixth, green smoothie. some people hate the idea of drinking a litre of green liquid first thing in the morning but THIS SHIT HAS BEEN SAVING ME I SWEAR. i’m always constipated, like to the point where i’m lucky if i go once a week. however, my mum has been drinking this smoothie everyday first thing for a few months now and she’s lost quite a bit of weight. i’m not saying it’s a miracle potion but if it makes you shit that’s at least something. i make it differently to my mum, but it works well and doesn’t make you bloated (yay!).

the recipe:

- 150g frozen pineapple

- 100g cucumber

-50g celery

-25g kale

-around 5 mint leaves (optional)

-125ml apple juice (optional but does make it taste better and it’s still low calorie)

-250ml water

-1 scoop green nutrition powder (optional, i just put it in for the extra vitamins and shit)

this fits in one of the large nutribullet cups and comes to around 150-200 calories (depending on whether you include the optional ingredients)

seventh (??), i want to try to walk everyday but the weather is shit and sometimes it’s just too bad to go outside and physically go on a walk. however, one thing i do make sure of everyday is that i plank. i don’t really like doing at home workouts, plus the ceilings and walls in my house are paper thin so my family can hear everything, as much as i can hear everything they do as well. but planking, no noise :) i’ve been doing it on and off for years but i definitely recommend it’s something people get into just because once you can do it for a good amount of time the benefits are endless. your core, thighs, glutes, shoulders, back, chest. everything is working. i can plank for 5 mins and i do this before i go to bed. it’s a good distraction to listen to music in the background and for me i like to watch the timer on my phone. for some people that just reminds them of how much time they have left but it motivates me because i can see that time go down if you get me.

lastly, actual hygiene. i want to shower everyday and make sure i do my skincare so my skin doesn’t dry out too badly and my acne doesn’t flare up. when i restrict too much this is a huge issue for me and again, people notice and my parents are better now at picking things like this up because i have been enrolled in therapy for my ed before, so they have been told about all the behaviours and signs. anyway, i want to get more comfortable with showering because last month i way leaving it for WAY too long, just because i didn’t want to see my body. if i do it everyday even for 5 mins i’ll get more familiar and it’ll become a habit.

that’s what i want this month to be about i think. breaking bad habits and making new ones. i don’t want to purge anymore because tbh i don’t enjoy it, it makes me feel relieved afterwards but unless i’m really uncomfortable i hate doing it, it’s my last resort. i haven’t for months but i don’t want to self harm anymore. i have a job where i’m on show to the public and i don’t want to have to manage new cuts or scars anymore, it stresses me out and gives me very little release for the price i have to pay afterwards.

BUT, on a positive note i do want to eat over 1,000 calories each day. that will be an achievement and i want to get more comfortable with the idea that you can still lose weight on high restriction. i do want to get back into walking and enjoying it like i did in lockdown. i used to look forward to it but i began associating it with weight loss and that ruined it for me. i need to learn to enjoy it because it calms me down and it’s time on my own with nature, not just an excuse to burn calories even if it does come with that benefit. i do want to start running again even though i know that will be challenging due to how tired i am each day. hopefully with my sleep pattern getting better and with the vitamins that won’t be a problem in the near future. i want to read again, it’s such a great outlet.

I’m not ready to let go of my ed, i’m not ready to let go of the control i have right now. However, i’m doing my best to positively better myself as much as i can. this is how i’m doing it, this account is anonymous so don’t compare yourself. you don’t know my age, build, my lifestyle or my situation well enough to even begin to compare yourself. we all struggle, i am still struggling a lot. this whole post seems like i’m doing great but i still cry over 10g of peanut butter. i still get angry when i can’t stick to the plan. i still get nervous when food is mixed into any social situation. this month is about coping in the best way i can.

i really hope that from this someone can take something positive that will improve your quality of life no matter what stage you’re at and just to disclaim, i fully support and encourage recovery, i’m just not in it right now. this is not a pro account, it’s a place for me to vent without judgement.

have a good day :)

[theladyofdeath]

After the Fall {3}

Throne of Glass fanfiction.

Warning: mature content throughout.

Centered dominantly around Aelin + Rowan, Lysandra + Aedion. Others make appearances throughout.

Click here for the masterlist.

Her hands were coated in his blood. 

She should scream, should call for help, should be begging the gods for mercy, but she couldn’t move. She was frozen in time, terrified for what the next second would bring.

He was lying on the floor, eyes wide open and glassed over as they stared at the ceiling. Soulless.

She didn’t realize she was crying until the saltiness touched her lips.

“Sam,” she whispered, at last, her voice nothing more than a shadow in the darkness. “Sam?”

Nothing.

“Sam!” She screamed, her voice high and earth-shattering as it echoed in the little apartment. A sob broke loose as she realized that this was not a nightmare, but a reality.

She grabbed his shoulders, shook him, moved his bangs out of his lifeless eyes. She begged him to respond, begged him to do something to let her know he was still in there. A sign. Any sign.

She clung to him, laid her head against his chest, grasped his shirt so tightly in her fists that her knuckles turned white.

It wasn’t until the police and medics showed up that she was pried off of him, and she watched as they laid him on a stretcher and pulled a white sheet over his lifeless frame.

Inside of her womb, Mara kicked wildly as if she knew her mother’s world was crashing down around her.

. . . . . . . . . 

Lysandra had no idea what time it was but she sure as hell knew that she was tired of staring at the ceiling. Aelin was sleeping on the narrow couch and Mara was asleep in the pack n play that Aedion kept in his apartment for when he babysat. Lysandra was wrapped like a burrito on the floor on top of a hideous, green shag rug. 

She had yawned every three seconds for hours, but no sleep came. 

Even without sleep, she preferred that damned rug to Arobynn’s house.

Giving up on the idea of sleep altogether, Lysandra quietly padded down the hallway to the bathroom. She turned the light on, took a minute to let her eyes adjust, and shut the door behind her with a soft click.

His bathroom was surprisingly clean for a man’s.

His toothbrush and toothpaste sat together in a plastic, white cup. His soap bottle was filled halfway and smelled like lavender vanilla. Everything had a place, and his toilet was clean. Which, in a bachelor’s bathroom, was a blessing. 

Lysandra opened the mirror above the sink and took a look at its contents. Hairbrush for that long, tangly golden mane. Cologne that was too expensive and far too strong. Deodorant - two different kinds, a roll on and a spray. There was a bottle of Advil next to a multivitamin - gummies, how cute. 

Before she could shut it, the door swung open and a bare-chested, sleepy-eyed Aedion stood in the doorway.

“Shit, turn the light off,” he mumbled. “Too bright.”

Lysandra didn’t move. “What are you doing?”

“I was going to pee, but you’re in my way.”

Lysandra pursed her lips. “You want me to shut the light off? So that you can pee? That can’t be sanitary.” 

Aedion closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Can’t sleep?”

“No. Turns out the floor isn’t too comfortable.”

Aedion opened his eyes, once more, only to find Lysandra staring at his chest.

She quickly looked away once he grinned.

“You can have my bed. I should’ve offered it earlier.”

Lysandra scoffed. “Yeah, right. No, thanks.”

Aedion rolled his eyes. “I won’t be sleeping in it with you. Now, go. My bed. Sleep. Please.”

“I’m not-”

“Lysandra, it’s two in the morning. Okay? Not a good time to be a pain in the ass.”

Lysandra blinked. He usually didn’t speak so bluntly with her.

He was being blunt.

His shirt was off.

Lysandra was oddly aroused. 

Aedion lifted a brow. “Stay a second longer and I’m peeing whether you’re in here or not.” 

Lysandra put herself into motion, scooting around him, her shoulder brushing along his arm as she slipped by. She shut the door behind her and slowly made her way across the hall to his bedroom.

His bed was huge and looked oh-so inviting. Cotton sheets, a big, fluffy comforter, giant pillows. She didn’t need any more convincing. 

Lysandra bundled herself up in his blankets and fell asleep within seconds.

When she awoke in the morning, Aedion was lying on the floor at the foot of the bed wrapped in the same blanket she had been lying with in the living room. He was using an old sweatshirt as a pillow and through some miracle actually looked comfortable. 

Lysandra huffed a laugh before climbing out of his bed and tiptoeing past. She had barely reached for the door when she heard a muffled, “Sleep good?”

Lysandra spun around to catch Aedion looking up at her with tired eyes. 

His hands were thrown back behind his head, the tattoos on the insides of his biceps watching Lysandra with curious judgment. 

“Yes,” she said, hurriedly, before turning her back to him.

“So you’ll be back tonight, then?”

Lysandra froze. She opened her mouth but nothing came out. Instead, she walked out of his bedroom and slammed the door behind her.

Only to meet an amused Aelin sitting at the kitchen table.

She was sitting alone, sipping hot coffee with raised eyebrows.

“What.”

Aelin sat her coffee down gently as her grin spread. “So….”

“He slept on the floor,” Lysandra clarified.

“Mhmmm,” Aelin hummed, bringing her mug back to her lips.

Mara cooed from her bouncy seat next to the table, as if she also didn’t believe her aunt.

. . . . . . . . . .

“So, we’ll start you with something simple until you get familiar with the place and our customers. Granted, it’s a family owned pub and a lot of our customers are regulars, but nonetheless. You’ll be running drinks from the bar tonight. You don’t get any tips that way, but we’ll make up for it until you start waiting tables, I promise.”

Aelin nodded, trailing after her handsome trainer as he went on and on about what she would be doing her first night on the job.

They got to the bar, he showed her how to clock in and gave her an apron that she tied around her waist. She was wearing a black shirt that read Moonbeam’s Pub that fit a little too tightly for comfort and her hair was up, which she hardly ever wore. But, she plastered a smile to her face and told herself it would be a good night. 

“I’m Fenrys, by the way,” he said, as he took her behind the bar. “Sorry, don’t think I introduced myself. My aunt runs the place.”

“Aelin,” she followed, nodding awkwardly, “but I assume you knew that.”

His lips quirked into a grin. “Nice to meet you. Rowan will be here soon. He bartends from five until close. I’ll be around, if you need anything, but Rowan will tell you which tables to go to.”

Aelin nodded, although her mind was elsewhere. She and Lysandra had spent the day with Mara in the park while Aedion worked the day shift, and they would be together babysitting for Aelin while she worked her first shift.

She was dying to continue to poke fun at Lysandra, as she had for the first half of the day. She loved to watch her sister blush. Deep down, she was in love with Aedion. Aelin knew it, she always had. But Lysandra rejected all notions of love, except for sex, which she only indulged in to prove a point and create a front. And, Aelin knew, to kill just a little bit of pain and enjoy the pleasure. 

“Ah, here he is now.” Aelin turned just as Fenrys said, “Whitethorn, here’s your trainee.” And with that, he was gone.

Rowan Whitethorn.

He didn’t look all that excited. His tattooed arms were crossed as he stopped a few feet away from Aelin, completely towering over her as he sized her up.

Aelin matched his demeanor, which only made him arch a thick, silver brow. 

“You must be Aelin,” he said, voice deep and unimpressed. 

“You must be Rowan,” she said.

He blinked.

So did she.

Rowan cleared his throat before mumbling, “This will be fun,” and walked to the other side of the bar. She watched him toss a handtowel over his shoulder and lean against the counter.

Aelin scoffed. “This is what you get paid to do?”

Rowan shot a look at Aelin, then looked over his shoulder at the clock. “It’s five on a Wednesday...Most elderly people that eat dinner here at this hour don’t come and sit at the bar. So, yes, until I have an order or a customer at the bar...this is what I do. Is that a problem?”

Aelin bit her tongue to keep from making a smartass retort. 

“Thought not,” he continued.

Fenrys came up to the bar and said, “Strawberry lemonade at twelve.” He left before either of them could respond.

“Strawberry lemonade?” Aelin repeated.

“Made with strawberry syrup,” Rowan mumbled. “Not in the kitchen’s machine.”

He took out a fancy, tall glass from under the bar and filled it up. After stirring it, and tossing in a few strawberries, he handed the glass to Aelin. “Table twelve. First table on the left after welcome booth.”

Aelin nodded and took the glass. An elderly couple sat together and asked for two straws. They thanked Aelin before she hurried back to the bar. Rowan was back to leaning on his elbows atop the bar. He watched every step Aelin took.

She wanted to ask where Dorian was, or if Fenrys could train her instead.

It was going to be a longass night. 

_______________________

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[gremlinquisitor]

Quarantine Q&A

Tagged by:@barbex

Tagging: @sadmagecentral @hollyand-writes @rpgwarrior4824 @saltlordofold @wickedwitchofthewilds and anyone else who feels up to it! As always, take care of yourself first, and if you don’t feel like you can talk about this, then please don’t try to force it. ♥

Are you staying home from work or school?

I have been working from home since March 13 and probably will be until my vacation in June, so I won’t be properly back in the office again until July, if not later. I kind of miss it, kind of don’t, because at this point I’m so used to be being home.

If you’re staying home, who’s with you?

The cats. Husband stays home once in a while but his work hasn’t gone out with as strict of restrictions as mine, so he still goes to the office along with about 5 other people who also prefer to go to the office. (I live in Sweden and our restrictions are the subject of much debate.)

Are you a homebody?

Kind of. I like being home, but in contrast to going to work, going out. I like having home as somewhere to retreat to, so being stuck here feels kind of stuck. I’m doing better now but there were a couple really hard weeks at the start.

An event that you were looking forward to that got canceled.

I had 5 concerts to sing in and 6 to go to this spring and summer, and all but one of them has been moved to 2021 or cancelled entirely, and I think the last one is just holding on to hope as much as possible because it’s a Swedish band doing a tour of only Sweden, so it’s kind of flexible. But yeah, Iron Maiden, Joe Satriani, Avantasia? All moved to next year.

What movies have you watched recently? What shows are you watching?

Not a single movie. We’ve been binge-watching Critical Role to catch up on campaign 2, and I’m watching some other D&D actual plays while I work. I wanted to watch The Untamed but it’s not on Netflix in Sweden >:|||

What music are you listening to?

LEGACY OF THE DARK LANDS by Blind Guardian’s Twilight Orchestra!! This is my album of the quarantine, I listen to it pretty much daily and I just adore it. It’s A Lot, huge orchestra with big metal vocals and a great story, but so worth it to check out.

What are you reading?

Not as much as I wish I mas. I am really trying to get caught up on all my friends’ fic, but it’s slow going. Reading while I work is a good way for me to forget I’m working and get nothing done, but then staring at my laptop after work in the evening is also less appealing. Not that I’m reading regular books instead, mind you.

What are you doing for self-care?

Messing around with my hair, doing face masks. I finally managed to get myself to start taking a multivitamin every morning, and I started a 60-day workout challenge thing on Twitter, so I have that to keep my body moving. The weather seems to have finally turned so I’m going to try to go for more lunch walks, but I’ve not been successful with those so far. I also sit on the balcony when I work sometimes to try to get some sun and just be “out” of the apartment.

[ronniesshoes]

Keep Yourself Alive

Previous

Here we are again! It’s been a very long wait but this chapter is both the longest yet and absolutely packed so I hope it’s worth it! Huge thanks to everyone who interacts, I love you & couldn’t do it without your support, patience and encouragement! And thanks to @theseasofrhye for your massive help and for being an inspiration every day 💛 Enjoy!

Brian doesn’t remember how or when he returns from the party, but when he wakes up the next morning, he almost wishes he hadn’t. His mouth tastes like something has crawled in there and died, and his head feels stuffy and achy, though whether it’s from his hangover or the cold he’s still nursing is anybody’s guess. The groan that leaves his abused throat sounds pitiful even to his own ears, and when he forces his sticky eyelids open, Freddie and John, curled up in Freddie’s bed, are looking at him with poorly concealed amusement. 

The pair of them look annoyingly fresh-faced and impossibly cosy, and Brian sends them a hateful look before he forces his heavy body out of bed. He trips over his shoes and is momentarily confused as to what they’re doing in his room. His stomach lurches unpleasantly. 

As quickly as his aching body allows him to, he gets to the loo, but when he crouches in front of the toilet, nothing comes up, and he settles for a morning piss instead. He winces when he catches sight of his pale reflection in the mirror as he reaches for his chewed up bamboo toothbrush in an attempt to remove the taste of death from his mouth.

He doesn’t think he can stomach breakfast so soon after waking up, but he gulps down two glasses of water and samples a vitamin from each of the bottles in the cupboard. Remembering Freddie’s warning on Solaray on an empty stomach, he returns the multivitamin to its proper bottle and swallows down the remaining five pills with a third glass of water. He can’t pretend to know what Damiana is good for, but he probably needs it.

Putting on the kettle, he leans against the worktop but jumps back when pain shoots down his thigh, and he tugs down the waistband of his boxers, revealing a dark bruise blooming over his hip. He carefully prods a finger at it, trying to recall an event from the night before that could have possibly led to it, but comes up short. Sighing, he picks out a mug and drops the last bag of English Breakfast in it, folds up the cardboard and throws it in the bin. He tugs at the sleeves of his jumper in a fruitless attempt to cover his freezing fingers. Now that Christmas and New Year’s are over, there’s nothing to distract him from the dull coldness that seems to have seeped into his bones, robbing him of the ability to concentrate on anything for long. If only it had been raining—or better yet, snowing—but the sky is overcast and mute, the ugly building on the other side of the street barely visible through the heavy fog.

