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juleswolverton-hyde · 5 years ago

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The Words upon the Window Pane | Chanyeol

Genre: Smut, Angst (only a wee bit), PwP

Pairing: Auhor!Chanyeol x Reader

Warnings: Top!/Dom!Chanyeol, fingering, unprotected wall sex (ALWAYS do it safely, lads and lasses!), subtle dom/sub themes, swearing/cussing, dirty talk, love bites

Summary: The relation between Logic and Passion is often difficult for artists and certainly so when the involved parties dabble in words. Because language has the power to conceal the truth, to say what otherwise might not be said.

The words upon the window pane.

However, one night, a mouth is brave enough to at last utter them.

And to bring about unexpected consequences.

Author’s Note: The title is derived from the play of the same name by W.B. Yeats, who is, as you may or may not know, one of my favourite poets and greatest inspirations as of late. Furthermore, this is the first EXO smut piece to be written by this wee birdy, which hopefully shall not disappoint more experienced EXO-Ls.

All in all, I hope you enjoy the work of a feather.

Making a living as an author is not easy, especially when starting out and having only a single book to one’s name. However, Voice is not merely a literary tool to use in order to be heard, since it can also realistically become audible when speaking. All in all, it remains a fluent phenomenon and so it is of great benefit to storytellers to have mastery over it. To provide experiences that ignite vivid imagery thanks to simply creating an ambience with sound when not craftily doing the same on the page. Such is the talent of the author rapidly grown popular online due to a deep voice and funny personality, thousands of women drooling over the tailored experiences provided to them on multiple platforms.

But none of them has ever gotten the real deal, their sensual emotions remaining one-sided whereas those of a newbie novelist are answered.

Sometimes.

The relationship started after the romance department of the same publishing house contracting the famous erotic writer took a bold chance by offering a contract to an unknown name having just completed a manuscript about an innocent coffee shop romance. During the meeting with the assigned editor, icy pale locks wandered into the modern cafeteria and toward the table where a conversation about the next steps towards actual publishing took place, sitting down wordlessly and merely observing. Withal, basalt irises blatantly ignored rapidly flushing rosy cheeks on the adjacent seat, focused intently on the ones across the table that tried to maintain a steady composure.

Yet it crumbled bit by bit as genuine interest was shown during a spontaneous proposal to drink coffee together sometime after the editor held a brief round of introductions at the end of the important chat, which had gained an unintentional third participant. Piece by stiff piece got chipped away over warm beverages thereafter, talking about upcoming manuscripts and the professional giving a newbie a couple of tips to not stumble and, perhaps, fall without hopes of getting up.

And were entirely smoothed out among the sheets after the daring kiss when goodbye came on the first proper dinner date, Chanyeol leaning in without hesitance to rapidly turn a chaste caress of the cheek into sin once having been escorted safely to the front door of one’s own roof.

To make a heart fall for one which is unbound, according to the rumours spoken by the female tongues which all supposedly possess a sensual experience of sorts concerning the novelist. Notwithstanding, one can talk but not say anything, let alone the truth. Withal, the gossip has expanded while being in a strange type of relationship, always being the first to propose something to do and bleached smooth strands simply agreeing if the busy schedule allows it, of course. Spontaneous proposals for a movie night or trying out a new café are one-sided, the first time drinking coffee together being the sole occasion on which it came from the distant beloved. However, during the opportunities to be together, it never fails to feel genuine.

Sincere in spite of the mouths believing it is merely about sex, warning to get out now before it is too late.

The logical ship has left the safe haven.

It is too late.

Regardless of bravely sailing in an individual sea, the doubt can never be kept at bay since it lurks as a kraken in the darker waters coming up on the journey every now and again. After all, the fans of the deep voice catering supposedly “exclusive” experiences for them would loathe the fact their imaginary lover actually has a girlfriend. Moreover, the serpents roaming the office keep telling tales that steadily grow arms and legs, each limb stemming from the period in which minds were apart.

Those spans of time increase in frequency.

Lunch grows lonelier.

Days are spent in isolation.

Reassuring words do not hold significance on the floor of the publishing house nor on those of one of our apartments on a lucky night.

No acknowledgement.

All there is, is vagueness.

Just something.

Something.

Undefinable.

Certainly not pretty or comforting.

Empty. Yes, that is the best way to describe it.

Hollow, lonely, one-sided.

Unrequited.

And it takes away the hunger at the dinner table beneath the luxurious roof, the expensive wine and home-cooked meal using high-quality ingredients holding as much inherent value as a shilling in the gutter. So the fork is put down, the bite laboriously swallowed and focus averted from the porcelain plate presenting little yet seeming too stacked.

‘Baby, are you alright?’ Head cocked to the side in wonder, Chanyeol stops mid-bite, sensing something is off.

Something.

Always something is off.

Right now, it finds a voice in a lowly muttered remark as disappointed fingers shove the still full plate and cutlery away as far as possible. The stomach can live with the stone in it, like the heart slowly freezing itself thanks to the vicious tales of betrayal can continue to exist in ice. After all, even this week’s audio consisting of ‘’sexy’’ unboxing ramblings and testing out toys sent by mistresses somewhere else is but a mere drop in the overflowing bucket. ‘I’m not hungry.’

The limit has been reached.

End of the line.

Of this.

Us.

If there even ever has been a happy chronicling couple.

‘You’ve barely eaten.’ The unsuspecting fork picks up a perfectly grilled asparagus, endeavouring the feed a soul starved of happiness. A perfectly useless attempt at making things right for the culprit knows very well what goes on behind the scenes that are enacted every time at the workplace, the little faked though credible moments of two youngsters being solely friends but perhaps a bit more. No one knows for sure, but they do assume. Gossip has a way of being heard, even when feigning to ignore it in favour of personal fantasies. ‘At least have a few more vegetables.’

‘Did it...’ A wry smile carves itself on a face which is on the edge of tears, remembering every word said at the collective coffee machine in the cafeteria alongside the lovesick comments on every digital upload and equally sensual reaction to a novel novel. How can the detailed storyteller not notice the burning water droplets searing their way to the lash line?

Begging.

Begging to fall.

To be noticed.

Because they have had to hide so bloody long in loneliness.

Denied.

A significant detail.

‘Did it mean anything?’ God forbid that the words spilt between the sheets, on dates and in secrecy in the coffee corner did not hold any meaning. Withal, knowing how writers are for the craft is part of one’s own personality, there are no better tricksters. Words can be made pretty, cunningly serving to conceal the ugly truth.

‘What? Did what mean anything? Babe, what are you on about?’ The uncomprehending gravely worried furrowed brows relax, raven irises softening as they discover the tale of the Ice Queen’s heart and damnably igniting the thawing process. Looks can kill, as is the word on the street, and the big pale wolf knows it judging by the gentle smile only reserved for his foolish mistress. ‘You’ve been listening to gossip again. Look, I’ll say it again and I still mean it. I love you, Y/N. Only you. You ought to know that by now.’

The supposedly well-meaning palm resting between the abandoned dishes is not lovingly covered, digits remaining apart instead of entwining in blissful union. Instead, the chair is pushed back as the napkin that formerly rested on the lap is viciously thrown onto the table surface. Voice is barely controlled, dangerously close to cracking yet forced to maintain steady fury. ‘Don’t fucking lie to me! I know this means nothing.’

‘Means nothing? This means nothing?’ The actions are fiercely mimicked, the pleading tone in speech overruling the fabricated calm demeanour. ‘It does, babe. It really does.’

‘Yeah, right. As if you haven’t said that to one of those horny dolls who gladly listen to their fantasy boyfriend or read about all the wonderful things you’d do to them. What did you call them again? Your honeys?’ There is no stopping the jeering guided by the incomparable ache rendering every nerve paralyzed, an alternative ego who feels betrayed rising with every second of the outburst.

In the end, she, too, is one of many.

I am nothing.

‘Babe, please-’ Agonizingly following footsteps attempt to reason, begging to stay for a proper vis-á-vis to resolve this “problem” while making their way to the hallway.

Evidently without success. ‘Oh, piss off. I’m sure you had others in the time I was gone.’ The searing tears on lashes in the wee hall finally stream down the cheeks, lost in bittersweet memories of a time ruled by naivety. When every touch was so certain of love, felt protective and was believed to be sincere.

Notwithstanding, that was then.

This is now.

‘It really meant something to me, you know? I fucking gave myself to you because I stupidly trusted you, Chan! You were my first.’ A shake of the head brings about enough steadiness to remain coherent in speech, to at least keep a total breakdown at bay a little longer. The battle is almost won, a little bit more perseverance needs to be put in before all might become actually well. ‘But I could’ve, no, should’ve known better. So fuck off and leave me alone.’

Just as a hand reaches towards the knob of the front door, a firm palm wraps painfully around the left wrist. Once that power was loved, but now it is just that: hurt.

And it wants… needs to be left behind.

To make it pay for the solitude.

The agony needs to face the consequences.

‘No.’

The pain in the shape of the man who was believed to make up the world.

Stupid.

We both only have our stories to speak honestly in because they are the sole place where it is possible to be true.

Funny how a broken heart ignites a sense of creativity to exploit and there is a sudden haste to make use of it. Or so the mind wants this to be the reason behind the futile struggle for freedom for the real reason is the simple need to get away before breaking the character of the hard-headed sneering Ice Queen and leave oneself in fragments on the battlefield. ‘Let. Me. Go.’

A vicious tug makes feet stumble away from the entryway and slam into the wall opposite the stairs, Chanyeol’s face mere inches away and obsidian irises burning with sorrowful rage that has grown from incomprehension. All acting halts at once, alarmed breath coming out ragged as the powerful gentleman is sought frantically on a quietly raging beautiful expression. ‘I won’t. Not until you finally listen to me and know who you belong to, young lady.’

Slender digits clad in a chic ink-black jacket roughly push aside underwear, unapologetically disappearing beneath the skirt to exert sexual dominance as lips powerfully nullify all chances at protest. ‘This is mine. Only mine. All I can think about these days, so much so I can’t even write without giving you a role in my novel.’

The possessive growling fuels the heat below, slowly reducing the hurtful stretch, as all vocabulary is lost in the marks left behind on the throat by stark white teeth. Miraculously, the ability to resist the temptation remains although it falters and starts to stutter in the strong secure warmth of a familiar palm at the end of the spine. ‘I- I don’t be- believe you.’

‘Who do you think is more credible?’ A rough mind-boggling thrust goes paired with the branding being interrupted to snarl against a slightly open mouth, dominant despite oddly affectionately resting foreheads against one another and chuckling as haphazard fluttery palms rest on broad shoulders. ‘The man who loves you or some women you don’t even know?’

In spite of being barely able to respond, a piece of hateful Logic remains and is capable of jeering and mocking the question that should have served to set things right. ‘But y- you could’ve fucked.’

‘I didn’t. Listen to me, young lady.’ The hand that formerly rested on the small of the lower back rises to envelop the throat, forcing a lock of gazes while enchantingly cutting off access to air. ‘Ever since we met, I’ve been yours. I’d never give anyone else a role in my novels because nobody inspires me like you do.’

‘D- Don’t stop.’ There is too much deliria to persist in protesting, each movement beneath fabric erasing the thought of resisting the platinum wolf as soon as it arises. Instead, it gives rise to memories of beautiful naive nights that make up the horror and delight of an insane mistress of letters, both inside the pages and outside.

Throwing the heart back into bittersweet love.

‘Ah, there she is. There’s the helpless little slut I know.’ With an ashamedly wet noise, slim fingers undo the bodily connection that had been greedily gone along with, leading to an inevitable displeased whine that evokes a lovely dark chuckle.

A nudge of the nose asks to follow the focus of the seemingly only sane mind, see what the writer wants to be noticed without resorting to loathsome spoon-feeding. It is all in the details, that is where the heart of the tale lies. ‘See that?’

Lashes flutter innocently as gaze wanders lower and lower to restricting dusk-shaded denim, wordlessly remarking on the considerable outlined shape that the idiotic heart and persona meant to have walked out the door greatly want to exploit. ‘Only you do that to me, Y/N.’ An almost sweet peck on the forehead turns attention upward briefly before receiving another on the lips, after which a command makes hands act in too enthusiastic desirable greed. ‘Undo the zipper.’

It takes little time nor effort to force down sturdy and elastic fabric to bare burning desire to the chill air in the hallway. And it takes even less than that very same moment to be pinned against the wall once again, thighs supported by iron hands promising to never let go, and directly connect in body and soul.

Willingly.

Beautifully.

‘Fuck, every time is like the first. I remember our, grm, hrm, first night. How you begged me to go harder-’ the speed accelerates, snarls growing more and more savage with every advance as behaviour, too, becomes wonderfully harsher, ‘rough you up. All the while acting like an innocent doe, turning me on. Mewling, pinned to the bed, forced to take me. God, I love it when you’re like that. Helpless. Powerless. Submissive.’

Every word is accentuated by an animalistic thrust, a sweet kiss on the side of the neck contrasting with the teeth leaving behind plum marks of possession at equal intervals. A low rumble of delight at platinum locks being pulled on vibrates in the buff chest lovingly keeping the spine against the wall, rejoicing in the flowing waterfall of mere meek noises.

Exactly as we were during the first night.

Loving now as we had before.

Honestly.

Snarling sweet nothings against skin while erasing every thought in the chase for the satisfaction of primal desire. When tears of analyzed sadness turned into those of unadulterated pleasure. ‘Crying as you take my cock deep inside that dripping little pussy.’

‘Cha- Chanyeol-’ There are no words to break through the haze of bittersweet nostalgia, leaving the sentence unfinished. It does not matter for all focus is turned towards reaching temporary enlightenment as fast as possible in the most savage manner.

‘Cum on that cock, baby. Cream that fucking cock.’

Any sense of resistance that somehow managed to linger, loathing Logic deeming the act wrong in every aspect and begging for liberation, is erased in an instant as the command is pressed onto firm lips.

It is wonderful.

Incredibly gorgeous.

Having Chanyeol wrap his storytelling palm around the throat once more as the other presses bodies together until there cannot possibly be any distance left. Wolfish grunts fall from cushiony lips, chanting maddening “mine, mine, mine”s, while sprinting during the final bit of the primitive race, soon reaching the white light found between shivering thighs.

Who are crying silently in a paradoxical mixture that cannot be kept alive consisting of sensual delight, heartbroken self-hatred and rage directed towards loved pale locks.

Tears to, fortunately, be noticed once reason returns enough to no longer be under the influence of the desirable beast beneath the skin. Henceforth, it is the incredible author who affectionately wipes away the droplets running over the cheeks as onyx irises soften in comprehension of pain. ‘Hey, don’t cry, Y/N. Remember what I promised you?’

A head shake shows ignorance because there have been a great number of promises until now, which is acknowledged by the low chuckle that never fails to allow the usual guard to be let down and now disrupts the quiet panting betraying a sliver of glad exhaustion. The simple sound never fails to make the chest puff a little in pride and veins to bask in a loving warmth, even after being frozen in place without hopes of crumbling thanks to the vivid rumours floating around the office. ‘I know I have promised you a lot, but one thing is that I’d never make you cry because I’d never dare to break your heart. I genuinely love you, seriously am head over heels for you. Can you believe me when I say that?’

It is hard to respond negatively when bodies are still one and foolishly trusted palms envelop the cheeks, resulting in wavering speech on the verge of cracking. Withal, a little bit of strength is gathered from the tight grip on defined biceps engraved with ink. ‘I wa- want to, but... the gossip...’

‘Listen.’ A long tender kiss muffles the sobs aching to be released alongside the gasp at the sudden hollow feeling when the physical spell is lifted. Another one asks for focus on talking things over instead of paying attention on the faint sound of liquid dripping onto the hallway tiles. ‘You crying makes me want to cry because it hurts me to see you like this. It really does, babe. And people will always talk, but, perhaps, it might help if we go public? I have an interview soon.’

‘People will think I’m only dating you for your money.’ No matter if a statement will be made, the way of thought lies outside the influence of words. Authors know this first and foremost for each sentence that is penned down fails to fully convey what might be going on in vivid imagination and thus fails to be entirely understood.

A bittersweet smile tugs on the corners of the mouth as messy snow white locks fall obscure the sight of lips drawn into a stern line speaking melancholically, mocking oneself. ‘I wouldn’t mind if you’d do.’

With more fierceness than expected, an answer to the rhetorical assumption bursts from a panicked mouth uncensored, clutching the soft fabric of clothes as if not doing so will induce an unbridgeable abyss. ‘But I don’t!’

‘I know that, Y/N. I know.’ Thumbs start to caress the sides of the face, somberly smoothing the anxious sorrow in self-reflection. ‘You know I hate losing, be it games or bets, but- but I- I-‘ Breaths grow short as tears start to brim in the corner of beautiful almond-shaped eyes. Hands fall away from the cheeks to wrap around the middle, the waist caught in a sturdy grip. Foreheads rest against each other and the arms of a claimed mistress wrap around the neck, fingertips playing with the pale strands at the back. ‘I would scorn myself if I’d lose you.’

‘You’ll lose readers if we go public.’ After all, not everyone enjoys a real life romance and certainly not those imagining one individual as their partner while he is, in truth, already faithfully bonded to another woman.

‘Doesn’t matter, I don’t care. If they’re true fans, they’ll be happy for us.’ Chanyeol’s voice has renovated its ocean deep steadiness, tiny lights appearing out of nowhere to illuminate a sudden bright cheery idea in a nightly gaze creating a bit of distance. ‘You know what? I’ll buy you a ring and a matching one for myself so everyone can see you’re mine.’ A palm shows itself from behind the small of the back to grab the left wrist and trace over the second-to-last digit. ‘To wear on this finger.’

‘You’d do that?’

‘Yes.’ The breathless chuckle is strangely melancholic yet delighted, the curious combination taking over demeanour entirely. ‘Yes, of course. Anything to keep you with me.’ The mere embrace suddenly turns into an inescapable hug, broad shoulders blocking out the world that wants to be temporarily forgotten. ‘I want you with me, only you. Please, stay with me. Here.’ The nose often kissed in the morning or cheekily out of sight of the publishing house staff nuzzles the side of the neck, whispering against the warm skin. ‘I want you to move in.’

‘Is that a wish or a command? I’m my own person, you know?’ The weak attempt at humour is seemingly appreciated, Chan tangibly chuckling before sighing in relief when being kissed on the top of the head.

‘There she is, there’s my good clever girl.’ Foreheads come to rest against each other once more in the air scented by whatever remains of dinner, perspiration and our perfumes combined, creating a weird musky howbeit fruity undertone. The chin is lifted by a curled finger after calmly being put to rest against the wall instead of being fully at the mercy of the writer’s engraved arms. ‘But you know very well what I mean, young lady.’

‘I do,’ fingertips bashfully run over the side of the storyteller’s neck, leaving behind a growling trail of anticipating goosebumps before rising to comb through pale strands, ‘sir.’

‘Don’t.’

A peck.

‘Tease.’

A kiss.

‘Me like that.’

Lip caught between teeth.

And freed once having clearly asserted dominance. ‘I’m yours.’ Although the inquiring peck on the cheek does not partake in the sensual teasing but is severe in character. ‘And you’re mine?’

Catching on to the need for credibility, the erotic novelist acknowledges it while sweetly yet sincerely murmuring. ‘Entirely yours. Not just in stories or audios, in real life as well. As long as possible, until we no longer breathe. This I promise.’

And thus this part of our tale ends, the fragment of the middle part leading to the end.

Of that which ink cannot fully capture on paper, in sounds or on skin.

Withal, it is not necessary because we have each other for inspiration and retellings.

Musing.

In love.

In medias res.

#ksmutclub #EXO #EXO smut #EXO x Reader #Chanyeol #Park Chanyeol #LOEY

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hearteyesmotherclucker · 5 years ago

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Common Enemy 6

Word count: 1.7k

Warning: mild profanity (but what story is good if it doesn’t have a little of that lol)

A/n: omg I loooove this chapter! And I promise, romance is coming!! this was kind of a filler, but it turned out like 90 times better than I thought it would!! So enjoy! And Reblog Please!!

———————//———————

You grunted in frustration from the top of Theseus’s desk. It had been days since you had any real leads and you were running out of ideas.

Theseus sat with his elbows resting on the desk, his hand running over his sleep-deprived face. Across from him sat Mustache, slumped in his chair, staring blankly at the back of a picture frame sitting on Theseus’s desk.

You glanced at your watch. “Lads, I hate to break up this party, but if we keep going at this rate, we won’t get anything done,” you said, lazy sarcasm engulfing your words.

Mustache glanced up at you for a moment, sighing, before saying, “Any suggestions, then?”

Theseus sat up, as if trying to motivate himself. But the trail was almost dry, and you’d picked apart every clue you had.

“Right. Let’s go over that night one more time,” he said, focusing his attention on you again. “What are we missing?”

You threw your hands up in frustration. “We’ve been over it a million times, Thes! He was just acting like the lunatic he is! Anything he said is bullshit!”

“Bullshit to you,” he corrected, teasing you. “Maybe not to us. Do you remember anything? Any meeting place or hints at plans? There must be something.”

You sighed, rubbing your temples. “I don’t know. I don’t suppose you have a pensieve, do you?” You asked sarcastically.

Theseus’s eyes widened, and muttered, “Hang on...” He immediately stood, running to the door. “Y/n! Come on!” He yelled over his shoulder.

You glanced at Mustache, bewildered, and he returned the expression, shrugging.

“Hurry up!” You heard Theseus’s voice yell from the elevator.

You stepped out of the elevator into a dark, freezing hallway. There was nothing but silence around you, contrasting drastically from the other floors. Everything was dark marble and shined even in the darkness. You glanced around, uneasy.

Theseus wordlessly lead you down a long hallway that seemed almost endless.

“Theseus, where the hell are we?” You asked, slightly unnerved at the setting surrounding you. Walking closer to him, not fancying getting lost down there, you turned the corner and finally stopped.

“The department of mysteries,” he answered shortly, barely glancing back at you, focused on the identical doors that now stood before you.

You waited for something to happen, but Theseus just stood there, eyes closed, perfectly still.

You were about to ask what he was doing when the doors shifted into one single door. Magic, am I right? You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion.

“You can’t say the password out loud. If you walk into either of the two doors without the password, you set off the alarms,” he explained, leading you into an even darker room, solely lit by blue light in the center of the room. It was coming from a floating bowl of water, but you knew better than to believe it was just water.

You’d only heard about pensieves through your... previous career of illegal activity, but you never saw one. They were incredible rare, that much you knew.

Theseus stood across from you, gazing at the glowing water for a moment before pulling his wand from his jacket pocket.

Taking a step toward you, he placed his wand on your temple. You were suddenly extremely aware that Theseus was less than a foot away from you. His other hand found the side of your face, steadying you. You gulped, finally meeting his eyes.

His mouth opened, but nothing came out as you locked eyes. He finally collected himself after a moment, and you saw something flash in his eyes that you couldn’t identify. Confusion? Realization? You weren’t sure.

“Right,” he began, shifting his weight as he talked. “If we do this, it won’t just be memories from that night, it’ll be some that relate to whatever you were thinking about that night too. So I’ll be able to see everything you see... is– is that alright?”

You considered it, but quickly nodded. Theseus already knew about Charlie, so there wasn’t anything he didn’t know about... really.

He nodded and muttered a spell you didn’t quite catch, pulling a string of memories and placing them in the water.

You stared at the water and Theseus glanced apprehensively at you for a moment, and you got the feeling he’d been in your position before. His mind on display for someone. But you trusted him, so you leaned down and gazed into the water, him immediately following suit.

You landed in a room you immediately recognized. It was the living room of your childhood home.

Theseus’s Point of View.

I looked around a small living room, recognizing y/n’s picture on the walls, much younger, but it was definitely y/n. She’s been beautiful her whole life, I noticed as I surveyed the other pictures around the room.

I glanced at y/n’s form standing next to me, a face full of reminiscence.

Two young children played on the floor in front of us, neither one older than 8, and I knew it was y/n and Charlie. It was an innocent memory, the two children laughing at the cat on the sofa.

Y/n smiled at the sweet memory before her as Charlie lifted the cat to put into her young arms. Young y/n grinned and laughed in delight as the cat purred loudly. That was all, but y/n’s face told me it meant a lot to her.

The scene changed, and y/n and Charlie were much older, both young Hogwarts students.

Christmas decorations hung around them, but all cheer was gone from their faces. They sat on the floor of the Ravenclaw common room, alone. I was surprised to see tears rolling down both of their faces, y/n’s face looked as if she had been crying for hours, her head resting hopelessly on Charlie’s shoulder. I’ve never seen her this torn up, and I could barely imagine what it could be about.

Y/n looked upon the scene with a peculiar look on her face. It was sad, but there was anger in it as well.

“This is the Christmas we found out our dad left us,” y/n explained shortly. Anger now filled her face, but the tears in her eyes betrayed her. I nodded, not sure what to say as we surveyed Charlie’s words of comfort. Now I understood y/n’s shock at her brother’s choice of allegiance. He seemed like a good man, I thought, watching him comfort his little sister.

“Not a word to anyone, got it, Salamander?” Y/n threatened half-heartedly, and I knew it was just to cover the vulnerability she undeniably felt. I studied her face. No, I would never bring it up again, but I could tell y/n thought about it every day.

The scene changed again, now we stood outside, of the side of an obviously rarely used road in Godric’s Hollow. Two figures walked along the side alone, and it must have been cold because they pulled their sweaters close to them as they walked.

The figures, which I assumed were still y/n and Charlie walked slowly, chatting quietly.

My eyes suddenly landed on a figure in all black lurking in the shadows ahead of them. Was that a wand in their hand? My stomach flipped uncomfortably as I realized what night this was. This was the night of Charlie’s “death.” I glanced at y/n, whose face was full of emotion as her eyes were fixed upon the scene before her.

