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sunflowervolvimp3 · 4 years ago

Text

42 Hours

Content: an enemies to lovers au in which Harry and Y/N are forced into a cross country road trip to make it to their best friends’ wedding on time

Warnings: language, mentions of nsfw content

Pairing: Harry Styles x reader

Word Count: 20k

A/N: I actually cannot believe that this is finally being posted over almost a month of working on it!! originally, I was going to make this one long stand alone fic, but once I hit 35k with no end in sight, I decided to split it into two parts so that it would be easier to read for you guys. I’m hoping to have part 2 posted within a week, so keep an eye out for it!! this fic was partially inspired by this post by @avhrodite (thank you miss bailey!!) and can I just say that I had so much fun writing it!! I love road trips!! it makes me so sad that I had to split this fic because there are so many fun music scenes in the next part but those will all come in due time!! I would also like to give a big thank you to miss andrea @adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy and miss alex @darthstyles for putting up with me bouncing ideas off of them and for proof reading for me!! and miss andrea again for editing this stunning header pic!! also everyone I tagged is a wonderful writer and if you’re looking for more to read after reading this then I HIGHLY suggest taking a look through their masterlists. and as always, if you like this fic, please like and reblog it!! and shoot me a message!! feedback is always appreciated, not just by me, but by all content creators <3

{masterlist}

also!! if you want to set the mood for a road trip with Harry, here is a link to the playlist that is mentioned and referenced in this fic!!

When she was a little girl, Y/N’s grandmother had told her about Murphy’s Law. Grandma Sarah’s favourite activity was staring at her granddaughter over the kitchen counter, a knife in one hand and half an onion that she’d been cutting in the other, spouting various wisdoms at the young girl, who would often be sitting and peeling vegetables for her. The old lady had hoped that, after being lectured enough times on life’s difficulties, Y/N might be able to avoid making the same mistakes that she had made in her own time. She always had a list of advice that she’d cycle through, as if she were a record on a loop.

“Always look both ways before crossing the street. Your great uncle Albert didn’t, and he never regained full function of his left hand.”

“Beauty fades, but there’s no shelf life on your mind.”

“The grass is always greener on the other side, so stop staring at it, and focus on taking care of your own lawn.”

All of the advice was, by any accounts, useful for anyone to know, especially a young girl. Of course, sometimes the advice would get a little scrambled after Grandma Sarah had had a few glasses of wine, but even her tipsy thoughts were useful to Y/N in her later years. To this day, Y/N still sets a glass of water on her nightstand before going out to a bar, and her hungover self is always grateful the next morning. And Y/N had yet to find anything that smelled as sweet as a vanilla dabbed behind her ears and on her wrists when she runs out of perfume. However, perhaps the most important piece of advice Grandma Sarah ever gave her came one afternoon when Y/N was eleven years old, and her older cousin Grace was due to get married the next week.

Grandma Sarah had cracked egg after egg into her mixing bowl, always without getting any unwanted pieces of shell in the egg whites, and gave her granddaughter a long look across the kitchen counter.

“When you get married, Y/N,” She had said, voice firm. “Remember Murphy’s Law. Anything that can go wrong, will go wrong, and at the worst possible moment. When Murphy’s Law comes into play, there’s nothing you can do except roll with the punches.”

Eleven year old Y/N had nodded her head seriously, as she always did when her grandmother told her seemingly important things. The advice, despite its usefulness, however, didn’t stick around in her head, and Murphy’s Law didn’t cross Y/N’s mind for fourteen years.

It takes fourteen years for Y/N, who is standing in front of a flight check-in at LAX, two large suitcases next to her, one of which contains two gold wedding bands, passport in hand, and a distressed look on her face, to remember the law her grandmother had once told her about.

“When you get married, Y/N…anything that can go wrong, will go wrong, and at the worst possible moment.”

Taking a deep breath to calm herself, Y/N pushes the echoing words of her grandmother out of her head. “I’m sorry, just—” She gives a pained smile to the lady working the check in. “Can you explain that to me again, please?”

The lady also takes a deep breath, the smile on her ruby tinted lips just as pained as Y/N’s. “There’s a storm system moving through Utah and Colorado. These systems have the potential to become tornadoes, and because of that, the conditions for flying are too dangerous right now, so all flights through that area are grounded until further notice.”

“So my flight is cancelled?” Y/N holds up the ticket in her hand that’s stamped with LAX – JFK. “This flight, this flight to New York, which is nowhere near Utah—that’s cancelled?”

The check-in lady, whose name tag reads Brynn, gives another tight smile. “Yes, ma’am. It’s cancelled.”

“Okay, no, I’m sorry, Brynn, but that doesn’t work for me.” Y/N shakes her head fiercely as the manic rush of emotions through her begins to set in. The denial, she finds, keeps the oncoming panic at bay, and so she decides to focus on that to ground herself. “My best friend is getting married in the Catskills in one week.” Y/N holds up one finger, as if her words are hard for Brynn to understand. “That’s one week from today. I’m the maid of honour. I have to be there to help organize, keep her calm, and make sure she actually makes it down the aisle, because—between you and me—she’s got some commitment issues—” The more Y/N speaks, the more her panic begins to spill out in her words, like a dam with a leak that’s about to burst. “And she forgot the goddamn wedding rings, so I have those too, and I just—I really need to get to New York, like, now. Right now.”

Y/N finally pauses to take a sharp breath, and Brynn, who had been waiting for her to finish, speaks again, her voice flatter than before.

“I’m very sorry to hear that, ma’am, but as I said, all flights are grounded right now.”

Pinching the bridge of her nose between her fingers, Y/N takes another deep breath. Roll with the punches, her grandmother had told her. What else is there to do? “Okay.” Y/N is careful to keep her voice in check when she speaks again. “Alright. Do you know when they’ll be ungrounded?”

“As I’ve said,” Brynn’s smile is more of a grimace now, and Y/N knows that she’s treading on thin ice. “All flights are grounded until further notice. We’re not sure when we’ll be able to open them again. It could be a day, or it could be five. If you’d like, I can put you down on a list to be called when flights are available again, but I’m afraid that’s the best I can do.”

“Let’s do that, then.” Y/N relents in a tired voice, already making plans to pick up a coffee on her way back to her apartment. In the back of her mind, she begins to wonder if she has any Baileys Irish cream liqueur left in her kitchen cabinet—and if 8:30 A.M. is too early to be drinking Baileys with her coffee.

…

It takes Y/N two cups of coffee with Baileys (it had been 10 A.M. by the time she arrived home, thanks to L.A. traffic, and she had decided that 10 A.M. was a fine time to drink when one’s flight gets cancelled indefinitely) to work up the courage to call Jo and tell her that she isn’t sure if she’ll be able to make it to the wedding.

Josephine Waters, or Jo to anyone who doesn’t want to get punched in the arm, has been Y/N’s best friend since the girls were five years old. They became fast friends on the first day of kindergarten, as Jo liked how Y/N could already colour inside the lines, and Y/N liked how Jo tackled a boy who tugged on Y/N’s pigtails. From the very beginning, the two were a perfect match for each other; where Y/N was reserved, Jo was wild. Where Jo was disorganized, Y/N was focused. Each girl balanced the other in the most natural way, and it’s this fact that Y/N and Jo credit for the two of them staying friends for twenty years. As they grew up together, they grew together, taking the very best traits from the other and using it to help themselves develop. Y/N had been the first person that Jo came out to, confessing to her best friend during an eighth grade sleepover in a quiet and nervous voice. To Jo’s pleasure, Y/N had been completely supportive, and returned the favour from the first day of kindergarten by punching a boy in the nose for calling Jo a homophobic slur. Jo helped Y/N through her parent’s divorce. Y/N helped Jo manage her ADHD. Jo talked Y/N through discovering her bisexuality in university. Y/N answered every 3 A.M. phone call to comfort Jo after a panic attack. In every sense of the word, the two girls had been there for each other.

And now Y/N is going to miss Jo’s wedding.

The harsh realization digs a pit in her stomach as she opens her phone and clicks on Jo’s name. It’s noon in L.A., which means it’s 3 P.M. in New York time, and Y/N knows Jo will answer. She always does.

Sure enough, after three short rings, Jo’s voice chirps through the phone. “Hey, Y/N! Has your flight landed already?”

“No, there’s—there’s been an issue.” Y/N downs another gulp of her coffee, wishing she had added more Baileys when she had the chance, and clears her throat before continuing. “There’s, um, a storm in Utah, and apparently it’s bad, and so all flights from L.A. to New York are grounded until further notice.”

Jo makes a scoffing noise, and Y/N can practically picture the indignant look on her face that she’s seen so many times before. “That’s ridiculous. Did you tell them that New York is nowhere near Utah?”

“Uh huh.”

“What about that my wedding is in one week?”

“I told them that, too. Brynn didn’t seem to care.”

“Bitch.” Jo mutters under her breath. “Okay, just wait a second, Laure just walked through the door, so I’m putting you on speakerphone—”

Y/N hears rustling on the speaker, as well as muttering in the background as Jo speaks to her fiancée, and then Jo’s voice is back, sounding slightly more distant.

“Okay, so I told Laure what happened—”

“That’s awful, Y/N.” Laure’s voice is laced with stress, and Y/N can only imagine how much anxiety this information is adding to her already full plate. “They won’t tell you when flights will be leaving again?”

“Nope.” Y/N pulls her knees to her chest and wraps her free arm around them, leaning her head against the back of her couch.

“Okay, well, planes aren’t the only way to get here.” Laure says, always the more rational out of the two. “Maybe a car—?”

“Y/N doesn’t have one.” Jo chimes in, a hint of teasing in her voice, despite the serious problem that’s in discussion. “She’s scared of driving—”

Y/N sits up, an indignant look on her face. “I’m not scared of driving!” She says hotly, setting her empty coffee mug on the table with a thud. “I just hate L.A. traffic, and honestly, there’s no point! I can walk to work, and Uber anywhere else I need to go! A car would be completely useless to me!”

“Except now, when you’re about to miss your best friend’s wedding.” Jo points out. “What about renting one?”

Y/N sighs, her moment of indignation already fizzled out. “I tried that already. There’s nothing available for a cross country trip.”

“And the drive is so long.” Laure murmurs, and Y/N knows it’s more for Jo’s benefit than hers. “It’s over forty hours. She can’t do that by herself; it’s not safe.”

“But—”

“Look, Jo, don’t worry about this, alright?” Y/N cuts across her best friend’s anxious voice, assuming her usual role of protector. “I’ll figure this out. I promise you; I will make it to your wedding on time, looking pretty in my dress, and with your wedding bands. I promise.”

“We’ll keep thinking about it and see what we can come up with.” Laure promises through the phone, her voice sounding further and further away. “This is just—it’s a bump in the road, but it’s fine. We can work around this. We’ll find a way.”

…

The way that Laure finds for Y/N pounds on her door at 7:30 A.M. the next morning.

Y/N, like any exhausted and stressed out adult who has already begun her ten days of vacation time that she booked off for the wedding, is fast asleep in her bed when she hears the knocking. The loud noise pulls her out from her dreams abruptly, and she cracks one eye open, squinting through the sunlight that’s lighting up her room. When the knock echoes through her apartment again, she pulls herself from her sheets with a groan, grabbing her robe from the back of her door and tying it around herself as she makes her way to the front hallway to yell at whoever has the audacity to wake her up.

When she opens the door, Harry Styles is peering down at her with an irritated look on his face.

“Took you long enough, Y/N.” He rolls his eyes as he speaks, finally stepping back from the door that he had been pounding on a moment ago. “Are you ready to go?”

Y/N rubs her eyes, suppressing a yawn as she does so. “Styles, I have no idea what you’re talking about. What are you doing here?” She demands. She doesn’t have the energy to deal with him right now, she thinks, let alone the mental capacity to listen to anything he has to say.

Harry crosses his arms across his chest, and it’s then that Y/N notices the duffel bag strewn over his shoulder. “It’s a forty-two hour drive from L.A. to the Catskills.” Harry’s eyes scan over Y/N’s appearance, the very corner of his strawberry pink lips twitching, and Y/N tightens her robe around herself with a glare.

“A drive?” Y/N asks, uncertainty growing in her voice as she crosses her arm over her chest. “What are you talking about?”

“Your flight was cancelled, right?” Harry’s voice grows more impatient as Y/N’s half asleep brain struggles to piece together what’s happening. “So was mine, so I decided to drive to the wedding, and then Laure called me last night, begging me to take you with me.” He shrugs a bit, fixing his sunglasses on top of his head as his jade eyes scan over her appearance one more time. “Not my first choice of road trip partner, but I don’t think the best man can say no to bringing the maid of honour. And splitting the cost of gas will be nice.”

“Okay, wait, I…” Y/N’s finally coming out of her fog of exhaustion, and the newfound clarity of her mind is causing a newfound pit to develop in her stomach. “Laure and Jo didn’t tell me any of this.”

“Well, I expect they’re a bit busy, given that they’re getting married in a week.” Harry adjusts the strap of his duffel bag on his shoulder with a sharp sigh. “Look, are you ready to go or not? It’s over a five day drive, so we need to leave as soon as possible.”

“I—yeah—” Y/N nods before taking a hesitant step back from the doorway, positioning herself to the side so that Harry can get by her. “I just have to get dressed and grab a couple last minute things, so…come in, I guess.”

Harry flashes an insincere smile to Y/N as he steps into her apartment, his eyes darting around at the furniture and home decor. Y/N watches as his gaze lingers on her library of books, her yellow bicycle leaning against the wall, and every other little touch of herself that she likes her home to have, and she can see the judgement that’s clearly apparent in his eyes.

“You can sit, if you want.” She mutters, turning on her heel to go back to her bedroom. “I’ll only be a few minutes.”

The first thing Y/N does when she shuts her bedroom door behind herself is assess the situation in the analytical way that usually calms her. Alright. So a road trip across the country isn’t exactly ideal, and a road trip across the country with Harry Styles is even less ideal. But, at the present moment, being stuck in a car with Harry seems to be the only sure way that she’ll be able to make it to Jo’s wedding on time. And for Jo, Y/N would put up with anything. Even Harry.

As she rummages through her drawers for some leggings and a tank top, Y/N wonders what she could have possibly done to bring this much bad karma into her life. While she gets dressed, her mind flickers back to Murphy’s Law, how everything that can go wrong will go wrong, in the worst possible way, and then she thinks about being in a confined space with Harry for five days, and—yeah. That seems to be the worst possible thing she can think of.

Y/N remembers the first moment she’d met Harry seven years ago, and the unfortunate circumstances under which that meeting had happened. Jo and Laure had just barely met back then, and Jo had begged Y/N to come out on a double date with her and “this really hot girl from my women studies class who I’m, like, 83% sure swings my way.”

Y/N had groaned at that comment, flopping back on her bed in the tiny dorm that she and Jo shared. “No! I have an essay due in three days that I haven’t even started!”

Jo rolled her eyes as she flopped down on Y/N’s bed as well, ignoring her own half-made bunk that was across the small room, favouring her best friend’s bed like she always did. “We both know you’re not starting that essay until the day before it’s due, and that it’s just an excuse because you don’t want to go!”

“I don’t want to go.” Y/N had agreed with a sharp and fervent nod. She shut her laptop and pushed it to the side of her bed, knowing from experience that she wasn’t going to be able to focus and argue at the same time. “Why would I want to hang out with a complete stranger while you make googly eyes at a girl from your class?”

“Okay, first, I don’t make googly eyes.” Jo made a face at that comment, nudging Y/N’s calf with her own foot. “And second, he’s her best friend from high school, and he’s coming to visit all the way from London!”

“So? He’s still a stranger!” Y/N pointed out, her eyes drifting to the sticky note covered novel beside her. She picks it up and begins to flip through the marked pages as she speaks. “Knowing where he’s from doesn’t change that!”

“It should, because he’s only going to be here for a week, and Laure almost cancelled the date because she doesn’t want to miss spending time with him—” Jo grabbed one of Y/N’s pillows and tossed it at her arm, knocking the book from her hands. “Focus! So I said that he could come, but she said that she didn’t want him to be left out, so I said that I happen to have an incredibly beautiful and witty best friend who would be able to entertain Harry while we all hang out together.”

Y/N inhaled deeply as she gave Jo a withering look. “Did you already tell her I’m going?”

Jo, in return, gave Y/N her most dazzling smile. “Yes. We’re meeting them for dinner at 7.”

Y/N shakes herself from her memories as she runs to her bathroom to toss her toiletries back into the bag she’d taken them out of the day before, working as quickly as she can. It does her no good to think of Harry in the past, she thinks, because the present Harry is currently sitting in her living room, probably snooping through her stuff, and the longer she takes to get ready to go, the more he’ll go through. Not that there’s anything incriminating in her apartment, really—or at least, nothing incriminating in her living room. When Y/N makes it back to her bedroom, however, to quickly zip up her suitcase, she does make sure she grabs her favourite vibrator from the box under her bed, tucking it between her half-folded underwear. If she’s going to be gone for a week, she’ll need something to help her relax.

Within a few more minutes, Y/N is repacked and ready to go. Her hunter green bridesmaid dress is carefully arranged on the very top of her clothes in her suitcase, all of her makeup and toiletries are packed inside, and Jo and Laure’s wedding rings are secured in little velvet boxes stashed between her socks. As far as physical preparedness goes, Y/N is ready to go on a coast to coast road trip. As far as mental preparedness goes, however…that’s the thing that Y/N’s not quite sure about.

…

“What are you doing?”

Y/N glances at Harry from the corner of her eye, her hand still half stretched out to the radio dials in his car. Although Harry’s green eyes are hidden behind his sunglasses, and his face is turned towards the long road in front of them, he still somehow manages to catch her motions, and it irritates her to no end.

“I’m changing the radio station?” Y/N answers after a moment, giving him a puzzled look. “I don’t know why you listen to this weird oldies station, but—”

“First of all—” Harry’s hands turn the steering wheel slightly to guide his car over the curve of the road, his jaw twitching as a smirk works its way onto his pink lips. “This isn’t a radio station, it’s my Spotify playlist. I put a Bluetooth connection in Stevie a year ago. Secondly—”

“Stevie?” Y/N repeats incredulously, twisting her whole body as best she can to look at Harry straight on. “You named your car? You’re one of those guys?”

Harry finally gives Y/N a flicker of a glance, the glare obvious in his eyes even behind his dark sunglasses. He turns his attention back to the road before replying. “Secondly—” He continues from before, ignoring her comment as his right hand readjusts the gear shift. “Driver picks the music.”

Y/N makes a face, the corners of her lips pulling down into a grimace as she settles back into the passenger seat with her arms crossed. “So we’re just going to listen to ‘Tiny Dancer’ for the entire drive, are we?”

“Not the entire drive, no.” Harry flicks on his turn signal with a ringed hand before shoulder checking to change lanes. Y/N glances at him, her eyes training on the strained muscles in his neck as Harry continues. “We’ll listen to ‘Don’t Go Breaking My Heart,’ too.”

“Great.” Y/N exhales slowly and presses her head back into the seat’s headrest, closing her eyes as Elton John’s voice continues to float through the speakers. “Really looking forward to it.”

“You know, maybe you should try to sleep.” Harry says, his voice prickled with irritation as Elton John bleeds into The Zombies. “I think you’ll be in a better mood after you take a nap.”

Y/N readjusts her crossed arms as she mutters a short reply. “Don’t tell me what to do.” Still, she shuts her eyes again, twisting her body towards the window in an attempt to get comfortable enough to sleep. Being in the car with Harry is already giving her a throbbing migraine, and they’ve only been on the road for less than two hours. Sleeping through most of the trip will probably be the only way she’ll be able to survive it.

Despite that realization, however, her phone vibrates in her lap three minutes later, pulling her away from her thoughts. Y/N glances down at the now lit screen, catching her bottom lip between her teeth when she registers the name on the message. Opening her phone quickly, she reads over the reply as a guilty feeling begins to build in her stomach.

BRANT: Hey, what are you doing tonight? Want to grab some dinner?

“What’s wrong?”

“Hm?” Y/N’s head snaps back up, her eyes jerking in Harry’s direction. Like before, he’s watching her from the corner of his eye, catching every one of her movements, and the constant surveillance is annoying to no end.

Harry, it seems, is either oblivious to her annoyance, or is choosing to ignore it. “I asked what’s wrong. You have a weird look on your face.” Harry’s blunt words are accompanied by the sound of him tapping his ring covered fingers against the gear shift. “Everything alright? Is it Laure and Jo?”

“No, it’s just—” Y/N glances down at her phone again, fingers poised over her keyboard as she crafts a reply in her head. “It’s no one.”

Harry snorts once, a short and harsh sound that grates against Y/N’s nerves like nails on a chalkboard. “I don’t buy that for a second.”

“It’s no one to you.” Y/N updates her retort, turning her full attention back to her phone. “My personal life is none of your business.”

Y/N: I’m sorry, I can’t!! Caught a last minute ride to New York with somebody. Maybe once I’m back?

“Personal life, huh?” Harry clicks his tongue once, and the childish noise is even more irritating than his snort. “What, you can’t talk to me about whoever you’re shagging?”

The blunt remark hits Y/N like a shot to the chest, and she sputters for a moment as she struggles to form a response. “I—we’re not—” Taking a moment to gather herself and clear her throat quickly, Y/N avoids Harry’s gaze as her cheeks begin to burn. “We’re not like that. We’ve just…had a few dates, that’s all. There’s nothing…official.”

“You don’t need to be official to have a shag, now, do you?” Harry lifts his hand from the gear shift to fix his sunglasses, settling it back down on his jean covered thigh once he’s done. “If you don’t want to date the bloke—”

“I didn’t say that.” Y/N cuts over him, pulling herself from her embarrassment enough to give him a cold glare. “He’s very nice—”

“Boring, you mean—”

“And I—this is none of your business!” Feeling the flush of embarrassment rise back to her cheeks, Y/N once again turns her attention to her passenger seat window, avoiding Harry’s pressing gaze. “I’m done talking about this.”

Harry gives an indifferent shrug. “Whatever.” He says casually, tapping his finger against his thigh as his shoulders once again lift slightly beneath his fitted black t-shirt. “I just feel bad for the guy, that’s all.”

The comment is bait. And the thing is, Y/N knows it’s bait. She knows that the only reason Harry is saying it is to get under her skin and keep her talking about Brant, further embarrassing herself in the process. She’s been around Harry enough to know how he works, and she knows that the only reason he would say that is to bait her. She knows she shouldn’t take it. And yet—

“There’s no reason to feel bad for him.” Y/N scoffs as she fidgets with the position of her seatbelt, trying to stop the strap from cutting into her chest. “We’ve been talking for a month, and there’s nothing official happening. Just because you can’t go that long without trying to stick your dick in someone—”

“You have no idea what I can do, Y/N. Don’t pretend that you do.” Harry’s tone of voice is just as scoffing as hers, his eyes still set on the road in front of them intently as he gives his sharp response. Y/N watches as he shifts the gears of the car and speeds up, just enough to make the engine roar, but not enough to lose control of the car. Part of Y/N wistfully wishes that he would just slip up and crash the car, just so she wouldn’t have to continue this conversation.

“All I meant,” Harry continues, unaware of the dark daydreams running through Y/N’s head. “Is that I feel bad that you’re clearly not interested in him, which is proven by the fact that you haven’t wanted him in your bed.”

Irritation flares through Y/N’s body again, stronger than the embarrassment of discussing her sex life (or lack thereof) with Harry, and she half considers just grabbing the steering wheel and yanking it into a passing cliff so she can finish them off herself. “For Christ’s sake, Harry, sex isn’t the only way to—”

“I don’t mean actually having it, that’s not a given.” Harry rolls his eyes from behind his sunglasses as he slows down for a curve in the road, his practiced hands once again changing gears with ease. “You don’t have to fuck him. But you should want to, especially if you’ve had a month of dates, and you clearly don’t want to.”

Y/N doesn’t hide the incredulous stare of disbelief on her face as she turns to look at him. Harry’s face, though turned towards the road still, has a look of amusement mixed with contemplation on it, and it takes all of Y/N’s self control not to smack the expression off of him. Although there’s the ghost of a smirk on his strawberry coloured lips, his brow is furrowed behind his sunglasses, as if he’s thinking hard about the conversation between them. Normally, Y/N would be amazed that Harry is thinking hard about anything. However, given that their conversation is apparently turning into whether or not she wants to have sex with someone, Y/N’s not too thrilled about his sudden investment and serious contemplation of the topic.

Shaking her head decidedly, Y/N finally spits out a finishing phrase. “You don’t know what I want.” She says decidedly, reaching into the backseat to grab the sweater she stashed back there. She clumsily pulls it over her body without taking off her seatbelt. Harry keeps the AC cranked as high as he can, and she knows that he’ll kill her if she tries to change it. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“I know more than you think.” Harry counters, the tip of his tongue running along his bottom lip. “And I’m pretty good at reading body language. You don’t really want him. He—what’s his name?”

Despite her better judgement, Y/N answers in a flat voice. “Brant.”

The corners of Harry’s cherry lip twitches. “Brant. Yeah. It’s clear you don’t really want him, and you’re wasting your time. You’re wasting his time, too. Poor Brant.”

“Poor—you’re such an ass, you know that?” Y/N’s irritation bubbles over as she gives Harry a nasty look, her hand squeezing her thigh hard in an attempt to ground herself in their conversation. “You can try to pretend otherwise, but you don’t know anything about me, or him, so—”

“You think I’ve been friends with Laure and Jo this long and haven’t learned anything about you?” Harry cocks an eyebrow, risking a glance at her as he presses a heavier foot onto the gas. “I told you, I know more than you think, and that includes your type.”

An incredulous scoff leaves Y/N’s mouth, and she shakes her head in obvious disbelief before responding. “My type. Right. What is my type, then? What’s Brant like, exactly, since you seem to know everything?”

Harry goes quiet then, his brow furrowing again as he returns his full attention to the road. With his incessant chatter gone, the only sounds in the car being “Maps” playing quietly in the background and Harry’s ringed index and forefinger tap on the steering wheel. Y/N breathes out a long sigh of satisfaction as she relaxes back in her seat, her attention turned back to the blurred landscapes speeding by her window. Finally, she’s managed to get Harry to stop with his ridiculous assumptions—

“You like someone that’s stable and secure, so he probably works in some corporation, or an office job. Majored in business, I’d think, but has a minor in something like mathematics.” The side profile of Harry’s nose wrinkles in disgust at the thought. “He wants to work his way up in the company, but never wants to actually start anything on his own. He likes the stability of a blueprint. You’re obsessed with punctuality, so he’s probably always on time to pick you up for dates—and he has to pick you up, because you don’t drive—and your dates are never really dates. Dinners, or movies, or something like that, but they never really have that spark.” Harry’s shoulder lift slightly as he continues to make his conclusions. “Which, honestly, is probably a big reason in why you don’t want to fuck him, because as much as you like stability and safety, you also like the idea of a grand gesture, or something like that. And you probably split the bill a lot at dinner, right? Because it just seems fair, but really it’s because you know it’s not a real date. But it passes the time, and he’s nice, so it’s fine. But it’s only fine.” Harry licks his lips once more as he collects his next thoughts, his teeth catching his bottom lip just barely as his tongue retreats back into his mouth. “And he’s probably already talking about you coming to meet his family for some holiday. Not in a romantic way, but just because he likes to plan everything in advance to every minute detail. Just like you.”

Halfway through Harry’s speech, a flush had begun to creep up Y/N’s neck, continuing to warm her jaw and ears before settling on the apples of her cheeks. She keeps her eyes trained on her window and her mouth pressed into a tight line, refusing to look at Harry and give him any hint of just how shocked she is that he’s guessed so much.

Harry, however, doesn’t plan on letting her get away from his inquisition. “Well?” He impatiently prompts after a moment, and even though she’s not looking at him, she can feel him looking at her, his emerald irises burning into the back of her head. “Am I right?”

“I—” Y/N clears her throat quickly, but her voice is still strained and tight when she replies. “No.”

Harry hums low in his throat, and his voice is laced with curiosity with he replies. “Really?” The irritating tap of his fingers on the steering wheel to the beat of the music continues. “What did I get wrong?”

“He—” Y/N hates the way her skin is burning from his interrogation, how her voice shrinks smaller and smaller the more she speaks. If Harry knows her so well, then he knows how much she loves being in control, and in this situation, with Harry managing to pull every one of her most secret inner thoughts and feelings out of her without trouble, she feels anything but in control. “He has a minor in accounting, not mathematics.”

The laugh that leaves Harry’s mouth is loud and bombastic, and his whole body curves over the steering wheel as the sound rolls out of him, his eyes just barely managing to stay on the road while his sunglasses slide down his nose. “Right.” Harry says between belly laughs, his voice stretched out in amusement. “But everything else was spot on?”

Y/N keeps her stiff body turned towards the window, refusing to engage in the conversation any further. That doesn’t stop Harry, however, who fixes his sunglasses as chuckles continue to roll out of him.

“I take it back. Maybe he’s the one wasting your time.” His hand runs through his hair lazily, fixing the curled strands that had fallen into his eyes as he laughed. “I don’t blame you for not wanting to sleep with your bore of a boyfriend—”

“He’s stable!” Y/N breaks her silence to protest Harry’s words, her voice heated. “And he’s not my boyfriend. We’ve been seeing each other, but we’re not—it’s not exclusive, or—nothing serious—”

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me. It’s fine.” Harry waves off her arguments with a flick of his tattooed hand. “Besides, like you said, it’s none of my business, right?”

Y/N can practically picture what Harry looks like in this moment. His chestnut curls are probably a mess from fidgeting with them, and his cheeks are most likely rosy beneath his stubble from the peels of laughter that left his equally red lips a moment ago. Most infuriatingly of all, his dimples are probably present, making little indentations in his cheeks to show how entertaining he’s found embarrassing her. Bastard, she thinks, clenching her fists so hard that her nails dig into her palms, pressing them into her sides beneath her makeshift blanket.

She refuses to let herself confirm if her suspicions about Harry’s appearance are correct, and instead keeps her gaze on the blurred trees whipping by outside her window. “Right.” She mutters, leaning her head against the headrest as she closes her eyes. “It’s none of your business.”

…

As soon as the paint-peeled door to the motel room swings open, Y/N knows that she’s not going to be sleeping soundly tonight.

She’s not sure what her first hint should have been. Perhaps it was the half-flickering blue and red light of the Motel 6 sign that should have tipped her off, or the front-desk attendant who looked as though he was hiding a few secrets himself. When Y/N and Harry had first approached the front desk of the tiny, vaguely mildew-smelling lobby, their clothes rumpled from the drive and their attitudes just as bothered, the employee in the Motel 6 uniform had barely raised an eye at them, not bothering to look up from his computer until Y/N and Harry were directly in front of him.

“Hi.” Harry had said, his voice taking on a cautious but polite tone that, Y/N remembers thinking, she would have appreciated hearing throughout their eight hour drive that day. “We’d like two rooms, please—”

“Here.” The attendant’s gum snapped in his mouth as he reached behind himself and grabbed an old key with a flimsy blue plastic tag from a wall of empty pegs. “Queen sized bed, the first door on the left. It’ll do you two nicely.”

“Um, no.” Harry cleared his throat loudly as he gave a slight shake of his head. “We need two rooms.”

Finally, the attendant looked towards them, his eyes scanning Harry before Y/N. The latter had self consciously pulled her sweater around her, as there was something in the attendant’s eyes that had bothered her. “Don’t have two rooms. I got one room left. Everything else is booked.”

Harry had glanced at Y/N then, and she knew that his thoughts mirrored hers: there was no way that they’d share a queen bed together. No way in hell. They’d barely survived eight hours in the same cramped car without one of them driving them off a cliff. If Y/N had to share a bed with Harry, even for just one night, she’d probably end up smothering him in his sleep before the first snore left his obnoxious mouth.

“That’s really not an option.” Y/N had stepped forward then, crossing her arms around herself as the attendant’s eyes canvassed her again. “Isn’t there something—”

“Look, lady, I’m telling you what’s available.” The attendant’s eyes continued to flicker between her face and her chest, making Y/N’s skin crawl more and more with every word that fell from his gum-filled mouth. “The room might have a pull out chair—some do, but I couldn’t tell you which. Now do you want to share the room with him or not? If you don’t want to share, then I could try to find something else for just you—”

Before Y/N had the opportunity to respond to the lewd suggestion, Harry was already stepping forward, his body angling protectively in front of her own. She watched from behind as his broad shoulders squared beneath his black t-shirt, his shoulder blades flexing as he straightened up to his full height. When Harry answered, his voice was just as firm as it was dark, lacking its previous polite tone.

“We’ll take the room.” He had said coldly, reaching into his back pocket to pull out his wallet before tossing a few bills on the front desk. “Thanks for the help.”

Yes, Y/N thinks, all of that should have been a sign for the state of the motel room that they now find themselves standing inside.

The same mildew smell from the lobby surrounds them, permeating through every inch of air that Y/N breathes in. Dust seems to coat every surface as well, with thick layers of it covering the decades old TV and stand, the small coffee table, and the ledge of the window to her right. To her relief, there is a small arm chair in the corner, which must be the pull out that the attendant had mentioned. However, her relief is short lived when she sees the ratty beige comforter on the bed, and wonders if maybe sleeping in Harry’s car, which she had sworn to him that she didn’t want to do, might have been the better choice.

