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ronniesshoes · 4 years ago

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Keep Yourself Alive

Previous / read it on ao3

A note: There’s a brief mention of J.K. Rowling, and I just want to make it clear that the tweet Freddie talks about is made up and in no way refers to her recent transphobic tweets. That part of the fic was written almost a year ago, and the fic itself takes place in 2018. If any of my trans and nonbinary readers want me to delete it I will, no questions asked.

Another, less important note: I had to post this in a rush so I might go back and edit a few things once I have time to read through it. No major changes, I promise!

Massive thanks to my wonderful friend @theseasofrhye for always cheering me on. Love you to pieces!

“What?”

Freddie looks up from his idle sketching at the sound of Brian’s voice. It doesn’t sound like him at all, his voice weak and stuffed with a choked up sort of disbelief. Freddie tries to catch his eye, but Brian is staring into space, listening intently.

“How—” Brian tries. Clears his throat. “How long have you known?”

His nostrils flare, and his jaw is tight, but he doesn’t look angry.

“Right,” Brian says tersely. Freddie wishes he knew what they were talking about. “I have to go now. No, I—. I’ll talk to you later, okay? I love you, too.”

Brian puts his phone down at the table, staring at it for a long while until he finally looks at Freddie. His eyes are glazed over with tears, and there’s a tell-tale twitch to his lips. Freddie rushes to his side.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, kneeling in front of Brian when he drops his gaze to the floor. Brian’s eyes land briefly on his before they skitter away again. Freddie puts his hands on Brian’s knees.

Brian is silent for a long while. His eyes seem to have fixed on a point behind Freddie’s left shoulder, and his jaw works hard to prevent tears from falling. Freddie gives him the space he needs, worried but aware Brian will clam up if forced to speak.

Finally, Brian opens his mouth. Closes it again and swallows. Freddie rubs a soothing hand up and down his leg.

“Dad—” He lets out a shaking breath. “My dad has cancer.”

The words hit Freddie like a punch in the gut, and he feels his throat close up. “Oh honey.”

He wordlessly squeezes Brian’s leg. He doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know how to help. It’s not fair that this is happening to Brian of all people, Brian who works so hard and has already been through so much.

“It’s his lungs,” Brian says, voice suddenly stripped off emotion, “they reckon it’s caused by his smoking. Among other things.”

“How are they treating it?” Freddie asks, and his voice comes out deceptively calm.

Brian shrugs. “They don’t know yet. Chemo probably. Might operate.”

Brian’s trouser leg is rough against his palm, and Freddie feels helpless and inadequate. He knows it’s not about him, that whatever he says won’t make the pain go away, but he cannot stand seeing Brian hurt like this.

“How do you feel?” His voice is gone now, reduced to a whisper.

“Angry,” Brian says. “Helpless.”

“Wh—”

“He’s always lived like this,” Brian interrupts, jaw working. “Mum’s tried to talk to him, but he wouldn’t hear. Continued to smoke, continued to eat like shit. And now we’re paying the price.”

“Brian …”

“Why’s he doing this? Why—” The front door bangs open, and Brian’s mouth snaps shut.

“Do you want me to tell them?” Freddie asks quietly as he moves to stand.

Brian shrugs.

There’s the clunk of boots hitting the ground, a rustle of fabric, then a voice, unmistakably Roger’s, “aha! Told you they were here.”

Freddie glances at Brian, but he’s picking at his nails, mind elsewhere.

John and Roger enter then, both wearing equally big grins. Their presence seems loud and jarring.

“Missed us?” Roger asks, looping his arms around Brian from behind and pressing a loud kiss to his cheek. “Hi.”

Freddie tries to suppress a wince, but John’s sharp eyes pick up on it immediately. He looks at Brian, then back at Freddie.

“Hi,” Brian says, voice strange. Freddie’s heart races. It’s like watching a cat crossing the road about to be run over—he knows the blow is going to be fatal, but there’s nothing he can do to stop it.

Roger frowns and removes his arms. “Are you alright?”

Brian nods but doesn’t answer. He gets up to pull open one of the cupboard doors.

Roger looks after him, eyebrows drawn together. Then he relaxes. “Forgot my cigarettes, I’m just gonna go out and have one. I’m dying for a smoke.”

Brian visibly tenses. Freddie is half out of his chair before he realises there’s nothing he can do. Roger and John send him equally alarmed looks.

“I think Iʼm gonna go for a walk,” Brian says, voice hoarse and very much not looking at any of them.

"Of course dear," Freddie says, wanting so badly to go with him, but recognising his need for being alone. "We'll be here when you get back."

Brian nods stiffly and crosses the living room floor. Freddie listens for the swish of his coat, the stomp of boots. Soon after, the door closes.

Roger and John turn towards him simultaneously. "What's wrong with him?"

Freddie takes a deep breath, looks into their concerned faces. His nails bite into the palm of his hand. "He just got a call from his parents," he says, heart clenching. "His dad has cancer"

Roger's eyebrows draw down in obvious distress, and he’s grabbing the back of Brian’s vacated chair. A flicker of emotion shows on John's face.

“How bad is it?” Roger asks at last. His voice is a hoarse whisper.

"I don't know," Freddie says, matching his volume, "they were still looking into treatment. I don't know if Brian was told which stage it was in."

A long, uncomfortable silence permeates the flat as they process. Freddie feels sick with worry.

"Fuck," Roger says, dumping himself into the chair, and the breaking of the silence works like magic.

"I don't know what he needs," Freddie says, feeling small under the weight of his concerns, "I'm afraid he'll shut us out, that he’ll do something stupid."

"I don't think he will," John says. "We've all dealt with grief. He'll come around soon enough."

"What about the tour?" Freddie asks, hating himself as soon as the words leave his mouth.

"Let's give him some time, he'll decide what's best for him. Worst case we find someone to fill in, but let's not worry unnecessarily. I’m sure we’ll know more once he’s had time to process."

Roger scrapes his chair back.

"Where are you going?" Freddie asks, reaching to pull him back by his shirt.

John grabs him by the wrist and shakes his head mutely. His hand finds the back of Freddie’s neck, fingers moving in a gentle caress.

The door slams, and Freddie slumps back. John's touch is comforting, and now that they're alone, he feels tears well up in his eyes. Unable to stop them, and knowing John doesn't care, he lets them fall.

"It's so unfair," he whispers, and John pulls a chair over and sits down. Freddie leans against him, and John wraps his arms around him.

"I know," John says.

"Does it hurt you?" The words come out strangled, but he suppresses his urge to hide his face in John's shoulder and instead looks at him, needing to know. John hesitates.

"It feels strange," he says, "numbing, in a way. Am I supposed to help him because I’ve been through the same thing? Even if I wanted to, I can't offer words of comfort because my own situation is an example of how it can end in spite of all hope and prospects."

Freddie tightens his hold around John's waist. "It’s not your fault,” he whispers, fingers curling in the fabric of his jumper, “if anything you're a perfect example of how life goes on. There's comfort in that, too."

John drops a kiss to his hair. "We'll have to see how he's feeling when he comes back."

"I wish it hadn't happened," Freddie says, "it's not fair."

John makes a noise at the back of his throat. "No, it's not."

"He looked so happy just half an hour ago,” Freddie says, heart aching. “He and Roger seem to have made up finally."

John hums. "It’s a good thing he has Roger to talk to. I think it’ll make it easier."

“I love Roger, but he’s not exactly the nurturing type, is he?" Freddie says, listening to the steady beat of John’s heart.

John lifts one shoulder in a shrug. "He can be alright. I think he dislikes feeling useless."

"He and me both," Freddie sighs, rubbing at the drying trail of tears on his cheeks. "When did life get this complicated?"

John smiles. "When we grew up and discovered that our parents have their own struggles and can’t protect us. But life has become more interesting since then, don't you think?"

"I suppose.”

“You suppose,” John repeats, teasing, “don’t give me that. You love it when life is complicated. And if it isn’t, you’ll make it that way.”

“That feels decidedly backhanded,” Freddie says, grabbing John by the knee and shaking it.

John laughs. “You know what I mean. You love a good challenge.”

“I don’t love it when my best friend’s father has cancer,” Freddie says, feeling tired and fragile.

“That’s not the greatest news to receive, I’ll admit,” John says, “but it’s gonna be alright, don’t you think? We’ll be alright.”

“Hm,” Freddie says, decidedly unconvinced.

John is silent for a while. Freddie looks up, searching the familiar features. John meets his eyes. “Do you have any paper at hand?”

♛ ♛ ♛

“Alright, what’s next?” Freddie asks, pushing his finished drawing aside.

"Draw Roger wearing a top hat and a cape made of kittens," John says, giggling as he surveys the drawing.

"Made of?"

John laughs harder. "Not like a fur cape. I want actual, live kittens."

"How is that even gonna work?" Freddie demands. John's laughter is infectious.

"I thought that maybe if they all held paws they could stay together? Or tails?"

Freddie leans forward, elbows on the table. "There's no way Roger could get kittens to do that."

"No, really it's their shot, they're just using him as a prop. They've dreamt of this, Freddie, dreamt of it for ages. They just want to be famous. Like we do."

"I'm not sure your story is plausible," Freddie says, but he picks up his pen anyway. "Alright, how long have I got for this one?"

"It's always funnier the longer you spend on it because you just mess it up even more," John says, “five minutes?”

"I think maybe it’s your turn," Freddie says, lightly kicking John’s ankle under the table.

"Alright," John says, picking up a sheet of paper and reaching for a pen. "What do you want me to draw?"

Freddie purses his lips, looking to the ceiling in thought. He smiles. "I want you to draw Brian in space,” he says, “but make it gay."

"Brian and Roger in space, then?"

"John!" he says, "it's not official yet, we have to pretend we don't know anything."

"Right. Because they’re here right now."

"We don't know anything before they decide to tell us," Freddie says firmly. He’s certain it won’t be long—he and Brian have a wine night planned in a few days. "And anyway, I was thinking more along the lines of burlesque."

"What?"

"Brian," Freddie says, doodling a mop of hair on a previous drawing.

"Brian doing burlesque in space?"

"Yes," Freddie says, looking into John’s skeptic eyes. "I'm sure that's gonna be just wonderful."

John raises his eyebrows but doesn’t argue. "Right. How will I know you're not peeking if we're doing it at the same time?"

"Hm," Freddie says, looking around. He notices a scarf draped over Rogers' vacated chair and reaches for it. "Blindfolds!"

"One of those days, eh?"

Freddie laughs. "If you don't trust me without ..."

"Oh, I definitely don't,” John says, eyes on the scarf as Freddie runs it through his hands. “We need another one though."

"The tea towel?"

"It's dirty," John says.

"I can use it," Freddie says, even though he doesn't really want to. Anything that’s been that close to the sink probably shouldn’t come anywhere near his respiratory system.

"I think Brian's got a scarf in the hall," John says, pushing his chair back. A moment later he reappears with the ugliest scarf Freddie has ever had the misfortune of laying his eyes upon.

He makes a face. "Is that—?"

"I know,” John says, throwing Freddie the scarf, “think his mum made it."

“That explains so much,” Freddie says, “still, you’re supposed to go against your parents’ weird tendencies and beliefs, not adopt them.”

John makes a noise of amusement, sitting down opposite of Freddie.

Freddie holds up the scarf. “Do you—?”

John grins. "I think you'd look just lovely."

"Well, you won't be able to see me anyway," Freddie says, throwing John the other scarf. “I should divorce myself on the spot if I could see myself now.”

“You talk so funny sometimes,” John says, eyes crinkling.

“It’s called expressiveness, darling.”

“It’s called drama,” John says, folding his scarf with quick hands.

“Unimportant,” Freddie tells him, securing his scarf over his eyes and picking up a pen. "How long?"

"Two minutes," John says, and Freddie puts his pen to the sheet of paper in front of him. "But wait, we need to set a timer."

Freddie pauses. "Alright, you ready?"

"I can't put the timer on with a scarf over my eyes,” John says. Freddie can hear him move about.

"Then set the timer and tell me when you're ready.”.

"Alright," John says a moment later, "timer's on, blindfold's ... almost on. Right, I'm ready. Go!"

At the word, Freddie starts sketching. He's not entirely sure how he'll deal with the kittens yet, but John did say it was their moment, so they should probably be in the spotlight. He outlines Roger’s silhouette with light lines, doesn’t forget the top hate, then starts from where he thinks he sketched Roger’s feet, working his way up, stacking kittens on top of each other until the timer rings.

He takes off his blindfold and loses a snort.

There are kittens everywhere.

He thinks he's done a decent job of sketching a vaguely human-shaped figure, but in no way does it resemble Roger, not even when he tilts his head and squints. The top hat is pretty good but on his shoulder rather than his neck, and the furry blobs he's pretty sure are supposed to be kittens are everywhere—some are on the figure’s head, others on him, and the cape is at least four centimeters too far to the left. Disturbingly enough, his crotch is also covered by a kitten, if the whiskers and almond-shaped eyes are anything to go by. Speaking of eyes, for some reason, Roger's only got one.

"I like it," John says, leaning over the table to look at Freddie’s drawing. "Very Picasso. Wanna see mine?"

At Freddie’s nod, John slides the drawing towards him, picking up Freddie’s own to inspect it at a closer range.

Freddie looks at the drawing. The hair he got right, but there's neither burlesque or space unless he counts the dots and short lines which Freddie guesses are supposed to be stars. The legs are long and consist only of one line each, and the nose takes up most of his face. The resemblance is uncanny.

"Well, where’s your drawing?" Freddie asks, "this is just a picture of Brian in space dancing. Where'd you get it?"

John laughs. "I think they’d both be even better if they got some colour. Have you got any markers?"

"Have I got markers?" Freddie says, offended by the very question, "I haven't spent hundreds of pounds worth of markers for you to have the audacity to ask me if I've got any! The nerve!"

"Sorry," John says, giggling. "Can we use your markers then? I'm very sorry."

"You better be," Freddie says, and pushes his chair back. "I'll give you markers."

In his room, he empties his drawers, collects every single marker he owns and gathers them in his arms, walks back into the living room and spills them all on the table in front of John just to make a point.

"That's a lot of markers," John says.

"Of course it is," Freddie says, sitting down opposite him again.

John sends him a smile. "Wanna switch?"

"What?"

"The drawings."

Freddie reclaims his drawing. "Oh yes."

♛ ♛ ♛

Freddie is not sure how long they've been colouring, but he's almost done when the sound of the front door makes him look up. A moment later, Brian and Roger appear together, Roger looking serious, Brian drained and washed out but managing a smile in their direction as they pass them. They disappear into Freddie's room, the door clicking shut behind them, and Freddie instantly feels sick. He didn't mean to forget, didn’t mean to have fun while Brian is most like going through hell and back again, but he hadn't spared him a thought while he was with John.

John's foot brushes against his own underneath the table, and he looks up.

"Don't feel bad," John whispers, "Roger's taking care of it."

Freddie knows that, knows that Roger is handling it just fine despite his earlier comment, but the feeling that he should be helping won't leave him.

“Wanna switch?” John asks carefully, gesturing to his drawing, “I’ll do the background.”

"I'm not really in the mood for this anymore," he admits.

"That's fine," John says, "we'll clean up. Do you want to be alone?"

Freddie shakes his head vigorously. "Please no."

Freddie looks at him for a moment. It scares him to put words to his feelings. He's always relied on sex to distract himself from his own emotions, and moreso when his partner started asking questions he couldn't answer.

"I just want to lie with you," he says.

John brushes his fingers over his arm. "We'll do that. Want to go to my room?"

“Hm,” he replies, fisting a hand in John’s jumper. He breathes deeply, tries to make his own heartbeat match that of John’s. “Have you made your bed?” He thinks he needs to lie down and be coddled.

He can hear John smile by the way air leaves his nose in an exhale. “You know, I woke up today and I was just about to, but then I thought, better wait, you never know when an unmade bed might come in handy.”

Freddie smiles tiredly and lets himself be pulled out of the chair and into John’s bedroom.

The mess seems worse than usual and it irks him, makes him feel jittery, almost.

When he doesn’t settle against the wall as he usually does, John looks at him, surprised. “What’s wrong?”

“I can’t look at the mess. Just, you go in, I’ll have my back to it.”

“I can clean it, it shouldn’t take 10 minutes.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Freddie says, even though it does. He feels worn out and confused like he’s just woken up from an accidental nap.

John picks up his huge Lord of the Rings book from his nightstand and holds it out for Freddie. “Here,” he says, “to keep you entertained.”

Freddie looks at the book, suspecting it weighs about the third of his own body weight.

“I’m not getting into bed with that,” he says, “what if it lands on me, it could kill me.”

“How would it land on you?” John asks, a note of amusement in his voice.

“Surprise attack?” Freddie replies, sitting down on the bed.

“Alright, suit yourself,” John says, putting the book back on his nightstand to start collecting the clothes strewn across the floor.

Freddie lies down and buries his face in John’s pillow. It doesn’t smell wrong exactly, but it also definitely doesn’t smell like someone who’s been sleeping alone. “Why do your sheets always smell of Roger?”

“I’ll let you figure that one out yourself,” John says, dumping his armful of clothes in his hamper.

“He takes up quite a lot of space, doesn’t he?” Freddie says, thinking back on the time they briefly lived together. Unless Roger had company, he would more often than not come creeping somewhere around midnight when Freddie woke up to use the loo. At 5.30, when Freddie’s alarm went off, Roger would be draped all over the bed or wrapped around him, and Freddie would leave him to his sleepy mumbles and duvet hogging, knowing it would be another three or four hours before he resurfaced.

John hums. Freddie wonders if he will ever be able to give back all the love and support he receives, or if John eventually will leave in search of something better.

Then he feels bad. Two years of working on himself and thoughts like these still turn up and make him feel utterly worthless. He closes his eyes, feels his heartbeat and listens to the comforting sounds of John moving about. Resolves to do better. For John and for himself.

The mattress dips, and there’s a warm hand on the small of his back. Freddie turns over and opens his arms for John.

Bile rises in his throat but he swallows it down. "I'm so glad you're here," he croaks, pouring his sadness and his love and the guilt that’s been building for the past week into those words. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

John looks quietly taken aback. He brushes the fringe out of Freddie’s eyes. "You'd do just fine. You always will."

"I'm trying to be romantic," Freddie whispers, feeling sick by his own words, shivering when John’s arms close around his waist, "this is a declaration of love and you're ruining it."

John's eyes crinkle with pleasure. "I know," he says, "I feel very lucky, too."

Freddie allows a smile, forces himself to believe the words. "Good. You're not getting rid of me."

John tightens his hold around him. "Good."

♛ ♛ ♛

The thrum of nerves are still running through him when he wakes up the next morning. He hates it when his friends and family are sad or angry and there's nothing he can do about it. Roger hasn’t returned to his bed during the night, and Freddie breathes and tells himself Brian is alright.

They all eat breakfast together, a rare occurrence due to their very different wakeup times, and while it’s nice, it also serves to accentuate the fact that something is very wrong. Halfway through his toast, Brian’s phone rings, and Brian goes quiet for a moment, then excuses himself and disappears into his room. Freddie watches him anxiously.

"He's going to be fine, Fred," Roger says, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Just give him some time."

Freddie wants to argue that that's not necessarily true, that the last thing Brian needs right now is his father dying on him, that he definitely won’t be fine and that if Brian’s not fine then the rest of them won’t be fine, either, but then John catches his eye, and he forces himself to relax.

“Did any of you see the comment that was left on our Facebook page?” Roger asks, putting down his spoon with a clatter in favour of picking up his phone, “they called us wanna-be rockers and Bowie imitators.”

“Imitators,” Freddie says, outraged, “Bowie wishes he had half my charisma!”

“That’s easy for you to say,” John says, eyes crinkling when he smiles, “he’s not here to argue.”

“He wouldn’t argue,” Freddie says loftily. Roger lets out a snort.

From inside their room, Freddie can hear Brian's frustrated voice. He sucks his bottom lip into his mouth and listens.

"No, dad, a vegan diet is not—" Brian says, "I don't care about that! This is not me forcing—no. It does matter, and it does help! Just try it out at least. For me. I—"

John's calf brushes against his own under the table, and Freddie sends him a weak smile.

The door opens, and Brian comes stalking out, phone to his ear and a hand rubbing over his face. "Yes, two months. I know, I'll send pictures. Love you."

Ending the call, Brian sits down heavily, looking thoroughly harassed.

"Are you alright?" Freddie asks softly, reaching out to rub a comforting hand over his arm.

"Yeah," Brian says, "he's just so difficult. Doesn't he want to get better?"

"Of course he does," Freddie says, "but change is scary. His current diet might be the only normal thing in his life right now."

Brian breathes out through his nose. "I know. It's just frustrating."

Roger and John don't say anything so Freddie presses on, masking his own unease. "Is there anything you need, love?"

"I want to work on the tour," Brian says, "I want to start practising tonight."

"Okay," Freddie says, sitting back in surprise. "Let's do that."

Roger glances at Brian, then catches Freddie's eye.

Freddie looks down, toys with his bracelet. It's unlike Brian to be so decisive, especially in voicing his own needs. Then again, Freddie can understand the need to distract himself. Some days, it feels like it's all he can do to keep his head above the water.

♛ ♛ ♛

"No," Brian snaps, "it doesn't go like that."

They have been playing for just over an hour, and Brian has been relentless in the pursuit of the vision in his head. Roger has kept his mouth shut for the most part, but Freddie can feel John getting increasingly irritated.

"Fine," John says, holding up his hands in mock surrender, "let's do it your way."

Brian narrows his eyes. "This is not my way, John. This is how it was written and how we're gonna play it."

"And I assume you'd like to play bass yourself, then," John says with frightening calm. Freddie attempts to telepathise shut up, shut up, but it doesn’t appear to be working.

"Don't be so bloody sensitive," Brian snarls, "can’t you just trust me on this for once?"

"You're being irrational," John says, and Freddie’s gaze flits around the room, eventually catching Roger’s eyes. He breathes in an attempt to steady himself.

"Oh, I'm being irrational? Do you have any idea what I'm going—"

John raises an eyebrow, managing to look frighteningly disapproving, and Brian falters.

"Fine," he snaps, "I'm being irrational.”

John exhales messily. "Brian, I understand you're going through a lot right now, but that doesn't excuse being an outright prick."

"John," Roger says sharply.

"He is," John insists, "and it's not okay."

Brian has gone suspiciously quiet, and when Freddie chances a look at him, he's blinking furiously. Freddie looks away.

"I know," Roger says, scrubbing at his hair, "but—"

"Oh, that's nice," Brian interrupts, voice strange. It makes Freddie's insides twist. "You're on his side."

"Let's take a break," Freddie says loudly, eager to stop the discussion before it escalates further. "Let's come back in five minutes."

"No, I think I'm done for today," Brian says cooly, putting his guitar down. "You can continue without me."

Roger groans. "Brian, come on,” he says, but Brian is already leaving and doesn’t answer. The door to their shared bedroom slams. “Was that entirely necessary, John?"

John folds his arms over his chest and leans back against the wall. "Yes."

"I know he's a bit …” Roger settles for a vague hand gesture, “but he's processing a lot at the moment."

John lifts one shoulder in a shrug. "Don't you think it's better that he cries it out rather than bottling up and being a pain in our collective arses?"

Roger opens his mouth and closes it again.

"Maybe you should talk to him instead," Freddie gently advises, "I'm sure it would do him good to cry but let's not push him so far we force a breakdown."

John's shoulders draw up. "He needs to cry it out."

“He will.”

“It’ll haunt him,” John says.

“I really think you should talk to him, Deaks,” Roger says softly.

John looks at them both for a long moment. Freddie holds his breath. “Fine,” he says, putting his bass down, “I will.”

“Don’t be mean,” Roger calls after him. The door clicks shut, and Roger stretches. “So that went well.”

Freddie groans. “It did not go well. God, what a mess. I need a drink”

“Say no more,” Roger says, reaching behind his kit to grab a can of beer. Freddie catches it.

“Thanks,” he sighs and pops it open. “We might camp out here for a while.”

♛ ♛ ♛

He’s just adding the final touches—this including giving the backside of one Neville Longbottom a decidedly rosy tint—when a door opens, and Roger appears in tiny briefs and two-day greasy hair, phone in his hand.

“Morning, love,” Freddie greets him. “Slept well?”

Roger grunts in reply and dumps himself in the chair next to Freddie’s, putting his phone on the table alarmingly close to the edge.

Freddie puts down his pen, rotates his wrists a few times, and picks it up again.

Roger leans against him to get a closer look at the screen of his iPad, his bare skin warm against Freddie’s arm. “Are you drawing Harry Potter porn again?”

“It’s not porn,” Freddie says coolly.

It isn’t.

“For someone who gave up after the first book, you’re a very dedicated fan.”

Freddie can hear the amusement in Roger’s voice, but doesn’t take the bait.

“Everyone knows the books are horribly passé.”

“I think you’ll find quite a few people disagree,” Roger says and sits back. Freddie can see him eyeing his cup of tea, and moves it out of reach.

“You obviously haven’t seen dear Joanne’s latest tweet.”

Roger rests his head in his hand and smiles. “Can’t say I have.”

The door to John and Roger’s bedroom opens again, but its second occupant heads straight for the loo without a glance in their direction.