The figure drew closer, and Charlie finally noticed it. He quickly drew his wand and pushed his sister behind him.

“State your business, sir!” Charlie’s low, threatening voice rang out.

The figure said nothing. One could probably hear a pin drop a mile away. The wind picked up too, giving chills to everyone present, even me and y/n, even though we couldn’t feel it.

“State your business!” Charlie repeated, his voice more fearful this time. Y/n remained paralyzed behind Charlie, her eyes trying to see the figure in the cloak.

The figure finally moved, but Charlie didn’t have time to raise his own wand before a flash left the top of the figure’s wand.

Charlie was thrown back, and y/n was left alone and wandless.

Y/n glanced around for any kind of weapon to use but there was none. There was nothing she could do to protect herself.

The figure raised their wand one more time, almost firing before Charlie jumped in front of y/n again, firing spells at their attacker.

“You stay away from her, you crazy bastard!” He bellowed, casting one more spell until the figure was knocked out. He finally put his wand back into his pocket.

Charlie turned to y/n. “Go get help. I’ve got it handled, y/n, I promise. He’s not even awake. Go!”

Y/n didn’t have time to protest, instead turning and bolting in the other direction. Something isn’t right, I thought to myself. He forgot something...

Before y/n could get more than a few feet, the figure jumped to their feet, their hood falling from their head to reveal Krafft. I was filled with dread as I realized Charlie didn’t take Krafft’s wand.

Krafft fired a curse before Charlie could get his wand.

“Y/n, go!” He yelled, before being consumed by a bright flash. I saw him crumple to the ground, unconscious, but not dead.

The most heart-breaking shriek I’ve ever heard rang out from the younger y/n, and she reluctantly turned, sobbing as she ran to find help. She had thought he was dead.

Pity and sympathy we’re all I felt as I looked at y/n, but she radiated strength. She held herself together remarkably well, now surveying the scene stoically. The scene dissolved one last time to the ice rink from that night.

I blushed as I saw myself crash on top of y/n and our eyes connect. I saw the y/n beside me blush too, and normally that would have thrilled me, but I heard that the huge crash before I could think too much about it.

The battle raged on, and I spotted a very different Charlie than before making his way to the y/n across the rink. The one I saw when they kidnapped me. The one I knew, but not the one y/n knew. I pulled the y/n beside me to the reunited siblings, and we watched y/n punch Charlie. Hard. I was impressed, to say the least. The y/n beside me remained emotionless.

I didn’t get a chance to hear them the first time, and now, as I listened to the words falling from their mouths, my heart broke for y/n.

Wait- I replayed the last sentence in my head. “Grindelwald desires your presence in his castle.” Those words stuck out to me. I finally realized, and it seemed y/n did too because her eyes connected with mine, full of realization. In his castle. That’s it! Grindelwald is hiding out in a castle! That would surely narrow the search down dramatically.

I was distracted from my discovery when the estranged siblings began throwing spells and curses at each other. I’ve rarely seen a duel like it. I’ve actually only seen skill equal to that of Charlie’s once...

“Come on, y/n. I’m not here to hurt you,” Charlie cooed, his voice cold and menacing.

Y/n scoffed. “It sure doesn’t seem like that, Chuck,” she retorted, causing Charlie to falter. It must have meant something to him. I stared at the scene before me... no, this isn’t right...

I watched y/n gain the upper hand, giving him one last chance to change sides, but one thing just didn’t seem right. Charlie seemed to be struggling with himself. As if... he someone was stopping him from straying from a plan.

The scene finally evaporated as I made a startling realization, and y/n and I were finally back in the pensieve room, gasping.

“Y/n! Your brother,” I panted urgently, “that wasn’t him!”

———

Tags: @indiebloue @newtslatte @1950schick @madamnouiselle @marauderette130 @dreacantsleep @muchamuchedad @bowtrucklescamander @hereiamhereigo @mrkrychek @my-super-musical-life @anolddayslover @spiderhemlock13 @petulantcacti @brittanymcsharry @preppy-by-the-c @justanotherenglisheducationmajor @missingthered0246 @nowheredreamer @barikawho @missjockey101 @galacticstxrdust @azamatic @petersunderoos96

#crimes of grindelwald #theseus scamander #theseus x reader #theseus x you #theseus scamander x reader #theseus scamander x you #callum turner #calum turner #callum turner x you #callum turner x reader #newt scamander #scamander #theseus #fanfic #fanfiction #common enemy #common enemy 6 #fantastic beats and where to find them #fantastic beasts

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rosecolouredash · 6 years ago

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Star-crossed; Hockey!Calum

Pairing: Hockey!Calum x fem!OC

Summary: It was just his luck that he found her pretty.

Warnings: Minor language, sports-related violence

Notes: So this is the third Hockey!Calum one shot I’ve posted in a row (the fourth, if you count Hockey!Cashton…) I DON’T KNOW WHO I AM. Ehhm. ANYWAYS thank you to the amazing @casht0n-hoodwin for sending me this blurb idea. As you can see Mak, I kinda ran with it and I might keep running with it for a lil while longer… Also, I tried something new and wrote this in the third person and with OCs! Let me know what you think. Otherwise, I hope you enjoy! It was nice to get back into some writing again.

Calum watched, slightly bleary eyed, as his captain ordered another round of shots. The group of college boys occupying the local bar started their night out thinking they’d have a casual drink with the team. Each boy was at least three drinks in, at this point.

The dark-haired boy laughed as he took the small glass that was offered to him by a fellow defensemen. After cheersing the teammates closest to him, Calum tapped the bottom of the glass on the bar before he brought it up to his lips and downed the shot in an instant - the liquor coating his throat with a somewhat pleasant burn.

The Timberwolves hockey team celebrated their recent win at regionals. They were now headed into the national championship.

“All right, lads. Try not to stay out late tonight,” Ashton started, using a tone of voice the team was familiar with during practice. “We have an early practice tomorrow and then our semi-final game against the Grizzlies on Saturday night.”

The team had less than a week to prepare for one of the most important games of their college hockey careers.

The Grizzlies were a relatively unknown team from the town over that qualified for nationals this year.

Their success was largely due to their captain, Blake Weaver, a rising forward who currently held the college league’s record of most goals in a single season. Their dark horse status left the Timberwolves apprehensive, especially their captain. Ashton was adamant on being ready to play against them.

Michael lifted his beer bottle to the team. “Here’s to a successful bear hunt, this weekend. Eh, boys?”

Howls of laughter filled the space.

As he took a moment to gaze around the small bar, Calum caught eyes with a pretty blonde who offered him a sweet smile.

He finished one more drink before declaring that he was headed out. Bidding farewell to his family of a team, some with much difficulty - Luke almost convinced him to stay - he left the crowded bar.

The late-evening air was cool on his skin.

Before he had the chance to begin walking back to his apartment, a couple of blocks away, the heavy door of the bar swung open again.

It was the blonde Calum had shared a smile with.

“Calling it a night, too?” He asked, kindly.

“Mm, something like that.” She grinned, her dimples becoming apparent. “The boys in there are getting a little rowdy.”

She continued to recount that as she left, a tall curly-haired boy had started double-fisting bottles of beer. Calum chuckled at the comment; confident that she was describing his best friend.

Falling into an easy-going conversation, Calum admired her eyes. They were a lighter shade of brown, unlike his own.

He learned that she was visiting town and that this particular dive bar was a recommendation. He listed other places to visit which she appreciated immensely. When she asked about dog-friendly spots, the dark-haired boy was elated to share the places in which he brought his little pup, Duke. At that point, he asked if she wanted to see pictures of him. He was halfway through pulling out his phone when she happily obliged; while sharing pictures of her own puppy.

Mid-way through their conversation, Calum realized he never properly introduced himself. As he gave his name, Ashton and Michael exited the bar with Luke - one of his arms draped over the two aforementioned boys.

“Cal, you’re still here?” Ashton questioned when he noticed that a girl was with him. She was shy of his height by a few inches.

Confused at the enquiry, Calum glanced at his phone, still out from sharing pictures of Duke and checked the time. He figured out that they were stood outside the bar talking for over an hour now.

Calum introduced his best friends, each of them giving her some form of greeting, safe for Luke who let out a small burp then giggled. His laugh was infectious and so she couldn’t help but join in.

They were telling her that they played on the college hockey team when a car pulled up to the curb of the bar.

“Oh! There’s my ride,” she apologized, cutting Michael off from his story from their last game. After wishing them goodnight, she got in and waved from the interior of the vehicle. She greeted the green-eyed boy in the driver’s seat who gave the foursome one last stare before speeding away.

“She was nice,” Luke hummed and then rested his head on Michael’s shoulder. “What’s her name?”

“Shit,” Calum realized she hadn’t said. Though, he did know her dog’s name was Rococo.

“That’s a nice name.”

Ashton snorted at Luke’s half-coherent response, rubbing his back. “Let’s get you home, mate.”

—

“That must be him.”

Calum looked over to the opposing team’s bench.

It was Saturday night and the semi-final game, between the Timberwolves and the Grizzlies, was about to begin. From his place on the ice, the defenseman watched as a tall fellow spoke to the Grizzlies head coach; WEAVER glaring from the back of his jersey in red fabric.

“You think you can take him, Cal?” The boy in blue looked over to his captain. It was decided that Calum would stay on Weaver; the entire game. He responded with a reassuring nod.

They got into their positions when the referee moved to center ice for the puck drop.

Ashton faced his opponent when a feeling of recognition washed over him. The Timberwolves’ captain raised his eyebrow at the boy. “Have we ever met before?”

Weaver stayed silent, his glare unnerving.

Michael let out a chuckle from his place on Ashton’s left. “Strong, silent type, huh?”

Their opponent shifted his gaze over to the left-winged player, “I let my actions on the ice speak for me.”

Before Michael could respond, the referee blew his whistle to signal the beginning of the game.

The puck went down and Ashton won the face-off. He quickly passed it to Luke, who then passed it up to Michael. Unfortunately, the left-wing had skated too far up on the ice and one of the Grizzlies got in-between to steal the puck.

Calum, who was about to cover Weaver, swore under his breath and fell back to play on the defensive.

It went back and forth like this between the two teams for a while.

At one point in the first period, the captain of the Grizzlies had possession of the puck.

This was Calum’s chance. He focused solely on the stitching of WEAVER on the back of the white jersey and went in for the hit. When Calum made contact, the defensemen could have sworn he heard a whimper when Weaver crashed into the boards and fell down onto the ice.

Before Weaver was hit, the puck was passed to a Grizzlies teammate that was off-side so the play was whistled down to a stop.

“Damn.” Calum heard from Weaver who was trying to get up from the ice. Feeling a little bad, the defensemen did the sportsmanly thing and offered a gloved hand. Before grabbing ahold of it, a voice cut through the ice, making them pull away from each other.

“Get away from my sister!”

“Sister?” Michael questioned, skating over to his best friend. He and Calum shared a confused look.

The boy who had called out, crouched down onto the ice and went to remove Weaver’s helmet. “You ok, Blake?”

“Woah, wait a minute…” Michael chimed in again but the rest of his sentence died out in his throat.

Underneath the headgear, blonde hair was revealed; bits of it falling out of a braided crown that wrapped around her head.

When Ashton too skated over, he realized why the guy he shared the face-off circle with seemed so familiar.

Luke was the last to join his teammates and best friends. Skating to a halt, he overlooked the scene and uttered the first words that came to his mind, “well fuck, there’s two of you?”

At that, Calum was broken out of his reverie. He locked eyes again with the pretty blonde they’d met a couple of nights ago at the bar.

She offered him a sheepish smile, her dimples matching those of her twin brother until he began to frown at the foursome. “It’s nice to see you boys again.”

Tagged: @irwinkitten @calpops @rosecoloredash @lilbabycalum @gorgeouslygrace @rainingcal @casht0n-hoodwin @lockthisheartinchains @americanhorrorstudies @lovableah

#ro writes #hockey!5sos #hockey!calum #hockey 5sos #hockey calum #hockey calum hood #hockey!calumhood #hockey!au #hockey au #calum hood imagine #calum hood one shot #calum hood x oc #calum hood #5sos #5 seconds of summer #5sos imagine #5sos one shot

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jennifersylvesters · 6 years ago

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every little reason - drabbles ( six )

Word Count: ~800 Warnings: none? Notes: “day six” of “seven days of prompts”. [ i really jinxed myself thinking i would manage to post consecutively. truly boo boo the fool. ] only one more day left, lads. whadda feat ( all prompts are essentially linked to one another. previous prompts are as follows: one, two, three, four, five, and six ) | prompt: “if i asked you to stay, would you?”

Reason #39 Tom Holland Was the Worst: He would forever and always play the tough guy, refusing to let down his guard.

When had the two of you become friends? When had toleration turned to trust? When had all these things happened without your realization? When had you willingly let Tom in, encouraging his presence? Better yet, when had he pulled you in without any hesitation?

When had the two of you become so close that he divulged aspects of his life that only close friends knew? Like how he couldn’t stand the taste of lemony foods and had the uncontrollable urge to push in chairs. Or how he loved his family so fiercely that he refused to let anyone badmouth them. How he always looked forward to visiting his nan every month, adoring her more than anyone.

You now wanted him a part of your life and vice versa. His comments of your recluse nature were no longer snarky, simply teasing your reserved attitude. You now received early invites to his parties. He urged you to hang out with him whenever available. And for him you didn’t mind the idea of socializing amongst complete strangers.

Which is how you found yourself at his house party on Friday night. This was not your scene but you’d bear it for him. You trusted you’d least have a decent time because he promised that you would.

Everyone you knew crowded the house, music blaring wildly into the streets. Still, you hadn’t seen him since you walked in. You politely declined drinks, socializing with those you knew and smiled at those you didn’t. Your eyes scanned all around trying to find the person who promised fun yet was nowhere to be found.

This atmosphere was beginning to overwhelm you that you needed a moment of solitude to collect yourself. It seemed to be an unspoken code that no one ventured upstairs. Tom allowed liveliness in his house, but the second floor would not be tarnished in any way or form. No one would bother you there.

Pushing open a door, you popped your head in. Tom’s room. Everything about it screamed his essence. Clothes scattered on the ground. Movie posters splayed all around the room. Polaroids of him and his friends. And then there was Tom.

He laid on his back, hands covering his face. His body heaved up and down silently. Calling out his name softly you entered the room. A brief moment before you realized he was crying. “Are you alright?” you approached cautiously, sure he would snap at your presence. Vulnerability was not his strong suit.

Instead he surprised you, patting the mattress as he wiped his face. He sat up and you took in his features. Red eyes rimmed with dark circles. His natural curls in disarray. A faint smile forced on his face as he met your eyes.

You called his name lowly, sitting next to him. He didn’t have to pretend with you. He could converse with you. Joke with you. Confide in you. Trust you.

Tom’s smile disappeared and tears welled up in his eyes again. “She’s gone. Nan...Nan’s gone” he croaked out before weeping in your arms, clinging to you desperately.

Pressing your lips in his hair, you murmured gentle words telling him that things would be alright. Your hands rubbed his back gently as he gasped for air in between his sobs. You wanted to keep him safe even for a mere moment in time.

Time passed yet you hardly noticed. While the loud music tapered off as the night drew on, you solely focused on the fragile man in front of you. Caring for him. Easing him of his pain even if it was only a small fraction. It wasn’t until that your phone buzzed that you finally checked the time. Had it really been that long?

Tom had stopped crying, breathing softly. The back of your hand caressed his cheek admiring how beautiful he looked even now. His hand curled around yours and you blinked in surprise. You assumed he fell asleep, exhausted from his own way of processing grief.

“Are you leaving?” his voice so quiet you might’ve not caught it.

“It’s getting late-” you floundered out a response.

“If I asked you to stay, would you?” he looked up. Those tired, hopeful eyes broke your spirit. He lost one of his favorite people that night. How could you say no?

So you nodded.

The two of you silently slid under the covers facing one another. His hand found yours and squeezed it, your heart pounding so loudly you feared he could hear it.

“Thank you” he sighed before letting his eyes close.

As he drifted to sleep, you continued staring at him as questions swirled your mind. When had the two of you become close friends who shared the same bed? When had the two of you confided intimate details in one another? Better yet, when had feelings for Tom Holland crept up on you?

tags list: @almostrosadiazz, @tomshufflepuff | @sleepybesson, @supernatural-girl97, @sophiatomlinson23, @tomhaz | @aestheticgaybish, @bearsbeetsbarnes, @butithasntkilledyouyet, @danicarosaline

#tom holland fanfiction #tom holland imagine #tom holland blurb #tom holland drabble #tom holland fic #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland x y/n #my writing #blurb week #stefanie!drabbles

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niqhtlord01 · 6 years ago

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The soul is humanities greatest weapon.

Part 1 (Not religious soul, but soul in sense of individuality) The concept of a soul has been an idea shared mainly by humanity with the vast majority of alien species laughing at the concept. They saw it as some sort of human superstition and passed it off. Of course humans continued to debate the theological, but that was all put aside when the Zepid Invasion started. The Zepid were an insect like species that terraformed planets covering it with living material like a massive hive. The species as a whole structured themselves much like ants with a hive mind like connection with an established caste system to support it. The Zepid were known by the wider galaxy but often regarded as not a threat due to their refusal to use technology in favor of pure biological functions and their limited space travel. They occupied a small corner of the outer rim traveling between planets on their massive void organisms known as “Goliath Ships” which would carry the species planet to planet establishing new hives. After extensive research the start of the war was discovered to have begun during the year 2893 when a series of Zepid infested asteroids landed on the capital planets of various species surrounding the original Zepid pocket empire. Reports filtered from the planets about the asteroids and public disturbances following the impacts but the wider galaxy ignored them as something that would naturally happen after a natural disaster and organized relief efforts. It was a little over 6 months before the ships reached the planets to find that they had been entirely covered by the Zepid organic material and had been terraformed into hive worlds. Some of the ships sent landing parties to the surface to see what had happened but were immediately set upon by Zepid warrior caste members. Some of the landing parties were able to hold out until the ships could take off again while others were overrun and slaughtered. The ship captains sent panicked messages back to their respective worlds as a fleet of Goliath Ships took off from the planets surfaces only to find that their home worlds were experiencing crises. Zepid asteroids had landed on them as well and Zepid warriors were beginning to launch attacks on population centers. Before long a galactic panic was taking place as Zepid forces began springing up everywhere followed shortly by Goliath ships carrying additional warrior and builder castes to expand hives on each planet. Their respective military’s were trying to hold the line but they were struggling. The initial surprise attack struck at critical locations such as military bases, government offices, public centers, and other locations of authority. This allowed the Zepid to gain large tracks of land to consolidate and terraform. The planets military’s eventually coordinated counter attacks but by then Zepid had a strong foothold that let them begin spawning additional warrior forms. What was worse that the Zepid could consume any organic material and convert it into raw materials to spawn more warrior forms giving them a vast source of reinforcements. In space fleets were able to provide orbital support until the Goliath ships made orbit around the infested planets. The various space fleets had superior range with plasma lances and missile barrages, but the thick hide of the Goliath hide was so dense it was like firing into a floating mountain. The Goliath ships were slow lumbering hulks, but if an enemy ship got close enough tentacles would extend and grab hold of enemy vessels and pull them apart before consuming the remains for raw materials. A state of panic began spreading into the core worlds as more and more systems began either having Zepid outbreaks out of nowhere or being invaded by Zepid orbital forces. A majority of planetary governments had reduced their military’s size since conflicts were often smaller skirmishes. So a general coalition of forces was being gathered into a massive fleet coupled with a sizable ground force. The vast majority of these military assets contributed by the latest addition to the galactic scene, humanity. Human space travel was still inferior to other species, but they maintained considerable ground forces. In exchange for contributing that majority of their military the other races promised to share with them certain technological advancements such as anti-gravity drives and nanotech. With the sudden influx of fresh well trained and equipped soldiers the tides of war began to turn on many worlds. Bulk haulers carried hundreds of human divisions from their transports to the surface of planets where they began digging in around critical locations and the front lines. Zepid forces were too numerous on many planets making a single thrust into enemy territory an unwieldy strategy so the humans began digging in and performing what they called “Trench warfare.” Vast fortifications spread across the battlefields and the Zepid advance was halted. In truth many species fighting styles lacked concepts for entrenching positions and instead relied on mobile forces that could engage mobile armies. The problem was with the Zepid’s swarm tactics that a mobile force lacked enough firepower to make a dent in onrushing enemies. It wasn’t long until the human forces were taking considerable casualties however. Human body armor was designed to handle projectile based weapons, both energy and slug based rounds. Zepid warriors used bioweapons that had been grafted to their limbs ranging from acid launchers to bone blades that could cut through steel. As casualties began mounting it was rare that human forces would be able to recover the bodies of their fallen before Zepid had grabbed them and dragged them back to their hives. While many thought that the war would once again turn in the Zepid’s favor, it instead took a turn for the unexpected from a quarter that no one could have possibly seen. -------------------------- To the offices of allegiance command: After action report for battle of Mortis Ridge Planet: Tragast IV Date: 15/64/2995 local. Reporter: Sergeant Major Finch Volkov The Zepid launched their assault on our lines at 1200. I was out inspecting the lines when I heard a spotter call out a warning and the men rushed to man the trenches. A soldier tossed me a studder rifle and I peered over the lip of the trench to see a wall of flesh bounding down on our position. Without need for prompting the heavy weapons placements began laying down a steady stream of fire into the rushing swarm. It was as effective as throwing a brick into an oncoming tidal wave, but every bit helped. The whining of artillery shells flew over our heads and great geysers of dirt were thrown into the sky along with the broken bodies of warrior forms. But the swarm still kept coming. When they came within small arms range and I gave the order to open fire. Every trooper on the line let loose a hail of studder rounds that chewed and spat out the enemies into Swiss cheese. The sounds of firing ammunition was almost enough to deafen you, but over it all I could still hear the screeching cries of the Zepid. With every passing minute the horde got closer and closer to the trench to the point I could make out the little details on the warriors. The individual scales covering their body, scars and gashes, rows of gleaming white teeth, and the red slit like eyes all gazing at them like they were a tasty morsel. “Pour it on lads! Send these frakers back to hell!” Slapping in a fresh clip I switched to full auto. At this point quantity was more needed than accuracy. The enemy had reached the lines of razor wire and planet minefields in front of the trenches but it hardly slowed them down. Realizing the danger we were now in in a position we could no longer hold I shouted out over the radio “All squads in first trench fall back to secondary trenches!” The radio was full of chatter and I doubted my order was heard by hardly anyone. The swarm was making a full assault all along the line “Fall back to secondary lines!” I started shouting to the troopers near me, grabbing a few of them and pulling them away from the trench lip. “Fall back to secondary lines!” Troops began falling back through the trenches in good order and I moved to follow when something hit me in the back of my head and I was knocked out. I wasn’t sure exactly how long I was out, but when I began regaining my sense I assumed it had been some time. The sky had turned to night lit not only by the stars but by the burning flames casting an ominous red glow in the trench. I unsteadily got to my feet. My gun was no where to be seen and neither were any friendly soldiers. I attempted to get to my feet but stumbled into the trench wall for support. My legs felt like jelly still so I had to use the wall as a brace as I moved along the wall. My radio wasn’t responding so I headed for the secondary trenches. Progress was slow but with each step I was beginning to regain feeling in my legs. Roughly ten minutes had passed when I could finally begin moving without the walls support, and honestly it was a good thing. I was just about to turn into the communications trench leading to the second line when I heard something moving. I glanced around the corner to see a pack of warrior forms scavenging. I froze in place as I saw them lifting debris and dragging off bodies of fallen troopers. If I had been knocked out for a while longer that would’ve been me. I slowly began backing up the way I came when my foot slid across spent shell casings on the ground causing them to scatter about loudly. I could hear the warrior forms dropping the bodies they had been gathering and started rushing towards me so I turned around and began sprinting as fast as I could. The confines of the trench felt like they were pressing in on me from all sides as I focused solely on running with no idea where I was running so long as it was away from the monsters at my back. I saw a entry way into a dugout and dove inside as fast as I could slamming the door behind me before going completely quiet. I could hear the swarm of footsteps rushing past on the outside. I was too terrified to even move, my hands covering my mouth to try and hide my heavy breathing, my heartbeat sounding like an artillery barrage in my ears. With each footstep I could imagine them smashing the door in and slicing me to pieces in a matter of seconds. Thankfully, that horrid nightmare in my head never happened as the swarm kept rushing past the closed doorway. Several minutes passed before the sounds outside had died down, and several more before I left comfortable in risking moving myself away from the door. Inspecting the room I found it to be a barracks bunker. Rows of bunk beds and storage lockers lined the walls. I carefully began moving to the lockers and opening them hoping to find some sort of weapon or communication device when I heard something rustling from the back of the room. I froze and listened intently and heard the rustling again. Cautiously I crept towards the sound at the end of the bunks. As I neared the sound I discovered it was coming from under the last bunk bed. I firmly grasped it and pushed it over to the side before bringing my foot down with the intent to deal a serious stomping blow to whatever was under the bunk and hopefully either kill it or buy myself some more time. “Please don’t kill me!” came a shout. I twisted my falling blow so I’d miss private Markus and in the process landed flat on my ass. “Jesus christ, I nearly killed you!” I said as I stood up and helped Markus to his feet. “What are you doing here?” Markus shrugged “Once the order to retreat was issued I began falling back with my squad. We had made it half way when the enemy entered the trenches and cut us off. They started ripping us to shred and we scattered. I came back to our barracks.” “And then hid under a bunk bed.” I finished. Markus threw his hands in the air. “Call it what you want, I call it surviving and not being cut to pieces.” “Fair enough. Do you have any weapons here?” Markus motioned to the footlocker a few rows over. “There should be a pistol in that one with a mag or two and a rifle in-” The door to the barracks was suddenly kicked in drawing the attention of both soldiers. Inside the door frame stood a Zepid warrior form. “Son of a bitch!” I shouted and dove for the footlocker Markus had pointed to but the warrior form was faster. The warrior slashed out with a clawed hand and struck me midway through his lunge and sent him flying into the nearby bunk beds. I scrambled up just as the warrior rushed him with outstretched talons. I kicked out a footlocker at my feet and it slid over to the warrior causing it to trip and fall. “Leave him alone you alien frak!” I turned to see Markus had pulled a guitar out of another locker and was holding it like a club as he rushed the downed warrior. As he got closer he swung it down intending to bash it’s head in but the warrior grasped it with a claw. “What the frak are you doing?!” He shouted at me. “Get the god damn gun already!!!” Markus was still holding the guitar and using all his strength to keep it pressing towards the warrior giving me a chance to get to the footlocker and pull out a pistol. I doubt I would make it as the warrior turned its head towards Markus and growled when suddenly it laid eyes on the guitar and stopped. “What’s it doing?” I called. “Better question, why don’t you have the gun already!?” I scrambled to the locker and opened it. “There’s no fraking gun in here!!” “Then check the other ones damnit! I’m a bit busy here!” The warrior was ignoring our shouting and seemed transfixed on the guitar. I rolled over to another locker and began opening it when I heard Markus cry out and turned to see that the warrior had shoved him aside and was now cradling the guitar. “Markus!” I called out, hoping that the warrior would be distracted by the shout and turn on me giving Markus time to get on his feet; but the warrior seemed to have lost all bloodlust and was just staring at the instrument. To both our surprise the warrior strode over to a bunk rack and sat down on the lower one. It positioned the instrument between it’s arms and fiddled with the strings. It let out a growl as the talons struck the strings, like it was upset its fingers would not respond like it wanted. Markus had regained his footing and we both were staring at the warrior, all thoughts of searching for the gun suddenly inconsequential when compared to what was playing out before them. After a few more moments of fiddling with the strings the warrior seemed to have found it’s rhythm and began playing, it’s talons working the body of the instrument like it had been playing it for years. “Wait....” Markus said,” I know this song.” “Are you sure?” I asked, still unconvinced that an alien with little to no experience with human culture that wasn’t at the end of a gun, would somehow know a song. “Yeah, it’s “cara mia” from portal 2. We had a guy in our squad who would play it all the time.” “What happened to that soldier?” “He died several days ago during a counter charge into Zepid territory. We were never able to recover the body.” At the mention of the song the warrior stopped playing and looked up at Markus. We both flinched back expecting that it would attack us but instead it started making strange noises. “Mmm. Mmhlaa. Mmmmhhallll.” It stuttered. “Mmmm! Mmmmhaall!” It struck it’s head with one of it’s hands like it was trying to force something out. “Mmmmmmhaaallllkkkkussss. Mmhaalllkus!” “Is it...is it trying to say my name?” I shrugged. “It could be trying to mimic what we’ve been saying.” It pointed to Markus and continued speaking. “Mmhallkus! Mhallkus! Ttttiiis meeeeeth.” It then pointed to itself. “Jeeeenkeerns.” “No.” Markus looked shocked and took a step back, “It can’t be....” The warrior pointed to itself again and appeared to concentrate on forcing the words out. “Jeeeeenkerns. Jeeenkerns...Jeenkiiiins! Jjjjjenkkkinssss!” It was struggling with the words and slurring slightly but Markus seemed to fully understand what it was saying. “Jenkins...is that really you?” The warrior opened it’s mouth showing rows of sharpened teeth and let out a strange almost joyful noise while nodding it’s head. “Yeeeeeeeeessh! Ititititititiitssssssssss meeeeeeeeeeeffffff! Jeeeenkkkkins!” Markus took a step forward but I stood in front of him to block his path. “Stand back trooper, this could be a trick.” Markus was still staring at the warrior calling itself Jenkins. “ How could it be? I never mentioned his name since it entered the room. How could it know?” “I don’t know but it seems too convenient.” “And the song??” He shot back at me. “How could it know how to play a song that Jenkins would always play? Damnit! That’s even his guitar! He was glued to the damn thing!” I had to admit to myself that I didn’t have a good answer for that. There had been no recorded instance of warrior forms showing advanced forms of cognitive thinking. There were even little to no instances of warrior forms being able to lay such a clever trap against our forces. While we were all caught up in debating if this thing was really a fallen soldier we all failed to notice the second warrior form entering through the doorway. We had little time to react as it came charging at us. I turned to face it but it had already grabbed me and Markus by the throat and was hoisting us into the air. We both frantically struggled against it’s grip but it’s strength was too great, we couldn’t even make a budge. I was starting to feel like my life was about to start flashing before my eyes when I saw what looked like a guitar being swung at the second warriors form. It fell back a few steps and let go of both of us. I landed on the ground and between gasps for air I saw the warrior that called itself Jenkins punching the life out of the warrior that had been choking us. They seemed to be going at each other with such savagery that I’ve only seen when they were attacking us. Jenkins dug his talons deep into the neck of the second warrior and just ripped it’s head off and then threw it into a corner of the room. The body thrashed around for a few seconds before finally accepting that it had died. Jenkins stood up and then moved towards us. It extended a claw to each of us. I thought it was going to try and finish us off, but Markus instead took the outstretched claw and was lifted to his feet. “Thanks for saving us Jenkins. Sorry about your guitar, I know it was special to you.” Jenkins let out a grunting sound that closely resembled a chuckle. “Mmmmmmmmmannnies guttttttttarrrrrrrrrrs, onnnnnnneee frrrrrraaannnd.” Jenkins put a clawed hand on Markus and did his attempt at a smile again, which honestly looked creepy with all those teeth. “Soldiers, fall in!” I shouted to both of them. The words seemed to have triggered some sort of memory retention in Jenkins as his alien body suddenly went to full attention followed swiftly by Markus. “As touching as this moment is we both are far behind enemy lines with limited supplies and an even smaller chance of survival.” I need to get them thinking like soldiers again if we were going to survive this. “Our objective is to get out of this hellhole and back to our lines, do you ready me soldiers. “Yes sir!” “Yeeessssshh sssarr!” I smiled to them. “Good to hear, because there’s a hot meal and a warm bed out there with our names on them and by god it’ll take more than an alien horde to stop us from getting them!” “Markus, scavenge anything we can use for supplies.” “Jenkins,” I looked to the towering alien life form, “stand by the door and keep watch. When we move you’ll take point, understand?” Jenkins nodded his head and moved towards the door. Markus stepped close to me. “So you believe that it’s really him?” “Son, the absurdity of this whole situation is beyond me. But that thing, regardless if it’s Jenkins or not just saved our lives and hasn’t murdered us yet so right now it’s an ally.” I began rummaging through the toppled footlocker looking for that pistol Markus spoke of, he felt he needed it now more than ever. I glanced over at Jenkins standing in he doorway keeping watch in the trench. “We can figure this all out once we get back to our lines.“ I found the pistol finally and pulled it out checking the magazine before reloading it. “For now, let’s keep it simple and focus on staying alive.”

