#canary wharf lettings

[nightingaletrash]

Look. I haven't figured out the Broadbrook Ending yet because I figure its likely tied up with Claudia somehow, but fuck it. Caoimhe, Cormac and Niamh move to Northampton. Cormac joins the pack and learns about balancing human and werewolf life, Caoimhe becomes one of their human allies who helps with negotiating peace and shooting problems, and Niamh becomes everyone's favourite cub.

Caoimhe definitely gets treated with appropriate wariness at first because of the whole Hunter thing, but she's dating a werewolf and raising his kid like she's her own so maybe she can be trusted? Amber's willing to give her a chance but you know that Melodie is the most vocally opposed and Elton agrees that they need to watch her carefully until they knew for certain that she's not going to be a problem. Podge is the least hostile because he knows of her from the environmental activist scene, and she's done a lil ecoterrorism in her time, so she's not all bad, and Nin warms up pretty quick when she learns that she's a musician.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Keir Starmer appoints Jeff Bezos as his “first buddy”

Picks and Shovels is a new, standalone technothriller starring Marty Hench, my two-fisted, hard-fighting, tech-scam-busting forensic accountant. You can pre-order it on my latest Kickstarter, which features a brilliant audiobook read by Wil Wheaton.

Turns out Donald Trump isn't the only world leader with a tech billionaire "first buddy" who gets to serve as an unaccountable, self-interested de facto business regulator. UK PM Keir Starmer has just handed the keys to the British economy over to Jeff Bezos.

Oh, not literally. But here's what's happened: the UK's Competitions and Markets Authority, an organisation charged with investigating and punishing tech monopolists (like Amazon) has just been turned over to Doug Gurr, the guy who used to run Amazon UK.

This is – incredibly – even worse than it sounds. Marcus Bokkerink, the outgoing head of the CMA, was amazing, and he had charge over the CMA's Digital Markets Unit, the largest, best-staffed technical body of any competition regulator, anywhere in the world. The DMU uses its investigatory powers to dig deep into complex monopolistic businesses like Amazon, and just last year, the DMU was given new enforcement powers that would let it custom-craft regulations to address tech monopolization (again, like Amazon's).

But it's even worse. The CMA and DMU are the headwaters of a global system of super-effective Big Tech regulation. The CMA's deeply investigated reports on tech monopolists are used as the basis for EU regulations and enforcement actions, and these actions are then re-run by other world governments, like South Korea and Japan:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/10/an-injury-to-one/#is-an-injury-to-all

The CMA is the global convener and ringleader in tech antitrust, in other words. Smaller and/or poorer countries that lack the resources to investigate and build a case against US Big Tech companies have been able to copy-paste the work of the CMA and hold these companies to account. The CMA invites (or used to invite) all of these competition regulators to its HQ in Canary Wharf for conferences where they plan global strategy against these monopolists:

https://www.eventbrite.co.uk/e/cma-data-technology-and-analytics-conference-2022-registration-308678625077

Firing the guy who is making all this happening and replacing him with Amazon's UK boss is a breathtaking display of regulatory capture by Starmer, his business secretary Jonathan Reynolds, and his exchequer, Rachel Reeves.

But it gets even worse, because Amazon isn't just any tech monopolist. Amazon is a many-tentacled kraken built around an e-commerce empire. Antitrust regulators elsewhere have laid bare how Amazon uses that retail monopoly to take control over whole economies, while raising prices and crushing small businesses.

To understand Amazon's market power, first you have to understand "monopsonies" – markets dominated by buyers (monopolies are markets dominated by sellers – Amazon is both a monopolist and a monopsonist). Monopsonies are far more dangerous than monopolies, because they are easier to establish and easier to defend against competitors. Say a single retailer accounts for 30% of your sales: there isn't a business in the world that can survive an overnight 30% drop in sales, so that 30% market share might as well be 100%. Once your order is big enough that canceling it would bankrupt your supplier, you have near-total control over that supplier.

Amazon boasts about this. They call it "the flywheel": Amazon locks in shoppers (by getting them to prepay for a year's worth of shipping in advance, via Prime). The fact that a business can't sell to a large proportion of households if it's not on Amazon gives Amazon near-total power over that business. Amazon uses that power to demand discounts and charge junk fees to the businesses that rely on it. This allows it to lower prices, which brings in more customers, which means that even more businesses have to do business with Amazon to stay afloat:

https://vimeo.com/739486256/00a0a7379a

That's Amazon's version, anyway. In reality, it's a lot scuzzier. Amazon doesn't just demand deep discounts from its suppliers – it demand unsustainable discounts from them. For example, Amazon targeted small publishers with a program called the "Gazelle Project." Jeff Bezos told his negotiators to bring down these publishers "the way a cheetah would pursue a sickly gazelle":

https://archive.nytimes.com/bits.blogs.nytimes.com/2013/10/22/a-new-book-portrays-amazon-as-bully/

The idea was to get a bunch of cheap books for the Kindle to help it achieve critical mass, at the expense of driving these publishers out of business. They were a kind of disposable rocket stage for Amazon.

Deep discounts aren't the only way that Amazon feeds off its suppliers: it also lards junk-fee atop junk-fee. For every pound Amazon makes from its customers, it rakes in 45-51p in fees:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/11/29/aethelred-the-unready/#not-one-penny-for-tribute

Now, just like there's no business that can survive losing 30% of its sales overnight, there's also no business that can afford to hand 45-51% of its gross margin to a retailer. For businesses to survive at all on Amazon, they have to jack their prices up – way up. However, Amazon has an anticompetitive deal called "most favoured nation status" that forces suppliers to sell their goods on Amazon at the same price as they sell them elsewhere (even from their own stores). So when companies raise their prices in order to pay ransom to Amazon, they have to raise their prices everywhere. Far from being a force for low prices, Amazon makes prices go up everywhere, from the big Tesco's to the corner shop:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/25/greedflation/#commissar-bezos

Amazon makes so much money off of this scam that it doesn't have to pay anything to ship its own goods – the profits from overcharging merchants for "fulfillment by Amazon" pay for all the shipping, on everything Amazon sells:

https://cdn.ilsr.org/wp-content/uploads/2023/03/AmazonMonopolyTollbooth-2023.pdf

Amazon competes with its own sellers, but unlike those sellers, it doesn't have to pay a 45-51% rake – and it can make its competitor-customers cover the full cost of its own shipping! On top of that, Amazon maintains the pretense that its headquarters are in Luxembourg, the tax- and crime-haven, and pays a fraction of the taxes that British businesses pay to HMRC (and that's not counting the 45-51% tax they pay to Jeff Bezos's monoposony).

That's not the only way that Amazon unfairly competes with British businesses, though: Amazon uses its position as a middleman between buyers and sellers to identify the most successful products sold by its own customers. Then it copies those products and sells them below the original inventor's costs (because it gets free shipping, pays no tax, and doesn't have to pay its own junk fees), and drives those businesses into the ground. Even Jeff "Project Gazelle" Bezos seems to understand that this is a bad look, which is why he perjured himself to the American Congress when he was questioned under oath about it:

https://www.bbc.com/news/business-58961836

Amazon then places its knockoff products above the original goods on its search results page. Amazon makes $38b selling off placement on these search pages, and the top results for an Amazon search aren't the best matches for your query – they're the ones that pay the most. On average, Amazon's top result for a search is 29% more expensive than the best match on the site. On average, the top row of results is 25% more expensive than the best match on the site. On average, Amazon buries the best result for your search 17 places down the results page:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/11/03/subprime-attention-rent-crisis/#euthanize-rentiers

Amazon, in other words, acts like the business regulator for the economies it dominates. It decides what can be sold, and at what prices. It decides whose products come up when you search, and thus which businesses deserve to live and which ones deserve to die. An economy dominated by Amazon isn't a market economy – it's a planned economy, run by Party Secretary Bezos for the benefit of Amazon's shareholders.

Now, there is a role for a business regulator, because some businesses really don't deserve to live (because they sell harmful products, engage in deceptive practices, etc). The UK has a regulator that's in charge of this stuff: the Competition and Markets Authority, which is now going to be run by Jeff Bezos's hand-picked UK Amazon boss. That means that Amazon is now both the official and the unofficial central planner of the UK economy, with a free hand to raise prices, lower quality, and destroy British businesses, while hiding its profits in Luxemourg and starving the exchequer of taxes.

The "first buddy" role that Keir Starmer just handed over to Jeff Bezos is, in every way, more generous than the first buddy deal Trump gave Elon Musk.

Starmer's government claims they're doing this for "growth" but Amazon isn't a force for growth, it's force for extraction. It is a notorious underpayer of its labour force, a notorious tax-cheat, and a world-beating destroyer of local economies, local jobs, and local tax bases. Contrary to Amazon's own self-mythologizing, it doesn't deliver lower prices – it raises prices throughout the economy. It doesn't improve quality – this is a company whose algorithmic recommendation system failed to recognize that an "energy drink" was actually its own drivers' bottled piss, which it then promoted until it was the best-selling energy drink on the platform:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/20/release-energy/#the-bitterest-lemon

There's a reason that the UK, the EU, Japan and South Korea found it so easy to collaborate on antitrust cases against American companies: these are all countries whose competition law was rewritten by American technocrats during the Marshall Plan, modeled on the US's own laws. The bedrock of US competition law is 1890's Sherman Act, whose author, Senator John Sherman, declared that:

If we will not endure a King as a political power we should not endure a King over the production, transportation, and sale of the necessaries of life. If we would not submit to an emperor we should not submit to an autocrat of trade with power to prevent competition and to fix the price of any commodity.

https://pluralistic.net/2022/02/20/we-should-not-endure-a-king/

Jeff Bezos is the autocrat of trade that John Sherman warned us about, 135 years ago. And Keir Starmer just abdicated in his favour.

Check out my Kickstarter to pre-order copies of my next novel, Picks and Shovels!

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2025/01/22/autocrats-of-trade/#dingo-babysitter

Image: UK Parliament/Maria Unger (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Keir_Starmer_2024.jpg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en

--

Steve Jurvetson (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Jeff_Bezos%27_iconic_laugh.jpg

CC BY 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/deed.en

[iantoscoffee]

ianto was one of the few torchwood one employees who survived the fall of canary wharf and witnessed her girlfriend dying; he held her in his arms: she kept breathing, her heart kept beating but the light in her eyes turned into a black hole, a void that consumed her humanity and left her body soulless. ianto knew that he had lost her nevertheless he let love and hope blind him, he had been blindfolded by the delusion that somehow he would get her back but he did not, instead he got his blindfold taken off the moment his once-so-loved-girlfriend spilled innocent blood.

he felt lonely, empty and without a purpose. all he had done was to get her back but in the end he let a heartless and ruthless murderer on the loose and so he blamed himself for the deaths on those unlucky who fell victims to her, no, to it. he blamed himself for being utterly delusional, or hopeful?

he had nothing left but an aching heart and guilt weighting on his shoulders that he tried to get rid of by putting an end to his life, a miserable and worthless life. the pain was tearing him apart but not enough to push him to do it, was it fear? was he a coward? what was certain though was his fall: he was falling and no one seemed to care or even notice.

no one except jack of course. ianto tried his hardest despite being at his worst: « i am broken » he let it out, for the first time he let the pain leave his body for a spilt second, it came back with his next breath.

the pain was unbearable, his thoughts impossible to control, he needed something, he needed to feel something, anything. he needed jack, because only jack could fog ianto’ s mind and take ianto somewhere far away from all the loneliness and guilt somewhere where jack would give ianto everything he needed: excitement, desire, lust, warmth, love. — a gate-away from the painful past, the sickening present and unknown future.

[abbygrabska]

Love Talks

It’s quiet in the Tardis, the Doctor is tinkering away within the console room while I read in my room.

There’s a knock on my door.

“Come in.” I call.

The door opens and Martha is there, “Hey, you busy?” I shake my head, sitting up on the bed, “What’s up?” She glances out before coming in and shutting the door.

“I wanted to talk about something.” I nod, patting the bed, “About what?” “The Doctor.” She sits.

I nod, a little confused.

“How long have you two been together?” “Traveling together or together together?” I clarify.

“Both.” I shut my book, setting it on my nightstand, “Well, I started traveling with him in March of 2005, when he blew up my job. We traveled for two years straight together before the Battle of Canary Wharf. Then I took a break for a bit and ended up in that hospital, and well you know the rest of that.”

“What do you mean blew up your job?” She furrows her brow.

“Long story, aliens were trying to take over the planet via mannequins. Anyway, why do you ask?”

She fidgets with her fingers, “No reason.” “Martha.” “Okay, so I may like him, but it’s not like he’ll notice, he’s so obsessed with you.” She admits.

I look at her, “He’s not obsessed with me.”

She gives me an exasperated look, “Please, even Shakespeare could see how in love you two are. ‘You look at this man like he hung the moon and stars in the sky.’ That’s what he said. And then, when we were in the bedroom at the inn, his immediate reaction to the bed being small was to have you lay on top of him so we’d all fit. Who’d do that?” I think for a second, “Yeah, that is weird.” “And after the hospital when he was showing me the Tardis and you got mad at him for saying it was just him. He said: ‘Oh, you know you’re more than just a companion to me.’ And then he kissed your palm all intimately. I thought you two were gonna start doing it right then and there.” She laughs. I realize something, “Hang on, you’ve been flirting with me, you seemed quite content to let your family think we were dating.” I cross my arms. She flushes, “Oh, right. Yeah, forgot about that. You were technically right when you said you were more my type. At least you’re my type for women.”

I grin, “Well if the Doctor ever kicks me out, you know who I’m calling.” I wink.

[neutron-stars-collision]

Deadlines & Commitments

Neil x F!Reader

Chapter 9 - Southwark Underground Station

Masterlist; Chapter 8 Summary: Neil finally shows you what it is that does for a living. The answer is not something you are prepared for in the slightest. Warnings: Swearing, explicit language and a tiny teeny dose of angst because it's me. Author's Notes: Considering this one took just a little over a month to write, I think I should be proud. Especially if we consider the amount of pain that first sequence caused me to write. Let's reiterate - I hate descriptions. With passion. So I hope it's somewhat decent and is a not a terrible homage to good ol' Chris Nolan who made all this happen in the first place. This one is a bit unconventional, partially because Neil takes over the floor from the very first line, but also because it's the only point at which I'm dealing with the canon material. Yes, this is a reassurance to y'all ✨ This time, there'll be no Stalsk-12. Instead, there'll be human idiocy and feelings, terrifying as they can be. Thank you for reading and let me know what you think? 💕 Enjoy! Taglist: @hollandorks, @kristevstewart, @stargirl25 (let me know if you want to be added)

When TP not only agreed to Neil to telling Cupid about Tenet and inversion but also proposed he can make use of the headquarters for this purpose, he instantly decided that his friends’ idea was miles better than his half-devised plan, wherein the key equipment involved a piece of paper and a pen.

Neil knew from experience that practical demonstration always did the trick where words could hardly be enough, especially for a complete novice. And the last thing he wanted was to traumatise her so hard she would disappear from his life without further ado. No, that would not do.

So, with the green light from the boss himself, he set out to prepare everything for the event. After settling that Saturday morning was a relatively quiet time in the building with ample time for recovery on the following day, Neil texted Cupid with an invitation. Her enthusiastic reply sweetened the pains of facing Ives and Wheeler with their permanent smug grins and knowing looks. Rueing the fact that he needed their help with the plan, Neil convinced the pair to join him on Saturday and laid out the schemes. Simple as they were:

Lead her into the HQ.

Convince her he had not lost his mind as he introduced the concept of inversion.

If, by some miracle, she is still there, show her what it means through Ives and Wheeler doing a demo.

Answer multiple questions.

(Hopefully still have a friend).

Simple, right?

Nearly trembling from anxiety, Neil avoided coffee as he got ready and made his way to Canary Wharf an hour early. Having ensured his support was present and ready for whatever awaited, Neil made his way back to the station with ten minutes to spare.

Observing ducks from the docks could only take so much time after all.

Unsurprisingly, she was not late. At 9:00 AM sharp, Cupid ascended the stairs, her gaze scanning the people with the vigilance Neil was familiar with from every Wednesday morning aboard the Jubilee line. Her eyes would dart from face to face until she would locate him, often without Neil noticing he was observed. He had a feeling that was not something he should ever share with TP. The lack of awareness was glaring for someone who was supposed to be a part of an intelligence task force. Intelligence is the keyword.

This morning, however, he had the upper hand. His gaze swept over her before she had located him. An affectionate smile was a reflex, strengthened by the fact that this was the first time he had seen her since Thursday nightÔ. Another event which had earned the trademarked status in his head. Annoyingly so because, again, there was nothing special about it. Except for maybe another evening of memorable sex and unforgettable sensations. Yeah, just that.

When her eyes had finally found him, Neil was more than grateful. He pushed past the unhelpful recollections and stepped forward from his post by the wall, meeting her halfway. Before he could let himself overthink, Neil grabbed her hand and pulled her forward, gathering her in an embrace he suddenly needed. It only took her five seconds to reciprocate the hug, her arms wound tightly around his waist, slipping underneath the unzipped leather jacket. If he suppressed a shudder at the sensation, it was no one’s business but his own. As was the sigh Neil released into her hair, allowing himself to relax just a fraction.

Another beat had passed before Cupid let go of his, her hands sliding down his arms to take his hands into hers and squeeze them once. An impish smile on her face felt too much like home for Neil’s liking.

“Hello,” entangling her fingers with his, Cupid scanned his face, her eyes flitting between his, undoubtedly reading every thought he had ever had as if he were nothing but an open book. Neil supposed that, for her, he was one. For better or for worse, “Should I be worried that you look this nervous?” the question was asked with careful consideration, her piercing gaze still trained on his.

Yet Neil knew what it was that she was asking. Can I trust you? It was the one question he did not need to debate.

“No, not at all” he squeezed her hands back, offering a reassuring smile to make up for his internal turmoil.

Because this was the one thing Neil was sure of. Nothing would happen to her. Not on his watch. He knew Cupid understood, for she nodded and shot him a cheeky smile, clearly meaning to dissipate the remains of his uncertainty.

“Hmm. Very encouraging, Neil” the humour in her voice was enough to raise his spirits, always embarrassingly sensitive to everything she said or did. Slowly, she let go of one of his hands and started leading him out of the station entrance despite not knowing the direction. It was a clear signal where he was concerned – get over yourself, “I haven’t prepped my will, just so you know,” the quip was made with a familiar glimmer in her eyes, easily drawing out a laugh from Neil.

Too easily, perhaps. But who was he to judge? A light shake of the head had to do before Neil started leading her towards their destination, painfully aware of her curious looks. Still, somehow, he knew she would not ask questions; eager to understand but also conscious of his mind state. Aware of the fact that this would not be easy, even if she had no idea why. Or where they were going.

“That won’t be necessary” a glance sideways told Neil that Cupid was observing him with unwavering curiosity, a million questions multiplying in her mind.

“Very well” accepting his feeble attempt at reassurance, she added with confidence, “I trust you,”

The statement was strengthened by the look in her eyes and the firm hold over his hand. It was highlighted by the very fact that she did not question where they were heading or what he was about to reveal. She just followed without a protest. The weight of her trust settled comfortably on Neil’s shoulders, inspiring courage where before he would stutter. Suddenly, he needed to express this heady feeling in any way possible.

“And I treat that very seriously” he waited for her to meet his gaze before shooting an honest smile, reserved only for her. She mirrored the expression, an unexpected softness of affection making her eyes shine with something Neil did not understand well enough to name. Something hopeful “Come on, Cupid. Let’s go pray, shall we?” her answering laughter warranted a perfect response to cut short the worries.

At least for the present moment.

The light mood, filled with nonsensical conversations and multiplying reasons why it was probably a terrible idea to let her get that close, lasted as far as the first security checkpoint by the outer gates. When they approached the steel fencing, Neil could feel her tense up. The chatter ceased, replaced with silent consternation, millions of unasked questions visible in her wary gaze. Neil could only offer her a reassuring smile as he led her through the security check, signing his name under multiple white pages that outlined the severe consequences should things go awry. He could only hope they would be entirely unnecessary. Please.

Her silence lasted as far as the HQ lobby, which Neil strode into with all the confidence of someone who knew what he was doing. (He did not know what he was doing). Cupid stepped inside the high-ceilinged space and stopped, pulling him back instantly. One glance at her confused face told him there would be no more running away from that first dose of preliminary questions.

Blessing the quiet Saturday morning, Neil gently tugged at her hand to lead her over to the armchairs by the coffee table on the side and waited for her to sit down before he motioned for Cupid to speak:

“So, you are James Bond, huh?” the first question was not what Neil expected, yet it made all the sense in the world.

Her wide gaze roamed over the space, occasionally darting to his face with a palpable nervousness. She looked adorable in her skittishness, and Neil did not know what to do with this fact. He counted it a win that she was still present, waiting for the information.

“Not- Not quite” a crooked smile made it home on his face as Neil felt his hands twitch in his lap.

It felt strange not to hold her hand as he was about to share the groundbreaking knowledge which probably would change their relationship. But she needed the space. He could see her process every little piece of information with that thoughtful look in her eyes. The best he could offer was patience and answers.

“But you’re definitely not a priest” once her gaze wandered back to him, Cupid gave him another cursory glance and perfected it with a sardonic smile, “This doesn’t look like a church,” no matter how hard he looked, Neil could not find hints of distrust or anger in her eyes.

Instead, all he could see was curiosity, burning bright and strong. That he could work with.

“It’s not. Welcome to Tenet, Cupid” pointlessly opening his arms in an attempt at a grand gesture, Neil let his hands drop to his sides pathetically as he launched into a well-rehearsed speech, “We’re an independent intelligence agency. Kind of like MI5. But we’re more… specialised” with the easiest part out of the way, he paused and took a deep breath to organise his thoughts to provide a reply she would understand.

But before Neil could open his mouth to continue, she interrupted with a half-choked groan and covered her face with her hands with a curse ready on her tongue:

“Jesus… how the fuck-” he stared as she seemed to process it, her chest heaving with rapid breaths, just short of something resembling a panic attack. Leaning forward in his seat as if trying to get closer to her, Neil pondered reaching out, checking whether she was alright. Before he could decide, Cupid let out another deep sigh and raised her head, meeting his worried gaze with a shaky smile, “Okay, don’t mind me. Go on” the hysterical edge in her voice made his lips twitch in a bemused smile, an expression Neil soon wiped clean off his face.

It was no time to make fun of her. Surely. Instead, he took a deep breath, ever so grateful for the lack of company in their vicinity, and continued with the well-rehearsed explanation:

“We’re specialised in something called the inversion and the effects that has on our world. We’re basically protecting all of you innocent citizens from the inverted technology, warfare and the like. Only, the main thing is that most of these things, the conflicts we observe, haven’t happened yet from our point in time” as soon as the most significant part of his summary dropped, Neil could see her eyes widen.

As if on cue Cupid’s head snapped up to meet his gaze, evidently looking for any signs that he was joking. That she understood it incorrectly. Despite the sudden desire to shoot her a smile in reassurance, Neil maintained a serious facial expression, hoping that would push the point forward. It was not a joke, unfortunately. As much as he sometimes wished it was. Especially when dodging inverted bullets, and trying to understand what was coming in the upcoming years. What the Algorithm meant for the world. What had he missed in all of it?

“Time travel?” her unusually high tone immediately brought Neil back into the present. Before he could open his mouth to respond, Cupid launched across the space between the armchairs to grasp at his forearm, wrinkling the shirt with an iron-like grip as she barked out a question in his face, “Are you fucking kidding me?” plea in her eyes suggested what it was that she wanted to hear.

But it was not something he could give her. Gently, he covered her hand on his forearm with his palm and squeezed it until she relaxed the hold and allowed him to entangle their fingers together. It was much better that way.

“Wouldn’t dare, darling” allowing a soft smile to appear on his face, Neil tightened the hold over her hand before continuing. It was easier to get it all out of the way first, like ripping off the metaphorical band-aid, “The temporal nature of what we’re dealing with here means weapons and ammunition that have been manufactured in the future are streaming back at us. I’ll show you what I mean in the lab” he could see that utter lack of comprehension on her beautiful face.

But there was no judgement. Neil was prepared for that. The demonstration was prepped and ready to go as soon as he led them to the lab and the controlled environment inside. It was only fair that she was allowed to understand what he unveiled. Even if, currently, Cupid looked completely befuddled, a frown etched between her brows, mild panic in her eyes. The tight hold over his hand just short of crushing his bones. But that was alright. Neil could deal with that.

“Okay. I mean, not okay, but… yeah” as if waking from a daze, she nodded, a bewildered laugh slipping through her parted lips. Her gaze wandered over the space again, briefly glancing at the exit before she relaxed a fraction. Although Neil was not partial to her thoughts, he could tell a crucial internal conversation just took place within the pause. A conversation that determined she was staying to listen. When her eyes settled back on him, Neil suddenly felt breathless, “And what is it that you do? Because I doubt that you’re a nobody considering the level of security you have here” arching her eyebrow, Cupid glanced at the ID card attached to his lanyard.

