#but this chapter marks a shift!!! things are going to pick up very soon hehe 💕

[a11eya]

TITLE: lights will guide you home

CHAPTER: 8

PAIRING: Bakugou Katsuki x Reader

SUMMARY: Soul-lights aren’t as common in this day and age as they were in the past, before quirks, but they’re common enough that people do still find their soulmates.

At thirteen, you meet Bakugou Katsuki, and he lights up for you in orange and gold. You tell him he's your soulmate. He sneers and tells you that you aren't his. He makes your adolescence miserable until you part ways.

You meet again as adults, late at night, in a grocery store, over a pile of bok choy. He apologizes for how he treated you when you were children.

(In which you have a choice—to reject Bakugou's apology, reject him, or to let him show you the man he's become, to learn with him what it means to love and forgive.)

TAGS: soulmate au, trope inversion/subversion, slow burn, getting together, falling in love, fluff, aged up characters, pro-hero characters, eventual smut, mild bullying

NAVIGATION: Series Masterlist

Ikeda tells you that two of the pictures—only two!—you took of Bakugou are viable and that one of the videos is passable. It’s a little harsh, in your opinion, especially considering who your subject was. 

She also asks you for the name of the organization you used to foster the kittens. You tell her the organization name, and, a little sheepishly, that the adoption and foster program’s called Save the Meow Meows. It makes her laugh. 

“Next time, try to get Dynamight to smile, okay?” she says after her laughter dissolves into a grin, audible even over the phone. “He looks like he’s being held hostage in 90% of these.”

“I know. I tried, but you know how he is.” It takes a half-second for the entirety of her words to process. You blink. “Wait, next time?”

“Well, yeah!” she says, sounding amused. “This first post we just put up on Dynamight’s socials is already doing well, and your pictures with him at the pet store are in the rearview mirror. Who knew that people would like them so much? No accounting for taste, I suppose.” 

Well. You knew, the moment you saw Bakugou pick up Mikan. There’s one photo in particular that didn't make it to Dynamight’s social media because Mikan’s mid-motion in it, but something about Bakugou’s expression… You’ll never tell him, but the two of them together make such a pretty picture that you favorited it on your phone. 

You try to pay attention as Ikeda continues, “A couple more posts should suffice, so we need more photos with him in different clothes, maybe in a different spot in your apartment, individual shots with each kitten… and definitely better expressions. Only makes sense, right?”

“Right…”

“You can go ahead and let him know about the additional shoots; you did a great job of coordinating things between you. And good job wrangling him so far! Keep up the good work! ”

“Thanks,” you say, after a pause, to the dial tone. You wonder if Bakugou knows how much Ikeda dislikes him. 

Grimacing, you type out a message and send Bakugou the bad news. 

You: Hey. Just finished talking to Ikeda. She says we need to take more pictures 🙏

Not a minute passes before your phone begins vibrating in your hand. You eye it like it’s a snake and answer hesitantly. 

“…Hello?”

“What’dya mean, more pictures?” Bakugou snaps. 

“Literally, there are no other meanings for that statement.”

“Call her back and tell her to fuck off.”

“Bakugou,” you sigh in exasperation. “I’m not gonna tell her to fuck off. Also, she’s your PR person. If you have complaints, shouldn’t you tell her directly?”

“The fifty pictures you took weren’t enough?” he demands.

“She says we need to take pictures of you wearing different clothes, in different spots in my apartment, so it’s clear they happened on different days. She also says you need solos with each of the kittens. And that you need to smile.” 

Quietly, you mutter away from the receiver, “Like I told you to.”

Bakugou must have the ears of a bat because his tone lowers, dangerous. “What’d you say, brat? Come and say that to my face.”

“Make me,” you say immediately, then close your eyes, feeling embarrassed. He really does bring out an unfortunately childish side of you. 

The line goes silent.

You wait, wondering if you pissed him off. 

“Text me when you’re free this week,” he says abruptly. “I’ll come by for the damn pictures.”

He hangs up before you can reply. 

Bakugou: I’m outside. 

Standing from your couch, you walk over to your front door and pull it open.

“Hey,” you tell him, but you stop in confusion when you notice he has a duffle bag in one hand and a reusable bag, the kind you’d put groceries in, in the other. His expression is pinched when your eyes meet.

