#i was tired and sad all day today despite more compliments and encouragement

[ioannemos]

i KNOW it's probably just bc he's a teenaged boy who has been given a Position of Minor Authority and thus a certain amount of grace and understanding must be extended to him (would i have behaved any better at his age? we'll never know)

BUT.

the teenaged boy who comes in to cook some nights really has protagonist (derogatory) energy 😒

[sunseteyes]

WHEREVER YOU ARE - T. AMAJIKI

theme/s: long distance relationship, light angst, sugary fluff, sweet boi tamaki, something to read when you feel soft, inspired by wherever you are by 5sos and also wherever you are by one ok rock (listen to the songs, please they are heaven)

tamaki was anxious when you told him you were going to study abroad.

it was not that he was against it, no. in fact, he wanted you to chase for your dreams. he was only very worried that you might forget about him.

but you never did. you two always talk to each other every night, before you he falls asleep, and while you were having lunch. from where you were, there’s exactly eight hours difference between your time-zones. tamaki could admit he was terrified by it, even until now, being six months since you boarded that plane, since he last seen your smile face to face and felt the warmth of you body as you gave him your last, tight, final hug.

he misses you. of course he does. everyday, it feels like something would be missing. yesterday it was your daily trip on the your favorite ice cream shop and today, it was your tiny giggles mixing with nejire’s as you and her laugh at something mirio jokes about while the four of you eat together. being without you, his days were just not the same anymore.

he doesn’t tell you that, but for some reason, you just sense it from him.

“do you miss me, tama?”

he’d bit his lip, and clutch onto the pillow he was hugging on his arms, slightly hiding his face from it but did not move away from the camera, afraid he’d miss every second of seeing your face.

“i miss you so much, tama.” your voice rings in his ear and he was feeling that familiar fluttering in his chest, like butterfly wings had suddenly sprouted in his heart, aching to just fly out of his body and go to you.

“i-i-i miss you too...” he lets out, soft and almost like he was saying it to himself. but you heard it, since his microphone was held near his lips just because you instructed him months ago that he should keep it close to him so you could hear him.

your smile was evident in your face, a gentle curve on your beautiful face that he hadn’t properly seen since forever. there were lines under your eyes but for him, you still look as beautiful as he had seen you the first time you two met. 

a frown suddenly crosses your face and you said you had to go.

“but it wasn’t even an hour yet.” he wanted to say.

but he nods, “you should...go. maybe it’s urgent.” he says. there is sadness in your eyes as the video call ended, and tamaki knows there’re in his too.

this happens for quite a few times, but he never really said anything. despite being together for so long, he doesn’t usually say his feelings out loud, afraid that you’ll be disappointed and suddenly breakup with him.

although, you do encourage him to say his feelings. you’ve been patient ever since, even in spite being a thousand miles away. 

deep inside, he was getting worried everyday; were you getting tired of him? was he being desperate? was he too silent? 

but his mind is silent whenever he sees your face, hears your voice. it’s the very reason why he wanted to keep you by his side. so when you first told him that you were going away, he was devastated. he honestly thought that you would be breaking up with him.

but you two held on. you held onto both of his hands and lifted him up.

and he’s thankful of that, but it doesn’t mean the burden on his shoulders wouldn’t lighten up anytime soon, not when you are so far away from him.

now jealousy is not really usual for tamaki.

he never got jealous whenever you smile at mirio or hangout more with nejire, thus it never occurred to him he’d be feeling it when he sees you with someone else in one of your calls.

“oh, he’s my new friend! he’s in one of my classes, the one i told you that has a very boring professor?” he’d listen to you blabber around but he’d be a mess on the inside, insecurities creeping in his brain, wondering why you’re still stuck with him when you can have someone else--someone who could be by your side and just not him.

then, he questions himself; can he do that? can he let go of you that easily?

he doesn’t want to. but if he’s suffocating you-\

“tama? are you still there?”

he opens his mouth to say something but he hears your voice again.

“oh i had to run. our professor’s going to our room now. bye, baby! sweet dreams!” and the call ended without him saying anything back.

and that went on for days.

“hey, you don’t seem alright. is there something bothering you?” nejire’s voice pipes in, her curious eyes peeking at the boy like she always did. then like usual, it was mirio’s turn to speak.

“is it about (y/n)? you’ve been very down since she went to london. i hope everything’s alright with the two of you.” the blonde says, munching onto his burger whilst they walk back to their room from the cafeteria.

he doesn’t answer, remaining his head bowed down and his eyes glued to the ground as if it was the only thing he could look at--which is actually a fact.

“happy birthday tama! i’m really sorry i can’t be there. but i baked a cake! see?”

he was happy that you remembered. but he felt empty on the inside. he wanted you by his side but he can’t let it out again.

“that’s... that’s a nice cake.” he compliments, appreciating how you were grinning wide on the screen as you show him the pastry with proudness and giddiness. 

“isn’t it?! i baked it all night and i thought i’ll flop it but it came out well! i wish i could deliver this to you right now so you could have a taste though...” he heard the sadness in your tone, and he can’t deny how his heart ached with it.

“though i could bake it when we meet soon! i promise!” 

and for tamaki, he held onto that promise.

for weeks, months; he waited. but even as december and january went by, you were still not yet back.

“I’m really sorry, tama.” it became your favorite phrase, tamaki thinks. “mother said i should just go back by your birthday. don’t worry, it will be a month and a half!”

but you never came.

“eh? (y/n)-chan’s not coming? i thought they were?” nejire qustioned the very same thing that was on tamaki’s mind.

“i wonder how they are. i do hope they’re doing fine.” tamaki could sense the hesitation in mirio’s voice and it was obvious he was only trying to take tamaki’s mind off of the fact that you broke your promise.

and it irritated him.

“tama... are you mad? can’t i see your face?” he had his video turned off but he could see you, and he could feel that longing inside his chest even if he was supposed at get angry at you.

but he seemingly just can’t resist you.

so he switched it on and he watches at that same smile that made him melt ever since appeared on your face. by now, he can’t believe he could feel these overwhelming feelings deep inside even as you had been separated physically for more than a year now. it is indeed very unlike him to not easily give up.

he wondered if it was because he was being selfish, or maybe he didn’t want to hurt you. ither way both statements seems true and for some reason, he didn’t seem to care anymore.

“i... i’m not mad. don’t-don’t worry about it.” he lets out, letting your eyes scan his features to the screen as if you were really thee in front of him.

“okay... but from no on, i’m not making any promises so i won’t break them. i really don’t want to hurt your feelings, tama. you know that, right?”

he nods, his eyes faltering at how serious your own gaze and voice were. he likes this side of you—the one that’s very determined and sincere with your words and actions. so he begun to trust you even more.

until that time came.

when you stopped calling.

tamaki waited, for hours, days, until it turned to a week. that’s when you finally called. he was glad you didn’t stoppe chatting him, at least. but he misses your voice, he misses your laugh, your smiles, and even the way your eyes would glow at the very first few seconds on your call.

“when are you coming back?”

it’s the first time he ever said it out loud and it surprised him that the minute he realized it all went out of his mouth, he covered it with his hands, embrrassed of the way he sounded very demanding.

but you didn’t seem to mind. actually, you looked ecstatic when you heard it from his lips.

“actually about that,” your face was suddenly out of the camera’s sight as you went to reach out something. and when you came back, you were holding out something that he had to squint his eyes to identify what it really was.

it’s a ticket. an airplane ticket.

you’re coming back.

“i’m coming back!”

tamaki was smiling. he felt like he was soaring through the skies. he will finally see you, hold you, and maybe even kiss you—he’s still shy about that. but now, he thinks he should definitely try it. he had never felt so motivated to finally do the things he was afraid to do when you were still here. and now that he experienced yearning for you, he feels enlightened by the sudden realization.

he just hopes he would not shy around when the time comes.

in the end, he didn’t.

because it was you who initiated everything. the moment you saw him by the airport to pick you up, you were running towards him, throwing your arms around his rigid form, your presence brightening up his day immediately. when you gave him an embrace, he found his hand unconsciously on your back, giving you the same thing he received.

“i missed you so much, tama!”

he was finally hearing your voice not through his earbuds, or seeing your smile through the screen of his computer.

you’re finally here, in his arms, in front of him.

suddenly, he pulled you to him again, burying his head on your neck as his arms further wrapped around you. he felt his anxiety drift further away when he relished in your warmth, feeling like he was bathing in a hot spring and all the tension in his body was lifting away.

“i missed you too, (y/n).” and even if his voice was muffled by your hair and your skin, you smiled.

he didn’t stutter. he initiated it. and you’re very proud of him.

tamaki feels a hand raise up to his hair, ruffling them with an affection he definitely longed for in the past year he was not able to feel it. so he snuggled further, not minding all the incoming insecurities in his mind with how much he wanted to do this.

“tama... i’m home.” you say to him, almost like a whisper, making it seem like an intimate moment for him. and as you continue giving to him sweet words that reassured him of the unknown future, he let you be. because even with all the uncertainties, he feels like your bond had strengthen throughout the time you and him were temporarily separated. that maybe, some uncertain things are meant to be that way for a reason. wherever you are, you’re still the person he loves and will continue to do so.

i have a bittersweet feeling when i wrote this, probably because it’s raining right now as we speak. lately, people are separated with their friends or s/o so this scenario came to mind. it took awhile to post since it got longer than i expected but i hope i ended it well (ˆ▽ˆ)

feel free to send more bnha requests~

event links: prompts and masterlist

[cakesunflower]

Stuck in the Middle [C.H. & L.H. AU] Part 2

**DISCLAIMER: This is NOT a poly!Cake fic!! Just wanted to clarify that in case of any confusion.

Summary: Calum Hood and Sloane Thorne are engaged to be married--though, not because they were in love. More so that it was a part of the merger their families’ companies were going through, as a way of strengthening the bond and building a foundation for the partnership Calum and Sloane would have as co-CEOs. So when the opportunity arises for them to get away from the pressures of their families and relax for on the beach in Florida with their friends, they’re quick to go. Except Calum falls for their neighbor, River Young, while Sloane discovers pent up feelings she never knew she had for her long time friend, Luke Hemmings. Trying to figure out how to navigate through unexpectedly budding relationships while also getting rid of the strain on their friendship seems to be how Calum and Sloane have to spend their little vacation. Whatever it takes to not be so stuck anymore.

A/N: So this is the second and FINAL part of this fic! As you probably read, I posted this is as one big post but it was crashing the app and not loading, so I figured I’d post the second half here so it opens properly. Thank you for reading, babies!

This is Sloane’s face claim.

This is River’s face claim.

Read Part 1 Here!

“This was really sweet of you, Cal; thanks.”

The smile easily curled at his lips at River’s grateful tone, looking up from his burrito to catch her green eyes and pretty smile. “Nothin’ to thank me for,” he told her as she took a sip of her soda. The sun felt warm against his skin as he added truthfully, uncharacteristically sheepishly, “Like spendin’ time with you.”

Her smile turned into a smirk. “Have you always been this charming?”

Calum laughed, a napkin balled up in his left hand as he shrugged humbly. “It’s a gift.” It kind of had to be; with his career path, charm and skill of business were what would help him succeed.

River puckered her smirking lips, green eyes glinting against the sun as she decided, “It’s dangerous.” She leaned back, smirk widening. “You could get away with a lot with that.” That wasn’t exactly news to Calum. He knew in the working world it would get him far along with the Ivy League education and years of spending his summers alongside his father in the building. “Your family business isn’t ready for you, I’d guess.”

Calum’s smile slightly strained at her words, feeling an uneasy twist in his stomach. For all the days he and River had spent together so far, indulging her in his life back home wasn’t something he thought he’d do much of but did so anyway. In the moments of them laying spent in bed or laying under the sun on the beach, he’d told her about his sister, his dog, and a vague description of being in the family business. Provided precise details about some things to avoid the scrutiny of the working world he was about to enter, a fear of her somehow finding out about details he kept hidden. It wasn’t too hard, though; no one outside of Calum and Sloane’s families knew of the personal arrangement that accompanied the business merger, save for the friends they were on vacation with. Yet merely talking about taking over the business had Calum’s stomach tying in knots. Not because he wasn’t ready for it, but because the reminder of events to come made what he was doing now feel wrong.

And it most certainly didn’t feel like it.

“Speaking of family,” Calum spoke up with a clear of his throat, not entirely comfortable with the attention on him. He picked up his burrito as he asked her, “Have you spoken to your parents lately? Did they call?”

He hoped he hadn’t crossed a line in inquiring about her parents, not entirely sure if that topic was open for discussion. But River never made him feel as though he was pushing boundaries; it seemed as though for her, everything was safe to talk about, like there was no need to walk on eggshells around her. How she let herself be so open and confident about it left Calum in awe; he’d grown up being taught to only keep some people close, to let them in all the way—but even that wasn’t entirely encouraged. In the life he grew up in New York, someone always wanted to be superior to everyone else, using any means of doing so. They’d take a person’s greatest weakness or greatest shame and use it against them. It was something Calum knew he’d have to be more diligent about once he took over.

Opposite of him, the smirk River had been wearing faltered a bit as she dropped her gaze to her food, and Calum hated that he was the cause of that. She still smiled, though, soft and reserved, something he wasn’t used to from her, and just when he was about to tell her she didn’t have to talk about it, River scoffed lightly. “Do they ever?” she rhetorically returned, prompting Calum to press his lips together apologetically. River gave a shake of her head. “I haven’t spoken to my dad since, like, a couple of months after the divorce when I was sixteen. The whole thing was so nasty.” Calum watched as she looked away, squinting in thought against the sunlight from above as he ate his lunch and listened. “They wanted their fair share of the houses and cars and art they collected over the years. I was the last thing they fought about.”

At that, Calum felt the air in his throat lock, eyebrows furrowing together as he failed to keep the incredulous anger from appearing across his face. There was a wave of resentment that washed over Calum over these people he didn’t even know, yet he felt as though his rage was justified, especially when he took the look on River’s face. Her smile was ever present, yet the sadness it carried weighed heavily in his chest, hating that it dulled the brightness of her green eyes. When he looked at the woman in front of him, he couldn’t possibly understand how her parents would much rather argue over the ownership of materialistic things rather than the custody of their only daughter.

“River,” Calum sighed with a gentle shake of his head. His fingers clenched, rings glinting under the sun. “I’m so sorry.” It was a pathetically basic offering, but he had no idea what else to say. He wished she’d never had to go through something as painful as not being wanted enough by her own parents.

“Don’t be,” River returned, her smile kind and appreciative. She sat up, shoulders straightening. “I ended up with Grams and it’s honestly the best thing to happen to me.” Then she let out a breath with a dismayed shake of her head, twisting her lips in disappointment. “It’d just be nice if they called, you know? Especially my mom since Grams is sick.”

Calum’s eyebrows drew together worriedly at her revelation, sitting up. The grated metal bench was a bit hard against his ass. “Mags is sick?” he asked. “What’s going on?”

River pulled her soda cup towards her as cars continued to drive behind Calum. They sat on the sidewalk in front of the strip of stores in town, the salon River worked at just a couple of feet down. Surprising her with lunch had been easy; one of her favorite restaurants was right across the street, so he’d bought himself a burrito and her an order of empanadas and now here they were. “She came down with the flu, which is weird given that it’s the middle of summer but, I mean, her immune system isn’t what it used to be, you know?” She sighed, sounding tired. “I wanted to call out and stay with her but she insisted I come to work. Said she can handle taking extra medication along with her diabetes meds.”

“I’m sure she can,” Calum reassured her, wanting to be able to put her at ease even a little bit. But he couldn’t blame her for being concerned over her grandmother. “Mags seems tough.”

River scoffed with a roll of her eyes. “And stubborn.”

She said it was a fond smile tilting at her lips at the thought of her grandmother, but Calum could see the concern swimming in her green eyes. So he tried to change the subject. “So do you have any appointments today?” he asked, nodding over in the direction of the salon.

“No,” River answered with an all too adorable pout of her lips. “Just waiting for the walk-ins. Which is why I should’ve called out.” Calum bit the inside of his lower lip, the change in subject matter not entirely helping. Her green eyes then gave him a once over, her blatant analyzation of Calum making something in his stomach flutter obscenely. How she managed to have that effect on him, he didn’t know. With a bright grin, River added, “You wanna get your hair done?”

At that, Calum let out a startled laugh at her unexpected suggestion, a hand going to rest at the top of his growing hair, making sure not to let his fingers touch the strands given the burrito he’d been holding. With a faux hurt pout of his own, the defense creeped into his raspy and high pitched voice as he asked, “What’s wrong with my hair?”

River laughed, light and airy as she held the edge of the table with her hands. “Nothing, nothing!” she assured, her gold necklace dangling daintily from her neck. Calum narrowed his eyes at her jokingly, which she returned with an innocent smile. “But if you wanna try out a new look, I’m here.”

A smirk curled at his lips, folding his arms on the table as he cocked an eyebrow. “You gettin’ bored of my look already, doll?”

There was a pink glow in her smiling cheeks as she said, “With a smile like that? Never.”

Despite her compliment effortlessly warming Calum’s cheek, he clicked his tongue with a shake of his head. “Nah, nah, don’t try to dig yourself outta that hole,” he said as he leaned away from the table, his own amused grin lifting his lips.

Her laughter was a welcome sound over the subtle whirring of cars driving behind him. Eyes glinting, River reached her hand across the table and found Calum’s, their elbows on the table as she lifted his hand to lace her fingers around his as she promised, “You know I adore your look.”

“Mhm,” he hummed in a teasingly warning tone, though fighting the smile off his face when her hand held his was close to impossible. For a moment, Calum considered her offer. Then, with a single raise of an eyebrow, he asked, “What’d you have in mind?”

He wasn’t quite sure how much time had passed. It somehow always slipped by without notice whenever he was with River. All he knew was that it had been far too easy for her to get him to sit at one of the salon station chairs, facing the mirror, as a radio station played top hits throughout the semi busy salon and a black protective cape was covering him from the neck down.

And that his short dark brown hair was now a deep blue.

There had been a lot of steps that took a good amount of time, and Calum had sat and watched River perform all of them through the reflection of the mirror with effortless skill. She’d hum along with the songs playing or engage in conversation with him, telling him about the different kinds of customers she’d dealt with and how she preferred tackling new hair styles rather than doing the same basic ones all of the time.

In between she’d talk Calum through each step she performed, feeding more into his desire of being informed. He watched and felt her bleach his hair, perform something called a patch test, chatted with her easily when they had to watch for the bleach in his hair to do its magic, apply the color—all the works. Truthfully, Calum hadn’t really expected for it all to take as long as it did, only noticing the time spent by the time they had finished and he checked the clock, but he wasn’t fazed. Not when he’d spent all of that time with River and had gotten to admire her adorable expressions of concentration in between light chatter. Or watch her take care of a quick haircut in the station over during the time the bleach was on his head.

By the time they were done, he hadn’t expected to love his dark blue hair as much as he did. The change had been spontaneous, but Calum would be lying if he said it wasn’t admired.

“You can let your roots grow out, which would be the easiest, by the time you have to get back home,” River said to him with a proud smile teetering on her lips. They stood side by side in front of the mirror as Calum turned his head this way and that, taking in the new look. With an airy single laugh, she added, “Don’t know how well it’ll go over that one of the new bosses has blue hair.”

Calum joined in her laughter, rubbing the back of his neck as his gaze met hers through the reflection. He wondered if she’d felt a tightness in his chest at the reminder of his eventual return up north. At the reminder of their eventual parting. “I think Sloane’s natural look may take the heat off me.” He knew that wasn’t true, but one could dream.

A mischievous glint sparkled in her green eyes. “Tell her to come by. I think she’d look great with purple hair. Everyone’ll definitely take y’all seriously then.”

Calum scoffed with a roll of his eyes. “That’ll go over well.”

She merely grinned before shooing him off, and Calum chuckled as he made his way over to the counter to pay. When River had realized he’d been serious about taking her suggestion, she’d insisted on doing it back at one of their places, telling him that way he wouldn’t have to pay like he would have to if he came into the salon. But Calum gave her a look, an assurance of money not at all being the matter because it wasn’t, and promptly walked to the salon once her break was over, giving her no choice but to follow.

As he paid, he pulled out a piece of gum from the packet in his pocket and chewed, enjoying the burst of orange across his taste buds as he and the receptionist waited for the receipt to be printer. Calum glanced over, watching as River did some last minute tidying up at her station while talking to one of the stylists, that ever present smile still on her face, one that brought a smile to Calum’s own lips as well. It was so easy for her to talk, to get along with people, to be so beautifully natural.

After he signed the receipt, Calum glanced back to see River talking to the stylist and the client sitting at the other woman’s chair, and although he wanted to say goodbye to her, Calum didn’t want to intrude while she was working. So he thanked the receptionist and walked outside, the sun bright on his skin as he instantly put on his sunglasses.

“I give you a new look and I don’t even get a goodbye? Either that’s saying I didn’t do a good job or you’ve already shown it by not leaving a tip.”

Calum stopped in his tracks, the car keys already in his hand as he turned to see that River had followed him out of the salon. The sun caused her to squint, but she was still smiling at him as he walked back to her. With a boyish grin, he said, “Don’t worry—I left a good tip.”

That caused River to laugh, raising her eyebrows. “Which I’ll be returning to you, by the way,” she said as he stopped in front of her, his frame prompting her to tilt her head back to look up at him.

“Was just showin’ you my gratitude, but fine,” Calum shrugged, pretending to be hurt as River giggled, adorable and dainty, as her fingers fiddled with the buttons of his yellow button down. She smelt like citrus; he liked it. “Can I offer you another tip, though?” River grinned, the word play not lost on her as she raised an eyebrow in silent question. His own smile turned into a smirk, ducking his head to brush his lips against her as he rasped, “You should kiss me.”

River was ready to comply, letting go of the buttons to pull him forward by the cotton material of his shirt and press her lips against his. A slow, savoring kiss that easily had both of them deepening it, right there on the sidewalk as his hands gripped her hips, thumbs familiarly looping into the belt loops of her black shorts. Calum leaned into her, needing more, savoring what he could get for now as he felt her tongue against his.

They pulled away moments later, too soon for Calum, his forehead pressed against hers and feeling the gentle stroke of a single hair strand of hers tickle his jaw. “I have to get back to work,” River murmured, sounding almost regretful, before they pulled away. He opened his eyes to look at her from behind his sunglasses, catching her brilliant smile as he dropped his hands from her. “Thanks for the tip,” she said, walking backwards, surprising Calum when she blew a bubble. She winked, pushing open the glass door of the salon. “And the gum!”

His eyebrows furrowed at her parting words, confused for a moment as people walked up and down the sidewalk around him, until the emptiness in his mouth settled and prompted Calum to let out a startled yet amused laugh. She’d stolen his gum. Not that he’d minded. He’d just get his own form of revenge later on that night.

*****

Avoiding someone you shared a house with wasn’t the easiest feat, a lesson Sloane had to learn with difficulty, even where there were four other people in said house. Even when that same avoidance wasn’t something she had wanted to do take part in but did so anyways because she had no idea how else to go about a situation far too awkward, too upsetting, too high in the potential of leading to heartbreak. Still, she felt selfish. Sloane knew the rest of her friends had picked up on the tension between her and Luke, knew there was something going on but were kind enough not to intrude despite their curiosity itching at them.

Honestly, what could Sloane even tell them? That Luke admitted to liking her—for a lot longer than she’d ever thought—that she was battling her own feelings over a hopeless situation, that they’d almost kissed until she ran to hide in the safety of her bedroom? As if she needed safety from Luke, of all people, who’d kind of been her safe haven the longer she thought about it? Who’d been the one to make her smile and laugh and wonder and made her feel seen for a lot longer than she’d given him credit for?

Who Sloane was coming to realize she probably didn’t deserve.  

It was becoming unbearable, this ache that had settled in her chest over the knowledge of hurting Luke. Sloane had wondered if she was being over dramatic, if she was making a big deal out of something that could be quickly resolved. But Luke hadn’t looked her in the eye since that night, refused to be alone in a room with her, and in his silence she knew of the great volume of pain she caused him.

She’d been sitting on the back deck, almost uncomfortably so since this was where she’d all but rejected Luke and his feelings, when the blonde came up the steps from the beach, Calum right beside him. She sat up, lowering the book she’d been reading as her eyes instantly tried to find Luke’s. Except he’d become a bit too good at avoiding her gaze over the last few days—the most he’d done was offer a quiet thanks when she’d wished him a happy birthday earlier—head only a little ducked as he ran his fingers through his blonde curls, biceps flexing, and continued inside the house, the light thud of his sneakers disappearing into the house.

Sloane sank in her chair, feeling her heart do the same as disappointment swelled inside. She heard Calum sigh as he asked, “What’s going on with you two?” He sat down on the chair next to her, facing her as he raised an eyebrow. The blue of his hair complimented the brownness of his inked skin, especially under the sun. “Why’re you getting the silent treatment?”

Sloane let out a dry chuckle, gaze dropping to her dark purple painted nails. “Because he told me something and I answered by literally running away. Because life's complicated enough and it’s even messier because we can’t be together.”

She let out a long breath; that was, Sloane knew, the first time she’d verbally admitted to wanting to be with Luke. It was a heavy thought swirling around in her head, backed up by emotions she hadn’t even been aware she’d been carrying for so long, locked away because of the God forsaken arrangement she was set up in with Calum. But not even admitting it to herself would’ve been stupid because of the absolute truth it carried, and being able to utter them outloud, though they weren’t to the right person, lifted just a small fraction of weight off her shoulders.

Sloane chanced a glance at Calum, taking in the raise of his eyebrows at her confession as he blinked his gaze away, wondering what he was thinking. What his opinion was on one of his best friends and his fianceé—even if it weren’t by choice—wanting to be together but obviously being unable to act on their feelings.

Calum took in a breath, deep voice thoughtful as he said, “If you ask me, I think keeping your distance from each other is the right idea.” His dark eyes met Sloane’s startling blue, shrugging with a sympathetic tilt of his lips as he added, “What’s the point in starting something you know won’t end well?”

The white hot irritation that shot through Sloane wasn’t something she had been expecting, her grip on the hardcover book tightening as all she could ask through controlled surprise was, “What?”

Calum parted his lips and she knew his observant gaze was taking in the frown she could feel crease her forehead and the downward tilt of her own lips. He’d obviously said something she hadn’t expected nor wanted to hear, but Calum wasn’t about to back track. “It’s messy, like you said. It’s one thing to just fuck around but from what you’re saying, there’s feelings involved and that’s just—it’s a bad idea, Sloane.”

“Oh, it’s a bad idea?” she repeated, the edge and anger creeping into her voice before she could help it. But Calum’s words had touched a nerve and the resentment she’d kept at bay since they’d arrived to Florida was brimming over. Or, more specifically, resentment she’d kept at bay since Calum met River. She noted the furrow in his eyebrows, not deaf to her tone. “That’s kind of hypocritical of you, isn’t it, Cal? When you’re the one who started a whole-ass relationship with the neighbor?”

Her words seemed to unsettle him just as much as Calum leaned back, a tightness in his features as his dark eyes hardened. “That’s different,” he defended, voice as tight as his face. When Sloane scoffed, he continued, “River and I aren’t dating, we’re just—”

“Just what? Delusional?” Sloane let out a cynical, dry laugh as the annoyance on Calum’s face intensified. But she was just as bothered as him, the roar of the waves drowned by the anger rushing through her blood. With a quick roll of her eyes, Sloane continued, “Come on, are you really that blind? Everyone can fucking tell you and River aren’t just screwing around.” With an accusatory point of her finger, she added, “You got attached and you didn’t even fight it. Don’t give me advice on not pursuing anything with Luke when you’re the one who fucked up first.”

Instead of defending himself and whatever he was doing with River, Calum’s lips curled in annoyance as he said heatedly, “Your situation is a lot more complicated. Luke’s my friend and I don’t want to see him get hurt.”

The anger burning Sloane’s blood instantly cooled into an icy, numbing hurt. Her features fell before she could help it, gaze immediately averting from Calum’s as she looked at the floorboards of the deck. She needed to toughen the hell up because the stinging in her nose and eyes, a tell of the tears beginning to gather, would not be ideal when they got back home, when they were in the middle of conference calls and meetings with investors. But Calum’s words had hurt and, God, did he even realize what he’d said?

Sloane’s lips parted, tongue running across the inside of her lower lip, gaze still on the ground as she gave a slow nod. “Luke’s your friend, huh?” She finally looked at him, saw that he’d realized what he’d said a little too late, his own lips parting to scramble out his apology. Her voice had quietened because Sloane knew if she spoke up even a little bit, she wouldn’t be able to trust her voice to stay steady. “I know things between us have been weird but I didn’t think we weren’t friends.”

“Fuck, Sloane, no, that’s not what I meant—”

“But it’s what you said,” she cut him off, wondering if the desperation in his voice was genuine. At the moment, she didn’t really care, nor did she want this conversation to continue. So Sloane stood up, feeling Calum’s pleading and apologetic gaze on her as she forced her tone to harden when she looked down at him and said, “You worry about what you’re gonna do about River, and just stay out of mine and Luke’s business.”

The day had seemed to drag on slowly, terribly so, with time only being at its normal pace when she and Crystal had gone to get their nails done. Now, though, it was like time hadn’t made it past the doors of the club, and Sloane was left sitting on the red couch in the VIP section of the club with a drink in hand and music deafening her ears as she tried to have a good time despite the flashing lights threatening to give her a headache.

A couple of feet ahead of her were Ashton and Calum, facing each other as they leaned against the railing, looking down at the main part of the club where everyone was dancing as they chatted animatedly, their voices drowned by the music. They looked to be in the middle of an intense discussion, the kind where Ashton talked with his hands and Calum listened with eyebrows furrowed in concentration. Sloane leaned back on the couch, sighing. River hadn’t come out, Sloane remembered Calum mentioning that her grandmother was sick, and Sloane wasn’t sure where Michael, Crystal, and Luke were. Probably getting some drinks.

She scrolled through her Twitter and Instagram, purposefully avoiding checking her emails, hating that she was more or less miserable at one of her favorite people’s birthday celebration. Mostly because the one being celebrated more or less wanted nothing to do with her. Sloane took a sip of her vodka cranberry as she stood up, face scrunching as the leather of the couch stuck to her thighs before making her way to the railing. She made sure to keep her distance from Ashton and Calum, her small bag hitting the glass of the bannister as she leaned forward on it, the chain of her purse cool against the skin of her shoulder as she absently peered down.

All she could see were the tops of people’s heads as they danced to the music the DJ was spinning, white and green colored lights flashing to the beat. Sloane licked her lips, trying to see if she could spot her friends through narrowed eyes, twisting her lips when she didn’t see them in the midst of the bustling crowd. Right when she was about to turn her gaze towards the bar, someone stepped up to her left and Sloane’s grip on her glass tightened when she looked to see Calum mirroring her pose, arms folded on top of the railing as he, too, looked down at the crowd.

She tensed in the silence between them, not bothering to look his way. They hadn’t spoken since their conversation on the deck this morning. Sloane wanted to laugh. Two people she was on either side of the silent treatment with. Surprisingly, Calum was the one to break it. “I’m an unfair, hypocritical asshole. I’m sorry.”

Sloane pressed her tongue to the roof of her mouth before saying, “You won’t hear any arguments from me.”

Calum let out a breath and from her peripheral Sloane could see him duck his head, a small yet embarrassed smile quirking at his lips before he lifted his head. “I was talking to Ashton and we ended up, uh, talking about the same stuff you and I were and he, uh, basically agreed with what you said.”

Releasing the thin black straw of her drink, Sloane raised an eyebrow at the blue haired man next to her. She knew exactly how his parents would react to the new style and kind of admired him all the more for going through with it. “He also said you’re a hypocrite whose fucking things up?”

Smirking in amusement, Calum gave a tilt of his head. “He was a bit nicer about it but essentially, yeah.” He then turned to face her, resting his elbow on top of the railing. “Sloane, I really am sorry for making it sound like I care about Luke’s feelings and not yours. That’s not true and I’m an ass for saying what I said.” Her jaw tightened, gaze dropping to her drink once more. “You’re not just my friend, alright, you’re about to be my partner too and of course I care about your feelings. I said some stupid shit because you called me out on things that were true and I guess I just lashed out—which isn’t an excuse.” She looked at him, feeling the tight grip on her heart loosen just a bit as she took in the sincerity in Calum’s dark eyes, which glinted against the flashing lights. She knew him, knew that he was genuinely apologetic and upset over what he’d said to her. His hand reached out, grasping her free one and his warm touch, not anywhere near as exciting as Luke’s, still managed to ease some of the tension in her muscles. “I’m sorry, Sloane, really. I’m trying to figure things out with River, and I think you and Luke should at least talk.” With a subtle smirk, he added, “You look miserable and so does the birthday boy.”

Calum then nodded down below, and Sloane followed his gaze to the long bar, her eyes almost instantly finding Luke. He was sitting at the bar, back against it and elbows propped up as he sipped his drink. The sight of him sank Sloane’s heart; it was his birthday and, like Calum had said, Luke looked miserable. He was watching the bustling crowd in front of him, watching people get drunk and enjoy themselves when he should actually be among them. Sloane’s eyebrows drew together, knowing she was why Luke had isolated himself to the bar, wanting nothing more than to see him smile again.

She glanced at Calum, who raised his eyebrows expectantly, and Sloane downed the rest of her drink before putting the glass on the table and making her way towards the steps. She moved with quick purpose, pushing past the dancing and drunk bodies to make her way towards the bar, hoping he’d still be there by the time she reached. And he was.

