#i started daydreaming so many times and then realised hang on i’ve paid for this and had to focus again

[swiftlyswan]

hamilton soundtrack is good but my god was it boring to watch

it’s just three hours of main character stands still and sings song centre stage while ensemble move furniture in background

i’m going to see hamilton today and i just know 15 year old me is screaming

[anabsolutetrainwreck]

i can hate you sometimes || h. styles

warnings: pre-covid, mentions of sex, swearing, kissing

word count: 2.2k

summary: you and harry have mutual friends, but that doesn’t mean you two are friends. but when harry gets caught in the rain and you’re the closest person he can turn to, it makes for a much more awkward night...

Though you could respect Harry’s artistic abilities when it came to creating music, you could barely tolerate him as a person. Likewise, he wasn’t at all too fond of you. You shared friends in common, which often unfortunately resulted in many a night out with him and your mutual friends.

Yes, Harry was a respectful man. That was perhaps the one thing you could say didn’t irritate you about him. Everything else, the subtle cockiness he played off as jokes; the incessant need to be centre of attention; the bloated ego, which left him thinking he was above everyone else, all of that stuff, you couldn’t stand. But he wasn’t going to stop you from enjoying time with your friends, so you continued to go out drinking with them or go out for big meals with them or on lavish holidays with them. Unfortunately, he had the same mindset. You were both very stubborn.

Going out with your friends when Harry was there seemed like a difficult task at first. But if you sat at the opposite end of the table or stayed fairly distant in a club, the night tended to run smoothly. The one time you’d been left alone was around a year ago when you and Harry had gone out for dinner with Sarah and Mitch. Sarah had gone to the toilet and Mitch had gone to pay the bill. It had been two or three minutes maybe, but it felt like long, excruciating hours. Days, even. You’d distracted yourself by finishing off your wine and trying hard to look anywhere but in Harry’s direction. He’d busied himself with his phone and trying hard to look anywhere but your direction. But, either way, it had been perhaps the most awkward experience of your life.

And now, on a quiet Sunday evening, you found yourself preparing some pasta. Your dog, albeit too big for his own good, was curled up in front of the fireplace. You had your laptop set up on your coffee table, your classical music playlist floating through your house.

It had begun raining heavily about five minutes ago. The droplets were pelting down on your large windows. You had some candles set up and a glass of wine waiting for you on the coffee table in your living room. It was the perfect romantic evening for one.

A knock on your front door took your attention from the boiling water before you. You quickly jogged through to your hallway, opening the door. And, much to your surprise and perhaps disappointment, you were met with the face of Harry Styles. “Can I help you?” you asked, staring at him expectantly.

He sighed, almost embarrassed to ask, but said, “Can I stop at yours until the rain passes?”

You looked him up and down. Stop at yours? Why did that send your stomach into a state of flutters? “Just get an uber,” you said firmly.

He winced, “My phone’s dead. Can you at least let me charge it so I can get an uber?”

You weren’t a fan of Harry (biggest understatement of the year), but that didn’t mean you were an utter asshole. Of course you would let him stop at yours for a little while. Anyone would, right? You sighed, making sure he knew this was a reluctant decision of yours, “Sure.”

He thanked you as he shuffled into your house. He removed his coat and hung it up on your coat rack. Quietly, he followed you into your living room. “Here,” you said curtly, passing him one of your spare chargers.

The entire exchange was even more awkward than last year’s meal with Sarah and Mitch. Benny, your dog, was quite clearly enthralled about the arrival of Harry. He jumped up at the brunette man, his tongue hanging loose. As you tended to your exuberant pasta meal, you could hear Harry petting Benny.

On the few occasions Harry had met Benny, he loved the dog. But, Benny was a dog after all and it was hard to hate a dog. Especially one as lovable and as cuddly as Benny. Harry’s footsteps became louder as he entered the kitchen, Benny, tail wagging, not far behind. It was only when you looked up did you notice Harry carrying your laptop with him. Your first instinct was to tell him to put it the fuck down; it was your laptop - you paid good money for it. But something seemed to stop you from snapping at the man, who was soaked from the rain, in front of you. Usually, you struggled with biting your tongue around Harry. He was just infuriating. “Can I please put something else on?” he asked, gesturing to the screen, which had Spotify open.

You shrugged. You weren’t that bothered if he wasn’t in the mood to listen to your collection of great classical records. It was his loss. Besides, your pasta was nearly finished and then  you’d dish it up and settle down in front of the tv. “Sure.”

There was a moment of silence after he’d paused to whatever piece was playing. “What’s this?” his voice came suddenly.

You knew exactly what he’d found. And you practically kicked yourself for forgetting you had it. It was your playlist, simply titled ‘sex’. A sex playlist. A playlist for sex. “I didn’t take you as the type to have a designated sex playlist,” he said, smirking.

“Well, there’s a lot you don’t know about me,” you grumbled, your cheeks heating up.

“Clearly. Some interesting choices on here, Y/N. Not as many of mine as I thought there’d be,” he said.

There was none. None of Harry’s songs on your sex playlist and, if he was being honest, it kind of irritated him slightly. The thought of you having sex to his voice was an enriching one. But what most definitely pissed him off, was the sight of a couple Liam Payne songs and a few of Zayn’s. “I didn’t think Sign of the Times was right for the occasion,” you shrugged. “Do you want some pasta?”

“If there’s some going,” he said quickly. “I do have other songs you know. Besides, Sign of the Times is a great sex song. Starts off slow, builds to a climax...”

You turned to look at him. Only then did you realise you were actually having this conversation with him. Still, you pressed on. “All songs build to a climax one way or another. It’s called a crescendo.”

“Yeah, I know what it’s fucking called,” he sighed. “I’m the musician here.”

“And yet you can’t appreciate classical music. Anyway, if you’re so convinced you have good sex songs, name a few,” you challenged.

He spoke as he followed you through to the living room. You set his bowl of pasta (you always had a habit of making your portions way too large) down on the coffee table beside the candles and wine. “Okay, Kiwi.”

You hummed in thought, “What if I want something a little slower? Like, Kiwi could totally ruin the mood.”

He shifted in his seat. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his phone light up, signalling it had at least a little bit of power. But now he was eating your fresh pasta and discussing sex songs with you, and frankly, he didn’t want to leave. “Woman? You can’t tell me you’ve never had sex with Woman playing,” he said.

“Well, I can. So I will: I’ve never had sex with Woman playing,” you replied; you liked this game.

“Okay, come on. She is the perfect sex song,” he said smugly.

Now this one tripped you up. Because you’d had sex to She before. It had come on when the guy you were sleeping with asked if he could shuffle his playlist. She had come on second, maybe. And those six minutes had been the best of your life. You told yourself it was just the guy you were seeing at the time, and he certainly didn’t mind the compliment. But, in hindsight, you realised it was probably the fact that Harry was singing about living in daydreams in the background. In that moment, the sex hadn’t even been at the forefront of your mind. It was his fucking velvet voice. “I wouldn’t know.”

He smirked, “You’ve had sex to She, haven’t you?”

“No.”

“You have! I knew it.”

“Piss off, Harry.”

You hoped your nonchalant replies would be enough to deter his attention from the subject at hand. But alas, he didn’t seem to pick up on it. That, or he was deliberately ignoring your tone. You were beginning to regret letting Harry into your house. And you weren’t afraid to tell him so. “I wish I’d just left you in the rain.”

He scoffed, “That’s not very nice, Y/N.”

You rolled your eyes at him, making sure he saw. God, you could really hate him sometimes. “Harry, we’re literally discussing my sex life. It’s none of your business. And a bit personal, don’t you think? You don’t even know my surname.”

You got to your feet and made your way through to the kitchen, placing your empty bowl in the sink. You could hear him behind you, you just wanted to turn around and tell him to give you a moment to yourself. He was like a puppy. Before you had the chance to do so, you felt him lean over, placing his bowl beside yours. He was so close. 

Turning around slowly, you were met with him. He was there, right there. You looked up at him. He wasn’t moving. You were torn between pushing past him, making sure he knew you were angry and staying for a while, basking in the sexual tension that was buzzing around in the air. “I do know your surname,” was all he said.

He was so close, his eyes exploring your face as if he’d never seen it before. Trapped between Harry and the kitchen counter, you’d fantasised about this moment for ages. Harry’s face a mere few centimetres away from your own. You could feel his breath on your face. It was warm, welcoming. “Do you?” you choked out. 

He nodded slightly. The revelation of Harry knowing your surname was almost surprising to you. You didn’t think he paid that much attention to anything that had something to do with you. Up until this point, standing in your kitchen, neither of you daring to make the first move, you’d thought he only knew your first name because he was obliged to. 

You both yearned the simple delight of the other’s touch. All the pent up sexual tension from the last years, longing looks disguised as glares of disgust and the little snarky remarks used as an excuse to talk to each other, all of that began unravelling at the seams. He looked at you and you looked at him, both of you daring the other to make the first point of euphoric contact. “Harry,” you forced out quietly, hoping he’d take that as a sign that he could touch you, kiss you, anything.

“What do you want?” he hummed gently. “What can I give you?”

“Just kiss me.”

You were also embarrassed that, after years of suppressing your enrapturing feelings, you were asking him to kiss you. And still, he didn’t touch you. It was like he was playing some sick game with you. And then the dreadful thought that he might just be doing all of this to give him a means to mock you in the future. If that was the case, he’d have the perfect upper hand over you. “Do you still wish you’d left me in the rain?” he asked, almost taunting you as he left you practically begging for his touch. 

You shook your head, “No, no. God, no. Harry, please.”

“Anything you want, darling.”

“Kiss me.”