Seconds later, the ugly sound of retching reaches them through the half-open door.

“Migraine,” Roger explains.

“Oh, poor dear,” Freddie says, “again?”

Roger yawns and stretches. He slumps down for a moment, scratching his chest, then moves his chair back and saunters into the kitchen, switching off the light as he goes.

“Need a refill?”

“I’m good, thanks,” Freddie says and picks up his cup to sip at his rapidly cooling tea. He turns in his seat to watch as Roger picks out the tallest glass and fills it to the brim with water. He digs through the cupboard and retrieves John’s meds, fills and clicks on the kettle, and leans against the counter.

Freddie feels the overwhelming urge to hug him.

“What?” Roger demands when he notices his stare.

“What?” Freddie echoes innocently.

“You’re looking at me funny.”

“I assure you I’m not,” Freddie says, “you’re always so suspicious of me, darling.”

Roger sends him a look, then turns his attention to something behind him. “Alright, Deaks?”

What sounds suspiciously like a whimper is the only reply, and Freddie turns in his seat to find a sorry-looking John standing in the doorway. His heart clenches painfully.

Roger pushes himself away from his recline against the worktop, thrusting water and meds into John’s hands, telling him, “just call if you need me to find something heavy to hit you in the head!”

Freddie follows John with anxious eyes, but he’s not spared a single glance. He forces himself to focus on Roger. “So,” he says, dragging out the word, “I heard you and Brian got on pretty well last week. Do we need to revoke your straight badge?”

“I don’t think you’re the right person to revoke anything straight related,” Roger says, reclaiming his earlier seat. He’s quiet for a moment, then flashes Freddie a smile. “Didn’t know Brian was such a gossip.”

Freddie waves a dismissive hand. “Like he’d voluntarily tell me anything. I made him tell me, of course. Don’t have much of a sex life myself, gotta find that thrill elsewhere.”

Roger’s eyebrows immediately draw down.

“Oh, come off it, dear. Anybody would think you’re that boy’s mum. I’m not complaining,” Freddie says, “it’s nothing new that I take interest in your sex lives. Now tell me all about it, Brian is so secretive.”

“There’s not much to say,” Roger says, picking up the spoon from the sugar bowl to play with, “I fucked him, it was … it was good.”

“That can’t be right,” Freddie says, not believing him for a second. “You are the laziest person I’ve ever known.”

Roger lets out an exhale that sounds a bit like a laugh. “Well, alright. He rode me. Happy?”

“Very,” Freddie says, flashing him a grin. Roger rolls his eyes and smiles.

“Listen,” Freddie says, reaching out to pat his arm, “I know Brian is always dying to take it up the ass, but you must demand he top sometime, it feels simply divine.”

“Freddie …” Roger says, burying his face in his hands but peeking out through his fingers.

Freddie laughs. “You don’t know what you’re missing out on,” he says, pushing his chair back and patting Roger on the shoulder as he rises. “I’ll just check on Deaky.”

Not waiting for Roger to reply, he leaves him to himself and knocks softly on John��s bedroom door. When there’s no answer, he pushes it open. The room is dark, but not so much that he can’t make out the shape of John, curled up in a ball of misery on his bed.

"No," John groans. "Go away."

"What's wrong, honey? I won't talk."

"No, you're wearing something, cologne or something like that. It makes me sick."

"Oh." Freddie's not sure what to do, but John decides for him.

"Please leave. I'll come find you later."

"Do you need anything?" He knows he's lingering, but he can't stand the thought of leaving John to suffer on his own.

"No!"

At John's harsh tone, he leaves the room, shutting the door with a soft click.

Roger looks up, Freddie’s cup of tea cradled in his hands. "You look miserable.”

"Yeah, well," Freddie says, “my cologne smells bad, apparently."

Roger snorts. "You know he's sensitive to smells when he's sick. I like it, if it makes you feel better."

"I know you do," Freddie snipes, "don't think I haven't noticed you using it every time you're going somewhere."

Roger shrugs.

Freddie sits down on a chair, head in his hand. "I don't know what to do," he says.

"Don't do anything," Roger says, "how many times has this happened? You know it'll pass."

Freddie knows it will. He also knows that it’s just not the same anymore. "I suppose it will," he says anyway. Shakes himself. "And what are you to do on this fine day?"

Roger lights up. “I've actually written a song," he says, "thought I'd jam away on the keyboard for a bit."

Freddie picks up a sugar granule and inspects in on his finger. "Sounds ... riveting."

Roger sends him an exasperated look. "I'm sure Brian wants to mope with you if you're looking for company."

"No, thanks," Freddie says, "means I'll have to come to terms with the fact that I don't have any actual problems."

"Worth a shot."

“There’s nothing to do,” Freddie says, “it’s 10.30 and I’m bored already.”

Roger tips half the sugar bowl into his cup of tea. "Go for a walk, I don't know."

"I hate walking," Freddie says, wrinkling his nose as Roger drains the remains of tea, the sugar granules crunching between his teeth.

"You're extremely ungrateful, you know."

"I know," Freddie says, "that's the problem. I want this day to pass."

"There's Tim's party to look forward to. You can call him."

"I suppose I could," Freddie says, but he doesn't move. He doesn't want to talk to Tim when he's seeing him in a few days.

He reaches for an orange in the fruit bowl. Peeling oranges have always had a calming effect on him, and the scent always seems to clear his mind. He's silent while he peels it, making a noise of satisfaction when he manages to get the peel off in one piece, then spends a minute carefully removing the white stuff from each slice.

"What's this called?" he wonders aloud. Roger glances up from his phone.

"Pith," he says, and resumes his texting.

Freddie makes a noise of surprise. What an unusual word.

He splits the orange in half and offers one half to Roger.

"Thanks," Roger says and puts a slice in his mouth. Freddie lets out a sigh and puts his head on his shoulder, relishes the warmth from his naked skin. Boy never seems to get cold.

The door to his bedroom opens a few minutes later, and Brian comes striding in, phone in hand. “Good, you’re here. I need to talk to you. Where’s John?”

“In bed with a migraine,” Freddie says, “you don’t want to go in there.”

Brian ignores him. A moment later he comes back all in one piece, pace still brisk and face unusually business-like. “Right, I’ll be back in a few hours and then there’s house meeting. Could either of you do the washing up?”

“Of course, darling.”

“You’re being very, you know,” Roger says, making a vague hand motion. “Are you alright?”

“Splendid,” Brian says in that same brisk tone, but Freddie doesn’t miss the brief hand on Roger’s shoulder before he’s out the door, leaving the two alone again.

They glance at each other. Roger tips his chair back.

“So this is gonna be interesting.”

♛ ♛ ♛

A few hours later, Brian returns and assembles them all in the living room, even John who’s wearing sunglasses and instantly curls up on the couch. Roger settles in the armchair, and Freddie finds his usual spot on the floor, throwing glances between John and Brian.

Brian looks at them for a long moment. Freddie shifts in his seat.

"I've decided," he starts, pausing to take a fortifying breath. He glances at Roger, who sends him a small, encouraging smile. Brian exhales slowly. "I'm going to Tenerife."

Freddie's heart speeds up. He waits.

"As you know, I've been thinking about it for a very long time, but now that dad has gotten ill, it just made me realise that all this time-" His voice breaks, and Freddie wants to jump up and hug him. "All this time I've been trying to make everyone around me happy, so much that I have no idea what I want for myself. Everyone wants something from me, everyone thinks they know how I should best live my life. The only one who doesn't know is myself, and my head is so filled with everyone's concerns and opinions and it's exhausting, feeling like I never do anything for myself. Because even when I try, I can never be sure if what I do is really my decision or if I'm trying to please someone. And I don't want that anymore.

"These past months have been really stressful for various reasons." He glances at Roger, "and I don't want to go through that again. You don't deserve that. I don't deserve it either. I don't know if dad will make it but I do know he's looking at lengthy treatment, and I've been thinking about what I really want, and - and as much as I want to make sure he's alright, and as much as I love the band and you guys, and I do, I love you so much, this trip is a once in a lifetime opportunity, and I deserve to do that for myself." His voice wobbles, and he blinks back tears. "I deserve that."

For a moment, they are all quiet as they process Brian's words. Then they get up as one and envelop him in tight hugs.

"Of course you're going," Freddie says, pressing a kiss to his cheek. His eyes sting ridiculously. "We'll be waiting right here, cheering you on. You go look at some pretty stars."

Brian laughs, his body shaking inside Freddie's arms. Freddie catches John's eyes over Brian's shoulder, and the soft smile that greets him makes him finally burst into tears.

He doesn’t think he’s ever heard Brian tell anyone exactly how he feels. A few glasses of wine usually loosen him up enough to talk about his sex life, but to see him vulnerable like this, drunk on nothing but passion and the desire to better himself—it releases something in Freddie, a tight little knot of worry with Brian’s name on it that has been living inside his chest every since Brian offered the first heartbreaking tale of his adolescence over wine a month into their friendship.

He hugs them all tighter. “I love you so much.”

♛ ♛ ♛

A welcoming calm settles over the flat after their talk. Brian seems lighter, more relaxed than Freddie can ever remember seeing him. There are moments where he seems hyper-focused and moments where he's distant, but the weariness that seems to have weighed him down for months has lifted from his shoulders.

When he disappears into his room, they know to leave him alone, but sometimes, Roger will come with him, and despite the slight ache in his heart, Freddie knows that helps, too.

Other times, Freddie will wake up in the middle of the night and he'll crawl into Brian's bed to hold him until his crying subsides, or they'll stay up late and Brian will open up in a way he almost never does. Freddie treasures these moments, keeps them to himself, and while he thinks it helps Brian, he finds that an unhealed part of himself attempts to stitch itself back together each time. It makes him want to talk about Jim, and he does, sometimes, but mostly he lets Brian do the talking. A nagging feeling tells him that Brian is not the one whom he should be talking to about that anyway, and a deep-seated, thrumming nausea takes residence in his body, grows a little each day.

He knows he needs to tell John the truth, but he can't bear to go through the trauma all over again, can't bear even the thought of a shame so deep it makes him dizzy.

On Thursday, Mary calls him.

"You've got to come," she says, easily interrupting his excuses, "we haven't seen each other in forever!"

"I'm just really busy," he lies, bouncing his leg, "can't we do it another day?"

"You're not busy," Mary says, "classes don't start for another six weeks. What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he says, gazing out the window. The wind makes the trees outside sway dangerously, and rain beats against his window. "I'm just not really in the mood to go out."

"You don't have to do anything," Mary tells him, "just get over here, I'll make tea and we'll wrap you in blankets. You don't have to talk. I really miss you."

Freddie hesitates. The mere thought tires him, but on the other hand, he doesn't think he can stand staying at home either. "Okay," he says, "I'll come. But I might not stay long."

"That's fine," Mary assures him, "just shoot me a text when you're on your way!"

Freddie promises her to do just that and doesn't remove the phone from his ear after she's hung up.

♛ ♛ ♛

"Tea's almost ready," Mary tells him as she opens the door and pulls him in for a hug. "Where's your umbrella? You're all wet."

"It broke on the way," Freddie says. He's just glad it was a plain black one and not his own. "The wind is awful."

"Do you want to borrow some clothes? You'll get sick."

"Please," Freddie says, bending down to untie his shoelaces. "Can I hang my jacket in your bathroom?"

"Of course," Mary says, disappearing into her flat, "I'll just get you some dry clothes."

Freddie pushes his shoes off. Even the toes of his socks are wet, so he picks up both shoes and jacket and walks into the living room.

“Here, let me take those,” Mary says, trading him for a jumper and a pair of sweats. “Oh, I don’t think I have any socks your size. Hold on, Patrick might have a pair.”

He watches as she disappears into the bathroom. After a moment, he pulls out a kitchen chair.

They’re fine now, John and him, but he can’t stop thinking about how John didn’t want anywhere near him when he was sick. And Freddie should have known, of course he should, and he does, but he didn’t remember, didn’t have anything to offer, made it worse.

And there’s Roger, who for all his faults acts like it’s like second nature with his meds and his water and his care, and Freddie loves him so much but he can’t help but compare himself to that, and for the first time, it makes him feel small.

“Here you go,” Mary says, and Freddie accepts the proffered socks with a small smile. “Do you need a blanket? We can move to the couch. Here, do you need some help?”

“It was a little rain,” Freddie says, shaking her hand off his shoulder, “you treat me like you dug me out of a snowdrift.”

“Well,” Mary says, crossing her arms, “you look really miserable.”

“Thanks,” Freddie says drily.

Mary lets out an exasperated sound and turns on her heel. Freddie turns around to watch her.

“Do you need any help?” he asks, watching her pull out cups from her kitchen cupboards.

“No, thanks, I’ve got it.” She doesn’t sound annoyed, but Freddie gets up anyway, helps her gather sugar and milk and put it on the flowery tray Mary has picked out.

"So, how's the new year going?" she asks him as they sit down.

Freddie hesitates, not sure where to even begin. "Different," he says eventually. Not in the way he'd thought, certainly—he'd been sure he would be able to feel change in the air as soon as the clock struck midnight, would be able to feel that this year, 2018—how promising it sounds—would be their year, the year they got signed, the year that would finally be it.

He didn't think he'd be dealing with a grieving friend, his two best friends getting together, and Brian’s decision to leave after all, all within the first few weeks of the new years. And if it feels overwhelming for Freddie, he can't even begin to imagine how Brian must feel.

"A good kind of different?" Mary looks at him over her tea.

Freddie shakes his head, throat closing up. “Brian’s dad has been diagnosed with cancer.”

“Oh my God,” Mary says, leaning forward in her seat.

Freddie nods vigorously, nostrils flaring as he tries to soothe the sting in his nose as tears fill his eyes.

“When—How’s he—? Is he gonna be okay?”

"I don’t know,” Freddie says, “they’re looking into treatment, but I don’t think they know much yet, they only just found out.”

“Poor Brian,” Mary says with feeling, tapping her nails against her cup.

“I don’t know how to help him,” Freddie says, taking a gulp of his tea and letting it warm his insides. He hesitates. “I feel so useless all the time.”

Mary opens her mouth to speak, then closes it a second later. Freddie shifts in his seat.

“I have nothing to offer,” he elaborates, “I hate even saying it, but he’s got Roger now, hasn’t he? He’s the first one he’ll go to. And John, John has gone through practically the same thing, he can offer perspective and share his personal experience. What do I have to offer? And I’m so scared for John, what if it pulls at old wounds, what if he starts hurting? But he’s pushing me away.” He pauses to catch his breath, feeling sick at his own words. It’s not about him. “Or not pushing me away, but he’s—he had a migraine a few days ago and he didn’t even want to talk to me and I know it doesn’t have anything to do with me, but then there’s Roger, and he knows exactly what John needs, and I just, I can’t keep up! And I don’t know what to do, and maybe I shouldn’t even—

“Freddie, calm down,” Mary says, putting a hand on his knee. “What’s all this you’re saying? Of course you have something to offer. It’s not about personal experience or being better at comforting someone because you’re in a relationship with them. You know that. And you’re great at comforting people, everyone who knows you says so.”

“I’m really not,” Freddie says, “I never know what to do, I just make it up on the spot.”

“I’m pretty sure everyone does that,” Mary says.

Freddie looks into the familiar face. “Nobody needs me as much as I need them.”

He hates his own words, thought he had gotten rid of those thoughts long ago. Still, he can’t help but notice a pattern—he never expected to be as close with John as John is with Roger, but now that Brian and Roger are dating, he’ll inevitably come second, and Roger … Roger is his best friend, but Roger doesn’t play favourites, and Freddie knows that, didn’t think he would ever want or need it to be any other way.

Didn’t think he would ever feel this lonely again.

“Freddie, that’s not true,” Mary says, “is this—I didn’t know you were having these kinds of thoughts again.

Freddie shrugs. Feels the hot flush of humiliation at admitting a weakness he was supposed to have gotten over. “Only the past week,” he says. “It’s nothing, it’s not—” He takes a deep breath, fixes Mary with his most convincing gaze. “I’m fine.”

He almost believes it, too.

♛ ♛ ♛

Hours later, he’s lying in bed with John, chest tight. He rubs his thumb over John’s calloused fingertips.

“Promise we’ll never be like Roger and Brian,” he whispers. “Fighting all the time.”

John presses a kiss to his forehead. “We won’t,” he says. Pauses. “Their core values are so different.”

“Ours aren't?”

John seems to consider the question for a while. "They view the world in entirely different ways. That's what makes them such a great team, at least creatively speaking. We're all very different people, but if anyone can create a spark it's those two. They need to butt heads to better themselves and each other, it's their way to get feedback. Us, we don't need that. We're more like each other, we know what we want and we're lucky enough that we both know how to work for it."

Freddie smiles. It feels a little wobbly. “That’s a nice way to put it.”

They're so close it feels a little scary. “John,” he says, swallowing the lump in his throat. “I'm afraid I'll get jealous.” John’s gaze is steady and calm. It feels like being wrapped in a warm blanket. “You have to know it has nothing to do with you, but I'm such a mess when it comes to people I care about. I don't want any of that to happen.”

“Nothing’s gonna happen,” John says, calm and confident, “I know you’ll never intentionally hurt me. trust you with my life.”

John’s words feel like a boulder on Freddie’s chest. Trust is a scary thing, especially when Freddie has an entire back catalogue of ways to break it.

There are so many things John doesn’t know yet, and Freddie is afraid it’ll drive him away if he finds out. He knows he has to spill his biggest secret at some point, but in this calm, safe space, it seems impossible. He can’t do it. Not yet.

John wipes the tear spilling from his eye away with his thumb. “What’s all this? Do you want me to sing Chiquitita again?”

Freddie lets out a snort in spite of himself. “It’s alright.”

His eyes drop to John’s smiling mouth. John leans in to kiss him sweetly. “What made you think of all this suddenly?”

Freddie shrugs. “I miss Jim.” The lie weighs heavy on his tongue, the tightness in his chest so uncomfortable he squirms. Still, he’ll take the discomfort over the truth any day.

John’s smile falters, and something cold drops in Freddie’s stomach. He watches John’s mouth open, then close, and fear pushes more tears out of his eyes. John inhales quietly. “I don’t mean to pressure you,” he begins, and Freddie squeezes his eyes shut, “but I think we should talk about it. It can’t be easy for you.”

“I can’t,” Freddie whispers, forcing the words out from his tight, aching throat. “You’ll leave me.”

John is quiet for a moment. When he speaks, his voice is calm and kind. “Of course I won’t. I want to make sure you’re alright, that’s all.”

Freddie shakes his head, presses his wet face into the pillow.

“Freddie.” John’s voice is soft and kind. “Something’s the matter. I’m worried about you.”

Freddie’s chest hurts. “I’m so messed up,” he whispers, “I should never have made you fall in love with me. I don’t deserve you.”

John is silent for so long it makes Freddie unstick his face from his pillow and look up at him. “Why are you saying these things? Are you keeping something from me?”

The tone of his voice makes Freddie’s stomach drop unpleasantly. He’s had disturbingly similar questions directed at him before.

“No,” he says. It sounds more like a whimper. “I’m sorry.”

“Please tell me what’s wrong, Freddie.”

Freddie closes his eyes, feeling exhaustion wash over him. “Can we wait until tomorrow? Or after Tim’s party? I promise I’ll tell you. I’m so tired.”

John looks at him for a long time. Freddie stares back in mute appeal.

“Okay,” John says at last, and Freddie feels weak with relief.

“I’m sorry,” Freddie says again. “I should go back to bed.”

“Yeah,” John says, closing his eyes. “Goodnight.”

Freddie’s heart sinks. He crawls out of John’s bed, shivering when he’s subjected to the cold air of the room, and whispers a soft “goodnight” before he leaves John alone.

Roger and Brian are still in the living room, and he bids them goodnight as he passes, closing the door behind him. As he creeps under his own freezing covers, he feels sick with fear. He knows it’s inevitable that he’ll ruin this relationship, but if John is taken away from him, he doesn't know what he'll do. He doesn't think he can bear it a second time.

He holds John tighter.

♛ ♛ ♛

The next evening, he leaves yoga class a little later than intended. Tim’s housewarming party is in less than two hours and he hasn’t eaten dinner yet, but while he looks forward to the distraction, part of him doesn’t want to go. There hadn’t been time to talk before John went to work this morning, and Freddie was on his way to class before he returned home. He knows there is no way they’ll talk before going tonight, but there’s an itch under the surface of his skin, and he can’t stand it much longer. He just wants to get it over with.

The flat smells of fried food when he lets himself in, and when he enters the living room, Brian, Roger, and John are all sitting around the kitchen table, faces turned towards him.

"Anything left?" he asks, sniffing the air.

"Sorry," Brian says, "we didn't know when you'd be home."

Freddie opens and surveys the fridge, pulls out a few carrots and runs them under the tap. He hoists himself up on the worktop and watches the three of them.

"Buzzed for tonight?" he asks. Various noises of disagreement meet him. "Come on, we deserve a bit of fun!"

"You didn't get only three hours of sleep because someone kicked you out of bed," John says, glaring at Roger.

"It's so small," Roger says, "and anyway, I didn't mean to. I apologised already."

"Apologise to the giant bruise on my bum."

"Why don't you just push your beds together, get it over with," Freddie suggests.

"Because then they'd have to come to terms with the fact that they need each other like a toddler needs their plush toys to sleep."

"And we're not ready for that yet," Roger says, stealing a lone fry off Brian's plate.

"It would also ruin the laundry mountain," John adds.

Freddie shudders. "Is there a particular reason why it's still there?"

"We're being efficient," Roger says, "why go through all the trouble of taking it from the hamper to the washing machine to the laundry basket to the closet to the hamper again when you can put in on the floor and be done with it?"

"Because it's gross?" Brian offers.

"Our floors are very clean," Roger says.

"Cleaned it only last week," John continues.

"Sprinkling water on the floor and mopping it up with a t-shirt does not constitute as cleaning," Freddie says, exasperated. He's positive he wouldn't survive rooming with either of them more than a day. At least Brian is somewhat tidy.

Roger shrugs. "You don't have to be in our room."

"Sometimes that's necessary when Brian doesn't allow PDA in the living room."

"It's not that I don't allow it," Brian says, "just not when I'm eating, please."

"It's not like we're having sex," Freddie says, amused by Brian's insistence that all displays of kissing are kept to the bedroom. "If anyone needs to be careful it's me."

"Shut up," Brian says, at the same time Roger says, "you know it!"

Freddie lets out a snort. "Alright, once you've finished the washing up—

"That's gonna be John and Rog."

"—come to our room and we'll make sure everyone looks fabulous for tonight."

"Must we dress up in glitter every time?" Brian asks, sharing a look with John.

"Of course," Freddie cries, "we've an image to uphold, darling!"

“Right.”

Roger slings an arm around Brian’s shoulders and presses a loud kiss to his cheek. “You can borrow some of mine, babe.”

John catches his eye and slides out of his seat, tilting his head towards Freddie’s room. Freddie grins and follows him, leaving the washing up for the other two.

♛ ♛ ♛

They leave an hour earlier, boots clattering down the stairs and Brian's arm easily slung around Freddie's shoulders. He seems to be in high spirits, doesn't even attempt to shush Roger and John's impromptu duet of S.O.S as they wait for their Uber.

Freddie joins them half-heartedly but is ultimately more concerned about the cold, and is glad of Brian's arm around him. He might look fabulous, but his jacket really isn't suited for these kinds of temperatures.

“God, it’s freezing,” he says. Brian laughs and pulls him in for a hug.

Tim's new flat is minimalistic and artsy, exactly how Freddie expected it to be, but what he didn’t expect was for it to be filled to the brim with people.

“That is dedication right there,” Roger says, gesturing to the tinfoil covered walls. In the living room, a projector runs footage from The Factory on loop.

After a moment's search, they manage to find Tim in the throng of people. "There you are!" he says, pulling them into a hug one after one. "How'd you like The Factory?"

"Impressive," Freddie says, "you've really outdone yourself, dear."

"Gay and classy," Roger says.

Rolling his eyes, Freddie lets Roger be, exchanges hugs with everyone he knows and some people he doesn't, and is quick to find a visually appealing bottle to dip into at the makeshift bar.

It's been ages since he's been to a theme party, and he relishes the opportunity to dress up, even if most people are dressed in black turtlenecks and smoking with a drink in their hand. He wrinkles his nose at a couple of girls in skinny jeans and smokey eyes, feeling slightly offended on Tim's behalf. He looks around the cramped flat but can spot anyone he knows. His flatmates all seem to have disappeared, and he weaves through the people until he spots John on the couch, squeezed in between Roger and a girl who's lighting his cigarette. He watches them as he sips his drink, interested to see how they interact. It's rare that he gets to observe John like this—usually they're at their flat, and while he knows John has friends outside of the three of them, it's odd to see him engage with other people. He seems to enjoy it, if his relaxed posture and easy smile are anything to go by.

When the woman excuses herself a minute later, Freddie slides into her abandoned seat.

"Hi," he says.

John blows out a cloud of smoke, upwards away from him, and smiles before offering the cigarette to Freddie.

"It's bad for you," Freddie says before accepting the cigarette. He's not drunk enough that he can pretend not to mind the taste, and he quickly passes it to John again. John relaxes back in his seat.

