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checkeredflagggs · 2 days ago

Text

The Story of Us: Chapter 7

pairing: logan sargeant x famous!fem!singer

summary: logan and you have been keeping a secret from everyone but it might be time for it to come out

a/n: while I do my best on most of my works to be race neutral, this one is very very very self indulgent 🤷🏻‍♀️

a/n2: this is the end! Thank you all for following along! That said — I’m open to write more for them in the future!

a/n3: I still don’t understand instagram so - no one but those that follow you can see a private accounts comments (even on a public post). Also I still hate twitter so I’ve replaced it with Bluesky

Masterlist | Taglist

Private Messages, Logan and y/n

Private Messages, Logan and Oscar/Alex/George

Private Messages, WAG Chat

Bluesky

user1: what??

user2: please say sike right now

user3: this is NOT what I wanted to wake up to…

user4: haha this is a joke right???

↳user5: it better fucking be. I can’t have my American driver off the grid…

user6: what the fuck are they thinking?

↳user7: that’s what I want to know??

↳user8: right? To piss off the y/n fans?

logansargeant: lol

↳user9: what does this mean? What do you know??? WHATS HAPPENING???

↳user10: come on and give us something please

user11: oh my god we knew it was gonna happen but I didn’t think it was gonna be so soon…

↳user12: WE KNEW IT WAS GONNA HAPPEN?? WHY WASNT I TOLD??

↳user13: yeah we knew it was gonna happen?? Since when??

↳user11: since the beginning of the year? Have you completely missed vowles dislike and shafting of Logan? How long they waited to resign him last year?

↳user14: the shafting is real — Logan has scored more points for Williams this year and he still got his car taken away…

↳user12: but Logan??

↳user11: I knowwwwww. I can’t say goodbye to Logan…

Bluesky

user15: no but for real! They’ve been so quiet about all of this…

↳user16: that’s so sus…

user17: right??? There has been NOTHING but that strange lol from Logan and complete silence from y/n!

↳user18: I know we’re going into summer break but I’m gonna need literally ANYONE to say something about this situation

user19: I just bet y/n has something up her sleeves…

↳user19: she’s been too quiet for something this big…

↳user20: she better!

y/n

liked by logansargeant, oscarpiastri, user and 13,924,052 others

tagged: logansargeant

y/n: mornings, noons, and nights with you 🩵

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logansargeant: I’ll spend all my days with you

↳y/n: 🩵🩵

↳user25: ok but what does this mean?? WHAT DOES THIS MEAN??

↳user26: PLEASE

user22: couple goals!

↳user23: do I want to be y/n? Or do I want to be Logan?

↳user24: how about a secret 3rd option?

oscarpiastri: enjoying your break?

↳y/n: I always enjoy my time with Logan!

user27: the hand paintings though…

↳user28: look at the size difference there though!

↳user29: I want that so much

lilyzneimer: can’t wait to see you guys later!

↳y/n: counting down the days, lovely

↳user30: what do I have to do to become part of this friend group??

carmenmmundt: it was a pleasure to see you again 💚

↳y/n: you too, darling

↳user31: hello jealously my old friend

user21: so gorgeous!

alexandrasaintmleux: You, Kika, and I definitely need to get together soon with our fur babies!

↳y/n: literally name the time and place — Marshmellow and Croissant will be there!

↳francisca.cgomes: Simba and I are packing our bags right now!

↳alex_albon: Lily, Otter, and I are feeling neglected right now!

↳y/n: Lily and Otter are very welcome!

↳alex_albon: what??

↳lilymhe: we’re on our way!

↳iamrebeccad: so are Piñón and I!

↳charles_leclerc: what about us?

↳carlossainz55: you are stealing my dog?

↳alex_albon: a lot of dogs?

↳y/n: girls and fur babies only!

↳logansargeant: and me?

↳y/n: of course!

logansargeant

liked by y/n, alex_albon, oscarpiastri, and 2,924,733 others

tagged: y/n

logansargeant: summer breaks spent with you 🩵🤍

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y/n: nowhere else I’d rather be 🤍🩵

↳user32: oh my god the matching hearts…

oscarpiastri: thanks for the invitation out

↳logansargeant: it was just what we needed to end the summer break!

↳y/n: always

↳user33: they hosted a bonfire 🥹🥹

↳user34: I need to know who all was there!

↳user33: oh same…

alex_albon: ok but where were you feeding the giraffes??

↳logansargeant: 😂😂 sent you the info dude

↳alex_albon: thanks mate

↳logansargeant: 😉

user34: i so so so love the relationship between Logan and the rest of the grid…

↳user35: don’t really care for how long it took to develop though…

charles_leclerc: the drive-in was particularly amazing!

↳y/n: I told you! Best way to watch a Disney movie

↳user36: they also hosted a movie night?!?

↳logansargeant: we did!

user37: ok but is no one gonna talk about the painting picture???

↳user38: no you’re right we really need to talk about it good lord…

↳user39: back muscles 🤤🤤🤤🤤

↳user40: but imagine her sitting on him to draw that…

↳user41: that’s hot 🥵

Bluesky

user42: YES!

↳user43: HES BACK!!

user44: what? But wait what?

↳logansargeant: I’m driving for Williams next year! Hope this helps

↳user44: only slightly!

oscarpiastri: glad to see you’re back!

↳logansargeant: never actually left

↳user50: please give us something more than this

alex_albon: great! I didn’t want to have to break in a new teammate

↳y/n: no new teammates here!

↳logansargeant: not for a while at least…

↳user51: ok but now you’re just doing this to be mean…

oscarpiastri: did you really have to copy my tweet?

↳logansargeant: i absolutely did, thanks for the template

Bluesky

user52: THE EVIL HAS BEEN DEFEATED?!?

↳user54: Santa thank you for the early Christmas gift — I promise I’ll never ask for anything else ever again…

↳user52: same!

alex_albon: Thanks for all the support these past 2 seasons! It was an honor to work with you

↳user55: that’s such a dry af comment

↳user56: must have been a hard team to work with…

user57: and if I say y/n…

↳user58: no this has her hands all over it

↳user59: seriously?? Do you think she’s the answer to everything??

↳user57: everything? No. To this? Yes

↳user58: if it has to do with Logan? Absolutely

logansargeant: You’ll be missed in the garage

↳user60: ok no this is a dry as shit comment!

user61: I’m so used to giving and now I’m receiving!!

user62: bye bye LOSER

user63: 🙏🙏🙏🙏

user64: GET GONE!

liked by logansargeant, oscarpiastri, y/n and 1,824,103 others

tagged: logansargeant, williamsracing

f1: Logan Sargeant has been signed to the Williams family on a multi-year contract

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user65: our emotional support American driver!!

user66: WTF is a kilometer!!

user67: caw caw 🦅🇺🇸

↳logansargeant: the cry of my people!

↳user68: makes us proud Logan!!

oscarpiastri: congrats Logan!

↳logansargeant: thanks dude!

↳user69: now it’s your turn Oscar! Get that long term contract!

logansargeant

liked by y/n, oscarpiastri, charles_leclerc, and 5,829,302 others

logansargeant: she said yes!

On a more serious note, y/n you are everything to me — the light of my life, the moon and stars in my nights, the best part of my brightest days and the comfort in the darkest nights. Meeting you was the best thing that ever happened to me and I praise it everyday. I’ve been ever so blessed to be by your side and I’ve never been happier when you said yes.

comments have been limited on this post

oscarpiastri: Congratulations!

alex_albon: So happy for you!

y/n: Oh Logan…there was never any doubt that I would say yes. Loving you, being with you, choosing to spend my life with you was the easiest thing I’ve ever done and I wouldn’t change a thing that led us to where we are now.

↳logansargeant: 🩵🩵

carmenmmundt: So lovely! Congratulations

alexandrasaintmleux: oh you’ll be such a beautiful bride!

georgerussel63: Felicitations!!

lilyzneimer: Congrats on finally asking the question Logan! And congratulations to you both!

↳logansargeant: I had to make sure everything was right first! But thank you

↳y/n: oh Logan…everything is right with you 💜💜

Taglist

@anamiad00msday @suns3treading @daniskywalkersolo @awritingtree @justheretoreadthxxs @coral7161 @lost4lyrics @mastermindbaby @freyathehuntress @angelluv16 @nichmeddar @mxm47max @justaf1girl @a-beaverhausen @tallrock35 @elizamoe133 @jessica3478 @il0vereadingstuff @taylorrrrrrrrrrswiftttt @widow-cevans @1-of-my-many-obsessions @charlesgirl16 @anunstablefangirl @lilbitchfromfaraway @theendofthematerialgworl

More Notes

This is slightly opened ended — I have no idea what goes into owning a team, who should be team principal…and I don’t know if I’ll ever write that out. I might write their wedding one day though…

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miss-oranje-disco-dancer · 18 hours ago

Text

then send me a son

pairing: joel miller x reader

cws/tags: so much angst (w/ happy ending! i swear), discussion of suicide attempt (the canon one), suicidal ideations, losing a child, losing a parent, survivors guilt, discussions of abortion, unplanned pregnancy, p in v, oral sex, virginity loss (but it's not that big of deal/not a kink), both dealing w grief, ellie is dead, this is set in jackson post tlou pt I

summary: joel is put on suicide watch after he returns to jackson w/o ellie and reader becomes his 'caregiver' of sorts. lowkey enemies to lovers but also not bc it's kinda one-sided 'hatred'

a/n: author is pro-choice! and also understands the complexities of mental health that reader and joel do not at times (just wanted to make it clear that i understand... from personal experience... what depression is like as well as suicidal ideation).

title is from the song 'the suburbs' by arcade fire, but listen to the entirety of the suburbs (album) and funeral (album) if you want to understand my mindframe while writing this

the last sentence is a quote and i've reblogged it before but i'll find the image and post it/reblog it again

wc: 9.4k

masterlist | ko-fi | taglist

Joel is just surprised Tommy has the gall to ask, “Where’s Ellie?” when he arrives in Jackson alone.

In this world, when two people leave and only one comes back, you don’t ask because you already know what happened. You wait for that person to tell you about a miracle, and when they don’t, you know for sure.

“Heaven, if you believe in that sort of thing,” is Joel’s response.

But Joel doesn’t believe in Heaven or Hell, or anything other than ashes and dirt.

“I don’t know what to say,” Tommy says because he’d already said ‘I’m sorry’ when Sarah died, and that didn’t bring her back.

It takes a hefty amount of booze to get Joel to tell the story.

“I just hope she died for something. Then, at least, I’ll know I’m being selfish.”

I didn’t get that with Sarah, he thinks. She didn’t die for a ‘noble cause’. He doubts Ellie did either.

“You’re being put on watch,” Maria tells him the next morning – when he’s sober and asking what his duties are now that he’s back.

