#god fucking damn this is long sorryyyyyy

[phregnancy]

Sometimes I read bottom Dan fic from a few years ago and I'm like "who are these people?" lol. It's like people totally disregarded Phil's personality in order for him to fit the stereotypical mold they'd cast him in. It was the same for Dan tbh. Lbr the only reason why people thought Dan was the bottom is bc he's younger and more outwardly feminine than Phil. The idea that bottom= submissive and top= dominate is flawed anyway, but also...Dan is not submissive. He's quite bossy and controlling. In the past, I'd even say he could be domineering. I don't see their dynamic as even being Dom/sub tbh. It's more of a playful power struggle. Except Dan fights by asserting dominance and Phil fights by being cute and whining until Dan gives in or being an absolute menace and annoying Dan into submission lmao

rewriting this for the third time because my app keeps refreshing </3 but i agree with alllll of this. putting it under a cut because i got way off course and went on a tangent lol

someone recently said that they can tell who of us have been actively engaged in diverse irl queer communities (clubs, bars, sports leagues, activism groups, etc) vs who of us haven’t and i’ve been thinking about that a lot in regards to this. obviously nothing wrong with not engaging with your irl queer communities, some people don’t have access or don’t feel comfortable or simply don’t want to and all of that is fine - but you do have to work harder to unlearn a lot of heteronormative concepts like these and you have to familiarize yourself with queer culture and history (outside of social media). people’s outward presentations of masculinity and femininity have nothing to do with their sexual preferences, and dan has shared that exact sentiment in so many words (wondering if people think he’s a bottom because he’s slightly more feminine, and then discouraging that narrative as a whole). i also think there was a lot of hyperbolizing with their masculine and feminine presentations, because for a long time dan really was not that feminine and phil really was not that masculine. they were both emo nerd boys who played video games and drank too much soda. even now with personas like sister daniel, that really is not the height of femininity in queer culture or drag culture.

i think there’s also something to be said about people’s lack of familiarity with queer culture showing in people’s thoughts on them being in an open relationship and also 2009 bottom dan.

i don’t particularly care about the open relationship discourse one way or another, but a lot of mlm relationships are open. there are studies and statistics on this, gay men are the most comfortable and open to open relationships. if they hooked up with people when dan was touring or even just someone every now and then, it wouldn’t be as shocking as some people make it out to be. i also think there’s a problem with people conflating open relationships with polyamory, and those two things are often very different. people in open relationships tend to be committed to each other, but will sometimes want to have noncommittal sex with other people. polyamory is having multiple committed relationships (romantic or sexual). clingy phil and possessive dan having noncommittal sex with other people wouldn’t change that they’re still clingy x possessive. and if you’re actively engaged in irl queer communities vs online echo chambers you’ll learn this.

i’m getting way off course here lol but then in regards to people thinking 2009 dan was bottoming as a default, that’s been a pet peeve of mine since forever because it shows a lack of familiarity with mlm relationships. it’s extremely unlikely that dan’s first gay sexual experiences were being on the receiving end of anal sex, that takes time to get used to (with yourself and with a partner) and often isn’t most men’s first gay sexual position. they also weren’t together long enough until phil got his first apartment to have dan be familiar enough with anal to take phil’s dick every time he visited. i know everyone thinks little twink dan taking phil’s big dick is so hot, but big dicks can be painful and are something you work yourselves towards. and y’know, who knows what actually went on in that bedroom so much cherry everywhere, but i do think we should dispel some of these beliefs that again are playing into heteronormativity (little feminine dan taking big masculine emo phil)

dan has always been bossy and controlling and he was quite confident with the people he was comfortable around (phil + other youtubers + his audience) and then grew to be a confident person in general. i see them as a real brat x brat relationship with them being bratty in different ways (bossy/teasing vs whiney/pushing buttons).

here’s my last thing (thanks for reading this novel if you made it this far) - there is a difference between knowing all of this, and still just preferring bottom sub dan x top dom phil because you think it’s hot, vs believing there’s no other dynamics that could exist because of heteronormative stereotypes that you are actively playing into. like what you like and have fun! but please work on educating yourself and unlearning heteronormativity. sorry for the spiel!

[billhaderplsholdme]

starting to work at the movie theater with college!bill

warnings: swearing, that’s p much it

- you were drowning in student loan debt so you needed to pick up a part time job to cover some of the expenses

- you applied everywhere: the coffee shop, the local diner, your favorite restaurant... and the only place you were able to even get an interview at was the shitty movie theater at the shopping center

- you didn’t mind since you loved movies but it definitely wasn’t your first choice

- on your first day it was really slow and there was only one other person working

- your manager walked you to the concessions stand and yelled over at the boy working the popcorn machine, “hey bill, doesn’t look like it’s gonna be too busy tonight. could you train her?”

- bill turned to look where you were standing and you couldn’t help but swoon

- he was so cute and had the prettiest curly hair you’ve ever seen

- you were snapped out of your thoughts when he walked up to you and held his hand out

- “sorry, what?” you said, blushing so hard you felt like a tomato

- bill just smiled, “I said I’m bill, what’s your name?”

- “oh, sorry. I’m y/n. nice to meet you.” you shook his hand. you felt butterflies in your stomach at the contact but you shook them off, reminding yourself that this is your co-worker and you literally just met

- he walks you over behind the counter and goes over the general stuff

- “so uh, this is how they say you should make the popcorn, but I always put a little more butter because why not” he shrugs and pours more than he should

- you laughed and nodded along, entranced by his voice and distracted by how cute he was

- you weren’t even sure if you were gonna remember anything he taught you because you couldn’t stop staring

- “uhh, the slurpee machine, pretty simple. you just pull down and it shits out all the slurpee you need. my favorite mixture is the cherry and Mountain Dew. kinda my special recipe. wanna try?”

- you nod and he grins, grabbing a water cup and filling it up with the perfect amount of cherry and mountain dew slurpee, handing it to you, “just don’t do this in front of the managers, they go batshit crazy whenever we drink the slurpees”

- your hands brush when he hands you the cup and you get goosebumps. you take a sip and it’s so fucking good. “holy shit”

- he laughs, “right?!”

- after he finishes teaching you the rest of the basics, you guys get to talking.

- it’s a Wednesday night so there was really no one there, which was great because no customers came to interrupt you two.

- you guys talk about your favorite movies, what movies you’re looking forward to... all that jazz

- you guys flip out when you mention that the evil dead movies are some of your favorites, and end up talking about that for like 30 minutes straight

- then he makes fun of you for not having seen back to the future yet

- “WHAT THE FUCK? are you fuckin nuts?! how are you alive right now?”

- “I’ve just never gotten around to it!”

- “oh so you can watch 16 candles everyday but never watch one of the greatest movies of all time?”