“Only if you’re sure you want me to.”

“I do, Harry. Please.”

And when he was sure he had your definite consent, he didn’t waste another moment. He placed his large hand on your cheek, the tips of his fingers buried in your hair. His lips on yours was perhaps the most perfect form of ecstasy. As you wrapped your arms around his neck, tilting your head up to meet his, you were sure you’d travelled to some distant infatuating dreamland you only ever hear about. 

Reluctantly, you pulled away, panting slightly, “Don’t go.”

“What?”

“Don’t get an uber. Stay with me tonight.”

A smile crept its way up into Harry’s features. He tried to hide how elated he was that you’d proposed he spend the night with you. A grin tugged at the corners of his lips, which were parted slightly. All he wanted to do was indulge his need for your perfect taste all night. From the moment the sky went from the most divine lavender colour to the most starry black, to the moment it turned back to the most marvellous oranges and reds in the waking of the sun. “You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting for you to say that to me.”

part two.

[madfatty]

the finn nelson agenda - an mmfd  fic #27

Long time, no see. I come bearing gift.  Consider this my woefully inadequate attempt to distract you for a few moments from the shit-show that is now.

The plan is for this to be one of eight or nine stories about Finn falling for Rae, as told by the people who watched it happened. The collection is tentatively titled, ‘Why Are You So Blind?” and this one is from Finn’s POV.

What I’ve learned is that I can’t write it in the order that it ought to be read, so they’ll go up as they’re finished (if they’re finished). This is probably third or fourth from the end, so for the time being, we’ll pretend it’s a stand alone.

My thanks to the most lovely and much missed @bitchy-broken for planting the seed and my dearest @slitherouter for listening to me read it in many of it’s various forms and for the words that inspired both me and the title

..  my secret agenda is actually just to sit in your room and show you my favorite songs while you explain different things you have on your wall or your desk to me

Things Finn Nelson says

(a thing that Shiri said. I mean, *GAH* right. I love her SO much.)

Ta very much to @late-to-the-sexy-party for her thoughts and enthusiasm.  Big love and thanks to the wondrous @endemictoearth for giving it a twice-over and the benefit of her talent and experience. She made it infinitely better. Thank you, my gorgeous.  

And finally, thank you dear reader, for giving this a go.

the finn nelson agenda

It’s one of those lazy, late summer days he’d spent all term daydreaming about, slouched in the back corner of some classroom, tapping out bass lines on his desk or scribbling band names and song lyrics all over his binder.  Staring out the window while elaborate fantasies built of music, football and girls, all vividly drawn, played out against the white noise of his reality. He feels the waste of it; counting down the seconds to the end of the hour, the end of the day, the end of school.

None of that matters now.  There are still weeks left of the holidays and each day is filled with even more promise now that Rae’s around. Days like today. While there are thousands of elsewheres he imagines himself being between nine and three during term, today Rutlands will do just fine.

All his mates are here, there’s tunes and booze and a sense of time being stretched out and suspended in the liquid amber of the golden afternoon. It’s almost perfect. The only thing missing is the girl. And fingers crossed, she’ll be here soon too, because Finn’s beginning to realise things are just better when she’s there.

Where was she though? He’s been a twitching mess the whole time they’ve been here, checking his watch every few seconds, never registering the time, but still feeling the drag of it.  Not toward the end of something now, but the start.

Ever since the party, he’s tried to find time every day to get her on own, but it isn’t easy. She’s quickly become the centre around which they all revolve, so competition for her attention is huge. This means he spends a lot of his time waiting to share hers. He prowls an invisible periphery, ever watchful for his chance. They don’t come up nearly as often as he’d like so he’s had to get creative.  

Now, depending on how late he gets in from a long day of almost being together, there’s a new nightly ritual he follows; home, a quick shower and something to eat, then he makes a mug of tea and a cosy nest and dials her number with shaking hands. The last of his preparations is pressing ‘play’ on the carefully curated backing tracking for their conversation while he listens nervously for her to pick up.  

Even then, he has to share her with her family. The sniping and the bickering between her and her mum, the deep warm tones of a hesitant male voice, a rumble in the background.

He can hear the life she complains about going on behind her, crowded and noisy and messy; the chaos and the lack of privacy, he can’t help feel how much he wants to be in the middle of it.

What he’d really like is to show up at her door with a bag full of music and a couple of sneaky cans of lager. He’d happily listen to her mum bitch about the ladies she works with at the hospital and watch football with Karim or help out with the birds if it means that eventually, they can escape upstairs to her room, because even though Finn’s only really been to her house the once, (if you didn’t count the apology), he likes it there. Finn’s got a secret wish; to sit in her room, sharing his favourite songs while she talks about her books, and her posters and all those weird little toy things that cover her desk. He wants to find out about all of it. To know everything about her.

However, despite his best -obvious, desperate - efforts, she hasn’t taken any of the heavy hints he’s dropped to ask him over again, so he’s going to invite her ‘round to his. He’s going to ask her today because he wants so badly for her to come and fill his house with her smile and her smell and her stories and yeah, to make some stories of their own.

He’d tried again, last night at the pub. Just as they were all getting ready to leave, with his heart in his mouth - ‘cause that’s always where it is when Rae’s around, when it’s not in his eyes or on his sleeve, - he’d stuttered out an offer to collect her this morning. His plan was to get there super early so they could just hang out on their own. He’d been prepared for her ‘no’ but it didn’t stop the curl of disappointment when she gave it.

Sometimes he worries that that night at hers didn’t mean as much to Rae as it did (hell, still DOES) to him, that it was just a random kindness, not the revelation that he’d felt, and to her he was just a guy having a bad night that she’d taken pity on. Other times, he believes she can feel this thread between them too. A delicate thing but he thinks it’s getting stronger, can feel it getting tighter somewhere around his ribs.  No longer nothing, but not quite the something he’s hoping for.

Finn doesn’t want to test that thread, in case he tugs too hard and it snaps. He can’t help feeling that he needs to do something though, because it doesn’t matter what Archie says about it, there’s this niggle inside him that says all it would take would be for Archie to finally decide that he really did want her, and with the crook of his finger, Rae would come running.

He’s separated himself slightly from the others, coiled up tight in the shade of a nearby tree, his back to the bark, the pinch and bite of it through his t-shirt not enough to distract him from his vigil.

Cigarette butts lie in an untidy circle around his feet.  His ears are straining past the drone of the radio and the fat buzzing noise of insects, tuning out the prattle of the others for the first sign of her. Her name caught up in the pulse behind his eyes.  Everything is so loud inside his head.

He’s about to risk asking Izzy for a third time if she’s sure Rae knew exactly where they’d be when Rae appears. The anxiety of her absence is replaced with the relief of her proximity. The physical response is exactly the same. The next breath he takes is easier than the one before.

He doesn’t care what it looks like. It’s not enough to be near her anymore; he can’t bear any distance between them.  It makes him brave. Or crazy.  

Without consultation, his body moves with deliberate intent. He turns the music up, up, and reaches for another can, trying to fill his belly with something other than butterflies, hoping that his counterfeit swagger hides the jelly of his knees.  Finn lets himself fall – continue to fall, he’s been falling for a week, pushed from a plane without a parachute – to land beside to her.

He must have lost his mind. It’s the only way to explain his behaviour.  He’s got her pinned to the ground from shoulder to ankle like some sort of lunatic but that’s not the insane part. No, the insane part is his brain trying to convince him that if he doesn’t grab hold of her hand like he so desperately wants to, she won’t notice that he has her pinned to the ground from shoulder to ankle like some sort of lunatic. For fuck’s sake, it’s screaming, don’t hold her hand because then she’ll know. Like that’s where all his subtlety would disappear. He holds fast to his wrist, pinning the would-be offending hand to his chest; a single idiotic attempt at self-restraint.

It’s all he can do to lie here, outwardly calm while inside he’s vibrating so hard his teeth are rattling, his heart bouncing so fiercely off his ribs any minute now he’ll come loose from the ground. His tongue lies thick and useless in his mouth, dry despite the beer.

He hopes his deafening silence reads like casual confidence to her.  

The weight of the sun and the heat from the ground beneath him, simultaneously seeps in and rises up to meet in the middle of him. Yet neither burns him like the length of her body under the press of his arm and the cage of his legs.  A sheen of sweat covers his body, caught between his skin and his clothes. It tickles along his hairline, behind his ears and slides down the sides of his neck.

Everything inside the moment is sharp and highly defined. He can feel each breath that fills her lungs. Everything outside of a three foot radius blurs in his field of vision. It’s coming in waves, all at once and he doesn’t know which bits to savour, which bits to focus on and what to put away for later. He has to keep sneaking looks at her just to make sure this is really happening. Rae on the other hand, has her face turned skyward, barely acknowledging his presence, unmoved by the miracle that’s changing his life.

He’s filling up with her. His head, his heart, his bones. Every nerve is exposed. It’s all stinging nettles and ants itching under his skin.

He couldn’t have stood if you paid him. Dizzy from the blood roaring in his ears before it raced south.

She hasn’t pushed him away.

What would she do, if he just stopped thinking and did what his body was screaming out to do; if he rolled over and covered her body with his own. What would she say? If he gave in to the impulse and kissed those maddening pink lips, lush and full, and coaxed her sharp acid tongue into his own mouth, to taste the sweetness he’s seen her gift to others?

What she must feel like under the long cotton sleeves of her shirt, and  what might that do to him; finally touching her skin. He’s never fantasised about forearms before, or calves or even feet. Her pale wrist under his thick fingers, or the crook of her elbow beneath his lips.  The curve of her shoulder, the tip of her ear, the back of her knee. To see and touch and memorize. To know if his hands have guessed the way of her correctly.

