#he's a disaster as always (hungover and all but sleeping on the job) and she's not about to let him off the hook

[javic-piotr-thane]

so Petra is being harassed horribly online, and Tyler isn't helping her because their boss (Barry?) thinks letting more utterly vile hate comments be published is "really adding value to the online offering" of his paper

immediately introducing the [first] [as i don't doubt there'll be more] layer of meaning to the episode title huh

[shprka]

Hangster neighbours enemies to lovers au (no military) where Hangman just moved in next too Rooster and their first interaction ever is a disaster so they start of hating each other and then they continue to assume thr worst about each othet for months

Like idk, maybe the first time Hangman moves in he sees Rooster arguing with Mav who came around trying to talk and then hears Rooster punch a wall and scream through the wall. And thinks Bradley is a total prick with anger issues

Maybe the first time Rooster sees Hangman is in the morning when Hangman says goodbye to a pretty young girl brunette that he thinks is barely legal and thinks Hangman is a whore (it was just Jake's sister)

Then for the next months they develop a distaste for each other and judge each other's lives so hard

Jake has a cat that Beadley thinks he neglects bc she always sneaks in through their balconies to Bradley's apartment and begs for food (she's just a menace) and Jake is unhappy bc she gets fad bc he suspects Bradley gives her treats

Natasha comes over for a weekend and Bradley and her have a loud night getting drunk and Bradley sings really loudly and Jake can't sleep thr whole night. Also Bradley and Natasha drunk off their asses decide to spar or smth and all Jake hears is just moaning and grunting (from excerice) through his wall and he is about to go bang on his neighbour's door to scold him for having loud sex bc some people have jobs tomorrow. But doesnt and stews in his annoyance until morning and his whole day at work until he comes back seeing Bradley and Phoeanix who just woke up and totally hungover and decides to be an asshole and asks them Did they have fun last night? And Rooster if like, uh yeah...? Was it loud? Sorry but he'a not sorry at all and Natasha is just there laughing bc she guessed Jake thinks they were banging all night

Jake is really petty so he brings a hookup the very next night and bangs him next to what he knows is Bradley's bedroom wall (it's Jake's kitchen and he's petty like that). He make sure to moan super loud so obviously Bradley hears every little sound and is annoyed how turned on he is bc he didn't know Jake was bi (he's gay but bc Jake's 3 sisters are over so much Bradley just assumes theyre his gfs)

So they continue being antagonistic (with a lot of UST)

Until one day Bradley hears Jake on the balcony crying on the phone to his mom about something (idk what, maybe someone in the family died or had an accident) and Bradley feels bad and wants to talk to Jake but Jake gets defensive and angry and they have a screaming match and they end up explaining all the bad assumptions they had about each other were wrong so next day they decide to start over and slowly they become friendly then friends then lovers

[raleighcarrera]

falling

platinum | raleigh carrera x mc (cadence dorian)

a little while ago i posted about the idea of a soulmate au where the first words raleigh & cadence say to each other are tattooed on them their whole lives, and this... is that. (for @platinumweekend ❤️)

tags: @choicesarehard ; @empressazura; @emomoustache ; @natesewell ; @zigtheeortega ; @pixeljazzy ; @brycemaloliver ; @grigori-girl ; @dulceghernandez ; @bitchloveskcbaseball ; @withbeautyandrage 

~10.5k words | T

i.

the words appear in looping script on his thirteenth birthday, right on time. they curve along the inside of his bicep, innocently punctuated. what’s your name?

“you got lucky,” one of his older cousins tells him, later, when everyone in his family comes by for cake and to ooh and aah over his new tattoo, “you’ll be able to hide that with a shirt or a jacket easily.”

but raleigh sleeps shirtless every night for the next two years, even when it’s cold, so that the words are the last thing he sees with his head pillowed on his arm before he falls asleep, dreaming of the nameless, faceless person who will one day say them, wondering what their voice might sound like when they do.

ii.

she has a more difficult go of it.

being a thirteen year old girl would be miserable enough without the added pressure of the words that practically feel broadcast across her forehead, most of the time. everyone at school teases her constantly and ruthlessly: say something funny, cadence. go on. tell us a joke!

so it’s difficult not to resent the two words scrawled lazily across her collarbone and the person attached to them, especially in the mornings before school when she’s angrily rearranging her neckline and jewelry in the mirror while the bus idles outside.

very funny. she isn’t, really. she’s plenty of things -- determined and passionate and sensitive, definitely, but... no one’s ever found her particularly funny, before.

and no one seems to understand just how much the expectation of having to be funny, one day, is weighing on her, not even her parents, when she finally works up the courage to squeak out, “but how am i supposed to know what i should say?”

her mom laughs indulgently, like she’s already said something funny. her stomach sinks further.

“oh, sweetheart,” she tells her, “don’t worry, it won’t matter. you just will.”

iii.

people ask him about it. a lot.

it gets difficult to keep it a secret as things change around him, but raleigh’s careful to avoid slip-ups and paparazzi photos and he doesn’t say a word about it in interviews, even when he’s asked directly. he’s never seen without short sleeves on, at the very least, and he doesn’t even tell blair and cameron about it.

he sort of wishes he had, though, because as his life turns upside down and he adapts to a new country with a new set of rules and an industry that makes his head spin most of the time it starts to feel more and more confusing, those three words -- what’s your name?

everywhere he goes, thousands of girls blocking the street scream it at him. so how is it possible that whoever’s waiting to meet him doesn’t already know it?

and what does that mean for how the rest of his life is going to turn out? 

what if all of this -- the fame and the money and the notoriety -- is fleeting, and he’s only a few short years from being completely washed up and irrelevant? what if the day he’s meant to meet his person is so far away that he’ll be completely out of the spotlight, by then, with sunset skatepark playing reunion tours and him having spent most of his life alone?

it’s a lot of pressure, for someone who’s already working their way through such a serious adjustment, and most of the time it’s dizzying, thinking about the fact that there’s someone out there who’s supposed to be perfect for him, when everyone he meets seems determined to forget every word they know other than yes, so they can suck up to him as much as possible.

his teenage years fly by in a whirlwind of mistakes and regrets. there’s things he would’ve never dreamed would come his way, like world tours and more money than he can count and so many girls who know everything about him before they even sit down to dinner, but there’s more than that, too.

there’s all the ways the industry weakens his trust until it’s gone, all the people who try to use him for what he can do for them, all the times he stumbles until he finally learns to distance himself by cultivating a persona, by leaning into all the expectations of raleigh carrera and creating something so outlandish it doesn’t hurt as much when disaster follows him around because it’s supposed to.

he watches everything that surrounds him turn fake and plastic and puts his energy only into his music, coasting on the rest. the days are less exciting than when he first joined the band at fifteen; he’s a solo artist, now, and most of the time, he’s just trying to get through.

but chaos continues to follow him and eventually his notoriety is inescapable. his first solo album is self-titled and he somehow manages to get a trademark on the word raleigh, as if the name is now more his than anything that ever belonged to the state of north carolina, and part of him sort of expects the words stamped on his arm to change, once he hits one-hundred million followers on his social channels.

they never do, though, and when he’s alone, and the veneer he’s built up for everyone else fades away, he can’t help but to be fascinated by this person who just wants an answer to the question no one else would ever dare ask him.

iv.

college isn’t exactly the fresh start she was hoping it’d be.

she was a loser in high school and things don’t get much better for her even now that she’s with ‘her people’ at a performing arts university she can barely afford, even with two part-time jobs. 

shane is across the country at a proper state school with parties and a social life and lots of friends who aren’t her, and she’s failing her improv class, proving that she isn’t actually very funny at all. 

boys continue to not notice her and patrons in bars continue to turn away from her one-woman performance, her old acoustic guitar the only constant in a life that feels utterly, unbelievably pointless, most of the time.

it’s like she’s drifting through the days, putting her time in at college in the hopes that it’ll fortify her for what’s next -- her big break, the discovery that’ll get her out of that shitty small town she’s been trying to escape her entire life. she writes hundreds of songs about how lost she feels and hates every single one, dreaming of a time when things might be different and she doesn’t have to second-guess every single one of her decisions.

she doesn’t have much of a love life and tries not to think about that, either.

the person on the other side of those two words stuck on her collarbone is probably looking for someone self-confident, who knows who they are and is comfortable with that. they’re probably expecting to meet someone who has their life together, who, at the very least, has a plan.

they’re probably not expecting a talentless nobody screwup like her, someone who tries as hard as she can yet never seems to make anything work.

things don’t turn around after graduation, either. sure, she manages to find an apartment in a building that’s nice enough and uses the last of her savings on the deposit and trying to furnish it, but it’s only a few weeks of trying and failing to secure a regular paying gig performing before she’s back at smoothie star again, begging for her old job back.

and there’s nothing that makes her feel more like a failure than working the same shifts she had in high school. 

as she hums along to the radio on a random tuesday afternoon when the store is dead and there’s nothing to blend, she wonders what mr.-or-mrs. very funny would think if they walked in and saw her here -- twenty-three years old and flat broke, with a dead-end job and a one-bedroom apartment all she has to show for her very expensive and very useless bachelor’s degree.

that, and a notebook full of half-finished songs about relationships she could only ever dream about and an escape from the miserable small town she lives in that feels farther away with every day that passes.

she can’t imagine they’d be very impressed.

v.

raleigh’s life gets monotonous very quickly. the music takes a backseat to the scandals and for a while there’s a predictable pattern of cause trouble, clean up image, rinse and repeat.

there are girls in between the cycles to help him pass the time. some he likes well enough and some he despises, but for the most part his management gives their recommendations and he agrees and makes awkward conversation for an hour or two over brunch until it’s time to go trash something again.

things get particularly bad after one minor cruise ship hijacking incident. 

but in his defense, no one ever told him that breaking into the harbor and joy riding was a first-degree felony, worsened by the fact that he’d just so happened to crash the boat into the pier while he was trying to dock it. 

at least he’d been sober.

though a monumental fuck up like this felt sort of inevitable; everyone who knew him probably figured it was only a matter of time before he went too far. how could he not when he was always chasing the next high?

still, the image rehab tour that follows is far from what he’d call enjoyable. he has to cut off all his hair and play nice at industry parties and waste time standing around being seen at charity events he winds up just cutting checks for instead of helping out at.

on top of the miserable community service comes the pr bullshit his team so loves -- dozens of tv appearances back-to-back where he’s herded around all day like cattle, in and out of green rooms with crappy coffee and bad catering.

he has no idea that showing up to be a judge on one in a million is going to change his life. hungover and running late, he barely even makes it to the taping of the semi-finals, slinking inside the concert hall in middle-of-nowhere, usa with a headache and some choice words for whoever thought this was the best way to clean up his image.

fortunately, raleigh manages to make his way inside virtually unnoticed. his phone is buzzing angrily in his pocket -- undoubtedly his manager trying to encourage him to hair and makeup or some other absurdity -- but he ignores it in favor of ducking back behind the line near the auditorium doors, only barely catching the last few words of some catty confrontation between two contestants as he goes.

as one of the girls stomps away, he sees the other’s shoulders slump from behind. “guess i’m not making any friends,” she mutters.

it’s clearly said to no one -- not even to herself, really -- yet for some reason, he can’t stop himself from responding. “where i come from, that’s a good thing.”

the girl’s shoulders straighten, but she still doesn’t turn around. “i’m not trying to succeed at the cost of others.”

raleigh smirks, leaning back against the wall beside his guitar case. “you do realize you’re at a competition show, right?”

“of course, but...” her hair ruffles with what sounds like a huff. she’s still not facing him, staring off at where the other girl she’d been talking to had run away. “that doesn’t mean i’m not rooting for everyone here to share their music with the world.”

“what a sweet sentiment,” raleigh drawls sarcastically, almost feeling a little bad for her and her naivety. this poor girl is going to be eaten alive. “it won’t last.”

her body tenses, her shoulders tightening again. he can almost see smoke start to pour from her ears before she spins suddenly on her heel to face him. 

whatever sharp retort had been on the tip of her tongue gets swallowed with a blink as soon as their eyes meet. something like electricity crackles in the space between them, strengthening the invisible pull he’d felt when he first stopped behind her. instead, she only asks, “what’s your name?”

vi.

the man in front of her snorts. “very funny.”

a smile tugs at her lips. “very funny, that’s a weird name.” this is unlike her -- the quick comeback, the flirting. usually being face-to-face with a guy as good looking as the one talking to her now made her want to wither away and die, but something about the stranger standing before her sets her instantly at ease. “so, are you gonna tell me, or not?”

now it’s his turn to blink at her. a hand lifts to rub at his jaw. “huh. you really don’t know who i am, do you?”

cadence’s eyes narrow as she assess him. there is something vaguely familiar about that crooked grin, she’s sure of it. 

at the very least, it’s an excuse to stare at him, and she does, moving her eyes slowly over the tattoos poking out over his jacket collar, the line of stubble on his sharp jaw, the glint of mischief in his eyes.

her helpless gaping is interrupted by a sudden shrill scream. “oh. my. god! is that raleigh carrera?!”

everything clicks at once. as a wild group of girls corner him, she realizes where she’s seen that smile before -- on just about every tabloid cover known to man, plastered all over convenience stores and the internet with headlines about his latest bender. in fact, she’s pretty sure he was just in the news for something similar -- crashing a yacht or something else ridiculous like that, something that only someone as rich as raleigh carrera could have accomplished. 

then she realizes what he’d said to her, as soon as she’d turned to look him in the eyes. very funny. 

her heart stops. all she can do is stare wide-eyed at him as he dispels the girls clamoring for a selfie, snapping back to the present when he waves one large hand in front of her face. 

“sorry -- what?”

“i said, what’s your name? it only seems fair, now that you know mine, and all.”

“cadence,” she answers numbly, “i’m -- um, i’m used to your hair being longer.”

“cadence,” raleigh repeats, smiling at her, “so you do know who i am.”

“what do the magazines call you again? r&b’s time bomb? puerto rico’s hottest export? you’re kind of notorious.” she blinks at him, then admits, “i’ve heard your songs.”

“seen the tabloid covers too, eh?” the expression on his face suggests he’s almost proud of them.

this is surreal.

“didn’t you crash a yacht or something?” she asks, brain whirring into overdrive as she tries to process what’s happening. he doesn’t seem to have realized it yet, which gives her a moment to gather her thoughts, something that feels impossible when she can’t push the way he’d scoffed very funny out of her mind. 

“or something. insurance paid out a couple million in property damage, but...” raleigh trails off, brow suddenly furrowing. he stares at her silently for a beat too long, then slowly turns a dull red. “hey, what’d you say earlier, again?”

cadence wets her dry lips, trying not to panic. stay calm, she silently coaches herself. raleigh carrera is not your long-awaited soulmate and you are not doing this in line to audition for one in a million. “i said -- what’s your name? and then you said...”

oh god, this is happening. her teeth dig into her bottom lip as she fidgets with the neckline of her top, tugging it to the side so raleigh can see the two words on her collarbone. 

“very funny,” he mutters, “oh, jesus fucking christ. you can’t be serious.”

“me?” she demands, “you’re the one who --”

“next up,” calls a voice suddenly, cutting sharply through their argument, “contestant #9,276.”

her blood runs cold as she realizes that’s the number she’s wearing pinned to her shirt. she can feel herself start to sweat; how the fuck is she supposed to perform like this? she wants to throw up. why did this have to happen to her now? this was her shot -- her one fucking chance --

“hey, easy.” there’s suddenly two strong hands on either side of her shoulders, and she startles as raleigh stares at her from up close, closer than he was just a moment ago. “relax, okay? you’re gonna be fine. you’ve got this.”

“but --” she starts, then realizes her mind is racing too quickly to even articulate what she wants to say. she settles for shaking her head, eyes wide and panicked. “i can’t just -- oh my god, i’m going to throw up.”

“here,” raleigh directs, “take my guitar. prince gave it to me as a birthday present.”

prince?! she mouths hysterically to herself, as he flips the latch on his case open and pulls out the instrument. “how is this supposed to help me?”

“just trust me,” he says, giving her a gentle nudge towards the auditorium, “now go.”

she does, stumbling forward with the most expensive piece of equipment she’s ever held in her hands in her life alongside her, drawing in a deep breath as she makes her way onto the stage.

she can do this.

everything else will have to come after.

vii.

the thing is -- she’s talented. exceptionally so. 

he can tell she’s a little nervous, but maybe that’s just because he’s used to looking out for that sort of thing; he could probably recognize it more easily than the average person would. it probably has nothing to do with who they are, how he notices the nuances in her body language...

her belt is impressive. her voice is stunning, clear and uniquely melodic. his guitar looks spectacular in her hands, and cadence plays it like she’s been practicing on it her entire life. 

he tries his best to look nonchalant, feet kicked up onto the seat in front of him, but when she locks eyes with him from the stage he knows he hasn’t succeeded. raleigh’s breath catches, and he stares back at her, transfixed by the way her dainty hands cradle the neck of the guitar and strum the strings, how her lips purse around the long, emotional high note at the end of the song’s chorus.

she’s really very pretty. 

he’d probably be lying to himself if he said it doesn’t make him a little bit jealous and uncomfortable, watching how she and avery fawn over each other when she’s finished. he’s probably a much better suited match for her, clean cut and pristine as he is. 

he wonders if she’s disappointed that it’s him -- that it’s now, when she’s clearly on the cusp of something great all on her own.

it’s a lot to think about, and so he dips out of the auditorium before she finishes up, rushing outside with his heart pounding. it’s not until he’s halfway through the crumpled pack of cigarettes in his jacket pocket that raleigh starts to relax even an iota, and of course that’s when the stage door he’d left propped swings open wide and cadence’s sneakers hit the asphalt beside his boots.

“uh, you can’t just leave me with this thing,” she says, apropos of nothing, and as he stares at her he realizes she’s talking about his guitar, which she’s holding in one hand like it’s a dead fish. “this costs more than everything in my apartment combined, i’m sure.”

he shakes his head at her, laughing as his fingers flick ash from the cigarette he’s holding. “no way -- you should keep it. you two looked perfect together.”

she hesitates, looking down at the instrument again. he can see in her eyes that she’s torn; it’s obvious she knows the right thing to do is to refuse a generous gift from a stranger, but she wants to keep it, and already his mind is racing as he considers what else he could give her that would excite her like that -- a private flight, a tour of his penthouse, a million dollars. 

“are you sure?” cadence asks, without looking at him, and the hesitancy in her voice makes him realize how unsure she really is. she’s the one who’s wondering if he’s disappointed in her.

he licks his suddenly dry lips and drops what’s left of his cigarette to the ground, finding he doesn’t actually need the rest of it, anymore. “positive.”

viii.

they don’t actually get to spend a lot of time together, while she’s filming. she has to focus and it seems like she’s always busy, somehow -- not that she sees raleigh very often in the first place.

the days are spent rehearsing with avery and cramming in as much mentoring as possible, and when she can pull herself away from fiona’s lessons on image to get home at a reasonable hour she collapses into bed pretty much immediately, out like a light from the whirlwind of the day and hardly even aware enough to dream.

but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t think about him. she does, especially on the rare occasions she manages to catch a glimpse of raleigh walking around in the studio, or on one memorable evening she stays late in the auditorium to bang on the piano keys of the beautiful, enviable baby grand on set and startles to find him leaning in the doorway, watching her play.

it’s all a blur and wildly difficult to process; just when she thinks she has a grip on things she remembers the private moments she’s had with raleigh and her emotions tumble to pieces again as she lets the weight of the implications of what’s going on between them crush her completely.

one moment sticks out on her as being particularly worrisome, insofar as how it bodes for the rest of her life. 

it feels like something significant from the moment raleigh offers to help her warm up; they’ve hardly had a moment alone together in days and she still has absolutely no idea how she’s supposed to talk to him or what she should say, but for some reason the conversation flows easily and she hardly has to think about the (no doubt incredibly stupid-sounding) words coming out of her mouth.

“you’re going to kill it,” raleigh says finally, once they’ve worked through all the exercises in his arsenal, “you really don’t need my help.”

never in her wildest dreams did she ever imagine someone like him would say something like that to her. “you think?”

“i know it,” he answers confidently, shrugging his shoulders like it’s that simple. “and you should, too.”

there’s a moment of silence where they just stand there staring at each other, ignoring the restless murmuring of the crowd outside that’s waiting for him to slip into his seat at the judge’s table. she’s effortlessly lost in raleigh’s eyes, so fixated on the intensity of his gaze that she doesn’t realize he’s leaning in closer until it’s too late.

“insurance policy,” he mutters, before he kisses her, hands cupping her face gently. 

for a split second, she stands frozen, shocked totally still. then, her brain reboots enough to propel her into motion, and cadence gets with the program enough to wind her arms around raleigh’s waist and pull him closer and kiss him back, until her heart’s lurched up into the throat she’d just been warming up, pounding relentlessly.

they make out until the roar of the crowd is deafening -- until it’s impossible not to acknowledge it any longer. 

of course raleigh’s a life-ruiningly good kisser. why wouldn’t he be? why should any of this be easy?

it’s only a few simple touches, but raleigh’s mouth leaves her dizzy and lightheaded when she’s supposed to be concentrating on performing, and, independently of the way she’s blinking at him in stupid shock, cadence already knows she’ll never be able to kiss anyone else ever again without thinking about him.

“i have to get out there,” she gasps between desperate presses of their lips against each other, grasping ineffectively at his clothes while his fingers tug her hair out of shape.

“be late,” he suggests, “it always works for me.” 

but she’s not him. she’s not like him -- they have nothing in common. they come from different worlds; they’re two completely opposite people.

and yet every minute with raleigh is like coming up for air after being underwater for years, like the knots of guilt and shame and awkward embarrassment she’s carried around for her entire life without understanding why she has them are slowly starting to undo themselves, unlaced by his careful fingers.

they make it out there. eventually.

before she knows it, confetti’s raining down from the ceiling and falling all over her, and she locks eyes with raleigh from across the room to find his lips pulled into a genuinely affectionate grin -- lips that she’d just kissed for the first time a fucking hour ago and, seriously, what is her life now -- his eyes bright and excited. 

things just keep getting weirder and weirder, but the way they’re beaming at each other like idiots in a room full of thousands, broadcast on national television, too, makes her think things might be pretty great, too.

ix.

it sort of takes them a long time to getting around to talking about it -- the soulmate thing.

it’s not that he doesn’t try. he does, but she’s got a lot going on, these days: a big move and a new record deal and days filled with songwriting and nights out being seen. he’s still on his image cleanup tour, while she’s at it, so his fake smile stays fixed on his face throughout another boring week of restaurant openings and charity events and talkshow appearances before he finally gets the chance to spend some time with her again.

they text here and there, but nothing pans out until the stars align and they manage to slip out of the back door of a nightclub unnoticed together after a night of dancing too close for the comfort of her publicist while avery and the others cause a commotion at the front entrance to distract the press.

she goes back to his penthouse with him. he can’t remember the last time he brought a girl back to his apartment just to talk, and especially not one who spent the better part of the evening in a sparkly minidress grinding against him. 

but here they are.

“so -- how’s the city treating you?” raleigh asks, pouring them both a drink he doesn’t want from the bar cart in the corner of the room for something to do with his hands.

cadence shrugs from where she’s perched on the edge of his sofa, tugging at the hem of her dress. “good, i guess. it’s honestly all kind of overwhelming.”

“yeah,” he nods, passing her one of the glasses in his hands and taking a seat on the ottoman in front of her, close enough to see her face in perfect clarity but still maintaining a distance that he hopes is respectful. “i know what you mean. when i first came here after joining sunset skatepark everything felt so... huge.”

“totally,” cadence answers quickly, nodding in a way that’s almost aggressive. “i mean, there’s so much pressure to deliver an album right away, but i want it to be perfect, and the studio is so different from, like, writing songs in my room at home, and i... i guess i feel kind of homesick, but -- not for my hometown. i hated that place.” there’s hesitancy in her gaze when she asks, “do you know what i mean?”

“yeah,” raleigh says again stupidly, because the truth is -- he knows exactly what she means. cadence has just articulated something he could never quite put into words better than he’d even thought the sentiments to himself. “it’s like... nostalgia for something you don’t even want.”

“exactly,” she breathes emphatically, and then they’re kissing again, and she’s in his lap on the ottoman and he definitely brought her here to talk, for sure, but is it really so terrible if they get a little sidetracked on the way to their destination?

well -- they wind up making out for hours. so, there’s that.

it’s not part of the plan but it’s a hell of a side quest, memorizing the shape and feel of her with his hands while her lips pull every last bit of breath from his lungs, until he’s lightheaded and dizzy in a way no other girl has ever made him, before. it’s to the point where when he finally finds it within himself to push her away, he’s uncharacteristically nervous -- something that’s never happened to him before, not even on the night he lost his virginity.

“i really did ask you over to talk,” he says, voice hoarse.

cadence licks her lips and then beams at him, eyes sparkling. “i know.” she shuffles delicately back onto the couch, lingering in his lap for only a moment before pulling away entirely. he stuffs his hands under his thighs to stop himself from reaching out for her again. “sorry i haven’t been around more.”

“you don’t have to apologize.” raleigh shakes his head. “i should be apologizing to you, i feel like... i should be the one who’s around, to help you with all of this. or at least -- i want to be. i don’t know if i’ll be any good at it.” 

he blinks, surprised by his own honesty. he hadn’t meant to say all of that, but the words came up before he was cognizant of them and now they’re out there, and there’s no taking them back -- especially with the way she’s looking at him, all soft and sweet and happy.

“well, you don’t have to be good at it,” cadence murmurs, reaching out for his wrists and tugging his hands free so she can interlock their fingers effortlessly. they fit together like puzzle pieces. “you just have to be you.”

x.

her budding relationship with one of the biggest names in r&b doesn’t have much time to bud at all before it’s rudely plucked from the plant and stepped on.

she finds herself blinking at fiona in confusion as the words take some time to process. “you want me to do what?”

xi.

raleigh balks at his manager, shaking his head emphatically. “no,” he spits out, “absolutely not.”

xii.

“cadence, it’s not a big deal,” fiona tells her, very nearly rolling her eyes. “everyone does it. you go on a few dates, play up the relationship for some photos, social media eats it up -- boom, you’re a star.”

“i don’t know,” she answers hesitantly, mind drifting back to the photographers that have already been following her around, screaming about avery when she ducks into the car with him. things with raleigh are... new, and complicated, and do they really need to add public scrutiny into the mix as well? “i just don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“it’s a great idea,” fiona sighs, shaking her head. “all our focus groups agree. the label thinks it’s best, what with your single taking so long to put out.” she opens her mouth to protest -- it’s not like she’s dragging her feet on purpose -- but barely has a second to get a word out before fiona continues, “besides, raleigh does this all the time.”

her teeth bite at her bottom lip uncertainly. “he does?”

“of course. chantal clearwater? she was a pictagram model when they met, and now she’s opening shows at paris fashion week. it’s just business.”

it’s not, though. it could never be just anything, for reasons no one else knows about except the two of them, for reasons she’ll never tell. “well... what did raleigh say about it?”

xiii.

“i said no, frank.” he’s annoyed, now, and his manager knows it, raleigh’s arms folded across his chest and his eyes set into a glare. “n. o. no.”

“and i hear you, but is it really the end of the world? she’s exactly what we’re going for, and i know you already get along --”

“which is exactly why i don’t want to do this. so pick someone else. anyone else.” he’s not going to let his label turn her into one of the girls he has to be seen with for fake photos and mutually beneficial positive press. 

for so many years, he’s watched people fake feelings and use each other -- willingly participated in the using himself, too, more times than he can count. he never cared about any of it before.

but being with cadence doesn’t feel fake, and he doesn’t ever want it to. and he knows that if he agrees to this, everything he enjoys about spending time with her will disappear in favor of the ugly, plastic decay that’s eaten away at so many of his personal and professional relationships before. organic, genuine time with her will become strolls near celebrity hotspots, angling just right to help the cameras get the perfect shot. he’ll show up to support her at shows because her publicist called him, and their time together will become some manufactured narrative meant to push their labels’ agenda, until six months down the line they don’t even recognize themselves or what might’ve been if they’d done things a different way.

“look, there isn’t anyone else. her team’s already agreed to it, and i’ve got brunch set up for sunday. all you have to do is play nice for two fucking months, raleigh. is that so impossible for you?”

yes. already he feels a deep-seated desire to go somewhere and break something, to tear through the flower beds in central park with his motorcycle and wink at the cameras when they catch up to him.

instead, he storms out of the office he’s in, and into the sunlight, tugging the hood on his jacket up and melting into the crowd on the corner so he can be as anonymous as possible when he picks up his phone and calls cadence.

“hey raleigh,” she chirps as soon as she picks up, sounding far too cheerful for someone who’s likely had an equally as miserable early morning meeting on a friday. “guessing you heard the news?”

“can’t i just call you to say hi?” he grumbles, ducking his head as he strolls through the intersection with the mob of people crowded along fifth ave, turning down the next side street so he’s alone again, with no one following, just like that. 

“well, you can,” she teases, and some of the anger he’s carrying around with him fades, dissipating into nothing and evaporating like smoke. “but you’re not.”

“no, i’m not,” he agrees with a sigh, shaking his head. “you sound surprisingly cool with it, though.”

“should i not be?” cadence laughs, but he can detect a thread of nervousness in her tone. “i already want to hang out with you. we have the same friends and work in the same industry. we’re... probably going to go on dates anyway, so... how hard can this be?”

god. she has absolutely no idea. part of him thinks it’d be cruel to burst her bubble, but he should warn her, shouldn’t he? 

she sounds so optimistic about it, though. it’s hard to feel anything but hopeful when her voice turns up like that at the end. in the back of his mind, there’s a voice that’s not his suggesting maybe this time, things will be different. 

surely he knows better than to think something as ridiculous as that, though, right? 

“well, i guess it’ll be interesting, at least,” he muses, slowing his steps by the entrance to the subway. 

he’s going to lose his signal just as soon as he heads underground, and he’s not quite ready for that, yet.

xiv.

time with raleigh flies by. 

it doesn’t feel like they’re fake-dating -- they do everything she hopes he’d want to do with her anyway, like go out to eat at fancy restaurants and take walks through the park and bounce melodies for songs off of each other, facetiming late at night from their apartments or on the days he visits her and micah in the studio. 

he’s by her side for the release of her first single, and her first music video, and through it all, raleigh plays the role of the doting partner perfectly, holding her purse on the red carpet and feeding her paella at a strategically-placed outdoor table and fetching her coffee order when she’s too busy to stop writing for even just five minutes.

in the blink of an eye, it’s time to put out her album -- just like that. 

raleigh’s perfectly charming through that process, too. he shows up on time, says all the right things, and keeps a drink in her hand all evening long, so that when she’s finally done making the rounds and can enjoy herself after the entertainment and the networking and the schmoozing she’s giggly and touchy, doing her best to steal him away from the crowd.

“what were your other relationships like?” she asks, half expecting him to brush her off, though he’s always indulged her before. they’ve never really gotten this personal. “fake or... otherwise.”

“they’ve all been fake,” he shrugs, “and i can say with confidence that you’re the best one i’ve ever had.”

“really?” cadence smiles, chin propped up on her hand as she leans over the bar. “be honest. what did you really think, when you realized it was me?”

“what?” he asks, pushing the empty rocks glass in his hands around on the bar top, “you mean this thing?” he gestures at his arm, covered in expensive, custom tom ford, and the tattoo laying innocently beneath it.

“uh huh,” she confirms, “‘cause i was totally like oh shit.”

raleigh laughs, loud and wild, the sound swallowed up by the noise of the party around them. no one nearby is paying them even an ounce of attention, and it’s fun, to be anonymous at her own party, invisible to everyone in the room except for him. “i can imagine. i wouldn’t want to be stuck with me either.”

cadence shakes her head -- that’s not what she’d meant. but before she can protest, he rolls his glass between his palms and thoughtfully continues, “i guess i was a little surprised. it felt like i’d been waiting forever to meet you, so part of me was like, fuck, we’re doing this now? and i never thought it’d be someone so...”

“boring?” she suggests, eyebrows arching when raleigh’s expression immediately twists into one of disagreement, his nose scrunching up with distaste.

“no,” he huffs, “so... good, i guess.” she stares at him as he reaches for one of the waiting tequila shots on the bar, pulling it away from the line he’d set up for the crowd he’d been with before she’d tugged him to the side to talk, leaving the drinks untouched. raleigh knocks the shot back -- no salt, no lime. he’s had twice as many drinks as she has, and she’s definitely feeling them -- she has no idea how he’s even still upright, no worse for wear other than a few slurred words here and there. “but you just are. it’s like every song i’ve ever written was about you, and i just didn’t know it yet.”

the noise of the party fades in favor of the pounding of her heart, loud like a kick drum in her ears. she bites her lip and stares at him, watching as raleigh shakes his head at himself, dazed. “you okay?” she asks quietly, leaning in a little across the bar. 

raleigh’s quiet for so long she has to wonder whether or not he actually heard her. just as she clears her throat and opens her mouth to repeat herself even louder, he nods, reaching across the bar and squeezing her hand before dragging her back over to the line of tequila shots waiting for them to enjoy.

the night is a blur after that, and there’s patches of the evening that are fuzzy in her memory the next morning, but she knows she’ll never forget the gentle kiss goodnight raleigh gives her when he helps her stumble into the car back to her apartment at dawn.

xv. 

things go really well, until they don’t. 

they have a blissful six months together with more fun than he’s ever had with anyone. slowly, he learns every single thing about cadence and returns her openness with honesty of his own -- honesty that feels strange and unfamiliar but weirdly thrilling, in a way, made easier every time one of his stories pulls a laugh or smile from her. 

it seems unnatural, having a honeymoon period that goes on for so long. in the entire time they’re dating, he doesn’t destroy a single thing -- doesn’t even want to, which is the weirdest part of it all. 

there are some moments that catch him completely off guard. more than a few times, he hardly even recognizes himself, she turns him into such a different person. 

he doesn’t hate it, though -- just the opposite, in fact. raleigh realizes he’s really starting to like the carefree, far from jaded person he is when he’s with her, though it only hits him for real when he’s watching her storm away from him on liberty island, eyes fixed on the angry sway of her hips.

he stews on it on the long ride back to his penthouse; the game had, admittedly, been starting to wear on him. but he’d gone along with it because it was supposed to benefit her -- he’d agreed to the stupid public breakup and following the rules and not seeing cadence in public for the foreseeable future because it was what she wanted, and -- frankly, it felt like a stupid fucking decision.

not that it lasts long. he starts texting her just as soon as he’s done washing electralite out of his hair and doesn’t make it more than twenty minutes when they first see each other again at the moda gala before he’s sneaking off with her, ducking under the velvet rope that demarcates the planetarium as ‘off limits’ with her hand tucked neatly in his.

“maybe this is better,” cadence muses between sips of her drink, her eyes on one of the stupid glass exhibits he couldn’t possibly care less about. “now we can just be together -- no pressure. our relationship is ours again.”

their relationship. is that what this is? they’ve spent a lot of time talking about who they are and what they like and don’t like, kissing and touching and holding hands. throughout it all, he’s done his best not to buy into the ‘soulmate’ bullshit too heavily, but over the last few months it’s been hard to deny that there’s a reason he was meant to meet her, that she’s been changing him from the inside out.

“what’s on your mind?” she asks, turning towards him with an open look of genuine curiosity on her face, like she really wants to know. 

“it’s nothing,” raleigh answers at first, reflexively, like he has so many times before. no one has ever really wanted to know. but cadence’s eyebrows arch, and she waits, patiently silent, and then the words tumble out of him. “it’s just that -- my whole life, i’ve watched other people use each other. so many people are just interested in the concept of celebrity status. so i played the game. never trusting anyone.” 

he shrugs. a hand lifts to rub his jaw, and he looks back to meet her gaze just in time to see the little smile playing at her lips, like she already knows what he’s about to say. “but it’s different, with you. you make me not want to be that person anymore. when i’m with you, it’s the only time i feel anything real.”

