#fuck. ok. sorry for *gestures vaguely* and good morning. peace out

[telesodalite]

Aughhhh

[pugh-bug]

No.42 Chapter 7

Art Donaldson x reader slow burn

If you’re still reading this series I appreciate you so much 🫶🏻 this is a pretty angsty chapter - vague implications of an eating disorder.

Part 6

——————————————————————

You had twelve texts, mostly from Liam, with the most recent being:

11:49am - Text from Liam

Thanks for coming you looked great haha

get home safe ok ;)

The wink you barely registered in your exhausted morning state, instead you rolled over to see Art asleep on your floor. He was in last nights clothes, as were you, and curled up in the foetus position. The temperature outside had finally dropped enough degrees to let a light breeze through your open window, brushing Art’s curls off his cheek. He looked angelic.

‘He might need you more.’

What did he need you for? He had Art for friendship, Liam for rivalry, his family for financial stability and himself setting his future aspirational lifestyle in motion. All of these thoughts swam in your head like hunting gators as you listened to Art’s peaceful breathing. What was he dreaming about? You hoped something good, your recent dreams had caused you nothing but high blood pressure.

CLANG!

Ah…Patrick. Morning coffee time.

‘Hmmm?’ Art mumbled, opening his eyes slowly. The poor boy must have the worst hangover of anyone’s life (you’d say of his but it was likely Art’s first real one). ‘How are we feeling?’ You cooed, sitting cross legged on your bed staring down at him. For a moment you received no response other than groaning, as Art clambered to a seating position. His eyes were still foggy when he cleared his throat to ask what time it was.

‘It’s 12.’

Another groan. ‘Shit…where are my - I’m sorry why am I in your room?’ He looked around frantically for his phone or water, so you gestured to your nightstand which stocked both. You smiled slightly at Art’s sleepy, confused voice. ‘You tell me,’ you shrugged, trying to remember. ‘We probably got out the Uber and just collapsed in here instead of your room cos it’s closer…Pat’s slept on the couch maybe?’

Art ran his fingers through his hair, straining his neck up with wide but distant eyes. He looked, for a moment, like he’d stopped breathing. Like he’d severed the oxygen to his brain and he was going to sit and wait to crack. His nails were even starting to dig in on his own arm.

‘Art.’ You snapped your fingers in his face and he seemed to come back from wherever he’d been. ‘Are you okay?’ Art solemnly took in your concerned frown for a moment before standing up and saying ‘Thanks for looking after me.’ on his way out.

——————————————————————

Art had been too exhausted to go to practise but not too exhausted, apparently, to do press ups in the kitchen. You walked in, after your shower, expecting to find the two of them watching tv not working out - well Patrick wasn’t. ‘I know I know, you try telling him.’ Was all Patrick offered in response to your look of total disbelief.

‘Twenty six…twenty seven…twenty eight…’

Any other day you might have been impressed but this? This was ridiculous.

‘Art, what are you doing?’

‘Twenty nine…thirty…thirty one…’

He was sweating, not as much as when he played tennis but he’d need a shower. His lips, in between counts, were trembling ever so slightly from the effort as he pushed and pushed to fight against sleep. It was a sad sight, one you wished to dissolve one way or another.

‘Art, this is fucking ridiculous. You’ve barely slept you’re hungover you just need one lazy day.‘

No response.

‘This isn’t normal.’

Patrick gave you one last look of defeat before going for his shower, clearly desperate to leave the room. You hesitated before kneeling on the floor beside Art’s head.

‘Thirty seven…thirty eight…’

His body was giving up on him - just screaming at him to let it rest.

‘Thirty…nine…’

When he got to forty you hoped you’d see a flicker of satisfaction on his face, followed by a prompt end but no. No, he just kept going.

‘Forty two…forty thr’

‘Fucking stop!’ You yelled and he did. Finally. Art dusted off his hands and sat up, staring at you in complete silence. He looked almost horrified at the intrusion.

‘I’m not your Mum but you need to look after yourself, you’re never going to win matches if you turn up to them half dead because you refuse to relax.’ You sighed, heavily, waiting for the lengthy disagreement Art would throw at you. The defensiveness. It never came.

‘I know.’ He pulled his knees up to his chest and stared at the poorly woven carpet, looking lost. ‘I just…I can’t afford to take days off I’m not Patrick. I have to work and work and work at it constantly. If I get into the habit of taking days off whenever I feel a bit shitty what will that get me? It won’t get me into Challengers, it won’t make me win any Opens. I won’t win Wimbledon Y/N,’ Art looked up at you, his eyes glassy. ‘What will it have all been for if…if after everything I’m just average?’

‘You’re telling me you can’t win Wimbledon if when you’re hungover you watch tv instead of working out?’ You rubbed your face, studying his for any negative reaction. ‘Sometimes one small set back is all it takes.’ He looked utterly defeated, you’d never seen someone look so low. It was hard for you to understand the tennis obsession but of course, like most things, you knew it wasn’t as simple as it seemed.

‘Have you eaten yet?’

He shook his head.

‘Well, you really should - actually you will. There should be leftovers.’

You managed to convince Art to eat and drink plenty of water before he resisted. ‘Maybe go back to bed?’ Was your advice - which he did not take. Patrick was half gaming half texting girls and only chimed in to make the odd sarcastic comment. He didn’t hear what Art said next.

‘Y/N,’ When you took your eyes away from your coffee you saw Art’s hand trailing closer to yours, his eyes apologetic. ‘I think you’re kinder than anyone I’ve ever met.’ Before you could say anything he was coughing, interrupting himself before he could share further. It took a while for his diaphragm to ease up but by then the moment had passed. His hand had returned to his side of the table.

Chapter 8

Masterlist

Taglist: @gatorgirl007 @imblushingrn @soy-garbage @blahhucantmakeme

[dothwrites]

Cas using Enochian pick-up lines on oblivious Dean. Dean doesn't get them, Cas feels rejected each time, and Sammy is done with it all! Can I have that fic, pretty please?

ah, this has been sitting here for a WHILE, so i’m sorry that i’m trash 

lost in translation

---

It begins when Dean is pathetically trying to impress his crush. 

Or at least that would be Sam’s take, if Dean cared enough to ask him. 

Dean would rather say that it began with a simple misunderstanding, one which could happen to anyone. 

He doesn’t ask Cas’ opinion of the situation (and Cas would say that’s the whole crux of the problem). 

Whoever has the correct perspective, no one would argue about the beginning of the affair. It starts one afternoon when Dean is contemplating switching Sam’s creamer with buttermilk, just for a break in the monotony. Cas is with him in the library, his customary suit and coat exchanged for a hoodie and a comfortable looking pair of jeans which Dean suspects used to belong to him (there’s something vaguely familiar about that hole in the knee, and it wouldn’t be the first time Cas has pilfered his room for clothing; several of Dean’s shirts have ended up upon the angel’s body. Cas always seems perplexed when Dean calls him on his thievery, plucking at the shirt with faint confusion--Oh this? I found this down in the laundry room a few days ago and thought it looked familiar, do you want it back? And the question is phrased so forlornly that Dean can’t help but allow Cas to steal another article of clothing out from under his very nose.). Cas dresses down these days. And slouches. Right now, his chin is in danger of disappearing into his chest. The sight delights Dean. There for a while, he hadn’t been sure Cas was capable of relaxing.

It’s an overwhelmingly quiet afternoon. It’s nice, because Dean loves to spend time with Cas when there’s no imminent blood or monsters on their horizons, but it’s also boring. Dean sneaks a glance at Cas over the top of his book. Cas seems perfectly content to sit all day reading some godawful thick, leather bound tome. Dean finds himself less than content, but he doesn’t want to leave Cas. He sighs, shifting in his seat as he pretends to read. After a few more minutes, he sighs again, this time with a little more spite in the sound.

(Dean’s about three seconds away from kicking his feet and whining I’m bored, but Cas doesn’t need to know that.) 

Cas mutters under his breath. Dean recognizes the guttural syllables of Enochian, which is Cas’ go-to language for when he’s saying something hateful and he doesn’t want to get called out on it. Tough luck for him, though, because Dean’s heard one of those words enough to parse its meaning. 

“Did you just call me stupid?” he demands, slapping his book down on the arm of the chair. 

Castiel looks at him, his eyes wide with surprise. “You...understood that?” he asks. “You understand Enochian?”

Not in the slightest, is what Dean should say. He understands one word, and that’s only because Cas uses it enough as an insult that it managed to stick in his mind. But something that looks like fondness, and admiration, and other nice adjectives which Dean would like Cas to apply to him, shines at the edges of Cas’ eyes. So he rolls his eyes a little bit (the audacity of Cas! Asking him if he bothered to study something which was not strictly required!) and scoffs, “Uh, kind of hard not to at this point, you know, what with...” He waves his hand at Cas, hoping that the vagueness of the gesture will cover a multitude of sins. 

And really, he should come clean. If the past fifteen years have taught him anything, it’s that nothing good comes from lying to your nearest and dearest. But this is just a little white lie. Like when he was sixteen and he told Brandy Fletcher he could play a rocking drum solo, because he wanted to impress her and there was no way he would ever be called upon to perform such a task. This is just a little fib, made so that Cas doesn’t think he’s a fucking idiot. 

Plus, there’s something which looks horribly similar to gratitude shining in Cas’ eyes. The emotion brims over until those baby blues can hardly contain it, and Cas looks so goddamned happy. Dean’s not a monster. He’s not going to take that away from Cas just so he can come clean with a Gotcha! moment. 

Cas bites at his lower lip, looking uncommonly shy. Worry starts to stir in Dean’s gut, which is only compounded when Cas says something else in soft yet clear Enochian. As the new phrase doesn’t have the word stupid anywhere in it, Dean doesn’t have the slightest idea of what Cas is saying. The guilt squirming in his stomach gets worse when Cas looks at him, with gentle anticipation, as though he’s expecting a reply. Dean does what humans have been doing since the beginning of time when confronted with a language they don’t understand and smiles, wide and sunny, at Cas. Cas’ forehead creases but he returns the gesture. His eyes are still brimming over with emotion and the sight does something to Dean. 

Dean begins to suspect that he may have started something which he is not equipped to finish. 

---

After that, things get a little weird. Considering Dean’s general life, that’s saying something. 

Dean catches Cas looking at him more, like Cas is having a one-man staring contest with the side of his face. Cas staring at him is nothing to write home about, but his looks have gained new intensity. It makes Dean’s innards squirm with worry as well as something deeper. He’s not willing to examine that feeling any closer, though it is pleasant. 

As if the soulful looks weren’t bad enough, there’s also the thoughtful slant of Cas’ eyes to worry about. Every time he looks at Dean, he looks like he’s working himself up to something momentous. Since momentous decrees from Cas usually come hand in hand with world-ending events and revelations, Dean thinks he can forgiven for dodging Cas’ presence. 

It does him no good: the bunker, for all its space, is only so large in the end, and Cas was once a heavenly messenger who has the patience of millennia. Add that to the fact that Dean needs to eat at least twice a day, and the game of Cornering Dean becomes a game of cards, in which the deck is stacked firmly in Cas’ favor. 

Dean sneaks into the kitchen sometime between midnight and two am. If Sam caught him, then he would get a talking-to about the most appropriate times to eat, better digestive function, and the ravages of heartburn in a man his age, but it’s not his brother sitting at the table when Dean flicks on the light. 

It’s Cas, who blinks owlishly at him, before his face splits into his brightest smile. 

(Cas’ brightest smile is an awkward, crooked little thing. On a regular human being it would be considered unbecoming. On Cas, it’s a thing of glory.)

“Dean,” Cas greets him. Hearing his voice in that low, rough voice never fails to send a little shiver down his spine, and today is no different. “This is an odd time for a snack.” 

“Yeah,” Dean says, a little lamely. The shock of finding Cas in the kitchen has kind of killed his appetite, but it’s not like he can turn around and leave. “Just, you know, had a craving. Why were you here?” 

Cas looks around the kitchen, his mouth pursed. “I like it here. It’s peaceful.” 

Dean looks at him, waiting for the punchline. “You were sitting in the dark, dude.” 

“Oh. Well, I don’t need lights to see in the dark,” Cas says, as though the knowledge that his best friend has some freaky see in the dark cat eye nonsense going on with him isn’t the weirdest thing Dean’s heard all day. 

“Great.” Dean opens the fridge and pulls out a container at random. He spares one second to hope that Sam got rid of all the moldy food before he samples the contents. “Well, I think I’m going back to my room now.” 

He wants to get out of here, not so much because he doesn’t want to talk to Cas (he has no problem with late-night chats with Cas, it’s just that he would prefer such chats take place in his room, preferably in his bed, preferably while both participants were significantly less dressed), but because Cas is starting to get that look again, like he’s getting ready to drop an atomic bomb’s worth of shit on Dean in the middle of the kitchen. 

“Dean.” Cas stands up. He twists his fingers together before he realizes what he’s doing, and then places them flat against his thighs. He takes a deep breath. Before Dean can stop him, Cas opens his mouth. 

Low, rolling syllables flow through the kitchen, the harsh notations of Enochian softened by Cas’ voice. There’s a question in Cas’ eyes, and Dean would answer it, if he only knew what Cas was asking. 

The kitchen falls into silence. Dean gets the distinct impression that walking away is not the appropriate reaction. If only he knew what the appropriate reaction was. 

He settles for plastering a fake ass smile on his face and loosing a brittle laugh which threatens to shatter the lighting fixtures. The corners of his mouth hurt from the wideness of his smile, but not even the small twinge of pain can take away from the brief flash of hurt in Cas’ eyes. 

“Yeah. You bet.” Dean barely restrains himself from giving Cas a big thumbs up.

Cas’ face, if possible, turns even more disconsolate. Dean’s stomach twists at the sight. 

This would be the correct moment to confess. Cas, I don’t have the faintest idea what you said, but I’d really like it if you could say it again in English, so that I could maybe comment on it. Sorry I’m such a jackass. 

Dean does not confess. He reaches out and claps Cas on the shoulder, almost buckling Cas’ knees under the friendly contact. Dean almost stops, but he continues to his room, trying to erase the memory of Cas’ stricken face. 

---

It gets worse. 

Cas says something in Enochian to him the next morning, a tiny, hopeful smile darting across his face. Dean gives him a weak smile in return and tries not to focus on the longing, almost desperate tone of Cas’ voice. “Ok, Cas,” he says, when it becomes clear Cas is angling for something more than a smile that makes it look like he ate some bad tacos. 

Cas takes him by the wrist. This time the syllables which come out of his mouth are almost frantic. His eyes are wide and imploring, and his voice cracks on the last word. 

The truth, Dean. Tell him the truth. 

“Look, I’m sorry, Cas,” Dean says. Confronted by the weight of his failings and his inadequacies, he flees. All the while, he feels Cas’ eyes on his back. 

---

It gets worse. 

Cas continues to mutter Enochian at him, alternating between frustrated, hurt, mocking, and pleading inflections. Each time, Dean looks at him in a mixture of helplessness and shame. 

The last time Cas tries, there’s a faint snap and tingle of grace curling around the room. Dean can taste it in the air, ozone and electricity, before it makes the lamp closest to him spark and pop. “Great, now you’re killing the furniture,” comes out of his mouth before he can stop it. 

Cas recoils as though Dean reached out and slapped him. He says something else in Enochian, his voice small and defeated. He won’t even look at Dean. 

If Dean were a better person, he would come clean. He would apologize to Cas and beg his forgiveness. He would take Cas’ scorn and irritation and lump it in with the rest of the shit that’s gone wrong with his life, and they would move past this. 

Dean’s not a good person. Hell, he’s not even an okay person. He’s a piece of shit who got a hell of a lot luckier than he ever deserved, and Cas is just naive enough not to realize that. 

---

It gets worse. 

