#i need fluff and domestic garou

[amaranthine-enihtnarama]

I need to write more garou content.

[garoumylove]

Golden Hour Epilogue

The happily and 🔞smuttily🔞 ever after of Garou and you in my domestic fluff GarouxReader ♥️. You can also read it on AO3 here :)

“Are you awake?” She whispers, stirring against me in the afternoon sun, her back against my chest.

“No,” I whisper back, my face in her hair.

“Mhmm…” she sighs, warm and sleepy, happy as I bring my hand over from her hip to her breast, brushing my fingers against her nipple, feeling it harden so quick, squeezing it lightly as she can’t help but push her ass back against me.

I want to say this is the best morning I've ever had, as I feel myself hard against her teasing, but it must be around midday. Close enough.

"Garou…" she sighs as I keep playing with her nipple.

"Yeah?" I find myself asking, buried in her hair, in her scent.

"Tell me something about yourself. Something I don't know," she whispers.

That was not the direction I thought we were going in but I understand where this is coming from as I feel the warmth of her back against my chest. But I still can't help myself.

"I'm fuckin' horny," I whisper back, very seriously.

I feel her drowsy laughter against me.

"I know that," she says, leading me on playfully. "I can feel it," she adds, grinding softly back against me, nothing but mischief until I can't fucking control it anymore, neither my hands, or my cock or this rasping building in my throat. I grab her hips and hold her good against me, getting inside her again, feeling her growing wetter by the moment.

She grabs the pillow, squeezes it in her hand, her little sleepy gasps turning into full, gorgeous moans, wide awake now as we fuck again, unable to help ourselves.

I kiss the back of her neck, her hair as she lets go of the pillow and places her hand on top of mine holding her hip, pushes back against me.

"Harder…" she breathes as we're both wide awake now.

"Like this?" I say, as I push into her harder, faster.

"Mmm…! Garou…! …Ohhh…!"

And every time she says my name like that, it breaks something small inside of me, something I don't need, with every moan of my name another piece, letting something better, lighter in.

"Garou…!"

I'm here. I've got you darlin'. I’ve got you.

But I can fucking hardly keep cool, stay sane. She's so fucking wet now, all hot and soft and tight around my cock and I fucking can't.

There's no point holding back. I want her now.

And it looks like she does too, arching her back against me so tight, moaning my name…

It doesn't take very long at all before she's ready to cum for me again, before I feel those soft little movements in her, that gasp before pure ecstasy and I hear her pleasure all over again, mesmerised how it just sounds better every time as the feeling of her heady orgasm takes me right there with her. And we're both just a happy mess of sweat and heat and groans, her delighted whimpers.

I do as I'm told. Throw on something clean and feed Delilah, who is less than pleased with me and how disorganised I must seem to her, feeding her at any odd hour but it doesn't matter. She can deal with it for a day.

"Excellent," she says after we're both done panting, reaching back, running her hand through my hair as I press her back closer to me. "Now tell me something I don't know…" she says, full of affection.

I think. There are lots of things, but most of them ain't very pleasant and I don't want to spoil the moment.

I think.

"When I was seven, I buried a treasure in the backyard and made a map. And then I lost the map and I don't fuckin' remember where I buried it," I say.

I hear her soft giggle as she laces her fingers through mine.

"What was your treasure? Maybe we can look for it again."

"It was some monster toys and some of my pocket money," I say, jogging my memory. "Yeah we should really look. I could be fuckin' rich, eh?"

"That's so cute," she says, pulling my arm tighter around herself. "I can see that. Tell me something else."

"I set all the records in high school for running and shit."

"You mean athletics?" She confirms.

"Yeah, all that," I say.

"I can believe that!" She exclaims. "No surprises there."

"But they took them all fuckin' down after I got expelled," I can feel myself frowning.

"Bastards," she says, and I can hear her frowning in support.

And somehow, I just get on this roll. She opens something inside my mind and I just tell her this and that. Nothing too earth shattering or that important but all these little things I had put away, considered useless, hadn't bothered to think about these last however many years. These pieces of my Iife I had forgotten, deemed unnecessary. And we lie there and I tell her things and she listens until we're both way too hungry.

"Ok!" She says eventually, throwing the covers off. "We’re going to celebrate your birthday!"

"Ok," I say, "get back in here," and try to pull her in for one more round, my kind of celebration, but she ain't having it.

"I would have really liked to make you a cake myself but it's fine," she says, expertly slipping out of my grasp and quickly picking up her clothes, pulling her jeans on. "Get up, put some pants on, feed Delilah and then we're going," she says.

"Going where?"

"Outside," she smiles looking from the bright blue sky in the window to me. "I'll be back in fifteen minutes."

I'm just about to get a Coke out of the fridge when she's back and pulls me away, saying I gotta work on my addiction and we step outside.

It's the first proper warm day, much closer to the edge of summer.

