#i think maybe when he is being calamitous he should drip blood.

[lazycranberrydoodles]

contributing to the vampire hua cheng fandom o7

pose referenced off of this / follow for more fafa :)

[bellshells]

Splitting Hairs ch.2

Yo yo yo, chapter two of Splitting Hairs. Thank you for taking time to read this, I really do hope you enjoy it. So, I don’t know if I need to do any tw or just warnings in general but, there’s mention of blood and a bit of mild smut at the end. 

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Word Count: 2703  Summary: Severus is full of all the feelings about Valentine. But can he look past her resemblance to Lily? Especially when she tries to deepen their relationship?

Severus was ready just after seven. He had bathed and eaten alone in his chambers and watched the slow ticking of the clock intently. His mind had raced all afternoon with thoughts of Valentine and memories of Lily. He had spent the last few years punishing himself for allowing the pressures of his youth to destroy his relationship with Lily. What might’ve happened if he had been honest with Lily about his feelings? Would it have changed anything? Would it have been his body James Potter would have discarded on a windy night in Godric’s Hollow?

He was baffled by his initial reaction to Valentine. Having not seen her face in a few hours his heart had slowed in its pounding. Severus rationalised that it must have been the shock in simply being attracted to a woman for the first time since Lily- it was obvious he had a type. Severus was staring to annoy himself, why was he so affected by this woman? She was just that, a woman. A woman for whom Severus has put on his best dress shirt. A woman who had caused Severus to drink the best part of a bottle of dragon-whisky to soothe his nerves. He had tried to read, he had tried to plan his lessons, he tried practically anything to occupy himself other than being fixated on the clock. It was useless.

At ten to eight he rose and left his rooms. He made the short journey to Valentine’s quarters, stopping just short of the door to take a deep breath. Just before he raised his hand to the wood to knock; he heard a calamitous crash and an exclaimed “Fuck!” from within. “Professor Valentine?” he called out. “Severus? Come in, would you?” Severus turned the handle of the big wooden door and saw her; a mirror was smashed into pieces on the floor. Her dress unzipped at the back hung unceremoniously around her shoulders and finally a steady stream of blood dripped form her hand and onto the floor. Her lurched towards her, grasping her injured hand in his and examined her wound. “What on earth?” he said, bewildered. “I tried to move my mirror and it slipped out of my hands.” She moaned. His eyes hurried over her; her hair was perfectly curled and swept half away from her face. She wore dark make up on her eyes a brilliant red on her lips. He dress, still unzipped fell forward as she squirmed in his grasp and granted Severus a glance at her breasts. He blushed and instantly averted his gaze, returning his attention to her wound. “Jesus, I’m so sorry,” Valentine began, “What a mess.” “Just stay still, let me see how bad it is.” Severus muttered. He moved his wand slowly over her hand and one by one the pieces of glass that were stuck in there fell to the floor. “You should go to the infirmary.” He said. “No need!” Valentine countered, “I have a first aid kit in my wardrobe-” Severus looked at her dumbly as she gestured to the other side of the room. Instructing her to keep pressure on the worst affected area; he hurried over to the wardrobe. “Top shelf.” Valentine called out. Severus peered into her wardrobe, an array of colourful dresses, shirts and all sort greeted him. He pushed them to the side, revealing a shelf at the back. He picked up an item to move it out of the way and instantly recognised them to be Valentine’s delicates. Choosing to ignore the embarrassment he felt, he continued his search finally retrieving a little green bag with a white cross on it. He brought it over to her and opened it. “Just get the gauze and a bandage, I’ve got wipes here.” She instructed. Severus produced the desired materials from inside the bag as Valentine wiped blood from her wrist and forearm. She took the gauze from him and struggled one-handed to keep it in his place. Severus rolled his eyes and snatched it back. “Just- let me.” He placed the gauze on her hand and started wrapping the bandage around it tightly. “You’ll have to let me know if that’s tight enough for you.” “I bet you’ve said that before.” Valentine said with a sly smile, Severus could feel his cheeks warm as he tied the end of the bandage. “Please tell me why I’m wasting time doing this by hand?” he asked her, she looked up at him from under her lashes. He thought he might burst. “Because there nothing quite like the satisfaction of a job well done. Especially when it’s done with your own two hands.” She countered. “That’s one for you to remember when you’re alone.” Severus dropped her hand instinctively as she chuckled. Valentine lifted her bandaged hand up to the light to examine it. “Thank you.” She said earnestly. “Shall we be off?” he asked and gestured towards the open door. “Just one more thing.” Valentine turned her back and asked over her shoulder; “Would you mind?” She pointed to the zip of her dress still open at the back. Her pale skin illuminated by the dying light caressing the window. His breath caught in his throat as he made his way to her, hands ready. Severus touched the soft fabric of her dress and pulled it taut at her shoulders. He couldn’t help himself; his hands trailed down the corners of the fabric until he reached the bottom of the zip right at the base of her back. He could see Valentine’s skin raise under his touch as he moved closer to her. He pulled up the zip torturously slow, the same stirring he had felt in the pit of his stomach returned fiercely. Valentine turned slowly, their faces only inches apart, and flashed him a grin. “See?” she whispered, “Wasn’t that fun to do with your hands?”