Despite himself, Neil grinned. He already knew he would miss her attempts at guessing his profession during every Wednesday morning rendezvous. He only hoped the ‘priesthood’ banter was not going anywhere. Now, that would be a loss. 

“I’m one of the top agents, but my field is mainly in Physics” the strange uncertainty washed over him as soon as the words were out of his mouth.

That was another layer peeled back for her perusal. Another truth at her disposal. Another mystery gone and buried just to let her know all of him. Another thing he did not anticipate those months previously when he picked up her belongings from the carriage floor. For someone whose life’s work revolved around the future, he did not see her coming. Whether that was something worth boasting about was yet to be determined.

“Great, I’ve been shagging a nerd” Cupid’s groan acted like an alarm, blaring through the nonsense in his brain. Mostly because the indignation in her voice sounded almost like an endearment. Like a badge of honour. At least, Neil was sure about to treat it as one, “That’s just fantastic,” she rolled her eyes, briefly offering a peek at Cupid he knew and liked.

The unshakeable one, unbothered by anything in her path. The thought immediately brought a smile to his face despite an attempt at a stern glare directed her way:

“Very funny” squeezing her hand, Neil stood up from the armchair and pulled her up alongside him. It was time, “Are you ready to see an inverted bullet?” a cheeky smile seemed to be all she needed, for she begrudgingly squeezed back and sighed with pretend weariness.

“No,” grinning widely, Cupid stepped away from the chairs and the coffee table and looked at him pointedly, sending a signal Neil could not miss.

“Let’s go” mirroring her manic smile he led her towards one of the corridors at the far end of the lobby.

Cupid stayed silent as they entered the elevator and went to the second floor. Every now and then, Neil could feel her eyes staring and analysing, undoubtedly trying to understand how the fuck did she end up here with him on a Saturday morning. He could only hope that at the end of the visit, she had found at least some reasons to maintain their relationship. That this would not be the ultimate breaking point.

Only when he has opened the laboratory with the security code and a tap of the ID card against the reader, Cupid opened her mouth to let out a sound that can only be interpreted as an awed sigh. Whatever was to follow got lost between her head and her tongue, for his sidekicks took that exact moment to let their presence be known. In a truly typical fashion.

“Finally. I thought you two detoured to shag in the bathroom” Ives was heard much earlier than he was seen as the man strolled towards the lab entrance with a trademark smirk gracing his face.

“Ives, I swear-” Neil got as far as tightening his fists and taking one (hopefully menacing) step towards his ‘friend’ before Cupid interrupted the incoming promise of violent death and closed the gap with an unnatural pep in her step.

“Oh, hello. I didn’t expect you two here” from a bystander’s perspective, there was no flaw in her smile or a fake note in her voice as she greeted Ives and Wheeler with a wide grin.

But Neil knew better now. He could see the shaken foundations underneath the smile, the panic flashing in her eyes, quickly disguised by another chuckle. It was more than mildly concerning. To be frank.

“Neil called us in for support” Wheeler (God bless her soul) stepped forward, answering the real question.

She glanced at him, clearly checking for the true status of the situation. Neil could only offer her a shrug, allowing his gaze to show the extent of worries crowding his mind. They had to proceed carefully. That much was clear.

“I’m grateful. My brain is already fucked” a heavy sigh from Cupid interrupted his thoughts as she ventured further into the room, her eyes coursing over the equipment with frightful caution, “But then I suppose this is only fair since I’ve just learnt that time travel is real” approaching the glass separating the workspace from the dangers of the shooting range, and the cement slab in place of a shooting target, she threw a pointed look at him.

It was as much a plea for help as a call for answers - any clarity he could offer.

“Not quite” shooting her a reassuring smile, Neil cracked a grin as he joined her by the glass partition and chanced a joke to relieve the tension, “Don’t expect the Tardis here” it felt like a victory when Cupid met his gaze and allowed her lips to twist into a wry smile.

For a beat, as always, he found it impossible to look away, drawn to her in this indescribable way that never failed to pick up his heart rate or make him question the self-preservation instincts all homo sapiens were supposed to have.

Except for Neil, apparently.

“Or a DeLorean,” Ives’s comment burst through the fragile bubble, forcing Neil to step away, instantly urging his mind to get back in the game.

Instead of whatever this was.

“That’s a shame. I was getting excited,” feigning disappointment in the slump of her shoulders and a sigh, Cupid leaned her back against the partition and looked back at Neil.

Acutely aware of the company, Neil steeled his spine and took a deep breath. It was time for the show. Faking confidence, he took out the key for one of the cabinets from his pocket and unlocked the storage, grabbing two sets of protective gloves and safety glasses. Setting them down on the lab counter, he met Cupid’s wary gaze with an easy smile:

“Come here. This is the important part” motioning for her to approach the counter, he pulled on the gloves and glasses and handed the equipment to her, patiently waiting until she was ready to open yet another case and grab two .243 WIN bullets. Placing them on the counter, he met Cupid’s wide gaze and explained “One of these bullets has been manufactured in the future and then inverted and streamed back at us” that was the easiest part, yet Neil was not surprised to see her trepidation deepen as she peered at the bullets, trying to see a difference between them.

The trick was that there was none.

“But they look the same?” her brows furrowed as she looked up, her face suggesting that Neil was an idiot for even trying to convince her the reality was different.

Yet again, he was struck with an inconvenient thought of how ridiculously adorable she was. And how that was not something he should have been thinking in the first place. Ever probably.

“Well, yes. Except for-” ignoring the idiocy of his heart, Neil gave the rounds a quick check.

He made sure they varied as intended and adjusted the gloves. Feeling the intensity of her gaze following his every move, he reached out towards the inverted bullet and grasped the round as it flew up into his hand, mimicking the move of a dropped light object. He did not have the time to turn his head towards Cupid before her exclamation pierced the silence:  

“Oh, fuck” during her stunned pause, Neil picked up the other bullet to ensure she noticed a difference and put them back down before turning to address her panicked glare and a simple question, “How?”

But before he could open his mouth to reply, Ives reminded him of his presence with the usual cheekiness:

“Inversion, love,” and if Neil frowned upon his friend’s typical term of endearment, then it was no one’s business but his own.

If even that.

Instead, he motioned for Cupid to have her go at handling the inverted round, wordlessly showing how to best pick it up from the surface. The tension radiated from her body as she approached the bullets and followed his instructions flawlessly. His eyes instantly searched hers, hoping to find traces of fascination there. But the only thing he could see was unease, highlighted by the shaking voice as she muttered under her breath:

“Whatever the fuck that means” Neil watched as she tested the bullet and then quickly deposited it back into his waiting palm as if yearning to be rid of it instantly.

The worry he had managed to push to the back of his mind was slowly creeping to the front again. This time harder to ignore.

“Are you okay?” unable to shake it off, Neil got rid of the rounds and gloves and approached her slowly, fully aware of the unusual softness of his tone and the two pairs of eyes trained on them.

For a split second, he considered asking Ives and Wheeler to leave so he could manage this alone, but even Neil could not deny their use in situations that needed tension de-escalation. And this moment felt much too charged for his liking.

“I don’t know” sighing shakily, Cupid tugged at her pair of gloves to take them off and met his gaze with uncertainty, “This is completely not what I expected. Who had even invented that?” when it came to questions he expected, that was not one of them.

Count on the only person ever to catch him unaware every goddamn day. Count on Neil liking her way too much, too.

Before he could collect the facts in his mind into something comprehensible, not endangering her life, and at least a bit logical, Ives stepped forward. His summary effortlessly encapsulated within a one-worded response:

“Russians,” it was delivered with a deadpan tone and expressionless face, undoubtedly showing Cupid that it was true.

In this instance, Neil was grateful for having been spared. For someone else offering the answers in a way he never would have thought of.

“Oh,” the startled pause following a gasp of realisation showed that it was effective. For a second, she did not seem panicked anymore, but instead, Cupid appeared pensive. Her brows furrowed further as if trying to make sense of that revelation before she offered a sober reflection, “That- that makes sense, actually” raising her head to look at all three of them, she nodded curtly, intending to show that there was one thing about it all that she could understand.

Neil was grateful for even that tiny bit of reassurance. But where normal people would abandon the subject and perhaps follow it with something more productive, like the demo they still needed to give her, Ives had other ideas.

“Doesn’t it?” mirroring her incredulity, the man grinned, his jovial tone almost out of place, “Bloody Russians,”

The best Neil could do was hope Cupid had no Russian roots in her ancestry. The second-best thing he could do was speak up:

“Ives, this is neither the time nor the place for anti-Russian sympathies” he could hear the tiredness in his voice, and for once, he did not try to mask it.

But, as expected, remorse was nowhere to be found on his friend’s face as the man shrugged and offered another annoying grin.

“Eh, I’d say any time and place is good for that” usually, Neil would very much agree.

But nothing about this Saturday morning was normal. And he was aware of the confusion in Cupid’s gaze and the tension radiating from her body as if she was poised to run at the next opportune moment. Neil did not even want to consider that she could disappear from his life for good.

“Well, yes, but-” for the umpteenth time, his attempt to offer some sensible rebuttal was cut short.

At least this time, it was another voice of reason. Wheeler approached the group with her stoic expression broken only by an arched eyebrow:

“Shall we give our lovely ballerina a demo?” the pointed glare at Ives increased Neil’s gratitude.

It was high time to tick off the final part of the checklist today. It seemed like Cupid was slowly reaching her limit, and the last thing he wanted was to cross that line.

Neil waited for her nod, accepting this next phase of introduction, before he motioned towards Ives and Wheeler for them to lead the way to the turnstile. With the short walk down a back staircase and a corridor, he did not have the time to check in properly. All he could do was steal a glance at her, which only highlighted what he already knew. Cupid was tense, confused and uncertain. So different from her usual confident self, striding through life with the pretence of someone in control. It was startling to notice. It did nothing to stifle the anxiety.

Once they entered the room with the turnstile, her face somehow more astonishing, bathed in the red light and backlit with blue from the other side, separated by a thick glass, Cupid gasped. Her eyes widened as she took in the room, her gaze pausing once it landed on the turnstile itself, and it did not budge until he explained the basics about the machine. Even then, though, she remained frozen in her spot close to the exit. Another nod to proceed was all Neil needed to proceed with the explanation.

It was simple, really. Ives and Wheeler were to enter the turnstile, equipped with oxygen masks, and they were to give her a demonstration of how things looked like when someone was inverted. A walk in the park for the duo. A brief conversation and show of the physics of the other side and back out again. Except Neil did not take into consideration just how jarring the sight was. How shocking it would be to see “duplicates” of the people standing next to her appear in the adjacent room, looking and behaving strangely. How the warbled speech could rattle the mind of someone not used to this. How this could be too much for her.

A shaky gasp was all the warning Neil received before Cupid breathed out one simple sentence:

“I’m sorry, I have to leave” her terrified face was the last thing he saw before she turned on her heel and ran out of the room.

Fuck. Neil let out an impressive string of curses before he banged his head into the glass separating the room and closed his eyes. Yeah, that went splendidly.

Christ.

***

The late autumn sun shone into your eyes as you reclined on the wooden bench and sighed. Only within the past half hour, your heart rate had begun to slow down, and most of it you had spent getting lost on suspicious paths in the fields, wondering whether Neil’s message was a ruse to get you killed for having seen too much. You still considered that option. But that other traitorous part of your brain, once it has calmed down, could not possibly ignore his pleading message to meet. So, there you were – scared, tired, staring at the goats. And not in the Coen brothers’ meaning of the term.

For better or for worse.

Admittedly, the charity farm Neil has led you to was a peaceful, unexpected spot that soothed your brain with each subsequent breath. With the Canary Wharf skyscrapers visible in the distance and a couple of square kilometres of grass and trees, the place seemed like a perfect oasis for the farm animals lucky enough to end up there. In the background, you could just about make out less-favoured sounds of children, undoubtedly ecstatic at the prospect of spending the early Saturday afternoon feeding sheep.

You were less ecstatic at the prospect of hearing their screams.

“Cupid-” the unmistakable sound of your nickname, breathed out in relief somewhere behind your back, made you turn on the bench to see him approach.

Still so damn beautiful, even breathless and in a state of mild panic. Neil stopped a few paces away, catching his breath and watching you cautiously, almost as if worried you were about to get up and run away from him. Again.

A hot wave of shame coursed through your body as you swallowed hard and turned back towards the animals. Hoping Neil would understand that it was an invitation to come closer.

“Have you come to kill me? Now that I know everything?” an attempt at a joke fell flat as you struggled to keep the tension out of your voice.

Still, it must have worked, for you heard Neil’s approach. His footsteps stopped just a step away from the bench before you raised your head again and met his gaze with an uncertain smile.

“Honestly, I’d more be likely to kill myself,” chuckling mirthlessly, Neil shook his head slightly and measured you with an affectionate look that felt almost out of place, “I’m so happy you’re here,” you could tell he meant it.

That only now stood before you again Neil could breathe again. He could let go of the tension that seemed to permeate his soul by the turnstile. And for a good reason.

Anticipating another wave of guilt, you patted the free seat on the bench and shot him a timid smile as soon as Neil took the spot.

“I considered ignoring that text, but… This place is quite charming” it was not the real answer.

It did not disclose how you had spent at least an hour on a bench at the Canary Wharf station watching Jubilee line trains stop and pass, unable to get on and go home. You stared at his text the moment it came, contemplating ignoring it and cutting short this strange thing between you before it tangled any further. But you also knew that ignoring him was never an option. Not really.

None of that needed to be said. Neil understood what that shift in the conversation meant and what you needed him to do.

“I found it a couple of months ago when I went on a walk to clear my head. I thought that it’s a good spot to talk” his cursory look around the surroundings ended with another glance at you, a meaningful pause offering a space for you to decide the next step, “If you’d want to,”

Somehow, you did not have to ask Neil to know what it was that he wanted. It was written in a hopeful tone, and the sparks in his eyes inviting you to lean back into it. A tempting proposition you could not resist for much longer.

Letting out a bracing sigh, you stood up from the bench and extended your hand to pull him up. Upon Neil’s questioning gaze, you inclined your head at the animals in the pen and grinned:

“Sure, but first, let’s get some food for those darlings,” without waiting for Neil to catch up, you bravely started in the direction of wailing children and sheep bleating.

You knew he was following your shadow.

***

Shaking the bag with the feed to check how much you had left, your gaze scoured the horizon to find Neil among the children vying for the sheep’s attention. That was not a difficult feat, considering the height disparity. Still, his enthusiasm made him a worthy rival. Once you spotted him, you waded through the kids and tapped his shoulder, wordlessly asking him to join you aside. After a joyful half hour on the farm, you finally felt like talking.

You plopped down on another bench connected to a wooden picnic table, and waited for Neil to join you on the other side before meeting his gaze and letting the apology flow like it should. As silently practised in your head during that hour at the station.

“I’m sorry I bolted like that. It all caught up with me suddenly, and I couldn’t breathe, and I didn’t understand what I was seeing back there… I genuinely thought you had some boring 9 to 5 job, not… this” your hands flailed aimlessly atop the table as you stared at Neil, yet again feeling almost too perceived.

Too understood.

There was not an ounce of frustration in Neil’s eyes as he leant forward, bracing his elbows on the table and turning the contrite smile for you to do with as you please:

“I’m only blaming myself for dropping this on you without a warning. None of this is your fault” you started shaking your head vehemently, trying to interject an undeniable fact that this was your fault. Undoubtedly. Yet it seemed that was not something he wanted to hear, “But believe me when I say that I waited this long to tell you the truth only because of how unusual this is” the earnestness in his eyes added weight to the statement, rendering you unable to do anything but believe him “Not out of the lack of trust” his hand flexed on the table, as if unsure whether he still had the right to reach out to you.

That was an issue you did not mind solving. You extended your hand to cover his and give Neil a gentle squeeze. The simple gesture strengthening the believability of your assurance.

“I know” raising your head to meet the blue of his eyes, you added, “I hope it goes without saying that I’m not going to share anything I’ve learnt today,” resisting the urge to do something idiotic like crossing your heart, you endured the eye contact and hoped it would be enough.

Because, truly, what would you even share? Who the fuck would believe you? There was no point in entertaining the idea, let alone acting upon it.

Yet, still, you were grateful that he told you. Neil’s enigma was no longer that impermeable. It added another layer to the person sitting before you now. A little more context to the scars littering his body and to the wit in his eyes. A little more understanding of who he was.

“I hope so. Then I would have to kill you” returning your earlier joke, the corner of his mouth twisted in a smirk.

It also marked the perfect opportunity to lighten the conversation, even just by a notch. Taking a beat to appreciate the man sitting in front of you with a selfish look, you allowed your eyes to skim over his body leisurely before mirroring the cheeky smile:

“Spoken like the real James Bond” his easy grin was the invitation you had been looking for, allowing you to let go of the apologies and shifting guilt that would never have a place to settle, “Granted, you’ve got the looks” without thinking about it, you picked up his hand from the table, flipping it to play with his fingers as the effortless complement was received with another bashful smile.

It was true, though.

“And the gun” arching his eyebrow, Neil captured your hand in his, loosely trapping your fingers.

You did not feel like tugging it free. Not yet. Feeling desperate to extend the banter for a little longer, you chanced a suggestive glance down his body and dropped your voice to a sultry tone:

“Oh yeah, you do” twisting your mouth into a smirk, you met Neil’s startled gaze and barely stifled a laugh at the look on his face.

Bewilderment did not quite catch it.

“Not th-” he sputtered, confusion blending into his voice as Neil stared at you with wide eyes and asked, “What sort of gun are you thinking about right now?” it was the sort of reaction you wanted from him.

The thrill you had been seeking for the past few hours, and yet also something you would never admit. Except that, now that you had it, the light of his awed smile shining upon you with just the right amount of disbelief at your existence, you did not know how you had survived so long without it.

“Take a guess” standing up from the bench before you could begin to feel even more things, you tugged at Neil’s hand and signalled that it was time to go.

Somehow, you knew that he would follow.

***

Over an hour later, when all the animals had been fed, and you worried you had caught permanent tinnitus from the proximity to screaming children, you took Neil’s hand in yours and allowed him to lead you back to the Isle of Dogs marina. With the early afternoon sun presenting a golden hue on the horizon, you slowed down your walk and asked a question that had been stewing in your mind since the morning:

“It’s dangerous, isn’t it?” you could not help the nervous tone that permeated your voice.

It could not be shaken off or ignored. It just was.

Much like your general, unspecified feelings towards Neil that were never acknowledged. Or even identified. They, too, just were.

You could feel Neil’s eyes on you as he seemed to think on an answer before replying:

“Yes, quite. I won’t go into details, but getting shot by an inverted bullet is worse than getting shot by a normal round. And there’s much more to this than weapons, but it’s… There’s been a few close calls through the years” the weariness in Neil’s voice did just enough to soften the blow caused by his honest words.

But the impact still hit. Ever since learning about Tenet this morning, you did not try to delude yourself into thinking that what he was doing was safe. Or that no harm could ever come to Neil because of his job. It was another thing to have those exact worries confirmed as not only probable but also inevitable. A shiver coursed through your body as you swallowed past the anxiety building in your gut.

The fear you could already feel crawling to the front of your brain was another reason why getting involved was a bad idea. Hookups were supposed to be just that. Not a friendship, spiced up with amazing sex and afternoon walks hand-in-hand along the Thames. And yet, you were already in too deep. Attached on an unprecedented level. There was nothing else to do but shut away the anxious thoughts and ask another pressing question.

“How long have you been doing this?” almost as if rebelling against your better judgement, your hand flexed in his hold and tightened the grip.

A betrayal of that sort was ridiculously predictable. Frowning at your hand for a split second, you directed your gaze back at the Canary Wharf. The pyramid atop the One Canada Square building reflected the sunlight straight into your eyes, the sharp sting of light hitting your retina and waking you up from the strange haze.

“Not that long. I think John recruited me two and a half years ago. Roughly,” Neil paused, his wistful tone painting the picture the way you hope it would – with facts and figures, “I didn’t think this is what I’d end up doing as I’ve picked up my Cambridge master’s degree in physics” the note of an apology hidden somewhere between the words made you grimace.

You did not like that he could feel somewhat guilty for doing what he did. That he could be looking for excuses instead of owning it like you knew he wanted. It took no genius to understand Neil was simply extraordinary.

But you could not exactly tell him that, at least not without a fight.

“God, you’re a nerd” rolling your eyes to show the extent of annoyance, you shot him a grin.

Yet you knew he could see the depths of affection and admiration in your eyes.

“It’s not like you haven’t noticed before” mirroring your faux exasperation, Neil returned the smile and squeezed your hand.

You have noticed, admittedly. Less admittedly, however, you liked that about him. The nerdiness hidden underneath beauty and wits. A heart so full of feelings, you often wondered how it had not yet burst. Someone you were grateful beyond measure to have met and got to know.

“No, but now I have proof” you did not need to add that you wanted to have even more proof.

You were looking forward to knowing more about him. Especially about that nerdy side.

“So?” as if reading your mind, Neil arched an eyebrow, the challenging gleam in his gaze luring you like the siren song.

It helped to set the stage for your bravery to take the lead. For what you wanted to do next.

“So… Tell me more about Tenet” halting your steps for a second, you pulled Neil to a stop and looked up to see his delighted gaze. The brightness in his eyes was one of the best sights you could think of, “And then buy me dinner” upon seeing his smile widen, you raised your joined hands to your lips and pressed a fleeting kiss on his knuckles to seal the deal “For the trouble” it already sounded like the perfect conclusion to the eventful day.

One that you did not expect when you ran out of the building with tears in your eyes and fear crawling up your throat. Nothing went as you expected it to. Yet you could not find it in yourself to regret what had occurred instead. You couldn’t. Because alongside the anxiety and shock that still ruled your mind and soul, the gratitude was there. And the dawning understanding that Neil trusted you with something this grand. You were important to him in a way that could not be easily dismissed.

You mattered enough. And that, perhaps of all things, was the prime reason you could not regret it. All that you wanted right now was to have more of him. Just for a couple of hours. It was impossible to say if Neil understood all you did not say, but still, he smiled and tightened the hold over your hand to offer an easy agreement.

“It’ll be my honour, sweetheart” his blue eyes searched your face a beat as the affectionate smile made its home on his face.

As always, it was impossible to look away. Impossible to do anything but stare back, hoping that you had the answers he was looking for.

After what felt like ages, Neil ended his scrutiny with a seemingly appraising nod and tugged at your hand to lead the way back to the station. You did not know what happened just then or why it felt monumental.

You only knew that something had changed, and things would never be the same ever again.

[nikethestatue]

Chapter XVI

You Are the One

One time, Elain Marie Paige Archeron had everything she ever wanted. She had love. A love that was pure and clean and genuine. A love that did not ask for anything in return. The kind of love that was true, and kind, and forgiving, and protective. She couldn’t remember a time when she laughed as much as she did in the last three months. She recalled waking up every morning for the past three months and feeling lighter, like there was joy and a promise of good things. Now, in hindsight, she realised that it was because she was in love. But also because she was loved. No one’s ever loved her like that before. No one looked at her in the same way, like she was precious. Like she mattered. Like she was someone’s favourite thing in the world.

Only Elain Archeron did not hold on to that love.

She took it for granted.

She took the man who offered her his devotion and his loyalty and his unconditional, undeniable and passionate love for granted, never thinking that she’d ever lose him.

But she did.

She lost Azriel. 

“Remember, darling, that’s nature…simple biology,”

“Daddy, you aren’t going to be talking about how babies are made?” Elain sniffled, half amused, half horrified.

Her father smiled a sad smile and shook his head no.

“You have to remember that it’s the sperm that chases the egg. It’s the man who pursues the woman. Not the other way around. A man will chase and will not give up until he gets that sperm into the egg.”

“Ew, dad!”

“You are a big girl, my pretty rose. You know what I mean.”

Elain considered his words, and as graphic as they were, they also made sense. He was correct. 

“Love was invented to make nature more palatable,” he continued, “but biology never changed. It’s still about the sperm and the egg. Therefore, let him chase you. And if he doesn’t, then you’ll know the answer. But never chase a man, sweetheart. It’s his nature, his responsibility and his destiny to chase after a woman.”

She sighed and looked out the window.

It's been almost two weeks and Azriel hasn’t sought her out. The sperm hasn’t chased the egg. Azriel hasn’t chased her at all.

At first, it was just…silence.

For four days, it was silent. 

Her texts went unanswered. There were no call backs. She even went old school and sent Azriel an email! And that didn’t get a response either. 

She was ready to go all the way to Canary Wharf and be the weird girlfriend who busts into her boyfriend’s home and starts to demand answers. 

But he finally messaged her with a one word text: ‘training’. That’s all it said. No apology and no explanation. Not an ‘I am sorry for ignoring you’ or ‘I’ve been swamped with the team stuff’. No, she didn’t get anything other than ‘training’.

