#first thing i saw when i opened up instagram after an eighteen hour flight… the universe said have a treat

[kensatou]

LET MEN WEAR SLUTTY LITTLE SPORTS BRAS

[let-it-raines]

Walking the Baseline (Year 2012)

Chapter Summary: He’s seen her around. Of course he has. They walk in the same circles, play at all of the same combined tournaments, and they have mutual friends. It’s not until they both win the Australian Open and start talking over Instagram that Killian Jones gets to know Emma Swan. He doesn’t expect one message to turn into more, and he certainly doesn’t expect to find himself knowing who Emma is when she’s not got a racket in her hands. 

Even more, he doesn't expect to let her know who he is off the court when that's a secret he holds close to the vest.

Rating: Teen-ish. 

a/n: I told you guys I had more Walking the Baseline coming, and I meant it! I did not expect you guys to be so excited about this universe, but you’re always blowing me away! So, here’s their story for part of the year 2012, four years before the events of Walking the Baseline and the RIO Olympics. 

You do not need to have read the original one-shot to understand. If you haven’t, well, that just means you’ll be surprised with the ending of this collection 😂

Found on AO3: 2012 | 2013 | 2014 | 2015 | 2016 (Part One) | 2016 (Part Two)

-/-

2012.

“You look nice, Swan.”

She’s standing in front of him in a pair of long white paints and a matching white shirt that bares her midriff. Her lips are painted red, her blonde hair long and curled. It’s different to how he usually sees her, but the same can be said for him as he adjusts his jacket sleeves. They spend their lives in athletic wear with sweat an almost constant companion. They do not spend their lives dressed up like this.

“Same to you. How are you not dripping in sweat?”

“Oh, I bloody well am. It’s hidden under the jacket.”

Emma laughs and flips her hair off her neck. “Damn Australian summers. Been trying to kill me since I was eighteen.”

“But now you’re the queen of the court. Congratulations, by the way. That was a damn good match.”

She smiles and adjusts her trophy as he does the same, the flashes of photographers surrounding them and the water behind them. They’ve both done their individual photographs but are now doing promotion for the tournament and Nike, their clothing sponsor. Killian has the beginnings of a long flight today, and Emma has an even longer one to America. He believes she lives in Florida, but it could also be New York. Maybe California. He’ll ask Ariel if she knows, because he already knows she will have the answer to every question he asks. His manager knows everything there is to know about everybody. Somewhere in that brain of hers, Ariel Fisher has a file on Emma Swan that Killian has never bothered to ask about.

It’s not that he’s never been intrigued. She’s a damn good tennis player and a successful one at that. He’s watched her rise to the top of their sport for years now, and while they’ve done a few photo shoots and charity matches together, they’re never talked much outside of a professional capacity. He knows her brother is her coach and she’s close to Ruby Lucas, another player, and he’s read a little about her upbringing. That’s something she keeps close to the vest, but he gets it. He does the same thing. That isn’t the easiest when you’re on the world’s stage like they are. Now, everyone has to know the details of personal lives of athletes, and it makes staying private difficult when you have to brand yourself to get sponsors. Killian would rather run for five hours over doing an interview, especially now that he’s given twenty interviews since the championship last night.

It’s media overload in every way.

“Congratulations to you. I may have slept through half your match, but what I saw was good.”

“Thanks,” Killian laughs, scratching his chin. “I’m terrified that if I sit down, I won’t be able to get back up.”

“Oh, that’s definitely a risk. David had to slide me out of the bed this morning. I’m only wearing this because I was too lazy to shave. I was pretty sure I’d have to have help.”

He bites his tongue to keep from making the comment he wants to make and turns back to the camera, smiling and nodding, following the rest of the instructions. He and Emma are quickly pulled in different directions to finish out their obligations, and before he knows it, he’s on a plane, flying away from Australia. It’s been a month since he’s been home, and Oxshott has never seemed so good even if there is no one at home waiting to greet him.

-/-

Killian grabs a sweater from the shelf, pulling it over his shoulders, and heads downstairs where he fixes himself a cup of tea and settles on his couch, his television playing in the background. It’s been a long day. His first day back training after a week break nearly killed his knees, but that’s over now. He’s put in his time on the court and at the gym, and no one is going to bother him for the rest of the day. He’s muted Ariel’s name in his phone, and if she really needs him, she’ll call him from Eric’s phone.

God does he hope she doesn’t need him tonight.

Nemo better not either because Killian does not want to see his coach’s face again until early tomorrow morning.

Despite his sweater, he’s still chilled. Going from an Australian summer to a British winter is quite the adjustment. It’s nearly as bad as the jetlag.

Killian’s phone dings in his hand, and he dreads what message he’s surely gotten. He expects it to be Ariel from Eric’s phone, but it’s an Instagram message.

@EmmaSwan: Whoever said @KillianJones was photogenic needs to take a serious look at these photos.

He looks at the photographs, and it’s a series of horribly awkward faces he’s made. He remembers this moment of the shoot. A bug kept trying to fly into his mouth, and at one point, it succeeded. Emma looks great in them, laughing with a bright smile, and she’s right: there’s no part of him that’s photogenic there.

@KillianJones: So you’re saying there are people out there who think I’m photogenic?

Her reply comes instantly.

@EmmaSwan: Well, there were! ;)

Killian laughs and then clicks on her profile, scrolling through. She has several pictures from her win, a few training videos, but mostly it’s pictures of her with some of the women she’s friends with on tour or her brother and sister-in-law. His page is so different in that it’s made up of a majority of tennis photos. He doesn’t share much about his personal life there because there isn’t much to share lately, and when there was, he didn’t want the world to know who he was dating. They did, of course. There were few ways to hide it all when he had photographers literally hiding in bushes, but he imagines if it was a relationship he truly held sacred, he would find a way to keep it hidden away.

Milah was the last person he would have wanted that with, but she was a fan of the attention. She still is if what he sees around is any indication. She married some older man who is worth millions, but other than that, Killian tries not to keep up with her. Some days it goes better than others, but being disconnected from the world does help.

Social media definitely doesn’t.

And after looking at Emma’s profile a little more carefully, he realizes her profile is more private than he thought. In some way, every photo that has a person in it relates back to tennis.

Killian exits out of the app and goes to the link Ariel sent him of all the photos from his shoot with Emma. He clicks on it and tries to find one where she looks bad. It takes awhile, damn gorgeous woman, but he eventually finds one where the wind blew her hair in front of her and she’s making an awful face. It’s perfect, and Killian quickly saves it and a nicer photo to his phone before uploading them to Instagram.

@KillianJones: @EmmaSwan, if only your serve was as big as your hair.

@EmmaSwan direct messaged you.

@EmmaSwan: My serve stats are better than your serve stats.

@KillianJones: Lies.

@EmmaSwan: Okay, well, my hair is also better than your hair.

@KillianJones: Eh, I wouldn’t say that either.

@EmmaSwan: My ass is better than your ass.

@KillianJones: Now, I will fully agree with that.

@EmmaSwan: Isn’t it, like, midnight in England? What are you doing up, old man?

@KillianJones: Watching TV and having a cuppa. Truly exciting times here.

@EmmaSwan has added a picture to this chat.

It’s a shot of her legs, her feet resting on the court. There’s a pool of sweat underneath her, and he is not jealous. It’s February, and while he knows she lives in south Florida – he did ask Ariel – it shouldn’t be warm enough for anyone to sweat that much unless they put in a massive amount of effort.

He must be getting old for this game if just thinking about that makes him want to retire, but there’s no way in hell that’s happening anytime soon. He told Liam he would play until he no longer had a passion for the game.

That hasn’t happened yet.

@EmmaSwan: I’m making my mark on this court. I cannot wait to be in my pajamas watching TV tonight. If I can get up from this chair.

@KillianJones: I’m sure you can slide home in that lovely pool of sweat.

@EmmaSwan: Honestly, I have thought about it.

@EmmaSwan: I’ve got to practice my shitty serve, but I’ll think of smacking your face every time I do it. I’m sure my numbers will be higher than ever.

@KillianJones: Anything I can do to help.

-/-

“How do you eat your strawberries?”

“With my fingers,” Killian says, arching his brow at such a ridiculous question.

“You’re supposed to say with cream.”

Killian spins around behind him, and he immediately sees Emma Swan walking toward him. He hasn’t seen her in months as the tours haven’t had a joint tournament since Australia, but they’ve been chatting pretty regularly over Instagram. He’s never liked the app, but it’s one of his most used ones now.

“Excuse me, lass?”

“You’re doing a promotion for Wimbledon, idiot. They want all of us to say we eat our strawberries with cream.”

“I actually don’t love the cream.”

Emma mock gasps, covering her chest with her hands, before stepping up to him and giving him a quick hug he’s sure is for the cameras surrounding them. “Well, they should kick you out of England for saying something like that.”

“Believe me, they’ve tried, but I chained myself to the ground to keep it from happening.”

“I’m sure we could find you a place here if we had to.”

“Your place?” Killian jokes.

“In your dreams, Jones.” Emma widens her smile before turning to the camera. “I’d eat my strawberries with cream, just in case you want to use me for the promotions instead of this shameful excuse for a Brit.”

“Actually,” the producer behind the camera says, “we have a game that we’d love for the two of you to play together if you want. We usually don’t have two of the bigger names up here at once.”

“What’s the game?” Emma asks.

“It’s basically beer pong.”

Emma tilts her head back with laughter and claps her hands together. “Oh, I’m good at this. You’re going down, Jones.”

“Nice to see your competitive spirit doesn’t die off the court.”

“It never does.”

Emma shrugs and walks over to where they have a ping pong table set up on the roof of this building. Killian gets to travel a lot of beautiful places for his job, and while he doesn’t get to explore a lot of them, he does get to take in the view. He’ll never get over the oasis that is Palm Springs with its mountains going as far as the eye can see with palm trees and lush vegetation filling in so many other gaps. There’s a hell of a lot of desert, but considering Killian only goes between the tournament and his hotel, he doesn’t see that. For him, it’s all about the oasis.

“You ready?” Emma asks as they settle at opposite ends of the table. “It’s going to be a challenge to beat me.”

He winks and leans forward, hovering over the cups of water. “I do so love a challenge.”

-/-

“I mean, I wouldn’t say that you had a bad reputation.”