- you laughed, slightly embarrassed but knowing he was joking

- “ok.. what about... Airplane?” he asks

- you grimace out of embarrassment as you look at him

- he flips out again, “WHAT?! that’s like, the funniest movie of all time man. you gotta watch it.”

- you promise you will and smile at him

- he goes, “okay, you know what? make a list of every classic movie you haven’t seen yet and I can have you over to watch them if you want”

- you were shocked by his confidence and the fact that he wanted to hang out with you outside of work, especially having just met. “really?”

- he just shrugs, like it’s nothing. “really!”

- you smile wide, “...okay”

- you were about to make this list as long as possible just so you could spend more time with him

- suddenly, your manager walks up to you guys, “alright, you two are good to clock out for the night. hope bill didn’t bore you to death there, y/n”

- bill raised his arms, “what did I ever do to you man?”

- you laughed and bill walked with you to clock out, grabbing his jacket and throwing it on while you guys walked out to the parking lot.

- you awkwardly point to your car, “well... this is me.”

- he chuckles, “no way, I’m parked here too! what a coincidence”

- you couldn’t help but laugh. why was he so damn charming?!

- he takes out his phone, “here, why don’t we exchange numbers so we can schedule our film festival?”

- you laugh and pull yours out, handing your phones to each other to exchange information

- you got yours back and saw that he saved his contact name under “bill (your movie jedi)” you laugh and look up at him

- “get it? cause like, you’re kinda the padawan in this situation but instead of the force it’s movies?”

- you burst out laughing at how cute but nerdy that was

- he puts his hands up laughing and goes, “I thought it would be funny, man. sorryyyyyy for making a perfect connection right there.”

- you reassure him, “no, it was great. I promise.”

- he laughs, he almost looks relieved. like he wanted you to like his joke.

- you cut in, “alright, well I better get going. thanks for uh, you know. training me and stuff. and talking about movies. not a bad first day”

- he smiles, “no problem. remember to send me that list, okay?”

- “I will! okay, uh bye..” you hold out your hand for him to shake, but to your surprise one of his arms pulls you in for a hug

- “sorry, I’m a hugger,” and pulls back casually. “alright, goodnight y/n, see ya soon.”

- you lose your mind over the fact that he just hugged you and can’t find the words to say, so you just smile and wave, then he turns around towards his car, walking in the opposite direction

- you turned on your heels quickly and started giddily walking to your car. oh my god oh my god oh my god

- you get in and rest your head on the steering wheel, smiling so hard your cheeks hurt.

- maybe working at the movie theater wouldn’t be so bad

[bartholomew-bluejeans]

📂 for Lucretia and Lup

Hoh dang this is an old ask sorryyyyyy

Anyway for Lup I remember a post saying she and Taako radiated such strong "out of your league" energy that they were still virgins when they joined the IPRE and I like that a LOT. I would add that I hc Lup as demiromantic/sexual. Barry's not (he's the only 100% Straight™️ one in the bunch) and had a crush on her since at least the "nerd alert!" comment, but Lup didn't develop any feelings for him for a couple of decades, which is part of why they took so damn long to get together.

As to Lucretia, even though she is ambidextrous and can write with both hands at once, she can't get the hang of anything that requires her hands to do different things simultaneously. She can sing, but pretty much any musical instruments are out (God I hope she didn't play something at the conservatory lmaooooo) and knitting was a fucking disaster.

[notsugarandspice]

Crash and Burn (Chapter 22)

such a sad chapter, I’m sorryyyyyy

Read it on AO3.

Warnings: Angst and goodbyes; Sonia

                                                August, 1995

Eddie knows it’s coming before it actually happens but it doesn’t make the arrival any less painful. The day he’s leaving for college. It’s supposed to be a happy occasion, right? Eddie’s packed all of his most precious belongings: his favorite CDs, a couple of shirts that still fit him since middle school, some trinkets that remind him of the Losers. But there’s something, and if he was honest with himself, someone, he can’t seem to stuff in any of the bags he owns, no matter how large.

Richie is sitting on the hood of Sonia’s car, smoking and looking out at the vast expanse of the street Eddie lives on, green and empty at the same time. The rest of the Losers are supposed to pull in sometime in the next hour. For some inexplicable reason, Sonia decided that it’s best that they start driving at night. That way the hardest part of the trip is going to be in daylight. Whatever you say, ma. I’m willing to put up with any bullshit, as long as it’s the last summer I see you. Thank fucking God for scholarships. Eddie couldn’t have possibly paid for his school any other way. Not with a mother like his. But those worries seem far away now. The more pressing matter is in front of him, scraped and skinny and beautiful. Eddie’s chest constricts painfully as he hops down the porch steps to step in front of his friend. Or boyfriend. Whatever they are. Or were.

Eddie places himself in the space between Richie’s legs where they’re propped up on the ledge of the car. Skinny bare knees are pointed towards the road, and Eddie finds himself comfortable in that little world between them. Richie takes the last inhale and tosses the half-smoked cigarette on the ground, exhaling the grey smoke towards the sky, away from Eddie’s face. Richie lowers his head to lock red, swollen eyes with the other, and Eddie doesn’t need to ask why. It’s mirrored in the dark circles under his own eyes, in the scratch marks on his back that Richie left when he sprinted towards the Tozier residence in the middle of the night, his chest so fucking heavy it felt like it didn’t belong on his body. They kissed so hard and messy, their faces wet with tears and skin raw from how close they were trying to get, without actually getting anywhere.

And now they stand in front of each other, no fire, just glowing embers, devoid of movement and desire to speak. Eddie does anyway. “Are you staying? You’re really staying?” He knows the answer. There’s just a very twisted part of him that still hopes Richie will hop in the back of the car, his suitcase already shipped to New York or something. Lunatic.

“Yeah. But you already know that.” Richie looks tired. His hair is greasy and overgrown, tied in some semblance of a bun on the nape of his neck. His skin looks grey and sickly as if he’s been trying to fight a cold without medicine.

Eddie’s head drops and his chin almost touches the collarbones - a childish act that somehow seems sensible at the moment. “I know.”

Richie squeezes his finger under Eddie’s chin, and the distinct scent of cigarettes invades the small boy’s senses. He can’t help but wrinkle his nose as their eyes connect again. “You gotta stop this.”

Richie raises his eyebrow and removes a finger. “What? Touching you?”

What the fuck? “No, dipshit. Smoking.”

Richie snorts sardonically. “You know I can’t promise that, Eddie.”

Eddie. “You should try. If you hope to be alive next time I see you.” Eddie knows how desperate that sounds, but he doesn’t care. There’s not enough time. Never enough.

“Hey, no offense, but death can fuck itself. Not even that would stop me from seeing you.”