And so, Elain had changed her mind about trekking to Canary Wharf and waited. Training would eventually be over and he would be back. He'd return to her. Elain wanted to be an understanding girlfriend, who was going to support her man. She realised that he needed to get back into the groove of the game after his injury and get his body back in playing shape. Therefore, when Saturday came about and Arsenal was playing Luton Town, she dutifully turned on the telly and listened to the pre-game broadcast while Piglet raced upstairs and then came back with his red jersey, tossing it to her and urging her to dress him in it. He already knew what he needed to wear when Azriel was playing, and even though he made a mess in his cubby, turning it out and tossing all the other things on the floor, Elain thought that it was too cute how he got so excited and was behaving like a proper little fan. 

They watched the game, with Piglet sitting there, enraptured, and howling happily every time Azriel appeared on the screen. How Piglet recognised him, Elain didn’t know–she once hid under a blanket for 10 minutes, and her pug was wandering around in confusion, looking for her, never thinking to pull the blanket off. But here, he somehow was eagle-eyed and was spotting Azriel among the tiny players on the screen.

While Piglet was innocently happy to watch the game, hopping and rolling around, Elain’s mood was more subdued. She did take a photo of the pug and sent it to Azriel. When the game concluded, and Arsenal had won, she messaged him and said ‘Congratulations! Brilliant game’.

Thanks.

That’s what Eain got in response to her message from Azriel.

Thanks.

Angrily, she waited for more, but nothing else came.

Because if he’d responded, she’d confront him and give him a piece of her mind. What did she do to him?? She was a somewhat reluctant girlfriend, but she had the right to be reluctant. He moved like a freight train, but she was more cautious. Besides, she’s lived through many heartbreaks before and every single man that she’s been with has broken up with her. She never broke up with anyone–all the breakups were initiated by the men. And it looked like the pattern was continuing, unbroken. Azriel was also fed up with her and was breaking up.

That night, after the terse ‘thanks’ Elain closed her bedroom door, so Piglet wouldn’t hear her, and wept.

She wept for herself, for her lost love, for her stupidity.

She cried tears of anger, feeling rage sweep over her, cursing Azriel under her breath, calling him names. She was so angry. Angry at him for making her fall in love with him. Angry at him for making her feel. For having hope. Feelings and hope were things that she long ago placed in a place that she did not access and longed to forget. She hated Azriel Night for making her think that she could be loved, with a passion and devotion that Rhys offered her sister Feyre. She hated him for being even worse than Eris. At least Eris never offered her false hopes–he was what he was and she knew that going in. There would be no sweeping her off her feet by Eris. But Azriel…No, Azriel was gallant and strange. He courted her with ferocious intent and was not shy about showing her, and everyone around them, how much he wanted her. He loved her dog. He cooked for her. He cared for her. He cherished her. He joked, but he never pushed her into an uncomfortable place. She didn’t expect to find him and somehow, he landed on her doorstep. Literally. The old saying ‘it will happen when you least expect it’--well, it happened to her. She didn't expect him to sweep into her life and just overtake her whole existence. Because he did. And she hated him and herself, for allowing him so much power over her. She’d given him everything–her heart, first and foremost, but also access to her home, to her sanctuary and to her family. Even her father had accepted Azriel as an appropriate match for his beloved Elain. Elain was her father’s princess. She was the one he loved the most, and the one who gave him the most worry. He’d been lukewarm on Eris, despite Eris’s title and background. But Azriel–Azriel’d wormed his way into Sir Charles’s heart and Elain’s father came to like Azriel quite a bit.

But he never called. 

At some point, while operating like a zombie day in and day out, Elain couldn’t stand it anymore and swallowed her pride and messaged Gwyn Berdara.

She was mentally exhausted, thinking nonstop about Azriel and why he was acting the way he was acting. Unable to bring herself to reach out to him yet again, and receive yet another awful, one word answer, she opted for contacting Gwyn. She had no feelings about Gwyn either way–she’d only met her twice in person, and Gwyn wasn’t memorable enough for Elain to develop a strong opinion about her. But Gwyn didn’t respond to her either. Elain had sent a nonchalant sort of message of: Good morning! How are you? Just checking in to see how things are going with Azriel Night? I didn’t want to bother him as he is training and playing right now, but I am curious about your progress with him?

The message remained unread.

-

However, Elain Archeron did not need to wait for long to get answers to her questions. They came a day later, courtesy of the Daily Mail.

Another Mystery Woman for the Rackish Lothario?

Azriel Night,  Captain of Arsenal, never one wanting for female company, has been spotted at The Devonshire with a new companion. 

It seems that only a few months had passed since he was photographed on the streets of London carrying another woman in his arms following an attempted robbery. He’d been previously seen with the beautiful partner, now identified as Lady Elain Archeron, on more than one occasion. Hello Magazine even published a holiday spread of the lovely Archeron sisters and their partners in their Christmas edition. London society is still buzzing over the surprise marriage of Lady Feyre Archeron and Lord Rhysand Darling back in December, and over the budding romance between Lady Nesta Archeron, the Duchess of Velaris and Mr. Cassian Night (Azriel Night’s brother). 

By all accounts, the romance between the gorgeous aristocrat and Mr. Azriel Night was going splendidly and he’d been seen leaving her luxurious Russell Square townhouse, and even walking her pug, all through the month of December. However, it seems that their relationship is now on pause.

Mr. Night had been spotted dining at the upstairs restaurant at The Devonshire in the company of another woman. The yet to be named companion and Mr. Night enjoyed Sunday lunch at the Soho hotspot, dining on Roast Rib of Beef, all the trimmings and sticky toffee pudding. 

After so many trials and errors, will this one be the one to capture Azriel Night’s heart forever?

He was at The Devonshire on Sunday–the Sunday when it was Elain’s turn to cook Sunday roast. When everyone had come to her house for lunch. And by everyone, she meant–everyone. Rhys. Feyre. Her father. Nesta. CASSIAN. Cassian Night, who introduced her and Azriel, was at her dinner table, eating roast chicken and buttery peas. But his brother, Elain’s boyfriend, was on a date with someone else. 

A more awkward lunch couldn’t be imagined into existence, even by a talented writer.

Nesta was seething, smoke coming out of her ears. Cassian looked pained and uncomfortable. Rhys didn’t fare much better. 

But it was Piglet who broke everyone’s hearts. He sat by the front door for three hours–waiting for Azriel to arrive. He didn’t move. He didn’t eat. He waited. 

And waited.

And waited.

The whole family was here, and surely his dad would come as well. So he waited. He paced and then he lay on the floor, and he looked at the door, blinking his big brown buggy eyes.

Only Azriel never came.

-

It was a few days later, when Elain on on break between meetings and arranging dates that her phone lit up with a message. She looked at it and her face dropped. 

Gwyneth Berdara

Hi Elain! Things are going well, thank you for asking. How are you?

Elain Archeron

I am well, thanks! Forgive me for bothering you,

Gwyneth Berdara

It’s no bother! I apologise for not responding sooner. I had a presentation to create and it took all my energy and time! 😀

Elain Archeron

I can only imagine. I was just wondering how things are with Mr. Night? 

Gwyneth Berdara

We made the Daily Mail. Can you imagine? The one time we had lunch together. I can’t imagine spending all my life being hounded by journos

Elain Archeron

Oh, have you? I wasn’t aware that you were in the paper!

Gwyneth Berdara

😂 😂 I am suddenly a mini celebrity. Haha. I am only joking. But honestly? Don’t laugh, but we are mostly talking about football and working out. And hand to hand combat.

Elain Archeron

You are interested in hand to hand combat??

Gwyneth Berdara

I’ve been studying. Self-defence first, and then I got interested in other things. He is showing me some sicke moves! 

Elain Archeron

? Okay. I guess thank you for getting back to me. Let me know how it progresses.

Gwyneth Berdara

Will do. Also I didn’t realise the two of you were so close. He talks about you a lot. I know you were his matchmaker too but it’s like you are his GF or something.

Elain Archeron

Well, no worries. I am not. Thanks. Bye.

Elain was even more confused and upset about things after that bizarre exchange. Also, who used the expression ‘sicke moves’?

Professor Gwyn was into hand-to-hand combat? And Azriel was teaching her ‘sicke’ moves? Elain knew that Azriel was a fighter and grew up rough, but…what? 

There was no clarity around what was actually happening between Azriel and Gwyn after all that, and Elain only grew more and more anxious.

-

Another Sunday.

It was Nesta’s turn to cook and host, however, Sir Charles insisted that his daughters come to his house instead. And for that, Elain was grateful.

She was even more grateful to her sisters, who’d arrived without their men. She knew that they were lying when they said that both Rhys and Cassian were ‘busy’ on Sunday, but nevertheless, she was grateful to them. She didn’t think that she could handle another painfully awkward lunch with the handsome brothers who looked entirely too much like Azriel, and with her grieving pug. 

She was seated on the sofa, her legs tucked beneath her, her chin resting on her folded hands, as she looked out the window. It was raining. Rain. Rain. Rain. Endless fucking rain. 

She barely bothered today–her appearance was sallow and unkempt. She tied her hair in a messy bun, wore a beige jumper and a pair of yoga trousers–attire which was entirely inappropriate for Sunday lunch and not something she’d ever dare leave the house in. But she just couldn't bring herself to care. When the butler opened the door, he stepped back, lack of recognition evident on his face, before he quickly gathered himself and said, “Lady Elain, good afternoon. Please come in.”

Her father, and neither of her sisters comment on her appearance and the maudlin way that she moved around the house, with Piglet trailing behind her, his nose to the ground. No one was surprised when she went to her father’s study and curled up on the sofa, like she did when she was little.

“He’s lost weight,” Sir Charles noted, as he stroked Piglet’s back, while the pug lay unmoving in his lap.

“Two kilos,” Elain said, looking out the window. Expensive cars rolled down the street, taxis and stray pedestrians huddled under their umbrellas. Late January was miserable. Even the warmth of the fire in the marble fireplace didn’t make a difference. 

“That’s a lot for a pug,” her father commended. “Is he not eating?”

“He eats, but he doesn’t ask for snacks and mostly he just sits by the door,” Elain answered and wiped the tears that rolled down her cheeks. 

“Elain,” he began saying, but she rose up swiftly and rubbed her eyes vigorously.

“I am okay, daddy,”

“No you aren’t,” he said sadly. “No you aren’t”.

She shrugged, like it didn’t matter. And maybe it didn’t. Nothing much mattered.

“Let’s go eat.”

Just then, a knock on the door informed them that lunch was indeed served.

At least life was predictable. Pleasantly predictable here, with her family. There were no treacherous men and no disloyalty.

Feyre and Nesta were already at the table, their expressions worried, even though they tried really hard to act normal. 

“Hi Piggy, come here little boy,” Feyre tried to summon the pug, but Piglet didn’t even look at her and just went to his bowl, sniffing disinterestedly at the chicken and rice offering. 

Once the wine was poured and the soup was served and the butler left the dining room, Nesta, who’s been clutching at her spoon like she was going to lunge at someone with it, snarled,

“I have to say something,”

“Don’t say anything,” Feyre warned. “Nesta. Don’t.”

“That utter arsehole,” Nesta ignored her youngest sister and clutched at her napkin until her knuckles were white.

Sir Charles winced, knowing that the lunch was about to descend into chaos.

“Girls,” he began with a sigh, but suddenly was interrupted by Elain.

Her voice was monotone and she spoke without inflection, staring straight ahead.

“If I die before Piglet,” she said calmly, while the rest of her family tensed and stared at her with apprehension, “show him my body.”

“Elain,” Feyre gasped. But Elain ignored her and continued,

“Bring him over to my deathbed. Allow him to smell me. He will understand death. He will understand that I was gone and that I would not be coming back. Allow him to mourn me. But do not attempt to spare him the sight of me and my death. He should know that he was not abandoned. He must know that I died, but that I did not leave him. He must understand that unlike others, I did not abandon him. Not like his first family and not like Azriel. He should not be waiting by the door for me to come back. Take him to the funeral and allow him to watch me be lowered into the ground so he understands the finality of it all. He must know that Elain loved him and did not leave him on his own. She was not like Azriel. She never lied to him.” 

-

What Elain had missed the most was the casual intimacy.

As another week passed and January was coming to a close, Elain’s life returned to its natural, if boring routine. 

She worked, taking on more clients–thank god for January and ‘resolutions’ and people wanting to couple up–and that took a lot of her time. She was grateful for the distraction, but the nights and the weekends were tough.

Most evenings, she cried herself to sleep, while remembering all the good things that she’d lived through with Azriel. He wasn’t dead, yet the fissure of emptiness inside her chest that was created by his absence really felt like he had died. There was something unsaid and unfinished about them, which bothered her like a toothache. It was a wound which she kept irritating every time she remembered something about him.

How he was so effortlessly sexual with her, and how his relaxed sensuality allowed her to feel free with her own sexuality for the first time in her life. To Azriel, she was beautiful. Always beautiful. Never awkward or chubby or clumsy or strange.

The way he would habitually slap her bum, every time he passed by her. Or pinch it. Or caress it. Or cup it in his large hand. At first it scandalised her. And then, she grew to love it. She grew to expect it. 

The way he strutted around after a shower in only a towel wrapped around his hips, showing off his incredible body…goodness gracious! That was something to behold! The way she learned all the details of his form, no matter how insignificant–his tattoos, the shape of his shoulders, the thickness of his biceps, how his neck was a touch too long for his body, but how that made him appear more graceful. She knew exactly how many abdominal muscles he packed–more than six, and definitely eight, and she knew the shape of his long strong fingers. His hair curled slightly in the back of her neck. His hazel eyes had more green in them than brown, and were peppered with black specks. He had perfect toes. The V of his hips could only be called vicious, because it was so sharp and pointed right at his…The one thing Elain never got to see. She never saw his member. Felt it, knew that it was worryingly large and thick, but she never saw it.

She supposed that she always thought that they’d have more time. 

She recalled how one time, they were in a restaurant. It was moderately busy and they were seated by the window. It so happened that there was no one at the table in front of them, or by their side. So what did he do? He parted her shirt on her chest, and when she thought that he’d just cop a feel–something he did often and without hesitation–he bared her breast completely and tugged on her nipple, while kissing her lips. She sat there, completely delirious with love and arousal, while he pinched and rolled her nipple in his fingers, while squeezing her bare tit in his palm. Just as the waiter approached, he tucked her back in and acted like nothing happened. 

She missed him.

Sometimes, she screamed into her pillow, a long, tortured scream because she…well, she missed him. There was nothing that could replace him in her life. 

She loved him. Loved him when they were together, and loved him now–perhaps even more than before. 

-

He rang her. 

Once.

It was a day like any other. A blustery wintry afternoon, only 5 pm and already pitch black outside. Though slowly, but surely the days were getting a bit longer. Just a little. It was early February and Elain just changed into her comfy joggers and a sweatshirt having just come back from walking Piglet. He hated being outside, especially when it was cold and drizzling, and thankfully, it was a quick walk and he did his business in record time.

For some reason, it didn’t register with Elain that it was Azriel’s name on the Caller ID. 

She’d become so used to his calls and messages that it seemed normal that he’d be ringing her. 

“Hello,” she said.

He seemed surprised when he said, “Hi Elain”.

Everything stopped. 

The moment she heard that voice, that achingly familiar, smooth, deep voice she felt her hands shake, and her heart beat wildly in her chest.

She threw her phone on the counter as if it burned her and then, with her finger trembling, pressed the ‘speaker’ button.

“Why are you calling me?” she demanded, her voice barely a whisper.

He didn’t answer right away.

“Why?” she asked again, and to her horror her voice was already hoarse and weak, and she sounded strangled. Because there were tears in her eyes and she was hyperventilating.

“How are you?” he asked softly instead.

How was she?

How dare he?

How was she?

She howled like an animal in her sorrow over losing him.

She cried.

She screamed.

She wondered what she'd done and why he just left her without an explanation? 

She didn’t eat.

She didn’t sleep or she slept too much.

“Fine. Brilliant. All good,” she laughed a dry, angry laugh. “I am sure you are doing well too, right? How’s Gwyn?”

He sighed, like the sound of her voice pained him.

“I didn’t like the way things ended between us,” he told her somberly, ignoring her question.

“Well, it was your choice, wasn’t it?” she reminded him. 

“I suppose?”

It sounded like he wasn't sure.

“What do you want, Azriel?” she demanded.

“How’s Pink?” he asked instead.

“What do you want to hear exactly?”

Did he want to hear about Piglet crying by the door?

Did he want to hear about Piglet avoiding any football on TV and barking violently for her to change the channel if he saw anyone running on a green field?

Did he want to hear about Piglet sitting and waiting for him for hours, day after day, hoping that his dad would show up?

“You abandoned him,” she accused him savagely. “I told you not to make him fall in love with you. I told you not to allow him to get attached to you. I explicitly told you that this would happen if he thought of you as his own.”

“I am sorry,” he whispered brokenly.

“You did it all. You hurt us, Azriel. What do you expect to happen now?” she questioned him, feeling her voice becoming hysterical. “Two brothers and two sisters together at Christmas. A third sister alone. A third brother who used to date the third sister is now with some random woman. Is this your vision? For all of us to play happy families? Like nothing’s happened. Like we didn’t exist. Like what we had didn’t matter??”

“He did matter,” he argued. “It does.”

She ignored him.

“Cassian and Nesta are dating now. Feyre and Rhys are married. Instead of leaving me alone–like I requested, over and over again–you made me fall for you. Fall in love with you. And then you tossed me aside.”

“You love me?” he breathed a shocked gasp.

“What?” 

“You said you fell in love with me,”

“You are unbelievable,” she cried out. He was always deranged, but now he was even more incomprehensible. What was wrong with him?

“My dog is screaming any time he sees Arsenal signage. My heart is shuttered. Is that what you wanted?” Elain broke down in tears. “Is that what you wanted?

“I never wanted that,” he argued quietly. “I never,”

“What did you think would happen?” she insisted, sobbing. “That I can just walk away?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice devastated. “It all spiralled out of control…I didn’t want any of this.”

She wasn’t listening to him. 

She cried.

Cried for her lost love. Cried for the children she’d never have with him. Cried for the future they’d never have. Cried for not knowing what his perfect day consisted of. Cried for the Christmases they’d never celebrate together again. Cried for his touch and for his kisses and for him next to her in bed. Cried for the games she’d never cheer at. Cried for knowing that she’d never see him snuggling together with Piglet. 

She cried and Azriel listened.

She didn’t know how long it lasted–felt like an hour–and he didn’t say anything. He didn’t comfort her, but he didn’t ask her to stop either. 

At some point, Piglet came over. He looked up at her, watching her weep, and whimpered sadly, before curling himself at her feet.

“I am sorry, Elain,” Azriel whispered at last.

She quieted down, before telling him,

“I wanted to be your wife, you know. I wanted to build a family with you. I wanted to have your children.”

“I understand. And I am sorry.”

“I wish you happiness, Azriel. Even if you robbed me of mine.”

[doverstar]

THERE WAS NO OTHER ENDING FOR ROSE and ya know what, I like to think the doctor thinks so too

I think he does too! I’m gonna talk about it, are you ready for me to talk about it? Are you ready for an essay-

I think the Doctor would agree that the ending Rose got—the one with Tentoo on Pete’s World—was the best possible fate for her. I’ll explain why, because I feel like it. First I’ll break down Rose’s most popular alternative-endings. Let’s start with Rose-stays-with-him-until-she-dies. That’s the one Rose decided on long before Canary Wharf. She planned on staying with the Time Lord until she physically couldn’t anymore. Forever.

First of all, that would be painful for the Doctor. He already said it. Watching Rose get shot, drowned, stabbed, sucked into a black hole, sacrificed for a remote planet’s civilization, poisoned, pulled into a void, atomized, eaten, possessed, run over, diseased, or ripped apart would be traumatic and terrible for the Doctor.

Watching Rose grow old and tired and then die would also be incredibly painful. He might try to prolong her life in alien ways, even in medical ways, but then she’s subjected to an unnatural, un-human existence until death claims her. Making a naturally-decaying body stick around and eke out another year, another hour, another century while he watches, exactly the same as ever. Yikes. Not fun for either of them. No thank you. He was against that ending with good reason.

Now, this ending where Rose stays with him until she dies? It is no less an emotional commitment to make than the one every married couple on Earth, every affectionate relationship on Earth, makes. Friends, family, spouses. You will lose them. You have to decide to love them knowing that.

The Doctor does love Rose, but he can’t tell her or admit it aloud because to do that would be facing a reality he’s not willing to face: he loves something he will inevitably lose. The old coward will not do it.

I believe that if Rose wanted to stay with him until she died, knowing she has a shorter lifespan but committing to holding his hand until she could not hold it anymore because he needs that and she can give it to him, and she knows he loves her back—100% yes girl, go for it. That is good and right and fine and she should be allowed to make that commitment. That’s love. That’s literal marriage vows. That’s unconditional, unwavering, and Rose is the first companion in 60 years of TARDIS passengers to love him like that. And he knows it. And it’s scary. But. Even in marriage, that is a commitment that has to be agreed upon by both parties. And the Doctor did not agree. The Doctor, selfish old man, is too afraid. He doesn’t want to watch Rose die, and he tried to explain that to her without confessing anything, and she heard him and tried to explain to him that she decided he would always have her if she had anything to say about it, not for her sake, but for his. (“Who’s gonna hold his hand now?” “I made my choice a long time ago and I’m never gonna leave you.” “Forever.”)

Now. That’s the first option for an alternate ending for Rose. She stays with him as a mortal and he has to watch her die, and they either dance around expressing their love in an unspoken, inexplicit way until he loses her and it’s agony, or they jump in with both feet and enjoy the time they have left, however many days Rose has before death, with the knowledge and understanding that he will outlive her, which is agony but with kissing. Still not 100% happy because one of them is, well, in agony. With a significantly long life stretched out ahead of him to spend as a widower. And it would fundamentally change the nature of a 60-year-old television show, but that’s another Ask for another time. Next is the Immortal!Rose AU, or the Bad Wolf AU. Personally, I don’t care for this AU (though I get the appeal and I do sometimes wish it could be that way). I used to think it was a good idea, and sometimes it's still sweet and I can see it, but the older I got, the more I disagreed with it. Because really, it doesn’t work. The AU’s idea—or its most popular explanation—is that Rose, by absorbing the Time Vortex and looking into the heart of the TARDIS in The Parting of the Ways, retained one slice of her godlike powers: she became immortal. Even after the Doctor kissed her and took the Vortex away to save her. The most-used version of this is that neither Rose nor the Doctor are aware that Rose was left with immortality until Tentoo ages and she doesn’t, or her family ages and she doesn’t.

The reason why I don’t think the Doctor would ultimately want this ending for Rose? The Doctor himself would not recommend immortality. He knows it’s ultimately a devastating existence. He himself has a ridiculously-long lifespan. Time Lords are supposed to only have a certain number of regenerations, but each regeneration, if left to age naturally, lives a long freaking time. (With the new Timeless Child nonsense, who knows, apparently the Doctor exclusively is immortal? I pretend I do not see it.) And then if they should die of old age, they regenerate and another chapter of life begins. So the Doctor knows what it’s like to essentially be immortal. And he doesn’t like it. He doesn’t like watching his friends die around him. He doesn’t like knowing he will outlive the people and places he cares about. He hates it. “Immortality is everybody else dying.” “In the end you just get tired. Tired of the struggle. Tired of losing everyone that matters to you, tired of watching everything turn to dust.” That last line, the Lazarus speech, sounds familiar because it’s something similar, interestingly, to what Rose said when she was the Bad Wolf. “Everything comes to dust.” Immortality is not a blessing. Immortality is absolutely a curse, and the show treats it like a curse. It’s not just never dying. Immortality is being alone and being unnatural. It’s bad. It’s not a good thing. If you were a 100% perfect person with a 100% perfect memory, it might be doable, but it’s not an easy existence. It sounds awful actually. We saw it with Ashildr (terrible idea). She’s miserable. She never really stops being miserable. Think about this: the Doctor is (kind of) immortal. He never stays in one place for too long, and he is careful to bring along far more mortal traveling companions wherever he goes. The Doctor once told Amy that he brought her with him because he can’t “see it” anymore (meaning the universe and its value), but he brings Amy and others with him because they can see it. “And when you see it, I see it.” What is everyone always telling him? Don’t travel alone. Not because he’s lonely—even though he totally is. It’s because when he is alone, the Doctor becomes a hazard, not a help. He starts to feel like he can do whatever he wants. I mean, think about it. He starts to feel like his judgement is infallible, because he’s basically a god, isn’t he? But no one should have that much power. It takes a lot to kill him, he’s a genius, and he has a time-and-space machine. What can’t he do? After a long, long, long time of living and being alone, essentially in an echo chamber with himself, the Doctor would lose empathy and compassion and humility just like anyone else. Because he’s not perfect. But he brings friends along to remind him he can stop now. To remind him we don’t walk away. To remind him that the universe has life in it that is worth saving, and that there is such a thing as right and wrong, and that he is not God, and that there is no such thing as little people. 900 years of time and space and he’s never met anybody who wasn’t important before. He needs his friends to hold him to the mark.