Killian rolls his eyes and toes his trainers off, kicking them across his hotel room in Monte Carlo. He pulls his phone away from his ear and puts it on speaker so he can change clothes while Emma talks.

“Then what would you say, love?”

He imagines she shrugs, and if he wasn’t disgustingly sweaty despite his shower at the club, he’d video call her instead of this. “I would say you had a colorful reputation.”

“For fuck’s sake, that’s the same thing.”

“No, no, it’s not,” Emma sighs. “It’s…”

“Swan, I was on the verge of getting all my sponsorships taken away at the age of twenty-two. I’d barely gotten started, and I nearly fucked it all up by drinking too much and being enough of an idiot to do it in public.”

“And now you’re England’s poster boy for all sports, so at least from a publicity standpoint, it’s all okay.”

She’s right. He knows she’s right, and he appreciates being talked down after an awful contract negotiation with one of his sponsors and what will surely be an equally awful conversation with Ariel later. They decided that they suddenly had issues with some shit he pulled six years ago, and he’s tired of having to explain himself to people.

His fucking brother died, and Killian didn’t handle it well. How is anyone supposed to handle that, let alone a twenty-two-year-old whose only family was that brother? It was too much, and while he didn’t tank his career, he did derail it, drinking and sleeping around and making horrible choices for his body. There are times when he still wants to do that, but he knows better now. His grief is private, and the world will never see it again unless it’s on his terms.

“My brother’s life was taken because of a drunk driver, and, you know, I’d give up all the sponsorships to have him back. I’d give it all up. And I know I did a piss poor job at dealing with my grief by getting drunk just like the man who killed him, even if I never got behind the wheel, but what was I supposed to do? It hurt too much to not be dulled.”

The other end is silent, and he focuses on his own breathing. It’s heavy now, and he can feel his heart thumping. He hates this feeling. He hates talking about his past, and he damn well hates having to talk about Liam like this.

He’s got no fucking clue why he’s talking about it with Emma, but she called right after the meeting and he spilled his guts out of frustration.

“I never met your brother,” Emma says so quietly he can barely hear her, “but if he was anything like mine, I can guarantee that he’d be proud of you for getting through it and continuing to move forward. Life sucks, Jones, and we all deal with those sucky moments in different ways. I, for one, eat massive amounts of icing and candy. I have an entire stash in a drawer in my bathroom so David can’t find it and scold me for it.”

Killian huffs and reaches up to yank his shirt off before falling back on the bed. He tugs on his hair before blowing it off his cheek. He needs a haircut.

“You keep icing in your bathroom? That seems unsanitary.”

“I promise it’s very secure.”

Killian hums and more silence falls between them. He doesn’t feel the need to fill it, but he does anyway. “I live alone, so I think I may not need to hide my icing stash. I’d have to get one first.”

“Cream cheese is the way to go. It’s, like, two dollars and all the calories are so worth it.”

“Have you ever considered making it at home?”

“I would give myself food poisoning. I can’t really cook.”

“No?”

“Absolutely not. Never learned how to do anything past the basics, and I’m not home enough to try. When I do, Mary Margaret always takes over so I don’t get food poisoning.”

“Where are we together next? Rome?”

“Madrid,” Emma sighs, and he hears a dog bark in the background. He’s sure she doesn’t have a dog, but maybe someone she’s with has one. Or she’s walking around her neighborhood. He never did ask what she was doing. Instead, he immediately started bitching about his sponsor meeting, and then they ended up here. Most of their conversations veer off track, so it’s nothing he isn’t used to. “I get there Monday.”

“I think the same unless I lose early here.”

“You best not. I have money on you.”

“Well, that’s a good way to get yourself suspended.”

Emma laughs, and Killian stretches out on the bed, flexing his feet. “Well, if you don’t tell anyone, I think I’ll be okay.”

“I swear I shall not say a word. Also, Swan, I don’t think we’ll have access to a kitchen in Madrid, but when we get to Rome, I’ll cook you something.”

“If I’m in Rome, I’m not wasting a dinner on your cooking.”

“We can eat two dinners then,” Killian suggests.

“I like that idea.” The dog barks again in the background, louder this time. “I have to go. My neighbor’s dog is walking over this way, and I have to give him my full attention.”

“Bye, love.”

“Talk to you later, Jones!”

The phone goes silent, and Killian closes his eyes. It’s been a rough day for a myriad of reasons, and all he wants is to sleep. His call with Emma has calmed him, as they usually do, but that’s something he often doesn’t like admitting to himself.

Getting involved with Emma would be complicated, and Killian isn’t sure he can do complicated anymore.

His phone buzzes, and he opens one eye to look at the message.

Ariel Fisher: I’m coming to talk to you because you stormed off.

Ariel Fisher: I have the key to your room, so make sure you’re dressed.

Ariel Fisher: I’m bringing dinner, so I know you at least kind of want to see me.

Killian Jones: I’m in the nude, and I’m not changing for you.

Ariel Fisher: It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.

Killian Jones: That is your fault for walking into my bathroom without knocking.

-/-

Killian wins in Monte Carlo, and it feels good to have a trophy for the first time since late January. It’s only April now, and he’s only played three tournaments since Australia. Yet, he had higher expectations for himself for this year. It’s a great year by anyone’s standards, but Killian has really focused on his training this year. He wants another record year like two years ago, and if he keeps this momentum going, maybe he can do that.

That year, he’d worked off the motivation of heartbreak. This year, he’s trying to work off the motivation of doing something for himself.

Whatever keeps him in the game.

Whatever keeps him loving what he does like Liam asked him to do.

-/-

The thing about Killian’s job is that he’s constantly surrounded by bloody people. From when he’s playing a match to doing press to sitting in the living room of the houses and apartments he rents for some tournaments when he doesn’t want to stay in a hotel. Sometimes the only times he has to think are when he’s on court, which is ridiculous because that’s when he’s surrounded by the most people and is supposed to be focusing on his plan for the next point.

Tonight, Killian had planned on having Emma over for dinner, but Ariel, Eric, Will, and Rob have all shown up and are sitting on his couch watching the television and he’s desperately trying to get Emma to pick up her phone before she arrives. He’s sure Nemo and Al could show up any second by the way things are going.

“Hello?”

“Swan!”

“Hey, I was just about to get a car from the hotel to your place. Everything okay?”

Killian sighs and massages his fingers over his forehead. “It seems my team and my mates have decided they’re spending the night with me, so if you want to stay at the hotel, I would understand.”

“Oh?”

“Aye. Of course, you can still come if you want.”

“Is there still going to be food?”

“Absolutely, but I don’t think I’ll be cooking it.”

“Then I’m coming,” Emma laughs. “Would you mind if I brought some people over as well? I can pay for their dinners.”

“The more the merrier,” Killian says, even if that is not how he intended his night to go. “See you soon, love.”

Killian walks back to the living area and settles down in an armchair, bracing himself for the onslaught of questions he’s about to get. “Emma Swan is coming over for dinner. She’s bringing people with her. I don’t know who yet, but I know she is.”

Slowly, everyone turns and stares at him, and Killian is already dreading everything about tonight.

“Why the fuck is Emma Swan coming over?” Will asks as everyone else nods. “I didn’t even know you knew her.”

“How would I not know her?”

“Oi, you know what I meant! You know her, but you know her in a way that has you say hello in the hallways, not that you invite her and her mates over to take our food.”

“You were not invited here tonight, Scarlet.”

“I am always invited.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Ariel sighs, holding her hands up between them. “I need more of an explanation. How did this come about? Are you dating Em – ”

“No, A. Bloody hell, no.” Killian stands from the chair and straightens out his t-shirt. “We got to talking about food one day, and I casually invited her over. Believe it or not, I can have other mates besides you lot.”

“Your personality says otherwise,” Rob teases, and Killian rolls his eyes.

“Alright, alright. What should we get delivered for dinner? A little bit of everything?”

“I still have so many questions,” Ariel tells him.

“I have no more answers. I’m going to order food. You guys can keep watching the match.”

“Isn’t this who you play tomorrow?” Rob asks.

“Mhm, but Nemo will take enough notes and give them to me, so I don’t have to watch the match too closely.”

Killian walks away from the living room and goes through the contacts in his phone for the restaurants he likes, and once he settles on one, he orders several meals for delivery, chatting with the owner and promising her he’ll be in to see the entire team before he leaves Rome.

There’s a knock on the door, and Killian glances out the kitchen window. He can see Emma, Emma’s brother, and her sister-in-law. He was expecting Ruby Lucas and Anna Jergenson, but he shouldn’t be surprised. Her family is nearly always with her.

Ariel gets to the door before he does, hugging and greeting everyone. She knows David and Mary Margaret from constantly working with Mary Margaret over management collaborations, and while this is a large industry, there is always going to be overlap amongst certain people.

“David, nice to see you,” Killian says, walking into the room and taking David’s hand before kissing Mary Margaret’s cheeks. “Mary Margaret, beautiful as ever. Hey, Swan.”

“What? Am I not as beautiful as ever?” she jokes as she embraces him. “I got all dressed up for this. I’m wearing leggings that don’t have any holes in them.”

“I thank you for your effort.” He pulls back and winks. “I’m sorry for the slight change of plans, but I guess I’ll give you food poisoning another day.”

“Can’t wait.”

Killian guides them into the living room, where it’s a mess of greetings and jumbled conversation, and Killian settles himself back in the chair in the corner, watching everyone talk. They’re in the middle of one of the busiest stretches of the season, and it’s nice to have a night where he can relax. He has a match tomorrow and possibly even more depending on how tomorrow goes, but he tries to forget about those. That’s something Killian is still working on. Liam was the one who usually made him forget, and while his mates, many of them under the same pressures, do a damn good job, there are rarely times when his mind doesn’t race with the possibilities of how everything good in his life can slip away.

Killian rents this house in Rome every year because it was Liam’s favorite, so this week is always a particularly difficult one when everything reminds him of his brother.

When the food arrives, Killian spreads it around the kitchen and gets out a few bottles of wine. He won’t drink tonight, but others might want to. They fill their plates and settle back in the living room, the match that was at the forefront now in the background as Rob and Will take the piss out of each other for how badly the mangled the Italian language while asking for directions earlier today.

“I didn’t grow up speaking two languages! I’m still learning!” Will grumbles.

“You trained in Italy for most of your childhood.”