“Here,” Bakugou says, and shoves the reusable bag at you. You automatically grab at the handles and make a sound when he lets go; it’s heavy. 

“Gotta reschedule the dumb photos. I was called in for work,” he says. 

Bakugou steps back, clearly moving to leave, and you grab his wrist.  

“Hold on,” you say. You let your hand fall from him and raise the reusable bag. “What is this?”

“Nutrients instead of the garbage you usually have. Be grateful,” he tells you, baring his teeth in a mean smile. You make a face at him, instinctively, and the mean fades from his smile, shifting to an amused twist of his lips. He looks at you as if he’s going to say something more. He doesn’t. 

Bakugou turns and makes his way down the hallway. 

You stare at his back, then duck your head to look at the contents of the bag. 

There are several bentos in there, stacked neatly, easily a week’s worth of lunches. The ones at the top have sticky notes on them, labeled with a number and what looks like a list of ingredients. 

When it finally clicks what you’re holding, your eyes widen. 

You shove your feet into some slides, grabbing another shoe to hold your door open, and chase Bakugou down the hallway, lugging the bag with you.

“Bakugou, wait,” you call, catching up to him where he’s waiting at the elevator, duffle bag on the ground. 

He turns to look at you, eyes narrowed. You come to an abrupt halt in front of him and try to give him the bag back. 

Bakugou crosses his arms, a refusal. “The fuck are you doing?”

“I can’t accept this,” you say. “It’s so much food! And was probably a lot of work to make!”

“S’why you should shut up and keep it,” he growls. “Go back.”

You scrabble about for a more convincing argument. “You should keep it. You’re going to work, right? You need lunch!”

“Already got lunch. This shit’s just because I made extra meal prepping this week,” Bakugou says.

Your mouth opens, and you furrow your brow, looking down at the bag. Uncertain, now.

“If you don’t want it, toss it,” he tells you, rolling his eyes.

“I can’t do that,” you gasp, just as the elevator arrives and opens. 

One of your neighbors, coming back from walking her dog, blinks at the both of you from inside the elevator. 

You quickly step closer to where Bakugou’s standing so she can pass. Bakugou picks up his duffle bag so it isn’t in the way, and you exchange greeting smiles with your neighbor as she slips by. Her big dog stops to sniff at the bag you’re holding, no doubt detecting the food, but your neighbor tugs at the leash and away.

Feeling self-conscious now that you have an audience, even if she is getting further down the hall, you turn back to Bakugou. He’s looking at you already, an exasperated expression on his face.

“Stop being stubborn,” he says, mouth a downward slash. “Gotta go. Eat that shit or don’t. I don’t care.”

He steps into the elevator and jabs the button for the ground floor. He’s gone before you can come up with a response.

You stack the bentos in your fridge, taking care not to jostle them more than you had during your jog down the hallway. As you place the last one inside, you trace the edge of its lid thoughtfully.  

You weren’t sure, at first, why these bentos bothered you, why your first reaction was to try to give them back. But the longer you sit on it, the more clarity you have. 

You feel a little guilty, that Bakugou keeps doing things for you, giving you things. The feeling has been building, especially over the past couple weeks since you’ve been messaging him, talking to him. You talk to him nearly every day. You’ve learned he prefers phone calls to texts—not surprising, considering how brief his messages usually are. He’s become part of your routine, and you find yourself feeling like something’s missing when a day passes without a snarky message from him or a phone call where you update him on the kittens, despite his claims of disinterest. 

You don’t want him to think that you only want him around because he gives you things and does stuff for you. You hope nothing about you gives that impression. 

You’re not sure how to tell him this. It makes your stomach swoop, just thinking about bringing it up. Because you know you’ll have to tell him what you just realized: that you like him for who he is. That you like him in your life. That he doesn’t have to earn your time or attention or—or forgiveness with things or by doing things. 

At work the next day, you sit and eat in the break room for the first time in several weeks, nearly crying over your first bite of a bento. It’s so good.

You figured out the numbers on the sticky notes indicate the order in which you should eat the bentos. Even though the ingredients are listed on the notes, you’d been tempted to crack open each bento to see what you’ll be eating later in the week. But so far, you’ve been able to control yourself. It’s kind of nice. Like a little surprise to look forward to each day. 