It's just another Saturday. To everyone else it's just another fucking Saturday but I feel this is some new age. No one who walks past us as we make our way up the main street, all the cars, all the shop fronts, no one could even fucking begin to understand how different today is for us. How much had to happen before we got to be here, walking easy like this. Nothing at all between us. Having seen and tasted and heard everything. Finally everything. Enjoyed, explored everything of each other.

I don't even fucking hesitate, grab her hand as she leads me to wherever it is she wants to take me.

She looks at me with surprise and slows down just for a fraction of a second, and this smile, half excitement and half shyness lights up her face, cheeks growing lovely and red for a few moments.

She takes me to some place I probably walked past a million times but never noticed. Some cafe or whatever the fuck and picks out all this food and this cake. I tell her she doesn't need to but she ignores me and gets it anyway.

Then we walk down to the water. And this time it's bright, the wind is warm. We still feel we don't belong here by these waterfront mansions but it still doesn't fucking matter, just like it didn't last time.

We go through the trees, down the path to the sand and even though it ain't easy on this steep and narrow trail, I ain't letting go of her hand.

This place looks fucking different in daytime. Same broken pier, same sand but golden now, not the cold silver blue of winter nights. The water this dark green and not a black heaving mass we sat by that night.

We sit on the pier. There are people walking up and down the beach, dogs running around, but still, it's quieter here, tucked away around from the nightlife further up the road.

And we just sit and eat, enjoying the sun, the sound of the lazy waves.

"I can't wait to go swim," she sighs happily.

"Not here," I say.

"Obviously not here," she laughs. "I don't think it's very safe to swim here. Take me back to your little holiday town," she flashes me this brilliant smile and I feel this squeeze in my chest.

I'll take you anywhere you want. Just say the word.

She stretches her legs out in front of her and lifts her face to the sun. And there's something new about her expression. Something a lot less tense. Like she's let go of something frightening and heavy.

'I love you.'

Everyone always thinks these words are fucking magical, the happiest thing. But she, and I, both of us, carried that around like a terrifying secret. Those words, too dangerous to think, let alone say out loud. But not anymore.

I feel her lie back, her head in my lap, just like I would do lying on her couch. There is no hesitation anymore and it makes me so fucking happy.

She reaches up, one hand shielding her eyes from the sun, the other on my face.

"Happy birthday," she says, this soft caress against my forehead, cheek.

This is the best fucking one yet.

She opens the last box, the cake.

"Hope you don't mind not having candles," she says, kneeling down, carefully cutting pieces.

"I don't know…I don't know if I can get over that," I say, full of apprehension.

"Honestly," she pauses and grins up at me. "The smart ass just never stops, huh?"

"Never," I agree and I can't fucking help it. She's so close. And I don't care she's in the middle of doing something. Take her face, pull her in closer, kiss her until she can't breathe and I don't care who's watching.

She tries to protest for a moment, indicating to the cake, but I don't fucking care and then she's all mine, as if melting into me, wanting more.

She looks quickly around after we're done and then goes back to the cake as if nothing just happened, the only evidence this dusting of pink across her cheeks.

"Here," she gives me this huge piece of cake covered in white and yellow frosting, takes a much smaller one for herself.

I look at her questioningly.

"I told you!" She says. "It goes straight to my thighs!"

"It ain't the only thing," I say proudly, nodding at her before digging in.

She's about to say something but then just pushes my hand against my face and can't contain her laughter, seeing me covered in icing.

"That's funny, eh?" I say, nonchalant as I can be. "You reckon that's funny?" Before I grab her and kiss her again, the icing sweet between her mouth and mine, leaving traces of it against her face now too as she laughs and I grin through this kiss.

It's the best fucking birthday.

It's late afternoon by the time we get home.

"Go put that in the fridge," she says, indicating to the leftover food, the cake and goes into the living room.

When I'm done and go to join her I find her standing there, middle of the room, wearing nothing at all.

I stop. Stop a few steps away from this naked beauty, standing there in the afternoon sun pouring through the window, illuminating all her bare curves.

She beckons to me with her finger and I obey.

I feel her hands on my face, pulling me down for this slow soft kiss, before they go to the edge of my shirt, lifting it slowly, undressing me.

"Happy birthday," she whispers in the most barely there, seductive voice right next to my ear I've ever heard before she pushes me down on the couch, making me sit and getting on her knees, unbuttoning, unzipping me.

And before I know it, I feel her warm, gorgeous mouth around my cock and fuck…Her tongue grazing softly against me, her head slowly up and down as she makes sure to get as much of it in as possible, sucking lightly, teasing before going harder, deeper.

I feel myself groan and can't focus on a fucking thing, just feel this raw pleasure she's giving me spread all through me, every muscle. Fuck.

I feel my hand in her hair as she runs her own hands up and down my still bruised chest, traces her fingers along my hip, never stopping, never fucking stopping until she makes me cum hard and panting and then gives me this angelic smile, looking up at me after she swallows and I think I've fucking died and gone to some fucking heaven.