Life goes on, which means work goes on, so what’s my job? As long as it’s not burning bodies, I’ll be okay.

“Watch? Like I’m watching, or I’m being watched.”

“Being watched.”

He asks why, though he doesn’t need to. Tommy knows why he’s got that scar on his forehead.

“Fucking authoritarian bullshit,” he mutters, half into his pillow. “Thought you were a communist.”

“I am. And this has nothing to do with that.”

“I bet Tommy put you up to it anyway.”

“He didn’t ‘put me up to anything’.”

“But he told you, didn’t he?”

“He told me a long time ago.”

“Figures. You always knew I was a coward.”

“You say stuff like that, and then act like you don’t need help.”

“I didn’t say I don’t need help. I said I don’t want it.”

She’s silent, letting him continue. “Now let me grieve in peace, will you?”

She hums something akin to agreement, but asks for something that sounds like protest to him. “Where’s your gun?”

“Which one?”

“All of ‘em.”

He tells her because he doesn’t want Tommy or anyone else searching through all his bullshit because that’s what happens if he doesn’t give ‘em up.

“Want my kitchen knives too?” he says, almost wryly.

She takes most of them, but leaves the more blunt ones out of sympathy. He can have butter on his toast. Unless she takes the toaster so he can’t take it with him in the bathtub.

She leaves the toaster, and then, leaves him alone.

Quite frankly, he’s too old to kill himself. Sure, people do it at his age, but he’s so goddamn tired. Moreover, he knows he could get someone else to do it pretty easily. Maybe he could be a martyr. He could save someone from a clicker or a soldier. He could save someone’s life for once. But would that be enough to save his soul? To make it to Heaven and see Ellie and Sarah again?

Maybe, he would, if God really does love people the way some say he does. But if Joel was God, he’d deny himself entry.

He stays in bed for the rest of the day. Aside from the two times he eats. And once in the middle of the night to take a piss because he may be depressed, but the last of his dignity is motivation enough not to wet the bed.

He doesn’t shower or change his clothes. Not like he’s wearing a shirt anyway, just boxers ‘cause it’s too hot outside and he doesn’t want to get up and turn on the fan. Sleep doesn’t come easy, but it comes. It comes because it has to, reluctant as it is.

He wakes up to the voice of an unfamiliar woman. Quieter than Ellie or Sarah, less stern than Maria or Tess. Not like he was expecting to hear from three out of four of those women, not outside of his dreams.

You’ve always cared about people, saving lives and all that. But you’re no good with a gun, so Tommy finds a better job than patrol for you.

“You’re going to be watching my brother, Joel.”

“Like, spying on him?”

“No, like making sure he doesn’t kill himself.”

A suicidal man is nothing new, especially in this world, but Tommy’s bluntness about it is. He acts as if it’s a normal job. Like the ones in office buildings that sound wonderful even though the people who tell you about them assure you it was barely better than life is now. This new watchmen position is the same as patrol, in a way. Terrifying in the gravity it holds. You have to keep someone alive.

You can shoot deer, you can run quickly, you can hide well. You can survive on your own. But, at age 10, your mom bled out as you sat by her side. You were too weak to carry her, to dig a grave and bury her. Your survival feels unearned, but you’re no good with guns. You’d miss if you tried to do it. That’s a rare thought anyway, and surely not one you plan to ever speak aloud. They’d put you on watch too, which sounds suffocating, in all honesty.

You don’t know Joel. You’ve heard his name in passing, but you arrived in Jackson during the period of time he was gone. He was going to take some girl to some hospital for something or other.

“What about that girl?” you ask. “Is she not taking care of him?”

“She’s not around anymore.”

“Oh,” you say.

He just nods. The ‘why’ of the whole arrangement makes sense, but you’re still unclear on the ‘how’. Am I just supposed to stay in his house 24/7? Is he allowed to shower on his own? Do I have to cook or do laundry?

“Just check in on him. He’s not the most… personable, but don’t take anything he says to heart.”

Just check in on him. It sounds simpler than it will be, you know that much. Even keeping a plant alive takes more than ‘checking in on it’.

You arrive at his house around 10 AM. You assume he’ll be awake, but when you look around his living room and kitchen, you can’t find him. Oh God, you think. What if he’s…

He’s asleep in bed. You’re pretty sure. He’s lying there and there’s no evidence that anything’s wrong, but when you say his name from the doorway, he doesn’t move. So, you walk closer to him, just to make sure he’s breathing.

“Joel,” you say softly – because your other option is reaching out to touch him, and you feel that’s a little too personal, especially when he’s not wearing a shirt.

“Who the Hell are you and how did you get into my house?” he says.

“Tommy sent me.”

“Oh, so they’re making you watch me?”

“Yeah.”

You’re glad he knows about the arrangement. Maybe he’ll give you some direction on what to do with him.

“Must hate you if they stuck you with me.”

You can’t tell if he’s being ironic, but you hope so. Still, you don’t know how to respond. You decide on a simple, “I’ll let you get some sleep. I’ll be downstairs if you need anything.”

Though you’re alone in the room, you sit with perfect posture on Joel’s couch, looking around at the decor – or lack thereof – looking for clues about who this man is.

You think about making him breakfast, but you’d have to raid his cabinets to do so, and you’re terrified to make any missteps when it comes to Joel. You don’t think he’ll kill himself over burnt toast, but there is a persistent need lodged inside your brain to make him like you. It’s a little selfish when you should be focused on just keeping him alive, but maybe if he likes you, he’ll feel better, maybe you’ll feel better too. That’s still nothing but the ever-lingering hope in your heart. But it’s something.

He comes downstairs eventually, in a t-shirt and a pair of pajama bottoms.

“Good morning,” you say.

“No, it ain’t,” he says, heading in the direction of the kitchen.

“Do you want me to help you with anything? Breakfast or coffee?”

“I can make my own damn coffee, kid.”

And he does. The first shred of kindness you get from him is an offer to pour you a cup.

“I’m alright, but thank you.”

He sits down in a chair across from you and sips his coffee as you watch him awkwardly.

“Are you really gonna do that all day?”

“Do what?”

“Sit there and stare at me.”

“I don’t know what else to do.”

“You could leave, for starters.”

“I’ll get in trouble.”

“What? You afraid Tommy’ll get upset with you?”

“A little.”

“He’s a softie. I wouldn’t worry too much.”

You are worried. Sure, you want Tommy to be happy with you, but moreover, you don’t want to leave Joel alone lest something happen to him. You might not know the guy very well, but you’d hate to see someone take their own life.

“Can I just stay here? I promise I’ll leave you alone.”

He shrugs, and you take it as a yes.

He does not need a caregiver or a watchman. He does not need you, but you look like a kicked puppy and there’s no way he’ll force you to leave. Another young girl he’ll reluctantly let stick by his side. It’s almost cruel of Tommy to send someone like you. Someone young and full of life. Someone he has a hard time pushing away.

He should’ve sent Joel a crotchety old bitch or a drill sergeant. Maybe Tommy thinks he’s doing Joel a favor by giving him a nice girl, polite and eager to please. It’s a good thing your chipper attitude irritates him. It’s the first item on the very small list of qualities that Joel dislikes.

At first, he insists on making his own food. You’re still a guest, even if he’s reluctant to have you as one. It doesn’t matter where he lives, he’ll always have been raised in Texas. He’ll always hear his mother calling him out on his lack of manners. His hospitality is force of habit.

Plus, if he lets you do anything for him, he’ll owe you something – at least in his mind. And he doesn’t want to owe anyone anything. He doesn’t want to give or get or build any kind of rapport with you whatsoever, especially since you seem to take all attention as progress, despite the fact that Joel is harsh with you most of the time.

The whole ordeal makes him feel like more of a failure than he did before. He couldn’t save Ellie, or Sarah for that matter, and now he’s being forced into his own retirement or held hostage depending on how you look at it, so he can’t even get the satisfaction that productivity brings.

He also finds himself pretty fucking bored without work. He became so used to being in constant battle, even in his sleep. One wrong move and he was dead. The worst injury he’s gotten in the past few weeks was a paper cut.

Reading was never his biggest hobby, but it’s not bad when you find the right book. Often, you’ll sit across the room from him and read a book of your own, and the silence as he relaxes into the couch is quite peaceful for a change.

No amount of peace and quiet can cure his boredom, though. It makes him antsy, and you notice. You notice a lot when your job is just staring at him, it seems.

“I found a book of crossword puzzles,” you announce.

“Congratulations,” Joel says.

“I thought since you were bored, I’d give them to you, and maybe you could do them…”

By the look on your face, he can guess that you’re regretting your words. Lest he make you cry, he accepts the book.

“Plus, it looks kind of old so I don’t know if I’d know how to do it myself,” you add.

He knows you don’t mean it as an insult, but it sounds like one, and it makes him laugh. The list of qualities Joel likes about you is already long — and buried deep in his subconscious — but he’ll have to add the fact that you can make him laugh.

“Are you calling me old?”

“Not in a bad way. You’re just older than I am.”

He flips through the book and finds that about 80% of them are done.

“Somebody did most of these already.”

“I’m sorry… maybe I could erase that person’s answers and then you could do them?”

“I think I’d still be able to tell.”

You hang your head in defeat.

“Gimme a pencil and I’ll try the ones that aren’t done yet.”

You look through his junk drawer, find a pencil, and hand it to him. He doesn’t expect you to sit on the couch next to him.

“I know you’re supposed to watch me, but you don’t have to watch that closely.”

You move away slightly, no longer looking over his shoulder.

“I was just curious about the answers.”

“I was kidding around,” he says (though, it’s only a half-truth). “Come back here.”

It takes him about a week to finish the book.

“Had to go back and fix some of the others,” he says. “The person who originally filled ‘em out was an idiot.”

“That’s not very nice. Maybe it was a kid.”

“Kid had great handwriting, then.”

You pause, hesitating for a reason he can’t pinpoint.

“What? You want me to say sorry for calling that guy an idiot. ‘Cause I will if it matters that much to you.”

“No, no, fuck that guy, he was an idiot,” you say, clearly taking after him.

“Language, Missy,” he says, jokingly scolding you.

“Sorry. I should stop swearing.”

“It’s okay. You probably picked it up from me anyway.”

“Maybe,” you agree. You’re fidgeting, holding something behind your back, he notices.

“Whatcha got there?”

“Oh, it’s nothing, really,” you say, holding it out to him. “I just figured since you finished the crossword book, I should get you more.”

He only did the crosswords for you. He never really cared for them anyway. He just wanted to make you happy — he’d rather have you content than pissy or whiny. The only thing worse than your constant insistence on getting his approval would be if you just sat there and cried all day.