Luke hadn’t seen her yet, and Sloane licked her lips, tasting the vodka that had warmed her skin, and continued towards him. His gaze just happened to wander over to her, and as soon as Luke saw Sloane, he took a breath and stood up, prompting her to hastily quicken her pace as much as she could in her heels and grab his arm. “I thought running away was my thing,” she said, knowing Luke heard her over the music when he pursed his lips. Even in the tensity of their situation, Sloane admired the sharpness of his tightened jaw, decorated with facial hair that worked too well on him. When his blue eyes didn’t meet hers, Sloane’s throat worked. “I’m sorry, Luke. I—I didn’t want to hurt you but that’s exactly what I ended up doing and you have no idea how much I hate myself for it. You—you’re the best person I know and I’d be crazy not to want to be with you and being scared is a shitty excuse on my part so I kept telling myself it was a bad idea to make it eas—”

She had been ranting, she knew, as the words tumbled out of her mouth one by one without her being able to stop it. Had Luke even heard her over the blaring music?

Who cared? Not Sloane; not when he was kissing her like this.

Luke had effectively cut her ranting off—thank God—with a quick turn of his body and free hand finding the back of Sloane’s neck before he ducked to capture her lips with his. Sloane’s reaction was instant, feeling the electricity crackle in her veins as she melted into him, felt the softness of his lips and delicious scratch of his growing beard as he kissed her vehemently. Sloane parted her lips for him, hands gripping his sides and feeling the cool material of his silky button down that looked too damn good on him. This kiss, their first kiss, had Sloane’s toes curling and heart racing, lips tingling for more despite the fact that they hadn’t pulled away from one another. The ends of his curls brushed against her temple as the kiss deepened and nothing else in the world mattered other than the fact that she was finally kissing Luke.

They reluctantly pulled away, and Sloane kept her eyes closed, grip still on him, forehead against his as she tried to even out her breathing. She felt dizzy, in the best way, lips tingling and body incredibly warm because of their closeness. Trying to fully grasp what just happened was fruitless; no way was Sloane going to properly comprehend it until later. She’d much rather enjoy the moment of blissed out ignorance.

Luke’s nose brushed against hers, his breath invitingly warm as he murmured, “Still a bad idea?”

She swallowed, eyes opening just enough to gaze at his lips. She desperately wanted to kiss him again. “Probably.”

He let out a low, throaty chuckle. The music around them was too fucking loud. “Wanna get out of here?”

Sloane exhaled softly, still holding onto his shirt. “It’s your birthday.”

“I don’t care.”

Yeah, fuck it. They’d all been here for hours anyway. “Let’s go.”

Luke’s hand was holding hers and leading her out of the club before she knew it, and Sloane admired the way his tall, broad body easily made a path for them through the dancing bodies, admired the firm yet comforting hold he had on her hand. She admired the blonde curls at the back of his head and admired the fluttery feeling he enticed in the pit of her stomach as they got into the Uber that arrived just minutes after Luke ordered it.

The ride was quick, though the two of them had to keep their hands to themselves given that their driver was a chatty one. He’d ask questions that Sloane and Luke would answer, secret smiles exchanged between the two of them as his fingers danced with hers, lips aching to be kissed again.

And then they got to the house, where inhibitions seemed to disappear as they stumbled into the dimly lit foyer, the door slamming shut with a kick of Luke’s foot before he swiftly locked Sloane’s legs around his hips and connected their lips once more, grinning against her mouth when her surprised giggle got lost in their kiss. Her dress had ridden up, as expected, the sensation of Luke’s hands on her bare thighs to hold her up burning her skin deliciously. She buried her fingers in Luke’s curls as he began moving towards the stairs, expertly going up as Sloane moved her hands to undo as many buttons of Luke’s shirt as she could before looping a finger around the silver necklace he wore.

They entered a room, Sloane faintly hearing another door shut over the drumming of her heart as Luke’s tongue worked against hers, until Sloane was being dropped on the bed. She bounced slightly against the mattress, realizing they were in her room, biting her lower lip as Luke got rid of his shirt and worked on undoing his pants, his eyes never leaving hers. Fuck, he looked like a God, standing above her with curls messed up by her fingers, and Sloane let out a breath as she took off her heels before pulling off her dress, watching him in take in the sight of her waiting for him on the bed in nothing but a pretty white and laced lingerie set.

“Fuck,” Luke breathed out, voice throaty as he ran his fingers through his hair, climbing onto the bed. Sloane’s heart thundered at the sight of him, biting her lip once more as she admired his necklace resting against his bare chest, the tent pitched in his boxers, fingers itching to get into his hair once more. She felt the grin tug at her lips as he crawled towards her, body hovering over hers as he braced himself with hands on either side of her head. He lowered himself and Sloane felt a chill run down her spine when the cool pendant of his necklace dragged across her sternum. Luke brushed his nose against hers, catching Sloane’s lower lip with his teeth as he murmured, “Happy birthday to me.”

Sloane laughed, hand reached to the back of his head to close the gap, lips finding his in a heated kiss as she felt his body lean into hers. He warmed her, a comforting contrast against the mild chill in the room due to the window Sloane had left slightly open, the distant sound of the ocean an accompaniment to the thundering of her heart.

The two of them moved together, fluidly and easily, as Sloane arched her back into Luke to allow him to unclasp her bra, ridding the material somewhere on the floor as her breasts pressed against his chest. They were eager, desperate to get lost in each other, and Sloane tilted her head back to revel in the sensation of Luke’s lips working against her neck, the cheeky bite of his teeth thrilling along with the burn of his facial hair. One of his hands slid down her front, fingers dipping beneath her underwear and Sloane let out a soft moan at the feel of his finger teasing her entrance.

Her own fingers fisted in his hair, blonde curls soft, inhaling sharply while biting her lower lip when Luke expertly worked her open, using his teeth to free her lower lip from her own grasp and sounding his own approval as he added another finger into her folds. Sloane could already feel like she was losing herself in what Luke was doing to her, but she needed more—she needed more closeness. She already had Luke but, fuck, she needed more.

“Luke, please,” Sloane breathed out, their noses slanted together and lips brushing against one anothers as she spoke. She tried to voice her thoughts, body too busy reacting to the sensation of Luke’s fingers pushing through her folds, thumb flicking against her clit and sending shockwaves through her body. Sloane tightened her grip in his hair, drawing an appreciative groan from him as she begged, “I need you.”

God, she knew she should be treating him instead of it being the other way around. And she would, she couldn’t wait to, but both of them needed this right now. She would do whatever the hell he wanted her to but first, fuck, her fingers needed to work faster in pulling down his boxers. “Anything you want, sweetheart,” Luke told her once both his boxers and her panties were somewhere on the floor, his hand holding a condom packet Sloane figured he’d gotten from his pants. He was once again hovering over her, the scent of his familiar cologne mixing in with the faint scent of salt from the air outside, a combination that was dizzying Sloane in the best way.

She let out a breath, nails trailing up his bicep as her blue eyes met his. She wondered if hers had been darkened in the flurry of lust and yearning like Luke’s had. “I should be saying that to you, birthday boy.”

Luke’s lips curled into a grin, showing off those dimples Sloane was crazy for, adoring the way his blonde curls framed his perfect face. “Trust me,” Luke murmured, brushing his lips against hers as he lined himself up to her entrance. His voice was throaty, sending shivers down Sloane’s spine as he promised, “I’m getting everything I wished for.”

Stars burst behind Sloane’s eyes with every thrust of Luke’s hips, one hand in his hair and the other gripping his bicep as he kept a steady, toe curling rhythm that had Sloane digging her nails into his skin. His name fell like a chant from her lips in between breathless gasps and blissed out moans, a symphony with the beach beyond the window, but all Sloane could focus on was Luke. The softness of his lips, scratch of his beard, the fire his hands elicited across her skin, the chills from his necklace, and the wonderful, delicious, overwhelming stretch of him as he filled her up perfectly.

She felt as though she was on fire, one that she was in no hurry to put out, as she lifted her legs to wrap them around his hips, the slightly different angle allowing for Luke to push in deeper, the sensation prompting Sloane to tilt her head back into the pillows, an appreciative moan being drawn out. Feeling every bit of Luke against her, in her, was as blissful as Sloane could’ve imagined and more. With his lips against her skin, she cursed herself for depriving herself of this, wanted to mourn over the fact that all of this could’ve happened much sooner if only she’d been more intuned with her own heart earlier.

But, God, no time for regrets right now. All she wanted to do, all she could do really, was focus on Luke and the way he made her come alive, awakened a fire in her she hadn’t ever thought would be lit. It was as though Sloane was discovering herself in him, and he in her, and neither were ready for it to ever end.

“I still have to give you your birthday present,” Sloane murmured, finger trailing nonsensical patterns on Luke’s chest.

They lay under the covers of her bed, spent from getting to know and figuring out each other’s bodies, a calm silence between them disturbed only by the ocean outside and the steady drum of Luke’s heart Sloane could hear with her head against his chest. She was enveloped in him; in his scent, his arms, his warmth, and this was a kind of closeness, intimacy, that Sloane wanted to hold onto for however long she could.

She felt Luke’s head tilt towards her as her cheek remained pressed against his chest. Sloane heard the lazy smirk in his voice as he said, “I thought that was my present.”

Sloane laughed, lightly back handing his chest before pushing herself up. Luke groaned in protest at the loss of her warmth, arm that had been around her shoulders dropping to the mattress as Sloane got up, swiping up Luke’s silk shirt and shrugging it on. She buttoned only a couple of the middle ones before wandering over to the closet, feeling the burn of Luke’s gaze on her as she bent down to pick up the colorful gift bag she’d hidden away.

She couldn’t help the grin on her face as she walked back towards the bed as Luke sat up, the blankets pooling at his hips as he ran both hands through his hair to push the curly locks away from his face. His own eyebrows raised in anticipation, the smile present on his lips as he hummed, “What’s this?”

Sloane settled in front of him, legs folded under her as she handed him the bag and chuckled, “See for yourself.”

Luke took the bag, curious gaze on Sloane as his hand pushed past the decorative tissue inside before grabbing onto the gift, eyebrows furrowing as he pulled it out. Sloane rolled her smiling lips into her mouth as she watched Luke’s reaction, going from confusion to realization to complete joy as delighted laughter tumbled out of his mouth. “No fucking way,” he laughed, holding onto the gift with both hands. Sloane adored the glint in his bright eyes, the dimples that appeared under his facial hair. “You actually got it!”

Her own laughter joined in, feeling the relief flood through her at the knowledge of Luke liking her gift. She watched as he admired the gnome they’d seen at the flea market almost a week ago, the one holding a Go Away sign and sticking up its middle finger that Luke had loved. “Of course I did,” she giggled, running her fingers through her hair. With a satisfied grin, she added, “I think it makes for the perfect gift, hmm?”

Luke shook his head in incredulity, laughing as his eyes met hers and he told her sincerely, “Not as perfect as the girl who gave it to me.” Sloane’s smile softened instantly, her heart warm as Luke leaned forward, and she met him halfway to readily accept the kiss he pressed to her lips. “I love it, Sloane. Thank you.”

Her eyes were still closed, reveling in his kiss, nose brushing against his as she murmured, “You’re welcome,” before leaning forward to close the gap once more. She couldn’t get enough of his kisses. How had she gone so long without them?

But just as the kiss became deeper, needier, anticipating for another round, the distant sound of the front door slamming open hadn’t been enough to break them apart until Michael’s loud voice rang throughout the house. “Sloane! Luke! Get down here before we eat the rest of the cake without you!”

“Mm, we’ll finish this later,” Luke mumbled against her lips, the promise in his voice accompanied by the smile he wore.

Sloane gave him one last grin, unable to keep herself from mirroring his grin, adoring the happy flush in his cheeks as she agreed, “Absolutely.”

*****

The day had started out normal enough; after his morning coffee, Calum was dragged out by Ashton to a local yoga studio he’d managed to find, so spending the morning doing yoga with his best friend and other best friend’s fianceé wasn’t the worst thing in the world. At the house, he took a shower and joined Michael and Luke on the couch where the Xbox was set up, grabbing a controller and falling in the routine of yelling at each other as they played. It had been a normal day, fun in the presence of his friends.

Until he was sitting in an uncomfortable chair of a hospital room, chin resting on his right hand as his arm remained propped on the arm rest, watching the oxygen mask on Maggie’s face fog up every time she let out a slow, heavy exhale in her sleep, the machine clicking every time she did so. The room was enveloped in an eerie silence, interrupted only by the steady beeping of the heart monitor Maggie was connected to, echoing in Calum’s ears hauntingly. The sight of her, looking a bit too frail even with the wrinkles on her face smoothed out by what he hoped was a peaceful sleep for her.

Running his right hand down his face, Calum trailed his gaze over to his left where River was sitting. He felt his heart sink at the worried expression that he’d seen painted on her face the second he’d arrived to the hospital. Her knee was bouncing, teeth gnawing at her nails and eyebrows drawn together in concern. Green eyes never seemed to stray from her grandmother, but her hand had a strong grip on Calum’s and he knew it was because of the concern rushing through her veins. All he wanted to do was hold her, unable to do so because of the damned seats.

He took in the tiredness of her eyes, seeing past the loose blonde tendrils of her haphazardly tied hair, but he knew she wasn’t about to fall asleep. He’d tried to get her to a couple of times since he’d arrived over an hour ago, but she understandably wouldn’t budge. So he gave a squeeze of her hand and leaned towards her, voice low as he asked, “D’you want some coffee? Crappy hospital coffee, but—”

“Yes, yeah,” River nodded, her voice a bit hoarse from lack of speaking. She turned her head to look at him, and the air locked in his throat at her red rimmed and glassy eyes. Somehow, though, she still managed to offer him an appreciative smile, flushed cheeks pushing up briefly. He didn’t want her smiling at him, not if she didn’t mean it. Calum lifted their joined hands, pressing a kiss to the back of hers as he got up. River looked up at him, licking her lips and asking, “Can I borrow your phone? Mine’s dead and I, uh, wanna try my mom again.”

Calum nodded with a reassuring furrow of his eyebrows. “Yeah, ’course,” he said, digging it out of his pocket and unlocking the device before handing it to her. River took it and Calum leaned down to press a kiss to the top of her head, murmuring a soft, “Be right back.”

He opened the door, about to step out only to pause and look back at Maggie. Calum sighed heavily, heart sinking as he did. He desperately hoped for her to get better.

Making his way down the hospital hallways, Calum ran a hand over the top of his slowly growing hair, offering a brief smile to a doctor and nurse that made their way past him. The smell of disinfectant was powerful, prompting Calum to wrinkle his nose as he absently followed the signs to where the cafeteria was, thoughts too focused on River and Maggie. His chest had tightened when River had told him how quickly Maggie had gotten worse, how her flu seemed to become so much more, and Calum had dropped everything to grab his keys and rush to the hospital as soon as he’d heard her shaky, breathless voice asking if he’d come. He didn’t even have to think twice about it.

And, fuck, he hadn’t expected his heart to utterly shatter when he’d caught sight of her distraught face, looking totally out of her element when she’d met him at the nurse’s reception to bring him up to Maggie’s room. River had walked right into Calum’s arms, holding him tightly and soaking in his warmth as Calum pressed his cheek on top of her head. He hated seeing her this way. He hoped Maggie would be okay.

After acquiring two cups of questionable coffee, Calum headed back to the floor Maggie’s room was on, his steps quick as he wanted to get back to them. He entered the room, gently nudging the door shut with his hip as he quietly murmured, “One crappy cup of coffee, at your ser—what’s wrong?”

His tone turned concerned when he took in River’s expression. She stood at the end of Maggie’s bed, the expression on her face frighteningly hollow, and for a heart stopping second Calum thought Maggie had taken a turn for the worse. His gaze snapped over to the sleeping woman, feeling his heart calm down when he took note of the machine steadily beeping to sound hers. But then his eyebrows drew together, setting down the two cups at the table as he looked back at River.

“River, hey, what’s going on?”

He saw the way her throat worked, gaze finally meeting his, hers looking just as distraught as it had before, only this time the confusion was what was throwing Calum off. He took a few steps towards her, stopping when she held his phone out to him, hand trembling slightly as she finally said, “Your mom texted you.” Calum’s eyebrows drew together at the low, hollow tone she spoke in. When her green eyes met his brown, he felt his heart thud at the look in her eyes; absent, distant, nothing he was used to. She licked her lips before she added slowly, her own tone turning confused, as if she was trying to understand her own words, “Said something about checking your e-mail for potential suits you could wear. . . For your wedding?”

She spoke the last bit like a question, like she was giving him the chance to correct her, to tell her she’d been mistaken, had read the text wrong or something. Shit, he wished he could tell her just that. He wished he could tell her it was some joke, a mistake, that she didn’t, in fact, read it right. But Calum, at the wrong fucking moment, was at a complete loss for words.

He felt as though the air had been sucker punched out of his lungs, like the blood was frozen in his veins and his heart had dropped to the pit of his stomach all at the same time. The ground threatened to give out under him, he could feel it, and Calum had no idea what the fuck to do except gape at River like a fucking idiot. He wasn’t numb to the tension that was quickly distancing them, something he wasn’t used to at all when it came to River, and Calum desperately wanted to get rid of it. But he didn’t know how to. Not when River was looking at him as though she had no idea who she was staring at. Like he was a complete stranger.

Calum felt his lower lip quiver as he tried to find the words to say something. Anything. “River, I can explain—”

“Oh, my God,” she cut him off, her voice a trembling whisper. She looked like he’d just slapped her and Calum hated himself for it. “It’s true?” She gave a bewildered shake of her head, taking a step away from him. Another punch to his gut. “You’re engaged?”

He pressed his lips together, breath locking once more before he expelled it forcefully through his nose. He fucked up. He fucked up so bad and he didn’t know what the fuck to do. He didn’t want to tell her the truth but it’s beyond what she deserved. “I—” Calum’s heart was in his throat. “Yes.”

River’s chest fell with a sharp exhale, her eyes glassy under the fluorescent lights of the room, and Calum wanted to rid her of her tears before they fell. He loathed that it was his fault she looked so heartbroken. So defeated. Betrayed. And he knew he had, knew that she had every right to feel all of those things. Because he had tried to fool himself into thinking that whatever it was between them was just a summer fling, just a way of having fun.

He was an idiot to think he wouldn’t fall in love with River.

She took the few steps separating them and Calum felt the sting in his eyes when she slapped his phone against his chest, forcing him to grab onto the device as she let go. His throat was suddenly dry at the sight of her glare, angry, devastated, like she’d been deceived. All because of him, by him. The heat in her gaze was heart shattering, completely something Calum deserved, definitely something he’d never wanted to be on the receiving end of. It looked completely out of character for her, to look so fiercely agitated, brimming with anger that flushed her cheeks. His fault.

“Get out.” Her voice was a controlled whisper, the emptiness contradicting the rage in her sharp green eyes. Calum’s jaw tightened, a feeble attempt of keeping his own emotions at bay, knowing that everything was slipping out of his hands and all he could do was watch it leave him. “I don’t want you here. Or anywhere near us. Leave, Calum.”

He couldn’t swallow, couldn’t breathe, his grip on his phone had tightened and he really fucking wished the ground would open up beneath him. Wished he could go back in time and change everything so they wouldn’t be standing here. Calum wished that Maggie wasn’t sick, that he wasn’t fucking engaged, and that he wasn’t keeping such a significant detail from the girl he’d unexpectedly, unknowingly, utterly fallen in love with.

And he’d lost her.

He’d heard the crack in his voice as he began pleading, “River—”

Her gaze hardened, a tear falling that Calum wanted to brush away but he’d lost that right in the blink of an eye. Behind the loose tendrils of her hair, River’s eyes had a fire lighting within them that begged to burn him. “Leave.”

Calum Hood rarely cried. He wasn’t a crier. But as soon as he got in his car parked in the hospital lot, the burning in his eyes had won out and he allowed himself to completely give into the reality of losing River. How stupid of him to think he wouldn’t fall in love with her and escape the harsh reality of the truth.

*****

“Has anyone talked to him?”

Sloane puckered her lips to the side, gaze on her mug of tea as she circled the rim with her finger. She shook her head as everyone else mumbled their dissent to Crystal’s question, and she let out a sigh. He’d been locked in his room since yesterday, and if he happened to come out, he wasn’t himself. A shell of a man too heartbreaking to look at and the worry gnawed at Sloane, wanting to do nothing more than go talk to him. She had no idea what had happened, none of them did, and she cast a glance towards the staircase. Calum was upstairs, hadn’t joined them for breakfast, and the concern for their blue haired friend was heavy in the room.

Ashton sighed. “Do you think something happened with River?”

Sloane felt her breath catch, and the mention of the other girl had Sloane putting her mug down on the coffee table and getting up to her feet. Luke’s arm dropped from her shoulders as all eyes went to her, and she licked her lips and announced, “I’m gonna try to talk to him.”

“Good luck,” Michael mumbled as she walked past him. Sloane would probably need it.

She let out a deep breath as she reached his closed door, stupidly feeling kind of intimidated to even knock. But she pushed past it, her concern for Calum winning out as she rapped her knuckles against it and called out gently, “Calum?” She waited for a response, not getting one, and tilted her head back to look at the ceiling as she sighed once more. “Come on, Cal, I know you’re in there.”

Chewing on her lower lip, Sloane grabbed the door knob before she could change her mind, and opened the door slowly while peering inside. The bed was unmade but Calum wasn’t on it. Instead, he was sitting on the floor, leaning against it, knees brought up, arms folded on top while his gaze was turned towards the window, looking out at the bright sky that didn’t at all match the mood he obviously was in. Biting the inside of her cheek, Sloane felt as though she was intruding into his space, into a dark corner of his mind he was shutting everyone out of, but she couldn’t turn back now.

“Hey,” she spoke up, her voice soft as she padded further into the room after shutting the door behind her. “Everyone’s asking for you.”

She was met with silence, but Sloane didn’t let that deter her from approaching Calum’s seated figure. Quietly, Sloane sat down next to him, running her palms over the soft material of the rug the bed was placed on top of as she turned her gaze to him. He was still looking out the window, only allowing her to see the blue of his head.

“Please talk to me,” Sloane said, unable to bring her voice any louder, too afraid of breaking the quiet of the room—no matter how uneasy and heavy it felt. “What’s going on?”

He was silent, the quiet deafening as Sloane’s throat worked, waiting for an answer. She kept her gaze on him, on the tightness of his jaw, and the way he was absently twisting one of the rings he wore. She wondered if he was gonna say anything, if he was gonna let her in, and she probably shouldn’t push him, but after a few minutes of silence, she spoke up once more. “We’re not gonna be very good partners if you don’t let me in.”

More silence. Until—

“She knows.” Calum’s voice was hoarse, deep and slow and nearly catching Sloane off guard. He finally turned to look at her, and she felt her heart stop momentarily at the emptiness she saw in the brown of his usually lively eyes. It was. . . harrowing. . . seeing him like that. “I fucked up.”

Sloane pressed her teeth together as she expelled a slow breath through her nose, knowing exactly who and what he was referring to. Oh, no. She squeezed her eyes shut, giving a shake of her head as she started, “Calum—”

“I should’ve listened to you,” he cut her off, shaking his head to return his gaze to his fingers. She heard the guilt and defeat weigh heavily in his tone as he clicked his tongue in disappointment. “I should’ve been more careful. I should’ve either told her the truth or just never have fallen for her—”

“You don’t mean that,” Sloane said, her tone knowing and firm as Calum rolled his lips into his mouth. “As complicated and fucked up as this is, you’re not gonna sit here and lie to me or yourself by saying you regret falling in love with her.”

Calum looked at her then, and Sloane offered a sympathetic smile at the surprised look in his eyes. She would have to be blind to not see that Calum learned to love River in the short amount of time he’d known her. But, then again, time had no correlation to the way someone could feel about another person. She was beginning to understand that, too, given her own situation.

Her expression fell when she noted the quiver in Calum’s lower lip, and her heart ached for this man whom she’d always seen as so solid and firm. The state he was in was one she was unfamiliar with, unprepared to handle, but she would try. Calum was her friend and soon-to-be partner, and working out through things together and supporting one another would be the basis of their developing relationship. Except she didn’t care much for any of that right now; all that mattered was her friend and the heartbreak he was going through.

“She hates me, Sloane,” Calum whispered, voice catching in his throat. “I fucking—I broke her heart and I don’t think she’s willing to give me a chance to fix this.” He looked at her once again, brown eyes glassy and twisting Sloane’s chest. “Falling in love with her wasn’t the mistake; everything else was.”

She didn’t have to guess what he was referring to.

Sloane twisted her lips to the side, gaze dropping momentarily before she mused dryly, “We’re both fucked, aren’t we?” When Calum sniffed and looked at her, she shook her head, turning her gaze towards the ceiling. “Whatever Luke and I are doing. . . It’s got its own expiration date. Every time I think about us only getting to be us while we’re here and it all ending when we get back to New York. . . I can’t breathe.”

God, she didn’t even want to think about what would happen when they returned home; the mere thought of going back to being just friends with Luke was nauseating. Especially because Sloane wasn’t sure if they’d be able to do that. Luke was both her and Calum’s best friend; how was she supposed to return to being friends with the man who made her feel so fucking alive, so unafraid of being herself, while being married to one of his best friends? It didn’t fucking seem possible. The closer they got to when they had to return home, the more ominous the dark cloud looming over their heads seemed to get.

“It’s freeing. . . Being with them.”

Sloane nodded at Calum’s statement, the truth in his words too obvious. She watched herself pick at her nails, the words bubbling past her lips before she could stop. “That’s exactly how I feel with Luke,” she said, her voice a thoughtful murmur. “It’s. . . He’s the only one who’s made me feel this way since Jacob’s death.”

Calum’s throat worked at the mention of her late brother while Sloane bit on her lower lip briefly. But he stayed silent, waiting for her to continue. “My parents. . . Everything’s on me, now, with the company and this merger. It’s not like they can be mad at Jacob for dying so they compensate for it by marrying me off in the name of saving the business.” She let out a wry laugh at that, empty of humor as she gave a disbelieving shake of her head. Her parents’ mindset continued to surprise her. “I don’t know how Jacob’s death gave them permission for controlling my life the way they are, but Luke—” She cut off, this time to let out a content sigh that seemed inappropriate for this situation, yet she couldn’t help as she thought of the blonde haired, blue eyed man sitting downstairs. “Being with him gave me some control back to feel free, y’know?”

Sloane looked at Calum again, and saw that of course he knew. He was the only one who could understand what she was talking about, who could feel exactly what she was feeling. And she was the only one who could understand the pain he was in; the pain of losing someone they found a sense of freedom in, the pain of their circumstances swooping in and fucking things up. The state Calum was in right now was one Sloane would inevitably be in, she knew, except Luke knew of everything, what he was getting himself into.

That didn’t mean it wouldn’t hurt any less.

“Sloane.” Her heart jumped at the sound of Calum’s voice; unsteady and defeated as his tear filled eyes met hers. Seeing Calum cry, she’d decided, was a sight she never wanted to witness again, with his flushed nose and cheeks and devastated eyes. “I really fucked up.”

There was nothing she could say, she knew, that would make Calum feel better. So she merely linked her left arm with his right and scooted closer to him, allowing him to tilt his head down until it was resting on her shoulder. Sloane rested her head on top of his, the shortness of his blue hair tickling her cheek, rolling her lips into her mouth when Calum let out a shuddering breath that seemed to tremble through his entire body. This was devastating for him, knowing that he hurt someone he’d come to care about so much in such a short amount of time. And Sloane sat there silently comforting him, being a shoulder for him to cry on, wishing that there was something she could do to make this better. No one was really prepared to see Calum like this, so lost and heartbroken, a stranger from his usual confident, carefree self. But the unfamiliarity of this wasn’t going to stop Sloane from finding a way to help him.

Hours later, in Luke’s car, Sloane chewed on her lower lip as they drove back to the house. They’d just made a grocery run, a task that they’d assigned themselves, and Sloane’s thoughts were drowning out the music playing through the speakers. She managed to get lost in her own head until Luke’s voice broke through, “What’re you thinking so hard about?”

Sloane pursed her lips as she looked at Luke, who kept his eyes on the road after shooting her a curious glance. “I wanna. . .” She paused for a thoughtful moment. “I think I should talk to River. Just so she knows what’s going on. She won’t talk to Calum and I just—I feel like I need to do this. For her and Calum.”

As he made a right turn into the driveway of the beach house, Luke asked, “Do you think she’ll listen to you?”

Sloane blew air through her mouth before shrugging. “I don’t know, but I at least have to try, you know?” she mused, clicking off her seatbelt and picking her bag up from by her feet.

Unbuckling his own seatbelt, Luke nodded, gaze out the window of his door before he jutted his chin towards it. “You can try right now. There she is.”

She followed his gaze out the window, eyebrows raising when she caught sight of River stepping out of the front door of her house, locking it, and Sloane instinctively threw the car door open. Quickly, she made her way around the car, down the driveway and onto the sidewalk to cross over to River’s house, making her way up the path as she called out, “River!”

The blonde stopped on the second step of her porch, squinting against the sun as she watched Sloane approach. Sloane noted the way her features hardened, an uncharacteristic edge in her voice as she demanded, “What do you want?”

“I—” Sloane stopped herself from jumping right in, taking note of River’s obvious hostility. Instead, she asked, “How’s your grandmother?”

“Still in the hospital,” River responded, the flatness of her tone showing her disinterest in this conversation and in Sloane. It kind of threw her off, the absence of gentleness in which River normally spoke in. River made her way down the steps. “Where I need to be going so, if you’ll excuse me, I need to call an Uber.”

Sloane furrowed her eyebrows, glancing at the Prius that was parked in the driveway before her confused expression turned to River. “Isn’t that your car? Something wrong with it?”

River let out an impatient sigh as she pulled out her phone from her purse. “My license expired and I haven’t had time to get it renewed.” Then, with a shake of her head, she continued almost tiredly, “Listen, Sloane, I don’t have time for this. I need to go see my grand—”

“I’ll drive you,” Sloane cut in quickly, offering a friendly and hopeful grin. Maybe then River would talk to her. “No need to waste money on an Uber, right?”

River’s eyebrows drew together, clearly not expecting that offer as she pushed some blonde hair behind her ear. “I—”

“Come on, we can take Luke’s car,” Sloane said, not wanting to give her the chance to refuse. She really needed to talk to her.

Much to her delight, River followed her with a sigh to the house over, right as Luke had shut the trunk with the last few grocery bags in hand. Sloane noted the curious look he was giving her after catching sight of River, a tilt of his head and quirk of his eyebrow directed at Sloane in silent question. She answered it by asking, “Can I borrow your car? I’m gonna give River a ride to the hospital.”

“Uh,” Luke sounded, obviously bewildered as his blue eyes met Sloane’s. She silently raised her eyebrows with a subtle widening of her eyes, and realization flashed across Luke’s face as he transferred the bags in his left hand to his right before pulling the keys out of his shorts. He handed them to her with a quiet, “Good luck,” before going back into the house. That was the second good luck she received today. She was beginning to sense a pattern.

In the car, the tension was thick enough to be felt but not enough to be suffocating. Which was kind of a good thing, Sloane would guess, as she sat quietly and reveled in the lingering smell of Luke and his cologne. She chewed on her tongue while trying to figure out how to approach the topic of conversation, but River beat her by breaking the silence with her quiet voice inquiring, “Did you know? That he was engaged?”

Sloane’s grip on the steering wheel tightened, throat working at River’s question. Oh, God. The blonde next to her knew Calum was engaged—but she didn’t know it was to the woman sitting in the driver’s seat. Sloane felt her chest tighten as the truth twisted around, feeling the heat of River’s gaze on her profile as she answered slowly, “Yes. Because. . .” Sloane let out a slow breath, swallowing the lump in her throat. “He’s engaged to me.”

The silence that followed Sloane’s confession was deafening, heavier than the low hum of the engine as she drove, using her position as an excuse to keep her eyes on the road rather than chancing a glance to the woman next to her. Sloane could hear the drumming of her heart in her ears, feel it in her chest, everything else shattering when River humorlessly laughed out a bewildered, “I’m sorry—what?”

Sloane parked the car in an empty spot in the hospital lot, killing the engine as she finally looked at River. The blonde stared at her as if she’d misheard Sloane’s words, green eyes sharp and confused under furrowed eyebrows, waiting for Sloane to give an explanation. “I—It’s not what you think, River,” Sloane started, picking up the pace when River let out a loud disbelieving scoff, looking away from her as she unbuckled the seatbelt. “Calum and I—we’re just friends. We’re not, like, together that way. It’s an arrangement.”

“And that makes it any better?” River demanded, the outrage and incredulity thick in her tone as she threw open the car door and stepped out, slamming it shut as Sloane hastily followed her. River’s sandals slapped against the pavement as she stormed across the lot, Sloane right on her heels. “He’s still engaged to someone, and he fucked around with me and made me the other fucking woman!”

Sloane’s heart was pounding as she reached River, the two of them just a few steps away from the hospital entrance, ignorant of the few other people lingering about. Right now, she was too focused on trying to explain herself and Calum to the girl they’d inadvertently hurt. “River, don’t you get it?” Sloane tried, the pleading clear in her voice as she grabbed River’s arm, stopping the blonde in her tracks to get her to face her. Sloane’s throat worked at the anger firing up in River’s green eyes, as well as the hurt she was trying to bury under it. God, this was what Sloane had been afraid of. And while she couldn’t fault Calum for falling in love with River, it didn’t mean she didn’t wish things hadn’t come to this. With a sigh, Sloane hoped River would see the true genuinity in her words as she told her, “For Calum, you’re the only woman.”

River stopped, Sloane’s words hitting the mark she meant for as she dropped her hand from River’s arm, who looked away as her throat worked. The anger was still present, but the hurt was beginning to bleed through the surface. “He should’ve told me. Do you not understand how fucked up this is?”