Did I fucking mention this was the best birthday yet?

My eyes open slow when I hear the knock on the door. After she took such fucking good care of me I of course returned the favour and by then, everything considering, we were pretty fucking tired. My eyes open slow and I feel her on top of me as I lie on the couch, both of us just dozing.

Suddenly she hears it too and jumps up, starting to throw all her clothes back on.

I quickly do the same and when we look presentable again I open the door, knowing exactly who it is.

"Uncle!" The kid looks up at me, almost expecting me to not be here or something.

"Hey kid," I say. "You here for the cat?" Of course he is. Why else would he be here?

"No, I just…I just wanted to ask if you're ok," he looks at the ground all shy.

Suddenly, I feel bad. I feel bad because I don't deserve his concern. He sees me as this innocent victim of some meaningless crime but I'm fucking worse than any of those assholes. Probably.

"Yeah," I say, now just as awkward as him.

I gotta do fucking better. Fuck.

We stand there, both silent and uncomfortable for our own reasons until she comes up behind me and takes over, always knowing what to do.

"Hi Tareo!" She says. "Would you like some cake?"

"Cake?" He looks up, now all excitement. I mean who doesn't fucking love cake?

"Yeah, it was his birthday" she pokes me playfully in the shoulder "and we've still got some cake from lunch."

"Uncle, it's your birthday?" He looks up at me, suddenly panicking.

"Nah, it was yesterday," I wave it away. "Doesn't matter," I say as he comes in.

"I'll get you a present next year!" He says with that characteristic determination I like about him. "If I remember," he adds as a disclaimer.

I hope he doesn't. I ain't done anything to deserve it.

"How is your training going?" She asks as we sit around the table, finishing off the cake.

"Good," he says, looking up with mouth covered in crumbs and icing. "I really like it, but I'm not that good," he says, getting a bit embarrassed. "Everyone in the class is better than me," he says, suddenly so downcast. "But it's ok! I'm gonna keep practicing!" He rushes to reassure us.

Hmm.

"What d'you find hard?" I say.

"Well, the first form is ok…" he thinks about it. "But then the second form, when we do this-" he slips out of the chair and demonstrates the drill that’s etched into my brain, my muscle memory, I could do it in my sleep. "I always forget what goes next and then I just forget all the rest," he says glumly.

Yeah I remember it took me a few days to get that one myself.

"Finish your cake and I'll show you," I say.

"Really?" He suddenly lights up.

"Yeah," I say, confused why he's so excited. But she gives me this knowing look, this smile spilling over with joy.

She sits there by the back door and watches me, watches me with her beautiful, affectionate eyes as I take Tareo through the things he doesn't know, teach him the technique, completely unaware that very soon I’d be doing this for a living. Delilah practices her hunting happily around us.

It's golden hour. Covering us all in its inescapable, intense light. This bright light I'd never paid much attention to before. Before there was her.

I wake up from my half-sleep, still on top of her, feel the soft rise and fall of her chest, the steady beat of her heart.

It’s been almost a year since then. Since that afternoon drifting in and out of my memory. And she’s still here. And so am I.

Neither of us can imagine being anywhere else.

I glance outside.

It's still golden hour.

With her, it always is.

With you, it has never been brighter, light of my not so fucked up life.

With you. That’s all that matters.

To be with you. In this golden hour light.

[garoumylove]

Golden Hour Part 9

Domestic fluff ♥️GarouxReader♥️. Taking care of sick Garou in this part... You can also read it on AO3 here :)

I will myself to wake up. I gather all the fucking mental capacity and energy I have left and will myself to wake up. To push through this half-asleep, half-conscious blackness that I keep drifting in an out of for fuck knows how long.

Somewhere, as if distant and far away, I can feel her pressed against me. I need to wake the fuck up. I need to get closer. I need to feel her closer.

I also feel something soft and purring, like a little motor, next to my head.

Wake the fuck up.

I remember feeling so fuckin’ hot. So unbearably fucking hot.

I’m still feeling way off but at least it’s not a fucking hell sauna anymore.

Wake up, goddamnit.

How many hours has it been?

I feel I’m getting a little closer, can feel more of her weight on me, her head on my chest. I don’t feel her move. I think she’s asleep. Did we sleep together all night like this? Words I never thought would drift through my mind…

I need to open my fuckin’ eyes and see it for myself because right now I don’t believe it. Maybe I’m still fucked up and delirious and this is just some fever dream. In which case, let’s not wake up yet. Let it burn if this is what my mind gives me in dire circumstances. Maybe I should get sick more often if this is how it is.

I feel her stir a bit, get more comfortable on my chest.

No. I think this is real.

Fuck.

Wake up, son of a bitch.

Finally, my mind seems to come back into focus. Suddenly, I can feel everything in real time, the warmth of her body against me, her light, slow breathing as she sleeps, the cat curled up next to my head, this sweat-stained t-shirt. I hear a car drive by outside. The late morning light cutting through the window.

