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twelvemonkeyswere · 7 months ago

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Brienne and Femininity (and Masculinity)

I’ve been musing how one of the most important topics in Brienne's storyline is femininity, and even though her story isn't finished, we can fairly see what some of her major themes are around this—particularly, how performing or failing at performing femininity affects her both internally and externally.

Often I see people pointing out that, in spite of all of Brienne’s traditionally masculine ways—her clothes, her skill set, her body shape, to name a few—she does not fully reject femininity. That she likes little cute animals and fairy tales and wears dresses, and is shy and blushes frequently. This is an important point because, very often, fantasy settings made the assumption that a woman can only be taken seriously if she goes beyond “her womanhood” and acts and thinks “like a man,” as opposed to other girls who are too busy mending or wanting romance. Brienne challenges those tendencies that GRRM saw in his contemporaries. Things have changed a lot since (hello The Locked Tomb, for example), but you can still see where he is working from, and how many of the aspects of Brienne's story still resonate with more modern audiences because, well, sexism hasn't stopped existing. It's also important because the larger asoiaf and got fandoms often refuse to see this side of her, reducing her to a walking sword or a cardboard cut out of a pushover.

Now, my main issue here is that I feel several interpretations of Brienne have now gone on the other direction, and focus so much on Brienne PERFORMING traditional femininity—wearing luxurious dresses, using make up, accepting lavishing gifts, or wondering if she can be desired, for example—that we've gone sometimes on the opposite direction. I feel like many times we’re afraid or do not know how to approach characterizing her as someone who rejects aspects of femininity without making her into another “not like other girls” stereotype.

My two cents on the matter is that if we focus too much in what Brienne can't but "wants" to perform, we forget that she is, in fact, gladly rejecting some common impositions of femininity in her society.

Beginning with swordplay at a young age, for example, she was very glad to ditch a more traditional education in order to learn how to fight the way we know men are taught in asoiaf/got. She is also explicitly more comfortable in men's clothes. We all like the scene where Jaime makes an effort to give her a dress and she appreciates it, but we don't even find out what happened to the dress, because, presumably, the dress itself is not THAT important, at least not as much as the fact Jaime gave her gifts as a form of appreciation. Dresses have been used in Brienne's past to mock her (the event with the bear being the most recent one), and the important part is that Jaime is the only one who has given her one without that ulterior motive. The point of the scene is that where everyone undermines and underestimates her, he is acting the opposite way. We’re seeing how the relationship between them has evolved and that he is doing his best to mend what has happened and what he has done. She is given a dress and a sword as symbols that someone else in the story is beginning to appreciate her for all she is.

Beyond that, we even get details on the old shield Brienne got at Harrenhal, but not a word about the dress. Brienne explicitly doesn't really like being in dresses, she prefers mail and breeches, and feels more at ease in them than anything else. This is not her hating dresses because she is above them. I can’t remember well but as far as we know it’s just her preference: I don’t recall her saying she hates dresses, just that she prefers trousers. She must have been wearing dresses her whole life! It’s not likely she is unused to them. But we do know the act of being given a dress is important in Brienne’s story. The problem is not that they can’t make dresses for her, the problem is that everyone who forces her to wear a dress wants to signal how lacking she is as a woman, trying to fit her in a box too small for her real shape and then mocking her because she doesn’t meet their standard. The problem is they want to make her uncomfortable and they want to humiliate her, because she dares to exist in a way that doesn’t conform to patriarchal ideals. And the problem is that she likes to wear trousers and mail. She likes to wear masculine clothes, and they want her to be very aware of how much they disapprove.

And we also hear a great deal about marrying and having children out of duty. There's a certain loss she feels there because she believes that, at that point, all those missed opportunities will never present themselves again. All her life, she grew up with a dichotomy that dictated that the chance of having a family or children was through duty or none at all, because she is her father’s heir and—they kept telling her—nobody would want an ugly, masculine, temperamental girl as a wife. They could only want her for the money she brought. The point of the story is that, once again, failing the standards of femininity has forced her into a mentality where she thinks she can’t be loved because nobody would like who and what she is. But even then, even with that thorn in her mind, she still feels relieved she didn't have to perform these particular duties. The only thing she’s sad about is that she thinks she's missed any chance at having a family at all and will never know what that might be like. She doesn’t actively want babies or even to be married. She is still young, and at least to me, she seems to view these things in hypothetical rather than explicit goals or wants. She thinks that, at 20, there is no opportunity for her to experience these things because of how her society works. It’s the lack of choice that she mourns, down the line. But she rejects that particularly role that femininity imposes on her now. She didn’t want it, and she is happy it didn’t go through. She literally fought an old man to prove how much she didn’t want those impositions.

All this is interesting to me because Brienne also sort of thinks of herself as her father's son as well as her father's daughter. It almost slips her mouth once or twice. She is aware, I think, that many times the differences between a son and a daughter boil down not really to gender but to the sort of duty they perform. And she wants to do the sorts of things sons do, too. Men regularly learned to fight and wore the clothes she liked best and used hard-earned skills in a way she wanted to use them. There are layers to this (we’ll get to that in a bit) but she is, I think, very aware of her masculinity, and, if left to her own devices, she seems comfortable in it. The problem is she is NOT left to her own devices.

Most of Brienne's self doubt comes from outside forces. As a woman, they underestimate her. As a woman, they think she is stupid. As a gender non-conforming woman, every jape uttered goes directly to her womanhood. As a woman, if she looks the way she does and dresses the way she does and fights the way she does, when she expresses any vulnerable emotion, any shred of “femininity,” she is mocked for it. She likes dancing and beautiful things and pretty boys but a woman as masculine as she is is not the sort of person who gets to express those preferences without judgment from those around her.

The point is Brienne’s world wants her miserable either way: being unable to be a woman the way they demand of her, because she is too much “like a man” for it, or being unable to be a man, because she is too much a woman for that. The point is she can’t win regardless of what she does. Because that’s how sexism works.

But Brienne’s story is, I think, one about choices. The thing is that the world makes it harder for her, but she shouldn't have to be one thing or the other. She shouldn’t have to be defined by one or the other. If she wants to fight in the mud and smell roses and wear chain-mail and talk to charming men, she should be able to choose all of those things. I think it’s easy to focus too much in what aspects of femininity Brienne likes or dislikes instead of looking at what the story is proposing, which is to look at what Brienne,as a person, likes or dislikes. What she wants. Her parallel story to Jaime is about how the world will always try to put folks in boxes, especially those who, for some reason or another, do not easily fit in those boxes. The question is not “what feminine/masculine parts of Brienne is she happy performing” but rather “what does Brienne want, and why does she feel like she cannot get it and doesn't dare ask.”

This is also what drives her to servitude. There’s a phrase out there that says that if you don’t think you can be liked, you try to become useful, so at least there’s a reason to keep you around. It’s heartbreaking to see how Brienne’s vision of herself has been so skewed by the emotional abuse, parental neglect, and bullying she’s experienced since a young age. She doesn’t think anyone will grow close to her, so at least she can be close to people by serving them. She wants to put her skills to use, she wants to find a place where she fits, where she can be more herself, but she isn’t sure what that looks like or how to find it. She’s still searching, and learning many things on the way.

And Brienne is still very young. We can see her confidence growing and her worldview challenged and she is beginning to see the realities of herself and of the world around her through various trials by fire. Misogyny makes her feel incomplete, but we know the things she trusts about herself while simultaneously seeing the way she constantly doubts others. How she can't never express all of herself without constant judgment or mockery.

I feel like yes, the fact Brienne doesn't reject all traditional femininity is really important to her themes, but by extension, it's as important that shedoes reject some of those traditional expressions of femininity. What she is truly rejecting is imposition, not femininity. What she truly needs to embrace is freedom, not masculinity. She's making her own vows, breaking her own promises, going through her own mistakes. She is learning the hard way. Agency in a world of limited choices is one of Brienne's main themes too. There are moral issues that go deep within her story as well as examinations of the effects of war and the struggle to find authenticity and connection in a community that refuses to acknowledge yours, a community drenched in pretense and lost in performance.

And I think it’s easy to get too caught up in her wanting to be a girlfriend or a mother or wearing a dress that we bypass the whole conversation around why that matters at all. I feel like Brienne's success isn't going to come from her fully embracing all her feminine traits or fully accepting all her masculine traits but from being able, down the line, to be exactly who she is.

#i was looking at my drafts and here are some scrambled ideas I had that I wanted to release so I've tried to make them more organized #brienne of tarth #asoiaf

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aboringredmop · 2 months ago

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k still don't know how im gonna post the videos (YouTube? unlisted?someone please help) but I can't sleep so I thought it'd write down whatever I remember happening!

(edit: here's the full recording! )

Becky and Joe walked on stage wearing sunglasses and red leather jackets and threw 3 of the trio plushies into the crowd. didn't get one unfortunately but it's really cool some people got free plushies :)

they made this robot child called the Inspiration Child, who's clearly meant to be a nod to ai (can learn from our show and generate it's own content!)

they explained how they met (and had some dodgy animated retelling), and how they started with small projects like commercials and music videos, until they came up with designs of the trio (and a mysterious fourth fella)

they made the designs first, then made the set, then the song and finally wrote the script for creativity. red guy was just a red mop head with legs at first ("alien squid thing") but Joe put the red guy head on for shits and giggles once and Becky thought it was hilarious so they kept it in the show

they were really not expecting it to blow up, and when Sundance called because they wanted to show creativity Becky thought it was a scam caller lol

they talked about the kickstarter and the credit card fraud kid. the mailed him saying "hey maybe dont do that" but the kid didnt know how to undo it cuz he just found a website full of credit card information and went ham, so Becky and Joe had to contact kickstarter because people were pulling out of the funding because they thought the project was overfunded (kickstarter was very difficult to contact)

they also made (lighthearted) fun of nsfw fluffybird art ((no padlock 😔) "using OUR characters to act out their SICK FANTASIES" - Becky) and theorists, especially because most if not all of the webseries is just them fucking around.

Inspiration Child also says something along the lines of "wow what a cool show with a great message of how corrupt the media is. I hate the media!"

Becky and Joe had these rules to make the show as vague as possible (no pop culture references, no names, no swearing and way too much detail put into small things)(the duck guy drag queen absolutely obliterates the no swearing rule lol)

they talk about the pilot, how they focused too much on the story because they felt like they had to due to it being on the big screen now, and how it ended up ruining the atmosphere and such of the pilot. they did show the entire thing sped up but my phone sucks ass so I could not get it to focus correctly. I'll see what I can salvage so you people can dissect frames of your blorbo you're Legally Not Allowed To See (which is also the official reason we don't get the pilot)

also pilot concept art showed that Mean Steve is in fact just called Key

they showed a whole post-it wall full of ideas for the tv show. don't know how much I got on footage, but what stood out most to me were 2 episodes called Money and Christmas. Joe mentioned "clock in a wheelchair" specifically

also really fun fact. Becky made the Lesley suit during covid, and pretty much threatened Baker into writing a human character into the show to wear it. concept art also shows Lesley with a mask made out of the same fabric, don't know if this was part of the original suit tho

they showed Warrens old models (?). he was gonna be a wayy more ugly looking silicone pug-worm thing y'all got lucky with the bald fuck

lily and todney were directly based off of some cancelled show about two porcelain doll children with panda parents. do not for the life of me remember what it was called but Becky and Joe were very enthousiastic about it (UPDATE: Candy and Andy!)

international release of the show soon!

Inspiration Child talks about what he's learned and sings a little song, then generates his own dhmis inspired content of a cult meeting in a forest at night. the dhmis Discord server called this "potential new content" but I doubt it

3 cultists walk on stage, face the screen backs to the crowd, drop their cloaks and boom! drag queens!!!

they were not mentioned on the site or during earlier parts of the show at all so they were a complete surprise. I asked Becky about it later during the night and she said she really wanted them there, so she asked and they were excited to! hope this means more official content with them soon I love them

they dance to There's Three Of Us, then Duck lipsings the shredder song which turns into a techno remix while Red and Yellow dance during the background

then Duck and Yellow make out while Red tries to undress to the instrumentals of the Fucked Up Part of Creativity but can't get out of his suit on time before the song ends

the drag queens, Becky and Joe and the Inspiration Child walk around during the meet and greet later and I got signatures from all of them! except inspiration child he didn't have thumbs

the drag queens were so fucking funny. Duck adopted inspiration child and loudly yelled at everyone to "GET AWAY FROM MY FUCKING CHILD" (their duck voice is sooo good). yellow stood in a corner staring at a wall for like 10 minutes and red was constantly awkwardly hovering just outside the frames of pictures (and also could not see shit lmao)

Becky liked my shirt! (the one with the melting trio heads) said she handdrew it

I'll post the signatures and some more stuff tomorrow because it is. 5 am

edit Heres the signatures! yellow guys is Italian I think? and means hi I love you :)

(the liyskaen is duck trying to spell my name. they got pretty close)

#dhmis #dont hug me im scared

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cha-melodius · 5 months ago

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firstprince +💚

💚 true love's kiss / magic kiss / healed (I said no more than 500 words and of course this is 589 lol. Sorry for the cliffhanger; I just can't help myself. send me a heart and get a ficlet)

When the summons comes, Henry refuses to believe it’s real.

