#i know i gave Pippin shoes and I know that's wrong

[mossy-thing]

Nazgûl over Minas Tirith

[bonjour-rainycity]

Cold Shoulder

Pairing: Aragorn x Female Reader

Rating: T 

Disclaimer: I am not making any money from this nor do I own anything recognizable. Also, I edited after a glass of wine. So. I think I shall blame any mistakes on that. 

Word count: 2317

Warnings: Mild descriptions of violence

Request: Aragorn x Reader where he protects the reader but she is mad at him because of that and gives him a silent shoulder. Much fluff please (Anon)

A/n Anon, thank you for the request!! I enjoyed writing this and love me some Aragorn content <3 Also, for context, I placed the reader in the Fellowship. Okay, read on!

The sharp cry pierces the peace of the early morning.

“Orcs!”

Legolas, who had been standing watch and discovered the threat, immediately begins firing arrows, keeping the pack at bay. The rest of us spring into action, drawing weapons and shouldering our bags, looking to Aragorn to determine our next move. Despite the jolt of fear that runs through me, I know that luck is on our side. For one, our group had planned to set out shortly, meaning our camp is packed and we run no risk of leaving anything behind. Second, it was Legolas on watch, and his keen eyesight gave us critical early warning.

I feel a rough hand wrap around mine, and I’m yanked into a sprint. I nearly stumble at the speed Aragorn sets, but force myself to keep pace. A quick look at my surroundings tells me why we’re running — our camp is secluded, but there are too many high spots around us for it to be favorable in a fight. I can assume that we are making for higher or more open ground, so that we will not be at a disadvantage when the orc pack inevitably catches us.

There’s a muffled yelp, and I whip my head around to see Frodo tripping and falling roughly to the ground.

“Aragorn—” His name has barely left my lips when I feel his hands on my back, spurring me on, and he leaves my side, running back to aid our hobbit friend. Closer than I would like, the wails of the orc grow louder, and, at my right, Boromir speeds up, hauling Merry along with him.

The three of us break through the tree-line first, and immediately, an arrow whizzes above my head.

Damn it, they cut us off!

I don’t have much time to dwell on how the monsters got around us unnoticed, because a tall, imposing orc lunges in my direction. I raise my dagger and put all my focus into not letting the orc’s razor-sharp sword pierce my skin.

The shrieks and grunts of battle, as well as the shrill clanking of metal hitting metal fill the air. The orc jabs his sword at me, and I jump to my left. As the orc takes another swing, an arrow soars mere millimeters from my ear and imbeds itself in my attacker’s eye. I don’t even have time to shoot Legolas a thankful glance, because another beast catches my arm and pulls me against his foul-smelling side. I swipe at his arm with my dagger, and with a howl of pain, he throws me to the ground, raising his sword. I roll to the side, narrowly dodging the slice of steel, and push myself back to my feet. The orc is distracted, struggling with his weapon which is embedded in the ground, leaving the side of his neck exposed. I lift my dagger, and step forward, intent on ending this fight—

An arm grips my waist and pulls me back, moving me out of the way and slaying the orc.

I gawk at Aragorn, who, with the focused eyes of battle, rips his sword free of the orc’s neck and spins, killing a beast to his right.

“I had it,” I shout over the noise, unable to contain my frustration.

Aragorn straightens to face me, eyes wide. “Your back!”

Immediately, I turn on my heel and raise my dagger, pushing against the knife meant to impale my unguarded back. The orc is stronger than me, but if I can hold him off for just a few seconds more, I can reach for my other dagger and stab him in the stomach. As my hand twitches towards my belt, a sword passes around my side, impaling the orc with a sickening squelch.

Once again, I fix Aragorn with disbelieving eyes.

What was the point of investing all that time training me if I don’t get to use any of said training?!

The sounds of battle begin to fade, and, with a final swing of Gimili’s axe, the fighting is done.

We take stock of our injuries which are, thankfully, minor, and pull the dead orc deep into the tree line, not wanting to draw attention to our path. After the quickest of rests and a wash-up in the stream, we continue, Aragorn insisting that we cannot take any unnecessary delays now that we have orc interested in us.

We begin our trek, mostly in tired silence.

At the front of the group, Aragorn and Legolas do a mixture of scouting and chatting, seeming more relaxed the farther we get from the site of the attack. Aragorn doesn’t usually walk with me, preferring instead to lead with Legolas and keep an eye out for danger. Usually, I wish he would stay by my side, but today, I am grateful for the distance, as I’m not feeling too kindly towards him at the moment. I can’t stop myself from glaring at his back, resenting him taking away my right to handle myself in battle. But after an hour of lonely overthinking, resentment gives way to insecurity. What if he only jumped in because he thinks I’m weak? He’s probably not the only one…compared to everyone else, what advantages do I have? They probably all, to some extent, see me as a burden.

Gimli jogs up next to me, fixing me with a mildly concerned look.

“You alright, lassie? Not hurt, are ya?”

Aragorn’s head tilts in our direction. He’s listening.

Unable to contain my annoyance at his continued monitoring, I huff. “I’m fine, Gimli, thanks. Just tired.”

Gimli looks at the ground, seemingly unable to reconcile my usual friendliness with this foul mood. “Aye, well, t’is to be expected, after the morning we had. You fought well.”

I cross my arms, cocking my head to the side. “Did I? Because, as I remember it, I was barely allowed to fight at all.”

At this, I hear light sniggering behind me, and whip my head around to see a quickly composed Merry and Pippin looking anywhere but me.

Gimli makes a sighing, almost grumbling noise, and walks off to join his friends at the front of the group. Aragorn hangs back a little, waiting for me to catch up before resuming a slower pace.

“What troubles you?”

Getting right to the chase, then.

I huff angrily, my annoyance from this morning only growing now that I’ve had hours to stew about it. Because really, I am well-trained, I am capable, and he had no business neglecting his own safety to help me when I wasn’t in any actual danger. I had it all under control! And rather than feeling like a warrior equal with my companions, I feel like a girl who just slows them down and needs babysitting.

Aragorn stops walking and grips my elbow lightly, pulling me to stop with him. “I cannot help you if I don’t know what’s wrong.”

I glare at him. Can I handle nothing on my own?! “Well, maybe I don’t want your help, Aragorn.”

He sighs, sounding frustrated, but lets me go.

Neither of us makes an attempt to talk to the other for the remainder of our hike.

{***}

We stop when it is well and properly dark, making hasty camp. I drop my bedroll and begin preparing for the night, cleaning my dagger and shoes as best I can. The others sit on rocks near the fire, eyeing me warily.

Pippin elbows Merry and hisses in a low voice,“go and talk to her, something’s obviously wrong with her.”

Merry’s eyes grow comically wide, and he fixes his friend with an indignant expression. “Why does it have to be me, then?! I don’t want to get yelled at.”

“Because I checked on Frodo last Thursday when he was in a mood, and now it’s your turn.”

“I didn’t realize we were taking turns,” Merry whisper-shouts, oblivious to the fact that everyone can hear their argument just fine.

Sam fixes them with a pleading look before glancing over to me. “Miss Y/n, do you not want supper?” He hesitantly holds a bowl in my general direction.

“No, thank you,” I respond, cooler than intended. He blinks at me for a moment, and then hands the bowl to an amused Boromir.

I feel the weight of everyone’s questioning stares, hear their hushed whispers, and cannot take it one moment longer.

“I’m going to get more firewood,” I declare, tucking my dagger back into my belt and trudging deeper into the forest.

The woods are dark, but there is sufficient light from the moon, and I pick my way through the trees, looking for fallen logs and branches. I don’t stray to where I can no longer hear the voices of my friends, though — I may be angry, but I’m not stupid.

Less than two minutes later, the sound of light footsteps creeps into my hearing.

Aragorn walks to my side, bending to grasp and examine a log that might make for good firewood. He doesn’t look at me when he speaks. “Sam put aside some soup for you, though I would not delay if you wish to eat it. I saw Pippin eyeing it with interest.”

When I don’t laugh or give any indication that I heard him, he shifts on his feet, unsure. “I feel tension between us. I’ve upset you?”

I make a noncommittal noise and go a few yards deeper in the forest.

“Y/n?”

With a resigned sigh, I turn to face him, knowing that my silence is hurting him. “It’s stupid.”

Obviously pleased that I’m speaking to him now, Aragorn takes quick steps towards me, wearing an open expression. “If I have done something to hurt you, you have every right to be upset.”

I resist the urge to groan. Stop being so good and noble, it makes it hard to stay mad at you. I reign in my frustrations and sigh, forcing myself to look him in the eyes. “I feel like the weakest link. I’m the youngest, the only woman, I don’t possess any special abilities or extensive battle experience. I put a lot of work into being competent with my daggers, and still there are days when I question my right to be here with you all. So when you jump in to protect me, well-intentioned as you may be, I feel like a child that needs looking after rather than someone capable of standing her own ground.”

His face falls, and discomfort spreads in my stomach. But before I can apologize and take back my words, he offers his hands, and I take them gratefully.

“I did not consider how my actions would make you feel, though I understand now. Forgive me, Y/n?”

At his heartfelt words, my anger ebbs away. I use my grip on his hands to pull him closer and rest my forehead against his chest. “Of course.”

He pulls back slightly to bring my hands to his lips, pressing kisses on my knuckles. “I intervened during the fight not because I think you incapable, but because I wanted to keep you as much removed from the danger as possible. You are precious to me, Y/n. I won’t risk losing you.”

At this, he leans his forehead against mine, and I can’t help how I soften at his words. I didn’t think about it like that. “There is the slightest possibility that I may have accidentally overreacted a little.”

Aragorn rewards me with a deep chuckle, one I can feel vibrating through his chest, and shakes his head against mine. “Are you sure, my love? I think ignoring me all day was a completely proportionate response.”

I roll my eyes at the dripping sarcasm in his voice and raise a hand to smack his chest. Before I can get anywhere near him, his own hand shoots out and grabs my wrist —  an act that has me grumbling in irritation and him shaking with laughter. Once he regains composure, he brings my wrist to his lips and places the softest of kisses there, watching my face carefully for my reaction.

I look away, trying to distract myself from the fluttering in my stomach. He trails a line of kisses up my forearm, and I scramble for something to say before my brain gets scattered beyond help. “For the record, you mean the world to me and I would defend you in battle too, if the need were to arise.”

His lips pause against my skin. I turn my head back to him to see that he’s, much to my annoyance, trying to fight a smile. Unable to school his smirk, he raises his head, still holding my hand in his. “I thank you, dearest, but I hardly believe that will be necessary. I’ve been battling for decades, I can handle a few stray orc.”

I step back out of his embrace, crossing my arms and regarding him with raised eyebrows.

He realizes his mistake.

“Oh—um, I meant, I—”

I shake my head. “No, you know what? Not ‘should the need arise’, I’ll just do it anyway! Next fight, you better watch out buddy, I’m throwing myself in front of anything that comes at you!”

His eyes blow open and his voice takes on a strangled quality. “Y/n, please don’t, that’s just unnecessary—”

“Nope!” I stomp away from him, picking up branches at random. “You brought this upon yourself. Get ready to be defended!”

Before walking back to camp, I turn to give him a sickeningly sweet smile. “I love you.”

Aragorn dramatically drops his head into his hands. “I shall die from stress.”

Our companions, who obviously heard our argument, roar with laughter.

A/n Thank you for reading! If you have a moment, I’d love it if you could check out my masterlist! Thank you :)

[idjitlili]

Eomer x reader

Warnings : a little steamy, if you don’t like mj don’t read

Summary:

Imagine somehow being teleported into lord of the rings and being in one of the tents with merry, at the eve of battle. Him being interested in what our world is like. In which eomer is peaking in jealousy.

Word count:2583

As you sat on the floor ,in the red and white canopy tent, merry looked at you with interest in front from your seat.

Merry gave you a big smile with half of his smirk up higher; after you somehow ended up in this strange world ,you became very closer with merry and pippin.

You had seen the two hobbits dance and sing days before, it was very strange , but uplifting and entertaining.

Merry had being asking you questions about your world the second you had gotten here, in fact minutes before now had been ,while practising his swordsmen skills on air.

“what is dancing like in your home, y/n?” Merry spoke break the comfortable silence you sat in.

“Well..um the dances I enjoy , is from before I was born or slightly after.” You explain quickly to the hobbit before continuing after taking a breather.

“There was this man, he was a talented singer and dancer. He has all these dance moves with are complexed yet he makes them look effortless. His name was Michael Jackson.”

Merry looks up at you with amazement wanting to hear more of the man.

“Would you teach me some of these dance moves,y/n?” He asks with pure delight.

You stand up quickly , holding out your hands for merry to take, he does , in which you pull him to his feet.

“Yes I will , okay his most known dance move is called the moonwalk.” You explain to him , then you take your shoes off and perform the action.

After you are done you look towards the hobbit struggling to repeat the move, you giggle at his attempt.

Unknown to you , a certain blonde haired future king to the throne of Rohan, had being watching more like stalking. He had pure jealousy written upon his face.

“No,no ,no merry. Here I’ll help.” You spoke to the hobbit , whilst bending down to the floor.

You lift his left heel up and pull his right leg back. Then you push the left heel down and bring up right and pull the left foot back behind.

“See you have to keep one heel up and the other down , in which the one is down you slide it back and then you change.” You explain as easy as you possible can.

“Ooohhhhhh, “ merry smiled bright at you and started trying again, this time he succeeded.

“Yesss , you got it dude.”

Suddenly you hear, someone clearing their throat from behind you. You look in the direction which the noise came from , to seem eomer. He has a scowl imprinted onto his face, you gulp nervously.

“Hey dude , what do need something?” You spoke dragging out the yes.

you had met eomer when you Aragorn ,Gimli and Legolas has been looking for the hobbits. He seemed to take an interest in you , not surprising you did look out of place. You wore clothes that were very different to what a woman in this world would wear. Not to mention that you was travelling with men, as a young woman. He had never heard anyone speak the way you had , using such words as dude for everyone, especially to royalty, you didn’t even bow.