“I have no excuses for Italian, I know. I do speak French pretty well.”

“Oi, and none of us have to wonder why that is,” Rob laughs.

“You’re all wankers.”

“Why does Will know French?” Emma asks him from her seat next to him.

“His girlfriend is from France.”

“Ah,” Emma sighs, picking up a piece of ravioli and putting it in her mouth. “This is delicious. Much better than whatever it was you were planning on cooking.”

“I’m going to prove you wrong one day.”

She shrugs and puts her plate down on the coffee table next to her glass of wine. “If you say so. Where’s the restroom?”

Killian points to the hallway behind the kitchen. “Second door on the right.”

Emma nods and stands from her seat, walking away toward the bathroom. He gets a notification on his watch that he’s got a text from Nemo, and it looks like a long one. Sighing, Killian moves away from the conversation and down the hall to his bedroom so he can text Nemo back. It’s an analysis of his opponent for tomorrow, and Killian skims through it. He’ll read it more in the morning since his match isn’t until the afternoon, but if he doesn’t text Nemo back now, he’ll call until Killian does. The man is a damn good coach, but he can also be high-strung.

The bedroom door clicks behind Killian as he closes it, and at the same time, Emma leaves the bathroom. The two of them are nearly pressed together in the close quarters of the hallway, and Killian aligns himself against one wall while Emma does the same with the other. Still, he can feel her foot brush against his, and he is close enough to see the freckles on her face.

Those freckles are what have himself tilting closer, his breath intertwining with hers, and for every movement he makes, Emma makes an equal one, the voices in the background fading away as Killian focuses on the flutter of Emma’s lashes and the subtle twitch of her lips. He mirrors her, curling up one corner of his mouth and teasingly tapping his lips.

“Please,” she laughs, “you couldn’t handle it.”

“Perhaps you’re the one who couldn’t handle it.”

Emma studies him as heat swirls around them and tickles up his spine, pulling him closer to her. He watches her, waiting to see if she’ll do something, but he expects her to make a joke, to turn away like she sometimes does when things get a little too serious between them when they’re talking in person instead of over the phone. She doesn’t always do that, not when he’s the one sharing, but when it comes to her, she’s more guarded, holding everything deep within.

Emma Swan is constantly subverting expectations, however, so when she pulls on the collar of his shirt and tugs his mouth to hers, he takes a moment to reciprocate.

Bloody fucking hell.

Emma is kissing him.

And she’s damn good at it too. Killian reaches up to thread his fingers through her hair, pulling and tugging until he can take a little of the control back from her. She’s a demanding one, and while he can’t say he minds, he would like a little control too. Her lips are soft, and she tastes of wine and the spices of her ravioli. He could get lost in it all, especially when she moans in response to him backing her up against the wall. Her back arches, and Killian rolls his hips as Emma’s kiss teases him. The friction is fucking amazing, and it would be so easy to take a few steps to the right to his bedroom and…

Suddenly, Emma pulls back, lingering in his space, breath hot against his skin, and Killian can feel a smile tugging at his kiss swollen lips.

“That was – ” Killian mutters, leaning in to kiss her again.

“A one-time thing,” Emma quickly tells him, shoving at his chest until he backs away, a mountain of space between them. “I’m going to go back to the living room. Actually, I think I need to go home. I have an early training session tomorrow.”

“Swan – ”

“Thank you for dinner. It was great.”

Then she’s gone, blonde hair falling away, and Killian can’t move from his spot, standing there with his fingers against his lips. He listens to her tell David and Mary Margaret she’s ready to go, listens to her telling everyone goodbye, and then she’s gone, the front door shutting behind her.

What the hell just happened.

And when did he fall halfway in love with Emma Swan?

Fuck.

“What happened to your hair?” Ariel asks when Killian gets the strength in his legs to walk back to the living room.

“Nemo,” he lies. “His analysis for tomorrow had me tugging on it.”

Ariel studies him like she doesn’t believe him, but then she’s back to drinking her wine and talking to Eric, her life going on as normal even when his isn’t.

-/-

He gets blown out of the water in his match the next day.

He can’t compartmentalize his thoughts, putting the personal behind him and the professional in front of him. That’s been the key to all of his success. No matter what’s going on in his personal life, he can always lace up his trainers and take the court, leaving all of that behind him.

Today, it’s like everything that’s happened to him in the past decade has come flooding back, and Killian wants nothing more than the floodgates to stop.

-/-

Emma doesn’t respond to any of his texts.

He pretends it doesn’t bother him as his team leaves Rome and flies to Paris, immediately preparing for Roland Garros. Killian can fuck around at other tournaments on occasion, but he can’t do it at a major. There are only a handful of those to go around, the importance of them will never be lost on him.

Even if sliding across the clay is the last thing he wants to do right now.

“Smaller steps,” Nemo yells from his place on the sidelines. “You’re going to fuck up your ankle if you run like that.”

Killian adjusts his footwork and keeps moving, sweat slicking down his back as the crowds around the practice courts fill in while more players keep showing up. When he sees long blonde hair in her trademark braid three courts over, his step nearly falters.

It doesn’t.

He can’t.

If Emma is going to put distance between the two of them, he’ll let her. He had a life long before he began talking to Emma Swan, and he’ll have one if she never talks to him again.

He’s a liar if he says that his world would be anything other than miserable for awhile.

-/-

Killian crashes out in the quarterfinals of Roland Garros, and he immediately puts it behind him, bracing his shoulders for a month of grass court tournaments in his own country, where the pressure is always highest.

Sometimes it can be suffocating, but he has to do it.

-/-

“Okay, now that you’ve answered all of our questions, we want to show you a little video clip,” Chris McKendry tells him while Killian adjusts the mic resting on his ear.

“It’s never good when you tell me that, Chris.”

She laughs, as fake as always, but Killian goes along with it. “I promise you’ll enjoy this one.”

A producer for ESPN hits play on the video, and Killian keeps his eyes glued to the screen even as someone slides several bowls of strawberries and cream in front of him. The video of he and Emma from California plays on the screen, all of the promotional work the two of them did that day after she took the piss out of him for his answer to how he ate strawberries and cream. Killian forces a smile on his face, not allowing the cameras to see him slip, because this is what he does now. He’s a perfectly polished PR machine. If he’s going to show emotions other than happiness, they’re going to be either on the court or behind the scenes with no cameras rolling. They are certainly not going to be here.

“So, Killian,” Chris laughs as the video rolls, “we thought it would be fun to bring you some strawberries and cream with a spoon to eat them.”

Killian chuckles and takes the spoon, scooping up a large helping of the strawberries and cream and eating it. It’s not bad. He doesn’t like it, but it’s not the worst thing he’s ever had to eat because someone has asked him to. And the faster he plays along, the faster he can get out of here.

“I think I’ve got it right now,” he jokes, “though I know my last answer went viral because I failed all of Britain with it.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say that, but we are giving you this chance to redeem yourself so you can have this crowd behind you for the fortnight. With your draw, I think you might need it.”

“Draws don’t always hold up, but nevertheless Chris, I’m ready for the challenge.”

“You always are.”

-/-

She’s fucking incredible to watch.

She moves with grace but with incredible power underneath her feet and determination set between her brows. Her play gets better with every match she plays, and Killian is mesmerized by it even if he’s been avoiding her matches over the past few weeks. But now she’s on Centre Court, and her match is playing on the screen above his bike where he’s cooling down from his match. There is no avoiding it, and he can’t say he wants to at the minute. He’s obviously a glutton for punishment.

He’s seen her draw, knows that it’s just as difficult as his, and while she might not win here, the Olympics are just around the corner on these same courts. He can’t imagine her not winning at least one of the two.

Then again, he is aware of his bias, but he is also aware of Emma’s skill.

Killian grabs his phone and takes a picture of her match, posting it on his Twitter, which Ariel has told him he has to use more since he “needs to interact with people online.”

@KillianJones: She’s graceful like a swan but also just as vicious. What a match to watch on my cool down. @Emmaswan is the type of player every kid should try to emulate when they pick up a racket

It’s an olive branch.

If she doesn’t take it, Killian will be fine. He may have fallen hard and fast, but that doesn’t mean Emma did. She is free to take things at her own pace, whatever that may mean for the two of them.

-/-

@emmaswan mentioned you in a tweet.

Killian swipes across his screen and opens Twitter, where he sees a picture of yesterday’s match. It’s from high above in what is obviously a private room, but it’s still clearly him on court, pumping his fist after a big point, the crowd standing all around.

@EmmaSwan: @KillianJones, I don’t think any of these people like you. You should try to get them on your side.

He laughs and falls back on his couch. He’s not well liked in a lot of places, but in his home country, he knows that as long as he’s winning, he has the country behind him.

No pressure.

@KillianJones: @EmmaSwan maybe you could help me out. How do I get the crowd to like me?

@EmmaSwan: @KillianJones cook them a home-cooked meal. It’s the way to everyone’s heart.

Killian nearly drops his phone. She’s joking. She has to be. This is the first time he’s so much as talked to Emma in weeks, and she either doesn’t realize the magnitude of her words or is sending him a clear message.

Emma has never cared much for subtly.

He closes out of Twitter and texts her, hoping he’s not fucking up the olive branch she took by snapping it in half.

Killian Jones: I’m making salmon tonight. It’s just me here tonight. I promise. Do you want to come over for dinner?

Emma Swan: How good is your salmon?

Killian Jones: It’s good.

Emma Swan: I’ll be there.

-/-

Emma Swan walks into his home like she belongs there. She steps inside his front door, removes her trainers, and easily walks to him in the kitchen, propping her hip against the counter while he prepares dinner. They talk, mostly about work, and Killian tries to act as unaffected by her presence as possible. The last time they were this close to each other, he had Emma pressed up against a wall. It’s been over a month since then with very little communication, and Killian constantly feels like a bucket of ice has been dropped over him.

He still doesn’t believe she’s here when he is clearly having a conversation with her.

They eat dinner on his couch, the television turned low in the background, and the conversation stays stilted. If Killian is honest, he wants to sink into the cushions and have this night be over with, but he knows better. Either this night firmly cuts the ties between them, or it ties the string back together.

He knows which one he wants, but he dare not speak for Emma.

“This is really good,” Emma says as she scoops up some of her remaining salad. “Thanks for cooking.”