“Of course I do,” Sloane reassured with a shake of her head, the warmth of the sun above burning her skin. “I’m in the same boat, you know? I mean, yeah, Luke knew more details than you but you have to understand—this engagement? Not my or Calum’s idea. We don’t want to be married. We just—we wanted to spend our time here not worrying about all that bullshit. Neither one of us expected this to get so far.”

“This?” River repeated with a raise of her eyebrow, scoffing slightly. “Calum and I had a relationship. I—fuck, I fell in love with him! But now I’m realizing whatever we had was meant to fall apart this whole time and instead of backing off, Calum just let it happen.”

Sloane rolled her lips into her mouth, feeling her heart ache for the woman in front of her and Calum. And a little bit for herself and Luke, too. Things were starting to get out of control. Sloane’s voice dropped, a sadness creeping in as she reasoned, “He fell in love with you, too, River. How was he supposed to just back off?”

River blinked quickly a couple of times, and Sloane realized it was because she was fighting off any tears from escaping. The poor girl already had so much going on, Sloane hated adding more to her plate. River’s jaw tightened as she looked away, the tendons in her neck working tensely, voice a bit too defeated as she spoke up. “There’s a fine line in your love for someone being selfish and selfless.” Her betrayed green eyes met Sloane’s pleading blue. “And he was selfish.”

*****

“You know, when you first told us about your engagement to Sloane, I kind of hated you a little bit.”

Calum would’ve choked on his water had he been surprised by Luke’s statement. But given the recent turn of events, he wasn’t. Instead, he lowered the water bottle and met his friend’s gaze sitting across from him, a pile of UNO cards in between them as they played. The two of them sat on the deck, sharing one of the long beach chairs to play easily, the sun burning against their backs welcomingly.

Lowering the water bottle, Calum cleared his throat and flatly responded, “Just a little bit?”

Luke met his dry humor with an empty smirk of his own as he looked through the cards in his hand. He put down one to do his turn. “It’s fucked up.” Calum knew he didn’t have to voice his agreement for Luke to know that he thought the same. “This is gonna sound fucking dramatic but I don’t know how I’m supposed to watch my best friend marry the girl I love, man.”

Calum rolled his lips into his mouth, intent gaze on his cards yet thoroughly unfocused. “’S not dramatic,” he mumbled quietly, a subtle furrow in his brows. “I can be partners with Sloane for business but marriage. . . I don’t see how we’re not gonna end up resenting each other down the road. We’re friends, we get along, but loyalty in friendship and loyalty in marriage are two completely different things.” Calum recognized the guilt that was beginning to form a lump in his throat, the emptiness he felt since the other day at the hospital when River found out everything ever present in making him feel completely hollow. He lifted his gaze, brown eyes meeting Luke’s blue, the sincerity deepening Calum’s voice as he said, “I’m sorry this is affecting you, too, Luke. Sloane and I. . . We never meant to hurt you.” He swallowed thickly. “Or River.”

His grip on the cards tightened, threatening to fold them in his fist at the mention of the woman with the prettiest green eyes, whose house he’d be able to see if he just glanced over his shoulder. He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her, except the thoughts of her in his head were haunting. They consisted of her teary eyes, of the hurt and anger painted across her face, of the fierce betrayal heavy in her voice when she told him to leave. And as much as Calum tried to think of the happier times he’d had with her since his arrival to Florida, he couldn’t, because he knew he didn’t deserve to. Why should he be allowed to revere in the good memories of them when he caused her so much pain?

And he hated that his best friend was hurting, too, and that Sloane would eventually have to say goodbye to a relationship that everyone knew was right. Calum could tell, just by looking at them, how much Sloane and Luke meant to each other, how years of friendship had finally blossomed into a mutual love that was a long time coming. And it would all come to an end because of a stupid fucking arrangement. Fuck, Calum was desperate to figure a way out of this mess that would be beneficial for everyone involved. Maybe he could.

“I know,” Luke responded to Calum’s apology, a small and appreciative smile hinting at his dimples. Luke sighed, broad shoulders sinking as he breathed out, “It’s just. . .”

“A shit situation.”

“Completely.”

Their mutual understanding made for an easy silence as they continued the game, interrupted only when Calum’s phone notified him of a text message. His heart dropped when he read Sloane’s text.

Come to the hospital. I’m with River. It’s not good.

He was pretty sure he’d broken some traffic laws on his way to the hospital, but Calum didn’t give a fuck.

The smell of disinfectant burned Calum’s nose as he burst into the hospital like a madman, but that was the least of his worries. He immediately turned to walk down the familiar path that led to the elevators that would take him to Maggie’s floor, only to be stopped by Sloane’s voice calling out his name. His heart was pounding as he looked to his left, eyes landing on Sloane sitting in the waiting room, River right next to her. Throat locked, Calum made his way over, feeling his fingers trembling and not entirely trusting his knees to keep him supported as he took in the sight of River.

She sat next to Sloane, whose arms were wrapped around her, while River’s head leaned against her shoulder. The air rushed out of Calum’s lungs as he took in her face; tear streaked and flushed, but completely void of any emotions. She stared blankly ahead at the floor in front of her, oblivious and uncaring to the world around her, and the nausea twisted Calum’s stomach as he neared her. Oh, no. Oh no oh no oh no. His gaze met Sloane’s, who was trying her best to comfort River during an inconsolable time, and Calum knew just how terribly River’s world had blown up.

Calum crouched down in front of River, ignoring the trembling of his legs and the weight of the chains around his neck seemed to have on him as he peered up at her. She hadn’t looked at him, staring out into space. She looked so haunted, so empty, and Calum wanted nothing more than to turn back time and make it all better for her. To bring that smile he’d fallen so deeply in love with return to its rightful place.

“She had a stroke.” River’s voice was a broken whisper, just barely heard in the noise of the hospital, but enough to tighten Calum’s stomach and send his heart flying into his throat. “The flu and her diabetes it just—it was too much. Sh-she had a stroke.” Her watery, red rimmed green eyes met Calum’s glassy brown, her lower lip trembling. “Grams is gone.”

He wanted to cry. Over the loss of the loving woman, over the scalding pain River was experiencing, over all of the fucking bullshit she’s had to face, and over his own part in some of it. And despite feeling his own body tremble, he refused to be anything but strong and sturdy for her.

He reached for her hands. “River, I’m so—”

“No, no,” she shook her head, a frown on her face as she pulled her hands from him. Calum and Sloane watched, his throat tightening as a sob ripped through River, and he could feel every bit of his heart breaking as fresh tears escaped her and she cried, “No, you lied to me. You’re a liar.” She tried to move away, pushing herself further into the chair as the movements forced Sloane’s arms from around her, but River was too busy looking at Calum like he’d ripped her heart out, and he fucking hated himself for it. “You’re just gonna leave me. You’re gonna leave just like my mom and dad and Grams. You’re just gonna—”

“Hey, hey, baby, please.” Calum kicked himself into action, his voice smooth and hoping to comfort her as he pushed himself up and into the seat next to River. He gently grasped her arms, heart thudding as she tried to half heartedly struggle against him, her sobs growing louder and louder. He was aware of people looking their way, had half a mind to tell them to fuck off as his gaze met Sloane’s worried one. She looked almost as distraught as Calum felt as he pulled a crying, struggling River into him. “Shh, River, I got you.”

His voice was smooth despite his own emotions threatening to lock his throat, but Calum was efficient in pulling River into his lap, hugging her to him as her face buried in the crook of his neck and her body wracked with the sobs escaping her. He barely noticed Sloane lean back into her chair, palms pressed together as she brought her hands to her lips, watching as Calum did his best to keep himself together in order to comfort the woman falling apart in his arms.

Every cry that fell from River’s mouth sunk deeply into his bones, his eyes squeezing shut as he pressed his cheek against her head, holding her tightly and rubbing her back as he cradled her to him. It was the most devastating sound, hearing her cry so deeply, so brokenly. Nothing he could do would ease her pain, Calum knew. But being with River, holding her and letting her cry, was the only way he knew, for now, to let her know he wasn’t going to leave her. Fuck the arrangement. Fuck the drama. Fuck all of this pain that no one had expected. He was going to figure out a way to stop this from controlling—ruining—their lives. He wasn’t going to leave River. Not now, not ever.

*****

We’ve narrowed it down to these three spots. If we’re aiming for an October wedding, I think an indoor venue would be best. Look these over with Calum and let us know what you decide. Quickly.

It was that short and precise e-mail from her mother that had Sloane’s heart dropping into the very pit of her stomach where it continued to sink lower, her heart beginning to pick up its pace at an uncontrollable rate that made it increasingly difficult to breathe. It was one fucking e-mail that sent reality crashing down around Sloane, reminding her of the quickly approaching end of this trip and, more importantly, her relationship with Luke.

But nothing about this was easy because, fuck, she couldn’t just switch off her feelings. She couldn’t just pretend that being with Luke for these past few weeks and taking their years of friendship to a completely different level hadn’t been the best thing to happen to her. Like this wasn’t the happiest she’d ever been in so long. No. No, she wasn’t ready. She wasn’t ready to let go of the tranquility of this beach, of the easy going and blissful happiness she’s felt since being with Luke and trade it in for the suffocation that was waiting for her back in New York.

Sloane shot to her feet, the sand sinking between her toes thanks to the flip flops she was wearing, ignoring the confused calls of her friends as she quickly walked away, directionless, too lost in her thoughts and panic to actually decide where to go. Rather, she just walked under the glare of the sun and away from the bewildered voices of her friends. The sand was hot beneath her feet as she kept going, the thundering of her heart louder than the waves of the ocean and the chatter of other beach goers, and Sloane was too busy drowning in her thoughts to notice that someone had been running after her.

“Hey, hey, hey.” Luke’s quick voice had her stopping, especially when he came in front of her with his hands on her shoulders. His sunglasses were missing, allowing for her to see the concern in his baby blues, the pendant of his necklace dangling at his swift movements as he took in the sight of her alarmed eyes. “Sloane, what’s going on?”

“I can’t get married,” she rushed out breathlessly, unable to keep her feelings inside, needing to get rid of the thoughts dizzying her head. One look at Luke and she couldn’t keep it in. Sloane’s breathing was heavy as she ran her fingers through her dark hair and continued on, “I can’t go back to New York and get married. Not when I don’t love Calum the way I love you. It’s not fucking fair.”

Luke’s lips parted as he stared at her, and through her panic Sloane wasn’t oblivious to the confession she’d just uttered. Except it didn’t really feel like a confession; it was just a statement of truth, of something that had been true for a lot longer than Sloane ever realized. And telling Luke like this, in the middle of what was about to be a panic attack, wasn’t the most romantic situation. But it was the truth. And he deserved as much.

But however obvious Sloane’s words were to herself, they weren’t as much to Luke as his back straightened, eyes widened despite the heat of the sun as he stammered out, “You love me?”

Briefly, Sloane got a sense of deja vu from that night on the deck when feelings were first being confessed—by him, not by her. And for a moment, she felt a sense of calm as her lips quirked up, features softening as she took in the relieved, joyous, and mildly shocked look on Luke’s face. He was too fucking adorable. “Is it really that much of a surprise?” Luke let out a breath, the surprise in it evident, and Sloane took a step towards him and reached up to cup his cheeks, adoring the tickle of his facial hair in his palms as her blue eyes met his. “Of course I love you,” she reassured, laughing gently. “I wanna be with you, not Calum.”

“Ouch.”

Luke looked over Sloane’s head just as she turned around, letting out a breath at the sight of Calum squinting at them against the sun, brown skin glistening from the water he’d just emerged from. Getting him to enjoy a day at the beach with all of them had been difficult, given that all he wanted to do was be with River. But her mom, according to Calum, had finally shown up for the reading of River’s grandmother’s will, and they were currently with the lawyer, something River had wanted to do by herself, apparently.

Calum was wearing a subtle smirk of his own, obviously not hurt by Sloane’s statement as her shoulders dropped with a shake of her head. “You know I love you, Cal, but I just—we can’t do this.” Her words began picking up their pace again, her panic making her talk a bit too fast. “With all these e-mails about you needing to pick a suit and me having to decide on the flowers and then us having to decide on the venue and give a final headcount to send out the invites, I just—it’s making me realize how real all of this shit is and it’s getting really hard to breathe. I mean—” She stopped, glancing back at Luke and then at Calum, letting out a heavy breath as her heart continued to pound, shaking her head as she asked, “I can’t get married to someone I don’t love. You can’t either.”

Licking his lips, Calum nodded, the dimples on the upper parts of his cheeks appearing as he continued to squint his eyes. “You’re right,” he agreed, hands on his hips as his brown eyed gaze swept over the two of them. Then, with a tilt of his chin and a far too casual tone, he declared, “You two should get married.”

Behind her, Sloane heard Luke choke on nothing but air. She, however, stared at Calum with an almost comical level of dumbfoundment as she tried to figure out if she had heard him right over the water and chatter of the beach. But he just looked at the two of them, expression terrifyingly serious, and Sloane’s expression fell with a drop of her jaw and widening of her eyes despite the sun threatening to burn her corneas. “Are you—” she stammered, throat dry. “Did you drink too many beers or something? What the fuck, Calum?”

He had to be joking. He couldn’t possibly think they would take him seriously with an idea that fucking far fetched.

“I’m perfectly sober, thank you.” Well, there went that idea. Sloane’s throat worked, gaping at him, knowing Luke was probably mirroring the same expression behind her. When Calum took in their reactions, he let out an impatient huff. “Come on, it’s not that crazy of an idea if you think about it.”

“Yes, the fuck it is!” Luke finally sounded, stepping up next to Sloane as she nodded along vigorously. Okay. At least she wasn’t the only one who thought Calum had lost his mind. “We—we’ve only been together for a couple of weeks, and—”

“And you’ve been friends for years,” Calum interrupted calmly. Sloane had a feeling he found their incredulity a bit too amusing. “And, come on, guys, the way you two act around each other? You might as well have been married for years.”

Sloane’s face flushed, but her disbelief over Calum’s seemingly grand plan was still raging. “So let me get this straight,” she spoke up with a furrow of her brows, holding a hand out as a way of wanting them both to keep quiet. She pointed at Calum as she spoke with a raise of her eyebrows, “You want Luke and I to get married just so we can avoid the arrangement our parents set up?”

“Yes.” Sloane scoffed with a shake of her head, needing to take a step away as she met Luke’s disbelieving expression with one of her own. “Look, Sloane.” Her gaze met Calum’s once more. “The merger for the companies is already underway. There’s no chance of our parents stopping the process, or of them revoking our right to lead the companies since they’ve already began the paperwork of handing it all to us. The only reason they wanted us to get married was so that each half of the businesses stay within the respective families while having overall control of the conglomerate. But I know us. I know how well we’d work together—as partners, not husband and wife.” He said the last few words with a dismissive scoff that Sloane wholeheartedly agreed with. “Our folks—they think merging both business and family would make for a stronger deal, but I know it’s only gonna end up messing things up in the long run. If you and Luke get married, they can’t force marriage on us. We’d still get to be partners, and you’ll be married to the guy you actually love. It’s a win-win.”

When he said it like that, it made everything sound so simple. And, maybe in a way, it was. Sloane knew the marriage part of the deal was built out of their parents’ fear of losing control over the companies. The pretense of being one big happy family provided them with a safety net of still being a part of everything they had worked for without fear of losing it. The only reason Sloane had agreed to the deal in the first place was because she felt as though she owed it to her parents. But the longer she thought about it, the more she realized it was because her parents feared she wouldn’t live up to what her brother could’ve possibly done with the company. Marrying her off to the business partner’s son granted her a high status within the company and maybe, according to the darker and resentful part of Sloane’s mind, give them more leeway in controlling what went on. Which is something she doubted they’d do had it been Jacob who was taking over.

Control, control, control. That’s what it came down to. And she refused to let her parents have any over her.

Sloane let out a slow breath, crossing her arms over her chest as her blue eyes locked with Calum’s brown. “You’ve thought this through, huh?”

“I had to,” Calum shrugged, a small smile tugging at his lips. “It’s not just your freedom that’s at stake here.”

Sloane laughed lightly before the reality of the situation set in, expression dropping as she shook her head and looked at Luke, who was still trying to process whatever the fuck was going on. She didn’t blame him. This was. . .  A big fucking deal, to say the least. She swallowed and turned her gaze to Calum as she began, “I don’t think—”

“We could do it.”

Sloane cut off at the sound of Luke’s voice, his words seeming to choke her out of speaking as her widened eyes turned to him. She saw him nodding to himself, thoughtful gaze on the sand as his golden curls danced against the breeze. Sloane let out a startled breath. “I—what? Luke, what’re you—”

“It’s crazy.” Luke turned to face her, shaking his head to tell her the insanity of this idea wasn’t lost on him, but he didn’t seem to care. “Like, completely mental. And this wasn’t how I expected for any of this to go but, fuck, Sloane, I don’t care how we end up getting married—as long as I’m married to you, I’ll be the luckiest man in the world.”

Her eyes widened, staring at him in utter incredulity, not at all expecting him to say any of the cheesy, sweet, wonderful things he’d just said. For the past few months the only thought of marriage Sloane had was her impending one to Calum, one that kind of made her want to run away just to escape feeling like both her and her friend were being locked down against their will. But now, thinking of marriage in terms of doing so with Luke—he was right. It was fucking insane, and yet, it sounded perfect.

The sincerity in his eyes was obvious; he took her hands in his, squeezing them, and Sloane felt the sting in her eyes as she realized just how on board with this idea Luke was. This crazy, possibly stupid, definitely brilliant idea. “Are—are you serious?” Her voice was a whisper, unable to speak up out of fear of shattering what she was hoping was reality. With a dazed laugh, she asked the man in front of her, “You wanna get married?”

Luke squeezed her hands, the grin on his face bringing forth his dimples that she loved. “Yes.”

Sloane pressed her lips together, giving a shake of her head. She wanted him to be sure. Totally, completely sure. Because this was crazy and kind of exactly what she wanted. “Are you sure, Lu? This—it’s a huge fucking step. Like. We’ve only just started and we’re jumping all the way to the end.”

“Sweetheart,” Luke began with a breath, letting go of her hands to cup her cheeks. He ducked his head slightly to lock their gazes. “I’ve wanted to be with you for years. I’ve loved you for roughly just as long. Trust me—I wanted to do this right, but I’m pretty sure this is it. This is our right. And I’m down if you’re down.”

Despite him successfully bringing forth a new wave of tears, Sloane let out a breathy laugh, leaning into his touch as she mused playfully, “You’re down to marry me?”      

Luke’s grin widened, briefly biting his lower lip as he pressed his forehead to hers. “So down.”

Her chest fell with a sharp exhale of her breath, not even realizing that the tightness of her chest was replaced by this light, airy flutter that brought forth a smile on her face too wide to control. And right when she went to kiss Luke, to melt into him with all the insanity of this idea, the voice of their forgotten friend spoke up, smug in all his glory as he stated, “You’re welcome.”

*****

Giving his ex-fianceé away to marry one of his best friends should’ve been strange, in most cases—though, were there ever cases such as this?—but not for Calum. No, he happily, contently, walked Sloane down the steps of the back deck of the beach house and down the beach, just a little ways away from the shore that served as a natural altar where Luke stood waiting for his favorite girl’s arrival. It was a sight Calum felt lucky to witness.

It had taken Luke and Sloane a day and a half to acquire a marriage license from the city hall, the same amount of time it took Ashton, Michael and Crystal to adjust to this life changing decision their friends had made. But they had reacted like Calum; although they hadn’t suggested the idea like their blue haired friend, it was one that they knew, down the road, was a good idea. Because if any two people were to spontaneously get married, it was fitting that it was Luke and Sloane.

And the look on his face when he saw her approach in the knee length, white lace dress she’d gone out to buy with Crystal, a meadowy bouquet of sunflowers and chrysanthemums in her hand—Calum knew he’d made the right choice in suggesting the idea, and that they’d made the perfect choice in agreeing to it.

Ashton stood up there with Luke—they’d all put on the only somewhat formal clothes they had of button downs and pants—hands clasped in front of him and a grin on his face. Calum could tell he was excited to marry his two friends, especially given that he’d damn near cried when Luke asked him if he’d be willing to get ordained online to do so. It was a whole thing. Everyone had been emotional the past day or so.

“Oh, I can’t believe we’re doing this,” Sloane breathed out through her smile as her and Calum neared where everyone stood.

He glanced at her, his own smile tilting his lips when he saw the brightness of her blue eyes, accentuated by long eyelashes. “You nervous?”

“A little,” Sloane admitted, her grin suddenly widening, and Calum glanced forward to see Luke’s gaze directly on her. His dimpled grin would give the sun a run for its money had it not already been setting in the horizon, coloring the sky in a breathtaking painting of pinks and purples and oranges. A perfect wedding backdrop for his two friends. Sloane let out a breath. “But mostly so ready.”

Calum chuckled deeply, pressing a gentle kiss to Sloane’s cheek once they reached their stop, giving her hands a squeeze as she whispered her heartfelt thanks and giving a clap to Luke’s shoulder before moving to stand with Michael and Crystal to bear witness to this moment. Calum clasped his own hands in front of him, unable to fight the smile from his face as he watched Luke and Sloane face each other. Their happiness was infectious, joyous, and he was so glad they were going through with it.

“Friends,” Ashton spoke up, making sure he was loud enough over the distant sound of waves along the shore. “We are gathered here today. . .”

Ashton’s voice seemed to trail off as someone stepped up to Calum’s left, and it was when he glanced over, feeling his breath catch in his throat when he saw River standing right next to him in a pretty pale pink dress and blonde hair tied back in a braid, wisps of her hair dancing along her jawline in the breeze. He stared at her, feeling the shock take over his body as she quietly murmured, “Guess I’m right on time.”

He didn’t think she’d come. He was at a loss for words in this moment, especially when River glanced at him to offer a brief smile before looking straight ahead once more. Calum could smell her perfume over the scent of the salty ocean, and it was hilarious how easily his muscles seemed to relax in her presence.

The urge to reach out and grab her hand in his was strong, but he refrained from doing so. Instead, he pressed his lips together and looked ahead, focusing on Ashton doing what he did best and speak from his heart about his two friends he was lucky enough to marry. Calum’s throat worked, heart jumping excitedly as Ashton spoke, “Do you, Sloane Irene Thorne, take this man to be your husband?”

The excitement and joy in Sloane’s two word response was tangible as she slid the newly purchased ring onto Luke’s finger and grinned, “I do.”

Of course, Ashton couldn’t stop grinning as well as he shifted his hazel eyes to Luke. “And do you, Luke Robert Hemmings, take this woman to be your wife?”

His dimples hadn’t ever been so deep, Calum thought, as he watched the blonde slide the ring easily onto Sloane’s ring finger. “I do.”

“Then what’re you waiting for? Kiss her!”

They were silent as they walked along the shore, with River holding her sandals by the straps in one hand as Freddie ran along in front of them. She’d brought him out after the ceremony, allowing for the dog to run around and get some fresh air after providing Calum with kisses he didn’t think he deserved. The sun had long since set, the only lights coming from the moon above and the few still open concession stands a few aways away. The sleeves of the button down Calum had decided to wear were folded up to his elbows, hands buried in the pockets of his pants a bit nervously.

The silence was getting a bit too heavy, drying Calum’s throat as he cleared it and said, “I’m glad you came to the ceremony.”

“Why?” River responded lightly, thoughtfully. “So I could see you had no intention of marrying Sloane?”

His jaw tightened in shame. “River—”

“No, what was supposed to happen, Calum?” she demanded, stopping and facing him. Freddie stopped as well, pawing at the sand. Calum took in the frown on her eyebrows and lips, looking up at him questioningly. “You thought, what, we would just screw around and then you’d go back home and get married and whatever happened between us was just your way of temporarily distancing yourself from reality? You never stopped to think how it’d make me feel?”

“Of course I did,” Calum defended, his own eyebrows coming together at the accusation of him not caring about her in any sense. “You know all the details now, River. You know how complicated and messy things were. Falling in love with you was the last thing I expected to happen but it did and I don’t regret it for a single second.” He let out a sharp breath through his nose, feeling as though the deep rasp of his voice was interrupting the quiet of the night. His brown eyes remained on her green as he added, “The only thing I regret is hurting you. It was selfish of me and I’m so sorry.”

The silence fell over them once more like a blanket as Calum felt River’s eyes inspect every inch of his face, scrutinizing and analyzing him to the full degree. He never looked away, hoping that she’d see just how honest and genuine he was, how regretful. Fuck, he’d understood if she never forgave him, but the mere thought of it wrapped around his heart like an unrelenting iron fist.

“You’re not selfish.” Calum swallowed at River’s words, her tone turning soft as one corner of her lip quirked up briefly. “I know selfish people. You aren’t one of them. Just. . .” She shrugged a shoulder, her smile gentle and empathetic. “A little misguided. But totally selfless. And. . .” She let out a breath, taking a step towards him, head tilting back just a bit to maintain eye contact. “And a really good guy.”

He wasn’t entirely sure what to say. “River—”

“I think a lot of my anger came from me, like, projecting whatever I felt towards my parents.” She laughed softly with a regretful shake of her head. “They’re the most selfish people I know. When they left me I just—I saw it as a betrayal, y’know?” she asked, squinting up at him against the gentle breeze as Calum offered a single nod. “And then when I found out about your engagement to Sloane, it was like all of these feelings just came out and you got the brunt of them.”

Calum’s lips quirked into a small, ashamed smile. “I deserved it.”

“Maybe,” River hummed before letting out a sigh. “But the situation was complicated, to say the least. Life’s fucked up enough as it is and there’s no rule book to go by. I can go on and on about what I would’ve done if I was in your shoes but I can’t really know unless I actually was, y’know? No one knows what they’d do in a situation unless they were in it. I was hurt and I was angry and I’m not completely over it but. . . I do forgive you, Calum.”

The relief was flooding him before he could even stop it, inhaling sharply as he felt a warmth swell in his chest as he asked, “You do?”

She rolled her lips into her mouth and nodded, a lightness in her green eyes that he’d missed desperately. “I do,” she said before letting out a gentle laugh. Calum figured it was because that two word phrase was being thrown a lot around here. Then River shrugged, her smile reappearing as she breezily said, “Love makes you do crazy things, doesn’t it? It’s something Grams always lived by.”

Calum didn’t think he’d dealt with his emotions this much in a long time. But River seemed to bring out a different side in him. His heart thudded at the entirety of River’s statement, licking his lips as he let out a quiet chuckle. “Mags would probably have kicked my ass for hurting you.”

River clicked her tongue, her smile turning fond at the mention of her grandmother. “Nah. She’s big on second chances,” she assured him before letting out a breath. “She gave my mom plenty of second chances but after reading her will, I guess she decided Mom didn’t deserve anymore.” With a sheepish poke to Calum’s stomach, River added, “Don’t worry; you’re still a good egg in Maggie Fischer’s book.”

Her words brought a smile to Calum’s lips, feeling a warmth spread through him at the mention of Maggie before furrowing his eyebrows at River. “Wait, what do you mean about the will?”

Licking her lips, River let out an almost nervous chuckle as she looked out to the dark of the ocean, rubbing her hands down her sides as she told him, “She left everything to me. The house, the car, her trust—it’s all mine.”

As disbelieving as River looked by this information, Calum wasn’t the least bit shocked as he raised his eyebrows at her. “You’re surprised? Of course she left it all to you.”

River pressed her hands to her cheeks, and it was like whatever shock she must’ve felt when the will was first read to her was flooding back as her widened eyes met Calum’s somewhat amused ones. In a dazed, awe-filled whisper, she said, “It’s a lot of money, Calum.”

Calum shrugged, grinning down at her as his brown eyes glinted under the moonlight. “Use some of it to visit me in New York.” Fuck, he didn’t want to even think of the moment where he’d have to leave her.

He took in the smile that grew on River’s face, and his heart jumped into his throat at the knowing look gleaming in her eyes. Calum let out a slow breath as her fingers intertwined with his. Okay. So maybe leaving each other wasn’t going to be in the cards, after all.

*****

“Do you have any idea how—how ridiculous this is? How the hell did you decide this was a good idea without consulting us? What gave you the right to even go through with this?!”

Sloane’s jaw tightened at her mother’s words, matching her glare with her own as she remained seated on the couch in the living room of their home. Calum was right next to her, his presence a comfort as his parents, too, hovered over them in their own outrage. Eyes locked with her mother’s Sloane said, “Nobody needed to give me the right—it’s my life and it was about time I decided to live like it.”

Mrs. Thorne bristled, the fire still alight in her eyes. “Watch your tone with me, Sloane.”

“No, screw that,” she retorted, getting up to her feet. All eyes were on her, trying to weigh her down, but she pushed forward. This was a long time coming, and she wasn’t going to be treated like some fucking toddler. She looked between the two sets of parents, staring at them in disgusted incredulity. “Don’t you guys get it? You’re so desperate to save your businesses that you don’t even care that you’re ruining your childrens’ lives!”

Her father, the calmer of her parents, sighed. “Honey, that’s not what we’re doi—”

“Yes, it is,” Calum spoke up, getting to his feet as well to stand beside Sloane. She glanced up at him, appreciated his stone set features as he came to her aid and both of their defense. “Sloane and I have been friends for years, just like you all have. If you trust us to run the companies, you should trust us to be able to do it as partners, and not force a damn marriage on us that, frankly, makes no sense.” His gaze shifted to Mr. and Mrs. Thorne, an insulted scoff escaping him as he said to them, “You know if it was Jacob instead of Sloane, you never would even propose such a ridiculous idea.”

Sloane saw the way her dad’s features fell, and the haggard look that washed over her mother’s face. While Calum’s parents called his name warningly, Mrs. Thorne ground out through gritted teeth, “How dare you—”

“He’s right, Mom,” Sloane said with a frown, feeling a familiar tug in her chest at the mention of her brother. “I know it had always been part of the plan for Jacob to take over, but you need to trust that I know what I’m doing in terms of the company and not have a marriage clause to tie up loose ends that don’t even exist. It’s not fair to me and Calum. We’ll work as partners, but never in a marriage.

She saw the looks Mr. and Mrs. Hood exchanged with one another, and Sloane had a feeling they were getting through to them. And maybe even her father. Her mother, on the other hand, just shook her head. “So, what, you married Luke to void this arrangement? That’s so childish, Sl—”

“I married Luke because I love him,” she cut in sharply, not allowing to give her mother the opportunity to say anything against the man she loved. Her husband. She fought the ill-timed smile threatening to quirk at her lips. God calling Luke her husband was still something to get used to. “It wasn’t out of spite. We got married because wanted to. Because it felt right and he makes me happy. I don’t expect you to understand—” Her eyes locked with her mother’s as she gave a subtle yet sad shake of her head. “—Not that you’d try to, anyway.”

Her mother frowned, and Sloane wondered if she’d imagined the hurt she’d saw flash across her eyes. Next to her, Calum firmly stated, “The merger can proceed exactly as planned—just without the marriage part of it all. You guys have trusted us with these businesses; try to trust us with our own lives, yeah?”

Mrs. Hood let out a soft snort. “So you can continue to make questionable decisions like dying your hair blue?” she questioned, unimpressed gaze going to his head. His roots were starting to grow out, the blue blending in with the natural dark brown.

Before Calum could respond, Sloane’s father spoke up again. “They’re right.” Sloane looked at him, feeling the hope swell her chest as he nodded. “They’re adults—who are we to try and control every aspect of their lives?” He walked past her mother to stand in front of Sloane, cupping his daughter’s cheeks as he said, “I’ve already lost one kid. I’m not losing another over what I thought was a good decision. Sloane and Calum are smart and capable enough to make overall comprehensive choices in their lives and for the sake of the business.” He sighed, giving a shake of his head as he dropped his hands from Sloane’s cheek and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, and Sloane instantly leaned into her dad’s side as he added, “I just wish I’d been there for the wedding.”

Sloane couldn’t fight the grin from her face as she glanced at Calum, who was smiling over their obvious victory. He had been right, which didn’t surprise Sloane. She knew she had made the right decision in trusting him. This was, she felt, only a small show of how their partnership was going to go. And she couldn’t wait to be his partner, complete with overbearing responsibilities of running a company and being in charge of thousands of employees. All the while being partners. Not husband and wife.

Sloane twisted the silver ring on her finger, feeling her grin widened as she told her dad, “That could be arranged.”

*****

The couple of hundred dollars worth whiskey he drank was far more different than the White Claws he’d indulged in after Luke and Sloane’s first wedding, though it allowed him to enjoy his surroundings just the same. The wedding that had been planned for Sloane and Calum had been completely scrapped, and Calum knew Sloane and Luke’s wedding was far better, lovelier, and purer than his and Sloane’s could’ve ever hoped to be. Because here, Calum could literally feel the happiness and love in the air between his two friends, his gaze sweeping over to where they were in the middle of the dance floor.

Sloane was in a proper wedding dress, still white obviously, still lacey, fitted firmly to her as she managed to easily move as she danced with Luke, the two of them stealing kisses as often as possible and Luke’s dimples never disappearing from view because of the constant smile lighting up his face. Family and friends joined them on the dance floor while others indulged in still eating from the buffet or enjoying the bar as Calum made his way to one side of the room. The venue was a glass enclosed terrace up high in a hotel, the ceiling teeming with greenery hanging from the beams that made up the ceiling, and the large floor to ceiling windows provided a stunning view of the city Calum knew so well on three sides while the entrance way was made up of old fashioned red bricks. Purple and white lights provided an elegant hue to the venue, the flower centerpieces, live band, and gold accents showing Calum that this was, in fact, Sloane and Luke’s wedding. Completely gorgeous.

“What’s a girl gotta do to get asked to dance around here?”

Her smooth, gentle voice had Calum freezing in place, wide eyed gaze staring ahead at the window in front of him. But through the reflection of the glass he caught the hazy figure of the woman standing behind him, and Calum kept a tight grip on his glass as he turned around for his brown eyes to meet a pair of forest green he’d missed so much.

