#like my flatmate just came back from a couple days away with her friend

[seths-rogens]

.

[thebibutterflyao3]

Day Twenty-Four - Prompt: Outing @rosekiller-microfic

March Daily Series - 556 words

<<<Previous Part OR Start Here

The door to The Ink Spot swung open, but Barty didn’t glance up from his mobile. With a shop that was consistently busy, he’d learned to be patient, distract himself, and choose a spot that was out of the way. So when a stranger touched his arm, Barty jerked back in surprise.

“Sorry about that,” a woman said in a gentle voice with a Welsh accent. “I had to ask. Are you aware that you’re taking your life in your hands with this little outing?”

“What? Why?” Barty glanced around the room.

The woman gestured toward Emmeline’s standing desk. Barty felt his heart drop into his lap as he followed her hand. Pandora was here.

“Fuck.” He shoved his mobile away and shifted to stand. “She’s going to kill me.”

“Hold on. I have a question for you before you go,” she said, gripping his elbow tight.

Barty met her gaze with the full intention of telling her off when he recognised her. “You were in Wales with her, weren't you? You were there when I…made a fool of myself.”

“Yes, I was. I’m Lily.”

His eyes darted toward Pandora, but she was headed for Evan’s stall. He had about a minute until she came after him. One minute to try to get a message through to the only person who seemed willing to give him the time of day.

“Listen, I have to leave so that I don’t make things worse, but I need to apologise to Pandora and Reg. I know I can’t undo what I did, but Evan is everything to me,” Barty said earnestly. “I really care about him and I know he does too. If there’s anyway I can—”

“I see. Well, that answers my question,” she interrupted. “You did message Peter then.”

“I just…but it’s…how?”

Lily released his elbow and lifted to her feet. “Peter sent screenshots to me and James.”

“James?” he asked, edging toward the door.

“Regulus’s boyfriend.”

“Oh, right. The brawny bloke.”

Lily’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. “You don’t remember meeting him?”

“‘Meet’ would be overstating it a bit, I think. He glared at me like I was a pile of rubbish when Peter bought weed off of me at a club a couple of weeks ago.”

Her expression softened as she looked him over. “Of course he did, the posh twit. Tell me this. Did you mean it? Do you actually want to make amends with Regulus and Pandora?”

“Regulus is one of Evan’s closest friends and Pandora is his twin. I wouldn’t try for myself, but for Evan?” There was no hiding the desperation in his voice as he pushed open the door. “I’d do anything for him.”

“I understand.”

“If you think of anything,” he said tentatively, backing halfway out the door. “Frank, the artist in the last stall, is my flatmate. He can pass it on.”

Lily nodded, then waved him away. “I’m willing to hear you out, but I can’t promise anything. Go on. Before all hell breaks loose.”

Barty hurried out of the shop and down the street to Heather, who remained parked at the kerb where he left her. He ignored the aching pain as he slid into the driver’s seat and stuck the key in the ignition. When the engine flared to life, he internally cheered.

If Lily is the key to all this, I owe her a massive bloody favour.

Next Part>>>

[3terna15unshin3]

Then Because She Goes

Cry, I will love you, love you, love you

★ Chapter 13 of 15, 3498 words

★ Matty Healy x Original Female Character

★ warnings: angst, descriptions of grief and depression

<< 12

18 September, 2019

Matty was right. Everything was okay. Until it wasn’t, and Este got the call.

She dropped everything to catch a plane to London. A train would be too slow. She had to be with her family. The two weeks she spent there felt like some of the longest weeks of her life.

There wasn’t a moment that the universe let her mind rest—it was a constant buzz of anger, sadness, release. She was mad that bad things happened to good people. Sad that there was so little time left. And eventually, two Mondays later, it happened. Este thought that when it did, her emotions would peak and then she’d be on the comedown—slowly, she guessed. But it wasn’t. Every day felt like the worst of what was to come. And the worst kept coming.

The clothes draped on her body remained the same for too long. Even their musty stench that grew as time passed couldn’t inspire her to change, so Cate had to force her out of them. She’d been helpful through those horrid weeks, constantly checking up on her best friend, even coming down to London a couple of times to take Este’s mind off of things and attempt to bring her back down to earth.

Two days after the dreaded Monday, they came back home to Manchester to grab some more of their things. Enough to last them through the weekend and however long Este felt she would need to stay. Work was a worry, but it didn’t matter to her as much as it probably should have.

After helping her flatmate pack another bag and essentially petting her head to sleep, Cate considered how intensely Este’s life had been put on hold to make room for her grief. There was no time to make new memories when she was all consumed with trying to cling to the ones with Florencia. Este was terrified of the reality that one day she’d struggle to remember them as brightly as they once were.

Cate thought about the increasing number displayed in the red notification bubble at the corner of her Messages app, and the people waiting to hear from her. The plans Este must have had, and their inevitable rain-checks. That’s when Matty came to mind. She decided that sending him a text would aid in planning their accommodations back in London, in case of some small chance that he’d have time to be there for the rites.

Matty Healy (famous)

Yesterday at 20:50 PM

hey. i thought i’d let you know that the funeral is on saturday morning. wasn’t sure if este invited you out but i know she’d want you there

i also have no idea where in the world you even are rn

so if you can’t make it then don’t worry

Today at 06:04 AM

Funeral????

I haven’t heard from her since this past Saturday

What’s going on

oh my god. she didn’t tell you

i’m so sorry you had to find out this way and that it isn’t coming from este but her nan passed away on monday.

Shit

I don’t know what to say, I’m so sorry

Can I ask what happened?

she’s been in remission for a couple of years, but in mid august ish she got super sick again. everything happened really fast and there weren’t any treatment options.

so at the beginning of september este went down to stay with josé in the house. the whole family went. they at least got to be with each other for her last couple of weeks

Is she still there in London or are u guys in Manchester

she just arrived back to the flat to pick up more of her stuff and figure out her leave from work and stuff with sam

we’re staying the night but heading back tomorrow. wake is on friday morning and the funeral the next day

Was just trying to figure out if somehow I could make it but I’m in Auckland

Would take days on a plane and we have a bunch of Australian shows coming up

I don’t think theres a way

it’s ok matty. she’ll understand

sorry for loading this all on you out of nowhere

No, thank you for telling me

Please let me know if there’s something I can do. Even from all the way out here

Anything

Today at 11:29 AM

i will

but also, just as a heads up, este really is not in a good place. she’s in good hands, so you dont have to worry or anything, but maybe just wait for her to reach out first before saying anything. hopefully you can understand why i ask that of you

hope your shows in australia go well x

Of course I understand x

Thank you Cate

Matty’s heart broke for Este and her family when he read the texts sitting in his notifications after his long plane journey out to New Zealand. In the car ride over to the hotel, Hann took note of how unusually his mouth was pressed into a flat line as he furiously typed away on his phone, eventually asking him what was up.

“Cate’s just told me that Este’s nan just passed.” he explained, “She was just super vague at the start about a funeral and I haven’t heard from Este at all, so I panicked,”

“Did you think she was inviting you to Este’s funeral?”

“Dunno, really. ‘Funeral’ is just a scary word.” Matty continued typing as Cate’s responses came through.

“Shit. Sorry, mate.” said George, giving his condolences. “How old was she?”

“75. Cate’s saying it was cancer.” As he read more texts, the further it was explained.

“The nan with the gallbladder?” Ross asked, a contained amusement sitting on his face as he brought up the story he shared when the guys had first met Este and Cate.

Matty threw him a grimace. “Yes, Ross. I’m sure she had a gallbladder. But if you mean the one who was my nurse after I got mine removed, then also yes.” Despite how inappropriate his joke seemed, Matty was glad the mood lifted when it gained a couple bittersweet chuckles from the rest of the guys. “Este never told me about any of it, so I’m just a bit shocked,”

He’d been frozen with grief before, so he didn’t blame her for not saying anything. Letting her heal was necessary—and his feelings couldn’t matter less in this situation. Plus, the idea of sending a message was too scary. He didn’t know what to say, or how to say it, or want to overstep. So Cate suggesting he let Este come to him first helped him with the internal dilemma.

She almost regretted reaching out to Matty after discovering that Este hadn’t told him about Florencia. It felt like crossing a boundary; like something that should have been shared on her accord instead of by her best friend over text. To clear her conscience, Cate confessed what she had done as they sat on the train back to London the next day.

“Hey,” she started, to break the silence and grab Este’s attention. Her sad eyes looked up to acknowledge the conversation and her curious eyebrows raised.

“Yesterday I was thinking about where I’d be staying this weekend and if there would be enough room at your grandparents’ house. Which I know you said there would be—but it just had me thinking about everyone who may need accommodations for coming in from out of town—and I thought of Matty. Which in retrospect, was stupid in the first place, since his literal house is in London. Impulsively I just sent him a text without even asking you first, and I feel really guilty for intruding, especially since he let me know that you hadn’t told him or anything. So I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking in the moment, I just—“

A reassuring and gentle hand was felt on Cate’s forearm. It was Este’s, as if to say, ‘It’s okay’. She gave a soft smile and Cate showed one similarly, still holding her breath from the anticipation of what reaction the fact she revealed may conjure.

All she did was swipe away Cate’s auburn hair before leaning her head on her shoulder—where the hair once sat—so that the weight wouldn’t pull on it, sighing quietly. Este didn’t feel strongly about anything at that moment, letting the clunky sounds of the train and the presence of her best friend envelop her numbness.

It wasn’t an active decision to keep Matty uninformed. It was probably due to her refusing to believe it would ever come to the point of relevance. That if she didn’t admit that Florencia was sick again, then the gut-wrenching inevitability couldn’t be real life. And once it was—as much as Este craved the comfort she knew he’d provide her—she couldn’t be rational. It was an all-consuming paralysis.

The air in the house was heavy. Endless paperwork screamed for attention from the dining room table, so her parents and granddad were busy dealing with that; not saying much to the two girls as they entered. A touch on the small of Este’s back was given by José, who didn’t usually use his words to show his love for her anyway. The warmth from where his hand brushed against her lingered for a couple of long seconds.

Before Cate and Este reached the spare room they’d be sharing for the weekend, her mother stopped them.

“You should look at the flowers on the counter, E. They’re beautiful.” said Percy.

Setting her bags down, Este agreed and stepped back out to the kitchen. The bouquet that came into her view was huge. They had received flowers from a couple of people since Monday, mostly dainty and affordable and easy to look at. But this one took her by surprise; its full shape made up of the most colourful foliage she could imagine. Her Lola would have loved it.

You could sense Florencia’s kookiness from the loud and maximalist decor throughout her house. Este acquired the hoarding habits from her. She could recall a couple of times her nan commented on how boring she found pre-made bunches from the supermarket, and how she wished she could combine every different type of bouquet to have one that actually interested her. If someone told Este that her grandmother picked the flowers sitting on the counter in front of her, she’d believe them.

“Wow, they are beautiful.” She mumbled, about to ask her family if they knew who had sent them.

But, a note card stuck out of the top. Este flipped it open.

‘For Este-

Life is just as precious and beautiful as it is unfair. I am so sorry it has been unfair to you. I feel both lucky to have even briefly known Florencia, and also terrible that I can’t be there to support you. Thinking of your family always.

All my love

Matty x’

Her shaky hand grabbed the card and slipped it into the pocket of her sweats for safekeeping—her question now answered. One day she would be able to accept how thoughtful his words were, and even send him a message to say thank you. But that day wasn’t today.

-

23 September, 2019

Sam knew he had to hire another employee at Greenhouse to make up for Este’s absences.

Over the years, there had been many occasions where time off was needed by either her or Oliver or even the owner himself; so there were a few solutions they’d usually jump to. A couple of close friends of the store had been kept on the store’s payroll to jump in when needed. But, Sam had a feeling that he’d be in need of something more. Meeting Este when she was a mere nineteen years old, he was aware of the tightly knit family she possessed—and he had never seen her in the state she was in now. This was clearly world-shifting for her.

She tried to insist on coming back to work that Monday morning, only a week to the day of her grandmother’s passing. Sam could hear the quiet quiver in her voice when they spoke on the phone, already in the process of sorting through CVs and inviting potential hires for interviews. Not with the intent to replace Este, but to ensure she could take the full time she needed off without the pressure of letting the business down. Of course, he refused to make her travel all the way back to Manchester and firmly encouraged her to stay with her family for as long as she wished to.

So, Este stayed in London—for much longer than she expected to. Weeks went by and she was still there. Her mum and dad were forced to leave not long after the weekend of the funeral; on account of some dodgy conversation with their bosses about time off. It didn’t feel right to leave José alone in the house. Este felt his sorrow through their silence. They slept under the same roof every night, both shutting their eyes to be able to see the sparkling memories of Florencia that were painted on the inside of their eyelids.

She did a lot of sleeping, for that very reason. And randomly got really good at Scrabble. Her and her granddad had played a couple of times which sparked her interest, but it soon spiralled into Este playing against computers through an app on her phone for most hours of the day. She thought to herself, After this game I’ll get up and do something else. But she never got up and she never did anything else.

Her vocabulary expanded. Este even considered ordering a Scrabble dictionary off of Amazon. She paid for Prime, so it could even come tomorrow. It’s okay, she reassured, It’ll wear off. I won’t sit here and play Scrabble until the end of time.

But what if I do? she feared.

-

Percy came to visit quite frequently. To both make sure her father and daughter were holding up, all alone in London, and to feel closer to Florencia. The house still smelled like her. Sometimes, she’d have to remind Este to go out and buy groceries after seeing that they were running low; or convince José to pay his bills on time. He had a hard time remembering what day it was.

She brought Dano with her whenever she was over. It helped spike Este’s mood, though temporarily. Her voice would reach its excited high pitch when she heard his paws tap on the hardwood floor and shower him in the only love she had left in her.

Este liked letting her family’s golden retriever up onto her bed, even though the fur that he left behind sometimes made her sneeze in the middle of the night. She liked how warm he was and that the in-and-out of his breathing helped punctuate her thoughts.

One night, she took a break from resting her face against him and gave Cate a call. She was nice enough to come back from Manchester a couple of times to bring more of Este’s belongings from their flat, helping to make the spare room feel more like her own. Cate saw her grief for what it was and gave Este the rigidity that others were scared to. The words she had trouble saying to herself felt easier to believe when her best friend was on the receiving line. Gently petting Dano’s coat, her voice escaped with a tremble.

She talked about how after seeing a trailer for a film called The Farewell (that was coincidentally about a sick grandmother) on the telly a couple of days ago, she hadn’t turned it on since. How she thought rereading Little Women might comfort her, but then she reached the part where Beth dies and couldn’t finish it. How she dreamt of her Lola every night.

But alas, the ponderous energy of the air around her lifted slightly. And when Cate hung up, after both girls lost track of time and realised the late hour, Este leaned back down onto Dano like he was her pillow, surprised to find his fur all wet with her tears.

-

29 October, 2019

Following the release of the third single for Notes On A Conditional Form, Frail State of Mind, Matty and the rest of the band had a couple of weeks off before playing Pitchfork Music Festival in Paris. Though they were still busy writing, the time away from performing left Matty thinking about Este more often. Sure, he was sort of always thinking of her; but it felt elevated during their first long break since he’d last heard from her.

He had sent a couple of texts to Cate to make sure she was alright, but never felt entitled to know more than just that. So, he was shocked to see messages waiting for him, from Este. The sheer anticipation made his thumb shake as it clicked to open it.

E ★

Today at 18:11 PM

I know this is more than a month overdue, but thank you for the flowers and sweet message. They were the most beautiful we’d received. The whole family loved them, and I’m sure my nan would have too

Pls don’t feel bad about not coming in for the funeral. I remembered that you’d be too far and that’s ok. It’s me that should be sorry for not letting u know what was going on. You deserved to know. But I’d be lying if I said i was doing better. Things are still really hard

I hope u can believe me when i say that I really do appreciate you Matty. I know you would be there for me if I let you in. But im sort of struggling to let anyone in rn.

Sorry for spamming you, I will text soon x

Este theres nothing you should be apologising for

Losing my nan was one of the hardest things I’ve had to go through

I’m never more than a text away, just remember that xx

Congrats on the new song too, you can imagine I relate to it a bit. Lol

After those few messages, Matty stopped hearing from her. They gave him a bit of hope, so Este’s radio silence hurt him a little bit more the second time around. He gave up reaching out after just over a month of no responses. Once in a while he would send a text to Cate, just to snuff his fear of something worse going on, and she assured him that she was alive. Not necessarily ‘good’, but alive. Matty guessed that it was a sufficient response and eventually stopped pestering.

It felt odd to mix the song he wrote about her in the studio while they weren’t even in contact. With it only running for a couple of seconds more than two minutes, they didn’t spend an overwhelming amount of time on it. But, as Matty listened back to his buried vocals that sang the lyrics he wrote about Este and their short bursts of memories between dragging months apart, he couldn’t help but yearn for her.

He liked that the song was so short, and that the lyrics were hard to pick apart. It felt like a little moment. The final line, ‘Will you stay or wait?’ repeated through Matty’s head as they perfected the song’s shoe-gazey production, booming in his chest through its painful relevance.

When they reached America for their final leg of tour that year, her name was sketched into Matty’s ear whenever they performed I Couldn’t Be More In Love. But what about these feelings I’ve got, he thought—too literally.

He would meet a fan that had a dimple and would think of her. Or one that had a septum piercing. And think of her if he ever drove past a small book shop.

Then, inevitably, Matty could feel the brightest element of his life slowly dim to darkness—fading into a fleeting moment of his past. But the memory stayed, along with a small glimmer of hope. And he knew he’d be at her feet the minute Este wanted him there again.

14 >>

[artichokeconfessional]

Sending something out into the world

November 3rd 1:39am

. I’m a 24 year old living on the other side of the world from my childhood bedroom where I use to spill out over dozens of half finish journals from as young as I could remember. I turn 25 next week, same day my friend is driving me to the other side of the island where I’ll live in a new city and I’m so excited.

My girlfriend lives there. I miss. She’s too beautiful for me I feel like. I know it’s shallow and cliche and all that jazz but it’s hard man I’m a short chubby ginger guy and she’s a tall goth girl and it’s beautiful and a t4t and I miss her. And I’m afraid everyday that she doesn’t feel the same way, like she’s too nervous to break it to me she’s not into me over instagram or some shit. We’ve been long distance for 3 months.

We started at a party, my first one post Covid lockdown (there were no cases in my country at this time so we all felt relatively safe to party while the rest of the world was indoors). We knew each other sort of, had taken writing papers together in university but this was my first time seeing her since she came out she was beautiful. Just so happy, she has this smile that immediately spills into my rib cage this feeling of utter warmth. We talk and it’s so natural so real and we become friends.

And this friendship goes for three years, sporadic hang outs, weed seshes, discussions of music and university, historic events and video games. Pretentious shit I’m usually too nervous to actually talk about af lengths with people but she listens she really does. And I have this giant crush on her. But I don’t want to tell her because I don’t want to ruin the friendship. (Which you as a reader already know it wouldn’t, there’s a literary term for that. Like when the audience knows something the main character doesn’t? Totally blanking and my flatmate who’s doing her English PhD is in Ireland rn)

And I go back to my home country for a year, fall in love with a friend back in the country I’m living now where I went to university, so I go back there to live with this person and we ultimately and amicably break up after 9 months living toghether and I move in with my current flat mate and I’m stuck back in my university town I’ve lived in on and off for a total of 5 years so I say fuck it. I know my friend (future girlfriend, how about for future reference refer to her as A) I know A lives in the city on the other side of the island with her two partners so I ask if I could come visit I need to gfo if my town and she obliges.

And we hang out a lot there’s something in the air though but I just think it’s wishful thinking. We get stoned one night, on her bed, and she tells me she’s had a crush on me the past 3 years so we’re both just a couple of nervous nerds. And since then we’ve dating.

She doesn’t like doing phone calls I also don’t really, we’re both maybe too neurodivergent for it to not feel super awkward and disconnected. She also has had a shit ton going on, and so I’ve spammed her with memes like 3-4 a day, and she doesn’t really look at them. She just struggles a lot with finding the energy to respond, and I respect that so much and there’s a better way to articulate it but it just makes the missing her hurt so much more. Eventually every couple days she responds heart reacts them and we chat and I love it, and she reassures me that I’m not some annoyance to her because I also ask that when we chat a lot. Because that’s what my brain tells me.

I send a bunch of memes, and don’t get a response I’m like dude she’s not into you (despite literally being my girlfriend) and I spiral because I don’t wanna push it and end up losing her. Ultimately I just have to wait and see how it goes when we’re in the same city, and I just really like to remain optimistic or at least feign optimism.

But tonight like other nights I just sobbed, in bed, alone. I just miss her. I just hate transitional periods. I don’t want to fritter away these days because I’ve got cool shit coming that I might talk about another day. I just miss her.

I’m creating this blog because I want to diary again, but I also want to feel like maybe someone somewhere is hearing me too. Maybe that’s super immature. Idk stay tuned kids for more about my life

[high-functioning-lokipath]

SH - Sherlock x Depressed!Reader - With a Little Help from My Friends - Words: 2,793

IMPORTANT A/N - PLEASE READ: As stated in the title, this story contains discussions of depression. There is mention of suicidal thought and self-harm. I personally don't think it's too intense in it's descriptions HOWEVER!!! If this will trigger you, for your own health and safety please do not read. My messages are always open if you'd like to talk. I wrote this partially based on my own feelings so I can understand to at least a degree. You're amazing and I love you all. As far as this story goes, just remember: it has a happy, very fluffy ending but it doesn't start that way. I hope you enjoy it, feel free to leave a comment!

Brief Backstory: Reader is friends with John and Sherlock. She is a nurse who works with John. The three met shortly after Sherlock came back. Sherlock and Reader have crushes on each other but won't admit to it. I think the story explains everything else.

"Y/N, I'm going to be honest," John said, putting his hand on your shoulder comfortingly. "I may have PTSD but I cannot fully put myself in your shoes. My depression is different than yours." You had called your best friend, John Watson, in a mild panic. You had been feeling depressed for some time, as he knew, but that day had been especially bad. There was no particular reason but your depression had gotten so intense that you knew you needed help to get past this particular wave. John invited you over to 221B, assuring you that his flatmate would be out for the next couple of hours. "As a doctor, I am going to prescribe you some medication. Lowest dose possible and only because I want to help you get some immediate relief but I know you do not want them to become permanent. Let's work on finding another solution for you, ok?"

"I don't know, John," you replied. You'd asked John to be your Doctor since you didn't go to one regularly and he didn't mind your irregular checkups. "I've tried just about everything. The only outlet that seems to help is writing and even then," you trailed off, trying not to cry again. "This feeling just won't go away and I don't even know why it's there in the first place. I just want it to stop."

"I think you should talk to Sherlock."

"What?" You squeaked. "Why in the world would I talk to Sherlock?"

"I can't tell you why, Y/N. As both your Doctor and Sherlock's, I have to respect certain amounts of patient confidentiality. However, as your friend, I think you should talk to him."

"I don't know."

"Trust me," He replied. Smirking slightly, he added, "Doctor's orders."

"Ok, John," you chuckled. He smiled and hugged you. "Thanks."

"Now how about we go and fill this prescription and then maybe get some ice cream?"

"Well, honestly," you sighed. "The ice cream sounds great but I didn't sleep well last night. I was actually wondering if I could just take a nap here for a bit. I sleep better here sometimes." You blushed but John nodded understandingly.

"Of course," He replied. "I'll run down to the drugstore and fill this for you. Meanwhile you get some rest. I'll let Sherlock know you're here just in case he ends up getting back before I do. Will you be ok by yourself?"

"Yeah," You smiled. "This is a safe space for me. I'll go grab a blanket. Thanks again."

"Don't mention it. Just remember, talk to him."

"I'll try."

About 15 minutes later, Sherlock arrived back at the flat. He'd gotten John's texts.

John: If you get home in the next 45 minutes, be quiet. Y/N is over and she's taking a nap. I have to run out for something.

Sherlock: Is everything ok? - SH

John: She said she had a bad night.

Sherlock: She must have had a reason to come over in the first place though. - SH

John: She's going to need to tell you that herself. Don't ask. Do you understand me? Let her tell you. Be nice, ok?

Sherlock: When am I not nice to Y/N? - SH

John: Ok, that is true. You like her too much to be rude to her. If you could just hold back your deductions for one second I will say this: you two have more in common than you think.

He hurried home, not to wake you up of course, but because he wanted to see you. If there was something seriously wrong, he wanted to try and brace himself for it first. He couldn't help the smile playing at the corner of his lips when he thought of you. You two were good friends, that much was obvious to everyone. But Sherlock could see the potential for something more. He liked you a lot. You were just as smart, sassy, and sarcastic as he was. But you also could be extremely kind and caring to others and especially to him. He still didn't quite understand why you cared for him so but he was grateful. Before he could dwell on that too much longer, he arrived at 221B.

He quietly slipped inside and smiled at what he saw. You were curled up on the couch, sleeping like a baby. Apparently, though, you'd kicked off the blanket you had grabbed. Instead of picking up the blanket, he decided to take off his long coat and carefully lay that over you. You quickly cuddled into the warm fabric, unconsciously taking a deep breath, inhaling his unique signature left behind on the coat. Satisfied with what he'd done, he took off his suit jacket and went to the kitchen to prepare some tea for when you woke up. He knew you had a favorite tea and, unless John moved it or drank it all, there still would be some in the cupboard.