Harry shuts the door behind them with a firm thud, turning the deadbolt lock before attaching the chain from the door to the door frame. “Let’s keep that locked, yeah?” He mutters, walking to the window and making sure the beige curtains—everything in the room is a sea of beige, like some sort of khaki coloured nightmare—are pulled closed tightly. “I don’t trust that front-desk prick not to sneak in here.”

Y/N nods, fixing the strap of her duffel bag with her overnight clothes on her shoulder. She’s not quite sure where to set it down, as everything around them seems to have been sitting stagnant and uncleaned for a while. “Yeah. Thanks, by the way. For that.”

Harry acknowledges her thanks with a small grunt, barely lifting his head to look at her. “You don’t need to thank me.”

Despite her gratitude for his actions, Y/N can’t stop herself from rolling her eyes at his gruff response. “Jesus, can you not just say you’re welcome?”

Harry chooses to ignore her comment, and instead sets his bag down on the arm chair, unzipping it roughly. “You can take the bed.” He says simply, tossing his sunglasses into his bag before pulling out a small bag filled with what Y/N assumes are toiletries. “I’ll take the pullout.”

“Fine.” Y/N reluctantly sets her own bag down on the creaking bed, pulling back the covers to check for anything unsightly. To her relief, the interior of the bed looks cleaner than the exterior, and she returns the covers to their previous position before grabbing her phone charger from her duffel.

Harry glances at her as she gingerly sits on the bed and plugs her phone into the wall. “I’m going to shower.” He says slowly, as if gauging her reaction to the simple phrase. “Do you, um, need in there, or—?”

“Nope.” Y/N shakes her head, her cheeks flushing slightly as she checks her messages. “You’re good.” She keeps her eyes glued to her phone until she hears the click of the bathroom door behind Harry, signalling that she’s alone.

Taking advantage of what she knows will be a rare moment of solitude over the next week, Y/N changes from her tank top and leggings into her pajamas, wishing that her past self had realized how likely it would be that she’d be sharing a room with Harry. She’d brought exactly two pairs of pajamas with her on the trip, and neither pairs were something she wanted Harry to see her in. The first pair, a baby pink silk set she’d bought on a whim from her favourite lingerie shop, is eliminated before Y/N even considers them, leaving her with just her usual casual pajamas. Unfortunately, Y/N’s usual casual pajamas consist of an old sports bra that she’d had since moving to L.A., and a pair of men’s boxers that she stole from an ex in college. Still, despite her hesitancy, she knows that plaid boxers and a faded grey sports bra are better than pink silk and lace, and she changes into them quickly before sitting cross-legged on the bed and dialing Jo’s number.

Jo, like she usually does, answers on the third ring, her voice extra chipper to compensate for the verbal lecture that she knows is coming. “Hey, Y/N! How was driving today?”

“It would have been better if I’d known Harry was driving.” Y/N sighs, rubbing her palm over the cold skin of her exposed thigh. “Shouldn’t I have been informed of that decision?”

“It completely slipped my mind, actually.” Jo says casually, and Y/N can just picture her leaning her chin into her palm. “How was the first day? Are you calling to ask me to help bury his body in the desert? Because, like, you know I would in a heart beat, but I think it may put a damper on mine and Laure’s nuptials if my best friend murders her best friend.”

“No one’s been murdered. Yet.” Y/N glances at the bathroom door, the sound of the shower echoing through the vents and into the bedroom. “Although a ‘help me hide the body’ phone call may be coming soon.”

“Uh oh.” Y/N hears something crackling against the speaker, and pictures Jo shifting the phone from one ear to the other. “Is it that bad?”

Y/N pinches the bridge of her nose as she contemplates the easiest way to answer Jo’s question. “He’s such an irritating ass. He really is.” She lowers her voice, but only slightly. If Harry’s eavesdropping, she thinks, then let him hear. It would serve him right. “He wanted to pick a fight over every little thing, and he’s so particular about his car—did you know he named it? He named it, Jo. He talks about it like it’s a person!”

A loud sigh echoes through the speaker. “That’s really not that weird, you know.” Jo replies in her best peace keeping voice. “And, by the way, did you know that you’re really the only person who finds Harry irritating? Laure adores him, and I really like him, and everyone who meets him thinks he’s very thoughtful!”

“Then they haven’t been trapped in a car with him and his playlists for eight hours.” Y/N begins to tap her fingers against her knee in a quick staccato pattern. “He practically interrogated me about Brant today, as if he has any clue about the people I date.”

“Did he?” There’s a trace of curiosity in Jo’s voice now, and Y/N can imagine her leaning forward in interest. “What did he say?”

“He said he thinks he’s boring.” Twisting a lock of her hair behind her ear as she speaks, Y/N leaves her hand resting against her cheek. “He was rude about it, too. I didn’t ask for his opinion.”

“Well, honestly, Y/N…” Jo’s curiosity twists into hesitation. “Brant isn’t exactly the most thrilling person. You know that.”

Y/N tugs her bottom lip between her teeth, her cheeks flushing for what seems to be the millionth time that day. “I’m aware of that. But he didn’t need to be so smug about it!”

“Okay, well, what’s done is done.” Jo says as she takes on her mediator persona once again. “So there’s nothing else to do now except go to sleep, get back in the car tomorrow, and continue driving.”

The sound of the shower stream cuts off, leaving just the pitter patter of rain beginning to hit the roof of the motel as ambiant noise. “I guess.” Y/N mumbles, fidgeting with the waistband of her bra. “I’ll talk to you later. Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

After the line clicks dead, Y/N flops back on the squeaking mattress and begins to scroll through her phone, opening her work email to check if everything is running okay back home while she’s gone. On top of all this, the last thing she needs is for her work to completely blow up in her absence. Within minutes, Y/N becomes so engrossed in her phone that she doesn’t even notice the bathroom door creaking open and Harry walking out with just a towel around his waist.

Until she looks up, and then her mind goes completely blank.

Immediately, Y/N feels overstimulated. There’s just…so much going on that she doesn’t even know where to look first, let alone have the ability to remind herself that she shouldn’t even be looking at Harry like this in the first place.

Harry’s curls are soaking wet, curling down around his flushed cheeks in a way that, if it were anyone else, she’d immediately describe as attractive. Droplets of water are clinging to every inch of his skin, his toned and tanned and tattooed skin, that seems to continue forever as her eyes travel down his bare chest, noticing every curve of his muscle. His jade cross, which is almost the exact shade of his eyes, sits between his pronounced pectoral muscles, moving ever so slightly with each step he takes. Y/N notices tattoos she’s never seen before, like the giant butterfly across his toned stomach, and—her mind goes blank for just a moment—two vines that are tattooed over his prominent pelvic muscles, which just barely dip beneath the white towel that’s wrapped loosely around his hips.

As Y/N’s eyes glue themselves to the way Harry’s towel is moving as he walks, arousal begins to pool in her stomach, travelling all the way down to her core and back again. For a split second, she thinks that maybe Harry is right. Maybe she doesn’t want to fuck Brant, because she knows for certain that she’s never thought about him the way she’s thinking about Harry in this moment.

But it’s Harry, she reminds herself, as she tries to force herself to snap her gaping mouth closed. Underneath all those muscles and tattoos—and there are a lot of muscles and tattoos—it’s Harry, who annoys her to no end, who is one of the most self-absorbed individuals she’s ever met, and who has had it out for her since the day they met.

“Sorry.” Harry’s low accent snaps Y/N from her thoughts and pulls her wandering eyes back to his face. “Forgot my clothes out here.”

“It’s—” Y/N’s voice cracks in the middle of the word, still hyper-focused on just how it’s possible for one person to be as attractive as they are irritating, and she clears her throat before trying to speak again. “It’s fine.”

If Harry notices the slip in Y/N’s voice, he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he just walks to his open bag, locking one hand firmly over his towel as the other searches through his clothes. He pulls out a t-shirt and a pair of shorts, examining them for just a moment before nodding in satisfaction and heading back to the bathroom. Y/N almost swears that she sees him glance at her one last time before he shuts the door, but then she gets lost in the taut muscles of his back, and forgets what she’s thinking entirely.

She’s only just begun to contemplate that maybe she should pull herself together when the door opens again, and Harry exits the bathroom in a way that’s a little more presentable. His hair is still damp, but his body is dry, proven by the faded Rolling Stones t-shirt that’s now clinging to his arms and the boxers that are hanging low on his hips. His tattooed hips. His incredibly sexy tattooed hips that could probably—

“What are you wearing?” Harry asks, raising an eyebrow at her as he moves his bag from the chair to the ground. He begins to unfold the bed from the armchair cushions to reveal a creaking twin bed, carefully stretching it out as he waits for an answer.

“I—pajamas.” Y/N glances down at herself self consciously, fixing the strap of her sports bra as she does so. “I just—I didn’t think we’d be sharing a room, so…”

Harry nods tersely as he finishes setting up the bed, his expression unreadable while he walks to the closet and grabs a set of sheets and a blanket. “Cute boxers.” He says casually. “Are they Brant’s?”

Within a flash, the intense rush of attraction and desire Y/N had been feeling is gone, and is instead replaced by the familiar irritation as she watches a smirk grow in the very corner of Harry’s mouth. “No.” She says flatly, turning her attention back to her phone.

“Interesting.” Harry says slowly, laying the sheets and blanket on the bed in a haphazard manner. “Whose are they, then?”

Y/N gets up from the bed and grabs her toiletry bag from her duffel before answering. “An ex.” She says shortly, tucking the patterned bag under her arm. “And why does it matter to you?”

The sound of the rain against the roof and windows gets louder and louder as they speak, and Harry raises his voice to be heard over the precipitation. “It doesn’t.” He shrugs as he maneuvers his lanky body under the blanket without causing the bed to fold in on itself. “Just curious, that’s all.”

“Well, you don’t need to be curious.” Y/N opens the bathroom door, sparing one last withering glance at Harry over her shoulder. He’s sitting up on the bed with one leg hanging out from beneath the covers as one hand plays with his hair, the other fiddles with a ring on his finger, and the way he looks at her from the corner of his eye lights a fire in Y/N’s chest. Except she can’t tell if it’s a fire of anger or arousal.

When she slams the door behind her, it’s her own confusion over that distinction that frustrates her more than anything else.

…

“Took you long enough.” Harry scoffs while leaning against the side of his car, his white t-shirt a contrast to the dust covered body of the black Chevy Impala. His dark sunglasses are perched on top of his head, keeping his unruly curls out of his eyes, while his arms are crossed over his chest impatiently as he waits for an answer. “I dropped off the keys ten minutes ago.”

By way of explanation, Y/N holds up the cardboard drink tray in her hands, a brown bag balancing in between the two coffee cups. “I was getting us breakfast, Styles. Calm down.” She walks to the passenger side of the car, opening the door and climbing in one handed. “I figured you’d be even crabbier hungry.”

“You mean you’d be crabbier without caffeine.” Harry retorts, climbing into the driver’s side in one smooth motion. “Here—” He takes the tray from her so she can buckle her seatbelt, carefully removing the two coffees and setting them in the cup holders between them. “Just be careful not to spill anything.”

Y/N rolls her eyes as she picks up the coffee closest to her (she’d gotten them both black). “Why? Worried about me ruining Stevie?”

Harry reaches into his pocket, pulling out his keys as he gives her an irritated look. “Yes, actually. I’ve put a lot of work into her.” The car roars to life as Harry turns the key in the ignition, buckling his own seat as the motor warms up. “Adding on two thousand miles to her in five days is already worrisome enough, and that’s not even counting the other two thousand she’ll get on the way back.”

Y/N doesn’t respond to the comment, and instead lets the sound of Harry’s playlist fill the silence of the car as Harry peels out of the Motel 6 parking lot. She’ll be glad to leave that place behind, she thinks, and focus on finding something better—and more private—for tonight, wherever they end up.

Harry, however, doesn’t seem content with letting silence fall between them. “How did you sleep last night?” He asks after a few moments, one hand on the steering wheel as he takes a sip of his coffee.

Glancing at him from the corner of her eye suspiciously, Y/N reaches into the paper bag and grabs her Danish, taking a small bite before answering. “Not great.”

“Was the bed bad?” Harry asks curiously, his brow furrowing while his eyes stay glued to the road, moving only to glance at the occasion sign directing him back to the highway. “The pull out wasn’t great, but I’ve slept on worse. I would’ve thought the bed would be better than that.”

“No, it—I mean, the bed wasn’t amazing, but it—” Y/N clears her throat and swallows the bite of pastry in her mouth. “I, uh, I don’t sleep well when it’s raining.”

At this new information, Harry’s eyebrow quirks up, and he risks a look in her direction to attempt to read her face. Y/N’s own eyes are focused on the Danish in her hands, refusing to meet his gaze as she lifts the pastry to her mouth to take another bite.

“You don’t?” Harry asks after a moment, the confusion in his voice almost visible within the space between them. “But it’s like white noise, isn’t it? Supposed to be relaxing, and all that.”

Y/N gives a half shrug of her shoulders. “It’s—well, it’s not the rain, exactly, just—what it’s usually paired with.” Y/N hopes that her clear hesitancy to answer will be enough of a signal to Harry for him to drop the subject. Harry, however, doesn’t seem to pick up on the reluctance in Y/N’s voice; or, at least, he doesn’t care enough to acknowledge it.

“What do you mean, what it’s paired with?” Harry takes a small sip of his own coffee, careful of the temperature of the liquid. “Like…wind, or—?”

Y/N debates back and forth with herself internally, but she knows that Harry won’t drop the subject without getting a satisfying answer. “Thunder.” She answers finally, setting her coffee down in her cup holder before turning her gaze towards her window. “I don’t like thunderstorms, ever since I was a little kid, and when it’s raining, it always feels like thunder is around the corner. Puts me on edge, like I’m waiting for it. And I can’t sleep.”

“So you never sleep when it rains?” Harry asks slowly, and the tone of incredulous disbelief in Harry’s voice is enough for Y/N to be able to imagine the expression on his face. His forest green eyes wide, strawberry pink lips agape, brow furrowed in confusion, his jaw slack as he contemplates a response to a grown woman admitting that she’s afraid of thunder. The image in her head is enough to make the back of her neck flush.

There’s a tightness in the back of her throat, and Y/N attempts to clear it again before answering. “Never.”

“Huh.” Harry taps his fingers against the gear shift in succession three times. “You’d hate London, then.”

The casual comment catches Y/N by surprise, but she doesn’t allow herself to lower her guard. “That’s why I don’t live in London.” She mumbles the words as her fingers pick at the napkin wrapped around her Danish. “I picked L.A. for a reason. It has lots of heat, barely any rain, and I’m reasonably close to Disneyland whenever I feel like I need something magical.” The last part slips out without Y/N thinking, and the flush creeps further up her neck as a surprised laugh leaves Harry’s mouth.

“Something magical?” Harry repeats, new crinkles appearing next to his eyes as he laughs, as if the dimples that crease his cheeks aren’t proof of his amusement enough. “Do you frequently feel like you need something magical?”

It’s Y/N’s turn to give an incredulous look now, her body half twisting towards Harry to observe his confusing reactions. “How did I just admit that I’m afraid of thunder, and the thing you’re focusing on is that I like Disney?”

Harry shrugs at her words, flicking on his turn signal to exit towards the highway. “I don’t know.” He says as he peers over his shoulder to check for oncoming cars. “I mean, everyone has fears. Not liking thunder isn’t exactly uncommon, you know. However, hearing that Ms. Serious Type A Perfectionist likes magic—” His grin grows bigger by the second. “Now that’s surprising.”

“Oh, shut up.” Y/N mutters, finishing her Danish in a few more bites. She waits until she’s entirely finished chewing before continuing the conversation over the voice of Billy Joel coming through the speakers. “Since I’ve admitted something I’m afraid of…” She starts, glancing at Harry from the corner of her eye. “I think it’s only fair that you admit something, too.”

Harry snorts in response, his hand freezing its movement with his coffee cup still half lifted to his lips. “Is that so?”

“Mhmm.” Y/N hums as she slips off her shoes in order to pull her legs beneath her to fold into a cross-legged position on the car seat. “Not so much fun when it’s your turn, huh? C’mon, what’s the Brit scared of? Not enough biscuits for afternoon tea?”

A short and harsh breath of air leaves Harry’s nose, half a snort as he sets his coffee down in his cupholder. “No, actually, diminishing biscuit levels are a low level fear for me.”

“Then what’s a higher one?” Y/N prods, watching as Harry’s neck muscles tense as he shoulder checks to change lanes. There’s something about the movement that catches her eye, but she can’t quite figure out why—or rather, she can, but she’d rather pretend that she’s unaware.

“Uh…” Harry’s fingers nimbly switch on his turn signal before he transitions to the left lane, his right hand moving the gear shift to its desired place. “Crowds. I’m not a fan of big crowds, really. Like when everyone’s pressed together, so tight that you can’t breathe, and you can’t hear yourself think because it’s so loud…yeah. I don’t like that.”

The simple answer surprises Y/N as much as she imagines her answer surprised Harry. “Crowds?” She repeats back to him, a forgotten memory of long gone conversations coming to the forefront of her mind. “But what about, like, concerts and stuff? Laure always told me when she’d go to shows with you…”

“That’s different.” Harry shrugs as one of his ringed hands comes to his lips, rubbing over them slowly as he contemplates his next words. “I…When I’m at concerts, I always go with someone, and if we’re in the general seating area, where there’s a lot of people, I always stick with them. Like, sometimes, if it’s getting crowded, or people are pushing, Laure will hold my hand, so…” Redness begins to creep up Harry’s pale neck, staining the tops of his ears a deep berry colour as he trails off.

Not for the first time since their conversation began, Y/N is surprised at how candid they’re being with each other. As she watches Harry’s blush grow, she feels her own diminish, a physical representation of her trading her embarrassment for something more empathetic.

“I get it.” Y/N says after a moment, once it’s clear that Harry isn’t going to continue. “When there’s thunderstorms, um, I feel better when I’m with someone, or talking to someone. It makes me feel less…”

“Alone?” Harry finishes for her, his eyes flickering from the road to her profile. His green irises capture hers for longer than they should, his focus completely gone from the stretch of highway for at least five seconds before Harry’s attention turns back to driving. “Yeah.” He says slowly, pulling his sunglasses down from his hair to hide his eyes. “Yeah, less alone. It helps.”

Y/N nods slowly, unable to look away from Harry’s side profile. It’s apparent that he’s on edge after their conversation, and she knows her body language is the same. Tight in the shoulders, hands clenched, back rigidly straight. And yet, seeing her own body language reflected in front of her bothers her. Part of her wants to reach out and take Harry’s hand, soothe him like Laure does in the crowd of a concert, but she knows that’s ridiculous. It’s ridiculous, and it’s Harry, and Harry, of all people, does not need her comfort. Not in the slightest.

She watches as Harry clenches his fist on top of his thigh.

…

“Is this really necessary?” Y/N asks, slamming her car door shut as Harry does the same on the other side of the vehicle. She leans over the roof of the car, crossing her arms on the cool metal as she tilts her head to the side in an inquisitive manner. The clouds in the sky are getting darker by the minute, signalling the beginning of the storm that canceled her flight, and the angry black colour above their heads is making Y/N anxious.

Harry, however, seems unbothered by the gathering storm, and nods tersely as he pushes his sunglasses up onto his head before opening the door to the backseat and grabbing his army green jacket. “Of course it’s necessary.” He says, slipping the jacket over his broad shoulders before slamming the door shut and locking the car. “I’ve never been to Utah before. I want a souvenir.”

“Okay, but—” Y/N follows Harry as he walks towards the dilapidated building in front of them. “Here? Really? Does this seem like the best place?”

Harry glances at her over his shoulder at her, pausing his long strides to look up at the building he spotted from the highway. If the chipped grey paint that was once pastel blue and dust-coated windows are any sign, the structure is probably older than Harry and Y/N combined, with a splintered front porch wrapping around its small perimeter. The building has one faded sign above the door that reads “SOUVENIRS/SNACKS” in hand-painted capital letters, and seems to be hanging onto the outside façade by three small bolts and sheer willpower. Y/N’s almost certain that she’s seen this exact building in a horror movie before someone gets murdered, and while getting back into the car with Harry isn’t at the top of her list of wants, it’s certainly preferable to getting stabbed to death by a serial killer.

“It’s fine, Y/N.” Harry waves off her concern without a second thought about the appearance of the shop. “If you’re really bothered, you can wait in the car.”

Y/N considers it for a moment, but decides against it. She needs to stretch her legs, and honestly, Harry seems too trusting. He probably wouldn’t be able to tell if someone was sketchy until their knife was in his back. And, seeing as how he has the keys to the only getaway car available, Y/N kind of needs him around without a stab wound carved into his flesh.

“Let’s just get this over with.” She sighs, pulling her own jacket around her tighter as she steps over the worn wooden steps to the door. “We’re on a schedule.”

When Harry pushes open the door, the smell of stale air hits Y/N before anything else. Despite one open window and a fan in the corner of the shop that’s being used in a weak attempt to circulate the air, it feels like nothing fresh has been in the shop for a while. Y/N shoots a glance at Harry, caution and warning written all over her face.

While Harry sees her glance, he waves off her concern, turning his attention to the few shelves and wire racks around the small shop that are lined with inventory. Within a few moments, he’s entertaining himself in the post card section, comparing different photos of the Utah landscape to each other with great care and concern. Y/N observes him for a few moments before wandering off on her own towards the snack section of the shop. Although there are a few items that she thinks about picking up, the thick layer of dust over the packaging puts her off from purchasing them. She grimaces as she continues walking, stopping in front of a tower of silver key chains in the back corner of the shop. Most of them, she finds, are crosses and bible verses, and all of them give her an ominous feeling in her stomach. Y/N runs her finger over a miniature silver version of the Ten Commandments, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth as she does so.

“I think we should go, Harry.” She calls to him without turning around, setting the key chain back down on the rack carefully. “Just pick your post card and—Harry?”

When Y/N turns around, Harry’s broad figure is nowhere to be seen. She walks back over to the post card section slowly, her brow furrowed with confusion as a knot tightens in her stomach. Where could he be? She wonders, running her hand along the dusty wire rack in front of her. It’s not like there’s anywhere for him to go in the small shop, and she would have heard if he left, or if he drove away.

“Harry?” She calls again, her steps slower now as worry fills her voice. “Where did you—fuck—!” Y/N screams as something grabs her from behind, its fingers digging into her sides harshly. She whips around to find Harry standing over her, loud outbursts of laughter spilling from his strawberry pink mouth at the look on her face.

An indignant flush rushes over Y/N’s face. “You’re such an ass!” She hisses, gripping his shoulders and shoving his laughing frame away from her. “I swear, you’re like a five year old—”

“Did I worry you?” Harry snickers between his words, a wicked look of mischief alight in his dark green eyes. “Were you afraid something happened to me?”

Y/N’s cheeks burn with anger as she turns away from him, crossing her arms defiantly. “No. I wish something had happened to you. Then I wouldn’t have to deal with your immature antics.”

Harry’s lips stay quirked up in a smirk as he follows her, his voice falling into a singsong tone. “You were worried.” He insists, chuckles still rolling out of him every few moments. “I could tell.”

“Oh, fuck off.” Y/N snaps at him in an irritated voice. “Just pay for your stupid post card and let’s go.”

“I already did. There’s a sign on the desk saying the clerk is out for lunch, so I left some money.” Harry nods to the small desk in the corner with a few dollars left tucked under the dusty service bell. “I think that’ll cover it, yeah?”

“Whatever.” Y/N can’t resist shoving Harry one last time before walking towards the shop door. “That’s enough. Let’s go. I want to make it to the motel before the storm hits.”

…

The nice thing about Grand Junction, Colorado, Y/N realizes, is that their motels have multiple single rooms available on short notice. While she didn’t realize the importance of this fact before this trip started, having an evening of solitude and her own stable space away from Harry for the first time in two days is nothing short of a blessing.

When she gets inside her private motel room, which, while still shabby, is leagues above their previous motel, Y/N locks the door before breathing a sigh of relief. Just the silence in the room is wonderful, and even though she knows Harry is right next door, having a wall between them is a luxury that she doesn’t take for granted. When she showers, she doesn’t have to worry about being quick, or toweling off as fast as she can so she can get dressed inside the bathroom without Harry seeing. There’s no need to worry about anyone hearing Y/N sing quietly to herself under the (albeit weak) stream of the shower, nor is there an uncomfortable stick of her sports bra to her back caused by water droplets that she couldn’t reach in her hurry to dry off. And after her shower, with some of the knots from her back finally worked out, Y/N is able to stretch out on the double bed in the center of the room, her phone in her hand as she reaches for the takeout menus stacked on the bedside table. She peruses the menus available before settling on Chinese takeout, and within five minutes, her order of a two entrée plate and fried rice is on its way.

Y/N sighs gently as she leans back on the pillows, wishing that she and Harry had stopped at a liquor store before coming to the motel. She knows she could probably walk to one, but now that she’s showered and comfortable, the last thing she wants to do is wander around Grand Junction until she finds a bottle of Moscato. Instead, Y/N flicks on the TV with a click of the ancient remote, and begins scrolling through the channels until she finds a rerun of Dirty Dancing that’s just starting.

An amused yet wry smile appears on Y/N’s lips. It’s this movie’s fault that she and Harry are on an impromptu road trip, really. Jo and Laure both loved it, and were insistent that they had to get married at a resort in the Catskills similar to one from the film. As her two friends cross her mind, Y/N settles into the sheets as Baby begins her narration, contemplating whether or not she should call Jo to check in. Just as the thought pops into her head, however, the phone rings.

Y/N answers within a moment, not bothering to check the caller ID. She and Jo had a strange habit of calling each other the moment the other thought of it, and when she raises her phone to her ear, she expects to hear her best friend’s familiar voice reply. “Hello?”

What voice she actually hears, however, surprises her. “Hey, Y/N. I’m glad I got through.” Brant says easily, his voice crackling slightly through the speaker. “How are you?”

“Brant!” Y/N jerks up in bed in surprise, the remote falling from its perch on her stomach onto the sheets. “I—I’m fine. How are you?”

“Oh, alright. Just busy with work, but that’s the usual.” Y/N can practically picture the neutral expression on his face, and how he’d shrug his shoulders as he speaks. “How’s the road trip? I can’t imagine driving for as long as you have to drive.”

“It’s…it’s alright, yeah.” Y/N speaks slowly as she puts her phone on speaker, balancing it on her knee while her hands begin to fidget with her rings. “Long, but not too bad.”

“Well, that’s good.” Brant clears his throat thickly, as if what he’s about to say makes him uncomfortable. “I miss you, though. And our weekly dinners.”

A feeling of guilt washes over Y/N. Truthfully, besides Harry’s inquisition on the first day of driving, Brant has barely crossed her mind. Granted, he isn’t usually at the forefront of her mind while she’s in L.A., either, but for the last few days, her thoughts have been constantly consumed by the stress of making it to the wedding and her annoyance and frustration with Harry.

“Y/N?” Brant’s voice crackles through her speaker again. “Are you there?

“I—yeah.” She says quickly, pulling herself from her thoughts. “Sorry, just—long day. I’m tired.”

“I can imagine.” Brant says sympathetically, but there’s something in his tone that almost sounds patronizing. “Who are you driving with? Have you been taking turns?”

Y/N pauses the fidgeting of her rings before snatching her phone from its balanced place on her knee. She quickly opens her messages and scrolls to her thread with Brant, searching through the text bubbles for a reminder of what she’d said to him. Had she not told him that she was traveling with Harry?

Within a moment, Y/N confirms that she hadn’t. All she had said was that she was getting a ride with someone. Why had she done that, she wonders? She’s sure she’s mentioned Harry in passing to Brant at least once. When she talked about the wedding, probably. As she thinks about it more, however…what had she told Brant about the wedding? About Jo? How much does he actually know about her personal life? Most of their dinner conversations revolve around work, or some book both of them have read. Had the topic ever come up in detail?

“I’m, um, I’m driving with one of Laure’s friends.” Y/N brings the phone closer to her mouth as her other hand works its way to her mouth. She begins to chew on a hangnail absentmindedly between her words, something she always does when her nerves begin to get to her. She can’t count the number of times Jo has grasped her wrist and pulled her hand from her mouth to chastise her about the habit. “We’re…we’re in Colorado now.”

“Oh, Colorado. That’s nice.” Brant says over the rustling of papers. “Listen, Y/N, I’ve got some work to get back to, but I’m glad we had this talk. I’ll call you again soon.”

“Uh, yeah. Sure. I’ll talk to you later.” Y/N nods, and then the line goes dead. Out of curiosity, Y/N checks the length of the call. The time 3:09 blinks back at her.

Tossing her phone back down on the covers, Y/N resumes her relaxed position in bed, despite being anything but relaxed after that phone call. She should feel guilty, she thinks, for not telling Brant about Harry. But then again, what’s there to tell? She said she was getting a ride with one of Laure’s friends, and that’s true. She hadn’t lied. And even if Brant did know that the friend is Harry, why would he care? It’s just Harry. There’s no reason for Brant to be alarmed, because there’s nothing going on. And she and Brant…Y/N glances down at the call time again. Things are different between them. There’s…they’re comfortable as they are, she thinks. They’re not dating, and they’re comfortable like that. So there’s no reason to tell him about Harry, because there’s nothing to tell. Nothing at all.

Y/N refocuses on the TV screen, where Patrick Swayze is dancing in a tight black tank top. Right. Nothing to tell.

…

When Y/N leaves her motel room the next morning with her bag over her shoulder, Harry is already waiting by his car, leaning against the dusty black body with two coffee cups in his hands. He’s dressed in another black t-shirt (Y/N wonders just how many identical copies of the same shirt Harry has) with usual jeans covering his long legs. His curls are tied out of his face with a dark green bandana, and Y/N knows that if his eyes weren’t covered with his black sunglasses, the bandana would make them even brighter than they usually are.

“Hey.” Harry calls to her, extending a ringed hand that holds a coffee cup towards her as she walks over. “I got the coffee this morning. You drink it black, right?”

Y/N nods as she takes the cup from him, careful not to brush over his fingers with her own. “Yeah. Thanks.”

“No problem.” Harry crosses around to the back of the car, opening the trunk with a turn of his key. “Here.” Harry holds out his free hand for Y/N’s bag, taking it from her and setting it down on top of the suitcases in the back. “I got it.”

Y/N regards Harry with a bemused look as she wraps both hands around her coffee cup. “Thanks?” She says again, more questioning this time as she looks at him strangely. “I can do that myself, you know.”

“I know. I’m just trying to be polite.” Harry’s voice takes on its usual bite like he’s flipping a switch. “Is that alright with you, princess?”

Within a second, the familiar irritation with Harry returns to Y/N, and it’s almost comforting to snap back at him in a testy voice. “Don’t call me that.”

Harry snickers under his breath, and although the sound makes Y/N’s annoyance grow, she detects a different tone in it than a few days before. Before she can place a finger on why it sounds different, however, Harry is climbing into the driver’s side of the car and starting the engine.

The two of them are silent as Harry finds his way back to the highway, and they stay in that silence for the first few hours of that day’s leg of the trip. As the third hour begins to pass, Y/N is content listening to the throaty and captivating voice of Stevie Nicks fill the cab of the car. By the second chorus of the song, Y/N is humming along quietly, her foot tapping to the same beat that Harry’s fingers are spelling out against the steering wheel. It’s comfortable, she thinks after a moment. The silence between them. It feels different than it did on their first day, when Y/N was questioning her choice to get into a car with Harry and commit to a 42 hour drive. The silence seems to be fueled more by comfort than tension. It’s…refreshing.

A memory from the first day ignites in the back of her mind, a spark so bright and obvious that she can’t believe it took her so long to see it. “Stevie.” Y/N says suddenly, turning to Harry as a smile spreads over her face. “You named your car Stevie, as in Stevie Nicks?”

Harry laughs, his shoulders moving up and down beneath his black t-shirt from the motion. One hand lifts from the steering wheel and points a finger gun at her. “Took you long enough. I was wondering how many days you’d have to listen to my music to get it.”

Y/N gives his hand a light shove. “I was too distracted by the fact that you named your car.” She rolls her eyes, bringing her bottle of water to her lips for a short sip. “I still think it’s weird.”

“It gives her character.” Harry defends himself as he rubs a hand over the steering wheel absentmindedly. Y/N can see the mirth swirling around in his light irises. “A bit of personality. Just because you don’t value personalities doesn’t mean anyone else doesn’t.”

“I don’t value personalities?” Turning in her seat to stare at Harry head on, Y/N raises an eyebrow in question. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just your taste in men, that’s all.” Harry says it casually, like it really can just be a “that’s all” type of sentence.

Within a heart beat, the comfortable atmosphere in the car turns to ice as Y/N straightens in her seat, her spine tense, tightening every nerve in her body along with it. “What the fuck does that mean?”

