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youunravelme · 9 months ago

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nothing happened in the way i wanted part 1

author's note: okay so let it be known that my FAV emily henry book is happy place (if you want a deep dive into my personality, if you want to know the inner workings of my mind, read the book) SO with that being said, this fic was inspired by that masterpiece. plus i've fallen down a matt rabbit hole as of late. just a warning, this is a LONG ass fic (74 pages and 30.3k words, not a brag, i kinda regret that it's this long bc my brain hurts) so pace yourselves okay? thank you for being the kindest people ever!! this is finished, but tumblr said what i wrote is too long. so i'm posting it in parts lolol.

summary: a year has passed and you are no closer to understanding why matt ended things and you have every plan of avoiding that thought until he comes back in town for the offseason, then suddenly he's everywhere.

pairing: matthew tkachuk x reader

warnings: ANGST, friends to lovers to exes to lovers, mention of sexual assault, attempted sexual assault, drinking, depression, panic attacks, let me know if i missed something!

after

despite being back in st. louis for six months, summer still felt like it came too fast. your thighs started sticking to the seats from sweat about three weeks ago. summer used to be your favorite season because it meant you had unlimited access to the love of your life, you weren’t sharing him with his teammates or his crazy schedule.

but he wasn’t yours anymore. matthew hadn’t been yours in six months and some change.

the second you entered your parents’ home, you tossed your keys into the bowl and slid your shoes off. it’d been six months since you moved home, and it still didn’t feel like a space where you belonged. you walked into the living room without so much as a hello from either of your parents, both of whom were posted up on the couch. they weren’t talking to each other, just letting the noise from the news fill the room instead of conversation.

“hey,” you greeted, plopping down in the recliner.

“how was work?” your mom asked.

you shrugged, not quite having the words to convey how mundane it had been. you were working on restoring a piece for this rich couple who lived in the same neighborhood as the tkachuks. it wasn’t in too bad of shape, given the fact that you were the one entrusted to work on it. if it was actually something incredibly complicated, your boss would’ve found someone else more experienced to do it.

when you entered art restoration and conservation, you thought it would be mindless. art had always been an escape for you, a chance to remove yourself from your racing thoughts. you thought that by entering the art conservation field, you could add onto something, enhance the beauty that was lost over the years of damage, instead of creating something from your own experiences.

but no one told you how hard it would be after your breakup, that you would have to learn how to pour bottles of chemical solvent into a glass when your eyes were blurring with tears. no one said anything about how you would spend hours hunched over, fixing the problems in paintings that only served to remind you that while you could mend a masterpiece, you were unable to stop and patch up the problems in your relationship. no one spoke about how you would inevitably relate to the paintings that came to you in shambles, the only difference being that clients would pay thousands of dollars for their paintings to be restored to their former glory, your ex let you fall apart alone in a city where you had no friends outside of the ones you’d made through him.

but how could you communicate that to your mother? to your father? both of whom stayed in an unhappy marriage for the sake of optics? how could you tell them that it’s been months and you were still no more over your ex than the day it ended? how could they understand you? they stayed together out of convenience, out of a fear of ending their marriage only to never find someone else.

it had been six months since your relationship ended, and you were no closer to understanding why.

“just a mundane day,” was all you said instead. “nothing to write home about.”

both of your parents hummed.

“did you have dinner already?” you asked.

“was gonna order pizza,” your dad said.

your mother scoffed and rolled her eyes. “no alan, we had plans to see chantal and keith tonight for dinner.”

you wanted to throw up.

you weren’t sure what you were expecting, maybe some loyalty from your parents? though, they weren’t fully privy to all the information about the demise of your relationship with matt, so maybe you couldn’t expect them to stop hanging out with his parents, especially when said parents were such great people.

“oh,” was all you could say.

“you’re more than welcome to order takeout and watch a movie,” your mom commented, like you needed permission to make yourself at home when you were actively living there. “i’m sure ronald would appreciate your company.”

you glanced at the tabby cat who was perched on his cat tree. personally, you had no issue with ronald, but he liked your mom and your mom only. though on occasion, he would allow your dad to pet him.

“i’ll figure something out,” you said.

your mom hummed before she stood up to go get ready while your father stayed on the couch. it was only another ten minutes before he got up to change quickly, and another five before they left the house without so much as a goodbye.

before

you were incredibly aware that you didn’t quite fit in. your mom drove you to school in a beat up 1997 toyota camry which looked incredibly out of place among the bmws and audis. your mom offered to walk you in, but she was wearing her scrubs from her night shift and her face looked tired, so you declined the offer and got out of the car yourself.

it shouldn’t have been as daunting as it was, but your old school wasn’t as prestigious as this one. your previous schools in cedar rapids had been public schools. no one was wearing a uniform, and most of the backpacks worn came from the same walmart in your old neighborhood.

but your parents had decided they wanted a better education for you, even if neither of them had the money to fork out thousands of dollars for a private school. your mom’s parents, however, were loaded. they were more than willing to fork out a small fortune for your schooling under the conditions of your family uprooting your lives to missouri. you were too young to realize what a sacrifice that was, you didn’t notice the snide comments your grandparents made about your father’s choice of career or your mother’s choice in husband.

you didn’t see your grandparents any more than you usually did since you’d moved to missouri two weeks ago. they’d been out of town on a trip to rome up until three days ago and hadn’t reached out to have dinner or hang out at all.

not that you cared at the age of nine, you were more focused on unpacking your room. but now that you were standing in front of the giant school alone, you felt like you should’ve been more concerned with how nice your school supplies were.

a kind woman greeted you at the entrance of the school. she smiled and introduced herself, though you couldn’t hear her over the roaring in your ears. she stood next to a blond haired blue eyed boy who was your height.

“are your parents here?” you weren’t sure how you heard her over the noise in your head.

you shook your head. “my mom had to go home and my dad is at work.”

the woman blinked. “is today your first day?”

“mom, it’s everyone’s first day of school,” the boy groaned.

“i wasn’t talking to you, matthew,” she said, though her eyes never left your own.

“i just moved here,” was all you said, albeit a bit quietly.

“well, you can walk in with us.” She placed a warm hand on your back and ushered you inside next to her son.

you took notice of her nicer clothing compared to your mom’s scrubs or your dad’s tattered khakis, though the woman’s clothing wasn’t as ostentatious as other parents’.

“do you know your teacher’s name?” the woman asked.

you nodded and showed her the crumpled paper in your hand. the night before, you were wracked with nerves and wrote your teacher’s on a blank sheet of paper and doodled around it. even at nine years old, you were concerned that you’d somehow forget. you couldn’t be more grateful for it now.

the woman’s face lit up. “oh how lucky! matthew look! you’re in the same class.”

matthew for his part, tried to look happy about it, but his eyes kept wandering to the hallways, like he was looking for people he knew. you felt bad for even being in this situation. you missed your friends from iowa and the light up shoes you used to wear before you were given a uniform.

matthew’s mom pointed out the classroom that was supposed to be yours and walked both you and matthew into the room. unlike her son, who immediately found his friends to do elaborate handshakes with, you stayed by her side. she was a stranger, sure, but she was more comforting that the classroom of fifteen other nine and ten year olds.

the woman sighed and bent down a little to look you in the eyes. “it’s gonna be a good day, sweetheart,” she said. “mr. terry is a great teacher, he’s really kind.” you weren’t sure how she would know that, but you weren’t going to call her a liar. “and if you need anything, ask matthew. he’s been going here since kindergarten, okay?”

you nodded.

mr. terry walked over and introduced himself. he had dark skin and a bright smile, showing you to your seat. your name was on a card with fun stickers on it. next to your seat, you saw matthew’s name. now it wasn’t necessarily an unpopular name, there were three matthews in your third grade class, so you weren’t holding out hope that it was going to be the matthew you walked into class with. but two minutes later, he was plopping down into the seat to your left.

matthew looked almost startled to see you sitting next to him, but when the shock wore off he gave you a crooked smile and stuck his hand out. “i’m matt,” he said, like you two didn’t walk into class together.

you shook his hand anyway and gave him a shy smile and told him your name, just in case he didn’t see it written on your desk.

if it was even possible, his smile widened. “pretty name,” he said.

after

you’d watched a movie and half of another one by the time your parents walked through the front door. ronald jumped off the couch to greet your mother while he ignored your father.

“oh,” your dad said. “you’re still up.”

“i’m about to go to bed,” you replied, though you didn’t move from the couch.

“dinner was great,” your mom commented. “chantal and keith said to tell you hello.”

your gut twisted at the mention of their names. you loved his family, you really did, but the mention of the family that was almost yours stung when you looked at how your parents acted like roommates on the best of days.

you remembered summer days spent in the tkachuks’ backyard, watching as matt and brady chased each other while taryn tried her best to keep up. you remembered your dad picking you up from their house, and how you begged the entire ride home for a little brother or sister. he looked at your through the rearview mirror and said “we already achieved perfection, why mess that up?”

but you were grown now. you saw how their marriage barely survived raising you, and they were probably being smart by not risking your upbringing just to have another child.

you bid your parents goodnight and headed up the stairs to your childhood bedroom. it looked less like the office it was converted into when you moved out originally. you didn’t fault your parents for taking advantage of your absence, you, like many people your age, had zero intentions of ever moving back in until an unfortunate set of circumstances happened to you.

and that’s what life had felt like lately:

unfortunate.

unfortunate shit just happening to you.

it wasn't late by any means, but you were surprised when your phone vibrated with a text message. maybe it was the fact that you hadn’t really befriended anyone since moving back that had you flinching at the shock of someone other than your parents (or grandparents) texting you.

you unlocked your phone and opened the message, sighing when you read its contents.

emma:

hey girl! just checking in to see if you’re still good for this weekend? no worries if you can’t make it!

you dropped the phone on your stomach and groaned into your hands as soon as they made contact with your face.

years of dating matthew meant you’d grown closer to brady and taryn and by proxy, brady’s fiancée, emma. you’d already committed to being a bridesmaid and bought the dress before your relationship with matt ended. when emma found out, she called immediately and gave you an out, said she wouldn’t take it personal, that she understood if it would be too hard.

but you remembered the countless conversations had about planning your weddings while the both of you watched the loves of your lives try not to kill each other from your spots on the back porch. and you could hear it in her voice, how much it meant to her that you would be there even if she didn’t want to push it on you. it didn’t matter that only one of you was getting the wedding you planned. the bets made on who’d get married first were obsolete now.

you wanted to text her back and say you were busy, but you hadn’t seen her much since her and brady came back in town. when the senators’ season ended in april, he and emma spent some time with her family and attended the playoff games for the panthers. now that the panthers’ season ended two weeks ago, all of the tkachuks were back in town which used to excite you.

now it just filled you with dread.

no, it’s not like you lived in the same tax bracket as matt’s family. you didn’t go to the same grocery stores unless you were tagging along. no, there was a comfortable distance between your neighborhoods and st. louis was filled with two million other people that the odds of running into him were slim.

but your anxiety preferred zero odds rather than a slight chance, and it made the logic that was once screaming at you sound like a small whisper.

you sucked it up anyway, though. seeing emma and the other bridesmaids was better than staying in your room and staring at the ceiling.

you:

i’ll be there! can��t wait!!!

and maybe you used too many exclamation points. maybe you were trying too hard to prove something no one would believe if they took longer than a split second glance at your face. you were a horrible liar, that hadn’t changed. you were just hoping by the time the weekend came around, you’d be too busy to focus on any of the pain.

before

the summer after keith retired, the tkachuks took you and your family on vacation with them to turks and caicos. your parents were stressed initially about the trip, but you were filled with nothing but excitement at leaving the landlocked state you called home.

missouri had slowly wormed its way into your heart. when your family moved, there was never a thought in your mind that you would ever come to love it like you did with cedar rapids. there was no way you’d ever consider this place your home. but then you met the tkachuks.

it’d been nearly three years since you’d first sat in that seat next to your best friend in mr. terry’s fourth grade class. now, you were splashing around in the waves with matt and brady while your parents looked from the shore.

school had been different the past two years, with matthew going to an all boys school after fifth grade while you stayed. it took some adjusting to being without him the entire school day. you didn’t want to think of yourself as codependent, or clingy, but mat was your best friend. it was an adjustment, having to make new friends in the same school.

now that wasn’t to say that you never saw matt. after your initial introductions, chantal offered to take you to and from school if your mom or dad dropped you off at their house in the morning. both of your parents jumped at the idea. your mother, who worked as a night shift ICU nurse, reveled in being able to go home and go straight to sleep. your father, whose job as an electrician required him to be on job sites early in the morning, didn’t mind it either, he had to be up early anyway.

and sure, you had to wake up earlier than you used to, but you got to eat breakfast and pretend like you were a tkachuk most days of the week (with the exception of the days your mom was off). keith would ruffle your hair as he passed you in the kitchen. taryn would race matthew for the seat next to yours.

the tkachuks felt more like your family than your own some days.

especially now when your parents went on a date that keith and chantal paid for while they stayed back at the beach house with you and their children.

all six of you were seated around the coffee table with the game of life laid out in front of you. the evening started out with a game of uno, but that game got out of hand quickly. it took brady reversing the order and hitting matt with a draw four before your best friend lunged over the table to tackle his brother. while keith broke up the boys, chantal cleaned up uno and instructed you and taryn to pick out the least competitive game you could find.

which is how you ended up playing the game of life.

even though life had to be the least competitive game you knew, matt and brady still managed to argue over it, even going as far to rant about how unfair it was that they had to pay for home insurance. keith and chantal had just chuckled and told them to enjoy childhood while it lasted.

you found yourself smiling and laughing along.

you weren’t quite sure who won, or how anyone ever really wins the game of life, but the moment mattered more. taryn went upstairs with keith to get ready for bed while brady helped his mom in the kitchen pop a bag of popcorn. you and matthew were responsible for cleaning up the game.

“are you having fun?” he asked.

your smile was so wide, it hurt your cheeks. “i’m having the best time. this is by far the best vacation i’ve been on.”

“really?” he smiled.

you nodded emphatically. “most of my family vacations have been spent with my grandparents.”

matt grimaced, already aware of the testy relationship your mom had with her own parents. “when’s the last time you saw them?”

you had to think for a moment, while your grandparents technically lived in st. louis, they were often out of town or ignoring your family’s existence altogether. with the exception of the last saturday of every month, when you and your parents were practically obligated to eat dinner with them. you didn’t notice their judgmental comments when you were younger and mesmerized by the giant dollhouse they bought for you.

but you were older now. you knew that there were terms and conditions attached to the cellphone they bought for you on your twelfth birthday. you heard the disdain in their voices when they talked down to your father and mother for their life choices. you weren’t an idiot, you understood that every compliment they gave you was a way for them to make your parents feel inferior in comparison.

you weren’t a child to them, you were a pawn in a game you never asked to play.

“we saw them about a month ago?” you shrugged. “they’re on vacation until halfway through august.”

matt hummed. “i think we’re gonna visit mom’s parents before school starts back again.”

to your credit, you did your best to look happy for him, even if it meant that you wouldn’t see him for a week and a half. you had other friends in town! in fact, you befriended a girl named simone when you started middle school. maybe you could call her when you get back to st. louis?

evidently, your little act wasn’t convincing enough. matt nudged your shoulder with his. “you’ll be fine,” he said. “you’re probably annoyed from how much time we’ve spent together this summer. you need a break.”

you couldn’t help but smile. “i could never get tired of you, matty.”

he blinked, almost at a loss for words, it felt like. but you should’ve known better, because he was holding up his pinky a beat later. “you promise?”

you locked your fingers together. “promise.”

after

it’s just emma and her friends and taryn, you thought. you already know all of these people. there’s no reason to be stressed out.

which, to be fair, your inner monologue was right. you had absolutely no reason to be standing in front of your closet debating what to wear for as long as you had.

before you could stop yourself, you were hitting emma’s contact and putting your phone on speaker. the dial tone rang out through the room while you waited for her to pick up. you were seconds away from ending the call when her phone sounded through the receiver.

“hey! what’s up?”

you exhaled. “i don’t know what to wear tonight.”

emma said your name through a laugh. “we’re not going anywhere fancy, i swear. it’s just dinner and then we’re going to a bar.”

you frowned. “so taryn’s not joining us after dinner?”

“no, she has other plans after dinner anyway. she said she was meeting up with some friends from high school.” as if she could see the hesitance on your face, emma spoke up again. “but you know all the other girls, it’s not like you’ll be hanging out with strangers.”

and she was right, you were in a groupchat with the other bridesmaids and found all of them to be quite pleasant.

“look, if you’re still stressed about what to wear, just wear jeans.”

“okay, but how nice is this restaurant?” you were rummaging through your closet. “because i’ve worn jeans to restaurants that weren’t supposed to be fancy and i found myself criminally underdressed.”

“yeah well, i’m better at communicating than matt is.” a gasp sounded through the receiver, like emma had just realized what she said. “oh my god, i’m so sorry—”

“it’s fine, you’re not wrong,” you said, forcing out a laugh even as your heart painfully squeezed in your chest.

“i really didn’t mean to,” she sighed. “i’m sorry, that was rude of me to bring up.”

you shook your head even though she couldn’t see you. “it’s fine, emma, i swear,” you said even though there were tears pricking in your eyes. “i’ll have to face the music eventually.”

“still, it was insensitive of me to say that.”

you cleared your throat. “don’t worry about it, i’m a big girl.” you pulled the phone away from your face so you could sniffle for a second without drawing any unnecessary attention. “so jean shorts tonight?” you asked.

there was a brief silence before you heard emma’s soft sigh over the phone. “that sounds perfect.”

before

matthew kissed you for the first time when you were hanging out with mutual friends after school in eighth grade. you’d been dreaming about that moment for years ever since sixth grade when you realized matt was handsome and the flutters in your stomach weren’t just from nerves anymore.

both of you were at your friend morgan’s house sitting in her basement. she happened to live in the same neighborhood as matt. so after school, you rode home with the tkachuks like you always did and then walked to her house.

morgan was the first of your friends to get a boyfriend and she wasn’t shy about telling everyone. it was easy to be jealous of her. while you hadn’t known her as long, your other friends had made it clear she’d garnered male attention since preschool. so there was no surprise that she’d announced at school earlier that week that she was dating someone from matt’s school.

hence the party in the basement.

morgan was the one who suggested truth or dare. she had all ten of you circle up on the carpet and sit criss crossed. you were keenly aware of how matt’s knee was touching your own, you could feel the heat even through your jeans. he was leaning back on his hands, with his right hand directly behind your back,in your delusions, you let yourself pretend he was doing it to be closer to you.

“alright!” morgan cheered. “who wants to start?”

no one said a word.

you made the mistake of looking around when you caught morgan’s eye. at the sight of a growing smirk on her lips, you quickly diverted your gaze.

“c'mon, no one wants to go first?” she hummed. “fine, i’ll go. babe,” she started calling thomas babe a week ago. “ask me, truth or dare?”

the only word you could use to describe the look on thomas’ face was besotted. without hesitating, he asked her the question, smiling when she grinned back at him. morgan chose dare, because she wasn’t “boring and lame.”

thomas dared her to kiss him. there was a collective groan when she leaned over and kissed her boyfriend. the second she pulled back, morgan’s eyes flitted over the rest of the group, looking like a tiger about to pounce. the two of you made eye contact and the corner of her lips raised in a smirk that was gone as quick as it came.

you prepared yourself for the worst, recalling how you let it slip that you have a crush on matt. and morgan, while she wasn’t intentionally cruel, had all but shrieked when you told her. so you didn’t think she’d out you to be mean, you wouldn’t put it past her to attempt matchmaking.

but her eyes skipped right over you and focused on simone. “truth or dare?”

“truth,” simone replied.

morgan rolled her eyes. “nerd,” but she cracked a smile anyway.

the game went on pretty effortlessly, you even got brave enough to do a dare (thankfully morgan never got the opportunity to ask you). it ended with morgan asking matthew. the smirk she had earlier, appeared as she made eye contact with you before setting her sights on your best friend.

“truth or dare?” she asked.

you immediately knew which option he was picking, matt never backed down from a challenge and had been choosing dare all night.

“matthew, i dare you to kiss the hottest person in the room.”

your stomach dropped as did your gaze. you couldn’t look anyone in the eye, you didn’t want to see matt kiss another girl, you couldn’t. you wouldn’t do it.

a moment passed when you realized matt hadn’t moved an inch. he was still leaning on his hands, with one stretched behind you. all it took was a quick glance at matt to see him already staring back at you.

“no,” he said, eyes still locked on your face.

morgan blinked. “what?”

it was only then that his eyes left your face to look morgan dead in the eye. “nope. i won’t do it.”

she guffawed. “but you have to!”

matt shrugged. “i don’t want to.”

“but you lose if you don’t!”

he shrugged yet again. “oh well.”

your head snapped up to look at him in confusion. “matt,” you nudged him.

“we gotta go anyway,” he said, before he stood up and reached out to you. you took his hand, albeit hesitantly before he dragged you up the stairs and out of the house onto the street.

a cool breeze was blowing which inadvertently caused you to shiver. matt, who still hadn’t let go of your hand, tugged you further into his side. your heart sank when he dropped your hand, only for it to skyrocket when he threw his arm around you.

“why didn’t you do the dare?” you asked. the curiosity was killing you, even if you believed the real answer would be even worse than not knowing.

matt shrugged like he had been all night. “i didn’t feel like it.”

you blinked at him, staring at his profile while he guided the two of you back to his house. “you’re literally the most competitive person i know. you’ve never intentionally lost a game. last week brady dared you to drink that gallon of milk and run a mile, which, if i must remind you, you threw up not even halfway through.”

matt laughed. “that was funny. but what’s your point?”

“my point is that kissing someone is way less work than running a mile and throwing up. so what’s up?”

he wouldn’t look at you, his gaze fell to the ground where he kicked a rock. “didn’t want it to happen like that.”

you blinked at him, refusing to move your gaze from his profile. “didn’t want what to happen like that? it’s just a kiss.”

he shook his head and stopped walking, grabbing your wrist when you kept moving. matt tugged your arm so you’d turn around and look at him. “it wouldn’t be just a kiss,” he said.

“would it mean more?” you asked, but he didn’t say anything. “matt?” your heart was beating against your chest. your hands shook at the idea of him wanting to kiss someone. you went through the list of people in that room. it wasn’t morgan, he’d told you weeks ago that he didn’t like her like that when you asked. could it be simone? she looked like a goddess on a bad day. her dark skin was flawless and free of blemishes and her faux locs were always perfectly styled. she didn’t even wear makeup on a regular basis.

oh god. did he like simone?

your gut twisted at the idea, of him falling in love with the closest friend you had at school. you could learn to be happy for them, simone was great and matt would adore her if she agreed to go out with him.

you snapped back into it when you felt matt’s thumb rub across your pulse. “matt, would it mean more?”

he shrugged again, still not looking at you, just the part where your hands were joined. “would it be a problem if it did?”

now it was your turn to be confused. “why would my opinion matter? i’m not the one you’d be kissing.”

matt blinked at you once, then twice. “you can’t be serious,” he said.

“what do you mean?”

“you can’t be that blind. there’s no way.”

“matt, what are you talking about?”

he dropped your hand to run both of his over his face and groaned. “there's no way you don’t know.”

“know what?”

matt fixed you with an intense look, one that had you squirming in your shoes a little. in all your years of friendship, you weren’t sure he'd ever stared at you that way before. a hockey game? sure, but you?

“matt what—”

“i like you,” he said as plain as day, like he didn’t just flip your world on its axis.

you blinked, you were pretty sure you stopped breathing. “what?” you whispered.

matt stepped closer to you, close enough that your shoes were touching. “i like you.”

“so why didn’t you kiss me when morgan dared you to?”

“i didn’t want it to happen like that,” he admitted. “didn’t wanna kiss you in front of everybody.”

you could feel the heat travel up your neck and to your cheeks. “and what about now? would you kiss me now?”

“would you let me?”

words failed you, you could only nod. matt hesitated for a moment before pressing his lips to yours. it was clumsy and awkward, and in the middle of the sidewalk two blocks away from his house.

but it was perfect.

after

you ubered to the restaurant before emma could suggest meeting at the tkachuk house. every single one of the bridesmaids knew you and matt were no longer together, all of them banding around you and offering support from thousands of miles away. so you didn’t think any of them would even hint at meeting at the tkachuk residence if they were as considerate as you believed them to be, but you wanted to avoid the sympathetic looks that would be thrown your way.

most of the bridesmaids were there by the time you arrived, the only exception being taryn. the entire table greeted you with bright white smiles, emma stood to give you a hug that you enthusiastically returned.

it felt great to be back in the company of people your age. despite being back in st. louis for quite some time, you still had yet to make any more friends outside of emma and taryn, both of whom you didn’t see that often because of who they were relationally attached to.

unfortunately, you’d lost contact with many of your friends from high school because of the distance. if you could go back, you’d slap yourself in the face for thinking matt was going to stick around longer than simone or morgan.

but how were you to know he would leave and wouldn’t want you to follow him?

you swallowed that question down and took a seat at the table. you sat next to a brunette named stacey, the other seat on your right was left for taryn, you assumed. there were already two bottles of wine sitting in a bucket of ice on the table. part of you considered pouring yourself a glass immediately, but you remembered the plans were dinner first, bar later. so you settled for water.

it was only a matter of maybe ten minutes before taryn was led to your table. you stood up with the rest of the girls and waited your turn to hug her. taryn saved you for last, smiling bright and wide when the two of you finally made eye contact. you squeezed each other tightly as you hugged, unspoken words being communicated.

“now, before anyone looks at the menu, i just wanted to let you know, it’s on brady tonight.” emma held up her hand as mouths began to protest across the table. “he insisted, and we won’t be taking no for an answer.”

and maybe you should’ve protested a little harder to look more sincere, but your job wasn’t paying you well enough to afford a 70 dollar steak and drinks.

the table breaks up into mini conversations while everyone was looking over the menu. you were doing the same when an elbow nudged you from the right. you glanced over at taryn who wasn’t even trying to hide the fact that she wanted your attention, it was something you’d always admired about her.

“long time, no see,” she said. but before you could respond, she spoke up again. “how have you been?”

you shrugged and moved your eyes back to the menu to look busy. “nothing has been going on really, just working.” you cleared your throat and hesitantly made eye contact again. “and you? what have you been up to?”

taryn shifted in her seat, a tell you knew was coming. you weren’t a stranger to where she’d been the past few weeks, you still followed her on instagram, you followed all of the tkachuks on instagram, even matt. so you knew she’d just gotten back after the panthers lost in game five of the finals.

you nudged her with your shoulder and gave her a small smile. “it’s okay, i’m not gonna burst into tears if you mention him.”

taryn smiled. “i’m exhausted, we were traveling everywhere for matt it felt like. it was cutting into my workouts.”

your jaw clenched at the mention of his name, mainly to distract you from feeling the ache in your chest, but you kept a pleasant look on your face anyway. “you still have the rest of the summer for your workouts, though. summer’s barely started.”

taryn nodded but she didn’t say anything for a moment. you started to shift in your seat when she reached a hand out and squeezed your own. “i miss you,” she said sincerely. “it hasn’t been the same without you around.”