The fever seems to have passed but I feel so fuckin’ worn out even though I’ve done nothing but lie here all night next to her. Everything feels so fuckin’ heavy. I lie completely still. I want to put my arm around this woman lying half on top of me. This woman who stayed all night looking after an insolent asshole like me.

I remember that last thing, when she said ‘I’m here’ before I passed out again.

And she’s still here. I’m surprised she hasn’t had enough of my shit and just up and left. Sometimes, when I come in through her back door, always open for me at any hour, I get this thought. This thought that I’m gonna come in to find this house empty. That one day, I’ll open that door and she won’t be here. But it hasn’t happened yet.

I open that door and she’s always here. Either cooking, or watching tv or reading or if I’m very lucky, I find her on the couch very much waiting for me wearing nothin’ but her heels, very impatiently waiting for me and that is always a fun time. Always. No matter how damn tired or sleep deprived I am, I make sure I show my fucking appreciation.

And she’s here now, letting me rest, sleep against her, never leaving my side.

And I remember thinking ‘Fuck’ as I heard those almost silent tears. I’ve really goddamn fucked up now. So waking up to this feels like a fucking miracle.

I open my eyes. I can’t see her face like this but the sight of her body next to mine is more than enough proof. Her arm wrapped around my chest is more than enough.

She’s wearing this big, thick jumper but suddenly I realise she’s been here like this on top of the covers all night. The heating is on but my arm reflexively goes around her. Fuck. How cold was it last night? I press my arm tighter around her, hoping she didn’t freeze.

The cat notices I’m awake and uncurls, stands up, her purring growing louder and more excited as she starts to knead the pillow next to my head with her paws, pokes at my forehead with her tiny nose.

I give her a warning look, ordering her to stay quiet but she doesn’t give two shits, as usual, starts walking around the bed, all over me.

And of course the commotion wakes her up. Goddamn cat. I was good like this. So fuckin’ good.

I feel her move softly against me, her head turns a bit and for a moment there I feel like she presses herself closer into me. I can feel her hand curl around my t-shirt, as if she needs me here, and it seems like she’s going back to sleep before suddenly lifting herself up, looking beautifully sleepy and dazed and surprised.

That’s it, I think. Heaven is fuckin’ over. Hello real world. I’m about to get my ass handed to me.

She blinks a few times, adjusting to the light, looking around. And then her eyes settle on mine. Here it comes.

“You’re awake,” she whispers with the most relieved biggest smile I have seen. This was not what I was expecting. “How do you feel?” she asks, but before I can answer she starts fussing over me, the questions one after the other.

“Do you want me to get you anything?”

No. Just stay here.

“How do you feel?”

Like shit, but I’ll survive.

“Did you sleep ok?”

Better than ever.

“I wasn’t bothering you?”

You could never bother me. Get back here. Get under the covers this time so I can keep you warm.

“Do you still feel hot?”

She puts her hand to my forehead softly but feels that’s not enough and suddenly I feel her lips light against my skin instead, her hand on my cheek.

“You’re still pretty warm,” she says, quickly pulling away, kneeling next to me.

I have no idea what the fuck she just said.

What the fuck just happened?

I know it means nothing. But she can’t keep doing this. She can’t be giving me these moments of her. Because moments are not enough anymore. Barely fucking enough. Barely fucking enough to stay sane.

“I’m going to make you something easy to eat,” she informs me with the most gorgeous smile, running her hand through my hair casually, just like I pet Delilah. “I’ll be back soon.”

“No, you don’t-” I start, try to sit up but she’s way faster than me in this fuckin’ sorry state.

“Can’t hear you,” she says all sing-song and bounces out the door and I can hear her hurrying downstairs and out of the house. Of course. There ain’t nothing that good to eat here.

I sit there, my body adjusting to being upright. Fuck, this is shit.

I sit there and I try to piece all these moments together. That first one, her naked in the lamp light, in the dark blue night, my head in her lap, her hands bandaging me, her fingers raking affectionately through my hair and so many others. I add the warm feel of her lips on my forehead.

It’s like this fuckin’ puzzle. I feel I have all the pieces but they won’t fit together. Won’t turn into something whole, something that makes fucking sense even though I feel like they should. This frustration is startin’ to drive me fucking mad. What the fuck more do I need?

I feel like a starving man invited to a fuckin’ banquet but all I can do is stare. Like if I reach out and take something it will all disappear in a goddamn wisp of smoke.

All that fuckin’ power and all that fuckin’ pride I’ve been collecting. They can’t help me here.

I find myself laughing quietly at the bitter fucking irony.

The cat looks at me, probably wondering if that fever didn’t do a number on my brain.

And I start to wonder too.

I notice I’m gripping the edge of the covers, my fingers aching. No real, no satisfying outlet for my frustrations or desires.