It is, course—heavy paper, dark ink, embossed seal. Your assistance is respectfully requested concerning a matter of some urgency…

Henry doesn’t read the rest. He knows what it says. The whole world knows what it says. Every since the American President’s son was cursed and fell into a deep and unending slumber, which was supposedly only able to be cured by true love’s kiss, there’d been a steady stream of hopeful girls through the White House. Still, Alex remained stubbornly asleep. Henry hadn’t heard of any men being invited, though, which is one reason he’s convinced this was a mistake.

“The palace staff must have mixed up our mail,” he tells Bea, trying unsuccessfully to shove the invitation at her.

Bea just gives him an exasperated look. “It has your name on it.”

“Then someone at the White House made an error in addressing it.”

“Because ‘Beatrice’ is so close to ‘Henry’. Happens all the time, really. The other day I got a polo club invitation meant for you.”

“Really?” Henry asks.

“No,” she huffs. “This is for you, dumbass.”

Henry stares down at it, chewing his lip. “But why me? Out of everyone else?”

“You didn’t hear?” Bea asks, cocking an eyebrow at him.

“Hear what?” He’s been actively trying not to read news about Alex’s condition, actually.

“It’s supposed to be someone he’s touched before. Otherwise, he’d still be awake. Someone must have remembered you two shaking hands in Rio.”

“But Alex hates me,” he says plaintively. This is, of course, the other reason this must be a mistake.

“So, now’s your chance,” Bea tells him with far too much mischief sparkling in her eyes. “Go lay one on him, and he’ll never remember.”

“Bea,” Henry gasps, horrified. “I would never—”

She rolls her eyes at him. “It was a joke, Haz. But the fact of the matter is that you don’t have much of a choice. Think of how it would look for international relations if the Crown refused a request from the President.”

And so, Henry finds himself with sweating palms and his heart in his throat, staring down at the most beautiful boy in the world as he lays sleeping in his bedroom at the White House. The First Family are all wan and sallow as his interminable condition wears on them, but Alex himself looks vibrant, as if he’d just nodded off. Perks of magic sleep, Henry supposes. A terrifying woman in stilettos and pencil skirt gives Henry instructions that he barely hears, then they all file out to wait.

Henry wrings his hands and twists his signet ring and shifts on his feet, knowing he can’t put this off for much longer. He’s not sure what he’s more terrified of—that it won’t work, or that it will.

“I’m sorry, Alex,” he murmurs. For the past, for this, for what may come.

He leans in—and hesitates. The aroma of cinnamon strikes him, drawing him in like a gravitational field he can’t escape, and he sways closer. When their lips brush, Henry feels it—not the kiss, but the fire that it kindles under his skin, the flame that flashes down his spine and out to his toes, the inferno that sets him alight. It’s too much, it’s going to burn him up—

Alex’s lips part and he gasps, long eyelashes fluttering as he wakes, and Henry stumbles backwards. He stares at Henry, rubs his eyes, then looks again.

“It's you?!”

#rwrb #rwrb fic #red white and royal blue #firstprince #firstprince fic #alex claremont diaz #henry fox mountchristen windsor #my fic #kiss ficlets #i truly am sorry but that's the risk you take with ficlets lmao

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soupandsimple · 2 years ago

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Bathtub Spider (with James Potter )

[ boyfriend James getting rid of a spider for you ]

* fluff! tiny suggestive comment at the end

** still here, just been busy with other things/don’t want to force writing! but here’s a little something 😘

……………

“James!”

“What?”

You poke your head out the bathroom and wait for him to appear. He knows by now that if you don’t reply to his what it’s because you need him to come to wherever you are.

“What is it?” he asks now, coming down the hallway.

“There’s a spider in here!” you say, opening the door further for him to enter. “In the bathtub! I hope it hasn’t got away, I was about to run a bath when I saw it just sitting there!”

James looks in the tub and sees the medium sized spider you were referring to. “Right, well first of all, A.) why wasn’t I invited to your little bath party and B.) where’s the cardboard and cup?”

You hated when creepy, crawly things came inside but you also hated seeing them get killed. The cardboard in question was just any piece of flat paper you could get your hands on when this occurred, and the cup was an old, clear plastic cup that used to have a lid before it broke that was now just used to water your indoor plants.

“I just told you what happened, how could I already have those things? I couldn’t leave the bathroom unattended in case the spider tried to leave! I’ll be right back” you say, sprinting out the room to get the items needed.

James chuckles at your jumpiness and looks down at the spider, “Don’t worry we’ll get you out of here alive. She’s a literal sweetheart, she couldn’t bear it any other way” he happily assures it.

With no time wasted, you run back in with a sturdy, throwaway advertisement that came in the mail that morning and the plant water cup and hand them to James.

Let it be known, James was no more a fan of bugs than you. Seeing them from a distance didn’t bother him but having to get up nice and close to get them in between the cardboard and the cup was not an easy chore. For you and only you, he’d gladly do it but never without a bit of internal panic.

“Okay..fuck...” his voice shakes as he bends down toward the tub. “C’mon let’s make this easy pal,” he asks of the spider but instead of it climbing onto the paper James held out in front of it, the spider tries to scurry off in the opposite direction.

You let out a little shriek and run for the door to escape but with a quick (no doubt, fight or flight) maneuver, James manages to get it.

“I got it baby, don’t worry!” he tells you, slowly standing up with the spider safe and alive between the cup and paper.

He exhales a sigh of relief now that the hard part is over and keeps an eye on the spider as you quickly lead him to the front door of the flat. You’re on the third floor of the building so he has some ways to go with the trapped arachnid but appreciative you very much are. “Thank you for getting it honey, love you so much” you say, opening the door with a sweet kiss to his cheek.

“Yeah yeah, you better be naked by the time I get back” he teases as he steps out. <3

#james potter x reader #james potter #james potter fic #james potter imagine #james potter x you

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1d1195 · 1 year ago

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Love and Dryer Sheets V

Read the rest here: Love and Dryer Sheets

The good news if you're still liking this story: we're gonna squeeze one more part out of this series. Hope you're still enjoying. Thank you for reading.

~7.5k words (she's a bit longer. Got a lot going on and I think she gets kinda messy like all the relationships here.)

Warnings: angst, toxic relationships, maybe a little fluff.

“Here,” she offered appearing at his side as he started to fish his stuff back out of the washer. He turned to her and she thought she might melt. Harry was so beautiful. His eyes, his mouth, his skin. He was tall and she knew he was warm and strong. She knew what his lips tasted like. It was so unfair and yet, she couldn’t stop herself.

Good. Her heart was practically giggling with delight.

She didn’t tell Niall about the kiss. She thought it wouldn’t do any good at all. Especially because Niall would threaten to kill Harry and she wasn’t fully sure he even knew how to make a fist. Plus, with his impending year-long move, it seemed like too much to put on his plate at the time.

But when he eventually found out, she imagined he would be pretty mad at her. So, it took her a really long time to decide not to tell him. Especially while they were spending practically every waking moment together. Fortunately, that allowed her to refrain from think about Harry for seven days straight.

Or...more so... not think about him that much. With eyes the color of muted emeralds it was like her mind was on a yellow brick road right back to him whenever she had a moment of time to think about something other than her unending heartbreak.

She was careful to rearrange her laundry schedule so as not to run into him. She took the stairs instead of the elevator. Once she saw him coming in from the rainy wind and she darted into the mail room just to avoid him. It was childish and stupid, running from him like that. But she couldn’t help it. Seeing him would make her cave.

But you want to be friends with him. Her heart reminded her.

I don’t care, she responded internally.

Even I know that’s a lie, her brain grumbled in response.

Work provided her great distraction as well. Sad, of course— because what else was supposed to happen in her life these days? —but it was a distraction, nonetheless. Sighing, she rubbed her forehead looking over her schedule for the next day, thinking about what needed to be accomplished, what activities she needed to print in the morning, and priorities she needed to complete.

She really needed to go grocery shopping.

She had spent most of her last nights with Niall eating out or getting takeaway while they packed his stuff. He was subletting to a friend for the year. Mostly to hold his place. The Missus would be traveling overseas to be with Niall by the end of next month, which was extremely exciting for their relationship. “Looks like I’ll be all by myself at thirty-five,” she joked in with him labeling cardboard boxes as kitchen.

Niall smirked. “M’sure I can convince her that we can be a throuple,” he winked at her.

“Sorry Ni, I hate sharing,” she smirked knowing the idea was truer than he would know for a while. She planned on telling him within the first couple of months—once he was a little settled and she was surely over it.

Plus, she wanted to be sure that he wouldn’t come flying back before he unpacked.

But Niall was officially in flight. She was watching her phone making sure his flight didn’t suddenly fall off the radar or that it didn’t indicate it was exploding mid-flight. He was going to call her as soon as he landed. She was third on the list after his girlfriend and mother and was not to panic unless it approached an hour of waiting for his call. Those were her instructions.

Timing her grocery shopping was exactly what she needed at that moment.

If she had gotten the parking spot she wanted, it might not have happened. If Niall had called two seconds earlier, she would have been answering her phone outside instead of in the lobby. She would have been in the elevator. Or she would have stopped for the mail and wouldn’t have been juggling the bags and her phone.

But instead, everything happened at once. She wanted to ensure Niall was there safely, so she struggled to answer her phone with the groceries attached to her arms.

“Hey, Ni! How was your—”

Before she could finish her question, the phone was knocked from her hands almost violently along with the bags of groceries she was carrying. Naturally it contained her eggs. She stumbled a bit nearly sliding ungraciously in the cracked egg mixture on the floor. Her phone skittered across the floor near the entry way to the mail cubby’s.

“Jesus, watch where you’re going,” it was the beautiful woman who felt she was in the way in the mail space back when she first moved in. She was just as beautiful as the last time she ran into her. Her hair was long and flowing, her eyelashes would make an angel jealous, if she smiled—and she realized it seemed like it would take an act of God to get her to smile—she imagined she had perfect teeth that were hidden behind her pretty full lips.

She scrambled to get to her feet, her leggings getting egg yolk on them. Thank God she bought paper towels as well.

“Ava! What the fuck?”

It was pathetic that she knew Harry’s voice without looking. She was struggling to get the paper towels out of the plastic. She could hear Niall calling from her phone a few feet away from the mess as she struggled to get her items that weren’t broken back into the bags. She desperately wanted to answer Niall, but she was practically mute. “She was in the way!”

“Ava!” Harry hissed.

“For God’s sake Harry. You’re always worried about everyone else around us but me.”

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

Harry turned from Ava to glare at her. She swallowed the lump in her throat feeling like she had done something bad. It was the first time she had seen Harry in a week, and he looked...

Exhausted.

She wished she could ask him a thousand questions because even though she felt terrible about what she had done, she missed Harry more than she could ever describe. Niall was no longer yelling. She wondered if he hung up. At least she knew he was alive. Hopefully he wasn’t boarding a plane right back.

“I’ll be right out,” Harry snapped as Ava rolled her eyes and headed out the door. It could only have been a total of two minutes, but it felt like hours between the moment Ava bumped into her and the present. It felt like a front of cold air left the room the moment Ava exited. She nearly breathed a sigh of relief—almost the same one that Harry released as she left.

The room was silent. She heard Niall calling from her phone again and she finally grabbed it, trying not to get more egg yolk on her hands and none in her hair if she could help it.

“Hello?”

“Are you okay?” Niall asked, his voice hitching nervously.

“Niall, I’m so sorry. I’ll call you back in like...half an hour,” she whispered.

“Are you telling me that the Wicked Witch of the West is Harry’s girlfriend? I cannot believe you apologize to her,” he spoke without answering her statement. “No wonder he spends all his time doing laun—”

She hung up before he could say anymore just in case Harry could hear. She hadn’t mentioned the break they had embarked upon to Niall. If he said anything, she could easily say that his move had monopolized the entire week and it worked because she found out he had a girlfriend. She just wouldn’t say how she found out he had a girlfriend.

Of course, someone as beautiful as Ava would be with someone like Harry. Someone equally beautiful. They would make gorgeous children. Take the most perfect pictures. It made sense that the pair of them would be in a relationship.

Except Harry is nice and she is wicked. The voice in her head and her heart agreed.

“Christ, love. M’sorry,” he whispered softly.

It was the first time they had spoken since she told him they couldn’t see each other for a while. That they couldn’t be friends. His voice was so gentle and warm. She couldn’t believe that in just over a week she craved hearing it. It felt like she was basking in the sun. But she shouldn’t have been thinking like that. It was also...jarring...to hear the difference in his tone between how he had spoken to Ava compared to how he was speaking to her.

“It’s okay,” she murmured finally getting a swath of paper towels to clean up the mess. “I was in the way.”

Harry knelt beside her pulling the roll of paper towels from her hands with an exasperated sigh, leaving his lips again as he started to help clean up. “Y’weren’t, though,” he mumbled.

She shrugged trying to ignore the crazy beat of her heart being so close to him again. It was just a week, but it felt like years since she had seen him, but also like no time had passed at all. As if they hadn’t stopped speaking and this was nearly normal.

“You don’t have to help,�� she said. “I’m sure she’s waiting.”

“She can wait,” he grumbled.

“Harry.”

“I’ll get y’some eggs while we’re out,” he promised.

“That’s not necessary,” she shook her head, her cheeks warming.

“Yes, it is, I would buy y’some new leggings too if—”

“I’ll just wash them, seriously.”

They were quiet. Harry grabbed the trash can that was over by the elevator and dumped the paper towels in. They cleaned up the rest of the mess in silence. “I’m sorry,” he repeated. But she could tell from the tone in his voice that he wasn’t apologizing for just the spill.