“taryn...”

“you know, you’re still in, like, most of our family photos hanging on the wall. mom and dad haven’t taken them down.”

you weren’t sure if that made you happy or brought you pain.

“i begged them not to, you’re in too many memories for us to just forget you.” she cleared her throat and looked back at her menu, giving you a break from the sincere staredown the two of you were having. “they ask about you all the time, but they didn’t want to impose, mom especially. said she’d understand if you never wanted to see them again.”

you tried reading the menu through blurry eyes and pinched your lips together so no one would see them tremble. “i’ve been meaning to get coffee with your mom,” you said, though you both knew it was a lie. you’d made yourself scarce for a reason.

“she’d be happy to see you again, she just didn’t want to overstep.”

you nodded, still not looking at the girl you fully believed would be your sister one day. “i’ll text her.”

the waiter came by moments later to take your orders. thankfully, the tears had cleared up out of your eyes. as soon as you’d cleared your throat, you were telling the server your order without your voice shaking.

you bore the grief well, you thought. you laughed when everyone else did, smiled when appropriate, and asked follow up questions. socializing wasn’t hard, years of galas and charity events as matt’s plus one had trained you well for moments like these, so long as you avoided the eyes of taryn and emma, both of whom knew you better than anyone else at the table.

emma paid with brady’s card like she’d promised earlier. unfortunately for you, that’s when the anxiety started to come back. taryn was leaving after dinner, too young to go to the bars with the rest of you, and according to what emma had told you, she had plans with friends.

the group left together, with taryn waving goodbye as the rest of you headed to a bar three blocks away. your hands were shaking, so you shoved them in your pockets to hide the trembling.

it’d get better once you got a few drinks in you, you told yourself. you’d loosen up soon enough.

emma opened a tab with brady’s card and you immediately started going in. the group started with a round of shots, but you were quickly ordering more than just tequila. it was only a matter of time before your vision started lagging and your brain began buffering to keep up with what was happening.

you were on the dance floor, grinding against a stranger, who thankfully, was keeping their hands to themselves, when emma tugged your arm, giggling. “everyone else has left. and i think it’s time for us to go,” she slurred, a giant smile on her face.

you allowed yourself to be tugged away from the stranger. “how do you know?” you asked, fumbling over your words like trying to catch a bar of soap with wet hands.

emma smiled and pointed at the bar where brady was, you assumed, closing out the tab. seeing him in the flesh had your heart stuttering. the anxiety was kicking back in, hitting harder than it did when you were sober. you hadn’t seen brady since november, or was it december? the months had blurred together just like that one scene from new moon.

but now you were seeing him in the flesh, and he was getting closer as emma tugged you over to where he was. brady was just slipping his card back in his wallet when the two of you got to him. he looked up and smiled at his fianceé before he even realized you were standing there. the lovesick smile dropped but it was quickly replaced with shock before it was transformed into a smile you could’ve painted from memory.

“hey!” he said just loud enough to be heard over the noise. “i didn’t think you were coming tonight.”

if you were sober, you’d see that statement as a warning, preparation for what was to come. you would’ve noticed the way his eyes kept darting to the entrance of the bar, but you didn’t. you were just happy to see him for the first time in a while, feeling the semblance of home you’d been missing for months.

if you were sober, you would’ve remembered that brady and his brother were a package deal. you would’ve known that the nights brady wasn’t spending with emma, he was spending with your ex, and when emma had inevitably texted (or brady offered) her fiancé to pick her up, that he was more than likely already out with his brother celebrating his upcoming nuptials.

if you were sober, you would’ve noticed him walk through the door because your eyes were always drawn to him. you would’ve known it was him by the smell of his cologne, instead of waiting for him to slap his brother on the shoulder in greeting.

if you were sober, you would’ve made a break for it the second he started approaching you, emma, and brady.

but you were drunk off your ass, and all you could do was stand there like a dumbfounded idiot while matthew brendan tkachuk glanced around the room.

brady shifted on his feet a little, bracing for the moment you both knew was coming. the moment where matt saw you for the first time since november 29, when he played calgary. you’d imagine to brady, it felt like watching a car accident happen in real time. to you though, you were the accident. you were the one getting hit by a bus going full speed. you were rooted to the spot, taking in every feature of matt’s face that you’d missed over the last six months, waiting for him to see you.

if you were sober, you would’ve run away by now, knowing that being that close to him would do nothing for you.

but it was too late now.

matt finally glanced at emma, then brady, until his eyes landed on you. the smile on his lips from the song that was bumping through the speakers dropped almost immediately. he recoiled, took a small step back, almost as if he was shocked to see you there at all.

you felt like an idiot.

you weren’t sure how long the two of you stared at each other before you took a deep breath and stared at your shoes.

your hands were shaking again.

you shoved them in your pockets again.

matt’s eyes darted to your shorts at the movement, his eyes scrunched together in what looked like concern, but you brushed that thought off before you could convince yourself he still cared. but you could feel his stare on you, even as you looked around and avoided eye contact. you felt like an ant, with matt’s gaze being the magnifying glass that was burning you with a beam of sunlight.

“do you have a ride home?” brady asked. your head whipped back around to look at him and emma.

you shrugged, already feeling more sober than you were two minutes ago. “was gonna uber.”

matt scoffed. “not happening.”

out of nowhere anger bubbled out of your chest and out of your mouth. “excuse me?”

matt fixed you with a hard stare, one you didn’t shy away from. “you’re not ubering home on a friday night drunk as hell. it’s not happening.”

“i think you lost the right to make my decisions six months ago.” you refused to say his name, refused to know what it felt like to have it back on your tongue even though your heart was crying out to utter those two syllables again.

brady interjected before the disagreement could escalate. “i just wanna make sure you get home safe,” he said. “can i drive you home?”

you glanced at the man you used to know like a little brother. you saw the sincerity in his eyes, the concern.

and maybe it was the love for brady and emma that had you accepting. or maybe it was the alcohol. you nodded your head and let emma lock arms with you as you were led out by the tkachuk brothers.

you found yourself in the backseat where you used to hold hands with matt when you went on double dates with brady and emma. the two of you used to tease the younger couple when they did literally anything romantic. if brady so much as grabbed emma’s hand, the two of you were gagging in the backseat “choking on their pda” all while knowing brady and emma have caught you in more compromising positions before.

but it wasn’t like that this time around.

you slid into your usual seat in the back before emma could offer up shotgun to you. maybe if you were more selfish, you’d accept, but you weren’t going to let your friend sit away from her fiancé when you could just suck it up.

the space between you and matt felt too suffocatingly small and yet it still felt like you were on two opposite sides of the globe. you thought about taking a risk and throwing yourself out of the moving vehicle, but there was still a wedding you were both in. you needed to figure out how to tolerate being around him if you didn’t want to cause a scene later in the summer.

you just had to make it to the end of july, then you could go back and pretend like december 16th never happened, like the past nine years of your life never happened. like you never fell in love with your best friend, like you never met him and his mother in fourth grade, like your parents never moved you to st. louis. like there weren’t traces of your failed relationship in every scrapbook in your parents’ house, like he wasn’t tied to every significant moment of your childhood.

you felt like the bundle of christmas lights that you’d sworn you put back in an orderly fashion the previous year, only to pull them out and realize you had an entire project on your hands to detangle them all.

except in the end, none of the lights worked anyway.

you could hardly remember a time where your life wasn’t deeply intertwined with matthew’s. you thought it’d lead to something, to marriage, to raising kids together, to celebrating his retirement, buying a home close to his family, and growing fat and old together.

you hated the idea that you went down that road only for it to be a dead end.

brady pulled up outside your house. you were unbuckling your seat belt and throwing the door open before he’d even put the car in park. you were doing your best to get to the front porch before anything else happened, but as hard as you tried, you were still a little too drunk. you were stumbling up the driveway and to the front door, all the while trying to figure out which key was the key to your house.

a car door slammed in the distance before footsteps followed.

you knew the sound like you knew the sound of your mother’s sadness. you would’ve recognized his footfalls anywhere.

in your haste and anxiety, you dropped your keys. you squatted down and nearly tipped over at the rush to your head. matt’s hand shot out before you could grab the keys while his other hand grabbed your elbow and pulled you into a standing position. he led you to the front door and with ease, found your house key. he unlocked the door but didn’t move to open it. you could feel his stare on the side of your face, but you refused to look back.

his touch on your skin felt like it was burning, and part of you wanted to rip your arm out of his grasp, but you couldn’t.

you just—

couldn't.

matt said your name quietly, but you just shook your head, willing the tears to go away. he didn’t get to see you cry, didn’t get to know that his actions had absolutely wrecked you. he tried again, but you inhaled and jerked your arm out of his reach before you opened your front door, grabbed your keys, and shut it in his face.

you barely made it into your bathroom before you threw up.

before

you were bouncing on your toes at the airport. matt’s plane landed fifteen minutes ago, and you were anxiously waiting for him to round the corner.

matt’s first year with the ntdp made your relationship a little difficult, though, you thought it would be harder than it was. modern technology definitely made it easier on you. matt would call you just about every other night, and if he couldn’t, matt was texting you whenever he had the freetime.

the last time you saw each other was when you and the tkachuks spent your spring break in ann arbor to visit, and that had been over a month ago. thankfully, you’d managed to convince your mom to let you check out of school early to wait for him.

“someone’s excited,” taryn teased, bumping her shoulder into your side.

“honey leave her alone,” chantal chided. “we’re all excited.”

“i’m not,” brady grumbled. not even a beat later, keith was slapping the back of his head.

moments later, matt walked around the corner with his bags in hand. you fought every urge to run to him, deciding he probably wanted to greet his family first. and he did, you watched as he hugged his mom and dad first, moving the taryn, before punching brady in the shoulder.

you were nervously playing with the hem of your school issued plaid skirt as you looked on, suddenly feeling out of place. but it didn’t linger because in a blink of an eye, matt’s arms were wrapping around your waist and tugging you into his chest.

a sigh escaped your lips, one you didn’t even know was held hostage in your chest. maybe you were being dramatic (you were almost 16, after all), but it felt like the part of you that was missing was just returned.

“missed you,” he mumbled into your neck.

you couldn’t help the smile that graced your lips.

matt didn’t let go of you, even when everyone started walking towards the car where keith parked. your hand was tightly grasped in his own, forcing brady to carry the other bag matt couldn’t. to make up for it, you offered to sit in the back of keith’s escalade so brady could have more leg room. matt ended up grumbling about it, but it was clear he wasn’t going to let you sit in the back next to taryn when he hadn’t seen you in weeks.

“i ruined my perfect attendance streak for you,” you said as you traced the veins of his hands.

matt smirked. “i messed up little miss perfect’s squeaky clean record? how will you ever get into college now?”

you ripped your hand from his and shoved his shoulder, barely restraining yourself from cussing him out. “shut up,” was what you settled for because while taryn and brady had most definitely heard their fair share of curse words, you didn’t want to be the one on the receiving end of chantal’s disapproving look, even if it meant keith would be fighting for his life to hold back laughter.

all four of you, keith and chantal excluded, all but scrambled out of the car when it pulled into the garage. you and matt grabbed both of his bags before bum rushing into the house and up the stairs to his room.

“leave the door open!” chantal called from the first floor.

you didn’t need to see his face to know matt was rolling his eyes.

“i’m tempted to ignore her and just slam and lock the door,” he grumbled.

you dropped the bag you were holding and guffawed. “you wouldn’t. you love your mom.”

matt dropped his bag and immediately took the opportunity to grab you by the waist. “and i love you.”

you almost giggled, but you didn’t want to make a fool of yourself so you beamed instead. the first time he said those words was a few months ago over facetime and it still made you giddy as it did then.

matt pressed his forehead against yours. “you’re not gonna say it back?” he asked.

you blinked, still smiling. “what?”

“you're not gonna say you love me back?”

you shrugged, knowing it would get under his skin. you knew the consequences. “hm,” you hummed. “do i need to?”

matt rolled his eyes so hard you thought they might’ve gotten stuck in the back of his head. “quit being smart.”

and maybe you should’ve given up, maybe you should’ve let it go and say those three little words you’d said countless times before. but teasing him was way too much fun to pass up when you hadn’t seen him in months. so you pursed your lips and hummed again. “i seem to recall you saying you liked how smart i am. something about being the beauty and the brains?”

and out of nowhere, taryn popped her head in. “well matt for sure wasn’t going to be the beauty, and he’s never been the brains,” she smirked.

matt let go of you and marched over to the door, all but slamming it in her face.

“matthew brendan tkachuk! that door better be open!” chantal’s voice carried up the stairs had you lunging across the room and whipping open the door in a hurry.

“sorry mrs. tkachuk!” you called out before turning around and glaring at your boyfriend. “you’re a menace.”

matthew smirked and pulled you close enough that you were chest to chest. “but you love me.”

“i love you so much.”

after

the hangover you had the next morning was probably the worst you ever remember having. well, until you remembered the night matt broke up with you, that was the worst one.

you turned over in bed, picked up your phone, and saw multiple texts from emma and brady alike, both ranging from “it was great to see you” to “i’m so sorry about last night.” you groaned and dropped your phone back on the nightstand.

last night, when you thought about it, hurt more than it should’ve. you saw him for the first time in the flesh and it looked like he was fine, like he didn’t completely upend your life six months ago when he ended things. part of you wondered if he could see through you, through the illusion of your happiness and to the core where you were just as fractured as you were december 17th.

the rest of the weekend continued with you doing little to nothing but eating and binging trashy reality tv shows. when your alarm went off on monday morning, you contemplated calling off, but got dressed instead.

“you look like hell,” was the first thing frankie, your mentor and boss, said to you. because of the nature of your relationship, you felt comfortable flipping him off, even as he passed you a cup of coffee. “rough night?” he asked after watching you take a hefty sip of the hot beverage.

“rough weekend,” you grumbled.

frankie gave you a small smile and patted you on the back as the two of you walked to the workspace. “wanna talk about it?”

you recognized performative kindness when you saw it. while you firmly believed frankie cared about you and your wellbeing, you also knew he didn’t want to hear the sob story of how you ran into your ex drunk at a bar, at least, not at 8am. so you shook your head.

“i looked at some of your work on the bradshaw family’s piece so far, and i was impressed. i do have some notes, but for the most part, you’ve been doing a great job.”

you did your best to smile gratefully, but you weren’t sure it translated. “i really appreciate your guidance on this, and the trust you have to let me work on some of these projects.”

“you’re very talented,” he said. “you ever thought about creating something for yourself or someone else?”

there wasn’t a word to describe the noise that came out of your mouth. was it a nervous laugh? a squeak maybe? you didn’t know, and neither did frankie.

“what?” he asked. “why is that so scary?”

you shrugged as the two of you made it to the workspace. normally, you would start by pulling out the supplies you needed to begin working on the bradshaw piece, but if frankie met you at the door, it was because he wanted to have an impromptu meeting first.

“i feel like i’m good at fixing things,” you said. “maybe not creating something from thin air.”

“you have so much talent,” frankie replied. “i hate to see it wasted on fixing and preserving someone else’s work when you could be doing both. it could be your art that people hang in their houses and pay thousands of dollars to preserve.”

you nodded, but kept your eyes on the table, studying the wood grain and tracing the pattern with your finger.

“i don’t think i’m capable of that anymore.”

frankie reached over and squeezed your shoulder. “just think on it, okay? couldn’t hurt to just think on it.” he walked out a moment later, giving you space and time to queue up music and get started on the day.

you opened spotify and pressed the play button on your liked songs without even thinking about it. not even two seconds later, you regretted your decision. the soft tones and beats of frank ocean’s thinkin bout you echoed through the room and slammed against your chest. you immediately switched the song and found a classical playlist to listen to instead.

but the tune wouldn’t get out of your head.

not two minutes later.

not thirty minutes later.

not after your full eight hour shift spent hunched over your workstation.

not even on the drive home.

frank ocean’s voice permeated every fiber of your being.

it was simone who first showed you the song in high school. you remembered liking the melody enough, but you didn’t get the lyrics. and why would you? you were in love with your best friend who loved you back. even though you were fourteen and too young to even think about marriage, you knew matthew was going to be the person you ended up with. it was him or no one.

and now it was no one.

now, you listened to the song play over and over in your head, the lyrics resonating with you deeper than ever before.

you pulled into your driveway, completely unaware of what cars were parked in the street. they’d never mattered to you before. why would they now?

you sat in your car for a few minutes, taking a deep breath while you worked up the courage to go inside. when you finally got a grip on your emotions, you opened your door and grabbed your bag. you were too busy fumbling with your keys to notice anything amiss until you were on your porch and a pair of shoes came into sight.

“hey.”

it took everything in you not to scream. you dropped your keys and nearly dropped your bag. matthew stood on your front porch with his hands in the pockets in his shorts like he was innocent of any pain or suffering he’d caused you. he was in a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, and you hated yourself a little bit for thinking he’s attractive like that.

“what’re you doing here?” you hated how hoarse your voice sounded, like a low quality audio recording where things sounded muffled and broken.

“your dad wouldn’t let me in.”

“good.”

matt sighed and ran a hand down his face. “can we not do this?”

“not do what?” you asked. “not act like you ended things for no damn reason?”

“if you—”

“we dated for nearly ten years and you decided to end it over a five minute phone call. and you still think you’re entitled to my time?” and maybe you should’ve been kinder, maybe you should’ve been more civil. but you hadn’t seen or heard from him in months (until a few nights ago) and he just turned up out of the blue? expecting you to do what? forgive him? move on?

matthew said your name delicately, but not in the way he used to, like saying your name was a luxury he was honored to have. no, he said it like you were going to break, like you were fragile, like he wasn’t the sole cause of your pain. “please—”

the anger was draining out of you quicker. you were exhausted between work, and frank ocean’s stupid song, and the other night.

“what do you want?” your voice cracked on the last word. “wanna ruin my life a little bit more? put the final nail in the coffin?”

“no,” he shook his head fervently. matthew took a step towards you and looked something close to devastated when you stepped back. but it didn’t make sense, he ended it, he had no right to look or feel that way. “i just wanna talk.”

“six months,” you said, doing your best to keep your voice clear. “you had six months to say something. what could you possibly have to say now that you couldn’t then?”

“i know we didn’t end on the best of terms—” he started, but it was cut off by your scoff. you turned your head away and used your palm to wipe at your eyes before you crossed your arms over your chest. “—but i don’t think we should let this ruin brady and emma’s summer. we’re gonna see a lot of each other and i don’t want things to be tense around them.”

you took a minute to really look at him. blonde frizzy curls, blue eyes that wouldn’t leave your face. he hadn’t changed one bit.

one summer, you’d attempted to count the number of freckles on his shoulders. you got up to 87 before you gave up.

and yet you felt like you were standing in front of a stranger.

there were so many things you wanted to say, so many things you’d dreamt of screaming at him, but now that he was here, in front of you, asking something of you, you felt drained, tired. you used to crave his presence, now it felt like a leech.

you loved him, but he was sucking the life out of you.

so you nodded. you nodded and said “okay,” before you walked inside your front door and left your heart on the porch.

you pressed your back against the door and slid to the ground, pulling your knees to your chest. there was no telling when you started crying, or when your dad joined you on the floor, hugging you as close to his chest as he could.

“why wasn’t i enough?” you sobbed into your knees.

your dad petted your hair before he pressed a kiss there. “you’re more than enough, honey. but you can’t make anyone love you if they’re not willing to.”

“he used to!” you wailed. “he used to love me!” then, in a smaller voice, “what changed?”

a beat of silence, then your father’s somber, quiet voice. “maybe he did.”

before

“so what are your plans for after high school?” ms. meyer, your high school guidance counselor sat across from you at her desk. her stare was kind, but unwavering.

you’d already applied to notre dame, knowing that’s where matt committed. so when you answered, it was confident. it had been your plan since matt said yes to the school. “i’m going to notre dame and majoring in art history.”

“do you have any back up schools?”

you nodded. “ucla and the art institute of chicago.”

ms. meyer pursed her lips. “you know all of those places are highly competitive, right?”

“my transcripts and resume are impressive and I did really well on the SAT and ACT. i think i’ll be able to get in.” and you were, you were pretty confident as they come when it came to academics. any school would’ve been lucky to have you, that much you believed.

ms. meyer nodded. “i understand ucla and the art institute, both of those schools have incredible arts programs, but why notre dame? it doesn’t seem to fit with your aspirations.”

“oh,” you laughed under your breath. “that’s where my boyfriend is going.”

your guidance counselor blinked. “you’re incredibly smart and gifted, i’d hate to see that talent wasted when you could be developing it elsewhere. what do you want?”

“i want to be with matthew.”

ms. meyer sighed and gave you a sympathetic smile, you weren’t sure why though. you’d never been more sure of anything. “honey, can i be honest with you?” she didn’t wait for your response. “you have so much talent, so much to offer, i’ve seen many girls come in here, putting off aspirations for their significant others only for that relationship not to last.”

“i know we’re young,” you started, already feeling the heat rise up in your chest. she didn’t know anything about you personally, she didn’t know about you and matt. “but we’re gonna make it, i swear.”

ms. meyer nodded. “of course you are.” she cleared her throat and adjusted the papers in front of her. “so, notre dame...”

after

you weren't exactly sure what compelled you to do it, but at dinner a few nights ago, your mom had asked about what happened to simone, your friend from middle and high school. so you reached out, though it made you feel like you were contacting someone to join your mlm.

it legitimately surprised you when simone replied to your facebook message. the two of you made plans to get coffee on saturday.

and now it was saturday.

you weren’t getting coffee until 9:30, but you were awake and staring at your ceiling at 7. you’d done the due diligence of stalking simone’s profile, so you knew she was married with two kids who looked just like her. she worked as a data analyst for kroger and her husband was a public defender. she met her husband in college and they got married shortly after they graduated from grad and law school respectively.

if you were a better woman, you’d admit you were jealous. jealous that she got what she wanted in the end. but when you put that aside, you still felt overwhelming happiness at her station in life, regardless of how yours turned out.

you kept scrolling through her social media until it was eventually time for you to get up. you stayed to facebook, not even wanting to bother with going on instagram and accidentally stumbling across one of the tkachuks’ posts.

it was 9:10 when you finally finished getting dressed and ready. you came down the stairs and threw a goodbye over your shoulder before grabbing your crossbody bag and your keys and running out the door.

despite your sprinting and nearly running red lights, you were still five minutes late. you came into the coffee shop, gasping for air after sprinting down the sidewalk from your parking spot.

the second you entered the business, simone’s hand lifted and she smiled brightly, calling you over almost immediately. she stood to greet you, and like no time had passed, pulled you in for a hug.

“it’s so good to see you,” she said. “wasn’t sure if you still liked an iced chai latte, but i got one for you.”

“oh my god, yes,” you gasped before taking a seat and taking a sip of the beverage.

she kept smiling, which made you feel lighthearted for once. most people kept looking at you with pitying eyes, but simone saw you for more than the grief of the last six months. she had to know about it, she just had to, but you thanked her for not bringing it up in the first minute of your conversation.

“how’s work going?”

you shrugged. “it’s mostly tedious, but it’s been fine. what about you? working for kroger? that’s a huge deal.”

simone shook her head. “it’s just a means to an end, a way i can pay for my family’s lifestyle.”

“but are you passionate about what you do?”

she shrugged lightly. “it’s a job, it’s not my life. not everyone is going to work a job that fulfills them. my husband? he loves being a public defender, and he’s good at it. me though, as fun as analyzing data all day sounds and as helpful as it is, getting to have a job that doesn’t come home with me is probably my favorite part of it.”

you nodded along like you understood. and maybe you didn’t do a good enough job at being convincing because simone sighed.

“i wanted to wait to ask this, but i can’t hold it in any longer. how’re you holding up?”

it took you several seconds to answer her question. your mouth open and closed multiple times. “i— i don't know.” you sank back into your seat and picked at your cuticles. “it’s been a shitty few months,” you admitted. “you’d think i’d be over it by now.

simone shook her head and leaned in, arms braced on the table. “you two were together for a decade, what’s a few months in comparison to that?”

you shrugged. “i saw him the other night, when i went out drinking with the other bridesmaids. it was like, i don't know, i got dunked in an ice bath or something. he looked completely unaffected and i couldn’t breathe.”

simone whispered your name.

“but i’m fine!” you asserted. “i’m trying to be.”

simone nodded. “so what do you do now?”

you could’ve kissed her feet for the change in topic. “i’m working in the art restoration and conservation field.”

simone blinked. “you’re restoring art? do you like it?”

you shrugged. “most days, it can get repetitive, but that’s what i like.”

your friend sighed and fixed you with a soft, sympathetic look. “but is that what you want to do for the rest of your life? restoring someone else’s art? doing something repetitive? you are so talented, i hate to see you wasting that talent restoring someone else’s work.”

“it’s not a waste! it’s incredibly difficult and some things deserve to be preserved.”

“but some new things deserve to be created.” simone leaned in closer, her forearms braced on the table. “i think it would do you some good to start creating something again, even if it’s shitty. and you think you aren’t ready, just try something new. a new bar, a new hobby, a new man, something new.”

your stomach twisted at the thought of going on a date with someone other than matt, but simone was right. it had been six months and he seemed to be doing fine, it was your turn to start moving on, to find yourself again.

so you nodded. “we should do this more often,” you said. “i’ve missed you.”

simone smiled. “i’ve missed you too, i’m glad you’re home.”

you talked for another hour about everything the two of you had missed over the years of you being elsewhere before she had to leave and relieve the nanny at home. simone hugged you goodbye and texted you her new number before she left the coffee shop.

the drive home was quiet because you were pondering the things she’d said. you weren’t sure you were ready for making your own art, you sure as hell weren’t ready to go on a date. but maybe you should try.

maybe you were ready to put yourself first for once.

before

the biggest argument you’d had with matt was after you found out he wasn’t playing at notre dame at all, he was going to play for calgary.

you felt so stupid for committing to that school when you should’ve known your boyfriend was talented enough to skip it altogether. maybe you should’ve taken a gap year, then you wouldn’t have to be doing even more long distance in two different countries.

the two of you never argued, or maybe never was too strong of a word. you hardly ever had a disagreement if you thought about it long enough. most of the time, you suppressed the disappointment and the anger, shoving it to the side because you were surely being dramatic.

but now you were standing off to the side, waiting for your name to be called to cross the stage at your high school graduation, and you wished you’d said something to convince matthew to delay settling into his new calgary apartment with one of his teammates.

but you swallowed your disappointment and pride and just dealt with the fact that he wouldn’t be there.

it was fine.

just high school.

you were snapped out of your reverie when your name was called. you smiled and walked across the stage. when you dreamt of this exact moment, you always thought you’d walk with grace, that all noise would cease to exist as you honed in on the sheet of paper you’d spent the last 13 years working towards.

but it wasn’t like that.

because you heard one specific voice above all the others. as your principal handed you the diploma, your eyes searched the crowd and saw him.

matthew standing up and yelling with his family next to him. he had a sign, the words you couldn’t read because there were tears forming in your water line. he was pointing at you and kept yelling and clapping, hooting and hollering like it was his full time job. your parents were smiling, though they were seated, and your grandparents were stone faced clapping like they were at the masters tournament.

so you kept your eyes on him, even as you walked back to your seat. you might have stumbled, tripped even, but all you could see, all you could feel was him.

you were back in your seat by the time the person calling out the names spoke again.