Lying here, so close to everything he longs for, his thoughts slide inevitably to those most recently taken up residence in his brain, a divine carnal loop he indulges in almost hourly, the heavy press of her breasts against him, the torment of that smug mouth around his cock, the taste of her cunt, should he ever be blessed enough to be invited.

He has to stop that line of thought before his body gives him away. Before he can’t help himself anymore and he takes hold of her hand and places it on his hardening cock – do you see now? This is what being near you does to me. This is me, all the time, thinking about the back of your neck and the length of your leg and what sort of knickers you’re wearing or if you’re wearing any knickers at all. Look at me Rae, I’m trying to tell you that I … that I’m a mess about you. My head and my sheets and my record collection. The smell of green apple makes me hard, costs my dad a fortune at the green grocers. I can’t sleep, can’t leave myself alone, imagining your hand down my pants, your tongue in my mouth, the sounds that you’d make with my fingers inside you. I… I… Even in his own head he can’t say the word. Even he knows it’s too soon, but… Like is not enough, although he does like her. Desire is a stupid overused word, a song lyric that rhymes with ‘fire’. Want. He definitely wants her.

Can you see, Rae?

He can’t tell which one of them is trembling.

She still hasn’t pushed him away.

She’s quiet. He doesn’t like it as much when she’s quiet; it makes him nervous. Everything about her makes him nervous but at least when she’s talking, he has some idea of what she’s thinking and right now he needs to know what’s going on in her head. So he asks.

Her answer makes him laugh. It’s not exactly what he was hoping for until she laughs too. It’s treacle over his jangled nerves. They take the same breath and he feels her relax beneath him, which is when his brain detonates.

With the shittest timing in the world, Chop’s hissing Kendo’s name.

Kendo’s a mate of Chop’s older brother Robbie and a wannabe hard man.  He’s also a prize dickhead but that doesn’t stop Chop trying too hard to look cool in front of him, although Finn can see he’s shitting himself in case Kendo makes him look like a twat. Right now, Finn thinks Chop’s doing okay on his own on that score.

Rae stiffens. She sits up and Finn can’t help but follow, caught up as he is in her gravitational pull. All the ease from a few seconds before is gone. Everything that’s said in the next two minutes sounds like it’s being spoken underwater because Finn can’t focus on anything but the distance she’s trying to put between them without physically moving.

The damage is done by the time Kendo finally slithers off, dragging the corpse of the mood he’s killed behind him.

Finn’s still up in his head about how he’s going to get Rae to lay back down with him or if that moment’s gone for good, so he’s not really listening when Chloe asks her question. He says ‘yeah, course’ two seconds before his brain catches up with his mouth and just as he’s trying to scramble back from his offer, Rae’s telling them she can’t go. The ground drops out from under him and his heart is flailing, doing a Wile E. Coyote over his gut.

Wait, wait, a minute ago we were on our way to perfect. Fucking Chop. Fucking Kendo. Fucking fuck.

He’s reeling but before he can find a way to get them back to where they were, a shadow falls over them and Chloe’s voice, brittle and insistent.

“Rae, can I speak with you? Privately.”

Fucking Chloe.

For a moment hope soars because he can feel Rae’s reluctance to move but it’s only for a moment; she’s pulling away now and she’s taking all the warm and the hope with her. He sits there among the shattered bits of the beautiful bubble they’d been floating in, with his unasked question filling up his throat and his eyes closed because he can’t stand to watch her walk away.  

[fictionalfics]

Where it all went wrong - Sosuke Aizen

(Gifs not mine)

Pairing: Sosuke Aizen x male!reader

Warnings: Blood mentions, death, lots and lots of angst.

I recently started watching bleach, as you can probably tell. And I happened to fall in love with Aizen (lucky me). Now, this fic was written before I finished season three, so I didn't obviously know the true nature of Aizen’s death, but I may write a part two at some point to rectify that. Never mind.

I will also be uploading this to Wattpad, which I recently got! you can find me at starry_aaravos. I will also be uploading fics like coffee, which got very popular, and a couple of other fics I’ve been writing whilst I’ve been AFK.

But anyways, lets begin!

Sealing yet another invitation with lavender scented wax, I sigh. Preparing for a wedding was a hard task - harder than battling hollows - but it was all going to be worth it in the end.

Setting the envelope onto the ‘finished’ pile, I lean back from the desk and inhale the scent of sakura petals that was drifting through the open door behind me. I can finish the rest tomorrow. I’m only halfway through the heap of invites, but there’s two days before they need to be handed out - most of the guests have confirmed that they’re attending anyway.

I tick off a mental list - the date has been set, the hotel and venue are booked, the suits are being tailored, and the photographer has been paid for. Nearly everything is prepared - a perfect plan to marry the perfect man.

A warm pair of arms slides around my chest from behind. I’m jolted out of my sun-filled daydream.

“Did I scare you my love?” Sosuke presses a soft kiss to my neck.

“A little.” Smiling, I exhale and relax into his touch. “I’ve finished half of the invitations, I’ll do the rest tomorrow. I didn't realise we had so many friends!”

Sosuke kneels next to me, resting his elbows on the old desk. “Exciting, isn't it? To think we’ll be married soon.”

Humming in acknowledgement, I lean onto his shoulder - he wraps an arm around my waist in response. Lazily, I turn my head slightly and squint my tired eyes - the clock reads eleven thirty.

“Bedtime,” I quietly mumble.

I’m vaguely aware of movement; my back hits the soft mattress and I realise that Sosuke has carried me to bed. He climbs in next to me, peppering my face in loving kisses as sleep begins to take hold of us both.

“Goodnight, my love.”

                                                         -------------

A Ryoka invasion. The Seireitei is in complete chaos as the fragile looking sphere smashes through the barrier, scattering the six intruders. I lead a small group, patrolling the narrow lanes one by one. Both Sosuke and Momo Hinamori, being Captain and Lieutenant respectively, have been called into separate meetings. That leaves me, Y/N L/N, third seat of squad five, in charge.

I have to stay calm. The Ryoka are powerful - at least one of them is. He’d taken down Jidanbo, the Gatekeeper; pretty quickly too. That hadn’t happened in years! What baffles me is the fact that Captain Ichimaru had let them live, but I didn't let that worry me at the moment. Freaking out was simply not an option.

A series of bangs and crashes piques my interest, and I split up the group into smaller sectors. I send them in different directions, positioning them in such a way that it would be easier for them to capture the Ryoka.

I crouch in a rooftop, and pray this is over soon.

                                                         -------------

I slump across Sosuke’s lap.

“Sweetheart, I’m trying to write.”

“And I’m trying to relax, so shush.” After issuing orders to the night patrol, I should be able to de-stress, but the invasion still stands. A large chunk of the squad had already been taken in for medical treatment after a standoff with the Ryoka, and I was worried that , very soon, someone I cared about was going to end up just the same.

“You did very well today, taking leadership of the squad. You’ll make a great captain someday, I just know it.” Sosuke’s kind words would usually make me smile, but something tugged my face into a frown. Something...wasn’t right.

The candlelight’s reflection glitters on the pale green walls, as I pull myself to my knees. Gently, I place my hands on either side of Sosuke’s face, turning him to look at me. Running a thumb over his cheekbone, I scan his dark eyes for any hint of worry or doubt - none. Calm and collected, as always.

A sigh escapes my lips. “Something isn't right, Sosuke! The execution, the invasion, everything just seems wrong.” I inhale deeply as he encircles my wrists with his fingers - this man still gives me butterflies after all this time. “No matter what happens in the next few days, I want you know that I lo-”

I’m interrupted by a knock at the door. We pull apart, and Sosuke pulls himself to his feet to answer it. The moment is gone.

“Captain Aizen!”

“Hello Momo.” His melodic voice never falters. He’s good at hiding fear, if he has any at all.

“Captain Aizen! I’m sorry it’s late but - oh, Mister L/N!”

“Good evening Lieutenant. I was just going to bed.” I place a chaste kiss to Sosuke’s temple in farewell.

“Oh, well, goodnight Mister L/N!”

I nod, and reluctantly turn my back to the room. I want to talk to Sosuke more, explain what is running through my mind, but sleep beckons as I collapse onto the empty bed. I fall into a dreamless slumber, the darkness swallowing me whole.

                                                         -------------

A disembodied scream. I’m violently jolted awake. Late. Throwing on my shihakusho, I practically vault the balcony as the scream rings out again.

No. please God no. The chilling sound belongs to Momo. Her screams are of grief, of pain, of pure, boiling, anger.

My heart thuds in my ears and threatens to tear my mind to shreds. The engagement ring on my left hand seems to tighten, the tears in my eyes seem to burn. I try not to assume the worst, but in the current situation, the worst seems very likely.

I’m on edge. My lungs threaten to give out as I sprint toward the crowd of lieutenants forming around Momo.The screams have stopped, and she sways a little, staring into space. I grab her by the shoulders and yell in her face, desperate for answers.

“Tell me what happened lieutenant! Tell me!”

There’s no verbal response. Her hand shakes as she lifts it to point over my shoulder I follow it with m eyes, terrified of what I’ll see.

It doesn't register at first - unfamiliar hands caress my shoulders and distant voices echo apologies, but it’s wrong, all of it. There’s a red streak trailing up the tower, and it doesn't occur to me that it’s blood. Something white hangs at the top, suspended, like an angel on top of a Christmas tree.

And then it hits me like the weight of a thousand bullets and I sink to the floor. I can’t cry, or shout, or yell, or even whisper. My throat closes like someone has me in a chokehold, my ribs threaten to cave as I stare at the ground beneath me, numb.