He’d tried to give the book back to you, but you couldn’t do ‘em on your own since you were lacking in 90s pop culture knowledge. So, he did them, with you watching over his shoulder the whole time.

He’s about to admit this to you and hand the new one back over to you when he looks at the pages – white paper, stapled together, all drawn up in pen.

“Did you make these?” he asks, in awe of both your ability to draw perfectly straight lines, and moreover, how much you must care if you’re willing to go to these lengths. Kiss-ass behavior, he tells himself.

You nod, and he gets the sudden urge to hug you, but opts for a thank you with a smile he can’t repress.

“You didn’t have to do all this, but it’s very sweet of you.”

He considers taking back the ‘very sweet’ comment when he finds that 3 down is four letters with the prompt “grumpy old man”. JOEL fits perfectly in the blank spaces.

You go on walks, read endless books, and Joel finally lets you start taking on some of the housework. It should be nice, but you get the feeling he’s not all that happy about this situation. Not that he tells you it outright. He doesn’t tell you much at all. And you’ve tried. It’s not like you’re asking hard-hitting questions.

“How old are you?”

“56.”

“What’s your favorite color?”

“Blue.”

He doesn’t even bother to ask the same question back to you. Sometimes, he doesn’t even look up at you when you speak to him. You know it’s the depression of losing someone close to you, you know what that feels like – the problem is, you don’t know how to fix it. You only know how to hide it.

It’s quite simple, in theory. All you have to do is give him the desire to get out of bed every day. But you don’t even know what he likes. All you know is that your presence is not high on his list of favorite things. You try and try until you swear his shitty attitude is rubbing off on you.

Tommy checks in with you periodically, asking you how things are going with Joel, and this would be the perfect opportunity for you to get out of this position, which Joel would probably love, but to spite him, you tell Tommy it’s going well.

And it is, in a way – Joel is not actively mean to you. He doesn’t insult you or argue with you, he just mostly ignores you. So, you figure if you ignore him, maybe he’ll miss your attention. Stupid teenage bullshit mindset, acting like you have a crush on him, playing some sort of push and pull game that he’s not even privy to.

But that’s not like you. That brooding behavior is all Joel, so it lasts no more than a day or so until you go back to trying, and accept the fact that he’s just an asshole. Doesn’t mean you have to be one.

You never expected to win him over with the crossword puzzles but you see the look in his eyes when you give him the homemade ones, and you know there’s something in there besides all that pain. You know that look, can’t put a name to it, all you know is that it’s a good sign, one you had yet to see from Joel.

Joel wouldn’t have thought he’d get tired of hearing someone ask, “can I do anything for you?”, constantly begging to dote on him, to care for him. The last time someone did this for him was on Father’s Day, which is an ancient holiday now, almost mythical.

But it’s been weeks of the same old shit. It has nothing to do with you. In fact, you’re probably the best ‘caregiver’ he could’ve gotten stuck with. Thing is, though, he doesn’t want a caregiver, and he’s tired of said caregiver bombarding him. It’s enough to just have her watching him like a hawk, but yapping in his ear is another thing. Because he enjoys the quiet (and because the way you ask him questions reminds him of Ellie.)

It’s a joke, a stupid joke. It’s his patience wearing thin.

“Can I get you anything?” you ask.

“Sure. A beer, maybe. And a fuckin’ blowjob,” he mutters. Yeah, that’d be the dream but it’s a joke, bordering on a jab at you.

“I don’t think we have any beer,” you say. You both know damn well there’s no alcohol in the house.

“I know.”

“And, as for the other thing- is that something that you’d want… me to do?”

“Hey,” his tone softens. “Sweetheart, it was a joke. I was messing with you.”

“Okay, so you don’t want that, correct?”

“It was a joke. I’m sorry I even said it.”

“Don’t be sorry,” you say, sheepishly. “It’s your house, your rules, right?”

The concept of free speech in his house was one he’d brought up regarding ‘swear words’— It’s his house so he’s allowed to say ‘fuck’, ‘shit’, ‘bitch’, and every other word he could come up with, and he came up with some deep cuts just to make you laugh. Admittedly, it’s a nice sound.

“Yeah.” He thinks for a moment. “I just think that these sorts of topics aren’t appropriate for someone…”

“You know I’m an adult, right, Joel?”

“Yes, I know, but you’re still young and you seem a little innocent. I don’t want to put those types of thoughts in your head.”

“I know what a blowjob is, and I know what sex is. I just haven’t found the right person yet. That doesn’t mean I’ve never thought about it or whatever.”

You rarely snap at him, so he knows that word — innocent — must’ve been more offensive than he’d meant it. Maybe you’re not innocent. Maybe you’re just kind and a hell of a lot younger than him. Maybe it just seems like you should be.

“Hey, I didn’t mean to offend you. I’m just saying that I don’t want to take advantage of you.”

“But do you want it?” You punctuate every word with a newfound annoyance.

“It’s not about that.”

“Yes it is.” You’re quite incredulous for someone who has been presented with the idea only a moment ago.

“Fine. Yes, in theory, if we were just two people who know each other, then, sure, if you offered, I’d say yes.”

“I offered.”

The way he calls you ‘sweetheart’ feels more like an insult than a term of endearment. You’d rather be ‘kid’ or nothing at all, anything less patronizing. It’s worse when he calls you innocent. You’re not innocent, you’re just nice — something that Joel is not. You’re painfully nice. You’ve heard it makes people like you. You’re still waiting on the results, though.

But, if he’d ordered you to suck him off, you’d have kneed him in the balls, and he would’ve thought twice about calling you ‘sweetheart’. The thing is, he doesn’t. Instead, he backs away from the opportunity, tells you it was a joke.

But you see two things behind his eyes: one, he wants this. He might not want to want this, but he does. More importantly, you see his genuine concern for your well-being override this desire and you realize you feel safer around him than you do around most men. That’s one of the reasons that you do give him ‘a fuckin’ blowjob’. The other being that, sometimes, before you go to bed, you can’t sleep, and a certain man comes to mind as your fingers slip beneath the waistband of your panties.

When you reiterate that you offered, you exchange a long stare wherein you try to reach into each other’s souls and sort this shit out but when you both realize you can’t, Joel says, “Okay.”

And you say, “Okay.”

A new kind of tension bubbles to the surface as Joel sits down on the couch and you kneel before him.

You fiddle with his belt, eventually managing to get it undone, but Joel does the rest of the work it takes to get his pants down to his ankles, boxers too.

You’d imagined he’d be big, but that’s how fantasies work. Every man’s dick is big in your lewd daydreams, but it’s like you manifested it with Joel. You begin to feel like you’re in over your head, and though you aren’t innocent, you aren’t experienced enough to take him. But who are you to back down from a challenge?

Joel can see hesitation wash over your face for the first time. You pause, study the scene like you’re trying to decide your approach, and then you take his cock in your hand, looking up at him like you’re asking for the green light.

He gives you the go-ahead with the only piece of advice he thinks you’ll need. “Just don’t bite, and you’ll do fine.”

He probably should’ve mentioned another thing: don’t take too much at once or you’ll choke. His head lolls back and his eyes fall closed the moment your lips meet the tip of it. He doesn’t touch you, doesn’t want you to feel intimidated by his presence while you’re exploring, so to speak. He lets out a low groan of approval to let you know he’s still with you.

But he’s fading into a beautiful oblivion until he hears you gag, feels you sputter and it shocks him out of that blissful feeling. His eyes snap open and he cradles the back of your head.

“Easy, easy,” he says. “Don’t hurt yourself.”

You pull away briefly and catch your breath.

“That’s good,” he says. “Breathe, baby.”

He can see you looking for instructions, so he takes your hand and helps you get a firm grip on his cock, sliding your hand up and down, and finally letting you do it on your own.

“Doin’ good, baby,” he says. “You gotta give your mouth a break sometimes.”

You’ve never gotten anything close to praise from Joel before. It’d warm your heart like nothing else if it weren’t so goddamn sexy in this context.

You nod, wipe the spit from your chin, and give your mouth a brief break, but you can’t hold yourself back forever. Soon, your lips are back on his cock, kissing from the base to the tip, flicking your tongue over the head, seeing what reactions you can get from him.

When you get into the rhythm of hand and mouth in tandem, you barely register him telling you that he’s gonna come.

You imagine it’s an acquired taste but it’s not awful. You can swallow it. So, you do, and you look up at him with a smile.

He looks like he’s woken up from a dream and he’s still getting his bearings straight, but he’s quick to stand up and take your hand.

“Where are we going?”

“To my bed.”

You’d follow him anywhere but bed does sound good to you right now. It sounds like an adventure. You don’t go into his bedroom unless absolutely necessary. You’d think he was hiding something horrible in there if you didn’t have a mutual feeling regarding your own bedroom.

“Are we going to have sex?” you ask.

“No,” he says.

“Then, what are we going to do?”

“You,” he begins. “Are going to lie back and relax.”

He coaxes you to lie down, and he doesn’t have to try hard.

“I,” he continues. “Am going to make you feel good.”

You’re fairly certain about what he means, so there’s nothing left for you to do but let him do the work. It’s just another part of the job you’ll have to learn from experience.

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” he says.

You nod.

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

“Let’s get you out of these clothes,” he says, playing with the hem of your t-shirt.

“Wait-” you say, sitting up, and he withdraws. “Can we kiss… first?”

He looks surprised for a moment, and you worry you’ve fucked up.

“I just feel like we should do that,” you say, much quieter.

“Yeah,” he says. “I guess that makes sense.”

His hand cups your cheek and he looks you in the eyes like he’s trying to find answers somewhere in there.

“Has anyone ever kissed you before?”

“Not really, not the way I want you to kiss me.”

“Feels a bit rude of me to have put my dick in your mouth before you’d even been kissed.”

Still, he leans in and kisses you, but it’s soft, gentle. It’s not a peck on the lips, though, it’s more. It gradually gains momentum and passion. Eventually, he slips his tongue in your mouth and you take it in stride.

“You’re very good at this,” he says. “If I didn’t know any better, I wouldn’t think this was your first time.”

“Is that a compliment?” you ask, doubting Joel is capable of such things.

He ignores your question, and sighs. You know it’s not directed at you because you’re fairly sure he’s not listening.

“I know I said I was gonna do some things with you, but I don’t wanna take things too fast, okay?”

“Are you saying you’re just going to kiss me?”

“I think that’d be the right thing to do.”

“That’s not fair,” you whine.

You wish you could sound sexy, or whatever, but you probably come off like a bratty child.

“Excuse me?”

“That’s not fair. You said you’d make me feel good. I thought you were gonna return the favor.”

“I was.”

“Then, why are you backing out?”

You’re shocked that he’s the pussy — pun-intended — in this scenario.

“I thought it might be too much for you.”