“please hold your applause until the end.”

you could hear his scoff, even from your seat.

your leg bounced for the rest of the graduation ceremony. you didn’t even register the turning of your tassel. you just couldn’t wait for it to be over so you could be in matt’s arms.

as soon as the ceremony concluded, matt was shoving his way past families, nearly taking out an elderly gentleman in his quest to get to you. on the other hand, you were being pushed to move farther away from him as the procession of students filed out of the gym. you kept looking over your shoulder to find him, but it looked like brady had caught up to him, wrangling his older brother to follow the crowds outside.

“outside!” brady pointed.

you nodded.

as soon as you got through the gym doors, you were booking it outside into the sunlight. it blinded you momentarily, but you whipped your phone out seconds later to see if matt had texted you where he’d be. you pulled up his contact and were seconds away from calling him when arms wrapped around your waist and lifted you up into the air.

a squeal left your lips until he set you down a moment later. you spun around in his arms and before you could say anything, matthew was kissing you like no one else was around.

when the two of you finally needed air, you pulled away. “i thought you were in calgary!”

matthew scoffed though there was a large smile on his lips. “you thought i’d miss my favorite girl’s graduation? calgary can wait, your high school graduation only happens once.”

“i’m glad you’re here,” you whispered.

“me too, baby.”

unfortunately, matt pulled away so you could hug your parents and even your grandparents who were standing off to the side. taryn and brady pulled you into a group hug afterwards, with taryn going on a tangent about all the fun things the two of you would have to do before you left for school.

but brady was taking your graduation cap off your head to ruffle your hair as matt grabbed your purse and took your car keys out. keith and chantal were offering to pay for a celebratory lunch while your grandparents gave an irish goodbye. your parents were smiling, you were tucked into matt’s side, and brady and taryn were bickering and—

everything was perfect.

you wanted to freeze that moment, that sensation in your chest, take the saccharine feeling and bottle it up and store it on your bookshelf.

and if you could’ve, you would’ve savored the sensation of matt’s lips pressed to your temple while both of your dads discussed the best route to get to the restaurant.

but you had no idea how the future would turn out.

you thought matt was forever.

after

you were on a double date, or at least, hyping yourself up to go into the bar and meet up with simone, her husband, and a friend of theirs. you didn’t want to be a bitch, but you also didn’t want to send yourself into a panic attack. simone had suggested just entertaining something with someone, didn’t even have to be serious, it could just be sex.

you could do that, right?

just casual sex?

the thought was nauseating. you’d only slept with matthew, no one knew your body like he did and—

you stopped yourself before you could go down that rabbit hole.

your hands shook as you stepped out of your car and locked it. maybe you should’ve gotten an uber, but then again, you weren’t really planning on drinking like that. you were hoping you’d still be sober enough to go home.

the music in the bar shockingly wasn’t as loud as you expected. it wasn’t the bass bumping, ass grinding bar like the ones matt used to take you to after games. even still, your palms started sweating as you looked around. you spotted simone’s natural hair across the room and made your way towards her.

her husband, stephen, stood to greet you first, followed by simone, then lastly your date. a guy named andrew who was a partner at his firm, the youngest on his team.

his handshake was firm, but there were no calluses on his palm. his hair was slicked back with what you guessed was a pomade.

he was so unlike matthew it was alarming.

but maybe it was for the best.

you smiled and took your seat next to simone, you sipped on the water in front of you.

“we didn’t want to order drinks without you just yet.”

“thank you,” you mumbled just loud enough for everyone to hear.

“it’s nice to finally meet you,” andrew started. “simone spoke highly of you. she said you’ve been friends since middle school.”

you felt bad because simone didn’t really say much to you about him. if you were a gambler, you’d assume it was because she didn’t want you to back out. you barely even knew him and you were already comparing him to matt.

which wasn’t fair, you knew that. andrew deserved to be a human without the baggage of your last and only relationship determining how you viewed him.

you would try, at the very least for simone. at the very most, you’d try for yourself.

“nice to meet you too. i heard you’re a partner at your law firm? how is that going?”

oh god. you were so bad at this. asking about work on a friday night?

but he smiled. his teeth were perfectly straight and white. you'd bet your last dollar that he'd never needed braces, not like you did.

you hated yourself for thinking of the gap between matthew’s teeth.

“it’s going well,” he said. “lot of work, but i managed to get enough done this week that my friday was free. i wanted to meet the ‘best artist on planet earth,’ according to simone.”

“oh i don’t know about that,” you flushed.

simone scoffed. “don’t downplay yourself.” she turned to look at andrew. “you should see the art she created in high school as a teenager. it was so impressive.”

“what medium do you like working with the most?” he asked.

“mostly acrylic.”

andrew’s eyes lit up. “do you have any photos of your art? i’d love to see your work.”

you shook your head, feeling a little embarrassed at all the attention. “i don’t really paint like that anymore. i work in art conservation now, not a whole lot of time to create something new.”

“that’s such a unique career! what does your average day look like?” andrew leaned forward a little and took a sip of his water.

you told him a little bit about what you did. about how you spent hours hunched over a painting and fixing the smallest problems in hopes it would satisfy the client.

“you must’ve gone to some prestigious art school for that. if you don’t mind me asking, where did you go to college?”

your spine stiffened. “university of calgary.”

and just like you anticipated, his face twisted in confusion. there was no logical reason you should’ve gone out of the country for a regular school. it would be one thing if you went to an art institute, but you didn’t.

“why calgary?” he asked. “seems a bit random, if you don’t mind me asking.”

you shifted in your seat and wouldn’t meet anyone’s eyes. it wasn’t until you cleared your throat in a sorry attempt to get the lump out, that you spoke. “it’s a long story,” you said. “thought i had a future in calgary.”

andrew, to his credit, knew when to not ask questions and changed the subject immediately.

the rest of the night passed in a blur. you were only halfway present, your mind reeling at how you wasted those years in calgary waiting for a man who would dump you as soon as he moved to a warmer state.

he, quite literally, left you in the cold.

andrew offered to walk you to your car, an offer you accepted because it was dark and st. louis.

“i had a great time tonight,” he said. “it was really nice to meet you. you’re even better than simone and stephen said.”

you gave him a small smile. “it was nice to meet you too.”

andrew shifted on his feet. for a moment, he didn’t look the part of the youngest partner at his law firm, he looked like a boy. “i was hoping maybe you’d want to do this again? maybe get some dinner?”

your throat felt like someone had force fed you cotton balls. but then you thought about how pathetic your life had been the last six months, how pathetic it was going to be when you flew to new jersey to be in the same bridal party as your ex.

you refused to be pathetic any longer.

which is probably why you smiled (albeit shakily) and said yes.

before

you were bouncing on your toes in the hallway as you waited for matt. it was a brutal game, and he spent a good portion of it in the penalty box, mostly for minor things, but one incident was for fighting. which wasn’t atypical, but you’d never seen him that keyed up before.

and given his reputation, there were any number of things that could’ve caused the fight itself. two weeks ago, matt had fought someone for being too forceful with one of his teammates, which after years of watching the game, was on par with the sport and your boyfriend.

because he fought so much, you weren’t necessarily surprised whenever he did. sure, you flinched when he was punched, knowing how badly it would bruise, praying to whatever higher power existed that he would still have all his teeth. but usually, matt wasn’t trying to fight everyone on the ice at all times.

tonight was different.

safe to say, you were a little anxious waiting for him to come out.

you weren’t exactly sure about what was said on the ice to get him so riled up. the worst you’d seen was when someone on the other team said something about taryn. you used to think that was the angriest you ever saw him. and it was.

until tonight.

you could feel the energy rolling off of him in waves as he exited the locker room. usually, after a win, matt is relaxed and easy going, but despite the victory from tonight, he was tense and pent up, frustrated even.

“hey,” you said, meeting him halfway.

matthew didn’t respond, just dropped his bag and wrapped you up in a hug, tucking his head into the space where your neck met your shoulder.

“you okay?” you asked.

he nodded. he squeezed your waist once before letting go, taking your hand instead. “ready to go?”

the car ride was silent minus the music matthew had playing through the aux. his hand rested on your thigh, though the grip was particularly tighter than normal, especially after a win. part of you wanted to ask, the other part not wanting to spoil the rest of the night with your curiosity.

but this was the man you loved. and it hurt you to see him this upset.

normally, you would’ve left well enough alone, but you were going back to notre dame in two days and didn’t want to spend the rest of your time walking on eggshells around him. you couldn’t help him if you didn’t know what was wrong.

“what happened?” you asked when the car came to a stop at a light.

“nothing,” he grunted.

“your team won and you’re still grumpy, matthew. so tell me, what happened? i want to help you.”

“there’s nothing to help.”

“matthew,” you groaned. “i’m only here for two days, can you just be honest with me? i don’t wanna waste the rest of my trip with you being upset when i can help you—”

“then go back to indiana!” he all but yelled, ripping his hand off your thigh so he could shove it through his disheveled hair.

your jaw dropped. in all the years you’d known matt, he'd never talked to you that way. and you weren’t starting a bad habit by letting him think he could ever do it again. you unbuckled your seat belt and grabbed your bag. you tugged on the handle of the door. “i’ll see you at home,” you said.

matt scoffed. “don’t be dramatic.”

“i’m not being ‘dramatic,’ matthew. you’re being an asshole.” you braced yourself for the cold as the door opened and let in a cold breeze.

matthew called your name, but you ignored him and slammed the car door shut. it was a little petty, considering how matt had berated his siblings over the same thing.

a car honked, probably because the light had turned green and matt was still sitting at the light, looking at you.

a cold wind blew and for a moment, you thought about hopping back in the car with matt, but he was pulling away and your pride wasn’t ready to take a hit just yet.

his car sped away until, with an efficiency you only wish you had, he parallel parked in a spot just up the road.

“get in the car,” he called, slamming his car door shut. “it’s too cold for you to be proving a point.”

“and what point am i trying to prove, matthew?” you asked over your shoulder.

you kept walking.

“would you please stop walking and just get back in the car?”

you kept walking.

a hand reached out and grabbed your wrist, you might’ve shrieked had it not been gentle, had you not recognized the scent of matt’s cologne.

gently, he turned you around.

“baby, just get in the car. you don’t even have to talk to me. don't even have to look at me if you don’t want to. i’ll sleep on the couch or something, but it’s not safe for you to be walking home alone.” he ran his thumb back and forth over your pulse point in a soothing manner.

you kept your eyes on his hand. “what happened during the game?

he sighed, shoulders sagging like they were tired from carrying the weight of the world. “they were talking shit.”

you blinked. “and that’s different....how?”

with the hand that wasn’t holding your wrist, matthew pinched the bridge of his nose. “they were talking shit about you. saying you deserved better and shit.”

“matthew, you know that’s not true—”

“they called you names.” his voice was dark, angrier than you'd ever heard before. “things i’m not comfortable repeating.”

a shiver went down your spine, for matt to be that upset made you uncomfortable. you didn’t want to think about what they said, you didn’t want to dwell on it any longer.

“well,” you said, voice feeling small and weak in your throat. “well, we know it’s not true, so it doesn’t matter.” you tried to make your way back to the car, but matt’s grip on your wrist stopped you.

“but it does matter,” he insisted. “what they said, i get it wasn't true, you and i both know that. but i’m not gonna let anyone talk shit about you, i don’t care who they are.”

your eyes finally met his own and in the blue you saw determination and conviction there. you started towards him and wrapped your arms around his waist.

“i love you, matty.”

he kissed the top of your head. “love you more.”

after

“where are you going?” your mom asked from the couch.

your dad looked up from his james patterson book to squint at your outfit: a square neck black dress. “are you going out?” he chimed in.

you felt sheepish, like the fifteen year old girl going on her first solo date, no parents picking her up because matt just got his license. “remember that guy i went on a double date with?”

“with simone and her husband?” you mom asked.

you nodded. “we’re going out again, just us tonight.”

your mother gave you a small smile while you dad kept staring. “have fun, sweetheart.”

your dad, however, put his book down and looked at you above the rim of his glasses. “are you gonna be okay?”

“alan, this will be good for her!”

but your dad’s eyes never left your face. “you’ll call if you need something?”

“andrew’s a good guy, dad.” or at least, you were assuming so. you’d only met the guy one other time and he seemed alright.

but you could see the look in your father’s eyes, you could hear what he wasn’t saying.

so was matthew.

you swallowed and nodded at your parents. your phone pinged with a notification that your uber was outside. “i’ll be back.”

the drive to the bar was silent. usually, you wouldn’t have taken an uber, but you were unsure how drunk you would get tonight. the date could go well, it could be everything you wanted, even if all you wanted was matthew.

but you were prepared for the worst. you were prepared to drink until you couldn’t see straight just to get through the night.

andrew was a nice guy, but he wasn’t who you wanted.

and you hated yourself for it.

the uber pulled up to the bar. and simply because he didn’t kidnap or talk to you, you gave the driver five stars.

andrew was waiting at a high top table for you, a glass of water ready to go. you waved at him and carefully made your way across the room, avoiding people and drinks and people with drinks.

“hey,” he greeted.

you gave him a small smile. “hi.”

“was traffic bad on your way here? i wasn’t sure, given that it’s friday and what not.”

you shook your head. “not too bad.”

c’mon, think of something. say something. anything.

“crazy busy tonight, huh?” you wanted to facepalm. that was what you came up with? all the words in the world and that was what you—

“yeah,” andrew cut off your mental tirade. “i think some famous guys are here tonight, heard murmurs of it.”

you nearly broke out into a cold sweat. “d-do you know who?”

andrew shrugged. “i didn’t ask, i just heard someone talking about it when i was getting a drink.” then, like he finally realized, he snapped. “do you want anything? i can grab it for you.”

you gave him your drink order with a smile. he tapped the table with his knuckles before promising he'd be right back.

you traced the grain of the table with your finger, allowing it to feel the grooves and water stains left from other customers. it felt awkward, sitting by yourself with no one to talk to. andrew said he'd be back, but the bar was busy, it could be ten, fifteen minutes before he'd come back.

your phone buzzed.

simone:

how’s it going?

you smiled despite yourself.

you:

he’s nice. he went to get me a drink.

you put your phone down to look around the bar. it was busier than normal, or at least, what you thought was normal.

you were scrolling through your social media feeds when andrew finally came back. he had your drink in hand with a smile on his face.

“sorry, the line took forever,” he said.

you glanced at the bar to see a small crowd of people. “doesn’t surprise me,” you said. “friday’s are usually busy.”

“yeah especially when there’s two hockey players in town. heard someone at the bar talking about it, thought you might wanna know. simone said you were a fan?”

your stomach dropped to your feet. you took a hefty sip of your drink to avoid andrew seeing a frown on your face. there was a chance that it was a blues player still in town, but your gut knew better. if you were a betting woman, you'd bet your last dollar on it being brady and matt.

you wanted to throw up.

instead, you chugged the drink.

“whoa, you okay?” andrew’s eyes widened a little, maybe in concern, but there was something about the smirk on his face that said otherwise.

you gave him a shaky smile. “just fine. can i get another drink?”

he smiled immediately and got up to get you another.

and another.

your vision was blurring a little when you tried to cut yourself off, even as andrew was sliding another glass in front of you. you threw the drink back again, not even blinking at it.

matt and brady could be here. it was too soon to see them again, you weren't prepared to see them again. maybe if you drank enough, you’d black out and forget all about tonight.

but then andrew was grabbing your elbow, he was leading you towards the door, encroaching upon your personal space. his lips were on your neck, whispers of what he had planned for you.

your skin crawled, you wanted him off of you, but your arms were sluggish, you were tripping over your feet and he was the only thing holding you up.

“no,” you slurred. “lemme go.”

but he either didn’t hear you or was ignoring you because he kept dragging you to the door.

then the panic set in.

it felt like it came out of nowhere, but maybe the surmounting panic was always there like a loyal friend. you tried squirming out of his grip, shoving at his chest, but the panic was building the longer he held onto you. your head was shaking furiously, your mouth doing its best to protest, but it was like the alcohol made your tongue heavy.

“lemme go—” you tried shoving one more time before you heard a shout in the distance.

“hey!” you weren’t aware of the people around you being shoved to the side, you were unaware of the rage surrounding you. you were unaware until andrew was ripped away and you were being shoved into another body.

“matt hey—”

brady. you were right, brady was here.

god you loved brady.

“brady?” you slurred, smiling lazily up at him. “you’re here! why’re you here?”

with one arm, brady kept you pressed to him, but he wasn’t acknowledging you. his eyes were focused on his brother holding the collar of your date.

oh. your date.

there was no rhyme or reason for the feeling of horror that washed over you when you realized what almost happened before matt and brady showed up.

you were gonna throw up.

or pass out.

you weren’t sure when you started hyperventilating, but it felt like the walls were closing in. was the music always this loud? was matt always that loud when yelling? you wouldn’t know, he hardly ever yelled at you—

“hey,” brady’s gentle voice sounded it your ear, but it was like you were hearing it from underwater. “hey, breathe, it’s okay. you’re safe now.”

the funny thing about hyperventilating is no one wants to be hyperventilating. it’s similar to worrying in that telling someone to stop worrying is ineffective. brady telling you to breathe wasn’t helping because it wasn’t like you wanted to be light headed and struggling to get oxygen.

your mind was just racing with the thoughts of what almost happened.

were your hands shaking? or was the world just rocky? was it the alcohol? why did andrew give you so much? was he planning on—

oh god.

“matt!” brady’s voice again sounding like a deep echo in a cave, one you could barely hear. “matt, i think he got the point, she needs you.”

did you?

but it didn’t matter what you thought, because you were being gently pulled into a pair of arms you would’ve recognized anywhere. you could be deaf, blind, and mute, you could’ve had your nose plugged so you couldn’t smell his aftershave and you still would’ve known it was matt. his arms were the only ones that felt like home.

maybe it was the way your head tucked under his chin perfectly, or the way you could hold your own hand when you wrapped your arms around his waist. maybe it was the way matt tried to fit you into his ribcage whenever he hugged you.

��hey,” his voice was quiet, hoarse from the yelling probably. “you’re okay, i’ve got you. nothing’s gonna hurt you, not while i’m here.” his lips were on the top of your head, mumbling the words into your hair.

“he—he was gonna—”

matt was shushing you, running a hand up and down your back. “do you wanna go outside? get some fresh air?” you nodded against his chest, a place you used to lay your head on at night.

matt walked you outside, brady not far behind. he was supporting most of your weight. you were still incredibly drunk even if the event that just happened sobered you up a little.

your hands were still shaking, your knees a little weak, though you weren’t sure what the original cause of that was. if it was from alcohol, the sleazy date, or just being held by your ex, you weren’t sure.

what a year tonight has been.

your heartbeat slowed down as you listened to matt’s. his hand continued to rub your back in long lines.

“you’re okay,” he continued to say. “i’m not gonna leave you. you’re safe right here, baby.”

your heart soared at the pet name until gravity kicked in and you were right back where you started.

rock bottom.

you pushed away from matt, now that your heart rate had decreased. you stumbled a bit from the lack of stability, but you managed to right yourself before matt could get his hands on you to help you balance.

“you okay?” he asked.

“no,” you mumbled, shaking your head despite the world feeling like it was spinning too fast already. “no. i’m not okay.”

matt took a step towards you, it was like watching a film in slow motion, seeing his face fall as you immediately took a step back.

“baby i—”

“stop! stop calling me that!” you yelled even as your words slurred, throwing your hands up in the air before pulling at your hair. “you—you don’t get to call me that, not anymore. and you certainly don’t get to ride in like some white knight coming to my rescue either!”

“what’re you—” he cut himself off before running a hand down his face. “he was going to hurt you, i wasn’t going to let that happen!”

maybe it was the alcohol that made you more honest than normal. “why? you don’t seem to care what happens anyway?”

“what the hell are you talking about? i would never let someone hurt you, not if i can stop it.”

“but you had no problem hurting me? leaving me in a country alone?”

matt’s jaw dropped. “you can’t seriously be comparing the two. he—he almost—he had every intention of—” but he kept cutting himself off. and by the looks of his clenched fists, it was hurting him more just thinking about it.

and he was right, what almost happened with andrew and what actually happened at the hands of matt were two different things, but it hurt more from matt, the man who swore he’d be at your side, to love you through it all. he’d dropped you like a bad habit and was expecting everything to be normal again? like you hadn’t spent over half your life completely in love with him?

you sighed, your shoulders sagged, all fight evaporating your body once more. “thanks for help, i’ll see you around.” you turned on your heel and nearly ran into brady, whom you forgot was even there.

“let me drive you home,” brady said. “‘s the least i could do.”

brady at least let you sit shotgun this time, with matt in the back. and when he pulled up to your house, matt was the one to walk you to the door like he had many times before.

“can we talk?” he asked. “sometime this week? or next? or whenever you're free?”

you looked at him, really looked at him. his hands shook at his sides and you longed to hold them in your own to steady them like he did for you earlier. “why’re you doing this to me? why can’t you just leave me be?”

matt stared at you before he pressed his lips together. he looked off to the side almost like he was looking at brady waiting in the car or a scrap of self control, or maybe just the right words to say. “i don’t think i’m capable of letting you go.”

your voice caught on the words in your throat. “i need you to try, matt. because i can’t keep doing this. you can’t call me baby when i’m not your baby anymore.”

he nodded. “just one conversation, i promise.”

you should say no. you should just let it go, but you didn’t think you could deny matt anything if he really asked for it. “okay,” you said. “just one conversation.”

#matthew tkachuk imagine #matthew tkachuk x reader #matthew tkachuk #nhl imagine #nhl imagines #nhl blurb

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anhedoniawrites · 2 months ago

Text

A House In Nevada

(loosely based on A House In Nebraska by Mother Cain & this TikTok)

Summary: It had been five years since that house, and yet they are still plagued by what happened and what could have been—or maybe what still is.

Masterlist!

Teenage!Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Season one!Spencer Reid x Female Reader Season ten!Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Genre: Angst⏳ & Fluff 💌 Ending

Word count: 11.3K

Warnings: Timejumps, Humor, Explicit Language, Sexual Content, Emotional Struggles, Mental Health, Romance, Emotional Angst, Unresolved Love, Religious Themes, Sexuality, Purity Culture, Family Struggles, Feelings of Inadequacy/Worthlessness, Tenderness/Comforting Themes, Emotional Angst, Heartbreak, Grief/Loss, Depression, Abandonment, Anger, Guilt, Regret, Trust Issues, Betrayal, Alcohol Consumption, Relationship Drama, Emotional Vulnerability, Intimacy, Happy Ending.

1997, June

As they lay together on the worn, dirty mattress, the threadbare cloth covers barely shielding their bare skin from the biting cold, their breath escaped in faint plumes of fog. The air was still, save for the quiet aftermath of their shared intimacy, their hearts beating in rhythm as they tried to catch their breath. Spencer lay on his side, his sharp features softened in the dim light, his hazel eyes studying her with quiet reverence.

(Y/N) stared up at the crumbling ceiling, lost in a maze of thoughts that seemed to drift aimlessly between everything and nothing. Her expression was serene, though a flicker of curiosity played on her lips. Spencer could have stayed like this forever, just watching her, memorizing the contours of her face, the way her hair fanned across the mattress like a halo. He was so captivated that he didn’t realize she had turned to look at him until her voice broke the silence.

He blinked, caught off guard, and quickly apologized. “I’m sorry, my love. What did you say?”

She didn’t seem bothered, her affection for him evident in the patient smile that tugged at the corners of her lips. Her pupils, wide and dark, gazed at him with a love so deep it made his chest ache.

“I said, can you imagine if we just had sex and there are rats in here?” (Y/N) repeated, her tone light and teasing, as though the absurdity of the thought amused her.

Spencer’s brows furrowed as he processed the question, and then the familiar spark of intellectual excitement lit up his face. “Well,” he began, propping himself up slightly on one elbow, “it’s actually quite probable. A house like this—abandoned, in a state of disrepair—is the perfect habitat for rats. They’re remarkably adaptable creatures, you know. The brown rat, Rattus norvegicus, for example, is known for its ability to thrive in urban and rural environments. They’re incredible climbers and swimmers, which means even if the house is difficult to access, they—”

“Spence,” she interrupted, a soft laugh escaping as she reached up to place a finger against his lips. “I was joking. I meant it’s kind of gross, not an invitation for a lecture on rat biology.”

His mouth closed, his cheeks flushing as he realized he had once again gotten carried away. “Right. Of course. Gross. I mean, they are gross, objectively speaking, but…” His voice trailed off, and a sheepish smile broke across his face.

She chuckled, her laughter warm and affectionate, and leaned up to press a soft, lingering peck to his lips. “Never change, genius,” she whispered as she pulled back, her forehead gently resting against his.

He relaxed into her embrace, the faintest hint of a smirk still lingering on his lips. “I wasn’t planning to.”

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

2005

“Who’s occupying your mind?” Elena’s teasing voice broke through the quiet, snapping her out of her daydream. She flinched, startled, before quickly turning toward her best friend. To hide her reaction, she lifted her coffee cup to her lips, taking a long sip and deliberately avoiding Elena’s knowing gaze.

“No one,” she replied, the words tumbling out far too quickly to be convincing.

Elena raised a brow, her smile widening with that playful, smug look she always got when she was sure she had hit the nail on the head. “No, you’re definitely thinking about him again,” she said, her voice teasing but laced with an undeniable knowing.

(Y/N) felt her face scrunch involuntarily, a mix of frustration and embarrassment bubbling up inside her. Of course, Elena was right. She was always right about these things, and yet admitting it out loud still felt like an impossible task.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said defensively, gripping her coffee cup a little tighter as though the action could somehow help her hold onto control. “It’s been five years since I went to that house.”

Elena leaned back in her chair, her eyes sparkling with amusement as she absentmindedly swirled her tea. “Five years, sure. And yet you still think about him all the time,” she quipped, her smile widening. “Don’t deny it—you still love him.”