The hiss of the kettle pulls him out of his thoughts, and he opens the fridge, his eyes stinging ridiculously as he discovers he’s out of oat milk. The two cartons of regular milk seem to mock him from their place on the shelf, and for a moment, he rests his head against the cool edge of the door. He could do with a proper cup of tea—black with milk and one sugar—but all the stores are closed today, and even if they weren’t, the thought of putting on clothes makes his head hurt. He stares at the milk until the fridge starts beeping and he peels his forehead off the door and closes it.

Nausea rolling in his stomach, he picks up the kettle and fills his mug with water, idly dunking the teabag with his spoon. Perhaps he really is uptight and in dire need of loosening up a little, but so far the consequences don’t seem to be worth it.

His chair is littered with crumbs when he brings his mug to the table so he opts for Freddie’s usual instead and tucks one foot beneath him. He puts his hands over his tea until they’re damp and warm, then wipes them on his jumper and gazes wearily out the window. He misses summer, misses being able to study in the sun outside uni or hop off the tube a stop earlier and walk the rest of the way. He misses dad and their annual one-day camping trip to go stargazing and he misses not being tired all the time. His thoughts skirt the topic of Tenerife; glittering Lonely Planet guides in Foyles and his bookmarked The World’s Best Stargazing Spots.

Mentally shaking himself, he wraps his hands around the hot ceramic of his mug and keeps them there until they sting. The decision has been made, and even entertaining the idea of changing his mind is a waste of time and energy. He has plenty on his mind as it is, and so does professor Harrison, he imagines—he’s not about to make a nuisance of himself just because he’s feeling a little hungover.

Through the slowly dissolving fog, Brian makes out the already sinking sun. It looks angry, Brian thinks; spilling sickly red over the paling horizon. He swallows down his tea, bitter without milk to sweeten it, and his heart suddenly aches for someone to talk to. He doesn’t want to go back to his room and disturb Freddie and John, and he doesn’t think he can handle the confusion that seems to be ever-present when he talks to Roger. On the outside they’re fine—Roger’s apology seemed genuine enough even though Brian suspects it was not offered entirely voluntarily, but sometimes he’ll look at Roger and remember his words, and petty anger will claw at his insides.

He knows Roger will never understand his relationship with his parents—the fact that he knows his mother had desperately wanted a daughter instead made it complicated from the beginning, but Brian supposes that's his cross to bear. His coming out was another blow, he thinks, and of course his sudden illness not five months later that almost cost him his life. He doesn’t blame his parents for their worrying and their aspirations on his behalf. They’ve always wanted what’s best for him.

Quelling the sting of loneliness, he reaches for his planner and begins flicking through it. Try as he might, he can’t force excitement when he looks at the handful of gigs spread over the months of January and February. And on the 23rd of February, penned in with more force than the others, the lines thick and graphite, the entry only says Tenerife. The rest of the month is empty.

He stares at the page for a long while, then reaches for a pen and slowly strikes it out, once, twice, keeps going until the word is illegible. He closes his planner with more force than necessary and stretches to steal a pink sticky note from Freddie’s pile of sketchbooks and stationery to write himself a reminder to plan his tutoring sessions with Liam, Ben, and Kate for the upcoming months.

Brian leans back in his chair with a sigh. A new year, and if anything, the prospect of dragging himself through it seems even more impossible than it did just a few weeks ago. He can’t for the life of him understand why he’s not feeling more optimistic, why he doesn’t have his resolutions in bold letters above his bed, why the prospect of going on tour fills him with dread. Tomorrow they’re going to evaluate, and Brian doesn’t know how to explain to them that he doesn’t care. Doesn’t care about their performance yesterday, doesn’t care about the upcoming gigs, doesn’t care about anything other than catching a fucking break. If only time could stand still for a little while, give him an hour or two to pull himself together, to sort out his buzzing mind.

John’s laughter from the other side of the wall startles him out of his thoughts. He wonders if Roger is up yet because he fears that if he doesn’t talk to someone, he might genuinely lose the plot.

Filled with sudden determination, he pushes back his chair, cringing at the ugly scraping sound, and makes for Roger’s room.

Just as he passes the bathroom, the door swings open, and Brian almost jumps out of his skin. Roger’s laughter is loud in the empty living room, and Brian glares at him to distract himself from his racing heart.

“How long have you been out there?” he demands, determinedly not looking at the way the water beads on his shoulders or the hair plastered to his forehead, taking years off his face. He briefly wonders if being so caught up his own thoughts that he has failed to notice the water running should be a cause of concern, then decides it’s best not to dwell on it.

Roger shrugs, securing the towel that hangs indecently low on his hips. “40 minutes? Freddie taught me how to make a body scrub using sugar and coconut oil,” he says, holding out his arm to stroke the damp skin, “it’s supposed to scrub away the last year. Load of bollocks if you ask me, but satisfying all the same.”

He drops his arms and smiles up at him. Brian scowls.

“You did it on purpose.”

“What, scared you?” Roger asks, raising his eyebrows in question. Brian nods, not caring that he doesn’t make sense. “Yes, I’ve been standing here for ten minutes waiting specifically for you to pass just so I could scare you. Like I don’t have better things to do. The floor is wet.”

“Do you?” Brian wonders out loud, stepping back to allow Roger to pass.His feet leave wet prints on the floor.

Roger puts his hand on the door handle to his room but doesn’t enter. “Course, I have at least ten New Year’s resolutions I intend to break.”

“I wasn’t aware you’d made any,” Brian says, amused and secretly curious.

“Nothing I intend to keep,” Roger says dismissively, pushing down the door handle, “still, it’s tradition. Don’t let me keep you. Bathroom’s free.”

“Actually,” Brian says just as Roger disappears into his room. He pauses in the doorway. “I wanted to, um, chat. If you’re not too tired. Or busy. And when you’ve got dressed, obviously.”

“Oh,” Roger says, “come in, then.”

Brian hesitates but follows him inside, shutting the door behind him like Roger tells him to. The difference in temperature is staggering.

“Good to know where all the heat goes,” he comments drily. He attempts to determine which messy bed looks the least uninviting, and ends up on the edge of John’s.

“I’m sorry your king-sized beds and lush bedding can’t keep your skinny arses warm,” Roger shoots back, opening his closet doors wide.

Brian snorts softly and then almost chokes on his breath when Roger loses the towel around his waist and starts drying his hair while he studies the contents of his closet.

Roger turns around at the sound. “Alright?”

“I’m fine,” Brian says weakly, silently grateful that the closet door blocks most of the view. Still, that’s a lot of skin.

He shakes himself. It’s not like he’s attracted to Roger, or ever has been. There’s no reason he should be—Roger has plenty of flaws, and as he picks them out—his skinny legs, the dumb mole that’s shaped a bit like a small heart, and the tattoo he spies when Roger reaches for a shirt—Brian feels slightly better. It’s not about looks, anyway, and personality-wise, Roger is annoying at best and constantly driving him to the brink of insanity at worst. As for last week … well, he was just helping out a friend.

“Wouldn’t you say these two shirts are the exact same shade?” Roger asks. His wet towel lies forgotten on the floor and he is stepping out from behind the closet door holding two shorts.

“Uhm,” Brian says. His eyes hurt with the effort of not looking down.

“Freddie seems to think this one goes with my tat and the other doesn’t. I’m pretty sure he makes it up.”

“Roger.”

“What?”

“Please put some clothes on.”

“But I’m not dry yet,” Roger reasons.

Brian’s entire face hurts. “Underwear will do, just—please.”

“Keep forgetting how much of a prude you are,” Roger says, but he does put on a pair of boxers, and possibly the most garish pair Brian has ever seen; tiger-striped in pink and silver. He grins. “I believe you’ve seen it all already. On multiple occasions, in fact.”

“Can we not talk about that?” The question comes out a bit more harshly than intended, and Roger frowns.

He sits down on his bed opposite of Brian and looks him in the eye. “It really bothers you, doesn’t it?”

Brian's heart sinks. “No, Roger, it doesn’t bother me, it’s just—” He pauses to drag in a breath, then throws out the first thing that comes to mind in the tangle of confusion that seems to have taken permanent residence in his brain, “look, I know John and maybe Freddie made you apologise to me, and I don’t know if you even felt like you had anything to apologise for, and I just … I wanted to make sure there were no hard feelings.”

Roger looks slightly taken aback. “No hard feelings.”

Brian forces himself not to fiddle under his stare.”I just mean that … I shouldn’t have made you fool around with me, and I’m—”

“Hold on,” Roger interrupts him. He leans slightly forward, eyes pinning Brian to the spot. “You—I flirted with you for ages, you did not make me do anything. Come on, Brian, that’s ridiculous. Give me some credit.”

Brian’s mouth feels impossibly dry. His empty stomach aches. “I shouldn’t have said yes.”

“Didn’t you want to?” Roger throws back, and Brian knows he’s gonna regret everything he says in this room, but he presses on nonetheless.

“It doesn’t matter what I wanted or didn’t want at the time,” he says, hurrying to continue as Roger opens his mouth to argue, “it was not your fault and it won’t happen again, I promise. I just wanted to make sure you were all right. I know you probably wish it didn’t happen and that’s fine, I promise not to tell anyone.”

“Brian,” Roger says, looking slightly bewildered, “relax. It’s just sex.”

“We didn’t have sex,” Brian reminds him.

Roger scrubs at his hair and grins. “Seemed pretty sexy to me.”

Brian rolls his eyes in an attempt to cover the wave of relief that crashes over him. “So you’re not upset?” he asks, just to make sure. He doesn’t look it, but if the roles were reversed, Brian’s not sure he’d be quite as forgiving.

“It’s fine,” Roger says with a dismissive wave of his hand, “I’ve bedded a bloke now, I can cross that off the list.”

“Flatterer,” Brian says drily.

Roger tilts his head. “You said you didn’t fool around with friends, right. I had fun but I’m not asking for your hand in marriage.”

“Right.”

Roger rearranges himself on the bed so he’s lying on his side, head propped up on his elbow. He looks at Brian with drowsy eyes and a lazy smile. “So how’d you find the party last night?”

“I had fun.”  He’s lying, of course—he’d spent most of the night alone in a corner, surrounded by obnoxious art and literature students he didn’t care for and who most certainly did not care for him, but for some reason, he can’t tell Roger the truth. He’s not sure why it matters. “Got chatted up by this bloke.”

“Oh?” Roger says, looking at him with interest, and Brian wants to claw the lie back.

“Yes, in the loos,” he continues, at the same wondering what it’s going to take for him to shut up. 

“Good place, the loos,” Roger says with a grin.

Brian nods. He’s not sure it looks convincing. “And did you have fun?” he asks tentatively.

“Was alright, wasn’t it? Good show, free drinks.” He sends Brian a sly smile. “Clean loos.”

The implication is not lost on Brian, and he forces a smile. 

Before he can think of a suitable answer, Roger throws him off with a new topic. “I can’t believe Fred and Deaks are together.”

Brian shrugs. In all honesty, it annoys him a little—just knowing that the two of them are having a cuddle fest in his room makes him exhausted.

“I’m amazed I didn’t see it coming, really,” Roger continues, “makes sense when you think about it.”

Brian hasn’t. And it’s not that’s he’s not happy for John and Freddie—he is, definitely—but he can’t say he’s put much thought into their compatibility or been dying to congratulate the happy couple. “I suppose.”

“Wouldn’t kill you to show some enthusiasm,” Roger says with a wry smile.

“It might,” Brian says, “and I better not risk it.”

♛ ♛ ♛

He leaves Roger’s room feeling cautiously optimistic. So much in fact that he sits down next to his abandoned cup of tea and pulls a book from his bag.

It’s fine for the first few pages. Then his concentration starts to waver, and thoughts creep in between the words on the page, unbidden.

If he’s honest, he doesn’t feel better at all. Mortifying as his conversation with Roger was, he felt more at ease in his company, was able to forget himself for a few moments. Now that he’s alone again, he doubts they made any progress at all. He knows Roger is a big boy, that he can make decisions for himself, but Brian can’t quell the worry that lingers in the back of his mind. The whole mess is his own fault, and it doesn’t matter that Roger assures him it’s fine—it clearly isn’t.

He presses the heels of his hands against his dry, tired eyes, letting a groan slip out because he’s alone and there’s no one there to judge or pity him.

He just wants everything to go back to normal. He doesn’t like this new feeling he gets around Roger, this feeling of unease, the way his heart beats faster with fear of another argument. And all because he wanted to go to Tenerife. Because that’s the root of it, he thinks, that’s how it all started—suddenly everyone was afraid he would leave, give up the band, his friends.

There’s a tight ache in his chest, and he wants to gather them all and apologise. Tell them he never wanted to go, not really, that it was a stroke to his ego but no more than that. He knows he made the right decision, and he’s sure he would have come to that conclusion even if Roger and the rest had not expressed their concern. After all, the band is what he really wants, and his study … If they do make it, he can put it on the shelf. At least for a few years.

He pushes his chair back and lowers his forehead to his open book on the table. Unbidden, a memory of Freddie’s birthday all those months ago enters his mind. The weather had been unusually warm for September, and they had gone for drinks in a rooftop bar in Mayfair, pretending they could afford the overpriced drinks. He remembers the walk back from the station, the pleasant buzz and the silk-like fabric of Freddie’s jacket brushing against his bare forearm, John’s laughter and Roger’s smile, bright and pleased because he had made his friend laugh.

The liquor they consumed back at the flat had been cheap and dreadful, drunk out of mugs and water glasses, and the contrast between that and their first drinks of the evening had been almost comical, but Brian had thought to himself that he much preferred their own living room and Tesco’s cheapest vodka—there he could listen to the hum of the voices of the people he loved the most, his head pillowed on Roger’s thigh, deft fingers gently scratching his scalp.

For a fleeting moment, he is reminded of a similar occasion, but before he can catch the memory, it’s gone again.

Lifting his head from the table, he rolls his shoulders and gets up. He passes Ziggy who’s asleep in his favourite chair, and he pauses to stroke the soft fur. The cat makes a disgruntled sound, stretches, hops off the chair, and leaves.

The fridge is depressingly empty so he sits down again, drinks his cold tea. The sun has long gone down, but he feels disinclined to get up again and switch on the lights. He thinks about what Roger said, about their hookup not being a big deal. And Brian suspects it isn’t, but at the moment, everything kind of feels like a big deal, and he wonders what’s wrong with him, if this is how he’s going to feel for the rest of his life.

He doesn’t know how long he sits there in the darkness, but when the door to his room opens, he winces. He barely has time to adjust his eyes before they’re assaulted once again when Freddie switches on the overhead lights in the living room.

“Could you maybe warn me next time?” Brian asks, squinting at the pair.

“Sorry darling, didn’t mean to disturb your gloom.”

“Well, you did.”

“What are you doing here all by yourself anyway?” Freddie asks, briefly putting a hand on his shoulder as he passes. He instantly misses the touch.

“I was just thinking,” he says, watching John cross the living room to rap at the door to his own room.

“Terribly unhealthy for you, dear,” Freddie says, and Brian turns in his seat to look at him. “Are we all out of tea?”

“There’s some of your herbal stuff somewhere, I think.”

Freddie stands on his toes to rummage through the contents of the top shelf, letting out a small “ah!” when he finds the brightly patterned box. “Would you like a cup?”

“No, thanks,” Brian says, distracted by the reappearance of John, this time with Roger in tow, playfully draped all over him, arms around his neck.

“Alright, Bri?” Roger greets, and Brian feels his lips pull into an automatic smile. He lets go of John and throws himself on the couch, effectively startling Ziggy. “I’m starving!”

“We’re waiting for you to make the call, love,” Freddie says, pouring boiling water into two cups and releasing fragrant steam into the air.  

“One day you three need to learn how to make a phone call,” Roger advises, pulling his phone from his pocket.

“Why would we when you seem to enjoy it?” John asks, accepting the proffered cup from Freddie.

“We’re on first-name basis,” Roger says, but whether it’s supposed to be an argument for or against is unclear to Brian. “Fine. I’m going out for a smoke anyway. The usual?”

“Will you ask if there’s eggs in the noodles?” Brian asks.

“On it,” Roger says, shrugging into his jacket. “See you in a bit!”

Brian looks up at the sound of a chair being pulled out. John smiles at him. “How are you feeling?”

Brian doesn’t even know where to begin.

“You look a bit worn out is all,” John continues after a beat.

“I’m fine,” Brian says with a tight smile.

John says nothing, and Brian instantly feels bad. It’s not John’s fault he feels like he’s spiraling down into insanity, or that he’s fighting just to stay afloat. “Think I had a bit too much last night.”

“Yeah,” John agrees, expression unreadable. Brian decides it’s best ignored instead of attempting to find meaning behind it.

“I think I’m gonna go back to sleep, actually,” he says, scraping his chair back.

Freddie is behind him in an instant. “Oh no, you aren’t. We’re gonna sit down, have a meal, and discuss last night.”

Brian’s heart thuds. He searches his brain for anything he could have done last night that could possibly lead to an intervention from all three of them. “What happened last night?”

Freddie walks around his chair to look at him. “We played a concert,” he says slowly.

“Oh,” Brian says, “that.”

“Yes,” Freddie says, giving him a strange look. “And now we’re gonna evaluate, talk about what can be improved. Like we do every time we’ve played a concert.”

“Right.”

“But if you’ve got any stories, we’d love to hear them,” John chimes in. 