#humans are space oddities #humans are insane #humans are space orcs #scifi #story #alien

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ktrsss1fics · 6 years ago

Text

i got u: one.

i. gap

Fearne Phillips was a bitch.

That’s what the guy who hit on her last Christmas at a sweets shop in Surrey said when she wouldn’t give him her number.

That’s what Simon Elliott cried when she broke his arm for calling her best friend fat.

That’s what the media thought when she refused to speak about why her relationship with Louis Tomlinson had ended.

That’s what Jessica from Teen Scene Magazine was currently thinking when she refused to give young girls tips on how to seduce men.

Fearne Phillips was one of a kind. She wasn’t afraid to speak her mind. If she was uncomfortable, she was going to let you know. Most people called her reckless for it. Others called her iconic. She didn’t see herself as either of those things.

She saw herself as one thing: tired. Tired of having to be perfect. Tired of having to be prim and proper. Tired of being told what the projected sales and media trends would be if she acted a certain way. She just wanted to be Fearne.

She wouldn’t get to be that for another month. She had a few more festivals to get through before she had an entire year off. She couldn’t believe it.

Fearne had signed a record deal at eighteen and essentially grew up in the spotlight. They saw her through the good, the bad, and the ugly. That decade of stardom had its ups and downs. The worst of it was five years ago when things started to go south with the love of her life.

Sometimes things don’t always work out according to plan. That job at that high profile modeling agency is less about fashion and more about having the ability to memorize multiple coffee orders. That asymmetrical bob that looked adorable on the girl on the train somehow got turned into a shaggy looking bowl cut. That attractive guy from accounting who said he was actually going to call doesn’t end up calling.

Long distance relationships are one of those things that don’t always work out as they should. Three little words are whispered through telephone lines instead of being said face to face. Beds are shared with computer screens instead of warm bodies. Feelings of contentment are replaced by worry and doubt.

Relationships become plagued with catastrophic fights about minuscule things. Calls start to get shorter and text messages begin to stop. That feeling of love once shared starts to dwindle down to nothing.

A type of exhaustion sets in that never can be satisfied. It doesn’t go away with a weekend in bed or trip back home. It settles. It latches onto every fiber and festers until it’s too late. The mind, body, and soul become infected and a monster is created. Once it’s released, there is no hope for humanity.

Fearne Phillips and Louis Tomlinson knew that monster too well. It’s what started to transform after four long years of a relationship on the road. She was never home and he could never get away. The lack of affection and time spent together took its toll on the young couple. Before they knew it, it was over.

It didn’t just end though. It blew up. It was plastered over every tabloid magazine in the country. It was broadcasted on the morning news. It was all over the Internet for her to relive day in and day out.

That first year was the hardest. She lost herself completely. She broke his heart and she could never forgive herself for it. Why? Because Louis Tomlinson was the greatest man she had ever met and he didn’t deserve what she put him through. He deserved better and always would.

As time moved on, the only things she could rely on to keep her from falling apart again were her friends and her job. Her soul sister, Samantha Jane, fought off any man who tried to get close to her while her manager, Declan, did his best to keep her focused on her music. Her older brother, Archie, was just along for the ride. When the going got tough, he stepped in and nursed his baby sister back to health. She didn’t know what she’d do without them.

Every year, she found a way to repay them for putting up with her. This year she managed to get them VIP passes to a handful of festivals throughout the UK. They were currently attending the Glastonbury Festival. Well, Samantha Jane and Archie were attending the festival. Fearne was on the clock. She had been tucked away in an oversized tent answering the same five questions for various media publications. She wouldn’t get to join them until after her set.

Declan did his best to keep her happy but she wasn’t in the mood to talk to anyone else. She needed a recharge. The last one did her head in.

“I’m not doin’ another one.” Fearne looked over at the bearded man beside her. “I’m done.”

“I’m takin’ care of it,” Declan said — thumbs flying as he typed away on his phone. “Got her editor’s number. She’s a friend of Jimmy.”

“That was just bull shit.” She said. “I didn’t overreact, did I?”

“Shite reporting.” Declan glances up. “If you were a twenty-eight-year-old lad, you’d be labeled a legend... absolutely killing it.”

“Right?” Fearne ran her hands over her face. “Made me come off as a proper slag. I don’t even know any of those men. Would you want your niece to read an article where her favorite celebrity tells her how to sleep around with men? I know I wouldn’t.”

“I’ll take care of it, Fearnie. Don’t worry pet.” Declan winked. “Now head toward the end of the tent.”

“I’m not doing another interview.” She sighed looking up at him. “I will punch someone.”

“It’s with Radio 1,” Declan explained. “Probably with Scott who you haven’t seen in ages. He won’t do anything to harm ya.”

Fearne thought about it for a moment. “ I do like Scott.”

“And you won’t punch him because he’s a good man. You’ll be fine.” Declan said urging her to start walking.

“I just want to clarify that I wouldn’t be upset if she hadn’t been so rude. Young women should know how to navigate the dating world but they shouldn’t be treated as if their only important role in life is to be a side piece for a man.”

“Yeah, yeah all that feminist shite,” Declan mumbled dryly.

Fearne shoved him playfully. “Fuck right off, Declan Jay.”

“Easy there, Pip Squeak.” He said stabilizing himself.

“I just don’t like people who make female celebrities out to be tarts because they’ve got male friends. I’m more than that.” She sighed.

“You do know you don’t need the validation of some teenage tabloid, right? You’re Fearne motherfucking Phillips.” Declan said with a cheesy grin. “The girl who nearly got kicked of secondary school for getting her nose pierced. The girl who sold out the O2 four nights in a row during her first arena tour. The girl who outlasted every single guy on Lads on Tour last summer.”

He continued, “Lionesses like you shouldn’t worry about sheep like her.”

Fearne opened her mouth to say something but decided to walk away instead. Sometimes that man knew exactly what to say to help her refocus. She decided to give him what he wanted. She made her way towards the northern end of the tent to a table dedicated to the BBC’s finest radio station. Declan started to ramble on about how lovely women were in hopes of making her feel better. He didn’t need to say anything but she appreciated that he had.

“Fuck.”

Declan stopped abruptly leaving the woman standing beside him confused. Without saying another word, the six-foot-tall man wedged his body between her and their destination.

“What the fuck, Deco?” Fearne asked.

“Mental health check.” He said crossing his arms over his chest. “0-10, how we doin?”

“I’m fine.” She said not understanding his sudden change in mood.

“That’s not a number.” Declan sighed.

“Why? What’d you see?” Fearne asked attempting to look over his shoulder.

“Just want to make sure me girl is fine after that last one,” Declan explained. “Have you calmed down a bit?”

“Oh, I’m still annoyed but —“ Fearne said standing on the tips of her toes trying to look over his shoulder.

“Need a number Fearnie.” He said calmly.

“Bout a six.” She said knowing that anything lower would set off the alarm bells.

“Good.” He nodded before handing over her phone. “Text Arch and SJ bout what they’re up to now, yeah?”

Fearne smiled swiping her cell phone from his hand.

“Promise you’re gonna stay at a six no matter what happens?” Declan asked.

“I’ll try me best,” Fearne said, eyes glued to her phone. “Don’t know what you’re so worried about Deco.”

“Horan’s here,” Declan said relaxing a bit.

“When is he ever not here? He loves this festival.” Fearne said smirking at something her best friend had sent. “Where’d ya see him?”

Declan nodded behind him. “At the Booth.”

Fearne looked up. “He is the most efficient producer at the BBC so that makes sense.”

“You’re going to have to speak to him,” Declan said. “Still gonna be a six?”

“Niall Horan is a ray of sunshine,” Fearne said still not getting what the big deal was. “I’m fine. I’ll be fine. I promise.”

“Fearnie, I need you to —“ Declan started to say.

“Give me five more minutes with Samantha Jane and I’ll do whatever you want. Okay? You go check in or whatever it is you do and I’ll be your perfect pop star.” She said with a weak smile.

Declan didn’t respond. He turned around and headed toward the makeshift radio studio. He was on edge. Niall Horan was a legend. He always brought the party wherever he went. He also was the sole producer of the show Fearne’s ex-boyfriend hosted. The two were rarely seen without each other — especially during festival season.

Before he had a chance to scope out who was working, a firm hand latched onto Declan’s shoulder. He turned around to find a dark-haired Irishman smiling back at him.

“Well look who the fuck it is.” Niall’s thick Irish accent called out.

“Are you ever not working?” Declan joked as he pulled his old friend into a hug.

“You should know I’d never miss out on the Bury, Deco,” Niall said with a laugh.

The two friends briefly caught up as arrangements were made for the interview. Stories about touring and family members were shared between the men. The reason they were connected was carefully being avoided. Declan knew he needed to bring it up but was worried about the answer.

“So um, is he here?” Declan said in a low voice.

“Yeah but he’s not doing the interview. I uh made sure of it. It’s Matt.” Niall said softly. “How’s she doing?”

“Just came out of a rough one so I need something to cheer her up,” Declan said glancing over at Fearne.

“The lads went to the loo so it’ll be a bit but we’ll take care of our girl.” Niall smiled. “Don’t worry.”

“Thanks, Ni.” Declan nodded.

“Just looking out for both of ‘em,” Niall said.

“Fearne,” Declan called out.

Fearne looked up from her phone and found two sets of eyes watching her closely. She put a brave face on and headed towards them. One more interview to go and she’d be free. One more interview with her ex-boyfriend’s best friend and she’d be free. She could do it. She knew she could.

“Fearne Phillips, who’d ya sell your soul to because you haven’t aged a day, love,” Niall said with a smirk.

“If I told ya, I’d have to kill ya,” Fearne said stepping into his warm embrace.

“I can’t believe this motherfucker is still your minder. Would have ditched him ages ago.” Niall said as he squeezed her tight.

“Ehh, I’ve grown quite fond of him,” Fearne said with a smile. “Lets me do whatever I want.”

“Oh, I believe that.” He smiled.

Fearne stepped back, “I like the hair change. Suits you.”

“Makes me more distinguished,” Niall said before leaning in close. “All the birds are into it.”

She couldn’t help but laugh. “Haven’t changed a bit, Ni.”

“I have to get shit ready so why don’t you take a seat on the ol’ sofa and I’ll let you know when we’re all queued up.” He said with a wink.

Fearne looked over to find a lumpy old couch with two teal pillows sitting across from a makeshift soundboard. Heat rushed to her cheeks. She had some very fond memories from a couch that looked almost identical to the one staring back at her.

“Ni is this —-“ Fearne started to ask.

“Fuck no.” Niall cackled. “We got rid of it after um that.”

“Oh… well, it wasn’t that comfortable anyways.” She said shyly.

“He begs to differ,” Niall said with a smirk.

“How’s he doing?” Fearne asked — surprised at the words that had just come out. She didn’t know whether she was being polite or if she genuinely cared. She hadn’t thought about him in a while.

Declan and Niall looked just as surprised as she did.

“Still the same pain in the ass we know and love,” Niall said with a small smile.

“I wouldn’t expect anything else.” She smiled going back to the messages on her phone. She needed to prevent herself from saying anything else unexpected.

Fearne Phillips hadn’t thought about Louis in about a year. She’d see his face when certain songs would come on the radio. She’d hear his laugh when certain jokes were told. But she hadn’t seriously thought about the man she had loved in quite some time. She did wonder how he was but never intended on asking about him. She wasn’t the type to fawn over exes. After the breakup, she would move on as quickly as she could. Louis was different though. He was her best friend.

Seeing Niall was a great reminder of those days.

She was in the middle of explaining what had happened to her brother and best friend when she noticed a group form at the table across from her. Hushed voices were talking quickly. Something was wrong but she wasn’t going to let it get to her. She promised Declan she would stay at a six and that was one promise she couldn’t afford to break.

Her phone started to blow up as her two favorite people started weighing in on the situation at hand. She knew she could count on them to keep her distracted and that’s exactly what they did.

“Now then, let’s get this show on the road, Phillips.” A voice called out pulling her away from the conversation on her phone.

As she looked up, she couldn’t believe her eyes. Standing in front of her in a pair of muddy wellies was a man she hadn’t spoken to in ages. A man she dedicated two entire albums and an endless amount of notebooks to. A man whose face was now covered in facial hair and laughter lines. A man she had truly missed.

“Tommo,” She beamed taking her in ex-boyfriend’s appearance. “What the fuck are you wearin’ mate?”

“What?” The young man asked looking down at his outfit. “I look goddamn sexy, Phillips.”

Fearne shook her head standing up. “Look like you should be helping me nan with her back garden.”

“Oh fuck you.” Louis chuckled before pulling her into his arms for a hug. Her body effortlessly molded into the places that used to be called home. Everyone around them stood with bated breath unsure of how this interaction was going to turn out.

“Are you giving the interview then?” Fearne asked forcing herself to let go of his body.

Louis fought through a fake smile. “Unfortunately.”

Her hazel eyes lit up. “This is going to be brilliant.”

Something about the way she spoke caught Louis’ attention. She seemed tired and on edge. It had been a while but that man knew her better than anyone else. His eyes scanned her face for answers but fell short.

“Whatcha lookin’ at punk?” She said narrowing her eyes at him playfully.

He shook his head before stepping in close, “Y’alright?”

“I’m fab Lou.” She faked a smile. He didn’t buy it. Before he could dig a little deeper, papers were shoved in his face as a camera was slowly being set up.

Work was to be done.

Louis slid into the spot beside her on the couch. He rested his elbows on the tops of his legs as he studied the list of questions he was supposed to be asking. Fearne studied his face. She almost couldn’t believe it. His boyish features were no longer present. A week’s worth of stubble and some late nights in the studio had left him looking much older.

As he looked up to ask Niall a question, Fearne got a glimpse of his baby blue eyes. They were just as warm and inviting as they used to be but something was a bit off. She knew the look in his eyes all too well. It was the same look he had when he met her dad for the first time. It was the look he had on their first weekend away together. It was the same look he had the night he told her he loved her.

Despite his efforts to try to play it cool, there was no denying he was nervous.

Hoping to remedy the situation, Fearne nudged his leg gently with her own. His eyes left the commotion surrounding them and focused on her.

“See anyone play yet?” She asked with an inviting smile.

He knew what she was trying to do. He appreciated it. A wave of nerves had hit him when Matt said he couldn’t do the interview. He didn’t think he could do it either.

Fearne Phillips wasn’t just another musician at a festival that he needed to interview. She was his greatest love story. Every memory from his twenties had her in it. He didn’t need to fall in love ever again because nothing could compare to the time he spent with her.

Once they split, those memories were too much to handle. Her music disappeared from his show. Her albums sat on his shelf unopened. He couldn’t bring himself to be around things that reminded him of her. He wasn’t strong enough.

Seeing her after all this time was unlike anything he had ever imagined. His pulse began to race, butterflies took flight, and every day spent missing her seemed worth it.

“I went with Fiona and Jack to see Cage earlier and I saw a bit of Cold War Kids but that’s it.” He said putting on a fake smile. “What about you?”

“I’ve been stuck in here all morning.” She said sounding disappointed. “Probably won’t see anyone until after I get off stage.”

“You need to fire that minder of yours,” Louis said glancing over at Declan. “He’s overworking you.”

“Tell me about it.” She sighed.

“You sure you’re okay?” He said in a low voice.

Fearne raised an eyebrow. “Are you?”

“S’been a bit. Just nerves.” He grinned shyly.

“It’s just me, Lou,” Fearne said.

“Yeah, multi-platinum award-winning international superstar Fearne Phillips,” Louis said glancing down at his sheet of paper.

“Oh, you mean the same Fearne Phillips who can’t figure out how to build a fucking bookcase.” She said with a smirk.

His face lit up. “You still have it?”

“All me books are in piles on the floor. Samantha Jane nearly wrecks them every time she’s drunk.” Fearne admitted shyly. “The wood bits are under my bed. I’m convinced they didn’t put all the pieces in the box as a ploy to get me to buy another one.”

Louis bit back a smile. Three weeks after they met, Fearne bought a bookcase for the flat she shared with Samantha Jane. The girls were on an independence kick. They wanted to prove they could do things on their own. Samantha Jane orchestrated the completion of a bathroom remodel while Fearne focused on furniture. She got everything done but the bookcase.

One Friday night, he attempted to ask her out on a proper date but she asked if he wanted to come over instead. She rambled on about their new flat and her struggles with the furniture and how she couldn’t let her brother know she needed help. Without a second thought, Louis picked up a pizza and made his way over to help.

Things had been going well. He was already smitten and it hadn’t been that long. When they were almost finished, Louis realized he needed to figure out a way to continue seeing Fearne. Thinking on his feet, he slipped a piece of hardware into his pocket when she had left to get another beer from the kitchen. If it was missing, she couldn’t finish the job. If she couldn’t finish the job, he figured she’d be in need of his help once more.

Five years and one hell of a ride later, that piece of hardware was still buried in the drawer of his bedside table.

“Why not throw it out?” Louis asked genuinely curious as to why she kept it. He had asked himself the same question plenty of times. There was never a good enough reason to do so.

Fearne just shrugged. “Stubborn, I guess.”

“Fuckin’ Northerners.” He shook his head.

“They’re the worst.” She smiled. “Right?”

Louis laughed. “The fucking worst. All about their footie and Oasis.”

Her eyes lit up causing a smirk to form on his face. “You shut your bastard mouth, Tomlinson.”

“Oi love birds, we’ve got bad news.” Niall interrupted. “The camera isn’t working so it’s only audio.”

“Not a problem,” Fearne replied. “No one really needs to see my manky ol’ wellies anyways.”

“What she really means is her manky ol’ mug.” Louis popped off playfully.

Fearne glared at the man sitting across from her. “Like you should be talking, garden gnome.”

His mouth hung open in shock as she giggled to herself. Before he could defend his wardrobe choice, he was forced to get the interview started. He shot her a glare before clearing his throat and testing the microphone.

“Testing, testing. Tommo’s about to interview the biggest brat at Glastonbury.” He enunciated.

“How very dare you.” Fearne glared making the boys around her laugh.

Getting the all clear from Niall, Louis cleared his throat and went into interviewer mode.

“We are at the Glastonbury Festival with the ever so lovely Fearne Phillips,” Louis said as his crew cheered.

“Oi oi,” Fearne replied with a genuine smile on her face.

“You’ve got to talk into the microphone, love.” Louis teased. “S’not like you been doin’ this all morning.”

Her face lit up at his jesting. A playful glare and bare middle finger made their way into the interview.

“Anyways, y’alright Fearnie?” He asked with a smile.

“Doin’ just fine Lou.” She replied with a nod. “You?”

“Couldn’t be better.” He blushed. “How’s the festival been treatin’ ya so far?”

“So far so good. Nothing beats festival season if you ask me.”

“I hear that.” He laughed. “This year’s lineup is pretty ace and I’m told that’s why it sold out in a matter of minutes. Anyone you’re looking forward to seeing?”