You woke to the smell of your favorite tea and a hushed exclamation from the kitchen. Opening your eyes slowly you saw Sherlock in at the counter trying to set up a tray with the teapot and cups. Recognizing your surroundings a bit more, you realized what was on top of you. Sherlock was just about to bring out the tray but you decided to pretend you were still asleep. The chances of fooling the Detective were low, but you wanted to try.

"There," He whispered to himself, setting the tray on the coffee table. You could hear him settling down on his chair, likely getting into his 'palace pose' as you called it. For a moment you were happy. You had actually gotten some quality sleep, you were currently cuddled up in Sherlock's famous coat and Sherlock had even made you tea. But that feeling quickly faded. Tears threatened to spill out of your still closed eyes as self-deprecating thoughts filled your mind.

'John probably told him to make me tea. He probably covered me with his coat so I wasn't as much of a distraction. He doesn't want me here. He never does. Why does he even tolerate my presence? He probably wishes we'd never met,' You thought. Your mind was going a million miles an hour and gaining. Without your notice, the tears began rolling down your cheeks and quiet sobs escaped your lips.

"Y/N?" Sherlock whispered. You're eyes shot open. You hadn't heard him get up. Now he was kneeling right next to you, one hand hovering over your arm. "Are you ok?"

"Oh, Sherlock!" You cried. "I-I wish I knew."

"C'mere," he said, motioning for you to sit up. Once you did so, he pulled you into a tight hug.

"What's this for?"

"You always give me and John a hug when you see us. You haven't done so for the past 5 days. I-" he paused briefly before lowering his voice and continuing. "I missed it."

"Oh." You weren't quite sure how to reply to that. You leaned into his embrace, letting yourself get lost in the moment.

"Y/N? Is there something I can do to help?"

"How much did John tell you?" You asked. You wouldn't have been mad exactly if John had told Sherlock to talk to you, but you wanted to think Sherlock was reaching out on his own.

"He told me you had a bad night."

"That's all?" You asked, surprised. You pulled away slightly and stared into his eyes. Sherlock nodded, frowning slightly as he tried to deduce you.

"Why are you afraid to talk to me?" You turned away, embarrassed and unsure what to say. "Be honest."

"I don't want you to make fun of me. I have-" You took a deep breath, steeling your nerves and preparing to just jump right in. "I have been extremely depressed lately and I didn't want to hear another speech about how all I need to do is exercise and eat right and stop thinking about sad things. Well you know what? I can't stop it! I can't help it if I feel like a useless pile of trash that should be thrown in the bin and burned." By the time you finished your little tirade, you'd gotten up and started pacing the floor. Then you turned and faced Sherlock. His expression was neutral but there was an obvious sadness in his eyes, one you didn't expect to see. It wasn't of pity. If you had seen that you also would have given up on the conversation. No, it was almost an understanding, an empathy. His eyes were actually glistening with tears.

"Have you ever felt like," he paused, voice unsteady. "Like giving up?" He whispered, unable to hold eye contact. You nodded silently. He got up slowly and walked towards you. At first, you thought he would hug you again but then he started unbuttoning his shirt.

"Uh, Sherlock?"

"Just wait a moment. I want to show you something." He carefully shrugged off the purple shirt that you, admittedly, loved so much and tossed it on the chair. "Only one person knows about this. You will be the second. You remember I told you about Moriarty's network?"

"Yes, the day we met. I asked you about your work, a simple question. And I got an answer that lasted 3 hours." Sherlock chuckled dryly.

"Yeah, sorry about that."

"Oh, no. Please don't apologise. I-" You sighed, rubbing your forehead. "I tend to make jokes when I'm nervous."

"I know." He smiled at you with, yet again, a completely unreadable expression. "You remember though." You nodded, opting to stay silent as he explained. "Well, those 2 years dismantling his network weren't easy. Not physically and certainly not emotionally. As a result of the different missions, I received many wounds on my body in various locations. I was," He paused, took a deep breath, and closed his eyes. "I was depressed, guilt-stricken and suicidal. I figured I had hurt my friends enough. If they thought I was dead maybe I should just go on with it."

"What changed your mind?"

"I didn't want to do it on a mission. I wanted to see home again one more time. So to temporarily relieve the pain I," He sighed. Well, I wouldn't let my wounds heal. I'd pick at them. Mycroft finally convinced me to come back officially because he needed my help. I never told him about this. I think he knows but we don't discuss it." He looked down, obviously embarrassed and feeling more emotionally naked than physically. "You can look," he said. It was as if he'd read your mind. You were trying to be respectful and not stare but you realized that's what he wanted to show you. You had, on occasion, seen him shirtless before but you had never realized how bad some of the scars were.

"Sherlock, I-I don't know what to say. I-" You were completely shocked. Not offended. But actually comforted that he understood you. "Thank you," You finally said.

"Actually I wanted to thank you. I didn't just show you this to prove that I understand your feelings." You looked at him confused. "The day we met. You were leaving work, correct?" You nodded.

"It had been my first day there. John had been happy with my work and requested that I stay assigned to his office permanently. John had already finished up and headed home but there was some paperwork I had to finish so I was leaving about an hour late. Come to think of it, John said he had plans with you that evening. Why were you there?"

"That's what I wanted to tell you. I met you less than a month after I came back. I had still been quite depressed so I was still picking at my injuries. That day had been a bad day for me. So I cancelled my plans with John and I decided to go back to where I started this whole mess and finish it."

"Wait, are you telling me that-"

"You saved my life." Sherlock took one of your hands in his own and held it tightly. "I had memorized the work schedules of most everyone there and knew how to slip in unnoticed."

"But you didn't factor in me."

"Correct. When I ran into you, quite literally in fact, as I was entering the building, I was surprised. Not just by your presence but by what I deduced about you. You intrigued me. I had to find out more about you so I invited you to have a cup of coffee with me."

"Which turned into dinner." Sherlock nodded. "And since you were so intrigued by me, you forgot all about that."

"In a manner of speaking. You weren't a cure-all, mind you. You helped, though, by giving me a new mystery to investigate: you. That night, when I got home, I told John everything. He helped me too and when I mentioned you he couldn't stop singing your praises. He is very proud of you and your work you know."

"Yeah, I guess so," You replied, a little embarrassed. "Thank you, Sherlock. I'm sorry that you went through all that, but, I'm glad I have someone who understands. And I'm glad you're here to help me."

"Me too, Y/N. Me too," He replied.

"Can I, um, can I have another hug?" You asked, blushing and smiling. Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"If you must," He sighed, holding his arms out. Any other day, you would have thought he genuinely didn't want personal contact. But today you realized he was simply teasing. You wrapped your arms around his waist and leaned your head on his chest. You felt him relax as he leaned forward a little to cocoon you in his arms. "I care about you, Y/N. I don't care about many people but you mean so much to me. I-" You looked up at him and pressed a finger to his lips to quiet him.

"You don't have to say it, Sherlock. I know." He smiled and looked somewhat relieved. You knew he wasn't good with feelings and that was fine with you. "I love you too."

"I wanted to be the first one to say that," He pouted. You chuckled softly and booped his nose.

"You already have." He smiled and kissed your forehead lightly.

"I know this won't fix everything right away. I know you'll still have bad days. But I wanted you to know you could come to me too."

"I know. Thank you again, Sherlock." At that moment, John walked in with a bag from the store.

"Oh, hello!" He chirped, happy to see you hadn't gotten into a yelling match. Then he noticed Sherlock's shirt, or rather, lack thereof. "So, uh," He stuttered, unsure of what to say. "What should I do with this?"

"First of all, thank you, John, for giving me the guts to talk to him about this. And second, I think I'll give it a try. You know, to try and prevent a really bad day when you guys aren't available or if talking still isn't enough. But for today I think I'll be alright," You said, turning to John with a smile.

"Well, I'm glad. So did you just talk about that or did he finally tell you that he's had the biggest schoolboy crush on you from the moment he met you?"

"John!" Sherlock yelled. You laughed loudly.

"Not in those words exactly, John," You replied. "Don't worry," You added, turning to Sherlock and ruffling his curls. "Your secret's safe with me."

"Good. Now if you don't mind, I need your input on this case."

"Me?" You asked, quite surprised.

"Yes," He said as if it was obvious. "You're a woman after all!"

"And that is important because?"

"The killer was a woman obviously but I can't understand why she would do it!" The two of you went off into your own little world, completely ignoring John as he cooked dinner.

John: Ok, mates, get your tuxs out. Won't be long now.

Greg: He finally proposed? 😀

John: Not yet, give it a week.

Mycroft: John, you forget I monitor his spending habits.

John: And?

Mycroft: He's had a ring purchased for some time now.

Greg: 3 days tops.💍

Mycroft: I would estimate about 3 days as well, Detective Inspector.

Greg: We're in a Group Text. Talking about our friend like a bunch of teenage girls at a slumber party. I think you can call me Greg.

Mycroft: If I must.

John: So, girls, will you help me make the plans?

Mycroft: Of course. He is blood after all.

Greg: Count me in! Wouldn't miss it! 🕵️👰

Sherlock BBC Taglist

@lucywrites02

@delightfulheartdream

@bartv21

@another-crazy-fangirl

@ladylulu143

@gaitwae

@for-hearthand-home

[outofsstyles]

AU | Famous!Reader x Fashion student!Harry

☁️ FIC PAGE ☁️

word count: 22.9k

warnings: explicit language, mentions of alcohol

//

Time, mystical time

Cuttin' me open, then healin' me fine

Were there clues I didn't see?

- Invisible String, Taylor Swift

//

Harry huffs a sigh of relief as he stumbles his way up the last steps of the staircase, being greeted with the familiar sight of the front door to his flat. His shoulders are hunched from the stress of a long day, still getting used to the hectic routine after coming back from the holiday season. Eyelids blinking slower with each step, he sniffs as he reaches for his set of keys in the side pocket of his backpack. Cold drops of rain slide down his neck from his hair and his face feels cold from the whisks of wind that whipped around him in the short jog from the tube station to his building. His feet are sore from standing around for so long, and the beginning of a headache sparking under his temple, making him frown as he takes a beat too long to unlock the door. To say he’s tired would be an understatement, and as much as the warm scent of the vanilla candles welcomed him are soothing, he can’t help but ache for a hot shower.

His bag drops to the floor with a faint thump. The sound of the television takes over the small space, and not long after he shrugs himself out of his coat he catches the sight of a recognizable set of  curls from Julia’s spot in the couch across the room, snuggling against the cushions with a bright pink blanket wrapped around her and a big bowl of popcorn popped in her lap. Harry envies her for a moment, for getting the chance to work as she’s cozied up inside their warm apartment. From where he stands, he can still feel Julia’s gaze taking in his undoubtedly drained appearance, her expression softening a bit.

“Rough day?”

“Jus’ tired.” He reaches up to pull out the hair tie that keeps part of his locks from his eyes, massaging his scalp as he does so. “S’raining a lot.”

“You should’ve taken my umbrella.”

“I’m not going out in public with that.” He scrunches his nose, a hand resting on the wall for support as he reaches down to take off his vans, the shoes suddenly becoming too tight on his feet.

He’s referring to the umbrella she got  roughly a year ago. She had bought it for her mom at a souvenir store and forgot to take it with her on her flight back home for the holidays, so when she came back she’d made the decision to keep it. The top of it is filled with all sorts of typical figures related to London, big red cabins illustrated on the material, surrounded by matching busses and marching soldiers, and of course, an image of a couple Big Bens standing tall next to it. It’s nothing too bad, Harry reckons there’s many uglier gifts she could’ve gotten, but it’s far too touristy for him not to cringe at the thought of parading it around.

Julia scoffs at him, rolling her eyes with a shake of her head. “Buy your own then!” She brings her attention back to the screen in front of her. “Or just catch a cold from walking around in the rain, see if I care.”

He breathes out a laugh at her dramatics, scratching his nose slightly and feeling his icy skin as he makes his way to the bathroom, not indulging further in the banter with his flatmate. Once he’s locked in, Harry can’t help but shrug out of his clothes in an almost impatient manner, eager to finally wash the tension and sweat off of his body.

He takes his time when he finally gets under the hot jet of his showerhead, not holding back a relieved sigh  as the water hits his skin with a hard pressure that’s just as painful as it is satisfying.

When he sees Julia again, stepping out of his room clad in an all grey sweats set (except from a couple paint stains decorating the sweatshirt, result of an art course he attended a few months ago), she’s sitting straighter against the cushions, her hair now up in a ponytail, a small computer propped on her lap taking the place of the popcorn bowl, that’s now by her side. She peeks at Harry for a second from under her glasses before focusing again on typing something he assumes must be work related.

“You know, for someone who’s a fashion major you sure have a questionable taste in clothes.” She doesn’t look up from her screen as she teases.

“When I have money for Gucci I’ll make sure to parade it around the flat.” His steps are still lazy as he reaches the messy counter that separates the kitchen area from where Julia sits on the living room couch. Not paying any mind to the stacks of course books and loose papers on top of it, he leans to rest his hands over the mess. “Until then, you're stuck with my paint-stained sweats. Tea?”

“I’m good.”

Harry’s hand hits the countertop with a faint thump as he turns. The wooden cabinets creek as he opens them in order to locate a hand painted blue mug with colorful little chicks dancing around it. He rests it on the counter as he reaches for the kettle to fill it with water. A woman’s voice takes over the space, her tone pitching louder in enthusiasm as she comments on the name of a couple artists. He recognizes some from scrolling around Spotify playlists or seeing it written on magazines before.  Glancing over his shoulder, Harry catches an image of a red carpet of sorts being transmitted on the screen. An awards show.

It’s the kind of program Harry’s gotten quite used to seeing by now. From the moment Julia landed an internship at a music magazine, there had been enough occasions in which she had to write a piece regarding an award show. Usually, though, those evenings are prompted with the presence of her girlfriend, Blake, (who happens to be Harry’s classmate -- and he still prides himself in his matchmaking skills for introducing them to each other)  who enjoys making snarky comments about people’s outfits as Julia gushes over their performances. Harry’s even joined them a couple times when those nights are held at their flat and not over at Blake’s, not much so for the content -- actually finding most of it boring -- but more for the company. It’s about listening to the two girls bicker as he steals a handful of Julia’s popcorn.

The odd setting of that night doesn’t go unnoticed by Harry, though, and once the kettle’s set on the stove he turns to her, leaning back on the counter,  “Is Blake not coming tonight?”

“She left early ‘cause she promised to babysit for her neighbors. Oh! You got mail, by the way.” She doesn’t look up from her computer as she motions with her head to the spot on the counter in front of him where a couple letters sat, some with their seals already ripped.  “Quite fancy if you ask me.”

Harry frowns slightly, not expecting any mail, much less anything fancy. sure enough, it doesn’t take him long to spot the one she’s talking about, as the black envelope easily stands out amongst the regular ones as well as his name written in cursive letters on top of it. When he picks it up, turning it around, he notices a small leaf branch with a golden ribbon attached to the front by a wax seal matching its color (it’s the first time Harry’s actually seen anyone seal a letter like this outside period tv shows and satisfying video compilations on his instagram explore page, and it only helps to deepen the crease between his brows). He can make out the figure of a fern engraved on the seal, but no other indication of the content inside of it.

With a quick motion, Harry breaks the seal, barely catching the tiny branch mid-air as it falls to the ground. He leans forward, resting his arms on the counter as he retrieves the card resting inside. It takes a single read of the words printed on it  for him to realize what's it all about. A wedding invitation. One he’d completely let slip from his memory that was even happening in the first place. Not that he could be blamed for it, considering the last time he’d chatted with the bride and groom he was seventeen living under his mum’s roof a good four-hour drive away. It’s still nice of them to have him in mind, Harry thinks, setting the letter down once he hears the whistling sound of the kettle behind him.

Not thinking much more of the mail, he moves around the small space of the kitchen, humming along to an overplayed song that comes up on the telly, as he finishes preparing his cuppa. Once he’s done, he walks to the couch, making himself comfortable on the opposite end to where Julia sits. His eyes set on the screen in front of them just as an older woman, with her hair pulled back and a silver gown cascading down her body, speaks into a microphone.

“So, what are we watching?” Harry asks with a sip of his tea.

“The Grammys.”

Harry’s brows shoot up. “Is it today already?”

“Yup.” Julia says, not looking up from her computer as she keeps typing. “Have to write an article about it.”

“Look at you!” Harry stretches his arm to bump on his friend’s shoulder. “Getting that permanent spot, I see.”

“Trying to.” She glances at him, motioning with her head to the counter where the mail now lays open. “What have you got there?”

He reaches for the half empty popcorn bowl resting by her side, stealing a few pieces and quickly tossing them into his mouth. “A wedding invitation.”

“Ew, who eats popcorn with tea.” His friend states, moving the bowl to her other side, out of his reach  “A wedding? Since when do you have friends who have their lives together?”

“It’s an old mate, back from school days and all that.” Harry shrugs. “Haven’t spoken to him in a bit, though.”

“Are you going?”

“Think so.” He takes another sip, unpocketing his phone from his sweats. “Will be good to see everyone again.”

Julia simply hums in response, and, as Harry focuses his attention on his phone, he can hear her typing resume. For a while they stay like this, as he scrolls mindlessly through his social media feeds, even answering a text or two --which is rare for Harry since he often left messages unopened for days - except for a comment or two coming from her side of the couch. Every now and then he glances up to the bigger screen, either when he’s asked for his opinion on someone’s outfit or when Julia wants to know whose designer is behind it -- and Harry prides himself on recognizing most of them, having studied their collection campaigns for his marketing class in his last term. What calls his full attention, however, is the mention of a particular name, making his ears perk up and his eyes glue themselves to the screen.

It’s not unusual for him to hear your name, of course it isn’t, as you have settled on  top of several radio spots for the past year or two. He’s grown used to hearing your name plenty, but it doesn’t get any less odd for him, to have what once was such a familiar face  become such a distant yet still reocurring figure.

Going through a breakup, especially when it’s your first relationship, is already hard enough as it is. Harry reckons most people probably do their best to distance themselves in order to heal and move on, try not to think of the person who hurt them. But it’s not like he had much of a choice with you. He could delete all your pictures from his computer, wipe it all , hide the letters and polaroids in a box under his bed and he still wouldn’t be able to run away from you. It’s as if the moment he was out of your life you’d grown bigger than either of you could’ve imagined as you lied together on his bedroom floor. In a matter of a year or so your name was up in lights, your face greeted him everywhere he went; that being printed in the front of the gossip magazines lined together as he checked out his groceries, or at an editorial cover as he studied for his design theory class. There wasn’t much of an escape.

It was hard in the beginning, of course it was. Mainly  when he inevitably had to read the scandalous headlines about you being all over some big haired bloke from a boyband at some extravagant party in West Hollywood. Yeah, that was a hard one. But as most things in life, Harry had to get over it eventually. And with you quickly becoming more and more out of his reach, your image being just as sweet as it is strange of a memory to him, he  learned how to desensitize himself.

That  doesn’t mean he’s not curious, though, which is what shifts his focus to the tvonce he hears your name. Sure enough, there you are, the most familiar stranger he’s ever known. Your smile is discreet, but still charming in a way that makes whoever’s watching you want to know what kind of secrets you’re keeping, and Harry can’t help but wonder as well. He doesn’t recognize the emerald sequined dress you have on (and makes a mental note to check later who it from) and he figures it was probably custom made for you, as it hugs your body perfectly. He doesn’t mean to notice that, he really doesn’t, but as the camera zooms in, panning from your golden heels, up your leg that appears from the side slit of your skirt as you walk down the carpet, and stopping at your face, still sporting a smirk as you divide your attention between different photographers screaming your name, he can’t help but notice how good you look.

“Look at her.” Julia sighs, snapping Harry out of his thoughts. That's when he realizes he’s slouched forward.. Relaxing back into the cushions, he takes another gulp of his tea, which has gotten considerably cooler as it rests forgotten on his lap. “Don’t blame you for being her groupie, I would too, if I had the chance.”

“Wasn’t a fucking groupie, I told you that.” Harry rolls his eyes at his friend, knowing her love for torturing him since she’s learned the information of his past relationship.  “We dated before she even set foot in America.”

“So?” She looks at him, eyebrows shooting towards her hairline as she keeps nudging. “You were her first groupie before she even had them.”

He shakes his head. “Enough with the groupie talk, please, not in front of my tea.”

“I’ll never fully process the fact that you dated her.” Julia pushes the topic, her hand motioning to your image still being shown on the telly. “You got to kiss her and everything! Wild.”

“Julia, can you stop talking about my ex and write whatever it is that you have to.”

“Not when your ex is one of the biggest names in the music industry, no.” Julia pauses and, for a moment, Harry thinks she might’ve finally dropped the subject. However, once he doesn’t hear the sound of her fingers going back to typing on her computer he looks back at her, catching  her eyes still glued to the screen, her brows set in a frown.  He can almost hear the wheels inside her head turning. He focuses back on his phone, saying a silent prayer that whatever it is she’s thinking, she’ll just drop.. His wishes are futile, however, when she speaks up again, her words coming out slow but full of intention, “Is she friends with this dude that invited you to his wedding?”

“Julia…”

“I’m serious! Imagine if you bump into her at their wedding!” She fully turns to him, her voice pitching in excitement at the scenario.

“Even if she did get invited.” Harry starts, refusing to meet her eyes. “I doubt she’d go.”

“Why not?”

“Cause she’s one of the biggest names in the music industry? Haven’t you just said that?”

“Right.” The girl sits back on the couch, gnawing at her bottom lip before bursting again, “But what if?”

“She won’t.”

“You seem very sure of that.”

“And you’ve been reading too many romance novels.” He scoffs. “It’s starting to affect your perception of reality. It’s worrisome, really.”

“As if you didn’t watch The Notebook every day religiously before going to sleep.”

“Not everyday.”

The two friends keep pestering each other for a bit,  until the opening performance starts, signaling the beginning of the award show, and Julia had to focus back on her work . as the silence set in the room, except for Highway To Hell stretching around the walls, Harry let his mind zoom out, his flatmate’s words painting every inch of his brain.

He’d never let his mind wonder what it would be like to see you again. Would you even recognize him? No. And even if you did, , he’d probably become as much of a far-off memory like you have to him. One of those people you think about once or twice after it happened and greets the nostalgic feeling as it embraces you in a brief moment, quickly moving on to more important things. Surely, you have plenty more important things to worry  about than your ex boyfriend that you left in your hometown  four years ago.

Shaking his head, Harry scolds himself for letting his mind wander. It has been five years, for god’s sake! He’s moved on. He has! But there’s still the tiny voice, whispering annoyingly in the back of his head, like an insistent child trying to get him to listen to them, saying it over and over. What if?

//

Golden specks of sunlight peeked from the cracks of the bricked buildings outside, shining through his window as a silent reminder of the sun setting in the horizon, and you knew it was almost time for you to go home. You ignored it, though. Only snuggling back on the arm resting behind your head as you laid on the ground next to him, focusing on the feeling of his fingers playing with yours that rest on top of your stomach, and the soothing voice of Joni Mitchell singing softly in the background.

Harry was adorably excited to show you the vinyl he got from the weekend getaway with his father and stepmum, pulling you up the stairs before you could even properly greet his mother in the kitchen. You sat on his bed as he went through all the relics he managed to snatch at the local fair he had visited. Barely holding back a smile, you bit your lip as you watched him ramble about a vintage camera he got from a dutch lady. His hair had grown a bit, you’d noticed, messy curls poking out of his head, dancing slightly as he talked. Once he got to the record, you didn’t shy away from placing a peck on his cheek, right next to the dimple the deepened after your action, asking him to play it for you, as you reached for his pillow and placed it on the usual spot you’d hangout right under his window.

He was telling you about some new paint set he wanted, lying on his back looking mindlessly at the ceiling. You closed your eyes, listening to the sound of the words slipping easily out of his lips along with the sound of his breath as you moved your head closer to his chest. What made you blink your eyelids open again was when he stopped talking, a new song starting with gentle strokes of an acoustic guitar.

Looking up at him, you met his gaze already staring back at you, and you adjusted your position, turning on your side so you could take a better look. He was wearing his favorite navy blue Fleetwood Mac tee, one you’d gifted him on his sixteenth. You loved how it enhanced the color of his eyes, and you were reminded of it once again when you looked into his jade irises, almost forgetting to take a breath as you did so.

“What’s this one called?” You broke the silence, softening your voice as you were afraid to speak too loudly, almost feeling as if you were interrupting Mitchell’s declaration of love.

“A Case of You.” Harry answered, turning his body to face yours.

You didn’t say anything back, instead, you took a minute to pay attention to the lyrics that painted the four walls of his room at that moment.

I remember that time you told me / You said, “Love is touching souls.” / Surely you touched mine / Cause it pours out of me

“It’s beautiful.” You whispered, not daring to look away from him.

Harry hummed in agreement, his hand reaching up to move a strand of your hair away from your face. Smiling softly, he said, “‘S my favourite.” You watch him chew on his bottom lip, hesitating for a second before whispering, “I got something for you.”

Your smile  widens. “Really?” He nodded. “Why didn’t you tell me before?”

“Dunno.” He shrugged, looking down to where his fingers fidget with the hem of your shirt. “Didn’t know if you’d like it.”

“I’m sure I’ll love it, H.” You sit up, crossing your legs under your bum, a spark of excitement and curiosity shooting through your body as you rush him, “Go get it!”

“Okay, okay, calm down, love.” He laughs, sitting up from his position and reaching back for his backpack resting on top of the bed.