You grab his hand and slip it under the flimsy fabric of your shorts.

His eyes go wide.

Fucking hell, you’re wet, is the only thought on Joel’s mind. It makes sense. He’d be offended, maybe even worried if you were dry as a desert down there, but he’s barely touched you. Either you really enjoyed kissing him or you actually liked sucking him off too.

He gently presses the pads of his fingers against the wet spot on your panties.

“You’re right, baby. It’s only fair if I help you out.”

He’s able to get your shorts and your panties down in one swift pull. You look impressed by the action. Just you wait, he thinks. He’s not an expert by any means, but it’s not too hard to learn if you pay attention — and sex is one of the only times Joel does listen — it’s also not a skill you lose over time. It’s muscle memory, or maybe it’s innate.

His thumb rubs your clit lazily as he watches your face scrunch up in pleasure, your eyes fill with need. When the first finger slips inside you, he hears a breathy sigh come from above — it sounds like relief though he knows you haven’t come yet.

He’s never had a woman have such a strong reaction to his lips on her clit. It almost startles him at first. You’re frantic from the moment his lips meet your skin, crying out for him like you’re scared he’ll stop.

“Hey,” he says, “I’m right here. Don’t have to get so worked up. I’m gonna take care of you.”

He can’t say another word because his lips are occupied, so he relies on his hands, his soothing touch, to tell you that everything is alright. He gets the urge to tell you how good you are for him, how good you taste, how pretty you are like this, but he knows it’d be cruel to let up now. He’s callous often, sometimes harsh, but rarely cruel.

His instinct tells him to drag this out, to make your thighs shake, to have tears running down your cheeks, to tease you. To be the asshole that he tends to be when you’re around (and when you’re not). This is a version of Joel you might come to like.

He’s lived long enough to be well-practiced in this field of life. Doesn’t matter if he’s particularly romantic or even sociable, it’s just happened enough times over the course of fifty plus years for him to know the ins and outs. He can get you there quickly and lead you through it slowly.

He’s so used to you saying his name in a tone he considers pestering that he’s begun to hate the word itself. But when it’s drawn out and desperate like this, it sounds wonderful.

You’re at his mercy, he thinks. Which means he’s in control. And, as much as he’d hate to admit it, control does not mean he can kill you, control means he can care for you.

When you come down from your high, Joel is looking up at you from between your thighs with messy hair and kiss-dark lips. His smile looks like one of pride. Your cheeks heat up, only half-remembering what just happened. You could describe the event simply in a cause and effect relationship — he went down on you, so you came. You know what an orgasm feels like, but that was something beyond anything you’d ever experienced before. You fear an addiction may be coming on.

Your voice comes out shaky, which only makes your first words after a long silence sound stupider. “Thank you.”

He looks confused, and it takes him a moment to respond. “My pleasure,” he says, and you swear it might be when you see a semi through his sweatpants.

You’d offer more ‘help’ but you truly don’t think you can manage it. You can feel your body pulling you towards sleep. Your eyes have barely opened and they want to close again.

Joel notices because how could he not, you’re completely naked in every sense of the word.

“Get some rest,” he says before standing up.

He’s leaving.

“Where are you going?” you ask, instinctively.

“Downstairs.”

You do not want to say it. The fear of rejection is too strong, but so is the sudden urge to cry. Holding back tears is a strength of yours, though, so Joel never sees them. Somehow, after doing one of the most adult things, you feel like a baby in the wake of it. You are supposed to be taking care of him, and you are failing.

“What?” is his response to your refusal to meet his eyes.

“I just assumed you were going to stay. That’s all.”

“I can. If that’s what you need me to do.”

You don’t say anything. He climbs into bed anyway after picking up your underwear and handing it to you.

He doesn’t hold you but he doesn’t leave either. What he does do is kiss you on the forehead when he thinks you’re already asleep. It’s a compromise between your fear and your desire.

It isn’t as weird as one might think it would be — acting as if you’ve never done anything remotely sexual with one another. It’s easier because you don’t have to go back to being friends. You never really were. It was always awkward. What’s new? Only your knowledge that at least some of your feelings are mutual. Only the fact that you think about having sex with him every time he’s in front of you. It’s really just out of curiosity sometimes. What would he be like in bed? Does he want it too? How would you even broach the subject?

Sometimes, it’s not just curiosity. Those days are harder to navigate. You have to pretend like every little touch — most of them accidental — fuels the fire. It’s not the sensation itself. It’s just the acute awareness of his body, how close it is to yours, how easily you could reach out and touch him, that enters your mind.

“You’re staring.” Joel says from the other side of the couch.

“Sorry. I zoned out.”

“Got something’ on your mind?”

“Not really.”

“C’mon, what is it?”

“Why do you suddenly care about my thoughts?” About me.

“You think I didn’t care about you before? You’ve been in my house everyday for months now.”

“So?”

“And, I haven’t tried to kick you out yet.”

“You’re not allowed to kick me out. That doesn’t mean anything.”

“Okay. How ‘bout this: I’m down here sitting with you because I know you don’t like to be alone.”

“So you pity me?”

“No, if I pitied you, I’d have told Tommy to give you a new job.”

“Okay, so, you expect me to believe you care but you refuse to talk to me half the time.”

“I’m not much of a talker. But, now that I’m trying to talk to you, you’re shutting me out.”

“I’m not— It’s just not a big deal. I don’t even remember what I was thinking about anyway.”

“Bullshit.”

“What?”

“I said, that’s bullshit.”

“Okay, fine. I’ll talk.”

You take a deep breath before speaking, one long enough that he gestures for you to go on.

“I was just thinking about what it would be like if we had sex.”

“Excuse me?”

“Well, since we, you know, we did that stuff… it’s not like it’s a totally crazy thought.”

“‘That stuff’? Be more specific, honey.”

“You know what I’m talking about.”

“I do, but you can’t be thinking about having sex with me when you can’t even use big girl words when you’re talking about it.”

“It doesn’t even matter.” Your face is burning. It so, totally, does matter. “I was just curious.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Mm-hmm. Go on thinking, I’ll get back to reading.”

“Wait, what? You just made me tell you that to make me embarrassed? You’re not even gonna—”

“What? Gonna fuck you?”

The word slips out of his mouth so easily.

“I don’t know, maybe.”

“Well, I’m not.”

Truth is: he’s been thinking about you every day since. He only caught you staring because he was doing the same. He tries to restrain himself because it feels like the right thing to do.

But he still, he acquiesces and takes you upstairs to his bedroom.

He lays you down on the bed and undresses you slowly like you’re a gift and he doesn’t want to tear the paper. He places your clothes atop the dresser, but leaves his strewn across the floor.

Wonder fills your eyes as he reveals his naked body. Hesitation and awe wrapped up in one.

“Wow,” you say, breaking the silence, “it’s, um, you know— do you think it’ll fit?”

It’s not the first time he’s heard that. It no longer brings him that bashful pride that it did when he was younger. It’s just a fact. A nuisance sometimes.

“Not if we don’t get you ready first.”

“Do you need to get ready first too?”

He looks down at his cock, rock-hard and eager.

“No, baby, just looking at you is enough to get me ready.”

A thought crosses his mind — one he thought he’d left in his teenage years — what if he comes too quickly?

He lies back on the bed next to you and reaches for you, waits for you to let him maneuver you.

“Come here,” he says.

You sit up and face him, slowly inch towards his arms that beckon you.

You’re fairly sure you know what he wants you to do. Sit on his face. But god, something about it seems awkward in the amount of control you simultaneously give up and are given in turn.

“You trust me, right?” he asks.

“Of course.”

An answer you wouldn’t have ever thought you’d give back when you first met.

“Then, come sit on my face.”

You swing your leg over him and steady yourself above his face.

He grips your thighs to guide you. You grip the headboard to save yourself from passing out the moment Joel’s mouth meets your skin.

Joel wouldn’t be the man you’d have thought would have such a talented tongue based on how little he uses it. You can’t blame him for not talking right now. Your moans echo off his bedroom walls and permeate the balmy summer air. The windows are closed and the curtains shield your naked bodies from the neighbors but even if you’d left them open, you wouldn’t have the sense to care.

You’re an incoherent mess of moans and half-words, trembling thighs and sweat. Your orgasm comes on strong, and if your eyes weren’t screwed shut, maybe you’d see the gates of heaven.

It’s been a while since he’s done this. Tess never liked it like this and the last woman before her was one from another lifetime, pre-outbreak, an inconceivable world despite having once called it home.

He’s not really thinking about that, though, in this moment, all Joel can think of is you. Your skin, your sweat, your heat, and the pretty noises you make. At one point, he swears he hears his name though your thighs are covering his ears. And he doesn’t mind it one bit.

“I’m gonna pass out,” he hears from above him.

“No, you’re not. I’ve got you,” he tries to say, though surely his words are muffled.

“Don’t let me go.”

He doesn’t. He carefully helps you lie back on the bed. When he meets your gaze, he swears he’s never seen adoration like that in anyone’s eyes before. At least, not in a long time.

It terrifies him, but in spite of his hesitation, he holds you close.

A blanket of peaceful silence settles over your bare bodies.

You speak quietly, trying not to awaken Joel’s senses. The ones that pull him away from you. The moment feels like glass in your hands.

“Are we going to have sex?”

“Hm?”

“We were going to, right? You were getting me ready for it.”

“I thought I wore you out.”

“Maybe, but that doesn’t mean I want to stop.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I’d tell you if you were.”

He hesitates.

“I’ll be good. I promise.”

Those are the words that awaken his arousal. In an instant, you find his body looming above yours. He kisses you until your lips are red and puffy. He doesn’t break your gaze as he positions his cock at your entrance. Your green light is your needy hips begging him to fuck you.

He starts slow, even the head is a stretch. You scrunch up your face and hold back the urge to squirm.

“It’s gonna be a little uncomfortable at first, baby, and that’s why we’re gonna take it slow.”

Slow is an understatement. It takes ages for him to give you another inch — or maybe you’re just antsy. This one makes you whimper, makes you clamp down around him.

“It’s okay, baby. You’re gonna be fine.”

Joel’s voice is tender and sweet, and it gives you enough hope to ask for something you think he’d usually deny you.

“Can you hold my hand?”

He interlocks his fingers with yours. It feels oddly natural. He doubts he’s heard someone ask to hold his hand since— not now, he’ll go soft if he thinks about her. He’ll close in on himself and you need him — in more ways than one.

He continues slowly as he promised he would until he hears your moans of pleasure and your pleas for more, more, more. More is a little bit faster, a little bit harder, as deep as you can take it, and most importantly, his thumb tracing circles on your clit.

You squeeze his hand with yours as your inner walls clamp down around him.

“Just let it happen. It’s okay. I’m right here.”