Sam walks into the library one afternoon with a dazed look on his face which means he’s just emerged from being caught deep in a book. He runs his hands through his hair and only then seems to realize that Dean and Cas are sitting at opposite ends of the library, deliberately ignoring each other. The tension in the room is thick enough to cut. 

“You guys okay?” he asks, glancing back and forth between them. 

“We’re good,” Dean says shortly, flipping a page of his book with unneeded aggression. 

Sam flicks his eyes towards Castiel. Cas looks over the top of his book, his eyebrows twisted in a scowl. He mutters something most definitely not English under his breath, staring at Dean. 

Sam chokes on nothing. 

“You all right there, Sammy?” Dean glances at Sam, only to see that his brother’s face is bright red. 

“Yeah, I’m great.” 

Castiel says something else in Enochian, sounding more forlorn than angry. Dean didn’t think it was possible for his brother’s eyes to get any wider. “Something you want to share with the rest of the class?” Dean asks. He keeps his eyes on Cas, but the question is meant for both of them. 

“I think you two should really talk,” Sam says, looking back and forth between him and Cas. “I think you’re both missing some information.” 

“What do you mean--” Dean pauses as the obvious answer comes to him. “Hold on. You can understand him?” 

“Don’t talk about me like I’m not in the room,” Castiel says, proving that he can speak English just damn fine when he wants to. Then, because Cas is an asshole whose main job is torturing Dean, he mutters something in Enochian. 

Sam snorts. 

If he didn’t know he would later regret it, Dean would put both of them in the ground. 

“Well, if you want someone to talk to you, then knock it off and speak English!” Dean snaps. “I’ve got no idea why you’re babbling on like that and looking like I kicked your puppy when I don’t answer.” 

Cas scowls, the full wrath of Heaven in his eyes. He starts what sounds like it will no doubt be a lengthy tirade (in Enochian of fucking course), before he’s interrupted by Sam. 

“Dean doesn’t understand Enochian, Cas!” he shouts. 

Two pairs of eyes snap to Sam. Dean’s are filled with furious betrayal, Cas’ with frustrated confusion. Sam ignores them both, rolling his own eyes to the ceiling. “Yeah, look, I’m sorry to cut in your drama or whatever, and I’m sure that you two could keep this up for another three weeks, but I value my sanity. Dean, nut up and tell Cas you don’t speak Enochian. Cas, stop running into a brick wall and tell him what you want. I mean, good God, it’s like I have to do everything around here myself!” 

Sam’s complaining never ceases as he peruses the shelves for the particular book he’s looking for. Both Dean and Cas are referred to multiple times as idiots, sometimes assholes, and once even idjits. Throughout his litany of abuse, Dean and Castiel refuse to look at each other, though Dean does feel a telltale prickling at the back of his neck several times. Every time he looks at Cas, however, the angel has his eyes firmly fixed on his book. 

Dean wonders if Cas would get more pissed if he told him his book was upside down. 

“You ever think about how much pain and agony you could save me if you two assholes would just talk to each other?” Sam finally snaps. Arms laden with books, he levels a fearsome glare at the both of them. “For homework, neither of you are coming out of this library until you’ve actually talked to each other like rational adults. And if you make any weird noises, I’m going to smother both of you in your sleep.” 

He stalks out of the library, leaving Cas and Dean alone once more. Cas looks up from his book, finally realizing it’s upside-down, while Dean puts down his own book. They stare at each other for a long moment, then speak at once. 

“Why didn’t you tell me you didn’t understand Enochian?” “What were you trying to say to me?” 

They stop. Dean swallows, gathers up all of his manly courage, and speaks. 

“So what were you trying to say to me? It must have been pretty exciting to get Sammy clutching his pearls.” 

Cas tilts his head. He considers Dean for a long moment before he crosses the space between them. Cas leans forward, putting his hands on the arms of Dean’s chair. The gesture boxes Dean in, a turn of events which Dean doesn’t struggle against. 

“Why didn’t you tell me you didn’t speak Enochian?” 

Pinned beneath Cas’ gaze, Dean squirms uncomfortably. Now that it’s just him and Cas, his deception seems childish. Would it really have been the end of the world if he’d told Cas he was too stupid and selfish to learn his language? It would have just been another disappointment in Cas’ life, but has it been worth these past few days of being at odds with Cas? 

Heat flushes along the bridge of Dean’s nose as he mutters, “I wanted you to think I was smart.” 

Damn super-angelic hearing. Cas doesn’t miss a beat, though his forehead creases. “You wanted...what? Dean, you are smart.” 

He says it so naturally, as though Dean doesn’t struggle over translations or speaking Latin or cross-referencing indexes or any of the thousand other things that seem to come naturally as breathing to Sam and Cas. “Yeah, sure, I’m a regular fucking genius,” Dean mumbles. 

“You’re capable of finding the problem with a faulty engine with a single look. You built your own EMF meter out of a spare Walkman. Despite your efforts to hide it, you’re very well-read, and you have an innate understanding of some fairly complicated mathematics. I’m not sure exactly what humans qualify as intelligent, but I feel as though all of those skills count.” 

Dean knows his whole face is red. Heat prickles along the tips of his ears and down his neck. “Jesus, Cas,” he mutters. Unable to withstand the force of those blue eyes, he darts his glance down towards the floor. “Most people don’t start sweet talking until the third date.” 

“Well, I’m an angel,” Castiel says, smugly, as though that solves every argument (not a bad strategy; that line’s worked for Cas for years. What else can you say after that?). 

“All right, I answered yours, now you answer mine. What were you trying to say to me?”

Amazingly, Cas’ cheeks color. 

“Come on, Cas,” Dean wheedles, when Cas doesn’t immediately answer. “I told you mine.” 

Cas looks off to the side. He actually shuffles his feet before he answers, “It was just a thought. I thought, maybe, we could...Never mind. It was stupid.” He looks back at Dean and rolls his eyes, showing how ridiculous he finds this whole trial. “I guess, roughly translated, it would amount of something like ‘If only he were as decisive as he is pretty, then there would be no problem’.” He forces a weak laugh. “I said it in the heat of the moment. I was frustrated.” 

Dean blinks in astonishment. Only one fact has managed to slip through the tangle of Cas’s words. “You think I’m pretty?” 

Castiel’s blush deepens. “Anyone who has eyes would think that,” he says, a little roughly. 

An automatic flush spreads across Dean’s cheeks, but he’s able to ignore that. He’s much more interested in what else Cas might have been telling him. “And what was something else you said?” 

Cas coughs. “’Your eyes are bright as the sunrise, yet they fail to see what is in front of them’,” he says. If possible, his already rough voice has deepened. 

“Another.” 

Cas doesn’t pretend coyness. “’You had my heart from the first time I saw your soul’,” he says, in a near whisper. 

Dean can’t hold himself back. He snatches Cas’ hoodie in his hands and drags Cas down to his level. Cas lets out a surprised grunt before he gracefully collapses atop Dean. He’s barely managed to balance himself on Dean’s lap before Dean’s lip are on his. 

Despite Dean’s rushed actions, the kiss is sweet and almost chaste. Cas’ lips are warm and chapped and utterly wonderful. At first, they’re stiff, but only for a second. Then Cas relaxes into the kiss, sighing happily as his hand cups Dean’s cheek. Cas’ stubble scratches against his chin. He’s going to bear the marks of Cas’ affection later, and he couldn’t be more thrilled about it. 

Cas parts from him, but not far. In fact, he’s close enough to Dean that when whispers a phrase in Enochian, his lips brush against Dean’s. 

A shiver of delight runs down Dean’s spine. Now that he knows the gist of what Cas was trying to say to him, Enochian fills him with illicit glee. “What did that mean?” 

Cas kisses him again, adding a cunning sweep of his tongue across the seam of Dean’s lips. “’Of all the stars in the heavens, you shine the brightest’,” he translates, resting his forehead against Dean’s. 

Heat floods through Dean once more. It’s everything he ever dreamed of hearing. It seems impossible that he could have it. There should be a rule against it. Dean Winchester doesn’t get what he wants. 

Except, apparently, Dean Winchester does get what he wants, as evidenced by his lapful of angel murmuring Enochian endearments into his ear. “Hey Cas?” Dean tilts his head to catch Cas’ eye. “When I first saw you, sparks flew. How would you say that in Enochian?” 

Cas thinks for a second before a smile spreads across his face. “I’ll teach you,” he promises, before he pulls Dean’s face towards him once more. 

(Sam’s warning about making weird noises makes a lot more sense now.)

[syms-things-5]

Clear The Area - Chapter Fifteen (Part Two)

**A Chris Evans Story**

Previous Chapter Here

Tags: @jennmurawski13 @kelbabyblue

Warnings: 18+ NSFW, strong language, generally a bit awkward

Notes: This is a long chapter, sorry. Any comments welcome, good and bad.

Chapter Fifteen (Part Two)

“Let me just bring up your booking here, one moment please.”

The lobby of The Langham was an ocean of grey and blue. The sun was shining brightly outside, the hottest day of the year so far, and it reflected in every surface of the space and accompanying bar. It was sparse on the usual detailing, instead preferring a minimalist approach; the check-in desk consisted of a mere iPad and one lily artfully growing from a tall, geometrical glass vase. Random art hung from all sides. One looked vaguely like a donkey, Sarah was sure. There was also what she thought was an ash tray balanced on a pillar to the left of where she was standing but she didn’t dare to investigate it any closer in case it cost the price of a small car.

It had the same over-perfumed odour as the fragrance section of a Macy’s. The tiled floor look so clean and fresh you could be forgiven for thinking it had only just been laid that very morning. Sarah felt a pang of guilt walking in wearing her scuffed Converse. She always felt so out of place in places like this. It was the kind of place she would run a mile from if she had the choice but Greg had an “in” with the manager and now here she was. 

“So that will be four nights in our Executive Suite with Central Park view. You also have the bar allowance of $150 per night. You just need to take the elevator up to the 32nd floor and it’s the second door on your left. Would you like a hand with your bags, madam?” She motioned for the concierge to come over but held her hand up when she spied the puzzled look on Sarah’s face.

“I’m really sorry but I think there’s been some kind of mistake. I didn’t book a suite, just a standard double and I don’t think I pre-paid for any bar allowance. I didn’t even know I could do that to be honest.” Sarah chuckled awkwardly in an attempt to diffuse the tension but it fell on deaf ears. She handed the key card back to the lady, unsure of what else to suggest.

The lady showed practically no emotion at the possible mistake and simply took another look at her records before confirming that she was in fact correct with the initial room choice. “It’s definitely your suite, and...everything is paid for in advance. Could it have been made on your behalf? It looks like it was upgraded yesterday afternoon.”

Sarah wasn’t sure if she was asking her a question or telling her. She couldn’t believe she wasn’t biting her hand off but she hoped she hadn’t made some kind of horrific error her bank wouldn’t forgive her for. She could barely afford the double room she’d booked as it was and she’s sure the college wouldn’t have upgraded her without letting her know in advance. It made zero sense. They couldn’t have that kind of money going spare, putting students up in posh suites. She had no clue what could have happened.

Unless...Chris?

No, it wouldn’t be. He was less than pleased to hear she’d be away as it was. Except...well, who else? Sarah rolled her eyes a little too obviously before accepting the key card back. “That’s OK. I think I know what’s happened. It’s only the one bag. I can manage it.”

The lady nodded her thanks and, smiling politely, pointed her back towards the elevators. Sarah couldn’t move away from her fast enough.

Arriving at her floor, Sarah emerged from the lift expecting someone to come running up to her to confirm that they had in fact made a horrendous mistake. She slipped the key card into her door before pushing her way in to find her new home for the week.

The bedroom was large, uncomfortable so, with the bed positioned just off the middle in the room. Sarah figured the designer for a psychopath. It was big but not as empty as the lobby would have had her believe. In fact, it seemed reassuringly cosy despite the windows, so many windows stretching around the suite. There was a soft blue curved sofa opposite a screen that she’d seen smaller versions of in a cinema. Cushions fucking everywhere and fluffy white slippers she’d probably never take off again.

Everything seemed to be controlled from an iPad set in a stand by the bedroom door; the lights, the curtains, the air freshener, some background music for ambiance if she wanted. The windows tinted darker to block out the sunlight. Even the $1300 coffee machine was remote controlled; she had recognised it from the last edition of Home & Country Jocelyn had mailed to her, the exact one Shanna had been dropping hints about to Chris as a potential Christmas present.

The lounge offered her the clearest view of Central Park and with the light at this time in the afternoon, it was beyond stunning. She snapped a picture and considered texting it to Shanna but thought better of drawing attention to where she was staying. There was no way she could pass this off as a standard room even with her best efforts.

It was almost a shame to waste all of this on just herself. This room deserved romance, she thought.

Around the same time, Chris was on his third beer of the afternoon and lounging on his sofa. He had a new script in one hand, one he wasn’t particularly keen on but offered to read as a favour for a friend. He was so relaxed now that he had to re-read the last ten or so pages simply because it wasn’t landing. The whole room was lit softly by the sun outside. It had gone 4 o’clock when his phone rang disturbing the peace.

“Bernette! How was the journey?” he smiled into the phone as soon as he saw who it was.

“The bathtub is the size of my entire bathroom.” She announced, not giving him room to breathe. She heard him laugh heartily at the end of the line and could picture him looking smug and proud of himself, the dick. “I could have an orgy with the Patriots and still have room left.”

“Hey, don’t go getting any ideas.” he jostled with her. He placed the script down on the tablet to give her his full attention. “So, you like it, huh?”

“It’s...it’s absolutely gorgeous and utterly ridiculous. Seriously, dude, you did not need to do this.” She could sense his growing pride from here. “I’ve never stayed in anything like it. I have, like, a hundred towels.”

“That’s why I did it in the first place. Not for the towels, obviously, but just because you deserved something different. Something nice.” He enthused. “Don’t fight me on this, Bernette.”

“You should see the view. It’s so beautiful. I think I can see the museum.” She was stood on her tiptoes, pressed against the glass, looking at the tiny people milling around on the street so far below her. 

“i know,” he responded. “You’ll be there for a week and best to be comfortable, right?”

She didn’t want to argue with him. She was tired and extremely grateful for the kind gesture. She’d be able to enjoy the place and her time in the City more if she could firmly separate her work from any space in which she could chill out. It wasn’t like she was going to be raving all night nor have much chance to see places at this rate, so more space was probably a good thing. She hadn’t had an unbroken night’s sleep in...she couldn’t even remember when.

“Thank you, Chris.” she spoke softly after a brief pause.

“You’re welcome.”

She put her phone down on the bedside table and set about removing her clothes from her suitcase. Well, “clothes” in the loose sense. What she’d packed was basically gym gear, sweat pants, t-shirts, nothing remotely attractive, and a simple paid of black trousers for the exam day itself. Who was going to see her anyway? Shanna had thrown a jumper in the mix without her realising, dismayed at her insistence that she was not going out to bars to hook up with someone.

“But you’ll be gone the next day! It’s. The. Perfect. Crime!” Shanna had said, exasperated and throwing her hands in the air in dismay.

The majority of space in her suitcase has been taken up with journals and textbooks, ones she hadn’t see since she left medical school and had long since expected she would never see again. Funny what opportunities life threw at you when you least expected it.

She was soon feeling the push and pull of the day and had planned on spending at least a couple of hours studying that evening, so she had a clean-up and threw on the first set of sweatpants that fell out of the closet. She tied her hair up and out of her face, pulled out her notepad and switched her Macbook on. The TV was showing some repeat of a gameshow with the sound on low, more for background company than anything else, and she finally figured out how to get the coffee machine working thanks to a small tome buried inside a drawer underneath the coffee table.

Chris 9.44pm: All OK? Need company yet??