You watched as he retrieved a small pale pink box, wrapped with a silver ribbon, tied in a pretty bow on top. There was a nervous hesitance to him as he handed you the gift, you noticed a reddish tone painting his cheeks, it was subtle, you could’ve easily missed it if the light wasn’t shining on his face, still, you couldn’t help but reach forward, pressing your lips to the tip of his nose. It’s quick, but you still earned a giggle that escaped his throat, mumbling afterwards, urging you to unwrap the box as he bit down his lip.

Wrapping your fingers on the ribbon that sealed the package, you swiftly untied it, allowing it to fall on the carpet next to you. A gasp eased out of your lips as soon as you opened the lid, revealing a heart-shaped gold pendant hanging on a delicate chain.

“‘S a locket.” He revealed quietly, eyes jumping from the jewelry in your hands to your face, watching your reaction. “It’s empty now, can put whatever you want in it.”

You touched the piece gently, feeling the texture of the engraved flowers under your fingertips, there’s a knot threatening to tighten your throat at the tenderness of his action but you swallow it back in order to speak, even though your words tremble out of your lips,

“I love it.”

You reach your free hand to touch the necklace being presented to you, craning your neck the slightest bit - as to not disturb Amie’s work on your brows - to get a better look at the piece. It’s a short golden chain, white crystal stones placed carefully around it. As you hold it in your palm you can tell how delicate it is, and you guess it’ll probably barely be noticeable as you strut your way down the red carpet in a couple of hours, but you assume the simple jewelry will make the whole difference in your headshots. With a final look you give a small nod to the short brunette still watching you closely, reaffirming your approval as you gently hand the necklace back to her.

She disappears from your sight in a beat and you relax back on your seat, not bothering to say anything else. It’s clear that everyone else has realized by now that you’re in a mood (if your unusual silence isn’t a big indication, you’re sure your face says it all), as they’re mostly speaking with each other and leaving you be. Acting like a stuck up egocentric diva was never in your plans to start the day of your first attendance at the Grammy Awards. It’s not like you can help it, though, but you try your hardest to make up for it. You force a smile for a bit too long, say please and thank you way too many times in a voice that makes you cringe to yourself. When they ask how you’re doing, you simply brush it off as a bad night of sleep.

Well, that isn’t entirely a lie, you are tired. The routine of staying out until dawn to catch a nap for maybe two or three hours everyday seems to have finally taken a toll on you. And of course it would all hit you like a brick in what feels like one of the most important nights of your career. Because why the fuck wouldn’t it?

Still, you know the main reason for your sour mood has got to do with much more than just a burnout due to a thread of poor sleep nights. You know the reason lies deep within the prior months that led to where you are now. But it’s not like you’re ready to unravel any of that.

So, with barely three hours of sleep under your belt, you woke up with your eyes still sticky from the previous night (due to the poor job you did on taking off your mascara before slipping under the covers) to be met with the high ceiling of the penthouse suite you booked for the week. Most times, when waking up after a night out, mind still buzzing and tongue slightly numb from the alcohol, it’s a slow rise. It starts with lazy blinks and a slow recollection of your surroundings, a lethargic way your head has to process the fact that it needs to start working again. But this morning you didn’t have that privilege of easing your way into consciousness. No. Your eyes snapped open with the sudden invasion of sunlight into your room, the chirping sound of voices coming muffled from the living room.

It’s almost noon, a voice lets you know, coming into your eyesight with a long floral dress flowing all the way down her calves, the sleeves tight on her elbows as she types something on her phone. Sonia, your manager, knows you too well as to not coarse you into waking up, but rather doing the most efficient way, that being not to give an option unless getting out of bed. She doesn’t waste a second before pulling you covers back, the action causing a whine to escape from your lips as the cool air of the AC embraces your body like a bucket of cold water.

“There’s breakfast waiting for you outside.” She gazed up at you, her eyes nudging into a motherly glare at your state.

“Coffee?” Is all you mumbled, sitting up.

“Later. Right now caffeine is not ideal for your headache.”

“I don’t—“

“There’s ibuprofen.” She motioned with her head to the nightstand right next to you, her attention back to the phone in her hand as it started to buzz. “And water. Lots of it. I’m sending in hair and makeup in ten.”

In reality, you had just about five minutes to wash away the night before you heard a commotion outside the bathroom door. There was just enough time for you to swallow back the painkiller that was settled in the nightstand as a good morning gift and to strip out of your clothes when people started knocking on the door. You ignored it, though, as your head pulsed with the continuous streak of sleepless nights and strong drinks and the cold rush of water from the waterfall shower did very little to lighten up your mood. And it doesn’t help that those five minutes were the last relaxing moment of the day before people started rushing in like a violent stream of water.

So, yes, to say you’re moody can be an understatement.

Right now you’ve been munching on an apple for the past half hour, using it as an excuse to not barge into conversations. The leather of the chair you’ve been on for what feels like forever now (which is code for about a full hour) is starting to stick to your thighs as your robe has ridden up your body. There’re what feels like hundreds of hands on you. Pulling at your hair, swiping products on your face, poking onto your nails. Their voices every minute or so smoothing in request as if you’re one of those voice controlled dolls of sorts — turn your head, stay still, close your eyes, don’t move.

This is a process you’ve always found near excessive, and probably your least favorite part of going to an event of such importance. Recalling the first time you had this many people in charge of helping you get ready, you remember the excitement. It was easy, being the center of attention without having to lift a single finger. However, it did lose its glamour rather quickly. You like your independence way too much. That ranges from being able to get ready by yourself to going alone to a cocktail party.

Though you know there’s not much you can do about it, so you just relax back, knowing the less you think about it, the quicker it’ll be over.

The moment you let your eyes fall closed, feeling the smooth brush color your eyelids, you hear it. It’s faint, and you have to focus on the low sound of the speaker in the background, under the rushed voices of what feels like too many people in the room, to really hear it. But once you do, your ears perk up as the oh so familiar voice starts to sing, and you can’t help but let your eyes snap back open at the opening verse of A Case of You. This earns a small scolding from Amie but you don’t register it, instead, you turn your head to the side to listen to it better.

“Whose playlist is this?” You ask, lips twitching upwards as the first chorus comes up.

“Think it’s Mia’s.” Someone from behind you answers it with a slight pull to your hair.

It takes you a second too long to answer her at first, the melody embracing you like a nostalgic hug, “‘S a good one.” You nod, not knowing who Mia is but still appreciating her choice.  “I love this song.”

“I remember, back in college, when my ex broke up with me as he was dropping me off from my cousin’s birthday party,” Amie starts, interrupting your moment as she holds your chin between her fingers, gently positioning you to face her and you let your eyes fall closed again. “I sat down in my dorm, put on Joni Mitchell and cried for the rest of the night.”

“Ouch, that must’ve been harsh.” You breathe out a laugh, the action worsening the throb in your head and you immediately fall sober again, recalling your own experience of crying listening to her disks.  “Good choice, though. It’s a good song to cry to.”

“Sure is.”

Amie quickly strikes another conversation with the girls in charge of your hair and you fall silent again. The song still plays softly in the background, but as much as you try to focus on it, to let the comforting words of the familiar song detach you from the position you’re in, make you forget about the suffocating feeling of having this many people so up on your personal space, you can barely hear it under their voices. A loud laugh disrupts your attempt and you have to refrain from cringing in frustration.

Suddenly, you feel yourself become too aware of the tangle of noises swiping around the place. The door to the hotel room opens and closes a couple of times. Muffled sounds of steps rushing around on the carpeted floor. Someone calls a name from the living room area. The woman in charge of your nails chats with the one doing your hair as she finishes her work (giving you at least one bit of relief). The overwhelming feeling comes back, hitting you like a brick, and you start feeling too hot under the ring light. You’re about to speak up, excuse yourself for a moment so you can walk to the balcony and feel the outdoor air untangle the knot in your chest. But before you do, you hear a familiar voice coming from behind you.

“How are we feeling here?” Sonia appears in front of you as you blink your eyes open (slowly, as to not mess up Amie’s work on your eyeshadow). She holds up a cup of coffee in your direction and you accept it gladly, holding it carefully with your freshly manicured nails.

“We’re certainly feeling.” You take a sip, wincing slightly at the hot beverage. “Sorry, I don’t know what I’m saying.”

“Nervous?”

The question makes you suddenly become too aware of the nerves tugging at your belly, like when you only feel the sting of a scratch one someone points it out. The reminder of your first time attending the ceremony as an official Grammy nominee gives your stomach a funny twist. However, it’s not your anxiousness that’s bugging you as you feel another gentle tug at your hair. But you choose not to voice your annoyance, afraid of sounding too much of a diva (something you’ve been policing yourself closely not to do for the past few months), only letting out a slight wince. “A bit.”

“It’ll be alright.” She places a hand on your shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Not that different from other award shows, you’ll see.”

“I guess.”

“Oh!” Sonia exclaims, unlocking her phone on her other hand. “I’ve changed your flight back home like you asked.” She scrolls for a bit before stopping with a sip of her own coffee.  “You’ll be leaving on the twenty first, is that good?”

“It’s alright.” You sigh, knowing it’s not the ideal scenario you had planned, to catch an early flight the day after your birthday, but being used to the hectic agenda and the sudden change of plans.

“The driver will pick you up at five.” She gives you a look. “In the morning.”

“I know. I know.”

“That’s sorted, then.” She locks her phone again, turning her attention to Amie, who’s brushing a product gently against your cheekbone. “How much longer do you think?”

“Give me fifteen and she’s all yours.” Amie peeks up at the older woman.

“Perfect.” She smiles back at you. “You look beautiful, and you’ll do great tonight.”

“Thanks, Sunny.” You grin at the brim of your cup, addressing her by the nickname you’d given the first week she started working for you.

True to her word, Amie finishes off her work not much longer after Sonia disappears from the room after turning around the threshold leading into the living room area. And, just as you take the last sip of your coffee, while scrolling mindlessly through your phone in an attempt to keep your mind distracted, you hear a commotion coming from the other side of the walls.

It takes another minute for you to get up from the spot you’ve been sitting for what feels like hours now to go investigate. You enter the living room being greeted with a trail of croissants, and you take one, biting carefully before letting out a satisfied hum.

From this moment on, time moves relatively quickly. Soon enough, you’re standing in front of a full body mirror, feeling the poke of the last few adjustments in your gown. It’s a sequined emerald gown, one you’d find a bit too much of a safe choice upon seeing it at first, but as you see how it hugs perfectly at your curves, you’re sold.

You arrive at the red carpet with twenty minutes to spare before the show starts — not too early to be quickly forgotten by the ones that arrive after you, but also not too late to be glazed over. The Los Angeles January sky is cloudless, but despite being in the peak of wintertime the air surrounding you is warm, almost too warm, even.

The screams quickly swallow you, some coming from people on the other side of the street, waiting for a glance of whoever’s stepping out of their cars at the entrance, others are hidden behind bright flashes that you can force yourself to look at for too long. You wave, giving the same smile you’ve perfected over the years, the one that Amie says makes it look like you hold all the secrets of the world, but still friendly enough to avoid headlines about being too pretentious.

A girl, not much younger than you it seems, directs you further down the carpet. You pay little mind to her, only directing a small smile as you blindly follow her steps. Scanning your eyes through the crowd gathered before the entrance, you manage to catch familiar faces all around. Everyone’s at their most presentable, and you feel like, even if you didn’t know any of them, you would’ve easily been able to pick out the stars as they parade around the place like sore thumbs. It’s the Hollywood glow, one that can easily be spotted on their stuffed chests and their cheshire cat smiles, bodies clad in thousand dollar fabric as they spill out the big names behind it. You’re not different from any of them, you’re aware.

It takes longer than you’d expected to finally walk inside the Staples Center, following behind the same girl that greeted you when you made your entrance. Once she directs you to your seat, you hold back a relieved sigh to find Ayame standing right next to it -- you had requested to be seated next to her but considering her tendencies of skipping red carpet for the sake of arriving fashionably late (her words) you’d been scared you’d have to sit through your anxiety by yourself for a good chunk of the show.

Your brows shoot towards your hairline to the sight of her newly dyed bright orange hair, the locks gelled back, allowing her neon colored eye makeup to stand out on her face. She’s in a black latex dress, the silhouette mimicking a classical 50s gown with an off shoulder neckline. The top part of it seems to be clad so tightly to her body that you mindlessly hold your breath for a moment as you approach her.

It takes a while for her to notice you as she chats excitedly with someone you recognize as the lead singer of some pop punk band you haven’t really tried to learn the name of (but you do know is nominated with you for Best Pop Group/Duo Performance). The second her eyes meet yours, however, she’s rushing the couple steps to close the distance between you two, pulling you into a hug as she squeals your name. Her excitement is one of the first things to bring a genuine smile to your face all day, truth to be told.

“Hi, Aya.” You mutter over her shoulder, minding where you place your hands to hug her back so as to not mess with her hair.

“Hey you.” She pulls away, taking a step back to take in your appearance. You’re aware you two probably look like quite the duo together, her out of the box choice of a look certainly contrasting with your safe option (one that can look quite plain as you stand next to her, you realize.) But she doesn’t pay any mind to the antithesis, instead, only clapping her hands together as she moves her gaze down your body. “You look so beautiful! Oh my god, your dress even matches my eye!”

“That’s true.” You giggle (a real one) at her observation, taking notice of the way her thick green eyeliner curls down her cheekbone. “Guess we coordinated even without meaning to.”

“Oh god!” Her shoulders lump, eyes softening, and her lips plumping into a small pout. “Please, will you ever be able to forgive me for not coming with you?”

“Aya, it’s fine.” You reassure her.

From the moment your name started circling around different magazines as one of the favorite’s for snatching a couple nominations, Aya told you how she wanted to be with you for your first official attendance at the awards. You chatted over glasses of wine and endless bowls of oyakodon (on those rare nights that’s just the two of you in her New York apartment and she’d decide to try teaching you yet another japanese dish), making plans for today, daydreaming about getting ready together and walking down the carpet with linked arms and matching smiles. But this was before Aya signed for her Chanel campaign, and before you stopped feeling excited about mingling outside your comfort zone.  

“Nothing I’ve never done before.”

“I know but it’s your first Grammy Awards!” She sighs, her voice on the verge of a whine. “You’re the star of the night!”

There’s a sound announcement that the show is merely five minutes away from starting that cuts you as your lips part. As you two move to take your seats by the center-left of the main stage, you say, “Not sure about that one.”

You feel her gaze from the corner of your vision as you glance around the space, watching the biggest names in the industry pacing around just an arm reach away from you. After a second, you meet her concerned eyes, and when she speaks up again her voice is gentle, verging on cautious. “How are you?”

You look away from her, picking at your nails for a moment before you realize you’re ruining the fresh manicure. With a shrug, you try to dodge from the real answer she’s looking for with her question. “Good. Nervous. Tired.”

“Grumpy.” A teasing smile tugs at your friend’s lips.

“Tired.” You repeat.  “Didn’t really get any sleep, if I’m honest. Think I might actually pass out this time around.”

“Were you out last night?” She hesitates before continuing, her voice lowering an octave. “With Dora?”

“We just went to a cocktail party, nothing too crazy.”

A photographer stops by, interrupting you to take a picture of the two of you next to each other. As soon as he’s gone you look back at Aya, she’s the one not meeting your eye this time.“I don’t like her.”

You sigh. “I know.”

“I don’t.” She shifts in her seat, looking down at her lap before gazing up at you. “I just don’t think she has your best interests in mind.”

“And I don’t think this is the best place for us to discuss this. Again.”

“You’re right.” Aya nods, more to herself than to you. “Tonight is about you. Screw Dora and screw--”

The music playing around the arena pauses, and you both know this means the ad break is over. Cameras start moving around you and that’s enough for Aya to drop the subject and relax back on her seat. With the lights dimmed and the attention set on stage, it’s much easier for you to let your frown deepen for a moment as you take in the words she was about to say.

It takes just a minute for you to go back to your alert state, however, as a camera dances its way in front of you. A silent reminder of the eyes watching you all around.

The greater half of the show drags by and you find yourself zooming out more times than you wish. You know that Aya notices, giving you the same concerned look when you take a beat too long to clap for someone’s speech, or when you keep repeating the same robotic movements during someone’s performance. Award shows are known for crawling their way to the end, but most times than not, you can easily carry yourself through it with not much yawning. But right now that’s shown to be a harder task than you thought, and you find yourself urging for something to keep you at ease (it’s why you like the Brits so much, at least there you could down a glass of tequila and let its warmth drown the nerves in your belly.)

What bugs you even more is the fact that this was supposed to be the best night of your life. The weight of its importance should be translated into flaps of butterflies in your stomach not a tangle of thoughts clouding your brain. And the pressure you put on yourself to force some enjoyment out of you only helps make it harder for you to fight a crease to form between your brows.

The first time you let go of living inside your head is when the sound announcement for your first category echoes around the arena during -- yet another -- commercial break. You’re talking with Dua Lipa, exchanging the formality of compliments on each other's work (in your weak attempt at networking when you don’t feel like talking), when you hear it. There’s an electric spark that shoots down your spine, and you’re sure it's evident in your face as she comments on your nomination, earning a nervous laugh in return. It jolts you like a flip of a switch, and you have to hold back from bouncing on your feet at the prospect of finally allowing yourself to enjoy the night. Your night, you correct yourself, hopeful.

Around you, cameras come alive again as you reach your seat. It’s like your whole body feels numb, every cell electrified with anticipation in a way that the only thing you can focus on is the speed of your heartbeat. The rush of your bloodstream spreads warmth from the apple of your cheeks to the tip of your toes. You realize Aya’s hand is in yours when she squeezes it tightly, forcing you to share a quick glance at her to find an expectant smile adorning her face.

It’s only when they call the nominees for Best New Artist that you realize you never really thought you had a chance of snatching it. Maybe in a way you tried to keep your expectations low, knowing the set of talents that share the category nominations with you. So you wait for them to call someone else’s name. You prepare to put on your best smile, to clap politely for the winner. But that’s not what happens.

Because they call out your name.

Aya hugs you so tightly it brings tears to your eyes, your mind suddenly snapping back into reality and you realize that yes, this is really happening. You’re sure you float all the way upstage, you mind blank and your hands shaky as you accept the statuette. In a few days, people are gonna ask you about this moment, how it was looking back at the arena with your new Grammy in hands to give your acceptance speech, and you’re just gonna laugh it off charmingly about how you had it at the tip of your tongue. In reality, the moment you gaze back at the ocean of people, all in their black tuxedos and extravagant gowns, the only thing you focus is to fight back the knot in your throat, keeping your voice surprisingly steady as you barely register a single word that leaves your mouth.

Still shaking, you walk backstage, accepting congratulatory words and receiving a couple hugs along the way. You talk to reporters and take pictures, words coming a bit throaty as you allow yourself to feel a bit teary. The award feels heavy in your hand, the golden record player glimmering back at you, the shot of adrenaline waving off as you stare at the blank spot waiting to be engraved with your name.

Once you’re back on your seat, the buzz in your body starts to wear off. You feel your phone going off in your clutch and, when the familiar signal for the commercial break goes off, you reach for it. The screen lights up immediately, showing a thread of messages coming up at the second. You unlock it, feeling the urge to call someone as you let your thumb glaze over it before tapping the phone app. It opens up, showing a couple of missed calls from when you were backstage that you make a mental reminder to check back on it later. You look at the screen expectantly, as if waiting for something to happen when it hits you. You have no one to call.

Looking up, you try desperately to catch some friendly eyes, but you come back empty handed. Aya has gone backstage to get ready for her performance, and Sunny, along with other people from your team, have taken this time to celebrate, mingling around the place.

The messages are still lighting up on your screen as you blink back the tears that now threaten to fall down your cheeks, your chest heaving when the knot gets tighter. It’s a bit ironic, you think, the amount of people reaching out to you and yet you’ve never felt this alone. This was all you wanted, right here in your hands. All you focused on. Your life has never been better. Climb all the way to the mountaintop, isn’t that what they say? Then why does it feel so lonely?

There’s all these people, smiling at you, offering their kind words. Celebrating your achievement. But none of them feel like someone you can rely on, and you can’t help but wonder:

Shouldn't you have someone that you could call?

//

Harry’s not having a good day.

He’s not having a good week, actually.  Just as he’s stuck on a hectic routine in the middle of arranging costumes for the next musical (they’re doing Beauty and the Beast which requires a lot of layering that, as pretty as he finds the final result, can be a pain to sew) he managed to come down with a cold. So, whereas he wanted nothing more than to take a couple days off to snuggle under his newly acquired electric blankets while binging the new season of How To Get Away With Murder, the dress rehersal dates are just around the corner, so he just had to ignore his runny nose and throbbing head in order to rush into the final tailoring of the costumes. And if being sick wasn’t enough to throw him off a curve, he’s been having an special difficult time with Lumière’s full-skirted coat, his hazed mind causing him to misplace the golden laser cut detailing twice, as well as poke himself with the needle enough times to leave the skin of his finger red and sore. All of this also warranted him three scoldings from Lisa, who’s the head costume designer and whom Harry had prided himself on never getting on her bad side, so to say he’s been grouchy all week is an understatement.

On top of it all, like the bright red cherry on top of the shit cake that was his week, he’s late. He’s late to a wedding he’d all but forgotten about, and if it wasn’t for the annoyingly loud alarm reminder he’d set on his phone (that rang conventionally just a minute after he finally got to lay back on his bed after getting home from work -- he doesn’t usually work on saturdays but Lisa messaged him about an emergency with Belle’s dress, so he’d spent the entire morning hopping around fabric stores) he’d have probably slept right through it.  Harry thought about rain checking it, literally, as he hit the snooze button just as gentle raindrops started tapping against his window. He actually considered it. But as soon as he let his eyes fall closed the guilt started settling in. He had confirmed his presence directly with the groom when he called to send his congratulations after receiving the invitation. He gave him his word, and he’ll stick by it.

But it still doesn’t help the fact that he’s late. Which is why he’s rushing up the escalator on the tube station. The rain hasn’t gotten any better from the moment he’d jumped out of bed, still showering from the sky much like a last goodbye from winter as it blends into spring. This time he took Julia on her offer, grabbing her umbrella before leaving home -- and making sure to avert his eyes from the tacky imprints on the fabric to keep himself from cringing, as the only reason for him to be taking it in the first place is to keep his hair and his clothes as intact as possible (at times like this is when he’s the most thankful for the degree chose, because he’s not quite sure how else he’d be able to get his hand on a suit at the last minute if he hadn’t had one he’d tailored himself on his first year.)

He gets a few looks as he stumbles on the last step, a line of apologies rushing out of his lips while he struggles to open the umbrella. When it finally flings open with a thud, the gush of wind prepares to take it away but is prevented from doing so as Harry tightens his grip on the handle, he checks his phone again for the time. The screen lights up with the indication that he’s got five minutes for the ceremony and Harry mutters a cuss as he remembers the venue is a ten minute walk from the station, so he picks up his pace, the sound of the heels of his boots against the cobblestone blending with the pitter-patter of raindrops hitting the ground.

He knows he’s arrived as soon as he turns around the corner. The 18th-century building takes over most of the block, its stoned walls take a camel tone contrasting with the black of the iron railing that hugs its front--only giving space to two dark oak wooden columns located on each side of the front entrance. There’s a small group stepping out of a black taxi, a suited-clad man helps a woman out of the vehicle as she holds onto the skirt of her navy blue gown to prevent it from dragging it into the damp concrete sidewalk. They’ve clearly just arrived for the ceremony that’s set to happen in just a couple minutes now, and Harry can’t help but let out a relieved sigh as he realises he’s just about made it in time.

Letting his pace slow down to a jog, his shoulders relax as he tries to even out his breathing as he approaches the group in an attempt to not give away the fact that he was properly running for the past five blocks. But just as he does so, as a stronger gust of wind whips against his face. Harry barely has time to process it as the umbrella in his hand inverts its shape, the wires holding the fabric together snapping broken. It’s so sudden that it takes him backwards a couple steps, a high pitched yelp falling from his lips as the raindrops start to hit his face like needles, quickly sinking through the fabric of his suit.

“Fucking--”

His struggle catches the attention of the group standing outside the building, and he can feel their heads turning in his direction from the corner of his vision. There're a few repressed laughs that still make their way to his ears, and one of the men speaks up, his eyes lit in amusement, “Alright, mate?”

Harry glances down at the broken umbrella in his hand, his other arm coming up in a weak attempt to shield him from the drops now sliding down his cheeks. He looks up, clicking his tongue. “I’m good.”

There’s a shame in his walk as he makes his way to a trash can right next to the group, giving them a small nod before throwing the now-useless tool inside of it. He tries not to think about how perfect it would be for the earth to swallow him whole as he jogs again the few steps towards the entrance of the house.

At least now he’ll never have to look again at that tasteless thing every time he enters his flat, he tries to reason.

Thankfully, the weather consists mostly of sporadic gusts of wind, rather than a proper rainstorm. So, by the time he reaches the covered white-painted entrance, the thin droplets of water were only good for dampening his hair and shoulders (and tangling a few knots into his strands that he feels once he runs his hand through it), but not powerful enough to soak through his clothes.

“Good afternoon, sir.” A lady greets him as he steps inside the venue, she holds a cream clipboard on the crook of her arm, hugging it against her body. Her freshly dyed red locks contrast with the beige tone of the ambient, matching with her earth-brown dress. A smile stretches in her face, accentuating her age lines, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes, brows shooting up in surprise as if she didn’t expect him to walk in.