Severus cleared his throat and took a step back. He extended his arm to her as she threw her cloak around her shoulders. Valentine produced her wand from her cloak and waved it over the mess on the floor. The pieces of mirror scattered all over found each other like magnets and realigned before whizzing back into the frame and mounting itself on the wall. She admired her handywork and pulled her cloak tight over her chest; the tight black dress Severus had become intimately acquainted with, now obscured from view. It took him a moment to remember his purpose. “Ready?” He asked. “After you, Professor Snape.”

They arrived at the passageway up to Dumbledore’s office in less time than Severus would have liked. He said the password and watched as Valentines face lit up as the commanding eagle gave way to a staircase that wrapped itself around the walls. “That’s quite cool.” She said wasting no time. She started to climb the steps and wobbled as she missed her footing, Severus offered his hand behind her and she took it with a smile. They continued up to the headmaster’s office together, the door already open. He could hear voices and the occasional peal of laughter as they rounded the corner. The thin sound of a vinyl player somewhere hidden played a sweet melody as he guided her into the room. Minerva was on her in an instant.

“Elizabeth my dear, we were starting to think you lost your way. How kind of Severus to escort you.” She said as she whisked Valentine further into the room and handed her a tall drink from a table nearby. Champagne. Either Dumbledore really wanted to impress the new professor the staff gatherings had altered dramatically since the last time he had attended one. He stood awkwardly on the outskirts of the party, he nursed a tumbler of whisky in one hand and pretended to listen to Trelawney as she waffled on about needing a particular potion to give to her third years. He nodded in all the right places and consented to make it for her, but his eyes were always on Valentine.

She seemed to dazzle everyone around her, it seemed his colleagues gravitated towards her like she was the sun in their orbit. He watched as Minerva, then Pomona, Filius and even Hagrid made their way to engage her in conversation. She was as polite and warm to each of them as one by one they descended onto her. He barely noticed as Dumbledore sidled up beside him and quietly said under his breath; “She’s definitely making an impression, wouldn’t you say, Severus?” “Hmm.” “I dare say she must have some Veela in her. She’s exceptionally beautiful.” Albus continued. “Her hair’s too red to be part Veela.” Muttered Severus. He watched as she threw her head back in laughter in something Hagrid had said. He saw a blush creep onto Hagrid’s cheeks and the groundskeeper grinned sheepishly. “Must be good breeding then. Is it just me, or does she bear a striking resemblance to Lily Potter?” Albus whispered. Severus froze, he could feel the elder wizards gaze on him as he thought how best to answer. “I suppose you might be able to draw similarities between them. Lily was much shorter than Professor Valentine though.” Dumbledore murmured in agreement as Minerva raised her hands in the air for quiet. “I would like to take this opportunity on behalf of the headmaster to welcome Professor Valentine to our ranks. With just a few short days before our students return to Hogwarts, let us raise a glass to Elizabeth, may your year be met with ease and very few challenges,” she raised her champagne flute and toasted; “Elizabeth.” Everyone followed suit, Elizabeth’s name sang through Dumbledore’s office as they drank. Severus put his glass to his lips and drank, but not before Valentine raised her own glass in his direction and winked. Severus couldn’t supress the smile that arrived on his lips. Maybe it was the atmosphere of the party, or the sheer amount of alcohol he had consumed, but he began to relax. The conversation flowed freely between Severus and his colleagues, he even started to find their inane jokes funny. Severus allowed himself to enjoy the company he was in and for once he felt like he belonged, not like he was there at Dumbledore’s behest. He meandered over to where a game of muggle chess was being played between Professors Binns and Burbage. He whispered in Charity’s ear the best way to take Cuthbert’s knight, but she laughed him off, preparing to use her own skill. Severus laughed with her.