Sarah 9.45pm: I love you guys bt I can’t tell u how amazing it is having space to myself. Been a looooong day

Chris 9.51pm: ah

Chris 9.52pm: OK maybe don’t look outside your door

Momentarily confused, she rubbed at her eyes trying to come up with a pithy response.

Chris 9.56pm: well this is awkward...........

Sarah looked at the door and then back at her phone. Looking up at the door again, she unfolded her feet from underneath her and slowly walked towards it. Pulling it open, she found Chris looking up at her through his lashes, sheepishness drenching his entire body.

“OK, funny story,” he said. “But I thought this might be romantic and then I got carried away and now I’m here and I can absolutely go if you need me to...?” He half-turned his body in the direction of the elevators. “I’m so sorry, honey. I just thought it might be nice and not at all annoying but it’s annoying, isn’t it? It’s OK, you don’t need to say anything. Dammit, I really thought I pitched this right.”

“Chris, it’s fine.” Sarah finally found her voice to speak. “Honestly. I’m...I’m just really surprised is all. I was not expecting you to...drive? All this way?”

He nodded. “Yeh, I just bombed it down the ‘95.”

Awkward silence fell between them as they stared at each other unsure of what to do next. Finally picking up on the fact he remained in the hallway, a backpack thrown over his shoulder, she moved out of the way and he entered the suite. Relieved, he placed his bag down and turned to see her close the door behind him. He looked mildly embarrassed and she was all too aware she wasn’t welcoming but it was getting late and her eyes had started to hurt a little as she rubbed at them with the back of her hand.

“Fuck, that’s a long couch.” he announced, taking his black suede jacket off and placing it over the armrest nearest to him. He glanced over and saw papers strewn over the coffee table, her laptop light blaring brightly and looked back to her. She was working hard and he had ruined it.

“I am so sorry. First thing tomorrow, I’ll go home, I promise.” He held his hands up by way of an apology but she shook her head in response.

“Stop apologising.” she chuckled. “Do you want a beer?”

He nodded gratefully and looked so adorable that any annoyance she might have felt finally dissipated. “How about I give you a hug and then leave you to it? I need a shower and I can amuse myself in there for a little while. I don’t know why I just said that.”

Sarah laughed again and a little more relief moved through him. He wasn’t sure why he was feeling so nervous when he had been so confident of his decisions in the car all the way here. He’d rehearsed his lines and imagined her big smile when seeing behind the door. He had wanted to stop off and buy flowers but he was so eager to see her, he’d just kept driving. No daydream could live up to the reality of seeing her face up close.

*

He watched her from the bathroom doorway. She was cross-legged on the bed, studying the thickest textbook he’d ever seen with colour-coded notecards laid out across the duvet. He had earlier glimpsed a page over her shoulder but decided against pursuing medicine as a new career when he was faced with photographs of god knows what. He tried to remove the images from his mind by drinking another beer and thinking of Sarah in her scrubs. That tended to work well for him these days.

She looked so cute sat on the bed, her reading glasses perched on the end of her nose. He wanted to come up with a joke, calm the tension a little that had grown between them in the meantime, but she looked pretty hot. More hot than usual and it was distracting. Like a sexy Librarian and for the second time this month he discovered something else he was into.

One pen was stuck behind her ear but she’d forgotten she’d put it there and was now using a different one. Her hair was tied up at the top of her head in a messy bun that she hadn’t touched since she’d arrived, more and more strands falling loosely around her as the evening wore on, framing her perfect, round face. She seemed to engrossed in what she was doing.

He was still a little wet from his shower and pondered whether she would notice if he just whipped his towel off and offered himself to her. There really wasn’t anything he wanted more at this moment in time than to have her touch him, to have her run hands gently over his chest, to tease him a little bit. There’d be some time, he reasoned, and right not it was just was exhilarating to think of her being here alongside him knowing it would be just the two of them for a little while.

He perched on the end of the bed in front of her. She barely moved, barely seemed to notice him. He took one of her blank notecards and carefully placed it on the open page so as not to lose her place. She leaned back slightly, allowing him to gather up the papers and place them in a pile on the floor besides the bed before turning back to lean in towards her, one arm stretching out across her legs. She took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes again. She wanted peace and quiet and he decided to rock up just because he could. He sighed to himself. He was such a dick sometimes.

“Do you mind me being here?” he asked her, fully resigning himself to leaving if she now asked him to as hard as that might be. He’d got so caught up in his idea of surprising her that he hadn’t fully registered just how important these exams were or how well she wanted to do. Passing them wasn’t an option for Sarah; she wanted to knock it out of the park. She wanted to do better for herself and the more he got to know her like this, the more it became his favourite thing about her. And he related. He related perfectly. He knew exactly what that was like. “Cos I can go if you need me to.”

“Chris, I’ve said it’s fine. It’s nice that you’re here. I would just hate you feeling bored if all I’m doing is studying all the time.” She nervously twirled the pen between her fingers while taking in how amazing he looked following a shower, a little steam rising off his skin.

“I won’t get bored.” he assured her. “It’ll be nice hanging out with you. Just the two of us.”

He plucked the pen from behind her ears and she rolled her eyes realising the mistake she’d made. He tucked strands of hair back and leaned in placing a quick, soft kiss to her lips. He smelled like her coconut shampoo and she just now understood how truly spontaneous his trip had been.

“Listen, there’s another reason why I’m here. There’s something I need to talk to you about and I couldn’t wait until you got home.” he stroked her arm gently, looking down into her lap. “It’s been going around in my head and I’m not entirely sure what to say about it to be honest, but...it looks like Jenny’s done an interview with a magazine. A full thing with a photoshoot and stuff and it looks like I might be involved.” He closed his eyes for a second before correcting himself. “Not might actually, it’s pretty much definite that I’m in there for a large portion of it.”

“OK.” Sarah nodded. He for sure seemed weary of the whole thing and she felt for him.

“I just, I know she can be pretty unfiltered at the best of times, so-”

“-but she won’t have said anything negative, right?”

“No, no, not negative. I’m not worried about that exactly. It’s just that...” He was struggling to find the words. “I just didn’t want you to get the wrong idea about us, about me and her. I expect she’ll have this hyper-romanticised view of things and I guess I didn’t want you thinking it was some great love affair which is what I think she’ll spin it as.” He couldn’t quite meet her eye while he was talking. “I’m not proud of myself or of what I said or did at the time but I was low and she was there and it was...easy, I guess.”

He immediately regretted his choice of words. As much as he wanted Sarah to understand, he didn’t want Sarah to think he was dismissive of his relationships in this way. “Matt’s figuring out some damage control with them. Hopefully, it’ll go away as quickly as it comes.”

“You think he’ll be able to clear it up?”

Chris nodded. Matt was a formidable guy and he was assured things would look and read much better by the time it went to print. He placed his hand on her thigh and it was only now she registered just how close he was to surrounding her.  “I don’t wear my heart on my sleeve all too often but when I do, they know about it. I want to make them aware of exactly how I feel about them and I didn’t do that with her.” He dipped his head to catch her eye line. “So, when I do something for someone, it means something, y’know?”

“Yeh, of course. You’re a good guy, Chris. Everyone knows that.” She took his hand and lightly interlocked their fingers together.

“I guess I just didn’t want you worrying about her ‘cos there’s absolutely nothing there for me. Never had been.”

“You don’t need to explain this to me, I’m not going to hold anything against you.” she stroked his chin with her thumb and felt him relax into her hand. He glanced down at the mess he’d made on the floor and started picking a few things back up.

“How much left do you have to do tonight?” he whispered as his lips closed upon hers for a fleeting moment.

“I could do with finishing some notes but...half an hour, maybe?”

“I’ll hold you to that.” he kissed her again and got up from the bed, lifting her books back on top. “Just come get me when you’re done, yeh?”

*

Finishing up in the bathroom, Sarah switched off the light and moved towards the bed. She kneeled alongside Chris who was lying flat out, naked except for the duvet bunched across legs, reading what she assumed was the hotel magazine only to find upon closer inspection that it was in fact one of her medical journals. She giggled as she grabbed the moisturiser from the bedside table and began rubbing a small amount up and down her arms, regarding him as his nose creased up in apparent disgust at something he’d just read. 

“Did you know the body has ten times more microorganisms living in it than actual human cells?! That’s bacteria, Sarah. Living, gross bacteria. All over us.” he looked at her, shock and horror crossing his fine, perfect features. She wasn’t sure whether to pat him on the head or laugh.

“It’s mostly good bacteria, though. Only, like, 1% of it is bad for us.”

“And when exactly were you going to tell me about this?!”

She creased up laughing and flopped on to her side next to him. “It’s all information that’s out there for the world to see. Remind me not to tell you about eyelashes.”

“What’s the weirdest thing you’ve ever removed from somebody’s ass?” he asked.

“What? Why is that always a question people want an answer to?”

“I don’t know. It’s just weird. Humans are weird.” he muttered, turning back to the pages in front of him. She was glad he had chosen one without pictures. That was the last thing she wanted to see before falling asleep.

“So, have you learned something new?” she asked, curling her legs under the duvet.

“I have. I think you should test me and if I get a question wrong, you can do whatever you like to me. Deal?” he asked, smirking. She shyly smiled and he tossed the book onto the floor. “Hi.”

“Hi.” She repeated. She watched as his eyes slowly travelled down her body. It was unreasonable how much he managed to disarm her with only a look.

His hand reached out to gently caress the side of her thigh, nudging the duvet slightly down before moving back up to her hip, a ticklish area he’d picked up on the last time they were together. He leaned in and kiss her on the side of her jaw, so feather-like and soft she barely felt it if not for his warm breath she could feel on her neck.

“You smell nice.” he whispered, looking at her from underneath his eyelashes. “We could have showered together, y’know? Save the planet?”

As much as she was getting used to the little things he would do when they were alone, rubbing her arm, tucking hair behind her ears, saying nice things about how pretty she looked, having him here in such close proximity with no else around to distract them or force them into the light...it was getting risky. Not that Chris ever pushed her, mind. He’d been nothing but understanding and respectful and she was grateful for that but also growing concerned he was perhaps a little...bored. Why else would he drive over state lines to see her. None of this was normal and the more time went by, the more she became fretful of what they were doing.

“What are you thinking about?” he kissed her shoulder. “Is it dirty? If it’s dirty, I wanna know about it.”

Sarah smiled and placed her hand on the side of his face, running her fingers gently over his beard. He’d thoroughly given up shaving but she liked how soft it still felt under her finger tips and judging by the breath he released as he closed his eyes, so did he, relaxing into her hand. He kissed her again. She was hoping he’d take charge so she could put off talking to him a little longer but instead, he refrained from pushing them any further and leaned back a little, looking into her eyes. “Talk to me.”

She could feel his hand move slowly and deliberately up her arm until he reached the back of her neck, his fingers playing with the loose strands of hair that had fallen from her messy bun. There was no getting away from this.

“You know you can tell me anything, right? It’s OK for you to tell me what you want.” She could feel his breath on her skin, his voice low and rough. His fingers moved again and she felt them touch her lips, one of them running back and forth over her lower lip until she parted them ever so slightly and his finger softly dipped inside her mouth. He seemed to like that and kissed her again, a little harder this time.

“Just keep kissing me.” she whispered, relieved that se finally got some words out.

He smiled at her, satisfied with her response, and kissed her again. Slow, wet, a kind of kiss that was full of promise of what he wanted to do and it made her whole body thrum with anticipation.

One hand now resting on the bed beside her and the other moved from her cheek back down to her thigh. She was frozen to the spot, this man focussed on her so intently, prepared to give her whatever she asked for, whatever she needed, expressing so much in a kiss that she didn’t register when her hand began moving slowly, grazing a finger ever so slightly over the waistline of her shorts.

“...and what else?”

A little more, he moved his hand until his fingers dipped inside her underwear until he felt her skin, hot to the touch. She broke the kiss momentarily to let out a breath, one hand resting on the back of his neck for leverage as he continued tenderly moving his fingers until he got to where he wanted to be. Feeling her wet for him seemed to spark something inside and she felt him push her carefully until she was lying back on the bed, head just off the pillow, and he leaned over her. He adjusted his hand ever so slightly until she could feel his fingers pressing at her entrance before moving in small circular motions, riling her up.

“Look at me, honey.” he whispered, his voice rough and turned on as he wanted her grabbing at the covers as he stroked her. She tried to but she couldn’t stop her eyes from closing again, zoned out with only his smooth and confident movements to focus on. It was almost getting too much with him hitting her at just the right spot for her to lose herself completely when, just like that, he pulled his hand away and grabbed both sides of her underwear to pull them down and off her legs. The next thing she remembered was the feel of him skilfully grabbing her from underneath her thighs, his tongue swiftly taking over.

It didn’t take long for her to feel like was she coming undone and him feeling proud of himself. She couldn’t fight it and with one arm draped across her lower tummy, he certainly had not intention of letting her get away. Any feelings of awkwardness were soon a thing of the past as she let the gentle, unbridled bliss he was giving her wash over her completely. She honestly couldn’t remember ever feeling anything like this before, she was so out of it. He was covering her completely, her wetness mixing with his own, his beard rubbing against her smooth skin adding another level of pleasure. 

She ran her fingers through his hair, messing it up. His tongue hit her clit again and again causing her to give him a short, sharp pull. His groan was so filthy and deep from within him, she felt it reverberate through her, raising goose bumps up and down her skin.

He wanted her on the edge as much as he felt he was. He wanted her to want him, to tell him exactly what she wanted him to do. He wanted her on fire. He wanted to hear her beg.

Just as she was on the edge for a second time, he stopped and blew softly across her wisps of hair. He chuckled when he heard what sounded like a quiet yet frustrated groan leave her lips, followed by a chuckle, something innocent and familiar. Her hands loosened from his hair as they stared into each other’s eyes, their mutual breathlessness the only sound they could hear.

“Does that feel good?” he whispered, the breath from his words scorching her skin. He moved his tongue just a little lower, not breaking eye contact, and she felt him dip ever so slightly inside of her, his arm wrapped around her thigh and the pad of his thumb taking care of the rest. He did this a second time, then a third, and when he returned to pressing his tongue over her clit, drawing her into his mouth, she was soon grabbing at him in any way she could in a futile attempt to take the edge off the orgasm that was coming at her like a freight train.

She was close. He knew she was so close now and he held his arms tightly around her to keep her close to him. One more swipe of his tongue right....there...and she was gone.

When her breathing even out, she slowly opened her eyes to see him move up and over her, placing soft, wet kisses on her hip, her tummy, her neck, and finally on her lips. He seemed cautious to kiss her, unsure of whether she wanted him to but she grabbed his face with both hands to pull him back down to her, kissing him as passionately as she could manage with what felt like no energy. She could taste herself and it was so much more erotic than she could ever have imagined. 

She felt him smile into the kiss as he carefully settled his body on top of hers, allowing her to wrap her legs around him. He moved the hair that was sticking to her forehead and stroked her face with one finger, gently mapping her eye and her nose and her cheek. She couldn’t reconcile this being the same man who had minutes earlier been so dominant. He had so clearly wanted to say something at that point if only his hardness hadn’t been so distracting. He mover one arm under her neck, using the other hand to move hair from where it had clung to the side of her face. Holding her as close to him as possible and feeling blissful when he felt her legs wrap around his own, he entered her and held still, enjoying the moment.

“We should’ve done this years ago.” he spoke and for a brief moment, without realising, she was pulled from their intimacy, a pang of guilt taking its place.

He was too busy pushing into her, needing whatever she had left to give him. He grabbed at the back of her neck to keep her in place, his face buried into her hair. She felt her skin heat up all over from his breath as he panted at her side. It was more frantic than he’d wanted it to be as he groaned and moaned and pushed his whole weight into her with force. It was really all she could do to just hang on to him as he fucked her deeper, as he surged towards his own orgasm, then letting go when she felt him shudder insider her minutes later. He sounded helpless and as much as he tried to hold himself up from collapsing on her, he soon gave up trying and laid his head on her shoulder.