“raleigh,” she murmurs, her expression flickering before her face does something that cracks his chest wide open. her eyes go all shiny and sparkly and her cheeks crease with a grin, and the way she laughs is so ridiculously joyful the hand he has stuffed in his pocket curls into a fist to stop him from doing something stupid. “i feel the same way. i just... this whole thing, i know it doesn’t always -- work out, but... with you i really want it to. i’ve never felt this way before about anyone, and i think...” 

there’s a pause as her lips purse thoughtfully, and then she says the words that make it impossible for him to do anything but close the distance between them and kiss her over and over again: “i think even without this tattoo it’d be you, anytime, anywhere.”

xvi.

being raleigh carrera’s (real, confirmed, 100%-authentic) girlfriend feels almost too good to be true.

raleigh is... everything she never knew she wanted in a boyfriend, wrapped up into one tall, dark and handsome package, with a loud, goofy laugh and a deep, sexy voice that sends a shiver down her spine whenever his mouth so much as lingers near her ear for too long. 

it turns out that, despite their differing status in the industry and her initial assumptions that they came from two completely different worlds, they’re actually on the same page about pretty much everything. she finds that the pressure of the word she’d held in such high regard for so long -- soulmate -- disappears entirely where he’s concerned because being with raleigh is just fun. 

there’s motorcycle rides and boat trips and hours up late talking about everything and nothing; facetime calls with his mom and shopping trips where the stores are kept open late for them so they can shop alone, in an empty boutique, like every teen movie she’d ever watched growing up.

there’s late nights in the studio and either of their apartments where they both noodle around on their guitars and improvise half-hearted duets, content to just work in the same orbit as each other for as long as possible.

raleigh’s texting one night on the couch in her living room when she plucks out the melody to who i’ll be on her old acoustic, sitting on the floor in front of the tv.

he looks up before the first verse is over. “what’s that one? it sounds good.”

“oh -- just a song i wrote in college,” cadence hums, already downplaying it as she lifts her shoulder in a shrug. “i got stuck, never finished it. ellis made me sell the progress for some other writer to finish.”

he frowns, pushing up onto his elbow. his phone is tossed carelessly somewhere among the couch cushions. “why?”

“because i was taking too long with the odyssey,” she sighs. “it was kind of my only option. it’s weird, though -- thinking about someone singing something that was so personal to me.”

“play me what you had so far,” he says, and so she does, hesitating for only a second before strumming the chords, singing the lines she had slowly. 

when she’s done, she looks up to find that raleigh’s slid to the edge of the couch, elbows on his knees as he leans in as close as he can get with the coffee table in his way. “okay -- that was beautiful. you should finish it.”

she shakes her head, setting her guitar down. “i can’t. they already sold it. and even if i wanted to... i don’t know how it ends.”

raleigh’s legs spread in invitation and she stands to walk around to the couch, slipping into his lap and leaning back against his chest. his hands are tender as he rubs them across her shoulders, sliding up her back before one lifts to brush a lock of hair back behind her ear, his pointer finger pushing her glasses up her nose affectionately. “maybe one day you can write something else with the same theme,” he suggests, and she tries her best to smile even though it feels like a dream lost, somehow -- a ridiculous thought, given that she pretty much has everything she ever wanted, but the way she feels all the same.

“maybe,” she sighs, the kiss he drops to her forehead a bandaid on a wound that’s been doing its best to heal for what feels like her entire life.

xvii.

he’s never brought a date to the vinyls before. 

there’s been plenty of after parties he’s stumbled out of with a girl on his arm, sure, but cadence is the first person to sit by his side during the ceremony, and he’s surprised by how much he likes having her next to him.

then again, he’s self aware enough to realize he’d like being pretty much anywhere, with her.

still -- the awards are a lot less boring with her around to kiss and stroke his hair and make snide commentary about the rest of the attendees with, and when she squeezes his hand goodbye to rush backstage and get ready for her performance he misses her instantly.

what happens next makes him endlessly regretful of the fact that he’s not backstage with her.

he rushes around just as soon as he can, pushing his way through security and frantically scrambling technical assistants to find her exactly where he thought he might, between ellis knight and fiona, looking lost with her head in her hands.

she seems equal parts broken and pissed in a way that tugs at his heartstrings and makes him a little bit proud. raleigh shoves through the crowd to get to her and slips an arm around her waist. he’s only caught the tail end of the conversation they’re all having, but he knows enough to know that “you can’t bench her. that’s bull.”

ultimately, though, it doesn’t matter how much they stomp their feet. she’s under contract, their hands are tied, and he walks away seething at the unfairness of it all, this shitty industry that’s turned on her when all she ever wanted to do was make music.

she cries in the car back to her apartment to pack her things. there’s no way he’s letting her go home to iowa or idaho or indiana without him, and he barks at his team over the phone until they agree to move his appearances around so he can make that happen, his free hand clasped tightly in hers until he physically has to let her go so she can unlock her front door with trembling fingers.

cadence tosses clothes haphazardly onto the bed and he silently and precisely moves to folds each piece for her, until she gives up and sinks down onto the edge of the mattress, defeated. 

wide eyes filled with tears lock onto his, and he watches her bottom lip wobble before she says, “you really don’t have to do this. come with me, i mean. i know i messed up, and -- you have so much else going on. i don’t expect you to --”

“i’m coming,” he states firmly, setting the sweatpants in his hand down and stepping closer to her, sitting beside cadence on her bed. “what happened tonight was fucked up, cadence -- it shouldn’t have happened at all. i’m not going to let you go through this alone.”

“but --”

“but nothing,” he says, and before the words have even left his mouth she’s falling into his arms with a soft sound of gratitude, mashing her face into his chest as she sniffles.

“thank you,” cadence mumbles, sounding so unsure of herself it makes him wonder if she’s ever had anyone show up for her when it mattered most before, or if that’s yet another thing they unfortunately have in common. 

xviii.

raleigh tries his best to cheer her up, but it’s still hard, feeling like she’s let the entire world down. her fans. herself.

there’s something embarrassing about showing raleigh her apartment back home and the person she was before she met him -- all the places she felt most uncertain and where she experienced some her worst self-doubt, the room that still has the smoothie star apron hung up in the closet.

but there’s also something exciting, about being totally off the grid with him. no one knows they’re here and there’s no paparazzi waiting to snap photos of them -- especially given the fact that they don’t leave her building for the first three days she spends moping around while raleigh orders all the takeout he can get his hands on.

it sort of reminds her of when they first met, and there was nothing to do but learn about each other, though now there’s a familiarity to him she relies on, a unique raleigh-ness that feels more like home than this shitty apartment ever did.

still, she struggles, and the weight of the world doesn’t let up until zadie shows up with her fanmail and avery does his best to make her smile with a beach trip and some fancy new toys and a day in the sun with a drink in her hand.

eventually it’s just her and raleigh again, out by the fire after everyone else has gone to bed. her stomach is full of s’mores and her cheeks hurt from smiling for the first time in weeks, and it’s a shock when she realizes she feels content, even after everything that’s happened -- almost as though things will all work out for the better no matter what happens next.

“oh my god,” she gasps suddenly, cutting off what raleigh had been saying as her eyes light up and she hastens to stand. “i’ve gotta -- i need to -- oh my god.”

just like that, she knows how her song ends.

recording it is a process, but raleigh calls in some favors and gets them studio time and agrees to be featured on the song even though she knows he’s still working through a sound change that he feels unsure about.

but it means a lot to her, having him crammed in the booth at her side, singing into the same mic. they sound almost unbelievably good together, too, raleigh’s harmonies on the words that finally resolve that lost feeling she’s been harboring her entire life making something deep within her wriggle up happily, wagging its proverbial tail.

the fact that raleigh remains by her side throughout the entire fight with her label, the long nights of despair agonizing over what her next move is going to be and even the moment where they decide to break into indio, of all places, means more to her than she can ever say. she feels markedly less nervous about the entire thing every time she turns her head to the side and sees him, right there next to her -- right where he’s been this entire time -- smiling encouragingly and squeezing her hand hard in his.

though it’s not until they’re up at the top of the ferris wheel that she realizes how precious what she has really is. it’s not until he looks her dead in the eye and says, with that same soft earnestness he’s awarded her since they first met at the one in a million auditions that feel quite literally like a hundred years ago, “cadence, everything you want is on the other side of fear. and i want you to have everything you want,” that she truly understands that’s what between them is special and rare.

not because of any tattoos, or any preconceived destiny. not because of who they are and their status and the fact that people take pictures of them when they’re out in public together.

but because of this -- all these real moments of genuine connection they’ve been fortunate enough to share since fate threw them into each other’s paths.

“raleigh, i love you.” the words are said easily, not a moment’s hesitation behind them. 

just before she crosses over in the cart to kiss him until they’re both breathless, raleigh gifts her the brightest smile he has and says, “i love you, too.”

xix.

the night is a blur from the moment he first takes the stage with his old bandmates to when he finally finds himself alone with cadence in a rundown old motel a few miles out from the festival in the desert.

he can’t recall ever being so happy, so of course he doesn’t remember every agonizing detail of the evening, though he does know he doesn’t feel the need to have a single beer with cadence around, twirling barefoot in the grass and giggling when she leads him up to the room they’ve borrowed.

afterwards, when they’re sitting on the roof together in the blanket they dragged off the bed, he reflects on the wild year they’ve had with her in his arms, fingertips tracing the delicate very funny scrawled across cadence’s collarbone.

he feels... free. completely liberated. like there’s absolutely nothing and no one that can get to him, now, like he’s untouchable, like he doesn’t care about a single thing that happens after today and how perfect things have been. 

“i think i’m actually freer than i’ve ever been,” he muses, where his lips are pressed into her hair, “i can take my sound in any direction i want.”

“i’m so happy for you, raleigh,” cadence returns genuinely, tilting her head back so he can see her upside-down smile. 

his arms tighten around her. “i’m so excited for what you’re gonna be doing, too. i’m excited for us.”

“yeah,” she sighs, “who knows what’s next, right? now that ellis let me out of my deal...”

he can hear the thread of worry undercutting the words. he shakes his head, hands rubbing up and down her arms. “you can worry about that tomorrow. for tonight, just enjoy the comeback. what you did out there was amazing.”

“what we did,” she corrects, and he blinks up the stars as he realizes she’s right -- they’re a we now. he’s part of a we again, after being on his own for so long.

the phrases bounce around in his head, unfamiliar and foreign. me and my girlfriend, he thinks to himself, cadence and i. we’re going to be late. we’ll be away that weekend. we just started watching that show. we, we, we. 

“what we did was amazing,” raleigh amends, the words slow to come out but feeling right all the same. “whatever we do next will be amazing.”

“absolutely,” cadence confirms, with conviction, like it’s something she believes wholeheartedly.

and though he has no idea what to expect or what it might be, a large part of him is inclined to agree with her -- she’s been right about everything else so far.

xx.

one year later, she’s finishing a set in berlin, the last stop on a sprawling european tour that had taken she, avery, micah and raleigh across the continent for dozens of performances to sold-out crowds of thousands screaming her lyrics back to her. 

if her contract with overknight had been a dream come true, signing to wilshere records is heaven incarnate. cadence’s trip through the u.k. with her new label is proof enough, and the chance to meet new fans with new stories to share that she could connect with is one she’s taken to with enthusiasm, the experience made all the sweeter by the fact that her favorite people get to be by her side throughout it all.

berlin’s crowd is one of the best, and she fully expects to end the tour on a high note, head banging to the last few notes of ‘knockout’ before raleigh’s planned entrance for the last song of the night, so they can sing the duet that’s closed out every show they’ve had on the tour together. 

when he struts out with his guitar, waving and grinning at the crowd, she can’t stop herself from smiling stupidly at him, just like she does every time she sees him join her on stage, every time she realizes that this is their life, that this is something they do every night, now.

though her grin falters when raleigh pauses in front of his microphone and asks, “berlin, do you mind if i talk a little bit before i start the song? no? cool, because i’ve got an important question to ask.”

her eyes widen. cadence’s mouth drops open and doesn’t close throughout the entire speech raleigh gives her, even though thousands of people in the crowd are filming every moment of her gaping like an idiot, snapping close-ups of her shocked face.

the arena practically vibrates with screams when he drops to his knee, popping the box in his hand open so she can see the giant diamond ring nestled inside of it. 

“so?” raleigh asks, and cadence can just barely hear him in her in-ears with the way her heart is beating frantically up into her throat, as wild as the crowd’s raging around them and then some. “whaddya say, babe? will you marry me?”

as if the answer could ever be anything but yes. she nods, laughing as she launches herself into his arm for a kiss that’s too grand to be given on stage, though that’s hardly going to stop her -- not tonight, at least. tonight, she’s okay with the whole world watching their every move, just one more time.

“oh, i don’t know if it’s going to fit,” raleigh jokes as the ring slides easily onto her left hand, amping up the theatrics for the fans still watching them avidly, even up in the cheap seats.

cadence rolls her eyes playfully at him. “very funny,” she praises, and the grin he offers her in return is so loving -- so knowing, with the secret that only the two of them share and every weird piece of their history included in it -- that it takes everything she has to shove him away so they can perform instead of dragging him down to the floor to kiss him over and over again.

clumsily, she flubs a few notes of love who i’ll be on her guitar. from across the stage, between the bridge and the chorus, raleigh jeers, “someone hasn’t learned to play with the extra weight on their left hand, yet, i see,” and when she flips him off while belting out the last lines of the verse, his raucous laughter is all the harmony the final few bars of the song needs. 

[generalfoolish]

Feel The Heat

Part Four: Fragile Bird

Rating: 18+ (minors take a hike)

Warnings: Alcohol consumption, more past relationship stuff, meddling friends, general anxiety stuff

Word count: ~2.5k

Pairing: Frankie “Fish” Morales x OC Juniper Collins

Summary: June attends a Benny Miller Fight

A/N: Hey babes! Sorry for the delay! #MandoMay2021 has ruined my brain. Enjoy, anyway 💕

Masterlist | Part Three | Part Five

June was kicking herself the whole way to school. She felt so foolish. As fast as the fear and anxiety had set in, it had dissipated. She didn’t know what was true and what her mind was twisting to fit into the worst-case scenarios she had construed. It felt impossible to pick herself out of the rut of her mind.

But then, she wasn’t sure she wanted to. Maybe she was spiraling for a reason. Her last relationship had imploded, and it was beyond messy. She was aware, better than most, that things weren’t always what they seemed.

June parked her car, and went inside. She was early. But, at least inside her classroom she could shut the door and really think things through. That shred of privacy was what she needed, June decided as she jogged to the main building. She entered the security code, but locked the door back behind her.

Once in her room, she dropped her bag on her desk and sat down heavily.

Time to tell yourself some hard truths, June:

Terry was your fiancé. He left you at the altar. And took your dog.

Terry had kept the honeymoon tickets and went on the trip with another girl.

And that girl was one of your bridesmaids, and supposedly, a good friend.

Terry had made some really sketchy moves behind your back and fucked you out of a lot of money and left you reliant on your family and friends.

It was years ago, and you aren’t over it. You hate Terry, but you have a big, gaping whole where your heart should be and it’s filled with sadness and hate.

But you really like Frankie.

You really, really like Frankie.

June swallowed hard, and pulled her phone out. She keyed open her texts and typed a long message out. Then deleted it. Then re-worded and re-typed. Then deleted it again.

A knock at the door broke the spell. Sam stuck her head in, and gave a pitiful smile.

“Hey, lady…” June nodded her into the room.

“Morning, Sam.”

“Sorry, about setting you up on such a bad date.” June’s facade slipped into a frown.

“How do you know it ended badly?” Sam’s mouth pressed into a thin line.

“Weeeeell, Santiago told me a few minutes ago.” June looked at her phone’s time and groaned. Frankie worked fast.

“It didn’t end the best. It’s my fault.”

“I want to make it up to you!”

“I can’t go out tonight.” She told Sam, already shaking her head. June was feeling a little more hungover than she normally liked on a Wednesday morning at seven a.m.

“Not tonight, silly. Friday night!” Sam perched on her desk, and beamed down. “I doubt you have plans then.” She added with a playful wink.

“I was going to grade.” June told her flatly.

“Great! You’ll come with us.”

“Us?” June asked, her tone skeptical.

“Yeah, it’s a fight? It’s one of Santi’s friends.” June knitted her eyebrows together in disbelief.

“I don’t think that’s a great idea.”

“Fish isn’t going.” Sam told her, like that solved every issue.

“It’s still very third-wheelish. Grading isn’t glamorous, but it beats going on a date with you and your boyfriend.” June told her with a laugh.

“It won’t just be us! Will and his wife, and Ben, but he’s fighting.”

“So...fifth wheeling?”

“Or, maybe you hit it off with Ben!” June gaped at her.

“You aren’t trying to set me up with another guy in this friend group are you?” The dust hadn’t even settled from last night.

“Oh no. He is hot though. Maybe just get you finally laid?” June scoffed.

“Santi tell you that too?”

“Ha! No, I just guessed. You don’t seem like the type to put out on the first date.” June flushed at the comment, trying to not remember what she had said to Frankie.

“I’ll think about coming.” June told her, after a beat of silence. Sam clapped, and made her way to the door.

“Junie, I am sorry it didn’t work out.” June nodded and smiled. Sam meant well, even if her presence had distracted June from her text. She only had a few minutes before kids would show up, and she wasn’t sure what to say.

Anything was better than nothing.

“I’m sorry. Hope you’ll let me explain.”

~~~

June adjusted her t-shirt when she got out of her car. She couldn’t believe that Sam had actually talked her into coming out. Especially, considering it was Frankie’s friends. Especially, since Frankie hadn’t said anything back to her text. She hesitated beside her car door, and settled on just leaving. Why had she even come at all?

“June! I’m glad you came!” Busted. June looked over to see Sam sliding out of a large pick up. Sam ran over and hugged her tightly. “Relax!” She told June’s tense shoulders.

“Hey!” A man called out from the other side of the truck. “That wasn’t even in park, lady.” That must be Santiago, June thought. Sam was right, he was attractive. Heat crept up June’s neck at some of the stories Sam had shared.

“You were stopped, Santi.” Sam told him, rolling her eyes. “This is June, June this is Santiago.” June smiled shyly, hoping beyond hope that she wasn’t about to get raked over hot coals for what happened with Frankie. Instead, Santi smiled warmly.

“Nice to put a lovely face to a lovely name.” He told her, a bright smile dancing on his lips. A charmer, for sure.

“You too. Sam speaks highly of you.” He laughed, a warm, chuckle.

“I’m sure it was too much. Will and Becka are already inside, if you guys want to head in.” Santi placed a hand on Sam’s lower back and led the entourage inside. To June’s surprise they headed straight for the locker room. Two men and a woman were standing in the room, talking in hushed tones when they walked in.

“Santi!” The younger man called out, he must have been the fighter, the only one in gym clothes. Ben, June thought, trying to recall his name.

“Benny! You remember Sam, of course!” Benny, or Ben, smiled brightly and nodded, before whisking her up in a hug. When his eyes landed on June, the smile faltered.

“I thought Fish was with the kids.” June turned, wide-eyed to Sam, who shook her head quickly. “Oh, well, June, right?” He recovered, extending his hand. June took his hand reluctantly, but cut her eyes to Sam all the same. What was this?

“Well, we’re going to find the seats, you boys can give him the pep talk alone.” The woman, who must have been Becka, announced.

“That was weird, huh?” Sam asked, laughing.

“Yeah, real weird.” Becka agreed, looping her arms through both Sam and June’s.

“What’s going on?” June asked, her throat feeling tight.

“Well, you’ve been bummed out about your date.” Sam started.

“And, Frankie has been inconsolable.” Becka finished.

“Is that right? He never responded to my text. I asked him to let me explain, he just didn’t give me a chance.” June kept her arm in place, but felt her heart beating faster. This had been a disaster. Why would she inject herself into a situation where she was surrounded by people who knew Frankie intimately.

The hall ended in the arena, and June slipped behind Becka and Sam. Whatever answers they had were held off because of the blaring music and loud chatter. June hadn’t really expected such a crowd. It seemed Benny was a popular fighter. Becka led the group to a roped off section near the ring, and dropped heavily into a chair.

“Will’s grabbing drinks. Beer, okay?” Becka asked, peeking around Sam to June.

“Yeah, a Corona or Modelo.” June answered. She’d have to remember to venmo money to Becka later. Or just make Sam cover her, for dragging her here in the first place.

“So, what’s going on?” June asked again, leaning in closely to Sam.

“Don’t get mad,” Sam started, smiling wolfishly. June squeezed her eyes shut. This was a setup. “It’s just so you can talk!” Sam added, defensively.

“This is a horrible place to talk.”

“You agreed to come. It was pretty obvious, right?” Becka added, laughing. June groaned, knowing well that Becka had a point. The whole night had felt staged, and yet, here she was anyway.

“I tried to talk to him.” June argued, ignoring Becka’s comment.

“Better in person, I guess.” A gruff voice sounded behind her. She turned quickly and tried to keep her composure. Frankie.

He looked good, she thought, her eyes grazing over him. Another flannel, another cap, but he was working them out. His scruff seemed fuller, and she wondered if he’d been sleeping well, the dark circles under his eyes told her probably not.

“That’s right!” Becka laughed, grabbing her drink.

~~~

It was a set up. Frankie saw her from far away, and his throat dried up immediately. She looked amazing, all tight jeans and t-shirt. That ponytail, he was in trouble.

He hadn’t done a great job of responding to her attempts to talk. To sort things out. He was still burned from the morning after nothing happened.

A phone call to Santi that morning had confirmed his suspicions. What had happened was weird. Santi took some time to dig up intel on her, and Frankie felt a little weird about it. Until, that was, he saw what she’d been through. He could understand her hesitancy. But what he couldn’t scrub from his mind was how she had looked on top of him, pupils blown wide with lust. How she’d sounded wrecked when she asked him to fuck her, fuck him out of her system, she’d said. He had spent a lot of time in the shower, and in the dark of his bedroom, thinking about that.

But, he still hadn’t answered her. He didn’t know how. He had felt like he had had a door slammed in his face, and was hesitant to knock again. There was no guarantee that she wouldn’t pull away again, and he didn’t want that. He wanted to be let in, and he wanted her.

When the boys asked him to a fight, he had agreed immediately. Becka called in the sitter, and it would be a good break from the hard work of the farm, he had told himself. It wasn’t until he was holding as many cups of beer as he could carry, and he was staring at June that he realized it was a setup.

He didn’t know if she knew, and it didn’t matter. If she was here, that meant something. What, he wasn’t sure yet, but definitely something. He felt his ears start to burn as he approached, and heard the conversation was on him. Him ignoring her.

“Better in person, I guess.” He said, attempting to offer an olive branch. June looked like she was about to pass out. She was as clueless as him. But, her eyes on him were more hungry than anything.

“That’s right!” Becka laughed, and grabbed a beer from him. He handed one to Sam, and offered one to June. She took it hesitantly, fingers brushing his against the wet cup.

“Outside?” He asked, glancing at the watch on his forearm. There was plenty of time until Benny fought, and he had a growing suspicion that she wasn’t actually all that into the idea of a fight. He led her outside, his hand hovering on her lower back. Partially, because he didn’t want to lose her in the crowd, but mostly because he wanted to be close to her. It was driving him crazy.

In the parking lot, she whirled on him. Her beer sloshed a little, but she didn’t seem to notice the drink on her fingers.

“I’m sorry for the morning, but why didn’t you say anything?” She asked, tone more hurt than the indignant she was going for. He gaped. He didn’t have an answer. Not the time to respond reactively, though. This was already a mess.

“I thought some time would help.” He told her quietly. He was way out of his depth. She paused, not having anticipated a level response from him.

“It might have.” She conceded. He wished he could read her mind. “I am sorry. You’re the first person I’ve felt anything more than passing attraction for since my ex. It was messy. I thought I was past it. Clearly, I’m not. I think that things happened quickly, and it freaked me out. And I thought about when we first met, and…” He grimaced, knowing what she was thinking. He hadn’t given her a great first impression. Or second, or third.

He realized, dumbly, that he had been thinking the worst of her, but she had seen the worst of him. He reached out, not thinking, and rubbed her cheek.

“I’m sorry. Let’s just take it slow. I don’t mind waiting, but I have to kiss you now. Is that okay?” He tried to swallow the lump in his throat, and was vaguely aware that it made his voice raspy. It didn’t matter, all that mattered, was that June nodded. He smiled and leaned down to kiss her.

[stansbill]

Deductive Fashion

Pair: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier

Words: 2.3k

Chapters: 1/?

Summary: “Alright, whatever, listen, I’m sorry, blah blah,” Richie said, holding his hands up to retaliate as Eddie stood there listening, “if you pretend to date me, or whatever for a while until this blows over, I promise I’ll pay you.”

“You don’t even know me.”

“I’m pretty sure I had my dick in your ass last night, and that’s like hella intimate buddy, so I’m sure I know you judging by the fact that I kind of remember you -”

“Alright! Alright, I get it. You remember last night,” Eddie huffed out.

Read on AO3: link

The second Richie woke up, he knew something was wrong. Maybe it was the countless texts on his phone, or maybe it was the fact that his head hurt, or that his eyes stung, his body was stiff - or even the glaring fact that there was currently an arm around his waist.

Which had hair.

So, in conclusion: this was a man’s arm - which should have been glaringly obvious to Richie. It was also currently seven in the morning, his phone was buzzing rapidly on the side table, and his head was pounding.

Plus, he couldn’t find his glasses. So, he did the obvious thing. He picked up the arm that was across his waist, placed it between his hand and the man’s chest and blindly tried to reach for his glasses on the side table.

The next thing Richie noticed was the obvious groaning, and a warm puff of breath on the back of Richie’s neck, and the movement of the man’s arm. Guess he woke.

“Turn off the alarm, dickward,” a voice rang out, making Richie’s entire body go stiff.

Yep, it was definitely a man.  

“Yep, sorry,” Richie hastily said, having no other words to say. It felt weird, not to say anything, or maybe it was the fact that there was a man in Richie’s bed. Nope, it was the latter.  

Richie picked up his phone, his mind going in countless directions, and moved until his feet hit the cold wood, and let out a little breath. He placed in his password and opened up his texts.  

You’re finally coming out??? How come I didn’t know???  Also, you took a cute boy home, tell me the deets [Bev, 3 am]

I hope this was you actively making a decision and not being shitfaced [Stan the man, 3:30 am]  

One night stand or boyFRIEND, details trashmouth. [Big bill, 4 am]

Congrats on the cute boy!!! [egg boy, 6 am]

As a friend, nice job on gettin’ some. As a manager? You’re a dumbass and you really need to call me back. [Mikey, 6:30 am]

And Mike must have been serious, considering in thirty minutes, he already had ten missed calls and five missed facetime.  

He figured he could cut the man his slack and call back; plus, it would help Richie too, considering his heart was being 90 times a minute and there was currently a man in his bed.  

But you know, semantics.

Mike picked up on the first ring.  

“Hey buckaroo, it’s a great morning, isn’t it? I mean, I didn’t check the app yet, or even look outside but-”

“Save it, Rich.”

Richie sighed, “yeah, fine, go ahead, tell me how I outed myself to the general public and my entire life is ruined, and now I'm going to have to live on the streets, defend my beautiful body, maybe sell it for a mere cents -”

“Trashmouth, shut up, oh my god. Listen, I’m not going to tell you that you fucked up. Sure, we might have to do damage control considering twitter, and whatever has been blowing up with the mere thought of you actually being somewhat gay -”

“Bi,” Richie cut in.  

“Yes, I know. Anyways, it might take some time, but we can move through it. You might just have to come out to a press release, press conference, or even actively announce it so we can move past it. It doesn’t mean you have to date the guy or even see him anymore. We can just use this as a ploy for social interaction. Though, as one of your best friends, I just want to say that I’m proud of you for coming out, even if it wasn’t in the best circumstances.”  

“You mean being drunk?”  

“Exactly. Do you regret it?”  

“A little.”  

“That’s okay. We’ll fix it, Rich, don’t worry.”

“I mean, if you can fix anything, it’s Richie’s mistakes!”  

Mike sighed over the phone, “Moving on, did he leave the house or is he still here?”  

“He’s still here. Right beside me actually - well, right behind, I don’t know, semantics. I should probably make him sign a contract right? Like ‘blah, blah, don’t use to your advantage, blah blah’ -”  

“You know I can hear you, right?” A voice rang out, cutting off Richie from his monologue, “Like, don’t get me wrong, it’s amazing to hear a shrill voice at like crack ass dawn in the morning. But if you would like to move it into the next room over, that’ll be great too.”  

“It’s 7:30, dickwad,” Richie said, not moving his body to look at the one behind him. He sighed. “I’ll call you later, Mike,” and before Mike could say anything, he carried on, “and yes, don’t worry. I’ll handle it. I’ll meet you at your office at around eleven.” With that said, Richie closed the call, turned around in his bed and came face to face with the man; and let out an involuntary exhale, “how the fuck did I bag you last night?”  

The man snorted, “beats me, man, you were a disaster.”  

“A disaster you fucking slept with.”  

“Exactly. Anyways, as nice as it was to wake up to your voice, I think I should go. Great to meet you!” The man said, his voice slightly sarcastic, as he got up, and looked around for his jeans.  

Considering how it was currently still early, Richie blamed his hangover and the ass o'clock in the morning for the next thing that was about to come out of his mouth. “I-um-wait!” Richie said, making the man froze in his steps, “see, I don’t know if you noticed, but I'm kind of a big deal.”  

The man snorted, “you mean an amateur comedian.”

Richie frowned, “shut up fuckface, you’re the one that went home with me last night. Anyways, you’re kind of all over the news buddy, just an FYI. So, we might have to do...a bit of something.”  

“What the fuck do you mean by ‘a bit of something’?”  

“Be seen outside together, a bit? Or pretend to date? Or maybe be friends who fuck in public? Wait, not that way, considering who wants to go to jail, or maybe, who knows -”  

“You really babble on like an idiot for someone who talks on stage a lot, huh?”  

“I don’t write my material -”  

“I fucking knew it!” The man yelled, his lips stretching in a grin, a laugh making its way through his throat, “you always seemed like you forced a few lines -”  

“Oh, hardy hah, hah. No one is gonna believe you, now listen, do me a favour, man, and I promise you’ll get a big break.”  

The man's eyes narrowed, “you mean ‘big break’ as a shit ton of money, correct?”

“Well, no shit, what do you expect, a ‘big break’ to be me shitting on a toilet? Hellooo, I’m a celebrity, who just came out tonight - without no planning might I add - and that too with a one night stand, so obviously I mean big bucks.”  

“You should probably be nice to me considering what you’re asking of me, dickwad.”  

“Listen, Mr...whatever your name is-”  

“It’s Kaspbrak.”  

“What?”  

“It’s Eddie Kaspbrak.”  

Richie grinned and hummed, “cute-”  

“Hey!”

“Anyways! If you could stop interrupting me Eds-”  

“That’s not my name!”  

“I can’t hear you!”  

“Do you want me to fucking leave, because I will, man, don’t fucking piss me off.”  

“Alright, whatever, listen, I’m sorry, blah blah,” Richie said, holding his hands up to retaliate as Eddie stood there listening, “if you pretend to date me, or whatever for a while until this blows over, I promise I’ll pay you.”

“You don’t even know me.”

“I’m pretty sure I had my dick in your ass last night, and that’s like hella intimate buddy, so I’m sure I know you judging by the fact that I kind of remember you -”  

“Alright! Alright, I get it. You remember last night,” Eddie huffed out.  

“Yeah, so, if you help me with this, you can go home with a fat check in a few months - a month or two tops - or go home now, while obviously signing a contract that states you can’t talk about what my said dick did to your said ass last night.”

Eddie huffed. At one point, the urge to just go home and sleep was slightly soaring in his mind, but on the other hand, the idea of possibly getting a fat check from a said comedian was looking appealing.  

It wasn’t that Eddie was desperate for money. Well, maybe, kinda. He just finished his Masters in psychology, and looking for work while being in debt wasn’t fun. Besides, the fact that he even ended up in Richie’s bed last night all had to do with the fact he broke up with his girlfriend of two years before realizing that yeah, he was bent, and yeah, she was a bitch.  

Well, Eddie always knew he was bent, but you know, semantics.  

“Alright.”

Richie raised an eyebrow, “alright, what?” he asked cautiously.  

“Alright, I’ll pretend to date you.”  

Richie let out a relief of sigh, “great, alright! Here we go, I’m going to call Mike, so maybe you could you know,” Eddie raised an eyebrow, “like come sit next to me? While I call? So we can figure this planning out?”  

Eddie sighed, “how about you call whoever Mike is-”

“My manager.”  

“And I’ll be back from the washroom and we can figure out what to do?”

“Sound’s good, Eds, you go take a leak,” Richie said, already dialling Mike instead of hearing Eddie angrily mumble about how that wasn’t his name.  

Mike as always, picked up on the first ring, “please tell me you figured it out.”  

“Well, kinda?”

Mike sighed, “what did you do?”  

“I maybe might have asked him to pretend to be my boyfriend.”  

“You know, when you told me you would take care of this, this wasn’t what I was expecting, right?”  

“Yeah? Well, you put me up to this man, you knew I was gonna fuck it up -

“You told me you would take care of this! Not make him your fake boyfriend!”

“I’m still hungover Mike, cut me some slack. Besides my heart kinda like jumped when I saw his face, is that weird? I think I should probably see the doctor - wow, look at me, saying I need to see a doctor -”

Mike sighed, “alright, listen. If he’s a hundred percent sure of doing this, we can make a contract at this moment to figure out what you guys need to do to keep this going, and what to avoid, etc.”

Richie hummed, “sounds good.”

“Just to make sure, he doesn’t have any criminal record, right?”

“I don’t know, homeschool, the only thing we spoke about so far is the deal and me fucking him last night.”

“Richie,” Mike said, dejectedly, “what’s his name?”

“Eddie Kaspbrak, Kaspbrak with a ‘K’, should be with a ‘C’ though, he’s a cutie.”

Mike snorted, “might want to make sure he’s not listening so he doesn’t kill you on the spot.”

“You’re here to witness a true crime if it does happen, homeschool.”

“Anyways, it checks out, he doesn’t have a criminal record.”

“Love how you just checked but didn’t let me know how.”

“And that’s why I’m your manager, trashmouth.”

Richie laughed, “exactly.”

Eddie cleared his throat, “I’m back.”

Richie turned around and beckoned him over, “Alright Mike, I’m going to put this phone on speaker, Eds is here.”

“Stop fucking calling me that, I don’t -”

“You must be Eddie.”

Eddie grimaced, “sorry about that.”

“It’s alright, Richie gets on everyone’s nerves -”

“Hey!”

Mike continued as if Richie never spoke. “I’m sorry you got roped into this, considering you probably thought you might just get a one night stand and end up leaving in the morning with no problem.”  

“Yeah, until he woke me up with a call.”  

“Yeah, that one was mine. The news of Richie being bi never really came out to the public, and with pictures of you guys making out on the steps of Richie’s apartment building last night got published, well, you can see why we need you.”  

Now Richie grimaced.

“I figured,” Eddie said, adding nothing more.  

“If you’re willing to cooperate with us, we can add benefits on your end that can help you navigate your life after this fiasco.”  

Richie cleared his throat, “something about a big check, homeschool?”

Mike exhaled, “yeah, we can provide benefits - just like I said, Richie. You would just need to play up that you guys are casually seeing each other in public for a month or two before this dies down and then we can move forward with Richie’s image. I gather Richie told you that you have the option of saying no to this, and if you do, you would have to sign an obligation not to spread any information about these events.”

“Yea, he did,” Eddie replied, his hands slightly clammy. This was all fucking insane.  

“So, you both would have to come into my office and talk about what we need to do to move forward with this, but right now, I just need to know that you’re willing to do this. Are you?”

“Yeah, yes, I’m willing,” Scratch that, Eddie wished he said no. But he knew he needed the cash.

“Alright, I’ll see you guys in a few hours. During that time, get to know each other a bit, don’t say anything on social media, and please, stay in the apartment. I already have enough damage control to do.”  

With that, Mike ended the call.  

“So..Eds, how did you come around these parts?”

Eddie rolled his eyes.

[littlespoonevan]

SCREW IT. 8!!! PLATONIC CUDDLES BUT THEY'RE ALSO IN LOVE OFC OR SMTH (do which ever one u want I know u might be busy 💞💞💞) ily

anon said:Honestly all of the prompts but to make it easier 9/25

anon said:9/12 evak for the cuddle prompt please? love your writing

9. Totally platonic + 12. Just waking up 

this is ridiculous but also based off a real thing that i heard ok!!!! it just screamed evak, i couldn’t help myself skdjfla i hope you like it!!

*

Isak would formally like toabsolve himself of all responsibility for this. It’s Magnus’ fault - like it’salways Magnus’ fault - and he cannot be blamed for the situation he’s in now.

Here’s Isak’s current dilemma in a nutshell: the rent for hisflat has gone up again, the heating is on the verge of being cut off again, and Isak is really fucking broke.

He can’t be blamed, he thinks, that he spends his Friday nightlamenting his fate after a few beers have loosened his tongue. Especially whenhe can – generally – count on his friends to be sympathetic.

“Just get a roommate, man,” is Mahdi’s helpful but somewhatredundant advice.

“I live in a one bedroom apartment,” Isak deadpans, sulking intohis bottle of beer.

“So share the room,” Jonas tells him, like it’s obvious.

“I can barely fit my own bed in there, let alone anyone else’s.”

“Fy faen!” Magnus exclaims, eyes wide as he snaps his fingers.“I’ve got it!” He pauses for dramatic effect, making sure to meet each of theirgazes before declaring, “Share your bed!”