It was another few hours before Valentine made her way over to Severus. She had not spoken to him since they arrived and she clocked him finally, sat in a chair by the fireplace. He was deep in conversation with Professor Kettleburn, until he caught a glimpse of her out of the corner of his eye. Severus could see her eyes glistened from across the room, she obviously had had a bit to drink. Valentine moved with such sensuality it was impossible to keep his eyes from her. He wondered what Lily would have looked like if she wore what Valentine was wearing. The calf length, tight figure-hugging dress; cut high around the shoulders yet low at the back. Lily would have looked sublime; he was sure of that. And, as Valentine continued her slow progress over to him, finally sitting on the arm of Severus’ chair; and he found his hand making its way to sit on her hip, his mind wandered once again to Lily. He imagined it was Lily putting her hand on his chest and leaning in to whisper in his ear, not Valentine. He felt a chill run through him as her breath tickled his face. “It’s quite late,” she stated, Severus raised an eyebrow. “Shall we go?” “I wasn’t aware you needed my permission to leave, Professor Valentine.” “Elizabeth,” she corrected, and traced the curve of a button on Severus’ shirt with her finger. “If you’re asking if I would accompany you back to your rooms, you need only ask; Elizabeth.”

A slow smile crept to her lips, her green eyes darkened, and she stood, Valentine stalked across the room and fetched her cloak. Severus rose slowly, his stomach in knots. What on earth was he doing? Was he flirting? Was she expecting him to go into her rooms and-? He shook his head and followed her to the door. They bid farewell to the few still left in Dumbledore’s office, the party well and truly winding down. Only a few stragglers remained, slurred tales and vacant looks abound. Severus held her hand as they descended the staircase, remembering how unsteady she was on the way up. He offered her his arm at the bottom, and she took it, and pulled her body close to his as they walked through the deserted castle.

They walked mostly in silence, like they had done only a few hours before. Only this time, he could feel the heat from her body singing to him as he couldn’t resist it. Valentine clung to his arm as they walked and Severus allowed her, turning his head to take in the scent of her. She smelled divine. In the scarce light of the corridor he could barely make out her features and he could fill in the blanks with his memories of Lily. If he turned his head away it was Lily clutching his arm, Lily tugging on his shirt and Lily pulling him into an alcove and pressing her soft lips to his.

She kissed him furiously, her hands wandered up his back and pulled him even closer. Severus returned the kiss and pushed her hard against the castle wall. His hands finding her rump and squeezing it, that same stirring he had felt all day returned with a vengeance. He felt his arousal pressed hard against his trousers, and she pushed hard against it. It was then when he felt the friction against his groin that Severus realised, he wasn’t kissing Lily and pulled away with a small “No…” Valentine stood slightly awkwardly as Severus stared at her, not quite meeting his gaze. “Sorry-” “Come.” Was all that he said. He started back towards her quarters, only giving her a cursory nod as he opened the door to her chambers. He didn’t give her a chance to respond before he closed it again and stalked towards his own rooms.