When you come, he does too — the most blissful mistake he’s ever made.

Curses fly out of his mouth through his orgasm, stopping briefly as he catches his breath, and resuming when he pulls out and watches as his come drips out of you.

“Fuck. Shit. Fuck, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you insist. “I liked it.”

“I’m glad you liked it.” Because I fucking loved it. “But, it’s dangerous. We’ve gotta be more careful.”

In the future — it’s implied. Another time is nothing when the lines have all been crossed and when the other side brings him a warmth the hot summer never could.

You have more power over him than the sun.

It becomes a routine — briefly — and you are more careful. You discreetly buy condoms, but when your next period doesn’t come, you fear it might be too late.

You don’t tell Joel, not at first. Sometimes, they’re irregular, and you don’t want to give the man a heart attack. But then a week passes, another week passes, and eventually you have to — especially when you’re beginning to feel a bit nauseous and have no other explanation for it. It’s better to say something before he asks.

“Joel,” you say, “I haven’t gotten my period yet.”

A look of horror crosses his face before he asks, “How late is it?”

You take a breath before admitting, “A few weeks.”

“How many?”

“Almost three.”

“Fuck.” He sighs in preemptive defeat. “Have you taken a test?”

“No, I thought it would come so I didn’t want to overreact.”

“We’re going to go get one.”

He stands up immediately and turns towards the door.

“Wait,” you say, stopping him in his tracks.

“I should probably get it. It’ll look less suspicious.”

No, it won’t. Those who suspect something is up with you, will have their suspicions, and those who don’t, won’t think to pay attention.

They recommend taking multiple because false negatives are common.

The first one is a clear positive, so clear you think it might be a false positive, so you wait to freak out until you see two lines come up on the second test.

Joel is silent, even when you hand him the test.

But, so are you, because what more is there to say? The tests say it all.

“I’ll do whatever you need me to,” he says, and you’re surprised until he clarifies.

“I doubt they’ll make you pay for the pill or the procedure — however they do it, but I’ll take care of you while you’re recovering. I’ll be there through it all. Promise.”

The pill or the procedure. The abortion that he expects you to have. Truth be told, you hadn’t really thought about what you’d do until now. It’s probably the right decision. Do you really want to bring a baby into this world? Can you even take care of one?

“Okay,” you say. “I’ll make an appointment.”

You save your tears for Maria. She approaches you in the clinic. You’d be delighted to see her at any other moment.

“Making an appointment?” she asks.

“Yeah, just a checkup,” you lie.

The woman at the counter clarifies with you. “Just a checkup? Is that what you’d prefer?”

You turn back and forth between her and Maria.

“Um, no,” you say, “keep it as is.”

Maria raises an eyebrow and there is nowhere left to hide. You might be able to outrun her, but she knows where you live and isn’t afraid to confront you at your doorstep.

She saves you some of your dignity when she whispers, “How about a chat at my place? I have some tea that helps with nausea.”

The tea is persuasive but you’d have to go anyway. You don’t speak on the walk to Maria’s. She brews the tea and you sit across from each other in the kitchen before she finally speaks.

“What’s the appointment for?” she asks. “And I’m not here to judge you, I just want the truth.”

You’re not my mom, you could say, but she’s the closest thing you’ve had to one since your own passed.

“An abortion,” you say quietly, looking down at the table, at your hands around the mug.

“Okay,” she says, gently. “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

You try to reply but all the comes out is a sob.

Eventually, she pries the truth out of you. You explain what happened when you told Joel the news.

“So, he made the decision, and then told you he’d be there for you if he did what you wanted?”

“I guess. But, I think it might be the right choice. I mean, it'd be hard to raise a child in this world…” You cut yourself off when you look at her bump. She’s gonna be a mom, a good mom. And, stupidly, you’re jealous.

Even though it’s not there yet, you swear you can see a high chair in your periphery. You could be holding a warm bottle instead of a hot mug of tea. Maria could be feeding her child his first bite of baby food next to you.

“Let me ask you something, and I want you to really think about it, and be honest with me.”

You nod and wait for her question.

“If Joel had said he’d support you no matter what, even if you wanted to keep the child, if he said he’d step up as a father, would you have made the appointment?”

“I don’t know.” Oh, but you do. Maria waits for you to come to a conclusion, for you to spit it out.

“I like the idea of having a kid. I love kids, and I sometimes think about what it would be like being a mom, but I know that I can’t be one. Not right now.”

If there is one thing Joel can’t be, it’s a father. Not again. He’s too old, too grouchy, too cynical. He’s not the man he used to be. He was never good at it anyway. He couldn’t save his own kid. He’s already a failed father — once, if not, twice.

You’d be a great mother, and that’s the greatest tragedy. He’s failed you already. He’s not good at the kinder things of life. He shouldn’t have indulged in you, in the love you gave him when he cannot give it back. There are a lot of things Joel can’t quite get right — being a lover, a father, a good man.

Every night since the outbreak began, he’s watched Sarah bleed out in his arms. Sometimes he sees Tess, Sam and Henry, Bill, even Tommy which feels like an augury. Ellie is there almost every night, losing consciousness. Only sometimes is she in that hospital bed, often, she’s lying in the show, with blue lips and almost no pulse. Now, you’ve begun to enter his subconscious. You’re always too far out of reach, screaming his name until he’s shot dead, and the last thing he hears is you shriek as you watch him die in front of you.

Another person is another tragedy once they have the misfortune of coming into his life. There cannot be another person, especially not a child.

You should be back by now, he thinks as he splashes water on his face for the umpteenth time, hoping it’ll wash away all the mistakes he’s made.

He can tell it’s Maria by the way her knuckles rap on his front door. He can tell she’s pissed too.

When he opens the door, he sees you in standing behind her, like you’re afraid of him.

“Unless you want to have this discussion on your doorstep, I suggest you let me — us — inside.”

He does, reluctantly.

“Joel Miller, when do you plan on becoming a man?”

“What?”

“You just told her to make an appointment, didn’t even give her a chance to think about it? You managed to run away from your problems while you’re on house arrest. Impressive.”

“I thought that was what we both wanted,” he says, looking past her, to you.

“I guess, maybe,” you shrug.

The one thing he’s grateful for is Maria’s suggestion that you talk privately.

You sit further from him than usual, you refuse to meet his eyes.

“I’m sorry I didn’t ask what you wanted. I thought I was making the right choice.”

“It’s okay. I don’t even know what I want.”

But the tears suggest otherwise.

“Do you want to keep the baby?”

“Maybe, but I can’t. It’s not a good idea.”

“That’s what I think, but Maria’s right, it’s your choice.”

“But I don’t know how to make that choice.”

“You’ve got a good heart. Follow it.”

You spend a lot of time thinking, remembering, and trying to convince yourself that there is no part of you that wants to be a mother. But, in your bedside drawer, there is a handful of photos — all from before the outbreak. You see your mom as a child on a swing set, and as a teen blowing out candles on her birthday. Her mom is in that one too, sitting next to her, smiling. You wish more than anything to have pictures of you and your mom.

You think about the little girl who pretended a ratty old stuffed bear was her baby. You can hear your mom telling you that you’re doing a good job, how you’ll be good at this one day. Your bedtime stories were never about fairy princesses, but about your family, the ones you didn’t get to meet.

“I wish I could have that,” you’d say.

“One day, you might be able to — the world is scary right now, but that doesn’t mean it’s gonna be like this forever,” she’d insist.

In retrospect, you wonder if she really believed that, if she really believed that teddy bear would one day be a baby that you’d be the one carrying, and she’d be the proud grandmother.

“I told her I wanted to be a mom like her,” you explain to Joel, and he understands.

You know about Ellie, but not about Sarah. Joel never brings either of them up to you. Until now. It’s a fair trade, he tells himself. Photos for photos, info for info. But it’s more than that.

“Hold on for one minute, I’m gonna go get something, and I’ll be right back.”

It’ll only take him a second to grab the pictures, but he’ll need a moment to compose himself.

“This is Sarah,” he says, pointing to the little girl in the photo. “My daughter.”

You’re silent for a moment, gazing at the photo, at a younger Joel you’ve never met.

You’re the first person not to tell him that you’re sorry for his loss, and he is relieved not to hear the empty sympathies once more.

“What was she like?” you ask.

It’s hard to explain, and for that reason, he talks for at least a half hour about Sarah. All her likes and dislikes, all his favorite moments from the day she was born until the day she died. He tells the story of that too.

When you try to tell him that he sounds like he was a good dad, he has to explain why he wasn’t.

“I couldn’t save her,” he says.

“I couldn’t save her either,” you say, pointing to your mother in one of the photos.

“You were just a child,” he says. “It’s not your fault.”

“And, you were just a man,” you say. “It’s not your fault.”

“A grown man.”

“Doing the best that you could.”

And you’re right. He did try his best. He stops arguing not because he’ll ever concede but because the weight of the present falls upon him all at once as he meets your eyes and remembers why you’re here.

He can’t have Sarah back, he can’t have Ellie back, but you’re right in front of him — and he loves you. It’s too late to turn back and kick you out on your first day, it’s too late to never speak to you, it’s too late to not love you.

It’s not too late to fail you like he’s failed everyone else. It’s not too late to do the opposite either.

You tell him your decision, and wait for his disagreement, for him to dissuade you. But, he doesn’t.

“Okay,” he says.

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to try my best.”

You cancel the appointment and make the final decision, but it doesn’t feel real until Joel finishes building the crib in the spare bedroom. The most unexpected part is how excited you feel even when you’re nauseous, even when your feet are bloated, even when your back is killing you.

You’re also terrified, particularly when you hear Maria’s account of her labor and delivery. For someone describing how painful it was, she seems oddly unfazed, happy even. She’s too focused on her baby boy, and you get it — he is pretty cute.

When the day comes, you find that you’ve underestimated the pain entirely. The wounds you’ve gotten in combat are nothing compared to this. Every hour that goes by feels like a full day for you. Every time the doctor checks your dilation it’s still not yet time.

Until it is. And everything becomes a million times more chaotic. You swear the only thing keeping you sane is Joel’s hand in yours. (You have to apologize later for squeezing it so tightly.)

Finally, the telltale cry comes, and it feels like you’ve run a marathon by how exhausted you are and by how proud you are of yourself for doing it. This will go down as the greatest feat of your life and you are more than satisfied with that fact.

The doctor announces that it’s a boy and though he said he’d be fine with either gender, Joel’s smile is wider than you’ve ever seen it. You’re smiling almost as big. It hurts your cheek muscles but you can’t stop, especially when they hand you your baby boy. Though he doesn’t know how to speak, his hand wrapped around your finger tells you that it’s going to be okay.

