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spine-buster · 2 years ago

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That Which We Are, We Are | Nathan MacKinnon | Chapter 4

gif credit @/happer08

A/N: so excited for this one...hope you guys enjoy!

CW: this chapter contains three instances of bullying of an overweight person

Sorcha was busy at work when she felt her phone buzz on her desk beside her. After finishing up the email she had to write to her boss, she looked over.

lunch @ lot six?

She couldn’t help but smile at the screen. She swiped on the notification and began typing.

I’m in a meeting until 1. Can you meet that late?

She didn’t even have to wait to see the three-dot bubble pop up.

yeah np. i meet w sid at 3 anyway.

God, she was going to kill him. Not only had she and Nate exchanged numbers after walking along the Halifax harbourfront after their dinner, but they’d been texting non-stop. Even worse, they’d send each other pictures of Juno and Cox looking cute or doing stupid stuff. Even worse, they’d been going for lunches together almost every day since. Sorcha could count only twice in two weeks that Nate couldn’t do lunch because he was working out with Sidney Crosby or had some other prior commitment to do with hockey. Otherwise, Sorcha was out with him at a new restaurant every day. One day, it was even another dinner. Sorcha couldn’t believe what was happening, but she wasn’t exactly doing anything to push him away. Instead, she was smiling down at her phone. Fuck.

“Whose got you smiling?” Sorcha’s boss, Janet, asked as she saw Sorcha’s smile.

“No-one.”

“Oh come on, Sorcha.”

“It’s Victoria,” Sorcha covered, because she mentioned Victoria a lot and Janet knew who Victoria was and there was no way that anybody, let alone Janet, was going to learn that it was Nathan MacKinnon texting her and making her smile. The only person who knew was Victoria. Not even her parents knew, because they didn’t have to. Nobody had to. “She sent me a funny meme.”

“Can I see the funny meme?”

Sorcha tried not to roll her eyes as she swiped quickly to get to hers and Victoria’s Instagram messages, the last of which was Victoria sending her a reel of a shiba sitting at a bar yelping at a bartender for “cutting him off” from the empty pint glass in front of him. Janet cracked a smile as she watched the video before Sorcha pulled her phone back. “Hilarious and cute, right?” Sorcha offered.

“I know you’re lying.”

Sorcha saw another text coming in from Nate.

what would u do if sid came to lunch?

I’d kill you in your sleep, Nathan.

***

“What do you think of the headband?” Sorcha asked as she FaceTimed with Victoria, modeling her new purchase for her best friend. “Do you think it’s too much?”

“Of course not!” Victoria said. “It’s really pretty. The sheer volume of your hair tones it down a bit, anyway. And besides, it’s black velvet and pearls. It’s very classic. It’s not like it’s super loud.”

“I want to wear it with that black dress that has the pencil skirt,” Sorcha mentioned. “You know, the classic all black outfit with pearls.”

“It’ll look good. But what about with a high, tight ballerina bun? I think that would look really chic, don’t you think?”

Sorcha wasn’t thinking. She only really heard Victoria speak, but she wasn’t listening. A text had come through from Nate and it covered the top part of Victoria’s face.

this reminds me of u

Sorcha had always maintained that someone sending “This reminded me of you” was one of the nicest, most sentimental, sincere, earnest, and heartfelt things to send to another person. It had just happened to her, now, with Nathan MacKinnon. “Uh, w—what was that? You broke up a bit,” she tried to cover, tapping on the notification and being led to their text history. He’d sent her a picture of a meme.

Sorcha snorted. She typed quickly, hoping it wouldn’t be noticeable.

how did you even find that lmfao

“What’s funny?” Victoria asked.

“N-Nothing, don’t worry about it,” Sorcha tried to cover.

Victoria eyed her suspiciously. She saw the look on Sorcha’s face and slowly, yet somehow all at once, it hit her. “Oh my God, did Nate text you?”

“No.”

“Buuuuuullshiiiiiit!” she screamed, her voice even cracking slightly. “You can’t fool me, bitch.”

Sorcha couldn’t get anything past Victoria. She should have known better. “He sent me a meme he said reminded him of me,” she revealed. “It was about art curating.”

“Oh my Goooddd,” Victoria practically gagged. “He’s really turning on the charm for you, isn’t he?”

“I don’t know if he’s turned it on or if he just, like, has it naturally,” Sorcha admitted – she hated to.

She watched as Victoria’s eyebrows furrowed through the screen. “Are we…are we talking about the same Nathan MacKinnon? Like, we are talking about the same Nathan MacKinnon that never said a fucking word to all of his friends that bullied you, right?”

“Right. That’s the one. That’s the Nathan MacKinnon,” Sorcha sounded like she had her tail between her legs.

“I don’t quite know what’s going on between you two, but God would I love to see,” Victoria commented.

“You two interacting together would be just an absolute delight,” Sorcha said sarcastically. Victoria wouldn’t be able to keep her mouth shut about what Nate did (or didn’t?) do to her in high school. If Victoria saw Shane, Sorcha was sure she’d buy a crossbow and shoot him between the eyes. “Too bad he’ll probably be back in Denver by the time you visit.”

***

“Good girl, Juno! Good fetch!” Sorcha cooed as she scratched behind Juno’s ears. Juno was eager for the ball to be thrown again, even barking at Sorcha for taking too long. Sorcha had a decent arm, so she threw it as far as she could across the park, watching Juno bolt towards it before grabbing it in her mouth and bringing it back. “What a good girl you are Juno!”

BARK!

Sorcha felt her phone buzz in her pocket as she threw the ball again. She got it out to read the text. She already knew who it was from.

she’s adorable can’t believe u trained her to twirl cox can’t even do that

Sorcha couldn’t help but smile as she began typing.

It was a lot of work. Probably overfed her on the treats trying to do it, but now she does it easily.

BARK!

i’m trying to train cox on how to get me beer from the fridge

Of course you are.

BARK! BARK!

Are you gonna teach him how to make you lunch too?

german shepherds are supposed to be smart dogs! i bet he could

BARKBARKBARKBARKBARK!!!!!

“Okay okay okay!” Sorcha felt guilty not paying attention to Juno, seeing the bright green ball had been dropped by her feet. Juno was looking up at her in absolute disgust. “I know, okay? I’m a bad owner, you impatient little gremlin,” she grumbled.

***

Sidney Crosby liked a good workout just like any other athlete, but Nate loved them more. With how seriously he took his diet, nutrition, and fitness, Sidney was never surprised when Nate was completely zoned in. He was especially not surprised when the ultra-competitive side of Nate came out and he got angry at losing a race or something else when they made their workouts a competition. That’s why, now, it was quite perplexing to see him pay more attention to his phone than he was the pylons for his lateral movement training. “Who’s keeping you on your phone?” Sid asked suddenly.

Sid clearly caught Nate off guard. He looked up quickly, pretending that he hadn’t just spent the last few seconds staring at his phone screen and smiling. “Nothing. It’s nothing.”

“I don’t think it’s nothing,” Sid pressed.

“It’s nothing. Just drop it.”

“Stop pretending it’s nothing.”

“Not pretending.”

“Then why were you smiling?”

“God, what are you, a private investigator?”

“Detective Crosby at your service. Come on, man. Is it a girl?”

“No.”

“Is it a guy?”

“No.”

“Is it—”

“—Sid, I’m asking you nicely. Please drop it.”

Sid dropped it. But he’d take that ‘Detective Crosby’ to heart and figure out what the hell was going on.

***

“I’m going to have to Google who all these people are,” Sorcha smiled, feeling slightly overwhelmed with all the teammates Nate was naming and telling her stories about from the Colorado Avalanche. “How do you spell—what was the first guy’s name? Your captain?”

“Gabe Landeskog,” Nate repeated. “His nickname is Gabe the Babe. That tells you all you need to know.”

“And the other one?”

“Andre Burakovsky.”

“And the —”

“—Mikko Rantanen, the Finnish one,” he already knew.

“You know, I’ve always wanted to visit Finland,” she joked. “Happiest country in the world and all that.”

“Mikko shows us pictures all the time. It looks incredible, but Nova Scotia’s prettier,” Nate said.

Sorcha couldn’t help but smile. For a guy who travelled all around North America for hockey, and even sometimes Europe, she loved how Nate still loved Nova Scotia best. At its core, Nova Scotia was home, and nothing could beat home. The oldest city in Europe or the prettiest buildings in Scandinavia still couldn’t warm Nate like Nova Scotia could. Sorcha appreciated that in him. It showed a true love – nothing artificial about it. And as they walked along the old streets of downtown after yet another one of their lunches, Sorcha completely understood where he was coming from and agreed with him. “Yeah. Nothing beats a Nova Scotia sunset.”

Nate nodded but stayed silent, making sure to look over at Sorcha as they continued to walk towards the Art Gallery of Nova Scotia. When they jaywalked across the street towards the now-all-too-familiar steps and Nate knew his time left with her was short, he cleared his throat and got ready. “Hey, can I ask you something?”

“Yeah of course,” she looked up at him, adjusting her purse on her shoulder.

He took a deep breath. “You—I don’t know what you’re doing this weekend, but I’m having a couple friends up at my place on Grand Lake. You wanna come? I’m driving up tomorrow – Friday night.”

They had been having such a great time together the past couple of weeks. There had been lots of catching up, stories, laughter, and more. Surely she’d want to come to his house? Surely she’d want to spend more time with him outside of the city, on the lake? Surely she’d—

“No.”

Nate was taken aback by her quick, blunt response. There was a moment of shock where he just looked at her, almost as if he thought she was joking, or maybe he wasn’t hearing straight – but no. She was completely serious. Harsh and quick. “No?”

“No,” she repeated, even shaking her head this time.

Nate furrowed his brows. “Why not?”

“Because I don’t want to.”

“Why don’t you want to?”

“Because I don’t,” Sorcha stressed. “Because I can’t leave Juno for the night.”

“Do you honestly think I’m gonna invite you to my place and not allow you to bring your dog?” Nathan asked. “It’s not a big deal if you bring Juno.”

“I’m not coming,” Sorcha said again. “I’m not coming and I don’t have to give you a reason. No is a complete sentence.”

Nate couldn’t help but feel the anger boil up inside of him. He was getting more frustrated by the minute at her rejection. “What the hell, Sorcha?”

“What the hell Sorcha? What the hell Nathan,” she retorted. “Why are you even inviting me? What are you—what’s the game here?”

“Game? Sorcha, what the hell is wrong with you? What do you mean what game? There is no game,” Nate shot back.

“Don’t ask what the hell is wrong with me,” she replied sternly. “I don’t need that asked of me anymore, especially after you and your friends made so much wrong with me for more than half my life.”

The words would have stung, but Nate’s stubbornness acted like an armour. He barely registered what she’d said. “I’m inviting you because you’re my friend. We’re friends, Sorcha. Friends invite their friends to their house. It’s a normal thing to do.”

“Oh, we’re friends now?”

“What the hell have we been doing the past couple of weeks?!” Nate’s voice was getting louder. “What have we been doing every lunch, every dinner, every walk we’ve gone on? What are we if we’re not friends? Why won’t you come, Sorcha?”

“Because I don’t want to!”

“But why?!”

“Because I don’t want to!!! Now will you please just go?”

“Not until you—”

“—God Nathan, will you please just accept that I’m not going to your fucking house on the fucking lake?!” Sorcha was practically screaming now. “I know you’re not used to anybody saying no to you, let alone a woman, but you’ve gotta get it through your thick skull. The answer is no.”

Okay, Nate was angry. She was being defensive and distrustful when all he’d been was trustful and open with her the entire time they’d been meeting up. He’d given her absolutely zero reason to have any reservations or to act this way. He was confused more than anything, and his confusion manifested itself in anger. He thought everything was okay. He thought they’d gotten over the metaphorical hump. “Fuck this. Now you’re just offending me.”

“Maybe I’m just an offensive person,” she played along.

“You know what, whatever Sorcha,” Nate gave up, throwing his hands up in defeat before taking a step back. “I thought we were friends.”

“Guess not.”

“Bet you’re happy about that. One less uncultured hockey player you’ve gotta explain an Arthur Lismer painting to,” he said before turning his back to her and walking away, not bothering to glance back.

Nate could feel how red his cheeks were with anger. He could feel every electric volt in his body explode as he marched up the street, huffing and shaking his head. He could hear Sorcha’s voice echo in his mind as he approached his car. He slammed the door shut, turned it on, and gripped the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles were white. He stayed that way the entire drive, speeding through the streets of downtown, wanting to leave the city and everything he associated with Sorcha as quickly as possible.

***

The same Friday that Nathan had invited her to his house, Sorcha cuddled up on her couch with Juno watching Netflix and eating extra buttery popcorn. There was no way and no possibility that she even gave one single thought to Nathan MacKinnon or his house or the lake or anything else to do with him. Nope. Not one. Nothing. Zip. Nada.

Nope. Not her.

Concentration for whatever was playing on Netflix was proving hard since she kept glancing at her phone every other minute. Usually, it would be lit up or buzzing thanks to hers and Nate’s near constant texts back and forth, but for the first time in weeks, it was silent.

Okay, so maybe it was slightly her fault. Maybe she reacted too harshly upon his invitation to spend some time at his house. Maybe her comments and overly confident attitude that he was trying to pull a fast one on her wrecked the entire situation. That was entirely plausible. But she wasn’t completely in the wrong, and she refused to have all of the blame put on her. What was Nathan thinking inviting her to his house in the first place? While his buddies were there, too! She couldn’t think of a more unappealing Friday night. Spend a night at an isolated house on the lake with people that bullied her and made her life a living hell? She probably would have drowned herself.

That’s where Nathan should have known better. He should have known that she wouldn’t want to go, especially when his friends would be there. Why would she want to spend time with those people? Just because she was friends with him now, and had forgiven him, and had put everything concerning them in the past as opposed to keeping it in the present – none of that meant she forgave everyone else. Nate kept saying that she wasn’t the same girl that she was back in elementary and high school – and she wasn’t. She had the confidence now to say no, to not put herself in those situations. Moreover, she had the confidence to know she deserved better and to not be around those people. In no way, shape, or form was she going to expose herself to them if she didn’t need to. It wasn’t about her thinking she shouldn’t be there, or didn’t deserve to be there – it was about having the confidence in making the decision that was healthy for her.

Sorcha wished Nate saw it that way, and wished he knew better. She wished they hadn’t responded to each other in such anger.

***

Nate couldn’t remember how many beers deep he was, or how long the rap music had been playing, but he knew one thing: he wished Sorcha was here.

After their fight, Nate had gotten into his car and headed straight for his house. He was angry the entire time up, angry the entire rest of the day, and was still angry now. Getting angry at each other was one thing, but blowing up on each other was something different – and they definitely blew up at each other. He didn’t know why she wouldn’t want to come. He thought they had made such progress in the two or so weeks that they’d been hanging out. He thought they had become genuine friends and had put their past behind them, which is what he wanted. Apparently not. Apparently, Sorcha thought and felt differently. He wished he knew why, because he wanted to spend more time with her. And because…because, well…

“Dude!” Shane’s voice rung out in the room to no-one in particular. Nate looked up to see him wearing his stupid bucket hat and holding a red solo cup. “Where’s the Grey Goose? I need some more fuckin’ Grey Goose!”

Nate scowled from the couch. Shane wasn’t even supposed to be here. He was such a fucking idiot. He tagged along with his cousin again, and Nate was too nice to say that he wasn’t allowed in. But fuck was he annoying. Nate wished he had a level less of the infamous east coast hospitality so he didn’t have to deal with Shane’s shit.

“Remember when you used to pour this stuff directly down my throat?” Shane asked Noah.

“Yeah, and remember when your head would be in the toilet seat an hour later?” Noah clapped back.

Nate thought back to the high school parties he attended. He never did much, because he took hockey way too seriously, but he watched others, and he heard stories when he was debriefed the following Monday at school. Who said what. Who hooked up with who. Who wanted to hook up with who. It was all a game that he played into only sometimes, because he had better things to play into. Shane drank like a fiend. Alex was definitely the biggest Casanova in the grade. Nathan would sit back and watch. He’d listen, mostly.

Loud rap music was playing in Holly’s basement – something from Ja Rule, which Nate didn’t particularly like because it was so dated. He wished someone would commandeer the iPod and play some better music. He had half the mind to do it himself with the new iPod he got for Christmas. There were already over 2000 songs uploaded on it. Wearing one of his Mooseheads sweaters and jeans, he sipped on his water bottle.

“Holy shit, feels like every girl in the grade is down here,” Alex commented as he looked around the basement. It definitely felt true, Nate thought.

“Yeah, all except for one,” Shane huffed. “But if The Orca showed up nobody else would fit in the house.”

Everybody around Nate laughed – loud and boisterous and in agreement. Even Nate.

Nate had gotten into English class early, and sat down in his seat before all his friends surrounded him like they were in a teen movie from the early noughties. If Nate was the sun, his friends, teammates, and classmates were the planets, constantly revolving around him. Lucas was trying to scarf down his lunch sandwich even though it was only second period. Noah wasn’t doing much of anything – typical – and Alex was waiting for Nate to say something, anything, that he could respond to.

“Did you ask Jessalyn to the dance yet?” Lucas asked, mouth full of bread and baloney.

“Nah,” Nate shook his head. Every girl in the grade wanted him to ask them to the dance.

“Dude, she’s, like, waiting.”

“Yeah, well…” Nate rolled his eyes. At that moment, a figure walking into the classroom caught his eye. Sorcha Saint-Coeur. She sat at the front, making it hard for Nate to see the board through all her curly hair unless he sat up in his seat. It was annoying. Her best friend Victoria was in this class too, and sat beside her at the front, but she was away judging by her absence in first period math.

Shane caught Nate’s eye wandering and spoke up, loud enough for Sorcha to hear at the front, though the boys were congregated near the back. “What do you guys think enters a room first? Sorcha’s fat or her hair?”

Everybody snickered. Even Nate did. Sorcha didn’t even look back; she was used to it, and she knew exactly who it was coming from. She stayed still for a moment, internalizing the words before digging into her bag to get out her binder and the novel she was reading for their independent study unit – One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel García Márquez. While she was reading a novel most of her classmates would be exposed to for the first time in university as a girl in grade eleven, she was sure Shane Johnson couldn’t even read a book unless it had pop-up pictures in it. But that didn’t matter to him. He was in with the hockey boys, because of his cousin, and that made him cool. He didn’t need to worry about anything because he was in. So it was easy to understand why he was such a dick: he was enabled by everyone around him.

“I say fat,” Lucas chirped. “That gut sticks out, dude.”

“I say hair,” Shane said. “She could shave it bald but then she’d have a fat head too, just like the rest of her.”

“You do it!”

“No you do it!”

“No you do it!!”

“You!”

Snickers. Hands covering mouths. All seventh-grade Sorcha was doing was sketching in her sketchbook. “Psst,” Noah hissed. When she didn’t answer, he just hissed louder. “Pssssttt!” She looked up, bracing herself for whatever he was going to say. “So are the rumours true? You tried to get lipo but there was so much fat the doctor couldn’t suck all of it out?”

“I heard there was so much at the hospital the nurses had trouble carrying the buckets of fat out,” Shane added.

“I heard your step-dad even tried paying the doctor to suck more fat out but there was just way too much,” Noah continued.

“Are your mom and step-dad gonna get divorced now? Didn’t they get married because Doctor D promised your mom he’d suck the fat out of you and now he can’t? So you’re gonna be the reason they get divorced?” Shane egged it on.

“Why won’t you just leave me alone!!!” Sorcha hissed loudly as she slammed her book shut and ran away from them.

Nate sat in between Noah and Shane and watched the whole thing.

They were monsters, Nate thought. All of them.

Even himself.

How could they not be disgusted with themselves? How could they go on living their lives knowing they had treated someone so brutally? How could any of them be living a normal life knowing the pain they caused another person? Nate felt like there were spiders crawling under his skin. He was so skeeved from the memories that he had to put his beer down and get up from his seat to take a walk. If he sat listening to Shane any longer, he would explode – and he didn’t want to. Well, not half-drunk, anyway. Sober was a different story. But it was still awful hearing him, and Nate wanted to be as far away from him as possible.

While everyone else at his house wasn’t paying attention, Nate disappeared into his room and locked the door behind him. Sitting on the edge of his bed, he took his phone out of his pocket, swiping through his contacts and clicking on the only person he wanted to speak to at the moment.

He didn’t know if she’d even pick up. They’d been so mean to each other. But he hoped for the best.

The phone rang for a while. For a brief second, he remembered that he hadn’t even checked the time before he called. It could have been three o’clock in the morning for all he knew. Fucking hell. He didn’t think this through thanks to all the beer and now—

“Hello?”

He was shocked to hear her voice on the other end. She picked up. She had actually picked up. Unprepared, and sobering up really fucking quickly all of the sudden, Nate was silent for a few moments.

“Nate?”

“We were fucking monsters to you,” he said, his voice low, and deep, but raw, and honest. “Fucking monsters.”

Sorcha stayed silents for a few moments too. “Yeah. You were,” she agreed.

“That’s why you didn’t want to come.”

Sorcha couldn’t believe it was two in the morning, that she was still up, and that she was having this conversation with Nate. She couldn’t believe he realized the reason behind her choice, either. “Exactly,” she said.

Nate felt like complete shit. He’d treated her so horribly and practically yelled at her in front of her place of employment and he was just shit, shit, shit all around. He was shit all those years ago for not speaking up and defending her against bullying and harassment and he was shit now for not realizing she didn’t want to expose herself to that again and only thinking about himself. He was being selfish in a situation that needed selflessness. “God Sorcha, I’m so fucking sorry. I’m so—I’m fucking—God,” he was exasperated, unable to find the words.

“I told you that I forgave you a long time ago, Nate,” Sorcha said. It was easy enough to hear the pain in his voice. “You don’t need to keep apologizing to me.”

“But I think I do,” he admitted. “I just—I remembered the lipo rumours from grade seven—”

“—Nate—”

“—Shane and his—the orca comments—”

“Nate, please stop,” Sorcha’s voice was the perfect mixture of soft yet firm. “If I can leave those in the past, so can you.”

“This whole time that we’ve been talking, Sorsh, and reconnecting, I just—I sat there tonight surrounded by all these people and I should have been happy because they’re all my friends and my buddies I’ve known for years but all I could think about is you,” he admitted. “I miss you, Sorcha.”

The hairs at the back of her neck stood on end. She bit her bottom lip so hard she could have almost drawn blood. “You’re treading on very dangerous territory when you say something like that, Nate.”

“So what if I am?”

“You’ve gotta understand the magnitude of those words.”

“Because I mean it,” he affirmed. “I miss you. I want to spend time with you.”

Sorcha couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Here she was on a phone call with Nathan MacKinnon at two in the morning where he was confessing missing her, wanting to spend time with her. The entire universe could have been sucked into a supermassive black hole and collapsed, all molecular life gone with it, and Sorcha still would have bet on that having a greater chance of happening than Nate saying those words to her, admitting what he was admitting to her. She was shocked, but at the same time…

…it was so easy for her to give in.

And it shouldn’t have been that easy. There should have been more resistance from her. More walls that Nate would have to tear down. But he already did in the last couple of weeks, one by one, dinner by dinner, lunch by lunch, and that’s why this decision was so easy. That’s why she allowed herself to feel good about this. She deserved it – the kind words, the lovely sentiments, the attention, the texts, the memes, the late night phone calls, the ‘I miss you’s and ‘I want to spend time with you’s. She deserved it all. And she was going to take it.

“Hey Nate?” she asked.

“Sorsh?” he was scared she was going to follow up with an emphatic go fuck yourself.

“How’d you know who Arthur Lismer was?” she asked.

“You talked about him that one time during dinner. How he painted a bunch of stuff of the Halifax Harbour and the warships. Seascape 1919 is your favourite painting,” he said. As the sentence progressed along every word, he could practically feel Sorcha smiling through the phone. It put his mind and body at ease, so much ease. “I listen to you when you talk, you know.”

Well that was apparent now. Sorcha was smiling from ear to ear in her bed in Halifax. “Nate?”

“Sorsh?” his voice was so hopeful.

“You wanna grab a coffee on Monday?”

“Please.”

“Okay. I’ll let you know where to meet me.”

“We can talk things over. Face to face,” he offered.

“Yeah. We will. Have a good night,” she said.

“Sweet dreams, Sorcha,” were Nate’s last words to her before they ended the call. Nate sat on his bed looking down at the screen, willing Sorcha to appear somewhere in the room.

Sorcha put her phone back on her nightstand, taking a deep breath in before laying down in her bed again and staring straight up at the ceiling.

Oh boy. She was in some serious, serious trouble.

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myelocin · 3 years ago

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Postcards From: Kanazawa | Tsukishima Kei

Synopsis: The fear that comes with love is the realization that it isn't always just light. Love, rediscovered as both the fear and the drive that depicts the push and pull of whether it's worth it to say "I do," if the unknown is what's to come beyond the vow. In which it's a week until the wedding, and the both of you return to Kanazawa--to day one--as strangers.

Characters: Tsukishima Kei

Genre/Tags: Engagement!AU, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with Happy Ending | WC: 10,200+

A/N: this is a piece commed by @tsukishumai ;w; tq for trusting me w u and ur bb boi ily to the moon n back

playlist

commissions | ko-fi

The illusion of the soul is the false belief that love must always—always—be just light.

The truth is, it’s not. Love is many things. Primarily, love begins from desire. Then, that desire seeps into a drive that pushes you to keep wanting. Then finally, when it’s seeped in through the skin deep enough, love pools in the soul.

Love is bound to be raw at the very core. A desire. To say, “I want you,” and think it holds as much credibility as “I love you.” To look at what you know is only the tendrils of something at the very most, and trick yourself into thinking that it’s enough. A beating heart—bloody red. The line just barely hanging in-between what’s selfish and selfless, before it ultimately sways and becomes selfish sometimes.

Sometimes, being right now, Tsukishima thinks.

Sandwiched in-between you to the left, and Yamaguchi to his right, he finds his eyes flickering towards the clock a lot more often than he would have liked. Akaashi, who sat across from his seat on the table, was the first to catch on.

He quirked a brow, presumably in question earlier, and mouthed the question if he was in a rush. Tsukishima’s never been known for having too many words, but because Akaashi pauses and insists to relieve his question with an answer, he shrugs, waving him off and mouthing back that he’s alright.

“So,” Bokuto starts, his voice already slipping into somewhat of a slur. “How’s it feel to be the first to pop the question?”

You laugh, finding amusement in the man’s enthusiasm. Turning to Tsukishima, you sit and wait, expectant of a reaction.

In response, he just shrugs, but a smile breaks through and redefines the nonchalance of his expression anyway. Raising the glass to his lips, he takes a quick sip before answering smugly, “It’s nice to finally settle down. You should try it sometimes.”

Bokuto waves him off, cheeks flushed and eyes already drooping from the inebriation. “Nah,” he slurs, shaking his head. The exaggeration warrants a quick laugh from Sugawara, who sits on the other side, nursing his own drink. Continuing, Bokuto huffs and takes a slight pause before he connects the last of what he says with, “—getting married is nice and all, but I don’t know, man,” he laughs. “Just feels like I’ll end up hitting a fucking blank space after I do or whatever. Not my vibe.”

Visibly, Tsukishima shifts a little, the smile on his face maintained but the lighthearted energy that earlier fueled it just slightly more drained now.

From the corner of your eye, you notice it. Though, Akaashi’s the one who gives him a pointed stare, to which the former simply ignores.

“But—“ Bokuto continues, as if trying to remedy the cracked part of the atmosphere that isn’t even visible in the first place—“If that’s your thing, then I’m obviously not going to judge you for that.”

Tsukishima responds by his silence. Bokuto, with his head still warped around the heavy state of his inebriation, doesn’t do so much other than sip a little more of his barely filled glass of beer, Tsukishima’s apathetic expression just a blur in his eyes now.

“You seem happy, though,” Bokuto notes, then raises his glass towards you.

Blinking at being the sudden subject of his interest, you raise your own glass of water. The ice inside shifts, clinking against the sides of the glass, and slowly, Tsukishima watches. There’s familiarity in the way it moves down: trickling slow like the patience inside him that’s suddenly running by the clock. His palms just barely gripping the utensils, clammy. While his head, still whirs at Bokuto’s halfhearted words.

It’s halfhearted, he reminds himself.

The thought of hitting a plateau after “I do,” in a way is terrifying.

But he is happy, right?

The way his palms respond solely through tensing suddenly spikes the fear that maybe his ring will slip. So he looks at you, trying to find an anchor to keep the love he pushes to stay intertwined with his truth afloat as he responds, “Of course I am. I’m happy.”

You look back at him, eye to eye, though you find something waver just for a split second— wondering if there’s credibility in the saying that gold will always deliver truth.

The rest of the night flows easy.

Almost naturally, he’s quick to wave off Bokuto’s invite for more drinks at the bar just down the street, tugging your interlaced hands towards the parking lot as soon as the group found its way to the exit.

“You know he probably just wanted more company,” you laugh. Thirty minutes after making it back home, instead of jumping straight into the shower and getting ready for the night routine, you instead take out the suitcase and take your place, seated on the floor in the living room.

“We needed to pack,” you hear him respond, his voice a little distant from the bedroom down the hall.

You shrug. “Yeah, but we could have made time.”

“Sometimes we can’t just make things, if we don’t have any to make it with in the first place,” he sighs.

You chuckle. Perhaps it’s just one of those nights again. In the ten years you’ve known Tsukishima Kei, you found that he had a tendency to become a multitude of things.

A stranger, at the start, because that’s where every connection begins. The neighbor who lived with his grandfather across the street from your childhood home. Kanazawa was a long way from Sendai, but before his parents had whisked him off to Miyagi some years later, he had been the friend that oftentimes spent his afternoons with you.

Strawberry cake and tiny sips of boxed juice from the convenient store down the street, and not much conversation exchanged between the both of you. He’d tell you about the things on his grandfather’s old encyclopedia, and you’d listen with rapt attention, finding it nice how he seemed to carry a little bit of the stars the more his eyes gleamed. He just talked about dinosaurs, you remember. At ten, Tsukishima had always been a wonderer.

Then he moved.

From the friend who told you stories and shared his juice boxes with you under that tree, to the occasional email that would pop up on your phone, when you were in highschool and weaving your way in and out of pathways and dead-ends. Miyagi was a little like Kanazawa, he said. There was a lot of quiet in the two cities. His email would come once a week, then twice when you reckon he felt a little lonely.