“It’s alright. It’s not your fault.” He sighed the frustration evident on his face, in his body language, and in the way he was breathing. “Harry,” she whispered quietly pressing a hand to his arm. “It’s alright,” she promised. It was ridiculous she was comforting him. She doesn’t even know how Ava bumped into her. She knew it wasn’t her fault, but she didn’t like how guilty Harry felt. He looked at her hand on his arm for a moment and she pulled it away after a gentle, comforting squeeze. “You should go,” she smiled gently at him. A slight wrinkle of her cute nose.

“M’really sorry.”

She shook her head. “It’s just eggs,” she shrugged. “It’s okay.”

He nodded. They both knew it was more than eggs. It was kissing in the laundry room behind Ava’s back. No matter how wicked she seemed, it wasn’t okay.

Even if she’s the worst? Her heart asked internally.

I’m on your side this time. Her brain answered.

She ignored them both. “M’sorry,” he repeated. “See you around...I guess,” he murmured. Just like before.

Her heart felt a pang of sadness course through her and she watched him exit, glancing back just once to give her a tired wave. She felt tired, too. Tired of hiding her emotions and tired of missing Harry.

But that would have to wait because she really wanted to get out of her clothes covered in egg yolks.

“I can’t believe you apologized.”

Niall’s face was backlit by the dark evening of his surroundings. His new place was sparse since none of his stuff had arrived yet. But somehow his move was overshadowed by the insanity that took place that afternoon.

“I don’t know, Ni...” she sighed.

“I...I don’t think you should count Harry out yet... Obviously, he’s doing laundry because he’s miserable.”

“That’s not an excuse for flirting,” she grumbled. Maybe Niall wouldn’t be upset with Harry when she told him.

“No of course not, princess. But like...” he sighed. “That girl is a witch. I wasn’t kidding...I can see why he would want to flirt with someone pretty and nice like you.”

She felt her face warm at Niall’s assessment when there was a knock on her door. “Hang on.”

“The theme for today.”

She went to the door just in time to see the elevator closing. On the floor mat was a paper bag. A frowny face was drawn in black marker. She felt her heart flutter already knowing what was inside the bag. She opened it anyway. There she found a dozen eggs beneath a pair of folded leggings with the tag intact and a receipt. She sighed looking at the elevator already long gone.

She returned to her phone call. “S’that Harry?” Niall asked.

“Probably,” she muttered.

“Probably?”

“He left a bag of eggs. And a new pair of leggings.”

“Wow, he guessed your clothing size. He must be in love with you.”

She shook her head wishing what he said was true. “Niall, stop.”

He sighed. “I miss you already, darling.”

She smiled weakly. “I miss you too.”

“You should come visit before the year’s out. Show you around my old neighborhood.”

She nodded, wishing she could hug her best friend right then, through the phone screen. “I’d like that.”

“Have a good rest of your day, princess.”

It was a public space. Unavoidable. They were definitely going to run into each other. It was a matter of when not if. When Harry arrived, a full basket on his hip, he turned at the sight of her. The hammering of her heart didn’t stop her from sighing deeply.

“Wait...It’s a free country,” she mumbled and shrugged her assent. No use in monopolizing communal space. She was an adult and could handle the pair of them doing laundry at the same time. As long as she didn’t think about his mouth and how it tasted like mint gum and heaven.

Hesitantly, he picked a different washer than he normally did, a few spaces down from her rather than across from her. They didn’t speak. They didn’t even look at each other. Her heart rate felt like it was a hummingbird’s wing. It felt so warm in the laundry room.

Talk to him! Her heart was whispering.

Do not talk to him. Her brain protested.

She was fortunate the laundry covered her awkward huff of laughter listening to the battle she was feeling internally. Harry didn’t seem to register it. Maybe they would just never speak again.

It seemed like that would be the case as far as she could tell. She had lost count how many times they had sat silently reading and waiting for their laundry loads to finish.

Harry was once more in the laundry room at the same time as her. She essentially ignored his presence for the sake of her heart and mind. Although, she felt her heart would be grateful if she started talking to him again. It had been two weeks since the eggs incident. Three weeks since they agreed to not see each other anymore.

The only chattering interaction they had was a few days ago when Harry obviously forgot laundry detergent after he had thrown all his stuff into the washer. Naturally, the little dispensary was empty, again. Unlike the last time he checked it, he didn’t punch the side of the machine. Instead, he just sighed heavily, grumbling to himself.

Good. Her heart was practically giggling with delight.

“Oh...thanks, love.”

She wondered if Harry felt the spark of electricity that pierced her skin when Harry’s hand touched hers grabbing the jug from her.

He did.

“You probably think m’an idiot.”

She was literally trying to reach into the dryer to grab the sock that had clung with static to the back of the machine when she heard his voice. Her heart skipped a beat as it always did when she heard him. There was no denying how excited she was to hear his voice. She pulled herself out of the machine and turned to him. “What?” She asked her eyebrows pinching together. It was a weird way to enter a room, let alone start a conversation. Especially after what she would have to call a breakup for lack of a better term.

“For being with someone like Ava,” he started to pace along the length of the machines. He ran his hands through his hair making a mess of the curls. She thought her heart might break. She had experienced this kind of frustration firsthand. “Everyone says it. That they think m’stupid. That she’s awful and I should ‘ve broken up with her ages ago...” he mumbled. She frowned. “But...we’ve been together for s’long and—"

“I don’t think you’re an idiot,” she interrupted quickly. Her voice was even, and he nearly bumped into the back wall as he spun to look at her. She was holding a pair of sweatpants in her hands, but she was making specific, intense eye contact with Harry. Even if she shouldn’t be talking to him. She didn’t want him to think that she thought poorly of him.

“Y’don’t?” He asked quietly.

She shook her head. “It’s no one’s business but yours and Ava’s,” her name tasted bad in her mouth, but she knew it was because it was coated with jealousy. She didn’t have to like Ava, but that didn’t mean that Harry couldn’t. Harry also liked her. It seemed pretty obvious. She can’t imagine him not liking her and nearly ruining his relationship with Ava. She knew she was different than Ava. Maybe she was willing to believe that Harry saw good in people. She did the same thing. It would be hypocritical of her to not understand Harry’s plight when she suffered from the very same thing for nearly three years as well.

He stopped pacing and moved to his regular washer. He perched on top and watched her fold her laundry for a few moments. It was like before he ruined everything with a kiss. He wished he had listened to the little voice in his head all those months leading up to the kiss. Of course, it was right. Of course. She didn’t pay mind to Harry sitting there.

“Can we be friends?” He asked quietly. “Please?”

Niall had left for a year. Her family didn’t really live all that close. Her coworkers, while great people, were work friends. Everyone she worked with dealt with very sensitive cases and that had a lot of emotion. If they saw each other outside of work, she worried it would carry over too heavily, all that weighty emotion.

She could really use a friend.

But she wasn’t sure Harry wasn’t the right friend. She messed up, even though Harry had owned up to the mistake. She was part of it, and she worried that if she was friends with Harry, it would be a slippery slope to fall for someone she shouldn’t.

“I promise I won’t kiss y’again,” he murmured. As if he had read her mind. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Mistakes happen,” she shrugged. “I just don’t—”

“Sunshine,” he interrupted. “I shouldn’t have kissed you. But it wasn’t a mistake. I shouldn’t have called it that. Kissing you was like...breathing fresh air for the first time in...years.”

She closed her eyes, wishing she could do something about it. “You can’t stay stuff like that.”

There was an antagonizing pause while he thought this over. “I won’t bring it up again,” he promised.

There’s no harm in being friends. Her heart was whispering to her. You’re a great friend.

She looked at him for the first time, head on. He was already looking at her. His pretty green eyes. She knew his pretty pink lips were soft and warm. She knew his skin was warm too. Her heart skipped a beat. “We can be friends,” she said softly.

He sighed with relief and hurried over to wrap his arms around her. He squeezed her tightly. “Missed y’so much,” he mumbled into her hair.

Oh, this was a mistake. The voice in her head tutted.

Let it happen. I miss Niall. Her heart reminded the voice in response.

She closed her eyes, breathing in his scent and dropped the pair of socks she had in her hands on the floor so she could hug him back. Please don’t let this be a mistake.

They resumed their reading and chatting relationship as if the few weeks spent not talking hadn’t happened. Harry watched her fold laundry as if it were the most amazing thing in the world. It didn’t help that he thought she was the most amazing thing in the world.

You need to relax.His conscience was back, analyzing his every movement and every word he spoke to the pretty girl.

I have a handle on it. He thought back to the little voice. It was just the laundry room. At most it was an hour of a day that they spent chatting together. Or even not chatting when they had books.

“How’s work been?” He asked, trying to fill the silence for a moment.

He also wanted to fill the silence so he wouldn’t hug her again. He refrained from touching her after that because it felt so right and good. It made him feel whole. So maybe, Harry refrained from it. She seemed to have no problem compartmentalizing the moment that nearly ruined their friendship.

Which would have been a travesty because she was a really good friend. “It’s good. One of my patients got some good news so we’ve been navigating that, and it’s been really exciting because they’ve been dealing with struggles for a super long time,” she explained.

“That’s great,” he smiled. It felt nice to talk to her again. He was glad she was doing okay.

Harry was doing alright too. Work was normal and good. But he and Ava seemed to be fighting less and less. Which was great for his anger and his psyche. It allowed him to think about how he shouldn’t have kissed this lovely girl too. Even if he couldn’t tell her that.

Harry wasn’t intentionally mean-spirited. So, he didn’t bring up Ava unless she inquired.

“Can I ask a question that’s been bugging me?” She asked. He nodded. He was an open book with her. He had to be now. “Did you tell her?”

It was no use lying, but Harry kind of wanted to lie to her. He shook his head. “No.”

She waited for him to elaborate, but it seemed that Harry didn’t want to. He didn’t want it to be a thing. “Are you...going to?”

He shook his head silently. He knew that was wrong. Of course, he should have told Ava. But what good would come from it? Telling her that she made him miserable. Especially when they had been getting along better than they had in months...maybe even years.

“Harry,” she said softly.

“I know, love. I know...s’jus’—”

“I’m not judging you, I’m sure you have a reason. I don’t have to know it, but...I think it will eat at you,” she reminded him. “I didn’t tell my ex-boyfriend I wanted out of our relationship for over a year, and it made me...a mess,” she explained. “I know it’s hard, I just don’t want you to...be a mess.”

“Little late for that,” he muttered.

She giggled lightly. Harry thought it sounded like angels singing. “I won’t bring it up again,” she shrugged. “Your secret is safe with me, that’s for sure.”

“I imagine Niall wants t’kill me.” The silence was deafening as she ignored the insinuation that she told Niall about it. “Oh?” He smirked in surprise. “Y’don’t gossip over who y’kiss?”

She shook her head. “No... Niall...Niall moved for the year—maybe longer, for work. Overseas. I didn’t want to add more to his plate... and no: I didn’t want him to kill you. Not sure he would know how.”

“Oh, Sunshine. M’sorry,” he frowned. Losing her best friend for a while must have been really hard. He hadn’t spoke to her in three weeks and it felt like death. He had only known her a short while and she had known Niall almost half her life. “When did that happen?”

She smirked. “Uh...the day we stopped talking.” Harry took a moment to process that, and his frown deepened. He knew how sad that day was for him. But he would never forget the tears she shed and the way she looked so upset. Add losing her best friend? The poor thing. Harry’s heart broke all over again. “I do want to tell him. I’m just waiting for the right moment.”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “Don’t blame you.”

It was surreal to talk about it as if it had happened but also didn’t happen at the same time. He thought her brain was much too kind. Letting Harry keep secrets. “How...how is Ava?”

He snorted. “Sunshine, y’don’t have t’do that. M’sure s’hard...I mean I feel—”

“No,” she shook her head tamping down the jealousy that felt like hot air rising from her chest and out of her mouth. “No, this is what friends do. They ask about their friends’ significant others.”

Harry sighed. “Yeah...um...s’good. We’ve been arguing less.”

“That’s great!” But her heart felt like it was severing in half.

“I don’t know what causes the arguments sometimes. Contrary t’some of m’actions...m’a pretty smart guy,” he shrugged. She smiled sweetly at his insult toward himself thinking it was adorable. At least he knew he was an idiot. “S’weird though. I feel like she doesn’t like me the way she used to. But s’like we’re...stuck.”

She nodded. “Well...in my last relationship, I felt like I was stuck for over a year and I just...I couldn’t pull myself out of it. I hit rock bottom, though. Niall had to get me out.”

There was a huge pause. She went back to reading her book. This wasn’t unusual for their conversations. Harry needed time to process, think about what he wanted to say. But he was thinking about this past relationship of hers. In the three or so times she had spoken about it... it didn’t sound like something the embodiment of sunshine should have had to endure. Someone that liked a children’s fairy tale as much as she did, didn’t deserve a crummy relationship. Or a crummy guy like Harry kissing her out of nowhere. “S’horrible of me t’talk ‘bout this t’you,” he mumbled.

She shrugged. “I don’t think so. I did a whole round of clinical counseling on relationships. I’m actually probably the best person to talk about this to,” she smiled behind her book. Her eyes glinted with excitement, like she knew it was torturing Harry a bit.

Good for her. His little voice muttered.

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“Friends talk about their relationships,” she nodded. “It’s okay,” she promised. “I would tell you if I was uncomfortable.”

Harry wanted to tell her he was uncomfortable not kissing her and not holding her right this very second. He knew it was wrong and he was glad that she couldn’t read his thoughts. He knew it wasn’t fair to Ava either. Ava was making serious efforts to be nicer. It was...bizarre.