There is so much pain in this world, but not in this room.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel x reader #tlou fanfiction

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itsgiovanna · 3 days ago

Text

playing for love (chapter 7)

pairing: fem!character x mason mount

summary: injured and lost, mason mount begins his recovery with the help of adeline alderidge, a tough yet brilliant physiotherapist with secrets of her own. he becomes determined to break through the walls adeline has built around herself. but some wounds don't heal easily, and the closer they get, the more mason realizes she might need saving just as much as he does.

notes: hi, loves! my life has been a hurricane, that's why i took so long to post chapter seven. anyways, i hope you're still with me on this one! enjoy :)

word count: 6.0k

warnings: none.

next: chapter 8

tag list: @avalentina @a1leexxa

The first thing Adeline registered was warmth.

A slow, lazy kind that wrapped around her and made her want to stay curled up for just a little longer.

The second thing was the smell. Coffee. Something buttery. Something that smelled way too good for this early in the morning.

She blinked, her eyes adjusting to the soft morning light streaming through the windows. The storm was over. The skies had cleared, leaving only the faint scent of rain lingering in the air.

And then she realized — she was still on the couch.

Still in Mason’s hoodie.

And she had slept here.

With a quiet inhale, she pushed herself up, the blanket draped over her sliding down as she tried to shake off the haziness of sleep. Her body ached slightly from being curled up all night, but what unsettled her more was the unfamiliar comfort of it all. She had spent the night in Mason’s home, had let him sit with her through the worst of the storm, had let herself lean on him.

Something had shifted.

She didn’t know what to do with that realization.

A pan sizzled from the kitchen, pulling her from her thoughts.

Adeline ran a hand through her hair, straightened the hoodie slightly, then — after a breath — forced herself up.

She found Mason standing by the stove, his back to her, moving around the kitchen with an ease that almost felt domestic. The sight was oddly… disarming. The same man who had been relentless in annoying her, who had spent weeks pushing her patience, now stood barefoot in his own kitchen, making breakfast like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Smells good.” she said before she could stop herself.

Mason turned, spatula in hand, and gave her a once-over. Not teasing. Just observing. His gaze lingered briefly on the hoodie she was still wearing before he smirked. “You look like you just crawled out of a cave.”

Adeline rolled her eyes. “And here I was about to be nice.”

Mason chuckled, turning back to the stove. “Guess that means I’m growing on you.”

She didn’t dignify that with a response. Instead, she stepped into the kitchen, hesitating for just a second before leaning against the counter. The casual air he carried made it easy to pretend nothing was different, even though it was.

“You always cook breakfast?” she asked.

“When I feel like it.” he said, flipping whatever was in the pan. “Figured I owed you, since you got stuck here.”

“You don’t owe me anything.”

Mason glanced at her. “Maybe not. But you should eat anyway.”

She didn’t argue. She just watched as he worked, moving with an effortless rhythm that told her this wasn’t just a rare occurrence — he actually knew what he was doing.

When he plated the food and slid a plate toward her, she looked at him for a moment before giving in. “Thanks.”

Mason just smirked and grabbed his own plate, leaning back against the counter next to her.

They ate in silence for a bit, the only sound the quiet clink of utensils and the occasional shift of movement. Adeline wasn’t sure why it felt so… easy.

Maybe because she was too tired to overthink it. Maybe because something about the way he had been last night had chipped away at the resistance she had been holding onto.

Or maybe she was just tired of being rude to someone who, for once, wasn’t making her life harder.

After a moment, Mason cleared his throat. “So, what’s the plan? Heading back soon?”

She nodded, swallowing a bite. “Yes. Stella’s probably waiting.”

Mason leaned his elbow on the counter. “Is Lily alright after the storm?”

Adeline glanced at him, a little surprised he asked. “She sleeps like a rock. Probably didn’t even notice.”

Mason huffed a laugh. “Lucky her.”

Adeline studied him for a second. “Did you sleep at all?”

“Not really.”

She frowned slightly but didn’t press.

Another stretch of silence passed, but it wasn’t awkward. Just… quiet. A rare thing between them.

Mason shifted slightly, nudging her arm with his elbow. “You’re gonna steal my hoodie, or do I get it back?”

She looked down, realizing she was still tucked into the soft fabric. And, more embarrassingly, that she had been comfortable in it.

“I’ll give it back.”

Mason smirked. “Take your time.”

Adeline shook her head, but for once, she didn’t have a sharp retort. She just kept eating, ignoring the way his words settled somewhere deep, somewhere she wasn’t quite ready to acknowledge yet.

Adeline had just finished her coffee when her phone buzzed on the table. She glanced at the screen, seeing Elliot’s name flashing across it. A part of her hesitated before answering.

“Elliot?” she said, shifting in her seat.

“Hey, Alderidge.” Elliot’s voice was unusually serious. “How are you holding up? I know the storm was bad.”

Adeline exhaled, rubbing her temple. “I’m fine. I stayed somewhere safe for the night.”

There was a small pause before Elliot spoke again. “That’s good. Listen, I wanted to call because… the building’s in bad shape.”

Her grip on the phone tightened. “What do you mean?”

“There’s been a lot of flooding. Some apartments are completely wrecked. The power’s still out, and they’re saying it might take days to fix everything.”

Adeline’s stomach twisted. The thought of her apartment — of Lily’s things, their home — being damaged made her chest tighten.

“Shit.” she muttered, running a hand through her hair. “How bad is mine?”

“I’m not sure.” Elliot admitted. “I couldn’t get inside, but it’s probably better if you check it out yourself before bringing Lily back.”

Lily.

Guilt slammed into her like a wave. It had already been too long since she’d seen her daughter, and now she had to push it even further.

“Of course, yes.” she murmured, rubbing her temple. “You’re right.”

“I can give you a ride there.” Elliot offered. “I have to head to work soon, but I can drop you off on the way.”

Adeline hesitated, glancing toward Mason, who was still moving around the kitchen

“Sure.” she said after a beat. “Thanks, Elliot. I owe you one.”

“You owe me nothing. Just let me know when you’re ready.”

When she hung up, Adeline immediately opened her messages and typed out a quick text to Stella.

Adeline: Can you take Lily to daycare today? I need to check the apartment first. I’ll come get her as soon as I can.

She hit send, swallowing hard. She knew Lily was safe with Stella — she always was — but the guilt sat heavy in her chest. Too many hours away, too many missed moments.

It didn’t take long for her to respond, Adeline let out a sigh of relief when she read it.

Stella: Don’t worry, babes. I got you, be safe.

But, then there was Mason.

She shifted in her seat, feeling the soft fabric of his hoodie still wrapped around her. Let herself be comforted, let herself be seen in a way she usually didn’t allow.

Now, in the morning light, it all felt too real.

Adeline let out a slow breath, setting her phone down on the counter. The conversation had left an uneasy weight in her chest, and she rolled her shoulders, trying to shake it off.

When she looked up, Mason was watching her from where he stood by the sink. He had been wiping down the counter, but now his hands had stilled, his brow slightly furrowed as he studied her.

“What?” she asked, shifting under his gaze.

Mason tilted his head. “You look… I don’t know. Annoyed. Or stressed.

She let out a short, humorless laugh. “Yeah, well, I’ve got a reason.”

“What happened?” He set the dish towel aside.

She hesitated for a second before exhaling. “A friend. — Well, my neighbor — called. He went to check on the building this morning, and there’s been some flooding. Some of the apartments are in bad shape.”

“What about yours?” Mason straightened slightly.

“I don’t know yet.” she admitted. “He couldn’t get inside, but the power’s still out, and they’re saying some places got hit worse than others. I need to go check it out before I bring Lily back.”

Mason nodded slowly, considering that. Then, without missing a beat, he said. “I’ll drive you.”

Adeline blinked. Then she gave him a look.

Mason followed her gaze as it dropped to his knee brace, realization dawning across his face. He smirked. “Right. Minor issue there.”

“Kind of a big one.” She arched a brow.

“Fine. I’ll supervise.” He let out a mock sigh.

That actually made her huff a laugh.

“Appreciate the offer, but my neighbor’s already on his way to pick me up.”

Mason’s smirk lingered, but he nodded. “Didn’t realize you had a neighbor that nice.”

��He’s just being helpful.” Adeline shrugged.

Mason didn’t say anything to that, just watched her for a second longer before continuing to do the dishes.

(…)

Adeline had just zipped up her bag when a light knock sounded at the door.

She glanced over her shoulder to see Mason leaning casually against the frame, arms crossed over his chest. His stance was relaxed, but there was something knowing in his expression, like he had already decided she was going to refuse whatever he was about to say.

“Need help with the apartment?” he asked.

Adeline snorted softly, shaking her head as she adjusted the strap of her bag. “You’re still recovering.”

“I didn’t say I’d be useful help.” Mason joked.

That actually made her laugh. She dropped her bag onto the bed and stretched her arms over her head, working out the stiffness from sleeping curled up on the couch all night.

“That’s good to know. If I ever need someone to supervise while I do all the work, I’ll call you first.” Adeline said, smiling.

“I can hold a flashlight and nod like I know what I’m doing.” He shrugged.

Adeline shook her head, amused, and bent down to grab the few things she had left on the nightstand — her phone charger, a hair tie, a small travel-sized lotion she always carried. Mason didn’t move from his spot, just watched her with a lazy kind of curiosity, as if he had nothing better to do than stand there and make conversation.

“I think I’ve got it covered.” She tucked her charger into the side pocket of her bag before glancing up at him.

“Figured I’d offer.” Mason gave a slight nod.

A pause settled between them, not awkward, just quiet. Then Adeline exhaled and ran a hand through her hair, hesitating for half a second before speaking.

“And… Mason.” She cleared her throat, shifting her weight slightly. “Thank you. Really.”

Mason raised a brow. “For?”

She rolled her eyes. “For letting me stay. And, you know… keeping me company.”

Something in his expression shifted, just slightly. Not teasing, not smug — just understanding.

“Yeah, well.” He shrugged one shoulder. “It’s not every day I get to witness you being tolerable.”

“There he is, Mason Mount.” Adeline huffed a small laugh and shot him a look.

“Gotta keep the balance.” Mason grinned.

She rolled her eyes, but the usual sharpness between them wasn’t there.

It was just easy. Natural.

She reached for her bag, slinging it over her shoulder, but Mason’s voice stopped her before she stepped past him.

“Seriously, though.” His tone was quieter now, more casual than joking. “You know you can call if you need anything, right?”

Adeline blinked, caught off guard for just a moment.

Then, before she could think too much about it, she nodded. “I know.”

Mason held her gaze for a second longer, then smirked. “Good. Now get out of my house before you start thinking I’m nice or something.”

Adeline laughed as she stepped past him, shaking her head. “Too late.”