“Thanks for coming over.”

“It’s a really nice place. I bet it must be nice to be able to stay home for a month while still working.”

“Yeah, it is.” Silence falls between them again, but it’s not comfortable, not like it used to be. “Look, Swan, I – ”

She holds up her hands and places the plate in front of her on his coffee table before twisting around and crossing her legs under her on the couch. “Don’t.”

“Pardon?”

“Don’t say it. Don’t apologize for doing something wrong when I’m the one who made out with you and then ran away. I fucked things up between us, and I don’t know how to fix it.”

“Do you want to fix it?” he suggests, knowing the line he walks is thin.

Emma shrugs, sheepish smile on her lips. “I don’t know. I don’t – I mean, I like…you’re…we’re…I don’t know, Killian. I am obviously not the most emotionally aware person, but I care. I care about my family, my friends…you. I care about you. Like, a lot, which was unexpected.” She leans forward and buries her face in her hands, all of her words coming out muffled. “I don’t know how I can do this without messing things up between us where we’ll be avoiding each other while having to walk the same circles.”

Killian arches his brow and stifles his laugh. He shouldn’t be laughing. This isn’t funny, but there is something comical about it.

“What I’m hearing is that you fancy me.”

Emma peeks out from behind her hands, and she glowers at him. “Seriously?”

Killian shrugs and leans forward, grabbing her hands and slowly intertwining their fingers. “I have no bloody idea what I’m doing either, and I don’t mean to upset you Emma. I really don’t. But we make quite the team. I think it would be foolish not to try, but I’ll do whatever you want.”

“That’s really fucking unfair to make me make the decision.”

“If I did, you would find a way to turn it around on me.”

She digs her nails into his palm, but he doesn’t flinch. “Asshole.”

“I would agree with that assessment most of the time.”

Emma rolls her eyes, but there’s also determination there, green, blue, and gold all mixed together to create the emotions hidden just below the surface. “We don’t tell anyone. Like, no one. I don’t like my private life to be public, and if we tell other people, it’ll become public. I’m already risking a hell of a lot possibly being with someone who I’ll have to see on tour if things get fucked up, so I want a safety net even if this doesn’t solve every issue.”

“You’re a romantic.” She parts her lips to protest, and he squeezes her hands, leaning forward and lingering in her space, closing half the gap. “But I agree with you, wholeheartedly. I was with this woman, and – ”

“We don’t have to talk about our pasts right now. I’ve got a match at one tomorrow, so we sure as hell don’t have time to get through everything. I’m also not entirely sure I trust you with everything yet.”

“You shouldn’t,” Killian half jokes as his lips ghost over hers, “but I hope to earn it.”

“Good,” Emma whispers, wrapping her arms around Killian’s neck and pulling him those final few inches toward her until her lips are softly gliding over his, pulling him under as pleasure trickles up his spine.

Good. This is all damn good.

They have no idea what they’re getting into, but Killian can’t wait to figure it all out.

-/-

-/-

tag list (you can be added/removed at any time: @qualitycoffeethings​ @mrtinski​ @klynn-stormz​ @scarletslippers​ @jonirobinson64​ @snowbellewells​ @therealstartraveller776​ @thejollyroger-writer​ @sherifemma​ @galaxyzxstark​ @galadriel26​ @idristardis​ @karenfrommisthaven​ @teamhook​ @spartanguard​ @searchingwardrobes​ @jamif​ @shireness-says​ @ultimiflos​ @nikkiemms​ @onepunintendid​ @bluewildcatfanatic​ @superchocovian​ @killianswannn​ @carpedzem​ @captainkillianswanjones​ @mayquita​ @mariakov81​ @jennjenn615​ @onceuponaprincessworld​ @a-faekindagirl​ @scientificapricot​ @xellewoods​ @ultraluckycatnd​ @stahlop​ @kmomof4​ @tiganasummertree​ @singersdd​ @tornadoamy​ @cluttermind​ @lfh1226-linda​ @itsfabianadocarmo​ @iam2307​ @capthamm​ @ilovemesomekillianjones​ @kktabjones​ @jonesfandomfanatic​ @ouatxxxxx​

[niall-is-my-dream]

Something Beautiful - Part Five

So I'm not 100% happy with this but here it is anyway.

Sorry I've been such a shit with updating this, lockdown has meant no time for myself. Let me know what you think!

catch up below

https://niall-is-my-dream.tumblr.com/post/615170836129808384/something-beautiful-masterlist

2815 words

Summer had passed in a blur of pure contentment. However Niall was in L.A. again and you were missing him. Since he began writing his second album, he had been bouncing between London and L.A. All the main writing had happened for it but he still needed to do a lot of work. He had been trying to do as much of it in London so that he could see family and friends more frequently especially over the summer, but it wasn't always possible.

Work at the publishing company had been busy and you'd had a lot of deadlines to adhere to. This was what was keeping you busy and stopping you from thinking about Niall too much. You hated the fact that you felt a little lost without him. You had spent a lot of time together in London and in that time you'd met his family and he yours, you'd had dinners together, late afternoon walks with Monty. And it was on one of those walks that you had been spotted together for the first time.

It had happened quite unexpectedly on a cool August evening, Niall had been walking around Wandsworth Common with you and Monty. Because of the heat you'd taken Monty out in the evening when it was cooler and still light. You'd been trying to avoid the lake in case Monty chased the ducks again, when a couple of girls aged around eighteen approached him. He had spotted them early on as soon as you had crossed over the bridge, it was like he had a weird ability to sense when he was being watched by someone, you guessed it came with experience.

The first you realised it was when they were right in front of you, although it did explain why Niall had distanced himself from you. You hadn't given it a second thought when he had moved his arm from around your shoulders. But it was because he knew someone was watching him and it was his way of protecting you from whoever that person was.

They eyed you up as they approached him, Monty came running over and dropped his ball at Niall's feet as if taking ownership of him. You loved the fact that Monty even as a young pup could show his protective side. The girls cooed over Monty as well as Niall and you found yourself being incredibly jealous.

Niall was such a sweetheart to the girls, they asked for a photo each and took interest in how his album was coming along. After initially scoping you out they paid no attention to you and you were thankful for it.

It was later that evening that Niall saw the initial speculation about who you were. Twitter had erupted with "who is the girl with the cute dog?" That phrase was fine by you, it could've been worse. There wasn't really any bad comments from what you could both see.

But the girls had managed to catch a sneaky picture of Niall with his arm around your shoulders. One where he was pulling you close to him and kissing your temple. It definitely looked a bit more than just friends apparently to his army of fans.

Luckily you didn't have your own Twitter or even Facebook. You did have an Instagram account but that was private and Niall didn't follow you anyway. Hopefully you could remain anonymous for as long as possible.

And now with Niall being back in L.A. the speculation about who you were was dying down. Niall had been monitoring it via Tara his PA, she was his eyes and ears when it came to gossip about him. She would make sure that if he was being talked about somewhere online then she was in the loop about it.

The beginning of September remained warm and you'd got the patio doors of your flat open to the garden. Monty was chilling out of the grass with a toy, your music blaring through your old record player. You were in the kitchen area prepping some dinner when a FaceTime call from Niall came through.

Upon hearing Nialls voice, Monty came bounding into the kitchen and jumped up at you.

"Woah Monty, wait your turn!" You said smiling.

Monty was circling your legs and wanting to be a part of whatever was going on, you knew he had heard Niall and was obviously missing him.

"Monty!" Niall called and Monty let out a little bark.

You slowly turned the phone around to face Monty, he nudged his face at the screen as Niall talked to him.

"You being good for your Mum?" He asked him.

You laughed a little at his conversation and at Monty who was staring at Niall with fascination.

"Right Monty, it's my turn. You go chill in your bed. Go on." You said and Monty wandered off to his bed that was by the end of the sofa. He sat in it but didn't take his eyes off you or your phone.

"I swear he loves you more than me." You muttered.

"He only loves me because I give him lots of treats."

"I'm aware!" You replied. "He's due his check up next week at the Vets so they will weigh him. He better not be piling on the pounds Horan!"

"Sorry." Niall replied laughing.

It was then that you saw he was sprawled out in bed, the crisp white sheets barely covering his torso.

"Did you just wake up?" You said seeing the clock said 6:45pm meaning it was 10:45am in L.A.

"Yeah, was at the studio till late. Just trying to decide what to do today, need to go to the gym at some point."

"I've only just finished work so am grabbing some dinner before I take Monty for a walk. It's been warm again today."

"Work busy?"

"Mmm have finally finished the edit that I've been working on for like three weeks. More assignments coming my way tomorrow."

"Any chance you could take some holiday or maybe work from a different location?"

"Possibly why?"

"I know I said I was probably coming back next week but I've got some interviews and stuff booked in now and they want to bring the single release forward by two weeks."

"That's amazing that they want to bring it forward and have got so much promo booked in for you. But won't that mean you'll be busy, why are talking about holiday time?"

"Because I wondered if you wanted to come over here for a bit?"

He wanted you to stay at his place in L.A?

Your mind was running a million miles an hour at how this would work. Would your boss allow you holiday or to work in a different time zone? Did you have any UK meetings booked in soon? What would you do with Monty?

"Niall...." You said carefully.

"I'm sorry I know it's a big ask. I just don't want to be apart anymore, I'll be here for at least another month."

"I would love to come and stay with you but.... "

"But?" He said looking slightly heartbroken.

"I can't leave Monty here, I have no one to have him for that amount of time. I can't ask Charlotte and Luke, they have a lot on with the wedding and everything."

"Alex, I meant Monty to."

You looked at him then as the realisation of what he was saying set in.

"I can't put him in a hold on the plane, I'm sorry." You said reluctantly. You knew animals were well cared for on flights but you couldn't even bare to think about leaving him alone like that in a strange place. He might have been two years old but he was still your baby.

"You won't need to. Tara is coming out in 10 days time and I can arrange a private plane for you, her and Monty. Rules aren't the same on a private chartered flight, he can sit with you for the entire time. Just need to get a letter from the Vets to confirm he's had all relevant vaccinations and is in good health."

"He could?"

"Yeah, look I know it's incredibly selfish of me to ask you to travel like that. I know your work and stuff is important to you.... I just miss you both so much. Can you have a think about it for a day or two and let me know?"

"It's so expensive to hire a plane...."