Explore that. Harry’s heart suggested.

“Listen,” she sighed. “Do you want to break up with her?”

Harry frowned and looked at his lap. He couldn’t look at her when talked about this. No matter how okay she said it was. He shook his head.

He didn’t. He didn’t want people to say I told you so. He didn’t want to think about all the time that he had wasted. But it wasn’t a waste, right? It was good for a while. Even still had good in it, sometimes. Sparingly. Was that a reason to stay? To prove to people it was okay? That he was okay? For the few good times they had together anymore, it didn’t seem like a good idea. But he couldn’t bring himself to think differently.

“Then you’ll make it work,” she shrugged. “If and when you want to break up, that’s when you’ll know.”

Harry nodded. He didn’t speak again for a while. They enjoyed their books. “Y’said your parents don’t love each other,” he murmured randomly.

She nodded sullenly. “I feel that way. I would imagine they do... but it’s hard to see as an outsider.”

Harry thought he knew exactly what that looked like. “Do you want them t’get divorced?” He asked.

She put her book in her lap and looked at the ceiling in thought. She tilted her head to the left and right contemplating such a loaded question. It seemed obvious. Of course, she did. They were miserable together.

“No,” she shook her head. “I don’t think I do...or...I do but... I think I would be really sad if they did. It’s kind of selfish of me. But you know... they have a complicated relationship. They’ve been together for a lot longer than I’ve been alive... I don’t know everything about them. Who knows,” she shrugged. “I think their love language is fighting. That’s all.”

More silence.

When her washer went off and she was switching over to the dryer, Harry thought about kissing her again. Just to make the hurt in her life go away. Even for a minute. She deserved that. “Do you have a fried cauliflower recipe?” She asked.

He looked up and smirked. “Y’gonna be a big girl and try something new?”

She rolled her eyes at him. “Yeah. M’trying something new all the time these days.”

Being friends was a dream. Even if their friendship didn’t leave the laundry room. She gave great advice. Even better recipes. Fantastic book recommendations. She even had good recommendations to things in town that Harry hadn’t tried yet. He had no idea there was a mom-and-pop bookstore just two streets over. The late night café had delicious coffee and peppermint hot chocolate.

It was easy to be friends. There was no arguing. Not real arguing. They still argued about her ten-year-old taste buds and his failure to see why Andrew Garfield was better. Their debates while meaningless (she had joked that she was coming up with weird debates for her patients to relieve the seriousness of their situations—so now she had to live with the knowledge that Harry thought cereal was a soup), were fun. It was fun hanging out with her. Not arguing over socks or keys. Or whether they were arguing too much.

She tossed her last pair of socks in her basket with a giggling sigh. They had just finished a fit of laughter after impersonating one of the jokes she heard on a late night talk show. “Okay, well, see you soon. Let me know how you like the bakery.”

He nodded. Biting the inside of his lip. “Hey Sunshine,” he called softly just as she hit the threshold of the room.

“Yeah?” She turned back. She didn’t like the way her stomach flipped over his nicknames but it seemed that her protests wouldn’t stop him. She just had to hope Harry called everyone nicknames. Maybe he called everyone Sunshine and kitten.

But she kind of hoped he didn’t either.

“Thanks for being my friend,” his voice was almost apologetic, like he knew it was hard for her. It was. But she liked to believe she was good at hiding it. But after spending so much time with Harry, it was hard to let him go. He was a really good friend.

“Yeah, of course, Harry,” she smiled softly.

“I miss when y’called me munchkin, kitten,” he frowned looking down at his lap.

She released a long sigh, wishing she could get those days back. “Yeah...” she sighed. “I miss it too.”

Harry and Ava fought less, that much was obvious. But granted, if they had one less fight in one day per week, that would have been less than what they had before. However, this was a little more substantial. Ava was snuggling up to Harry again at night and sharing the remote. They watched shows together and laughed. It felt like before...before they fought all the time.

But it was...weird. It wasn’t something Harry could put his finger on. It was just something he felt. Like something wasn’t quite right. In the back of his mind—the conscience that was so adamantly against the sweet girl in the laundry room was silent about the weird feeling Harry had in the pit of his stomach.

It was while Ava slept that he thought about it most. It wasn’t good but the privacy of his own thoughts had to be better than the physical alternative. He thought of that kiss and how perfect it felt. He imagined it a thousand times over. Harry never even thought about how it was nice—it was so intertwined with how wrong it was he didn’t get a chance to think of it as...perfect.

Why do you want to be in this relationship? His heart asked.

Tell. Ava. His conscience begged.

Harry didn’t see the point. They just got back to a good place. He was friends with the sweet girl. Things were going well.

Too well.

Again, they were fighting less. They still had arguments that devolved into a thousand other little arguments frequently enough that they should have called it quits anyway—or at least their neighbors should have said something. He guessed that the carpeting and soundproofing must have been much better than he gave it credit for.

But there were some things they would always fight over.

Harry never put the kitchen towel back on the oven handle, Ava was the first one to say something needed to be vacuumed but never did, and that Ava was still keeping Harry away from her friends, coworkers, and even her family.

Right now, Ava was headed out to a night with friends. But she let it slip that one of the other’s significant others would be there. “Y’want me to come along?” He asked. Her hesitation was all the answer that Harry needed. He chuckled dryly. “Great, y’don’t want me there. Fine.”

“It’s not that deep, Harry,” she rolled her eyes, she slid her purse over her shoulder and grabbed her keys off the counter.

Harry stood in front of the door. “Why don’t y’want me there?” He asked shaking his head in exasperation.

“Because I don’t want to fight in public, Harry. It’s embarrassing.”

“We don’t have to fight.”

“I don’t trust us not to. Look we’re fighting now.”

“Because you’re embarrassed by me!”

“I am not! I’m embarrassed by us!”

“Y’don’t want t’be seen with me Ava,” he said listing off the offenses by counting on his fingers. “Ever. Y’don’t take me t’your work parties, y’don’t want t’go out, y’don’t even take me t’your family anymore. Y’don’t want t’go anywhere with me,” he shook his head. “I don’t get it, what happened?”

“Nothing happened!” Her voice was practically hysterical. “I just want to do things by myself!”

“We never do anything together anymore!”

“Yes, we do!”

“No, we stay at home. You don’t want to go out you don’t want anyone t’see us!”

“I don’t trust us not to argue—”

But it devolved rapidly. It turned into the same tired fights about cleaning. The backhanded comments she made when Harry wore a shirt she didn’t like anymore. You’re wearing that? Or the way that they just never agreed on home décor or even where the toothpaste belonged (on the left or the right of the sink).

“I can’t find my phone,” she grumbled amidst the argument.

“For the love of God,” Harry sighed. “How do y’consistently lose these things?”

“I don’t mean to!” She frowned. He pulled his phone out to call it. “It’s on silent,” she murmured.

Rubbing his hands over his face, Harry sighed and tossed his phone on the sofa. “Did y’check your coat pockets?” He asked as he started searching under the furniture. “Or your purse?”

“Of course I checked there!”

“Well last time you didn’t check your coat and that’s where y’keys were—”

“Go ahead, call me stupid Harry. I know that’s what you’re trying to say,” she rolled her eyes, glaring at him. Again, Harry was searching through their whole place while she stood there antagonizing him.

“I don’t think you’re stupid, Ava. I think you’re forgetful and y’need t’put these things in a specific place so you don’t lose them.”

“No, you think I’m stupid.”

“Ava. Do not. Put words in my mouth,” his voice was low and slow as he continued his search. “S’not like y’don’t say backhanded things t’me all the time.”

“Like what?” She snapped.

“Like the whole laundry room makes m’clothes smell bad.”

“You can’t possibly be still on about this! For God’s sake Harry this is exactly why I don’t want to go places together! You hold these grudges and bring them up when it’s convenient for you to—”

If Harry was asked for his thought process, he never would be able to explain it. He was flinging the covers back to their bed. Still searching for her phone. She followed him in the room to continue yelling at him. Then he saw her pull her phone from her purse. The one she assured him was not in her bag. It was simply too much.

“I did something bad,” he blurted. Where did that come from? His conscience must have been excited. The yelling stopped. There was a hum in the air like after an old TV turned off and the picture sizzled off screen.

She grinned wickedly. Harry felt his blood ice over. It was like he already knew what she was going to say. “How pathetic. You fucked someone. Good for you Harry. Honestly.”

“What is the matter with you?” He spat back shaking his head. “I—”

“Well, now I don’t have to feel guilty.”

The ear-piercing silence was as if his ear drums exploded. It was painful to process those words.

Harry stared at her, unblinking. Surely, he misheard her. There was no way she was justifying what Harry said to make herself feel better. He heard her wrong. She wouldn’t do that, there had to be a limit. Their relationship, no matter how difficult it was...it had to be the limit, right?

“I didn’t fuck anybody, Ava.” Whether he wanted to sleep with the pretty girl or not, he didn’t. At the end of the day, he didn’t do it. Thinking about it was wrong. Part of him hoped that if it came down to it, he wouldn’t have. He would never know. There was no telling. But right now, that didn’t matter. He hadn’t done something worse. Divine intervention, clarity, the fucking washing machine timer saved him from having sex. “Did you... fuck somebody else?” The question felt like someone had shoved a handful of rocks into his mouth. It was hard to say out loud.

Ava was no longer beautiful. The scowl on her face made her look nasty. Her nose crooked, her lips curled in a snarl. She was a witch. Plain and simple. The silence was telling. Her lack of a response told him everything he needed to know.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he pressed his hands to his eyes. Exasperated, hurt, heartbroken. Everything. Harry felt everything at that moment.

Holy shit. His conscience agreed with his heart.

“Why would you say you did something bad?!” She practically shrieked. “Who gives a shit about a kiss?!”

“Ava, are y’serious!?” He shouted back. His voice felt raw. The tears pricked behind his eyes. This was bad. So, so, so bad. “It ate me alive!”

“It was a kiss!”

“How. How is this my fault, Ava?!” He shouted. She was silent. Harry rarely reached his full yelling potential. Ever. He knew he was loud—maybe even scary in the right light. So he didn’t like to yell that loud if he could help it. It was rude and he didn’t like the person he was when he yelled like that. But right now...he couldn’t help it. “Y’mad at me because I didn’t sleep with someone else? That I only kissed someone? So that y’can justify fucking someone else behind m’back?” More silence. She simply glared at him. But he watched, her eyes welled with tears. Like she had any reason to take the moral high ground. Not that Harry had much higher ground to stand on, but he hadn’t slept with someone else, at the end of it all. “We’re done,” he shook his head.

Her body deflated. “Harry,” she whimpered. Voice breaking on his name like she had been so faithful and loving for their entire life all and all of sudden it was done; broken in seconds. She reached for Harry and he stepped back shaking his head.

“No, Ava. Done. S’been way longer than it should ‘ve been. We don’t like each other anymore. S’obvious t’anyone but us. This is jus’ proof. We’re done.”

She shook her head quickly, her body looked like it was going to crumple under the weight of ending a long relationship. “But...I love you.”

“No... no, you don’t,” he shook his head, his heart pounding. His throat felt like there were knives dragging along the length of his esophagus. “You don’t fuck someone else when you’re in love.”

Is that why you haven’t slept with Ava in months? His heart wondered in the silence of the room save for the sounds of Ava’s pathetic sniffles.

I’m sorry. The little voice in his head was soft-spoken. Shy and apologetic.

“We’re done, Ava. It’s over.”

It took more screaming of course. Harry had rubbed his eyes raw and red. It was nearly one in the morning when Ava finally left the apartment. She would get the rest of her stuff another day. She didn’t apologize once.

Harry, alone with his horrible thoughts and his sadness, was feeling terrible and broken. Maybe he deserved this just for hurting that sweet sunshiny girl. If that was the case, he thought maybe Ava should have been pregnant with someone else to get the right amount of heartache he deserved for hurting that sweet girl.

He didn’t want to ask how long she slept with someone else. He would get himself tested just in case the following morning. But he hoped Ava had enough sense to use protection. He was shaking with anger and heartache.

There was only one thing he knew that would cure him. One person that could fix it.

The knock jolted her awake on her sofa. She glanced at the clock. Who would come here at one in the morning? She checked her phone for messages and there were none—maybe Niall came back to visit? No, he would have said something. He was a terrible secret keeper. Pausing the movie she was watching, she wrapped her blanket around her as she hurried to the door. Peering through the peephole, she frowned, then opened the door.

Harry looked utterly upset. Worse than she had ever seen him. His skin was pale. Even his pretty brown curls lacked life. He looked so...broken.

“Harry,” she whispered softly. She put a hand to her chest. It seemed...sinful for him to look this sad. It wasn’t fair. Even if she wasn’t supposed to love him, she wanted to comfort him. Despite his mishap, he really was quite lovely. “What’s wron—”

“I know... I know I messed up... kissing y’when I shouldn’t ‘ve. I know that... I... I don’t know if I would’ve stopped us...but...she...” he sighed heavily. His voice was scratchy sounding. Like he had a bad cough. She wondered how long they yelled for, the poor thing. She could feel her face fall. She already knew what Harry was going to say. She could see it in his rubbed-red eyes and sullen expression. “She slept with someone else... and I know m’not much better... but... we didn’t... we didn’t do that.”

Her heart broke for him. He was right. She doesn’t know if they would have stopped had Harry not stopped to ask about her picture frame. But they didn’t go further, at the end of it all. They didn’t. Maybe what they did wasn’t right, but it could have been a hell of a lot worse.