“I don’t,” Brian says tonelessly. 

He doesn’t miss John and Freddie’s exchanged glances. Annoyed, he pushes his chair back and leaves them to their looks and their being in love to sprawl on the couch. 

A few minutes later, the front door bangs open, followed by a small crash and Roger’s shout of “I’m back.”

“We heard,” John says.

“Food should be here in about half an hour,” Roger says, appearing in the doorway, cheeks flushed with cold.

Brian is surprised and slightly alarmed when Roger steers towards him with impressive speed and a manic grin; he doesn’t have time to prepare himself, let alone get away, before pressed against him on the couch.

“Feel how cold my hands are,” Roger says, and before Brian can stop him, he has reached up to put his freezing hands on Brian’s neck. Brian jerks away. “You didn’t feel it.”

“I did,” Brian says, rubbing at the skin of his neck, “and it was highly unpleasant.”

“Are you not gonna help me warm them?” Roger asks, all faux innocence.

“No,” Brian says, edging away from him. “Were the noodles alright?”

“Totally egg-free,” Roger says, getting up to target John instead. 

John rolls his eyes but obediently takes Roger’s hand between his own. Brian looks away.

“Should we watch a movie?” Roger asks.

“Depends on the movie,” Freddie says.

Brian tucks his feet under him. “Seconded.”

John lets go of Roger’s hands and gets up to crouch in front of their impressive DVD collection. “There’s Mamma Mia, of course.”

Roger puts down John’s tea. “I’m too straight to watch it twice within a month.”

“Sounds like a you problem.”

“I’m with Roger,” Brian says, glancing at him where he’s seated next to Freddie, “not to the straight part, mind.”

“Rocky Horror? Titanic? Mr. Fantastic?”

“Which one is that?” Freddie asks.

“Viggo Mortensen lives in the woods with a bunch of children and teaches them to fight.”

“Isn’t that Lord of the Rings?”

John sends Brian a long-suffering look, and Brian hides a smile.

Freddie leans forward eagerly, almost knocking his tea off the table. “We should watch Harry Potter!”

“They’re so bad,” Brian says, “nothing like the books.”

“Go read a book, then,” Roger says.

Brian scowls. He knows Roger doesn’t like the movies either. 

“How about a Disney movie?” John asks.

“No more Disney movies.”

“I think Harry Potter’s a good idea, actually,” Roger says, putting his feet in Freddie’s lap.

“Yeah, that’s not gonna happen,” John says, and Brian can’t help but feel just a little smug.

“Aladdin?”

Freddie covers a yawn. “Fine.”

“You should’ve seen my pull last night,” Roger says, “looked like Jasmin, actually.”

“Roger,” Freddie says, exasperated.

“What? I’m not being racist,” Roger insists. Pauses. “Am I?”

“Yes,” Freddie says bluntly. Brian’s skin crawls with discomfort.

Roger scrunches his nose up guiltily. “Sorry. I’ll do better.” 

Freddie almost smiles. “Was there more to the story?”

“Not really,” Roger admits, moving past his mishap with an ease Brian could never match, “except she had these huge tits.” He cups his hands to illustrate. 

Freddie’s eyes light up with intrigue. “Did you ask her?”

Roger frowns. "I just met her, I can't just ask her that."

"Why not?” Freddie asks, hooking his foot around the ankle of John, who has since given up on the movies and returned to his seat. “You shagged her."

"It's impolite to ask someone you've just met if you can fuck their tits," Roger opines. 

John’s face is a picture of distress when he catches Brian’s eye. "Are your ears also bleeding?" 

"The images in my mind are much, much worse," Brian says, trying valiantly to suppress the disturbing scenario.

"Don't knock it till you've tried it," Roger says knowingly.

Brian makes a face. “I think I will.”

♛ ♛ ♛ 

“I think it went alright,” Roger says between mouthfuls of egg rolls, “not terrible. I’m almost positive we were celebrating when Veronica drank me under the table. Just wish I hadn’t lost my shoe.”

Freddie folds his hands on his crossed legs. "The crowd seemed pretty receptive.”

"Really?" Roger swallows his mouthful. "Not from where I was sitting."

"It was a subtle eye contact thing," Freddie tells him. 

"Bugger," Roger says with a grin, "can't believe I missed out on that!"

"Better than that concert we played in September," John says, looking up from where he’s inspecting a noodle, "at least there were no drunken offenses this time."

Brian hands Freddie his glass of water, pushes Roger’s feet off his chair, and reclaims his seat. 

"So our audience wasn’t exactly successful," Freddie says, "that doesn't mean we weren’t."

"I thought they seemed to have a good time," John says, and Brian has to agree even though he can’t muster up much enthusiasm, "they made noise. Our friends did, at any rate."

"Ugh," Freddie says, "this truly is traumatising. I'll be glad once we make it and get to play for bigger crowds."

"Let's get signed first, eh?" Roger says, "self-publishing albums is all very well, but it'd be nice to have someone reach out to us."

"Well, they won't," Freddie snaps. Brian suppresses a sigh and pokes at his food. "We've got to put ourselves out there. Did you call that venue in Brixton?”

"I did, yeah," Roger says, stealing a spring roll from John's box. Brian makes sure his own is well out of reach. "I'm not gonna repeat what they said because they were not very polite."

Brian lets out a snort, and Roger grins at him. 

"There must be something else we can do," Freddie muses, "all this waiting around is not good for my health."

"These next few concerts will probably help," John says. He's not usually one to offer empty platitudes, and Freddie looks at him with suspicion.

"Why would you say that?"

"The concert went well. If we keep playing like that, it's just a matter of being in the right place at the right time. Someone will discover us, and soon."

"That's not you," Freddie says with narrowed eyes, "that's one of those horrible women speaking!"

"Chrissie told me the same thing," Roger says, "but I was, er, a bit busy. Or about to be."

John groans.

"What did you say to her?" Freddie wants to know.

"That she could maybe come back later."

"Not you! John, what did you say to her?"

"I didn't say anything," John murmurs. He taps his fingers against his can of coke, then admits, "I just told Veronica it was frustrating, a bit. That we all feel it. We're so close."

"I heard her and Chrissie talk," Brian offers, "I think it's Chrissie’s project."

"That little minx," Freddie groans, "the last thing we need is someone trying to cheer us up when what we need to do is work."

“Jesus,” John mumbles.

"I think it's nice they support us," Roger offers.

"Do you know how many times I've heard this from Mary? We wouldn’t be where we are if we’d listened to useless shit like that."

"Alright, Fred," Brian sighs, “what do you suggest we do, then?"

"We'll keep practicing, keep making music, keep reaching out," Freddie says, moving his food far enough out of reach that Roger can't get it. John steals a spring roll and sticks out his tongue at Roger. Brian pushes his leftovers towards him. "We have a decent following on SoundCloud, and we got around 30 new likes on Facebook since last night. Did we have some video we can put up?"

"That's pretty good," Roger says, putting his feet in Brian's lap. Brian shoves them away, ignoring Roger’s pout.

“We do have a few videos,” John says, “but I haven’t received them yet.”

"We need to get into the spotlight," Freddie says, apparently too caught up in his vision to hear the answer. Brian and John trade glances. "We need to really utilise this next month where we don’t have classes."

Brian doesn't think now is the time to mention he's already picked up some extra shifts at the bookstore.

"I watched these classes on skillshare this morning," Freddie continues, “and—”

"Morning," Roger interrupts with a groan, "you went home half-past three."

"And I still got six hours of sleep.”

Roger gives him a long-suffering look.

"We seem to be doing much of it already, " Freddie continues, "of course these people are nobodies and we'll surely surpass them once we get going, but some of their tips did stand out to me."

"Let’s hear it," Brian says, failing to put much enthusiasm into his voice.

"Right," Freddie says, launching into a lengthy monologue. 

Brian nods along in an attempt to look like he cares, but he’s distracted by Roger picking up a banana fritter, spilling powdered sugar over his trousers. Brian gazes at him warily as he attempts to brush it off, only succeeding in spreading it further, then shrugs it off and looks back at Freddie. He can’t understand how Roger’s got the energy or attention to be listening, and he watches him as he eats the last of his dessert, tongue flicking out to clean no doubt sticky lips. Brian swallows in an attempt to lubricate his dry mouth, forcing himself to look away when Roger licks his fingers.

"Sounds doable," Roger says, effectively reclaiming Brian’s attention. "I can get Instagram."

"Watch out," John whispers, catching Brian’s eye and smiling. Brian weakly returns it.

"Unfortunately their guidelines prevent too much nudity,” Freddie says, “but I think we should still be able to post our new pictures."

"What a shame," John comments and receives an elbow in the side for his trouble.

"If only we could warm up for someone," Roger says, leaning his elbows on the table, "someone who's good, who knows what they're doing."

"No one cares about the warm-up act," Brian says, beginning to tear up a piece of kitchen roll.

"It’s still exposure," Roger says. "I always check out the band afterward, unless they're shit of course."

"Most bands are," John opines.

"So we want to warm up for a real band so people can talk about how shit we are?" Brian wonders aloud.

"We're different, darling," Freddie says, "you know we are. We have something no one else has. And I think the world is ready for glam again. Just look at people like Adam Lambert and Harry Styles—it's finally in to be fab." 

Brian wishes he believed him.

♛ ♛ ♛ 

Despite the exhaustion weighing his body down, Brian lies awake for long, lonely hours. He can’t seem to quiet the whirring in his mind, and pillow he’s wrapped himself around is cold and shapeless.

At last, he slips out from under his covers and pads across the room, careful to mind the squeaking door handle.

He’s surprised he can’t see his own breath when he enters the living room, and he has his hand on the radiator before he remembers last month’s bill and lets it go with a shudder. There’s a threadbare blanket carelessly thrown over the arm of the couch which he hasn’t seen before, and he picks it up and wraps it around his shoulders. It’s got a bit of a weird smell, but he figures it’ll do. 

Not fancying Freddie’s herbal tea, he rummages through the cupboards and after a bit of a search, he finds a beat-up pack of strawberry tea whose origins are dubious to say the least. At least it’s warm, he thinks as he pours hot water in his cup and a sickly sweet scent arises.

He brings the cup with him to the couch, wrapping the blanket tighter around himself. It's not three hours since they all sat there, the living room filled with chatter and brightly lit. Now it's cold and dark, the single lamp he's switched on making the room appear more gloomy than cosy, and he wishes he’d appreciated the company while he had it. 

Drawing his knees up, he takes a sip of his scalding tea, lets the too-sweet liquid warm him up from the inside. This day has been so fucking long, he thinks, just one long train loaded with dread and disappointment and a loneliness he just can’t seem to shake. He doesn’t remember feeling this when they were on stage 30 hours prior; he remembers a thrill and a sense of purpose, of unity, but it seems to achingly far away; a vague, glittering dream.

A door opens, and Brian spills tea all over himself, wets his tee and the front of his pants. He scrubs at his thigh and wipes his hand on the armrest, looking up to see Roger, ruffled and sleepy, eyes squinting against the light. He smiles faintly and yawns, playfully tugging at Brian’s hair as he passes him on the way to the bathroom.

He doesn’t bother closing the door; Brian hears the clang of the toilet seat and the sound of piss hitting the bowl.

Brian puts his empty cup on the coffee table and sinks deeper into the couch until his spine and shoulders create a C shape that hurts his neck. The toilet flushes, the sound so loud in his ears he’s amazed it doesn’t wake up Freddie and John.

"What are you doing out here all alone?" Roger asks as he reappears to settle on the couch, close to Brian but not quite touching. Brian wishes he would.

"Couldn't sleep."

"I think Freddie's got some supplements, some kind of herb," Roger says, picking at his too-big ABBA shirt. Brian is not sure if he's joking.

“Good to know.” 

He wishes he were brave enough to ask for a hug or fingers in his hair, even brave enough to move that inch closer so their arms press together, but he isn’t, is too afraid of what will happen if he gives in again. He’d hoped their trading of orgasms would satisfy his need for touch for a few days at least, but if anything, it has just made it worse, and he wonders if it’ll ever go away.

Roger yawns, wide and obnoxious, sticking a hand inside his collar to rub his shoulder. He looks at Brian with eyes that are more heavy-lidded than usual, lips curving into a smile. “Bored tonight?”

“Tired,” Brian says, and it’s not a lie.

“Not used to you being so quiet.”

Brian forces a smile. “Exhausted.”

“Bit silly to sit out here, then,” Roger says, blinking slowly like he can barely keep his eyes open. “Especially when you’re sick.”

Brian sits up, drawing his knees to his chest and wrapping his hands around his freezing feet. He closes his eyes. “Going back in a minute.”

“‘kay,” Roger says softly. Brian feels the cushion move when Roger gets up, but he keeps his eyes closed, waiting for a parting touch that never comes. “I’m going back to bed. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” Brian whispers, opening his eyes only when he hears the door handle being pushed down. 

His spilled tea has cooled but not dried, and Brian shivers every time he inhales and his stomach touches the wet fabric.  

At last, he gets up, folds the ratty blanket, brings his cup to the sink, and switches off the lamp. The walk to his bedroom is too short; too soon he’s standing in the doorway gazing at his huge bed, the one mum had lovingly presented him just before he moved out because he was an adult now, and that even though his moving out was to a soon to be messy flat with three other blokes. He’s grateful for it, of course, but sometimes he feels lost there, misses the solid presence of a wall to knock a knee into.

He can’t go back to bed. A knot of fear pulls tight at his chest, and before he can stop himself, he’s grabbing a warm shoulder and shaking Freddie awake.

A soft groan issues, then Freddie pushes himself up on one elbow and squints up at him. “What’s wrong?” he murmurs, voice soft and confused. 

The knot tightens in Brian’s chest. “I can’t get out of my head.”

Freddie lowers himself back onto the mattress and scoots back. “Come lie down, hon.”

Brian does as he’s told, crawling into a bed that’s warm and comfortable and smells like home. 

“Just give me a minute,” Freddie whispers, closing his eyes. The words come out slow and thick, like spoken through syrup, and Brian wishes he’d let him sleep.

He tightens his hold of the duvet around him, relishing the heat Freddie’s body radiates. It’s the first time he’s been in Freddie’s bed like this, he thinks, Wonders if it would have made a difference if it wasn’t.

Freddie sighs, brings up a hand to rub at his eyes, and rolls over to face Brian. “Sorry,” he says, “I’m here.”

Brian looks at him, picks out the familiar features in the dark. “It’s all too much,” he whispers, surprised by how easily the words come, “nothing excites me, the band … I don’t care, or I do, just not—what if I’ll feel this way forever?”

“It’s okay,” Freddie says, scooting closer to run fingers through his hair. Brian shivers with pleasure. “You’re working yourself too hard, love.”

“I’m not,” Brian insists, turning away to cough into the crook of his elbow. When he’s settled, Freddie’s fingers return to his hair. “I just need more time.”

“Time for what?”

“Time to think,” Brian says, closing his eyes, “to sort myself out.”

“You don’t need more time to think,” Freddie says softly, “you need to ask for help.”

“I’m not very good at that.”

“I know.”

Freddie is studying him when he opens his eyes again, but it doesn’t feel intrusive. He just feels cared for. Safe, for once. 

“Do you think I made a mistake in hooking up with Roger?”

Freddie’s lips curl into a small smile. “No,” he says, “I think the mistake was all that happened afterward.”

Brian sighs. “I wish everything would go back to normal. I shouldn’t have dragged him into all of this.”

“Brian, I say this with love only, but sometimes you are tragically clueless.”

“Thanks,” Brian murmurs. The touch and proximity are making him feel wonderfully drowsy.

“You need to focus on one thing,” Freddie says, “then the rest will follow.”

“And what do you suggest I focus on?”

Freddie smiles again. “Come on, Brian, you’re smarter than that. You know this already.”

Brian suspects he’s beginning to.

♛ ♛ ♛ 

The next day, it clear to him that he definitely does not know what he should be focusing on.

One thing he does know—it’s not work. He supposes he should be grateful for that realisation.

It’s getting dark when he steps outside the second-hand book store to trudge through the slush filled London streets to the Tube. The Christmas decorations have long since been taken down, but fairy lights still glitter overhead, and a few places patches of white snow stubbornly cling to eaves. 

At the station, he waits nine long minutes for Circle, blowing at his hands and thinking about his earlier interaction with a particularly difficult customer. He hopes John is home—when it comes to complaints about customers, he can always count on him to listen with sympathy and eye rolls in abundance. 

He’s lucky enough to find a seat on the Tube, but drops his bag on the floor so all his stuff falls out. Bending down to pick it up again, he accidentally steps on his book, his boot leaving a streak of dirt on the front cover. Embarrassed, he picks it up and wipes it with the sleeve of his jacket before quickly stuffing the rest of it in his bag, watching as the apple he forgot to eat rolls away from him to disappear under the seat in front of him. His earphones are a tangle of black at the bottom of his back, and when he eventually untangles them, he finds that only one ear is working. 

He's quietly relieved when he steps inside the flat and lets his boots join the pile of shoes on the floor. The flat is unusually quiet, and when he enters the living room, only John is there, sprawled in the armchair, Winnie the Pooh socked foot bopping along to the beat of the record he’s put on.

"Hi, Brian," he greets with a warm smile. "Wanna play a round of Mario Kart?" 

"Not really," Brian says, picking up a stack of window envelopes from the kitchen table. "Does anyone have plans for dinner?"

