#leave your cuticles the way they are im begging you

[comfortfrogblog]

idk what nail biter needs to hear this but do not start messing with your cuticles, you will never recover from it

[bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky]

End of My Rope | Bucky Barnes x Reader

@im-just-star-dust requested this- I hope you like it 💕🫶

This one has some of the big sad. Please note the warnings.

WARNING: discussion of suicide, depression, anxiety, shitty / manipulative exes

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

The sound of the front door startled Bucky. He wasn’t expecting any visitors- especially not any visitors with keys to his home. And you weren’t due back from work until six. He left his spot in bed and slowly made his way to the door, only to be greeted with the familiar lilt of your voice.

“Buck!” you threw your arms around his neck and leaned into his body, landing a long kiss to his lips. 

And while the affection was welcome, he didn’t understand the cause. “Hey, doll. What are you doing home from work?”

“It’s my lunch break! I thought I’d come home and see you,” you said with an overly casual shrug. “Whatcha been up to?”

“Just reading.” Truth be told, he was in bed only trying to read- he’d had issues focusing for a few days. And being in bed so late in the day felt a little embarrassing, too lazy to admit. He left that part out.

Bucky’s tone sounded flat, almost irritated. Something in you changed recently. You called him multiple times during the workday, touched him way more than usual. You nearly drowned him in ‘I love yous’. He was grateful, of course, for the love and care you showed him; he never imagined he’d experience anything of the like. But he found himself almost suffocating under your overbearing avalanche of adoration.

Guilt throbbed in his chest. Every time he had a negative thought about your recent increase in affection, he chastised himself. Some people live their whole lives without experiencing love like yours. Some people never find their person. Bucky always assumed he’d be one of those people- but then you came along. And he was lucky to have someone so warm and kind and sweet. But wires must’ve gotten crossed along the way, and he found himself nearly overwhelmed.

“Did you eat yet? I could make you something-” you did your best to tug Bucky toward the kitchen, but he resisted. 

“Did you eat yet?” he crossed his arms over his chest. “This is your lunch break, and I don’t see any lunch.”

“I’m not hungry!” you lied, “come on, let me make you something.” It was supposed to be a lighthearted request, but it came out of your mouth as a plea. You found yourself almost begging to take care of Bucky. If you could just make him some lunch, your anxiety would die down- for a little while.

But you knew it would come roaring back. Bucky was so quiet ever since his last mission. He got home five days prior with an unfamiliar darkness in his eyes. He said he didn’t want to discuss the details; didn’t want to talk about what he saw. But you knew it was Hydra related, and that was enough to make you worry.

Ever since then, he haunted the apartment like a ghost of himself. He wasn’t as warm. He lost all interest in doing things. He let his stubble grow and lived in his sweats. You knew he’d gone through something dark, something horrifying. Whatever it was had him on the ropes, beating him senseless until nothing remained. He was depressed- deeply depressed- and it scared you. 

 Each night, you stared at the ceiling, unable to fall asleep. Every thought revolved around about Bucky. You worried about him until you feared you’d get sick. You picked at your cuticles and pulled at the skin on your bottom lip until you bled. He suffered PTSD and anxiety and depression; you knew that when you met him. He had baggage- but it never weighed him down like this. You’d never seen him so low. 

Every day when you left for work, you reminded him of how much you loved him, how you cherished and adored him- even if it was overkill. You needed him to know. Work didn’t seem to matter anymore. All of your focus remained on Bucky, even when you were at the office. Leaving him home alone all day just didn’t seem right; you needed to be there for him, just in case. But when you absolutely couldn’t step away from the office, phone calls would have to do. You checked in on him a few times a day, even though he told you it wasn’t necessary.

Finally, Bucky agreed to let you make him a BLT. He stood silently at the kitchen island, leaning against the granite and watching you cook bacon. It was sweet of you- really sweet- but unnecessary. He didn’t want you driving all the way home from work just to make him lunch. 

You sat with him while he ate, watching him like a hawk until the sandwich was gone. And just like you suspected, your anxiety returned. But at least you knew he’d eaten.

“Thanks for lunch, doll. I appreciate it,” he said when he’d finished his meal.

“Any time, Buck. And hey, I think I’m just gonna work from home for the rest of the day.” You gestured to your work bag, “I brought my computer with me just in case, so I think I’ll stay here. Is that cool?”

Bucky couldn’t help but feel as though he was being surveilled. “Yeah, sweets, that’s fine. Do your thing.”

He grabbed his plate and began the walk to the kitchen, but stopped himself.

“Hey- what’s going on with you?”

You cocked your head to the side, “what do you mean?”

With a huff, Bucky joined you at the table once again. “I mean, you’ve been really… affectionate lately.”

The heat of embarrassment scalded your cheeks, “Is that bad?”

“No, it’s not bad, it’s just-” he didn’t know how to say it. “It’s kind of… a lot? Like, the phone calls to check on me and everything. You keep asking if I’m okay- you left work just to come see me. That’s not normal for you.”

You shrugged. “Well, I know you’ve been kinda down ever since your last mission. So, I just wanted to be there for you. I want you to know that you’re not alone. That’s all.”

But Bucky knew that wasn’t everything. He knew you well enough to detect when something lingered beneath the surface. “That’s not all, sweets. Come on, I can tell you’re hiding something…”

You didn’t respond. You knew your voice would tremble.

“Hey-” Bucky took your face in his hands, “Don’t think I haven’t noticed you tossing and turning every night. And how tired you’ve been.” 

“Buck, I’m fine. It’s-”

 “And I don’t remember the last time I saw you eat something…” Bucky’s words were thick with concern. He’d watch you push food around on your plate for five consecutive nights, with only a bite or two actually making it into your mouth. It was his turn to worry now, his turn to check in on you. “Please tell me what’s going on. Something is off with you- I can tell.”

While you appreciated Bucky’s concern and care, you kept your secret. “I’m okay, babe. I know you have a lot going on right now- I’m not gonna pile on.”

“I want you to pile on. Please.” He nearly begged you, “I need to know what’s wrong.”

The tears you hoped to keep under control flowed freely down your cheeks and dampened Bucky’s hands. You fell apart before him, your body shaking with sobs and ragged breaths. He couldn’t make out much of what you said as you cried. But he knew he heard “worried”- over and over again. 

“What are you worried about, baby? What’s got you so anxious?”

You forced air into your lungs and did your best to answer. “I’m w-worried about y-you,” you finally mustered. “I d-don’t wanna l-lose you.”

Bucky almost fell backward- this wasn’t what he expected. “You’re not gonna lose me, doll,” he pulled you into his body and gently stroked your back. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m right here. Why are you worried about losing me? Did something happen?”

Telling him the truth was almost embarrassing. But you looked up at him and let the words tumble from your mouth. “The mission. You came home and you haven’t um, been yourself, babe. I- I’ve been really worried about you. I see how depressed you are- I’ve never seen you like this. And I’m really scared…” You took a deep breath and pushed on, “I’m scared that I’m gonna come home from work one day and find you… find you dead.”