His warm breath continued covering her skin as she ran her hand gently over the back of his head. She felt him chuckle a vibration into the top of her arm before a wet kiss landed just underneath her ear, a place he had deigned his own after he realised how sensitive she was on that particular spot.

Finally rolling off her to lie on his back, he kept his arm stretched across her lower tummy and rubbed his fingers across the apex of her thigh. She wasn’t sure how long they stayed in this position but at some point he leaned over her to turn the bedside light off plunging the room into complete darkness and they continued to lie there in silence not really sure if the other was asleep or not.

He eventually turned onto his side to face her, keeping a firm grip on her waist. He was across her pillow and she could practically feel the flutter of his eyelashes as he watched her in the dark, a soft outline gradually appearing as his eyes adjusted to the blackness of the room, making out her features. she felt his hand move up and down her ribcage and over the inside of her elbow, another sensitive spot that made her shudder and him chuckle again when he realised she was in fact still awake.

She turned onto her side to face him and his hand moved to her lower back where it finally rested over her hip. She pushed her leg in between his and he seemed content and comfortable in how they were existing in this space, both aware they didn’t have to worry about getting up any time soon. He was running his fingers up and down her spine in slow, circular motions and it felt wonderful. Too wonderful. And there was that guilt again.

“What will you do tomorrow?” she asked.

He took a deep breath in contemplation at her unexpected question. “Gym looks pretty good. I have a book and a couple of scripts, too. Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.”

“I know.” she murmured but he knew she was dwelling on something.

“I wanna be here for you if you need anything and if you don’t, you won’t even know I’m around. I promise.”

“I know that, too.”

She could sense him smile at her even in their dark. “Good.” he said. “It feels nice knowing I’ve made a good decision for a change.”

*

[lightsandlostbells]

How would you rank the trailers for the four seasons? Or maybe ranking them isn’t so interesting, but I would love to hear your thoughts on them if you haven’t already discussed them!

Thanks for asking! So I love Julie’s trailers because they’re mini movies in themselves. They represent her artistic ambition. If I had to rank them, Isak or Sana’s would be first. Noora’s would probably be last because a dog eating vomit is gross and not something I can watch endlessly, lmao. But they’re all good in terms of communicating their season’s themes in an abstract way.Eva’s trailer: It’s the only one that has voiceover! I don’t know if maybe that’s because she’s the first lead and they wanted someone’s POV to establish the series, like it’s less exciting to have only the music when you don’t know who these people are. But also interesting is that Eva is the character whose arc revolves most heavily around not having her own opinions, and technically our introduction to Eva is her giving us her thoughts. The vibe is this version of girlhood that’s so rosy and idealized, it’s almost comical. Just girls being girls, basking in the sun, sitting in trees and swings with flowers in their hair like woodland nymphs. There’s tinkly music and soft focus as Eva tells us about how important her friends are and how they trust each other. With Ingrid and Sara, Eva’s got this happy place where she’s warm and loved. But of course we know it can’t last. There’s also this like … voyeuristic quality going on, that’s daring people to watch this picture of girlhood. Eva saying the girls kiss each other at parties, and she and Sara looking into the camera - that’s about getting your attention. All of this feels like a performance, an outsider’s view of being a teenage girl, maybe what we often see in media. It’s not real girlhood, which is not all dewy and soft, and Skam is going to show you that in Eva’s season. That’s why, imo, there are parts of the trailer that break this idealized fantasy - Sara making a vulgar gesture, and then the fantasy being broken by Ingrid talking about a picture of Eva on Instagram where she’s apparently wearing something revealing. It’s more “adult” and a transition from girlhood into teenager-hood. (Also, apparently it was Magnus who posted that picture of Eva?? I don’t know if it’s supposed to be THE Magnus but it’s a cool little detail.)Noora’s trailer: The music in this trailer is used in the season itself, so Julie must have really been a fan. Again, an idealized image. Look, it’s Noora, lying in the all-white bed, the sun spilling through the windows. Don’t we all want to wake up like this in the morning? It’s like a pleasant dream. Noora looks like she’s at peace. Until she awakes to see a naked girl in bed beside her. Clearly something she did not expect. (I don’t know if it’s actually meant to be Mari or just a random girl.) So as the music swells, just at the most triumphant part, we get the full picture of the room: people half naked and passed out, a mess of cigarette butts and half-drunk glasses, blow up dolls, vibrating dildos, a dog eating someone’s puke. Decidedly not a peaceful, idealized scenario! Some shit went down last night. Noora is horrified. She checks her body until the covers, and I mean, I’m assuming she’s wondering if she’s had sex, or got up to something that she’d regret, and she must think she didn’t because she seems pretty satisfied. Until William comes in, posing like a model and looking like he’s enjoying the view. He’s probably the last person Noora wants to catch her in this compromising position.There’s obviously some direct foreshadowing to Niko’s party and Noora’s assault in the trailer, down to the music. But it’s also about Noora’s relationship with sex, and her self-image, and how Noora is this very controlled person - she doesn’t drink because of what it does to her, she won’t have sex because of how a bad experience affected her. And she’s in this rosy, safe place until she’s suddenly in this very non-Noora situation where debauchery is all around her. She doesn’t know how she got there. Then of course there’s William - Noora doesn’t really want him to see her like this, but William is going to be the one to meet her out of her comfort zone, where she’ll have to deal with these messy emotions and reconsider her careful attitude. S2 has to do with Noora dealing with a loss of control - both with her falling for William against her judgment, and with the aftermath of her blackout. (Interestingly, Noora is the only lead who doesn’t look into the camera for her trailer. She’s not daring the audience to judge her or take in her performance - Noora really doesn’t want to be seen in her situation, I think.)Isak’s trailer: I once read a really great analysis of Isak’s trailer and I don’t think I could do as much justice as that one (I can’t remember where that analysis was right now, sorry, if anyone knows feel free to leave the link) (ETA: @heihallohadet sent me the links to ravenclawisak’s fantastic trailer analysis, please read part 1 part 2), but here goes. Obviously we have boys messing around in their underwear, splashing water on each other. William gets a tease at the start since people wanted more of him and Noorhelm post-S2 and Julie likes teasing her fans. This is like the gender-flipped version of Eva’s trailer, in some ways? It’s a romanticized version of teenage boys. Well … by “romanticized” I mean “sexualized.” Like, this is a fantasy. It would not be out of place if you stuck a Sean Cody logo on the frame. We have these male characters scantily clad and wet. It takes us about half a minute to see Isak, like oh, he’s here, too. He’s not a participant, but an observer. And he seems to be torn about it. On the one hand, he’s intrigued by the view, he can’t look away. On the other, his body language is awkward and uncomfortable, like he knows he should look away. He quietly observes the strapping male bodies before looking down. Then it’s Jonas who grabs the milk - fittingly, Isak’s first crush that we know of - and throws it, and Isak doesn’t do anything as it comes his way. He doesn’t get up or dodge, he just watches the milk soar over his head and then rain down on him. He lets himself feel it on his face. And you could read into his expression several ways, but to me, he choose to let the milk hit him. Like … he seems kind of rapturous for a moment there. So he’s choosing to indulge in these forbidden feelings, because he wants them even if he can’t act on them. Then he looks into the camera straight at us. With Eva it felt like she was teasing us when she looked into the camera; this is like Isak is daring us to judge him. (I remember this from the other analysis, so I don’t want to take credit for it, but they brought up that the other boys are dousing each other with water, a clear liquid, and Isak gets hit with milk, something that leaves a stain, and it’s like the other boys can frolic around in this homoerotic scenario and not have it mean anything, because they’re straight, but with Isak, his attraction to boys is something that would mark him. Isak is othered in this trailer, by the milk and simply by sitting on the sidelines instead of messing around with the others.)What really gets me about this trailer is the song. I LOVE this choice of song. It’s Nils Bech so of course he’ll represent Isak further on the S3 soundtrack, as it turns out, but also … those lyrics. The LYRICS. There’s just so much fucking longing. Again, Isak is othered: “I am the last one” - he’s the one who can’t find love, or romance, because he can’t get it from the same place as the other boys, and it’s something he’s locked up inside. “Everyone knows how I tried” - Isak tried to do the heterosexual thing, he tried to date girls. But what he’s longing for, in his secret romantic heart, is a real connection with someone he truly likes. “What’s so strange about me”- again, feeling othered, not knowing what to do with this part of himself.  “Can’t I be loved” - evident, despite his other-ness, he wants that genuine love. Why can’t he have what the other boys have? Is there someone who will want him the way he wants? Goddamn, this song gives me stomach pangs. The loneliness, the vulnerability. It makes me so grateful for Isak’s season.Sana’s trailer: AKA the one everyone spent months waiting for. I love this one, either S3 or S4 is my favorite. Now, I will say that this trailer probably altered a lot of fandom’s expectations in a negative way - because we spent so much time waiting for the “clues” to pay off, and reading into it, that some aspects disappointed when they did or did not happen. But as a standalone, I think it’s awesome. First of all, because the music is in reverse, Julie prevented the international fans from being geoblocked, so that was cool, lol. Second, again, AMAZING choice of music. I mean frankly, a lot of people would hear this trailer and think, “OK, this is something Middle Eastern? It sounds … vaguely foreign.” But of course it’s not, it’s actually a song in English played in reverse. And not just any song, but a song where the speaker begs the listener not to misunderstand them. Where they acknowledge that they’re not perfect and that they make mistakes, but “I’m just a soul whose intentions are good.” Don’t judge them, understand them. And that’s completely Sana’s character in S4. She’s dealing with so much, people judge her, things go wrong, and that results in her making bad choices. But Sana is not a bad person. Sana is someone who wants to do good, but sometimes makes mistakes. We don’t understand the song because it’s in reverse, but play it forward and the lyrics become clear. It’s fantastic. There’s the bonus layer of the song being by Yusuf Islam, formerly known as Cat Stevens, who converted to Islam in the ‘70s.Moving on to the visuals, of course we have Julie messing with her fans again by showing Even first, as post-S3, many fans were calling for an Even season just as fans wanted a William season post-S2. She gets in that lovely little Evak moment before moving through the girls backwards. A chain reaction that causes chaos. There were so many damn theories about this trailer. Even gets hurt by getting hit with the selfie stick - was social media going to bite him in the ass? Chris has the selfie stick; she hits Even because Eva knocks into her; Eva knocks into her because she trips on Vilde’s pearls (Eva has a beer in hand, would her drinking come into play? Would she trip and “fall” for Vilde, as the Evilde shippers hoped?); Vilde’s pearls scatter because Noora falls against her and grabs the necklace (was Noora going to fall for Vilde? Were Vilde’s pearls broken as a sign of her poor home life coming to light?); Noora falls against Vilde because Sana trips her. All those people fall down because of one deliberate decision by someone we don’t expect to cause trouble, who is known for being the rational, loyal friend. What’s more, Sana smiles about it. Why is she smiling? She wants to cause trouble? What has motivated her to do this? And it all leads to blood.So the chain reaction didn’t play out quite like we predicted, in the end: for example, it’s Isak who gets hit in the face, not Even, the “reverse” of the situation. But not gonna lie, I’m not totally clear on how the rest of this chain happened, like I know how Sana’s actions ended up affecting the other characters and causing a chain of problems like Vilde getting cyberbullied, or Isak getting blamed for the hate account.  To be fair, the trailer is not necessarily supposed to line up exactly with the events of the season - it’s just general foreshadowing about Sana making choices that affect others, and about the theme of being misunderstood. Taken on its own, I adore this trailer, I think it’s got a terrific concept, and Sana gives me chills at the end.

[melchixr]

At Seventeen

Not requested but I spent so long writing this. 

In which Hanschen and his group of outcasts laugh at the in-crowd and Hanschen falls in love with one of them.

A song fic based off of this song. Which is both emo and relatable

Word Count: 7553

I learned the truth at seventeen That love was meant for beauty queens And high school girls with clear-skinned smiles Who married young and then retired

He hadn’t thought of what it would be like after that night. He just assumed that Bobby would fall into his arms. Instead of pestering him and his friends during lunch, maybe he would come sit with them. Maybe he would start holding conversations with Hanschen instead of glancing at him as they passed in the hallway. Maybe he’d actually speak to Hanschen at school instead of calling his name in the parking lot after class.

But he really wasn’t all that shocked to look across the quad at Bobby’s table to see his sharing a seat with Greta. He was leaning close to the tall, blond girl with one arm around her waist, the other propping himself up on the table among the tater tots and textbooks from a decade ago.

No. Hanschen didn’t feel anything. Or at least he forced himself not to feel anything. He didn’t want to. Kids always make mistakes at prom. That’s just what happens. Sometimes kids end up drinking or making fools of themselves or coming home high.

Or they hand off their virginity to the class president in the backseat of your car.

So Hanschen kept his eyes locked on Bobby, remembering that night only a few days ago. But Saturday night felt like years away from Monday lunch.

“Hey, Hansi,” Ilse’s voice broke through the white noise. “Are you alright?”

His blue eyes moved to her gaze. She had been there that night and knew full well what had happened in the aftermath. So her gaze was sympathetic and warmed Hanschen to the very core.

He nodded and looked back down to the carton of milk sat in front of him. He used his bitten down fingernails to pick at the paperboard layers. He’d much rather look down at that then look up at his friends glaring back at him.

Melchior was the first to break the uncomfortable silence that had fallen over the table since Hanschen turned back to the group. “So...Who got the Chemistry homework?”

The valentines I never knew The Friday night charades of youth Were spent on one more beautiful At seventeen I learned the truth

The honking didn’t top, long after Hanschen had already waved out his window, signalling to Melchior that he was coming downstairs. He was laying on the horn from the moment Hanschen closed his window and grabbed his backpack to the moment he opened his front door with Melitta and Thea glaring at him.

“Hey, fuck off!” Hanschen shouted running over to bang his fist on the roof of the Volkswagen. “You’re gonna wake up the whole block.”

Melchior finally stopped honking and watched his newest companion throw open the back door and climb into the seat beside Wendla and Moritz. In the front, Ilse peered over the back of her seat. “You look hot, who are you trying to impress?”

Hanschen looked over the outfit he had worn to school. Not much more than the tee shirt and jeans he wore every day. But Ilse’s hand reached out to tilt his chin back up. “No. it’s your hair. You look smoking, Hansi.” She smiled with her wide, shining white smile. “You do something new?”

“Cut the shit,” Moritz hit her hand away playfully. “Let’s talk about what matters. You bring the Uno, Hanschen?”

The blonde nodded, pulling the deck of cards wrapped in a rubber band from the front pocket of his cheap bag. Ilse cheered much louder than she should have as the small car peeled out of Hanschen suburban street.

Their spot was empty, as it always was. The field seemed to stretch out forever and ever, so far that they couldn’t tell where the grass stopped and the sky started. It was all dark for as far as the eye could see. But they knew they were only ten minutes out of town and on the other side of the field was the power plant, so Melchior knew not to drive too far off the road.

The only light was from the the three of four electric lanterns they had brought along, sat on top of a blanket Ilse had brought along. Their dim lights made the cards hard to read, but the five still played blindly and fumbling with the rules.  

But when Wendla reached into her purse and pulled out a mostly full bottle of wine, they decided to forgo the game completely.

“How the hell did you get this?” Moritz asked, lounging on his back before taking a big sip.

Wendla shrugged, tugging her cardigan closer around her small body. “My parents think I’m the good kid compared to my sister. They don’t suspect a thing.”

Melchior took the sip from the bottle Moritz handed him. “God,” he mused, looking at them all with huge, blissful eyes. The dim light made his eyes look like two black holes “This is so just classically teenage of us.”