"Freddie and Roger are out," John says, "but if you want to, we can make some together."

Finding that none of the letters are addressed to him, Brian puts them down again. "Yeah, that sounds great."

"Great! Let's play Mario Kart first."

Brian makes a face, but he doesn’t really mind. "Fine, just let me make a cup of tea."

He hums along to the record as he walks into the kitchen, trying to remember the name of the song. Without thinking, he opens the fridge and is just about to close it again when he notices an unopened carton of oat milk. Mouth dry, he looks over at John, who’s setting up the Wii. 

“Did you—?” He asks, gesturing uselessly to the open fridge.

John looks up. “Yeah. Is it not the right brand?”

Brian nods slowly, words stolen by the ridiculous surge of affection he feels for his friend. John quirks an eyebrow and turns back to the Wii, one corner of his mouth turned up in amusement, and Brian sets about making his cup of tea, unable to wipe the smile off his face. 

Later, when they're sitting on the couch with steaming plates of pasta, the initial exhaustion he’d carried with him from yesterday and his trying day at work has seeped out of Brian. He’s lost two rounds of Mario Kart to John, which came as no surprise, but his competitive streak ensured he didn’t have time to think about anything but winning the game.

He’s looking at John now, licking tomato sauce from his lip, and he looks so relaxed and at ease. He’s wearing one of Freddie’s shirts, and Brian can’t believe how uncomplicated their relationship seems to be—he knows Freddie still blames himself for what happened to Jim, knows there’s a hurt there that never healed, how Freddie for years has engaged in casual sex in an attempt to make the pain go away, much like Brian himself, but perhaps Roger is right. Perhaps it does make sense, the two of them being together. Perhaps John makes Freddie feel anchored. 

Brian wonders if he will ever find someone who makes him feel that way. “John?”

"Hm?"

He doesn't have much more to say that that, doesn't know how to put words to his feelings, wonders if his questions are too intrusive. “Nevermind.”

"How was work?" John asks instead.

"It was quite eventful today actually," Brian says, spearing a piece of pasta on his fork. "Not in a good way of course."

"Never in a good way," John supplies with a grave expression. "What happened?"

"A customer," Brian says, punctuating the air with his fork, "came in today to complain about the fact that the copy she'd bought yesterday appeared to be creased."

"Right," John says, "hate when that happens. Don't want my used books to have been used by anyone before me."

"It gets worse," Brian says, "because this was a first edition, not a book I was familiar with but of course it'd been quite expensive still. Usually we check the books beforehand and price accordingly but she was very adamant about this apparent crease."

John nods, a painful expression on his face. God, how he loves John sometimes. No one seems to get it quite like John.

"So I asked her where the crease was, and lo and behold, when she opens up the book, there was nothing. I swear, not a single crease, no spots, no nothing. So I ask her very politely what the problem is—"

"I would've told her to fuck off," John interrupts.

"That's why you don't work behind the counter."

"No, thank fuck for that."

Brian laughs. "Anyway, this lady is really insistent now, you know how you can just feel when a customer is about to throw a fit? And she points to, and by God, I wish I were kidding, she points to the stitching."

John buries his head in his hands. 

"She points to the stitching," Brian repeats, unable to hold back a smile at the absurdity of it all, "and she tells me she hasn't paid for these to be here, that it makes a crease appear, and I tell her that this is what holds the book together, and she gets offended! She wants me to remove them because she thinks they're ugly. Honest to God, John, I'm quitting."

"Oh I would've," John says, “I hate customers so much, but this might just be the worst."

"Worse than 5 pence Petra?"

John drags his hands away from his face, helplessly laughing. "How could I forget 5 pence Petra?"

"Didn't she ask you out once?"

John groans. "You promised you would never mention it again!"

"Don’t tell me if you don't want me to remind you," Brian says with a shrug-

"I should probably take your advice, but at the same time, I need to share with someone who understands the pain. Freddie claims he’s never had an annoying customer, can you believe that?” John says, and Brian looks at him in disbelief. “By the way, did I tell you what happened last week?"

"No, what happened?" Brian asks, curious. He scrapes the last of the sauce onto his fork.

"This very drunk lady, she was Scandinavian I think, came in, bought a birthday card and asked if I could keep an eye on her plastic bag which contained at least a dozen bottles, and tried to pay me in cigars."

"You're joking.”

"Oh I wish," John says, putting his plate down.

“Did you accept it, then?”

“God, no. Might have if she’d offered one of the bottles instead.”

“She sounds like someone who’d be open for negotiation, I’m sure you could’ve just asked,” Brian says with a grin.

“Always miss my chance with those ladies,” John sighs.

Brian kicks him lightly, and John smiles wryly. “Better luck next time.”

♛ ♛ ♛ 

He's stretched out on the couch a few days later, still caught up in the disappointing ending of the book he just finished, when the front door opens followed by a shout of “busy?”

Brian twists around to watch Roger kick off his boots and step out of his snowsuit. "Not at all," he says, "why?"

"I've had this riff in my head all day,” Roger says, kicking the snowsuit closer to the wall. When he steps into the living room, he’s red-cheeked and slightly out of breath. “I want to use it for one of my songs."

"Oh," Brian says, interest piqued, "sure, let's see what we can make of it."

"Great," Roger enthuses, "now?"

"You're very energetic," Brian says, stretching lazily. 

"I'm afraid I'll forget it! Do you know how difficult it is to keep a song in your head when you're trying to make people care about human rights?"

"No," Brian says, amused, "but do tell me."

Roger sticks his tongue out at him. 

“Have you done something with your hair?” he asks, thinking Roger looks different somehow.

“No,” Roger says, looking puzzled. 

“Oh,” Brian says. He studies him for a moment—the fringe that falls into his eyes in quite a charming way and the hair at the back of his neck that brushes the hood of his hoodie—and wonders how he has failed to notice how much his hair has grown in less than two months. “Nevermind.”

Roger sends him a curious look, so Brian gets up from the couch and opens the door to their makeshift studio. “Coming?”

The smile Roger sends him is strange, and Brian hides his confusion by leaving Roger to himself and going inside.

Roger follows shortly, starting to rifle through a pile of loose sheets on top of his drums. Brian picks up his guitar to tune it but finds that he can’t help glancing at Roger. 

"Right," Roger says, stepping closer with a piece of paper in hand. Brian instantly spots one of his trademark Ys. “These are the lyrics so far. Could use some improvement, but here's so you get the idea."

Brian looks at him, surprised. Roger never shows anyone his lyrics before they're done—Brian knows he scraps double the amount of songs than he ever shows them.

He looks back at the sheet in Roger's hand, scans over the lyrics. Tries to ignore the warmth from Roger's shoulder pressed against his.

"The melody is quite simple," Roger says, handing him the paper to plug in the keyboard, "well, at least until the middle part." 

Before Brian can think of anything to say, Roger has sat down in front of the keyboard and started playing. The words on the page swim before Brian’s eyes.

“It’s nice,” Brian croaks when he’s done. He clears his throat, musing that this cold may never leave him. "What are you thinking with the drums?".

"Quite energetic," Roger says, twisting in his seat to look around the cramped room. "Where'd I put my sticks?"

Brian looks at him wordlessly. He really does look … quite handsome today. 

“Oh, here's one," Roger says, getting up to collect a drumstick from behind his kit. "Where's the—oh, it's behind you."

"What?" 

"My drumstick. Right behind you. Chuck it over here?"

Bewildered, Brian turns around, and there it is, next to John’s bass. Not trusting Roger's ability to catch it he steps over to where he has settled behind his kit. Their hands brush when he hands it over, and there's an odd tingly sensation in his hand afterward. He wipes it on his trouser leg. 

Roger starts a quick beat, and Brian forces himself to join. It doesn’t sound right. When Roger stops, he lets out a quiet sigh of relief. 

"So for the riff, "Roger says, "it would sound something like this."

He vocalises the riff, and Brian tries to copy it, but he can see it’s not what Roger’s after. Brian feels warm—usually he prides himself in being able to catch on quickly, to be so in tune with the other three that he can easily translate their ideas; after all, that’s what makes their playing together so special.

"Bugger,” Roger says, wiping his brow. “Wish I had my guitar."

Brian hesitates, swallows the annoying lump in his throat. He pulls the strap off his shoulder. "You, uh. You can borrow mine."

Roger looks at him, surprised. His fringe gets in his eyes, and he pushes it away. "What?"

"You can use it," Brian says, feeling silly, "I mean, if you want to."

He hands it over to Roger, who wordlessly accepts it. He looks up at Brian, eyes searching, and something tugs painfully at his heart. Has he been so distant that his best friend is surprised he hands over his guitar willingly? Ridiculously, he wants to reach out to touch Roger, but then Roger is smiling and pulling the strap over his shoulder, adjusting it a little before he experimentally runs his fingers over the fretboard.

Brian watches him, face a picture of concentration, and suddenly, it makes sense; he gets it now, anticipates each note almost before it’s played. Every once in a while, Roger looks up as if to check in with Brian, and each time, it startles him just as much. He tries to remember the lyrics, but can’t bring himself to look down at where he’s holding them in a too-tight grip, can’t look away from Roger. 

He breathes in deeply, desperate to get air into his lungs.

"What do you think?" Roger asks. 

The question startles him. He can’t recall a time those words have ever been directed at him inside this room—he knows the others talk about him when he's not there, knows they think he's being a pain, and Roger in particular is not afraid to voice it. Freddie will ask for his opinion occasionally, but not the other two. Never Roger.

He could tear him down if he wanted to, Brian realises. He's asking for it, almost. But the way Roger looks at him, guarded but with a glimmer of hope, makes something expand inside his chest, press against his insides until he forgets to breathe.

He breathes in deeply, exhales messily. Smiles tentatively. “It definitely has potential.”

♛ ♛ ♛ 

Inspired by their jamming session, Brian sits down after dinner with pen, paper, and a vague idea he hopes to turn into a song. Freddie is making his own dinner and John and Roger are in their room so it's quiet enough, and the dining table has much better lighting than their small shared desk in their room. 

The melody he gets down quickly enough, but he struggles to find words to go along with it, and pauses to chew at the end of his pencil. He watches Freddie put his instant soup—organic and supposedly healthy, but instant soup nonetheless—in the microwave, then stares hard at his sheet of paper in an attempt to force the words. 

A moment later, Roger and John appear, and Brian listens with half an ear to their discussion about garlic bread until suddenly, inspiration strikes him, and his handwriting becomes a messy scrawl as he attempts to keep up with his brain.

When he looks up again, hand cramping from the tight hold on his pen, the others have gathered around the dining table as well and seem to be halfway through their meal. 

”You're quite a good kisser, though," Freddie says, removing his elbows from the table so John can reach over to clean his empty soup bowl with a piece of garlic bread. 

“How can you tell, you’ve been piss drunk every time,” Roger says, “but you’re right, I am a good kisser. Years of practice, kids.”

“You make me sound so unromantic,” Freddie says. John snorts softly.

Brian looks between them, trying to process what he’s just heard."What?"

Roger glances at him. "Hm?"

"Did you—” He starts, then catches Freddie’s eye. “How do you ... How would you know?” 

"I talk from experience, darling,” Freddie says, “I would never make guesswork of something as serious as that."

Roger lets out a soft snort.

"You've—Freddie and you? You’ve kissed?”

"Er," Roger says. “Yeah?”

"How can you—doesn't this bother you?" he demands, turning to John.

John shrugs. "Not really. I already knew."

"You knew?"

"Brian, they're not exactly subtle. Surely you've seen them kiss before?"

Brian sits back. "When?"

“It’s not like I stuck my tongue down his throat just yesterday,” Roger says, “it’s months ago.”

Brian stares at him, trying to formulate a response. He can’t picture Roger and Freddie together; it’s not right. His brain won’t go there. 

“Still,” he says, mind whirring, "how can you talk so casually about this in front of John? That's bad form."

Roger glances at Freddie and John. “He just told you he doesn't care. It didn't mean anything. We were drunk."

Three pairs of eyes turn to Brian, and he glares back.

"Have you really never seen us kiss?" Freddie asks, looking at him with a curious gaze.

"No," Brian says, crossing his arms. "When?"

Roger shrugs. "At parties and such.”

"So what else has happened? John performs strip teases in public?"

"Didn't the last time checked, but he's got the body for it," Roger says. Freddie nods energetically.

"These hips don't lie," John deadpans.

"I just didn't know you were that kind of friends," Brian says, trying to keep his voice neutral.

"Ah, he's jealous!" Freddie says. "Are you sad you're the only one who hasn't got a taste of the famous Freddie Bulsara, darling?"

John dissolves into helpless laughter. 

Brian rolls his eyes and says, with as much dignity as he can muster, "I was just surprised, is all.”

"Aw, darling, don't be like that,” Freddie says, leaning forward, “we're only joking!"

Brian frowns, then makes a show of ignoring them as he stares sullenly at his paper. He can’t say he cares too much about John’s feelings on the matter, but hearing them talk so casually about it makes something bitter and unpleasant rise in his throat. 

He knows there’s no such thing as a casual kiss, and it’s not that he’s jealous, but he thinks Roger could have told him that he was into kissing other men—a public service announcement, really, so Brian doesn’t end up looking like an utter tit when it’s inevitably sprung on him. 

A light kick to his ankle makes him look up. Roger’s smile is tentative, and something like confusion bubbles in his chest.

"Alright?" 

Brian nods slowly. 

Roger drags his chair closer and pokes him in the side. "You're all quiet."

"I was just thinking," Brian says, squirming away from Roger's prodding finger.

"We were just having fun," Roger says, letting his hand fall to his side. "You're not gonna leave, are you?"

Brian glances at Freddie and John, but they seem to be deep in conversation and are not paying attention to him at all. He lowers his voice. "I’m not leaving. It was just a surprise."

"What, me and Freddie?" 

"Yeah," Brian says, hating the way Roger says it so casually. "I didn't know."

"It didn't mean anything," Roger says, expression earnest. "We were drunk and silly. You know how it is"

"I'm not sure I do,” Brian says, because he doesn’t. He doesn’t want to kiss his friends, drunk or not.

Roger smiles. "Hm, no, I can see that. But you gotta admit kissing is nice." 

Brian's eyes drop to Roger's mouth entirely without his permission. He swallows. "Perhaps," he allows, "if one is into that sort of thing."

Roger puts his elbow on the dining table and rests his chin in hand. "You never told me why."

Brian looks away. "I did."

"Remind me again?"

"It makes me become attached."

"And is that so bad?" Roger asks, eyes searching Brian’s face.

Brian laughs, a strangled, bitter sound. "Are you never afraid to burn your fingers?"

"Sucks the fun out of life, doesn’t it? Being afraid."

He’s suddenly very aware that Freddie and John have fallen silent, and when he glances at them, they are watching their conversation with interest.

“Do you mind?” he asks them. When he turns back to Roger, he’s gazing calmly at him, and Brian takes in the familiar features, lets the trust and safety that come with years of friendship wrap around him. His voice is weak when he says, “I don’t know.”

Roger’s eyes soften. “Nothing bad’s gonna happen.”

Brian closes his hot, stinging eyes. He wishes he could believe him.

♛ ♛ ♛ 

 Despite the light from his bedside lamp, a soft blue glow still emits from the bottom drawer of his nightstand when he sits down on his bed and opens it. He can’t help but let out a soft snort—he’d almost forgot about it. 

The cock ring is smooth and cool in his palm when he picks it up, and he turns it in his hands as he thinks back on how angry and, for a second, humiliated, he’d felt when he unwrapped it in front of Freddie and Roger. Perhaps he should’ve seen it coming—Roger’s like that, he knows, always taking his jokes too far—but right after their awful hookup? If touching him hadn’t been the last thing he wanted at that moment, Brian would have strangled him. And then his eyes had dropped to the certificate, and he’d hated Roger, hated how he couldn’t even stay angry with him because he wasn’t just a regular prick, he had to be a thoughtful prick. 

Brian puts the cock ring down on his nightstand and reaches for the certificate, scanning the coordinates and his name in big letters on a glittering, starry background. He hasn’t visited his parents since Christmas, but when he does, he’ll have to set up his telescope and see if he can find his star. 

No one but Roger could come up with something so at once ridiculous and thoughtful, and it makes Brian ache when he thinks about it, so it’s rare that he does. He can’t help it now, and he unbuttons and pulls off his trousers and crawls into bed.

He thinks about their time in the studio earlier, how it had felt like a punch in the stomach when he’d watched Roger play, the strange feeling in his chest that’s been there all day. And he thinks that maybe he wants Roger, and the thought makes him feel warm and prickly. He can’t recall the last time he’s allowed himself to want something and he’s not about to start now, not when his friendship with Roger is at stake, not when he knows Roger’s only looking to experiment.

He thinks Roger’s curiosity has been sated, that those two times were more than enough, but maybe he’ll decide he wants to go further one day, and Brian can’t bear the thought of it, is afraid he’s going to hook up with a stranger in a club, somebody who doesn’t care he hasn’t been with man, who doesn’t know him like Brian does.

Stomach tightening with sudden anxiety, Brian is halfway out of bed before he remembers himself. He can’t just go in there and tell Roger not to hook up with other men. He’s a big boy, Brian knows that, but he’s also chaotic and reckless and far too nice. 

If only he didn’t care—it’s not like Roger cares about Brian’s hookups, and maybe if Brian put more energy into finding someone to blow off steam with, he wouldn’t have to think about any of this.