The image conjured up more emotion, more tears. And Bucky didn’t know how to respond- he was taken aback by your words. It all seemed to come from left field. And he hated knowing you’d been worrying about this- about him- for so long. He knew how you oftentimes let things eat at you until there was nothing left, and this threatened to devour you.

“And I know it’s so- it’s so selfish of me to be saying this to you,” you said “Because you’re the one who needs support right now. I’m just-” you hid your face in Bucky’s chest, “scared. I don’t wanna find a suicide note on your bedside table”.

Bucky’s heart shattered. He couldn’t imagine the anxiety you’d been experiencing, and the exhausting effort to keep it hidden. “Okay, doll. It’s okay…” he held you a bit tighter. “And if I’ve said or done anything to make you think this way, I’m so-”

You yanked your head from his chest and met his eyeline, “No. That’s not it- that’s not it at all. You haven’t done anything, Buck. This is all me.”

He narrowed his eyes at you a bit, testing your words. But you didn’t flinch, and he deemed you truthful. “Okay, so… what happened, then? What’s making you feel this way, baby?”

You took a deep breath, “I had this boyfriend-” Talking about your ex never felt good. It took too much energy to re-experience all the unpleasantness he put you through. It drained you and left you cold. But Bucky deserved the truth. “He had bad- really severe depression. And he always… he always told me that if I wasn’t there for him at all times, if I wasn’t on call twenty-four seven, he’d kill himself. He kinda… he made me feel responsible for his life.”

Your fingers twisted in the fabric of Bucky’s shirt as you thought back on your manipulative ex, “And when I couldn’t rush to his house or do what he wanted, he’d threaten suicide. I knew if he actually did it, it would be my fault.”

“Baby… I don’t know what to say.” He gave you a reassuring squeeze in lieu of supportive words. This wasn’t what he’d expected to hear.

“And when you came home depressed, I just… my muscle memory kicked in, I guess. And I threw everything into overdrive- the touching and the check-ins and all that. I panicked. I’ve been overcompensating.”

Bucky nodded.

Your voice lost all strength as you once again crumbled into Bucky’s chest. “I’ve been so anxious about keeping you alive…”

“Oh, doll,” He leaned down and pressed kisses to your hair, “I’m so-.”

Almost on a dime, you switched gears. “This isn’t fair though,” you tried to free yourself from Bucky’s grasp. “I should be comforting you- not the other way around.”

But Bucky wouldn’t allow it. He quieted you with a long, firm squeeze. He let you cry against his shirt and helped you slow your breathing. And when he finally got you calmed down, he turned you to face him.

“I know I’ve been in a bad headspace lately. I know I’ve been down. That last mission was…” he took a moment to banish the memories. “I’ll be honest, it was rough. I saw a lot of things that I hadn’t seen since my Hydra days. And it’s been affecting me since I got home.”

You nodded against his chest.

“But my life is not- and never will be- your responsibility.”

Something in you wanted to argue, but Bucky cut you off. “The extra attention and all the nice things you’ve been doing for me- it’s all really sweet. I never thought I’d have a support system like this. You’re so good to me and I know you really care about me, but my life is in my hands. No one else’s. Okay? It’s not your job or responsibility to keep me alive. My depression is mine to deal with.”

Bucky’s gentle hands gently removed your palms from your eyes, “Hey, can you look at me?” He swiped a few tears from your cheek and did his best to angle your face up to his. “I can’t thank you enough for all your love and support- you make my hard days easier. I know you’re always here for me, I know you have my back. And I know that when it gets to be too much for me to handle, you’re gonna be there. You don’t have to prove it to me. And you don’t have to worry about me.”

You gave a sad laugh, “But I’m gonna…”

“I know…” he left a long kiss to your forehead. “If I’m being honest with you…” he paused. He could still turn back. He could stop his words in their tracks and save you the extra pain. But the two of you told each other everything- every secret and skeleton. With a deep breath, he continued, “Right after I got away from Hydra, when I was alone and afraid and struggling to make sense of the world- I considered ending my life.”

Your heart dropped.

Bucky clocked the fear in your eyes and quickly pushed on. “It was a really scary, really dark time for me. I didn’t have anyone. I was lost. I didn’t know who I was or how to function in this world. And the trauma Hydra saddled me with was heavy. But that was the first and last time I had that thought. I promise,” he swiped a tear from your cheek.

“And not too long after that, I was in Wakanda getting the help I needed. And now I’m here. I’m okay.” He took your hands in his and placed them flush against his chest, “I don’t tell you that to scare you or make you even more worried- I just want you to know that I’ve come really far. I worked on myself- and I’m still working. And nothing I see or go through on any of these missions will ever be as bad as the time after my escape. I’ll never be that lost- that hopeless- ever again”. 

Even though Bucky had all the powers that came with the super solider serum, he couldn’t see the future. And you wondered how he could be so certain about what the days ahead might hold. But articulating such a thought didn’t seem possible. Your mouth was dry and your cheeks damp with tears. And even though Bucky didn’t possess the power of mind reading, he knew you well enough.

“I know that you’re probably wondering how I know that- But I just need you to trust me on this, okay? I’ve been down lately, and yeah, my job takes a significant mental toll. But I’m not going anywhere. I swear on my life.”

You groaned, “Buck, don’t do that-”

“Sorry, sorry- I swear on… I swear on The Hobbit.” Bucky got you to laugh. An immense warmth bloomed in his chest at the sound, and he finally saw an end to your misery. “If this were a courtroom, I’d put my hand on my copy of The Hobbit and swear under oath that everything I’ve just said is the truth. Okay? Does that work?”

You nodded, “I believe you. I know that thing is basically your bible.” Your hands made their way to his cheeks and stroked the stubble that covered his skin. Bucky’s depression liked it a bit longer than usual. And though one of your anxieties was settling down, another ramped up. 

“Hey, I don’t want this whole thing- my very overdramatic sob fest- to deter you from coming to me with what you’re going through. You talking about your depression isn’t going to send me into a tailspin or a breakdown or whatever. I promise. You don’t have to pretend like you’re fine from now on- please, don’t do that. I want you to know that I’m here for you, and if I made you feel like you have to walk on eggshells-”

“You didn’t,” he said. “I don’t feel that way. I know I can come to you. And I swear- once again on The Hobbit- that I won’t pretend like I’m okay if I’m not. Alright?”

You stared at him for a long moment before granting him your ��Alright.” A deep sigh left your chest and you slumped against Bucky’s body, too emotionally exhausted to sit upright. But just as you got comfortable, Bucky pulled you from his chest.

“Hey, wait-” He gave you a stern, serious look. “You weren’t overdramatic. You just reacted based on what you’re used to.”