You’d reply with the same kind of enthusiasm as he had established, though you still couldn’t deny the fact that the notification with his name on it never failed to have you smiling—at least just a little bit. At fifteen, Tsukishima was far from a stranger, but he was also falling just a little short in making it to the halfway mark of being a friend too.

The once-a-week emails were welcome, none the less. It stayed like that, until once a week turned into twice. Though most were just the customary how-are-yous and obligatory holiday greetings once the seasons came and went, one year it turned into emails about the little nothings.

‘I had strawberry cake today,’ it once read. ‘The one we used to share tasted sweeter.’

‘I joined the volleyball team.’

‘Winter here is a little colder. I remember your puffy green jacket.’

‘I don’t know if you want to know…or if I should tell you...but our team won, and we’re going to nationals.’

Somehow, you were managed to be convinced by one of your friends that same week to travel with your own highschool’s volleyball team to assist in the preparation for nationals in Tokyo. It was just a coincidence, you used to reason. You were there, and so was he. There was a hundred other courts his team could have played at, and your priority was assisting your own team in what they needed.

But still, you couldn’t help but wave back and cheer the loudest from your stands when he perfected the block and scored the winning point for the first set.

It was then, where you realized that perhaps Tsukishima Kei wouldn’t just be a stranger.

Kanazawa to Miyagi, but somehow Tokyo became the in-between. Childhood friends to the sort-of friends from the other ends of the country sharing a few scattered memories in slices of strawberry shortcake and random dinosaur trivia from an old man’s outdated encyclopedia.

He was the first to approach you after that match. A hand held out to shake, perhaps to commemorate the evident shift between strangers to friends—but it was nice.

Because after that, friends turned into something more.

Maybe Tokyo really was the middle ground. After you graduated and moved out of your respective cities, Tokyo became the third place of hello.

Then things just slipped into place. He was here, and so were you. He had plans to stay, and you just signed the contract that bound you to the city for the next two and a half years. The apartment right down the hall from yours was recently vacated, and he was looking for a place to stay.

His new work place, coincidentally enough, was just a stop away from the train station closest to your place.

You had always doubted the presence of serendipity and everything that had to dictate with the celestial control of fate, but the ease that came with the relief of him signing the lease the very next week almost seemed to validate what had been just a farfetched something.

From strangers, to friends, to lovers, then to this:

Ten years later, a ring on your finger, and an I do, bound to be said just a little over seven days from now.

Tokyo was kind to the both of you. His mother’s close enough to visit on the weekends, while Kanazawa was just a shinkansen away from Tokyo station. A new apartment with enough space for two, plus maybe an extra, and a bakery right down the street with the best strawberry shortcake made fresh every day.

The wedding’s just a week away. His grandfather, still living in Kanazawa was meant to travel with Akiteru to Tokyo last week, but because plans changed, the both of you were instead tasked with going there yourselves to travel with him. While Tsukishima hesitated, you didn’t. Yes was easy to say in a situation like this. Though your parents had moved to Tokyo some years ago, you were aware that his grandfather didn’t.

The house across the street was still his, while the one you grew up in just now became a summer home your family would frequent to when Tokyo became too swarmed with tourists.

You look at the half-filled contents of the suit case on the floor in front of you. The right side’s meant to hold your clothes, while the left was left bare for Tsukishima’s. You turn and look at him.

“You can just grab the stuff you need me to bring for you and I’ll fold it in. We should probably catch the first train tomorrow if we wanna get there before sundown.”

What comes as a reply is only prolonged silence.

You let what he started stay for a little, but because you had never been the type to be fond in gouging out answers from the blank spaces, you sigh, and break the impending silence before it could get a chance to even settle. “You’re quiet again, Kei.”

When he makes it to the living room, instead of coming back out with a stack of clothes, he stands by the wall with his hands in his pocket. His eyes shift from wall to wall, but skip over you.

Knowing that you’ll just prompt another conversation again the more he keeps his silence, he sighs, swallowing the hesitation and clinging onto the bits of courage that floats by him in the moment. Grasping at the very tips of it, he forces the words out of his mouth. “Are you really coming with me?”

You raise a brow. “Back to Kanazawa? Of course. I’m from there too, you know. Plus I haven’t seen Grandpa in a while.”

He shifts his gaze to the side, thankful for the blur that came with forgetting to slip on his glasses. He’s always had a tendency to give in the moment he looks at you, so the vagueness in the blur was a welcome change. “It’s just for a week,” he mutters. “I think I’ll handle the trip just fine.”

“Plus,” he adds, the hike in the tone of his voice giving away his panic. “—I heard there was a problem with the florists? Maybe one of us needs to go in and fix it ourselves just in case.”

In the ten years you’ve known him, you’ve always considered it a given that you’ve well perceived him by now. In front of you, he’s stammering. While Tsukishima has never been the face to poise and perfection—because at the end of the day he still is just a boy—you knew he only stammered when he was nervous.

Perhaps trying to manipulate the situation through a wordless exchange was his way of doing so. In your head, you chuckle. Tsukishima Kei is many things, and is witty when it counts—but he could never be blunt when it came to the things he was unsure of.

You try to gouge out his truth. Speaking straight to the point, you let him know that there’s no purpose in trying to skirt around. You turn to him, his sweater half folded on your lap. “You know I could have believed what you just said, but,” you pause, giving him a pointed look, “—you’re not even looking at me.”

“Is this about what Bokuto said earlier?”

The way he shifts his weight from one foot to the other awkwardly, confirms your suspicions that that it is about that, before he can muster up the courage to even say it. “Tell me,” you initiate. You’ve never been afraid to speak what needs to be said. “What’s got you so afraid?”

Once more, he hopes for the silence to speak for him. And like before—it doesn’t. Silence was never meant to fill in the blanks. What it did, rather, is add three seconds more on the clock that’s ticking regardless. Tsukishima bets on a timed clock to speak for him, and because you’ve never been the type to shrink at the presence of raw truth, you huff and poke into what obviously hits for him just a little deeper.

“You’re afraid we’ll hit a blank space after we get married, aren’t you?”

He doesn’t look away, but little by little, his body language starts slipping bits and pieces of the truth you’ve already long sensed. “I think I just need to think this through.”

“What?” you scoff. “You planned to go to Kanazawa by yourself for a week to what? Soul search? To decide if you even wanna marry me?”

“I’m sor—“

“That’s what you’re not supposed to say,” you interrupt him. “You don’t say you’re sorry for how you’re feeling, because you’re allowed to feel it how it is, but shit, Kei,” you exhale, pausing to suck in a quick breath. “You couldn’t have just said this earlier?”

He looks away again, the guilt evident on his features. “You’re mad.”

“Do you blame me?”

This time, he turns to you. “No,” he murmurs. “I don’t, but I’m gonna be blunt here—“

“—first time—“

He gives you a pointed look, but in the moment, you don’t really have much in you to care too much.

“I think I need space to clear my head.”

“Sounds like you’re contemplating on whether you wanna stay with me or not,” you respond. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel about that.”

Tsukishima’s steady, this time. “Of course I wanna stay with you.”

“But,” you counter. “You aren’t sure if you want to marry me.”

He looks away. “What if—we hit a plateau after.”

“That’s still not an excuse to back out before we even try, Kei,” comes your reasoning.

“You’re right,” he sighs. “It’s not.”

Then it’s you, who shrugs this time, giving in a little and throwing him what you hope he doesn’t see as a lifeline. There’s no comfort found in knowing that an out is a means of mercy when it comes to love. Why should there even be an out?

You settle for just cracking the door open instead. Though it was never locked, the fact that it remained close must have been understood differently by him.

“Let’s go back to Kanazawa separately, then,” you propose. The open suitcase in front of you still has the right half filled with his half folded clothes, so you reach in, taking it out one by one. “You stay with your grandfather and I’ll stay at my parent’s house.”

Tsukishima raises a concern. “He’ll wonder why we aren’t staying together.”

In response, you shrug. “Just make something up then.”

“Is this just a passive aggressive way to say you’re mad at me?”

You scoff. “When have I ever been passive aggressive, Kei? I’ve said shit as it is since day one.”

He flinches, maybe because of what you said or the tone of the deliverance, but either way, you decide you can’t give much of a shit. It’s a given that you’re angry, but because being hurt just paves the path to silence more than lashing out, it’s not much of a surprise that you probably look deflated in front of him.

“What I’m saying is,” you explain. “Let’s go back to Kanazawa as strangers. Do what you gotta do, however you’ve gotta do it to get your head sorted out, and then we’ll talk. I’m not dancing around in circles with you on this. Either we get married next week, or we don’t.”

He panics. “I don’t want to lose you—“

“You’re already talking like you’ve decided that you won’t be at the other end of that aisle, Kei.”

Words feel lacking all of a sudden, so you pause. The absence of the split second brevity has Tsukishima standing still, his breath held, throat dry.

But like always, clarity seems to weave its way through the cracks in the room and find you first. “Yes or no isn’t easy to decide between,” you finally mutter. Eyes to the half folded sweaters you meant to tuck into the other half of the suitcase, you realize that you’ll need to switch to a smaller trolley now because you won’t be needing this much space anyway. “I don’t know what I should tell you, because I don’t know that we’d be having a possible fallout a week before the wedding. But at the same time—I don’t want to say you’re despicable for feeling like that, Kei. It just—“

“—fucking sucks,” you sigh.

“If you feel like you need a week to figure whatever this shit is, then okay,” you nod. “Okay. Let’s be strangers for a week and by the time we’re back in Tokyo, you give me a yes or no and be fucking blunt with it.”

Later that night when you turn your back against him and face the wall, his whisper breaks through the quiet. “Why are you still patient with me about this? You could have just left me.”

You shift, laying on your back and sighing to the makeshift glow in the dark stars stuck to the ceiling of your room. “Because I love you,” you sigh. “Loving someone just means you have to exhaust every other option before even thinking of throwing in the towel.”

He sleeps that night, feeling heavy.

He woke up later that morning, feeling the same too.

In a sense, things admittedly started weird. You woke up before he did this time, when he usually would be the one trying to be quiet when he slipped out of bed. Even though early mornings had never been a thing for the both of you, there was still something unpleasant in waking up to an empty bed.

The sheets on your side were done, and your phone that usually would be pinging with email notifications by now wasn’t there.

It’s odd, he thinks. While he agreed to be strangers for a week, the walk to the train station was the same. Silence was normal, but the five extra inches that added to the distance between the both of you wasn’t. You nodded his way when he pointed at the shinkansen’s direction, and wordlessly would hand him his usual brew when you stopped at the coffee shop just before going in.

Seated beside you in the train, he tries to ignore the urge to poke you on the side and make conversation. Words have always come easy when it came to moments with you, he noticed.

Tsukishima’s aware that he’s always been dubbed as the kind of person who never preferred to say too much, and while that was true—to an extent—he realizes that there is some truth to the saying that silence kills.

You’re seated beside him on the train, eyes to your phone, and earbuds in place. He resorts to just staring at you through his peripherals, caught in between wanting to satiate the want to talk to you by breaking the silence, or keeping it as is.

This is where fear grips him a little tighter. The deal was, as you had pointed out just last night, that the both of you would move through the week pretending to be strangers again. You’d stay on your side of the street, while he stayed in his.

It’s a given that his grandfather’s bound to ask about you, and so in the event that it does happen, you would just spend a few hours with them and pretend like everything was fine.

You made it clear that you’d try to exhaust all the options before resorting to that, though. And it’s easy, he thinks, doing so. It doesn’t take much to fake a phone call from work or a last minute meeting with an old friend that wouldn’t be able to make it to the city for the supposed wedding.

The lines were drawn, and the outline of what was to be expected in the next week was made clear.

He thinks of what you said before you slept. Love, as that one drive that has you exhausting all your options before even thinking of quitting. It’s fair, he thinks. You’ve always been the rational thinker in the relationship.

But then again, he doesn’t doubt your hurt either. A week was lengthy, he realizes, and to act as strangers again just a week before the wedding was a different kind of test when it came to your patience.

Still, he owes you truth.

You’ve always told him to lay things bare, and even though what’s bare is ugly, because love always pushes to try—he stays, doing just that.

Undoubtedly, this is a jump. There’s no question in the fact that the possibility of reaching the peak and coming face to face with a plateau scares him. But still, his thoughts counter, to face a drop that doesn’t guarantee a landing somehow terrifies him even more.

The sound of your phone vibrating snaps him out of his thoughts. Before you answer it, he snags a look of the name written on the screen—Akiteru’s.

Tsukishima sighs, shooting you a cautious stare as you pick up the phone and turn to him.

The tone of your voice is easy, though you look at him, unbothered. “Hey,” you answer. “Just got in the train, so Kei should be calling you in about three hours when we’re there.”

In comes a pause, before you chuckle a little. Unconsciously, Tsukishima scooches in, curious. But before he could get a chance to lean in too close, you pull away a little, looking at him curiously, an eyebrow raised. “I meant to tell you,” he hears you say, and as you look at him, he chooses to hold your stare.

“Kei and I will be staying separately for the week.”

Beside you, he shifts, fighting the urge to turn away and face forward.

Assuming that your flinch afterwards was only a response to what he’s only certain is Akiteru’s sudden outburst, the prior nervousness of his stare shifts into concern. Understanding the are-you-okay that he mouths, you wave him off. “We’re fine,” you laugh. “I just miss staying at the house that’s all, and I’m pretty sure Kei wants to spend quality time with his grandfather.”

You stay silent after that, which truth be told, doesn’t exactly help with his nerves.

“He’s right next to me,” you add. “We’re fine, I swear. Just wanna enjoy Kanazawa in different ways that’s all.”

To put it bluntly, the first day is awkward.

His grandfather’s waiting from outside the gate the second you make it to that familiar street. Nothing much has changed, the two of you notice. The gate’s rusted a little by the edges, and the door’s still got the same chip on the left side he always said he’d take a look at.

“Heard they were cutting down that tree,” his grandfather says, when it’s a little over three hours later and you’re all seated at a local restaurant for dinner. His old friend owned the place, he explained. Low lights, home cooked meals, and a family run business you vaguely remember your father talking about when you were young.

Tsukishima pauses, eyebrows rising in question. “What do you mean that tree?”

“The one you used to run off to,” he laughs.

Elbowing him, you nod towards his grandfather before pointing out, “We met by that tree, you know.”

His grandfather’s quick to responding, laughing at Tsukishima’s perplexed expression. “Seems like your grandfather’s memory is doing better these days than you, boy.”

You suppose that at the end of the day, it shouldn’t have been a big deal that he forgot. You’ve never been one to dwell too deep within the symbolic little nothings that’s bound to come with life. Rationally speaking, maybe you’re just a little miffed because of what he said the night before. And maybe that’s the reason why you’re taking this a little harsher than you would have on a normal day.

But strangers, you remember. Strangers wouldn’t care if the other forgot.

So with that, you shrug. You take another spoonful of the food in front of you and shift your body just slightly to the left—to which Tsukishima took noticed—and leaned forward. Without even saying much, his grandfather already has his attention on you, the smile on his face kind.

He’s always been kind, you remember. With a smile, you choose to keep the peace in the room at bay, willing yourself to ignore Tsukishima’s stare boring holes into the side of your head from beside you.

“Now that I think about it, I don’t remember a lot of people stop by that tree,” you comment, as you take a step into nostalgia.

His grandfather shrugs, absentmindedly nodding his head as he mulls over your word through a spoonful of broth. “It was in the middle of a residential area. Bound to get taken down if you ask me. People nowadays need a place to park.”

This time, you really feel his stare beside you almost intensify. Truth is, you can make sense of what you know he only fears. The point in life was to brave through the unfamiliar to establish a consistency in familiar grounds. To continuously rise from day one, only to hit the peak and possibly come face to face with a plateau instead of something greater than even the height of all highs—you admit that it’s terrifying.

The plateau, that perhaps works sort of like that tree.

It’s been there, so here it still is.

You’ve both been at that tree—at the start—so here you both still are. Side by side back in Kanazawa, sharing a meal like I do, isn’t hanging on the line.

His grandfather’s voice snaps you out of your thoughts. “You’re not wearing your ring.”

Tsukishima’s voice is quick to cut into the conversation, his voice smooth. “She just doesn’t wanna lose it.”

You nod along to his lie, undecided with how to feel in regards to how smooth he seemed to have delivered his lie.

“You know, now that I think about it, it’s good that they’re cutting down that tree.”

Tsukishima speaks his mind this time. “Last week, you said you were looking forward to coming back home so you could visit that tree again.”

You don’t look at him when you answer. “I know, but your grandfather has a point. When things change, what else can you do but get rid of it?”

“Oh nothing’s changed,” he laughs across you. “Even before the two of you were born, people would always talk about how it’s just there when the space could have been used for parking.”

“Then why put off cutting it down this long?”

“Who knows,” he laughs. There’s an unfound wisdom in his eyes that read through your soul when he looks at you. “Maybe cutting down what people already see as a permanent fixture will do more harm than good in the long run.”

“Even if it doesn’t contribute anything?”

Tsukishima thinks of his fear, then of the plateau.

Through the rim of the glass, he keeps a steady eye on his grandfather, breath held as the anticipation for his words begin to really settle.

“People these days just see what’s the most obvious from the surface and consider it as the only fault then run with it. Maybe it’s not the tree,” he laughs. “Maybe it’s just the people. They want convenience so they cut off everything around them instead of adjusting to it.”

The food tastes bland in his mouth, suddenly.

“Goes to show how selfish people can get sometimes,” his grandfather finishes, as an afterthought. “A shame, really. That old tree’s done nothing but give people shade.”

At the end of the day, you really had to give his grandfather a lot more credit than what was due.

The second and third day was awkward. Even though you tried to stay inside for most of your day, venturing outside and meeting up with old friends was inevitable. And really, you should have remembered that he often started his day with a couple laps walked around the block.

On day two, he hinted that he could sense something was off. Tsukishima had been a lot more silent lately, he pointed out. First, as just a passing comment, then by the third time he’d bring it up and wouldn’t get too much of a response out of you, there came more emphasis to what he says.

He passed by the tree every time you’d round the street too. It occurs to you that passing through it was a shortcut, and contradicted his prior statements to having a route that catered towards the long way home, but you chose to not comment much about it.

The second day was curiosity, and you figured that you could live at least just a week with it.

The third day, on the other hand, gave you a little more trouble than you had bargained for.

You’re on your way home from an old friend’s house, and ironically enough, both Tsukishima and his grandfather are out by their front door, tending to the weeds of a garden that doesn’t even look remotely grown.

Tsukishima’s the first to look at you.

Stubborn, and frankly intent on upholding your end of the deal in staying strangers, you attempt to wave them off with a passing greeting as you look through your bag, feeling around for the keys to the gate.

“You don’t have to think of an excuse,” you hear him say. “He’s back inside now. It’s just you and me here.”

It’s funny how ever since you’ve made it back to Kanazawa, he’s been the one to break the silence a lot more lately.

You don’t turn. Strangers, you think. The deal was to pretend the other was a stranger.

“Cam,” he calls out again, the desperation in his voice inching more and more out of its shell. “I’m really sorry.”

You turn around, the buried anger getting the best of you in the moment. “You know the more you say that, the more convinced I am that I should just give you back your ring right now and go back to Tokyo alone. You talk like the only thing you’re sure of is the fact that you won’t be marrying me next week, Kei.”

The moment you shift your gaze from the ground to his eyes, a part of you aches at the idea that you may have to bid farewell to gold. Swallowing down the mass of emotions you hope isn’t entirely just made of anger, you steady yourself and sigh.

It hits you that it’s been a long day.

“It’s just you and me here,” you repeat, slowly. There’s a flutter in your heart that tells you it’s still love that stares back when you look at him. “Then why do you feel so far away, Kei?”

He doesn’t sleep that night.

Day three of being strangers, but he hasn’t had anything figured out. They say absence makes the heart grow fonder, but what only grew was the silence. The distance is really just a few feet away—across the street and through the leaves of that tree that your father would always say he’d get to.

The light from your room is still turned on, though the curtains are drawn.

8PM and it’s early. 8PM, and on a usual day, you’d usually be seated beside him in your Tokyo apartment’s living room, mulling over the nothings that went on in your day.

It’s nice to talk about the rest of the world as if all they’re meant to be is just a passing blur in the background, he thinks. He’s never been much for words, but you were.

Then again, you had always been one for truth.

Reality is, he knows he could always swallow his doubts, walk across the street, cover the distance, and apologize to you with an I’m sorry, that covers all that needs to be addressed in a standard apology. Life can be lived as easy as that. You swallow your own thoughts, adhere to what they say needs to be done in the way they tell you how to do so, and be done with it.

But he knows you just as well as he knows himself.

You’d call him a coward—and truth be told, he’ll think the same.

Present wise—he does think he is a coward.

Tsukishima sighs, knowing that blinking at your closed curtain visible from his window won’t do much of a difference. Begrudgingly, he sits up, grabbing his glasses from the bedside table.

The streets around the neighborhood are quiet this time of night. The perks about living away from the city was the silence, he thinks. As soon as he tugs on a sweater, he makes his way downstairs, carefully, so he doesn’t stir his grandfather he presumes is sleeping on the room across the hall.

He exhales, relieved at the barely audible creak the door clicks to as soon as he shuts it and turns the lock from the outside. The keys, jingling in his pockets, is the only sound that rings in the quiet.

It isn’t lonely, but it isn’t comfortable either.

Kanazawa has always been a town he’s considered as a piece of constant that’s meant to drift inbetween.

Neither like Tokyo or the towns by the outskirts of Okinawa, it stays as is. Twenty years ago, the crack on the sidewalk was there, and now, twenty years later, it remains.

There’s comfort in recognizing constants, Tsukishima admits. The tree just down this road, the crack on the asphalt, and the fact that your room is still the second window to the left visible from his on the second floor.

When he was younger, he remembers he often would stand under your window, caught in between wanting to knock on your door and ask permission from your parents if you could accompany him for the afternoon, or just wait around until you’d come down yourself.

While he left a lot of things on chance, the conscious choice to stay rooted in the spot by your window remained constant.

The gravel under his feet crackle everytime he’d take a step. The moon’s hazy behind the clouds tonight, he muses. While you’d wish for the stars, he found a temporary safety in the midnight clouds. A timelessness felt when it’s midnight, stays.

Before he turns to the corner that would lead home, he stops midway—recognizing the tree from a good few meters away.

There’s a sense of feeling an urgency to let something go, the more he stares at it. Nearing autumn, the colors start to change, and just like that, he’s reminded of the impermanence in life.

As the earth eventually changes throughout the years, he fears that perhaps in love—it would too.

“You’re out late,” is the first thing Tsukishima hears as soon as he enters the room.

From the genkan, he peers over the shelf, noticing the lights from the kitchen is what floods into the dim living room. Slipping on his house slippers and making his way around the corner, Tsukishima gets a feel of the warmth that’s radiating from the familiarity of the space.

After his grandmother had passed, his grandfather stayed in Kanazawa. Though his mother often expressed her desire for him to move with the rest of the family in Tokyo, every time, he’d only wave them off and say that there’s too much rooted here for him to just up and leave.

Walking into the kitchen, his grandfather’s the first to raise a mug his way and offer a smile. “I’d ask you if everything’s fine, but I think I’ll just wait around and see if you’re even willing to tell me.”

Tsukishima chuckles airily. “Sounds like you wanna ask anyway.”

He takes a slow sip. “Okay then,” he nods, smiling like he’s just struck a deal. “First question is—are you okay?”

In response, Tsukishima smiles, pulling the chair and taking the seat across his. He nods. “’Course I am.”

His grandfather’s eyes don’t leave him. “You’re not wearing the ring, and neither is Cam.”

Suddenly feeling like he’s caught in between a blocked exit and the spotlight, Tsukishima freezes, but wills himself not to look away. “Just needed some space, that’s all.”

“To think?”

He sighs. “To reconsider.”

“Ahh,” the older man sighs. “Cold feet. Pretty normal, if you ask me.”

He raises a brow in question. “It’s normal?”

“To be nervous, yeah,” his grandfather laughs. “But looks like it’s a different case for you.”

Tsukishima doesn’t respond, his eyes fixated towards a spot on the wall that feeds more into the blank space of his thoughts than anything more.

“You’re afraid,” Tsukishima hears, and as soon as the retaliation he tries to string together at the very last minute don’t come—he realizes the core of all the chaos in his head is meant to be just like that—

Blank.

“What are you so afraid of, boy?”

In the silence, he lets the rawness of his truth slowly spill. “What if I hit a plateau after this?”

His grandfather wastes no second in countering. “How is it life if we just keep climbing? What’s the point in doing all that work if we never get rest?”

Tsukishima laughs. “You know, by that logic it can just go the other way around too.”

He settles in his seat, trying to appreciate the silence instead of looking for company in the noise, before he adds, “What if we decide we don’t love each other anymore?”

“That’s not all there is to a plateau,” he laughs. “It’s a valid fear, but being afraid isn’t all there is after you marry someone.”

“Then what’s there?”

With a smile, his grandfather leans back, raises the mug to his lips, and relaxes—his eyes looking fondly at a faded photograph hung beside the wall clock. “Everyday,” he answers. “What’s there after I do is just everyday.”

Sensing that his grandfather means to say more, he chooses to retain his silence. Sighing softly, his grandfather keeps his smile steady as he continues to speak. “Everyday you wake up. You roll over in bed, you think about the checklist you do to consider a day done, then you come home, eat a meal, rest a little and start the whole day over the next day. Everyday’s like that.”

He shifts, leaning forward with his arms crossed supporting his weight on the table as he eyes his grandson with a smile. “Best part is, you can do all that with someone you love. Makes the boring part of the plateau a lot more bearable.”

“You wake up with them and complain about how boring the rest of your day will be, then come home and eat a meal with them. Wash the dishes, share the silence, and just go to bed knowing you’ll wake up with somebody.”

The smile on his face is honest, then he shrugs. “It’s nice, though. The plateau after you hit a certain point in life is just inevitable, Kei. You can either complain about life alone or complain about it with somebody. At least there will be two pairs of slippers by the genkan waiting for you everytime you come home. You’ll say you’ve made it home and someone will greet you. You’ll roll over in bed at 2am and someone will be there with you. The point of climbing in life is to get somewhere, not ascend past the norm.”

Tsukishima stays quiet, pondering over the truth in his grandfather’s words. “So life’s just meant to stay in the middle?” he asks, slowly coming into terms with his grandfather’s redefinition of the plateau. “Life’s meant to find a consistency in everyday,” he corrects.

A few moments pass before he stands back up, pointing to the counter with a thermos. He knows it’s yours. The old one that your mother refused to throw away, because there’s a crack by the lid and a couple faded sailor moon stickers stuck by the side.

“Look at that,” Tsukishima hears. He turns his head just in time to see the old man offer him a patient smile, the message in his eyes delivered without a hitch. “That old thing’s seen a couple of decades, but it still gets to you when you need it, right?”

It’s not so bad to have an old thing be your constant, right?

Twenty minutes after his grandfather climbs back to his room upstairs, Tsukishima’s seated on the side of the table beside the window. Peeking through the half-opened blinds, he can still see that the light from your room is still flicked on.

Without mulling over the decision, he takes his phone out, scrolling through the contacts until he taps your name. A swipe without too much pressure, because even his thumb’s memorized where your name is by now. Kind of like muscle memory, he supposes.

Bypassing the unannounced rules about what to do as the strangers you had claimed from the start of this week, it results to the lack of hesitation as he types a quick text and presses send without a thought that would counter it.

I love you, it reads.

From his spot in the kitchen, he leans back and smiles, pouring himself a cup of the tea he knows you brewed yourself on the nights where he can’t sleep.

The lights from your room stay on for a few more moments before it dims, but before the metaphoric silence could take root, the screen of his phone lights up.

Stop walking around at night. Drink the tea and try to get some sleep.

Exhaling almost in relief, it’s the slow beating of his heart that resettles him back into the love he’s known everyday.

It’s not quite the end, but it isn’t exactly somewhere unpleasant either.

Two days before you’re meant to return to the city, instead of spending the day in your room—like you had initially planned—you somehow found yourself in the passenger seat of his grandfather’s old car, with a grocery list in hand.

You sigh, understanding what his grandfather’s trying to do.

As you look down, there’s nothing much written in the grocery list. He had complained about some back pain earlier, followed up by his insistent request of desperately needing his groceries done so when Akiteru was to arrive later on, dinner would be taken care of.

Beside you, with his hands on the wheel, Tsukishima sighs. “We could have just ordered in food for dinner. It’s just Akiteru coming,” he mumbles.

Keeping your eyes to the window to your left, you shrug. “He likes making the ordinary special, I guess.”

Tsukishima stays silent after that, mentally thankful for the green light and the empty roads. The more stops, the longer silence would stay. And even after the sort of middle ground from the night before, he doesn’t know what to say to you.

After making a quick turn, he pulls up into the parking lot and kills the engine. Unbuckling his seatbelt, he turns to you, with an expectant look. “You can just stay here if you don’t wanna go in with me,” he offers. “It’s a short list, I can be in and out in a bit.”

You wave him off, already slinging on your bag and opening the car door—the list on your hand. “It’s alright. I think I’m more familiar with this area than you are, so we can just meet back in the car in thirty minutes if that’s okay with you.”

“You don’t need me to come with you?” he raises a brow.

You shake your head no, but upkeep the smile on your face anyway as you exit the car and close the door.

Something about what you say sticks with him, the more he thinks about it.

He can distinguish the hesitation laced each of your decisions. You look past him, but not exactly at him. You speak to him, but keep the conversations short. Though conversation was rare between the both of you this past week, the times that you did speak to him, your words often were clipped short.

It’s your means of upkeeping your end of the deal, he realizes.

You’ve always been one for communication, but then again, patience can only stretch so much.

He respects your wish for distance and walks the opposite way from the grocery store, towards a building he doesn’t really known. It’s a gallery, he realizes. Three steps past the entrance, he notices that he’s one of the few that’s in the room.

Traditional artwork line the wall, hung in frames that have rusted throughout time.

Tsukishima stares, eyes drawn to the pieces of art he recognizes from the few scattered memories in his childhood that relate to his time in the city.

A fieldtrip, when he was seven. He remembers leaving the house upset over the yellow hat he had to wear, and the rain boots his teacher wouldn’t let him change out of. Unlike the present, rain was present that day. He stood beside you in line, and had to tilt his head up at the piece of art he always thought was the prettiest out of the bunch.

And now, almost two decades later, he still thinks the same.

He smiles at the memory, finding the comfort of returning to what’s familiar, pleasant.

As if caught by an epiphany, and suddenly enveloped in a sense of a rediscovered home, here, within a room that’s familiar, he finds purpose in the permanence of love.