How could she break his heart?

Harry thought she looked so cozy, wrapped in a soft blanket and her hair a little messy from how she was sleeping. Her eyes seemed wider somehow, fresh from her slumber. She was adorable and as sad as Harry was, just seeing her nearly made him smile.

“Oh, munchkin,” she whispered.

There was a little flutter in Harry’s tired, broken heart at the sound of the name “munchkin.”

Finally. His heart and conscience were once more in agreement.

general taglist: @justlemmeadoreyou @daydreamingofmatilda @sunshinemoonsposts @youdontcaredoyou @tiredinwinter @loving-hazz @likeapplejuicenpeach @straightontilmornin @freedomfireflies @littlenatilda @kathb59 @babegoals @angel-upon @lilfreakjez @mleestiles @ameliaalvarez06 @canyonmoondreams @summertime-pills @daphnesutton @l4rrysh0use @perfectywrong @foreverxholland @lolyouallsuck @buckybarnessimpp @stylesfever @harrysxcarolina @haarrrys @lovrave @st-ev-ie @pandeebearstyles

Love and Dryer Sheets: @love-letters-to-uranus

I'm sorry if I missed anyone in the taglist. Please let me know if you'd like to join, if it didn't work, if you no longer want to be included, etc. :)

If you like this, check out my masterlist for more of my writing.

#harry #harry styles writing #harry styles fluff #harry styles blurb #harry styles blurbs #harry styles smut #harry styles angst #harry styles imagine #harry styles imagines #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x reader #one direction #one direction writing #love and dryer sheets

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saltydkdan · 1 year ago

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Thoughts on Strohiem? (From Jojo)

It’s… rough. I have OPINIONS ABOUT HIM.

For those unaware, or have forgotten. This particular ask is about the character of Rudol von Stroheim from Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure. A Nazi Major that is introduced in Part 2 of the series. I have always wanted a proper moment to spotlight how much I dislike this character. And not just how I dislike him as a character, but how I dislike his general inclusion in the story as well.

Listen, I LOVE this series. But even I have my limits. It’s because I love it so much that I critique aspects like this in the first place.

Warning, I’m about to word vomit about this because I’ve been DYING to talk about this somewhere.

BIG DISCLAIMER: These are my thoughts and mine alone. I know there’s a lot of… interesting anime fans out there that might disagree. I’m not here to debate on stuff like this, I don’t want to hear your contradictory thoughts on the subject. If I see a single person say I’m “virtue signaling” by saying I don’t like the Jojo Nazi character, I am going to mail you a pipe bomb (in the hit game Minecraft for Windows PCs)

Stroheim’s existence (or at least, how he currently exists in the story) is not handled all that well in my opinion. Like… not at all. I like to poke fun at it, but I genuinely think Araki fumbled the bag so hard with Stroheim and it's more and more unbelievable the more I think about it over time.

No matter how you shake it, Araki fully wrote a historically accurate Nazi character into Battle Tendency and proceeded to give him a redemption arc and make him a member of the supporting cast. Now of course, I know that Japan has a fascination with a lot of German stuff, so within that context I can kind of get why he exists in the way that he does, but it just feels weird and in bad taste.

Contextually, it makes sense. Do I like it? No. No I do not.

To address the elephant in the room, I get it. Araki really loves to write evil villain characters, and then having them be redeemed, or switch over to the hero's side after a certain point. I actually really enjoy this trope especially in Jojo! It’s one of my favorites. Especially how it’s handled in Part 4: Diamond is Unbreakable.

However, writing a redemption storyline for characters like Okuyasu and Rohan is fundamentally different from writing one for Stroheim.

First and most obviously, unlike other characters, Stroheim’s whole character is based on an actual real life totalitarian extremist hate group who committed horrible atrocities across history (and still does to this day).

As if that wasn’t enough, he quite LITERALLY commits horrible atrocities ON SCREEN. Sacrificing an entire room of innocent people to Santana (the first of the Pillar Men) so that the German’s can awaken and study him in their secret lab.

Everything about Stroheim feels like it’s very intentional at the start. He is clearly set as a villain from the beginning, and it works fine. However once he self-immolates and blows himself up to destroy Santana, the story seems to continuously frame him more and more as an ally/hero from that point onward.

After he returns with his cyborg body, the fact that he’s a Nazi suddenly takes a back seat and now he’s continuously just framed as a “patriotic” soldier. Legit, the moment after he shows back up, Joseph internally comments on how he’s “not exactly a bad guy”.

Some people will argue on how it’s a bit more complicated than that, since Joseph also thinks about how he dislikes that he’s a German Soldier. But directly after this, he also states how he’s still happy Stroheim isn’t dead. If anything, from this point onward Joseph acts towards Storheim in a similar way to how he acts towards Caeser. Even if they aren’t best friends, Joseph still has positive feelings towards Stroheim, and I hateeeee that.

In the anime, they even make sure to call him a “German Soldier” and not a Nazi. The avoidance of that word really struck me as them trying to avoid that subject because they knew the way the character was treated was strange.

So anyway, as I was trying to say. Redeeming villain characters is one thing, but redeeming a villain character that is straight up a literal Nazi is something else entirely. Especially when like, not to nitpick, but Stroheim never walks back the more extremist beliefs that he for sure subscribes to.

-And if you’re one of those weirdos who tries to make a point by saying “well, he never outright says what he actually believes in! Maybe he is just fighting for Germany for his own reasons.”

My dude, he’s literally described as a “Patrotic Nazi”. What the fuck do yoU THINK HE BELIEVES IN?

Also as a final addition to this rant, I also don’t quite like how weirdly normalized that Araki makes the existence of “german soldiers” in his story even outside of Stroheim. Nazi’s are weirdly commonplace throughout the plot, and while it contextually makes sense since they kicked off the main conflict, they are almost always weirdly painted as neutral or even straight up good guys (after the Santana fight). Which is just really strange to me.

Like bruh, you mean to tell me that Caeser fucking Zeppeli is casually frieNDS WITH ONE OF THEM? BE FUCKIN FR ARAKI LOL

It also sucks how Stroheim is so increasingly present leading up to the final act. Like MAN, GET THIS MOTHERFUCKER OFF THE SCREEN.

The only good thing about the inclusion of Nazi’s after Stroheim’s initial sacrifice, is that we get to see the Pillar Man murk a shit ton of them on screen. Like, fuck yeah dude. A great way to power scale and show how powerful the Pillar Men are as antagonists, without me feeling bad that they killed a bunch of people to do so.

Anyway, that’s my 2 cents that nobody asked for. I still LOVE Jojo, I think it’s a masterpiece of its genre, but it’s because of my intense love for it that I criticize it’s missteps so heavily. I hope that my wording on this post is done well, I had to re-draft it a second time after accidentally deleting it once, so I have a feeling it’ll come off a bit scrambled.

That being said, thanks for the Ask!

#saltydkdan #salty asks #jojos bizarre adventure #jojo's bizarre adventure #long boys

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a-roguish-gambit · 4 months ago

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Turn of the century au thoughts: mail call

It's occurred to me that after mutants are outed to the world via a newsreel of the whole sentinel fight, and eventually the X-Men's name is cleared via a combo of teddy Roosevelt and a secondary News Reel of them fighting and taking down juggernaut, the X-Men are probably going to get a lot of mail from random places in the country and maybe even all over the world. There's definitely a lot of hate mail because people are awful and Logan, Jean, and the professor are having to make sure nothing dangerous in any of the packages or mail letters there being sent, and ororo is specifically filtering Evan's mail cause she is gonna protect her nephew from any and all assholes personally and track down anyone who sends him so much as a threat. Still it gets absolutely bonkers because at the time people still did do shitposting and trolling they just did it via the mail system. Not only were chain letters a thing but putting your mailing list out for any reason, and there were a lot of reasons to have a public mailing list, was a gamble because you could have random people sending you extremely random letters. People would send randos their stream of consciousness thoughts or pretend to be someone they aren't via mail. The owner of Sears and robucks would frequently get letters from people asking for advice about who they should marry and stuff like that for example.

The institutes address is probably out there for business reasons, and even if it's not totally public it's only a matter of time before people find it or figure it out because the institute is a public address, so yeah there would be lots of very random mail being sent to the X-Men kids malicious or otherwise.

I can see the international kids getting sent letters from people they do not know claiming to be family members trying to make some money off these kids because they assume that because these kids have fame they also have some kind of wealth which is not true at all a lot of them don't and are there because Xavier himself is wealthy and is willing to spend a lot of money on kids who aren't even his, and to them it's very very obvious and they make fun of it all the time.

Roberto got a letter in Spanish and he's laughing at it with Sam and Amara who read it out to him, where the person is claiming to be his long lost uncle from brazil and it's so obvious this person knows nothing about anything, because his whole family speaks Portuguese not Spanish, because, ya know, they are actually from Brazil. Amara notes that the Spanish is incredibly bad as well, so it was probably some random non latin American who wrote this.

Scott keeps getting letters from people telling him he's wasting his talent and what he should actually use his lazer eyes for x thing like they know how his powers work, or telling him how to fix his eyes, one guy is claiming he can cure Scott by waving magnets over his body. Jean is doubled over laughing when Scott reads that one to her. He's just like "if all it took were magnets to fix me I think all the fights with magneto would have done something by now..."

Jean keeps getting preachers telling her she needs to "renounce her satanic ways and turn to God for power," because apparently these people think her psychic abilities are devil magic. She ignores them but Scott keeps writing angry letters back to these people telling them to leave his girl alone.

Kitty keeps getting letters telling her it's improper to phase through walls, and that a young lady like her should be in an etiquette school not a school teaching her to phase through walls. she is absolutely baffled by this. The girls just come to the conclusion that "people will police women on literally anything". She gets a few offers from suffragette groups though too asking for her help, same with jean.

Ororo has been heavily filtering Evan's mail making sure he doesn't end up reading anything from a weirdo or a racist, but he has gotten interesting mail none the less. He got requests for interviews by several black publications for the perspective on being a mutant of African American descent, which has been fun. Some of the other kids are jealous, as he got a letter from W. E. B. Du Bois at one point, and Booker T Washington's widow and Lady principal of the Tuskegee institute, Margaret Washington, sent one about him potentially visiting the campus some time. But those kids are also getting good mail they are just also seeing some of the ridiculous stuff too.

Rogue seems to get two kinds of mail, one is people calling her a witch, and the other is marriage requests of all things. A lot of them claiming they can "fix her" (ew). A lot of men saw the news reels and apparently had gambit's same thought process about her dark looks. Remy is none too happy about these men, but rogue assures him she hasn't the slightest care for any of these men. They munch on the chocolates and other goodies they send her as rogue writes letters back simply saying "1. I have a lover. 2. My touch kills men. Leave me alone."

Kurt gets some of the wildest stuff: People trying to mail him exorcisms, people accusing him of turning their daughters into Satan worshippers because the girls want to meet him, letters from said daughters wanting to run away with him, people thinking he's the anti christ, with some demanding he leave the country and some asking for his orders to command them against the establishment, actual demon worshipers asking for his hand in marriage, A letter from Aleister Crowley himself, people asking if this is the true form of Germans, people asking him to curse their enemies, kids sending him letters telling him to make sure the krampus does not bother anyone this year, and so on and so on and so on. Poor boy is overwhelmed.

#kurt wagner #roguexgambit #gambit x rogue #romy #scott x jean #jean grey #scott summers #turn of the century au #evan daniels #spyke #x men evolution #nightcrawler #kitty pryde #shadowcat #cyclops #roberto de costa #rogue x men #anna marie darkholme #mod talks

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chicgeekgirl89 · 11 months ago

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Festive Friends- Read on AO3

Rating: T

Words: 8600

This one is for @strandnreyes as part of the @tarlos-santa 2023 exchange! I chose the prompt: AU - Carlos and TK unknowingly have each other for the office secret santa exchange. Up to you if they’re pining idiots, “enemies”, secretly dating, or anything else! Hope you enjoy and have the most festive of holidays!

“Good morning Mr. Reyes.”

Carlos looks up to find the office intern, Mateo, standing cheerily next to his desk, a stack of envelopes in his hand. “Good morning Mateo. And again, you can call me Carlos. Mr. Reyes really isn’t necessary.”

“Sorry Mr. Reyes, I’m just not really used to being like, a real adult yet I guess,” Mateo says sheepishly.

Carlos keeps a chuckle to himself and doesn’t admonish the kid again. “I understand. Whatever you feel comfortable with is fine.”

“Cool. Thanks Mr. Reyes. I brought your mail over for you.”

“Thank you,” Carlos says, accepting the stack from him.

“Can I get you anything? A coffee? Oh! I think Mr. Strand has some new kind of energizing smoothie or something in the break room. Although, it looked kinda gross to me,” Mateo says.

The thought of that smoothie sends a shiver down Carlos’ spine. He hasn’t known Owen Strand for very long, but his health nut tendencies have quickly become too much for Carlos’ taste. “No, that’s okay. I don’t need anything right now. Besides, your job here is to learn about the business, not fetch everyone’s coffee.”

“Right. Yes. Learning. I love learning all the things. Hey, are you coming to the office tree lighting on Friday afternoon? I heard they’re gonna have those little pigs in a blanket.”

Carlos’ eyes dart back to his screen and the half finished email staring at him. “Um, yeah. I’ll be there for a little bit.”

“Awesome!” Mateo seems genuinely thrilled and Carlos once again has to bite back an amused smile. The kid is ninety nine parts enthusiasm and one part overly helpful. “Well I’ll let you get back to it. Lots of…what exactly does HR do?”