So—the Doctor knows that being immortal basically means that in the end you’ll see everything come to dust. If you’re not careful, you won’t be you anymore. And nothing and no one else will be themselves to you, either. You will lose the people/places you care about, and you will be alone, and you will stop caring. And then not only will you be wretched, you’ll be dangerous. Someone who doesn’t care is dangerous. It’s Ted Bundy. It’s evil. But it’s okay, I hear you saying. If they had each other, he would always have someone to hold him to the mark! Well - yes and then no - Think about Rose. Rose Tyler is a young human woman with so much empathy and sympathy. She is “so human”, in the Doctor’s own words. She is imperfect, and selfish, and petty, and easily angry and easily jealous. She is also impossibly compassionate, even towards the most ruthless murderous species. She’s kind and generous and brave and has a strong sense of justice. She’s often very selfless and very loving. Especially toward the Doctor. She values doing the right thing. A lot of those traits are found in the Doctor’s other friends (he chooses them with great care). But Rose is different. The Doctor is in love with Rose. And Rose is a lot of ‘firsts’ for Doctor Who. She’s the first companion to inspire change in a Dalek. She’s the first companion to tell him she’s in love with him. (Jo loved him, Sarah Jane loved him, Grace loved him, yes I know there were others.) She’s the first companion to be a real, proper onscreen equal to the Doctor, and not in a She’s Basically the Doctor But A Girl way, like Clara Oswald tried to be. She is not his assistant, his carer, his associate, his sidekick, his adoptive daughter, adoptive little sister, biological granddaughter, or his partner. Not to be Emily Bronte, but these two characters have the same heart. Like recognized like and fell in love. Perfect complementation. That is also another Ask for another time –

RTD said that Rose “humans [the Doctor] and he Time Lords her”. He brings out the courage and confidence in her that makes her so exceptional as a human, things that turn her into a hero, things she already had in her that the Doctor pulled forward. In turn, she brings out the compassion and humility in him that makes him a hero instead of a villain, things he always had in him that she pulled forward, adding humanity which would otherwise be easy for him to cast off.

But she can’t human him if she isn’t human anymore.

The things that make Rose an exceptional mortal would no longer be exceptional if she were immortal. The good traits would be a duty to retain, and the bad traits would be a poison to keep at bay. Because Rose is on a different level when it comes to her relationship with the Doctor, she could, for a time, help hold him to the mark. They would be exactly as we saw them in the show—passing by, helping out, saving the day, loving one another, making one another better. And then after eons go by, they would be each other’s echo chamber. Rose is the Doctor’s equal? Given eternity to stagnate in, what was once a strength would quickly become a weakness. Rose is not perfect and the Doctor is not perfect. Rose would not always be able to “see it” anymore either, even with the Doctor there. Same goes for him. They might be together forever, but Rose would be watching her mother, father, brother, friends, and family all age and die. She would hate that. But it would be okay because she has the Doctor, right? I agree with that. They have one another. So they’re never alone. That’s good. But Rose would not be a Time Lord. She’d be an immortal human. Ashildr 2.0, finite memory in an infinite body. She’d become detached, unable to appreciate the universe, and she’d stop investing in mortal relationships because they all end eventually. All she’d have would be the Doctor—and that’s wonderful, but after a while it would stop being a special thing that they have one another. Don’t look at me like that; it would. Okay, no – no - even if the Bad Wolf powers allowed Rose to have an infinite memory to go with her infinite body, fine, let’s say they did, she and the Doctor would still end up with “a backyard” as Eleven called it.

And eventually they would both think that the two of them, together, have the best judgement in the universe and should be treated as gods, and they will stop caring (except about each other, which doesn’t sound good for all the little people who are not part of that relationship, can you say unhealthy?). Or else they will become enemies, the way the Master and the Doctor became enemies. Or they won’t be able to travel with one another indefinitely, the way Ashildr, the Rani, River, Clara, and Romana can’t travel with the Doctor indefinitely. Because it would become toxic for everyone. And they would be back to being miserable, wouldn’t they?

(And – again -  let me finish beating this tiny horse here: if you think Rose Tyler would heal fairly quickly - say, ten centuries in - and warm up to the reality that she has outlived other humans because she is really no longer human, we aren’t thinking of the same Rose Tyler.)

The Doctor would not wish the curse of the Time Lords on anybody, especially not the woman he loves. He would not agree that immortality is the happiest ending for Rose, or even for himself and Rose. There’s a very real chance that immortality would ruin Rose. He wouldn’t do that to her. He loves her.

And here we go, here’s my freaking point - The Doctor loves Rose. So he would give her what she wants, even if it means sacrificing what he wants. Putting her needs before his own. That’s love. She knows that; she was trying to do that for him the whole time!

But what does Rose want? Adventure in the great wide somewhere? No. Rose wants love. Rose wants the assurance of real, true love. Rose wants to love and be loved. And when she finds that, she is darn good at it, and she will do her best to keep it. AND THAT IS ANOTHER ASK FOR ANOTHER TIME, HOOOO BOY DON’T POKE ME- The Doctor cannot give Rose what she wants using himself, or even the thing that will make him happy too, for a time—because to outlive her would be absolutely terrible, and they both know it, and because he will not put her through the curse of immortality. (She doesn’t want to live forever anyway.)

But he can give her what she wants in the form of Tentoo. Are you kidding me? A 100% exact copy of the Doctor? The same face, same mannerisms, same hair? All the memories of loving her and longing for her in his head? And he only has one heart? He’ll grow old at the same time as Rose does? Plus, hi, he actually was born in mini wartime and needs the very influence Rose provided for his ninth self? Come on. What else was he going to do? Of course the Doctor and Tentoo gave her this chance. When Rose asks him “What was the last thing you said to me?” The Doctor could have said “I love you”. He was going to say it. It is canon that he was going to say that he loved her if the connection hadn’t been severed the first time. And for him to say it then, they both knew, would have been all Rose needed to hear. She would have gone with him and Donna and died. Or gone with him and Donna and become immortal somehow, hey I hear there are these random Mire repair kits kicking around out there in the universe, they make people immortal, funny we never saw them before now, I hate you Moffat- But he didn’t say it. He said “I said ‘Rose Tyler’.” And she gives him one more chance to say it. “How was that sentence gonna end?” “Does it need saying?” Well, no, it doesn’t. We’re not asking you to confirm it. She’s not asking you to confirm it. It never needed saying. You both knew it was love. We knew it was love. A hundred times over, it was love on display.

But she is asking him to make a choice—and he chooses to let her go because he loves her.

It’s not a question of love. They give each other a chance, both of them. Don’t make the mistake of thinking Rose had no choice. She asked both of those Doctors to tell her they loved her, and she chose the one that said it out loud, after learning her options. She learned one of them would grow old and was offering to spend forever with her if she wanted. She learned that one of them was genuinely choosing not to say he loved her on purpose.  She made an informed decision. (Yes, she ran after the TARDIS when it left. Wouldn’t you?) The Doctor would agree that Tentoo is the best ending for Rose. Tentoo would agree (because he is the Doctor, and bonus, he gets to have Rose Tyler). Because this, this ending where she gets Tentoo, which is our fancy term for differentiating between two versions of exactly the same man, don’t go there with me-

This ending where she gets Tentoo is genuinely what she always wanted. She didn’t want to live forever. She didn’t want a boring life, but she didn’t desperately want adventure over all else. She wanted love. That’s an adventure anyway. Love. And she loved the Doctor. And she got to have the Doctor, and not lose him, or watch him lose her. And the Doctor, our full Time Lord Doctor, had the assurance of knowing that he did the best he could do for the woman he loved.

(Plus, because yes please, in an official deleted scene which has been confirmed to be intended as canon, Tentoo and Rose have a chunk of TARDIS coral and are growing their own, so they get to see the universe too, so you can’t even complain that all is not as it should be in that sense.) It is sad, because the full Time Lord has to carry on without her (that’s how the story always goes for him, and it should be because without loving and losing, an immortal alien will not have the periodic wake-up call he needs to remember that there is value in people and in relationships and in caring), and it’s sad because Rose won’t see him again, and it’s sad because we won’t really see Rose again. But for her, it is the best ending. It is the kindest, fairest ending. And I think the Doctor would agree.

[bloody-t0rchwood]

A Story That Has No Name

After Ianto died, Jack started seeing his ghost.

He could see him, he could talk to him, except that, it wasn’t the real him.

It wasn't even Ianto's ghost, or at least not his real ghost. He had no thoughts. He had no feelings. he was not real. Any emotions he felt came from Jack, and he would be there as long as Jack remembered him.

At first, Jack didn't realize that it wasn't the real Ianto, or even if he did, he did not want to admit it. He let himself drown in his memories, away from reality, away from the world, away from everything.

And all this time, Ianto was with him.

Later he went to the House of the Dead. Of course he would. He wouldn't miss any chance to see Ianto again. Even though he knew that, the person he met might not be the real Ianto.

But Ianto saved the world again. He saved Jack again. So Jack told him that he loved him, that he was desperate to see him, and then, bade farewell to him.

He left the House of the Dead. And when he walked out of the door of that shabby bar, he found that the phantom of Ianto he had always seen was still by his side.

Seven months after the House of the Dead, Jack learned how to make coffee. From his view, it was the phantom Ianto teaching him hand by hand. But Ianto Jones was not really here, and Jack Harkness was always alone. The so-called Ianto teaching him how to make coffee was actually him remembering how Ianto did it - in the early morning in his apartment, after Jack occasionally spent a night or two there with him. He remembered how the sunshine shining on his finger, how the steam rose from the kettle, and hazed around his eyes.

So Jack couldn’t help but smiled, and in return, Ianto - the Ianto he knew was not Ianto - smiled back at him.

When he turned around, the sun shone gently into his eyes.

A year after CoE, Jack's coat was accidentally scratched a little. He had scratched his coat before, but Ianto would always fix it for him. But this time, he wouldn't do it again. He couldn’t do it never again.

Jack looked at his coat and realized that it was bought by Ianto on the first day of Children of Earth, the last gift Ianto gave him. He folded it and put it on his lap. He was crying to a coat.

He felt that another part of Ianto had left him.

Three years after CoE, when the Miracle Day had ended, Jack left the Earth again. One day, the phantom Ianto asked him, saying that he hadn't seen Jack wearing that coat for a long time. He gave Ianto a grin and joked that he just didn't want to damage it because he could never learn how to fix it properly. And Ianto shrugged saying that he could always teach him.

The way he shrugged really looked like the real Ianto, Jack thought. But this was Ianto. This was the Ianto in his memory.

Ten years after CoE, he asked Yvonne from the parallel universe that if there was a person named Ianto Jones in her life. But this Yvonne didn't know Ianto Jones, and the Yvonne who knew Ianto Jones had died in Canary Wharf, more than a decade ago.

The phantom Ianto was beside him, trying to hold his hand. But his fingertips went through, and fell into the hollow air.

Fifty years after CoE, Jack began to forget Ianto's voice - One day when he habitually talked to Ianto about Gwen, he found that Ianto didn't speak. He asked Ianto why he didn't speak. Ianto shook his head and smiled sadly at him.

Then he suddenly realized that he didn't remember Ianto's voice.

Two hundred years after CoE, the face of the phantom Ianto faded away, as if it was covered by a veil. Jack couldn't see him clearly, but he knew that Ianto was still there.

He knew that this was because he started to forget what Ianto looked like. But fortunately, he still had Ianto's photos, which could help him remember.

But photos also grows old, so another two hundred years passed, Jack finally forgot Ianto’s eyes.

One thousand years after CoE, he began to have new lovers. He loved each of them, but he was always losing them. Everyone around him was dying, and he couldn't save them from death. He couldn't save anyone from death.

But, still, when he was with his lover, he knew that the phantom Ianto was watching him. He didn't blame Jack, Jack knew. He knew that Ianto wanted to tell him that he was happy that Jack could go on, could love someone else, and could have a new life.

But Jack didn't go on.

Jack was sad. Jack was really sad.

Two thousand years after CoE, the phantom Ianto was almost obscured, like a worn-out photo, no matter how hard Jack tried, he couldn't keep Ianto clear. So he knew, he began to forget the way Ianto dressed.

What did he like to wear? What did he like to eat? How would his eyebrows frown when he was annoyed? Not to mention his dry wit and sarcastic humor.

Jack didn't remember.

Human memory is a strange thing. He forgot a lot of things, he forgot too many things. But he couldn't forget the name of Ianto Jones.

Ten thousand years after CoE, the phantom Ianto appeared less frequently in front of him. But he would occasionally come to accompany Jack for a while, like when Jack didn't go to the bar or be with anyone on a certain night. When he was alone, in the moonlight, Ianto Jones would come back to him.

It was at this time that Jack Harkness realized that he rarely look back upon Ianto’s name.

Five billion years after CoE, the Earth began to burn. At this time, Jack Harkness was no longer Jack Harkness, and Ianto Jones was long buried in his mind. But when he watched the Earth begin to collapse, collapse in front of him, he suddenly saw that figure again.

He saw a handsome young man, a handsome young man wearing a striped suit and a violet tie.

The Face of Boe closed his eyes, and a name appeared. He couldn’t help to utter that name, the name that had survived billion years in his mind --

How are you gonna remember him

Even long after he's gone.

notes:

Okay I finally finished this translation of my own work as I promised three years ago.. It was originally posted in 2021 in Mandarin and for some reason (or we should say my laziness) I didn't translated it until now, with some minor changes of course.

The original work in Mandarin is here if anyone is interested :3

As always, pls forgive my English and any suggestions are welcomed!

[quietwingsinthesky]

jack harkness/simm master. do what you want with that

i love the idea of Jack and the Master meeting during his minister of defense era, it’s so deliciously terrible to me. great potential. anyway. here’s them.

Here’s what Jack Harkness takes away from his first impression of Saxon: he’s too clean for a politician, especially one settled in so comfortably as Minister of Defense.

It itches at the back of his brain through their few conversations as Saxon smiles at him. “*I’m* sure Torchwood’s funding wouldn’t be better spent elsewhere,” he tells Jack, co-conspiratorial, “and if it were up to me-”

“It is up to you,” Jack says, smiling back. Saxon’s eyes dart down to his lips and up again. Jack leans forward, casting his gaze across the man’s face like he’ll find the secrets he’s looking for in the pull of his lips or crinkle of his eyes. Too clean, too perfect, like a pretty picture of a potential Prime Minister. Jack tries to remember his stated policies, but his mind slides off the information, and it turns to him, grasping at nothing, and tells him that whatever he believes, Saxon believes.

“If only,” Saxon laughs, and it’s warm like a housefire. Jack squeezes his eyes shut, shakes his head, and suspicion falls right out. “I heard about the fiasco at Canary Wharf.”

Heard? Jack thinks. How’d you miss it? Saxon reaches across his desk and puts his hand over Jack’s wrist.

“I bet you run a tighter ship than that, Captain,” he says, voice low. “Tell me exactly what their tax dollars are going to, so I can reassure all those worried voters who might just have to think for themselves otherwise.” The words themselves buzz without meaning across Jack’s brain as Saxon’s fingers drum against the pulse at his wrist, too quick to match, too many beats, almost familiar like-

“You are just horrible to look at,” Saxon murmurs. “Nails on a chalkboard. I don’t know how he could stand being around you for even a minute.” Jack’s mind feels slow and thick, and any sentence he manages is a fight of slowly wading through.

“Torchwood… We arm the human race against the future.” Saxon grins wider.

“Do you have a speech prepared?” he releases Jack’s wrist suddenly and falls back into his chair, his whole body language changing from Prime Minister hopeful to lazy predator smelling fresh meat. “He hates whenever I get a taste of his pets. I’ll fuck you for it.”

“What?” Jack’s trying to catch up. Wherever the conversation went when Saxon was touching him is dim in his memory already, and he’s not even able to summon up concern about it.

“Or I’ll let you fuck me. I like that better. Less work.” Jack narrows his eyes. This, he understands. Too clean, he’d known. Too pretty a wife not to be messing around. Well, he could do worse. For his team, he’d do just about anything.

[khorazir]

Don’t believe everything you see on the telly. Here’s what really happened during the coronation today ;):

“Sherlock, finally. Did you find them?”

“Yes.”

“All of them?”

“Yes, Mycroft, don’t worry. They’re all here. John has apprehended the thieves. You can send your minions to Canary Wharf and fetch both the criminals and the crowns. They were trying to flee downriver. I’ll text you the precise location.”

“You are aware that the ceremony is almost over.”

“Well, brother dear, we were a bit busy hunting jewel thieves and didn’t really have time to follow the proceedings. So ... what did they do about the missing crowns?”

“..."

“Mycroft?”

“There were ... replacements. It’ll all be changed digitally for the broadcast, of course. But as for the actual crowns used ...”

“Yes?”

“Well, let’s just say they ... rustled something up. Some of the choir children helped. Apparently, the King’s crown is made from recycled materials now.”

“Like the original ones? Gold and gemstones ‘recycled’ from other countries and cultures. Makes one wonder who the real thieves are around here.”

“Tut tut, Sherlock. No, ‘recycled’ as in recycled paper and ...”

“Yes?”

“Stickers.”

[female-malice]

In the early morning hours of April 22, 2021 – Earth Day – nine women aged between 20 and 68 turned up at the Canary Wharf branch of HSBC carrying hammers and chisels. Wearing patches that read “better broken windows than broken promises”, they proceeded to smash the building’s windows, before sitting down on the pavement to await arrest. The Met were called at 7:10am, and before long all nine women were arrested on suspicion of causing criminal damage.

The nine were Jessica Agar, Blyth Brentnall, Valerie Brown, Gully Bujak, Miriam Instone, Tracey Mallaghan, Susan Reid, Samantha Smithson and Clare Farrell, co-founder of Extinction Rebellion (XR). As members of XR, they were taking action against HSBC pumping £80 billion into fossil fuels investments in the five years following the Paris Climate Agreement, going directly against the pledge to keep global temperature rise below 1.5 degrees.

Their trial started in October, with all nine pleading not guilty. Amazingly, Farrell let go of her lawyer, deciding to self-represent, writing and delivering the closing remarks in court herself. “It’s painful for me to be part of a society so immoral, so off track,  it is set to destroy the next generation, and billions of lives are likely to be lost on the current course, and my heart asks me to do the work which has the best chance of affecting a change of course,” she said to jurors. “Never before has there been such grave responsibility on a generation of people to succeed in such dire circumstances. It’s beyond serious – we have all the information and there is no room for failure, every day counts.”

On November 16, over two years since the HSBC protest, jurors found all nine women not guilty. Below, we speak to Farrell about the outcome of the trial, taking inspiration from the suffragettes, and the importance of faith within the climate justice movement.

During the trial, you decided to ultimately let go of lawyers and self-represent. How did you come to that decision?

Clare Farrell: Well, I kept a lawyer at the beginning and I delivered my defence with a lawyer asking me questions. But I sacked him – and I’ve sacked him before, so he doesn’t mind, it’s fine! – just before we went into the summing up, which is the closing part of the trial. I did that because I wanted to be able to address the jury again myself, and if you’re represented by a lawyer or a barrister, they have to do the summing up for you. As activists we do this work to speak truth, and I think some people find it quite difficult to be represented – they feel that they should be taking responsibility themselves, and they also feel they have a lot to say.

I saw that during the action against HSBC you wore patches which read ‘better broken windows than broken promises’, which is a phrase coined by the suffragettes. Do you think Extinction Rebellion and the suffragettes have much in common?

Clare Farrell: Yeah – well, I hope so! We were very inspired by the movements of the past when we set up XR, and the suffrage movement is obviously a relatively recent story of radical political success in this country’s history. Also, the Chartists broke windows before them, so I saw it as part of a tradition or lineage in British political life and history.

What’s also interesting for me is how present the suffrage movement felt in our trial because we had the colour scheme – the white, purple and green – and those patches. Those things were raised in the courtroom because they were there on the day, they were part of the action. So I felt greatly supported by the suffragettes in a strange kind of way while I was on trial.

You said in your speech that the prosecution didn’t dispute that the climate crisis is making the world “totally uninhabitable for hundreds of millions of people”. Was this a bit jarring for you, given that you were essentially on trial for trying to address the climate crisis issue?

Clare Farrell: I think this is what’s really difficult about the way that these trials are happening in the court system at the moment. Because the judge said very clearly, this is not a case about the climate crisis; they said this is going to be a case about the defences that are available through the Criminal Damage Act. Did they do the damage? If yes, have they got an excuse? If they can convince you they had a lawful excuse under this little thing called ‘belief in consent’, you can let them off. If they can’t, then they’re guilty.

You’re trying to speak to a bigger picture, which is being somewhat described as irrelevant by the court system, but obviously, it is the entire point of what we’re talking about. So there’s a real paradox at play. We were very lucky, because the judge let us make arguments based on two other defences, which included ‘necessity’, which is when an action is to prevent death and serious injury, and ‘protection of property’, the idea being I was damaging some property to protect some other property. And then there was ‘belief in consent’. So when we gave our evidence, we had to speak to all of those three defences. Then at the end, he took two of them off the table, but a lot of people don’t get given that room to talk.

There’s another trial coming up in February, for other people who broke windows. They have a different judge, and it’s actually a judge who has put people in prison before for talking about climate change to a jury. So if he deems it irrelevant, those people could have a completely different experience, even though they’ve basically done the same thing, but on a different day at a different bank.

It shows us that when the jury has a chance to hear what you have to say, they understand the seriousness and the efficacy of this kind of action when you’re in an emergency. If they’re not allowed to hear any of that, then it’s very easy for a judge to say, ‘well, look, that’s them on the video, they broke the window, it wasn’t legal, you just have to find them guilty’. And then that’s that. So it really depends on the day that you get arrested, the day that your court gets listed, which judge it is, which police officers are there, which prosecution barristers you’ve got, which jurors you’ve got… the whole system is very unpredictable.

How did you feel when you heard that you were found not guilty?

Clare Farrell: I just cried. I was grabbing hold of the desk, gripping the table. And I cried. I’ve never been through anything like it in my life. The whole process of the trial was just so hard on [my] soul and body and everything. It’s physically hard, it’s emotionally hard, and it’s kind of made worse by the fact that it’s so fucking boring, because most of the time nothing is happening.

Also, you can’t tell from looking at a jury what they’re going to do. You spend weeks looking at these people from across the room and thinking, ‘I really hope you like me’! On the day when the verdict came, it was remarkable that they were only out for two hours. That’s not very long, because they had to decide on nine defendants so they’d have had to discuss each person individually, at least a little bit. So they must have really been pretty sure about what they wanted to do. The person who read out names and said ‘not guilty’ seemed very pleased to say it, to put it like that! And there was one juror who was leaning back in his chair with his arms folded and grinning, because he was obviously really happy to let us off.

What would you say to critics of Extinction Rebellion, who are maybe more sceptical and don’t believe that radical action can result in progress? Or maybe don’t believe that there’s a climate issue at all?

Clare Farrell: I would hope that our trial has shown where ordinary people’s heads are at. It proves that the reality we live in – in terms of what’s being done at a corporate level, and what’s being done at a government level, and the rhetoric of Rishi Sunak – I hope that this is just proof that all of that is completely out of step with the general public. The general public don’t want their kids to die. They don’t want to live in a world that collapses. More and more people realise that that is precisely what is gonna happen. And they don’t want it!

I think there’s something to be said for these kinds of actions which can be an awakening for people. People are always complaining about tactics, saying people don’t like being disrupted or they don’t like what you’re doing because it’s annoying – but if you can see that someone’s in mortal danger, it’s very normal to want to tell them. I think it’s also proof that when people spend the time having an in-depth conversation about what’s taking place, there’s no question in people’s minds about what is the right thing to do. I hope so, anyway.

I hope so too. Those are actually all the questions that I had, but is there anything else that you’d like to add?

Clare Farrell: One thing which is on my mind a lot at the moment has to do with faith. I’m not a religious person, but my reflections since the trial have been quite a lot about how faith exists for me and also how it seems to be very lacking in our wider society in Britain. We live in a materialist, cynical context, which is enormously problematic because I’ve spoken to a lot of people over the last six years who’ve said to me, ‘it’s nice for you to try, but realistically, you’re never going to win – it’s too big, it’s too difficult, the power is too entrenched’. I feel like one of the key requirements for us is to find a sense of faith and in that understanding ourselves to be part of a greater whole, and not just discreet little beings that are separate from one another.

I feel really extremely lucky to have had an experience like this where we were able to win a trial and go home and think, ‘oh, right, what do I do now?’, because I thought I was gonna be in prison for Christmas. What do we do with our freedom?