He was appalled with himself. He had been seduced by this Lily-lookalike and he was sad. Sad because he felt like it upset the memory of Lily and sad because he enjoyed it. Severus entered his bed chamber hot and confused, he needed to rid himself from the smell of her. It was everywhere on him. He stripped down to his underwear and got into bed and stared up at the dark cloth of his canopy. His mind was a tempest of thought. His skin electrified. His hand wandered down his torso to his crotch, his member hard in his hand. He began to move his hand up and down his shaft in swift pace, his breaths became short and shallow as he sunk his head into his pillow. His pleasure was overwhelming as he guided his hand over the tip of his cock. Severus was not one for self-gratification, the mood very rarely took him. But tonight, it was all he could think about. The kiss. His first kiss. He bit his lip as his brow furrowed, he could still taste her on his lips. His hands still smelled her perfume and if he closed his eyes tight, he could imagine her body pressed close against his. He moaned softly. His movements were desperate now, he was so close to the edge. His fingers of his free hand grappled with his sheets as he pumped himself to completion.

When he came it was guttural, his hips bucked upwards and he let out a deep, long moan. He had never done that before. Severus opened his eyes slowly, before he closed them again to sleep. All he could see was red hair and green eyes.

[marvel-lucy]

The Walking Disaster - Chapter 9, the end

Way too long, way too rubbish writing, but here it is, the end!

All chapters are on the Walking Disaster Masterlist

I don’t know how long I sit there. I’m drunk, and upset, and time isn’t really making sense right now. But by the time I hear a door slam, and footsteps, I’m so cold I’m shivering and I feel like I might throw up. I’m very sober, but right now I kind of wish I wasn’t.

After I left the club, I just walked. It was like I was sixteen again, right back to when I’d go on double dates with Bucky and I’d turn around and my ‘date’ would have gone off with someone else. It doesn’t hurt any less, no matter how old you get. It starts to rain, because of course it does, but I just keep walking until I’m completely lost.  I flag down a cab, give him my address, and slump into a corner. When I get home, the front door’s open again, so I slam it hard behind me, which at least expresses some of how I’m feeling. Then I head upstairs.  And outside Apartment 3, there’s a soaking wet, slumped shape. She lifts up her head, because of course it’s her, and she looks a mess. Mascara down to her chin, eyes red and swollen, hair plastered to her face. Her lips are blue and she’s shivering hard.

‘Steve…’ I try to speak clearly but my throat’s thick with crying, and I’m shivering, and I sort of hiccup out a noise.  ‘They threw me out, the club. My bag’s there. My feet.’

She pulls herself up to standing and she looks so small and pathetic, that even with my heart hurting, I feel for her. I look down at her feet, which are bare. They’re grey with dirt and there are streaks of blood on them. I have no idea why they’ve thrown her out, or what’s going on, but I’m not going to leave her out here to get hypothermia.

‘You’d better come in and get dry,’ he says, opening his door. I wince a bit walking into his apartment, I can feel my feet more now I’ve sobered up. I stand just inside his door, dripping slowly on the floor, while my brain runs around in circles like a hamster in a wheel, trying to think of what I’m supposed to say next. I’ve got nothing. Steve’s disappeared somewhere inside, and I’m not sure if I’m supposed to follow him, so I just wait, dripping forlornly. He reappears after a minute.

‘Go have a shower, you’re freezing and your feet need cleaning. I’ve put some stuff in there you can wear after.’

He half-smiles as he says this, and I start to think maybe it’s OK and he didn’t see anything, but it’s just his way. He can’t do mean, he’s a good guy. He turns back to the kitchen, so I hobble through to the bathroom.