You were a shy girl around people you didn’t know, you wish to seem as special to people, but in your heart you didn’t feel it. Not to mention you did this by naughty jokes , impressions or just speaking in pure quotes. Aragorn was not impressed when you stated a joke involving his name when the hobbits were no where to be found.

“Hey the hobbits Aragorn?!” You recall speaking to the small group of the fellowship that were left.

“Did you really just-“ Aragorn spoke before turning away searching for the trail of the hobbits. While gimli , enjoyed it very much.

After that you came up with another joke after Gimli spoke of his father and when the company were kidnapped by trolls.

“Gimli , do you know why they were discovered by the trolls?”

He looked up at you at and spoke “yeah they were try-“

However you interrupted him “Because he was Gloin in the dark.” He froze while legolas and Aragorn laughed.

“Why don’t you make fun of legolas for once?” He groaned at you.

You smirked to yourself, you had already planned this.

“Alright if you say so. Hey leggy. “ you spoke whilst placing your self on on the log next to legolas.

“Do you know what you would’ve been called if you had no legs?”

He frowned at you , not looking forward to what was to come. “No I do not , lady y/n. I assume the same.”

“Haha -wrong. Leg a less.Do you get it because your legs Aragorn.”

“Did you really had to add me to the joke?” Aragorn growled. You shrugged in response.

Eomer interrupted your thoughts , speaking “uh I just came to see what you two were doing.” He looked a little nervous, pink spread lightly on his cheeks.

“Oh , I was just teaching Merry some dance moves from my home, so he can impress some lady’s.” You respond to Eomer with a giggle whilst looking at merry who was in his own world, still moonwalking. You walked closer the entrance of the tent allowing Eomer in.

“That’s very nice of you lady y/n , that’s a strange move, yet so admiring” You smile lightly at him.

“Thank you ,Eomer, but please you don’t have to call me lady, I am not a lady , I am barely an adult. Plus I am not of importance just y/n.” You spoke with a light blush upon your face. You couldn’t help but admit to yourself, Eomer was very handsome.

“Oh L- y/n you of much of an importance especially to that hobbit there. You are very interesting to many men , with your unique personality , you have a lot of men swooning for you. It doesn’t help you are a very pretty girl.” His face flushed with red now, yours the same.

“T-thank you , I am not used to people thinking such things or calling me me pretty. “ you spoke quickly sputtering your words.

“Surely the reason is you have been courting a man and he threatens anyone that goes near you?”

You scoff at his words, he looks at you confused, “I am sorry to disappoint but that’s definitely not it, I haven’t ever had a proper relationship with a dude. NoT even a kiss.”

You look at your feet with embarrassment, after looking up at Eomer his mouth gapped with shock.

“That’s hard to believe for such a lovely person. None of them clearly deserve you.” He sincerely spoke , you feel his eyes on.

“More like the other way round. Do you want something to eat I made mash potatoes, we was about to eat?” You start walking towards the food getting bowls to dish it up.

“No one deserves you if they don’t tell you are beautiful. If you have enough , I will.” He gazes upon you.

You blush harder than you think possible.

“Yes we have more than enough come sit.” You gesture to fabric covered floor because it’s not like you can have furniture on a soon to be war zone.

“Merry sit down , before spill the drinks.”

You demand the hobbit.

“Yes ma.” He grins at you.

“Excuse you I think you are double my age. Here.” You pass the two men their food , receive thank yous, before sitting beside eomer on your bedroll.

What can you say , you just love mash potatoes.

You ,merry ,and eomer talked for hours , before you know it merry had fallen asleep and it was way past midnight.

You had been talking about your difficulties, trying to get Mordor, as you hadn’t been trained like the rest of the fellowship, plus you were only 18.

“that must have been very hard.” Eomer tells you , laughing.

Your smile turns into a straight face, before twitching up.

“That’s what she said” you begin to laugh hysterically, covering your mouth trying not to awake pippin.

Eomer looks at you confused but still laughs with you. “What does that mean?”

“ it’s a sex joke dude because-“ you began but are cut off by eomer.

“I didn’t know woman made such jokes especially someone so young.” He laughs

“Yes my dude , me and my friends back home do, they tell me I am too dirty minded. .” I smirk towards him.

“What makes them think you are,y/n?” he asks returning a smirk.

“Well my lord , I may have a slight thing for older men with stubble, let’s just leave it at that, I’ll spare you of the details.” Your eyes gaze down to his beard and back to his eyes, Blood rushes to your face.He twitches when you call him my lord, gazing at you.

“Oh , I see. Yet you still haven’t been kissed. “ he notices your gaze on his beard smirking bigger than before.

“yes tis true , I can’t help that, but I can imagine. Plus I got hands.” You giggle to yourself.

“ indeed you do, as do I. If you are referring to the same activities.” He chuckles at your humour.

“Yes I am.”

You both stare intensely at each other , eyes flickering at each other’s lips, slowly leaning forward. Lips almost grazing each other , when you breathe in. His breathe is hot on your face. Eomers soft blond locks slightly hitting against your face.

He then whispers to you slowly, “may I kiss you?” You nod your head slowly, nervously. His large rough hands land upon your cheeks softly. He places his lips upon yours lip the flutter of a butterfly. It was just a peck, yet electricity flew through body. He removes his hands from your face and looks into your eyes.

You quickly wrap your arms his neck against his hair , you press your lips against his roughly , he pulls you close by wrapping his strong arms around your waist. He gently bites your bottom lip , earning a small moan from your mouth, and causing your mouth to gap. You feel his smirk against your face and he takes his opening to put his tongue into your mouth, deepening the kiss.

Your hands end up into his locks slightly pulling , a small grunt leaves his lips. It sounded like keanu reeves.you shuffle yourself into his lap straddling him. His hands on your back under your shirt. You pull back still in his lap to breathe. You mumble “thank you.”

You go to kiss him again , missing his lips. He eagerly kisses back , lips colliding.one of his hands grips your upper back ,the other on your bottom. Lifting you over to your bed roll placing you down , your legs wrapped around his waist so tight that if it was his neck he would be dead soon. His head travels down your neck. Kissing it gently , then suddenly biting it and sucking on your soft skin. He earns multiple loud moans which you try to conceal with your hands.

His hands tug at the bottom of your shirt , you sit up slightly so he can remove it, leaving you bare with just your bra on. His eyes scan you. You frown slightly, feeling insecure. “You are beautiful.” He mumbles into neck. You then grab his face kissing him again. You pull his tunic shirt from his chest and kiss down his neck , like he did too you , sucking slightly , surely leaving marks. His hands travel up your sides slowly.

You begin grinding harshly into eomers , now erected cock. His clothed large erection twitching.He grunts at your actions. He begins to whisper “we should wait , we will wake merry.”

“No , I promise I’ll be quiet.” You whine to him quietly.

He leans down to your ear “no you won’t my love, you will be screaming my name.” his low voice sends chills down your spin. Your face flushed with colour.

“Okay but after the battle ?” You ask eagerly , he smirks and nods his head pressing A kiss to your lips.

“Are you going to stay in here tonight then? It’s very late.” You ask him looking into his eyes trying to hide the excitement from the event that have just occurred.

“ I cannot , my bed roll is my tent.” He sighs at the thought.

“You can share with me if you want?” You smile at him.

“Okay , I shall stay.” He sits up and puts his shirt back on as do you , but removing the bra because who sleeps in a bra. You both lay and he pulls you tight into your chest. His head resting in the crook of your neck. Soon you fall into sleep.

———————————————————

Inthe morning you wake up alone and merry is sitting eating and apple. You sit up slowly yawn. Merry smiles at you.

Soon you are fully awake and ready for the day, for battle. Eomer didn’t know that though.

You were talking talking to merry outside and eowyn comes over to talk to you a pippin. You had suspected that she wanted to help fight , but knew here brother and uncle would not allow it.

“Hey y/n, did you see my brother last night, I couldn’t find him anywhere?” She asks you smiling at you.

You go to speak but merry interrupts you quickly “oh y/n was teaching me a dance move and he came by and had dinner with us. I fell asleep after. But when I awoke he was gone ,so he must of left when I was sleeping.” Merry speaks quickly to eowyn.

You gulp remembering the moments you shared with him last night.

“Oh thank you, that’s why I couldn’t fin-Did you hurt your neck y/n?” She smirks at you. Unknowingly to you eomer has littered your neck with hickeys but you didn’t have a mirror in the tent so you couldn’t of known.

Merry looks at you innocently. “How could you bruise your neck??!” He gasps shocked, he doesn’t believe it’s possible.

Before you can even reply , the man him self walks up to eowyn and hugs her. “I’ve been looking for you , you and y/n shouldn’t still be here.” Both merry and eowyn look at his neck. The silence causes you to look at they are looking at. You gasp at the sight of his neck. Eowyn smirks at the two of you.

“How did both of you bruise your necks last night? You were sitting in the tent.” Merry still unaware of the cause but then let’s out ‘oh wait....’

“So brother did you see a girl last night?”

“No what on earth are you talking about , I was training and got hit by a wooden sword.” Eomer just smirks at you and then leaves.

“What about you y/n?” She crosses her arms still smirking.

“No I am virgin.” You admit freely.

She laughs ,” I believe you but my brother will make sure that doesn’t last not for long.”

———————————————————

After the battle end up reuniting with eomer and he asks to wed you immediately. The stubble was better than you thought it would be.

[lastbluetardis]

Chemical Reaction (18/22)

Summary: Though their chemistry class is now over, the chemistry between James and Rose is just getting started. Together, they navigate the highs of new love and the lows of coping with past trauma to forge deep and unbreakable bonds of love and commitment. Part 2 in the Catalysis series. Tagging @doctorroseprompts

This chapter: ~6900 words, teen

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James was shaking. It was like he hadn’t eaten in too long and his blood sugar dropped too low and his body started rebelling against him until he gave it nourishment.

Only this was worse. Much, much worse. He was dizzy and nauseated and crippled with grief.

How had the night gone so wrong? They’d been having fun at the Phillies game, hadn’t they? They’d been laughing and lighthearted, and were so exhausted that they’d been a few minutes away from collapsing into bed together.

Then he’d gone and snooped through Rose’s mail. He should have ignored the letter. He should have asked her what it was, and asked why Jimmy had contacted her.

Would she have told the truth?

He hated that he had to ask that question, and he hated even more that he didn’t have a definitive answer.

His body moved on autopilot down the many flights of stairs of Rose’s building, not entirely aware of his surroundings. It was a miracle he didn’t trip down the steps and break his neck, considering he couldn’t quite feel his feet. He couldn’t feel much of anything apart from the heavy, aching pressure in his chest and the acid roiling in his gut.

James slipped into his dark car, which was still warm from the drive to her flat. He wasn’t supposed to be here. He was supposed to be with Rose, holding Rose, snuggling Rose in bed as they drifted to sleep.

Instead, here he was. About to drive home. Alone.

A break. Rose wanted a break. Because he had been such an insensitive arsehole.

But so was she.

Every insecurity he’d shared with Rose, every heartbreaking moment of the aftermath of his parents’ death… had Rose not wanted to hear about any of them? He felt stupid—so stupid—for baring so much of his soul to her without realizing she wasn’t reciprocating. How had he ever thought the nuggets of information she’d dropped for him constituted reciprocity? She had put in the bare minimum of emotional effort, giving him just enough that their communication felt like a two-way street. Did she know what she was doing? Had this been her plan all along? Get him comfortable and familiar with her so he would fall utterly in love with her? So he would have sex with her? Was that all she had been after this whole time? Had she taken advantage of his inexperience and banked on him not realizing she wasn’t putting in as much effort as he was? 

His shoulders shook as he wept into his hands, those ugly, nasty thoughts eating away at his mind until he couldn’t think of anything else. He didn’t want to believe that about Rose. These last four months with her had been nothing short of bliss. He’d never connected with anyone as much as he had with Rose. He was desperate to believe that what they’d had was real. It had to be real. It hurt too much for it all to have been nothing.

He wasn’t sure how long he had been sitting in the dark before his tears stopped enough for him to turn his car on. The engine growled to life, and the time 12:03 flashed blue in his eyes. Had it only been twenty minutes since he had first pulled up to Rose’s flat? How had twenty minutes completely destroyed the last seven months of their friendship and relationship?

His vision blurred again with fresh tears, but he impatiently rubbed them away to put his car in gear and drive off down the deserted street.

It probably should have bothered him that he didn’t remember driving. Anything could have happened. He could have run every single stop light, could have hit anything or anyone. But he was suddenly home, pulling into his dark driveway sometime later. His house was equally dark. He hadn’t left any lights on because he hadn’t expected to come back here tonight.

The house was dead silent. Not even his cats could deign to greet him. He toed off his shoes by the front door then plopped his keys and wallet into the dish on the cabinet beside it.

“Pip?” he croaked, voice raspy from all the tears he’d shed. “Merry? Gollum?”

There was a tiny chirp from the living room—Pippin and Merry were curled together on the sofa. James frowned. They usually slept in his bed, even on the nights he didn’t come home. He stepped over to them and gave them each a few chin scritches, but they were too drowsy to do much other than purr lightly.

“Where’s Gollum, eh?” he asked them, glancing around the living room. The Siamese wasn’t in the cat tree, or anywhere in sight. After the night he’d had, it would be his luck if Gollum had crawled off somewhere and died.

Whatever. He would look for him in the morning. James wanted nothing more than to strip down to his pants, fall into bed, and not wake up for a few days.

However, those plans were instantly scrapped when he stepped into his bedroom and was greeted with the pungent, acrid odor of ammonia. A huge, reeking damp spot sat in the middle of his bed.

“God-fucking-dammit!” he shouted, kicking his bed frame. 

He cried out and hopped on one foot as his toes burned in agony. His anger surged. Anger at himself, for jumping to conclusions and making too many accusations; anger at Rose, for keeping all of her secrets; anger at Jimmy, for everything he’d done to Rose; anger at his cat, for weeing on his bed when all he wanted to do was sleep and not wake up for a very long time.