“Classic teenagers don’t play Uno,” Ilse corrected and stuck her foot out into the pile of cards. She had ditched the shoes a while ago, now had her toes poking through her white socks. She had always loved the feeling of grass.  “They get wasted at parties and have sex and….they’re cool.”

After a moment of two of silence, Hanschen sighed, “We’re cool. I think we’re cool.”

And those of us with ravaged faces Lacking in the social graces Desperately remained at home Inventing lovers on the phone

If the phone had rang once that night, he would have jumped out of his skin. But it didn’t. From when he had woken up that morning to now, closing in on midnight. How many Sundays would be spent like this, he wondered. Laying on his front on his floor with his eyes locked on the phone his parents were cautious to put in his room. They had been afraid that he was going to stay up all night talking on it.

How wrong they were.

The novels that normally attracted him felt meaningless. He had the volumes of Edgar Allan Poe before him. He had War and Peace. He had everything he could ever want on those pages. But he didn’t want to even look at them. He instead chose to sit there in his own brain, wallowing.

Maybe Ilse would call.

No, she and Moritz were going to a movie tonight to celebrate his first A in English.

Maybe Melchior would call.

No, he studied on Sunday nights.

Maybe Wendla would call.

No, he should just stop hoping.

So the room remained silent, save for the dreamy sighs coming from Hanschen every few minutes and the absent minded turn of pages of the books he had already read a dozen times.

But suddenly, through the deafening white noise, broke the sound of the ring he thought he’d never hear.

As Hanschen stood his mind was flooded with all his friends what they might be offering. Then, he hit the jackpot. He recalled how he had written his phone number in wobbly marker script on Bobby’s hand. It had been right before they had crawled into the back of his car, telling the dashing teenager in a tight tux that he ‘needs to call’ soon.

Two weeks is soon, right?

He ran to the phone, praying that the smears he saw on Bobby’s hand at the end of the night were still legible. Maybe he had gotten lonely and Hanschen needed to hop on his bike and ride it across town to Bobby’s house. Maybe he’d be waiting for him with open arms, smiling his big, movie star smile. Then he’d chuckle the chuckle that was still burning Hanschen’s eardrums since that night in the back of the car.

“Hello?”

“Hi, can I speak to Nancy?”

He felt his heart hit the ground as soon as the woman’s voice came through the receiver.

“You have the wrong number.”

Who called to say, "Come dance with me" And murmured vague obscenities It isn't all it seems At seventeen

Hanschen wished he would have known you had to reserve seats to graduation when he first suggested they go.  “I’m so sorry,” He muttered to the others leaning against the chain link fence. Below them, the football field was filled with supportive parents in the bleachers cheering for their kids on the portable white stage. They looked so small from where they were. “I thought we could just...I dunno...get in.”

With a sigh, Wendla reached over to lovingly touch Hanschen’s shoulder. “It’s ok, Hansi, none of us really know any of the seniors.”

The echoing voice of their principal was barely audible as he listed off names of the students taking their diplomas.

“Ya know. We’re technically seniors now,” Melchior muttered, keeping his wide eyes on the crowd below. The thought made a shiver run down Hanschen’s spine. He looked from Melchior and Moritz, the pair he had known since first grade, to Ilse, who moved there halfway through their sophomore year, to Wendla who transferred across town at the beginning of middle school.

Then, he couldn’t help but think one year ahead.  To when Ilse left to the West coast for art school. Or when Moritz and Wendla would move up to New York to chase their dreams of being an iconic actress/ techie duo. Or when Melchior was going to be basically guaranteed into any law school he wanted.

And Hanschen was here. And that’s where he’d stay.

He wasn’t creative or talented like the girls. Or smart like Melchior. Or a technical mastermind like Moritz. He was just Hanschen. Hanschen who planned to go to Graduation without invites.

“Hey, who wants to go to Joe’s and get a milkshake?” He let the suggestion break his mental downward spiral. The others all looked to one another, nodding eagerly. “Cause this is boring as hell.”

Wendla turned on her heel, gesturing for the others to follow her to her minivan.

A brown-eyed girl in hand-me-downs Whose name I never could pronounce Said, "Pity, please, the ones who serve They only get what they deserve"

The whispers had been heard all around their town. They all said she was coming back, the queen of the streets. His mother knew her as the class president/ valedictorian/cheerleader who ended up marrying her prom king boyfriend and moving to California. Wendla’s mom recalled her as the wife of a politician who went from a rich daddy to a rich husband.  The Gabor’s had known her as a resident of their church and the most talented member of their choir.

Ilse knew her as the out of date prom queen of suburbia. And she repeated this sentiment between puffs of her skinny cigarette.

“How do you get a whole town so far up your ass that you can leave for twenty years and still have parents telling your kids about how cool you were!” She rolled her eyes and stretched out among the soft grass and vibrant poppies. She offered the cigarette to Hanschen, who took it graciously. “I mean. The whole reason she’s moving back is because her husband ran for senator and lost miserably.”

The blond boy rolled his eyes after blowing out a puff of grey smoke. “That’s tragic. That she has to be back here. I’d hate that.”

“That’s what she gets. She’s allowed to get out of here because she’s pretty,” Ilse explained as if she were a professor. “Look at all of our parents. They all had to stay behind. This town really sucks you in.”

“Well if she’s too beautiful then why is she coming back? If your theory is correct then she should be off living the highlife?” He leaned over the girl, blocking the sunlight from her freckled face. Dark and wavy hair laid out around her like a pillow.

She shrugged up at her companion. “I dunno. Maybe because she finally got what was coming to her.”

“What did she do wrong, Ilse?”

There was a pause. Ilse sucked in the nicotine and exhaled like it was her life course. “She was beautiful, Hanschen. Haven’t you heard?”

And the rich relationed hometown queen Marries into what she needs With a guarantee of company And haven for the elderly

The new Robel house was a hot spot that week. They would drive by in their cars or on their bikes, looking around as they whizzed by. Some were even bold enough to walk by, staring at the home as they went.

It was huge and brick with a well groomed garden out front. They lived at the end of a cul-de-sac which they probably thought was the busiest in town.

So they felt no anxiety when they went to drive past, like everyone else had that boring summer. That is, except Hanschen, who stood outside of Melchior’s car nervously while his friends climbed in.

“I dunno...I just don’t want to look crazy,” He explained for the thousandth time, but the others rolled their eyes. This was the most exciting thing to have happened in the last month, since a fire broke out in the field next to the cemetery.  “They must think the people here are crazy.”

“No not at all, they must just think they live on a very busy cul-de-sac,” Moritz was quick to defend.

Still, he let them go on without him, leaving him stranded in his driveway. He went back in, but still came out only hours later as the sun was setting and curiosity got the best of him. He couldn’t drive, his parents were too strict to let him get his licence. So he had his old bike, a little bit too small for him with yellow paint chipping off to reveal the rust beneath. But, it was still trusty enough to get him to the big, fancy houses only five minutes away.

It’s not that he didn’t like in a nice house. Hell, his dad was an accountant and his mom was a nurse. They weren’t exactly struggling. But this house looked like the word ‘struggle’ wasn’t in their vocabulary. This whole neighborhood didn’t have people with silver spoons, they were made of silver spoons.

The house in question was at the very end, the stained glass windows beside the grand door were lit up, like some family inside were enjoying some sort of Hallmark movie bullshit dinner.

But as he slowed down to gaze  at the mini mansion, he noticed the garage was open. Inside it were stacks and stacks of moving boxes and two fairly expensive looking new cars. A long, thin figure was bent over one of the stacks. The starling shock of red he wore is what caught Hanschen’s eye, making him come to a stop almost subconsciously.

The figure was a male, maybe around the same age as Hanschen himself. But he could only tell that because the kid was tall. If he weren’t, he would look like thirteen, with freckled cheeks that were the only part of his lanky body that still had baby fat on them. Draped over his scrawny torso was a bright red tee shirt that matched the red bandana that he had tied across his head, keeping his brown hair out of his face.

Hanschen could look at him forever. And he had planned to, or at least until the boy looked up so he could make out what his eyes looked like.

But when he did look up, fear struck Hanschen, as those eyes were looking right at him.

Fumbling, he tried his hardest to get his bike moving again. He could feel his face turn reds as he heard a high, lilting voice cry out to him. “Hey! You live around here?”

Fuck fuck fuck fuck gotta go gotta go.

Finally, when hanschen managed to get his spastic feet onto the pedals, he took off like a very shay bullet. He took his second to look over his shoulder, as the boy who had wandered closer to Hanschen at the end of his driveway, watching the stranger rush away like a burglar.

Then, he watched Hanschen faceplant into his mailbox and topple over it.

Remember those who win the game Lose the love they sought to gain In debentures of quality And dubious integrity

Hanschen usually didn’t like parties. Everytime he  had been invited to one in the past, he declined, instead opting to spend the night with his actual friends or alone in his room instead of in a crowded room filled with acquaintances.

But when he had been invited to Bobby’s going-away party, he knew better than to decline. He had actually never accepted in invitation faster in his life, even if it was through Bobby telling Thea to invite him when they ran into each other at the movies.

He didn’t dare tell his friends. They had all told him for the last two months that he needed to forget all about Bobby. So he had to take his beaten up boke over to Bobby’s house.

It wasn't like those cheesy graduation barbeques that white people put on for their kids. In fact, Bobby’s parents weren’t even there. It was just a crowd of high schoolers in their upper-middle class two-story, all slightly intoxicated and flirting with anything that walked. Most probably didn’t even know it was for Bobby before he moved a few hours away for college.

Hanschen knew, though. In fact that was the first thing he did when he arrived and hid his bike in the bushes. Bobby didn’t answer the door, it was some sophomore girl he half-recognized. When he asked her where Bobby was, she just shrugged and offered him a beer.

He took it of course, but it didn’t deter him.

A few minutes were spent scouring the house. It would have been faster if he hadn’t been stopped every other second to be asked about his eye. When he did find Bobby in the kitchen, the first thing out of his mouth was: “Hey, Hanschen, what happened to your eye?”

The blond hurriedly looked down at his shoes, trying to avoid the hazel eyes staring down at him. “Yeah I uh… Hit it on a side-table when I uh… Fell out of bed.”  He couldn’t possibly think say that he was riding his bike and got distracted by a very cute boy. “But good job getting uh...accepted to college. Good luck.”

Bobby just shrugged aimlessly, taking a long sip of the cup of random liquor in his hand. “Thanks, dude. And thanks for coming. What have you been up to? It’s been a while.”

No mention of it. Not one. The first time since that night that they had spoken. But he didn’t think to bring up that the last time they were together, they couldn’t keep their hands off of each other.

“Yeah, it has been…” Hanschen muttered in response, feeling his anger bubble up inside of him. It was like he was being hit in the gut over and over by Bobby’s apathetic gaze. Maybe he didn’t remember Hanschen, so he looked back up in the hope that he’d suddenly recognize his face and didn’t before.

“So…” He muttered, his soft smile breaking his chiseled features. It warmed Hanschen to the core. He wanted to reach out and wrap his arms around Bobby, pulling him closer like before. And maybe, Bobby wanted that too. “Your blackeye….Did it hurt?”

Hanschen hadn’t ever felt like a deflated balloon until that moment. Like Bobby had be blowing him up and finally just let it go, watching it was it shrank into a latex raisin.

So he nodded, casting his eyes away and taking a final chug or beer, draining the can. “Yeah. It hurt like a bitch. I gotta go.”

Bobby looked like he might have followed, but instead of chasing after Hanschen, he leaned back on the counter and shrugged to his companions on how weird that guy was acting.

So, once again, the party was like any other, miserable. After 30 minutes of being asked about the bruise by a variety of strangers,  they had learned to leave him alone. So he sat there, on the back porch of the Maler household along with all the other miserable kids smoking and wathcing the girls play in the large, unnaturally blue pool.

God, he thought to himself for the thousandth time that night, men are pigs.

“Hey, how’d you get that black eye?”

Before even turning around, he was through with it. He shook his head, almost yelling back at the voice behind him, “I fucking hit my face isn’t that obvious, you dumb fucking-”

When he turned, his gaze was met by a pair of long legs in a pair of shorts decorated by lobsters. Looking up from where he was sitting, Hanschen’s eyes moved up to a familiar, warm face. His features radiated with warm, like he was made of sunshine. Tan skin met with perfectly brown eyes shrouded by eyelashes too long for a boy.

Oh shit, he was the boy.

“Oh….Hey,” He cursed himself under his breath before nervously introducing himself. “I’m Hanschen. Have we uh...met?”

“You tumbled face-first into my mailbox then ran away.”

“Oh.”

Their small town eyes will gape at you In dull surprise when payment due Exceeds accounts received At seventeen

Maybe it’s weird to see two guys enjoying each other’s company. By the looks of the guests, it must’ve been. But Hanschen glared back at them, as if challenging them to try and tell him what he could or couldn’t do.

“Hanschen,” Ernst’s voice softly called to him. “Maybe they’re staring because we’re both wet.”

Suddenly, as if it had all been an out of body experience, Hanschen look down to see he was still dripping with pool water reeking of chlorine and had on only a pair of boxers clinging to his body for dear life. All his other clothes had been neatly folded by Ernst and were now tucked under his arm. At least Ernst had the dignity to keep on his lobster shorts.

“Well thank God most of them are asleep,” He gave a passing glance to the stoner on the couch staring at them and made quick work to jump over the sleeping teenagers on the living room floor.  Looking over his shoulder, Hanschen ushered Ernst to follow him. Ernst followed, a bit more shakily even though he was easily the more sober of the two. “Come on, Ernest.”

The smaller of the two chuckled, not bothering to correct him as the two crept almost silently down the hallway. He only tripped over one person, but he didn’t even wake up. For a second Hanschen was afraid the kid was dead, but saw a slight movement of the chest and saw he wasn’t dead, just in a comatose like state brought on by shitty weed.

The bathroom they had been venturing too was guarded by a couple that were widely known as the weird couple that all they did was sit together in silence and make out in the wierdest way. They didn’t say anything, just watched with heavily lidded eyes. They didn’t stop glaring until the Hanschen closed the bathroom door behind them.

“People don’t know how to keep to themselves,” The blond muttered, sitting on the edge of the shower. “Don’t they know staring is rude?”  

“We also wandered through the house dripping wet with your dick practically out,” Ernst chuckled.

Hanschen shrugged, looking over himself to see the fabric clinging to him in ways he definitely didn’t want. Maybe at another time, he would be embarrassed, but instead he set to work hanging out his damp clothes over the shower rod. That’s just what he gets when he jumps into the pool fully clothed.

“You think Bobby will be mad if I dry off my shorts with with his hairdryer,” Ernst’s light voice piped up from where he was sitting, digging through a plastic bin of curling irons and hair brushes he assumed was Bobby’s sister’s.

Hanschen shook his head, sitting on the counter across from his companion for the night. “Sure. Knock yourself out.”

Ernst plugged in the bright pink blow dryer and almost immediately turned around to point it at Hanschen’s chest. “Put your hands up, sucker.”

Hanschen laughed louder than he should have, “What are you gonna do? Dry me?”

Not hesitating, Ernst turned on the dryer and blew hot air directly into Hanschen’s face, giggling as he watched strands of blonde hair fly in all sorts of directions.  Hanschen continued to laugh, relishing in the heat. Ernst smiled softly, feeling giddy like a fourth grader with his first crush. Maybe it was because the person behind the dryer was so close he could see the freckles on his cheeks and the little moles on his neck and hands.

Only when it looked like Hanschen was having too much fun, did he turn the dryer away and pointed it down to dry off his wet shorts. It took a moment of so for the other to stifle his giggles, but he did eventually, watching Ernst diligently work on his shorts.

“How do you know Bobby, Ernest?” He asked after some time of silence.