You finger today’s sticky note, taking in the words crossing it. For some reason, you’d assumed Bakugou would have messy, wild handwriting. But the kanji are precise, neat. You wonder what he’s doing right now.

The break room door opens, and you look up to see a colleague from a different department.

“Hey!” he greets you, crossing the room to fill his water bottle at the fill station. He turns to face you as he waits, and you panic internally, struggling to remember his name. Sato? Suzuki? 

“Surprised to see you in here,” he remarks. “Usually you eat in your office.”

“Yeah!” you say. You had no idea he took so much notice of where you ate. When were you first introduced? A couple months back? You feel worse about not remembering his name. 

You give him a smile, hoping the guilt isn’t on your face. “Just felt like a change of pace today.”

“That bento looks good! Do you like to cook?” he asks.

“Oh! No, a friend made it for me.” Your smile shifts into something more genuine. “He said I’ve been eating garbage, so. His attempt at trying to make sure I don’t die prematurely, I guess.”

“Oh, gotcha,” Sato or Suzuki or something else entirely says, tone shifting, and he picks up his now-full water bottle and twists the cap back on. 

“Well, enjoy your lunch!” he says, waving goodbye as he leaves the break room. 

You stare at the closing door for a brief moment before shaking your head. You need to find out that guy’s name before you see him again. He totally clocked you for not recognizing him, because what was that weird look on his face as he left? You decide to ask your team—discreetly!—what his name is after your lunch break.

When you’re finished eating, you snap a picture of the empty bento and send it to Bakugou.

You: Thank you for the food! 🙏

You: You know, if you ever change your mind about the hero thing, I think you’d get a job as a chef, easy

After a moment, you decide to send another message. You want to bring up the thoughts you’d had the other day, about how you don’t want him to feel compelled to keep doing things for you, but you feel like it’s a conversation better had in-person. Or on the phone, at least. 

It takes you several minutes of deleting and drafting before you settle on something inadequate. 

You: Sorry I was so weird about it yesterday 

Standing abruptly, too chicken to wait to see if he replies, you clean up your area and get back to work. 

It’s at the end of the work day, on the train, when you check your messages again. A text from Bakugou is waiting for you in your inbox, and you’re definitely not nervous when you tap on it to read it.

Bakugou: Better be sorry. Next time, don’t be a brat about it

You exhale, huffing a laugh, relieved. You type out a response.

You: Yes, Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight sir 

He doesn’t reply. One thing about Bakugou is that he leaves his read receipts on—intentionally, you suspect, because it’s just like him to make sure you know he’s ignoring you, even through texts. It makes you grin.

The week passes, and you find yourself staring at a pile of empty bento boxes, hands on your hips.

You: Hey, when can I return the bento boxes? Washed them and everything!!

Bakugou: I’d fuckin’ hope so 

You: 😒

You: Should I drop them off at your agency? 

Bakugou: No, bring ‘em to my place

He sends you an address.

A part of you is a little relieved he’d suggested you not bring them to his agency. Thinking about it, going there to drop off a bag of empty bento boxes feels a little too… revealing. That people might see that you have the kind of relationship where he makes you lunch. You don’t want to cause trouble, especially since the pet store fiasco is just starting to fade from people’s memories. 

You: 👍

“Hi.” You feel a little out of place, standing in the hallway outside Bakugou’s apartment. You hold up the bag of bento boxes. “I brought the goods.”

Mentally, you’re kicking yourself. You’re always saying such dumb shit in front of him. 

Bakugou’s gives you a deadpan look, an I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that look. 

“Well don’t just stand there,” he says, and moves back to give you some room.

You step past the threshold, and he closes the door behind you. He grabs the bag from you and heads deeper into his apartment. Hurriedly, you toe off your shoes and follow him.

He’s gone into his kitchen, you realize, and he has a cabinet open, where he’s placing the bento boxes inside, one by one. He meets your gaze as he’s putting one away, and while maintaining eye contact with you, he opens one of them and makes a show of inspecting it for cleanliness.

“Very funny,” you say dryly. 

Bakugou barks out a laugh and you smile, despite yourself.

As he continues to put away the boxes, you take a moment to glance around his kitchen while he’s busy.

It’s big. It has some fancy-looking appliances you wouldn’t typically find in a home kitchen. The stove looks top-of-the-line, and you see an impressive-looking knife set displayed on the counter. There’s even a stand mixer in one corner. You wonder if Bakugou bakes. 