Love, that’s never meant to be stretched into the likeness of what the poets declare as the absolute form of love after “I do.”

Staring at the piece of art with the rusting frames, the strokes within the canvas still depict the same story. It still is beautiful.

It’s doesn’t become more—but it stays as is.

And maybe that’s what his grandfather was trying to convey.

To fear a certain phase in love is something that comes and goes, but it often never stays. It can linger, but eventually, it too, fades.

What stays is what’s rooted.

Primarily, just you. Truly, just love.

That tree in that old street, these paintings on the walls, and the kind of serenity that washes over him at the thought of you.

The fear in life comes in the form of thinking that beyond the peak lays a plateau. Beyond “I do,” what’s next to come is love, dwindling until “I don’t love you anymore,” is the only thing left to be said.

It’s fear, that spoke to him the past few weeks, so this time, as he gives in, he listens to love.

It’s quiet.

But through the smoke in the room, the message that’s meant to deliver truth comes in full clarity. Illuminated, it appears before him as it is. A painting that’s struck him as beautiful then and now, and the thought of you as the face that’s always been the first to greet him every morning for more than just a few years now.

An old man stands not too far from him, hands clasped behind his back as he stares—with a smile on his face—at a similar painting on the wall. Sensing Tsukishima’s presence, he looks over and redirects the smile his way. “Been coming here for years, and looking at this still feels the same.”

Poking at the doubts, Tsukishima responds, “Are you afraid that it won’t get old?”

The gentleman laughs, though soft enough so it doesn’t echo too much in the halls. The joy lingers around Tsukishima, on the other hand. “To have something grow old with you isn’t a bad thing. Day one, this piece was beautiful, and now, almost forty years later, I look at it and think the same too.”

A beat of silence passes, but the man speaks once more.

“My wife, when she was alive, showed me this piece. Maybe I look at this and still find it beautiful after all these years because I think of her, but I don’t think trying to focus on that matters much. The feeling’s the same, even if it grew old.”

Reciprocating the older man’s goodbye with a nod to the head, it’s then where he laughs, a little bit more of the truth unraveling as each moment comes and goes. Thinking of his words, he dwells on its meaning.

Standing there, alone in the museum hall, the smoke clears, and he presents himself his words of blended truth and patience.

Love is timeless, his thoughts say. The plateau after the peak is as possible as the drop, but life’s meant to be lived in the lows and in betweens as much as the highs. Time moves in waves, and perhaps love doesn’t always grow stagnant. It can be timeless, even though the frames rust. His hair will grey, and maybe you’ll stop linking your pinky with him beneath the sheets during the rainy season’s thunderstorms, but the root of love stays.

Within the plateau, time will move, and you’ll both grow old, but the taste of the tea you’ll brew for him will remain the same.

And thirty minutes later, when he makes it back to the parking lot with you waiting by the door, the love that steadies his beating heart will be the same too.

Steady, present, and timeless.

Eyeing the dashboard, you’re the first to break the silence. “Why’d you buy a postcard?”

Rolling into a stoplight, he eases on the brakes and shrugs. “Lived here for so long, and I don’t even own a postcard from here.”

“Me neither,” you blink.

A couple minutes pass, and the car’s rolling again, but he misses a turn. Assuming that he’s just not used to the usual route, you stay quiet—until about he pulls up to a familiar street.

Parked to the side, through the windshield, you find yourself face to face with a familiar tree. “Kei.” He hums.

The coming autumn has a few leaves beginning to change its colors, you notice. The summer hues, unbalanced, as bits of red begins to bleed through the green. “You were supposed to turn there, not here.”

He shifts the gear into park, then takes his hands off the wheel, leaning back. “I know.”

It’s quiet after that, but it isn’t all that unpleasant either.

This is the part where the questions begin to poke at you, the what-ifs in love let out in the open as you voice a little bit of your vulnerability. And because the truth is daunting, you hope he understands you through the metaphors. “Do you really think they’ll cut it down?”

He doesn’t allow the silence to take more than a moment. “I think so,” he nods his head.

“It’ll be good though, I think,” you add, nodding your head.

It’s quiet in the room even though the words of your truth coaxes the unhealed wound to resurface. As it comes into light, it doesn’t sting.

Sitting shoulder to shoulder beside him in the car, the tree that witnessed the first hello stays rooted, and watches.

He doesn’t turn to you as he speaks, but in a way, you feel as if a farewell was the finale that was meant to be delivered somehow. “It’s good,” he starts. “Letting go of something that needs to be let go of.”

Tokyo

Tsukishima’s the first to speak.

“I’m not good with words,” he starts.

There’s a hush in the crowd, so you stay with it, knowing you’ll only add to the silence should you choose to respond. It wasn’t your turn anyway, so you will yourself to be still and listen.

“Hey Cam,” Tsukishima continues, choosing to begin his vow with a hello. “I think a lot about what love’s supposed to have meant, mean, or eventually mean in the long run. I thought too much about it to the point where it…” he trails off, blinking at the piece of paper before flicking his eyes up to you with a slight shrug. “—to the point where love began to scare me.”

For a brief moment, he closes his eyes, confident in the fact that when he opens them, he knows he’ll see the world in clarity this time. With the smoke cleared and the scattered pieces of all his doubts set in order, the words of his truth may not speak of the most tender poem of love—but within the lines lies his truth.

As he lays his truth on you, he holds a breath and lets it all go. “I wanna wash the dishes with you for the rest of my life,” he laughs, exhaling softly, his shoulders shaking a little. “Never occurred to me how much of a liar the downside of your thoughts are when you listen to everything that isn’t love,” he continues.

Your shoulders relax, and even through the blur of the veil, you can tell his eyes are steadily watering.

“I’m sorry,” he says, the microphone just barely picking up what he says. You nod your head anyway, wishing you were holding his hands instead of the bouquet. Reassurance comes in many forms, but you know he’s always been the type to receive it well through physical touch.

A kiss on the cheek, your head on his shoulder, or your hands squeezing his. But the smile you give him suffices for now, you think.

“I wanna wash the dishes with you for the rest of my life. I’ll wash, and you dry. Nothing much happens in our day usually, but nothing has to. I’ll listen to you talk about how shit the traffic is in the city, because I know you’ll listen to me talk about the same complaints I have from Monday to Friday anyway.”

You realize he’s written his vows in the back of a postcard—the one you saw on his dashboard a few days ago, from Kanazawa.

He sniffles a little then looks up, laughing to himself at how emotional he’s getting. Allowing more than just truth to trickle out slow is a part of love too, he realizes, so with a soft laugh, he lets the tears be and speaks again. “What needed to be let go of was let go of,” he exhales, like he’s been holding his breath for this long.

In a sense, maybe he has. Sometimes fear grips you tightly enough that it shifts your point of view from one thing to another. What’s love, becomes fear. Then what’s fear, becomes the smoke that buries the core of truth too deep within the haze.

“I let go of the thought the thought that after marriage, if nothing great would come then that would be the end of love,” he breathes. “I stared at that tree and thought of Grandpa’s words again and again then wrote my apology and I love you on the back of a postcard that only had one a couple of blank lines at most.”

He waves it for you, then to the crowd, to see. The words, jumbled up together look almost incomprehensible written so closely together, but in a way, you have a feeling that he’s just speaking the rest of his truth as it comes in the moment.

The truth in love, you realize, is that its truth comes, fully unraveled the moment the initial plan falls apart.

He puts down the postcard, and just looks at you.

“There’s a lot I don’t think I will ever understand when it comes to love, but maybe I’m here to just feel it and not try to decipher it.” He pauses, ignores the few tears that roll down, and shrugs his shoulders, admitting to himself that the truth in his love is the first thought that comes.

“Love doesn’t have to the greatest,” he tells you. “I just wanna wash dishes with you for the rest of my life and hear about how traffic was unbearable.”

You smile, and your assurance reaches him.

“I think that counts as love too,” he finishes, the smile on his face tender.

As he leans in after I do, he murmurs a question in your ear that you’ve been expecting since the start.

You could have just left, he said. How did you deal with me and still choose to stay?

Your answer was said without a hint of hesitation. With a shrug, and an honest smile, you told him, “Because I love you.”

“I think we both had to let go of the thought that to love always means to have the biggest reasoning behind it. We do things for love, and because of love. That’s just how it is,” you shrugged.

Oddly enough, it’s in that same exact moment where he remembers Bokuto’s question from that dinner a week and some days ago.

How does it feel? he recalls, and even though words have never found him first nor met him in the middle easy, he gathers what he can and just settles on the conclusion that it just feels like love.

Wherein love, is this.

An identical band on his and your finger, and the taste of I do pleasant on the tongue. I love you, as a truth that’s easy to fathom and healing to hold, and the fear of what comes next just a passing thought that goes as soon as it comes.

Later that evening his grandfather sits him down and asks him what he really thinks about why people have been putting off cutting down that tree for a few decades now.

With a laugh, the hesitation that often turns decisions is made clear to him. “You know I think that people would decide things and think they’re so solid on it before even being face to face with it. The second they get to that tree with a chainsaw, I promise you they changed their minds. You think you go there and cut off or let go of one thing, then realize you’re cutting off something else in the end. They go back to what’s been there and realize that it’s not the problem at all.”

Tsukishima sighs, and his grandfather watches, the smile on his face easy. It’s like watching some emerge from a smoked out room, he thinks. Clarity’s always been a blessing, and he’s glad his grandson’s finally found it.

“Sometimes going back to the start is the one thing you need to be reminded that it’s worth it to keep going.”

“Sounds like you’re not talking about the tree,” his grandfather comments. Looking at you, Tsukishima smiles. “You could say that too.”

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watchmegetobsessed · 4 years ago

Text

VALERIE - Part IX. (Harry Styles)

yall are gonna hate me for this but it needed to be done IM SORRY! also, i can’t believe valerie is ending this week, just one more part to go! can’twait to read your reactions and thoughts on this part, even though i know yall gonna be upset lmao

word count: 5.6k

SERIES MASTERPOST

masterlist

Some days it truly feels like the universe has plotted against you to make every possible thing go wrong. As if it wants to see just how much you can take before breaking, experiment how long it can dance on your nerves before you end up one of those crazy people who shout at random strangers on the bus for no actual reason.

Starting the day you overslept awfully leaving you only ten minutes before you had to leave. In your hurry you ended up putting on socks that do not match and you were forced to buy a sandwich on your way as breakfast, but you promised you wouldn’t buy packed sandwiches for a reason, this one tasted like it’s been sitting on the shelf for weeks. Maybe it really has been.

You made it to work successfully, but then you realized that you’ve left your notebook at home, the one that had quite a lot of important information you need for your work, so you spent your first hour at work emailing different people for things you should now, explaining that you just left your notebook at home. Some didn’t really give a fuck and just answered you normally, but others didn’t shy away from commenting that you should be more responsible and careful.

This alone gave just the perfect foundation for the day. It was all downhill from then. Your boss loaded twice as much work on you than usually, everything with close deadlines, throwing even more anxiety into the mix as if you didn’t have enough already.

You met up with Marcus at lunch, but that didn’t go as planned either. It’s been getting more and more frustrating with him, the two of you have already had at least five fights this week and it’s only wednesday. It seems like even the smallest things push you over the edge these days and you easily pick a fight over anything. It didn’t happen differently this time either and by the time you got back to the office you were fuming. Worst part is that you always have a hard time ending a fight and tend to continue it through texts, the same thing happened today as well.

Now it’s a few minutes past five and you’re getting ready to go home, get changed and head to family dinner since today is Valerie’s first birthday, but even on the bus you’re still furiously typing away on your phone, sending a reply to Marcus, wanting nothing more than to throw the device right ot the window.

At one point you decide you’ve had enough. Turning your phone off you sink it into the depth of your bag and just try to focus on breathing, because even the smallest things seem to be hard tasks in such an upsetting state of mind.

These past few weeks things have taken an absurdly wrong turn between you and Marcus and you don’t know what to do about the whole situation. Every night you go to bed thinking that you should just let go of him, would do a favor for the both of you, but then that stupid little voice in the back of your mind tells you that if you break up with Marcus it’s game over for you, you’ll spend the rest of your life alone. It all ends up with you violently holding onto the pieces of what’s left from your relationship and you’ve been trying to figure out where it went wrong, but you have absolutely no idea.

After you changed into a pair of light washed jeans, a bright orange sweater and your black leather jacket it’s time for you to leave, though you already know you’ll be late. With a sigh deep you decided to turn your phone back on when you were sitting in the Uber, immediately deleting the notifications about the messages Marcus left you and going straight for the few ones from Rosa, your mom and Harry. They all arrived not too long ago asking when you’d be arriving, so you quickly typed your sorry and told them you’re on your way, you just got caught up at work. For Harry, you add something else too:

“Save me a seat and order me a tequila.”

His response came quickly.

“Done. Both.”

You let out a chuckle seeing his message. He knows you too well.

Walking into the small restaurant you don’t have a hard time spotting your family, three tables have been pushed together to make enough room in the back, taking up the small, kind of separated area of the place. Rosa smiles widely when she spots you, Valerie standing on her thighs, hands on the table as she is trying to snatch one of the glasses away, but her dad is pushing it further from her grasp.

“Sorry for being late,” you huff out and take the seat right next to Harry who watches you with a smile. “Well hello there, birthday girl! You’re so big now!” you babble at Valerie who giggles at you before her attention is averted once again.

You feel Harry’s elbow poking your side and turning to him you see him nod at the two shots on the table.

“Oh, fantastic. You’re drinking too?”

“No, I’m driving. Both for you.”

“If I didn’t have such a shitty day I would question what kind of alcoholic you think I am, but I kinda need both,” you sigh, taking the first one and downing it faster than ever. From the corner of your eyes you see your mother’s disapproving look, but you decide to ignore it for now.

“Wanna talk about it?” Harry asks, eyebrows furrowed in worry, but you shake your head, the alcohol still burning your throat.

“Not now. Can you give me a lift home tho?”

“Sure,” he nods, turning back to the conversation at the table.

You somehow succeed in putting everything that happened today behind and just focus on the time spent with your family. It helps that seemingly Harry works hard all evening to tell you about random things, just occupying your thoughts as much as he can. It’s nice to relax a little and forget everything that’s been weighing down on your shoulders recently.

“It’s so crazy she is one already,” you sigh when you and Harry are walking to his car.

“Right? It makes me feel incredibly old,” Harry huffs as he fishes his car keys out of his pocket.

“How old are you even?” you ask laughing, realizing you don’t even know how old he exactly is. There are quite a few things, small details you’ve just never gotten around to find out about Harry.

“I’m turning 27 in February. Wild, isn’t it?” he chuckles.

“Yeah, you’re basically a grandpa,” you tease him and he narrows his eyes at you, but you can’t miss the little smile hiding in the corners of his mouth.

“That makes you a grandma, because you’re turning 25 in April, don’t you?”

“You know when my birthday is?” It takes you by surprise, you don’t remember ever telling him when your birthday is.

The two of you reach his car and he clears his throat unlocking it. Seems like he doesn’t really want to answer, but your burning gaze on him kind of forces him into it.

“Uh, I do. I wanted to meet up with Steven last year the day you had your birthday party, but he said he had plans already. Tried to lure him into cancelling, but he didn’t even want to share where he was going. Then he admitted that it was your birthday party, but you told him and Rosa not to even mention it to me so I don’t show up.”

Your stomach drops hearing his version of a story you’ve only known from your own point of view. You remember that you indeed told them not to tell Harry about it, but now it seems like such a hate crime, when in real life, it was still when the two of you hated each other with passion.

“I’m… Harry I’m sorry. That was--”

“Don’t worry about it,” he smiles at you, starting the car. “We left it all behind, didn’t we?”

His smile seems genuine, but you still feel guilty for being such a bitch. It reminded you how much time and energy the two of you wasted for years hating each other when you could have been just like you are now. If only things happened in a different way…

Arriving at your building Harry parks the car and stops it. As the engine stops, the silence that’s been thickening the air just becomes even more obvious. He is waiting for you to say something about what’s gotten you so upset today, you know that, but you don’t feel like sitting around in his car.

“Want to come up for a little bit?” you ask and it’s a hidden message that you want to talk in the comfort of your own home. Luckily, Harry understands it right away and nodding he tells you to lead the way.

You make some tea and the two of you sit on your couch, Harry is sitting sideways so he can see you while you bring your knees up to your chest, staring down at the mug in your hands.

“I had a fight with Marcus,” you quietly start.

“Oh.”

“And… it wasn’t the first time. We’ve been constantly fighting lately and I’m just… so tired of it.”

Saying it out loud for the first time, having someone listen to you brings you an odd sense of relief, and it doesn’t feel weird that you’re talking to Harry about all of it. He has proven himself to be a great listener.

“We’ve been fighting constantly, over the smallest things and my… my patience is running short, at this point.”

You’re talking slowly, carefully putting your thoughts into words, trying your best to interpret them for Harry after boiling them only in your own head for so long.

“I just… I have no idea what I should do.”

“It seems like the relationship is not making you happy anymore,” Harry softly speaks up and you have nothing to bring up against what he just said. “So why are you trying to continue it?”

You were expecting the question, you just knew he would ask it, but it still brings a painful, stinging sensation into your chest as you try to find the words to answer him.

“Because…” you breath out and slowly turning your head, your eyes meet his gaze. “If I can’t make it work with him… then… who is it gonna be? There’s this voice in my head that keeps telling me, that he is literally my last choice, that if I mess this up it’s gonna be over for me.”

“Y/N, you know that’s not true,” Harry tells you tilting his head.

“Do I?” you chuckle bitterly, turning your gaze to the ceiling before you look back at him. “Because I don’t think I do. I’ve been literally feeling so miserable for weeks, yet I still can’t get me to move on, because I think I’m gonna die alone.”

“That’s not gonna happen, don’t say that. You’ll find the right person for you, you just… have to be patient.”

“But that’s the thing. I have lost my patience. I’m done, over it.” The tears form in your eyes in just a few seconds and the next thing you know is that you’re crying. “I’ve been trying so hard in my whole life, but somehow I always ended up… not being enough, or thrown away, stepped over, left behind. No matter what I did, I always ended up alone and I can’t help but notice a pattern in it. It has to be me, what else?”

“It’s not you, okay? You just had a few bad experiences.”

“Not a few,” you huff closing your eyes. “All of them are bad. I was… I was never enough for anyone and now that I found a guy that seemed to be just perfect… I’m ruining it.”

“I don’t think you’re ruining anything.”

“Then explain to me what’s happening, Harry!” you snap in despair and Harry stares back at you at a loss of words at first.

“Do you have feelings for him?” he then asks. You can’t answer right away and it tells him a lot.

“I… I’m not sure.”

“That sounded more like a no.”

“Okay, alright. No, I don’t. But… I could develop feelings eventually, couldn’t I?”

“That’s not how it works, Y/N. You can’t just torture yourself hoping that one day you wake up and you’ll be in love with him. It’s not gonna happen and you’re just wasting your time.”

“How do you know it’s not gonna happen? What makes you so sure of that I will not end up alone?”

Harry stays quiet, her green eyes are staring right into your soul and for a moment you forget about your misery. This man alone holds such a power over you, it’s starting to scare you.

“I know it, because… I know you. And I see you. You’re literally the funniest girl I know, so easy to talk with, you always know when to crack a joke and when you have to be serious. You have so much love for others, you care about your loved ones and you’re always there for your friends and family. You make it so easy for others to get comfortable around you and you make everyone feel safe around you.”

You listen to him intently, drinking up every word that leaves his lips. Harry looks down at his hands as he continues.

“And you’re beautiful. So fucking beautiful, it always baffles me when I see you.”

“What?” you breathe out.

“It’s the truth,” Harry chuckles lightly, he brushes his knuckles together nervously. “Every time you walk in, you just… make everyone turn their head at you, and I always wonder if you even notice that. The way you walk, your smile, your laugh, Y/N, you make every man go crazy about you.”

“You’re just saying that because you are trying to cheer me up,” you sniff, wiping a few more tears away from your eyes.

“I’m definitely not,” he chuckles and his eyes finally find yours. “I remember when we first met.”

“When you walked in on me changing,” you sigh, the memories living vividly in your mind.

“Yeah. I remember how… breathless I felt when I saw you standing there, your dress handing a little on your frame because of the zipper. I forgot my name for a moment. I offered to help with the zipper because I just… wanted to touch you in any kind of way. So I knew that you were real.”

“Harry…”

“I know this sounds made up, but I’m telling you, this is the truth. And I know I didn’t act like that for a long time, but I always thought that you were an amazing person and I know that any guy would be so lucky and incredibly happy to be with you. I hate the thought of you thinking otherwise of yourself, when you are literally such a delight and… just a gift to all of us. I don’t know what’s really been going on between you and Marcus, but if he can’t see your worth and can’t make you feel like you deserve… he is not worthy of your time.”

You feel your throat closing up, but you’re not sure Harry knows the reason behind it when the tears start rolling down your cheeks again.

Because it might look like his words touched you and made you tear up, but in reality, a bittersweet feeling has taken completely over you. If this is how he thinks about you, why did he act like that when he had the chance to be with you? Why didn’t he want you to stay? What did you do that made him want to throw you out?

It’s a spiral straight down and you can’t stop yourself from falling. Harry has always been the biggest mystery of your life, and now you’re just even more sure it was something you did or said that made him want to run.

He reaches out and easily scoops you into his arms and you let him hold you tight, face buried into his chest. You hold onto his shirt as the silent cries escape your lips. You want him to want you. You want him to mean all those things he just told you, but you just can’t seem to move on from the past even though you’ve agreed to forget about it. It keeps bugging you in the back of your mind that no matter what he says, you weren’t good enough to make him want to stay with you when he had the chance.

***

It doesn’t get better after that night. Harry stayed until after midnight, made sure you got into bed and told you he’ll check in on you the next day. And so he did.

You felt guilty for loading all of it on Harry, so you decided it was the last time you ever talked about Marcus or your love life in general with him. You easily made yourself believe that he didn’t really care about it and he just listened to you because he was trying to be nice. It seemed the best to just try and forget about it all.

For a while you were contemplating breaking up with Marcus, but you didn’t have the strength to do it, telling yourself you have to give it another chance and some more patience. However it’s ending up to be quite draining, you gotta admit, but you are starting to get used to feeling numb every day.

Rosa invites you over, because she went through her closet and found some stuff she thought you’d like, so you head over not long after you get home from work. She mentioned that Harry would be over watching some kind of football game with Steven, so you are not surprised to see his car parking on their driveway.

“Hi guys!” you greet them when Rosa lets you in, the game is already on so they just wave in your way, intently watching the TV.

“Come on, I have everything in the bedroom,” Rosa nods in your way and you follow her upstairs. Valerie greets you with a loud shriek as you walk in, she is sitting in her crib, surrounded with a bunch of toys, seemingly having a great time.

“Hi there, Princess!” you coo at her, caressing her cheek before you sit on the edge of the bed that’s filled with piles of clothes. “What’s the big sorting?” you ask, grabbing a cardigan and taking a look at it.

“I just have way too much stuff, can’t fit new stuff into my wardrobe, so I needed to sort it all out.”

The two of you go through everything and just catch up while you try on what you like. At the end, you are just sitting on the bed playing with Valerie. You can tell there’s something Rosa wants to share, but she seems reserved about saying it out loud.

“So, the other day we were talking with Steven about how crazy it is that Val is over one year old,” she starts, eyes glued to the little girl, handing her another building block as Valerie works on… whatever it’s going to be when it's finished.

“Yeah, that’s what we talked about with Harry after her birthday dinner. Makes us feel old,” you chuckle.

“Exactly,” she sighs chuckling. “So then we talked about, maybe… having another kid sometime soon.”

You perk up and looking at Rosa you see the shy smile on her lips and you gasp, but she shakes her head.

“I’m not pregnant,” she assures you, but then adds: “Not yet.”

“Oh my God, so you’re trying for another baby?” you whisper, even though there’s no chance of the guys hearing the two of you. You can hear the sound of the TV up here, they have no clue what you’re talking about.

“I mean, it can take some time, so we thought we could… start now.”

“That’s fantastic!” you breathe out, truly happy for your sister. You just know Valerie will be such a good big sister. “Val, you want a baby sister or baby brother?” you ask her and she looks at you with a serious expression, holding out one of the blocks.

“Baba!” she exclaims.

“Yes, baba!” you chuckle. She’s been learning kind of real words lately and it won’t take too long before she’ll be bossing around everyone in the house.

When it’s getting late you pack the clothes you choose and head down to leave. The guys are still on the couch, but Harry’s head perks up when he hears your footsteps.

“You want me to give you a ride?”

“Um, I’m fine, don’t want to bother you while the game is on.”

“It’s ending in five. If you can wait a little it’s alright.”

“Okay,” you nod smiling so instead of going to the front door you stop in the kitchen to wait for Harry.

Rosa puts Valerie into her high chair and gets a banana for her while you check your phone just when Marcus calls you. Hesitantly, but you answer it.

“Hey, what’s up?”

“Hi, just wanted to check in if the weekend is still on.”

“Uh, sure. It is.”

“Great. I’ll have to check again with my boss, but I think I’ll be able to pick you up.”

“Great. Talk to you later.”

“Bye, babe.”

The call ends and you find yourself facing a curious looking Rosa on the other side of the kitchen island.

“Marcus?” she asks and you nod. “How are things going?” You’ve only mentioned it to her that it’s been hard between the two of you, but you definitely didn’t go into details. Harry was the first and last person to hear the whole story.

“Um… neutral, I guess?”

“That doesn’t sound promising.”

“I know, but I’m just trying to figure it out. We are spending the weekend together, I hope it’ll help us to get a little more… settled? I guess, I don’t know,” you stammer, nervously fidgeting with your phone in your hands.

“That’s nice, was it his idea?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s good to know that Marcus is making the right attempts to smooth things out.”

“Attempts?” Harry’s voice makes both of you look in his way as he stands at the door, seemingly confused about what he just heard. “You’re still with Marcus?”

“Harry, I…”

“No, don’t try to explain it. I thought I talked sense into you last time.” He is clearly pissed, not holding back how upset he is to get the news that you are still dating Marcus. But on the other hand you can also feel yourself getting angry how he tries to control your life.

“You did, but I never said I’ll break things off with him.”

“Well, it surely sounded like you made up your mind,” he huffs.

“Well, I didn’t,” you scoff, crossing your arms on your chest.

“What the fuck, Y/N! You can’t keep doing this to yourself!” he snaps gesturing in your way. “I thought we were over this!”

“We? What do you mean we?” you grimace and now you are raising your voice as well. “Harry, there’s no we! This is my relationship and it’s nice that you care, but you can’t tell me what to do!”

Harry is vivid. He needs everything in him not to burst right then and there and for a moment you think he’s gonna just explode. But when he speaks up again his voice is quiet, however you can feel all the anger and frustration behind it.

“Get in the car, we’re leaving.”

“What?”

“Get in the fucking car, Y/N!” he barks making you jump. Rosa and Steven, who arrived to the kitchen in the middle of this madness, are just watching the scene unfold, completely unable to even say a word.

Slowly, you slide off the stool and grabbing the bag filled with clothes you turn to Rosa.

“Thanks for… these,” you mumble before walking out, Harry following you right behind.

Nothing is said as the two of you get into the car, Harry is clearly on the verge of anger outburst, but you’re pretty upset yourself. The drive back to your place is painfully quiet, but you can’t stop staring at his hands gripping the wheel. HIs fingers and knuckles are turning white from the way he is basically crushing the wheel in his hold. You wouldn’t be surprised if it had his grip’s imprint on it by the time you arrive to your building.

“What the fuck, Y/N?” he snaps once the car is parked.

“Would you stop pretending like you have a saying in what I do?”

“I do have a saying in it! Because when you break again I’ll be the one picking you up from the ground!”

“Well, sorry it’s such an inconvenience to be my friend. But don’t worry, I won’t come to you again,” you snap back with a grimace and try to open the door, but it’s locked. “Let me out, Harry!”

“Fuck no, not until we talk about this,” he scoffs and it’s the last straw for you.

“There’s nothing to talk about! It’s none of your business, Harry! Stop pretending like you care!”

“I do care!” he shouts back so forcefully you are taken aback, sinking into your seat. “Of course I fucking care! How would I not?! I care about you so fucking much, how do you not see it?!”

At this point, you’re certain Harry has lost all self control and he is about to load he has been holding back out on you, while you’re just sitting there, staring at him completely speechless over how his whole being is filled with anger and fury.

“Stop fucking telling me that I don’t care when all I think about is you! Every damn day! I can’t fucking stop thinking about you, because every time my mind snaps right back to you when I’m trying to think about something else! Do you know how fucking painful it is?! See you fucking waste your time with that dickhead when I want to be with you?!”

Eyes widened you forget to even breathe as the words leave his lips and soon enough realization hits him hard about what he just said. His chest is violently waving, eyes staring straight ahead. Next time he speaks up the shouting is over, he is clearly shocked at his own behavior.

“Y/N, I-- what you told me last time, about ending up alone, that wasn’t the first time you told me all of that.”

“What?” you gasp.

“You broke down the same way at the wedding. Told me all about how you think you are just simply unlovable and will probably die alone.” His eyes snap down at his hands on his lap as he continues. “I was shocked how you’d ever think that way about yourself, because I was… I was already falling in love with you and I barely just met you that night. I couldn’t imagine what happened to you that made you believe that nonsense. I never felt like that with anyone else before and it was so fucking scary. Every time you looked at me or touched me, I could feel… the sparks. The fucking sparks, Y/N,” he lets out a bitter chuckle. “I never believed in that, but you made me feel that way. Then… one thing happened after the other and we were up in my room. I saw the way you looked at me, like I was your fucking everything and I have never experienced that. You fell asleep in my arms and I told myself that this is exactly how I want to spend the rest of my life.”

Tears roll down your cheeks as you listen in complete shock as Harry is still avoiding to look at you.

“I wanted to be the person who shows you how lovable and amazing you are, how worthy you are to be loved. Like I found my mission all of a sudden.”

“Then what the fuck happened in the morning?” you ask choking out the words. Harry finally turns to face you and you see his watery eyes. He was crying.

“You fell asleep and I was just watching you… and I realized that… sooner or later I would do something to hurt you. Because that’s what I always do and I didn’t want that. You didn’t deserve that, but I just knew I won’t be able to give you what you wanted and needed. And you told me all about how you just want to be loved and… I didn’t want to disappoint you in any way.”

He rubs his eyes turning back to look straight ahead and you see his lips tremble before he speaks up again.

“I said all those stuff so you’d have a reason to hate me and you wouldn’t try to stay with me.”