Ernst rolled his eyes, speaking up over the whir of the dryer. “I don’t know him, really. Just met him uh….just once last month. Yeah, when I first moved here. I dunno if you know Max…?” He looked up to see Hanschen nod. Max was pretty nice. He was well known for always pulling out all the stops at the big game and leading pep rallies with all his energy. “Well, he lives down my block and invited me to hang out for a couple ‘welcome to the neighborhood’ drinks.”

“But you don’t drink,” Hanschen muttered, restating the fact he had been told earlier that night when he offered Ernst a sip of beer.

Ernst shuddered, as if remembering something that he didn’t want to. “Well, I did then. And I met Bobby.”

There was more to the story, but Hanschen didn’t push it. He just nodded, “Yeah. He’s alright.”

Ernst turned the blower on Hanschen’s pair of jeans and tee shirt, dripping with chlorinated water. He seemed content with his work, humming as he went. “What made you think it would be smart to jump in fully clothed?” He mused.

If there was any reason behind his actions, even Hanschen didn’t know it, he just remained sat on the edge of the tub, watching diligently. “I dunno, Ernest. But it was fun,” He extended a hand to Ernst, requesting the dryer. “Can I see that?”

“Sure,” He handed over the dryer and went digging thought his pile of dry clothes to find the calculator watch he had gotten for Hanukkah last year. Hanschen pointed the dryer towards his crotch to dry out the boxers. “It’s uhh, twelve thirty, we probably shouldn’t be so loud people are trying to sleep-”

“It’s what?”

“Twelve thirty.”

Throwing the dryer to the floor, Hanschen began frantically moving around, yanking his damp clothes from of the shower rod, “Shit, shit, shit!” He hissed, struggling to put on jeans that rubbed his skin in the worst way. “My curfew is eleven holy fuck.”

Ernst chuckled and turned off the dryer, thankful it didn’t break when it hit the tile. “Oh, sorry about that Hanschen.”

Not responding, he continued to desperately tug on his clothing.  By the time he got the shirt on and the pants mostly on, he rushed out of the bathroom and towards the front door. Following, Ernst watche dhim trip repeatedly over the sleeping. “Bye, Ernest, had a good time!” He called back, some dumb part of his brain still thinking to impress the pretty boy standing in the doorway as he ran barefoot from the house.

“It’s ERNST. No second E!”

To those of us who knew the pain Of valentines that never came And those whose names were never called When choosing sides for basketball

Hanschen had never been super into sports. Not extremely at least, but enough to be able to hold his own and have some fun. He expected Ernst to be able to hold his own as well, what why he invited him over to play two-on-two with him, Melchior, and Moritz. But the second Ernst arrived at Melchior’s house, that was proven wrong.

“You doing alright, Ernst?” Hanschen asked his teammate after he had called the third water break. Ernst was doubled over, drinking from a water bottle Hansche had filled up for him. “You wanna step out and Melchi and I can play one on one?”

Ernst shook his head, looking over at the other two, chatting and passing the ball between them and discussing whether or not they wanted to order a pizza. “I’m good, Hansi. I’m fine. I’m great.” He panted out.

Ernst was never going to stop being stubborn, so Hanschen shrugged and called out to the other two. “Okay, guys, let’s play!”

Two minutes in and Ernst sounded like he was going to cough up a lung he was breathing so heavily. But he refused to call a timeout. And he would come to regret that when, while trying to steal the ball away from Moritz, he was knocked on his ass. And pretty hard too.

“Holy shit, Ernst,” Melchior called, walking over to help his new friend up. They had only hung out once or twice before, but he had already been getting along so well. Maybe just because Moritz liked him so damn much. “You alright, buddy?”

Ernst groaned, probably damning himself under his breath. “I’m good,”

The other three looked to one another with sympathetic eyes,knowing that he was lying. “Come on, Ernst,” Moritz groaned and helped Ernst to his feet with a grunt. The skinner of the two was holding his back and hissing in pain. “Me and Melchior was gonna shoot some hoops, you and Hanschen wanna go inside for a bit?”

With a wink, Moritz showed that he knew exactly what he was doing. This is what Hanschen gets for ranting to Moritz for hours about how pretty Ernst was. So Hanschen patted Ernst’s sore back, making him cringe. “Come on, Ernie. Let’s get some lemonade, alright?”

Thank God for Mrs Gabor for always keeping them stocked full of snacks like they were being shipped off to little league any moment with their capri suns and celery. Today, it was a tall pitcher of lemonade, mini raisin boxes, and a chocolate chip cookies. Ernst took an exhausted seat a the breakfast bar, slumped over the counter.

“You doing alright?” He asked the top of Ernst’s brown hair, because that was all he could see. A thumb popped up from the pile of boy on the table, signaling that he was alright but didn’t want to do much more than a slight movement. “You want some lemonade, Ernst?”

A muffled voice came from under Ernst’s folded arms. “No I’m good.”

Hanschen still poured him a drink and set the glass in front of him. A moment or two later, Ernst sat up a and revealed his bright red face. From his big ears to the tip of his nose looked were so red he practically became a cherry. He avoided looking at Hanschen, or even anywhere besides the glass right in front of him.

“What’s up, Ernst?” Hanschen asked after a pause filled with just Ernst sipping his lemonade. “You don’t seem alright.”

After a long sigh, Ernst could finally look up at Hanschen with sad eyes. “I just… I feel like an idiot.” He muttered. Hanschen now noticed the exact shade of brown his eyes were. They reminded him of the color of the bugs encased in amber that he saw on a museum field trip in fifth grade. He didn’t know what to do when Ernst suddenly looked away. “You just.... I feel like….” He sighed again.

Hanschen extended his hand to lay over Ernst’s. He felt his thin fingers and bulging knuckled underneath his fingertips, sending electric shocks through them both. “Hey. Just breath, Ernst. If you don’t want to tell me then-”

“You’re all so much better than me.”

There was a pause, like Hanschen didn’t know what to say. But in reality, all he could do was laugh at such a ridiculous concept. Ernst looked at him like he was crazy, not just for holding his hand but also for laughing in his face.

“What’s so funny?” He said in a small voice, like he was trying to shrink away. He tried to even shrink away from Hanschen’s touch and pull his hand away. But then he felt Hanschen tighten his previously loose grip.

“Ernst Robel,” He chuckled, “You are literally the embodiment of talent and grace and creativity. Don’t try to feed my anymore bullshit.”

It was long ago and far away The world was younger than today When dreams were all they gave for free To ugly duckling girls like me

“Hey, are you asleep?”

He wished he could’ve been. The sun hurt his eyes a lot, but damn it all if he was going to turn away from the warmth. He stayed leaned against the tree, not bothering to move a foot of so to the shade that Ernst was sat under.

“Not yet, I wish I was,” He gazed down at the cop of War of the Worlds he intended to read, but instead decided to soak up the rays like a sunflower.  Ernst was beginning to notice that freckles he didn’t had when they first met were starting to pop out thought normally pale porcelain skin.  “It’s too bright.”

Ernst nodded, taking off his pair of aviators and handing them to his companion. Hanschen didn’t see at first, then suddenly noticed the hand extended to him. “Thanks, Ernie,” He muttered and put on the shades, placing a golden glow over the field. Now the sun wasn’t sending pulsing pain into his eyes, he could lean back against the bark.

But now, it wasn’t the sun keeping him up, it was the hum coming from Ernst’s lips.

For a minute or so, he listened. Listened to the sound of pages flipping, Ernst’s humming, and the very light breeze.

Across the field, their might have been kids making out at the powerplant in the distance. He used to want to be there, with them, imaging he was making out with Bobby or any random guy he made eye contact with at the mall or sometimes Melchior on a really bad day. Today, he wouldn’t rather be anywhere else.

Or with anyone else.

“How’s your book, Ernst?”

“Good,” He replied. Although Hanschen couldn’t see him, he could hear him. “It’s a bit long winded but I love Wilde.”

Hanschen slid lower, father down to the base of the tree. “Wilde? Wasn’t he like….queer?”

The word fell from his mouth out of fear. He had realized what he saying halfway through his question but knew he couldn’t turn back. So he just kept his eyes closed and hoped Ernst wasn’t staring at him, questioning if the teenager lying next to him was the neighborhood “fag”. Only Ilse knew that he was.

Silence hung between them. No pages flipping or humming. Not even a breeze.

“Yeah. I think he was.”

“Weird, huh?”

“Yeah. Weird.”

The next silence was much less tense. Hanschen only then noticed that he had been holding his breath until that moment. He relaxed, his head now on the grass at the base of the oak. He then suddenly heard Ernst shift, perhaps even moving closer. The next thing he knew, a soft hand was laid on his head, fingers playing with the stands of dirty blond hair that had become brighter over the past two months.

His fingers span in circles with the tips rubbing across his scalp. This sent Hanschen’s head into a tizzy, sending shivers up and down his spine and making his mind melt into the ground. His breathing had become slower and heavier until Ernst finally noticed he had fallen asleep.

This gave Ernst the chance to look away from the book he had been pretending to read and allow himself more than a glance. He gazed at Hanschen’s chest, slowly moving up and down with his now relaxed muscles straining against his plain white tee shirt. He wished he could just see his eyes, which were covered by his own sunglasses. Something in his chest and brain made him want to see the peaceful expression on his face.

His movement to Hanschen was slow, but successful. As he had managed to lean over and pull the glasses from his face as gently as possible. He had spent what felt like five minutes and turned out to be half an hour glancing between the green grass the handsome boy asleep in it. And now, he could see the long eyelashes resting on Hanschen’s cheekbones and the soft expression his relaxed brows made.

“ Ernst,” His serene mouth moved, suddenly shaking Ernst from his trance. “Can you put those back? The sun hurts my eyes.”

We all play the game and when we dare To cheat ourselves at solitaire Inventing lovers on the phone Repenting other lives unknown

“Hey, Hanschen?”

“Yeah?”

“Are they all asleep?

There was a pause when Hanschen sat up and looked around the tent to see if anyone was awake. Even though it was pitch black out, the still burning fire outside silhouetted the lumps that were Ilse, Melchior, Moritz, and Wendla all laying down asleep in their sleeping bags. On the other side of the large tent, Ernst’s head popped up above them all. “Yeah, I think so, “He replied.

Almost immediately, Ernst got up out of his sleeping bag and moved towards the doorway, crouching to avoid hitting his head on the top of the tent. “Come on,” He whispered and unzipped the entrance after unzipping the tent.

Hanschen followed closely, slipping on his flip-flops that were waiting at the entrance. He watched Ernst for a moment of too, wearing Hanschen’s hoodie and a pair of Spiderman pajama pants. He stoked the flames, throwing another log on to let it grow larger and looking over his shoulder at the boy waiting for him. “Are you cold, Hansi?”

“A bit,” He replied and approached the fire. He sat on the tree stump he was sitting on only an hour ago, when the whole group was sat around singing along to Melchior’s guitar and telling cheesy scary stories. His hands were extended, trying to warm his palms against the fire.

Ernst sat beside him only a moment later on a twin stump. He sighed, watching the fire with tired eyes. “I don’t want summer to be over.”

“Why?” Asked Hanschen. “You said this morning that you miss having structure.”

Ernst nodded, as if he had been caught. “It’s hard to be new your senior year, ya know? I don’t wanna spend what’s supposed to be my best year in high school trying to figure things out like a dumb freshman.”

“You’re smart, Ernst,” He said as if he was explaining it to a first grader. “You’ll have it figured out in a day or two.”

He shrugged and kept his amber eyes on the flames. “At least I have you guys. And you’re all pretty cool.”

Hanschen laughed again, this time much more quiet than before. His hand reached out to hold onto Ernst’s shoulder as he whispered so he wouldn’t wake the others. “We’re not cool. None of us are cool.”

Ernst looked away from the fire for the first time and at Hanschen instead. His eyes were lit up, shining with the reflection of the full moon. These eyes moved around Hasnschen’s face, spending fleeting moments looking from his cheeks to his lips to his eyes to his nose to his lips to his hair to his lips to his lips to his lips.

“I think you’re all pretty cool,” He replied, eyes finally finding Hanschen’s which normally looked light the summer sky, cloudless and clear, but currently looked stormy. It was like a little hurricane was going on inside of Hanschen. And it was coming closer and closer but the second.

Then, Ernst realized that his face was only an inch from Hanschen’s.

“No,” Hanschen muttered, his hot breath hitting Ernst’s face and sending all his senses into a tizzy. “We’re lame. You’ll realize that eventually.”

“Then I’d rather stay blissfully ignorant,” Was all Ernst could say before he felt Hanschen’s lips touch his.

If he didn’t know any better, he would have thought he was drunk. Hanschen’s lips were soft, with his hand clasped on the back of Ernst’s head, fingers tangled in his hair. His own hands moved up to the sides of Hanschen’s face, palms firmly planted on the chiseled jaw he had been admiring for a few months now.

The kiss was only a few seconds long. At least the actual kissing was. The rest of the time was spent just sitting there, clinging to one another with their lips still pressed together.

They would rather do anything else than let go.

But when they did, both boys immediately broke into their own dumb grins. Ernst looked away, preferring to look anywhere besides Hanschen, who was his first real kiss if he didn’t count the weird peck Bobby gave him when they met up at the park much later than they should have been.

But Hanschen kept his eyes locked on Ernst, holding the boy as close as possible.

“Nice dimples, Ernie.”

They call and say, "Come dance with me" And murmur vague obscenities At ugly girls like me At seventeen

“Hanschen, you got a call!” Melitta called from the screen door as Hanschen threw down into the front lawn.

The blond pushed his hair from his face, sweat making it stick to his forehead. “From who?”

“From I don’t know!” She called back, and slammed the screen closed just a moment before he got to it. What an amazing sister, he thought and threw his backpack onto the floor of the entrance hall.

He just nodded at his mother and walked straight up to the landline sitting on the hall table. Beside it was written on a post-it note in Melitta’s frilly cursive, ‘Ernst called for Hans’.

And so the ritual began. The almost daily ritual of Hanschen running up to his room as soon as he got home to call up Ernst. His family had stopped asking for Ernst’s number, knowing that his ‘best friend’ Hanschen had it memorized.

“Hey, Robel residence?” Ernst’s voice said only moments after the phone began ringing. Like he had been waiting.

Hanschen giggled like a little girl, grinning like an idiot even though no one was there, “Hi, Ernst. It’s Hanschen.”

There was a pause, where Hanschen was assuming Ernst was looking around his kitchen to make sure none of his family were around. Then, he whispered back into the receiver. “Hanschen, I miss you.”

Hanschen recalled how he had only seen Ernst a few hours ago. He had been there to awkwardly walk Hanschen to his rehearsal before heading off to tennis practice. But now that it was six o’clock and they were both officially home, Hanschen felt fine responding  with : “I miss you too, Ernst. How was tennis?”

“God, I wish I found this sport sooner, Hansi,” He sighed. “We’re gonna whoop some ass at the first game, babe. You should come watch.”

“Of course I will,” Hanschen replied, his cheeks blushing at the phrase Ernst whispered into the phone. “If you come and see the show, I’ll come to every game I can.”

Ernst scoffed as if Hanschen was an idiot for asking. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world, Romeo.”

“And Wendla’s such a good Juliet. She’s gonna be famous, Ernst. Bet ten dollars on it.”

“You could be famous too, Hansi,” He replied happily, “I can’t believe you didn’t know you were this good.”

Hanschen, now laying on his bed staring at the ceiling like a love sick teen in a movie, giggled like one too. “Shut up!” He snickered before taking a long breath, listening to his companion over the phone. Ernst was breathing heavily, like he had just had the thrill of his life. Maybe his mom just walked by or he heard someone coming down the stairs. So Hanschen continued, “So, are we trying to meet up tonight?”

“I’d love to,” Ernst whispered back, “The field?”

“Sounds good. I’ll see you then, babe.”

Ernst’s breath hitched at the word, “See you then. I’ll love that.”