“But I made your whole situation about me-”

“No, you didn’t”. Bucky knew he should’ve seen this coming based on everything you’d just confessed. It made sense that you’d feel guilt, that you’d feel responsible for being ‘selfish’. But he didn’t see it that way. “We’re both doing the best we can with the cards we’ve been dealt. And I think we’re a great team. Not that you play cards as a team, but you know what I mean.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” you leaned in for a kiss and sighed against his lips. Finally, after an agonizing week, the anxiety finally receded. But without the nervous energy keeping you wired, you were left exhausted and depleted. “Well, there’s absolutely no fucking way I’m gonna get any work done after all that,” you said, “I need a nap. Wanna join me?”

“How about you eat first? Let me make you something.” After seeing you eat almost nothing for nearly five days, Bucky wasn’t going to let you go on without a meal. “And then we can nap together. Deal?”

“Deal.”

 With the promise of your long, happy future together laid out in front of you, you allowed Bucky to lift you from his lap and carry you into the kitchen for another round of BLTs.

—————————

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[toplinetommy]

You Bring the Moon and Stars to Me (Part Five) - Tyson Jost

Synopsis: A Soulmate!AU where your soulmark only appears once you fall in love with your soulmate

Words: 7.3k

Warnings: mentions of injury

a/n:  type of injury is purely speculation since the details were never released, also his injury happened at an away game but for the sake of the story let’s pretend it was a home game. im thinking there will be 3 more parts but dont quote me on that and ofc feedback is always welcome, i hope you enjoy! 

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four

January 2019 - Loveland, CO

It was like the second you had Tyson back, he was gone again. The day they got back from their Eastern Canada road trip, he was on his way to Loveland to start working with the Eagles. He hadn’t been able to spend much time with you, his schedule being just as hectic as always. Especially with the additions of the extra workouts Tyson had started to partake in. You rarely saw his car in the driveway of the Rookie House when you were over at Caitlyn and Jack’s.

His hair had been extra messy the last night you saw him the day he went back down to Loveland for the first time this season. You assumed it was due to his hands continuously pulling at it from being stuck in his head about his new playing situation. Since then, the image of your best friend being down in the dumps hadn’t left your mind. Throughout the time of knowing Tyson, you only really knew him as the cheery guy with a smile on his face 24/7. He was the most strong-willed person you had ever known.

A week and a half later and he still hadn’t seen any NHL ice time, still working his ass off at the AHL level to earn his roster spot back. You’re sitting in one of the many conference rooms at your office, listening to an executive give their monthly project updates when your phone rings. You see Tyson’s face covering your screen, begging to answer his FaceTime. You hit the lock button on your phone, stopping the vibrations, and turn your phone over, turning your attention back to the presentation in front of you. 

The vibration stops momentarily before it starts again, to which you ignore. The third time your phone rings, you know it must be important, so you excuse yourself as you push out of your rolling chair and leave the room.

As you slide to answer, Tyson’s face pops up onto the screen. His hair is wet and the lighting is terrible, so you assume he had just showered at the practice facility.

“What did you need? I was in a meeting.”

“Sorry, I’ll be quick. I know I was supposed to come over to your place later for my pre-game meal but I’m really tired,” He whines.

“And you couldn’t have just texted me that?” You ask a sharp bite to your tone. He knew you worked the third Saturday of every month. He had even admitted to you one time that he’d check your Snapchat location to see where you were when you weren’t answering, so you were even more confused when he called not once, but three times.

“I need a favor, I’m gonna take a nap on one of the guy’s couches. Can you bring me my game-day suit?”

“Sure, just text me the time you need it by and the address,” You agree. “I really need to go, though, so I’ll text you later.”

“Thank you, Y/n! Love you.”

You spit out a quick ‘love you’ before hanging up and shoving your phone into your dress pants pocket before walking back into the meeting and apologizing about the disruption.

You park your car in Caitlyn’s driveway before making a bee-line across the street towards the Rookie House. You lift your hand to knock on the door before you remember Tyson telling you that no one was home and you needed to find the spare key. You jog down the stairs to his bedroom in search of his game-day suit. 

You look on his bed, which is a mess and un-made, causing you to roll your eyes, not seeing the suit he said he had laid out this morning when he left for practice. You move to his closet, hoping to see a suit in the front that had been previously picked out, but still no luck.

Instead of shooting him a text or calling him to ask where it is, you let your hands slowly pass over the multiple blazers he has hanging up. Your hand lands on a navy blue blazer with slightly exaggerated lapels, being unfamiliar with it you pull it out. Granted, you rarely say Tyson in suits, and even when you did you always noticed his love for different shades of grey. You smile to yourself as you pull it out and lay it over the bed smoothly before going back to his closet to find a dress-shirt to match.

A few minutes later you have a white-shirt with small polka dots on it picked out with his navy suit. Alongside that, you picked out his brown belt and grabbed his brown dress shoes, and started looking for a pair of socks. You pull open all of his drawers, finally finding the one that holds his socks and you end grabbing a pair of simple grey ones.

You set the suit and shoes in the back seat of your car once your back at Caitlyn’s before she’s walking out in a Colorado crewneck and jumping into your passenger seat.

“Can you look for a place we can get dinner after I drop this off to Tyson?” You ask of her as she buckled her seatbelt and you back out of her driveway. The two of you make banter and eventually find a wing place to eat as you drive down the highway to Loveland. 

Once you arrive at the apartment Tyson had texted you the address of, you’re climbing up the stairs to the front door, suit, and shoes in hand, before rapping at the door. You kind of knew you were cutting it close with his suit delivery, so you were anxiously tapping your foot as you waited for the door to swing open.

Tyson opens the door a tired look on his face as he’s taking a bite of what you see is a home-made sandwich. “You’re a lifesaver.” He groans, stepping to the side to let you in.

“It’s not a problem,” You assure, folding over the suit over the tops of your arms. “Here’s your suit.”

“Where’s the one I had laid out?” He asked confused as he reaches for your outstretched arms to take his clothes from you. You knit your eyebrows in confusion as you think back to how you didn’t see a suit set out anywhere in his room.

“There was no suit laid out in your room, which is a mess by the way,” You point out quickly. “So I just picked one out from your closet, I hope you don’t mind.”

“Thank you,” Tyson smiles, rubbing his thumbs over the lapel of the blazer. The image of you browsing through his closet popped into his mind, a rather domestic image that caused his smile to grow wider. The thought of you doing that without being asked to caused butterflies to slight erupt in his stomach and his cheek started to heat up with the thoughts racing through his mind.

“I think you need some new socks, all of them were so boring.” Tyson laughs at your statement. “Get some striped ones or ones with polka dots, I don’t know, just not plain grey and black ones.”

He nods his heads stifling a laugh at your odd request before the owner of the apartment appears from a hallway in his suit. Tyson quickly introduces the two of you before he’s pushing you out the door so he can get dressed and head to the game. As you turn your body to head back to your car, Tyson stops you.

“I have exciting news before you go.”

“Yeah?”