“Afternoon.” Harry reaches his hand to push back his hair, nose scrunching as he feels a few droplets slide down his neck. The lady looks up at him expectantly, her eyes moving down not so subtly, smile tightening as she takes in his appearance. He clears his throat, speaking up when she doesn’t offer any response, “Uhm… I’m here for Michael and Elise… For their wedding, I mean.”

“Right!” She nods, and Harry notices the way her eyes glance down at his blazer one more time before she focuses on the clipboard, moving it so it stands on her eyesight. She opens her mouth but before any word can leave her lips her hand reaches up to press her finger against the ear device, brows furrowing in concentration as she listens in. He stands there awkwardly for a moment,waiting for her instructions as she nods along to whatever’s being said. “I just have one more guest coming in.” She mumbles into the device, shooting a quick glance to down the hallway, before she focuses back on him, her voice coming a bit rushed. “May I have your name, please?”

“Uh, course, yeah. Styles.”

She gazes down at the list in her hand, flipping the pages as her eyes scan through the names. “Harry Styles?” He offers a hum in agreement as he watches her check his name. She looks back up, motioning towards the end of the long hallway, where there are double glass doors, only one of them open, leading to what seems like an outdoor area. “You can just head  straight ahead to the courtyard for the ceremony. The reception afterwards will be upstairs.”

“Alright, thanks.” He has half a mind to ask her for the men’s room so he can at least fix his undoubtedly rumpled appearance but, before he even thinks of doing so, she already has her back to him, taking long strides towards a closed door located to the side and disappearing inside of it. He huffs out a breath, eyes widening slightly as he mumbles to himself. “Okay, then.”

Harry walks through a threshold leading to a second part of the hallway, this one with a darker cast to it, thanks to the walnut tone of the wooden walls, passing by a number of ash grey armchairs set neatly on each side of the corridor -- looking so sleek that Harry wonders if anyone has ever used them for anything other than a decoration piece. The low mesh of voices invades the indoor space, getting just slightly louder once he enters the courtyard area.

The glass door he enters from leads to the right side of the seating plan, all the white wooden chairs with their backs turned to him (thankfully, as he doesn’t really feel like making a grand entrance to announce how late he is). He notices another set of double glass doors to his left that are set right at the center, a tan colored carpet stretching from it all the way to the altar, and, opposite to where he stands, a white piano is being played, the soft melody serving as background noise. The last few rolls of seats near him are mostly empty, apart from a few people that chose the ones closest to the aisle, so Harry manages to sneak his way to a chair by the far end without catching anyone’s attention.

Once he’s finally able to relax back into the -- not so comfortable -- seat, there’s a relieved sigh that escapes his lips unintentionaly, and he finally allows himself to take a better look at his surroundings. The first thing that he notices as he stretches his neck (in an attempt to relieve some tension he’s been holding throughout the entire day) is a glass roof serving as a shield from the raindrops that still fall stubbornly from the sky. It’s definitely a semi-new addition to the construction, Harry reckons, as it gives a modern touch to the historical building. It’s almost transfixing the way the metal structure bends in the shape of a simple mandala, one that’s now being colored with easing streaks of water running down its dome-esque build.

From where he chose to sit there’s not much of the rest room he can really make out, most of his vision being obstructed by a wall of heads. What he is able to catch sight of is the waterfall fountain standing tall right behind the altar, the blanket of water falling along the stoned wall is so clear that one could easily miss it if it wasn’t for the lights located right above of it, bright and shimmering in contrast to the dim lighting of the rest of the room. The sound of it is soothing, like an indoor drizzle, and it blends so perfectly with the melody of the piano that Harry wonders if the man playing it is even aware of himself doing it. Right next to it, at the opposite far end of the space, is large light up letters spelling the word LOVE in a yellowed light. It’s something that he’s certain he could easily find corny if he didn’t consider himself a hopeless romantic of sorts.

Which also can justify why he’s not able to keep his eyes dry throughout most of the ceremony.

It starts just about a minute after he’s settled on his seat, barely having time to sit back before he finds himself standing up again with the rest of the crowd. And, from the moment Harry caught sight of the groom's face as the bride finally made her entrance, he’s a goner. He remembers as a young boy, being forced by his mum to attend a handful of weddings during his childhood, how boring he used to find them. Funny how time changes things, he feels like, as now he finds himself paying close attention to the whole thing, not being able to help the warmth that grows in his chest all the way to the tip of his nose as he feels his eyes getting glossier at every word being spoken. By the time the vows come up, the intimate declamations of love being spoken in teary voices and shaky hands, he gives up on trying to brush away the tears that tickle their way down his cheeks.

Once the newlywed couple strut their way back the aisle, rings now hugging their fingers and paired smiles stretching their cheeks, Harry’s managed to control his emotions to some degree. When they pass through him, just before disappearing inside the building hand in hand, the groom, Michael, meets his gaze, throwing his hand up in a wave-like gesture. Harry wonders for a second if he’d recognized his face amongst the certain euphoric feeling he’s in right now, or if it was just a blind gesture that he barely registered before disappearing inside the double doors. Regardless, he still brings his finger to his mouth to let out a sharp whistle in felicitation.

The second they’re out the door, everyone starts moving, and that’s when Harry realizes his seat also allows him to be the first out the door. Following the crowd that makes their way back into the building, it comes to him that he never really got the chance to find a toilet so he could check the damage left by the rain-- and he’s sure his emotional state throughout the last hour or so did very little to help him in that department.

So he keeps an eye out as he steps inside the same hallway he came from, this time being directed to an open door by the left that leads him to a staircase. His boots click against the marble steps as Harry climbs up along with the rest of the guests that make their way towards the reception, a light chatter taking over the building as the talk amongst themselves. All the doors along the way are closed, all except the one at the very front of the stairs as he reaches the third floor.

Harry looks around as he waits for the elderly couple in front of him to finish talking with the lady that’s standing in front of the open doors. All the rest of the floor is shut tight, and none of the double white painted doors really seem like they would lead to a bathroom. Soon enough, though, he’s being greeted by the receptionist of sorts.

Like the one when he first walked into the building, she also holds a clipboard close to her arm, and, with her hair being pulled up in a tight ponytail, he catches sight of a matching earpiece poking at the side of her face. He gives her his names and, once she starts directing him to his designated seat, he finds himself scanning the room for what he’s been looking for. He’s not planning on staying long enough to need to know which table he’s in, anyway, only wanting to express his felicitations to the couple before rushing back to his warm covers that call for his name.

“I’m sorry, which way is the toilet?” He interrupts the lady, who only raises her brows for a moment before shooting him a polite smile, gesturing to a set of doors not too far from where he stands. “Thank you.”

Upon entering further inside he notices, the space is much smaller than the courtyard. The room takes an ‘L’ shape, the turn of the place being a small platform to which he assumes must be the dance floor, considering the few musicians tucked in the far corner. Thanks to its shape the place is as narrow as it is long, not giving him much space to walk between the perfectly set tables. Harry doesn’t dwell on it too much, though, only rushing towards where he was directed, and quickly locking himself inside where it's indicated to be the men’s room.

Turning to the circular mirror to his side, Harry takes in his appearance with a sharp inhale. It’s not too bad, he thinks, more or less what he was expecting to find. His tearful state earlier has definitely enhanced the puffiness in his eyes that are still slightly glossy. There’s a reddish tone to his cheeks and at the tip of his nose, light circles under his eyes displaying his poor sleep schedule. He looks like someone who’s still recovering from a cold, if he’s honest. Which was to be expected. His hair, however, took most of the damage of the rain. What once were his neatly locks curling around his jawline, now sits a frizzy nest of strands tangled on each other.

It’s still damp when he runs his fingers through it, trying to undo the knots he finds on the way but, somehow he only makes it worse. He clicks his tongue, shaking his head at his reflection as he lets out a chuckle, thinking of a Friends reference.

He sighs in frustration at the stubborn mop of his hair refusing to stay in place, surrendering to its rebellion as he fetches the hair tie wrapped around his wrist. Maybe he should’ve just listened to his mum’s wishes and just cut it all out when he had the chance, it surely would’ve saved him the embarrassment of walking around a wedding reception with a fucking man bun. But Harry is as stubborn as he is proud, sticking to his statement of allowing his curls to run wild down his neck. So he might just have to suck it up to his knock off hipster image for the night, at least he’ll probably won’t see these people again until the next baby shower, he figures.

What Harry doesn’t expect as he walks out the foamy white restroom after his inner head monologue was to be met with the one person he was not expecting to encounter in a million years. Standing just a few steps away from him, hair neatly wrapped on top of your head, body clad in a pearly green cocktail dress, the top crossing tightly around your chest and its skirt drapes beautifully down your body. It’s Dior, Harry recognizes, and on any other occasion he would’ve been too transfixed on the piece to even notice the person sporting it. But not right now, no, there’s not a chance that the hiccup on his heartbeat and the sweat on his palms are due to the article of clothing.

He freezes on his spot, his eyes shutting tightly for a moment, hoping that when he opens up it’s all just a fragment of his -- very vivid -- imagination. Perhaps he’s falling ill again, and his fever is acting up, creating mirages to trick his mind. But as he opens his eyes that possibility seems to dissolve as quickly as it was created, and Harry’s convinced that this must be some twisted sick joke the universe is pulling on him. Not satisfied on making him walk in the rain after breaking his friend’s tacky umbrella, or having him attend a wedding reception with a fucking manbun of all things as well as a face that’s most likely resembling a dried apple. No, that didn’t seem to be enough of a punishment for him. Because on top of it all, here you are, standing just a few steps away from him, this time not through a screen of a printed paper but in flesh and bone.

It takes him a second to realize he’s been frozen on his spot for quite a while now, and as panic starts to zip through every cell of his body his gaze flickers around the room. He’s not sure what he’s looking for exactly, just trying to find a way out. But how, when he’s not even sure where he’s supposed to sit? His eyes find the lady that greeted him at the entrance and he cusses himself for not paying attention to her instructions during his rush, because now she’s standing on the other side of the room speaking with the musicians and there’s no way he can reach her without bumping into you first.

Why does this place have to be so fucking small?

His foot stops midstep, almost too afraid to move and catch your attention. Frowning to himself, Harry  He dares to look in your direction again. You’re turned towards him, but thankfully you’re too caught up in your conversation with a blonde lady, nodding along to whatever it is that she’s saying, that you don’t catch the way he lets his eyes linger in you for a beat too long.

Long enough that you undoubtedly feel the weight of his eyes on you as your gaze meets his, and Harry’s sure he could dig a hole for himself right through this perfectly waxed lightwood floor. But he can’t because you’re looking at him. You’re looking at him and your eyes widen just slightly with recognition, mouth agape as your lips form the shape of his name, your voice standing out amongst the mixture of others chatting around the room.

The girl talking to you turns around as she realizes your focus has gone elsewhere. Melanie. He remembers her from his chem class -- she dropped a whole beaker of hydrogen peroxide on her arm and had a skin burn, her round face is still the same but now she’s a blonde. He barely pays any attention to her, however, letting his eyes bounce back to yours just as quickly as they left, only to find you’re already making your way towards him.

“Harry?” You say again, this time he hears it loud and clear as you get closer, the sound of your voice saying his name again causing an electric spark to shoot down his spine. You stop just before him, as if you’re also unsure on how to properly greet him.

His lips part, taking a sharp breath as he tries to learn how to speak all over again, “H-hi.”

“Hi.” Your smile grows. “I didn’t know you’d be here, didn’t see you at the ceremony.”

“Yeah I-- I got rained on.” He lets out a nervous laugh, hand coming up instinctively to run through his hair but he stops it midair as he realizes his locks are tied back. Clearing his throat he speaks up in an attempt to cover the awkward gesture, “I mean, didn’t know you’d be here as well, you know? Figured you’d be busy and stuff.” He wants to punch himself.

“I made it just fine.” You throw him a playful wink, shooting a look over your shoulder to where Melanie now stands talking to someone else, her eyes still stealing a few curious glances in your direction. “Where are you seated? Figure it can’t be that far from where they seated me.”

“Uhm… To be honest, I’m not quite sure.” His eyes scan the room for a second before meeting yours again. “Was in a bit of a rush when I walked in, actually.”

You laugh, “Well that’s perfect, then, you can just sit with us!” You motion back to the table where you came from. “I’m sure you remember everyone from back in the day.”

“Sounds nice, yeah.” He looks back to where you’re pointing, trying to spot any other familiar face.

“Great! C’mon I’ll get you some champagne.” You catch him by surprise as you lock your arm around his, leading the short way towards the table.

True to your word, you hand him a flute of champagne just a beat after directing him to a seat that seems to be right next to yours. He doesn’t miss the way you’re able to do so with a simple smile shot towards one of the caterers, making him find his way to you in barely a second, handing you another flute without even questioning the fact that you already have one in your hand. Harry doesn’t really blame him, a smile from you would be enough to have him rushing to you, too.

As he figured, you take the seat right next to his, raising your glass briefly in a cheers with him before both of you relax back into your seats. The table is entirely decorated in different shades of white and gold, as well as the rest of the space. Honey orange plates are set in front of each of the seven seats, their tone matching perfectly the color of the fancy patterned curtains around the room that block the outside view. A full bouquet of flowers is set at the center, pale pink roses contrasting with bright red dahlias as they bloom proudly amongst the green leaves. Two other empty glasses are set in front of him, they shimmer under the light coming from two high-hanged chandeliers that illuminate the room, and Harry wonders what they could be for, as their shapes differ only so slightly from each other.

His thoughts are cut shortly as the empty seats quickly begin to fill, and he notices how your attention has gone back to Melanie who now takes the chair on your other side. She seems to have taken a liking to having your attention on herself, Harry notes. Soon enough, though, his own focus is called elsewhere, once he’s greeted by the other people that have taken the rest of the seats. You were right when you told him he’d recognize most of them, and Harry’s thankful that it mostly consists of people he actually used to be relatively close to back on his school days (not close enough to have survived the graduation mark, but still, most of them he still follows on a couple social media platforms, getting sporadic updates on their lives).

Jamie is the first of them to arrive, who takes the chair right next to Harry’s, startling him with a strong grip on his shoulder. “Styles?” His voice chirps in the air, and as recognition comes to him, Harry gets up, greeting him as he’s pulled in a side hug. “Almost didn’t recognize you, mate, are you wearing heels?” The man jokes at the clear height difference between them, earning a polite laugh from Harry.

“Kind of, actually.” He looks down at his foot as he bends his ankle, showing off the black leather boot that has a bit of a heel to it.

“Oh, there he is! Always the stylish one, it’s in the name, innit?” Harry huffs out a chuckle. “With the hair too, right? Heard those buns work wonders with the ladies.” The shorter man motions to Harry’s hair, giving him a playful shove as he laughs, looking back to catch the gaze of a woman that’s standing behind him. She gives Jamie a tight smile and a raise of brows, her eyes flickering from him to Harry. His laugh hauters, arm reaching back to grasp her waist,  “Yeah, yeah, H, this is my wife, Faye.”

At the mention of his spouse, Harry’s brows shoot toward his hairline for a second, lips parting before quickly recovering his shocked expression as he leans to greet her. It’s not that he’s surprised that Jamie has gotten himself a wife, somehow (well, a bit of that too) but it always comes like a bit of a jolt to find people his age settling with their life partner. Part of the shock comes mostly to Harry as he thinks back to himself, and he can’t help the comparison that comes as he’s never found himself nearly close to having someone so dearly close to his heart that he can think of such commitment.Well, he had you. But people always talk about how puppy love is usually supposed to be like that anyway. That first love, in which you’re still taking baby steps with the new found feeling of sharing your heart with someone else. The one when you’re too young to really know anything.

Harry still cherishes that feeling, which can also explain the effect you hold on him. But there’s something in him that wonders if he’ll ever have what he saw on Michael’s eyes when they locked gazes at the end of the ceremony. The bliss that comes with the knowledge that you don’t have to take those baby steps anymore. You don’t have to hold on to them in fear of what path they’ll take. If they’ll decide that where they need to go is no longer next to yours. He wonders what it feels like to learn that love doesn’t come with dread, and watching people around him find that so easily, it comes to him that maybe he’s the one doing something wrong.

It doesn’t really help that, after Jamie and Faye have settled in their seats, all the others that follow after come with similar introductions. Harry never expected coming here that he’d hear the words “fiancée” and “wife” being thrown around so often, and, quickly, he comes to the realization that he is the only one without a date.

As much as those thoughts keep bothering him, they become dulled as time starts going by and he nurses his second flute of champagne. The conversations that make their way to the table mostly consist of the recollection of times when each other’s faces felt like more than just a “used to be”. They make rounds with digging up old inside jokes, and Harry finds himself stealing glances in your direction more often than he’d like. He tries not to, of course, but you seem to be the only place his eyes want to travel to. With your voice so close to him, more than he ever thought it would be again, it’s like someone’s lighting a candle at the deep of his chest (those nice vanilla ones you used to have in your room, giving the whole place a scent that still sticks to him as yours to this day). It’s nearly scary to him, how easily he falls again to the sound of your laugh.

His nose scrunches in a laugh at a joke Chris blurts out from the other side of the table about their old math teacher the moment there’s a tap in the microphone that echoes through the walls of the small space. A woman stands in the far side of the room, standing on a small platform that was settled for the musicians. She’s the same one that greeted him at the entrance, her hair now pulled up in a tight bun exposing a thin layer of sweat on her forehead that shimmers under the lighting directly above her.

“Good evening, everyone.” Her voice chirps a bit too loud and she throws a look over her shoulder to a man standing next to a speaker, before testing a word again to see it come out now in a more composed tone.

She proceeds to go into a short speech that Harry, in all honesty, zooms out for a great part of it. His body has twisted on his seat to have a better look at the center of the room where she speaks into the mic, but as a result of that, he’s now facing you. From this angle, he has a better look at the side of your face, as you find yourself turned in your seat in order to look at the woman as well. Your makeup is light and most of it falls into a natural tone, and Harry wonders if you’ve made any effort at all into looking this beautiful.

The familiarity of your features tugs at his heartstrings, you’ve grown into them over the years, the lines in your face having matured with time. Still, he can pinpoint reminders of when he last got to gaze at you this closely. A scar just below your eyebrow, now faded, but still very much present, from when your sister scratched you with a branch at the first barbecue he attended at your family’s home. A few beauty marks painting your skin, that he used to press his lips or trace his finger over as if connecting them. Even the tiny golden ball poking through your second ear hole that he held your hand through when you got it pierced, afraid it would hurt too bad. Those details he thought he’d all but forgotten about, now staring right back at him.

Once again, it’s like he’s lost track of how long he’s been looking at you, and surely you can feel him watching, as you turn your head to meet his gaze. Harry blinks a few times, lips parting as he realizes he just got caught staring. There’s barely enough time for him to try and avert his eyes to pretend nothing ever happened, however, as your lips twitch in a gentle smile. The action causes a matching one to poke on his face almost immediately, a reaction Harry himself barely has time to register, a warmth deepening along with his dimples on his cheeks. You let out a slight laugh, bringing the brim of your glass up to your lips before gazing back over your shoulder at the lady that now seems to be wrapping up her speech.

“And with that being said, it’s now an honor to introduce for the first time, mister and missus Michael and Elise Browne!” She gestures to the entrance at the couple that appears through the doors, smiles still stretching their faces as they make their way to the far end of the room where there’s a space reserved for the dance floor.

With everyone’s attention being called towards the two newlyweds, Harry lets out a shaky breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Biting into his lip he claps along with the rest of the guests, trying to relax his shoulders to ease the nerves that still tickle deep in his stomach.

Quickly, though, the atmosphere of the place turns into more of a cheerful one.

After the couple’s first dance (which, this time, Harry has to blink away the tears that threaten to spill, knowing he’s much  more exposed to someone’s wandering eyes here) there’s a round of short speeches, mostly thanking everyone’s presence, before they start to serve dinner.

During most of the course, however, it’s like you’ve become the main attraction of the table. And it’s not that Harry’s surprised by it, even before you’ve gotten this big in your career, you’ve always held this magnetic aura within you. Something about you draws people’s attention, and you’re good at holding it to you. It’s not something you do consciously, he knows, but as soon as you’re in a room no one else holds a chance at stealing the spotlight.

It’s always been like this, even all those years ago. But now it’s like it’s intensified by tenfold. Harry doesn’t know how you manage to split your attention into so many conversations, and still remain your charming demeanour after hearing the same celebrity joke for the third time in a row. You don’t seem bothered by the amount of questions thrown your way (and he’s sure this is probably the most amount of times he’s heard Beyonce being mentioned in a conversation), in fact, he’s sure you’ve grown more than used to it by now.

Harry, on the other hand, is the one that grows slightly annoyed with time passing. Oddly enough, from the moment he sat next to you, something in him urged to be alone with you. He wants to be the one to hold your attention, your full attention. He wants to talk to you, to really have an actual conversation with you-- none of those ‘what does Adele smells like’ type of questions.

It took him seeing you again to make him realize, he’s missed you.

The chance presents itself, though, just as the empty plates for the main dish get collected by the caterers. Chris mentions something about one of Jamie’s school flings, causing a tension as his wife -Faye- storms out of the table with the man following close behind after shooting a dirty look towards his old friend. Melanie, who had been the main one to be on your shoulder throughout the night, excuses herself to the toilet right after. And, as soon as she’s out of her seat, Harry sees you let out a sigh, reaching for your wine glass before you turn to him for the first time in the night.

“I love your suit, by the way!” You exclaim, eyes moving down his jacket briefly. “Never seen anything like it.”

Harry clears his throat, feeling a heat raise at the back of his neck now that your focus is entirely on him. The suit in question, the same one that got an odd look from the lady at the front door, is actually one he’d firstly tailored on his first year of uni. It’s mostly made with a royal blue fabric, except the lapels that take the same material, but in a deep blood tone (initially, his first plan was to make the entire suit in this tone, but as he realized he barely had enough fabric of the same shade to finish the jacket, he settled on using it only as a detail on the lapels and at the bend of his elbows and knees). His favorite part of it, though, was actually added semi recently. Lisa had ordered some flower detailing to sew to Belle’s dress, but the girl in charge of it embroidered them a shade too dark and, before she got the chance to throw the work away, Harry asked to have them. Now, they’re bound to the lapels of his jacket, twin garden roses on each side, their blooming petals matching beautifully with the darker tone of the fabric. From the moment he added them on, he was in love with it, and now he’s even more glad he did so, because it also caught your attention.

“Thanks, I-” He looks down at his attire, as if he hasn’t seen it a million times before, scratching his nose with the side of his finger as his voice comes out lower than he intended, a shy smile taking over his face. “I designed it myself, actually.”

“Oh my god!” You gasp as the realization hits you. “Really? Wait how-- I mean, I didn’t-- Well, it looks incredible!”

“Thank you.”

“I didn’t know you…” You trail off, motioning vaguely down at his attire.

“Uhm, yeah.” He breathes out a laugh, rubbing his nose with the side of his finger in a nervous tick. “I dropped out of art school, actually, to get into fashion.”

Your eyes widen just slightly, blinking back at him a couple times, lips parting. “How did I not know that?” You ask in a mumble, seemingly more to yourself than to him.

“It was just uhm…” Harry looks down at his lap, not knowing how to finish the sentence without making it awkward. “It was right after we…”

“Oh.”

He clicks his tongue. “Yeah…”

“You must be almost done, right?” You change the subject as you bring the brim of your glass up to your lips, barely taking a sip before adding, “With your degree, I mean.”

Harry nods. “Got a year left, yeah.”

You take a full sip of your wine, setting it back to its place on the table before leaning to rest your elbow on top of it so it can support your cheek as you lean forward, turning your body so to show how he has your full attention. “And how’s that going? Do you have any idea of the path you want to take? I know fashion has so many possibilities, it must be exciting.”

“It is.” He nods just as a certerer comes to settle the deserts in front of each of you. After muttering a quick ‘thank you’, he continues, “I had some internships last year, actually. Worked with a couple designers in London, it was pretty cool.”

“That’s sick.” Your eyes still haven’t left him. “Any names I might recognize?”

He uses his fork to play around with a strawberry, focusing on the way it falls from the small piece of tart painted with white ganache, using it as a silent excuse to himself as to not meet your eyes. Truth to be told, it’s a rather strange feeling to him, having someone’s full attention like this, being asked about his life with a genuine curiosity behind your words. Harry’s used to being backstage, is what most of his career choice consists of, anyway. He stays behind the stage lights, doing the work no one cares for when they see the final product; even when working on runway pieces, people weren’t thinking of whoever did the stitching of the tule or the embroidery over the bustier. But the way you’re watching him, eyes glimmering under the warm lights, it’s the closest he’s felt to being thrown under the spotlight.

Which could explain why he feels this nervous.

“Maybe, yeah, I was with Christopher Kane for a semester.” He lowers his voice without meaning to, a rush of shyness tinting his face. “Also worked on a campaign with Molly Goddard.”

“Holy shit, Harry, that’s, like, huge!” You gasp, hand coming to hold onto his shoulder, pushing him back gently as to bring his eyes to meet yours. It’s sweet, really, how you most likely have accomplishments much bigger than he could ever dream of achieving, still, your smile grows as if it’s the most impressive thing you’ve ever heard. It brings a small giggle to escape from his lips. Letting your hand fall from his shoulder, you relax back into your seat. “One of my favorite dresses is Christopher Kane, he works with his sister, right?”