Then something shatters within me, and the chokehold is released. I scream, scream, scream, until my throat is like sandpaper and the coppery stench of blood fills my mouth.

I've lost everything in an instant.

Sosuke was murdered.

                                                         -------------

[blustersquall]

Only Make Believe // Chapter 28: Aboard the Peraquialus

New chapter for those reading. As always, the chapter is also on AO3 for those who prefer reading on there. 

No warnings for this one.

December 29th

--

The drive from Kinloch to Gwaren took only a few hours with clear traffic and it was late afternoon when Cullen drove the car into port. The harbour in Gwaren was the biggest in Ferelden and was used almost exclusively for commercial travel. Huge luxury liners and ferries came and went at all hours of the day, gathering passengers and dropping them off after weeks on the ocean, sailing warming climates in opulent surroundings with every comfort that money could provide.

It took some time for Cullen to find the dock where their ferry was berthed. There were ships upon ships and not a single one was designed to do anything but impress. Each liner was a behemoth of design and engineering - even the smallest of them was probably the size of a small city.

When Cullen found the correct dock, he stopped the car suddenly and stared up for a few seconds, his mouth hanging open a little.

"This cannot be the right one," he stated, quickly reaching for his phone from the cup holders. "This is..."

"It's the right number," Nevena pointed out, watching him frantically scrolling through what she could only assume was the last-minute booking email for their ferry. "And the right name. You said it was called 'Peraquialus', right?"

"Yeah. But... I was expecting..." Cullen glanced up over the top of his phone, "you know, a ferry. Not... a garish… whatever that is."

Nevena giggled, "You sound like such a snob."

"How so?" he threw her a distinctly unimpressed look.

"Garish?" she teased. "Cullen, it's meant to be the definition of luxury. I doubt they'd appreciate your scathing review before you even looked around."

Cullen shrugged and Nevena saw the tips of his ears grow a little pinker, "I think my idea of luxury and the idea of whoever designed this differ greatly." He returned his phone to the cup holders and gripped the steering wheel. "It's the right dock number, the right time, and the right name," he sighed. "Maybe there's a smaller one tucked behind it?"

"Don't sound so disappointed," smiled Nevena, reaching across to touch his arm, "you'll only have to endure it for one night."

He drove towards a pair of men in high-visibility jackets who checked the booking information on Cullen's phone. After everything was confirmed, they directed them to where they could board the ship with the car and explained what to do once they were parked up.

There were only a handful of cars and three tourist coaches along with Cullen's car inside the onboard car park in the hull of the ship. Even though she doubted many people saw the car park, it was kept neat and clean, if cold. After Cullen grabbed their bags from the trunk and locked up they followed signs for the lift and ascended to the deck level. Once there, they were greeted by a man dressed in a black blazer and white trousers, the uniform of the ship crew. Once more the booking was checked on Cullen's phone for confirmation, and another crew member was summoned to lead them to their cabin on the deck below.

Walking through the halls lined with doors, Nevena noticed they were not alone by any means, and that most passengers were in their later years. Some seemed to be travelling alone, whereas others were in groups or couples. There was music playing over well-hidden speakers, soft, inoffensive jazz to give a relaxed ambience to the brightly lit hallway.

Their guide talked animatedly as he led the way, describing the ship, how long it had been actively taking passengers and what amenities were available - several swimming pools, two onboard gyms, six restaurants, various clubs and games to keep guests occupied. He explained that the ship started its journey in Ferelden and then stopped in Kirkwall to take on many of its passengers before continuing its four-week journey around Antiva, Rivain and Tevinter before the return trip.

When Cullen mentioned he and Nevena were only staying one night, set to disembark in Kirkwall, their guide lost his enthusiasm and carried on the rest of the trip to their cabin in relative silence. Clearly, he was only paid to make a good impression on long staying guests.

Their room was decorated simply, white throughout with red and blue accents. They had a window which looked out over the sea, a double bed with one side tucked up against the wall, and a door leading to an en-suite bathroom they shared with the empty cabin next-door. The crew member showed them how the lights worked, and where there was a call button they could use at any time to contact a member of the crew if they wanted room service. He waited awkwardly in the threshold of the door until Cullen thanked him curtly and ushered him out.

"I think he was waiting for a tip," Nevena remarked, unzipping her bag.

"Well, he wasn't that friendly," replied Cullen, placing his own bags on one side of the room. "Which of the many restaurants do you want to eat at?" he asked. She could practically hear him rolling his eyes.

"Don't be a grouch." Nevena went to him and curled her fingers into his jumper, leaning up on tiptoes to peck his lips, "You can endure all this grandeur for a night."

"I am not grouching," Cullen huffed but wrapped his arms around her waist none-the-less. "We could order room service."

"Or we could make the most of our time on a cruise ship and have some fun," said Nevena, tapping the end of his nose. "Whatever we do, I need to make a video call to Roselyn first. I've been promising her I would for days and we haven't really stopped long enough for me to do so." She extracted herself from Cullen's arms and returned to her bag. "She said she has some news."

"Do you want me to go?" he asked, pointing at the door. "In case it's private?"

"It's up to you." Nevena sat on the bed after pulling her laptop out of her bag. She started to untangle the power cable. "She won't mind if you're here. She's probably curious to know what you look like, actually."

"Really?"

"Well, she's never met you."

"That's true." Cullen tutted. As Nevena powered on her laptop and waited for it to load, she watched Cullen busy himself with unpacking a few items of clothing for the following day. She found herself smiling while he went about his task.

A pleasant warmth settled inside her, like the one she felt in the small memorial chapel earlier that day when he kissed her. It was a sensation that was unfamiliar, but not unwelcome. One she could not recall ever experiencing with Rick or even boyfriends before him - not that there were many in the past anyway. She experienced it whenever she looked at Cullen, let alone heard his voice or felt his touch. A pleasurable flutter in her chest that she'd felt since meeting him, that had only grown over their time together.

At first, it was something she tried to ignore - telling herself it was foolish to be so giddy over an arrangement and a fake relationship. Now... now, though, it didn't feel so foolish. After all, the things they felt, the things they did... they were real, weren't they?

Of course, that begged the question: what, exactly, were they?

The contract was still in place, but it hardly seemed necessary now. They were no longer in the presence of her family, the arrangement that put them together was done, albeit earlier than anticipated, yet neither of them had mentioned or broached the subject of ending their agreement prematurely. Perhaps they were both afraid of the same thing, that the contract was the only thing binding them together. That, perhaps, if they brought it to a premature end they would realise there was nothing really between them. That it was all a daydream. A wonderful rose-tinted fantasy, but a fantasy none-the-less. They would realise that without those words and pieces of paper locking them together, there was nothing but air between them.

Was that true, though?

Nevena nibbled her bottom lip as the screen of her laptop sprang to life. She didn't want to think it was. After everything they'd been through together, after everything they had learned and disclosed and shared - to think it was all a fantasy caused a sharp pain to shoot from the middle of her chest down to her extremities. She didn't want to doubt. She hated the feeling of it looming at the back of her mind telling her she was fooling herself; that Cullen was biding his time and simply waiting for the contract to end and then he would tell her what he really thought of her and her past actions. She hated the part of her brain that filled her with unease and fear, the part of her brain that mocked her for allowing herself to be so vulnerable with him, and that it would be for nothing, or be thrown back in her face.

It was never simple. She couldn't just enjoy this, and let it play out naturally. Allow things to progress and see what happened one day at a time. She had to second guess herself. Worse, she was second guessing Cullen, too. Cullen, who had allowed himself to be as open and honest with her as she was with him. Cullen, who was a gentleman. Who was kind, and warm towards her. Who hugged her when she cried and kissed her without hesitating. Who made feelings she had never felt before starting to awaken. Cullen, who made her feel safe and secure, protected, wanted, heard, desired.

Loved.

That thought jarred Nevena from her spiralling fears and she snapped her eyes to her laptop screen. Loved? She let out a long breath and pushed her fingers back through her hair, tilting her head to look at the ceiling, the light fixture - anywhere until the sudden lurch in her stomach settled and the tightness in her chest relaxed. Where had that come from? And why was she thinking it? It wasn't possible for people to fall in love over the space of a few weeks, was it? Real life wasn't a fairytale. It wasn't as simple and easy as that. Love, relationships, they took weeks, they took work, they took effort. There was no reason for her to think or suspect he loved her. There was no reason for her to think she was in love with him...

Except she was, wasn't she? No matter how she might try or want to deny it or rationalise it - perhaps that was what it really was. The reason for all her doubts and fears and the gnawing sensations that clung to her stomach, maybe it was because she was in love with him. Maybe it was simply her attempts to deny it, to run away and block it out. After all, love was frightening. She wasn't sure how love really worked, or even if she'd be good at it. Could a person be good at love?

Lifting her hands, she dragged them down her face and groaned into her palms releasing her frustrations in little bursts. When she peered over her fingertips, she saw Cullen looking at her from across the room.

"Everything alright?" he asked.

Nevena quickly put a smile on her face, swallowing hard on the thud of her heart at the back of her throat. "Mhm-hm," she managed to nod, "My laptop takes a while to load. Just reminds me I should look at the sales once I'm back in Denerim, look for a new one."

"Ah," Cullen nodded, "I can't help you there, I'm afraid. Laptops are not my forte, but I can certainly come with you when we're back in Denerim."

A flutter in Nevena's chest almost made her lose her breath. "That... that would be nice. Maybe your presence can stop me from being targeted by salespeople. I seem to attract them like a magnet."