“The highlights so far have definitely been The Wombats and Wiley.” She said adjusting the microphone in her hand. “Today will probably be The Kooks if I can make it happen.”

His eyes locked with hers. That was their band. The first band they saw together. The band that constantly crept in and out of their relationship. They couldn’t listen to a song without thinking of each other.

“Think they’re gonna pay ‘Gap’?” He asked with a smirk.

Fearne rolled her eyes. Every single time they saw The Kooks play, Louis made a bet on whether or not they’d play his favorite song. The reward always changed but his side never did. Unfortunately, he was always wrong.

“Mate, come off it. You’re never gonna hear ‘em play ‘Gap’ live.” She said with a grin. “Just not meant to be.”

“I think it’ll happen. So, what’s on the setlist for you today? Anything off the new album? Or are we sticking to the classics?” He said smoothly navigating the conservation in another direction.

“Um, well it’s a bit of both. A few oldies might make their way back on stage. A lot from the album we just toured with.” She said trying to picture the list of songs she had decided on. “I actually have a brand new song that I was hoping to test out.”

“Oh my days, you heard it here folks. Everyone at Glastonbury is going to get a Fearne Phillips exclusive.” He teased. “Is this the first time it’s going to be heard by virgin ears?”

“I mean my brother has heard it at least twenty times so…”

Louis couldn’t help but laugh. “I don’t think he’ll appreciate that one. Arch, I’ll make sure Ni edits that out for ya, mate.”

“I’ve had to endure his obnoxious snoring for the past three days. He can handle some teasing — it’s the least he could do.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, wait a minute. Arch is here?” He asked sounding surprised.

Fearne shook her head, “I should not have told you that.”

Louis’ eyes crinkled as a knowing smile took form. The bromance that had formed between him and Fearne’s brother was unlike any other. Whenever they were together chaos ensued. They had tried to keep in touch after the break-up but it was too difficult.

“Um, I think it’s time to wrap this up, Fearnie. Another Phillips needs to my attention.” Louis said with a playful wink.

“He’ll be going on about that for weeks.” Fearne laughed.

“Good.” He grinned. “We all know you are a veteran of the festival. What are some tips and tricks you’ve learned through the years that some of us more novice attendees should know?”

“I’m amused that you consider yourself a novice, but um make sure you stay hydrated throughout the day. Come with a group you won’t get angry with after five minutes of being with them.” Fearne said trying to think of advice she’d want to hear. “Keep a list of set times and emergency contacts accessible at all times.”

Louis opened his mouth but she quickly cut him off.

“Oh, and don’t take an open bevvy from anyone you don’t know!” She rattled off quickly.

His eyes crinkled as he bit back a smile. She hadn’t changed a bit. Before he could tease her for her maternal instincts, a hand signal was given meaning he needed to move a little quicker. He started asking questions sent in by fans. Before the pair of exes knew it, the interview was over.

“That’s a wrap,” Niall said leaning over the portable soundboard. “Well done.”

“What’s next for you?” Louis asked as a couple of interns started to gather up the microphones.

“More bull shit.” She mumbled leaning forward. “That I really don’t want to do.”

“Why haven’t you fired him?” Louis said his voice low and concerned. “He always does this to you.”

“He’s been me best mate for ages. It’s not all his fault. The team expects the moon.”

Louis shook his head. She really hadn’t changed. She was still the same girl who worked too hard for people who could care less. She was constantly being thrown in a thousand directions and never got a chance to take a break.

“Interview before you wanted me to give teenage girls advice on how to pick up men.” She said sounding glum. “Said nothing about my foundation or charity work. Nothing about how my profits for the last two tours went to music education and girls’ clubs throughout the UK.”

She turned towards him. “You were photographed with this man, this man, and this man. How’d you get them in the sack, Fearne? Give our readers a tutorial on how to lure babes in.”

“I’m fucking tired, Tommo.” She sighed. “Same ol’ shit.”

The exhaustion in her voice ripped him apart.

He reached over to comfort her but stopped halfway. He didn’t know if he should. That wasn’t his job anymore. He wasn’t her protector or confidante. He was the one who threw in the towel when things got rough. He was the one who left her in a hotel room in New York because he couldn’t do it anymore. He couldn’t be in a relationship with an empty bed relying heavily on FaceTime calls and red-eye flights.

He couldn’t be the man she needed and that killed him.

Louis knew he needed to say something though. The look on her face was a look he had seen on more than one occasion. He knew she needed to know that someone was in her corner — that someone was proud of her. However, he didn’t know how much merit he held when it came to Fearne Phillips Fan Club.

He opened his mouth to say something but Declan snagged her attention away. He rambled on about potentially squeezing one more interview in. Fearne tried to argue but her manager wasn’t having it. It’s what the team wanted. His phone started to ring putting a pause in the conversation.

“Have you eaten?” Louis asked pulling her attention away from the situation that was taking place.

She shook her head. “I’m supposed to meet up with SJ and Arch after this.”

“Don’t let him make you do anything else without eating.” He said softly. “The mini shepherd's pies at the booth by the toilets are just like the ones back home. I highly recommend them.”

“I really just want chips. Do they have them?” She asked sounding hopeful.

“Yeah pretty decent too —especially with a pint.”

“Can’t have one of those yet. Still on duty.” Fearne groaned.

“Same here.” Louis smiled.

“What’s on the books for the rest of the day?” She asked trying to take the attention off her.

“A few more interviews and then just chillin’.” He said making her smile.

“You seriously have the life, mate,” Fearne said.

“Best job in the world.” He winked.

“Tell me about it.” She said with a grin.

“What times your set today?” He asked cautiously.

“Five,” Fearne said mid-yawn. “Or so I’m told.”

“Excited for it?” Louis asked.

“Are you always in interview mode?” Niall asked walking by. “Give the girl a break.”

“Yeah, give the girl a break.” Fearne laughed leaning back against the couch.

“Fuck off.” Louis blushed. “Both of ya.”

The pair of adults sat quietly for a few moments watching people work around them. Declan stood off to the side with his phone pressed to his ear. Niall was glued to his laptop trying to fix some kind of recording issue.

“Arch is going to be so happy to see you,” Fearne said.

“Missed that man,” Louis said turning towards her.

Fearne yawned again. “Think Deco will notice if I slip away for a quick snooze?”

“Ehh I’d give him about fifteen minutes before he actually notices,” Louis said leaning against the back of the couch. “I’ll create a diversion for you.”

“You’re the real MVP, Lou.” Fearne smiled.

“Kooks are on at seven, yeah?” He asked with a yawn.

“Uh, I think so.” She yawned back before closing her eyes.

“You really don’t think they are gonna play ‘Gap’?” Louis asked watching her face. She was even more gorgeous than he remembered.

“When have they ever?” She replied.

He scanned her face once more before responding, “You never know anything could happen.”

“Fearne, we have to — shit… is she asleep?” Declan’s voice called out from in front of them.

“Come back in twenty and she’ll be ready to go,” Louis said taking his eyes off the woman beside her.

“Fearne, we have to go. Russell wants a quick word.” Declan said walking towards the couch.

“Tell Russell he can fuck off,” Fearne replied dryly.

“He writes my checks so I can’t do that,” Declan said as he slipped his phone into his pocket.

“Actually, mate, she’s the one who writes your checks.” Louis nodded towards Fearne. “Without this one, you lot wouldn’t have jobs.”

A small smile formed on Fearne’s face as she opened one eye to look at the man sitting beside her. If there was one thing she loved about Louis Tomlinson, it was his ability to stick up for the people he cared about. No matter what the circumstances where, if you meant something to him, he’d have your back for life. It was nice to see that despite everything that had happened between them, when it came down to it, he still cared.

“Easy there, Lou. We all know how this fight ends.” Fearne said patting him on the leg.

“Still doesn’t make it right.” He mumbled shyly.

“We need to go,” Declan said ignoring whatever moment was being shared.

“I’m not doing anything until I get food,” Fearne said as she stood up. A smug smirk formed on Louis’ face. He always liked when she took his advice and stood up for herself.

“We have to talk to —“ Declan started to say.

“Fuck Russell. I’m starving.” She said placing her hands on her hips. “I’m eating with my brother and SJ. Fuck I’ll even take eating with Tommo and Ni. I need food.”

“Diva,” Declan mumbled as he pulled out his phone to send a quick update to her team.

“Up for some grub?” Fearne asked nodding at Louis.

“You American now?” Louis teased making her blush.

“Lived in LA for a month and she thinks she’s a Yank.” Declan joked — eyes never leaving his phone.

Louis laughed at the light jesting.

“Fuck you,” Fearne mumbled shyly.

“Tommo, we are about twenty minutes out for the next one,” Niall called over to him.

“So that’s a no on food,” Fearne said with a weak smile.

“Kooks at seven?” Louis asked as he stood up.

“If I can make it, yeah,” Fearne said leaning in for the hug.

“Brilliant,” Louis said as he wrapped his arms around her.

“Good to see you, Lou.” She whispered in his ear.

“You too, Fearnie,” Louis whispered back.

And like that, she was gone.

Louis stood quietly as his mind attempted to process what had just happened.

Niall walked over and closed the space between them. He patted Louis’ side gently. “Talk to me.”

“Did that really just happen?” Louis asked — his voice low and full of disbelief.

“It’s just Fearnie,” Niall said. “You can breathe now.”

Louis exhaled loudly as he turned towards his best friend. They had talked about this moment hypothetically on weekends away and drunken nights out. Never in a million years had he anticipated running into her again. He had made a point to avoid her at all costs. He just couldn’t bear the thought of seeing her after everything that happened. It hurt too much.

“You did good.” Niall smiled. “Take a ten and call Mum, yeah?”

“She’s in the middle of the lunch rush at the diner,” Louis said checking the time on his phone. “And besides, a woman like Fearne Phillips deserves more than a ten-minute analysis with Sadie.”

“Okay,” Niall said gnawing on his lower lip. “Um, tell me what you need. A break? A pint?”

“I-I-I don’t know,” Louis stuttered not sure what he needed to do to get his heart to stop pounding. He cleared his throat and looked around the tent. “Let’s just go on with the show and deal with it later.”

“Lou--” Niall sighed.

Louis faked a smile and patted his best friend on the stomach. “I’ll be fine. Promise.”

“Fuck, Tommo. We don’t need a repeat of--” Niall started to say as Louis placed a hand on the Irishman’s shoulder.

“S’not gonna be like last time,” Louis said unconvincingly. “Let’s just uh focus on the next interview.”

“Alright.” Niall sighed. “If you need a minute, you have to tell me.”

“Ni, fuck off.” Louis smiled. “I’m good.”

But Louis Tomlinson wasn’t good. His body went into autopilot for the rest of the evening. Cheeky banter, a flirtatious wink, and his outspoken behavior were thrown into each remaining interviews. The show went on as usual.

Louis Tomlinson’s mind, however, was nowhere near the musical festival. It was grounded at Customs at Heathrow the day things ended. It danced around that chippery in Brighton they went to in the summer. It flew across the States making pit stops in Denial and Despair. It sat on his mum’s couch as she laid into him for giving up so easily. It froze when it remembered the way she would stare at him when he told a story — as if she’d never heard anything like it. It stressed over what he was to do next.

Did he call his mother? Did he get drunk and try to forget the woman who was unforgettable? Or did he give in to his desires and watch her play for the first time in ages?

Because that’s really what he wanted to do. As soon as she walked away, he wanted to be beside her. He wanted to hear her sing and watch her perform. He wanted to make her laugh and have her call him a bastard when the tiniest things inconvenienced her. He wanted so many things that he hadn’t wanted in years and that was terrifying.

Louis couldn’t believe what he was about to witness. It took three pints and two shepherd’s pies to convince himself to walk across the venue to stand side stage for one of the biggest acts in all of England. He was hoping the liquid courage would get him through the songs he knew were about him and the ones he hadn’t heard yet.

“You sure about this, Lou?” Niall asked as they claimed their spot.

Louis laughed nervously, “Not in the slightest.”

“We can uh go hang around until it’s time for The Kooks.” Niall offered knowing this was a big step for his best friend.

The drum kits were being switched out as the crowd started to grow in size. The two men shuffled out of the way as crew members worked as quickly as they could to get things ready.

“I am at a music festival and ‘ve barely seen anyone play. Can we please just watch a set?” Louis groaned annoyed.

“We can go pick another one,” Niall said. “I’m sure some indie group is playing across the way.”

“You knew as soon as I saw her I was going to be drawn in again,” Louis said. “Haven’t listened to her sing in five years. First thing I thought of when she walked away was that I’m going to see her set today. Don’t know what it is about her, Ni, but I have to be here.”

Niall nodded knowing it was inevitable. Once Louis set his mind on something he rarely changed it. “Can you give me a signal if it gets to be too much?”

“God, you sound just like Liv.” Louis laughed thinking of his sister.

“Why’s that?” Niall asked confused.

“Ever since she was twelve, Olivia decided she needed to look after her big brother,” Louis explained. “Mum was busy with the diner. Dad was non-existent. When I’d come home from uni, I’d try to make sure things were in order around the house. Liv would always try to take care of me.”

“On my first Fearneless Christmas, we went to me Uncle Tim’s house. I drove Liv while Mum drove the others. She was going to stay at Aunt Margie’s while me and the girls headed down to Dad’s.” Louis continued. “No one really said anything but they were keeping an eye on me. Liv told me that if I needed a break to come squeeze her elbow and she’d intervene.”

“She’s a smart kid.” Niall smiled. “How’d that turn out for you?”

“Pop and Gran knew better to bring it up. Aunt Margie gave me a little cuddle when we finally went inside. Fuckin’ Uncle Tim and his twat of a girlfriend were only concerned with what I was going to sell to the media about the relationship. ‘Did Fearne do this? Did Fearne do that?’ Absolute bull shit.”

“It didn’t get to me until his girlfriend’s daughter started to slag her off. It took one squeeze and Liv was making an excuse to get us both outside. She stole me keys and drove us to a park nearby. I cried in the passenger seat and she just let me. She didn’t try to make things better. She didn’t try to change the subject. She just let me know it was going to get better.”

Niall couldn’t help but smile at the heartwarming story. The bond between Louis and his siblings was truly one of a kind.

“She’s gonna flip when she hears about how today went,” Louis said with a soft smile.

Guitars were being brought in and an ancient looking rug was being placed center stage.

“How bad are the songs?” Louis asked in a hushed tone.

“Nothing you can’t handle,” Niall said. “We still haven’t talked about earlier.”

“Can’t we just debrief tomorrow morning like we do every festival?” Louis asked rolling his eyes — not wanting to have analyze everything that had happened earlier in the day.

“This isn’t like every festival.” Niall pointed out.

“I survived the interview. I can survive the set.” Louis said trying to convince himself more than anything.

“You sure about that Tomlinson?” The voice of a woman he never thought he’d run into again said from beside him.

Standing in all her glory was Fearne's best friend, Samantha Jane Wilkinson.

“Sammy J!” Niall cheered as he made his way towards the tall blonde. “Lookin’ good babes.”

“You are like a fine wine, Horan.” The woman said kissing his cheek. “Better with age.”

Niall Horan’s infamous laugh filled the air as she moved towards Louis. Without saying a word, she pulled him into a hug. He placed a brief kiss on her cheek before saying hello.

“So Tommo, who the fuck did you bribe at the BBC to get that interview with Fearnie earlier?” She asked as she pulled away.

“No one,” Louis said feeling his chest grow tight. He knew how her mind worked and he couldn’t say that he had missed it.

Samantha Jane had always been overprotective of Fearne and wary of anyone who got too close. Her brash and boisterous attitude constantly clashed with Louis’ causing a love-hate relationship to form between the two.

“Really?” Samantha Jane asked unimpressed.

“Matt had some dodgy meat and is still shitting his brains out as we speak,” Louis explained.

“Right.” She replied dryly.

“Go check the loo for yourself,” Niall said trying to help Louis out. “I had it planned so they’d never see each other.”

“So it was fate, then?” Samantha Jane tilted her head. “Interesting.”

“How ya been, babe?” Niall asked trying to change the subject. Louis didn’t need this kind of talk filling his already confused head.

“Fab. Just livin’ the life.” She smiled sadly. Both men took note of it. “How bout you guys?”

“Can’t complain. Living the dream every day.” Niall said rocking back on his heels.

“Just keepin’ busy,” Louis said.

“If you want to see Arch, he usually stands on the other side.” Samantha Jane pointed out.

“Oh yeah?” Louis asked turning his attention to the opposite side of the stage. Fearne’s older brother stood with a drink in his hand as he talked to a pair of blondes.

“Him and Fucktard don’t let me near them when she’s on stage.” She explained.

Louis turned towards her confused, “Why?”

“No idea.” Samantha Jane sighed. “It’s Declan’s doing. Apparently, I’m a distraction.”

“Why the fuck is that man still around?” Louis crossed his arms over chest.

“You know how she is.” The woman sighed as she settled into a spot beside him. “The team thinks he’s good at his job and we’ve been mates since we were in nappies so he’s here for good.”

“Fucking bull shit, if you ask me,” Louis mumbled.

“At least that’s something we still agree on.” She said.

A small huddle formed near the stairs leading up to the stage. Microphones were being checked while a sea of people waited anxiously for Fearne and her band to take the stage. Louis almost couldn’t believe his eyes at the size of the crowd that had formed. If there was anyone that deserved that kind of recognition, it was her.

Before he could get caught up in the insanity of it all, Louis felt someone nudge him. The blonde woman beside him moved a bit closer to him before speaking in a low tone.

“Don’t know what you did, Lou.” She said placing a hand on his shoulder. “She came back like a bloody schoolgirl.”

“I-I-I didn’t do anything.” Louis sputtered.

“She was giddy, mate. I don’t remember the last time I’ve seen her genuinely happy.” Samantha Jane smiled.

“When you barely get any time off and are living out of a suitcase, I could see that bein’ true,” Louis said.

“She’s getting time off so it’ll be good for her.” She said.

“Until something pops up and she has to do it or Russell will be up her arse about it,” Louis said as he watched Declan appear across the stage.

“She needs new people around her but she won’t listen to me when I try to tell her.” Samantha Jane said sounding a bit disappointed. “I guess I did that to myself though.”

She cleared her throat hoping it would distract him from what she had said. “Anyways, I don’t know what today means or if this is going to be a reoccurring thing.”

Louis looked at her confused. “What are you on about?”

“She’s not as strong as she looks so if whatever this is going to be goes south again, you’re going to have to answer to me this time. Got it?” She stated with a bit of malice.

“Something has to happen before it can go south.” He shot back ignoring the thoughts in the back of his mind. He wasn’t going to go there. It was too soon.

“I know I’m jumping the gun but I can’t lose her again.” Samantha Jane said. “She’s all I’ve got.”

“Don’t worry, Sam. I wo—“ Louis started to say before he was drowned out by the screams of the crowd.

The fiery brunette who held a special place in his heart raced past him and took her place in the center of the stage.

“Glastonbury,” Fearne yelled out. “How the fuck are ya?”

A smug look formed on his face. She hadn’t changed a bit.

Samantha Jane leaned in and cupped her hand over his ear before she spoke. “Our girl has become one hell of a performer. You’re in for a treat.”

Samantha Jane was right. Fearne Phillips was one hell of a performer and Louis nearly regretted staying away from her music for the past few years. Her stage presence and artistry were truly one of a kind. She really was one of the greatest artists of their generation. Louis spent the entirety of her set absolutely buzzing. Music festivals were tough for him. It was a lot of work and very little play so when he got the opportunity to see a set he tried to make it count.

Oddly enough, watching his ex-girlfriend sing songs about him and their past had proven to be worth it. He followed Niall down the stairs as crew members rushed past them to start taking things down. Samantha Jane followed behind him typing away on her phone.

Niall opened his mouth to ask what was going to happen next but the leggy blonde in the back beat him to it.

“You lot stayin’ for Kooks?” Samantha Jane asked looking between the pair of men.

“Uh, yeah,” Louis responded without missing a beat.

Niall shot him a concerned look but Louis dismissed it.

“Boss Lady wants us to head over there and she’ll meet us there. That alright with you, Ni?” She asked focusing back on her phone.

Niall looked at Louis. “You sure bout this?”

“He survived the interview and the set. Tommo can do anythin’.” Samantha Jane teased.

“Oh fuck off,” Louis said with a laugh.

“Arch will be absolutely chuffed to see ya both.” She smiled slipping her phone into her bag. “Glad you said yes. Boss Lady wasn’t gonna let me walk by meself anyways.”

“She runs a tight ship.” Niall joked.

“You have no fucking idea.” She rolled her eyes.

The group of adults made their way out of the backstage area and onto the festival grounds. They had thirty minutes to walk across the field, reunite with their friends, and claim their spot.

As they reached their designated meet spot, Niall and Louis shared a look that was usually reserved for “on the air” moments. It was a way for Niall to check in on Louis without drawing other people’s attention. He signed that he was good allowing the Irishman to take a sigh of relief.

“So Nialler, gotta life or death question for ya. Are you single or what?” Samantha Jane asked.

“Why? You down?” Niall smirked causing a pretty serious blush to form on the young woman’s cheeks.

“She’d eat you alive, mate,” Louis said shaking his head.

Samantha Jane tilted her head to the side. “He could handle it.”

Niall shifted on his feet not realizing how much damage a gaze from Samantha Jane Wilkinson could cause.

“He’s my baby. You’d destroy him.” Louis said glancing over at his best friend. “Can’t be havin’ that.”

“I thought you were trying to get with Declan,” Niall asked finally finding his voice.

“No. He tried it on with me.” Samantha Jane said. “And then Fearnie but uh that didn’t go over too well.”

Louis stayed quiet. He always had a feeling that Declan was a bit smitten with his missus but he could never prove it. Hearing he tried something with Fearne after they split wasn’t surprising in the slightest.

“That’s a story for another day.” Samantha Jane said before clearing her throat. “So, you lads seeing anyone?”

“Do you ever keep it in your pants, SJ?” Archie Phillips called out catching everyone’s attention.

“Like you should be talking.” Samantha Jane said rolling her eyes.

“Not my fault, ladies love me,” Archie said smugly. “Unlike you.”

“Arch, leave her alone,” Fearne said hitting her brother across the stomach.

“Yeah. Leave me alone.” Samantha Jane retorted childishly.

“As you get older, you think to yourself that maybe today will be the day when they grow out of it. That maybe this will be the moment of clarity they need.” Archie said looking around the group. “But then it hits you, they’ll never change.”

“They are always going to be annoying little sisters.” Archie winked at Louis.

“Little sisters really are the worst.” Louis laughed as he moved towards the man.

“Bring it in bruv.” Archie smiled with outstretched arms.

“It’s been too long.” Louis smiled as the two men embraced.

“Tell me about it. You’re almost an old man now.” Archie said making the others laugh.

“Like he should be talking.” Samantha Jane mumbled.

“Oi, watch it, Sammy.” Archie glared.

“How the fuck is City at the top of the table?” Louis asked stepping away from the man who was like an older brother to him.

“Because United doesn’t know how to play football.” Archie deadpanned making his sister laugh.

“Let’s not talk football.” Samantha Jane sighed.

“Just because you guys picked a shit team—“ Fearne started to say before Louis cut her off.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Just because at the moment you’re doin’ well for yourself doesn’t mean you can be all high n’ mighty, Phillips.” Louis teased.

She threw her hands up in defense. “Sorry, didn’t know it was a touchy subject for ya.”

Louis rolled his eyes while the people around him laughed.

“Question for ya though, how are the Donny Rovers doin’?” She smirked knowing his other football team wasn’t doing too well either.

“Oh fuck you.” He shook his head.

“That was a low blow, Fearnie.” Archie sighed. “That’s the man’s pride and joy right there.”

“Seems to me Louis doesn’t know how to pick a football team.” Fearne smiled making Louis blush.

“You have one good season and you think you’re hot shit.” Louis shook his head as he crossed his arms over his chest.

“How many times has United won the title since Fergie left?” She shot back making Niall laugh.

Louis attempted to defend himself but he couldn’t. A pleased look formed on his ex-girlfriend’s face.

“We’ve got all night to watch you twos flirt with each other. I need me a pint. Anyone else keen?” Archie teased.

Everyone in their small group had agreed that a pint (or two) was needed.

“I’ll go with you to get one,” Fearne said quickly.

“It’s okay. Deco and the Irish One can come with me.” Archie said thinking on his feet. Keeping his sister safe was a top priority and having her walk around in a crowd of festival-goers didn’t seem like a good idea.

“You sure about this?” Niall asked looking over at Louis.

“Yeah. What he said.” Fearne said giving her brother a confused look.

“SJ can play minder. Make sure everything goes smoothly. No more football talk until we get back. Sound good?” Archie said giving his sister a reassuring look.

“I don’t know if that’s smart,” Declan said moving closer to Fearne. “Maybe I should stay back too.”

Louis kept his eyes on Fearne’s face. She was not having it.

“It’s fine. Go with Arch.” Louis said stepping in. “We’ll behave. We’re adults now.”

“I’ll take care of your babies.” Samantha Jane said catching onto what Louis was trying to do. “We’ll be good, yeah?”

“Alright, let’s go boys,” Archie said turning around.

With that, Fearne Phillips found herself alone with her best friend and her ex-boyfriend. It was such a weird feeling. She never thought she’d get this moment again. She turned to say something but Samantha Jane just shook her head.

“What?” Fearne asked confused.

“He’s got to go.” Samantha Jane said with a serious look on her face.

“Sam, I can’t—“ Fearne sighed knowing what she was referring to.

“At least tell Arch. He deserves to know.” Samantha Jane said.

“We can talk about this later,” Fearne said glancing at Louis shyly.

“He knows you can take care of things on your own so why was he was so keen to stay?” Samantha Jane pointed out.

“Because I’m here,” Louis said. “He’s always been a jealous twat.”

“But he’s good at his job,” Fearne said as if that were a good enough reason.