Isak attempts to splutter out a scathing retort to that butMagnus barrels on before he can even manage to get a word out.

“Advertise your place as a bedshare! And make sure you sayyou’re looking for a nice person to ward off the creeps.”

“Magnus, that’s-“

“Actually pretty smart,” Mahdi cuts in, sounding mildlyimpressed.

“No, it’s-“

“I’m gonna draft an ad for you,” Magnus decides, whipping outhis phone.

And that is how Isakwakes up in the morning with a killer headache and a message from some guycalled Even asking about a bed to rent.

Fuck Isak’s life, honestly.

He’s fully intending on texting this Even person and telling himthat he does not have a room – or abed, what the fuck? – available but then he reads the message properly.

Drunk Isak – or more likely Drunk Magnus – told Even to comeover at 11:00. Isak checks the time.

Its 10:55

Shit.

Isak stumbles out of bed,reaching for the first pair of probably-need-to-be-washed sweatpants he sees anddragging them on before upturning his chair of clothes in search of a hoodie.

He’s just in the middle of frantically trying to pick theclothes up again off the floor when there’s a knock at the door.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Okay,the good thing is that this Even guy will spot in about five seconds flat thatIsak is far too much of a human disaster to be living with and will probablyback out as soon as he gets a chance. This is fine, he tells himself. He can bemature, tell the guy it was just a prank and that he really, really does nothave the space.

He nodsto himself, determined, and then promptly swings the front door open.

And,oh wow.

It’spossible Isak is still a little drunk from the night before but holy fuckingshit this guy is beautiful. He didn’tknow people like this existed in real life?! He’s staring – gaping, really –and he doesn’t even realise he is until the guy raises his eyebrows and uttersa slightly confused, “Are you Isak?”

Isakstarts, straightening his stance and trying to make it look like he wasn’tclose to drooling just five seconds ago. “Yes! Hi! Sorry! I’m- I- uh I’m reallyhungover,” he admits sheepishly.

Evensmiles and it’s, quite frankly, the most stunning thing Isak’s ever seen.

“Maybewe could do this interview over breakfast then?” Even offers, and honestly,with a face like that, how can Isak refuse?

*

Tenminutes later Isak finds himself sitting at the breakfast bar in his kitchen,watching a beautiful stranger make him eggs.

AndEven is so nice. He talks so easilyand asks Isak questions about his life that Isak answers because he’s toodumbstruck to do anything else.

“Sodo you want to ask me anything?” Even says, poking at the eggs with a spatula. “Myonly references I can offer you are my parents – who say I’m a stunningroommate, by the way – or my ex-girlfriend, who, yeah she probably doesn’tagree.”

Evenlaughs and Isak feels like the worst person in the world. Because he’s actuallyconsidering this. He’s actually considering going along with this ridiculousbedshare idea because fuck, he kind of wants Even to stick around a littlelonger. (And maybe for bedsharing to turn into kissing; he’s only human, okay?)

Inthe end his stupid moral integrity wins out though.

“Listen,Even,” he starts, already feeling supremely uncomfortable when he forceshimself to stop being a baby and meet Even’s gaze. “You seem really nice andlike you’d make a great roommate but- I’m not actually looking for one.”

Evenpauses, a slight frown appearing between his eyebrows that Isak wants to kissaway.

“Butthe ad said-“

Isakwinces. “I was drunk and complaining to my friends about not being able toafford my rent and one of them decided it would be a genius idea to advertisemy flat as a bedshare.”

Evenis quiet for a minute, pushing the eggs around in the pan while he seems to bethinking over what to say. “You can’t afford your rent?”

“Yeah,”Isak replies slowly, unsure of where this is going. “My lease is almost up andthe landlord is hiking up the price again so I’ll probably have to get a secondjob or something. I’m sorry you came all the way out here for nothing.”

Evenhuffs a little bit, taking the pan off the heat and moving to the other side ofthe breakfast bar. “Look, Isak. I know we literally just met fifteen minutesago but from what you’ve already told me, you sound pretty busy with uni and yourjob without adding another job on top of all that.

“Iguess I am?” Isak admits.

“AndI need a place to stay and- well, my company hasn’t been that bad so far, hasit?”

Even’sgot this hopeful little look on his face and Isak can literally feel it melting his heart.

“Ionly have one bed though,” he protests weakly. He’s pretty sure Even could askto share his fucking shower and he’d say yes.

(Scratchthat. He’d definitely say yes.)

Evengrins, offering him a careless shrug of his shoulders. “That’s fine. I like tocuddle.”

*

Aftertalking over breakfast, he and Even agree to a trial run. A week long periodwhere they’ll see if they can manage living on top of each other without itbeing too disastrous. And, as much as he likes Even, he doesn’t really liketheir odds.

Isakis a slob and the apartment is tiny and his bed sheets probably need to bechanged and oh yeah, he has fucking insomnia six nights out of seven.

He’llbe lucky to come out of this with Even as an acquaintance, not to mind anythingelse.

Onthe first night they both decide to go to bed at the same time and Isak can’tdecide if that makes it weirder or not. He gets the most bizarre sense of deja-vufor a version of himself that doesn’t exist, like he’s one half of a marriedcouple going to bed together which is just- not a thought he should be having.

Evencalls out a soft, “Goodnight,” as soon as they’re settled and Isak echoes him.

Andthen they’re just…lying in Isak’s bed, side by side, in the dark, wide awake.

Great.

*

Isakgenuinely believed Even was kidding when he said he liked to cuddle. He thoughtit was just a joke to make the fact that they have to share a bed a little lessawkward. That doesn’t really explain why Isak wakes up from dozing to find Evensprawled across his chest.

Hefreezes as soon as he’s fully awake, breath stuck in his lungs as he waits. Forwhat, he doesn’t know. After a few seconds the heavy weight of Even on top ofhim and the steady rise and fall of his breathing tells him Even must besleeping and it allows Isak to relax somewhat.

Okay,this is fine. Even just reached for him in his sleep. That’s totally normal.Even must be used to cuddling. Isak can nudge him back over to his own side ofhis bed and go back to sleep himself.

Except.

ExceptEven is warm. And he feels nice andhe sounds so peaceful. Isak doesn’t want to disturb that.

Aftera moment’s deliberation, he carefully lets an arm drape across Even’sshoulders, settles back into the pillow a little bit more and closes his eyes.

*

Isakis distinctly aware of another body in his bed when he wakes up in the morning.(It’s not hard to miss when said body is lying on top of his chest.) It doesn’ttake him all that long to remember it’s Even’s. Slowly, he lets his eyesflutter open, giving himself one last moment to bask in this before he looksdown and gets ready to face the impending awkward moment.

Evenis awake, head still on Isak’s chest and watching him with an expression that’shalf sheepish-half unapologetic.

“Soapparently, you’re more comfortable than your pillows,” Even croaks and god, his morning voice should not makeIsak weak at the knees.

“I’vebeen told I make a really great pillow actually,” Isak says. Which isn’tstrictly a lie but Eskild also took it back five minutes later when Isak wouldn’tstop moving.

Evensmiles, sleepy and soft, and jesus christ, he can stay here as long as he wantsif Isak gets to wake up to that everymorning.

“Sorryfor like, completely obliterating any boundaries there were between us,” Evensays, though he still makes no move to get off Isak’s chest.

Isakshrugs, feeling a lot braver with Even curling into him the way he is. “We haveto share a bed. There wouldn’t be much point to this if we didn’t get tobenefit from cuddling every once in a while. This way I don’t even need to payfor the heating.”

Evensnorts but it morphs into something like a giggle halfway through and it’s too much. “Even with the extra body heat,I think we might freeze to death without that.” In spite of his words, Evencuddles the tiniest bit closer.

Isakhums in acknowledgement, idly wondering if it’s normal that he already feelscomfortable being this close to Even.

“Sodoes this mean I get to be your roommate?” Even asks, glancing up at Isak witha light in his eyes that feels far too meaningful for how long they’ve knowneach other.

“Ithink you’ve proven yourself to be a pretty impressive candidate,” Isakmurmurs, a wry grin spreading across his face.

Evenraises an eyebrow but his lips are twitching like he wants to smile. “If I cookyou breakfast again, will that seal the deal?”

Isakbites his lip, nodding once, and Even’s responding grin is blinding before hesqueezes Isak in a hug.

Isakmakes a mental note in that moment to send Magnus a thank you note later.

*

[softestziam]

So, I’m taking a permanent break from writing, my heart’s not in it anymore. I am going to leave you all with my Bachelor AU fic though. It’s incomplete but it’s all I've got.

The birds were singing a beautiful song as they flew high in the cloudless, blue sky. Children could be heard laughing from the park a few blocks away, the daily bustle of people making their way to their next location. A perfect day all around.

That was until Zayn was forced awake by the loud noise coming from his phone. His alarm. With a groan he blindly searched for the bane of his existence, feeling around until he found it resting on his chest. He turned off the noise but still refused to open his eyes. He was way too hungover for this. This being a new day, sometimes even life.

That was a story he wasn't quite ready to delve deeper into just yet. Letting out a frustrated sigh Zayn finally opened his eyes and took in his surroundings, once again he was sleeping in the backseat of his car. The only thing he had to call his own at the moment, that was another story he didn't feel like thinking about right now.

It did look like a beautiful day, though. Not a single cloud in the sky and birds were actually chirping as they flew overhead. Hmm. Not even a full minute after he was actually awake Zayn's phone rang and he knew who it was calling him almost immediately. With an eye roll and a cough to clear his throat he begrudgingly answered.

“Lou.”

“Where the hell are you Malik?” Louis asked, practically yelling at him over the noise in the background. “Production starts in twenty and I can't have a show without my best producer, okay?”

Zayn internally groaned at the boldface lie Louis just spewed out. “I'm on my way, Lou. Just stopped to get a cuppa, want one?”

“Large Yorkshire, two sugars, no milk,” he rattled off. “That's another issue I won't get into right now, Welsh tea is shite, and craft service isn't up here yet. It's a slight disaster.”

“Breathe babe,” Zayn instructed him gently, sitting up in the backseat and rummaging through his knapsack for clean clothes. “Be there in twenty, okay?”

“Make it ten and I'll give you a raise,” Louis bargained.

“See you Lou,” he answered and hung up, throwing his phone on the driver's seat.

Once he found clean enough clothes, Zayn changed quickly, thanking whatever deity that was watching over him that day that he remembered to grab his deodorant before Adam kicked him out. He ran his hands through his hair, shaved close at the sides leaving the top long, before tying it up in a quick ponytail. He didn't have any clean socks so he turned the ones he wore yesterday inside out, it was better than going without, like Louis was always so keen on doing. He rummaged through his bag until he found a small bottle of mouthwash before spitting it out in the cup that rested in the console between the two front seats. This was his life and frankly it was rather pathetic.

Without a second thought Zayn finally left his car and hoped he could find a place in the middle of Wales that sold Yorkshire tea or else Louis would definitely have his arse. Thanking his lucky stars once more he spotted a coffee cart on his way to set, even better they had a large neon sign praising their authentic Yorkshire tea. Maybe it was a sign that things wouldn't go to shit this year, probably not, this was Zayn's life we are talking about. Fishing what little money he had in his pocket, Zayn gave it to the clerk before making his final trek to the set.

Once he arrived he realized what Louis was talking about. Everything looked chaotic, like a bomb had went off. Trucks were parked everywhere, producers, assistants, and writers were all standing around the spacious mansion, all looking completely lost.

“Malik!” Louis shouted at him once he was spotted. He smiled wide and grabbed his tea out of Zayn's hand before gulping down a large sip. “Not me mum's but it'll do. Welcome home straggler.”

“Home,” he scoffed and let himself be escorted through the masses. He casually nodded his head at the crew members he recognized, faking a smile at those he didn't. Louis pushed him up the stairs of the production trailer. His home for the next eight weeks. “Jeez, Lou, you splurged on a new couch this season.”

“Late nights at the office call for comfort,” he explained and sat in front of a messy desk. If you wanted it to call it a desk, it looked more like a table they had at canteens back in his uni days, covered in dirt and mysterious stains. “Take a seat and get yourself familiarized with this year's hopefuls.”

Zayn took the empty seat next to Louis and skimmed the binder quickly. Faces blending together quickly. Everyone looked the same on the show, fake smiles and even faker stories. They'd try anything to land on the show in hopes of finding true love. “And where's our suitor?”

“In the flat we set up for him down the road,” Louis groaned. “A real tosser this kid.”

“That's what you get for recruiting Liam Payne,” he laughed and flipped through the pages of the binder once more. “The first gay suitor and we end up with England's biggest headache, good job Tommo.”

Louis let out a fake laugh and bent down so he was crowding up Zayn's space, his head resting on his shoulder. “I've missed your bratty attitude, Malik. Feels like home.”

“Fuck off,” Zayn told him and pushed Louis's face away from his shoulder. “Niall here yet?”

“Set to arrive in an hour,” Louis answered and played with the walkie talkie clipped to his belt, finally turning it on. “Production meeting in fifteen, pick your boy and then we'll discuss incentives, okay?”

Zayn let Louis leave the truck as he read over the binder once more. This was common among the producers, they all picked a contestant that was going to win the heart of the suitor and at the end of the season whoever won, or came closest to winning, usually was rewarded financially. In the three years Zayn had worked for Everlasting he had never won. It was an ongoing joke among the staff, that whoever he chose usually was sent home first.

This time, this year he wanted to win, needed to win. He needed all the help he could get in the money department, and he was going to do whatever was in his power to do it. Lie, cheat, and steal was how Louis and the rest of the producers played the game and Zayn was more than willing to join in this year.

He read over the mini biography they had on this year's suitor, Liam Payne. Maybe if Zayn could get into his psyche a little he could choose someone who'd be compatible enough with him to win this whole thing. Zayn knew enough about Liam though, all of the United Kingdom did. He was a typical playboy, used and abused his status to get what he wanted. His father, Geoff Payne was a real estate mogul, made good money that way. He put money aside for his son, not allowed to touch it until he turned twenty one. Within the first year of receiving the money Liam had blown close to half of it. Zayn scoffed as he read over the biography, of course all the horrible stories about Liam were omitted. Typical.

Closing the binder with a thud that echoed in the empty truck, Zayn stood up and made his way to the production meeting. It was a short walk across the way but he could already hear the laughs as he approached the trailer. It already sounded like Louis was showing off, always a ham in front of an audience. Didn't matter the size of the crowd he always bathed in the attention.

Swinging open the door to the trailer Zayn froze. He immediately realized why they were all laughing. They were laughing at him. Last series finale was being projected on the large screen tv mounted on the wall in front of the room. He gripped the binder in his hands tighter, knuckles turning white with the pressure. Last year wasn't his proudest moment, that's when he hit rock bottom. Luckily the network and show runners omitted his very public breakdown from airing but it still stung to see. Especially now that Louis was showing it for a laugh.

Zayn watched himself on screen down a whole bottle of champagne in two gulps, staggering on the sand of the beach in whatever exotic island they were filming at. It was like a train wreck, he wanted to look away but he couldn't. This was the first time he actually saw the footage, for a long time Zayn just thought it was a very detailed dream he couldn't shake. Moments were a little fuzzy, specific things he may have done and said getting lost in his memory.

He started to cringe when everyone began to laugh again as onscreen Zayn approached the contestant as she stood in front of the suitor, stars in her eyes. He grabbed her face in his hands and slowly started to shake her, telling her that she was going to lose, not be proposed to. The contestant immediately started to cry and looked over Zayn's shoulder at the suitor, waiting for him to correct Zayn's statement. When he remained silent she went ballistic, on a mad rampage. She was crying, mascara instantly staining her cheeks. Zayn shrugged the entire thing off, walking along the beach as the camera followed his every move. The losing contestant continued her tirade, trying to kick and punch at the suitor who now rejected her.

In the simplest of terms, it was a complete disaster. Louis could be heard yelling at Zayn to get out of the shot, that he was ruining a perfectly good shot. The contestant kept physically showing her anger as stage hands and assistants tried to wrangle her free from the suitor.

Back in the production room everyone kept laughing and visibly kept cringing at the antics onscreen. Zayn sighed and stretched out his hands, dying for a cigarette to calm his nerves. Not even a full hour at work and his was already itching for a fix. Great.

“Cheers Lou. Thanks mate,” Zayn said dryly, licking his lips.

The small room of people quickly quieted down, all turning to look at an embarrassed Zayn who kept standing right by the door. Louis in front of the room like he belonged there. Technically he did, he was the executive producer of the entire show.

“What!” He exclaimed in shock. “I always show the series finale before a new season begins.”

Zayn rolled his eyes as he finally took a seat at an empty table, throwing open the binder and plucking a pen from the cup in front of him. “The episode that aired though, not the rough cuff.”

“Talking about rough,” one producer muttered unsuccessfully under her breath.

Louis cut his eyes at the female producer, a warning of some sort. “Oh get off it Malik, no harm, no foul, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Zayn replied with an eye roll. “Can we get down to business before the contestants show up, please?”

Louis paused the footage as some of the other producers and whoever else was in the room silently protested. Zayn really did hate a vast majority of his co workers, none of them really had any respect for him, that was obvious. That was also his own fault if he was being honest with himself.

He was a walking disaster all last series, drunk a majority of the time. He never expected it to culminate during the finale, the stress of the eight weeks of filming finally getting to him. His little meltdown during the finale got the attention of the shows creator and the network. The moment he arrived back in London he was rushed into the head of the network's offices and was given a stern talking to. Zayn wasn't allowed to speak unless he was given permission, which was a crock of shit by the way. He had to agree to go to a rehab for four weeks between series and he had to pay back all the structural damage that was caused.

He did what he was told though, went through the program and pretended to actually care. He was allowed to return for the new series and that was all Zayn really wanted anyway. He knew all eyes were going to be on him this time around, one false step and he would lose his job. Zayn knew how to get around things, had done it a majority of his life. He knew the only way to survive another eight weeks of filming was with some liquid courage, all which could be hidden by mouthwash and cologne.

“So the incentives you talked about earlier, Lou?” Zayn asked, tapping his pen loudly on the opened binder.

Louis took down the footage of the previous years season and opened up another folder. It was headshots of all twenty five contestants. “Everyone in this room will chose a contestant. Depending on what they do and what we capture on camera, you'll be handsomely rewarded. Sounds good?”

“How much are we getting when we win?” Sandy, a camera operator asked.

“£20,000,” Louis answered. “This is our first gay suitor, I wanted to raise the stakes a little. I have a board in my office truck with all these guys pictures, you'll simply just write your name underneath their picture and watch the magic unfold.”

The meeting ran a few minutes longer but Zayn had zoned out immediately after Louis stopped discussing money. He looked down at his binder once more and smiled at his choice, Harry Styles.

This kid was going to make him rich this series, he was Zayn's ticket out of this hellhole. He knew his choice would get him laughed at amongst the crew, but Zayn could feel it in his bones. This kid was going to be able to solve all his problems. Now he couldn't wait to meet him and mold him into the perfect contestant for Liam. Harry looked like the type of contestant that was going to be perfect for the camera, the audience was going to eat him up immediately, hopefully Liam would too.

Once the meeting was over Zayn grabbed his things and headed straight towards the mansion. The cameramen were setting up and there were wires all over the floor, he had to tiptoe around them, hoping not to trip over them. The limos could been seen up the hill, just waiting for their cue. Makeup and hair people were running around like crazy, getting whoever was going to be on camera ready. Zayn stole a pack of barbecue crisps from the craft service table that finally arrived. He munched on them loudly, nodding his head in greeting to Niall when he made his appearance.

Niall was a good lad, been presenter of the show since the very first day. He too had become jaded of the whole thing, but a paycheck was a paycheck and no one in their right mind was going to turn that down. If Zayn was one of the lonely housewives who watched the show every Monday night he'd watch solely to see Niall. His charisma was unmatched in the industry, and genuine too. When filming ran long Zayn could always depend on Niall for a good joke and a stiff drink, two things neither boys could live without.

The noise around the mansion ended abruptly when Liam finally made it on stage, a PA literally dragging him. Great. That's exactly how Zayn predicted this season was going to go. A stubborn rich boy who thought he was too good for the show even when he personally contacted the show. Whatever. Zayn had other things to worry about anyway, like making sure all the limousines were lined up and ready to drop off the contestants without any issue.

Louis walked fast towards Zayn, his hands flailing about as he talked fast into his walkie talkie, more than likely yelling at other producers to get their shit together. It was typical day one nonsense. He had his shit together so Zayn had nothing to worry about, he hoped. He got an appreciative smile from Louis as he zoomed by him so Zayn knew he wasn't messing up. The limousines were ready, Niall and Liam were ready, all that was left was aiming the cameras and recording.

“Welcome to Everlasting,” Niall smiled and greeted the home audience warmly as soon as he was given his cue. Thus began the newest season.

Zayn stood behind all the camera and production crew, binder still held tightly in his hands. He watched as Louis ran from limousine to limousine instructing the constants what to do once they exited the vehicle, it seemed all a little boring and mundane after the sixth guy.

Zayn's job was to make sure the cars didn't end up piling up, a mini traffic jam in front of the mansion. It was a pretty easy job, say some words into this walkie talkie and call it a day. He knew it was going to be a long night, especially how Liam was reacting to every guy the approached him. They all came with a cheesy chat up line, always thinking they were the first person to make a pun out of Liam's last name. None of them were creative or charming.

Niall was fantastic as always, greeting each new contestant like he was the first. Zayn had to hide his smirk behind his binder more than once at him, his eyes were screaming for help even though he plastered on his smile like a champ. Louis was always within his eyeshot, running around behind the crew, barking orders at assistants and camera people. The first day was always the hardest for him, for all of them really. If the first day went smoothly, everything else after all just fell into place just as easily.

The twenty third contestant was making his way into the mansion after his introduction, the sun starting to rise behind the home. They'd been at this for close to four hours. All the stopping and going again just kept dragging on. Everyone was exhausted, the craft service table was practically bare at this point. All the junk food gone around two in the morning. Louis had sent some production assistant out for a coffee and tea run knowing they had at least two more hours of filming before they called it a day. Zayn was just itching for a cigarette and maybe a stiff drink, something to take the edge off.

“Hey Malik, your boy is next,” Dana, a camera operator, joked, winking at him.

Zayn looked down at his binder and nodded with a knowing smile. Harry was the next to last contestant to meet Liam. Liam who looked just as miserable as Zayn felt, good. It always warmed his heart to see the suitors uncomfortable, always made for good tv.

He spoke into his walkie talkie, letting the next limousine driver that he could pull up in front of the mansion. Louis made a mad dash to the car, going over the instructions for the twenty fourth time that day. He was running on autopilot at that point, just gibberish leaving his lips as he spoke now. Louis moved quickly behind the camera as Niall walked up to Liam, letting him know the brief history he had on Harry.

Harry Styles, 22 years old from Holmes Chapel. Just graduated from university with a degree in sociology, thinking about becoming a lawyer. Currently works at a bakery that he's been working in since he was sixteen. The basics that looked like they bored Liam to death. Honestly Zayn couldn't really blame him, after the tenth guy he zoned out too.

The door of the limo opened and out sprang Harry, all long hair and even longer limbs. He looked completely different than the headshot the production crew had of him. This Harry was more of a man than the shy little boy Zayn was expecting to see. He walked with such confidence up to Liam. Dressed in skin tight black skinny jeans, a pink and white button down shirt, only the last two buttons actually done up. His chest was on display, covered in black ink and pale skin. Zayn smirked as Liam gawked at Harry and shook his hand. Jackpot. This kid was going to make him rich.

“Why can't the flower ride his bike?” Harry asked Liam.

Liam looked around the production area, a little unsure as to what was happening. “Umm I-I don't know. Why?”

Harry broke out into a wide grin, showing off his impressive dimples. Zayn was grinning like a fool behind the camera, this feeling was almost as good as getting high or drunk. “Because his petals fell off.”

And that was the moment Zayn Malik wanted to end his life or career, or both. Harry had all the potential in the world. He was tall and attractive, probably could've been a model in another life. But no, this real life Harry had to fuck up his first impression with his potential future fiancé by making a dad joke.

Zayn held his breath as he grimaced from second hand embarrassment. A few members of the crew laughed at the sheer stupidity of it while some actually genuinely laughed at the damn joke. The whole thing was a train wreck, more than likely delighting Louis who just saw everything as ratings. Everyone waited with bated breath for Liam's reaction, at first he just remained stoic, unable to read.

“Did you just dad joke me?” He asked, his eyebrows raised.

“Yeah,” Harry replied proudly. Oh, poor, poor boy.

“I liked it,” he admitted, breaking out into a wide grin and a true laugh. His eyes got lost in his smile, his cheeks rising and laugh lines appeared by his eyes. This was the first time all night anyone saw a genuine emotion from Liam Payne. Maybe Zayn wasn't out of luck with this Harry kid after all. “I know I have one more guy to see before I'm supposed to make my decision. But umm, I want to give you the first impression rose.”

“Me?” Harry asked, taken aback. His green eyes were shining as the threatening to rise sun began to shine in front of him. “Over one stupid joke?”

“It's the first time I've laughed all night,” Liam told him, a blush creeping up his cheeks. Oh gag. This was getting to be too much. He took the single flower from the tray next to him and pinned it to Harry's shirt. “I look forward to getting to know you more, Harry.”

Zayn smiled smugly at the people who gave him dirty looks. Maybe Harry Styles was going to be his ticket out of this hellhole. He walked into the mansion, casting one more look at Liam over his shoulder, his smile wide showing off his two perfect dimples. Cameras hopefully captured that moment because that would melt the hearts of all the lonely housewives in the entire United Kingdom.

They just had one more contestant to introduce to Liam and then the second unit team was going to take over, letting everyone who was already filming catch some shut eye. Except Louis, he never slept while the cameras were rolling. He usually slept when they went on a location for a date, he delegated his responsibilities to another producer. He had bigger concerns back at the mansion where all the other contestants were, hopefully causing trouble.

Zayn let the last limousine know that they were ready for the final contestant. The night felt like it was going to drag on forever and Zayn was craving nicotine, all the coffee and tea in the world wasn't going to help him. He was also getting tired, standing on your feet all day did that to a person. Sleeping in his car obviously didn't help the situation. He must've zoned out, daydreaming of somewhere other than his current location, because Niall was ushering Liam into the mansion and Louis was calling cut.

“Second unit, places,” Louis spoke into his walkie talkie. Almost immediately people began milling about, taking over where the first team left off. “You all know what I want from tonight. Tears, gripping television. Maybe concoct a fight or two, classy stuff.”

Zayn unhooked his walkie talkie from his pants and looked around for his replacement to hand it off to. Everyone else that worked all night were already heading to off to their cars to head back to wherever they were staying for the next several weeks. “Lou? Where's my replacement?”

“Malik,” Louis let out a laugh, approaching Zayn to throw an arm over his shoulders. “You don't get a replacement this year, love. You're stuck here all day, with me.”

“Lou,” he groaned, feeling himself being directed towards the production trailers. He knew the plan. After a day of filming Louis sat in the trailer for the rest of the day watching what they had filmed earlier and concocting the storyline for each episode. “Can I least have a smoke before we dive in?”

Louis narrowed his eyes at Zayn, raising an eyebrow in questioning. He gulped down the rest of his tea and discarded it in a nearby trash can. “Fine. Make it quick, Malik. Smoke so fast that you're dizzy walking back here. Got it?”

“Got it,” he confirmed, heading towards the end of the mansion, towards the front gate. The sun was still rising, now it was close to six in the morning.

He leaned up against the brick wall that was lined up against the gate. It looked like it use to be a running security booth, when this home was occupied. Zayn reached into his back pocket and pulled at his crushed cigarette pack, grinning as he did so. He lit one of his last cigarettes left in the pack and exhaled, feeling the nicotine burning his throat and lungs instantly. Louis wasn't wrong in saying it'll make him dizzy. Going a long time without one had an obvious effect on him.

For a brief moment he closed his eyes and rested his head against the brick, hoping to maybe get a few seconds of sleep before his second shift started. He kept smoking, even with his eyes closed. The dizzy feeling slowly lulling him into a slumber. That was until his silence was interrupted by a rustling noise and whispered voices. How cliché.   

“Yeah, they should be leaving soon. So, pass by my place in about an hour and I'll be available.”

Zayn let out a low groan as he recognized the voice. It was Liam. He had somehow snuck out the home unnoticed and was now standing at the front gate. He opened his eyes and saw Liam standing against the opposite wall talking to someone who looked like one of the limousine drivers.

“I don't know,” the driver replied shyly, clearly batting his eyelashes like it was endearing. Gross.

“There's no cameras where I'm staying. No one will see you,” Liam tried to convince him, grabbing tightly at the other guys hip. “Come on. It'll be our little secret.”

Zayn would be the first one to tell you how much he hated his job, it had gotten to the point where he was only working for a paycheck every week. He had become numb to everything around him, the roses the suitors handed out to the contestants, the constants overabundant amount of just sappy, cheesy, and cliché love tropes the show thrusted into people's faces. It all got to be too much as the years went on.

The one thing that did bother him though was when someone was clearly not cooperating with the process of the show. It just made the storylines fake, well, faker than they already were. Clearly, Liam was not on board with the process, which struck Zayn as funny. He began to laugh to himself, mostly because the sight in front of him was pretty hysterical and because he was also getting a little loopy from lack of sleep. If anyone this season was going to piss off Louis Tomlinson by not fully cooperating it wasn't going to be rich boy Liam Payne, that's for shit sure.

The limousine driver looked a little hesitant, it was clear to Zayn that he was just loving the attention from Liam, though. “I need to be back at the depot by half ten.”

Liam checked his watch and smiled one of those forced smiles. “That gives us more than enough time, babe.”

“Okay, Romeo,” Zayn finally cut in. He discarded his useless cigarette, snuffing it out with the heel of his shoe. “Stop fraternizing with the help, yeah? You have twenty five eligible men inside waiting for you, not to mention the production crew waiting as well.”

“And who the hell are you?” Liam snapped, dropping his hand from the driver's hip and sizing Zayn up. It was clear he had the advantage height and size wise. Zayn always knew from an early age a lot of people were going to underestimate him, that's why he learned to box.

“Your worst nightmare,” he replied, internally groaning at the laughable response. He rolled his eyes at Liam's scoff and turned to the limousine driver. “I'd advise you to leave and never speak of this if you want to keep being employed. Got it?”

The limousine driver didn't even say anything, just took one quick look between Zayn and Liam, noticed they were standing taller and prouder than moments before. He shot Liam an apologetic smile before taking off towards his car and pulling out of the driveway without saying a single word.

“That was bullshit,” Liam spat in Zayn's face. He took a step closer, his nose almost touching Zayn's. “How dare you interfere with my personal business.”

“How dare I?” He laughed, this was getting to be too comical actually. “Babe, your personal business is now my business, the country's too. You wanted to be here, remember? We did not seek you out.”

Liam kept sizing Zayn up, looking him up and down, deciding his next action. He let out a sigh and finally took a step back. “Fine. You win this one, for now.”

“Oh I’m terrified,” he replied sarcastically, grabbing Liam’s wrist to literally drag him back up to the mansion. “Your public awaits you, your highness.”

Zayn grumbled and muttered under his breath the entire time he dragged Liam up the driveway and back to the mansion. He passed him back to an assistant who looked embarrassed that she had lost the one person she was responsible of watching. Shaking his head and not saying another word Zayn walked back to the production trailer he left Louis in earlier. He watched in silence for a while. Watched Louis work meticulously, kind of like an artist in front of a canvas. Everything that was filmed that day on giant monitors in front of him, a huge spiral notebook sprawled out on the keyboard. A pencil in his mouth and one behind his ear, his brows more than likely drawn together in concentration.

Louis was always so loud and in your face, brash. But this Louis was the one Zayn liked the most, the silent side of him not many people got to see. This was the Louis Zayn became friends with all those years ago. The two of them squished into a production truck looking over films, cutting and pasting a storyline to sell, hoping that this series would be the one that put them on the map and get them to the position they were in now. He watched a little while longer in silence as Louis spoke quietly to himself, commenting on what he was watching. Already fed up with the work even though he'd only been at it for a few minutes.

“Having trouble?” Zayn made his presence known, walking over to Louis and taking a seat beside him.

“Payne is a wanker,” he concluded, ripping a piece of paper out of his notebook and handing it to Zayn along with the pencil that once rested on his ear. “He looks bored in every shot we have of him.”

“Shocking,” he replied sarcastically. “Just saw him down the road trying to sleep with a limousine driver.”

“Great,” Louis groaned and fast forward the film a few minutes until he landed on the footage of Harry's arrival. “This is the first genuine emotion we get from him all night. Your boy might win, Malik.”

“He better,” he joked and jotted down notes on his paper. Notes about ways to ensure Harry won Liam's heart, storylines that might help him in the long run. Ways to help coax the country in loving Harry as well. “Unless Payne mucks it all up.”

“I bet you five quid he'll end up alone and ruin this entire series,” Louis laughed, leaning back on his chair, placing his clasped hands behind his head and looking over at Zayn. He was smiling his mischievous smile, lips curled up and white teeth showing. “Which then makes this entire series well worth it, actually.”

Zayn looked up at the monitors and studied Liam's face. He looked bored from the moment Louis called for the cameras to start rolling. He understood the blokes pain, the ridiculousness of it all. But on the other hand Liam had asked for this, asked to be the newest suitor. He studied how Liam's face lit up at the sight of Harry, how Liam Payne looked like a decent human being for once in his miserable life. “Deal. Liam's walking out of here in eight weeks engaged.”

The night kept rolling on, much to Zayn's dismay. The sun was already shining bright in the sky by the time the second unit called cut for the day. The twenty five contestants got well acquainted with Liam, most of them already feeling disdain towards Harry and his rose. Now that filming was over until mid afternoon the set was quiet.

This was the only time on set Zayn truly enjoyed, watching the controlled chaos from the night before become peaceful. He stepped out of the production trailer once Louis allowed him to leave and had to shield his eyes from the bright sun. All the production people were heading to their cars to crash at their hotels until they were needed again. The strategically placed cameras around the mansion and grounds would capture whatever they missed. Nothing went unnoticed on this show.

Zayn continued to drag to feet down the road and towards where he parked his car a few blocks away. He lit a cigarette on his journey back, trying to stretch out his back before he had to cram himself in the backseat. It was a truly glamorous life. Everyone got a hotel, Louis and Niall being accommodated with a luxury flat for the both of them, while Zayn slept in a car. The network didn't trust him in something fancy so they forwent splurging on something decent for Zayn. It was up to him to find a place for live for the next eight weeks. So, he was staying in his car. It was uncomfortable but also free. The money he would save could go to something useful like booze or cigarettes, maybe even clean clothes.

The endless tossing and turning that night kept Zayn awake a majority of the time. Even though he was exhausted he just couldn't sleep. He swore he heard his phone go off at least five times when it actually remained quiet. Everything was quiet around him actually. Like the day before, he woke up and tried to look for whatever clean clothes he had, smelling them before throwing them on. He used what little cologne he had to cover up whatever smell he or his clothes may give off, using mouthwash again instead of brushing his teeth. Also like the day before he stopped and got himself and Louis cups of tea. It was an endless cycle.

The chaos of the set was more controlled, people falling into place with the new series. Luckily today wasn't going to be as long as the day before. Today's filming was going to consist of mostly the mansion and the contestants getting to know Liam before the first elimination ceremony later that night.

He greeted Louis with a smile and handed him the tea before being whisked away into the production trailer, looking at the footage that he had pieced together the night before. Everything was looking good, making Zayn somewhat optimistic for the weeks ahead. Louis was a genius at what he did, even though it pained Zayn to admit that, especially out loud. It was clear from the raw footage how this series would play out. Louis had set up the characters perfectly, crafting his villains and heroes just from one night of filming.

“I need you to do intro interviews today,” Louis told him casually, toying with the buttons on his computer.

“No,” Zayn quickly shot him down. “We have low ranking producers for that.”

Louis sighed and swiveled in his chair, facing Zayn. “Do you not remember that you're on probation? You may be a high ranking producer here but that doesn't mean you can't be a team player.”

“Lou-”

“Not my call, mate,” he gently reminded him, raising his hands in surrender. “It's the network and their bosses. They want to make sure you're still willing to work hard.”

“How are intro interviews a sign of working hard?” He asked, eyebrows raised in curiosity. He was going to have a good laugh at Louis trying to explain this one.

“Bro, I don't know,” he answered with a shrug. “We've all got orders and those are mine. Making sure this season goes off without a hitch and keeping you in line.”

“Like I'm a bloody child,” Zayn muttered under his breath and stood up from his chair. He reached for another notepad and clipboard. “Who's on my team?”

“You've got Dana on camera and Marcus is your assistant,” Louis rattled off. “Now go and make good television.”