Cullen chuckled as he pulled a dress shirt out of his bag and hung it up. "I'm going to have a shower briefly," he said, approaching Nevena and leaning his hands down on the bed beside her. The mattress dipped under his weight. "We've had quite a full day, after all."

"We have."

"Then, I thought, I would go and investigate these restaurants and we'll meet up once you're done talking to Roselyn? I don't know about you, but I'm worn out."

"I am pretty tired," Nevena smiled. "Dinner and an early night seem like a sound plan to me, that way we'll be fresh for our arrival in Kirkwall tomorrow morning."

"Good," Cullen kissed her. One of those toe-curling, spine-tingling, wonderful kisses that made her head swim and made her want to put her laptop to the side and pull him into bed. Her heart was thudding in her ears when he pulled away, brushing her nose with his in an act of pure, unabashed affection. The look he gave her as he pushed off the bed was like the feeling of sitting in front of a fire on a cold day or listening to heavy rain on the window while safe and warm inside. Cullen gave her a sense of home and that… that was an overwhelming realisation. "I won't be long."

Once he was in the bathroom and Nevena could hear the shower running, she sent a quick text to Roselyn while connecting to the ship's wifi to ask if she was around. Almost immediately, Roselyn shot back a reply that she was waiting for her to get online and to hurry up. Nevena put her phone to one side, waited for everything to load up and logged into Skype. Within seconds, she had an incoming video call and answered.

"Finally!" Roselyn gasped over the speakers, swooning back in her chair over-dramatically. "I was beginning to wonder if I'd ever see your face again!"

"I'm sorry," Nevena smiled sheepishly. "It's been kind of... crazy."

"With your family, I'm not surprised," snorted Roselyn.

"Hi Nevena!" A male voice called from off-screen. There was the sound of two dogs barking as well.

"Hey Alistair," Nevena called back. Roselyn turned her head, clearly watching her husband off-screen. "How are you? Did you two have a good Christmas? What's the news you wanted to tell me?"

"So curious all of a sudden!" Roselyn replied, her smile broad. "So many questions! I have questions for you, too. Like, where's this rent-a-date guy? What was the craziness at Ineria's you mentioned? And why did you leave?"

"You answer mine first," Nevena shot back, grinning. "What's this news you mentioned?"

Roselyn's eyes widened, her face lighting up. Alistair came into the frame, sandy brown hair a little mussed, red-faced, and smiling down at Roselyn as he placed his hands gently on her shoulders and kissed the top of her head.

"I'm pregnant!" announced Roselyn, throwing her hands up excitedly.

Nevena clapped a hand over her mouth, gasping and then descending into exuberant laughter. "You're pregnant?!"

"I'm pregnant!" Roselyn repeated, her smiling growing. "Finally!"

Nevena screamed, almost rocking back onto the bed and dropping her laptop. "You're pregnant! I can't believe it! Congratulations!"

"Thank you!" Roselyn laughed. "I wanted to wait and tell you when you were back, but I've never been the most patient person. I had to tell you!"

"Do you--"

"I heard screaming," Cullen poked his head out of the bathroom door, hair wet and dripping. "Are you okay? Wait -- why are you grinning?"

"Roselyn is pregnant!"

Cullen blinked, "Oh, uh – congratulations, person I don’t know… beyond a couple of phone calls…” He grimaced.

"Thank you!" called Roselyn. Cullen quickly ducked back into the bathroom, reappearing a few moments later wrapped in a towel. "Is that the guy? The Cullen Rutherford guy? Can I see him?"

"I can hear you," Cullen said, glancing over at Nevena.

"In a second," Nevena said dismissively, fighting to keep her eyes on the screen but finding her gaze drawn to where Cullen was pacing around with nothing but a towel and water still clinging in places to his body. Now she had seen his scars, he must have been feeling a little more comfortable around her, not quite so self-conscious.

She hadn't seen him naked, or nearly naked before - doing so made blinding heat travel through her belly to her face and between her legs. The scars did nothing to detract from his appearance. His broad chest and shoulders, the tight muscles in his back, toned arms and legs, a layer of softness around his trunk. The hair on his chest was darker than that on his head, and the trail leading from his navel underneath the towel was darker still. Her comment about Michelangelo's 'David' when they first met had been spot on.

Cullen began to get dress, either unaware of her eating him up with her eyes, or ignoring it completely. He pulled on his boxer briefs under his towel and Nevena bit her bottom lip. She cleared her throat, forcing herself to turn her eyes back to the screen and Roselyn.

"S-so, uhm -- how far along are you?" she asked Roselyn, hoping the camera wouldn't pick up the flare of colour she could feel on her cheeks.

"About sixteen weeks," Roselyn replied, leaning her cheek in her palm, her lips drawn into a smug smile that made Nevena realise Roselyn had noticed her ogling, even if Cullen had not.

"Sixteen we..." Nevena's attention snapped right back to Roselyn. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"I wanted to," Roselyn said, her voice becoming apologetic, "but we didn't want to tempt fate. We wanted to get past the risky stage before we started telling people. Given how hard it's been for us to conceive."

"No, I understand. Makes sense." Nevena glanced over at Cullen, watching him pull a dark red wine colour shirt on and begin to button it up. The fabric formed over the muscles in his arms and his chest in a way she hadn't seen his other clothes do before. He looked smart. And sexy. And she was glad she had her laptop on her lap, and Roselyn to talk to because if not she might have marched over there and ripped the shirt off him - buttons and all. "I'm really happy for you," Nevena said, looking back at Roselyn. "You've been trying for so long. If anyone deserves it, you guys do."

"Thanks," smiled Roselyn.

"Now, Nevena," Alistair bent a little to fit more into the frame, "Perhaps you could tell my wife to stop fussing about the nursery and relax like the doctor ordered. I've tried, and she won't listen to me." He looked almost cross when he looked at Roselyn. She poked her tongue out in reply.

"You heard him," Nevena laughed, "you have to look after yourself a bit better now. Is it a boy or a girl? Do you know yet?" Roselyn's smile grew again. Nevena was sure she had never seen her smile this much before in her life. Except perhaps on her wedding day. "What? Don't tell me you're having twins or triplets or something?" Silence, and more broadening of Roselyn's smile. "Stop smiling so much! You're creeping me out!"

Roselyn gave a bark of laughter, covering her face with one hand and sticking up two fingers on the other. "Twins."

"Twins?!"

"Twins."

"Only you would take four years to get pregnant, and become pregnant with twins," giggled Nevena. "You guys must be so excited!"

"We are." Alistair kissed Roselyn's head as he stood and walked out of frame.

"Excited and kind of terrified," added Roselyn. "But so far so good. The midwife says everything is normal. The babies are the right size. I've just got to take it slow."

"Which must be torture for you," said Nevena.

"Nev?" Cullen called for her softly and she lifted her head. He was fully dressed, hair smoothed and combed back. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to his elbows, he wore black trousers and carried a black blazer hanging over his right arm. He was possibly more attractive all smartly dressed than walking around in a towel. "I'm going to head out and look at the restaurants. Text or call me when you're done, and I'll tell you where I am, okay?"

"Okay."

“Waitwait! I at least want to get a look at you!” Roselyn called from the laptop screen.

Cullen gave Nevena an uncertain look.

“Do you mind?” she asked him.

He sighed, “no, go ahead.”

Nevena turned the laptop so the camera would pick up the image of Cullen across the room. “Hi!” Roselyn said.

“It’s nice to meet you finally. Sort of.” Cullen offered a sincere if awkward smile. “Once we’re back in Denerim it would be nice to meet in person.”

“Yes, absolutely.” Replied Roselyn. “How tall are you?”

“About six-one. Why?”

“Just my curiosity, which is now satiated. Turn me back around.”

“Nice meeting you,” Cullen called.

“You too.”

Nevena smiled, small and grateful watching Cullen as adjusted his jacket on his arm, took a breath and allowed his shoulders to visibly relax. He approached Nevena on the bed and kissed her soundly, cradling the back of her neck, before she could speak. She returned it, just barely managing to retain her senses and remember Roselyn could probably see and hear everything. She bit her bottom lip as Cullen pulled away, smiling that tingle-inducing smile of his. He kissed her forehead for good measure. “See you in a bit. Have fun catching up with Roselyn.”

There was silence from Roselyn until the door to the cabin clicked shut and Cullen was gone.

"I heard lip smacking!" Roselyn crowed. Nevena wasn't sure if she was accusing her of something, or simply pointing something out. "I heard lip smacking and definitely saw kissing. He’s gorgeous, by-the-way! But that’s beside the point, it’s your turn, what is going on? Tell me everything."

Nevena sighed, wondering where to begin. "Alright."

She explained, in detail and at length, everything that had transpired since she left Denerim to go to Haven with Cullen. Roselyn listened intently, nodding and asking clarifying questions every so often, but silent for the most part. As she recounted the experiences of the past few weeks, Nevena realised just how much had happened, and how much she had learned and changed in such a short space of time.

She wasn't sure if it was everything she had discovered that had forced the change, or simply having Cullen there as a method of support - but she felt a little stronger in herself. More resilient. She knew if she'd been there alone she would never have stood up to Ineria. She would never have confronted her father about the truth or answered back to Katrin and Clotilde the times she had. She was sure she would have either turned tail and run on Christmas Day if things transpired the same way, or she would have shut up and taken her sister's abuse.

Cullen made her stronger. His presence, or maybe it was just his quiet confidence that she was feeding off. Something of his that he was allowing her to borrow when she was in desperate need of it and failing on her own. She was grateful to him for being with her through all the strife of the last few weeks. He had been a stranger at the start of it all, now she could not consider her life without him in it.

"...and now we're on a ship, heading for Kirkwall to spend New Year with Varric Tethras. We're going to go to Ostwick too, I might find out something about my mother there."