James sank onto the edge of his bed—far away from the urine stain—his tears starting up again in earnest. He wanted Rose, and he hated that he wanted her. She had broken his heart more thoroughly than anyone ever had before, yet he still loved her. God, did he love her. 

Was that wrong of him though? Was it unhealthy that he wanted her, wanted to make up with her, after everything they’d said that night? Could they even make up from something like this?

He hoped they could. He hoped they could find some sort of middle ground. What that middle ground looked like, he didn’t know; his brain was too foggy with exhaustion and grief to think about possible resolutions and compromises they could make.

Something vibrated against his thigh. Sniffling and wiping his sleeve across his running nose, James fished his mobile out of his pocket. A new message from Rose.

Did you make it home okay?

He wanted to reply, “What do you care?” but curbed the impulse. That wasn’t fair. If she’d had to drive home at midnight after the argument they’d just had, he would want to know she was safe.

“Yeah,” is all he sent.

Okay. Glad to hear it. Sleep well James.

“Fat fucking chance,” he muttered to his phone, and instead typed out, “Yeah. You too.”

He set his phone face-down on the mattress beside him and rubbed his fingers into his eyes. A throbbing headache was beginning behind his brow. He would love nothing more than to sleep soundly and dreamlessly, but knew that his brain wouldn’t shut down enough for him to get any restful sleep.

Besides, it’s not like his bed was in any sort of state to be slept in.

With a groan, James pushed himself to his feet and tucked his phone into his pocket. He ripped off all the layers of his bedding, cursing when he saw they were soaked down to the mattress cover. Had Gollum held his bladder all goddamn day so he could piss right through everything?

He carried the stinking pile of sheets and blankets to his laundry room and settled in for a long night of washing. He stuffed the duvet into his washer—glad this home used to belong to a single mother of three who had invested in a giant washing machine, and left it behind when she’d moved out—and dumped in two detergent pods before programming a long, hot wash cycle. He then took the rest of his blankets to his kitchen sink.

The sight of two days’ worth of dirty dishes made him want to throw them all against a wall—broken dishes didn’t need to be cleaned. However, the mess of broken dishes would be more taxing. Sucking in a deep breath, he blew it out noisily as he dropped his sheets onto the floor and loaded everything into the dishwasher.

When the sink was empty, he grabbed his blankets and gave them all an individual rinse to hopefully keep the cat urine stain from setting.

It took nearly two dryer cycles for his duvet to be completely dry, and then another two loads of laundry before the rest of his blankets and sheets were clean. To his relief, all traces of cat urine odor were gone.

It was the dead of night by the time he made his bed; if he fell asleep right now, he would get at least four hours in before he would have to get up for classes. Was it worth it to try to sleep? He was keyed up from his middle of the night laundry session and his brain was still too loud. Maybe he should give up on the notion of sleep and try to take a nap after classes. Though would it even be productive if he attended classes?

James flopped onto his back on the fresh duvet, breathing in the scent of clean laundry. He would have to revoke the cats’ bedroom privileges until they—Gollum—proved they could be trusted not to wee on everything.

He sat bolt upright. He hadn’t thought to check the guest bedroom. Grumbling to himself and crossing his fingers, he jogged down the hall, and cursed vehemently under his breath when he smelled cat urine.

What the hell? Should’ve left the stupid arsehole to drown.

Well. He was already awake. In for a penny, and all. Stripping that bed as well, he began the same laundry routine. While that duvet was in the wash, James indulged in a quick shower. The sweat and grime of the previous day coupled with crying his eyes out intermittently for the past few hours made him feel filthy. 

The shower didn’t relax him as much as he’d hoped, not when the evidence of Rose was all around him. He hadn’t realized how completely she had insinuated herself into his home, into his life. Her shampoo, conditioner, and body wash sat right beside his, her bottles of pink and yellow keeping company with his blue and red ones.

Firmly ignoring her products, James rushed through his shower, lathering his hair and body in record time. But when he went to his pajama drawer, he was yet again reminded of Rose when he saw a set of her pjs in the drawer too. He couldn’t help but touch them, feeling the soft fabric beneath his fingertips as his brain reminded him of all the times he’d pushed her top off before they made love.

His stomach ached with longing. Hurriedly shutting the drawer, James instead moved to grab a pair of boxer-briefs. Rose’s knickers sat in a small pile in that drawer too. Growling in frustration, he grabbed a pair of pants at random and slipped them on before bending to root through his t-shirt drawer. Unsurprisingly, he found several of Rose’s shirts mixed in with his.

How had he not realized how much of Rose existed in his house? How had he not realized that her light and beauty shone through his home, and that she had made it her home too?

Because I loved it. 

And he had. He had loved living with Rose, and had been counting down the days when she would officially move out of her flat and into his house.

His tears nearly started up again when he realized that he may never share a home with Rose if they couldn’t find a way to work through all that had been said. No more sleepy mornings spent giggling and kissing in bed. No more impromptu dance parties in the kitchen just because they felt like being silly. No more late-night chats that sometimes carried them into the wee hours of the mornings. No more exploring every beautiful inch of her body and losing himself in her love and pleasure.

He didn’t particularly care about the prospect of no more sex. Brilliant though it was, he found himself more devastated by the loss of Rose’s friendship than the loss of her body. He had fallen in love with her, and the thought of her not being in his life anymore was agonizing. They’d known each other for seven months, and she had somehow become a constant in his life, an unmovable force that he’d been confident would never be gone.

The unknown was killing him. The uncertainty of whether he and Rose would be able to make up. If they did manage to reconcile, to forgive and heal, would their relationship look the same as it did before?

A distant chime from down the hall told him the wash cycle was finished. Sniffling, James pulled on a soft, worn t-shirt and padded down the hall to continue his laundry. When the duvet was in the dryer and the sheets were in the washer, James started searching for Gollum. As irritated as he was with his cat, he was also concerned; apart from the first week James had brought Gollum home, the feline had never had litter box issues.

Drifting from room to room, James finally found Gollum in the basement—which also doubled as an office space—lying on the desk chair.

“What’s gotten into you, you little menace?” he asked, crouching beside the cat. Gollum didn’t react, making James’s heart lurch. “Gollum?”

He reached out and rested his hand on the cat’s side. Gollum let out a noise between a chirp and a growl.

“Thought you were dead for a minute. What on Earth is your problem, buddy? Are you not feeling well? Is the litter box not clean enough for you? Are you trying to make my shitty day even more shitty?” James sighed, and stroked the top of Gollum’s head. “I’ll call the vet when they open. In the meantime, try not to wee on anything else, yeah?”

Gollum huffed out a breath, then closed his eyes again, drifting off to sleep.

The rest of the night passed listlessly for James. When he wasn’t switching over laundry, he worked on cleaning his house from top to bottom. Anything to keep his mind busy and away from Rose, because otherwise all he could think about was the way he’d raised his voice and talked over her, the way he’d suggested she wasn’t as invested in their relationship as he was, the way she’d sobbed and hugged herself and flinched away from him. And all of that was something he definitely didn’t want to think about.

The sky was beginning to lighten in the distant horizon by the time he’d finished. His house was immaculate. There was not a scrap of unclean fabric anywhere, what with him moving on to washing his clothes and the various towels and blankets strewn around his home.

His eyes burned with exhaustion, and he thought he might be able to get some sleep. He preemptively filled his cats’ food dishes so that they wouldn’t barge into his room in an hour to demand breakfast, then he went into his bedroom and crawled beneath his sheets. Before settling in to try to sleep, he shot off a series of short emails to his various professors, letting them know he wouldn’t be in class that day, and he would arrange with some of his classmates to get their notes. That task finished, James silenced his phone and set it on the nightstand, then tugged his sheets up to his ears.

He hadn’t realized that his bed had begun to smell like Rose until he was surrounded by the scent of laundry detergent rather than her subtle floral aroma. With an intensity that stole his breath away, he was aware of how much he missed Rose. Missing her hurt almost as much as their fight did, because despite everything that had happened, he remained desperately in love with her. He knew that he would do just about anything to try to make things right with Rose, if she would let him. He hoped she would.

That train of thought kept him from getting much sleep. His mind kept replaying their argument over and over again, and it kept coming up with new rebuttals and explanations he wished he could have said instead of losing his temper.

It was ten o’clock by the time James gave up on the idea of getting any more rest. He felt worse now than he had when he’d collapsed into bed four hours ago. Bleary-eyed, James stumbled to the kitchen to begin a pot of coffee. While it brewed, he went to check on Gollum. His food dish beneath his cat tree was full, and the cat himself had barely moved from his position on the office chair.

“All right, bud. Vet time,” James murmured, stroking Gollum’s forehead and cheeks.

He went back upstairs for his phone, and placed a call to the veterinarian’s office. There were no available in-person appointments, but they told James he could drop the cat off with them and they would take some blood and urine samples from Gollum throughout the course of the day. 

James didn’t feel particularly good about dropping his sick cat off and leaving him alone, but the alternative was waiting a few days for an open appointment. He thanked the vet tech and said he would be by with his cat within the hour.

With a sigh, James pulled on some clothes, poured coffee into a travel thermos, and managed to get Gollum into his carrier with minimal fuss. Gollum loathed being in a car carrier, and often yowled and growled for the entire duration until he was set free again; the fact that he remained utterly silent and unmoving was testament to the fact he felt poorly.

The drive to the vet’s clinic was unremarkable, as was the transfer of his cat into their care. He confirmed his contact information, and thanked them for being able to take Gollum so quickly.

Since he was already out and about, James stopped by a nearby Walmart for his monthly supply run. He hadn’t thought to bring a list along on what he had assumed would be a quick stop at the vet’s, so he tried his best to remember everything he needed.

He was about to head to the front registers when a display of vibrant colors caught his eye. Paint swatches.

Hmm. Been meaning to repaint my bedroom.

Pulling his shopping cart to the side, James grabbed a booklet and began leafing through for some palette ideas. Currently, his walls were boring off-white, which hadn’t really bothered him before. He always assumed he would eventually get around to repainting, but after nearly two years of living there, everything was the same as when he’d moved in.

No time like the present.

He spent the next half hour poring over paint colors and mentally mapping the colors onto his bedroom walls. He frequently found himself wondering whether Rose would like a certain color, before he shut down that train of thought; it always came back, though. For the past several months, Rose was never more than half a thought away. Despite their current situation, that was a hard habit to break.

In the end, he decided on an eggshell-finish steel blue color that could have passed for gray. A nice, cool, neutral shade (and, despite his best efforts, he was sure Rose would like it too). He added a soft white for his ceiling and a sharp white glossy paint to his order to touch up the trim and crown molding. With his new paint cans in tow, he moved to the next aisle for paint rollers and brushes, protective cloth canvas, tape, a paint tray, and any other painting accoutrements he could find.

On his way home, he stopped by a fast-food drive-thru for a burger and an order of fries. His cholesterol was probably not pleased with him, considering he’d eaten a cheesesteak and fries for dinner the night before, but he ultimately decided to hell with his cholesterol. 

It was noontime when he finished his lunch, and he hopped right in with his painting project. It took him an hour to move all of his furniture to the middle of the room, and to unhang the various decorations on his walls. Not sure how long the painting would take, James shifted his entire dresser into his spare bedroom, where he figured he would sleep for the next night or two until the project was finished.

The soothing, repetitive movements of painting were cathartic, which is more than James could have hoped for. It took a fair amount of concentration, especially to make sure he didn’t drip paint where it didn’t belong. He enjoyed cutting in the corners and edges of his walls using one of the small brushes he’d bought, but he didn’t like using the broad paint roller to cover large areas. That was an easy and mindless task, which meant his brain could go back to Rose. And that was definitely not where he wanted his brain to go.

How much longer would his memory replay their fight for him? How long would it take before he stopped thinking about everything he could have and should have said differently? And how long was this break of theirs going to last?

Several times, he had been tempted to take photographs of his bedroom and send them to Rose. A tiny little olive branch, maybe. But no, that was stupid. That would look like he didn’t care about or didn’t want to address their fight.

He still took photos, though, wanting a before and after comparison for his own memories.

He was about to move on to the last wall of his bedroom when the vet called with an update on Gollum. When his phone had rung, his heart had jumped into his throat; he hadn’t been sure whether he was hoping or dreading to see Rose’s name. The crushing disappointment he felt gave him his answer. It took everything he had to not dismiss the call and instead phone Rose, desperate to speak with her and start mending whatever broke between them.

However, he had a duty to his cat, and so he accepted the vet’s call. Gollum, it turned out, had a rather severe urinary tract infection. The vet wanted to keep him overnight to start him on an aggressive antibacterial regimen, and to give him intravenous fluids because the cat was dangerously dehydrated.

The guilt nearly overwhelmed James. He hadn’t realized Gollum hadn’t been drinking or acting any differently; if the cat hadn’t wee’d on the beds, James wouldn’t have known anything was wrong. The vet tech, seeming to sense his distress, assured him that UTIs could frequently get overlooked, but that Gollum should make a full recovery.

“We anticipate you’ll be able to pick him up in a day or two.”

“Great, thanks,” James breathed. “Really. Thanks so much.”

The call reminded him it was time to feed his other cats. He had shut them away into the basement to keep them from wandering into his bedroom while he painted. As he walked down the hall, he could hear Pippin crying and scratching at the door.

“Sorry, sorry,” he called through the door. “One minute, boys. One minute, then I’ll bring down your dindin.”

He grabbed the two empty food dishes in the kitchen, filled them with kibble, grabbed a water bottle out of the fridge, and opened the basement door. Pippin bolted upstairs and sprinted directly to where his bowl usually sat. He froze when he saw it wasn’t there, and James couldn’t help but laugh at him.

“Right here, bud,” James said, shaking the bowl. “C’mon. You’re dining in the basement tonight, and tomorrow. Until I’ve finished painting. I absolutely do not trust you to not brush up against the wet walls, and I don’t fancy washing paint off of you.”

James continued talking to his cats as he carefully walked down the steps, wary of Pippin and Merry who both were winding around his ankles. Wouldn’t that just be the perfect ending to the past twenty-four hours? His relationship with Rose had crashed and burned, then he went and broke his neck falling down the stairs.