By the time Freddie lets himself into their bedroom and starts undressing, Brian has almost calmed down enough to go to sleep.

He closes his eyes, returns Freddie’s goodnight, and listens to the sounds of Freddie crawling into bed; the rustle of the sheets and the click of the lamp. 

It’s quiet for a moment, then comes Freddie’s “where the fuck does that light come from?”

Brian opens his eyes, momentarily confused by the soft, blue light coming from his nightstand, before he suddenly realises what it is. Struck by horror, he grabs the cock ring, throws it into the still open drawer, and forcefully closes it.

“Was that—?” Freddie says, losing a splutter of amusement.

Brian’s cheeks burn, and he turns to his other side. “Goodnight, Freddie.”

♛ ♛ ♛

The next morning, Brian wakes up from a vague dream that leaves him confused and impossibly horny, mind whirring and dick aching.

It’s inconvenient, to say the least—he doesn’t have time to be horny, nor does he have time to analyse why his subconscious thought it a good idea to put him in weird, uncomfortable lingerie at Roger’s request. 

Quietly horrified with himself, he gets out of bed and puts on his robe. He fully blames the unfortunate incident—trauma—last night for his fucked up dream, but he’s still hard, and finding the cause does nothing to soften it.

Securing his robe, he slips out of his bedroom, mind filled with strong hands in his hair and a bright smile that makes him ache. He’s disappointed to hear John dueting with Bonnie Tyler in the bathroom, and is just about to go back to his bedroom for a long, luxurious wank, when a door opens and Roger appears in old man slippers and the Marlboro windbreaker John got him for Christmas, eyes small with sleep.

"Are you heading out?" Brian asks, even though the question is quite obviously yes. 

Roger nods, holding up his lighter and pack of cigarettes as a way of explanation.

"Mind if I go with you? I could do with some fresh air."

"Sure," Roger says, throwing glances at him like he's grown an extra head. Brian doesn't blame him; if he's not going to work or uni, he prefers to stay inside.

“Let me just put on some trousers,” he says, hurrying back to his bedroom to pull on trousers and two woolen jumpers.

Logically, he knows no good can come out of this, and he almost pauses, but then he remembers Roger’s words from the night before, and he doesn’t want to be afraid, not anymore.

And if he’s rejected, well. At least he’ll know.

Outside, Roger shakes out a cigarette and puts it between his lips, turning toward Brian to shield the flame from the wind. There’s a small furrow between his eyebrows as he flicks the lighter and his eyelashes seem impossibly long. Brian can't help but stare.

"Slept well?" Roger asks conversely, rubbing the crust out of his eyes.

"Um," Brian says, distracted by Roger’s eyes on him. He really needs to just go for it. "I did, thanks. Listen—" 

He takes a fortifying breath, racking his brain for a way to word his proposal that doesn’t make him sound like a loon. Considering that he hasn’t spent a minute thinking it through, he’s not too optimistic. 

"What's up?" Roger prompts.

"Right," Brian says, fiddling with the sleeve of his jacket, "I've been thinking and ... I'm sorry if this is blunt, but ... I was wondering ... Do you maybe want to fool around?"

"What?" Roger lets out a laugh, and when Brian looks at him, his face is a picture of disbelief.

"Do you want to shag?" He's not sure that's much better, but at least now it's out in the open.

Roger rubs his face with the hand holding his cigarette. It makes Brian nervous. “Uhm,” he says. “I suppose..?”

“Right,” Brian says, stomach dropping, “convincing.”

“No, I just—I suppose I don’t need to remind you of last time. I’m a little apprehensive. I don’t know what you want.”

“You,” he says before he can stop himself, “for real this time.”

Roger swallows. “Why? I mean … I thought you didn’t—”

“I do,” Brian urges. He pauses, scratches the side of his nose with his middle finger. “I’ve been thinking about what you said yesterday.”

Roger takes a long drag of his cigarette. “It’s unlike you to make a decision so fast.”

“I know,” Brian says. The conversation feels surreal. “It’s been a long time coming, I think.”

“You want to have sex,” Roger says, “with me.”

Brian chances a step closer. He reaches out to brush his thumb over the back of Roger’s hand. Roger looks down, then his eyes snap to Brian’s. 

“I can’t stop thinking about it,” Brian admits. “I want to know what it feels like when you fuck me.”

He doesn’t think he imagines the hitch of Roger’s breath. “That’s a lot to process this early in the morning.”

“You don’t have to decide yet,” he says, touching Roger’s arm and wondering just when he became this fucking bold. He steps back. “I’m going back inside. See you in there?”

Roger’s voice is hoarse when he replies, “see you.”

Brian turns around and walks inside, mind spinning. He doesn’t think he’s ever been that blatant before, but as he replays their conversation in his mind, he has a sneaking suspicion that he might have been missing out.

♛ ♛ ♛

As it turns out, Roger is quick to decide. 

"Please, John," Roger is saying not 10 minutes later, "it's a tiny favour I'm asking you."

"I'm not doing it," John says, hanging his wet towel over the back of a chair. "It's freezing outside, and besides, it's your crap."

"John!" Roger's voice has taken on a decidedly whiny tone, "just this once."

John folds his arms over his chest. "Give me one reason."

"You'd get to spend the entire day with your boyfriend!”

"No, give me a reason why you want me to do it."

"I'm—" Roger's eyes flick to Brian. "I'm getting a cold." 

"You're never sick," John says with narrowed eyes. "Though God knows you should be suffering from horrible vitamin C deficiency."

"Well, you go out for a smoke in your underwear, see how you fare," Roger says, adding a sniff at the end of his sentence.

“He does look a bit pale,” Brian says, thinking he should probably attempt to help.

John ignores him. "Unless you have a fever, I'm not even gonna consider it," he says, picking up his tangle of earphones from the dining table and walking into the kitchen to start on the dishes. 

"I do have a fever," Roger insists, "come, feel my forehead, I'm burning up!"

"I'm not gonna feel your forehead," John says, "take a couple of paracetamols if it's so bad or talk to Freddie, I'm not going."

"I can't believe you hate me," Roger says sullenly.

John puts his earphones in.

Roger turns to Brian, an exasperated look on his face. He does a little toss of his head towards his room. Brian follows him. 

"Sorry, really thought he'd go," Roger says when they’re inside and he’s closed the door behind them.

“It’s okay,” Brian lies, disappointment mingling with the slow slide of arousal in the pit of his stomach. "We'll do it some other time." 

Roger steps closer until Brian is pressed against the door. He lifts his hand to trace Brian’s jaw, then latches a soft mouth over his pulse point. 

Brian closes his eyes, greedily inhales the sweet scent of Roger’s hair. He wants to say something, but no words leave his mouth.

“Really want you,” Roger murmurs into the skin of his neck, his hands low and tight on Brian’s hips.

Surprise unsticks his throat. “Really?”

“You’re funny,” Roger says, looking up at him as he presses closer, a delicious hardness against Brian’s thigh. “Wanted you for so long, I don’t think I can—please don’t change your mind again, I can’t—”

“I won’t,” Brian promises, gasping as Roger smiles and sucks a line of kisses up the column of his throat. 

“Good,” Roger says, breath catching as Brian grinds against him. “I wanna fuck you.”

“Don’t,” Brian groans, his hands coming up to push against Roger's shoulders. "If you don't stop, we'll do it here, I don't care. Freddie and John can watch."

“Kinky,” Roger says, smiling up at him. His hands stroke Brian’s sides, and Brian’s exhale is messy. He wonders if Roger can feel it on his face.

His eyes drop to Roger’s mouth entirely without his permission, and he wants to give in so, so badly. He wonders what he tastes like, wonders how their mouths fit together, but he can’t, knows that if this is going to end well, he has to keep himself in check—Roger clearly doesn’t have any qualms about tempting him into things he’s surely going to regret later.

“Freddie will wonder where you are,” he whispers, hands sliding down to rest on Roger’s upper arms. 

The disappointment he expects on Roger’s face doesn’t come, and Brian feels a strange drop of his stomach when he merely squeezes his sides and steps back.

Brian thinks he should be able to breathe again but for some reason, it’s harder without Roger pressed against him.

"Are you gonna think about me?" Roger asks, annoyingly charming grin in place as he puts his hand on the door handle when Brian steps away.

Brian swallows. He doesn’t trust his voice to lie so he says nothing. 

Roger presses a quick kiss to his cheek. “I’ll see you later.”

The blood in Brian’s veins thrums in approval.

♛ ♛ ♛

When the front door slams a few minutes later, Brian unpeels himself from the door and slips into his bedroom to collect a towel. He sends a weak smile John’s way when he passes him in the living room and tries not to look like he’s up to something when he hurries to the bathroom. 

Making sure to lock the door, he strips off his clothes, giving his cock a quick squeeze as he waits for the shower to warm. He doesn’t think—he lets out his breath when he steps under the spray, lets the water warm him up as he reaches for his shower gel. Catching sight of the bottles, he hesitates, and then, quelling the spike of guilt, takes Roger’s instead.   

He has a vague memory of Roger saying he'd stolen it somewhere because it smelt so good, but Brian is not sure he believes it, and if it is, he really doesn’t want to know. His soapy hands slide easily over his skin, the honeyed scent of the lather flooding his senses with images of Roger pressed against him, of strong hands on his hips. Closing his eyes, he trails a hand down his torso and closes a fist around his cock and groans, recalling Roger's expression as he'd sucked him off, the sounds he’d made, the quiet inhalation. The tiles are shockingly cold against his back, and he wonders what would have happened if Roger had convinced John to go, if he'd been on his stomach right this moment, and he can't stop the stuttering moan that leaves his mouth. His hand speeding up, he grinds back against the wall, needing to feel the solidity of it, and wishing it was warm and soft flesh instead of cold, wet tiles.

Roger's words run through his head; of want and need and wanna fuck you, and Brian feels the build in his groin, lets his head fall back against the tiles while he slows his hand, panting softly. He looks down as he comes, on his flushed cock, on the come that is quickly rinsed away by the spray of the shower, and he can barely believe what he’s just done.

He waits for the guilt to come but oddly, it doesn’t. Catching his breath, he pushes himself away from the wall, uncaps his shampoo and works it into his hair, thinking about Roger and Freddie at the stall and wondering whether Roger has thought about him at all. 

It scares him how much he wants now that he's allowed himself to, but he does, and he supposes there's no use in denying it anymore. He wants to feel Roger's mouth on him, wants to get fucked into the mattress, wants a lot of other things he's not allowed to think about yet.

He can't stop picturing Roger's smile, can't stop thinking about his words. He thinks about it as he rinses the shampoo out of his hair, thinks about it as he dries off and puts on clothes. He's still thinking about it when he waits at the bus stop, is reminded of it again when he opens a message from Roger after his tutoring, thinks about it when he goes to bed at night.

When three days have passed, Brian thinks he might actually, genuinely go insane. He can’t pretend he’s not bothered, not when Roger is there, not when he knows, when he uses every excuse he can to touch or brush against him. The whole thing is endlessly frustrating, and Brian has resorted to wanks in the shower—he might’ve worried about using too much water, but has found that he finishes embarrassingly quickly lately.

His cock stirs at the thought, and he shifts on the couch; the movement causes Roger to look away from the television screen and up at Brian, a soft smile on his lips. 

Glancing at Freddie and John curled up in the armchair and finding that their attention is on the screen, Brian slides his fingers into Roger's hair and doesn’t think he imagines the sound of Roger's breath hitching a little. Unthinkingly, he scratches his scalp lightly, and Roger presses into the touch, cheek pressing against Brian’s thigh.

Heart in his throat, Brian extends his thumb and tentatively brushes over the shell of Roger's ear, causing him to still. He turns slowly, enough to look Brian in the eye, and Brian feels suddenly shaky with want. Mouth twisting, Roger turns back to look at the screen, and Brian tries to relax, to enjoy the movie and the company of his friends, but the only thing he can think about is how close his cock is to Roger's head, and how good his mouth felt around him. 

"Right," John says half an hour later, getting to his feet with impressive ease considering the depth of the chair and the fact that he’s got one Freddie Bulsara wrapped around him, "I should be going."

"What time is it?" Freddie asks, following John with his eyes and hugging a pillow to his chest.

"A quarter past, and my shift starts at noon."

Freddie pouts. "I'll miss you."

John smiles. "I'll keep that thought for when I'm about to commit arson."

"You're exaggerating," Freddie says, getting up to follow him to the door. Brian knows he most likely isn't.

He listens to their quiet bickering in the hallway, trying his best not to squirm, but Roger’s head seems to have moved from his thigh to his crotch, and his dick has unfortunately taken an interest.

The front door clicks open, and Roger waves in the direction of the hallway even though Brian doubts he can see anything from his reclining position. "Bye, John," he shouts, "don't kill anyone!"

"I make no promises," John yells back. The door slams, and they both listen for a while for Freddie to return, but he appears to have followed John outside. 

"You've got to move," Brian whispers, "you're driving me nuts."

Roger smiles, slow and sly. "I'm driving you nuts now?"

"Stop it," Brian says, pushing at his shoulder, but Roger just grins, easily resisting.

“Am I turning you on?” he asks, looking very, very pleased.

Brian scoffs. “Of course not.”

“Liar,” Roger whispers and grabs his wrist.

Brian’s pulse thrums against Roger’s fingers.

“You’re not—” Roger begins, but Brian doesn’t get to find out what he isn’t, because just then, the door opens, and a moment later, Freddie enters the living room.

“Don’t the two of you look cosy,” he comments, picking up his iPad from the dining table.

Brian flushes. 

“Oh, we are,” Roger says, stretching out on the couch. 

“I’ll let you get on with it, then,” Freddie says, an amused glint in his eyes.

Brian swallows. "Don't you wanna stay and watch the movie?"

Freddie wrinkles his nose. "It's dreadful."

Roger snorts. "See you later, Fred."

The second the door to their room has closed behind Freddie, Roger sits up, bringing his face close to Brian’s. "Wanna come to my room for a cuddle?" 

Brian swallows. He can only think of one way this could possibly go, and suddenly he's afraid. Roger leans in to press a kiss to his cheek. His skin tingles.

"Okay," Brian whispers, and follows him into Roger's room.

He almost regrets it when he discovers the floor is barely visible underneath clothes and uni books, but then Roger is bouncing on his bed and gesturing for Brian to lie down. 

Brian does, stepping over piles of clothes to press their bodies together, to line kisses up Roger's throat. Roger sighs and Brian reaches for his belt.

“No,” Roger says, and Brian stills, almost thinks he’s misheard.

"What's wrong?"

"Not in here."

Brian stares at him, uncertain. "What's wrong with in here?"

Roger picks at a loose thread on Brian’s jumper. "It's not fair to John."

"That we have sex and he doesn't?" Brian ascertains, just so Roger can hear how ridiculous it sounds.

"No, that he'll have to start thinking about whether he can enter his own room or not. I promised him long ago I wouldn't bring people home."

"It's not like we're doing it on his bed,” Brian says, desperate now, “he’s not even home.”

Roger shakes his head. "Brian, I don't want to do it in here."

Brian suppresses a groan. Where else can they go? Rent a hotel room? "We might not get the chance again."

"I promise you we will," Roger says, brushing his hand over Brian’s cheek. 

Brian closes his eyes. He can’t stand Roger this close, can feel the pull of his lips and is suddenly overwhelmed with the urge to lean in and kiss him, and it startles him a little. He wonders if it would make Roger change his mind. 

He opens his eyes again, presses his cheek against Roger’s palm. “Okay,” he says. Sighs, knowing he can’t possibly stay. “I’m gonna go take a shower.”

♛ ♛ ♛

On Thursday afternoon, it finally happens. There’s a gorgeous sunset outside their window, shining large blocks of golden orange on the couch Roger’s stretched out on, and Brian is sitting at the kitchen table, valiantly trying to pay attention to the book he’s reading. So far he’s not succeeding.

The door to his room opens, and Freddie appears with John in tow, both heading straight for the hallway. Roger looks up from his phone to peer curiously at them. 

"Behave, darlings," Freddie says, popping his head in again a moment later, now dressed in fur coat and heeled boots. John appears behind him in a charming windbreaker in pink and blue. 

"Are you leaving?"

Freddie lets out an exaggerated sigh. "We told you this, dear. Remember that play Chrissie’s in? Or not in, she works there. I’d wanted to go anyway, but then she invited me along, and Deaky darling was kind enough to offer his delightful company."

"That's very kind of you, John," Brian says, remembering absolutely no such thing and deciding to focus on the one thing he understands. John's eyes crinkle as he smiles. "Are you gonna be home for dinner?" He aims for casual, but his heart is beating fast suddenly.

Freddie looks to John. "I think we're eating at theirs, yes."

"Right," Brian says, voice faint.

He doesn't dare look at Roger. Thinks he might combust if he does. 

"Say hello to Chrissie from me," Roger says, sounding decidedly cheerful, "and Veronica if she's around."

"We will," Freddie promises, waving at them over his shoulder. John grins at them and follows. 

For long, painful seconds, neither of them move. The front door closes, and Brian listens as two pairs of feet descend the stairs, then hears the creak and slam of the other door. His heart thrums painfully as he reads the same sentence over and over, his body tense and alert.