Even miserable as I am, you know I take a moment while the shower warms up, to just appreciate being in Steve’s bathroom. It’s clean and tidy, everything laid out with military precision. There’s plenty of thick towels and what looks like sweatpants and a sweatshirt on a stool by the door. I step into the shower and when the hot water hits me I realise just how cold I was. I let the water run over me for a while, then I reach for the shower gel, and it’s only when I pour some onto my hand that I realise it smells like Steve. I couldn’t even have told you he smelt of anything before, but now I smell it, it’s this. This shower gel, plus the smell of goodness, the aroma of wonderful… you get it. I close my eyes and it’s almost like I’m having a shower with Steve. Barring the fact he’s probably sitting in his kitchen hating me right now, of course.

When I’m clean, I get dry and try to drape my wet clothes over his radiator, before I put on the clothes he’s left out. I have to hold the trousers up with one hand to stop them sliding down, which would be fine, except I can barely find my hands inside the sleeves. I feel like a child dressing up.

Deep breath, unlock door. Deep breath, open door. Deep breath, walk down corridor. I’m practically hyperventilating by the time I reach the main room; I’ve been so busy trying to keep myself calm.  

He’s got himself dried off a bit – at least he’d been wearing a jacket and shoes – and changed into something else. His hair is still fluffy and sticking up and all I want is to ruffle it, but he just points me to the couch.

‘Let me see your feet.’

I perch, about as far away from him as possible, and lift my feet up. Haven’t said a word yet since I got inside. He takes hold of one foot, and pushes the floppy trouser leg up a little out of his way. Even miserable, the feeling of his hand wrapped around my ankle sends little tingles all up and down me.  He puts that foot down, and picks up the other, frowning slightly, then reaches for a tube on the table. He squeezes some ointment onto my foot, peering down, puts a Band-Aid on top, then puts my foot down.

‘I’ll get you some blankets; you’d better sleep here if you’ve lost your keys.’ And before I can shout I didn’t lose them or I’m sorry, he’s gone, coming back with a pile of blankets and a pillow, which he drops by me on the couch, then he says good night and I hear his bedroom door shut.  If I wasn’t all cried out, I know what I’d do right now.

I wrap myself like a human burrito in the blankets and burrow my head into the pillows on the couch. I’ve told myself that dramatically I’ll toss and turn all night because of the trauma and suffering that has happened, but I’m warm now after being so cold, and the couch is surprisingly comfortable, and there’s still a lot of alcohol in my system, and it’s about 3am, and… then it’s about 9am and I wake myself up with the sound of an unholy snore, and blink.

It all comes crashing back down on me, at about the same time the hangover does. I moan curse words to myself, and pull the blanket up over my head, but then I hear a clunk and a jingle and reappear.  Steve has just put a mug of coffee, and some keys, down on the table next to me.

‘Got them from the super, for your apartment.  You look like you need coffee.’  He’s very deliberately not looking at me, but as I emerge from the blankets, arms stretching upwards to free myself as I’m wrapped too tight, I hear an unintentional snort.  ‘Actually, you look like you need to be committed.’  I doubt he’s wrong. Last night I wrapped myself in blankets with wet hair, and I know my face always balloons like a puffer fish when I cry, so I probably look even more calamitous than normal. Not that any of it matters any more.

Once I’ve managed to wriggle a hand free, I reach for the coffee and take a mouthful. Caffeine hasn’t tasted so good before.

‘Thank you, for the coffee, and the keys, and letting me stay. Steve, I…’

‘I’ve got to go out. Take your time.’

And with that, he’s gone. I hadn’t got some great apology speech planned out, was very much going to wing it, but I didn’t even get a chance to say sorry, or to explain. Shit.

It’d be weird staying in Steve’s flat without him there, and although I secretly want to nose through all his stuff, even I have my limits. So I fold up the blankets, wash up the mug (I’m being so polite), grab my damp clothes, head to the door… head back and pick up my keys from the coffee table… head to the door, and go home.

Home, where I find Nat pacing up and down (she has keys. ‘In case’ I lose mine. Like I would…). She looks ready to shake me, but when she sees me wearing what are obviously Steve’s clothes, she pauses.