The HSBC 9 are crowdfunding to cover their remaining legal costs and raise money for other activist groups’ legal costs. You can donate here. You can also read an open letter written in support of the HSBC 9 here.

[bluenotemagpie]

a jake simmonds/mickey smith fic recommendations post

hello, it's me, who for some reason set up camp in this particular corner of rarepair hell back in, like, 2012 and has not left. i've tried, but i live here now. all because i watched age of steel and thought:

there are 80 fics in the jake/mickey tag on ao3, and a handful scattered on ff.net. here are the ones i've returned to over the years. <3

The Spiral by LetThemRot

excerpt:

Harriet Jones is on the tele, like she's been for the last ten nights, saying that yes, the Cybermen are gone (it's taken three years for the information to get out - the factories have been sealed off and uninvestigated for so long that none of the public noticed), and no, it's not information that the public has access to. Everyone should understand this and get on with their lives. The Cybermen have been separate for a long time - now they're just gone for good. Let the authorities handle this.

But she is Jackie Tyler, and she knows the authorities. She's living with three of them.

summary: The Doctor is in one world, Rose Tyler in another, and the Void stretches between them. Life in the days following the Battle of Canary Wharf, told by those stranded in Pete's World.

thoughts: on any given day there is a 50% chance that i am thinking about this fic and chewing on the walls. this was the first jake/mickey fic i ever read and i might have to credit it with how unhinged i am about this ship. it follows rose, mickey, jake, pete, and jackie after the events of doomsday, and it is so canon in my brain that getting through the immediately post-doomsday parts of my own fic was a real challenge because i wanted to just go "look, go read The Spiral and come back, that's what happens." it is in my writer DNA. i could not choose one of the actual jake/mickey parts of the story for the excerpt because i just want you to go read it and experience it. i love it so much.

--

These Conversations We Have by LetThemRot

excerpt:

Rose turns away once Jake presses his lips to Mickey's. It's not the jealousy of what they have, or the daydreaming - so she tells herself - it's the roommate-kissing-your-ex-boyfriend factor. It's not the unfair way that they can be happy and know (roughly) where the other is at all times and whether they're safe. It's just the roommate-and-ex-boyfriend factor - that's all. She plants her chin on a jumper-covered fist and stares resolutely at the screen, not seeing a single atom of it.

summary: Things said and heard in Pete's World. Life is hard when everyone has a different idea of what's right. Post-Doomsday, pre-Journey's End.

thoughts: like the above, this fic is in my writer DNA. rose, queen of burnout, is determined to get the dimension cannon working even if it kills her. rose & jake are besties and flatmates, which is truly a delight because they're both goddamn disasters. this is also a fic which doesn't shy away from how - even if jake & mickey get their shit together and decide to date - the ghost of ricky smith will never be easily disregarded.

--

Not Made of Tin by Nope

excerpt:

Three years before this, he comes awake, startled into the sudden chill of the back of the van. He can't hear, can't remember the noise that brought him out of the dark into this bleary half-light, tinted, smeared windows and Jake snuffle-snoring in the front seat, but there are seabird screeches and the faint rough hum of traffic and he has the strangest craving for ice-cream, proper fake soft Mister Whippy style ice-cream, all chemicals and sugar buzz cold. They should sell that on the sea-front, he reckons. That's what people do, even in foreign parts. Assuming they even have ice-cream in this damn dimension and, if they don't, he's going to invent it and make a fucking fortune. How hard can it be?

thoughts: this is a dark fic - I'd add a warning about non-con & rate this E - but it also has some really excellent, prickly characterization & an intriguing narrative structure. ymmv depending on your tolerance for the aforementioned warnings. but i love fics that put the characters' flaws front & centre, so on the list it goes! (this was also written in 2009, so there's some ableist language that wouldn't fly today, fwiw.)

--

Guy Fawkes Has Nothing on Us by misspamela ( @miss-pamela on tumblr)

excerpt:

It was three days before Mickey got himself together enough to freak out.

He woke up an hour after he'd gone to sleep, with Jake sitting first watch up front and the communications equipment turned down to a dull hum. The van was dark, not the dark of his room at home, ringed with fluorescent lighting, and not the whirring, yellowish dark of the TARDIS. Cold dark. Alien dark.

Next thing, he's thrashing about and yelling, knocking wires and ammunition to the floor.

"You're not losing it, mate?" Jake scrambled into the back of the van.

All Mickey can think of to say is, "I've never even been to Greece."

thoughts: this hits my favourite tone of "lighthearted banter with some emotions & growing fondness" <3 i'm very fond of fics where there's clearly an action movie plot happening in the background, but that's not the focus dammit the feelings are the focus

--

Rain Like Ghosts by carolinecrane

excerpt:

Jake shifted against him, somehow moving closer without touching any more than he had to. Like he was afraid what Mickey would say if he noticed how close they were. Like it would be possible for Mickey to miss it. And it was probably just as well the French blokes had given them a room of their own, because Jake's arm had landed on top of him somehow and his hand was pressed against Mickey's chest, heat radiating from his fingers and making Mickey feel in a way he hadn't for a long time.

thoughts: god bless carolinecrane for writing many of the fics in the jake/mickey tag. idk where you are now but i salute you 🫡 in any case, who can resist a "there was only one bed" fic

--

Birds by carolinecrane

excerpt:

He liked the way Mickey kissed him -- different from Ricky, less intense but sweeter somehow -- and he liked that Mickey needed him more than Ricky ever had.

He didn't think much about what that said about him until Rose crashed back into Mickey's life, dragging her mum with her and suddenly Mickey didn't need Jake so much anymore. And he'd never really thought of himself as selfish until Jackie and Rose turned up, but as it turned out, he didn't like having to share.

thought: you might be noticing a recurring theme, which is that i really enjoy fics where jake is a bit of a bastard. this one is set around the trip to bad wolf bay & is very cute

--

sorry for the runner-up by carolinecrane

excerpt:

"Look, mate, I know it's different for you and me. You and Ricky…well, it was different, anyway."

"We got shot at a lot less," Jake says, and Mickey knows he's trying to be funny, but he doesn't feel much like laughing.

"Maybe that's your problem."

"You think I should get shot at more?"

thoughts: jake's "you think I should get shot at more?" joke to avoid discussing his own feelings is so canon to me that i did end up putting a reference to it into my own fic while editing a chapter recently. mickey's down bad in this fic, which is sometimes a challenge when you're stuck together in the back of a zeppelin. 10/10 very fun times

(carolinecrane has other v good jake/mickey oneshots, but these three are my favourites!)

--

Possibilities, or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bananas by rosa_acicularis

excerpt:

“Suppose I don’t have to ask how it went last night, do I?” Pete Tyler said from the doorway. Unconsciously, both Mickey and Jake straightened in their chairs.

Rose gave him a wan smile. “He was an idiot.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Pete replied evenly as he walked to the coffeemaker, ceramic ‘World’s Best Dad’ mug in hand. Rose and Mickey exchanged an amused look; a man as powerful as Pete Tyler hardly needed to fetch his own coffee, much less travel the three floors down to Recovery and First Contact to get it. Yet two or three days a week he spent his five minutes of precious free time with a woman who was not his daughter, a man who was not her boyfriend, and a man who may (or may not) have been his boyfriend. Pete poured his coffee and sipped at it gingerly. “So,” he said, leaning back and resting his elbows on the counter just as Rose had done moments ago. “Should I be forming a taskforce to deal with an imminent invasion of alien fruit and veg?”

“No,” Mickey said.

“Maybe,” Rose said.

Pete looked to Jake, who shook his head. “I’m just sitting here, reading my paper. I am opinionless.”

“Spineless,” Mickey muttered, and Jake arched an eyebrow in his direction. Rose watched them and sighed inwardly; their epic saga of will-they-won’t-they had recently resolved itself (to neither man’s satisfaction) as they-will-but-just-the-once-because-apparently-they-are-both-idiots. They rarely let the tension interfere with their working camaraderie, but it was beginning to get under her skin nevertheless.

thoughts: genuinely one of my fave fics. rose-centric, takes a different path from journey's end. all the character relationships are spot-on and crack me up, including rose's little brother - HOLD ON I JUST FOUND OUT THAT THE AUTHOR HAS A BUNCH MORE DOCTOR WHO FICS, BRB I GOTTA GO READ THEM ALL RIGHT NOW

--

Interlude (The Space Between Breaths) by freefall

excerpt:

Later, when the fight is over and the wounds are bandaged, and it’s just you and Mickey again in the hull of an abandoned warehouse, the only light coming from some flickering candles and the only warmth from the slow heat of cheap gin in your stomach, is when he asks. ‘Course he asks, and you realize that somewhere along the way he had learned you just as well as you learned him (and how is that even fair when he didn’t have the advantage of knowing his parallel universe self, but he did it anyway. Bloody Mickey.)

thoughts: this fic fucking slaps. i don't read a lot of second-person stuff, but the second-person here has such a strong voice to it. short but sweet with a lot of that good good subtext.

--

a parisian sunset by @lesbiandonnanoble

excerpt:

Jake pulled his thermos out of his bag. In the middle of winter, with just a van and just the two of them, it really was the only source of warmth. It usually held some kind of tea - spiked, more often than not - or cider. He unscrewed the cap, which also functioned as the mug, and filled it up. He looked down at it, swirled the liquid around in the cup, and passed it to Mickey. “Cheers.”  Mickey didn’t know what Jake wanted him to do. Logically, it was a drink for him. He should drink it. But there was only one cup, and Jake had been very hesitant to share anything with him insofar. Did Jake want to share it? “For me?” he asked.  Jake laughed. “Yes, man. You look cold.”

thoughts: CUTE SHIT. i love a good jake-and-mickey-have-emotions-in-paris fic. and as someone who gets cold very easily, i'm obsessed with helping people get warm as an act of love.

--

so there we have it! the jake/mickey fics that have haunted my brain like my mind is a cursed cathedral!! my own fic is still a WIP - it's a long one, currently going through edits - but you can check out the beginnings of the first draft here if you want more. or i post about it with the my dw magnum opus tag, because i have had this fic rattling around in my brain for over a decade and was finally compelled to put it to paper.

happy reading! <3

[meta-squash]

I reject Owen Harper's absolutely nonsense canonical timeline and substitute my own.

According to canon, Owen was born in 1980 and died (power plant) in 2008, making him barely 28 when he died. But also according to canon, he did 7 years at medical school, then was junior houseman for a year where he met Katie (but then a different canon book says he met her when he was 21). Then he was engaged to Katie and she died, and he was with Torchwood for 2 years before Gwen joined, and a Torchwood employee for a total of 4 years.

It literally cannot work. If Owen did 7 years of medical school and one year as a junior doctor, he'd be 26 (maybe 25 if he gotten into med school as early as possible at 17) by the end of his first year of being a junior doctor. But he died at 28, and was at Torchwood for 4 years before that death. Again, I know I'm being nitpicky about a show that's had some type of media around since 2006 and a billion different writers and clearly no one looks back at old canon details. But still. Would it hurt to at least make things vaguely plausible?

So. My version of Owen's timeline:

Owen is born in 1976 or 1977. He does 7 years of medical school starting at age 18, during which time he meets Katie when he's 21. He's 26 when he becomes a junior doctor, and has about 2 or 3 years actually working as a doctor (I've always imagined it was in A&E or something equally varied and "interesting" which fits with his sort of jack of all trades vibes in Torchwood). He proposes to Katie in 2003, and a few months later she starts getting sick, but they continue to plan their wedding. She dies. He works for Torchwood for 4 years and dies at age 32 or 33 in Exit Wounds.

First of all, it now makes sense time-wise in terms of actual linear time.

But also, Fragments gives a glimpse of just how much losing Katie fucked Owen up entirely. I think the loss of not only his fiancee but also his actual career (since everyone seems to think he's gone mad with grief or whatever) would fuck him up far more intensely if he'd been dedicated to both for quite some time. The Owen we see in Fragments is nice, is loving, clearly cares, and is good at his job in a way that means he's respected by his peers in general and not just for his skills. Compare that to Torchwood Owen who is sarcastic and spiky and a bastard and good at his job but doesn't want to let on that he cares. That's the kind of drastic change you make after a loss of something you've had for a long time and you cannot emotionally or psychologically afford to try and form those kinds of connections again (case in point: Diane).

Like, Owen and Ianto have such incredibly similar backstories, but one of the reasons I think Ianto bounces back from his loss of Lisa and the trauma of Canary Wharf is because he's young and because his job/relationship was not a very long one and therefore had not settled into this comfortable thing where you deep down expect this same thing in the future forever. Ianto hadn't made a life for himself yet when he lost Lisa at 24. So there was room for him to change, to move on, to find someone new in Jack. Owen had already made a life with Katie and his job as a proper doctor, and losing it totally ruined him.

[thedivinelights]

The Sky is Full of Light, Swirling in Spirals Bold and Bright (Modern AU Jacob/Ebenezer)

A separate Modern AU Scrooge x Marley thing set in 2011 I have had in the works for a while and I felt I had to share the hurt/comfort with you all. Prepare for lots of comfort and lots of hurt.

TW: Child Abandonment

(UNDER THE CUT)

Say what you will about the rain or the fog or the pollution, but there was no denying that Canary Wharf was beautiful on a snowy night.

It was customary for both of them, Jacob and Ebenezer supposed, to walk the path of the Thames on their Sunday strolls. No matter the busyness of life that accompanied them wherever they went or whenever the frosty December air nipped at their cheeks, this had been a constant. A constant in a continuously changing world that tended to leave old souls like them far behind. There was nothing more inherently magical than watching the beauty of the moonlight, bold and bright, dance across the reflection of the water, shifting and changing like the tides of the ocean. Towering buildings looming over like sentinels, secret and solitary, kept their mysteries hidden behind illuminated windows. Manufactured, ersatz stars in a city that often blocked out the real ones.

Jacob believed the financial district a modern wonder of the world. Ebenezer believed it a testament to the ingenuity of the human mind. But both knew it to be a home to the sprawling empire they built together with their blood, sweat and tears. A way to prove to the world that they would not be shackled by the chains of a flawed society. It was imperfect and rough and dented and bandaged and healed and beautiful. It was so… so beautiful. No one would take it away, even if they had to fight tooth and nail to protect it.

The distant sounds of traffic faded away as their feet gently crunched through the fresh snowfall, walking in companionable silence as the pavement was blanketed in the purest white.

“Hey Ben… you wanna grab dinner while we’re out?” Jacob asked, looking up at his husband, his voice barely above a whisper against the tranquil backdrop of the winter night. His cane — now more an accessory than the aid it had been in recent months — rested under his arm.

“Mm… sure.” Ebenezer’s voice was muffled against the thick, colourful scarf wound tightly around his neck, lips hidden beneath the fabric. “It’s half-past nine, though. Not many options.”

“What about Big Easy?”

Ebenezer let out an uncharacteristic snort. “Christ’s sake Jacob, we’ve been there a hundred times at least! Sooner or later, I’ll wake up and find you’ve become part of the menu.”

It didn’t go unnoticed how their gloved hands locked together, Jacob pulling him a little closer, shoulders brushing as he leaned against Ebenezer as he beamed with a grin to rival the Cheshire Cat’s infamous quirk.

“You mean you wouldn’t love me as a lobster?” He asked, his voice whiny and hurt despite the clear smile.

Ebenezer rolled his eyes playfully at Jacob’s antics, elbowing him slightly. “Only if you came with a side of butter. Maybe then I’d consider it.”

Jacob laughed. “You drive a hard bargain, love, but I’ll take it if it means I get to see you smile like that.”

Damn it, over three decades of knowing this lovable bastard of a man and still the Silver-Tongued Viper could be one hell of a charmer when he wanted to be. Ebenezer had to concede to his wit when he felt his heart flutter with stupidly sincere warmth and affection, and he could feel his lips tug upwards into a smile despite his ‘best’ efforts to maintain that impish frown upon his face.

It was disgustingly cute. It was maddeningly sweet. It was incredibly endearing. It was them.

And wouldn’t you know it, but for the first time in a long time, they liked being them.

Conversation flowed easily between the both of them, touching on subjects that happened to strike their fancy. Expanding into Asian markets when the year turned,  whether Home Alone or Elf would be their chosen movie for the season, even the upcoming charity gala they planned to host for those unable to celebrate the holidays with loved ones. Those pedestrians who passed them by looked as if they had gone mad from how uncanny it was. How could they not? Look at the way they handled themselves as if there wasn’t a care in the world! Look at the merriment that had been remarkably absent from the bustling city’s harried inhabitants! Look at how such wondrous, wonderful wanderers of the world held the sparkle of London’s lights captive in their eyes! It was the purest form of adoration, the kind of contentment only developed from years of trials and hardships.

As the clock drew closer to ten, they found themselves treading upon a quieter, less-frequented stretch of path, the snow intensifying and blanketing the city deeper around them in an angel’s caress. Their discussions grew more hushed, then, the intimacy of the night only deepening their connection, as if all the worries and cruelty of the past had been washed away like the river they walked alongside.

SIlence soon overtook their words… and it was in that comfortable silence that they heard it.

Jacob noticed the way Ebenezer seemed to freeze for a moment, his powerful stride slowing to a hesitant shuffle. It was a whimper so weak, a plaintive cry so faint that one would’ve mistaken it for the icy breeze had it not been for the notes of distress and the rustles of fern that accompanied it.

“Is something wrong, Ben?”

He didn’t answer, instead moving forward with cautious steps. The rustling and whimpering continued, and Ebenezer lowered himself down to the ground, snow seeping into his trousers as he inspected a cluster of bushes near the path. Jacob followed close behind, leaning against his cane for support.

In the dim moonlight, Ebenezer’s gloved fingers gently brushed away the dense thicket, snow crunching beneath his touch. The cries were more prominent now, high-pitched and shrill. The kind of sounds that pierced the heart and demanded attention, needs and comfort.

The pained cries of an infant. An infant no more than a few months old, bundled up in a thin pink blanket ripped to shreds by the thorns of the surrounding bush. Her shut eyes were red and blotchy from crying, her tiny fists clenched and raised helplessly in the air. She appeared to sense a saviour, and her lips quivered as she let out another desperate wail.

“Mother-love in infancy and childhood is just as important for mental health as are vitamins and proteins for physical health.”

“Holy shit- Ben, get the kid out of there!”

Ebenezer’s heart raced as he carefully reached into the thorny bush, cradling the baby girl gently into his arms, careful not to disturb her more than necessary. She was so small, so fragile, so thin, so cold… and already she had been exposed to the harshness of the world that took years to corrupt them.

It wasn’t fair.

It wasn’t fair.

“Jacob, call 999. Now.” Ebenezer instructed, holding the babe close to his chest. His voice seemed monotonous and unnatural, as cold as the air around him and as distant as the hum of the city. Flat. Still. 

But the ocean was never still. The ocean was never calm. The wind howled and the waters rose with every minute that passed, ever furious and ever ruthless. Poseidon was angered by the cunning Odysseus’ transgressions against his child, and the lord of the seas raged against the wretched, lamentable mortals who thought themselves beyond divine punishment.

There was no justice. No salvation. No love for this life barely living. What cutting fangs would this monster have? What savage roar would follow it wherever it went? What weaknesses could be exploited from this dangerous beast? What weapons would be needed to slay it?

Jacob fumbled for his phone, throwing off one of his gloves as trembling fingers dialled for emergency services. Ebenezer heard naught of what was said, deafened by the piercing cries of the child in his arms, frantic in her fearful communication, overwrought in her outpour of mournful wails.

“They’re on their way, Ben.” The words spilling out of Jacob’s mouth was barely coherent in his speed, but it was enough to Ebenezer all the same.

“Hold her, Jake.” 

“Wh-”

“Just do it.”

Jacob nodded, taking the shivering infant into his arms, shielding her beneath his jacket. She whimpered under the sudden shift of movement from beneath her, but the warmth of his embrace seemed to garner some comfort. She settled into his hold, her tiny fingers grasping at one of his exposed digits, clinging onto it as if it was a lifeline.

Ebenezer swiftly unfurled the scarf wrapped around him, the tassels flinging about in the breeze from the rough force of his movements. But his touch was lighter as a feather as he cocooned the little girl, bundling her up from the snow that only seemed to fall faster with each passing moment.

“Shh… it’s okay, little one.” He cooed, fingers brushing over the delicate skin of her cheek as he adjusted the scarf around her tiny form. “You’re safe now.”

The baby's cries began to subside, her eyes blinking open to reveal a pair of the most innocent, wide-eyed amber orbs that Ebenezer had ever seen. It was like honey. It was like spiralling gold, shimmering against smokey hues of white and grey.

Jacob looked up to his husband, his lower lip quivering as he held her close. “Can it really be said that such a small and innocent thing is safe, Ben?”

But when his gaze was met with a burning determination- a whirlpool of resolve… he’d known the beast had awakened within. He knew that when Ebenezer Scrooge set his mind to something…

…it was almost surely a success.

“We don’t live alone. We are members of one body. We are responsible for each other. And I tell you that the time will soon come when, if men will not learn that lesson, then they will be taught in fire and blood and anguish.”

They stayed with her when the sirens began to close in. They stayed with her when the paramedics arrived to examine her. They stayed with her as the authorities questioned them for information. They stayed with her even as she was taken away to the hospital to receive proper care.

And she’d never know of her bloodline, not one bit of them or their cruelty. Not their names or their birthdays, their eye colour, blood type, hair. Not their favourite shoes or shows, their favourite foods or the stories and lullabies they might have sung in another life. All she would know is the kindness of two old, damaged, trying men who found her in the snow ‘neath the moonlight.

For all she knew, they would be her parents.

And that… that would be more than enough for her.

“...Good night.” Tagged: @rom-e-o @a-christmas-carol-from-hr @quill-pen @undeadchestnut @m0nsterwife

[abelsarchives]

003 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐀 I 𝐚𝐛𝐞𝐥 & 𝐝𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐲

Abel was on his way to London for a routine business trip, though his enthusiasm for the journey went far beyond corporate meetings. London had always held a special charm for him: the city’s vibrant energy, the eclectic mix of old-world charm and modernity, and yes — controversial as it might sound to some —the food. But this trip held a little more intrigue than usual. Waiting for him in the city was Daisy, a stunning 26-year-old British actress he’d first encountered at a lively bar one evening.

Their first meeting had been effortless, the kind of connection you don’t overthink. A few glasses of wine, an engaging conversation laced with humor and flirtation, and one thing had led to another. They’d spent the night together, and Abel had been surprised by how much he enjoyed the uncomplicated nature of their rendez-vous. It wasn’t weighed down by expectations or pretense — just two people savoring a moment. The sex was, of course, an undeniable bonus, and their chemistry in that department was undeniable. She’d earned a playful spot in his phone as ‘London Beauty’, and every time business brought him back to the city, he found himself looking forward to getting lost in their blissful, carefree interludes.

The thought of seeing her again brought a grin to his face as he arrived at his hotel in Canary Wharf — a sleek, upscale choice Daisy had recommended. Her taste, as always, was impeccable. Settling into his room, Abel pulled out his phone and sent her a message:

' I’m here, baby girl.'

It was only 1 p.m., hours before her show that evening, but Abel liked having time to unwind. The room’s clean lines and panoramic views of the Thames immediately put him at ease. Thinking ahead, he ordered room service for two—just in case Daisy hadn’t eaten yet. It was a small gesture, but he liked being prepared, especially when it came to making her feel special.

With everything arranged, he stretched out on the plush hotel bed, letting the anticipation build. Tonight wasn’t about complicated feelings or burdensome commitments. It was about being present, sharing a fleeting but fulfilling connection, and basking in the uncomplicated joy of the moment.

@daisyedgxrjones

[neutron-stars-collision]

Deadlines & Commitments

Neil x F!Reader

Chapter 7 - Bermondsey Underground Station

Masterlist; Chapter 6 Summary: You reconnect with Neil a couple of days after the night you spent together. The meeting sparks many questions and revelations. In other news: Tenet agents are a nuisance. Neil knows that best. Warnings: Swearing, explicit language, tiny bits of angst because who would I be without it. Author's Notes: It's been 84 years... but it's here! 🎉 And it's 16k apparently. Sorry about that. As you've noticed my brain (and heart) are all over the place but this story is still very much alive. These two are not letting me go, soo... Let's keep going. Thank you to anyone who's waited this long 💕 I really appreciate you. I've got so much planned for them and very excited to share it with you. And, seeing as from next Saturday I'll be in London for a week, there might be even more inspiration ✨ (I'm definitely taking Jubilee Line from St. John's Wood to Canary Wharf. It's all I'm saying) For now - enjoy two idiots being idiots. And a cameo appearances from the Tenet crew because it's high time Cupid met them ;))) Taglist: @hollandorks, @kristevstewart, @stargirl25 (let me know if you want to be added)

Checking the contents of your bag one last time before leaving the flat, you sighed from the oncoming headache already building behind your temple. What a stupid idea it was to hit the snooze button five times instead of being a big girl and getting up at the first sound of your alarm. Now, thanks to your idiocy, you had no time to get that much-needed hit of caffeine if you were to make it for the usual 7:21 train from St. John’s Wood. And you were keen to make it. If only because you promised him.