(…)

The car came to a slow stop in front of the building, and Adeline’s stomach tightened. The storm had left its mark. The sidewalk was cluttered with soaked furniture, broken boxes, and ruined belongings. Neighbors moved around in a daze, some dragging what they could from the wreckage. Others just stood, defeated.

The building itself looked exhausted. Mud streaked the lower walls, and the entrance was smeared with grime. A cracked window on the second floor gaped open, its curtains hanging limp and wet. The air smelled of dampness and stale water.

Adeline barely heard him. “I should’ve been here.”

“There’s nothing you could’ve done.” Elliot said softly, his hand brushing her arm. “No one could’ve stopped this.”

She nodded, but the guilt remained. Without another word, they headed inside.

The hallway was worse. The floor squelched beneath their shoes, and the walls were streaked with dark stains. Water had pooled along the edges, carrying bits of debris. Every step echoed in the eerie silence.

When they reached her door, Adeline’s hands shook as she unlocked it. She hesitated for a moment, bracing herself. Then she pushed it open.

The sight hit her like a wave.

Water covered the floor, murky and still. The couch sagged, the fabric darkened and soaked. Lily’s bookshelf lay collapsed, with pages clinging to the warped wood. The small rug they’d picked out together was barely visible beneath the water, vibrant colors dulled. In the corner, the television tilted dangerously, a crack splintering across the screen.

Adeline’s eyes moved over every ruined thing — the framed pictures, the knick-knacks they’d collected, the handwritten notes stuck to the fridge that now curled and bled ink. A stuffed bear floated near the baseboard, its fur matted and gray.

“We fought so hard for this.” she whispered, barely realizing she’d spoken aloud.

Elliot didn’t respond. He simply stood beside her, watching the wreckage with the same stunned silence.

Her chest ached. All the hours spent making this apartment a home, all the memories wrapped into its walls — gone. Just like that.

“You’ll figure this out.” Elliot said eventually, though his voice was unsure.

Adeline didn’t answer. The weight of the loss settled deep, and for a long moment, all she could do was stand there, the water lapping softly at what was left.

Hours later, as she worked in silence, the sound of the steady drip of water filled the room. The floor was still slick with murky puddles, and every step made the wet boards groan beneath her weight. The air was thick — a mix of dampness, mud, and something sour that clung to the walls.

Elliot was by the door, hauling the soaked couch closer to the hall. He didn’t say much, only offering the occasional glance her way.

Adeline crouched near the collapsed bookshelf, fingers carefully sifting through the waterlogged mess. The pages of her and Lily’s favorite bedtime stories clung together, their bright illustrations now smeared and dull. She tried peeling one apart, but the paper disintegrated in her hands.

Her throat tightened.

Next to the ruined books was a small wooden box, the lid slightly ajar. She pulled it free, brushing away the beads of water that dripped from its corners. Inside were photographs — some warped and stuck together, but others miraculously untouched.

A picture of Lily, taken on her third birthday, grinned back at her. She was missing a tooth, her face smeared with chocolate frosting. Stella had been the one to capture the moment, laughing as Lily tried to blow out candles that kept relighting.

She’d been there for everything — from the day Lily was born to the late nights Adeline spent worrying over rent and bills. Stella had been her constant, her family when she had none.

She set the photo aside gently. Next, she found a small stack of Lily’s early drawings — all suns, stick figures, and lopsided hearts. Most of them were too wet to save, but one had dried enough to keep. A simple image of two figures holding hands, with “Mum and Me” scrawled in bright purple crayon.

Adeline traced the edges with her thumb, the tears pressing hot behind her eyes.

“How’s it going?” Elliot’s voice broke through the quiet. He was standing in the doorway now, his arms crossed.

She swallowed hard and nodded. “I’m… getting what I can.”

“Good,” he said, his voice careful. “No rush. Just… take what matters.” She didn’t respond, but she appreciated the space he gave her.

After setting aside the box of memories, Adeline moved toward the small writing desk by the window. The chair had tipped over, half-submerged in the water. She pulled it upright, its legs scraping loudly. The bottom drawer was swollen shut, but with a few firm tugs, it gave way.

Inside were loose papers, ink bleeding across the pages. Torn envelopes, old receipts — most of it useless. But then, beneath the mess, her hand brushed against something solid. A small bundle of letters, still sealed.

Her father’s handwriting.

The sight of it jolted her. The looping script of her name on each envelope was painfully familiar, though the paper had softened with age. She hadn’t seen those letters in years. She’d tucked them away the moment they arrived, unopened. Each one a reminder of what she’d walked away from.

“We’ll give you everything you need. Just not with her.”

The words still echoed. Her father’s voice, cold and resolute. The choice had been hers. She kept Lily, and they shut her out. No more family. No more home.

But he had written. Over and over. And no matter how much she wanted to pretend those letters didn’t exist, she’d never thrown them away.

Adeline ran her fingers over the edges, the paper brittle but intact. The temptation was there — to tear them open, to read whatever apology or condemnation might wait inside. But she didn’t.

She wouldn’t.

Still, she couldn’t leave them behind. Without thinking, she slipped the bundle into her bag, tucking it beneath the dry photos. They didn’t deserve space in her thoughts, but somehow, she couldn’t bear to lose them.

“Ready?” Elliot asked quietly.

Adeline exhaled, blinking away the sting in her eyes. “Yeah.”

She gave the apartment one last look. The water still pooled, reflecting the broken pieces of what had been her home. But the memories — the ones she’d managed to save — were enough for now.

“Let’s go.” she said. And without another word, they stepped out into the dim hallway, leaving the ruins behind.

(…)

Ben, Declan, and Kai were talking about football — the upcoming match, tactics, and player transfers. Mason tried to engage, but his mind kept wandering.

Ben noticed first. “You alright, mate?” he asked, glancing over at Mason, who was absentmindedly swirling his drink.

Mason looked up, forcing a smile. “Just tired, that’s all.” he said quickly, but the words felt off.

“You sure?” He raised an eyebrow. “You’ve been quiet all night.”

Mason hesitated for a moment, trying to hide how unsettled he felt. “I'm alright.” he said, trying to brush it off.

The conversation inside had started to fade into background noise. Ben and Kai were still talking about the upcoming match, but Mason barely registered it. His thoughts were elsewhere.

Adeline had rescheduled his session that morning. She’d said it was for personal reasons, but Mason couldn’t help but worry. After everything that happened during the storm, she’d stayed over at his place. He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it since. The quiet moments, the way she’d let him comfort her — it felt different. More real. And now? He wasn’t sure what it all meant.

"Mate, you’ve been off all night." Declan said, nudging him. "What’s going on?"

Mason shook his head, forcing a small smile. "Nothing. Just tired."

Declan didn’t buy it. "C'mon." he pressed. "You’ve barely said a word. Let’s get some air."

Mason hesitated but eventually nodded. They stepped out into Ben’s backyard, the cool night air brushing against them. Mason kept his hands in his pockets, staring up at the sky. The distant hum of the city was the only sound for a moment.

"Are you gonna tell me what’s actually going on?" Declan asked, his voice softer now. "Because I know it’s not just ‘tired.’"

Mason sighed, leaning against the railing. "It’s Adeline." he admitted quietly. "She canceled our session today. Said she had personal stuff to deal with. I don’t know… I guess I’m worried."

Declan frowned, studying Mason’s expression. "Is she alright?"

"I hope so." Mason said, though uncertainty twisted in his chest. "But it’s not just that. It’s…" He paused, struggling to put it into words. "She stayed at my place during the storm. It was late, and I didn’t want her getting an Uber in that mess. I thought it was the right thing to do. But now it feels... complicated."

"Complicated how?" Declan’s brows lifted slightly.

"I don’t know." Mason muttered, frustration creeping into his voice. "She’s my physiotherapist. It’s supposed to be professional. But last night, when she was upset, I didn’t think about that. I just wanted to be there for her."

Dec nodded, his expression thoughtful. "And now you’re wondering if she sees it the same way."

"Yes." Mason admitted, his voice low. "I keep thinking about it. What if I messed things up? What if she regrets staying?"

Declan took a step closer, his tone steady. "Mase, listen. I know how your head works. You overthink everything when it comes to this stuff. But not every situation’s gonna end like before."

Mason’s jaw clenched. Declan didn’t have to say it outright — Mason knew what he meant. The last time Mason let himself fall for someone, it hadn’t gone well. The heartbreak still lingered, making him hesitate anytime his feelings got too close to the surface.

"But what if it does?" Mason asked quietly. "What if I ruin everything?"

Declan shook his head. "Or what if you don’t? What if she needed you last night, and you did exactly what a good man should? Maybe she’s thinking about it too, but she’s just as scared as you are."

Mason didn’t respond right away. He wanted to believe Declan was right, but the fear still lingered.

"You’ve always been like this, mate." Declan continued, his voice laced with both frustration and care. "You convince yourself you’re not good enough. But I’ve known you since we were kids, and I know how much you care. You don’t just look out for people because you have to — you do it because that’s who you are."

Mason’s throat tightened. He hated how easily his friend could see through him.

"You’re not the guy who breaks things, Mase." Declan added. "And you don’t have to keep punishing yourself like you are."

For a moment, the only sound was the rustle of the trees. Mason exhaled slowly, the weight on his chest easing just a little.

"I don’t know what I’m supposed to do, Dec." Mason finally said.

"You don’t have to know right now." Declan replied. "But don’t push her away just because you’re scared. If you care about her, trust yourself a little."

Mason nodded, though the uncertainty still lingered. But Declan’s words stayed with him. Maybe he didn’t have the answers yet, but for the first time in a while, he wasn’t entirely convinced that was a bad thing.

(...)

Adeline sat on the edge of the worn-out couch in Stella’s building lobby, the hum of fluorescent lights overhead doing little to soothe her restless thoughts. She had spent the afternoon at her apartment, trying to salvage what she could from the flood. Damp clothes, ruined photographs, Lily’s waterlogged toys — the sight of it all had weighed her down like a stone. Even now, the scent of mildew seemed to cling to her skin.

But none of that mattered at the moment. She was about to see Lily.

The glass doors swung open, and a burst of chilly air swept through the lobby. Adeline’s heart leapt when she saw the familiar pair walking in. Lily, bundled in her little pink jacket, her golden curls bouncing with each step, and Stella trailing right behind her, flashing a grin.

"Mommy!" Lily’s voice rang out, cutting through the stale air like sunshine.

Adeline shot up from the couch, a tearful smile breaking across her face as Lily bolted toward her. She crouched just in time to catch her daughter in a tight embrace. The warmth of Lily’s small body instantly soothed her frayed nerves.

"Oh, my love." Adeline murmured, pressing kisses to Lily's forehead. "I missed you so much."