‘What the… where have you BEEN? We got back to the table, and you and Steve were both gone, but your bag was there, and all your stuff, and someone said you’d been kicked out, and I couldn’t get hold of you. Were you with Steve? Did you sleep with him? Is that why you’re dressed like that? JESUS I could kill you!’  With that, she launches into a giant hug, squeezing me uncomfortably tightly while quietly screaming in my ear.  And when she finally lets go, so do I, and I sob. Full-on snotty, ugly, swollen face, hiccupy blubbing, and I spill it all to her. It’s a lot less coherent the way I tell it, but I think she finally gets the idea, and sums it all up for me.

‘So let me get this straight. I already know you’re crazy about Steve, but then you got yourself all freaked out last night, ended up drunk and panicky. Thought Steve had left, self-pity danced with another guy, Steve saw and left, creepy guy mauled you, you assaulted creepy guy, you got chucked out, Steve took pity on you, you slept on his couch. That it?’

I blubbed a bit more. It all sounded so insignificant when she said it, but she forgot to sprinkle on a coating of low self-esteem so that everything was unsolvable, disastrous, and a sure sign that everything I touch turns to garbage. I may have said this out loud, because I suddenly felt a smack around the back of my head.

‘Go brush your hair. You look crazy. Put on some normal-person sized clothes. You’re not garbage. I’m going to call Bucky.’

I did as I was told. You would too if Nat was being forceful. In my bedroom I was forced to face my own reflection, and I couldn’t help but smile. My hair was stuck up on one side, plastered down on the other. My face was red and swollen, and had attractively broken out in spots due to all the crying and make up. I was a catch I tell you. I threw on some of my own clothes, tried to salvage my hair a little, rubbed some moisturiser on my sore face, cleaned my teeth and went back out.

Nat was still on the phone, so I headed for the kitchen, trying not very hard not to listen.  There was still no food – we’d eaten all the cheerios and M&Ms yesterday (‘we’. I wanted more ‘we’), so there was just dry pasta and a jar of something that had lost its label.  I didn’t-listen some more.

‘… definitely… I’ll do it from this end, you do that end… I know! The pair of them… yeah OK, you too, see you later.’  She looks up at me as I walk back into the room.  ‘So Steve’s moping. Bucky says he won’t answer the phone and he’s indulging in some major self-pity.  You should probably go talk to him…’

I throw myself onto the couch.  

‘He went out. I don’t know where, but he obviously hates me, and always will, so there’s no point in anything any more.’  I can feel myself starting to cry again when the back of my head gets slapped once more.

‘You have two options. Option one. You could text him, or call him, or wait for him to get home, and then talk to him, because ever since humanity invented speech it’s been quite useful for ironing out problems. Try it. Option two. You can lie here and feel miserable, and Steve can be wherever he is being miserable, and you can both wallow in it until you shrivel up like prunes from all the tears, and meanwhile Bucky and I will go have fun without you.  Your choice.’

I’m lying face down on the couch at this point, probably leaving snot trails on the cushions, but that feels only appropriate.

‘Option 2 sounds good.  OW!’ That’s another slap. Then Nat pulls me up by the back of my sweater, almost strangling me. She’s freakishly strong when she’s angry.

‘Get your shit together. Use your words. Text me when you’re an adult.’  She kicks my bag, which she’s obviously collected from the club, and brought back for me, then she leaves. I pick up my bag, dig out my phone to see a ton of missed calls and texts from a worried Nat.  I open up the messages and then sit there, trying to work out what to say to Steve, but I get nowhere, and I’m still staring at the screen when I hear footsteps walk past my door, and his front door open.

So I wipe my eyes, even though I know they’re going to be red and swollen, and I pick up my keys carefully, and I walk out my door, and turn right, and walk a few steps and then I’m outside apartment 4. And for all I know he’ll shut the door in my face, but I’m going to try. I’m going to do it. I’m going to do what maybe I should have done long ago, with myself, and my friends, and my exes. I’m going to be truthful, and honest, and put myself out there. If I hadn’t started off with the assumption that nobody could like me, that I was just the butt of a thousand jokes, and nothing compared to Nat, just maybe I wouldn’t be where I am now, but I never do.  Maybe sometimes I really should listen to Nat.