“This is my last game,” He beams, his eyes squinting from how wide his smile is. “I’m playing against Vancouver after the all-star break in a few days.”

You shriek at the news your best friend is sharing with you, “Oh my God! That’s amazing!” You open your arms welcoming Tyson in a congratulatory hug. “Told you you were a superstar,” you whisper as you pull away. The two of you share a soft look before you finally let go of your friend saying you’ll see him later.

You and Caitlyn are sitting in the lower bowl of the Budweiser Event Center, enjoying your beers and each other’s company while also focusing on the two teams in front of you. The both of you had agreed how nice it was to be back at a hockey game, both of you not being able to attend any in a little over a month with how busy you were. It was especially nice seeing Tyson play, you could see the jump in his body as he floated around the ice seamlessly.

It’s late in the game when it happens. Tyson’s skating down the far half-wall about to cross the blue line to enter the zone with the puck when an opposing player plows through his lonesome figure, sending him into the wall with a very loud thud. You gasp, leaning forward in your seat and reaching out for Caitlyn’s hand. You watch him as he stands up, grateful for the fact that he’s even able to do that quickly given the harshness of the hit, but watch him as he skates away back to the bench slowly.

He immediately walks down the tunnel to the locker rooms and you lean in your seat further, bringing your free hand to your face to bite on your cuticles out of nervousness. Caitlyn squeezing your hand combined with the loud voice over the arena speakers announcing the penalties brings you back down to earth. Your fingers stay at your lips for a moment longer until the sudden urge to scratch at your elbow envelops your mind.

“Hey, he’s probably fine and just got the wind knocked out of him.” Caitlyn reasons. You both know she has no idea what she’s talking about, but the thought behind it is welcomed. The remainder of the game feels like a lifetime as you anxiously check your phone for texts from Tyson, tweets from the team, anything that may give you insight on what’s happened.

At the same time as the final buzzer sounding throughout the arena, your phone vibrates in your hand where you’re holding it tightly. A text from Tyson pops up.

Tyson: im okay

Tyson: sorry it took so long to text you i was going through concussion protocol

Y/N: so you’re fine?!

Tyson: no

Tyson: i have a concussion

You groan at the response, showing Caitlyn your conversation before typing out a response saying you’ll meet him by the locker room shortly.

Tyson emerges from the locker room, holding an ice pack to his left shoulder. Upon seeing the ice pack, your shoulders drop out of sympathy for him and you feel a pang in your chest. As he approaches you, head down to avoid the bright, white, LED lights in the hallway, you let out a low ‘Tyson’.

“Hey.”

“You said you just got a concussion,” you point to the icepack on his shoulder.

“It just hurts.” He winces, eyebrows knitting in pain. You give him a side-hug, careful to not aggravate his shoulder.

“I, uh, I’m going to need a ride back to Denver,” Tyson starts. “I can’t drive.”

You rub his good shoulder, trying to comfort him as you look back towards Caitlyn. “Can you drive my car home and I’ll drive his car home? You can just park it at your house.”

Caitlyn agrees, the three of you walking out to the parking garage making small talk before you go your separate ways. The hour-long drive is spent in quiet, Tyson leaning his head against the window with his eyes closed for the most of it. He only lifts his head when he feels the car drive over the junction between the black asphalt of the street and the concrete of his driveway.

The two of you walk into his home, him instantly making way down the stairs to his bedroom while you opt to go to the kitchen to get the both of you glasses of water. Another few moments pass before you decide to venture down to his room.

He’s in the dark, only his bathroom light illuminating his vast bedroom. He’s laying on his back in the middle of the bed, his legs dangling off the edge. He groans a little at the noise of your feet padding along the hardwood before sitting up and leaning back on his hands. 

“You feeling okay?” You ask, moving to sit down next to him and hand him the other glass of water.

“I’m fine,” He mumbles and you know he’s just processing the injury and everything going on with his career so you stay quiet, letting him be the one to decide when to speak. Instead, you too lean back on your hands, resting yours right next to Tyson’s, pinkies touching. His hand flinches at the touch but he doesn’t move away.

“I just can’t catch a break it seems,” He breathes out barely above a whisper. He lays back onto the bed, falling into the fluffy comforter and rubs his face with hands. 

“Tys,” you drag out. You twist your body around, tucking your legs underneath you on the bed to face him. There’s a pull in your body that wants you to reach out and move his hands from his face or even put a reassuring hand on his thigh but something in you stops you. “Things like this happen to everyone, you just have to get healthy and play just like you were when you got the call saying you were going back to the Avs.”

“But if I would’ve just been skating with my head up I could’ve avoided the hit.”

“That guy absolutely blew into you, I don’t think much would’ve stopped him from doing that. It was a dirty hit and he knows it.”

Tyson mumbles out an ‘I guess’ before sitting up abruptly with a groan. “You want ice cream? I want ice cream.” He decides, standing up and reaching out for you. You grab his hand, standing up from his couch and following him up the stairs to the kitchen. 

“I didn’t think you health nuts even knew what ice cream was.” You joke, trying to lighten the mood. Throughout the whole time you knew Tyson and his roommates, the most unhealthy thing you had seen them eat were chocolate almond butter cups and those were from Whole Foods so it barely counted as junk food in your eyes. Tyson pulls out a pint of ice cream and you look to inspect it, noting the words ‘dairy-free’ on it. 

You roll your eyes, “I take that back because of course you have the ice cream that’s considered healthy.”

Tyson laughs at you as he grabs two spoons from the drawer across the kitchen from you. He smiles instead of responding right away, and your face mirrors him, a large smile now playing at your lips. 

He places the two spoons on the island next to the pint, going to the edge of the kitchen and turning the light off so the only light in the kitchen is the light from the entryway and the light on off the back door creeping through the large kitchen windows. Tyson takes a seat next to you on the barstool opening the ice cream and digging his spoon in. 

The two of you eat the first few bites in silence before Tyson sticks his spoon into the pint one last time. “Thanks for coming tonight.”

“Of course, I do have one request though.” You start, Tyson raising his eyebrows in curiosity. “Can I help pick out your suits more often? That was fun.”

“That just means me bugging you more about my colorblindness, ya know.” He jokes. “But, I’ll take it.” 

“I think you need to incorporate more prints into your closet, all of your suits are so plain.”

“I have two striped ones, what are you talking about?” He asks incredulously with a laugh.

You put your spoon in your mouth, eating the bit of soupy ice cream that’s still left. As you chew you mentally go through his closet. “Yeah, but you need some plaids and checks.”

“We’ll see about that.” 

You laugh at his inability to stray away from solids, even though you’ve seen him in some crazy printed t-shirts before. You dig your spoon in the ice cream for one more bite before clasping the lid back on. Tyson moves to put it back in the freezer, but you stop him and do it yourself, also placing the two spoons in the dishwasher. 

“So, what’s next?” You ask, talking about the next steps of his concussion injury and training. 