"What do you think of that?" Freddie asks, pointing to a couple dressed in lurid pink.

Something about John's ease and confidence makes him feel a little uncertain, but he forces down the feeling, knowing now is not the time.

The skin around John's eyes crinkles when he smiles. "Very stylish."

Freddie smiles and tries to relax, but his mouth feels annoyingly dry, even when he drains his glass in one go. John waves to someone Freddie vaguely recognises, and he's suddenly struck by the irrational fear that maybe John doesn't need him.

He hasn't even realised how much he's grown—in the first year they knew each other, John was so shy and reserved Freddie would have to introduce him to everyone they knew, to hold his hand through it all. It made him feel useful, and as John seemed to grow more confident, for each time John approached someone on his own, Freddie felt warm and accomplished. Now he feels uncharacteristically out of place.

He watches John out of the corner of his eye until John catches him staring. He extinguishes his cigarette in a silver ashtray. "You look thoughtful," he says.

Freddie shakes himself.

"Just thinking about tomorrow," he lies, "we should do something nice." He touches John's hand.

"What do you have in mind?" John asks, and it's like everything is back to normal. Freddie's not sure where it even came from, this pang of insecurity, but he reckons he really should have a chat with John tomorrow, no matter how unpleasant it might be. Not now, though. Now they're at a party.

"Whatever you want," Freddie says. He wants to drag him into the loos and kiss him until the worry disappears, until he feels whole again.

"Lord of the Rings marathon?"

Freddie loses a laugh, rolling his eyes affectionately. "Not promising anything."

"That's good enough for me," John says, draining the rest of his glass. "Refill?"

"Please," Freddie says, determined to have fun tonight. He deserves it. They all do.

While John is gone, he looks over the guests, half of which he recognises from uni. Roger and Brian are standing together, talking to someone Freddie thinks he recognises from Brian's course, and Freddie is pleased to see that they seem to finally, finally find comfort and peace in each other's company.

When John hasn't returned after a few minutes, Freddie pushes himself off the couch and makes his way to the kitchen in search for both drinks and his boyfriend. Whichever comes first.

Tim is alone in the kitchen, replacing empty bottles with new ones. Freddie beams.

"Fabulous party, darling," he says, dipping into a bottle of vodka. The alcohol and the earlier proximity to John has made him feel pleasantly buzzed, and the thought of going home later to sleep off their hangover together makes him feel warm all over.

“I’m glad you could make it,” Tim says, putting his drink on the worktop, “it’s been a while since I’ve seen you.”

“It really has,” Freddie says. He pokes Tim in the chest, “we’re still waiting on those photographs, dear. Are they fantastic?”

Tim smiles briefly. “I think you’ll enjoy them,” he says, voice low. Freddie strains to hear him over the music and loud chatter coming from the living room. “There’s glitter in this,” Tim says, reaching out as if to touch his eyeliner. His fingers graze his cheekbone, and Freddie stills.

“Not quite Edie Sedgwick,” Freddie says, swallowing, “but I couldn’t go without glitter.”

Tim looks at him for a long moment, fingers not moving. Then he leans in and kisses him.

Struck by panic, Freddie freezes; Tim’s lips are moving clumsily against his own, tacky-sweet from his drink, and his hand cups the side of Freddie’s face. Everything in Freddie’s body tells him to stop, to push Tim away, but he can’t move, lets himself be kissed for what feels like a small eternity.

“Tim? You out here?”

The sound of Roger’s voice kicks Freddie’s limbs into gears and he pushes Tim away, backing up against the wall just as Roger steps into the kitchen.

“Oh, Fred, hi. John’s looking for you,” Roger says. He turns to Tim, claps a heavy hand on his shoulder. Freddie thinks he might throw up. “Tim, my man. We gotta talk. Important stuff to be discussed.”

Tim shoots him a look as Roger drags him away, but Freddie closes his eyes, tries to make the room stop spinning. After a moment, he sticks two fingers down his throat and throws up in the sink.

Before joining the others in the living room, he picks up a bottle of vodka and drinks until the alcohol has numbed the taste of sick and the feeling of Tim’s lips on his own.

For the rest of the evening, the bottle doesn’t leave his hand.

♛ ♛ ♛

His sheets smell wrong. It’s not a scent he recognises, and he wonders if Roger has accidentally bought a different laundry detergent. His shoulders and feet are freezing, and he pulls both feet and duvet closer, unsticking his sore eyelids.

He doesn’t immediately recognise the wall he’s facing, but his head feels fuzzy, and as his body seems to sink deeper into the mattress, he can't bring himself to care.

The sheet is soft against his naked skin, but it’s the wrong kind of soft, and the duvet feels sticky and heavy despite the low temperature in the room. If he slides his palm outside the duvet to rest on the cool sheet, he thinks he can steady the nausea that rolls in his stomach. His throat is dry and scratchy, and he swallows repeatedly to soothe it, breathing deeply to relieve the pressure in his head. There's a reason he keeps drinking to a minimum—the last time he'd gotten blackout drunk had ended in the hospital, Roger and Brian watching him like hawks for weeks afterwards.

Despite his best intentions, a groan escapes him as he rolls onto his back and opens one bleary eye. There are no curtains, but the overcast sky affords little light. With some effort, he gets up on his elbows to look around. There's an untidy mattress on the floor, and he wrinkles his nose. One-night stands are just not worth it, he decides, and then freezes when he remembers.

He doesn't do one-night stands anymore.

Pulse thrumming and nausea rising and spreading even faster in his stomach, he gets to his feet and stumbles out of bed as remnants of last night pierce the muddied waters of his mind. The party, Tim's confession, the kiss, John and that girl talking.

Heart racing painfully, he breathes deeply, tries to calm himself down. He's naked, yes, but that in and of itself is not unusual, despite Brian's protests. And while he doesn't think he's ever undressed for anything other than sex in another person's bed, he was drunk when he went to sleep. Surely that must count for something.

If only he could remember. It feels like electricity runs under the surface of his skin, and with a sinking feeling, he realises he was right. He was bound to fuck this up as well. He's going to lose John just like he lost Jim. Kill another person with his selfishness.

A crinkle of plastic sounds as he steps on something on the floor. His head hurts when he bends down to pick it up, and with a shaking hand, his fingers close around an open condom wrapper.

Something drops cold and heavy in his stomach, the force of it so strong it offsets a sudden burst of panic. Freddie attempts to breathe deep, but his throat is closing up, and his breath comes in short, shallow bursts.

Something is wrong. He feels hot all over, and there’s blood, so much blood, wetting his cheeks, and there’s Jim’s lifeless body and he’s done it again.

He can’t breathe. Something is wrong something is wrong something is wrong. He’s going to die here, palms pressed against the floor, and he didn’t realise he’s no longer standing; he’s going to die in Tim’s bedroom, and he’s going to be naked when they find him, and then they’ll all know he’s done it again.

He doesn’t know how long it takes him to regain control over his breathing, but his body feels heavy and sore when the low hum of voices from the living room swims into his consciousness. Breathing quietly, he picks himself off the floor and gathers his clothes, dressing quickly. He needs to get out of here.

Before rationale can catch up with him, he's opening the window and climbing into the windowsill, the January air cooling his flushed skin. His shirt catches as he slides onto the ground, and the sound of tearing fabric makes his eyes well up again and a sad little hiccup leaves his throat.

Feet stinging against the cold pavement, he walks briskly towards the bus stop, fingers closed tight around the phone in his trouser pocket. As he rounds the corner and spots the bus stop, he realises with a start that his wallet is still at Tim's, safely buried in his jacket pocket.

Eyes stinging, he pulls his phone out, carefully avoiding missed calls and texts with John's name on them and instead speed dialing Roger's number.

After two rings, it goes to voicemail. He calls again.

Three rings, a faint rustle, then Roger's morning groggy voice. "It's nine in the morning," he says, "why are you calling?"

Freddie's throat tightens. His feet burn.

Don't hang up, he silently pleads. He attempts to clear his throat but to no avail.

"Freddie?" Roger's voice is softer now, and Freddie misses him so much it hurts.

"Please come pick me up," he whispers, voice rough from underuse, "I'm sorry I woke you up, I'm sorry, I don't know how to get home."

"Where's Tim? I don't have the van yet."

"I left," Freddie says, feeling sick at the mention of Tim's name, "I haven't got my jacket or my shoes, else I would've taken the bus. Please can you come?"

Roger is quiet for a long time. Freddie knows he's going to say yes, of course he is, but for a moment he fears he might not. If Roger discovers what he's done, he's not sure he'll ever forgive him. And he would be right not to.

"I'll catch the next bus," Roger says, "keep your phone open, yeah?"

"I don't have much battery left," Freddie says, heart clenching in relief, "but I'll wait by the bus shelter."

"Good," Roger says, "I'll see you soon."

"Roger?" Freddie rushes out before he can hang up.

"Yes?"

Freddie swallows repeatedly. "Thank you."

Roger lets out a long breath. "I'll be there soon."

When the bus pulls up next to his stop 22 minutes later, Freddie is freezing to the bone. A few people send him wary glances as he sits on the bench with his knees drawn up, but so far, they’ve left him alone. He almost wishes for the distraction—the thoughts that poke his blistered mind leave him restless and exhausted, and even his numb skin and shaking bones offer no relief.

It’s happened again. The one thing he promised himself to never, ever do again. He’s cheated on John because he’s irresponsible and mentally unstable and throws away everything good in his life, and there’s no way to excuse it. The thought of having to tell him makes him nauseous, but Freddie figures he owes him that much.

He thinks about how much his life can change in less than a day, and an odd calm settles over him. He’ll lose his friends, the band, their cosy little flat, John—but maybe it’s for the best. At least he will be free from worries then. Nothing more he can fuck up.

And still, there’s a supernova of burning disappointment lodged in his chest. He’ll take their anger and their unforgiveness, but nothing weights him down like the heavy disappointment in himself. He really thought he was doing better.

"There you are," Roger says, mouth smiling but eyes uncharacteristically serious. He's carrying Freddie's fur coat and a pair of boots which are not his but look wonderfully warm even though they definitely don't match his jacket. "What are you doing out here, you silly sod?"

Freddie avoids his eyes. "I'm sorry."

Roger hands him the coat and sits down next to him, boots in hand. Freddie slips the coat on, shivering when the soft, warm fabric slides over his body.

“Want to go to the other bus stop? There's a bus leaving in 5 minutes."

Freddie nods mutely, accepting the boots from Roger. "My feet are too cold," he complains, as his attempt to put on the boots has him hissing in pain.

"You're such a fool," Roger scolds softly, pulling his feet into his lap, "running around outside with no shoes on. What if you end up with frost-bites?"

"I'll be fine," he grumbles, hissing softly as Roger attempts to massage life into them with gloved hands, "I sat on them."

Roger looks at him. "Freddie, why did you leave Tim’s house?”

Freddie freezes. He swallows. “I panicked.”

Roger doesn’t pause his massage, but Freddie catches a flicker of emotion on his face. “Why didn’t you tell Tim? He could’ve helped.”

Freddie shakes his head until the skin of his face itches. “I couldn’t.”

“Freddie, you'll tell me, right? Later."

Caught off guard, Freddie looks into sincere blue eyes. Nodding weakly, he looks away.

"We shouldn't have left without you," Roger says, "but you kept insisting. I should've known something was not right."

"I don't remember," Freddie whispers. He doesn’t know why he wanted to stay at the time, but he knows himself well enough to know that he has probably been a right bitch until they left.

"Is it because you're involved with John?"

Freddie looks up, startled by his perceptiveness.

Roger looks embarrassed almost. "I wondered if something like this might happen. That you'd start feeling guilty."

Freddie grabs onto the half-truth with relief. He lifts his shoulder in a shrug. "Hard not to when there’s death involved, don’t you think?"

Roger lets go of his feet, and Freddie wriggles his toes. He puts on the boots, tucks the coat tighter around himself.

"I know it's not easy for you," Roger says, "please take it easy. I worry about you."

"I know," Freddie says, but he’s not sure Roger hears him because then the bus turns up at the stop on the other side of the road, and they run to catch it.

Take it easy. He wishes it were that simple.

When they get to their flat, Freddie heads straight for the bathroom. Roger, thankfully, had let him be on the bus, but he knows it’s only a matter of time before he has to tell them. Hours, maybe, before John knows—open, honest John, who says things like I trust you with my life and I know you’d never intentionally hurt me, words Freddie have to live with for the rest of his damned days. He doesn't think he can bear it.

Eyes stinging with unshed tears, Freddie steps into the shower, turns the water scalding hot to get some feeling back into his body even though it burns and stings.

The tears don’t fall. He tries to, he really does, even forces up memories he’s tried to repress for years. Maybe this is his punishment. He’ll walk around a lifeless shell until he’s made his confession. Then he’ll be thrown to the dogs and maybe he will feel again.

He stands under the spray for no more than 10 minutes. Then he dries his sore body, flushed from the heat. He knows it's no use to hide out here. He just hopes he can get to his room before anyone tries to get a hold of him.

Wrapping the towel around himself, he opens the door and makes a line for his bedroom, keeping his head down. He thinks he sees John out of the corner of his eye, but soon he's in the sanction of his bedroom, and he closes the door.

He finds the biggest, ugliest tee he owns, then discards it as he realises it's John. After a moment's thought, he picks it up again. It might be the only thing he'll have left from him by the end of the day so he might as well wear it. The thought makes him feel sick. He curls up in bed, ignores the knocks on the door.

"Freddie?" It's John's voice, muffled through the door but so clearly his that Freddie feels sick. He doesn't answer, hopes that John will go away, will leave him to his own misery.

He doesn't.

The door opens, and Freddie curls in on himself, curls into a tight ball.

The door is softly clicked shut, and a moment later, the mattress dips, and there's a warm hand on his shoulder. "Are you alright, Freddie?"

He can't bring himself to answer.

"Freddie. Tell me what's wrong."

"I can't," he says, "you'll hate me."

There's silence for a long moment. "Freddie," he says again, carefully neutral this time. Freddie's heart races. "What have you done?"

"Don't make me say it," he begs. He scrubs at his wet, prickling face.

The hand on his shoulder tightens, forces him to turn around. Freddie hides his head in his hands.

"Freddie, you're scaring me."

Freddie. Freddie. Freddie. His name sounds wrong in John’s mouth, wrapped in love and in care, and he can't seem to stop crying now that the prospect of telling him is so near.

At last he gets the words out. "I think I cheated on you."

“What?”

The word is barely out of John’s mouth before the door opens, and Roger pokes his head in.

“Go away,” John snaps, and the door closes again.

“I’m so sorry,” Freddie hiccups, “you must know I didn’t mean to, I’ve never wanted to have sex with Tim, I don’t even remember.” His cheek itches from the salty trail of tears, but his hands stay fisted around the duvet. “Please don’t be mad, please forgive me, don’t go.”

John stares at him for what feels like a lifetime. Freddie thinks he’s going to faint.

“I’m not mad.” He doesn’t look it, either. The words are slow to leave his mouth, and Freddie can’t read his face. Another wave of nausea crashes over him. “Why are you so upset?”

The words take him by surprise. He clears his throat in an effort to buy time for his brain to catch up. “Why aren’t you?”

John’s face is inscrutable as always. “I don’t have all the facts yet.”

“What do you want me to say?”

“I want you to answer my question.”

“I’m afraid you’ll leave.” The words sting his raw insides, and he suppresses a tremor.

John reaches out to touch his arm. A fresh stream of tears runs down Freddie’s cheeks. “You’re shaking.”

“Don’t touch me,” Freddie whispers, “please.”

John’s arm drops to his side. There’s an air of uncertainty around him, and for some reason, that scares Freddie even more. “Roger told me you had a panic attack.”

His eyes snap to John’s before he hastily lowers his gaze.

“Freddie.”

He stares hard at his hands, forces his blunt nails into the skin of his palm until it stings. The words are lodged in his throat. He wishes he had told John earlier, wishes he could get up and leave, but he stays nailed to the bed, unable to move.

“I cheated on Jim,” he says at last, and it hurts to hear the words leave his mouth, “I cheated, he left, ran into a group of guys who’d seen us together. Cracked his head open on the pavement. And I promised—” An ugly sound escapes his throat, and he hides his face in his hands, gasping through tears and the piercing pain in his chest.

“Oh, Freddie.” His skin prickles all over and he continues to cry, hyper-aware of John through the million thoughts running through his brain. “Can I hug you?”

Freddie nods vigorously, not trusting his voice, and is surprised by the swiftness and strength with which John pulls him into his arms.

“I’m so sorry,” John says, “I didn’t know. It’s not your fault. It’s an awful, awful accident, but it has nothing to do with you.”

It’s a lie, of course, but Freddie can’t find the energy to argue. His eyes burn and itch.

It’s another minute before he forces himself to calm down. John is stroking his arm, and the touch feels intense, almost painful. The position he’s in is uncomfortable, and he really needs to blow his nose, so he ducks out of John’s hold and opens his bedside drawer, carefully avoiding eye contact.

He can feel John’s eyes on him, and he braces himself for another uncomfortable question. Outside the rain has started again.

“Do you remember what made you do it?” John asks, “with Tim.”

Freddie winces. “John …”

“I know it’s uncomfortable to talk about, but we’re gonna make this work,” John says, “you owe me some answers.”

The hardness in his voice shocks Freddie a little. “I know,” he whispers, “but I don’t know why.”

“Tell me what happened.”

Freddie bites down on his lower lip, hard. When he releases it, there’s a dent on the inside, and his tongue soothes it while he thinks.

The problem is, he doesn’t remember anything of what happened, doesn’t remember anything past the kiss and feeling trapped in his own body, the burn of alcohol down his throat. It’s been a while since he’s been blackout drunk, not since they moved in, and should he ever need further proof that it never ends well, he’s sure the consequences of this will make him think twice for years to come. If he survives that long.

“Tim asked me if I was down for a shag,” Freddie lies, “said he’d wanted to for a while.”

John’s face remains blank. “And did you want to shag him?”

“No!”

“You have no problem rejecting people usually,” John says, “why was this different?”

“Because he’s my friend,” Freddie says, relaxing a little as he gets comfortable with the lie.

“So’s Brian,” John presses, “you don’t shag him.”

Freddie can’t help himself. “He hasn’t asked yet.”

John looks at him with serious grey eyes. “Is this a game to you?”

“I don’t know,” he snaps, “why are we sitting here discussing my sex life?”

“Because you come home and tell me you’ve cheated on me,” John says, eyes hard, “what’d you think would happen?”

“Perhaps I hoped you’d leave,” Freddie says, chin lifted.

The expression in John’s eyes is a slap in the face.

“Fine,” he says, and does just that.

♛ ♛ ♛

Freddie waits exactly 27 minutes before he leaves his foetal position on the bed and goes to find John.

The living room is quiet and empty save for somebody’s half-eaten lunch on the kitchen table. The door to John and Roger’s room is closed, and Freddie counts five breaths before he lifts his hand to knock.

There’s silence for a moment, then Roger’s voice sounds. “Come in!”

He pushes down the handle and slowly pushes the door open.

Roger is sitting in bed with his laptop, slumped against the wall in a way that makes Freddie’s back ache in sympathy, and John is reading and very much not looking in his direction.

Roger looks up.

“Can I talk to John for a moment?”

“Sure,” Roger says, looking back at his screen, “go ahead.”

“In private?”

Roger looks at John, who still hasn’t acknowledged his presence, then back at Freddie. “Sure,” he repeats, this time much less convincingly. He closes his laptop, then spends an inordinate amount of time searching for a pair of trousers until Freddie loses patience and throws a pair from the open closet at him.

Once Roger has left the room, Freddie inches closer until he’s standing next to John’s bed.

“Tim kissed me.”

“I don’t want to hear it,” John says tonelessly.

“I’m sorry,” Freddie says, “really, I am. I know you don’t want—

“Why do you keep punishing yourself?” John interrupts.

“What? I don’t—

“You said it yourself, you hoped I would leave.”

“I didn’t mean—

“Well, that’s what you said.”

Freddie really wishes John would stop interrupting so he could get his thoughts in order.

“I’m sorry,” he says lamely.

“Freddie, you can’t just come and tell me you’ve cheated on me, you’ve got to give me more than that.”

“I know,” Freddie says, “I panicked, I’m sorry, whatever you want me to do, I’ll do it.”

John looks at him for a long time. “Tell me what happened.”

“Tim kissed me, then Roger walked in, I panicked, I drank too much, I woke up alone in his bed,” Freddie says, “I don’t remember anything from that evening, I don’t even remember you leaving.”

John shifts slightly. “So what makes you think you had sex?”

“There was a condom wrapper on the floor.”

“Could belong to anyone.”

Freddie closes his eyes. “I was naked.”

John is silent for a while. Then he takes a deep breath. “Even if you agreed to it at the time, you can’t consent when drunk.”

“Tim was drunk, too.”

“But if you don’t want to fuck him while sober …”

“Not really how it works, John.”

John falls silent again. Freddie forces his nails deep into the palm of his hand. “I know you didn’t do it to hurt me. And I don’t think you’d consciously do anything to hurt our relationship. But I need to think this through.”

“Of course,” Freddie says, trying to swallow the lump in his throat. He almost can't say the words. "Do you want me to leave?"

John hesitates a second too long. "I don't think so."

"Oh."

John lies down again, but this time, there's space enough for Freddie. "I'm gonna read for a bit," he announces, and reaches over Freddie to get hands on his huge Lord of the Rings volume.

"Alright," Freddie whispers. He knows he deserves this, knows John is allowed all the time he needs, but it makes him feel sick. He doesn't think he's allowed to touch, but tries to tell himself that the fact that he hasn't been thrown out yet is a good thing. He can't bear the thought of being asked questions he doesn't know the answers to, but he knows he owes it to John. He will do anything to keep John in his life.

“I love you,” he whispers.

John tenses. “Freddie …”

“Don’t you love me?” The words feel heavy, wrong, but at the same time he needs to know or he thinks he might die.

“Of course I do,” John says, and Freddie doesn’t feel relieved like he thought he would. “But I didn’t think you’d use it to ask for my forgiveness.”

John reads a long time, and Freddie keeps quiet, not inclined to disturb him. There's a crack in the ceiling, he notices, and they haven't done their laundry again. He startles when he feels John's leg press against his own, but relaxes when it doesn't move away. If he focuses on the warmth and weight of that leg, he almost believes it to be a promise.

Hours later, Freddie wakes up to washed-out colours of a dying sunset on the wall. John shuffles closer and wraps his arms around him. Freddie cries himself to sleep.

#a #keep yourself alive #maylor

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bazzybelle · 5 years ago

Text

Carry On Countdown - Day Seven

Notes: Right... confession time.. So, I posted this fic yesterday... But, I’ve been having a really difficult mental health week (lots of self-doubt, self-isolation, and weeping) and it all came to a head last night when I spiraled and deleted this story (my depression/anxiety/Imposter Syndrome demon caught up to me, I guess). I was also close to deleting all my other fics and potentially closing my account, but @fight-surrender and my amazing husband talked me down from the ledge so to speak. It was actually their support, along with the amazing kindness of @giishu that convinced me to repost my story... so here it is.

Lyrics are inspired by “I Wanna Hold Your Hand” by The Beatles. However, I was inspired by the version from “Across The Universe”, sung by T.V. Carpio (Such a great movie and soundtrack).

Thank you to @carryonsimoncarryonbaz for their writing support and amazing beta-reads.

Also, this is the last story until the Angst prompt... I’m also gonna take it easy with my writing. Going back into it after 8 years of numbness and denying my passion hasn’t been easy and it’s beginning to take its toll on me. I have so many ideas, but I want to feel well enough in my head to be able to write them properly (in case you haven’t noticed, I like writing about healing and hopeful futures... kinda hard to do that if you’re spiraling). I’ve got a few more stories already prepared for the Countdown, but I’m not making any promises on writing for other prompts.

TW: Extremely minimal (like blink and you’ll miss it) reference to drugs.

Day 7 Prompt: WLW

Title: I Wanna Hold Your Hand

________________________________________________________________

Please, say to me, you’ll let me hold your hand. Now, let me hold your hand. I wanna hold your hand.

FIONA

The music here is bloody terrible.

So’s the alcohol. But what else can I expect from a dingy little pub in this dodgy area of the city? Besides, it isn’t the alcohol I’m here for, which is a shock, considering how much of it I drink.

Nor am I here for this horrid music. I look at the stage and a skinny little whelp is crooning a pathetic rendition of a Pink Floyd song. Kid can’t be older than 18, of course he’s singing a Floyd song. I swear, you listen to Dark Side of The Moon one time, and suddenly you think you know everything there is to know about music.

Good Lord… he’s doing a Floyd medley. News flash, boyo, you cannot transition from Wish You Were Here to Another Brick in The Wall without raising a few eyebrows.

He isn’t a bad looking bloke though. Shaggy brown hair, styled so it’s away from his eyes. He’s got a bit of a long, oval-shaped face, a little gaunt, but not too much. He reminds me of someone… Ah… George Harrison! He’s got a bit of a George Harrison vibe, I reckon. A part of me wants to snap a photo of him and ask Baz if he’d fancy him, but the last time I did that, he chewed my ear off for a week.