I’m really scared that it’s not going to be enough, because I’ve barely known Steve a few weeks and there’s no reason he should even care about what I have to say. I’m just his neighbour, right? But yesterday this building was the scene of the best Saturday ever, and now it seems to be the setting for the worst Sunday of my life. I’m the victim of my own disasters, and this time it feels more painful than the broken bones, more humiliating than the trips and slips.  This time I feel like I’ve taken something I really really liked, and I’ve dropped it and broken it into a thousand pieces, and I’m worried I’m never going to find them all and piece it back together.

I know, I know, I’m being melodramatic. I danced with another guy when I had my eye on Steve, that’s all. But my head’s hurting and my feet are sore, and I’m tired, and I’m also coming up with a million and one excuses why I don’t have to knock and talk. Ugh, talking. Like an adult. Bad concept.

I knock.  There’s a long pause, then I hear footsteps, and the eyehole darkens for a minute. Then the door opens. He looks at me, waits.

‘Hi,’ I start, and my voice is a bit choked up with embarrassment. I could really be setting myself up for a fall here, and I’ve had enough of those.  ‘So, you’ve seen me at my worst. I’ve fallen over, and dropped things, and thrown cups at you, but those were all kinda standard for me. But last night I really dropped the ball, and I’ve come to say sorry. And explain.’

I leave a long pause, hoping that he’ll take pity on me perhaps, and I’m just about to give up and accept that I no longer am friends with the Boy Next Door, when my stomach, which hasn’t eaten since last night, lets out the noisiest and longest rumble you’ve ever heard. I’m pretty sure that earthquakes alarms start ringing two states over.  It just doesn’t stop.  I’m standing there, he’s standing there, we’re not breaking eye contact and we’re both just listening.

He breaks first. My face is now scarlet, and as the sound dies away, the corner of his mouth twitches once, twice, then he lets it go, and clutches at his chest and just laughs and honestly, it’s such a relief. He opens the door wider, silently inviting me in while he pulls himself together.

‘Do you wanna talk over breakfast? I can’t offer cheerios and candy, but I have pastries. That’s where I went. I was kinda secretly hoping you’d still be here when I got back, but I know I was being arsey, and I don’t actually have any right to. Sorry.’

Wait. What? He’s apologising? He is apologising? This communication thing is really confusing. I’m just standing there, looking a bit dumb, and so he makes a sweeping gesture, still trying to invite me in like I’m a really reluctant vampire. I step in, and try not to think about biting his neck. He heads into the kitchen and I hear rustling, cupboards opening, before he reappears with two mugs of coffee and a box of pastries, which he puts down on the coffee table.

‘Sit?’ I perch myself on the couch where I’d slept the night before and procrastinate by picking up a coffee mug, and staring into it as if I’m seeing the future. Worryingly the future looks very dark, but that may be because I drink my coffee black. I pick up a pastry and take a bite instead.

‘OK. So. Well. Here’s the thing. You see… What it is, is…’ I look up, and he’s waiting expectantly, as if I’m going to say something intelligible. Ha, sucker! Not from these lips! I put the cup back down, straighten my back, take a deep breath in.

‘OK, so I’m a disaster. I’m always a disaster, and I’m convinced that because I screw up so much, that no one could ever like me, because well,’ I gesture towards myself, taking in the messy hair, scruffy clothes, red skin, pastry crumbs, ‘so last night, I thought you’d left, and I assumed it was because I was a hot sweaty mess who throws cups at your face. So then because I was kinda drunk and stupid, I tried to make myself feel better by pretending someone liked me, even if it couldn’t be the person I wanted. Only he was a creep. And I kneed him in the balls.’