"Its not that bad."

"Small change for you hey?!" You smirked.

"Shut up, you make me sound like a right flash bastard." He smirked back.

There was silence for a moment while you took in the view in front of you, a topless Niall lying in bed. You missed him like crazy and you were sure you were due some holiday. You'd worked the last three months non stop. Would Monty be ok on the plane? He would probably love it and when he saw Niall straight after and he would know why he had taken the journey.

"Email me the details and I'll speak to my boss."

And that was how you found yourself sitting on a private plane with Niall's Assistant Tara and Monty on the way to L.A.

You hadn't had to organise anything for the journey apart from Monty's documents from the vets. Your boss has been so pleased with your work that she had said yes to some holiday straight away. Agreeing to take a week off work two weeks via L.A. And then have another week off before you returned home. She hasn't asked why you were going to L.A, and you hadn't disclosed it. Keeping this private was what you'd agreed to when Niall and you had decided to make things official, and you were fine with that. 

*****

The sunrise across Hollywood was beautiful, you could see why Niall chose to split some of his time here and London. Since arriving in L.A. a week ago you'd begun taking Monty out in the mornings.

You and Niall had dragged your bums out of bed early to avoid walking Monty later in the heat of the day. Monty needed walking early today not only because of the weather but because Niall had planned a bbq at his with some of his friends for you to meet. This was a big deal to you, as you really wanted them to like and accept you.

So here you were watching the sunrise with Monty sitting at your feet and Nialls arms wrapped around you. His face snuggled into your neck and the tender kisses he was giving you were giving you all sorts of feels. You didn't think anything to swipe that smile off your face, that was until Niall tensed behind you.

"You ok?" You whispered gently.

"Mmmm, just feel like we are being watched." He replied as he lowered his arms, he had been right the last time he had felt like that.

You turned to face him as he casually looked around the area where you had chosen to stop.

"For fucks sake." He mumbled.

Turning himself back to you, his body was flush with yours but his arms didn't wrap themselves back around you.

"Is someone watching us then?" You asked quietly.

"Yep, bloke with a fucking massive camera sitting in his car across the road. What the fuck is he doing out this bloody early?"

"Don't worry about it." You said reaching to stroke his arm to calm him. You may not be able to see his face but his body against yours was still tense.

"Come on, let's head home." He said as he turned and took your hand in his.

"Should we be holding hands?" You whispered.

"I feel like he's been watching us long enough, no point hiding it now." Niall replied sounding deflated.

You walked back to Niall's making small talk, but you could tell that the photographer seeing you both had rattled him. He had mentioned about wanting to keep things private, you had no intention on posting photos of him on your social media which actually only consisted of Instagram. And even then you really only posted pictures of your trips away and of Monty being cute. You couldn't imagine any of his fans remotely finding that interesting or using it to find a reason to hate you. Monty was cute.

Back in the safety of Niall's house, he let Monty off his lead and he scurried off towards the other end of the house where Mully's room was.

"Off to sleep at the end of Uncle Mully's bed again I see?!" Niall commented as Monty went out of sight.

"I know I feel slightly offended that he prefers Mully and you to me at the moment."

"What can I say Man is a dog's best friend!" He smirked back.

"Yeah whatever!" You smirked back.

"Well since we are all alone now, how about we go shower and I make you feel good?" He said as he pulled you close to his body. You loved it when he snuggled into your neck, his breath sending chills down your body.

"Do we have time?" You said, aware that his friends were coming over in a few hours and you both still needed to go to the supermarket and get some things sorted.

"We always have time for nakedness love." He whispered before whisking you upstairs.

*********

Monty was passed out at your feet while you chopped some salad for lunch, seems he did love his Mum still. He might have been an outgoing and lively dog, but he did get shy around lots of new people all at once. You were joined in the kitchen by Courtney who was a friend of Niall's, she was really sweet and had asked about your job and stuff. She got married a few months ago and so you talked about that and Charlotte and Luke's wedding that was happening in the next few month's.

"Hey Monty, what's up with you boy?" Niall asked as he came in from the terrace into the kitchen and crouched beside you.

"Think he's a little tired from messing around earlier with Mully in the garden and probably a bit shy from all the new people. No offense Courtney!" You replied.

"None taken." She said smiling genuinely.

"You want to come and sit in the shade with your Da?" Niall asked him and you paused, looking across at Courtney who's eyes were wide like yours. "I'll take him outside." Niall said to you. "I'm in the shade by the BBQ getting it warmed up."

You nodded a reply and carried on chopping the tomatoes, knowing that Courtney was going to say something as soon as Niall was out of earshot.

Niall reached down and beckoned Monty to follow him which he did and he walked happily with Niall back out onto the terrace.

"So....." Courtney said looking at you with a massive smile on your face.

"Sooo?!" You replied.

"You two are the sweetest! Did he really just refer to himself as Monty's Dad?! I love that! I have never seen him this happy." She said and she gave your arm a tender squeeze.

"He's never said it before, he always calls him his boy and stuff." You replied blushing.

"I tell you my heart right now is racing at how much I love this!"

"Do you think it's moving too fast? We've only known each other since January."

"Have you met each other's parents?"

"Yes."

"Has he told you he loves you?"

"Yes." You replied trusting her with the information you were giving her.

"Have you talked about moving in together?"

"No."

"I think you're fine. I knew after about four months of dating Sam that I was going to marry him. Everything is just exciting but comfortable and relaxed at the same time."

"Yeah that's exactly it." You said, amazed that she had read your situation so easily.

"Niall and I have spoken about you a bit while he's been here. Nothing personal! " She added quickly when she saw a look of horror on your face. "Just that he thinks things are so easy with you, in a good way. You seem to know when you both need your own time but also that when you're together it's fun, exciting and you're so normal it's refreshing. Honestly his last girlfriend was hard work!"

You laughed then.

"Thanks for saying that, I really hope everyone likes me today."

"I think everyone already does, we've never seen him this happy. Thank You for giving him back his spark."

You felt choked up at her words, the enormity of your relationship and how much he meant to you was really hitting home. And what made you feel the shivers right down to your toes was that you weren't scared of it.

Tag list

@ihearthemcallingforyou​

@mariamorris913​

[artificialqueens]

Landslide (Jan/Rock) - Aries

a/n - written for winter as part of our gc’s gift exchange! thanks as always to alex for beta-ing, and to stephanie’s child for providing a gorgeous cover of the titular song that i listened to for four hours straight while i wrote. also on ao3 here! <3

summary - jan moves across the country, and it isn’t as easy to adjust as she’d hoped. (a songfic based on landslide by fleetwood mac)

I took my love, I took it down / I climbed a mountain and I turned around / And I saw my reflection in the snow-covered hills / ‘Till the landslide brought me down

Jan decides to move out the summer after she turns eighteen, fresh out of high school and desperate for something, anything, better than the life she’s grown up to know. She pulls out a map of the states and a dartboard, closes her eyes and spins around a few times like a kid at a birthday party, and almost laughs herself sick when she sees fate has driven her to the opposite coast. She finds an apartment and spends a week or two sinking in the San Francisco life like the most cliche of tourists - tries all the instagram-worthy desserts, takes photos on every beach she can find, goes on sunrise hikes to the Golden Gate Bridge, and relishes in how different it is to home.

She meets Jaida one night at some club about half a mile from her apartment when it’s late and she’s too drunk to remember her name, and drags her home with her through giggles and clouds of smoke. She doesn’t think much of it when she’s gone the next morning, or when she just so happens to go to the same bar the next evening and just so happens to see Jaida waiting in the corner, drink in hand, dark eyes inviting and terrifying and beautiful and everything she needs. She doesn’t allow herself to think anything at all of it when it keeps happening; kisses are shared far more frequently than words, and she’s read enough trashy romance novels to know things like this come and go too quickly to warrant anything too domestic or comfortable. 

Despite this, she tries. She tries to make conversation through messed up white linen sheets and she tries not to be upset at the short answers she gets, if she gets them at all. She tries, above all else, to keep her head above water, because she’s learned fast that life here gets lonely, and an hour or two of feeling like she’s floating doesn’t neutralise the hurt in her stomach the morning after that weighs her down like rocks in her pockets. 

‘Don’t you want to stay?’ She asks Jaida one morning as she’s slipping on her shoes, ready to leave again. She looks back at Jan, visibly confused.

‘Jan,’ she sighs, standing up and twisting the doorknob, ‘you know that isn’t going to happen.’

Oh, mirror in the sky, what is love? / Can the child within my heart rise above? / Can I sail through the changing ocean tides? / Can I handle the seasons of my life?

She learns, faster than anything else, that the key to surviving when you’ve dropped yourself somewhere brand new is to pick one of two options and stick with it: you can either establish yourself as someone that sticks out of the norms, someone that grabs attention, or you can try your best to blend in and adapt, and act as if you’ve been there the whole time. She’s always been good at living life in shades of grey, fading into the background when she wants to, and she decides that now, she wants to, so she does. She gets a job working at the reception desk of an office building just far enough from her apartment for her to be able to class the walk there and back as sufficient exercise and gains friends that she has over sometimes, but not too often, and never for too long. 

She doesn’t frequent bars anymore - a girl her age moves in across the hall from her, and she doesn’t want to be the asshole that wanders in at two in the morning and wakes up her neighbours. They bump into each other in the halls, sometimes, and exchange a few words. One time, the girl - Jackie, apparently - invites her out for coffee, and she accepts. This isn’t blending in, insists the voice at the back of her head, but she’d look rude if she said no, so she allows herself this. Jackie’s from Iran, Jan learns, and she’s lived in California for the past year but only in San Francisco for a month, give or take. She works at a music store not too far from where they live, but can’t play any instruments (‘I just asked for the job, and they must have felt sorry for me!’), and her girlfriend is from Illinois but lives in LA, which is closer than they were originally but not close enough, and she’s a big fan of old TV dramas, and she talks a lot. It’s nice, Jan decides, to have to listen to a voice that isn’t her own. She thinks they’d be good friends, maybe, if they spoke more.