The words hit like a physical blow. Her breath hitched, and her chest tightened painfully. The truth was suffocatingly close, hanging in the air between them, but she wasn’t ready to face it—not now, not ever. She scoffed, the sound sharper than she intended, a thin layer of defensiveness slipping over the raw feeling inside her. “That’s not true.”

Elena’s smile softened, but the certainty never left her eyes. She took another sip of her tea, shaking her head gently as if she were humoring a child who couldn’t see what was plainly obvious. “You can say whatever you want, but I know you. You’ve never stopped loving him, and you probably never will.”

She felt the weight of those words sink deep, settling in her chest like an unshakeable truth. She looked away, her gaze falling to the steam rising from her coffee cup. She could feel Elena’s eyes on her, steady and patient, waiting for some sort of admission. But she couldn’t speak. Instead, she stayed silent, and in the stillness, her silence spoke volumes.

It had been five years since she’d last been to that house—since she’d last seen him. Five years that hadn’t dulled the ache, the quiet longing that still lingered at the edges of her thoughts. She hadn’t forgotten the way things felt there—the rush of memories, the pull of a love that had once felt like home. And no matter how hard she tried to move on, something inside her still ached to return, to walk back through that broken door.

But instead, she sat there, silent, pretending to be fine.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

1999, November

Walking the familiar route to their house, the late teenage couple wandered through the trees, overgrown bushes, and the sprawling farmland. The path was a quiet escape from the world, the sounds of nature surrounding them. But today, the conversation between them felt heavier than usual, a tension in the air that neither of them could shake. They walked side by side, their pace in sync, but the weight of the moment seemed to stretch out between them.

Spencer glanced over at her, watching the delicate bounce of her necklace as she walked. The sight of it, swaying gently with each step, brought an odd sense of calm to his racing thoughts. After a moment, he spoke, his voice quiet but carrying a vulnerability that he rarely showed.

“Do you think your father will ever accept me?” Spencer asked, his gaze drifting away from her face as if the question itself was too much to look at directly.

She didn’t answer immediately. She kept walking, her eyes trained ahead, but her lips pressed together in a way that meant she was thinking carefully. When she did speak, her words came with an air of practiced nonchalance, the way she always deflected difficult questions.

“A man who thinks that schizophrenia is caused by worshipping the devil?” Her voice was steady, but Spencer could hear the underlying pain in it. He knew it wasn’t just a rhetorical question; it was the painful truth that shaped her relationship with her father. Her father had always been a strict believer in God, attending church without fail and pushing his beliefs onto her and her mother. But that same faith had no room for understanding Spencer’s reality, especially the fact that his mother was struggling with schizophrenia. The two worlds couldn’t have been more different, and the divide between them felt insurmountable.

She sighed, her breath visible in the cool air. “He already thinks that I’ve had sex and I’m not his perfect little girl anymore.” There was a bitter edge to her words, something Spencer had heard before. She had told him how her father believed that every time a woman had sex out of wedlock, a part of her died. A petite mort, as Spencer had corrected her when they first discussed it, a small but cruel idea that made her relationship with her father even more strained.

Spencer stopped in his tracks, his heart aching at the thought of her carrying that weight. He reached out, cupping her face gently in his hands. He felt the need to erase the hurt from her eyes, even if just for a moment.

“You are perfect to me,” he said softly, his thumbs brushing over her skin. “And that’s all that matters.”

The words lingered between them, a promise that, despite everything they couldn’t control, Spencer would always see her as she truly was. Perfect, flaws and all. The weight of the world lightened, just a little, as they stood there in the quiet of the countryside.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

2005

“Spencer?” The soft, familiar voice of Diana, Spencer’s mother, broke through the haze of his thoughts. He had been sitting in the small, sterile room of the psychiatric ward where his mother stayed, his gaze fixed on the window, watching the cold, winter air swirl outside. The holiday decorations in the ward were bright and festive, but the cheerfulness did little to ease the weight pressing down on his chest. He had come to visit her during Christmas break, as he always did, returning to his hometown to spend time with her. But today, something felt off—distant, even though he was right there in the room with her.

“You’ve been looking out that window for the past ten minutes,” Diana’s voice came again, gentle yet full of concern. Spencer blinked, momentarily disoriented, before he turned his attention back to her. Her eyes were filled with the kind of tenderness that only a mother could offer, the kind that always made him feel safe, even in the most uncertain of times. Snapping back to reality, Spencer tried to brush it off, offering a small, reassuring smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’m alright, Mom,” he said, his voice steady, though it carried the faintest trace of exhaustion. He didn’t want to worry her, didn’t want to add to the weight of her already constant concerns about him. She carried enough as it was, and the last thing he wanted was for her to see the cracks in him, to see how tired he truly was.

But Diana didn’t miss the subtle tension in his posture or the way his eyes seemed distant, as if the weight of the world was pressing against him. She had always known when something was off, even if Spencer tried to hide it. She had raised him, after all—her perceptiveness was something that had been honed over years of navigating her own struggles.

“You are my perfect boy, Spencer,” Diana said softly, her voice laced with warmth and unwavering love. Her eyes locked onto his with a quiet intensity, as if she was trying to press the weight of her words into his heart. “Always remember that. No matter what happens, no matter what you’re feeling, you are my perfect boy.”

The words hung in the air between them, heavy with the kind of truth only a mother could give. Spencer’s throat tightened, a lump forming as the rush of emotions he had been suppressing all day threatened to surface. His mother, despite everything she had been through, still saw him as perfect. It was a reminder, both comforting and painful, of the love that anchored him even when he didn’t feel worthy of it.

Spencer nodded slowly, his chest tight, and for a moment, he let himself believe it—let himself feel the warmth of his mother’s love, allowing it to wash over him. Even if he couldn’t always see the good in himself, she did. And for that moment, that was enough.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

2000, December

“Spence?” (Y/N)’s voice echoed through the broken-down house, the sound bouncing off the peeling walls and creaking floorboards. The house, if it could even still be called that, had seen better days long before they had claimed it as their own. The paths leading to it were worn bare, the grass never daring to grow back after countless trips in and out. It was theirs in a way no one else could understand—crumbling, imperfect, but filled with memories that made it feel like home.

The familiar groan of the warped front door announced her arrival, but there was no response. Her heart gave a strange, uneasy flutter as she stepped inside and climbed the stairs, the old wood creaking beneath her weight. Reaching the second floor, she paused in the doorway of their bedroom. The dirty mattress lay on the floor as always, the cotton sheets doing little to mask the years of wear and stains.

But what caught her eye was the letter sitting atop it, her name scrawled in Spencer’s familiar handwriting. The sight sent a chill through her chest.

Lowering herself onto the mattress, she reached for the letter, her fingers trembling as she unfolded it. As her eyes scanned the words, a heaviness settled over her, the room suddenly feeling colder and emptier. It was Spencer’s words, and she already knew this letter would change everything.

My dear (Y/N),

This is the hardest letter I’ve ever had to write, and I’m not sure where to begin. You’ve been my everything, (Y/N). My light when the world felt dark, my calm in the storm. Loving you has been the most incredible, life-altering experience I could ever hope for. Being with you has taught me things I never thought I’d learn—about trust, about vulnerability, about love. Not the kind of love that comes and goes, but the kind that stays, the kind that roots itself so deeply that no force on earth could ever truly uproot it.

You’ve always had this way of making me feel seen, of looking past all the things I try to hide, and loving me anyway. You made me feel like I could be more than I ever thought possible, just by being at my side. Your laugh—God, your laugh. I’ll never forget it. It’s the kind of sound that could soften the edges of the hardest day, the kind of thing that made me believe there was still good in the world, even when everything else felt like it was falling apart.

I want you to know something: you are unforgettable. You are the type of person who leaves a mark on everyone you meet, but the mark you’ve left on me feels permanent like it’s carved into my very being. You’ve taught me how to be brave, how to let myself feel things I was always too scared to feel. And I’ll never stop being grateful for that.

I don’t know if you’ll ever truly understand how deeply you’ve been loved. But I hope you feel it when you think of me. And I hope one day, you’ll forgive me for not being the person you needed me to be.

You are, and always will be, the greatest love of my life.

Forever yours, Spencer

(Y/N) broke the moment her eyes reached the end of the letter. The words blurred together as tears spilled down her cheeks, soaking the paper in her trembling hands. She cried as she read it, cried harder as the weight of its meaning sank in, cried until her chest ached and her breaths came in ragged gasps. The silence in the house, once a comforting backdrop to their life together, now felt suffocating, pressing in on her like a cruel reminder of what she had lost.

Sliding off the mattress, she curled into herself, clutching the letter as if holding it tightly could somehow bring him back. Her sobs echoed through the empty house, filling the space he had left behind. The walls, which had once witnessed laughter and whispered dreams, now bore witness to her heartbreak, to the shattering of everything they had built together.

Hours passed, but the ache only grew. She lay on the filthy mattress that had been their refuge, their sanctuary, but it felt hollow now, nothing more than a pile of fabric and springs in a house that wasn’t home anymore. Spencer had promised he’d never leave, and that promise had been her lifeline. But now he was gone, and with him, he had taken the pieces of her heart that she wasn’t sure she’d ever get back.

And that was what broke her.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

2005

(Y/N) wandered aimlessly, her feet carrying her without thought or direction. The wind whispered through the trees, the sky above painted in soft hues of twilight. It wasn’t until she stopped, standing in the middle of a dirt road, that she realized where her walk had led her. Her heart sank as she recognized the familiar broken house in the distance, its silhouette stark against the fading light.

The house stood there, just as it had five years ago—weathered, battered, yet defiant. She stared at it, the memories flooding back uninvited. That house wasn’t just wood and nails; it was a monument to everything she’d shared, everything she’d lost. She didn’t even realize she had started walking toward it until her hand brushed against the old wooden fence.

“Hey, Bertha,” she whispered, her voice trembling as she tapped the doorway lightly. It was a habit Spencer had started, a silly gesture he’d done every time they came here, like greeting an old friend. Now it felt like a ghost of the life they once had, a bittersweet echo that made her chest tighten. The front door hung open, as if inviting her in, but the thought of stepping inside made her stomach churn.

Meanwhile, across the abandoned cornfields, Spencer approached the house he had avoided for years. The sight of it sent a pang of guilt through him. “Bertha,” he murmured softly, the name falling from his lips like an old prayer. “You look the same as always.” The wind rustled the cornstalks around him, but all he could hear was his heartbeat pounding in his ears.

He had spent so long convincing himself not to come back, and yet here he was, drawn to the house like it was calling him. Each step felt heavier than the last as he crossed the field, memories of laughter and love resurfacing with every inch closer.

Inside the house, (Y/N) wandered the familiar halls, running her fingers along the walls that once echoed with their shared whispers. Everything felt smaller now, the weight of time and grief pressing down on her. She paused by the window, looking out toward the fields, when movement caught her eye.

Her heart froze. Someone was walking toward the house.

She blinked, thinking her mind was playing tricks, but the figure grew clearer with every step. Her breath caught when she realized who it was. Spencer.

Anger flared in her chest, hot and overwhelming, overtaking the shock and sadness that had lingered for years. Without thinking, she stormed down the stairs, to the back door, the closest exit to the cornfields, her steps quick and purposeful. The broken screen door slammed behind her as she crossed the yard, her eyes locked on the man who had haunted her dreams and her nightmares for so long.

Spencer stopped in his tracks as the figure approached him, the fiery determination in her stride unmistakable. His chest tightened as he recognized her, her beauty still undeniable even as anger radiated from her like a storm.

“You’re not allowed here,” (Y/N) said, her voice trembling with a mix of rage and pain. Her lips quivered, betraying the tears she was fighting to hold back. “You made that decision when you left me.”

Spencer swallowed hard, his breath hitching as he took her in. She was more beautiful than he remembered, though time had etched a hardness into her expression he hadn’t seen before. “(Y/N)...” he breathed, his voice soft, full of longing.

Seeing her was like a punch to the gut and a breath of fresh air all at once. He had thought about this moment a thousand times, but none of his imagined scenarios had prepared him for the reality of standing before her again.

“I know,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I know I have no right to be here.” He took a tentative step closer, his eyes searching hers for something—understanding, forgiveness, anything—but all he found was the raw wound he’d left behind.

(Y/N) shook her head, tears finally spilling over. “You don’t get to just show up here, Spencer. You don’t get to walk back into my life like nothing happened. You left. You left without a word, without an explanation, and you took everything with you.” Her voice cracked, the weight of five years’ worth of pain spilling out all at once.

“I know,” Spencer said again, his own voice breaking. He wanted to reach out, to touch her, to offer some kind of comfort, but he knew he had forfeited that right. “I know I hurt you. I know I can’t fix this. But I—I had to see you. I had to come back.”

“Why?” she demanded, her voice sharp and desperate. “Why now? After all this time, why would you come back here, to our place, knowing what you did to me?”

Spencer looked down, his hands trembling at his sides. “Because this is the only place that ever felt like home,” he admitted, his voice barely audible. “Because you’re the only person who ever felt like home. And I’m sorry—God, I’m so sorry for what I did to you. But I had to see you, even if it’s the last time.”

(Y/N) turned away, her shoulders shaking as she tried to compose herself. The words she had dreamed of hearing, the apology she had desperately wanted, had finally come. But the wounds were still too fresh, the scars too deep.

“Spencer,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I don’t know if I can forgive you.”

The silence between them stretched, heavy with unspoken words and shattered dreams. And yet, for a moment, they simply stood there, two broken souls in the shadow of the house that had once held all their love.

Spencer couldn’t help himself—his gaze was caught in a rhythm he couldn’t break, oscillating between the cross resting against her chest and her eyes. Her eyes, which held a depth of emotion he wasn’t sure he deserved to witness. The silence stretched between them, heavy yet familiar, like the comforting hum of a favorite song long since forgotten but never truly lost. It was a silence they had shared countless times before, but now it carried the weight of all that had been left unsaid.

She noticed, of course. She always noticed him. With a quiet sigh, she reached up and gently fiddled with the cross around her neck, a small, almost imperceptible movement that spoke volumes. The motion seemed to ground her, steadying her breath, easing her tumultuous emotions just enough to let the words come.

“He’s dead,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper but cutting through the silence like a sharp blade. “He passed two years ago.”

Spencer didn’t need her to say more. He knew who she meant. Of course, he did. Her father had been an unyielding presence in her life, a looming figure who had defined so much of who she was and who she fought to be. The news hit him like a sudden wind, unexpected and jarring, even after all this time.

He took a hesitant step forward, closing some of the distance between them, the broken-down fence still standing as a barrier between them. His eyes softened, filling with a sadness that wasn’t just for her loss but for all the ways he hadn’t been there to share the weight of it. He swallowed hard, his throat dry, before finally speaking.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, his voice thick with sincerity and regret.

His words hung in the air, and for a moment, they just stared at each other. Spencer wished he could say more, could offer something that might ease the ache he knew had settled in her heart long ago. But what could he say? I should have been here? I shouldn’t have left? I should have stayed to hold you through it all? None of it felt like enough, not now, not after all this time.

Her hand stilled on the cross, her fingers curling around it protectively, almost instinctively. She nodded once, acknowledging his apology, but the pain in her eyes told him it wasn’t enough. It never could be.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Hello, Diana,” (Y/N) greeted softly, stepping into the familiar, quiet room with a gentle smile. It was a ritual now, one that had been born out of a promise made long ago—a promise to Spencer during their teenage years, back when the world felt a little smaller and their love a little bigger. He had confided in (Y/N) about his fears, his guilt over leaving his mother alone, trapped in her own thoughts and memories. It was a promise (Y/N) never wavered from, even after everything had fallen apart between them.

Diana looked up from the worn pages of her diary, her face brightening with a smile that could only be described as maternal warmth. “Oh, my gorgeous,” she said, her voice full of affection. “Don’t you look lovely?”

“Thank you, Diana,” (Y/N) replied, her smile widening but tinged with a subtle sadness she couldn’t quite shake. Sitting down beside her, she glanced at the familiar handwriting scrawled across Diana’s open journal. The pang of guilt hit her like it always did—memories of Spencer, of the house, of the way she’d left things with him, still fresh in her mind despite the passage of time. She tucked those thoughts away for now, focusing instead on the woman in front of her. “How are you today?”

“Oh, I’m alright,” Diana said, her tone light, though her pen never stopped moving across the page. “Spencer is back in town.”

The words were delivered so casually, almost offhandedly, but they landed like a thunderclap in (Y/N)’s chest. Her breath hitched, and she froze mid-movement, her fingers curling tighter around the strap of her bag. Spencer. Back in town. The name alone was enough to set her world spinning, the memories rushing in before she had a chance to stop them. The broken-down house. The letter. His face when they had confronted each other just days ago.

“Oh?” she managed to say, keeping her voice as even as possible.

Diana looked up at her then, her expression soft and content, as if Spencer’s presence in town was the most natural thing in the world. “Yes, my boy’s home again. He always comes to see me when he can. Such a thoughtful son.”

“Of course,” (Y/N) murmured, her throat tightening as she forced a smile. She glanced at Diana’s diary again, the pages filled with fragments of a life she had once been so deeply entwined with. A life that now felt impossibly far away.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Your mother already has a visitor,” the nurse informed Spencer gently as he approached the front desk, her voice soft and professional. Spencer paused, surprised. It was rare for anyone to visit his mother; she wasn’t close to many people, and Spencer himself was usually the only one who came regularly.

“That’s not possible,” Spencer replied quietly, his brows furrowing. He wasn’t trying to challenge the nurse—more so, he was questioning himself. Who could it be?

The nurse glanced at her chart, her tone still sweet as she clarified. “A (Y/N) (Y/L/N)?”

Spencer’s breath caught, his body stiffening as the name hit him like a wave crashing over jagged rocks. Her. Memories of (Y/N) surged to the forefront of his mind: the house, the letter, the confrontation just the day before. Even after all these years, the mere mention of her name haunted him.

Seeing his reaction, the nurse hesitated before offering, “If it’s an issue, we can revoke her visitor privileges—”

“No,” Spencer interrupted, his voice soft but resolute. “You don’t have to do that.” The last thing he wanted was to cause trouble for (Y/N). But curiosity gnawed at him, refusing to let go. “How long has she been visiting my mother?” He already suspected the answer, but he needed to hear it.

The nurse rechecked her records, her answer landing with a weight that Spencer wasn’t entirely ready to bear. “Five years.”

“Five years,” Spencer echoed under his breath, the words heavy with guilt. She’s been visiting her for five years while I—

He cut off the thought, straightening slightly. “Can you take me to her?” he asked, his voice quieter now. He wasn’t sure why he wanted to go—perhaps to see (Y/N) with his mother, to understand the depth of her loyalty. He didn’t intend to interfere, but the pull was undeniable.

The nurse led him down the familiar hallway to Diana’s room. From the doorframe, Spencer stopped, lingering awkwardly in the shadows. He stood there, his tall frame hunched slightly as he leaned against the threshold, watching.

Inside, (Y/N) sat beside Diana, their hand resting gently on hers as they spoke with warmth and care. Spencer could hear her voice, tender and soothing, as she asked Diana about her day, her writing, her dreams. It was the kind of care Spencer had promised himself he’d always provide—but (Y/N) had been the one to keep that promise, even when he hadn’t.

The sight made his chest tighten painfully. He watched her, her dedication shining brightly, as he stood rooted in place, grappling with the bittersweet reality before him.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

“I didn’t think you’d still visit her,” Spencer said softly, his voice carrying the weight of years unspoken as he saw (Y/N) leaving the psych ward. She had been engrossed in her thoughts, her keys jangling in her hand, when his words stopped her in her tracks.

“Unlike some people, I keep my promises,” she shot back, her tone sharper than she intended. Bitterness bubbled up from the place in her heart he had broken all those years ago. But underneath it, there was something else—something softer, yearning. She didn’t want to keep fighting, didn’t want to keep holding this grudge. What she really wanted was to fall into his arms and let his familiar scent wash over her, to be enveloped in the safety they once knew. Instead, she turned and began walking toward her car, forcing her feet to keep moving.

Spencer hesitated but followed, his steps careful, his presence lingering just close enough to be felt. “(Y/N)…” he said, her name falling from his lips like a plea. Hearing him say it again felt like a punch to the gut and a balm all at once—a bittersweet reminder of the life they had shared.

She froze for a moment before taking a deep breath and speaking, her voice trembling slightly. “Why didn’t you tell me why you left, Spence? Why didn’t you tell me yourself? If anything, I would’ve understood.” She turned to face him, the hurt she had carried for years spilling into her words. Her eyes, usually so bright, were now heavy with questions she had been waiting far too long to ask.

Spencer’s face fell, guilt settling in his features like a storm cloud. “I was young and dumb,” he admitted, his voice low. “I thought… I thought that leaving you a letter would hurt less than having to look you in the eye and tell you I was leaving.” He shoved his hands into his pockets, glancing down at the ground. “But I see now that it was cowardly. That it was wrong.”

“Spence…” (Y/N) said, her breath hitching as tears threatened to fall. She looked at him for a moment, the ache in her chest threatening to pull her apart, before shaking her head softly. “For someone with an IQ of 187, that was the dumbest decision of your life.”

She turned and began packing the trunk of her car, her hands busy to distract from the storm of emotions threatening to consume her. Spencer watched her, his heart pounding in his chest, wishing he could undo all the pain he had caused. All he wanted was to reach out, to hold her, to make things right—but he knew that forgiveness was not his to take. Not yet.

(Y/N) slammed the trunk shut with a little more force than necessary, the sound echoing in the stillness of the lot. Spencer flinched at the noise, his heart sinking further into his chest. He hated the space between them, the invisible wall that felt insurmountable despite the years they had shared.

“Is there even a point to this conversation?” (Y/N) said, her voice cracking slightly despite her best effort to keep steady. She turned to face him, crossing her arms as if it could shield her from the vulnerability she felt under his gaze. “I mean, what’s the point, Spencer? You left. You decided I didn’t deserve the truth, and now you’re here like nothing happened.”

Spencer took a step closer, careful not to overstep the boundaries they had silently drawn. “It’s not like that,” he said earnestly, his voice shaking. “I—I don’t expect you to forgive me. I just…” He paused, running a hand through his hair as he searched for the words. “I just wanted you to know that I’m sorry. For everything.”

(Y/N) let out a bitter laugh, brushing a tear away angrily before it could streak down her cheek. “Sorry doesn’t fix anything, Spencer. Sorry doesn’t erase the fact that you left me with nothing but a letter, no answers, and no closure. Sorry doesn’t take away the years I spent wondering what I did wrong.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Spencer interrupted, his voice stronger now. He stepped closer again, his eyes pleading. “It wasn’t you. It was me. I left because I was scared, because I didn’t think I could be enough for you. You deserved someone better, someone who wouldn’t bring all their baggage into your life.”

(Y/N) shook her head, disbelief mingling with heartbreak in her expression. “You didn’t get to make that decision for me, Spencer. I loved you. I still—” She stopped herself, the words catching in her throat. Taking a step back, she turned away from him, staring at the car as if it could offer an escape from the storm of emotions.

Spencer hesitated, unsure if he should press further or give her the space she needed. “Do you really think I don’t know how badly I messed up?” he asked softly. “Every day, I regret leaving. Every single day, I think about you—about us—and wonder if I made the biggest mistake of my life. Seeing you here… it only confirms what I’ve always known: I’ll never stop loving you.”

(Y/N) turned away from Spencer, her chest tightening as she fought back tears. She couldn’t let him see the vulnerability in her eyes, not yet. Hugging herself, she took a shaky breath before speaking.

“Spencer,” she began, her voice trembling, “I need time. Time to process this. Time to figure out if I can trust you again.”

Spencer nodded, his hands clenched at his sides. “I understand,” he said softly. “Take all the time you need.”

(Y/N) glanced at him, her tear-filled eyes meeting his briefly. “You hurt me. You left without telling me why, and now you’re saying the things I’ve wanted to hear for years. But I don’t know if I can believe them.”

“I’ll wait,” Spencer promised, his voice steady despite the crack in his heart. “As long as it takes.”

(Y/N) nodded, turning toward her car. Spencer stayed rooted in place, watching as she walked away, each step making his chest ache. All he could do now was hope she’d find a way back to him.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Elane didn’t even bother to knock before stepping into (Y/N)’s home, her face a mix of disbelief and urgency. “You went back to that house?” she asked, her voice laced with incredulity. She still couldn’t wrap her mind around the texts (Y/N) had sent—Spencer was back, and apparently, he wanted to make things right after everything he had done.

(Y/N) sat on the edge of her couch, her elbows resting on her knees as she buried her face in her hands. “I don’t know what to do, Elane,” she mumbled, her voice muffled and tinged with exhaustion.

Elane crossed her arms, her expression softening as she studied her best friend. She could see the storm of emotions brewing in (Y/N)’s chest—the confusion, the longing, the anger, and the vulnerability that came with someone reopening a wound that had never fully healed.

“You obviously have to take him back,” Elane said simply, as though the answer was glaringly obvious.

(Y/N)’s head shot up, her eyes wide with shock. “Take him back? Are you serious?”

“Yes,” Elane replied, unflinching. She knew exactly what (Y/N) was thinking. She had been there when Spencer left, when (Y/N) had crumbled under the weight of his absence. Elane had seen her at her worst—crying herself to sleep, replaying every moment of their relationship, searching for reasons in the silence he’d left behind. “Listen, Vi, I know how much he hurt you. Believe me, I know. I was the one holding you together when he walked away. But I also know that I haven’t seen you truly happy in a long time. As much as you hate to admit it, he makes you the happiest.”

(Y/N) clenched her jaw, her gaze dropping to the floor as she twisted her fingers in her lap. She hated how right Elane was. She hated how the mere mention of Spencer’s name stirred something in her chest that felt dangerously close to hope. Rising from the couch, she turned away, heading toward her wine cabinet. “I need a drink,” she muttered, reaching for a bottle of red wine.

Elane chuckled as she watched (Y/N) fumble with the cork. “Typical,” she teased, sinking into the couch. “Wine fixes everything, huh?”

(Y/N) flashed her a sarcastic smile as the cork finally popped free. “It certainly doesn’t hurt.” She poured them each a glass, handing one to Elane before sitting back down.

Hours later, the room was dim, illuminated only by the soft glow of a lamp in the corner. The wine bottle sat empty on the coffee table, and the two women were slumped against the cushions, giggling uncontrollably.

“Okay, okay, but seriously,” Elane said, clutching her stomach as tears of laughter welled in her eyes. “I genuinely thought you only kissed him that night. And then you casually drop the bombshell that you went to that creepy abandoned house everyone thought was haunted to—” She broke off, unable to finish the sentence through her laughter.

“To have sex,” (Y/N) finished for her, rolling her eyes but grinning despite herself. She brought her glass to her lips, shaking her head at the memory. “What can I say? I was bold.”

“Bold? That’s putting it lightly!” Elane snorted. “You were reckless! But, honestly, I have to give you credit. That’s some next-level teenage rebellion.”