Zayn grumbled at Louis’ cheeky smile as he left the trailer. Introduction interviews. What a waste of time. It was done every series, but always left for the new producers on the show. If this was how the network was going to treat him, Zayn was going to comply. He was going to hate every single second of it but he was going to do it. He passed the craft service table and grabbed a packet of barbecue crisps before making his way to where he saw Dana setting up her camera by the edge of the garden, next to the outdoor hot tub. How romantic. The lights and microphones were already set up, just now waiting for Zayn to take his seat while Marcus ran around like a chicken with a missing head trying to wrangle up whatever contestant Zayn was supposed to interview.

He skimmed his clipboard, a list of everyone he was going to be speaking to that day and in what order. Luckily it wasn't all twenty five guys, and another small miracle was that his interviews were ending with Harry. This was an excellent way to manipulate the situation, getting everyone on Harry's side and falling in love with him just like Liam was going to.

Zayn learned quickly that a majority of the guys were in over their own head with joining the show. None of them admitted to watching the show before hand so they had no idea what they got themselves into. It was all blind optimism on their part. Everyone was excited to get to know Liam and hopefully find true love along the way. Gag. The mundane conversations with the first four contestants reminded Zayn why he started drinking in the first place. Thank god for Chad.

Chad was the contestant Louis chose to win the entire show. Chad was twenty two from Liverpool, just finished his studies at uni, graduating with a degree in early education. He wanted to be a special education teacher. Something to pull at the heartstrings of the country, nice job lad. Chad was the perfect example of someone who peaked too early in life but was still striving to get back to who he once was. He just kept rambling on and on about his gym routine and his protein powder, without Zayn even asking a single question. He just looked into the camera and kept talking.

Dana and Marcus looked over at Zayn and rolled their eyes, he understood completely. No wonder why Louis liked this guy, he was going to be this series villain, everyone was going to love to hate him. If he didn't win Liam's heart he was going to be next series suitor, no doubt about it.

Things started to turn interesting when Zayn finally got a word in edgewise, finally asking Chad about Liam. Chad smiled widely at the camera and began to talk on and on about Liam and his money. Jackpot. Gold digger. It was obvious that he couldn't care less about Liam as a person, just saw dollar signs when he looked at the bloke. He just kept going on and on about Liam and Payne enterprises, his father's company. Probably spoke all about it in one breath, impressive.

When Zayn finally got to speak again he asked Chad if he was excited about the potential to fall in love with Liam. Chad shrugged his shoulders, unsure but complied and said yes. It was clear to Zayn that this guy was clearly here for all the wrong reasons. You're welcome England.

Thank god for Harry. After Zayn wrapped up his interview with Chad he knew Harry was next to speak to. They took a five minute break to ease their now hurting heads before Marcus scurried off to get Harry. It was a small blessing talking to Harry. He greeted everyone with respect and a firm handshake along with his blinding smile. Zayn knew how to work this interview perfectly, despite the fact that he despised doing the actual interviewing. The interview started with the standard questions, asking Harry about his life, how he grew up and whatnot. Zayn wrote furiously as Harry answered, even though he spoke slow and in circles sometimes. Harry had a pretty standard life growing up, his parents divorced when he was young but they still remained friends and respected each other. He had an older sister that he hailed as is best friend and his idol, alongside David Bowie and Mick Jagger.

Nothing was setting Harry apart from all the other lads. Zayn was trying, or at least he seemed like he was trying. Half of him wanted to go back to his car and sleep until he had a paycheck in his bank but he sadly knew that the only way he was going to get paid was if he actually did some work. Whatever. Zayn zoned out when Harry started to talk about the sweet old ladies that worked with him in the bakery back in Cheshire. How wholesome. Yawn. There had to be something, anything that set Harry apart. Something that Zayn could use to his advantage.

“How did you really feel when you found out this year's suitor was the infamous Liam Payne?” Marcus asked.

Zayn cut his eyes over at his assistant, trying to quickly figure out who allowed him to speak. That's right. No one did. Why did he get the idea that he was allowed to add his two cents? Rookies.

“Honestly?” Harry hesitantly asked, looking past the camera and directly at Zayn. He had a skewed smile on his face and his posture got tense right before their eyes. A very different version than the Harry they met only a day ago.

“This is a safe and honest place, Harry,” Zayn assured him, trying not to choke on his words. What a crock of shit. If it got the kid to open up and make good television, Zayn was going to tell him anything he wanted to hear.

Harry gave them a quick, reassuring nod before visibly swallowing, shaking his hair away from his face. He kept fidgeting in his seat, clearly anxious. He let out an audible exhale, nodding once more. “I don't like to judge people based on preconceived notions, especially based on things that get written in The Sun. But you can't hide from the constant noise that is Liam Payne.”

“So you've heard of him before?” Zayn laughed. This was better than what he expected to get out of Harry. Ideas were already brewing in his head, Louis was going to kiss the ground he walked on after this interview.

“You have to live under a rock not to have heard of him,” he guffawed. “I didn't sign up for this show to be someone's babysitter or therapist. I came here for love and a potential husband.”

“How did you really feel after you stepped out of the limo?” Zayn continued to prompt him. In Zayn's short time around Harry he realized once you got him to open up, he never stopped. He'd talk your ear off, which always made for good television.

“He's fit,” he began, laughing at himself as he spoke. “That's a given. I was umm, I was definitely apprehensive at first. Nervous of course. What was I going to say and all that. Even thought about getting back in the car and heading back to the airport, honestly.”

“What changed? Why did you stick around and accept the rose?” Zayn looked around briefly, Dana had zoomed in, making sure the camera read Harry's face perfectly. Marcus was standing off to the side, hanging on to every word that fell out Harry's mouth. This couldn't have gone any better for Zayn.

“He laughed,” he replied, shrugging. “My stupid, corny joke got an honest to God laugh out of Liam Payne. Usually I get an eye roll or a pity chuckle, I'm use to that. But an honest laugh from probably the most hated celebrity in the U.K. is not something you expect everyday.”

“And now?”

“Now I want to get to know him,” Harry continued, a blush creeping up on his cheeks. It was endearing, if you were into that sort of crap. Zayn wasn't, but millions of lonely housewives definitely were into that sort of thing. “I still want to find love, I'm an optimist like that. I'm really looking forward to getting to know Liam and see where it goes. I'll still be guarded, everyone would be in my situation. But I-I'll be ready for what's to come.”

Harry said his goodbyes and shook everyone's hand before scurrying back towards the mansion. Marcus and Dana cleaned up the set while Zayn relished in the moment of silence he finally got, another opportunity to sneak off set to have a cigarette break. Like the night before he walked toward the front gate and leaned up against the brick wall. The day had just begun and he was ready to pack it up and call it a day. Last night lasted forever but today was the first elimination, they were going to say goodbye to five contestants. At least Harry was safe, everyone else was going to have to run around pleading their case before Liam made his final decision. Louis usually threatened the suitors livelihood to get his way, but they listened to him anyway. It was the calm before the inevitable storm.

Zayn tried to rest his eyes and just enjoy his alone time before inevitably going back to the production truck and helping Louis construct more of a cohesive storyline. It's was obvious from today's filming that Chad was going to be the villain and Harry was going to be the guy everyone rooted for. It boasted well for Zayn, he already had the money he was going to get spent. Maybe find a place to live, pay back Adam, and lastly go on a drinking binge to celebrate all the money he had just won. Priorities. He inhaled another drag of his cigarette as his walkie talkie started to make a static like noise. He couldn't hear what was being said but Zayn knew it was Louis more than likely looking for him. Dana probably handed over the footage and Marcus was probably just standing behind Louis looking like the lost puppy he was. Pathetic.

He dragged himself back up the graveled path, his mouth tasting stale from inhaling his cigarette so quickly. Made him feel dizzy, a feeling Zayn more than welcomed. The craft service table was restocked so he grabbed a pack of barbecue crisps, breakfast of champions. Or was it lunch? Who knew and who cares honestly. Today was going to run just as long as the day before so whatever sustenance Zayn could get he was going to take.

He walked up the stairs of the production trailer and saw Louis sitting in front of the row of monitors. Empty paper cups that held his tea were scattered all around him. If Zayn looked closely he could see a rolled joint tucked behind his ear. So it was that kind of morning. Stressful. Louis rarely smoked, usually only during the final rose ceremony when everything around them was coming to a crashing end. Already contemplating smoking on day two? It was going to be a long next couple of weeks for all of them. He continued his walk up to his friend, noticing his notepad was filled with nonsense writings, none of really looked like it made much sense.

“Already thinking about smoking?” Zayn asked, pulling out the metal seat and sitting down next to Louis.

Louis jumped a little at the voice, shaking his head. “Confiscated it from Mia, caught her rolling it outside the makeup trailer. Amateur.”

“Now you're hall monitor,” he laughed, flipping through the pages of Louis's book. Still none of it looked like it made much sense. Just names and dates and times scribbled in his illegible handwriting. Typical Louis.

“Someone has to be,” he joked. “So I see the interviews went well. Chad doing Chad things. Styles being a good Boy Scout.”

“He's gonna win Lou, just you wait,” Zayn teased, eyes scanning the monitors in front of him. Watching the live footage of what was happening in the mansion. Nothing exciting. Some of the lads breaking off into smaller groups, patiently waiting for elimination later that night. “Who's leaving us tonight?”

“No idea,” Louis scoffed with a shrug. “Payne doesn't want to leave his guest house to interact with anyone and no one can get in and talk to him about tonight.”

“Why do we pay Maxine?” He asked. “Some personal assistant she is. Can't keep one measly client in line.”

“She'll be fired by weeks end,” Louis wagered. “Mark my words, Malik.”

Zayn spun in his seat, trying to do anything to occupy his mind. That was one major downfall of production, all the mindless downtime they had. When they were filming or even doing interviews, time seemed to fly by. When there was nothing to do, there literally was nothing to do. You just hoped and prayed something exciting was happening in the house that would hopefully occupy your time for a few minutes.

That's what got Zayn in trouble during the last series. All the downtime and the copious amounts of alcohol around the set. It was a slippery slope that never led anywhere good. Low ranking assistants or producers always had a reason to party, it was the first job for most of them. The rest of them drank just to pass the time. Days blurred into night and before long eight weeks had passed and the production was over. Zayn was always busy last series but he never was one to turn down a free drink. The winters in the U.K. were brutal and alcohol was always a quick way to warm him up.

He spun in his chair once more and played with the fringe by Louis eye, doing anything to distract his friend from his job. Louis took this way too seriously for someone who always scoffed at his job. He was the first one to claim he didn't need this job but was always the most diligent at doing it. It made absolutely no sense. Louis absentmindedly swatted his hand away, not looking away from his work. He was use to Zayn and his nervous hands, always having to fiddle with something to occupy his thoughts. His thoughts that usually got him in trouble, hence the series finale last year.

Zayn was tempted to steal the blunt behind Louis's ear and smoke it to calm himself down. They had plenty of munchies around set to satisfy his eventual hunger as well. Smoking alone wasn't fun though, no one to laugh with when something mundane became hysterical. Pointing and laughing at interns who worked too hard for next to no pay was pretty fun once you were high. None of them were that funny sober and especially when you were alone. Zayn just kept spinning in his chair, glancing at the monitors with every turn.

The tension was escalating due to the elimination that night. People who scampering off, searching for Liam to plead their case. Too bad Liam was nowhere to be found, well, except to the production crew. He was sleeping soundly in his flat down the road. It was still early in the production phase and Liam was turning out to be the most difficult suitor they would ever have. Why be here if you didn't want to participate in the process? Did he not realize how hard it was to make a television show when the star refused to cooperate? Zayn almost felt sorry for Liam’s person assistant, she was sitting around doing nothing as well. Her job was to keep Liam in check, make sure he was on set when he was supposed to, participating on dates, acting like he was actually interested in the whole process. Right now she was sitting on the couch in Liam’s little house, on her phone, looking just as bored as Zayn currently felt. At least somebody could commiserate with him.

After what felt like endless time passing, Liam woke up and emerged from his home. Elimination was in less than two hours and it was about time he started to mingle with the contestants. Niall arrived on set and had his obligatory conversation with Liam in front of the cameras. Asking him how he was feeling and if he was still making any final minute decisions. He just shrugged his shoulders, a clear sign that he couldn't care less about what was going on around him. Figures. Niall escorted Liam into the mansion that held the contestants and it was clear he was way out of his element, immediately going tense and looking around for some sort of help. It was Liam's first time in a room with all twenty five men vying for his time and heart. It was bound to be overwhelming but as Zayn watched the monitors he had to laugh, he signed up for this. What was he really expecting? Liam's misery aside, Zayn's task was to watch for any behind the scenes drama. Louis was watching the monitors as well, barking orders into his walkie talkie to anyone who would listen.

Outside the trailer Zayn could hear people running around, sounding a little panicked and out of breath. Elimination night was a stressful day for everyone, there were a lot of little details that needed to be ironed out quickly and efficiently. The main room in the mansion still needed to be vacuumed, the pictures of all the contestants for Liam to sulk and look at before he made his final decision wasn't complete either. And if Zayn listened closely to the noise outside, the florist that was supposed to deliver all the roses Liam would be handing out was stuck in traffic. So everything was going exactly according to plan.

Liam was slowly starting to mingle with the contestants, oddly making sure Harry was never far from him. Harry, the only one who didn't have to worry about his fate. That was good for Zayn though, made his job that much easier. Chad tried to weasel his way into almost every conversation Liam had the courage to have. He wanted to make sure his presence was known. It was as if he knew he was destined to become the villain this series. Oh well. Louis stood up from where he still sat next to Zayn and sighed, rubbing at his temples with a pinched looked on his face. Yep, it was elimination night. He took the blunt from behind his ear and inhaled its scent, taking a deeper breath than Zayn would've recommended. Louis put the blunt back behind his ear and patted at his pants pockets, searching for something clearly.

“Got your light?” Louis asked looking down at him.

Zayn's eyebrows shot up, curious. “Why?”

“Get the fuck over yourself, Malik,” he spat out. “I need to smoke and you're the only one I know that's a damn chimney around here. So, you got your light or no?”

“Of course,” he answered and stood up as well, pulling his lighter from his back pocket. “Aren't we supposed to be working?”

“The show’s already fucked, can't get much worse in the time we're gone,” Louis explained with a pained laugh. That once sentence made everything painfully obvious for Zayn. Louis was stressed more than he had ever been, it wasn't just first elimination stress. It was career stress.

“The front gate is the best place to umm to smoke,” Zayn pointed out as both men made their way out the production trailer. “That's where I go to smoke anyway.”

Zayn Malik wasn't afraid to admit he was in love with Louis Tomlinson. Okay, maybe he was and maybe it was the weed talking for him. Was he talking? Or was his inner monologue just running rampant as usual. He just shrugged his shoulders and inhaled deeply, feeling the smoke burn down his throat and into his lungs. It was a good feeling, a welcomed feeling. Louis was a trip when he was baked, giggling behind his hand, blue eyes bright but glassy. If they weren't coworkers Zayn could definitely see them as friends outside the chaos of the show. Yeah, it was definitely the weed talking for him. Zayn didn't need friends, didn't need to bring anyone into his already messed up world. He was damaged goods, been told that most his life. Now he was just living up to his potential. The air around them was getting thick and had a stickiness attached to it. As Zayn passed the blunt back over to Louis he realized he was going to need a shower soon. How he was going to make that happen was something he needed to think about. Obviously his car didn't come with one and there were too many cameras in the contestants mansion to sneak one in unnoticed. He couldn't ask Niall or Louis because that'll be an obvious dead giveaway. Zayn just guessed that'll be another thing to add to his growing list of problems. Wasn't weed supposed to calm you down not heighten one's anxiety? Zayn made a mental note to find Mia and scold her on supplying sloppy weed.

By the time they made their way back to the production truck the buzzing on Louis's walkie talkie finally subsided, hopefully meaning whatever was wrong finally got fixed. Zayn spotted a florist truck pulling up behind them as they walked up from the front gate, the corsages had arrived. The cleaning supplies were parked in front of the mansion, the handymen walking directly behind them to put the final touches on the rooms. Everything was so last minute but at least it was finally coming together. It even looked like Liam was actually enjoying himself amongst the contestants, Harry still not far from his side. He was talking and looked genuine to everyone he spoke to. Chad puffed up his chest and tried to looked broader than normal, maybe a little bit too intimidating but Liam seemed to be buying it. Niall was seen in the background just his eyes following Liam around the room, gauging everything that was happening. Soon after Chad weaseled his way into Liam's personal space Harry was quickly forgotten. From where Zayn was sitting he could see Louis shit-eating grin, very proud of his choice this series, obviously. Zayn paid him no mind, just  because Chad was looking good now didn't mean he was receiving a rose tonight. Right on cue Niall pulled Liam aside and into another room for them to discuss all his options and get his thoughts on the gentlemen vying for his heart and affection. He seemed sincere while he spoke to Niall, he was still the worst suitor in the shows entire history but at least he was finally trying.

Like every rose ceremony in the shows history, Louis gathered all the producers who weren't supposed to be on set into the largest production truck they had. Everyone waited with bated breath as Liam entered the main room again and waited for the elimination to begin. Louis quickly barked orders into his walkie talkie, making sure all the camera operators were ready and a low ranking producer was standing by the five limousines that were going to send the sacked contestants away. Everyone in the trailer had a stake in this ceremony, they wanted the guy they chose to stay. The longer the contestant stayed, the more chances they had at collecting money. Zayn wasn't nervous, his boy Harry was safe. Harry stood in the back and smiled widely at Liam, proudly showing off his rose that was still pinned to his jacket. Niall was a professional like always, moving everything along when it was obviously getting stagnant. Elimination was supposed to be dramatic and over the top but it seemed as if no one really got that memo. Luckily Niall knew how to make those moments happen at the drop of a hat. He pulled Liam aside which confused the room, telling him that he didn't have to eliminate just five, if he felt someone else needed to go it was his choice. Everyone back in the production truck knew that never happened, most suitors stuck by the shows rules but it always good to throw a wrench in their plans once in awhile. Make this fresh and interesting, especially for the viewers at home. Liam followed the rules as predicted and eliminated his five guys. The last one to receive a rose was Chad, which spooked Louis for a few tense minutes. Everyone in the production truck just started at him as he looked at the monitor.

“Alright everyone,” Louis called to attention. “I need these exit interviews to be edited and ready for post production by morning. I also need Liam's interview done first thing tomorrow morning. Everyone's dismissed.”

Everyone in the truck gathered their belongings and made their way out the truck with their tasks for the next morning. Zayn knew he wasn't going to be dismissed though, Louis always sticking him with someone mindless to do so he wasn't working alone all night. Zayn just stayed seated watching the monitors as the remaining twenty contestants and Liam cheered each other with an expensive bottle of champagne that really made Zayn feel parched.

“Malik,” Louis voice cut through his thoughts. “You're dismissed too.”

“W-what?” He asked, slowly standing up and very shocked. “What happened to me not getting a second unit replacement for the night shifts?”

Louis shrugged his shoulders. “I don't make the rules bro, I just got to follow the nextworks orders and I got new orders this morning. You're free to go home for the night.”

“Yea,” he nodded in agreement, none of it making sense. All he cared about was the he was free now and now had a new mystery job to start in the morning. Zayn waved to Louis as he gathered his things and made his way out the truck, gearing up for the trek up the hill to where he parked his car.

Another reckless night of sleep left Zayn more cranky than usual. He was running out of clean clothes and cologne, meaning he was going to either need money from Louis soon or somehow sneak into wardrobe and borrow a few things for himself. He used the last of his mouthwash and quickly changed into whatever smelt the cleanest before walking down the hill toward the mansion. All Zayn could think about was his new job that he was supposed to start today. It was an order from the network, which usually meant he was going to hate it. He'd been on his best behavior so far so what punishment was he going to be strapped with now. Zayn checked his phone quickly, luckily he was able to charge it at work so it still was on, and ignored another message from Adam. It was too early in the morning to start with him. Okay, so maybe Zayn had ignored close to thirty messages from his former roommate but he had other priorities at the moment. Work was more important than an useless argument. Zayn walked past the front gate and snuffed out his cigarette on the brick wall before being bombarded with the massive day ahead of him. Today Liam was supposed to take ten of the contestants on their first date, tomorrow the other ten were set to get their turn. No doubt Louis spent all night concocting ideas of where they'd go and who was the lucky ten to go out with Liam first. If Zayn closed his eyes for a minute he could see Louis sitting in his truck writing in his notebook like a madman coming up with perfect ideas and scenarios for the day. It was so bizarre that Louis was so dedicated to a job he hated.

“Just the lad I wanted to see,” Louis greeted him, empty styrofoam teas cups littering his desk. Guess it was another long night of editing and scheming. “Come in Malik, we need to talk.”

Zayn eyes Louis cautiously as he took a seat where he usually sat next to Louis. “Lou, what's up? Why do I feel like I need to be nervous about my job.”

“You still have a job,” he quickly assured him. “Just not as a producer anymore.”

“Lou,” he said his friends name slowly, almost threatening. “What’s my new job?”

“The network feels that you being a producer may be too stressful, especially after last series incident,” he began, speaking calmly, which wasn’t reassuring at all for Zayn. “They want you to be Liam’s personal assistant.”

“No!”

“Zayn-”

“Absolutely not!” Zayn protested again. “I rather be fired than demoted to that shitty position. I can’t-won’t be Liam Payne’s bloody assistant.”

“Bro,” Louis soothly tried to speak to him. Keep the chaos and anger to a minimum. “It’s an easy job and you keep the same pay.”

“Then you do it,” Zayn spat at him. “If it’s so easy, you take the job, leave me as producer.”

“Zayn,” he repeated, his voice still calm. “You know I can’t do that.”

“What happened to Maxine?” Zayn asked, grabbing an empty styrofoam cup and pulling it apart, doing anything to occupy his hands. His blood was boiling and he was in desperate need of a cigarette or a drink. There had to be leftover champagne somewhere on set. “She was doing a fine job yesterday.”

“She let Liam sleep all day yesterday,” Louis scoffed. “He’s supposed to be interacting, pretending he gives a shit about this process and she wasn’t fulfilling her job duties.”

“And I will?” Zayn sneered, grabbing another cup to rip apart. “Lou, come on bro, really?”

“I've got orders to follow too,” he explained. “I wanted my partner in crime by my side all series but I don't make the rules, Malik.”

Zayn let out a sigh, dropping the cup back on the table to harshly scrub at his face. “I've really got to be this blokes assistant?”

“It's only for seven weeks,” Louis tried to lighten the situation.

“Yay,” he replied dryly. Zayn stood up and took the walkie talkie that was being handed to him, turning it on and hearing the static crackle. “Where's the pain in the ass anyway?”

“He just woke up, today is date day,” Louis informed him. “I just need him showered and dressed and in the main room within an hour, can you do that?”

“I think I can get a grown man to follow rules,” Zayn huffed, adjusting the walkie talkie on his belt and making his way out the truck.

Out of all the things Zayn thought Louis was going to say to him, being Liam's assistant wasn't one of them. That was so far from his mind he never he thought of it. Now he was stuck doing the one job he despised the most. He was now a glorified babysitter, wasting his day away making sure a grown man lived up to his end of the bargain. The small upside to it all was now Zayn had access to a shower. Cameras were hardly in Liam's part of the mansion, only the ones in his bedroom and living quarters. Maybe, just maybe, Zayn could sneak in a shower while Liam slept or got dressed. It seemed like a smart idea to Zayn. Right now he had other things to worry about, pretending to give a shit about Liam and making sure he didn't jeopardize the filming of the series once again.

“What do you want?” Liam spat out as soon as Zayn walked into the home. “I'm not hiding any limo drivers in my room.”

“I know,” Zayn told him. “There's cameras in your room, we would've known by now if that was the case.”

“So, what do you want?” He repeated. Liam was just casually lounging on the sofa, today's paper and a fruit platter on the coffee table in front of him. He picked up a strawberry and popped it into his mouth, still staring at Zayn. “Hello. I asked you a question.”

“I'm your-your new assistant,” he finally answered, words getting stuck in his throat, his mouth suddenly dry.

Liam raised his eyebrows in amusement, nodding his head like he was trying to understand this new development. He scratched at his bare stomach and ate another strawberry. “Producing got to be too much for you?”

It took all Zayn had inside of him to not roll his eyes and spit venom at Liam. “You're too much to handle for one little girl it seemed. Needed someone with balls to do the job.”

“Clearly,” he smirked, still raising an eyebrow. “Want some fruit?”

“Excuse me?” Zayn asked, stunned at the sudden change of atmosphere around him. Weren't they just arguing seconds ago?

“Do you want some fruit to eat?” Liam repeated slowly for Zayn to comprehend. “I always get a fruit platter in the morning and can never finish it, Maxine was allergic so I always had to dump the leftovers. You hungry?”

Zayn looked around the room, waiting for someone to pop out of a room or closet and wake him up. What the hell had just happened? Wasn't Liam Payne supposed to be a loathsome rich boy that wasted away daddy's money with no care in the world? “I-I’m good, thanks.”

“Suit yourself,” he shrugged his shoulders and went back to eating and reading his paper, sipping at his coffee cup occasionally.

“Actually,” Zayn spoke up. “I know this is gonna sound odd but umm can I use your shower?”

“Yeah, sure,” he told him, never looking up from his paper. “I've gotta hop in myself soon but you're more than welcome to use it now.”

“Thanks,” he told him and made his way towards the bathroom. A part of him was still stunned over Liam's kindness toward him but he was too excited to finally get a shower to even dwell on it for much longer than a minute.

The moment Zayn stepped into the lush bathroom he let out a massive sigh of relief. He'd been concerned over where he was going to find a shower for close to a week now and in one hour that matter had been solved. A little victory that he wasn't going to deny himself. The shower itself was grand and immaculate. It was made entirely of glass and could probably fit his entire family if he tried. The floor was lined with some type of marble. The entire room looked like it belonged in some travel advert he would see in a magazine at a doctors office. He disrobed and turned the water on to as hot as he knew he could handle. He just needed to scrub and burn every inch of his skin off, start fresh somehow. As he stepped into the large shower he looked around and saw all the expensive shit Liam had littering the room. Body washes, shampoos, and conditioners that cost more than Zayn made in his entire life. Lotions that were made from vanilla beans in the middle of South America, random shit if you asked Zayn. Too fancy for his blood. That didn't mean he wasn't going to use them. He put his head under the powerful shower spray and just let the water wash over him, make him lose some of the tension in his shoulders. He finally felt relaxed for the first time in a long time, well, as relaxed as he could feel at that exact moment. It felt good and this was the first time in a long time he allowed himself to feel that way. He kept his eyes closed as the water kept beating down on him.

“Budge over.”

Zayn's eye shot open at the voice. He turned his head at the sound, wiping away the condensation that built up on the glass. “L-Liam!”

“I need to shower as well, so either budge over or get out,” Liam flatly told him.

“I-I just got in here,” Zayn sputtered out, quickly moving his hands to cover himself up, not that Liam could see anything seeing as Zayn’s front  was facing away from him. “Can't you wait?”

“I've got a busy day, ten lads waiting on me today,” he laughed, toeing off his socks and scratching at his bare stomach. He moved around the room, grabbing a towel out of the cupboard and placing it on the edge of the sink, grabbing a toiletry bag and placing it alongside the towel. “You moving or am I joining you?”

Zayn kept standing there, not really knowing what to say at this point. He was rarely speechless but now this was the second time today his words got lost in his throat. He couldn't give up this perfect opportunity at a well needed shower though. “Fine, get in. But I swear to god if you touch me in any way I'll break your fingers.”

“Deal,” Liam agreed with a smirk. “Turn around so I can get naked, no looking Mr. Producer.”

“It's Zayn,” he told him and turned back around, letting the water beat down on him again, trying to enjoy the final moments alone in the shower.

The door opened letting a rush of cold air enter the hot stall momentarily. Liam stood behind Zayn, making sure there was a respectable distance between them. “What?”

“My name is Zayn,” he introduced himself, moving his head so it was no longer under the rush of water. “Kind of feels appropriate to introduce myself to you now.”

“Sure,” Liam shrugged off his introduction. “You gonna hog all the water or do I have to physically move you?”

“Y-yeah, sorry,” he sheepishly apologized not really knowing how to maneuver around. He still needed to finish his shower but he didn't want hog up all the hot water and cause another meaningless argument with Liam. “I’ll just move and you can do whatever you needed to do.”

“Unless you had other plans in here besides showering,” Liam cheekily replied, smirking. He turned his head so he was looking directly at Zayn as he spoke.

Zayn's mouth hung open at Liam's reply, water falling down his face and easily into his mouth. Once again he was at a loss for words. There was the despicable Liam Payne he was waiting for, the one with the horrible reputation and even worse attitude. “Let's just fucking shower, okay mate.”

“Fine by me,” Liam said.

Zayn had experienced many awkward moments in his life, that was just apart of everyone's life it seemed. Coming out to his parents and older sister when he was fifteen was pretty awkward, especially when they clearly already knew, finding gay porn on his computer months before. The coming out wasn't awkward it was the fact that he kept remembering that his parents knew he watched porn. So every time Zayn wanted to watch porn he was constantly reminded that his parents knew what he was doing. As soon as the video began the awkwardness quickly disappeared. Another awkward moment was his first day at university. He confidently walked into his lecture, taking a seat in the middle row and pulled out his laptop, ready to conquer higher education. That was until halfway through the class he realized he was in the wrong room. He was supposed to be in a communication class but somehow ended up in business management. How he didn't realize he was in the wrong class was beyond him. He didn't want to feel like a complete ass so Zayn continued to sit through the class, even took notes and answered questions when he was called on. Fake it until he made it. That was a motto that stuck with him his entire life. Now sharing a shower with Liam Payne had to be the most awkward moment of his professional career. He had showered with other men before, but that was always intimate, this was the complete opposite. Every time their elbows or toes would accidentally brush up against each other one of them would jump in shock. They did quickly find a rhythm, thankfully, Zayn washed his body while Liam lathered up and they would switch so Zayn could shampoo his hair. The one main rule was eyes remained up and no one looked or touched anything. It was awkward and effective.

“Get dressed in your room and I'll finish in here. Meet me outside in twenty,” Zayn barked out the order. He had gotten out the shower first, walking fast to the cupboard to retrieve a towel for himself that he immediately put around his waist.

“Yes sir,” Liam laughed as he walked out the shower and towards his stuff. The little shit purposely walked around the room without a towel on or anything to cover himself up. Zayn was trying to not be a creep during the shower, keeping his eyes up and away from seeing anything. Now it was kind of hard, in more ways than one. “Liking the free show?”

“W-what? No, gross. Don't be such a dick Payne,” Zayn spat out, hating the he clearly got caught. He felt a blush creeping up his back and cheeks so he turned his head and collected his clothes off the closed toilet seat lid. “Ten minutes, outside.”

Zayn let out a small sigh of relief once Liam exited the room. The last fifteen minutes had been an absolute mess. Showering with someone who was now technically your boss was not a good way to make a first impression, no matter how badly Zayn hated his job. He needed this job because it was attached to a lot of money that'll help him out of his current mess. He had to brush those thoughts aside as he got dressed, fixing his walkie talkie and turning it back on. He immediately heard Louis barking at the producers who were already en route to the location of today's date. He checked his reflection quickly one last time in the mirror before leaving the room and waiting for Liam in the foyer.

Liam emerged from his room moments later looking as ready as he'll ever be for the day ahead of him. As the two of them made their way to the main house Zayn rattled off the details of the day. Liam was to go on his first group date with ten of the contestants, the date was a tour of ancient castles in Wales. Boring, but the location of the date was the least of everyone's problems. The production crew, especially Louis, just hoped Liam would finally start to cooperate with the whole process. It was now Zayn's job to make sure Liam cooperated, just yesterday he was laughing at Maxine's agony. She was literally running around looking for Liam and when she did find him she was dragging her feet behind him. Now Zayn was responsible for this grown man, a grown man that acted like an overgrown child, but a grown man nonetheless.

The tour of the castles were extremely boring. Some of the contestants seemed like they were actually enjoying themselves. Louis being the perfect mastermind had put both Chad and Harry in the same group. Chad was following Liam around like a lost puppy, but also trying to play cool. Harry was amazed by everything the guide said, talking to some of the other men and pointing out things that had been mentioned to them. He was probably the only one who was fully invested in the tour and Liam. The other contestants tried to strike up a conversation with Liam who looked unimpressed by everything around him. As much as he hated to admit it, Zayn felt the same. Everything around them was old and dusty, absolutely boring. Zayn just hoped this whole day could wrap by sooner, they had at least another hour or two and at least three more castles to visit. If he was alone on holiday this whole day would actually be fun but seeing it was for work, it was the most mundane thing he had ever done in his life.

A large part of Zayn wished he was back at production making fun of everything going on, like he and Louis had done every series. During dates was when he finally got some downtime, was able to relax and let other people do their jobs for once. That's what got him in trouble last year, all the downtime was when he'd search the mansion looking for alcohol. Now he was forced to work even when his brain was yelling at him to find something to numb himself. At least with Harry here Zayn was able to play this to his advantage. If he was now forced to be at Liam's beck and call he was going to use it to get himself handsomely rewarded.

“Liam,” Zayn called to him, trying to be discreet as they waited for their car to arrive to take them to the next location.

Liam was chatting with one of the contestants, Richie, who looked like he was hanging on Liam's every word. What a tosser. It was good for the show but not for Zayn's selfishness.

“Liam,” he called to him once more, clenching his jaw as he spoke to him. This was so embarrassing. He was willingly swallowing his pride and purposely talking to the guy, the least he could do was acknowledge him. What an asshole. “Payne!”

“Oh sorry,” he apologized, flashing Richie a quick smile in dismissal before walking towards Zayn. “Am I doing something wrong Mr. Producer?”

“I need you to talk to Harry,” Zayn instructed him, ignoring the not so cute nickname. He kicked a pebble that was by his boot, trying to get over the fact that he had to grovel at Liam's feet. Like his life wasn't a disaster already. “Interact with him. He's being patient waiting for you and you're off talking to everyone else.”

Liam turned his head and caught a quick glimpse of Harry who was standing by the castle's entrance talking to a few of the other contestants. He looked semi normal today, no over the top clothes or boots. His long hair was pushed out of his eyes and tied on top of his head. He was smiling wide and laughing at someone's jokes, dimples on full display. “I thought you weren't producing anymore?”

“I'm just looking out for the entire show,” he replied, trying his hardest to sound convincing. The show was the least of his worries but Liam could at least pretend he cared, especially towards Harry who he did give his first impression rose to just a few nights ago. “Each guy here if vying for your attention, you can't just talk to some and ignore the others.”

“Listen to me Zayn,” he began, stepping forward so he was almost nose to nose with Zayn, “this whole thing is happening on my terms. Got it? Without me you don't have a damn show so I do whatever I damn well please. Yeah?”

“There he is,” Zayn laughed with a shake of his head. He was not ever going to be intimidated by Liam Payne. “The pompous asshole that hides behind the bright smile and giggly laugh. Show that to the cameras, the entire country knows that guy already.”

Liam took a step back, not backing down but knowing when and where to pick his battles. “You know nothing about me, lackey. Be a good assistant and fetch me coffee, got it?”

Zayn had to take a deep breath and internally count to ten to calm himself. It was his first day on the job and punching Liam square in the jaw was more than likely frowned upon. It seemed like a good solution but probably not that effective. He clenched and unclenched his right hand, feeling it shake with the amount of tension he was holding. “Milk or sugar?”

“Black,” Liam smugly answered. “Grab one for Harry as well, okay? Thanks.”

For the rest of the date Zayn was seething, he knew that nice Liam wasn't going to last, that it was mostly for show. He was such a wanker it was even hard to fathom how he got through life without someone knocking him on his arse every single day. Pompous rich boy probably had daddy clean up all his messes. Not this time. Now he was stuck groveling to the country on national television by trying to prove he could he loved by complete strangers. Even seeing Liam be semi decent towards Harry wasn't enough to have Zayn feel better. He was stuck with this jerk for the next seven weeks, one of them was going to end up cracking and Zayn knew it wasn't going to be him. Something was going to have to change before all this was over. For now though Zayn had to plaster on his best fake smile that he learned to put on while working and muster up enough strength to get through the rest of the day. Tomorrow he had to do the same thing, different date but same scenario.

The car ride back to the mansion was tense and quiet, all the contestants crammed into a van while Liam and Zayn shared a car. Liam just scrolled through his phone, trying to occupy his time. Zayn decide to do the same, even when he knew his only messages came from Adam, which he was still ignoring. He did get a semi encouraging message from Louis at the beginning of the day, telling him to not let Liam get to him. He wasn't, he refused. It wasn't going to be easy to ignore someone he was stuck with by he'll learn to deal with it. He just had to keep looking at Liam as a paycheck like he always did with this job. He wasn't here to make friends or play nice, just show up, do his job and get paid. Simple as that.