“Emails,” Carlos says. “Lots of emails.”

“Right. Sounds fun. Good luck with that!”

Mateo sends him a parting wave and then disappears around the side of his cubicle.

Things have been absolutely crazy at PD and Sons since they merged with 126 Designs a few months ago. Owen Strand had been brought in to manage the merger and insisted on hiring a significant number of new staff. Onboarding the new hires like Mateo has been a ton of work, especially since Owen insisted on being extremely involved in the entire process. Carlos has been in non-stop meetings for weeks and today is the first day he hasn’t felt completely overwhelmed in forever.

He flips through the stack of mail, tossing a few random flyers in the recycling, and setting aside the important envelopes to open later. He wrinkles his forehead when he finds a folded up piece of red paper at the bottom of the stack. When he opens it his eyes immediately widen in horror.

What. The. Hell?

“Lexi.” He stands up and looks down into the cubicle next to him where his work wife is busy with some kind of design project. “Why did I just get a paper telling me who my Secret Santa is this year?”

“I signed you up because I knew you wouldn’t do it otherwise. It’s the season of giving and part of that means giving up your Grinchy ways and pretending like you’re interested in getting to know all the new people in the office,” Lexi says without looking up at him.

His jaw drops. “Okay, first of all, I’m not uninterested in getting to know them. I just haven’t had time to get to know them. And secondly, I hate Secret Santa. Nobody ever really knows what to get you, so you end up with all this random crap and candy that you don’t want and it all sits in a drawer for three or four years until finally you throw it out.”

She finally stops and turns to look at him. “Wow. Okay Uncle Scrooge. First of all,” she echoes him, “it’s not Secret Santa, it’s Festive Friends. Not everybody celebrates Christmas. Get your terminology right. And secondly, it’s not about getting good gifts, it’s about spreading joy for the holiday season. So take the Christmas tree out of your ass and start fa la la-ing with the rest of us.”

“Lexi,” he grinds out her name between his teeth and quickly glances around to make sure no one is in earshot. “I got T.K.”

Lexi is the only one in the office who knows what an incredible disaster meeting T.K. Strand has been for his life. A week after the PD Austin and 126 Designs merger the entire office had gone out for drinks. One thing led to another, which led to another, and ultimately ended up with T.K. very naked in Carlos’ bed.

They’d been incredibly hot and incredibly heavy for a couple weeks after that, sneaking around together, making out in the supply closet, booty calling each other in the dead of night, and Carlos had been so ridiculously happy. T.K. Strand had turned him into a horny freaking teenager.

And then he’d made the mistake of surprising T.K. with dinner. He’d thought it would be romantic. That it might move them from booty call status into something a little bit more permanent.

But T.K. had freaked out, stormed out, and shut Carlos out of his life. Thank god his cubicle is all the way around the corner on the other side of the building. They barely have to see each other except for the occasional awkward brush in the break room or men’s room.

Carlos’ heart has been more broken than he’d like to let on, not to mention his ego is bruised too. The whole thing has made getting to know the other people from 126 Designs like Marjan, Paul, Nancy, and Judd very awkward.. They’re T.K.’s friends. And he doesn’t want to piss T.K. off anymore than he already has.

Of course he has to interact with T.K.’s father, Owen Strand, he is the manager after all, but other than that he’s kept everyone else at an extremely polite and professional distance.

So finding T.K.’s name in his hands is like a punch in the gut.

“Good,” Lexi says, surprising him. “You’ve been pining for him for weeks anyway. Might as well do something about it.”

“Lexi, this guy hates my guts,” Carlos says. “He doesn’t want presents from me.”

“I’m sure he doesn’t hate you. You’re Carlos Reyes. No one hates you.”

“Please switch with me.”

“No.”

“Lexi!”

“No! I got Paul. I already have ideas. I’m not switching. It’s only three gifts, you’ll be fine.”

“Three?! I thought Secret Santa was only one gift!”

“God, do you even read your email? It’s three gifts in the week leading up to the holiday break. This will be good for you. Now go away. I’m working.”

Carlos sinks back down into his chair, misery settling in his stomach. This is going to be absolute torture.

He takes another look at T.K.’s scrawl. His writing looks hurried in a way that suggests he’s so excited that he can’t be bothered to slow down and shape his letters more carefully. It has that same kind of frenetic, joyful energy that drew Carlos to him in the first place. Now the only energy he exudes toward Carlos is coldness.

Carlos catches himself tracing his fingers over the letters of T.K.’s name and balls them into a fist before forcing himself to read T.K.’s answers to the Festive Friends questionnaire. T.K. has written down that he likes sour candy, Harry Styles, boba, and interesting tea flavors. He doesn’t like black licorice, the Mets, or anything with alcohol.

Carlos frowns at that. He doesn’t remember T.K. mentioning anything about alcohol during their weeks together. But then again, they didn’t exactly spend much time talking. Their mouths had been occupied with other things.

It feels unfair to have this scrap of T.K., to get this little glimpse into his life. These are things he doesn’t want Carlos to know. He made that clear when he stormed out the door of Carlos’ condo and left nothing behind except Carlos’ fractured heart.

He takes a breath and squares his shoulders. It’s just a stupid office tradition. They’re colleagues. They’re going to have to become cordial at some point. Maybe this is how he can start to smooth things over. Besides, it’s not like he has to talk to the guy. That’s literally the point. To keep it secret.

This is going to be fine.

It is not fine. It’s not fine because Carlos is the type of person that agonizes over gifts. And in this case, there’s even more pressure because the gifts have to be perfectly impersonal so they don’t say, “Your dick was life changing and I don’t think I’m ever going to recover because now you hate me and I don’t really know why.” He’d much rather they say, “I’m fine and I don’t ever think about you and that thing you did with your tongue that one time.”

Ugh.

He arrives Monday morning the week before Christmas with a gift bag in hand, a Yankees baseball cap tucked inside. It’s a lame gift. Perfectly impersonal. And the rest of his gifts for the week aren’t much better. There’s a small part of him berating himself for not doing a better job. He could at least try. The guy broke up with him, he didn’t murder anyone.

But then he remembers how miserable he was in the days after T.K. had stormed out. Whatever. He didn’t sign up for this anyway. T.K. deserves his boring gifts.

The office is quiet as he makes his way to T.K.’s cubicle. Even just the sight of his desk makes Carlos’ heart ache a little. There’s a picture pinned to his bulletin board of T.K. with their other co-workers, Marjan, Paul, Judd, Mateo, Nancy, and Tommy all smiling and having fun, clearly out for a night on the town together. He’d known 126Designs was small and that was part of the reason for the acquisition; to bring on a tightly knit team to help their own, but seeing T.K. so happy with them all doesn’t really feel great.

He’s been so preoccupied by his own shopping that he completely forgot that he is also getting gifts until he steps into his cubicle and sees a bright green bag with little white Christmas trees all over it. He inspects it carefully, relieved to find there’s no glitter anywhere.

He hates glitter.

There’s a little card attached to the handle and when he opens it it reads “Hope you have a Write Christmas- FF.” It takes him a second to figure out that FF must mean Festive Friend.

He carefully extracts the tissue paper and looks into the bag. It’s office supplies. Pens, post-its, a new stapler, blue paperclips, and a ball of rubber bands.

The pun on the card makes sense, even if it is as terribly lame as the gifts inside. At least it’s practical. He can always use new pens.

“Hey!” Lexi pokes her head in. “Ooh what’d you get?”

He shows her the bag and she nods in approval. “Your Festive Friend knows you like office supplies. Nice.”

“If you’re expecting a thank you for going behind my back on this, you’re going to be waiting a long time,” Carlos tells her as he sits down and opens up his laptop.

“Pretty sure people with that attitude get coal in their stocking,” she tells him, flipping him off before heading to her own cubicle.

It’s midway through the morning and Carlos is about to make yet another phone call when Owen Strand steps into the middle of the bullpen. “All right, attention everyone!” he calls.

The ambient sound of typing and low chatter ceases. “Thank you,” he says. “I just wanted to remind everyone that we have our first team building activity this afternoon. So if you have anything scheduled this is your last chance to rearrange. Mandatory fun is in store for all!”

Carlos bites back a groan. He is really not into mandatory office fun. Especially when it means he’ll be in close proximity to T.K. But he’s also not one to flaunt the rules, so he’s going to have to suck it up and deal.

No one has been allowed in the conference room all morning and when one o’clock rolls around Owen waits at the door with a massive grin on his face. The man is clearly thrilled with whatever he’s cooked up to torture them today.

When Carlos walks through the door he sees why. The tables have been covered in red plastic tablecloths and every two feet or so sits a pile of materials like graham crackers, marshmallows, frosting, and candy. It’s immediately obvious how they will be team building today.

“All right everyone!” Owen says when they’re all assembled. “As you can probably guess our team building activity for today has taken a turn for the festive. And I’ve taken the liberty of assigning you all a partner to work with. Each team will be assembling a pre-determined part of our gingerbread village. Paul, you’re with Marjan.”

They immediately turn and high five, clearly thrilled.

“Nancy with Lexi, Judd with Tommy, Mateo with me,” Owen flashes him a smile and Mateo lets out a whoop.

Carlos’ stomach drops. That leaves him with—“T.K., you’ll be with Carlos.”

Fuck.

“Send one person to grab your pre-assigned building assignment! Remember this is not a competition. We’re all working together to build our village. Just like it takes a village to run a company.”

There’s a brief silence in which everyone internalizes what a dumb, schticky thing Owen has just said and then he claps his hands. “Okay, get to work!”

Everyone claims a spot around the tables. Carlos takes a paper slip from Owen and then looks around to find T.K., who is sitting across the room with his back to Carlos.

Carlos reluctantly walks over and sits in the empty seat next to him, all the while wondering if he can fake sick or claim a family emergency to get out of this. When he finally looks up at his partner he recoils in shock. T.K.’s lip is split and swollen, and there’s a dark ring of bruising underneath his right eye. “What happened to you?” Carlos asks, a surprised reflex releasing the words from his mouth before he can stop them.

The look T.K. sends him immediately reminds him that they’re not friends anymore. It’s full of vitriol and misery and…Carlos looks a little closer. Pain. There’s a rawness there that Carlos doesn’t remember seeing before.

“Sorry,” he says. “I just…that looks like it hurts.”

“Doesn’t feel great,” T.K. agrees, his voice stiff. “What are we supposed to be making?”

Carlos looks at the paper. “Police station.”

“Perfect. Way to read the room Dad. ACAB and all that,” T.K. grouses as he reaches for a pile of graham crackers and immediately begins squeezing icing all over.

“Um,” Carlos hems and T.K. stops.

“What?”

“Don’t you think maybe we should make a plan first?”

T.K. sighs and dramatically drops his piping bag onto the table. “Fine. Do whatever you want.”

“No I—I didn’t mean—” Carlos struggles to find the right words. “It’s fine. Let’s just try and get something standing first. That’s the hardest part anyway.”

They spend a couple minutes in silence gluing graham crackers together with icing and using some marshmallows to prop them up until they have something that roughly resembles walls and a roof. “You’re kind of good at this,” T.K. says.

It’s the closest thing to niceties that they’ve shared in weeks.

“I have a lot of nieces and nephews. Not my first gingerbread house. Although it is my first police station,” Carlos admits.

“Cool,” T.K. says, then winces, his lip clearly hurting.

“You sure you don’t want to tell me what happened?” Carlos asks, feeling a little emboldened by T.K.’s compliment.

T.K. shoots him a glare. “You’re kind of annoying. You know that?”

“So I’ve been told,” Carlos says, trying to let the jab roll off his back. “But I know you’re new around here and you’ve obviously gotten into some trouble. Sometimes it helps to talk things out.”

He gets silence in return. God what the hell is wrong with this guy? He’s literally just trying to help. “Fine. You don’t have to tell me. But you should probably tell someone before whoever gave you that shiner comes back to give you a matching set.”

T.K. goes quiet, fiddling with the icing bag in his hand. When he speaks his voice is soft.“I went to a bar last night.”

“Ah. A little drunk and disorderly,” Carlos says, aware that he’s being snarky and not caring in the least. “So you have an idea of how the inside of this police station should look then.”

“I wasn’t drunk,” T.K. says quickly and Carlos remembers his Festive Friends answers. He looks down. “I just went through a really bad break up. Like nuclear bad. And then I relapsed.” He looks around and lowers his voice. “I relapsed with substances.”

Oh.

Carlos sets down the graham cracker in his hands, his full attention now on T.K. as memory slices through him. “I tried to pour us champagne during dinner. I’m such an idiot I’m sorry—“

“It’s fine, ” T.K. cuts him off quickly, like if he gets interrupted now he won’t ever be able to find the strength to share this again. He fiddles with the peppermint wrapper in his hands. “Ever since I’ve gotten here it’s just…it’s grey. And I just feel numb all the time. So I went out to a bar looking for trouble. And I found it. Big time. I guess I just…I wanted to feel something.”

He’s pulled in on himself, his body looking vulnerable and wounded. Carlos gets it now. The overenthusiastic sex. His no-strings attached mentality. The complete meltdown during dinner. This is a man who has been hurt, and he’s struggling to find a way to heal. Carlos had unknowingly probed at the wound in his soul and T.K. had lashed out. It makes sense, even if it wasn’t fair.

T.K. looks miserable and despite their history all Carlos wants to do is make him feel better. “Judging by that lip, I’d say mission accomplished,” he says, trying to lighten the moment.