“Y’want water, tea?” he asks, closing the cabinet and turning to you.

“Oh, water’s fine, thanks,” you say. You’re chagrined; even Bakugou’s a better host than you are.

You lean your side against one of the counters, watching as he grabs a pair of glasses and fills them up. 

He’s the most dressed down you’ve ever seen him, in a faded shirt and worn pants that he easily could’ve slept in. His hair is nearly flat, falling in relaxed strands, softening him. All his edges are blunted, here, in his apartment.

You murmur a thank you as he gives you your water, and you subtly study his face as he drains his glass. He leans a hip against the counter. 

He looks a little tired, slight bags under his eyes. The way he’s holding himself is relaxed, but his shoulders slant, droop in a way you haven’t seen before. When he leans over to place his cup in the sink, his shirt lifts a little, exposing a glimpse of skin and the lip of his boxers rising above the waistband of his pants. His lights are gentle swirls around him, bathing him in a soft glow. 

He’s handsome, it dawns on you. The thought flusters you, and heat begins to rise to your cheeks. 

What the hell? You’ve seen him in casual clothes; you’ve seen him in his hero suit. Objectively, people are more attractive when put together, right? Presentable. There’s nothing about him, now, that you should find attractive. He’s just some guy, standing in his kitchen.

But Bakugou in his off mode, at home, does something to you. It’s like wires rearrange in your head, and you can’t stop looking at him. 

“Hey,” you say—anything to leave this train of thought behind, because nope. “Thanks again for the food. This week was the best I’ve eaten, like ever.”

“You’re damn right it was,” he says, and you roll your eyes, smiling. 

“Alright, alright, Mr. Ego. I did want to talk about something else, too, while I’m here. If you have a minute.” By the time you’re finished talking, a serious note you’re unable to help has crept into your voice. 

An expression you’re unable to decipher flickers across his face. Bakugou crosses his arms. “Spit it out.”

You put your glass down on the counter, fiddling with it. Stalling, you realize. 

“I want you to know… you don’t have to do all this for me, okay?” you say, glancing up at him. 

His eyes narrow. 

You continue, hurriedly, to clarify. “I mean, like buying me the couch protectors, or making me lunches. I appreciate it all, I do.”

“Then what’s the problem?” Bakugou says, a little growl on the end of his sentence. 

“I just don’t want you thinking you need to do these things for me,” you say, voice faltering, quieting. “Even if you don’t cook me another meal, or buy me a single thing, ever, that’s fine with me.” 

Please understand, you will to him, watching him. Your thoughts feel clumsy, your words clumsier, like it’s a monumental effort just to string two sentences together. You can’t find the words to tell him what you mean: that you think he’s funny when he quips at you and that you know he’s observant, thoughtful. That you like talking to him, spending time with him. It’s enough.

Maybe you have found the words, but you can’t say them aloud just yet. Not yet.

“I know I don’t need to do shit. I only do shit I wanna do,” Bakugou says gruffly.

You open your mouth to argue, to try again to make sure he understands you, but he interrupts, puts a hand on your head. He’s a little rough, but his hand is warm. Reassuring. There’s a softness in his eyes that you’ve never seen before. You could fall into them, like this. 

“You think too much,” he tells you, but peering into his face—you think he’s heard you, loud and clear. 

You do think too much, you acknowledge on the train ride home. 

You’d left his apartment soon after your conversation; he’d needed to get ready for work. But your thoughts still buzz with him. 

You think about how the shape of your life has changed with him in it, within just a couple weeks. You think about the fact that he’s your soulmate but you’re not his, how this is something that can’t be changed, no matter how well you get to know Bakugou and how well he gets to know you. It’s been a long time since this—that you can see his lights but he can’t see yours—bothered you. You thought you’d accepted it, moved on from it. 

It really, really bothers you.

[imnotwolverine]

The girl next door - Interstellar cellar

The Girl Next Door - Chapter 6 INTERSTELLAR CELLAR

<Chap 5 | Chap 7>

Summary: A number of things are uncovered. A mysterious cellar, some wine bottles and seriously deep thoughts and feelings. 