When Harry glances at her again, his eyes darken, his guard going up as he senses the shift in Y/N’s tone. “Nothing, just…motel rooms have thin walls.” Harry mumbles, having the decency to keep his eyes on the road as his ears redden slightly. “And from what I overheard, Brant doesn’t exactly seem…stimulating.”

Y/N sputters indignantly for a moment, unable to form a coherent response as anger rises in her chest. “You—” She sucks in a quick breath that hits the back of her throat harshly. “You eavesdropped on me?”

Harry licks his lips once, clearing his throat once before answering. The tapping of his fingers against the steering wheel has resumed, his nervousness apparent in his movements as well as his facial expressions. “Not on purpose. I told you, the walls were thin.”

“So put in head phones!” Y/N exclaims, gripping her water bottle so tight that her fingers begin to strain in protest against the metal exterior. She has half a mind to throw the bottle at Harry in her anger, barely able to talk herself down from the ledge of the idea.

Harry’s posture shifts in his seat as his shoulders square, and Y/N can practically see his defensive side emerge from within his chest. “It’s not like you two were having phone sex.” He rolls his eyes at the idea. “It was the most boring conversation in the world, and lasted, what, three minutes? Makes you wonder how long he lasts in other ways, doesn’t it?”

“Stop the car.” Y/N’s voice is low and void of emotion as she replies, her body turned back forward in her seat.

“Am I wrong? It’s not like you know for sure—”

Anger bubbles over in Y/N’s chest, cancelling out any rational thought she has inside her and leaving pure, unadulterated fury. “Stop the car, Harry! Now!”

Harry half jumps in his seat when Y/N yells, and he quickly jerks the car to the side of the highway without so much as a turn signal. Pulling her seatbelt off as he pulls over, Y/N is out the door before Harry can so much as put the car into neutral. While her more rational mind would tell her that she has nowhere to walk to along a highway in Colorado as the sky darkens to an angry black above them, the only thing she’s thinking of is getting away from Harry. Stupid, self-absorbed, ignorant, and rude Harry.

“Y/N—” The sound of Harry scrambling out of the car and slamming the door behind him pushes her to walk faster. “Y/N, come back—”

Y/N turns around on her heel fast and hard, heart pounding so fast that she thinks it might break through her ribs. “What is your problem?” She hisses, pointing an accusatory finger at him. “Why do you insist on being so—so nasty about him? You don’t even know him!”

Harry freezes where he is as the wind whips his hair around his face, his bandana barely keeping the messy curls in place. “I don’t—” His speech falters, and he sucks in a sharp breath before continuing. “I don’t think I’m being…nasty.”

“Well, you are!” Y/N takes a deep breath in, placing her hands over her stomach as it expands with air. It’s a trick that Jo taught her back in high school, as a way to ground herself to her body. Feeling the movement of air in and out of her lungs helps calm her, even if by just a fraction. “Brant is just—he’s someone I’m talking to. We’ve gone on dates, but we’re not dating, and even though we’re not dating, that doesn’t mean that you can insinuate things about him, or eavesdrop on our private conversations!”

Harry’s jaw tenses as he listens to Y/N speak, waiting until she’s finished her speech to respond in a harsh and clipped tone. “I already told you, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. And I’m teasing you. It’s supposed to be a joke. Isn’t that what friends do?”

“But we’re not friends, Harry.” Y/N’s voice is flat, the fury in her tone replaced with a hollow emptiness. “We’re not friends. I don’t need you teasing me about a boy like we’re buddies, or whatever, because we’re not.”

Although Harry opens his mouth to respond, no words cross over the edges of his pink lips. His jaw tightens even more as he closes his mouth again, and Y/N can see a million things flitting through his green irises, which are getting darker by the moment. Y/N’s not certain if the darkness is from her words, or the black sky rolling above them that’s sapping the light of day from the atmosphere, and she’s not sure if she can take the answer either way. Part of her knows that maybe—just maybe—she’s blown this whole thing out of proportion, and maybe she should examine why Harry making fun of Brant bothers her like it does. It’s not like she’s unaware of his shortcomings, she thinks, but then she wonders why she’s now seeing them as shortcomings, when a week ago, she saw them as positives. Y/N never has to worry about Brant being too much for her, or forgetful, or scatterbrained—he’s organized, and secure, and stable, and that’s what she likes. It’s always been what she likes.

Harry’s delayed response tears Y/N from her thoughts. “Not friends. Got it.” He mutters, rubbing his hand over his stubbled and taut cheeks. “Just get back in the car, then. Let’s go.”

…

“Hello! My name is Gracie, I’ll be your server today.” The waitress in the tiny diner smiles at Harry and Y/N, a notepad in one hand and a half filled coffee pot in the other. “Can I get you guys anything to start?”

“Coffee.” Harry and Y/N speak at the same time, each person’s eyes flickering to the other before looking away. Y/N keeps her eyes focused on her off-white ceramic coffee cup as Gracie fills it, refusing to make eye contact with Harry again.

The last hour has been almost unbearable. After they got back in the car, Harry had turned off his playlist, and for the first time since the road trip had begun, true silence had fallen between them. Y/N had thought she would like it, but truthfully, it had been the worst thing she’d ever heard. Every few minutes, she’d hear Harry shift, or sigh, or tap a tense finger against the gear shift, and she wished that she could say something, but she didn’t. She couldn’t. She’d been grateful when he wordlessly exited the highway and parked in front of a diner, as the conversations of stopped truck drivers and the clatter of a kitchen was a good distraction from their argument.

A movement in the corner of her eye catches her attention, and Y/N glances up just enough to watch Harry slip a pat of butter into his coffee, stirring the contents of the cup with his spoon until it’s melted together. She wrinkles her nose in disgust, and almost opens her mouth to make a comment (“Really, Harry? Just add milk like a regular person, instead of drinking a cup of grease.”), but bites it back before it can fall off her tongue. They’re not exactly in the position to make quips to each other, she thinks, especially after she told him that they weren’t friends.

Which they’re not. They’ve never been friends; that fact isn’t exactly news. Not getting along has been Harry and Y/N’s signature since the day they first met. So why is there a pit in Y/N’s stomach that gets deeper every time Harry looks away from her?

The click of heels alerts Y/N of Gracie’s returned presence before her voice does. “Have you two decided what you’d like to eat?”

“I’ll have a turkey club, please, on whole wheat bread.” Harry folds up his plastic menu carefully. “And a glass of water on the side.”

Gracie nods, taking the menu from him before turning her eyes to Y/N. “And for yourself?”

“Um—” Y/N had barely glanced at the menu, too lost in her thoughts to think about it. “I’ll just have a burger, please. And a water, as well.”

Gracie nods as she writes down the order, taking Y/N’s menu and giving the pair one last smile before disappearing to the kitchen. A fresh wave of silence falls between Harry and Y/N as each of them sips their coffee, both of them doing their best not to look at the person sitting across from them.

Y/N’s best, however, is not up to her usual standard, as she can’t stop herself from stealing a few quick glances while Harry looks out the window. He hasn’t shaved in a couple days, she notices, as the stubble on his cheeks and chin is even darker than it was the day before. There’s a permanent crease between his eyebrows, his face as tense as she’s ever seen it, and a darkness over his whole expression overall. It’s like there’s a new wall up between the two of them, and Y/N’s never felt more detached from him. Which, honestly, is saying something.

She’s looking back down at her own half empty coffee when Harry finally speaks a few minutes later, his voice just as tense as his expression.

“Shit.” He says in a low voice, and then the next sound Y/N hears is that of someone ruffling through pockets.

She looks up to see Harry doing just that, his hands digging through the outer pockets of his army green jacket. “What?” She asks, her curiosity outweighing her need to continue the silent treatment. “What is it?”

“I had the vows in my—my pocket, but they’re—” Harry jams his hands inside a pocket sewn into the lining of his jacket, and Y/N watches as his face visibly relaxes. “Oh, thank God. I thought they fell out.”

Harry removes his hand from his pocket, two folded up notes clutched within his hand. Each one is labeled carefully, one with Jo written in Laure’s neat penmanship, and the other with Laure scribbled in Jo’s quick writing.

Y/N recognizes the papers immediately. It’s easy, really, considering the amount of time she spent helping Jo rewrite draft after draft of the same sentiments. “You have Jo and Laure’s vows?” She questions, her eyebrows raising in surprise. “Why?”

“The same reason you have their wedding bands.” Harry shrugs as he turns the papers over in his careful fingers, making sure not to crease them. “They forgot them.”

A small smile plays on the edge of Y/N’s lips at the memory of her forgetful friends. “Right. Of course.”

Harry’s eyes flicker to Y/N’s mouth at the sign of movement, and he tugs his bottom lip between his teeth before responding. “Want to take a look?”

“At their vows?” Y/N looks around, as if someone could be watching and monitoring them. “I—that doesn’t seem right.”

“Fine. Then don’t look at them.” Harry says easily, setting the note labeled Laure on the table between them. His nimble fingers unfold the paper labeled with Jo’s name as his green irises begin to scan across the sheet. “I’ll read them.”

It only takes a few seconds of watching Harry read over the words for Y/N to crack. “Wait.” She brings her thumb to her mouth, chewing anxiously on her cuticle as Harry quirks an eyebrow at her. “Will you read them to me?”

When she asks, Harry spends so long staring at her that Y/N thinks he’ll refuse. His jade eyes meet hers with an intensity that almost makes her flinch, but Y/N holds his stare, refusing to be the first to back down. Finally, after what seems like an eternity, Harry gives a sharp nod, looking down at the note before he starts to read from the beginning.

“‘My darling Jo’,” He begins, his voice soft and low, his accent thick. “‘It seems so strange that this day is finally here. I feel like we’ve been building up to it ever since the day we first met, and yet it’s always seemed so far away. When I was a little girl, I always’…” Harry trails off as his eyes continue to move across the words, and he clears his throat before attempting to continue to read aloud. “‘I always thought that there was something wrong with me. I thought that the things that I felt, and the way that I loved, was dirty. I thought it was wrong. I thought that—that I was going against God, and against nature, and that I was going to be punished for it. And then I met you’.”

Harry pauses to take a sip of his coffee, and Y/N does the same. There’s a shine beginning to appear in his eyes, and Y/N recognizes it as the beginning of tears because she feels the same thing brimming in her own eyes. She feels a bit guilty for reading the vows, but reasons that it’s for the best. If she were to hear them for the first time at the wedding, she doesn’t think she’d be able to keep it together.

“‘The moment I met you, I knew that the way I loved could never be wrong, or be dirty, because I was loving you’.” Harry’s accent grows thicker the more he reads, and although Y/N hasn’t seem Harry in many different emotional states, she can tell that this is a sign of how the vows are affecting him. “‘Being with you could never be wrong, and God could never get mad at me for it, because only God could create someone as perfect as you. I promise to love you when you wake me up at 3 A.M. because you’ve stolen all the blankets, and I promise to love you at 6 P.M. when you almost burn down our apartment while trying to cook for me. I promise to support you through everything, listen to your stories, and watch in wonder as you make a difference in this world. I promise to never let my anger get the best of me, and to always give you the benefit of the doubt. I promise to love every version of yourself that you grow into, just as I’ve loved all the versions you once were. I promise to love you in every way humanly possible, and even in ways that aren’t humanly possible. I promise to love, period. I’—” Harry’s voice cracks, and he glances up at Y/N as he clears his throat to continue. “‘I love you’.”

Y/N doesn’t realize just how emotional listening to Harry read Laure’s vows has made her until the first tear wells over the corner of her eye. She turns her head towards the window to wipe it away as quickly and inconspicuously as possible, but from the way Harry is looking at her when she turns back around, she knows that he caught what she was doing.

“That, um—” Now it’s Y/N’s turn to attempt to clear the emotion from her throat. “Wow.”

Harry carefully folds Laure’s vows back up, taking extra care to re-crease the paper exactly how it had been folded. “I didn’t know she…felt like that.” Harry says after a moment, his voice quiet. “Like she was…wrong.”

Y/N, unsure of what to say, just nods while reaching for Jo’s vows in front of her. Like Harry, she takes great care when unfolding the paper, smoothing it gently between her hands. “I’ll read Jo’s, then?”

Harry nods as he takes a sip of his water. “Sure.”

Y/N licks her lips once, wetting them with what little saliva she has in her mouth before beginning. “‘Laure’,” She starts, emotion already rising up to form a lump in her throat. “‘I don’t even know where to begin. I’ve tried to write down all the ways I love you a million different times, but I can never seem to find the right words. The problem is, I don’t think that there is a big enough word to describe what I feel for you. ‘Love’ is only four letters, and four letters is just not enough to contain everything I feel. ‘Adoration’ is nine letters, but even that doesn’t come close. I think the best way I can describe it is ‘permanent’.” Y/N pauses her reading to take a long gulp of water, the coolness soothing the dry and parched feeling in her mouth and throat. “‘Anyone who knows me knows that I have trouble committing. The idea of having something forever, of being in one place, normally terrifies me. But the idea of having you forever, and being in one place with you forever…that’s all I want. I want us to be permanent to each other. Even when we struggle, and we will struggle, I know that we won’t fall apart. Committing to you isn’t any trouble. It’s as easy as breathing. I’m sure of you, and I’m sure of us. I love you, permanently. I’ll love you when you’re sick and gross, and I’ll love you when you’re old with a bad hip.” A small laugh falls out of Y/N’s mouth before she continues. “I’ll love you when you haggle at flea markets for the best prices, and I’ll love you when you do something so stupid that it makes me want to tear my hair out. I love you permanently, and I want all of our family and friends to witness me saying that. I’ll never back out, or bail, or run away from you. You’re the one thing in my life that’s never felt hard. You’re my home base, and my north star, and you bring me back down to Earth whenever I need it. I love you permanently, Laure. I’ll never stop’.”

As she finishes reading, Y/N folds the paper back up, wiping her eyes on the back of her hand before grabbing the other note sitting on the table. She pushes them towards Harry, her misty eyes unable to meet his. “Here. Put these away again, somewhere safe.”

Harry takes the vows from her, slipping them back inside his inner jacket pocket for safekeeping. “It’s probably—” He clears his throat once more, and Y/N knows that the vows have caught him in his chest just as they’ve caught her. “It’s probably good that we read them now, so that we’re…prepared for the ceremony.”

“Yeah.” Y/N wraps her hands around her coffee mug, the warm ceramic surface heating her cold fingers. “You’re right. They really…love each other.”

Harry taps his fingers against the table top, a concentrative and thoughtful expression on his face. His eyebrows are knit together above his stormy green eyes, and his pink tongue swipes over his pinker lips once before he speaks. “You know, Laure is my closest friend. I don’t want her to get hurt.”

Immediately registering the tone of Harry’s voice, Y/N’s head snaps up, her own eyes becoming stormy as they meet his own. “Jo would never hurt Laure.” Y/N says defensively, the hairs on the back of her neck pricking up at even the suggestion of her friend hurting someone. “Didn’t you hear her vows? I’ve never heard her sound so sure of something in her entire life.”

Harry’s jaw flexes at the cadence of Y/N’s voice, and his is just as agitated when he responds. “I’m just saying, if anything ever happened—”

“And I’m just saying, it won’t.” The tension between them doubles as Y/N shoots Harry an icy glare. “Do you just look for the worst in people? Is that all you do?”

“You think I look for the worst in people? Really?” Harry barks out a harsh laugh, pressing one hand flat against the table as the other fixes his bandana. “Christ, if that’s what you think of me—”

“Why would I think anything else?” Y/N asks incredulously, tilting her head to the side as she regards him. “All you’ve shown me is—”

“Alright, I have the turkey club on whole wheat, and the burger here.” Gracie appears suddenly to Y/N’s right, her tray loaded with food. “Here you guys are…” She sets the plates down in front of Harry and Y/N, her gaze darting between them nervously as she reads the tension in the booth. “Is…there anything else I can get you two?”

“No.” Harry’s voice is hard. “We don’t need anything else.”

…

By the time Harry pulls the car into a motel just off the highway in Lexington, Nebraska, all Y/N wants is a moment alone. The strained atmosphere during that day’s drive had been unbearable, and between the anxiety from her confrontation with Harry and the sound of thunder beginning in the distance, Y/N just needs some space to herself to relax and calm down.

Of course, just because that’s what she needs, doesn’t mean that she’s going to get it. When Harry returns back to the car with a single key in his hand and a sour look on his face, Y/N knows for sure that the universe is against her.

This room, at least, she’s pleased to find, has two actual beds, which are pushed up against the wall perpendicular to the door with a small night table between them. However, that’s where her pleasure stops, as the click of Harry turning the lock behind her just reminds her that she’s trapped in here, with no chance to get away from Harry, the oncoming storm, or any one of her problems that have developed over the last four days. The reality of the situation hits her all at once, and it takes all of Y/N’s self control to toss her bag on the bed and walk brusquely to the bathroom, slamming the door and locking it behind her before she allows herself to show a sign of her emotions.

The rest of the evening passes in silence. She showers before changing into her sports bra and boxers, but the amount of exposed skin sends a vulnerable shiver down her spine. Y/N opts for pulling a sweatshirt over her body, and then sets herself the task of braiding her hair to distract herself. After that’s done, she busies herself with her skincare routine, taking up as much time as she can in the bathroom before she absolutely has to leave its private interior.

Harry, however, seems to want to see as little of Y/N as she wants to see of him, and pushes past her to enter the bathroom the moment that she steps out of it. His routine, it seems, is designed to take up just as much time as hers was, because by the time Harry exits the bathroom, the scent of his shampoo trailing behind him, Y/N is already tucked under the covers of her bed, although she’s far from asleep.

In the time it took for her to shower and get ready for bed, the storm had picked up, and the only thing audible in the room was the sound of rain pelting against the roof and window, the wind howling through the trees, and Y/N’s shallow, uneven breaths. She wraps the sheets tightly around herself, pulling them taut to her chin with clenched fists that tighten every time a clap of thunder echoes through the room. Although she’s turned to face the wall, away from Harry, she can hear his footsteps pause as he gets a glimpse of her shivering form beneath the blankets, and she does her best to will herself to appear asleep. Breathing in as deeply as her tight chest will allow her, Y/N attempts to even her breathing, forcing her shoulders rise and fall in a way that appears natural and normal. But all it takes is one clap of thunder for the controlled motion to go out the window.

“Y/N…” Harry’s voice is low, but despite its raspy cadence, it lacks the rough edge that it had earlier. The bed behind her squeaks, signalling that Harry’s taken a seat on the edge of it. “Are you—?”

“I-I’m fine.” Y/N says quickly, pulling the sheets tighter to her chin as another shiver rolls through her body. “Go to sleep.”

There’s another creak of Harry’s bed, and Y/N imagines him climbing under the starched linen covers, his damp curls flopping into his eyes as he lays back on the lumpy motel pillow. The image is almost enough to distract her until there’s another clap of thunder. The sound seems to shake the motel room, and Y/N can’t stop the small whimper that leaves her lips as her body jumps in response.

“When I was a little kid, my mum took my sister and I to the fair every year.”

Harry’s deep voice cuts over the rain, and Y/N shifts in her bed, turning over to face him. She keeps the covers pulled up to her chin, but readjusts herself so that she can keep her head on her pillow while looking Harry in the eye. “What?” She asks, confusion audible in her quiet tone.

Harry shifts himself as she does, continuing to move down until he’s completely horizontal, with one hand tucked under his pillow as he speaks. “My mum took my sister and I to the fair. It came to Holmes Chapel every spring, and there were always rides, and games to play, and so many things to see. It drew crowds from nearby villages every year, really big crowds, and my mum always held my hand tightly so I wouldn’t get lost.”

“I don’t understand, what—” Another clap of thunder shakes the room, making Y/N flinch halfway through her sentence.

“You’re okay.” Harry says immediately, his calm jade eyes focused on her as the reassurance slips from his mouth. He waits a moment, gauging Y/N’s body language and waiting for his examination to be positive before resuming his story. “So…my mum always told me not to wander off, but when I was six, I did. I saw some older kids playing games that I wanted to play, and Gemma was busy playing some sort of game with a ball—I can’t really remember what—and when my mum turned her back, I ran off.”

Y/N’s about to open her mouth to ask why he’s telling her the story when the answer clicks into place in her head. She thinks back to the conversation in the car the day before, how she told Harry that it helps when someone talks to her to distract her from the thunder. That’s what he’s doing, she realizes, as she forces herself to focus on his quiet and level voice. He’s trying to keep her calm, even after everything she said and did today.

“I don’t look like it now,” A small smile flits across Harry’s blushed lips. “But I was pretty scrawny back then. And all the people around me were so tall, my eyes were barely level with their hips. Everyone was rushing around, going in all directions, and I kept calling for my mum, but she couldn’t hear me. No one stopped to help me. I felt like I was…trapped. Like it was a huge forest of legs, running all around me, circling me, and I couldn’t get out. I was probably only gone for five minutes, but to a six year old, it felt like an eternity. And just something about it…I don’t know. It changed me. I still don’t like crowds because of that day.”

Y/N’s shoulders unclench the slightest bit as another gust of wind blows against the window. “That must have been scary.”

Harry’s own shoulders lift in a slight shrug as he shifts the sheet to cover him more. “It was. But I can’t change it. I just have to deal with the repercussions of it. That’s all a fear is, really. A side effect. We just have to deal with them as best we can.”

More thunder booms loudly outside, but Y/N manages to keep her flinch to a minimum, despite her hands curling into fists again under the covers. “Harry…” She whispers his name into the darkness between them, his outline barely visible save for his green eyes. “I’m—I’m sorry about today.”

Harry shakes his head, his damp hair rubbing against his pillow. “You don’t have to apologize.” He whispers back, his tone as gentle as she’s ever heard it. “I was an arse. I shouldn’t have pushed the topic.”

“I shouldn’t have been so uptight about it.” Rubbing her eyes with one fist, Y/N lets out a low sigh. “I felt so shitty all day because of our fight. I’ve never…none of our fights have ever made me feel like that.”

“Maybe it’s because…” Harry’s tentative voice trails off, his eyes flickering to the ground for a brief moment before staring back at Y/N nervously. “I don’t know. I thought we were getting along better. For a moment, at least.”

“We were.” Y/N’s teeth tug on her bottom lip, and she feels a sudden shyness overcome her at the admission. “I’m sorry I said that we…weren’t friends. I think…I don’t know. I’ve been stubborn for so long, but I can see now that you’re different than I thought you were.”

“Yeah. Me too. I was wrong, too.” Harry runs a hand through his damp curls, a soft laugh leaving his mouth. “How did we even end up like this? I barely remember what made us hate each other so much in the beginning.”

“Seriously?” Y/N raises an eyebrow, barely peaking out from beneath the sheets as another clap of thunder sounds. “You don’t remember?”

Harry mimics her expression. “Do you?”

“Yes! It was the very first night we met. We had that double date with Laure and Jo.” Shifting beneath her covers, Y/N moves herself into a better position on her side, so she can be more comfortable while still maintaining eye contact with Harry. “And you were rude, and made inappropriate jokes, and you left in the middle of the date to go chat up a sorority girl!”

“Wait a minute, no!” Harry protests the memory, half sitting up in his bed as he speaks. “That’s not what happened!”

“Yes, it is!” A small laugh falls off Y/N’s lips at his indignant reaction. “I remember it perfectly!”

“No, you remember it wrong!” Although a flush creeps up Harry’s neck, there’s an amused smile playing on his lips, a tiny hint of a dimple just barely appearing in his visible cheek. “I was making jokes to try and break the ice, which didn’t work on the Ice Queen, it seems—” Harry motions to Y/N teasingly. “And you’re the one who started talking to some bloke before I started talking to that girl!”

Another clap of thunder echoes through the room, but Y/N hardly notices as she thinks back to the night they met, and who Harry could possibly be referring to. “A bloke—? He was a classmate of mine! I had to talk to him!”

“Yeah, well, you didn’t have to enjoy it so much.” Harry grumbles, crossing his muscled arms over his sheets. “I had been so excited when Laure said she had an American girl for me, and then—”

“You were excited?” Y/N asks, her voice laced with surprise. “Really?”

The flush on Harry’s neck works its way to the apples of his cheeks. “Well, yeah.” He mumbles the words as his eyes drop from Y/N’s, slipping both hands beneath his head. “She said that you were funny, intelligent, witty, beautiful—”

“And then you met me, and realized that it was all a lie?” Y/N finishes for him, rolling her eyes in the darkness.

“No.” Harry gives a small shake of his head as his body shifts, the motel bed creaking under his weight. “No, she wasn’t wrong. You were all of those things. But I wasn’t, and it seemed like…I don’t know. Like you didn’t think I was good enough for you. I couldn’t keep your attention.”

The teasing smile slips from Y/N’s face as she registers Harry’s words. “You thought that I thought you weren’t…good enough?”

The nervousness is clear in Harry’s voice now, even over the pounding of rain against the window. “That’s what it seemed like, yeah.”

“I never—I didn’t think that.” Y/N says slowly, managing to relax her body beneath the sheets as she keeps her focus on the memory of meeting Harry. “I wasn’t exactly thrilled to be there, but that’s because Jo set the date up without telling me. I thought you were handsome, and I liked your accent, but then you started to act weird, and you started flirting with that girl, so I thought you were an ass.”

“You still think I’m an arse, princess, be honest.” The teasing tone replaces the nerves, and for once, Harry’s joke has the intended affect on Y/N. When she rolls her eyes again, it’s more playful, and the same tone is in her voice when she responds.

“I told you, don’t call me princess.” She replies, running her teeth over her lip gently. “So…I guess we both kind of fucked up that day.”

“Yeah.” Harry nods, a sheepish smile playing over his red lips. “I guess so.”

“Can we just restart?” Y/N’s voice is small when she asks the question, barely audible over the sounds of the storm raging outside. “Like, all the way from the beginning. No more grudges, no more yelling. Even if it’s just for this trip, for Jo and Laure—”

“It doesn’t have to be just for this trip.” Harry cuts in, his eyes catching Y/N’s again. “We’re going to have to be around each other for a long time. It’ll be a lot easer if we get along.”

Y/N nods in agreement, tugging down her covers to extend one arm towards Harry. She makes a fist, holding out just her pinkie finger to him with half a grin on her face. “Truce?”

The space between their beds is small, and Harry’s long arm easily makes it across the no man’s land to meet Y/N’s pinkie with his own. He loops it together with a smile that matches hers, tired and content and just at the edge of a humble new beginning. Harry’s response is almost inaudible as thunder booms loudly outside the room, but Y/N can still pick out the cadence of his accent under the noise.

“Truce.”

(pt II)

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reciprocityfic · 3 years ago

Note

#5 for amylaurie

5. that emotional moment that you can't find a plot for.

He’d never had a particularly happy life.

From the beginning, it had been marked with tragedy. He adored his mother, from what he can remember. But his memories, unfortunately, are few and far between. He tried to keep her smile, her laugh, the feel of her hugs and her hand wrapped around his tiny one locked away in his brain and his heart, but over the years, they inevitably began to fade. Before he knew it, he couldn’t quite get the tenor of her voice right, couldn’t remember the sweet words she used to whisper in his ear. She was like a beautifully painted picture, rather than a human being.

If there was someone who adored his mother more than he had, it was his father.

His father took her death the hardest. He tried to find a salve for his broken heart in all the wrong places, began gambling too often and drinking too much, frequently leaving his son alone late into the night to go out and drown his pain in whatever way he could. When his father was home, he could hardly stand to be around him. Everything about Laurie reminded him of her - his eyes, his hair, his nose, his smile. He reached his breaking point eventually, and then he sent Laurie away.

School had never been particularly hard for him. He was smart, he supposed, and he didn’t mind the company of his tutor. Boarding school was different, though. He never quite found a way to fit in. He was too quiet, not quite as rich, and Italian, which mattered in a way he didn’t understand. He always found himself at the center of negative gossip, the butt of too many jokes. He hated it, so he stopped trying to assimilate and let himself fade away into the peripheries of his peers.

When his father died, it was almost a relief; at least the man wouldn’t suffer any longer. But again, it threw him into a world of uncertainty and unfamiliar territory. It sent him to America, into the hands of a grandfather he had never met. As he grew older, he’d come to subtly resent his extended family for disowning him and his parents, and wondered if this grandfather would resent him back.

He didn’t. But his grandfather also wasn’t warm, a product of living so many years alone, Laurie supposes. He knows Mr. Laurence has experienced his share of heartbreak as well; there’s a beautiful piano that sits untouched, that the servants tell him belonged to the old man’s late granddaughter. The few times he tried to play it he’d catch his grandfather looking at him in a way that wasn’t particularly pleasant, so he stopped.

John Brooke - his new tutor - was pleasant enough, earnest and determined to please his grandfather by giving him the privilege of an excellent education. They often butted heads when Mr. Brooke tried to teach him; he couldn’t find him in himself to care much about learning anymore. Couldn’t find it in himself to care about much of anything.

Then, he met Jo March.

His grandfather had noticed his melancholy and sent him to a party to try to lift his spirits. He doubted it would work - how exciting could a party in Concord, Massachusetts possibly be, after all - and quickly found an empty side room to disappear in for a while until he’d spent enough time there that he could plausibly tell his grandfather he’d made an effort to be sociable.

It was there that Jo literally stumbled into him, and changed his life forever.

He’d never in his life met a girl like Jo March, one that was so boisterous and bright and unapologetically herself. In his world, every girl was trained from an early age to be prim and proper and polite, so that someday she might make a good wife and a fine young woman. Jo was anything but, and when he met the rest of the March family, he learned that they all were, in their own way - whether it be Meg and her unabashed love for dramatics and pretty things, or Beth sitting at her piano, playing until her fingers ached.

Or Amy, marching around in a pair of fairy wings and declaring that one day, she would be the best painter in the entire world.

His childhood memories of the Marches were all Jo, her fire and harsh edges and iron will, but Amy was always there at the edges, making herself known. She always seemed to be at odds with her older sister, but he thought that was because the two of them were the most alike in a way, like two opposite ends of the same string. He would always take Jo’s side when she recounted their latest feud, of course, but he couldn’t help his amusement at some of Amy’s antics. He remembers, when Jo told him that Amy had burned her novel, how his sympathy for Jo had existed right alongside of his wild amusement that little Amy March had the gall to even come up with such a thing, let alone follow it through.

But even though Amy was there, along with Meg and Beth, Jo was undoubtedly the main attraction, the sun at the center of his universe. His world was filled with her, with her smiles and laughs and hair and voice, with her words and her thoughts and ideas, and soon his heart was, too. He didn’t know much about love, but he knew he loved her. He knew he wanted her to be a part of his life always.

So, he’d asked her to marry him. It was the only thing to do, wasn’t it?

When she turned him down, he almost hadn’t been surprised. A part of him almost expected it; he hadn’t been particularly excited to ask her, after all. Rather, he’d dreaded it, dreaded the moment that the delicate balance they had built would have to tip one way or the other. He’d always known there was a chance she’d reject him.

That didn’t mean it hurt any less, though. He thinks it hurt even more when she left; he’d always known Jo to dive into every challenge head-first, but then she ran away to New York. She ran away from him. So he followed her lead, as he had learned to do so well over those years with her.

Heading back to Europe was much more bitter than it was sweet, and even the grandeur of cities like London, Paris, and Rome couldn’t stop the vibrancy from slowly bleeding out of his life. What had become a kaleidoscope of colors was now just grays and blacks and whites.

So he drank, and smoked, and gambled, and fucked his way through life, and in a macabre way, never felt closer to his father. Except he wasn’t heartbroken, not anymore - he realized more and more that he never expected her to say yes, not really. That she was right, as she usually was - it would have never worked.

He just felt lost. Unmoored, with nothing to anchor him. And he started to believe that maybe he was simply supposed to live his life this way, alone and adrift and apathetic.

Then, Amy March came barreling back into his life.

She was different, of course - namely, she was no longer little. She had traded her fairy wings and braids for beautiful gowns and carefully coiffed updos, and all her lofty childhood wishes had been replaced with a stoic, resigned realism. It would have worried him, that the world had taken her and hardened her, but he knew that the woman that threw her arms around him and happily shouted his name on that Parisian street, the world around her momentarily forgotten, was the Amy he had always known and cared for, however proper she might be now.

And she was proper, but he found it didn’t bother him like he thought it would. Instead, he admired her for it, that she had managed to grow up so gracefully. She was lovely, he decided. Lovely and refined and determined, so much so that it got him in trouble with her, sometimes. She was constantly after him to be better, to stop his drinking and laziness and make something of his life.

She wanted him to respect himself. He’d never really done that; all his life, he’d known himself to be a bother or problem, a thorn in someone’s side. He didn’t really know how to respect himself, but for her, he wanted to try.

The problem was, it was getting harder and harder to leave her side. She painted in his life with strokes that were insistent, but soft, and he found that her world was just as colorful as her sister’s. It was her own, of course; if Jo had been a red flame, then Amy was a golden glow, like sunshine. But he found that he didn’t mind the differences, that he maybe even preferred Amy’s version. It made him warmer than anything he’d known before.