“They’re both creative directors, yeah.”

“I love their work.” You say, a smile still present and he hopes it never fades. “Are you doing any other intership right now?

“Yeah…” He starts. “I’m working right now, actually, doing some costume design for theatre.”

“Really? Now that’s an interesting path.” You point, fingers fiddling with the hem of the tablecloth. “Where are you working?”

“Uhm…” He knew this question was coming, still, he’s not sure how to present you with the information. His voice lowers, eyes falling to his lap before he looks up at you through his lashes. “Act One.”

He hears your hand fall to your lap, eyes widening just barely before you let out a chuckle, “You’re taking the piss.”

“I’m afraid I’m not.”

“Act One?” Your lips part in disbelief.  “With my mum?”

The thing is, Harry was only aware about Act One opening a London unit when he saw the job advertisement stuck to the wall of his university’s building about five months ago. He recognized the name, of course, knowing your mother worked as the music director while you two were together, and also knowing you had been part of a fair amount of productions before your career started growing as it is now (having even attended a handful of them himself, back in the day). What he didn’t know was that your family moved to London with the company and that your mother was still part of the crew when he joined for the spring production. So, the news came with a surprise to him as much as it is to you.

He thought maybe she would have mentioned it to you-- and maybe she has and you just brushed past the information, not caring much for it. But the way your face is still hung in shock, blinking at him as you try to process what he just told you, he figures that’s not the case.

“The same one, yeah.”

“I can’t believe it!” You reach for your glass, twirling it in your hand to watch the dark liquid swirl inside, still shaking your head slightly. “She never- She never…”

“To be fair, I don’t see her that often.” He tries to reason, and it’s true, they work in two different spaces. “I’m usually at the atelier.”

“Still, that’s…”

“Can I have everyone’s attention for a moment, please?” Someone cuts you off before you can even process how to finish the sentence you started. Everyone’s attention is called back to the makeshift stage, to a woman with the mic in her hand-- she’s in one of the bridesmaid’s navy blue gown, holding up a flute of champagne on her free hand. Once all eyes are on her, she continues. “For those who don’t know me, my name’s Lara, the bride’s best friend...”

The rounds of speeches start with her, then. Halfway through her second childhood story, that you’re only paying half mind to, you realize your mouth’s still parted in shock from your conversation with Harry. You try to subtly cover it, taking a sip of your wine, before you let yourself zoom out completely for the rest of the toasts.

How come he’s been working with your mum for months now, and you’ve only now become aware of it? It’s what keeps bugging you. The possibility of her mentioning the fact comes to you, but you brush it off as quickly as you think of it. You surely would’ve remembered it. There haven't been many mentions of Harry’s name since your breakup, really, and those become less frequent as the years go by. But you hold on to each one of them, trying to grasp the smallest piece of information about his life as you can.

Truth to be told, you’ve missed him. Before you started a relationship, he had been the closest friend you had. And the fact that the worst possible scenario of turning a friendship into something more came true tore you apart.

After you distanced from each other there was very little contact. Your mother would mention every few months something about him moving out how his family had adopted a new kitten. Those informations were received by you with single word answers or a simple nod, even though on the inside you were desperate to ask for more. Harry’s never really been very in touch with social media, so those updates from your mum were pretty much all the glimpse you had on his life without you.

That is, until they all moved two years ago. Then those small comments stopped all together.

So you tried to turn your mind off of it. Off of him. But every now and then something would happen. You’d listen to a song that you used to dance to in his bedroom, or you’d find one of his necklaces lost deep in your drawer and it would all go back to him. How was he doing? Where has his life gone? Who is he friends with? Who’s loving him?

The only time you ever vocalized those thoughts was once during a wine night with Aya. People often compliment you on how good you are with your words, but every time they do, you can’t help but think they’ve probably never got the chance to meet her. She was the first person to reassure you how normal it is to hang on to an old feeling. Harry was your first love, after all, and he’d always hold a place in your heart, no matter how hard you try to mask it.

After that, you stopped trying to bury something that was so valuable to you.

And living in harmony with your feelings, old and new, is something that you found to be so tranquil. Or, well, at least you were able to say that once.

Still, the conversation with Harry only helped to enhance that curiosity that used to consume you. It was a short one-- due to the circumstances you’re in, you can’t really catch a break to have much of a profound chat; but it still was enough for you to realize how little you know of him. There are still many cues that showed you that he’s still the Harry you once knew with the fullness of your heart. His quiet demeanor, and the shy smile that stretches his lips when the attention is on him. His dimples that you used to poke and kiss just to feel them deepen under your touch. His eyes that you always could get lost in every shade they take.

Those traces that make you want to explore each new one that you don’t know about anymore. The curls in his head, that even being pushed back in a bun, you can still tell are much longer than the last time you ran our finger through them. The tattoos that peak under the sleeve of his jacket, and you can’t help but wonder how many more are hidden under the material. The rings hugging his fingers or the necklaces set on his chest. There’s so much you want to ask him about.

And the next time you get the chance to do that is hours later.

The party is starting to feel like it could die out at any moment, when the children have fallen asleep on the armchairs and the early risers start to bid their goodbyes. There’s still a fair amount of people stumbling their way on the dance floor and making the last few rounds on the free cocktails that are being served. Your table is still pretty much filled, except for Chris that got his way around with one of the bridesmaids, which is why you haven’t managed to catch another time to be alone with Harry.

Throughout the night, as the alcohol started to make its way on people’s bloodstreams, you’ve probably been approached by every person within your age group. And, as much as you’ve gotten used to being the main attraction of those types of gatherings, being thrown around and pointed at like an animal in a cage. At this stage in your career, you know you have to suck it up and smile through it. But this night in particular, you find it especially hard not to roll your eyes in annoyance or let out a frustrated sigh when someone interrupts your eighth attempt at trying to talk to Harry.

But your freedom comes when Melanie -fucking Melanie- finally announces she and her boyfriend (Dan, Dave, Don - something like that) are calling it a night. And when she leaves, it’s just you and him.

You glance over your shoulder, making sure no one’s making their way towards you, but, thankfully, everyone else is pretty occupied with the karaoke machine that was introduced an hour ago.

“I’m sneaking out for a smoke.” You reach for your clutch, eyes hopeful as you glance back at Harry. “Wanna come with?”

To your relief, he nods. “Sure.”

You guide him towards a door you had peeked at when you were taking pictures with the bride’s family.

Just like you’d reckoned, it leads to a terrace of sorts, looking out into the courtyard where the ceremony was held from above the glass ceiling. You shoot Harry a short smile as he holds the door open for you, following just behind into the breezy night.

The sky is clear, the way it is after a rainfall, but a few clouds indicate that it might not be just done yet. The first whisk of wind makes you regret not bringing your coat, but you quickly brush away the idea of going back inside, afraid someone might notice you sneaking out a second time. So you two settle in a place right by the railing, turning to the party so you can relax back into the metal.

Reaching inside your clutch, you retrieve a package of cigarettes, pulling one out before offering it to Harry, who shakes his head in a  quick decline. You hold it between your lips as you grab a small lighter that it’s almost lost inside the tiny purse. There’s still a gust of wind dancing around the air, a chill that comes with the aftermath of rainfall. You find it nice, though, the way it brings goosebumps to rise on your skin. It’s a nice balance with the warmth of the flame as you flicker the lighter awake, bringing the flame to the butt of the cigarette that’s propped between your lips. You inhale the smoke, holding it for a moment as you appreciate the peace and quiet of the night, something you haven’t had in a while now.

For a while, both of you just stay quiet, enjoying the other’s presence.

It’s almost funny to you, how people compare meeting again with someone from your past, especially an ex, to seeing a ghost. Because right now, spending this night with Harry after years of being apart, you feel like that couldn’t be further away from the truth. Being in his presence again is everything but haunting. Feels like how it is to go back to your hometown, to walk the streets you memorized growing up, knowing you still know your way around them by heart. Like seeing the places you would go to when you were younger change over time, but still never quite lose the nostalgic feeling they’ve always held. Something that time is not powerful enough to change. The feeling of coming home.

Being with Harry is like that. Still the same, but different.

Harry speaks up first, he could’ve startled you if his voice hadn’t come out as soft as the brush of the wind against the tree branches a couple floors down from where you stand. Nearly shy, as he says it while gazing down at his boots, “Congratulations on your Grammy, by the way.”

“Did you know?” You ask, genuinely surprised.

He’s the only person that hasn’t brought up the elephant you bring to the room every time you walk in a gathering like this. A shadow of your status that people glaze at before even attempting on making a normal conversation. You knew it was coming sooner or later, and you appreciate the fact that he chose the latter.

Somehow, you had convinced yourself that maybe he hadn’t cared about you enough to know anything about your career throughout the years, especially knowing how much he had going on for himself. So to have him mention it, to congratulate you on top of it all, comes as a bit of a shock.

Harry seems oblivious of your surprise, however, as his words come out nearing a nonchalant tone. “Of course, hard not to.”

“Were you…” You start, suddenly feeling oddly shy about the prospect of him knowing this information about you. You wonder what else he knows about, what kind of assumptions he’s made about the person you’ve become. “Were you watching it?”

He nods, looking up at you. “I was, yeah.”

Your chest warms at his confession and it almost unsettles you how he’s got you flustered so easily. Usually, if it were anyone else, you wouldn’t hold back a snarky reply, knowing most people wouldn’t bat an eye before showering with compliments.

You blink at yourself with this thought, hating how truthful it is.

But with Harry there’s something in you that wants to impress him, to show him you still have the girl that he knew so well still somewhere inside of you. It makes you want to question him, desperate to know his impressions of this life you portray for the public. But you hold back, almost scared of the answer you could receive. So instead, you simply offer a vague response,  “Seems like so long ago.” You let out a dry laugh. “It’s been barely three months.”

He offers you a small grin. “‘S what they say, time rushes by when you’re having fun, and all that?”

“I guess that’s it, yeah.”

There’s a sudden urge inside of you to tell him the truth. Tell him how miserable you felt throughout most of that day. That you weren’t having fun at all, in fact, you were so preoccupied over the fact that you were supposed to be having the best night of your life that it only made your nerves swallow you in an avalanche. You want to tell him why that entire week was close to miserable, fuck, that entire month, actually. You wish you could cry on his shoulder about all you’ve been bottling up inside of you. You want to open up to him in a way you haven’t opened up to anyone.

You shake your head. What is wrong with you?

You have to remind yourself you barely know him anymore. This is the first time you’ve spoken in years and your first instinct is to throw all your baggage on him. To scare him away before you even get the chance to let a word out.

Instead of letting your big mouth say more than you’d be willing to share, you try to lighten up, thinking of the one part of that night that you actually enjoyed yourself, “I chipped my tooth with it, you know.”

“What?”

“The Grammy.” You reply, taking a short drag of the cigarette as you ponder how much information you want to pour on him of that night. “Chipped my tooth. I was jumping on the bed with it.” He chuckles, causing a loose strand to curl against his forehead. You want to brush it off, folding your arm under your elbow as you avert your eyes from his. “God, that night feels like a blur now. I think I pretty much convinced myself I dreamed a good portion of it.”  

You let out a chuckle, watching the way the smoke blends with the air. Harry doesn’t say anything, but you can feel his eyes looking at you from the corner of your vision. You meet his gaze, sensing a silent question from his jade irises, as if they’re waiting for you to keep talking.

“It just-- I don’t know, took a while to click, you know? To realize what had happened.” You elaborate, looking down at the skirt of your dress dancing along with the breeze as you grin to yourself at the memory. “ I got home that night, downed half an old bottle of whiskey that I found in my cellar.”

Harry’s brows shoot up, his voice coming with the verge of a teasing tone. “A cellar?”

“Shit, uh-- yeah it kinda-- I don’t know, came with the house.” There’s the warmth again, you feel it at the tip of your nose and you almost want to facepalm yourself for the slipup. “But yeah, after the ceremony, I went home by myself and just… Well, got drunk.”

“That’s understandable.” He giggles, and the sound makes you glance up at him again. “So you jumped in your bed with it?”

“Yeah, that’s pretty much how the story ends.” You click your tongue, giving him an exaggerated nod that turns into a shake. “Was so gone I didn’t even notice I chipped my tooth until I woke up a few hours later.”

He lets out a full laugh now, his eyes squinting and you can’t help but join him. “Sounds like you had fun.”

“Uhm.., I did, yeah.”

Harry falls silent, his smile toning down slowly. He puckers his lips, as if pondering what to say next. When he does speak, his words are slow, “How is it to like…” His words trail off, and you have to bite back a smile when he starts gesturing, remembering how he used to do that before. “I mean, talking to you now, even with this whole fame thing, you’re still so… Shit, I don’t want this to come off the wrong way.”

“It’s fine.” You let your cigarette fall to the floor before crashing it with your boot, the only reason you lit it was to have an excuse to leave the party with him. “Can guarantee you I had worse questions asked.”

“It’s just you’re still so… Well I wouldn’t say the same cause none of us really are the same person we were, like, five years ago.” He lets out a nervous laugh. “But you’re still so… grounded, I guess is the best word to describe it.”

You allow a grin to tuck at your lips, hoping he doesn’t sense the sincere apprehension that comes with your tease. “Were you expecting me to be a stuck up diva, is that it?”

His eyes bulge out. “No! No, of course not! Is just-- I think, well, most people think...And it’s not a you thing but more of a, I don’t know, celebrity thing? Fuck, I really dug myself a hole, haven’t I?”

“Harry, relax. I was just teasing.” You interrupt as he starts to ramble. “But I know what you mean, yeah.”

You ponder his question for a moment. The answer for it being far from a simple one, but, once again, the last thing you want is to overwhelm him with your problems. So you choose your words carefully, chewing at your bottom lip as you feel him watching you patiently.

“It’s not easy, I’ll tell you that.” You start, you voice slowing to an almost cautious tone. “I had… Worse times dealing with it, you know? I…”

“You don’t have to talk about it.”

“It’s fine, I trust you.” The words leave your mouth before you can register. You try not to show your surprise at them, and you do a better job than Harry, who audibly holds a breath. “Having so many people loving you, being praised for everything you do… It’s easy to let it go to your head, and I can’t say I’ve always been the best at managing it, but--” You regret your next words before you can even stop them from spilling from your lips. “I had a breakup a couple months ago that was uhm… A bit hard, but looking back at it I feel like it was like a bucket of cold water, in that sense.”

His eyes soften, and you have to look away because the last thing you want is to catch his reaction. “I’m sorry about that.”

“Don’t be! Really, I’m fine-- I’ll be fine.” You reassure quickly, shaking your head in hopes to shake the subject away.

It seems to work, as silence takes over the space once again, and both your eyes glance towards the party mindlessly.

You two watch Jamie appear in front of the glass doors leading to where you stand. He has his back to you, and from what you see it’s like he’s trying to pull Faye in the direction of the dance floor. She has a frown adorning her face, not giving into her husband’s attempt on pulling her with him. It’s clear, even from where you are, that he’s far off his mind now, his hips swaying with the muffled sounds of an attempt of a Céline Dion cover, still persisting even though it’s clear his wife wants nothing to do with his drunken ideas.

Faye gently pushes his hands away with a roll of her eyes, causing him to give a couple steps back, walking backwards into a chair before crumbling down with it. Neither of you can contain your laughs at the scene, even when you bring your hand up to muffle the sound, it’s too late. Jamie’s eyes look up from where he lies on the floor, catching sight of the two of you, he mumbles something you don’t understand, gesturing for you to come inside. You answer it with a small wave, and, thankfully, his attention is brought to his wife as she tries to help him stand.

You exhale a small laugh, moving so you’re no longer leaning back into the railing. “I think this is my cue to go before they try to convince me to try out that karaoke machine.”

“Yeah, I told myself I’d be out right after the toasts.”

You stop, pondering for a moment before looking back at him. “How are you going home?”

“I took the tube here.”

“Let me drive you back.”

“You don’t have--”

“It’s fine! I--” You pause, chewing down your bottom lip as you glance around him, feeling oddly embarrassed.  “I got a driver waiting for me, you can just tell him your address, won’t be a problem to drop you off.”

He hesitates, waiting a beat before nodding. “If it’s not a bother.”

“It’s not.” You say a bit too quickly. “I’m suggesting it, after all.”

“Okay, then.”

//

As soon as you dropped Harry home, when the sky was awaking lazily with an orange bloom of dawn, he started to wonder if the entire night had even been real. By the time he woke up, just a couple hours later, he was sure it had been a spur of his imagination. He must’ve fallen asleep while getting dressed, yeah, that must’ve been it, he got ready and decided to lay down for a bit, which led him to fall asleep and dream of the whole thing.

That night feels like a blur now. I think I pretty much convinced myself I dreamed a good portion of it.

You said that to him. But how convenient is it, that describes perfectly how he feels about that night? Of course, you were talking about the night you won your first Grammy, and he’s merely thinking about how it was to meet you again. The two reasons for each of you to feel this way are so polar apart, Harry can’t help but feel like it translates well into the time in your lives you two are in. After all, you’re out there winning prestigious awards, wearing Dior to go out for groceries (do you even go out for your own groceries?), and having a whole cellar in your house, for christ's sake. Meanwhile, Harry’s still a full year away from getting his degree, wearing the same mismatched vans as a fashion statement, and having cheap bottles of wine tucked in the back of his creaky wooden cabinet.

It’s not that he hates the life he has, of course not. But it’s clear to him how distant you are from each other, even when he got the closest he had been to you in years.

So it doesn’t come as a surprise to him when he doesn’t hear from you for the next couple days. It’s what was expected, even. It doesn’t take away the fact that he’s a bit disappointed, though, but there’s no one else to blame for that but himself. What did he expect? That after spending one night together after five years you’d suddenly get close again as if nothing happened?

But it’s not his fault that he’s hopeful, not when you’d been so friendly that night, seeming so eager to catch up with him. So, yeah, you can’t really blame him for the hiccup on his heart every time he phone vibrated-- only to be left with a frustrated crease marking his features and a slight pout.

The day after was the worst one. It was a Sunday, after all, and Julia had left early in the morning to spend the week at Blake’s, which meant Harry had spent the entire day alone, dwelling on his confusion about what had been the night prior. He almost felt a bit stupid about how sure he had been that you’d text him, as that was the reason for you to exchange phone number with him, wasn’t it? As hours went by, however, and the loneliness of the tiny apartment got louder than the Friends’ rerun he was binging, he started to question it.

Maybe he got too nosy, asking too much about something you clearly weren’t comfortable answering. Maybe his question had offended you, and that’s why you wanted to leave early. Maybe you only gave him your number to be polite. Maybe that’s not even your actual phone number, he reckons, how many do you probably have?

He slept with the telly on that night, trying to muffle the maybes that kept nagging him.

It got better once the week started. Between classes and work, he barely had enough time to let his thoughts wander off. He was still going back to an empty home, but this time he brought back work with him. As a result of his late night on the weekend, Harry’s sleep schedule got completely spoiled. So he resorts into spending the wee hours of the morning perfecting a detailing he wasn’t all that satisfied with, or working on a draft for his fashion sketching class a week before it’s due (he even tries to cook for himself some recipes Julia sent him to try and keep his mind occupied).

Once Wednesday night rolls around, he has all but swept it out of his mind completely. And that’s when he finally hears from you.

Seems like you’ve taken a fancy on catching him off guard.

He’s on the couch when it happens, snuggled under his heated blanket as he tries to fix the embroidery at the hem of an extra’s jacket. The pilot of Stranger Things makes for background noise, and he pays half a mind to it while humming a tune that’s been stuck on his head throughout the whole day-- they started tuning in on the radio at the atelier and now he gets the privilege to listen to the same four songs about ten times a day. His alarm for a meditation app he’s trying out has just gone off on top of the side table - indicating it would be around time for his regular night routine - and just as he reaches for it to turn it off, the screen lights up again. This time for a phone call.

When he catches sight of the name displayed on the screen he almost chokes on his own saliva, the hoop in his hand falling to his lap as he rushes to catch the device. Harry blinks twice at the screen, thinking his eyes might be tricking him into seeing your name shine at the caller id. And for a moment he just stays like this, mind blank before realizing he should pick up before it goes to voicemail.

Taking a deep breath, he tries to even the thumping on his chest as he clears his throat, quickly pressing the accept button before bringing the phone to his ear. “‘Lo?”

“Harry?” Your voice comes in a higher pitch.

“Hi.”

“Are you home right now?”

His brows furrow at the question. “I-Uh- Well, yeah, Wh-”

“That’s perfect! I’m at your front door now…”

“What-” He just about jumps from his spot, tripping over the blanket as it falls around his ankles.

“And I’ve just realized I don’t know which flat to ring!” You continue, oblivious to the hectic man on the other side of the line.

“You’re outside?” Rushing to the window just a couple steps away, he pushes back the curtains to get a view of the street right below. And there you are, leaning back against a black car, similar to the one that gave him a ride, one hand holding the phone to your ear as the other is occupied with something he can’t quite figure out from where he stands. What calls his attention, though, is the gown you’re dressed in, definitely something way too lavish for a wednesday night.

“Yup.” You say simply, and he catches how your gaze moves up, meeting his. “Oh! Hey you!”

“Right. I’ll- I’ll be down in a minute.”

Harry’s not sure how he doesn’t break an ankle on the way down the steps of his building, flying three floors down at a near record speed. Once he reaches the ground floor, he takes a second to catch his breath, leaning with a hand against a wall as he cusses himself out for forgetting about his asthma in the midst of his rush. He manages to ease his breathing, but is still unable to calm the speed of his heartbeats, that now send an electric flow on his bloodstream, and he suddenly feels too warm.

He opens the door to find you just as you were when he saw you from the window. A smile stretches your face when you see him, giving him a wave. You turn back to say something on the driver's window he doesn’t quite catch, but just as you lean away from the vehicle, he watches as it drives away.

From this distance, he has a better look at you, and he’s sure now that your wednesday evening has most definitely played out much different than his. You’re wearing the new Valentino collection, a strapless navy blue dress with golden sparks detailing resembling a firework explosion right at your waist and going all the way down the skirt and up the top. Your hair is done in an updo, leaving your shoulders bare to the night breeze and he wonders if you’re not cold.

Harry barely has time to notice the silver statuete in your hand before you’re stepping towards him, embracing him into a hug. “Hey!”

“Hi.” He tries not to focus on how you smell like fresh roses, or how soft your skin feels when you nuzzle against his neck for a second before pulling back.

“I was around and decided to stop by for a bit!” You grin up at him. “So, are you not gonna invite me up?”

The last few words come out just a bit slurred from your mouth, and that’s when he realizes.

Oh.

You’re drunk.

“Uh, sure, of course.” He holds the door open, waiting for you to step inside before closing it behind him.

You don’t say anything on the way up, and Harry’s got his head going way too fast at once to try to wrap his mind at what’s happening. There’s too many questions he wants to ask, more than he can really make out at the moment. And on top of it all, he’s just started to worry about the state of his tiny little undergrad flat and how he’s about to receive someone who probably has a house with a washroom the size of the whole thing.

His lips part to try to apologize for the mess you’re about to walk in when you two reach his front door, but before he can let a word out, you beat him to it. “Do you have a loo I could use?”

He blinks. “Yeah, it’s just to your right.”

You step out of your heels once you walk in, quickly making a beeline to where he directed, not bothering to glance around the place.

Harry darts towards the living room, trying his best to tidy the mess he left before you step out. He throws the blanket that’s lying limply on the floor over the couch, gathering his embroidery tools that fell to the side of the couch and making his best attempt at folding them. The screen has gone to the second episode now, and he quickly shuts it off. Pondering for a moment if he should put on some music, he decides against it. Instead, he decides on pouring you a glass of water, now that he understands you’re still at least a bit tipsy, he finds it that his best option is to help you get on your best mind so he can figure out why, out of all places, you’ve decided to come here.

Because that’s the thing.

He still doesn’t know why on earth you’ve decided to show up on his flat unprompted, and all he can do is thank every outer force for Julia being out tonight. She would probably fall dead if she knew about this.

A minute too long passes as Harry waits for you, leaning on his kitchen counter with the glass of water sat in front of him. He feels as if he can’t keep still, leg bouncing nervously and fingers tapping against the countertop as he bites into his inner cheek. It’s only when he finally glances in the direction of the toilet that he notices. The door is wide open.

He strides towards the room, stopping just as he reaches the doorway. “Is everything alright in there?”

“Oh! Yeah! You can come in!” Your voice echoes from inside.

Peeking in slowly, his brows shoot up as he sees you sitting at the edge of the bathtub, phone in hands and the statute lying on your lap. You shoot him a smile.

He gestures back vaguely to the kitchen behind him. “Got you some water.”

“There’s no need for that, tonight it’s to celebrate! --Oop” You try to straighten your back, but you end up falling back into the tub, the tulle of the skirt almost swallowing you in the process.

“Fuck-” He rushes towards you, reaching from your arms to try to help you as you burst into giggles. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m great!” You assure, waving his hands off as you adjust yourself to sit more comfortably. “Do you have any wine you can pop?”

“I--” The question takes him back, and he racks his brain to think if there’s still a bottle he’d purchased a couple weeks ago.  “I think so.”

“Bring it, then, let's make this our little after-party.” You throw your arms around dramatically. “A very exclusive one, as you can see.”

“Right.” He chuckles. “Give me a minute.”

“I’ll be right here!”