She falls into a routine more quickly than she’d like to admit. She wakes up at 7-ish, rolls reluctantly out of bed, fills her stomach with caffeine, and strides on into the office to greet one of the guys that works at the desk across her. He’s chipper as always, beaming through paperwork, somehow. He asks if Jan’s doing alright, she looks a bit pale, and Jan reflects his billion-dollar smile right back in his face and lies through gritted teeth. He doesn’t seem convinced, but doesn’t push. Jan clocks out that evening and walks home, averts her eyes when she passes the shitty bar she knows too well. She walks past Jackie in the hallway and smiles half-heartedly but doesn’t stop to talk, and she hates the way Jackie glances at her, eyes are full of pity as she watches her walk into her apartment.

Well, I’ve been afraid of changing / ‘Cause I’ve built my life around you / But time makes you bolder / Even children get older / And I’m getting older too

Jan’s phone rings at half past six in the morning every morning for a good week before she admits defeat and picks it up. The voice on the other end is too perky, too loud, to be heard that early, but it’s as comforting as it’s been her whole life, and she’s so glad to hear it she almost bursts into tears.

‘Jaaaaaan,’ Lagoona greets her, and Jan can hear the smile in her voice, ‘where the fuck have you been? I haven’t spoken to you in weeks!’

‘Busy,’ Jan replies, tries to make herself sound as convincingly happy as she can manage. ‘I’ve had a lot to do out here.’

‘Well, clear your calendar,’ comes the reply, and Jan has to stop herself from laughing - as if she’s seen anyone, or left the house for more than an hour at a time, for the past month. ‘We’re coming to see you.’

‘ We? ’ Jan questions. ‘As in, you and-’

‘Your whole family,’ Lagoona quips, ‘and your cat. No, duh, me and Rosé.’

Their flight lands at 10:40 on Friday night, and Jan runs herself ragged trying to make herself and her apartment presentable enough for them to take her seriously. When she leaves to catch an Uber to the airport, Jackie’s walking up the stairs.

‘Hey, you,’ she smiles, waving with one arm. ‘Nice to see you.’ The ‘going out for once’ is unspoken but obviously implied, but Jan doesn’t have the energy to get offended. She smiles, waves back, shoots back a ‘You, too,’ and runs down the stairs so she doesn’t miss the car. She greets Lagoona and Rosé at their gate with a bag of donuts and laughs at their excitement, accepts their running hugs with open arms. It’s 1am by the time they’re settled into Jan’s apartment and she’s thrown together a makeshift bed on the floor out of blankets and pillows she has lying around. It feels like a sixth-grade sleepover and it’s refreshing and comforting in a way nothing has been for months. 

Their three-day stay passes faster than any of them would like, and they’re lying in the dark on their final night talking absentmindedly about everything and nothing when Rosé sighs loudly and flicks on a lamp, sitting up and turning to Jan’s bed.

‘Jan, baby, we’re really worried about you,’ she sighs, genuine concern in her eyes. ‘I know you say you have it all together here, but you don’t seem happy.’

‘Of course I’m happy,’ Jan replies, smiling. ‘You guys are here. I’m having a great time.’

‘You know what I mean.’ Rosé looks at her, and she knows there’s no point lying. ‘I know you wanted a new start and I won’t push it, but if you’re not doing well, come home. We miss you.’

They spend the Uber drive to the airport talking about things Jan can do to make the most of west coast life, and Lagoona pulls a notepad and pen out of her purse, scribbling something down when she thinks Jan’s not looking. She hands it to her before she heads through security with Rosé, squeezing Jan’s hands and pulling her in for another hug. ‘If you don’t get all of this shit done in the next month, I’m flying you back to New York myself,’ she laughs. ‘Consider it a to-do list.’ Jan watches them walk off, waves at them through tears, and pulls the piece of notebook paper out of her pocket, unfolding it. Make a damn friend!!! is the first point. She laughs to herself, shoves the list back into her coat, and makes a beeline for the Starbucks in the arrivals lounge when someone bumps into her and knocks her phone out of her hand, sending it skidding to the floor.

‘Oh, fuck, I’m really sorry,’ says the person, bending down to grab her phone. Jan looks at her and smiles, shaking her head.

‘It’s no problem, don’t worry about it,’ she replies. The stranger holds out a hand for her to shake, and she obliges, despite how foreign it feels. 

‘I’m Roxanne,’ the girl smiles, and then her face scrunches up. ‘But nobody calls me that, ever, so I don’t know why I introduced myself that way at all. Rock. I’m Rock. And you?’

‘Jan,’ she says, slightly taken aback. She shoves her hand back into her pocket, and it closes around Lagoona’s list. ‘Hey, would you wanna go get some coffee, maybe?’

Oh, take my love, take it down / Oh, climb a mountain and turn around / And if you see my reflection in the snow-covered hills / Well, the landslide will bring it down

Come October, Jan’s decided to scrap the routine, but there are bits she likes to keep. She calls Lagoona and Rosé every Friday night at seven, for one, and they update each other on how their weeks went. She sees Jackie every day, obviously; now they’re working at the same store, they commute together and talk a lot more. Jackie’s girlfriend’s coming to stay for a week soon, she tells Jan when they’re walking home one evening, and she thinks it’d be a good idea if they all went out to get drinks or something - or coffee, she suggests, if that’s easier. 

‘It depends when,’ Jan smiles, but nods. ‘I’d love to, but you won’t be able to get me out of the house on Friday nights.’

Rock knocks on her apartment door later that night, a bag of Chinese takeout in one hand and a Legally Blonde DVD in the other.

‘You said you didn’t know what we could do,’ she grins, ‘so I thought this was pretty reliable.’ She strides inside, throwing the food onto the kitchen counter and pulling Jan into a hug. ‘I’m proud of you, you know.’

Jan laughs, hugs her back, pushes the door closed behind her with her foot. ‘For what?’

‘Just in general,’ Rock replies. ‘I think it’s nice to hear that sometimes. You wanna watch Reese Witherspoon go to law school while we eat, or after?’

Jan smiles a lot more now. Rock says it’s one of her favourite things about her, but Jan’s convinced she’d say that about anything, providing it’d make her blush. It makes a change, though she’s not sure it’s a bad one - she’s still not wholly used to seeing herself in brighter clothes and happier expressions in mirrors, but she’ll do what she can to stand out.

[yslbyhesfanfics]

Chapter One - The Come Backs.

It was few months since they parted their ways, he was off to well deserved vacation somewhere in the world with some of his influential friends, she on the other hand was headed back to called London, with a broken heart and her mind trying to find the peace and rationally telling her it was the only good decision they both had. It was few months since they said that last goodbyes and didn't really talk much, while her heart still ached for him, waking in middle of the night whispering his name.

She missed Harry more than she missed anything in the world, and she could make a list of what she missed. Like that mean mexican restaurant they visited during few days stop in Mexico City. He kind of introduced her to the restaurant, as he visited few times before. She missed the cocktails they had while being in Italy, the air infused with salt from the sea. Somehow, he was in addition to everything she missed.

It was late at night and her mind was boozed with cheap wine from grocery store down the street. She was watching some tutorials on photography, not really paying attention as her mind traveled miles to wherever he was. She wondered what he was doing, until her phone buzzing interrupted her.

Jeffrey Azoff

Nina could probably call Jeffrey her friend now, after all he third wheeled most of the time they went out and she hoped he wouldn't. It was his manager, but in fact also her boss, kind of.

„Heyy, Jeff. What's up?“ she tried to sound sober, but failed miserably.

„Hi. Uhm, so. I need you in New York City tomorrow, all geared up, I sent you email with your boarding passes and instruction for hotel and also a schedule. If that's alright. You still in London, right?“ this defintiely helped her sober up. She didn't really expect to be called up for work for few months, maybe a year. After all, Harry would have to make new album, plan tour, and then tour for her to actually go and take pictures of him and the band. She still wasn't over him, over the wonderful eighteen months they spent together, from the very scratch of basically auditioning and trying to prove them, that her photography career was legit and worth their time.

"Yeah, same old, still London." she said quietly, her voice shaking a bit. "So, what is this about?"

"Ahh, new single, Harry hurried up with the album actually. Told him too many times to slow down a bit." my heart skipped few beats when I heard his name. None of my friends actually talked about it, I didn't really talk relationships with them, or maybe because under a non disclosure contract. But hearing his name from someone else's mouth, it felt weird.

"That man never stops, right?" Nina tried to sound casual, she didn't know how much did Harry tell Jeff, if anything. Probably something.

"Well you know him, a workaholic he is." she silently agreed.

"Okay, I'll get to packing then, how long am I staying in New York?"

"That's the thing. It's a bit of a promo tour. Eight cities across the USA, then UK. Approximately a month of promoting. Garry from videography department is just landing." She missed Garry to be honest. One of the people who worked for Harry since the start of his solo career, and one of the people who became friends for her. So she was happy to know she would have one familiar friendly face to talk to.

"Okay, I'll get myself ready and check the email. See you tomorrow, Jeff." She said quietly, before he said goodbye and hung up. Nina checked the email to see my flight was at five am, so it meant she had literally three hours to get ready before she should call an Uber and head to airport. She was pretty sure they tried to contact others for photography and she was the last person to call. She had a knot around her stomach when she thought about being in his presence and was sure that Harry wasn't the happiest person about this as well.

As much as it seemed like parting in peace, there were emotions that were building up past few weeks, they just stopped working as a couple and that was it. The moment he said the sentence she felt in the air couple of days before, her heart broke, but couldn't say she wasn't expecting it. He was much rather with his friends out somewhere partying and boozing himself to the point he woke her in middle of the night, pushing the night stand to side accidentally. Falling to bed next to her and immediately falling asleep. Sometimes she wondered if it was her, who made him drought away. Was it anything she said? Or anything she has done?

Her hands where shaky as she was preparing all her cameras and memory cards into the camera bag, picking all the lenses she would possibly need. Then picking some basic clothes, she didn't need to impress anyone, she used to love dress up a bit for him. Knowing she would be in the public eye judged by millions of fans. But sometimes it felt like black tee and black skinny jeans wouldn't do much harm.

She was running out of time to get ready, so she took a quick shower, let her shoulder length brown hair air dry as she quickly did her skin care routine and packing all things she used into a cosmetics bag, including her make up to another one, brushing her teeth while throwing everything into a big luggage and a her laptop to her carry on. She cursed at Jeff too many times, when she nearly tripped over the coffee table in her living room, trying to get dressed, but also to not forget all chargers and mainly her phone. As she was ready to leave, she knocked on her friend who lived two floors under her, giving her keys so someone would water her orchidees. Amy gave her sympathic look, as she knew where exactly was she headed, and how is her heart going to ache.