He doesn’t know exactly when he fell for Amy. It happened slowly, gently, and before he could stop it, she’d taken up all the emptiness in his heart, filled it with light and life and love. Not that he would’ve wanted to stop it; he found he was quite content belonging to her. Even when she rejected him that first time, he didn’t try to remove her. He didn’t resent her, as he had temporarily resented Jo. He knew it was futile, that he was irreparably hers, and he decided that if he couldn’t be with her, he would at least make himself someone she could be proud of. He wanted to be someone she could respect, if he couldn’t be someone she loved.

But then, God had smiled upon him - for perhaps the first time - and she’d changed her mind. She loved him, she wanted him, she loved him. And when he kissed her that first time, she ignited something in him that no woman ever had before. He loved her, he wanted her, her and her only, he loved her, he loved her, he loved her.

His heart sang for her with its every beat. Every breath she took gave him purpose, every smile gave him joy, every kiss and moan and tug on his hair made his blood run hot through his veins. He was so full inside, wanted for nothing. He felt like all his life he’d been trying to shove himself into places where he didn’t fit, whether it be at school or with his father. With Jo. But there was a spot beside Amy, one in which he fit perfectly, like it was created with him in mind. And as long as Amy was beside him, he could do anything, be anything, survive anything.

One of the things that he loves most about her is her beauty. He can’t help it; he is only human. A weak one when it comes to Amy. When she hugged him that first time in France, he’d noticed how the autumn sun had caught the strands of her blonde hair, her cheeks flushed from the way she ran to him. He first let himself realize it in her studio, when she went off to meet Fred Vaughn. There was something about the way her cream-colored blouse laid against her pale skin, the way the blue accents brought out her eyes. How her pinned-up hair showed off her neck. He could do nothing but smile shyly at her, any coherent words suddenly caught in his throat. And every time he saw her, he noticed something else that added to her beauty, whether it be the delicate way she sipped her tea, her lips a pretty pink against the white china, or the way she blushed when he complimented her. Eventually, in a room full of women, she was the only one he could see, as captured as he was by her.

Almost three years later, nothing has changed.

He wakes up in the middle of the night to find her side of the bed empty. He’s almost positive he knows where she is, and almost rolls over and closes his eyes. But he can’t get her out of his head, so he gets up and throws on his robe. The moon shines bright enough that he doesn’t need a candle, and he leaves their bedroom, creeping to the next door down the hall. It’s ajar just slightly, and he slips inside.

And there she is, just where he thought she would be. Standing at the window, staring out into the night. She’s barefoot, dressed in a white nightgown, long hair cascading down her back. The moonlight illuminates her hair and skin. She’s breathtaking. More beautiful than any painting he’d ever seen.

Cradled in her arms is their newborn baby girl.

He doesn’t want to startle her, so he knocks gently against the door. She looks over her shoulder and smiles at him, but quickly goes back to gazing at the newest addition to their family.

He walks over to the two of them, placing a kiss on the top of her head before wrapping his arm around her shoulder and embracing her. There are a multitude of reasons why she might be in here - the baby could’ve been crying, it could’ve been time for a change or a feeding, or Amy simply could’ve missed her, could’ve wanted to hold her and watch her breathe. He suspects it’s the last one, but he doesn’t ask. He doesn’t want to disturb the peaceful scene in front of him.

He reaches a finger down to their baby, taps at her hand, until she opens her fist and wraps all of her tiny fingers around that one of his. Amy turns her face and nuzzles his shoulder, relaxing against him.

He’d never had a particularly happy life.

But standing here now, both his wife and his daughter in his arms, he knows nothing but.

send me a number and a pairing (preferably laurie x amy) and i'll write you a mini fic!

#amy x laurie #laurie x amy #little women #little women 2019 #amy march #theodore laurence #idk if this even fits the prompt?????#idk i've wanted to write this for a long time and finally took the opportunity #hope you like it anon!#anons are beautiful #thank you for the ask!

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high-supernatural · 3 years ago

Text

Secrets

Kai Parker x Female Reader/Character

Word Count: 1370

Warnings: typical tvd themes, sick Kai

Summary: Kai merged with Luke and started feeling different soon after. He got sick and the reader took care of him, throwing him into a fit of confusion. She doesn’t judge him for anything and has the understanding that he’s a product of his environment and acts out of revenge and distrust of others. Kai knows this after having a conversation with her and decides to find out all of her secrets too.

***since y’all like the one shots better than the series, I’m gonna write one shots for female readers under the name V for what I would’ve/will write in the series***

A week went by since Kai did the merge and V watched him like a worried mother the whole time. He was acting different. He had more emotion; he wasn’t trying to push her buttons as much. Part of her worried the merge changed him so much he’d break the pact they had, but she didn’t want to mention it to him yet – he seemed happy.

They watched a movie one night and she could’ve sworn she saw him tear up a little but when she asked him if he was crying, he said he had new allergies.

She didn’t believe him and her suspicions were confirmed when she heard him sniffling in the shower later that night.

She heard the shower turn off and pretended to be asleep to see what he’d do – he covered her with the blanket next to her and sat on the bed they had in the same motel room they stayed in since before the merge. She fell asleep like that eventually and woke up later to find Kai laying next to her with no blankets, backs turned to each other, googling “how to process your emotions”. She didn’t say anything, she turned her chest towards his back and cuddled next to him, pretending to be asleep when he whispered her name to see if she was awake.

He disappeared the next day, finding out from Damon later on that he went to his house asking about “processing emotions”. She didn’t talk to Kai about it, she figured he didn’t want to talk to her about it since he confided in somebody who tried to kill him instead of her.

Instead, she just gave him her normal affection with a little extra on the side. Forced hugs, sleeping where he slept, sitting a little too close to him on the couch – not like he was a pro at boundaries either – and food, lots of food.

Kai woke her up one night coughing in the bathroom. When he came out she asked, “what’s wrong,” Kai just said, “nothing,” and shut the light off. She saw the shadow of his face and knew he didn’t look good so she held her arms out motioning for him to lay with her. He reluctantly did, and he felt burning up.

“Are you sick?” she asked laying on her side against his back with her hand on his forehead.

“No, I’m fine,” is all he said.

“Well, you’re burning up,” she said and laid her head on his, “I’m fine,” he said again.

She covered him with blankets but still woke up in the morning and found him shivering, hotter than before.

She went out to get cold medicine and came back to Kai coughing in the bathroom again. She was about to walk in to see what was wrong when he said, “don’t come in here,” she ignored him because he would’ve ignored her, “oh my god, I can’t stop puking, I’m dying,” he said before coughing again.

“Kai, that’s not puke, that’s blood,” she said walking over to where he was leaning against the wall by the toilet to grab his arm and get him up.

“What are you doing?” he said groggy.

“Taking you to the couch, get up” she walked him to the couch with his arm over her shoulders as he groaned and laid down.

She put pillows behind him and held his mouth with a towel when he coughed more. She wet a towel with cold water and went back to sit next to him on the couch where he laid, feeling his forehead again and placing the washcloth there to cool it down before he coughed, and she held the towel for him again.

“What are you doing?” He asked again.

“You’re sick, I’m taking care of you, idiot,” she responded.

He responded only by coughing again and pulling the wet washcloth over his face, groaning.

She sat on the floor beside him, putting on movies while she read more occult books. This went on for a few days and Kai wasn’t getting any better.

Every time he’d cough, she’d hold a towel or bucket for him, put cold rags on his face, give him medicine and food, and trying to figure out what was wrong.

On the third day she sat on the small portion of the couch he wasn’t taking up with his body to put another cold rag on him to lower his temperature when he grabbed her forearm, pulling it away and looked her in the eyes, “why are you doing this?” he asked, sounding slightly angry.

“Doing what, Kai,” she responded with the same attitude he gave her.

“Taking care of me, what do you want from me,” he coughed.

“I don’t want anything from you except for you to not die, get over yourself,” she snapped back.

“You’re lying, nobody’s this nice without a motive,”

“I am so get used to it or take care of yourself,” she yanked her arm away and put the washcloth on his forehead again, walking to a desk behind the couch where he couldn’t see her unless he got up.

He moved himself to lean on his forearm, slowly getting up.

“Stop lying, V,” he wobbled when he stood up, “you can’t fool me anymore,” he grabbed the arm of the couch and sat back down coughing.

V kept her desk chair facing straight and looked at him, “I’m not fooling you Kai, it might be hard to believe somebody wants to not watch you suffer, but believe it, or get out,”

“You’re so dumb,” he muttered.

“What—”

“You’re so dumb. So desperate to not have people leave you that you go way out of your way to do all this and get no results,” he said.

V stood up for this one, “I’m desperate for people to not leave me? I can see right through you, Kai, and all I see is a scared little boy who wants so badly to be accepted that he’d do anything, but instead, he turns himself into the bad guy to push people away because he’s become too scared to have the acceptance he’s been longing for all his life, so if you wanna talk about desperate—” she stopped herself.

“Oh yeah? What else do you see, V?” he breathed.

She pondered if she should unleash all this or not for a second and decided she didn’t have anything to lose, “I see a kid who wants to be loved but knows nothing about it because he was never given that chance. How mad you are about what happened to you that you have no idea where to even begin placing it. Someone who’d begged all their life to change or to have another chance and feeling like they’ve screwed it up each time by not being who someone else wanted them to be, so they gave up—”

“I take it you know more about me than you say,” he asked with dark eyes.

“I know everything,” she said with eyes that overpowered his, “and I’m still here, so don’t come for me like that ever again,” she sat back down as he watched.

He thought for a second about what she said and somehow came to the conclusion that he didn’t need to be somebody else, but he needed somebody else’s magic.

“I’m going to find Jo,” he got up expecting her to try to stop him, but she didn’t, she let him leave.

(part 2 next)

#kai parker #kai parker x reader #kai parker x you #kai parker imagine #kai parker fanfic #kai parker fluff #malachai parker #tvd #tvd au #tvd fanfiction #tvd series

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doc-pickles · 3 years ago

Text

anywhere i want (just not home)

I didn't have it in myself to go with grace

And so the battleships will sink beneath the waves

You had to kill me, but it killed you just the same

For the love of my life, the inspiration behind TS week, the wind in my sails… Happy later birthday @odd-birds-and-booksellers I hope you enjoy this

Always, Your Computer Wife,

Nina

We gather here, we line up

Weepin' in a sunlit room, and

If I'm on fire, you'll be made of ashes too

Even on my worst day, did I deserve, babe

All the hell you gave me?

The pain in her cheek is still stinging as she struggles to open her eyes. There’s the faintest hint of sunlight filtering through the large window of her bedroom, a new day just beginning only hours after she’d finally been left alone long enough to find some peace.

The bed next to her is cold and empty, Paul having left for work while she was still crying and groaning in pain. He hadn’t spared her a second glance as he’d gotten dressed for the day, stepping over the puddle of blood that had collected on the floor where she’d laid for hours as he kicked her mercilessly, hurling harsh blows and leering insults as she’d tried to protect herself.

She pulls herself up and drags her barely conscious body to the shower, rinsing off the dried blood and sweat as she tends to the wounds she can see. She already knows she has at least one bruised rib and a sprained ankle, but she can’t do much about it now. For now all she can do is rinse off, lay in bed and hope that tonight doesn’t bring more of the same.

Jo bolts upright in bed, hand pressed to her chest as she attempts to slow her breathing down. The dream echoes in the back of her head, the painful memories replaying themselves in vivid technicolor right before her eyes.

She knows why they’re haunting her again, knows that he’s looking for her right now and that he won’t stop until he’s found her. Paul has made that much clear with his texts and letters, little signs to make it clear that they’re not done yet.

A hand closes over hers and she almost jumps before she remembers where she is. Jo squeezes Alex’s hand back, letting him pull her back down and into his embrace. As soon as his arms circle around her she can feel her body begin to calm down.

“It’s not even 2 AM, try and get some sleep, you need it,” Alex’s voice in her ears convinces her to close her eyes, even if sleep is far off the feeling of him so close helps to relax her. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

'Cause I loved you, I swear I loved you

'Til my dying day

It’s later that same day when Jo receives another text, the ping stopping her during rounds and prompting her to make a flimsy excuse to Meredith as she rushes to the nearest bathroom.

Can’t wait to see you soon, both of you.

The text lingers in her mind as her breakfast reappears, tears flowing as she tries to drown out the overwhelming noise in her mind. Paul didn’t make empty threats, that’s one thing she knew for sure. The texts she was receiving were just the tip of the iceberg for whatever he had in store for her.

“Jo? You in here?”

She can barely respond to Alex in between crying and being sick, her body overwhelmed as she tries to keep herself calm. Jo can hear Alex saying something incomprehensible as she begins to hyperventilate, his voice growing further away as her breathing became more ragged.

The last thing Jo registers before everything goes black is Alex holding her against his chest, his fingers threading through her hair in an attempt to calm her as his heartbeat echoed unsteadily in her ears.

When she comes back around Jo’s not shocked to find herself laying in a hospital bed, an IV and monitoring wires hooked up to her pale skin. Before she has a chance to overthink anything though Alex is in front of her, his hands running down her cheeks and wiping away the tears she hadn’t realized had collected there.

“Why didn’t you tell me? I could’ve helped you,” Alex’s voice is soft as she meets his eyes, his gaze causing her to melt into another round of tears. “Oh Jo, it’s okay.”

“It’s not! He’s going to kill me, he already knows where I am and this time he’s going to make sure I don’t survive,” Jo chokes the words out, her fingers ghosting over her protruding stomach. “Alex, he's not going to leave me alone until both of us are dead. I can’t put our baby at risk like that.”

The thought almost makes her sick again, her daughter kicking against her hand as she draws in a deep breath. Of all the wild and unexpected things her and Alex had been through, their daughter was by far her favorite. Even with a few weeks left until she arrived Jo already felt a fierce instinct to protect the little girl growing in her womb.

“I’m not going to let him get anywhere near the two of you, I promise,” Alex brushes back a few strands of hair lingering on her forehead, pressing a kiss to the cool skin as he settles into the bed next to her. “You’re safe with me Jo, both of you are.”

I didn't have it in myself to go with grace

Jo wants to believe Alex, she really does. Since her breakdown over Paul’s threats he had been by her side whenever he could. His presence was comforting but it did little to calm the raging mental battle she was fighting inside her head.

Now though, as she stares down at her daughter sleeping peacefully in her arms, she knows that she made the right decision. She just hopes Alex agrees with her.

“She's perfect, you did so good,” Alex had repeated the words over and over since Isla had made her appearance almost six hours ago, but they still prompt a smile on Jo’s face. “I love you two so much.”

“I love you, we both do,” Jo leans up and captures his lips with her own, lingering a little longer than she normally would as Alex’s fingers trace her cheek delicately. “Would you do me a big favor? I left my robe at home and it’s freezing in here. Could you go home real quick and grab it?”

Alex nods, a grin on his face as he stands from the chair at her bedside and gathers his keys and wallet. Jo watches him intently, memorizing every movement and expression that makes him exactly the man she fell in love with. He leans down to press one more kiss to her forehead then Isla’s before promising to be back soon.

As the door to her hospital room shuts, Jo looks down at her daughter, tears splashing onto the newborn's cheeks as her mother watches her, “Your daddy loves you very much, don’t you ever forget that.”

And you're the hero flying around, saving face

“Alex, are you coming to work today? It’s been a week,” Meredith’s voice rings out from the doorway of the loft, but Alex can’t bring himself to answer her. She’d been by everyday since he’d come home, her voice prodding at him the only sound in the loft.

He’d gone home to get Jo’s robe like she’d asked, finally finding it tucked away at the very back of the closet instead of hanging in the bathroom like it usually was. On his way back to her room, he’d stopped in the hospital gift shop and grabbed the fluffiest pink and white teddy bear sitting in the window. He had told the cashier that his daughter had just been born and showed off the photo of Jo and Isla that was already his phone lock screen.

And then he’d gone upstairs, the missing robe and teddy bear tumbling from his hands as he found an empty bed and bassinet, Jo and Isla’s bags gone from the room that they’d occupied not even an hour before when he’d left. He’d asked every nurse and doctor on shift but no one had an answer for him. When he finally made it back to the room, he saw the note hastily scribbled across a spare piece of paper, his knees giving way as he read the words printed in Jo’s recognizable script.

I couldn’t let him find us, I’m so sorry. Please don’t worry, we’re safe.

Love you always.

J & I

He’d sat on the floor of the hospital room until Meredith had come to collect him at the bidding of the nurses on the floor. She’d given him a sympathetic look and held him as he cried, only letting his guard down for his closest friend.

The reality hadn’t truly sunk in until he came home later that night to an empty loft filled with baby gear and the scent of Jo lingering on every surface. He’d screamed then, throwing pillows and couch cushions and anything he could find in an attempt to get some of his emotions out in the open.

It hadn’t helped though, the sadness he’d felt morphing into feelings of anger and helplessness. Alex knew that Jo was acting out of desperation, doing what she truly thought was right, and he couldn’t be mad at her for that. No, his anger was directed at the man that had pushed her to that point, had scared her and haunted her every move so horribly that she’d fled Seattle with their newborn daughter in tow.

As he ignores Meredith for yet another day, Alex let his mind wander to Jo and Isla for a moment. He knows Jo would never run with their daughter if she didn’t have a plan to keep her safe, but just the knowledge that they were out there without him broke his heart.

And if I'm dead to you, why are you at the wake?

Cursing my name, wishing I stayed

Look at how my tears ricochet

His fingers press down the collar of the light blue button up once more before sliding the black suit jacket over it. He examines himself in the mirror of the hotel room one last time before turning to leave. He’d only been to Seattle once before for a medical conference, but this trip held a much more important air to it.

Brooke, his Brooke, was close. Closer than she’d ever been before and he couldn’t wait to see her again. He was delighted when he’d found her again, even more so when he found out that she was a doctor giving him the perfect opportunity to drop in on her. He couldn’t wait to see the look on her face when he saw her.

We gather stones, never knowing what they'll mean

Some to throw, some to make a diamond ring

When Alex finally makes it back to work he’s met with an abundance of pitying looks and unhelpful comments. He knows most of his coworkers have good intentions but he’s in the verge of screaming at the next person who interacts with him. All he wants to do is work and try and forget that his daughter and the love of his life aren’t waiting for him at home like they should be.

“Alex! I have someone I want you to meet,” Arizona’s bubbly voice almost makes Alex roll his eyes, the blonde not doing much to improve his demeanor since he was in no mood to meet anyone new. “This is Doctor Paul Stadler, he’s an expert on laparoscopic surgery techniques which is always helpful when we have tiny humans to save.”

Alex can feel his blood run cold as he turns towards Arizona and the man standing next to her. Whatever picture he had painted in his head fades as he stares at the man in front of him. Despite his bright grin Alex knows exactly what Paul is capable of, what he had done and threatened to do to Jo.

“While I’d love to meet your whole team Doctor Robbins, I’m not here on business today. I’m looking for Doctor Wilson actually.”

“Oh,” Arizona’s face falls, gaze turning to Alex as his jaw tightens. “Actually she’s-“

“She’s gone, she left,” Alex’s voice has an edge that makes even him flinch at how harsh and cold it is.

Paul eyes Alex for a moment, looking him over before speaking again, “That’s unfortunate. Would you happen to know where she is? I’d love to speak with her.”

“Well get in line then because I've been waiting for her to come home for the past three weeks,” Alex slams the iPad in his hands onto the counter of the nurses station, eyes ablaze as he stares Paul down. “You harassed her for months on end and scared her so much that she ran away with our daughter hours after giving birth.”

Paul attempts to conceal the smirk on his face but fails, causing Alex to step towards him with clenched fists. Arizona steps between the two men, fixing Alex with a hard stare.

“Back up Alex. I know that you’re upset about Jo but-“

“But nothing! He’s the reason my girlfriend and daughter are gone!”

“Okay why don’t you take the rest of the day off,” Arizona’s hands squeezing his shoulders finally breaks Alex’s gaze away from Paul whose face has broken into a full on shit eating grin. Arizona and Alex exchange a look and he can tell she’s holding back her anger now as well. “Alex, go home.”

How can I when they’re not there?

The question echoes in his mind the whole drive back to the loft, Alex’s heart constricting as he sat on the edge of his and Jo’s bed. The loft was still empty, sounds still echoing off the walls as he sat alone. His mind brings up the image of Jo and Isla sitting in their hospital room as he walked away, not knowing that was the last time he’d see them.

He leans forward, reaching into his dresser and rummages around his sock drawer for a minute before pulling out a velvet box. When Jo had told him she was pregnant he’d immediately gone out and bought the ring. Not because of Isla, but because starting a family with Jo was all the confirmation he needed that she was it for him. Now the box sat collecting dust in his drawer, it’s future uncertain as he wondered exactly where Jo was.

You know I didn't want to have to haunt you

But what a ghostly scene

“And this is your daddy and your Auntie Meredith. They love you so much,” despite knowing that the infant couldn’t understand what she said or even clearly see the photo she had pulled up on her phone, Jo made sure that Isla knew about all of the people they loved in Seattle. “Your daddy misses you so much, baby girl. I’m sorry I took you away from him, I know that makes me a crappy mom.”

“You’re not a crappy mom,” Jo looks from Isla to the man sitting next to her, his hand settling on her shoulder as he fixes her with a knowing look. “You did what you had to do.”

“Some days it doesn’t feel like that,” Jo sighs, her head falling to his shoulder as she fights back tears. “I took her from her dad! I took her away from the only family she’ll ever have, Link. And why? Because I’m scared?”

Link pulls back from Jo, meeting her eyes as he speaks, “You had every reason to run, you know that. I’ve seen what he’s capable of, I wouldn’t want to worry about that all the time if I were you. Especially with a newborn, I get it. So don’t feel too bad for yourself, I think you made the right choice.”

I didn't have it in myself to go with grace

'Cause when I'd fight, you used to tell me I was brave

“Jo?”

The lights in the loft are off but Jo’s car is parked out front. When he switches the lights on Alex sees Jo shoving clothes into a tote bag, tear stains tracking down her cheeks.

“Jo what are you doing?”

"I'm going to Stephanie’s for a few nights, just until I can figure things out.”

Jo’s voice is nervous and she's talking a mile a minute. She still hasn't looked up at Alex but he can see the bright red hives cropping up on her neck already.

"I'm sorry it was an accident but I’m going to

fix it. It's my fault, I'll fix it!”

"What are you talking about,” despite the fact that he's spoken up more than once Jo seems to be in a world of her own.

“Don't worry about it, you don't need more stress,” Jo’s hands are shaking as she closes the bag she's holding. "It's still early, it'll be an easy fix. I'm going to fix it, I have an appointment scheduled."

It clicks for Alex then just exactly what Jo is talking about. He sinks to his knees next to her tilting her chin up so she’ll finally look at him.

“Are you pregnant?”

"I'm sorry, I missed my birth control it was an accident," Jo’s tone is frantic now as more tears begin to fall. "I have an appointment, I'm going to fix it-“

"Jo slow down, I'm not mad so stop apologizing,” Alex wiped at the tears that had collected on Jo’s cheeks. "You don't want our baby?”

Jo blinked up at Alex as if nothing he was saying was making sense to her.

“What's actually the matter Jo? Why were you so scared to tell me?"

“I… I'm married."

“What?"

“I'm married to a guy who nearly beat me to death. And when I got pregnant I thought he'd

be happy and maybe he'd let up, instead he yelled and screamed and then he,” Jo pauses, eyes downcast as she looks down at her hands. “When he was done with me for the night I wasn't pregnant anymore.

“He wouldn't let me get birth control though so the next time I just solved the problem quietly. And when it happened a third time I ran. I ran and changed my name and never turned back,” Jo finally looks up and meets Alex’s gaze, eyes watery still as he watches her. “I had a miscarraige that time, probably because of how banged up I was. But it got me out of there. So when I started having the same symptoms again I freaked out.”

“Oh Jo…”

“Alex, I’m terrified of my past and of losing you and losing this baby… I’ve already lost far too much. I don’t want to lose any more.”

“You’re not going to lose me. I’m all in with you even if it means we never get married. You and this baby mean everything to me. That is if you want it.”

“Of course I do, I want this more than anything. I want kids with you, I really do but…”

“Okay then we’ll do it.”

“Really? You dont think I’m too damaged or crazy?”

“Yes Jo, I want all of that,” Alex pulled Jo into his lap, placing a hand over her stomach as he pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I love you and you’re just about the bravest person I’ve ever met.”

And if I'm dead to you, why are you at the wake?

Cursing my name, wishing I stayed

Look at how my tears ricochet

The room is spinning when she pries her eyes open, dried blood making the task difficult. She tries to sit up, but the pain radiating from her stomach keeps her down. She knows if she moves she’ll make it worse, but her body is in pain and she can’t lay in this position much longer.

As soon as she makes a move, the pain is back. She thinks it’s his foot that’s making contact with her ribs now, digging into her back as her body curls in on itself.

“Stop! Please!”

The cries are useless, they always are, but she hopes that maybe they’ll convince him to end her suffering sooner or throw the next punch a little softer.

“Please stop! Stop!”

Her shoulders are shaking as she blinks her eyes open again, a pair of blue eyes staring down at her in concern.

“It was just a nightmare, you’re okay and you’re safe,” Link’s words help to steady her heartbeat a little, her eyes moving to Isla who's peacefully sleeping in his arms. “I woke you up because I just turned the news on. Take a look.”

“Former Harvard University professor Paul Stadler was arrested early yesterday morning on charges of battery and assault against his girlfriend, who is still being treated for her injuries at Massachusetts General Hospital. Since his arrest, three more women have come forward with allegations against Stadler ranging from ongoing harassment to physical violence and sexual assault. Boston PD is asking any other victims to contact them at this time.”

Jo stares blankly at the television in front of her, eyes welling with tears as the news footage continues to roll. She wasn’t alone and she was so close to being free from Paul’s hold on her.

“You have to go to Boston, your testimony could put him away,” Link’s voice snaps her out of her reverie, eyes moving from the television to him. “Jo, he’s going to prison. You can finally be free.”

The hope that had ignited her heart just moments earlier was crushed as she played through the possibilities before her. What if she testified and Paul wasn’t put in prison? What if he continued to harass her? What if he hurt Isla? Or Alex?

“I can’t. I can’t face him again… There's too much on the line,” Jo looks away from Link, her tears finally falling. “I have too much to lose.”

“And you’ll be stuck right here if you don’t do anything!”

“At least I’ll be safe then.”

“And what about Alex? You’re okay never seeing him again? Never letting Isla see him?”

Jo stands suddenly, facing Link with an angry expression, “You don’t get to make the calls here Link! I appreciate everything you’ve done for us but I can’t risk everything when there’s not a guarantee that it’ll end up well.”

Jo storms out of the room then, complex emotions overwhelming her as she sinks into her bed. She wishes things were easier, were more black and white instead of the fuzzy grey she’d become so accustomed to. But they aren’t, they never would be with Paul and now she’d dragged Alex and Isla and even Link into the pools of grey she’d spent so long trying to avoid.

And I can go anywhere I want

Anywhere I want, just not home

Alex watched his phone ring for a moment, debating on picking up at all. He doesn’t recognize the number and he doesn’t know anyone from California. But he still clicks the green accept button, hoping whoever it was wasn’t going to waste his time.

“Hello?”

“Hi, I’m so glad you picked up.”

Alex freezes, stares at his phone for a moment, then brings it back up to his ear, “Jo? Is that you?”

“Yeah, it’s me,” there’s a long pause and Alex almost thinks she’s hung up before she begins to cry. “I’m so sorry Alex. I’m so sorry we left you. I didn’t know what else to do.”

“I know, I get why you left. I hate it but I understand,” a sigh leaves him as he rests his head against the wall next to him, tears forming in his eyes as well, “Are you okay?”

“Yes we’re both fine, I wouldn’t have left if I didn’t have somewhere safe to run to,” Jo sucks in a breath, as if her next words are taking everything out of her. “Paul is going to prison.”

“I know, I saw. Are you going to testify?”

“I don’t know. I want to but… There's too much at risk. I don’t want him to hurt you or Isla.”

Just the sound of his daughter's name tugs at Alex’s heart, the tears that had been welling in his eyes spilling onto his cheeks.

“If you don’t go you’re going to be living in fear for the rest of your life. But if you do, you can get closure. And you can save more people from getting hurt by Paul.”

She lets his words sink in for a moment before he hears her voice again, “I miss you so much.”

“I miss you too, you and Isla both,” Alex can hear shuffling in the background, a deep voice and then a small cry.

“I have to go, Alex.”

“Wait Jo-”

“I love you. We both do.”

“I love you too.”

The line goes dead then and Alex can’t help the sob that breaks from his chest. He misses Jo, misses Isla, misses the feeling of wholeness that came to him when he would climb into bed with Jo at the end of every day.

And you can aim for my heart, go for blood

But you would still miss me in your bones

Alex doesn't know what drives him to fly to Boston, but he feels a small sense of relief when he sees Paul Stadler in the defendant's seat. A sick feeling makes itself at home in the pit of his stomach as he watches half a dozen women testify to the horrors that Paul had put them through, detailing the ways he had tormented them. Jo had never gone into detail to him but if what she went through was even half as bad as what he was hearing then he understood why she had gone to such extremes to hide from Paul.

He watches as the final woman testifies and finds her seat again, the courtroom silent except for the prosecuting attorneys whispering among themselves. Finally, one of the lawyers stands and addresses the courtroom, “Your honor, we’d like to call our final witness. The prosecution calls Brooke Elizabeth Stadler, now Josephine Alice Wilson, to the stand.”

Alex feels the air leave his lungs as he watches Jo approach the bench. Her hair is shorter and a dirty blonde color but she’s still the same woman he knows so well. The dark blue dress she’s wearing sways lightly as she takes the stand, stating her name and swearing in before she begins to give her testimony. Jo explains how she and Paul met, how they married, and then she goes into the abuse she endured. Alex listens to the detailed accounts she gives, accompanied by the numerous hospital reports.

“And then one day I got sick of it and I ran. I knew Paul would find me though so I fled the state and changed my name. I started a new life and I have a beautiful daughter,” Jo finally meets Alex’s gaze and he gets the overwhelming urge to wrap her up in his arms and hold her close. “But Paul found me again and he was threatening me so as soon as my daughter was born I ran again. I left behind my new life, the only place I’ve ever felt safe because I knew he would find me again and I couldn’t risk him hurting my daughter.”

The air in the courtroom is thick as Jo’s words sink in. Alex knows he’s not the only one who’s been affected by her testimony and the words of everyone that went before her. The prosecutor thanks Jo, the defending attorney waiving their right to question her. As she steps down from the stand she meets Alex’s gaze for a moment before turning away and going back to her seat.

And I still talk to you (when I'm screaming at the sky)

And when you can't sleep at night (you hear my stolen lullabies)

“Jurors, have you come to a decision?”

“We have your honor,” there’s a tense silence in the courtroom as the decision is handed off to the judge. “We find the defendant Paul Stadler guilty on all charges.” A breath of relief leaves Alex as he turns to look at Jo. There’s tears streaming down her face and the slightest hint of a smile as she looks at him. Before he can get up and go to her though she's surrounded by the other women who had testified, all of them crying in relief.

I didn't have it in myself to go with grace

And so the battleships will sink beneath the waves

She sees him about fifty feet in front of her, his back to her as he stands almost perfectly still. She watches him for a moment, his slumped shoulders and overall defeated attitude and for a moment she feels guilty for what she’s put him through in the past three months. Before she can dwell on the feeling for too long Alex is turning towards her, looking over her with that same sad expression he’d been wearing in the courtroom.

There’s a moment where all Jo and Alex do is stare at each other before she finds herself rushing forward and launching herself into his embrace. His arms are holding her tightly, refusing to let go even as she begins to cry into his chest.

This moment, the feeling of being in Alex’s arms again, is all Jo has wanted since she’d left Seattle.

You had to kill me, but it killed you just the same

“Alex, I’m so-”

“Stop, you don't need to apologize to me,” Alex pulls back from Jo, one hand coming to cup her cheek. “I get it, I understand where you’re coming from. I know why you ran so don’t ever think of apologizing to me. I’m just glad that you’re safe.”

A fresh round of tears springs to Jo’s eyes as she looks up at Alex, “I don’t deserve you. I’ve put you through so much.” Alex blinks down at Jo, not believing what he’s hearing. Their relationship had never been one sided, they’d both supported each through tough situations and had come out stronger at the end. In his eyes this was nothing more than another speed bump.

“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want you back Jo. I love you and all of this? None of it changes how I feel about you,” Alex leans down and presses a gentle kiss to Jo’s lips. “I love you and I’m glad you’re back in my arms.”

And you're cursing my name, wishing I stayed

“Hey! I just heard the verdict!”

Jo turns at the sound of Link’s voice, a wide smile spreading across her face as her best friend comes into view. It’s not so much the blonde man’s presence that makes her grin as it is the infant in his arms. Isla is wide eyed as she looks at Jo, the three month old blinking up at her mother with a sense of wonder.

“Hi baby girl, I have someone who’s very excited to see you,” Jo eagerly takes her daughter from Link before turning and looking at Alex. “Isla say hi to daddy, he missed you sooo much.”