You were less eager to admit other reasons motivated the rush, going far beyond an agreement that Neil would not hold it against you if you were to break the promise. Reasons such as the inexplicable itch underneath your skin that started sometime last night upon a reminder that you were going to see him today. For the first time since that night. The nightÔ - now officially trademarked, thanks to your idiotic brain. The feeling did not cease even when you tried to remind yourself that there was nothing extraordinary about what transpired then. No actual reason to behave in this irrational way.

Nothing of importance happened. Nothing ground-breaking or life-changing. Just an expected result of weeks of flirting and tension triggered by a bottle of red wine and a natural connection. Just spectacular sex.

If you dared add. A self-satisfied smile stretched over your face at a mere memory, powering you through those final steps before you could leave the apartment and lock the doors, bounding down the steps with no concern over the noise. Fuck the neighbours. Or something like that.

By now, four days later, you were quite good at getting rid of the confusing thoughts the moment they bloomed. Not seeing Neil certainly helped, as did the harrowing afternoons and evenings devoted to the performances. On the stage, you never had the time to think about nonsense such as this, focused on executing the choreography and maintaining that signature, flirtatious Cupid smile that was even rewarded a mention in one of the first ballet reviews. (Truly, a highlight of your unmemorable life if you were to be honest).

The other thing that helped make sense of the mess in your head was Neil’s phone call. It acted as a push in the right direction, a reminder that you had to be the reasonable one. The one to guide him along, highlighting the facts as there were. That the night mattered, in the meaning that it was hardly forgettable. Nothing had to change between you. And most importantly, Neil was the one calling the shots because you were more than happy to continue.

You repeated those truths in the quiet of your head until they felt like certainties. And now, finally, they did. On a cloudy Wednesday morning, you could freely admit you knew what you were doing. The Friday night confusion was just a glitch, an inconsequential event in the grand scheme of things that would bear no impact. Now or ever.

Smiling as you shouldered past the loitering tourists at the entrance to the station, you allowed yourself a nod. Everything was in order. The last piece of the puzzle – Neil’s say in the matter – was the only thing missing.

Despite the wish to remain as detached as possible, you hoped it would be a ‘yes’ rather than the opposite. Even if only because your selfish soul did not want to let him go. Just yet.

The 7:21 train arrived at the platform as you stepped off the escalator and rushed into the middle carriage. By now, your gaze was trained on finding Neil with embarrassing speed, eyes darting over the faces of commuters until they would find what they sought. Today, it took less than ten seconds to locate him, sat in one of the double-seat rows. Neil must have been on the lookout as well, for as soon as your eyes fell on him, you found him staring back. An unshakeable shiver travelled down your spine as Neil’s mouth quirked into a smile. Friendly, yet uncertain. As if he was debating the possibility that you could turn on your heel and leave instead of crossing the space to join him. The idea seemed ridiculous enough that you had to smother a laugh as you fell into the plastic seat with a bright grin ready on your face.

There was no other place you would rather be. Truly.

“Hi,” raising your hand in a pointless wave, you widened the obnoxious grin and allowed yourself another scanning look over his face.

Nothing seemed to be amiss except for the slight weariness in his gaze, as if, for Neil, the few days apart did not eradicate the doubts and worries. As if he was still not sure where you would go from here. Or how he should act around you now. After everything.

You vowed to erase his concerns before you were to part at Southwark. That simply would not do.

“Hey…” Neil murmured the complimentary greeting, his hands flexing in his lap. Before you could decide to reach over and still their nervous twitching, a flash of pain passed through your skull, making you wince. That did not go unnoticed “Are you okay?” the softness of his tone made your heart give out a warning summersault.

With anyone else, you would heed the warning and do everything to get rid of the strange sensation filling your chest. With Neil, you could only swallow past the feeling and offer him a dimmed smile and an honest reply:

“Yeah, it’s just a headache. I didn’t have the time for coffee if I wanted to make it” the grumpiness shone through your voice as you pressed your fingers against the throbbing spot on your temple and sent an inward curse to the gods responsible for the passage of time.

With half the mind to start digging in your bag for the painkiller that was definitely (hopefully) somewhere inside, you did not clock Neil’s movements until he tapped your knee and placed a takeaway coffee cup in your line of vision. Startled, you turned your head to look at him, an unasked question already on your tongue.

“Here, you can finish this” flashing you an easy smile, Neil all but shoved the lukewarm cup into your hand.

Your brain needed additional minutes to process the unforeseen developments as you tightened the hold over the cup and regarded him silently. Only then the shocked, delighted smile made an appearance on your face:

“Good god, I didn’t know we’re at the stage where we’re sharing caffeine sources” the faux gasp was a worthwhile addition, triggering Neil’s laughter.

For a split second, you were content to bask in the glory of it and the knowledge that you were the sole cause. You did this to him.

Still, the sentiment was true. You could barely recall the last time someone was kind enough to buy coffee for you, let alone share theirs. And never on their own accord, leaving you almost lightheaded from the tenderness of the gesture. You stifled the feeling with another exaggerated smile.

“Do you want it or not?” Neil arched his eyebrow, aiming for sternness but failing.

You could see the joy in his eyes, lighting them from within.

“Oh, I do, I do” sending him one last grin, you raised the cup to your mouth and took a long sip. As that first taste of the cappuccino hit your tastebuds, you stifled a pleased groan and relaxed into the seat, “Thank you, kind Sir” tipping an invisible top hat at Neil, you cherished another chuckle dragged out of him and added, “You’ve saved my life” taking another sip, you met Neil’s gaze, seemingly unwavering in its focus on your face.

You watched as his eyes roamed over your features to glance at your mouth and stay there. Stuck perhaps. Without daring to give it second thoughts, you allowed your tongue to dart out and swipe over your lips. Even then, you did not look away from Neil, feeling the electricity crackle and snap between you. Another beat passed before he looked up, startled and caught with the blush dusting his cheeks. It was impossible not to chuckle, breaking the tension by looking away.

Not without effort. And not for long.

“Eternally at your service” you got as far as downing the coffee before Neil spoke again, his quip making you inhale sharply.

Being caught unaware by blatant flirting was new. Unprecedented, yet not unwelcome. And easily redeemed. You turned your head to meet Neil’s unwavering gaze and offered a knowing smirk, matching his expression. Without wasting another second, you leaned in closer, eradicating the gap between you and pressed a lingering kiss to his cheek.

“You are, aren’t you?” the question did what you needed it to as Neil leaned back enough to meet your gaze again and quirked the corner of his mouth into a pleased smile.

The awkwardness of those first few minutes seemed to be past you now, overtaken by the easy banter. You settled into the feeling and the comfort it brought without trying to understand why that was the case. It was better that way.

After a few minutes of comfortable silence, you felt Neil’s gaze back on you. Its weight was not a burden, leisurely caressing the outlines of your body before opening the page for a new question:

“So… How’s work?” you glanced at Neil just in time to see his easy smile, the interest clear in his eyes.

That part of your friendship was something you valued highly because you could not find it anywhere else. With anyone else. Only Neil seemed to care about the mechanics of professional ballet and the trials and tribulations it entailed. Only he seemed curious about your goals and aspirations, always so eager to hype you up despite you never asking for it.

You were sure the soft smile was already present on your face as you offered him a reply:

“It’s good. Got stellar reviews, as I’ve told you, and now the other Cupid is taking over for a couple of days so I can prepare for the auditions for the next one” the mention of what awaited spiked your anxiety, even if only by a fraction.

Because the prospect was terrifying. Even with the hours of prep and previous season’s experience, you could not ignore the fears. There was no certainty you were good enough to get another breaking role. There was no confidence in that matter either if you had to search your heart and soul. There was only fear nagging at the edges of your conscience with increasing urgency.

You knew it would only get worse in the span of half a week that was left.

“The Nutcracker?” Neil’s complimentary question kept you anchored in the present.

It also proved that he listened to all the bullshit you spewed every time you met. And that, much like shared coffee and the desire to get to know you, was worth more than you could express. More than you dared contemplate if you wanted to maintain the relatively unbothered mood and the illusion of nonchalance.  

“Yeah. I’ll prepare a couple of variations and hope for the best” only when you felt Neil’s hand cover yours did you become aware of your fidgeting, of the restless fingers picking at the hangnails. The comforting weight of his palm stilted the movement and offered bravery you did not realise you needed to speak the thoughts into existence, “I could show you what I’ve got in a couple of days,” the wavering notes of your voice made you cringe, instantly removing any pretence of cool you wished you could maintain. If only because you cared. Too much “If you-” the end of that rambled disclaimer was cut short.

Thank god.

“I’d like that” Neil squeezed your hands and sent you a reassuring smile, somehow already knowing what it was that you needed, “Seems like I’m already experiencing the withdrawal symptoms” the candid tone did nothing to help you ignore his wink or minimise the impact of the statement.

You blinked twice as your brain absorbed and processed the words. Only then you turned towards Neil with a deadpan expression and asked:

“… from my unremarkable dancing?” measuring him up silently, you took passive note of the station you had just arrived at.

There was still time. Time to offer Neil space to take back what he just bestowed on you. For him to deny the praise hidden in the corners of his affectionate smile and within the light in his eyes. But he did not seem eager to backtrack on the words you did not think you deserved.

“From your incredible dancing, Cupid,” signing off the accolade with another one of his charming smiles, he lifted your hand to his lips and turned it to press a fleeting kiss to the inside of your wrist.

Over the pulse point. A gasp was inevitable as you closed your eyes and let the sensation burn through your body and soul. Just as Neil intended. It was fleeting, yet the impact felt almost permanent. Impossible to shake off.

You did your best, opening your eyes to see his pleased smirk and ignoring it entirely to huff in pretend annoyance:

“Christ, you’re such a charmer” an eye roll thrown into the mix completed the act as Neil let go of your hand and let it drop back to your lap.

The sensation persisted, making your skin tingle. Unconsciously, your thumb rubbed over the exact spot he kissed. It did nothing to eradicate the sensitivity.

“You like it, though” mindless of your turmoil, Neil bumped his shoulder into yours, the dangerous grin blooming on his beautiful face.

It took you one look to know you were foolish to think one night with him could have been enough. Stupid to believe Neil was someone you could let slip through your fingers after getting to have him. Now, with the decision entirely up to him, you could only wait, taking what was freely offered. With that reminder, it was easy to forgo the remains of pretence. Even if just this once. Once more.

“You’re right” the only sign that he was not expecting your straightforward answer was how his eyes widened, roaming over your face with renewed intensity. By now, you knew there was no point in trying to decipher his looks, so you simply stared back. Unwavering and confident in what you wanted him to know, “I like you,” noting the slight hitch in his breath, you added, “Neil,” emphasizing his name the way you did on Friday night, you met his increasingly alarmed gaze and offered a smile. A wordless reassurance that he need not fret that you have gone insane. Not yet, anyway. Before the charged moment could evolve into something you could not control, you swallowed hard and asked the only question that required no thinking or clarity of mind, “How’s the parish?”

The manic grin, signing off the not-subtle change of topic, was a touch too much. Admittedly. It slid off your face as quickly as it appeared and was buried in the hard stare you directed at the dirty floor of the carriage.

But not for long.

“Great, many… devotees and all” the joy in Neil’s voice alone was not enough to make you look up.

But it was enough to make you crack a tentative smile, relieved that the joke still had not gone stale. You quite enjoyed it. For whatever reason.

Following the hopeful thought, you raised your head again to meet his gaze. On the periphery of your attention, you noticed the fact that Neil had never looked away, but you filed the knowledge for future use (that would likely never come) and instead offered him a cheeky look:

“All that jazz?” framing your face with infamous jazz hands, you waited with bated breath for the quip to land.

It did with an uproar of laughter and Neil’s striking eyes gazing at you with something you could not decipher if you tried. Wordlessly, you offered him something similar, an affectionate look that spoke words you never could force your tongue to form. It spoke of comfort. Of being understood like never before. The gratitude in Neil’s face was worth the risk.

“Jazz and hymnals,” offering you another manic grin, he broke the eye contact to glance at the floor. Before you could begin to think of something to say, Neil swallowed hard and spoke again, “Actually, I wanted to ask if you wanted to join me and some of my work friends in a pub on Friday?” the only sign that he was nervous was the slight tremble in his voice, followed with close to no time given for your answer, before Neil dived into another winded explanation, “It’s just a hangout, but ever since I dared mention that I met a ballerina, they won’t stop pestering me about you” a nervous chuckle tore from his parted mouth, making you look up and study him closely. That strange shyness seemed to be back, as always out of place on such a beautiful face. It bloomed along the sharp lines of his cheekbones and in how he picked at the chapped skin of his bottom lip with his teeth. Without thinking, you covered his fidgeting hands with yours. A gentle squeeze was all the confirmation you needed to know it was a good call, “So I want to introduce you” his earnest eyes met yours, but before you could even think about the answer, Neil added, “As my friend” he nodded, once and curtly as if convincing himself of what he just said and he fell silent.

The resulting pause was almost hard to absorb. It rang in your ears like an explosion. That was not something you expected to hear. Probably never. Not from Neil. Admittedly, the concept of him talking about you with someone else seemed foreign enough to be nonsense. Not probable.

And yet. You did not have to search your heart to know what the answer was supposed to be.

Aware of the few different ways you could approach it, you chose to fall back on what came naturally. Unlike honesty and vulnerability.

“As long as no one asks me to get on my knees and pray, I’m in” shooting Neil a smirk that felt a tad too much, you waited for his startled gaze to meet yours and winked, dropping your voice a notch to share what was meant for his ears only “And yes, I would get on my knees for other reasons” there was nothing to add there.

And nothing to take back either. No regrets as you stared at Neil, patiently awaiting a response. All the while, your fingers kept the loose hold over his hand, brushing over his knuckles in repetitive moves to soothe the both of you. Even if you would never admit as much.

You watched as the shock in his eyes gave way to begrudged acceptance, disappointed yet not surprised by your constant desire to be a nuisance. It was almost flattering. It made your blood sing with a spark of something you were keen to assign to pure exhilaration. And arousal, too.

“I didn’t ask” after what felt like ages of silence, Neil swallowed hard and made an effort to look away from you, feigning disinterest.

Still, his fingers squeezed yours, betraying the act. Smiling, you squeezed back and disentangled your hand from his as you took note of the approaching station. It was funny (and fucking annoying) how fast time seemed to pass when one wanted to cherish every second.

“But you wanted to,” shrugging upon Neil’s arched eyebrow and an indignant noise of protest that was never going anywhere, you leaned in to kiss him on the cheek fleetingly and got up from the seat “Give me time and place, and I’ll be there” smiling in the face of his utter bewilderment, you added, “On my best behaviour” a glance out the window showed you the tiled wall of the Southwark station, and signalled that it was high time to move.

Unfortunately.

“Like right now?” the humour in Neil’s voice was a reason to look back at him, taking note of the delight you could see on his face.

It proved all you already knew. He enjoyed it. All of it. Your insanity included. The understanding was enough to make you grin like a mad woman and nod:

“Yes, exactly,” the carriage drew to a slow stop, and people rushed from their seats as you gripped the railing and met Neil’s gaze for another prolonged moment.

“Perfect,” mirroring your smile, Neil’s mouth twisted into another trademark smirk.

The doors slid open with the PA message talking of gaps and stations. You raised your hand in a brief wave as you let the tide of commuters lead you onto the platform and away from Neil.

Not bad for a first meeting. Right?

***

In hindsight, which was a gift many possessed, but Neil decidedly did not, it was probably expected, that his friends would take every opportune moment to ask about Cupid. Even when taking a short break in the common room. Even when he was halfway through the second espresso of the day (and a third cup of coffee, because whoever needed sanity, anyway?). Even when it was the last thing he expected. Or, perhaps, especially then.

“How’s your ballerina, mate?” the question arrived exactly when Neil had his mouth full of coffee and was too busy staring at his phone to realise he was targeted with another of Ives’ laser stares.

A coughing fit, brought forward by the ever so graceful tendency to choke on drinks whenever cornered, was the only answer Neil was capable of for the first ten seconds. Glaring at Ives with what he hoped was enough murderous intent to make the soldier reflect on his actions, he put the cup on the coffee table in front and glanced at the remaining person in the room. Just to anticipate further assault, should it follow. Naturally.

Wheeler seemed unbothered, sipping her daily green tea and scrolling on the phone. But by now, Neil knew better than to ignore her existence. With one final warning look in her direction, he turned back to Ives. Just in time to see an infuriating grin spread over the man’s face, begging to be wiped with a punch. Ignoring the urge to do just that, Neil offered a reply:

“She’s… good. Great” the words felt flat, not measuring up to everything Cupid was.

But it was also the only admiration Neil was willing to impart to them. Those words were safe, not betraying the exact depths of his affection. He might not be embarrassed about how much he valued Cupid and every little thing about her, but he was certainly not eager to get into another conversation that would lead nowhere. The teasing was awful, as it was already.

“Of course she is,” Ives’ repartee muttered loudly enough to be heard by Neil from the other side of the room was accompanied by another of his annoying smirks.

Was Neil a better, smarter person, he probably would have ignored it. But he was neither better nor smarter. The spark of exasperation has been lit, burning through his chest with increased ferocity. But, sadly, no matter how frustrated Neil felt, he knew that none of it warranted physical violence. Yet, that is.

So, leaning back on the sofa to at least maintain physical comfort, since the mental one was not available, Neil chose to channel the ire into words.

“Your point?” arching his eyebrow, he focused his gaze on the current enemy of the state, awaiting an answer. When nothing followed except for Ives’ nonchalant shrug and Wheeler’s scoff in the background, he continued, “Never mind, I don’t care” he knew he sounded like a petulant child throwing a tantrum, but there was hardly anything to do but push onwards, choosing this moment to drop the news his ‘friends’ (way too generous term) surely would be interested in “I invited her to the pub, by the way,” Neil could feel the grin making its place on his face, erasing any pretence of indifference “Tomorrow” even the reminder alone was enough to spark the excitement.

Alongside it, he could feel the inklings of anxiety bloom to life. If only because he had no idea how Cupid would react to the antics of his friends. Or whether his dear crew was even capable of surviving her. He pushed past the worrying thoughts for the time being by reaching out for the cookies on the table. The sweetness of chocolate chips melted on his tongue, eradicating the fears. For now.

“Why?” this time, Ives’ question was stripped of all remaining nonchalance and certainty.

He was not expecting that. Neil’s mouth twisted into a smirk, revelling in satisfaction. He met the man’s surprised stare with confidence, taking in the uncertainty coming to life underneath that cocksure act his friend liked to maintain. Well, no more.

One glance at Wheeler confirmed the upper hand he has seemingly achieved, making Neil push forward:

“Because maybe once you meet her, you’ll stop being so annoying about this,” the steel edge in his tone was not something he could explain.

Except that he suddenly felt the need to defend the relationship with the woman in question against all forms of offence. Even imaginary.

“No chance, sweetheart” it seemed that Ives did not need as much time as Neil hoped to recover.

The grin was back on his face, accompanied by a wink. Outrageous. Ignoring the sudden urge to hiss like a furious cat, Neil rolled his eyes and dropped his gaze to the table.

Despite her suspicious silence, he could feel Wheeler’s eyes boring holes into his head from her perch in the corner of the room. That was a ticking bomb, awaiting her moment in the chaos to blow up. Or, less dramatically put, waiting for her time to shine and ask a question Neil knew he would not be able to answer. It hung over his head like the guillotine’s blade.

“Yeah, I worried as much,” punctuating the annoyance with a huff, he raised his head with renewed determination. It fueled the words he needed to be spoken, “Still, Cupid is delightful, so you’ll sure like her” it was as much a certainty as it was a plea.

A hopeful thought. A dose of wishful thinking, indeed.

Somewhere at the back of his head, Neil became aware of the many different words to describe her whirling around his brain, thousands of synonyms and endearments scratching at his consciousness. As if desperate to be heard. To make a point. But there was no point to make here. Cupid was a delight. She was also the most beautiful woman he had ever met. She was someone he could not have. But that was alright. It really was.

“I’ve no doubts about that” Wheeler’s voice broke the silence, startling Neil. He turned his head sharply to face her, noticing the quiet confidence visible in her sharp green gaze. Still, he appreciated the vote of trust, “Did you kiss?” the question exploded with the force of an atomic bomb.

As he should have expected. The nonchalance in her face told Neil he fucked up, ignored the signs, and now he has been left gaping at his two tormentors with no way out of the interrogation. Well, he could have just got up and left. But Neil was also pretty sure he would be cornered in the lift next. Or on the stairs. Or wherever else it was possible to torture him. Sighing heavily, Neil sagged onto the sofa and covered his face with his hands. A deep breath or two were in order. Perhaps he was overreacting. The dramatic tendencies yet again won with any sense of logic or stoicism. As always.

Fuck it. Heaving another weary sigh, Neil raised his head to stare at the wall as he stammered:

“I- We-” finally, he summoned enough courage to say what needed to be said, “Yeah… we did” with the speed of his thoughts at the minute, it was no surprise that the brain did not get the memo to stop fucking talking. No surprise at all to hear himself add another tidbit of information, almost without his conscious decision to do so, “We also had sex” as soon as the words left this mouth, Neil groaned, barely resisting the urge to get up and flee the scene with burning cheeks and mortification capable of killing him on the spot.

The fact that this sometimes happened – saying things before he was even aware he was doing it – was embarrassing enough. Especially now. The silence in the room upon his ill-timed admission felt thick enough to be cut with a knife. Even a butter knife. Unwilling to see the exact reactions on the faces of his companions, Neil trained his gaze on the floor, feeling the blood rush in his ears, the pulse pounding with worrying speed. He could feel their stares, boring holes in his head and trying to peer inside.

“You- what?” in the few years of knowing Ives, Neil was sure he had never heard the man quite so flabbergasted.

If it were not so surprising he would almost find the reaction offensive. Because why was it so unexpected? He tried not to ponder the answers to that question.

“Last Friday, after the ballet,” throwing the background information with as much indifference as possible, Neil slowly raised his head.

He was met with a wide-eyed stare from Ives’, his bright blue eyes seemingly stuck in a constant state of shock. Yeah, that was that when it came to not being offended. Exasperation rose in his chest, tempting Neil to do something very stupid. But before he could utter another word, Wheeler’s question filled the silence:

“So, you’re together now?” contrasting her trusted partner in crime, the brown-haired woman appeared disturbingly calm.

She put down the cup of tea with a measured move and rested her hip against the cupboards, unnervingly staring at Neil.

There was no need. He seemed unable to keep quiet anyway.

“No, of course not. I’ve told you that she doesn’t do relationships. It’s just sex” this was an answer long prepared, something he could recite from the heart. Why that was, Neil dared not think. Instead, he shrugged, for the umpteenth time within the past ten minutes, wishing to exit the conversation and escape to the North Pole. Or someplace like that. Polar bears were sure much better company to the two idiots he was paired off with presently, “Why are you staring at me like that, Ives?” he could hear the edge in his voice, the sharpness of vowels revealing the depths of annoyance.

The last thing Neil needed was someone sowing doubts about what was unchangeable. Not now when he finally began to feel settled again, for the first time since that fateful Friday night. Now, when he was so close to giving Cupid the answer. Now, when he almost felt like he knew what he wanted to do about it.

Not now.

“Because I think you’ve gone insane” there was no dose of mercy or understanding in Ives’ reply; the man focused his blue-eyed gaze on Neil without respite, clearly driven to say his part. For better or for worse, “You don’t do casual sex. With anyone” before Neil could offer an interjection at what was clearly not true, the man continued. Somehow filled with more passion and conviction, “Christ, I’m pretty sure you turned down at least three girls for that very reason last year. You’re a romantic, Neil” the sign-off proved to be the last straw.

Neil rolled his eyes against the allegation and stood up, fire blazing in his gaze. For whatever reason, he did not know. Except that something in the impertinent tirade of his friend irked him beyond compare.

Yes, maybe what Ives said was true. Maybe he turned down offers for casual sex before. But that did not mean a thing. Because all those other women were not her. They were not worth changing his ideals for what could also prove to be an unsatisfactory result. Only she seemed worth the risk.

And yes, Neil was aware of how pathetic that sounded. He shook his head against the ridiculous thoughts and paced the room before finding apt words to defend his choices. Not that he had to defend anything, of course. Still-

“No, I’m not” if that was a stretch, no one had to be any wiser. Just in case, however, Neil trained his gaze on the floor instead of looking at his companions, “Just because I’ve never done it before doesn’t mean I can’t now” there, that sounded perfectly composed and reasonable “It’s fine. I like her, and we’ve got a good thing going” finishing the speech with the only sentiment he was moderately sure of, Neil risked a glance at his friends.