Amy was a blonde haired girl who knew Harry thanks to her boyfriend and his friends, so when the word of him looking for a new photographer got out, she immediately thought of Nina Shaw. Amy still could remember the day she moved into the same building, dropping her favorite vase in front of the house, cursing and sitting on the first step. She looked lost and angry, but there was something about her, so Amy did her good deed of the day and helped her to get things out of her car to her new apartment, and later that day, to even unpack all stuff and find its place. They immediately bonded and became close friends, having wine Fridays and brunch Sundays. Amy worked as a mediocre model, her career hitting of basically through connections and Instagram. So having a good photographer as one of her closest friends was definitely useful.

"Please try not to get hurt by him again." she said as they broke off the tight hug.

"You are saying that as if he is evil." Nina tried to laugh it off, always acting tough.

"I know him longer than you, don't forget." she just nodded, leaving her and hurrying to her Uber driver then helping her with her luggages.

* * *

The landings weren't her favorite, she managed to get a bit of sleep and had to deal with terrible hungover now. She waited a bit for her luggage, planning to get a coffee before heading to her hotel, she rushed out of the arrivals room before the biggest wave of travelers hit and it would be impossible to get a cab rightaway, all she was planning was to get a bit of sleep before she had to face her stupidly rich and famous ex boyfriend.

Her calculations and plans ruined by a simple paper with her last name on it, as if she wouldn't recognize his face anywhere in the world. He tried to look casual, having big sunglasses on his face, wearing simple black oversized hoodie and black skinnies. It was long time since she last saw him wear those, he switched pretty quickly to bit high waisted paper bag trousers when he tried them on.

"Nina." he waved at her, she still could pretend she didn't hear him. But as few people in front of her turned to him and his voice, she had no other choice. She waved at him lightly, cuddling more into her warm sweatshirt and then going to his direction. She is going to kill Jeff for this.

"Hey." she said quietly, letting him to take her luggage and carry on, leaving her only the camera bag and her purse. He was looking at her, as he was bit shocked her once long hair were gone.

"You cut your hair." he said, without any emotion in his voice.

"I cut my hair, yeah." she repeated, Nina wasn't quite sure as how to behave now, he was pretty much her boss, but also her ex boyfriend she still was head over heels for.

"Why?" he stopped at his car and opened the truck.

"Felt like I need a change it up a bit." She said, avoiding his eye contact at all costs, getting to the back seat of the car. He didn't really make a comment about why she didn't take the passenger seat next to him, after he close the trunk and got to his seat, it was dead silent.

Nina zoomed out while watching the way pass by, the buildings being tall and eventually her eyes closed and she took a short nap before he parked in the garages of a penthouse he rented for this summer. Jeff didn't know anything about him picking her up, it just felt stupid for him to let her stay at some cheap hotels because Jeffery wouldn't spend more than needed on staff's acommodation. Three stars were enough, as he said.

Harry sat in the car in silence for about twenty more minutes, before Nina started waking up, looking around confused and then meeting his eyes in the mirror of the car. His eyes were dull, with no expression. She used to love the color of his eyes, the dimples on his cheeks and his damn beautiful smile, now she felt like choking as she was looking at him without any word said for couple of moments.

"Where are we?" she said quietly, stretching her arms a bit.

"My penthouse." he said firmly, his voice monotone. She couldn't really read him at all.

"Why?"

"The hotel wasn't nice." he said simply and got ouf the car.

[chrismdthings]

barcelona (part I)

pairing: chris dixon x reader warning(s): none note: listen to barcelona - ed sheeran while reading / part one of three / 3,635 words

Chris Dixon Barcelona, Catalonia

Day one of seven. Hour one of the one-hundred-sixty-eight possible. 

“Dixon, how long does it take you to get ready?”

“Long enough for you to start complaining, apparently.” Chris shot back as he checked his hair one last time in the mirror, washing his hands, and then smoothing out the wrinkles in his blue button-up.

The trick of rolling your clothes was good to save space, but not good when it came to keeping things neat and tidy. There was no time to turn on a hot shower and let the steam take out the wrinkles, nor was there time to search the condo for an iron. Chris was just forced to deal with it.

Hearing the footsteps, trail away and back down the hallway, Chris stepped out of the bathroom and back into his bedroom. He double-checked his pockets; wallet, check.. key, check... phone, check. After nearly an hour of “getting ready”, Chris was able to leave.

If you count “getting ready” as laying in bed and ignoring the fact that he was supposed to already be getting ready an hour ago while scrolling through his phone. That was his “getting ready”, and he was also the reason his friends were starving.

Less than two hours ago, the group of three arrived in Barcelona for the first day of their week. Their flight from London wasn’t too long, but they were exhausted after a night of no sleep. If it wasn’t for their stomachs nagging them to get dinner, Chris was sure all three of them would be passed out asleep in their respective beds, or maybe even on the sofas as they were the first comfortable surface they stumbled across.

Chris and his two friends, Vincent and Dean, we’re staying at an Airbnb just five minutes away from the booming city. It was a large villa with three bedrooms and a large living space, and had the nicest Belgian-Colombian host that made sure they felt at home for the week. It was the cheapest place, but the loveliest, and they hit the jackpot. 

The host also didn’t care about coming in at the ungodly hours of the morning, which was a definite plus as the group had intentions of staying out every night they were in the city.

Shutting off the light, Chris walked down the hallway and into the living room where both Vincent and Dean were waiting on him, sitting on the sofa and lounge chair. Chris looked at them and they glared at him in return, causing the Jersey native to immediately bow his head but slightly chuckle.

“Sorry about taking a bit longer to get ready.” He said sincerely.

“Chris you were getting ready for...” Vincent pulled back his sleeve to look at the watch on his wrist. “An hour.” 

Chris shrugged and Dean spoke up next; “It honestly took you longer to get ready than it usually does to post a photo to Instagram.. and that’s saying something.”

“Okay, let’s have a Chris-roasting-session, why not.” Chris groaned before walking towards the door. “Let’s go.” 

Flora Vivas Barcelona, Catalonia

Day sixteen our of numerous. Hour three-hundred-eighty-seven out of many, many more.

Running her fingers though her dark hair, Flora sighed and watched as the curls once again cascaded down her shoulders. She wished that she had the time, or dedication, to sit and fix her hair. However, after an early morning and no dedication to fix her hair what-so-ever, Flora let her hair be for the night. She wore it like that every day, so one night out couldn’t hurt anything.

“Flor, do you have any black heels I could wear?” Looking through the mirror, Flora’s eyes landed on her friend Anaïs. She leaned against the door frame and stared at the Catalan in front of her, and then Flora turned around to look at the outfit her best friend was wearing.

Flora pursed her lips and then spoke up. “Wear my silver Tom Ford heels.” She said. “They go better with your skin-tone than black-on-black.”

Anaïs didn’t argue against her word, instead walking over to the closet and grabbing the silver heels and trying them on. Flora continued her simple makeup routine in the bathroom whenever she heard her best friend speak up, “Flor you’re a lifesaver.” She said before rushing back out of the bedroom.

Every night the girls went out, for dinner or for drinks, that was the routine. One was desperate to find out something that matched their heels or dress or clutch, while the others tried everything to make it work. Flora had an eye for fashion, and knew exactly what pieced together perfectly. She could thank her mother and her mother’s old tendency to do the same things.

Plucking out a tube of faint pink lipstick from her bag, Flora ran the applicator along her bottom lip, and then her top before smacking her lips together and sealing the lipstick tube shut. Flora wanted to wear red lipstick, but the light denim jacket she suited for the night would clash with it, so she settled for a more subtle color.

Flora double-checked her outfit in the long mirror on the wall before shutting off the light and leaving the bathroom. She placed the lipstick in her purse and made sure she had her phone and wallet in here as well. 

Flora’s green eyes flickered up, looking at the digital clock on the wall, and reading off eight thirty. It was almost nine o’clock, which was her typical dinner hour. 

Most people didn’t understand Spain, or Catalonia’s, dinner times. Everyone ate dinner late and their nights ended later than most countries. Flora never questioned it as it was always her normal lifestyle, she didn’t know any different. 

“Are you two almost ready?!” Flora called out down the hallway, directing towards the other bathroom down the hall where Nela and Anaïs could be heard arguing over use of a mirror. 

“No!” 

“NO!”

Flora sighed dramatically and walked over to the balcony, sliding open the door and walking out into the warm Barcelona air. She took in a deep breath, smelling the faint Mediterranean sea water as the coast of Barceloneta Beach was a single street away from her. 

Even though Flora had spent eighteen years in the city, leaving this year to attend university, she still adored the city as if was the first time she seen it. It was her home, her paradise, and it always would be.

Flora loved the modernista feel, the art, the history, the people, the sights, and the food. It’s always where she felt calm and loved. All of her family, her friends, and her past was, and the city kept bringing her back no matter how far she traveled. 

Her hands gripping the cool metal railing, Flora felt the warm wind blow against her abdomen and then heard the heavy footsteps of her friends against the hardwood floors. The click of heels made her turn around, and she spotted Anaïs walking into the living room as she placed hooked her earrings in her ears. Nela was on her heels as they walked into the living room and kitchen to grab their things.

“FLORA LET’S GO.” 

“Don’t act like I am the one who took the longest to get ready here. I’m the starving one.”  

Chris Dixon Barcelona, Catalonia

Chuckling and shaking his head at an awful joke that Vincent made about the tapas he was consuming in a failed Spanish accent, Chris turned away. He shook his head and looked around.

The group of three chose a tapas bar just inside the city, it had a rustic style interior with dim lights hanging above the tables, deep red seats and ebony tables, and the long line of tapas across a bar that was enough to make your mouth water at first sight. That was the reason they ended up there, because it was close, and it looked too good to pass up.

Looking around the room, from family to couple, Chris heard the sound of the door opening in the mostly silent room and turned his eyes to the entrance. He saw a group of three girls walk in, all laughing and talking as they stepped inside and were escorted to a table adjacent to Chris and his friends.

He listened in to the group, it was actually hard not too as they were being so loud, and heard them speaking quickly. Their words did not sound Spanish, nor Portuguese, or any language he had heard of before. It was Catalan, and Chris had no idea what they were saying.