River stood in front of him in a long, flowing red and white flowery dress, some locks of blonde hair tied back into a braid as the rest of it fell to reach her upper arms—it had grown since the last time he’d seen her—while that dainty gold necklace remained a permanent fixture. She looked stunning, her smile glowing against her face as she watched him drink in the sight of her.

“Holy shit,” Calum breathed out, taking the few steps towards her. “You’re here.”

Her grin widened as she confirmed with a giggly, “I’m here!” just as Calum discarded his half empty glass on a nearby table to sweep her up in a hug as tight as he wanted to.

He felt him laugh against her, her own arms around his neck as his wrapped around her waist, her citrus scent far more intoxicating than the expensive whiskey he’d drank. Calum’s heart was thundering against his chest, sure that River could feel it too, as he found himself squeezing his eyes shut, briefly praying that he wasn’t imagining this. But River’s hand went to the back of his head, nails gently scraping against his scalp and he felt himself relaxing in their embrace. This was real. She was real.

“I didn’t think you’d make it,” Calum said as they pulled away, but his arms were still around her, fronts still pressed together.

River laughed gently. “As soon as another flight became available, I booked a seat.” She bit her lower lip briefly, gaze going to her own hands as she pressed them against the lapels of his suit, smiling as her gaze met his once more. “I couldn’t wait to be with you.”

He didn’t think he’d ever felt this happy. Just a little while after he and his friends had gone back to New York, he and River continued talking and she’d told him about her thoughts of moving out of Florida. Late night conversations consisting of her telling him about always wanting to go to New York, and she finally had the means to do so, and Calum had earnestly told her he’d be waiting. Just a few days after that, River had put her grandmother’s house for sale after and began the process of finally moving out of Florida. There was nothing keeping her there and River knew, as she had told Calum, that her grandmother wouldn’t want her to be so alone. New York was the perfect fresh start.

So while Calum oversaw the shipment of River’s things to a loft downtown that she’d fallen in love with—especially after sending Calum who confirmed the beauty of the place—he also impatiently waited for her arrival. If he had it his way, then she’d be moving right into his place. But River wanted to do things the right way—or, well, whatever the right way was given the origin of their relationship—and so Calum waited for her to finally land. Except hurricane season in Florida continued to throw multiple wrenches in that plan, and she’d missed Luke and Sloane’s second, more lavish and populated, wedding.

Until now.

Calum pressed his forehead to hers, arms around her tight as he mumbled, “I missed you.”

“I missed you, too,” River returned earnestly before closing the gap between them, and Calum instantly melted into her the second their lips met. Kissing her felt like coming home; it felt real and right and perfect, and he couldn’t imagine anything else feeling as good as this.

They broke away and Calum pulled her towards the dance floor, where their friends instantly let out cheers at the sight of River, with Sloane pulling her in for a hug and River returning it just as eagerly while also making sure not to step on Sloane’s dress. They danced to a couple of songs, Calum unable to let go of River, wanting her to be close to him as much as possible—not that she had any arguments. The contentment he felt only in her presence had once again returned with her arrival, pulling her in for kisses whenever he wanted to because he could.

After a few songs, he brought River over to where his family was, introducing the woman he loved to his parents and sister, getting the approved pat on the back from his dad as his mom and Mali happily engaged with River. And Calum admired, as the music played around him and people enjoyed the party, how perfect River seemed to fit in with his family. It’s where she belonged, that much he knew to be true.

“Can you believe we’re not stuck anymore?” Calum turned around from where he’d just ordered another drink from the bar to smile at Sloane standing next to him. She looked absolutely stunning, glowing in her happiness, as the two rings on her finger glinted brightly as she held a flute of champagne. The diamond of her engagement ring from Luke looked better on her finger than the one assigned by their parents ever did. Her blue eyes met Calum’s brown, a smile on her face as she said, “We made it out. We got back control.”

Calum let out a long breath, watching the dance floor in front of him. He could make out River and his friends right in the center. The smile on his face widened. “Remember when we thought we wouldn’t?” Shooting Sloane a wink, he added, “I think our wedding would’ve been a bit duller than this.”

She laughed and Calum joined in. It felt good to be able to laugh about something that, at one point, had twisted up both of their insides and, to some extent, strained their friendship for a brief period. Calum was beyond glad that was over. “I’ll drink to that,” Sloane agreed, and Calum snorted as he clinked his glass with hers and took a sip of his vodka. When she lowered her glass, Sloane added in a hum, “I’m glad River’s finally here. Now you can stop moping.”

Calum stammered out a protesting sound as Sloane merely smirked, and he huffed as he denied, “I didn’t mope.”

“Please,” Sloane scoffed with a roll of her eyes, throwing Calum an unconvinced look. “People at the office think you’re some broody dude when in reality you’re just pouty because you missed your girlfriend.” She gestured towards the dance floor with her glass, smiling. “Not anymore.”

Calum made a face, though he couldn’t argue with her. With a tilt of his head, he turned to the bride and asked, “If I’m the broody one, what’re you?”

Sloane’s expression fell, huffing as she admitted, “The happy-go-lucky married one.”

That prompted Calum to laugh. Not at her title, but the dejected way in which she said it. “What’s so wrong with that?”

“Nothing—they just need to take me seriously,” Sloane decided, finishing the rest of her glass before putting it on the bar behind them. Pointing at Luke, she said, “When I’m back from the honeymoon, you and I are redoing how we present ourselves to everyone, okay? We gotta be badass CEOs in that building. Not blissed out dummies in love.”

Calum smirked as his gaze swept over to the dance floor once more, watching as River tried to teach Luke how to dance to the Spanish song that was currently playing. He was struggling, of course, but that didn’t stop his loud laughter from ringing out above the music and River to shake her head in utter amusement, though she didn’t give up. Calum’s smirk turned into a grin, the sight warming his heart more than he expected it to.

With a short laugh, he said, “We are blissed out dummies in love.”

He looked at Sloane, who’d been watching Luke and River just as he had, and the grin on her face told him she was just as content as he was. It wasn’t a bad idea after all. “Yeah, we are.” Sloane then linked her arm with Calum’s, grinning up at him as she giggled, “Come on—the only toes Luke should be stepping on are mine.”

His drink was forgotten at the bar, but Calum didn’t care as he and Sloane pushed themselves to the middle of the dance floor, joining their friends as River made her way to Calum and Sloane went back to Luke. Sloane was right: they were no longer stuck in the middle of a situation that had seemed too impossible to work through. Now, they were just stuck in the middle of a dance floor surrounded by their loved ones, celebrating Luke and Sloane’s love. And as Calum danced with River, pressing a kiss to her lips, he kind of couldn’t wait until they were celebrating the two of them, too.

--

tags: @irwinkitten @sweetcherrymike @meetashthere @valentinelrh @softforcal @astroashtonio @hereforlukescruff @novacanecalum @captain-what-is-going-on @angelbbycal @singt0mecalum @hopelessxcynic @lfwallscouldtalk @bodhi-black @findingliam-o @softlrh @calntynes @calumsmermaid @erikamarie41 @quintodosuniversos @longlastingdaydream @babylon-corgis @lukehemmingsunflower @spideyseavey @imfuckin10plybud @pastelpapermoons @conquerwhatliesahead92 @rotten-kandy @cxddlyash @metangi @neigcthood @ohhmuke @old-zeppelin-shirt @5sos-and-hessa @dammitbands @sexgodashton @trustmeimawhalebiologist @vxlentinecal @pettybassists @vaporshawn @lu-my-golden-boi @buggy-blogs @visualm3nte @isabella-mae13 @dontjinx-it @lifeakaharry @neonweeknds @antisocialbandmate @ixcantxdecidexwhosxmyxfave @calpalbby @grreatgooglymoogly @sunnysidesblog @cocktail-calum @miahelizaaabeth @madelynerin @dramallamawithsparkles @theagenderwhocriedwolf @kaytiebug14 @hoodskillerqueen @bitchinbabylon @empathycth @xhaileyreneex @inlovehoodx @calistheloml @aestheticrelated @bloodlinecal @sublimehood @madbomb @raabiac @britnicole11 @outofmylimitcal @fluffsshawn @bloodmoonashton @vxidhood​ @tea4sykes

[starstruck-xavier]

Fight Or Flight, Am I Right?

chapter two

ao3 || wattpad || fanfiction masterpost || main masterpost || chapter one

words: 1605 (total fic has 5122) ships: lamp (interpret it however you want) warnings: injuries

summary: When Virgil is feeling down, a dangerous, painful manticore-chimera fight turns out to be exactly what he needs.

a/n: i’m updating my fic posts so they all have the same format, so chapter two of one of my old fics is now its own post! and here it is-

“Good morning, Virge!” Patton chirruped as Virgil shuffled into the kitchen roughly 10 hours later. The fatherly trait donned his cat hoodie instead of the regular blue polo; Virgil pondered over whether today would be a much more relaxed day than normal. As for himself, he was still wearing his sweatpants and lilac t-shirt; its sleeves nearly swallowed his elbows and the bottom hem hung just above his knees, but it was comfortable, so the anxious trait didn’t mind its size. The pain was still burning mainly in his abdomen, arms and legs, but not quite as bad as last night, so he clambered onto the countertop by the fridge, wincing just a little. Normally, Patton would encourage him to sit somewhere else while he prepared food, but he let him have this today. Just this once.

The paternal trait came to retrieve something from the fridge, taking the opportunity to check on Virgil. “How are you feeling, kiddo? Can I check your bruises?” Virgil nodded, shrinking into himself self-consciously for a moment before straightening up to allow Patton to look. He didn’t particularly want to see the damage on his own body, instead turning to fixate on the reflection of the light on the fridge as Patton lifted up his t-shirt and felt around the hurting areas. Occasionally Virgil would lightly hiss at the touch, and the father figment would ramble his apologies, looking just slightly squeamish as he ensured that there were no serious injuries that had been missed when they were all tending to his unconscious self. Eventually, Patton let the shirt fall over Virgil’s body again, moving onto his hands and confirming that they were healing up nicely. Then, he looked for any bruising on his upper arms and shoulders (perhaps this was just him reassuring himself).

As he finished his drawn-out checkup, Logan and Roman entered the kitchen. Roman still wore his comfortable clothes, too. Even Logan was wearing something different this morning - a dark blue long-sleeve covered with doodles of planets and astronauts, complimenting his plain black pyjama pants. Today was definitely going to be relaxed. While Logan began to assist Patton in food preparation, Roman joined Virgil on the countertop.

“How’s the damage, Hot Topic?” Roman felt the medical patch on his shoulder with his left hand, frowning a little despite the usual energy he had tried to convey in his voice.

Virgil shrugged as best he could without feeling a spike of pain. “I haven’t really looked, but I feel bruised. I can only guess from my memory of what happened.” He glanced at the prince’s downcast expression. “How’s your shoulder?”

“Well, Logan said that the snake bite hit muscle but not bone, so it’s not as bad as it could be. It’s a good thing I’m ambidextrous though.” The sight of Roman looking so sombre broke Virgil’s heart just a little bit.

“Do you wanna play video games later? Your choice.” He nervously placed his bandaged hand on Roman’s uninjured shoulder, a comfort offering. The prince nodded, leaning into Virgil’s touch. They stayed on the counter, watching Logan and Patton at work until breakfast was ready for everybody.

Now sat in a chair after hopping off the countertop, Virgil picked at the meal, holding his fork as best he could.

“I think that we should all talk to Thomas today and update him on the situation.” Logan announced, watching everybody for a sign of protest, but received none, so he continued. “We’re not yet sure if he’s experiencing any second-hand effects.”

“He won’t have a creative block, will he, specs?” Roman glanced nervously around, switching his cutlery between his two hands.

“I doubt it, Roman. However, sometimes taking a break from brainstorming can yield even better ideas in the future. Despite the circumstances, this is a good opportunity to recharge, if you will, to prevent burnout.”

Roman looked a little more comforted. Light conversation ensued, travelling away from the looming situation back to how breakfast usually went. Bad jokes, laughs and groans filled the air. The two injured sides forgot about their miseries as they all discussed plans for the day and refuelled their bodies.

They all gradually dispersed after eating, Virgil being the last to finish as he tried not to cramp his bruised hands by holding the utensils. Roman waited for him nevertheless, his left hand returning to his right shoulder.

“You look sad, Roman.” Virgil turned to face him, reaching out to tap his hands on Roman’s left arm to stop him from picking at the patch. “If it’s hurting, I can get, like, a heat patch for you. I have some in my room.”

“Yeah?” Roman smiled gratefully, still with a hint of sadness in his eyes. “That’d be nice. That time I was wounded in my side, I learned how draining having that pain can be. But, while my injuries this time around aren’t that bad, I still feel just as bad because I let you get hurt too.”

“It’s okay, Ro. When Thomas was feeling so down yesterday, it was likely getting to me because it had been a while since I had that adrenaline rush. Besides, I could’ve stayed out and summoned the others instead, but I went in because my instinct was to keep you safe. Like I said last night, I can deal with some muscle pain. I have to, sometimes.”

“You have to?” The two got up from their chairs and made their way through the house.

“Yeah. You may not expect me to enjoy adrenaline, but if I can’t exercise my fight-or-flight instincts for a while I start to feel tired or lethargic. Then I end up not being prepared when something external makes Thomas panic. I was reluctant to join you at first yesterday because I didn’t know if I had the energy for it, and usually, I’d just do something like getting Thomas to watch a scary movie to give me a little more power for a while, but that fight I had really helped to restore my energy. Really, once my muscles feel fine again I’m gonna feel so much better at my job. You helped me out, Princey.” The anxious trait noticed how Roman’s face brightened and couldn’t help grinning.

He led Roman to the purple door with his signature stormcloud printed onto it, then rummaged through his drawers for the heat patches. He grabbed a few for himself before peeling off the back cover of one, fumbling through his thinly bandaged hands. During this time, the prince sat on Virgil’s unmade bed and watched him prepare the patch. “I’ll stick it onto your t-shirt, it’s not recommended directly on the skin.” The anxious trait crouched in front of Roman and touched his shoulder with great care, applying it onto the fabric which covered the patch. “The heat will last for about eight hours, but if it gets too hot you can just peel it off, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Roman nodded, looking brighter than before. “Thank you, Virge.”

Virgil straightened up again with a nod, quickly pulled a black long-sleeve from a different drawer and put it on underneath his t-shirt, which was easy to do without taking it off due to the size of it, then began to apply his own patches in between the two layers. He stuck one to each side of his ribs before gathering the plastic packaging and depositing it into a wastebasket. The heat helped both of them, providing comfort to Roman’s shoulder and relief to Virgil’s sides.

The feeling of being summoned suddenly tugged at both of them. “That’ll be Logan and Patton.” Roman grinned. “I’ll see you there, stormcloud.”

—

Roman rose up in front of the television and Virgil appeared by the staircase, both at the same time.

“Hey, guys!” Thomas excitedly looked around. “I’m so glad you two are safe! Logan and Patton have just brought me up to speed.”

“Greetings, Thomas!” Roman instantly adapted his royal persona, only slightly hindered by his injury. “It is great to be back.”

“Hey, Thomas.” Virgil said, suddenly feeling a little nervous. “Are you… physically okay?”

“Yeah, I’m not feeling pain or anything, although I did feel very panicky, I assume when you were in that fight.”

A pang of guilt was felt in Virgil’s heart. “O— oh, I’m sorry, Thomas, I didn’t realise—“

“No, no, it’s okay, Virge. I called some friends and was able to take care of it. I could tell from the feeling that you were in trouble and you couldn’t control it. I’m just happy you’re okay. Or, at least, safe. Are you okay, Virgil?” Thomas glanced at the anxious side, noticing how he wrapped his arms around his abdomen.

He hummed uncertainly. “I’m in a lot of pain, but I’ve experienced it before.” Upon curious looks from everybody except Roman, he recounted what he was saying to the prince before. As he finished, Logan seemed to think for a moment.

“Perhaps, in the future, we should work with Roman in the imagination to make an area in which Virgil can exercise his fight-or-flight without running the risk of injury.”

“That’s a great idea, Logan!” Patton exclaimed, looking towards Roman to see what he thought. “Do you think you can do that, Roman?”

“Yes,” Roman pondered, already thinking of ideas. “I think that would be fantastic! Virgil and I can construct a safe zone within the imagination. How do you feel about that, stormcloud?”

Virgil nodded, feeling a little better. “Yeah, let’s do that once we’re both fully healed.”

“And after I’ve beaten you at every video game in existence.”

“Sure, Sir Sing-A-Lot.”

[2-fast-2-curious]

Adore You Like The Roses

Summary: Auston is bad with words but tries to fix that with you

Words: 1450

Warnings: none

Author’s Note: To get the random thirsty Instagram comments all I had to do was scroll through my own message box. Also, I went to see The Maine today and they reminded me that they’re from Phoenix so I decided to rename this after one of their lyrics. Didn’t add very much smut because I’m tired AF.

It had been a long time since Auston had a girlfriend. In fact, he wasn’t even looking for one when he first met you. Everything was casual and great until it wasn’t. The more he got to know you, the harder it was to shake the romantic attraction he had for you. So Auston asked you if you wanted to be exclusive, if you wanted to be his girlfriend. In hindsight, he should’ve taken note of your response. “Oh” followed by seconds of silence as Auston waited on bated breath. “I honestly didn’t know you felt that strongly about me, Auston.” Auston picked up a lot of things naturally: hockey, video games, fashion (although he understood that last one was very subjective). How to ‘boyfriend material’ or ‘couple goals’ with you was not one of them. He was in love with you, he was sure of it, he was just bad at showing his feelings. You had agreed to be his girlfriend and Auston was relieved. Despite what some people wanted to believe, he wasn’t an asshole. At least not on purpose. He treated you well, he made you laugh, he bought you stupidly expensive designer things even though you insisted he didn’t have to. Speak of designer items, you and Stephanie had gone shopping for dresses for a black tie Leafs’ charity event. Auston and Mitch were going to meet the two of you at Holt Renfrew to see your final selection before grabbing dinner. You had texted Auston and Mitch directions to the private shopping suite the store had given you which was really just a very large private dressing room with couches and snacks.

In a corner was a rolling rack full of colourful, floor length dresses. Auston sat down on a couch. “Y/N, Steph, are you guys ready?”

You took a deep breath as you shuffled your sky-high Louboutins out of the dressing area. You knew Auston was getting a custom navy blue suit for the event so you had chosen a dress made of sparkly sapphire blue lace on top of fabric that mimicked the colour of your skin. “So what do you think?” You asked Auston, as you spun around in the dress. You had spent all afternoon stepping in and out of dresses before you had chosen this one, thinking Auston would enjoy the lacey details. Auston knew you looked amazing, he just didn’t know how to put it into words. So he decided to go with something safe. “You look nice, babe.” The smile fell from your face and Auston knew he fucked up. Meanwhile, Mitch was looking lovingly into Stephanie’s eyes while telling how gorgeous she looked in her rose gold sequined dress. You slipped off the shoes and went back into the changing area, trying to swallow back your feelings of disappointment at Auston’s reaction or lack therefore. Stephanie escaped Mitch’s grasp and went to join you. “I wish I knew how to do that.” Auston admitted as he beckoned the sales associate to bring him the card machine so he could pay for your Louboutins. “It’s just that every time, I think of how I want to compliment Y/N, I’m worried it will sound stupid or creepy.” “You feel stupid giving your girlfriend compliments?” Mitch asked, slightly confused at his teammate's aversion. “Well when you say it like that, I sound like an idiot.” Auston admitted, handing his Black Amex to a sales associate. He placed the heel next to his foot, amused at how small your feet were compared to his. Mitch laughed. “Because you’re being an idiot, Mats. It’s a compliment, who cares if you sound creepy or stupid? And if that happens, you just have to remember not to do that next time.” Auston frowned, that seemed like an oversimplification of his problem. He took out his phone, seeing that you had a new post on your Instagram. It was a carousel of mirror selfies of a couple of the dresses you had tried on today. You rarely posted pictures of yourself claiming that no one wanted to see you. Auston wanted to comment something to encourage you, it would at least be a step in the right direction if he wanted to start giving you more compliments. He frowned when he saw some of the comments on your post. your face is cute and your cleavage is sexy 😁 we should chat

So damn cute 😍😍😍

Hey there can I add ur snapchat? Auston wanted to show these random accounts that you were spoken for. But all he had started and erased several different messages and was now staring at the blank comment box. How the hell were faceless accounts on Instagram better at complimenting you than your own boyfriend? Babygirl looks 🔥 I’m the luckiest guy in the world Can’t wait to Auston had spent so much time trying to craft a message, you and Stephanie walked out of the dressing room, back in your street clothes. Your dress would have to stay at the store since it still needed alterations to fit you properly. Things were frosty between you and Auston during dinner as you let Mitch and Stephanie steer the conversation. You were more sad than anything. Auston seemed to care a lot more about his appearance than you did since he was a public figure. You thought that maybe seeing you in that dress would make him want to excited for the event and the opportunity to show you off. You knew Auston wasn't someone who gave compliments easily but did he give them ever? Hell, even the waiter had complimented you more than your own boyfriend had when he replied "Excellent choice" when you told him you wanted the ceviche. You and Auston ordered an Uber to take you home. You shrugged off your jacket and threw it on the coat rack. With all the dress fittings, today had been an exhausting day. “Auston, if you don't like the dress, I can call the store and tell them we don't want it anymore.” Auston followed you as you went to the bathroom to wash your face. "Are you kidding? I love that dress." "You really weren't acting like it. But I guess that's normal for you." You say as you massage your face wash into your skin. "Listen Y/N, I feel really shitty that I don't give you all the compliments that you deserve." Auston sat on the edge of the bathtub as he watched you wipe the soap off your face. "I want to know how much it means to me when I'm wearing my gameday suit and you always make sure to tell me how handsome I look before I leave. Or how you'll Skype me when I'm on the road and just woke up and you'll still tell me how hot you think I am." "Wow, I'm making you really conceited." You reply, not sure where Auston was going to go with this. Auston laughed. "You make me feel really good about myself. I realize that I need to make you feel the same way." Auston lifted you up and placed you on the counter next to the sink. "You look really nice when your face is just washed, it's so soft and it smells so good." He kissed your cheek, his stubble scratching you. He took his phone out and snapped a photo of the two of you in the mirror. Your back was to the camera, his face was in your neck, one hand was holding his phone and the other reached across your back to cup your butt. "Don't we look cute together? I'm going to make this my lock screen." You bit your lip, you had to admit you and Auston looked good together in that photo. You especially liked how his tattooed arm looked against you. You kind of wanted him to send it to you so you could post it. You didn't have a lot of photos of just you and Auston. "You looked really beautiful in the dress you picked. It suits you so well." The smile Auston gave you was so genuine, your heart fluttered. Auston helped you out of your shirt. He watched his hands in the mirror as they lifted your shirt over your head, exposing your bare back to the mirror. Auston took the time to admire your bra. "Pretty." "Aus, your hands are cold." You giggled as your torso shivered when he removed your bra. Auston smirked as he used his extra cold thumbs to play with your nipples. "All the better to touch you with."

“Auston that’s not even how Little Red Ridinghood goes.“ You say as you lean in to kiss your boyfriend’s lips.

Part 2

[mollymauk-teafleak]

the one who blooms in the bitter snow (final part)

Oh my god have I dragged this out. Sincerest apologies on how long this happy ending took to get here

--------

Caduceus often talked to things that couldn’t talk back. He talked to his plants, encouraging them through the winter and complimenting them on their leaves and shoots. He talked to the army of mismatched mugs he used in his cafe, admonishing any who spilled things or who strayed from their intended arrangement on the shelves that made sense only to Caduceus. He talked to the clouds in the sky, thanking them for much needed rain. He talked to the insects that visited his cemetery, any worms found on the path that he would gently pick up and promise to see safely back to the soil, any bees that roamed the flowering plants, even any lizards he found sunning themselves in the rockery.

He didn’t say anything wrong with talking to things that could give no reply. It wasn’t as if such a minor detail meant such things couldn’t listen. Often, in fact, he thought it made them much better listeners than anything with a voice box.

However, one thing he hadn’t ever really found himself doing was talking to the dead.

It would have made sense, as much as talking to rotting corpses beneath the ground could ever make sense. Caduceus was surrounded by them every day, after all, a patchwork family of people all united only by the fact that the Blooming Grove had become their final resting place. He tended them, wreathed them in wilderness, watched over their loved ones in his cafe whenever they would come to visit them. Keeping them safe was the calling he’d chosen. But he never spoke to them.

Perhaps he’d just come to the quiet conclusion that the dead were past caring about his words. They’d left the cares of the living world behind them and nattering on to them about it would spoil the reverence they deserved, interrupt the sleep they’d earned.

They were the Wildmother’s now, after all.

But now Caduceus found himself with a pressing need to cross that line he’d set for himself. He needed to talk to one of his residents, whether they replied or not.

And he got the feeling they would want to hear from him just as desperately.

Caduceus had to smile weakly at the surname, however nervous he was.

Tealeaf. How appropriate.

He cleared his throat awkwardly and sat cross legged at the foot of the grave. It had been there long enough for the grass to grow back over the turned earth, as lush and tall as everything that surrounded it but it was still clearly one of the newer ones. The stone wasn’t yet weathered by time, perfectly readable, still cool grey marble that shone faintly in the morning light.

Mollymauk Tealeaf. Beloved husband and father.

No date. That was passing strange. Though maybe seeing the scant handful of decades Molly had been allowed when he should have had so much more time to be a father, time to be a husband, would just be too painful.

The insignia of the Moonweaver was artfully carved below the short epitaph, a sign that was rarely seen in the graveyard. Of course, godly symbols were on nearly every headstone but it was always the more common, more acceptable gods. The All Hammer, the Raven Queen, the Dawnfather; dependable, parental gods that people wanted to guard them through their lives and walk with their loved ones into the next realm.

The Moonweaver was light, love, laughter, frivolity. Did she feel lost in a place like this?

Caduceus cleared his throat, unsure how to start. He had the depressing realisation that even in a conversation with a dead man, he was still on the back foot in terms of social skills.

“I...I’m not sure how you feel about me, Mr Tealeaf,” he eventually sighed, “I don’t think I could blame you for hating me. Resenting me, at least. You know the kind of thoughts I’ve had about Caleb.”  

Habit made him pause, though he knew he’d get no reply. So he just sat silently with his guilt for a heartbeat.

“But...I think you’d agree he wasn’t coping well before I met him. I know that must break your heart. Same as it breaks mine.”

The wind picked up a little, a mournful sound through the trees up above.

“I can’t lie and say I don’t have feelings for him. But the last thing I want to do is hurt him more or… or push him into something he isn’t ready for. And… if I thought my loving him would do that, I would have stopped immediately. But something tells me he...he could...I mean we could…” Caduceus spluttered to a stop, giving up with a heavy sigh, “But after last night… I don’t know anymore. Maybe I’m just sitting here talking to the wind, telling myself what I want to hear.”

He felt tears sting his eyes and blinked quickly to try and clear them, “I don’t want to feel wrong for loving someone. He’s yours, Molly, he will always be yours but couldn’t I just… look after him? Until he goes to join you? Just a turn…”

His voice choked off and he had to swallow hard to get the next words out.

“Am I wrong to want that?”

The wind died down and Caduceus was left with next to silence. He felt a tiredness crash over him, so deep and heavy, that for a long moment he felt certain he was just going to curl up on the ground and cry for a little while.

What distracted him was a bird call. It was shrill and sudden, like nothing normally heard in the gardens and Caduceus knew the names of every bird who visited the Blooming Grove throughout the year. He tried to place it but it only rang out the once. There was something almost exotic about it, something unusual. Caduceus thought for a moment, considering all the birds he knew. It was almost like a cockatiel or a parrot or maybe even a peacock.

He frowned. What on earth would a peacock be doing in his graveyard?

He stood up, brushing himself off. He knew he should do a round, just in case someone’s exotic pet bird had escaped and needed to be brought back home.

Anyway, it was clear Mollymauk Tealeaf had nothing to say to him.

Caduceus rarely wore any kind of coat, his fur kept him plenty warm, but the weather had grown so cold recently that he’d dug out the fleece lined, faded, patched coat he kept in reserve for the days when the city froze solid and there was ice on the pavements.

Despite the closed sign on the door, it was warm inside the cafe. Caduceus felt ever so slightly better once the cold leached out of the tips of his ears and the very end of his nose, replaced by the gentle music, the warmth, the scents of caffeine and sugar that he knew so well. It wouldn’t fix things, he knew that, but it gave him the sense that he’d entered somewhere safe.

Sighing softly, Caduceus shrugged out of his coat and made to hang it on the hooks by the door, all of them charmingly mismatched as everything was in here. The hooks that should be empty, seeing as he’d had no customers since the day before yesterday.

But it wasn’t.

Caleb’s scarf was hanging on the furthermost hook, looking sad and bedraggled after being soaked through in yesterday afternoon’s rain and drying out in the air.

It must have been hung up there as Caleb had stripped down, set aside from the rest of his clothes, forgotten in his hurried flight from the cafe.

Caduceus let out a long, tired exhale, trying to accept this new information without bitterness or resentment, without exasperation or anger at something he couldn’t change.

But gods above, it was hard.

He was nowhere near ready to face him again. Since everything that had happened, less than twenty four hours ago, he wasn’t even sure Caleb would want to see him ever again, he certainly didn’t look the type to face up to an awkward situation, more the bolting and hiding like a frightened animal type. And he had no clue what he himself wanted.

All he knew right now was that the thought of Caleb without his scarf, without the thing he clung onto tightly when he couldn’t cling onto the person he’d lost, broke his heart. And he had to fix it.

Above all else, Caduceus was a fixer. Even when it meant risking his own feelings.

“Are we gonna go to the cafe today?”

Caleb looked up from stroking his neck sadly, feeling the horrible, gnawing absence of his scarf, and tried to focus on his son, sat on the carpet with a picture book.

“No, liebling, I don’t think so. It’s...it’s so cold out,” he said awkwardly, tripping over the lie.

Trinket frowned, plucking at the pages of his book, “But we go on Fridays. We go after school.”

His little boy was fiercely attached to patterns and routine, just like Caleb himself.

“I know, Trinket,” Caleb struggled to muster the energy to mollify him, curled up tightly on the sofa, feeling lost and disconnected, “Papa’s just not really feeling it today, okay?”

Trinket paused at that, looking at him with familiar, wide red eyes that would never fail to shake his papa to the core when he saw them. Leaving his picture book behind, he pattered up and hugged Caleb’s leg tightly, the one that was dangling listlessly over the edge of the sofa.

“It’s okay, papa,” he said, voice muffled by Caleb’s pant leg, “Its okay to have a sad day.”

Caleb often thought his son was magic. Not in the way his papa was- not yet- but magic in his own way where he could make the world seem like it wasn’t ending.

Trying not to cry because then the floodgates would open and he’d truly be in trouble, Caleb ruffled those purple curls and smiled shakily, “I love you, Trinket. You know that, right?”

He smiled brightly, “Sure! I know! I’m gonna go play with my legos, papa, okay?”

Caleb nodded fondly, his son had been obsessed with building things and quickly destroying them for a good few weeks now, “Sure. Call me when you’re done and I’ll help you clear them away.”

Happy with that, Trinket scampered off, probably already imagining himself crashing through newly constructed towers like a lavender godzilla. Caleb watched him go, a tender smile on his face until he disappeared from view, when it slid off his face.

He felt like all he did these days was wait for 3pm. Like as soon as he waved goodbye to Trinket at the school gate everything froze and went into stasis, everything straining towards that hour where he could go back and have Trinket by his side again. He knew he adored school, he knew he was safe there.

He knew he was crazy to feel this way.

But it didn’t stop the feelings.

Caleb told himself every morning at a quarter to nine that he shouldn’t be doing this. It was far too much to put onto his young son, it was unhealthy, it was unfair. He deserved a life of his own, Trinket needed him to have it too.

But every time Caleb thought it, he thought it in Caduceus’ voice. And, since he’d messed up so badly yesterday, that was a problem.

He had messed up. He’d messed up more spectacularly than he’d ever messed up before which was really saying something for Caleb. He’d hurt the first person in years who’d made him even begin to think that he could be loved again in that kind of way.

He’d always suspected that Molly was a chance in a million, some high level miracle. Actually finding someone so wonderful, someone who could see some good in him. But then it had actually happened again, when he needed it most.

And both times he’d completely ruined it.

He’d lost Molly. He’d lost Caduceus. He’d lost his scarf which, he knew was silly, but it felt like the first loss all over again. Though maybe it was a fitting sacrifice for what he’d done.

How many precious things could he lose before he was just deemed too careless to live? How long until whatever curse he had infected Trinket?

Caleb could almost feel all the progress he’d made in the last few weeks unravelling like a trailing thread he’d worried far too much falling into nothing. He sat there and rocked gently, trying to take in deep breaths and stay in the room but it was getting increasingly difficult.

Especially when a knock came at the door.

Trinket didn’t hear it, he was behind his bedroom door, singing loudly to himself, a happy little nonsense song he’d clearly just made up to amuse himself. So Caleb forced himself to stand and go to the door, mentally slapping himself, telling himself to get a grip.

All that went out of the window when he opened the door and saw Caduceus.

“You’re...you’re here,” Caleb said dumbly, throat feeling numb like he’d just swallowed a mouthful of ice water.

“I’m here,” Caduceus returned awkwardly, shifting from foot to foot.

There were snowflakes melting in his hair. When had it started to snow?

“I didn’t think…I mean, I didn’t expect you to ever…” the starts of sentences crowded in Caleb’s mouth, none of them accompanied by ends. He didn’t want to sound whiney, he didn’t want to sound like Caduceus was wrong to be mad at him.