Leaving the mansion at the end of the day was probably Zayn's highlight of the day. Turning around once he got down the hill and not seeing the massive home anymore made him crack a tiny smile. It felt like a massive weight was lifted off his shoulders. Even though he was doomed to have another night of restless sleep he was more than glad to leave for the day. He had to make sure Liam's alarm was set and we was back in his room before he was allowed to take off for the night. He unclipped his walkie talkie from his jeans and handed it to Louis with a strained looked on his face. It took almost all of Louis strength to not laugh in his face, that was obvious. He just had to grin and bare it, the network was obviously testing him and he refused to lose. Zayn refused to succumb to the added pressure he was getting. They wanted to see if he was going to crack, well, he wasn't. He'd been through enough in his life to not let one person or one show take him down. They had to work harder than they were if they expected Zayn Malik to buckle under the pressure.

Surprisingly sleep came easy that night, all the events of the day finally taking its toll on his body. He slept straight through until his alarm was blaring at five in the morning. Date days always started early, too early in Zayn's honest opinion. He dragged himself out of the car and changed into whatever he could toss together. Zayn tossed all his dirty clothes into his knapsack and dragged it with him to the mansion. Liam was set to wake up until seven, giving Zayn more than enough time to maybe do some laundry while the prince slept.

He stopped at the local coffee cart and got himself and Louis their daily tea. Without words being exchanged he handed Louis his tea and took his walkie talkie. It was way too early for anyone to be functioning. Zayn did catch a quick glimpse of what Louis was working on, he was piecing together the video from yesterday's activities. Liam trying to look cozy and comfortable around Harry and even Chad. Louis was a master at his job if he could briefly convince Zayn that Liam was maybe interested in the lads.

When Zayn entered Liam's apartment he noticed that nothing was out of place, meaning Liam stayed put after he left. Small miracle. Zayn dropped his knapsack by the laundry room door before heading to the kitchen. The production staff made sure everything was fully stocked at all time, anything Liam may need, they had ready for him. If Zayn was forced to play babysitter for the next few weeks he was going to enjoy its advantages. He had an hour and half to kill before Liam was supposed to wake up so he was going to relish in the silence while he could. He fixed himself a bowl of Weetabix, a meal he had almost everyday as a kid. If he tried he could still hear his mum sighing in defeat as he grabbed the box out of the cupboard instead of eating the extravagant meal she prepared each morning. Zayn even felt generous enough to wash his own dishes after eating, really not wanting to leave any evidence that he was there eating.

He exited the kitchen and grabbed his bag, walking into the laundry room. It look stocked pretty well, all the name brand detergents lined the walls. He tossed opened the machine and dumped everything from his bag in it, including the bag which was starting to smell like stale weed and crisps. Feeling bold, Zayn disrobed, leaving him standing in the room in just his Batman pants. Why not clean all his clothes while he was there? He tossed some detergent in the machine and turned it on. Now that he was almost completely naked he decided to remain in the laundry room, there was less chance of a camera catching him there. He just now needed to find something to do to kill the time.

Zayn opened the laundry room door as silently as possible before tip toeing into the main room, searching for the newspaper Liam had delivered to him each morning. If he was going to hole himself up in the room he might as well catch up on the daily news. He spotted the paper grabbing it off the coffee table and made his way back to the laundry room, closing the door behind him. The paper was boring, nothing exciting reported about. Wales was a dull country from the sounds of it. Looked absolutely gorgeous on a travel brochure but that was its only appeal obviously. There was a small a small article about the filming of their show and how multi millionaire playboy Liam Payne had taken some of his lucky contestants on a tour of some of the finest castles the Welsh countryside had to offer. Gag. Zayn had a feeling that either Liam or his father had a hand in paying off the journalist to make him sound like a decent human being, which was the furthest from the truth. He did the Sudoku puzzle that was in the paper with a pen he had found in his jeans pocket when he was taking them off to wash them. That at least took up a good five minutes of his time. Other than that he was absolutely bored. Watching clothes wash was very dull and not in the least bit exciting.

“Well, well, well. What is this?”

Zayn dropped the pen from his hand, he was starting to doodle along the edges of the paper in boredom. “Shit. Liam!”

“Two days in a row,” he replied cheekily, a smirk on his face. He was standing by the door, leaning against the frame. His hair was askew, a clear indication that he just woken up. He was dressed similarly to Zayn, in just his pants, probably designer. “I'm a lucky man.”

“You're a gross man,” Zayn spat at him. “What are you doing awake anyway? Your alarm isn't set from another hour.”

“I smelt the soap,” he shrugged. “And heard footsteps in the hall. Assumed it was a clean thief or the laundry police. Boy am I glad to know it was you.”

“Leave,” Zayn told him, not turning from where he was standing, leaning up against the machine, the newspaper on top where it shook periodically from the wash.

Liam took a few steps forward so he was officially in the room. “Mr. Producer why are you cleaning your clothes in my laundry room? Your posh digs provided to you don't have one or something?”

“We all don't have daddy's money get us everything we want,” Zayn told him, mentally scolding himself for even giving into Liam's clear taunts. “Can you just leave so I can finish?”

“Aww Zaynie,” he continued to taunt him, walking closer so he was directly standing behind Zayn. “You don't want me to stay? I'm sad. I thought we were a team now.”

“We were never a team,” Zayn scoffed at him, turning his head so his eyes followed Liam's every move. “You're a pathetic excuse for a person and I'm here to make sure you don't continue to fuck up. Simple as that.”

Liam pouted which actually looked cute on him if Zayn was to actually care. His hair was still messy, bed head at its finest. His pants riding low from Liam trying to fix them so much after the kept falling from him walking around the room. Liam snaked his arms around Zayn's waist feeling the goosebumps on his skin as soon as they made contact. “Such a dutiful worker Mr. Producer.”

“Don't touch me,” he shrieked, pushing Liam's arms off of him and shoving him even further back. “I can sue you for sexual harassment buddy.”

“Fine,” Liam gave in, arms raised in a sign of surrender. “You win this round.”

“Wha-what's that supposed to mean?” Zayn asked, dumbfounded by Liam's boldness. He turned fully around so his back was now leaning up against the washing machine, arms crossed over his chest, trying to cover up at least a little bit.

“You'll eventually see,” he promised with a wink. He took a swift step towards Zayn, running his finger along the elastic band of his pants, more goosebumps rising immediately. “Enjoy your laundry. Nice pants by the way.”

“Bloody prick!” Zayn shouted as Liam left the room, closing the door behind him.

Zayn kept cursing Liam's name as he took his clothes out of the washing machine and placed them in the dryer. No one has ever gotten under his skin like this, no one in his entire life and Zayn had three sisters he use to live with. Even on their worst days Adam never made Zayn feel like he wanted to punch him directly in the face over and over until he was unrecognizable. The only upside was that it looked like Liam knew his limits, knew when he pushed Zayn's buttons because he quickly backed off right after. If Liam was like this with him he could only imagine how he acted in his everyday life, when he wasn't around the ass kissers he called friends. The press had dubbed them the Wolverhampton Washups. It was Liam surrounding himself with lads from his hometown who desperately tried to make it big in life before deciding to sponge off of Liam and his fame and money. Stand up guys, really. That's why Zayn didn't have any friends, everyone nowadays had ulterior motives when they met him. They didn't see him as a person, especially after he mentioned what he did for a living. They all assumed his job title came with a fat paycheck and all the luxuries working in television allegedly came with. Perks and luxuries? That was all an illusion. Louis was the only one who got paid handsomely, besides Niall and everyone at the network. Everyone else got paid enough to survive, which was still a crock of shit. Zayn was currently living in his car and washing his clothes in the suitors home, he clearly didn't get paid enough to survive.

The second the dryer buzzed indicating it was done Zayn quickly grabbed his clothes and put them back in his knapsack. He grabbed at random shirt, jeans, and socks and threw them on. He stuffed his feet into his boots, lacing them up before taking a deep breath. Seeing that Liam was now awake he had to officially start work. He clipped his walkie talkie on his jeans and turned it on, hearing the static crackling almost automatically. It was time to start his day. He had about a half hour until Liam had to emerge from his home and get in the car and head to his next date. Joy. A whole half hour where he had to spend time with Liam. He grabbed the newspaper off the top of the washer machine, throwing his knapsack over his shoulder and exiting the laundry room. He headed towards the living area to drop off his bag and the paper on the coffee table, Liam nowhere in sight. The shower wasn't on so that clearly meant he was somewhere else in the home being a pain in the ass. Zayn's stomach growled, packets of barbecue crisps clearly weren't nutritional enough to survive. He decided to give in and make his way into the kitchen. Zayn knew the refrigerator was going to be stacked with a lot of food and he might as well indulge in it. Part of Zayn's job was to write a shopping list every week for someone to go and shop for whatever Liam needed. He walked into the kitchen and immediately regretted it. In front of the stove, still in just in his pants, stood Liam cooking. Cooking what Zayn didn't know but his stomach growled again so it must've seemed good. He hung his head as he made his way to the fridge to grab some orange juice. He shrugged and just opened the cardboard container and drank directly from it. Oh well.  

“We have glasses for that you know,” Liam told him, the snark tone in his voice evident.

Zayn rolled his eyes as he closed the container and then the fridge, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Thanks captain obvious.”

“You hungry?” Liam asked, pointing to the pan in front of him with the spatula that was in his hand. “I made extra just in case your were hungry.”

“What is it?” He asked, taking tentative steps forward to look at what Liam was cooking or attempting to cook.

“A frittata,” he replied, smile on his face like he was proud of himself for accomplishing such a simple tasks as cooking eggs with a few other ingredients. Spoiled rich kid.

“Your nanny teach you how to make that?” Zayn mocked, realizing the only way to get through to Liam was fighting fire with fire. “Or was it your housekeeper? Maybe even your chauffeur perhaps.”

“Forget it,” Liam sighed, ignoring Zayn's taunt and paying attention to the task at hand. “I'll just eat it myself, I've got other shit around here if you want.”

“Liam.”

Liam turned off the stove, placing the eggs on a paper plate next to him. He walked quietly to the dining table where a glass of orange juice and a cup of coffee sat. “You brought the paper back in with you?”

“It's uh it's on the coffee table,” Zayn stuttered out, confused over Liam's lack of reaction. What was this kids problem? Why wasn't he fighting back?

“Okay,” he nodded, making his way into the living room to retrieve the paper and walking back into the kitchen to eat and read in silence apparently.

Zayn kept standing in the kitchen, dumbfounded. Clearly Liam could make any joke or taunt he wanted but couldn't take one. What a child. Zayn just shook his head in true disbelief, bizarre. He let Liam eat and read his paper in peace before he heard the shower being turned on minutes later. His day was now officially beginning. They had another long day ahead of him, another group date. This time the weather was cooperating with them, the clouds from the night before finally cleared and the sun was shining. The production crew knew that choosing to film in Wales in the early months of the year wasn't the perfect weather but it looked beautiful on camera. Or some shit like that, Zayn really didn't care. Another long day of waiting on Liam hand and foot and coaxing him to actually interact with the contestants. One day Zayn was going to be shocked and surprised when Liam actually started to participate without being told to, hopefully. Once Liam was finally ready to start his day Zayn let the production crew know. Minutes later they were in the car and driving off to their location for the day. The day before was a tour of castles and today was museums. Unlikely date location dates if you asked Zayn, but no one did. No one ever did. He just had to suck it up and follow order. Today's contestants were the boring half, the ten guys who's names Zayn didn't care to learn or even remember if he did learn them. Liam was more cooperative today, actually starting conversations with people, smiling politely when spoken to. A huge difference from the day before.

The day went on long like expected. Zayn did his job dutifully though, fetching Liam water or coffee when he asked. Although he did wear a scowl every time he did something Liam asked him. The production crew that followed them from museum to museum kept the pace fast and made sure they didn't linger too long in one exhibit or museum for too long. Zayn actually learned a thing or two that day, listening when the curator spoke about specific paintings or specific artifacts. Liam was obviously preoccupied by the men he was on a date with, Zayn even shockingly heard a genuine laugh from Liam as he spoke to a few of the contestants. Hell may actually be freezing over. Probably not, this was Liam Payne he was talking about. The sun was already setting by the time they arrived back at the mansion. Zayn made sure Liam was back in his room for the night before he was allowed to leave for the day. Like the night before he handed over his walkie talkie to Louis without a word and made his inevitable trek back to his car up the hill.

Another restless night of sleep awaited him. Tomorrow was a lazy day at work, thankfully. They were shooting at the mansion all day, a barbecue was planned for all twenty contestants and Liam. To Zayn that meant he wasn't going to be needed much, maybe he'd be able to hang out in the production truck with Louis and the rest of the crew. Maybe sneakily grab another shower while filming was going on, it didn't seem like Liam cared all that much anyway. Now all he was focused on was trying to get enough sleep in his cramped backseat.

His alarm went off at an ungodly hour the next morning and begrudgingly Zayn forced himself to wake up. He scrubbed at his face harshly, hoping that'd help some. It didn't, all it did was remind him that his beard was growing back and he was in a desperate need of a shave. He always took the utmost pride in his appearance, knowing he was in a business that relayed on your looks more than talents. Not having a proper place to stay kind of put a damper on things. Clean clothes didn't matter if the person wearing them looked like a disaster. He hadn't brushed his teeth in a week, just heavily relying on mouthwash and gum, if his mum saw him now she'd give him and stern look and a shake of her head. That's all it took to know that he was in trouble. The only boy in the family, he never got away with anything, if anything it just added to everything. His eldest sister got away with a lot more, being the oldest had its advantages.

With a mournful sigh Zayn finally got out his car after changing his clothes and throwing a piece of gum into this mouth. Another trek down the hill to start another day at his job. It was still early enough in the day, Liam was most likely still sleeping. Zayn stopped at his usual coffee cart to get his and Louis tea, it had become some sort of routine for them. Zayn would hand over the tea and Louis would hand over his walkie talkie. No words exchanged, just head nods and grunts of acceptance. True friendship at its finest. Like expected, Zayn was handed his walkie talkie and his daily duties from Louis, no words exchanged. His planned day of semi relaxation was cut short, he was still expected to be by Liam's side during the barbecue. He had to fetch whatever Liam wanted, from food to drink to anything else he saw fit. There went his opportunity to catch up with the production crew.

It was still early enough in the day that Zayn realized he could probably sneak in a shower like he did days before. The sun was starting to rise up above the contestants mansion and Liam's bungalow. The barbecue wasn't expected to begin until noon, giving Zayn enough time to freshen up. He unlocked the bungalow and let himself in, dropping his knapsack in the foyer. He could faintly hear Liam's snoring from inside his master bedroom. That was his cue to take the quickest shower in history, maybe if he was lucky he could nick a razor from Liam's stash and shave, look semi human again. As quietly as possible Zayn tiptoed to the bathroom and disrobed. He turned on the shower and stood under the hot spray, letting the water beat down on his neck and shoulders, trying to relieve some of the tension he'd been holding in for the last few weeks. What he really wanted besides a hot shower was a cold drink. It had been too long since he was able to drink. Whatever money he did have was spent on food, tea, and toiletries to survive. If Zayn was lucky there would be alcohol at today's barbecue that he could partake in. There was always alcohol available during filming for the contestants but trying to take some without being caught was the hardest part of the job.

The shower actually did wonders and when he emerged from the bathroom minutes later Zayn felt semi human again. He was even able to shave, well, trim his facial hair at least. A small but much needed improvement. The daily paper was sitting on the coffee table when Zayn went to investigate the rest of the bungalow. Like always the kitchen was stocked with food so it was a perfect opportunity for Zayn to eat. He knew he could subtly steal food from the barbecue today but what's better than eating food purposely bought for Liam Payne? He heard noise outside the bungalow and yelling voices, more than likely Louis. The equipment truck had arrived if he heard his walkie talkie correctly, it was time to set up the barbecue. It was an ingenious idea actually, luckily it fell on one to the more decent days weather wise. A pool party slash barbecue, quintessential Everlasting tactics. Get all the contestants and suitor drunk on cheap spirits and champagne and make sure they wore as little clothing as possible. It had worked every year Zayn had worked on the show. Maybe, finally they'd get their first kiss of the series. There was a bet on that as well, not much money but enough for Zayn to maybe afford more mouthwash and splurge on socks. Harry hadn't let him down thus far so he was counting on him for today. That was unless Chad kept up his creeper act and somehow convinced Liam that he was a decent person. Louis would win then.

“Morning,” Liam grumbled when he emerged from his room around half past ten.

“Coffee’s on,” Zayn told him and pointed at the fresh pot. “Paper is on the table. You need to be ready in an hour. Swim trunks and sunscreen are the only things you need.”

“That's it?” He asked as he maneuvered his way around the kitchen, opening and closing cabinets and drawers to make himself a cup of coffee.

“And your dazzling personality,” Zayn replied coldly. “I mean if you actually have one under all that bull and money you keep flashing.”

Liam scoffed and shook his head. “Mr. Producer if you even knew the half of it you'd be frightened.”

“Not likely,” he snorted and stood up, placing his plate in the sink, purposely walking up to Liam. “My skeletons would frighten your skeletons, Payne. Trust me.”

After the interlude in the kitchen both Liam and Zayn parted ways. Liam drank his coffee in the living room while he read his paper. Zayn tried to keep himself occupied with straightening up the home. He didn't know why he was, they had a weekly maid service who did that and got paid well to do that, too. It was something to declutter his thoughts, it was a thing he did when he got overwhelmed or stressed. Well, it was thing he use to do before he found out the benefits of alcohol. Seeing that the bungalow was dry he had to find someway else to busy himself. Zayn didn't know why he let Liam Payne get to him. Every single time Liam said something it make his blood boil and skin crawl. He was vile and rude and had no respect for anyone else. He acted as if he was the only person in the entire world who had struggled. And what struggle could this poor rich boy have to deal with? His inheritance wasn't as much money as he had wanted? Poor baby. Try sleeping in a car for a night or two then he'd know about real struggles. Pathetic.

When the barbecue finally started around noon things started to look up. Zayn still had to work but luckily he wasn't at Liam's beck and call as much as he thought he was going to be. One of the contestants, Johnny, was manning the grill and Leo was behind the bar mixing drinks. Liam even looked like he was enjoying himself from time to time. Shocking. All twenty men were scrambling to get his attention before the next elimination where three more of them were heading home. Louis even made an appearance to steal a beer and a hotdog, chatted with Zayn for a minute about work related things before disappearing back into the production truck. Zayn stole a beer or two to take the edge off, to calm the buzzing in his brain. After the first sip he could've cried, the whole pretending to be sober shit was rather boring if you asked him. He knew he had to be careful and make sure no one caught him, especially Louis and other high ranking producers. After eating and drinking for an hour everyone inevitably made their way into the pool or hot tub. That's when Zayn could sincerely relax. Liam was preoccupied with everyone vying for his attention and being absolute creepers, gawking over his shirtless physique. Chad running his hand up and down Liam's chest, grabbing roughly onto his exposed hips, trying to act cute by whispering garbage into his ear like they could actually have a real private moment together. Zayn could just picture Louis’s delight at what was unfolding in front of him.

“Malik.”

Zayn adjusted the walkie talkie at his hip after hearing Louis call his name. He got up from where he was sitting and walked to a semi secluded part of the garden. “What's up Lou?”

“There's someone at the gate saying they know you,” he replied, his voice coming in along with static.

“Cryptic much,” he laughed into the device. “Is this guy on the most wanted list or summat?”

“No,” Louis deadpanned. “I'm sending him in. I swear to god Malik if this is one of your degenerate friends I'm kicking your arse.”

“You're one of my degenerate friends Lou,” he countered, shutting off the walkie talkie before Louis had a chance to reply with something he would swear was witty.

Zayn walked away from the barbecue, casting one quick look at the pool to check in with what was going on. They all were still in the pool or hot tub, at least pretending to have the time of theirs lives. Harry was getting more active, swimming where Liam was perched on the edge of the pool. Chad was still being creepy, something that clearly would never change. Louis picked a true gem to win this entire thing. Zayn continued his walk around the mansion onto the graveled path that led from the driveway. He could faintly see the gates opening and a car driving in. Who in the hell drove all the way to the middle of nowhere Wales to see him? He hadn't spoken to his family in probably months and Ant and Danny knew he was working.

“Shit,” he cursed once he properly got to see the car. “Fuck.”

The car came to a stop mere inches in front of Zayn. The engine was cut off before the driver's door was swung open as aggressively as a car door could open. Like Zayn suspected, the person who got out was the one person he didn't want to see. Not now, not ever again.

“Adam.”

“You're a hard person to track down Zed,” he joked, walking towards where Zayn stood.

“Maybe I didn't want to be found,” he tried to play coy. He knew the one person to really see through his bullshit was Adam. He hadn't changed a lot since they'd last seen each other. He was still towering over him as he stood a little over six feet tall. His tanned skin glistened in the hot sun of the north. His hair had gotten a little more curly since they'd last seen each other but it fit him, it always did. “But clearly that didn't work too well.”

“The power of the internet,” he joked, his right hand ghosting against Zayn's. “You've been ignoring me.”

“I've been busy,” he replied, his hands getting clammy at Adam’s touch. It was something he missed, his chest aching with something he couldn't quite put a name on, but it also felt foreign and unnerving. “Gotta make money.”

“Speaking of money,” Adam smirked, his signature smirk that made Zayn's insides feel like they were on fire and melting out of him. “You owe me quite a lot of it.”

Zayn looked down at his scuffed boots as he kicked the gravel at his feet. He was trying desperately to do anything to stall time or have a giant hole swallow him whole. Either option seemed rather ideal at this exact moment. “Adam, babe, you see the thing is-”

“-the money Zayn!” He yelled.

“I don't have it!” He yelled back, shocked over the power of his own voice. He wasn't surprised when Adam dropped his hand hastily and harshly, like his words had physically burned him. “I-I'm sorry but I don't have it, not yet anyway. I-I can get it to you after filming.”

“You'll have it then?” He scoffed, rolling his eyes at the offense. “There's always an excuse with you Malik.”

“I'm looking at a huge bonus once filming ends,” Zayn explained in a rush. “If things go my way of course, but they will, so-so don't worry.”

“You owe me three months worth of rent,” Adam sighed. “Plus utilities.”

“I-I know,” he nodded. “You just gotta wait a little longer for it, yeah? You'll get it.”

“Malik everything okay?” Louis voice crackled through the walkie talkie.

Zayn let out a loud breath at Louis’s voice interrupting his conversation, even though it was more than welcomed. Being around Adam always made Zayn tense, when they were good, they were amazing, spectacular even. It was when they were off that it slightly frightened Zayn, and not many things did. He unclipped the walkie talkie from his belt and sighed. “Yeah, we're good babe. He's umm leaving soon so I'll head back to work.”

“We're not done,” Adam told him firmly. “I didn't drive all the way here just to leave empty handed. I need something babe, a down payment of some sort.”

“I don't have anything, Adam,” he repeated. He felt a little ridiculous being so openly vulnerable around the one person who had seen him at his most vulnerable moments of his life. Adam held his hair back when he drank too much after his grandmother died and he wasn't invited to the funeral. He was also the one who supplied him with the booze so it was a fair trade. “I told you I'll have all the money plus extra once filming is finished. Six weeks, that's all I ask.”

Adam flared his nostrils, never a good sign for Zayn. He took a deep breath and just stayed silent. Zayn could see his brain working overtime and almost pinpoint the exact moment when things took a turn for the worse. “Maybe you can repay me in another way, hmm? At least until the cash rolls in.”

Disgusted. That's the only word Zayn could think of to describe how he felt at this exact moment. He was use to Adam’s games by now, having lived with him for close to eight months now. Adam didn't know the Zayn that was forced into a rehab center by his job for over drinking and almost ruining a multi million dollar television show. He knew the Zayn that was desperate for a place to live and some sort of company, no matter what form in came in. When Zayn was at a loss for money he'd gladly exchange sexual favors for some sort of reprieve with Adam. Today wasn't one of those days. “I'm working. I-I can't just disappear to suck your dick somewhere. Besides there's cameras everywhere.”

“Even better,” he smirked, his eyebrows raised in curiosity and a playful manner. He tugged at Zayn's wrist and looked around them. “Which room is yours? Sneak away quickly. No one will notice and we both can leave here happy until my money is delivered.”

“I don't have anywhere to stay,” Zayn huffed, still disgusted. He couldn't believe he was actually attracted to this guy, at least he once was. Desperation does a lot of crazy things to a person.

“Isn't that knob Liam Payne the boy toy this series? I figure he's got fancy digs around here, maybe suck me off on his bed,” Adam suggested, rather rudely if Zayn was being frank.

There was a lot of things in this world that got to Zayn, usually he just let it roll off his back. What was the use in getting upset over something he more than likely had no control over? Being with Adam was a choice he made, a bad one, but a choice he made nonetheless. He knew rather quickly what he was getting himself into when he moved in with him. He was brash and loud, messy, and abrupt. Qualities that Zayn himself possessed but couldn't stand in other people. He couldn't hold a job for longer than six weeks, his bosses and colleagues getting irritated with him quickly. That should've been a red flag for Zayn right away but he chose to ignore it. Give Adam the benefit of the doubt. Not the smartest idea he's ever had, clearly. He was still raw from rehab, he had just spent thirty days picking at a scab that he called his mind. He was vulnerable and a cute smile and a six pack of abs was exactly what he needed to make him feel something, anything, again.

“Let's go babe,” Adam tried to coax him once again. “We both know you don't need this job anyway.”

Zayn sighed, looking down at the strong grip Adam had on his wrist. Usually that sort of hold didn't make him flinch, a welcomed pressure even. Today it just didn't sit well with him, made his stomach turn. What he use to think were butterflies was actually disgust. “Just leave Adam. You'll get your money and everything will be fine, yeah?”

The grip on his wrist got tighter, uncomfortable. “Really? You're gonna say no to me?”

“I'm saying no,” he told him strongly, planting his feet firmly on the gravel path. Adam was stronger than him, could easily push and pull him around if he wanted to. This was Zayn's only way to literally and figuratively stand his ground. “I'm saying no now and I'm saying no forever, Adam.”

“You're gonna regret those words,” he threatened, squaring his shoulders. Doing anything to make himself look bigger, which wasn't that hard honesty. “Trust me.”

Zayn tried his best to stay firm, not many things frightened him. He learned to take care of himself at an early age. The only Muslim kid at school toughened him up quickly. The bullies were going to stop picking on you once you knew how to fight back. Nothing changed once he grew up; that's all Adam was really. He was a bully in an adult's body, but still had a childlike mentality. Simple. Words were easily brushed off, sticks and stones and all that hoopla. Adam grabbing roughly at his wrist, his knuckles turning white at the pressure he had around Zayn was not going to fly over well. Zayn knew he could take the easy way out and call security, they'd gladly escort Adam off the premises. He knew it wouldn't be that easy, he was going to have to fight him off himself. Breathing deeply was all he could muster up quickly, trying to keep himself calm and rational, which was kind of funny if Zayn had time to stop and think about it.

“Let go,” he seethed between gritted teeth. “You really don’t want to start something, especially here.”

Adam scoffed as his grip grew tighter. “Aww c’mon babe, you really think I’m afraid of the lot that work here.”

“Not them, me,” he replied as boldly as he could convey. “You keep forgetting you don’t know a thing about me Adam.”

“I know everything about you,” he spat in Zayn’s face. “Little boy lost, begging for someone to show faux emotion and he’ll be yours faithfully. Like a puppy really. Cute, sad, and pathetic.”

“Fuck off,” Zayn hotly replied.

“Is there a problem here?”

Zayn snapped his head around fast at the voice, Liam. Shit. He quickly turned back around to face Adam, silently hoping he’d drop his wrist and the whole ordeal all together. From the wicked gleam in Adam’s eye he knew the issue was far from being dropped.

“Zayn, you okay?” Liam gingerly walked towards the pair, still in his swim trunks, a towel wrapped around his shoulders. He was supposed to be mingling with the contestants not prying into Zayn’s disaster of a situation right now. Perfect. Why couldn’t willing someone to go away actually work? Liam was more than fine with ignoring him any other time during the day, why now? Why must he play knight in shining armor now? “I could really use a tea you know.”

“I could really use you leaving us alone you know,” he countered. Wanker literally walked out of the hot tub to find him to ask for a bloody cup of tea. What an asshole. “You’ll get your tea when I’m finished, okay?”

“What you a gopher or summat?” Adam laughed, the grip on Zayn’s wrist loosening. “You getting anything here mister pretty boy asks for? Hmm?”

“Adam,” he gritted his teeth once more. He saw Liam walking closer out of the corner of his eye.

“Shut up.”

“Asks for a wank, you gotta do it?” Adam asked, a large wicked grin of his face. The smug bastard. “Hey pretty boy, Zayn’s great with his hands by the way, his mouth too.”

“That’s enough,” Liam exclaimed. “I think it’s best you go, yeah?”

“You’re trying to threaten me?” Adam sneered at Liam, he rolled his eyes at the lame attempt. “Go back to where you belong, yeah? Leave Zed and I alone to deal with our adults things.”

“Harassing him and stopping him for doing his job is adult things?” Liam asked, nodding his head like he was actually intrigued as to what Adam was saying. “That’s news to me.”

“Liam,” Zayn sighed. How cliché did everything around him look right now? He was almost sandwiched between Liam and Adam, both nearly towering over him in height and stature. Now they were close to coming to blows over something as mindless as Liam not knowing to mind his own damn business.

“No,” Adam stopped Zayn. “I wanna see how big and bad Payne thinks he really is.”

“Adam,” Zayn groaned in frustration, he turned his head about to properly look at Liam. “I’ll get your tea in a tick, okay? We’re almost finished here.”

“Unbelievable,” Liam muttered unsuccessfully under his breath. He slowly backed away from the duo, shaking his head the entire time. “Hey Mr. Producer! Forget the tea, just keep the other lads busy while Chad and I have a private one on one, okay?”

“What!” Zayn gawked. “Li-Liam, I’m not their bloody babysitters.”

“Oh well,” he shrugged, turning around and heading towards the back of the contestants mansion and the barbeque.

The standoff between Zayn and Adam only lasted a few more minutes after that. Zayn had decided to just give in, too exhausted to keep fighting. No matter how long he'd try to put up a good fight, emotionally, mentally, or even physically, Adam always had the upper hand. He was taller and stronger and had a lot more to lose if it did come to blows. They luckily came to an agreement when Zayn gave him one of the rings on his fingers. He rarely wore jewelry nowadays, selling a lot of it to get by. This particular piece he kept near and dear to him, it belonged to his granddad, his father's father. He had died when Zayn was eighteen and off at uni, it was a devastating blow to the entire family. It was the only thing the man had left Zayn in his will. He wasn't a man of money or expensive possessions but the ring meant everything to him.

A curious young Zayn would always sit and just listen as his granddad spoke of stories of growing up in Pakistan and migrating to England as a young boy. The changes he had seen within himself and within the world. He was a hard working man, his face showed it, his body showed it. The ring though, it was something he always wore and it just peeked Zayn's interest. It wasn't fancy, just a plain gold band, ruby, sapphire, and tanzanite stones mounted on it. One to represent the birth month of his children. That's what made it a sentimental piece of jewelry. Now it belonged to Adam. The wind felt like it was being punched out of Zayn's lungs when he handed it over. The cold band lying in Adam’s hot palm. They both knew that the money he could get from selling the ring would tie him for now. It would hold him over until Zayn got paid and hopefully received his handsome reward once the series was over. Louis was babbling incoherently on the walkie talkie once again, that was quickly turned off. Zayn had enough over everything right now, he just wanted to disappear. Wanted to go back to his car and sleep the rest of the day away.

“In six weeks I'll have the rest of what I owe you,” Zayn assured him.

“You better,” Adam vaguely threatened him. He leaned forward and placed a dry kiss to the corner of Zayn's mouth. “It was good to see you, Zed. Truly.”

The internal struggle to not roll his eyes or openly gag was hard for Zayn, but he did it. “Yeah, great.”

Watching Adam walk back to his car and finally take off was the first time in a long time that Zayn let himself feel okay. He knew things weren’t fully okay, nothing ever has, but just for a brief moment it felt okay. He had one issue off his back for at least the next six weeks, now he had to deal with all the other crap going on around it. He pulled his hair tighter, giving himself something to stabilize himself, before walking back towards the contestant’s mansion. Before he even got to the back he could smell the chlorine of the pool and feel the heat off the hot tub. The volume was still loud, the music even louder. At least they seemed they like were enjoying themselves. Lucky bastards.

Zayn scanned the bodies around the back and noticed Harry right way, his pale skin soaking wet, his long hair a mess on top of his head. This kid was hopeless. He saw a few of the other contestants, their names he refused to learn, hanging around either talking to each other or just lounging and trying desperately to get whatever sun Wales had to offer. No Liam in sight though, Chad either. Like Zayn didn’t already have enough shit to deal with. That was more than likely what Louis was babbling on the walkie talkie. So Zayn totally had a valid reason to turn it off right away. He knew Liam had to be joking when he said he’d take Chad back to his place for some one on one time, he wasn’t that stupid. Clearly he was wrong, clearly he was wrong in giving Liam Payne the benefit of the doubt. That’ll teach him to never do that again.

The camera people and low ranking producers just kept looking at Zayn, silently hoping he knew what to do. This was all new to him, when he was a producer himself all this was gold, something you wanted to happen so early on in the series. Ratings gold, the entire country would eat it up, it’ll be over all the front pages of the papers. Now as Liam Payne’s personal gopher and having all this money and energy invested in Harry winning, Zayn knew he had to do something. He checked on the remaining contestants once more before begrudgingly making his way towards Liam’s bungalow. He had to suck it up, put on his big boy pants and be a professional adult. It killed him to think about that, this series was supposed to be easy. He was supposed to sit back and watch the drama unfold alongside Louis. Knick crisps from the craft service table and smoke a blunt or two while the sun was rising. That was all he was supposed to be doing. Now he had to actually earn his bloody paycheck.

He got to Liam’s bungalow and things were eerily quiet, even when Liam was alone things were never that silent. The foyer and living area was empty, as was the bathroom, laundry room, and kitchen. The only logical place for Liam and Chad to be was the bedroom, of course. Not only did Zayn have to be a babysitter he also had to be a cockblocker, great. He could hear his mates back in Bradford ribbing him already. He could hear the entirety of the United Kingdom yelling at him, the bloody queen herself would more than likely be joining in with the tirade, that’s just how lucky Zayn was nowadays. The well placed cameras by the doorway spotting him right away, Louis probably on the other side cursing his name and the day he was born. Don’t worry Lou, he felt exactly the same. None of the bedroom doors in either the mansion of bungalow had locks so it was easy for Zayn to just walk in the room. He had to take a few reassuring breaths before actually getting the courage to do it. Did he really want to see what was going on? Did he want to see Liam Payne’s hairy arse in the middle of something with steroid loving, protein powder chugging Chad? Not really.

Sure enough, what Zayn didn’t want to see he saw. As soon as he opened the bedroom door he was greeted with someone’s wet bathing suit on the floor by his feet. He wished that was the worst of it. Chad was straddling Liam’s legs, his massive tribal tattoo that was across his back gave him away instantly. Of course a douchebag like Chad would have a tribal tattoo, all the jerks like him did. His massive steroid induced body was hovering over Liam, it was even hard to tell if he was actually in the room. The only thing that indicated that he was there was his hands on Chad’s hips, his hand tattoos giving him away. It all just looked like a bad porno movie, something that’s on cable television at three in the morning when Zayn’s too high or drunk or not tried enough to actually sleep. So bad that he couldn’t even muster up enough energy to even try and get half hard or even try for a desperate wank. Pathetic really.

“Shows over, let’s go,” Zayn announced, loudly clapping his hands to get their attention. “People to see, places to be. Up and at ‘em gents.”

Sometimes Zayn loved his job, truly, honestly. Seeing Chad’s face after being frightened half to death was one of the reasons for loving his job. He quickly turned pale, kind of like the protein powder he’d been carrying around with him for the last two weeks. If he had pearls he’d probably be clutching them, he looked so scandalized, shocked and amazed that someone other than Liam had access to the bungalow. Hello! He currently was a contestant on a show that had millions of pound invested in it. Nothing and no one experiences privacy. It shouldn’t be that difficult to realize. Especially when whatever you’re doing involves the suitor, nothing you do will go unnoticed. Maybe a rereading of the contract would suffice.

“Mr. Producer,” Liam crooned, a smirk on his face. “Came to join the party, hmm?”

Chad kept going about his business, scurrying off Liam in a hurry, trying to desperately cover himself up. Not that anyone was really paying attention. He walked out of the room and bungalow after grabbing his swimming trunks without anyone really noticing.  Liam continued to lay against the headboard, stark naked, basking in the awkwardness. Zayn diverted his eyes, trying to be respectful, even though Liam clearly didn’t deserve it.