(Y/N) shrugged, her grin turning mischievous. “Hey, I wasn’t the only one with game, you know.”

“Oh, trust me, Vi, I know. You had all the game. I mean, haunted house hookups? That’s iconic.”

The two dissolved into another fit of laughter, their voices echoing through the quiet of the late-night hour. For a moment, the weight of Spencer and all the complicated emotions he carried with him was forgotten. It was just two best friends, a bottle of wine, and a shared history of mistakes, triumphs, and the kind of memories that made life feel a little lighter.

“But seriously, Vi—what are you so scared of?” Elane’s voice softened this time, the playful edge gone. She leaned forward, her glass cradled between her hands, and looked at her best friend with genuine concern. “You know I’ve got you, no matter what. Just talk to me.”

(Y/N) stared at the deep red swirl of wine in her glass, hesitating. Her fingers traced the rim as though the motion might distract her from the emotions bubbling to the surface. Finally, she sighed, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’m scared he’ll leave me again.” She swallowed hard, as if forcing the words out made them easier to bear. “I don’t think I could survive that pain a second time.”

Elane’s chest tightened at the vulnerability in (Y/N)’s tone. She shifted closer, placing her wineglass on the table so she could focus fully on her friend. “Vi,” she said gently, waiting until (Y/N) looked up at her. “Trust me, Spencer could live a hundred lifetimes and still never forgive himself for what he put you through.”

(Y/N)’s lips parted, but no words came. Elane pressed on, her voice steady yet full of warmth. “He’s not just some guy, okay? You landed the one man on this planet who is actually in touch with his emotions. He’s not just sorry—he’s hurting, Vi. Probably just as much as you were when he left. Maybe even more, because he’s carrying the guilt of knowing he caused it.”

(Y/N) blinked back tears, the weight of Elane’s words sinking in. Deep down, she knew Elane was right. Spencer wasn’t like other people. He felt everything so deeply—he always had. That was part of what drew her to him in the first place. And part of what made losing him so unbearable.

“Maybe you’re right,” she said softly, her voice tinged with cautious hope.

Elane smiled, her signature confidence shining through as she reached out and placed a comforting hand over (Y/N)’s. “Of course I’m right. I’m always right.” Her tone was light, but her touch was steady, grounding. “Look, I can’t promise it’ll be easy, or that he won’t screw up again. But I know you, Vi. I’ve watched you fall apart and build yourself back up. And if anyone’s worth taking a chance on, it’s Spencer.”

(Y/N) bit her lip, her chest tightening with a mix of fear and possibility. She glanced at Elane’s hand covering hers and felt a flicker of reassurance. The knot of doubt inside her didn’t unravel completely, but it loosened just enough to let a sliver of hope shine through.

“Thanks, Elane,” she whispered, giving her friend a small, grateful smile.

“Always, babe,” Elane said, squeezing her hand. “Now, finish your wine. You’re not getting out of a second glass just because I got all deep and emotional.”

(Y/N) laughed, the sound light and cathartic. For the first time that night, she felt like maybe—just maybe—things might turn out okay.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

It had been days—agonizing, sleepless days—of overthinking her decision without Elane’s steady presence to nudge her forward. Now, standing in front of Spencer’s childhood home, where he always stayed during his work holidays, (Y/N)’s mind was still at war with itself. Every instinct screamed for her to turn around and leave, to abandon the idea entirely. Her knuckles hovered near the door, but she couldn’t bring herself to knock. Her heart pounded in her chest, each beat a reminder of how terrified she was.

Before she could gather the courage, the door creaked open, and there he was. Spencer stood in the doorway, looking like he was on his way out—keys in one hand, wallet in the other, his worn satchel slung over his shoulder. The sight of him made her breath hitch. He hadn’t changed much, but there was a softness in his eyes that hadn’t been there before.

“Oh… Viv,” he said, his voice gentle, as though her name was a fragile thing he was afraid to break. The sound of him calling her by that nickname—Viv—hit her like a freight train. He hadn’t called her that since before their relationship fell apart, before those nights spent sneaking off to the old house together, before everything unraveled.

Her lips parted, but no sound came. She hated how vulnerable she felt, how just standing here in front of him could undo all the walls she’d built. Spencer’s brow furrowed slightly, concern flickering across his face. “Is something wrong?” he asked, his voice laced with worry.

“No, not at all,” she lied, her voice shaky but determined to sound convincing. She toyed with the small cross necklace around her neck, her thumb rubbing against it in a nervous rhythm she couldn’t stop. But Spencer saw right through her; he always could. His gaze lingered on the anxious movement of her fingers, and she could see the understanding in his eyes.

(Y/N) wanted nothing more than to run. To turn and walk away, pretend this moment hadn’t happened, and let the fear swallow her whole. But her legs refused to move, leaving her frozen in place, rooted by a strange mixture of longing and dread.

“Here, come in,” he said softly, stepping back and holding the door open wider, an unspoken invitation. The warmth of his voice almost coaxed her forward, but her eyes darted to the keys and wallet in his hands, to the satchel on his shoulder. He’d been heading out, clearly on his way somewhere. She couldn’t impose—not like this.

“No, it’s alright,” she replied quickly, shaking her head. Her voice came out softer than she intended, almost apologetic. “You’re busy. I’ll… I’ll come back another time.” She began to turn away, retreating down the driveway toward the comfort of her own childhood home. But before she could take another step, Spencer’s voice stopped her.

“I’m never busy enough for you,” he said, his tone so earnest it nearly broke her.

She paused, turning back to him. His lips curved into a small, reassuring smile, his eyes searching hers with a patience that felt as familiar as it was disarming. The door was still open, a silent testament to his willingness to let her in, no matter how unexpected her arrival.

(Y/N)’s gaze flickered between his face and the hallway behind him, the path that led to the familiar comfort of his home—a space that once felt as much hers as his. Her feet felt heavy, as though crossing that threshold would mean crossing into a territory she wasn’t sure she was ready to face.

Spencer waited, unmoving, giving her the space to decide but never pulling back his invitation. There was no rush, no pressure—just the soft warmth of his gaze, steady and unyielding.

After what felt like an eternity, (Y/N) took a tentative step forward, her fingers still trembling as they brushed against the doorframe. She didn’t trust herself to speak, didn’t trust her voice not to crack under the weight of her emotions. But Spencer’s smile grew just a fraction, as if he understood the monumental effort that single step took.

And with that, she crossed the threshold, her heart pounding in her chest, a thousand fears and hopes colliding all at once. Spencer gently closed the door behind her, the quiet click reverberating through the stillness of the house.

They stood in the living room of Spencer’s house, the air heavy with the silence that stretched between them, thick with unspoken words. The quiet felt like an old song—one they hadn’t heard in years, but somehow, the melody still lingered in the spaces between them, a bittersweet reminder of everything they once were. It hung there, unresolved, yet full of everything they hadn’t been able to say.

(Y/N) fidgeted with her necklace, her fingers absentmindedly tracing the chain, a habit she had when she was nervous. Spencer noticed the small gesture—how it had always been her way of grounding herself when she didn’t know what to do. He wanted to speak, to say something, but he couldn’t find the words. He just watched her, waiting, as she took a deep breath and began to speak.

“I came because I wanted to talk,” (Y/N) said, her voice soft, almost fragile as it broke the silence between them. There was an earnestness in her tone, a vulnerability Spencer wasn’t sure he was ready to face.

Spencer stayed silent, his heart racing, his mind spinning. He wanted to reach out, to say something, but the words were trapped in his chest. He watched her carefully, his eyes tracing the contours of her face, every inch of her looking both familiar and foreign to him now.

(Y/N)’s gaze lifted to meet his, her eyes searching his face with an intensity that made his chest tighten. “I think I want to try again,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper, as if the weight of the words could shatter something between them if she spoke too loudly. “Try us again.”

Her words lingered in the air, fragile and hopeful, yet underscored with a quiet fear. Spencer’s throat went dry, and though he longed to say something, anything, he didn’t interrupt. He let her continue, silently urging her to say what she needed to say.

“But I need you to know,” she continued, her voice thick with emotion, “that things won’t be the same as they used to be.” She paused, her gaze dropping to the floor for a moment, as if the reality of what she was saying weighed too heavily on her. “We’re not the same people we were, Spencer. I’m not the same.”

The confession hung in the air, raw and exposed, but Spencer didn’t move. He didn’t pull away. Instead, his gaze softened, and something in him—something buried deep within—finally broke free.

“I understand, Viv,” he said, his voice low, steady, but filled with emotion. His heart pounded in his chest as his hand slowly reached up, trembling ever so slightly as he cupped her face in his palm. His touch was tentative, as if afraid of breaking the fragile moment between them, but she leaned into it instinctively, her eyes fluttering shut as the warmth of his hand soothed her.

(Y/N)’s hand moved to his wrist, her fingers gently wrapping around it, grounding both of them in that quiet space. She held on, as if she was afraid to let go, afraid of what might slip through her fingers if she did. Her eyes met his again, desperation and hope mingling in the depths of her gaze.

“Please,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, yet filled with an aching plea. She nodded softly, as if surrendering to the vulnerability, to the possibility of what could come next.

Spencer’s breath hitched, and without thinking, he leaned in, his hand still cupping her face, and pressed his lips to hers. The kiss was slow, hesitant at first, as though both of them were testing the waters, unsure of how much they could risk. But then, as their lips met fully, the hesitation melted away, and something deeper, more desperate, surged between them—a longing for something they couldn’t quite name but both knew they needed. It was a kiss that spoke of loss, of hope, and of the delicate threads that still connected them, despite everything that had passed.

In that moment, the world outside of the living room seemed to disappear. It was just the two of them, lost in the kiss, in the emotion that wrapped around them both, binding them in a way words never could.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

2008

Three years had passed since that life-changing kiss, and somehow, their love had only deepened and matured, evolving far beyond the fleeting, sweet highs of their high school days. Spencer couldn’t help but marvel at how their connection had grown into something profound, a bond forged by time, trials, and an unwavering devotion to one another.

As the late afternoon sun dipped lower, painting the sky in hues of soft orange and pink, Spencer guided (Y/N) carefully along the overgrown trail leading to the abandoned house they had stumbled upon eight years ago. Back then, it had been their secret haven—a sanctuary where young love blossomed and the weight of the world couldn’t touch them. Now, it was about to hold an even more cherished memory.

(Y/N) clutched Spencer's arm, her steps tentative as she let him lead her while the blindfold obscured her vision. Her excitement was palpable, the corners of her mouth curving into a radiant smile despite her slight protests.

“Spence?” she asked, her voice bubbling with curiosity. “Where are we going? You’re being so mysterious.”

He chuckled, the sound warm and rich, and gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. “Patience, Gorgeous. No peeking, I mean it,” he teased, his tone playful but gentle.

(Y/N) huffed a dramatic sigh, trying—and failing—to suppress her grin. “Fine. But you know I hate surprises.”

“And yet you’ll love this one,” he replied with quiet confidence, his free hand sliding to the small of her back to guide her over a patch of uneven ground. Finally, they arrived at the perfect spot, the very place they had once etched their initials into the weathered wood of the porch railing.

Spencer positioned her carefully, his heart pounding in anticipation. He couldn’t believe the moment had finally come. As he stepped back, his knees met the soft, wild grass, and he knelt, pulling a small velvet box from his pocket. The weight of the ring inside seemed to carry every unspoken promise he’d ever made to her, every dream they’d shared. Attached to the box by a slim, delicate chain was a small keychain, and hanging from it was an old-fashioned key, one that glinted faintly in the golden light.

He adjusted the blindfold slightly to ensure it stayed secure before speaking, his voice tender.

“Okay,” he whispered, his tone brimming with emotion. “You can take it off now.”

(Y/N)’s fingers moved to the blindfold, her motions careful, as if savoring the suspense. When she finally pulled the fabric away, her hazel eyes met the sight before her. The familiar, broken-down house loomed behind Spencer, but it was framed by the ethereal glow of the setting sun. And there he was, kneeling on one knee, his kind brown eyes gazing up at her with a mixture of love, hope, and nerves.

For a moment, she couldn’t breathe. The velvet box in his hand creaked open, revealing the delicate, sparkling ring nestled inside. Her gaze shifted to the key dangling from the attached chain, realization dawning.

“(Y/N),” Spencer began, his voice steady yet filled with raw emotion. “From the moment we met, you’ve been my everything—my anchor, my inspiration, my best friend. I can’t imagine a future without you in it. This house holds so many beautiful memories of us, and now it’s ours. I want to build even more memories here—with you, as my wife. Will you marry me?”

Tears brimmed in (Y/N)’s eyes, spilling over as she dropped to her knees in front of him, her arms wrapping tightly around his neck. “Yes,” she breathed, her voice trembling with joy. “Yes, a million times yes!”

Spencer laughed softly, relief and happiness flooding him as he slipped the ring onto her finger, the perfect fit. Then he unhooked the keychain from the box and pressed it gently into her hand.

“It’s the key to the house,” he said, his voice filled with quiet excitement. “It’s ours now.”

(Y/N) stared at it, overwhelmed by the gesture, and then at the house behind him. “It’s ours finally,” she whispered, her voice breaking.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

1998, September

As they lay together on the worn, makeshift mattress, the faint glow of moonlight streamed through the broken windows, casting a silvery hue over the room. (Y/N) shifted closer, her head resting against Spencer’s chest, her fingers lazily tracing the seams of his shirt. The world outside faded into the background, leaving only the quiet hum of their breathing and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her ear.

“But in all seriousness,” (Y/N) began softly, her voice barely louder than a whisper, “what would you name your daughter?”

Spencer stilled for a moment, caught off guard by the question. Then a soft, thoughtful smile tugged at his lips as he absentmindedly ran his fingers through her hair. “Harper,” he answered, his voice gentle. “After Nelle Harper Lee, the author of To Kill a Mockingbird.”

(Y/N) tilted her head up slightly, her hazel eyes sparkling with curiosity. “Harper,” she repeated, the name rolling off her tongue like a melody. “That’s... really beautiful. Strong, but sweet. Like it’s meant to belong to someone with a kind heart.”

Spencer chuckled softly, the sound low and warm. “I’ve always admired the way the book captures innocence and courage. It feels... timeless. And if we ever had a daughter, I’d want her to have a name that means something.”

(Y/N) smiled, her gaze lingering on him for a moment longer before resting her head back on his chest. “You’re always so thoughtful,” she murmured. “It’s one of the things I love most about you.”

Spencer flushed faintly at her words, a shy grin breaking through. “What about you?” he asked, eager to shift the focus. “What names have you been thinking of?”

(Y/N) hesitated for a moment, biting her lip as a soft blush dusted her cheeks. “Magdeline,” she admitted, her voice tinged with uncertainty. “I’ve always thought it was beautiful. It’s classic, but it feels... special. Kind of elegant.”

Spencer’s smile grew wider as he turned to look at her, his brown eyes warm and full of affection. “Magdeline,” he repeated, as if savoring the sound. “It’s stunning. It sounds like a name for someone destined to do something extraordinary.”

(Y/N) let out a soft laugh, her cheeks burning as she hid her face against his chest. “You always know how to make everything sound perfect.”

He laughed too, the sound vibrating against her. “It’s not hard when you’re the one I’m talking to,” he teased gently, his fingers brushing against her cheek, coaxing her to look at him.

Her heart fluttered, and for a moment, they were caught in each other’s gaze, the air between them charged with unspoken words. Slowly, Spencer leaned in, his lips brushing against hers in a tender kiss that was as sweet and hesitant as their first.

When they pulled away, (Y/N) rested her forehead against his, her cheeks still flushed. “Maybe we’re thinking a bit too far ahead,” she whispered, a soft giggle escaping her lips.

“Maybe,” Spencer admitted, his voice laced with quiet amusement. “But it’s nice to think about, isn’t it? Imagining a little Harper or Magdeline running around, smarter than the both of us combined.”

(Y/N) grinned, her fingers lacing with his as she nodded. “Yeah,” she said, her voice filled with a warmth only he could bring out. “It’s really nice.”

And in that moment, amidst the broken-down walls and the chaos of their teenage lives, the future felt less like an abstract dream and more like a tangible promise—a love story that was only just beginning.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

2015

The house stood in front of them, a testament to the years of work they had poured into it. Once broken down, abandoned, and forgotten, the structure now stood proudly as a symbol of all they had built together. The sun dipped low, painting the sky in hues of pink and orange, casting a warm glow on the new windows, freshly painted walls, and repaired roof. It wasn’t perfect yet—not by a long shot—but it was theirs. And it felt like home.

(Y/N) wiped a hand across her forehead, the sweat of hard work glistening on her brow. Her overalls were covered in streaks of paint, and her sneakers, which had once been white, were now stained with dust and dirt. The room she stood in—the living room—had come a long way since they first stepped foot in this place. The broken windows had been replaced, and the cracked floorboards had been carefully sanded down, then repainted. The mismatched furniture they had collected from thrift stores and flea markets now made the room feel cozy, lived-in. It wasn’t fancy, but it was perfect.

(Y/N) turned to look at Spencer, her gaze softening as she watched him carefully adjusting the placement of a new windowsill. The warmth of the afternoon sun caught in his hair, casting a golden glow over his features. His face was covered in a light dusting of sawdust, but his eyes—those deep brown eyes that always held that mixture of curiosity and affection—shone brighter than any material thing could. The man she had fallen in love with all those years ago was standing right in front of her, and she couldn’t help but feel a swell of pride. Together, they had done all of this. They had created something beautiful out of what was once broken.

“Think we’re finally done with this room?” Spencer’s voice broke through his wife’s thoughts, his usual playfulness coloring the question.

(Y/N) smiled, crossing the room toward him. “Almost,” she replied, wiping her hands on the faded towel that hung from her belt loop. “We still need to finish the kitchen, and don’t even get me started on the backyard.” She shook her head, laughing softly.

Spencer grinned, wiping his hands on his jeans. “We’ve got time,” he said, his voice warm with satisfaction. “I’m just happy we’re finally here. I’ve never felt more... at home, you know?”

(Y/N)’s smile deepened, her heart fluttering at the simplicity of his words. This was more than just a house—it was their life, their future. They had rebuilt this place together,wooden panel by panel, just like they had rebuilt their relationship over the years.

“You’re right,” she murmured. “It feels right. It’s like it was meant to be ours.”

Spencer met her halfway across the room, his arms slipping around her waist. He kissed the top of her head, his voice a quiet murmur in the calm of the room. “I think we did a good job.”

(Y/N) nestled into her husband’s chest, allowing herself to just be for a moment. They’d worked so hard to get here, and sometimes it still felt surreal. There were days when they’d wanted to give up, to walk away from the stress, the setbacks, the exhaustion. But now, looking around at the space they had turned into their own, (Y/N) couldn’t help but think that the struggle had been worth it.

Just then, the sound of tiny footsteps echoed in the hallway. The unmistakable sound of their daughter’s voice reached them before she appeared in the doorway.

“Mama! Dada!” Magdeline’s voice, high and full of excitement, made (Y/N)’s heart swell.

Spencer’s face immediately lit up with a smile as he looked toward the door. “Hey, kiddo,” he called out, his arms opening wide in invitation. “What’s up?”

Magdeline came bounding into the room, her chubby little legs carrying her with more energy than one would think possible for a three-year-old. She had her mother’s curls and her father’s eyes, and at that moment, she was wearing an adorable apron—too big for her tiny frame—that (Y/N) had gotten her for Christmas. Her hands, however, were covered in chocolate.

“I made cookies!” Magdeline said, a proud grin on her face as she held her hands up, showing them off as if they were some sort of treasure.

(Y/N) burst into laughter, her heart melting at the sight of her daughter. “Oh, did you now?” she asked, standing up from Spencer’s embrace and crossing over to her. “Where are they?”

Magdeline pointed excitedly toward the kitchen, her grin never fading. “Over there!”

Spencer scooped her up into his arms, kissing her cheek. “Well, you know what they say—cookie bakers are the best workers,” he teased, his voice light and affectionate.

(Y/N) laughed, her eyes sparkling with affection as she walked into the kitchen, Spencer and Magdeline trailing behind her. The kitchen had come together in the last few weeks, with new cabinets, countertops, and even a small breakfast nook where they could sit and eat together. It wasn’t large, but it had everything they needed.

Magdeline led them to the counter, where a plate of homemade cookies sat. The cookies were a little lopsided and covered in an uneven amount of frosting, but they were beautiful in their imperfection.

“These are amazing, sweetie,” (Y/N) said, her voice full of pride as she took a bite of one. The chocolate was rich and sweet, just the way they both liked it.

“Thank you, Mama!” Magdeline said brightly, her hands flapping excitedly as she bounced on Spencer’s hip. “Dada, have one too!”

Spencer gave her an exaggerated look of mock horror, making her giggle. “Are you sure they’re not going to make me turn into a cookie?” he asked, pretending to hesitate before taking a bite.

Magdeline’s giggle filled the room, and for a moment, the three of them were caught in that perfect bubble of happiness—the kind that only comes from simple, quiet moments.

After they had finished the cookies, the three of them worked together on the house, as they had done every weekend for the last year. Spencer worked on the trim in the living room while (Y/N) painted the kitchen cabinets. Magdeline, always wanting to help, had her own “tools”—small plastic hammers and paintbrushes that she used with exaggerated care.

It was far from glamorous. The work was tiring, the room often too hot or too cold, and there were still so many things to finish. Yet every time they stepped back to admire their progress, it felt like the house was slowly becoming something that could hold them all—their love, their future, and the memories they would create.

Spencer set down the last of the trim and came to join (Y/N) in the kitchen. He put his arm around her as they looked at their progress.

“I think we’re almost there,” he said softly, kissing her temple.

(Y/N) smiled, leaning into him. “Yeah, almost. But it’ll be worth it.”

Spencer sighed contentedly, a small smile tugging at his lips. “It already is. Look at us. We’ve built something beautiful. And I couldn’t have done it without you.”

(Y/N) turned to face him, her eyes soft. “And I couldn’t have done it without you.”

They stood there for a moment, holding each other, watching as the light outside began to fade and the first stars appeared in the sky. The house was theirs. They had transformed it from the broken, abandoned shell it had once been into a place that was full of life.

“Do you ever think about how far we’ve come?” (Y/N) asked, her voice almost a whisper.

Spencer smiled. “All the time.”

“I’m glad we’re doing this together,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. “This house... this life... it’s everything I’ve ever wanted.”

Spencer kissed her gently, his lips lingering as he held her close. “It’s everything I’ve ever wanted too.”

Just then, Magdeline came running into the room, her little feet slapping against the floor as she grinned widely. “Look, Mama, Dada! I finished!”

(Y/N) laughed and turned to Spencer. “She’s our little renovator.”

Spencer grinned. “She’s already better than we are at this.”

(Y/N)’s heart swelled with pride as she scooped her daughter into her arms, kissing her cheek. “I think she might just be the best of all of us.”

As they stood there in the warmth of their kitchen, their little family together, it was clear that this house had become something more than just a structure. It was a testament to their love, their resilience, and the future they were building together.

Magdeline Lee (Y/L/N)-Reid, with her infectious laugh and her boundless energy, was a living symbol of everything they had fought for. She was the light that filled the rooms, the hope that had carried them through all the hard days, and now, she was growing up in a home filled with love—a home that was their very own.

And as they turned out the lights for the night, ready to rest before the work began again in the morning, they knew that this house was just the beginning. There was so much more ahead of them. And they would face it all together.

After all, they had built it from the ground up.

And it was perfect.

Thank you for reading! Please like & reblog if you enjoyed! Masterlist!

Taglist! @topgunslut @donttrustlove @kakamixoxo

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justalittlelilac · 5 months ago

Text

Three days.

You had three days to tell Qiu Lin you were in love with them.

Part 1, Part 2 Word Count: 4,045 CW: Subtle references to depression and drug use

You rounded the corner of the Lin residence, feeling slightly worse for wear. Sleep had been the enemy after last night's interaction with your best friend. You had tossed and turned like a ship in a stormy sea, waves of thoughts crashing against the fragile hull of your mind until fatigue dragged you under its murky waters around 5 a.m.

Even now, your mind was still anchored in the hideout, replaying the moments over and over like an old, silent film on repeat. You shook your head, trying to dispel the lingering fog, and pushed onward, kicking at the blanket of autumn leaves under your feet as if somehow that could bolster you.

It did not.

The crisp air nipped at your cheeks, sharp as a knife, and the earthy scent of decaying leaves filled your nostrils, a bittersweet reminder of the season slipping away. You inhaled deeply, but the cold air only seemed to tighten the knot in your chest.

The front door of the Lin house loomed before you, and your hand hesitated on the doorknob, fingers curling around the cold metal. From inside, you could hear laughter echoing through the walls, and the warm, savory scent of cooked food seeped through the cracks, filling the air with the comfort of cinnamon, sage, and roasting turkey.

This shouldn't be so hard, you thought. For years now, you and your mom, the Baumanns, and the Lins had shared Thanksgiving together. It began that very first Thanksgiving after you moved to Golden Grove when you'd confided in Qiu that it would be just you and your mom for the holiday—no one else. No distant relatives, no friends from before.

Qiu, being Qiu, had taken it upon themselves to make sure no one felt left out that Turkey Day. They always felt responsible for everyone's happiness back then, as if their arms were wide enough to gather the whole world in a hug, always feeling like it was their duty.

Luckily for you, that kindness had extended to your small family.

You still didn't know how they had convinced their parents, but the three families gathered around a shared table every year since then. Your mom had expressed her gratitude a hundred times, but you always felt a quiet relief mixed with something more—something you had never quite dared to name.

With a steadying breath, you turned the knob and stepped inside, the warm air embracing you immediately like a soft blanket. From the entryway, voices drifted in from the kitchen, mingling with the soft drone of a TV playing in the background. Your eyes traveled to the couch, where Mr. Baumann, Tamarack's grandfather, was already snoozing—his head tipped back, mouth slightly open, newspaper on his lap in a nap born of habit now that he was actually retired, not turkey-induced drowsiness.

You began to take off your shoes, your gaze wandering toward the dining room. The table was already set, the plates gleaming under the soft light of the chandelier, the silverware perfectly aligned. The Lins were hosting this year, just as you and your mom had hosted last year, and the Baumanns the year before that.

Everything seemed as it always was—perfectly in place—but something felt off-kilter, like a picture hanging slightly askew.

Suddenly, a voice cut through your thoughts.

"You're late!" Before you could even register the words, you were pulled into a warm hug, the familiar scent of vanilla and cinnamon wrapping around you like a favorite old sweater.

"Tamarack!" you exclaimed, pulling back just enough to look at her. "I thought you were going to be in Florida for Thanksgiving?"