Turns up there’s just about half a bottle left sitting inside the creaky cabinet. He chooses the glass with the smallest crack at the base-- the glasses are very cheap and Harry’s not very careful with them.

He decides to leave the bottle at the counter, grabbing the filled glass of water as well before heading back where he left you sitting inside his bathtub.  

“There he is!” You exclaim when he walks in, handing you the glass of wine and setting the other next to the sink. “You didn’t pour one for yourself?”

He closes the lid of the toilet, sitting on top of it. “Uhm… Not really a drinking kind of night for me.”

“Oh god!” You gasp. “Of course, how could I be so stupid? I’ll leave you be--”

“No!” Harry quickly asserts,  “No, I mean- It’s fine, really. I was just surprised, is all.”

When you speak, your voice comes out softer, “I don’t mean to disturb.”

“You aren’t!”He assures. “Really, stay I-- It’s nice to see you again.”

You smile up at him, he can tell from this close how your eyes are a bit glossy, and he wonders if he should’ve told you he didn’t have any wine. But still, it’s live you have him at the palm of your hand. “It’s nice to see you again, too.”You scoop a bit to the side, tapping the space next to you. “C’mon.”

“What?”

“Come join me here.”

“I don’t think it fits us both.”

“Of course it does! Here,” You attempt to pull at your skirt with one hand, barely budging the tulle from where it spreads inside the tub. “See?”

He chuckles as you look back up at him. “I’ll ruin your dress.”

“It’s okay, it’s not like I’ll wear it again.” Your eyes widen. “Oh my god, I sounded like a bitch, I didn’t mean it like that just--” Trying again, you do a better job at containing the skirt, giving it enough space for him to sit. “There. Now we can both sit inside, my dress will be intact!”

He laughs, dropping next to you inside the empty bathtub. The hem of your skirt tickles his skin, and he mindlessly reaches to hold the fabric between his fingers. His eyes fall to your lap as he does so, the silver of the statuete catching his eye, he taps the base of it, “What is it for?”

“Huh?” You stop midsip, brows creasing slightly before gazing down to where he’s pointing. “Oh! It’s a Brit. Best New Artist.” Picking it up, you offer it to Harry. The award feels heavier than he thought it would as he holds it, the shape of it resembling a woman’s shape, her body curving in an ‘S’. You sigh next to him, taking a small sip. “Funny, innit? Been doing this for so long, it feels like, but I’m still being treated as if I’m new blood.”

“That’s true.” He turns the award in his hand before handing it back to you, and you simply let it fall back to your lap. There’s a moment of silence as he mulls over the question he’s been wanting to ask since you showed up at his doorstep. “Why didn’t you go to an after-party?”

“Not really in the mood.” You shrug. “Needed a familiar face, I guess.”

He hums in response. Surely, you’ve got plenty of familiar faces in London, ones that you probably see more often than you’ve ever seen him. Friends. Family. So why was it your first instinct to go to his building? You didn’t even text him after you parted ways after the wedding, he was sure you had even forgotten about him once again.

It’s all much too confusing to him.

“H?” You speak up first, your tone is gentle, even a bit uncertain.

The sound of his nickname falling from your lips causes a stutter on his heartbeat.

“Yeah?”

You’re looking down at your lap, watching the liquid inside your glass twirl as you move it slowly. “Is it… Is it too weird that I came here today?”

Harry shakes his head. “Not weird, no.” He comforts. “Was just surprised, is all.”

“I just-” You sigh, a soft frown set between your brows. “Seeing you again, it was really nice, you know?”

“I do.”

“Really.” You meet his eyes with a nod, trying to show how truthful your words are. “Felt like I could let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding for so long.”

He relaxes his shoulders. “I know.” Harry nods. “Yeah I-- I know what you mean.”

When you speak up again, it’s barely above a whisper. The words so sweet it brings the prettiest butterflies to flutter on his belly. “I missed you.”

Harry’s lips part, he wants to say the words back, he can feel them at the tip of his tongue. Because he’s missed you, too. He’s so sure of it. But nothing comes out, his mind going numb as he blinks at you.

“I’m sorry, this was weird, It’s just--” You shake your head to yourself, letting out a nervous laugh. “What I mean is that… I don’t know, I wish we could’ve still talked, you know? After…”

“Yeah.”

You grin. “At the reception, when we chatted, and you told me all those things you’ve been up to, it just… I don’t know, I just wished I could’ve been there with you.” Your eyes look between his, searching for something he can’t quite put his finger on before you take a breath. “And I don’t mean that, like, in a weird way! But as a friend, you know? Wish I could’ve been there with you.”

He clears his throat, forcing himself to speak. “I didn’t…” He opens his mouth, closing it before finally saying. “I never thought you felt that way.”

“I don’t think I realized how much I needed someone close to me that knows me until I saw you again, really.”The words spill out of your mouth, adorably switching from a gentle tone to a rushed one. “And I mean, I have friends that I love and that I trust but… Having someone that’s like…”

A smirk tugs at his lips. “Normal?”

“Don’t say it like that!” You shove him playfully. “But, yeah, someone that knows me without the lights, and the expensive clothes, and the big houses.” Your lips frown as you shrug.  “That just wouldn’t care if I didn’t have all that, that would still like me regardless.”

“You can still have that.” He tries to reassure you, the confession making him want to comfort you. “It’s not too late.”

Looking down at your lap, he sees your breathing halter for a second. “Have we become strangers?” You meet his gaze, chewing down at your bottom lip. “It’s what I kept thinking after I dropped you off, I don’t think I want you to be a stranger.”

Then, he reaches up, brushing a strand out of your forehead. “I don’t think I want that, either.”

Your smile grows. “It’s settled, then.” You nod. “I’m officially promoting you from distant ex to the close friend position.”

Harry lets out a full laugh. “That’s a very sudden rise of positions.”

“We’ll make it slow, then.” You reason, your words starting to stumble out of your mouth again. “Get to know each other again, we can do it when I’m not drunk inside your bathtub. Do you like coffee now?”

“I do, actually.” He replies with a grin. “Hard not to when you’re a uni student.”

“Lovely! We’ll have a coffee and chat.”

“Sounds great.”

You hold up your almost empty wine glass.“To caffeine and friendship.” Tilting it. “Cheers.”

He lets a moment of silence settle, before smirking down at you. “Now, what you said about the expensive clothes…”

“Oh my god, cut the deal.” Rolling your eyes, you try to make it as if you’re about to get up. “We don’t need to get to know each other again, I can tell you’re still a pest.”

“Don’t know what you mean, pet.” He giggles, brushing his hair off his shoulder in dramatics. “I’ve always been a dream.”

//

A/N: I’ve been so excited to share this one with you all!! Thank you so much for reading it :D I’m so curious to know what you all will think about it so please, if you enjoyed it, reblog it or send some feedback to support!! Also, make sure to check the fic page where I keep all my inspo for Curious Time :)

[alastaircarstairsdefenselawyer]

champagne problems (part 1)

here's my first part of my modern no magic "champagne problems" singer-songwriter quarantine thomastair AU! happy birthday to @foxglove-airmid even though I don't think it's your birthday where you live anymore (and I still haven't posted zia's birthday fic, it'll happen I swear)!

no content warnings for this part (besides maybe quarantine), but future parts will include discussions of mental illness, substance abuse, and a suicide attempt

obviously, the song alastair "wrote" in the fic is not mine, it's by taylor swift! and a few of the lyrics have been changed!

Masterlist | AO3

Thomas breathed out a sigh of relief as he lugged his suitcase up onto the fifth floor landing.

“‘Ere we are,” Piers announced as he unlocked the door.

Thomas was utterly exhausted, such was the result of taking a redeye flight across the Atlantic during a global pandemic, but any idea of rest that he’d had was interrupted when he heard the sound of piano flood the apartment.

“Ah, sorry about that,” Piers nodded, “One of my flatmates, the walls are paper thin. He can’t record at the studio right now, but he’s trying to finish his EP, so it’s been a bit noisier around here. He’ll take a break soon, hopefully.”

Thomas shook his head. “It’s no problem. Thank you, again, for allowing me to stay here. I’ll be looking for my own place as soon as the quarantine is up.”

“Of course. You’ve got the couch as long as you need it. Couldn’t just hang you out to dry, could I? Although, you did pick a god awful time to move to the city, if I do say so myself.”

Thomas sat down on the couch and tried to make himself comfortable. It was more comfortable than the flight or the airport, at least. “I know… I considered postponing the move, but the visa was so difficult to get, I just couldn’t pass up the opportunity. They say this will all blow over in a couple of weeks, but borders are closing and I heard talk of them suspending all pending visa applications. I didn't know how long it would be if I waited, if the job was even still here for me at all.” Although at first entrance, the music had seemed to be a nuisance, it now comforted him. It wasn’t bad at all, in fact, it quite reminded him of the days Alastair’s playing had filled their flat…

“Where did you say you were working again? At a record company?”

“Yeah. I’m just doing pretty basic stuff for now, but if I ever do want to record my own music, I’ve got to start somewhere.”

“Hm,” Piers said, gesturing to the room the music was coming from. “Perhaps you’ll get on with him well, then. Would you like some tea?”

Thomas nodded and Piers went to start the teapot. Piers continued, “Though I suppose he's more of the tortured artist type. Very reserved, quite prickly. I didn't even meet him until a couple weeks after I moved in here because he was off in some psychiatric hospital.” Thomas shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He was never one for gossip. “My other roommate’s nice, though, I think you’ll like him. He-”

“How did you end up in New York, again? I don’t think I ever asked.”

Piers dove into the subject change quite readily, explaining his uni - or college - years in New York City and his decision to stay afterwards. Thomas had tuned most of it out, truthfully. It wasn’t that he was trying to be rude, but he was rather exhausted, and Piers was wearing thin on his patience.

As the kettle started to whine, Thomas heard the musician begin to sing, and he froze. It sounded so much like Alastair. But it couldn't be, could it? With over 8 million people living in the city, he would not end up in Alastair's apartment by accident. His Alastair was certainly reserved and prickly, but it wasn't possible. It must be like all those times he thought he saw him on a street he'd never walked or heard his laugh in a café he'd never been to. Just his mind, tricking him. Even if he knew that voice so well, despite not hearing it in so long.

“It’s quite good, isn’t it? His first single just dropped.” Piers asked, bringing over his cup of tea. He hadn’t realized it, but he’d been staring intently at the door.

Thomas took the cup. “Hm? Yeah, I guess. Thanks.”

“You should look it up. It’s called “champagne problems” by Simurgh. That’s spelled- Well, it should come up.”

The name Simurgh sounded familiar, but Thomas couldn’t put his finger on where he knew it from. At Piers’ insistence, he pulled out his phone and brought up the song. As he skimmed through the first few lines, a cold feeling settled in his stomach.

“You booked the night train for a reason So you could sit there in this hurt Bustling crowds or silent sleepers You're not sure which is worse”

“Simurgh,” Thomas realized.

“Yeah, I think it’s Arabic or something.”

It took Thomas a moment to process that Piers was responding to him. “It’s Persian.” He was certain that Alastair would have some very stern words to say if he heard Piers confusing the two, actually. Thomas had admittedly let his Farsi skills deteriorate quite a bit since the breakup, but he was fairly certain the name came from the Shahnameh. There was no doubt in Thomas’ mind now: he was staying in Alastair’s apartment, and Alastair’s first single was about one of the most painful days in Thomas’ life. “I, er, I used to study it.”

“Oh, yes, that’s right!” Piers launched into a tangent that Thomas tuned out as he read through the rest of the page.

“Because I dropped your hand while dancing Left you out there standing Crestfallen on the landing Champagne problems”

“Thomas? Are you alright?”

He realized then that his hand was trembling so badly that his tea nearly spilled. He used his other hand to steady it. “Oh, uh, yes, I’m just tired.”

“Perhaps you should rest. I can ask Alastair to quiet down for a while-”

“No!” he exclaimed rather too forcefully. “No, that’s not necessary. I’d just rather not talk, if that’s alright.”

Piers nodded.

Thomas kept reading.

“Your mom's ring in your pocket My picture in your wallet Your heart was glass, I dropped it Champagne problems”

Of all the songs, why did he release the one about him? Why was it about a memory still so painful in Thomas’ heart, all of these years later? He remembered it so well, standing there, alone, shattered into a million pieces.

“You told your family for a reason You couldn't keep it in Your sister splashed out on the bottle Now no one's celebrating”

He was fairly certain that Barbara had been more excited than even he was, confident that Alastair would accept, and so very proud of her baby brother, all grown up. She’d been furious when it fell apart, but it was her who stood with him during the aftermath, who boarded him onto a train to Edinburgh to visit Eugenia when he couldn’t stand to be in the same city as him any longer, who went through his phone, blocking all of Alastair’s accounts so that he could obsess over him no longer, who comforted him as he wept and held him as he picked the pieces of himself back up again.

And all the more sour was the memory in light of her death.

“Dom Pérignon, you brought it No crowd of friends applauded Your hometown skeptics called it Champagne problems”

He looked up at Piers, who had fortunately become enthralled with something on his phone and was no longer paying Thomas any mind. He lifted the teacup gingerly to his lips, but he felt far too sick to take a drink.

“You had a speech, you're speechless Love slipped beyond your reaches And I couldn't give a reason Champagne problems”

A reason, that’s all Thomas had wanted. Just any explanation. He understood if they were moving too fast, or perhaps he’d misread something, but he just didn’t understand it.

Why? Why can’t you tell me why? I deserve an explanation, Alastair. Please, anything.

I… I’m sorry, Thomas.

Stop it! Stop apologizing! We can just go home and pretend this never happened, please, forget about all of it, it was a stupid idea-

Thomas, stop. I shouldn’t’ve… This was a mistake. I’m sorry I didn’t see that sooner.

That was the moment Thomas felt his heart stop beating.

“Your Midas touch on the Chevy door November flush and your flannel cure "This dorm was once a madhouse" I made a joke, "Well, it's made for me" How evergreen, our group of friends Don't think we'll say that word again And soon they'll have the nerve to deck the halls That we once walked through”

Despite the nearly two decades Thomas had spent in London before Alastair, it was never the same without him. He saw him everywhere he went, despite knowing he was thousands of miles away. After graduating uni that May, he accepted a spot at a graduate program in Spain and didn’t look back.

“One for the money, two for the show I never was ready so I watch you go Sometimes you just don't know the answer 'Til someone's on their knees and asks you "You’re the only one I want by my side, What a shame you’re fucked in the head," you said”

Those were the words that haunted Thomas’ nightmares, even now.

It’s you! It’s only you for me! It was always going to be you! But I can see now that I was never going to be enough for you, you and your secrets and walls and your lies. It’s a shame… it’s a shame you’re so fucked in the head, Alastair. You’ll never truly love anyone, will you? You’re not physically capable of it.

Alastair hadn’t responded. Thomas had wanted a rise out of him, any reaction at all, despite knowing how lethal and volatile Alastair could become when provoked. But there was nothing. Not a flicker of anything in his steeled expression. He’d simply looked down, apologized again for any pain that he’d caused, and left.

That was the last time they’d spoken.

Thomas and his sister left for Edinburgh that night, and when he’d returned to London, Alastair was gone.

“Well, you'll find the real thing instead Who'll patch up your tapestry that I shred And hold your hand while dancing Never leave you standing Crestfallen on the landing With champagne problems”

Thomas couldn’t imagine giving his heart to anyone again, not now and certainly not then. He’d dated in Madrid, but it had always stayed casual. He’d made sure of it. He could see now that he and Alastair had gotten together quickly, moved in together quickly, done all of it very quickly. After all, he’d fallen hard and fast. He gave all of himself to Alastair, and he’d nearly lost all of himself in the process.

“Your mom's ring in your pocket New picture in your wallet You won't remember all my Champagne problems

“You won't remember all my Champagne problems”

Now, he wondered what the rest of the story was. He’d convinced himself that Alastair had never loved him, that he was heartless and cruel, though he’d known that wasn’t true. Could Alastair have written this song if he’d never truly loved him? Perhaps he was a sociopath.

Thomas felt like he should run. Like he should pick up his bag and dart out of the apartment before Alastair could notice him, find some hotel somewhere with undoubtedly extraordinary high rates and just pretend like this never happened. He could get back on a plane and go back home to his parents and delete his phone browser history and pretend like this was all just a bad dream. But he could not move.

He didn’t know how many minutes had passed before Alastair’s door opened. He looked up with a start.

“Thomas,” Alastair breathed. He stood wide eyed, flushed.

“Do you two already know each other then?” Piers asked.

There was a moment of silence before Thomas cleared his throat. “We used to,” he said, looking down.

“I, er, I forgot that your friend was coming today,” Alastair told Piers. “It’s quite a long journey from London, you should have told me, I would have been quieter.”

Thomas considered correcting him for a moment, but decided not to. “Don’t worry about it. I heard you had your first big release. Congratulations.”

Alastair gave an awkward nod. “Thank you. Right, well, I’ll just…” He rushed over to the kitchen and pulled a bottle of water from the fridge. “I’ll try to be a bit quieter.”

“Don’t- It’s fine, really. In fact, I’m sure there’s some hotel in the area I can stay at for now, actually-”

“Well, don’t leave on my account,” Alastair interrupted. “We agreed to let you stay here, and the city’s a bloody mess right now. I’ll stay out of your hair, Thomas.”

Thomas only nodded as Alastair disappeared back behind his bedroom door.

Thanks for reading! Taglist (ask to be +/-): @stxr-thxif @chaos-and-starlight @zosiaenrique @lifewouldbebetteronmars @littlx-songbxrd @dianasarrow @eugeniaslongsword @bookswitchcraftandcats @jamesherondaleofficial @thomas-gaypanic-lightwood @livingformyself @anarmorofwords @foxglove-airmid @writeforjordelia @sapphic-in @jem-nasium @fortheloveofthecarstairs @alastair-esfandiyar-carstairs1 @shadowrunner2000 @thewarthatsavedmylife @fair-childd @itsjusta-j-really

[missymurphy1985]

The Groupie (part three)

Cillian has just turned 30, and has no children. Reader is a fan, has been since day one and is a plus size girl. I myself am a UK size 16, so I hope I don't offend anyone with my story (I'm writing about my own insecurities a little here so be kind please).

Taglist @queenshelby @margoo0 @being-worthy @peakyscillian @ntmynouis @janelongxox @elenavampire21 @noctvrnalmoth @ysmmsy @cloudofdisney @lauren-raines-x @namelesslosers @misscarolineshelby @screemqueen @cilleveryone @peaky-cillian @misselsbells06

A year had passed since that night. A year of you going through some serious soul searching. You'd become comfortable with yourself - to the point you were genuinely happy with your mind and your body, curves and all. You'd even been on dates - it surprised you when the men you'd been out with confessed they actually preferred a girl with a figure like yours.

You'd even began a university course in London, studying for a PhD in Psychology and Mental Health. You'd been to hell and back in your own kind, and made it through the other side. Now you wanted to help others achieve the same.

To help fun your course, you'd taken on work at a live jazz bar in Camden Town in the evenings and weekends. The music was always incredible, and you were allowed to wear 50s style dresses that accentuated your curves perfectly. Along with a slick new bobbed haircut and your favourite red lipstick, you relished in your new found life and emotional freedom. You had a new group of friends that you shared a flat with in Kilburn, and the regulars in the bar treated you like family. Life was perfect, a far cry from where you were just 12 months earlier. You'd also stayed off social media - and stopped following the career of the man that broke your heart.

It was one Saturday night, when your shift had not long started, when you were suddenly catapulted straight back to that morning.

"What can I get you?" You asked over the dimly lit bar. The man turned quickly without looking at you and ordered a Guinness. You froze. That voice... You'd know it anywhere... You swallowed the lump in your throat and poured his drink, carefully so as not to spill any. Praying to all that was holy that he wouldn't recognise you..

You placed it on the bar, holding a hand out as he placed a crisp £5 note in your hand, still not turning round. You handed him his change, which is when his eyes finally met yours. He did a quick double take, and you were just as quick to move onto the next customer.

You felt his eyes on you all evening and couldn't help but smile to yourself. Not that you'd ever show him that. You'd served him a couple of times through the course of the evening and was proud of yourself for not acknowledging him once.

Your shift came to an end around 10pm, and your flatmates soon joined you at the bar for a few drinks. Your best friend and flatmate Ella was due onstage any second, and as much as part of you wanted to crawl under the crowd and hide at home you couldn't miss her debut performance.

She came onstage a few minutes after you left your post behind the bar and sank into your seat in a booth with the rest of the Flat 76 crew. Your mojito in hand, you cheered with the rest of them as hour friend took to the mic and started to sing an Amy Winehouse classic.

"Y/n?" You turned at the sound of your name, and froze when those ice blue eyes made contact with yours. You ignored him, and turned your attention back to the stage. Your heart was pounding in your chest as you continued to ignore him.

"Y/n... I think Cillian Murphy is talking to you...." Your friend Stacey nudged you.

"Don't be ridiculous, Stace, he's clearly mixed me up with someone else."

"Y/n, for the love of God will you talk to me?!" His voice was louder now as he shouted across the table. Your friends looked between the two of you, stunned. You turned to face him and fought against your heart to stop yourself from bursting into tears. You stood up and walked over to him.

"I have absolutely nothing to say to you. Now leave me alone." You turned to walk away but he grabbed your wrist. Wrenching your hand back, your other hand quickly moved, slapping his cheek. A years worth of pent up anger and frustration buried deep in your damp eyes as he staggered backwards into a tall table, fortunately no one was sat on it and after a quick glance around it appeared no one had noticed either. Your friends on the other hand, saw everything and their faces wore matching open-mouthed expressions.

"What the fuck?!" He yelled, rubbing his cheek and grabbing your elbow, dragging you over to the restroom hallway. Once you were alone your emotions got the better of you.

"What's the matter? A hundred Euro not enough? Come back to see if you can double your money huh?!" You yelled at him, his face a picture of both anger and confusion.

"The fuck are you talking about? A hundred what?"

"Neve told me about your little wager Cillian - I hope you spent the money well! Tell me, what did you buy with it? New shoes? Fancy new shirt?"

"Wager? Neve? The fuck?"

"I'm not stupid Cillian - there's no way you'd be seen out in public with someone like me and that's okay!! I've come to terms with it, and I'm fine! I'm happier now than I've ever fucking been and NONE of it is down to you!!!"

"Will you stop fucking talking, and listen to me!!!" His voice loud, the Cork accent breaking through and stopping you in your tracks.

"Neve was trying to get with me from the first day of that production. Flirty comments, making excuses to be near me, it was fucking horrendous! I knew she wasn't interested in me, just wanted to boost her fucking career. I made it clear I wasn't interested immediately but she wasn't getting the message. Seeing me with you sent her fucking crazy! I never ONCE made any kind of wager about you or anyone else! I barely spoke to her by the end of the show run unless I absolutely had to!"

"You would say that wouldn't you? Irresistible Cillian Murphy, woman falling at your feet!"

"For fucks sake... You followed me for ten years. Ten years! Ever known me fuck around?"

"No..."

"One night stands?"

You shook your head.

"Scandals?"

"Well no... But..."

"But nothing!!! I'm not, nor have I ever been, THAT guy!"

You looked into his eyes.. he looked genuine. But you couldn't let yourself go back to that person you were before. That girl was weak. That girl was naive and stupid. You straightened your back and mentally reminded yourself of how far you'd come.

"What do you want from me Cillian?"

"Just you. It's always been you, y/n."

"Bullshit..." You scoffed, shaking your head.

"What do I need to do to prove it to you?"

"I can't answer that Cillian. I don't know."

"Come back to mine? We can talk properly?" You pulled back, almost laughing and shaking your head, immediately questioning his intentions.

"I'm not going anywhere with you. I'm going back to my friends and watching the rest of the show. I never want to see you again." You turned on your heels and walked back into the bar area, rejoining your friends at the table who were all staring at you. Full of questions that you'd never give the answers to. You didn't look back at him once.

All that talk, and all he was interested in was getting you back to his to use you all over again?

Not this time Cillian, not this time.

[wbearv]

A different day off - b.c (f, sg)

Word count: 2.2K

Summary: Chan likes to spend his day off doing nothing at all, but when he receives a call that you’re sick? well, screw his day off.

a/n: something more fluffy coming to ya! I didn’t really proofread this at all so I’m sorry if there’s any mistakes! I hope you like this <3.

masterlist

As the very busy person Chan is (really, he should just sleep a little bit more), he usually spends his days off laying in bed doing nothing. Those days when he can enjoy the peace and quiet of his room without having to worry about anything work related are rare, but he cherishes them to the max.

The sound of his phone ringing startled him since he made sure to tell everyone the day before not to call him unless someone was dying. Someone better be dying for him to have to move from his very much comfortable position.

The screen was lit and your picture came up next to your name.

“y/n,” he sighed. “It’s my day off.”

“Hey Chan, I’m Seungmin, I’m sorry to call you but,” your flatmate said, stopping while you half cried half sniffed in the back because you couldn’t reach the plushie that just fell to the floor. “y/n is pretty sick, and I’m supposed to leave to catch my flight in twenty minutes, could you tell Minho and ask him to take care of her while I’m gone? I tried to call him but he’s not picking up.”

“Minho is out practicing for next week-” the line went silent for a second just for Chan to speak again “you know what? Forget Minho, I’ll go myself. Be there in 10”

“Thank-” Chan hung up while the sound of keys resonated in the background. Seungmin left the phone on the table and turned to look at you, laying on the couch like a whining soul.