The look on Alex’s face as he takes Isla from Jo’s arms is priceless, tears welling in his eyes as he lets out a watery laugh. The little girl snuggles comfortably into his arms, as if she had done it a hundred times before and Jo can’t help her own tears as they leak onto her cheeks.

“You three get together, I think this moment needs to be remembered.” Alex and Jo both heed Link’s instruction and wipe their tears away to boast wide grins. The photo of the three of them squeezed together after a grueling ordeal graces their family mantle for years to come. Even when there are dozens of other family photos, pictures from Alex and Jo’s wedding, and the birth of their second daughter, the photo of Jo, Alex, and Isla standing in front of the courthouse in Boston remains the centerpiece of their living room as a reminder of the sacrifices they all made to keep their family together.

Look at how my tears ricochet

#jolex #alex karev #jo wilson #jo karev #greys anatomy #jo x alex #jolex fanfic #greys anatomy fanfic #tsjolexweek21 #nina writes #jolex fanfiction

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lovely-necromancy · 3 years ago

Text

A Cure for Insomnia Ch 19

Your bags were jumping and sliding around in the back of Madeline's rusty pickup truck. She had been kind enough to offer you a ride up to the lodge when she stopped by the shop earlier.

Madeline had seen the sour look Nate kept sending you and how you were intentionally not looking over towards the soon to be graying young man. Not one to beat around the bush she asked what was up, mam bear mode peeking through.

Nate was just being a dick to you and saying you had to stay with the Cowells longer than what had originally been agreed to. Big Jo seemed fine about letting you go back home now, even with your resolve set to continue hanging out with Toby. But Nate was trying to put a tight leash on you since you “wouldn't listen to reason” - so he said.

Even with security at the cottage updated Nate still thought it best to keep you with them if you were planning to still interact with Toby. More than likely he was trying to make that harder for you to do since staying with them would definitely make it easier for him to keep track of you.

The thought alone set shivers down your spine. Like a constrictor slithering up your back to rest around your neck and do what it does best.

It had been really hard to breathe these last few days.

But all Madeline needed to hear was “Nate” and “being a dick” before she said she'd take you herself. Thereby ending the conversation and silent argument in the shop, as she spun on her heel stating when she'd pick you up later.

Nate hadn't been too happy about the exchange but he could suck your dick. He's been annoying you with all this Toby bullshit and doesn't get to tell you what he thinks right now.

The drive up is silent, but that comfortable kind of silence between two old friends who don't ever really have a need to talk to hang out. It's nice because it gives you tons of time to think about just what you're about to do.

Going over several scripts all at once in your head.

You want to talk to Toby. You still haven't read that file but it just doesn't sit right with you that it was ever even given to you in the first place. Toby being completely unaware of the total breech of privacy makes your stomach flip just like your bags in the back right now. It's not like you ever asked for the detailed life file but at the same time it feels wrong not to let Toby know tht something like that even exists for him. His past being dug back up all without his knowledge or consent. And now here you were about to lay it right down in front of him.

Was this the right move? You're the one bringing it to his attention, if it's something that will mess him up it'll be your fault that he's upset. Jo and Nate may have gotten the information but you still count yourself as being a complacent party to all of this.

Your stomach feels like it's on a drop tower as it sinks further into a pit of guilt.

You feel like the scum of the Earth right now. Hopefully he isn't too upset.

Seeing your downcast eyes, you were a lot more expressive than you ever really realized, Madeline pipes up, “You gon' be ok there sport?”

A small smile bit at your lips. There's a reason Madeline Cobb was known in Kepler as Mama. She took care of those she saw as her own and that was damn near half the town at this point. Hell you'd heard a rumor she raised most this town. The lodge had been her orphanage before all the kids grew up and turned it into a resort once new arrivals stopped coming. That's probably the reason it's always been so warm and welcoming, it was a home first.

“Yea...just nervous.”

She lets out a small chuckle at you.

“Don' be, 'm sure that Toby boy will say 'yes'. And if he don' well you just come find me. I'll set him right.”

Ok now you were just confused.

“Huh?”

“Don' worry about it, he likes you jus' like you like 'im. It'll work out for you two.” she reaches over and ruffles your hair before jumping out of the pickup. You hadn't realized you were already at your destination.

And it was too late to correct Mama, she'd already made it inside the lodge, about why you were so nervous. The warmth in your face makes you even more grateful for your mask. Barclay was getting bit by the end of the night, the man really needed to get a boyfriend and stop trying to manifest one for you.

The door to the lodge opens again, you hardly paid it any mind. So lost in your own musing you didn't even notice the man walking towards you. Your goat plush had fallen beneath your seat and you were attempting to grab it but it was too far out of your reach.

“You good there?” Toby's amused voice calls, startling you.

Popping your head out of the opened car door. Heart racing faster at the sight of your friend standing there with a small smirk on his bandaged face. You weren't ready for this.

His eye looks better, well like a normal black eye and not a swollen lump that threatened to over take his socket. Now his eye looked like it could still function out of the slight opening. Fuck this was hard enough when you'd pictured only one eye looking at you but now you had to calculate for both!?

Is it weird that this is what worries you? Are you derailing from the actual situation? Distracting yourself so the conversation is easier on you. So you don't have to think about the possibility that Toby won't want to be friends after this. That he'll end up hating you for something you hadn't done.

God you really want to cry.

“Hey, space cadet.” Toby's made his way over to your side and puts a gentle hand on you knee, “You ok? Did something happen?”

He's really sweet, you're going to miss him.

No, stop. You need to get a grip and stop thinking like this. Toby will understand and you guys can continue being friends, a bit awkwardly but still friends. You'd get to hang out and maybe wander through the Monongahela together.

“I...I dropped my goat.”

He cocks his head to the side, brows slowly smoothing out and he gives a gentle squeeze to your legs as he reaches under you, hand searching for your lost plush.

The warmth that was once collecting in your cheeks shoots down past the void sitting in your stomach. Just another thing to add to your list you suppose. After a week of nearly no privacy or comfort you are thoroughly pent up. You don't necessarily want Toby, just need someone or something to help relieve the fire between your thighs. He just happens to be in proxcimity of that fire, poking the flame that hasn't been snuffed during your stay with the Cowells, making it dance and writhe reminding you of the need.

But you can't focus on that yet, you'd give yourself a hand when you finally got back home. Right now you needed to focus on Toby. And having that uncomfortable conversation.

“Here he is.” placing the goat in your lap he looks into your eyes, a slight glint in his.

He's in a really good mood tonight. You have to ignor the whispers in your head, telling you you're about to ruin this for him.

Luckily a tic to the right shoos those thoughts away for you.

“YN?” his hand is back on your knee, it's such a small gesture maybe even completely subconscious but it helps ground you.

You haven't read that file but you can't see Toby ever doing something awful enough to warrant Nate's barrage of paranoia and fear. Even if he did....he couldn't still be bad right? You're such a good judge of character and you called Brian on his masking there's no way you'd miss Toby lying to your face.

“I...” he's looking into your eyes searching as you take a steadying breath, “I just really need a slushie right now.” your eyes drop to the goat in your hands.

You fucking coward.

It's silent for a moment as you chastise yourself for not just coming out and telling Toby you wanted to talk. Toby's hand falls easily from your knee and to his side.

“A'right then, you good to drive?” you really missed your chance here, “'cuz Brian's got Connor tonight.”

Wait what?

You look at Toby who simply raises the right side of his mouth in a lopsided grin. A subtle raise of his right brow tells you he understood what you'd asked for. When was the last time anyone was ever able to read you so well?

“Yes!” you push the goat into Toby's chest and practically dive into the back seat for your bags. “I can drive. Franklin?”

“Don't work tomorrow, so sure.”

His good mood seems to pick back up a bit. He's chuckling as you rush to gather everything and head over to your car, barely shutting Mama's door as you do. Toby gives it a good bump with his hip to make sure it shut properly. He unlocks your car for you and slides into the passenger's seat while you arrange your shit in the trunk.

You catch sight of the skull still in your trunk and figure you'll just leave it as is for now. Since it seems that literally every time you close this trunk you forget it exists. Bye weirdly placed deer skull maybe one day you'll have a wall mount worthy of your beauty.

Before closing the trunk you do rab the file. Maybe having it up front with you will help you actually tell Toby about it.

When you open the driver's side Toby's hand is already outstretched and waiting for your phone, this isn't his first rodeo after all. You can't help but smile as you hand it right over to him. He notices, because of course he does, and beams back at you. Sending more warmth throughout your body. After collecting your emotions the guilt comes back around.

You need to stop being horny on main. And in front of Toby no less. It's weird, like you're riled up for him and not because you're attention starved and haven't known solitude for over a week.

By the time you're driving off the lot Toby had picked you 'Let's drive to nowhere' playlist. A perfect choice for tonight, seeing as these are all either songs to dissociate to or have mental break downs with. And with you obnoxious emotions either is up for grabs. Aside from the music the car was silent as you drove out of town.

You were so wrapped up in what to say to Toby, how to say it, when – that you ended up not saying anything at all. Toby on the other hand couldn't wait for you any longer and broke the silence himself.

A habit he seems to have, must not like silences.

“Normally you don't shut up,” the words were harsh but his tone wasn't for once.

He watches as the scenery changes from quaint country road to interstate. “Did something happen?”

An awkward anxious smile makes its way on to your face. You've never been good at schooling your features and smiling was unfortunately your default in the even of confrontation. It was probably just your brain's way of protecting you from emotional trauma.

“Sorta.”

To his credit Toby waits for three full songs before prying for more information.

“Another attack?” he's on edge.

To be fair you are too.

“No, like hell Jo and Nate wo-would let me leave if that were it.” your head jerks twice to the right. You miss Toby's wince.

Nate barely let you leave the shop today, you had to get outside assistance aka Mama.

“Ok, so what happened then?” as you bit your lip trying to find your words Toby is running through his own list of possibilities. “Dis Ma- Tim do something to you?”

Huh?

Why would Tim have anything to do with this? Are they still fighting? But Brian has Connor tonight...that doesn't seem likely but you've really only hung out with Toby thus far. You don't know enough about their group dynamic.

You also didn't miss the beginning syllable Toby said. Was he trying to say 'Matt', 'Mark', 'Manny'? There were so many names that Tim's alter could have but at the least you've more or less been told there is an alter to begin with.

But why would Toby be concerned about Tim's alter? Was he the one that punched Toby? Were they actually the two fighting and not Tim and Toby? This is confusing just being on the outside, you have no idea how the trio copes with this situation.

“Oh no, Tim and Not Tim have been nice to me.” if you're coming clean about the file might as well come clean about knowing Tim has an alter. This way Toby could pass along the message to Tim and Not Tim.

“Back up, not liter-mrrow – literally. 'Not Tim'? You've met Mas-Ma-Masky?!”

Masky? That's a strange name, but who were you to judge the name someone gave themself. Maybe he's a He/Him enby.

“Not like formally or anything, but I'm pretty sure he was the one that helped me and Ronnie out the other week.” you switch lanes to drive off of the interstate, hoping to find a secluded road to have this conversation on.

God knows it's going to take all of your concentration.

Toby was seething in his seat and you know the tension is only going to get worse going forward.

You can hear him muttering to himself, 'of course' or 'he didn't remember', over and over. Finding a good place to park the car you take it and turn to Toby, who's still lost in his own head.

“Tobias.” you call trying to jostle him and it works a little too well in a sense. As he blurts out, “Don't! Masky's dangerous stay away from him!”

He immediately freeze like he hadn't meant to say that. And while it wasn't a tic it was probably an impulse brought on by his anxious frame of mind. He's popping his knuckles again too.

You don't know why you said it, looking at Toby's wide blown pupils – riddled with fear and nerves, you should've kept you mouth shut.

“Dangerous like you?”

Or at least phrased that a bit more eloquently.

Toby's eyes grow dark and his good eye cuts low nearly matching it's swollen twin. A shiver runs down your spine even though you know the malice is not for you.

“What.” he hisses out.

It's not a question, it's an order. He wants to know what you know and maybe even who told you. Maybe he thinks Masky told you something, since that was the topic of the previous conversation.

Dark eyes watch you like a hawk as you pull the file from the map holder in your door. His chest is nearly heaving with every breath at this point, can he hyperventilate? That's a dumb question he most certainly can. And he's either on his way to that or a panic attack. You hope you don't send him into a panic attack, Connor's not here to help. Connor know pressure though, Toby's had him preform it on you during your spells. Would it work the same if you laid on top of Toby? You're getting too distracted right now.

Not trusting yourself to not just back down now, you hold the folder out to Toby to take.

He's just staring at it like it'll attack him at any moment, and honestly it might...just not physically. He glances up at you. There's a funny flash of deja vu likening back to the first time you met. Cold indifferent and confused eyes looking at you as though you were some strange alien they'd never seen before. This time however there's a spark of something else in them. Something dark that festers beneath the surface. Was that hatred, betrayal, or was that the wall he was building back up. The wall that would sever this friendship.

Stop projecting. He hasn't even taken the file, he can't possibly know what's going on right now.

“What's that?” see.

“Nate got super protective after the attack, I guess the other day you just like rubbed him the wrong way. So, he had someone look into you. That file is everything they found...pretty sure it's your whole life, I swear I haven't read anything. Not even a peek. But Jo and Nate tried to tell me the-”

He snatched the file from you before you'd even said you hadn't looked. He opened it and a second later it was closed and he took a shaky breath before looking at you.

It was your turn to look like a deer in headlights tonight, you knew that breath was one of barely concealed rage. This was it, this was where everything ended, all because Nate had “a bad feeling” about Toby.

But you trusted Toby, he wouldn't hurt you. He was your friend.

“So” he lets out a harsh sigh, “you didn't...you haven't read anything?”

You hastily shake your head, “What did they tell you.” he looks off to the side and his mouth is all screwed up, and not in it's normal mangled sense.

“That I shouldn't see you anymore, you did something bad, awful, terrifying; Nate's list goes on but I sort of...fo the fingers in the ear 'lalala' thing” you say sheepishly, “anytime he tries to tell me something. Jo stops when I ask him to. He's not too worried about you...I think.”

Or he's working behind the scene to keep you and Toby separated for the long run but that's speculation and not the point of this conversation so you don't mention it.

Toby's flipping through the file skimming it, no doubt looking for his checkered past, he finds what he's looking for and nods once continuing on like he was reading a grocery list. Which he may as well have been, a grocery list of all his transgressions. With the way his fingers gripped the edges of the folder you could tell he was putting on a front about the contents.

They did bother him.

“Why didn't you look, why didn't you listen YN?” was he seriously angry at you for that?

“It was an invasion of your privacy. Whatever's in there I wanted you to have the ability to tell me on your own terms – if you ever even wanted to. Not because you were forced into it because I found out from some third party that doesn't even know you.”

“Then why the fuck did you -wrong- practically jump into a car with me and then hand me a file on my shitty life!?!” He slammed the file down into his lap with a lot of force, more than he should have used for sure. “They think I'm a menace and they're right you shouldn't have...you need to...” he trails off looking like he's trying to disintegrate the file in front of him with latent laser eye abilities.

His arms are shaking.

No – he's trembling. The way he's biting his lip tips you off. He's trying to hold himself together, trying to stop himself from breaking. This can't be the same person Nate's so worried about.

“You're biting your lip, that's not good for you.”

“Fuck off.” it's half hearted at best, no real weight behind the words. And he does let his abused lip go.

“It's a breech of trust if I didn't tell you this...I wanted to give you the file because you should know it's been read by two people, to my knowledge.” you place a hand on his forearm, “Toby, I don't know what you've done in the past but...you know you aren't that person now, right?”

He's out of the car in an instant, slamming the door behind him. You follow, as dumb as you understand it is, getting out of your car in the middle of no where with a very unstable person.

“Get back in the car. I mrrow I can't...I need a minute.” his shaking is so much worse now that he's standing, It's even put a tremble in his voice.

“You're stupid if you think I'm leaving you alone in the middle of no where.” you stand your ground, he may need space but this is not the place to have it. You're only a few miles from town, you can get him back to the lodge where he doesn't have to see or be near you.

Hell you won't say a word on the way back.

“Like you're not stupid for ignoring the warnings that I'm dangerous! I've killed people! Did you know that?! Did you even think that's what was so bad!?” he's giving you the same glare he had on when he talked about the fight with Tim.

“I could literally kill you right now, you've driven us out to who knows where but still remained in walking distance back to town. You live on the outskirts of it and it'd be so easy for me to make you disappear and everyone would believe your stalkers got to you.” his chest heaves at a vicious rate.

Despite the venom and truth of his words, you can't find it in you to be scared of him. If anything his rant proves Toby must not have been mentally well during his crimes, he's acting like a cornered alley cat not a serial killer. There's a vice grip on you heart at the thought.

“Ok...are you?”

It's like a switch has been flipped in him and he calms instantly.

“What?” he knows what you're asking.

“Are you going to kill me?” you asked like you'd been asking what time it was.

He stares at you looking you up and down, “No...I wouldn't.” his neck jerks triggering your own tic.

“Then I'm safe.” you slowly approach him, much like you would a feral alley cat. “I trust you Tobias.” you reach out to tough his arm again.

It hadn't worked in the car but Toby does seem to calm down faster when he's being touched. Like the sensation brings him back to reality and locks him there.

“Y-you shouldn'n'n't.”

He doesn't pull away this time as you place your hands gently on his forearms. His eyes raise to meet yours.

“...I've killed.”

He sounds so helpless.

The only thing you find shocking about this is that he actually did it. You know people are capable of all sorts of vile things. But the way Toby's voice breaks, the tremors that run through his body. You can't see any similarity with the horror show you once imagined, a Toby covered head to toe in blood and a vicious grin.

The fact that Toby killed doesn't really phase you much more than the ever present 'how' that rings out. He must have had a reason. Jo wasn't too worried so maybe it was circumstantial. Not to mention Toby's among the general public. Could it have just been an accident? A misunderstanding?

“I don't – no I'm not going to say 'I don't care', because this is something that really effects you but I...I guess what I'm trying to get at is..it doesn't bother me. I know it should but, Tobias I just can't picture you as a murderer.” that blood stained Toby flashes before you singing 'liar', “I got to know you before finding out any of this. So, I know there must've been a reason behind it. And that's...and you don't have to tell me anything.”

Nothing more is said, after all you've said everything you could think of to deescalate the situation. And Toby is frozen as he stares at you. You'd have thought he was dissociating had it not been for the way his eyes still held that tiny reflection of light. He was still present, just unsure how to proceed.

Honestly you were stumped too, you had no idea how to begin this conversation let alone end it.

“My – there was...” you rub his arm in a small circular motion. You don't need to hear anything more, it already feels like too much information that he'd lost the agency for.

But your gentle shushing did nothing because he continued, “Clairse says I had a psychotic break and...just went after the biggest stressor at the time.” he pauses with a deep breath and closes his eyes in the process. “She says it wasn't really my fault, I was under...a lot of – I wasn't there, where I should've been mentally. My dad was abusive...anyone in my situation would've broken at some point.”

His words are hollow and robotic. A mantra he's learned to say although he doesn't believe it.

You'd normally give someone the choice but this time you just slip you arms over his shoulders and pull him into a hug. There's no resistance from him either, if anything he leans into the embrace and grips onto your back. His trembling doesn't stop but it's softened by the pressure.

“You don't have to tell me anything Tobes. I don't want you to...not if it's this painful.”

“I want – want to tell you about Lyra.” his voice cracks in tandem with his neck as he says her name.

And he does tell you, against all your protests to take his time. He tells you everything laid out his whole life right in front of you. From being home schooled early on – isolated within his own home for years, to his older sister and her untimely accident that he's still clearly wracked with guilt about, and then the spiral that ended in patricide and a fire that ate his entire neighborhood.

By the end of his recounting he'd stopped trembling and letting out the occasional sniffle – and now the two of you were leaning on the hood of your car. Looking at the stars that just started coming out for the night, you occasionally whispered affirmations to Toby as he tells more stories from his childhood. The good ones this time.

His spirits aren't as high as they were when you'd started your evening but they're much better than they were two hours ago.

You chuckle as he finishes telling you about the time he and Lyra managed to sneak out of the house for a concert only to realize they had no way of getting back into the house when they returned. Their mom just opened the door letting them inside with a small crease in her brow but the smile that played at her lips told them everything they'd needed to know. They weren't in trouble, she'd sent them off to bed and in the morning asked how the show was. From the way Toby talked about his mom you can tell he really loves her. The feeling must've been mutual, if she sent them off to bed instead of dishing out a punishment all because Toby had smiled for the first time in weeks that night.

“Ah, favorite child Toby strikes again.” you joke.

This time Toby didn't say anything, you had been throwing small jokes in to help keep the mood light, but he just looked at you with his head tilted. A grim expression barely crossed his features before being replaced with a lopsided smile and warm but sad eyes.

“Y'kn – Kyra used to say that all the time.”

“Must be true then.”

He looks at his hands with the softest expression you've ever seen. It's an expression normally given to Connor, just sadder this time.

You nudge him getting his attention back to the present.

“You still want that slushie?”

He takes a moment to look around you and finally rests his gaze on the stars. “Not Franlin, not tonight.” he says focusing back on to you.

“Think we're two exits from Riverton if that helps. They have Wawas.”

“Wawas?” he chuckles.

You nod, “Yea they have smoothies and milkshakes.”

“Ooh la la.”

You both snort and head back into the car. It's surreal to be buckling back in, joking around with Toby when just hours prior you thought you'd be ending your friendship the moment you opened your mouth.

You can't help but ask, “Are we cool?”

“Yea...we're good. 's not like you fucking asked for the information.” he leans his head against the window and crosses his arms into himself.

“I'm still sorry about it though.”

“Know you are. But it's over now.” the finality of that statement takes the weight off of your shoulders. For the first time in days you can breathe again.

“Thanks for telling me everything...you didn't have to. But I appreciate you sharing it with me.”

His nails dig into his arms, or they would have if they weren't chopped down to the bit.

“I mrrow I-I didn't tell you everything...”

Nope this was over and done with, no more sad and scared Toby. You couldn't handle anymore, guilt had found a friend in discomfrot and the two had set out to eat you alive with every tremor that tore through Toby's body.

“What are you like a child murderer or something?” Giving a laugh to soften the joke.

….

You missed the way Toby tenses and sucks in a breath. His heart is beating wildly in his chest, so hard he's certain you hear it. Is that where you draw the line? Child murder. Of course you had to have some boundaries he couldn't just expect you to be cool with everything he's done. You were sure to figure it out sooner or later no thanks to your boss. But Toby couldn't loose you now. Not when you've been an anchor he hasn't had in such a long time. He feels almost human again when he's with you.

He's been quiet too long, at least he thinks he has. He needs to say something, joke around back and dismiss the notion. You can't know not now – maybe not ever.

“I'm trans!” he hadn't meant to blurt that out.

He stared at you with wide eyes. Why had he said that, that hadn't even crossed his mind. Just as he was about to laugh it off you reached over and lightly punched him in the arm. That small gesture sent a tickle down Toby's spine. It was such an innocent touch, but he was touched starved and knew it.

“I am too goof. Thanks for telling me but why the wait?”

Fuck now he had to think of something. Talking to you always made him so brain dead.

“Mrrow...mrr-you saw me as a man first...I wanted to keep it that way.” maybe he didn't have to make something up, just tell you the half truth.

Brian had questioned him when they got ready for the picnic why he hadn't worn his trans tie dye shirt and he's said he misplaced it. A bold lie to tell someone like Brian, especially since it'd been a gift from his mom. She had sent it in a care package last June. He'd never loose something his mom gave him, at least not so quickly. If he'd been being honest with himself at the time, he was worried about your reaction. Of course he knew you were trans too so not like you'd be one to be a transphobe, but he didn't want you to stop seeing him as a man and only see him as trans.

“Toby, you are a man. Nothing short of you telling me otherwise will change that for me.”

Toby isn't sure when you grabbed his hand but he's aware of your hold when you start to rub along his knuckles. He watches your thumb circle jis joints and pressing a bit into the divots as he takes another deep breath.

He gives his best smile, a lopsided uncomfortable looking thing, “I don't think I like when you call me Toby.”

#A cure for insomnia #Timothy Wright #timothy wright x reader #timothy wright x brian thomas #masky x reader #ticcitoby #ticci toby #ticci tobyx reader #ticci toby x reader #brian thomas x reader #Brian Thomas #masky #creepypasta fanfic

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fan4196 · 3 years ago

Text

Mister Perfectly Fine

Fearless - Taylor's Version (From The Vault)

As long as he's going, working his eight hours at the hospital, running from one meeting to the other, squeezing surgeries in every free minute he has or running behind the twins at home, everything is fine. As long as his mind is going he's perfectly fine. But as soon as his head hids the pillow or he sits down alone in his office and his mind starts to calms down he's not fine anymore. As soon as his mind stops thinking about the hospital he has to run, the patients he has to save or about his twins, his thoughts take over - thoughts he hates and loves at the same time. Deep thoughts that bring forth every kind of emotion in his body. Thoughts about her. The one good thing he had in his life for so long and now not anymore because he chose his kids. He chose his kids over her and after months he still doesn't know if it was the right or wrong decision. Since the day he left her, this thought lives in his head like a parasite, never leaving him. In every quiet second his mind goes back to this decision and everything involved in it and makes him go nuts. But not only his mind goes crazy also his heart. He could cry everytime he thinks about her and the potential future he lost by leaving her. He could beat himself at the thought of how much he hurt her - again. It beats him up that he not only broke the vow he gave her not to long before he left but that he broke the biggest promise he ever gave her - to always be her home and to never leave her. He knew that this was and still is her biggest insecurity. Way to many people left her or pushed her aside like she was nothing and Alex promised to himself, pretty early in their relationship, that he would never do that to her. But he did, more than once.

Every quiet minute his heart aches at his biggest lost he ever experienced and at the unconditional love he had received from her daily and now never will again.

Of course his kids love him and he knows that Izzie does too in some way but it's just not the same. It's not the kind of love that overfills his heart with warmth every day. The kind of love that let him growl at the ceiling, fake break up in front of a whole hospital, that is ok with going jail to prevent someone from having to testify, that puts on fake vampire teeth and marries someone for a second time after a crappy day at work. The kind of love that, now that it's gone, makes him realise how big of an impact it had on him, his mind and his heart. Because now that it's gone, his body wants it back like a drug. But nothing, sadly not even his kids, can fill his empty heart completely. There's always this whole that nothing can fill.

And so everytime his mind gets the chance to calm down it craves for the drug he can't consume. She is 1800 miles away, living her life like he should too - but he just can't, not really.

He leans back in his chair starring at the picture of the twins that's standing on his office desk right beside his work laptop. Their silly faces smile towards the camera. He loves his kids, they are one of the best things that ever happened to him but every time he looks at them he can't stop but wonder what his and Jo's kids would have been like. If they would have had a little boy first, who was through and through a mommas boy or if they would have had a little girl first, who would have looked like a carbon copy of Jo and would have adored her daddy to death. Or if they would have had both; twins - silly and foul-mouthed but still the cutes little angels.

He hates those uncontrolled, silent thoughts of what if. He hates that he secretly wishes things were different. He hates that he's not fine when he should be.

He loosens his stare from the only picture on his desk and turns his chair to reach for the lowest drawer of his desk - like he did so many times before. He opens it to take the only item out and carefully strokes his thumb over the wooden frame until it hits the silky red ribbon he never took off. Starring at the picture in the frame, memories of one of the best days in his life play in his head. From her excited face when she showed up at Mer's house, to her excitingly kissing Arizona, to her storming into his dressing room mocking him for something she thought he did, to her loud, pure laugh in the shed, her soft lips on his after they said I do, to her sleepy smile as he picked her up to carry her bridal stile through their loft door.

Everything about this day was perfect even though nothing went according to plan. But that was so them. Nothing in their six years together ever went according to plan. If it would have, he would have married her a year into their relationship. They would have started making babies immediately and would now live in a big suburban house with their five kids, two dogs and probably some fish. But it's not, their life didn't go according to plan, they had some massive bumps in their road - their ups and downs, they broke up and found their way back together, they had their difficult paths to navigate through but they did it and it made them stronger - as a person and as a couple. He always thought that nothing could ever break them. And he loved the thought of getting old with Jo and to die with her at his side once they were wrinkly and grey. Now everything changed and it's his fault.

Looking at the big smile on her face, the urge to call her comes over him - to hear her voice, to talk to her about everything he hates right now.

Way to many times the thinks of just dialing her number and calling her. The thought of hearing her voice again makes his heart flutter. He misses her. He misses talking to her. He misses his friend he can tell everything. He misses their lazy nights curled up in each other's arms on the couch, a trashy reality show in the background, while they just talk - about everyone and everything for hours without loosing a topic.

He also misses her silly self. Her bad jokes that she thought were hilarious. Her face when she told them. Her pure laugh after she told them. When they were alone she never took herself to serious. She was one hundred percent herself around him. Joking, laughing, running around without pans and only one of his shirts on.

He's not gonna lie, he also misses her body. Her perfect body - her ass, her boobs, her mouth, her smell, her hair, her perfect hands that she loved to bury in his hair. He loves and misses every bit of her. He misses what her body was able to do to his. How her hand in his neck was able to give him goosebumps on his entire body. How her presence when she walked into a room, made his stomach flutter. How her lips on his let him forget everything. How her curled up in his arms, close against his body made him love her even more. It wasn't just the amazing sex he misses, it is her.

He puts the picture down on his desk running his hands over his face. He never thought that he could miss someone this much - and he had lost a lot of people over time.

The little knock on his door let him sit up straight again. He quickly puts the picture back in the drawer and closes it before he let's the person come inside.

"Doctor Karev. You wanted to speak me?"

"Doctor Jones. Yeah, please sit down." He points to the chairs in front of his desk to let the resident sit. "I heard you were at Grey Sloan Memorial Hospital in Seattle. Tell me how it was."

"Oh. It was amazing. I've never seen a this innovative and cutting edge hospital before. No offense." The brunette smiles a little nervous as she sits down in front of her boss.

"Absolutely not. I know how good it is. I learned in that hospital and worked there for many years." Alex replies with a little, toothless smile.

"Really? I never knew that." She answers surprised.

"So tell me a little bit. What did you do while you were there? Who did you meet?" Alex asks, interested in hearing about his former colleagues and friends.

"Oh I- Ok on the first day I was in their ER. Doctor Hunt showed me around and I assisted him. The second day I met the Doctor Meredith Grey. God she's everything, but I guess you know that. She showed me around the ICU and I met Doctor Webber and Doctor Bailey. On the third day I was in ortho and met Doctor Lincoln, he's amazing. Well they call him Ortho-God for a reason. My third day I was with Doctor Sheppard. She showed me her newest scans and let me join in on an operation. The last day I was with Doctor Hayes on the Peds floor. He was so nice and showed me around the NICU and PICU. I also met Doctor DeLuca and Doctor Wilson there, they were both so nice and showed me some of their cute little pacients." She smiles after finishing.

"Sorry, Doctor Wilson?" He asks a little confused.

"Yeah. She was so nice. She showed and explained me everything and let me hold one of her patients. She was so cute. The baby not Doctor Wilson. I mean Doctor Wilson is pretty cute too, especially when she's talking to her little patients but that's not the point, right?" She laughs.

"I guess I missed something, little patients? What is she doing on the Peds floor?" Alex asks again, trying to get every single little bit of information from the resident.

"Well that's where OB/Gyn's are sometimes, right?" She shrugs.

"Wait. OB/Gyn?" Now he's confused. Did Jo change specialties or was the resident in front of him talking about someone completely different?

"Yeah. Oh right. She was a general surgeon before but changed specialties during the pandemic. She told me everything when we were having lunch. She said she needed some joy in her life after her husband left her and she found that in OB so she changed specialties." Doctor Jones clarifies, with a smile.

"Thank you." Alex nods, to signal the brunette that he got all the information he wanted.

"Ahm sure. Anything else, Doctor Karev?" She asks before she stands up to leave.

"No. It's good to hear you had a great time in Seattle." He gives her a toothless smile before he leans forwards.

"I did. Thank you again for letting me do that."

"No problem."

As the door closes he leans back in his chair again. Thinking about what Doctor Jones just told him.

He's happy that she's happy. That she found new joy in her life. That's everything he needs to know. He needs her to be fine. Even though he misses her even more now and is not fine, he is happy that she is fine.

It’s finally Taylor Swift x Jolex Week! So excited for all the stories. Here’s mine, hope you like it.

Enjoy!

@odd-birds-and-booksellers @doc-pickles @angry-slytherin @cicinicole-14 @mac-andcheeses @renipedia @jobrookekarev @kidneys4karev @only-freaking-sunflowers @iamtrebleclefstories

#jolex #fan4196 #fanfic #fanfiction #jo x alex #alex #alex karev #grey's #grey's anatomy #grey's fanfic #TSjolexWeek21

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hurricanery · 4 years ago

Text

If You Went Away - pt. 6

A/N: Here’s part 6 of If You Went Away! Thank you for the encouraging messages <3 This fic might only have one or two more parts, but I have other exciting things planned!

Other parts here: part 1 // part 2 // part 3 // part 4 // part 5

-------

(present day)

“You look….cheerful?” Maggie gives Amelia a once over as the brunette walks into the attendings lounge.