“This is literally the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” you chuckle bitterly as the tears keep rolling down your cheeks. “Do you have any idea how fucking horrible I felt after that? I felt so ashamed for fucking weeks, Harry!”

“I-I know. I mean, I figured.”

“You made me feel unwanted and dirty, it took me so long to build my confidence back and be able to think of myself as more than just some used rug that was thrown out!”

Harry sits there in complete silence and just lets you load everything out on him, because he knows that’s what he deserves. He has tried to punish himself in so many different ways for what he did to you, but he knew he had to face you someday. Now the time has come and he is done trying to run away from the consequences of his actions in the past.

“I was blaming myself all this time, thinking that I must have done something wrong, when in reality it was you! It was fucking you!”

“I know, I’m so sorry, Y/N. I didn’t mean it to end like this.”

“You didn’t mean it to end like this?” you snap. “You literally continued to treat me like shit for years! If it wasn’t for Valerie, you’d still be a complete dick to me! And what was your intention with this now, huh? Why did you tell me all of this now?!”

“Because I couldn’t stop… seeing you be so unhappy with someone who clearly doesn’t deserve you in any way. I’m selfish and I realized that I made a mistake, but I now know what I should have done, because…” He finally turns to face you again, you see a tear roll down his cheek as he takes a deep breath before continuing. “I love you. I love you, Y/N, and I’m fucking done pretending like I don’t.”

You stare back at him, breath caught in your throat and it’s the breaking point. You reach over to his side and unlock the doors so you can open yours and you jump out of the car wanting to get as far away from him as possible. He can’t just throw all of this on you after everything the two of you went through, that’s not how it works. Does he even mean it? How are you supposed to believe him after years of hatred?

You try to get inside the building, but he is quick to catch up with you, he grabs your upper arm and pulls back, but you yank his hold away.

“Where are you going?!” he snaps towering above you.

“Home. And don’t fucking touch me!”

“But I literally just told you I love you, you’re not gonna say anything about that?”

At first you plan on not even answering, you make your way towards the door, but then you change your mind. Turning around you unload on him once again.

“You don’t have the right to tell me you love me! Not after all the shit I took from you! How am I supposed to believe it when you literally made me feel like shit for all these years, saying the meanest stuff to me every damn time we met! I was avoiding you like the plague because I can’t even count how many times you made me cry calling me names and treating me so fucking horrible! No, you are not just gonna waltz in here, tell me that I have to break up with my boyfriend because you’ve been in love with me all along. I don’t fucking believe you, Harry. So stay the fuck away from me,” you tell him and push your way inside. This time he doesn’t follow.

By the time you reach your front you’re sobbing, barely seeing from your own tears. With shaking hands you unlock the door and get inside shutting the door behind you before you collapse on the floor.

Harry lives in delusion if he thinks he can just unload all of this on you and make everything right magically. Not after more than three years of the shit you took from him. How are you supposed to believe that he is telling the truth? If he loved you all along, how could he treat you like that? That’s not what love should feel like. All those countless times when you came home after seeing him and you couldn’t help but cry after some of his meanest comments… and now he is trying to make you believe he did it all to protect you from him? Bullshit.

It doesn’t work like that and now he is gonna have to face the consequences of his actions.

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doyumacy · 4 years ago

Text

FALLOUT |LH| SIX

*gif not mine

PAIRING: donghyuck x reader bodyguard!donghyuck

WARNINGS: mentions of yuta, doyoung jeno. swearing, hospital (broken rib, bruises).

WORD COUNT: 2,8K

SEVEN

You spent the duration of the ride pondering if Donghyuck was seriously injured. Or if he had died. The car began to slow down, and you looked up to see where he was. The hospital.

After Donghyuck left you with the rest of the security team, you refused to go home and wanted to make sure he was okay. You couldn't lose him.

You made your way to the E.R and a nurse took you to the room where he was being treated by the doctors. You knocked on the door and then opened it. He was laying on a stretcher gurney. He was shirtless and had bandages around his ribs and an arm on his eyes covering them.

"Donghyuck?" You called.

"(Y/N)?," He stared at you. "What are you doing here?"

You rushed through the door and finally got a good look at him. He had bruises all over his chest and waist. Your eyes started watering. "You look like hell." You breathed. Your hand instinctively looked out his. Donghyuck was pale and his skin was clammy.

"I know," he admitted. "But you cannot be in here. Please leave, (Y/N)."

"I won't leave," you held his hand and squeezed it. "What did the doctors say? Are you hurt?"

"I have a broken rib," Donghyuck tried to sit and growled. "Please go home, you'll be safer there. I couldn't even protect you out there, what makes you think I will be here?"

"Hey, hey," you whispered and cupped his face in your hands, "it's not your fault. I'm okay, I'm not hurt and that wasn't your fault, okay?"

"We need to talk., (Y/N). There’s something you need to know..." He stared at you.

Suddenly, the door opened harshly revealing an upset Yuta. He had his jaw tightened and grabbed your arm roughly, almost making you whine. "You will not spend a single minute with this useless bodyguard. We're leaving, (Y/N)."

"Yuta," you let go off of his grip. "What are you even doing here?"

"I came to do his motherfucking job: protecting you. You almost die today, (Y/N)." Yuta stared at you and then looked at Donghyuck. "Don't you ever even bother to come back. You're fired."

"I'm the one who makes that call, Yuta," you glanced at him. "You cannot speak for me and he's not fired. This wasn't his fault."

"Oh my God, (Y/N)," Yuta rolled his eyes. "Is he fucking you so good that you will defend him?"

You opened your mouth to speak but Yuta raised his hand. "I saw you two kissing the other day. Is this your new hobby? Fucking your bodyguard?"

"My life and who I fuck is none of your business. Get the fuck out of here." You demanded.

"You're coming with me," he grabbed your hand and you groaned letting go off of his grip again. He growled and snapped his fingers. Two big men entered the room and grabbed you by force. You screamed and kicked in the air but it was useless. Donghyuck tried to stand up but it was stopped by Yuta who placed him back on the stretcher gurney, pressing his broken rib making Donghyuck growl in pain. "I'll have to finish your stupid task since you couldnt keep your hands to yourself, asshole."

"Don't you dare to hurt her!" Donghyuck said between teeth, causing Yuta to laugh.

"Please don't tell me you fell for her..." He laughed again. "It's so pathetic. Well, I hope you fucked her good last night because you won't see her again."

And before Donghyuck could stand up again, Yuta injected something through his IV making him dizzy and putting him to sleep. “Sweet dreams.”

After you got home, you slapped Yuta in the face twice. You punched him in his chest a few times and then pushed him. You were crying. “Don’t you ever fucking do that again, do you hear me?!”

He grabbed your wrists, trying to calm down and looked at him. “You should be thanking me.”

“I love him!” You exclaimed, “I don’t care about you. Stay fucking quiet, dont you understand?”

Yuta sighed, frustrated and then glanced at you. “My bodyguards will stay here tonight. You should be safe.”

“Fuck you.”

Yuta ignored you and left your house. You screamed and threw a flagon to the door. You grabbed your purse trying to find your phone to call Donghyuck and realised Yuta had taken it with him. You went to your home office and unlocking a drawer with your fingertip, you pulled out an old iPhone and turned it on.

You frowned as soon as you saw the first notification, an email for Kim Doyoung.

From: KDY

To: (Y/N)

Meet me. We need to talk. It’s important.

You gulped. Why did he want to see? Was he behind the shooting? You certainly couldn’t tell Donghyuck about, what if he ended up dead now?

You sighed and replied to his email.

From: (Y/N)

To: KDY

When and where?

Doyoung replied a couple of seconds later.

From: KDY

To: (Y/N)

Tonight. 11 pm in the place as usual. Go alone.

You placed the phone on the desk and started to think how you would escape. Yuta’s bodyguards were outside your house everywhere.

You’d come up with a plan anytime soon.

Later that day, you were finally able to reach Donghyuck. He was at his place, still recovering from the broken rib but he’ll come back as soon as the sedative was out of his system. You assured him you wanted him in your life and Yuta was not going to be an obstacle to be together.

At night, Yuta visited you again but you refused to leave your room and he gave up leaving. By 10:30 you left your bed and it didn't creak, and when you put your feet on the floor it didn't squeak. You mentally congratulated yourself on the new accomplishment and tiptoed to the door, grabbing his classic black cap on the way out. You went to Donghyuck’s bedroom and you thanked your mom for loving balconies and forcing you to have one in your guest’s bedroom.

With a quick glance to the yard, you climbed down out the balcony, keeping a steady eye on the guard standing next to the yard door. You had never felt so heavy as you slowly moved past, your body barely moving as your feet carried you carefully by. After safely making it out past there, you went to the back door that connected with one of your neighbour Jungwoo

You weren't exactly best friends with him but he wouldn't mind if you used his door. As you got out of his house, you saw a bright light in front of you. You covered your eyes with your arm and squinted your eyes trying to know who was on it. A man dressed in all back wearing a helmet walked to you and you gulped. Was he one of Yuta's men?

The man took off the helmet and you were suddenly breathless. It was Donghyuck. You inhaled deeply and jumped to his arms hugging him tightly. He whined placing a hand on his ribs but hugged you tight with his other arm. "Oh, my God. I'm sorry," you got away from him quickly. "What are you doing here?"

"I knew you would try to sneak out somehow," he told you and cupped your cheek with one hand. "Are you going to see Doyoung?"

"H-how did you know?" You looked at him.

"I just knew he would reach out to you." Donghyuck looked at you. "C'mon, I'll take you there."

When you got the abandoned building, Donghyuck and you went to the roof waiting for Doyoung to show up. You crossed your arms against your chest and sighed. "Do you think he's behind this?"

Donghyuck shook his head. "No."

"Then who?" You looked at him.

Donghyuck remained quiet and admired the city from top. He was going to tell you, but he wasn't ready to watch you break.

"I told you to come alone, (Y/N)." Doyoung reminded you, walking behind you.

You turned and sighed. "I couldn't. Sorry."

"It's okay. I trust him anyways, don't I?" Doyoung glanced at Donghyuck, who just made eye contact with him for a couple of seconds. "Whatever, I'm glad you made it. I heard you were attacked this morning."

You nodded and tugged your hands in the back pockets of your jeans. "Doyoung?"

He hummed without stopping looking at you. You bit your lip, almost trembling and looked at him again. Doyoung frowned. "You think I did it."

"I-I d-don't," you stuttered.

"Do I have reasons to kill you?" Doyoung raised an eyebrow, looking at you.

"Well..." you sighed nervously. "I might have said something I shouldn't have."

"I know." He fixed the sleeves of his suit jacket.

You furrowed your eyebrows. "What?"

"I have people working for me in the government, (Y/N). Of course I'd knew if you would open your mouth."

"But no, I'm not the one behind this. My men slit throats, they don't shoot people. And well, do you see them going after your throat?"

You shook your head. "I'm not gonna lie, I'm a bit disappointed because I like you. You seem like a good woman but I don't like when they open their mouths to shit on me."

"Doyoung, I-"

"Let me finish." He stood in front of you and leaned closer to you. "Were you really going to turn me in?"

You gulped again. Doyoung somehow cornered you against the wall and Donghyuck grabbed his arm tightly. "Don't."

Doyoung glanced at him and a little smirk appeared on his lips. "I didn't believe it when I heard it."

You were confused. Did they know each other?

"I won't turn you in. They needed information and I gave them some, but I would never. Please believe me." You looked at Doyoung.

Doyoung returned his attention to you and smiled. "Why should I believe you?"

"Because I'll make sure of it," Donghyuck spoke first and glanced at you quickly. "Right?"

You nodded rapidly and Doyoung squinted his eyes not breaking eye contact with you. "Fine. And (Y/N)? There won't be a next time. If something like this happens again I'll be the one who slit your throat."

"Now leave before I change my mind and slit both of your throats."

Donghyuck grabbed your hand and left the roof going downstairs. He was walking at a fast pace and you have to almost run to follow his pace. Before getting on the bike, you stood up in front of him. “You know him.” You affirmed.

Donghyuck just sighed and looked at you. “I’ll tell you whatever you need to know, but not now. Get on the bike.”

“I can’t go back to my house. Yuta is being a pain in the ass treating me as if I were some damsel in distress and I can’t take it anymore.”

“You’re not going to your house. You’re going to mine,” Donghyuck kissed you and the feeling that kiss gave you was everything. “I love you, (Y/N).”

You smiled against his lips, feeling the weight of his words sink in, but in a good way. And you were so happy he felt the same way. “I love you, too.”

You two arrived at his apartment and you were surprised by a not that tall man with black hair. He greeted you and introduced himself as Jeno and Donghyuck’s best friend. Jeno was nice and decided to give some privacy excusing himself to his bedroom.

Donghyuck walked to the kitchen and opened the fridge door. “Wanna drink something? Water? Beer? Apple juice?”

“I’m good, thanks,” you said, taking a look at Donghyuck's living room. You noticed the floor was paved with wooden floor and the wall was paved with white bricks. That color made the room bigger. It had a big window facing the street and it had light grey curtains. There was a black sofa with a white glass coffee table. They were very suitable for each other. The living room also had a black TV which was on a square cabinet, some art paintings on the wall and a large white shelf, and on it, there were three frames; a photo of Donghyuck holding a baby.

He walked to you and leaned against the wall in front of you. "Her name is Jiwoo. She's my niece."

You smiled. "Is it the same girl from all these photos?"

"Yeah," he smirked, still leaning against the wall, "she grew up so fast."

"Do you visit her often?" You asked, placing the portrait on its place again.

"Not anymore. My sister decided to move to Jeju and I try to visit as much as I can, but sometimes work won't let me."

"I'm sorry."

"Why?" He frowned.

"You hadn't even been to your place in days because of me," you sighed. "You should take a break and go visit them."

"I'm not leaving you alone during this time." Donghyuck cupped both of your cheeks in his hands and looked into your eyes. "When all of this is over I'm gonna take you so you can meet them."

Your face lighted up with a smile and put your arms around his waist. "You will?"

"It's a promise," he gave you a peck on the nose. "They're gonna love you."

“I’m looking forward to it then,” you smirked and caressed his lower lip with your thumb. “Can we go to bed? I’m exhausted and you need to rest.”

He nodded and kissed you. “Please promise me you won’t stop loving me. Ever.”

You kissed him back, pressing your body against his. “I love you. Forever.”

“Hyuck?” you called, after a pause on chopping some vegetables. “Are you even listening?”

He blinked and shifted his weight to his other foot. He wasn’t.

“I’m sorry, what? I keep getting lost in your eyes.” Donghyuck smiled.

There was a pause in which he could feel you looking at him. And then you relaxed, smiling. “Did I say that out loud?”

You blushed almost up to your ears, causing him to chuckle softly as he passed his fingers over his hair.

“Yes, you did,“ you said, still blushed. Puffing up your cheeks in a bit of a pout you huffed at him. “You just wanted an excuse to make me blush, didn’t you?”

“In fact, the cheek-coloring reaction is a universal human response to social attention. The veins in the face dilate, causing more blood to flow into your cheeks..." Jeno interrupted your moment entering the kitchen. "Sorry, folks, but I'm starving."

You laughed and went back to chop the vegetables. "I'm making Mongolian chicken if you want."

"No idea what's that but it sounds good," Jeno sat next to Donghyuck and winked at him. "So, are you two dating?"

Donghyuck cleared his throat and fixed his shirt. You shrugged, taking the chicken breast out of the fridge. "We fuck and tell each other 'I love you', is that dating?" You looked at Donghyuck.

"You haven't asked her to be your girlfriend?!" Jeno stared at him.

"I'm planning to!" Donghyuck groaned. "Go away, Jeno."

You giggled. "I don't mind, really. We don't have to level it up or whatever."

"Now she's nice. You better keep her." Jeno said.

"If you don't shut up she won't feed you," Donghyuck warned him.

“Why are you sweating, Donghyuck? Are you nervous?” Jeno mocked him.

“Shut up, Jeno!” Donghyuck pushed him.

“Break it up, boys, or neither of you will eat,” you warned them.

After you three finished eating, Jeno went out leaving you two alone again. Donghyuck dragged you with him to the grey couch in the living room and surrounded you with his arms. You could tell he wanted to tell you something, but something was holding him back. You rest your head in the space between his shoulder and his neck and give him a few pecks there. "You know you can talk to me, right?"

"I know," he whispered. "But I'm scared I'm gonna lose you."

"You won't," You looked at him. "Donghyuck? What 's going on?"

Donghyuck sighed and sat up on the couch. "I've been lying to you."

“What do you mean?” You frowned.

“I was hired to kill you.”

#Donghycuk x reader #Donghyuck imagine #donghyuck smut #nct imagine #nct smut #nct dream #haechan x reader #haechan smut #haechan imagine #nct 127 imagine

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unwhithered · 4 years ago

Text

Two weeks ago tonight I received a mass text message. It said, you have all been exposed to COVID 19. It said, do not come to the office, do not see clients. The follow up email reminded us to be available by phone an email while waiting in line to be tested, and don't forget to meet your productivity!

Two weeks of quarantine - I did the math, just that one exposure at one building cost 300+ current and formerly homeless folks supportive services for two weeks. It has probably cost at least one of my clients his last best chance at being housed. January 1st he will be back on the street, probably, because we lost two and a half weeks here, more the month before, all to COVID exposures

I stood in the same room with my supervisor, that day we were exposed. We wore masks. We stood too close together in her tiny office and laughed. I have tested negative twice and she is out sick indefinitely, logging into occasional zoom updates looking closer to fifty than thirty.

My sister's favorite coworker messaged us at 11 last night to say he got the call. He tested positive. They sit next to each other all day at desks that never let them be six feet apart. They share food, even though it's banned - you cannot survive a pandemic beside the same person every day for 8 months without sharing chocolates along with your fears, I guess. The bureaucrats told my sister to come into work, to deal face to face with cancer patients anyway. The doctors overruled them. She gets a test, and a break from patients, and calls me panicking at lunch because she still has to show up to the office.

Her coworker is offered quarantine housing - after his whole family has been exposed to him already. He packs a bag. He doesn't go, because his daughter is afraid if he leaves she will never see him again. He's buried two people from COVID this year.

My other sister has a cough that won't go away. Her lips turn blue when she walks up stairs. Urgent care gives her a rapid test, the least accurate kind, and sends her home with antibiotics. When those don't work they give her an inhaler. When we finally get her home to a competent medical infrastructure they order COVID testing and schedule follow up calls.

I wonder if I'll spend the rest of December in quarantine with her. I wonder what will happen to my clients.

Every day I get a push notification with the latest city and county data and rule changes. How many people died today. How many icu beds are left. Every week work sends an email - we know it's a scary time, don't forget to meet you productivity! And don't worry, we'll give you 80 hours of pto to use if you get COVID!

I have been exposed so many times I've lost count now. Coworkers and clients and random run ins at the office and every one steals time and mental health from me. I've been tested at least six, maybe seven or 8 times. I'm lucky, it's easy to get tested here. I just have to sit in line. Take client calls while I wait to get a swab kit passed through my car window on a pole. Reschedule weeks worth of work while I wait for results, cram it all into half the time once I get them.

Every time I'm a little less resilient. The anxiety gets worse. Our local health infrastructure is crumbling under the weight of it all. I go back out into the field tomorrow - I'm calculating how to get as much done as possible before the next exposure, before the next two weeks of mandatory quarantine to work from home.

And we're so lucky. We haven't lost anyone, we haven't had it, yet. But this feels like the edge and we're toppling over. Everyone around us is getting it. We do not have the option to just stay home and isolate like the county order advises. Clinical homeless services and oncology unit support staff are essential. Will always be essential.

I am so tired of being essential.

#COVID 19 #essential worker #is 1 am and i can't sleep these days and I'm just #I'm so tired #sorry

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ofmermaidsandmarauders · 4 years ago

Text

stolen dreams took our childish days - chapter 3

read on FF or AO3

I hope you all enjoy this next chapter in Jamie and Claire’s foster care adventure. It’s a bit shorter than usual, but... Enjoy! xoxo

March 2020

It’s about three weeks before they’re able to arrange a visit after school for Fergus to see his mom. It means Jamie has a few extra hours to kill before he has to pick him up from the visitation center. He’s finishing up at the office when his phone dings. It’s on do not disturb which means the notification is from Claire, the only person whose number will bypass the setting.

Maybe you should pick up a treat for Fergus. I’m sure that he’ll be sad to be leaving his mom. He told me that he loves chocolate chip cookies. Or maybe ice cream. Or idk, Jamie, maybe he won’t need a snack and his mom will have brought him something.

He could sense Claire’s frantic energy in the text, a grin splitting his mouth wide open.

Breathe, Sassenach. What a fine idea. I’ll pick him up something special. See you tonight.

Glancing at the time, Jamie decided the workday was done and that he’d need a few spare minutes to pick up a treat for the lad.

It didn’t take long at the bakery to pick out a cookie, and before he knew it, Jamie was waiting patiently in a vinyl chair with no support. He kept glancing at his phone, answering a few emails before he heard a door open and looked up. A kind woman with cropped curly hair and dark skin with a badge around her neck stood in the doorway of one of the rooms just to the right. “Mr. Fraser?” she asked, at which he stood and nodded. “I’m Veronica, I’m the one covering the visits.”

“Aye, I am. It’s nice to meet ye as well,” he responded softly, taking a few steps toward her.

“Fergus is having a difficult time leaving his mother. I’m not sure if you have a few minutes, the transition during the first visit is always the hardest,” Veronica explained, gesturing to the room.

“Would it be alright if I said a quick hello and tried to help ease the lad back to my home?” Jamie inquired, the bag from the bakery in his left hand, lifting it as if showing that he had brought bribery.

“Well, alright… As long as you’re comfortable.” Veronica turned back into the room and Jamie stepped toward it, stopping in the doorway as he saw Fergus crying in his mother’s arms, the woman’s own eyes appearing glassy.

“Fergus, lad?” he called softly, knocking on the dark wooden door. Fergus’ head peeked up before he started to cry harder, burying his face back in his mother’s neck.

“I don’t wanna go!” Fergus cried out, his knuckles white from the grip on his mother’s shoulders.

Jamie took a moment to observe the interaction. Fergus’ mother appeared younger than he expected. Very young, actually. Jamie was preparing to turn thirty-two in a few months and made the mistake of assuming that Fergus’ mother would be close to his own age, but she looked as though she couldn’t be older than twenty-five.

Her curls were thinner than his wife’s, but she had the same dark hair. For a moment, Jamie envisioned her as a younger version of Claire, like a younger sister who had lost her way in life. Claudia was nothing like the monster that he had created in his head. She looked tired, her eyes were sunken in a bit. Her skin was pale and the lass was thin. Eerily thin.

What Jamie then noticed was how fiercely she was holding Fergus, like she was afraid to let him go. He felt guilty, as if he was the one forcing the two apart, but he had to remind himself that this wasn’t the case.

“Och, lad. Are ye no’ going to introduce me to yer mam? I ken ye’re sad but I’d like tae meet the lass!” Fergus looked at Jamie and cracked a smile, likely at Jamie’s accent.

“Mama, this is Jamie. He talks funny, but he’s real nice. He and Claire… that’s his wife, you ken? They’ve been really nice. Claire said that maybe me and you could talk on the phone before bed at night if you’ve got a phone. And Jamie makes Mickey pancakes really good and…” Claudia held up a hand, a pained smile on her lips, though Jamie was sure Fergus couldn’t tell the difference.

“Maybe I could introduce myself to Jamie, now?” Her smile became softer and more teasing as she kissed Fergus’ forehead before placing him on the ground, stepping tentatively toward Jamie. He squared his shoulders before holding his hand out.

“It’s a pleasure tae meet ye, lass. Fergus speaks verra highly of ye. He’s quite the lad. Brilliant and funny and charming,” Jamie trailed off, his cheeks going pink as he realized he was telling her about her own son.

“Oh, well… I thank you for that. It’s obvious he’s fond of the both of you.” Claudia looked at her hands, picking at the cuticles. She swayed on her feet before looking back at Fergus.

“I hate to say it’s time to go, lad, but ye have yer schoolwork to finish, aye? Say goodbye to yer mam,” Jamie instructed, feeling uncomfortable with the fact that he had to be the one to end the visit. Wasn’t Veronica supposed to step in at some point and do this? Why had he said that? Maybe he was being too forward?

“Mr. Fraser is right, Fergus, but I’ll pick you up from school again next week and you’ll get to see your mom again, alright?” As if on cue, Veronica stepped in and began tidying up the toys in the room, speaking softly to Claudia before Fergus gave his mother one final tight hug and kiss. Jamie picked up the lad’s knapsack in his free hand, gesturing for Fergus to lead the way from the room.

“I bought ye some cookies. Claire told me they’re yer favorite. Ye can have one in the car if ye promise to be careful with the wee crumbs. Do ye have a lot of work to do tonight?” Jamie filled the silence on the walk to his car, helping Fergus into the booster seat in the back. Fergus, normally chatty after a day at school, was noticeably silent as Jamie prompted him again with the question. Refusing to leave until Fergus had spoken to him, Jamie squeezed himself into the floor of the backseat, looking up at Fergus’ sad face.

“I don’t want to leave my mama. I don’t want to be apart from her anymore. It’s not fair!” Fergus sounded frustrated, and Jamie didn’t blame him. To only be eight and have to leave your mother not once, but twice. With no say in the matter, either. He didn’t blame Fergus for thinking it wasn’t fair.

“Och, weel, the both of us ken it’s not quite fair, but ‘tis what must be done until yer mam can keep ye safe and healthy. And in the meantime, ye’re always welcome with me and Claire, whether ye want to be there or not. We love having ye in our home, lad. I hope ye ken that.” Jamie was worried that his attempts at reassurance were a waste of time, but Fergus appeared to be comforted by them as he reached his small hands down to pat Jamie’s shoulders.

“Thank you,” the boy whispered softly, letting his eyes close as he sunk back into his seat.

Assuming the conversation was over, Jamie moved back into the driver’s seat and began their journey home. He had much to discuss with Claire before bed that night.

_________________________________________

“Claire, ‘twas mebbe the most horrible thing I’ve seen in my life. The lad wouldna stop weeping. ‘Tis a shock my own heart isna torn in two at just the thought of it!”

Claire couldn’t contain a giggle at his dramatics, even if it was a depressing thought.

“Jamie, of course he’s sad! He had to leave his mom after finally getting to see her. I can’t believe you met her. What was she like?” she asked, the question coming out before she even knew it was one she had.

“Kind. And sad. Thin. Tired. Young. Verra young. Mebbe ten years younger than you, Sassenach. Sae thin, sae young. The lass looked like she would fall apart. She’s got a heid of curly hair just like her son. Much like yers, in fact. She was… She was just his mam.” Jamie’s shoulders felt at this last statement, his body settling into the mattress for the night. He hadn’t expected the thought to shake him so much. Jamie hadn’t even planned on meeting her, but something had pushed him to go in that room and coax Fergus out. Rolling onto his side, he thought deeply about what brought them to take in a child in foster care. Their goal had been to provide a safe and healthy home to a child in need. He thought he was protecting Fergus, but in fact, he was worried he may have been doing the complete opposite. Were they keeping the boy from the one person in life who would unconditionally love him?

Claire could sense that Jamie was deep in thought, and she took the opportunity to wrap her arms around him, climbing on top of him. Her cheek settled against his chest and she let out a little sigh when his hands found their place in the curve of her lower back.

“She’s just his mam,” Jamie repeated, the words causing a shiver to run down his spine.

“It’s not your fault that he’s here, Jamie. We’re just keeping him safe and giving him a good home until they can be together again, that’s all. You’re doing a good thing.” Claire peppered kisses along his skin between her statements. Her left hand rose to cup his cheek, thumb stroking over the curve of his upper lip. She felt her fingers start to dampen and realized that Jamie had been so shaken that he was crying. It was only then that she realized Jamie had lost his own mother, Ellen, at Fergus’ exact age.

“Oh, Jamie,” she breathed out, her hands going to his shoulders, holding tighter to him. “It’s alright. He’s going to be alright.”

“I ken, I just hope we are more help than hurt for the lad.” Jamie’s voice was hoarse, his hands stroking at the soft skin on Claire’s back.

“I love ye, Sassenach.” The words meant many things, more than he knew how to put into words, and he knew that Claire would understand the hidden meaning.

“She would be proud of you,” Claire whispered, the words coming out before she even knew they were there. Jamie stiffened beneath her for a moment before letting his body relax. His grip tightened for a fraction of a second before loosening his hold so that his hands could stroke beneath her t-shirt. “You’ve turned into an amazing person, Jamie. Ellen Fraser would be so proud of the man you’ve become.”

Jamie didn’t say anything else, just let the tears he had been holding in freely flow while his wife wiped them away.

#outlander #outlander fic #jamie x claire #JamieClaire #ol fic #foster care #foster care fic

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clumsyclifford · 4 years ago

Note

i don't know if it's rude to request more than one thing (i hope it's not) but "44. Tender kiss" with jalex? -fiancee

oh my god so happily, fiancee. this fic is the result of me listening to my we’re gonna be alright playlist (actually now it has a fun new name but that’s not important). would like to say for whatever it’s worth that i looked up the definition of tender to be sure i was getting the correct vibes so if you have questions you may direct them to the google definition of tender dgkjgsklj

ao3 link!

“I’ll make some tea,” Alex says. Jack blinks at him on the threshold.

“I don’t like tea.”

“Yes you do,” Alex says, but he doesn’t say it in a mean way. It’s just true, and Jack always forgets.

“Oh,” Jack says. His mouth curves into a tired, tired smile. “You know me better than I know myself.”

“I know,” Alex says gently, reaching for Jack’s hand. “Come on. Come inside.”

Jack comes easily, pliant under Alex’s touch. Alex leads them both to the kitchen, and when Alex lets go of his wrist to fill the electric kettle, Jack just stands there, looking a bit lost. “When’s the last time you swept?”

“Yesterday,” Alex says. He turns around in time to see Jack crouch down and sit cross-legged on the tiled kitchen floor. “Okay, then.”

“You should get chairs in your kitchen,” Jack says half-heartedly, leaning heavily against the fridge. His posture’s all awry, shoulders slumping over, and after a minute he shifts his legs so one is extended across the floor and the other is bent at the knee, drawn up to his chest. On this one Jack rests his chin, and finally looks up at Alex as Alex is setting the water to boil.

“Okay,” Alex says, but he won’t. Even if he had chairs, Jack would sit on the floor. There’s something about the floor that makes Jack feel grounded (pun not intended but, well, logical) — Alex gets it. Sometimes he sits on the floor, too, just to press his palms against the linoleum and absorb the chill, just to remember that he’s here, a person, feeling things. Also, it’s nice to be low to the ground, instead of towering above it like they both so often are.