Tamarack smiled faintly, her fingers nervously tugging at the cuff of her cardigan. The sight of her made your heart swell. She'd cut her hair, and it fell in soft waves just above her shoulders, the vibrant red catching the light in a way that made it glow like embers in a fireplace. You'd always loved how her hair seemed to blaze like that, and seeing her now, you realized just how much you'd missed her presence.

"I was, but… Dad had this academic convention thing, and—" she paused, her eyes flicking downward. "Well, you know how it is."

You gave her a tight-lipped smile, understanding all too well. You rested a hand on her shoulder, squeezing gently, offering a silent reassurance that you knew she needed. Tamarack had heard enough complaints about her parents from you over the years. You'd save it this time.

"Well, their loss because I get you all to myself then," you teased, lightening the mood, and Tamarack laughed softly, fanning your hand away with a mock frown.

"Hey, not true! I'm here too," came Qiu's voice, clear and bright, cutting through the air like a sunbeam as they emerged from the kitchen at the end of the hallway. Your heart stumbled in your chest, further tangling your thoughts with last night's almost-confession.

You found a crack in the entryway tile incredibly interesting as they approached. "I've been waiting for you," they stated casually, and your eyes snapped up.

I have been waiting for you, not we. You couldn't help the little giddiness you felt that, in turn, made you cringe internally.

"Well, here I am," you said coolly, shrugging and fanning your hands at your sides sarcastically.

Qiu laughed, "Yes, I can see that. Your mom said you were up late? Did your test go okay?" Their dark eyes widened slightly as if in concern.

The expression sent your heart leaping into your throat. Damn it. What would normally be an easy response escaped you in a choked grunt, and you mentally kicked yourself for being such a baby.

"Oh, uh, yeah! It went fine, just stress—y'know," you stammered lamely. From the corner of your eye, Tamarack's gaze oscillated between the two of you. Then, her red eyes narrowed as if trying to read between the lines of a page that wasn't meant for her.

You could practically feel her thoughts buzzing, and it took everything in you to not pinch her to keep whatever she was about to say to herself. She had an uncanny ability to sniff out your lies from a mile away. You were sure she'd known how you felt about Qiu for a long time, even though you'd never explicitly discussed it.

"You three going to loiter about or make yourselves useful?" Granny's voice rang out from the kitchen, halting Tamarack in her tracks. All three of you tensed like deer caught in headlights.

"Coming!" You answered in unison before all but running down the hall to help. The moment you crossed the threshold, it felt like you'd stepped back in time.

The warm, familiar kitchen space was bustling with activity. Mrs. Lin stood at the stove, expertly maneuvering pots. Mr. Lin stirred gravy on the other side, his brow furrowed in concentration. There was even a small army of Tupperware and bowls covering every spare countertop.

Your nose twitched at the scent of rosemary, sage, and basil swirling together. They made space for your mom, who was removing her homemade rolls from the oven heat with a pair of bright red mitts. You smirked slightly.

The Lins' kitchen had always been a place of warmth and comfort, even from the first moment you stepped into it so many years ago. It was a living memory, a scrapbook filled with laughter and the smells of comfort.

The walls were painted in a soft, buttery yellow that glowed under the warm overhead lights, and the cabinets were made of rich wood that matched the worn, well-loved floorboards. The windows were always open, letting in fresh autumnal air and fading light that reflected off the various mahogany accents scattered around the room.

It was a kitchen you associated with homework at the counter, with secret snacks during sleepovers, and with being shooed out of the back door by Mrs. Lin as she cooked. You'd snuck in that same backdoor on late nights as much as you and Qiu had been chased out of it. There's a reason why some people say the kitchen is the heart of the house.

As silly as it sounded, it felt like your own heart was beating in sync with every bubbling pot and crackling pan.

"You sure you even need help? Seems like we'd just be in the way," you chuckled. Sitting at the counter, Granny turned and wagged her finger at you with mock sternness.

"Nonsense, you kids—excuse me, adults—need to be put to work," she insisted. "Here, egg duty for the three of you. I need to make sure Opa isn't sleeping again. I swear, he'd miss the whole day if it wasn't for me," she grumbled before rising and making her escape.

"She knows Opa is going to be asleep. She just did that to get out of her own work," Tamarack murmured with a sigh. For a moment, she looked like a younger version of Granny—her expression, the way she crossed her arms, her wry smile. You'd heard it a thousand times before—how Tamarack had more of Granny in her than either of her parents. You couldn't help but smile at the resemblance, preferring it.

Tamarack grabbed an egg from the bowl, tapping it lightly against the granite counter before beginning to peel it. You and Qiu shared a look and, with a resigned shrug, formed a makeshift assembly line. Tamarack peeled the eggs, Qiu sliced them in half and scooped out the yolks, and you mixed the filling, stirring in mayo, mustard, and paprika before spooning it back into the waiting whites.

The three of you slipped into an easy rhythm, light conversation flowing between you. You laughed over things you'd seen on the internet, movies you'd recently watched, and memories of past Thanksgivings. For a moment, it was easy to pretend that nothing had changed, that you were just three friends, laughing and working side by side, just like before.

But every so often, someone would mention college—an anecdote, a funny story, a new friend—and the illusion would shatter like glass, the reality slicing your skin. You had nothing to offer in these moments, nothing to relate except a smile here, a nod there, and every so often a shared huff of annoyance in reference to studying.

The eggs were finished, and so was the rest of the food. After a chaotic setting of the table—filled with jostling, teasing, and Granny's laughter echoing from the doorway—you all finally sat down to eat. The table was overflowing with dishes—classic Thanksgiving staples like turkey, stuffing, and cranberry sauce, but also foods that reflected your friends' heritages.

Things like mooncakes that Qiu's family would get for the Mid-Autumn Festival, but always again for this special occasion, each one delicately shaped and filled with lotus paste. Granny had brought her famous kartoffelsalat, a potato salad recipe passed down from Mr. Baumann's mother and her mother before her, all the way back to Germany.

And, of course, your mom's pumpkin pie sat in the center, much to Qiu's noticeable relief.

The table buzzed with conversation as everyone ate, voices overlapping in a warm, familiar sound. You reached for one of the rolls, but your hand collided with Qiu's at the exact same moment. They swatted your hand away with a playful grin, snatching up the last one.

"Hey!" you exclaimed, feigning outrage. Qiu just laughed, eyes twinkling with that mischief that was oh-so-them.

"Gotta be quicker than that," they teased, but in the same breath, they were tearing the roll in half, offering you a piece with a soft, almost unconscious gesture of affection.

Cheeks flaming, you took the role without even a quip, which was unusual—normally, you never let Qiu have the last word. Beside you, Tamarack chuckled, and you nudged her gently with your elbow.

"I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but you've still got it bad, huh?" Tamarack whispered, her tone teasing. Qiu was busy explaining to Granny again what they were studying at school; their animated voice faded into the background.

"Sh-shut up!" you hissed louder than you intended. It was the first time she had ever blatantly referred to what you both knew. "Don't… don't make it obvious," you murmured in a pleading tone, and you busied your hands by cutting into your food.

Tamarack's giggle was light and knowing, her eyes dancing with amusement. "I don't think you need my help to do that," she whispered back with a smug grin. This time, you actually elbowed her, but she just laughed, clearly enjoying your discomfort.

Eventually, the conversation shifted, and you knew what was coming before anyone even opened their mouth. The topic of college and futures turned, unfortunately, to you.

"How's school?" someone asked, and you braced yourself.

"Fine," you mumbled through a mouthful of mashed potatoes, hoping the food would muffle the sound of your anxiety.

"Enjoying your classes?" Came the next question.

"Yeah, they're great!" You stated a little too brightly.

"Make any new friends?"

"Well…yeah, actually a few!" you replied, the lie sliding out of your mouth as easily as the rest.

"How's work going?"

"Livin' the dream!" you quipped, flashing a smile that felt more like a grimace.

The table laughed, but it was the same polite laughter you'd heard a hundred times before—the same interview questions, the same rehearsed answers, a tired script playing out on an endless loop.

Then Granny's voice broke through the noise, unexpected and sharp.

"So, what can you even do with that? Your degree?"

"Dorthea…" Mr. Baumann sighed beside her, his tone laced with a familiar exasperation.

"Omi!" Tamarack chided, her eyes wide with disbelief.

"What? It's an honest question!" She defended herself. "You hear about these college kids studying things they can't even live on, saddled with debt. I'm only a concerned guardian. What, especially with everything that's gone on in the past, I only wanted to make sure they're thinking it through, is all."

Her words hung in the air, cold, like someone had left the dining room window open. It sliced through the warm buzz of the room, and suddenly, it was like the Hallmark golden veneer of the moment faded to the washed-out greys you knew too well.

The table went silent except for the soft clinking of silverware against plates. Granny looked around, realizing too late that she had put her foot in her mouth. "Oh, there I go again," she murmured, sighing. "I'm not trying to be the bad guy…"

You stared at your plate, feeling…nothing. Of course, no one spoke up. They probably thought she was right, and you didn't have the energy to defend yourself. Not like when you were younger and would have reacted in venomous anger.

It wasn't like you even could defend yourself if you wanted to. School, your job, even the act of getting out of bed some days—these were all just formalities you performed so people wouldn't pry too deeply.

You didn't care what she thought. What anyone thought. To hell with them. To hell with all of it. You didn't care… so why was your stomach churning, and why couldn't you look up? Why couldn't you meet anyone's gaze?

"Whatever they want," Qiu's clear voice broke through the tension. Your eyes lifted to see them giving Granny a flat, unyielding look. "They can do whatever they want with their degree. Besides, it's not really your business at the end of the day," they finished gently but with a tone of silk over steel.

The table watched quietly as the two stared each other down. Qiu then shrugged and took a drink from their glass, dismissing it like Granny had asked about the weather.

You'd almost forgotten there was this part of Qiu. That biting, 'you're either with it or you're not' attitude. The fierce, unwavering protector, the one who was just as much the mediator as they were the one who stood their ground and didn't flinch. To bite their thumb in the face of authority when it really mattered.

It was the side that reminded you why you'd fallen in love with them in the first place.

"Qiu, that's not—" Mrs. Lin started, but Granny raised her hand, a look of contrition crossing her face.

"No, no, Qiu is right," Granny nodded, seeming to understand the unspoken line she had crossed. "I'm sorry," she said, turning back to you. "That wasn't polite of me to ask, and even if it was, I went about it very ungracefully. I know you all must think I'm full of sage wisdom at my age, but even I still make mistakes." She chuckled, and a few others followed suit, but the awkward air lingered like smoke in a closed room.

"The tree farm!" Tamarack suddenly blurted out, snapping the tension like a wishbone. You raised an eyebrow. The tree farm?

"We're going tomorrow, right?" she continued, her eyes darting around the table with earnest hope in them. Your brain finally caught up with her words. Every year since you were ten, your three families piled into cars and drove out of the city to a family-owned tree farm to cut down your Christmas trees.

It was a whole day event—an unofficial ceremony that marked the true beginning of the holiday season. When Tamarack Baumann was finally allowed to relish in and shower her Christmas cheer on everyone around. Your cul-de-sac's very own holiday cheer meister and Santa Claus.

You could almost hear her humming Christmas carols under her breath and see her grinning from ear to ear as she dragged everyone through rows of trees taller than the sky. You'd almost forgotten about it…how was that possible?

The memories flooded back, of snow-dusted laughter, steaming mugs of hot chocolate, and Qiu's smile beneath a mist of frosty breath. The moments you cherished—the warmth that filled you from the inside out, even on the coldest days.

But now, thinking about it only reminded you of how much had changed, how there was no guarantee this would happen again. How much more complicated things felt. If Tamarack hadn't said anything, would this have just been another memory that remained just that? You swallowed, trying to clear the lump that had formed in your throat.

"I don't see why not if the Lins and the Seconds are for it. It is a tradition, after all," Granny interjected, seeming to try and make up for her previous fumble.

"A tradition! Yes!" Tamarack exclaimed, her eyes lighting up as she turned to you and Qiu as if the two of you were her last hope.

Qiu gave a quick nod, their smile warm, "Yeah, we definitely can't miss that."

"Great," Mr. Lin chimed in. He clasped his hands together, that quiet enthusiasm he always seemed to carry filling the air. "Us older adults can take our car. Would you be okay chauffeuring on the other end?" Mr. Lin and the rest of the table's attention fell back onto you.

"Uh, yeah, sure." You nodded, feeling a small surge of pride. It almost felt good to be old enough to be depended on, to have some small responsibility that made you feel trusted.

"I'm getting the perfect tree this year. I can feel it," Tamarack declared with confidence, eyes closed like she was already picturing the evergreen tree.

"Tamarack, last you picked a tree so tall you guys had to put it in your backyard and get another one," Qiu teased.

"That's why this year is going to be perfect. I've learned from my mistakes." She quipped back with a smirk. The table burst into laughter, and the tension that had hovered in the air just minutes ago seemed to melt away, dissolving like sugar in hot tea.

With bellies full and plenty of leftovers, the group began the ritual of cleaning up. You and Qiu were assigned dish duty while Tamarack busied herself with loading food into Tupperware for people to take home.

The kitchen had a quiet busyness about it. Every so often, you'd hear Granny or your mom laugh aloud. You and Qiu stood side by side at the sink, the warm water flowing over your hands as you washed and rinsed. Tamarack hummed behind you, working on her own task. For a moment, it was just the two of you again, the rest of the world fading into the background.

"Thanks for earlier," you mumbled, barely louder than the water, as you scraped at a stubborn piece of food on a plate. "You didn't have to—y'know—say anything."

Qiu glanced at you, their expression softening, a small smile pulling at the corners of their mouth. "Of course I did. Granny will just keep going if no one stops her, and what she said wasn't cool."

They paused for a moment, thinking about their words before speaking; their dark eyes were searching yours. "I just don't get why you always look like you're in trouble when someone brings up that kind of stuff. You're…doing great."

You handed a plate to them to be rinsed without meeting their gaze. Of course, they'd think that. You'd damned yourself to make it so.

"Right…" You only offered in response. Their hand brushed yours as they reached for the dishcloth, and your heart gave a little leap.

The contact was brief, fleeting, but it left a spark in its wake, an electricity that hummed between you like a live wire.

The dumbest thing, you thought. This was a person you'd spent the night within each other's rooms for years, sharing beds, and now you acted as if you were a Victorian who'd touched someone's hand without a glove.

Your cheeks burned, heat rushing to your face as you quickly returned to the dishes, scrubbing harder as if trying to wash away the emotions rising to the surface. The room seemed to shrink around you, the silence thickening. Qiu, usually so effortlessly chatty, was suddenly focused on a single spot on a wine glass, rubbing it over and over as if it might reveal some secret if they just polished hard enough.

It was then you noticed the absence of Tamarack's humming. Glancing over your shoulder, you saw her watching the two of you, her eyes wide, caught in the act of witnessing something unspoken.

"Oh! All done here! You guys need any help?" She stammered, scrambling to place a lid on an overfilled bowl of mashed potatoes.

"Nah, this was the last glass. I'll get the bigger stuff later," Qiu replied too quickly. Even though you offered to finish, Qiu would not be swayed. You felt the evening slipping away, an ache in your chest at the thought of it ending.

"Well…" you started, searching for an excuse, any excuse, to hold onto this moment a little longer. "I'd say we've earned ourselves a little walk, don't you think, Qiu?" You raised your eyebrows, a devil-may-care smile forming.

Qiu immediately caught your undertone and nodded with a knowing smirk. "I think you'd be right. A nice nature walk. We've earned it."

Tamarack looked between the two of you, suspicion narrowing her eyes. "A walk? I don't wanna go for a walk. Why—" Then she stopped, her eyes narrowing further. "Oh. A walk. Really?"

Qiu shrugged, playing innocent, and you simply gave a mischievous smile. "Exactly; what better time for a walk than after so much food."

Tamarack rolled her eyes with a long, exaggerated sigh. "Fine."

With a shared conspiratorial grin, the three of you slipped out the back door as if you were still teenagers sneaking away, even though you were past the age of needing anyone's permission. The forest loomed ahead, shadows thickening beneath the trees. The air felt cooler, sharper as if it were holding its breath in anticipation. Waiting for the three of you to return under it's branches.

Qiu slung an arm over your shoulder, their laughter light and carefree. You felt yourself stumble, caught between the want to lean closer and the fear of falling.

Tomorrow, you told yourself. Tomorrow, I'll say something. But for tonight, you let yourself pretend that time wasn't marching on, that it was just you and your two best friends sneaking out into the dark for a relaxing walk like nothing had changed at all.

Part 4

#ahhh I hope this isn't too long #feedback welcome #our life #our life: now & forever #our life now and forever #our life: now and forever #olnf #olnf qiu #qiu lin x reader #fanfic #qiu lin

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padfootagain · 6 months ago

Text

Grey Days

Hi everyone! Here is a little Hozier oneshot for today! It’s a little sad, but mostly hurt/comfort. Did I write it after crying when I watched that interview he did where he spoke about his struggle with mental health? Yes. Obviously. I want to give him so many hugs…

I hope you like it! Tell me what you think!

****

Pairing: Hozier x fem!reader

Warnings: hurt/comfort, angst, mentions of depression

Summary : Andrew is used to feel low sometimes, he has been plagued by those periods for as long as he can remember. But if he usually solves his sadness by being alone, this time, the antidote to his pain might be you.

Word Count : 2671

Hozier’s Masterlist – Main Masterlist

There were days like this, where everything was grey for no reason.

The sky rolling with clouds, heavy with rain, threatening with thunder, for sure wasn’t helping. But Andrew couldn’t pretend that it was at fault. Nor was the season, spring was on the horizon after all. There were boughs staining the branches, the first flowers blooming, the air a little warmer, the wind calmer than the winter storm. The birds had been chirping all morning, even if they had quietened now, under the menace of rain. He should be happy. The sun was high this morning, he had gotten some work done at Alex’s, he had had a nice lunch with his parents. Nothing but positive things, in theory.

And yet Andrew could feel his skin crawling, the tears that threatened to rise and spill, the numbness that came with spleen. Christ, melancholy was such a bitch, sometimes.

It was a bad day, the voices in his head were louder than usual. Despite the distractions he couldn’t keep them down. He kept on thinking about the pieces of songs he had recorded this morning with Alex, and on the spot they sounded good. Now, all he had left was doubt. For sure, none of it was good enough, and his lyrics were all over the place, and they didn’t do the subject justice… the didn’t do you justice…

He felt the burn in his eyes and the tightening in his throat again, his breathing grew more laboured, so he took a deep breath. He was driving, now was not the time…

And yet the thoughts were still there. As he entered his tiny town, the swirling of voices kept shouting.

Not good enough…

Don’t know how to write a proper song…

Got lucky with one song, will never be good enough again…

Imposter…

He entered his driveway, parked the car there. He didn’t notice your car until he was turning his head towards the front door.

Fuck…

He wasn’t in the mood for socialising, for pretending that everything was alright, for playing perfect boyfriend…

Another person you’ll end up disappointing…

Another thing in your life you don’t deserve…

He closed his eyes for a moment, tried to shush the voices. Just voices. It was just his busy head being louder than usual.

He just needed to calm down…

Damn, he should have called to cancel for tonight. You had a date night planned, you had told him you would come to his place early to start preparing dinner. You weren’t living together but he had a change of keys to your place, and you had one to his. He didn’t need to be home for you to come in.

Yesterday, Andrew was thinking about asking you to move in with him, to make a common home out of his large house.

She’d never say yes to you anyway…

He clenched his jaw, until his teeth gritted.

Just voices. Just voices. He was okay, he was fine…

It was just dinner, and it would be lovely. He loved you, he would have a great time…

He blinked his eyes open, brushed the wetness from his eyelashes.

Put on a brave face for her, come on…

He released some of the tension across his jaw, finally let go of the steering wheel. The soreness in his fingers made him realise how tightly he had been holding it.

He had no strength left in his body to open the car door, but he did it anyway. He was kind of used to it, the falls that followed the heights. It hadn’t happened in a long time. So bad, out of nowhere? Probably a year. Yeah, not long after the two of you started dating. It was pretty smooth after that. There were days when he didn’t feel great, but he didn’t feel terrible. With no energy left in his frame, no positive thoughts on his mind, no faith in himself, and no social battery either. Usually, when he felt like this, he simply locked himself up for a couple of days. The solitude usually helped. And now, he needed to be left alone, or at least he thought so. Besides, he would be in a terrible mood all evening, you would properly get tired of the sight and his sharp tone very quickly. And he didn’t want to take it out on you, it wasn’t fair, and he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t. He was too tired to be angry anyway.

He unlocked the front door, was welcomed by the smell of spices. It should have made him smile, but instead, his heart clenched.

He took off his shoes and jacket, slowly, too slowly. Any other day he would have hurried to join you.

Tonight, all he wanted was to be alone, to not talk to anyone, to get out of his clothes that felt like a burden too heavy to carry, and get under the covers, and lie there for the rest of the night, and maybe throughout tomorrow too.

Instead, he walked to his kitchen, nervously rubbing at his palms. God, he bet he looked terrible. He didn’t have a hair tie, and his hair was frizzy with the humid air, and he felt so fucking ugly when he entered the room, knowing he looked like a mess in sweatpants and an old t-shirt when you looked stunning, the most beautiful woman he had ever seen…

You didn’t seem to notice, because when you saw him, you let out an excited gasp and hurried into his arms.

Why did the feeling of you in his embrace make him want to cry?

“Hi, baby! How was your day?”

He cradled the back of your head in his large hand, gently, as if you could break under his touch. He rested his lips on the top of your head, took a deep breath of your shampoo, the scent so familiar, so soothing, so reassuring…

He closed his eyes.

It lasted a couple of seconds, and then the voices were back.

One day she’ll see you can’t make her happy…

He pulled away.

“Good,” he answered elusively, forcing a smile, but he knew it was tight-lipped. “Busy.”

“Did you get some work done with Alex, then?”

“Hmm… loads.”

“Good! You must be tired then, you can sit down, I’m almost done!”

He looked at the meal you were making for the two of you. You had set up the table, had even lit up some candles. It was fucking nice, so damn romantic…

“Smells amazing,” he complimented, but you seemed to notice that there was no light left in his voice. “Gonna take a shower before joining you, okay?”

“Sure! But… you’re okay, honey?”

Honey… Honey…

“Yeah, just… tired. Long day. I won’t take long.”

You nodded, offering a smile and he did his best to give it back.

He thought the shower would help, but it didn’t. He almost let the floodgates open while the warm water numbed his muscles, made his body feel like it wasn’t there at all. He had even less strength as he walked out of the shower. But at least, now, he was wearing a shirt and black jeans, and he had tied his hair in a low bun, looking close to presentable. He was wearing his glasses, he didn’t have the energy to put some contacts on.

When he entered the kitchen again, you had poured some red wine, were humming to a tune he didn’t know, checking the cooking of your vegetables.

“Almost done! Perfect timing!” you announced with pride.

“Thank you for cooking tonight,” he let out in a breath.

He knew his shoulders were bent, he knew you had noticed the way he was trying to look as small as possible. He read it in your frown. He nervously rubbed at his collarbone, felt irritated now.

She’s doing all this for you, you can’t get mad for nothing. It’s not her fault, calm down.

He sat down, as you invited him to do so. You brought food a couple of minutes later, and he asked you about your day. But unlike any other day, it wasn’t out of genuine curiosity and fondness; he simply didn’t want to speak.

He had done a good job at playing pretend the rest of the day, but he had no energy left to keep the mask on. The cracks were all over his features, in every forced smile, in every glance, in every blinking of tears. Your food was delicious, he complimented you on it, forced himself to swallow it fully, even if he felt like he might throw up if he kept on eating.

“Andy?”

He looked up again, noticing all of a sudden that he hadn’t paid attention to the conversation in a few minutes.

“Hmm?”

“Are you going to tell me what’s bothering you?”

You offered him a kind smile, reached for his hand across the table. An anchor, an intimate gesture of support.

His throat tightened, he couldn’t find his voice.

“Baby… it’s just me. Why are you all closed up all of a sudden?”

He gave you a sad smile, although he had aimed for it to be reassuring.

“Just…”

Just tired was the excuse, but then again, he didn’t feel like lying now. Didn’t have the strength for it. Maybe if he were honest now, you’d show him the voices were right, you’d realise what a loser he could be sometimes, how you should leave…

Shut! Up!

“It’s just… it’s just a bad day.”

“What happened?”

“Nothing. I mean… nothing in particular, I just… I don’t know… sometimes my head gets messy with thoughts for no reason. I’ve been working a lot for the past couple of months, it’s more frequent when I’m tired.”

Slowly, you nodded.

“It’s pretty bad today, right?” you asked, and he nodded.

“I’m sorry. Your meal is truly delicious, and I was really excited about having a date night. I know I’m kind of… fucking up the mood.”

“It’s okay. It’s not your fault.”

“Isn’t it?” he asked with bitterness in his voice, and he clenched his jaw at the sound.

He wouldn’t let himself get angry against you. He was in love with you. So fucking much. And you didn’t deserve that.

“There’s nothing wrong with feeling down sometimes, Andy.”

He looked down at his empty plate.

“It’s a bit worse than that.”

He heaved a sigh.

“I’m fine though, it just… It just needs to pass. I’ll be back to normal in a couple of days.”

“What do you usually do when something like that happens?”

“Erm… I just… shut down, basically. Wallow in self-pity for a while,” he tried to joke, managed to get a smile out of you. “I just… lock myself up on my own until I feel really low, and then I go out, and… it lingers a few days, sometimes a few weeks, but by then I can put a mask on again.”

“Do you put that mask on with me?”

“It hadn’t been so bad in a long time.”

“And when it’s not as bad?”

He shrugged.

“There’s no need to worry you about that.”

You raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.

“I’m your girlfriend. I tell you when I’m unwell.”

He started rubbing at his collarbone again, until the skin turned a bright shade of red.

“I don’t particularly enjoy talking about it,” he replied, his tone dry and distant.

“But I… you know you can trust me, right? That you can talk with me about these things…”

“I know… It just doesn’t help. I know how to handle this, I’m fine. I promise.”

Slowly, you nodded, but he could feel that your silence was a bad sign.

“So… usually, you just… spend time alone?”

“Yeah.”

“And it helps.”

“Yeah… yeah, it does. I just… I’m kind of introverted, in case you haven’t noticed,” he gave you a small smile. “I recharge my batteries when I’m alone.”

You seemed to be thinking for a few seconds, and then you were standing. He looked up at you in surprise.

“I should leave you alone, then.”

“Wh… what?”

“You said you needed to be alone… you should have told me, I would have let you have a moment on your own. It’s fine. I get it, if that’s what you need.”

He blinked up, not fully registering what you were doing. His brain jumped to the worst-case scenario, as per usual.

“Are you… are you breaking up with me?”

“What?! Of course, not!”

“You… you’re leaving…”

“Because you said you needed to be on your own for the evening. That’s okay. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

You heaved a sigh, took his hand in yours.