Then he hung up, leaving Hanschen grinning and brimming with joy, because he knew what ‘I’ll love that’ meant. He knew it meant that someone else was in the room with Ernst really wanted to say ‘I love you’.

Hanschen couldn’t help but reply, speaking into the dial tone.  “I love you too.”

[thejokersenigma]

Joker x Reader x Bruce Wayne - Plan B(ruce) Part 2

Ok, so this has a sudden Christmas theme (not that much - it just happens to be Christmas) because I wrote this as part of my Christmas advent calendar - that is also why its so short because I've only had a few hours to work on it! Hope you enjoy it anyway!

MASTERLIST

J had been right. This was the best room in the house. This was probably the best room in the whole city. It was situated at the very top of the Wayne Enterprise Tower and the room took up the whole floor, the walls on my left and right made completely of glass that showed the breath-taking view over the city on either side. Not only was the view gorgeous, but the room itself had been lavishly decorated with expensive festive decorations – a large, extravagant tree next to the small stage which had been decked in tinsel and lights where a live Jazz band played upbeat Christmas songs, wreaths on each window, golden embroidered table cloths, mistletoe on the pillars, candles in brackets that gave off a distinctly Christmassy smell.

It was beautiful and made me feel like I’d just won the lottery.

I’d made J buy my dress for me – knowing he could afford it - and I hadn’t held back on the price label.

That would teach him to use me like this.

But then, I couldn’t help thinking as I looked around, this night didn’t look like it was going to be complete torture. Everyone looked just as stunning, all making the most of the free open bar and the dainty canapes handed out by servers whilst they gossiped away, or swayed to the tunes performed on the stage.

But who was it I was supposed to be talking to again?

I helped myself to one of the glasses of champagne that were being handed out at the entrance, then stepped my way delicately to the side of the room, trying to look like I belonged there. I sipped at the alcohol as I wandered the perimeter of the room, surveying the room and the company that milled noisily in the centre, occasionally unable to help my glancing out the tall windows at the city that way laid out before me.

Most people in the room seemed to have paired up – whether because they arrived that way, or that was the way these socialites just gathered, I wasn’t sure – and I couldn’t help but wish that J was with me, so I didn’t appear so lost on my own.

Despite this, I made sure to enjoy myself amongst the riches none the less – after all how often was it that I would be able to pretend to be an aristocrat and all the perks that came with it? I made sure though, to keep an eye out for my target – the infamous Bruce Wayne. I had seen him in enough news reports and newspaper articles to know vaguely what he looked like, but I wasn’t sure how easy it would be to pick him out amongst all these other men business men in their identical suits.

Ok, enough of being on the outskirts of this part, it was time to dive into it now that I’d had a bit of liquid courage. I placed my empty glass on a cloth covered table in one of the corners of the room, then confidently sashayed my way into the middle of the room. I could feel the eyes on me, the stranger amongst them all, but I didn’t falter in my strides, walking like I outranked them all, like I had important matter to attend to - though I actually had no idea where I was going or what I was doing.

Despite my upturned nose and important air, I kept my eyes on the people I passed, scanning for a face that matched the picture in my head. When I finally neared the other side of the room my eyes fell on the large balcony lit with fairy lights. I headed for this.

A group of 4 people entered back into the room as I left it, none of them bothering to hold the door open for me and I scowled out into the darkness at this - clearly manners did cost something, and these people weren’t willing to pay it.

I was the only one out here now, and I understood why, the balcony had been built slightly into the building to lessen the strength of the wind at this height, but it was still freezing out here. I wrapped my arms around my chest against the cold and walked up to the railing, leaning my arms on it and looking out at the lights of the city. I could see the windows of office buildings where late night workers were still at their desks, the bright advertisement bill boards that stood tall and garish against the dark sky and the streets below were lined with tacky lit names of casinos and clubs.

“Quite a view isn’t it?” Came a voice from behind me, the tone of the voice deep and soft.

I played it cool, not bothering to turn, my eyes on the landscape before me. “Yes it is.” I agreed.

The man came up next to me then, but I still didn’t bother to turn. He copied my position, leaning over and resting his elbows on the balcony railing. “Bit cold though isn’t? Especially in a dress like that.” He said, and I saw him glance me up and down.

I turned to look at him now, crossing my arms and leaning my hip into the barrier, shooting him an unimpressed raised eyebrow at his last statement. The light behind the man threw his face into shadow, but the more I listened to his voice, the more familiar it was. “And just what is that supposed to mean, Mr Wayne?”

“Oh nothing.” Bruce Wayne defended quickly, realising his mistake and turning to face me as well, “Only that your dress doesn’t really protect your arms against this wind.” He said gesturing to the sky.

I laughed at how nervous I had made him – clearly, he wasn’t a man that was often poked fun at. “Don’t worry.” I brushed it off, “I’m only teasing.” I smirked, and he seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. “I’m [Y/N].” I said, holding out a hand in a sign of peace.

Bruce took it gratefully, “I guess you already know who I am.”

His hand was strong, and surprisingly rough for a business man. “Of course, Mr Wayne.” I smiled at him warmly. He had a nice feel to him.

“Call me Bruce.” He insisted.

“Ok, Bruce.” I nodded, releasing his hand. “I do have to ask though, why are you out here, when the party is in there?” I asked, gesturing back towards the door.

“Honestly I’m not one for parties…” He admitted rather sheepishly, “But it kind of comes with the job.”

“Of being the owner of a multi-million-dollar company, or of being a billionaire bachelor?” I teased.

“Both.” He laughed, and I laughed with him.

“What about you?” He asked, “Parties your scene?”

I considered this for a moment. “Not really.” I said truthfully. “I’m more of an all work, no play kinda gal.”

“Might explain why I’ve never seen you around.” He said.

I knew my lines well and didn’t even hesitated before I said, “Well I’m new to Gotham, first event I’ve been invited to.” I explained. “So, I appear to be the stranger that everyone gawks at.”

“I’m sure that’s not the only reason they’re gawking.” Said Bruce and I couldn’t help but blush at his smooth flirtation.

We chatted a bit longer about this and that. I stuck as close to the truth as possible, so I didn’t get too lost in a web of lies – I told him I ran a highly successful line of restaurants and was hoping to start one up on Gotham. He seemed genuinely interested and it almost made me feel bad. He seemed a nice bloke, but also quite simple. Getting information from him shouldn’t be too hard.

It wasn’t long before he was offering his jacket for my shoulders – which I gratefully accepted – and then eventually he led me back to dance for a while – under the promise that it was to ‘warm up’.

Bruce was such good company, in fact, that I almost forgot the reason I was there in the first place – happily chatting away about anything and everything – the things I didn’t need to lie about like my dream holiday, favourite colour and other silly details that we somehow got onto.

Yes, I had almost forgot why I was at the party, that was until Bruce asked about my love-life. I was sure he was wondering if he could put the moves on me, but I was promptly reminded of J and the original plan for the evening. Shit. I muttered something about it being complicated – because it honestly was. I didn’t know what I was to J – a stress release? An easy fuck? Or something more? And I didn’t know what I was to J – did I love him? I felt like I could do, maybe, but did I right now? It was complicated.

Bruce didn’t push the question any further, but now I had been reminded I changed my head back to business and knew I needed to start asking the man a few more specific questions I had runover with J earlier that day.

“So, what –“

Bruce glanced down at his watch that flashed something – maybe an alarm? Then snapped his gaze back to mine. “I’m really sorry, [Y/N], I hate to suddenly run, but I’ve got an important meeting in the morning that I need to be slightly coherent for.” Bruce said with a small apologetic smile.

I smiled back in understanding at this, though inwardly I cursed at the shit timing and my lack of concentration on my job all evening. J wasn’t going to be impressed if I went back to him empty handed, especially when I made him fork out so much for this night. I had to pull this back somehow.

“Bruce, I –“ I started.

“Would it –“ Bruce said at the same time.

“Sorry.” We both apologised, like a cheesy chick flick couple.

I gestured at him, “Go for it.”

“I just wanted to know if I’ll see you again soon?” Bruce asked, with a raised eyebrow.

“Uh –“ That took me by surprise, “Yeah, sure. That would be nice.” That hadn’t even been a lie just to see him again to gain some information - it would actually be nice to see him again.

He smiled at me, then glanced at his watch again. “Ok, now I really have to leave.” He said, though he seemed reluctant.

“Go.” I said.

He wavered.

“Go!” I laughed, shoving at him playfully, and he exaggerated the movement, leaning further away from me than I could ever hope to have pushed him. I smirked at his good humour until he then swung back and planted a surprising kiss on my cheek.

My eyes widened momentarily, but then I quickly gathered myself back together again. “Smooth.” I mocked with a smug smile. “Now go!” I cried with a laugh, shoving him again, making sure this time that I pushed him solidly in the back toward the exit.

“Ok…” He sighed dramatically and headed off with a last wave in my direction.

I gave him a small wave back, unable to help myself smiling after him. It was nice to talk to a guy that I wasn’t always trying to second guess the meaning behind his words or actions like I was with J. J never did anything without a reason. But Bruce was more of an open book - I doubted there was anything hidden behind what he did.

Tags: @gemma60

[7fics]

Markson friendship jackjae Romance. Jackson doesn't really know YJ but he knows he's kinda weird but still kinda cute and he sits next to Jackson in science so Jackson texts Mark and says "the Youngjae kid is cute tbh" and Mark being a dick takes a screenshot of their messages and sends it to Youngjae, who is still sitting next to Jackson.

Warnings: mark pov lol

Word Count: 2.5k ish

Author: Chewy’s back! and graduating high school oh my god

managed to sneak some markbum in there lol whoops hope ya enjojojoiiiii

grades: JB: senior Jinyoung: senior (skipped a grade) Jackson: junior Mark: junior (redoing a grade) Youngjae: sophomore Yugyeom/bambam: freshmen

“Bro, you hype? First day of school jitters? Whatchu gonna eat for breakfast?”

“Shut the fuck up, Jackson, why are you calling me at 6 in the morning,” Mark groans. It’s too early for this shit. It’s always too early for Jackson’s shit, but “That’s just the impact of the Wang” or so “the Wang” says.

“It’s the first day of school! You should be up and getting ready, don’t you want to start off the school year refreshed and excited?” Mark can practically hear Jackson jumping up and down through the phone. Oh, wait, is that the sound of springs squeaking? Then never mind, Mark can legitimately hear Jackson jumping up and down.

“More like dead tired. School doesn’t start until nine.”

“Whatever. Have you looked at your schedule yet? Did you see what classes you had? Do we share any classes?” Jackson’s talking non-stop, and from the sound of it he’s also trying to chew his breakfast at the same time. Mark’s not really into that ASMR shit.

“I already sent you a screenshot last night, keep up,” he responds, groaning as he finally crawls out of bed. With Jackson this hyped up, he knows there’s no chance of falling back asleep so he might as well get ready. “We have a few classes together, I think. Check again?”

“Oh, right!” there’s a pause as Jackson scrambles to his laptop, and Mark thanks the gods above for the short moment of blessed silence. “We have the same lunch period! And Humanities and Numbers for Nerds, thank goodness. You’re going to need to tutor me again.”

“No.” Not until you stop calling “math” “Numbers for Nerds,” Mark thinks. It’s too early to voice opinions, though, so he keeps that to himself.

“And Euro, yass, this is nearly fully booked Markson, get pumped! But wait, aw man, no science together. Why would you ever take Physics? And it’s first in the morning, too!” Jackson continues.

“God bless,” Mark’s not sure if he would have been able to handle Jackson so early every morning. Especially not after the copper incident last year. “Now I’m hanging up, gotta shower. See you at school.”

“Bye~~~ Markie pooh,” Jackson calls, but by then, Mark’s already ended the call.

—

“Jaebum, please,” Mark says the minute he enters the Physics classroom that morning. “Save me.”

“Babe, what’s wrong? It’s only the first day of school,” Jaebum grumbles, barely lifting his head from his desk to greet Mark.

“Exactly. However,” Mark says, handing his phone over to Jaebum. “Some asshole thinks that I should care about his choice in sock color today.” There are somewhere around, oh, just about hundreds of new text messages, voicemails and snapchats from Jackson, updating Mark on the every second of his first day of school prep. And that’s just the preparation; the school day hasn’t even started damn it.

“Aw, yikes. I got a picture of a flowchart of first day of school possibilities from Jinyoung last night. And then earlier this morning he sent me a selfie of himself setting the same flowchart on fire, so I’m not sure what that means.”

“Seriously? It’s only the first day of school why is he stressing like it’s finals week again,” Mark groans as he lays his head on the desk. Jaebum only pats him on the back and gives a shrug in response, and Mark is eternally grateful. He decides that now is a great moment (and the only moment) to enjoy a bit of peace and quiet before the madness called “High School” and “Being Wang Jackson’s One and Only BFFL For Life” (“Jackson you repeated for life” “Shhhh”) begins.

Moments later, the beautiful calm is shattered by the sound of Kara blasting through the air. “The fuck Jackson, we’re in class,” Mark says, opting to hit decline. Jackson apparently doesn’t get the message, however, and Mark’s phone spends the rest of class buzzing violently in his backpack.

Mark of course dutifully ignores everything. (At one point, a girl in front of him freaks out because she’s sure there’s a swarm of bees in the classroom. It’s just Jackson, though.)

—

“Hey.” Mark takes his lunch tray, which is literally piled to the sky with only french fries, and slides into the bench between Jackson and Jaebum. He looks down the table and nods at the kid at the end of the table. “‘Sup?” They’re not friends, but the kid sells some fine “herbs” if you know what I’m saying. Imported. From Thailand.

Mark doesn’t drink coffee. He drinks tea. And he’s ready to beat anyone (meaning Jinyoung) who mocks him for it. It’s not like he fucking reads books like some nerds (meaning Jinyoung).

“Hey, Mork, what’s up?”

“Can you not.”

“Nope! Those are a lot of fries buddy, I’m really kind of worried about your health, you know?” Jackson says, reaching over to grab a handful.

“I hope you choke.”

Jackson doesn’t choke, but he does snort and get some caught in his nostril. While Jackson is whining and screaming for help, Mark turns to Jaebum, “Hey.”

“Hey babe,” Jaebum responds. He also takes a french fry, but actually manages to look pretty sexy eating it, so Mark will opt to forgive him this one time.

“Do you think you can get senioritis when you’re a Junior?” Mark asks, shoving the plate of fries to the side so that he can lay his head on the table. And then push the fries directly into his mouth without actually lifting anything.

“Dude. It’s been three days since we got back from summer break,” Jaebum gives him a look, although really, he has no right to judge.

“I didn’t do any of my summer Humanities assignments, so I already have a zero.” Ok, so maybe Jaebum does have some right to judge. But only a little.

“Holy fuck YOU GUYS!” Jackson screams, and then immediately makes a shushing noise, “Shhh! I can’t let him notice me!”

“Jackson. You are the loudest one in this group right now.”

“Ah, sorry, I forgot. But look!” Jackson whisper shouts, vaguely gesturing toward some corner of the cafeteria. “Look at that!”

Mark squints, but isn’t really sure what Jackson’s freaking out over. He doesn’t see any signs for free pizza, or anything remotely worth getting hyped up over.

“That kid! Over there!” Jackson’s voice is steadily rising, but they’re in the middle of a public school cafeteria so Mark decides to not give any fucks for now. “The one that looks absolutely beautiful and basically is probably the Sun on the Teletubbies but all grown up! He’s in my Bio class and I swear you guys, I am in love.”

“Oh hey, that’s Youngjae,” Jaebum remarks.

Hmmm, Youngjae. Mark’s sure he’s heard that name somewhere.

“Remember? He’s the really loud tenor in my choir class. Tried to bring his dog to school last year.”

“Oh yeah. Coco. He’s my neighbor.”

“You know him?” Jackson gasps. He crawls over Mark and grabs Jaebum by the collars. “Please. Tell me more. I must know.”