Now Eddie is on the verge of hysteria, he can feel the pitch of the scream creeping up his throat. “Richie-“

“Ay, don’t, Eds. Please.” Richie basically pushes the last word out. The whole sentence before is pure pain, and Eddie can hear it, can feel it like something digging into the deepest crevices of his heart to take out everything he loves.

Richie pushes his glasses up and digs the heels of his hands into his eyes forcefully, leaving them there for several seconds. Eddie can’t hell if he wants to be left alone. There’s no time.

“Anyway, what are you gonna do once you get there?” Long arms fall to rest on naked thighs, and Eddie has to fight the temptation to drag Richie upstairs and do something he wanted to do all summer. There’s just something about the shift of Richie’s long thumb against the small black curls on top of his pale skin that has Eddie silently whining with longing.

“What do you mean? Unpack, of course. And try to kick ma out. Don’t know how long she plans on staying.”

Richie cocks an eyebrow, and Eddie’s stomach flips helplessly in a very practiced fashion. “What, she’s really gonna get a hotel or something, just to bug you?”

“You know her.” Eddie looks in the direction of his house, the red and yellow, and dark brown, all familiar but so fucking alien at the same time. He can’t wait to get out of here.

“I just can’t believe that she even speaks to you after that outburst. You think I should go inside and offer her some comfort? You know, in the shape of my-“

Eddie clasps a hand to Richie’s mouth but can’t help the small laugh that escapes him. “Don’t even finish that sentence. I can’t stand you sometimes.”

Richie lowers his head, and the glasses fall back on his nose, his expression all yeah, right. Eddie is getting slowly annoyed by his smugness. Richie’s voice is muffled against Eddie’s newly wet palm. “Sure, sure, Eddie-bear.”

“Ugh, Richie, no!” Eddie pushes off his friend and circles around the car, small stones flying off where his blue sneakers inadvertently kick them. Moving is the only way he can ensure he doesn’t need to face the weight of this situation, or this day, or the rest of their lives, really.

Richie circles from the other side, and they end up leaning their backs on the slanted trunk. Eddie can feel Richie’s eyes on him and the corner of his mouth twitches. Thankfully, it’s the distant corner.

“Eds, are you gonna write to me?” Eddie would expect that question to cause him pain or even disappointment. Like, who is he to think I wouldn’t write to him? Instead, he just feels empty. As if he’s been gone every year like this and saw Richie during summer. As if they haven’t known each other since kindergarten.

“You’re shittin’ me, right? Please tell me that’s not a serious fucking question.” Eddie is still staring ahead, mostly because Richie’s head is framed by the afternoon sun that would inevitably hurt his irises. Your precious eyes, Eddie-bear.

“Damn, you got a mouth on you, babycakes.”

Eddie groans loudly, entirely aware that no amount of serious conversation would ever make Richie mature. Maybe it’s not a bad thing. Maybe things are meant to stay the same, even if people change. “You know I hate these nicknames. Do you hate my name or what?”

Richie does the whole exaggerated double back movement, and his eyes bug out comically behind thick lenses that painfully remind Eddie of the time they played in the water, and the number of times he had to find them on the bottom of whatever place they explored that day. You can’t really drown, they all float there, and you’ll float t-

“Seriously? Your name is the only one I use to scream out in pure ecstasy. If you don’t count your mom’s name or the last name which also works, but I really don’t-“

“Rich, cut it.” Eddie finally realized with a feeling so heavy it almost brought him down to his knees that Richie has been acting a lot more like the middle school version of himself lately. Eddie doesn’t know if it’s his way of leaving a mark on the small boy’s memory or what, but it was definitely making him reminiscent of all the time they spent together. And not just the two of them: all the Losers used to be so much closer. Before the heavy burden of education, social acceptance and adult responsibilities swept them up and thrashed them violently in a hurricane that led straight to hell. College. Which should be a lot more exciting than it currently is.

Eddie doesn’t mean to be ungrateful. He knows how lucky he is to live in New York with minimum loans and plenty of scholarships to last him to grad school. But the feeling of familiarity can’t be replaced. It can’t be ignored no matter how much he wanted. That’s the moment Eddie decides to keep his distance from people who aren’t Losers. He doesn’t think he can ever trust anyone like that again.

“What’s on your mind, sugar?” speaks Richie with a southern drawl that makes Eddie’s skin crawl and tingle at the same time. It’s always such a whirlwind of emotion to be around Richie. It’s been like that from the start when Eddie threw a little car in the buck-toothed boy’s face and made him cry loud enough for the whole neighborhood to hear. Eddie has never been more scared in his life. In his defense, Richie wouldn’t stop touching him, and Eddie hates unnecessary physical contact. And when he had enough of it, he dealt with it in short spurts of uncontrollable anger, hence the little dent between his best friend’s eyebrows. Eddie finally looks at him and lowers the glasses with his index finger, his lip trapped under the top row of teeth.

Richie gets unbelievably quiet and still, but Eddie knows it’s not for long - he’s going to start tapping his foot or wrecking his cuticles, or clashing his teeth - anything to keep his body occupied while his mind ran enthusiastically. “Do you remember getting this?”

Brown irises travel up as if they’re somehow responsible for capturing the barely visible dent that’s obviously inaccessible to Richie’s eyes. Eddie snorts at the effort and points the spot on his own face. “Does a blue toy truck ring any bells?”

“Oh, yeaaaaah. You totally had a crush on me from day one, Spaghetti.”

Eddie takes a step back and crosses the arms under his chest. “Did not!”

“Dude, that’s the whole pigtails agenda. You were always mean to me because I gave you a chub. Just admit it.”

“Richie, that’s gross. And the whole pigtails agenda is bullshit, and you know that. You should’ve been mean to me in return. I was such a shithead.”

Richie’s eyes get gooey soft, and Eddie knows where this is going before it actually happens. “You were always the cutest shithead. I never really took your threats seriously because your cheeks would blush this pretty pink color and I just couldn’t take my eyes off them.”

Eddie’s heart is thrashing against his rib cage, ready to leap out and hop all the way to Canada. Richie steps away from the car and extends his arms, bony hands landing on Eddie’s waist. Eddie immediately grabs onto the pointed elbows, and he’s almost annoyed by how practiced that movement is. “Don’t charm me.”

“What? I’m not doing anything, my love.” Richie winks and kisses the tip of Eddie’s nose. “Aaaaand there’s that blush.”

Eddie pushes his lips to the corner of his mouth, trying to force a smile to disappear along with the redness of his cheeks. “It’s kind of sad.”

Richie’s confuzzled expressions will never cease to amaze and entertain Eddie. “What?”