Tyson leans back in his chair, running one of his hands through the hair on the back of his head. “Pretty much just rest until it goes away, then play some more in Loveland, then hopefully get the call to come back to Denver full-time.”

You watch him as he speaks from across the kitchen, focused on the softness and uncertainty in his voice. He was not only in physical pain from the hit a few hours prior, but also clearly mentally beating himself up. Tyson was one of the hardest workers you had ever met. He was someone that went to practice early and stayed late if it meant more ice-time and reps, someone that put in those extra miles on his morning runs, someone that watched and studied game-tape until his eyes were strained from the blue light of the screen. Knowing how hard he worked day in and day out only made your heart ache more at the circumstances the brunette found himself in.

You walk quietly over back to Tyson, standing next to him where he’s sitting. He turns around to gaze up at your face before you begin speaking.

“You’re the hardest worker I know, I believe in you.”

Tyson, in a moment of both vulnerability and bravery, lens his head forward and rests his head on your chest. You’re surprised by his actions and your movements are stuttered before you wrap your arms around his neck and run a hand through his curls. He lets out a hum, his eyes fluttering shut at the newfound comfort you’re giving him. 

The two of you stand for a few more moments, reveling in the contact and the quietness surround you due to the late night and emptiness of the home. Your eyes glance to the clock, noting how late it’s gotten. You want to pull away to tell him you should head home soon, your breathing starting to slow due to being tired. Your early work morning combined with the whirlwind events that happened over the past two hours pushed your mind to the point of exhaustion. 

However, you don’t move away, knowing this is what your best friend needs most right now. The feeling of comfort and being with someone that knew him as deeply as you did being something he desperately needed. An itch on your elbow pulls you out of your thoughts and Tyson whines when you slightly pull away to scratch at it, to which you chuckle.

“I had an itch,” You pause, leaning back away from Tyson so he has to sit up straight. “And besides, it’s starting to get late. I should head home soon.”

Tyson doesn’t whine again but slouches his shoulders and puffs out his lower lip, giving you a puppy dog look that you haven’t seen much when he’s sober. “Please stay.”

The request surprises you. Sure, the two of you are insanely close, but the two of you never really had sleepovers due to your schedules and only ever stayed over on drunken nights when it was an easy decision to make. Come to think of it, the last time you guys even slept in the same house was before you dated Aiden, when you shared a hotel room at the Landeskog wedding.

You contemplate the thought, being one that usually didn’t mind driving home at the late hours of the night. His eyes were puffy, a sure sign from how tired he’s been lately, the scrape underneath it from his visor bright red, and his overall aura was screaming please, so you give in. “I need sweatpants then.” you motion to the jeans adorning your legs and he jumps up.

“You got it.”

You follow him down the stairs back to his bedroom and watch him move around his room, cleaning up some of the mess and tossing you a pair of sweats.

Once you reemerge from the ensuite bathroom, you see Tyson laying down in bed, covers up to his armpits. He turns his head towards you then pats the emptiness beside him, gesturing for you to lay down. He’s got this dopey look on your face that melts your heart and you smile, holding your jeans to your chest tightly.

“I can sleep on the couch, it really isn’t a big deal.”

“It isn’t but why sleep on the couch when there’s a perfectly comfy spot for you in a bed?” He jokes. You can barely see his facial features now that you’ve turned the bathroom light off and you flip the flashlight on on your phone, being careful not to shine it towards his face. You smile nervously as you set your jeans down by your shoes at the foot of the bed and carefully climb into bed next to him.

“Maybe leave a little room for a girl, jeez,” You comment, trying to maneuver around Tyson’s sprawled out body. You miss the way he rolls his eyes as he dramatically pulls his body into a plank-like position. You set your phone down on the dresser next to you before getting comfortable despite the anxiety you’re starting to feel. Your stomach shouldn’t be in knots right now, should it?

“I know I said it before, but I really appreciate you coming tonight.” Tyson starts, sighing out a large breath of air. He’s twiddling his fingers in front of him, occasionally bringing them to his lips to bite on his hangnails. “It means a lot having someone by my side through all of this. It can be hard talking to Kerfy and JT sometimes.”

You turn your body to face him, still leaving a substantial amount of space between the two of you in the expanse of his king-sized bed. “That’s what best friends are for, Tys. Don’t ever hesitate to talk to me. It can be about anything, hockey, family, music, whatever you want and I’ll listen. Just know that you can talk to JT and Alexander too, they’ve been in your shoes being in the AHL and they just want to see you back with them just as much as the rest of us. Well, maybe not more than your family and me. We’re your biggest fans.”

“Biggest fans, eh?” he quirks an eyebrow up.

“Yeah, didn’t you know? We’re all in a group chat and it’s called Tyson Jost’s Fan Club. We just send pictures of you back and forth.” You joke, causing a loud, boisterous laugh to escape from Tyson’s mouth.

“You’ve never even talked to any of them besides my Grandpa, shut up.” He lets out once he’s calmed down from laughing, a loud yawn following.

“We should go to sleep, it’s been an exhausting day for both of us.”

“But I’ve missed talking to you.” He admits. And honestly, the statement has you thinking. This probably is the most time the two of you have spent alone together in months, so you give in and talk with him about anything and everything until he suddenly stops responding and you see his mouth droop open with heavy breaths of air coming out.

Sleep didn’t find you as easily, though, as you gazed at your best friend across the bed, thoughts consumed your brain. The two of you had nowhere near a physically affectionate friendship and all of the small touches and long gazes that happened throughout the day have a smile forming on your lips as you continue to look at the brunette in front of you. Yeah, the two of you laid soft touches on the other but it was usually when you had alcohol in your system or when you were especially tired. The look he gave you in the kitchen moments prior is what stuck with you as you drifted off to sleep.

The next few days for Tyson were spent just like that night. You would go over there after work and stay until you headed home later that night. As the days passed those late-night drives were spent with more and more yawns but it was worth it if it meant seeing Tyson and keeping him company. 

That was until today. You had gotten behind on your project at work from being at Tyson’s so much recently so you had told him last night when you left his house that you’d see him in a few days. As your phone rang during your lunch break with Tyson’s face filling the screen, you should’ve known what he was about to say was coming.

“Please come over later, I’m going insane being by myself. The guys don’t get back from the all-star break until Friday and I can’t look at any screen or sleep because of my concussion so I need you to entertain me.” Tyson rushes out. 

“Aren’t you supposed to see the team doctors today?” You ask confusedly. It was barely 1:30 in the afternoon so you thought he would be at the training facility still.

“I already did, I still have a concussion,” Tyson confirms. “I just have to go back every other day to get checked. They said it’s looking better and it’s less serious than they thought which is good.”

“Yeah, that’s good,” you nod. You really do want to see him later, getting used to seeing him every day for the past few days. Part of you knows that one day won’t hurt either of you and that you know you’ll just be at his place tomorrow, but something in your mind is telling you to go over there after work. “If I come over later, I’m bringing my laptop, I need to get some stuff done to prepare for a meeting I have on Thursday.”