Dramatic little shit. I’m only trying to help. He’s so edgy all the time. Baz is about to head into his final year at Watford and honestly, he needs to let loose and have a little fun, before the pressures of being a Pitch crushes him…

Maybe I’m being the dramatic shit...

I leave George Harrison to his crooning (Christ, he’s moved onto Money. Does he only know the popular Floyd songs? Tosser), and direct myself to the bar. The person I’m here to see greets me with a wide, toothy smile.

“Well well, look who it is. How are you, love?” bellows Shannon Ryan (Shan for short). Shan is the annoyingly vivacious proprietor of the Golden Griffin Pub and Inn. She is all hair (bright, thick, ginger-red, with a generous amount of blond and strawberry-blond highlights, that falls in tight ringlets down her back) and little to no filter. She’s the kind of person that can decide in an instant if she’ll offer you a free pint, or if she’ll drag your sorry arse onto the curb. Most of the time, she’ll offer you the pint and a wink of her dark brown eyes.

I give her a half smile and take a seat in front of her. Shan pours me a glass of Chivas (Bless her, she knows I love the stuff) and leans her elbows on the counter. I salute her and nod at George Harrison.

“Heads up Shan, if your lad starts playing Comfortably Numb, I may have to murder him with his own guitar.”

Shan playfully punches my shoulder. Normally, I’d retaliate with a knife to the throat, but I’m not nearly so… angry when Shan’s around. I can relax around her and allow myself to be a little playful.

“Aw, come on now Prue, Mickey’s not that bad. A little rough around the edg-” She starts to laugh, because George Harrison’s begun to sing Comfortably Numb and I begin to crack my knuckles. Shan grabs my hands and gives them a pat. “Alright, very rough around the edges, but he’s a sweet kid.”

I met Shannon about 4 months ago. It was during one of my lower points. I had been on a wild bender, drinking, smoking up, everything. At some point, I lost all recollection of where I was and what was happening. I still don’t know how long I’d been out of my mind at that point, but I somehow ended up at Shan’s pub, trashed out and rambling nonsense. Shan took one look at me and she decided that she would give me a room and a bed, instead of throwing me out (a horrible decision, really). I woke up in an unknown room, in an unknown bed with her knocking on the door.

I nearly killed her.

Shan managed to calm me down and gave me some breakfast. Fat greasy bangers, perfectly poached eggs, fried tomatoes and back bacon. She had informed me that I had been out for quite a while. I remember feeling like a numpty had taken a beating to my head. She had offered to let me stay there so that I could recover from whatever was causing me distress. Instead of taking the hint and staying there, I gathered my belongings while she was gone and slipped out. That would have been the end of it, but I had returned a few days later to pay for my room and board. Shan refused to take my money, and instead asked that I pay her back by coming to see her from time to time. Originally, I was only supposed to come see her until the end of the month… But here we are, four months later and I still find myself wanting to come see her.

Shan doesn’t know my real name (She knows me by my middle name, Prudence… I swear my family gets its kicks from naming their offspring ridiculous names), nor that I am a magician from a long line of magical aristocracy. She does not know that I am embroiled in the middle of a war that threatens to rip my world and my family apart. Maybe that sense of escapism is why I keep coming back here, why I keep flirting with this Normal pub owner.

I turn back to her now. She is cleaning some of the dirty glasses that have been left on the bar counter. It’s a quiet evening tonight, not many patrons at the pub. Shan’s pub can gain a small gathering during the weekends, mostly young folks out on a crawl. Some tend to stay here on account of the atmosphere, and Shan’s personality. Tonight’s one of the quieter nights. I blame George Harrison mucking it up on the microphone.

“Where do you find these characters, Shan?”

“Beats me. They sometimes just show up needing a spot. Mick’s been tossed out from his home, poor child. I give him a room, he works the bar. It all works out.”

Shan sometimes uses her rooms to shelter people who may need a place to stay. I wasn’t a special case for her. Any misfit or vagabond has a place to stay at Shan’s. I suppose that explains George Harrison, who has just finished his set and has exited the stage, thank Merlin for that. She’s now turned on her online music playlist, an eclectic mix of punk, classic rock, and current indie songs. It makes no bloody sense, but the patrons aren’t mad about it.

“You’re too generous Shan.” She rolls her eyes and proceeds to serve some other patrons who have been waiting for her. Once George Harrison arrives behind the counter, she sends him off to prepare orders while she turns back to me.

“And you, my dear friend, are far too cold. What brings you here tonight? Chasing one of your hoodlums, again?”

With the war brewing between the Old Families and the Mage, I have been tracking down members of the magical community who have been shunned and cast away by the Mage and his reforms. The Old Families believed that we could find some support amongst the masses who’ve been mistreated by Davy and his band of Merry Men. If I’m in the area, I’ll stop by the pub for a quick drink and a chat.

Like I said, it’s been happening more often than not.

Today is different. I am not here because I’m in the area. I felt the need to be here. Maybe it’s the bitter heat of August in London; Or maybe it’s the fact that it’s August 13th, the thirteenth anniversary (plus a day) of my sister’s death that brings me here. Normally, I’d be home, drinking myself into a stupor until enough time has passed where I don’t feel the grief anymore. I never allow myself to drink on the actual day of her death, because I’m too busy spending the day with Basil and Malcolm (Basil mostly), making sure that they’ve kept their heads in one place. I look out for my nephew first and once the day has passed, I go home and begin my process of drinking and mourning.

For some reason, I didn’t want to be home alone today. I don’t know what came over me, but I felt I needed to be here, at Shan’s pub. But I’ll never tell her that. So instead I put on my classic Pitch smooth face and smile slyly at her.

“Who says I need a reason to be here? Maybe I just decided to come over.” Shan rolls her eyes at me. She faces me and leans over the counter, inches from my face. I have to look away, in case she notices the small blush creeping over my cheeks. I take another sip of my Chivas before looking at her once more. I tilt my head at her and smile. She places her hand on mine and pushes it down, until the glass is back on the counter.

“You’ve always got a reason, Prue. You don’t allow yourself to do anything simply because you want to.” Now, I roll my eyes at her. I down the remainder of my Chivas and slam the glass back down on the counter. I cross my arms over my chest and pull myself back from the counter.

“Oh? And what exactly do I want?”

Shan also steps back from the counter. She’s got her hands on her hips and shrugs at me. She takes the bottle of Chivas and pours me another glass.

“I am not nearly qualified enough to untangle the mess in your mind, Prue. I can only offer a listening ear and a reasonable amount of alcohol.” She leans back against the wall. I stare at her for a minute and take in how she looks in the pub’s dim light. Shan’s got incredibly light skin, but it isn’t entirely pale and the dim lighting in here is showcasing her pretty features. She’s wearing a black tank top under a dark purple vest that cuts just at her waist. She’s got on dark jeans and a light gold studded belt. Shan pulls her hair back into a very high, very messy bun at the top of her head. A few strands still hang loose and frame her face. I draw a shaky breath and take a sip of my scotch. I speak softly, more to the glass than to her.

“My sister died. Yesterday has been 13 years since she died.” Shan relaxes her posture and approaches me again. I don’t shift my position at all. If she thinks she can get me to open up more than that, she’s wrong. I won’t come undone by a pretty girl with bright red hair.

“You don’t want to be alone then?” Shan reaches for my hand. I don’t let her take it. I’m still focusing on my drink and the patterns of the wood grains on the counter.

“I am perfectly fine to be alone Shan! I’ve been alone for many years, what’s another one?” I straighten my back even further, attempting to close off my walls. They had been slowly coming down as I spend more time with Shan, but thinking about yesterday, about Tasha, about the losses in my life, have caused me to build them back up with a more reinforced metal.

Now, I’m here again, in front of Shannon, and the metal around my heart is starting to melt again. What power does this Normal have over me that she can make me feel this way? Shan exits from her side of the bar and she comes to sit down next to me. I want to turn away from her, but I can’t find it in me to do so. I’m running my fingers along the rim of the glass when I feel her tough, guitar-calloused hand lay on top of mine. I refuse to look her in the eyes. She gently places my hand on the counter and turns it over. I finally look at her as she clasps her hand in mine.

“What if you didn’t have to be alone?” Her deep brown eyes are staring right into my grey ones. I can feel my heartbeat beginning to pick up. My breathing becomes a little erratic. I have not felt this in such a long time. Not since my final year at Watford. Not since I had my heartbroken into pieces and decided to shut it down forever. I start to pull my hand away, but Shan holds it tight. I frown at her and glare at her a little bit.

“People like me are meant to be alone.” I try to make my voice sound icy and intimidating. But, Merlin help me, it sounds breathless, like I’m chocking it out. I take a sharp inhale of breath through my nose. Shan, the fool that she is, reaches over and grabs my other hand, she gently turns my body towards her and leans a little closer to me. She speaks in a soft and calm voice. I almost miss what she says because of the music in the background.

“You don’t have to be alone.”

She leans in closer to me. I feel a small flutter in the pit of my stomach. I want to lean into her as well, but something stops me. I can’t. I can’t. Not again. Never again. I pull away from her and jump out of my seat. I ignore the confused and saddened look on Shan’s face and I fumble in my bag for my wallet.

“I have to go.”

Shan grabs my arm and tries to look at me again. I will not give her the satisfaction of seeing me coming undone. I will not let another person into my heart only for them to destroy it again. I can’t handle more pain and misery.

“Wait… Prue I-” She’s going to beg me to stay, I don’t give her a chance to finish.

“Thank you, Shannon. I’ll see you soon.” I pull out some notes and slam them onto the counter. I yank my arm away from Shan’s grasp and stalk out of the pub, leaving her sorrowful brown eyes behind me.

I am meant to be alone. I don’t need anyone, especially not some nobody Normal. Even if the same nobody Normal is currently holding a key to my heart. I go home, fully intent on drinking my conflicting feelings away.

________

Six weeks.

Basil’s been missing for six weeks and I haven’t had any luck in finding him.

I have tried every bloody spell I could think of. I have poured over every single one of Natasha’s old books in that blasted library. I have even tried to contact some of the undesirables in my midst to see if any of them knew anything. None of them could tell me any information. Even though I threatened and screamed and even cast spells to force them to give me any information, none of them had any information to give me.

I was losing my mind. I wanted nothing more to march into Watford myself and threaten the bloody Mage himself, or even that stupid snivelling little magling, Simon Snow. The only thing preventing me from torching the damn school was the fact that The Mage knew exactly where Baz was and he could decide to retaliate by hurting or even killing him. He was not above murder, the bastard.

The latest call we got from the numpties had demanded wands from us. They must have been bloody joking. Malcolm, the fool, was already looking for spare wands. I called him a spineless idiot, and if he couldn’t see that this wasn’t about a simple ransom, well then he really was more feebleminded than I thought. I told him that my sister scraped the bottom of the barrel when she married a Grimm and stomped out of the manor.

The bloody numpties were holding him near some water, so I drew up a map of potential spots where he could be hidden. I was not going to rest until I searched each and every one, no matter how long that took.

I now find myself walking down a familiar dodgy street, towards a familiar pub. I have not been back since Shan grabbed my hand and I almost allowed her a piece of me. I decided that I would not go back there and risk anything more happening between Shan and myself. To go back would mean I would have to talk about what almost happened, and to do that would mean I would have to either lie to her or give into my feelings, neither option really appealing to me. Still, I need to start a fight. I need to yell at something and punch something. And the thought of Shannon throwing me out of her pub and her life because I caused a fight with her patrons is exactly what I need to revitalize myself on this search mission.

I storm into the establishment and see a few confused clientele staring at me. I should pick out which unfortunate character will be my target, but my eyes wander to the bar. I want Shan to be watching.

She isn’t there. But her pathetic little ward is. I march to the bar and before the weasel says anything, I grab his shirt sleeve and pull him over the bar counter. I roughly toss him to the floor. The boy yelps in surprise and lifts his hands up to protect his face. I am not done yet. I am about to lift him up, when someone grabs my arm. I spin around and I’m about to deck them, when I see her deep brown eyes.

“PRUE! That’s enough!” Shan looks absolutely murderous with rage. I have never seen that look on her face before. I give her a cold hard stare and sneer at her.

“Get. Your. Bloody. Hands. OFF. ME!” Shan returns my stare with a scowl of her own. She keeps her hand secured on my jacket and begins to drag me outside.

“We’re going outside, NOW!”

Well that was fast. I didn’t even get to have any fun.

Shan shoves me outside and practically tosses me onto the floor. I am astounded by the strength she has, considering just how skinny she is. But she does this for a living. She’s had to toss out larger folks than myself. I dust off my jacket and straighten out my jeans before turning to Shan, who is still wearing a livid look on her face. Her hair, although braided, has a frizzy halo that surrounds it. I already regret coming here.

“I like you, Prue. But I will not have you starting fights in my pub! Either you tell me what’s gotten into you, or you can kindly fuck off!” She points an accusing finger at me and then out towards the street. I should be honest with her, but I have a knack for self-destruction, so I push my luck.

“Oh fuck off Shan!” She steps back, shocked at first by my demeanor. But she then shakes her head and scoffs. She steps up to me and responds with a coldness of her own.

“If you insist! But this whole tough bitch attitude is getting bloody exhausting! Call me once you’ve calmed yourself” she says as she begins to walk away. I want to let her go back. I want to watch her leave and never see her again. But my damn head won’t let her leave. I call out before I have a chance to stop myself.

“My nephew’s missing...” Shan stops in her tracks. She turns to me, her furious face already changed to one of deep concern. “He’s been missing for nearly 6 weeks and I’m going out of my bloody mind!”

She approaches me cautiously. I know she is still very angry with me and my actions. She asks me smoothly, “Have they demanded a ransom?” Shan knows well enough to not ask about law enforcement. With the type of charges she takes in, the reality is that law enforcement will typically make matters worse.

I roll my eyes and answer her. “We don’t pay ransoms in my family!”

Shan stares incredulously at me, “Are you daft? I don’t know what kind of business you’re running Prudence, but I think the life of your nephew is worth a ransom payment, yeah?”

“This isn’t about a ransom, Shannon! It’s something more! Oh forget it! I’m wasting time, I could be using to search under bridges or in sewers!” This was a mistake. I never should have come here. I turn my back to Shan and start to walk away.

“Under bridges?” She asks me. I stop and turn back to her.

“The kidnappers sounded like they were near running water when they called. Which, considering this bloody city, could be fucking anywhere!”

“Christ…” Shan starts to shake her head. She put her hand to her face, as if she was starting to ponder something. It is enough for me to march right back up to her.

“What is it!?”

“I thought he was being batty…” Shan delivers that line in such a thoughtful way that I almost want to be gentle with her.

Almost. But Basil is missing and this is the first tiny morsel of a clue that I have had for six weeks. So I grab Shan’s shoulders and press her further.

“Who was?! What do you know Shan!?” She frowns at me and shrugs me off.

“Nothing, Prue! I volunteer at one of the homeless shelters in the city and one of our regulars was going on about how one of his favourite sleeping spots near the river was overrun with boulders. It looked like someone was trying to hide something there. The man’s a little mad. He claimed that some of the boulders were moving.”

Moving boulders?! Bloody fucking hell! That’s it! That’s fucking it! Six weeks, I’ve been going mad trying to find Basil, and all this time, the one place I should have been looking was amongst the vagabonds and the homeless. Christ, go figure I’d find my most important clue with Shannon fucking Ryan.

“Where is he now!!?” I demand of her. Maybe a little too harshly. I really couldn't care less if I hurt Shan’s feelings anymore. I need to find this drifter as soon as I can.

“Prue! You can’t be-” Shan tries to calm me down, but I am not having it. I am so close to bringing my nephew home, I am not stopping now. I get up to her face and nearly shout at her.

“You tell me where he is now, Shannon, or I swear to Christ…” Shan shakes her head at me, but she caves in and sighs at me.

“You are a lunatic, Prudence. But he’s most likely at Whitechapel. He’s been spending most of his time th- Prue!” I’m already walking away. I have all the information I need.

“I’ll see you later, Shan.” I say to her. Maybe if I survive this, I’ll come back and apologize for being a proper psychopath towards her. Maybe she’ll forgive me. For now, I have more important matters to attend to.

“Prue! Come back! You can’t do this alone!”

That’s where you’re wrong Shannon. I’ve had to do everything on my own. It’s what I’m best at. I can still hear her shouting into the night, even though I am far from the pub at this point.

“PRUDENCE!”

________

I am once more, back at the Golden Griffin. The pub has just closed for the night, but I know that Shan is still inside. She usually stays behind a few hours after closing time in order to clean up the place. I stand right in front of the door, taking a few moments to decide if I want to knock on her door, or if I should leave. I lift my fist to the window on the door. I’m about to knock when Shan’s head pops up from the side of the door. She looks surprised to see me at first, then… is that relief? She whips the door opened and pulls me inside.

“Prudence…” she whispers to me. She holds my hand in hers. Merlin, what is she doing to me? I let go of her hand and stuff my hands into my jacket pockets. I clear my throat and start to talk.

“He was alive. I found him in time.”

“Your nephew. I’m so relieved to hear that.” She’s got her hand over her heart and she sighs in relief. Has she truly been worried this whole time?

I feel guilty for not coming back sooner. But I had to make sure Baz was fine and then well, I wanted to start planning retribution for this attack on my family. I hadn’t realized that it was mid-November and I still had not gone to see Shan.

And so, here I am. At 2AM on a Tuesday. At this pub once more, in front of this Normal. This Normal who is nobody important, from a nobody family. Yet, all I’m hoping is that she can forgive me for my foolishness.

“You said I couldn’t do it alone. I did it alone. I found him, I got him back. I didn’t need anyone.” I just have to antagonize her, don’t I? I am a Pitch after all. Shan shakes her head, like she was ready for this to begin with an argument.

“I’m happy for you Prue. Truly, I am.” She responds with an icy sarcasm. Her arms are crossed and she is leaning away from me. She isn’t up for having a go at me. I take a half-step towards her and offer an olive branch.

“My real name’s Fiona. Fiona Pitch.” Shan drops her hands to her hips. She gives me a cold stare and shakes her head. She then raises her hands slightly only to cross them again. She’s upset and I can’t say I blame her. I’ve only been lying to her for several months.

“Fiona. Christ… Alright…”

“Prudence is my middle name. I didn’t know you.” I offer her an explanation. She rolls her eyes at that and continues to stare at me.

“Fine, Fiona. What do you want from me?” She waves her arms and points to her chest. I furrow my eyebrows. I don’t know how to answer her question. I also don’t like how she calls me Fiona with disdain in her voice. As if she’s talking to someone she doesn’t know or care for. I suppose I deserve that.

“I don’t need anyone. I’m perfectly fine to be on my own.” I take another half-step towards her.

“What do you want from me, Fiona?” She asks me again. She is challenging me. Her voice, while still severe, is more inquisitive. She wants me to answer her, to let her in. To allow her another piece of me.

I am not ready to answer her. Instead I continue to fight her and my own feelings.

“I do not want another person coming into my life only to destroy it again!” I turn my head away from her as I expose a tiny piece of myself. Shan now steps forward. She is a breath away from me now. I want to touch her hair, her face, her hands.

“What do you want from me, Fiona?” Her voice has now lost its edge, its icy tone. She is softer now, asking me to trust her. She reaches for my hand. I let her take it. I look down at our clasped hands, and I remember the last time she did this. I’m going to try and not run away again.

“But then you held my hand… You held my hand. And you told me I didn’t have to be alone!”

“I did.” She says so sincerely.

“And you helped me find my nephew.” I try to divert the conversation. I don’t know if I’m ready for this. Merlin help me, I am not ready for this.

“I can’t take credit for that.” One of her hands has reached up to tuck a strand of my hair behind my ear.

“You helped me.”

“What do you want from me Fi-” She asks one last time. I feel her breath on my face. I give in.

This time, I am ready to answer her.

I lean forward and kiss her. Her lips feel so soft, if a little chapped. Shan responds and returns my kiss. One of my hands has moved to the back of her head. I feel her thick soft curls in my hand. She has gripped my face in her hands. I feel her tilt her head and start softly nibbling on my bottom lip. I respond by lightly running my tongue over her teeth. I’ve wanted this for so long. Merlin knows why I’ve been denying it to myself. Our kiss breaks apart and Shan leans her head on the crook of my neck.

“You. I want you, Shannon. Ever since you grabbed my hand and threw my world into bloody turmoil!” I whisper into her hair. She pulls away from me and looks at me as if I’m the most insane person in the world. She wouldn’t be wrong to assume that. I’m pretty sure there is a history of insanity within my family.

“Well fuck, Prue… All you had to do was ask. But instead you ran away and acted like a bloody maniac. You could have talked to me, you know!” She shakes me lightly.

“I bloody well could not!” I look away from her and shake my head. She wouldn’t understand. I am not the type of person who stands at the doorstep of a lover begging them to take them back or to love them. Even if I was, Shan’s life is wholesome and uncomplicated. All I am is one complication after another. She doesn’t need that in her life.

“Why not? Help me understand you, Prue.” She’s grabbed my face again and she’s staring me down. Merlin help me, in the light, her eyes look like pools of honey. I grab her wrists tight.

“I’m a bloody mess, Shan. I have no direction. I’m a disgrace to my family. A disgrace to my name.” Shan smiles at me. She runs her hands through my hair and I sigh. I’m a fucking mess. If my sister could see me now, she’d be so fucking disappointed.

“You don’t have to be FIONA PITCH with me.” I snort sarcastically as she says my name with a snooty accent. “With me, you can be Prue. I like Prue a whole lot. She’s wild. She’s intense, but she’s got a good heart. She’s bloody gorgeous to.” With that, she grabs me by the back of my neck and pulls me into another deep kiss. My hands trail down to her hips and hold her in place. My thumbs tuck inside the hem of her jeans and run across her skin. It feels so soft. So perfect. We pull away again and I laugh a little.

“I can’t promise that I won’t run away or that I won’t be a complete maniac.”

“I can’t promise that I won’t kick your arse for being completely daft!” Shan flicks my white streak.

“This could be a bloody disaster…”

“Or not... Just don’t threaten my bartender again, or I may have to kill you.” She gives me a playfully wink, but I know she’s dead serious. I respond with a raised eyebrow and a tilt of my head.

“I’d like to see you try.”

With that, Shan cocks a half smile at me. She takes me by the hand and leads me away from the pub towards the stairs that lead to the Inn. She closes the lights as we walk up the stairs.

I am not ready to give my heart to another person who could very well break it. But with Shan, I’m willing to risk it.

Normal life be damned.

And when I touch you, I feel happy inside. It’s such a feeling that my love, I can’t hide.

#carry on countdown #coc 2019 #wlw #repost #because i'm a mess #fiona pitch #badass fiona #next day repost #i won't delete it this time #carry on #wayward son #no spoilers here #my writing #fanfic #piss off demon #I'm still here and I'm still fighting

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superjennysunshine · 4 years ago

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Day 10: Formatting

I really love this song and The Smashing Pumpkins. Too bad the lead singer is a massive sack of shit

We’re doing a different format for day 10 because I got up really early and was like why not make it like a diary sorta thing so...

8:00 AM - Earlier today I discovered a bunch of chip bags in my moms room and I know it’s because they’re hiding them from me because I eat chips really fast. That made me feel super awful and definitely just yanked my whole day. But looking on the bright side it’s the early morning so I can just improve it from here hopefully. I’m gonna take a shower and shave and stuff and then see what the rest of the morning looks like.

8:46 AM - I don’t feel much better but I’ve decided I’m gonna try and do a little bit of cleaning today. It would be a big boost to my confidence if I could clean my bathroom a little. Gonna wait until my phone charged completely before I do so I can play music and stuff while I’m doing it.

9:40 AM - I’m looking into ordering some stuff for my room. Some lights and stuff similar. Something to spice it up.

1:23 PM - I cleaned my bathroom. Not entirely, I still have the chemical cleaning to do on the toilet, sink, and shower. But I’m saving those for another day because I made progress today and I don’t want to push myself and burn out. I also ordered a fancy lamp that has a bunch of different color and brightness settings, and a new phone case that’s clear cause i always thought those were neat. I’m taking a break right now, I’ll probably play more Xenoblade soon.

2:32 PM - my bathroom door hasn’t had a doorknob on it for like 2 years because it fell off and I was too lazy to put a new one on. But I just did it! It made me feel good!

3:20 PM - I tried to ride the high and be a little social but it spiked my anxiety super fast and I almost cried so I’m just listening to music and eating a sub roll now. It honestly super sucks to have felt a lot better but just come crashing back down so fast. I’m gonna try to improve it though.

3:54 PM - I’m still anxious but this picture of Willie Nelson from the cover of Pancho and Lefty makes me feel a little better when I look at it.

He looks so nice. Like a western, weed smoking Uncle Iroh.

4:53 PM - My anxiety has calmed down. I’m a little tired so idk if I’ll actually play Xenoblade today but we’ll see I’m just gonna do random stuff in the meantime.

6:30 I wrote some stuff about a trans woman I saw that was really pretty and it made me dysphoric earlier but that got deleted somehow? Bu yeah that happened, I felt nasty for a while but it passed eventually. I just finished this box of animal crackers I had so it looks like it’s ramen, deli rolls with nothing in them, and off brand Oreos until a store run happens. We’ll see.