Once the cats were happily eating their dinner, James returned to his bedroom and worked on finishing what he could. He worked diligently until nightfall, pleased with his progress and with how well the color looked. However, he was growing to realize that the warm brown wood of his dresser, nightstand, and bookcases didn’t match with the cooler tones of the room.

Well, he’d been planning to upgrade his furniture anyway from the inexpensive mishmash of pieces he’d found at second-hand shops. Figuring he was done for the night, James set up a rotating fan to help with air circulation then went into his bathroom for a shower. Paint flecks spattered his face, hair, and arms; it took quite a bit of vigorous scrubbing before he was satisfied he’d washed it all off.

Once he was clean, dried, and dressed in pajamas, he exited his bedroom and closed the door behind himself so that he could release his cats from their basement prison. Not particularly hungry but figuring he ought to eat, he cut up an apple and scooped a dollop of peanut butter onto a plate, then took it and his laptop to his couch. Aching and exhausted, James simply sat on his sofa with his head tilted back and his eyes shut.

He nearly dozed off until Pippin clumsily jumped into his lap, nearly upending James’s snack. 

“Shoo,” James grumbled, moving his cat to the sofa cushion beside him.

Pippin huffed, then walked in a circle half a dozen times before plopping right next to James’s thigh. Absently stroking his cat, James munched on his pitiful dinner and opened up his laptop to IKEA’s website.

He spent the next hour browsing new bedroom furniture. With the light, cool-toned walls, he thought dark furniture would pop rather nicely. He fell utterly in love with a curved, corner-unit bookcase, and with a long chest of drawers that could fit enough clothes for two people. He favorited both of those pieces of furniture as he wondered what to do with his current furniture. Some of it could be repurposed to other rooms in his house, but others, like his bed frame—if he decided to upgrade that as well—would have to be sold or donated.

The ring of his doorbell interrupted his mental reconfiguration of his home. He leapt to his feet and jogged to his front door, cautiously peering into the peephole to see who was visiting him so late at night. A tall, dark-haired, blue-eyed man had his face pressed close to the door, as though he could look through the opposite end of the peephole.

James threw open the door. “Jack? What the hell are you doing here?”

The other man scanned his eyes up and down James’s body, taking in the pajamas and his damp, messy hair. A salacious grin crossed Jack’s face.

“Oops, I didn’t interrupt anything important, did I?”

It took James a few seconds to realize what Jack meant. Then he wondered why Jack would think he and Rose had been in the middle of having sex. Eventually he remembered that nobody else was aware that he and Rose were in the middle of an argument. Which made him remember that he and Rose were in the middle of an argument. His mood soured, and he crossed his arms in front of his chest.

“What do you want, Jack?”

Jack simply stared at him for a beat before saying, “It’s Thursday.”

James’s stomach sank. Thursday… pub quiz night… shit.

“We didn’t see you at Molly’s, and none of us had heard from you. I thought maybe you were busy with Rose, caught up in all sorts of delicious debauchery that I would love to hear about. But you don’t exactly seem to be in a state of post-coital bliss, so…”

“What do you want, Jack?” James repeated, gritting his teeth. His sleepless night had finally caught up with him, and he was suddenly exhausted. His body felt leaden and his head began to ache. The last thing he wanted to do was stand in his doorway and have this conversation with his friend/ex-boyfriend.

Jack scrutinized him so intently that James had to fight the urge to slam the door in Jack’s face.

“What’s up with you?” 

“None of your bloody business,” James snapped. “Look, it’s late. Sorry I missed trivia night. I’ll be there next week. But if you wouldn’t mind…”

In a move James was not anticipating, Jack stepped forward and into James, startling him into backing up a step. Before he knew it, they were inside his house, and Jack had shut the door behind him.

“What the hell Jack?” James exploded. “I’m not in the bloody mood for this. Get out.”

“Spill. What’s happened?” Jack asked. Before James could shout at him again, he turned his head down the hall, sniffing. “Are you getting your house repainted?”

“Jack!” James followed uselessly as Jack strode down the hall to his closed bedroom door.

The other man threw open the door and flicked on the lights, revealing the messy, freshly-painted bedroom.

“Yes, I’m repainting my bedroom. Congratulations on your deductive reasoning skills. Will you please leave now?”

“Is there a reason you’ve started repainting your room on a random Thursday? That sounds like more of a weekend project.”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but I was out shopping and saw paint swatches and had the urge to repaint my bedroom. So here we are.”

“Why were you out shopping and looking at paint swatches in the middle of a school day? Play hooky, did you? You know, whenever I blow off classes for the day, it’s usually because I’m having sex. Was Rose too busy? Or have you worn her out already?”

James’s cheeks burned, even as his chest crumpled in on itself. He had done his best to not think about Rose all afternoon, yet here was Jack, bringing her up every other sentence.

“Well, at least I can finally say I got you in the bedroom,” Jack said lightly, digging his elbow into James’s ribs.

James managed a weak, half-hearted snort. “Not quite how you expected it though, is it?”

“Admittedly, we were both a lot more naked,” Jack lamented. “I’ll let you save the nakedness for Rose. Speaking of, what does she think of your sudden home makeover?”

James’s stomach hollowed out, and he surprised himself by confessing, “Dunno. Haven’t told her.”

Jack went silent for the first time all night. James could feel his friend’s eyes on him, but he steadfastly inspected his walls, looking for any imperfections he would have to pay close attention to when he applied the second coat.

“James, what happened?”

Jack’s voice was so soft and so knowing that the backs of James’s eyes prickled. Damn. He thought he was done crying. James sighed and rubbed the heels of his hands into his eyes.

“I think… I think Rose and I might be breaking up soon,” he said, his voice hoarse.

Jack simply blinked at him, his face expressionless. “Right. We’re gonna get some alcohol, then you are going to explain everything to me. Why do you think you and Rose are breaking up? You two are the epitome of soulmates, if such a thing exists.”

James snorted, remembering every hurtful thing he and Rose had said last night. “Not anymore, we’re not.”

Jack clapped him lightly on the back, before he encircled his arm around his shoulders and gave him a squeeze. “Let’s go sit down.”

Keeping his arm where it was, Jack guided James to the kitchen and plopped him into the chair that Rose usually sat in. James didn’t bother moving, and instead watched his friend go to the fridge and pull out a partially-drunk bottle of wine. He and Rose had opened that bottle last weekend. They’d snuggled on the sofa together and made a drinking game out of watching a cooking show together. Half way through the bottle, they’d gotten pleasantly tipsy and had stopped paying attention to the television in favor of making out.

Jack found the cabinet that contained the wine glasses and pulled down two of them. He sat at the table opposite of James, filled the glasses, and pushed one towards him. James gulped down half of it in one go.

“Okay. Tell me everything,” Jack said, topping off James’s wine glass.

The words poured out of him, from every heartbreaking thing Rose had told him, to everything he had said in return. Jack’s face remained impassive as James spoke, never once interrupting, even though James wasn’t sure he managed to capture all of the details as clearly as he would have preferred.

“I’ve ruined everything,” James concluded, polishing off the liquid in his glass before refilling it.

“No, you haven’t,” Jack said gently. “You buggered it up a little bit. But so did Rose. You brought up some valid points, James. You deserve to be in a relationship with someone who is honest and forthcoming. It isn’t a good balance for one person to constantly be sharing while the other remains a closed book. However, it’s not healthy to expect the same level of reciprocity from Rose as what you bring to the table. Especially when you haven’t been upfront with Rose about your expectations. And where you did bugger things up was with shooting yourself down so hard. Especially as a way to excuse what you’ve said, or assumptions you’ve made.”

“But… I genuinely feel like I’m at a complete and utter loss all the time,” James defended, ringing his fingertip around his wine glass. “It’s like… it’s like people innately know how to do this, this romance thing, and I’m bumbling along like an idiot.”

“Were you insecure in your friendship with Rose? Before you began dating? Did you feel any of this last semester?”

James paused, considering. He’d always had some butterflies when he spent time with Rose last semester, but for the most part, he’d simply enjoyed being in her presence. That hadn’t changed at all, despite their new relationship status. She had remained his best friend, the person he always wanted to be around, and the person he wanted to share every piece of his life with.

“No,” he whispered, pressing his fingertips into his eyes.

“Soooo… what’s the difference between being Rose’s friend versus being her boyfriend? I mean, I assume by now that you’re having sex? Apart from that, it’s not like anything really changed. Is the sex bad or something? Do you not like it?”

James felt his cheeks heating as his stomach twisted. Being intimate with Rose was one of the most special things he’d ever shared with someone. Not only did it feel brilliant, better than he ever thought physical pleasure could be, but it was equally as emotionally satisfying. Being vulnerable with Rose hadn’t been terrifying or overwhelming, but rather comforting. There had been nobody he trusted more than Rose.

“No,” he croaked. “No, it’s been… it’s been incredible. Everything with her has been incredible.”

“Has Rose given any indication that she has been dissatisfied with you in any way? Not even with the sex, but just…” Jack waved his hands around in the air. “…in general?”

You’re everything I never thought I deserved to have.

Hot tears burned in his eyes then dripped down his cheeks. Every kiss she’d given him, every squeeze of her hand in his, every sleepy smile that spread across her face when she woke up and saw him… It all raced through his head, a testament to their love.

What have I done?

He pressed his palms into his eyes

“No,” he answered, his voice raw.

Jack sighed. “Oh, James.”

“I know!” He plonked his forehead down onto the table and curled his arms around his head, tugging on his hair until it hurt. “I fucked up, Jack.”

James heard the scraping of chair legs on the floor, then a warm body was pressed tightly into his own. Jack wrapped his arm around James’s shoulders, leaning into him in a sideways hug.

“Much like having sex,” Jack began, “having an argument takes more than one person. Most times, anyway. If either situation is being done by only one person, chances are they’re a wanker.”

James let out a weak laugh, even as his eyes and throat burned with more tears.

“Rose said some very hurtful things,” Jack said, rubbing his hand soothingly up and down James’s arm. “She needs to apologize and address those. But you accused her of some pretty terrible things, too. From what you’ve said, Rose’s relationship with this Jimmy guy was toxic, if not abusive. It’s insulting for you to suggest she would want to go back into a relationship like that.”

James’s stomach ached. He had known for months that Rose’s relationship with Jimmy had been unhealthy, and that her heart had been badly broken. That should have been enough for him. Did he really need to know every single detail of her heartbreak?

No, he decided. No, he didn’t. However, he would have liked to have known that Jimmy had reached out to her. At the very least, James wanted to know why Rose hadn’t wanted to tell him Jimmy had contacted her.

“I don’t know how to fix this,” he admitted.

“At least you know you want to fix it,” Jack said, giving James a squeeze. “That’s a good start. It means you’ve determined that what you have with Rose is worth fighting for. But you need to take a long, hard look at what you want from this relationship, and more importantly, what you want from Rose. And you need to be receptive to what she wants from you and your relationship. And you need to work on your own insecurities and stop projecting them onto Rose. That’s a shitty thing to do, James. You have the insecurities, so it’s your job to work through them. Stop making excuses for yourself, and stop projecting them onto Rose.”

“Not sugar coating this at all, are you?” James muttered, though he knew Jack’s advice was sound.

“Nope. I’ve let you mope for a half hour, but now you need to start making things right. And remember. You can only change yourself—you can’t change Rose. So decide what you’re willing to put up with, because she might never be as open as you want her to be. But also set some boundaries for yourself. A relationship is give and take, and lots of compromise. You can’t keep giving and giving and giving, or else you’re not going to have anything left.”

James cocked his head to the side and peeked up at Jack. “Do you have a degree in relationship counseling that I don’t know about?”

Jack laughed, and took his arm away from James’s shoulders to instead ruffle his hair. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“But how do I start a conversation with Rose to tell her I want to fix things?” James asked.

Jack pursed his lips and tapped his finger to his chin in mock thought. “Have you considered anything like “Hi Rose, I really want to make up and then make out”?”

James snorted. “I’ll think of something else. Oh, and I might have some furniture coming tomorrow or Saturday. Wanna help me move stuff?”

Jack winked. “You know, I think I’m busy. Why don’t you see if Rose is free?”

“Subtle,” James drawled. He then sighed. “Thanks for stopping by, Jack.”

“See, aren’t you glad I wasn’t put off by your less-than-warm welcome? If you want to practice your apology skills, I’ll take one.”

“Okay, I think it’s time we said goodbye,” James said, dragging his weary body up from the chair. He collected their empty wine glasses and set them in the sink.

“A piece of advice, don’t try that one with Rose. Maybe try a kiss or two. I’ll take one of those, if you’re offering.”

James rolled his eyes and lightly shoved his friend out of the kitchen. They’d only made it a few steps when the doorbell rang.

“Bit late for a social call, isn’t it?” Jack asked, frowning at James.

James gestured up and down the length of Jack’s body. “You can talk, showing up here at nine o’clock.”

“Touché. Late-night furniture delivery?”

“I haven’t ordered anything yet. Besides, no one would deliver this late.”

Shrugging, James stepped ahead of his friend to yank open the front door. His breath left him in a sharp, little whoosh when he beheld the person standing in the yellow glow of the porch light, cradling a small, plastic container to her stomach.

“Rose.”

[angrylizardjacket]

and then there was light [4] {Roger Taylor}

A/N: 5060 words. part 4? part 4. it’s a bit of a darker one and before you ask, there will be a part 5, you know i wouldn’t end it on a cliffhanger and do you dirty like that.

[part 1] [part 2] [part 3]

The moment Roger steps foot into the meeting about the design of the shows for the upcoming American legs of the ‘Night at the Opera’ world tour, he’s pretty sure he’s already mentally checked out. Freddie’s doing all the talking, to literally no-one’s surprise; the man has big ambitions for his own costumes, and knows the other guys will pipe up about their own needs when they get to meet with just the costume designer. John Reid brings up the technical requirements, Roger’s got the ‘galileo’s from Bohemian Rhapsody playing on repeat in his head as he stares into the middle distance, and it’s Deaky who sits forward.