Anyway, she went back home. I doubt she’ll be rushing back here and I need a fucking shower, I think, suddenly feeling less than comfortable in this shirt.

I let the covers go and get up and it takes me a few moments to walk straight but I make it to the bathroom.

And I know that look now. I know what it meant. Know now that I wasn’t the only one fuckin’ drowning when we were together. Though I was probably more honest about it with myself than she was, as surprising as that is. I started drowning a lot earlier than her. And then it seems she jumped in after me and then we were both in trouble. I remember her wearing that look still the first time it happened, the first time when she was finally in my bed, and not because I was fucking sick or needed nursing. That first time, that I still have a hard time believing really happened, I remember the first taste of her mouth, the feel of her hands, her hot skin, the scent of her, warm and intimate. That first time that felt like an eternity in the making. The feverish relief of finally having her… I could forget anything in life, but I ain’t going to forget that until the day I die.

Under this shirt things are looking better. I stare at myself in the mirror, turning but not too much because it still fucking hurts. I’m still black and blue but it’s a much lighter shade. I’ve still got a pretty evident purple stain across one cheekbone but even that is going down nicely and will probably be almost invisible by tomorrow morning.

At least that’s something, I think as I get in the shower.

As I stand under the hot water, I feel somewhat more alert and awake, though still like I’m one step behind reality.

I don’t think I’ve ever appreciated a fucking shower so much in my life. And that’s really saying something.

How long do I stand there, spaced the fuck out? Fifteen minutes? Twenty?

Eventually I hear the cat meowing and realise she’s probably getting mighty hungry too.

“Yeah, coming, coming,” I call to her as I turn the water off and shake the water off my hair.

I go to put some clean clothes on but realise I ain’t brought any with me in my fucking stupor and her meowing is just getting louder.

Ah, fuck it. I just wrap the towel around my waist and head out.

She purrs happily as I come out of the bathroom and leads me down the stairs. Fuck, I want a Coke so bad, I think as I follow her, suddenly feeling the thirst in my throat.

I give her her food and she goes at it, completely forgets I exist. That’s the thanks I get, eh? I shake my head as I stare out the kitchen window, savouring the familiar carbonated taste as I look out over this small jungle. Once upon a time, someone kept this little backyard all neat and presentable. Not me. I got better fuckin’ things to do. But it might be nice if-

I hear the rustling sound of a plastic bag and footsteps approaching. Fuck, that was fast! And before I can do anything she’s right there and we’re almost face to face as she comes into the kitchen and catches me wearing almost fuck all, Coke in hand, Delilah still happily face deep in her bowl.

She stops in her tracks and stares at me, mostly in surprise, plastic bag with that familiar box in hand. I stare back.

And suddenly she has this look I’ve never seen before. It’s not surprise. The surprise is there but almost like a mask, superficial. And under that she’s got this look…this colour blooming across her cheeks I’ve never seen before. She looks at me like she wants to say something, do something, something that... Almost like she’s asking a question that I can’t quite understand. And that colour keeps blossoming across her face. Just like her in that window that night, being seen like this doesn’t bother me in the least. We’re all just fucking mammals aren’t we. But this mysterious look she’s got, this gaze, makes me feel particularly animal and I don’t understand why. Without a single touch, I start to feel that tension inside, that tension that will not let me rest, takes over and drives me crazy until it gets some sort of release. This moment, her…She’s like fucking electricity.

And then suddenly her expression changes to one of brief self-consciousness and then to annoyance and her eyes grow wider.

“What are you doing going around half-naked and drinking that cold thing?!” She lets me have it. “Do you want to get even more sick?!”

If it means you’ll get into bed with me then yes. I want to say that but I manage to keep my mouth shut.

“Get upstairs right now and put some clothes on!” she commands dangerously.

“Or else what?” I grin. I can’t help it. Fucking Christ, I can’t help it. Any opportunity I am given to be insolent, I will take it. And I want to tease her. I can’t fuckin’ help it either.

She just narrows her eyes at me. And I fuckin’ love it.

“Are you gonna spank me?” I say, putting the Coke down at least.

“Now,” she says her voice full of feminine authority, ignoring my remark but I see that colour in her cheeks again, as she points towards the stairs and I gotta fuckin’ obey. But that grin ain’t going anywhere. “And put a damn sweatshirt on too,” she adds as I walk past her, using all my control to not stop, to not grab her arms, pull her in, press her against me, slide my hands under her own sweatshirt…To get that release. Hers and mine. And for a moment, no, a fraction of a moment, I feel like she wants me to do just that. But this fever must've messed with my fucking mind. I'm deluding myself. There ain't no way. But this feeling as I pass by her, bodies almost touching...No. I just keep walking, like the proud motherfucker I am. I can be that on the outside at least, even if on the inside I feel I’m losing my fucking mind, trying to figure out how to make it all fit together.