The couch creaks when Roger shifts, but Brian keeps reading, more desperately now. He tries to ignore the soft padding of Roger's feet on the hardwood floors, tries to control his breathing, but it's not until Roger is standing next to him, warm hand on the back of his neck, thumb lightly caressing the skin until the fine hairs stand on end that he stops pretending. 

He exhales long and slow, closes his eyes against the caress. It's like warmth spreads from that touch, leaving his whole body tingling and desperate for more. Roger kicks out a chair, lets his hand slide off. 

Brian looks at him. 

"Do you still want this?" Roger asks, expression open and genuine. 

Brian swallows. "Yes."

A gorgeous smile spreads on Roger's lips, one that makes his heart beat faster in his chest. His lips feel heavy and hot. 

"I don't know what to do now," Roger admits, scrubbing at his hair.

This makes Brian snap out of it. Sex is something he knows, something he can relax into, and that no matter if it's a stranger or his unfairly good looking friend. 

He grabs Roger’s wrist, thumb brushing over the inked skin. His pulse thrums. 

"My suggestion would be the bedroom," he says, "depending on how adventurous you're feeling."

Roger laughs, a bright, startling sound. "Not very. I prefer the bed."

Brian smiles. "Me too."

When they enter his room, he’s embarrassed to note that his bed is unmade and there’s a pair of boxers that didn’t quite make the hamper, and he casts an envious glance on Freddie’s half of the room, on his huge, pristine bed. He opens his mouth to apologise, but before the words come out, a gentle push from Roger makes him sit down on the bed. 

“Don’t apologise,” Roger says, looking down at him with amusement.

“I wasn’t going to,” Brian lies, his hands moving to Roger’s hips on their own accord. He can scarcely believe he’s allowed to touch now, and he experimentally lets them slide down further, over Roger's backside. 

The hitch of Roger’s breath makes his own stutter in his throat, and his fingers are clumsy and uncooperative as he reaches for Roger’s zipper. Warm hands on his face steady him, and he pushes Roger’s trousers down, runs his hands up his thighs, stares, dry-mouthed, at the semi visible through the thin cotton fabric. 

Roger's fingers caress his cheek, run over his lips. He smiles.

Lowering his gaze, Brian pushes his hands under the hem of Roger's jumper, lets his hands slide over the warm skin. He presses kisses to Roger's stomach, mouths at the edge of his boxers. Roger's hands slide into his hair, and Brian doubles his efforts, kisses the visible bulge, and Roger cants his hips forward, exhaling messily. Brian's own cock twitches at the sound, at the thought of taking him into his mouth, of finally getting fucked, and he has to force himself to remain seated, to not let Roger take him right then and there. 

“Fuck,” Roger breathes, pulling at his hair. Brian’s breath catches. “Been thinking about your mouth.”

Brian removes his mouth from the damp fabric and looks up at him, at his flushed cheeks and blown pupils. He can't stand it much longer. 

"Yes," he rasps, and Roger's hands slide down his neck; a warm, solid weight there that sends shivers down Brian's spine. 

Mouth filling with saliva, Brian swallows and lets go of him, unbuttons his trousers and pushes them down over his hips along with his underwear. Pulling off his socks, he glances up at Roger again, stilling when he finds he’s just standing there, staring. It makes Brian feel warm all over, and he’s quick to scoot back on the bed, pulling off his jumper and his tee and shivering slightly as he’s exposed to the cool air. 

As their eyes meet again, Roger seems to shake himself and follows quickly, ridding himself of socks, jumper and boxers. Once he’s naked, he slowly lowers himself onto the mattress, and lifts a hand to skim down Brian's side. Brian suppresses a shiver as it follows the curve of his arse.

A faint smile on his lips, Roger dips down his mouth to kiss him, and Brian is just about to jerk away when he stops himself, places an apologetic hand on his arm.

“Sorry,” Roger says, “it’s just—I don’t know how to go about this without kissing. It’s so impersonal.”

Brian scoots back to look at him properly. “Does it have to be? It’s not a problem if we don’t make it one.”

Roger looks like he’s going to argue, and Brian feels a spike of annoyance. Then Roger idly swats his arm. “You’re such a prostitute.”

Brian relaxes. “You couldn’t afford me if I were.” He imagines it’s the kind of thing Freddie would say, and feels a bit silly, but it has the desired effect when Roger laughs.

“Because I’m dirt poor or because you’re that good?”

“Because I’m that good, of course.”

Roger runs a hand up his thigh. “Sounds very promising.”

Hiding a smile, Brian turns to his nightstand to retrieve lube, condoms, and baby wipes. The condoms and wipes he carelessly throws on the bed, but the lube he uncaps and squeezes onto his palm before passing the nearly empty bottle to Roger. 

“So you do this a lot, then?” Roger asks as Brian is slicking up his fingers, turning the bottle in his hand. 

Brian snorts gently. “Have sex? Occasionally.”

“No, I mean—” Roger waves the bottle uselessly.

“I didn’t know you were so prissy.”

“Shut up,” Roger says with an embarrassed grin. It’s a good look on him.

“Hurry up, then—no, grab me a pillow first.”

“I have tried anal before, you know,” Roger says. Brian looks at him doubtfully.

“With girls,” he clarifies.

"Hopefully this will feel a bit better for both parts,” Brian says, suppressing a laugh when he sees Roger’s put-out expression.

He takes the pillow from Roger and lies down on the bed, lifting his hips to push it underneath him. When he’s settled, Roger scoots closer to sit between his bent legs.

“Move,” Brian says, slick fingers hovering over his entrance, “I need more room if I don’t want to bump my hand into you every time.”

“Sorry,” Roger says, scooting back a bit, “I’m not wearing my contacts.”

This strikes Brian as terribly funny, and he can’t help the snort of laughter that escapes him. The expression on Roger’s face doesn’t help matters, and Brian dissolves into helpless laughter.

“Have you quite finished?” Roger asks, going for unimpressed but ending up with a grin stretching his lips.

“Sorry,” Brian says, even though he doesn’t feel sorry at all. Then his eyes drop to Roger’s erection, and, inhaling deeply through his nose, he slowly works himself open. 

Roger watches him, enthralled, and a warm hand drops to Brian’s thigh, the other wrapping around his own flushed cock. It’s intense and impossibly arousing, the way Roger is looking at him like he’s a delectable treat while he fingers himself open. 

“God,” Roger breathes, “you’re so fucking gorgeous. Can barely contain myself.”

The words make Brian’s head spin, and he chokes out a moan as his fingers press against his prostate. He feels desperate to be filled, and the fact that he can see the tight fist around Roger’s cock doesn’t help matters.

Carefully, he removes his fingers, and Roger drops a kiss to his bent knee. Brian returns the caress with his dry hand and rolls over on his stomach.

"What are you doing?"

Brian twists his neck to look at him, surprised. "I'm getting ready for you to fuck me."

"No."

"No?" Brian repeats, incredulous. He suppresses the urge to grab Roger by the shoulders and shake him.

"I don't want you on your stomach," Roger says, flushed but determined.

Brian sits up again. "It's much easier this way," he says, aware that “pull yourself together and fuck me” probably isn’t the best way to go about it in a situation like this.

"No."

"Roger, come on."

"No."

"Stop repeating yourself and give me a proper answer," Brian says, losing patience. "Why don't you want me on my stomach?"

"It's too impersonal," Roger says, "we're not strangers, are we?"

"You're putting too much into this."

"If it doesn't matter to you, why don't you want to be on your back?" Roger says, crossing his arms. Brian thinks he looks ridiculous.

"Because it really isn't the ideal position for anal sex!" he says, and it's no lie. Missionary is just weird, besides.

Roger picks up the pillow he used before. "Let's just use a pillow underneath your hips."

"You can tie me up if you want to," Brian says instead.

"I don't want to tie you up! Why are you being so weird?"

"Why are you so stubborn?" Brian snaps, stung.

"I'm not doing it if you're on your stomach," Roger says, face set.

"Christ," Brian says, dragging a hand over his face. "You lie down, then."

Surprise flickers across Roger's face. "What?"

"On your back," he says, pushing gently at Roger's chest, "I'll be on top."

"I—"

"I'll ride you, alright?" he says, "Christ, you do know how to kill the mood."

"What, because I want to see your face?" Roger says, but he scoots back on the mattress, his hands skimming over Brian's sides as he climbs on top of him.

"You really are a sap," Brian says.

"And you're impossible," Roger says, but his hands are warm and sure on Brian's hips. "Not complaining about the view, though. Or the fact than I can just lie back and watch."

Brian lets out a snort. "Of course you don't." 

He grabs hold of Roger's cock then, and Roger inhales sharply through his nose. He lifts his hips and guides the tip to prod at his entrance, balancing precariously on his knees on the mattress. 

Roger’s eyes flick over his face. Brian pauses. "Are you alright?" 

Roger shakes his head, tightens his hands on Brian's hips. "A little nervous. You look so fucking good."

Brian’s not sure what to say—he can't imagine Roger being nervous about anything, and especially not something as simple as sex. Concerts, maybe, in the form of an obnoxious amount of jokes and tapping on every available surface, but sex? 

"No need to be," he says, and impales himself on Roger's cock, slowly, and God, how good it feels to be filled. 

"Fuck," Roger says, stroking his sides with strong, sure hands.

Brian stills for a long moment, reveling in the light touch and the feeling of fullness. It feels like he can breathe again, like he can finally relax, which is ridiculous when he thinks about what they’re about to do. 

Once he’s adjusted, he experimentally lifts his hips, and the hard flesh of Roger’s cock slides deliciously against his sensitive inner walls. 

“Gorgeous,” Roger says as Brian lets him fill him up again. 

It’s not long before Brian’s panting and his thighs are starting to ache, and he folds himself over to catch his breath. He's almost forgotten how much work it is.

"Your hair is getting long," Roger says, brushing it away from his face, and Brian’s heart squirms uncomfortably in his chest.

As if feeling Brian’s discomfort, Roger starts kissing up his neck, along his jaw, presses a kiss to his chin, to his cheek. Brian jerks away. 

"Relax,” Roger mumbles, “I’m not doing anything." He lifts his hips, thrusts into him slow and shallow. 

Brian moans and grinds into it, causing Roger to swear. He's panting already, and Brian doesn't think he's ever looked better. His chest is flushed, hair sticking to his forehead, and his pupils are blown. He's also smiling, and really he shouldn't look that good when fucking someone, and Brian tightens around him just to have his face contort. 

"Fuck, do that again," Roger says. His hands tighten on Brian's hips, run up his back to lay possessively behind his shoulder blades. 

Brian does as he’s told and is rewarded with a particularly deep series of thrusts that steal his breath away. He's awash with sensation, and he has to slow down, save his thighs and the orgasm that is nearing with alarming speed. 

Sliding his hands up Roger’s chest, he rocks gently back and forth, leans forward to suck kisses up the line of Roger's throat, to the corner of his jaw. There he pauses, nose almost touching Roger's. He can feel his breath on his face, and he wants to lean in, he really does, but knows he can't let it happen if he wants this to stay a one-time thing. Chest tight, he slowly straightens, starts a slow roll of his hips in an effort to coax grunts and swears out of Roger to distract him from the tangle of feelings that seems to have taken permanent residence in his stomach.

“Hold on,” Roger says, hands tight on his hips. “Let me sit up.”

Brian’s heart hammers. He knows what it means, and he doesn’t think he can contain himself if he does. He shakes his head, puts on a smile he hopes looks sexy. “I think I rather like you on your back.”

Roger frowns slightly. Not so sexy, then.

He hates that Roger has this much power over him, that he makes Brian doubt what he wants, and it almost makes him want to start a fight.

Focusing on that frown, he opens his mouth to snarl at him, but then Roger grins, almost embarrassed, and the irritation seeps out of him at once. “Yeah?”

Brian trails his fingers over Roger’s chest, brush over a peaked nipple. “Very much so.”

“I don’t think I’ll last long,” Roger admits, “but I want to, because God, you’re so lovely.”

Brian thinks they both deserve for it to last if this is going to be a one-time thing, but he’s impatient, has wanted this for days now. 

“Me neither,” he whispers, “but it’s alright, isn’t it?”

Roger nods, strokes his sides, and Brian thinks he’ll miss it. He lifts his hips again, this time aiming for his prostate, and moans thinly when he hits it. 

Roger meets him halfway, hits his prostate with pinpoint accuracy, and Brian hurls towards his orgasm with alarming speed. 

It’s rare that he’s on top, and this time, there’s a chance he gets to come first. The thought spurs him on, and he wraps a hand around his cock, making Roger swear and his mouth falls open.

“Brian—” “No, don’t come, don’t come,” he chants, one hand braced against Roger’s chest, the other tugging at his cock. He’s so close, his orgasm within a hair’s reach, and he so badly wants it, just this one time—

His hips come down again, and he chokes out a moan, the double stimulation too much, and then he’s bending over, spilling his load over his hand and Roger’s stomach.

Completely spent, he rolls off him and lets himself fall back on the bed. He doesn’t want to move in a million years. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Roger pull off the condom and throw it in the waste bin. Brian lies still, heart slamming against his ribcage, and Roger settles next to him, one leg thrown over Brian’s hips. 

“Brian,” Roger whispers between kisses to his neck. He starts a slow grind against Brian’s side. “Brian.”

“In a second,” Brian says, sighing as Roger nips at his earlobe.

“No,” Roger says, getting up to straddle his chest. He nudges his cock towards Brian’s mouth. Brian laughs tiredly and bats him away. 

“Alright,” he says, sliding his hands over Roger’s arse. “Wanna try something fun?” 

“Are you joking?” Roger says, crawling off him to give space to get up.

“Lie back, then,” Brian instructs, searching between the sheets for the bottle of lube, “where’d you put the lube?”

Roger stills, his eyes searching Brian’s, and Brian is reminded of his own first time, of the reassurance he needed but never got.

“Relax,” he soothes, briefly touching Roger’s arm before uncapping the found bottle. “You remember how much I was into it, don’t you?”

“I doubt I’ll ever forget that!”

Brian slicks up his fingers. “You won’t forget this either.”

Nodding his head once, Roger grabs a pillow and places it under his hips. His legs instantly fall open, and Brian kneels between them.

“I know it feels weird at first, but try to relax,” he says, rubbing a slick thumb over Roger’s entrance to test how tight he is. Roger lets out an appreciative moan. “Feels good?”

“Mhm.”

Brian pushes his finger past the ring of muscle. Roger stills. 

“Okay?”

Roger looks like he’s not sure what to think. He meets Brian’s eyes and huffs out a laugh. “It does feel weird, a bit. But in a good way. You can go on.”

Surprisingly, Roger doesn’t tense up, and Brian slides his finger in easily. It’s been a long time since he’s had a finger up somebody’s arse, and it’s gloriously hot and tight. He checks Roger’s face for any sign of discomfort. Finding none, he slowly fucks him with his finger.

“Uhh,” Roger breathes. Brian lightly tugs at his balls. “Feels so good.”

Brian’s cock twitches. Roger bites his lip.

"More," he says, and Brian adds another finger.

He can't stop watching him; the light lashes and colour high on his cheeks, the twist of his mouth and how he rocks into it, and it scares Brian how easily he gives into it, how open and trusting he is.

He keeps his pace achingly slow, longs to prolong the moment even if it feels like something is breaking inside of him. Roger's knuckles go white around the sheets.

"Do you want lube?" Brian asks, voice dropped low, hand already hovering over the bottle. 

"Please," Roger says, gasping and empty when Brian removes his fingers. Brian knows how he feels.

He squirts a bit of lube out in Roger's outstretched hand, and Roger envelopes his dick in a loose fist.

"I've never been this strung up," he says around a breathless laugh. Brian runs a thumb over his twitching opening. "I feel like I'm falling apart."

Brian looks at him then, really looks as they begin a slow rhythm. Roger is hot and tight around his fingers, his cock heavy and glistening in his hand, but it's his eyes that draw him in, and Brian can't look away.

Roger falls to pieces with a quiet noise, and Brian helps him through it until he receives an accidental knee in the side and Roger slumps back into the sheets, completely spent.

Brian very carefully removes his fingers and locates a box of baby wipes from his bedside drawer, cleaning first himself and then Roger. He feels slightly dazed which he thinks is good because otherwise, his emotions would threaten to overflow. Discarding the used baby wipes in the wastebasket, he carefully lowers himself onto the spot next to Roger.

Roger's chest is still moving a little too fast but his eyes are drowsy and his smile looks like it could give way to laughter at any second. 

Brian leans in and kisses him.

Roger stunned noise gets lost between their mouths, but Brian feels the vibrations in his throat where his hand has moved to on its own accord, feels the slide of Roger's thigh against his own, the chapped lips and a tease of tongue. 

Roger smiles into the kiss, which is a ridiculous thing to do, and one that Brian can’t help but mirror.

"So you do kiss on the lips," Roger says when they break apart, followed by the less romantic, "I would murder for a smoke right now."

Brian skims a hand down his side, buries his nose in Roger's shoulder. "You're so dramatic," he murmurs against warm skin. "Crack the window open."

Roger lets out a soft snort and slides out of his embrace. Brian watches him as he saunters towards the door, completely unbothered by his state of undress. He throws a pillow after him.

"Put something on," he says, "it worries me how comfortable you are walking around naked. Idiot."

Roger sticks out his tongue and slips out the door.