“You deserve better than that,” Louis said with a sad smile.

Fearne felt her cheeks grow warm. She knew Louis was right but he didn’t know the whole story. In an attempt to change the subject, Fearne cleared her throat and threw a fabricated smile on her face before looking between Louis and her best friend.“Guess what this twat asked me today during the interview?”

“If he fucking brought up ‘Gap’, I’m gonna lose it.” Samantha Jane said looking over at Louis.

“Still thinks they are gonna play it.” Fearne laughed making Louis blush.

“You never know,” Louis said defending himself. “Today’s been a wild card of a day. Anything could happen.”

“Okay, Ellie Goulding.” Samantha Jane said rolling her eyes.

“I bet — “ Louis started to say but Fearne’s laughter stopped him.

“Fuck, I’ve actually missed this.” Samantha Jane said amazed by her own words. “You just like losing, don’t ya Tommo?”

“They don’t play it, I’ll buy you a pint,” Louis said sticking out his hand for Fearne to shake. “If they do, you owe me.”

“You could have spiced things up a bit, Lou. That was like child’s play.” Samantha Jane added.

Ignoring her best friends commentary, Fearne reached out and shook his hand. She noticed his fingers lingered against hers longer than they should have. It was interesting.

“Since you two are gettin’ on quite well, mind if I bail? I see an eight with a beard makin’ heart eyes at me.” Samantha Jane said nodding a guy standing nearby.

“Keep your phone on,” Fearne said looking over her shoulder at the group of people the stranger belonged to.

“Yes, Mum.” Samantha Jane said adjusting her top.

“No drugs,” Fearne said sternly.

“Yeah, yeah.” She said slipping her phone into her bag.

“I’m being serious SJ,” Fearne said grabbing onto her friend’s hand.

Samantha Jane looked her in the eye. “ No drugs. I promise.”

“Have fun.” Fearne nodded.

The blonde leaned in and placed a quick kiss on her cheek before disappearing into the crowd.

“I can send Niall after her when he gets back if you want me to.” Louis offered.

“If she’s not back after the set, I’ll take you up on that,” Fearne said with a soft smile.

Louis nodded as he moved a little closer to her. The pair of adults stayed silent as mobs of people moved around them. It was almost surreal. After all this time, they were going to be watching a band that had basically defined their relationship.

“I can see why Georgette is obsessed with your latest album,” Louis said breaking the silence.

“Oh Georgie, bless her.” Fearne smiled. Louis’ middle sister was always her favorite.

“Might have to pick myself up a copy of the ones I’ve missed.” He said with a smile.

“I think this next set is going to be much better than what you just watched,” Fearne said unable to accept his compliment. Louis has a very strong opinion when it came to music so knowing he approves of all the songs that were influenced by him was something she couldn’t quite comprehend.

“You’ve done well for yourself, kid,” Louis said softly.

“Thanks, Lou.” Fearne blushed.

A brief silence settled in once more as new groups formed around them. She moved a little closer to him. She could tell by the look on his face that he wanted to bring something up but he was holding back. Knowing him as well as she did, she knew it had to be serious because biting his tongue wasn’t one of Louis’ specialties.

“You alright?” Fearne nudged him gently.

“Ye-Yeah.” Louis stuttered. He cleared his throat letting her know he was lying. Fearne didn’t press the matter.

She just nodded as she looked up at him.“I’ve got like two more festival dates and then I’m off for a year. Can you believe it?”

“Fearne Phillips actually gets time off? Blasphemy.” Louis replied dryly.

“Shocking, I know.” She laughed.

“What are you gonna do?” He asked crossing his arms over his chest.

“Um, sleep.” She shrugged. “Haven’t had a year off since I started. I’m overdue on this whole sleep thing.”

“You’re right about that.” He laughed softly.

“I dunno what else. Maybe head home and get back to me Northern roots.” She said turning on her true accent.

“The North better prepare themselves.” He said.

Fearne giggled. “Been back recently?”

Louis shook his head. “No, but hope to soon.”

“I’m sure they’re missing ya.” She said.

“They get to hear me every afternoon so they aren’t missin’ me that much.” He said with a shrug.

It wasn’t long before a group of guys beside them recognized her. She sent a tight smile in their directions before moving closer to him. He moved to the other side of her body acting as a buffer from the group of men.

“Fifty quid, we get papped and sent to The Sun tomorrow.” She mumbled nodded to another group of people that had spotted them. Mobile phones were out and photos were being taken.

“Britain’s next It couple,” Louis said.

Fearne laughed. “Fearne Phillips reignites illicit tryst with scorned ex-lover Louis Tomlinson.”

“Louis Tomlinson smokes out pop star ex-girlfriend Fearne Phillips during festival love fest.” Louis rattled off.

“Remember when they thought we shagged in me car after that god awful trip back home?” She snorted remembering the unflattering paparazzi pictures.

“Never heard the end of that one.” He blushed.

“We got into some trouble, didn’t we?” She said looking up at him with a happy look on her face.

“Wouldn’t change it for the world though.” He nodded.

“Maybe less fighting,” Fearne said softly. “But I agree.”

“But the fighting brought us closer.” He said with a sigh.

“You are right about that.” She said with a nod. No matter how bad the fight was, no one went to bed angry.

“I wanna see you when you get back from being home,” Louis said leaning in close. He didn’t know why those words chose that moment to escape from his mouth but he was happy that they did. “Might be too forward but I don’t give a fuck.”

“Why’s that?” Fearne asked confused.

“Your accent gets thicker and you get more annoyed with the City.” He said smugly.

She laughed to herself. “Yeah, you’re right about that.”

Before Louis got the chance to confirm plans, someone nudged him. He turned to find Fearne’s brother with two fresh pints in his hand. He graciously took one before making room for the other boys to join in.

“No tears? No blood? No fightin’?” Archie asked looking confused. “You lot alright?”

“Fuck off, Arch.” Fearne sighed. “We’re capable of being friends. We’re adults now.”

“Where’d SJ go?” Declan asked handing Fearne the extra pint in his hand.

“Off to suck some fella’s face off,” Fearne explained.

“But she --” Archie started to say sounding worried.

“She promised she wouldn’t,” Fearne said knowing what her brother was going to ask.

“I offered to send Ni after her,” Louis said before taking a sip of his drink.

“She’ll be fine boys.” Fearne faked a smile. “Let’s focus on the show.”

“You’re too trusting, Fearnie,” Declan said. “She comes back on one, that’s on you.”

The young woman opened her mouth to say something but decided against it. It wasn’t worth the argument. Instead, she gripped her drink a little tighter and made her way to an open area that was away from her friends. She didn’t need the boys to ruin the rest of her night by making her feel guilty for trusting Samantha Jane. Unlike them, she always Samantha Jane the benefit of the doubt — even if she didn’t always deserve it.

Without a word, Louis moved from his spot beside Archie and took up the space beside his ex-girlfriend. Her body was tense until she realized it was him. Her actions didn’t go unnoticed. When he focused on Fearne’s face, he knew something wasn’t right.

Louis leaned in close. “She’s gonna be fine.”

“Even if she wasn’t, it’s not like they are gonna be the ones helping her when she’s coming off a bad trip. Or holding her hair back when she’s spewing her guts out or keeping her hydrated the next day.” She mumbled. “It’s not like they actually give a shit.”

“She’s lucky to have you.” He said sincerely.

Fearne could feel her cheeks grow warm. “Actually, I’m lucky to have her.”

“That’s true. I know this isn’t me place but I uh meant what I said earlier about Deco. You deserve better.” He said taking a sip of his drink. “He’s a fucking twat.”

“Biggest twat on the fuckin’ planet,” Fearne mumbled. “But you didn’t hear it from me.”

Louis laughed making her smile. The lights went out on stage alerting the entire crowd that things were about to kick off. Archie and the boys made their way over to where Fearne and Louis had been standing. A bit of mindless chatter began amongst them as they waited for the show to begin.

Intro music began sending a wave of electricity throughout the crowd. Fearne felt herself move closer to Louis. She couldn’t believe this was happening. After all this time, they were back together and about to watch their favorite band.

“Lou.” She said nudging him.

“Hmm.” He mumbled looking over at her.

The look in his eye was something she’d never forget. Louis had a way of making her feel like the most important person in the world whenever she spoke. It was something she had missed.

“I’m glad we ran into each other.” She said.

His cheeks grew warm from the sincerity in her voice.

“Past few years, everyone has asked me what I thought would happen if we saw each other again and this has honestly been better than anything I could ever imagine.” She admitted.

“I guess it was a good thing that Matty nearly shit himself.” Louis joked making her laugh.

“Thankin’ me lucky stars for that.” She winked.

“Mum isn’t going to believe the day I’ve had.” He said with a smile.

Before anything else could be said, the kick drum kicked in causing the crowd to roar with excitement.

The rest of the night felt like a dream. She couldn’t have asked for a better weekend. She was surrounded by good food, good music, and good people. A few more drinks were shared before everyone parted ways for the night.

Fearne Phillips didn’t know how it happened but she felt rejuvenated. It could have been because her work duties were over. It could have been the fact that her vacation was only two weeks away. It could have been the small reunion with a man who made up so many memories from her past. She didn’t know.

She did know that she wasn’t the same person as she was when she woke up that morning. That was something to be happy about.

As she got ready for bed that night, her phone buzzed on the counter of the caravan’s bathroom. On the screen was a number she hadn’t recognized but the message gave the sender away.

Tuesday. Stags Head. Lunch is on me even though you lost, loser. x

A goofy grin formed on her face. She quickly shot back a reply before adding his new number to her phone.

Maybe being friends with Louis wouldn’t be such a bad thing after all.

#1dff #one direction fan fiction #louis tomlinson fanfiction #i got u #fearne and louis #ktrssss1

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filippoinzaghi · 5 years ago

Note

scheville 2.0 and 28 face my Wrath

[send me a prompt]

Scheville 2.0 + 28. First Kiss

Phil has imagined his first kiss ever since he’s been four and listening to his mother’s stories to put him and his siblings to sleep. At that age, it’s wasn’t even anything specific in his head but merely an action that happened in fairytales when the knight saved the princess. And he loved fairytales. He loved imagining he was a knight in shining armour or a hero of some kind. Even when he had a football at his feet, following Gary’s every steps, or a cricket bat in his tiny hands- he thought about it.

The ball became a horse and a spear at the same time, a goal would mean the dragon was defeated, while the bat would obviously become a sword he would swing left to right and right to left, barely failing to knock out anybody who was nearby. And at the end of each of his adventures, he would kiss the princess - a tiny, soft peck of lips against the cheek. He can’t count all the times he bribed Tracey into playing the princess for him in exchange of practicing netball with her. In hindsight, maybe that’s why she became the best out of the three of them.

When he’s ten and Gary proudly brings back home a worn out VHS of Rocky from the video club, he understands that a kiss like the ones in fairytales can actually be given on the lips. Sure, he’s seen his parent kiss every now and then but he just assumed it was… different, somehow. And to be fair, it was a rather infrequent occurrence. Or maybe he just didn’t remember. But now that he’s looking at the boxer kissing Adrienne, he can’t help but feel both fascinated and disgusted. He half wants to try it but… He uses his lips to eat, right ? Then wouldn’t he feel all that went through someone’s mouth with a kiss ? That’s gross, he thinks.

He does asks Tracey about it though, he always asks Tracey about things, Tracey always knows everything. She chuckles fondly, like she’s older than him or something and not his literal twin sister, and that’s how he learns he can’t really ask her to be the princess anymore, not if he intends to try this new kind of kiss. He pouts at the prospect, if Tracey can’t be the princess then, who is he going to save now ? Gary tells him not to worry while he ruffles his blonde hair: football and cricket are more important, anyway. Phil is not going to argue with that and jumps outside, having a kickabout with his brother.

The first time he really thinks he’s going to experience his first kiss, he’s in the cinema. He has asked one of Tracey’s friends out. She looks cute with her ginger hair pulled into a ponytail and her freckles and to Phil so far, that’s well enough of a reason to ask a girl out. Or so he assumes- girlfriends, boyfriends, love, this all sounds so very complicated to him.

Still. He is quite proud of himself that he gathered the courage to ask that girl out on his own, no help whatsoever, and that she accepted. He has saved every penny he could find for months so he can bring her to the cinema. Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves, obviously. Of course he goes to see a film about the famous outlaw, not a knight but a hero nonetheless, one he has dressed up as a lot when he was younger. When the epic theme of the overture hits the theatre while the Bayeux tapestry is shown extensively on the big screen, he almost forgets he’s actually on a date. He grins and simply cannot wait to see how the film will retell the legend he still knows by heart.

When Lady Marian appears on screen later on, he looks at Tracey’s friend - Gemma - and he thinks. From what he understood from the other boys at school and at practice, he should kiss her at some point - that’s apparently how dating works. Phil would have liked more input from Gary but his big brother is sixteen now and solely focused on football. So when he had learnt about his date, he had simply scoffed and said he was meeting with David for a run.

(“He’s just jealous and lonely.” Tracey had tried to comfort him. As Phil got older he realised she probably had been right. Still, he remembered how disappointed he had been and anxious that Gary would not see him fit anymore to become a pro.)

He looks at Gemma, her ginger hair now auburn in the darkness of the room and he looks back at Robin and Lady Marian, entangled on a rope going back down on the ground. He feels this is it. The scene, the music, no one to laugh at them : this can’t get more romantic than that. He boldly grasps the girl’s hand with a sweaty palm and leans in. He really can see her face going closer from his and he closes his eyes, just like in the movies.

He waits. And he waits. But nothing comes. Until Gemma pulls her hand away, wipes it on her pullover like it’s full of dirt and pushes him gently back in his seat. She shakes her head, half pitying him and turns back towards the screen.

The rest of the film is spent in awkward silence. He still buys her ice-cream at the end, though, following his mum’s advice, and waits until she’s on the bus to turn and leave.

He walks (runs) home and he goes directly into his room, barely saying a word, and flopping onto his bed. He wants to cry but he doesn’t. Instead he looks at the fading wallpaper and vows that love, and kisses and girlfriends are really not worth it and too complicated. An hour passed, or maybe it was just five minutes but Gary comes in and ruffles his hair hair softly.

“Come on, stupid, let’s have a kickabout.” He says gentle and surprisingly soft.

Football is simple. That Phil can do.

Gary still loves him and for a minute he forgets about his rejection.

Life goes on. Phil realises there are far more important things than being denied his first kiss at fourteen by some girl he didn’t even fancy that much. Football for instance, Manchester United more precisely. Always loyal in Gary’s shadow, he followed him at the academy, worked twice as hard to be noticed but especially to make his brother proud. And it’s not like Gary is going to let him go easy anyway. Training session here, morning runs there and extra gym session, that’s how daily life looks like for the both of them now. It’s not hard because Phil wants it just as much as Gary and he knows, he knows - sure and pure of heart - that all of this will be worth it, that it will lead him somewhere - anywhere, really (but preferably at United).

It has to be.

That’s when he meets Paul.

He has known him ever since Gary and him have played together but he was just that, then- Gary’s friend. Now that Phil’s with them at the academy, though, it’s different. He can’t really call them friends, he still has this little brother label hung around his neck, but they’re kind enough to him so that’ll do for now. There’s Becks, of course, flamboyant and a shining bright smile to die for - like the knights (he sees how Gary looks at this London wonderkid). There is Ryan and Nicky too, more than ready to have a laugh- Phil is kind of scared of them sometimes, afraid they’ll pull a prank on him. And then there’s Paul. Tiny, asthmatic Paul. Angry ginger Paul. Crazy talented Paul. Phil thinks he probably must have heard him talk thrice in his life and he already feels lucky.

(“To be fair, he addressed you way sooner than he did to us. I think he likes you.” Gary had said, half joking.

Phil didn’t exactly know why but he had almost wanted his brother to be serious.)

He likes Paul.

Not like like (although Tracey has been quite annoying about this lately) but he connects more with the one they all call Scholesy. It’s in the the barely-there smiles Phil has learnt to recognise or the exaggerated rolling of his eyes at something naive the younger Neville said. It’s even in the little slaps on the shoulders when he does a good pass or a good run. It’s good to know someone other than his brother has his back. It feels good to be accepted properly in the team- painful towel initiation and kissing the mop included.

They’re all watching a movie on one of their few breaks when Phil thinks about his first kiss, or lack thereof, again. He doesn’t even know the name of the film but suddenly the big, strong hero kisses his love interest and some of the lads begin to talk about their own girls. The discussion soon derives towards girlfriends and kisses and relationships and sex like the bunch of horny and stupid teenagers they all are. They all listen to Giggsy telling them the best (gross if you ask Phil) ways to kiss a girl or the latest news about Dave and his new girlfriend. Phil pretends (like Gary) that it’s great and they’re women experts until they go back to training.

(“Have you ever kissed a girl, Gaz ?” Phil asks on their way home, looking at his feet.

It’s raining and the pavement is wet and shining.

“Why ?” His brother answers, not looking away from the horizon.

“I’d like to know. I feel like I’m missing out.”

“You’re not. Tracey excluded, girls are stupid and gross and girlfriends are the worst. And anyway, they take away all your mates…”

Phil doesn’t ask more questions.)

But he still thinks of kisses- of a first kiss. It’s when he sees couples in the streets holding hands, or in the shows on the telly or even just the lads in the team talking about it. It’s in the stories he remembers his mum telling him about when he was just a kid. It’s everywhere in the fucking world and he constantly gets reminded he still hasn’t had anyone or just a single peck on his lips. He feels like the biggest idiot in the world for not having experienced what is apparently considered a milestone of teenagehood.

And somehow he thinks about Paul. It happens when they play against the academy of City and he takes a hard blow, falling on the ground. Scholesy extends a hand to put him back up on his feet while glaring at the City players, probably plotting murder what with the stormy glint in his eyes (if Gary would stop yelling at them that is). He’s no knight, Phil thinks, but he wonders what it would feel like to kiss him all the same. He shakes his head. What the hell is he thinking ?

Still.

It happens again. And again.

It happens when Phil has a rough training and is getting yelled at from everywhere and Paul just sticks close and waits for him once training is done. It happens when the ginger-haired boy comes in into that smelly old hotel room they’re staying at and offers him a sweet while Gary has left him all alone to spend the evening with David.

(He almost hates David sometimes. But then he remembers Gemma, and Tracey’s words and he lets it go.)

Suddenly, even when he’s not with Paul he thinks about him. There are times when Phil wonders if he does because Scholesy is just being nice to him or if there is actually something more to it. He brings it all up with Tracey when she’s back from an England call up. They see each other less, and what with her going to Leeds to play, but he always goes to her, probably always will.

“How d’you know you fancy someone, Trace ?” He asks while they’re playing netball in the garden- more like Tracey trashing Phil.

“How would I know ? It’s not like I have the time for this kind of thing.” She answers honestly.

“All three of us don’t have the time and yet, I’m pretty sure things happen. You always know these kind of things.” He almost snaps.

Tracey stops playing and throws the ball away.

“Sorry, didn’t mean that.” He apologises, softer.

She sits next to him. It’s so strange how he can sense her thoughts in the silence except for the windy chill of the late summer evening. It’s awfully cold for the season. Above, there’s that unmistakable cloudy grey sky, raindrops waiting to fall, the same way someone could be on the verge of crying. Phil exhales and observes the faint steam escaping his mouth even when it has disappeared.

“We’re both really crap at this, uh.” Tracey reflects, hands in her pockets.

And they laugh. And suddenly they’re five again, with no worries in the world than to play knights, do sports and listen to their parents. It’s carefree and Phil has missed this- maybe these weird scientific facts his biology teacher told him about twins back in year 9, are true. It just feels like the old times and at the moment everything is moving so fast that Phil is glad for the reminder of something strong and stable.

“Trust your instincts and don’t change for someone, yeah ? You’re a good lad, Philly Nilly. That’s about the best thing I can tell you.” Tracey smiles at him, with a tender tone in her voice.

(he played knight, but she never played. She just was).

He nods and brings them back inside for dinner. Gary is surprisingly in a gay mood and it’s Phil’s favourite thing : all three of them, in Manchester, united.

There’s the game against Leicester soon. Their opponents are currently at the bottom of the league and there are some injuries in the first team. Phil knows it’s a hard stretch but he’s been doing good with the reserve lately, coach Harrison has given him positive feedback (which doesn’t happen a lot). So even though he knows there’s only a ten percent chance he could make it into the squad, he hopes. He’s livelier than usual, chirping all week long. If it annoys the lads, they don’t comment on it- except Scholesy’s scoffs and Gary trying to calm things down a bit.

He hopes. He hopes so much.

Until they put the list on that wall. He sees Gary’s name, of course. And Paul’s- that was to be expected. But he doesn’t see his.

Hopes crushed down, kaboom, thank you, goodnight.

Phil probably stand there for hours, stoic, not quite believing it’s still not his time. Maybe if he stays longer, he thinks, his name will magically appear and this would have only been a joke from the older lads. But the paper doesn’t change, the black ink unmoving. He hates it- the paper, the ink, the folding lines still visible.

He feels like an idiot. A powerless idiot.

They’ve all made their debut already- except him. It’s always like this. He’s always left behind, he’s always late. For everything. He wants to scream, he wants to run, he wants to hit someone.

He doesn’t do any of those things.

He stays put and burns the offending list in his memory instead, unable to tear his gaze away. He’s kind of a masochist, he discovers.

Gary finds him and it’s only when one of his hands touches one of Phil’s that the younger Neville realises he had put them into fists, his knuckles turned white. His big brother looks at him with a pained expression and the blonde hates it. He hates having to be, once again, poor little Phil, always in need to be consoled or looked after, always pitied. He pushes Gary’s arm away when he tries to wrap it around his shoulders and he storms out.

He goes running around one of the fields, he punishes his body - himself - for not being good enough and intends on keeping that up until everything hurts and he can’t feel his damn legs. He likes running, it usually helps him to clear his head.

It’s night when he begins to tire himself out. Yet, he still insists on going on, it doesn’t hurt enough, his throat doesn’t burn enough. He sees large puffs of air coming right out of his mouth, it helps him focus.

Suddenly, he sees a shadow behind him going straight to him.

Scholesy. Paul.

The short teenager is now running beside him, breathing loudly. His face is getting redder and redder by the minute.

“Paul, what the fuck are you doing ? Your asthma !” Phil manages to say, breathless.

“You fucking weirdo. You’ve been at it for ages after the three trainings today; you’re gonna get injured. So what the fuck are YOU doing!” He replies, furious.

“I can’t stop.”

“Can’t or won’t ?”

“… Both. But-” Phil tries to explain.

“Jesus, Philip. Grow up and use your fucking brain ! You get injured now you throw away your chance.”

“Fine. But I can’t stop.”

“Wh- For christ’s sake, Nev-”

“No ! I just… Literally cannot stop. My legs are just going on and on.”

“… what the fuck…” Paul mutters, divided between feeling amazed or murderous.

Phil doesn’t really have time to register what happens that Paul has his hands on his shoulders, probably trying to stop him. However, although they’re not sure how, their feet make an entangled mess of sort and they fall on the wet grass in a loud thud.

The two teenagers are a mess of grunts and breaths until they stop moving altogether and silence falls between them. The cold grass tickles Phil’s hands but he’s not sure if he shivers because of that or because he realises he’s sprawled over Paul, his face resting on his chest. He does not dare move an inch, not because he wants to (although yes he has no desire moving from where he is, but that’s another thing), but mainly because his legs are failing him and partly because he’s not even sure what to do. Underneath him, he feels the slowing rhythm of Paul’s breathing, his stomach going up and down proving to lull him. He could have fallen asleep right on the spot- maybe running that much had not been such a great idea.

“Take your time, Neville. It’s not like you’re preventing me from breathing or something.”

“I can’t move. My legs are like jelly.”

“Oh. If only someone had warned you about that, you idiot, if only… Oh wait, actually I did and you didn’t listen !”

Phil moves his head up so now he can see Scholesy’s face, frowning like he knows how to. The blonde feels bold tonight and chuckles, not caring about the wrath that is sure coming his way. He has nothing to lose anyway.

“That makes you laugh, Philip ? You think it’s funny, uh ? Oh you just move and I’ll wipe that stupid grin off that silly mug of yours.”

The younger Neville feels bolder still.

“Oh yeah ? And what if I don’t move ? How are you gonna do that ?” He asks smugly.

Paul’s answer surprises him and makes him freeze altogether. Suddenly, he feels the brush of lips- rough, dehydrated ones, ones that have exhaled large breaths of air and which the cold air have bitten with icy claws. Suddenly, he feels his shirt being grabbed in a fist, making sure he’ll stay right where he is and he shivers at the thought. Suddenly, this is happening, this is not a drill.

He’s having his first kiss.

Suddenly, suddenly, suddenly…

Suddenly Phil just feels nothing but the wind upon his mouth and the sensation leaves him so quickly that he fears he has imagined it all, that it actually did not happened, that he fell asleep and dreamt.

But this can’t be.

Paul’s fist is only letting go of his shirt and the ginger’s eyes are wide open in horror, realising just now what he has done.

It definitely happened. Phil wants to pass his fingertips on his lips but he has a more urgent, burning question to ask first.

“Why did you do that for ?”

Paul still has not moved, almost paralysed under the blonde-haired teen but his face has changed. Instead of shock, now he looks almost… embarrassed. Phil’s face falls, starting to think this kiss was a joke to his friend and he would burst out laughing at his expense any minute now.

“Scholesy…” He pleads, desperately.

Still no answer and the fullback can’t take it anymore, this is the last straw of the day. He rolls off Paul and sits up, turning his back to him. His eyes sting and he bites his lip as hard as he can not to cry.

They stay like that for a while until the younger Neville feels the urge to escape, to flee from him, to run home like he had done after Gemma and that date at the cinema.

“This is stupid, I’m going home.” His voice breaks and wavers.