Eddie can’t help but roll his eyes even though he knows that the sentence had disappointing implications. It’s not his fault Richie can’t read his mind by now. “It’s kind of sad that you never really had to try so hard. You flirt as if your life depends on it but…”

“But what?” asks Richie, his voice low and heart-throbbingly soft.

...but I fell for you when you were playing a goddamn video game, and your hair was greasy, and there were chips all over your stupid lap. You were sitting in your goddamn underwear because you spilled some beer you sneaked out of your house and your glasses were cracked everywhere. You probably haven’t showered for days and I didn’t even want to think of the last time you brushed your teeth, but I couldn’t stop looking at you. At the furrow of your perfect brows that sat exactly behind the top of the thick frame. The way your eyes danced around the screen, big and excited. The way your tongue jumped out of your mouth as if it had an extra controller that could help you pass the level you’ve been stuck on. I still remember how it knocked the wind out of me to think of you that way. To want to exist in the space between your lips and touch the small curl that rested on the nape of your neck. I still remember you throwing the controller and burying your face in my lap, dramatically crying about the prejudiced fate of the universe and I never felt more confused in my life. I let myself stroke your hair and the look you gave me almost made my chest explode. I don’t know if you could tell, but I gave my heart away that day. It was all yours. Forever.

Eddie moves closer and connects the lips, soft and slow.

—

For the second time that day Eddie wants to sit down on the ground and cry. Three-year-old style. Everyone’s embrace seems to leave a mark on his back, and when they disconnect, Eddie feels like their hands take away a part of him he will never recover. Richie stands at a distance, puffing on a cigarette and Eddie is getting legitimately concerned over how much the other smokes a day. He might also be a little pissed that Richie didn’t throw a fit and threw him over that bony shoulder, refusing to let go. But maybe that’s the sign of how mature he actually is.

“-and I promise to visit soon.” Eddie should probably feel guilty for ogling his friend from above Bev’s shoulder, but he can’t part with the image of contemplative Richie just yet. Just a little more. Please, I just…I want this to stretch forever and ever and ever.

“Right. Hopefully, I’ll be here for the holidays.” A lie. And they know it’s a lie. Bev nods in understanding, looking over to Sonia’s voluptuous form on the porch, standing by the door like a guard dog, making sure that her precious Eddie-bear doesn’t get carried off by his queer friends and their dirty hands.

Ben is next, and nobody misses the gentle way he puts his hand on Bev’s shoulder as she walks away and they blush in unison, the unspoken love almost painfully adorable. Eddie feels a pang of jealousy, and he instantly feels ashamed. It’s just unfair that people who can be together don’t even take advantage of it. It’s almost like the universe has two perfect middle fingers in front of him at all times.

“Hey, shortie.” Ben hugs him right under the armpits and Eddie lifts off the ground. Not too far up because Ben isn’t actually that tall, but Eddie feels weightless under the firmness of Haystack’s shoulders. God, even Richie’s nicknames rubbed off on me.

“Don’t,” Eddie grunts out the words when his throat feels a little blocked off from the sudden ascent, “call me shortie. It’s not my fault I haven’t gained length since I met all of you.” He’s back on the ground, and he catches the wide grin on Richie’s face before his eyes find the green of Ben’s again.

“I didn’t mean to offend, you know that. Just going to miss you.” Ben has always been like that. A little humorous and very very honest. Painfully so. Eddie hugs him tighter than he thought he was capable of and it’s a different kind of comfort because Ben is a big football guy, and it’s certainly a pleasant change after trashmouth ribs that poked into the small boy’s stomach when they embraced some minutes ago. Before the rest of the gang got here.

Ben leans in to whisper something quickly, and the words will echo through Eddie’s mind in the weeks to come. “He’s going through a lot. Don’t forget about him.”

He’s going through a lot? With what? Why does everyone seem to know things I don’t? Is it their way of ensuring I don’t end up staying here? Eddie’s body goes limp, and his arms fall. He gives Ben a strained smile and a nod. He doesn’t really know what else to say.

Bill is next and he seems to carry heavy melancholy around him wherever he goes, the emerald in his eyes dull as if someone put out the light. It started with Georgie but only got worse over the years. It seems like Mr. Denbrough’s death finally did it to him. Eddie noticed that Stan has been falling into a similar headspace as well. Maybe that’s why the two of them spent so much time together.

Bill places both hands on Eddie’s shoulder, towering over him with silent authority, one that Kaspbrak quietly accepted over the years but also failed to understand the older he got. It was unspoken that Bill was the leader of the group, but it has been more clear lately that Bill lacks the stability that Mike has, for example. Eddie’s heart constricts at the realization that he hasn’t been that close to Bill in the past year and it wasn’t just Richie’s fault that the group hasn’t been spending too much time together. Age just got the best of them, same as the distance that hung like a looming shadow over their lucky seven, quietly waiting to make them all part and suffer.

“I’m guh-guh-gonna miss you, Eh-Eddie,” says Bill with confidence and that specific Denbrough sadness that was reflected in his mom anytime Eddie saw her.

“I’ll miss you too, Billy.” Eddie instantly goes for the hug, slightly embarrassed by the nickname. He hasn’t called him this way since that summer, as if the last bits of innocence has been stripped away from him. From all of them. And it just seemed redundant to try to force it back.

Bill kisses the top of his head and squeezes it tight to his chest. Eddie recognizes the undeniable scent of pine and glue that’s always been engraved in his friend’s clothing. He knows he’ll quickly forget it, but it will come back to him next time they see each other. Whenever that’s going to happen.

Bill steps back and his head turns to Stan who’s standing right next to them, wringing his hands in agitation. Eddie can see some tears in his friend’s eyes, and he leaps forward, holding Stanley tight as if he has the power to put him back together. Stan sobs into his shoulder and he has to hunch lower almost as much as Richie usually does, and Eddie feels tears running down his own cheeks, hot and sticky. They sob for several seconds, but the ugly sounds soon turn into laughter: embarrassed and playful laughter that seems a little out of place, all things considered. But they lean their foreheads against each other and Eddie tries not to think how their sweat is now combined, and how ticklish Stanley’s golden curls are on the side of the small boy’s face.

“You take care of yourself, okay, Eddie?”

Eddie ruffles Stan’s hair and the other irritatedly swats the small hand away, smiling. “You too, Stan. Really.” Stan’s face contorts in understanding, and he steps back to let sprinting Mike swoop Eddie off his feet.

He just got here from the farm, probably drove a bike all the way from his farm judging by the wetness of his shoulders, the dampness of his wife beater that’s pressing into Eddie’s thighs. He can’t help but giggle, an overwhelming amount of affection overcoming him and he feels so fucking happy to have known these people. Something in him breaks a little when they all run up and grab different parts of him, and suddenly he’s parallel to the ground, held by all his friends. Eddie feels weightless and powerful. For the first time since he applied to a school out of state, he feels like he can take over the world. And he will. Small-scale but it’s going to happen nonetheless.