Word count: 2.531

Warnings: strong language, alcohol use

Tagsquad: @tumblnewby

(Link to my Masterlist)

‘Alright, now all together…put some muscle into it!’ Lennard commanded through clenched teeth, joining the others in trying to pull the very old door open.

Some days ago Lizz had found this door behind an old cupboard in the hallway. Her interest piqued so she had tried to open it with some help from Henry. But unfortunately the door hadn’t budged. Now however, the door finally seemed to give way, the heavy oak creaking under the force of three men tugging at it for dear life, their hands wound around the rope that they had tied to the door handle.

‘Yes, almost! Come on! Come on!’ Lizz squealed, immediately regretting her enthusiasm as her head started to spin again - yep, she had a bad, bad hangover.

It was a most ..typical morning.

Lizz had woken up in Henry’s bed. Which had confused her. Then Henry told her he had stopped her from..well…doing ’the thing’ - which had embarrassed her. Then her phone rang, alarming her that her friends had arrived. Which ..completely set her hungover head into overdrive as she had scrambled up from Henry’s bed to run back to her house.

Thankfully this time in more than just a towel.  

Lizz had been red with embarrassment when she had finally set foot on her lawn again, her friends raising some eyebrows as they noticed her disheveled appearance. ‘Friendly neighbourly visit, hmm?’ Frankie had asked, a knowing smile tugging at his lips. ‘Yea. Uh..I eh..ran out of sugar.’ Lizz had quickly muttered, her fingers quick to dig for her keys to open the front door. ‘Ah…”sugar” hehe.’ They teased.

In order to prevent any further questioning on her neighbourly relations, she had immediately set her friends to work. It was in the end why they had come over; not only to see their good friend Lizz, but also to help out with some tasks that required a bit more man power. Man power that was most welcome when it came to opening this mysterious door.

‘Oh almost, I can..UGH..smell it. Oh gods.’ Lizz nearly started to vomit as the door cracked open and a dry, musky old smell escaped into the hallway. ‘Oh yes that’s old.’ She dry heaved, sticking her tongue out in disgust. It however didn’t stop the others from continuing their efforts, their heels now digging into the floorboards as they put their weight into pulling the door open.

And then, *WOOSH* the door relented, the men falling back as the door flung open wide. ‘Woa. Okay. Looks like the door gave up.’ Timothy smiled, quickly scrambling back up to his feet. 

With some hesitance the four of them peeked inside the dark pit, the doorway apparently leading to some kind of cellar. Through the dark they saw an old stone staircase and large cobwebs, thick with dust, above their heads.

‘Indiana Jones would be proud of us.’ Lennard nodded, poking Frankie in his side as Frankie was obviously less enthusiastic. ‘I am NOT going in there. Oh no. Fuck me some ghost stories. That does NOT look like a good idea.’ Frankie turned on his heel, shaking his head, making Lizz chuckle and smile; ‘I’ll get a broom so we can clear a path.’

If renovating a whole house didn’t faze Lizz, a few spiders and ghosts definitely wouldn’t either.

Soon enough Lizz returned with a broom and, with a few wipes, their path was cleared enough so they could descend down the stairs.

Timothy’s phone threw a harsh blue-white light over the dusty old walls, the cellar untouched for quite a long time by the looks of it. The walls were cold, hewn from large blocks of rock, which they traced with their fingers as the stairs curved down.

Once they set foot in the cellar itself it became clear it wasn’t just any cellar..it was a wine cellar. Some eight square meters of history lay before them, rows and rows of dusty bottles neatly stacked in wooden racks.

‘Sweet.’ Lennard was quick to pull one of the bottles out, using his thick thumb to wipe off some of the dust. His eyes peered at the bottle, like he was figuring out some very difficult puzzle, only to come to the conclusion: ‘No label.’ He shrugged, showing it to Lizz and Timothy.

‘There’s a little marking here though.’ Lizz noted, pointing at a handmarked silver star near the neck of the bottle.

‘Shame. Would be interesting to know how old they are.’ Lennard pouted.

‘And whether they are still drinkable.’ Timothy added, his hand also moving to pick up a bottle.

‘Well, only one way to find out,’ Lizz shrugged, pulling out two bottles and nodding back at the stairs.

Apparently, the wine had not gone sour. And so, here they were sitting and drinking wine in the soft morning sun - a shamefully early hour to be testing wine -, their bodies leaning back into some make-shift seats in Lizz’s frontyard. 