“What am I going to do with you…” she sighs, just under her breath as I get further away.

What indeed darlin’, what indeed?

I ask myself the same question as I throw on the first clean sweatshirt I see.

She’s made me omelet rice and it tastes so fucking good, I think as I sit at the table and we have breakfast, Delilah weaving back and forth between our legs underneath.

“You’re going right back to bed when you’re done,” she says as she finishes her own food.

“Eh?” I frown. “Then why’d I have to get all dressed up?”

“You’re still sick,” she rolls her eyes but I can still see the concern behind her mild frustration. “You may think you’re superhuman, but you’re not, I hate to break it to you.”

“I’d say I’m pretty close,” I say, never backing down from an argument.

“Ah, the blind confidence of youth,” she says, jokingly condescending. “I love how you think you’re invincible.”

“Guilty as charged,” I say. Ain’t I proven I pretty much am?

“I love your unfailing self-assuredness but one day something is going to shatter your illusion,” she says, taking the last bite of her food. “And when it does, I don’t want it to destroy you.”

She looks up at me and there’s this quiet, sobering seriousness in her words.

The higher they climb, the harder they fall, that little voice echoes in my mind. That little voice again that seems to be becoming my constant companion.

“As if anything could destroy me,” I say, less than humbly, breaking the tension.

“Of course,” she finally sighs in agreement as she watches me finish off the breakfast she’s made. “Now get back to bed.”

I stay exactly where I am.

“And what the fuck am I supposed to do there?” I ask. I fucking hate lying around doing nothing. Usually, I feel this constant movement, this constant need for action and sittin’ still is a fucking chore.

“What do you mean? There’s lots of things you can do in bed!” She says.

Oh…don’t I know it. But I don’t reckon she’s talking about any of the sweet things that I’ve got on my mind.

“You can read, you can watch something, you can play games, talk to friends…” she lists off things that I’m sure other people enjoy doing. I just look at her, feel my eyebrow rising. That doesn’t sound appealing in the slightest.

“Does it look like I got any of those things?”

“Just get back into bed!” she says finally. “I’ll go grab you some books and whatever.”

No, that’s not what I meant. Fuck.

She sees the look I’m giving her.

“Now!” There’s that authority again and fuck, fine, I put the plate in the sink and make my way upstairs again.

I lie in bed, on top of the covers, not bothering to get undressed, the cat by my side and I hear the front door open again and her light footsteps up the stairs, and right to my bedroom.

“I thought I told you to get back to bed!” she says, exasperated.

“I am in bed!” I say, sitting up.

“I meant like under the-” her shoulders drop suddenly. “Fine, forget it. Good enough,” she says and puts a new bag on my table.

“Look, I got you something to read,” she says, pulling out book after book, showing the covers to me briefly before piling them up on the table.

I know she’s got that big bookshelf in her spare room but I’ve never looked at it up close. Not that interested to be honest. Not that I hate reading, it just seems somewhat pointless to me.

“I grabbed a couple of classics,” she says, holding them up for me for a second, “and here are some more recent ones. Here’s a non-fiction one. Thought you’d probably like that,” she flashes the book at me, “and…here’s a romance. I think you’ll love this one,” she gives me that cheeky grin, this book with a flowery hazy cover in hand. The kind where the people probably keep getting together and breaking up and then finally get together and cry about it or some shit.

“You know me so well,” I say, looking back up at her.

“I do my best,” she says

You do, darlin’, you really do. And so this is why I still can’t fucking understand why all these goddamn pieces won’t fit together and we are what we are, in some sort of fucking limbo, where I have you but only like this. Where I have you but I don’t.

“Also, here are some magazines,” she says, pulling out a small stack of backdated issues of those magazines you find at the checkout, with the fucked up celebrity photos and headlines about who’s fucking whom and whatever.

“You really do know me,” I say, winking at her.

“No!” she says, realising the vapidity of the cover of the magazine she’s holding. “For the crosswords! They let me take these home from work from reception when they get old enough. I like doing the crosswords!” she explains.

Oh. Never thought of that. Never really done any or been interested in that.

“Or are you a sudoku guy?” she says, flipping through the trash and getting to the back pages with the astrology and the recipes and the crosswords.

Well, I’ve always found numbers easier to deal with. But I can’t say I’ve done any sudoku either.

“Eh,” I shrug.

“You’re impossible,” she says. And haven’t I heard that before. But when she says it, with this teasing tenderness, I don’t even mind. “Well why don’t we do a crossword together, then? Because seriously, it looks like you’re bored out of your skull. Though you might still be bored out of your skull even with the crossword…”

I wasn’t counting on that. I thought she’d just leave all these things here and leave, that she’d have more important things to deal with on her weekend than me. But now I’m getting all her time and attention. And everything makes even less sense.

“Only one way to find out,” I say as that pleasant fucked up pain in my chest shows up again as she climbs onto my bed with me, sitting against the side wall, her legs over mine as I sit against the other wall.