“You’re really busting my balls right now?” T.K. asks, an unreadable expression on his face.

“No,” Carlos says. “I’m busting your jingle bells.” He tries and fails to hold back a smile at his incredibly stupid joke.

T.K. blinks at him. “That’s terrible,” he says, but he is also struggling to keep his face neutral.

“And yet you’re smiling,” Carlos says. He feels lighter, like there’s been an ominous blizzard hanging over him in the weeks since they stopped seeing each other. Now it feels like the snow has finally started to fall and all the ugliness of the bare world in winter is being covered in a fresh layer of soft white powder. There’s a sense of hope to it.

“I’m laughing at how stupid it is,” T.K. says.

“Well laugh while you work,” Carlos says, reaching for a bar of Hershey’s chocolate to put on the roof. “I know your dad said it wasn’t a competition, but Marjan and Paul seem to be working on a second story. So I’m not sure they know that.”

Together they finish the roof, adding on lots of dripping icing as snow and icicles. Carlos carefully starts to add windows while T.K. works on the landscaping.

“Tommy I don’t know why you’re trying to make me do these little details when you know I’ve got fat fingers,” Judd is saying across the way as he and Tommy try to add a steeple to their church.

Marjan and Paul’s apartment building does indeed have two stories and they’ve somehow managed to chisel out actual windows in the graham crackers. Lexi and Nancy are creating a ski chalet that includes a chairlift, and Owen and Mateo’s fire station sports a fire pole made of pretzel rods.

“There,” T.K. says, plonking a creation down in front of where Carlos has crafted a front door out of Kit Kats.

Carlos raises an eyebrow. “What is that?”

“A snowman.”

Ah. Now Carlos sees it. There are two marshmallows stacked on top of each other and T.K. has shoved pretzel sticks in each side for arms. There is a lifesaver on each one and they’re connected by a thread of Twizzler. “What’s on its arms?” he asks.

“Handcuffs,” T.K. says.

“The snowman is getting arrested?”

“Or getting ready to do something kinky.”

“In front of a police station?”

“Some people get off on a little exhibitionism. Don’t judge Carlos,” T.K. says, a smirk on his face.

Damn it. They should have stayed mortal enemies. Now that they’re talking again, Carlos feels the urge to drag T.K. into the nearest cubicle and kiss the shit out of him. He didn’t need to go to a bar to find trouble. He could have shown up on Carlos’ doorstep and gotten into plenty.

Carlos’ attempt at a police cruiser has them both laughing; the oreo wheels keep falling off the rice krispie body (which T.K. snuck out and stole from the break room and has loudly been declared illegal by half the staff in the room) no matter how much icing he uses to try and stick them on.

“Stop eating our building materials,” Carlos admonishes a few minutes later when he goes for another red gum drop and finds they’re nearly gone.

“Why? They’re delicious. Tis the season for sugar,” T.K. says.

Carlos goes to give him a look and notices a dab of frosting on the corner of his mouth. “You’ve got some—“ He mimes brushing it away.

T.K. grabs a tissue and wipes, but misses completely. “No other side,” Carlos directs without success. “Here just, let me.”

He swipes the tissue from T.K.’s hand and dabs carefully, taking care not to pull on T.K.’s split lip. Their eyes meet and a heat passes between them, setting Carlos’ bones on fire. He clears his throat. “Got it.”

“Thanks,” T.K. says quietly.

They spend another half hour decorating before Owen makes them put all the buildings together into a little town while he snaps a picture for the company social media accounts. It’s actually pretty adorable once assembled and Carlos goes home that night strangely optimistic about what the rest of the week has in store.

Tuesday is business as usual and by the time Wednesday morning rolls around Carlos finds himself excitedly driving into work, his gift for T.K. in the passenger seat. He’s scrapped all his other gifts and spent the last two days looking for better items. Last night he visited a local tea shop and probably went a little overboard. They’d definitely upsold him on a few things and he’d let it happen because Monday’s gingerbread decorating had put a kernel of hope in his chest and…it can’t hurt to make sure T.K. likes his gifts, right?

He drops off T.K.’s gift bag and is only mildly disappointed when he walks into his own cubicle to find his desk is empty. It doesn’t matter; at least, that’s what he tells himself. Honestly, he’s not surprised. People are terrible at doing Secret Santa, it’s very likely that his person has forgotten him in the hustle and bustle of the holiday season.

He heads to his desk and gets right to work because they’re all heading out early to help with a toy drive at the local fire station; another of Owen’s brilliant ideas to encourage office camaraderie. It means he has a lot more to take care of than usual to try and make up for the lost time, and by mid-morning he’s in desperate need of a second coffee.

He’s about to get up and make one when his phone rings. It’s Ernie, their security guard from downstairs informing him that there’s a delivery waiting for him. Confused but intrigued Carlos heads for the elevator.

“Hey Ernie, all set for the holidays?” he asks when he reaches the desk on the ground floor.

“Just about. Got a couple more things to pick up today, but then I should be good to go,” Ernie tells him. He nods toward a bag and a coffee cup on the desk. “That’s for you.”

“Thanks.”

Carlos picks up the white paper sack and has to hold back a snort when he sees what’s written on the side. Hope the holidays don’t make you “cronuts”- FF. He peeks inside and inhales the scent of cronuts from Twiggy’s. Cronuts are a massive weakness of his, and a sip of the coffee tells him it’s made just to his specifications, a little bit of cream, no sugar. Whoever his Festive Friend is, they know him well. His suspicions are definitely leaning more and more toward Lexi.

He gets back in the elevator and when he steps off he nearly runs over T.K. “Whoa, sorry,” he says, holding up the coffee so it doesn’t spill all over T.K.’s chest.

“Lunch?” T.K. asks, nodding toward the bag.

“A snack from my ‘Festive Friend,’” he says. “Cronuts from the Twiggy’s.”

“That place is great. Enjoy,” T.K. says.

“Do you want one?” The words are out of his mouth before he can stop himself. God he’s needy. “I um, I got two and I can’t eat both. They’re really only good fresh, it’s not like I can save one—“

“Sure.” T.K. thankfully interrupts his ramble and the affirmative response sends a jolt of electricity through him.

They step into the break room and T.K. boils some hot water for tea before settling down across from Carlos at one of the high top tables, a kitschy little vase of fake flowers between them.

Carlos pulls out the cronuts and puts each one on a paper plate. They’re decorated for the season as little Santa bellies, and hopefully they’re as delicious as he remembers. He slides one toward T.K. before picking up his own and taking a massive bite. He has to hold back a groan. They’re freaking amazing.

When he looks up he finds T.K. staring at him with an amused smirk on his face. “Sorry,” Carlos says, feeling his cheeks heat. “I um, these are my favorite.”

“So I can see,” T.K. says, the smirk widening a little. “The last time I saw that look we were both way more naked.”

Carlos feels his entire face go red at the reminder. He finishes chewing his bite, trying not to let memories of said naked time take over his brain. “So your dad,” he says. “He’s really into the holidays huh? We’ve never had so many festive office events.”

“Yeah my dad doesn’t really do anything by half measures,” T.K. says. “I think he might be overcompensating on the holiday cheer a little bit this year. The move down here was kind of a lot and I haven’t exactly been a bundle of joy lately, so he’s trying to fix it with cocoa and faux Christmas wreaths.”

Carlos takes another bite and thinks carefully about his next move. This new dynamic between them still feels tenuous, and he doesn’t want to fracture it. But at the same time, he can see the unfiltered hurt in T.K.’s eyes and he longs to help bear the weight of it. “You mentioned a breakup the other day,” he says quietly. “Is that part of why you came?”

T.K. blows out a breath and looks down at his cronut. “It’s the whole reason we came.”

Carlos watches as he wrestles internally and he’s just about to say that T.K. doesn’t have to tell him anything, when T.K. starts to speak again. “I had a boyfriend, in New York. Alex. We were together for like…I don’t know, a year I guess? He was the first boyfriend I’d had since getting sober and I wanted it to work so badly. Like this relationship was proof I finally had my shit together, you know?”

Carlos nods.

“I had this plan, I was going to propose to him. Had a ring, a restaurant, the whole thing. I was basically down on one knee and he—he told me he’d been cheating on me. With his spin instructor.”

Something hot and violent shoots through Carlos. “That motherfucker,” he says, before he can stop himself.

T.K. looks up in surprise and lets out a startled laugh.

“Sorry,” Carlos says. “That’s just…wow what an asshole.”

“Yeah he definitely was,” T.K. says, looking a little more relaxed now, as if Carlos’ angered sympathy has put him more at ease. “For a long time I think. I can look back on it now and see little moments. We only ever went where he wanted to go for dinner. He was always busy when I asked him to meet my friends. There was stuff I was overlooking because I was trying to prove to everyone else that I was stable.”

“I get that,” Carlos says.

T.K. shifts a little. “I went home after that, found a bottle of pills and…took them until I couldn’t feel anymore. My dad had to bust down the door to save my life.” He shrugs. “And that’s how we ended up here. He knew I needed to get away, so he took me as far as he could get.”

He looks up at Carlos. “I’m doing better now. Well, kind of.” He indicates his black eye. “But that’s why I freaked out on you that night. It wasn’t the champagne or anything you did. You were—you were so kind to me Carlos. I just wasn’t ready for it. And I’m really sorry that I walked out on you.”

The urge to reach over and touch him, to hold his hands and soothe away the hurt that’s painted into the lines of his forehead is overwhelming. But he’s not sure T.K. would be into that so he grips his own thighs instead. “Thank you for telling me,” he says. “That all sounds really difficult. I’m sorry I ambushed you. And I’m sorry I wasn’t more understanding when I realized you were uncomfortable. I think um, I think my ego took a little bit of a hit,” he says sheepishly.

“Oh you think Mr. ‘I Know It Doesn’t Look Like a Lot of Work’?” T.K. asks with a grin.

“Hey, that fish took me like three hours to make,” Carlos teases. “You missed out.”

T.K. sobers a little and fiddles with his cronut again. “I think I missed out on a lot.”

Carlos opens his mouth to offer a response, but Lexi pokes her head into the break room. “Carlos, your phone is ringing off the hook.”

“Coming,” he says, sliding off the stool and picking up his plate with the last couple bites of cronut on it. “Are you going to the toy drive this afternoon?”

“Boss dad said be there so yeah, I’m going,” T.K. says. “Thanks for the cronut.”

“You’re welcome,” Carlos says and then hustles back to his cubicle, where his phone is indeed ringing off the hook. He shoves the last bite of cronut into his mouth as he sits down, chewing furiously before he picks up. “This is Carlos.”

An HR crisis means Carlos is the last one to leave the office and arrive at the fire station’s toy drive. He looks for T.K. as soon as he gets there, but Lexi pulls him over to a table where they’re taking donations for one of the local food pantries.

“So,” Lexi says as they fill boxes with canned beans and stuffing mix and mac and cheese, “looks like someone’s back on Carlos Reyes’ nice list. Although with the way you were looking at him, seems more like you’d prefer he stay on the naughty list.”

“Lexi!” Carlos hisses, looking around. “There are kids here!”

“Oh they can’t hear me,” she scoffs, handing him a bag of flour. “They’re all at the make-an-ornament station.”

Carlos looks over and finds T.K. hunkered down by that very table, laughing and smiling as he helps a couple kids glue pompoms and sequins to colored paper. It’s adorable and Carlos’ heart melts a little at the sight.

“See? That look right there. You’ve got it bad. You want him to jingle your ba—“

“I’m going to remind you that I’m your HR rep and you probably shouldn’t finish that sentence,” he says quickly.

“Fine.” She rolls her eyes. “But you two did look pretty cozy in the break room earlier. The great branzino war is over I take it?”

“Yeah we had a good talk,” Carlos says.

She clears her throat. “You can say thank you anytime now you know.”

He furrows his brow. “For what?”

“For making you do Festive Friends and fixing your broken heart.”

“My heart was not broken,” he scoffs.

“You have been acting like you’re in the last ten minutes of a Hallmark movie for weeks. Time to finally realize you’re in love and kiss under the mistletoe,” Lexi tells him.

“Just because we’re friendly now doesn’t mean we’re going to kiss.”

“Okay. Sure. Believe whatever you want.”

There’s a massive influx then from a church group and thankfully the matter is dropped for the rest of the night.

On Friday Carlos stops at home to change his clothes before heading to a local bar for their holiday party and the big Festive Friends reveal. He puts on a pair of dark jeans and winces when he pulls on the ugly sweater that Owen insisted they all wear. As far as they go, his is pretty tame, albeit with a bit more sparkle and pizazz than he usually goes for. It says Feliz Navidad in tinseled letters with some primary colored pom poms decorating the rest for good measure. It had been part of a family white elephant a few years ago and has sat in the back of his closet since for good reason.

He gabs the box he wrapped up for T.K. on the way out the door. It’s nearly as brightly colored as his sweater. Generally he tries for a more sedate theme in wrapped gifts, but T.K. is so vivacious and colorful that he broke into the stash of wrapping paper he usually saves for his nieces and nephews.

He’s nervous as he drives and he can’t quite put his finger on why. Is it because he wants T.K. to like his gift? Because things between him and T.K. have shifted in a more positive direction and his stupid heart can’t quite stop believing that tonight might be like that first night at the honky tonk? Is it because he feels very stupid in this sweater and he really hopes everyone else obeyed Owen’s instructions from the email invite?

Probably all of it.

Ah well. At least if things don’t go well there will be liquor around to help drown his sorrows.