He stands up and goes to fetch his bag on the sidelines to leave. He was stupid to forget dating isn’t worth it for a minute. He feels humiliated and the feeling is only growing thinking of Gary trying to comfort him, poor sweet, little Phil, when he will inevitably pick up in his sour mood. Why can’t he be like the rest of teenagers; having a reciprocal crush, going to prom, being kissed- hell, even having messy short-lived sex ?

There’s football, of course, and football means sacrifices, especially when you don’t have a natural talent like Becks. But still, that hasn’t stopped some of the lads of the team to have girlfriends, so why can’t he experience that too ?

The younger Neville is about to leave the pitch when his friend stops him:

“Phil, wait !” He cries, grabbing his wrist.

He wants to shake his hand off of him but Paul’s fist stays strongly put.

“Don’t you think the joke has lasted enough ?” Phil asks affronted, trying his best to keep his eyes dry.

Scholes opens his mouth to say something but stops, his lips forming a perfect, round “o”.

That’s a first. Paul Scholes not looking totally in control. Phil is left bewildered and watches him, seemingly thinking about an appropriate response.

Instead, he goes for that :

“It’s not a joke.” He grumbles, half-muttering to the grass below.

The blonde looks at his friend with big eyes, so big they could roll out of their orbit soon. He must have misheard, that must be it. Paul Scholes, tiny, angry, likes-nobody Paul Scholes can’t actually be saying he kissed him and meant it. He can’t let him hope like that, it’s too cruel. Still, now Phil cannot get the idea out of his system and thinks of that brush of lips a few minutes ago and he needs to find out more, he needs to feel more, he needs more.

“Can I kiss you, then ?” He blurts out, cursing himself silently for being so awkward.

“Uh… Yeah.” The ginger-haired teen replies, just as awkward.

So that’s it, then. This is the moment. The one he has imagined ever since he was a small kid listening to fairytales. Paul is no knight but he kind of is in fact, in his own special, personal way.

The blonde takes an hesitant step towards the smaller man and he gulps. Tracey was right- as always: he really is crap at this. But practice makes perfect- that’s how the saying goes, right ? Maybe he can remember how kissing goes in the latest movies he has watched to guide him.

Phil cups Paul’s face in one humid hand and use the other one to lift his friend’s chin to be levelled with him. He gulps again and licks his lips. He’s really going to do this, this is really happening. Part of him is still terrified a hidden camera will appear out of nowhere and reveal he has been pranked. Or maybe Paul has changed his mind, which would actually be even worse. The blonde is still hesitating, inches from the ginger teen’s mouth, until he hears his friend sigh and grouses.

And suddenly they are kissing again. Lips firmly placed onto one another. Just that, nothing less, nothing more.

It’s wet. More so than their first try earlier. It’s soft but strong too, Scholes having fisted his hands into Phil’s shirt again, near his waist this time, making sure to keep him right in place. He’s not going anywhere. He doesn’t plan on moving anytime soon, Phil has forgotten all about fleeing home.

The kiss lasts longer than the first one, enough for the sensation to remain almost palpable, permanent on their mouths, but not enough to make them breathless- they’re not there quite yet. Their eyes flutter open and they don’t say a word. Paul has the faintest trace of a smile on his face and that’s enough for Phil. He grins and feels his cheeks burning red at the same time.

It’s okay. Life is good, he can have that.

“Let’s get you home, Phil.” Paul says while rolling his eyes, forcing them to move and break out of their reverie.

He’s no knight, Phil thinks again. But his armour shines all the same to him. And maybe, just maybe, they can try to shine together.

#Scheville 2.0 #Prompt #My Fics #Hope you like it Sam !!#Football fanfic

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idristardis · 7 years ago

Text

The Writing’s On The Wall - CSLB

Summary: Normally quiet and sleepy, Storybrooke, Maine has been going through the polar opposite of a crime wave. There hasn't been even so much as an incident of shoplifting in MONTHS. Until the day an anonymous graffiti artist starts leaving murals and street art all over prominent town buildings. Who's behind it? Why don't the townspeople want to press charges if/when the "vandal" is caught? And what does all of this have to do with Sheriff Emma Swan and local bakery owner Killian Jones?

Rating: Mild T (mainly for a little kissin’ and a little swearin’)

Word Count: 15,000 on the nose!

Possible triggers: I’m not really sure I’d consider these triggers, but this fic does contain mentions of past!Millian and past!Gremma (both in a positive light) and past!Swanfire (in a negative light), so if none of those things float your boat, I’d recommend taking a miss on this one.

Tropes: Mutual pining, friends-to-lovers, modern au (no magic), Henry-being-too-smart-and-cute-for-his-own-good, Zelena-being-Zelena, the author makes many jokes (lovingly) at Will Scarlet’s expense.

Background pairings: Snowing, Outlaw Queen, Frozen Jewel.

A/N: It’s hard to believe this day is finally here!! I felt like I ate/slept/breathed this fic for so long and then ended up having to wait the whole month of February to post, lol. Seriously, though, it’s humbling to be the “grand finale” of the CSLB, and I only hope my work lives up to the honor. This month has once again proved the depth and breadth of talent possessed by the writers and artists in the OUAT and CS fandoms. You guys all rock and should be very proud of what you’ve achieved!!

This fic was a labor of love - and it’s the longest thing that I’ve written and completed in forever - so I am extremely excited to share it with you all. I couldn’t have done it without my amazing beta, Hollie aka @the-captains-ayebrows who helped me refine the plot and pacing in so many ways - this story wouldn’t be half of what it is without her input - and my wonderful artist, Bianca i.e. @shipsxahoy who made the beautiful banner at the top of this post and a seriously awesome gifset that you can find HERE. I also want to thank the mods and the entire team at the @captainswanbigbang for running such a wonderful CSLB event (and for putting up with my frequent down-to-the-wire check ins and over-the-top word counts). You ladies have done a wonderful job and I’m so grateful to have been a part of it!! Now, without further ado (too late!!), The Writing’s On The Wall.

Also on AO3.

February 13th - Midday...

In retrospect, Emma thought, I really should have seen this coming.

Life in Storybrooke had been quiet – almost freakishly so – for the last few months. Not that the small, sleepy coastal Maine town she called home was normally a hotbed of criminal activity, but usually there was something going on that required her to flash her badge and threaten the local riffraff with a night in one of the cells at the sheriff’s station.

But not lately. It was mid-February and quite literally nothing arrest-worthy had happened since early December when she’d locked up Will Scarlet for attempting to steal the holiday decorations off the town common.

She knew for a fact that had been the last arrest she’d made, as Scarlet’s motives had been memorable. Apparently, he’d had some half-cocked idea of holding the decorations hostage until the mayor agreed to “ransom” them back for a hefty fee. (Emma had laughed for a solid minute when he’d explained. As if Regina would ever have gone along with that).

Since then, though - nothing.

No bar fights, no petty theft, no DUIs, no domestic disturbances, no vandalism...not even any cats stuck in trees.

Emma’d had little to do except catch up on backlogged paperwork and finally start converting the sheriff’s department’s oldest files from hard-copy to digital.

In other words, she was bored out of her freaking mind.

Or she had been.

Because now, suddenly, the crime drought had ended rather spectacularly.

Emma had practically stumbled on the scene of the crime when she’d left the station a little before noon. She’d already been running late for Galentine’s Day lunch with Mary-Margaret - a longstanding tradition they’d kept up since meeting at the University of Southern Maine nearly ten years ago - when she’d seen it.

It had been hard - if not impossible - to miss.

“What the actual hell?!” Emma exclaimed, stopping dead in her tracks and staring at the building opposite the station. The response felt entirely appropriate when confronted with fifteen foot tall graffiti that absolutely hadn’t been there that morning. Whoever the culprit was, they were pretty talented, but also extremely brazen. They’d vandalized the brick wall of a two story office building in broad daylight, not twenty-five feet away from the sheriff’s station. Apparently, they didn’t care if they got caught, Emma mused. I mean, it’s beautiful, but that’s pretty damn cocky.

Sighing, Emma pulled out her phone to call Mary-Margaret and let her know she was going to be running even later for lunch, and that she’d explain when she got there.

All the while, her eyes barely strayed from the wall looming above her, adorned with a stunning multitude of simple (yet gorgeously painted) hearts in varying sizes and shades of pink, red, white, and purple.

(If she took a few more photos than were strictly necessary for the case file, that was her secret).

January 19th - Late Afternoon...

The bell above Second Star Bakery’s door jangled loudly, signaling that said door had been thrown open with considerable force. Though he would’ve liked to offer a sharp word to the culprit about the civilized way to enter a room, Killian kept his attention on the cupcakes he’d been in the middle of frosting, slowly looking up towards the source of the noise. The polite, “customer-service” smile on his face melted into something more genuine when he saw who his visitor was, and he approached the front of the shop with a spring in his step.

"Henry, what brings you by on a Friday? I wasn't expecting you till tomorrow afternoon for your usual visit with your Mum," he said, leaning on top of the display case nearest to the door and looking curiously at Henry Swan. The boy rocked slightly on his feet, shifting his weight side-to-side and averting his eyes when Killian’s gaze landed on him.

"I know, but I needed to talk to you about something and it couldn't wait any longer.” He was unusually fidgety. It struck Killian as odd, but before he could ask about it, Henry’d started speaking again. "Um...can you take a break for a few minutes?"

A tendril of concern tickled the back of Killian’s mind, but he tamped it down. Henry’d always been a good lad, and Killian was sure that, given a chance, he would explain what was on his mind. “Of course I can,” he nodded at Henry before pointing to the case in between them. “Now, how serious is this conversation? Does it require cupcakes, cookies, or eclairs?”

Henry shook his head, and his brow briefly furrowed in thought. “Pie,” he replied firmly after a few moments of careful consideration.

Killian arched an eyebrow. “Ah, that is serious,” he said, bending down and fetching the nearest pie out of the case. “Apple spice alright?”

Henry nodded and moved through the cafe tables dotting the bakery floor, heading for one towards the back. Leaving one of his sales associates, Wendy, in charge of things up front, Killian warmed a couple of healthy-sized slices of the pie and put them on a tray. Propping the tray on his left forearm, he steadied it with his good hand and carefully navigated between the tables. (Times like these always made him wish he had full use of his left hand, but an accident nearly seven years ago had taken his naval career - and much more - with it. He’d never regained full range of motion in his left hand, but he’d adapted to the injury - the other losses had been harder to recover from). Sliding into the chair opposite Henry, he waited while the boy dug into his pie.

And waited.

Though he was determined to give Henry enough time to bring up whatever was on his mind, after several silent moments stretched between them, Killian couldn’t resist nudging the conversation along. “Henry...I thought you wanted to talk. Are you sure everything’s alright?”

Though his attention had been focused solely on his pie until that moment, at Killian’s question Henry sat back in his chair with a sigh. His eyes flicked up to meet Killian’s hesitantly. “If you thought that...someone liked you...like...that way...but they hadn’t really said anything, what would you do?”

Ah, Killian thought, inwardly relieved. Girl problems. This I can handle. I think.

He folded his arms on the table and leaned towards Henry, regarding him with a grin. “Well, first things first. Are the feelings mutual?”

Henry’s gaze locked on his. Killian had the distinct (and slightly unsettling) feeling the boy was trying to read him - but what exactly he was looking for, Killian wasn’t sure. He seemed to find it after a moment, nodding thoughtfully as he replied. “I think so. I mean...” He paused to take a large bite of his pie. “...I’m pretty sure.”

“Well,” Killian scratched lightly behind his ear. “I think you have to figure that out for definite before you decide how to approach this other person. It could be pretty awkward otherwise.”

Henry put down his fork and opened his mouth as if to speak before closing it again immediately - an action he repeated twice more before a look of determination crossed his features and he blurted, “okaywellhowdoyoureallyfeelaboutmymomthen?”

The tinny strains of a Mumford and Sons tune floating out from the kitchen were suddenly the loudest noises in the entire bakery.

But the only thing Killian could hear was his heartbeat skidding to a complete halt before promptly lurching into overdrive.

“Pardon?” he asked, sure he must have misheard Henry’s (admittedly rather garbled) question - yet simultaneously sure he hadn’t. “Say that again? Perhaps with breaths between the words?”

Henry slumped back in his chair. “I said how do you really feel about my mom?”

Right, so the lad did say those words. In that order. Right.

Killian took a deep breath, trying to school his features into something closer to nonchalance than panic. (He had a feeling he failed based on the way Henry was looking at him).

“Henry,” he began cautiously, “I don’t understand...I thought you were asking me about someone at school...someone who you thought fancied you.”

“Nope,” he said, shaking his head vigorously before pausing to contradict himself. “I mean, yeah, there kinda is someone I think I might like, but that’s so not the point of this conversation,” he finished before renewing his previously abandoned attack on his pie.

“Not the point...” Killian echoed faintly, scrubbing a hand over his face and back through his hair. This was, quite literally, the last thing he’d expected when he’d opened up shop in the morning. For the first time in the slightly more than three years since he’d owned the bakery, Killian was actually glad there were hardly any customers - with the wildfire nature of Storybrooke’s gossip mill, this conversation was the last thing he wanted anyone overhearing.

He can’t know, Killian thought. He can’t.

But then why bring it up? His inner voice countered in annoyingly logical fashion.

“Henry,” he tried again, “why would you ask me that?”

Henry stopped just short of rolling his eyes. “I was just doing what you said.”

That didn’t clarify anything. “What do you mean?”

“What do you mean, what do I mean?” Henry asked, putting his fork down. “You said finding out if the feelings were definitely mutual was really important before figuring out how to talk to the other person. So that’s what I was doing. So,” he asked again, “how exactly do you feel about my mom?”

Killian still could not fathom that this conversation was really happening, but Henry seemed as though he could - and would - stay planted in his chair until Killian answered him, so he chose his next words carefully. “You know I care a great deal for your mother, lad. We’ve known each other for several years now - her friendship means the world to me, and I wouldn’t trade having her in my life for anything.”

Henry simply looked at him for a few moments before throwing his hands up in the air. “Friendship?! Really?! That’s what you’re going with?!”

“Aye,” he said gently. “It’s the truth, Henry.”

Now, the boy did roll his eyes. “Yeah,” he scoffed, “but not all of it...especially not when I think my mom might be in love with you.”

February 13th - Lunchtime...

“Well, whoever did this...it’s gorgeous,” Mary-Margaret mused, handing Emma her phone back after looking at the photos of the mural.

“Yeah, but...unfortunately, it’s also a crime,” Emma replied, pocketing her phone after taking one last glance at the photos. “Or it should be.”

Mary-Margaret tilted her head inquisitively. “What d’you mean?”

Emma sighed, leaning her elbows on the table and picking at her last few onion rings. “I canvassed the people who work in the building, but only a couple of the offices are actually occupied, and neither tenant was bothered by the graffiti. In fact, they really liked it.” Mary-Margaret hummed thoughtfully before Emma continued. “It’s one of the few buildings in town not owned by the immortally cranky Mr. Gold, and when I called the landlord to notify him, he’d already heard about the incident and didn’t want to press charges when and if we found the ‘artist’ in question. Said it sounded like it improved the value of his property.”

The pair sat in silence for a moment. “Well,” Mary-Margaret said eventually, “I guess that’s actually lucky for you, right?”

“How so?”

“Now that you don’t have to chase down leads on this mysterious artist-vandal, you won’t have to work late on Valentine’s Day. See? Lucky!!”

Emma chuckled and shook her head. Mary-Margaret was an eternal optimist who saw the best in everyone. Emma was convinced it was this innate decency and kindness that had led Mary-Margaret to befriend her when she was a 20 year old freshman and single mother commuting to USM’s Portland campus from some no name town an hour up the coast.

Though a junior when they’d met, Mary-Margaret had been the same age as Emma, and had slipped into her life as if she’d been there forever. The fact that Mary-Margaret had gotten a job teaching at Storybrooke Elementary after graduation, and had married Emma’s friend and co-worker David Nolan ensured she probably would be in Emma’s life for the foreseeable future. Her sunny disposition generally balanced out Emma’s more pragmatic (some would say prickly) take on things - but occasionally, they just didn’t see eye to eye, and when it came to Valentine’s Day, they couldn’t be further apart.

Of course Mary-Margaret, being so kind-hearted, would be enthusiastic about a holiday devoted to love and romance. Emma didn’t have anything against actual love and romance, but an overly commercialized holiday devoted to a sappy version of it? That she could do without. “Just because I don’t have to work late doesn’t mean I don’t have to work,” Emma replied. “It’s not that lucky.”

Mary-Margaret shrugged in response, her optimism undeterred. “Well, do you at least have any plans for tomorrow night?”

Emma narrowed her eyes. “I don’t think I like where I think you’re headed with that question.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Mary-Margaret’s eyes were wide, her tone a shade too innocent.

“Uh huh,” Emma muttered. “Sure you don’t.”

Mary-Margaret frowned briefly before finishing her coffee and putting the cup down with a sigh. “I only want you to be happy, you know that, right?”

Now it was Emma’s turn to sigh. “I’ve got a wonderful family, friends who care a frankly ridiculous amount about me,” Emma raised an eyebrow, causing Mary-Margaret to chuckle, “and an amazing kid. I am happy.”

“I do know that - and I’m glad,” Mary-Margaret said, though her words were laced with concern. “But you know that’s not the kind of happiness I’m talking about. When’s the last time you went on a date?”

“I don’t need to have romantic plans on a made up holiday in order to be happy, Mary-Margaret,” Emma said, weariness creeping into her tone. They’d had similar discussions before.

“I know you don’t have to, but-”

“Besides, I’ve had dates on and off over the past few years,” Emma cut in. “You’re really talking about more than that.”

“Yeah, I am,” Mary-Margaret conceded. She paused, her gaze flicking to Emma’s before proceeding hesitantly. “It’s been almost four years since Graham died...I’m just afraid that between dealing with losing him and the impact of your past with Neal, you’ve closed yourself off. I don’t want that for you, Emma.”

Emma didn’t really have a comeback for that. Neal had been a con and a cheat, not to mention too old for her teenage self, and the only good thing he’d brought into her life had been Henry. Her history with him featured frequently in conversations about Emma’s lackluster love-life (generally with Emma tossing a good amount of expletives in his direction), but Mary-Margaret didn’t usually bring up Graham.

Graham had been everything Neal wasn’t - kind, patient, funny, and sweet. They’d fallen into an easy relationship not long after Emma’s post-college return to Storybrooke. Under the former sheriff, Art King, they and David had been co-deputies in the Storybrooke Sheriff’s Department. Graham had charmed her effortlessly almost from the start. They’d been happy for about eighteen months, until he’d collapsed one day during his morning run - ripped away out of the blue by an undiagnosed congenital heart defect.

Emma took a deep breath and released it slowly. If she were being honest, she’d have to admit that after Graham’s death, she’d turned inward - protectively walling off her heart against further hurt. She hadn’t really had a serious relationship since - but the pain of losing Graham was only one reason.

Yeah, but you can’t exactly admit that the other major reason you’re not actively looking for something serious is that you’ve gone and developed feelings for Killian, Emma thought. At least, not without Mary-Margaret completely freaking out on you and trying to get you to actually do something about them.

“Emma?” Mary-Margaret’s soft voice broke through Emma’s internal musings and pulled her back to the present. “I’m sorry if I pushed - I just care about you and I want the best for you. Sometimes I get carried away”

“It’s alright, you didn’t,” Emma said, reaching out to squeeze Mary-Margaret’s hand. “Honest. But I’m really fine - and you have my word that I’m happy. I promise if that changes, you’ll be the first to know.”

Mary-Margaret nodded, squeezing Emma’s hand in return. “Deal.”

“As far as tomorrow, I wouldn’t have time for a date anyway. I’ve got to get Henry ready for the school dance and embarrass him by taking as many photos as humanly possible,” Emma said. “That’s all the Valentine’s excitement I need.”

Emma felt slightly guilty for not revealing she did, in fact, have plans with Killian after Henry went to the dance. It wasn’t a date, so technically she wasn’t lying, but she was aware if Mary-Margaret knew, she’d take it the wrong way. Emma just didn’t have the energy to convince her that movie night with Killian, beer, and a giant pepperoni pizza was completely and totally platonic.

(Not that she wanted it to be. But the one thing she wanted more than exploring a relationship with Killian was to not lose him from her life. Anything that had the potential to wreck their friendship - like the fact she’d been well on her way to in love with him for most of the past year - was firmly off limits).

January 19th - Late Afternoon...

Killian gaped at Henry, positive his jaw was on the floor. He tried - and failed - to form words several times before finally finding his voice.

“I’m fairly certain you’re mistaken,” he said. “Granted, your mother and I are very close, but we’re just friends.”

Henry shook his head. “C’mon, Killian. I’m twelve, not stupid - and I know what I heard.”

That got Killian’s attention. “What are you talking about?”

“It was a few weeks ago,” Henry explained. “Just before New Year’s Eve. It was late, and I was getting ready for bed, but I’d forgotten some of my school books in the kitchen. When I went downstairs to get them...I overheard my mom talking to Auntie Elsa on the phone.”

“Eavesdropping is bad form, lad,” Killian admonished.

“I know - and I didn’t mean to. But she sounded kinda sad and I wanted to make sure she was okay, so I stayed and listened for a few minutes...and she was talking about you.”

Killian’s stomach churned at the thought that something about him had upset Emma. Causing her any sorrow or discomfort was the last thing Killian wanted. Against his better judgment (this felt far too much like gossiping behind Emma’s back), Killian asked, “why was she upset?”

Henry averted his gaze for a moment before looking back at Killian. “She said something about not being able to change how she feels, but not being able to tell you the truth either...and something about not knowing what to do. Then she just said ‘yeah’ and ‘uh huh’ a lot while Auntie Elsa must have been talking.”

“You still shouldn’t have listened to your mother’s conversation, Henry,” Killian said. A headache was starting to form behind his temples. “But all I can ask is that you not do it again.” He pushed back his chair and stood up, gathering their plates and cups. “I’m afraid I have to get back to work, but you know you’re welcome anytime.”

“That’s it?!” Henry cried in disbelief, following Killian towards the counter. “You’re not going to do anything about this?!”

Kilian dumped their plates into a rubber kitchen tub earmarked for used dishware and turned to face Henry, crossing his arms over his chest. “What exactly do you want me to do? I don’t think what you heard means your mum’s in love with me. Just that there’s something she feels she can’t tell me right now.”

“Yeah,” Henry retorted, “It’s that she loves you!”

“Henry, listen-”

“I’m pretty observant,” Henry cut in, “and I know both of you look at each other differently than you do anybody else - by the way, you should know it’s really sappy - and you spend a ton of time together, and...you care about each other, like, a lot. Plus, you take care of each other all the time. You’re...you’re almost as coupley as the Nolans!” he finished triumphantly, as if that statement alone proved all of his points.

“Nobody’s as coupley as the Nolans,” Killian rebutted. “Henry...I want you to know I’ve heard you,” he said seriously, “but the friendship I have with you and your mum is precious to me...I don’t want to do anything to risk it.”

It was as close to an admission of feelings as he could bring himself to allow.

Henry shook his head,disappointment filling his gaze. “But don’t you think you’re losing out on something even more special if you don’t take the risk?”

Killian didn’t quite know what to say to that, and before he could come up with an appropriate response, the bell over the door was jingling once more, signaling Henry’s departure.

January 24th - Dinnertime…in Storybrooke, at least...

“H’lo?” the voice slurred out a greeting after the person on the other end of the phone finally picked up.

“Liam?” Killian asked, before catching sight of the clock and doing a quick mental calculation. “Ah, shit...sorry. You were already asleep, weren’t you?”

“Almost,” his brother sounded slightly more alert now. “You caught me just in the nick of time, little brother. Now, to what do I owe the honor of this late night transatlantic call?”

Killian bit back the automatic correction of younger brother that itched to leap off his tongue. He felt badly enough for not thinking about the time difference before calling - he didn’t want to get sidetracked by protesting a habit Liam was never likely to change. Besides, he really needed advice. “I need your opinion on something, Liam.”

“Must be important - I can hear the nerves in your voice from here,” his brother quipped.

Killian nodded, even though he knew Liam couldn’t see him. “Possibly the most important thing.”

“Ah,” Liam said knowingly. “Must be about Emma, then. Finally decided you want to tell her you’ve been in love with her for ages, but haven’t been able to actually do it yet?”

“How in the world did you guess that?!” he blurted, speaking over Liam’s chuckle. “Have you been talking to Henry?”

Liam was silent for a long moment before responding, a bit of hesitance in his voice. “Actually, Elsa.”

“What?!” Killian was truly boggled. “When?!”

“We’ve been in touch a bit since I visited you last year,” Liam said briskly, clearly trying to change the subject - though Killian definitely filed it away for further discussion later. “Anyway, she sees the way you two moon about over each other as clearly as I do. We’re both a bit puzzled at why it’s taken this long for one of you to do something about it.”

“We’re friends,” Killian replied instantly. “She’s...my best friend, actually.”

“I’m going to pretend that doesn’t hurt, Kil,” Liam said dryly. “But truth be told, you wound me.”

“Git,” Killian replied.

“Wanker,” Liam answered, the laughter bleeding into his voice at their habitual sparring. After a brief pause during which Killian could hear him yawn, Liam spoke again, his tone more serious. “So, she’s your best friend. How long have you known her?”

“Four years. You know that, Liam.”

“Aye. You met her even before you fully moved there...it was when when you visited for your mate-”

“Robin’s wedding, yeah,” Killian cut in, unsure of where his brother was going with his trip down memory lane.

“Right - he married that mildly terrifying woman, didn’t he?”

“Regina - though I wouldn’t let Robin hear you say that,” Killian replied, impatient for Liam to cut to the chase. “What’s your point?”