“That’s fine, I’ll order us food even, as a thank you.”

You want to argue with him, not wanting him to spend his money on you but the two of you have had that conversation a hundred different times all ending with the same result. You usually said you made ‘big girl’ money and were proud of it to which he said he was proud too, but he also made ‘big boy’ money and had enough leftover to comfortably spend it on his closest friends. 

“Sounds perfect,” You smile. “My lunch break is about to end, so I have to go but I’ll text you when I leave later.”

Tyson says goodbye and the rest of your workday flies by and next thing you know, you’re pulling your car into Tyson’s driveway. You see the garage open so you walk thought it, closing it as you enter the door inside. Once your dinner is consumed the two of you migrate to the living room couch where you pull your laptop on your lap to start working on your meeting notes.

“What’re you doing?” Tyson inquires, leaning towards you to get a better look at your screen.

“I have a meeting to kick-off a project later this week so I’m just making sure I have all of my notes done.” You explain, typing away at the keyboard. “It’s a bigger one, so there are a lot more steps and handoffs and stuff you might not understand.”

“No, tell me, I wanna know.” He urges, scootching his body closer to yours so your thighs touch. As he stops moving, you think of how easy it would to just fall into him and rest your head against the broadness of his chest. You focus more on the screen in front of you, dimming the brightness so it doesn’t hurt Tyson’s eyes and explain it to him. Before long, his head plops onto your shoulder, snores escaping his slightly ajar mouth. You gaze at him, noticing the cut that was once bright red on his cheekbone is now just a scratch and you reach out to run your finger over it. He stirs at the touch, and you freeze out of panic before focusing back on your laptop and continuing to work. 

The stillness around you makes your eyes start to droop and you slowly start to slouch more and more on the couch before resting your head atop Tyson’s and joining him in sleep. 

Your phone ringing on full-volume next to you pulls you from your sleep. You see Caitlyn’s name as you grab it and slide to answer the phone.

“Are you still at Tyson’s? I was closing my garage and saw your car across the street.” She asked in way of a greeting.

“Uh, yeah, we fell asleep.” You say, voice groggy and laced with sleep. You open your eyes more, looking to Tyson’s still sleeping figure and noticing the movement the two of you have made. His head isn’t on your shoulder anymore, as it fell in his sleep to use your chest as a cushion. His hand that’s closer to you is draped across your thigh the other outstretched along the couch. “What time is it?”

“Almost 10:30. Wait, what do you mean we? Like, you and Tyson sleeping together?” She asks, almost in a shriek-like voice. Your body jumps awake at the notification of how late it’s gotten, Tyson sliding off your body from the movement.

“I was working and he fell asleep next, well on me, and then I fell asleep. Shit, I didn’t think I’d fall asleep for this long.” You curse. Tyson stirs next to you, slowing opening his eyes and groaning at the disruption in sleep. “I gotta go though, I’ll see you tomorrow at work.”

“Who was that?” 

“Caitlyn, she was confused since she saw that my car was still here.” You respond, sitting further up and moving your laptop to the coffee table in front of you. Tyson looks at his phone checking the time before letting a ‘holy shit’ seeing that it’s also pitch black outside.

“I’m gonna head out soon, I think.”

“You can stay, ya know.” 

“Yeah, I know, but I don’t have any of my work stuff for tomorrow and I don’t want to have to rush around in the morning.” You explain, rubbing your hands along your thighs. You lean forward, pushing a hand through your hair to fix the mess that was caused from your nap and stand up. He sits up further on the couch before joining you in standing, a loud sigh coming from his mouth.

“I’ll still see you tomorrow though, eh?” He checks.

“Yes, I just have to make sure my work is all done since I clearly didn’t get much done here.” You laugh. He follows you to the front door of his house, unlocking and opening it for you. Once your coat is slipped on you open your arms to hug him, “Such a gentleman.”

“For you? Always” He jokes cheekily. You smile at the comment before pulling back, but Tyson doesn’t let go of you so easily. You look up at him, then back to your feet, then back up to Tyson once more.

“Okay, I really gotta go,” You yawn.

Instead of letting you go, Tyson moves one of his hands from around your shoulders to the back of your head and pulling you into him. His lips land on the curve of your forehead before he whispers out a bye. You smile and close your eyes in content at the gesture, before you walk down the sidewalk to your car, turning once to wave to your best friend. The smile didn’t leave your face the entire drive home, and you honestly probably fell asleep with the same glee-filled smile plastered onto your face thinking of the new addition of the physicality of your friendship and how you could really get used it.

February 2019 - Denver, CO

“Do you want to go get lunch together? I haven’t eaten out for lunch in so long.” Caitlyn asks, barging through your office door. You peer up at your friend, abandoning the email you’re working on in front of you.

“I actually have lunch plans with Tyson, we’re getting poke.” A slight frown playing at your lips, as you decline her offer. “What about margs sometime this week? It can be a girl’s night.”

She smiles at your suggestion nodding her head, “That sounds perfect! Do you want to go out for them or stay in?”

“Hmm,” you hum. “Let’s go out tomorrow? Taco Tuesday at Aztecas?”

“Ooo, yes! Meet there at 7?” She asks, moving further into your office and sitting in the chair on the opposite side of your desk. you nod your head in agreement, turning your focus into the computer screen in front of you again. “You’ve been spending a lot of time with him haven’t you?”

“Who?” You ask, directing your attention back to her from where you started typing at your computer again. 

“Tyson.”

“Oh, yeah.” You say, quickly typing out the details of your email so you can focus on your coworker in front of you. “I guess we kinda have. When he got his concussion two weeks ago I was one of the few people that were in town with the timing of it all and stuff.”

“Every time I looked out my window, your car was in his driveway.” She notes, eyebrow quirked. 

“I would just go there, like, right after work and then I’d leave when I wanted to go to bed. We would just get food and hang out, just like we used to.”

“You mean like back before you had a boyfriend?” She asks. “Like last season when you guys were always getting dinner together or like all summer when he was constantly calling you?”

As Caitlyn concludes her questions, you lean back in your office chair thinking back on the past few months. You hadn’t really paid attention to your new habits with Tyson, but you were spending way more time with him than usual, but you just thought it was the extra free time the both of you have had lately. When you were with Aiden you only saw Tyson maybe once a week and most times it was in a group setting.

“I guess, yeah.” You smile. You had thoroughly been enjoying all the time you spent with him lately, all the laughter and banter was welcomed and the two of you knew exactly what to do to annoy the other one without ever crossing a line. “Do you think we were touchy before, me and Tys?”

Caitlyn crosses one leg over the other, “I don’t think so? Like you guys were just always with one another when we were in groups. When you were drunk, though? That’s another story.”

With Caitlyn answering the question the way she did, you knew you had to address the newfound physicality and affection between you and Tyson. Before you can get into more detail on why you chose to bring that up Caitlyn asks you,

“Have you guys been more touchy lately?” 