It could actually be said this was a really good wine. Deep ruby red, soft on the tongue and with a long lasting, rich flavour. Perfect, also, for defeating one scrumptious hangover. Scrumptious indeed, Lizz thought, knitting her eyebrows together as the sunlight was just a touch too bright for her eyes this morning.

A familiar sound awoke her from her thoughts, her back quick to lift off her chair as she noticed a visitor popping his head around the hedge. Kal. Henry’s dog. Meaning Henry wasn’t far behind. Oh damn. Okay. Uhm. Relax Lizz. Nothing happened. You’re just neighbours. Friends. Friendly neighbours. Whatever.

She walked up to the hedge, her hand offering Kal a scratch behind the ears whilst her eyes tracked up the road, finding Kal was indeed not alone. Henry had a soft smile tugging at his lips, his hands stuck in his pockets like he always had when walking up to her house, his appearance far less disheveled then Lizz had looked this morning. He actually looked really, really good. A simple deep blue shirt and some dark jeans, his brown curls tumbling in effortless perfection around his face.

Oh shit. What if her friends started to fanboy over him? She hadn’t really told them that her neighbour was actually Henry fucking Cavill. Oh..That would be so embarra…

‘Hello Lizz.’ Henry smiled, his feet halting at the other side of her hedge. His eyes spoke of tumultuous thoughts, but he somehow managed to hide them well - he was an actor after all. His lips curled into a very relaxed smile, his eyes moving to her friends. ‘Morning.’ He nodded at her friends. Okay then. He was playing the “good ol’ friendly neighbour”.  

‘Mm..morning..’ They choked. Lizz didn’t have to look over her shoulder to imagine what kind of faces her friends were pulling. Flabbergasted and pure utter shock, most likely. Especially when they were probably also thinking right now; didn’t Lizz come from…his house..this morning?

‘Good weather for a walk.’ Lizz tried, forcing herself to smile.

‘Yep.’ Henry looked back at her and smiled. They both were quiet, just smiling stupidly. Henry was quick to snap out of it, scraping his throat.

‘I just wanted to let you know I..eh.. have to.. go to London..’ He hesitated, almost as if surprised by what he just said, his eyes flying back to Lizz’s friends. It was quite probable they were hearing every word they shared. Henry swallowed, seeing Lizz’s confused look.

‘For work?’ She asked, trying her best to keep her voice level and friendly inquisitive.

‘Uh..yea..I eh..’ His eyes flew back to her friends once more. ‘London. I’ll be back. But eh..I just wanted to let you know.’

‘Okay.’ Lizz nodded, biting her lip to hide her disappointment while she quickly looked away, her eyes trailing back to Kal who had trodded further down the path, his big nose sniffing down a rabbit hole. Henry followed her gaze and nodded. ‘Yes, we better get going. Kal’s getting impatient.’

‘OH! Eh. I actually have something for you.’ Lizz quickly turned on her heel, walking to the table and picking up one of the unopened bottles of wine from the mysterious cellar.

‘We managed to finally crack open that door. Apparently it was a wine cellar and..eh..the wine’s actually still really good.’ Lizz hurried back to Henry, her hand reaching out to offer him the bottle. Henry smiled again, though this time more endearingly, making Lizz blush slightly. ‘Thank you, Lizz.’ He hummed, studying the bottle.

‘No labels?’

’Nope. Just these small silver marked stars.’ She shrugged, also looking down at the bottle in his hand. ‘Hmm.’ Henry smirked. ‘Mysterious stellar cellar wine.’

Lizz giggled and shook her head a bit. ‘Enjoy your walk Henry.’

‘Thanks Lizz.’ He looked back over her shoulder, waving at the others. ‘Good day gents!’

And off he went.

Lizz returned to the table and tried to keep a poker face, seeing the shocked looks on her friends faces.

‘What the…snack..Lizz. Henry Cavill? You forgot to mention your neighbour is Henry fucking CAVILL?’ Lennard exclaimed.

‘Eh..’ Her cheeks started to flush - again, dammit - and words seemed to elude her.

‘I eh..yea.’ She shrugged, smiling feebly.

‘Okay. We’re not going to lift one more finger until you have told us exactly what is happening between the two of you. Because we don’t buy the whole “borrowing sugar”-stuff, mkey?’ Lennard continued, giving Lizz a warning look.