I’m not gonna go to bed yet but this is where I’m gonna end it. If I have any important developments I’ll just reblog and add them, but I’m not gonna play Xenoblade or do anything really worth talking about for the rest of the evening so no point in waiting to post it. Overall the day was pretty good, it was nice to get some of the bathroom work done and even though after that it kinda tanked the tank was pretty self contained over like 3 hours and that’s not too bad. Tomorrow though it’s Xenoblade time for sure I gotta go get my final party member.

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kaesaaurelia · 5 years ago

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should auld acquaintance be forgot

This is a rough draft of the first chapter of a fic I’m writing, which will be called Hustler’s Blood. It is Aziraphale/Crowley, with numerous OCs and historical figures, and is set in 1926 in Chicago, although it starts on December 31, 1925.

I’ve posted the first scene here before, as well as a few other bits and pieces, but since it’s New Year’s Eve and the fic starts on New Year’s Eve, and also since it’s my birthday and I just wanna, I’m going to share the whole first chapter here.

(I’ve been serializing it on fail_fandomanon but I’m a little over 100k words into writing it and it’s just reached the middle of the plot so it’s a lot to catch up on at the moment.)

6,666 words. (There were 6667 but it was too perfect, so I deleted one.) Small content warning for brief mention of pet death and resurrection.

Aziraphale looked right, then left, then walked into the dark alley in front of him. It was the fifth place he'd tried that evening, and the twelfth since he'd arrived in Chicago. Heaven had sent him to thwart Crowley's terrible wiles and keep him from pulling this entire city into Hell with him, but if even half of what he'd seen had been Crowley's doing, Aziraphale was going to be very impressed, and also extremely annoyed at his violation of the Arrangement. Then, maybe it was rowdier than usual right now; it was New Year's Eve, after all. Maybe things calmed down.

He knocked on the nondescript door in front of him. A hatch in the door slid back, revealing a suspicious-looking pair of eyes. "Yeah?" said the young man behind the door.

"Ah! Hello, thank you, the password is..." Aziraphale reached into the man's mind and plucked it out. "...Mirage."

The hatch clicked shut, the door swung open, and Aziraphale walked in. "Thank you!" he told the doorman, and looked at the scene in front of him. People were laughing and drinking and smoking and generally having a lovely time, although there was much more close dancing than was probably strictly necessary, and of course it was all dreadfully illegal and Aziraphale therefore disapproved wholeheartedly. He looked around for Crowley, or, failing that, a menu. He could really use a nice drink.

Aziraphale handed his coat and hat off to the coat-check girl, then returned to the door. "Young man, I don't suppose you've seen my... acquaintance anywhere in here, have you? Dark glasses, red hair... doesn't seem to know how to walk?" Whatever form Crowley had taken probably had those three attributes. Unless he'd been discorporated in the war. Oh dear. What if Crowley had an entirely new form? Not that it was any business of Aziraphale's, of course, but it would make him much more difficult to find.

"You lookin' for Mr. Crowley?" said the young man. "You sure?" Behind him, the fistfight had metastasized into a brawl between four or five barflies.

"That's the one, yes! Where is he?" asked Aziraphale.

"Look, mister, I'm here to keep the trouble to a minimum --" Aziraphale somewhat doubted this, as no one had moved to break up the fight -- indeed, the patrons were cheering on their favorites and making bets "-- and I'd love to help ya out, but Mr. Crowley is kinda, uhh... he ain't gonna be happy if he don't know you, and I hear he's a lot of trouble if you do."

"I've known him for quite a long time. Trust me, I am aware," said Aziraphale. He smiled patiently, and waited for the boy to get on with getting him Crowley.

Aziraphale sensed a familiar twinge in the fabric of reality as the brawl ended abruptly. The last man standing cheered, and he could see money changing hands between winners of bets. "Well, uh... lemme see what I can do, okay?" said the doorman. "No promises."

"Oh, I don't think you'll need to go get him," said Aziraphale, for he could see a familiar swaggering figure coming towards them, pocketing a fistful of green paper and peering through dark glasses at the doorman.

"My ears were burning, is there something -- Aziraphale!" he said, breaking into a grin that made odd things happen in Aziraphale's chest. "How the Heaven have you been? He's okay, he's an old, old friend," he said, waving the doorman away. He turned back to Aziraphale, still grinning. "Hey! Come on to the bar, I'll buy you a drink! Didn't think you'd turn up here."

"No, I would imagine not," said Aziraphale, trying to maintain an air of polite disapproval. "What happened to the Arrangement?" he whispered.

"Relax, angel, I haven't been doing anything," said Crowley, guiding him towards the bar.

Aziraphale glared at him, but followed. "You have! You ended that fight early just now."

Crowley shrugged. "Would've gone that way anyway, though, eventually. I just sped it up a bit. What are you here for, anyway?"

"I was sent by Heaven to thwart whatever nasty things you're doing here," said Aziraphale. "Gabriel was very cross with me when he'd found out I lost track of you. Why didn't you tell me you'd left London? How long have you been here?"

"Why would I tell you?" Crowley asked. He was no longer grinning. "I thought you were sick of all that... hmm, what did you call it? Fraternizing."

Aziraphale stared at him, open-mouthed. "What -- that's not -- I didn't mean -- what about our Arrangement?"

"Well, since you called it off --"

"I did not! And anyway, you were sulking and I tried to wake you up but --"

"So are you saying you'd like to pick up where we left off?" Aziraphale wished he wasn't wearing those dark glasses, because then he might be able to tell what was going on in Crowley's head. Aziraphale thought he sounded hopeful, but maybe that was just wishful thinking.

"I..." He's tempting me, Aziraphale thought. He's only tempting me, and I should do my job properly, and I should never even have let on that I was here.

Crowley watched him silently.

"I -- I do, yes," Aziraphale admitted. The grin on Crowley's face made him feel a lot better about being a failure of an angel, though.

"Well, that's all right, then! Come on, I'll get you that drink."

"Are the drinks here any good?" Aziraphale asked.

"Mmmh." He made a sort of ambivalent whole body wriggle. "The recipes are good, but the alcohol they're working with is terrible. Been trying to fix that, but there's only so much you can do. Free will and all that. They keep cutting my stuff with drain cleaner and gasoline." He made a face. "At least I can report it as a success downstairs. I'll see that you get something you like, though." He sat down at the bar.

Aziraphale sat next to him, and it was remarkable how much better he felt now. Wandering a strange city full of hooligans was all well and fine, but meeting up for drinks with Crowley was safe. Crowley called over the barman. "Oi, Pete! Get me another old fashioned, and a gin fizz for my friend here!"

They weren't even supposed to be friends.

He's just tempting me, Aziraphale reminded himself again. The problem was, all too often, it worked.

---

Crowley had been telling himself he was having a grand old time for the past few years, and especially this evening. Drinking alone was just how he happened to enjoy spending the evening. On New Year's Eve. It was fine. He'd picked the most raucous hole-in-the-wall he knew, or at least the most raucous one where they all knew him as Anthony Crowley and not any of his other aliases, and he had at least been enjoying seeing everyone reveling in ways they weren't supposed to.

(He'd been spending most of his free time as Anthony Crowley. He had three other aliases, all with slightly different faces and bodies, but sometimes the roles he'd chosen for himself got tiring, and he'd... well, wanted to be recognized. By anyone who happened to know him under that name. Not specifically Aziraphale, but should Aziraphale come and check in on him, Crowley felt he shouldn't make it too hard for the poor bastard to see just how well Crowley was doing without him.)

If he was honest with himself (and he tried not to be) seeing all these attractive people with their equally attractive companions for the evening made him a little bit lonely. He'd watched two couples break up tonight and another get together, and near the back of the room there was a group of three who seemed to be aiming to be more than friends by the first dawn of 1926. He'd considered finding somebody, just for the night, but nobody really appealed.

Then the door had opened, and a chill wind had carried a slight scent of vellum and sanctimony to him, and he knew without turning around that Aziraphale was here. So he'd thrown his voice, whispered some insults from one zozzled patron to another, and started a fight so he had an excuse to not turn and look at the newcomer, to be totally absorbed in this fight, to make a bet...

And then he really, really wanted to know what Aziraphale was doing here. And to see him. And to talk to him. And to watch him try a really good cocktail and show him all the best restaurants in town and take him to concerts and impress him with how very well-connected and influential Crowley was now that he'd been free of the Arrangement for sixty-four years.

So he'd ended the fight with a snap of his fingers, collected his winnings, tried very hard to look suave, and then failed as soon as he actually set eyes on Aziraphale. And now he was buying drinks. Well, not buying, precisely, but he was putting forth the fiction that at some point he would be paying for said drinks, and Aziraphale politely pretended to believe that.

"Ooh, this is good!" Aziraphale said, after a sip or two of his gin fizz.

"How long have you been in town?" Crowley asked.

"A few days. I spent Christmas on a ship to New York." Aziraphale wrinkled his nose. "It was a bit much. The food was good, though. You?"

"Oh, I've been here a few years. They wanted me to be sure the States didn't become a bastion of holiness overnight just because of this Prohibition nonsense."

"And?" Aziraphale asked.

"I traveled around, saw that humans still don't need much help humaning, and settled in here to take credit for whatever horrible thing they came up with next. Considered New York, stayed in LA for a few months, tried out New Orleans -- you really need to get down to New Orleans, angel, it's amazing, you'd love the food -- but this seemed to be the best place to hang around and watch everything go to Hell in a handbasket. Not so much going on that I can't keep track of most of it, but definitely plenty of havoc to be had. I did think I'd made an awful mistake in '23, because they elected a mayor who I think might actually... not be a crook --"

"Is that unusual here?" Aziraphale asked.

Crowley snorted. "Don't really pay that much attention usually, but everybody was so impressed with themselves for voting for somebody decent that I got worried."

"Ah, well." He took a thoughtful sip of his drink. "So what happened to him?"

Crowley laughed harder, and shook his head. "That's the best part, angel! The poor bastard's still mayor. Everything he does to clean up the mess just makes everything worse! I don't have to do a blessed thing. I just write my reports and enjoy the show."

"Oh dear," said Aziraphale. "You know, my lot think you've ruined this city personally."

"Nah," said Crowley, shaking his head. "Barely touched it, really. It was broken when I found it." He shrugged. "Fun, though. So, what, did they send you here to clean my mess up?"

Aziraphale nodded. He stared at his glass contemplatively. Crowley watched him, wondering whether he saw it as half-empty or half-full. Finally, he said, "I was worried about you, you know."

Of all the things Crowley had been prepared to hear Aziraphale say to him about their long absence from each other's company, this wasn't it. "Worried? What? You were worried? About me?"

"Well, you..." Aziraphale trailed off. "After our... misunderstanding, I stopped seeing you anywhere, so I --" He was avoiding Crowley's eye now, looking over his shoulder at the other bar patrons. "I checked in on you. I -- I don't know if you remember..." He looked down at his drink again. Definitely half-empty, if Crowley was any judge of expressions.

"I don't," Crowley said softly. He hadn't realized Aziraphale would care that much. Or at all, really, given their last conversation.

An uneasy silence lay between them. Finally, Aziraphale said, "And then when the war started up you were nowhere and I found a bunch of complete strangers living there!"

The expression on Aziraphale's face made him want to reassure, to apologize, to comfort. To stop being everything he was. "I thought you didn't want me hanging around anymore, that's all," he said. "I thought you were done with our Arrangement. And war is hell, so... I had a job to do."

"In the war," Aziraphale started, and then paused. "Did you --"

"No, angel," he said, rolling his eyes. "I didn't start the war, I didn't do much to make it worse, and frankly I don't know if I could have made it any worse than it was going to be already. I did take credit for it because it got my head office off my back for a few years, and if you're going to judge me for that --"

"Crowley," said Aziraphale, looking wounded. "I was only going to ask if you had to see much of the front."

"Oh." Crowley took a long swallow of his old fashioned then, so as to avoid looking Aziraphale in the eye, not that Aziraphale could see his eyes. (Thank Satan for small mercies.) "Yeah. I saw... enough."

"I'm sorry," said Aziraphale.

"Don't be. Don't think I was ever really in danger, I just hung about asking questions, trying to get people to disobey orders, slack off...."

Aziraphale stared at him. "That wasn't you, was it? In 1914?" Crowley frowned at him. "Christmas?"

"That? I thought that must be you!" said Crowley. "Seemed exactly like something you'd come up with except for the football part, although I did wonder how you'd managed it. Don't know how I'd even pull off something that big," he admitted. "No, it wasn't me. How could I possibly justify that to Downstairs? It was so treacly too, and on Christmas. Eugh."

"It most definitely was not," said Aziraphale. "I got a very angry letter about it from Gabriel. I'd sort of hoped it was you. I thought... you know, you'd like people questioning authority and not doing their jobs, even if their jobs were murdering each other. But I didn't tell Gabriel that, of course."

Crowley took another swallow of his drink, and said "Gabriel's a wanker."

"Crowley..."

"He is. I loathe him and I think I've only ever met him properly once, but everything you tell me is always awful." Crowley finished off his drink and waved the bartender over to get another one. "He got angry at you for it? What, did it show up in his miracle queue under your name by mistake? Or however that works."

"He said it didn't show up at all and asked if I knew of any rogue angels operating on the Western Front. I suppose I was the nearest agent they had. I was... not really asked to leave London but I felt I should check in on the front every now and again. You know, do some rounds at some hospitals. Brush up on my French and German." Aziraphale could have been discorporated, Crowley thought. It was probably a good thing he hadn't known about it until now, although part of him mourned the loss of an opportunity to sweep in and be very impressive and good-looking and save Aziraphale's life.

He didn't want to think about all of that now, so he turned the conversation back to 1914. "So... nobody did the truce, then?" Crowley asked.

"Humans did it," said Aziraphale. "Must have. Nobody else was involved. Unless one of your lot had a very strange change of heart --"

"They didn't," said Crowley.

"-- or one of my lot thought, you know what, today I'm going to upset the Archangel Gabriel, it'll be fun!" concluded Aziraphale.

"Well. Maybe. I would. I bet it would be fun," said Crowley.

"Yes, but you're a demon," Aziraphale insisted, in that infuriating tone of voice that suggested maybe Crowley had forgot.

Crowley ignored him. "Why didn't they want it happening? Really seems it ought to be right up your lot's alley."

Aziraphale shrugged. "Wasn't part of the plan, I suppose. Gabriel didn't really specify. It is, after all --"

"Ineffable," Crowley finished for him, rolling his eyes.

Aziraphale made no reply. He finished off his gin fizz instead.

"You can't plan for humans, that's the trouble," said Crowley. "All you can do is plan for them to go haring off in some wild direction --"

"And whose fault is that?" Aziraphale asked, pointedly.

Crowley glared. "I didn't make her eat the apple, you know. Still don't see what's so bad about knowing the difference between good and evil. For one thing, I'm not sure it took."

Aziraphale sighed. "Much as I hate to admit it, you may have a point, my dear."

---

They soon got to reminiscing about times past, drinks past, temptations and miracles past, and somewhere after his sixth or seventh or... possibly tenth drink, Aziraphale stopped feeling guilty and let himself just feel warm and happy in this boozy, smoky barroom. These newfangled sugary drinks really weren't as bad as he'd assumed they would be, and the people here seemed to be having such a good time. It was a shame it was all illegal, and also apparently immoral. Aziraphale was enjoying listening to Crowley tell a complicated story about an enterprising fellow he'd met in Cincinnati.

They both looked up from their conversation when a young lady shouted "Hey, it's almost midnight!" from one of the tables near the back of the room.

"Oh, are they going to be counting down to midnight?" Aziraphale asked.

"I s'pose so," said Crowley. "In New York they have this... ball."

"Oh! Like with masks?" Aziraphale asked. He'd rather enjoyed those. All the costumes were so much fun, and the food was usually quite good too.

"No, no, like... big round bastard," said Crowley, with an evocative gesture. "Falls down at the stroke of midnight."

"Oh," said Aziraphale, frowning. He tried to picture this, but it still didn't quite make sense. Not that he was drunk. As an ethereal being, he could put away a fair amount of alcohol, and all these silly sugary drinks couldn't possibly be very strong.

"You know, like a circle, but more," Crowley added. His evocative gestures were getting more and more patronizing, and Aziraphale wasn't having it.

"Yes, I know what a sphere is, thank you very much," Aziraphale said. "Why does it fall down?"

Crowley considered this. Aziraphale was beginning to think Crowley might be a bit drunk, silly sugary drinks notwithstanding. "Gravity?"

"So you don't know either," Aziraphale said.

Crowley chose not to answer this. "I think they used to use them as... as a signal, for ships? Only the New York one's just a signal for drunk people. I think... I think they might have one at Greenwich," he said. "For ships, not drunk people."

Aziraphale felt he was on firmer ground now that they were (conversationally) back in London. "You know, they moved Greenwich."

"Did they?" Crowley asked. "That must've been a lot of work. Where's it now?"

Aziraphale tried to remember. "Not in Greenwich. I think it had something to do with trains. To be perfectly honest I wasn't paying attention."

"I'll have to find out where they put it, then," said Crowley, making a face.

Aziraphale peered at him. "Crowley, I didn't know you were interested in astrono--"

"I'm not," said Crowley.

Well then. "So why are you --"

"To avoid it, obviously. Last thing I want to do, find myself surrounded by a bunch of boffins who think they know everything about the stars." Crowley somehow managed to visibly roll his eyes despite his dark glasses.

"I didn't know you were so against astronomy," said Aziraphale.

"I'm not against it," snapped Crowley. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Well... that's fine, then," said Aziraphale. He wished he hadn't brought it up. Being back on good terms with Crowley had been so nice, for this evening, and he didn't want to lose that over... astronomy. "So what happens at midnight? The ball drops, and...?"

"I think they all kiss each other," said Crowley. "You know, for luck."

"Oh!" Aziraphale remembered a little village in Swabia with a tradition like that. He thought it had been very touching. Actually, it had been a bit more touching than Aziraphale was entirely happy with, in the press of humans enthusiastic to ensure their luck and their family's and neighbors' luck for the next year, so he'd gone invisible after the first few friendly little pecks on the cheek from people he'd never met, wishing him luck he didn't need. He'd been biding his time, waiting on the right timing to perform a miracle. "That's a nice tradition. A bit lonely, though, if you don't know anybody."

Crowley shrugged. "I'm a stranger everywhere. I'm used to it."

Aziraphale realized then how much worse it must be for Crowley, who couldn't even feel the love and happiness of others as they shared their well-wishes en masse, of whom humans' first impressions tended to be untrustworthiness. "No! No, you aren't," he said. "Not really." He was having trouble putting this into words. Maybe he had had a few too many drinks.

Crowley frowned at him. "Sorry?"

Somewhere in the crowd beyond, Aziraphale heard someone shout "Ten!"

"You're not a stranger, Crowley. Not everywhere," said Aziraphale. It was, he felt, absolutely vital that Crowley understand this, especially right now. Aziraphale didn't want to lose him again over astronomy or something stupid like that.

"Nine!" There were more voices joining in.

"Ah. Thanks? How many of those have you had, Aziraphale?" Crowley asked, indicating Aziraphale's empty glass.

"Eight! Seven!"

Aziraphale was having trouble concentrating on counting the drinks he'd had with everyone shouting numbers around him, so he dismissed this question. He didn't see how it was relevant anyway. "That has nothing to do with anything, Crowley," he said, over the entire rest of the room counting down. "You're not a stranger to me, my dear."

"Aziraphale," Crowley said, sounding worried.

"Four! Three!"

"You aren't, and you never will be, and I'm sorry we haven't spoken in so long, and --"

"Two! One!"

Aziraphale decided, at this juncture, that since it was midnight, and since they were among humans who would presumably be expecting it anyway, he might just as well express himself more traditionally, as it were, so he leaned over and kissed Crowley.

His lips tasted like cognac and lemon, and he smelled good -- well, evil, technically, but in a way Aziraphale had always quite liked -- and it was all actually very nice until Crowley pushed him away, and said "Right, then, you'd better sober up."

"I'm sober! I'm fine! Can't be much in those drinks anyway, mostly sugar and --"

"Sugar and industrial alcohol, yes," said Crowley. He stood, a bit wobbly himself. "I'm sorry, I should have been paying attention --"

"I'm fine, Crowley, I'm not some lightweight," said Aziraphale, and he tried to stand too, but the room was surprisingly spinny and he ended up leaning against Crowley for support.

"Oof. You definitely aren't," said Crowley, putting an arm around him. "Come on, you can sober up or I can get you home, but I think you've had enough for now."

"I'm fine," Aziraphale insisted once more. But, in order to humor Crowley, he tried to extricate the alcohol from his system. Only it wasn't... normal alcohol, and he was having a bit of trouble, drunk as he was. "Oh. Oh dear." He stumbled forward. "Oh, you were right. This is -- this is very strong stuff, Crowley."

Around them, people were singing Auld Lang Syne very badly. They'd got through old acquaintance being forgot and never brought to mind, and now they were faltering. Aziraphale considered helping them out, but all he remembered was something about cups of kindness, which he had probably had enough of tonight anyway.

"Come on," said Crowley, gently. "I'll get you a cab. Where are you staying?" He managed to help Aziraphale through the smoky room, and with a snap of his fingers they both had their hats and coats back.

"Not staying anywhere in particular," said Aziraphale. "I didn't think I'd need to. Not as if I sleep."

"Ah," said Crowley, frowning. He went strangely quiet as he held the door for Aziraphale.

The cold wind rushed into the room, crashing over Aziraphale like a wave. It did clear his mind a bit, at least, as he stumbled into the alleyway. He paused, waiting for Crowley.

"Well," said Crowley, following him out, "you could... you could stay at my place. I've got plenty of room."

"Oh, I don't want to put you to any trouble," said Aziraphale, although if the headache he was getting now just from the minuscule amount of alcohol he'd managed to get out of his bloodstream was any indication, he would appreciate somewhere quiet and warm and safe very soon.

"It's no trouble at all," said Crowley, and he sounded like he meant it.

"Oh... fine," said Aziraphale, feeling he had put up enough token resistance to the idea to concede. He leaned up against Crowley for support again. "You are... such a good friend."

"I know," said Crowley, sounding miserable. "Don't rub it in."

"Without you things were very quiet," Aziraphale said. "Nobody to talk to. I joined a club and that was all right for a while. You might've liked it. Or maybe you would have hated it, I don't know, but it would have been nice to find out."

Crowley sighed. "I missed you too, angel."

---

The cab ride home was too long for Crowley's taste, but the last time he'd miracled a cab to go faster, the cabbie had panicked and they'd almost crashed, so Crowley put up with it. He'd never bothered to learn himself; he hadn't enjoyed driving carriages with horses, because... horses, and he assumed cars would be much the same, only even stupider and harder to control.

Aziraphale was drunk. Aziraphale was drunk and having trouble sobering up -- that was how drunk he was. Aziraphale had been in the city for two days; had in fact only been in the States for maybe four days. Had not known what the drinks on order were. Crowley should've been clearer in his warning about the quality of American alcohol; should have mentioned that the reason they put so much fucking sugar in it these days was because it tasted extremely bad, was possibly laced with poison by the distributor, and occasionally made people go blind.

The actual government had been poisoning it lately too. Crowley had written an entire report about it; governments murdering their own citizens for their own good always won him praise downstairs. Well, not praise so much as grudging acknowledgment that that was actually pretty evil.

Anyway, Aziraphale would probably be fine in the morning. At least, he would be fine physically.

Maybe he wouldn't remember kissing Crowley?

No. No, Crowley always remembered everything he'd said and done while drunk, unfortunately. It was probably one of the dubious perks of being a celestial being. So Aziraphale would remember everything he'd said and did and he'd be horrified at himself. And he'd be absolutely insufferable towards Crowley.

It hadn't even been a very good kiss, although Crowley felt that was probably because he'd been too surprised to respond in kind. He looked across the back seat of the cab, to where Aziraphale was watching buildings go past, and decided he didn't dare ask for a do-over.

Hooray, 1926.

Ah, well. He'd been hoping to invite Aziraphale back to his new digs for a nightcap anyway, so he could rub Aziraphale's face in just how completely, utterly, totally, undeniably, fantastically well Crowley was doing without him, but all those over-earnest pronouncements about what a good friend Crowley was had made him feel rather undemonically guilty about that plan. He'd expected the Aziraphale who insisted they weren't friends and he'd got beatific smiles and endearments instead. It had thrown him off.

There was also the matter of sleeping arrangements. It was quite a large house, but there was only one resident, so Crowley had only bothered to put one bed in it. Were Aziraphale sober, there was no question what Crowley would have done, given this predicament -- he would have apologized profusely, then suggested they share it, because obviously Crowley didn't have any other furniture at all upon which he could sleep; none of the couches would do, or the arm chairs, or even the pool table, oh no. Because after all, if he was sober, Aziraphale would probably just opt to sit up and read all night rather than discomfort Crowley in any way. It was fair if Aziraphale was sober.

(Read what? Crowley's small and haphazard pile of paperback novels and pulp magazines? Crowley decided that his first order of business once they pulled up to the house would be to miracle himself a library before Aziraphale could discover the lack of same. And after that, he would just have to miracle a second bed.)