“You didn’t think I’d want to see you again?” Caduceus finished it for him, tilting his head to one side.

“Yeah,” Caleb bit his lip, feeling his cheeks burn despite the cold air sweeping into the apartment alongside Cad.

“Of course you did,” the firbolg said quietly, “You’re you.”

Caleb didn’t know what to say to that, he just kind of took hold of it like a present he hadn’t been expecting.

“I brought your scarf back,” he produced it from one pocket, carefully folded and clearly having just come through the dryer, back to full fluffiness, “You must have left it yesterday.”

Caleb felt a rush of relief, a compulsion to gather it into his arms and clutch it to his chest, inhale the scent of vanilla and anise that wasn’t there anymore but he could imagine it was.

And then he felt guilty.

Was he going to spend the rest of his life chasing after things he could only half remember rather than seeing what was in front of him?

“Thank you, Caduceus,” he murmured, “I really, really appreciate it.”

That brought a smile from the firbolg, even if it was a little strained at the edges, “Yeah… I guess I also came over because I was hoping we could talk?”

Caleb nodded, thinking anxiously of Trinket but he could explain to him that Caduceus was here for a visit. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t been here before, dropping off homemade baked goods or little gifts like the scent bags that had soothed his anxiety so well and helped Trinket with his bad dreams. Trinket had always been happy to see him before, showing him whatever he’d built that day, showing him the art project he’d made at school from the leaves they’d gathered together at the Blooming Grove.

Caduceus was always so soft and gentle with Trinket. He always seemed to know just what to say, to answer his million a minute questions, to soothe him when he stumbled into some uncertainty, to make him giggle so hard he had to sit down. Caduceus was exactly the kind of caregiver Caleb wanted to be. He was exactly who Trinket deserved.

“Can I get you a drink?” Caleb asked as Caduceus sat on the sofa, holding himself a little stiffly like he wasn’t sure where to put his gangly limbs.

“Um…sure?”

Caleb let himself sink into a kind of automation as he got cups, boiled water, found teabags from the collection that had been growing ever since Caduceus had come into his life. But then there were soft billows of scented steam to breathe in and he woke up again, reminding himself to be present. Caduceus deserved better than that. And maybe he did too.

“Here,” he passed one mug to Caduceus, slightly regretting that it was patterned with badly faded cartoon characters but their selection wasn’t great, “I, um, I used the cinnamon tea you gave me yesterday. You were just out in the snow and I don’t want you to get sick.”

The smile was more genuine this time, warmer, like the starting embers of a fire, “Thank you, Caleb. I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

He nodded, sitting down beside him, hands curled around his own cup to stop them shaking. There was a long moment of silence, as they both sat and remembered another evening much like this one. Eventually Caleb opened his mouth but Caduceus got there first, spilling his words out like he couldn’t bear to hold them inside himself any more.

“Caleb, I…if I made you feel pressured yesterday or…or I pushed you into kissing me in any way, I’m so sorry…”

Caleb blinked for a second and then found himself laughing, “And you were so sure I’d be torturing myself…”

Caduceus’ ears flattened and he chuckled uncertainly which Caleb took to be the fur covered individual’s way of blushing, “Well, we can both be as bad as each other.”

“I kissed you, Caduceus,” Caleb shook his head, “It was my choice. And… I know how it ended and I wouldn’t blame you for not trusting me but it really was you I wanted to kiss. I promise.”

“Really?” Caduceus fixed him with dark, wet eyes. The doubt stung a little but of course, he knew he deserved it.

“Really,” he nodded firmly, “You’ve been so good to me, to Trinket. You’ve made one of the hardest times in my life feel… bearable.”

Caduceus only nodded, a crease of concern appearing between his eyes. He simply waited for Caleb to say more.

Caleb looked down into his drink, “I thought time was supposed to heal me, I thought it was supposed to make it easier. But the further away I get from losing him, the more part of me holds on. It’s like I don’t want the pain to go because then… then I really will have nothing left of him.”

“When you’ve felt a certain way for so long, it’s hard to let go of it,” Caduceus said slowly, thoughtfully, “Because then you don’t know what would be left if you took that part of yourself away.”

Caleb nodded, “Exactly. And… and it was the same when I started having feelings for you. That would mean letting go of at least some of my grief and stepping into uncertainty. And the idea terrifies me.”

Caduceus gave a soft sigh, “I would never ask you to abandon your grief, Caleb. It’s important that you always mourn Mollymauk. All I want is for you to have something happy alongside that.”

Caleb felt his lower lip wobbling dangerously, “I want that. I really want that, Cad.”

The words made an old, angry guilt twist inside him but it was a relief as well. And as the seconds went by, as he realised the truth of what he’d just said, the guilt lost its fury. It lost its anger. It shrank a little, the slightest, smallest amount into something that couldn’t be ignored but could at least be carried.

“We can go as slow as you need to, Caleb,” Caduceus’ voice was tender and he leant forward, looking like he was itching to hold him and press him close.

But he didn’t close the gap between them. And he never would, not until he knew Caleb was completely okay. Years could and would pass between them and Caduceus would never lose that respect for him.

So Caleb took the front of his moss green shirt and pulled him in for a kiss. And he would, time and time again.

Though, a hair’s breadth after their lips met there came the sound of a muffled but still loud crash from Trinket’s bedroom, followed by a loud excited whooping from the young boy.

“Oh dear…” Caleb murmured anxiously, eyes on the door. Though whether he meant the crash and the inevitable mess it had led to or the realisation that he would have to explain to Trinket why Caduceus was here and why he was kissing him, he wasn’t sure.

Caduceus seemed to read his mind, those dark eyes always seeing more than what was in front of them, “Caleb, if you’re happy, I’m sure he won’t mind. He’s a smart kid. After all, he’s yours.”

Caleb had to laugh softly at that, blushing a little. It was true, he could compliment his son to the stars and often miss the fact that most of the things he was praising were inherited from him. But the depths of kindness he almost couldn’t fathom, the understanding and gentleness that was going to make him delighted that his papa had found someone new to love, that was all Mollymauk.

And as long as Caleb had Trinket, Molly would never be gone.

[jaeminlore]

Fun, Fun, Fun | Haechan

summary: you can come along with me cause we've got a lot of things to do now, and we'll have fun, fun, fun. words: 1.8k category: swimmer!hyuck, fluff!!!!!!! a/n: highkey this was all inspired by that scene in everything sucks! where sherry and ken swim in the pool 

Donghyuck sighs and drops his keys in the dumb manta ray shaped ashtray you had placed in the middle of the kitchen table. "I'm home!"

"I'm studying!"

Donghyuck toes off his sneakers in the middle of the kitchen floor, knowing you'll chide him for it later. Truthfully, he thinks it's funny when you try to intimidate him. You can be quite scary sometimes, but usually, to him, you just seem cute.

He walks to your bedroom and flings the door open without knocking, as per usual. And — also as per usual — you are hunched over your desk, glasses slipping off your nose as you struggle to highlight facts in your biology textbook.

Just the thought bores Donghyuck to death. "I feel like cooking tonight. Do you want anything?"

You let out a small gasp and spin your chair around to stare at him. "Pizza?"

"You know I can order pizza, right?"

You stretch your arms out and pout, "But I like it when you make pizza."

Walking to the kitchen and leaving you to your studying, Donghyuck can feel his face heating up. He'd never admit it — not to you, anyway — but your small compliments make him feel jittery inside.

After being your roommate for nearly a year, Donghyuck still finds himself surprised at how much he truly adores you. He blames Jaehyun for his dumb feelings. If his friend hadn't had to move to another university at the last minute, then Donghyuck would've never had to apply for a new roommate to help pay for his two-bedroom flat.

And if you hadn't had said that you had a cat, Donghyuck wouldn't have given your application a second glance. Especially since you were a boring "biology major who would like to live near the coast for academic purposes."

Who goes to the beach to study? You study coral of all things, while the thought of staring at any plant for more than five seconds makes Donghyuck want to fall asleep.

He quirks a smile as he stirs his homemade tomato sauce. While thinking about coral reefs bored him, he never gets tired of hearing you talk about your dreams to help the them.

Never in his life would he have imagined that he'd sit through an entire documentary on The Great Barrier Reef. Truthfully, the only thing that had kept him awake was your small pokes in his side and excited whispers.

"Why did you leave your shoes in the middle of the floor— What're you smiling about?" You shuffle into the kitchen and lean into Donghyuck's side to stare at the sauce as it boils. Then you glance up at him and poke his dimple. "Seriously, what's going on?"

"Nothing," Donghyuck sings, avoiding eye contact with you. "Now leave me alone while I'm cooking."

"No. I'm finally done with all of my assignments for the weekend so let me hang out with you." Instead of waiting for his approval, you swing yourself onto the laminated countertop.

Despite how boring you could be, you were also incredibly exciting to Donghyuck. Every day is a new challenge with you, disguised by small bouts of banter and feigned frustration. Even now, you tease him for how messy his cooking station is, ignoring him when he brings up the disaster you called your desktop.

You swing your sock-clad feet back and forth and tuck a large chunk of stray hair behind your ear. You are an absolute mess, but Donghyuck likes to think it's part of your charm.

He feels your toe nudge his arm. "Tell me what you're happy about! Did something happen today?"

Donghyuck shakes his head and turns his back to you as he spreads the sauce evenly onto the pre-rolled dough. "I'm just glad it's the weekend. I'm ready to hang out with my friends."

"And I want to start on an essay," you mention as he pushes the pizza into the oven.

Donghyuck scoffs and shakes his head. He places a hand on his hip and gives you a pointed look. "You just said you were done with your assignments."

"For this week," you shrug, "but there's an essay on toxic algae due next week and I'd like to get a head start on it."

Donghyuck takes back everything he thought about you. You aren't exciting at all. You're the most boring and responsible person he's ever met in his life and he can't believe you would get excited over algae. "I can't believe we're friends."

You roll your eyes and jump off the counter. Wrapping your arms around Donghyuck's lean torso, you giggle softly, "You love me."

"Isn't that sad?" he bemoans jokingly, just so you'll pinch his sides like you always do when he teases you. "C'mon," he coaxes, taking a hold of your hands, "Come to the pool with me, tonight."

"That's against university rules," you say.

But Donghyuck likes the way your eyes shimmer with what looks like hope. He likes how he knows you really want to go swimming at midnight, you just need to be assured that nothing will go wrong.

Donghyuck's always been there to encourage you. He likes that, too. "I know the security guard's schedule, and there's a side door that he always forgets to lock. We're golden."

The timer dings, and for a moment the two of you forget your current conversation in lieu of the much-wanted dinner.

Soon, all that's left on the table are pizza crusts. Donghyuck smiles in victory when you take a long sip of your soda before glancing his way, "So, when are we leaving?"

☼

Donghyuck forgets to grab his swimsuit. Well, he doesn't forget, but he could've sworn that his suit was still at the university, in his sports locker.

He realizes now, staring at his empty locker, that he took his suit home for cleaning. "Well, this sucks."

You laugh, "I can't believe you misplaced your suit."

Donghyuck rolls his eyes. "I'll just swim in my clothes. What about you? Where's your suit?"

"I didn't bring one," you say.

"Why not?"

"I dunno," you shrug, "I assumed you were going to swim and I was going to watch you."

"You're hopeless," Donghyuck exclaims, a disbelieving chuckle escaping his heart-shaped lips.

He wants to enjoy things with you, but he doesn't know how to tell you that.

"I am going to make you have a good time and there's nothing you can do to stop me." Donghyuck grabs your hand and pulls you out of the locker room, into the pool room.

He stops and inhales deeply. This is his safe place. This room, tinted blue from the pool lights, loud with the rush of the water filter, is where he feels the most like himself.

This is the place he's always wanted to share with you.

He pulls you along until you're both standing on the edge of the pool. "Let's go swimming in our clothes."

Just when he thinks you're going to object and make up some kind of excuse, you nod your head and squeeze his hand. "Okay."

When you jump, Donghyuck jumps with you, and when the cold water folds over his body, fully submerging him, he smiles. His sweater and jeans feel heavy, but his heart feels light as he propels himself toward the surface.

You smile and paddle over towards him. "It's so cold in here." Your voice echoes through the room.

"I barely notice it anymore," Donghyuck breathes. He's keeping himself afloat, feet kicking gently against the still, chlorine-filled water.

When he reaches over to brush your hair out of you face, you blink in such a curious way that Donghyuck once again finds his heart stuttering and his will bending.

He kind of wants to kiss you right now.

You swim forward and do the same for him: you run your fingers through his faded brown tresses, giggling at the way Donghyuck scrunches his nose.

He really wants to kiss you right now.

☼

Donghyuck's palms are flat against the small of your back and between your shoulder blades. He stares down at your face, peaceful and serene, and catches himself falling even harder than before.

Water droplets still on your face as you struggle to stay afloat, arms spread and legs straight.

Donghyuck holds you up while he can, helping you find your balance on the surface of the seven-foot high waters. "Harder than it looks?"

You break concentration and fall back into a wading position. "I keep panicking."

"Don't worry about falling while I'm here," Donghyuck says. And when you nod happily, he feels like your protector. Your superhero, maybe.

In the midst of his thoughts, you hop on his back and giggle when he lets out a soft "oof".

He swims through the water and lets you hug him tightly as he does, less because it's comfortable and more because it's you.

Your phone beeps from the side of the pool. You let go of Donghyuck and swim towards the edge to check it. "It's my sleep alarm," you say, "we've been here for hours."

"And hasn't it been fun and stress-relieving?"

"It's been chilly, mostly, but yeah."

The two of you climb out of the pool. Donghyuck grabs a towel and drapes it around your shoulders, pulling you towards him. His forehead bumps against yours, and the warmth of your skin makes him let out a sigh, "Yeah, I can't say I would decline a warm shower right now."

He likes being this close to you. He likes feeling your breath on his lips and your skin on his. He likes knowing that he could be kissing you if he only moved a few centimeters towards you.

You must be thinking the same, because it only takes five seconds before Donghyuck feels your soft lips against his.

He feels his breath hitch, and he'd be embarrassed if it wasn't for the way your hands press against the chilly skin under his sweater. His heartbeat thrums in his ear and his fingertips tingle when they thread through your wet hair.

He wants to keep kissing you. He wants to feel your teeth graze his lip and your sighs harmonize with his, but you're suddenly shivering, and Donghyuck takes that as a sign to get you home.

☼

After your showers, you grab your favorite blanket and snuggle up to Donghyuck on the couch.

It's something you always do when you have free nights. Donghyuck knows this, but tonight it feels different. Tonight it feels like you both know exactly how you feel about each other.

Donghyuck always has fun with you. There's never been a moment with you that he's regretted. He hopes he's guessing right when he thinks you're feeling the same.

[cinnbar-bun]

Why Vane is the Bestest Boy Ever

Welcome to my TEDtalk this is some real stuff ya’ll NEED to hear because Vane is the absolute best ( to me at least). Sorry this is jumbled af I don’t even know what I wrote. 

Listen I know I talk a lot about Vane and you’re probably sick and tired of it and I understand. BUT LIKE HEAR ME OUT FOR A MINUTE!

So I never really did the subquests early on in my playthrough of GBF mostly because I’m a dumbass and didn’t really realize they were there. ANYWAYS, so my first exposure of Vane came from his SR version (sadly, I don’t have his SSR version,,,,hhhhh please come home). I wasn’t too keen on him at first because he was an SR and in the beginning I was obsessed with getting SSR’s (instead of appreciating quality characters). 

The reason I first got into GBF was because of Lancelot, I thought he was super attractive and w o w cool this looks awesome! So I was hoping to get Lancelot more than anyone else. 

I digress, so I went through Vane’s fate episode really quick, and I just didn’t appreciate his character all too much. Seeing his art, I thought yeah he looked cool but he kinda looks like a smug jerk and I just did not care (especially since I was starting to like Will). I basically forgot I summoned him until I played Defender’s Oath. 

It brought him into a new light for me, because honestly, I did that side quest because of Lancelot. When we see Vane in DO, we see him as somewhat clueless, but overall, a nice guy who just wants to help his friends. I had very low expectations for him, and to just have him in my face acting like the most adorable thing ever was just hhhhhhhhhhh amazing. 

But it also made me get bored with Lancelot, because to me, it felt like all the other Dragon Knights had gotten character development except him. We constantly see Vane grow from being someone who was initially nervous about being Vice-Captain, to being more confident in his role and ensuring the public is happy. And that’s what I think separates Lancelot and Vane the most. While Lancelot does care for the people, he cares more for the well being of the country. Vane however, is just a ball of sunshine who wants to repay his kindness to those who need help (as seen with Bistro Feendrache). 

I’m not saying Lancelot is a bad person by any means, not at all, he is probably what is considered a more ‘ideal knight’ because of his undying loyalty to Feendrache, but Vane is someone who just doesn’t care for titles, he just wants to be by his friends’ side. 

I think his most stellar moment was in Divergent Knighthoods. THIS was what cemented my love for him as my fave character, not only in GBF, but in my entire life. We see him at his most fatherly and courageous form in this quest, and it just is the sweetest thing ever. He jumbles up a bit as Vice-Captain, he’s excitable and kinda immature compared to Lancelot, but that’s what makes him so strong. 

Divergent Knighthoods showed the BEST possible form of Vane by showing us his interactions with Team Chickadee. Sure, Arthur and Mordred were the focal point of it, but we see Vane’s development, as well how he helps the other two. Arthur and Mordred probably would not have gotten as good as they did if it weren’t for Vane. Vane taught them that being a knight doesn’t mean giving up on friendship and kindness, or forgetting what it means to be human. 

Vane is just that. Human. Lancelot and Percival constantly push themselves to be something greater than human, and Seigfried is considered to be god-tier to them. They all idealize Siegfried, but Lancelot and Percival want to be JUST like him that they focus solely on his actions, not why he does what he does. Vane, while he also looks to Siegfried as a role model, doesn’t feel the need to exemplify him. He feels fine the way he is, but he looks up to Siegfried as what greatness can achieve. He wants to be as skilled as Siegfried, but in his own way. 

Vane uses his emotions as a powerful weapon, while Lancelot and Percival try to repress them. They feel that emotions get in the way of decision-making, and that it’ll make them weaker. Vane just doesn’t give a crap and continues dancing to his own beat. He stepped up as a father-figure and mentor to Team Chickadee, and made them stronger by teaching them the importance of emotions. He even commented on something like that when he was interacting with Cruz. The poor boy just wasn’t emotional, and it worried Vane about what his life was like at home. He was so proud of Cruz when he even SMILED, and he treated it like a trophy. 

He’s a very supportive guy as seen when he constantly praised the team for slight accomplishments, even if they seemed stupid in the eyes of others. Lancelot has high expectations for them, and even though they wish to be knights when they’re older, he forgets they’re just kids. Vane knows that they’re just little kids, and he is one at heart, so he has no problem interacting with them and encouraging them to do better. He doesn’t need to act intimidating, because it’s just not in his nature. He doesn’t have to pretend to be someone he’s not, and uses his supposed ‘flaws’ as a tool to get better. 

I also wanna talk about what I think is a slight inferiority complex. Yeah, Vane loves himself, but he loves his friends a lot more. Especially Lancelot. Lancelot grew up with him and is basically his brother from another mother, and Vane trusts him completely. But we see throughout his fate episodes and special cutscenes that he knows Lancelot is more well-loved and respected than he will ever be. 

Valentines Day (year 2): “Aw, man. It's that time of year again... Sucks being that guy that doesn't get anything. Yeah... Oh well! I'll just pretend this chocolate I made came from a girl!”

Valentines Day (year 3): “Man, I knew he was popular... Speaking as a childhood friend, good for him. Bet he's a pretty happy camper. Sigh... I wonder if I'll ever...”

Happy Birthday (year 2): “Hehe, thanks for taking the time to deal with a bum like me! How old are you now? Are you really gonna waste your birthday hangin' around here? You want to be here? Aw man, quit jokin' around! It's not nice to tease people, you know.”

Happy Birthday (year 4): “ I shouldn't stay too long, I don't want to wear you out even more.”

Happy Holidays (year 2):  “ Huh? Oh, hey, (Captain). Are you free right now? Good thing I bumped into you! All right, you get the pleasure of spending the day with me! Not! Yeah, like you'd want to hang out with me, hahaha!” 

Fate Episode [sr version]: “ Y-you really think so? I'm really just trying to be more like Lancey. “

[after you compliment him for being more like Lancelot than he knows]:  “Heheh, thank you! Hearing you say that gives me a real boost, (Captain)!”

LIKE THIS BOY LEGITIMATELY THINKS HANGING OUT WITH HIM IS LIKE THE WORST PUNISHMENT IN HISTORY. It’s so sad because he’s such a lovable goof, and the fact he thinks he’s such a bother because he’s not like Lancelot is just....my heart...

I don’t think he’s actually AWARE of his insecurities when it comes to these sort of things, like he can recognize it in other people, but just can’t see himself being jealous of Lancelot, his best friend. He is not really given much credit for his work, and most dismiss him as a loud idiot who’s just Vice-Captain. Percival’s insults towards Vane doesn’t get him down, but the fact that Lancelot gets more praise for being Captain probably irks him to some degree. 

Honestly, Vane has so much to offer. He is such a romantic, and reading the part in his sr skills episode WHERE HE LITERALLY REMEMBERED A SUBORDINATES ANNIVERSARY AND TOLD HIM TO LEAVE TO SPEND TIME WITH HIS WIFE! Like, catch any of the other guys even remembering what day it is. 

Knights of the Order of White Dragons: With all due respect, First Officer, sir, why are you trying to dismiss me so early? There's still plenty of work to do…

Vane: But isn't it your anniversary today? Don't you think you should go home and be with your wife?

Knights of the Order of White Dragons: Y-you remembered?

Vane: Of course! You were gushing about it the other day!

Vane: One look at that grin on your face and it was seared into my memory!

Knights of the Order of White Dragons: But circumstances are different now…

Knights of the Order of White Dragons: The people are still uneasy after the incident the other day! It's not right for me to get to relax with my wife!

Vane: Don't be stupid! Are you really gonna let this emergency ruin your fun? That's even worse!

LOOK AT HIM! LOOK AT THIS!! He is just all about positivity and having fun, this guy is such a cutie. He just cares about the little people so much. NOT TO MENTION HIS LOVE FOR ELDERLY PEOPLE. He went on a tangent in the special cutscenes about how he wanted to help the old grandmas who helped in his childhood, and the children who appeared in Halloween. This guy cares a lot for the people and he just continues giving love and care for them all despite being considered a lesser version of his best friend from others.  

Vane is by no means a lesser version of Lancelot. He’s a great companion that contrasts well with Lancelot, by reminding him to take care of himself. He bakes, he cooks, he cleans, he does plenty of stuff for the crew and is such hubby material that I BELIEVE EVERY PERSON NEEDS SOMEONE LIKE VANE IN THEIR LIFE. Vane is the gift that keeps on giving, who’ll never stop giving. He cares too much to even bother to think about his own health, and is just the absolute best. 

Maybe I’ll fix this later on idk but like if I continue I���ll ramble for hours about why he’s so precious and ya’ll don’t wanna see that from me. 

But yeah tldr: VANE IS FREAKIN AMAZING AND I LOVE HIM

[saemi-the-writer]

Is Chloe getting a redemption in Miraculous team? Or are we getting a villain Chloe?

Oh dear, here goes another long answer! XD

In short: yes, Chloé gets a redemption. No, she doesn’t get the Bee miraculous.

For more detailsbased on canon episodes and (kinda) spoiler-free from the MT universe, keepreading^^

Chloé starts offquite the same as in canon, but her redemption arc starts quite earlier, beforeDespair Bear, and slowly but she does change.

Another change in her familysituation: Audrey Bourgeois does call her once in a while, but she doesn’t seta good example to her daughter and never really listens to her or tellsher “I miss you” or “I’ll take some tickets for you so you can visitme in New York on your next break”. Audrey only speaks about herself and/or howshe expects Chloé to be on the top, even advising her to use people as ladder.That and her father being a corrupted politician, you can tell she is not in avery healthy family environment.Little -but relevant- detail on how she feels about our main trio: she has a crush on is a huge fan of Ladybug, thinks Chat Noir is just aside-kick, and admired Pandora for a while, but after meeting up with herseveral times (when she was the target of an akuma), she ended up despisingher. (because Pandora openly calls her out on her bull**** and is very firmwith her)

Back on theredemption path: I’ve established a chronology for the canon akumas (not all ofthem yet, I’m not sure if I’m keeping them all) and here’s the order of the importantones (in Season 1):

·       Antibug

·       Evillustrator

·       Rogercop

Antibug: he akuma “Invisible” isnot Sabrina here, but a housekeeper of the Hotel who is tired of Chloé’s shit attitude, though Chloé do snap at Sabrina severaltimes during this episode but they end up “making up” in the end quitesimilarly than in canon with Chloé offering a brooch or jewel to Sabrina.

Evillustrator: Sabrina starts rebellingagainst Chloé and then clings to Marinette (much to the latter’s discomfort).Chloé is furious and accuses Marinette of using Sabrina against her and tryingto destroy their “friendship” and tries to buy Sabrina back to her. Itdoesn’t work at once, even if Sabrina is tempted by the gift. Big difference inMT!Evillustrator: Sabrina does not tell Marinette she is “like Chloé” forthe two are together when akumatized Nathaniel invites her and when Chat Noirarrives to protects her; however, while Marinette was “rescued” from theEvillustrator, Chloé managed to reach Sabrina on the phone and won herfriendship back with some sweet promises and gifts. When Marinette sees Sabrinawearing a new hat and new clothes the following day, Sabrina seems a bit embarrassedbut Marinette openly tells her she is not judging her. “If Chloé is an important friend to you, then do not feel bad for going back toher. Just, please, take care of yourself.”The two leave each other on a quiet truce, with a small smile. Marinettedoesn’t understand Sabrina’s decision, but she respects it, while Sabrina willthen keep in mind how kind and respectful Marinette had been to her despiteeverything she did or helped Chloé do in the past, making a strong lastingimpression on her.

Rogercop: the breaking point ofSabrina and Chloé’s friendship. Sabrina is utterly shocked when Chloé beratesher dad and then does nothing when the Mayor fires/threatens him, sending himout. The poor turns to her “friend” and begs to do something, to convinceher father to change his mind, but Chloé just brushes her offbecause “findind the thief and her bracelet is way more important” andSabrina blurts out:“BUT IT’S MY DAD!! HIS JOB IS HIS LIFE! WHAT WILL BECOME OF US?!”For a moment, everyone stares at her in silence, then Chloé goes back to ignoreher and accusing Marinette. Of course, Tom steps in to defend Marinetteimmediately and confronts André, pointing him out how Chloé had bullied his daughterand made her cry more times than he could count. And when André retorts that his daughter is perfect and cannot beblamed for Marinette’s “failure at receiving criticism or being teased”,Tom clenches his fists then states coldly:“If your daughter is so perfect, then, how come she doesn’t even notice herfriend is crying?”Everyone turns to Sabrina once again and notice she is weeping. Some people-adults and students- rush to her side to comfort her while Chloé just rollsher eyes. Mlle Bustier demands that Chloé checks inside her bag one last timebefore they start looking around the classroom and then Rogercop barges in. Inthe end, they find the bracelet had been inside Chloé’s bag “all along”.

The day followingthe events of Rogercop, Sabrina goes to Chloé and demands she apologies only toget yelled at and belittled once again. After that, Sabrina becomes anakuma.I’m not sure for what kind of akuma yet, but in the end, when our trio of herostay a bit to make sure she’s alright, she asks them:

“Am I a bad personfor not wanting to forgive her? I… I don’t want to be friends with Chloéanymore.”

While Chat Noirand Ladybug glance at each other, Pandora quickly answers her that it istotally okay, and would even be healthier for her to make new and real friendsinstead of staying with Chloé. The next day, Sabrina gives Chloé a box full ofher “presents” back to her and changes seat, sitting next toNathaniel. 

At first, Chloé issure it’s all just bluff and that she would come back to her crawling, asusual. But she doesn’t. And when she tries to taunt her by showing her theexpensive clothes/items she can get, Sabrina either ignores her or even comeswith good fast quips to shut her up. Sabrina ends up making new friends andbeing more integrated in the class (more details in a Sabrina post) while Chloéis treated like a pariah. She is isolated, and the loneliness becomes heaviereach day. Especially on the day the class perform a piece of theatre, she isstruck by her own isolation and how even Adrien has distanced himself from her,and even took Marinette’s side during the events of Kung Food.

She spends thewhole summer on her own, and when the back-to-school season arrives, she feelsnervous. The moment she steps inside the room, no one pays attention to her andshe hears how they all talk about their summer vacations, how they all spenttime together or are happy to see one another again, etc. She starts boiling inanger and makes a scene the moment Marinette walks in, because everyone beam at her. Mlle Bustier immediatelytakes action to calm her down. So Chloé decides to wait for the good moment.And we get to Despair Bear, where she sets the fire alarm on and manages tohave everyone but her clean the whole school. However, Adrien has finally hadit and gives her his ultimatum: “I can’t be friend with someone like you.”.And she feels crushed, her tears when she’s back in her room are lessmelodramatic, she is seriously crying and her butler can tell she is really hurt,and at loss.

The episode goeson quite the same except for the end. After Jean-Yves is de-akumatized, we havethe small exchange with Ladybug calling Chloé their “new sidekick” -whichdelights the latter- until Pandora waves her hand dismissively.

“She was barely helping usfixing her own mistakes for once. Do not flatter her too much, Ladybug, itmight go to her head.”

“Wha- why are you always somean to me?!” Chloé whipped around to face the adult heroine furiously,stomping her feet down.

“Aren’t you always mean? To everyone around you?” Pandora raised an unimpressedeyebrow at her. “You didn’t give me any reason to see you as anything more thana nuisance, your attitude has caused so many akumas I’ve almost lost count.”

“So she can tell how many?”Chat Noir whispered at Ladybug, the two young heroes leaning in each other’sdirection as they tried to be discreet.

“Well, now I changed! I amnice!” Chloé snapped back only to fume more when Pandora laughed drily at that.

“You, nice? Good one, missBourgeois. Acting barely decent does not make you nice, especially when onedoes it only under threat.” The mayor’s daughter straightened up, eyes wide andsilent. She had nothing to counter. “And for how long do you think you can keepon your masquerade? You didn’t even last one evening.”

“W-well, it was just my firsttry! From now on, I’ll be nice! You will never have to complain about me! Noone!!”

“Of course.” Pandora rolledher eyes, her arms still crossed on her chest. And yet, Ladybug could swear shesaw a little smile on her elder’s lips. For a second.

“I swear I will!” Chloé barked,her face all red. “I bet you there will never be any akuma after me aftertoday!!”

“Never say never.” Pandoraturned her back to the blonde girl and started to walk away. “And I’m notinterested in a bet already won.”

“I’ll show you, you- FEATHEREDVIPER!!”

Ladybug and Chat Noir bit backa laugh.

“Try and surprise me, then.”Pandora waved without looking at her before jumping away, landing on a buildingfurther.

The two other heroes tried theirbest not to laugh as Chloé kept on screaming at her, bouncing furiously andflapping her arms with clenched fists. They followed after Pandora, patting theirclassmate’s shoulder with a word of encouragement before going.

When Adrien andMarinette are back to the party, Chloé seemed calm yet determined. When shetalks to Adrien, she doesn’t make him “pinky swear” to stay friend, she saysconfidently that she is now ready to “take up the challenge”. Adrien is a bitunsure, but it makes him smile a bit. She doesn’t insult Marinette’s -or anyone’s-macaroons, although her comments cannot really be considered as “compliments”,but it still is a start.

As time passes, herattitude comes from decent to actually nice. She doesn’t make anyone upset andis not the reason of an akumatization, and is slowly becoming part of the classagain. However, Adrien is still her only friend, and they are not as close asbefore. Sometimes it frustrated her, sometimes she is just sad and wonders howshe can make some. Then, a day she goes to meet Adrien at his fencing lesson,she meets Kagami. Her feelings for this “fencing girl” are quite undetermined, fora while.

After that, therewill be her real arc, with family drama, but I’m not going into details for now*spoilers*. I’ll just say that y version of “Battle of Queens” will start with anakuma called “Nemesis”, where there will be a big revelation about theBourgeois; that will make Chloé feel completely lost and disoriented to thepoint where she is akumatized for the second time. I’m not sure if she will be QueenWasp -but more in a Volpina fashion, where Fiancé is just inspired by the powerof the bee miraculous and grants her similar powers because they kind of fitChloé- or a complete different akuma. Then, we’ll have Malediktator, only André’sakumatization is not due to another tantrum, but because the previous reveal isturning his life upside down:

·      His position as the mayor is compromised, perhaps heeven lost it

·      Chloé doesn’t want to live with him anymore because helets her do whatever she wants and buys her love instead of being there for heror give her real emotional support

The consequencesof his actions and the truth are too much for him to bear.

During the battleagainst Malediktator, Chloé helps by distracting him and pretending to be veryhappy with what he is doing, giving an opportunity for the heroes to get theakuma.

After her fatheris back to normal, she feels guilty and starts having second thoughts about adecision she wanted to take, but Ladybug and Chat Noir soothe her, explainingthat she doesn’t have to feel responsible for her parents’ misdeeds and thatshe is not selfish (this time) for putting her well-being first instead of herdad’s. Plus, for the first time, Pandora speaks gently to her and is supportivetoo. She encourages her to follow what both her heart and guts are telling her,and to take her own decisions even if it is a bit scary at first.