“We’ve got a pretty solid idea for the lights; Freddie and I have been consulting with a designer in America; she’s freelance, used to work for EMI, she’s reliable.” He assures, and Roger’s thinking ‘hey that sounds familiar’ but Reid seems satisfied and they’re already moving on to the staging and sound equipment needed. 

Roger doesn’t connect the dots at first; it’s been almost four years since that fateful American tour, and they’ve had other tours come and go since, and as far as the others are concerned, they’re pretty sure he hasn’t spared you a thought since arriving home at the end of that tour. But he does, even if he doesn’t mean to.

The tour after you’d quit working for EMI, someone drops a parcan side of stage, and his heart is in his throat when he realises he was waiting to hear you yell ‘okay that one wasn’t my fault’ or something similar. All he hears is a faint apology, and a call from someone to get a broom. The scheduling’s different this time around, he can’t even have a cigarette in an empty theatre without some stagehand buzzing back and forth, or a band member trotting across the stage as they practice. It would be so much easier to lay on the stage if the rest of them were confined to one place while they played, like he was behind the drums. It’d be boring as shit, he would be the first to acknowledge that, but it would mean he would get stepped on less during lunch, and that’s a sacrifice he’s willing to make with the toe of Freddie’s shoe poking at his waist.

Nothing serious had come his way in that time, or rather, he’d never found anyone who could hold his attention for more than a week or two. People became dreadfully boring when all they wanted to do was faun over him and fuck him; not that it wasn’t fun at first, it was always fun at first, but there was a lack of variety, a sinking sensation that these people were more attracted to the idea of him that left a sour aftertaste.

But now he’s here, new company, new album, second leg of the new tour, new chance to sample all different women across this great nation. He’s already a little tipsy from his multiple jack and coke’s on the plane when they land, and he’s passed out on the tour bus before it even gets to the first tour stop. Once in Conneticut, he’s dragged from the bus, and informed that as soon as the tech crew had finished their meeting, they could start loading in their instruments. 

“How long have they been here?” Brian asks the stage hand, and the guy shrugs. 

“A couple of hours; the Floor Tech wanted the drum risers set up before she gave the brief.” He tells them as he lead the band in to the theatre, where most of the crew were milling about on stage. 

“She always did have a flare for the dramatic.” John says with a grin where his eyes were trained on the stage, and Freddie hums in agreement, which only serves to confuse Roger further until he sees an all too familiar figure climbing the drum risers with a clipboard in hand.

“Alright guys, can I have your attention, please?” Even after all these years, the sound of your voice hits Roger square in the chest. “I wanna make this as quick and painless as possible, so after today we can bump in and bump out without any hassles.” You addressed the crowd with an easy confidence from your place at the top of the drum risers, tapping your nails against the back of the clipboard in your hands, wearing the overalls he’d seen you in so many times before.

“You can call me Spotlight; I’m the Head Floor Tech for the tour, as well as lighting designer; those of you on my lighting team, you’ve got a copy of the lighting plan, and I’ll be talking to you about how we’re gonna run it after this. Next time, I’ll get some help from the stage hands to set up the drum risers, I had a few people help me today to get them set up early, but that’s just because I like being tall.” With a sharp grin you pause as a titter of laughter spreads around the group, “stage management team, you’re in charge of making sure side of stage is set up with anything the band needs, and that it’s clear of unnecessary clutter and people, and running cabling for the sound guys; they’ll tell you what they need.”

After a beat, you look around the gathered crowd, and nod firmly, a gesture which a few of them return.

“If you have any questions, remember; find your Light.” You point directly at yourself. “We break for lunch at one, but until then we’ve got a lot to get through; let’s get rockin’.” Grinning brightly, you hop down from the risers into the crowd of crew members, ushering a bunch, each holding a sheet of paper, off to the side, as the others scattered like cockroaches under light.

“What the fuck is she doing here?” Roger finally finds his voice where he’s still standing, a little dumbstruck, alone in the aisle of the theatre where the others had left him behind.

“Didn’t you hear her speech? Spotlight’s our lighting designer.” Freddie calls over his shoulder, eyes wide and innocent, as if he hadn’t set this all up without thinking to mention it to Roger.

“Our what now?” He splutters, jogging a little to catch up to the other band members as they made their way towards the stage. He’s not quite sure what he’s doing, or what will happen when he gets their; the last thing you’d said to him was that you were stupid to think he was above his reputation, while you were in tears, and then it had been three years of nothing. He’s not going to run, at least he’s pretty sure he’s not; he’s self aware enough to know he was in the wrong last time you spoke, that he was an asshole, but he’s not going to be a coward. Not again.

“That was quite the speech.” John waits patiently until the crew who made up the lighting team had dispersed before addressing the familiar face at the centre. You turn, eyes bright and smile brighter, casually making your way towards him and the rest of the band.

“Yeah, I really feel in my element, you know?” It’s with an easy familiarity that you pull John into a hug, giving him a firm squeeze. “Good to finally see you again.” And then you’re hugging Freddie, and then Brian, and you stop short in front of Roger. It’s a stalemate, neither one wanting to be the first to look away, but both unsure of what to do. In the end, you don’t even offer him a handshake, just nod, and you turn back to the others.

“How’s Pippin been?” Freddie asks, and you’re about to answer, but Roger cuts in.

“Hang on, can someone fill me in here? Lovely to see you, by the way, just a little confused as to how you got here.” He says, and you’re lost for words, just blinking rapidly, trying to process the whole situation.

“Did you not tell him I was working with you guys?” Your words come out incredulous as you turn your gaze upon John and Freddie, who seem just as bewildered as you.

“I thought he’d cotton on when I mentioned an American designer who used to work for EMI.” John mused, turning his gaze on Roger, who frowned, thinking back to the initial meeting he’d just mentioned.

“I did,” Brian piped up, before casting a smile at John and Freddie that was just a little bit confused, “though I wasn’t a part of this little setup.” He tried to reassure the drummer.

“In my defense,” Roger started, before his gaze dropped, “I wasn’t paying attention, design isn’t exactly my forte.” He admitted, and you had to shake your head at that, exasperated and already a exhausted.

“Pippin’s good.” You go back to John’s initial question. Pippin isn’t so much a person as it is a touring version of a Broadway musical that had opened a year ago, to great success.

It turns out a written letter of recommendation from both the lead singer, and bass player of Queen goes rather far in the industry. After taking some time for yourself, you call up EMI to beg them not to fire you, however it turns out you needn’t have; both John and Freddie had given glowing reports of your work ethic and skill, and the man on the other end of the line is just eager to know when you were next available. 

The moment you’re on site next, they tell you you’ve been promoted to Floor Tech; they hand you a roll of gaff tape and a drill and a whole new set of responsibilities, heaped onto your usual load. You don’t even remember who had been performing, the tour had only lasted a month, all you know is that they were calling you Spotlight from the moment you’d arrived; apparently it was what Freddie had called you, and John had to clarify.

John is the first to contact you again, through EMI of course, and he becomes something of a comfort when you consider taking your career beyond the company that kept you firmly in the one position on tour. Freddie calls you less often, and never about business; it’s John who gives you the courage to leave EMI, and he’s the one who helps set up as a freelance theatre and event crew member. 

People had been head hunting you from tour to tour, beyond even EMI, some smaller acts even giving you the full Lighting Designer role. They expect you to sit back, let a stage hand or an assistant to take care of it, but every time you watch someone else focus a spot, your fingers itch to be doing it yourself. Dedicated to a fault, Roger had once called you, you think about it every time you climb an unsteady ladder, and think perhaps that he’s right.

The moment Pippin announces it’s tour, and puts out calls for crew, you’re first in line for the job, putting your hat in the ring for lighting, but happy enough to take any crew role. Not that you don’t love working with bands, but there’s a certain finesse that comes with theatre lighting that you can’t get anywhere else in the world. After two years, and the support of both John and Freddie, you find yourself as the assistant Lighting Designer, as well as Head Floor Tech, and once you step foot onto the tour bus, everything else becomes history.

Speaking of history, later in the day, after the rest of the crew have broken for lunch, you’re wedged under the drum risers, running some cables, when you hear someone climb up them, taking a seat at the drums.

“If you play one beat-” You’re cut off by Roger’s yell of surprise, as he’s so startled he almost falls off his chair.

“Holy shit, who is that?” He’s breathing heavily, voice panicked, and for a moment you take pleasure imagining clutching his hand to his chest like a delicate, little grandmother.

“Take a wild stab in the dark,” you mutter, unwedging yourself from beneath the structure, raising an eyebrow as you look at him. Almost immediately he’s frowning, and you’re thrown back to the moment almost three years ago where you’d been here before, looking up at him from behind the drum risers after you’d changed out the light mid-show. Clearing your throat loudly, you break the moment, getting to your feet and making your way to the side of the stage.

“What are you doing here?” He calls, watching idly as you go about counting out fly lines until you get to the one you’d been looking for. You’d gotten here early to go through the fly-line procedure with the Duty Tech for the venue, and now you lowered the LX bar it was attached to with ease after making sure there was no-one in the way. Your focus made something in his chest tighten, and he feels like he’s being taken back in time; you’re beautiful when you work, passionate and skilled, meticulous, that hadn’t changed. Roger has to look away.

“My job,” and you just sound tired when you say it, already securing the meticulously placed lights onto the bar you’d just lowered, going along and fixing them to the metal in a neat line. An uncomfortable silence spreads between you, punctuated only by the scrape of metal against metal, and the rattle of the safety chains.

“What are you doing here?” You don’t even try to hide the snippiness from your voice, not even turning to look at his as the accusatory words hang in the air.

“I’m having a smoke in what I thought was going to be relative peace, it’s something I do, okay?” Voice defensive, you hear the rustle of cardboard and hear the click of a cigarette, your annoyance growing with each passing moment.

“No, it’s what I do. It’s what I did three years ago, you just started showing up. You stole my relative peace.” You snapped, turning to him, a blazing fury in your eyes at his words, before your lip curled in disgust, “And you don’t even do anything with it.” You scoffed, and he went quiet, sulking behind his drum kit. Sensing he wasn’t got to talk back you turn back to your work.

The moment you turn away, he sees the way you heave a sigh, angry tension draining from your shoulders, a little hunched as you concentrated. Your hands shake a little as you fiddle with the safety chains. There’s still that confidence there, the ease with which you moved about the stage, but unlike around other people, when it was just Roger - though he suspected you were pretending he wasn’t there - you just looked... weary.

After that first town, he keeps his distance for a few stops, though the other band members look to keep you company on occasion. But then... he’s there again. Quiet this time, he just watches where you hold yourself like royalty at the top of a rickety ladder, so sure of yourself. He’d forgotten the sight of you in your element, and it hits him like a truck.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” You snap when you chance a glance down and see his awestruck expression looking up at you. The shock comes when he actually looks abashed, averting his gaze, picking up his drumsticks and tapping out a rhythm that you’re pretty sure you recognise.

You’re both too stubborn to give the other one the peace of the theatre at lunch, however, while you’re content with stewing in silence as you worked, Roger, to no-one’s surprise, is not.

“How’ve you been?” He brings himself to ask. You stop where you’re replacing a gel on one of the drum riser lights, taking a long moment to consider your words carefully.

“Busy.” Tired. The subtext comes through loud and clear, despite your short answer, and once you’d finished with the light, you stand, before taking a moment to stretch your back out from behind hunched over.

“Working a lot?” I can tell. He answers after a long pause, almost sympathetic, and you know he’s not really responding to the words you’d said out loud.

“Yeah, non stop.” No subtext, just responding at face value, before your eyes up to the mostly finished rig. Afternoons were for last minute fixes and focusing, there wasn’t much left you could do, unless you were willing to ask for Roger’s help.

“When did your last thing end?” He asks, and you click your tongue as you turn on your heel, burned out gel in your hand, heading for a bin.

“Two days before this one.” You admitted. When you’re met with silence, you turn, and Roger’s frowning at you, almost disbelieving.

“You’re not still sleeping on the tour bus, are you?” He asks, and you roll your eyes before you tell him your accommodation is paid for this time around. You’re the first to leave, for the first time since everything had started, you leave halfway through to actually eat lunch, leaving Roger to himself.

When he’s drunk after the show, leaning against some local pub, with a girl leaning against him, heavy enough that the two of them would have tipped over if it wasn’t for the counter, he can’t get you out of his mind.

“I didn’t ruin her career.” His eyes go wide as the words, with something akin to revelation, escape him, and the girl makes a noise of confusion, her fingers ghosting over his chest, but he can’t even bring himself to enjoy it.

“I didn’t ruin her career!” He announces, excited and pleased in his inebriated state, sitting himself so forcefully on the arm of Freddie’s chair that he spills part of his drink. Freddie makes a noise of confusion, looking up at the blonde, and Roger gesticulates enough to spill more of his drink, ignoring Freddie’s yelp. “Spotlight! She said I’d ruined her career!” 

“When?” Freddie asks, just as John pops out from seemingly nowhere.

“Well you certainly didn’t help it. That was me.” Roger doesn’t care that John’s drunk, the way bassist says it, so serene and matter-of-fact, makes it sting just a little bit worse. His mood instantly flips.

“Can you piss off? Go be her best friend somewhere else.” Roger snapped, and he knew he’d regret being so sharp with John the following morning, but it seemed John himself knew that Roger was in a mood, and obligingly fucked off, seemingly not taking it to heart. “When we broke up, she accused me of ruining her career.” And he realises too late, when Freddie’s eyes go wide with realisation, that he’s said too much.

“Is this where you tell me exactly what went down between you two?” He asked, tapping Roger’s leg with excitement. The blonde, however, stood abruptly, glower on his face.

“No. Fuck off.” 

Roger spends almost fifteen minutes banging on the door of the tour bus before he remembers that you’re not in there, and falls into bed alone, fully clothed.

“The fuck did you say to Freddie last night?” The moment he steps foot onto the stage at lunch, you’re waiting for him, already livid. He’s tempted to turn and walk right back out the door. “Apparently he doesn’t know the real reason that I went home last ti- !” 