Ives still looked infuriatingly impassioned, as if barely holding himself back from making more incorrect assumptions, but it was Wheeler’s expression that made Neil falter. His restless eyes finally found purchase for more than a second at a time. If only so he could understand what that introspective look in her eyes meant. And what potential trouble could it bring.

“If you say so,” Ives’ dejected reply almost went unnoticed, falling under the radar as the man sighed heavily, as it was him who was being violently verbally attacked.

The audacity was something else.

“We’re just worried about you. We’d rather avoid a repeat of the last time someone broke your heart” Wheeler’s voice was laced with concern as she breached the space and placed her hand on Neil’s shoulder with a stoic yet meaningful look in her eyes.

The tight smile completed the picture as she squeezed his shoulder and left as quickly as she had approached him. Still, the gesture lingered, making Neil falter. Because he knew what Wheeler meant. He knew it too well. Sometimes during those darkest moments, he could still remember how it felt. The searing pain in his chest and the inescapable knowledge that he was not enough. That he never would be. That the heartbreak would follow him wherever he went because there was no universe in which Neil was destined for a happily ever after.

Sometimes, it was easy to believe that, too.

Most of the time, however, he ignored those thoughts. Like now, when that first sting of tears at the back of his eyelids spelt trouble and unwanted attention. When he could feel the tightness in his throat threaten to trigger something no one wanted to see in public. Not now. Not ever.

Instead, Neil plastered on another obnoxious grin. The blinding strength of it was almost enough to get rid of the residual feelings.

“Well, worry not! It won’t happen” to reinforce the intended effects, Neil notched up the cockiness in his smirk and flopped back onto the sofa with all the air of someone certain they were making correct decisions.

Or, at least, that was the hope. That no one would see past his act despite the edges of the mask slipping with every second.

Taking a fortifying breath, Neil swallowed hard and settled against the cushions, hoping the softness would anchor him. A glance at the watch confirmed his hopes – not much time was left till he had somewhere to be. A handy excuse to leave faintly appeared on the horizon, teasing him with potential and salvation. Only, it still had to wait…

As soon as the faint hope glimmered, making Neil feel a tiny bit better about his current situation, Ives broke the silence. The only way he knew how:

“So… how was the sex?” Neil’s head swivelled in the direction of the man at breakneck speed, a blush already blooming on his cheeks.

It was mortifying how little it took to reduce him to a blushing fool these days. How one mention of Cupid, or the moment they shared, was enough to render him incapable of acting like a grown-up. How there was nothing to do about it but groan out loud and cover his face with his hands, hoping to escape the scrutiny. While knowing it was too late, anyway.

Before he could find an apt response (or any words at all, in fact), Wheeler interrupted the silence with her frustrated sigh, annoyance tinting the words:

“Ives, for fuck’s sake…” even without looking at her friend, Neil knew she was rolling her eyes, equally fed up with Ives’ antics.

Not for the first time, he felt gratitude for her existence and the constant intolerance of bullshit. Neil hoped to convey as much through a quick smile, shot in her direction sometime between staring at the floor and pondering the best course of action. She smiled back, briefly dropping the disinterested frown that seemed at home on her face whenever friendship dramatics unfolded. Which was more often than Neil would like to admit.

Apparently, a penchant for drama was a contagious trait. Sadly.

“What? I gotta ask the important questions” the lack of remorse on Ives’ face told Neil all he needed to know about the situation.

There was either option a – leaving the room as he stood, without a further word or a gesture, aware that he would be cornered by his dear friend shortly. There was also option b – answering the question in the vaguest way possible and hopefully buying himself time and necessary peace.

Was it really a choice? Sighing heavily, Neil strengthened his back and met the awaiting blue gaze with what he hoped to be confidence.

“Very good. Might I say euphorically good,” he could feel the smirk make home on his face as memories followed the words, offering a gratifying reel of moments he was sure he could never forget. It never failed to make him grin like an idiot and consider doing something reckless like calling Cupid and asking her out. As a friend, that is. A friend you wanted to have sex with again. Instead, he allowed himself to soften the voice and add, “She’s… incredible” it was a severe understatement, but then the present company was not worth hearing peans he could bestow upon her.

Those words were meant for her ears only. And yes, he knew how it sounded. How it pointed towards things Neil was not admitting, not even to himself. But that, too, was best ignored. Forever.

Before Neil could find the necessary words to follow the admission and, hopefully, exit the conversation altogether, the door creaked. All three pairs of eyes snapped towards it, displaying different stages of shock and bewilderment.

Neil watched as The Protagonist stepped inside, the dynamic of his movements stopping on the threshold as the man took in the scene presented before him. Cocking an eyebrow in a silent question, the older man closed the door behind his back and regarded them coolly.

“Uh oh,” the phrase, offered casually, without a dose of interest or intrigue, was accompanied by another taxing look.

Worryingly, it was focused on Neil only. The dark eyes of his best friend (and boss) scanned him from head to toe, undoubtedly clocking everything he hoped to conceal. Stifling the sudden urge to drown himself in the cup of lukewarm coffee someone abandoned on the table hours before, Neil sagged on the sofa. That was not going to be fun.

“Uh oh, indeed” even without looking at him, Neil could tell Ives was smirking.

Feeling the three pairs of eyes focus on him again, he groaned.

He was completely and utterly fucked, it seemed.

***

Usually, Friday evenings in the pub were not associated with anxious thoughts or fidgeting hands, interchangeably tugging and relaxing the chain clasped around your neck. But that was not a usual Friday night, and no amount of mental coaching could change that fact or convince you to stop worrying. No, the nerves seemed ingrained in the fabric of your soul as you exited the Leicester Square station and rushed through the streets of Chinatown, rapidly filling with people. You swallowed past the overwhelming onslaught of worries and pushed onwards, only briefly stopping underneath the red lanterns to double-check the location and whether you were still on the course.

When Neil sent you the address earlier that day, you admitted that the choice of locale was greatly appreciated. That was your hunting ground so to speak. The streets, where you felt most at home, with the bright lights proceeding your steps and the bustle of the city filling your heart. But even the comfort of the familiar environment did not eradicate the fears. The millions of what-ifs swirling around in your head all pointing out that one crucial fact – there was no guarantee that his friends would like you. None at all.

And the alternative was too terrifying to consider. Admittedly, this was not a place you visited often. Not a predicament you knew too well. Because, usually, you could not care less. Did not give a flying fuck about whether someone liked you or even accepted you because if they did not – well, their loss. But those life rules did not seem applicable this time. Not when the stakes suddenly seemed higher than gaining a stranger’s sympathy. Even though you could hardly explain what the alternatives were and why they scared you quite so much.

Glancing up from the phone screen, you double-checked the pub name with the address typed into the search bar and closed the app. Pocketing the device, you crossed the street and stopped just before the doorway. The bar was half-full, the music not quite booming yet filling the interior with cosiness and warmth that beckoned you inside, sparking the courage that began to flicker in your heart. As if sensing your moment of indecision, your phone buzzed. A single text from Neil appeared on the screen:

/✝️, 8:03 pm/ I’m here if you’re early.

Despite the nerves, you grinned. A ridiculous giggle escaped your throat as you pushed the door and entered the pub. That was a sign if you ever saw one. The contrasting warmth seeped into your bones as you unzipped the jacket and manoeuvred around the tables to the room in the back. This part of the bar was empty, save for a larger table in the corner. As soon as you entered the space, Neil raised his head and met your gaze with a bright smile. It was impossible not to grin back, taking in the warm light reflecting in his golden hair and the undone top buttons of his navy shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Even now, after everything, the sight never failed to make your pulse quicken, revealing the truth you could not ignore. That you wanted him. Still.

Probably more so now that you knew what it was like to have him.

That reminder alone was a reason to push all thoughts to the back of your mind and close the remaining gap in three steps. Shooting him an overly confident grin as a greeting, you drew back the chair opposite Neil’s and took off your jacket, draping the covering over the backrest and sitting down without as much as a word. If Neil noticed the unusual silence, he did not show it, instead following your every move with curiosity in his eyes. Once you were settled and allowed yourself to rest your gaze on him, Neil’s smile softened into something fragile. Something kinder than you were used to. You basked in the warmth of his expression as he broke the silence:

“I’m glad you came” that same affection tinted the simple sentiment, quieting the nerves in your head, even if only for a second.

For whatever reason, the fears seemed worth it if that was the reaction you earned by going through the pains of what was coming. It was shining in the blue of his eyes, luring you in like a spell. Without thinking about it, you darted a hand forward and quickly patted his hands, folded atop the table. The corner of his mouth twitched, clearly noticing your gesture. It was a nice feeling to be seen like that, appreciated for every tiny thing you did or said.

“Well, I promised, didn’t I?” the awkwardness slipped out alongside a weak chuckle you attempted, hoping to balance out the sudden pull towards seriousness in this conversation. You weren’t supposed to be serious, “When are-” the question, the only one you could think of suddenly, got cut short by Neil’s answer.

“In about ten minutes. They might be late, though” he glanced at the watch, almost in an afterthought.

Unashamedly, you let out a long sigh, feeling weariness fade for a short while. Ten minutes seemed like an apt time to settle. Or at least enjoy what you have right here and now. What you feared to lose more than you could admit.

Where was courage when one needed it desperately?

“Cool…” your knuckles rapped against the table, hoping to find the bravery in the rhythmless sound, but to no avail. You looked up, instantly caught in Neil’s blue gaze, staring back at you intently. As always. As if there was anything of interest that he could find only on your face, “Can I ask you something?” there was no way of getting rid of the tremors in your voice.

“Always,” Neil nodded, generous enough to spare you the suspense.

Taking a deep breath, you raised your head once more, plunging into the deep end:

“Are we still going to be friends if they hate me?” with no right way for a question like this to come out, you still cringed, wincing as soon as the words left your mouth.

Clingy. Pathetic. So unlike what you thought you knew about yourself. And yet. Because that was the crux of the issue. This deeply rooted fear that Neil’s presence in your life could disappear suddenly without a warning or a reason. A fear you did not understand or experienced before. It was terrifying.

Before your brain could unleash the ramblings, erasing any evidence of the question ever having been asked, you felt Neil’s hand gently cover yours. Despite knowing better, you looked up in time to see another soft smile grace his beautiful features. It mellowed the sharpness of the angles and eased the pain of looking at him.

A pain you were gladly braving every day if it meant you could keep on staring at him. With no desire to understand what that said about you.

“Obviously,” the lack of hesitation on Neil’s part bolstered the faint hope in your soul. It only got stronger as you saw him search your gaze with intent before Neil squeezed your hands and added, “Although I can assure you that they won’t hate you” the lack of judgement in his eyes seemed almost out of place.

A stupid question like that was bound to be judged and ridiculed. Surely. Except Neil did not seem to think so. The realisation made you feel lightheaded. It made no sense in the world order you knew.

You shook your head against the confusion and flipped the hand lying on the table so you could entangle your fingers with his. The softness of his palm moulded to yours as you arched an eyebrow, your face still a picture-perfect of calm:

“How can you be so sure, sunshine?” it was not in your nature to accept reassurance without trying to undermine it. You could tell Neil knew as much. It was there in the utter lack of surprise in his gaze as you prodded, his hand a comforting weight in yours. It helped you take a deep breath and confess what usually remained unsaid, “I know I’m… a lot” your eyes fluttered shut upon the unprecedented display of honesty.

You knew it was true, a fact many thought and no one admitted out loud. Except maybe when they stopped talking to you, leaving you behind without an explanation or an apology. That is when you easily concluded that it has happened again. You were too much. Too much to handle without being enough. Took up too much space without having anything substantial to say or do with it. Asked for too much despite not being worth even an ounce of it. Yeah, that.

It was always like that. So why would it be different this time?

Although you could feel Neil’s piercing gaze on your face, you did not dare look up. Instead, you tightened the hold over his hand and let your thumb brush his skin. The repetitiveness of the caress anchored you in the present. Sometimes, when you were brave enough to contemplate the reality, you marvelled at how easy it was to be like this with him. How you could touch Neil so effortlessly, without worrying about how it would be interpreted or what he could ask for in return.

“You contain multitudes. In the best way,” the affection in his voice made you push against the ridiculous thoughts and look up, even if only to see that same softness reflected in his eyes, “And I’m sure because I can’t imagine meeting you and not being absolutely enchanted, Cupid” squeezing your hand again, he raised your joined palms to lay a kiss on your knuckles.

By now, the move should have been something you were used to. But it wasn’t. It still made you blush, hiding the effects by dropping his gaze and focusing on the table. The warmth his words sparked in your chest simmered with a pleasant heat, almost eradicating every other thought and feeling. Until all that remained was Neil and his steadfast fondness, focused on you. For whatever reason.

It did not take your brain too long to realise the dangers of that line of reasoning, jumping into deflection before any other wayward thought could appear. Raising your head in time for Neil to see a performative eye roll, you replied:

“Christ, you’re really bad for my ego” it was not a lie, and you knew Neil could tell as much from how his mouth twitched.

Still, your hand stayed in his hold, too used to the contact to think about letting go. At least for a little longer.

“Ditto, babe” Neil’s smile widened into a bright grin as he shot you a wink, dropping the new nickname without hesitation.

Almost as if he hoped you would not notice. Wishful thinking and all. The discovery of his slip-up was enough to awaken you, giving your brain something to grasp. A distraction. A way to come back to who you were supposed to be.

Your eyes flashed, a familiar flicker of confidence and control making it easy to hold his gaze. To notice the uncertainty within the blue depths, spurring you on. Before Neil could even think about taking it back, you leaned in, invading his space and getting a whiff of his perfume. Like an addict getting a hit of their drug of choice. Stopping close enough to kiss him if you chose to, you let your nose brush against his in a light caress and whispered a taunting question:

“Ooh, it’s babe now, is it?” the thrill of being this close to him never got old.

It was strengthened by the awed look in his eyes, confirming the suspicions that you finally had the upper hand. Neil looked stunned, blinking rapidly against your proximity and the bold attack you dared execute. You stared as he came to, the hand holding yours twitched and Neil dropped his gaze, overcame with strange bashfulness.  

“If you want it to be,” the murmured reply was coloured with sincerity.

Both an admission and a question, opening the floor for your next move. Swallowing past the pause, you opened your mouth to answer before a loud wolf whistle cut through the tension, making you spring back as if burned. Neil dropped your hand, his gaze instantly switching to the doorway. It did not take a genius to figure out that your time has just run out, and the company has arrived.

Fixing a curious smile onto your face, you turned in the chair, your eyes instantly drawn by the arriving group. The reason for your shocking awakening - a tall, muscled man with a buzzcut and a thick beard was the first to enter. His startling blue eyes met yours as his lips twisted into a smug smirk. He glanced at Neil, some silent understanding passing through his gaze before he asked:

“Are we interrupting something?” the unmistakable Cockney accent in his voice made you grin.

The cheekiness of this stranger was something you felt almost at home with. It was something you knew, the familiarity of it quietening the rapid heartbeat in your chest. Somewhat reluctantly, you shifted your eyes to fall on the second person to enter the room. The short woman, her hair twisted into a tight bun (not unlike what you often sported on stage), met your curious stare with one of her own. The last to enter was a tall, Black man. His presence already emitted confidence and charisma that you could not understand. As soon as his eyes met yours, the man smiled – a light, reassuring expression that transformed his face into something kind and open. With a sigh, you twisted back in the chair and closed your eyes briefly.

They did not seem scary… At least not terribly so.

“Not at all,” you only half registered Neil’s hurried response, noticing him rise from the table and gesture towards you with all the awkwardness of someone unable to play it cool. Despite yourself, you smiled at the realisation, “So, this is-” he never got to introduce you, for the sentence got cut short with another boisterous interruption.

“It’s you, isn’t it?” the bearded man approached the table, his wide grin unfading in the face of your bewilderment.

The remaining duo joined him on either side, all three pairs of eyes focused on you without a dose of apprehension. While the scrutiny was something you expected (and were partially used to), it still made you falter. Tightening your shaky hands into fists at your sides, you rose from the chair and faced them with a matching bright grin. By now, the act was almost too easy to take on - no matter the circumstances.

“It is I, indeed” completing the admission with a theatrical courtesy, you extended your palm towards the woman with what seemed like a safe greeting, “Nice to meet you” she met your handshake without hesitation.

The first handshake was followed by a round of introductions and greetings, easing that early discomfort of not knowing people’s names. Through the few minutes, Neil stayed quiet, observing you with an intensity you were slowly getting used to. You did not understand it, but it was almost comforting in its constant presence.  Only once you were acquainted, you sat back in the chair. Conscious of the new company, you shifted in the seat and folded your hands atop the table, resisting the urge to meet Neil’s gaze as it bore holes into your head from over the tabletop. Before you could even think of anything to say, Ives broke the silence with what you came to understand as his modus operandi:

“Mate, I must say-” the cheekiness permeated every syllable as the man stared between you and Neil with a wide grin.

Curiosity sparked in your chest as you watched the interaction. The blind panic in Neil’s eyes completed the picture as he leapt from the chair and grabbed the sleeve of Ives’ jacket to pull him up.

“It’s best if you don’t,” the warning in his voice was something new.

Something fascinating, too. Something that you had a feeling you would be repeating in the quiet of your mind later. Later, when you were alone.

Now however, you stared as Neil completed the silent exchange with Ives and informed you all that it was time to get drinks. You got as far as telling him the order of choice for the night before the uncertainty caught up again. With Neil and Ives gone from the table, only two pairs of eyes were trained on you. A small mercy, indeed.

Ignoring the urge to flee the scene, you tried to settle in the seat and raised your gaze to meet the dark stare of the man who introduced himself as John. For some reason, his serious countenance inspired trust, making it a little easier to breathe out. The woman, Wheeler, was more intimidating, although you could not explain why if asked. It was not even that she seemed mean or judgemental, but rather that it was difficult to get a reading on her that you feared what she could be thinking.

Before you had a chance to spiral in that direction, yet again failing under the scrutiny of near strangers, John broke the silence with a question:

“So, how did you meet again?” the curiosity was undeniable in his voice, his eyes watchfully trained on yours.

Almost as if it was a test. Luckily, you knew the answers this time.

“On the tube. Neil was gallant enough to help when I dropped half the contents of my handbag on the floor” a fond smile appeared uninvited on your face, forcing you to drop his gaze and stare at the table instead. That did not go unnoticed. You could still feel their interest, like a constant weight upon your shoulders. It would take much more than this to shake it off, “I wasn’t leaving him alone after that” shrugging, you risked a tentative smile and a glance at your companions.

Judgement was still missing from the picture. Instead, the inquisitive light in Wheeler’s eyes turned into something sharper. For a split second, you felt perceived as if she could see through the bullshit smiles and nonchalant shrugs that made up your protective armour. As if she could peer inside the parts of your mind you did not acknowledge for fear of what you would find there.

Before you could let the simmering panic reap its fruits, John replied:

“And a good thing, too, because he shouldn’t be left unsupervised for too long” the humour in his voice acted like a needed respite, pulling you back from the blooming spiral and into the present.

Despite yourself, you grinned. A startled chuckle escaped your lips, confirming what you knew to be true. That, despite the doubts and perhaps an unconventional run of your friendship, you knew Neil. You understood him.

Enough to know that he should never be left to his own devices for too long.

“I’ve noticed,” a secretive smile shared between the three of you felt almost like an inside joke.

The feeling was strengthened when you heard Neil and Ives return from the bar, their banter audible even from beyond the doorway. You waited until the duo settled at the table again, the ordered drink placed in front of you with a smile, before adding, “Now I’m also forcing ballet education onto him,” winking at Neil to both tease him and draw him back to the conversation, you took a fortifying sip of the alcohol.

Not that liquid courage was needed. Of course.

“Which I don’t mind at all” Neil’s responding grin was worth any possible pain. Its warmth filled you from the inside with a mild bloom of affection, making it that much easier to let go of the remaining fears, “I’ll have to drag you with me someday. You’ll see how amazing she is,” directing the sentence at his friends, Neil took a sip of the pint and stared back as if to challenge your wordless wonder.

Even now, the constant praise was difficult to absorb. How could anyone be this nice and not expect anything in return? You did not know.

“There’ll be no dragging necessary. I’d go willingly” despite the apprehension, the first sentence Wheeler spoke to you was filled with enough friendliness you instantly felt bad for doubting her nature. She offered you a sure smile, the sparks of interest clear in her green gaze, “How long have you been dancing?”

Now that was a question you knew the answer to. Without daring to doubt the sincerity of their investment in your story, you dove into the tale. It twisted through the prodding and the questions, reminding you how much you relished being the object of genuine interest. How nice it was to share stories and have others listen instead of ignoring you or cutting short that which you dared feel passionate about.

Only once your tale found its conclusion in the current day and age, daring to share the hopes for the future, did the nerves resurface. You drowned them in another sip of the drink and chose to ask the question that never strayed too far from your mind these days:

“And you guys? What do you do for work?” admittedly, it was not the smoothest move on your part.

The eagerness shone through each word as you rested your chin on your hand and ignored Neil’s gaze. Perhaps tonight was the lucky one…

“We- You haven’t told her?” as soon as the hope began to build, making you lean forward in anticipation, Ives clearly remembered his surroundings, silencing his own reply with a question directed at Neil.

One glance at the man in question showed you the depths of panic, making you step in. Just in case.

“He hasn’t,” hoping the reassurance in your voice would be enough for them to believe you, you added, tone dropping to that teasing timbre Neil knew well enough, “Which has led to some rather… fascinating conversations” whether mentioning the many inside jokes was a good idea, you did not know.

But it was already done. The reveal did what you needed it to as you watched with interest the many emotions passing through their faces. Brief bewilderment was there, alongside confusion and boundless curiosity. But, perhaps most importantly of all, you could see respect. Hidden behind layers of thoughts and questions, but it was there. You earned it.

And through no other means than being yourself. Little victories have never felt more genuine.

“Such as?” Ives was the first to speak, prodding and teasing, his gaze filled with that familiar cheeky gleam, “Don’t leave us hanging, sweetheart” the nickname rolled off his tongue with ease, which seemed surprising to everyone but the man himself.

You did not mind. Stealing another glance at Neil, if only to check whether he still seemed somewhat alright with the conversation (barely), you allowed your mouth to twist into a telling grin:

“Wouldn’t dream of it” by now, Neil must have known what that smile meant.

The expectation was confirmed by his long-suffering sigh, interjected with a curse and a groan, sounding almost like a plea for heavenly intervention.

That is, if God, the Holy Spirit, or anyone else fancied being cursed while asked for help.

“Jesus fucking-” cutting himself short with another sigh, Neil covered his face with his hands, almost as if unwilling to take part in what would follow.

Still, you could see the remains of a fond smile hiding in the corner of his mouth. That discovery was enough to get rid of any traces of uncertainty. You leaned over the table and dropped your voice to a conspiratory whisper:

“My personal favourite is that Neil is a priest. He’s got the charisma, and I’m pretty sure those dashing looks would help to convert non-believers” admittedly, you were proud of delivering the line with a straight face.

Even more so when, after approximately five seconds, you had the desired reaction of three people dissolving into different stages of laughter at your whim. Despite yourself, you met Neil’s gaze, only to find him beaming with traces of good-natured annoyance in the gleam in his eyes. Wordlessly, you arched an eyebrow, seeking approval. Always eager to be praised for something you felt you deserved. His smile only widened as Neil sneaked a hand beneath the table and briefly squeezed your knee.

That just about did it when it came to praise.

Enough so that when a reply came from your unexpected audience, you were caught unaware by the tone and the knowing smirk present on Ives’ face as he asked:

“Speaking from experience?” startled, you looked up in time to see his confident grin, pointing towards a thought you had not entertained before.

They knew. At some point between the previous Friday night and today, Neil told them what had happened. He has perhaps shared it all, and now you were not only regarded as a strange woman he has befriended on the London Underground but also as someone he had sex with. A lover, if you dared label things. Although obvious a realisation, it was still somewhat unexpected, making your hands twitch as you slipped back on the mask of utter nonchalance. There was no point in pretending now.

“Absolutely” without batting an eyelid, you met Ives’ relentless smirk with an innocent smile of your own, choosing to take back control of the conversations as much as it was possible,  “So, whatever parish you belong to, I might want an invitation” concluding the story with a telling wink, you picked up the glass and took a long sip, relishing in the slight burn of alcohol down your throat.

The sensation was enough to distract you from the strange thoughts, inspiring you to give in to the constant pull and meet Neil’s gaze over the table. He was already staring back, his mouth quirked into a soft smile. It was impossible to discern what it meant.

“We’ll come back to this conversation. If that’s okay,” John’s serious voice broke you out of the daydream, making you look up at him with surprise clear on your face.