“What kind of tea do I like?” Jack asks listlessly, smushing his cheek against his knee.

“Raspberry,” Alex says. “With honey.”

“You put honey in it?”

“Of course I do. You can’t have herbal tea without honey.”

“I didn’t know you did that.”

“Now you do.”

“Now I do,” Jack echoes. There’s a reverberating silence in the kitchen as the kettle becomes static background noise. Alex reaches for the cabinet with the mugs and takes out Jack’s favorite one — nothing obscene, just a custom mug Rian had made for each of them, printed with a picture of the band after Warped one year. Jack is between Alex and Zack, one arm slung over Zack’s shoulders, the other hand grabbing Alex’s face and planting a kiss on his cheek. Rian’s face is over Jack’s and Zack’s shoulders, million-dollar smile giving the photo an extra shine. Zack has his patented look of patiently controlled joy, while Alex looks elated at being kissed by Jack.

That checks out, Alex supposes. He’s always thrilled to have Jack’s lips anywhere on him.

The picture doesn’t pull him off-course. The mug goes on the counter and Alex’s usual mug — emblazoned with the Orioles logo — goes beside it, followed swiftly by the honey and two teabags.

“What kind of tea do you like?” comes Jack’s voice. Alex turns. He’s not moved at all and is just watching Alex putter around the kitchen.

“Depends on the day,” Alex says. He’s certain they’ve had this conversation before, verbatim, but it’s not like he wouldn’t humor Jack even if Jack remembered it, which he surely doesn’t. When the world grows too big for Jack, he zeroes in on the small things. Things like the kind of tea Alex likes to drink, and the chairs he does or doesn’t have in his kitchen.

“What are you having?”

“Lavender chamomile.” Alex tears the teabags open, Jack’s first and then his own, and sets them in the mugs, then turns to lean against the counter and return Jack’s gaze. “Do you want me to wait until the tea is done to ask what’s up?”

Jack takes a moment. “Yes,” he says quietly.

Alex crosses to him and crouches low. Jack’s eyes flit away and drop to the floor, where he picks at a fraying thread on his Converse. “Okay,” he says. “Are you too hot?”

Jack shakes his head.

“Cold?” Alex asks, and Jack hesitates, then shakes his head again.

“Not cold,” he says. “But if you have a hoodie, I wouldn’t…wouldn’t say no.”

“Let me grab one,” Alex says. He reaches tentatively out to brush a hand over Jack’s shoulder, then makes for his bedroom. Jack definitely has some favorites among Alex’s hoodie collection, and it takes Alex a moment to locate the most reliable one, a plain black zip-up with white drawstrings. He shakes it out and circles back to the kitchen. The kettle clicks just as Alex drops the hoodie into Jack’s lap, and Jack looks up at him, grateful.

While Jack drapes the hoodie over his shoulders, Alex pours the bubbling water into their respective mugs. It’s comforting to make tea; it reminds Alex of random Sundays at home, back before he’d ever been Alex Gaskarth, when he was just Alex, sometimes Lex, occasionally — to his mom and only his mom — Lexi. Afternoons sitting at the dining room table while his dad put the kettle on, carefully crafting the perfect cup of tea for the two of them to share, occasionally a third one for his mom also. (“It’s a splash of milk, Alex. This is a science. You’ve got to get it right. You ruin the tea, you lose your British citizenship. Don’t laugh, I’m serious. I’ve seen it happen.”)

Alex wonders how his dad would feel now, knowing he mostly drinks herbal tea when he has it at all.

The tea is done steeping by the time Alex pulls himself from his reverie; he dips the teabags once, twice more, retrieves a spoon and squeezes the excess water out of each one, then throws both in the trash and stirs the honey in.

“Are we drinking it on the floor?” he asks as he approaches Jack, a mug in each hand. Jack’s pulled the hoodie on, and the sleeves fall over his hands so he has to push them up his arms. It’s a sweet picture. Alex takes a mental snapshot.

Jack nods in response to the question, so Alex kneels slowly. A smile crosses Jack’s face when he sees the picture on his mug. “I love this mug,” he says.

“I know,” Alex says. It never tires him to remind Jack how well Alex knows him, and Jack never seems tired of hearing it.

“Thank you,” Jack says humbly.

Alex carefully seats himself beside Jack, back against the fridge, shoulders brushing. “‘Course,” he says. They sit in the quiet for a minute, both blowing away the rising steam off their drinks. Jack’s arm winds around his right leg, so Alex pulls his left towards his chest and knocks their knees together. Jack gives him a reserved smile and takes a tentative sip from his mug.

“Okay,” he finally exhales. “You can ask.”

Alex gives it another moment, until he, too, takes a small sip of his tea. It’s still too hot, and scalds the tip of his tongue, but he’d expected that. Part of the tea-drinking experience is burning your tongue on the first sip. Satisfied, Alex sets it aside for now and stares out across the kitchen. “What’s going on?”

He feels rather than sees Jack shrug, shoulder grazing Alex’s as it rises and falls. “You know.” That’s vague, but Jack always starts vague. Alex has learned to be patient. It takes patience to get to the heart of the problem, but it always pays off. Jack never wants to wallow. It’s why he shows up at Alex’s doorstep at midnight, too willing to concede to the notion that he likes tea despite having no memory of enjoying it. They’ll solve this problem tonight. One way or another, Jack will be okay in the morning.

Alex takes another sip from his tea. It’s still hot, but notably less so; in just a minute or two, it’ll be at a bearable temperature for steady drinking. Beside him, Jack sighs deeply.

“So I opened my phone,” he begins, balancing his mug out in front of him. “And I had all these Twitter notifications. Which I always do. So I don’t know why suddenly I was like, woah, that’s a lot of notifications. And, like, that’s a lot of people trying to get my attention. So I turned off my phone, went on my laptop, got a text from Rian saying he’d sent me an email with some link to something, because Rian’s like fifty million years old. You know.” Alex breathes a mild laugh. “So I opened up my email, and I had so many emails. Have you ever cleaned out your inbox, Alex? I have never once in my life cleaned out my inbox. You don’t even want to know how many emails there are.” His fingers tighten around the mug, and Alex leans gently into him, a silent I’m here and so are you. Jack breathes unsteadily out. “It’s, like, in the ten-thousands. I think. Maybe hundred-thousands and I just can’t count high enough. And, like, you know. I’m never going to get through those. I’m never —” He breaks off and a hysterical laugh escapes his lips. “I’ll never get to all the people who are trying to reach me, I’ll never have zero unread emails, I’m never going to be free from it. Neither of us will. Sorry, not to, like, stress you out about it —”

“It’s okay,” Alex murmurs, “doesn’t bother me.” And it doesn’t. Alex knows some tricks to mass-clear his inbox, and he turned off most Twitter notifications a long time ago. Jack just likes to be plugged in. Alex admires that, that he always wants to know what’s going on, what the fans are saying to him, which of them are going to thank him for saving their lives, but somewhere in the darkest point of Alex’s life he’d made the executive decision that he could know it in theory without having to know it in practice, and to date it’s one of the best decisions he’s ever made.

“Okay, well, it bothers me,” Jack says, working himself up with it. Alex flattens his palm against the top of Jack’s knee, fingernails scratching lightly against his jeans as Jack inhales. “I just don’t understand — I don’t know how to get out of it. I don’t know how to not feel like it’s going to — to crush me or swallow me up or how not to feel like an asshole for ignoring texts from people because I already have so many I need to answer that I don’t have the energy to get to the ones I want to answer.”

“Start with a deep breath,” Alex suggests, delicate. Jack does, inhaling like his life depends on and holding it until he can’t anymore, until it comes rushing out of his mouth, deflating his chest and shoulders. “I can help with the emails. There are ways to delete a fuckton at once. We can do that together.”

“Thanks,” Jack says wearily.

“You should turn off your Twitter notifications,” Alex continues, although he knows Jack won’t. “You can still check it whenever you want, but this way you won’t have it hanging over your head.”

Predictably, Jack shakes his head. “I know you say it’ll make me feel better, but I don’t think it will. I think I’ll still know there are people trying to get to me and I just won’t know exactly who, or how many, and that’s worse. That’s worse.”

“But you should try,” Alex insists. “Just see how you feel. If it’s worse, it’s worse, and you can always turn them back on. You know they’re not doing you any good like this, so you may as well try.”

Jack sighs. “Maybe.”

Well, maybe is a step up from no. Alex decides that counts as a victory. He can press the matter later, when Jack’s a little more sure-footed.

“The rest…” Alex bites his lip, pensive. “You’re not an asshole, by the way. I don’t know if I said that, but you’re not.”

“Contrary to popular belief,” Jack says, a taxing inside joke that makes Alex huff a laugh.

“Contrary to popular belief,” he agrees. “You’re just a rock star. You don’t owe anyone shit.”

“Maybe you’re the asshole, talking like that.”

Jack is teasing, so Alex inclines his head and humors him. “Maybe,” he says. “But when’s the last time I showed up on your doorstep at midnight, huh?”

“Other than to get drunk and binge-watch Say Yes To The Dress?”

Alex nudges him with his elbow. If Jack is cracking jokes, he’s already feeling better. “Yes. Other than that. My point is that you should come first. If too many people are texting you, you can ignore some of them.”

“I just don’t want to,” Jack complains. He sets his mug on the floor between his legs and leans his head on Alex’s shoulder. “I wish we could just stay like this forever and no one else existed. Wouldn’t that be nice?”

Alex lifts his left arm up over Jack’s shoulders. He plays with the cotton at the seam of the familiar hoodie. “That’d be great.” But they can’t, of course they can’t. And they wouldn’t even want to, not really.

“I don’t really want to,” Jack mumbles, as if he’s reading Alex’s mind. He turns his head to bury his face in Alex’s neck. When he speaks again, his voice vibrates across Alex’s skin. “I just prefer being with you to anyone else. In the world. Ever. I don’t know how you do it.”

“Do what?”

A shrug. “You know I’m not good with words like you. You just make me feel…I don’t know. Peaceful. Comfortable.”

Alex sighs. “Oh. Well, it’s probably because I love you.”

Jack makes an indecipherable sound and leans slightly away, picking his head up to look instead into Alex’s eyes. “Yeah?”

Alex smiles, wry. “Yeah.”

“Oh,” Jack says, as if it’s some big reveal, and not something Alex tells Jack every single fucking day. “In that case, don’t stop.”

Alex rolls his eyes and reaches up to cradle Jack’s face in his hand. “You say that like I’ve ever stopped loving you in the, like, eighteen years I’ve known you.”

The corners of Jack’s mouth tug upward. “There must have been once. I was a shithead in high school.”

“So was I,” Alex points out. “Well, I was a shithead well into my twenties.”

“Sorry, Jack,” Alex says. “I loved you then, I love you now, I’ll love you forever.”

“Big talker all of a sudden,” Jack murmurs, and Alex smiles.

“It’s an easy promise to make,” he hums, and it feels far too easy to close the gap between them, closing his eyes and kissing Jack softly, fingertips tilting Jack’s face the slightest bit. It’s hard to remember, in this moment, if they’ve never kissed before or if they’ve kissed a thousand times; Alex suspects that no matter how many times they do it, it’ll always feel like the first.

His eyes flutter open as they break apart. Jack’s stay closed; he drops his forehead onto Alex’s shoulder, and Alex presses a kiss into his hair. “Thank you,” Jack whispers. “I think I’m okay now.”

“Good,” Alex says. “You want to finish the tea and go to sleep?”

“Long as you don’t send me home,” Jack says, yawning.

Alex shakes his head in disbelief. He can’t say it, because it’s too cheesy for words, and Jack would rightfully make fun of him for it, but there’s no way Alex could ever send Jack home by sending him away. Jack says he’s no good with words; if Alex is, then the word Jack is missing is home. Nothing else could keep them coming back to each other, eighteen years down the line.

“Of course I won’t,” he says instead. “What’s mine is yours. Mi casa tu casa. You know.”

“Yeah,” Jack says. “I know.” He sits up and reaches for his tea, and Alex reaches for his own; together they take a long sip, and Alex smiles, content. The warmth diffuses itself in Alex’s bloodstream — it’s finally the perfect temperature.

#jack barakat #alex gaskarth #jalex #jalex fic #all time low #atl fic #fic #my fic #fiancee anon #god writing this felt so good #it's not really emo jalex but it's my first non-fluffy jalex #what am i saying this one is also pretty fluffy #tw for one brief passing mention of alcohol #tonight's shoutout goes to ainslee #oh wait i'm queuing this #that's so sexy and fun nobody knows when it's gonna post #well i'm queuing it on oct 30 at 4:01am #also i recently discovered you can SHUFFLE YOUR QUEUE?!?!!?#so that's incredibly sexy and i am very excited to have that as a feature #oh i wanted to share something cool about the whole tea thing in this #i watched/listened to this podcast episode from a bit lit #and this woman (i think maybe an english prof...somewhere in england...idk) was talking about various studies she was doing #about literature specifically YA lit specifically british YA lit #and she talked about the prominence of tea in british YA lit #once you look for it it's everywhere. like making tea is such a ritual in british literature #and it can serve so many purposes #it can indicate the tone of the scene (comfort or discomfort - if the tea is offered or if it's rejected)#it can move the narrative along #it can just be used to give the characters a pause to think #idk it was just really cool so!!! yeah. anyway thats all goodnight fhjflkmdskjblkmj

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ourplaceinthecosmosphff · 4 years ago

Text

Chapter 3. Our Place in the Cosmos

‘I wish we had all been born birds instead’ Kurt Vonnegut

“Réveille toi, princesse!”, Louis bellowed, barging into my room first thing the next morning, “Time do doll up for the day! No little birdies coming to help!”

I responded the way I always did, by grunting half-heartedly, hoping it would be enough for him to leave me alone; it never was.

“Mags?”

I felt the mattress dip to my left and then a sudden pull to the blanket. Prepared, however, with more than two decades of him in my life, I was already holding tighter to it.

“Come on, I brought coffee! Get up and look! I even added cream and powdered cocoa, just how you like it.”

I took in a deep breath, emerging from my blanket cocoon just enough to look at him with one eye, raising one eyebrow.

“I asked the chef, it’s the intention that matters.”

Sighing, I pulled myself up slightly to half-sit against the bed frame. I pulled the blanket off a little more, enough for one arm and half of my face to be out, and took the mug from him.

“Praise!” Louis looked up, in mock-reverence, “For the sacrificial bean potion has been accepted by the beast! The kingdom is spared another day!”

I rolled my eyes, or tried to in my sleep, but stuck to the coffee smell entering my nostrils as I blew it lightly, allowing the first sip to wake me up a little.

I’d been having the weirdest dream; I was in the conference room at work and my entire company was sitting around the room. At the head of the table, my bosses. They were all staring at me as I struggled through a presentation I couldn’t for the life of me remember and when I looked at the screen behind me, it was a powerpoint filled with images of Harry.

‘Care to explain, Your Royal Highness?’, my boss asked, which was weird, because no one at work treated me as HRH.

‘He was just joking!’, I justified, hurriedly. ‘Of course he was joking!’

‘He seemed pretty serious, Margueritte’, said my other boss. ‘He was even jealous of your ex.’

‘Where would you live? If you married?’, asked Sophie, one of my colleagues.

‘They’re both spares, so neither needs to inherit…’

‘I guess neither is needed at their own country, they could live in Savoy.’

‘No, she would have to move to England, of course.’

‘Why?!’

‘She’s the woman. They would make her.’

‘But her career is here!’

‘She can be a lawyer anywhere!’

‘Do you really think the British Royal family would allow her to continue to work?’

‘Guys!’, I started yelling, but my voice wouldn’t come out, ‘He was just kidding! Of course it would never work! Guys! We’re not together!’

‘What will the press say?’

‘What will her grandmother say?!’

“Maggie?!” Louis snapped his fingers in front of my face.

Startled, I sighed, closing my eyes, trying to will the nightmare into oblivion.

“You still talk in your sleep, huh?”

I looked at him, feeling my blood run cold. I cleared my throat, but didn’t say anything.

As a teenager, he always managed to get information out of me by pretending he heard me say something in my sleep and allowing me time to start justifying myself or ask incriminating questions before I even knew what he heard. With time, I learned. Say nothing. If he really heard something, he’ll eventually ask specifically.

“Who’s Mary?”

I sighed. “I don’t know.”

“Did you have a dream about Jesus? Because you were also saying ‘I’m a catholic! There’s nothing I can do about it!’, so maybe it was the mother of Jesus?”

Of course I knew what that meant. Harry had called me “Mary” at least thirty times the day before. And being anglican, Harry could lose his title if he married a catholic, a fact I couldn’t for the life of me remember how I knew, or when I learned.

“Maybe.” I said.

He pulled out his phone and started scrolling through something, allowing me time to drink my coffee. A song started playing, slightly upbeat, with an indie feeling to it. I tried to remind myself to ask the name later, but had no energy at that moment.

I heard a noise and realized he’d taken a selfie of us.

“Pourquoi?”, I sighed.

“Just texting Lou.”

Both Louis and Lourdes, our sister, used ‘Lou’ as a nickname. It made for confusing conversations with other family members or friends, but amongst the three of us, we always knew who we were talking about, so we rarely used their names.

He showed me his phone, smiling, a minute or two later. There was a selfie in reply from Lourdes. It was a Saturday so she was home from boarding school, and the picture showed herself in bed with an open laptop nearby and some young teenager paused mid-sentence on it.

“What’s that?” I asked.

“I think she’s watching youtube.” He returned.

“She should be asleep.”

“She has ice skating practice soon.”

I sighed again, heavily. “She does too much.”

“Did she send you a video of a new move yesterday?”

“It’s possible. She sends me a lot of videos.”

“She’s getting really good.”

The coffee had gone cold, so I sunk into bed again and shoved the mug in his general direction.

“Put it over there.” He said, dismissively, eyeing the bedside table to my other side.

I whined something incoherent, pleading as I sank lower into the blanket, but he made no move for the mug.

“I’m not taking it, you gotta get up, anyway.”

“Ugh.” Forcing myself to turn to my side, I stretched and pushed the mug into the bedside table, near my phone.

Clicking the screen twice, I looked at my notifications. A couple texts from my friends and a few emails. I clicked it dark again and let the blankets consume me.

“Have you heard from Chris?”

I sighed loudly, more for him to be able to gather my annoyance than out of actual necessity.

“Non.”

There was a pause.

“You know we have to leave soon, right?”

I whined again.

“I know.” He sighed. “How’s work?”

I sighed, trying to respond like a normal, awake version of myself.

“Good.”

“Nice."

I constructed a sentence in my head, about how I had to stop taking time off if I wanted to be taken seriously as a lawyer, and how dad had promised me he’d let me focus on my career after he moved back home. Instead, what I said was,

“How’s school?”

He sighed. “Good.”

There was a pause, but I didn’t hear his fingers on his phone anymore. I closed my eyes again and started feeling a cosy sleepiness take over once more, as if it never left.

“Peter came out to his family.”

I opened my eyes again.

“...I thought - oh. I thought everyone knew.”

“They… knew.” He said, uncertain. “His friends knew. His parents knew, but… pretended they didn’t. His extended family definitely didn’t know.”

I stretched a hand towards the bedside table, hovering over the vertical stripes of the wood. It was a victorian style chest with copper edges, two small drawers and a victorian lampshade on top. I knew there were 17 vertical stripes in the wood facing the bed - I had been counting them the night before after the Mayor’s ball, when I couldn’t sleep, thinking of how the edges matched the hair in a certain jerk.

“How… how did it go?”

My brother sighed.

“Fine.”

I turned in bed to face him, and waited.

Peter was Louis’ roommate since his second year at the University of Edinburgh, when he left the dorms in search for more privacy. They met at an econ class and soon discovered they had a lot more in common than it seemed. Peter was also from an upper class family with a lot of generational wealth and property to look after, and was also studying in Edinburgh to find some space in which he could figure himself out before he had to dedicate his life to the family business.

“...I don’t know.” He admitted. “I guess, from what he said, it sounds like it went better than expected?”

“His parents came to your birthday party a couple years ago, right?” He nodded. “I remember them; they seemed nice.”

“They are, they’re lovely! It’s just… His father has an estate up north. It’s been with them for generations. Peter doesn’t have any brothers or sisters, so he has to inherit. And you know the aristocracy, right? They’re…”

“Overly conservative? Stuck in the past? Assholes?”

He smiled, slightly, then shrugged. “He needs to provide an heir.”

“He can, though.”

“He knows… it’s just…”

“Unusual.”

Louis let out a long breath; “Yeah.”

“Maybe they just need time.”

“His family does this… thing, every year. They’re big on Christmas. So they plan this whole, really long family holiday, with a trip, and activities, and theme nights…”

“I know, you spent Christmas with them last year.”

“Yeah.” He smiled. “It was the most fun I had with older British people ever since I moved here.”

I smiled; my family had its own Christmas traditions, but as royals we didn’t have any commitments until New Year’s Eve, when there was a televised ceremony at the Capital and a speech from my father. It was nice, it gave us room to do whatever we wanted for the holidays, as a family, not property of the country. We could stay with mom’s family, or Lourdes could go skiing with a friend’s family, or I could go to Cabo with college friends in my junior year… so it wasn’t unusual for Louis to decide to spend last year’s holiday with Peter’s family, specially when his family made such a big deal of those days.

“It’s such a big spectacle, they start planning months in advance… Peter said they usually have already started an email thread at this point in the year… And he hasn’t received anything.”

“It’s October.” I reasoned.

His smile was sadder now. “His cousin said she’s in a thread.”

I sighed. “This…”

“I know.” He added, when I couldn’t find words.

I knew Peter, of course. Being only a couple years younger than me, Louis was basically my best friend. Not the one I talked to the most, but definitely the one who knew me better than anyone in the world. We loved Lourdes with our whole hearts, but she was more than a decade younger than me.

As a result of that close age difference, Louis and I had a lot of friends in common. Even though I went to an all-girls boarding school in Belgium, and he to an all-boys boarding school in Savoy, we had the weekends at home, and the school holidays. And polo matches at the club, and charity events with family friends, and we always ended up meeting the other’s friends from school one way or another.

Peter, then, became a fixture in our lives, and it broke my heart to know something so silly could be wrecking him without my knowledge.

“You should invite him home for Christmas.” I told Louis. “Invite him to come to Savoy. I think we’ll be at Corsilla Castle this year; it’s right by the beach, he’ll love it.”

He considered it for a few moments, but his brows were troubled.

“I don’t know… He already has to deal with paparazzi at the entrance of our building and following us to class because of me… I don’t want to throw him even more to the wolves.”

I sat up in bed, adjusting my shirt. “It won’t be that bad! Remember my third year of University, when I brought Kat and Amanda home for Christmas? Paparazzi followed us around because of me, but then they went home without me and they were fine.”

He nodded. "I'll wait a bit more, see if they'll come around. If not, then I'll ask."

I smiled. "Good."

Laying back again, I pulled the sheets to my neck, and turned back to the bedside table, closing my eyes.

It wasn't even five seconds before I felt a pillow hit my thigh.

"What?!" I jumped.

"Get up!" he said, looking distressed.

--- ---- ---

After breakfast at Clarence House, I rode to the British Parliament with Louis and our father. I wore a nude, midi length, blazer-like wrap dress with two rows of buttons and a tank top of the same color underneath to make the neckline more conservative, with shoes and hat were of the same color.

We sat in the House of Commons and watched as my father was introduced and delivered an address on the honor it was to be at the ‘center of British democracy’, and ‘how fortunate we are in Savoy to have such an ally across the sea’. I sat in my seat attempting not to look bored, which was a feat to behold as I had heard that speech a bunch of times in preparation for the trip. It was just as hard not to mouth the lines along with my father.

Over the past few years, tensions had been growing between the two islands: the British and the Savoyen governments were in conflict over the right way to handle the immigration crisis slowly taking over Europe from Syria. England, Savoy and France were all interchangeably accessible through the Eurostar, and that free access was generating higher immigration numbers, and because unlike France, Savoy hadn’t yet toughened their regulations over the issue, the British were more than a little upset at our government for, as they said, ‘facilitating the entry to Great Britain’.

That’s what we were there to do, smile and wave and appear friendly to strengthen our diplomatic ties. And that was the main issue my father was subtly talking about in his speech. Our need to come together and find solutions to benefit the many, yada, yada, yada.

“I’m thinking of skipping the meetings to go with you to your event.”

I looked at him. Louis was still looking at our father as he talked about the economic partnerships between the countries.

“The meetings are important. Dad is talking to a lot of representatives.”

“I know, but he doesn’t really need me.”

I sighed. “We’ll talk about it later.”

“Just have Cadie send a press release to inform people I’ll go.”

“We’ll discuss it later.”

I made sure to keep a smile on my face during the exchange, but as soon as had shaken all the appropriate hands and posed for the necessary photographs in front of the press, I pulled him into a quiet corner of the hallway while dad gave a short interview to a British journalist.

“You can’t come with me.”

“Why not?”

“Louis, your responsibility is to help dad with diplomatic affairs.”

He rolled his eyes. “There won’t even be press there.”

“That’s not the point!”

“Stop stage-whispering, they’re gonna hear you.”

I took a step forward and gave my back to the people on the other end of the hallway.

“Papa is counting on you. The press is not important, it’s about…” I sighed, searching for help in my memories of the preparatory meeting Auguste made me attend. “It’s about building a relationship of trust with the people you’ll be working with when you’re king.”

“Maggie.” He took in a long breath. “Fine. Okay, you’re right.” He shrugged, sighing.

“You’ll do great. Remember, you’re here to learn.”

“Alright, fine, now you’re sounding like Maman.”

--- ---- ---

The Duchess of Cambridge was nothing but bright and bubbly, the picture of politeness when I met her that morning at the gravel driveway into Clarence House. The team figured it would be weird if we saw each other for the first time in public and had to make introductions in front of the whole world, so she was kind enough to drive to Clarence House so we could leave for our engagement together.

I arrived from Parliament, where I left my father and brother to their meetings with elected officials, and had just enough time to change into a different outfit and remove my hat before I rushed down the stairs to meet the woman the world knew as Kate Middleton waiting in the drawing room with the Duchess of Cornwall.

The dress I was wearing now was silk and down to my knees, tied under my chest with a bow, bellow a V shaped neckline that stretched into long, bishop, sleeves. The Duchess of Cambridge was wearing a green envelope dress, midi-length, and nude shoes, with her silky, golden brown hair falling down her shoulders in perfect waves. She and the Duchess of Cornwall were sitting in armchairs, leaning towards each conspiratorially. They looked up at me when I walked in with Cadie, with an air about them that gave me the distinct impression I was the subject of their recent whispering.

With a mid-thought smile on their lips, they stood up.

“Your Royal Highness, may I present, Catherine, the Duchess of Cambridge.”

“Your Royal Highness, it’s lovely to meet you.” She said, extending a hand, which I shook just as she flexed her legs down in a curtsey.

It was a bit of a gray area, who curtsied to whom between the two of us, because, although we both technically held the same spot in the lines of succession of our countries, I was there as a royal by blood, and she was only the consort of one; still, I wouldn’t have expected her to curtsey, so I curtsied too.

“The pleasure is all mine, Your Royal Highness. And please call me by name.”

“Well, then you must too. Call me Catherine.”

“You can just use Margueritte, if it’s easier. I make no fuss over our obnoxious French R’s.”

They chuckled.

“I will admit it shouldn’t be too difficult to skip the formal titles, I do feel as though I know you well already.” She exchanged a look with the Duchess of Cornwall that could only be described as knowing, and then said, in a forcibly casual tone, “I have heard a lot about you.”

“You have?”

They stared at me, smiling. Behind me, Cadie was aiming her wide eyes at the ground; brows raised, an amused grin in her lips.

“Good things I hope.”

“Oh, of course.” Catherine laughed. “Nothing but good things!”

“A little too good, perhaps.”

Of my current options - ignore it altogether, try to pretend I misinterpreted their meaning or face it head on - I decided it was safer, more diplomatic perhaps, to stay in the middle.

“We’re not as famous as Britain in Savoy, but we do get on the news sometimes.” I said, with a small shrug. “So long as you don’t believe everything you read. Unless it’s good.”

They chuckled again, but the Duchess of Cambridge seemed as if she wanted to contest my understanding, but decided against it.

“Of course.” She agreed, finally.

“And lucky you.” Added the woman to her right.

“We should get going, then.” Catherine’s aide, a young brunette, added from the door.

I curtsied to the Duchess of Cornwall, who wished us luck before kissing her step-daughter-in-law’s cheeks and waving us into the car.

There was a palpable shift within Catherine when we were in the car, alone if not for the driver and her aide in the front. Her hands were fidgety, her eyes moving quickly between the window by her side and the one in the front. At times I thought she might have looked at me as well, only for a moment, one from the corners of her eyes.

She seemed level-headed. Mature. Sensible. So she could reasonably have meant something else entirely by what she said… what I said about the press, perhaps. Because what could Harry even have said about me? He barely knew me. It was only the day before that we met (officially, that is). How much time would he have had to talk about me to his family? Did he run home and told them of the cold, overly polite Princess he’d just met who kept rebuking his advances?

I looked over at her, who still seemed slightly fidgety, definitely more than when the Duchess of Cornwall was with us. I wondered if there was a particular reason, or if maybe she was just shy. Maybe she was also thinking of all those times she’d heard so much of me.

Her aide spoke before either of us did.

“Ma’am, why don’t you tell Her Royal Highness why we chose Place2Be to visit today?”

I was reminded of my mother, when she attempted to force me to talk to our adult guests at dinner parties when I was younger.

“Right.” The Duchess smiled. “Well, I’ve always really loved children. So after I got married, I was meant to chose organizations I’d like to support and I decided to start with children. Place2Be is was the first, it’s where I made my first speech. They… they help children.”

There was an awkward break. I wondered if that was it. Was that it? That seemed like a very short answer, though I suppose a case could be made that it was to the point.

My mother had made me attend enough etiquette lessons growing up to know that the host is supposed to make conversation, so I wanted to stay quiet, but the only thing I had to occupy myself with were my own thoughts, and that was unacceptable.

“I remember my first speech. It was… a nightmare, honestly.” I chuckled to myself. “And no matter how many of these things I do, I still get so anxious beforehand.”

She looked over at me, and I saw immediate relief and surprise wash over her features.

“Really?!” She shook her head in disbelief. “So do I! At times I’m shocked I don’t trip on my feet!”