Roselyn's expression was a small, but severe frown and she was staring down at the keyboard in front of her in thought. "Wow."

"Yeah."

"It sounds like you've had quite an eventful time."

"Something like that."

"I'm a little annoyed you didn't tell me what was happening. I could have come and got you. Or helped in some way." She looked at Nevena though the camera. “But, I get it. With all that going on, I doubt calling me would have even crossed your mind.”

"I know," Nevena picked her fingernails. "I just... I didn't know what to say or do, and I didn't want to bother you with it.”

“You wouldn’t have been bothering me,” Roselyn told her with a sisterly gentleness. “I know that’s not how your brain would have seen it, though. I’m sorry you had to experience all that. Especially without a full support system around.”

“It… I had Cullen there, he helped me stay calm and rationalise things."

"Hmmm..." sighed Roselyn. "Well, at least you're not alone. And it sounds like he's not a terrible human being."

"He's not," Nevena felt her heart quicken in her chest, "Rose, he's not. He's... you would really like him. I know you would. He's kind and gentle, and protective. He listens and asks questions. He cares, Rose. He really cares. About me." Hot tears welled up in her eyes and she gulped them back. "I... I've never met anyone like him. I've never felt like this about anyone--"

"You do have it bad." Roselyn leaned her chin on her fist, elbow on the table, and a wry, playful smile on her lips.

"It's..." Nevena searched the cabin with her eyes as if looking for inspiration, "do you remember that night in college when you came back from your first date with Alistair?”

“Hmm…”

“You’d been saying goodnight to him for ten minutes. When you finally came in, you closed the door, you leaned on it, sighed, and said you were going to marry him."

Roselyn smiled at the memory. "I--"

"Did she really say that?!" Alistair's voice came from off screen. "Did you really say that, Rosie?"

"I... yes. Yes, I did.” Roselyn replied, looking across the room to where Alistair was sitting off-screen.

“Aw!” Alistair crowed, “I never knew that! That’s the most adorable thing I’ve ever heard! Thank you Nevena!”

Roselyn laughed, her attention returning to the screen. “I do remember saying that, yes.” 

"Being with Cullen... it feels how I imagine that felt to you," Nevena explained, "and I like it. It’s wonderful and freeing, and exhilarating and… the happiest I’ve ever felt. I like him."

"Sounds like you more than just like him," said Roselyn with a playful smile. Nevena blushed and lowered her eyes. "Have you told him how you feel?"

"No." Tucking her hair behind her ear, Nevena shifted for comfort and jiggled her laptop. "It probably sounds stupid, but I'm afraid."

Roselyn pursed her lips. "Given your experience with Rick, I don't think it's stupid of you to be cautious. What is it you're afraid of, exactly?"

"That it's all... kind of... make believe." Nevena tutted to herself. Even she thought she sounded moronic as she searched for how to explain herself. "We met because I was trying to lie to my family. We've been put into this position because of a contract. We've been thrust together because of the contract. What if it's because of the contract and circumstance I feel like this about him? What if it's because of the contract he is the way he is with me?"

"Nev," Roselyn sighed and pushed her fingers through her hair, "listen to yourself. You're over thinking. Letting your doubts get the better of you."

"But--"

"This is the first time I have ever seen you like this. It might be the light, but I'm sure you look different. Happier, glowing somehow. I don't know. Think about it logically, the contract he gave you and wrote up, it stipulates you guys being together while you're with your family, right? And where are you now?"

"On a ship, bound for Kirkwall," Nevena replied in a small voice.

"Exactly," Roselyn said. "The contract became null and void when you decided to leave Haven and take an extended road and boat trip to the Free Marches. The contract is no longer holding you together. It's done. There's no magic spell that's going to break at the stroke of midnight like in Cinderella. What is keeping him near you, is you... Do you really think he wouldn't have gone to all this trouble, all these lengths if you were just a client to him? If he didn't feel something for you?"

"I..." Nevena opened and closed her mouth. "No... no, I guess not."

"I know it’s hard for you to stop doubting yourself, to stop the fear you feel, and I get that you’re scared of letting yourself feel what you feel for him, but I don’t think you have to worry about whether it’s manufactured or not. It's genuine and honest. And he clearly reciprocates," Roselyn's expression softened, "and how could he not? I mean, aside from the fact you're completely amazing, you're one of the kindest and most patient people I know. There's clearly something about you that has him drawn to you, otherwise, I don't think he'd still be there. Accompanying you on this pilgrimage? Introducing you to your favourite author? Inviting you as a plus one to a New Year’s Eve party? Sounds like he has some serious feelings towards you, too."

"What if you're wrong, though?"

"I'm never wrong."

"Rose..."

"In this case, I really don't think I am," Roselyn smiled. "But don't listen to me. Listen to yourself. What do you think he feels?"

Nevena stared at the door to the cabin as if expecting Cullen to walk in and proclaim out of the blue that he was head over heels in love with her. She wanted to laugh. As if that would happen.

Roselyn was right, though. She was over-thinking, over-analysing, the way she always did. She could never just let things happen and be happy with them. She could never allow things to progress naturally and go at their own pace. She always second-guessed herself, worried that she was wrong. Or reading the signs incorrectly. Years of mental torture at the hands of Rick had her well trained, and it was a hard habit to break.

She was certain of only a few things, mainly that she had feelings for Cullen that ran deeper than friendship and mere lust. There was something intense and overwhelming about it. Something that had her dangling over a precipice and all she needed to do was take a leap of faith to find if she would fall or fly. She was certain too - though less so - that Cullen had some feelings for her. Perhaps they didn't run as deep as those she had, but she wanted to believe her own emotions were matched and returned. After all, in the small memorial chapel, hadn't he said he'd 'never felt anything like this'?

Like what? What was the 'this' he was referring to? And why did he have to be so vague about it? Couldn't he have been more specific? Why did everything have to be so confusing and annoying?

With a small groan, Nevena ruffled her hands through her hair. "I don't know what he feels."

Roselyn tutted, "Have the two of you even talked about what you're going to do when you get back to Denerim? You're living in each other's pockets now, but what about when you get back?"

"I don't know."

"Do you think he's realised the contract he wrote is null and void because you're no longer in the location of it?"

"I don't know."

"Do you--"

"I don't know, Rose," Nevena snapped, suddenly. "I don't know anything. That's the worst part. I don't want to talk to him about it, in case it suddenly becomes too real and he realises this isn't what he wants! That I'm not what he wants."

"Nev..."

"I mean, who would want me, anyway? I'm so broken and mangled by past experiences, why would he want me when he could have someone else who is normal and isn't broken or just about keeping it together? Why would anyone want to waste their time with me, when they could have fun with someone who isn't neurotic, who isn't an idiot, and who doesn't have a pile of emotional baggage they have to carry around with them?" Nevena was panting when she stopped talking. Breathing hard, flushed, and overheated. Roselyn was staring at her on the screen.

"Do you feel a little better now?" she asked, her voice sympathetic.

"Yes," Nevena said. She was glad Roselyn understood her, that she didn't mock her for her way her mind worked. The near constant sense of self-deprecation she carried around with her. Roselyn took it all in her stride and did what she could to help Nevena understand herself.

"Good," Roselyn pushed her hair back, "now you listen to me, Nev. Who wants you? Cullen-fucking-Rutherford wants you, that's who. And you want him, more to the point. You have issues, but who doesn’t? And Nev, you're getting there. It's a slow process, but think of where you are now in comparison to three years ago! You need to stop beating yourself up and denying yourself the things you yearn for because you're afraid. Or because you don't think you deserve it. You deserve to be happy, and if Cullen Rutherford makes you happy then fuck the contract that's null and void anyway, pin him down on the bed and ride him until he can't bloody walk!"

Nevena heard Alistair choke on something off camera and begin to clear his throat.

"You're not an idiot. You're not broken. You're amazing. He'd be lucky to have you," Roselyn continued, glancing over at where Alistair must have been sitting. "If you tell him the contract is done because the terms were breached, and he calls it quits, then he wasn't worthy of you. But I don't think he'll do that. From everything you've told me he seems genuine, and determined and good for you. Maybe him taking you to meet Varric Tethras - clearly an old friend - is his version of taking you to meet his parents?"

"Maybe," Nevena chuckled, managing to smile a little.

"Everyone has emotional baggage. You've helped him with his by the sounds of it. He's been helping with yours... You deserve to give him and yourself a chance." With a sigh, Roselyn dropped her shoulders, relaxing her position. "Wait until you get to Kirkwall, settle in, talk to each other, see what you both want from this. Make sure you're on the same page."

Exhaling quickly, Nevena nodded, wiped her eyes and slapped her palms on her thighs. "Okay." She sniffed. "What do I do in the meantime?"

"Tease him until he's within an inch of his life."

Nevena rolled her eyes, "Rose."

"I'm serious," Roselyn waved her off. "I threw in that backless ivory dress we bought last year when you were packing. Wear that.”

“That is more underwear than a dress.”

“Just humour me and try it on.” Roselyn grinned, “What have you got to lose?”  "

With another eye roll and a vaguely disapproving look in Roselyn's direction, Nevena did as she asked and climbed off the bed to her suitcase. She began to dig through the clothes inside. Her heart was racing and her blood was thundering around her body as though she'd been running circuits around the ship. For the first time in what felt like days, she was clear-headed. As though a fog she didn't know was there had been lifted and now she could see a path ahead of her.

A path that had Cullen Rutherford as its destination.