Amelia squints back at her as she reaches for her purse and starts changing out of her scrubs. “I don’t know if cheerful is the right word, Maggie.”

“Okay….happier than usual as of late?”

Amelia smirks as she pulls her jacket on, then sits down to zip up her boots. She hadn’t realized her current emotional state was such a topic of conversation, or even observation.

“Scout’s got his last check up with Nico today. Right now, actually. So I’m out of here early.” She relaxes back into the seat.

“Oh? And where’s Link?” Maggie questions, sitting at the table across from Amelia.

“He’s in surgery. So it’s just me,” Amelia explains. “But, we’re just….excited he doesn’t have to have his arm wrapped up in that sling anymore. Especially for this weekend.”

“What’s this weekend?” Maggie’s eyebrows pull together in confusion and she watches as Amelia huffs out an exasperated sigh.

“Link’s parents' wedding….” Amelia mutters under her breath. If her outlook seemed cheerful when she walked into the room, it was definitely dwindling now.

“Oh my god, I totally forgot about that! I thought that already happened?”

“I wish,” Amelia breathes. “They started planning this years ago. But then, ya know, the whole pandemic….and some other stuff got in the way….but that’s all over now and they’re finally ready, I guess. And so….yeah, that’s happening this weekend….” She trails off, zoning out as she thinks about the event ahead.

There’s brief silence as Maggie watches her sister’s anxiety overcome her previously lighthearted disposition.

“How’s Link feeling about all of this?”

“Ha,” Amelia laughs sarcastically. “Not great. He still feels pretty….betrayed? By his parents? Maybe that’s the feeling?”

“Hm.” Maggie hums, digesting the information and slowly coming to terms with another realization about the situation.

“His parents put him through a lot,” Amelia explains, becoming more animated as she continues. “But I just keep trying to tell him not to take it so harshly....You know? I mean….they found their way back to each other after all this time. Why is that so bad?”

“Hmmmm,” Maggie hums again, drawing the sound out a bit more. She smirks, scanning Amelia’s face like she’s onto something.

“I mean, it’s kind of inspiring, right?”

Maggie pauses for a moment, deciding her next words. “Let me get this straight….you find it inspiring?”

Amelia shrugs, still not catching onto Maggie’s perception of her words.

“You find it inspiring….that two people can make their way back to each other after….certain difficulties?” Maggie smirks.

And Amelia frowns, the comprehension of Maggie’s attempt at an analogy settles in.

Maggie watches as Amelia’s face goes blank with realization. But then the brunette is standing up suddenly, pushing away from the table.

“Maggie no!” She throws her bag over her shoulder, getting ready to leave. “That’s not….no. That’s not what I’m saying. You’re putting words in my mouth.”

“Hey,” Maggie smiles as she folds her arms across her chest, watching Amelia as she hurries towards the door. ��You’re the one that said it. I’m just putting two and two together.”

Amelia turns around once more before reaching the door, but Maggie’s smug look causes her to roll her eyes. She pushes through the door, letting it slam shut harshly.

_______

The following day Amelia runs around the house anxiously, trying to make sure everyone is ready for the wedding.

“Scout!” She yells from the kitchen as Scout sits with his eyes glued to the TV. “Come on, time to get ready!”

After some convincing, Scout finally follows his mother up the stairs and into his bedroom.

“You can go back and watch your show once you get dressed, okay?” Amelia walks to the closet, pulling out a tiny suit jacket and matching pants. She smiles to herself as she pulls the garments from the hanger, running her hands over the fabric before laying them across Scout’s bed.

“Why do I have to wear that?” Scout whines.

“Because weddings are like fancy parties,” Amelia smiles as she crouches down to help Scout into his wedding attire.

Scout frowns, adjusting to the uncomfortable suit jacket that his arms have just been guided into.

“Why are Grandma and Grandpa having a wedding? Are they already husband and wife?”

“Well….” Amelia bites her lip. Mentally sighing at just how smart Scout can be sometimes.

“You can do a wedding as many times as you want?” He questions, squinting up at Amelia.

“Uh, yeah….” She slightly frowns at the accuracy of his question. It was an easier explanation than the reality. “Yeah, you can.”

“You and daddy aren’t married.” Scout says matter-of-factly.

“Um, no,” Amelia mutters as she begins helping Scout into his dress shoes. Her pulse quickens at the direction this conversation is taking.

“Why not?”

Amelia sighs, out loud this time. She hears the shower turn off in the next room and knows that Link is probably finishing up getting ready, while she remains completely unready.

“We just aren’t….” She offers shortly, standing up once she’s satisfied with how Scout’s outfit comes together. “Not everybody gets married.”

Scout looks up at her curiously. “But you said you can have as many weddings as you want. I think you and daddy should have a lotta weddings!”

Amelia can’t help but to laugh at this.

“Okay, buddy,” She grins down at him. “Let’s see how you like this wedding, first.”

“Can I go finish my show now?”

Amelia nods, and Scout takes off down the stairs while Amelia heads to get ready herself.

_______

45 minutes later and Amelia has her dress and heels on. She’s done her hair in soft waves and she’s just finishing up the final touches of her makeup when Link enters the bedroom, walking past the adjoining bathroom, Amelia hears him softly gasp.

She pauses her lipstick application, glancing at Link through the bathroom mirror. She raises her eyebrows at him.

“You look….” Link stutters, scratching at the back of his neck anxiously. “The dress…..the blue is a really nice color on you. You look really nice.” He shrugs, dropping his hands to the side.

Amelia suppresses a blush. It was a dress she’d worn to Alex and Jo’s wedding years ago. She was relieved at the chance to re-wear it, since nobody she knew would be at this wedding, or know she was recycling it for the occasion. She was just happy to not have to purchase another dress.

“Thank you,” She smiles slightly, resuming her task in the mirror. “So do you.” Her eyes dart back to him briefly. “I’m almost ready.”

“No rush.”

“Well, I don’t want to be late. So….there’s kind of a rush.” She laughs under her breath. “You’re just not excited about this at all, are you?”

Link sighs as he sits on the edge of the bed, still in Amelia’s line of sight through the mirror. He shakes his head. “No….but, starting now, I’m going to be positive about this.”

“Hey,” she mutters, starting to put away her makeup products. “I’m nervous, too.”

“Hm?” Link looks up at her as she re-enters the bedroom.

“I’m nervous to be around your family….I don’t know,” she mutters anxiously, reaching for her coat and purse. “They have no idea we were even….apart….” she cuts herself off from going in that direction. “They just don’t know me very well.”

Link nods. Knowing there is so much more to it. So much more that Amelia didn’t say.

“Let’s just make the best of it tonight,” He offers.

And Amelia nods in agreement.

_______

After a short ceremony in which Amelia and Link struggle to keep Scout settled in his seat and non-disruptive, they are completely relieved to have moved on to the reception part of the night.

They smile their way through introductions and explanations. And Amelia grits her teeth at the repetitive questions from distant family members.

‘How long have you guys been together?’

‘So nice of you to finally bring Scout around!’

‘What are your plans for the future?’

Amelia holds back her discomfort. And holds a tight smile. The only thing anchoring her being the equal dismay on Link’s part. The impatient tightness in his voice as he answers the same questions over and over weirdly brings her comfort. Just to know that she’s not the only one feeling totally out of place here.

The question that sets her off the most though, comes from Link’s uncle. But, when Link is asked whether or not he’s ‘being courted by the Mariners for another contract this upcoming season,’ Link reaches over and squeezes Amelia’s shoulders assuringly.

She sighs in relief at the vagueness of his answer.

“We like to take things one step at a time.”

And Amelia turns away from Link’s uncle, gazing up at Link, surprised by the feeling that swells in her chest.

_______

As the night continues, the energy becomes much less stressful. Although Link was very much not looking forward to this event, the energy of the room is having an effect on him. His relatives are dancing and talking and celebrating. It’s an overall joyful atmosphere. And Link is relieved. Relieved to be not so burdened by his initial distaste at the idea of this wedding in the first place.

Link smiles as he glances across the room. He watches as Amelia pulls Scout onto the dance floor, reaching forward for his little arms. She bends slightly as she twirls him around, Scout in a fit of giggles.

Link watches the two of them for a few more minutes, until the fast-paced song switches over to a slower one. There’s a round of cheers from family members and friends as the atmosphere changes and couples begin arranging themselves for a slow dance.

The next thing he knows, Link is crossing the dance floor himself.

“May I cut in?” He asks as he approaches, looking pointedly at Scout, his tone playful.

Scout glances between his parents as Amelia drops his hands. He looks around the room at the couples swaying slowly, then he’s nodding excitedly as he turns back to his parents.

“I can take him over to where some of the other kids are playing,” one of Link’s family friends chimes in suddenly and Link smiles, nodding a thank you as Scout runs off to be with the other kids.

Then they are alone. Just the two of them surrounded by other couples.

“Dance with me?” Link reaches a hand out to Amelia.

And she hesitates only briefly before taking it. Her pulse quickens out of nowhere and she tries to suppress the feeling that grows, the feeling that’s reminding her of every high school dance ever. Because she isn’t in high school. And this isn’t some high school crush. This is Link. The father of her child. And this is his parent’s wedding.

His hand clasps around hers, pulling her forward, and his other arm settles around her waist. Amelia’s free arm automatically rests over his, her hand coming down to rest against his shoulder.

There’s still a slight distance between them, the uncertainty of their positioning quite evident. Until Link pulls her even closer, so that she’s putting more of her weight against his chest. Amelia suppresses a gasp, looking briefly between his eyes. Before the eye contact becomes too much and she glances past him, over his shoulder instead.

“So,” Link murmurs, allowing her eyes to drift away from him. “Tonight wasn’t so bad.”

“Mhm,” she hums in agreement, her eyes settling on Link’s parents behind them. “Your parents are cute.”

Link shifts them around, so he can have a better view of his parents in the center of the dance floor.

“It took them a while to get to the cute stage, in my opinion,” Link looks back down at Amelia. He still towers over her, even when she’s wearing heels and it makes Link smile. Amelia laughs at his words, rolling her eyes.

“You’re always going to hold it against them, huh?”

Link shakes his head, like he’s deciding something. “No….no I won’t. I can be happy for them.”

Amelia nods up at him, and holds eye contact. She adjusts herself, letting her arm slide up further, resting around the back of his neck.

“This was fun. Scout had fun.”

“He did,” Link murmurs, letting his hand begin circling a repetitive pattern across her lower back.

Link notices the song change. Back to an upbeat tune, not so much fit for a slow dance. But it seems to take Amelia a moment to catch on. Because before she’s noticed the beat change, her head drops momentarily to rest against Link’s chest. They’re still swaying back and forth slowly, as if the song hasn’t changed.

But then the DJ makes an announcement, something about requests for other songs. And Amelia shakes from her reverie. Stepping out of Link’s embrace, she takes in the atmosphere of the increasingly crowded dance floor.

“We should probably find Scout,” she mutters, eyes scanning the room.

Link follows after her as she begins crossing the room. They approach the kid’s table to see Scout sitting with his head resting down in front of him. He’s surrounded by other kids but he’s fighting off sleep with his head resting against his arms on the table.

“Think we should call it a night?” Link mutters, and Amelia nods, gently stepping forward to wake Scout up.

_______

Link hears light snoring as he drives them home. He glances in the rearview mirror, to the backseat, and smiles to himself at the sight of both Amelia and Scout sound asleep. She’d insisted on sitting back there with him for the drive home. Link shakes his head now, realizing it was probably because there was more room back there for her to drift off, too.

The car pulls into the driveway and Link turns the engine off, stepping out and around to Scout’s side of the car. He opens the door gently, not wanting to wake him up. He lifts Scout as carefully as possible, and that’s when Amelia stirs. She sits up suddenly, eyes darting around in confusion.

“Hey,” Link whispers. “I’m going to carry him up. You should head to bed, too.”

Amelia nods, realizing her surroundings. She climbs out of the car, following after Link and Scout inside.

_______

Amelia takes a makeup wipe to her eyes as she rests tiredly against the bathroom counter. She blinks sleepily despite herself, but would never go to bed without taking her makeup off first.

Link huffs as he enters the bedroom, glancing at Amelia through the open bathroom door before sitting on the edge of the bed to slip his shoes off. “He is not as light as he used to be,” he laughs, referring to carrying Scout to bed.

“Mhm,” Amelia hums, “He’s growing up so fast.”

Link disappears from Amelia’s line of sight, entering the closet to hang his suit jacket and slip on some sweatpants. He collapses into bed shortly after while Amelia finishes getting ready for bed.

She’s still wearing her dress as she heads to the closet and Link’s voice causes her to pause for a second. “You should wear that dress more,” He mumbles sleepily.

And Amelia rolls her eyes, holding back a smirk, as she enters the closet to change.

She appears a moment later, dressed for bed. Her equally exhausted state leads her to collapse onto her side of the bed in similar fashion to Link.

“I’m serious,” Link mutters. Amelia turns her head to the side, noticing how his eyes remain closed. She’s relieved that he can’t see her sheepish expression.

“I want to start over, Amelia.” His eyes open now, searching for hers. And Amelia swallows her nerves. “I want to take you on a date.”

She laughs. Because this is not what she was expecting.

“What?” She mumbles through her uncertain laugh.

“And I want you to wear that dress.” He sounds like he’s fighting off sleep again and Amelia finds herself hesitant to agree to him while they’re both so exhausted. Hesitant because she doesn’t know how much he means it.

“You don’t have to answer me right now,” Link continues, muttering into his pillow a bit as he settles onto his side, eyes closing again. “But promise me you’ll think about it?”

Amelia breathes a sigh, biting her lip as she glances at Link’s resting face.

“Okay,” she whispers. And then lets her own eyes shut, too.

#amelink #amelink fanfic #amelinkfic #amelia shepherd #atticus lincoln #amelia x link #amelinkfanfiction #greys anatomy fanfic #greys anatomy fic #grey's anatomy fanfic #grey's anatomy fic #maggie pierce #my writing

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druidgroves · 3 years ago

Text

one bad night in falcon hill

campaign: ihunt tw: emotional abuse/manipulation. please heed this warning! notes: some angst stemming from a potential memory we almost got to see in game. everyone’s pcs had two memories we could have seen during a session, & while we didn’t get to see jo’s, our GM let us know what everyone’s was & i decided to write out what i thought it would be.

* this is a repost from my old blog *

It’s late when the front door opens and slams shut. In front of the bathroom mirror, brushing her teeth, Jo freezes.

As quickly as every other night, she shakes herself out of it, finishes brushing her teeth, forces a smile, and goes into the kitchen to greet her boyfriend.

He’s standing there, looking at the pile of dirty dishes in the sink. He doesn’t even acknowledge her with a glance.

“Hey, babe,” Jo says like she does every night, leaning against the door frame, “How was work?”

“I told you to do the dishes before I left,” Zach replies, then turns to step towards her. She takes a step back. “I expected them to be done before I got home.”

There’s an edge to his voice that Jo knows all too well. All she can really compare it to is the threat of a threat. It tells her that if she doesn’t start talking, he’ll start raising his voice, and if that happens, she’ll start crying, but that will only make him start yelling, and—

“I’m sorry.” She yields instantly, moving closer to him and hesitantly reaching out a hand, “I’m sorry, I meant to get to them but I didn’t get off until late, and I was behind on laundry, and the bathroom needed cleaning and—“

Zach goes stiff and she pulls her hand back as he turns on his heel to look at her directly, mouth a hard, thin line. He doesn’t raise a hand or even his voice but Jo flinches.

“I told you to do one thing, Josephine.” Not Josie. He’s mad. “I don’t give a shit if the bathroom was disgusting, I told you to do the dishes. It’s a simple fucking task, it wouldn’t have even taken that long.”

There’s a part of her that wants to fight back, to tell him that if it were so simple, why couldn’t he do the dishes his damn self? But Jo knows what that kind of pushing back gets her so she doesn’t. She doesn’t want to make it worse.

“I’m sorry,” she says again, quieter. Tears brim in her eyes and her throat grows tight trying not to let them spill. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re always so fucking sorry,” Zach spits, “Why can’t you just be useful for once? I didn’t bring you all the way here out of your little backwater hick town to be sorry.”

God dammit. This whole week she had been so careful to not let him get to this point, tip-toeing around his temper, doing everything he asked of her, and after one fuck up, the dam finally broke. Fuck.

“I’m—“

“Don’t. Say it,” Zach warns, sighing hard and pulling a hand over his face, “You know what? Forget it. Just fucking forget about it. I’m going out. Don’t wait up.”

“But you just got back from work,” she says as he pushes past her to grab his jacket and keys again.

“I’m giving you one more chance to get those dishes done,” he tells her, and then he’s gone.

As soon as the sound of his car leaving the driveway is gone, Jo’s own dam finally breaks: silent tears, biting down hard on her lip to keep quiet, even with no one but herself and her guilt to witness it. This house had seen too many of her tears, too many times of her deciding that putting up a fight wasn’t worth the risk of his wrath.

After a moment she dries her eyes on her t-shirt, goes over to the sink to grab a pan, and starts scrubbing.

Later that night, when Zach finally comes back home, he crawls into bed beside her without a word. Arms reach out to pull her to his chest, holding her tight before pressing a kiss into her hair. Even wrapped in his embrace as he whispers, “love you, Josie”, Jo had never felt so numb.

#ch: jo carter #campaign: ihunt #my writing #abuse tw #writing: ihunt #q.

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homeformyheart · 4 years ago

Note

Hi I already love Nora with my entire heart and am requesting from dialogue prompts:

#19 “I think I’m in love with you, and that scares the crap out of me”

- ❤️ PD

from these dialogue prompts (always accepting)

ahhh thank you PD for indulging me <3

author’s note: thank you so much @wayhavenots for requesting this and for indulging my Nick x Nora headcanons. More of the backstory and context will be written up in a separate fic, so this fic takes place about six months of these two agreeing to give each other a real chance. I hope you all enjoy! *fyi, Nora is Nick’s LI in all of my MB universes, and Nick’s features will vary based on that, so feel free to self-insert or use one of my Nicks’ below :)

copyright: all characters, except the oc and oc button, are owned by jo o’connor @mindblindbard. series/pairing: mind blind – nick wiseman x f!oc (nora mcconnell) rating/warnings: 14+; swearing, minor angst, fluff based on/prompt: dialogue prompts // 19. “I think I’m in love with you, and that scares the crap out of me.” (in bold) word count: 1.7k summary: six months into their relationship, nora freaks out when she finds out nick is falling in love with her.

permission

nick’s hand brushed nora’s as they walked side-by-side toward his house. he held his fingers near hers and looked at her imploringly, making sure that she knew he was giving her permission while giving her the space to set boundaries.

nora smiled and closed the gap between their hands, intertwining her fingers with his and inching closer. the instant their hands were flush, a simmering warmth bloomed from their joined fingers up her arm and passed through her chest.

happiness. joy. peace.

even below the surface.

she was getting better at recognizing and reading the emotions of others without skin contact. eight months working for unity gave her the opportunity to hone her skills and she could read surface-level emotions from up to two feet away and read deeper, repressed emotions with prolonged touching. she was reluctant at first, but rosy and adsila had demanded insisted that she be trained properly lest it distract her on the job.

throwing open the floodgates to all the emotions around her had been excruciatingly overwhelming. nick had ended up being a supportive presence throughout it all, helping her learn how to narrow her focus and practice differentiating between her emotions and his. they set boundaries, but he offered to be a lifeboat whenever she felt like she was drowning.

it still took her a long time to be convinced that he wanted something serious with her – that his playboy days were over.

he yanked her gently out of her reverie by pulling her close, his other hand coming up to her waist to hold her against him.

“what are you doing?” she asked, a laugh escaping her as she brought a hand to his chest and looked up at him.

“i’m just happy,” he said, his eyes sparkling with sincerity. “permission to kiss you?”

she nodded and nick leaned in to capture her lips with his.

nora didn’t think she’d ever get tired of the way nick kissed. each time was unique – sometimes soft and featherlight that made her want to chase, and other times so deep and consuming that she wanted to drown.

and these were perfectly in-between. his soft lips pressed lightly against hers in rapid succession, the pressure deepening incrementally once she matched his tempo in return. she started to smile into the kiss as she felt his hand tighten at her waist.

after a few moments, nick pulled back slightly to rest his forehead against hers. she could feel his emotions pulsing under her hands, a warm leggero of affection, happiness, and lo—no. not that.

anything but that.

panic started rising in her throat and she clenched her fingers where they rested on his chest, scrunching the fabric of his shirt. she needed to stop him from saying it anytime soon. it shouldn’t come as a surprise, but she had gotten comfortable with the idea that he’d never fall in love with her.

love came in a package deal with hurt and she refused to subscribe.

she didn’t need her powers to recognize that she was starting to spiral inwardly. but then she noticed that nick hadn’t moved or said anything.

maybe she was in the clear. she started to let out the breath she was holding, relief beginning to settle into her lungs.

“i think i’m in love with you, and that scares the crap out of me,” nick said quietly.

her body froze, the breath in her lungs trapping the relief that had started to seep in before, holding it hostage against her ribcage. she didn’t know how to process what he just said so she pulled her head back to look at him.

nora blinked rapidly to keep the tears in her eyes at bay. “i can’t—i mean, we can’t—”

“hey, hey, hey, it’s okay,” nick murmured, trying to pull her back into his arms. “i’m not expecting you to say you feel the same.”

she took a deep breath and forced herself to look up at him, pushing his arms away from her. the goosebumps on her arms punctuated how much she already missed his warmth. his eyes swirled with hurt, and she could feel his confusion.

“no, you don’t understand, nick. you can’t fall in love with me. i’m not—” she bit her lip. “i’m not someone who can love you the way you deserve. i’m sorry.”

nora turned and walked away as briskly as she could, wiping away the stray tears that slipped down her face. she headed toward the nearest metro station, digging around in her purse for her card. her fingers brushed against the off-brand kirby trinket hanging off her keychain and she pulled it out to look at it.

the features on the trinket did not look anything like the famous video game character. its eyes were too far apart, and its smile was definitely creepy. but nick found it hilarious and insisted on pretending it was kirby, attaching it to her keychain and checking for weeks afterward to make sure she kept it.

it was from one of their first dates and possibly, her favorite – he absolutely surprised her by not taking her to some fancy restaurant. and when she tried to call him out for the lack of originality in a navy pier date (since anyone who’s grown up in and lived in chicago for some time has been to navy pier at least a half dozen times), he simply responded that he wanted to show her more of who he was outside of being a ment and ucrt’s leader.

it was the most fun she’d had in a long time – and seeing nick genuinely enjoy himself brought out a side to her that she had long forgotten about. the side of her that wanted to let loose and be child-like for once. it helped that his ment abilities were useless against rigged carnival games – the great equalizer, she had teased him at the time as he tried (and failed) to win her a big prize.

off-brand kirby was the consolation prize and a perfect reminder of that night.

nick made her want to bring down her carefully and rigidly designed walls that she clung to after her dad abandoned her family. she had grown too comfortable behind the walls – they protected her time and again from getting hurt. after all, if she didn’t let anyone in, then they couldn’t leave her behind.

but she didn’t consider the fact that nick willingly let her in, and she may have just done more damage to him than he deserved by leaving things the way she did.

she clutched the keychain in her hand and walked right back to his house. she knew that he’d see her coming, but she still hoped that he’d answer the door. she steeled her nerves and knocked with three, quick raps on the door, nearly tapping nick’s chest as the door swung open after her third knock.

“what do you want?” nora cringed at the harsh tone of nick’s voice.

“you don’t have to forgive me. but you deserve an explanation,” she replied, fiddling with the keychain.

nick just stared at her for what felt like minutes, eyes darting to the keychain in her hands and back up to her face. nora wondered if she should just walk away. maybe it was too late to explain. after a few awkward moments, he turned and walked back toward the living room, leaving the door open.

nora took a deep breath and followed him, closing the door behind her and joining him on the opposite end of the couch.

“please know that the way i reacted didn’t have anything to do with you. i have a lot of baggage and you deserve to be with someone who doesn’t scare you. someone who is worth it in the end.”

“you don’t scare me, nora,” nick said quietly.

“but you said being in love with me scares you?”

“i’ve never been in love before. and i’m scared you’ll decide one day you need someone more mature or interesting or—” he took a deep breath. “i’m just so goddamn happy with you that i don’t want to lose that.”

the distance between them felt stifling. nora couldn’t read him beyond surface-level from this distance but it didn’t matter, the hurt and longing in his eyes said everything. she wanted to reach out to him so badly that her chest ached. but his arms remained folded over his chest, a visible signal that she needed to stay where she was.

he wasn’t giving her permission to come closer.

tears welled in nora’s eyes. “i’m terrified of losing you, nick. you run headfirst into dangerous situations and have this—this self-sacrificing nature that might get you killed one day. and then you’d be another person who’s left me behind.”

her voice dropped to a whisper as she stood up to leave. “i can’t go through that again. i’m sorry.”

nick finally looked up and made eye contact with her as he stood from the couch. “i won’t leave you and i’ll be more careful, i promise. i don’t want to lose you.”

he held out his arms toward her, eyes vulnerable and open. “permission to fall in love with you, nori?”

she almost chuckled at the nickname, reminiscent of a date night where they dissolved into giggles while attempting to make sushi. her heart leapt toward him before her body could react, but she followed the instinct and moved into his arms. she nodded against his forehead resting on hers, his arms wrapping around her lower back.

“only if you give me permission too, nicky,” she said softly, daring herself to look into his eyes.

she can tell he’s trying hard to be serious and not break out into an ear-to-ear grin, but a smile escaped him anyway. “yes, please.”

from these dialogue prompts (always accepting)

* * * * * taglist: @pearlsandsteel; @anotherbeingsworld; @sosolenoo; @mevnraels; @wayhavenots; (if you don’t want to be tagged for nick x oc, let me know!)

#my writing #mind blind #nick wiseman #nick wiseman x oc #nick x nora #oc: nora mcconnell #my prompt fill #mb prompt fills #nick wiseman x nora mcconnell #not twc #not choices #wayhavenots #mb moodboard #my moodboard #nick x oc

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reciprocityfic · 3 years ago

Note

Aww I want them all! But okay, let's start with 1. A conversation you wish had happened in canon. For AmyxLaurie

1. a conversation you wish had happened in canon.

“I’m not marrying Fred.”

She tries to say it nonchalantly, void of emotion so as to not reveal the anxiety churning in her gut, but she’s afraid that the slight tremble in her voice betrays her. She tries to take a breath to ground herself, but the air that leaves her lungs comes out unsteadily.

She waits for him to answer - to say something, but he doesn’t respond right away. She wonders if he’s finding out for the first time. She meant to write him after she turned down the proposal, but hadn’t yet; everything seemed to be happening so fast, and she hadn’t yet had the chance to gather up the nerve.

But it’s possible he found out still, she supposes. She heard Fred left for London soon after she turned him down, and he and Laurie run in the same social circle, the kind that thrives on any piece of gossip. Someone could’ve very well told him.

But he keeps his mouth shut, and even though she knows it’s only been a few moments since she spoke, his silence seems to stretch on and on. It allows enough time for her thoughts to swirl around in her brain, for her heart to twist itself into knots.

Maybe he’s changed his mind. Maybe time away from you cleared his head, made him realize that you were simply a substitute for Jo.

She feels the need to clarify suddenly; she doesn’t want to force him into anything, make him do something he’ll regret just to spare her feelings.

“I heard about that,” he says carefully, and she hears him somewhere in the back of her mind. But she’s already turned towards him, words pushing at her lips.

“And you are under no obligation to say anything, or do anything,” she assures him, trying to insert some sort of confidence behind her words, but she can’t quite muster it as she stares at her feet.

She takes another deep breath, exhaling audibly. She can’t do this without being honest, she realizes, without laying her heart bare to him. She suddenly thinks of how hard it must have been for him, to propose to Jo, to reveal his affection for her in the garden those weeks ago.

“I just didn’t love him as I should.”

Not as I love you, she almost tells him, but she bites her tongue. She’s trying, but she’s not quite brave enough to say it plainly like that. Not now, when everything is still so uncertain.

Again, he doesn’t say anything, and oh, he has changed his mind, hasn’t he? Surely he would’ve interrupted her by now if he still wanted her, given her some sort of response. She can feel his eyes on her even though she continues to look away from him. He’s probably trying to figure out a way to tell her no, she decides, and scrambles to save face, letting out another breath.

“So we don’t need to talk about it, we don’t need to say anything -”

He kisses her.

He kisses her, hard, and she can’t process it for a moment. She feels his mouth against hers, his hand cradling her face, the warmth of his body against her own, but she can’t put it all together. Can’t comprehend what’s happening to her.

But then, oh, he sucks her bottom lip into his mouth, moves his head upward slightly and tugs on it, and she’s aware of everything - the press of his nose against hers, each of his fingers against her cheek, burning their pattern into her skin. He’s everywhere, all over her, and she softens, melts into him as she kisses him back.

His free arm wraps around her waist, pulls her more closely against him, lifting her onto her tiptoes as she searches for his mouth. She wishes they could stay in this moment forever. That she could live here, wrapped in his arms, warm from head to toe as his lips move in time with hers. But that’s not practical, she supposes, and after a few moments more they separate, both of them out of breath in the most wonderful way.

“Amy,” he murmurs.

Her eyes are closed, but the corners of her lips turn up when she hears him say her name.

“Amy,” he beckons again, and she opens her eyes, finds him staring back at her with an expression so tender and loving that tears well in her eyes. “Are you listening?”

She nods, and he crouches down just slightly, so he can look more directly into her eyes.

“I love you,” he tells her. “You have to know that. You must know that I love you. With my entire heart and soul, I love you.”

“You do?” she asks, her breath catching in her throat. A part of her still can’t believe it, despite his proposal and the kiss they just shared. The part of her that had resigned itself to only being able to love him from afar, that had become so used to him always looking at Jo whenever she was looking at him.

“Yes,” he says, a breathless laugh leaving him as the arm around her waist tightens and his other arm moves from her face to circle her shoulders as he pulls her into a firm hug. “Yes. I love everything about you - your laugh and your eyes, your voice. The way your brow furrows and lips purse when you paint or sketch, and then the way you step back and smile when you’ve done something you think is good. How your eyes light up when you look at the art in museums. I love how much you love your family. I love the woman you’ve become, but I also love how I can still see that same Amy I’ve always known peek out sometimes, especially when you’re happy or excited.”

She presses her face into the crook of his neck, inhales him, and can’t help the tears that spill over as she listens to him speak.

“I love the way you inspire me and make me want to be more, for both myself and for others. I love spending time with you - just being beside you is the greatest pleasure I’ve ever known. I love you, Amy March, your heart and your spirit and your mind and your soul. Everything you are, everything that you’ve become and will become. I love you.”

He lets her go and takes a small step back, grabs one of her hands in his and uses the other to wipe away the dampness that’s collected on her face.

“I love you, too” she whispers to him, turning into his palm and speaking into his skin.

“You’re not...you’re not a replacement for Jo,” he declares ardently, holding her gaze. “And you’re not second - not when it comes to me. Not to anything or anyone, but especially not to her. I’ve loved Jo - I’ll always love Jo - but what I felt for her is not the same as this. This is better, and it’s stronger, and it’s more - so much more. And I never want it to end. I want to spend the rest of my life with it.”

He closes the space between them once again, kisses her forehead and then her cheek.

“Amy,” he says, and then he bends down, gets on one knee in the green grass at her feet. He takes both of her hands.

“I know so, so much has happened, and there’s been so much pain and heartbreak, but nothing would make me happier than knowing that I get to spend the rest of my life with you by my side. And I don’t have any kind of plan or a ring, but I do have myself and my heart and my love, and I’m willing to give them all to you, if you’ll have them. They’re already yours. So, Amy March - Amy Curtis March - will you marry me?”

And it’s the easiest decision she’s ever made. She can’t keep the smile off her face, and he smiles back at her when he realizes - the most brilliant smile she’s ever seen on him. He’s so beautiful that she could cry again, if she let herself.

He stands up at the same time that she reaches down and pulls at him. She kisses him first this time, and his hands wander over her body, moving across her shoulders and down her back before looping back up. He curls his palm around the back of her neck, buries the other one in her neatly pinned-up hair. They separate when they need to breathe, but they don’t go far, their mouths still resting together, smiles turning up their lips.

And she whispers against him, “Yes.”

send me a number and a pairing (preferably laurie x amy) and i'll write you a mini fic!

#amy x laurie #laurie x amy #little women #little women 2019 #amy march #theodore laurence #yah i could've just skipped right to their kiss but then i wouldn't have been able to write meta on amy's emotions and inner turmoil #thank you for the ask!

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winryofresembool · 4 years ago

Text

Things We Lost in the Fire, ch 32

aka Caleo uni au

Fic summary: Calypso starts studying at a new university, but to her annoyance her new flatmate is a loud mouthed mechanic who also likes to sneak his dog in whenever. But as she learns to know him better, she realizes they might have more in common than what she first thought. Eventually, even the darkest secrets come out…

Chapter summary: At Waystation (again) and a bit elsewhere too

A/N: We're (finally) getting closer to the end of the 'Waystation arc'. I don't think I have that much to say about this chapter, but I'd like to dedicate it to Cecid as a late birthday present, because she has really kicked my butt to continue this story!