“I used to only wear low shoes when I first started, I was afraid of the very same.” I confessed, with an embarrassed smile.

“And I do prepare, of course! I do all the work-”

“Exactly, it’s not about the work, just… the-”

“Responsability.”

“Yes!”

The way she smiled in response, shoulders dropping, voice wavering, I wondered how often she had been told by her own team all the things she should and shouldn’t do during these events; If I couldn’t escape Auguste’s nagging, and my father was the King, what hope did she have? Merely marrying into a family where her husband was still the heir to the heir.

As it turns out, the charity Catherine chose to show me, Place2Be, didn’t just ‘help kids’; it helped the communities around them as well, providing lunches, and courses for the parents, and and counseling tools for the children to learn how to properly express their feelings in order to be healthier. They mainly worked with school, so on that afternoon we joined them in an event in a primary school in the outskirts of London that served mainly marginalized communities and families of immigrants.

As we parked outside the simple yet lovely building, our security stepped our first, followed by our secretaries, and finally, the Duchess and I. At the entrance, the organizations’ leaders awaited to guide us in our visit, with the press lined up at the opposite direction, cameras ready to snap.

Friends often ask me what is running through my mind when I walk anywhere with the press on my heels. 'How can you think straight-', they'll say, 'with those cameras and flashes following you so up close?'. The truth is, I do not think at all when forced to walk with the press watching. Things like arriving at events, such as this one, where the flashed are so constant it mostly just looks like the room merely has weirdly artificial lighting. I don't have time to look around and register or appreciate the landscape, or take notice of who is watching and what they might be thinking of me. All I can do is walk straight up, either taking the lead or, in this case, following it, and shake the hands I was suppose to and say the pleasantries I was suppose to, all making sure I have a smile on my face and my skirt isn’t blowing with the wind.

There were two women waiting for us in the entrance, one was wearing a dress, the other a pantsuit. I‌ let Catherine go first, and after she had shaken their hands, and they had each done a short, polite curtsey, she turned around and introduced me as ‘Princess Marie-Margueritte’, with a perfect French pronunciation.

The school was simple enough, brick walls with colorful art, posters about washing one’s hands and treating others with politeness. There was a smaller group of reporters inside, following us along as we walked, and our aides were taking pictures or videos themselves.

As we walked, Angela, the principal in a pantsuit, was telling us about the progress the children had undergone since the school began its partnership with Place2Be. Less temper tantrums, more willingness to talk things through. Michelle, the representative from Place2Be, told us about the art therapy initiatives, which helped the children learn how to better process and express their feelings, and about the researches that showed children that were incentivized to talk about what they felt were less likely to develop mental health issues.

We passed by classrooms and halls until we arrived at a room with wide, round tables, knee high, filled with children and a few teachers. We walked in, reciprocating their timid, excited smiles, and another Place2Be specialist introduced us and welcomed us to take seats in a table in the middle, where two tiny chairs had been left empty for us, side by side. There was a hilarious moment when we realized just how low the chairs were as we tried to take our seats, and shared a mildly desperate look, before starting to giggle at the same time. We eventually sat down, knees together as demanded by etiquette, and said hello to our table mates, Audrey, Matthew, Safiya and Thomas.

The instructor told us the exercise we were doing today was called safety net, like one an equilibrist might use in a circus to make sure if he falls he won’t get hurt, she said. The gist of it was, in our lives our safety net was the people we could count on to talk to or to help us if we felt troubled, like family or trusted teachers. They gave us sheets of paper and crayons, and told us to draw our safety nets, or something that represented them, which is when I sighed, looking at Catherine.

“I’m a terrible artist.” I told her.

She chuckled, cheeks red, and seemed to ponder her words before she spoke.‌ “No pressure, only all the reporters will see.”

I‌ smiled, noticing her a little more comfortable now, sarcasm and all.

I looked at tiny, Asian little Audrey to my right, “do you think they’ll accept a stick figure? It’s all I can draw.”

She giggled and showed me her drawing, already a red man with strangely large hands and comically crooked legs, “Like this!”

“Yes,‌‌ I’ll try to do as well as you!”

I ended up drawing only faces - they did say I could draw something to represent my safety net. In truth, I‌ would have drawn some of my friends, like Stella, Constance or Kat. Maybe even Sophie or Larissa, from work. But bringing up friends during royal engagements was practically asking the press to talk about them, and I did not wish that on anybody.

So I drew exactly who I knew they would expect me to, my family. Of course I could count on my family, even if I had to put my career and goals on hold to help them with no early notice just because they needed me. Even if my brother seemed to not be putting much effort into coming home as soon as he should. Of course I could always count on them. And regardless, it’s not like I could draw anything else. Not when this was my job. Even if I needed space, they were, after all, the job.

“Woah.”‌ I told Catherine. “That is amazing.”

I wasn’t even exaggerating; she had drawn a pretty good, torso only version of her husband, with a bundle on his arms which I suppose was their son, Prince George. There was another adult figure by his side, with larger shoulders and a stronger jaw - I was seriously amazed at her ability with crayons. As I watched, she was filling in his hair with an orange one; I felt my heart in my throat. I knew that orange.

“Thank you,”‌ she said, timidly, “Yours are not so bad either!”

I‌ had four crooked circles in my sheet of paper, all black, and I had just managed to fill out two with weird, tiny dots for eyes and large, wavy lines for hair.

“You are too kind.”‌ I told her, half-laughing.

“Who are they?”, asked Thomas, the little boy to her left, pointing at her drawing.

“I drew my husband and my son, and my brother-in-law, Harry.” She told him, sweetly. “My husband is very patient and dedicated, he always helps me when I need, and he is a really good daddy. And his brother is very sweet.”

I kept my eyes to my black blobs, adding a hat to the one that was supposed to be my mother to hide the weird hair I had done, trying not to listen to her even though she was sitting right next to me.

“He is really kind, and really good with his nephew, and always makes people laugh.” She turned to look at me.‌‌ “You know Harry, don’t you, Margueritte?”

I‌ looked at her, feeling weirdly warm. “Harry?” She nodded.‌ “Prince Harry, you mean?” She nodded again, smiling. “Yes, we’ve met.”

I looked back at my drawing, now doing a ball on top of Lourdes’ head, as she was always wearing her hair in a bun for ballet or training.

“Don’t you think he’s a sweetheart?”

“Well, I… Yes, he seems nice.”

I drew Lourdes’ hair a bit more forcefully, making it almost look as if she had a second head on top of her own.

“And he’s so funny. And a truly loyal friend, you can always count on him.”

This, I‌ thought, was a lot. So I sighed, and looked at her, brows furrowed, trying to decipher what exactly she was trying to do, but she was focused on her own drawing again, now giving Harry some freckles.

“He is very dedicated to his work, too. He and William love animals, and conservation work, and we started working on mental health a while back, that’s very important to both of them.”

“How nice.”‌ I said, moving on to one last circle, giving Louis - or attempting to - thin eyes and a long, thin nose.

“How did the two of you meet?” she asked.

I‌ leaned in.‌ “Did he ask you to ask that?”

“No.”‌ She said, a faint note of surprise in her voice, but her reddening cheeks gave her away. “Why would he?”

“No reason.‌”‌ I‌ told her, smiling.‌ “We met a while ago.”

She nodded. “He talked a lot about you yesterday.”‌

“Did he?” I asked, now adding my brother’s long, wavy hair.

“He did…” She leaned in again, and whispered to me, “I‌ think you made an impression.”

“Well, that’s… good. I think.”

“He’s single, you know.”

The crayon in my hand broke. I‌ looked at her. She was… redder than I had seen her yet and, looking uncomfortable, she focused on her own work again.

“Whoever he ends up with will be really lucky, I think.”

“That’s…” I tried, my voice hoarse. “That’s nice.”

“Woah, I don’t have that much hair!”

I turned around. On my other side, there was Louis.

The kids all turned around to look at him, in some kind of awe. The reporters in the front of the class started snapping their flash-photography more viciously.

“Oh, hello.” Catherine smiled up at him.

“Good afternoon.”‌ He smiled back, sharing her hand, before waving it to the room. “Hello, everyone!”

“Welcome, Your Royal Highness!” The Place2‌Be instructor brought a chair for him, placing it after Audrey, and addressed the children, telling them who he was and asking Matthew, by his side, to explain to him the exercise.

“Oh, so that’s why my sister was drawing me!”‌ He said, cheerily, after hearing the explanation. “That’s so sweet, Marie-Margueritte, even if you completely over did my hair, which I will attempt not to take personally.”

A reporter took three steps to the center of the room, and raised a camera to capture us better. The movement put me on my guard, so I smiled at my brother.

“I only drew what I see. You need a haircut.”

“I do not need a haircut!” He said, brushing his hair back with a lazy hand that, having known him all his life, I‌ knew was precisely calculated.

“What do you think?”‌ I‌ asked Catherine, who startled, and laughed.

“Oh, I think you both look lovely!”

We laughed at her defensive reaction.

“Very diplomatic.”‌ Louis nodded and began drawing something on his sheet of paper.

Another kid came walking towards us and stopped by Catherine to show her his drawing; naturally, all the paparazzi turned to her to capture the sweet moment.

Louis used this moment to lean over to me. “Se détendre. Papa dit que je pouvais venir.”

Relax, he said, dad said I could come.

I‌ sighed, still smiling, but focused on the crayons.

It was around this time that the teacher started telling the students that had finished their first task they could start on the second. She said, now that we had our safety net, we had someone we could tell our problems to. Sometimes, she said, all you need is to get those feelings out of yourself, even if you don’t find a magic answer.

So, instructed to draw a box and put the things that made me angry inside of it, I used three crayons and a lot of time to draw a 3D, colorful box, so that the time would run out before I had the time to draw anything to put into it. It did, so we left our drawings on the table, knowing they would be shown off for the world to see soon enough, and marched out of the room waving goodbye to the children.

We were led into a crowded, large meeting room, where the teaching staff shared their biggest challenges and joys of teaching young children and the precise ways the organization had helped. Next, we sat down with older students who told us of the difficulties of being their age, and the things about the future that made them anxious.

My brother stayed mostly quiet except to crack a joke or two, making everyone laugh at his charming, easy-going personality. I focused on Catherine, on the children, and on keeping the most sincere smile I‌ could muster on my face.

Eventually, as we were preparing to leave, Auguste, who had come with Louis, leaned in to tell us, in a whisper, that dad had been delayed in his meeting, and we should make ourselves busy before our next appointment, at which time the Duchess of Cambridge invited us for tea at her home.

Eventually, we shook all of their hands, thanked them for their time, and walked out of the school the same way we came in, to a large wall of reporters and a crowd of well-wishers. Normally, someone would suggest that we go shake their hands, thank them for coming, but I could feel my anger-box starting to crack, so I took matters into my hands.

Though Catherine’s aide volunteered to drive separately so me and my brother could go with her, I insisted she go with her boss, who I was sure, ‘would need her’. That way Cadie drove with the security, and I joined my brother and Auguste in the car they had come in.

“I know you want to yell at me,” he started, when we were seated, as the security closed the doors, and Auguste got in in the front seat, “but more importantly, did you get a text from Lou today?”

I smiled at the people outside and waved, silent.

“Oh, right.” He said, copying me. “It was a video. She finally perfected a double axel, she’s getting really good!”

After we took off, my smile dropped, and I turned to him.

“Qu'est-ce que tu fous ici?!”

He threw his head back against the seat. “Papa said it was fine for me to leave!”

“Or course he did. Why does it matter?! You have a job to do, Louis. You can’t just half-ass this job!”

“I know very well what I am supposed to do, thank you very much.”

“Do you?! Because it doesn’t seem like it!”

Auguste took a deep breath in the front seat, turning back towards us. “Perhaps there’s a better time for this discussion?”

“Shut up, Auguste!”

“Don’t be rude!”

“You need to understand you have a responsibility!”

“There was no press there, me being there would make no difference.”

“Not everything in this job is about the press!”

“Will you stop acting like you’re my boss?! You’re not Maman.”

I looked at the window, feeling more frustrated than I ever had. “You think of nothing, of no one but yourself.”

“Yes, and I should be more like you, and put everyone ahead of my every need. Because that’s healthy.”

“Excuse me?!”

“You spent your whole life letting them dictate your every move and then you complain that it’s hard?! Yes, Maggie, we know it’s hard-”

“I did this for you!” I screamed.

“I never asked you to-”

“No, you didn’t! They did! Because they wanted to give you time to live your life before you had it committed to the monarchy forever! But guess what, Louis? It’s not a magic trick! Someone has to pick up the slack, and that someone is me!”

“You are not a victim here! They make you do these things because you let them-!”

“Because they need us! Because this job is taxing, and toxic, and exhaustive, and it’s our job to help!”

“You help because you want to-”

“I help because you’re in Scotland gallivanting around with Peter and somebody has to pick up the slack!”

“You know why I am in Scotland! You know what is waiting for me-”

“I do! But you don’t know that every day you’re not home I am sacrificing my career and my life as well!”

“You’ve done this your whole life, Maggie! You’ve always been like this-”

“Like what?! Like this what?!”

“Desperate to be the good girl! To be the child our parents think of when they needs someone responsible, and efficient. They place the burden on you because you let them! Ever since we were kids, you always acted like a third parent even though you shouldn’t have, so don’t blame me for your choices!”

“You don’t think I want to live my life?! You don’t think I want to travel somewhere people won’t know me or my family? You don’t think I want to text dad that I can’t come to this ceremony or that one because I am busy with my own things?! Who would help, Louis? You’re not home! Adrien is always away with Faye. Lourdes is too young. He is just one person!”

As my voice cracked, I turned to the window, trying to dry one tear before it fell.

“...you don’t have to cry.”

“You know saying that doesn’t help!” I yelled, now crying more.

He extended a handkerchief, which I took, drying my tears before they could fall down my cheeks.

There was a long, awkward, painful silence in the car.

“All I’m saying is,” he started, slowly, almost obnoxiously calm, “Stop placing the blame on me for not setting some boundaries and going after the life you want.”

I laughed, humorless.

“You really think I don’t want to? I have a career, Lou. I have friends and loved ones, too. You did not invent a personal life. I want to live mine, but this family we were born into does not offer an opt out option.”

He sighed. “I think you’re angry at yourself and you’re taking that on me.”

“Really?” I rolled my eyes. “Explain that to me.”

“You’re angry at mom and dad for giving you more than you can handle, you’re angry at yourself for letting them, and you’re angry at Chris for the-”

“I am angry at you!” I yelled. “Mom and dad, too, of course, but you’re the one that is running away from your responsibilities! You want to know why I have to take all of this on? Because while you’re here, tucked away and safe from us and from every negative headline back home, Maman isn’t speaking to Aunt Katherine, and Aunt Stephanie heard about it! Your sister has driven away yet another chief of security, the third one in four years, and dad…” I sighed, “Dad is getting worse, Louis. Meanwhile, I am the one that has to keep everyone together to the expense of my own life and career, when this isn’t even my job. It’s yours.”

The only sound in the car was the sound of the wheels on gravel as we drove into Kensington Palace in awkward, heavy silence.

“We don’t have time for this.” I said, drying my tears, and trying to make sure my makeup wasn’t smudged in a hand mirror before we parked. “Just… behave.”

Though I did not look at him, I could almost hear his eyes roll before he forcefully opened the door and stepped out, as petulantly as when he was 8 and I told him he couldn’t play doll with me and our cousins.

Kensington Palace was essentially built as one big set of squares and rectangles, which as most palaces in Europe, was now divided into sections, each being an 'apartment' given to specific families. The Cambridges' door was white, and by all means completely indistinguishable from the others. Louis had already ringed the doorbell when I reached him, and was avoiding my eyes, a pout in his lips, when Catherine's aide opened the door and welcomed us in; Louis and I were smiling again.

Catherine was in the kitchen making finger sandwiches as her husband watched, one hand to a glass of water, the other on a baby monitor.

Louis marched straight to Prince William, shaking his hand as if they were long-time friends, but that meant nothing; that was just his normal personality.

"So you're the famous Princess Mary." William said to me when Catherine introduced us.

Her smile immediately dropped, and she placed a delicate, yet forceful hand on his shoulder. "William", she warned, "It's Marie-Margueritte."

"Right, apologies." He smiled. "I've heard so much about Princess Mary I suppose I just forgot it might have been a loving nickname."

Feeling myself blush, I cleared my throat, smiling sheepishly.

"I'm not so sure that's how I'd describe it."

"And why not?"

I didn't have to turn around to know who the owner of that voice was, I'd been replaying it in my head long enough to know. Even if I didn't, the knowing smiles on William and Catherine's lips would be telling enough.

“Harry!” Louis greeted joyfully, shaking his hand. “Long time no see. How excited are you to be crushed by us tomorrow at the polo match?

Even as he answered, laughing, his eyes kept coming back to me. “I think you need to check your overconfidence, Castillon.”

“I think you’ll regret underestimating me, Windsor.”

“What I’m learning from this is you’re fully capable of pronouncing our Royal House surname,‌ yet my name remains a mystery.”

He grinned at me, “It’s a loving nickname,‌‌ Mary.”

“It’s just… a name. Not my name. Just another name.”

“Regardless.”

To say it shocked me to see him was was an understatement, and yet, somehow, the moment it happened I‌ was also overwhelmed by a feeling of unmitigated relief to have him there.

On my ‘loving nickname’, Harry was unwavering. As Catherine had her husband set the table with the sandwiches, and asked what our favorite tea was, Harry talked happily with my brother about our trip, about his schooling, and about me, whom he kept referring to as ‘Mary’. I made a point to roll my eyes every time.

On his end, ‌Louis didn’t seem to find that odd at all, which made me angrier at him. I wanted to ask Catherine what the delicious smell coming from the oven was, and if she would be at the polo match tomorrow, but I‌ couldn’t drag myself away from standing peripherally around my brother and Harry, even though I had no participation in their conversation, hoping Harry would stop for one or two seconds to look at me instead, but he and Louis were now happily trashing the other’s favorite rugby team.

I wasn't sure if it was the fight with Louis, or the wave of shock of seeing Harry again sooner than I had expected, yet somehow later than I wished, but I was suddenly annoyed. At Louis, for everything he'd said in the car. At Harry for focusing so deeply on his conversation with my brother instead of interrogating me again after apparently talking about me to both his brother and sister-in-law. But, perhaps more revealingly, at myself.

It annoyed me that I cared. It annoyed me that I suddenly felt sixteen-years-old again, hoping a boy would look at me across the polo field. It annoyed me that I seemed to have been expecting him to arrive ever since saying goodbye the day before, as if it was a given he would.

If forced with the choice of admitting I'd missed him or sticking knives into my eyes, I might pick the knives.

It was, however, when Harry asked if he was nervous about graduating, and Louis answered by saying he was looking forward to whatever came next, and that he was looking into maybe getting a master’s degree next, that I forced myself to leave.

I‌ asked Catherine if I‌ could use the restroom, and she directed me to the one upstairs, seeing as the one on the first floor was being re-tiled. I climbed up the large, hardwood stairs into a clean, minimalist looking second floor, easily finding the bathroom. I‌ washed my hands with cold water, placed them in the back of my neck for a few seconds, taking deep breaths, and tried to focus on calming memories.

Unfortunately, the most calming memory I‌ used to have - a skiing trip with Chris - was now tainted by the breakup, so it didn’t help. Instead, I‌ sat down on the edge of a bathtub, and pulled my phone from my handbag, checking my messages.

Lourdes had texted another video, but this was a music video; the text read, ‘do you think I can do a routine to this?! i’m so obsessed!’

I replied, ‘why not? it sounds great!‘, without opening the link.

Constance, my longest childhood friend, had ominously sent: ‘Did Stella and Rick get back together?????? I have thoughts. Call me.’

I sighed, typing a reply rapidly; ‘I can’t talk now, I’m in London. Let’s have dinner when I get back and do another intervention.’

And skimming through an email my mother had sent, I now knew all her thoughts on how I should do my hair for the State dinner the following day.

Telling myself it was mostly out of curiosity, I found Chris’ name in my list of old messages, and clicked through, seeing no new messages had arrived. I‌ blocked the phone, and went back outside.

When I was leaving the bathroom, before I could reach the stairs, I heard a soft wailing coming from a door to my right. It was half opened, and the room only lightly lit. Pushing the door forward, I recognized a beige and white nursery, and a moving bundle inside a wooden crib.

“Bonjour, bebe!” I approached, as gently as I could, whispering softly. “Do you need mommy? Or papa?”

I looked at the door, hoping to see someone coming to fetch Prince George, but no one was there.

“Alright.” I said, feeling slightly as if i was intruding, but not at all comfortable leaving the crying boy alone. “It’s alright, it’s alright.”

Placing him in my arms as swiftly as I could, I started to rock him from side to side.

“Should we go downstairs?”

His face still contorted painfully, but the crying was a little more spaced out now. I figured his parents would know what to do and, as weird as it would be to just show up downstairs with him, it would be weirder to leave him behind. Turning to the door, however, I was startled once more by his uncle.

“Hi.”

“Hello.”‌‌ He smiled, looking at the baby.

“How-?”

“Nanny-cam.” He answered, gesturing vaguely to the hallway, walking towards us.

“Oh.”‌ I‌ nodded. “He was crying, I didn’t want to leave him.”

He leaned down to look at the boy in my arms, raising one hand to his soft, tiny head as the citrus scent of his perfume overwhelmed me.

I‌ cleared my throat, trying to bring things back to familiar territory.

“Which bet did you lose to be put in nanny duty?” I joked.

He shrugged, smiling at his nephew.‌‌ “I‌ volunteered.‌ We’re buddies, aren’t we,‌ George?”

The baby stopped crying, looking at his uncle now making funny faces at him. It was hard not to smile.

“I‌ think he needs a nappy change. I‌ can take him if you want to go back downstairs.” Harry offered.

“Oh, sure.”‌

Avoiding looking into his eyes from so close, I passed him his nephew - our arms touched in the exchange; I tried to suppress the little part of me that noticed he was surprisingly muscly.

“We’ll meet you downstairs.”‌‌ He smiled, walking with the baby towards a changing station on the other side of the room.

I walked through the door slowly, trying to delay having to go back downstairs where I‌ had to pretend I wasn’t upset at Louis, but stopped when he spoke again. Initially, I thought he was talking to me, but the baby tone quickly corrected that assumption.

“Did you go number one? Did you? Or two? What surprise awaits me, here, Georgie?”

I leaned against the doorframe, smiling.

“Now, I‌ understand that a growing boy needs to go. We all do, it’s very normal. But I‌ just need you to prepare me, alright? How bad will it be once I‌ open this up?”

I considered sincerely going downstairs, focusing on the diplomatic aspect of making friends with the more important people, the ones we were there for, his brother and sister-in-law. But, peering into the room again, I‌ saw Harry lean his tall frame closer to the baby, holding him still with one hand, trying to reach a far away drawer with the other.

“Need help?”‌ I asked, stepping back inside.

He jumped slightly, but smiled when he saw me. “Oh, I‌- I‌ thought you left.”

“I think you could use the help.” I‌ reached for the drawer he was going for, but looked back at him, questioningly. He nodded, so I‌ opened it, and found him a new nappy.

“Alright, team work it is.”‌ He said, “Keep him distracted so he doesn’t move as much.”

I tried to distract George with a tiny, plush koala nearby, and uttered the first words that came to mind.

“Frère Jacques, Frère Jacques, dormez-vous? Dormez-vous?”, I sang, dangling the koala from side to side, to the rhythm. “Sonnez les matines, sonnez les matines… what?!”

Noticing Harry had stopped moving, I looked back at him, who was merely staring at me.

“What?! You said to distract him.” I‌ justified, defensively.

He shook his head, focusing on the task at hand again, with a renewed grin on his lips.

“Don’t forget the cream.”‌ I‌ said, before he could close the tabs.

“Right.”‌ He nodded. “I‌ knew I‌ was forgetting something… Why are you good at this? Have any secret children the press can’t find out about?”

I‌ smiled at George, still dancing the little koala. “No, just two younger siblings and a bunch of little cousins I was constantly pretending were dolls.”

He chuckled, and closed the little adhesive tabs on the nappy, fiddling with the straps of his onesie now. “Where do these-?”

“Here.”‌ I said, handing him the koala, and finding the right buttons to close. “There we go.”

“Nice. What do we say to the pretty lady, Georgie? Say thank you.”

I‌ smiled, at both of them, but kept my eyes on the baby. “You’re welcome.”

Harry started putting the cream, and tissues away, as well as moving to throw the dirty nappy in the trash can, so as George got fussy again, I‌ picked him back up, and started singing Frère Jacques again, slowing down the melody as I rocked, hoping the baby would calm to the moves. Looking up, I noticed Harry was frozen in place, one hand in an open drawer, looking at me with the softest of eyes. There was something else in them, too. A kind of yearning that was almost blinding.

“What?”, I asked.

He smiled, to the floor. “Nothing… You’re good at that.”‌ He shrugged. “How much younger are your siblings?”

“Louis is three years younger, and Lourdes is eleven.”

“Wow.”

“I know.‌ My parents frown upon the word ‘unplanned’, so instead we say she was a ‘surprising blessing’.”

He laughed, not a giggle, or a chuckle, a proper laugh now. It was as surprising as when he laughed at my jokes the day before. Chris used to only chuckle at my jokes, usually with merely a nasalized sound to let me know he heard it.

“I‌ always wanted to have a sister.”‌ He confessed.

“It's overrated. Mine mostly sends me videos of her ice skating practices, which all look the same, asking me for opinions which I do not care enough to have.”

He laughed again. “I sympathize.”

“How?”

“Well, she values your opinion. So do I. Why do you think I ask so many questions?”

“A lack of boundaries? Disregard to protocol?”

He laughed louder now, throwing his head back. The sound startled George, and made me blush with timid pride.

“Wow! Look at you. Throwing diplomacy out the window, are we?”

I sighed.‌ “You're right, I apologize… I'm just… not in the best mind space.”

“No, that was a compliment.” He smiled, looking at me now. “I like it.”

There was the gentle yearning again… feeling almost inappropriate in front of a child.

“So what did Louis do to put you in this bad mind space?”

“I‌ never said it was bad, I‌ believe I said ‘not the best’. And what makes you think he has anything to do with it?”

He grinned. “Other than the fact you’ve been staring daggers his way since you’ve arrived? Let's see... You have this... Whiff of annoyance about you, which is worse than when I was bothering you yesterday, and you chose to be here with me and George and his dirty diaper instead of going back downstairs and enjoying tea with the others.”

“I like babies.”‌ I‌ shrugged.

“Yes, and I would think that might be it, but the poo I think damages the effect, doesn't it? I know it can't be me that kept you here, since you don't like me...”

“...I like you.” I said, giving it no further thought.

“You do?”

I shrugged, mindlessly.

“Wow… if you keep flattering me so much I might fall in love, Mary.”

I couldn’t help but smile as I‌ corrected, on auto-pilot. “Marie.”

He smiled. There was a silent pause as I walked George around the room, his eyes following each new space carefully.

“Truth.” Harry said.

I looked back at him across the room. “Pardon?”

“Yesterday, one of the last things I‌ said was that you should ask me something. And you asked, truth or dare? Well, I’m answering. I‌ pick truth.”

I took a few seconds to breathe deeply and appreciate three things; one, he seemed to remember our conversation yesterday in staggering detail. Two, his eyes did this… thing when he smiled, they squinted into tiny crescent moon shapes and it highlighted the blue of his irises. And three, in the rules of this game he seemed to be up to playing, I could ask him anything.

“What do you want from me?”

The silence that followed was even longer than mine. I had to look away from the way he stared me down this time, it was too… personal. Too transparently enigmatic.

Eventually, I sat down in a rocking chair by the window, George on my thigh playing with the little koala. Harry walked over to us, slowly.

“By all means, take your time.” I teased.

“I’m just… trying to assess which answer you are ready for.”

My head snapped in his direction, almost in outrage. “There’s not supposed to be different answers. Only the truth.”

“Spoken like a lawyer.”

“It’s what you picked!” I rolled my eyes. “Well, what is it? What is the truth?”

He sighed, sitting in a matching footstool in front of me, uncomfortably close.

“There are levels to this truth, and for our blooming friendship not to perish, I think it’s important I don’t tell you something that would make you think less of me.”

“And I’m talking like a lawyer?” I asked, making him chuckle.

I weighed his words carefully, trying to understand the diplomatic euphemisms employed, but not allowing my mind to go too crazy with it. It was too far, too soon, but did he mean I would be offended by his honest answer?

Eventually, though, he graced me with an answer.

“I want to know you.”

I looked back at him… the yearning was still there, but it had a glint of determination mixed in now.

I attempted to analyze his answer like a lawyer this time.

“To know who I am as a person, or to know what I look like naked?”

He barked out such a loud laugh now that George dropped the koala to the floor. The sound echoed around the room like a thunder, but it felt like it was echoing inside of me as well, warming me up from my stomach out. I couldn’t help but smile.

“No, no, Mary. You already asked your question, now it’s my turn.”

I sighed, rolling my eyes. “We are allowed follow up questions. It’s the rules.”

“Not the British rules. And we are in Britain.”

I leaned forward, determined. “Truth or dare has universal rules.”

“Enough lawyering, it’s my turn!”

He rubbed his hands together and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees; I suddenly felt very much like I was in court, and I wondered - as I had a handful of times since seeing him that afternoon - if he was finally going to ask the one thing I told him the previous day he did not know about us: how/when we met.

“Truth or dare?”, he begun.

I leaned back in the chair, crossing my legs, but still swinging them side-to-side to appease Gorge in my lap.

I considered picking dare, and avoiding giving him the power to simply ask me how we met - which I’d have to answer; It’s the rules, and as a lawyer I had a duty to the law. But I also, in a way, or if I’m being honest, in all ways, wanted him to ask. So I smiled, looked him in the eyes, and said:

“Truth.”

“Why are you upset?”

The question came so swiftly and quickly I barely noticed it had happened.

“What?”

“Why are you upset? What did Louis do?”

I‌ looked around the room; I had frozen in place, so George got a little restless. Uncrossing my legs, I started bouncing him up and down on my knees.

“I’m not- I just…”‌ I shrugged. “It’s nothing. Siblings fight. Do you not fight with your brother?”

“Almost exclusively, but that’s not the question. It’s my turn, you picked truth, and I want to know.”

I sighed. “It’s… complicated.”

He nodded, leaned forward and picked George from me, sitting him in his own lap.

“Go on.”

I‌ took a deep breath, looking around, though mostly in, and let it out slowly.

“I‌ heard Louis telling you he wants to stay in Scotland to get a Master’s Degree.”