That same air of authority you noticed the first time you had laid your eyes upon him was even more visible now that you got to talk. Without being able to explain it, you felt like he was the person most in charge out of the whole quartet. The one calling the shots. If anything, the comment enforced the idea, making you drop the playfulness for a split second to offer him a nod:

“Perfectly,” if only to ensure you had not accidentally ended up on the shit list for being too nosy, you added, “Mind you, I’m not holding a grudge. It’s just curiosity,” and it was, just that. The pure desire to know all there was to know about Neil. To piece apart his entire being and analyse it as one does when having encountered something so fascinating they could not walk past it. Yeah, just that. Shaking your head to erase unwanted thoughts, you chose to fall back on what was pleasantly familiar – letting your mouth do the talking without consulting the head on whether it was wise, “Although now that I’ve met you all, I think that perhaps it’s my other guess that makes more sense” letting the sentence trail off to a meaningful pause was an easy fate.

It was something you knew how to do. Entertain. Entrance. Fascinate. All to draw that fleeting attention, which would not solve anything except making you believe you were worth someone’s time. For a short while.

It worked this time, as always. All four pairs of eyes trained on you with curiosity. Ives was the first to break the silence, giving you what you had been waiting for:

“Which is?” arching an eyebrow, he leaned over the table, mirroring your position.

A flash of exhilaration passed through your soul, alighting that which usually laid dormant. Without meaning to, you met Neil’s gaze again, copying the cheeky smile before offering an answer:

“That you’re all in MI6” if not for the distraction in the form of his blue eyes, you were sure you would have clocked in the reactions, or rather the alarming lack of them, sooner. You blinked against the intoxicating pull of him, barely registering the silence from your companions, and found the bravery to add that which was meant for Neil only, “I mean, you could definitely pull off James Bond,” acutely aware of the audience, you tightened your hands into fists in your lap to prevent yourself from reaching out, signing off the statement with a wink.

That, too, hit the mark. You watched with delight as Neil blushed, the pink hue blooming on his cheekbones as he dropped your gaze and downed the rest of his beer. A gleeful chuckle was unavoidable as you finally gathered enough coherence to glance at the remaining companions. The mix of joy, consternation and pensiveness was something to behold, arresting your attention and sparking interest. What could it possibly mean? Questions began multiplying in your brain as you stared, particularly drawn to the exact expression on John’s face. It resembled quiet resolve as if he had just made up his mind about something and would not be persuaded to change it no matter the circumstances.

You had a feeling that you were not an exception to that rule.

“Cupid-” whatever Neil aimed to say got interrupted before you could focus your eyes back on him.

Still, the nickname resounded at the table with an extra impact, perhaps because it was the first time he had used it with the current company present. Despite wishing to remain blind to little details, you took note of the flash of interest in Wheeler’s eyes as her eyes flitted between the two of you. Thinking. You itched to ask what about but also feared the answer. Before you could even gather your thoughts enough to understand the intricacies of the situation, John got up from the chair, pulling Neil alongside him with a tight grip on his shoulder.

“C’mon. Let’s get second round” his tone left no room for discussion as he directed a pointed look at Ives and started for the bar without another word.

You stared as the two men scrambled after him, clearly taken aback by the sudden command. Now, curiosity was an understatement. It bloomed in your chest as you stared at Wheeler, silently begging for answers before you found any words to express an ounce of the confusion:

“What did just-” whatever question you had aimed to ask, you never got the chance as she interrupted you smoothly with a sleight of hand.

“Pay them no mind” that was not a suggestion, either. The order was visible in the focused gaze Wheeler placed on you, its weight quickly becoming bothersome, making you shift in the seat. Soon, you knew it was for a good reason, “Neil really likes you,” there was no question in the statement.

No chance for you to deny the claim. It wasn’t a false claim, either. You knew as much without needing to think about it. He liked you. It was there in every fond look, every tender touch, every affectionate word. And you knew that it was something you were guilty of as well. There was no point in pretending otherwise.

Ignoring the ever-present desire to run away, you strengthened your spine and met her searching gaze with honesty on your face:

“I know. I like him too. Never expected to meet a best friend on the Jubilee line, but well…” shrugging to shake off the remaining worries at your sincerity, you offered her a careful smile.

As soon as the words left your mouth, you understood their importance. You had never admitted it out loud. That this was a first. The first time you voiced what was long established in your mind and heart. What happened before you were aware. Before you could stop it. Was that another mistake? You did not dare answer that question.

Instead, you dropped Wheeler’s gaze and trained your eyes on the table, fingers idly tracing the grains in the dark wood. You knew the conversation was not over now that she had you alone and clearly unable to keep quiet. You did not have to wait long for another hit.

“He told us about what happened after the ballet last week” the judgment was still missing from the equation, no matter how hard you looked for it.

With your suspicions confirmed, there was no point in trying to pretend. No point in acting as if what she believed was untrue. That, too, was a fact. An undeniable truth, memorable and unforgettable.

After a beat, you braved the intensity of her gaze, feeling something else underneath the simple observation. Wheeler hardly seemed like a person to say things without there being a point to them. This time was not any different. The green of her eyes told you she was curious, eager to learn your side of things, but at the same time, she seemed almost wary. Concerned in ways that did not make much sense except for maybe…

“And you’re against it?” the question burst out from your lips before you knew you had formulated it. There was an edge to it that you immediately regretted but did not take back just yet. Not before adding essential information that could sway her. Why it mattered, you did not know, “I must assure you that Neil is in control. I offered to keep this strictly platonic. He’s yet to give me an answer,” the words rushed out with barely a pause in between as if you were on borrowed time.

Perhaps you did not want the company to return before you could wrap up this conversation. Perhaps it felt like if you do as much as hesitate in your answers, you will never get the words out again. And that would not do.

Wheeler only finished her drink in the face of your frenzied confession and took another moment to stare at you calmly before answering:

“I’m not against it, just worried. Neil is a genius, but he’s also a fool. And a romantic, at that,” the tired resignation in her tone provoked a careful smile to appear on your face despite the blooming worry springing alongside it.

It was something you feared, albeit without ever entertaining the thought consciously. His friends had every right to be worried. In fact, you were happy to see someone else care about Neil the way he deserved to be cared for. Intensely. But it was another thing to be seen as a potential threat towards his happiness. Someone to be cautious of. Someone who could hurt Neil. Someone you desperately wanted never to become.

“The worst combo,” ignoring the spiral which had just begun to take root in your mind, you quipped.

The force of the jest got lost somewhere between your head and mouth, lining the words with nerves and uncertainty. It still got a reaction you hoped to achieve as Wheeler’s face broke into a tentative smile.

“Isn’t it just?” her eyes met yours with hints of good-natured delight in the green irises, almost making you feel better about what followed. As soon as she sobered up, you could feel your chest seize painfully, the fear sinking its cold fingers into the fabric of your soul, “The point is that I hope you don’t hurt him. No matter what ends up happening between you” the intent was clear in her gaze.

As was the message. Should you hurt Neil, there would be consequences. Simple. Infinitely more effective than an outright threat.

Somehow, you did not need to search your soul to understand the fear beginning to shape there. You were not scared of what Wheeler or the other would do to you if you hurt Neil. No, it was something much more terrifying. It was the pure horror of knowing that, realistically, you could break his heart. Even if that were the last thing you would want to do. Even if you would never choose to do so. The ability was there. And that was enough.

Swallowing past the desire to flee, you forced yourself to meet her gaze and offer an answer as close to the truth as you could manage. As close as you hoped to be.

“I’ll do my best” you could tell your mouth trembled as you tried to form it into a reassuring smile, but still, you wished for it to be enough.

Because there was nothing better that you could offer. You stared as Wheeler processed your reply, her watchful gaze peering right into the fabric of your soul. It felt like an eternity before she nodded once, ending the conversation with decisiveness. A tired sigh escaped your throat as you sunk lower in the chair. You knew that it would haunt you for days to come.

In the background, you could hear the approaching voices of the rest of your party. The noise sobered you, helping to push against the melancholy and paste on a mischievous smirk. With the mask back in place, you knew you could survive the rest of the evening. Somehow.

***

By the time you had left the pub, the warmth of Neil’s hand on the small of your back guiding you outside, it was late, and your cheeks hurt from smiling. That pleasant tiredness that often came from spending too much time with people, forced to be someone you were never sure you understood, burned through your muscles, leaving you slightly dizzy. But that might have also been the alcohol. Or Neil’s loose handhold, dragging you towards the underground station.

You were not quite sure when it had been decided that you would come back together, only that the conversation involved something with Jubilee Line name-drop and Ives’ boisterous laughter. And a knowing gleam in his eyes that you did not enjoy. Still, as Neil patiently led you down the streets of Soho and towards Leicester Square, you did not mind the result. It gave you more time with him. More time to talk and less time to think about what the eventful evening brought up. About the fears festering in your heart.

Still, the comfortable silence was broken only once you were seated in the carriage, Neil’s thigh pressed against yours on the narrow plastic seats. His hands folded in his lap, tempting you with a comforting touch just a move away. If you dared be bold.

“So… what’s the verdict?” Neil’s question acted like the needed wake-up, pulling from the depths of confusing thoughts and confounding feelings.

It was harmless, instantly drawing your smile from its hiding place. One glance at Neil told you that was the intent, with the affectionate look in his eyes, studying your face. Sometimes, you wondered whether there would ever come a time when you were brave enough to ask what he was thinking about when he stared at you like that. What it meant, if anything at all. Today, you could only return his look and offer a grin as a prologue to your reply:

“They’re insane people” your smile widened as you watched Neil bark out a startled laugh. It was a beautiful sound, making you bask in the glow of those unexpected joys. It was that spark of happiness that made you add, “Just like you,” leaning into his personal space, you gave his shoulder a nudge, this once hoping that the fondness could be seen in your eyes.

You wanted him to notice, to know that the teasing came from no other place but that of affection. That, as you confessed to Wheeler, Neil was important. Probably your best friend. An honourable mantle not many could admit to having possessed. In the entire history of your life.

Neil’s gaze softened as he returned the playful nudge and bumped his nose into yours, drawing a startled gasp from your throat. Proximity tended to do that to you.

“I’d say something about pots and kettles, but-” the warmth in his voice made you wake up from the strange thoughts as you grinned, rolling your eyes at the jest barely disguised behind the good-natured tease.

The sentiment still filled your heart with a contented type of joy, casting the previous anxieties back to the shadows where they lurked. For now, they were not needed. Now, all that mattered was turning your body fully towards Neil and blocking everything except for his beautiful smile and striking blue eyes.

“I own my insanity, thank you very much” feigning nonchalance, you shot him an unimpressed smile before dropping the pretence to offer sincerity. As he deserved, “I like them. They seem fun to be around, and I’d love to meet them again” you met his serious gaze with a wavering smile, feeling it shake beneath the uncertainty that loitered at the edges of your consciousness. Despite the wishes to do so, you did not seem capable of shaking off the anxiety tonight. The addition needed to be said, if only for your sanity, “That is if they don’t hate me” what started loud and confident was finished in a murmur, half-whispered at the dirty carriage floor.

Sudden losses of confidence were something you were not used to, yet getting more accustomed to by the day. At some point, unknowingly to you, along with the trust in the realness of whatever you and Neil had, that old, blind self-assurance dwindled. It was still there but wounded and unable to return to what it was. And you had no idea why that could be except for the terrifying thought that the simple reality of being perceived was enough to tear at your foundations.

You felt Neil’s careful touch, his fingers tipping up your chin, so you had no choice but to meet his reassuring gaze. The pads of his fingers lightly brushed the skin of your neck, kindling the fire that always burned underneath your skin in his presence. You barely resisted the urge to close your eyes and lean into the feeling, forgetting about the conversation and everything else.

“No chance, sweetheart” perhaps the confidence you had been missing could be found in Neil’s smile, shining at you like a beacon of benediction. Or at least it felt like sometimes, especially in the haziness of the late hours and fluorescent lights. Now, as if sensing your uncertainty, Neil covered your hands with his and squeezed them reassuringly, “I’m yet to get professional feedback, but I believe they liked you very much” risking a peek, you met his gaze only to find nothing but affection there, its intensity making you feel lightheaded. No matter the amount of practice, you did not seem capable of getting used to it. Not at all, “Not as much as me, though” when the conclusion to his speech finally arrived, you needed another long moment to process it.

Another beat still to find an opportunity within it. It presented a whole myriad, an easy way out of the conversation that would no longer feel so awfully revealing. A chance for you to reclaim the bravado that so often served as a shield. A protective veil to hide behind until you would be brave enough to face the truth. You were not going to let it pass you by.

Without wasting another second, you presented Neil with a familiar grin as his hand dropped from your chin. You instantly mourned the loss, although you did not let it show.

“Yeah, I’d hope not. I’m not sure I’d be into threesomes” the delivery of the line seemed almost impeccable, making you preen at the instant reaction on Neil’s face in the form of his utter bewilderment. He blinked as if stuck with an exceptionally persistent thought, as a pink hue spread over his cheeks, widening your grin. As always, the instant gratification hit like the finest of drugs, getting right to your head, “Might get too possessive,” the addition, covertly whispered into his ear despite the empty carriage, only strengthened the effect as Neil sputtered, choking on his saliva.

Moments like this were why you knew you were already beyond the hope of saving. There was no going back from this. No chance of forgetting Neil and moving on with your life as if none of this ever happened. Sometimes, when you were brave enough to be honest with yourself, you admitted that you did not want to forget, even if you could.

“Helpful feedback” seemingly recovered from his moment, Neil shot you a glare, barely hiding the happiness visible in his gaze.

Teasing him was always the highlight of every meeting, giving you a chance to practice what you knew you were good at, with the additional advantage of an audience hanging upon each word. Briefly, you wondered whether having an active listener at your beck and call was good for your ego. Decidedly not, but the damage was already done.

“At your service” instead of entertaining the ridiculous thoughts, you mimed a low bow in his direction and squeezed his knee instead of pressing another presumptuous kiss to his cheek. Those would have to be held back until the next time you saw him. Just to be safe.

You met his intense, unwavering gaze just in time to see Neil sober up. His permanent smile faded as he shifted in the seat, almost as if steeling himself for something. Before you could open your mouth to ask, he broke the silence again:

“I have an answer for you” the initial confusion at the opener disappeared as soon as you noticed the uncertainty in his gaze. That sudden shyness you were slowly becoming accustomed to replaced the previous bravery as Neil took a fortifying breath and sighed out the promised answer, “Yes,” there was nothing else to it.

Just one word changing the course of your relationship without a hitch or hesitancy. The suddenness was the only thing that surprised you, with the brain half convinced Neil would need weeks to decide instead of just six days. Still, the uncertainty in his face must have been contagious, for you felt it spread across your soul, eradicating any other feeling or thought. There was no space for joy or excitement at what this course of events would mean for you. There was only doubt.

Whether Neil knew what he was saying. Whether he understood what it meant. Whether he was not making the mistake, Wheeler worried he was capable of. Whether you had the right to ask him in the first place.

Painfully aware of Neil’s attention, you forced your rapid heartbeat to slow down and voiced the only question that felt worth asking:

“Yes?” perhaps it was superfluous, just another second wasted on confirming what was already done and dusted.

Perhaps it spoke volumes about the person you wanted to be – thoughtful, patient, selfless – instead of the one you knew you were. Perhaps it was just another thing you could blame on the alcohol in your system. None of the reasons mattered as soon as Neil’s sombre countenance broke into another sunny smile. His hand came up to hold yours as if without a conscious thought. You settled in the feeling to find the necessary grounding.

“Yes. Because I don’t think I’m capable of keeping hands to myself when I’m with you” although the comment was anything but soft and affectionate, Neil’s hold told another story.

You stared as his thumb traced an invisible path over your knuckles. Over and over again. Until it was a sensation you could anchor within, taking a deep breath to find your footing once more. It would be alright. It had to.

“That’s flattering” despite the numerous buts and ifs whirling in your head, you met Neil’s searching gaze with a semi-confident smile.

You meant it. That much was certain. Because doubts and worries aside, all that mattered was simple: Neil wanted you. Enough so to try something new. Enough so not to choose between your friendship and the intimacy you could have alongside it. Enough so you didn’t have to decide for him instead.

As if reading your mind, Neil turned towards you and tightened the hold over your hand. Without breaking the eye contact, he raised your joined hands to his lips and pressed a lingering kiss to your knuckles, repeating a move already so familiar, yet still somehow unexpected. The breath hitched in your chest as he leaned forward, his other hand cupping your cheek and the thumb carefully brushing over your blushing skin. Quickly, you became incapable of doing anything but stare, awaiting his next move.

Neil’s gaze roamed over your face, as always drawn to your eyes only to glance at your parted lips and get stuck there. Quirking your mouth into a smile, you barely had the mind to find an appropriate quip before Neil wiped the intent clear with one swipe of his thumb. You gasped as you felt his finger trace the contour of your lips, the lipstick applied just before exiting the pub still relatively intact. He seemed to contemplate the next step as his blue eyes flicked to yours, searching for something. Whatever it was, Neil must have found it, for the next thing you registered was a decisive touch of the offending finger, swiping over your lower lip to smudge the lipstick and smear it over the corner of your mouth. Another embarrassing sigh was unavoidable as you glanced up in time to see the hunger in his eyes. As is for the past week, he has been holding himself back just as much as you did. As if this was to be your new normal. The thought alone was enough to make you shiver.

“Even tonight, I thought about dragging you with me to the bathroom and…” the confession was whispered in the meagre space between your faces, Neil’s voice taking on the tone you already knew yet had not heard a while.

The low, husky notes reverberated through your veins, erasing any uncertainties you could have had. None of that mattered. You had Neil to do as you pleased, and he had you. For however long it would last. For however long it would be mutually beneficial. Of course.

Now, with the promise of what could be placed so openly in front of you, you did not want to waste a second longer. Time was precious enough. Ignoring the pounding in your heart and the way Neil’s fingers slipped down the slope of your throat to loosely rest over your collarbone, you decimated the space to nothing but millimetres and whispered:

“Next time, you can just ask” upon his silent question, you nodded, confirming what you hoped would be evident enough, “I’d let you” curling your fingers around his hand touching your collarbone, you pressed your joined hands over your heart and closed the gap to leave a kiss on the corner of his mouth.

The resistance from claiming his lips was running thinner by the minute. But, as with most things, you needed Neil to take that step. To confirm his words with something much more tangible than your entangled hands and knees pressed close.

“You’d let me do what?” Neil tilted his head slightly as if trying to get a better reading of you.

From the depth of feelings, he must have seen on your face.

The slight smug tint to his smile let you know it was all just a pose. He had it figured out already. Except that being a little shit that he sometimes tended to be, Neil wanted to hear you say it. Assuredly. Loudly. Just so there was no room for doubt and a chance to confirm what you both knew. The desire was very much mutual. Sometimes, especially at night, you liked to recollect the exact feel of his hands on your body and the sounds he made when he came inside you. Those memories were enough to make you climax.

Neil had that much power over you for better or for worse. Somehow, even before actively opening your mouth to speak, you already knew you would not put up a fight. There was no point.

“Whatever you want,” squeezing his hand that was comfortably placed in your lap, you made sure to meet his gaze when stating the obvious.

Neil took it with a blinding smile, his hand letting go of yours to venture up your neck again, lightly brushing over the faded bruises as if he could still remember where he had marked you a week before. You did not tell him that the morning after you took a picture of yourself in the bathroom mirror. Just to have another thing to remember him by.

“And now?” with your proximity, you could feel his breath fan your face with every word spoken.

The intensity in Neil’s gaze was almost too much. Almost, for it was exactly what you needed to be brave again. It strengthened the resolve blooming beneath your skin as you cupped his cheek and stroked the stubble with your thumb. It was impossible not to notice how Neil closed his eyes upon your move, leaning into your palm as if that was what he needed. With the evidence of your shared wants so clearly displayed, you did not need further courage to say what has been nagging at your brain for the past hours. One request gnawing at your mind, heart and soul, impossible to ignored.

“Now just kiss me” frowning at the needy tone of your voice, you waited for Neil’s eyes to snap open to add what was only aimed to be a further persuasion, “Please. It’s been too long,” noting the hunger in his gaze, you knew you did not have to convince him to give you what you asked for.

He wanted it too, only-

“A week” his lips twisted into an amused smirk as he arched his eyebrow in the face of your hunger.

Any other time, you would have let him indulge in it. You would have let him be a nuisance to fulfil the internal quota Neil seemed to have set for himself. But tonight, you had no patience left.

“Exactly. Too long,” freeing your hand to draw him even closer with a hold over his jacket, you closed your eyes and slid your palm to the back of his neck, angling Neil the way you needed him.

Neil did not need further pointers. You heard his quiet groan, half-swallowed by your mouth and felt him pull you as close as physically possible with his arm around your waist and a hand on your cheek. Your body moulded to his shape, lips slanting over his with practised ease. That first swipe of your tongue across his lower lip instantly reminded you exactly why his kisses were something you missed so desperately. The familiar taste filled your senses, making you dig your fingertips in the hair on his nape, tugging gently at the golden locks. It was impossible not to let out a quiet moan straight into his opening mouth. Neil’s tongue greedily collected the sound, mapping the inside of your mouth with attention to detail that still astounded you. As did his unwavering hold, arm gently supporting your back and keeping you close, nestled into his chest and the warmth it provided.

You kissed until oxygen became a prized commodity you could not willingly give up. Even if you wanted to. Only then, with a final decisive peck on his closing lips, you leaned back (only as far as Neil would allow) and opened your eyes. He was one step ahead, staring at you with a soft smile. There was no choice but to mirror the expression, relaxing your hold on his neck and pressing your palm flat over his heart. Neil’s thumb stroked your cheekbone, eliciting an embarrassingly affectionate look in your eyes. As if hoping to rectify its impact, you dropped his gaze and let go of him, aware that more tenderness between you would only spell trouble. And that was the last thing you needed.

As if reading your mind, a feat you were half-sure Neil was capable of (all things considered), he dropped his hands, letting go of you and offered another reassuring smile. A simple gesture yet sufficient in helping your heart rate drop to normal levels. A cursory glance out the window assured you had not accidentally missed your stop - another win for the nonexistent tally. Almost as good as the very next thing Neil chose to say:

“Soon, I might also have that other answer for you” his nonchalant tone was a striking contrast to the previous certainty and smugness.

But it did its job, drawing you in with ease. Despite the fading awkwardness, you met his gaze and noted the sincerity you could see there. The genuine wish to both make you comfortable again and share that one significant piece of his story you did not yet possess.

“The one that got you in trouble tonight?” risking a sly look, you arched an eyebrow and leaned back in the creaky plastic chair.

While Wheeler indirectly told you to drop it, there was no chance you would listen. And especially not when it was just you and Neil, alone and open to each other like always.

You knew you had hit the jackpot with your guess when Neil winced, a passing shell-shocked expression on his face hinting at slight trauma of the kind that only the closest friends could inflict upon one another. Whatever happened when John all but hauled him out of the room was not pleasant. And it only added to the curiosity in your soul.

“It wasn’t- Yes, that one” interrupting his attempt at deflection, Neil nodded, his smile dropping in favour of something much more serious.

It was not a sight you wanted to see. It seemed wrong. Especially then in an empty carriage with the flickering lights after such a pleasant evening. As much as you wanted to know, constantly consumed with the eagerness to unveil that remaining piece of the puzzle labelled ‘Neil’ (the label was blue, with the glittery gold letters and pink heart-shaped embellishments), the other part of your brain hated seeing him so sombre. Hated the fading smiles and the uncertainties those grey moments tended to unleash within Neil. There was no question about what you needed to do.  

“That’s okay, I already know all I need” without letting yourself falter, you reached out to place a comforting hand on his shoulder and offered him a bright smile.

Hoping to convey the most important message – it could wait. There was no rush. Nothing better to do but enjoy what you shared without further need to complicate it.

“Which is?” the hesitation in his question only drove the point forward, helping you eradicate the remaining inhibitions.

Even if just for this one moment. You knew your time was running out, with the St. John’s Wood station approaching mercilessly. If you were in luck, there were perhaps three minutes to spare. Three minutes to show Neil his secret did not matter at all.

Your hand slid down his chest to comfortably settle atop his knee, the warmth of his body slowly becoming your favourite type of anchor. Neil glanced at your subtle move, but he stayed still. Almost as if afraid to move and break the spell. This fear, too, had to be quelled immediately.

“That I’m allowed to do this” with a whisper, you leaned in and closed the gap again by covering his mouth in a gentle kiss. Where previously there was hunger and desire, this time tenderness reigned, helping you settle the right pace with measured pecks and soothing caresses of your hands upon his body. Neil matched you beat for beat, drawing you closer again and gladly accepting all that you were giving. You kissed until a familiar crackle of the PA system made you separate, panting mouth and hazed eyes shared between you. Grinning like a lunatic, you leaned back in for a split second to kiss his cheek and stood up before Neil had a chance to react, “And that you’re my best friend” it almost felt like a relief to say out loud. Especially when the confession was received with Neil’s surprised, yet blinding smile, breaking through the paralysis induced by your sudden actions. The train began to slow down, approaching your station platform. Without another word or reckless act, you approached the doors and turned your head towards him with a simple farewell “Goodnight” as soon as it slid open, you left the carriage.