Enjoy, and let me know what you think!! It's super important (<- Lizzie Bennet Diaries reference)

(Ps. Fellow Europeans, vote for Finland in ESC!!!)

Words: 2950

Genre: romance & hurt/comfort

Warnings: none

previous chapter / AO3

...

The silence that fell into the room after Leo stormed out got more and more overwhelming until finally, Calypso couldn’t take it anymore. She could feel the two women and their daughter stare at her, but they were too astounded to say anything.

“I… I don’t understand what I did wrong,” Calypso mumbled eventually. “They were just matches. I didn’t mean that he should use them immediately; it was just my way of trying to tell him that I believe he can get over his fear one day.”

The women exchanged dark looks.

“Georgie, could you play with Festus outside for a moment? He looked like he needed to burn some energy,” Emmie suggested, wanting to get the girl out of the hearing distance.

“Ugh, fine,” Georgie pouted because she would have preferred admiring her gifts, but left anyway.

Once she was gone, Jo sighed. “About what just happened… you did nothing wrong, Calypso. It’s just…” She stopped to contemplate her next words. “Christmas is always a hard time for Leo. He tries his best to participate and make his jokes and all that, but his eyes betray him. He’s just… not there.”

“I want to understand…” Calypso stepped closer to Leo’s mothers. “Did something happen to him on some Christmas?”

“Yes, you could say that,” Emmie replied sadly. “Leo’s mother died on Christmas day several years ago.”

Calypso’s eyes widened as she understood what Emmie was trying to say.

“Oh gods… And she died in a fire, right? He did mention it once… No wonder he didn’t want to touch the matches, especially today.”

“Yes,” Emmie confirmed. “She did die in a fire. But there’s more to it. Leo probably wouldn’t want me to tell you this but in this situation it might be better that you know: he blames himself for the fire.”

“I probably shouldn’t ask, but… why?” Calypso asked, feeling more sickened every moment as she pictured a young boy mourning his mother and his home. “What happened?”

“We have only gotten some bits and pieces from here and there, but it seems the fire most likely started from some papers he had left near a fireplace. Accidentally, of course, but he doesn’t see it that way,” Jo sniffed. Suddenly Calypso realized that Leo’s pain must have hurt his family more than he probably even realized. They really cared about him a lot… She couldn’t help but feel just a tiny bit jealous because at least Leo had people supporting him. But she quickly pushed that unnecessary thought aside.

“That’s awful… I guess he’s afraid that he might accidentally make something like that happen again and that’s why he doesn’t want fire near him.” Calypso knew the fear of hurting someone she cared about and the guilt all too well. She would never forget the flashing lights and the loud crash that followed. Her nightmares made sure of that.

“Yes, it’s likely he feels that way. Since he moved here, he’s been seeing a therapist every once in a while but it’s clear he’s still a work in progress. He doesn’t talk about his mother a lot to us either. Just when we ask something general, and even then the answers are usually quite short.”

Bitterly, Calypso thought that was how she acted when someone brought up her family.

“I realize now that the matches were a big mistake,” she finally said. “I wish there was something I could do… I hate just watching helplessly when someone I… um...” She stopped mid sentence when she realized what she was about to reveal too much.

“Just be there for him,” Emmie suggested, luckily ignoring Calypso’s stuttering. “Despite everything, I think he’s still shown good progress the past few months. Sometimes time and patience and care can do amazing things.”

“Yeah. I think you are right there.” Calypso agreed. She herself had asked her friends, including Leo, to be patient with her as well. It was only fair she’d do the same with him.

“And Calypso?” Emmie eyed her worriedly. “Remember to take care of yourself as well.”

Calypso didn’t understand how the woman had seen through her that well. There was no way she could know what was going on in her mind because she hadn’t told even Leo everything. And Emmie and she had only known each other for a couple of days so far.

“I… sure. I will try my best!” she promised, instead of questioning Emmie’s comment.

“Good. I can’t say I know you all that well yet but know that people who are important to Leo are important to us.”

For a moment Calypso imagined what it would be like to have a mother like that. For some reason the thought made her emotional. “Thank you. You are so kind.”

“No, just doing what’s necessary. Now, I suggest you go and get dressed for the day and do what else you need to do; we might need some help with lunch soon. Besides, Georgie might need some supervision because she gets hyper when she eats too much chocolate. Funny how she and Leo are not biologically related but they still have a lot in common,” Emmie ended with a slightly amused remark.

Calypso did notice that she didn’t say anything about trying to find Leo, but she understood. He probably wanted to be on his own for a moment, and she’d respect that. Hopefully she’d get to talk to him eventually, but until then it was better to try to do something helpful rather than spend the whole day worrying. But even while she was doing her morning chores, she could still see Leo’s angry eyes when he saw her gift in her mind.

…

Leo didn’t know where he should go so he just followed his instinct. He didn’t want to hide inside; the pictures from his nightmare were still too fresh in his mind and he needed to be somewhere where he could breathe fresh air. As he was crossing the yard, Festus tried to follow him, and he wagged his tail cheerfully to make his favorite human happier, but this one time Leo didn’t want his company. He apologized to the dog and told him that he’d take him for a walk after getting his thoughts cleared.

He kept walking until finally, he reached a certain park where he and Jason used to jog often. Seeing a log bench on the side, he decided to sit down for a moment. Someone had made a campfire nearby earlier and Leo glared at the remaining ashes like they were the reason for all his troubles. He could feel the panic rise up his throat as he was reminded of the fire again, but he challenged himself to stay there for at least a moment. Finally, he sighed.

He knew he had totally overreacted to Calypso’s gift. Surely she had meant good but she didn’t know why fire and Christmas were not a good combination when it came to Leo. If he had just ignored the matches, nothing would have happened. Now he’d have to explain to her why he had freaked out like that and that wouldn’t be easy.

He wasn’t sure how long he had been staring into nothing when he suddenly felt a knock on his shoulder. Having not heard anyone arrive, he startled at the touch, but quickly recovered when he recognized the newcomer.

“Pipes! What brings you here?” he exclaimed, briefly noticing that her brown hair was now shorter than it had used to be and somehow her whole demeanor seemed a bit different. He attempted to put on a smile for her but he knew he was probably failing.

“Funny, I was gonna ask you the same question,” Piper noted, sitting down next to Leo. “I thought you would be at Waystation with your family. It’s Christmas day, after all.”

“Oh, yeah, I was there.” Piper raised her eyebrow so he quickly added: “You know me; this holiday and I don’t exactly walk hand in hand so I needed to get out for a moment.” Leo hoped that would be a sufficient explanation. She did know what had happened to his mother, even if not to the full extent.

“But Calypso was there with you. I thought that would cheer you up,” Piper pointed out.

“Funny you should say that,” Leo chuckled, although there was nothing amusing about the situation. “If you wanna know the truth, I’m kind of trying to escape from her right now.”

“You’re trying to escape…” Piper repeated with confusion. “Why? What happened? I thought things were going fine between you two. Especially after what happened after the party…”

“Not everything is how it looks to outsiders, Pipes,” Leo stopped her. “Things haven’t been amazing lately. I mean, in many ways. Yeah, I like her and somehow she also likes me, apparently. Yeah, I know, pretty unbelievable.”

Piper gave him her best ‘wow, you’re really breaking the news there, Leo’ look. He didn’t get disheartened, though, instead continuing: “But we have, um, decided that we shouldn’t get together for various reasons so we’ve been trying to find some kind of a golden mean where we can still continue being friends but it hasn’t been working out that well. One sec we are at each other's' throats for whatever stupid reason, and the next we’re acting all flirty and ignoring the rules we set. I was hoping that this Waystation visit would give us a chance to get to know each other better in an environment where we have others around us… And I think it was actually working for a while. I feel more comfortable there, and I think she was feeling more comfortable too… But today I went and messed things up again.”

“What did you do?” Piper sighed disapprovingly.

“I may or may not have gotten mad about her Christmas present,” Leo confessed finally, cringing because he realized how bad it sounded.

“Oh, Leo…” Piper shook her head. “Why would you get mad about something like that? You’re not usually someone who’d get mad that easily.”

“Yeah… I know I’m not, but… I had a pretty rough day to begin with. Not that that’s anything new to me, but…”

“But what?” Piper inquired.

“I saw a nightmare about my mom’s death right before I woke up. I was still kinda on the edge when we were opening the presents so when I saw the matches…”

“She gave you matches?” Piper tilted her head slightly as she was trying to figure out what Leo was saying.

“Yeah,” Leo shrugged. “To be clear, though, they were only a part of the present. She had made me a real nice tool belt, probably way better than any of those that they sell in some stores. The matches were in one of the pockets. And now I can see you’re gonna say: ‘well, maybe she just wanted you to try to get over your fear’, and maybe you’re right, but the timing…”

“You have not told her about the anniversary,” Piper concluded. “I’m sure you have figured out by now that you can’t blame her for something she didn’t know about. That’s not fair.”

“I know that!” Leo exclaimed. “I’m not really blaming her; I just overreacted! But how will I explain that to her? ‘Sorry I yelled at you; I just happened to burn my entire house 11 years ago today so I’m not exactly fond of fire right now?’”

“You know what I’m thinking?” Piper interrupted Leo’s unhealthy thought process. He didn’t answer. “I think you two have some serious communication issues. I know that Calypso isn’t good at opening about her past, and she has also admitted to me she has a tendency to push people back if she’s afraid they’re getting too close to her. But guess what, Leo? You’re the same. I’ve noticed that even though you’re kind of loud sometimes and you like to tell bad jokes…”

“Hey!” Leo protested.

“Shh, let me finish. My point is, you don’t often tell us what you’re really thinking. When you’re having one of your rougher periods, you withdraw into your workshop for days. All I’m trying to say here is that please talk to us. Specifically, talk to her. When she notices that you trust her enough to talk about something that personal, she might open up to you more as well. If she really likes you, she’ll understand.”

“Beauty Queen, I hate it when you see through me that well,” Leo muttered. “I dunno. I guess I’ll have to talk to her when I go back. If my moms don’t murder me first.”

“Nah. They wouldn’t. I mean, you may not get any presents next Christmas but that’s a small price to pay when you stormed out like that,” Piper teased him.

“You sure know how to make a man regret his bad deeds.” Leo rolled his eyes. “Anyway, we’ve established why I’m here right now but what about you? Shouldn’t you be with Jason or something?” Suddenly Piper didn’t seem as determined to scold Leo anymore.

“I… Jason and I are having a break.”

“A break? As in…?” Leo asked with confusion.

“As in a break,” Piper repeated more firmly. “What part of it you don’t understand? He and I are seeing if we are happier apart.”

Leo spent a moment taking the information in. “But I don’t get it. You guys have always been the most stable couple I’ve known. Why this kind of a decision all of a sudden?” He couldn’t say that he was entirely surprised by this piece of news after his talk with Jason before Christmas, but it still felt different to hear it from Piper. More final.

“I don’t think it’s all of a sudden. It’s been coming for a while now,” Piper confessed.

“Really? And you’re telling me only now?” Leo raised his eyebrow.

“It was something I needed to figure out on my own. Now, please don’t think I’ve just been playing with him, or something. I do love Jason. He’s my best friend. But… I’m starting to feel we’ve progressed too fast. That there’s a whole world out there for me to see that I missed because I was so busy getting together with Jason. I want to get to know who I am and where I really belong.”

“But… you have a house and everything together…” Leo said, suddenly feeling like a child whose parents were telling him they were breaking up, forgetting his own problems for a moment. “How are you gonna deal with that?”

“The plan is for now that we both keep living in our house until we make our final decision. I don’t want to go back to my dad and Jason would want to live with his dad even less. Of course it’s possible that we decide to continue our relationship, but if not, then we’re going to sell the house. But we are not rushing that. For now, we’re just trying to be friends, and not… exclusive.”

Leo was slightly relieved to hear that at least his best friends were still on speaking terms.

“Alright… if that’s what both of you want, then I’ll support it,” he said. “It’d suck to lose touch with either of you because of this.”

“Don’t worry,” Piper reassured him. “You won’t.” She ruffled his hair a little as if he was her little brother. “Everyone needs a Super-sized McShizzle in their lives, don’t they? It’d be pretty empty otherwise.”

Leo gave her a lopsided smile. “Glad you admitted that.”

“Anyway, enough about my boring relationship issues!” Piper decided to change the topic. “So, you told me Cal got you a tool belt and matches, but what did you give to her? It’s important, Leo.”

“You really think I’m gonna reveal it to you, Beauty Queen? I’m smarter than that,” Leo pointed out.

“I know what you did at our uni’s freshman party and I’m not afraid to tell it to Cal if I need to.” Piper winked at him in response.

Leo rolled his eyes. “Pshhh, that was freshman year. That excuses everything.”

“Alright, don’t tell me then.” Piper turned to leave.

“If you really must know,” Leo said before Piper got too far, “it was a jewelry box. With a bracelet in it. But it was not new so it wasn’t a big deal.”

“Not a big deal?” Piper asked with amusement. “You know things get serious when you give a girl a piece of jewelry.”

“Wait, what? For real?” Leo was shocked for a moment until he noticed Piper had a hard time not bursting into laughter. She was just messing with him. “OK, remind me to never tell you anything serious ever again.”

“You know you can’t resist my charm,” Piper chuckled. “Once you have forgotten what you just said, please tell me what really has happened at Waystation recently.”

Leo couldn’t help but shake his head at Piper’s enthusiasm but eventually started to tell her the whole story. He noticed that it helped him to forget about the negative thoughts for a moment so he didn’t really mind even though Piper had a tendency to be a bit pushy when it came to his feelings towards Calypso. And he assumed that Piper welcomed the distraction happily as well, because she must have felt conflicted about the whole Jason situation. When did things get so complicated, he wondered briefly before chuckling at his thoughts ironically. His life had never been simple. But even so, he would keep fighting. Because that’s what his mom would want, and that's what his family and friends would want.

#caleo #leo valdez #calypso #heroes of olympus #percy jackson and the olympians #trials of apollo #my fics #caleo uni au

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haro-whumps · 4 years ago

Text

Group Whumpees 14: Headway

CW: slavery, multiple whumpees, aftermath of abuse, property destruction, migraine, actually a pretty fluffy chapter all things considered

Tag List: @bleeding-demon-teeth @theycomeinthrees‌ @redwingedwhump @whimperwoods @inpainandsuffering @whole-and-apart-and-between @whump-whump-whump-it-up @whumpingupastorm @newandfiguringitout @lonesome--hunter @looptheloup @icannotweave @deluxewhump @whumping-every-day @yeet-me-out-a-window @what-a-whumpy-world @burtlederp @swordkallya @finder-of-rings @fairybean101 @adventuresofacreesty @arlennil @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @lumpofwhump @thatsthewhump @pinkdiamondprince @shameless-whumper @whump-only @kiretto-laorentze @eatyourdamnpears @whumpzone @bluebadgerwhump @fanastywhump @jo-castle @muffindaddy @whumpsy-daisies

Please let me know if you were not alerted or if you asked to be added to the tag list and I missed you, tumblr’s been messing up badly lately.

Masterlist

Nyla was… conflicted.

But it didn’t do her any good to be conflicted, so she put on her smile, fastened her shoes, and got to work.

Master had been very generous the day before, giving them a truly absurd amount of time to just sit and relax--threat of ghosts notwithstanding. But now it was time for her to resume her routine, as much of it as she still had.

And, since they’d been preoccupied with ghosts, or non-ghosts, or whatever it was Greyson had seen and Master Galo had dealt with, that meant Master Galo’s “crash course on queerness” needed to happen this afternoon. Which, hm, well, it was rather unreasonable to be nervous about it, right? Master was kind, and the last gathering had been a net positive. Maybe it was just because it was something to look forward to, and Nyla was nervous about things to look forward to.

Also there was that dumpster out front and Nyla wasn’t sure what it was for (perhaps another volley with the art pieces?), but she would deal with that when Master ordered her to.

She was passing by the front door when it opened and her heart leapt into her throat. She whirled, stepping back, but a familiarly massive outline stepped in and she relaxed, smile turning a little less forced.

“Welcome home, Master,” she greeted, kneeling as she took his extended hand and pressed a kiss to his knuckles. He was damp with sweat and smelled like cut grass and warm air. “Did you enjoy your volunteer service?”

“Yeah; it’s gorgeous out. Partly cloudy and kinda hot, perfect early summer day.” Master Galo pushed his wet hair away from his face, Nyla watching the way his arms flexed and moved and observing her own lack of fear response.

Don’t think about it.

“I’m starving though; any idea when lunch is?”

“Apologies, Master, but it won’t be ready for another half-hour yet,” Nyla said, knowing Sasha had only just gotten it in the oven. Her smile tugged at the corners of her eyes, face tight.

“Sweet! Enough time for a shower then,” Master Galo said with a bright smile, loosening some of Nyla’s nerves.

Nyla gave a short bow, hands clasped in the folds of her apron skirt, and took a deep breath as she rose back up, watching Master Galo’s back as he climbed the steps two at a time. Alright then. (He really did have a nice back) Alright then.

Do your job, Nyla, focus.

It’d be easier if she had anything to focus on. She almost wished Master Galo would host something, bring over guests or Guests of his own. Something Nyla could be active for, something that would require planning and management and preparation.

But it wasn’t her place. Master Galo would do as Master Galo pleased and she would facilitate where she could and be good and patient and pleasant and useless if Master wanted her to be because it was fine, it was fine.

“You were right,” Nyla said, voice quiet and weirdly flat for her. Evan looked up at her inquisitively, a winter boot balanced on his good thigh and a polishing rag in hand. “We’re entirely out of things to do.”

Evan snorted. “Told you.” He waved the boot good-naturedly, though smug as a cat,” I mean, c’mon Nyla, it’s barely even summer.”

“I’m bored--I’m, stir-crazy,” she whispered, ridiculously daring but if she didn’t complain to somebody she was probably going to explode.

“I think Greyson is the only one who isn’t--or, well, I mean, there was that whole thing yesterday…” Evan trailed off, and Nyla chanced a small, barely-audible groan.

“What am I supposed to do?” she lamented, and Evan carefully scooted himself sideways, making room for her on the boot bench.

“Come sit and be bored with me. I’m always down to complain about things, and hearing you go at it is pretty new.” He patted next to him, and Nyla glowered at the clean, unassuming wood before plopping down next to him. She huffed, lifting up the hem of her dress and pulling a loose threat taut so she could snap it.

“I just wish he would give us tasks. I wish we’d had the… talk, this morning.”

“Yeah.” Evan handed her the matching boot to his own and she diligently started polishing, feeling instant relief at having something to do with her hands. “Waiting for it… sucks.”

Nyla felt a strange little curl of emotion in her and nudged him with her elbow. “Well, you would know better than I.”

“Hey!” Evan gasped, looking at her in honest shock before laughing, open mouthed and still surprised, and Nyla smiled. “So now little miss perfect is going to scorekeep?”

“Little Miss Perfect, I like the sound of that.”

“We should bore you shitless more often,” Evan said, leaning forward with playful curiosity dancing across his features.

“Don’t get used to this,” Nyla said, turning up her nose and deliberately sitting with pristine posture. “I’m just having a psychotic break real quick and then I’ll be back to normal.”

Evan laughed, and she smiled, a pang of pain shooting behind her eyes as she did but she was having a nice time, so she smothered any wince before she made it. “Well I better take advantage of it while I can, then.”

The sound of the water shutting off had both their heads snapping upwards, despite the fact that neither of them could see through the ceiling, and Nyla’s perfect smile was back in place, tension in her temples. “...It seems you may have to wait,” Nyla stated, setting down the boot and brushing out her apron, gathering herself. She quickly finger combed her hair, smoothed down her apron once again, and Evan caught her around the wrist.

“You okay?” he asked. Ah, she’d fiddled too much.

“Just nervous, I suppose. Nothing that won’t be resolved after lunch.”

Evan nodded slowly, letting her go, and she changed her perfect slave smile to her “don’t worry the family, I’m fine” smile. Like usual, he seemed to buy it, and Nyla slipped her perfect smile back in place with a whirl of skirts and went to serve Master Galo lunch.

He’d demanded that Grey ‘take it easy’ yet again, and Nyla decided, rather selfishly, that that meant she would take his duties as butler from him that day. But then, was it truly selfish, when Sasha would just as likely faint if she was asked to, and Evan couldn’t walk on that leg of his? Lilah was able to do it, sure, but old habits die hard and Nyla couldn’t help but want to keep their littlest as far away from their owner as often as possible. Even though this one was kind.

Then the five of them were crowded together on a couch, Master Galo standing with his laptop hooked up to the TV in front of them. Nyla subtly covered Sasha’s hand with her own, where it gripped her sleeve, and Lilah leaned against Greyson with her legs hooked over Evan’s good one.

“Alright, so, queer shit 101,” Master Galo said with a bright smile to the group, hands propped on his hips. “I am going to attempt to keep things basic while still covering the bases, but please ask questions if you have them. In the great words of someone older than me, I don’t know what you don’t know. And I also don’t know what misconceptions you might have, though given Auntie Bethany, I can make some more or less solid guesses. So, without further ado.”

Master Galo hit a key on his keyboard and the slide changed, “Queer! Our first term, the word used for the entire community of people who are neither cis nor straight. In recent years people who wish to gatekeep, meaning to exclude people from our community, have voiced backlash against the word ‘queer’ as being ‘too-inclusive’ and have recruited well-intentioned but ultimately inexperienced youths to cycle their rhetoric. That is bullshit. Queer is our word, it is a good word, just because ignorant and hateful people are bigoted against us does not mean it isn’t our word, and it’s an all-inclusive label for anyone and everyone who finds their home among us.”

Lilah tentatively leaned forward, hand extended, and Master Galo pointed to her with arched eyebrows. It wasn’t as threatening as Nyla might have once considered it. “What’s ‘cis,’ sir?”

“That is on my next slide, I promise. For right this current moment, just know that queer is the big main umbrella word for everyone. It covers all the bases, all your base are belong to us.” Lilah nodded as Master Galo chuckled at his own joke. Nyla didn’t get the reference, but she recognized that he’d made one.

“Cool, so, you will see many squares with lots of stripes throughout this presentation. You don’t have to memorize anything, I just think they spruce up the slides, but for reference this one is the queer flag. You may or may not be familiar with the rainbow flag, that one’s a little different, we’ll get to that.”

Master Galo flipped slides. “Transgender!” he announced happily, a blue, pink, and white flag on the TV behind him. “You have seen this flag on various articles of clothing and buttons I own. And stickers. In general I have this flag around a lot, but! That is because, I am trans. You know this,” he said, making a broad gesture towards their group.

“The word ‘transgender’ effectively means ‘anyone who isn’t cis,’ and yes I will explain. So! Say there is a little baby, and the midwife or doctor lifts the little newborn body up to examine, and says ‘she’s a girl!’ Now, say, years down the road, that person thinks of herself and says ‘yeah sure I’m a girl.’ That is what’s called ‘cisgender,’ when the gender you were assigned at birth matches up with your own sense of self. Now, say that same baby grows up, but says ‘actually, I’m not a girl.’ That would make that person transgender.

“I am what’s called ‘binary trans;’ I was assigned female at birth, grew up, discovered I was actually a dude, and here we are. Thus, I am called a transman. The same thing happens for transwomen, but in the opposite direction. Transmen are men, transwomen are women, but some people are neither a guy or a girl. They are what is called,” Master Galo switched the slide.

“Nonbinary!” Nyla squinted, tentatively raising her hand, which Evan and Lilah were also doing. “Okay wow, lots of questions, Nyla?”

“I… apologize, sir, but I’m not sure I understand. They’re not a man or a woman?”

“Correct.”

Nyla shared a quick, anxious glance with the rest of her family.

“Okay, don’t worry,” Master Galo said, holding up his hands with a small chuckle, “I will explain. First, Evan and Lilah, was that your question too? Yeah, figured as much, okay. So, I have found the easiest way to visualize nonbinary genders is like this: Say men are blue, and women are red. Or pink, but that’s just a light shade of red, so, anyway, color theory is not today’s presentation. Back on track! If you’re imagining gender like a color wheel, that means some people are gonna be purple, right?”

Nyla nodded slowly. Okay, that made sense. A combination of traits both male and female.

“But, on that same vein, not all other colors are purple. Sometimes colors are green, or yellow, or orange. Men and women do make up the majority of the human population, but not all of it. There’s lot of ways to have a gender, and none of them are wrong.” Lilah raised her hand again and Master Galo pointed.

“How does that--I mean, if you have a vagina or a penis, shouldn’t that be, I mean, hard? To…”

“Okay, okay, good point. Very good point Lilah, I jumped the gun a little. Backing up a bit!”

Master Galo clapped his hands lightly, no force or noise to the motion, and Nyla had the brief thought that the gesture made him look somewhat teacherly. Which made sense, given… everything happening, but there was something distinctive and pleasant about that thought. Hm.

She wasn’t gonna worry about that. Focus.

“So, biological sex and a person’s gender are two seperate things. Often, they go hand in hand. That’s where cis people come from. However, while biological sex is, y’know, biological, gender is a social construct. Which means, it has more to do with perception and sense of self, and nothing to do with your actual physical body. So, since this is the 100 level course, I could frame it as, gender’s in your head and sex is in your genitals, make sense?”

Another round of slow, wary nods.

“It’s technically a little more complicated than that, but we’re not gonna get into that today.”

Evan raised his hand again, and Master Galo pointed at him with a smile.

“So… Sir, do you, have a dick?”

Master Galo’s lips instantly folded in and he raised a hand to cover his mouth, his shoulders shaking a little, and Nyla felt a spike of anxiety, crown of her head feeling taut. But it was laughter, a wheezing chuckle escaping her master when he said, “Uhm.”

He took a deep breath, “So, no. I do not. I don’t really want or need bottom surgery and am comfortable with my genitals the way they are. Bottom surgery is not a necessary component of transitioning, and some people, like myself, don’t have it done. However,” Master Galo continued with a rush of air, “it is generally considered extremely rude to ask a trans person about their genital structure unless you have the explicit intention of sleeping with them. I am aware you meant nothing by it!” Master Galo rushed, hands held up as Evan began to flounder. “You weren’t intentionally being rude, it’s chill. Just, for future reference, if you ever meet another trans person, that’s on the list of questions you don’t ask.”

Master Galo cleared his throat, looking a little red, but in good humor about it. He turned back to his screen with a, “Now, Lilah, you bring up an interesting point.” Master Galo flipped forward a few slides, to a screen with a yellow square that had a purple circle in the middle of it.

“Intersex! Sex, like gender, is not actually straightforward. There are many ways to be intersex, ranging from genital structure to chromosomes to secondary sex characteristics. But ultimately sex, like gender, is on a spectrum. Just because the majority of people fall easily into little categories of, urg, ‘biologically male’ or ‘biologically female,’ which for the record are not phrases you should… use, but since this is an intro to queer shit I’m making this as understandable as I can. Anyway.” Master Galo seemed to gather his thoughts. “Right! People fall into one category or the other most of the time, but not all of the time! And the ‘not all of the time’ people are intersex. Some intersex people do not feel that their biology automatically makes them queer, and do not percieve themselves to be part of the queer community. Others take comfort and community among us, so it’s always up to the person.

“Anyway, flipping back a few slides, nonbinary! This is the umbrella term for everyone who does not fall completely into ‘100% a man’ or ‘100% a woman.’ There are many ways to be nonbinary, but for the record, many nonbinary people prefer to be referred to with they/them pronouns. Not all! But, like how men use he/him, or women use she/her, many nonbinary people are referred to with a singular ‘they.’ I am aware my aunt may have had grammar-based arguments complaining about nonbinary people and gender neutral language, but I promise the singular ‘they’ predates my aunt by multiple centuries.

“Genderqueer,” Master Galo said with another slide, “This one goes hand in hand with nonbinary. Effectively, it means ‘neither fully masculine nor fully feminine,’ and is, as the word ‘queer’ might suggest, an inclusive, broad term for people who don’t have a particularly hard line definition for their gender.

“Genderfluid, meaning that a person will shift between genders depending on the day. So like, some days this person would wake up and say ‘I’m a girl today,’ and other days ‘I’m a boy,’ and maybe some days they wouldn’t feel like either of those at all. Again, this varies from person to person, but the general idea is that they flow between genders.

“Agender, meaning they have no gender at all.”

Again, Nyla, Lilah, and Evan’s hands rose. Nyla was surprised to see that even Greyson’s hand lifted, if only a little, on that. Master Galo smiled with a huff, but Nyla didn’t feel threatened. “Let’s go with Greyson, yeah?”

“How would someone simply not have a gender, sir?”

“So, if we’re imagining genders as like a color wheel, agender would be like, white, blank. No color. No gender. People ask them ‘are you a guy or a girl’ and their answer is a flat out ‘no.’”

Nyla was struggling with that. Nyla was struggling with that one pretty hard. Her brain felt tight. She got the concept, but…

“Master?”

“Yes Nyla?”

“Would it be alright if we understood in theory but not in practice?”

“Yeah, this can be hard for people to wrap their heads around, mostly I just want to introduce you to the concepts. That’s perfectly reasonable Nyla.”

Nyla dipped her head in thanks, her family nodding as well. Master Galo flipped the slide.

“Neutrois. Hand in hand with agender, if we’re using the color thing then, like. If agender is white, then neutrois would be black. People who are neutrois might describe their gender as ‘null’ or ‘void’ and other descriptors of the like. Again, I just want to introduce you to the concept, you don’t need to be able to conceptualize it perfectly.

“Okay last one under the trans umbrella,” Master Galo said, “Bigender. Someone who is multiple genders simultaneously. So, for simplicity’s sake, you could say someone who is both a man and a woman at the same time.” Master Galo smiled at them. “There are many other genders people have, but again with this being the introductory course, I just wanted to hit the big ones. Any gender questions?”

Nyla tentatively raised her hand. Master Galo smiled at her, and his expression took the edge off her anxiety.

“So, we know you, had surgery on your chest, sir,” Nyla said, hoping she wasn’t being rude by bringing it up, “do nonbinary people also engage in,” she floundered, not sure what the word for it was, but she wasn’t going to ‘um’ or stutter (even if he’d said it was okay, she could do better, and she would).

“Some do,” Master Galo mercifully cut her off. “Some people are fine looking the way they do, or use cosmetics to accentuate certain features, and some receive surgeries. It all depends on personal comfort. And also sometimes to alter others’ perceptions, I knew someone who had no real issue with their chest but other people would assume they were a girl because of it and surgery was affirming and helpful with other people’s way of viewing them, which in turn lowered their discomfort.”

“And, sir?” Master nodded. “If a person’s name is, very feminine or masculine?”

“Most of us change our names!” he said brightly, “Like how I picked Galo for myself. Many nonbinary people will also change their names to something a little more ‘neutral.’ Again, not all though.”

Evan raised his hand that time. “You picked your own name, sir?”

“Yup! When I started to transition I changed my name. I should show you all the movie it came from sometime; it’s real fun you might enjoy it.”

“Sir?”

“Yeah, bud?”

“What was your name before Galo, sir?” Evan asked. Master Galo made an unidentifiable noise, but Nyla didn’t think that it was good. Her spine lengthened and her hand left Sasha’s on her arm to clench neatly in her lap.

“Sooo, you don’t get to know that,” Master Galo said, ducking his head with a slow gesture of his open palm towards Evan. “The name I had before Galo is what is called a ‘deadname,’ the name a trans person was assigned at birth that has since been put to rest. Again, I know you are being curious and I would definitely like to encourage you to continue asking questions, but, that’s another one of those questions you should not ask anyone who is not me. Asking for someone’s deadname is considered rude, and referring to someone by their deadname is extremely rude and actively malicious.”

“Sir, I wasn’t--”

“Easy, Evan, I know,” Master Galo said with a patient smile. “It’s good that you ask me these questions, and not someone else, because you’re learning, and I know you don’t mean any harm. But, in sum, the name I had before is not relevant, and it is not something to be shared. Any other questions at the moment? We’ve had good ones.”

A brief bout of silence, and Master Galo flipped the screen to the only flag Nyla did recognize.

“Onto sexual orientations! Sexualities, they’re called. You will probably recognize the gay flag, this is another one of those umbrella terms meaning ‘anyone who isn’t straight’ while also having the capacity to mean ‘someone who is exclusively attracted to their own gender.’ It is a term meant for everyone in the community, much the same way queer is. Yes, Evan?”

“Are you gay?”

“No, actually, I’m pretty much straight. I’m aware that men can be attractive but don’t really feel attraction to them.” Master Galo cocked his head. “You worded that kind of intensely there, you alright buddy?”

Evan was already stiff, and Nyla recognized the way his mouth twitched when he was biting down a snarl. “I’m fine.”

The lack of an honorific made the family tense, eyes on Evan because he was, like a moth to flame, doing something stupid again, but Master Galo either ignored it or didn’t notice.