I hope you all enjoyed this chapter. I know it's not a long or as hard-hitting as the previous one, and there's a lack of Cullen, but I felt it necessary to have something of a filler chapter, given how heavy going chapter 27 is. I hope you don't mind. Still, I tried to make this chapter interesting and engaging, and it's nice to see Nevena actually admitting how deep her feelings run.  Plus, it was nice to demonstrate that Nevena has a support system outside of Cullen and to show some more of her friendship with Roselyn. Although I admit again, I'm a little leery. Worried you all are going to feel she's feeling things too fast. 

I certainly hope you enjoyed this chapter. What do you think is going to happen next? Do you think Nevena will actually summon up her courage and tell Cullen how she feels or be brave enough to discuss the contract with him? Or do you think she'll chicken out at the last minute?

Thank you for reading. As always, please let me know your thoughts in the comments/tags/reblogs, and I'll see you in the next chapter! <3

[letsprayitwritesitself]

how jack and davey accidentally (and then not) ended up spending all their valentines days together

February 14th 2014

davey

will u hate me if i ask if ur free rn

why would i hate you

i dont want to assume

happy v day

wow jack

i’m actually on two dates right now

mrs doubtfire style

what’s up

she dumped me

on the phone

half an hour ago

come over

‘Do you want to talk about it?’ Davey led Jack through to the living room, glancing cautiously over his shoulder to try and gauge his friend’s mood.

‘No. Yeah. Not really.’ Jack slumped on the couch, clutching his paper grocery bag to his chest. Davey perched on the armrest. ‘I just. Like, I knew it wasn’t serious, whatever. But you can have a fun valentines with someone you’re not serious about! I did it all the time in middle school!’

‘Maybe she thought it was a bigger deal than it was?’

‘That’s what I tried to tell her! But you can’t try and convince a girl to go out with you when she doesn’t want to. Learnt that in middle school, too.’

‘So it’s over?’

‘I think so. She said that she got the impression we were moving too fast - which we weren’t - and she wanted to cool off.’

‘That’s not the end of the world, right?’

‘Nah. I don’t know. How many good relationships start like that?’

‘I think valentines must have just freaked her out, Jack. Happens to a lot of people.’

‘We’ll see. I’m thinking I’m maybe just a little infatuated with her, right? Talk to me in a few days and I’ll be back to normal.’

‘So tonight isn’t an I-hate-girls-bros-before-hos thing?’

‘Almost. Still want you to indulge me.’ Jack tipped up the bag on to the couch. A pint of ice cream, a six pack of beer, and a thing of chips ahoy bounced out.

‘I actually found my copy of Mrs. Doubtfire. Thought it might help.’

‘God damn it. It’s perfect.’ He grabbed the DVD from Davey and started setting it up while Davey headed into the kitchen. He called through. ‘And Dave?’

‘Yeah?’

‘Anyone asks, we both had smoking hot dates for tonight, alright? And not with each other.’

‘Got it.’

//

‘Stop hogging it, oh my god.’

‘Shut up, you’re making me miss it!’

‘You know what happens, Dave! Gimme.’ Jack grabbed the tub and triumphantly started digging out some cookie dough. Davey let him have it. They had sunk down into the couch under Davey’s comforter with a million pillows for company. Orange street light filtered through the blinds. It was only nine o clock.

‘Forgot to ask the most important question, Davey Jacobs.’ Jack poked him with the end of his spoon. ‘Why don’t you have plans tonight?’

‘Ah. Like, I kind of... I don’t know. Don’t wanna force plans just cause of the day, you know? If I had a person, that’d be great. But I don’t, so. Just another Friday!’

‘No-one caught your eye?’

‘Not really? I mean. The guy who gets my coffee at Starbucks every morning, like, we’re on semi-first name terms. But then, he wears a name badge, so. Yeah, no-one. But I don’t mind!’

‘You don’t wanna be set up or anything, right?’

‘God, no. What happens, happens. What doesn’t doesn’t.’ 

‘So fricken mature, Jacobs. Shame we can’t all be Race and Spot.’

‘What, fall in love after making eye contact but pretend to be casual?’

‘You know Spot made them a reservation for tonight? He made it in October.’

‘Oh, my heart. See, that’s the thing. If I found someone the way those two did, then I’d do the Valentines thing. ‘Til then I’m saving all the stress of... trying to romance someone.’

‘And you get to hang out with me.’

‘Oh yeah. How much am I getting paid for babysitting again?’

‘Funny guy, Davey. Now, listen, cuz this is important.’

‘Shoot.’

‘Do you have Aladdin?’

‘Of course I have Aladdin.’

February 14th 2015

‘And he said that going out on Valentines day felt too much like forcing something to happen. I swear to god. Can’t make eye contact with anyone whole month of February or they’ll think you’re trying to marry ‘em.’

‘So you’re not going out at all?’

‘We’re going out tomorrow. I mean. One day different! Same bar, same drink, same Jack Kelly trying to get into his pants. Just twenty four hours difference.’

‘It’s nice that you didn’t let this quirk stop you from trying to get laid.’

‘He’s still pretty much the hottest guy I know.’

‘Do you know what he’s doing tonight?’

‘I bet you anything he’s doing that kind of... the thing where you burn your ex’s underwear. Polaroids.’

‘Way less cliche than our Valentines day spent scarfing ice cream and pretending we weren’t crying over Robin Williams.’

‘God. Palentine’s day 2014. That should be a thing.’

‘That should be a thing!’

‘I mean. It’s slightly becoming a thing.’ Jack tipped out his backpack to reveal an exact duplicate of their snacks from the year before. ‘Can’t lie, Dave, I’m starting to wonder if this is better than doing real Valentines.’

‘Yeah?’

‘Not that, you know, I’m triumphant that you’ve been abandoned or anything.’

‘Oh, of course not. Your cheer on the other end of the phone said that much.’

‘When’s he back?’

‘Tomorrow.’

Davey’s Starbucks barista had turned into Davey’s something else, asking him out the day he quit the coffee shop to put his marketing degree to use. Davey, shocked that his idle daydreams about this guy who made his coffee could actually be manifested in real life, said yes.

Well, it was before his coffee, so he had actually said something like uhhwhatyeahsureyes. 

And that had been eight months previous. Evan had slotted effortlessly into Davey’s life, doing the date thing, meeting his parents, weekends away, only kind of slightly stealing Davey from Jack (like that was the kind of thing Jack would notice anyway.) 

Because Jack had, since the last Valentine’s day, well - he had almost become involved with a number of people. Unsure what he wanted, he went on dates, slept with people, not always in that order, flirted with girls and guys on a daily basis and even started tipping his baristas more after seeing Davey’s success - but he hadn’t found his person. That was okay, he didn’t mind. He was still a kid, in his head. He had forever to be tied down. Did miss hanging out with Davey, though.

So when Davey had phoned to say that Evan had been called away last minute for an overnight conference, it took Jack roughly two seconds to get excited about reprising their bittersweet Robin Williams carb fest from the year before. He, of course, waited before posing it, listening to Davey whine just a little about how he was going to miss Evan, before picking the right moment to tell Davey about the guy he’d asked out - the one who told him any day but Valentine’s. And so they found themselves again on Davey’s couch, illuminated by the TV, slumped in onesies, digging into some Ben and Jerry’s.

‘Got him anything good?’

‘I got him this gin he likes. Some socks. I’m... I’m thinking about giving him a key.’

‘A key?’

‘I mean, like, to my apartment. Not just a random key.’

‘You’re so fuckin... grown up.’

‘I know!’ Davey looked over at Jack, grinning. Jack was enraptured by the TV. The lion was chasing the kids through the house.

‘I really hate this part. Terrified me when I was a kid.’

‘Me too.’ Davey turned back to the screen. Between them somewhere on the comforter, his phone lit up, drawing both their attentions.

Evan Abrams facetime.

Davey looked up at Jack, who was staring at the phone. ‘Sorry, Jack. I’ll be quick, okay?’

‘Ah, you crazy kids.’ Jack picked up the cookies and paused the movie as Davey picked up the call, hurrying into the kitchen. 

Things that weren’t weird: getting annoyed when your best friend’s boyfriend interrupted your Valentine’s bro date.

Even as he thought this, he had trouble believing it.

February 14th 2016

Wait -

January 20th 2016

Jack’s place. Wednesday night. Home from work. Long day. Roommate out. Slippers and Mad Men. Around nine, a knock on the door.

Davey stood, leaning against the wall, eyes red rimmed, staring into space. Jack watched him bite his lip, blink, open his mouth.

‘He’s been sleeping with his boss. For about a year, now.’ He looked up and into Jack’s eyes. ‘It’s over.’

It was freezing cold and it had been dark for hours. Jack opened his arms and Davey swayed forward into them, hiding his face in Jack’s neck, leaning on him as Jack squeezed him tight. Jack realised, as he stared out into the street and thought about the hollow, manic look in Davey’s eyes, he’d never seen his best friend cry. Davey felt almost horrible in his arms, stiff and shuddering.

‘Come on, you’re freezing.’

Davey followed him in silently, collapsing heavily on the couch when Jack gestured for him to sit. 

‘Do you wanna talk about it? You don’t have to.’

He knew Evan was a shit. Well. He didn’t really. But he had definitely thought that Evan’s whole thing reeked of too-good-to-be-true - a marketing exec who wore fitted suits and didn’t believe in lazy Sundays. And he combed his hair every single day, like, what was that? That is to say that he could see why Davey had fallen for him, but from the outside looking in? Davey could do better. Evan wasn’t... real. That was it. Evan’s demeanour was always so practised and so perfect that it made total sense he would be hiding something huge. Not that Jack would tell Davey this.