And that was how, after stopping by the pharmacy to pick up cold medicine Chan arrived at your apartment a few minutes later. When your flatmate opened the door, he quickly entered the room and went straight to the sofa where you were half lying half sitting. You looked really pale, there were dark rings underneath your eyes and your nose was really red and puffy from all that sniffing and paper tissues. When you turned to the door, expecting your brother, you were really taken aback by him.

“Chan?” The smile that grew on your face immediately once you saw him is interrupted by a nasty coughing fit, which you direct away from him and into the cushion underneath your head.

He rushed to sit next to you, rubbing your back while you let all that coughing out. “Easy”

“Well, I have to leave now or I’ll miss my flight. Keep me updated and take good care of her! see you in two days, don’t die on me” and with that, he closed the door and left, leaving the whole apartment silent.

While you closed your eyes and let your head fall back into the pillow, Chan explored the apartment with his eyes, taking note of the mess around you. Tissues are strewn about and there were empty cough drop wrappers littered across the coffee table. He noticed the cute pics from last summer’s camping trip where you drunkenly told him you liked him but completely forgot about it in the morning, so he never brought it up again. There were a few pics of you and Seungmin from where you first came to this apartment, another one with Minho and your parents… but one caught his eye. You both were smiling and had ice cream stains all over your face while Chan had his arm around your neck, and you were looking at each other with fondness.

He unwillingly smiled and let his head remember those moments you’re your coughing snaped his attention back to you. Chan frowned, and got up to pick up the medicine from the plastic bag he brought.

He grabbed a spoon from the drawer and sat back next to you “I brought medicine.”

You smiled grateful with your eyes still closed, feeling a shiver run through your body, feeling weaker as time progressed “You’re an angel, Channie.”

Chan tried to ignore the rush in his chest from hearing your voice say that nickname that you only use on very special occasions “Yeah, well, you owe me one, y/n.”

You’re still smiling, but your expression showed just how weak you were at the moment, making him more worried.

“Take this” he said taking a spoon full of medicine and approaching it to your face “open up.”

You obliged and swallowed the medicine, your throat hurting and not being able to swallow correctly. Suddenly, you shivered and frowned your brows.

“You have fever” Chan said picking up the thermometer from the cabinet next to you.

“No I don’t” you said sitting up a little bit to take a sip of the tea Seungmin made before leaving “I might be sick but I haven’t had a fever in ages, I doubt it. I just have to get up and freshen up a little bit and then I’ll be f-”

You were cut by Chan, who walked straight to you with a very serious expression on his face and a thermometer on his hand. He put his hand on your shoulder and pushed you down on the couch again, making you sigh in surprise.

“No, you’ll get your temperature checked and then you’ll lay down and sleep while I prepare you some soup so you can eat” he said with an authoritarian tone.

“But-” when you opened your mouth to complain, he took advantage of it and put the thermometer inside your mouth.

“But nothing. Close” Chan said looking straight into your eyes.

You closed your mouth and when he placed one of his hands in your neck to keep your head up, using the other one to check your forehead’s temperature, you felt how your cheeks got redder and redder by the second.

The thermometer’s sound was the only thing that could be heard in that moment, appear from your labored breathing. Chan took it out of your mouth with his hand, leaving one still around the nape of your neck.

“Jesus Christ y/n you’re burning” he said looking at the numbers in the screen “even your face is getting so red” you touched your cheeks and looked at him again. “come on, you have to rest.”

He grabbed your arm and helped you get up from the couch, placing his hand on your waist to help you balance and carrying you to your bed. Feeling the hot skin tightly against yours, you tried to convince yourself that the fever was the one to blame for your skin feeling like it was on fire.

When you were already lying down on your bed and covered with your blanket, you sighed in content.

“There.” Chan standed back. “Better?”

You looked at him with pure affection with your puffy eyes and smiled softly. “Yeah, it’s perfect.”

Chan smiled nervously and hurried back to the kitchen “I’ll make you some soup now, rest while it cooks.”

When he made his way back into your room with a freshly cooked bowl of soup, he found you sound asleep and smiled fondly. Chan placed the bowl in the table next to your bed and bowed down to kiss your temple, then turned the lights off and made his way out of the room.

But then he heard your voice and froze.

“Chan?” she whispered with a soft cough “can you lay down with me?”

He straightened up in surprise, turning around to face you. Even though it was dark, your face was slightly visible thanks to the dim light coming from outside of the room. And when you smiled at him shyly, he swore his heart skipped a bit

“Um,” he murmured nervously.

“Just lay with me? Please?”

The way you looked at him with your eyes was enough to make him leave any intention of refusing “Okay.” He sighed.

He took off his sneakers and, when you opened the blanket for him to get inside, he gently laid down, careful not to crush you or make you uncomfortable in any way.

You didn’t fall asleep, but enjoyed the silence and how Chan’s body felt next to you. A little while later you spoke softly “Hey” you said, your hand brushing his under the blanket “Thanks for coming over. I really needed this.”

Before he could stop himself, he placed his hand on her cheek, letting his thumb gently caress her skin.

“Of course,” Chan says softly. “I’ll always be here when you need me.”

You didn’t know if the fever was the one talking or you just let your filter slip because of your vulnerable state, but when the words left your mouth, you didn’t stop them “I really really like you Chan, I wish you could see me as something else than your best friend’s younger sister.” And before he had the chance of replying, you were sound asleep.

You didn’t notice it though, but for a solid hour, Chan couldn’t sleep, not one bit. Not after what you just so wholesomely honest said.

Just a couple hours later, you opened your eyes, blinking a few times before finding Chan peacefully asleep next to you.

You’re so close to him, close enough to appreciate how his honey skin glows with the faint rays of sun that come through the door and how his chest rises and lowers slowly with every breath he takes. You can also see how tight his arms are now that you can take a closer look. You supress the urgent need to caress his arm while you sigh, your head pounding, less than what it did a few hours ago but still hurting pretty bad.

You looked at Chan again, feeling really grateful for him. He actually came here today, and on his day off of all days. He took care of her and made her soup – even though it was long forgotten next to them.

A stray lock of his hair fell into his eyes when he slightly moved his head. Gently, without thinking, you reached across and slowly moved it to the side while admiring his face in the process. Chan stirred slightly, and his eyes fluttered open. You opened your eyes as wide as you were able and felt a sudden urge to pull your hand away as fast as possible. But when he smiled at you, your hand didn’t move one bit.

“Hey,” He whispered. “How are you feeling?”

“I am really feeling better” you smiled and closed your eyes to slightly change your position, your hand landing next to his leg. Chan felt nervous all out of sudden and, when his phone alarm boozed off, he got up and grabbed it.

“Wow, it’s gotten late. I should probably head out.”

But before he is able to leave, you grab his arm.

“Wait, um.” You nervously sat up a little “Do you wanna— can you maybe—” You sighed slightly and looked at him straight into his eyes. “Do you wanna stay?”

“I-” Chan opened his mouth “I have practice tomorrow and-”

“I know, I just, I really don’t want to be alone right now.” You cut him off.

He looks at you with a conflicted expression.

You’re about to tell him never mind— that it’s okay, and he’s right, he should leave before it gets any later— but then a slow smile appears on his face.

“I guess Seungmin won’t mind that I grab one of his pyjamas”.

A few hours and two bowls of soup later, you’re both ready to go to bed. Your fever went up a bit and you were feeling kind of dizzy, so you were avoiding getting up from the sofa.

Chan got closer to you and grabbed your hand to help you get up, but you instead made him sit again, very close to you this time.

You looked at him, feeling dizzy at how awesome he was. You must have stared for quite a while, because Chan looked at you worried.

“What?” he said, slowly caressing the arm that was outside of the blanket.

You locked eyes with him and, without thinking, you moved your head forward and kissed him.

Chan was surprised at first, but after a few seconds he returned the kiss with just as much enthusiasm. He intertwined his fingers with your hair and pulled you closer into the kiss – if that was humanly possible.

It ends too soon, though, when after just a few moments Chan pulls away.

“y/n” Chan sits straight and looks at you “You don’t mean this, you’re just sick.”

You look at him with your eyes filled with love and affection and place your hand on his cheek. “Chan, I absolutely mean this, believe me” and you got closer to him again, only a few centimetres between your mouth and his.

“Why do you only confess to me while you’re drunk or have a fever, y/n?” he said, looking at you with affection.

“Wait, what?” you said confused. You did not recall confessing to him apart from just a few seconds ago.

He smiled at your confused expression and lifter your chin, so you looked at him again “Nothing, doesn’t matter” and he closed the space separating you again.

And maybe the following morning Chan wakes up with a sore throat and a somewhat stuffy nose, but he doesn’t really care. What are days off for if it is not for enjoying them? You just have to learn how to accept the consequences.

[tomtenadia]

Remember Us - 7

I know we are in full Rowaelin month but I thought to give you part 7 as a present...

There is a small library scene in perfect theme with Day 4. (This is not part of Rowaelin month. Just a coincidence)

The chapters are getting less angsty. As I mentioned in a post a few days ago... i Finished the story and it has 10 parts. That was the original plan and I promise a HEA

-------

Rowan had spent the entire day going through all of their albums. Evalin had offered to look after Freyja, but instead he had kept the girl in his arms while sitting on the carpet and and album in front of him.

He had just finished the one about Thomas and now opened the one dedicated to his daughter. They were both still a working in progress as it looked like Aelin would just record the stages in their lives.

“Look, who is this one?” The little girl pointed at the picture and babbled something.

“This is you.” He told her in a loving tone “the most precious thing in our lives with your brother.”

“You did it, Fireheart.” Rowan kissed the head of an exhausted Aelin, while the doctors were busy cleaning and checking on their daughter.

The nurse walked to them with a bundle in her arms and gave it to Aelin “I think your daughter is ready to meet you.” And placed the baby on Aelin’s chest.

Rowan sat at her side, his arms around her shoulder as he drew closer his two women.

“She is like you, Ro.”

He kissed her forehead “I love you both. Madly.”

In another photo he saw Thomas in the hospital bed near her mother, kissing his sister head and the caption read Thomas is officially a big brother and he finally gets to meet his sister. 

“ ‘Mas” babbled Freyja, pointing at the photo.

“Yes, that is your brother.”

Page by page he followed his daughter life and as it happened for Thomas, some moments became familiar all of a sudden.

Looking at photos had been a great idea but with Aelin’s captions had been even better as it was as if someone was actually telling him the story.

He looked at a couple of more albums but then he felt an headache coming and his vision was getting tired as well, so he grabbed Freyja and went to lie down on the sofa, making sure that she was tucked in safely between him and the back of the sofa. Evalin was busy doing chores around the house. He pulled the little girl to his chest and he started humming a tune while his hand caressed her head.

Not long after they were both asleep.

Evalin appeared back in the living room not long after and when she saw the scene in front of her she almost cried. Then she took her phone and snapped a picture and sent it to Aelin Your husband and your daughter are having some quality time together.

*

“How’s the study session going?” A younger Rowan paused beside a table in a university library.

The blonde woman in front of him groaned in exasperation “med school. Of all the degrees I choose from, I went for the worst one.” Her head collapsed heavily on the books in front of her “I want to be a neurosurgeon, I don’t care about the kidneys. Why am I studying this crap?”

Rowan smiled and placed a cup of coffee on the table “you need caffeine.”

Aelin lifted her head “yes, in IV.” She extended her arm and Rowan chuckled “you are the doctor, you will have to perform that on yourself.” He laughed and patted her head “I can tell you the legal repercussions of me performing such a procedure without a licence.”

Aelin grabbed her coffee and drank avidly “smartass.”

“A smartass you love?”

“Keep dreaming, Whitethorn.”

When he woke up again he was not ready for the splitting headache. He tried to sit up but dizziness hit him hard and then a wave of nausea. He jumped off the sofa but crashed on the carpet. Rowan fought to stand up but his body refused to obey “Evalin,” he croaked, grabbing his head in his hands.

A moment later Evalin was at his side “Rowan, are you okay?”

He crashed back down on the carpet and groaned. Evalin slowly helped him to sit back up and she felt panic rise “I should call Aelin.”

“No,” said Rowan in a whisper as he stood shakily and sat at the opposite side of the sofa away from his sleeping daughter. He should not be around the kids. No one should be around him while he was in that state.

And in that instant nausea hit again and he grabbed his stick and slowly dragged himself to the bathroom, collapsed on the floor and emptied the content of his stomach in the toilet.

***

Aelin had just finished surgery when she noticed the worried text from her mother. Rowan was not well.

She changed from the scrubs, paged her second, told him she had a family emergency and that she had to go back home. They all knew her situation and he was understanding. She had finished her surgeries for the day so finishing early was not much of an issue.

She drove home with her heart racing with panic. She knew the complications after a brain injury and she was worried. Her mother had not specified what happened but her tone seemed frantic.

Once in front of the house she parked quickly and once in the house she found it quiet. Her mother was sitting on the sofa reading to Freyja and Thomas was on the carpet playing with his toy cars.

“Where is he?”

Evalin looked up at her “in bed. He was sick, complaining of strong headaches and he said he was tired.”

Aelin dropped her backpack and ran for the bedroom and found him asleep.

She walked to him and sat at his side at the edge on the bed and slowly caressed his head. Her strong, amazing husband looked fragile, tucked in bed and sleeping on his side. The time in the hospital had left his mark and his frame was now thinner. Her hand ran through his hair once again and then deposited a gentle kiss and in that instant his eyes popped open as she chastised herself for it.

“Hi you,”

“Hi,” his voice gruff “you are home.”

“Mum texted me that you were not well.”

He tried to sit up but Aelin kept him down “you need to rest. What are your symptoms?”

Rowan’s head collapsed back on the pillow “headache, dizziness and nausea.”

Aelin’s hand was in his hair again “it’s normal. From one to ten, how bad is the headache?”

“Seven.”

She stood and came back a moment later with a glass of water and a tablet “Just a light dose to help you a bit.”

Rowan took the water and the medicine and once he was done Aelin lay down at his side, snuggling  close to him, her hand on his chest. Rowan’s arms as if on instinct went around her frame but did not hug her tight. He had no energy.

“I dreamt…” he closed his eyes for a second “I dreamt of us in the library. You were complaining about your degree and kidneys,” he told her softly “I brought you coffee.”

Aelin chuckled against his chest. She did remember exactly the day “that was when I started to fall for you.”

“Tell me,” he said, his lips brushing her hair.

“Somehow you had memorised my schedule,” she began her tale “so you would pop up in the library and keep me company studying. You with your laws and me with my crazy med stuff.” She looked up at him and found her husband staring at her “during my anatomy exam you offered to be my skeleton and I revised on you.” She flicked his nose and the gentle flinch of his nose reminded her so much of him, his usual reaction “At the end of a crazy exam you brought me cake and once my session of exams was over you asked me out.”

Rowan gave her a weak smile and she could see the tiredness in his face “you asked me to move in with you on my birthday and my present were the keys to your flat. I moved out of mine the next day and Aedion moved in with Lysandra and took my place.”

“Are we good friends with them?” He asked with interest. So far they had never discussed their friends and he thought it was time to try.

Aelin nodded “Aedion is my cousin. Lys and I were flatmates and she is my best friend.” Her hand brushed his hair once again, the gesture was relaxing and Rowan seemed to enjoy it too, his features much more relaxed “then we have Lorcan and Elide and the six of us kinda form a nice tight group.”

“Do they know about my condition?”

Aelin nodded “I explained to them and the only reason they haven’t visited is because I knew it was going to be too much so I told them to wait.”

“Thank you,” he said softly while his hand brushed her back “I can’t just yet.”

Aelin nodded again and his expression morphed as if he wanted to ask her something but hesitate. His hand moved “can I?” And Aelin knew what he meant. She took his hand and pushed it under her t-shirt and on her tiny baby bump “I don’t know yet if it’s a girl or a boy. I have a check up in two weeks and will see if we can find out the sex.”

His thumb moved gently as if to greet their child with his free hand he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he said a bit too quietly.

“I should let you rest,” Aelin tried to move but his hand grabbed her writs and pulled her back down against him. He had been enjoying that moment they had shared. His arms went around her frame and pulled her to him. 

“You love to cuddle.”

“Do I?” He told her rising an eyebrow.

“Sometimes when mum takes the kids we do enjoy a lot of naked, adult cuddling.”

Rowan’s heart raced in terror “I am not…” he stopped “I can’t yet.”

“Shh…” said Aelin, placing a gentle finger on his lips “We are not doing anything you do not want to do.” She told him with love.

He pulled her even closer and tucked her head under his chin, and the position felt familiar all of a sudden, her scent enveloping his nostrils. Everything about her felt familiar, the shape of her body against his, her scent, they way she fit perfectly in his arms.

They were in silence for a moment until two small cyclones joined them.

“Dad.” Shouted Thomas quite loudly and Rowan groaned, his head not appreciating the decibels coming from his son.

“Quiet, Tom, dad is not well.”

The little boy zipped his lips and climbed in bed. Freyja padded to her father’s side and extended her arms in a gesture to be picked up. Rowan turned and lifted his daughter in his arms and pushed her under the blankets with Thomas and Aelin joined them a moment later.

“We are keeping company to dad but we need to be quiet. Can we do that?”

Thomas nodded eagerly and Freyja kept sucking on her pacifier. The little girl climbed on her father chest and Rowan rolled on his back to help her curl up properly. Thomas was tucked in at his side and Aelin’s arm reached over and enveloped them.

“Sorry, they really missed you.”

Rowan shook his head “this feels really nice and normal.”

Aelin smiled and brushed Thomas’ hair “believe me on a weekend it is, and if I am not working the four of us love a long morning in bed together.”

He chuckled and loved the image “What about the names?”

Aelin grabbed Freyja’s hand in her and kissed it “Thomas was a character in a sci-fi series that we both love. He is an Admiral and quite amazing. He is actually my fictional husband. Freyja, we took it from a mythology book.”

Rowan laughed “so I have competition.”

“Can you be an admiral?”

“I order you to kiss me, soldier.” Rowan felt a smile tug at his lips and Aelin stared at him with fondness. Then leaned forward and pressed a kiss on his lips.

“Bleah,” said Thomas in protest. Aelin stamped a big kiss on his cheek “feeling better now?” And the boy grinned and climbed down from the bed “lego.” And he ran away.

Aelin sighed “he has a lot of energy.” And now that her son space had been vacated she scooted closer to Rowan and her hand was on the girl’s back on top of Rowan’s.

“I love the kids. It’s been only a few days but I love them madly already.” He whispered looking down at his sleeping daughter. Then back at Aelin and for a brief moment he saw sadness in her eyes. Loving the kids had been easy. His feelings for her were far more complicated. He felt something but could not put a name on it yet.

“With you is…” he paused, searching for the right words. He had caused enough pain already “complicated. There is something, I can feel it, but I don’t know if it’s just the memories or my actual feelings.” His hand ran through his hair “I don’t know how to explain it clearly.”

Aelin kissed his forehead tenderly. For as much as she wanted her husband back, she was not going to rush him. He would need time and she was willing to wait. She had waited at his bedside for so long to have him awake again that she was happy to take even the small acts of affection he was willing to give her.

“I want you to have your husband back, and I am trying…”

“Shhh…” she said to him, a gentle kiss on his lips “I have him back, and I can see more of him coming back everyday. You don’t realise it but he is there.” She patted his chest “My husband is right here in my arms.”

Rowan’s hand grabbed the back of her head and pulled her to him for a fierce kiss. Aelin melted at the contact. The kiss felt like coming home and for a moment it swept away all her fears.

“Does your husband kiss you like that?” The smirk on his face and his playful tone was him and she pulled back, coming up for air. 

“Seems like you remember this part very well.”

“It does help that my wife is stunning.”

Aelin smiled. He had called her his wife. Had he accepted his life? Had he accepted them?

She looked at him in his pine green eyes looking for an answer.

“Yes.”

[bonny-kookoo]

Chivalry is dead (JJK x Reader) 💜(☁️)🔞

🖤 Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x Reader

🖤 Genre: CEO x Secretary AU, Fluff/Romance, Coworkers to lovers?, mild angst, Smut

🖤 Warnings: swearing, mentions of surgery, did I mention swearing, Kookster is whipped, it’s kinda cheesy, please someone get me a Jungkook like that, slow sex, gentle lovemaking, it’s nothing freaky this time, oral (f rec.) protected sex, sugary sweet live confession you might get diabetes

🖤 Summary: Jeon Jungkook was your boss. The roles were clear as day, so why did it seem so complicated?

You had no idea who in the hell actually invented coffee- like who thought roasting some weird beans and spilling hot water over that stuff was a good idea? Well, whoever it was, that person could go fuck themselves royally; because first of all, that stuff tasted bitter as hell, and second of all, it made your early morning shift an absolute nightmare.

Maybe it wasn't the coffee, but the person who loved them- Jeon Jungkook. Self-proclaimed savior of his Dad's company after taking over at the mere age of 22. Now, at 25, he was a well known face in his business, with famous magazines naming him 'one to watch out for' when talking about deals and sudden decisions. He's headstrong, smart, and unbelievably good looking too.

And also an asshole.

Thats at least what your flatmate Jenny usually says whenever he's the main course of your conversations. You'd told her time and time again that he was merely this rough with you because he was stressed- yet she simply stated that you were just an angel too good for this world- and especially too good for him.

"2 Minutes late." Came his rough voice as he didn't even look up to greet you, simply tapping on the surface of his crisp white table where he expected you to put his coffee. (Black and bitter as his soul, as Jenny always said.) He nodded, hand raising to dismiss you as always, until his eyes turned downwards, spotting your scaped up knee; half-hazardly covered by a bandaid that already came off at one side due to the rush you'd been in. Sure, you could apologize now, tell him how you were late because that freaking dogwalker let a leash of one of his huskies slip, which basically ran you over like a truck considering your rather short height, but you'd found out early on that Jeon Jungkook didn't care about your stories. Yet with his still lingering stare, you felt like he'd glued you to the ground by the soles of your shoes, without his dismissal you were forced to stay right where you were. He took a sip of his black beverage before setting the cup down with a sigh, getting up to walk towards a small bathroom connected to his office. Emerging out of the room again with a couple of items in his hand, he sat down on his chair behind his laptop, turning it towards you.

He had to lean down a bit as he took off the bandaid, not even saying sorry as you hissed at the sting. You did notice however how he took it off more gently after that, as he threw it into his bin, opening the plastic bag of desinfectant wipes, before his large hand held the back of your knee, almost delicately. He began to clean the scrape, brows furrowing a bit at the view of the raw skin, thinking about how you probably ran with that all the way to his office just to not be even later. He wanted to apologize, at least give you some form of verbal reassurance that it was okay to put your own health before his goddamn coffee, but the words got stuck inside his throat as he gently placed a new, more properly sized bandaid over the wound, sighing as some red seeped through immediately. "Get that checked after work today." He simply said before getting up to put all of the items away into their proper place as you were left with still tingling skin from his touch. He turned around, looking at you with an almost bored, but soft look. "What're you standing there for? You're dismissed." He said, and you practically ran out of the office.

"He wants to fuck you." Jenny simply said as she bit into her sandwich, while you were left almost spitting out your lunch. "What? That was electricity, I'm telling you! He so wants to screw you." She said, almost accusingly pointing a finger at you as she took a sip of her water, watching you.

"Stop. He only did that because he.." Oh well yeah, why did he do that? He could've simply told you to get it checked instead of taking care of it himself for that matter. But he was someone who wanted things done immediately- e rarely could wait for things to finish or to be done, so maybe he just wanted to have things more proper during your shift? Exactly. He just wanted to keep the image of his company intact- maybe even raise it by showing other employees that he cared for everyone deeply, even if he didn't. "He probably just wanted me not to look like I got scraped off the streets." You mumbled before taking a bite of your lunch, Jennies eyes rolling.

"Truth is;" She started, as she threw away her plastic waste before checking her watch, "That I still think he wants you bend over his desk." She finished, as you turned shades of pink, lowering your gaze at that. You always tried to keep those thoughts away from you, knowing how unprofessional it was. "Does he know you're leaving soon?" She asked, now a bit softer since she knew it was a touchy topic. You shook your head.

"I haven't put in my termination yet." You answered, your food suddenly looking stale. Jenny sighed, hugging your side.

"I'll buy some icecream on the way home, you're finishing later than I do I assume?" She asked, and you nodded again as a confirmation. "Alright. Let's binge on movies tonight, and have a nice weekend alright? Heads up." Came her reply as she left with a wave, to get back to her own desk in the company.

Jenny and you had met while you were waiting for your interview with Jeon to begin, and when you began to talk, you immediately hit off. You'd told her how much the driving back and forth from your old apartment to work would be, and eventually she'd decided to share her apartment with you close to the company. You were a bit hesitant at first, but eventually agreed; and it was one of your best decisions yet. The way to work was basically half an hour by foot- if it wasn't for your daily task of bringing your boss a coffee from this one specific shop downtown, almost an hour away by foot. It was okay however. Everyone had their preference.

At least you told yourself that to feel better about being Jeon Jungkooks personal slave.

"You're in love with her." Jimin stated, as Jungkook almost choked on his instant ramen.

"What the fuck dude, I don't." He exclaimed in a scandalized manner, long dark hair successfully hiding the red tips of his ears. He simply furrowed his brows, chopsticks now digging in his cup as if to search for treasure, just so he didn't have to look up and meet the eyes of his very nosy friends who were sitting in his living room.