“I don’t know why,” she says as she gets more comfortable, pen in hand, “but I’ve always liked puzzles.”

Sure. Puzzles are fun. When you can figure them out, I think as I watch her as she tucks a lock of hair behind her ear and folds the magazine over to have a better surface to write on.

I feel her legs on top of mine and suddenly remember that moment from this morning, when she was half awake, grabbing onto me, nuzzling in closer. I close my eyes, reliving that particular moment.

“Are you tired?” her voice brings me back. “Do you want to lie down? Should I move?”

I open my eyes again and look at her. This is a puzzle I’ll never fucking solve and the frustration it causes me…I fucking swear.

“No,” I say, giving her a nod to continue.

And even though she said let’s do it together, she doesn’t need my help at all. She reads out the clues and then fills them in straight away.

“First name of the last tsar,” she says, her eyes scanning the black and white grid. “Nicholas.”

“Zodiac sign represented by a ram. Aries.”

“Flightless bird endemic to New Zealand. Kiwi!”

And she really does look like she’s enjoying herself and despite this unidentifiable pain, despite my tiredness, despite this frustration coursing through my veins, when I see her innocent enjoyment it’s somehow all ok. To be honest, I don’t think I’ve enjoyed anything like that in a long time. Besides that ice cream that idiotic evening.

“What the fuck is the point of being a bird if you ain’t even goin’ to fly?” I say as she fills in the four letter word.

“I guess there’s no need if there are no predators,” she says, looking up at me, as if coming out of a trance. “I guess that’s why it’s an endangered species these days with all those introduced animals.”

Fucking evolution. Really fucked over that kiwi, eh? It’s all well and good to be weak when no one’s bothering you, when there are no threats but what are you going to do when everyone starts ganging up on you? When you’re suddenly the target? Are you supposed to just put your hands up and say I surrender? Wave that whtie fuckin’ flag and let them fucking kick you to the ground? No. That ain’t what you do. You get-

“What’s wrong?” I hear her voice.

“What?” I’m confused.

“You’re scowling like,” she says, imitating my anger-ridden face before cracking up and I can’t hold on to the rage either when she laughs like that.

“Nothing,” I say and try to change the topic. “How the fuck do you know all these things?”

“Oh…I am just older and wiser than you,” she says in this mystic voice before giggling and turning back to the magazine. “No. I kid. I just read a lot and know a lot of useless facts.”

Older and wiser. Yeah. That sounds about right.

“Score before volleyball team wins the set,” she reads out and I can see this puzzled, slightly annoyed look on her face now. “The sports ones always get me,” she says, the tip of the pen against her lip as she thinks.

I remember her lips on my skin again. None of this makes any fucking sense.

“Match point,” I say without much reflection.

She writes it in.

“Oh!” she says in delight. “Correct! How did you know?” She asks, turning back to me.

I think for a moment.

“P.E.,” I say.

I remember we used to play it every once in a while, before I got kicked out. And I particularly remember because I was fuckin’ good at it, like I was at everything in PE, and that last game we played… I was fucking carrying that whole game. As usual. We were at match point and I fuckin’ scored. I aimed it right at the inside of the line. I knew it would hit just inside the line, just out of the blockers’ reach. I fuckin’ saw it on the inside and they called foul, out of bounds and it didn’t fuckin’ count and the point went to other side. I remember arguin’, this blind anger taking over, and then being kicked off the court. Fucking memories. Happy days.. It was inside the line. It was just too hard, too fast for them to see. But I saw it. We were at match point. And I got told to calm the hell down and got thrown off the court.

Their fuckin’ loss I guess.

I said goodbye to that place forever soon after.

“I can’t say I ever liked PE much,” she says, her attention on me now, the magazine down in her lap. “I bet that was your favourite subject, huh?” she says.

“Nah,” I say. I mean, I liked it but it wasn’t my favourite. It was a good way to get moving, to let some steam off. More like a period to relax.

“What was your favourite?” She asks. “And don’t say lunch. Because that’s what you said last time. And I’m asking seriously now.”

“So it’s like that, eh?” I tease. “Asking seriously are you?”

She gives my leg a little shove with her foot, as if to say ‘Oh, come on!’

I fold my arms across my chest, think about it for a bit.

“Physics,” I say finally.

“Why physics?” she asks, all her attention still on me.

“Don’t know,” I shrug. “The experiments were fun.”

That ain’t a lie. I remember always likin’ the practical stuff in science. And then when we got to launch that rocket…that was just the icing on the fucking cake. I always preferred numbers to words and calc wasn’t bad either. But maths was more abstract. The numbers were just kind of there, these nebulous equations that just generated more numbers. In physics there was something practical, tangible. Forces, actions, reactions, gravity, energy. And the laws were always the same. Gravity was always gravity. There was no escaping it. Not like all those fucking words that were so abstract, meanings subtle and changing, depending on how they were said, who said them... With physics you felt like you were on solid ground and once you understood the principles, they would always be there.