“My point, little brother, is you’ve known Emma for a very long time...and you’ve each had a rough go of it. Life dealt both of you shit hands...and what’s always struck me about you both is that neither of you have ever let anything stop you from fighting for what’s important to you. Why should it be any different now, when what you want is each other?”

“You’re so certain she feels the same way?” Killian asked, afraid to let himself hope.

Liam sighed, but when he spoke again, his tone was gentler. “Elsa didn’t betray any of Emma’s specific confidences, but given what she did say...I don’t think you have to worry...and if it’s any consolation, from what I observed of you two myself when I was there, I’d say she’s right.”

Killian exhaled slowly. “It’s a big leap to make. I haven’t felt this way about anyone since…”

“Milah,” Liam finished for him. It wasn’t a question. Killian had fallen hard for Milah Clarke when he’d only been a few years into his naval career. Losing her in a car accident not long after the incident that had crushed his hand and ended his career had sent Killian reeling and it had taken him a long time - and no small amount of help from Liam - to pull himself out of his grief and heal.

“Yeah,” Killian replied. “So you can see why I’m terrified of screwing it up. I just...what if I tell her I want to be with her, and she says no?”

“Mm,” Liam hummed in agreement. “You’re forgetting one thing, little brother.”

“What?” Killian asked, pressing the phone tighter against his ear, as if he could absorb Liam’s words through sheer force of will.

“You’re not with her now, and if you never say anything there won’t even be a chance of that changing. Be brave, Kil. It’ll be worth it.”

Valentine’s Day - Mid-morning...

KJ: Alright. Operation The Writing’s On The Wall is a go!

HS: Excellent! And Killian?

KJ: Yes?

HS: I’m glad you decided to take the risk. :)

KJ: Me too, lad. Me too.

HS: Oh, and Killian...I think I’m gonna take a risk too.

KJ: ?

HS: I’m going to ask Violet to dance tonight at the school’s Valentine thing. Wish me luck!

KJ: Best of luck, Henry.

Killian sent the final text, pocketed his phone, and picked up the first can of spray paint, ready to enact the plan he and Henry had concocted during ad hoc “strategy sessions” at the bakery. The lad had been persistent - showing up at Second Star after school every day for a week with different pieces of “evidence” supporting his case. All that, plus Liam’s recent advice, had convinced Killian to take action.

Thus, Operation The Writing’s on The Wall had been born.

(The name had been Henry’s idea).

Henry had also opened up a bit during their conversations about his blossoming affections for one of his classmates, Violet Clemens. Killian was touched Henry had turned to him for advice, though given the state of his own romantic affairs, he wasn’t sure he’d been able to help him very much.

He still wasn’t sure this wouldn’t end in spectacular disaster. Though he’d known deep down for some time that he’d been falling in love with Emma, because of past hurts he’d been afraid to explore it. But he’d come to realize Henry and Liam were right, he couldn’t keep holding back the truth. No matter how this turned out, he had to at least try to tell her. He didn’t know if this was the best way, but Henry had convinced him if Emma were going to take his declaration seriously, he needed to get her attention in a big way.

When did I start taking romantic advice from a pre-teen? He thought with a shake of his head. Contemplating the stretch of blank wall in front of him he hefted the can, adjusting it slightly to get a better grip with his good hand. No matter. In for a penny, in for a pound…

He raised his arm and took a deep breath. As he exhaled, he let the paint fly in graceful arcs across the brick, nearly closing his eyes as he lost himself in the rhythm of the work.

If this works, it’ll all be worth it...

Valentine’s Day - at night…

Emma shifted from foot to foot, cradling a warm pizza box in her arms and waiting impatiently for Killian to respond to her fervent knocking. After another moment or two had passed without any sign of him coming to let her in, she reached up and thumped on the door again. “C’mon, Jones!” she shouted for good measure. “The pizza’s getting cold...and so am I!!”

Finally, she heard shuffling footsteps coming down the hallway and the door to his seaside cottage swung slowly open. Killian grinned at her. “Evening, Swan. Patient as ever, I see.”

“Uggh,” she groaned, pushing past him with a good-natured bump of her shoulder against his. “I was freezing my ass off out there. Quite literally.”

He chuckled as he closed the door behind her. “Now, that would be a shame, it’s true.”

Her stomach swooped and she felt herself flush a little - to hide her reaction to his teasing, she turned and put the pizza box down on the kitchen island. Arching a brow at him. “I’d think you’d have a little more sympathy, especially considering I brought you pizza. Instead, you’re mocking me for falling prey to the vagaries of Maine winter weather.”

“Vagaries?” Killian asked, quirking his own eyebrow at her, he moved to the cabinet to get them plates. “Interesting word choice.”

She shrugged. “Hey, I do listen when you fancy-talk. Sometimes.”

He snorted and set the plates down next to the pizza. “How kind of you.”

“You know I try,” she said with a laugh before walking back to the entryway to hang up her coat. She paused as she passed back through the open plan living area, taking a moment to soak up the room’s coziness. It was one of Emma’s favorite places. An inviting, squishy-soft sofa faced a series of built in shelves crammed with books, knickknacks, and photos. The shelves flanked a squat fireplace lit with a warmly crackling fire. Killian’s television sat in one corner, and an armchair that matched the sofa was in another. Above the mantel hung a beautiful seascape that had been painted by Killian’s late mother, Alice.

(Apparently, Killian had taken after his mother artistically - though he’d long denied it, saying his talent never amounted to more than “doodling.” It frustrated Emma greatly that he’d never shown her much of his work).

When she returned to the kitchen, Killian had slipped two slices onto each of their plates and was rummaging around in his fridge for their beers. “So...what are we watching tonight?”

Killian handed her the plates, tucked a roll of paper towel under his left arm, and picked up the beers with his good hand, nodding in the direction of his television. “You can look over the selection yourself,” he murmured. “I had a bit of trouble deciding.”

“Really?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder at him as she moved to sit. “That’s not like you.”

He chuckled softly as he followed her and sat down on the other end of the sofa. “Yes, well,” he said, trading her one of the beer bottles for one of the plates of pizza. “Your list of off-limits movies was rather lengthy.”

She rolled her eyes. “I just didn’t want to be hit over the head for two hours with soppy romantic cliches. I get enough of those when I do movie night with Mary-Margaret. I’ve hit my quota for the year already, I think.”

“That is impressive, seeing as we’re only halfway through February,” he grinned, before taking a pull from his beer.

“Mm, well that’s Mary-Margaret for ya,” Emma concurred, leaning forward to look at the DVDs spread over the surface of the coffee table. There were action movies, a couple of selections from Marvel, and - predictably, where Killian was concerned - Star Wars. But a DVD set slightly apart from the others caught her eye. She grinned. Perfect. “Hmmm...how about that one?”

Killian nodded and got up to put Garden State in the player. They fell into a comfortable silence for a while, enjoying their pizza and beer, sometimes watching the movie and sometimes ignoring it in favor of trading their more colorful stories from the past week. (When Emma recounted the tale of her mysterious and artistic vandal, an odd expression flashed over Killian’s face, but it was gone and he was telling her about one of his amusing regulars at the bakery before she could process what had happened).

Around the point in the film when Zach Braff and Natalie Portman were standing on top of construction equipment at the bottom of a quarry and screaming their heads off, Killian glanced over at her, a soft smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. “How’d it go...getting Henry ready for the dance?”

She sighed and rolled her head to the side so she could look at him without sitting up from where she was slumped into the couch. He was closer than he’d been before - the two of them had gravitated into each other bit by bit during the course of the film. “You just had to bring that up, didn’t you? Part of the point of this movie night was to help me forget that for a while.”

He chuckled, shifting closer as he spoke. “C’mon now, Swan. Surely it couldn’t have been that bad.” He nudged her shoulder gently with his own. “It must have been at least a little bit exciting.”

Emma didn’t answer immediately, staring at the television without really seeing it. Finally, she nodded, albeit reluctantly. “It was...a bit...but also kinda terrifying...realizing he’s old enough to be excited about going to school dances.” She let herself lean further into Killian, dropping her head on his shoulder. Normally, she’d hold herself back more - casually touching him made her want things she was sure she couldn’t have, and she usually made sure to only do it in the smallest of doses - but tonight she just needed the comfort of his solid presence. “Is it horribly cliched if I say it felt like he was a toddler just a few days ago?”

“Not at all, Swan,” he murmured, curling his arm around her shoulders and pulling her further into his side. This is comfortable, she thought to herself. Dangerously so. But she couldn’t bring herself to pull away, soaking up Killian’s warmth as he continued. “It’s only natural you’d feel that way since the lad’s started showing an interest in dating and-”

She jerked upright, the motion causing his arm to fall away from her. But the flicker of regret she felt at that was mixed with a much larger dose of astonishment. “Dating? Who said anything about Henry dating?! Do you know something I don’t know? Killian, has he told you he likes someone?! Who?”

The apples of Killian’s cheeks flushed ever-so-slightly pink, which Emma secretly found adorable - but she pushed down the flip-flopping sensation in her stomach and waited him out. She needed answers about Henry too badly to think about how Killian somehow became even more handsome when he was flustered.

Finally, he spoke, tilting his head down and glancing up at her from under a slightly furrowed brow. “The lad...err...he does talk to me from time to time, Swan. Without betraying his trust, I can say there are...things...of a slightly romantic nature...that an almost-teenage boy doesn’t exactly want to share with his mother,” he said softly, reaching out to rest his left hand gently on her knee, “no matter how close the two of you may be.”

Emma considered that for a moment, swallowing down the nervous flutter caused partly by the thought of Henry taking his first steps (however tentative) into the world of dating, and partly by Killian’s proximity. She must have been lost in her thoughts for longer than she’d realized, because Killian had started speaking again, this time rather hesitantly.

“I...I do hope it’s alright he came to me Emma. You know I would have shared it with you - or urged Henry to do so himself - if I thought it were anything for you to be worried about. I hope I haven’t overstep-”

“No!” she cut him off, dropping her hand on top of his and interlacing their fingers. His eyes followed her action, seemingly transfixed by the way she’d reached for his injured hand without a second thought. “You didn’t - not at all. Killian,” she paused, waiting for him to look up at her before continuing. “I’m glad he feels he can talk to you about things like that...you have to know, I’m so glad he has you.”

“He does,” Killian agreed earnestly, his gaze never leaving hers. “You both do.”

Emma’s pulse picked up as the air around them thickened and grew warmer. Her mouth was suddenly dry and nothing could have torn her gaze away from Killian in that moment. For his part, he seemed equally transfixed, his eyes finally breaking from hers to flick down to her lips. Is he getting closer or is that me? Emma wondered. Maybe it’s both of us. Killian opened his mouth to speak again - to say what, she didn’t know - when suddenly her phone started ringing.

Craaaaaaaap.

-/-

Killian watched as Emma leapt off the couch, struggling to yank her phone out of her pocket before the caller hung up. She managed to answer it just in time, mouthing sorry at him before disappearing into his kitchen to take the call.

He flopped into the cushions with a sigh before scrubbing his hand through his hair. How the bloody hell did that happen?! One minute they’d been having a totally normal movie night, and the next they were bang in the middle of what had felt like some sort of relationship changing moment. Almost. The truly boggling thing was that they had reached that point, but not at all in the way Killian had anticipated.

Of course, if you’d gotten over your own nerves and eased into declaring your feelings the way you’d planned, things might have been very different right about now...one way or another.

Glancing over the back of the couch, Killian could see Emma pacing around the kitchen with increasing speed, her phone still glued to her ear. She was gesturing emphatically with her free hand, the tone of her voice rising in pitch. Though he couldn’t really make out what she was saying, he had no trouble catching it when she semi-growled “are you fucking kidding me, David?!”

Killian wasn’t sure whether he was grateful or disappointed that it seemed their evening were coming to an abrupt and unexpected end. The ache of his as-yet unconfessed feelings mingled unpleasantly with relief that he hadn’t done something to utterly screw up their friendship.

“Hey, I’m so sorry, but I’ve gotta run,” Emma said, striding back into the living area, her words pulling him from his reverie. “You would not believe what I’m going to have to go deal with.”

Killian got to his feet, following her towards the entryway. He leaned against the wall, watching her bundle herself back into her coat. “Scarlet?” he guessed. She nodded. “What’s he done now, then?”

She whirled to face him, her expression a picture of exasperation. “Disturbed the peace, for one. He had the oh-so-brilliant idea that serenading his ex on Valentine’s Day would be the best way to get her back. It seems that neither she, or her new girlfriend, agreed.”

“Oh dear,” Killian said with feigned sympathy, his eyebrow quirking up. “That is unfortunate.”

“Yeah,” Emma grumbled. “Ana’s neighbors didn’t take too kindly to it either, as he decided he was going to stand under her window and belt out love songs for half an hour. David’s still on scene taking statements. I get the fun job of picking Scarlet up at the hospital and arresting him once they’re done treating him.”

“What?”

“Oh, yeah...the best part is I’m also going to have to charge him with public indecency. He decided the perfect way to carry out his plan was dressed as Cupid.”

“In Maine? In February?!” Killian asked incredulously. “What was he thinking?!”

Emma shoved her beanie back down over her curls. “Who the hell knows what, or if, he’s ever thinking. Apparently, his...loincloth or whatever...was very, um, skimpy. David mentioned they’re worried about frostbite.”

“Jesus,” Killian muttered, “I actually almost feel sorry for him.”

“Yeah,” Emma nodded. “I guess his heart was in the right place...but some guys are just not cut out for grand romantic gestures. Anyway,” she looked up at him, her gaze unmistakably tinged with regret, “I’m sorry I’ve gotta cut our movie night short, especially for this nonsense...but I’d better get a move on.”

“Don’t worry about it, Swan,” he said. “I understand - duty calls. Maybe we can get lunch this week.”

“I’d like that,” she said with a soft smile before turning to leave, her reluctance to go sparking a fresh wave of hope that perhaps he wasn’t alone in his feelings.

He shivered in the burst of cold air that swept in when she opened the door, watching her go and raising a hand to wave as she jogged down the walkway towards her car.

As the door swung shut, he leaned against it, his head falling against the wood with a thunk. He scrubbed a hand over his face and back into his hair, sighing heavily.

The plan - at least this part of it - had been simple. Movie night with Emma had already been on tap before he and Henry had concocted their “operation.” Whereas Henry had argued for boldly taking romantic action, Killian had thought highlighting the familiar would be comforting - he’d theorized it would put Emma at ease.

So this had been the compromise - dramatic romantic graffiti to get her attention, and then a quiet night in where he’d reveal that he was the artist and then tell her he was more than halfway to being in love with her. Simple, right? It had proved to be anything but. He sighed again and pushed himself off the door when something Emma had said suddenly struck him. A grin spread across his face, a new version of the plan beginning to take form in his mind.

Scarlet might not be able to pull off a grand romantic gesture...but I certainly can.

February 22 - Mid-Afternoon…

“I take it you know Kristoff finally proposed?” Elsa asked, her expression discernibly wry even through their less-than-stellar Skype connection.

“Um, yeah,” Emma laughed. “If the approximately thirty texts Anna sent me over the past week hadn’t given it away, Ingrid came around the other day to share the news.”

“And to gently probe about your own love life, right?” Elsa arched a knowing eyebrow.

“Let me guess, she called you?” It wasn’t really a question. Emma knew her adoptive mother well, and she’d been expecting her visit from the moment Anna had sent her first exclamation point riddled text. It wasn’t hard to fathom Ingrid would have contacted Elsa too.

When she’d been bouncing her way through the foster system as a kid, Emma hadn’t imagined someone like Ingrid Fisher - a fierce and protective foster mother who hadn’t given up on her even when she’d run away, met Neal, and come back to Storybrooke pregnant and alone. Ingrid had adopted Emma as well as Elsa and Anna (her two orphaned nieces) and had never looked back. It hadn’t always been easy, but eventually the four of them had become the family Emma’d never dared to let herself dream of - something she was grateful for every day.

“Yup,” Elsa confirmed with a sigh. “She was fairly disappointed to hear that work’s been keeping me so busy lately. She hid it pretty well, though. I’ll give her credit.”

“Mm,” Emma hummed in agreement. “I got pretty much the same reaction when I told her I’m more focused on figuring out Henry’s love life than my own right now.”

Elsa laughed before catching herself. “Wait a minute, are you serious? Henry has a love life? When did that happen?”

“I’m not really sure,” Emma’s brow furrowed, and she reached for the cup of cocoa sitting on the kitchen table. “He hasn’t really said too much to me about it - I only found out because Killian spilled the beans when I was over at his place last week.” She took a sip of cocoa. “Apparently, Henry’s been talking to him about someone at school that he likes, and he came home from the Valentine’s dance with a goofy grin and a friendship bracelet I’ve never seen before. I’ve tried to give him his space, but…”

“I’m sure he’ll tell you more when he’s ready, Em,” Elsa reassured. “You know you’ve got a good kid there.”

“A great one,” Emma agreed. “I just...I don’t want to pull an Ingrid on him, but...I guess I’m understanding how she feels a bit more. It’s tough when your kid gets their first real crush - he’s growing up faster than I can deal with.”

Elsa looked at her sympathetically for a moment. “If anyone can make it through the terrible tween years, it’s going to be you and Henry, Emma.”

“I know. I do. Really.” She smiled at her adoptive sister gratefully. She was still a bit rattled by Henry’s burgeoning romance and the fact he didn’t seem to want to share too much about it with her, but talking with Elsa always had a way of calming her down and making her see things more clearly. “Anyway...I know you must want to hear about all the crazy things you’ve missed out on here this past week.”

Elsa laughed. “True. I know that Anna’s engagement can’t have been the only big news. I need my weekly dose of Storybrooke gossip.”

Emma spent the next forty-five minutes filling Elsa in on the happenings of their small hometown, and listening as Elsa related the news of her week in Boston. She missed her sister deeply, but was so proud of her for pursuing her legal career even though it had taken her away from home. Weekly phone or video calls were their way of staying close even when they couldn’t be in the same space and Emma cherished them.

She was just wrapping up telling Elsa about the absolute insanity that was the ongoing Will Scarlet saga when a thoughtful expression crossed Elsa’s face. “What’s that look for?”

Elsa hesitated, then looked directly at Emma, her gaze piercing even through the computer screen. “You said earlier you were at Killian’s last week, and you just mentioned you were at his place when you had to go take care of Scarlet. Did you and Killian spend Valentine’s Day together?”

“Oh,” Emma was caught short, not having expected that. “Um...kind of.”

“Kind of? What exactly does that mean, Emma?”

“You sound like Ingrid,” Emma grumbled, putting her now nearly empty mug down and crossing her arms over her stomach.

“Emma,” Elsa chided, leveling her with a look that demanded answers more effectively than anything she could have said.

“It was a movie night. Just like every movie night we’ve ever had since we’ve been friends. Nothing else,” she replied, though she couldn’t meet Elsa’s eyes.

“Huh,” Elsa responded. “Then why are you blushing and not able to look at me?”

“Jeez! Are you this persistent in court?” Emma muttered.

“Yes,” Elsa replied calmly. “Especially when I know I’m on to something. ”

“Oh my God, El!” Emma exclaimed, finally locking eyes with her. “It was a normal movie night - it was,” she reiterated at Elsa’s skeptical look, “but then...it got a little weird.”

“In what way?”

Emma shrugged. “We started talking about Henry...that’s when I found out he’s been talking to Killian about dating...and things got a little...emotional. Killian said something about always being there for both of us and...wealmostkissed,” she finished, speeding through the last few words before she chickened out.

Elsa looked thoughtful, but not surprised. “Don’t you think this invalidates your argument?”

“Huh?” She stared at her sister in confusion.

“What we were talking about at New Year’s,” Elsa said matter-of-factly. “When you claimed you couldn’t tell Killian you were in love with him because he absolutely and positively only saw you as a good friend. Seems like that’s not so much the case, is it? I mean,” she continued, “he was about to kiss you too, right?”

Emma nodded weakly. “Yeah,” she murmured.

“Oh, Emma,” Elsa sighed ”I hate to see you so twisted up about this. You’ve got to tell Killian how you feel.”

The two women simply stared at each other for a moment, Emma spoke. “What if I’m wrong though?” she asked quietly. “Or what if he does want something more too, but it doesn’t work out? He’s one of my best friends. I can’t lose him,” she finished, emotion rendering her voice little more than a whisper.

Elsa regarded Emma candidly. “First, anybody who sees the two of you together can tell how much you care about each other. When I was back home for Christmas the amount of heart eyes the two of you were making at each other was off the charts. Plus, you spent most of Ruby’s Christmas party glued to each other’s sides.” Elsa chuckled. “You’re almost more coupley than David and Mary-Margaret.”

“No one is more coupley than David and Mary-Margaret,” Emma shot back instinctively, a hint of a smile finally breaking through the tension that gripped her.

“That may be true,” Elsa conceded, “but the two of you looked pretty darn together for people who aren’t actually dating. Liam agrees with me, by the way,” she finished before her eyes widened and she clapped her hand over her mouth.

“Oh he does, does he?” Emma queried, noting that Elsa suddenly looked like she wanted to slide off her chair and out of sight. “Just how long have you two been comparing notes?”

Elsa straightened, shaking her head firmly. “Oh no...no deflecting. This is not about me.”

“Hm, countering my deflecting with evasion,” Emma mused. “That means it’s been at least a few months. Oh!” she brightened, a thought striking her. “I bet it’s been since his last visit here - you were home then for Ingrid’s birthday. Is he the real reason you’ve not had time for dating lately?”

“Emma!” Elsa said sharply, a pink blush staining her normally pale cheeks. “I will tell you all about it. Later. I promise. Right now, this is about you, and you have to remember a couple of important things.”

“I’m listening,” she murmured.

“As you yourself said, Killian is one of your best friends...and he’s Killian. Do you really think if you tried being together and - for whatever inconceivable reason - it didn’t work out, he’d just cut you out of his life? You know him better than that, Emma. That man is as loyal as they come.”

Emma pondered her sister’s words. Elsa did have a point - Killian wasn’t the sort of person who would just cut her, or Henry, out of his life if a romantic relationship between them flamed out. She thought back over their friendship - meeting him four years ago when he’d flown over for Regina’s wedding to a childhood friend of his, and re-meeting him when he’d moved back to Storybrooke to start his bakery. Graham had died in the year in between the first and second times she’d met Killian, turning Emma’s life upside down.

But Killian had been just who she’d so desperately needed back then - her other friends had all been too concerned, too worried, too much. Killian hadn’t been a total stranger, but he’d been enough of an unknown quantity that being around him had been peaceful, a way of escaping the sometimes smothering shared history she had with all the people in her life who’d known and loved Graham too. Killian had slowly revealed his own hurts and losses, and his reasons for wanting a fresh start in a fresh country. Gradually their friendship had deepened, taking on a life of its own beyond comparing the battle wounds life had given them. He’d become her rock - and over this last year, she’d realized friendship just wasn’t enough to encompass everything he meant to her. She knew it was a cliche, but she’d gone and fallen into the deep end of love with her best friend.

Cautiously, she nodded. “You may have a point,” she acknowledged. “You said there were a couple of things, though. What was the other one?”

“You already love him, Em. You’ve admitted as much to me a few different times. Those feelings haven’t gone away, have they?”

Emma shook her head. “You know they haven’t.”

“Exactly. So things between you are already different because you have made that leap - in your heart, at least. You can’t unfeel what you feel...If you tell him, either you’ll be able to work through it and let it go, or the more likely thing will happen.”

“Which is?”

“You’ll be ridiculously and disgustingly happy together and unseat the Nolans for the Cutest Couple in Storybrooke title,” Elsa finished triumphantly.

Emma rolled her eyes, but her smile grew. “That is not possible. They’ve reigned for too long. Buuuuut...I think you’re right about the rest of it.”

“I know I am.”

Emma hesitated for a moment. “I’m scared, El.”

“Of what, exactly?” her sister asked, patience coloring her tone.

Emma had the feeling Elsa knew what she was going to say, but Emma forced herself to speak anyway. “I can’t lose him the way I lost Graham.”

Elsa was silent for a few moments. When she finally spoke her tone was serious, and her question, once again, was unexpected. “Do you regret being with Graham?”

“No!” Emma’s responded instantly. “But losing him was horrible and Killian...I know it’s not fair to compare them...but he means even more to me. I don’t know how I’d cope if we were together and he…”

Elsa nodded. “If you’d known what was going to happen, would you still have gotten involved with Graham?”

Emma sighed. “Of course. I’d never trade the time we had together.”

“I thought you’d say that,” Elsa said, her tone slightly smug. “So why wouldn’t that be true for you and Killian too?” Emma looked up to find her sister smiling at her through the screen. “The prosecution rests,” she said with a grin.

“Very clever, counselor,” Emma said with begrudging admiration.

“Thank you. Now, what are you going to do about Killian?”

Emma sighed again. “I don’t know. I’ve got to think of the right way to bring it up.”

“Well, personally I’d suggest blurting it at him and then tackle-kissing him,” Elsa teased.

Emma laughed, the tension starting to leave her body. “Just because that worked for Anna and Kristoff, doesn’t mean it’s going to work for me.”

“I know,” Elsa replied. “But whatever you decide to do...don’t wait too long. For both your sakes.”

February 23 - Early morning…

Emma left the house feeling upbeat, her conversation with Elsa the day before having instilled a new sense of determination in her to finally, finally talk to Killian about her feelings.

That determination lasted all of twenty minutes, and fizzled out abruptly when she approached Second Star after dropping Henry off at school. She’d planned on walking right into the bakery, grabbing her usual order, and confidently asking Killian if he wanted to get dinner that evening - somewhere other than Granny’s. Then at dinner she would tell him - she’d spent a lot of time the night before figuring out the best way to ease into it - and hope that Elsa was right and it wouldn’t ruin their friendship.

But as she walked up to the bakery, admiring the way the warm light from inside spilled out its wide front windows into the gray wintry bleakness of the overcast day, her steps slowed and then stopped.