“Of course he doesn’t!” Roger snapped back, on the defensive without a moment’s hesitation. “It makes me look like a fucking wanker and he’d kick my ass; he adores you!” And that was enough to shock you into silence, grip loosening on the gaff tape in your hands. “They all do.” He said, and your expression turns unreadable.

“I know.” You finally said, a new, strange quality to your voice, it’s something akin to shock, but not quite, and Roger doesn’t know what to say next. “What about you?” You finally ask, voice a little defensive. It hurts to see you look at him with such a judgemental eye, though he’s well aware he deserves it.

“Doesn’t matter, does it? I could apologise a thousand times and you’d still be pissy.” He huffs, and you cross your arms, cocking your hip.

“At least once would be nice.” You level a cold glare at him and his gaze snaps back at yours, surprised. “You never once apologised, you know that?” And your voice is low, hurt and honest. “Are you even sorry for what happened?”

“It was three years ago-” He sighs, but you cut him off, shifting your weight to your other foot, swallowing thickly.

“So that’s a no. Glad to see where you stand.” And you turn to cross the stage to where you’ve already got the ladder set up, but he makes his way to you in three long strides, making to grab at your upper arm. The moment he does, however, you whirl around, slapping him, hard. “I told you to never fucking touch me; did you think I forgot?” And he sees why you were so eager to leave; there’s tears in your eyes, so close to breaking and streaming down your cheeks, your lip trembling. Something about your voice is so raw, it hurts worse than the slap.

“I am sorry.” And he sounds so fucking sincere, but you just glare at him, unashamed where the tears have begun to track down your cheeks. 

“You had your chance to say sorry; you had your chance to beg for forgiveness, but you told me I could leave; so I did, and so did your fucking opportunity.” But you can’t bring yourself to step back, frozen in place where he’s less than a foot away. Every fibre of your being is betraying you, wanting to be around him, close to him, after what he did.

“I’m sorry what happened between us;” his voice is so level, carefully controlled, you know he’s think hard about what he’s about to admit, “I fucked up, I know that; I’m sorry. It was three years ago but I’m still sorry. I’ve been sorry for a long time now.”

“Since it happened?” You asked, and he didn’t drop your gaze, answering without flinching or hesitation.

“Since I started worrying I’d lose you; I know what I’m like, I knew what I’d end up doing.” He admitted, and the words clearly didn’t have his intended impact as you stumble back, free hand clutching your chest.

“And yet you still-” And quietly, so quietly you’re not even sure he hears it, the words come out as more of a defeated whimper than anything else; “How could you not tell I was in love with you?” 

He’s in shock, and you barge past him, leaving as you can no longer contain your aching heart, and you head to the hotel you were staying at down the road, taking the rest of the lunch break to cry.

When you return, the rest of the crew has filtered in, Roger looks guilty, and Freddie and John look about ready to commit violent homicide, which was unsurprising for Freddie, but there was something comforting about Deaky wearing the expression too. In less than a week, the whole crew knows, and wherever you go, you feel yourself followed by pitying stares, which won’t go away, no matter how hard you throw yourself into your work.

“You’re working yourself into the ground.” Roger tells you a week later, watching the way your arms tremble as you focus a light, and it takes you a moment to blink blearily at him. “Don’t forget the security chain.” He adds, and you scowl, before looking at the light itself, and hurriedly affix the security chain to the rig. You insist that you’re fine, making your way down the ladder to scoop up another parcan, but you almost immediately drop it. 

“I just need some food.” You try to insist, your hands shaking as you leave the light where it is.

You don’t come out after shows, and it’s not gone unnoticed. The rest of the crew think you’re just dedicated, personable for the most part but prone to bouts of standoffishness.

“Oh you should have seen her on our first tour,” Freddie muses to an enraptured crowd at an afterparty, a few crew members listening with a bright-eyed attention, “that woman risked life and limb for our show.” And he sounds so proud when he says it, but something twists uncomfortably in Roger’s gut.

Cracks don’t show around other people, Roger’s noticed; you’re smile’s bright enough and your voice is loud enough that they don’t see the way your hands shake. Or how tired your eyes are. But then there are moments, you stand as if in the eye of the storm, gaff tape and drill in hand, watching as people follow your instructions without question, and you look up to see Roger tweaking his drums, and the two of you share a look. It’s a little indecipherable, he’s concerned and you’re just... tired. He wants to offer to help, but as soon as the moment arrives, it’s passed, and you’re off to the next task.

The air between the two of you has lost it’s angry tension; after saying your peace, after hearing his apology, there’s no fight left. Just a lingering disappointment, a quiet like the moment after a world-weary sigh. You don’t have to pretend around Roger, you both know he’d see through it if you’d tried.

“You should come get a drink after; you look like you need it.” Roger laughs, but there’s no humour in it. Without missing a beat, you decline, you don’t even bother coming up with an excuse. 

“I’m worried about you.” The tour is almost three weeks in, and you’re asleep against the proscenium arch when he walks in. You wake with a start at the sound of his voice, reaching out for the light you’d been fiddling with before you’d passed out. When you look to him with confusion, he repeats himself slowly. “I’m worried about you; are you sleeping okay?” 

“As if that’s any of your business.” You snapped back, and Roger kept quiet. It only takes him a day to figure out that sleep isn’t really a luxury you allowed yourself; you were the last out every night after bump out, sometimes staying until two in the morning, and from what the crew said, you were always the first up, running through check lists, accident reports, and going over anything that needed maintenance. 

When Freddie asks you to come out with them after a gig, you find it difficult to say no, he helped get you this job after all, but you’re there for barely half an hour before Roger sees you slip out the side door, drink untouched.

John asks if you’re okay one afternoon when you drop a stack of gel frames without warning, jumping almost a foot in the air and looking like you’re about to break into tears from shock, but seems content when you explain you’re just tired. Tired doesn’t even begin to cover how overworked you are.

The night you finally decide to relax a little, bump out having been miraculously fast, you’ve got the next day off. The others cheer you on as you down drink after drink, the alcohol hitting you hard and quickly, and the world gets blurry as you find yourself on the dance floor. It’s easy to drink too much, because for the first time in a long time, you’re relaxed, not worrying about the pretty, dickhead blonde who worries about you when he really shouldn’t. 

You’re drunk enough to admit to yourself that part of you likes the attention he’s giving you, it feels like vindication for the heartache you went through all those years ago. Part of it’s not even vindictive, part of you just likes the way he looks at you, the way his smile made your heart beat just a little faster; you call that part a fucking traitor and have another drink.

You don’t remember leaving the bar, but you come back to your body when you’re leaning against a streetlight for support, halfway through telling someone to fuck off.

“Ya’ not my caretaker, Roger,” you sneer, “you don’t need to look after me or whatever this is. Go help groupies home or to hotel or whatever.” You spit, and push off from the light, turning on your heel, almost topple over, and right yourself.

“Light, that’s the wrong way.” He calls, exasperated, and you turn again, this time actually crashing to the ground and grazing your hand on the way, before you get to your feet. He’s come over to try and help you, but you swat him away.

“You don’t get to call me that.” You stalk ahead of him in the direction he had come from, back toward the hotel, and he follows only a few steps behind.

“Fine, Y/N; you’re legless, let me help.” And after a moment of intense eye contact, in which you try to weigh up your options, you begrudgingly loop your arm through his.

“You’re still on my shit-list.” You inform him, and he hums in acknowledgement. “Why are you doing this?” You follow it up with.

“I’m not the asshole who fucked you over three years ago, and I’m not gonna let you get yourself killed for this show.” He said through gritted teeth, and you just smiled, a little dreamily.

“But what a way to go.” And he came to an abrupt stop. It took you a moment to realise, and looking back, you tugged on his arm to keep him moving. He just frowned at you, a little concerned. “Fuck, I didn’t mean it.”

“If I have to fire you to get you to take a break-” He threatened, and you scoffed, expression turning bitter.

“I’ll drop a light on you.”

“You’ll drop a light on me by accident before then anyways!” He crowed, and your expression fell, contemplative. “Just let me help; what do I have to do to make you actually rest? What do I have to do to prove myself?”

[lastbluetardis]

Chemical Reaction (19/22)

Summary: Though their chemistry class is now over, the chemistry between James and Rose is just getting started. Together, they navigate the highs of new love and the lows of coping with past trauma to forge deep and unbreakable bonds of love and commitment. Part 2 in the Catalysis series. Tagging @doctorroseprompts

This chapter: ~7400 words, teen

If you like my stories, consider leaving me a tip? I know these are trying times, but if you are able, I would really appreciate it xoxo. And as always, comments and reblogs are very much appreciated as well.

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Ch1 | Ch2 | Ch3 | Ch4 | Ch5 | Ch6 | Ch7 | Ch8 | Ch9 | Ch10 | Ch11 | Ch12 | Ch13 | Ch14 | Ch15 | Ch16 | Ch17 | Ch18 | Ch19 | Ch20 | Ch21 | epilogue

James couldn’t believe his eyes. He blinked hard, thinking his exhaustion had caught up with him. No, the blonde woman on his porch had to be the night-shift nurse who lived across the street—she often liked to indulge in late-night baking on her nights off, and there were times she would come to James for an ingredient she was missing, or to give him a small sampling of her confectionery creations.

(He had the sudden, jarring, embarrassing realization that she may have been flirting with him the whole time… Is that why she hasn’t come around in months?)

“Rose,” he said again when blinking stupidly for at least ten seconds didn’t transform Rose into anyone else.

“Hi,” she said quietly. She looked exhausted; there were prominent shadows beneath her eyes and her shoulders drooped like a heavy weight sat upon them.

Her gaze flicked over his shoulder, and her face fell. “Oh. Sorry. Didn’t realize you had company. I’ll just…” She thumbed behind herself to the dark road. How did she get here? “Sorry.”

Before he could protest, Jack clapped James on the shoulder and announced, “No, no. I was getting ready to head out. Come on, get in out of the cold.”

Jack pressed a smacking kiss to James’s cheek, then muttered, “Talk to her,” into his ear. He then stepped forward and gave Rose a loose hug and kiss on the cheek before he walked to his vehicle that was parked on the side of the street.

They turned to watch Jack start his car and drive off into the night. James looked at Rose, then at the squarish plastic Tupperware container she held. She was absently flicking her thumb nail across the tab on the lid.

“What’ve you got there?” he asked, nodding to the container.

Rose chewed on her bottom lip and pushed her hair behind her ear. “Well. We’ve been playing a game all month, haven’t we? Time to celebrate.”

She popped the lid off the container and handed it to him. In it were half a dozen large, muffin-sized chocolate cupcakes, frosted in vanilla icing and decorated with pink and yellow star sprinkles. The words “Happy Birthday” were written in small, neat, glossy red letters across each cupcake. His stomach sank.

“It… it’s your birthday?” he croaked. Of course—of fucking course—today had been her birthday.

Rose nodded. “I… I didn’t want to let my entire birthday pass without spending some time with my favorite person.”

James nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. “Hope you had fun.”

Rose raised an incredulous eyebrow, and the penny dropped.

“Me?” he squeaked, the knot in his chest loosening.

“Yes you, you numpty. Just because I’m angry with you doesn’t mean I stopped loving you. Do you not love me anymore because we fought?”

James’s knees weakened at the ‘l’ word. He took a step towards her, the arm not holding the cupcakes extended. Her face softened and she stepped into his proffered embrace. Her body was warm and solid against him. Heat prickled behind his eyes as he wrapped his arms as tightly around her as he could without upending the Tupperware container.

“I’m sorry, Rose. I’m so sorry. I…”

“Can we not do this on the front porch?” she asked, voice muffled. “S’cold.”

James was loath to let go of her, but he had to agree the night was getting frigid, especially for him, with his bare feet and thin pajama bottoms and t-shirt. With a sigh, he gave her a final squeeze and dropped his arms from around her waist, then stepped back to usher her into his home.

She toed off her shoes by the front door, and he could already predict her questions when she angled her head towards the hallway. “Did you paint something?”

James scratched the back of his neck. “Er. Yeah. Started repainting my bedroom.”

A small, sad smile tugged at the side of Rose’s mouth. “Needed something to keep your mind busy?”

“Something like that,” he admitted.

A more genuine smile crossed her face as she gestured to the Tupperware container he was holding. “Y’know, stress baking would've been cheaper.”

James blinked, then gaped down at the cupcakes he was holding. The font of the words was perfect cursive, the spread of the icing uniform and even. He blurted, “You made these?”

“Thanks for that vote of confidence,” she drawled. “Yes, I made them. Well. Elsa helped. She came over to my flat this afternoon. Bit of a girl’s night. Had pizza and wine, then made cupcakes. She’s actually really good at decorating; she’s got this whole set of frosting tips to make fancy designs. She did the lettering.”

“They look lovely. Very professional,” he said. He jutted his head to his kitchen, motioning for her to follow. She did, her quiet, shuffling footsteps falling into rhythm with his.

Rather than go into the kitchen, Rose peeled off to the living room, where Merry and Pippin were lounging on the sofa together, half-asleep. James watched her squat down in front of the cats and give them a bit of love before she returned to him.

“Should Jack have driven himself home?”

James glanced at Rose and saw her pointing to the kitchen table, where the mostly-empty bottle of wine sat. It had a few mouthfuls left.

“It was only half-full when we started,” James answered, picking up the bottle and hurriedly drinking the last of the wine. “This was from last weekend, when you and I… Anyway, he had one glass. I drank most of it. He should be fine.”

“Tell him to let us know when he gets home safely,” Rose said.

James snapped off a lazy salute then sent Jack a text, passing along Rose’s request. He set the Tupperware container of cupcakes on the counter before grabbing two clean bowls from the dishwasher he hadn’t bothered to empty.

“Oh, I really shouldn’t,” Rose said with a grimace. “I already had one after they came out of the oven. Plus pizza. M’gonna puff up like a balloon.”

She pinched her waist, and James frowned. “What are you talking about? You’re beautiful.”

Her cheeks flamed pink and she dropped her hand limply to her side. 

“I had a huge, greasy burger and chips for dinner. D’you think I’m gonna puff up like a balloon?” he asked, tilting his head to the side.

“Well, no. But you’re…” She let her sentence dangle as she waved her hand vaguely up and down his body. 