There’s immediate relief when he walks in through the doors of the bar and sees holiday themed knit-ware all over. “Hey Carlos, glad you came,” Owen says, greeting him at the door in a sweater with a massive reindeer head on the front.

“Mr. Strand,” Carlos says, giving him a nod.

“Carlos we’ve been over this. You can call me Owen,” Owen says, a tinge of good natured exasperation in his tone.

“Yes, right, sorry” Carlos says, embarrassed. Didn’t he just chide Mateo for the same thing last week? Somehow this seems different. And definitely a weird way to address the man who fathered his most recent hookup.

“Go ahead and grab a drink, there’s hors d’oeuvres, I highly recommended the stuffed mushrooms, and then when the time feels right make sure you deliver your gift to your Festive Friend,” Owen says brightly. Then he leans close. “I got Judd a new belt. Italian leather, handcrafted, this thing is a masterpiece. He is gonna love it!”

“I’m sure he will,” Carlos agrees.

“Oh! Nancy! Come on in!” Owen gives Carlos a pat on the shoulder and moves past him to greet her.

Carlos says hello to Judd and his wife Grace, his eyes searching the room and finally landing on T.K. who is standing at the bar chatting with Mateo. Carlos’ heart flutters at the sight of him even as he tries to figure out what the heck is knitted on the back of his sweater. It appears to be a long, yellow tail, but that can’t possibly be right, can it? He takes a breath and then abruptly loses courage and goes to find Lexi instead. “Nice earrings,” he says when he gets to her table.

“Thanks,” she says, pushing her hair back so he can see them better. “They’re from my ‘Festive Friend’ Marjan.”

“Great,” Carlos says as he grabs a chip from a bowl on the table. “Did you give Paul your gift?”

“Yes, he is thrilled with the crime novels I got him. He hasn’t read that author yet so hopefully he likes them.” She gives him a look. “Why do you still have T.K.’s?”

“I haven’t seen him yet,” Carlos says defensively.

“You mean you saw him and you’re too chicken to go over there because you’re having feelings and don’t know what to do with them,” she says bluntly. “Are you going to ask him out when you give it to him?”

“I—I don’t know,” Carlos says. “That seems pushy.”

“You two were practically making out in that break room.”

“We were literally sitting three feet apart,” Carlos says dryly.

“Fine. You were emotionally making out.”

He wrinkles his nose. “That’s not a thing.”

“I think you should ask him. It’s Christmas. The season of miracles. And wishes. And Santa shit. This is your chance!” she says enthusiastically.

“How much have you had to drink?” he asks.

She scoffs. “This isn’t drunkeness. It’s my Christmas wish that you grow a pair and ask T.K. out.”

“That is a terrible wish,” Carlos says.

“Well it is what it is. You wouldn’t want to break a girl’s heart at Christmas would you?”

He opens his mouth to respond but Paul calls Lexi’s name and beckons her toward him. “That’s my cue,” she says, hopping off her bar stool. “Gonna go kick Paul’s ass at darts. Good luck!”

And with that she’s gone, leaving Carlos alone with his feelings and his gift box. He stares at it for a moment and gives himself a stern pep talk. It’s a gift. Not a marriage proposal. If T.K. hates it, it’s whatever.

“Hey Carlos.”

He’s waited too long. He looks up to find T.K. standing on the other side of the table, a smile on his face. Carlos can now see the front of his sweater. Some kind of lizard smiles at him, clearly the front end of the tail he spotted before. Above it are the words “Merry Crickets.” It is truly the most hideous thing he’s ever laid eyes on, but somehow T.K. makes it look adorable.

“Hey,” he replies..

Excellent. Great. He’s crushing this.

“Nice sweater,” T.K. says, taking a sip of the drink in his hand.

“Thanks. This is some party. Your dad is quite the host.”

T.K. rolls his eyes, but there’s a fondness to it. “Just be grateful I talked him out of chartering a party bus. And roller skating.”

“Your dad thought our holiday party should be at a roller rink?”

“He was going with an 80’s holiday theme at first,” T.K. says. “It took a lot of bargaining to get him down to ugly sweater instead. I think he was an event planner in a former life.”

“He definitely has a flair for it,” Carlos agrees. He looks down at the present in front of him. He should have gotten a drink before doing this. “So um, actually, I’m your Festive Friend. Surprise. This is for you.”

He slides it across the table and T.K.’s eyes immediately light up. “Can I open it now?” he asks eagerly.

He looks like a kid on Christmas morning and it’s so endearing that Carlos can barely breathe. “Yeah, yes, it’s all yours.”

T.K. pulls off the bow and rips open the paper, lifting out the soft yellow sweatshirt inside. He doesn’t say anything for a moment and Carlos feels a flutter of nerves. “It’s—“

“The sweatshirt Harry Styles wore in New York last summer,” T.K. says. His tone is almost reverent, his thumbs moving back and forth to stroke the material. “Oh my god. I have Harry Styles’ sweatshirt.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s not the exact one he wore,” Carlos says, feeling sheepish. “But I know you like him and hoodies so it seemed right.”

“It must have taken forever for you to find this,” T.K. says.

“Oh, no, it was…it was no big deal,” Carlos says, omitting the entire night he spent on instagram combing through Harry’s outfits of the last few years and trying to find them for sale.

“Thank you Carlos,” T.K. says, sincere gratitude in his voice. “This is amazing. All your gifts were amazing.”

“I mean, that hat was kind of lame,” Carlos says, still embarrassed that he bought something so generic.

“No it’s great! I’m going to wear it the next time I go to an Astros game,” T.K. says, a twinkle of mischief in his eye.

Carlos chuckles. “Yeah good luck with that.”

“Did you get your last gift yet?” T.K. asks casually.

Carlos shakes his head. “Not yet.”

“Any guesses who it might be?”

He has no idea. There’s no one in the office that knows him well enough to send him cronuts besides Lexi and he knows she had Paul. “No,” he says. “Usually I’m pretty good at figuring this kind of thing out, but everyone in the office is so new I haven’t really been able to get a read on anyone.”

“Marjan?”

“She had Lexi.”

“Paul?”

Carlos looks around until he finds him standing in a corner next to a Christmas tree, laughing at something Lexi just said. “I don’t think so. He’s from Chicago, I doubt he would know about Twiggy’s.”

“Judd?”

“Something tells me he wouldn’t know about cronuts either,” Carlos says with a laugh. “I feel like it has to be someone who knows me pretty well, but Lexi is the only one—“

His eyes land on T.K.’s face and he knows. He can see it in his eyes and he feels stupid he didn’t realize it before when T.K. used that false casual tone. “You?” he asks in surprise. “You’re my Festive Friend?”

T.K. reaches into his back pocket and pulls out an envelope. “Merry Christmas,” he says as he hands it to Carlos.

Still in a little bit of shock Carlos carefully lifts the flap on the envelope to reveal a printed out email inside. “A cooking class?” he asks, looking up to search T.K.’s eyes.

T.K. nods, a flicker of nerves flashing over his face. “It’s bruschetta, pasta, and a dessert. A husband and wife team run it out of their home. I thought, I mean you obviously know how to cook, but I thought it might be fun.”

“It sounds amazing,” Carlos says genuinely. He’s always wanted to try his hand at homemade pasta.

T.K. nods and takes a breath. “I um, I got you two tickets. You can take whoever you want, but I—“ He runs his hands nervously over his jeans. “I know I fucked things up between us, so I was hoping that maybe this could be kind of a do-over for us. If you want?”

“Yes,” Carlos says immediately. It’s embarrassingly fast and absolutely gives away how badly he wants them to try again, but he doesn’t care. “Yes I would love a do-over.”

“Yeah?” T.K. asks, his eyes full of hope.

“Yeah,” Carlos says. A smile plays on his lips and he’s about to thank T.K. for his other gifts when something occurs to him. “You little shit!” he says incredulously. “You bought me those cronuts and then sat there and ate one like you had no clue who’d given them to me!”

T.K. sends him a wicked smile. “I was counting on your holiday generosity,” he says.

“How did you even know about that bakery?” Carlos asks.

“You mentioned it,” T.K. says. “I don’t know, it was the second or third time we hooked up. I saw a flyer for them on your fridge and you told me how good they were.”

“You remember that?” Carlos asks in surprise. After their blowup he’d convinced himself that he was just a warm body for T.K. to be with, another notch in his bedpost who’d meant nothing to him.

T.K. looks at him, his face serious. “I remember all of it Carlos.”

The words make his heart swell and he hysterically wonders if this is how the Grinch felt when he heard the Who’s singing on Christmas. “I remember too,” he says. “It was incredible.”

“That first night, in the honky tonk. Best bathroom hookup of my life,” T.K. tells him.

“Only bathroom hookup of my life,” Carlos says.

“Yeah, I know,” T.K. says with a roll of his eyes.

“How could you know that?”

“Because you kept looking around like it was the most unsanitary thing you’d ever seen in your life,” T.K. tells him. “So I made it my mission to make you forget all about it. Pretty sure I succeeded.”

Carlos flushes as he thinks about T.K.’s mouth and his hands and the way they felt on his body. “You definitely did.” His gaze drops to T.K.’s lips. “God, I want to kiss you so badly right now.”

T.K. smirks, clearly please that he’s turned Carlos on in the middle of this bar. “What’s stopping you?”

“Um the fact that all of our co-workers are here. And also your dad,” Carlos says with a laugh.

As if on cue Owen’s voice rings out over the crowd. “All right everyone!” He claps his hands a couple times. “If I could have everyone’s attention please! Thank you all for coming to the 126 Designs holiday party. I have a little surprise up my sleeve. Tonight, we are going to be participating in some holiday karaoke!”

A bar employee rolls a karaoke machine in out of nowhere to cheers from the crowd. “Did you know?” Carlos asks.

“No,” T.K. says. “But I can’t say I’m surprised.”

“Get on over here!” Owen encourages them. “Judd! Let’s hear a little Deck the Halls buddy!”

“Come on.”

T.K. reaches for Carlos’ hand and pulls him toward a side door. “Wait, what about karaoke?” Carlos asks.

“Do you really want to stay here and listen to my dad attempt a version of Santa Claus is Coming to Town?”

Carlos considers this. “Actually…”

T.K. laughs and tugs him again. “Come on Reyes.”

They step outside into the night, the door closing behind them. It’s quiet and the air has a slight chill. Nothing that would even hint at a white Christmas, but enough that it feels like the holiday season instead of the dead of summer. A few stars have managed to permeate the light pollution and the moon shines brightly above them.

The side of the restaurant is lit by a single streetlamp, giving them just enough light to see each other, but also the illusion of privacy from anyone else who might be walking by. T.K. leans against the brick of the wall and tugs Carlos toward him, dropping his hand so he can grab his waist, his thumb pressing into the crease between Carlos’ thigh and his hip through his pants. “Well,” T.K. says, the cocky ass smirk on his face that shoots something hot through Carlos’ veins. “Go ahead. Kiss away.”

Carlos looks around in fake concern. “Mmm, I don’t know. Someone could still see us out here.”

“Don’t worry,” T.K. pulls a sprig of mistletoe from his pocket and dangles it over their heads. “I swiped this from inside. Now you have to kiss me. Christmas rules.”

“Oh is that right?” Carlos asks with smile, pressing in a little closer, and lifting a hand to run it through T.K.’s hair before sliding it down to cradle the back of his neck.

“Definitely,” T.K. says.

Carlos doesn’t waste another second before leaning in and fitting their lips together. The sparks inside him whirl and dance before bursting into full on flames. It feels like coming home.

T.K. opens up and invites him in, their bodies coming flush together, searching for as much contact as possible. Carlos fists one hand into T.K.’s hair, the other landing solidly on his lower back and urging him closer, while T.K.’s roam everywhere, traveling Carlos’ biceps, his chest, his back, his ass, and everything in between.

Carlos slots a thigh between T.K.’s legs, pressing into him and T.K.’s head falls back against the wall, eyes closing as he lets out something between a groan and a sigh. Carlos smiles and uses the change in position to press kisses into the sensitive spot just below his ear. “I missed you,” he says in between breaths.

“I missed you too. Am I going to have to report this to HR?” T.K. asks.

Carlos pauses and pulls back, sending T.K. a withering look. “Haha,” he says dryly. “Thanks for reminding me that I’m going to have my hands full with this one in the new year.”

“My ass is quite a handful,” T.K. says with a smirk. “But you can handle it. It’s just a little bit of paperwork. And someone got you really nice pens for the holidays.”

“Yeah someone did,” Carlos says, poking him in the side until he squirms. “Speaking of paperwork, you owe me a thank you note for your gifts.”

T.K. bites his lip. “Why don’t you take me back to your place and I’ll do a little better than a thank you note?”

Fuck. Carlos swallows hard. “What about the party? Won’t your dad be upset?”

“I’m spending Christmas day with him. He’ll live.” He slides a finger along the waistband of Carlos’ jeans. “We can go back in if you really want to though. I do a mean rendition of Jingle Bell Rock. We can stand in there with all of our co-workers and you can try not to think about how good I’d make you feel if the two of us were in bed together.”

Carlos strokes a thumb across T.K.’s cheek. “As much as I would like to hear you sing Jingle Bell Rock, I think I’d rather take you home.”

T.K. gestures toward the street. “Then lead on Festive Friend.”

It’s the merriest Christmas Carlos has had in a long time.

#Tarlos #Tarlos Secret Santa #tarlossanta #tarlossanta23 #Festive Friends #Office AU #Christmas #Secret Santa #Christmas Fluff

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