"I missed you too!" Lily squeezed her tighter, little hands clutching Adeline’s coat. "Mommy, the storm was so loud! Did it scare you?"

Adeline brushed a stray curl from Lily’s face, her voice soft. "A little. But I’m okay now, because I have you here."

Lily giggled, her eyes sparkling. "I wasn’t scared! I pretended I was a superhero and the storm was a big, grumpy monster!"

Adeline laughed, the sound finally feeling genuine. "You’re my brave girl."

"And she made sure everyone at daycare knew it." Stella quipped, stepping closer with an amused grin. "She’s been telling her superhero story all day."

Lily nodded enthusiastically. "Auntie Stella said I should make a comic book about it!"

"I think that’s a brilliant idea, sweetheart." Adeline agreed, her chest swelling with pride.

Stella, though still smiling, scanned Adeline’s face, her brow furrowing slightly. "You look like you’ve had one hell of a day."

Adeline’s smile faltered. She opened her mouth, the weight of everything she wanted to say pressing down on her, but she quickly shook it off. "It’s been… a lot."

"You don’t have to explain right now, babes." Stella said gently, resting a hand on Adeline’s shoulder. "But when you’re ready, I’m all ears."

Adeline nodded, grateful for her friend’s patience. But even as she tried to focus on Lily's excited chatter, there was one more thought lingering in the back of her mind. Mason.

She hadn’t heard from him since she left his house that morning. He’d texted once, checking in, but she hadn’t responded yet. The memory of his steady presence, the way he had held her through the storm, stayed with her. It was confusing — comforting, but confusing.

"So, Elliot drove you here?" Stella’s teasing voice snapped Adeline from her thoughts.

"He was just helping." Adeline rolled her eyes.

"Oh, helping, yes." Stella smirked, her arms crossing. "He must be pretty invested in being a good neighbor."

"Stella." Adeline warned, though she couldn’t fight the tiny smile tugging at her lips.

Lily, completely oblivious to the teasing, beamed up at Stella. "Auntie Stella, did you know Mommy is the best hugger in the whole world?"

"I did know that!" Stella exclaimed dramatically. "But I’m always happy to be reminded."

Adeline scooped Lily into her arms, holding her tight once more. For now, despite everything that awaited her, she held onto this — her daughter’s laughter, her best friend’s unwavering support, and the brief calm in the eye of the storm. The rest could wait, if only for a little while longer.

The elevator creaked its way up to Stella’s floor, the narrow space barely accommodating the three of them. Stella’s apartment was a small, one-bedroom flat, a classic city single-girl space with mismatched furniture, vibrant throw pillows, and walls plastered with polaroid memories. The scent of vanilla candles lingered in the air, a sharp contrast to the dampness Adeline couldn’t quite shake from earlier.

"Okay, superhero." Stella announced as they stepped inside, tossing her keys on the counter. "What mission are we going on now?"

Lily gasped excitedly. "Can I play with the stickers in your drawer?"

"You mean the super-secret sticker collection?" Stella teased. "Of course. You’re the only one I trust with that responsibility."

With a squeal, Lily dashed to the small desk by the window, already immersed in her new activity.

"She’s a tornado of energy." Stella chuckled before turning back to Adeline. "Alright, sit. Spill."

Adeline hesitated but sank into the soft couch, her fingers tracing the seam absentmindedly. "The apartment’s ruined. There’s… so much damage, Stella. Water everywhere. I tried to clean, but it’s impossible."

Stella’s face softened. "Oh, Adeline. I’m so sorry."

"I don’t know what I’m going to do." Her voice cracked, but she quickly blinked away the tears threatening to fall. "I can’t afford to stay in a hotel forever."

"Then stay here, Ady." Stella said firmly. "It’s tiny, but we’ll make it work."

Adeline shook her head, though the offer warmed her heart. "No. You’ve done enough for me already. You need your space. And Lily… she needs room."

"But I’d gladly give it up for you. Both of you."

"I know, Stells." Adeline murmured, her fingers trembling. "But I can’t. I’ll figure it out."

"And?" There was a beat of silence before Stella’s eyes narrowed playfully.

"And what?"

"And Maso." Stella smirked. "You’re thinking about him. Don’t even try to deny it."

Adeline groaned, dropping her head into her hands. "I stayed at his place, that’s all."

"That’s all?" Stella lifted a brow. "Babes, you’ve been distracted since we walked in. You’re not fooling me."

"It’s… complicated." Adeline admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

"I’m listening."

"He was just… so kind. He didn’t have to be. But he stayed with me the whole time, comforted me. It’s like, for once, I didn’t have to hold everything together by myself."

Stella’s expression softened. "That doesn’t sound complicated. That sounds… nice."

Adeline hesitated. "But it’s Mason. He’s my client. And I can’t afford to get caught up in something that isn’t real."

"Maybe..." Stella said gently. "Or maybe, for once, you should let yourself feel whatever it is you’re feeling."

And with that, Adeline did what she always did — she leaned on Stella, because if anyone could help her navigate the tangled mess of emotions, it was her best friend.

(...)

The sun spilled over the bustling streets of Levenshulme’s High Street, illuminating the vibrant colors of the market stalls. Crowds moved in a steady hum, laughter and chatter mingling with the scent of roasted coffee, fresh-baked pastries, and sizzling street food.

Vendors called out their specials, their voices adding to the lively rhythm of the day. Manchester didn’t get many days like this — the kind where the sky remained an uninterrupted blue and the breeze carried warmth instead of the usual biting chill.

Mason walked alongside his family, the buzz of the market bringing an easy smile to his face. It was rare that his parents, Jaz and Sam, alongside Summer and Mia all made the trip from Portsmouth. He tried not to miss home too much, but having them here brought back a sense of comfort he didn’t realize he’d been craving.

“I’m telling you, mum.” Mason said, weaving through the crowd. “Next time, I’ll cook. You can’t keep saying I’ve only mastered scrambled eggs.”

Debbie scoffed, though a smile tugged at her lips. “I’ll believe it when I see it. I’m still recovering from that time you nearly set the oven on fire.”

Jaz snorted. “Mason, you’re not a Michelin-Star chef just because you grilled a burger once.”

Mason rolled his eyes, though laughter escaped him. “You’re all just jealous. My culinary skills are unmatched.”

“Right, mate.” Sam chimed in, grinning. “The man burns toast but calls it artisanal.”

“Rude.” Mason shot back, but the corners of his mouth lifted. Summer tugged at his hand, her curly hair bouncing as she pointed to a stall lined with handmade jewelry.

“Uncle Mase, look! Pretty bracelets!”

“Oh, we better check those out.” Mason said, leading her toward the stall. Mia, perched on Tony’s shoulders, babbled excitedly about the balloon animals she’d spotted.

It was the kind of day Mason wished he could freeze — simple, happy, and easy. But then, in the middle of the bustling crowd, something, or rather someone, caught his eye.

Adeline.

She stood near a flower stall, the sunlight catching strands of her hair, making the golden tones shimmer. A soft breeze tousled it, but she didn’t seem to mind. She was dressed simply — a light denim jacket over a pale blue dress that swayed around her knees. Her cheeks were touched with a faint flush from the sun, and she smiled down at a little girl by her side. Lily.

Mason’s heart stumbled. He hadn’t seen Adeline since that night she’d stayed at his place during the storm. Things had shifted between them since then. There was an understanding — a crack in the guarded walls she’d so carefully built. And now, seeing her like this, in the middle of a sunlit market, surrounded by flowers and laughter, he was struck by how effortlessly beautiful she looked.

Their eyes met. A flicker of surprise passed over Adeline’s face, quickly followed by something softer — a warmth she tried to hide but couldn’t. Mason’s chest tightened, the noise of the market dulling for a moment.

He didn’t hesitate.

“Adeline?” His voice was steady, but he felt anything but.

She blinked, then managed a smile. “Mason. Hi.”

Lily peeked up at him, clutching Adeline’s hand, her gaze curious but shy. Mason lowered his stance slightly, his smile gentle.

“Hi, Lily." he said softly, addressing Lily. “I’m Mason.”

Lily only blinked, then shifted closer to Adeline.

“Sorry. She’s a little shy.” Adeline said, brushing her fingers over Lily’s curls.

“That’s alright.” Mason replied with a chuckle. “I’m not that scary. At least, I don’t think I am.”

Adeline’s lips curved into a small smile, though the tension lingered in her shoulders. They stood in a somewhat awkward silence before Mason spoke again.

“It’s nice running into you.” he said. “Did you guys just get here?”

“We’ve been wandering around for a bit.” Adeline answered, adjusting the bag over her shoulder. “Lily wanted to pick some flowers.”

“Good choice.” Mason said. “The flowers here are great.” He paused, then glanced at her. “How’ve you been? After the storm and everything?”

Adeline’s smile faltered, just slightly. “We’re alright. Staying at a hotel for now, since the apartment… well, it didn’t make it through the flooding.”

Mason’s face shifted instantly, concern flooding his expression. “Adeline, I’m sorry. I didn’t know it was that bad.”

She swallowed, regret flashing across her face. “It’s fine. We’re managing.”

He opened his mouth, the words forming before he could stop them — he wanted to help, to offer something. But just as he was about to speak, a familiar voice interrupted.

“Adeline?”

Jaz. She appeared with Summer trailing behind, her grin widening as she saw Adeline.

“Hey! Long time no see!” Jaz said warmly. “Summer’s always talking about Lily. She’ll be thrilled to see her.”

Lily peeked up shyly, but Summer was already giving her an enthusiastic wave. Adeline smiled, visibly relaxing as the girls exchanged timid greetings.

Before long, Tony and Debbie caught up. Debbie’s eyes softened as she took in Adeline, and Tony extended a friendly smile.

“You must be Adeline, dear.” Debbie said. “Mason’s mentioned you.”

Adeline’s cheeks flushed slightly. “It’s nice to meet you all.”

“We’re about to grab some lunch.” Tony said with a smile. “Why don’t you and the little one join us?”

Adeline hesitated, but under the warmth of their invitation, she found herself nodding.

“We’d love to, yes.” she said softly.

Mason fell into step beside her, lowering his voice. “And, after lunch.” Mason said gently. “We’ll talk about your apartment. I mean it.”

“Mason, really, you don’t have to—”

“I know.” he cut in, a teasing smile tugging at his lips. “But since when do I listen?”

“Fair point.” Adeline huffed a quiet laugh despite herself.

“Besides.” Mason added playfully. “if I can survive mum’s cooking criticism, I’m pretty sure I can handle whatever you throw at me.”

She shook her head, amused but grateful. “Alright, alright. Deal.”

And as they moved through the bustling market, laughter and sunlight weaving around them, neither could ignore the quiet longing — just for a moment — to reach across the space between them and feel the warmth of the other's touch.

(...)

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