In the end, Chloéchanges school to start over. She goes to the same school as Kagami, which is aboarding school, quite strict and rigorous. Some week-ends and on some breaks,she goes back to her dad, the other time, she goes to——-*spoilers*——–. Adrien keeps contact with her and sees how she changes for the better, and heis pleasantly surprised to learn that Kagami and her became friends. When Marinette sees her after a while, she is a bit taken aback by the change,but is happy with it. While she and Chloé may not become friends, they are atleast on good terms, Cholé giving Marinette a sincere apology helped.

Chloé will becomethe kind of supporting character without having magical powers.

[imajin-that]

wǒ ài nǐ💞

Thank you for waiting so long for this to come out.. I apologize immensely! I hope you all enjoy it, feel free to send in a request if you have one; our info page is linked in our bio! XOXO Yoongs~

☆2.5k words☆

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You walk into SM, you had an hour before the film crew was suppose to show up for your filming. You decided to go and try and find your other halves for the day- Lucas and Taeyong.

 Today you were going to be an NCT U member, you were asked to try and train and participate in schedules just like the other members would. You were a mix of emotions- but mostly excited but kind of worried. You knew how hard the boys worked for what they wanted. As an old SM trainee, you were close with the members of nct before you switched companies. You stayed in touch with all the members, but you were especially close to Lucas and Taeyong. So when the  PD of the special asked who you wanted to follow you had no hesitation picking them. Despite leaving SM, all those years of countless nights practicing they'd call you the hidden 19th member for NCT no matter what company you were under.

 When you finally reach the boys’ practice room you see all eighteen of them gathered in the middle of the room, you assume they're having a meeting before practice or maybe just a quick talk about small changes that needed to be made. It was only 8am and they looked so tired and almost on the break of collapsing; looking as if they hadn't slept in days, maybe even weeks. You were brought out of your thoughts by your name being called, when you glanced up, Ten was standing in front of you in the doorway inviting you in to join the rest of them.

“Are you coming in or what?” Jaemin shouts from across the room.

“Watch your tone, she’s older than you!” Johnny said, smacking the back of Jaemin’s head.

“Ah, sorry nuna.” Jaemin says bowing at you and Johnny. You smile at how cute Jaemin was as you make your way into the room. You sit on one of the couches in the corner as to not distract them and only watch, maybe even encourage them.

About forty minutes later, the camera crew and PD had finally arrived. You, Taeyong, and Lucas lead them to a  different practice room, not wanting to inconvenience the others.

 Most of the morning was dedicated to learning the new choreography for the first unit song that would be released with this episode. While learning the choreo, the boys let the viewers in on some of the details of the new album and NCT U’s song BOSS. The most noteworthy points dropped were the fact that all units had at least one song and that the new album will have a new version of Black on Black featuring all 18 members.

 When you finally got the choreo down completely, it was lunch time, so the producer suggested the team take a lunch break before you move in to the next schedule. The three of you head to the cafeteria with the camera crew and producer following behind, offering up your opinion on what's good when you arrive. Once you all get your food, you sit at the table you had marked as the “cool kids table” back when you were still a trainee. You always sat with the boys, much to your group mates confusion; but as far as you were concerned, this was where you were meant to sit. You just enjoyed being around them more, your group was never down to talk about the weird things you wanted to since it was “gross” or “something only guys talk about”

You never really fit in with your old group members, that's one of the reasons you decided to leave. The other was the fact you got a better offer from JYP himself. While you were deep in thought you didn't notice Lucas looking at you, it wasn't just a glance either. Lucas had been looking at you for about a solid 5 minutes, admiring your features; the way your hair always gets caught in your lip gloss if you move to fast or the way your eyes sparkle when talking about something you love and are passionate about. He loved the way you smiled when you took a bite of your food, and the soft moan you made when you found it delicious.

 After lunch you all made your way to the next schedule. You meet the rest of the NCT U members on location, the boys had a six hour block of photoshoots for 3 different magazines to promote the new group formation and album. You sat back most of the time and admired the hard work that was being put forth by all seven members. But when the PD had suggested you to join in a few of the photos to get the feel of what the boys were doing you agree with the approval of the photographer. Even though you’ve done this many times before for your own promotions it felt….different. It was completely different from being a soloist, the room was more chaotic but also calm in a way; everyone knew their place and job. You’ve never had anyone care for you like they do for each other, they had one another to keep them company and keep them grounded and not lost in the stress of the fast past environment. It was great seeing all of them motivating one another in such a loving fashion; something you didn't get to experience.

 After a few shots and poses you step out of the spotlight and let the boys continue with their work, the crew leaves a little before the three of you to set up in the practice room again. They had suggested the episode end where is started and you agreed, seeing as the boys were almost done you decided to wait for them instead of going back with the crew. You watch as the boys goof around in front of the camera but couldn't help but notice Lucas being well… Lucas. You laugh at his sad attempt at telling Winwin a joke in korean (mind you neither of them know in depth korean, Lucas learned this joke from Taeil while he was telling his lame dad jokes).

“Sicheng-hyung What time did the man go to the dentist?”

“When?”

“Tooth hurt-y.” Lucas says with a huge grin on his face ignoring Winwins un-bothered state.

“Boo Xuxi, you could have done better than that!” you say from across the room laughing a bit.

“Okay, then Y/N what do you have since you think my joke was bad?” he responds back with a smug look on his face.

“What did the horse say after it tripped?” You say already laughing at your own joke.

“What did it say Y/N?” he says with a curious expression.

"Help! I’ve fallen and I can’t giddyup!” You start laughing so hard you snorted and got embarrassed. Lucas blushes a bit finding it super cute, he hides his face so you can't see it.

“Honestly… both of your jokes are weak!” Taeyong says scoffing.

“Well do you have anything better pretty boy?” Lucas asks looking over at Tae, you nod your head in agreement with Lucas.

“Lay it on us TY Track!” you chime in after Lucas.

“Okay, get ready to cry laughing!”

“Just tell the joke Mr.Track” you say giggling.

“How many tickles does it take to make an octopus laugh?” You glance over and see Doyoung roll his eyes.

“Ten-tickles!” Tae starts laughing so hard he bends over a bit to slap is knee. “what a dad move” you think watching him.

“You're all terrible at telling jokes, please just stop!” Doyoung says, looking completely done.

“Yes mom” you say joking with him, but the other two choose to sulk at the harsh words given to them by mother Kim.

 After another hour the boys are finally done with all the photo shoots, it was well past dinner time but seeing as you still had a few things to shoot for the show, you three just head straight back to the SM building to meet the camera crew. This segment was a wrap up of the day and a special self performance of BOSS for the crew and boys (along with viewers) to show support for the comeback. You get praise from both the boys (mostly Lucas actually), they continue to tell you how well you followed the beat and steps you only learned this morning. You thank them multiple times and blush at the influx of compliments directed at you suddenly. After the video shoot ended the crew packed up and made their way out slowly, once everyone was gone you mention your hunger to mother Tae.

“Taeyong-oppa!! I'm hungry, will you treat us to yummy food? We haven't eaten since lunch!” you say with puppy dog eyes.

“Yeah Taeyong-hyung please treat us to yummy yummy food” Lucas says in his gross aegyo voice, causing Tae to cringe a bit before speaking.

“First- Lucas please never say that to me again, let alone in that voice. Second - what do you heathens want to eat? I'll let you both pick something since you worked so hard today.” he says smiling and petting your head.

“I want pizza!” You say super excited looking up at him with a big grin.

“what about you Yukhei?” Tae asks looking over at a jealous Lucas, who was upset he wasn't the one petting you like that, jealous he's not the one you're looking at with that loving smile.

“Chicken” he said kind of cold.

“So it's settled, I'll go order it all and have it delivered along with some tteokbokki” He says walking over to grab his phone before he walks out of the room to make the calls. You look over at Lucas and notice he looks a little upset, you think for a moment before saying something.

“Xu are you alright?”

“Yeah, no need to worry. Just over thinking.” he says giving you a small smile before pulling out his phone to avoid talking about his jealousy.

“Oh, alright” you say in a low tone, you two remain quiet until Taeyong returns.

“So we have some time to kill before the food gets here if you guys wanna just hangout and talk or something.” he says shrugging a bit before sitting next to you on the floor in the middle of the practice room. Lucas noticed and darts over to your other side as fast as he could.

“This may be super sappy, but after today it really puts a light on how much I miss seeing you guys all the time. Work keeps us both so busy and it sucks.” you say looking at both of them.

“We miss you too, I also know for a fact the other boys of the group miss you as well… The dreamies bring you up whenever they can, that than leads into others agreeing and it turns into like a half hour discussion on how we all miss you.” Taeyong says smiling at you than looking over to Lucas for his nod of agreement. You look back at all the time you've spent with them all, the time you spent with the dreamies helping them practice their vocals and dance. You remember when you first met them all, and the memory of making a fool of yourself when you first met Lucas- And speaking of that moment…

“Hey remember when you first met Lucas?” Taeyong asks looking over at you with a huge smile in his face.

“Of course I do” you say embarrassed. Taeyong pauses for a moment to collect himself before talking

“You went in so confident, and left so discouraged.”

“Listen I thought I could trust Chenle okay, I didn't think he'd stab me in the back like that.”

“Please, you should have known not to trust him when you first met him!” Taeyong says with a scoff

“Even I knew that when I first met him Y/N!” Lucas chimes in suddenly before you could speak.

“HeLlO My NaMe Is Y/N, I JuSt WeNt tO ThE bAtHrOoM iN mY PaNtS”(you said this in super broken chinese you learned from Lele) Taeyong mocks you in a joking manner before pulling you into him for a hug, you let him embrace you but don't put effort toward hugging back. Lucas looks away before getting upset at the situation unravelling in front of him.

“So what did you guys think of the shoot today?” you ask trying to change the subject escaping Taeyong's grip. But suddenly the discussion was interrupted by a knock at the door, you offer to get it since you were closer. Lucas follows in your tracks.

“I'm a big girl Xu I can do this myself!” You say looking back at him.

“What if its food? You can't carry that all yourself!”

“Ha watch me!” you say playfully pushing past him and running toward the door. As you sat back down with food in hand you look over at Lucas-

“See, told you I was a big girl and could get it myself” you say with a big grin, he couldn't help but smile back admiring that beautiful smile of yours.

“I guess so Y/N” he says still smiling.

 As soon as you guys finished eating you look down at your phone and notice what time it was “1 am huh?” you thought. You stand up and stretch before mentioning the time, the boys play rock paper scissors to see who stays and cleans up. Lucas won by a landslide leaving Taeyong to clean up everything.

“Sorry to cut the night short but I have a 9 am meeting with Mr. Park Jinyoung himself tomorrow so I should head home before it gets any later” you say bowing toward them.

“Do you mind if I walk you home Y/N? It's pretty late and you don't live to far from our dorm, it's no trouble to me!” Lucas asks looking over at you with semi worried eyes.

“I’d love that, thanks Xu.” you say with a smile, you both send your goodbyes to Tae before leaving. Once outside you feel a cold chill nip at your nose, you wrap your arms around yourself in hopes it will help warm you up a bit; Lucas notices and pulls you into his embrace without warning.

“If you’re cold, next time just let me know” he says in a manly tone, he tightened his grip a bit before leading the way to your apartment. Once you rounded the corner to the apartment Lucas stops in his tracks and lets go of you, you notice his scared yet worried expression and take this time to really ask what's wrong since he didn't talk earlier.

“Xuxi, what's wrong? And this time don't say nothing, I know something's bothering you.” you say in a stern voice.

“Fine, you're right, I do have something to get off my chest and it's been weighing me down since you left SM three years ago.”

“And why did you wait so long to say something?” you ask in concern

“I've never had the courage, I barely have it now Y/N.” he takes a deep breath before continuing.

“wǒ ài nǐ Y/N” he says softly....

[mygraduation-paperstory]

Life just doesn’t begin

Ever since I can remember, I have been able to see colours. It was like a default setting. The trees are green, the sea is blue and my favourite sweater is red. I knew that just as if I knew that my mom and my dad loved each other very dearly. And they loved me and my little sister Sarah just as much .My parents, unlike other people, always talked about colours. It didn’t make much sense to them to keep the most natural process on this world from their children: Seeing the colours that surrounded us when we laid eyes upon our one true love. It was often portrayed in a fairytale, where the prince had to slay a dragon and save the damsel in distress in order to see her fair hair and her green eyes that will enrapture the prince with a loving gaze and they will live happily ever after. It didn’t make much sense to me, considering I’ve been seeing colours ever since I could think and there was, if I remembered correctly, neither a big, dangerous dragon I’d had to slay, nor was there a princess I’d had to save. Therefore, I started asking myself why I did see the colours. How come I didn’t have to meet the princess and her lovely green eyes?

“Do you know who my soul mate is?” I asked my mother once, after she had finished the bedtime story and was about to close the book. My mother laughed. “Of course not bub. You are the only one who knows.” She stopped, thought and then added: “Or will know. Because as soon as you see them, you will see all the beautiful colours permeating everything around you. It’s an incredible feeling! And it will stay that way forever.” And her eyes shone so bright in a dreamy glint that I just couldn’t bring myself to tell her that for me, it wasn’t true. That I, for an unknown reason, could see colours and there had been neither a snow-white in a casket or a sleeping beauty in a thorny castle waiting for me to kiss them awake and look into their eyes. Therefore, I let my mother believe that one day, I would find my Rapunzel in a tower.

My ability of seeing colours became more prominent when I started going to school. At first, it was very amusing, seeing my classmates drawing trees with pink trunks and yellow leaves, or satisfying, when they wouldn’t use colours at all and only draw with a pencil. However, after a while it became very irritating. I started getting annoyed when my classmates left out the colours in their drawings, which would make them look dull and boring. On the other hand, seeing them use the wrong colours made my skin itch with irritation and I would bite my lower lip in distaste. At one point, I was so annoyed with a girl in my class that I pulled the wrong colour out of her grip and gave her the right one instead and then started lecturing her about how water could never be bright yellow. Honestly! What was she thinking, using colours so carelessly! That poor little girl was so traumatized that she started weeping and trying to apologize between sobs. At that point, Mrs Gardener, who had observed the whole commotion, came over and sat between us, calmly explaining that there was no reason she should apologize because she couldn’t possibly know. Instead, Mrs Gardener prompted me to say sorry and help her choose the right colour to finish the drawing. I did as I was told, contritely, and handed her the yellow colour.

I was held back after class. Mrs Gardener told me to sit down and motioned to the chair in front of her desk. Suddenly the woman in front of me looked very old and tired to me. It was on that day I became aware of the fact that, even though I could see colours, there were people who couldn’t. And Mrs Gardener was one of these people.

She was a very pretty woman, despite her age. She always put her chestnut coloured hair up in a very elegant bun, low by the neck. You could see that the dark roots of her hair were slowly turning grey. Her tanned skin had many laughter lines, which had become deeper with age. She had something soft and understanding in her features, so that I couldn’t feel too embarrassed of what had happened a mere two hours ago. “You know why I held you back right, Eli?” she said gently. I nodded. “But you’re a sensible boy, so I don’t need to lecture you for shouting at your classmates, even though you might be right.” She continued and I blushed, now feeling the after effect of guilt, mumbling an embarrassed apology. She smiled at me, kindness etched into her features and I knew I had been forgiven. She, of all people, seemed to understand the situation I was in the most. “How long have you been seeing colours Eli?” she then proceeded to ask. And at this question, I stopped short, my mind flooding with all sorts of questions. When did all this start? When did I realise that water looks blue? When did I realise that green is the colour of nature? But the question I asked myself the most was, why did I not know? Mrs Gardener watched me with a patience that could only be compared to one of a saint. She let my think this question through, not once interrupting my process so I could come to one conclusion: I didn’t know. So the only thing I could do was to shrug and hope Mrs Gardener understood. And of course, the gentle soul that she was, she did understand. “You are a very clever boy Eli.” she said, her tone light. “It only took me too long to realise that you could indeed see colours because you never consciously hid it. But you still treat that ability as a.”, she paused, trying to think of the right word to say. “A gift, of some sorts.” She then said emphatically. “Keep it that way, Eli. It’s a great gift fate has granted you.” I nodded politely, feeling flustered from receiving such important compliment from Mrs Gardener. And even though she seemed almost adamant when saying it, I couldn’t help but notice the underlying sadness that lingered in her insistent tone.

Needless to say that I got a call home from Mrs Gardener. My mother talked to her for a long time. After hanging up, she took me to bed, helped me get in my PJ’s and sat down on the edge of the bed. “Mrs Gardener told me what happened today in school.” She said. Her tone held no judgement. Only pure understanding. “She told me that you really like colours. So much even that you get upset when someone uses the wrong ones.” she laughed lightly. “That is so typical of you Eli.” She paused and stroked a hand over my hair. “I’m not angry with you, honey. On the contrary, I’m proud of you for speaking up. And, just like Mrs Gardener, I want you to follow your passion, Eli.” She kissed me goodnight and then turned off the nightlight, situated on my bedside table.

With that encouragement my love for colours only grew. In elementary school I would do extracurricular work, exercises like painting by numbers. By seventh grade I started doing colour charts, mixing colours, trying to combine as many different shades as possible, and trying to name them. My parents quickly caught on to my hobby and for my thirteenth birthday I got brushes, paint, an easel and canvases. My dad even cleared half of the garage and repurposed it into a studio, so that I wouldn’t stink up my room with colour and spray paint. By ninth grade I started copying paintings, mostly trying to make the different colours as accurate as possible and even refine the shades into even more detail. I would become engrossed in different painters and their eras, going to exhibitions in the local museums and art auctions. In my first year of high school they even let me paint the whole interior of the house to my own taste, with my own colour mixes.

I was 14 when the realisation hit me. Up until then, I only ever focused on my gift and what to do with it, totally forgetting to question where it had come from. It never really struck me until one day, when my best friend knocked at my door, which wasn’t unusual. She always came around after school. Somehow, when I opened the front door and saw her standing there, everything stopped for a moment. And I thought. All through this time, the only ever constant I had, outside of my family circle, was Carrie. My best friend, who had never once changed her opinion of me when I told her about the colours. Carrie, who always understood when I had one of my creative streaks and locked myself in the studio for weekends on end. Carrie, who appreciated my work, even when I doubted myself. And our friendship never changed. She was still the shy girl, who barely spoke, mostly only when prompted, with the blond hair and blue eyes and fair skin. The one who liked to walk or stand in the shallow water looking for new sorts of seashells. The one who always kept me on the ground, when a bully would call me a sissy, when I had presented one of my works in class. The one who even stayed with me when I started getting attention from other girls, but never got jealous. The one who sat with me through every inspirational slump, keeping me from getting overly frustrated with myself. We still went out together; meet on the beach on that spot we had claimed years ago, between the cord grasses on the right side of the flagpole. And I guess over the years I subconsciously developed a crush on her and maybe, I couldn’t know for sure, but I did let myself hope.

We were in our sophomore year in high school and I accidently I confessed my hopes to her. I had invited her over to my house to show her one of my newest works, which represented our usual hang out space. What she saw instead was a painting I had currently been working on, which showed two silhouettes in the shallow water, holding each other in a tight embrace. Underneath I had written: “Do you see the colours too?” In the most elegant handwriting I could manage. However, when I tried to explain it in a flush of embarrassment, she just kissed me and told me that, yes, she likes the painting and yes, she notices the colours too. Not as long as she could remember, but for the longest time now. I thought that this had been the happiest moment in my life.

I was living the best and perfect life. I lived in a big house in a safe neighbourhood, with parents that loved me dear and were always honest with my sister and me. They were supportive of every wish or decision we’ve ever had and always tried to make it possible. They taught me to be respectful and never to get discouraged, because everything happens for a reason. I was never disappointed, I never had to rebel or fight for my rights, because everything in our house could be subjected to discussion. And when I turned eighteen I graduated high school, got a scholarship for the university I wanted to attend, had the best girlfriend I could ever imagine and with whom I wanted to spend a romantic summer trip to New York with, where we would check out each of our colleges and then go sight-seeing. Until.

It was a hot and harsh summer day, a week after graduation. It was too warm to sit outside, but Carrie and I persisted and sat under the shadow of a fake palm tree by the beach, a bag of roasted peanuts opened between us, just having come out of the water, dripping wet but refreshed. We didn’t talk, just watched the sea throwing waves to the shore and every once in a while popping a salty roasted peanut in our mouths. The sea was building high waves, then proceed to crash them right at our feet, bathing our toes in cool, baby blue water. The tension was thick and heavy between us, but it could easily be mistaken for a normal heat wave.  “I think we have to talk.” She said, in a way I had never heard her speak before. If I had to describe it in a colour, it would have looked like strained pink going onto red...like a wound that was about to start bleeding. I smiled at her, trying to dissipate the uneasiness in her voice. “Then let’s talk.” I said in a patient manner, hoping this talk wouldn’t be as bad as she made it out to be.

*

As soon as I got home, I barricaded myself in my studio and didn’t come out for the rest of the night. I didn’t talk, I didn’t cry, I didn’t scream or throw things around. I didn’t paint. I just stood there and stared at an empty canvas. I had wanted to paint something that morning, before Carrie had come over and dragged me to the beach. I don’t even remember what I wanted to paint back then, but I think it was going to be something for Carrie. But it stayed empty for good. I was locked in that studio for a solid eight hours with no wink of sleep or inspiration. I was empty; staring at that canvas, hoping something would just jump out of me onto that paper. So that I could at least find something to distract me. And it didn’t. I just sat there and I stared. And stared. And stared. Eight hours. The sun set and lit the whole room in a fiery orange, the rays coming from my window facing west, where you can see the city being overshadowed by the setting sun, like the easel with the canvas on top were casting a dark shadow upon me.  Then the sun came up again from the east this time, where the opposite window shows the Atlantic coast, and painted the room in a bright pink. I never really liked pink. Not because it’s supposedly a ‘girls colour’. Because it’s a combination of the colours red and white. The most powerful colour versus emptiness. It shows that even the strongest and most powerful can be tamed into something obnoxiously soft and delicate. But the intensity with which the colour shone had me captivated. And I observed how the light filled up the white and gave the canvas a new background. Like a new perspective, another way to see things. I got up and tried to recreate the colour. It would be the last one that would look as perfect as it looks now.

When I came out of the studio, my whole family were sitting in the kitchen eating breakfast. “Ah good, you’re awake.” My mother commented, taking a sip from her coffee. Then she tilted her head towards the empty chair next to my dad. “You must be hungry, sit down.” So I sat down and silence returned, while we all ate. I needn’t tell my parents what had happened, since they’ve most likely been informed by Carrie. “Carrie called, “My mother stated. “said, you guys have broken up.” I nodded and kept quiet. There was nothing else to say. Nothing else to add. My family didn’t press on the matter and switched the subject to the upcoming holiday. “Do you still want to go to New York?” my mother asked me. I shrugged. It was too late to cancel the B&B I had booked. And there was a College Orientation during that time I couldn’t miss. I nodded, keeping my gaze firmly set to the wooden tabletop.”I’m going to go alone.” I mumbled. My gaze still on the table. The brown oak seemed bland, overused, scraped, and slowly bleeding out of colour. There wasn’t much of a brown left on that table anyway. I wanted to tell my parents to oil it. I didn’t.

And ever since then, my sight of colours became gradually worse. It started out with little things. Things like the sky looking duller than the usual azure that greeted Boston in summer. I blamed it on my tiredness. Things like the green paint in my room seeming olive instead of the grass green I originally painted it in. I made a note of repainting the walls. Things like, a girl that I knew from school, with blue instead of originally ginger hair, which I explained with her dyeing her hair. I totally blocked little alterations out until that very moment, when my sister claimed that she’d just used the spray tan but the only colour I could see on her skin was a bright piggy pink. I wanted to cry.

*

Ian’s eyes light up in surprise when we meet on the campus of the Visual Arts College in New York. He tells me that he’d thought, with my talent, he’d meet me at the MoMA, where I’d have already sold out and not at some flimsy animation college his sister was studying at. I wanted to flee back to Boston into my studio and never come back. Ian and I’d grown up in the same neighbourhood but we were barely acquainted. He was tall and lanky and totally into Olympic disciplines he’d always needed when he had to run away from the big guys, because he’d annoyed them once too much. He did have something mischievous with his dirty blond hair standing up in all directions and his bright green eyes with golden specks and a childlike gleam in all of his looks that just seemed to scream for trouble. I didn’t see the gleam, nor could I see the golden specks, even though he stood a mere foot away from me. He’d had a girl pressed against his side that he introduced as Ally, his soul mate. He proceeded to ask about Carrie. I averted my gaze. I looked down to Ally. She had, what I only could suspect, brown hair but to my eyes, they looked gray. I couldn’t determine her skin tone because the only colour I could see was a pale green. The only thing I could say for a fact was her height. And she was tiny, pressed against a six-foot tall, lanky person like Ian. “Sick.” I ground out between clenched teeth. He laughed and then told me that, in case I was lonely tonight, I could join them. There was supposed to be a Visual Arts campus party, where I’d meet his sister too, since ‘I would study here anyways, why not have a little preview on the parties’. Ally insisted on me coming along, so I did. “We’re always happy to meet some talented freshmen.” she said with a broad smile. And for the second time that night I just wanted to flee.

Ian’s sister Cara was gorgeous. At least that’s what my alcohol induced brain made me believe when I met her later that night on the campus. She’d been making her way through the crowd when Ian pointed to her and slurred something akin to ‘this is my sister’. He had a good buzz going, from all the free drinks he’d gotten before I arrived. As soon as I had stepped on campus I’d been filled up with three ginger shots, a beer and two drinks of whatever had been in those red solo cups, even though they seemed more like pink to me, but that also could’ve been the blinking flashlights and colourful spotlights they had set up all over the place which were considerably dimming my inability to see the correct colours. I wasn’t drunk, but I knew that I was treading in dangerous territory of making a total drunk fool of myself. Cara was making her way up to us, but was stopped by people who seemed to know her well enough to hug her or kiss her on the cheek. When she finally arrived at the bench, that Ian, Ally and I had been leaning against for the past hour she immediately engulfed Ian in a bear hug and cooed something about ‘drunk baby brother’ and how she ‘loved him so, so much that little devil spawn’. Then she turned to Ally and gave her big kiss on the cheek that left a smeary lipstick stain. Ian just wanted to introduce me, when Cara let out a howl akin to a catcall. “Gosh, little Eli is not so little anymore, is he?” she crooned and gave me an eyeful. I blushed and then shrugged timidly. She just cooed and patted my cheek buoyantly. “Always the humble one.” She laughed and then leaned in conspiratorially. I could see a mischievous glint in her green eyes with golden specks, just like her brothers, and I felt like everything around me had become a bit brighter than a couple of seconds ago. I was totally convinced that it was because of Cara. Cara and her mischievous eye. Cara and her long, bright hair. Cara and her faint smell of Chanel mixed with alcohol and tobacco. I didn’t let my rational side tell me that it was the alcohol. Or the fact that someone might have turned up the lights. I just saw Cara. And I just wanted it to be her.

“Two little birdies told me that you are a very talented one.” She stage-whispered pointing over her shoulder to Ally and Ian who were now otherwise occupied. It took all of my willpower not to blush again, so that my mouth just let loose and I blurted “And you’re really pretty.” She laughed flippantly, so as if she’d heard this sentence a lot. I tried not to think of all the boys who had already tried their luck on her, as it made my skin crawl. “Come on Eli. Let’s leave those two slowpokes here to make-out with each other, while I introduce you to your new life also known as the Visual Arts School of New York!” She let out a ‘Woo!’, took me by the hand and dragged me into the crowd. I felt lightheaded from all the alcohol and all the feelings meshing within me.

Cara knew a lot of people. And I have to know at least half of them. And all of those people were nice. So, so very nice. They hugged me and said they’re happy to meet me, when Cara introduced me as ‘Eli, the master of colours! He knew them all before we even knew what colours were. It was a whirlwind of talking, drinking and dancing with Cara. At some point I was sure I didn’t even know what was happening. There were colours everywhere. Brown, green, yellow, and red. Blinking lights. A flash of what I only supposed were pink lips at the corner of my eye, when Cara shouted something to me over the loud music. I was overwhelmed and at the same time, I felt relaxed. I felt safe. I felt safe. I felt safe in way I hadn’t felt since I lost Carrie and I missed it dearly. Just like I missed Carrie. Gosh, Carrie was supposed to be here today. I dismissed the bitterness creeping into my heart. I was drunk and just didn’t want to care that night. So I fixed my gaze on Cara. And Cara was looking around, saying ‘Hi’ to people, dragging me through the crowd with her. She caught me staring and winked at me. Suddenly her eyes lit even more up. She looked at me with a bright expression, as if she’d just found the solution to cure world hunger. She stepped close to me and I could smell the ginger in her breath that fanned over my cheek while she whisper-shouted: “Eli, you genius! I just had an amazing idea!”

There were at least twenty people in Cara and Ally’s dorm. Light was provided by countless little candles that Cara had lit as soon as we stepped into the room, and the flickering lights of cigarette sticks lighting up with every drag. The air was full of smoke and music coming from the record player in the far-right corner of the room, and oldie from the sixties that everyone knew the lyrics to. I was standing in the middle of the room and held a half empty bottle of whatever some random person had pressed into my palm. Cara had rounded up some people from the campus party to come to her room, including Ian and Ally. The reason for it was that she wanted me to paint them all. She wanted me to paint them sitting around in the dorm, doing whatever they were doing at three in the morning. But especially, she wanted me to use colours that I felt, in that very moment, were right. In addition, I, in my drunk, dopey state had agreed to do so. So while I stood there Cara had brought a paper, brushes and paint and said, with an apologetic smile: “Unfortunately I don’t have an easel.”   I just shrugged so carelessly that I spilled some of whatever was in that bottle onto the floor. Cara giggled. “You’re a cute one.” I blushed and immediately set to work, because of my inability to say something adequate for this situation.

*

Waking up with a hangover is the worst. I regretted every single drink after the ginger shots and the beer. I felt awful, a tugging sensation in my stomach signalling that I had to get up, unless I wanted to mess up the carpet I was laying on. I then opened my eyes and realised that I was still in Cara’s dorm, on her floor, colour paint all over my shirt and face, dry paintbrushes in the pockets of my pants. I pushed myself in an upright sitting position, my hands propped up behind my back, were I felt a piece of paper. I grabbed it and immediately felt the bile rise in my throat. I held the “Three AM” painting in my hand and it looked horrible. I must’ve been proud in my drunken state though, because I could make out my signature on the bottom right corner. Mostly I graced paintings with my signature when I deemed them finished. Which this disgrace was far from. The strokes were messy, no clear lines were drawn, faces of people looked like bright blotches in a dark messy background. My drunk self didn’t even bother mixing the right colours together, so everything just looked like a big brown expanse of nothing. Just like I felt in that very moment. I couldn’t look at it for long, since I had to run over sleeping bodies on the floor, to search the bathroom, trying not to make more of a pathetic idiot of myself than I already was.

The bathroom wasn’t occupied and I was glad, because as soon as I bent over the toilet, the bile in my throat was let loose. I heaved, retched, and panted into the bowl, almost crying cause of the awful soreness in my throat, my stomach and most importantly, the pain I felt in my heart. When I was sure that I had emptied all the contents out of my stomach, I propped myself up on the toilet seat and took a deep breath. I raided the cabinets in hope of mouthwash and was happy when I found one still quite full. I rinsed my mouth and washed my face with cold water. Still feeling awful but more like myself, I stepped out of the bathroom and immediately crashed together with Cara, who probably was on her way to take a shower, judging by the towel wrapped securely around her chest. I stuttered out an apology but she only smiled at me tiredly and said: “First coffee and then talk.” And when I looked into her eyes, I realised that they were brown.

I fled. Without saying goodbye to neither Cara, Ally nor Ian, who was snoring away on the floor in the small space between the couch and the coffee table. I didn’t even bother writing a note. I couldn’t stay. How could I be so foolish, thinking that it could be Cara? I was drunk, for god’s sake. Drunk and lonely. Drunk and lonely and in need of a distraction from all the fading colours around me. I had been so naive to think that I would find my soul mate immediately. And I felt heartbroken. More than when I told Carrie that we couldn’t be together. More than the time, when I realised that the colours were fading. I was utterly heartbroken. The pain was so strong, I didn’t know how to handle it. It was something I was not accustomed to at all. And I wanted it to go away. So I had to something about it. I had to find my soul mate. Best before the school term started. I packed my bags and left New York earlier than intended. I fled. But this time with the intention to come back.

*

The idea of finding your soul mate sounds ridiculous, since one doesn’t really know anything about their soul mate except for the fact that their whole world lights up just by looking at them. And for me it was even more ridiculous because it could be anyone in this whole damn country, for I have met this person somehow, somewhere during a time I couldn’t remember, because fate decided it would be fun to make me look for him when my life had been at its best. The accusations were harsh, because in the end life would always turn out to be fine and I’d probably be happier with my soul mate than with anyone else in the world. But in this moment I just felt disappointed. Fate had given me a gift, a passion that I had worked with all my conscious life and when I was finally trying to make something out of this passion, as Mrs Gardener had suggested all those years ago, fate thought I wasn’t ready for it. It was taken from me and it frustrated me. It frustrated me to be reduced to something I hadn’t been before. I was seen as a person with potential, as someone special, the chosen one, a Wunderkind so to say. Now I was just like somebody, who’s trying to find love. To find love and feel fulfilled.      

My first attempt at finding my soul mate had me searching through our attic in hope of finding that old friends-book, where I had logged quite a lot of people during those years I’d been in possession of it. I concluded from living in the same place all my life that it must be one of the people in these books or someone who moved away when I was little. This book had them all reported. It took me half an hour of rummaging through boxes to find the blue dolphin themed notebook. I let out a happy sigh and immediately opened it up. On the first page I recognized my scrawny eleven-year-old writing. I turned the page and there was Amy, my little sister. On the third page was Carrie. “My best friend”, was written over her name in big bold letters that I recognized as mine. Melancholy hit me hard, reading through the lines she’d filled out and I grew teary eyed, when I read the line “What do I like about you?” and her answer was simply: “...that you like me.”