“And… you don’t want him to? Wait, you were already upset when you got here. That’s not it, is it?”

“Now we’re allowed to ask follow up questions?”

He grinned. “You don’t have to tell me… I‌ was just, I‌ don’t know, trying to help.”

I got up, and started walking about. I traced the outline of a giraffe illustration in the wallpaper with my finger, slowly.

“I don’t think he truly understands his… Place. In all of this.”

“This being?”

“Us. The Royal House of Castillon. The Crown. The Monarchy. The firm. The family business.”

“Ah. Of course. And you think he has to?”

I‌ turned around to look at him. “What I think is unrelated to the facts. And the fact is he is the heir. And he’s not acting like one.”

He shrugged. “He’s young.”

“He is almost twenty-two. And when he is here, taking care of his life, enjoying his freedom, which trust me, I understand, who do you think they call when they need someone to go to a ceremony or a service, or-”

“A royal tour?”

“Exactly,” I‌ dropped my gesturing hands to my sides, deflated. “Me. It’s not that I don’t like the work. I‌ do. But… I have a life, too. I have a job. And I know I’m not a fancy, cool, lawyer. They’re not writing Law And Order episodes about corporate law!‌‌ But my choices should matter too, should they not?”

“They should.” He nodded.

“And I‌ understand,‌ I do! I, too, went to school abroad! Louis had to stay home for boarding school, because he’s the heir, but even that I did abroad! And then later I‌ went to University in America, and I did get a postgraduate degree there, too, though mine was a shorter program. But I came home soon after! And you know why?”

“Why?”, he asked, diligently.

“For him!‌ Because I knew my parents needed help and I thought if I was around to help, they would allow him more time for his studies, you know? To enjoy his life before he has to dedicate it to the country, forever. And‌ I had job offers in America! I could have stayed there, where no one knew my name, but I didn’t. I‌ could have gone into human rights law, but I didn’t. So he’s not the only one who knows what it’s like having to make sacrifices for this family. But right now, I’m the only one doing that. Not him. And how is that fair?!”

Thankfully, he didn’t attempt to answer me. Instead, he allowed me time to slow my breathing and look back at him at my own pace.

“Have you… thought about maybe talking to your parents about this?”‌‌ He started, his voice gentle. “Tell them you want to dedicate yourself to your job.”

“Yes. My father promised as soon as Louis is back from University,‌ I’ll be allowed time to dedicate myself to my job.”

“That explains your anger at his plans for the future…”‌ He sighed.

“Is that it? No advice? Words of wisdom? Mockery of my outburst to offer?”

“Was that an outburst?”‌ He asked, brows raised. “God, you’re polite.”

I‌ giggled, walking back over.

“I‌ mean,”‌ he started, “I‌ get it. There’s a lot we wish we could do, but we can’t because of our position… And knowing your ticket to a slightly more normal life is so close, yet so far must be frustrating.”

I brushed my fingers through George’s fine, blonde hair. “But?”

He sighed again. “But I… Well, at the risk of ruining whatever chance I‌ have here, I don’t think there’s much need to really worry.”

“How so?” I asked, purposely ignoring his remark about his chances.

“Well… Is it really that big of a deal if he stays there longer? I mean, I‌ know it’s not ideal but you should just… tell your family you’re busy when they ask. You’re allowed. You’re an adult with a proper job, which is more than any of us can really say.”‌ He added, humorously. “The monarchy will survive, I’m sure.”

“And what if by never holding him accountable to his responsibilities he simply never learns? What if we let him stay and he just… doesn’t come back until it’s too late to really learn what he needs to?”

“Well…” He lowered George to the rug, and handed him the koala. “You know what the best thing about being the spare is?” He patted the seat in the chair I had recently vacated, and I sat down in front of him again. “It’s not our problem to solve.”

I‌ considered this. He wasn’t… wrong, per se. But it sounded so utterly bleak. I recalled the way he described my job in relation to anyone else in a monarchy just then, my ‘proper’ job.

“You don’t think our place in this is important?”

“There’s that word again, place. You said your brother doesn’t understand his place, but… do any of us? What is our place, Mary?”

“Marie.”‌ I corrected, absentmindedly. “And, you know what I mean… our place in the country. In our royal families. In the… universe.”

“We’re the plan B of an Old World symbol of power that no longer has any power. I‌ can’t blame your brother for wanting a more useful use of his time, and I can’t blame you for it either, because you’re doing the same thing.”

“The Plan B?”

“You know, the… center pieces. The garnish. The embellishment. This whole tour, the reason why you and your father and brother are here, is about the immigration crisis, isn’t it?”‌ I nodded. “Your country is a little too loose on their policy and because you have a point of entry to Britain, our politicians are blaming you for our growing numbers of immigrants.”

“First of all, our polic-”

“But really, think about it,”‌ he went on, ignoring me, “what can we actually do about it? My grandmother, your father, my father, and maybe even Will and Kate, they have some power to strengthen diplomatic ties and the show of friendship may shame our politicians into figuring their shit out.‌ But us, you and me? We’re really just here to smile and look pretty, aren’t we?”

“I’m… learning about Catherine’s work with children to bring some of the experience back home.”

“Yes, admirable.” He nodded. “But, again, and not just now, but overall, in our lives? What’s our role? Isn’t it just to give them something to brag about? Look at Harry in his military uniform, two tours of duty, who’s to say that the royal family haven’t made sacrifices for the country? And look at Mary-”

“Marie.”

“…In the news, they’re saying she won a case!‌‌ She’s a lawyer! How impressive are the members of the royal family!”

“Have you always been a cynic?” He chuckled, shyly. “Do you really not think what we do is important?”

He smiled. “I‌ just try to be as honest with myself as I can. And that begins with knowing that my, how did you put it? My role in the cosmos is to give the people a show. As the spares, that’s all you and I can do. Chose a good partner that they’ll enjoy building up and then destroying, hopefully a pretty wedding or cute babies one day, and if we can help some people along the way, all the better. It’s… it’s a good endeavor. We can help a little, I think. But… important? I don’t know. I can’t be sure I’d use that word to describe anything we do.”

I nodded, slowly, taking it all in. It was a… gloomy thought, and not entirely untrue. With one caveat.

“That uniform you mentioned, the two tours… were they fake?”

“What?!‌ No.”

“So you did go to war?”

“Twice.”

I‌ nodded. “And the people you went with, they were remarkable, weren’t they?”

He smiled, looking at his nephew slightly lost in thought. “Yes.”

“They wear the same uniform you do. Aren’t they important?”

He looked at me. “It’s… it’s not the same.”

“Isn’t it? Do you think the people we help, the people that benefit from the organizations we help as best we can, whose lives are touched by our work one way or another, somehow, the people you helped in the army… do you think they’d agree with you that what we do isn’t important?”

He opened his mouth to speak, waited a couple of seconds, and closed it again.

I wondered if he was thinking the same thing I was, that the silence was nicer than it should be; that even though in the past it had felt invasive or abrupt holding someone’s look for too long, this time it felt nice. It felt like being seen.

George squealed loudly across the room, throwing a toy cube, and our daze was broken.

“We should take him to his parents.”

“Yes.”‌ He said, and we stood up at the same time, being caught off guard by how close we were.

I slipped away, swiftly, caressing a hand over my arm to smooth the chills there, and he went over to pick up his nephew, who whined a little as he was separated from his toys.

“It’s okay, buddy, we’re going to go find mummy and daddy.” Harry told him, in a sweet, gentle, baby-voice. “If it’s boring downstairs I’ll play with you, alright?”

He was so excruciatingly sweet with the baby that I could feel it right in my gut, this… whatever it was that roared as I watched them.

Wherever his place in the cosmos was, I couldn’t help but wish it was close to mine.

--- --- --- ---

Margueritte’s outfits!

[A/N: This is one of my favorite chapters, I hope you liked it too! Please let me know your thoughts? Feedback is always welcome! Shoot me a message, or like this chapter, either way, thank you SO MUCH for reading!]

#prince harry fanfic #princeharryff #princeharryfanfic #prince harry fanfiction #royalfanficcollection #prince harry #princeharryfanfiction #brf #modern royalty au #next week #harry and maggie play polo!#chapters

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sweetestrequiems · 5 years ago

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I: Meetings and Photos

Word Count: 3,025

A/N: Hello you lovely people of the Queendom on Tumblr. I’m Kit, and... well, you’ve seen me around enough. I wrote Silence is Never Better, The Tower of London, and maybe a few other things you might have seen around. Anyways... Welcome to the first chapter of Out of a Book! I’m very excited to share this with you all. I truly hope with heart and soul that you all enjoy this. If you ever want to leave any feedback, feel free to message me, or contact me at one of these profiles:

Instagram: @/Reinapuff Twitter: @/Reinapuff

If you’d like to be added to the tag list, let me know! I’m always happy to share my work with others!

––––––––––

A rather early Thursday morning in the city of Syracuse, New York. The time’s about 7:15 in the morning.

The sun was over the horizon, but there was little to no noise inside of the apartment. The birds sang their graces and none of this seemed to be the thing to wake up the sleeping woman. In fact, a little snore escaped from her while she slept. Had her roommate not needed to go to work, she would've turned that against the woman in a heartbeat. But of course, this was not out of malice; the two would see the situation being out of fun. Getting up this early in the morning, however, never came easy for the woman that was still in bed. There were two things able to get her to wake up: the sun hitting her eyes, or an alarm of sorts, whether from a phone or a clock.

On this Thursday morning? It was both of those things that would wake her up.

An aggravated Catherine Parr turned to face away from the sunlight, and to reach for her phone. Forcing herself to sit up to turn the alarm off, Parr set the phone down before stretching her arms up and yawning. She noticed the quiet of the apartment about a few minutes from initially waking up. This meant that she was half asleep for a good little bit. “Ah, Lina went to work. Right, I almost forget she’s a teacher sometimes,” she finishes her sentence with a hum. Catalina Aragón, someone she affectionately called Lina, or even just Aragon. She found it fun to have a Spanish roommate, if she was being honest with herself. Made for a more entertaining time some days.

Parr’s never-resting mind began to try to think as to why she had set an alarm so early in the morning. Was it due to the fact she kept waking up too late? Was it a meeting with her publicist? The woman, for the life of her, could not remember. A hand came up to her forehead, rubbing it a few times before pinching the bridge of her nose. “This is bollocks. I can’t remember why I set my alarms so early,” a groan of frustration comes out under her breath. If she hadn’t turned her alarm off so quickly, she might’ve read the reminder that she had put for it. That didn’t matter much. It would come back to smack her in the face later.

Letting her legs swing over the edge of the bed, Parr pushed herself up and on her feet she landed.

––––––––––

7:45 am.

For Catherine to admit she was ready for the day, she needed one thing, and that one thing was in her hands as she walked back to the small table. Sitting down, the ceramic mug came up to her lips. Coffee. That was the one thing she needed. Her shoulders came up for a moment before they eased up, a smile helping her expression soften up from grumpy-seeming to amused. Opening up her laptop, Catherine softly hummed. A buzz makes her gaze shift from the laptop screen to her phone’s screen, seeing the notification on it. Tapping on it, she allows her phone to open up the email.

From: Cleves, Anna To: Parr, Catherine Subject: Planning for next release

Parr,

Writing a short email to remind you about our 8:00 am meeting for the first steps of getting the announcement of your upcoming book release. If you have any ideas post-conference, be sure to write them down and send me an email with them. We can further discuss those at a later date.

Anna Cleves Media Agent/Public Relations

Bringing her free hand up to her mouth, Catherine Parr forced herself to swallow the mouthful of coffee and then hissed under her breath. “That’s today?! It’s 7:55, I have barely any time to get ready!” Gold star for Cathy Parr. Standing up, the author gave a sigh and quickly disappeared off to the space that was her room in the apartment to at least make herself presentable from the torso up. It did not matter that she was wearing black joggers, so long as she looked like she was ready for a business meeting.

Adjusting her curls so they wouldn’t fall over her face, Catherine paced over to the chair, and sat back down. Now that she had her headset on, and got ready in the nick of time, she patiently waited for the call. There it was. Taking a brief moment to look at herself and adjust her blouse, she answers. “Good morning, Anna.”

“Good morning to you too, Cathy. Glad to see you’re awake at an early time. And you got all dressed up, too! You didn’t have to,” a chuckle. Cleves ran a hand through her hair and gave a smile. “So, we’re looking at what kind of a timeline for the release, exactly?” A slight roll of the eyes, and a shake of the head. “Would’ve been nice to know before I spent the last five minutes panicking over being dressed decently. Anyways, to the main topic. My editor is getting ready to give me the list of revisions made to the draft and then I’m going to once again, go in and edit whatever needs to be changed per her advice. We’re... aiming for maybe... three to six months from now.”

A nod from Anna. Catherine could see the woman looking at a second screen and typing something. Probably notes about all of this. This conversation carried on past 8:30, until it was Anna herself who decided to conclude it. “Sounds wonderful. I’ll be in touch, as per usual. But now that this is over, we can talk about something else, if you’d like.” Although they saw each other maybe once or twice a month in person, Anna and Catherine were quite the close friends–– about as close as Catherine and Catalina, since the two have been roommates since their university days. “Look, I woke up this morning thinking I had nothing to do, and I was just going to text Lina for the grocery list but then your email popped up,” a laugh. The German woman simply shook her head.

“So you got dressed up in a panic, Cathy? I’m shocked.” There was another bout of laughter that interrupted them. Parr found herself nodding. “Of course I did. I’m not going to just answer a conference call from you in a crop top and joggers, and with a messy bun.” The thought of Parr actually having a messy bun made Cleves laugh. “You and messy buns? You’ve got to be kidding me. But good job admitting you’re still halfway in your pajamas.”

Now she rolled her eyes. She rolled them so hard, they could've rolled right off her face.

Catherine shook her head, not being able to help the smile. “Hush. As if you weren't in your own. You’re at home, I know you are!” Her hands went to grab the cup of coffee, and she brought it back up to her lips. She was a bit proud of herself for not having touched it the whole time during the meeting, but now she was craving it. So, she began to drink it, allowing Anna to talk. “Where’s Lina? I’m surprised the woman isn’t around there. Wait, no... never mind, don’t answer that. She’s at work, isn’t she?” A nod. “Yeah, she’s a teacher, Anna. She leaves early. Comes back by dinner time normally.”

It was a safe assumption to say the two were having a fairly good time speaking to each other.

––––––––––

11:11 am.

“Perfect. That’s the shot,” a southern English voice rang out in the studio apartment. That was the voice of the beauty that took the world by storm: Anne Boleyn. “Tu as un bon oeil avec une caméra, Maggie! Ça a l'air super, vraiment. Go on and head on home, you’re good to go. Have fun with the pictures,” the ruby-lipped woman gave a kiss on both cheeks to her photographer friend, who packed up soon after and headed on out. Sitting down on the loveseat, Boleyn ended up getting herself to lay down and hold her phone right above her face.

“Lame.” She scrolls past one post.

“Seen it.” Another.

“What’s this?” A new post from her favorite author. She’d never admit it, but deep down inside, she was a huge nerd. Anne skimmed over the post, her thumb double tapping the screen. Parr’s posts were always inspirational quotes, or some snippets from her works. This one was just an appreciation post. A smile began to form, with it eventually becoming a light laugh. “She’s so kind! It’s amazing how someone so famous has a golden heart. And I’m sure she knows she’s got the fame.”

Most of the remainder of the morning for Anne was spent laying down, on Instagram, with no care in the world. Truly, the woman was one of a rather mellow personality. And in her spare time, she loved a good book. Deciding she’d had enough of Instagram for the time being, she closed out of the app and opened up another one. Probably delivery or something, considering it was approaching the afternoon and she felt her stomach rumble just a little. “Good thing I decided to get food. Has it really been almost five hours since I ate?”

An early riser, she was. On most days, Boleyn woke herself up at around three in the morning to go work out from maybe 3:30 to 4:45 in the morning. Sometimes she’d extend that work out to 5:45 in the morning. Then it was off to come back home, shower and get comfortable to be in the kitchen and cooking food for herself by around the 6:45 mark. She was always eating by seven in the morning, if not ten minutes later. But she was feeling particularly lazy today, so she’d take advantage of the day to just lounge around.

Standing up, Anne left her phone face down on the loveseat. She didn’t need it to get comfortable. And to be fair, it took her maybe about ten minutes, because the majority of it was her washing her face and making sure to take good care of that. She did however, come out of her bedroom with her glasses on. Now that she was alone for the day, she could just be Anne. No contacts, no sunglasses. Just plain Anne Boleyn. She was a huge nerd growing up, and she knew this to be quite true. She loved herself, and she truly did love her modeling career, but she found it odd to be both a nerd and a super famous model at the same time.

So, she’d keep her personal life to herself. Just like that.

––––––––––

1:00 pm.

Having finished her lunch around fifteen minutes ago, and having cleaned everything up, Anne found herself at a crossroads during the day. She could take her glasses off, grab a blanket, and take a nice nap. She could go out to the local shops and peruse their inventories. She could get into the kitchen, and do some meal prepping. She had options, but she just couldn’t quite put her finger on what she wanted to do. Shrugging it off, the woman reached for the bookshelf. One of Parr’s books was in her hands.

Anne couldn’t quite tell what drew her into Catherine’s writings. Her books were not quite memoirs, but not quite fully opinionated pieces either. However, they did fall into the non-fiction category. Think of it as a discourse, kind of–– but one full of opinion, experience, and even proven fact. She was a strong woman, and had morals. Anne Boleyn was drawn to that from the first day she picked up a book by Catherine Parr. Laying back down on the loveseat, she opened up the book with a smile.

“A well deserved following,” she’d softly mutter. Her smile became less and less of one until her face was deadpan; a sign she was focused on reading. Word by word and page by page. Killer looks in front of the camera and the world, but a calm and soft appearance in private. This was something Anne showed maybe once or twice, since she has occasionally posted on her Instagram stories a picture or a video with her in her glasses.

One page became another as the time passed. Page to page, eventually book to book. Anne was in one of her reading holes, humming to herself to add a little more entertainment to her already uplifted mood. What broke her out of the daze was her phone ringing. A phone call. Pulling the phone out from underneath her, Anne answered after reading the caller ID. Maggie. Probably an update about the pictures or something.

“Anne! Bonne nouvelle, mon ami! I’ll have these edited by tonight or tomorrow at best. You’ll be right back on a runway soon enough with these,” Maggie sounded excited. A smile came across Anne’s lips. “Besides, you now have an updated picture for events instead of having to use the one from three years ago! Isn’t that great?” Sitting up, Boleyn set the book down and nodded to herself. “Oui. Merci à vous, comme d'habitude, Maggie. You work miracles,” she chuckles. “We’ll talk later. I might just take a nap or binge some Netflix.”

The conversation carried on for maybe five more minutes before Maggie hung up. Quite literally Anne’s best friend from childhood. Put the two together nowadays, and if Maggie had her camera or Anne’s phone in her hand, it was a photoshoot wherever they went. Safe to say that Maggie was responsible for the solid 90% of Anne’s feed that wasn’t selfies and food posts. Count your blessings, they always say. And despite the overwhelming following, Boleyn truly was grateful for what she had. Every single bit of fame that came her way? She was thankful she managed to get that far.

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6:30 pm.

“Cathy? Estoy aquí y traje comida!”

Catalina had shut the door to the apartment as she finished that statement. Catherine peeked from behind the wall, before stepping out into view and smiling. “How was work, Lina?” Setting the food down on the table, one could see Catalina’s eyes roll to the back of her head for a moment. Looks like she had a troublesome day, considering she wasn't too cheery coming in the door. “Don’t get me started on it, Cathy. They were so unruly today for no reason. Part of me wonders if it’s the fact that they’re teenagers or not, but... it was unreal. The few that sit by my desk in the back of the classroom? They kept their cool, and I was glad about that.”

Catalina and Catherine both opened up their respective take out containers.

“Pero, gran y poderoso Señor... it was a nightmare today.”

A snicker came from Parr. “That’s why I don’t teach English. Could you imagine it? I’d be being told I’m spelling stuff like colour and favourite, or honour wrong! I’m English, we spell it differently than the Americans!” That snicker became a laugh. Catalina couldn’t help but laugh herself. “But truly, I’m so sorry you had to deal with a rowdy bunch today. Maybe they will be more mellow tomorrow. One day is just one day, and you have had one bad day... what... once every few months normally?”

“Yeah, it does happen every few months. So, I guess I won’t worry too much.” Catalina just shrugged it off, stuffing a spoonful of rice into her mouth.

––––––––––

A bite of chicken found itself on Anne’s fork. She was staring at her food, debating whether she should, or should not, post the dinner she so graciously decided to make. One could see the questioning glimmer in her eyes. The voice across the room made her attention snap from the plate to the source of the voice. “Je sais que c'est joli, mais allez, Anne. You haven’t touched your own food!” A bit of a laugh from Maggie. “I know, I know. Look, I just... wonder sometimes, if there’s anything else I can add to it. I always do that after I finish something.”

“I can tell. Just like when we were kids. You ALWAYS wanted to experiment more with your food. It’s almost like you live to be chaos.”

“Well, I mean... have you seen how I look? I’m chaos disguised as a babe. I like to think I’m pretty fit, after all,” there was the laugh from Boleyn. Shrugging it off, she just started to eat. Maggie was the one to continue the conversation. “Speaking of things you like, Anne... has that favorite author of yours posted anything? You always had a bit of a love for books. I saw that appreciation post earlier, and thought that was sweet. Even with the fame she has to her name, she remains humble. D’you know what, Anne? It reminds me of you a little.”

“How so?”

“Because you are the exact same way! Even with this huge following, you... you take the time to reach out and say thank you! You’re quite humble, despite what your looks say about you. I guess that whole don’t judge a book by its cover thing is real. Also, how do you just know how to make chicken taste good? This is amazing! I’m surprised you didn't go to culinary school,” Maggie practically shoved her food into her mouth, knowing that it would make Anne Boleyn laugh.

––––––––––

At the end of the night, both women could be found doing the exact same thing before they made themselves fall asleep:

Scrolling through their social media pages. One admiring the other’s confidence, and one admiring the other’s intelligence. A fair trade off to it all.

And despite the surprisingly good chaos from earlier on in the day, Anne Boleyn and Catherine Parr both could agree on one thing:

That there would be one day that their paths cross.

#Out of a Book #Catherine Parr #Anne Boleyn #six the musical #six the musical fanfiction #six the musical fanfic #Parrlyn #six ff #six fanfiction

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primcrdialchaos · 4 years ago

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HIATUS NOTICE.

Hi guys, due to my deteriorating mental health issues, I’ve decided to go on hiatus for the time being, hopefully I get the chance to sort things out properly. I’m detailing this further under the cut but you don’t have to read this if you are triggered by the things I’m tagging in this post. If you want to get in contact with me, send me an inbox message and I’ll get the email notif. Pretty sure no one will see this except the bots but anyway. Just had to get it out of my system.

I had a suicide note in the drafts for about 4+ months now and I just deleted it after a good cry.

My days have been pretty much the same for the last year or so. Sleep all day, get out of bed 4ish and have a meal then bury myself in my laptop again and hope everything fixes itself.

I’ve been pushing away people, not just online. My parents are at their wit’s end with me, trying to get me up and going and back to work. I’ve been through shrink after shrink with no success and even now I’m still thinking there’s no shrink that can fix me.

I tried to kill myself twice this year, thankfully both times it didn’t work.

Every time I come onto tumblr I’m reminded of the people I let down, the people I pushed away because I was too depressed to be bothered to be on here. To those people, I’m sorry. I miss you terribly but I understand why you unfollowed me and don’t want anything further to do with me. I wish you all the best.

Even now I’m struggling. The call of the void gets louder every day but I take it one day at a time. Taking time to do the little things, like watch the birds congregate in my backyard, smell the fresh air, or even just play some mindless games on my computer or read a book.

I’ve got a long way to go, but hopefully some day I’ll get there and I can come back here again.

If you need to talk to me, send me an inbox message and I’ll get the notif by email. I’m not on Discord as much either as it too holds reminders of those I’ve let down and pushed away by being a depressed idiot.

Love you all guys, and stay safe.

#me venting under the cut #tw: suicide #tw: mental health issues

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kookiemydream · 5 years ago

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BTS reaction→ you as an idol and wanting to collaborate with them

paring: bts x idol!reader

warnings: swearing

genre: fluff

a/n: hey love! thank you so much for requesting, I’m so glad you’re enjoying my work! I really, really hope you enjoy this one too! Also, Y/C/N stands for ‘your company name’ !!

request a reaction! | about me

↠ kim seokjin.

“Me?” Jin questioned, eyes furrowed in confusion “Y/N Y/L/N want’s to collaborate with me?”

“Yeah, she says that she wants to meet up later this week with you for details.” Sejin said calmly, turning around back to his computer.

Funny how his manager thought this was normal news to drop on him, not knowing that Jin was literally screaming on the inside. THE Y/N, the woman that he had been dreaming to talk to his whole career, was asking for him. More specifically, to make music with him.

Of course he was freaking out.

“Sejin, did she say anything else? Anything about me?”

“Uhh, no I don't think so. But that does remind me, I gave her your number just so she can access you easier instead of going through the whole email process, is that okay?”

That’s when Jin's heart burst. Jumping up out of the chair opposite his manager, he jumped and danced around the room before tightly hugging his manager and sprinting out the room, screaming at the top of his lungs about how ‘you knew who he was’ over and over again

And when Jin finally calmed down after hours of running around the building with excitement and anticipation flowing through his veins, his phone alerted him with a notification from an unknown number which read: ‘hey, is this seokjin? it’s Y/N :)’

Yeah, Jin found it difficult to get to sleep that night.

↠min yoongi

When Yoongi had been called to see Bang PD, it was safe to stay he was lowkey shitting himself. His brain wracked over and over again of what rules he had broken, how he had broken them, considering he had been cooped up in his studio half of the time, and what he could do to fix it

Turns out, Yoongi should’ve been shitting himself for an entirely different reason.

“Oh Yoongi, there you are!” Bang exclaimed as Yoongi slowly creeped into the office “This is Y/N Y/L/N, she saw you perform at MAMA a few months ago and wants to arrange a collaboration!”

“Ah Min Yoongi, it’s so good to meet you finally!” You stood up from the couch and held your hand out for him to shake. Yoongi on the other hand was more than starstruck at the sight in front of him. He gently took your hand and shook it lightly, not taking his eyes off of your face.

“I’m really excited to work to start working with you! I listen to your music all the time and I think we could make something truly great!”

Yoongi swore he heard his heart flutter when those words left your mouth. He couldn’t help but think of something more than music that you two could make work

“Oh aha, yes definitely. It’d be an honour to work with someone so talented.” he said, finally working up the courage to form a proper sentence.

You blushed lightly “I’m glad you feel the same way!”

Spoiler alert: You did make amazing music. But made an even better relationship.

↠jung hoseok

Something that was never really part of Hoseok’s daily routine was listen to a podcast. He never really had time ever since the tour had started, seeing as he was either practicing or sleeping.

Now that the tour was over and he had a few hours to himself, he figured that turning on a bit of light radio whilst he answered a few emails would be the perfect bypass for today.

So there he was, sitting at his desk with his laptop wide open whilst the speakers blared out an enthusiastic voice of the interviewer.

Then, you were introduced.

Hoseok's emails were long forgotten as he listened intently to the sound of your voice and laughter. He grinned at your reactions to different songs that were being played in between your interview.

“So now, we’re gonna play a song that has taken social media over by storm! Can you guess what song Y/N?” The interviewer asked animatedly.

“Oo that’s hard! I have no idea!”

“Well if you haven’t heard, BTS’s J-hope released a song called ‘Chicken Noodle Soup’ featuring Becky G! Have you heard of it?”

“Oh my god! Of course I have! It’s such a bop!” You laughed “They’re both so talented!”

“Have you considered collaborating with J-hope at any point?”

At this point, Hoseok was nearly standing on his office chair trying to cram his head closer and closer to the speakers in order to hear the answer.

“Funny you said that actually! Yesterday my company sent Bighit an email, after days of me hounding at them, asking if Hoseok was free and if he wanted to create maybe a dance cover! I just really hope they reply soon!” You giggled, blushing and also being thankful no filming was involved

“Well, we wish you all the luck with that Y/N! Here is ‘Chicken Noodle Soup’ by J-hope and Becky G!”

As the familiar sound of his own tune filled the room, he sprinted to his managers office, rapidly knocking his knuckles on the door. When it finally opened, he pushed past the older man and quickly located the email icon on his computer.

And there it was. The email from your company in all it’s glory.

Let’s just say, when your company did get a reply back, they found it quite funny how many spelling mistakes were involved. Hey, no one is perfect when typing fast, okay?

↠kim namjoon

“Guess who I just got off the phone with?” Manager Hobeom sang as he skipped into the practice room, smirking.

“Hyung, I get that you’re in love and you and your wife are all lovey dovey but I don’t need to know how many times you call each other-”

“Y/C/N, more specifically where Y/N is signed!” Hobeom interrupted

Namjoon choked on his words when your name left his mouth “What? What did they say? Did they mention me? Hyung spill!”

“Calm down, calm down!” The manager replied laughing “Namjoon, were you aware that Y/N attended the last concert you held in Seoul?”

Was he aware? Not at all. But did he feel like his heart was about to stop beating? Absolutely.

“Are you serious?” He questioned

“Uh huh, she apparently loved your solo song and was interested in if you wanted to meet up and discuss collaboration possibilities.”

Fuck. That’s all that Namjoon could think right now. You, the idol he’s been making heart eyes at for the past year, was asking to make music with him. Fuck indeed.

“Hyung, please tell me you said yes?”

“Oh you wanted me to say yes? I said no because I thought that you wanted a break after travelling?” Hobeom said, cringing at the horror on Namjoon’s face before breaking his act and laughing hysterically “I’m joking! Of course I said yes! You meet her next Thursday, be ready!”

Namjoon had been ready for a while now, they didn't have to tell him twice.

↠park jimin

“Jimin!” Hoseok called from the lounge “It’s about to start! I’m only watching this for you!”

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” Jimin replied, running into the room with a bowl of popcorn. “Man I’m so excited I could burst! What if she talks about us? Wouldn't that be awesome?”

The older man rolled his eyes at the lovestruck younger. News had spread around all over social media that you were due to be on a popular tv show which consisted of interviewing different idols and get all the exclusive news.

Jimin and his bandmates themselves had been featured on the show more than once and he knew how personal the questions could get.

So him being the secret fanboy that he was, decided to watch just in case you gave away any relationship reveal or something like that.