So Crowley sat in the back of the cab, watching the dark water of the lake lap up against the snowy beach outside, wishing things had gone differently. He couldn't even put his finger on which things. Should he have kissed back? Should he have told Aziraphale he'd better go easy on the cocktails? Should he have sought him out before sixty-four years had passed?

Maybe he just shouldn't have Fallen. That would've solved pretty much all of Crowley's current problems neatly, and doubtless replaced them with an entirely different set of insoluble problems, mostly to do with Heaven being full of bastards with all the self-awareness of a chunk of pumice. Also, he would never have met Aziraphale, so it was a rotten solution anyway.

"What a beautiful night. From inside of a taxi, at any rate," said Aziraphale, watching the lights of the houses go past. There were only mansions along this stretch of the road along the lakefront, and every light was blazing.

"From inside a taxi, lots of things are beautiful," said Crowley. "You don't have to look too closely from inside a taxi."

They drove in silence for a few more minutes. Crowley tried to watch the scenery passing by on Aziraphale's side, and not look at Aziraphale himself. Now the mansions had been replaced with greystones and courtyard buildings. Here and there tipsy people wandered out of buildings, or stared out at the dark, flat lake from chilly balconies.

"Crowley, I haven't ruined your evening, have I?" Aziraphale said, quietly.

The question took him by surprise. "No! Why would you say that?"

"Well, I mean, if you had plans..."

You showed up and you made my evening, angel, thought Crowley. I can ruin my own evenings without you. Aloud, he said, "I didn't, especially. Er. Speaking of plans, have you got any meetings with Head Office scheduled yet, or can we do brunch tomorrow?"

"Oh, heavens no, they're not expecting me to check in for a good long time. To be -- to be perfectly candid I don't think they expected me to get here so quickly, my dear. Should have some time to myself. Brunch would be lovely."

Crowley grinned to himself, then remembered then that he barely knew any restaurants that were open in the daytime, because he only ever really had meals once every two weeks or so. And surely none of the diners he frequented counted as good, although their rat populations had all taken a drastic hit as soon as Crowley had started coming around when he was peckish. He'd have to call around to some of the people who showed up at his parties.

He wondered what Aziraphale would think of his parties. Probably not much. Not enough food.

He could fix that.

When they got to the house, Aziraphale stumbled out and handed the cabbie a fistful of cash before Crowley could stop him, and they made their way to the front door. "Quite a house," said Aziraphale, looking up at it. Crowley could not tell if he was being sarcastic or not. "Lots of columns," Aziraphale added. "And stairs." Crowley realized Aziraphale had fallen behind, and went back to help him up the stairs. "Thank you," said Aziraphale. "What do you need so much house for?"

"What does anybody need it for?" Crowley asked, because if Aziraphale was going to be drunkenly judgmental about his house he'd also better sniff superciliously at everyone else in the neighborhood.

"Just asking. I'm certain it's lovely," Aziraphale said. He stared up at the house for a moment, and nearly lost his balance.

Crowley caught him and steadied him, then unlocked the door and held it. "Come on, Aziraphale."

"Oh my," said Aziraphale, leaning against the doorframe and looking up at the vaulted ceiling of the entry. "Looks almost like a chur--"

"If you must know," said Crowley, guiding him forcefully into the house with an arm around his shoulder, "I need it for parties."

"Parties?" Aziraphale asked. They continued into the living room. Crowley quietly added some built-in bookshelves and filled them with books while Aziraphale was looking at the grand piano. Were those enough? Aziraphale didn't even look at them as Crowley led him through a corridor and once more offered him help up the stairs.

"Sort of obligatory, parties," said Crowley. He was trying not to enjoy how Aziraphale was leaning on him. He could probably offer more support with his arm around Aziraphale's waist, but that seemed... dangerous. "If you're going to show up out of nowhere being extremely wealthy and mysterious and clever --"

"Who's doing all that, then?" Aziraphale asked.

Crowley pointedly ignored him "-- you've got to throw parties." They paused at the landing. "I'm practically carrying you up these stairs, you know, you should be nicer to me."

"I'm always nice, Crowley, I'm an angel. Who do you invite?" Aziraphale asked.

Crowley made a noncommittal noise. "I don't really invite people, I just sort of decide, eh, it's been long enough between, let's have a party, and people think I invited them last week and show up, and sometimes they bring a friend or two. Nobody I already hate, though. Then I keep them around 'til the neighbors are angry enough to come over, or I'm sick of them, whichever comes first."

Aziraphale tsk'd. "Poor neighbors."

Crowley left him to hang onto the banister for balance while he went to inspect one particular section of the wood paneling. There was a forest motif here. Or rather, a garden motif. "Oh, don't pity them, angel, they deserve to be upset. I returned their lost cat once and they've hated me ever since. Couldn't stand the thought of it rubbing... cat elbows...? with new money. Somebody'd hit it with a car, too, it was an awful job getting the poor thing back in working order." Crowley found the tree he was looking for, pressed the third apple up, and the panel swung open. "Be careful here, there's a step up," he said to Aziraphale.

He'd sort of hoped Aziraphale would say something about the secret door, like maybe, "Oh wow, a secret door," or "What an impressive secret door you have," or perhaps even "Take me now, you beautiful secret door owner!" but Aziraphale seemed unmoved, and merely took his offered hand and stepped through the secret door as if it was a blatant and conspicuous door. "Well, that is a pity," he said. "Still, you did them a great kindness."

"Oh, don't, angel, don't act like I did them a favor. I reanimated their cat. It's probably haunted or something," said Crowley. "Perversion of nature, sort of thing." The cat seemed pretty normal, from what Crowley had seen of it, but sometimes it left eviscerated birds on his doorstep, and tried to trip him when he went out to get the mail. So probably it'd been a bad deed. (Crowley did not know much about cats.)

"I don't think that's how it works, my dear," said Aziraphale. He stumbled a bit, and when Crowley caught him, he beamed apologetically. "I'm so sorry, you're being terribly hospitable and I'm..." His face was so close Crowley could feel his breath.

He swallowed, and looked away. "No problem at all."

They were slowing down now, because Crowley, specifically, was slowing down, because this whole "Oh, by the way, I only have one bed in this whole mansion, whatever shall we do?" conversation felt much less fun to have now that it was imminent. They'd shared beds before, in other times and places when that was perfectly normal for two man-shaped beings who were merely friendly acquaintances, and it had been... well. It hadn't been much, but it'd been nice. This wasn't that, though; this was Aziraphale sloppy-drunk and overaffectionate, who would already wake up the next day and realize he'd done too much.

Crowley finally lost his nerve, and decided he'd have to just make a new bedroom. There were plenty of other rooms here; it was only that they were unfurnished and completely packed with smuggled liquor. The Canadian whiskey would be easiest to replace, so he sent a hundred and sixty-one crates of Old Log Cabin into the lake. Then he realized he didn't know what sort of decor Aziraphale would like, except that probably it would be hideous and incorporate tartan, and he froze up.

"Is everything... all right, Crowley?" Aziraphale asked.

"Fine, just -- fine," said Crowley. "Which... which bedroom would you like?" he asked.

"What are my options?" said Aziraphale. "Can I see them?"

"No!" said Crowley. "I mean. Not all of them. It'd take a while. Just, you know. Describe... a bedroom."

"It doesn't really matter, Crowley, I just need somewhere to rest while this awful stuff makes its way out of my blood stream," said Aziraphale. He was frowning at Crowley, which Crowley didn't like, and then suddenly he was smirking at Crowley, which Crowley liked even less. "Have you got any tartan?"

Crowley knew he had been caught now, but there was nothing for it. "I might do," he said, faintly. "What, er, sort of tartan?"

"Oh, there's a lovely pattern I just don't see enough of these days," said Aziraphale, and he went on a long drunken ramble about the particular history of some ill-fated Scottish clan, and by the end of it Crowley still didn't know what bloody colors the tartan was, but he sort of wanted shortbread now. He managed to get a color scheme out of Aziraphale (red and green, with occasional rogue blues and yellows, because fuck consistency) and tried to make the bedroom cozy, and by the end of it he was slightly regretting dumping all that whiskey into the lake, given that he could use some of it now, and that Aziraphale probably floated better.

Instead, he opened the door to the former whiskey storage room, and waved Aziraphale in. "Oh, it's lovely!" said Aziraphale, seeing the awful, hideous room Crowley had made for him. He beamed at Crowley. "Thank you for everything," he said, eyes wide and earnest, and he took Crowley's hand, and squeezed it. He looked at Crowley, expectantly, still holding Crowley's hand.

Crowley panicked slightly. "Yes -- well -- it's nothing. Goodnight!" He took his hand back and retreated quickly to his own bedroom. Upon arriving there, he took his glasses off and placed them carefully on the nightstand, sent his hat and coat down to the hall closet with a dismissive wave of his hand, and then fell back onto the bed, clawing his hands down his face.

#good omens #anthony j crowley #aziraphale #ineffable husbands #text #fiction #kaesa op

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suck-my-cinnamon · 5 years ago

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I’m done fucking white guys bro.

Last night, I hooked up with a guy, he told me his roommate was gonna be gone at 7, so I was like okay I’ll come by then. Surprise she was still there!! And she wasn’t going anywhere until tomorrow! Okay whatever, fine. Different rooms, it’s Gucci. We meet, and immediately he goes “wow you speak really good English.” 🙄 sure fine, I get it. Some people here don’t, but it’s not their first language. I say thanks, and we go up to his place.

He says he doesn’t do foreplay, cause he’s shit at fingering and he feels eating a girl out is too intimate. “It’s weird to think about eating a girl out, especially when you know she’s fucked other guys before you. It’s like there was dick there you know” FELLAS IS IT GAY TO EAT A GIRL OUT!!

It’s fine, I said. I can help myself if you don’t make me cum. Second round, we were going, then his roommate knocks on the door so she can go smoke on the balcony. I’m butt naked and riding him, he says “yeah sure come in.” Girl..... she just walks past us and I’m in shock. She stays on the balcony and makes a fucking PHONE CALL. He’s under me, still thrusting, telling me to keep going. Okay, fine sure. Then when she’s done, she comes back in and goes “don’t be shy” to me 🥴 GIRL WHAT. So we keep fucking or whatever. And then when he was done, he pulls out and I can feel nut on my leg? So I’m like what the fuck did the condom slip off while you got off, and surprise!! IT WAS STILL IN ME.

So he took a picture to show me how weird it was, said he’d delete it, and then went “actually, I wanna post it on 4chan, cause it’s hilarious.” I’m,,,,, he didn’t manage to but whatever. I go on the balcony to calm down a little, and he grabs my phone and pretends to throw it off the balcony. I panicked, started crying and he freaked out. Kept insisting I had some childhood trauma for me to have reacted that way.

So after I’m done crying, he’s like “I’ll make you a grilled cheese.” Then he said “oh btw do you wanna know why I performed so badly....” and I said “sure. Tell me.” And then he says hours before I came by, he went three rounds with his ROOMMATE. I swear to god. This was the weirdest hookup I’ve ever had and of course it had to be the white guy.

#I HATE #THIS #the first white guy i fucked with was the guy i dated for a bit #said he wanted an exclusive thing right off the bat wouldnt listen to me when i said that wasnt what i wanted #told me to please try it first and i was FUCKING miserable #second white guy i fucked the condom broke and he kept going #got nut in me #had to wait a month to make sure i wasnt pregnant #do you know how scary that is in a place where abortion methods are accessible #and then now this guy #ohhhhh my god

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seven-oomen · 4 years ago

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Okay, so first off, Happy Birthday to your cat! I hope he got lots of his favorite treats. Glad to hear that today went as well as can be hoped for you. And overall today wasn’t too bad here. We got several big truck deliveries, but when I deal with those I tend to deal less with customers, so it sort of balances itself out. We’ve been told that we’ll be closing early all week because of the protests, so that’s been ramping the anxiety, but the internet has provided a number of pleasant distractions on my breaks.

Secondly, I would pick Noah for the one that has the second set of twins, for mainly two random reasons; 1) because last time it went Chris, then Noah, so it feels like it should do the same this time, and Chris already had Ben, 2) because it keeps the number of kids per family more balanced- 4 & 3 rather than 2 & 5. Idk, my brain just gets weird about symmetry and balance in things and I’ve never figured out if it’s an ADD related thing or just a me thing. Also, the idea of him trying to do his job while pregnant, with Chris and ESPECIALLY Peter trying to be super protective at the same time is just amusing to me.

And actually, thinking about that and the preview for the next chapter made me think of a couple things that didn’t make it into my reviews. When/how/from whom did Chris learn about the fire? Did Gerard or Kate tell him in a gloating sort of way and kind of tip him off that something was hinky about it, or was it through other hunter contacts, so the thought of outside involvement came later?

Was he still pregnant with Ben, or was it later on? Did he contact anyone in Beacon Hills about it for further info at any point before he showed back up in town? Because I was trying to think about some of the things that could turn up later for angst (why I was doing that to myself is anyone’s guess, but here we are…) and it occurred to me that if Noah was going to have any lingering upset over Chris leaving it would most likely (to me) be from the time right after the fire.

He’s just lost Claudia, and went off the rails from it, but at least he had Peter, and Laura, and the other Hales. Now Peter is in a coma, Laura’s left town, and the rest of his adopted/found family is dead. He has no idea where Chris is, or if he’s safe from whoever did this (does he know about what happened between Chris and Peter before Chris left again?, and he’s dealing a set of even more heavily traumatized twins right now. I feel like even the most understanding person is gonna have some stuff to work through there. (Also, Jesus, poor Melissa [possibly for multiple reasons])

Uhhh…sorry to send things into a drama tailspin there for a moment. Allow me to try and brighten things back up with the original impetus for me to make this a submission and not an ask; because you mentioned X-Men Halloween costumes and I have Thoughts. *takes super deep breath* Because omg, yes, so very many options.

Side note - I would be so happy if someone dressed as Nightcrawler. He is my precious fuzzy elfin bb, and I love him to bits and get so tired of him getting left out of things (looking at you Funko.) I feel like Stiles or Peter have the best attitude match (maybe, MAYBE Jackson), but don’t know if anyone would want to deal with the amount of makeup involved. But, anyway, just, the possibilities.

Stiles telling Malia she can’t just take the easy way out by going as Wolfsbane, so she takes one of her old white A New Hope Leia dresses and cuts it down into an old school Mystique costume.

Peter pulling rank and telling Derek he’s the Alpha so he gets to be Wolverine (this even works better height-wise [I didn’t realize you didn’t know their approximate heights. I’d looked them up before for…reasons. Having seen them standing next to each other repeatedly, I’m pretty sure any actual height advantage Ian has comes strictly from his hair], although when Stiles points this out he earns himself a hell of a glare.)

Naturally that means Chris has to be Cyclops, because, well, calm and serious. Noah realizes this means they expect him to be Jean Grey. (N: “Why can’t I ever be a character that wears normal pants?!” C: “Well I have to be the boring one all the time” P: “I mean, you are the closest to a telepath of the three of us. Don’t you want us mock fighting over you?” N: “…if we do this I get my pick of the Phoenix costumes.”)

Stiles and Noah trying to fight over getting to be Gambit so they can do exploding playing cards, but getting told they can’t be Gambit unless they can do the accent correctly (Gambit isn’t Gambit if he’s not Cajun, that’s just how it is, I don’t make the rules.) While part of me thinks it’d be funny to see Jackson as Nightcrawler because of the tail thing, I think Stiles would be more entertaining.

He’d make little smoke bomb things to fake the sulfur and brimstone effect of his teleporting. All the family members with enhanced senses would HATE him because they STANK something fierce, and it LINGERED. But anytime one of them tried to tackle him to get them away, he’d yell “BAMF!” throw on to the floor and run like hell.

Jackson would be Iceman so he could make it a crossover costume with the character from Top Gun so he could wear aviators and a leather bomber with his outfit. Allison could dress like Shadowcat from the early Excalibur run, and she could see if Ben would dress up as Lockheed with her (because that would be adorable).

Derek would decide that if he can’t be Wolverine and glare angrily at people the whole time, he’ll be Colossus so he can just stare with silent disappointment the whole time. Scott would decide he wants to be Cable (because “…he just looks so cool…”), so Melissa and Chris would dig through their old hunter gear to help him make his costume.

Melissa could be Jubilee, and rig up little flash bangs to fake the plasma bursts (unlike Noah she has absolutely no qualms about proving that she can still rock a pair of short shorts.) Lydia would either be Rogue to show off that SHE at least can manage a believable accent, or Emma Frost for the looks that costume would gain her from Allison.

Alternatively; both sets of twins argue over who gets to be Scarlet Witch and Quicksilver, so they decide that one pair will do the classic comic version, and one will do either the Evolution cartoon version or the MCU version (though they are allowed to switch out the Quicksilver for the other film version if they choose).

Lydia claims Mystique instead (it’s tempting to make her Banshee, but that seems a bit TOO on the nose), or maybe one of the other Phoenix looks (when I say Phoenix looks I mean Jean’s Phoenix or Dark Phoenix suit from the comics, because I LOVE that outfit), and Ben dresses as Beast (because that would also be adorable). *finally stops to take another breath* …umm…so anyway, yeah, as a perennial X-men fan I think it’s safe to say I love this idea, and am so grateful for you putting it in my head… …sorry about the wall of text, I may have got a little carried away… …again…

I loved every single sentence of this wall of text, so never apologize. (Although I did break it up a little before posting because that makes it easier to read for other people.

I think all of my ideas for the middle of this fic where either based on questions you, or @artemisa97 asked me in reviews. So honestly, keep them coming if you want to ask them. They help me determine where the problem areas are, what kind of kinks I need to work out, so honestly, even the sad ones are a great help.

And yeah, I hadn’t looked up their heights yet, I just assumed Peter and Chris were a bit bigger than Noah, but I was delightfully wrong!

I do have one more gem to share, a height comparison of some of the boys and to show you just how tiny Ben is compared to the others.

Blue - Noah (182 cm / 6 ft)

Purple - Chris (177 cm / 5′10)

Red - Peter (178 cm / 5′10)

Yellow - Derek (183 cm / 6 ft)

Green - Ben (111 cm / 3′8)

Turquoise - Jackson (170 cm / 5′7)

Ben’s height is about average for someone between the age of 5 & 6, Jackson’s height is a little on the short side, but I’d imagine that he’d still grow a little until he’s like 20 and end up being around 175/176 cm.

I’d imagine Stiles to be a little taller around 172 cm, Allison is a little shorter at 165 cm and Malia is around 168 cm. (They will all still grow a bit, averaging between 173 (Allison) and 178 (Stiles) )

And the one thing I will say about whether or not Noah gets the twins, without getting too spoilery, or maybe it is, I’m sorry if it is but I can’t help not share.

Is that eventually both Noah and Chris have the same amount of kids from Peter. And one of them has twins. I’m still debating on names, in the deleted scene I named them Mikhail and Adeline, I currently have different names picked out.

And I think the balance thing is ADD related, because I had the same issue with planning the story XD. So yeah, Peter gets to have a lot of kids, and adopt a lot more into the pack, because Season 2 is kinda canon in this universe, in the sense that Isaac, Erica, and Boyd are still turned. Kira comes along, and of course Lydia. Considering what I have planned for Danny and Mack, I might add them to the pack as well.

And omg I LIVE for those X-men costume ideas <3 Omg. I love it. Considering Stiles’ abilities he would definitely be Nightcrawler and would probably use a quick spell or two to get the makeup in place. (A druid invented this fantastic spell to always get eyeliner on fucking point and shared it in their spellbook. Spoiler alert; said druid was Noah in his teenage punk years. Turns out, it works for other makeup too.)

And I’m in fucking love with all of these ideas actually, I can’t really say which I like more.

#once upon a time comments #ben says stuff #submission #once upon a time spoilers #kinda?

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thebookoftomorrow1 · 5 years ago

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Coming Up For Air

PAIRING: Bucky x Nea (OC)

TYPE: One-Shot

SUMMARY: Bucky has been back from Wakanda for a few weeks, feeling a little better with a new metal arm and all. Nightmares of his former life still haunted him and adjusting to the new world wasn´t easy either. He finds help with that in Nea, who finds herself falling in love with Bucky Barnes really quickly. Problem was, that Super Soldier didn´t seem to return the feelings. When Steve sends them away in order for Bucky to get back to his former self, Nea gets confronted with her own past and struggles to keep her feelings in check. Would Bucky understand that she knew how he felt better than he thought?

A/N: This is my first time writing something in English, so please bare with me and excuse any mistakes you might find! Also, this hasn´t been beta read, so...

This has been posted by a friend before and I personally always think my writings aren´t good, but the friend, @randomfandompenguin , convinced me to try and post it again. But I might delete it later ;)

Got the idea while being on vacation in Finland and just had to write it down. Nea is a character I´ve used in other storys I have been writing before (in German), so it felt kinda natural to use the name here too.

The title is inspired by the song of the same name from Signals in Smoke, which I mostly listened to while writing this.

@randomfandompenguin also told me to tag @the-ss-horniest-book-club , hope that is okay :)

WARNINGS: Fluff, little angsty?

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She watched Bucky disappear into the woods. He´d said he wanted to have a look around, just to be sure. She let him, well knowing she couldn´t stop him from doing so anyway. Where she was sure that they where save here, he couldn´t shake some old habits. But that was okay. Since he was back from Wakanda, with a new arm and all, he seemed different. Just a little more calm, hoping that they had fixed it. Got everything Hydra had put into his head out. But he was still a soldier and he would never lose his abilities.

Still, he had problems to find his place in this new world. And she was pretty sure he still thought, that he was a monster. Even if they had fixed his head, which she was sure they had, he still had the memorys. And the nightmares he had because of them. He still felt ashamed, lost and hurt. He´d told her as much when she had been with him after one of those nightmares. She still felt her heart breaking for him, seeing him so devastated and with tears in his eyes. She had huged him tight and he had been holding on to her, she´d let him cry for all the people he had been forced to kill.

It had just been this one night where she had seen him like this. The night where it had hit her, that she was in love with him. Bucky Barnes. The man that thought he wasn´t worth of loving. After that, they had spent alot of nights together. Talking, watching movies, sometimes just holding each other. Especially when he had been waking up from one of his nightmares. When he had been coming to her room one night, waking her up and asking her with panicked eyes if he could stay with her, they had started to sleep next to each other every night. Nothing more had ever been happening between them.

When the others where around, he was acting like everybody else with her. Like friends, and she had to admit, that it was hurting her everytime he did that. Like he didn´t feel any connection stronger then being colleagues between them. Was it really just her feeling that way?

The others knew about his nightmares, but he told everybody he´d manage, that he was okay. Bucky and her hadn´t told anybody how much time they spend together at night. But she was sure they knew somehow anyway. At least Steve knew it. If Bucky was talking with him about her, she didn´t know. But Steve had come to her one day, he knew how she felt about Bucky.

Steve had been there for her when she needed it, no matter if it was about Bucky or something else. He was the one who knew him best, even though they had been sepperated from each other, thinking the other one was long gone, they still were best friends. Steve had said that Bucky liked her too, he was sure of it. But if that was the case, he had never acted like it. Well, Wanda said the same about Bucky. She was the other person knowing about her feelings for him. Wanda was her best friend, ever since she took her under her wing, when she had been new in the team. When she was still feeling unsure, Wanda was the one that understood her best. Because her friend more than often felt the same. For her, Wanda was amazing. Not because of her abillities, but because of who she was otherwise.

After all, she herself just had some pretty good fighting skills. Almost as good as Natasha, at least that was what Steve had said. Of course she didn´t think so. Nobody was as good as Natasha in that way. But Steve had found her and got her into the team, so he must have seen something in her, that she still didn´t. It was not like she could control things with her mind, turn into a green powerfull giant or was the goddess of thunder. No, she was just Nea. The Avengers her new family. The only one she had. Thanks to Captain America himself.

But it was Steve´s fault, that she was alone with Bucky in the Finnish wilderness. She wanted to be mad at him, but he meant well. This wasn´t about her feelings for Bucky. This was about Bucky adjusting to live, feel better and maybe getting more himself again. Even if he was still a supersoldier.

Bucky wanted to work, go on missions. But Steve had talked him out of it, giving it still some time. And after long talks to him, with her beside Steve, he had agreed. But she still saw his shocked face when his best friend had told him, that he would go somewhere quiet. With her. Away from it all.

„You send me away, with her?“, he had asked, which had felt like a punch in her stomach. She hadn´t known about it either until that moment, so to say that she had been shocked herself, would be an understatement. But his reaction and obvious dislike about it, hadn´t made it better.

„You know why, Buck.“ Was all Steve had said to him. They had just looked at each other for a while then, silently talking. She didn´t know what had passed between them at this moment, but it had been enough for Bucky to grudgingly agree to it. And then, he had just left the room and she had been ready to cry, feeling rejected and hurt. He didn´t want to go with her, after everything that had been happening between them. He pushed her away like it was nothing.

It had taken Steve a while and alot of hugging, to make her go. He had said that she was the only one, besides maybe Steve himself, that Bucky had let get close to him. So she was the best to go, after he had missions to take care of. And you know, he was Captain America. As much as he wanted to spend time with his best friend, right now he couldn´t. Which made her feel for him again.