“And you’re…” He mirrored her gesture. “Rose, I find you absolutely beautiful, and you losing or gaining weight won’t change my opinion. Not that my opinion should matter. If you don’t want a cupcake, or if you’re not hungry, that’s fine. And again, not that you need my approval.”

Rose sighed and twisted her hands in front of herself before she turned away from him and rooted in his freezer for ice cream he always made sure to have on hand.

“I had a minor eating disorder as a teen,” Rose said quietly, pulling out the ice cream and shutting the freezer. “Nothing too serious. I was obsessed with my weight, and was really careful with what I ate. I counted and logged calories. I grew out of it when I realized watching what I ate made me feel even worse about myself. Of course I still tried to eat healthy and to eat reasonably-sized portions, but I stopped being so strict with it. I obviously started putting on some weight, nothing too drastic, but Jimmy would often tease me and tell me to lay off the chips or whatever, because rock stars don’t date chubby girls.”

James’s ears were ringing with rage and heartbreak, and he was furious with himself for everything he had accused Rose of last night regarding Jimmy.

“Rose, I…”

“As I said, I’m fine now and I don’t really care about my weight or body image as much,” Rose interrupted, setting the ice cream on the counter in front of him. “But sometimes those thoughts pop up without me realizing it. Like they did just now.”

Unsure of how to respond, James instead took a cupcake out of the Tupperware container, unwrapped the paper from the bottom, and set it into the bowl. “Did I… did I say something wrong?”

“No. Quite the opposite, actually. You told me your opinion, but didn’t shove it in my face or try to force me to believe you. And like I said, I don’t often realize when I’m having these thoughts.”

He nodded and forced his lips into some semblance of a smile that he hoped looked supportive. He then returned his gaze to the bowl and the ice cream she’d retrieved.

“D’you want to share this with me?” he asked, gesturing to the bowl with a spoon.

Rose nodded. He scooped several large dollops of vanilla ice cream into the bowl then he went to his junk drawer. It overflowed with a random assortment of objects: scissors, several different types of batteries, notepads, pens, pencils, a ruler, a screwdriver, tape, glue, Band-Aids, rubber bands, paper clips, binder clips, thumbtacks, toothpicks, a ball of twine, a condom, a tampon, and so many other things James didn't remember throwing into the drawer.

He dug through the mishmash of objects until he found a small, half-empty box of birthday candles and a matchbook. He took out four candles and brought them and the matches over to where Rose stood at the counter.

“I would try to shove twenty-two of them into the cupcake, but firstly I don’t have twenty-two candles, and secondly, I’m pretty sure I would end up pulverizing the poor cupcake into a pile of crumbs. So use your imagination; two and two equates to twenty-two.”

He shoved two of the candles side by side into the left side of the cupcake, right before the H and B in “Happy Birthday”. The other two, he stuck into the right side of the cupcake, behind both Ys. Striking the match, he ignored the shaking in his hands as he lit the candles. He then promptly blew out the match and dropped it into the water-filled wine glass in the sink to let it stop smoking. However, Rose must have seen the tremor in his hands, because she reached over and threaded their fingers together.

“I don’t like fire,” he admitted. “For obvious reasons.”

“You didn’t have to light the candles then,” Rose said gently.

“Pfff. It’s your birthday. Can’t have a birthday without blowing out some candles. How else will you get a free wish?”

Rose cracked a small smile and squeezed his fingers. She leaned forward as though she were about to blow out her candles. James cried, “Wait!”

She pulled back with a start.

“It’s your twenty-second birthday. I would think you would remember how this goes by now,” he drawled. He then sucked in a deep breath and began to sing. “Happy Birthday to you. Happy Birthday to you. Happy Birthday dear Ro-ooose. Happy Birthday to youuuuu.”

She was grinning by the end of it, especially when he intentionally sang off-key for the sole purpose of making her smile. He’d made her cry too much in the last twenty-four hours; a smile from her was a welcome sight.

“Right. Those candles are all charged up with birthday magic. Now you can make a wish and blow,” he said, bowing and gesturing to her cupcake.

Rolling her eyes at him, Rose closed her eyes and paused for about five seconds, before she blew out a short breath, extinguishing the candles with ease. He applauded her effort, then yanked the candles out of the cupcake and extended two of them to her. They licked off the cake crumbs and icing—cream cheese, he noted with delight—then dropped them into the trash.

“Let’s eat this before all the ice cream melts,” James said, gesturing to the table. “Want anything to drink? More wine?”

“Just water.”

He grabbed two glasses from the dishwasher and filled them with water from the pitcher in the fridge before plopping down at the table beside Rose. He noticed his phone had a new text notification; Jack had replied, letting him know he was home. James relayed the news to Rose, then gestured for her to take the first bite of her birthday cupcake.

For several long minutes, they sat silently together, trading off bites of cupcake and ice cream until the bowl was empty. 

“That was very good,” he praised, swiping his finger through the melted mess of ice cream and chocolate crumbs on the bottom of the bowl and licking the digit clean.

“Thanks. Elsa loves to bake but doesn't get the chance to do it as often as she likes because she lives in the dorms on campus.” Rose ran her fingertip along the rim of her glass. “When I invited her over to my flat, she said stress baking was a requirement. She didn’t know it was my birthday until we started decorating the cupcakes.”

“Do you have an aversion to people knowing it’s your birthday?”

She snorted. “No. But it just… it didn’t feel right to celebrate. Not when we’d…” She trailed off with a shrug. “All month I’d been looking forward to finally telling you it was my birthday. It didn’t feel right to tell anyone about my birthday if I couldn’t tell you.”

“I really buggered your birthday,” he sighed, chest tightening.

“Nah.” She pursed her lips. “Okay, well, yeah. But it wasn’t just you. I didn’t help. I wasn’t in the mood to celebrate my birthday today, so I kept it to myself. Anyways. Elsa knocked a bit of sense into me this afternoon. Helped put some things into better perspective.”

“I’m glad you have a friend like that to share things with,” he said.

Rose hummed in agreement. “She also called me out for being an idiot.”

James snorted. “Jack did much the same for me.” He paused, fidgeting uncomfortably for a few seconds before he blurted, “I am so sorry, Rose. I’m so sorry for snooping through your mail and reading that letter, and I’m so sorry for jumping to a conclusion that was absolutely ridiculous, and I’m sorry for accusing you of not trusting me. I’m sorry I twisted the situation and your words and actions to put the blame all on you. I’m sorry I let my own insecurities warp my perceptions of you and our relationship, and I’m so, so sorry for ever insinuating that you would want to go back to Jimmy.”

Rose was dead silent. When James chanced a peek over at her, he was horrified to see tears welling in her eyes. She blinked and they fell down her cheeks.

Sniffling, she wiped at them and whispered, “That really hurt. I thought I had told you enough about Jimmy to show you he wasn’t a nice person to be in a relationship with. And I thought…” 

“You did,” James interrupted fervently. “You did Rose. You were absolutely correct in saying I had selective memory. You told me more about him than I realized. I was too caught up in my own head last night to remember everything you’d said. I’m so sorry about that.”

Rose waved him off. “Forget Jimmy for a minute. Even if he wasn’t a wanker… It hurt that you would think I would be tempted into a new relationship with someone else when we’ve been so happy together. At least, I’ve been happy.”

“I’ve been happy, too,” James said. He covered her hand with his. “I swear, Rose. I’ve been so happy with you.”

He wished he had better answers for her. He wished he could explain what had triggered him last night, explain how his brain had disregarded nearly seven months of a friendship and four months of a relationship stronger than he’d ever had before. Why had he thought Rose would be tempted by an ex-boyfriend who had treated her so horribly? Why did he have the anxiety that Rose would see through his facade and realize he wasn’t as exciting as she’d thought? Why was he so fearful she would leave?

Because everyone leaves.

The realization crashed over him with the force of a tidal wave, pushing his head beneath the water until he could barely breathe. He was drowning, fighting a losing battle against the current, about to be swept away into the sea when he was thrown a lifeline.

Rose squeezed his fingers hard, grounding him, pulling him back to the moment. His chest was tight and tears blurred his vision.

Everyone leaves.

His mother, who had thought it more prudent to attend to their dogs rather than get herself to safety with her husband and son.

His father, who had rescued him from their burning house only to leave him on the street to go back inside. James hadn’t been enough to keep his dad by his side, and so he had lost two parents that night.

His aunt, who had never wanted kids, had never expected to have kids. She pulled long hours and travelled incessantly, chasing big news stories while James pretended he was fine with being alone, while silently wishing his dad had never saved him from their house. He knew without a doubt that, if his aunt could do it all over again, if she knew then what she knew now, she never would have agreed to be his godmother when he was born. He loved his aunt, and knew his aunt loved him, but he wasn’t so naïve as to be ignorant of the fact that he had upheaved his aunt’s life, and not entirely for the better.

The friends he had left behind in the UK and never heard from again after he and his aunt moved to America. People he had known since childhood who hadn’t bothered putting in the effort to stay in touch, despite claiming they would.

His previous partners, many of whom finding ways to end their brief relationship after realizing he didn’t want to have sex with them. Time after time, he had to listen to them say it was fine that they weren’t being physically intimate—with an unspoken yet dangling between them—only to listen to them make up excuses for why they were ending the relationship. Granted, he had broken off a relationship himself a few times, but over half the time, his partner had been the one to end it.

Over and over, people came and people went, and at the heart of it, James was hardly more than a spectre, unable to be seen or heard as his heart was left broken. And yet when Rose had joined him, had taken his hand and made promises and vows that nobody ever had before, he had jumped at the first opportunity to assume she would leave him, too.

Chair legs scraped across the floor a moment before a warm, familiar arm wrapped around his waist. He turned into Rose and rested his cheek on her shoulder, breathing in her scent, the subtle tones of amber and citrus, of warmth and love and home.

Something deep in his chest cracked open, releasing the floodgates. For the past nine and a half years, he had been drifting, trying to make sense of how he could feel so alone when he was surrounded by people, able to make new friends and acquaintances at the drop of a hat. Yet there was always that disconnect, making him feel more like an outsider looking in. Like everyone else was aware of the punchline of a joke while he was left clueless.

Until Rose. With Rose it had been natural. Effortless. It was though his world had shifted into perfect focus, and at the heart of it was her. She had reminded him of what it felt like to belong, to feel perfectly at home with another person. And though he was desperate not to lose her and what they had together, part of him was holding his breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Yet in doing so, he had let his anxiety take control and had hurt Rose badly enough that he had nearly caused her to do exactly what he had been terrified of.

James’s shoulders shook as he wept quietly into Rose’s neck, dampening the collar of her shirt. She didn’t seem to mind. Instead, she held him closer, rubbing her hand up and down the length of his spine as he sobbed and gasped for breath.

“I’m sorry,” he rasped. “I’m so sorry for everything, Rose.”

Haltingly, through the juddering tears that cracked his voice, he explained his revelation to her. He hoped he didn’t sound like he was making excuses for himself, but he genuinely wanted her to understand the conclusion his big, stupid brain had come to.

“I let my fears take over,” he said, voice raw from crying and talking. “I didn’t realize what they were. And I didn’t realize how loud they’d gotten.”

“I understand,” Rose said quietly. “Believe me. I understand. Is there anything I can do to help you quiet them?”

James rubbed his hand beneath his clogged, stuffy nose and grimaced when it came away wet. He pulled away from Rose and stood, moving to the sink to wash his hands, then to grab a handful of tissues. He blotted his eyes then blew his nose before he sank into his seat beside her again.

“I don’t know,” he confessed. “I know this is a me problem, not a you problem. You’ve been wonderful, Rose. You and me… our relationship… it has all been wonderful. I don’t know why I was so quick to let ten minutes of screaming insecurities make me forget about half a year of loving you.”

Rose chewed on the inside of her cheek, contemplating. “If ever there’s a time those voices are getting too loud, I’d like you to tell me. Though I know sometimes they can go unnoticed. But if you realize you’re getting stuck in your head, let me know and I’ll try to help you out of it.”

James flashed her a grateful smile. “Same for you. If there’s ever a time I can help you with whatever’s on your mind…”

Rose sighed. “I need to get better about that. I’ve realized I have a bad habit of telling myself I will deal with something later, but later never actually comes.” She sucked in a big breath and blew it out again. “I’m sorry you saw that letter from Jimmy. Yeah, you were a bit of a twat for reading it and reacting like you did. But I’m sorry you were blindsided like that, and that I ignored how it made you feel. And I’m sorry for making you feel like I don’t trust you. I’m sorry I made you self-conscious for everything you’ve shared with me and that you feel like I don’t share enough with you.” She let out a sad little laugh that twisted his heart. “This is going to sound lame, but I honestly didn’t realize I wasn’t being as open with you as I thought I was. It feels like you know me better than anyone ever has, so I didn’t think to change anything. But now that I know how you feel, I want to work to be better at that.”

James shook his head and covered her hand. “No, Rose. I got caught up in my own head and in my frustration. You’ve shared more with me than I wanted to admit last night.” Jack’s words clanged around in his head. “I shouldn’t have expected the exact same level of sharing from you as I am comfortable with giving.”

“That’s not fair. I am comfortable with you…”

James cringed. “No, I didn’t mean it like that. I’m not accusing you of anything, Rose. Merely stating a fact. I’m not trying to make you feel guilty or upset, I swear. I want you to be comfortable talking with me, and forcing you to talk about things you aren’t comfortable with is counterproductive.”

“Thing is, I was always going to tell you everything about Jimmy,” Rose sighed. “When he first texted me, it sent me into a blind panic and I sorta… shut down. I wanted to take the time I needed to get into a better place before sharing it with you. But I guess I didn’t realize how long it was since he first texted me.”

James stayed silent, letting her get her thoughts together. He twined their fingers together, happy to be able to sit and touch her like this, when for many long, heartbreaking hours in the wee hours of that morning, he had been sure that he would never be able to do so again. Her hand fit perfectly in his, and he knew that he would do whatever it took to make their relationship whole again, to make sure he could hold her hand for the rest of their lives.