Lizz bit her lip and quickly took another sip of the wine. It was 10 am in the morning, she had a hangover and she was drinking - again. Yet the worst of it was? Her friends had just asked her to tell about the relationship with her neighbour, a question to which she couldn’t really give any answer. Because it was plain and simple; she didn’t know either what was going on between her and Henry.

’Okay..so..I was working in my garden..’

Lizz told them everything, from beginning to end. From the moment she met Henry while she was doing garden work and he had simply sauntered in, to the heavy make out sessions, to the nearly having sex, to the really quite romantic spa-at-home day of the night before.

‘Woa. Okay, Lizz. It’s no rocket science to me. He’s into you.’ Frankie said, grinning as Lizz shook her head in disagreement.

‘It can’t be. I mean. For instance; just now he said he had to go to London. He didn’t mention a thing about that yesterday.’

‘Well maybe it’s an emergency. Or, he didn’t know about it yet last night?’

‘That. Or he wants to get away from me. Especially after what I did..’ Lizz sighed, scolding herself for forcing herself upon her way too perfect, much too sexy, sweet, talented neighbour.

Long after her friends left, Lizz still couldn’t push her thoughts aside. She was sitting outside as the stars shone like little diamonds in the heavens above, her body folded up in her chair and her hand wrapped around a glass of the silver starred wine.

Henry left for London. For how long? She didn’t know. Why? She could only guess. Should she ask? Probably not. Did she care about him? Probably yes. Did they really, really need to start talking about all that had happened between them? Absolute, definite yes.

But tonight she just had to leave it be. She just had to still her thoughts with this “stellar cellar wine” and hope she hadn’t completely ruined it with Henry. She sighed and leaned back, gazing up at the millions of stars up above, the night gentle and inviting. Just like last night. Only this time she wasn’t sitting shoulder to shoulder with the man that made her body go putty and her heart all aflutter.

Kal woofed nervously at the sound of an ambulance racing past, his body pressed up against Henry’s leg. The two of them were sitting outside on Henry’s London patio, the city a rather dizzying blur of sounds and lights, especially after living for a few months in the countryside.

Henry let his fingers glide through Kal’s fur, his hand soothing the large dog as he slowly slumped down again, ears still twitching. ‘Ssh.. It’s okay Kal. It’s okay.’ It’s okay. Is it though? He had just..left her. From the very moment the words slipped out of his mouth, he had been scolding himself. It honestly had just been a thought, but once he said he was to leave for London..well..he had to. Especially since her friends had heard him say it too. And perhaps it was better for the both of them. If they had a moment to think. Even though Henry hated every single second of it.

Regretting his sudden departure from the place that very much felt like home, he gazed at the bottle with the mysterious little silver star marked on it, the bottle standing forlorn on the small side table. He had poured himself a glass of it for dinner and the wine was indeed lovely. So much so that he may have nearly finished the bottle by himself. Oops..

Sighing he picked up the bottle, his finger grazing over the small silver star on the otherwise naked bottle. Lizz. The simply seductive, sweet Lizz. Seeing her today with her friends had awoken him from the dream-like state the two of them had lived in for the passed weeks. It couldn’t always be like this. At some point they would have to go back to real life. To get back to work, to seeing friends and family, to be apart from each other. And especially for him that would mean there would be very little opportunity to go see Lizz. It would most definitely kill whatever thing they had going. It would definitely stop them from being a couple.  

Fuck.

Just realising how he had let this go so far, made him even more sad..and lonely.

‘What is it with me and women Kal?’ He sighed, mindlessly tracing his hand through Kal’s thick fur. The dog looked up, laying his head in Henry’s lap and giving him a curious look. What’s the matter human? Why are you sad?

‘Maybe in another universe it could have worked, you know. Me and her.’ Henry sulked, making Kal whine softly, his nose pushing further up Henry’s lap. You can’t give up now human. I don’t like it.

Henry knit his eyebrows together, placing both hands over Kal’s head as he cast his eyes back up at the sky. He and Lizz would probably have very different lives again once the Corona regulations were subdued, but at least they’d get to share the same views of the sky each night, right? 

A thought that should have been comforting. Yet it didn’t. His heart still ached all the same. 

| Chap 7 >