I had always suspected that Carrie hadn’t had the life anybody wished for. With her mom always being away because of work and her father dabbling in politics and doing whatever curious things he was doing in the shed in their backyard. She would barely invite me over, but when she did, she would act all awkward and distant and always steer me up into her tiny bedroom consisting of a tiny twin bed and a toy chest, that had later been replaced by a desk, that resembled more a badly repurposed coffee table than the actual desk. Her dad would sometimes call up in a harsh manner that he is off to work and that is literally the only interaction I ever had with him. My parents took Carrie in, just as if she was one of their own. With my parents’ love and devotion for her, she could at least pretend to have a normal life. That was probably also a reason, why she unconsciously sought out my presence and family. Because my family was normal. Because I had everything to offer that her parents didn’t. She’d become hung up on me. And I did the same. I always sought out to her because I knew I’d always have her. Her attention, her attraction, her admiration. All of her. She loved me with her whole heart and I needed that love to spark my inspiration.

In order to avoid more hurtful feelings towards to our friendship, I turned to the next page. Most of the people that wrote into the friend’s book, I didn’t even talk to anymore. It was just what life was. As a kid you get on well with a lot of people and count them as your friends. But you grow up and people change. Their interests start to differ from yours, their circles of friendship widen, they change, you change. There are kids in this friend’s book that moved away. People you’ve met once and then they left. Army brats. Rich kids. Poor kids. Kids with pets. Kids with allergies. And then there’s Rosie. The clever kid. She was always so attentive. She’d take one look and tell you exactly what you’d crave for dinner. She was candid, chatty, touchy and always full of surprises. We were both little when she moved in our neighbourhood from England and all through the years she would keep her British accent. She was consistent, that way. Stubborn, determined, always trying to prove a point.  And that’s what would make her get into lots of trouble at school. Mostly because she would talk back. We all knew she just wanted to help out. But our teachers were having none of it. Her father, a short man with blond hair going slowly going gray and soft features, never seemed to bother with punishments for Rosie, when she got in trouble. I would see him come to pick her up after school, and she would hand him the yellow paper slip, which he would look at and then smile softly at her, patting her short bright blonde hair. Something in his gaze always told me, that Rosie reminded him of someone who must’ve been very important to him a long time ago.

Rosie knew immediately that I could see colours. She never mentioned it though. Only once, when she invited me to her detective birthday party and I asked her what she’d wanted as a present. She’d leaned over to me and whispered in a very serious tone: “I want you to paint me something in your most favourite colours.” I was startled and sputtered: “How-wh-what do you want me to paint?” She giggled: “You were so obviously trying to hide it from the others, but I’ve seen your colour paintings in school! It’s so fascinating, finding someone who sees the colours so clearly!” She then looked at me with a fond sigh she said: “Of course I see colours, Eli. I learned it!” The look I must’ve given her must’ve been incredulous because she started laughing: “My godfather, he lives in Canada; he’s a very clever one. He taught me.” I was intrigued and just wanted to ask a question, when her father shouted for her to hurry up. She shouldered her backpack and smiled at me saying that she was looking forward to my present. Two days later she left. From what our teachers had told us, Rosie’s father had to go back to England and Rosie went to live with her godfather.

The Google results were more than satisfactory. I found Rosie Morstan immediately. And I realised that her cleverness hadn’t ceased. She was the top of her class, had studied at Harvard, finished with a master’s degree in forensic science by the age of seventeen and was now working for the Portland PD in Maine, as one of the youngest Scientists in America. I laughed. That could only be Rosie Morstan: know-it-all. Insatiable curiosity, always wanting more, trying everything to get it right. She had become pretty. Tall and slender, blond curly hair, lightly tanned, wearing smart clothes and thin gunmetal framed glasses. She looked intellectual. And very pretty. It took two hours and twenty minutes on the coach and half an hour of searching the Police Department in Portland until I was finally standing in the entrance hall, waiting for a receptionist, two days after I found Rosie in my friend’s book, in hope she might help me. I didn’t really know what help I was looking for, but I knew Rosie was clever. She might know. She will know. The receptionist was nice enough to let me pass after I stuttered out a highly dubious story about me being an old friend from university and looking for some help in a very-she interrupted me, indifferent tone audible, directing me to the second floor, Laboratory, Room 227.

Rosie wasn’t alone in the room, as I could see clearly visible from the glass window planted in the middle of the door. I knocked nevertheless. She looked up, catching my gaze, her whole face lighting up in surprise as she rushed to the door to open it and tugging me into a bone-crushing hug. She lets go of me, only her hands holding my shoulders at arms length. “Eli Morel!” she exclaimed cordially. “Thought I’d never see my favourite artist again! How are you? How’s Boston? Haven’t been there in a while-“She stopped. Her gaze became more observant. More scrutinizing. “Cole?”, she shouts, her gaze not wavering from mine. A man in scrubs rushes over, the blue of his ‘outfit’ starkly contrasting with his dark skin. “I trust that you can finish that dissection yourself, I’ll be back in an hour or so.” Cole nods, eyeing me up and down and then rushes over to the table again, while Rosie pushed me out of the room down to a little office. While she was getting rid of her scrubs and putting on her jacket, she talked about her current case, a murder of a man by his supposed soul mate who claims to have known nothing of this. “With this technique, we’re able to determine, if the dead person has been seeing colours at the time of death.” She explained while she was putting the second boot on and then grabbed her battered backpack. “Let’s go get coffee, here across the road of the PD.” And she walked out ahead, greeting the secretary in the foyer and stepping out into the sun.

The coffee was mediocre at best but the cafe was cosy and not too busy, when we had stepped in. We ordered one coffee each at the bar and sat down in a boot in the corner. Then she started talking. “You’re lost.” She stated, after a sip of coffee. I shrugged, not knowing what else to say. I had known exactly that Rosie had seen right through me, from the first moment she had laid her eyes on me. “Was it Carrie?” she asks and I laugh bitterly. “I wish it had been Carrie. And Carrie had wished the same.” She nodded. “And now? With no knowledge of your real soul mate, you lost the ability to see colours. Right?” I nodded again. “I was hoping I would find her in my friendship book.” I admitted. “Then I stumbled over your page.” “And you hoped that I could help you out.” A long silence settled in which we both sipped our coffee. “It has to be someone from your past.” She suddenly said and looked at me. “I already tried that.” I mumbled, sadly. “It only led to heartbreak.” She scoffed. “As if Carrie is the only person from your childhood.” I realised in that moment, that her accent hadn’t changed one bit. She still had that infamous British dry humour. I looked over to her. “You said that you could see colours too.” I said, remembering the conversation before she had left for Canada. She smiled bitterly. Indignantly. “Yeah. My godfather taught me, when I was little. But he had neglected to tell me that he only taught me to determine colours from their black and white shades.” I spluttered out an incredulous laugh. “He did what?” She nodded darkly. “Betrayed me. I had to learn later on, when I met my father’s new wife, what seeing colours actually meant.” She looked defeated. Sad. I could only guess the residual anger in her in eyes. Her pretty green eyes. They looked so clear. I put my hand on her shoulder. She looked over to me. “Not that I fell in love with my dad’s new wife, mind you. I had lost a very good friend in that time.  That time when I had to move to bloody Canada, because this stupid woman wanted to go back to England. And my stupid father went with her, left me with my godfather.  Actually he’d been more of a father for me than my real one anyway.” She sighed. “He came back. Later. When we moved here. My godfather kicked him out. Told him never to come back again.” She laughed dispassionately. And that was it. This was the turning point.

In that moment I felt her betrayal. I felt the residual anger, the disappointment and the grudge towards a person she’d trusted. Two people. “What’s with that person you lost back then?”, I asked genuinely curious. Her pale face contorted into something like exasperation that made her freckles pop out even brighter than I they already were. The crinkles by her eyes throwing dark shades on her high cheekbones, when she squinted her eyes at me in a disbelieving gaze. “I am honestly baffled by your horrible obliviousness.”, she exclaimed. “Look at you! So vacant! Is it nice not being me?” She sighs wantonly. “It must be so relaxing.” And then she leaned over, braced her hands on my shoulders, and put her lips on mine. It wasn’t brief. Nor was it wet, or worse: disgusting.  It was a kiss. No spark, no flame, no fluttering heart. Just a touch of her thin, soft lips on mine. Unconsciously, my hands had found a place on her waist. I squeezed the soft cotton lightly and broke the contact. Her eyes were wide, a shade of grey cast over her irises a faint blush of baby blue high on her cheeks and I knew immediately: That was bad. That was not only bad, it was totally inconvenient. I didn’t even know how all of this could have happened. Why all of this had happened. I had never seen Rosie as that type of person. I had never suspected her liking me. And I felt puzzled. How could she-? Then it dawned on me. As a kid, thinking you could see colours was immediately connected to the person you liked and Rosie, thinking she could see colours, thought I had been her soul mate. And I guess that crush never really left, although she knew she didn’t really see the colours with me. She seemed to have gotten it too, casting her eyes down, grabbing her bag, throwing it over one shoulder and murmuring, “I’m so sorry.” Then she rushed out of the coffee shop, crossed the road and disappeared into the old building of the Police Department, that couldn’t have possibly had a bright yellow facade. I followed this whole commotion with a dazed gaze.

The dazed look stayed while I proceeded to bide my time, by walking aimlessly around in the City in hope of a very welcome distraction. However, everywhere I looked, reminded me of what had happened in that coffee shop. Buildings that had impossible colours, people with impossible skin-tones, or eye colours, even road signs with impossibly neon green markings.

I somehow ended up at a bar. It was a tiny bar somewhere in the dumps of the big bumbling city. I didn’t even remember how that had happened. There were barely any people in that bar. The bartender was a huge man in his late fifties, with long hair and a long beard. He had tattoos all up and down his arm that moved in a gentle rocking sensation, as he was drying a beer glass with a brown towel, while an underage looking boy, who was miserably failing even to get a beer out of this man, was chatting him up. He just shook his head and told him, he’d give him any soda on the menu for free if he’d just stop asking for anything alcoholic. The guy, short buzzed hair, dark skin and shorter than me, rolled his eyes and muttered something under his breath that sounded Spanish. A Latino then. He sighed and then asked for a coke. The bartender smiled at him condescendingly as he shoved a tall glass full of soda towards that guy, who grudgingly handed him a five dollar bill, that the old man took, while he put down the beer glass he was rubbing dry and then moved over to the checkout, where I was standing, waiting my turn. I didn’t even bother to act all manly, because I was underage and it was obvious. So I ordered a ginger ale. The bartender looked me over and then said: “You sure you don’t need a dry gin, son?” I shook my head tiredly and handed him my ID. He scoffed, without even sparing a glance at the card in front of him. “I knew you were a greenie when you entered this room, you just seem to need a bit more than a ginger ale.” I sighed and shook my head again, taking the bottle and laying the bright blue five-dollar bill on the counter. “Jus’ a little refreshment.” I sighed and took a sip. I let my gaze wander around the bar. There were people scattered all through the boots. Some huddled over a glass, some eating, a girl with blinding pink hair was sitting in the corner reading a smart looking book. It was quiet save for the music, softly sounding through the stereo.

Soon enough the bar started filling up. Men in suits out for an after work beer, regulars that greeted Frank  the bartender, couples that went out for a date, girlfriends, boyfriends. People, so many, you could get lost in them. I was still sitting on that barstool. Another bottle of ginger ale in front of me. The music got gradually louder, people shouting requests at Frank, who obliged happily and then turned to tend the people waiting for another drink. The Latino was long gone, probably mingling in the crowd. I had been set on leaving an hour ago. But I felt comfortable there. In that bar, my elbows propped on the counter, my head laid in my palms, my eyes downcast or wandering around. Suddenly a song started playing loudly over the speakers and people started shouting. I scarcely heard someone naming the song. A-ha. Something I was familiar with. I looked over to the commotion the song had caused in the free space between the booths, where people were moving. The people that knew the lyrics (a surprising lot) sang the verse. Just when the pre-chorus started a body brushed against mine, almost pushing me out of my seat. Then I heard a tipsy voice chirp, “Sorry!” and a wuzz of curls appeared on my left side. A rather short girl with an afro heaved her upper body onto the counter and stretched out her arm, waving a bundle of bills with her left hand towards Frank, who was busy serving other guests, probably having the same request. She seemed to have caught my gaze, because she shot me a dirty look. “What?! I am of age, you dumbass.” I was taken aback. I had had no doubt that this girl was older than me, save for her height. Nevertheless, that didn’t seem to bother her at all, since she was still lying on top of the counter, her short legs dangling in the air. “No doubt.” I said and tried for an apologetic smile but seemed to have failed miserably, since her expression softened. Frank turned towards her and asked for her orders. “Give me...” she stopped, pulling herself upright, “give me...” She resolved in a thinking hum. Then she lit up. “Give me... two Bacardi Cokes.” She said and gave me a once over with something akin to interest in her eyes. “Someone needs to chase his shadows away.” I immediately wanted to decline but she sent me a glare that just said, It’s just a drink.

Two Bacardi Cokes and a dry gin later, I was on the makeshift dance floor, trying not to make a complete fool out of myself. However, Billie, who was just as intoxicated as me, moved clumsily towards me, took me by the hands and guided me to the rhythm of an old ABBA Song, I didn’t really know back then. Billie, a twenty-three year old music student, part time music shopkeeper, and professional singer was singing along. Her lips, clad in dark lipstick formed the words in an almost obscene way when the chorus started and she sung in full volume “Voulez-vouz?” and looked into my eyes with a mischievous glint in her dark ones, her hair tickling my chest and throat when she moved closer towards me, her arms wrapping around my neck her body warm and solid against mine and I suddenly understood the question. I finally got her advances, why she had bought me drinks. I knew what would come next. And I also knew I was too tired, drunk, resigned, needy –too anything- to deny her request. Her eyes never left mine, the melody subsiding, changing into another song with a strong bass-line and she licked her lips in a seductive manner. And I just leaned down and kissed her.

*

The bus station was full of students going home for the weekend on a Saturday morning at seven am and I felt just the same as they did. Hung over, exhausted, just waiting to get home and feel the comfort of your own room and a hug from your mother: warm, familiar, loving. Billie had still been sleeping when I left. At least, this time I remembered writing a little note saying that I was sorry, and that I hoped I hadn’t done anything wrong and that I had a good night. But I didn’t bother writing down my number or address. I had been looking for any sort of distraction last night. And she just conveniently had been there. Nothing more and nothing less. I hadn’t thought about this idea at all that night until I had met Billie. Even then it took me three drinks and ten songs to get the gist. I just didn’t understand why it felt like there had been a huge hole stamped in my chest. There, where my heart was supposed to be. And this hole was oozing guilt. Confusion. Anger. Despair. And just like all the other hung over students, I slept the whole way to Boston. Because I didn’t know what else to do with myself. Because I had given up on my search even before it had started. Because life just didn’t begin until you were in. Until you accepted your fate. And I finally did understand.

*

Fate did mean well with me, prompting my decision to move to New York two weeks before the term started, so I could make myself feel a bit more home. Summer job done, garage studio packed and tidied up and I had spent a week with my Grandparents in Virginia. The rest of the time, I spent by the beach doing nothing at all. This whole journey had exhausted me so hard, emotionally and physically, that I needed a good times rest. The only thing I had yet to do was to clear my room. Getting rid of the old and unnecessary stuff, packing the things I held dear. I pushed it out to the last minute for only one reason. I hated getting rid of stuff I didn’t need any more but remembered how much I liked it when I had gotten it. Like a little box full of minerals in different colours, each representing another approach in life. The wooden box was labelled “soul stones”. I had no need for them anymore. However, looking through them one more time was like going back in time, remembering all the times I had worn one of these stones as a lucky charm in the pockets of my pants or jacket, feeling the cool, smooth, soothing surface of the stone in the palm of my hand whenever I had felt anxious. Or the little Harry Potter figurine I had won in a children’s auction betting full five Dollars on it. My mother had almost killed me when she found out. Or the little Blue Time Machine that I had made in a handicraft class, because I was so obsessed with the show it belonged to. All these little knick knacks that just didn’t define me anymore but held so much meaning.

While I was rummaging through my stuff, really trying to throw these things out I hadn’t spared a glance at in ages I came over a stack of books. Kid’s books, mixed with thrillers, novels, sticker books and teen magazines. I started looking through them, putting those away I didn’t need, others that I thought my sister would like and some of them that I wanted to take with me to re-read them. And as I was scanning through the stack, I came across a book looking a bit different from the others. It had a pastel purple book cover with teddy bear stickers strewn across the page. The title was written in dark purple curvy letters saying: “My first journey!”  Then I realised that this was a photo album. I turned the title to the first page. And I immediately recognized the elegant writing of my mother filling in the blank space next to “Where did we go to?” with “Chicago” and then the year of the visit. I must’ve been only three years old then, considering the following pictures were made in springtime and I hadn’t had my fourth birthday yet. The pictures were simple, family pictures, me holding my baby sister in my lap smiling toothily at the camera, me padding around the hotel room with crayons in my pudgy hands, me on the playground, sitting in a sandbox, intent on making a sandcastle, my tongue stuck out in concentration and, sat right next to me, a girl in a purple dress, trying to help me with the castle. I turned the page again and there she was again. This time it was a picture of the two of us, my arms wrapped around her tiny shoulders, holding her in a sideways hug. I must have been in the middle of saying something, when my mother had taken the photo. The little girl just grinned with a blush adorning her chubby cheeks one arm disappearing behind my back. On the following picture I was kissing her cheek, my eyes squeezed shut and my arms still around her shoulders, while she was in the middle of a laugh, her eyes wide in surprise. Below that snapshot I found a couple of scribbled words. I deciphered the first line as what I only suspected to be her name: Nora Jones. My mother must’ve accidently spilled something over the corner of that page because the rest of the note was indecipherable. I groaned in frustration, just when my mother decided to come and check up on my packing. “What did you find there?”, she asked, coffee mug between her hands and then sat next to me. Her face lit up in realisation. “Oh, little Nora!” she exclaimed. “You were absolutely smitten, even though you had just met her. I remember you loudly proclaiming to her, that one day you would find her, slay a dragon and marry her.” She laughed. “Then you kissed her cheek, like the little romantic you were.”I looked at her, brow furrowed in concentration. “Mom-“ I started but stopped myself, shaking my head.

I wouldn’t let myself hope. I had said the same thing about Carrie too. I had let myself hope and it had ended with her lying to me. “I think you should know that I haven’t totally been honest with you.”, she had said that fateful afternoon. The sun shone mercilessly onto our heads. “And I think I should apologise in advance for that. I should’ve talked to you about this earlier. I just didn’t know how.” I had been confused. Why should she apologise?  She hadn’t done anything that I would deem bad. “I don’t know what you mean.” I said for the lack of better words. She took another deep breath, had detached her gaze from the horizon and had immediately fixed me with a determined look. “Ever since I’ve got to know you, you showered me with love and attention. Something I’d barely feel when I was at home. You gave me everything I needed: peace, time, support and help whenever I needed it. You put me before yourself, even when you were struggling with things yourself. You gave me a sense of security and shelter. And taking that all in...Well I guess it gave me the ability to perceive certain colours; the ones you call primary colours. Red, blue, yellow and green.” She had looked at me with an unsure glance. I had totally been thrown out of my depth. For some reason I had wanted to argue that green wasn’t a primary colour. However, nothing had come out of my mouth. I hadn’t understood. “So you...” I looked at her with a dubious gaze, only now catching up with everything she’d said. “Don’t see colours?” And she nodded her head; her cheeks had flared up in an embarrassed crimson red. I had been appalled. “That means-“I had stuttered out a couple of incoherent words before settling with, “not my soul mate?” She had just shrugged: “I mean... it was always kind of obvious that I’m not your soul mate. But you love me none the less. And I love you. We were meant for each other, weren’t we? From the beginning to the end: Eli and Carrie. And we can work around the whole seeing colours thing, can’t we? It’s also not uncommon for people not to get together with their soul mate, I read-“And on that point I had had to interrupt her and had asked in an almost hysterical voice: “So you don’t want to find your soul mate?” She laughed, probably a bit too bubbly for a situation like this one. “Do I have to, when I got you? Don’t you see? I would even give up seeing colours, just to be with you!” And that had been the breaking point. I had freaked out. I had leapt to my feet and had taken a good couple of steps away from her. I was frantically shaking my head while continuously murmuring: “No, no, not true...”

Her happy expression had morphed into a worried one, as she slowly had pushed herself up out of the sand. “Eli, what’s wrong?” she asked in an uncertain tone, taking a tentative step towards me. I stepped away, stopped shaking my head, blinked. “Please tell me you’re joking.” I demanded. Her eyebrows furrowed.  “I’m dead serious Eli. Why would you need a random person to walk into your life, proclaiming to be the right one for you, just because you both see colours, when you could easily just have someone who’s been there for you all your life? Why is it so important for you?” A hysterical sound emitted through my lips,  deep from within me. “Why, you ask? Why is it -“I sighed harshly, turning my head away from her. “All my life has been about colours Carrie. Even as a child I wouldn’t stop thinking about colours! I have been working with colours since I was eleven years old! In September I will be studying colours and their effects in movies in New York! And you are asking me why-“Blood red anger was coursing through my veins. I had needed to leave. “I think I have to go.” I had to leave this place. “I’ll call you later.” I lied. I had picked up my towel and the little duffle bag with art supplies that I always had with me and left.

And now there was this little girl (she probably wasn’t that little anymore), to whom I had proclaimed my love for with only three years of age. It made sense. I couldn’t remember anything of that fateful meeting but the colours had been there. I could be wrong and I had just been born with the ability to see colours, because fate wanted me to. My mother who was sitting patiently alongside me, waiting for me to wake up from my reverie just gave me an encouraging nod. “Go Eli. Do whatever that brilliant head of yours just thought of. Fate has a funny way of leading us into the right direction. We just have to listen to it.”

*

Imagine a perfectly dramatic scene. Imagine a mild breeze, dark clouds and an occasional dark rumble of a distant thunder. It’s still hot outside, the humid air charged with some sort of familiar tension. A tension so thick you could cut it with a knife. A tension that only needs a snap of the fingers to set off a life changing chain of events. A tension that makes crawl out of your skin. Imagine a six-foot tall, scruffy looking guy standing in front of your school, located in one of the smaller outskirts of Chicago. Imagine the kids on the schoolyard shooting careful, wary glances towards him. Fearful, he might pull out a gun at any moment. Imagine the weird looks they’re sending him. There’s no person brave enough to go up to him. No person kind enough to offer help. They just cast sideway glances at him, walk past him, trying to ignore this overpowering presence standing in their schoolyard. Standing in my schoolyard.

Now imagine walking out of the school into the schoolyard and he sees you. He looks at you and he stumbles over to you, something similar like relief lighting up in his eyes. He looks like he might faint from exhaustion, his face pale, his eyes sunken in and his limbs shaking. He looks like he is taking his last steps towards you, barely holding him together. Then he puts his hands on your shoulders and shakily sighs something like “finally”, as he sags into a kneeling position and starts crying. In that moment you are faced with a decision: Either you walk away and let the boy lying on the floor hoping the janitor finds him and calls an ambulance or- you help him up.

 This is where I was standing. I am Nora Jones and I have a decision to make. Either I went with Mila, who was waiting for me a few steps away; sending me sharp looks saying ‘leave it be!’ The girls of my class had already started whispering, there were various kids holding their phone cameras towards the commotion and giggle ‘this is going viral!’ Tommy was walking out of the school, his eyes fixing mine with a confused expression asking: “Do you know this guy?” The wind was picking up, slowly but surely. Or I stayed. The wind didn’t deter the people around me. It didn’t deter me either, because I had someone holding me down. Someone that kept me grounded. Literally. I looked down to the shaking figure below me. From somewhere deep within me surfaced, or dare me say resurfaced this odd feeling of clarity, like something clicking into place and I couldn’t exactly place what. But when I looked up again, I saw them, the colours.

They faded away for a fraction of a second into a black and white filter before their sudden brightness hit me. In that exact moment it started raining. Those fat, heavy raindrops that soaked you to the bone fell from the grey clouds that had become so dark, they seemed dark green; the dusty pavement cleared up to leaden colour and became a contrast to my piercing red backpack to my right. It was like a sensory overload. Suddenly I had a clear vision, as if the rain rinsed this film away from my eyes that had been blinding me for more than a decade now. I heard the rain rushing, I heard the people around me chattering as they opened their umbrellas or pulled up the hoods of their raincoats. I heard the words ‘creepy’ and ‘wet’ and the question ‘what is going on?’ I could faintly hear someone saying my name. I felt the arms around my calves and the warmth they were spreading through my body. Then I felt a tugging sensation on my shoulders and I couldn’t help but pull away from it, feeling like it burns. I feel the tugging again and I pull away again harder. I want to scream at the pulling sensation to stop, to let me have this because for the first time in forever I feel:  I feel every movement around me, every inhale I take in, every exhale I emit, every muscle twitching; I feel everything.  And as soon as I had that thought, the pulling stopped.

I look down again. I don’t know what it is, but the look of this shaking figure makes my heart clench so tight that I fear I might stop breathing at any given moment. And just then, I make the decision.

The whole place becomes quiet, only the overly deafening sound of pouring rain interrupts the silence,  as I step out of the arms encircling my legs and crouch down to the lump of a person in front of me. I push him up by the shoulders, forcing him to look at me. I see a pair of red-rimmed chestnut coloured eyes with a faint golden ring encircling the iris. His eyes are glazed over, unfocused as if he doesn’t know what is happening. For some reason I fear this boy won’t survive if I don’t get him somewhere safe. Somewhere away from the prying eyes and camera flashes. He realizes I’m looking at him his gaze clears up a little and he offers me an apologetic look. He opens his mouth like he wants to say something but I interrupt him by silently mumbling “Let’s get you away from here alright?” before helping him up by supporting him by the elbow and then putting his arm around my shoulders, letting him lean his whole body weight on me, slowly dragging him towards the exit of the schoolyard. When I walk past Mila I shoot her an apologetic look, mouthing ‘talk to you later’. I feel camera flashes go off behind my back and people conversing in a hushed tone. I concentrate on the path, trying not to get distracted by all the colours screaming at me to look at them.

When I arrive at the road I stop for a moment, calculating the closest way to the A&E, I realize the boy next to me shifts and then looks directly at me, his eyes containing a little bit more focus now. “Can we go to a coffee shop near here?” he asks. I look at him doubtfully, wanting to tell him, I’d rather bring him to the hospital, when he adds: “I just need to talk to you. Please.” He looks at me with full sincerity in his eyes and I stop in my tracks. I don’t know what to think or say. I can’t get myself to refuse. To step away from him and shout at him: ‘No, stop! You’re weird! I just want to get you to the hospital, you’re confusing me!’ like every sane person would do in this situation. But my past records show I’ve not really been sane in the first place, have I? So I smile at him and nod. “Let’s go then.”

It’s only a two-minute walk to the nearest park, which is now wiped out empty due to the bad weather. We walk on the gravelly path towards the centre of the park, the big leaves of the oaks and plane trees that line the path, shield our already soaked bodies from getting even wetter. It’s silent again. The air around us has become a pungent smell of wet grass and dust from the gravel below us. We walk freely again, him having untangled himself just as we arrived at the park, claiming he was fine; that he could walk.

Ever since then, neither one of us found it necessary to say anything. In those long moments of silence I try to take in all those glowing colours around me: The penetrating green from the leaves above and the grass beneath me suddenly have so many different shades of the same colour. The leaves of the oak a dark, shiny green and although they are small, they seem to be very sturdy and thus holding up the raindrops pretty well, whereas the leaves of the plane-tree are frail and coloured in a pale green, the veins in a prominent brownish colour, letting some raindrops trough. While walking I try to make out if the green of each grass blade is the same, but I’m not close enough to see the details. There are so many more colours I want to look closer at, like the bark on the trees, the white of my soaked converse, the unique colour of every single gravel I step on. Yet all the colours’ intensity seems to emit from one source, which is placed right next to me and I just don’t understand, how a person can radiate colour with such strong intensity unless-

I was pulled out of my thought when we arrive at the end of the path and now stand in front of a clearing, which is divided into a playground with a little additional meadow, a skate-park whose half-pipes are filled with rows of colourful graffiti and a soccer field with dark, almost rotten, wooden posts marking each goal. The line of trees has stopped; we’re standing in an open space. Just as I want to start walking towards the skater park, he stops, looks around and says: “It’s sad, how people don’t enjoy the rain as much as the sun.”

I turn my head to the right and for the first time, I really take my time to look at this boy. Well, he’s not necessarily a boy anymore. His dark skin complexion contrasts his soft bone structure of the jaw, framed by his scruffy dark locks that are tucked behind his ears falling down to his neck. I let my gaze roam around his face but stop at his eyes; Endless pits of the blackest pupils surrounded by a dark, chestnut coloured brown with a small hint of red, that radiate warmth and maturity, the red undertone giving it an adventurous, youthful glint. It was like looking into the depths of a wishing well and never seeing the water, though you heard the coin drop into it seconds ago. They seemed to radiate all the blinding saturation that surrounded us, like a golden glow streaming out of his pitch-black pupils and permeating every object around us, making it brighter than before, clearer than before. No misplaced colours, no pastel colours on neon lights, no pink lines as demarcation on a soccer field, no yellow, purple or neon orange coloured eyes, no green noses, ears or fingertips and  no avatar blue coloured skin. Everything has just fallen into its rightful place and I utter a breathless “Yeah.”

He steps closer, warm breath fanning my nose when he asks, “What’s your name?”

And in that moment everything crashes. He is a stranger. He doesn’t know me. He doesn’t know me the way my closest friends know me. He doesn’t know how I look in the morning, when I look into the mirror, with my blond dyed hair that looks army green one day and pearly white the other, with my rather rosy skin complexion and my almond-shaped eyes that some days look gray like the pavement and other days like a cloudless summer sky; With my long legs and slender arms, and how my usually straight posture sags when I sit cross-legged on the ground. He doesn’t know that sometimes on Sunday I like to lie in my bed and stare at the wall, questioning my entire existence or sit amidst dusty boxes in our attic and look at photo albums, whose pages are older than I can imagine. That how sometimes I like to dress up, wear a cocktail dress with net stockings and the next day I go out with baggy pants and a hood. He doesn’t know my name and how sometimes I despise it and sometimes I’m so proud of owning it that I want to scream it from the top of a mountain and shout it at my reflection instead. He’s a stranger. And for god’s sake, I would go crazy if he didn’t know my name. So I tell him: “I’m Nora.”

And for a moment there, surprise flashes through his features. And then it’s gone again and he takes a step back. Just then all the air I held inside me comes rushing out of my mouth in a shuddery sigh. I have to get a grip on myself again. Never has anyone ever made me feel so tumultuous and exhausted at the same time. It’s like a thousand bees buzzing in your stomach, making your whole body shake uncontrollably. It’s like throwing up a thousand times and feeling a sweet aftertaste in your mouth. It’s weird. It’s right.

I ask him about his name. “Eli.” He says. “Eli Morel.” The name instantly takes up a colour in my mind. It’s like his whole name is drenched in brown. A brown that looks like hot cocoa on a cold winter day. Like a knitted pastel coloured blanket that warms you from the inside. Like the sturdy bark of a tree you lean against in the summer, with hearty and dust covered roots that keep you grounded. I decide to research the origin of his name later.

“So, are we just going to stand here at the crossroads and get drenched?” he says after looking around. His eyes shine with mischief and genuine curiosity, a lopsided smirk pulling at the corners of his dusty pink lips.  I shake my head, still caught up in some sort of trance and point to the skate park. “We’ve to go that way.” I say and start walking. He easily falls into step with me, staying so close, that I can feel the warmth radiating from the back of his hand onto mine. For a moment I think about touching it. Just a little brush of our knuckles. Just as I want to pull away, he encircles my wrist with his thumb and pointer finger. It’s a light touch, almost as if he doesn’t realise he’s doing it. Still it shoots electric shocks up my arm and right through my heart, making it skip a beat every once in a while. I can’t bring myself to pull away, so I keep my hand right where it is, swinging it lightly back and forth.

We cross the skate park, listening to the little rivers of rainwater rushing down the half and quarter-pipes, taking in all the flashy spray paintings on the walls. I take him to the end of the place, out of the park, a turn left, a small walk down the road. ‘The little shack’ used to be a real shack that had occupied the parks equipment, but after repeated theft, they decided to store the equipment in another place. It stayed empty for a while, until a group of students repurposed it into a coffee shop, the typical hang out spot for college students. At the moment it was especially empty, because everyone was studying for the finals. I pulled him towards the coffee shop and as soon as we were inside, I realised how cold the temperature outside had become. So I pulled out two blankets from the little stand next to the entrance and turned towards Eli. “Take off your jacket and put this around yourself.” Then I pointed to the cushioned booth in the far right corner of the cafe. “Take a seat, I’ll get the coffee.” I saw that he wanted to object but I just shoved the blanket into his arms, pushing him towards the corner booth. So while Eli was situating in the shack, I went up to the counter, ordering two coffees. I looked back, to where Eli was sitting seeing him looking at me with something like curiosity in his eyes. I didn’t know what to do, when I caught his gaze so I just smiled a little sheepishly. He smiled right back and if I didn’t know better I would have thought my heart stopped for a fraction of a second. His smile was like a flash going off in the dark, over saturating every colour in the room. This whole situation felt so light and sticky like cotton candy pressed against the top of my mouth. It made me believe that even the hottest coffee couldn’t burn my tongue.