Not that he cared about that stuff though, right?

“Awh Hobi hyung, look at her! She’s so beautiful!” Jimin whined, clutching his heart dramatically. They both watched in amusement as the hosts cracked many jokes towards you.

Then suddenly the topic of the man himself came up.

“So some little birdies told me that you were obsessed with BTS’s Jimin's ‘Promise’ Is that correct Miss Y/N?” The interviewer teased

“Ah I knew posting that on my Instagram story would come back to haunt me!” You played along, trying to act cool at the familiar topic.

“You’re not denying it?”

“Of course not! I cannot disagree that he’s incredibly talented and has such a beautiful voice indeed!”

Jimin felt his heart in his throat. This is actually happening. Y/N just complimented him. HIM.

“I smell a collab coming on!” The host joked, winking and doing gun fingers at you. You chuckled lightly, responding with the same action and a: “Only if they reply to my email!”

As the laughter of the both of you filled the room, the voices that were once talking had now gone silent. Even Hoseok was a little shocked that THAT just happened. Then he finally came to a point of realisation

“She sent us an email? Maybe we should go check it out-”

He realised he was talking to himself at that point, for when he looked over next to him he only found an empty spot.

↠kim taehyung

“Yes yes, he’ll be very excited to hear your voice ma’am!” Manager Sejin spoke through the phone, eyes widening as he saw Taehyung creep into the office

“No he’s not busy right now! In fact he’s right in front of me hahah!” he continued to carry on the conversation, beckoning for boy to sit down. Taehyung furrowed his eyebrows, mouthing a “Who’s that?” to the older.

Sejin smirked and mouthed back a “It’s Y/N!”

“Y/N?!” The younger suddenly shouted in shock, covering his mouth when he realised you were still on the call and had probably heard him. Great. Now you probably thought that he was the biggest dork to ever walk the earth. Thanks universe.

To his delight however, he heard a faint sweet giggle on the other end of the line indicating that he, in fact, didn't make a fool of himself.

Thank fuck.

After a few more minutes of back and forth conversation between Sejin and you, it was finally time to wrap up and say your goodbyes. When he eventually did hang up, he also caught sight of a lost puppy, also know as Taehyung.

“I’m not even gonna ask if you’re gonna be okay with it because I already know the answer.” The manger laughed, placing the phone of the desk. After seeing Taehyung become even more confused than he already was, Sejin revealed the news.

“Your collab is gonna be great.”

↠jeon jungkook

Jungkook didn't like to be woken up. Period.

Especially, on his day off. You know, the only time he had to fucking rest?

So you could obviously understand why he’s a little pissed off at his hyung who was violently shaking him, still thinking he was sleeping

“Jungkook! Jungkook, you’re gonna wanna see this, it’s important! Jungkook!” Jimin whined. The tired man rolled over on his side and stared at Jimin, as if to say ‘Are you fucking serious?’

“What do you want Hyung?” The maknae moaned, rubbing his eyes to get rid of the sleep. Jimin chuckled lightly before shoving his phone in his face. On the screen was a paused frame of you and your members.

This made Jungkook sit up “What’s this about?”

“Just hit play and watch it.”

So he did. Turns out the video was a challenge video you and the others took part in. You had to answer questions very quickly and accurately before the timer ran out, otherwise you’d be bonked on the head.

Both men sat patiently as you raced through each question, until finally it got to the bit Jimin wanted Jungkook to see.

“Y/N, what male Kpop idol would you like to collaborate with in the future?”

“Jungkook!” You answered back without any hesitation whatsoever. You band members teased and made whistle sounds once the name had left your mouth. At this you covered your face to hide the blush.

Before Jungkook could watch anymore, Jimin grabbed the phone away “You see now why I had to wake you! Y/N Y/L/N just said she want’s to collaborate with you!”

And even though Jungkook didn't want to admit it, he was grateful that his hyung had woken him up.

Only for you though. No one else.

tell me what you think!

request a reaction!

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prorevenge · 6 years ago

Text

EK tries get me arrested? Enjoy your own criminal record :D

[Background info]

This happened back when I was in sophomore year, and was a bit of a nerd but in a weird phase where I was actually starting to get some confidence. I spent the last 2 years thinking about launching an online business (back when Shopify wasn't as popular and prominent) and finally started to keep on track.

So I spend several weeks going to whole-sale websites, gathering products, designing the websites, etc. Once it launches, I decide to start small and only use my school district as the target market; of course there is mistrust with this system because no one takes a high school kid with an Amazon-esque website seriously. But after a while and some small purchases, I had a decent customer base with around 10-25 orders per week.

This was first when the school found out about it and the AP (Assistant Principal, person designated to watch our specific graduation class for all 4 years we are there) calls me down to his office and basically lectures me on the importance of the legality and on how I need to change the name of the website. Basically I named it after the school which was named after a well-known politician's family, and they didn't want legal issues. I did a lot of homework involving this and legally checked everything, especially since I was a minor and I didn't wanna cause any issues for my own fam.

I didn't care that much, I had been meaning to reboot the site and make it more lighter and modern anyways. I changed the name and moved on.

[Issues begins]

Now EK was a highly manipulative kid; he was one of those unlikable and bratty people who made up stories to attract girls and popularity. He always bragged he was gonna be rich because of how rich his parents were, girls would be obsessed with him, he was gonna be in movies; basically all sorts of delusional claims. I started out being uneasy "friends" with him meaning I just talked to him in class but I slowly drifted away from him because he would constantly flirt and harass these two girls, even though they told him not to and I tried to stop him.

Most of our entire grade didn't like this kid, but then he claims he owned the websites and ran it, and if anyone knows marketing, an unsavory person with ownership is bad for business. So I confront him and he apologizes saying that he'll retract his claims and say the truth.

The next day he did the exact opposite and spread rumors of how the situation happened in the opposite manner. This angered me and he forced my hand, I went straight to the site and made a notification post and email to all my customers saying that [Due to several circulating rumors about our business, we would like to remind out customers that EK does not own the website nor is he connected with us in any shape or form. Thank you for your service! Please be sure to check out our Easter Sale!]

Embarrassed, EK makes the most insane claim that I have ever heard...that I'm using the website to launder and sell drugs & weapons through school. Post-Columbine, this was taken very seriously and I was called down to the office where I found my AP and 3 police officers waiting for me. They questioned me, the website, etc while patting me down and searching my backpack, jacket, and belongings. They freaked out when they saw a condom and credit card knife (yeah it's my own damn fault for having a blade at school but I was an EDC guy who never did anything wrong). Honestly I wasn't as embarrassed as I was worried for the optics on this.

The considered this plausible intent and cause and I was handcuffed and put into police cruiser (a pretty comfy Dodge Charger to be honest) as they headed over to my house and called my mom telling them the situation. They asked to let them search my room (and only my room) and my mom obliges; with us being immigrants, she didn't want any trouble and she probably couldn't think straight from seeing her son in handcuffs. It angered me for a cop to hold me against the wall while I'm restrained, while two more turned my room upside down looking for something that didn't exist while my mother cried her eyes our at all this happening.

They didn't find anything of interest except this out of school project I was working on (JLaservideo's fire gloves, search it up). I had three of them and parts for at least 3 more. The officers asked me what it was and how it worked, I told them the basics and it was for science fair. They took them in as evidence and questioned the legality of the gloves while taking pictures along with the single canister of butane fuel.

I get suspension for 3.5 days (the rest of my school day was In-School-Suspension AKA isolation) but no criminal charges since there was no evidence. WELL NO SHIT!

I checked the office's sign in sheet (whenever we talk to an AP, they keep a record of the time, name, and date of when someone comes in. As I signed out to, I see one name before my own...EKP's. My anger doubles as all I can think of is ways to kill him but I calm myself, saying that his time will come.

The next 3 days allow me to plan for my revenge...

[Revenge time]

One of my friends had a recording of how EK said he wanted to PUSH A GIRL OFF A BALCONY at a party they both were at BECAUSE SHE REJECTED HIM! Maybe somehow that recording was emailed to the police department, teachers, and several students through a throwaway email....

I recorded him stalking this girl from school and all the way to her house and peeking in through her window. This didn't happen once, twice but four times! This was edited almost like a montage and emailed as well.

Once every 5 weeks, the school brought in drug dogs. I saw a K9 police car in the parking lot and quickly texted my friend that was a pothead. I told him to bring a weed brownie and put it in EK's bag when during 2nd period (which was at the other side of the school so he wouldn't get caught). This went swimmingly as hallway banter was filled with EK being caught with drugs in school.

[End Result]

EK was expelled, had a restraining order filed on him by the girl along with two others who came forward, and had a court case the next month. The second girl had a boyfriend who was a classmate of mine and I let him know what he was doing. Somehow the guy found out where he lived and him and his friend's keyed his car, slashed his tires, stole his shoes, and jumped him. He was found guilty for possession of marijuana (idk the real charge but the state I live in is very strict with weed; this resulted in several moths of juvenile detention where he was beat up even more. Where he is now, I don't know but I doubt he succeeded like how he bragged he would.

I spent the rest of the year in a very peaceful mindset :D

(source) story by (/u/Spade3k)

#prorevenge #by /u/Spade3k #pro revenge #revenge stories #pro revenge stories #pro #revenge #last10

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solange-lol · 5 years ago

Text

not so typical love song - ch. 2/13

Chapter Title: Never Fall In Love

Words: 4,751

Art by @lizzybizzyo! <3

read on ao3

---

Nico woke the next morning to his dog, Mrs. O’Leary, licking his face. (How she had gotten into his room, Nico didn’t know, but he blamed Hazel.) The Mastiff was nearly crushing him, being just about the same size as he was. He gave her a quick kiss and a pat on the head before pushing her off of him, rolling over with a groan. Curse the education system for making them get up at ungodly hours.

He heard a notification go off on his phone, and immediately the events of the previous night flooded back into his brain. Nico reached for his phone, hoping for a reply from Blue from the night before. Maybe if he was an early sleeper than he was an early riser. Unfortunately for him, there was no such luck. The notification was just a text from Piper reminding him to print his essay for English. The inbox for his email remained empty, besides the previous emails from the night before.

He clicked on one from Blue, rereading it. Then reading the following email from himself. Nico couldn’t help but smile; the excited tone was evident in his writing. Generally, he wasn’t the biggest fan of change, but this was one he could vouch for. These conversations were something he needed.

Now he was just hoping that Blue would respond again.

The pondering came to an end when Nico realized that if he didn’t start getting ready for school soon, he was going to be late. Quickly jumping out of bed, he threw on the first things he saw in his dresser (perks of an all black wardrobe), which turned out to be an old black and white checkered t-shirt along with black jeans and converse. He then shoved his laptop in his bag, grabbed his phone, and raced down the stairs.

“Nico, hey!” Hazel called from the kitchen. “I made pancakes!”

Hazel’s cooking was amazing, not that Nico would ever admit it. That wasn’t to say that nobody else could cook in their family. Nico’s father had some recipes that he kept from Maria, Nico’s mom, for authentic Italian food. He then passed those down to Nico whose skills were admittedly still limited, but he was improving. Persephone, Nico’s stepmother, was more of a baker.

But Hazel? She could do it all. She knew how to make the soul food her own mother used to cook before she died. Along with that, she was obsessed with Food Network and would try out cuisine from any culture. (She once made a lasagna better than Nico’s own family recipe. This opinion was never voiced out loud, but it was clear when everyone had thirds.)

Unfortunately, if Nico didn’t get in the car in the next two minutes, there was no way his routine would play out as usual.

He leaned over the counter, grabbing a forkful bigger than he probably could fit in his mouth. He shoved it in anyway, though, nodding at the taste and shooting Hazel a thumbs up. Since he couldn’t talk through this giant mouthful of pancake, he settled for miming a steering wheel with his hands and then pointing in the direction of the school as if to ask do you need a ride?

Luckily, Hazel got his little charade and shook her head no. “I’m getting a ride from Frank.”

Nico just raised an eyebrow at her. After a couple of swallows, he managed to say: “I better meet this Frank before you two get serious.”

“He’s in your grade, you probably already know him. Plus, we’ve talked, like, twice. We’re just friends.”

“For the time being,” Nico pointed out.

That earned him a rare eye roll from his sister. “I swear, the moment you mention a girl, you are never going to hear the end of it from me.”

He gave her a harmless glare, but inside, Nico could feel his stomach twist. Right. Almost forgot the entire world thought he was straight after spending the night talking (flirting?) to a random person about how gay he was.

He couldn’t waste anymore time worrying about that, though. Waving to Hazel and calling a goodbye to his dad and stepmom, Nico stepped outside and towards his car.

Before he could step inside it, something caught his eye. Or rather, someone.

Apparently his neighbors had called someone to come mow their lawn, and the guy who was blowing off all the grass onto the road was hot. He had light hair that was peeking out from under his hat, and dark eyes from was Nico could see. The best part, though, was this tight shorts this guy was wearing. He’s pretty sure he’s seen this guy working before, but maybe it was all the conversation last night that just put everything into a new light.

Nico fiddled with the keys in his hand. He was going to be late if he put this off any longer, but who knows? This could be the start of something.

“Hey!” he called out to him. Either the guy didn’t hear him or he just didn’t care, though, because he completely ignored Nico.

“Hey!” Nico tried again, and this time the guy turned around, a puzzled look already crossing his face.

Not knowing what to say next, Nico panicked. “I like your boots!”

The guy squinted in confusion, holding his hand up to his ear and turning off his leaf blower. It was clear he didn’t hear Nico.

“I said I- I like your boots!”

If he wasn’t confused before, the guy was definitely confused now. He just nodded before getting back to work,

Nico sighed, opening his door. What was he thinking anyway? He slumped into the seat, resting his head on the steering wheel, which accidentally caused the horn to beep, and him to jump. Great, now the guy must think he was honking at him.

Nico sighed again. It was going to be a very long day.

---

Picking up his friends was a routine that was established the moment Nico got his license. He no doubt had the nicest car out of his friends and actually kept it clean. Plus, it was just easiest for them all.

Jason was first, followed by Reyna. They lived across the street from each other; they grew up together and had been friends all their lives. While they drove to their next stop (and Nico’s personal favorite), Jason would usually try to analyze his dream and how it was going to affect his day, usually losing both Reyna and Nico halfway through his retelling.

They then stopped for a morning coffee at their local coffee shop. Nico preferred his hot with a shit ton of sugar, Reyna liked tea, and both Jason and Piper preferred iced lattes.

“Oh, can you get Piper’s with almond milk?” Jason said, tapping Nico on the shoulder from his spot in the back seat.

“How do you know so much about Piper’s coffee order?”

“It’s not hard to remember that someone prefers almond milk to regular.”

Nico just rolled his eyes before adding Piper’s request. Jason’s crush on Piper was so obvious, but he still refused to act on it. Something about not knowing her for long enough, since she had only moved to their town that summer.

From there, they went to pick up Piper, who lived on the farther side of town, and then headed for school.

It was a miracle they were still on time considering Nico’s morning tangent. He was so distracted by trying to make the bell that he sort of forgot about Blue.

That was, until third period English when he went to search up a quick fact and noticed a new email notification. There was only one person who knew that email address.

He tried to ignore it, tried to pay attention to the lesson, but his phone felt like it was burning through his pants pocket.

Blue had responded again.

He quickly snapped back to reality and raised his hand.

“Nico?” the teacher asked, and he quickly realized that she had just asked a question judging by the other hands lowering. “What do you think?”

“Can I go to the bathroom?”

The teacher sighed, nodding her head in the direction of the door, and Nico rushed out. It felt like he was racing down the hall towards the bathroom, the weight of his phone still heavy in his pocket.

It felt like time was slowing down as he locked himself in the last stall of this thankfully-empty bathroom, staring at the loading screen of the app. Finally, the email popped up.

Nico took a deep breath and tapped it.

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Date: Oct 3 at 10:20 AM

Subject: Re: Punchability

I’m so glad I qualify for an exception of punchability. But I’m confused, because I heard there was actually a second punctuality exception for cute guys who don’t know slang (I believe the phrase you are looking for is ‘catch these mittens’) and poor judgement. Re: Nutella, despite being warned.

And how did you know about my interpretive dance skills? Though I don’t really think of it as an extracurricular activity. It’s more of a calling.

I know exactly what you mean about it being easier to be open with someone who doesn’t know you. We exchanged, what? Like 5 emails? Already, you know things about me that I’ve never told anyone else. I guess it makes you think about what it really means to know someone

I’m okay with being each other’s Ultimate Therapists, even if we both suck at it.

-Blue

He let out a shaky breath he didn’t realize he was holding before laughing quietly to himself. Of course Blue would respond, and he did it in typical Blue-humor fashion. It was clear last night that emailing Nico was as therapeutic as it was for Nico emailing him.

Thousands of heat-filled butterflies entered his stomach as he read it over. Was Blue flirting with him? He hardly remembered the conversations last night, but it was clear now that this had gone a little farther than plain old friendly teasing.

He quickly typed a response, already anticipating Blue’s next reply.

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Date: Oct 3 at 10:50 AM

Subject: Catch These Mittens

What about me makes you think I have poor judgement? 5 jars of Nutella sounds like a fantastic idea, if you ask me. If anything, I’m not the one with poor judgement; that’s all on YOU, Blue. You’re the one who ate the Nutella, if I remember correctly.

I relate to everything you’re saying, though. I already feel like I can tell you things I haven’t told any of my close friends. I do think a big part of it is the anonymity. It’s not just that, though. It’s weird but I feel like you get me in some way. Which is probably why I responded to your post in the first place. Or maybe it’s just something that comes from nobody knowing you’re gay.

It’s like, I’m not lonely. I have great friends, a better-than-average family. But I still feel lonely more often than not. At least I’ve felt a little less lonely in the past day, thanks to you.

-Angel

It was weird, he’s more honest with Blue than he is with himself. Like some sort of alternate-persona situation. All of the jokes and the extra personality he kept inside himself out of fear was just let loose when he talked to Blue.

Nico tapped send without thinking and almost immediately regretted it. What if Blue was in his English class and saw him rush out? If he had email notifications on, it would be obvious that Nico was on the other side.

Nonetheless, Nico felt his heartbeat speed up with slight excitement and nerves. If Blue found out it was him sending him emails, there was a chance that his undecided maybe-love story could speed up a bit, or at least cure his curiosity about who this other gay kid was. On the other hand, it could also scare Blue away, and Nico really needed him right now.

Nico switched off his phone and pocketed it. He was out too long already, and he needed to get back to class. He could worry about Blue there.

---

Lunch came, and Nico found himself observing the room more carefully. All the juniors had the same lunch period, which meant any guy in that room could be Blue. He was praying it wasn’t like one of those dramatic teen show situations where the homophobic asshole turned out to be the gay one.

Turning to his own lunch table, he realized that any of his own friends could be Blue. They were all theatre kids, which meant it was more than likely at least half of them were queer anyway.

Percy Jackson was sitting directly from his left. He was their stage manager as he loved to lead the team and also couldn’t carry a tune to save his life. The looks made up for it though, with the gorgeous sea green eyes and unkempt black hair. He was a lot taller than Nico (though most people were) and while previously assumed straight, he also doubled as a soccer player along with some of the other guys at their table, including Jason. The way he treated, teased, and tackled Jason, there was no way he wasn’t at least bisexual.

On his other side was Jason, and while Nico admitted he was attractive, his heart eyes for Piper were clear.

Next to Jason were Travis and Connor Stoll, some of the other soccer players. Travis was also part of backstage, but Nico ruled him out as he was dating Katie Gardner. And while Connor was in the show and hypothesized as gay due to some apparent flirting between him and Mitchell that Piper overheard, Nico doubted it was him.

Across from him was Will Solace, who he was only recently introduced to. He wasn’t a part of their theatre program, but he was friends with Lou Ellen and Cecil, both of which were in theatre and who had invited him to the table. Nico hadn’t had many conversations with him, but he had an adorable head of golden curls and blue eyes that reminded Nico of an eclipse. He had thousands of freckles splattered across tan skin. So, a contestant along with the other hundred of guys in his grade.

“Nico?” Will asked, waving in front of his face. Nico snapped out of his thoughts.

“Yeah?”

Will gave him a huge grin, clearly about to ask for something. “Can I have a fry?” he asked, pointing to Nico’s tray.

“Oh, yeah, sure.” He was still halfway in daydream mode, and the words didn’t really register in his brain.

Jason looked curiously. “Is this the day Nico di Angelo finally finds his soul and is kind to another person?” he teased, still managing to find his fatherly humor within him even when surprised. “Guess not,” he continued when Nico flipped him off, and everyone laughed.

They went back to their conversation after that. (Jason was proposing that they all shaved their legs for the next soccer game which would supposedly make them run faster, an idea that was immediately turned down by all the other members.) There’s laughing and teasing; it’s the good-natured humor of his lunch table that begged for him to come out right at that moment. He knew his friends would accept him; he knew he was in a safe environment. And yet, did he know that?

He thought back to what Blue said, about wanting to come out but also being insanely relieved that nobody knew yet. He’s safer when nobody knows. So, he didn’t say a word.

The memory of Blue reminded him that he sent an email earlier in the day, and there’s a chance that Blue may have sent one back during lunch.

Nico pulled out his phone, quickly trying to refresh his email app. Unfortunately, with the amount of kids on their phones in that room, the internet was essentially nonexistent. The screen just kept on loading.

“Why is there no service in this school?” he mumbled to no one in particular as he jumped up from the table. Curious and confused looks from the other members at the table were exchanged, but nobody rushed to follow.

Nico didn’t bother rushing at this point without the promise of an email waiting for him. However, risking pulling out his phone in the hallway turned out to be a mistake, as he bumped right into the vice principal’s wheelchair.

“Nico,” Mr. Brunner addressed him. He was actually pretty nice most of the time, always going out of his way to see what was up with his students. It was almost like he doubled as a guidance counselor. (Mr. Brunner was better at emotional support than their actual guidance counselor, that was for sure.) He was still sort of stuck in the past, though, and while he never gave out detentions for phone use, he did confiscate them.

“Hey, Mr. Brunner. How are you?” Nico winced slightly at his feeble attempts to get out of punishment.

Mr. Brunner didn’t even answer his question. Instead, he just held out his hand. “You know the rules, Mr. di Angelo.”

Nico sighed. If the administrator weren’t so nice and if he was out, he would call this homophobia. Instead, he just bit the bullet and placed his phone in Mr. Brunner’s awaiting palm. “When do I get it back?”

“End of the day, after play rehearsal.” That was another thing, he had somehow memorized everyone’s extracurriculars. “You can come retrieve it in my office.”

Nico nodded. “Got it.” Going the day without knowing if Blue hadn’t responded wasn’t going to be easy, but he didn’t really have a choice.

---

As it turns out, Nico had some sort of heavy reliance on Blue in the past day. Even if they hadn’t known each other for long, and their conversations were short, they still meant a lot. They were a safe space, and the knowledge that he was now derived of that safe space, even for a few hours, made him uncomfortable.

Even in the theater, which was usually Nico’s comfort zone. They spent countless hours a week here. Just about everybody in the cast were friends, all having shared laughs or tears depending on how the rehearsal was going and what kind of mood their director, Mr. D, was in. Even Octavian, who was a slimy, stuck up kid whose body boiled with drama even outside of the auditorium, seemed human during a long rehearsal.

Without his phone, he also had no way to check the time, which meant he was relying on (i.e., bothering the crap out of) all of his friends.

The show itself was going as well as a public high school musical with limited theatre program funding could go.

“That was—” Mr. D started, rubbing his forehead from his spot in the audience. He tapped his pen on his clipboard, still not finishing his sentence. “Peter, help me out here?”

“That was a start?” Percy (Mr. D had a habit of getting his name wrong, even after three years in the program. Probably out of disrespect; they had a weird unspoken feud) supplied. The phrasing was nice, but the message was clear. The show was a complete trainwreck, and they only had until after the holidays to put it together. It was already October.

Mr. D pointed his pen at him. “Yes, that was a start.” He got up from his chair and advanced towards the stage, which meant he was about to change the entire set up.

“Piper,” he hissed between as Mr. D gave new directions to Jason. “What time is it?”

Piper just glared at him from her spot on the half-finished staircase. “Ten minutes since you last asked me!”

“And di Angelo! I need your jazz hands to be more dramatic! You just look like you’re trembling! This is a cabaret, not a breakdown in the bathroom!” He heard a snicker behind him, and turned to wear Percy and Cecil were mocking his shaky jazz hands offstage. If it weren’t for Mr. D standing near, he would have cursed them out.

Instead, Nico just sighed. Usually this was one of his favorite parts of the day, but they were barely halfway through rehearsal, and he already wanted out.

By the time the rehearsal was over, Nico had already packed up all his things and was bolting out of the auditorium.

He skidded to a stop from his near-sprint right outside of Mr. Brunner’s office, taking a moment to collect his breath and play it off as he strolled into the room. (The last thing he needed to do was look attached to his phone, otherwise Mr. Brunner might decide to keep it a little longer.)

“Nico! How was the unplugged afternoon?” Mr. Brunner smiled from his desk.

“Great,” Nico said, forcing a smile and giving a thumbs up. Whatever he had to do to make this conversation go faster.

Mr. Brunner reached into a drawer in his desk to grab Nico’s phone before wheeling around to where he was standing. “You should try it more often, maybe you’ll finally relax a bit.” Nico just laughed and nodded, not really sure how to respond to that. So, Mr. Brunner continued. “I know I’m hard on you, but I’m just looking out for you.” He regarded Nico now with slight concern in his eyes. “You’ve seemed kinda stressed recently, anything you want to talk about?”

Nico just forced another smile. “Nope! I’m good. Just, uh, a lot of homework to do, which means I should probably head home.”

Mr. Brunner nodded, handing Nico’s phone back to him. “Go, do your thing. Just remember, my door is always open.”

The words didn’t register, though, because Nico could see now that he got a notification from Blue. “Right, thanks!” he called, already rushing out of the room and outside.

Nico waited until he was in his car to open up the email.

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Date: Oct 3 at 2:46 PM

Subject: Re: Catch These Mittens

I’ve felt less lonely in the past day too. It’s nice to finally have somebody who just gets it. It’s funny, my mom even commented that I’ve been in a good mood lately. I told her it was because Taylor Swift had a new song, but I’m not sure she believed me. I think she knows I’m hiding something.

Anyway, I have a question for you: how did you know you were gay? And I know you said you haven’t come out to anyone yet, but do you think anyone suspects?

-Blue

A car honked behind him, snapping him out of his daydream as he quickly backed out of the parking lot. Nico nearly sped home from there, eager to respond. He barely acknowledged his stepmom or Hazel before grabbing a granola bar and racing up the steps to his room, Mrs. O’Leary right by his heels.

Nico flopped back on his bed, pulling out his laptop from his backpack and typing out a response.

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Date: Oct 3 at 5:14 PM

Subject: Re: Catch These Mittens

I keep thinking about this whole coming out thing. I have a pretty open group of friends and a good family, I don’t think they would really be that torn apart over it. Still, though, I’m scared.

You know Mitchell, right? He’s been out for years now and as far as I know nobody has given him too much crap for it. Probably because everybody basically knew (which I feel is a really crappy thing to say, but it’s not like he was that subtle.)

I don’t know where I’m going with this. I guess I just feel like with me it’s hard to tell. I think my dad suspects something because I never talk about girls, but my friends like to joke that I don’t like talking about anyone, even if it’s strictly platonic. But besides that, nobody really talks about it. I mean, ‘who do you think is gay’ isn’t really a hot topic at my lunch table. Or a topic at all. (Though part of me wishes it was, or just wishes I was out, because I’ve had so many good joke opportunities.)

Anyway, as for how I knew I was gay, it was a bunch of little things. My older sister tried to get me into Harry Potter with her (instead I just got obsessed with a card game called Mythomagic.) But everytime she would turn on one of the movies, I would always watch with her. Afterwards I kept having this recurring dream of Daniel Radcliff. I also got really into Panic! at the Disco, and it took me a while to realize it wasn’t really about the music. (Brendan Urie is a god, don’t deny it.) And, of course, the pitiful crushes on half of my friend group.

I’ve never had a girlfriend, and I’m honestly not even sure if a girl has ever even liked me. I just never bothered paying attention to that sort of thing the moment I realized I didn’t have to.

What about you, how did you know?

-Angel

P.S: because I know you’re wondering, I’m a Gryffindor. (Or at least I am according to my sister.) Hope that doesn’t affect this friendship, because I really like emailing you.

He hit send, then immediately fell backwards with a groan. Since when did he become so mushy? If anyone ever saw these emails, he would probably implode. Even the idea of someone reading them made his stomach twist, although that’s probably more about the being-gay-and-in-the-closet thing more than it was about the being-mushy thing.

He stayed in that spot for a few moments, hoping that he’d hear the notification sound of a reply from his laptop, but ten minutes passed with no such luck. So, he sat up, closed the tab, and started to work on his calculus homework instead while he waited. After a while he forgot about Blue.

It’s only when he stepped out of the shower later that night and his phone lit up with a missed notification that he realize he got a response.

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Date: Oct 3 at 6:29 PM

Subject: Re: Catch These Mittens

I know what you mean about the nobody-really-thinking you're gay thing. I mean, I don’t think it’s usually at the top of someone’s mind unless they like you, but you seem to not have much experience with that. Which isn’t a bad thing. Plus, I like you.

And actually, I had my own share of a Brendan Urie crush (who didn’t.) That was actually one of the first things I noticed about your email which, I could be completely wrong here, I believe that’s a P!ATD reference. I hope you don’t expect me to know any other of those alternative-edgy type bands. I’m more of a musical theatre person, which means I have about the same music taste as my Aunt Artemis.

Another one was Game of Thrones. I’m not a huge follower of the show, but every time I watched clips or walked in while my mom was watching it, I was always crushing hard on John Snow.

I’ve never officially had a girlfriend. I had a girl ask me to a seventh grade dance before, but I just really wanted to Cupid Shuffle on my own so I turned her down. She’s actually still one of my close friends to this day, funnily enough, and still showed up at the dance and kicked my butt at Cotton Eyed Joe. So, that turned out to be a better experience.

-Blue

P.S: I think you should actually take the quiz, because you seem more like a Hufflepuff to me. Or maybe I’m just self-projecting my own house onto you (I’m as Hufflepuff as you can get.) But no, even though you claim to be in the fraternity of Hogwarts Houses, I still like emailing you too.

Nico smiled, and unfamiliar heat pooling in his stomach as he reread that last line over and over again.

#solangelo #nico di angelo #will solace #pjo #heros of olympus #pjo hoo big bang #nstls

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