When Rose began speaking, he gave her his full attention and tried to keep his emotions in check. He listened to her explain how Jimmy had texted her out of the blue, having gotten her number from a “mutual friend”.

“M’still not sure who gave it to him,” Rose said with a sigh. “He never told me and none of my friends claim to have done it.”

James listened to her describe the early conversations she’d had with Jimmy, from telling him that she needed time, to working through her anxiety with the help of Elsa and a counselor, to coming to the decision to let Jimmy say his piece.

“He was very important to me at one time. He was the love of my life. He was my everything. He will always be important and special because I genuinely loved him, and like it or not, my experiences with him shaped me into the person I am today. I don’t love him anymore, and frankly don’t miss him or want what we used to have, but if this would help him and me move on, I really wanted to let him say what he needed to say.

“He apologized to me, and it wasn’t even a terrible apology. Though he did make it sound like we both were at fault, but you know what, it was better than I was expecting, so I sorta took it as a win. I figured we were done, but then he wanted to know if he could repay me for all the debts he’d left me with. I can’t remember if I told you before, but he stopped paying his part of the rent at the end of our relationship. I got so behind on those payments because I had other bills to focus on that by the time I moved out, I was six months behind.

“I refused Jimmy’s offer. Told him everything was paid off and he didn’t owe me anything.” Rose sniffled and smiled ruefully, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “You know my money insecurities. I couldn’t stand the thought that he might use this as a way to control me again. So I shut him down.”

“Good for you,” James murmured, his first words in a while. “You don’t have to go on. It’s okay.”

But Rose shook her head. “I want you to know all of this. I want to come to you when—as Elsa puts it—shit ties up my brain. And my brain has been in knots for over a month. I want to be better with being okay about my thoughts sometimes getting tangled; I realized if I waited until my brain was calm to tell you everything, I would never tell you anything. I don’t want secrets between us, and I’m frustrated with myself that I unwittingly kept secrets from you. I can’t promise I will tell you immediately when something is on my mind, but I will make more of an effort to be more open with you. I wish I’d told you all of this sooner, but I can’t go back and change how I handled this, so let me tell you all of this now.”

James nodded and brought their clasped hands to his lips for a soft kiss.

“After I told Jimmy I didn’t want his money, I thought we were done. I didn’t hear from him for a few days, but then I got a text from him, a selfie with some of our old friends. A harmless group photo. Then he started sharing news from home. Or he would send me playlists. Stupid, innocent stuff we used to. He has really good taste in music and I’m always happy to have new songs or artists to listen to.

“We started chatting a little more regularly. Not daily, but a few times a week. A few messages at a time. He shared updates about his life, told me about going to drug and alcohol meetings, financial counseling, and so on. I told him about America and school. I didn’t tell him about you, though. It’s stupid, and I should have because I don’t think Jimmy realizes I’m not single, but you’re mine.” The word sent a thrill up James’s spine, and he couldn’t help but kiss her knuckles again. “You’re mine and I didn’t want to share you with him. I didn’t want anything of Jimmy to touch you. And I wasn’t trying to lead him on or anything. Or keep him a secret from you. But all of a sudden it’s been five weeks since he first texted.

“Then he sent me that letter. It came two days ago. I cried when I got it. I never gave him my address, so I panicked that he had somehow stalked me and found me, that he would be waiting at the university for me. And I was just… so defeated. I thought maybe he’d changed. Grown up or something. Stupidly, I thought maybe we could eventually be friends. But the only thing he wanted was for me to get back together with him.”

Rose’s tears dripped down her cheeks and her breathing hitched. James wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her in for a hug. She willingly leaned into him and sniffled quietly for a long moment.

“Did you really think that was a love letter?” Rose croaked.

“Pardon?”

“What Jimmy wrote to me. Did you think it read like a love letter?”

James sucked on the inside of his lower lip. He tried to remember the content of the letter, but his memories were all tainted with the pain of their argument.

“I don’t remember enough of it,” he confessed. “I’m sorry.”

Rose lifted her bum off of her chair, reaching into her back pocket to pull out a piece of paper that had been folded into eighths.

“Here,” she said, giving it to him.

Tentatively, he took it. Rose pulled herself out of his embrace and grabbed a tissue from the crumpled pile he had brought over. 

As he reread the letter, his stomach twisted into knots when he picked out several words and phrases.

I’ve found a piece of myself…

I’m not complete…

I hate the person I am without you… 

…happiest of my life… 

…nothing more I’ve wanted…

…(our life?)… 

You make me feel like I can do anything… 

I love how I feel when I’m with you… 

I was scared about how much I needed you… 

…something I always knew would be there for me… 

I know I can make it work this time… 

…enjoy your time there, while you can… 

…we can work harder together to make us work… 

I will do whatever it takes to make this work… 

Over and over, James read the letter, his mind picking up more of the tone and the sheer selfishness in it. Everything Jimmy said was about him, about how he needed Rose, without giving a thought about whether Rose wanted or needed him. He plainly admitted to taking her for granted, and still, after all this time, he acted as though he and Rose were equally at fault for how their relationship had ended.

How must it have sounded to Rose, for him to go off on her about the letter?

“Oh, Rose,” James breathed, “I’m so sorry. God, I was a twat, wasn’t I?”

She let out a watery giggle. “Yeah, a bit.”

“Can I ask…? How did Jimmy find your address? I mean. Do you even know how he found it?”

Rose’s eyes welled with tears again, even as she scoffed. “My mum.”

“Your… mum?” That had not been what James had expected. “But… why?”

Rose shook her head. “Apparently Jimmy went ‘round the estate. Found my mum and told her we’d been chatting. Said he wanted to send me money to help cover the bills I’d paid. He said exactly the right thing—when I moved back home, my mum kept telling me over and over that Jimmy should cough up the money to cover his half of the flat and the expenses that had built up. 

“A couple weeks ago, my mum asked me if I’d been chatting with Jimmy. When I said yes, I guess she assumed I knew Jimmy wanted to repay me but I was being unreasonable.” Rose’s face crumpled. “I know my mum didn’t know how badly Jimmy had treated me, and that's my fault for not telling her. But what if he’d been a murderous stalker? What if he’d physically or sexually abused me? What if he used that information and showed up alone at my flat one night and broke in and…?”

She coughed out a wracking sob and buried her face in her hands. James nearly began crying at the sight of her distress. “How dare my mum give out my address like that? I never thought she’d do something like that. My mum called to wish me a happy birthday and I told her a little bit about why you and I were fighting, and she told me she was the one who gave Jimmy my address. I got so angry with her, and she was gettin’ angry with me. I’ve spent the day crying ‘cos I was fighting with my two favorite people.”

James tossed the letter onto the table and wrapped his arms around Rose, holding her tightly to his chest. He had never been angrier with another person than he was right now with Jackie Tyler. Well. Jackie Tyler and Jimmy bloody Stone. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Rose. I’m sorry.”

“Joke’s on Mum, though; Jimmy didn’t send a single quid with that letter.” Rose sniffled and scrubbed her hands across her eyes. “I hate this. I wish I’d blocked Jimmy from the start, I wish I’d told you when he texted, I wish I’d told my mum not to talk to Jimmy. I wish I’d handled everything differently, and I wish I hadn’t gotten so upset with you last night. I’m sorry, James. I’m sorry for it all.”

James tightened his hold around her, burying his face into her neck while she wept into his. “You have every right to handle situations however you think is best. I should have had more faith and trust in you and in our relationship. I was unreasonable. But I forgive you, love. Of course I forgive you. I love you. I love you more than you can imagine, and I’m so sorry I doubted it last night.”

Rose began crying harder into his shoulder. Her breaths came out in harsh gasps as she managed to reply, “I love you too. I’m sorry for putting the doubt in your head… when you asked if I was breaking up with you and I said I didn’t know. God, I didn’t mean that. I didn’t mean it at all. I got scared too, same as you, and my brain sort of shut down because it couldn’t stop thinking of everything Jimmy had said or done in the past, and twisting it to look like what you were saying and doing. That’s something I need to work on because that’s insulting for me to imply that you’re anything like him, but I didn’t know what to do, so I pushed you out, and I’m so sorry.”

James merely held her tighter, his heart breaking at her agony, yet filling with more love for her than he’d ever felt before.

“You’re the strongest woman I know, Rose,” he murmured into her hair. “The strongest. You’ve overcome so much, and you’re working to make yourself the best version of yourself that you can be, and that’s so admirable. I am here to listen to anything you want to tell me, but I am okay with not knowing everything. I trust your judgement, and I know you’ll tell me what you want me to know.”

He continued speaking quietly, a combination of reassurances, affirmations, and words of love. She shed more tears than he’d ever seen her shed, and he shed just as many. He was exhausted and overwhelmed, and he wanted nothing more than to sleep for a very long time tangled with Rose.

When her tears finally dried, he pressed a lingering kiss to the side of her head before sitting back in his chair. He grabbed a tissue for himself and passed one to her; they noisily blew their noses and wiped their eyes.

“Well. Wasn’t that cathartic?” he said cheerfully, holding his hand out for her tissue to throw in the rubbish bin.

She chuckled. Though her eyes were red and puffy and her cheeks were splotchy, he didn’t think there was a more beautiful person in the world than her.

He washed his hands after throwing away their used tissues, then he grabbed a few more, just in case. His nose was still a bit runny, and he was sure Rose’s had to be too. He plopped into his chair with a groan.

“First fight,” he mused. “Can tick that one off the list, I suppose.”

“Was it everything you expected it to be?” she drawled, rolling her eyes.

“Admittedly it was a lot more painful than I thought,” he said. “But now we can go back to how we were, right?”

Rose paused. In the silence, his heart sank into his stomach.

“I don’t know if we should,” she said carefully, and his lungs were suddenly out of air. Her eyes widened. “No, not like you’re thinking. It’s just… everything we fought about, everything we talked about, it changed us. It changed our relationship. Not in a bad way, but it’s different now. We’re more aware of some things that we weren’t before. I don’t want to go backwards with you. I want us to go forward. Together.”

James nodded, shoulders slumping in relief. He slid his hand across the table, slipping it beneath Rose’s so her palm rested against the back of his hand. He splayed his fingers, letting hers fall between the gaps. She curled her fingers around his hand.

“You’re right,” he said, caressing his thumb along the side of her pinkie. “Absolutely, you’re right. Guess this means the honeymoon period is over?”

“Probably.” She flashed him a cheeky grin. “Hopefully we’re not over the horny hump though.”

“You’re never gonna let me forget that I said that, are you?” he whined, grimacing.

“Nope,” she said, popping the ‘p’ as he often did. “It was such a dorky thing to call it.”

He pouted. “You never complained about my dorkiness before.”

“I love your dorkiness. Doesn’t mean I won’t tease you about it though.” Her smile slipped until her face turned solemn. “I’m really glad we talked this out, James.”

He squeezed her fingers. “Me too.”

“Any time Jimmy and I had an argument, we never did this. We’d shout at each other, curse at each other, and then ignore each other and not speak for a day or so. Then we’d have angry make up sex and pretend everything was fine in the morning. I don’t want to ever do that again. I want to communicate with you and to compromise with you, then grow with you.

“Staying in love is a choice, and it takes work. It shouldn’t be hard, but it’s not easy either. We need to choose to stay in love, decide that our relationship is worth making an effort for. I want to wake up every day and choose you, to choose us, and I want to put in the work because I wanna enjoy the payoff. Because being in love with you, James… it’s the best I’ve ever felt. You make me feel like I can do anything, like pass a stupid chemistry class or tell my stupid ex-boyfriend to fuck off. I love the way you make me feel. I love feeling like I’m home whenever I’m with you. And though this home we’re building with each other might have a leaky roof every now and then, I wanna fix it with you.”

James’s eyes were burning again. How was anything even left in his tear ducts? “Oh, Rose. You make me feel the same way. And I feel so inadequate because you just waxed romantic poetry at me, but my brain has stopped working. But please know I love you with every cell in my body, and I want to keep loving you with every cell, all the way down to each little organelle contained within, every day for the rest of our long and beautiful life together.”

Rose grinned at him and leaned over to press a light kiss to his lips. They tingled at the contact, and he wanted to pull her close to kiss her again.

“You’re such a science geek,” she said.

“Well. I’ve already shown you I’m rather fabulous with many types of chemistry and anatomy,” he drawled, flashing her an over-the-top wink as he clicked his tongue lewdly.

She burst into a fit of laughter that he echoed, feeling at peace for the first time in twenty-four hours. The exhaustion of all those hours suddenly overwhelmed him. His laughter morphed into a yawn, which spread to Rose.

“I’m knackered,” he announced unnecessarily. “Will you come to bed with me? My bedroom’s a disaster, but the guest bed is made.”

Rose nodded and stood up from the kitchen table. She took their bowl to the sink and rinsed it out before leaving it there for them to clean properly in the morning. She then flicked off the light on top of the stove before she followed him through the rest of the house, locking up and turning lights off as they went.

“Can I see what you’ve done to your room?” Rose asked.

“Sure,” he said, continuing down the hall rather than peeling off into the guest room. When he got to his closed door, he warned, “It’s a mess.”

They were hit with the stench of paint fumes as soon as he opened the bedroom door. He flicked on the light, and the room was bathed in the yellow glow of his lamps.

“Love the color,” Rose said.

“Yeah?” he asked, pleased with himself that, even in his miserable, depressive state of trying to not think about Rose, he had managed to pick a color she would like.

“Mhm.”

“I have to put on the second coat. I’ll probably do that tomorrow—I’m not really feeling like going to my classes, so I’ll probably ditch ‘em again.”

“You rebel,” she teased. “If you want some help, I don’t have anything important going on tomorrow. And I don’t work this weekend. We can take a few days to finish up the painting and reorganize your furniture.”

James smiled. “I’d like that.”

“It’s a date.” She wrapped her arm around his waist and tucked her face against his shoulder. “Besides, it’ll go faster with two.”

Leaning down, James brushed a kiss to her crown then rested his cheek in her hair. “Faster with two. Better with two.” He gave her waist a tight squeeze as he kissed her again. “Better with you.”