I’m staring at the bruise on his nose the whole time I speak, because it’s safer than making eye contact, but it means I have no idea how my little speech has gone down, and it also means I’m now slightly cross-eyed from focussing on one point. Steve lets out a little cough, and I let my eyes flick to his, then decide to focus on his chin instead. He’s not shaved today and there’s this adorable stubble, that is making me just want to reach out and stroke his chin, but I suspect that might not be the most appropriate thing to do right now.

‘Ok. So. First off, can you please make eye contact with me? I know you’re avoiding my eyes but my chin is getting paranoid.’  Ugh, I can’t help smiling at that, so I meet his eyes, then quickly busy myself picking up my coffee again and looking into that.

‘I can’t. Because I feel too awkward and also now I can’t remember how much to look and how much to look away.’ I mumble this into my coffee, but I know he hears, and remembers our previous conversation.

‘Look deep into my eyes. Gaze into my eyes forever. Get lost in my eyes.’  What the…? I look back at his face, and he’s grinning.  ‘Made you look!’

How is he being so… OK? I came around here thinking I’d have to prostrate myself and beg for forgiveness, and he’s… OK. Is this how normal people behave? Weird.

‘So now you’re looking at me. You got thrown out for kneeing a creeper? I’m impressed. Good for you. I mean, sorry you got thrown out and all, but I’d have liked to see that.’ I can feel myself starting to smile, and it’s such a relief, but I’m sure I don’t deserve to get away with being such an arse, so I look down again, and eat more of my pastry. Then I notice the mess I’ve made, how many crumbs are all over my trouser leg, so I start trying to brush them all into a pile. I’ve got them pretty much sorted, when his hand reaches over, brushes them all onto the floor with a sweep, then holds onto mine. Oh lordy.

‘Can you listen, for a second, instead of avoiding me?’ I give a small nod, even while I will my hand not to get all sweaty. ‘Yeah, it hurt my feelings when I saw you dancing with that guy, although it sounds like you didn’t enjoy it much either. But you don’t owe my feelings anything. I thought we were getting on, and I let myself get hopeful, but maybe I misread it. And then I was drunk so I sulked and stormed off, because I’m an idiot. But no harm done. I’m hungover and need to watch Netflix with a good neighbour, if you know any?’

Wow. Nat said that talking worked, and it really does. Someone should copyright this approach. Talking helps reduce misunderstandings. Who knew. Except…

‘You didn’t misread it.’ I’m going to do it, I’m going to meet his eyes, talk like an adult, and make Nat proud. ‘We were getting on, and I do really like you, and I’m sorry I screwed it up. I tripped over my own issues and, yeah. Sorry. But I do like you. A lot.’  

He cocks his head on one side, then very slowly, giving me time to change my mind, leans over. He stops when his face is almost touching mine, and his eyes are crazily blue, almost matching the bruise on his nose. I think he’s going to kiss me. I know he’s going to kiss me. I can feel my eyes drifting shut in anticipation. His voice, when he speaks, is so soft that I feel it like a breeze on my cheek.

‘You have pastry crumbs in your eyebrow.’

My eyes fly open, and he’s smiling at me with the wickedest grin.  I let out a shriek, and give him a huge shove away from me, but he grabs onto my arms as he topples. His leg flies out as he tries to balance, banging into the table, and his coffee mug tips, then rolls onto its side, coffee pouring down onto the carpet just as we fall half off the couch, with me lying on top of him.  His arms wrap around me and it’s so unbelievably warm and comfortable.

‘I’ve decided the safest thing for everyone, when you’re around, is to just hold on tight and not let you go.’  He wriggles slightly, so we end up completely on the floor, but true to his word, he keeps a grip on me.  ‘Can’t fall over if I’m holding you, right?’

And then we do kiss. I don’t know if he kisses me, or I kiss him, but it happens. We don’t bang noses and our teeth don’t clash and the roof doesn’t cave in. His lips are as soft and warm as I’d imagined, and his arms stay wrapped around me, so I’m not going anywhere, and it all feels so completely right, that I don’t know how I could ever have imagined otherwise. I’m falling for him, hard, but for once, I’m happy to fall.

----

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