“Yeah, science was pretty fun,” she agrees. “Even though it’s like a century since I’ve been to high school,” she laughs and goes back to the crossword.

Is that it? That’s it, isn’t it? The missing piece of the puzzle. It’s our age. She always exaggerates hers. Plays it off like it’s this terrible thing but I ain’t ever seen it as such. She tells me the most interesting things, and I always end up learnin’ something new whether I want to or not. And she seems to see right through my bullshit. When I’m with her, I feel somehow grounded and can forget the fuckin’ violent mess in my head for a while. She has this talent for taking me for a total joke when my head gets too fuckin’ big and listening to me with complete seriousness at other times, preventing me from fuckin’ exploding and destroying my life once and for all.

At the time, I resented hearin’ that. No one fucking cared about me. It took me an age to even accept that she did. Anyone trying to get close, to find things out were just bound to use it against me later on. That had been my experience. And I didn’t need anyone caring for me in the first fuckin’ place. I didn’t ‘rise through the ranks’, put myself through all that just to rely on others. I had learned quickly and painfully that that was never goin’ to be an option for me. I was proud to need no one. It was fucking childish. And I can’t say I really let myself rely on anyone still or let my guard down too much, but with her at least, I got it through my fucked up head, once and for all, that not everyone was trying to screw me over. Little by little, with her, I saw the world differently, even if it felt strange and unfamiliar. She was there, and I could trust her, at least. Finally, it felt like there was someone. Someone who hadn’t given up at the first sign of my trouble.

I must’ve dozed off because suddenly I open my eyes and it’s full on afternoon, the rich light pouring through the window.

I find her sitting where she was before, against the wall, legs on mine, pen in hand.

She gives me an easy smile as I come to.

“Good nap?” she says.

“Hmm,” I turn my head this way and the other, stretching my neck. Sittin’ like this wasn’t the most comfortable position to fall asleep in.

“I picked up all the towels,” she says, pointing her pen to the floor where all those towels she’d used on me the night before had piled up.

My bloody t-shirt was there too and now I can’t see a trace of it. But she doesn’t say a word about it. She knows it was there. I know it was there. But it stays silent like a huge fucking elephant in the room.

“I put all that stuff in the wash,” she says as we avoid the t-shirt specifically.

“You didn’t have-”

“And I cleaned the breakfast dishes. Are you hungry?”

I’m always fucking hungry.

“Of course you are,” she says before I can answer. “I’ll go buy something for lunch. Anything in particular you want?”

“You don’t have-” I start again, with more intent this time.

“Are you going to tell me what you want or do you want me to choose?” she will hear none of it.

“Fine, you choose,” I concede, feeling too tired to argue for once.

She slips off my bed and I watch her go, again. But she pauses and turns in the doorway.

“Oh, your former teacher stopped by,” she says, her voice uncertain, sensing this might be something I may not like.

“Fucking old man,” I hear myself mutter.

“He seemed very concerned. I told him you were sick yesterday but that you were doing a lot better.”

Heh. I wonder what the old bastard thought of that, a woman like that openin’ the door for him in the middle of the day. What did he make of that…

“He’s always fuckin’ concerned,” I growl, unable to keep the distaste out of my voice.

“He said he’d come back another time,” she says.

“He always fuckin’ does,” my eyes roll of their own accord.

“I think he just cares about you,” she gives me a sympathetic smile and heads off.

She comes back with bowls of hot ramen from the place around the corner and up the street and it feels so good goin’ down. I feel somewhat less tired, and this helps, but I ain’t a hundred per cent yet and I’m growing fuckin’ impatient. I’m not used to bein’ down for the count like this. It makes me agitated.

I’m just getting another Coke out of the fridge when there’s a knock on the door and I know straight away.

“It’s the kid,” I say as she takes the can from me and puts it right back in the fridge, closing it shut in my face. “Make some tea. I’ll get it.”

I can hear her opening the door, Tareo’s polite greeting.

“Is Uncle home?” he asks excitedly. He is completely oblivious to any implication her being here might have. He probably thinks she’s just here to see Delilah like he is.

“He is,” I hear her say, “but he’s a bit sick.”

“Is he ok?” Tareo asks, his voice filling with worry.

“Yes, he’s fine! But he’s got a nasty cold and he wouldn’t want you catching it,” she says kindly.

And this is a lie. And I know she’s not the kind of person to lie. And I know she’s not doing it for my sake. She’s doing it for his. Because half my face is still this very pretty violet colour, she’d probably call it lavender, and I realise she doesn’t want Tareo seeing me in that state. Doesn’t want him to be scared or worried. Doesn’t want me as a bad influence.

And I don’t disagree with her.

I’m a fucking disgrace.

And for the first time, I’m not proud of it.

And I feel like the idea of ever solving this puzzle that is us slips even further from my reach.