What if Elsa’s wrong? It’s not like this is a gigantic town - we won’t be able to avoid each other...maybe this is a mistake. Being friends is good. It’s enough.

Except the moment she spotted Killian through the windows, emerging from the back room with a tray of freshly baked muffins, the warmth that shot through her system and the fluttering feeling that burst to life in her belly proved her a liar.

You can do this, Emma.

With that final internal pep talk, she closed the remaining distance to the bakery and pushed inside. The bell over the door jangled merrily as she entered and Killian’s gaze followed the sound. As soon as his eyes caught hers, he grinned. “Why Swan, to what do I owe this pleasure? I thought you were covering the early shift this morning.”

“I am,” she replied, “but you know me...the earlier I have to go in, the more I want bear claws to offset the pain of doing paperwork. Care to help a girl out?”

“You know it, Swan,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows ridiculously as his tongue darted out to wet his lips. Emma fought the urge to moisten her own in response, biting her bottom lip instead. Killian moved towards the front case and grabbed a couple of the biggest bear claws, dropping them into a light blue bag emblazoned with the Second Star logo and handing them to her. “Should still be warm - I put them out just a few minutes ago.”

“Thanks,” she said softly, swallowing hard. This is it - now or never, Emma. “Hey listen, I was wondering if you were free-”

Before she could finish, the door swung open with such force its bell didn’t just ring, it nearly flew off. A gust of icy wind followed the entrance of a statuesque and elegantly dressed redhead who made a beeline for the counter without sparing a glance at Emma or bothering to close the door. “There you are, Killian darling!” she exclaimed in a lightly accented voice. “I’m just bursting with news!”

Emma felt her eyebrows shoot up in surprise. He glanced in her direction briefly before responding to the other woman. “Good morning, Zelena,” he said quietly. “Lovely to see you again. Give me just a moment and I can give you my undivided attention.”

The woman - Zelena, Emma mentally corrected - whirled around, noticing Emma for the first time. A smile, bright but tinged with something a bit frightening around the edges, lit up her face before she turned back to Killian. “Alright,” she practically purred, “but don’t keep me waiting too long.” With that, she brushed past Emma and moved towards the corner table, gracefully sinking down into one of the chairs and pulling out her phone.

Emma looked at Killian, whose attention was still on the woman in the corner. She had no idea who this woman was or why she was treating Killian with such familiarity, but suffice it to say that the big moment she’d been gearing herself up for was gone. Gesturing to the door, Emma broke the brief silence that had fallen between them. “I, uh, actually do have to get going,” she said, “but I’ll text you later, alright?”

What looked like disappointment flickered across Killian’s face, and he opened his mouth to say something, but Zelena piped up, her voice piercing the silence. “Whatever you’re doing tonight, cancel it,” she said, her words clearly aimed at Killian. “We’re going to need to celebrate and I’ve got just the place in mind.”

Suddenly, Emma couldn’t stand being in the bakery for one more moment. Barely meeting Killian’s eyes, she muttered a quick goodbye and stepped out into the coldness of the day, the freezing air seemingly penetrating her heart instantly. She thought she heard him call her name, but didn’t stop or look back. She was finding it hard to draw breath and emotions she refused to name had tears pricking at the corners of her eyes.

There’s probably a rational explanation. Killian would have told you if he were seeing someone new, she tried to reassure herself. Wouldn’t he?

The uncertainty followed her all the way to the station, and she had trouble concentrating for most of the morning. She was actually grateful for the call that came in just before lunch. It seemed the artistic vandal had struck again, this time down at the Cannery.

Thankful for anything to take her mind off Killian, she picked up her radio, let David know they had a case, and headed for the docks.

-/-

As Emma bolted from the bakery, not even stopping when he called after her, Killian’s heart sank. He’d been so glad to see her, but Zelena’s somewhat unexpected appearance and ill-timed interjections had thrown everything off. He needed the large contract she was offering him - supplying baked goods for the local chain of B&Bs she owned with her partner would have a huge impact on his business - but he wished she’d shown up at literally any other time.

Turning back to her after it was clear Emma was truly gone, he mustered up a smile and agreed to meet Zelena and her partner, Cruella, at a quiet restaurant near the waterfront that evening to sign the contract and - as she put it - “celebrate properly.” As soon as they’d confirmed their dinner plans, she whirled back out the door in a flurry of red curls and a cloud of expensive perfume. He was momentarily frozen in place as he processed the events of the morning before shaking himself out of his stupor.

Before he could meet Zelena he had to finish setting out the rest of the items he’d already baked that morning, and in the afternoon he and his head bakery assistant, William Smee, had to start on several special order cakes. But first, he had a very important errand to run. He finished putting the muffins into the front case and headed back to the kitchen.

“Smee,” he said loudly in an attempt to get the other man to look up from where he was piping thin streams of melted chocolate in elaborate shapes onto waxed paper. Smee didn’t respond and Killian belatedly realized he’d popped headphones in. “Smee,” he repeated more loudly, tapping him on the shoulder. Smee startled, smudging one of the chocolate designs with the side of his hand.

“Oh dammit,” Smee muttered, dropping the piping bag on the counter and reaching for a rag. Pulling his headphones off, he glanced up at Killian. “Was that really necessary?”

“Sorry,” Killian replied, “but I need to head out a bit earlier than planned for that errand. Wendy should be in soon to cover the front, but can you finish setting everything else out and keep an eye out in case there are customers before she gets here? I’ll be back after lunch and we’ll get going on the first of those orders.”

Smee nodded. “Sure thing, boss. Hey, would you mind bringing back-”

“A tuna melt on rye and a double order of fries?” Killian guessed, and Smee nodded again. “Not a problem. See you in a bit.”

Killian took off his apron and hung it on a peg by the back door before grabbing his jacket, keys, and a satchel filled with several canisters of spray paint. Pulling his hat out of his jacket pocket, he tugged it down over his ears as he shouldered the door open and stepped out into the cold, crisp air. Walking down the alleyway that ran behind Second Star, he moved with purpose in the direction of the waterfront.

He was about to take the next step in his plan to court Emma - he only hoped it worked.

-/-

Emma stared at the back wall of the Storybrooke Cannery, her mouth slightly open in awe. Writing scrolled across the entire back wall of the building in looping, elegant lines. She’d not been immediately familiar with it, but a quick websearch had revealed it was part of a Shakespearean sonnet.

Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,

But bears it out even to the edge of doom.

She gazed at the words - lines of green and gold boxed them in like a frame - for a moment longer. There was something vaguely familiar about the swoop and swirl of the writing, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on where she’d seen it before. She turned to Eric Prince, the Cannery’s day shift supervisor, with a frown. “You’re sure no one saw who did this?”

Eric shrugged. “The first shift was in full swing and all my guys were on the line - it’s pretty quiet back here unless it’s lunchtime or shift change.”

Emma nodded. “Of course,” she said, feeling a bit defeated that once again she had nothing to go on. “Do you want to press charges when we find who did this?”

Eric looked at her, then up at the graffiti. “That’s not really up to me - I kind of like it. But you’re going to have to ask the owner.”

Emma sighed. Talking to old Mr. Svendsen, whose family had run the Cannery practically since Storybrooke had first existed, was not high on her list. (He was a sweet man, but getting on in years and notoriously hard of hearing - conversations with him tended to last forever and she just did not have the time). Still, she knew she had to see this through. “Alright,” she said. “Is he in his office?”

“Uh, yep.” Eric turned towards the building and Emma followed him inside.

Emma found, after a roughly half hour conversation, that Mr. Svendsen didn’t want was to press charges. He apparently liked the graffiti, and decided it gave the building a nice change of pace.

Shaking her head as she stepped back outside, she turned to look at the graffiti once more. “I’ve got to be missing something here,” she muttered. “Twice in a month? In this town? It’s got to be the same person...but no one wants to press charges. I don’t get it.”

“Talking to yourself, Emma? That’s not good,” David said with a grin as he came around the corner of the building.

“Ha ha,” Emma rolled her eyes. “I’m just frustrated this has happened again and we’re no closer to figuring out who’s behind it than we were the first time - and that the building owner doesn’t want to press charges this time either. I mean, it is a crime.”

“Well,” David said thoughtfully, “I see your point...but this isn’t the worst thing we’ve had to deal with on the job. It’s actually kinda romantic, isn’t it?”

“Not you too!” she cried, throwing up her hands in disbelief. “That’s practically the same thing that Eric and Svendsen said.”

“Well maybe we’re onto something,” he said with a grin, falling into step beside her as she headed back towards the cruiser.

“It’s more like you all have some kind of Valentine’s hangover,” she grumbled. “We’re supposed to enforce the law, David, not admire the work of vandals.”

“I know that,” he said jovially. “But we can’t do anything if the owners don’t want to press charges...besides, you’ve got to admit, that,” he pointed over his shoulder at the graffiti, “is not just vandalism...whoever’s doing this is really good.”

“I guess,” she conceded, though privately she did agree with David. “Still wish we had some clue to go on though.”

David looked at her thoughtfully as they got in the cruiser and backed out of the parking lot. “I think that’s the real root of the problem.”

“What is?”

“It’s not that this is - technically - a crime that’s bothering you,” he replied. “You’re more upset you can’t figure out who did it.”

Emma was silent for a moment before she groaned. “Okay. Yes. Fine. There are no real clues and no one will press charges so I feel like it’d be kind of pathetic if I keep investigating anyway, and the not knowing is driving me nuts, I’ll admit it. Okay?!”

“As long as you admit it,” David said, trying - and failing - to muffle his laughter.

“You are impossible,” she said, doing her best to inject a glare into her tone since she couldn’t take her eyes off the road long enough to actually look at him.

“Yeah, but I put up with you, so…”

“You’re just asking for it, aren’t you Nolan?” she replied, teasingly. “Well, just for that, you’re buying lunch,” she said as she parked near Granny’s.

They got out and headed towards the diner, David grumbling good-naturedly. As they reached the steps, the door swung open. Before Emma knew it, she was face to face with a slightly harried looking Killian.

After their encounter at Second Star earlier in the morning, Emma had hoped to have a bit more time to process her jumbled thoughts and emotions - but as she’d been actively trying to avoid thinking about how awkward it had been, she hadn’t actually dealt with anything she’d been feeling.

All of which led to more awkwardness now. They stared silently at each other for what felt like an absurdly long amount of time. Killian recovered more quickly, breaking their shared gaze and looking down at his feet for a moment before glancing back up at her. “Swan, I’m glad I bumped into you. You left so quickly this morning, I never got to explain-”

“You don’t have to explain anything,” Emma cut in, acutely aware of the fact they were standing in Granny’s open doorway and David was only a couple of feet behind her. “I had to get to work, you had plans to make. We’re both adults,” she said, dropping her voice so David couldn’t overhear her. “Not everything we do has to revolve around each other’s schedule.”

She’d been aiming for breezy and unaffected, but her tone must have come off as slightly bitter, because Killian flinched before plastering on a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Right, of course. I know that, but I rather enjoy spending time with you, Swan...and I’d hoped you did too,” he muttered, before raising his voice to a more normal pitch and addressing both her and David. “Got to head back now. Smee gets disgruntled if I don’t feed him regularly,” he joked, lightly shaking the bag of food he had clutched in his hand.

He brushed past her gently, giving her one last fleeting, emotion-filled glance before heading down the steps. She didn’t have time to react before he was gone and David was urging her inside.

She muddled her way through lunch, only half paying attention to David’s theories about the art vandal and his stories about what he and Mary-Margaret had done last weekend. She responded in the appropriate places, but part of her attention was elsewhere.

She was still thinking about Killian when they headed back to the station for the rest of their shift. As they walked into the office, Emma’s phone buzzed. Fishing it out, she was a bit nervous to see a text from Killian. But when she read it, the tension she’d unconsciously been carrying leached out of her body and a smile spread across her face.

KJ: Sorry if I was a bit rude when I saw you earlier, Swan. Big business dinner tonight - that slightly scary woman you met this morning is a new client who’s been keeping me on my toes.

She breathed a sigh of relief, which was quickly followed by a cringe of embarrassment - she couldn’t believe she’d been so ready to be jealous of someone who turned out to be a client of Killian’s. She was the one who owed Killian an apology for acting so strangely that morning - but she couldn’t really apologize without explaining why she’d been out of sorts in the first place, and confessing your undying love for your best friend over text message just seemed unbearably like something out of one of Mary-Margaret’s beloved rom coms.

ES: Nothing to apologize for - I was the one who got kinda short with you. Sorry about that, btw. Hope all goes well tonight. Tell me all about it soon. Lunch tomorrow?

His affirmative response came back nearly instantaneously, and Emma smiled. Her day was suddenly looking up, and tomorrow she’d have another chance to try to change things for the better between her and Killian. This time, she wouldn’t screw it up.

Late February-Early June…

Emma didn’t screw up that second chance with Killian - but it wasn’t due to any great show of bravery on her part.

Their lunch the day after their awkward encounter at Granny’s had been interrupted by Leroy, one of the workers at the town’s mine, getting into a fight with a group of bikers. Emma had had to dash out of the diner mid-lunch, apologizing profusely to Killian. He’d understood and they’d agreed to try for a movie night the following week.

But then Henry’d come down with the flu and Emma’d spent two weeks taking care of him and all thoughts of movie nights - and confessing feelings - were strictly off the table. When Henry was finally feeling better, it was Killian’s turn to be less available. The Easter season was always busy at Second Star, and ever since he’d signed the contract to be the main bakery supplier for Zelena and Cruella’s local chain of inns, he’d been flooded with work. He’d had to hire and train two new bakers just to keep up with the orders for the inns so he and Smee could focus on the rest of the bakery’s pre-existing workload.

In the middle of all of that, Elsa had spontaneously visited for Ingrid’s birthday in late April, and, in a move that pretty much confirmed Emma’s suspicions about the two of them, Liam had turned up for an extended vacation around the same time - he’d stayed until almost the middle of May. Killian had been grateful to have the time with his brother (not to mention another set of hands in the bakery - the pair of them had practically been raised in their aunt and uncle’s bakery in England. Liam was almost as skilled as Killian, even if he’d not pursued baking as a career), but by the time Liam had headed back home to London the spring had flown by.

Emma also had been pursuing the artistic vandal all over town. In March, the side wall of the flower shop, Game of Thorns, was painted with “If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more,” from Jane Austen’s Emma. April saw the convent’s garden retaining wall get decorated with a portrait of a woman. Her face was mostly hidden, but her long golden hair seemed to float on an invisible breeze and her arm was outstretched. Most striking of all, she held a vibrant crimson heart in her hand.

In May, the artist (Emma had finally given up on calling him a vandal) was back to Shakespeare. This time it was a quote from Much Ado About Nothing - “I were but little happy if I could say how much. Lady, as you are mine, I am yours” - covering the sidewalk in front of the middle school. The words were outlined and embellished with golden flourishes, and followed by a pair of clasped hands, the fingers interlaced. Something familiar about that image tugged at the back of Emma’s brain, but it refused to cohere into a usable clue.

Emma was still frustrated she couldn’t uncover the artist’s identity - particularly since after the art at Game of Thorns and the convent, it had become clear that whoever this artist was, they intended these messages for her. A little voice in the back of her mind had wondered - at first - if she should be creeped out by that.

But there was just something about this art that was familiar. It made her feel warm and safe, as though the artist’s emotions were bleeding through the work, reaching out, and wrapping around her. It made her feel cherished - she couldn’t bring herself to take a cynical view of it. After several pieces had appeared around town, she created a photo array of them all at the station, and spent far too many hours staring at them when she should have been working.

(If a little voice in the back of her head insisted it was Killian...well, she chalked it up to her own wishful thinking and forced herself to set the thoughts aside).

The last several months had also wrought a difference in her relationship with Killian. Though they’d never really talked about the Valentine’s Day Near Kissing Incident, and the circumstances of their hectic lives had kept Emma from making another serious attempt to discuss her feelings with him, things had slowly and subtly shifted between them.

In the few times they’d been able to spend any significant time together over the past few months, they’d been far more tactile - Killian curling an arm around her shoulder at Ingrid’s birthday party, Emma looping her arm through his as they strolled through the park, his hand on the small of her back as they listened to Liam tell stories about his work, and on and on.

They were almost testing the waters of couplehood without explicitly discussing it - afraid if they examined what they were doing too closely, they wouldn’t have the courage to actually keep doing it.

Emma wasn’t sure what had prompted it, but she was definitely enjoying it - it had made her even more hopeful that when she finally got a damn moment to make her confession, it would be well-received.

But she was beaten to the punch before she could ever put her newfound resolve to the test.

First Saturday in June…

“Hey Mom?” Henry’s voice preceded him down the stairs of their apartment, his heavy footfalls thunking from his room to the kitchen where Emma was sitting at the table enjoying her morning coffee and flipping through the Storybrooke Mirror.

“Yeah, kid?” she replied, looking up as he plopped himself down across from her.

“Could we go to the library today? Like, soon-ish? There’s a couple of books I need for a project, and uh...I really need Belle’s help finding them,” he said, fidgeting as he waited for her reply.

“Why’s it so urgent?” she asked, raising a brow expectantly. She had a feeling that she knew what was coming - she just needed Henry to say it.

“I, uh, didn’t exactly start it as soon as I should and...I can get it done in time, don’t worry!” he reassured her, “but I need to go pick up these books today if I’m going to make it happen,” he said, flashing her his best i’m-cute-and-usually-better-prepared-than-this-so-please-don’t-punish-me-for-leaving-homework-till-the-last-minute-just-this-once grin.

After holding his stare for a moment, Emma shook her head and laughed under her breath. “Sure kid.” She had no doubt Henry would create something amazing, and it really wasn’t like him to leave things late, so she wasn’t worried it would become a habit. “But why do you need me to go? Usually, you head down there on your own.”

“Yeah,” Henry agreed, “but I was kinda hoping we could go to Granny’s for pancakes after.”

“Ahhh, now the truth is revealed,” Emma laughed. She pretended to think for a moment, but really, Henry had gotten to her the moment he’d said pancakes. “Alright, kid. Let’s go.”

-/-

Emma should’ve suspected something was up when - after they’d finally left the library and headed for the diner- she started getting slightly strange looks from the townsfolk. Everyone was smiling at her, and a few people gave her a thumbs up - most disturbingly, Leroy winked at her.

Shrugging it off and following Henry into Granny’s, she noticed her son was absorbed in his phone, texting with dizzying speed. “What’s up?” she questioned as they slid into a booth.

“Huh?” he looked up for a moment before his phone buzzed and he was engrossed again. “Oh, um, it’s just Avery...we’re trying to figure out plans for tomorrow. He was asking if I could come over for the afternoon. Can I, please?”

“Maybe. If you get that project finished first, okay. Do that and then we’ll talk.”

“That’s fair,” Henry said with a grin as the waitress arrived at their table.

“I’m glad you think so,” Emma said with a chuckle. They ordered and spent the time waiting for their pancakes to arrive chatting about what Henry had done in school the prior week and some of the plans they’d already been making for his summer vacation (which, according to Henry, couldn’t start soon enough).

It wasn’t until Emma was paying their bill that Henry’s phone started buzzing again. He looked at it briefly and fired off a text before they headed out the door. As they descended Granny’s front steps, Henry spoke again. “Mom, do you mind if we walk home by the park?”

“Yeah, sure...You still need to get to your homework as soon as we get home, but I don’t see why not as long as we don’t stay too long,” she agreed. “It’ll help work off the mountain of pancakes we just inhaled.” They turned in the direction of the park, enjoying the warm breeze and dappled sunlight as it fell through the trees lining the wide streets.

Though Emma began to regret agreeing to Henry’s suggestion as even more passers-by shot odd looks and smiles her way. Seriously, what is UP with everyone today?!

She didn’t have much longer to wonder. As they approached the park, Emma saw her name, painted in large, looping curls and swoops, stretching across the sidewalk in front of the main entrance gate. An arrow, outlined in gold, pointed down the walkway leading away from the gate, and she could just make out the clustered shapes of several hearts a few feet beyond that. “What?” she asked, dumbstruck. “Henry, did you know this would be here?” she glanced back at her son, who had stopped a few feet behind her.

Well, this certainly explains all the strange looks.

“Uh, maybe?” he replied sheepishly, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Yes, kinda,” he corrected. “Okay, yes.”

“Wait a minute,” she turned back to face him. “Do you know who’s been behind this? Have you known the whole time?”

“Look, Mom...but don’t you want to find out who’s at the other end of that path?” he asked. “I’m going to head home and get started on my project, and,” he continued, seeing she had opened her mouth to interject, “I’ve asked Mary-Margaret to come around and keep an eye on me - so don’t worry. I’ll be fine. Go!” he smiled at her encouragingly and shooed her towards the park entrance.

“Don’t think you’re getting out of telling me every single thing later, Henry David Swan,” she warned, though the grin tugging at the corner of her mouth made her words far less stern than she’d intended. He nodded and took off down the street as she turned back to the park entrance.

She gazed at her name again for a moment before stepping into the park and onto the path. As she followed the arrow to the cluster of hearts, her pulse accelerated and a sense of nervous excitement settled over her. A little further into the park, the path diverged and she looked around in momentary confusion before spotting more words painted on the left-hand path, the one leading towards the gazebo in the center of the park.

“This is it. This is life...” she murmured aloud, reading along with the words. There was something vaguely familiar about the phrasing - it tugged at her memory, and she must have recognized it on some subconscious level, because her pulse kicked up even further.

She followed the path a bit further and saw more words painted on the old, cracking asphalt.

“...And I'm in love with you...I think that's the only thing I've ever really been sure of in my entire life…” she whispered, again reading along with the text. Another group of hearts and another golden arrow followed that part of the quote, which she now recognized was from Garden State.

In that moment, she was certain.

She’d had her suspicions - and hopes - as to who the mystery artist was. But that quote cemented it. Her steps picked up speed as she headed for the last stretch of the path, looking ahead as she approached the gazebo.

There, stretching along the last section of the pathway, were the final words. “... I don't want to waste any more of my life without you in it.” Killian stepped out from under the roof of the gazebo, a small smile on his face. “Hello, Swan,” he murmured.

She didn’t stop moving, she didn’t slow down - in fact she sped up as she got closer to him, and when she reached him, she promptly punched him in the shoulder.

“Oi!” he cried, “what was that for?”

“It was you all this time?!” she shouted. “Do you know how crazy you’ve been driving me?!”

“I’ll have to admit, I’d envisioned you saying something like that - but in a decidedly different tone,” he muttered, wincing a bit and reaching up to rub at where she’d punched him. “Look...I realize this might’ve been a rather...elaborate...way of confessing my feelings...but you have to know, Emma. It’s you...it’s been you for quite some time now, and that’s not going to change.” He raked his hands through his hair, nerves visibly increasing as her silence continued. “I’m trying to say I love you, Swan, and thinking of how to tell you has been bloody terrifying-”

“So you decided to do it in the most public way possible?” she asked, finally finding her voice. “That was a big risk.”

“Aye,” he said, taking a few cautious steps closer to her. He reached out and cupped her face in his hand, his fingers sliding just into the hair behind her ear as his thumb brushed her cheek. “But you deserved the grandest of romantic gestures, love. I was willing to take the chance.”

Her arms wound around his waist as she stepped even closer to him, until there was really no space left between them at all. She took a deep breath. Here goes. “I love you, Killian. It was you...all this time,” she continued, her tone infinitely softer and laced with her abundant affection. She pressed up on her tiptoes, whispering, “do you know how crazy you’ve been driving me?” against his mouth before sealing her lips to his.

They sank into the kiss, their embrace growing closer and closer until Emma’s arms were draped over Killian’s shoulders and his were wrapped firmly around her waist. They had difficulty parting from one another, even when breathing became a pressing issue. They dove back in for kiss after kiss, becoming lost in each other.

It’s really amazing how different this is when you love someone so deeply, Emma thought hazily as Killian nibbled at her lower lip. She gasped sharply at the sensation, his tongue flicking out and soothing the spot before darting into her mouth to curl around her own. Just like that, their kiss took on another dimension, growing more passionate, hotter, wetter, and deeper - and Emma could no longer think at all.

Long moments later, they finally drew back, but kept their foreheads pressed tightly together. As they tried to regain their breath, Emma chuckled.

“What, love?” Killian said, a soft smile on his face.

“Oh, just...clearly Henry was in on this whole thing, I know that much now,” she said, pulling back to look at him. “But you’re going to have to tell me how you pulled all of this off without anyone wanting to press charges over any of the paintings...how much of the town was part of your master plan?”

“Well, love,” he said with a grin, taking every chance he could to use her new nickname. “That sounds like a perfect story for our first date.” He turned and started walking back up the path away from the gazebo, curling his arm around her shoulders when she fell into step next to him. “Can I pick you up tomorrow night at seven?”

She looked up at him, her face feeling like it would split in two from the force of her grin. “That sounds perfect.”

One year later…

The graffiti appeared once again, after another sleepy year in Storybrooke - but this time, Emma had no doubts as to its source. One morning when she opened the door of the seaside cottage she and Henry now shared with Killian, the simple question, Will you marry me, Swan? looped its way down the front walk to the welcome sight that was Killian, down on one knee, at their gate.

(His smile was bright, his cheeks were flushed, and while one hand held a very particular type of jewelry box, the other nervously tugged at the hair behind his right ear).

Killian grinned when she used her own can of spray paint (shoved in her hand by Henry before he’d nudged her out the door) to write her simple, but perfect, response right next to his knee.

Yes.

#cslb #cslb 2018 #cs ff #captain swan #ouat ff #my fic #the writing's on the wall #this has been a labor of love #and i'm intensely proud of it #and excited to share it #but also sad to realize it's really finished #it's a bittersweet feeling to be sure #but i'm really happy with how this fic turned out #and can't wait to see what you all think!!#enjoy!!!!!!!!

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