So she had pulled herself together, chose a place to go. Finland. Where she still had good friends that she hadn´t seen since becoming a part of the Avengers. They had helped her to find this nice, little summerhouse.

Shield had arranged the flight, but it hadn´t been easy to go unnoticed. A car had been waiting at the airport here, the long drive to the house feeling so much longer with the silence between Bucky and her. They hadn´t been talking since Steve´s decision and Bucky had avoided all kind of contact, which hurt her even more.

But maybe this was a chance for her to accept it. Accept that she had just been a welcome distraction and now… So if he could be cold to her, she would do the same from now on. Without losing sight of the assignment Steve had given her.

Nea closed her eyes, lifting her face into the sun. It was summer, but luckily here it wasn´t so hot. There was always a nice little breeze from the sea. She loved that it was so quiet here, just nature and one or two other summerhouses around. It was even better that this house was directly at the water. Her friends knew that she had always loved being near the water. Sometimes it was enough just watching the seagulls flying around, the movement of the water, to calm her down. Take her mind off of everything. Which was what she needed. So did Bucky, if he would let it happen and see the beauty in all of this. Nobody would find them here, at least nobody that didn´t need to. Her eyes still closed, she heard Bucky approach but didn´t move.

„I see why you chose this place“, he said. So, he was talking to her again? She didn´t feel like answerig. He sighed but came closer, sitting down next to her on the small platform overlooking the water. „It´s beautiful here. And quiet.“ This made her look at him. Like her, he closed his eyes facing the sun. He looked calm. And so beautiful…

„It is. Sorry you have to share all this with me.“ She said to take her mind of the path it had been going. He didn´t feel the same for her and she had to get over that.

He looked at her, confused. Which made her look away.

„What does that mean?“, did he really have to ask? It was hard not to look at him now, so instead she watched one of the seagulls searching the water for fish.

„Means that I was there for your reaction when Steve told you. And the fact that you have avoided me ever since, not talking to me until now, pretty much says it all.“ When she felt herself tearing up, the fact still hurting her, she stood. Avoiding his gaze, but still feeling it.

„Nea, I…“

„I´m gonna drive to the shop we passed, buy some stuff. You need anything?“, she asked, breaking him off. She didn´t want to hear his rejection. Standing with her back to him, she waited for an answer. He seemd to sense that she didn´t want to talk about it right now.

„No, thanks“, he said after a little while. So she started to walk up the small, wooden stairs to the house. „Shouldn´t I come with you?“, she heard Bucky say, which made her stop again.

„I can handle myself.“ Was all she said, before finally walking away. When she was sure he wouldn´t see anymore, she almost ran to the car. Starting it and, before driving away, put the radio on. Turning up the volume.

Even though she didn´t want to, she started to cry as soon as she had left the house behind her. Why was he suddenly acting like before? Did he really not know it had hit her pretty hard, when he had treated her like a stranger he didn´t trust?

When she reached the store, she took a moment to calm down, checking her face in the mirror. The last thing she needed was people staring at her, because she looked like a crying mess. Turning her thoughts to what they would need, again thinking more about what Bucky needed and liked, rather than herself, she finished shopping pretty fast. Glad she still remembered enough of the language. To have some more time to calm down, she took another road back to the house. A longer one.

Back at the house, she almost dropped the grocerys she was carrying, seeing Bucky chopping wood. With no shirt. Damn him! Of course that was the moment he noticed her. He was breathing hard, like he had been taking out some frustration on the poor wood. It made her snap out of her stare, continuing her way to the house. This would make her crazy, why had she agreed to this?

„Let me at least help you with that.“ Nea jumped, Bucky suddenly standing right behind her, when she was back at the car for the rest of the stuff. Damn supersoldier abilities. Her heart pounding, she just nodded without looking at him. Turning around, she walked back to the house. Busying herself with unpacking. Again she felt Bucky´s gaze on her, which gave her goosebumps.

„Can we talk about this?“, Bucky said after both of them unpacking and putting away all the stuff in silence. Again.

„Now you want to talk? I don´t think there is anything to talk about.“ She wanted to leave the room, but Bucky grabbed her hand and stopped her right in motion.

„I think there is“, just don´t cry she told herslef, already feeling the tears coming up again. „I´m sorry if I acted like an idiot. It wasn´t about you, I just… I was frustrated. With Steve, because he knows me so well. But mostly with myself. You…“ he broke off. Swallowing hard, she turned around to him. At least he was wearing a shirt again.

„What?“, she asked quietly and he sighed.

„You helped me so much in the past months, took my mind off everything. But without going on missions, I felt useless. I didn´t understand why Steve wouldn´t see that.“

„But now you do?“, a small smile tugged at his lips, but disappeard fast again. Shaking his head, he shrugged.

„I guess. I know I´m not a big help, if my head isn´t in the game. Which it isn´t. But it bugs me that he is always right.“ That made both of them laugh.

„It is annoying, isn´t it?“, Buckys smile was answer enough and her heart jumped. They didn´t mean it. Steve was like a brother to her, ever since he found her on the streets. But it was true, he somehow was always right with things like that. Nobody wanted Bucky to get hurt or worse, killed on a mission. They couldn´t be sure either, that he would let himself get killed. He had said more then once, that he wished he would have died back when Hydra had found him. That he didn´t deserve all the fuss about him, someone caring for him like Steve or she did.

She hadn´t seen Buckys reaction from that side. Now she felt really stupid, having overreacted.

„So, I´m forgiven?“, he pulled her close, already knowing the answer to that question. Being so close to him, messed with her brain. So she just nodded and leaned into him when his smile got even bigger, while hugging her tight. But still, she didn´t believe he saw more in her than a friend. She still had to get over her feelings for him. Because he would never feel the same for her. At least she could enjoy the time alone with him for now. With noone around, they wouldn´t have to act like there was nothing more between them. Maybe it wouldn´t be good for her goal to stop loving him, but she could enjoy this a last time, right?

Making dinner together, Bucky didn´t miss a moment to make Nea laugh. He seemed more relaxed now, which made her glad. After all, this was the reason they had come here for.

„So, your friends. You trust them?“, Bucky asked while they were eating. Nea was surprised to see the concerned look on his face.

„I do, with my life. They know who I am, what happend to me. And they never told anyone.“

„Do they know who I am?“, there it was again. The fear of people seeing him as a monster. She had to admit that her friends had been worried when she´d told them, who she was here with. Everybody just knew Bucky as the Winter Soldier, the dangerous killer. But they trusted her word as much as she trusted them. They had just been glad to see she was save and okay with the Avengers.

„They do, I told them.“

„And they are okay with this? With you being alone here with me?“, he looked down at his plate, the sadness in his tone almost breaking her heart. So she reached over the table, putting her hand over his metal one. Which made him look up at her again.

„I know I am save with you, James Barnes.“ Even his little smile was sad, but at least he turned his hand around and started to softly play with her fingers. Goosebumps spread over her body, making her shiver.

„Are you cold?“, she withdrew her hand and tried to smile. Why couldn´t she control herself?

„Maybe a little. Which is why I´m gonna try out the sauna.“ After saying that, she got up. Taking both of their plates with her. The sauna was something she really had been looking forward to, now was a good time for that. Maybe she would calm down a little and get herself under control, having a little time for herself.

„You want to get into the sauna?“, he asked.

„I´ve been wanting to ever since I decided to come here.“ Bucky helped her cleaning away everything and washing the dishes. When she gave one of the plates to him for drying, she noticed him smiling.

„What?“, she asked and smiled too, just because it really was contagious and she loved seeing him like this.

„I just thought… if you want to sweat, I can help you with that too.“ His smile turned into a grin and Nea felt herself blushing. In hope he wouldn´t notice, she turned her face back to the sink. She cleared her throat.

„Well, sauna is a different sweating. Relaxing. Cleansing. You know.“ Did she just stutter? Bucky chuckled, so she must have. Damn her hormones! As fast as she could, she finished the rest of the dishes.

„I´m gonna heat the oven in the sauna.“ she said, dried her hands and maybe made her way to the door a little too fast.

„You know I meant making you sweat with a training session, right?“, his words made her stop again. She didn´t even have to look at him to know, that he still got that grin going. Trying to put on a smile that she hoped looked real, she turned around again.

„Of course. We´ll have plenty of time for that here.“ Now she couldn´t stop blushing and he was in full sight of that.

„Sure.“ He winked at her, laughing. Oh he loved to tease her and she hated herself for reacting like this. Without another word, she went out and down to the sauna. Now she would need this even more to relax. When the oven was lit and she had everything else she needed in check, she went back to the house to get a Cider from the fridge and a towel from her bag. Bucky was seated in one of the cosy chairs, looking up from his book when she came in. He smiled at her with that glint in his eyes, that made her heart jump. She just returned it fast and got what she wanted, before escaping really quickly again. At least he could concentrate on something. There was no TV here and besides the safety phone they´ve got, there wasn´t any other device that could be tracked. Which shrunk their entertainement to books and… the company of each other. And that wasn´t good at the moment, at least not for her.

Nea took off her clothes in the little, wooden sauna. As soon as she´d sat down, got it steaming and her cold cider in hand, she closed her eyes with a sigh. This was heaven. A hot, 100 degree heaven but nonetheless paradise right now. This was a nice plus to every summerhouse in Finland, the original sauna. Compared to other houses around, they had it pretty much luxurious. They had a real toilet, instead of the old school outhouse. Which she was really glad about, that was too much nature even for her. They had electricity for the important stuff and running water.

To her own surprise, she really managed to relax for a little while. When it was time for her to get out, she drowned the rest of her Cider, already feeling like a new human. Now she would wash it all away with a swim in the lake. But first she popped her head out of the door, peaking through the trees. Bucky was nowhere in sight, good. Naked as she was, she hurried out and to the water. Before her feet even hit the water, she knew it was going to be cold. So she kept running and dived into the lake. She couldn´t help the little shriek escaping her mouth, when she made contact with the cold water. But after the short shock, it felt like it should. Just wonderful.

„What the hell are you doing, doll?“, her heart stopped for a beat, when she heard Bucky. She turned around to him, glad she had her whole body under water. There he was, looking at her with wide eyes. He looked almost… panicked! Oh my, he must have heard her shriek and thought something had happend to her.

„Buck, I´m sorry. The water was a little cold.“ She said apologetically. At least that seemed to make him calm down a little. But then he suddenly frowned, tensing a little again. She knew immediately what caused this and was suddenly really aware of the fact, that she was butt naked right now. At least he wouldn´t notice the blush in her face now.

„Doll, are you… I mean…“ now it seemed to be Bucky´s turn to stutter. The fact that he couldn´t even bring himself to say it, when he had been teasing her before in that direction, made her smile.

„Naked you mean?“, she said with raised eyebrows. Was HE blushing now?

„Well, are you?“, he asked as serious as he probably could right now.

„I am. You go naked in the sauna and after that, you take a swim in the lake. Naked.“ Bucky seemed to flinch a little at the word naked. Which is why she´d said it again. She didn´t know where she had found her confidence, but she sure was glad about it. Bucky looked around.

„What if anybody sees you?“ really?

„There is nobody here, Buck.“

„There is a house right there.“ He pointed in the direction, where indeed another house came into view.

„That´s pretty far away. And even if there is someone right now, they are used to naked bodys around, when there is a sauna.“ And that wasn´t even a lie. In that way, the Finns were really easy going. But Bucky wasn´t convinced. He seemed really old school with this.

„Still. Would you get out of the water now, please?“, now he was really serious. He even had managed to get the towel and was holding it out to her.

„Alright, it is getting cold now anyway. But would you…“ she made a sign with her hand for him to turn around. He huffed.

„Really? Now you are worried about ME seeing you naked?“, he looked almost offended now.

„Buck…“

„Alright, I wouldn´t have looked anyway.“ He turned around. She knew he really wouldn´t have looked, not after the way he´d reacted just moments ago. As fast as she could, she got out of the water and took the towel out of Buckys hand, wrapping it securely around her body. Bucky took a quick look over his shoulder and when he was sure she was decent, he faced her again. His look made her freeze. Their eyes locked and her heart picked up a pace, which sure wasn´t because of the sauna experience. It was the way he looked at her right now. She couldn´t really place it, had never seen it on him before. A little uneasy, she wrapped her arms around her body. Bucky seemed to snap out of his thoughts.

„You are shaking.“ He said and it was just now, that she realised she really did. But she knew it wasn´t because she was cold.

„I´m gonna wash up and then come back to the house.“ Was all she was able to say, still a little shaky from the moment that had just passed between them. Bucky nodded and with a last look, turned around and walked away.

She watched Bucky until she couldn´t see him anymore, the memory of the look in his eyes just moments ago, giving her goosebumps. What had that been all about? Shaking her head, she hurried back to the sauna, making quick work of washing up and getting dressed. It was getting late and the wind had picked up a little, even though the sun wasn´t going down fully at this time of the year, it got a little more crispy at night. So it was good she had taken a hoodie to put on too, even though the sauna still had er comfortably warm.

But then she remembered that it was Bucky´s hoodie and thought about taking it off again. He had forgotten it one day in her room, never asking to get it back again. So she had kept it, wore it whenever he wasn´t around and wanted to feel closer to him. Why she had packed it to come here, she didn´t know.

Trying to push away the thought that he would notice his hoodie on her, she stepped back into the house. Bucky crouched in front of the hearth, trying to get a fire going. For that she loved him even more now. It was so nice to sit in front of the fire and just be, besides, the house would get a little colder in the evening now too.

„I can make some tea if you want“, he said without looking at her, throwing some more wood onto the fire. When he did look up at her, his eyes immediately found the hoddie and a smile spread over his face. „But you look quite warm, so maybe no tea.“ Shit. She cleared her throat, really embarrassed he had noticed it.

„No thank you, I´m good.“ Was all she managed to say. Gone was her confidence she had before. He laughed, but nodded.

„Sit in front of the fire?“, he asked and pointed to the two cosy chairs, that he had obviously moved there. Glad he didn´t say anything about her wearing his clothes, she smiled. Choosing one of the chairs she sat down, drawing her legs under her. Bucky slumped down on the other one with a sigh. For a moment he watched the fire, while Nea couldn´t help watching him. He suddenly seemed really distant.

„You okay?“, she asked, which brought his attention back to her. He smiled softly.

„Yeah, I´m good.“ He answered and then took Neas hand with his metal one. She let him play with her fingers again, like before, she felt her body reacting to his touch. Her skin tingling, heart beating a little faster. What was he thinking about? It was quiet between them again, but this time, it wasn´t uncomfortable. Even she felt that it didn´t need any words right now.

After a while they just started to talk, just like they had done a thousad times now. She knew he didn´t want to sleep, event though he seemed as tired as she was. The fresh air here, and her going to the sauna, making it even worse. So she just got up at some point and started to get the bed ready, Bucky quickly coming to help her. For both of them it was out of question, that they would share the bed. After all, they had done this for a long time now. Just last night before they came here, they had slept seperated in their own beds. Due to Bucky avoiding her. And she had really felt alone then, being used to having him next to her. That had led to her not getting that much sleep either. She wondered if Bucky had felt the same, even though he often didn´t really sleep much anyway. Always scared to have another nightmare. But Nea couldn´t help it, she was tired.

„Buck, I´m gonna go check the oven of the sauna and then go to bed. I´m really tired.“ She said after a while. Bucky smiled, he had noticed that she had been almost falling asleep already.

„I can go check the sauna, you go sleep.“

„It´s fine, I…“

„Just go to bed, doll.“ He chuckled, got up and kissed her on the forehead before leaving the house. She sighed, no protest allowed with him. So she made herself comfortable in bed and closed her eyes. When she was almost asleep, she felt the matress dip and soon a warm body pressed to her back. Bucky slung one arm around her, last thing she noticed was how their fingers interwined, before she really drifted into sleep.

~*~

Nea woke up feeling a little cold. She turned, feeling around the bed for Bucky. But the place next to her was empty. Suddenly she was wide awake, searching the room for him. Her eyes found him by the window. Seated on the small sofa there, bathed in the orange light of the upcoming sun, he looked outside.

„Bucky?“, she said with a sleepy voice and got out of the bed. Did he have a nightmare again? Why hadn´t she noticed anything? He looked at her approaching, smiling soflty. „Did you dream again?“, he shook his head.

„Couldn´t really sleep.“ Was all he said, holding out a hand to her. Nea didn´t hesitate long, sat down on his lap and leaned into him. She loved it to sit and cuddle with him like this, and he seemd to need it too right now. Bucky took the blanket from the backrest of the sofa and spread it over them. His lips touched her forehead again for a kiss and she couldn´t help a satisfied sigh, closing her eyes. He would talk if he needed to and she would listen.

„Nea?“

„Hm?“

„Thank you. I mean, for being there for me, especially with those dreams. The things you know about me… Sometimes I don´t know why you still talk to me.“ Nea looked up at him. He had this sad smile when their eyes met and everytime he said something like this, her heart broke for him.

„Don´t say that. You´re not getting rid of me that fast.“ She said with a smile, trying to lift his spirit again. He laughed, so it worked for the moment.

„I don´t intend to“, his voice was so deep and his eyes so intense when he said it, she was glad she already sat on his lap. Before she could even react, he started to talk again. „But I mean it. If you ever need me, I´ll be there for you… You know that, right?“, he didn´t look at her, watching their interwined fingers instead. Nea frowned. Why did he sound so worried?

„I know. Bucky, what´s wrong?“, she had to ask. He sighed and met her eyes again.

„You have bad dreams too, don´t you?“, Nea tensed.

„How do you…?“, was all she managed. How DID he know that? Yes, she had bad dreams too. Maybe not as intense as him, which is why she had hoped he wouldn´t notice anything. He watched her face, suddenly a little unsure. But then he pulled her a little closer.

„You talk in your sleep. Alot actually.“ Shit.

„And what… what do I say?“, avoiding his gaze, she tried to get up. But Bucky didn´t let her.

„You always seem scared, pleeding with somebody. I always pull you close to me, you don´t wake up but calm down at least. Tonight you did it again.“ He explained so softly, she shivered. When he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, she closed her eyes. Trying really hard to controll her emotions.

„How much did Steve tell you about me?“, she asked as soon as she trustet her voice again. She knew they had been talking about her, but didn´t know how much Steve had told him. Not everybody knew the whole story. What she had done before he had found her.

„Just that he found you after a mission, a big illegal fight club, pretty beaten up.“ He said and Nea looked at him again. That really seemed to be all he knew, he wouldn´t lie to her. She sighed, maybe it was time to open up to him. He had to know she trusted him, it was just hard to talk about it. But that was sure something he could relate to. And it warmed her heart that he wanted to know.

„Almost dead would be more accurate.“ Bucky inhaled sharply at her pretty silent comment. It was true, she had been half dead, lying in that street behind the building that had been her prison for months.

„You want to tell me what happend? I mean, you don´t have to. But…“ Bucky started, when she didn´t say any more for a while. But she stopped him with a finger on his lips.

„It´s okay, I just… It might just take a moment“, he nodded at that and waited. Nea took a deep breath. „I was one of the female fighters. Not exactly voluntarily. The boss of the whole thing trained me, or better, made me. After loosing my family and everything else because of me stupidly falling in love with an asshole, I lived on the streets. He took me in, it started with a waiter job at the events. When he saw me fighting off a pervert grabbing my butt, he locked me up with four of his best woman in the cage that was the fighting ring.“ Now she felt Bucky tense, his grip on her hip intensified. When she looked at him questioningly, he tried to smile.

„Sorry.“ He whispered, loosening his grip.

„I survived somehow. And he made me train with him. It was either that, or back to living in the streets. I didn´t know anybody else.“ Still to this day she thought that she could have made it, if she had tried harder.

„That´s where you´ve got your fighting skills from.“ Bucky stated, she nodded.

„I had been doing some selfdefense courses before, which is why I could fight off the grabby guy. But his training was nothing against it. I got hurt, alot. He wasn´t exactly careful. If I wasn´t concentrated enough, or didn´t do what he wanted me to do, he hit me. Hard.“ Bucky growled. Seeing him fighting his emotions now, almost made her cry. She wouldn´t cry now, had to keep talking.

„But when I finally managed to knock out some of his guards, he put me up for fights. The first ones where really easy, but then… I´m not proud of alot of things I have done in this ring. I´ve hurt people, pretty bad. Sometimes I had to injure them to win. But the worst thing was, at some point I started to enjoy it. It helped me with my emotional pain, took out my frustration. It was wrong, but… I did it.“ Now she couldn´t stop the tears from coming. She hated herself for the person she had been back then, even though she never wanted to go that way. Bucky drew her closer again, making her put her head on his chest. He held her and let her cry, kissing the top of her head.

„Did he… Did he do anything else to you?“, Bucky asked after a few minutes. His heartbeat had calmed her down, but again he sounded worried. Swallowing hard, she shook her head lightly.

„No“, she had to clear her throat. „No, he didn´t. Made me serve him and he tried to prostitute me once to a guy, making some money. But I beat him up.“ She could feel the relieved breath that left Bucky´s body.

„So, what happend the night Steve found you?“, Bucky asked, changing the subject again.

„Boss was angry with me because of the guy, apparently he had been a big investor. He usually gave me a pretty good beating whenever I wouldn´t bow to his will. But after that, he locked me in my little, dirty room. Always having one of his guys in front of the door. He put me up against the champion, to teach me a lesson he said. She was way taller and more muscular than me, no one had ever lasted more than one round with her. I lasted five somehow.“ Bucky cursed silently, so she liftet her head to look at him, before continuing.

„When Steve and his cavalry came in, I managed to drag myself out of the building in the chaos that erupted. I made it out the backdoor where I collapsed. There I was, leaning against the wall and glad it would finally be over. But then there was Captain America, I was barely able to see him. The last thing I remember is him kneeling in front of me, taking my hand and saying `Don´t worry, I got you now´, before I fainted.“ It was weird, but she still remembered that she had smiled at him. Thinking she would die and finally be free.

Bucky seemed to sense her feelings right now and squeezed her hand.

„Steve told me he took you to the hospital and didn´t leave your side, until you were better.“ He said, she nodded. So he had been talking about that at least.

„He did. At first I thought it was just because I was one of the the main witnesses, being the boss´s… You know. Just my statement could have gotten him behind bars and there were people after me. He was with me the whole time in the court too and then, when everything was over, I was sure he would send me away. But instead, he took me to the tower and gave me a home. I still don´t know what he saw in me that he did this.“ Her sad smile made him sigh.

„Well, I know. In some ways you could be his twin. Big heart, stubborn, a fighter in more than one way.“ The way he looked at her now, made her shiver again. But she shook her head.

„I´m serious Bucky. I still don´t think I deserved it, after all the things I have done.“ Her eyes teared up again. Bucky took her face in his hands, so she had to look at him.

„Don´t say that. You didn´t have a choice.“ He said with tears in his eyes himself, which hit her right in the heart. But then she realised what he had said really and smiled, leaving him a little confused.

„You know that is what I always tell you, right?“, was her explaining answer. Bucky looked surprised first, then shook his head with a small smile.

„It is, yes.“

„And do you believe me when I tell you that?“, at this moment she was glad she´d told him. Make him see how she felt and that in some way, they weren´t so different when it came to this.

„No. But I´m beginning to understand…“, she hoped he did. That he knew she understood how he felt, because she had felt the same desperation. But didn´t anymore, since they had gotten so close to each other. He had been there for her as much as she had for him. „I´m glad he found you.“ He said, cupping her face. Nea´s heart stopped for a moment, did he come closer? Before she could even react, his lips were on hers, kissing her softly. At first she was so surprised, that she didn´t do anything. When Bucky seemed to pull away, probably unsure about her non existing reaction, she reached for him, putting a hand in his neck to pull him closer. She could feel him smiling into the kiss, before he deepend it again. To feel him like that, like she had imagined it so many times, felt like fireworks exploding in her stomach. She needed to get even closer to him, feel so much more of him, because maybe this was all a dream and she would wake up soon.

It didn´t take long and she straddled his lap, their kiss getting more passionate. His hands roamed over her back, giving her goosebumps when he found some bare skin. They both broke the kiss when they needed some air, hearts pounding in the same rhythm, she could feel it. Bucky smiled before resting his forehead against hers, burrying his hands in her hair.

„I should have done this a long time ago.“ He said breathless, his eyes practically glowing. Nea had no words right now, so she answered in the only way she could now. She kissed him again, trying to put all the feelings she had in it. And when she drew back, looking at him, she knew it was enough for now. He knew.

When he kissed her again, she let her hands roam over his body. Finding the hem of his shirt fast enough, her hands dove under it and touched his stomach, he sighed into the kiss. Nea used it to pull the shirt up and over his head, leaving him in nothig but his boxers. For her he was beautiful and she loved looking at him. Bucky squirmed under her, snapping her out of her trance. She bent down for another kiss, her hands gliding over his muscled chest up to his broad shoulders.

When she slid even deeper into his lap, his grip on her hips tensed. Their kiss was still heated, but something was wrong. Other than the kissing, he was totally still. She felt like her hands where everywhere over him, loving the feel of him. But his hands remained on her hips, with an iron grip. Again she drew back, looking at him. They were both breathing hard from making out and the heat building up between them. Maybe she should make the next step. So she took hold of her shirt, ready to take it off, when he stopped her with his hands on hers.