And so the rest of lunch continues just like any other day, with Mark trying to ignore Jackson and continue eating french fries. It’s a hard task, but nothing that Mark can’t handle.

—

Another week of dozing through classes has passed in a blissful blur, and Mark settles into Physics, pulling out his notebook. He’s just trying to decide whether he should use the book as a pillow or what it’s actually meant for when his phone goes berserk again.

from: wangster

holy sheet mark

do u remember that incredibly cute ball of sunshine underclassman I was talking about

the one that probably farts pixie dust

and is CuTE as bALLS???

YOUNGJAEEEEE god kill me now even his name is lovely

he just got assigned to the same lab group as me

ME

the fuq is this, a fucking rom com??? i M SO READY to NOT embarrass myself infant of this kid

**in front ha fuck u 2 autocorrect

“What is that?” Jinyoung asks, peering over Marks shoulder.

“It’s just Jackson, talking about his new crush. I’m just gonna ignore it,” Mark concludes, setting it on vibrate and then tossing it to the corner of his desk.

“He just texted you again,” Jinyoung says, picking up the phone. “What does he mean by ‘THE THING’?”

“Shit, give me that,” Mark says, suddenly alert and scrambling for the phone.

from: wangster

do you think he’d think i was cool if i did THE THING again?

Mark furiously types.

from: mark

NO!

DO NOT. DRINK. THE COPPER. SOLUTION.

It takes a minute for the reply to come back.

from: wangster

aw cmon man, it wasn’t that bad

and don pretend like u didn’t take a taste too, i’m not the only criminal here

anyway i wasn’t talking about that

like

what if i “accidentally” spilled a chemical on my hot bod

and then i have to rip off my shirt and show off my sexy abs ;)

Mark groans and lays his head upon the desk. “Help. I think I have a migraine coming on.”

“What’s wrong?” Jaebum asks, sliding into his seat with 34 seconds to spare. Mark just holds up his phone in response. Jaebum sighs and formulates a response in Mark’s stead.

from: mark

your abs won’t be sexy anymore with a god damn acid burn on them. don’t do that shit. —JB

Before Jaebum can hand the phone back to Mark, Jinyoung snags it out of his hands. “Oh boy,” he giggles. “This is gold. Do you mind if I screenshot this and airdrop it to myself? Just for when I’m sad, I promise.”

“Go ahead,” Mark waves him on. At this point, he doesn’t think Jackson has any dignity left to muster up. “Just don’t accidentally send it to Youngjae or anything.”

There is a beat of silence, as three pairs of eyes meet. Then they all break, chuckling to themselves. Mark wheezes a little. “Nah, I wouldn’t. I’m not that kind of friend.”

There’s another moment of silence, as Jinyoung takes one long look at the messages, and then back up at Mark, then Jaebum, then back at Mark. “Aren’t you?”

“I mean, we’re best friends, come on,” Mark says. He doesn’t know why he’s suddenly sweating in this freezing air conditioned classroom. “Right. Best friends. Who forgive each other no matter what,” Jaebum muses, half to himself. They meet eyes, and then break. Nervous laughter fills the air around them.

“Nah, nah, nah. We’re cool,” Mark says, taking back the phone and going to delete the screenshots. But, Jinyoung is right. This is kind of gold. “Maybe I’ll just start a message to Youngjae, but not actually send it, just to freak Jackson out.”

“Oh yeah!” Jinyoung agrees, aggressively nodding. “Take a screenshot of you you pretending to send those to Youngjae. Jackson would die. And it’s good revenge for him stealing my last twizzler.”

“Alright, I’m doing it,” Mark says. They’re all three cackling at the message, Mark’s hand hovering over the phone, when the teacher walks in and slams the door shut. Hard.

All three students jump in their chairs simultaneously. “Put you phone away!” he demands, and Mark sheepishly pulls his phone off his desk, but not before seeing what’s on the screen.

“Oh shit,” he looks up at Jaebum, wide-eyed.

“You hit send, didn’t you?”

—

Three hours later, Mark finds himself on the floor of the cafeteria, groveling at Jackson’s feet. “It was an accident, I swear, you know I would never do that to you. I would never even think of doing that to you!”

“How. The fuck. Do you accidentally send screenshots of my text messages to the guy who just happens to be the subject of my messages?” Jackson asks. His eyebrows are halfway up his face at this point.

“Ok, fine,” Mark concedes, “Maybe I did think of doing that to you. But I swear I only thought! I never actually meant to hit send. Tell him, Jinyoung!”

Jackson’s menacing eyebrows swivel to face Jinyoung, who currently has his nose buried in a book, with only his ears peeking out. No matter how much of a bookworm everybody says he is, no books are that interesting. “Well?” Jackson asks, leg shaking the table.

“Uhh… It was Mark’s idea!” then he slams his book shut and bolts.

Mark gasps, “That bastard.”

Jackson grabs at Mark’s collar, and as Mark flails, he looks over to Jaebum in an attempt at one last plea for help. Jaebum just raises his eyebrows, and scoots his tray further away down the table.

Just as Mark resigns himself to his fate, he is saved by the bell. More specifically, his text alert, which is actually a four second clip of a recording of Jackson screaming for five minutes straight. Everybody in the whole cafeteria looks over at them, including Youngjae (an important detail for Jackson) and the security guards and other adult staff (an important detail for Mark). “Dude get off of me before we get in trouble,” Mark whispers. Jackson only complies because Youngjae is looking and he can bet 99.999% that Youngjae probably hates violence and sings about flowers growing as a past time.

“Ugh, whatever, I’m still mad. You better buy me chocolate milk for the rest of the school year.”

“What are you, Kim Yugyeom?” Mark scoffs, but knows that he probably will, even if only for a few weeks instead of the whole school year. Anything to get his friend back. Even so, he slaps Jackson’s hands away as they drift toward his tray of fries. While battling Jackson over his lunch with his left hand, Mark unlocks his phone with his left (unnecessary AN: this was supposed to say right, but I was totally zoned out when typing this, and, my dudes, it is so wicked funny to imagine Mark with two left hands). “Oh my god, Jackson!”

“What now?” Jackson grumbles, slipping through Mark’s defenses and filching a fry or two or three or twelve.

“Jackson, look,” Mark gasps breathlessly, handing his phone over to Jackson.

“Holy fuck.”

Right there, on the screen (surrounded by way too many emojis and stickers) are the following words:

from: c youngjae

aww, can you tell jackson hyung thank you for the compliments

and also that i don’t want him hurting himself!! i’m sure he looks better shirtless on the basketball courts than in a science lab *winky face blushing emoji*

oh! also mark hyung, my family is going out of town for labor day, can you watch coco? thanks!

Mark grins, looking up at Jackson’s shining face. “Am I the best wingman ever or what?”

“Yes!” Jackson shouts, drawing looks once again. “But you still owe me chocolate milk for the stress that you put me through for this past hour.”

“Yo, lunch period isn’t even an hour long.”

[thejokersenigma]

Christmas Fan Fiction Advent Calendar 2017 - Day 20 - Joker x Reader x Bruce Wayne - Plan B(ruce) Part 2

Ok, so this is the second part to a new series I’ve just started writing which was a request given to me here on tumblr! Tbh it’s not very Chrtistmassy - other than it’s happening at Christmas, but oh well - feel free to check out the first part if you like it (or want to read that first). It is quite a bit shorter just because I only had a few hours to write it!

Hope you enjoy it!

MASTERLIST

J had been right. This was the best room in the house. This was probably the best room in the whole city. It was situated at the very top of the Wayne Enterprise Tower and the room took up the whole floor, the walls on my left and right made completely of glass that showed the breath-taking view over the city on either side. Not only was the view gorgeous, but the room itself had been lavishly decorated with expensive festive decorations – a large, extravagant tree next to the small stage which had been decked in tinsel and lights where a live Jazz band played upbeat Christmas songs, wreaths on each window, golden embroidered table cloths, mistletoe on the pillars, candles in brackets that gave off a distinctly Christmassy smell.

It was beautiful and made me feel like I’d just won the lottery.

I’d made J buy my dress for me – knowing he could afford it - and I hadn’t held back on the price label.

That would teach him to use me like this.

But then, I couldn’t help thinking as I looked around, this night didn’t look like it was going to be complete torture. Everyone looked just as stunning, all making the most of the free open bar and the dainty canapes handed out by servers whilst they gossiped away, or swayed to the tunes performed on the stage.

But who was it I was supposed to be talking to again?

I helped myself to one of the glasses of champagne that were being handed out at the entrance, then stepped my way delicately to the side of the room, trying to look like I belonged there. I sipped at the alcohol as I wandered the perimeter of the room, surveying the room and the company that milled noisily in the centre, occasionally unable to help my glancing out the tall windows at the city that way laid out before me.

Most people in the room seemed to have paired up – whether because they arrived that way, or that was the way these socialites just gathered, I wasn’t sure – and I couldn’t help but wish that J was with me, so I didn’t appear so lost on my own.

Despite this, I made sure to enjoy myself amongst the riches none the less – after all how often was it that I would be able to pretend to be an aristocrat and all the perks that came with it? I made sure though, to keep an eye out for my target – the infamous Bruce Wayne. I had seen him in enough news reports and newspaper articles to know vaguely what he looked like, but I wasn’t sure how easy it would be to pick him out amongst all these other men business men in their identical suits.

Ok, enough of being on the outskirts of this part, it was time to dive into it now that I’d had a bit of liquid courage. I placed my empty glass on a cloth covered table in one of the corners of the room, then confidently sashayed my way into the middle of the room. I could feel the eyes on me, the stranger amongst them all, but I didn’t falter in my strides, walking like I outranked them all, like I had important matter to attend to - though I actually had no idea where I was going or what I was doing.

Despite my upturned nose and important air, I kept my eyes on the people I passed, scanning for a face that matched the picture in my head. When I finally neared the other side of the room my eyes fell on the large balcony lit with fairy lights. I headed for this.

A group of 4 people entered back into the room as I left it, none of them bothering to hold the door open for me and I scowled out into the darkness at this - clearly manners did cost something, and these people weren’t willing to pay it.

I was the only one out here now, and I understood why, the balcony had been built slightly into the building to lessen the strength of the wind at this height, but it was still freezing out here. I wrapped my arms around my chest against the cold and walked up to the railing, leaning my arms on it and looking out at the lights of the city. I could see the windows of office buildings where late night workers were still at their desks, the bright advertisement bill boards that stood tall and garish against the dark sky and the streets below were lined with tacky lit names of casinos and clubs.

“Quite a view isn’t it?” Came a voice from behind me, the tone of the voice deep and soft.

I played it cool, not bothering to turn, my eyes on the landscape before me. “Yes it is.” I agreed.

The man came up next to me then, but I still didn’t bother to turn. He copied my position, leaning over and resting his elbows on the balcony railing. “Bit cold though isn’t? Especially in a dress like that.” He said, and I saw him glance me up and down.

I turned to look at him now, crossing my arms and leaning my hip into the barrier, shooting him an unimpressed raised eyebrow at his last statement. The light behind the man threw his face into shadow, but the more I listened to his voice, the more familiar it was. “And just what is that supposed to mean, Mr Wayne?”

“Oh nothing.” Bruce Wayne defended quickly, realising his mistake and turning to face me as well, “Only that your dress doesn’t really protect your arms against this wind.” He said gesturing to the sky.

I laughed at how nervous I had made him – clearly, he wasn’t a man that was often poked fun at. “Don’t worry.” I brushed it off, “I’m only teasing.” I smirked, and he seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. “I’m [Y/N].” I said, holding out a hand in a sign of peace.

Bruce took it gratefully, “I guess you already know who I am.”

His hand was strong, and surprisingly rough for a business man. “Of course, Mr Wayne.” I smiled at him warmly. He had a nice feel to him.

“Call me Bruce.” He insisted.

“Ok, Bruce.” I nodded, releasing his hand. “I do have to ask though, why are you out here, when the party is in there?” I asked, gesturing back towards the door.

“Honestly I’m not one for parties…” He admitted rather sheepishly, “But it kind of comes with the job.”

“Of being the owner of a multi-million-dollar company, or of being a billionaire bachelor?” I teased.

“Both.” He laughed, and I laughed with him.

“What about you?” He asked, “Parties your scene?”

I considered this for a moment. “Not really.” I said truthfully. “I’m more of an all work, no play kinda gal.”

“Might explain why I’ve never seen you around.” He said.

I knew my lines well and didn’t even hesitated before I said, “Well I’m new to Gotham, first event I’ve been invited to.” I explained. “So, I appear to be the stranger that everyone gawks at.”

“I’m sure that’s not the only reason they’re gawking.” Said Bruce and I couldn’t help but blush at his smooth flirtation.

We chatted a bit longer about this and that. I stuck as close to the truth as possible, so I didn’t get too lost in a web of lies – I told him I ran a highly successful line of restaurants and was hoping to start one up on Gotham. He seemed genuinely interested and it almost made me feel bad. He seemed a nice bloke, but also quite simple. Getting information from him shouldn’t be too hard.

It wasn’t long before he was offering his jacket for my shoulders – which I gratefully accepted – and then eventually he led me back to dance for a while – under the promise that it was to ‘warm up’.

Bruce was such good company, in fact, that I almost forgot the reason I was there in the first place – happily chatting away about anything and everything – the things I didn’t need to lie about like my dream holiday, favourite colour and other silly details that we somehow got onto.

Yes, I had almost forgot why I was at the party, that was until Bruce asked about my love-life. I was sure he was wondering if he could put the moves on me, but I was promptly reminded of J and the original plan for the evening. Shit. I muttered something about it being complicated – because it honestly was. I didn’t know what I was to J – a stress release? An easy fuck? Or something more? And I didn’t know what I was to J – did I love him? I felt like I could do, maybe, but did I right now? It was complicated.

Bruce didn’t push the question any further, but now I had been reminded I changed my head back to business and knew I needed to start asking the man a few more specific questions I had runover with J earlier that day.

“So, what –“

Bruce glanced down at his watch that flashed something – maybe an alarm? Then snapped his gaze back to mine. “I’m really sorry, [Y/N], I hate to suddenly run, but I’ve got an important meeting in the morning that I need to be slightly coherent for.” Bruce said with a small apologetic smile.

I smiled back in understanding at this, though inwardly I cursed at the shit timing and my lack of concentration on my job all evening. J wasn’t going to be impressed if I went back to him empty handed, especially when I made him fork out so much for this night. I had to pull this back somehow.

“Bruce, I –“ I started.

“Would it –“ Bruce said at the same time.

“Sorry.” We both apologised, like a cheesy chick flick couple.

I gestured at him, “Go for it.”

“I just wanted to know if I’ll see you again soon?” Bruce asked, with a raised eyebrow.

“Uh –“ That took me by surprise, “Yeah, sure. That would be nice.” That hadn’t even been a lie just to see him again to gain some information - it would actually be nice to see him again.

He smiled at me, then glanced at his watch again. “Ok, now I really have to leave.” He said, though he seemed reluctant.

“Go.” I said.

He wavered.

“Go!” I laughed, shoving at him playfully, and he exaggerated the movement, leaning further away from me than I could ever hope to have pushed him. I smirked at his good humour until he then swung back and planted a surprising kiss on my cheek.

My eyes widened momentarily, but then I quickly gathered myself back together again. “Smooth.” I mocked with a smug smile. “Now go!” I cried with a laugh, shoving him again, making sure this time that I pushed him solidly in the back toward the exit.

“Ok…” He sighed dramatically and headed off with a last wave in my direction.

I gave him a small wave back, unable to help myself smiling after him. It was nice to talk to a guy that I wasn’t always trying to second guess the meaning behind his words or actions like I was with J. J never did anything without a reason. But Bruce was more of an open book - I doubted there was anything hidden behind what he did.