‘We went out tonight. To the bar on Elizabeth Street. And, um.’ Davey rubbed his forehead, squeezing his eyes shut. ‘We had like five or six rounds. I think maybe he wanted to be drunk. I am. Shit. So drunk.’ He squinted out into the room. Jack was sitting next to him on the couch, watching him sink into the cushions. ‘And then he just came out with it. We must have been in this bar talking like everything was okay for two hours before he said it. The conferences. Like, they were real. But his boss was there too. I feel like such a...’ Davey covered his face with his hands. ‘I can’t believe I thought I was enough for him.’

February 14th 2016

‘So I’ve got Hook, Dead Poet’s Society, and Night at the Museum,’ Davey announced as he walked in. ‘We thinking chronological, alphabetical?’

‘Reverse alphabetical. I need to warm up with Night at the Museum before I can even think about those fricken dead poets.’

Over the last twelve months Jack had enjoyed a number of romantic encounters. He’d gone steady with one girl for two months and even enjoyed a couple of fourth dates with different people before the inevitable fizzling started. Still not desperate he’d tried to focus on his art and maybe finding a better job than his restaurant gig, sure that when a person that was right for him came along, he’d know about it.

Over the last twelve months Davey had been going from strength to strength with Evan. They had moved in together, merged DVD collections, all that good stuff. This had given Jack a lot of time to think about why he just... didn’t love Evan, and he had come up with a fair few reasons. The most troubling of these came as a slow realisation that Davey was too good for him. Way too good. 

He started measuring up potential dates next to Davey. Started to get these little twinges in his stomach when Davey entered the room. And it felt good to indulge so he started to let himself stare a little at Davey’s mouth when he talked, his hands when he wrote or held a beer or just kind of anything, his face just all the time but especially when he got excited about stuff. 

That’s to say that Jack had been harbouring a very minor, very unimportant... crush for about eight or nine months now. But it was fine. Because Davey was with someone. And their friendship was important to him. It made way more sense for them to stay friends while they dated and had sex with and broke up with other people - Relationships were messy.

He wasn’t happy per se when Davey and Evan ended things, but he knew that Davey was better off out of it. And he hated that as he sat consoling Davey the night it happened, he was trying to make sense of his feelings for him. 

He kept Valentine’s free on purpose, excited that it was theirs, with or without romantic complications.

Valentine’s day fell about three weeks after Davey broke up with Evan. Evan’s stuff was gone from his apartment, selfies deleted from his phone, new hangout spots found that wouldn’t remind him of their time together. It was hard trying to get used to being single so quickly - he noticed the lack of welcoming kisses to come home to, and the casual lingering touches. He missed them, even if he knew that most of their relationship had been built on lies. But Jack was an excellent ally in single life, and having their newfound Valentine’s day tradition definitely helped take the sting out.

‘You’re so smart.' He put the movie in and took his seat next to Jack. Jack handed him a beer. Easy, reliable, comfortable silence.

Or it was comfortable silence, until an hour into the movie when Jack realised Davey had barely made a noise - not even a quiet huff of laughter. He looked across to see Davey focused on his drink, silently tapping a fingertip against the neck of the bottle, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth.

‘Dave?’

‘Mmm?’

‘What’s up?’

‘What? Nothing. Sorry.’

‘Come on.’

‘I just. I miss him. And I know I shouldn’t. I know he was an asshole. Still.’

‘That’s natural. It takes time, right?’

‘Right. Right. It’s just - crazy how you can be with someone. And then just. Not.’

Jack had tried so hard to tell Davey how the problem wasn’t with him - it was with Evan not knowing what a good thing he had. And yet dumb Davey kept thinking that if he had done something differently, been someone else, Evan wouldn’t have cheated on him. Jack just... wanted Davey to understand how perfect he was.

‘I’m sorry. I know I’m being really boring.’

Because the thing was that Davey would always carry this little flame of self-doubt, if Jack didn’t try his hardest to extinguish it. He’d always think that he needed to be more than he was, instead of being able to trust that the other person liked him anyway. How to let Davey know without pushing it?

‘Hey now. Shut up. You’re allowed to be emo, Dave.’ Jack paused the movie and stood up. ‘Come on. Get up.’

‘What?’

‘Up! We’re going out.’

‘Out where?’

‘Just outside for five minutes, Davey. Trust me, come on.’

Davey stared up at him from the couch, intrigued, sceptical, and aware that Jack was a stubborn asshole and thus inclined to co-operate.

They walked around the block, Jack leading Davey through comically exaggerated breathing exercises that sounded like they’d come from a second-rate birthing instructor.

‘Breathe out that negative energy and low self-esteem and bullshit... Breathe in the potential of the city, and the - the romance in the air, and I don’t fuckin know, the moonlight.’

Davey snorted. ‘The moonlight?’

‘I’m tryin’ my best!’

The smile was foreign and amazing on Davey’s face. They were standing outside his front door. Jack in front of him, lit up from behind by a streetlight, took Davey’s shoulders in his hands.

‘Davey, listen up. You’re the best guy I know. It really hurts to see you so cut up about this. But I know it won’t be long ‘til you meet someone better, who sees how important and special you are, alright? ‘Til then you’re stuck with me, of course, but beggars can’t be choosers.’ He watched Davey for his reaction. Had he gone too far?

Davey pulled him into a hug. He wrapped his arms around Jack and squeezed tight, sagging into him when Jack hugged back. He kept kept kept holding Jack for a couple of minutes, like he was trying to figure something out about the way their chests were pressed together. The longer they stood there together the more Jack started to wonder if he was really on to something, and if Davey was beginning to understand. He would never try to push his best friend into anything he wasn’t ready for and hell, maybe didn’t even want - but this closeness, it said something. Their breathing synced up. Jack could feel warmth radiating from Davey’s skin.

Davey took half a step back, like he was thinking about maybe preparing to end the hug. Their faces next to each other, heads in woolly hats connected temple to temple, Jack’s scratchy stubble on his cheek. He spoke into Jack’s ear.

‘Thanks, Jack.’

Jack smiled bittersweet, thinking that he’d stay in this embrace as long as Davey would let him. Davey inched back, just a little, and all Jack could comprehend was how their mouths were mere inches apart, centimetres even. Was Davey - could they -?

Davey didn’t know what he was doing. He was fizzing inside from Jack’s words and had hugged him to say thank you, but there was something in how Jack’s arms effortlessly held him so tight and for so long, that made him want to stay forever. Jack’s skin against his, Jack’s breath on his ear, his familiar smell. He had always been there.

He rested their foreheads together and Jack didn’t stop him. ‘Jack.’

Jack’s eyes were trained on Davey’s mouth. This was new. They were edging out of friend territory. He barely had the presence of mind to wonder if Davey should even be thinking about kissing him - he was too busy hoping that he was.

When they finally kissed it was sweet and searching and only lasted a couple of seconds. Jack didn’t want to push and Davey was still unsure. It was sublime. A moment of tentatively pressing their lips together followed by another of Davey chasing the sensation, bringing one hand round to cup Jack’s cheek, check he was real. When Jack pulled back, his breath hitched at Davey’s shining eyes. He dared to touch Davey’s face, run his fingertips down his cheek and over his lips.

‘Now you know.’ It came out a whisper. Davey nodded, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath in.

‘We should get inside.’ They finally stepped away from each other, but before leading Jack back in Davey reached out, picking up his hand and holding it tight.

February 14th 2017

Jack combed his fingers through Davey’s hair, grinning at the sated, sleepy expression on his face. Davey blushed under the gaze of his gross, sweaty boyfriend, pulling him down for a long kiss. 

They had woken up the morning of February 15th 2016 the way they always did, tangled up in a comforter on Davey’s couch, sun struggling through the curtains to land on their faces. Usually, however, they weren’t tangled up in each other at the same time. The night before had seen them muddle through their emotions in a halting conversation which saw Davey admitting that being close to Jack felt right, and natural, and normal. This admittance led to Jack readily opening his arms again and letting a confused Davey lay his head on his chest. In the twilight nothing seemed solid. They could deal with it all later. 

Davey, off to work at eight thirty, left Jack sound asleep, texting him instead of waking him.

can we hang out later? ok if you’re busy. let me know when you finish work.

Three hundred and sixty five days of taking it slow later and Jack was still trying to show Davey how their leap of faith was worth it, a fact Davey well knew, but he wasn’t about to stifle Jack’s enthusiasm. Having Jack Kelly as a boyfriend was like having a cheerleader and a lover all rolled into one best-friend-shaped package and yes, Davey had been reticent at the start, so soon after breaking up with Evan, but Jack had been patient, and sincere, and suddenly it was already their first anniversary.

It was only 10pm when they got home from their meal, Jack having beaten even Spot in booking them a table months in advance, and around midnight when they collapsed on to Davey’s bed, exhausted, thrilled, and very naked.

‘I love you so god damn much.’ How good it felt to finally say those words out loud instead of screaming them in his head!

‘I love you too, you giant nerd.’ Davey gripped Jack’s hand to his chest. ‘I’m really glad we started that Valentine’s thing three years ago, too. I keep thinking how happy I am that girl dumped you.’

‘You sweet talker, Dave. I actually keep thinking about how we never finished that movie last year.’

‘Night at the Museum?’

‘That’s the one.’ Jack raised his eyebrows. ‘Seems a shame to discard our old traditions just ‘cause we’ve found some new activities.’

‘You’re serious? Naked Palentine’s day?’

‘Yes! Get your ass up!’ Jack jumped up, whisking away the comforter from where it had been kicked to the foot of the bed. He reached out to pull Davey up. ‘Come on, those nights were almost perfect, right?’

‘Almost perfect?’

‘Too many clothes.’ He wrapped the comforter around their shoulders and they padded as one into the living room.