“We take naps together now, which is like, kind of a lot in a way? I don’t know,” You stop yourself, taking a deep breath as you try to gather your words to describe the feeling. “You know me, I don’t take naps but it’s like, we’ll be watching tv or something and he’ll just fall asleep and it’s not like he’s on the other side of the couch, Caitlyn. He’s right next to me and then he’s asleep with half his body weight on me and the feeling like, lulls me to sleep and we’ll wake up in the same position and not talk about it.”

Caitlyn watches you as you avoid her gaze as you talk, unsure of what she’s going to say about the new information. Especially when she was the one friend you had that really made you dig deeper as to why you felt certain things. The two of you hadn’t spent much time together outside of work lately, with her and Jack living together and you spending so much time with Tyson after his concussion.

“I also spent the night when he got hurt, like, as in I spent the night in his bed.”

“What?” She exclaims, jumping forward to the edge of her seat. “And you didn’t tell me?”

“Nothing happened,” You assure with a chuckle. “We fell asleep on opposite sides of the bed and woke up that way.” You think back to that night and how when you woke up, you would’ve assumed the two of you would’ve moved positions throughout the night, but you somehow didn’t and woke up face away from him, back inches away from his. 

“How do you feel about those changes in your guys’ friendship?” 

“I think I like it. Part of me kinda thinks I just like the extra attention I’m getting, but the other part just thinks that’s just how we are now, ya know?”

“I see what you mean about the just liking the extra attention part, but I think it’s just how you guys are. Even if the two of you weren’t being physically affectionate through your friendship, the two of you were still affectionate in other ways.”

What she says makes sense, as you think about all the small quirks your friendship consisted of. He was always getting you refills at parties and the bar, offering to be the one that drove, grocery shopping together, while you helped make sure he kept his room clean and urged to him to let loose with you every once in a while. He kept you young while you grounded him. 

“All I know is that I haven’t even realized how much time I’ve been spending with him lately, which I’m really grateful for.” You smile softly. “He’s actually gonna be playing again in a few days I think.” 

The two of you continue talking about Tyson being able to return to the team and solidify your plans for tacos and margs tomorrow before she’s bouncing out of your office.

A few days later, Tyson was thankfully cleared to play again. Spending the first few days back in Loveland before getting the call to return to Denver. A call you hoped, primarily for Tyson’s sake, that was a more-permanent decision the coaching staff had made. You hadn’t seen him much in those few days, letting him get acclimated to the pace of the NHL once again. 

The three of you settle into your seats, feeling at ease from being back at the Pepsi Center for the first time since Tyson’s call-up. This time, however, you didn’t complain when Tyson offered to get the three of you tickets. You all hadn’t been able to go to any of the other games since Tyson’s call-up due to work events, Valentine’s Day, and your mom’s birthday, but as Tyson said the date didn’t matter as long as you’d come to one sooner rather than later.

It happens fast, you look from Caitlyn next to you to the ice in front of you due to an increase in cheering and you watch as Tyson catches as a pass on the edge of his blade before slapping a one-timer at the goal from the slot, goal horn sounding as the puck passes the goal line. You jump, arms thrusting in the air and loudly cheering ‘that’s my fucking best friend’ into the expanse of the crowd.

The next two periods flew by, Varlamov getting the shutout while Calvert and Agozzino added to the scoresheet. You all head out, walking towards the parking garage down the street you parked out as you send a great goal text to Tyson and telling him to call you when he gets a chance. 

An hour later, when you’re back in you’re apartment getting your stuff ready for your workday tomorrow, your phone finally rings, notifying you of an incoming call from Tyson. When the facetime call connects, you see him, a wide-smile and wet curly hair all over the place.

“Hey! Great game!” You exclaim, the happiness behind your words coming though with the wide smile that’s filling your face.

“Thank you! I’m glad you guys were able to catch this game.” He smiles. His phone is shaking from him walking around his house, as you watch the background change from his kitchen to the stairwell to his bedroom before he’s plopping down onto his bed. “It was so good to score, y/n, I want to bottle that feeling.” 

His eyes twinkle in the dim lighting of his room as he speaks, the sight of it making you feel more than elated for your best friend. “I’m really proud of you, I know I tell you that a lot, but you deserve feeling that way all the time, Tys.” You say softly, voice laced with sincerity. 

“I just have to continue to play the way I did tonight, and then there’ll be no doubt I’m supposed to on the roster. I know my roster spot isn’t a given any night and it never will be, but I want everyone to be confident in the decision to put me in the line-up every night.” He rambles. As he speaks you’re making your way to your bathroom, ready to start your nightly routine. 

You set your phone against your mirror as you put your hair into a low bun before grabbing a washcloth to wash your face. He starts talking your ears off about how happy he is to be back with the guys and the team chemistry as you finish getting ready for bed. You miss the way he looks at you as you brush your teeth since you’re too focused on the movements of your actions, but what you don’t miss is the ding on your phone with a new text message. 

Once you’re done spitting out your excess toothpaste and wiping your mouth, you grab your phone and head to your bed before looking at the message. “Tyson, what did you just send me we’re literally on the phone.” You laugh before fully opening the text and seeing the picture attached. It’s a screenshot from your call taken only a few minutes ago. Tyson’s dark smiling face in the top right corner while your face fills out the screen. At first glance, it looks like an accidental screenshot but with closer examination as well as Tyson’s muffled laughs on the line, you see the toothpaste dribbling down your chin and your eyebrows are knitted with determination.

You groan loudly as you swipe back to your FaceTime call, “Tyson, I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

“You don’t know that, maybe I’ll just hang up and stop coming to your games” you stick your tongue out. 

“No!” Tyson interrupts. “You have to at least come to my games, you’re my good luck charm now.” He pouts, mouth quivering from trying not to smile.

“Fine.” You huff, a smile cracking on your lips. The two of you talk for a little while longer, both in bed, eyes drooping and words slurred with sleep. You’re not sure when you fall asleep and you’re more unsure if you even hang up your call before you’re snoring.  

You end up going to his next game two days later against Winnipeg, where he scored once again and recorded two assists. After that performance, he continued to insist that you were his lucky charm, to which you laughed and brushed off the comment.

tag list: @reavenedges-lies​ @oilers2997​ (let me know if you wanted to be added!)

[read-of-the-day-blog]

Lunula

Noun [loo-nyuh-luh]

Something shaped like a narrow crescent, as the small, pale area at the base of the fingernail.

The mid-morning sun washed through the sterile, white room of Abigale Peters as her nurse helped her into the chair set by the window. She lowered her slowly and with practiced care that would be given to any other resident of the Rolling Hills Nursing Home. "Betty, be a dear and fetch my purse. We have to make it to church in time to greet the pastor or ill never hear the end of it from that nosey Mrs. Bradberry."