He had picked up here-and-there on Spanish in school but he was primarily taught French growing up in Jersey, so he had no idea of the entire Catalan language.

“Dixon, what are you looking at- oh.” Dean trailed off as he followed Chris’ gaze and to the group of girls feet away from them. Chris turned back immediately, looking away from the table, and to his friend. “They’re quite fit, huh?”

Chris nodded and cleared his throat, hoping to avoid the conversation. He knew how his friends were around girls, especially foreign ones. And with a drink or two in their systems, it was even worse than normal. 

And that’s the situation Chris was stuck in that night.

Vincent had one-too-many, actually two, beers in his system, and considered himself a total lad when it came to girls. However girls at bars or in clubs considered him to be a slimy bloke, even though he was rather quite good looking. His looks did not meet his actions.

And, of course, Vincent turned to the group of girls and looked at them. Chris watched him narrow his eyes and then turn back. “They’re Spanish.” He said. “Maybe they know a bit about Barcelona.” 

“What if they’re Portuguese, and they have no idea where they are.” Dean suggested the absolute worst.

Vincent shrugged. “It’s worth a shot.” He said before turning back to the girls, and Chris watched in horror as he called out for them across the room. After a semi-loud shout, and even a fucking whistle, Chris was watching between his fingers as the entire restaurant turned and stared at their table as he called out for the girls.

The girls that had walked in had just stood up, walking towards the tapas bar, but were halted when Vincent called out for them and then waved them over. 

“Oh God, oh God, oh God...” Chris trailed off as he tried to speak to them, but they walked over anyways, sharing grins and giggles between them.

But then the best came out of the situation... they didn’t think Vincent, or any of them, was creepy, and they spoke English. The best outcome Chris could have thought of.

“Are you three from around here?” Vincent asked slyly, resting his arm on the empty chair next to him. 

Chris turned and looked up at the girls, watching them nod. He looked at the girl whom stood closest to him, just a foot away from their table, as she spoke up first. “Yeah, all three of us were raised here.” 

“In Barcelona?” He asked and Chris rolled his eyes. Obviously, you idiot. The girls were much nicer than Chris though, and just simply nodded. Vincent shot them a grin, one that said he was one beer in too deep already. “Well my boys and I are here for the next week on a holiday. I was wondering if there were any good places to go, that you could tell us about?”

“Oh, absolutely.” The blonde in the middle spoke up. Chris looked at her, and then down to her silver heels and back up. “Do you mind if we go get our food and come back here and sit with you three?” She had a different accent than the first girl- it wasn’t too distinct, but obviously different.

Dean nodded hastily for Vincent and said; “of course! We’ll grab you three some chairs and you can join us.” He said with the best, smooth accent.

Chris mentally rolled his eyes again. His friends were being absolute lads tonight and he couldn’t stand it. They were always different around attractive girls.

A moment later the girls rushed off to the tapas bar and Vincent and Dean shot up from their seats, almost knocking over their chairs and the table completely, before rushing to an empty table and grabbing two other chairs for the table. Chris just sat in complete disbelief that his friends were already trying to pull girls on the first night. Another part of him wasn’t surprised.

The girls fetched their plates and drinks before walking over and settling down at the table. Chris watched one settle down across the table from him, next to Vincent, and then the other two took the chairs that had been grabbed just moments ago.

“So, tell us...” Vincent trailed off, turning to the girl seated next to him and shot her an award winning grin. “What are your names?” He asked.

The blonde across the table spoke up first and for her other two friends. “I am Anaïs, this is Nela..” she pointed to the girl next to her with light brown hair and a white top, “and this is Flora.” 

Chris watched her motion to the girl sitting next to him, she was sitting close their knees were grazing slightly under the table. She sat closer so Chris was able to see more of her than the others.

Anaïs had distinct blonde hair and fair skin that was completely different than the other natives in the room. Nela had light brown hair that swayed at her shoulders, and she wore a white top with foreign words spread across the top in colorful letters. And Flora had black hair in tight curls that trailed down her back, and she had striking green eyes that shocked Chris when she turned to him with a warm smile.

Anaïs was in a conversation with Vincent, and Dean had spoken up to Nela, so Flora turned to him to spark up a word to keep the awkwardness at bay.

“So, what are you guys doing in Barcelona?” She asked, twirling the straw in her drink between her fingers.

“Just a holiday.” Chris said. “We had been everywhere else, and we were looking for somewhere warm and that we hadn’t been too.” 

Flora nodded. “It’s a great place to holiday, you know. There is loads to do here in the city itself.”

“Really? What do you guys like to do?”

She shrugged and they met eyes again. Chris looked into her striking icy green eyes and he felt cold, like he couldn’t turn away, but her smile was enough to warm him up. “It’s different for natives than for you tourist..” she said like an insult and they chuckled lightly. “No, but there is a lot of shopping, sight-seeing, food variety, there is everything for people who like to do different stuff.” She continued. “I mean, for you guys, you could visit La Ramblas not too far from here and see the shopping, or go to the beach and relax, tour Camp Nou or catch a match. That’s typically what most do.” 

Chris pursed his lips and nodded. “I would love to see a match in Camp Nou.” 

“You’re a fútbol boy.. I sensed it.” She laughed. Chris listened to her laugh for the moment- it was a hearty laugh, like she was genuinely happy and found delight in knowing that her assumption was true. It was a cute laugh, her lips were spread to reveal pearly whites, and he could listen to it forever.

“Really? How?”

“I don’t know. You just looked like a fan.” Flora shrugged and he grinned. “Do you like Barcelona, though? I mean..” 

“Not in particular, no. I like the squad, the club itself is so historic and phenomenal, but they aren’t my favorite.” 

“Who are your favorites then?”

“Arsenal,” Chris said proudly as if boasting the red and white colors at the moment. He always wore the Arsenal pride wherever he was, but this was an exception. 

“Shame,” Flora clicked her tongue. “It’s a shame that London is blue.” Chris snorted and threw his head back.

“Is Spain white then?” He tried to shoot back.

“Spain, sí, I assume so. Catalonia? Catalonia is forever blaugrana.” She said and Chris felt a pep in his heart at her football knowledge. They grinned at each other before laughing lightly. “It’s a shame you are a Gooner though, I could definitely direct you to the nearest stand that sells all the Barça merchandise possible. I’m talking kits, cups, flags, scarves, pins, forms to sign your soul away to the club... that shit.” 

Chris chuckled. He liked her sense of humor, and her thick accent was definitely a plus.

“So tell me...” Flora trailed off, raising a brow at him, and he knew she was searching for his name.

“Christopher, but you can call me Chris.” He said, leaning his chin on his knuckles and she nodded.

“Christopher..” she repeated, her accent straining the very beginning of his name, but Chris didn’t care. His name rolled off her tongue and it sounded beautiful. 

Damn her and the accent.

“Christopher, where are you from?” Flora asked, picking up an empanadilla from her plate and taking a bite. 

Chris watched her lick her lips before clearing his throat and shaking his head. Everything she did or said got into his head and he was being an absolute idiot around her.

“I’m from Jersey.” He nodded and watched Flora raise a brow. He quickly continued, “it’s a channel island, just off the coast of France.” He corrected and Flora nodded.

“Okay! I know now!” She laughed. “Is it beautiful there?”

Chris shrugged and teetered his head back and forth. “It’s okay, sometimes.” He said and they laughed. “It’s really small, but there are some beautiful sights, you just have to be in the right places.” 

Flora smiled at him. “That’s how Barcelona is.” She said. “Sometimes it’s not so pretty, but it’s what within the streets that matters.”

“Exactly,” he nodded. “There are cliffs, beaches, lighthouses, a few small castles.. it’s a beautiful place.” 

“It sounds gorgeous.” Flora said and took a quick sip of her drink. Chris took her pause to take a drink of his own order. “If I ever wind up there one random day, would you ever do me the favor of showing me around?”

“Absolutely,” he said and they smiled again before turning away from each other and to their respective plates.

Chris took a bite of his croqueta, which was a random food that resembled an egg roll so he picked it up, and nodded. After swallowing he took a sip of his drink and watched Flora pick up something off her plate, and something that looked completely odd to him. But she took a large bite out of it, nodding as if pleased, and placed the remain of the battered food back on her plate.

The Jersey native raised a brow; “what is that?”

Flora turned to him, watching him signal down to her plate, and then she realized what he was talking about. “It’s called chopito.” She said, the name rolling off her tongue, and Chris watched her pick up another piece of it off her plate. “Or sometimes called puntillitas.” She placed it on his nearly empty plate. “Try it,” 

“What is it?” Chris asked, picking it up a moment later and inspecting it. 

Flora just laughed, “just try it.” 

He shouldn’t have trusted a complete stranger who told him to eat a random piece of food, but Chris was feeling adventurous, and popped the entire thing into his mouth. Whatever it was, it had a rich flavor that reminded him of fish, but it was light, a bit crunchy, but overall delicious.

Flora watched Chris’ expression switch from tense to pleased, and he nodded. “Did you like it?” 

“Yeah, it wasn’t bad.” Chris admitted before sipping his drink. “What was it?”

“Squid.” She said casually before popping another into her mouth, and Chris choked at the first thought of him eating squid, and sent Flora into a fit of laughter. 

Hours had passed, and it was near eleven when both of the groups had decided their night had to end there.

Dinner had been full of laughs, random conversations that got everyone involved, and even more conversations between Chris and Flora. They sat at the edge of the table and delved into their own world, talking about life and even more teasing each other about football and accents, and Chris even trying to give her Catalan accent a shot that ended horribly with the both of them roaring in laughter.

Neither Chris nor Flora wanted the dinner to end. They were having so much fun together, just talking among themselves and laughing as their friends downed a round of beers.

So outside of the restaurant, in the middle of the street as the others tried to hail taxis, Flora and Chris made a pact to see each other again that week. They shared phone numbers even though they had no idea what that would leave to.

“Shoot me a text one morning and I’ll be up to show you guys around Barcelona, or bail you out of a Catalan jail.” Flora said as her friends jumped into a taxi and called out her name.

Chris laughed. “Hopefully the nights out won’t have to come out of that.” He said, watching her walk towards the taxi on the side of the street. “I’ll see you soon, Flora.” 

She nodded at him and smiled. “See you soon, Christopher.”