When he reappears a moment later to settle in the windowsill with his smoke, Brian has curled up in bed. There's a knot of anxiety forming in his stomach, and he knows he should have thought this through, knows he shouldn't have rushed into having sex with Roger, and he definitely shouldn't have kissed him. It's not like Roger hasn't had girlfriends before, but Brian knows he loves being single, loves the freedom and the adventure of it, loves knowing he can get anyone he wants. That Roger has decided to live out a fantasy with Brian is lovely, is a stroke to his ego, but no more than that, and he thinks he needs to hear that, even if it hurts.

"Roger?"

Roger looks down at him, eyes warm. The winter sunshine spills over his naked, goosebumped skin. 

Brian just looks for a moment, tries to find comfort in the familiar features of his friend. He doesn't know what to say—he feels like he should apologise, or ask what this all means.

"It was a really shitty thing to say about my parents," is what leaves his mouth instead.

Roger’s eyebrows rise in surprise. He takes a drag of his smoke and looks out the window, shivering slightly in the cold. Glances back at Brian. "I know," he says. 

"I was pretty shitty, too."

"Is that an apology?"

"I don't know how to navigate this,” Brian says, smoothing a hand over the duvet. “I know you were only looking to experiment, but—”

“What?” Roger lets out a sound of disbelief. “I never said that.”

Brian looks up, surprised. “You did. Before Christmas. We were in my room, you asked if I knew someone.”

Roger stares at him. Then he drags a hand over his face and lets out a small groan. “That was a come on, Brian.”

Brian looks down at his hands. “Oh.” 

He’d suspected, of course, that it might be, but it’d felt good to have the upper hand for once, to tease, and he hadn’t put much thought into it. Still, now that they have slept together and Roger has surely had his fill of experimentation, Brian can’t think of anything more he can give. He takes a fortifying breath. He might as well ask. 

“Will you want more?"

Roger looks out the window again. Brian’s hand tightens on the duvet. 

There's silence for a while. Roger takes a last drag and stubs out his cigarette, depositing the butt on the pavement. "I do."

Brian’s heart thrums madly in his chest. "What sort of things?"

"Whatever you want to give me." Roger hops down from the windowsill. “Just don’t shut me out again.”

Brian lifts the duvet so Roger can crawl in. The smell of fresh smoke hits his nostrils and he wrinkles his nose.

“Sorry,” Roger says, “I smell.”

“It’s okay,” Brian says, allowing Roger’s freezing, heat-seeking limbs to wrap around him. He shivers. “I won’t shut you out. But I’m scared.”

“What for?”

"If I become attached and it doesn’t work out, what’s gonna happen then?”

Roger rubs his thumb over Brian’s spine. “You’re so much in your head,” he says softly. “It wouldn’t make a difference.”

“Of course it would,” Brian snaps, frustrated that Roger doesn’t seem to understand the seriousness of his concerns. “It’ll ruin our friendship, it’ll break up the band—”

“Freddie and John seem to be doing alright.”

“Freddie and John are very different people,” Brian says. “Come on, Rog, you’ve got to admit this would never work. We’re too different, we don’t have time to make this work. I have my work and my studies and you have yours, and besides, you love single life. And I couldn’t—we should stop this now. It’s gonna be a mess, I know it will.”

“You don’t know anything,” Roger says, but his voice is soft. He removes his hand from Brian’s back to thread their fingers together. “You’re getting ahead of yourself again. I want this, and I think you do, too. We’ll find a way to work through it.”

“You’ll get bored with me,” Brian whispers, shutting his eyes briefly, “you’ll miss being single, you’ll miss women, you’ll—”

“Stop telling me how I feel,” Roger interrupts. “You don’t know. Just relax. Why are you so afraid of getting hurt?”

Brian withdraws his hand and shifts onto his back, eyes finding the ceiling. “I don’t know. Suppose I’ve always feared it.”

“Inevitable, isn’t it? Getting hurt,” Roger says, voice soft. “What is it you think will hurt you?”

“Losing people.” Roger slides a hand over his stomach, pauses to trace the scar there. “It only got worse after what happened to Freddie.”

“That was a terrible, terrible accident,” Roger says, “but the risk of something like that happening is practically non-existent.”

Brian knows that’s not true, but he doesn’t argue. “I wonder how he’s doing,” he says instead, thinking of the many months after the accident where Freddie had been almost unrecognisable, guilt eating him up like poison. “Does John even know?”

Roger’s hand stills. “I don’t think so.”

“Do you think he’ll tell him?” Brian doesn’t blame him for keeping it a secret—he’s certain he would, too.

“Eventually.”

They’re silent for a while. Roger resumes his idle caress, and Brian looks at the ceiling, mind wonderfully silent even though he has thousands of things to think about. Then Roger speaks.

“Brian,” he starts, clearly hesitant.

Brian turns his head. “What?”

“Have you thought about … have you ever considered therapy?”

Brian’s stomach tightens. He opens his mouth to speak, then closes it again. He’s not sure what there is to say.

“I just don’t want you to feel this way,” Roger says softly, “I worry about you, and—maybe if we’re gonna try this, now would be a good time to start. Might help you with your worries.”

“I’m sorry,” Brian whispers, shutting his eyes to avoid Roger’s concerned expression.

“Why are you sorry?” Roger says, lips brushing over his jaw.

“I’m sorry I’m like this—God, even talking about this is …” He trails into silence.

“I care so much about you,” Roger whispers, pressing himself impossibly closer. “All I want is for you to be happy.”

“I know,” Brian says, and almost means it. 

“Just think about it,” Roger says, taking his face in his hands and gently tipping it so he can press a kiss to his lips. 

Brian’s heart stutters, and he opens his mouth around Roger’s, kisses him long and indulgent.

“Do you really want this?” he asks when they break away. His whole body is thrumming, and he wants nothing more to press their mouths together again, to reach for Roger’s hardening cock, but he knows that this conversation is an important one. 

“I do.” Roger’s eyes are bright and honest. “But keep in mind that it’s all new for me, this. You did say I’m comfortable enough with my sexuality to fool around with whoever takes my fancy, but I do have feelings, too.”

Brian winces. “I know. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“You’re not wrong per se,” Roger says. “But there’s more to it this time, isn’t there?”

Brian looks into pale blue eyes. “We'll fight a lot."

Roger cracks a smile. "I think we'll fight no matter what." He works a hand into Brian’s hair, and Brian closes his eyes and hums. “I don’t want us to, though. Not about the important stuff.”

“Me neither,” Brian says. He’s not sure it can be avoided, no matter their intentions, but he keeps that to himself. “Don’t you think it’s too easy, though? This?”

Roger’s hand stills. “It took me two months to get you in bed and you think taking it further is too easy?” 

He sounds so incredulous that Brian can’t help but laugh. He opens his eyes and draws Roger in for another kiss. 

“We don’t have to rush,” Roger speaks between their mingling breaths. He finds the inside of Brian’s wrist. “But I think this could work.”

“Yeah,” Brian whispers and brings his hand up to cup Roger’s face.

♛ ♛ ♛

The next morning, Brian gets up early to take a detour to uni before work. A recent graduate agreed to meet up and sell their used books for the upcoming semester for cheap, and by the time he stops by one of the coffee vending machines, books secured under one arm, Brian feels wonderfully accomplished.

He's just put his coin in when someone taps him on the shoulder, and he turns around to find Tim looking slightly harassed but with a friendly smile on his face. 

Brian instantly returns his smile. "Tim! What are you doing here?"

Tim's smile turns wry. "Study group."

"Already?" He's not even surprised. Where university is concerned, Tim's work ethic has always impressed him. Brian feels a spike of worry—classes are still four weeks away, but the upcoming semester is going to be a tough one from what he’s heard. He suddenly feels stupid for not having begun studying yet.

Tim shrugs. "I like to get ahead, you know." He peers at the books under Brian's arm. "New books?"

Brian punches the button for a cappuccino. He suspects it doesn't make much of a difference—all the variants contain too much milk sugar and a minimal amount of actual coffee. "Yeah, got them pretty cheap. Got time for a cup of coffee?"

"Sure.”

The machine is unusually slow today. Brian pushes the button again.

“How’s Freddie?” Tim asks, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “And … everyone else?”

“Good,” Brian says distractedly, pushing buttons at random now, “they’re good—the machine took my coin!”

“There’s a Starbucks nearby,” Tim offers, drumming his fingers on the side of the coffee vending machine.

Brian resists the urge to kick it. “I’m not gonna pay 6 pounds for a coffee when I can get it for 50 pence here!”

“Right,” Tim says.

“What’s wrong with it?” Brian asks, getting increasingly frustrated. He’s paid for it, god damn it.

“You know what?” Tim has pulled out his phone. “On second thought, I am in a bit of a hurry.” He claps Brian on the shoulder. “I’ll see you around. And, eh … good luck with your coffee.”

When Tim has turned the corner, Brian gives into the urge and kicks the machine.

♛ ♛ ♛

“Hey, babe." 

Brian looks up at the sound of Roger's voice and finds a warm smile for him. He closes the door to the store behind him. "What are you doing here?"

Roger smiles brightly. "Thought you might need some company on the way home." He holds up the two to-go cups he’s holding. "I brought you coffee!"

Brian feels warm with gratefulness. Then a thought strikes him, and he hesitates.

He doesn’t want to be rude, he really, really doesn’t, and it’s not Roger’s fault, but he thought of drinking milk again makes him sick. He can’t do it. But at the same time, he can’t not drink it when Roger’s gone through the trouble of buying and bringing it.

“You look like I just handed you a cup of poison,” Roger says. “It’s just coffee, don’t worry. I got it with soya for you. No animals harmed, I promise. Look, the cup is even made from recycled cardboard!”

“Thank you,” Brian says, weak with relief and suddenly shy. Their fingers brush when Roger hands the cup over.

“Do I get a kiss for the trouble?” Roger grins. “When we get home?”

Brian rolls his eyes, doing his utmost to control the smile that tugs at his lips. He covers it with a sip from his coffee, which is scalding hot and foamless, just as he likes it.

“Maybe,” he allows, starting to walk towards the bus stop.

Roger smiles as he falls into step with him. "You seem happy today.”

"Sorry," Brian says, "won't happen again."

Roger gives him a light shove. "Come off it."

Brian laughs and almost spills his coffee.

They’re lucky enough to find seats opposite of each other on the bus, and their knees knock together until Roger loops his legs around Brian's and pulls.

"Behave," Brian warns him, sitting back in his seat but allowing Roger's legs to press against his own; a wonderful, solid warmth.

He looks out the window but can feel Roger's eyes on him.

“Would you quit staring at me,” he says, covering his self-consciousness with a scoff. He’s not used to this much attention, and while it's not exactly unwelcome, it’s vaguely unsettling all the same. 

"Can't help it," Roger says, "you're so bloody gorgeous."

"Well, do something about it, then. Therapy or something. It freaks me out."

Roger laughs but relents. "Wonder what Fred&Deaks are up to," he says after a moment. "John told me Fred wanted to take him to this strange gallery."

"Good for him," Brian says, distracted by an email notification on his phone.

"Reckon you'd hate it," Roger continues, seemingly unfazed by his less than enthusiastic reply, "full of paintings of ladies and that. Not exactly your thing. Seems to be Freddie's at times."

"Just because he doesn't want to shag them doesn't mean he can't appreciate them," Brian says, "you're so black and white at times, it’s astounding really."

Roger nudges his knee. "I'm black and white, huh?"

Brian gives him a withering look. He suspects it’s not entirely working. "Whatever it is you're implicating ..."

Roger grins. "You're so suspicious of me."

Returning his smile, Brian leans onto his elbows, balancing on his knees. "I can't stop thinking about yesterday,” he confesses. “Reckon it's the best I've had in ages."

"You weren't too bad yourself," Roger says with a grin, "but my memory's terrible, I might need a repeat performance before I can give you a proper review."

Brian lifts an eyebrow. “Oh?”

Roger leans back, looking pleased. “Yeah.”

♛ ♛ ♛

Brian looks up from his attempted songwriting at the sound of a soft but fervent “yes”. He glances at the screen of Roger’s phone and is not surprised to see he’s still playing Candy Crush. Perhaps he’s finally reached next level after being stuck for two days. 

Shifting slightly on the couch, Brian puts his hand on Roger’s thigh and exchanges amused glances with Freddie, who has paused his sketching to curiously peer at Roger. He’s sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the armchair, one of John’s legs at his side. Roger, too engrossed in his phone, doesn’t look up.

As Freddie returns to his iPad, John's hand drops to his hair, his fingers lightly scratching his scalp as he reads Lord of the Rings for the umpteenth time, and Freddie closes his eyes, his face a picture of wellbeing. Smiling to himself, Brian removes his hand from Roger’s thigh to pick up his hand instead, idly playing with his fingers as he tries to come up with the next line of his song.

In his peripheral vision, the corners of Roger’s mouth turn up, and Brian swipes his thumb over the Leo constellation on the inside of his wrist, follows its pattern of stars. Unthinkingly, he picks up his uncapped pen and carefully marks down the stars of his own Cancer constellation next to the tattoo. Roger’s smile is closer to that of a smirk when he turns his head to inspect the new addition to his wrist, and Brian is mortified with himself. 

"Sap," Roger simply says, dropping a kiss to Brian’s hair before he resumes his Candy Crush.

Brian doesn't dare look up, but when he does, a mischievous pair of grey-green eyes is trained on him. Catching his eye, John slowly lifts an eyebrow, looking very, very pleased. Brian promptly flips him off. 

A moment later, Roger pockets his phone and yawns widely. "Gonna go out for a smoke and some groceries," he says, putting his newly decorated hand on Brian’s knee to lever himself to his feet. "John, you ready?"

Brian can’t help the smile that tugs at his lips as John and Roger disappear into the hallway to put on their coats and boots. “Don’t forget the shopping bag,” he says, listening to the creak of the floorboards and accepting a kiss from Roger on the way out.

At the sound of the front door slamming, he stretches out his legs, glad to have the couch to himself. Freddie covers a yawn and gets to his feet.

“Cup of tea?” he asks, and Brian hums in reply, closing his eyes as Freddie gets up to clank around with cups and spoons. 

Brian is not sure when he last felt this happy and relaxed, and quietly resolves to do what he can to hold on to this feeling. He’s beginning to suspect that how he felt over Christmas and New Year’s is not entirely normal or healthy. 

He feels around for his pen between the cushions and picks up his notebook from where it’s ended up on the floor, and manages to get a few more lines down before Freddie presents him with a steaming, perfectly made cup of tea.

Brian thanks him with a smile, greedily inhaling the fragrant steam, and watches him take his own cup to the dining table to sit down with a loose sheet of paper, presumably inspired by Brian’s own songwriting.

Brian finishes his tea around the same time he finishes his song, and has just got up to get his book when the phone rings, mum’s name flashing on his screen.

"Hi, mum," he says, glad she called on a day where he feels as good as he does. He should visit them soon. "How are you?"

"Brian." Something in her tone of voice makes Brian pause. His heart thuds against his chest.

"Hi, mum," he repeats, uncertain. The line is silent for a while. "Mum?"

"Do you want to come have dinner with dad and I, honey?" She sounds strange, and Brian swallows a sudden sting of fear.

"I'm sorry, I already planned to eat at home." He pauses. “Mum, you sound so strange. Is everything alright?"

"Nothing's wrong, honey," she assures, voice slightly hysterical, "nothing that can't wait. Are you free tomorrow?"

"Mum," he says, putting on his best stern voice. "Something is wrong and I want to know."

"I really shouldn't tell you over the phone."

"Mum." He resists the urge to stomp his foot. Anxiety thrums under his skin.

"Alright." She sighs, and Brian doesn't think he imagines her shuddery intake of breath. "Brian, you remember how dad's bronchitis has been worse lately, don’t you?"

"Yes," he says, voice coming out as a whisper. He tightens his grip around the phone. It's nothing, he tells himself. Bronchitis is not dangerous, mum is just overreacting as usual. "Did he see a doctor yet?"

"He went before Christmas, we just got the results." Her voice breaks now, and Brian feels sick.

"Mum."

"It's not bronchitis," she says. She's crying now. "It's cancer."

[calorieworkouts]

10 Tips On Nutrition For Weight Training

Not getting the results you want from weight training? Nine times out of ten it's obtained something to do with what you eat, how just how you educate! A lot of lifters position so much value on sets, representatives, drop collections, downsides, regimens etc but entirely leave their diet out of the picture! It must be done vice versa, obtain your diet and also nourishment plan zoned in and then hit the gym.

Without the right diet plan for weightlifting you're mosting likely to limit your outcomes seriously! If you do not have the appropriate nutrition to support your extreme exercise routine you will certainly not get. In truth, you could in fact LOSE MUSCULAR TISSUE with catabolism.

So I thought I would certainly bang with each other some strong ideas on nutrition for weightlifting, some factors everyone who desires to build muscle mass, get torn and boost toughness should work into their plan.

Nutrition For Weightlifting - My 10 Tips:

1. Know The Protein/ Carbohydrate/ Fat Ratio

You need to grow and build your nourishment plan around that. Job out the amount of calories you need on a daily basis making use of a bmr calculator to function out just how several calories your body requires daily to preserve weight, after that include 500 or so. As soon as you have that figure you need a P/C/F proportion. Let's make use of 40/40/20. So you diet is 40% protein, 40% carbs, and 20% fat. Take the complete calories you have and exercise just how much of those calories need to every element. 4,00 calories total per day. 4,000 x. 4 = 1,600. You know you require 1,600 calories from healthy protein as well as carbohydrates and 800 from fats. If you're still with me, currently we need to exercise how much P/C/F we require. 1g of healthy protein as well as carbohydrates equates to 4 calories, as well as 1g of fat equals 9 calories. We know we require 400g of protein, 400g carbs and 90g of fats per day. Currently we need to spread this over 6 dishes. Divide by 6. There you have the amounts of healthy protein, carbohydrates and fat you need for EACH dish. That gives you the structure to plan your food.