“Time to go, Eddie!” screams Sonia and all the laughter dies down to quiet murmurs of irritation.

Eddie’s body slides against Richie’s, and they embrace awkwardly, half-hugging as the small boy takes control over his slightly numb limbs. Everyone step away in silent understanding, giving the two of them some space to say goodbye. Eddie isn’t even remotely ready to see thick tears sliding down Richie’s pale cheeks, dark eyes blurry behind foggy lenses.

“Richie, don’t cry, please,” says Eddie wiping teardrops off with his thumbs, cradling the tall boy’s jaw, his voice so strained that he thinks he might lose it by the time they reach New York.

“I- I don’t know how…how to do this without you.” Richie’s voice is so raw and thin, it sends needles into the middle of Eddie’s chest. He’d prefer to be stabbed to this interaction.

“Rich, you’re so strong. And I’m always here for you, whatever you need, yeah?” Eddie tilts the other’s face to face him and smiles reassuringly. He doesn't understand why he’s not crying. Almost angry at it. He wants to stomp his foot and scream FEEL, DAMN IT!

“Eds, I-“

“I know.” Eddie turns his head to the side and listens to Richie’s rapid heartbeat, trying to memorize its steady rhythm, one he hopes he’s going to fall asleep to for ages. Richie’s fingers are in his hair, petting and brushing it. Eddie wants the scent of cigarettes to stay on his clothes forever, just so he can remember Richie anytime, anywhere. They stand pressed together until Eddie disconnects, unwilling to let his mother be the reason he can’t hold Richie anymore. He looks into dark brown eyes one last time wishing he had an excuse to just drown in them on this dirty sidewalk, surrounded by six people he loves.

Eddie reluctantly steps away, his arms cold in the absence of Richie’s overheated body, his head empty and heavy. There’s no panic and no pain. He feels so detached from everything, so different already and it terrifies him that the next time they all see each other, they’ll be different people. Eddie stops by his front door, his mom already inside grabbing the last of their provisions and he spares a look at the six young people on the driveway, all unique and perfect, their skin tinted orange in the sunset light. His family. Eddie gives them a small wave, a small smile, and steps back into the house, knowing that the next time he opens it, they’ll be gone as if they’ve never been there at all.

Three hours into the drive he cries in his sleep, dreaming of black curls, smiles that stretch wide, and pretty freckles framing a sharp face.

Perma Tag: @happytozier @studpuffin @j0ys @its-stranger-than-you-think @tinyarmedtrex @d-nbroughs @aizeninlefox (I removed some people who’ve been inactive because I’m not about forcing my work on anyone. Let me know if you want to be added/removed <3)

[vanchlo]

the assistant / chapter eighteen, “down”

hey there!!!!! woah it’s been so long, i am so so sorry!!! it’s so good to be typing all this up and making this post haha and its kinda weird trying to get back into it too, i missed picking the gif and little sneak peeks out for the post on here lol. i hope you’ve all been well and had great holidays!! well i came back to this chapter that was sitting around for awhile and i wrapped up the end of it, and so i figured i would post it. hopefully it isn’t utter trash haha. i really don’t know when the next chapter will be up or if i’m back with this story just to be honest with you, but i thought i would give it another try and my bf like really wanted me to try again for awhile lol hes pretty great, so you have him to thank lmao. i really wanted to say a big thank you to those of you who have sent me lovely messages about the story (im sorry if some got lost :( or i never replied to) and who have been so patient, it means the world and im so excited to share this new one with you because of your continued love and support for this story, because i know youre all so excited. it still amazes me honestly, you guys are the best. but yes i hope you like this, plz plz let me know what you think! i enjoy!!!! :-) 

p.s. - i can’t remember for the fricken life of me how i formatted their texts so be easy on me lol theres not a lot to work with or do, i hope theyre easy to understand :) ugh if only you could change the color of the font on here it would be so much easier sigh 

old chapterzzzzzz!

i know that i probably shouldn’t, and honestly i really don’t know if harry would give a shit, but i thumb at the corner of the file by the label. the fact of being in his hall and not knowing if i should do this or not makes it a little worse.

i take a breath before i stop in front of his closed door. rapping my fist against the door, i wait like any other time. and after harry told me the other day to just come on in if he doesn’t answer by the second time, to just let myself in if it’s something important, i do just that ever so nervously. and with the suspicious as shit file weighing heavily in my arms, i wrap my fingers around the cold tingy metal and twist. the creepy neck feeling and the hot nervous one like i did something wrong floods back to me in a tsunamic like wave when i spot the graying man standing by harry’s desk. 

with a gulp that becomes harder when his dark brown eyes cast over to me along with the weak dimples peeking out of his cheeks aged with lines, suddenly i feel not so great. 

it feels like everybody’s eyes are on the back of my neck when i eventually walk out of the bathroom and back to my desk. when i turn around, there’s nobody watching or staring or prying. just my messed up conscious and paranoid mind, because that’s nice. i discreetly run a finger under my eyes as i pull out the wheely chair and sit back down, lifting the top of my macbook to open it up. holding down the power button, the white apple logo soon appears on my screen. with a sniffle, i pull at the tight waist of these black dress pants before typing my password in.

the plain mountain background loads quickly, and a second later a soft chime sounds. and then there’s another. dragging my eyes to the top right corner of the shiny screen, i see the name i dread maybe the most.

(H in italics and B in bold-italics :-))

12:05pm

please try to be nice with

the costume, pretty

please with a cherry on top?

12:10pm

you’re making me nervous,

becks.

and a new chime just as this message comes in, all fresh and new.

12:23pm

you there, love?

yeah sorry. got busy.

it’s ok.

instead of replying, i venture to chrome and open my email to find too much freaking shit. the third or fourth email is from him, time stamped from around eight am. he probably finished the list up and sent it from home last night, which isn’t too weird for him. sometimes it comes the night before, if he’s feeling generous or something like that.

12:29pm

what’s this file you want?

what?

on the list. it just says ‘find the

heartwood file for me asap and bring

it to me’. you need to learn to be more

specific you know, i thought we talked

about this.

12:30pm

oh yeah. that. sorryyyyyy,  i

know we spoke about

it. yeah, i need the

criminal file on bertie

heartwood. it’s not on the

online database as a digital file, so

you’ll have to go down

to the basement where

they keep all of the real paper ones.

you’ve been down there

the one time right? it

wasn’t too bad, huh?

yeah it was a jolly old time, i loved the

creepy old geezer sitting in the door shoving his face with a twinkie who couldn’t help me for shit. i almost had

an asthma attack from all of the dust

and i don’t have asthma!

damn you’re hilarious,

becks.

shutup, i’m being serious.