“Andy, I’m very happy with you. I know you love me. There’s nothing wrong in needing to spend some time on your own. You should have just told me. I’ll give you some space for tonight.”

You took his face in your hands, dropped a gentle kiss to his lips.

“I love you, baby,” you whispered as you pulled away. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

And with that you left the room. He heard you fumbling with your things in the hallway.

Being alone was what he needed. He had always longed to take a step back from everyone, even his partners, when he felt like this.

Except that tonight he didn’t want you to leave. He didn’t want to be alone. He wanted to hold you as tightly as he could, and cuddle in bed, and just forget about the world outside your arms, let you hold him until he couldn’t have a single thought anymore…

He jumped to his feet, rushing across the house as you put on your coat.

“Don’t go.”

The plea cut the air like a knife.

He blinked tears away.

“Please, don’t go. I don’t want you to go,” he confessed.

“But you said…”

“I don’t want you to go.”

“I won’t be mad if you want to take the night for yourself.”

“Y/N. I don’t. Want you. To go.”

He struggled to swallow back the lump in his throat.

“Please… please, don’t leave.”

You stared at him for a moment, motionless. But then you put your coat back on its hanger, took off your shoes.

When you walked back to him, he almost started to cry.

“You’re sure?”

“Yes… please…”

Before you could say anything else, he was holding you in a tight embrace, one that you quickly reciprocated.

“What do you want us to do, then?” you asked, rubbing his back, and for the first time that day, he felt his muscles relax.

“Honestly… I just want to go to bed, cuddle with you and not move until… the end of the month.”

You laughed, kissing his shoulder through his shirt.

“Well, we’ll have to get up before that I’m afraid… but cuddling for the rest of the evening sounds nice.”

He heaved a relieved sigh.

“I’m sorry, I’m fucking up our date night… it was so lovely of you to cook and everything…”

“It’s okay. It’s fine.”

“You’re not mad?”

“Of course not.”

“Good… that’s grand…”

He finally pulled away, took your hand to guide you to his bedroom. The dishes would have to wait for tomorrow.

He got ready for bed first, and then waited for you. And while he was looking at you as you moved around the bed, plugging in your phone, setting up an alarm for the morning, drinking some water… all he wanted was to hold you close. You were the first person who made him feel that way. Who made him long for companionship even when he felt so low…

… and then, you were in bed, opening your arms for him to settle in your embrace, letting him bury his face in the crook of your neck.

Perhaps this one time, his busy brain was wrong. Perhaps you wouldn’t leave. Perhaps he would stay. And maybe, just this one time, not all things would end…

#hozier #andrew hozier byrne #the hoziest #hozier x reader #hozier x you #hozier x y/n #hozier fanfiction #hozier fanfic #hozier fic #fanfiction #fanfic #fic #writing #oneshot #hozier oneshot

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winterrain-11 · 3 months ago

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some more gravity falls hcs :3

(a lot of these are sad)

cw for drug use, mentions of abuse, major character death, and other such depressing things

- mabel starts swearing like a sailor after the summer (ik that stan made an effort not to swear around the kids, but i don’t think ford did, and it made stan’s filter slip more) and gets in trouble for it at home. when stan finds out he tries to hard to pretend to be mad but he’s lowkey proud

- the twins have to fight tooth and nail to teach their grunkles to use a cellphone, especially facetime. they eventually get the hang of it, but the first few months at sea were two hour facetimes of the grunkle’s chins just bickering at each other and assorted “how’s it hanging pumpkin? how’s school?”

- stan and ford watched westerns nonstop as kids (though ford was more into star trek and doctor who) and they played cowboys often. stan was OBSESSED with cowboys and briefly tried to work as a ranch hand while he was homeless in his 20s

- dipper and mabel have a love/hate relationship with cw’s supernatural. mabel thinks the boys are hot and is definitely a destiel shipper. dipper loves the genuine supernatural-ness of the early seasons and now still watches it kind of as a joke but also because mabel got him on the destiel train. the last two episodes ruined their lives.

- the twins have opposite reactions to weed. it makes ford’s paranoia really bad and makes him nauseous, but it makes stan’s adhd brain quiet for once and allows him to relax for once. when dipper and mabel get older, they have very similar reactions. when stan catches mabel smoking, he tries to be responsible about it and tell her that smoking is bad for her and to not end up like him, but eventually they just smoke together on occasion.

- mabel is significantly better at guessing plot twists than dipper (in books, movies etc) and dipper DESPISES this fact (i think it’s the same for the stan twins too tbh)

- stan dies first, ford dies almost exactly a year later.

- stan picks up guitar while he’s homeless, uses it to make a bit of money on street sides. he teaches mabel in her teen years when his hands get to old to play.

- when ford and fiddleford rekindle, stan and fiddleford bond over regaining memory. they both relearn their instruments together (guitar and banjo respectively) and enjoy singing along to old outlaw country and appalachian folk rock (stan picked it up in his travels).

- (cont.) ford suggests music because it’s known to help dementia and alzheimer’s patients with regaining memories, and while that’s true, he really more just enjoys seeing his two favorite people happy again.

- both ford and stan think the other voted for trump (2016), neither of them did. stan thought hilary was hot (and thought trump was a loser) and ford voted third party (sorry he gives me centrist vibes). i imagine they both vote dem in 2020 and 2024 because they see trump as a much worse conman/asshole and a narcissistic sociopath respectively.

- (cont.) the twins have heard the stan’s complain about the other’s political ideologies and know that they vote the same but refuse to tell the other. wendy is also in on this and they all have to tackle soos on several occasions to keep him quiet before election day.

- nate and lee definitely explored each other’s bodies and when they finally came out to the friend group everyone was super confused because they assumed that they had been dating for years

- ford has a very addictive personality. while stanley does too, he can restrain himself (doesn’t smoke or drink around the kids, doesn’t lose himself in gambling), ford picks up smoking on the stan-o-war II and doesn’t stop until he dies. Stan has refused to go to Vegas with him even though ford begs, but stan knows an addict when he sees one. ford never acknowledges his problem.

- stan doesn’t tell ford about his homelessness and abuse at the hands of his father/pimps/drug lords until they’re several months deep on the stan-o-war II and certain things start to trigger his PTSD. Ford listens and opens up about his abuse under Bill and his life of crime in the multiverse. they definitely cry together for a long time.

- (cont.) Stan only tells the kids when they’re in college. mabel self destructs a bit during this period trying desperately to find herself and stan is terrified that she’ll go down his path of dangerous desperation for self-worth and wants her to know that he knows how she feels, they grow even closer because of this.

- stan did drag for a short period of time around the southwest in his homelessness. at first he was forced to do it to be degraded, but once he got his autonomy back, he began to do it on his own accord and really enjoyed it/was really good at it. he tried to convince himself that ‘he wasn’t queer or anything’ and was just doing it for the money, but he never really fully believed that. (where he learned to wear a girdle)

- once again. stan wanted to be a cowboy so bad okay i know this in my heart of hearts. this man LOVES clint eastwood and johnny cash and RAHHHH i know it.

#gravity falls #sorry these are all so fucking depressing #holds stanley pines in my cupped hands #me vs being sad abt these old men #gravity falls headcanons #stan pines #dipper pines #stanley pines #fiddleford mcgucket #mabel pines #soos ramirez #stanford pines #ford pines #fiddlestan #my headcanons

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merakiui · 4 months ago

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Hey Mera! What about noncon Floyd who is in heat, he's a lot more silent and irritated , fuming like a cannister ready to blow on the first person who misses him off. He makes his way to the cafeteria and low and behold, his shrimpy! Just the person he wanted to see! What's this Crabby chan is hanging on to your shoulder and your laughing at the fight Grim and Sebek are having, the usual group of first years never leave your side. Jealously is such an ugly thing rearing it's head as he makes his way over to the table and yanks you from Ace's side and drags you out the cafeteria letting all pray for your se return with the look Floyd had on his face that's all they could do is sweatdrop and gaze at you. Once put of the cafeteria you tried calling his name out but with no response you wondered what you did wrong? It didn't take long for your thoughts to be preoccupied by your safety when you were thrown in the nearest bathroom marked out of service and hearing a locked door seeing Floyd's shadow was enough to scare any all who crossed his path

:O !!!! non-con with a heat-addled Floyd omg!!!

I imagine he's so intimidating up until you're alone in the bathroom with him. Once that door is shut, he's crumpling against you, pressing his hips to yours so you can feel his hard-on,,, can see the very obvious wet patch on his slacks from the sheer amount of pre-cum leaking through... frustrated tears in his eyes as he mumbles about how uncomfortable it is having to go through mating season in human form. >_< everything hurts, he can't regulate his body temperature, he can't focus, his emotions are all over the place, he's more hyper-aware than normal. It's all so much all at once. Please help him. You've got to!! It's unbearable,,, please please please pleasepleaseplease!!!!

He's going on and on about how he needs to do this, apologizing in between his panting, as he essentially manhandles you into a proper position for breeding,, pushing you up against the wall and hastily tearing at your clothes. He's so sorry; please don't hate him. He just really needs a soft, warm hole to put his clutch (read: cum). It would be so much easier if he was a mer..... T^T

Floyd who needs to make sure you smell like him because in this moment he hates the smell of your friends on you, especially that Crabby. >:( the smell of him on Shrimpy (his Shrimpy) is so irritating. He fucks you until he can't cum anymore, until the majority of his delirium has abated for now. He clings, though, mer instincts fighting with human feelings. He needs to stay and protect mate and provide for mate and make sure mate is okay. Non-con aftercare.

The last few days of his heat are spent alone in bed beneath the blankets. He's immensely depressed, not only because he handled his mate so roughly but also because he couldn't give you a clutch because he's in human form. It's so bad he doesn't want to get up or do anything. He doesn't eat or drink. He doesn't shower or go to class. He just,,, rots there. Floyd's sadness is so palpable that not even Jade can handle being in the room for more than a few minutes. It's very concerning and it hurts to see him in such a state. Mating seasons are never enjoyable for merfolk who aren't mated, and it's particularly rough on mers like Floyd who feel so much. Maybe bringing you in might help ease some of his melancholy. Whether you want to see him or not doesn't matter. You aren't given much of a choice in this matter.

#twisted chit chat #n/sfw #tw: noncon

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reidsworld · 6 months ago

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Winter’s Constant

Summary: You have always dreaded winter, every year it’s a challenge just to make it through the day. Except this year, things are a bit different with Logan by your side. Based on this request.

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader

Category: Hurt/Comfort, Fluff

Content Warnings: Seasonal Depression

Word Count: 0.6k

Mars speaks… Thank you so much for requesting this, sorry that it is kind of short! I don’t know a lot about depression and seasonal depression so I tried my best to portray it.

Masterlist

Winter was on its way, and you could feel it in your bones. Every year, like clockwork, the first chill in the air sent a shiver down your spine, not just from the cold, but from the dread that settled in your chest. You knew what was coming—what always came with the snow and shorter days. The energy that had you buzzing with life in the summer, the endless side projects, the laughter that could fill a room, all of it would start to fade.

Every year, you told yourself it would be different. You’d try new techniques, new routines, anything to keep the shadows at bay. But each year, the same thing happened. Slowly, like the setting sun, you’d start sleeping more, your projects left half-finished, your once-lively spirit buried under layers of fatigue.

But this year…this year was different. You had Logan.

He noticed the shift before you even said anything. It started with how your hands slowed when working on your latest project, how your once constant, lively chatter—often rivaling Wade’s in volume and enthusiasm—began to taper off. The way your eyes lingered a little longer on the darkening sky. By the time you found yourself sleeping more than you were awake, Logan was already there, silently offering his presence, his warmth.

One day, as you lay curled up in bed, Logan slipped in beside you, his weight comforting as the bed dipped. He didn’t say anything at first, just laid there, letting you know he was there, that he wasn’t going anywhere.

“Thought it was gonna be different this year,” you mumbled into the pillow, your voice thick with exhaustion. “I told myself…just this once, it wouldn’t be like this.”

Logan’s rough hand found yours under the covers, his thumb brushing gently over your knuckles. “Ain’t your fault, darlin’,” he said softly. “You don’t have to fight it alone this time.”

His words were a balm to the ache inside. You knew Logan wasn’t the type to sugarcoat things or make promises he couldn’t keep, but when he said those words, you believed him. You believed that, even if the winter was dark and the shadows crept in, Logan would be there to light a fire, to keep you warm.

As the days grew colder, Logan stuck to his word. On the mornings when getting out of bed felt impossible, he’d coax you up with a cup of coffee, holding it just out of reach until you groaned and sat up. On the days when all you could do was lay on the couch, he’d sit with you, your head on his lap, as he absentmindedly stroked your hair, his presence alone enough to calm your racing thoughts.

And when you’d have those rare bursts of energy, when you’d suddenly decide you needed to finish that project or bake something, Logan was there, helping you without hesitation, never making you feel like you were too much or too little.

There were still bad days, of course—days when the weight of it all felt crushing, when you questioned whether you’d ever feel like yourself again. But with Logan there, those days didn’t seem as hopeless. He was your constant, your anchor, and though he never tried to fix you, his steady presence reminded you that you didn’t need fixing.

You knew winter would always be hard. But this year, for the first time in as long as you could remember, you felt like you had a chance. You had Logan, and that made all the difference.

Mars speaks… (again) Depression is a serious condition, and it’s okay to ask for help. You don’t have to face it alone. If you are struggling or just need someone to talk to, my dms are always open🫶

#logan howlett x reader #logan howlett #logan howlett x fem!reader #logan howlett x you #logan howlett fanfiction #deadpool and wolverine #deadpool #wade wilson #wolverine x reader #wolverine #marvel #x men #fanfiction #fluff #angst #reidsworld

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lunabug2004 · 1 year ago

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Guys whatever you do don’t think about the fact that Mike Wheeler gets no comfort while watching his best friend get taken over by a literal monster and then be in excruciating pain because of this monster, only to be lost to this monster in front of his own very eyes. Don’t think about the fact that despite being the only (aware) child in the situation, none of the adults around him ever try to check up on him or support him through this.

Then when Bob dies he’s the one providing comfort to Joyce when they run, he’s the one comforting and supporting the others by coming up with plans.

The only comfort he gets isn’t until the beginning of episode 9, when everything isn’t even over yet, and it’s too late. He’s already lost his trust in Hopper now. He kept El from him for almost a year, letting him soak in his own depression and self-guilt. He may stay by Hop after he comforts him because that’s what he is craving, it’s what he needs, but we’re back to disrespectful Mike in the next season bc obv it was too much for Mike to forgive Hop.

In season 1, we see a kid with his heart on his sleeve. He knows what he wants and he’s not afraid to tell people this, even when his own family is putting him down for it. But in s3, we see a kid who represses his emotions as far down as they’ll go, full of self-hatred, never opening up to anyone.

I believe this change is mainly due to these facts: 1) he was depressed for a whole year and no one ever picked up on it, again, no one comforted him, esp not his family. He probably thought he was being stupid, we already know he thought he was crazy. 2) at this point, he had been repeatedly shut down when voicing his thoughts (Lucas shutting down his worries about Will, Dustin yelling at him when he was grieving for Bob, Hopper immediately getting mad when he was voicing his frustrations), and he probably doesn’t think there’s any point to it anymore. No one ever listens to him anyways. And then 3) the complete lack of comfort he is (not) given throughout seeing Will, his best friend, suffer and being completely unable to help him. That is, until he’s forced to listen to his screams as he’s convincing the others to put Will to sleep.

So yeah… don’t think about that guys :)

#mike wheeler #stranger things #mike wheeler analysis #mike wheeler defender #mike wheeler defense squad #stranger things 2 #byler #mike wheeler theory #mike wheeler needs a hug #or a thousand #mike wheeler means the world to me #mike wheeler angst #sorry if I made y’all sad #but I made myself sad #you have to suffer with me #Jay’s saying stuff :)#Jay's talking ST <3

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most-normal-eccles-cake-ignorer · 1 year ago

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Good Omens: Lockdown and Crowley not mentioning his living situation in S2*

*till S2E6 when he asks if he can have his apartment back bc he's bored of living in his car but Aziraphale doesn’t hear bc mentally he’s in Alpha Centauri.

Having read the 'Crowley doesn't tell him' Neil Gaiman ask close to when I first listened to Lockdown (I lived under a rock until recently), my initial thought was HAS HE BEEN LIVING IN HIS CAR FOR YEARS?! but I think he was still in his apartment in 2020:

as far as Hell knows, Crowley just had a pool party in holy water (the holiest) so the higher-ups are probably willing to give him some space (plus Beelzebub is busy going on pub dates w Gabriel)

while there should be ~8 months between the end of Season 1 events (The Very First Day of the Rest of Their Lives on Sunday, Aug 25, 2019) and the Lockdown phonecall (on or near the 30 year anniversary on May 1, 2020), I can't imagine that's a very long time for Hell, especially if you're understaffed and busy dealing with fallout from Almostgeddon / going on pub dates

Shax dropping off mail and asking about the boiler seems like something one does in the first few months of living somewhere, not ~3 years in (if S2 is in 2023)

That said, I think the phone call underlines why Crowley never directly tells Aziraphale that he is living in the Bentley in S2, and it's just a great conversation (all hail Gaiman) sooo I wrote about it:

***Note: This post analyzes the Lockdown phonecall from Crowley's perspective only. Our heroine is feeling quite emotionally vulnerable at this point in time so things are going to hit him harder than they normally would.

I do not think Aziraphale meant to cause him pain (!!) but Crowley can't see that yet and I've written this post in a way that reflects that missing insight. (I explain in more detail in this reblog if you are interested) I am working on a companion post for Aziraphale's side of this conversation and how I think it affects his behavior in S2 because if we know anything about these two, it's that their exactlys are different exactlys.***

Crowley’s habit of sleeping to skip time like an RPG character by a campfire amuses me to no end, but in this context it feels heavy. Crowley already worries about losing time with what he loves and he probably hoped things would be different between him and Aziraphale after the events of S1. But things don’t change much. Then lockdowns start, and Crowley is trapped in his apartment alone, transcendentally bored, and unable to make his brain shut up. Sleeping a month away starts to sound less awful.

But Crowley hasn’t given up yet; he’s still awake when Aziraphale calls, and he’s even giving it two more days. Was he waiting for Aziraphale to call? Is it even possible not to at least kind of wait for someone’s call when you are cut off from everything and the caller has been your only friend and crush for millennia?

Aziraphale asks why Crowley isn't "out and about" tempting people or setting a bad example and he responds:

C: Everyone's so miserable and cooped up right now anyway, and I just… well… don't have the heart for it. A: *glowing audibly* I'm not miserable~ C: Really?

Crowley sounds genuinely surprised at Aziraphale's happiness and quickly assumes it's because the angel has been around people. He's so lonely/depressed/in his own head that he hadn't even considered someone enjoying being 'cooped up'. *sob*

Aziraphale goes No actually I put the closed sign up in the window and I'm having the Time of My Life, never had so few customers, not in 200 years!, etc. Although, he says:

A: …There were a few young lads a couple of nights ago who broke in through the back and tried to steal the cashbox! But they soon saw the error of their ways~ C: *clearly amused* Did you smite them with your wroth? A: Well I certainly gave them a good talking to, and I sent each of them home with cake~ C: *annoyed, swooning* Cake? A: Quite a lot of cake, actually. C: *physically ill from having such a giant crush on this dumbass baker/security guard* eeeekkkgghhh I'm gonna regret asking but.. ...rrgh.. *30 seconds of Aziraphale joyfully describing his baking while Crowley probably tries very hard not to imagine the angel eating each item in sensual slow motion* I stg you can hear him struggling in the background once or twice

A: …And once I've baked them, I have to eat them all myself, which was why I was so delighted— C: To send your burglars home laden with baked goods, yes, nnyeaayeah I follow…

Crowley interrupts, finishing Aziraphale's sentence in his nervous hurry to say the next bit:

C: *loud inhale* You know, I could.. hunker down at your place. … Slither over and watch you eat cake. I could bring a bottle--a case of… something… drinkable…?

He's trying to sound so casual about it but this is someone who was rejected/abandoned by actual literal God after asking what he thought were welcome, uncontroversial questions. Asking makes him vulnerable. He's supposed to be the rescuer, not a demon in distress. He does not feel casual about asking.

Crowley knows it's unlikely but he's so miserable and desperate for company that he can't help but ask, just in case. Even the smallest chance of spending time trapped indoors with Aziraphale—with nothing to do but drink, watch him eat, and talk about things they'd normally avoid—is too tempting.

A: *panicking* Oh I— I— I— I— I'm afraid that would be Breaking All The Rules! *nervous breathing* Out of the question! I'll see you… when this is over. C: Right. gnnehh. I'm setting the alarm clock for July. Good night, angel. *dial tone*

And just like that, Crowley doesn't need two days to decide. The depression nap doubles in length. He doesn't hear how badly Aziraphale wants to say yes behind the fear, or maybe he does and it hurts worse because why isn't Crowley enough for him? You can almost hear the spiralling:

SHOCKING, asking made it worse. It always does doesn’t it? Why even bother? you just embarrass yourself.. SLITHER over? why did I say that *grumble grumble* of COURSE His Holy Holiness, your only friend in the universe, would rather eat cake by himself while everything goes to shit than ~deign~ to have you in his presence. "AsK aND yE sHaLl ReCeIvE" bugger this for a lark im going to bed

(a bit dramatic but we've all been there)

I imagine sleep doesn't come right away. Maybe his thoughts drift to when he sat beside the angel at a dark Tadfield bus stop after a rather eventful Saturday. Crowley must've felt a tiny bit hopeful when he invited Aziraphale to stay with him: Heaven had withdrawn its favor and the bookshop was gone; Aziraphale was like him now. Didn't that mean things would change?

"I don't think my side would like that." Apparently not.

In the end, Aziraphale did ride the bus back to Crowley's apartment and stayed till the next morning when he caught a cab, but only to sell the illusion. Crowley understood that as far as sides went, the angel was still on Heaven's, even if Heaven wasn't on his.

And now this: the entire world is shut down; there is nothing for Aziraphale to do but stay in and read and bake in his magically reconstituted bookshop and he still won't invite Crowley in. Burglars and un-fallen angels only—nobody who asks questions.

So... of course Crowley doesn't tell Aziraphale when he loses his apartment. He already knows what answer he would get; the angel has told him so many times. Aziraphale is a company man first, a companion to one very sad owl when convenient.

If Crowley works up the courage to say 'please take me in, I have nowhere else to go' and Aziraphale goes 'sorry, no, far too political, but I WILL risk being erased from the Book of Life to protect this nude amnesiac former coworker who always hated me,' it's going to be too much. You can't sleep long enough for that type of hurt to go away. Better not to say anything.

"Then nothing has to change, does it?"

#edited to add the note about crowley's perspective right after the cut! apologies if it seemed anti-aziraphale before!#good omens meta #good omens lockdown #good omens 2 #ineffable husbands #ineffable spouses #ineffable divorcees #i can't even imagine navigating the pandemic brain scramblies while pining THAT HARD #Aziraphale is a company man (gn) but i think S3 will cure him of that #long but if i can't write essays about this on tumblr then where #good omens spoilers

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alittlebitofloveliness · 2 months ago

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How would you think the whole dynamic within the gang would be if ponyboy instead of dally dying

Ok I've been sitting on this one for a few days because I'm drowning in exam season and I wanted to answer it properly.

So, I'm gonna disclaimer this and say that my previous posts hold true. In canon verse if Pony had died, Johnny would have died too and Dally can't survive without Johnny, but this is a fun thought experiment so lets dive in!

Ok so there's a few scenarios I could see that result in Pony dying but not Dally, but I'm just gonna write the one I think is most likely because this is gonna be LONG. This version is the one where Pony is the one whose back gets broken in the church fire and he succumbs to his injuries, the way Johnny does in canon. In this universe there is no bittersweet Curtis brother reunion in the hospital. Instead, you have Johnny alone in the waiting room, pale faced and shaking, who only left Ponyboy's side when the doctors threatened to kick him out of the hospital (i've said it before and I'll say it again- Johnny is PROTECTIVE AF over Pony). In this universe you have Darry and Soda stumbling into the hospital looking shellshocked, and Soda is sobbing already, and Darry looks so lost and so scared and so guilty. In this universe you have a Darry and a Soda who don't leave the hospital, refuse to leave Pony's side, a Darry that begs Ponyboy for forgiveness when Pony is conscious and who is granted it even though it never feels like enough, a Darry that tells Pony over and over that he loves him, and who watches the doctors with young, terrified, hopeless eyes, that are grieving what he already knows and refuses to accept. You have a Soda who promises Ponyboy over and over that he'll be okay, that refuses to speak to the doctors or even Ponyboy when it becomes clear that Pony won't survive this, who leaves in a fit of tears when he can no longer ignore it and returns just in time for Ponyboy to croak out a final I love you as he takes his last breath. After that its chaos. The rumble still happens, but since the Curtis' didn't leave the hospital until now it happens after Pony dies. Soda is too inconsolable to fight, and Darry refuses to, grieving and cold and unable to, unable to do anything anymore, unable to even hope. Johnny doesn't fight either, and Dally calls him a pussy for it, tells him to do it for Pony and Johnny refuses, knowing it's not something Pony would have wanted. They get into a fight none of the rest of the gang ever expected to see, and Dally goes to the rumble along with Steve and Two-bit, he goes to the rumble but he doesn't fight fair, he pulls a blade and gets arrested, because he couldn't handle Pony's death any better than he could handle Johnny's he just handles it differently. Since he's already up on murder charges he takes the fall for killing Bob, protecting Johnny one last time in a final effort to preserve Pony's legacy or maybe just try and keep Johnny gold, despite their argument. Dallas Winston's story ends there, as effectively as it did in canon, and he spends the next twenty years behind bars. The fallout from Pony's death throws Johnny Cade into an even deeper depression, and (because he can't die in this au) after Pony's funeral, in which he delivers a eulogy that is a modified version of his letter in canon, he runs away from Tulsa, for good this time, leaving behind the only family he ever had, splintered, cracked and then broken beyond repair. He never comes back and no one ever hears from him again.

Darry and Sodapop return home, wracked with grief, and grief. Soda blames Darry for Pony's death, and Darry can't even argue. He blames himself too. They plan the funeral, bury Pony beside their parents just a few days after he took his last breath. At the funeral they're approached by a social worker. The death of a kid under his care has Darry Curtis under investigation for child abuse and gross child neglect. Whether he's convicted or not doesn't matter- in any case Sodapop Curtis is removed from his care effective immediately, as Darry is declared an unfit guardian. It doesn't matter that Soda wants to stay, he doesn't have a choice. Sodapop Curtis spends just over a year in foster care, not allowed to have any contact with his brother, apart from what he hears from Steve and Two-bit at school- which isn't much. He tries not to think about Johnny Cade who left without saying goodbye, or the little brother that did and never should have had to, and eventually takes a leaf out of Two-bit's book and starts drinking until the thoughts become hazy and the world gets quiet. He's had enough of noise to last a lifetime. Steve Randle stays by his side and tries everything he knows to bring back the version of Sodapop Curtis that Ponyboy knew, the one he loved. It takes about six months before he accepts that version of Sodapop is dead too, had died with Pony, and this husk of a man is the only real Soda that is left.