“Up,” Zayn repeated, this time harshly. “You’ve still got shit to do today and banging protein boy wasn’t part of it, okay?”

“Jealous?” Liam laughed in amusement. “You have to be at my beck and call while I get to do whatever or whomever I please, hmm?”

Zayn’s mum always told him that the more he rolled his eyes the better chance he’d have at them getting stuck like that. Well, he’d been rolling them quite often since working on Everlasting and they hadn’t gotten stuck yet. So ha to you mum. “Just like life.”

Liam pushed his back off the headboard and watched closely as Zayn just milled about the bedroom, picking up wet towels and clothes and tossing them either on the bed or the lounge chair that was to the right on the bed. “Excuse me?”

“Get dressed and back out there, okay,” he sighed, too exhausted to pick a fight, shockingly. After all the Adam garbage he didn’t have the energy to make Liam Payne cry, especially when they weren’t in front of cameras. CCTV didn’t count because they can’t pick up every little detail of their interaction.

The barbeque was tense after that, at least from Zayn’s standpoint. Liam was acting odd, interacting with the contestants, other than Chad, but keeping an eye as Zayn hovered over the area. Louis emerged from his trailer and even made a cameo by the pool, mostly to steal leftovers, and also to inquire about what really happened in the bungalow. Louis wasn’t stupid, no one ever claimed he was, but he knew how to play ignorant really well. He pretended he didn’t feel the tension, did see how Chad was apprehensive to go near Liam or Zayn for that matter. Less interaction between Chad and Liam mess less likely of a chance of Louis winning the big prize, he wanted to eradicate that quickly. Zayn was just waiting, waiting for why Louis actually made an appearance, and it wasn’t for the soggy foreign meat products being passed off and hamburgers and hot dogs.

“Bro,” Louis finally broke his awkward silence, just stood beside Zayn and chewed his food loudly, a piss warm beer in his free hand. “Who was that guy?”

“No,” he replied, eyes never wavering off the pool and hot tub.

“Really?” Louis squawked, pieces of chewed up hotdog and bun flying out his mouth. Real attractive Lou, really. “Malik.”

“Tomlinson,” Zayn echoed Louis’s whiny tone.

“One question then,” he bargained, moving to stand directly in front of Zayn’s eye line. “Do I need to worry about him? Is he gonna jeopardize my production?”     

Zayn sighed, exhaling loudly from his nose. If he was being honest with himself, that was a very loaded question. He could almost immediately feel the urge to drink or smoke, or do anything counterproductive start to itch at the back of his mind. Facing his feelings and being open and honest? That wasn’t one of Zayn Malik’s many trademarks. “We-we’ll be okay Lou, okay?”

Louis took a long swig of his piss beer, narrowing his eyes. He looked like he was trying to read Zayn or assess the situation altogether, two things he was never really good at to begin with. “Good. Now get back to work, Malik.”

Watching other people have fun was boring, why did that bother Zayn so much as a kid? Seeing all the popular kids huddled together in the canteen or in the back of the classroom just whispering and looking directly at him. At age six and seven that would leave him completely gutted, now he couldn’t care less. Let them have fun and make complete arses of themselves on national TV, Zayn was just gonna sit back and drink, inconspicuously, but drink nonetheless. A lot of the guys were sipping away at fruity cocktails or weak beer while there was hard shit available. No one was touching the rum so Zayn was helping himself. He was still doing his job, keeping a semi watchful eye on Liam and the contestants. No one was getting too handsy, no one was causing a scene, well, not yet at least.

His walkie talkie remained silent, except for the occasional sound of static.  Liam as interacting with all the guys, Harry was getting attention so Zayn was happy. Maybe a little too happy, he was getting drunk. Seeing as he hadn’t had anything substantial to eat all day the rum was hitting him hard. He could feel the numbness in his fingers and toes begin, a clear indication that he was intoxicated. Next usually came his face and mouth, his tongue feeling heavy and foreign in his mouth. The constant craving for a cigarette or something stronger started to kick in. All Zayn had to remember was to not make a fool of himself again. The cameras may not be on him directly, but they were all around him, not afraid to capture anything that may make a good television show. Last year’s series finale was a clear indication of that. That’s what got him in trouble the year before, everyone was too busy paying attention to the production of the show that they didn’t even notice that one of their own producers was getting drunk each and every night. And the worst part was that he was getting drunk off the alcohol provided by the show itself, courtesy of the network.

“Ok, time to wake up.”

Zayn jumped up, startled at the sudden push to his shoulder, his feet feeling wet. “What-what’s going on?”

“You fell asleep,” Liam told him with a laugh. “Production is over for the day. Some gopher you are, mate.”

“I did not-“ Zayn began, looking around at his surroundings. The sun was almost completely set, the cameraman and production assistants were scurrying around, closing up for the day, waiting for the second unit to take their place. “Shit.”

“No one noticed,” he said, shrugging his shoulders, his wet hair still dripping on Zayn’s feet. “No one important at least. I’m heading to bed, I’m knackered, you can head back to your place for the night.”

“My place,” he mumbled to himself, his tongue still feeling heavy in his mouth. Fuck, he was still drunk. Maybe if he tried standing up, bad, bad idea. The ground kept moving. “Thanks.”

Liam huffed out a sarcastic laugh as he held onto Zayn’s arm to help steady his balance. “Need someone to drive ya?”

“Drive me to me car,” he giggled, finding that concept of being driven to his car oddly hysterical.

He was supposed to be a brooding drunk, when did he become a giggly drunk? A lot changes in a year, clearly. “I-I’m o-kay.”

“Come on,” Liam told him sternly, lifting Zayn up as he started to falter on his feet. “You aren’t in the right mind to be alone tonight, the babysitter needs to be babysat.”

Zany stood up straight, fixing himself, trying to gather himself. “I can get back to my car just fine, I don’t need no help, okay?”

“You gotta be a hard ass even when someone is being nice to you,” he scoffed, slowly dragging Zayn towards the bungalow. It was kind of sad really, how easily he was being manhandled by Liam, he was chalking it up to being drunk and not that Liam was stronger than him in any capacity, not at all. “You’re staying at mine tonight, okay?”

Zayn scoffed as he rolled his eyes, feeling the inevitable hangover forming already. Great. Liam had already opened the bungalow entrance, practically shoving Zayn inside. “I will n-not stay he-here. My car is perfectly comfortable.”

Liam shoved Zayn onto the first available surface that looked soft, the sofa in the living area in this instance. He slipped off his slippers and threw the towel that was around his waist towards the laundry room before he sat down on the coffee table facing a semi awake and coherent Zayn. “Why do you keep saying car?”

“Huh?” Zayn asked, his right arm thrown over his face, covering one of his eyes. “What are you babbling about now, Payne?”

“Are you living in your car?” Liam hesitantly asked. “Does that have something to do with that bloody pain in the arse I saw this morning talking to you?”

The silence in the bungalow was deafening, the production crew milling about outside could faintly be heard. If you tried to listen closely and carefully, Louis’s obnoxiously loud voice could be heard, barking orders at the second unit crew. Zayn turned off his walkie talkie after he finished half the bottle of rum that Liam and the contestants disregarded. Zayn just kept blinking at Liam, refusing to speak, pretending his was too drunk to comprehend what was being asked of him. It was embarrassing, and frankly none of Liam’s business. If he told him the truth it’ll be something Liam would probably hold over his head until the production of the show was over. He could already hear the teasing and the taunts and the laughs Liam would have at his expense.

“Zayn.” Liam poked Zayn’s shin with his toe, trying to get any sort of response out of him, even a grunt in recognition would suffice. He sighed in defeat, giving up with this obvious one way conversation. “You’re already half asleep anyway, you know where everything is so you’re welcome to whatever. See you tomorrow, Zayn.”

“Goodnight,” he replied once he knew Liam was already half down the hallway, but close enough to hear his barely above a whisper voice.

Waking up in unknown places was not a foreign concept for Zayn, he’d been doing it since he left uni. Random beds from a one night stand, pub bathrooms, alleyways, you name it and Zayn’s probably woken up there. This time was odd, waking up and feeling refreshed, slightly hungover, but refreshed. He reluctantly opened his eyes, cursing at the sun that temporarily blinded him. He quickly shielded his eyes, feeling the dull ache in the back of his head. He needed coffee and water, maybe an aspirin or two. Firstly, he needed to remember where the hell he was. He could feel the comfortable sofa he was sitting on, noticing he was still in the same clothes he was wearing the day before, could smell the alcohol on his clothes and less attractively, his breath. But that wasn’t different than any other morning since filming started.

“Morning sunshine.”

Zayn groaned at the chipper voice, sadly recognizing it right away. “I slept here?”

“Do you not remember last night?” Liam asked, pushing Zayn’s feet off the sofa to make room for himself to sit which earned a less than threatening growl from Zayn. “I had to practically drag you down here from the pool area. Some people just don’t know how to handle their liquor. Amateurs.”

“I’m a world class drinker,” Zayn pathetically defended himself, regretting it the second after the words left his mouth. “What time is it?”

“Almost noon,” Liam replied. “Had to eat my fruit platter and read my paper in the kitchen like a civilized person.”

“It’s about time,” he muttered under his breath. “What do you have planned today? I have shit to do before I can start working.”

Liam narrowed his eyes at Zayn, curious as to what his words implied but also knowing not to poke the subject, especially after the night before. “What do you need to do?”

“I’ve just got things to do,” he replied forcibly, getting his bearings and standing up, despite the bounding in his head. “I need to grab a few things, like clean clothes and whatnot.”

Liam scoffed and Zayn’s attempts to stand and not wince at every single move he made, the lines between his brows giving him away. “I’ve got clothes, they’re probably a hell of a lot better than the shite you wear and call fashion.”

“I bought my clothes with my own money,” Zayn spat at him. “Daddy didn’t give me a dime, unlike you, spoiled rich punk.”

“Why do I even try?” Liam asked, sounding more like he was talking to himself than Zayn. “I try to be nice, for what? To get my head chewed off.”

Zayn tried to roll his eyes but the pain in his head didn’t really appreciate the attempt. “You? Nice? Don’t make me laugh, Payne, honestly.”

“I tried to help you with that douchebag yesterday, I’ve been letting you use my shower and laundry room without asking any questions,” he rattled off, still carefully monitoring Zayn’s every move. “Now I’m offering you clothes to wear for one bloody day mate and you jump down my throat. Let someone help you, man.”

Without saying anything, Zayn gathered his belongings and headed towards the front door. He still had time before production officially began anyway. It was going to be a busy day seeing elimination was rapidly approaching. Five more contestants were going to be sent home so it was now time for them to scramble and beg and plead Liam to keep them. Another few hours where Zayn had to sit and watch as grown men acted like pathetic human beings. The sun was already shining high in the sky when he exited the bungalow, he had to strain his eyes to see in front of him, which clearly didn’t help his hangover at all. He let out a hot puff of air from his nose while he continued to walk up the graveled pathway and towards the mansions exist. He needed to go to his car and get a change of clothes, being on camera or not, he still needed to look and feel presentable. Also, he owed Louis his daily tea.

The one thing that was still bothering him as he walked up the hill was Liam. Well, besides the obvious reason why Liam Payne bothered him. He was trying to make himself look like a martyr, helping poor defenseless Zayn. Please. The one person in this world who didn’t need anybody’s help was Zayn Malik, he learned that the hard way and early on in life. Offering up his shower and laundry room suddenly made Liam qualified for sainthood? Don’t make him laugh. If Liam was such a good guy then why did he beg the network and upper producers to make him the suitor on this year’s Everlasting? Why campaign for the job if you didn’t need to have a total image makeover? See, Liam forgot that Zayn use to be a producer, meaning he knew all the inside details that only producers were privy to know. He could try and fool the country even try and fool the contestants, but he could never, never fool someone who knew all about the true Liam Payne.

Finally reaching his car on top of the hill, Zayn quickly changed into whatever clean clothes he could find. He wasn’t in a rush to get back to work, that was obvious, but he really didn’t want to linger in his smelly, dirty clothes for much longer. As much as he hated to admit it, he did have to go back to work eventually. If he was going to win this whole thing and give Adam his money plus pocket some for himself, he’d need to put at least a little bit of effort into what he was doing. He had it made if he really thought about it. He was at Liam’s side almost the entire day, he could easily manipulate the situation to his advantage. Zayn knew that he couldn’t wait for Harry to make his move, he was moving at a glacial pace while Chad already had Liam in the sack, giving Louis the upper hand. He wasn’t going to force Liam onto Harry or vice versa, maybe just give them both a small little nudge in the right direction. In the end if Liam gave Harry the final rose and pretended to be happy and have a short lived fairy tale ending, that was more than okay for Zayn, as long as Louis stayed true to his word and put money in his account at the end of everything. He could live with the repercussions that were more than likely inevitable, he could live with them as he lay on the exotic beach with a drink in his hand, far, far away from production.      

The trip back down the hill was just like all the other ones, full of dread and regret and wonderment. He made his typical stop to get Louis tea, not having enough money on him this time to get some for himself. He’d just knick something for Liam’s kitchen and call it even. He walked through the gates and towards the production trucks, slightly missing the camaraderie and the late nights, the unproductive producers meetings. Like every morning for the past two weeks, Zayn handed over the tea to Louis and accepted his walkie talkie begrudgingly. He didn’t receive a pep talk this time, just a nod of Louis head and a quick wave of his hand. No news is better than good news is most cases, this being one of them. If the network wasn’t complaining about Zayn’s job performance, that was a good thing. Just like the old days he grabbed a packet of barbeque crisps off the craft service table, eating them as he made his way towards the bungalow. Elimination was looming over everyone’s head so today was the day all the contestants were going to be groveling for Liam’s attention and Zayn had to sit back and watch it all. Great.    

“Aww, Mr. Producer, did you get dressed up for me?” Liam mocked as soon as Zayn opened the bungalow door. Liam was conveniently walking passed the hall, towel around his waist, obvious he just got out the shower. “You shouldn’t have. I’m honored.”

Zayn rolled his eyes as Liam over-dramatically clutched at his chest. “Save it Trust Fund. Want me to send the contestants in now seeing you’re clearly ready to just spread your legs for anyone and everyone these days.”  

Liam pouted, sticking his bottom lip out as he walked towards Zayn. He stood inches in front of him, could feel Zayn’s breath on his face, see his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed sharply. He wasn’t doing anything though, just trying to control his breathing as Liam’s fingertips traced the top of his jeans, his thumb close to the top button. It was eerily silent, just a lot of heavy breathing from the both of them. Zayn hissing as Liam undid the top button to his jeans, purposely stepping closer so their hips were aligned. Zayn grabbed at Liam’s towel and was tempted to either drop it or pull him in closer. Whatever he decided to do he better do it quick. Liam leaned closer, kind of like he was egging Zayn on, telling him it was okay without verbalizing it.

“Too bad I don’t fuck the help,” Liam spat in his face before turning on his heel and into the bedroom.

Zayn stood there dumbfounded, which was rare for him. It was officially, Liam Payne was a piece of shit and exactly how all the tabloids described him. He heard faint laughing coming from the bedroom, Liam boasting at what had just happened, no doubt proud of himself, the smug bastard. He had so many thoughts running through his mind, mostly trying to figure out how to plan his revenge. It was what Liam deserved.

“You okay Mr. Producer?” Liam asked once he emerged out of his bedroom, he was fully dressed this time, smirking wildly.

“So here’s how we’re running today,” he began, stepping closer, “these pathetic pieces of scum vying to be your one true love are all gonna parade in here, yeah. I will decide who sees you and for how long and at what time. Got it? I make the rules around here, Payne, not you.”

The smirk quickly vanished from Liam’s face, he was now serious, his brows knitted together in concentration. “Demanding, I like it. It suits you.”

“We’re gonna start with Chad,” Zayn continued to rattle off, ignoring Liam’s attempt at being cheeky. “You’ll sit on opposite ends of the couch, not too close because everyone has unfortunately seen that already. Gotta leave suspense, yeah, leave them wanting more.”

“You producing again?” Liam asked, his eyes following Zayn as he paced around the room on some sort of high, a power high. “What happened to you being my gopher? You get a promotion during your morning walk?”

“I’m always producing,” he clarified, stopping his pacing and turning to look at Liam. “You’ll end with Harry. You like Harry, Harry likes you. Got it? Good. Now finish getting ready so the first unit can set up.”

Liam gave Zayn a side eye as he followed his directions, going back towards his bedroom and bathroom to finish readying himself. Zayn was buzzing, feeling the blood flow through his veins, that’s how hyped up he was. It felt good being back in the driver’s seat, even without a license so to speak. If he had to follow Liam around and be at his beck and call, why not use it to his advantage, make a good show out of it. Louis wasn’t going to complain and he highly doubted that the network would complain either. As Liam readied himself, with the help of the hair and make-up department, the first unit set up the cameras, lights, and mics all over the bungalow, making sure nothing wasn’t picked up either audibly or visually. Louis voice could be heard barking orders over the walkie talkies, making sure everything was in place, even Zayn. He was to be out of every shot, but still be close enough to step in if need be.    

Zayn watched on as every guy came in at exactly the time he specified. Chad was first and tried to be cheeky, bringing up the little encounter they had the day before. It made Liam blush and giggle and made Zayn want to pluck his own eyes out with a spoon. He remained standing behind all the camera and light people, making sure he had a clear view of Liam and made sure Liam knew he was watching closely. Chad tried to take Liam back to the bedroom but I firm shake of his head let Liam know that Zayn wasn’t having it. Not just because he didn’t like Chad and didn’t want Louis to win this series, also because it was obvious that’s all Chad wanted out of Liam, he clearly wasn’t here to find true love, or whatever. The other guys, who names Zayn had no desire to learn, filtered in and out at a blinding pace. Some poured their hearts out to Liam, trying desperately to get a rose later. It was only weeks into the series and some guys were ready to profess their love. Get the fuck outta here.

Last but certainly not least was the only other reason besides the money that Zayn stayed working for this dumb show, Harry. Liam welcomed him warmly into the bungalow, shooting Zayn a look as he walked towards the couch area, pointing at the seat next to him for Harry to sit. Harry looked nervous, understandably. It was all new and exciting and intimidating, this was the first time they ever had any alone time together. It was clear that everyone in the mansion knew about Chad and Liam’s encounter, they all were feeling the pressure to up the ante themselves. Make Liam take notice. Harry was Zayn’s only hope at lining his pockets heavily and maybe getting out of this hellhole, the show and Wales.

Harry looked over at Liam all doe eyes and giraffe limbs he clearly still hadn't figured out how to use. Zayn could see himself liking Harry in the real world, if Zayn was into guys who needed as much help as he did. The nerves were radiating off of Harry, it was obvious that he and Liam had nothing in common. Seeing Liam try was all Zayn had asked of him, so progress. Liam leaned forward and whispered something in Harry's ear that made him blush, his cheeks pink against his pale skin, his dimples evident when he smiled, biting his lip to hold back a laugh. His eyes were wide when he looked down at Liam, moving closer to whisper in his ear. Hopefully the microphones they were wearing caught whatever they were saying or else Louis would be livid. Zayn couldn't care less, as long as this exchange kept positively progressing, it didn't matter if it was caught on camera or audio or not. They kissed and Zayn could faintly hear Louis hiss in anger over the walkie talkie. This was ruining his plans of Chad running away with the show.

This was exactly what Zayn needed to see, without seeming like a total pervert. Harry was safe from elimination, he just had to be. Despite their opposites it was clear Liam obviously saw something in Harry. How he had a connection with both Chad and Harry was beyond Zayn at the moment but he didn't care. His guy was on the top of the heap so he didn't have to worry. Zayn could see the money, smell it even. Chad was the only obstacle in his way and he wasn't going to be deterred by his overgrown muscles or his excessive use of protein powder in everything he drank. It was all a distraction from the guy he actually was, a gold digger. Using Liam as a stepping stone to do more in the public eye, make a name for himself any ways necessary. Harry was making whining noises into Liam's mouth as Liam tangled his hand in Harry's hair. Okay, maybe this was a bit too much. He wasn't a prude, far from it, but this kiss was a tad excessive. If Liam was playing it up for the camera, he was doing a damn good job. Shockingly.

The pulled away, finally, Harry's cheeks pink and his hair a mess. They shared a sickening sweet smile before going back to whispering. If this all wasn't for the damn cameras Zayn would believe Harry and Liam were a real couple. It was obvious there was some sort of connection. Harry had good intentions, it was clear from the first interview Zayn had done with him. He wanted to find love and he wanted to find it with Liam. Why? Only god and Harry know that answer. Liam walked Harry to the front door, both of them molded to each other in what could look as a romantic gesture. They shared their goodbyes and another affectionate kiss before Harry gave Liam a little wave and left the bungalow making his way towards the mansion. A loud cut was called from next to Zayn. The cameras were shut off and everyone start to close down production.

“You're welcome,” Liam said to Zayn.

Zayn balked at Liam for a moment, confused. “I'm welcome? For?”

“That charade I just put on for you,” he replied, gesturing towards the closed bungalow door. He unhooked his mic pack from the back of his pants and passed it to a sound guy who was waiting with his hand out. “Acting like I really want to be with Harry.”

“You don't like him?” Zayn asked in a huff. “Could've fooled me.”

Liam shook his head and smirked, walking away from the chaos in the front room of the home and heading towards the kitchen where it was more quiet. “I'm a great actor Mr. Producer. I told you before, there's a lot you don't know about me.”

Zayn stood across Liam, the kitchen island between the two of them. He was infuriated, intrigued, but infuriated. “And all that shit with Chad?”

“You offer up sex that easily, I'm not gonna say no,” he replied nonchalantly, shrugging his shoulders. “Isn't that part of them game anyway? It's all for the ratings anyway.”

“You're fucking this whole thing up,” he huffed. “That's my job Money Bags, not yours.”

Liam spun on his heel, moving around the kitchen island to stand beside Zayn. “See, that’s what I don’t understand. You have a cushy job here and you want to sabotage it. Why?”

“You have a cushy life and you want to sabotage it. Why?” Zayn countered, eyebrows raised.

Liam pursued his lips and nodded. “Touché Mr. Producer.”

Zayn walked away, shaking his head in dismay. Liam Payne loves to bitch and moan that his life was hard, like he wasn’t born with a silver spoon in his mouth. Like he didn’t have everything he ever wanted in life. Zayn knew struggle, he knew hardship. He was the only Muslim kid in his school, besides his older sister. The shit he would get on a daily basis from students and teachers would make anyone drop out or want to disappear completely, and that was only during grade school. Add being gay and things got worse. Crushing on the captain of the football team was fine if you kept it to yourself. Getting caught staring at him during chemistry class and you got yourself beat up after school in the boys bathroom. No one lending a hand, no one calling for helping. Going home and both parents hemming and hawing over what to do but not doing a thing. Life was shit for Zayn but he’d kill to have half of what Liam complained he had to go through. All his problems were self inflicted. He put himself in all his situations. The bottom line to all of Zayn’s crap was because who he was born as, a brown, Muslim, gay man.

“Good evening and welcome to Everlasting,” Niall smiled wide as the camera zoomed in on him.

It was another elimination night, another endlessly long night ahead of them all. Niall had already had his pow wow with Liam, going over each and every contestant to see how Liam was feeling about them. Zayn had to stand behind the cameras as they filmed, just in case Liam decided he needed something. If Zayn wanted to be a butler he would’ve never went to uni and made something of himself. He had to grin and bare it though, act like this job was a god sent. He was allowed to scoff and roll his eyes so it was a win/win situation. Niall was talking to all the contestants now, taking a pulse of the situation. Who was nervous, who felt confident. Shockingly Chad was walking around with his chest puffed out, overly confident that he was going to get a rose and move forward. Harry even looked like he had a pep in his step, head held high after his last meeting with Liam.

“Malik!” Louis called to him from behind the monitors. He waved his hands to get his attention. “Move your non existent ass here, stat!”

Zayn rolled his eyes as he cast one last glance Liam’s way. Liam was being tended to by hair and makeup before he was due on camera to break some hearts. “What’s up Lou?”

Louis grabbed Zayn’s arm and moved them to a semi secluded area. Nothing was ever fully secluded but after years working on a show like this, you learn where you can get a smidge of privacy. “What’s up with you and Payne?”

“Liam?” Zayn gawked with a laugh. He undid his hair and redid it to occupy his hands. He was aching for a cigarette or a drink, always did during elimination nights. It was long and daunting and way too emotional. “Payne’s a dick.”

“There’s cameras all over the place, babe,” Louis reminded him, an eyebrow raised. “It sees everything.”

“And you need your eyes checked,” he joked. “Does it see how much I despise Pretty Boy here? How he’s jeopardizing the entire production?”

“When have you cared about the production?” He snorted. “You hate this place as much as anyone else. You’re stuck here for a paycheck and cause you’re court mandated to.”

“And I’m doing my job like you asked,” Zayn told him. “Babysit Payne, which I’m doing. I think I’m excelling actually.”

Louis purses his lips together and nodded. “You are getting too close. You can’t be this blokes friend, okay?”

“Don’t worry,” he laughed, patting Louis’s face affectionately. “You’ll always be my best mate Lou.”

“Fuck off,” Louis huffed, pushing Zayn’s hand away. “Don’t be a prick, Malik.”

As the night rolled on like it would never end, Zayn kept a close eye on Louis and his movements. It seemed like Louis had one eye on production and one on him. It was creepy and totally unnecessary. Zayn was a professional, knew his boundaries. Despite his previous stumbles and incidents, he understood what his job entailed. He knew that he had to keep Liam in line, make sure he was present both physically and mentally at all times. There hadn’t been any major hiccups since he took over the assistant job. He couldn’t stop Liam from sleeping with Chad, even though he tried his hardest. And they were definitely not friends, far from it. They both yelled and screamed at each other any chance they got, what made Louis say such a thing? It was bizarre and insane.

The rose ceremony was as dramatic as always, Niall coming into the frame right on cue to add the suspense. Giving long monologues with just the right amount of pause for the contestants to wonder if they were going to go home. Chad got the first rose and some of the remaining contestants audibly groaned at the selection. It made for great television but grinded Zayn’s gears, the bloke was such a prick. Chad accepted his rose with the same false smile as he always had and kissed the side of Liam’s mouth, causing them both to giggle and blush. Gag. Liam was just as dense as Zayn and half of England predicted. Falling for the obvious mind games Chad was playing. Louis was eating it up, loving every single gross second of it. If camera weren’t rolling all the time and Zayn’s job wasn’t on the line, he’d love to just smack Chad right across the face. Treat him like the piece of shit he really was. No one liked him and it was fair to say no one outside the mansion, in his real life, like him either.

[ddproductionsw77]

Friday I’m In Love

Fandom: IT (2017)

Pairing(s): Reddie (Richie Tozier x Eddie Kaspbrak)

Characters: (Major) Richie Tozier and Eddie Kaspbrak (Minor) Maggie Tozier, Wentworth Tozier, and Sonia Kaspbrak, (Mentioned) a couple of the other Losers

Rating: T (M if language and violence offends you but nothing sexual)

Description: Richie and Eddie have a pretty shit week (Reddie songfic to “Friday, I’m in Love” by The Cure) (Aged-up to high school)

Author’s Note: I dunno… I just love this song and this just kind of happened but I’m a little in love with it???

I don't care if Monday's blue

Richie had always hated Mondays. They only meant another week of school he’d have to find some way to survive through. A Junior in high school at the age of 17, he was desperate to get through his last couple of years of required education and do… well, something more interesting than Algebra II, that was for fucking sure.

Waking up that Monday, the fall of 1992, Richie clambered out of bed in a bit of a blur. Searching for his glasses, he finally found them and shoved them onto his face, tripping around his bedroom. He’d hit snooze on the alarm clock one too many times again and was running a tad late.

In his hurry and because he still hadn’t fully grown in his gangly limbs, Richie tripped over one of his bright red Chuck Taylor and groaned from the floor.

“Dammit, Richard! Keep it down! I’m trying to sleep!” He heard his mother scream from down the hallway.

Rolling his eyes, he sat up and rubbed the place where his shoulder had collided with his dresser on the way down. Unable to keep his notorious mouth shut, he called back, “Sorry, Mother Dearest! Silly me, I fell and almost killed myself! Inconsiderate, I know!”

There was a pause and then his father’s voice, “Richard, stop being an idiot and get ready for school!”

Nodding to himself and running a hand down his face, Richie forced himself to his feet, muttering, “Yeah, stop being an idiot, Richard.”

He made his way quickly to the dresser he’d nearly killed himself on a second ago and scrambled to find some articles of clean clothing. He really should do more laundry… Fuck all knows, Maggie Tozier couldn’t be bothered with making sure her kid had anything decent to wear.

Richie pulled on a white t-shirt featuring The Cure and some black ripped jeans, tugging on his old, favorite matching hoodie, zipping up the hole-ridden thing. He smiled a little, just imagine what his best friend would say when he saw him adorning the same hoodie once again.

A disaster, That’s what Eds had called it last time he’d seen it on Richie. You’re wearing a fucking disaster, Richie.

A grin still on his lips, Richie quickly made his way downstairs only to meet his father in the kitchen where he’d intended to quickly make some toast for the road. He tried to spin on his heel to avoid the man but was immediately called back.

Sighing, he turned around, “What can I do for you, Daddy-o?”

“Don’t be a smartass,” Wentworth barked, making Richie flinch involuntarily and immediately flush in embarrassment for doing so. “I need you to actually be home tonight. Be responsible for once, you know? Your mother’s sick—“

Richie snorted and was smacked hard in the ear by his glaring father.

“Sorry.” The boy mumbled half-heartedly.

Wentworth continued, “Your mother’s sick and someone needs to look after her.”

Yeah, someone needs to…just not you, right, Dad?

Richie forced his eyes to stay on his father and not roll back in his head. His ear still stung from being hit a second ago, he wasn’t jonesing for a repeat.

“So, you get your dumbass back here the second that goddamn bell rings. You understand, Richie?”

Richie nodded, a beat later feeling his father’s hand collide with the side of his face once again.

“I said, you understand, dumbass?”

Gritting his teeth, Richie growled out, “I understand.”

Yeah, Richie hated Mondays.

Tuesday's grey and Wednesday too

Eddie sighed and looked worriedly at his wristwatch before glancing at the classroom door once again. It was halfway through the third period on Tuesday and the seat beside him was still empty.

After his best friend had canceled his plans to meet the rest of the Losers at the Aladdin movie theater and then traded his shift at the arcade with one of his co-workers, Eddie had been left understandably confused. Richie was a sucker for classic movies and he loved his job, which was pretty shocking coming from the boy who hated basically any kind of physical labor.

Well, he had started off confused, now he was just plain worried.

Richie hated school, everyone knew that, but he didn’t actually skip too often. It always got back to his parents and Eddie knew Richie’s father wasn’t too forgiving about such offenses. So, no way Richie was skipping. And he’d seemed fine just the day before… Eddie practically had a built-in radar for knowing when someone was getting sick and Richie hadn’t been. He wasn’t missing because of illness.

Eddie was running out of ideas as to why on earth Richie wasn’t sitting next to him in boring ass Chemistry, cracking stupid jokes about how they must be electrons and protons because they were so attracted to each other. Eddie always rolled his eyes at those stupid jokes, never admitting how they really made his heart race, but now he was found himself longing to just hear the Trashmouth’s infuriating voice.

Who was he even kidding? Richie’s voice wasn’t infuriating… It was probably one of Eddie’s favorite sounds in the whole world. And he missed it. He missed Richie.

Sighing again, Eddie glanced at the classroom door once more before returning to his notes.

After school Wednesday, when Richie had missed school once again, Eddie drove slowly, almost hesitantly, to the Tozier household. He pulled up to the curb and drummed his fingers against his squeaky-clean steering wheel and looked at the house with apprehension.

Eddie hated going to the Tozier’s.

He hated how sweet, kind, and normal Maggie and Wentworth always acted while he was around, when he’d seen for himself all the damaged the couple could do. He’d seen the frequent bruises, the occasional tears, and the more common than anything else fists slamming against walls and doors.

How dare they look Eddie in eye and pretend they were decent, even good, parents? How dare they when Eddie was the one Richie most often turned to whenever his parents told him to ‘fuck off for a bit’?

Biting his lip, Eddie forced himself out of the car and approached the faded blue front door, paint crumbling away from years of being overlooked. Raising his fist and internally scolding himself for his throat attempting to close, Eddie knocked on the door.

You don’t need your inhaler. You fucking know you don’t need your inhaler. You haven’t for years. Stop being a fucking baby, Kaspbrak. He chanted over and over in his head as he looked down at his white Keds and waited.

Shifting from foot to foot, he glanced around, noted the cars parked in the driveway and knocked again.

After a beat, the door was thrown open and revealed a rough looking Maggie Tozier. Richie looked shockingly unlike her; where she was straight blonde, her son was messy and jet black, as her eyes reflected dull, pale blue irises, her son’s were warm and brown and Eddie’s favorite color probably ever.

Most of all, though, she looked hungover.

She leaned against the frame of the front door and squinted into the bright light of the late afternoon, taking a moment to focus on Eddie’s face. “Ed- Eddie! Right?”

“Uh, yeah,” Eddie muttered, eyebrows drawing together. She had known the boy since he was 5… Twelve fucking years ago. The alcohol must have still been screwing with her head. “I was just wondering if Richie was home? I was, um, just worried since I haven’t seen him at school.”

“Richie?” Maggie echoed, her expression blank for a second before she blinked and smiled, “Richard! Richie! My little boy…”

Your what? Eddie wanted to bark, clenching his fist.

He didn’t think a mother got to call her son that anymore once she’d also told him straight to his face that she wished he’d never been born and that she’d had a daughter instead.

Maggie licked her lips and glanced back into the house before looking back at Eddie, “He can’t play right now.”

“We’re 17,” Eddie noted before he could stop himself, eyebrows knitting together, “We don’t really ‘play’ together anymore, but that’s not the point. I just need — I wanted to see him…” He trailed off, cheeks flushing as he heard how his own words sounded.

Too clingy, too needy, too much more than friendly.

Maggie’s eyes narrowed for a moment and Eddie was absolutely sure she had heard it too. He wanted to pull the words back in, rephrase himself, not risk his stupid slip-up causing more trouble for Richie.

When Richie’s mother spoke next, her tone was cold, “He can’t come to the door.”

And then she slammed that pale blue door in Eddie’s face, not giving him time to try and articulate himself again.

Eddie’s stomach twisted painfully and he felt sick as his chest began to ache. It wasn’t the ache of his panic attacks that he’d thought for so long were asthma; no, it was something else entirely. An ache like a wound, like a punch to his lungs.

No, not his lungs… maybe to his heart? An ache like someone had gripped it and was squeezing too tightly.

Numbly, with the world around him appearing only in varying shades of grey, Eddie Kaspbrak walked back to his car and begrudgingly drove away, feeling a little like he was leaving a part of himself behind in the Tozier household.

Thursday I don't care about you

Richie slammed his locker shut so hard on Thursday morning, several heads in the hallway whirled around to give him perplexed looks. His knuckles turned white as he clutched his economics textbook in one hand and balled a fist in his hoodie pocket in the other. Yup, back in the disaster of a hoodie and he couldn’t give a fuck.

Hearing familiar footfalls approaching him hurriedly from behind, Richie squeezed his eyes shut and prayed to a God he didn’t believe in that Eddie and his spotless Keds would just go away.

Richie couldn’t do it today. Not that Thursday.

He wasn’t so lucky, though, as a small hand grabbed at his arm. He could feel the familiar cold fingers of poor circulation through the holes in the sleeves of the black hoodie, his gray Queen t-shirt doing him no favors to prevent the physical contact.

Richie considered jerking his arm away and walking on, but this was Eddie, he just couldn’t bring himself to do it.

So, instead, he stopped, waiting for the smaller boy to round on him.

“What the hell, Richie? Where have you—“ Eddie stopped dead, taking in Richie’s appearance in full. He paled and Richie bit down hard on his lip, sighing as he looked off to the side. “Wh-what happened to you?”

Eddie, without thinking, reached up and traced his fingers gently over the bruised skin under Richie’s right eye, down to the split lip on the opposite side. Even though the other boy barely touched him, Richie still cringed away and took a step back while forcing a lazy, bored smile.

“Nothing, Eds. Don’t have a fucking panic attack.” It was a low blow and Richie knew it but he really hadn’t wanted to deal with Eddie in the first place so…

“Nothing?” Eddie barked, incredulously, for once ignoring the nickname that had rolled off Richie’s tongue without a second thought.

Richie shrugged and nodded, only pissing his best friend off more.

“You missing school for days, being unable to even come to the door to talk to me yesterday, and now showing up with a black eye and split lip?! And that’s just nothing?!”