:) 

don’t send me a fucking smiley face.

first i have to do all of that awful filing

and now i have to go down to the

basement to the papers room where who knows

how many rats live with the creepy old

guy staring at my bum and boobs. watch, i probably

will never even get back up here to

17 because the elevator will have

stopped working, or the weirdo shanked me and i bled out. and god, don’t even

get me fucking started on the

cobwebs down there.

language! and would you chill out? there

are no bloody rats in my

law firm

i heard something the last time i was

down there trying and failing to find

that witman file for you, and i turned

around and i swear to god i saw a

tail, harry.

stop it, you did not see

a bleeding rat down there.

and i keep my firm

blooming spotless, so hush.

you still need to find a new clerk guy

down there who isn’t a 80 year old

who probably has an arrest or two

having to do with pedophilia and porn.

i bet you fifty pounds if you had the

techies look at his computer you’d find pornhub.com in his web history.

bloody hell becks. he

does not. jerry’s background

is spotless. ya really think

i’d take a bet on somebody

like that?

well all he does is basically just guard

about fifty dusty shelves of files, so

yeah maybee.

fuck you, you little shit.

uh no, i only get to call you that.

sure you do.

shutup.

can i pleaseeeeee not go down there?

i was considering it, but

not after all that lousy stuff

you said about the papers

room and nice old jerry.

he is not nice, harry! he’s so rude.

doesn’t even help me when i have a

question, scouts honor.

no way, you were a girl scout?

ya sell all those yummy boxes

of biscuits, too?

shut up.

ya better be nice, or i just

might make you come to

that ball with me after all,

you little shit.

stop calling me that, that’s my line.

would you rather i come down

and give you another nice

tour? i don’t really want to,

because i’m supposed to be

doing this skype call with

somebody from ny, and

hell thats why i asked you

to do it.

god, don’t be too honest there.

i’m sorry, just not looking forward

to this skype call. and amber

won’t stop blowing up my phone,

she’s in a real mood today.

what’s new with that?

be nice, becks.

i’m just stating the truth, that’s all.

his reply is lagged, and i tap my fingers against my thigh as i wait for the word ‘read’ to show up under my message. and more so for the little bubble to show up. i don’t know if i’m thankful or what when the t-rex rings and i drag my hand over with a huff to pick it up.

“styles and lawson, this is becky,” i answer the most mock cheerfully that i can do on a monday.

“hi, i was wondering who i could talk to about how i could go about setting up a consultation with mr. styles?” a chipper voice replies.

“i’m mr. styles’ assistant, so i can gladly answer that question for you,” i reply.

ten unnecessary minutes later, i finally set the phone down. and when i turn to wake up my computer, there’s a red bubble stuck to my little messages icon. with a shake of my head, i click on it and find harry’s texts. but i hardly get a chance to read them, when his name pops up in the corner of my screen again, but this time he’s calling me.

sticking my hand into my drawer, i pull my buzzing phone out and swipe my thumb across the screen.

“god, what do you want now?” i reply fake annoyed.

“ya betta watch it, becks. actually ‘m surprised ya answered, ya weren’t replying t’ me texts.”

“i’m sorry, i had to explain to some old lady on the phone that just because you’re such a greaaaat lawyer, that you don’t take all cases that come at you, and she wasn’t that happy because of that and because she doesn’t really know how to work email to send me a consult. actually i don’t think she even has one.”

“oh, i see. well sorry i blew up yer mac, but was hopin’ ya’d go an’ get that file fer me soon. pleeeease, becks?” he says, apology heavy in his tone, before it switches to something sickeningly sweet. what a little shit.

“can’t like, you call down there and just have them send it up somehow?”

“this isn’ a bloody post office, becks. ’s jus’ one li’l file, tha’s actually real important. an’ i need it, i wouldn’ ask ya t’ go get it if i didn’ need it.”

“suuuuure,” i sigh, browsing through this week’s list quickly, but it’s not much use because this isn’t the final length. it’ll just keep getting added to as the week carries on. the usual.

“come on, becks. i won’ make ya go down there fer awhile afta this, ok?”

“weak proposition, mr. lawyer,” i reply sassily, pushing my hair behind my ear as i open another email reading a consult from a possible client.

“‘m not gonn’ bribe you.”

“why not?”

“you cheeky li’l thing you, jus’ go get tha bloody file before i come out there.”

“wow, you’re soooo scary,” i tease, hearing his fed up huff.

“jus’ go get tha damn file, you bloody li’l shit,” he chuckles softly. “now i really hafta go, tha bloke’s s’posed t’ be callin’ any mo’ now.”

“no, wait!”

“whaaaat?” he groans.

“i forgot where i look down there, because you know there’s like fifty shelves with boxes of files on them.”

“bloody hell, becks, just ask jerry.”

“i am not talking to that creeper ever again in my life,” i whisper, lowering my voice when somebody walks by. “and he is soooo a creeper, harry! the last time i was down there, i was looking through a box of files that was on the bottom shelf, and when i looked up the bloke’s eyes were glued to my cleavage!”

what comes next is a little explosion of giggles from his side, and i have to resist rolling my eyes because it’s not as good when he can’t see it. since we’re on the phone, even though he’s like . . well right over there.

“becks, yer too damn funny fer yer own good, darlin’,” he gets out in a long titter, and i deal him back a sigh. “ok don’ botha with jerry then, but ’s organized by tha alphabet if i rememba right from tha last time i was down there. but yeah ’s just by last name, so it shouldn’ be too hard t’ find, love.”

“wow, thanks for calling me dumb.”

“‘m not callin’ you dumb, becks!” he laughs, and when i hear the familiar ringing sound faintly i know it’s his skype. “hey sorry, that bastard’s ringin’ me, so i gott’ go. but if ya ‘ave any troubles, jus’ text me an’ ‘ll try t’ get back t’ ya fairly quick.”

“ok, don’t get too bored,” i joke, hearing his sweet giggle for only a second.

“thanks, babe, don’ die down there,” he replies, and i only get a scoff in before he says a quick goodbye.

+

with a dreaded touch and an exaggerated groan, i stab the lit up plastic button labeled ‘bmt’ and take a few steps and turn to lean against the back wall of the elevator i’m alone in. with a soft hum, the doors squeeze back together and it starts to move down as i stare ahead at my blurry reflection in the shiny doors.

12:50pm

this really fricken sucks,

like a lot.

i stab my thumb at the ‘send’ button and let out a huff after pressing the lock button waiting to arrive in the moldy scary basement. the red led number above the doors falls one by one, sticking at ‘9’ before it drops again.

buzz buzz.