Two-bit Mathews left the hospital the night Ponyboy died with a bottle in his hand and hatred in his heart. He fought alongside Dally in the rumble, beat some kid soc barely bigger than Ponyboy until his knuckles were bruised and the socs face was more blood than skin. He watched Dally Winston give up, watched the fight in him burn bright until the cuffs were around his wrists and it was gone. Two-bit raised a can to the end of the hoodlum, toasted to the end of another east side kid who never had a chance, and hadn't stopped drinking since, stuck celebrating the bruised up tragedy they'd all never escape day after day. Some days, when he thinks maybe he could try it again, the thing called living that felt a lot like dying, he checks in on Darry Curtis and remembers there isn't any sort of point to that kind of trying.

Darry Curtis is a broken man. He's found not guilty on all charges, and Soda's eighteenth comes not two weeks later. The remaining two Curtis brothers reunite, the youngest one not the one who's supposed to be. They get up. They go to work. Darry Curtis works hard and watches the world around him and sees nothing. His eyes are shadows, his hands are regret, and his being is grief. Most folks don't talk to Darry much these days. Darry doesn't talk much either. He thinks sometimes, about his friends, about where Johnny might be, how Dallas might be doing, but usually he thinks of Ponyboy, of the brother he killed through his pride and his fear and his own stupid anger, and he wishes he couldn't think anything at all.

Darry comes home to too much dinner made in too normal colours and a brother whose eyes are far too foggy. Soda is home, and things should be better but they aren't, they never are, never will be again. There are liquor bottles in the cupboard that never used to be there, and a space in the bedroom down the hall that never should have been empty, and the house isn't full of anything anymore except grief.

Ponyboy Curtis died and everyone else survived. But none of them lived.

#the outsiders #ponyboy curtis #darry curtis #sodapop curtis #steve randle #two bit mathews #johnny cade #dallas winston

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crustaceousfaggot · 2 years ago

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So I've been thinking a lot about the setting of Disco Elysium. Specifically it being set in late winter/early spring. It's not something I've really seen anyone else bring up.

I mean, the symbolism seems pretty obvious right? Spring is the time of new beginnings, winter is ending and we're entering a time of potential and rebirth. Definitely nothing new. But I think it goes beyond that.

I live in one of the coldest major cities in the world. Not *the* coldest, but you'll be hard-pressed to find a city with over 1,000,000 inhabitants that gets colder than it gets here. Winters are long and brutal and difficult, and when the soil itself is frozen and covered in a foot of packed snow it's really hard to believe that the world could look any other way.

And don't get me wrong, winter is beautiful. The world is quiet and picturesque. There's none of the usual dirt and debris in the streets because it's all buried under the snow. The way that fresh snow sparkles under street lights at night is one of the most breathtakingly gorgeous things I've ever seen.

It's early April right now, and the snow is melting. It's not all gone, but it's getting there. When the air starts to warm up there's this feeling of excitement and anticipation in the air. Spring is here, and any second now the world will be bursting with new life and beautiful greenery.

But it's not. Not yet.

For about a month and a half after the snow starts to melt, the world is grey. No glittering snow, no budding flowers, no swirling red leaves, just puddles of brown water and lawns of brown grass. It's like winter had ended, but the world has yet to realize that it's supposed to be spring. Until it remembers, we're all trapped in a world where there is no season at all.

Sometimes it snows, but the snow never sticks around. Sometimes it rains, but the rain never brings flowers in its wake.

That last month of winter, that first month of spring, whatever you want to call it, is my least favourite time of year. I heard it described once as "the long-preserved corpse of autumn, finally allowed to rot", and that phrase stuck with me. There are eight month old leaves on the ground, skeletal and bleached grey by a winter trapped under the ice. Without the snow to cover it, you can't ignore just how much we've let our city go to shit. The trees are bare and skeletal, and even the evergreens look washed out and grey when they're not contrasted against the snow. Most of the birds aren't back yet, so the only sound outside my window is the ever-present hum of traffic.

It's impossible to ignore the movement and the sounds of humanity, but at the same time the world has never felt so stagnant.

I think there are all sorts of comparisons you could draw here, some of which hold up better than others. The one that first comes to mind for me is sobriety- the line "Full recovery will take years, though. It’ll be depressing. And it’ll be boring. Don’t expect any further rewards or handclaps." from the "Waste Land Of Reality"o thought is one which really stuck with me on my first playthrough, and one which feels especially appropriate here. But that's just one angle.

How much of this was intentional? I don't know. Probably not most of it. Part of me just wanted to go on a little tangent about the seasonal purgatory I'm trapped in once again. But I genuinely don't think there could be a better time of year to set a game like Disco Elysium. That bleak dusty shoulder season, where all the ugliest and most honest parts of nature and civilization are on display. The time of year where I've gone through the ringer and come out the other side, but everything still looks and feels like shit. It's just a different kind of shit.

Spring isn't here. Not yet. And when it does come, it won't fix anything. There will still be garbage on the ground and pollution in the air, there will still be class inequality and senseless violence and I will still be mentally ill.

But still.

For the first time in months, I can feel the wind against my skin without it hurting.

Whatever that's worth.

#I don't know what this is you guys #don't take it too seriously #i just had a thought and then I had to get all 'ooOoh this is very profound' about it #disco elysium #de #harry du bois #hdb #disco elysium meta #1k

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hauntingcryptids · 4 months ago

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Back In The Old Cemetery

Dhawan!Master x Reader - Previous Gomez!Master x Reader

Summary - On the anniversary of Missy’s death, you go to a nearby cemetery in order to remember and honour Missy in some way. However, you keep running into a random man throughout the day who seems determined to talk to you.

Based On This Request - Anonymous said - “Recently read “Did You Miss Me?” on your old blog, honestly amazing. If you’re open to it, may I request a similar scenario between Dhawan!Master x Reader? Maybe where they reunite for the first time after Missy’s death and admit they both still love each other despite the regeneration?”

Warnings - canon typical violence, references to season 10, descriptions of character death, romantic loss, sadness/depression, let me know if I missed anything and I will add it

Word Count - 4593

A/n - Gender Neutral Reader (but is referenced to own and be comfortable with wearing makeup). Requested by this lovely anon! Use of Y/n. Proofread but not beta read. I hope that you enjoy this! :)

This is loosely inspired by Hunter’s Moon by Ghost, primarily the second verse and just other Ghost songs and their vibe because I am obsessed with them.

Also, I’m sorry that this took so long. I was not having a great past couple of years. But I really appreciate the love for my old series(which I am slowly rewriting) and thank you so much for this request! I really hope that you enjoy this! :)

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You felt like you were being watched. You had been feeling this way for a while now, at least for the past couple of months. You just chalked it up to a bout of heightened anxiety, however, due to the camera-filled and 24/7 news cycle-filled world that you now reluctantly called home. Life was so much simpler on The Master’s TARDIS.

It was ironic that her space was so calming given the nature of The Master and her chaotic lifestyle, but Missy’s ship was. The previous life and relationship you had with her always quelled any latent anxiety you felt about your home planet and people. Your life, alone on Earth, without The Master could never compare to the time you spent with her. Without Missy, you only became more aware of how miserable Earth could be at times. And despite her disdain for the majority of Humanity, you could tolerate your people more effortlessly with Missy’s help than you ever could manage without her presence in your life. She helped you with so much, but now she was gone forever.

You never properly entertained the thought that you were actually being followed, but as Missy had told you often, you were naively unaware of your ability to attract curious eyes. Missy had meant that as a compliment, despite the ominous tone. That is how she became fascinated with you, after all; by observing your quirks and interests from afar until she finally made herself known to you. You were simply just anxious without Missy. Simply anxious about being in a messy world without your person to help you sort out the mess. You weren’t actually being followed, right? The Doctor, even though you weren’t close, would step in, wouldn’t she? Especially after what happened to The Master and how the news affected you, right? You were just anxious, is all.

But if you were being followed, it wouldn’t be Missy playing a little trick on you. It couldn’t be her. She’s gone and she would never be coming back for you. The likelihood is that either your imagination was getting to you, or an enemy of either The Doctor or The Master was out to get you. Or it was just some random human being a creep. But it definitely wasn’t Missy. She died: that’s what The Doctor told you. Missy died alone and without you there to save or comfort her. And you knew The Doctor wasn’t lying about the fact that Missy was gone forever because she would have come to reunite herself with you if she was alive. But again, Missy died. You had to keep reminding yourself of that fact: Missy is dead. She’s gone. She’s never coming to save you. Ever again.

Today was the anniversary of when the newly regenerated Doctor informed you of the tragic news that Missy had died. The sentimentalist in you needed to mourn today, however, your plans to celebrate Missy’s memory added to your anxiety. You needed to honour Missy for yourself, but what if there was someone out there in your town, or the world, or the universe trying to get you? Today would be the perfect opportunity for an enemy to hurt you when you were already emotional and susceptible.

Eventually, though, you did convince yourself to leave your apartment. Today was for Missy, after all, not you. When the date caught your attention a couple of weeks ago, the first step of your plan was to go to Missy’s old Human job from when you first met. You would be torturing yourself by doing this, but you needed to purchase two bouquets of flowers. After purchasing your mournful bounty, you would walk to the nearest cemetery. Then, at the cemetery, you would leave one bouquet in remembrance of your beloved Master while taking the other bouquet home with you to memorialise Missy there as well. You even considered preserving it so you could have an idol of memories for longer.

Looking back on your history with The Master, it was probably an incredibly bleak omen for your relationship with her, but during Missy’s lunch breaks and on your travels home from work, the two of you would stride through the little parklike cemetery just around the corner from the shopping centre. Both of you would always be incredibly surprised by how beautiful the cemetery was; there was an assortment of trees that would offer ample shade to the gravestones and there was a winding cobblestone path fenced by flowers throughout. There was also a tall, cleanly cut hedge that bordered the whole property, alongside the iron gates delicately surrounding the cemetery.

Missy genuinely loved that little cemetery. Before you knew that she was an alien, she would often say that this cemetery was the most beautiful thing on Earth, other than you. You always asked her how she could possibly know every place on the planet, to which she would only wink at you teasingly. After discovering her true nature, her statement made more sense but you still wondered why this cemetery was so special to Missy. She could travel anywhere she wished, in all time and space. It never failed to shock you that The Master, the infamous rogue Gallifreyian, would treasure such a simple place. So where else you would go to mournfully celebrate her beautifully chaotic life? In your mind, there was no other option.

When you walked toward the small town shopping centre where Missy cemented her Human facade, you wrapped your coat tighter around your torso. You were cold, yes, but you needed something to hold onto to brave all of the resurfacing memories. You sighed deeply when you entered the shop and then briskly moved to the shop's mediocre selection of flowers without looking up from your feet.

The flower options and pre-arranged bouquets always looked more expensive and put together, even well into the winter, when Missy was working here. All of the bouquets she gave you were of the best quality.

“Never less than the best for you, my love,” Missy would always respond with this line when you complained that you didn’t need anything fancy.

Missy might have lied about buying flowers from this little shop, now that you thought about it. But you would rather choose to believe that Missy manipulated her “superiors” into buying and displaying more expensive bouquets and flowers to enhance the reputation of the place rather than her lying to you.

“Excuse me?” A voice sounded to your side, tearing you away from your thoughts of Missy. You turned sharply to the person trying to get your attention. He was a man a couple of inches taller than Missy with mesmerising dark amber, mixed with coffee and chocolate, eyes that were filled with care. He was wearing a button-down, slacks, and a heavy-looking deep purple coat, which seemed a bit out of place given the weather hadn’t turned properly cold yet. Maybe the man just ran cold?

“I think you dropped this.” The man held out a case of lipstick, intending to return it to you. You were shocked, still disoriented from being ripped out of your thoughts. You accepted the lipstick with a curt ‘thank you’, ignoring the jolt of electricity that passed through you when your hand accidentally brushed against the stranger’s fingers.

You immediately turned back to the display of bouquets before you, gripping the case of lipstick tightly in your hand. You had assumed that the man had left to either look around the shop or to leave, but to your horror, he continued to stand beside you. He returned your item. So, why hadn't he left yet? You just wanted him to leave your side. You didn’t want to interact with anyone more than you had to today. Today was too horrible for you to pretend to be friendly with strangers.

“Looking for anything specific?” The man asked after an agonising silence from the two of you just standing side by side in front of the flower display. He didn’t sound creepy like many people, usually men, sounded in situations like this, making you believe that he was actually curious. Even if he had good intentions, that didn’t dissolve your desire to be left alone, but you tried to be as nice as you could today.

“Something respectful. Not gaudy or obnoxiously and obviously meant to be gifted as an attempt to woo a Tinder match on a first date.”

“So like, cemetery flowers?” You whipped your head back to look at the stranger because of that question. Could he see your plan on your face or in your posture? How could he tell what your intentions were? The stranger shrugged his shoulders, almost as if he heard your thoughts.

“Yes, cemetery flowers.”

“These are quite smart. Whoever you are planning on visiting would love to have these on their grave.” The man plucked a bouquet wrapped in dark red wrapping from the shelf. The bouquet consisted primarily of fresh crimson roses and red salvia, with sprigs of baby’s breath and forget-me-nots to round out the assortment. When they were in shadow, the roses practically looked like dried blood, which thanks to Missy you knew what that looked like a bit too well.

You paused, sucked in a breath, shocked by the man’s forward nature. Then you quickly grabbed the flowers, shoved the lipstick into your coat pocket and moved to purchase the bouquet without another word being given to the stranger. You hoped that the man would have left the store by the time you had finished purchasing the flowers, however, he stopped you once again by the exit of the shop.

“I hope you have a good time at the cemetery.” He said, smiling, as if this was an everyday occurrence, but, like before, you didn’t respond. You rushed out of the shop so overcome with a torrent of emotions. You just needed to get out of there. You didn’t even realise until you were far away from the shops and the stranger that you failed to choose a second bouquet for yourself. You hoped that the second bouquet would be one similar to the ones Missy would gift to you, but because of that strange man part of your plan for the day was ruined. You would have to go back to the shops tomorrow.

Eventually, you slowed to a meditative walking pace on your way to the cemetery. After many deep breaths, you managed to decrease and steady your erratic breath and rapid heart rate. You tried to forget your interaction with the stranger and just refocus your mind on Missy: the good, the bad, the happy and the sad, all of your time with her. You just wanted to be surrounded by the memory of your lover, in general, but also to remember her existence in the most reverent way possible. Even though the weight of her memory was a heavy burden to carry, you had to do this for her.

Halfway to the cemetery, the moon emerged from its hiding spot behind a cloud. It was still light out, but the full specialness of the day became apparent to you. The orangy-red hue of the night’s Hunter’s Moon was soft but you imagined that it would darken and grow deeper in tone the longer it hung in the evening air into the night. Apparently, even your solar system wanted to help you mourn the loss of Missy.

Along with cemeteries, Missy loved abnormal moons. She would always drag you out of your apartment or plead with you to retrieve her from The Vault in a basement at St. Luke’s University so the two of you could go stargazing, or moongazing as it were. She loved Hunter’s Moons in particular, both because of the season they appeared in, but also because of the eerie atmosphere.

You finally entered the cemetery through the tall and squeaky black gates that enclosed the cemetery just as it was beginning to grow dark outside. After walking along the pathway for a few minutes, you saw the familiar bench where you and Missy would always sit.

Once you took a seat on the bench, you looked around the large, enclosed, cemetery. It had been a little over a year since you had been here last and you realised how much you missed this place. It truly was beautiful, in the gloomy and bittersweet way that many cemeteries were, but beautiful nonetheless.

You wished that you could have something tangible to remember Missy’s death and life. A trinket or object of Missy’s that would now be yours. Like all of the families that had loved ones buried in this place, they had something more tangible than you did. You wanted what they had. Even though death is never easy, their situations were easier to comprehend than yours. Missy died on a spaceship in the future galaxies away from Earth. You had nothing left of her and it felt as if nothing ever happened because of it.

Suddenly, you remembered the lipstick that the stranger had returned to you. You removed it from the pocket you had hidden it in in the rush of everything. You stared at the lipstick, curiously. The item definitely wasn’t yours. It looked like the one Missy would always use. But how could the stranger have this? Was Missy’s lipstick in your coat pocket this entire time? That didn’t make sense. You had worn this coat before and the lipstick wasn’t in any of the pockets. Not to mention the fact that Missy never went anywhere without her lipstick. It was unlikely that she would ever ask you to carry it for her.

You stared at the lipstick in your palm and reminisced about a random night when Missy was trapped on Earth. It was the night of a Hunter’s Moon, just like the one you sat under tonight. The Doctor graciously allowed Missy to leave The Vault for a night so the two of you could celebrate your anniversary.

The two of you went to a fancy restaurant that was far too expensive for you, but Missy took care of the bill as it was meaningless. Given her motto, any expense might have been excusable to The Master if you were the one asking for or needing something. After your meal, you somehow convinced Missy to go to a club. You bribed her by stating that she had never been to a Human club before. So why not go to one with you? Finally, the two of you drunkenly stumbled through your favourite cemetery under the light of the blood-orange moon while sharing a bottle of Asgardian mead that Missy had apparently stolen from the halls of Valhalla. At the time, you didn’t know whether or not to believe her because of how drunk she was, she easily could have been exaggerating. You later asked The Doctor about her story and to your delight, and The Doctor’s embarrassment, the story was real and unembellished.

You and Missy had briefly stopped at the bench you were now sitting on. You probably wouldn’t have recognised the bench after your drunken night out except for the fact that Missy carved your and her names onto the arm of the bench. Your names were intertwined in typical Gallifreyian marriage writing, where the names are entwined together to signify the bond between those in the relationship.

Despite the momentary rest, you had to beg Missy to return to The Vault that day because you were cold and your feet hurt. Missy never wanted that night to end but you promised to cuddle her for at least two hours before leaving for your apartment. You wished that you could stay, but The Doctor hadn’t allowed you to stay the night in The Vault.

After much convincing, your stubborn alien lover eventually agreed to your deal. Before leaving the cemetery though, Missy reapplied her lipstick and then kissed you all over your face and neck. You had to return Missy to The Vault in that state, much to The Doctor’s disgust. It was a great memory and a great day that you wished you could replicate with Missy. It saddened you to no end that you would never be able to do that, though. The Master was dead.

“May I sit here?” The voice of a man broke you out of your haze. No, not any man, the man. The stranger from the little shop that Missy used to work at was standing beside the empty seat on the bench.

“Did you follow me?” You shot back, angrier than you intended because he tore you away from Missy again. But this was all just too strange to not be angry about.

“Would a normal person follow a stranger into a cemetery?”

“No, but whoever said that you were a normal person?”

“What’s the fun in being normal?” The man crossed his arms with a smirk. You turned away in order to hide your slight smile. He was fun, you had to give him that, even though it upset you to admit this.

“People might trust you more.” You said after you regained your composure.

“The only person I want to trust me is you.” Again, you were shocked by the man and his forwardness, which appeared to be becoming a regular occurrence.

“Are you chatting me up in a cemetery?”

“Is it working?” The man’s smirk grew confidently and part of you just couldn’t resist his smile. You sighed defeatedly. You scooted over a bit on the bench to be closer to the carved arm and to allow enough space for the stranger to sit comfortably. You looked up to the moon as the man sat down. The Hunter’s Moon was now a deep orange with tones of red around the edges. There was another strange silence haunting the air between the two of you, until the man ruined it. You were starting to become used to this stranger’s habit of randomly breaking silences.

“Are you here for someone?” He sounded kinder, softer, than he did what asking you questions at the shop.

“You ask a lot of questions.”

“That’s because you’re interesting.” The man bumped your shoulder with his. You hummed sceptically. This man, though intriguing, was like no person you ever met. He didn’t seem to care about social norms or what society deemed to be acceptable. Who else would flirt in a cemetery? Well, Missy would, but she was an alien.

“I’m kind of here for someone, yes. Their body isn’t here, but I like coming here, or any other cemetery really, to remember my person. I haven’t been to this cemetery in a while though, memories and all that, but I knew that I needed to be here tonight. What about you?”

“Yes, I’m here for someone, too.”

“I’m sorry.” You meant this genuinely. You didn’t know the man beside you and he had a propensity for behaving in an unorthodox manner, but he was still a person. You knew how hard it was to lose someone and you would never want to belittle someone’s grief. You locked eyes with this stranger for the first time since the moment in the little shop and held his gaze. You found it to be bizarre to feel so connected to a stranger but here you were talking to this man about Missy. You barely even talked about her to your best friends.

“There is no need for you to apologise, love. You weren’t the one to rip me away from the person I care about the most.” He bumped your shoulder again. Given the fact that you were facing each other now, you couldn’t take the intensity of being so close to the man. So, you looked away, flustered.

“Wow, I never thought I would have so much in common with a stranger in a cemetery.” You joked. You leaned over the arm of the bench slightly to move away from the man. You didn’t want to disgrace The Master’s memory in any way; it would be best to keep this stranger at a distance. To comfort yourself, you ran your hand over the carving Missy made, trying to commit the pattern to your mind to the best of your ability.

“You never know, you could meet the love of your life anywhere. A little shop, for instance.” The man still sounded positive despite your slightly uncomfortable demeanour. You liked this man, but you were worried that you were disrespecting Missy by even entertaining the idea of seeing someone else. How could you even be with someone else after The Master?

“Yeah, a little shop meet cute …” You traced the carving again absentmindedly while staring at the moon and the clouds passing over it. But the man once again distracted you from your sadness, though it wasn’t because of something he said like the many, many times before. Instead, the stranger pulled out a pocket watch that looked suspiciously too familiar.

“Where did you get that?” You grabbed the man’s wrist and pulled his hand, and inadvertently him, closer to you in order to inspect the watch. It was old, properly old, not just decorated to look like an antique. It looked identical to The Master’s watch.

“Oh this, I’ve always had it. Since I was a child, an orphan, abandoned, found in the storm.” Missy had told you stories about her past, one of which was when she, he then, had been hiding in a Human form at the end of the Universe. You turned the watch over in the man’s hand and saw the circular Gallifreyian carved into the back of the object. You tentatively ran your finger over the writing, tears threatening to spill from your eyes.

“This is not possible.” You croaked, still looking at the watch in the man’s steady hand. How could the man beside you have Missy’s watch? Unless they survived. Unless she regenerated. But The Doctor said they died. She was certain that they died and would not be returning. Could The Master really be alive?

“Y/n, love, anything is possible.” The man whispered in your ear as you felt him move and place his arm around your back. He softly rubbed circles on your back but you didn’t feel it. You felt like your world was spinning and nothing was certain any more.

“It’s not you. It can’t be.” You shook your head. This couldn’t be possible. Your grip on the man’s watch and hand tightened when you finally looked up at him, scared. When you looked into his eyes, that’s when you began crying. He looked so worried for you, but there was hope and love laced into the look he gave you. You shook your head, still not convinced that The Master was really stilling beside you, holding you. But The Master nodded and smiled.

“It’s really me, darling. I swear on lipstick and Asgardian mead. Nothing in this Universe, any Universe, could ever keep me away from you.” The Master wanted to wipe your tears from your face, but before he could you jumped into The Master’s arms and practically knocked him over into the other arm of the bench due to the force of your hug.

“Master, is it really you?” You asked into his shoulder, not able to control the crazy mix of joy and sadness you felt.

“Of course it’s me, darling. You didn’t really think that I would just leave you on this miserable planet alone, did you?” The Master caressed the back of your head and every so often placed a kiss on the side of your face.

“But how? The Doctor said -” You shoved yourself away from The Master wanting a clear answer, but he cut off your excited questioning.

“The Doctor is often wrong, especially about me.” The Master smiled and winked at you triumphantly. You let out an ecstatic noise that you had never made before in your life and hurled yourself into The Master for another bruising hug.

“Can we go home now?” You mumbled into The Master’s purple coat.

“We?” The Master asked hesitantly.

“Yes, why not we?” You pulled back from The Master again with a worried look written on your face. You couldn’t help but be a bit worried after everything. The Master had just returned to you, you didn’t want to lose him again so soon.

“You aren’t bothered by my new form?” The Master questioned while gesturing to himself.

“No, you’re still The Master. You’re still my Master.” The Master smirked before leaning close to you. He cupped your face in his hands and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“I knew that I loved you for a reason.”

“I love you so much. And I’ve missed you so much, Master.”

“Well, no more missing me. We are together now and nothing is going to rip me away from you ever again, and you are right, we should go home. It has been far, far, too long.” The Master removed himself from your arms and stood from the bench. He held his hand out for you, wiggling his fingers enthusiastically. You gladly accepted his offer and then proceeded to interlock your fingers.

“Before we get to my TARDIS, I should warn you that the ship looks quite different to how you will remember it.” The Master informed you as the two of you walked down the cobblestone path toward the gates of the cemetery.

“That’s okay.” You said into The Master’s shoulder as you braced your body against his to withstand the massive gust of wind that blew through the gates of the cemetery. The rest of autumn appeared like it was going to be a cold one.

“Really? You’re comfortable with everything being so different. I thought that you would be having a more difficult time with this.” The Master shed his coat and placed it around your shoulders.

“Change is easier with you, Master. And I would rather have you in my life in a different form than not in my life at all.” You cuddled into the rouge alien’s coat. He, like his previous regeneration, smelled of smoke and whiskey. Missy also smelled like cranberries, whereas this new regeneration of The Master slightly smelled like cinnamon in combination with the whiskey and smoke.

“My previous regeneration would have made fun of your sentimentality, but this regeneration loves the attention.”

“Good! There is a year’s worth of affection that you missed out on.”

When the two of you reached the door of The TARDIS, which now appeared as a large home rather than Missy’s preferred look of a wardrobe, The Master stopped you and caressed a hand down your face. His eyes, though very different than Missy’s, displayed the same devotion and love for you. Things change, but at the same time, everything stays. The Master was still your Master, just in a different package. And you still loved them, no matter what they looked like.

The Master finally leant forward and captured your lips in a passionate kiss filled with all the love and longing he held for you, as the night’s Hunter’s Moon cast a warm glow upon the two of you. There will be so much adjustment ahead of you both, but you know that you will be able to succeed and overcome the difficulties to come as long as you and The Master are together.

#ghost's posts #fanfiction #my writing #doctor who #x reader #doctor who x reader #the master x reader #dhawan!master x reader #dhawan!master #gomez!master #gomez!master x reader #missy x reader #missy

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