Nea tried to ignore the stabbing pain of rejection. So he didn´t want this after all. But when he looked up at her with sad eyes, she frowned.

„What´s wrong?“, had she done something wrong?

„I just…“, he sighed. „I don´t want to hurt you.“, Neas heart ached for him when he couldn´t even look at her right now, watching his metal arm instead. How could he ever think that? Laying a hand on his cheek, she made him look at her again.

„You won´t. I know I´m save with you.“ With that being said, she sat up and took off her shirt, full aware that she wasn´t wearing a bra. She was nervous to look at him again, but when she did, she almost stopped breathing. The love in his eyes right now, made her whole body tingle. A surprised screech left her mouth, when Bucky suddenly stood up, lifting her easily. He made his way over to the bed with her, Nea started to kiss his neck. Which made him shudder with pleasure.

Bucky laid her down on the bed, climbed on top of her and looked so deep into Nea´s eyes, that she was glad she was already laying down. She knew he wanted to make sure one more time, that she really wanted this. But she did, for so long now that she felt herself shiver with pleasure, before drawing him closer for a kiss. She could feel that he wanted this as much as she did. And when she slung her legs around his hips, she hoped this really wasn´t just a dream.

~*~

When Nea woke up, the spot next to her was empty again. She didn´t hear anything in the house, so she guessed he was outside somewhere. It must have been the middle of the day right now, she had been sleeping really long. Memorys of the night made her smile, already missing the contact to him. So she got up, put some underwear and his hoodie on. Barefoot she made her way to the windows in the livingroom area, there he was, on the big front porch. He had been training, his naked upper body was slightly glistening with sweat. But he seemed distant, thoughtful, watching the surroundings. What if he regretted last night? The thought alone made her heart stop for a moment. There was only one way to find out, so she took a deep breath, opened the door and stepped outside. She was sure he had heard it, but didn´t act up on it. She walked over and slung her arms around him, putting her hands on his chest. Not tall enough to put her head on is shoulder, she kissed him softly on his left shoulder, right next to where his metal arm started. When she leaned her chin against his warm skin, he shudderd.

„What´re you thinking about?“, she asked, almost whispering. A little scared what his answer would be.

„About you.“ her heart stopped, while she felt his beating steady under her hand. Bucky detached her hands from his chest, just to turn around and face her with a smile, that made her almost forget how to breathe. Taking her face in his hands, he pulled her closer.

„How it can be that you make me feel this whole again. Which I haven´t felt in a really long time. How you showed me, that I can feel so strongly for somebody, that it almost hurts. But in a good way“, with the way he looked at her right now, Nea felt herself tearing up. His thumbs stroking her cheeks so softly, he was so close to her lips now. „And how I love to see you in my clothes.“ he said and made her laugh with it. But then she kissed him, desperately needing the connection with him right now. Her arms went around his neck, he grabed her by the waist and pulled her even closer. The kiss was so passionate, yet with so much feelings, that her whole body felt like a thousand fireworks again. When they broke away from the kiss for air, they smiled at each other. Nea wanted to tell him, that she felt the same way about him. She wanted to tell him right now, what she felt for a really long time already. But was it the right time? Hadn´t he just basically said the same, just in a different way?

„What is it?“, Bucky asked, frowning. Of course he sensed it. Biting her lip, she looked down at his chest, tracing a finger over the spot where his heart was.

„I love you, James Buchanan Barnes.“ She said with a shaky voice. It felt right to finally say it. Before she hadn´t even thought she would ever have the chance to. Bucky was quiet for a moment, which felt like forever for her. But then he made her look up at him again, his eyes practically glowing now. He still didn´t say anything, but kissed her. Right now, that was enough for her.

They spent the days talking, laughing, swimming and training. Bucky always praised her fighting, especially when she got him down. But Nea knew he did that on purpose, he let her `win´. He knew how insecure she often felt about it, so she didn´t say anything and thanked him with a kiss, everytime he showered her with compliments about it. When it was raining outside, they spent their time mostly snuggled up before the window, watching the rain. Or they cuddled in bed, in front of the fireplace. Reading or reading to each other. They loved each other. Alot. And Nea felt like she would burst with happiness anytime. Something she hadn´t thought to ever feel again. But he had changed everything for her.

Bucky even wanted to meet her friends, so she arranged a visit. It warmed Neas heart, seeing Bucky being so good with their little boys. Of course they were fascinated by his arm. At first she had been scared it would be too much for him. But he calmly answered every question they had, now and then looking at her for support. Her friends liked him. They saw she was happy. That he made her happy.

In between she talked to Steve and Wanda on the phone. Bucky didn´t like talking on the phone, so he gladly let her do it. She didn´t say anything about them, that she and Bucky where together now. Just that it was going really good. At least Wanda knew it. Even through the phone she could read her like a book. Steve told her that they might have to come back soon, for a mission. But he would let them know when it was time.

So they enjoyed the time they had together. The nature around them had enough to discover. And it gave them time to discover more about each other. Nea loved to hear him tell storys about him and Steve being kids. She told him about her time in Finland, before everthing had gone wrong. That she had been happy here.

One day Nea had the feeling that their time in this piece and quiet would be over very soon. She often had feelings like that, didn´t know why, but so far she had always been right. So she wanted to use the sauna again one last time. Bucky had told her that he didn´t like it she was swimming naked afterwards, because he didn´t want anyone seeing her like that. Everytime she had gone to the sauna after that, she had put something on before going for a swim. For him. He had always joined her for that. But for her maybe last time, she wanted to do it the Finnish way again. Bucky had been going for a run, so she had her chance to do that alone. What he didn´t know…

„Going somewhere?“, Nea jumped and hid behind the wooden door of the sauna. Bucky was sitting on one of the stones next to the small stairs, looking up at her.

„Bucky, what…?“, damn it. She had been so close. Looked like she had enjoyed the sauna a little too long. He got up and came up to her, just her head peaked out of the door. Her eyes traveled over his naked upper body. His skin was glistening with sweat and all in all, she wanted to jump him on the spot. But he didn´t seem amused, crossing his arms over his chest while looking at her.

„Buck, come on. Nobody is here besides you and me.“ Nea said, batting her eylashes at him. He sighed and stepped aside.

„Go“ was all he said, Nea smiled, hurried out and to the water. Again she screeched a little, when she hit the cold water. But again, it felt SO nice. When she looked back to Bucky, she smiled. He was just taking off his shoes and pants. She bit her lip, watching him walk into the water, naked now too. Jesus, he was SO beautiful! But when he didn´t even flinch while getting into the cold water, she scoffed.

„What?“, he asked, laughing when he reached her. She shook her head and started swimming. He followed and together they took a smal lap. It felt good and refreshing. Bucky waited for her on the shore, still standing in the water up to his hips. Smiling at him, she wanted to pass him, but he stopped her and pulled her close. Of course she didn´t protest when he kissed her, just leaning into it. When his fingers softly trailed over her back, down to her butt, she shuddered.

„Are you cold?“, Bucky asked, breaking the kiss.

„How could I?“, she said with a big grin. He laughed and kissed her nose, she loved it when he did that. Leaning her cheek against his chest, he embraced her and they just enjoyed standing there. Holding each other naked in the water.

„Promise me, we will come back here some day.“ She said after a while, looking back up at him. Brushing a strand of her hair behind her ear, he kissed her forehead.

„I promise. But I think we have to go now.“ Nea frowned, but then looked over his shoulders just to see Steve standing not far from them. He leaned against a tree, arms crossed and watching them with a shit eating grin. Of course Bucky had heard him.

„Told you I would let you know when it was time to come back.“ Steve said and had the nerve to wink at her.

„Seriously?“, she said incredulously. Feeling herself blush, she pressed herself closer to Bucky. He laughed and slung his arms around her, before looking over his shoulder at Steve himself. The bastard seemed to enjoy this. She was naked for gods sake. Sure, she had known it would be time soon. But this was just Steve Rogers timing to show up right at this moment.

„Would you mind Rogers?“, Bucky said, but with a smile, to his friend. Steve laughed.

„Sure, sorry. Waiting inside. Oh, I am alone by the way.“ again he winked at Nea, before he went up to the house. She grumbled, burrying her face at Buckys chest. He laughed, kissing her head.

„Understand now why I didn´t like you to go swimming naked?“, apparently Bucky found the whole thing funny now, while she just wanted to hide in shame. When she just grumbled in response, he laughed again. „Come on, he´s inside the house now. And it´s Steve, he wouldn´t look anyway.“ He dragged her out of the water and both of them got dressed fast.

Steve was still smiling when they entered the house, sitting in one of the cosy chairs. But he didn´t say anything about them, just coming straight to why he picked them up now. Nea was thankful for that. It would be Bucky´s first mission in a while. Her heart melted when Bucky looked at her, his eyes gleaming with excitement. She knew that meant alot to him. And he was ready now. He still had his nightmares, like she did, but they dealed differently with that now. It would do him good, to be in action again.

When Steve had explained it all, they got up to pack their stuff. But Steve stopped Nea by taking her hand. Before she could ask what it was, he pulled her into a hug. Smiling, she hugged him back.

„Told you he likes you too.“ Steve said close to her ear, before he broke away from her with a big grin. Shaking her head, she laughed. He really did love it to be right.

When things were all packed, she persuaded Steve to let her say goodbye to her friends. The boys getting excited to see Captain America himself, which was just a joy to watch. The guys with kids. And Nea promised them to keep more in contact again.

They left Finland with another happy memory for her. And she hoped it would be one for Bucky to hold on too. They would make alot more of those together now. Hopefully.

#my writng #fanfiction #Bucky Barnes #might delete later #mcu fanfiction #Bucky Barnes fanfiction

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pinkbubbles-and-bigtroubles · 6 years ago

Text

If You’re Gone (Girls Talk Boys part 32)

I think I've already lost you I think you're already gone I think I'm finally scared now You think I'm weak, I think you're wrong

If you're gone, maybe it's time to come home There's an awful lot of breathing room But I can hardly move If you're gone, baby you need to come home, come home There's a little bit of something me In everything in you

Ashton got to Cal's about 20 minutes after Cher texted him. He knocked but when he got no answer he opened the door and let himself in, the place was a wreck. Calum had flipped his coffee table over slinging things across the room and he'd kicked a hole in the drywall by his front door. Ashton carefully made his way around the mess hearing Calum upstairs. He saw the refrigerator door open and went to close it before heading up noticing the whiskey Calum had just bought was not there.

Ashton jogged up the stairs and peeked into Calum's bedroom. Seeing no sign of man or beast as he made his way down the hall. Calum had a 2 bedroom unit and had turned the second room into a gym/music room. He was sitting at his piano with his back to the door and Duke at his feet half slurring half singing “If You’re Gone” by Matchbox 20. Ashton shook his head, he knew this was gonna be a mess. He put a hand on Calum's shoulder causing him to look up with a tear streaked face and unfocused eyes.

“What happened?” Ashton hadn't ever seen Cal look this dejected.

“I fucked up,” Calum hung his head and sniffled fighting back tears again scooting over so Ashton could sit next to him.

“Did Camille break up with you? Cal I don't understand what's going on,” Ashton was puzzled.

“I acted like a complete asshole towards Camille, and she's probably never going to speak to me again. She's already blocked my number on her phone and all her social media,” Calum slumped against his shoulder and reached for the bottle before Ashton grabbed it.

“Getting sick everywhere won't make you feel better tomorrow” Ashton told him taking a swig himself draping his arm across his friend as Calum alternated between babbling and crying trying to explain the fight with Camille.

Cher pulled into the airport's unloading zone and took a deep breath. Both women had been crying as Camille told Cher everything that went down. Camille was devastated by the argument and pissed beyond words but Cher knew she had the ability to compartmentalize and decide she wasn't dealing with Calum right now. With him deleted and blocked she had to focus on work and put her personal life on hold until she got back. Cher had always admired Camille's ability to just that, but also knew it was her way of avoiding dealing with her problems. She helped Camille with her bags and gave her a hug.

“You're gonna be great Cam, don't let this shit get to you. Calum knows he fucked up,” Cher cupped Camille's face in her hands sharing the sadness in her friend's eyes.

With a flash the sorrow vanished and Camille was angry and again Cher knew she was more comfortable being mad, as Camille didn't do sadness well.

“Are you guys done? He thinks you broke up with him,” Cher asked her.

“No I mean, I don't think so. He really fucked up and pulling this right now made it so much worse. I'll deal with it when I get back. Thank you for texting Ashton to go check on him,” Camille shook the thoughts out of her head and put her game face on.

“I'll see you when you get back,” Cher gave her another quick hug before waving to Stephen who was already waiting for Camille in the terminal.

Before Camille made it to the escalator to head up to check in her phone dinged. Cher had sent her a $10 Starbucks gift card knowing Camille needed a pick me up.

Cher checked her messages seeing two missed calls from Calum and a text from Ashton.

Cal's drinking and in a bad way. I'm gonna stay over here at least until he passes out. He tried to call you, Camille has him blocked. Did they really break up?

Cher answered him

Camille won't talk to him until she gets back. He acted like a complete asshole and I don't want to talk to him either. Camille hasn't decided what to do yet I'll explain later.

Ashton set his phone down. “The girls don't want to talk to you right now.”

Calum nodded, he was now sitting on the floor with his knees pulled to his chest. Duke kept nudging at him and Calum would almost smile. Ashton had gotten some of the story out of him but Calum couldn't bring himself to repeat the worst he'd said. After a couple hours of drinking and listening to sad songs Ashton put him to bed and texted Cher.

I'm staying here tonight. I hope Camille is ok, Calum is too upset to talk about it but he knows he's wrong

Cher smiled and messaged back

Thank you for not defending him but still supporting him. I'll see you tomorrow daddy

Ashton chuckled and squeezed his dick through his pants glad this fight between their best friends wasn't coming between them.

Calum had spent two days holed up with his laptop and journal in his music room with Duke. Ashton checked up on him but they didn't talk much as Calum was watching the all the ProFantasySports live streams and scribbling down song ideas. Calum was laid out on the floor with his laptop watching Camille's interview on SportsTalk and Ashton was fiddling around on the piano when they both jumped at the sound of the front door slamming.

Footsteps came thundering up the stairs before Luke burst into the room.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” Luke was angry and accusing.

Calum flinched at his words and Ashton stood up “Luke you don't know the whole story,” he said trying to calm him down.

“Actually I do, I was on the phone with her last night because she couldn't sleep,” Luke fumed. “He basically accused her of lying, wanting to cheat on him with her ex, and, this is the best part, accused her of using sex to get ahead in her career.”

Ashton was stunned and Calum couldn't meet their eyes, his face burning with shame.

“The worst part is the timing of it. Camille feels like you’re trying to sabotage her job. You need to figure out your insecurities and your jealousy because while she's going to forgive you this time, you will lose her if you keep it up,” Luke sat down and his expression softened. “I know you love her. I want to see you guys make it.”

“What did you come back from your vacation with Summer just to yell at him?” Ashton asked slightly annoyed.

“Did you and Summer have a good time?” Calum asked.

“Yes, thank you. We're really good right now” Luke replied. “I'm not here to fight. I'm here to help you get your girl back.”

“Wait did you say she forgave him?” Ashton asked.

“No she hasn't yet but she wants to. He needs to convince her, and we're going to help.”

The party was going strong but Camille wasn't really having fun. She'd escorted the contest winners around from breakfast, a day in the NFL Zone meeting players and testing their pass, punt, and catching skills before ending the day at a charity dinner. She'd promised Brandon Pearcy she'd drop by his party tonight and Stephen agreed to tag along. Being a sports agent Brandon had gone all out, he had clients on both the Rams and the Patriots so they'd split house down the middle, blue and gold on one side with silver, red and blue on the other. The food was themed accordingly, New England had lobster rolls, crab cakes, fried clams, Greek pizza, fluffer nutter sandwiches and whoopie pies. L.A. served up french dip sandwiches, Pink's chili cheese dogs, Pho, shrimp tacos, chicken and waffles and rice krispie treat chocolate chip cookies.

Brandon was always friendly and introduced her to several big name players. Rob Gronkowski, Tony Gonzalez, Calvin Johnson, Cam Newton and even Odell Beckham Jr who was extremely good looking and very flirty. People were snapping and posting pics and Camille couldn't shake the feeling she was doing something wrong.

“Camille,” a familiar voice was at her side and she looked up to see Quentin standing there.

She jerked back, panicking when he put his hand on her arm.

“Easy now, baby girl I didn't mean to scare you.” Camille relaxed seeing the concern on his face.

“Sorry I was lost in thought. You scared me.” Camille put her hand on her chest.

“You looked miserable,” he told her with a laugh before she noticed his eyes catch something across the room distracting him for a second.

Before she could turn around his attention was back on her “I know this is a work event for you but come hit this blunt,” he spoke quietly leading her out to a side patio where several people were smoking.

Camille took a puff and Quentin leaned down to talk to her.

“You need to leave this party. Brandon is going to make a move on you and he can be very aggressive and very nasty if he doesn't get his way.”

“Q, why are you telling me this? You think I can't handle myself?” Camille kept smiling and her voice low.

“Please trust me this one time, this will get ugly if you stay. His dealer just showed up and Brandon on cocaine It's something you don't want to see. It's only 9:30 my dude was just talking about getting out of here and hitting up this bar he knows that's got some decent food, you should go with the girls. I'll tell Brandon you're fighting with your boyfriend and left.” Quentin stopped when she looked surprised and hurt. “Damn I'm sorry, I was just making shit up. I'll go get your boy Stephen and we'll turn this night around.”

Quentin went back into the party and Camille found herself being surrounded and hustled out of the house by three women she'd just met.

They stopped once they got to the driveway and one of them began laughing “Well that was dramatic.” She stuck her hand out “Hi, I'm Brittany. This is Shay and that's Megan.”

“Nice to meet y'all. I'm still a bit confused as to what just happened,” Camille shook her hand.

Stephen, Quentin and three other guys were right behind them. Camille recognized two of them as NFL players Patrick and Von. The other one, Jalen, she knew personally from her guest appearances on his ESPN show “Two Minute Warning.”

They ended up at Vortex for burgers before finding a silly karaoke bar. For the first time since she'd arrived in Atlanta she was actually having fun. Camille wasn't even worried about posting pics to Instagram, let Calum be mad. She wasn't doing anything wrong and if he couldn't see that then he had to go. Of course the thought of actually breaking up with him made her feel like someone knocked the wind out of her. She blocked that thought almost as soon as it popped into her head.

Tonight was her night with her new friends. Quentin left before midnight to make the teams curfew the rest of the group stay till closing at 3am. Camille had to be up at 11 AM to appear on Two Minute Warning in a surprise guest appearance. Camille texted Cher the details before getting some much needed sleep.

Cher hadn't ever had a Super Bowl party without Camille which made it really weird. Camille usually went all out with a Tex Mex taco bar but Cher went instead with pizza and chicken wings. It was the first time Cher had seen Calum since he stormed out of her house the night of the fight. She was pleased to see he looked like hell. He deserved it for making her best friend cry. Aside from that everyone seemed to be in a decent mood. They all cheered through Camille's segment where she dissected, correctly as it turned out, just how and why the Patriots would win. Everybody was in a great mood, and then the game started.

“Be serious, that game was a fucking snooze” Camille joked with Stephen as they presented their boarding passes to go home.

“The halftime show was worse than I thought it would be,” Stephen responded. “Both Sicko Mode and Sweet Victory deserved better.”

Camille laughed but then the Dramamine kicked in and she knocked out for the flight. Cher picked her up at the terminal.

“I hope you know Calum went all out for your return,” Cher warned her as they drove home.

“Mmmm we'll see,” Camille tried not to smile.

“Are you still mad?” Cher asked her.

“Yes, but I really missed him,” Camille sighed.

Walking in she immediately saw the place was filed with pink roses. She headed upstairs to her room and saw tulips strewn out on her bed with an envelope in the center.

Opening it she recognized Calum's messy handwriting and sat down on her bed to read.

My Darling Camille,

There is no excuse for how I treated you and I can't tell you how deeply ashamed and sorry I am. You are the best thing that has happened to me and I'm so afraid of losing you. I've already put you through so much I feel like an asshole asking you to forgive me. I should've never acted like you had to choose between me or your job. Your career is your life the same way mine is and that was completely unfair. You love what you do, you're brilliant, funny and I am so proud of everything you've accomplished. I didn't mean to act like you ever have to choose and I'm truly sorry.

The rest of what I said is completely inexcusable. I lost my mind for a second and lashed out at you and while there's no taking back what I said please know that I didn't mean it. I never thought you would cheat on me. My jealousy is all on me and I'm an absolute twat for behaving like that.

I know words are empty unless they're followed by changed behavior. I want us to really talk this out and I want to be more open with you. I've never been good at expressing my feelings but I want this to work. I want us to work. I have more to say but I'd really like to do it in person. Please give me another chance.

Yours Always

Calum

Luke watched as Calum paced back and forth staring at his phone. It had been almost an hour since they'd seen Cher's car come back from the airport. Calum was sweating and looked nauseous. There was a knock at the door and Luke saw Calum slump in relief when he answered.

“I thought we should talk,” Camille said before she saw Luke “hey peanut, are you guys busy?”

“NO,” both men answered in unison.

“I talk to you guys later,” Luke gave Camille a quick kiss on the cheek and quickly left.

Camille found herself wrapped up tightly in Calum's arms the second the door closed.

“Camille I am so sorry. I'm an idiot and an asshole. Please don't leave me, I want to be better for you.” Calum was trying not to lose it, barely choking out the words.

They stood there like that, both of them crying together, his face buried in her hair and her face pressed to his chest. Until Camille finally had to pull free because she was all stuffy. Returning from the bathroom wiping her eyes she found Calum splashing his face with cold water at the sink. She came up behind him hugging his waist before he turned and picked her up setting her on the counter.

He looked her in her eyes, “so are we ok?”

Camille nodded, “yes but this can't happen again. Mistakes will be made and this won't be our last fight, but I don't want to keep having the same fight. Respect is the minimum I expect from you. My job is going to get hectic next fall and you're going back on the road. We're going to have enough problems without creating new ones for no reason. I need you to talk to me., I need you to trust me. You're so good at hiding your feelings babe, I never thought about you being insecure. I look at you and see Calum Hood: this gorgeous rock star who I'm lucky enough to be with. I can't imagine you'd ever think you weren't enough.” Camille brushed his curls off his face and stroked his jaw.

“I just think you're amazing and you could do better than me,” Calum couldn't meet her eyes now. “Honestly you could do better than most of the guys you're around. None of them are good enough for you either.”

“You saw the pictures?” Camille asked.

Calum nodded looking guilty. “I watched all your live streams and checked your Insta and Twitter constantly.”

“And?” Camille raised her eyebrows.

“And it was the first time I saw you smile since you got to Atlanta. I'm a complete dickhead for ruining your trip. I'm glad you got to have some fun,” Calum met her eyes again. “I have a surprise for you if you'll come upstairs.”

“Calum we are not jumping into bed. I couldn't anyways,” Camille laughed before giving him a light kiss on the lips.

“No come upstairs to the music room,” Calum put her back on the floor and pulled at her sleeve.

She followed him upstairs and he sat her in a chair before getting behind his piano. He cleared his throat and Camille could see he was nervous but once he started to play and sing Camille was left in awe of his talents.

I was just coastin' Never really goin anywhere Caught up in a web I was gettin kinda used to stayin' there And out of the blue I fell for you

Now you're lifting me up, instead of holding me down Stealing my heart instead of stealing my crown Untangled all the strings round my wings that were tied I didn't know her and I didn't know me Cloud nine was always out of reach Now I remember what it feels like to fly You give me butterflies

Kiss full of color makes me wonder where you've always been I was hiding in doubt till you brought me out of my chrysalis And I came out new All because of you

Now you're lifting me up instead of holding me down Stealing my heart instead of stealing my crown Untangled all the strings round my wings that were tied I didn't know her and I didn't know me Cloud nine was always out of reach Now I remember what it feels like to fly You give me butterflies, yeah You give me butterflies

Now you're lifting me up instead of holding me down You're taking my hand instead of taking my crown Untangled all the strings round my wings that were tied I didn't know you and I didn't know me Cloud nine was always out of reach Now I remember what it feels like to fly You give me butterflies You give me butterflies

“Calum, that was beautiful,” Camille was trying not to cry.

Calum motioned for her to come sit in his lap and when she did he kissed her and looked her in the eye. “I'm sorry for everything. I love you and don't want to lose you.”

“Calum do you know what you just said?” Camille was stunned.

“Yes,” he was smiling at her his eyes bright. “I love you my darling Camille, my everything, my queen.”

“I love you too Calum,” Camille had more to say but it was smothered by his kiss.

@biba3434 @toofadedtofight @babygirlcashton @kiiiimberlyriiiicker1995 @slimthicccal @vfdsstuff @unabashedlymyself @5sos-ficssmut

#calum hood #calum 5sos #calum hood imagine #5sos #5sos imagine #5sosfanfic #luke hemmings #luke 5sos #5 seconds of summer #luke hemming imagines #ashton irwin #ashton 5sos imagine #michael clifford #michael 5sos #girls talk boys

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