“Cool. So, along with ‘queer community’ and ‘gay community,’ you may or may not have heard the phrase ‘LGBT.’ This stands for Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, and Transgender, and is sort of the most widely-in-use acronym for the queer community.

“Lesbians! What would the world do without them,” Master Galo said, flipping to a slide with lots of pinks and oranges. “Nowadays, lesbian is the word for women who are exclusively interested in other women, but historically it was used to describe any queer woman at all, back before bisexual really entered into people’s vocabularies. For the record: nonbinary people can be and often are lesbians. Anyone who has literally any ties to femininity and is attracted, more or less exclusively, to women and people with ties to femininity, counts as a lesbian.

“Bisexual! People who are attracted to 1. their own gender and 2. other genders. Sometimes it’s phrased as ‘attraction to men and women,’ which, for the record, is a fine way for you to conceptualize it here in the introductory course, but I want to be clear that bisexuality does and always has included nonbinary peeps.” Master Galo smiled. “Bixesual is a perfectly good and normal thing to be; there’s nothing wrong with it,” he said, and if Nyla had to guess she’d say he was deliberately not looking directly at any of them in particular.

“Pansexual! Hand in hand with bisexuality, pansexual people are attracted to others regardless of their gender. It can be difficult to distinguish between the two, but for some people the differences between sexualities are important. For some people, not so much, and they identify as bi and pan simultaneously. Again, we fall back on the ‘it all depends on the person’ idea. I will state that pansexuals are not attracted to everyone, they’re just attracted to every gender. Just because someone is of a certain gender doesn’t mean others won’t still find them ugly.

“Asexual! The umbrella term for people who don’t really feel attraction to other people, no matter the gender. We love respect cherish and support asexual people,” Master Galo said, oddly firm on that one. Lilah raised her hand.

“So, they just, don’t? Anybody? Sir?”

“Yeah, so, like, a straight man would only feel attraction towards women, and no attraction to men. A gay man would feel attraction to men, and no attraction to women. A bisexual man would feel attraction to men and women. And an asexual man would not feel attraction to either.”

Lilah nodded. “Okay, thank you sir.”

“However, ace--asexual--is an umbrella term. There are multiple ways to be asexual.”

Nyla frowned minutely, but then her smile was back in place. She wasn’t really sure how there could be multiple ways to not feel attraction to someone.

“There’s the spectrum of sex-positive, sex-neutral, and sex-repulsed asexuals. Sex-positive asexuals enjoy sex, the action, they just don’t think anybody’s hot. The activity is fun, but no one they look at hits that ‘oh hot I wanna have sex with them’ vibe. Sex-neutral asexuals don’t find anyone attractive, and don’t have any particularly strong feelings towards sex. It’s on par to like, going for a jog or having dinner together. Sort of a bland ‘whatever’ feeling. Sex-repulsed asexuals don’t find anyone attractive and do not, under any circumstances, want to have sex with anyone, ever. All of these are good and well! There’s no ‘wrong’ way to be asexual.”

“Next up we have grey-ace. 99% of the time, they don’t find anyone attractive, but every once in a blue moon they’ll see a person and go ‘oh hot.’ They are still asexual, they just have occassional feelings of attraction to seemingly random people. Or maybe they have a highly specific type! Again, depends on the person.”

“Last up for the ace umbrella, demisexual. Demisexual people are capable of feeling physical attraction, but only after a strong, meaningful, romantic bond has been formed. This is different than waiting in a relationship until you’re close. The person does not feel attraction, at all, until a committed bond has been formed.” Master Galo paused, letting them turn that over in their heads, but when no one asked any questions he flipped the slide once more.

“And wrapping up our crash-course on queer terminology, aromantic. Aromantic is similar to asexuality in all aspects, except that instead of talking about physical attraction, it’s about romance. Some people just do not feel the inclination to form romantic bonds with others. They still might, depending on the person, just like an asexual person still might engage in sexual activity, but the attraction isn’t there. They don’t see people and go ‘I’d like to see if this could work out as a romantic relationship’ they’re just in it for friends. Grey-romantic and demiromantic people are, again, much the same, but with romance, feeling that 99% or only gaining the capacity for a romantic relationship after a strong, meaningful, committed bond of friendship has been formed.”

Master Galo took a big breath. “Any questions?” he asked with a proud smile.

Nyla honestly felt like she had too much information rattling around in her brain to even begin formulating a question, but Evan raised his hand.

“I don’t mean to be rude, sir,” Evan said, sounding like he was struggling not to grit his teeth.

“I know. Go ahead.”

“So, since you’re a transman, and you’re straight, then you’re only attracted to women..?”

“Yep!”

“And then, if a woman is attracted to you..?” Evan trailed off.

“That would still be considered ‘straight’ attraction, yep. The woman in question might be straight, or bi, or pan, or maybe ace! It’s all up to her. But her attraction to me would be ‘opposite-sex attraction’ yeah.”

“Was that rude sir?”

“No, no, you’re good, bud. And now you know!”

“Thank you sir.”

“Of course! I’m glad you’re asking questions. Anyone else?”

Another beat of silence.

“Alright, cool, good talk team. To wrap it all up, there are all sorts of ways people can experience gender and attraction, and none of them are wrong. Everything I talked about today is good, natural, and worthy of respect. Go ahead and let me know if you ever have questions in the future, I’m perfectly willing to talk about it.”

He took in a deep breath.

“The queer community has long faced oppression on a global scale. However, many cultures saw queerness as natural and didn’t much question it until, ah, interlopers became involved, and rerouted the course of history. But regardless of acceptance or ostricization, all cultures have their own queer histories, their own words and perceptions.

“In recent years, and I mean really recent, queer people have started making great strides in changing legislation and public opinion of us towards the positive, though we still face a number of obstacles. You have probably noted that I am not fond of police. This is in no small part due to the fact that I am transgender. And then of course people like my aunt and various religious institutions will also condemn myself and my peers, due to malicious misconceptions or just straight up bigotry.

“So I understand why you all may… struggle, with this information, for a bit. But I assure you, nothing is as bad as my aunt made it out to be, and if you ever want to know more I’m happy to talk with you about it.” Master Galo beamed and propped his hands on his hips. “Which about wraps this up.”

The doorbell rang. Everyone, including Master Galo, tensed.

“I think I’ll answer that,” he said. “Uh, dismissed? No, wait, wait here, we’ve got a group project I wanna work on this afternoon.”

Nyla was not in a habit of thanking god for much of anything, but she thanked god for that. Finally, a task.

Master Galo made a pleased noise and a bit of chatter Nyla could identify as friendly, there was the sound of something heavy hitting the floor, then the door swinging closed.

She was on her feet and smiling when he returned, leaning his big arm on the doorway and looking happy. “Sweet, so, the stuff we ordered has started to arrive, which leads me to another thing I wanted to talk about!”

Master Galo rounded back in front of the couch where he’d been, clapping his hands together and smiling. Nyla tentatively sat back down. ‘So! I would first like to establish that I am not suggesting you break up your current sleeping arrangement. However, you’re not gonna be able to fit all the stuff you collectively ordered into that one room without it turning into a nightmare, so I’ve thought about it and it’s my idea that you all should have rooms that are your own space. Not to sleep in, obviously, just rooms that you can use to store your stuff and you can decorate them to your own interests and you’ll have a private area you can go to if you need alone time. Sound good?” Master Galo asked, looking to Nyla, to Lilah, scanning over the group.

“You are quite generous, Master,” Nyla said, but no, no, that wasn’t quite right, for him. “Thank you,” she tried again, simpler, far too rude for Mistress, but for Master…

He smiled at her, pat her on the head far too briefly, and said, “You’re welcome. Let’s go check out what arrived, yeah?”

All of Nyla’s dresses, the skirts and top Sasha had ordered from that company, and a couple of Lilah’s things were in the first two boxes, and Evan’s t-shirts and jeans were in the third. “Sorry Greyson, looks like your stuff isn’t here yet.”

Greyson nodded, outwardly impassive, and given that it had barely been his idea to order anything at all that made sense. Nyla and the others followed Master Galo to the basement, their Master helping Evan down and hastening the process, and showed them the rooms he’d selected for them. Nyla hesitantly stepped into “hers.”

It felt wrong. She’d cleaned and examined this room countless times before, but now, standing inside it felt incorrect.

The bed had been folded up into a couch, which was standard for the beds housed in the series of apartments in the basement. The sitting area and kitchenette that existed in the middle of these rooms were indicative that these were for long-term guests, not, not slaves. The closet, filled with more hangars than she remembered, the dresser, the small desk, they were for people, not Nyla.

Except, apparently, they were for Nyla now.

“Oh, shoot, that lock is totally broken,” Master Galo’s voice came from elsewhere in the apartments, “Here, go for this room, then, sorry I totally hadn’t noticed that earlier.”

A broken lock? It was something Nyla had failed to notice, too. Her heart rate accelerated and her head felt tight; Mistress would cane her for missing something so obvious, but she deliberately swallowed and took a deep breath. Master Galo was not Mistress. She couldn’t keep expecting him to act like her.

He was so much kinder. Gentle, and careful, with a sweet voice and warm hands that only ever touched her--

Nyla yanked a hangar off the closet’s bar with far too much force, utterly graceless, and it caused all the other hangars to clatter together and make a right ruckus. Her heart picked back up again, because she was clumsy, noisy, a fumbling little blushing nuisance! She unfolded her first dress and willed herself to remember that making noise was okay, it was allowed now, she could make noise and still be perfect, no one was mad at her, no one was going to come hurt her.

And where was her smile!?

She really was falling to pieces, she thought to herself, pulling another hangar off the rod properly and fitting another dress onto it. Smiling. She was smiling, she was grateful for this unexpected and unasked for privilege (weren’t they supposed to ask for things? Why was this happening unprompted?!), she was graceful and perfect and, fine. She was fine. Her temples felt tight, but she was smiling and composed and fine.

It really was satisfying to see her dresses hung up all neatly, though. When her skirts and sweaters and undershirts arrived, she’d be able to finish filling the closet, and it would look so neat and it would be hers and it was selfish, to be so vain and materialistic, but maybe since Master Galo had ordered it, that meant it was okay?

She rubbed at her right eye and stroked her hand down the material of the first dress, admiring the ruffles around the neckline and the neat, black stripes of the sewn-in green vest. She would get to wear that. She would get to wear all of them, with their pretty patterns and their pleated skirts and their ruffles and lace and bows.

It felt far too pretty for the likes of her.

She wished she knew how to properly show her Master gratitude.

She wanted, she--wanted. She didn’t want to be caned or cut or bleed or cry, but she wanted to do something, something physical, something to show just how much she appreciated everything he was doing for them, to make him happy, like he’d made her happy.

But what did a slave have to give, except her body and her service? He’d already made it clear that he didn’t want either of those, aside from her now mind-numbing chores, and that was hardly something to make him happy. More of just an expected base behavior out of her, out of all of them.

She didn’t know his favorite foods; Greyson never reported any particular signs of delight no matter what Sasha tried, at least nothing that stood out from his regular compliments. She didn’t have any way to engage with his hobbies. She couldn’t kneel at his feet and beg him to hurt her with her lips on his shoe. His base state of friendly and cheery made it impossible to tell what he liked best. The only real, solid thing she knew he liked was when they asked him for things, and it was the receiving of things that Nyla wanted to express gratitude for!

It was the weirdest, strangest, most unfamiliar form of frustration she’d ever felt. Maybe--maybe it wouldn’t count as Attending him if she offered a massage? Greyson was better at it than her, and she hadn’t had much practice in the last decade and a half aside from occasionally working a knot out of Sasha’s shoulder or soothing the nerves out of Evan or Lilah. But she’d been trained properly, and she could quickly skim an internet article sometime to refresh herself.

Oh but if Master Galo figured out she was trying to Attend him, even just a little, he might get mad, and she wouldn’t be able to handle that. She would just have to be extra-perfect for him. Sit and not kneel, smile, be unobtrusive but able to fulfil his every whim or need, maybe ask him for things? But what else could she possibly want that he hadn’t already given her?

She brushed down her apron and left “her room,” walking primly to the family bedroom and pulling out all the clothes from her drawer, which were smaller in number now that her other dress had been sliced open. She went ahead and grabbed Evan’s clothes too, and Master Galo was in the sitting area in the middle of “their rooms” when she walked back. She nodded to him, and he smiled at her before tilting his head and gesturing at the clothes in her arms.

“What’s that?”

“My clothes, as well as Evan’s, sir, from the shared dresser.”

“Oh, good memory,” he praised before returning to his phone, and she couldn’t help but flush faintly under his casual approval. She went into “Evan’s room” and found him sitting on the couch, elbow on his good knee and hands pressed together in front of his face. He looked mad.

“Are you alright?” she asked quietly, so faint ideally their Master would be unable to hear. He looked up at her, dark eyes glinting with what she just knew meant trouble, and hauled himself up onto his crutches. He made as though to walk past her, and Nyla turned in confused alarm, which morphed into full alarm when he closed the door.

“Evan! Master Galo is--”

“Right there, yeah I know,” Evan said, voice mercifully quiet even though he flipped the lock. Nyla could scream if she wasn’t rooted to the spot in shock. Evan took the clothes that were his and gave her a brief “thanks” before he threw them on the floor.

“Evan,” Nyla hissed in bubbling horror, staring at the rumpled fabric.

“Hey, it’s ‘my’ room, right?” Evan sneered as he sat back down with a heavy thump, wincing when he jostled his wound. “Which means I can make a mess of it if I want, right?!”

“Evan, these rooms are gifts--”

“That we didn’t fucking ask for. We’re supposed to ask, right?”

“He told us, it’s because we don’t have space in the main room for the things we did ask for!” Nyla hissed, “And keep your voice down!” She didn’t mention that she’d been having the same doubts. She was trembling, clutching her clothes to her chest. “I--I need to go. I need to finish putting my things away.”

She stepped away from him, needing to pause at the door to summon her smile, to suppress her wild shivers, to take a deep breath and gather herself, and when she flipped the lock she heard Evan call after her, “I’m sorry.”

She turned back again, carefully crafted smile slipping, and Evan had his face in his hand, the other clutching the edge of the cushion. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’m just--sorry. I’m sorry Nyla.” He ran his fingers back into his hair and gripped, hard, pulling at his roots. “I’m sorry.”

Her shoulders dropped, chest squeezing, and she swaned over to him, dropping to her knees in front of him. He startled, letting go of his hair, and she reached up her free hand to cup his face. He closed his eyes as she leaned up and kissed his cheek, and nuzzled his face against hers as he pet a hand down her hair.

“Just try to work through whatever this is before you leave the room, okay?” she asked softly, trying to be gentle with him, to not get scared and frustrated like she normally felt when he got like this. Master Galo wouldn’t hurt him like Mistress did; she didn’t need to be scared, didn’t need to be frustrated with Evan because he had more time now. “Master Galo’s in the sitting area.”

“Yeah,” Evan answered her, finger combing his bangs to the side. “Yeah. Sorry. I will.”

She kissed his forehead as she stood, and was able to summon her smile much easier this time. She rubbed at her right eye, brushed down her skirt, and went back to “her room” to finish hanging up her clothes and arranging her underthings in the drawers.

When she finished, she skimmed her fingers over the dustless wood of the dresser. “Her” dresser. Pink with floral designs, old fashioned and expensive, an ‘antique’ that was as good as new. It was… surreal. She left the room, crossed to her Master, and slipped to her knees, then rump, to sit next to his feet. Her hands folded neatly in her lap, and she blinked away the weird feeling in her eye.

“Thank you, Master,” she said again, wishing she could say it better, express it better.

“Yeah, you’re welcome,” he said gently, leaning forward in his seat and petting his fingers through her hair. She allowed herself to tilt her head, eyes slipping closed, and she savored the touch. His knee was right there, it would be all too easy for her to lean in and lay her head against it. But no, no, she was better than that. He hadn’t expressed a desire for her to submit to him in that way and she was going to be perfect for him.

“Master,” she started, reminding herself that he liked questions, that technically all times were good times and she couldn’t pester him with too many, “is there a way you would like to be thanked? I am grateful, and want to show it to you properly.”

“No, Nyla, you don’t need to,” he said gently, and he sounded almost sad. “Just saying ‘thank you’ is enough.”

She tried not to feel disappointed. At the very least, she wouldn’t show it. “As you like, sir.”

The others joined them, Sasha sitting as close to Nyla as she dared, Greyson kneeling at Master Galo’s other side, Lilah sitting on the couch in a way that made them all panic slightly but reaped no consequences. When Evan joined them, a noticeable stretch of time later, Master Galo made no comment on his late appearance, only smiled and put his phone away.

“Great, you’re all here. So, about the project I mentioned. You may have noticed the dumpster out front. I would like everyone to please work together and move all of my aunt’s canes, chains, whips, restraints, muzzles, cages, knives, and the like into the dumpster. Anything she used with the purpose of hurting or humiliating you, I would like to see go. I’ve got a power drill and I’m gonna work on her, uh, dungeon, and rip up those D rings in the den and music room, but just, like. Anything you can think of. Anything used with the purpose of you guys’ pain. Get rid of it, please.”

Someday, Nyla would stop being surprised by all of Master Galo’s many surprises.

Even so, an order was an order, and like many of Master Galo’s commands she found this one easy enough to obey. Nyla rose with all her grace, curtsied, and walked a direct path up two flights of stairs to the fireplace in Mistress’s boudoir.

Mistress had never used the fire pokers on Nyla. Lilah, sure, Evan, occasionally, but Nyla had kept herself perfect, too perfect to burn. But the fear, the ever present knowledge that she could burn, at any moment, at her Mistress’s slightest whim, the moment she stopped being flawlessly, untouchably perfect, had kept her tense as a coiled wire. She stopped by the main floor’s fireplace and grabbed those pokers too, one set in each fist, and all too gleefully hoisted them into the dumpster out front.

She diligently visited every fireplace in the house, after that, removing everything that could and would have burned her, had she not kept herself perfectly poised on her self-made pedestal. Evan was in Mistress’s room, Lilah the den, Sasha the music room. Greyson, Nyla wasn’t sure where he’d gone, but wasn’t going to get bent out of shape over it. She rubbed her right eye, then temple, and returned to the basement.

Master Galo’s power drill was loud, making her wince and the space behind her eyes sting, but she entered the Punishment Room regardless. He’d collected a small pile near the door: the shackles he’d removed from their anchors in the wall, the thin mats Nyla was pretty sure were intended for yoga that had served as sleeping pallets to the two cells, the oil and wax sconces and dishes that had hung from the walls and ceiling. The wooden horse. All of the tools, the whips and floggers and knives. Nyla gathered up an armful, and Master Galo paused in his drilling to smile at her.

“Hey, thanks.”

“Of course, Master. Do you require any other assistance?”

“No, I think I’m good. Dismantling my evil aunt’s evil shit is kinda cathartic, really.”

Nyla bowed, and trotted back up the steps with her load of chains and whips and manacles. It was satisfying to hear them clatter down into the dumpster. She felt weird. Good?? Strange.

“Oh, are you hauling stuff for Master Galo?” Evan asked. Nyla nodded with an affirming noise. “Great, so he’ll stay down there. Lilah, hand me that cane, Grey, don’t throw that in yet.”

Nyla looked and saw that Greyson had brought the dog cages up from the utility room. Greyson cocked his head at Evan, but set them down on the drive. Evan, crutch under one arm and heavy, metal cane in his dominant hand, proceeded to beat the shit out of the cages.

The family mostly just stood there, and watched, as he reduced the cages to little more than messy heaps of broken wire. He was panting, hard, by the end of it, and tossed the cane into the dumpster.

“Did you reopen your--” Lilah asked, cut off by Evan’s, “I’m fine.”

“Okay, it just looks like you might’ve ripped a stitch out, from all’a that.”

“Even if I did, I wouldn’t have done any differently,” Evan said, laughing a little and pulling Lilah in for a hug. “Fuck, that felt really good. You guys should try that.”

“I think th-that’s a y-you thing,” Sasha remarked, and Nyla chuckled. Then giggled. She rubbed at her eye, and headed back inside to grab another armload from the basement. She got the wooden horse up under her arm and shimmy-stepped her way up, the thing large and cumbersome but she couldn’t wait to get it out of the house. Greyson helped her lift it into the dumpster, and Nyla grabbed a third round.

It was on her way back down to grab a fourth armful that the pain struck her, right as her foot came down on the top step. She recognized it instantly for what it was. Ordinary pain was, in a rather hard to describe manner, very different from migraine pain. It was impossible to confuse the two.

A migraine. She was having a migraine. Oh of course, her head had felt tight all day! And her eye, that was her aura, oh, she was so stupid! How could she not have seen this coming?

Oh, god, the pain was settling in fast this time, too. It never set in all at once, but the speed was less gradual than usual, right then. She whimpered. The basement would be no good. Master Galo was using power tools down there, right across the hall from the family bedroom. Her normal migraine spot, under her nice, dark, quiet bed, wouldn’t work this time.

Think, she had a limited amount of time before the pain got bad. Where should she go? The butterfly room? That was nice and dark, no windows, but would it be quiet? She naturally gravitated towards the idea of a bathroom, where the tile would feel cool against her forehead and she could turn off the lights. Upstairs, probably, she went upstairs, hoping to escape the noise of things landing in the dumpster and her family moving and talking around her. Near the back of the house, not the front, not near the driveway. The bathroom off the lilac bedroom? She went straight for it, closing her right eye since she couldn’t really see all that well out of it.

God, it hurt so bad. She closed the door, plunging the bathroom into merciful blackness. It was quiet, just what she needed, her family and Master would be busy for a while yet, they wouldn’t need to come looking for her. She could just stay where she was, curled up against the bathroom floor, in the dark, in the silence.

God, god it hurt.

And she knew it was only going to get worse.

Galo had the bars unscrewed and the dungeon stripped down to nothing more than walls, the floor, and an archaic looking chandelier that he did not have the electrical expertise to deal with. He needed someone with, like, training to deal with that.

Nyla hadn’t come back for a while yet.

Which, okay, it was a big house and she probably had plenty of grudges to act out against inanimate objects, but it was weird that Nyla of all people would start helping haul away the stuff he piled up and then stop midway through. It wasn’t like her.

And when Galo’s brain told him to worry, he was starting to come to terms with the fact that it was usually right. Did it count as anxiety when it was true?

He hauled up a load after scanning the basement, and finding no one there. He got rid of the evil library books as he paced through the first floor, as well as the armchair from the den. He found Greyson and Evan, but no Nyla. Hrm. He asked if Greyson would please take care of the D rings in the den and Evan volunteered himself, which, whatever worked. Upstairs he ran into Sasha in the music room, and he pried up the D rings like he said he would since she didn’t exactly seem like the type for power tools, and was glad to hand the task over to Lilah when she gravitated towards him, leaving the drill in her capable hands.

But where was Nyla?

It was ridiculous to think that she’d been kidnapped by Barbra but Galo couldn’t help but jump to that conclusion. He stalked through the second floor, trying not to be visibly distressed lest he upset the other slaves, but running out of places to look. He opened the door of a guest bathroom, if only for the reason that it was closed, and his eyes widened with horror to see his girl lying in the fetal position on the floor.

“Nyla!” he shouted, rushing forward and dropping to his knees. She flinched, worse than he’d ever seen her jump, and curled in tighter, a muted scream passing her lips, and Galo’s panic bubbled over.

“Nyla, Nyla what’s wrong, what happened?!”

“Please!” she begged, sounding so small. “Please, please no, migraine, Master, please stop!”

Oh--oh. Oh, and his yelling would only have made it worse.

“Shit, I’m so sorry,” he whispered, guilt consuming him as he bent and caught sight of her silent tears. “What do you need, what helps?”

Galo didn’t know anything about migraines, other than “head hurt.” He knew they were awful, horrible things, and Nyla deserved to never ever have one. But he didn’t know--would medicine help? Was this one of those things that nothing helped, and she’d just have to wait it out? How long did they last? An hour? Should he touch her?

“Painkillers. Dark. Quiet. W--” she choked on a sob, high and pained and Galo’s heart broke into a thousand pieces. “Water, please, cold.”

“Okay, okay, I’ll go get painkillers and a glass of ice water? Do you--is the bathroom good? Is this a good place for you to be?”

“My bed,” she whined, hands over her eyes and body trembling faintly.

“Okay,” Galo said, mindful of each word, keeping his voice as quiet as possible. “Can--can you walk? Should I carry you? Should I touch you at all?”

“Just, don’t rattle me, please, don’t--hit my head, please, Master--”

“Never,” Galo breathed, and his heart broke all over again, to know that she still feared him so much, that Nyla had so little trust that she thought he would ever hurt her, much less when she was like this. “Never, Nyla, please, please believe that. I will never hit you.”

Nyla’s breath hitched, a little gaspy inhale, and then she slowly reached one hand out, and gripped Galo by the pant leg. Galo froze, standing on the edge of a brand new precipice, and tried to make his brain work, tried to think fast for once in his goddamn life, but his brain continued its sloth impression and he couldn’t process what this meant, though he felt its importance.

“Help me,” she begged, though it felt more like an admission than a plea.

“Please, I don’t want the others to see me like this; I hate it when they see me like this,” she continued, and that felt closer to normal.

“Okay, okay, I can’t promise we’ll be able to avoid them but I’ll try my best. I’m going to pick you up now, alright?”

“Okay,” she whispered, barely moving her lips, but he understood why she wouldn’t want to nod her head, right then. Carefully, he gathered her up in his arms and stood. She curled in immediately, pressing her face into the crook of his neck, and he felt like he was holding the most breakable, easily-shattered entity in the universe. He felt a surge of protectiveness, a bone-deep need to take care of her, to make it better in any way he could.

When they passed by the music room, its door open and Lilah inside with the drill, Nyla whimpered and pressed her hands hard against her ears. She wasn’t just pressing her face into his shoulder at that point, it was like she was actively trying to burrow into him, curled up so tight and stiff against him he felt she might shatter. He moved away from there as fast as he could, wanting to spare her everything he was able to. He tried to keep his gait smooth as he walked, slow on the stairs, and he actually did manage to avoid running into any of the others slaves.

He settled her down onto the cool sheets of her bed, wishing the slaves had softer pillows and wondering if he could get them any without them freaking out about it, and settled a palm between her shoulderblades.

“I’m gonna get that glass of water and those painkillers. Do you need anything else?”

“The blinds,” Nyla gasped softly, and Galo shut the blinds of the tiny skylight tightly, angled up so practically no light filtered in at all. He moved quickly, giving Greyson a probably-unconvincing smile as he passed him, but Nyla had asked that the others not know, so Galo wasn’t going to say anything. When he returned, he helped her sit up and handed her the medicine and the cup. The cool water seemed to help.

Galo knelt by the bedside, elbows and forearms laid out in front of him on the mattress and his chin on the sheets. He stared worriedly at Nyla’s face, and wasn’t even thinking when he reached out and stroked a hand over her hair.

Realizing halfway through what he’d done, he snatched his hand back with a quietly hissed, “Shit, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to touch your head.”

“T--” Nyla swallowed, “Touch is fine, Master. Just, no… patting, or, percussion. Touch feels, good sir.”

“Yeah?” Galo whispered, no more than a breath. “Would you like me to stay with you?” he asked quietly, stroking a gentle palm down from the back of her head to mid-spine.

“...Yes,” she admitted tremulously. “But--they last a while, Master.”

“Shhh,” Galo hushed, “I’ll stay. The others are busy and they’ll be fine, just focus on you for a little while, shh.”

Galo pet gently at Nyla’s hair, her shoulders, her back, needing to reposition a couple different times as certain parts of his body got tired or sore or lost blood flow. By the end of the first hour, Galo’s anxious concern had burned itself out, and the mild worry that remained was going to bat pretty hard with his boredom. By the end of the second hour, he’d fallen into a light doze and had been there for a while, his hand covering Nyla’s much smaller one, his thumb stroking very, very slowly over the skin on the back of her hand. He was fully asleep by hour three, Nyla’s fingers curled around his tighter than she’d ever dared before, so what a shame that he was asleep for it.

His impromptu nap came to an abrupt end when Nyla shifted, eyes flicking open but otherwise staying exactly where he was. Oh his neck was gonna have a SERIOUS crick in it.

“Nyla?” he asked softly, “Do you need anything?”

She shook her head slowly, and he perked up to see her voluntarily moving it. “It’s mostly gone now, Master.” She sat up very, very slowly, rubbing at her neck, and Galo mirrored her from his spot on the floor.

“Okay, that’s good,” Galo said, still speaking quietly, “Is it like, a fade-out kind of thing?”

“Yes sir,” she said, slowly stretching out her legs and wincing a little.

“How’re you feeling?”

“Sore, sir. And hungry, and--exhausted.”

She sounded tired. Galo was pretty sure he’d never heard her sound quite this tired. Carefully, watching her face for any sign of a negative reaction, he reached up and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear.

“I’ll get you something to eat, yeah?” he offered softly. “You can stay here and rest.”

Nyla shook her head again.

“I can get up, sir. I don’t want to trouble you and the others will have noticed our absence and I need to walk out the stiffness and eating here would get crumbs in the bed, Master.”

Well, Galo could only really argue with one of those, but doubted Nyla would buy that she wasn’t causing him any trouble anyway. He stood, his own body protesting the movement, and stretched his arms up high above his head.

“Thank you.”

Galo glanced down, letting his arms drop, and smiled kindly when Nyla didn’t continue.

“Of course, Nyla, I’m here for you if you ever need me.” Then, because Galo was allergic to Emotional Moments, “Sooo, are we telling your friends we got abducted by aliens for the last,” he glanced at the time, “three and a half hours, or?”

Nyla giggled weakly, which, ten points to Gryffindor!

“I don’t mind them knowing, sir. It’s just when I have the migraine that I…”

“Okay, that makes sense,” Galo said. Not wanting to be seen while vulnerable.

So what does that mean that she let me? he thought with a flip in his stomach, but pushed the thought from his head.

Sasha seemed anxious when they entered the kitchen, but interestingly enough that anxiety did not seem to spike when she caught sight of Galo. Though that might have been because she simultaneously caught sight of Nyla, who was, as near as Galo could tell, Sasha’s main comfort in life. Best friend? Were they best friends? They might be best friends.

Galo wished he knew more about the lives of the people he Literally Lived With.

“Migraine,” Nyla said with a tight smile, by way of explanation, “Master Galo helped me.”

That did successfully key Sasha up, and Galo smiled, lips pressed thin. He should leave. His presence was an intrusion and would only make them feel like they couldn’t talk freely.

“I’ll leave you to it, then?” Galo offered, moving away from Nyla and sliding his hands into his pockets. Open. Nonthreatening. He knew when he wasn’t wanted.

“You don’t have to, Master.” Or maybe he didn’t. “I’m sure you’re hungry too, sir.”

Nyla sounded uncharacteristically nervous, but that also made sense. She was vulnerable, at the moment, fresh off a migraine and not at her absolute best.

So why was she asking him to stay, then? He wished he knew what she was thinking.

“Yeah?” he asked, searching her face and then Sasha’s, who seemed more shocked than anything. “Okay, cool. We can eat together.”

It was stiff.

Which, yeah, expected. Nyla apparently got peanut butter cravings post-migraine, which, huh! Who knew people got cravings after demon headaches, not Galo!

Sasha did not like that Galo was there. Galo did not fault her for that one bit. Nyla was coming down off a migraine and Galo was preventing Sasha from fussing over her, and Sasha really only seemed to know what to do about him in the mornings because they’d had their nice routine and Galo really didn’t hang out in the kitchen beyond that. He should, like, dedicate some time to Sasha. Lock himself in the bathroom and let her sniff him through the door, he thought with a private chuckle to himself.

He now understood why Lilah had asked for extra kitchen stools, since there was quite literally only the one. Galo had the closest thing to an argument that he’d had, with Nyla, firmly insisting that she be the one to seat herself, then awkwardly stooped over the counter with all his bulk and height.

“Ahaha,” Galo ‘laughed’ self-consciously with a rub to the back of his head. Maybe he should’a sat after all. “Sorry, don’t mean to loom imposingly. Really, I can just… head out.”

Sasha looked away, lips thin, but Nyla’s eyes remained on him.

“You, are not all that imposing. Sir.”

Galo blinked, and was peripherally aware that Sasha was now also looking at Nyla like she’d spouted a second head. Nyla was flushed, and staring at Galo’s shoulder rather than his face, but swallowed and continued.

“When you first arrived, the size of you was frightening, sir,” she said, her voice quiet but Galo was far too enraptured to have missed even a single word. “But you kept Barbara from stealing me, and rescued Evan, and yesterday you gave Greyson both comfort and lenience.”

Nyla reached out her hand and placed it, very delicately, on top of Galo’s on the counter, Galo’s eyes tracking the movement in a fashion that might be described as gobsmacked.

“You have always been kind to us, Master. Stay.”

“Oh,” he said, as something important clicked in place.

#whump #slavery #slave whump #gw #nyla #galo #greyson #evan #sasha #lilah #migraines #aftermath of torture #multiple whumpees #mine #writing #my friend and her husband both get migraines and let me pick them for research purposes #i'm so sick of looking at this #*flings it into the void of tumblr* take it

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