2. Fruits and Vegetables

You REQUIREMENTS eat vegetables and fruits, 5 portions a day or more. Extreme weight training depletes the body's shop of vital nutrients. Certain, by taking a good day-to-day multivitamin supplement we can decrease that yet it's insufficient. Being deficient in nutrients can hinder growth since the body understands it's more crucial to be healthy than develop muscular tissue, so it prioritizes.

3. Whey Protein

Start the day with whey protein, as well as after that consume a solid morning meal of complex carbs. It's a good idea to immediately consume alcohol whey healthy protein upon rolling out. Your body has just been with an 8+ hr fast as well as it starving for nutrients. Absolutely nothing delivers that quicker than a whey shake with water.

4. As quickly as You're Starving, Eat

Don' t delay, as quickly as you also really feel the slightest bit hungry go and also have something to eat. When you're looking to construct lean muscle mass you need to supply your body with a consistent stream of inbound nutrients. This indicates healthy proteins, healthy fats and also complex carbohydrates.

5. Maintain Easy Carbohydrates To Article Exercise Only

There is definitely nothing else time of the day that you require straightforward carbs! This implies keeping away from foods which contain high sugar. Delicious chocolate, soda, candy etc, full blast. Consuming these foods develops insulin spikes when you don't need them as well as can bring about even more fat storage.

6. Use Clean Weight Gainers

Weight gainers or meal replacements are best for our way of lives due to the fact that unless you're working from home or don't work, discovering time for the ideal nourishment to back up your weight training program is going to be tough. With weight gainers you recognize precisely what you're getting calorie as well as nutrient sensible also, so you can quickly function them into your nutrition plan.

7. Learn How To Cook In Bulk

Cooking wholesale and portioning is THE SECRET to sticking to a solid diet for muscle mass gain without gaining excessive fat. Discover recipes that serve 10, after that section up those meals and freeze them for consuming throughout the week. This is what the experts do, and also this is what you're going to have to learn if you intend to tidy bulk or lower fat.

8. Never ever Train On An Empty Stomach

Want to shed muscle? I doubt it, yet it might occur if you train without the appropriate pre-workout nourishment. The last point you desire is your body needing to use healthy protein from muscle tissue as power for an intense exercise. Have a huge dish around 3 hours prior to you regular, after that top up with a smaller sized meal around 1 hr before.

9. Article Workout Nourishment Is Vital

Check out my blog post on article workout nutrition, that basically amounts up the value of message workout nutrition as well as reveals you want you require. Make certain you have your shake as soon as feasible after you end up training, the quicker the better!

10. Stay Consistent

Consistency is the essential to constructing a great physique, as well as this relates to nutrition in addition to training. Plan your nutrition each week, prepare what you're going to get from the supermarket, as well as prepare your dishes beforehand. They are the first steps to succeeding!

Good good luck. With any luck this blog post will certainly assist you plan the nourishment you require to reach your goals!

[mythicalcoolkid]

Assorted tips

As someone with certified Bad Brain, I figured I should write down the things I do that help me. Partly because I’m liable to forget them, but also because it may be helpful for others with similar brain problems/chronic illness

1. Get enough sleep, seriously. This helps so much more than I gave it credit for. I have chronic fatigue and I just kind of assumed I’d always be half awake, but even though I’m still not “awake” awake, rearranging my schedule to get nine hours a night has made my days much more bearable (no more crashing as soon as I get home!)

2. Try OTC pills. This is another basic one for me since without actually good caffeine pills I don’t know if I could go to school and do regular life stuff. I use a multivitamin with caffeine as an ingredient (Women’s One a Day Active Metabolism is the only one I can easily find in stores for cheap). That for me gives me about six to ten hours of getting-through-the-day-alright with a definite no-longer-working feeling after, which in high school meant I could get through the school day before coming home and laying in a chair. Now I mostly use Energize (84-count through Walmart is a lot cheaper per unit than buying those 24-count boxes); it’s time-released with more than just caffeine, so for me it lasts for about eight hours with no big drop

3. ROUTINE! Routine has saved me. I have a routine for the morning and evening and the latter especially keeps me on track. Having a natural progression of events lets me get to bed at a reasonable hour (now that I’ve made tea, I need to do something on this list while it cools, then while I’m drinking it I can watch this show, then now that the show’s over I need to brush my teeth...)

4. Modify things to your energy level. This can be a sometimes thing - “I’m pretty tired, but I can do the dishes if I’m sitting down” - or an ongoing thing - “washing my face every night is unrealistic for me, but using a face wipe isn’t and it still cleans my face”

5. Accept that some things just aren’t accessible. This is tough for me and I still have trouble with this one. I was really excited to go to the queer group at my school, but it turns out it’s at 8 PM the night before I have an 8 AM class. To get the necessary amount of sleep for me, I’d need to start getting ready for bed around 7:30 and be in bed by 9, which doesn’t really work if the group ends at 9. The one time I tried to go anyway it sent me into a flare and messed things up for the next day. Sometimes things just aren’t going to work out because you’re sick, and that sucks. It’s crushing. Feel it, mourn for it if you have to, be upset, do whatever you need to do. Then find something accessible to do - set up a standing breakfast date with a friend, join a different club, do a weekly self-care day. Wallowing will kill you. [Note: if it’s physically not accessible, like not having a ramp at the front door, contact the place and try to change that. This is for things that can’t be modified, like I can’t ask the group to change their meeting time for me]

6. Keep up with medical stuff. Enough said. Try to schedule doctor’s appointments for when you’ll be out anyway and put a ton of reminders in your phone so you don’t forget

7. Ask financial questions if you need to. I’m in that rough position where I'm not poor enough to get Medicaid and good government assistance, but too poor to afford good things without it. I went to my school’s medical center (inconveniently located on top of a huge hill) not expecting much. Turns out I get free care for all office visits and a discount on some other stuff because I’m a student, AND because I explained my money situation, the health center gave me an application to see if I qualify for free medical care at the nearby hospital! They’ve heard it all before and they know money’s tight. Don’t be afraid to ask about accommodations

8. Do things in advance. Again this can be a sometimes thing - “I’m doing well right now, so I should clean the bathroom while it’s not too hard” - or an ongoing thing - “I forget things if I try to do them all in the morning before class, so the night before I need to lay out my clothes and pack my bag” (bonus points because you don’t have to get up as early if you do stuff the night before)

9. Don’t worry about doing things “right" so much as removing barriers. Think issue, reason, solution. For example, issue: I don’t drink enough water. Reason: I run out and can’t be bothered to refill. Solution: get a bigger water bottle so you don’t have to refill as often, get a pitcher of water in your room, fill up more than one at once...

10. If you know you need to do something to function well, do it. Even if it’s weird or “unnecessary.” Do stim toys let you focus in class or do social stuff? Need a hundred phone reminders? Use a ton of pillows? Do it! Opinions are fleeting and ultimately not that important, and you may be judging your own actions too harshly. I used to combat executive dysfunction by counting to three and doing the thing on three, as well as breaking things down into absolutely minuscule steps

11. Think about DIY versions of tools (this is mostly about weighted blankets honestly). Buying a weighted blanket? $40-$200. Making one with rice and fabric? Less than $20 (hit me up if you’re interested in a tutorial, you only need to be able to use a sewing machine). Likewise, I don’t want a fidget spinner, but I have some Bic pens with a top that spins without unscrewing that I fidget/stim with. If you’re able, I know people who have saved thousands of dollars by training their own assistance dogs instead of getting pretrained ones (although going back with #7, if you can’t afford a service/assistance/support dog there are companies that will provide free/low cost dogs to people who need them)

12. Be honest about things you struggle with. This is a must. There are often solutions, but you have to admit that you could use them. Trouble remembering things? Get a notebook and write down absolutely everything you need to do (it took me way too long to do that). Trouble with hygiene? You can get no-rinse shower caps, oral hygiene tablets, put a stool in the shower, whatever you need to make it easier. Trouble putting on/tying shoes? They make rubber shoelaces to make your shoes slip-ons (I’ve heard the brand Coolnice recommended)

Might be updating this, if you want me to talk about something specific let me know

[iluxia]

This mug is trending in my hospital right now. Legit it's more popular than me. I am sharing it this morning, post-shift and full of matcha latte, as a part of my effort in fulfilling my civic & professional duty of getting you all to just

                              GET THE DAMN FLU SHOT!!!

If you have insurance, it will be free somewhere (CVS, Walgreens, the grocery store, or your doctor’s office if you haven’t done anything that prevents you from showing your face there). If you don't have insurance, vaccinefinder.org can get you to somewhere that won't cost you an arm and a leg. Alternatively, here is a table of how much it'll cost you at the usual places in the US for the quadrivalent formulation as an uninsured consumer.

As for my vaccine spiel: I’m sure you’ve read all the articles swimming around in media about this, so I won’t go into the usual why’s. (Yes, for those outside of the USA, here people debate about something as elementary as why should we vaccinate.) I will, however, pull apart a few excuses anti-vaxxers use as shields, excuses I have personally heard before. (Full disclosure, I am a physician.)

"The flu shot makes people sick immediately after vaccination because the vaccine introduces the flu virus into the body, so it actually impedes the immune system from working properly! It doesn’t work!”

This shows very poor to non-existent understanding of how vaccination & the immune system works. The flu vaccine contains inactive, dead virus parts. It introduces your immune system to what the virus looks like; remember the third Harry Potter movie, where they posted pictures of Sirius Black the Death Eater Fugitive on pamphlets to warn the wizarding world about him so they know what he looks like? It’s exactly that. The faster the immune system can recognize an intruder, the faster it can kill it.

“The flu shot has other ingredients in it (like mercury) that cause various side effects from depression and memory loss to cardiovascular disease, ADHD, and autism.”

The flu vaccine used to contain a preservative called thimerosal (ethyl mercury), which is NOT the same as methyl mercury (the toxic kind). Let’s review a little chem here, as painful as those long-buried memories are. Thimerosal is a stable preservative that has been in use in tons of things since the 1920s. There is more mercury in breastmilk than there is in a single flu shot, guys.

A dude named Andrew Wakefield and a few of his buddies published a whack case series in the Lancet in 1998 suggesting that the MMR (measles, mumps, rubella) vaccine, preserved using thimerosal, predisposed behavioral regression & developmental disorders in children. But the sample size was 12 patients. Twelve. That is negligibly tiny. Obviously they didn’t do their power calcs. And it was a case series - the least reliable type of research you can publish because a case series is anecdotal. Their “data” did not show strong correlation between the MMR vaccine and autism; indeed, their analytical model wasn’t even constructed to examine that hypothesis. Multiple epidemiological studies followed hot on the heels of this paper, refuting its wild claims, but the damage was done & the publicity was already on fire. It sparked a huge anti-vaxxer movement that is responsible, frankly speaking, for the recurrence of eradicated diseases such as measles, which is deadly to little children. [ You can read more about this whole debacle here. ] It was all about the MMR vaccine at first, but “MMR” disappeared and eventually it became “all vaccines cause autism.” This is what happens when you combine poor health education, an irresponsible publishing journal, and an immoral media. The Lancet only formally withdrew this paper from publication in Feb 2010. To this day, I find it difficult to trust the Lancet.

The studies that came after Wakefield’s stupid one all refuted Wakefield’s claims with stronger data, proper analyses, systematic reviews, and actual fucking power calcs, like actual fucking researchers.

Finally, we don’t even fully understand autism. How can you definitely claim that one specific thing can cause it? Remember: correlation =/= causation.

“The CDC promotes flu vaccines because they have financial ties & get kickbacks from Big Pharma. It’s all big business. The flu vaccine doesn’t work.”

Bars and clubs will promote alcohol to you because they get kickbacks from the breweries. It’s all big business. Does that mean that the alcohol doesn’t work?

Why are you okay giving Big Pharma your money for vitamins you don’t really need (most people don’t really need multivitamins, it just makes your pee expensive) but you can’t give them money for life-saving, pandemic-fighting vaccines that COST LESS?

And since we’re talking about business, you should know that vaccines are actually not profitable for pharmaceutical companies, because they have to make entirely new batches EVERY. SINGLE. YEAR. The overheads on that must cost $$$$, I mean, they have to pay the researchers a living wage, and it takes months to make the vaccines. Come on, we all know the real money is made with ridiculously expensive life-saving medications such as insulin and the EpiPen. Duh.

Health is worth more than money, honey. Spend a day in a hospital hooked up to a ventilator with tubes coming out of every orifice and you will never deny this.

“I still get sick after the flu shot. It doesn’t work for me.”

The flu has various strains every year, and the vaccine is only made with the strains they (the researchers) predict will be the most widely distributed across a certain population. It involves a lot of statistics. Does this mean that you should skip the shot? No. Statistically, your chances of getting the most virulent, widely distributed strain is HIGHER than your chances of getting a different strain the vaccine isn’t made with. That statistics course really matters, you know.

Yes, you get a different type of flu vaccine depending on where you are in the world. The northern & southern hemispheres get different vaccine formulations because they typically get different strains. This is also why a flu strain from, say, southern China or India is fucking TERRIFYING for Europe or the US, because we likely will not have any immunity to that shit. (And vice versa.)

The flu virii evolve every year. They get more virulent, more adaptable, and more insidious every time. And do you know how they evolve? Because some asshole somewhere had partial/augmented immunity and the virus evolves under these conditions. This asshole was sick with a different strain of the flu before, but doesn’t believe in the flu shot, so he doesn’t get the one issued this year. He then gets maybe mildly sick with the new flu strain, while his wife is still sick with the previous flu strain he carried. The two strains are exposed to each other and under these conditions, the virus can evolve by mutation or genetic reassortment. Cross-exposure to other viral strains (antigenic drift) is a mechanism for viral variation & results in newer, deadlier strains that both partially immune people (infected before with other strains) AND vaccinated people cannot fight off. Then it spreads to their kid, who spreads it at the daycare, and those kids give it to their parents, who spread it at work... this, folks, is how you get an epidemic.

Vaccination really only works to eliminate a disease when you unilaterally vaccinate the entire population across the board. (As best as you can, anyway.) The vaccine will never work 100% - there is always a margin of error - but if you cover the entire population, your margin becomes more acceptable. Whereas if only some people get vaccinated, then you open up chances for viral mutation.

By the way, you might FEEL sick immediately after the flu shot, but you aren’t sick. That’s your immune system sucking your entire body dry of resources, making your muscles ache & giving you fatigue as it revs up & prepares brand new antibodies for this new virus. This takes a toll on your body, but you can combat the “sick” feeling by exercising lightly, hydrating very well, eating clean, and getting some sleep. 

“My child already has a disease that lowers their immune system. If I give them the shot, that’ll completely deplete their remaining reserve. They might get a different infection and die!”

Again, a poor understanding of immune biology. 100% wrong. I give flu vaccines to immunodeficient patients with HIV, transplant patients who are taking immunosuppressants, and patients who are taking meds like Humira (immunosuppressing side effect). In fact, I prioritize the vaccine for them. They, above everyone else, need to be prepared for the coming strains of flu. I am giving their immune system time to prepare. - Of course I will monitor them closely & take appropriate precautions to prevent them from contracting other infections. I’ll support their physiological needs while they convalesce. But immunosuppression is no excuse. (That being said, have a conversation with your physician. Dosing, type, and timing of the vaccine can vary depending on your individual situation & condition.)

“Evidence now suggests that ingredients in flu shots can actually cause serious neurological disorders, like Guillain-Barre syndrome or similar neuromuscular diseases thought to be of autoimmune origin.”

In 1976, the CDC published that there was a risk of Guillain-Barre syndrome happening after a patient got a flu vaccine IF they have had the swine flu vaccine before. The risk was calculated to be 1 in 100,000 people who got the swine flu vaccine. The Institute of Medicine (IOM) did a scientific review on this issue in 2003 and concluded that the people who got the swine flu vaccine in 1976 were at increased risk, but otherwise, there has been no significant change or increase since then. Did you get the swine flu vaccine in 1976? No? Okay, go get the flu shot.

It is true that there have been observed cases where neuromuscular disorders like Guillain-Barre or chronic inflammatory demyelinating polyneuropathy (CIDP) seems to be triggered, or occur after the patient gets the vaccine. We don’t fully understand how or why. I have treated these patients (they are relatively rare, I see maybe 1-2 every year) and they recover well provided competent care at a good hospital. Look out for research on this, but until we definitively know a causative link, it’s foolish to skip a perfectly safe, proven, and highly recommended vaccine to avoid a very narrow “maybe.”

If you have questions, guys, I will answer. Drop me an ask or PM me. But please, please spread the word and get vaccinated. 

If you get scared or doubt your decision to get the shot, remember that the only reason we are not all dead from smallpox (it was an epidemic) and cholera (a pandemic) and rabies (from all your pets) and typhoid (also a pandemic) and the fucking black plague is because of that 5ml of liquid in that tiny little syringe.

Vaccines do not cause autism. Vaccines cause adults.

GET. THE. SHOT.