The bartender put the two coffees on the counter, flashing me a smug smile. “Coffee for dates is always on the house.” She chirps happily, winking at me. I take the mugs with a bashful expression and try to object. “We’re not-“ I start explaining but stop myself, taking a quick sip to mask my embarrassment and immediately burn my tongue. “Smells very sweet.” I  say nonchalantly, before deciding that I’ve made a fool of myself enough, taking the mugs and leaving. I sit down right in front of him; one leg crossed under the other one, and grab the navy blue blanket lying around. The atmosphere has settled to something more peaceful. The rain tapping against the iron rooftop over us, the smell of sweet coffee, the dark colours of the wood and blankets exuding a calming vibe. No tension, no electricity crackling, the air around us drying off, the heat from earlier having faded into agreeable warmth. Even Eli looks more human to me now. He even gained a little more colour in his features, his eyes not looking swollen anymore, his cheeks dusted with a darker shade than his skin colour, his posture totally relaxed, his hands no longer shaking. I remember him begging to talk to me, I remember him shaking and sobbing at my feet. I want to know what made him feel so distraught. Where did he come from? Why was he looking for me?

I want to ask him, when he says: “I’m sorry for attacking you like that earlier. I am just so relieved I found you.” He looks embarrassed for a second before adding: “I’m glad you trusted me enough to let me talk to you.” I nod, not really knowing what to say. “You must have a lot of questions.” He says then looks away, sighing. “And I honestly don’t know where to start.” I frown, not really understanding what he means. “It’s just- there’s a whole story behind this. Behind me behaving like this, looking like this.” He takes a deep breath before continuing: “I’ve gone to great lengths to arrive here and looking at your face... it made-“he chuckles breathlessly as if he couldn’t believe what he’s about to say-“it made this whole journey so worth it. I see them Nora, I see them thanks to you! I see all the colours around me and they are not confusing me anymore! And they are so very bright. And-“he stops again and fixes my eyes with a deep gaze. I see his dark pupils dilate, almost hiding the chestnut coloured iris. And the glow. Oh, this golden glow pouring out of his pupils, making me so dizzy. So very dizzy. “- they seem to come from your eyes. It’s like golden pixie dust.” He murmurs absently. Then he snaps out of it. Out of this gaze, that kept me fixed, kept me so on edge. I feel myself relax again. “I must sound so crazy right now but it’s-“And for the first time I interrupt him. “I know.”

Two simple words and yet they mean so much. His perplexed expression morphs into surprise. “You...” he tries to grasp for words but just moves his mouth like a fish. Open. Close. Open.”Pixie dust everywhere.” I say, not really knowing how to put it in words. I’m not a great talker. I used to be, but when the colours started fading, I became self-conscious.  I had never made something out of the colours, never taken advantage of my ability. I was okay with seeing them; never questioning the gift fate had given me, thinking I wouldn’t necessarily need a soul mate to see them. But then gradually everyone around me would start seeing colours upon meeting their soul mates. My friends would all talk about how happy they were, now that they could see colours. I started detaching myself from them. I had nothing in common with them. The colours faded. Suddenly skies were green, grass was blue, and water was pink.

I want to tell him everything. I want him to know why it’s so hard to express myself. How I had to learn to school my emotions, so I wouldn’t have to explain my distaste. My fear. My loneliness. But I said: “I see them better. Brighter. Clearer.” He nods excitedly as if to say, go on, I’m listening. And I take up my whole courage and say, “I feel the same. But I want to know why.” I let my eyes wander over him. Hair, face, chest, arms and hands holding the coffee mug. “You seem to know.”

He laughs breathlessly. “It’s a long story.” I shrug. “We’ve got time. There’s no one stopping you.” He sends me a look that I can’t decipher. And then he starts.

*

I don’t know for how long I have been sitting there and listening to this, frankly unbelievable, story if it wouldn’t have been for the colours. For the way he felt when he had lost them. Desperate. Angry. Resigned. Burgundy. Blood red. Pale Blue. And I myself became quite agitated with the way he perceived this whole affair. It was all about being able to see colours again. It was all about his passion. About fulfilling the need to study colours. Everything was revolving around him. Where was I in that equation? Where had Carrie been? That poor girl just wanted to be loved! This whole hunt wasn’t about slaying a dragon and saving the princess and a happily ever after. He seemed to have noticed my agitation and that I wasn’t really listening to him. So he stops, looks me over and then asks: “You alright?”

I could nod. I could say I’m fine. That I’m trying to process things. I could lie. And he wouldn’t notice. And then he would kiss me. And I would kiss him back. And he would have slew the dragon and saved the princess. And he would go back and study colours. And I would long for him. I could lie. But then I would end up in a more miserable situation than the one I was in. Therefore, I shake my head. And I say: “You’re being selfish.” He gapes at me. “Excuse me?” he exclaims. I repeat myself. “You’re being selfish.” He crosses his arms and thrusts his chin out at me. “You wanted me to tell you about my life!” He says in an accusatory tone. “Yes, I did. I wanted to know why you were searching your soul mate.” He nods self-rightfully, uncrossing his arms, already settling on continuing the story. “And I am disappointed.” I say, before he can start talking. Now he looks appalled, crossing his arms again. “Come again?” he asks, sarcasm dripping from his mouth like venom. Ah, there he is, I think spitefully, the real Eli Morel. I smile sardonically, putting my palms flat on the tabletop and leaning forward. “You are a self-centred, ungrateful, ultra-passionate artist with only one goal in mind: Individual fulfilment.” I say calmly. “And that’s the problem of the equation: X plus Y equals colours. And you’re missing the Y.” I say pointing at myself. “And I am not pleased with the X variable of the equation.” He frowns and I roll my eyes. “I am the one variable stopping you from utter bliss.” I say, somehow feeling a malicious joy from the look of utter disbelief in his features. However, that expression quickly turns into anger. “You wouldn’t! “He retorts, “Because it would keep you from seeing colours too!” He says, a smug smile openly displayed on his lips, thinking he’s gotten the upper hand in this argument. But I only shrug, directing my gaze towards my nails that are still laying on the table, clearly visible. “Not like it had been any different before you came.” I said coolly. “You’re sick.” He snaps. “And you’re overly obsessed.” I retort just as angrily and get up, grabbing my school bag from the floor and throwing it over my shoulder. “Learn how to love me more than you love the colours you’re seeing.” I spit, turn my back and stalk out of the coffee shop. The rain had stopped a while ago and only a small wind was blowing. As I walk through the park, back towards home, the colours don’t seem as intense as they used to be when I was walking through here earlier. And the only thing I wished for right in that moment was for Eli to be there and hold my hand.

[laxiq-archive]

➳ ♡ . * ˚┊ h a p p y ⏤ 𝓁𝒶𝓊𝓇𝑒𝓃 ⏤  d a y .  * ₊ ˚ ✧

☾ vιιι.ιх.хvιιι // ʟᴀᴜʀᴇɴ’s 𝟷𝟿ᵀᴴ ʙɪʀᴛʜᴅᴀʏ ☽

ପ . * ˚ ₊ for those who don’t know lauren...,

  she is:         ♡ very witty         ♡ kind hearted         ♡ beautiful         ♡ amazing 12/10 recommend you follow her

let me tell you a bit more about her. 

firstly, she is horrendous with words. every now and then i could use a compliment, or when i’m sad i would like some soft words to make me feel better . .

 so i tell her . . her response 90% of the time? “yeet.”

     ♥︎ “u always look above decent.”      ♥︎ “⏤i will give you half of my liver.”      ♥︎ “basic human how r u.”

you get the point.

secondly, she has a terrible sleeping schedule and it makes me feel conflicted. let me tell you why. we live in different time zones so it’s easy for me to stay up late to talk to her. but i try to keep in mind that midnight for me means two in the morning for her. so i suggest she sleep, she refuses, and we keep talking. she’ll sleep late then wake up early for work. 

she makes me feel bad because as much as i want to talk to her when she gets off work, i know she’s tired so she should go to sleep early. but she doesn’t want to go to sleep early and the selfish part of me is glad because we get to talk more, but the rest of me feels very guilty because it’s not good for her.

thirdly, lauren has an awful diet. i feel like she eats ramen every single night. like??? it’s not healthy!! not healthy at all!! but she does it!! like, you better calm down there naruto. and i know y'all saw that post of me telling her to drink water. it’s because she had only consumed red bulls!! also not healthy!!

i could go on to tell you about other stuff she does.

   - reminds me every chance she gets that i’m short    - leaves our relationship on read    - the numerous times she’s fallen asleep on me    - made me sad once . . or twice . . thrice    - etc. etc.

what i am trying to tell you is lauren is not perfect. she has her flaws, she makes me sad at times, and i always wonder what she thinks of me because she’s never serious . . it’s all these negative things that reminds me just how incredibly human she is.

i adore everything about her, even these traits of hers. she is very bad with words but an incredible communicator. she’s willing to sacrifice sleep so we can talk about stupid stuff. she’s so real with me, not afraid to hide parts of her life with me, even the ugly stuff, and i really admire her these things about her.

she’s someone i talk to so often that it’s become easy to tell her stuff that i wouldn’t tell other people. so often that it’s easy to tell / show her how much I care about her. so often that my day feels incomplete strange if i don’t talk to her. she’s apart of my daily routine and i'm so blessed to have her apart of my life.

today is her nineteenth birthday, and i just want to attempt to put my feelings into words, just for her, on this beautiful thursday. ‧₊˚ ଓ

           ‧₊˚✧.  нαppy вιrтнdαy тo yoυ                          нαppy вιrтнdαy тo yoυ                     нαppy вιrтнdαy deαr lαυreɴ                          нαppy вιrтнdαy тo yoυ ‧₊˚✧

➳ ♡ . * ○┊ 𝒹𝑒𝒶𝓇 𝓁𝒶𝓊𝓇𝑒𝓃, 

   this is kind of hard; you already know my feelings. i was thinking about what to say to you now . . and i want you to know the depth of these feelings. but how do i express them to you? i’m not entirely sure to be honest. so i’ll just say whatever’s in my heart and hope my sincerity can reach you, despite the distance between us.

   a few months ago we met on this horrid site. i remember wanting to talk to you because i would read your tags and laugh, so i did my best to initiate a lame excuse of a conversation with you. ever since then you’ve become someone i cherish dearly. i want you to feel bliss every day of your life but that’s too unrealistic. so i hope that every day you heal, even if it’s just a little, and steadily grow into the person you want to be.

   truthfully, from the beginning, i felt very comfortable with you. maybe it was because of your carefree attitude, or maybe it was the kindness you showed me? perhaps it was our keysmash convos. whatever it was, it felt really natural to talk to you.

   since that day, my comfort has been growing with each joke, with each intimate moment, with each confinement. that comfort has recently evolved into something deeper. with you, i have reached a level of vulnerability. i feel like i could show you all of my weaknesses and i trust that you wouldn’t use that information to hurt me.

   ah, the depth of my love for you. where do i begin? you’re constantly on my mind; i see things that remind me of you, i hear songs and i wonder if you would like them. i worry for you when an hour passes and i haven’t received a response from you. you’re literally the only person i have no issues with when it comes to messaging back and forth all day every day.

   you already know that i sometimes act motherly to you because i truly want what’s best for you, right? i don’t intend to be annoying, and i know i can come across as just that sometimes when i constantly ask if you’re tired, or what time you work, or when i very lightly nag you for doing something dumb. but i do that all out of love. wow, i really do sound like a mother i am so sorry.

   i am not sure how else to explain to you my love for you. it’s like . . you’re my favorite human. i’m interested in everything about you ⏤ from your thoughts to your lifestyle to just you in general. i hope that someday in the future we can meet and go to an observatory. we can talk and watch the sun set before learning about the stars, it’ll be great i promise.

   i won’t ever forget those moments i spent on my vacation. when i was alone in my hotel room and i got really bad paranoia at night and freaked out. none of my friends were answering my calls when i needed them, and i felt like i was really going to die if i didn’t escape my thoughts. but while my friends didn’t return my calls, you texted me that entire time. you made sure i was okay, tried to calm me down, and made me feel better.

   i don’t think i ever really thanked you back then, but that meant so much to me. the first night it happened i felt a sense of security with you, and i was able to feel the warmth of your heart in that cold hotel room. i am so thankful for you. above all you’re my friend, and i hope we can be friends for a long time. you have such a pure soul, i don’t want to lose a person as good natured as you.

   i haven’t told you this as much as i should but i really do appreciate you. whenever i’m upset, which is like every other night, you don’t dismiss my feelings, you don’t get annoyed, nor do you comment on how often i get the blues. instead, you worry about me and urge me to talk about what’s bothering me, while still respecting my boundaries. you’re patient with me and let me vent to you and while you’re bad with putting your thoughts into words, you still do your best to comfort me. you’ve shown me so much compassion and love, more than i deserve, really.

   you also encourage me to become comfortable with the parts of myself that i’m shy with, which is so amazing. you make me feel good about the sides of me that i am insecure about and if that isn’t supporting someone else’s growth i don’t know what is.

   you have such a kind and understanding heart, i value you very much.

  i look forward to the future days where i can learn more about you ⏤ things you don’t like, like corn dogs for example; things that upset you, like ladies yelling at you, another example; and just see more of you. i want to have more talks with you about things that don’t matter and things that mean the world to you, and i want to enjoy your presence even though we’re miles away from each other.

    what i’m trying to say, in a nutshell, is in this short amount of time you’ve become my best friend. i love you very much lauren and i wish nothing but the best for you this year. happy birthday my goblin. 💘

                                               ⏤ 𝒶𝓃𝑔𝑒𝓁 ପ♡⃛ଓ

[the-everqueen]

oh also! when Alex said he was "gone that one year" in the last ficlet, what was he referring to?

for reference, that’s this fic. i could have given a short answer, but instead y’all get the long and Sad one. fair warning: this is the Bad Summer. heed the tags.

Coming onstage to scattered applause, Alex bows to the dozen or so students and teachers in the audience before he takes his seat and launches into the Rachmaninov.

His mind wanders while he plays. A new trick, something to keep him from smashing the keys and screaming endlessly during lessons with Jefferson, or these masterclasses, one after another, people picking apart his every gesture. Crescendo more in measure ninety-two, don’t flick your eyes at that point, listen to the tone listen to the tone listen to the damn tone, as though the quality of that particular B-sharp will make or break his entire performance. As though they would care if it did.

He thinks of Eliza, always. Her lilac perfume, the saucy curve of her mouth, the softness of her skin at vital  points - throat, wrist, hip - and her voice going high and breathless when she comes. Maybe the tenderness he feels for her will come through the music, where he feels nothing. Like masturbation: get off on a fantasy. Except these days Alex can’t even find release; performing always leaves him drained, chasing the ghost of a feeling.

He should be with Eliza, he thinks, as he moves into the agitato section. Last summer she brought him to stay with her family at their lake house: the two weeks are a warm haze in his memory, full of her and lemonade and sun on the water. If he were there now, he would play for her: mess around on the Schuyler piano and write silly lyrics for her to sing along.

Instead he is here, at the Aspen Summer Music Festival. Because he needs the connections, because Jefferson told him it wasn’t optional. A nine-week carnival of masterclasses and seminars and recitals. Alex hasn’t stopped playing since the first day.

He is so tired.

He finishes the piece. Drops his hands into his lap. The guest pianist - someone famous from Peabody or Colburn, Alex doesn’t care - comes around to him and starts into his critique. What is your intent for this piece? How long have you been working on it? The usual questions and Alex gives short answers or non-committal grunts. Just let him go, send him offstage, shut up shut up shut up -

“Good work,” the guy tells him, and Alex escapes back into the audience.

He takes an aisle seat, next to a girl hunched over a black binder. IMSLP, he thinks, free sheet music online - the go-to for broke students like him. Jefferson hates the loose pages, so Alex had to sacrifice a hundred bucks for Urtext editions. At least he took first at that one competition; the prize money meant he could afford express shipping.

The next victim appears onstage. Alex leans over to the girl and murmurs, “You playing for this thing?”

She gives a tight nod, slides the binder over so he can see the score. Brahms sonata, F minor. Huge chords and leaps, but her long, narrow fingers ghost the plastic-protected page and he knows she doesn’t have any trouble reaching. The score is almost obliterated by pencil markings: jagged cursive spells out note names, circles dynamics, and - most of it is this - fragments of sentences, including what might be a Yeats reference and the words “like Orfeo descending to Hell.”

She’s watching him. Something about her feels familiar, the wariness in her eyes, the way she chews on her lower lip, a nervous tick.  

He hands back the binder. “You’re going to be fine. Mercer - you’ve seen him - he gets excited but there’s not really any substance. No reason to be nervous.”

She doesn’t smile, exactly, but her mouth turns up at one corner. "Thanks.”

When it’s her turn, Alex claps loudly. The masterclass is an informal event, but she’s wearing a red sundress that shows her bare legs and shoulders. Her loose curls slip from their ponytail, brushing the nape of her neck.

Alex tries not to stare.

She catches his eye as she bows to the audience, and he gives her his best encouraging smile.

She’s talented. Everyone here is, but she stands out. Her selection - the third movement, the Intermezzo - and her interpretation. It’s dark and harsh, a strange characterization of a transient movement; but then he remembers the last movement is a furious rondo, and the falling melodic line feels like a moment taken out of context, raw and inexplicable. While Mercer drones on about function and form, Alex digs through his messenger bag for the program, finds the girl’s name.

Maria Lewis.

Mercer gives her some vague suggestion and ends the class. Alex stands as Maria comes back for her purse.

“That was incredible.”

"It isn’t right yet. Almost there, but…” She shrugs.

"What are you going for? I mean, not like that, everyone asks that, but to me it sounded… Tragic.  Not sad, but - Shakespeare. You see the ending coming but you’re powerless to stop it.”

She stares at him.

Alex hasn’t rambled about music since Kings. Jefferson hates it, has rules about comments in forum. Everything written, two criticisms, one compliment. Alex used to cram his index card with tiny script, trying to get it all down despite the restrictions, but Jefferson called him out so many times it didn’t seem worth it after a while. Let Callander be sloppy. Let Madison be dry and inexpressive. Focus on your own rep.

He forgot he liked talking about music.

Maria probably thinks he’s a freak, though, so he opens his mouth to apologize.

She beats him to it. “That’s how I hear it, too.”

And that confirmation is the release he’s been craving. The words pour out of him, like she nicked an artery. "I think all Brahms is tragic, maybe because the dude had such a sad life - I mean, his best friend died in an asylum, Clara rejected him - but this sonata is another level. It’s like a symphony - you know how he idolized Beethoven? Tried achieve that legacy? But the piano is too limited, too intimate for a public statement and the F minor feels like it’s trying to crawl out of its skin. Wants to be something it can’t be.”

He keeps going, on and on, his hands making broad gestures, and he’s aware he is close to her, enough to see the green flecks in her eyes, the slight swell where her breasts curve above the neckline of her dress. He stops mid-sentence, distracted, and swallows.

She tilts her head, considering. “Could you maybe help me with the second page? I’m having trouble with voicing.”

“Yes,” he says immediately, and then backtracks. “I mean, not right now, I’m supposed to rehearse Shostakovich with Will, but tonight? You’re at the Federalist hotel, right? I think they put all of us on the same floor, trying to contain the musicians. Anyway, there’s a piano in the ballroom. It’s private, but bigger - more open than a practice room. Less claustrophobic.”

She nods. “Sounds good.”

He grins, relieved. "Maybe you can give me some ideas for the Rach.”

That gets a real smile out of her. Her eyes light up, the corners creased with amusement. “Oh. I had some thoughts about that.”

“I want to hear them.”

***

Eliza calls after the rehearsal, while he’s walking back to the hotel.

“Alexander,” she says, and something in him realigns, like a compass pointing north. “How was your day?”

The masterclass springs to mind, Maria and the tiny thaw he felt, the promise of spring after an eternal winter. But that seems wrong to mention, for reasons he can’t explain, so he says instead, “Will and I rehearsed the Shostakovich. First time run through, and he can’t sight read to save his life. I don’t even know how he’s getting his master’s in piano, he could play better with his feet.”

He meant to be funny, but she doesn’t laugh. “I’m sorry,” she murmurs.

“I miss you.” It bursts out of him. “I shouldn’t have come here, I should have told him no…”

“I miss you, too. But we’ll have other summers. And it’s just one more year.”

"Yeah.” He sighs. He hasn’t told her, how bad it’s been, though she must be able to tell. She always knows. “Tell me about your day. Please. Just talk.”

She does. Describes the aria she’s working on, tells him the funny things her students said in their lessons, muses over her theme for their recital. Any other day her voice would be a comfort, but today it just makes his skin crawl with want. He presses the phone closer to his ear. Maybe if he tries, really tries, he can reach through and she’ll touch him and everything will be fine.

He gets to the hotel as she concludes her day. There’s a pause, and then: “Mom and Dad want you to come over for Thanksgiving. I know you couldn’t last year, but…”

"I wanted to, Eliza, believe me.”

"I know,” she soothes. “And if you can’t, it’s fine. I just don’t want you to be alone. Also Mom insists you need her pie, says you could stand to gain some weight.

He breathes a laugh; it sounds more like a sob. "I’m fine.”

“You haven’t had dinner, have you?”

“It’s been a long day -”

“How many Red Bulls?”

“Just two, I’m fine.”

“Alexander.”

He steps inside the lobby. Maria sees him and starts walking over. “Eliza, I have another rehearsal, last minute. I promise I’ll eat something.”

“Dinner! If it’s from a vending machine it doesn’t count.” Her voice softens. “I love you.”

“I’ll call you in the morning.”

He hangs up as Maria joins him. "So, the ballroom is down this hall - found it on the first day when I needed some practice time and the kids in the music building wouldn’t stop their pissing contests. I guess they use it for big events but the festival has taken over so no one wants to book the space. Anyway, the staff don’t mind.”

He pushes open the double doors to reveal a spacious room with rows of chandeliers and linen-draped tables. The piano stands on a raised platform at the far end, a full sized concert grand, sleek and black and sexier than a sports car. He runs his hand over the inner curve and pushes up the lid.

“Might as well hear it,” he mutters.

Maria pulls out her score.

“You don’t need that.”

“But -”

“You can’t even see the music anymore. And the words are inside you.” He pulls a fold-up chair next to the piano. “Just start. Wherever you want.”

She’s tense, her shoulders rounded and her thighs clenching, visible as her dress rides up against the edge of the bench. She has to pause a few measures in. “Sorry.”

He bumps his knee against hers. “It’s just me. We’re peers.” A thought occurs to him. “You’re an undergrad?”

"Junior. Well, senior. In the fall.”

“Ah.” Beat. “You know, this is a hard piece -”

“Look, just because I didn’t go to Julliard or Kings doesn’t mean I can’t play piano. I’m here, aren’t I?” She inhales sharply through her nose. “Sorry.”

"It’s fine. I didn’t mean to - I came to the states on scholarships. No real training. So I get it, feeling like you’re on the outside.”

She closes her eyes. Rubs a bruise on her knee. "Yeah.”

“Do you want to try again? Maybe a different section?”

“Yeah.” She readjusts her skirt.

The second time is better. Alex can’t sit down: he walks around while she plays, and at one point he takes her hand - “try it like this” - and she tenses before she eases into it. He’s tactile, he likes demonstrations, and he poses her shoulders, her arms, her fingers, making adjustments to get the desired sound. She lets him, watching from under her long lashes.

He talks the entire time, explaining techniques Washington taught him and going on a tangent about the knock of fate motif in Beethoven. Maria is a fast learner: she makes changes after one or two tries, intuits meaning out of his rapid-fire nonsense. They go back to the first movement. She slams into the opening chords, making the piano shake with her force, and something uncoils in Alex’s stomach. He moves closer, talking faster, louder. A siren blares in the back of his mind, but he ignores it - the noise drowns out the darker voice that’s always there, worse since he left Kings, the one telling him you shouldn’t even be here.

He’s leaning over her shoulder, pointing out a note in her score, when she kisses him.

He goes still.

She flushes. "Was that not -”

In response, he presses her against the keyboard, mouth on hers. She makes a startled sound, moans as he deepens the kiss. She bites his lip, hard - good, yes, pain, make him hurt, he deserves it, he can take it - and his hands fumble at the back of her dress, grasping for the zipper.

“Table,” she gasps.

He swings her from the bench, takes her over one of the banquet tables. Her hands tug at his jeans; he abandons the zipper and hitches up her skirt. Lips, tongue, teeth - no thought, his brain finally finally quiet, all his focus on the white heat in his body and the sounds coming out of Maria’s bared throat.

Minutes later they’re back in their clothes, hair messy and mouths wet. It’s fine, he tells himself, nobody needs to know, they just have to make it to their rooms, it’s fine.

He doesn’t look at her.

Maria gathers her things. “I’m in room 791. In case you want to go over the Rach.”

She says it with a straight face. As though it would be perfectly acceptable for them to discuss the prelude and nothing else. Just two lonely people finding release. In the music, in each other.  

He should say no. The guilt is coming, too late - you bastard, you cheated on her, Eliza Eliza Eliza. He needs to make this right. Confess, apologize.

He should say no, but he doesn’t. Not that night, not any other night that summer.

[sophiaravensfromillea]

Selection Challenge 1 [2/2]

Slowly I close the drawer of my desk and tuck away any left over make up utensils. I take one last look in the mirror, grab  my western guitar, which i brought from home, and start strumming some random patterns. I humm along to the chords of my favourite song. My fingers fly over the guitar’s neck, my thumb and index finger start picking the strings in a aimless order. The notes are getting faster and louder and soon i am floating through thousands of melodies. My eyes fall shut and my ears listen carefully to the music my delicate hands create.

My body jerks just as my ears absorb a deep cough coming from the door. My eyes fly open and my  head is already moving towards the door. And guess who is standing there? Prince Haiden, life and in person. And do you know who has already forgotten that they had a date with said person? Me.

I jump off the bed i’ve been sitting on, place the guitar in its case, grab the books i’ve wanted to return and finally walk towards Prince Haiden. With an apologic look i greet him and drop a curtsey. He offers me his arm and we start walking down the hall.  

„So how are you today?“ I start the conversation.

„Pretty good. How about you?“

„That’s good to hear. I am fine, a bit tired due to reading all night“

Haiden starts laughing.

„Do you do that often?“, he asks with a look of wonder on his face.

„Sadly yes. Sometimes I just can’t control myself“

„I understand. Sometimes a book is too good to even think about stoppping. Once i snuck a book into a budget meeting because i didn’t want to stop“

„Really?“, i look at him with surprise, „Okay, that’s a new level of ´one last chapter´! Did you manage to finish it during the meeting at least?“

„Most definitely, but it didn’t help that the main character died during that part and i almost cried.“

„Ohh no, that’s awful“, I exclaim.

„What do you like to read?“

Don’t freak out and start rambling Sophia, or else he will already be creped out.

It’s not helping that you are staring at him the entire time.

I let my eyes wander of the colourful paintings clustering the hallways. Scan each and every one of them and study their colour composition

„I really enjoy young adult novels with tons of different topics. But I am also really into dystopian and fantasy novels and in between i try to read as many classics as I can. How about you?“

I face him again and study his expression.

„I like historical fiction and memoirs and biographies. Reading about other people’s lives is something I love to do.“

I nod and try to keep my eyes fixed on my shoes, I really wasn’t planning on falling down these long stair case.

„Is there a particullar book you are really fond of or don’t you pick favourites at all?“

One feet after another Sophia, you can do this.

„I definitely try not to pick favourites because I think all my books are special in their own right, but I’ll have to say The Art of War by Sun Tzu is a great book.“

Just replace the word book with the word woman and you pretty much have how he views them.

I nod while we turn around the corner, walking towards a huge door, with gold handels and all sorts of carvings inside the rim of the wood. Two guards greet us and hold the doors open.

„That’s understandable. Soo (..) how are you holding up with all these wonderfull lady’s around you?“ I try to lighte the conversation.

„Um I wouldn’t say holding up, per sé. More like `Trying to hide falling apart.´ But overall it’s going well“, he says with a chuckle.

„Why do you feel like falling apart“, I ask concerned and look him straight in the eyes. Gosh, I really hope he is fine.

„Nah I’m fine. Mostly just me being dramatic as usual.“

„Are sure?“  He better not be lying.

„I’m sure it’ll be harder, but all of you are being very gracious so far.“

I look at him and see a genourus smile. I return it and state: „That’s nice to hear. I don’t think i could handle holding a selection and i have a lot of respect for you handling it the way you do. And I really hope you find the one your heart is looking for.“

I settel down on a nice looking couch with expensive cushions leaning against it. I let my eyes scan my souroundings and absorb every little detail. The library is still as breathtaking as it was the first time i was here. I visited this place a few days ago with the company of my new found friend Lady Mila. She is really one of a kind and just loves books as much as i do. We talked a lot and staggered through the aisles. I found a few treasures and managed to bring one up to my room.

„Thank you i don’t know exactly what that is yet, but I’ll know it when I see it, I suppose.“

So it can’t be me.

Mila and I have gotten to know each other a lot lately. We joked a lot about one us being Queen one day, living in this palace and never letting the other go. This big place would be very lonely without a friend like her. She is very different to Lillian, but I am not complaining. It’s nice to actually have friend who has the same interest as you do. I wonder if I could ever be friends with Haiden, and maybe even more. He seems very nice and laid back.

„It’s there anything you want to know? I feel like I just drill with you with questions“  

„No, it’s fine. I’m not to great with asking questions, so sometimes it’s better for me to leave the option open for someone else.“ He folds his leg over the other one and shifts a bit towards me.

„Soo…“, please don’t ask something stupid, „you were homeschooled, right? What was your favourite subject?“

Here it comes.

„Literature and history. I didn’t dislike mathematics, but it was always harder for me to enjoy. How about you?“

His eyes start to glow when he talks about something he is very passionate about. He had this same glimm in this eyes when we started talking about books earlier. It’s hard not to notice this little things about him, just like the constant picking at his delecate skin.

„I was and still am a huge fan of english and music. I also enjoyed chemisttry and wanted so badly to be really good at it, but it never quite worked out. Don’t get me wrong, I was still the best one in my class, but I always messed up my exams (…)“

„What did you like most of music?“

What did i like most about it? Definitely not the people.

„Mhh. I really enjoyed it when all of us came together and made an amazing piece of art, with different kinds of melodies and harmonies, self-written lyrics and tons of instruments. Our music teacher always encouraged us to make music and not just talk about it.“

Music was always a place, where i connected with so many people, just based on the fact that we all treasured this beautiful kind of art.

„I heared you play the guitar earlier, it was beautiful“, he mentions with a smile plastered on his face. I take his compliment and return his smile.

„Is this the only instrument you play?“, he asks with a curious expression on his face.

„No, I also play the violin and the piano. I am trying to learn how to play the drums, but apparently I am not made for it. That means my brother can keep his drums to himself.“ I laugh silently to myself . I look up and suddenly stare into confused eyes.

„You play piano, really?“

„Yeah i do, for seven years now. Why are you so surprised?“, I ask with a hinter of a slight giggle.

„Oh, uh, well, I do as well“, he says and runs his hand trough his hair. How awkward. I start laughing at his hilarious expression. For a moment he just looks even more confused and after a second he joins my laugher.

„So you do? What’s your favourite piece to play“; i say in between breaths with a grin still plastered all over my face.

„I have no idea. I love both modern and classic so there’s no telling“

I nod and add: „Same over here. Most of the time i play some random classic piece, but sometimes i work on one of my favourite songs at the moment and sing a long with a couple of friends.“

We just smile each other and i grab my book and place it back into one of the shelves. Carefully i run my fingers a long of the spines of the endless books resting in one of these shelves.

„You know what? I am really glad that you hired Baguette. I really don’t know how to live without his food any more“

„I know what you mean. Despite his, um, temper, he is most definitely the best chef in Illea.“

„Yes I’ve seen him freak out the last time I went to the kitchen. He was really upset about something, I heard he and Hux broke up and now he refuses to bake me a pie. He was literally screaming at me and Naomi“, I exclaim, „Oh well. I hope Aliya will fix the mess she made.“

„That’s upsetting. I should talk to them. I wouldn’t it beneath Baguette to poison any food when he’s upset.“

I slowly blink and stare at him very disturbed for a very long time. Gosh, I really hope he doesn’t or else i’ll be the first one to die with my love for food. I speak up about my concerns and Haiden calms me down.

„Don’t worry. I’ll have it tested beforehand.“

Time starts to stand still. I don’t register anything anymore, only the way his melodic laugh leaves his mouth. We talk about our favourite meals, secret dreams and courage.

„Maybe I have the courage to do it one day“, i sigh and give him a sad smile. My keep wandering around the room and I nearly missed his answer.

„I hope you do.“

I look him and the eyes and say softly: „I have to say, I actually enjoy talking to you Haiden.“

„Me as well. I’m hoping to get to speak more with you in the future.“

The future.

„I am looking forward to that.“

I look at my wrist, just to see the watch displaying the number ten o'clock. Shit.

„Oh Gosh, it’s already so late. I hope I didn’t keep you from something important I am genuinely sorry.“

I really hope he forgives me. What an Idiot I can be, gosh he was probably so bored the entire time and just wanted me to stop finally talking. And now he is laughing, he definitley hates me.

„Of course not. This whole thing is about finding a wife. Can’t rush things“

I exhale slowly. Good. He isn’t mad.

„Thank God. I was really scared for a second that I ruined your evening.“

„My evening will never be ruined when I’m with you lovely ladies.“

„That’s good to hear. Can i ask you one last question?“

„Sure“

I chew at my lips and suddenly lose all of my previous strengh.

Gosh, Sophia, pull yourself together.

„The next time we meet, i mean if there is a next time, could be play a piano duet together?“; I ask quietly.

„Of course will there be a next time“; he smiles at me, „and i would definitley enjoy a piano date with you, Lady Sophia.“