Richie scowled at the linoleum floor before leveling his gaze with Eddie’s, eyes still cold. “Yeah, I fucking guess so.”

“You guess so?!” Eddie howled, turning more heads in the hallway. Richie looked around and shuffled in place for a moment, for once being the one to wish for silence. “Richie, tell me what happened? Was it—“ He cut himself off but his look said it all.

Was it your Dad?

Richie groaned, looking toward the ceiling in exasperation. He just wanted the conversation to be over. He didn’t want to fucking talk about it. He never wanted to talk about it and Eddie was always pushing, picking, asking for more than Richie ever wanted to give.

And maybe any other day, any other Thursday, Richie would have given his best friend what he wanted. But not that fucking Thursday.

Harshly, Richie pushed past the smaller boy, knocking him a bit to the side. “Stop being a fucking drama queen, Eddie. I have class.”

The Trashmouth could feel Eddie’s eyes on him all the way until he rounded to corner but he didn’t look back. He didn’t have to to know what he’d see; Eddie looking confused, angry, and hurt. He didn’t want to see that… and not that he really cared, but he did have class.

Richie told himself that he cared even less about Eddie’s nagging and micromanaging and nitpicking. In fact, he even didn’t care about Eddie Kaspbrak’s opinion. If he did and he did so too much, he knew it would just end in him getting smacked around some more.

He could still hear his mother’s disgusted tone from last night, could hear the echo of his father’s taunts as the man laid into him once again, even more aggressive and angry than ever before.

It started as soon as his Mom had closed to door in Eddie’s face...

Maggie turned on her heel, glaring when she found her son watching the interaction from the kitchen doorway. She narrowed her eyes at him.

Raising her voice in a squeaky attempt to mock Eddie, she said, “‘I just need to see him!’,” She dropped back into her usual harsh tone, “You know your little friend’s a fairy, right?”

Richie did actually. Eddie’d been out to the Losers’ since they were Freshman, still, he didn’t appreciate his mother’s cruel moniker for his best friend. His jaw clenched and he rolled his eyes, “So what if he is?”

“So what?“ Maggie shook her head, crossing the hallway until she was right in Richie’s personal space with a look of utter revulsion. “So what, Richard? So, you shouldn’t be keeping company with the likes of him. You might catch it.”

“Catch it?” Richie echoed, looking at his mother like she’d grown a second head. “You can’t fucking catch queer, Mom. If Eddie is then he was fucking born that way. It’s not a damn disease, just how some people are.”

“You sayin’ it’s how you are?” His mother hissed, glaring at him suspiciously.

Richie shifted under her gaze and knew full well that was the wrong thing to do. He wasn’t gay, he knew he wasn’t. He just happened to like boys about as much as he liked girls… Bisexual was what Bev had told him was the new, modern term for it.

But Maggie Tozier would never understand that. She wouldn’t even try because she didn’t care enough about him to see things from his side. She never had.

Richie knew he had to say something, heart pounding his ears and clenched fists sweating, “No.”

“You sure? Because you seem awfully protective of your little fairy friend.” Maggie asked, eyes still narrowed.

“Because he’s my fucking best friend, Mom. You know that.” He shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant. “I’ve known him since I was still eating sand on the playground.”

Maggie stared at him for a long time and even though Richie was now much taller than his mother, he still felt like a scolded child under her withering gaze. He wondered if he’d ever get over that or if it was some instinct in him he’d never be able to kick just because she was the one who’d popped him out into the world.

“Wentworth!”

Richie’s heart dropped and he silently squeezed his eyes shut, cursing his mother. After a moment, he heard heavy footsteps thundering down the steps. If his heart had been pounding before, it now felt like it might beat right out of his chest.

“Goddammit, Maggie, what!? I have a job to do, you know? One I need if you’re going to keep drink us out of house and home!”

Richie opened his eyes as his father stepped into the kitchen, looking between his son and wife with a red, livid face. Well, that was just great, Daddy Dearest was already in a sour mood.

Maggie crossed her arms over her chest and kept her scrutiny focused solely on her boy, “Sonia’s boy came by, asking for this dumbass. You know, Went, the fairy? He was practically falling over himself, saying he just needed to see Richard, like he was in love with him or something.”

She spat the last bit like it was poison on her tongue and Richie’s face burned.

Eddie wasn’t in love with anyone, let alone Richie Tozier. He was just a decent human being, a good guy, and a great friend. Something Maggie obviously couldn’t fucking comprehend.

Still, she rented on, her words growing more and more disgusting in Richie’s ears with every syllable, “And you know what I think, Went? I think Richard here might be just as queer as that little sicko.”

He hated her. Fuck the fact that she was his mother, that she’d given him life or fucking whatever. He hated her more than anything in the world in that moment.

Little sicko? Eddie wasn’t sick. He was great. He was the best of humanity and he didn’t deserve judgment from scum the likes of Maggie Tozier.

Before his trash mouth could even voice any of these thoughts, his father was inches from his face, breathing down at him like an angry bull. Richie was ashamed of how his gut still twisted in fear. He was so tired of being afraid in his own fucking house, of his own fucking father.

Wentworth grounded out three short words, “That true, Richard?”

Some spark of either courage or idiocy ignited to life in Richie’s chest and without thinking, he shrugged and said, “Maybe it is.”

His ear rang as his father’s fist came up to clobber him there. Wentworth grabbed the collar of his son’s t-shirt, pulling him roughly forward so that the boy nearly tripped over his awkwardly long legs.

Richie swallowed, staring his father back down.

“What the fuck did you just say?”

“I said,” Richie answered slowly as if trying to explain something to a struggling toddler, “Maybe it is, as in maybe I am just as queer as Eddie.” He emphasized the name, sending his mother a look over his father’s shoulder.

She just glared back.

He looked back at his shaking father with a rebellious smirk on his lips, “Maybe I am gay.”

In the next moment, a fist connected hard with his smirking lips and he tasted blood. It might have been a busted tooth or just a busted lip, no way of knowing in that instant. Richie barely managed to cover his mouth and yelp in pain before his father hit him again, harder, in the eye.

He stumbled back, tripping over the legs of a kitchen table chair and falling back on to his ass. Looking up at his father with not but contempt, even as his eye swelled, he spat blood on to his mother’s favorite tile flooring and grinned. Blood coated his teeth, making him look manic and a little crazy but he didn’t care.

He was so fucking tired of being afraid. It felt good to not care for once.

It was short-lived, as all good things in life seemed to be. Except maybe Eddie Kaspbrak; he seemed pretty long term in the scheme of Richie’s existence.

Wentworth stepped forward in a flash and kicked Richie hard in the side, enough force to knock all the air from the boy’s lungs. Tears stung Richie’s eyes as he coughed and instinctually tried to crawl back, but it was no use. His father’s foot connected again and again and one more time with his ribcage before the man seemed to think he’d learned his lesson.

Leaving their son on the kitchen floor, Maggie and Wentworth went back to whoever the fuck they’d been doing previously as if nothing had happened. As if Maggie had hurtled insult after insult and Went hadn’t nearly broken his own child’s ribs.

Richie deserved it, after all, didn’t he? For being sick, for being a freak, a fairy. For actually giving a damn about another boy; a wonderful, god-sent boy who was one of the few people that made Richie feel like he even mattered at all.

Yeah, he deserved a good smacking around for that.

He was so fucking done with getting smacked around.

It's Friday, I'm in love

Eddie was stubborn. It was a trait so firmly built into his personality that at this point in his life, he’d stopped trying to deny it. He was stubborn, he just was and nothing was going to change that.

Not even Richie goddamn Tozier being a complete asshole to him.

Honestly, Richie was kind of always an asshole, but this was different.

Normally, the Trashmouth took things too far almost accidentally because he simply didn’t have a filter and when called out by his friends, he was as close to apologetic as he would ever be. He even actually said sorry out loud now and then these days, since they were a little older and just slightly more mature.

Normally, Richie didn’t actively try to be an asshole, he just was. Insanely, it was almost endearing to Eddie, something he found himself actually liking Richie even more, not inspire of, but because of.

Though, if Eddie was being completely honest with himself, he knew full well that all of Richie’s flaws and quirks were at the core of why he liked him so much to begin with. Maybe even more than liked him…

Definitely more than liked him.

Friday rolled around and Eddie was more relieved to reach the end of the week than ever before.

Which was ironic since he actually liked school… well, maybe not school but he did like to learn and be educated. It sometimes felt like the only thing he just simply excelled at. He sucked at sports, having no hand-eye coordination, he couldn’t run worth a shit, still prone to panic attacks that showed up as fake asthma, but at least he could get top marks in all his classes, dammit.

But this week had been shit and he was definitely ready for it to be over.

Friday night, Eddie sat alone in his room while he tried to get a leg up on studying for his upcoming Pre-Calculus test in a week and a half. Africa by Toto played throughout the bedroom, probably too loud if his mother was asked but he didn’t really care. The music helped him concentrate, pushed through the muddled mess that was his over-analytical brain to get to the root of things.

He was humming along absentmindedly, nodding his head to the beat, when a tiny plink pulled him out of his mathematic stupor. Looking up from his notes, Eddie glanced around for the source of the noise. Seeing nothing, he reluctantly returned to his work.

Thunk.

Again, that noise, only harsher and louder this time. Eddie stood up, now sure it was coming from his window. Eyebrows knitting together, he slowly crossed his room, waiting for—

Thud.

This time, Eddie saw the rock hit the glass pane and jumped a bit. Goddammit, what dumbass was throwing fucking boulders at his window? It was going to bust if anything heavier got thrown at it.

The second he asked himself that question, he already knew the answer.

Quickly, Eddie rushed over and slid the damn thing open, sticking his head out in the chilly twilight air. Just as he’d known there would be, a disaster of a boy stood near the foundation of his house right underneath his window.

“Hey Eds,” Richie called up, a smile on his face that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Mind a little chit-chat?”

“Not like this, dipshit,” Eddie called back. He saw Richie’s shoulders slump and quickly added, “But if you get your ass up here, I wouldn’t mind.”

Richie looked back up, moving his neck so quickly Eddie couldn’t help but think about how the idiot had probably just given himself whiplash. He was smiling again and this time it actually made Eddie’s chest burn in that weirdly pleasant way that he both feared and craved.

As Richie began to climb up Sonia’s old trellis that never had flowers on it anymore, Eddie moved back into his room and looked around. Everything was in its place, as always, and Madonna’s Borderline had replaced the Toto. It would have to do since he didn’t exactly have time to change anything up.

He whirled around when he heard Richie clambering in through the window and bit down hard on his lip so as to not laugh when the other boy’s oversized foot caught on the sill, sending him sprawling across Eddie’s bedroom floor.

Giggling lightly, Eddie went to help pull Richie up only to let him fall back to the floor upon hearing his mother’s voice calling from down the hall.

“Eddie Bear? What was that thud? Are you okay?”

The boys stared at each other, wide-eyed, as Eddie pressed a finger to his lips and prayed that for once Richie Tozier could keep his fucking trap closed. Calling back, Eddie knew he sounded a little obvious, “I’m fine, Mommy!”

He cringed as Richie slapped a hand over his own mouth to muffle his laughter. Eddie flipped him off before continuing, “D-dropped a textbook, that’s all. Absolutely nothing else going on in here! I swear!”

Richie gave him a look that clearly said And I’m the one who can’t shut up?

Eddie ignored him and waited for his mother’s response.

“Okay, if you’re sure. You know I’m just in my room if you need me.” Sonia emphasized and Eddie pinched the bridge of his nose in annoyance.

“Yeah, Mom, I know!”

There was the shuffle of footsteps and the creaking of Sonia Kaspbrak’s bedroom door before both boys let out sighs of relief.

Richie finally jumped up to his feet and reach out to pinch Eddie’s cheek, “You’re so damn cute when you try to lie, Eds.”

“Don’t call me that,” He mumbled, before shoving Richie’s hand away. Crossing his arms over his chest, he turned to his best friend as the other boy took a seat on his pristine bed. Raising his eyebrows, he said, “So, you wanted to talk?”

“Chit-chat,” Richie corrected, pointing into nothingness. Eddie rolled his eyes at the completely unnecessary clarification before raising his eyebrows at his friend, gesturing for him to get on with it.

Richie sighed and patted at the thighs of his jeans. Eddie noted he was bouncing one of his legs like he always did when he had too much pent up energy in his veins… so pretty much all the time. Richie never stopped moving, it was just another one of his many quirks.

“I—I’m sor—“ Richie’s voice cracked a little and he cringed, clearing his throat, “I’m such an asshole, aren’t I, Eds?”

Eddie shrugged, leaning back against his bookcase and taking in all of Richie. “I’m pretty used to it.”

Richie nodded, beginning to pick the sleeves of that god awful dark hoodie he always fucking wore.

Eddie groaned and moved forward to swat at his hands, “Stop! That thing’s enough of a disaster without you picking at the holes and making everything worse.”

The music changed again, temporarily drawing both of the boy’s attention. Richie quirked an eyebrow, “The Cure? Thought you hated rock?”

Eddie shrugged, “Some of the shit you play isn’t the worse…”

“Just not quite Cyndi Lauper, though, right?”

“Shut up, Tozier.”

Silence fell between them and after a few minutes of just listening to Friday, I’m in Love, Eddie sighed in annoyance, “Well, are you gonna talk, Trashmouth or—“

“You literally just told me to shut up!”

“When have you ever done what I told you to do?! So, spit it out or go home. I don’t really care either way since you’ve been a grade A dick to me lately…”

Richie groaned, “Yeah, I know I have. I just—“

He stopped and Eddie waited again. After another few seconds passed in silence before the hypochondriac threw his hands up, “Yup, you need to go. This is so fucking dumb. Just go home—“

“I can’t, okay?” Richie snapped, taking Eddie by surprise. A second later he repeated himself, voice quieter, “I can’t.”

Everything easily clicked into place in Eddie’s brain. Of course, Richie couldn’t go home, he thought while looking at the lingering bruise under his friend’s warm brown eye. If he went home, a black eye would probably seem like light punishment.

“Okay,” Was all Eddie said, slowly making his way back across the room to sit beside Richie on the bed.

Swallowing, he moved close enough for their shoulders to brush. An unspoken reminder that he was right there whenever Richie was ready for… whatever he needed to be ready for.

Finally, after much more fiddling on Richie’s part and much more patience on Eddie’s, the former spoke up, “You’re pretty fucking smart, you know that, Eds?”

Eddie didn’t know exactly how to respond. Richie’s compliments always sounded like they were doubling as jokes but this time was different. There was a hesitance and uncertainty that even Eddie wasn’t familiar with from Richie Tozier.

Luckily Richie didn’t wait for the words he didn’t seem able to find, continuing on as he traced over his split lip, “You were right that it was him, my jackass of a father. He smacked me around a bit the other night.”

Eddie cringed and was thankful Richie wasn’t looking at him, as he knew how the boy hated anything that could be seen as pity. “Why would he do that?”

Richie looked off into the bedroom, looking over Eddie’s color-coded math notes still out on his desk, the boy’s up-of-date stereo set up that he wouldn’t upgrade no matter how many times Richie told him to, all the polos and oversized t-shirt hung up the closet nook. Being surrounded by all the Eddie made Richie finally begin to relax, the bouncing of his knee slowing just a little.

The lanky teenage shrugged and rubbed the back of his neck, “Probably because I said that I might be gay?”

“You wh-what?!” Eddie exclaimed, jumping up and whirling on his friend, “But you’re — you know — not!”

“Debatable,” Richie countered, lazily.

“No, it’s fucking not!” Eddie said, incredulously.

Richie raised his finger to point at Eddie, “I think I’m a little gay, Eds. I think everyone knows already that I’m a little gay. I mean, yeah, I like chicks but I’m definitely into dick too.”

“That makes you bisexual, asshole. Not gay. I’m—“ Eddie stopped, eyes flickering to his bedroom door as he lowered his voice, thoughts going to his mother just down the hall. “I’m gay.”

“I know you are,” Richie said, eyebrows drawing together as he became suddenly thoughtful. “And there’s nothing wrong with that, Eds.”

Eddie was taken aback, glancing away from his best friend and shifting awkwardly, “Yeah, I — uh — know that, Richie.”

“Well, not everyone does.” The boy scowled at the ground. “Like my stupid fucking parents. They said dumb shit, Eds, and I just—“

“Couldn’t shut the fuck up?” Eddie finished.

Richie looked up at him, smirking, “You know me too well, Eddie Spaghetti.”

Eddie couldn’t even be bothered to scold him for the nickname, shrugging, “Comes with being friends twelve years, right?”

“Right,” Richie nodded, “Friends.”

There was something almost… bitter in Richie’s tone. No, maybe not bitter but certainly something else, something that felt important for Eddie to distinguish. His palms began to sweat and he swallowed, wiping them on his shorts.

He opened his mouth to try and say anything but nothing came.

Richie had already looked away, anyway…

“My mom called you a fairy, a sicko too, and it just—“ He huffed, forming a fist and biting his shaking knuckle. “I hated her so much right then because you’re not, Eddie! You’re not sick, you’re just you.”

“Really, Richie, your Mom calling me names isn’t worth you getting your ass handed to you by your Dad. I know I’m not sick. Maybe I didn’t always but I do now and you shouldn’t have…” Eddie trailed off, gesturing to his best friend’s battered face.

“The hell I shouldn’t have!” Richie jumped to his feet. “What else could I do? Let her talk about you like that? Like you were dirt? Like something is wrong with you?”

“I don’t know!” Eddie snapped, “Yeah, maybe, you should have just let her, Richie. Then you wouldn’t be hurt! I hate it when you’re—“

He slammed his mouth shut along with his eyes, counting to ten in his head.

Only Richie could get him this angry, this mixed up and scattered. Make him so flustered and worried that he almost said too much, said the words he wouldn’t be able to pull back. And then what would he do?

“Getting yourself hurt for me is fucking dumb.” Eddie finished, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Yeah, well, my Dad pretty clearly told me just how fucking dumb I am while he was beating the shit out of me, so…” Richie glowered. His eyes flickered to Eddie’s window. “Maybe I should just—“

“Don’t even think about it, Tozier. You wanted to talk — sorry, chit-chat — so you’re not leaving until we fucking chit chat, asshole.” Eddie snapped, stepping forward to shove a finger into Richie’s chest, “You didn’t climb through my window to complain about your shitty parents and you didn’t come to tell me you’re bi or whatever, so stop bitching and just say what you came to say!”

“I don’t know what that is!” Richie argued, his voice strained. “Okay? I don’t know! All I know is that I didn’t fucking want to go back to them and you,” He paused, faltered, and then pressed on, “You’re the first person I thought about going to.”

Eddie’s arms dropped to his sides as he looked up at Richie ‘Trashmouth’ Tozier, the boy who was never serious, who was never ever genuine, and still felt his breath catch in his throat. Not in a bad way like his panic attacks or asthma either but in a completely different way.

It made his lungs burn and for the first time, Eddie welcomed the feeling.

“You’re always the first person I think about, Eds,” Richie muttered, looking off the side and shaking his head, “It’s really fucking annoying, actually. I can barely pay attention to shit half the time anyway and then there’s always you just fucking up my focus even more. I fucking hate it, Eds.”

“D-don’t call me that, you know I hate it.”

The flustered words slipped out before Eddie could stop them and he instantly hated himself for them. Here, Richie was saying about the closest he’d ever say to what Eddie really wanted to hear and Eddie was complaining about a stupid goddamn nickname, again?

“I don’t think you do,” Richie said after a minute, looking back into Eddie’s dark eyes. “Just like I don’t actually hate thinking about you all the time, like how I don’t really hate it at all.”

Eddie said nothing for a long time before slowly nodding, “Maybe.”

Then he licked his lips and forced out the words he knew he owed Richie at this point. “I think about you all the time, too, just so you know. Worry about you, too. Way more than I probably should, considering you’re an asshole who spends most of his time practically begging for trouble. And I hate it, too, only I don’t really either.”

Richie stared at him and Eddie thought it was probably the longest time he’d seen the boy go without moving. Shuffling, Eddie squeezed his eyes shut again and finally uttered the words he knew he probably should have said a long time ago.

“I like you, Richie.” He breathed out, like if he said it too loud everything in his world would crumble and fall apart.

It was quiet for so long that Eddie was forced to peek his eyes open, only to find Richie staring at him just like before. His heart sank and he felt like falling through the floor, through the Earth, and just disappearing for the rest of his goddamn life.

“You know what? Just— just forget it. I didn’t mean—“

Suddenly split lips were crashing against his and awkward, inexperienced limps were pulling him closer and it couldn’t have felt more right because nothing in all of Eddie’s life could even attempt to compare to this.

Instinctually, his own arms came up to snake around Richie’s neck to make their ridiculous height difference a bit less imposing. Maybe Richie felt the same way, maybe he didn’t but if this moment in time was all Eddie ever got of all the things he’d never dared to want, he thought maybe he’d be okay with that. He thought maybe he could live through that.

As quickly as the kiss had begun, it was over.

However, Richie didn’t move away. He remained exactly as close to Eddie as he’d been for the short-lived lip lock, his eyes still sealed shut. His breath was warm and smelled like dime store mints and nicotine, which was exactly what he had tasted like.

Eddie swallowed hard, only then realizing just how out of breath he was. Sounding a bit strangled, he began to panic once again, “It—it’s okay, you know if you don’t feel the same way. If this was just whatever this was then that’s okay.”

Richie’s finally opened his eyes and gave Eddie an incredulous look, “You fucking kidding me, Eds? You’re supposed to be the smart one! You think I’d make a move as fucking bold as kissing you if I didn’t fucking like you, too?!”

Eddie shrugged, face turning pink, “I don’t know! Everything’s a joke to you, so I thought maybe—“

“You’re not a joke to me,” Richie argued firmly. “You’re not.”

Numbly, the other boy nodded, “Yeah, I know that now. I’m sorry, I just never thought you could ever like me the way I like you.”

“Honestly, Eds?” Richie muttered, biting his lip like he was nervous. A nervous Richie Tozier became Eddie’s new favorite thing in that moment. “I think I more than like you, you know what I’m saying?”

Eddie nodded again, “Yeah, I think I more than like you, too.”

Richie smiled as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulder and he nodded enthusiastically. “Well, that’s fucking great! Now, we can like make-out, like, all the time!”

“Oh my god,” Eddie muttered, shoving the other boy away, “Why do I even like you?”

“More than like me, Eds. You more than like—!”

This time it was Richie who was silenced with a kiss.

He definitely didn’t hate it.

It’s Friday, I’m in love.

[saphscribes]

The Moon’s Best Friend [Something by The Rembrandts, Part I]

“What did Nyx do now?”

“I did absolutely nothing but bring good tidings, and present the opportunity for you to watch Crowe Altius turn into the most useless lesbian you’ve ever seen.”

In which Lunafreya returns from traveling abroad and sets in motion a healthy rivalry between baristas, a serious negotiation over coffee and pastries, and questionable professional relationships regarding ASMR recordings.

Rating: PG-13 (for language and mild sexual themes); future parts may have higher ratings, but this should be good for now

Originally written for the Day 5 Modern AU Prompt over at @glaiveweek! Enjoy, and give this baby a reblog if you enjoyed it!

Tagging:  @wolfgoddess77 @vashiane @sailorprompto  @sedge-butt @marianne-dash-wood @me-yasato @alecair @toranyx @goodmorningawfulbye @paopusunshine @noxhighwind @sailormars109 @bleucommelhiver @elloquench @ultimoogle @kidolegend @rhysspeaces @theyearofdiamonddogs @ghostl0rd

There were three reasons, and only three reasons, why Crowe Altius would be cranky during opening:

1) It was a Wednesday, 2) She was still mildly hungover, or 3) Nyx had his eyes on someone, again.

Today was two of those things.

Okay, to be fair, what kind of a name was “hump day” for Wednesdays, anyway? It had to be, like, the single most unattractive day, and here it was, touting its nickname every week like it really fuckin deserved it. Why not, you know, Saturday? It even sounded attractive. S for Saturday, S for sexy. God damn, she was a genius sometimes. The world would miss her intellect when she was gone.

And what business did Nyx have practically dancing around The Hearth before he’d even laid eyes on anyone else? Anyone else besides her, of course, because all she was apparently good for was a ruffle of long, messy hair and a chirrup of “Mornin, Little Bird.” But come on. The guy was standing on tiptoe to place cups of yogurt and mixed fruit in the refrigerated display case. He didn’t even have to stand on tiptoe; he only ever did it to make fun of the places she couldn’t quite reach. It was like every motion of his was hard to control.

(Not that that was saying much. Nyx was always hard to control, once something grabbed him by his weird hair and ran away with him.)

“All right,” she finally said, with a defeated sigh; she was halfway through writing the baked goods lineup in a careful script. (It had to be careful, or else it’d turn into the chicken scratch that just barely helped her pass her exams.) “Spill, Nyx.”

“Pretty sure that’s not on the opening checklist.” Nyx was all stupid, dreamy grins as he smoothed out his apron, a navy blue color with a shade that they were all lucky enough to pull off. Crowe wouldn’t have been surprised if that was some secret part of the hiring process here. Or maybe it was a job restricted to hopeless cases. Drautos was always touting the word “potential” like it was meant to be plastered across the bumper of his car.

“You know what I mean,” Crowe said with a roll of her eyes. “What’s got you all… you know, this?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“Um, yeah.” She gave him her trademark are-you-fucking-kidding-me look over the low, hazy buzz of the playlist she’d flipped on to get her through the shift—she’d have to thank her past self for that. Treat herself to one of the more expensive drinks or something. “That’s kind of why I asked.”

If it was even possible, Nyx’s smile grew. “Our lady’s back in town.”

The chalk tumbled from Crowe’s poised fingers and fell to the floor with a clatter; she barely registered how tightly she was gripping the edge of the counter, how wide her eyes had gone. “Shut the fuck up.”

“If I had a nickel for every time I heard you say that…” That was Pelna unlocking the door and slipping into the shop now, halfway out of his scarf and making a beeline to hang up his coat. Two years of friendship—barely counting how long they’d actually known each other—and Crowe still hadn’t quite put together how he managed to have a casual cheer about him every morning. “What did Nyx do now?”

“I did absolutely nothing but bring good tidings, and present the opportunity for you”—Nyx paused his work to jab a finger at Pelna, who was pulling his apron over his head—“to watch Crowe Altius turn into the most useless lesbian you’ve ever seen.”

“I’m not useless…” Crowe muttered. “And I’m bi, thank you.”

For a few seconds Pelna didn’t move; it was only as he began to brew the coffee that he said, flatly, “I don’t think I even want to know what you’re talking about.” That was Pelna for you: mostly silent and focused on his work, with a few wisecracks up polo shirts or ribbed sweater sleeves.

Crowe, for her part, let out an exasperated sigh and returned to her script, embellishing the chalkboard with a few designs. She was never particularly good at it—as much as it begrudged her to say it, this was more of Luche’s thing (if he ever took a damn opening shift for once)—but she made it work.

That was The Hearth for you. Four walls and a tiled backsplash of making it work.

She liked to think they all fit sort of nicely here. Even Luche, for all his insistence on 12 to 7 shifts.

“C’mon, Pel.” Nyx was rounding the counter to examine the opening checklist, throwing an arm around Pelna’s shoulders and pointing outside, like they had more than ten minutes before the first customers arrived. “You can’t tell me you aren’t about to get all gooey when you see Lunafreya Nox Fleuret walk through those doors.”

“Sure I can,” Pelna said simply, unmoving in Nyx’s grip. “I’ve never met her.”

Nyx’s mouth fell open. Crowe didn’t see why it was so surprising; Pelna had only started working here about a year ago. Just after Lunafreya had gone back to England—to find a little more of herself, she said, but Crowe had always had the feeling that she didn’t want to let on that she was homesick in the whirlwind of her job, or ever could be. But that didn’t mean that Pelna wouldn’t fall like the rest of them. An impressionable, well-meaning guy like him? He’d be hopelessly wrapped around her every whim in seconds. Crowe was sure of it.

“You’ll meet her soon enough,” Nyx was saying. “And then you’ll memorize her order like the rest of us. And, you know. Never be able to take it, because you’re too lost in her gorgeous eyes…”

“Or the color of her scrubs,” Crowe added, throwing a towel over her shoulder. “You know they call her the Angel of the Pediatric Ward at the hospital? That’s how good she is.”

“And don’t forget her accent.”

“God, her accent—”

Okay, so maybe the two of them were leaning more than a little hopelessly against various pieces of equipment. Just a little. But Nyx was worse than she was; she practically swore by it. At least she could say hello to Lunafreya. Nyx could barely get through one sentence without stuttering or making an ass of himself with some pickup line he read in some abandoned paperback he’d picked up from a subway bench. Crowe knew Lunafreya was only laughing at the lines out of pity. There was no way they actually worked on her, for all of Nyx’s proud strutting behind the espresso machines once she’d left with her usual order.

Crowe was more than sure she’d have an arm and a leg up on him and everyone else in this damn shop when Lunafreya Nox Fleuret walked through that door today.

…If she walked through that door today.

———

“All right.” Pelna was leaning against the counter between surges of mid-morning customers, arms folded and eyebrow raised, a challenging glint in his eyes. “What’s this ‘Lunafreya’s’ order, then?” God, Nyx and Crowe were all about this mystery woman ever since opening. Like they were expecting some holy being to brighten their doorway, hand them a few blessed bucks, and be on her merry way. And sure, some might categorize him as some kind of disaster, but they seemed so convinced that it was only a matter of time before he went tumbling down with them. At least he wasn’t frantically looking at the clock every time he filled an order.

...He wasn’t that bad when he saw someone cute, was he?

Nyx responded first. “Medium green tea with spearmint, two sugars.”

“Unless she’s not feeling well,” Crowe chimed in. “Then she treats herself a little. Small white chocolate mocha, one pump of raspberry. And a slice of cranberry cake.”

“And how do you know when she’s not feeling well?” Pelna asked.

“You know.” Nyx dried his hands on the front of his apron, seemingly not caring about the dark splotches left in their wake. “She tries to do a good job of hiding it—because, you know, that’s how she is—but you know Lunafreya long enough, you see it in every little way she carries herself.”

Because that wasn’t creepy at all.

Pelna sighed and rolled his eyes. As grateful as he was that Crowe had gotten him this job, and as much as he cherished his coworkers like family, they sure as hell got on his nerves sometimes. (Maybe that was part of the whole family deal. Maybe he’d just played himself all along. He’d have to get his own congratulations in order.) “How do you even know she’ll come in today? You said her flight came in, what, two days ago? You ever consider that she’s probably unpacking? Or sleeping off jet lag?”

“It’s a five-hour difference,” Crowe said, as if that was supposed to prove her point entirely, and nudged him toward the till again to greet another customer. “And she’s incredibly efficient. It’s practically her middle name.”

“I thought Nox was her middle name.”

“That’s her last name,” said Nyx with a sigh as he cleaned off a steamer. “Nox Fleuret Honestly, Pel, keep up.”

“Jesus. Sorry I’m getting a crash course in my coworker’s courting competition.” Pelna wrinkled his nose. He’d have to be more careful with his words; alliteration sounded so tacky sometimes. Or maybe that was some distant lecture from Luche coming to the forefront of his mind. All this time being a barista, and you would have thought Luche Lazarus would let go of the whole I was a French Lit major in college vibe basically whenever he existed.

That was assuming, of course, that Luche Lazarus let go of anything that wasn’t a stranger in his bed.

Pelna couldn’t help but wonder what kind of horse he had in this game.

“All I’m saying,” he went on in between scribbling names on nondenominational winter cups and sliding them across the bar, “is not to get your hopes up. Travel takes a lot out of you. She’s probably getting used to being here again, if she’s been gone as long as you say she has.”

“What d’you think she was doing there for a whole year?” Crowe mused. “It’s not like her to just… up and leave her commitments behind. You think something happened to her brother?”

“First of all, you really think that’s our business?” Nyx shot back. “And second of all, yes.”

Pelna was starting to get the feeling he could turn this into a game. Try to parse out the things Nyx and Crowe learned directly from Lunafreya, and the things they’d put together from poking around her social media accounts—if she even had them to begin with. But if his own grandmother had had one before, there was no reason some busy nursing student didn’t. At least for networking purposes. From what the others were saying about her, she had to be able to do that much.

“And anyway,” Nyx was saying, giving Pelna a nudge he wasn’t expecting, which threw him just a bit off balance, “If she’s back, I can guarantee that within forty-eight hours, she’ll have visited Insomnia. Which means there’s no reason she wouldn’t stop by The Hearth.”

“So what you’re telling me is”—Pelna stopped to wipe down a spill, to hand off a latte with a typical toothy grin—“Lunafreya Nox Fleuret is going to visit the bakery one block over, and then miraculously have the appetite to visit a cafe right after.”

“It’s less about the pastries and more about the people, y’know,” Crowe explained. “Obviously she’s got to make her rounds and greet everyone she knows. That’s practically in her blood, too.”

“You know, you can just say outright that she has connections to Reggie What’s-His-Face without putting her on a pedestal.”

“And you could actually remember to respect that Regis Lucis Caelum is the reason any of us has a job at all.”

Oh, Pelna remembered. He just couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard a name as ridiculous as Regis Lucis Caelum. His son barely counted—a scrawny college-aged kid named Noctis who came every day for a week straight, twice a semester, ordered a dirty whatever-goes-well-with-espresso, and claimed he was ready to fight God when asked how many shots he wanted. A year into this job, and he still had no idea what Noctis Lucis Caelum’s major was, or anything beyond the fact that he barely wanted anything to do with Insomnia.

Crowe sure got touchy about these job things when it came down to it.

Before any of them could speak up again, the bell above the shop door signaled an entrance, and both Nyx’s and Crowe’s faces went deathly pale, then furiously red, almost at the same time. Near-instantly, they turned to busy themselves with the closest thing to them—an espresso machine that needed cleaning, a restocking of the display case. If not for the click of high heel against tile, Pelna might have thought that Drautos was making his entrance for the day—if it had been Luche, he would have made himself known. It was like he was legally obligated to, whenever he came in for his shifts.

“Good fucking luck,” Crowe hissed as she all but shoved him to the register, flashed a sunny smile outward, and went right back to tidying up the counter, and Pelna found himself face-to-face with the calmest, saddest blue eyes he’d ever seen, complemented by a too-polite smile.

Oh.

Oh, God.

This was Lunafreya Nox Fleuret.

To be fair, she certainly was pretty; her cheeks were flushed from the cold weather, golden hair tied in a high ponytail and accented by a couple of braids that, on first sight, Pelna almost mistook for a headband. And she wore a fashionable winter coat—grey, and probably wool—that looked more like a dress than an actual coat. He couldn’t help but feel soothed as she stood there, wallet in hand.

But Pelna tossed a glance at the others, gave her his signature smile with a cup in one hand and a marker in the other, and asked, “What can I get for you, miss?”

He could practically hear their mouths fall open, and rewarded himself a little victory glance out the doors.

Which was, of course, his biggest mistake. Because there, tied to the lamppost just outside, were two dogs, settled side-by-side, somewhere between sitting and standing as they attempted to peer into the cafe. As if waiting for someone. As if waiting for her. Longing for her.

God, why did he have to be so weak for dogs? No, better question—why did dogs have to be so good and pure practically all the time? Did they know how good they were? Did he know how much he loved them? All of them? Did they know—

Lunafreya cleared her throat then, soft but pointed, and Pelna snapped back to attention with a sheepish blush, still holding the cup. “Sorry ‘bout that, I, uh…” Vaguely, he pointed out the door, almost ashamed of himself for having been distracted so long. “Do you mind repeating your order for me?”

She smiled again—just as polite as the first time—and she spoke quietly, with an English accent. “A small white chocolate mocha, please. With one pump of raspberry syrup. And…” She leaned to the side to peer at the pastry case, quirking her lips. “Have you got any more cranberry cake?”

Pelna had to bite back the urge to ask if everything was all right. Far be it from him to tumble into that rabbit hole. “Yeah—yeah, we do,” he said, and rang her up without a hitch, scrawling her name on the side of her cup. L-U-N-A-F-R-E-Y-A.

Maybe a little more elegant than Reggie What’s-His-Face.

Lunafreya was still smiling, still hiding something in her eyes, when he handed her the order. “Are you fond of dogs?” she asked, casting a glance outside.

“I love them,” Pelna said almost immediately, feeling almost grateful that there was no one behind her in line, and that he could safely go on his break. “Almost broke my ankle running to pet one once… I guess I’m making up for the fact that my landlord doesn’t allow pets.”

“They’re mine, you know,” she mentioned between sips of coffee, and for a fraction of a second, in the moments that Pelna was mixing himself an iced tea, it almost felt like his life was falling together in the best of ways. “Would you like to say hello before we continue our walk?”