12:54pm

hush, don’t start being a

whine baby on me now.

i told you i won’t make you

go down there for awhile

after this.

you better not.

oh stop being so dramatic.

i think i got that from you.

you’re just hilarious.

why thank you.

now get off your phone and

go get that file.

i’m on the elevator as we

speak, god chill!

you chill, and stop taking the

lord’s name.

since when do you care?

doesn’t matter, now i gotta go.

this bloke is almost back from

whatever the hell he had to do,

and i gotta pay attention, this call

is important.

ok, sorry for bothering you.

don’t, you’re not bothering me.

why do ya always think you’re a

bother becks? but

text me if you need me for any

help with finding the file, and i’ll

try my best, i just might take a

bit to reply.

thank you, harry. you know

you’re probably the best, right?

:)

thanks, sweetheart :) you’re

pretty darn great yourself.

you’re welcome, and thanks :)

i wait for a quick witted reply, and after a little bit i think he should have replied by now with how quick his replies were coming. and so i stuff my phone away in my pocket, and look up to find the doors peeling apart. i take in a deep breath and step off the elevator, pulling my long gray sweater around me at the change of temperature. fuckkkkkk, i do not need this too.

with shivering shoulders and chattering teeth, i tiptoe down the hall - because well there’s not a fucking soul around and i feel like it’s too quiet and shit is going to echo - and soon spot the little sign that reads ‘file room’. but ever since i stepped my first foot into this form, it’s always been called ‘the papers room’ for a reason i don’t know, and that i should probably ask harry one day. or asher.

sure enough, wrinkly and graying and not to mention balding jerry whitter is sat at his black desk scrolling away on his silver desktop. probably looking at girl on girl action, or something really weird, i just have a weird feeling. it takes him too long to look up and when he does, i savor the look on his face because fuck i know he was looking at porn. that git.

with a forced smile stretching across his stubbly chubby cheeks, his thin lips you could hardly discern from his gray mustache part, “oh hullo, love. come down to find another file. ya need any help finding anything?” he says ever so cheerily, but i know it’s fake.

“uh no thanks, i think i got it,” i reply, trying a smile that he returns, but it’s last about a second. with a shiver and my arms pulled around myself, i walk past the wimpy coworker of mine dressed in a long sleeved gray button down and slacks. i don’t even want to think about those slacks and any other part of his body for that matter.

that thought gives me another shiver as i pass the tall gray metal shelves of cardboard box heavy with ancient files. all i know is that most of the files that harry and the other lawyers used and need these days are online digitally, and that somebody who’s not fucking jerry is in the process of scanning all of these to get them online. but i can imagine there’s a point where it’s just been enough, and what’s the point if you don’t need them? at least that’s what i think.

clearing my throat and trying to do the same with my mind, i bow my head and lift my hand to find the hot pink post it i scribbled down the info on, knowing i’ll most likely forget.

bertie heartwood

criminal files

1989

with a huff, i stuff it back away in the pocket of my sweater, pulling the front tighter across my chest. glancing a hasty look over my shoulder back at jerry, all i know is that i’m glad he’s not looking me up, and i don’t bother to see what he’s staring at on his computer. bad idea, becky, bad idea. and so i cross my arms over my chest, wincing at my annoying ass bra digging into my side as i look at the little sign on the very left of the shelf by the aisle. ‘a-f’ it reads. i try to hold back the groan as i walk down the long ass aisle, and turn to peek in the next one. like the other side, the very last shelf has another little sign reading ‘g-m’ and i drag my feet down to the beginning. first i go too far and i’m stuck in the g’s, and then when i veer to the right of the aisle i’m in the fucking j’s, because god. ughhhh.

i almost jump out of my fucking flats when my hip buzzes, and i look down to find the screen of my phone lit up. the smile is hard to push down at the sight of his words, and what they are.

12:55pm

it going alright? you get lost

down there, bub?

no, not yet. but apparently

finding the h’s in this aisle for

g-m is harder than it looks.

the screen goes dark as i stare at it waiting for his response, but it doesn’t come right away, and so i assume he’s caught up with his skype call. i don’t even know why he bothered anyways, especially since he joked somewhat about me leaving him alone. i turn my attention and eyes back to the boxes upon boxes of files waiting in front of me. after awhile, i finally get a little warmer and find the h’s. you’d think it wouldn’t be too hard to find ‘he-‘ especially when there shouldn’t be that big of a variety of files here, but yeah no. first there’s habergram. haberly. habittle. hack. hackney. hackman. like i’ve never seen so many ‘ha-’s in my entire life. what the fuck, harry?

my phone says it’s a few ticks away from quarter after one when i finally locate the ‘he-’s and then it’s not too bad then, considering ‘hea-‘ is right in the beginning, or so i hope. but after a minute or two, i finally finally the little label reading ‘heartwood, bertie’ and pull out the frayed dusty black file.

“ya find all that you need?” jerry questions when i walk up to his desk, much to my dismay.

“yep, thanks,” i answer, plucking a clicky pen from his coffee mug full of them. hmm so maybe the coffee mug of pens is a thing here, huh?

dreadfully so, i lean down and press the pen to the clipboard, but this time i remember to hold the file to my chest so the perv can’t look down my shirt. fucking gross. first i scribble down the date, time of 1:34pm, the name of the file as well as the handy dandy code on the lip of the file i have to locate first and then make it out and yada yada it’s too much work really, and finally i put down my autograph at the end.

jerry and i exchange small ‘thanks’ and he mutters a ‘bye’ i fully ignore, before i peel out of there and get back on the elevator afraid to be down there another minute more.

1:35pm

you still on the phone?

a dictionary sized ‘delivered’ pops up under my message after a moment, but no read receipt before i check my notifications and a few other things as the elevator brings me up. i’m happy when it sounds a long ding and the doors open, letting me breath again as i step out onto seventeen. the keys are clicking and the phones are a ringing as i walk back to my desk, veering for people in slacks and skirts rushing with their cups of tea and stacks of paper before i swing down harry’s hall. i know that i probably shouldn’t, and honestly i really don’t know if harry would give a shit, but i thumb at the corner of the file by the label. the fact of being in his hall and not knowing if i should do this or not makes it a little worse, so all i get is a glance of a wacky mugshot of a weird looking guy before i let it fall closed only a few steps away from harry’s door.

doing a once over for anybody busting me, even though i know it’s not going to happen or so i hope, i take a breath before i stop in front of his closed door. rapping my fist against the door, i wait like any other time. and after harry told me the other day to just come on in if he doesn’t answer by the second time, to just let myself in if it’s something important, i do just that ever so nervously. and with the suspicious as shit file weighing heavily in my arms, i wrap my fingers around the cold tingy metal and twist.

the creepy neck feeling and the hot nervous one like i did something wrong floods back to me in a tsunamic like wave when i spot the graying man standing by harry’s desk. with a gulp that becomes harder when his dark brown eyes cast over to me along with the weak dimples peeking out of his cheeks aged with lines, suddenly i feel not so great.