The plump, young nurse, whose name was really June, smiled patiently and turned to face the woman in the doorway, who stood tall and lithe but with some reservation. Her fingers curled around the handle of a soft pink kaboodle kit. She nodded graciously to the nurse and stepped inside. "Mama, you've already been to church today. The pastor loved your hat, don't you remember?" The old woman never did, but Denise always felt the urge to ask. Always hopeful that her mother would one day respond with an "Oh, of course, Denise. How could I forget?" But she never did, not anymore. She watched as her aging mother's brow furrowed in brief confusion before quickly being distracted by the movement of the trees outside her window. Denise sighed quietly and thanked June as the nurse set up a stool beside the chair and took her leave. Denise tucked a strand of mousy brown hair behind her ear and set the kaboodle on the chair-side table. With a click, it opened and Denise took her seat on the stool, adjusting for comfort as she spoke. "Mama...its time for another manicure. What color would you like today?"

"I always loved yellow. My kitchen is yellow, you know. Jacob always hated it. But I told him, I said...'well you won't be in it near as much as me and if I'm gonna be making you breakfast, lunch, and dinner each day, I want to do it in a room that makes me happy." Abigale gave a tired laugh. "That damn husband of mine. He's always gone at work nowadays. Betty, do you know when he'll be back?"

Denise paused and looked at her mother. Those blank eyes hurt her more than the questions, but not as much as being called 'Betty'. Betty was Abigale's sister who had died ten years ago and who her mother hadn't spoken to for at least thirty. It cut her like a knife, taking a tiny piece of her every time, but her therapist had urged her to try and not take it personally. Spite rose like a poison in her and for a moment she considered reminding her mother that Daddy was dead and gone, but that would only upset her, and not for long enough to make Denise feel any better. She took a deep breath and counted down from ten in her head before shaking the feeling and correcting her tone to the usual forced pleasantness she used on Sunday mornings. "This afternoon, I'm told."

Her mother nodded with a smaller smile, satisfied. Figuring she would never actually give her a color (yellow was a ridiculous color for nails. If her mother were in any lucid state she would never stand for it), she decided to pick one herself. Primrose. A proper color for a proper lady.

She shook the bottle and grabbed the emery board, cuticle pusher, and nail trimmers, setting all aside and pushing through the other bottles for the acetone and some stray cotton balls. She took her mother's hand, wrinkled with age and almost impossibly soft. The knobs and twists of arthritis in her knuckles still felt foreign to her, even after so many years. Denise drew in a sharp breath meant to control her emotions and set to work removing the dark polish from the week before. "I spoke to Cynthia two days ago. I asked when she may be able to make it back in town for a visit since she had to push back last month, but she wasn't sure. She asked that I.." Denise tightened her jaw. "...that I tell you that she loves you. And she misses you." Denise didn't believe it. Not for a moment. Cynthia cried and confided in her how hard it was to watch their mother deteriorate but Denise couldn't help but think that if she were actually here, marinating in the decline as Denise had been, perhaps maybe it wouldn't feel like such a drastic change each time she saw her. It was hard on Denise too....but she was here.

Abigale smiled brightly. "Cynthia is such a doll! You know she won junior Miss. Dickson twice? Bell of the ball! Oh!" She laughed. "Jacob practically had to beat the boys away with a stick." Denise rolled her eyes and shook her head. Abigale continued. "Cynthia always takes such great care of herself. I wondered why she wasn't a bigger help to Denise. The poor child couldn't stay out of the yard for more than an hour at a time. Hair always a mess. Always dirt under her fingernails." Denise's shoulders tightened. She looked at her own nails, nowadays well manicured and clean as a whistle. Abigale always said she was a 'late bloomer' but Denise more or less saw herself as an appeaser.

"Im sure Denise tried very hard to make you happy..." She muttered as she moved to the other hand.

"Well, she did what she could with what she had I suppose. Never as blessed as Cynthia in the ways of social graces-"

"Well maybe you would prefer Cynthia do your nails?"

Abigail turned to face her youngest daughter. "...what?"

Denise wiped away the polish on the last nail and shook her head. "Nothing. Maybe I should put on some music, hm?" Anything to stop the Cynthia golden child hour. There was only so much Denise could take. She stood and tossed the used cotton balls into a nearby wastebasket a bit more aggressively than was necessary before going to the radio and turning the dial to the designated oldies station, filling the room with the musical stylings of Doris Day. Abigale smiled and hummed along. Denise took another breath as she gripped the edge of the dresser and counted down from ten once more.

When she returned to her seat she started trimming her cuticles and filing her nails. Denise sat in anxious silence for a few minutes before asking a question she was certain she would.immediately regret. "And what about Denise? Were...were you proud of her?"

"Whats that, Betty?" Her mother had been lost in the music but Denise couldn't take it. She let out a small, muffled, anguished cry. "In not Betty, Mama! I'm your daughter! I'm Denise! I am here every week! I take you to church and to the doctor. I do your nails! Why can't you remember!?" She pleaded.

"Denise lives in Birmingham.," Abigale said with a furrowed brow. "Yes I used to, but I moved back here. To take care of you! Me, Denise! Not Cynthia, not Betty. Denise!"

A blank stare was all she got in return. Denise stood and put the tools back in the kit and walked to the bedside table to pluck a kleenex from the patterned box that was stationed there. She dabbed at the edges of her eyes and wrapped her arms around her frame, cradling the broken bits of her in front of the only person she believed could put them back together, but simply didn't possed the faculties to do so anymore. Her mother was never one to coddle even when she was aware. Self-comfort was simply a means of survival as much now as it has always been.

Abigale watched her all the while, worry falling over her time-worn features. She was quiet for a moment, as though considering what should be said to comfort the woman in her room. She was clearly upset though she couldn't imagine why.

"Dear...I'm sorry if you're upset." Her voice was quiet and gentle. The radio, as if deciding to attempt and cut the tension began to play 'Ain't Too Proud To Beg' by The Temptations. It felt cruel in context to Denise, but Abigale lit up and even clapped. "Oh, I love this song, don't you?"

Denise did, in fact, but she was in no mood. She simply cleaned up her face and made her way back to the stool, snatching the color from the table and shaking the bottle again. She told herself she would not speak again if she could help it. Today was one of those 'bad days' they talk about in her support groups. It was healthier not to take part in it for her own sanity. But then her mother said the most incredible thing.

"You used to sing this song and dance around the kitchen when we would clean up after dinner. It always tickled me. You have such a lovely singing voice. It's a pity you wouldn't sing for the church choir. I suppose you had too much personality for it, really. Such a big voice for such a skinny little thing."

Denise froze. A droplet of polish fell from the brush onto her skirt, but she hardly noticed or cared. "You...you remember that, Mama?"

Abigale grinned. "Oh, of course, Denise. How could I forget?"

They smiled at one another. Recognition flashing across Abigale's face, and relief washing over Denise's. And for that brief and fleeting moment, Denise felt whole again.