Pelna glanced between his drink, Lunafreya’s eyes, and his coworkers’ slack-jawed expressions in a matter of seconds, and offered her another smile. “You know? I’d really like that, yeah.”

Before they exited the shop, Lunafreya made a point to greet Nyx and Crowe, her fingers reaching up to delicately touch the pin in her hair, and Pelna could have sworn he saw Crowe’s soul leave her body for approximately three seconds.

———

“I’m borrowing him,” Nyx declared in the back room at the end of their shift.

“You can’t borrow him,” Crowe protested, free of her apron and halfway into her trusty leather jacket. Nyx remembered she’d had the damn thing ever since she settled up on his couch with the remains of her first ever paycheck. How long ago had that been again? “He’s my best friend! I took him under my wing!”

“Fourteen years together, and you have the gall to have a best friend who isn’t me or Libs.” Nyx clutched his chest in mock offense, then drew himself to half-height against a nearby shelf. “And really? You took him under your wing. Is that what you call what happened in the walk-in fridge?”

He didn’t think he’d ever seen Crowe whip her head around and grab him by the front of his shirt so fast. Maybe street smarts did that to a person. “That was one. Fucking. Time,” she said through clenched teeth, in a voice that intimidated even him. “And it was two years ago. Let it go, Nyx.”

He wasn’t exactly stunned into silence as she shrugged on the rest of her jacket, but there was something pointed about the way neither of them spoke.

“Anyway,” she said, fluffing out her hair over a slightly-worn infinity scarf, “you can’t have him. Get your own wingman. I’m sure Libertus still owes you a few favors.”

“C’mon, Little Bird. You really think I keep tabs on what we owe each other?”

“He does.”

“He would.” Nyx rolled his eyes. Fourteen years of this bullshit. “You realize this is hardly fair. You’ve got someone who’s practically immune to her, and for all we know, he could turn us on our heads and become Rival Number Two. He got her number today, for Christ’s sake.”

“He got her number to walk her dogs, genius, not to take her on a date.” Crowe folded her arms, one leg crossed over the other as she leaned against the doorway, like he was the only thing between her and freedom. (To be fair, he probably was. Not that he cared in the moment. He was a man on a mission, and she knew how he got.) “You’re overthinking this.”

Nyx grinned, scratching at the stubble along his jaw and finally making a grab for his coat. “You mean the way you were overthinking how she touched her hairpin today?”

Crowe’s eyes narrowed, but only for a moment, before a self-assured little smile crossed her face. “First of all, it was a graduation gift, and secondly, you’re missing the entire point. I can give him something in return.”

“What’s that?” Nyx asked. “Another tryst? A heart-to-heart over a pint of ice cream?”

Crowe’s smile grew almost deviously, and she turned on her heel. “Pelna likes a girl.”

[upthenorthmountain]

Something Just Like This - Chapter 5

2617 words, which is unlike me, but here we go! Some more of this

Previous Chapters

Chapter Five

“I don’t know, Anna. Are you sure you’re ready for a new relationship?”

“It’s not a relationship! It’s, it’s a support group. He got divorced, earlier this year.”

“Have you slept with him?”

“No!”

Elsa said nothing. Anna hated that, how Elsa would let the silence sit until Anna tried to fill it. She hated more that she always would try and fill it.

“Look, I don’t know if it’ll go anywhere,” she said. “But he’s easy to talk to, and he likes me, and he’s a good kisser -” Oops.

“Anna! You said you hadn’t slept with him!”

“Oh, for - I know it’s not your area of expertise, but there is a world of difference between kissing someone occasionally and having actual sexual intercourse with them.” The fact that, if trees had the ability to magically turn into double beds behind locking doors, she absolutely would have slept with him, was an entirely different point. She didn't know if it was a good thing or a bad one that Arundel Print didn't hold their events at hotels like normal companies.

Another pause, but Anna held her tongue during this one, until her sister continued.

“I suppose. Are you sure you’ll be alright this weekend? I’ll come over if you need me.”

“No, it’s fine. I’ll be fine.”

“Sure?”

“Sure.”

-----

The Sunday morning of the team-building weekend wasn't nearly as bad as Anna feared when she woke up in her sleeping bag, hungover and blushing bright red at the memory of how Kristoff had kissed her (in public by the campfire, and in semi-private - well). But aside from a few odd comments, no one said very much. They really do think we’re already doing it, Anna realised.

No one was very chatty at breakfast, anyway, and cleaning up the campsite didn't take long. Kristoff himself was the same as always, a little subdued but then everyone was. When she saw him Anna tried not to remember the night before, the way he had pressed his body against hers; soon, she just thought, and that kept her warm all the drive home.

-----

Of course she didn’t want to be getting married today. He was a cheater and a liar and she was well rid of him, she knew that. But there was the little part of her brain that still lived in the fantasy, where Matt was a good man and they loved each other and right now she’d be having her hair done, and putting on her dress; right now she’d be walking down the aisle. Now he’d be making a speech, all about how lucky he was to have her. By now she’d be someone’s wife.

It was that late-afternoon slump, just gone 4pm, when it was too late to really go anywhere but too early to think about dinner. Anna lay on the sofa and stared at the ceiling. There was nothing she wanted to do but she didn’t want to stay here, either. Her whole body felt itchy. Why would today not just end.

The doorbell rang. Anna turned her head to it and, for the first time in her life, gave serious thought to not answering it. It rang again. Ugh, fine.

It was a florist. Anna walked back through to her living room with the bunch of flowers, fumbling for the card. She was sure they were from her sister until she read it - Just remember, someone in IT thinks you’re pretty.

Tears pricked her eyes. Sweet. He was so sweet. She found a vase in the kitchen and put the flowers in water. Could she call him? He was probably busy. But she should thank him. A text, then.

thank you for the flowers

they helped on a hard day x

you’re welcome, I’m glad you liked them

is it the kind of hard day where you want company

or to be left alone

I don’t know

yes maybe

yes to which part

company

come over in a bit? If you’re free

of course

well need to finish up some things here

seven ish? And we’ll do something to take your mind off it

OK

thanks x

-----

At quarter to seven Anna realised she was still in her pyjamas. At least she’d showered, but she hadn’t brushed her hair. What did seven-ish mean? A bit before or a bit after? She was still scrambling into jeans and a clean top when the doorbell rang. Quick drag of the brush through her hair, no time for make-up, oh well. This was her face and if he didn’t like it -

Kristoff was wearing a shirt, and his nice jacket, and proper shoes. He’d been planning to take her out somewhere, clearly. Why was she such a disaster? The nice man had sent her flowers and wanted to take her out for dinner and she’d barely bothered to get dressed.

“Hi,” she said, then “sorry.”

“Sorry for what?”

He followed her through to the living room.

“Sorry, I didn’t think you meant….I thought you meant we could hang out here.”

“We can do that.”

“I’m sorry, I’m just...not really with it today.”

“It’s fine, Anna.” He sat down on the sofa. “Have you eaten yet?”

“No.” She paused. “I had breakfast.”

“Not lunch?”

“No. I’m hungry.” She sat down next to him and took out her phone. “What do you want? Pizza, Indian - ooh, Chinese.”

“Chinese sounds good. How do you just skip lunch without noticing?”

Anna tapped on her phone and then handed it to him. “Choose what you want, my treat.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, away with your - chivalry. And I slept quite long. Just to pass the time. So maybe I had lunch but not breakfast rather than the other way round.”

She took her phone back from him and completed the order. “Thirty minutes and someone will bring me food. I love living in the future. Speaking of which,” she picked up the remote, “Netflix. I get to choose because I’m sad today.”

“I - do not know how to argue with that.”

“Good. Best thing about this flat,” Anna said, scrolling down the menu, “Is that it’s cabled so the broadband is excellent. Where I lived before it was rubbish. It’s pretty much the only thing I like about this place.”

“What’s wrong with your flat? It’s fine.”

Anna pulled a face.

“Well,” Kristoff continued, “Do you not like where it is? The location?”

“No, that’s okay.”

“Good, because that’s the only thing you can’t change.”

“It’s just all - beige.”

“You can change the colour of the walls, you know.”

“I know. I don’t know how.”

“Then pay someone else to do it. Or find a friend who does know how. Look -” He sat forward and looked round the room. “OK. Find a wallpaper you like - something colourful. Maybe flowers, yellow and green - do the wall behind the sofa. Pick a colour out from it, maybe yellow, and paint the other walls.”

“It’ll clash with the sofa. Which I did not choose, a friend was throwing it out.”

“You can get new covers for sofas, or just put something over it, a blanket or whatever. Get some cushions that go with the wallpaper. You know, things girls like.”

“Hmm.”

“What’s in all those boxes?”

“Books, mainly. Ornaments.”

“Couple of bookcases over there, then. Go to Ikea.”

“I can’t do flatpacks, it’s a disaster.”

“Jesus. Get some ready-made ones from somewhere else, then. Put some more pictures up.” He was looking round the room, and it was a moment before he glanced back at her and realised she was crying.

“Anna? Fuck.” He put his arm round her and pulled her towards him. “I’m sorry, just tell me to shut up.”

“S’not that - you’re right - I just -”

With his free arm Kristoff reached the tissue box on the coffee table and handed it to her. Anna pulled out a handful and rubbed at her face. “It’s just - I have to do everything. I’ve never lived alone before. I’m in my mid-thirties and I’ve never lived alone before. There’s so much, so many things, and I can’t…”

He rubbed her arm. “It’ll get easier.”

“What if it doesn’t.”

“Anna…” He looked thoughtful for a moment. “I think in a year or two you’re going to look back and think, wow. I mean - not just the wedding thing. You moved to a new town, and a new job, you put basically the maximum amount of disruption into your life all at once. It’ll work out but of course this is super-stressful. You’re right in the middle of probably the most stressful period of your life.”

“My parents both died when I was seventeen.”

“Really? Fuck. Second-most, then. But still. It will get better. It will, you just need to keep going.”

Anna blew her nose, loudly. “It’s shit,” she said, with feeling.

“Yeah, I know. But it was always going to be. Also, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you swear before.”

“I save it for when I need it. And you’re the one who just got divorced.”

“Yeah, but I still have the same house, the same job, the same friends. And my family around. And we’d been separated for a while.”

Anna rested her cheek on his chest and he kissed the top of her head. “I’m going to end up decorating this living room, aren’t I,” Kristoff said. “I’ve had a sudden premonition.”

“That’s a very kind offer, thank you.”

“Oi. You’re going to help.”

“If you tell me what to do.”

“Of course.”

-----

The food was reasonable, and old sitcoms as reliable a source of mild entertainment as always. Normally this would be a perfectly fine way to spend an evening, especially with a nice warm man to snuggle up against. But Anna still felt out of sorts.

Well, she had an idea about how to cheer herself up. When the episode finished, she pulled Kristoff’s face round to hers and kissed him. When he started to turn back away she kissed him again, and tangled her fingers in his hair, and then he understood and pulled her into his arms.

He wasn't as forceful as the previous weekend, but that was okay. When Anna turned a little in her seat and lay back against the sofa cushions, it didn’t take much encouragement to pull him along with her, to settle his weight above her, warm and safe. Anna wiggled her legs round until she could hook a foot behind his knee.

This was nice, very nice. Anna kissed him and tried to remember if she’d made her bed (no), and if she had any condoms (yes, but she couldn’t remember which drawer in her bedroom they were in) and what underwear she was wearing (cotton with a print of dancing owls, better get that off as quickly as possible).

She moved her lips from his to kiss her way along his jaw and onto his neck; when she reached his ear she whispered “Shall we take this to the bedroom?” in the sexiest voice she could manage.

Kristoff pulled back a bit, breathing hard. He pushed himself up on his hands and she waited, thinking he was just catching his breath. Then he kissed her gently on the lips, just once, and said “I think - I don’t think I’m ready for that just yet.”

He sat up. Suddenly cold, Anna swung her legs round to sit next to him. “Oh,” she said, looking at her hands.

“It’s not you,” he said quickly. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I just -”

“It’s okay. I mean, of course it’s okay.” Anna swallowed hard. “You shouldn’t do anything you don’t want to.”

“Of course I want to.”

“They why -”

“It just - means more to me. It’s not, casual. For me.”

Anna nodded, sniffed, and scrubbed at her eyes with the palms of her hands.

“Hey,” Kristoff said. “Stop that. Don’t start crying again over some old fart who’s so boring he only has sex with people he’s in a serious relationship with.”

Anna sniffed. “What do you mean, again.”

“You were definitely crying earlier. When I suggested you decorate your living room.”

She laughed but it turned into a sob. “I’ll stop, I’m sorry…”

He put an arm round her shoulder. “Would you like me to stay tonight?” he said quietly.

“But you just said…”

“I mean, just stay. Sleep here. So you're not by yourself.”

“I don't have a spare bed. And I don’t think you’ll fit on the sofa. So we’d have to - share.”

“That's fine.”

“You're sure? I'd like you to stay. If you're sure.”

“I suggested it, remember?”

“Okay, then. Thank you.”

-----

Kristoff left to fetch his pyjamas and toothbrush (which had made Anna smile when he said it; like a sleepover. Which she supposed it was. Had half the reason she wanted to sleep with him been because she didn’t want to sleep alone tonight? Let’s not think about that too hard, Anna).

She brushed her own teeth, and put on clean pyjamas, and made her bed and tidied up her room a bit. What if he changed his mind once he got home? Then you’ll be fine. Go to sleep, tomorrow is another day. Another day on which she should have been flying to Mauritius. Ugh.

The door buzzed, and it was Kristoff, with a rucksack slung over his back.

“Let’s do this, then,” he said.

-----

“Goodnight,” Anna said, and turned out the light. She kept her back to him, then thought, was that rude? But they were just here to sleep. She half-turned; Kristoff was lying on his back, and he turned his face to her when she moved.

“This is a bit weird,” she said, feeling awkward. “I mean, isn’t it? I’ll try not to - molest you in my sleep, or anything.”

“Believe me,” he said. “It's quite possible to share a bed with someone night after night and never touch at all.”

He didn't sound bitter as he said it, just sad, and Anna thought about how lonely that must have been.

“I'm sorry,” she said, rolling onto her back next to him. “I'm so wrapped up in myself today.”

“I think you're allowed to be, today.”

“What was she like?”

Kristoff hesitated. Then he said, “I don't know, about five foot six? Dark hair, blue eyes.”

“You know that’s not what I meant. What happened? I mean, if you want to tell me,” she added hurriedly.

Kristoff was silent for a while, and Anna worried she’d over-stepped. Then he said, “Lots of things. Lots of little things. But the one big thing was that before we got married we both said we wanted to have children one day, one day soon, then afterwards she changed her mind.”

“Oh.”

“Well, it wasn’t as clear-cut as that - there was always some reason to wait. For her. And...I don’t know. We started arguing about it a lot. And there were other things, too, but maybe we could have got through them.”

Anna put out her hand and found his.

“Last year,” he continued, “It was bad. But I remember, one evening - we’d had dinner and we were clearing up, and it was - calm - but I just remember knowing, so clearly, that it was going to end. That it was inevitable. And it was really...” He ran his free hand over his face. “It was really fucking sad.”

“I’m sorry.”

He squeezed her hand. “And here we are,” he said. “I survived. So will you.”

“Just about. But what now?”

“Now you go to sleep.” He squeezed her hand again and let it go. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight. And thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Go to sleep.”

[marvelous-heroimagines]

Assistant To The Genius

Requested by: @buckybarnesaddicted

Pairing: Reader x Tony // Reader x Steve (not MMF) Word Count: 3K Warnings: Angst, fluff, swearing

A/N: Set after The Avengers. Tony and Pepper are not a pairing, for obvious reasons.

After shuffling papers around, you softly placing the cardboard coffee tray on Tony’s work desk, and take yours. A light snore sounds from Tony as he sleeps, his head buried in the papers that were scattered over his desk. You clear your throat, and he jumps awake. He glances around for second, clearly confused where he was, and when his eyes land on you, he smiles.

“Morning, sir,” you say pleasantly, trying to hide the amusement, “Long night?”

“You could say that,” Tony groans as he rubs his eyes. He spots the coffee you had brought him and immediately grabs it, “Thank you,” he sighs after he swallows the first sip,

“Anything else you need me to get you?” you query,

“Uh,” Tony thinks for a moment, then his face falls, “You might need to check that...” he thinks for a second before snapping his fingers, “Amy isn’t still sleeping,”

Your heart and stomach sink through the floor, but you keep a pleasant look on your exterior, “Thought I told you, I don’t take the trash out for you anymore,” your voice a little too blunt and snappy,

“Be nice,” Tony chuckles before taking another sip of coffee and moving his attention to his work.

You’re frozen for a second, waiting - and hoping - that he was joking. But Tony doesn’t look at you again, too engrossed in his work. You have to suppress a sigh as you make your way to the elevator and off to kick out whatever woman Tony had drunkenly brought home last night.

This wasn’t a new task for you. You’d been Tony’s personal assistant for almost 5 years now, and you loved your job. But nothing was worse than having to escort beautiful women out of the bed of the man you’d always held a torch for. Recently, you’d told Tony that you’d had enough, that you weren’t being paid to deal with hungover women who were naked and wondering when he’d call - you’d never dare tell him that every time you laid your eyes on one of these women you couldn’t stop yourself from thinking what they had and you didn’t - but no matter how many times you expressed your dislike for the task, he always brushed it off, not realising how shit it made you feel.

Once the elevator reaches Tony’s personal living quarters, you’re immediately met with a completely naked women, posed seductively on the couch. Her eyes shoot wide as she takes you in, and you decide to have a little fun.

“Who are you?!” you feign shock and anger, “Where’s my husband?!”

She immediately jumps up, giving you a full view of everything, “Oh god! I’m sorry, he never told me he was married!” she blurts out while grabbing pieces of her clothing.

You almost giggle, but you cover it up with a fake wail of anguish, “Oh god! I can’t believe this is happening!”

“I’m so sorry,” she says again,

“After I told him I was pregnant too?!” you cry out. You were having a little too much fun as the woman was practically running towards the elevator. The moment the doors ding close, you can’t stop the satisfied grin that breaks across your face.

You consider quickly tidying the lounge room, but decide against it. This was Tony’s mess to deal with, you did not get paid enough. You push aside the sinking feeling that always accompanied having to face your boss’ flings, and hop back in the elevator to return to the labs, ready for a day of helping Tony start up a post-Avengers clean up crew of robots.

The Battle of New York was only 2 weeks ago, and ever since, Tony had been determined to minimise the cost on cities that had to endure these kinds of disasters. It was his little way of taking responsibility for wrecking a city while saving the Earth.

“Okay,” you say the moment the elevator doors open, “If there’s some rumour that you’re married and gonna be a father, that isn’t be fault,”

You stop in your tracks as you notice that Tony isn’t alone in the lab. A tall, broad, blonde man turns around, and your breathing hitches in your throat as you recognise him to be Captain America.

Your eyes flit to Tony, so rolls his at you, “What’d you do?”

You don’t even hear Tony, your attention is completely on Steve Rogers, who is staring at you so intensely that it’s making it hard to breathe. You hadn’t met Steve before, but you’d sure heard a lot about him from Tony after The Avengers were formed.

“Y/N?” Tony asks in a confused tone. He lets out a sigh as he realises that you’re entranced by Steve, “This is Steve,” he says, sounding annoyed,

“Hi,” you squeak, “I’m Y/N,”

Steve grins at you as he shakes your hand, his eyes still holding your gaze, “Hello,” he says, “It’s a pleasure to meet you,”

“Pleasure’s all mine,” you say before thinking. You internally curse yourself for sounding so smitten - even though you were. Steve was gorgeous.

“He’s here because he thinks he can help with rebuilding the city,” the annoyance in Tony’s voice now painfully obvious, “Although, I know that he just doesn’t have any friends,”

You’re finally able to tear your attention away from Steve, and shoot Tony a warning look. You knew that Tony wasn’t Steve’s biggest fan, and while he wouldn’t admit it, you knew it was because of his father issues.

“I can run him through what we have planned,” you say, not even asking,

“No, that’s-” Tony starts,

“I’d like that,” Steve cuts him off, and gives you a small, lopsided smile. Quickly nodding, you lead the way towards your office that was at the back of the lab, totally ignoring Tony.

You and Steve worked closely for the next few days. Despite what Tony thought, Steve actually had some really good ideas when it came to fixing what the Avengers damaged. The two of you would spend hours together, and there was no denying that you were infatuated with the super soldier.

It seemed that your crush was mutual. Steve finally got the courage to ask you on a date, and you immediately said yes.

“Do you need anything else before I leave?” you ask Tony, making your way to the elevator,

“Where are you going?” Tony asks with a frown, “It’s only 4pm on a Friday?”

“I’ve um,” you nervously laugh like a school girl, “I’ve got to head home and get ready for my date,”

“You’re what?” Tony asks, sounding offended,

“My date,” you repeat, “Steve and I are going out to dinner,”

“Steve? As in Rogers? As in the man who is almost 100 and doesn’t know how computers work?” Tony scoffs,

“Yes,” you say simply. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think that Tony was acting a little jealous,

“But-”

“I’ve got to go, boss,” you dismiss Tony and hop into the elevator. You give him a small wave as the doors close, but he only stares at you, his face falling at the last second.

The next morning, you stroll into the lab, a grin on your face and two coffees in your hand. Tony is sleeping on his desk, which is covered in paper, like most mornings, and for the first time since your date with Steve last night, your mood drops. The last thing you wanted to do was wake up another woman and tell her to leave. You’d been having such a good morning.

You don’t even say anything before Tony jolts awake. His eyes are bloodshot and puffy, probably from a lack of sleep.

“Mornin’“ you hand him his coffee as he gets his bearings,

“What time is it?” he mumbles,

“9,” you inform him, glancing at your watch,

“Did you just get here?” Tony asks, a frown forming between his brows,

“Yes,” you say with sass. You usually started at 8, but didn’t think being an hour late would be a big deal,

“Why’re you late?” he questions, starting to sound like a dad who caught their daughter coming in after curfew,

“Well, I had a late night and figured you’d be passed out still anyways,” you tell him with a cocked eyebrow, “And I was right,”

“What did you do last night?” Tony asks, a hint of worry in his voice,

You pause for a moment, wondering if the conversation before you left work yesterday even happened, “... I had a date with Steve,” you drawl out, making it sound almost like a question,

“No, i know that,” Tony says bluntly, “I mean, if you had a late night, does that mean you had a late night,” he stares at you, and you swear he’s pleading you to deny his allegation.

You scoff, “God,”

“Is that a yes?” he asks, his face falling,

“It’s not any of your business, boss,” you brush off. Tony opens his mouth to retort, but you stride away towards your office, having had enough of the personal questions.

You and Steve hadn’t slept together last night. He was the perfect gentleman and walked you home. But you weren’t quite ready to take it to that next step, and you didn’t get the feeling Steve was either.

While you had an amazing time with Steve, it was definitely one of the better dates you’d been on, you couldn’t help but notice that he mentioned Peggy quite a few times. You knew who she was, having seen files on her great life. And it was obvious by the way that Steve spoke about her that she had been more than just a friend. You didn’t pry, not wanting to push him - you don’t think he even realised how much he’d been talking about her - so you just enjoyed the night and the company.

The opening of the elevator doors catches your eye through your glass office walls, and you can’t help but smile as you watch Steve exit the elevator, and immediately give you a small wave. Natasha follows behind him, and looks intrigued by your and Steve’s interactions.

Steve leaves Natasha to talk to Tony and makes his way over to your office, “Hello,” he says sweetly, standing in your office doorway,

“Hi,” you smile at him,

“I had a really nice time last night,” he says, making your heart skip,

“Me too,” you say with a grin, “I’d love to do it again some time,”

“Absolutely,” Steve agrees,

“Hey, Cap,” Tony suddenly shouts, “Get your old, star spangled ass over here. We have work to do,”

You see a flash of a frown on Steve’s face as he turns around, “I thought I’d be working with Y/N?”

“Yeah, well, not anymore,” Tony huffs out, “Romanoff is going to run ideas with her from now on,”

Steve glances back at you, but you only shrug and shake your head, silently telling him that you had no idea why Tony was changing Natasha and Steve around.

Steve sighs, “I’ll call you about that second date,” he adds before sauntering back over to Tony. You stare at Tony for a moment, trying to figure him out, but Natasha wandering into your office pulls your attention.

“Do you know what that’s about?” she asks, pointing a thumb over her shoulder at the two men.

You shrug, “I don’t know. Tony’s never really liked Steve,”

“No,” she drawls out, “This is different,” her face changes as she looks to be deep in thought, “I’m going to figure it out,”

You’d been hoping that Tony would get over whatever he had against Steve, but over the last 2 weeks, he’d only gotten worse. The way he talked to Steve was becoming more insult driven and less friendly teasing. and he was acting weird towards you, almost like he never wanted to let you out of his sight; especially if he knew you’d be with Steve.

Things with Steve weren’t going anywhere, he couldn’t chat with you for more than 5 minutes before mentioning Peggy; not that you were any better, your life revolved around Tony, professionally and personally. So the dates that the two of you went on were more as friends than anything else. You didn’t mind, you loved Steve’s company, and he was nice to look at.

Wandering into the Tower, you decide to avoid the lab at first. You were not in the mood to deal with Tony’s bullshit, especially because he’d be hungover. Tony hadn’t asked you to kick a woman out of his bed since you pretended to be his pregnant wife with the last one. It was strange, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d think that he wasn’t getting laid. Deciding that the idea of Tony Stark - Genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist - not finding a woman to keep him company last night was ridiculous, you head straight for his living quarters, and get a head start on the duties you were not paid enough to do.

The elevator door dings open, and you can already hear muffled voices coming from Tony’s bedroom. You freeze as you hear your boss’s voice. Your stomach falls as you realise that he wasn’t alone, a female voice was responding to whatever he was saying. You start to feel sick as you inch closer to his bedroom door, unable to help your curiosity, and realise that it’s Natasha’s voice.

You listen intently, knowing full well that if you heard something you didn’t like, it would be your own fault for snooping - but you couldn’t help yourself.

“You’re being ridiculous!” Natasha huffs, her voice becoming clearer. Tony’s bedroom door was cracked, giving you a small window of view inside. From what you could see, Tony was sitting on his bed - fully clothed, thank god - and had his head buried in his hands. You can’t see Natasha, but assume she’s standing across from him,

“I’m sorry, okay,” Tony scoffs, “I just... I don’t like the guy,” you immediately know he’s talking about Steve,

“Bullshit!” Natasha exclaims, “You and Rogers were friends, or at least civil, after New York. You can’t tell me that nothing triggered this change,”

Tony remains silent, and slowly glances across the room, probably at Natasha. He lets out a sigh, but doesn’t try to defend himself.

“And why are you being so possessive and protective of Y/N?” Natasha moves on,

“You know why,” Tony mumbles. Your stomach tightens at his words, and you’re unable to stop your mind from jumping to conclusions. Was your crush on Tony mutual?

“Only because I’m a deadly spy and can read anyone’s body language,” Natasha sighs, “You still haven’t said it. You need to say it,”

“Why?!” Tony explodes, “So that I can lose the best assistance and the best friend that I’ve ever had?”

“So that you can stop lying to yourself,” Natasha remains calm.

Tony lets out an exasperated sigh, “Will you leave me alone if I say the words?”

You don’t even realise you’d been holding your breath until your brain reminds you to exhale. You were caught in the moment, unable to move - not really wanting to.

“Yes,” Natasha says, sounding proud,

“Fine,” Tony sighs and stands up, “I love Y/N, okay? Are you happy?”

You stumble backwards, the shock of hearing the words catches you off guard and it’s like you lose control of your body. You back away from the door, and you’re horrified when your back pushes a dining chair. The sound of the chair scraping against the floor echoes throughout Tony’s private level. Natasha and Tony fall silent, and you start to panic.

Your eyes are glued to Tony’s bedroom door as it is yanked open, revealing a horrified looking Tony.

“I’ve uh...” you can’t even think straight, his words ringing in your ears. It was all you’d ever wanted to hear, and now you were too shocked to even say them back, “Bye,” you blurt out and turn, running to the elevator and furiously pounding the button.

“Y/N,” Tony’s voice is strangled and weak, “Please-”

The elevator doors finally open and you’re back to furiously smashing buttons, desperate to get out. Once the elevator was travelling down, you finally get a hold of yourself. Why the fuck did you run away from the man you love?

“Hello!” Steve’s cheerful voice sounds as the elevator doors open to the labs. You’re lost in your own thoughts, and don’t even reply as you mindlessly walk through the lab, “Are you okay?”

“Uh, I don’t know,” you admit,

“What happened?” Steve looks scared for a moment, his eyes scanning you for any sign of injury,

“Tony just- I just overheard... Um,” you can’t form the words.

Steve’s face breaks into a small smile, confusing you, “Took him long enough,”

You frown at Steve, “What?”

“It was blindingly obvious that he had feelings for you,” Steve chuckles. Your frown deepens as you shake your head at him. It hadn’t been obvious to you, “He only started hating me once we started going on dates,”

“Steve, I-” you don’t want to hurt Steve, he’d been through too much, “I’m sorry, it’s just-”

Steve shakes his head, “It’s okay,” he gives you a sincere smile, “I wasn’t ready anyways. I can’t even have a conversation with a woman without bringing up Peggy or feeling like I’m betraying her,” he softly laughs.

Relief washes over you, and you can’t help but smile. Steve knew a lot more than anyone gave him credit for. You give Steve a thankful hug.

“Oh god,” your actions just dawn on you, “I heard him say he loves me, and then I ran away,” your face twisting with horror,

“Well, go get him,” Steve encourages, and gives you a little push towards the elevator.

Before you can even take a couple of steps, the elevator doors open to reveal Tony, looking frantic and scared. He spots you, and then Steve. His face falls as his eyes dart back and forth between you and Steve.

“Y/N,” he says sombrely as he exits the elevator, “Look, about what you heard... It’s just-”

Tony is cut off as your lips crash against his. He’s shocked for a second, but quickly softens into the kiss and wraps his arms around your waist.

“I might have to report you to HR for that,” he jokes once the two of you break apart,

“Shut up,” you say through a laugh before kissing Tony again.

Tags: @leahhavoc, @rosyfluffyprincess, @addictwithafandomblog, @klutzly, @redstarstan, @heismyhunter, @coffeeismylife28, @goldenlifevsgutter1996, @spn-worm, @pleasefixthepain, @meep-meep22, @buckyobsessed, @buckyandsebsinbin, @wunnywho, @invisible2niall, @hantu369mc, @plumsforbuck2016, @impala-moose, @aboveaverage-fangirl, @caitsymichelle13, @specs15, @thedarknesswarrior, @girlwith100names, @addictionmarvel, @melconnor2007

[courtneyalexandramulvay-blog]

13.10.17

Sitting at a café overheard a meeting where someone said “I feel like all current art is fake”

Received text message from my ex boyfriend today of a photo of a bunch of flowers he had arranged himself in a vase

Last time we spoke was him sending me a message that said “I guess I lost everything in the divorce huh”, with no reply back from me

What is this trend I have set where my ex-lovers send me photos of self-arranged bouquets?

I received another one about two weeks ago of some very tall kangaroo paws in a glass

I guess I taught them about formal flower arrangements without realising

I’ve always thought I’d make a wonderful florist anyway so that makes sense I guess

Uh oh. My cappuccino just hit me and now I feel insane

Eating a chermoula chicken salad with hummus AND feta the only thing that could take this to the next level for me is a lil bit of pesto, right

I want to go to the beach! I want to go to the beach! I want to go to the beach!

My favourite story about my friend Jemma is that once she was so hungover and playing Mario Kart and she started crying when they were in the water world because she wanted to go to the beach that badly

I feel like some people believe that hummus and feta can’t be friends and this salad proves all those people wrong

Just like people that think you can’t wear orange and pink together

You can

Level of cool I want to reach today: Rose McGowan

Text message I just received from my grandma: “Mum sent me your writings. It is brilliant and shocking didn’t know you had to put up with such things. It is beyond words. Love you see you soon Grandma”

Definitely the coolest/best/most inspiring message I’ve received yet in response to writing about Harvey Weinstein saga/bullshit

My grandma is the last person I would think to be addicted to the Bachelorette but I talked to her on the phone last night and she is 100% addicted to the Bachelorette but she knows its fucked up so that’s okay

Feel like I won’t know the true meaning of home until I go to Scotland with my grandma

Trying to think of interesting things to write about and thought “what are some fucked up things that happened in my childhood?”

Don’t know if am stable enough to unlock that vault today

Kinda scared of being stoned again after last night

Things I ate last night:

Two-three bowls of green chicken curry, delicious, cooked by me

~half an icecream cake from coles with marshmellows and freddos on top

~half a block of smartie chocolate

two (big) pieces of Turkish delight chocolate

A guy I had sex with when I was ~15 at a Halloween party in freo just walked past me, didn’t recognise me, probably because I wasn’t dressed as a zombie bride

Remember waking up after having sex with him at my dads house in my step sisters bed, don’t know how we got home or how he got there or why he wanted to be there, woke up with zombie makeup still on, still drunk, put on my step mums black maxi dress and walked him outside and watched him walk down the street, that would be the last time I would ever see him until right now, 7 years later, sitting at a weird café with my dog and my laptop

Would he have recognised me if I was dressed like a zombie bride?

Am going out to dinner tonight with a guy I used to sleep with that may or may not have undiagnosed schizophrenia

He has told me a lot of crazy things but maybe the craziest thing he’s ever told me if that once he felt like painting his whole bedroom (granny flat out the back of his parent’s house) red so he just did it he went and bought red paint and a paintbrush and he did it he didn’t buy a roller and do it properly he just had a big paintbrush so now his whole room is bright red and splotchy and there are large and random brushstrokes it looks like a 5-8 year old painted it, it’s not a very condusive environment to have sex in

The best thing about having sex with him was that we’re on the same anti-anxiety medication so when I would sleep over and forget my medication (I was usually/always drunk when I went there) I could just take his

One of my following boyfriends was also on the same medication but used to get narky when I asked to borrow (take) it

Its actually the same guy that sent me a photo of his sad bunch of flowers today

He used to take 10mg and I take 20mg so if I had to borrow his medication I had to take 2 tablets, which I think used to make him feel anxious

More anxious

But whatever I made him dinner every night for a year and a half and the only thing he (ever) cooked me was an okay lentil soup when I was sick once

It was actually pretty good lentil soup which just angered me more because he proved he obviously could cook he just chooses not to

Because he knows I will just do it

Even though he is unemployed and sits at home wanking or on instagram or wanking while on instagram (or whatever, I literally don’t know what he did during the day) while I worked ~13 hours at a very stressful job and then came home and then walked the dog and then went to the shops and bought ingredients for dinner then cooked dinner while he sat there, still on Instagram, still wanking

I won’t do that again

He also threw my entire CD collection away one day when I was at work because “I never listen to them anyway”

Food related tattoos I could get:

Hummus

Pesto

Quesadilla

Burrito

Tortilla

Spaghetti Bolognese

Dumplings

The boy I had sex with dressed as a zombie just walked into an op shop across the road, day dreaming about what would happen if I walked in and followed him around, not overtly but subtly

Pretending I was looking for a zombie costume

I should definitely get a tattoo of spaghetti Bolognese

Hate it when I think I’ve written a hilarious text message so I copy and paste it and send it to like 4 people and no one replies

Just ordered a second cappuccino so shit is about to get real

My phone is on 4% battery and I feel free

Feel so lucky I have so many cool girl friends all over the world in all different places all doing different dope stuff

When me and my sisters were little and we had to stay at my grandparent’s house (on my dad’s side) they would make us eat like 5 slices of butter on toast and drink milo in bed before we even got up and then for breakfast we would have to eat like a million hashbrowns and bacon and sausages and more butter on toast, what the fuck, who feeds children that

I guess they were brought up post-war when no one had anything, my grandpa (who wouldn’t let us call him grandpa, first names only) still ate lard on toast for a really long time

I wonder if he still does

He also didn’t let my grandma drive, ever, he told her she was too stupid to drive, he said it so many times that she convinced herself she was stupid, too stupid to do anything except cook and clean and definitely too stupid to stand up to him ever

Brainwashed

He also screamed at me any time I shut a car door that I was slamming it

My mum told me the other day that he had a serious problem with noise

That any type of noise really irritated him

And she always found that odd Also, whenever he would see an Asian person driving, he would get really aggressive and call them a “monkey”

He hated anyone that wasn’t white

He hated women

He hated gay people

No wonder my dad is so fucked up

Once when I was a kid I dreamt there was a terrorist attack at their house and there were bombs going off everywhere

I used to be terrified of natural disasters and would have recurring dreams about tsunamis and bushfires

The worst dream I ever had though was when I died from eating a poisonous ham sandwich from a man selling them out of a trolley in IGA

He wasn’t a part of IGA

He was his own separate business entirely

I don’t know if you would call it a business

It was pretty low key