“u-uh can i help you with something, sir? i’m sorry, but nobody’s allowed in here without harry already-,” i begin, looking over his combed back thinning hair and broad-set frame.

“i got it, becks,” a voice says quickly, and when i turn my head, harry’s slipping into the room with his hard eyes set on the stranger standing in front of the both of us.

his emerald’s a different body of water from the man’s before us fall to me and i see something in his face that i don’t like. “are you sure?” i say quietly to him.

he nods his head and gives me a small smile, but i don’t know how much i believe it. “‘m sure, love, jus’ gimme a mo’ with him, alright?��� he replies, patting my arm with his hand, and i don’t know why or how or what, but i catch his hand when it falls from me. it’s almost awkward and i don’t know what i’m doing or what my little half hatched plan is, but i hold it for a moment along with his gaze and last ditch murmur of his name. “’s fine, becks, promise. why dontcha go take yer break now, yeah?” he continues, giving me another reassuring smile that i don’t know if i can handle or accept, or whatever.

“ok,” i say, dropping his hand but not before i give it a little squeeze, one that he returns warmly. “let me know if you need anything.”

“will do,” he replies, before i turn away and head for the door, holding the image of his off smile and his whole off look in my mind. and the other thing sitting on his face that i don’t think i’ve ever seen before. nerves.

the door opens swiftly with a click, and as my back is to harry and the odd old guy, i hear the beginning of his brash voice. the voice of the other harry. “what, ya not know how t’ work a phone or sumthin’, can ya not gimme a quick ring befo’ ya jus’ swing by wheneva ya bloody like? i have a job ya know - people i represent an’ stuff i gott’ do, meetings i hafta go t’ an-“

“i bleedin’ built this place, ya not rememba that or sumthin’ . .” the stranger booms back in the same accent identical to harry’s, giving me a jump and making this whole thing even weirder. and with that, making me even more confused.

i blink hard before opening my eyes as the last bit of harry’s cold words spat at the stranger melt away from my ears with the distance i put between us, but i catch deep shouts and a raspy one in return. one i know all too well. and it hits me in the gut. because for some odd fucking reason, i want to spin around and stomp back over to his door and do i don’t know, something to get it to stop. to get the man to go away, a man i have a bad feeling about i know that already, and so i can wipe that scared nervous feeling from harry and make it all better.

but i know i shouldn’t and all of things, i know that i can’t. it’s not like that, and with a sad thought, i think it probably will never be like that. with another click, i step inside the break room and pop open the fridge, wishing the can of soda was something else. something still fizzy, but heavy to the taste and not sweet. something a happy medium like my favorite wine coolers, which only sends me into another dark thought about the man i just left. the man i care too fricken much about. fucking shit.

+

i knock the back of my middle knuckle against the screen of the kiosk, tapping hard at my numbers before pushing open the door to get back to work. i drop the black file i never actually put in harry’s hand on the last rack of the new little black file rack on my desk. i plop back down onto my chair, hearing a squeak i roll my eyes at. but my ass hardly hits the stiff chair when i hear shouting from far away and then a door slam, and when i think i recognize one of the voices, i fly out of that seat.

almost running, i bolt over to harry’s hallway in time to have the burly pissed old guy nearly charging past me. he gives me a dirty look that immediately reminds me too much of harry’s for some odd reason, before he rounds the corner and stomps away. with a gulp, my feet move again from being still and i carefully tread down to harry’s door. for what feels like the hundredth time, i hesitate when i reach my hand out to wrap around the door, but this time a feeling burns in my gut that i should and that i need to do this.

and with that, i turn the handle slowly even though an urgency pricks at my skin to turn it faster and harder, and everything else. i spot him almost instantaneously. back to me. shoulders taut and then shaking. little sad sounds carrying across the room from him.

i don’t know what to do. my body is rigid, every single fricken part of it. and so when i try to move my legs- hell just a muscle, i can’t. the fear immobilizes me. it restricts me as the pained sounds of what can only be his crying pricks at my ears, like the sharp end of little pins poking your skin, one by one, getting worse and worse. a breath is stuck in my lungs, not going anywhere along with the rest of me. and it only makes this worse, when i didn’t think that was an option.

all of a sudden the sniffles and the hoarse throaty sounds cease altogether, and i see his shoulders twitch. then a hand run through his impeccable curls that were messy for only a second, if that. all of a sudden he turns around and as if the sight of his red rimmed glassy eyes devoid of a care but riddled with emotion weren’t enough to send my mental self crashing to the ground, the look on his face when he sees me standing there with a foot out the door and the other in kills me altogether.

a syllable begins on his tongue i see. maybe my name. it pains me to even think it, but maybe another cry. or something possibly worse if that could happen: the beginning of a yell. the second one returns with a kick as i watch his eyes fill with tears again before he looks away with a knuckle to his eyes.

“i-i’m sorry, i don’t mean to barge in-,” i begin, but it all comes out wrong, and nothing right. it’s a mess, just like me. and well him, too. i don’t know what he’s thinking or doing, as his head is bent down looking at something on his desk, probably just finding something to do to occupy the embarrassment and the awkwardness that is all me. all fucking me. but i can’t blame him. because hell, i wouldn’t know what to do if he found me crying, well again. “harry,” is all that feels right and as i watch him poke his finger at a mini yellow legal pad with his gorgeous scrawling on it, a sob stutters in his throat. and i’m fucking gone.

within a blink or two, i’m standing in front of him. unsure of what to do. reach out, or go away. his adam’s apple bobs with a gulp before he lifts his chin slowly to look at me, and kill me with that defeated drowned look that makes me feel all sorts of horrible. for him. all for him. and because of what the fuck can i do?

but it’s more like what can’t i when i tug on his sleeve to bring him over to me until he’s close enough to wrap my arms around. that’s too late though, because his are already going around me and by the time i get mine around him, his face is bent into my neck with his hot tears melting into it. as he melts into me with throaty sobs leaving his lips.

i don’t know what to do, or what to say for that matter. i don’t even realize i’m doing it, or hell that i’m doing anything when i find my fingers lost in his hair combing through the end of his crazy curls, and drifting down to the long expanse of his back i rub in circles. through the easy silk of his shirt, i feel his taut strong back as it shakes with each hoarse cry and rises with a rattly breath that tickles against my now damp neck. we stand there for the next ten minutes, his head glued to my shoulder and my arms surrounding him and not moving an inch no matter how tired they get. but i hold onto him tight, my neck slick with tears and his breaths loud and hiccupy.

with every hiccupy cry that falls from his lips, my arms wrap around him a little tighter and my hands rub a little harder.