"So you only want to fuck her." Yoongi grumbled as he hit after Jimin, who'd tried to steal a peace of meat from his plate.

"Exactly- Wait no!" The young company leader corrected himself immediately. No, this wasn't just pleasure he was seeking with you- but he also denied every single clue that he was into you, romantically. After all, he'd had his fair share of romantic involvements in the past; all pathetically killing themselves royally simply because there was never true love involved. It was either for benefit, for public image, or most of the time- for his money. It was never truly just about him.

Jungkook was simply a number, nothing more. In a way, his success was mostly just a curse for his soul; he was convinced by now that everyone just wanted something from him at this point, as pathetic as it sounded. He was always just the punchline of a joke, elderly woman seeing him as a piece of meat on a richly designed table ready to be consumed- just to be spit out as soon as he'd loose flavor. It was sad really, how much he hated trusting at this point.

"Look." Namjoon started, putting down his empty cup as he sniffled from the spicy meal he'd just consumed. "As far as I know, she'd from a regular background, right?" He asked, and Jungkook nodded, slurping some noodles without paying much attention. "How long has she been working for you at this point, two years? Three years?" The younger in question nodded at three, remembering the moment you'd stepped into his office for your interview, back then with a different haircut and color, and a bit more shy than you were now. You'd found friends in coworkers, when it came to gatherings and dinners you were always missing, however. He'd never seen you at any afterparty or bithday gathering for that matter as well. "She also didn't eye you up at all during these years, right?" He asked, and Jungkook got a bit more serious as that, because his friend was right. You surely looked interested in him, but you kept it charmingly subtle- it was more like a shy glance every now and then, never to linger uncomfortably. Just like a mouse showing itself to the cat every now and then to keep the chase going without any intention to.

"Oh, did you ever pay her for buying you a new suit by the way? The one she spilled her strawberry milk on?" Jimin asked with a laugh as Jungkook shook his head.

"She didn't want it." He said, and suddenly everyone got quiet.

"She what?" Yoongi asked. "Is she stupid?" He got out before Jungkook threw him a serious glance.

"Shut up." He said through gritted teeth, as Jimin laughed and the oldest in the round threw his hands up in mocking defense. "No but.. I offered several times, but she said it was her fault. She even got mad at me when I simply put the money on her paycheck- she practically demanded me to take it back." He explained, and Namjoon nodded.

"Probably because she'd feel bad." He answered. He knew you longest and most personally out of everyone in the current gathering; he'd been in the same class back in school for a few years. And you'd always been like that- you hated being paid back favours, because you didn't want to seem like you did them just to gain something afterwards. You kept people at a safe distance, never to have them cross that line, so you could always push them away without getting seriously hurt in the process. You'd also never been in a romantic relationship for long as far as he knew- only having had one scandal back in school, where the guy you'd lost your virginity to had publicly shamed you for being 'bad in bed'. It was a mess really, and Namjoon had felt bad back then, but there was no way you'd let anyone close to you afterwards. "Look." Namjoon started, looking at the youngest. "I'd say go for it. From what I know, she's a genuine person. I'm more concerned about her in this situation than you, if I'm being honest." He said, and Jungkook looked at him scandalized.

Yoongi chimed in. "You're known to fuck around. Don't just use her as a place to throw your half-assed cumshots into, that's what he wants to say." He replied, making Jimin scrunch up his nose in distaste.

Jungkook only continued to eat in silence. You maybe had the role of the mouse in this chase- but he was a tiger waiting to be taimed.

"What is this?" He asked, very unamused, and very much not pleased. It was understandable to a level- after three and a half years you'd just handed in your termination. What you did not understand however, was the amount of emotion you could spot swimming behind his eyes- he looked a bit like when he'd accidentally spilled tea over his workspace once, scared to death if that accident would mean the death of all his hard work of the day. You'd reassured him back then that everything had been saved on the main servers, so even if his laptop was to die, which it did not, everything would still be save. He could surely find a new secretary however- there was no use to make such a huge fuss over it.

"It's my termination sir. I'll be leaving at the end of this month." You answered, a bit unsure now on your spot in front of his desk, as he pushed the tip of his tongue against the inside of his cheek, a clear sign of irritation on his side.

"Thats in two weeks, Y/N." He stated, and you nodded. "As a reason you stated 'health issues'. Is there something I should be worried about?" He asked, and you swallowed, hard.

"Is it uhm.. do I need to answer-" You began, but he cut you off with a stern voice.

"You don't have to, but I'd have to decline the termination if I don't see the reasoning as fit to be taken seriously under such short notice." He began, putting down the papers as he suddenly looked at you more intensely. "We have clear rules here Y/N, I thought you knew them by now. Vacation requests three weeks prior, and terminations as well, except for important reasons." He said, and you looked down.

"I'll be having an operation that can't be pushed anymore soon sir, and I fear I won't be able to meet your standards afterwards. Which is why I'm terminating my contract." You stated, and you swore you could see a flash of concern in his gaze as he nodded.

"Is there anything I can help you with, in preparation for that?" He asked, now shifting his interest on his laptop screen again, typing something as you got confused.

"Pardon sir?" You asked, and he clicked a few times on his touchbad, seemingly searching for something before he turned his attention back onto you.

"Your severance pay will be quite high due to the quality and timespan you've worked here. I want to make sure however, that you're taken care of personally as well, if you'd let me." He said, in such a manner that you felt like he was actually growing a bit self-conscious.

"I uhm.. I will stay at the hospital for a while to recover, and afterwards I guess I'll be fine on my own. It's really fine sir, I don't uhm.. you don't need to do anything really." You said, before sending a smile his way, trying hard not to think of this chapter as finished. Your eyes already stung at the realization that you'd be leaving this comfortable environment soon. It may seemed childish for someone else, but you considered this place a second home- everything was familiar, every routine saved into the memory of your bones, it was your comfort to work here. "I uhm.. I really enjoyed working here." You finished, as Jungkook took a closer look at you.

He seemed to think about something, before he carefully stood up, slowly walking over towards you. For the first time he didn't look detached or as if he needed to do something; his gaze was soft and gentle, and it made it so much harder not to be a crybaby in this situation. You'd always thought that he merely saw you as a secretary, but this situation, as normal as it seemed, felt so intimate. "I'm glad." He simply said, slightly opening his arms to give you the option to take or not to take his invitation for a hug.

You would've been a fool not to. After all, Jungkook wasn't a physically affectionate person- he hated the act of merely shaking hands with a passion, he'd once told you.

"Will you tell me what exactly it is?" He asked, voice so much richer and deeper now that the side of your face was leaning against his chest, head growing dizzy from his presence. You could smell his faint cologne and a fabric softener similar to the one you used- again showing you that he preferred to wash his clothes himself rather than letting others do it for him. "You don't have to, but you have me worried." He simply said, now detaching himself from you hesitantly as he saw some coworkers outside the office staring. He didn't want to make you the talk of town now, only weeks before leaving. Rumors could be aggressive, after all.

"I uhm.." You started, sniffling a bit as you sat down in front of his workdesk. "I'll have a surgery on my knee, since I take a lot of medication for the pain now, and I kinda don't want that anymore so.." You explained to him, as his brows furrowed.

"Why didn't you say anything? I wouldn't have let you work so hard if I'd known you were in pain." He said, almost with a whine, which made you smile a bit in return. You waved him off, however.

"No no, it's fine really. I keep stuff like that to myself anyways." You admitted, and he thought for a moment, before he decided, no.

He wouldn't keep you working just so he could benefit from seeing you. That would be selfish- and he didn't want to be like that. Not with you, at least. He screwed up his chance, and that was okay; he'd had all the time to ask you out, to get closer with you, after all. Maybe it was simply karma. "Take those two weeks off. Don't worry, it won't affect your payment in any form- you'll need to take your vacation time anyways, or I'll get a slap on my hands for not letting you have freetime." He simply said, as you nodded. "Dismissed." He said, in his usual tone.

This time, it made you smile, as you nodded, stood up and walked towards the door. "Y/N." He said from his desk, not looking up. "I really enjoyed having you here." He mumbled, and you grinned, nodding, before leaving the office- and the building alltogether.

"Still can't believe you haven't hired anyone else yet." Jimin accused,as he drank his soju across from Jungkook, who'd simply shrugged. It's been two months by now, and he still refused to let any secretary work as closely with him as you did before. He rather got up a bit earlier and got his morning coffee himself instead of telling anyone to do so; it was as if that was reserved to you. It wasn't the act of having you bring him his coffee like a personal assistand; it was more the fact that he got to see you first thing in the morning. In a weird way, he didn't want to see anyone so early apart form you- he was simply too grumpy for that. "What about Hannah?" He asked, and Jungkook shook his head. Hannah was a promising candidate for the role of a future girlfriend- he really liked her. But there was no romantic spark between the two, and when she'd looked at him almost as if he'd ate her dog when he'd told the waiter to split the bill of their shared dinner, he knew that it wouldn't work out. She'd been so sure that he would simply pay for everything that he had to pay the entire thing- because she didn't even carry her purse with her. "Another piranha, I see."

Namjoon came into the room, several take out boxes in hand. "What're you talking about?" He asked, and Jimin chuckled.

"Jungkookies nonexistent sex-life." He said, before getting hit with a spoon from the younger one.

"Oh, interesting actually-" He began, putting down the food before sitting down himself. "Just saw Y/N-" He started, but Jungkook, almost chomically, cut him off.

"Did she look okay? Was she alright?" He asked, and Namjoon laughed for a second before taking some chopsticks for himself, breaking them apart and making Jimin laugh when they broke the wrong way.

"She seemed okay. Walked without help, but seemed a bit wobbly still." He explained, and Jungkook nodded. "My dad said she's gonna be alright, but it's gonna take a while since she waited so long to get it done-" Suddenly, Jungkook coughed.

"Your DAD did the surgery on her?!" He yelled out, making his dog bark as if alerted, as Namjoon became wide-eyed.

"Yeah, I mean, didn't I tell you.?" He began, but Jungkook shook his head, still heavily irritated.

"No, you did not!" He began, before letting himself fall into the couch defeatedly, whining. "I could've sent her flowers or some other shit, now I fucked it up!" He exclaimed to no one in particular, his dog jumping onto his lap.

"And they say chivalry is dead." Jimin said, playfully wiggling his eyebrows as Namjoon shot him a look to shut him up.

"You can still do that though?" He asked, and Jungkook furrowed his brows.

"No, that's just.. weird. Like, imagine getting flowers from your boss MONTHS after you quit." He said, before huffing like a child. "I screwed it up, its fine." He mumbled, before Namjoon continued.

"I mean, she asked about you though.." He hummed, taking a bite of his food.

"She did what?!" Both Jimin and Jungkook asked in disbelief.

"She asked about you. How you were doing, you know, that stuff." He explained, before continuing. "Told her you fuck around, she left after that." He said, shrugging his shoulders as Jungkook yelled furiously.

"You did what?! Namjoon, what the fuck-" He started, almost tearing up before the elder one laughed. "Not funny." Jungkook commented, clearly unamused by the humor in Namjoons face.

"Sorry." He said, putting down his chopsticks. "No, but for real, she actually told me to tell you she didn't change her number or anything so.."

Jungkook looked at him quesitoningly. "So?" He asked, and Jimin groaned.

"What the fuck, is she supposed to lay on your doorstep with her legs spread out while telling you 'Oh hey come inside and make yourself at home' for you to get the message?" A grumpy Yoongi groaned out as he walked into the living room, greeting the dog. "She basically told Namjoon to tell you she wants to sit on your dick." He said, stealing a dumpling from Jimin as he took off his jacket.

"She did not-" Namjoon started, before turning to the youngest again. "But she basically did say you should message her."

"To make up a date to fuck each other!" Yoongi yelled from the kitchen. Jungkook groaned.

"I mean I do have her number.." He mumbled, and suddenly a hand was on his shoulder as the eldest came back, a glass of water in his hands.

"Then go get pussy." He said, and everyone laughed.

Everyone but the young man in question.

"You uh.. sorry its nothing special but you said you wanted something not fancy so.." He said, as he pulled out the chair as you sat down.

"No no, its fine. I like this." You answered, now a bit shy with him sitting in front of you- all casual and not at all in the regular environment you both met in. He wore a simple black button up, ripped jeans- clothes that were so.. regular, yet he made them look so expensive. Maybe it was how his body was proportioned, with long legs and a broad chest, or maybe it was simply the way he carried himself.

"You look really nice." He casually complimented, as you blushed a bit, unfamiliar with such compliments as he smiled at your reaction, licking his lips almost impishly.

He would've been a bit more shy if it wasn't for the several conversations over the phone you both have had in the past couple of days; your answers and innuendos making it clear that you were genuinely interested in him, on a higher level than just 'hit and run'. No, you'd asked about his dog when he'd sent you a picture of him, you'd wanted to know about his family, or what he did in his freetime- you both even played several rounds of overwatch together when you'd revealed to him that you play the game as well.

It made him feel confident.

Another reason he was so adamant on making sure his impression on you was the best was that you'd openly talked about your, admittedly shitty ex partners, giving him even more reason to treat you the best he could think of.

You felt a bit weird.

Not a bad weird, but a.. tingling weird. This kind of weird where you don't know where to put your hands because wherever you began to rest them your mind thought about if it looked weird. It made you feel like a kid waiting to finally be let loose on a playground. You felt so comfortable with him, that it was important for you to make a good impression on him. So when the waitress came back after you both ate a bite, you began to search for your wallet, as he smiled at you, his larger hand covering yours in a manner that told you he'd pay. "All on me." He simply said, as he payed, making you pout a bit.

Walking outside, he made sure that you were comfortable with him walking you home before walking side by side with you, never too close to not pressure you. After a moment, you began to speak. "I could've payed, you know-" You started, but he cut you off with a question.

"Why won't you call me by my name?" He asked, and you began to chew on your lip. There was no specific reason you could think of that would make sense to him. It just felt like you'd let him in if you were to say his name out loud. It was a taboo thing to call your superior by his first name, but that had been the past. Now it would mean that you were considering him your friend. Or maybe even.. more. "Do I make you uncomfortable?" He asked, and you shook your head immediately.

"No, its just.." You started, trying to think of something.

"Don't make something up now just for me. I promise I won't be offended; just be honest." He said, and you nodded.

"I'm not someone who, you know, lets people get close to me, normally." You explained, before you continued after he'd nodded, telling you wordlessly that he was following your words. "It just seems.. so intimate, if that makes sense?" Against what you'd expected however, he simply continued his gentle smile.

"That's okay. You don't have to love me right away." He offered, looking down at you with a smile. "Say it when you feel like it. We'll do whatever is comfortable with you." He offered, and you smiled.

"So you both did not, in fact, fuck each other." Jenny said, as she ate another spoonful of icecream.

"No, we did not." You said, and smiled a bit at the memory. Jenny had just gotten back from her business trip; a week full of torture as she'd called it. "We simply talked and he brought me home every day." You explained, and your friend fake-gagged playfully at that.

"Oh god, someone get me a grater for all that cheese!" She laughed, as she suddenly smiled a bit more seriously. "No but really, I'm happy. He seems nice." She said, and you nodded.

"He does."

"Do you treat everyone like me?" You'd asked one night as you shared takeout with Jungkook in his living room, having agreed to meet up at his place.

He shook his head. "Not to that extend, no. But I learned from my dad was common chivalry is- it's not that deep to be honest." He explained, as he continued eating. He looked so young like this; merely wearing a sweater and sweatpants combo, hair a bit unruled and piercings on full display. With all that business on his shoulders, one could easily forget that he was just a young man, even if he did turn 26 recently.

"Its not common, though." You commented, and he shrugged his shoulders, leaning back against the couch as he finished his meal.

"Do you want to take my bed or the couch?" He asked after a moment, after you'd finished your meal as well. You shrugged. "Then we'll sleep together." He playfully said, but got a bit shy after you'd simply nodded, not having noticed that he didn't truly mean his statement. No taking it back now though.

"Are you tired?" You asked, wondering if that was why he'd brought up the question. Jungkook was an honest guy, so he affirmed.

"A bit, honestly. Sorry." He said, but you shook your head, already picking up the empty containers and plastic bags to throw them away.

"It's fine." You simply said, as he nodded, his gaze following you for a moment before he opened the door to his backyard, ushering his dog to go out to finish his business before bedtime.

You knew you should feel at least a bit nervous, after all you'd be sharing a bed with him. But for some reason you weren't- even if something was to happen, you felt comfortable with him- enough to trust you at your most vulnerable state. At this point he'd already sneaked his way around your made up walls, way too close now to be let go off without pulling on your skin painfully at the same time. Hurting him would hurt you now- so you had simply accepted the fact that he was going to stay at your side for as long as he saw fit.

"Alright, bedtime mister." He said, leading the dog to its bed by the front door- a place his pet had chosen willingly, he once told you. "Goodnight." He mumbled, gently petting his companions head before he made his way inside his bedroom, where you followed. He closed the door quietly, turning on a small lamp on his bedside desk, before opening a window. "I like to sleep with the window open, hope you don't mind." He said, as you shook your head. You simply got into the bed after him, your way of trying to find out which side he preferred as you slipped under the covers, the smell of his by now familiar fabric softener, and distinctively his smell flooding your senses. His mattress was soft, way softer than yours at home- but it was probably worth several months worth of rent as well.

"I uh.." he suddenly said, low voice cutting through the silence after he'd turned off the lights, darkness swallowing the room fully. "I have a habit of, uhm.. undressing myself during the night so. Just to warn you." He said, before groaning a bit. "Oh god that came of kind of creepy, sorry-" But you simply laughed.

"It's okay. I hug things when I sleep, so I'll probably latch onto you during the night." You admitted, and he chuckled.

"Oh I don't mind that at all." He hummed, as you felt him turn over, probably to face you as your suspicions were confirmed when a finger almost shyly brushed over your bare arm. He was silently testing the waters, trying to find out if you were comfortable enough with him to let him go that far. To his surprise you reacted by scooting closer towards him, until your nose was close to his. He couldn't quite see you, only able to make out rough outlines as the moon wasn't shining at all outside his apartment. "Is that okay?" He asked, in a whisper, careful as if he didn't want to scare you away. He felt you nod as his hand went to lay down on your cheek, thumb finding your lower lip as he guided his onto yours, slow, as if he was only testing the waters yet.

Always so considerate.

You slowly deepened the kiss, a bit hesitant since it has been a while you'd ever kissed someone; but he took the lead after noticing you accepting his gesture, his tongue gently asking for entrance as you granted his wish, making him close his eyes as he lazily continued kissing you, his desire taking over.

Everything was slow, comfortable, and warm- the way he slowly moved to lean over you, the way his hands roamed over your body underneath your clothes. It was as if you both knew eachother already, as if you didn't need to hurry anything at all. And it was true.

He slowly undressed himself, before directing his attention towards you, helping you out of your clothes as well, careful to leave the covers over his body, as if to shield you from the chilly air coming inside from the opened window. He truly enjoyed every second, every inch of skin he laid bare of you, as his head dipped downwards, placing open mouthed kisses against your neck and collarbone as his hand gently ran over your chest, squeezing the soft flesh or a moment before his thumb grazed over the hardened nipple, making you squirm underneath him. You felt torn between a feeling of being worshipped almost, and the frustration of him going so slow. Every past sexual encounter had always been straight to the point- this was entirely new territory.

"We got time darling." He hummed suddenly amused as you began to squirm more underneath his touch. You felt his hard on against your inner thigh clear as day, yet he seemed to absolutely not notice it; his attention more so on you, as he suddenly moved underneath the covers, shaking his head a bit to get his long hair out of his eyes, piercings jingling brightly at his sudden movement before he dipped downwards, making you gasp as you felt his tongue on your center. He chuckled again as his hands held down your lower belly, keeping your hips down and legs open for him as he sucked and swallowed, making you whine at the feeling. This was the first time someone had ever gone down on you, and it made you feel absolutely incredible.

Jungkook moved again as you became close to your orgasm, hands fumbling around for a moment until he found in his drawer what he'd searched for; the crinkling sound of the foil package filling the room as you still breathed heavily. He rolled the condom over his length before he moved over you again, cooing at the cold feel of your damp skin, sweat making your body cool down rapidly. "Are you cold?" He asked, and you nodded, but held out your arms, desperate to have him close to you again. "Let me warm you up." He hummed lowly, pulling the covers over his back again before he led his cock into your core with the help of his hand, groaning at the feel of your warm walls welcoming him inside. He moved after a moment, kissing you again as if he needed to confirm that this was truly happening. "You feel like home darling." He whispered out of breath as he slowly moved a bit faster, your hands searching for his as he helped you find them, fingers intertwining as he felt his soul grow fond. He loved you, he truly did, and in that moment he realized it to the full extend. It was the same for you as he kissed your neck, hot breath against your skin making you feel protected and adored as he picked up his pace, thrusts becoming more erratic as he suddenly pushed himself inside you in one swift move, hand leaving yours to desperately move over your pearl, making your back arch off the mattress as you whined in pleasure, throwing him off the edge as well as he spilled inside the condom.

His forehead rested against your shoulder as he chuckled, slowly slipping out of you as you laughed along with him.

"I swear that was not my intention when I said we'd sleep together." He said, and you laughed a bit harder at that, kissing the side of his jaw affectionately as he kissed your neck. "I love you. I really do."

"That's okay." you said still a bit out of breath, and he wished you could've seen the bright smile he sported at your next words.

"I love you too, Jungkook."

[baited-beth]

Storytime: violent flatmate

I never really think of myself as having been in the receiving end of male violence, but somehow I always forget about being 19 and only 6 weeks into living in university halls.

My well built male flatmate was angry that his ex girlfriend had kissed someone else about 300 miles away and reacted by pouring beer on my female flatmates head, chasing her round the flat, rugby tackling a male flatmate who stood in the way and breaking our ironing board. He then kicked our front door in and splintered it down the middle. After this he tried to fix it with a screwdriver and waved it threatening at me and the male flatmate whilst explaining how he wanted to stab it through the eye of his ex's kissing partner.

After escaping through the fire exit, my friend reported him to campus security. She then took me to my flat to collect some things and I slept on an air mattress in her block with the female flatmate who'd been chased. The next day I submitted a complaint about him after breaking down crying on a lady in thr student union.

He tried to apologise with a pack of malteasers and begged me not to ruin his life by getting him chucked out of uni. I couldn't bring myself to eat the malteasers and a couple months later I gave them to some friends who didn't see the point in wasting chocolate.

He'd been so drunk he didn't remember anything so he asked to copy my account of the night so he could blag it at the complaint meeting. Stupidly I let him. I still had to live with him for another 8 months and I didn't want to make it worse on myself by being uncooperative. I'd also spent a month being ostracized by my block for reporting him - apparently I wasn't being fair for me to report him for violence and physical intimidation and I should just accept his apology.

He asked the female flatmate whom he'd chased around the flat to go to the meeting with him, partly for support but also to as a witness to his 'good character'. Apparently he sat there contrite as anything. The recommendation, partly based on an outcome request I'd made, was that he not be chucked out but that he take anger management counselling. He agreed then walked out the meeting, ripped up the result and said "I don't need that shit".

He never did anything as bad again, but he was generally misogynistic and his anger was never in check. He also (from even before this incident) saw me as a target. Once he came back from a night out once to find he'd smashed a vodka bottle against the wall outside my room. He swore it had been like that when he arrived home but I still had to climb over broken glass to get to bed, and I had to clear it up in the morning.

So, thankfully I've never actually been physically hurt by a man, but I've felt the threat more than once. It's funny how you normalise and forget the experiences.

[sunkisseddaffodils]

Omg a Sherlock imagine where him and the reader are just friends, but in his 1895 drug trip they are in a relationship? Just a story of how the reader would be involved in the 1895 episode? How Sherlock would react when he comes down from the high?

Pairing: Sherlock x reader

Genre: au, reader insert

Warnings: drug use/abuse, guns

Song: me & you together song by the 1975

A/n: thanks for requesting anon! Hope you like it ☺️

-

There was complete and eery silence after Sherlock got off a phone call with his brother, Mycroft. He had just warned him of the threat that Moriarty might come back. Of course, Sherlock knew there was no way he could have survived that day on the roof. But all the same, he had this gut-wrenching feeling. Even after his death, Moriarty was still planning things to mess with him. All he had to do now was to figure out what he was up to. Sherlock knew just the trick to quicken his deductions; a drug-induced trip. Hastily, he reached down beneath his seat to grab his bag. Within it, he found his special case where he kept the heroin. A couple of minutes later and the effects kicked in.

‘Sherlock? Sherlock, sweetie, are you okay?’

A soothing voice came from in front of him. Slowly, he opened his eyes to see that he was sitting in his armchair in the flat on Baker Street. In this trip, it was 1895 in London. Standing in front of him was his flatmate, Y/N. But in this trip, they were dressed in Victorian clothing. And apparently, they were married… There was no time to mull over this fact when Lestrade burst into the room.

‘Sherlock! I need your help.’

Lestrade sat in the chair where clients usually sat whilst Sherlock remained in his seat and Y/N now joined him, resting on the arm of his chair. In a reassuring and gentle tone, Y/N asked the detective inspector.

‘So how can we help you?’

Lestrade then began explaining the mysterious events that happened last night. In the afternoon, a woman named Emelia Ricoletti had fatally shot herself. But when Mr Ricoletti, her husband, was returning home that evening, she appeared before him and then shot him dead. Lestrade was right to ask ‘how this was possible if she had killed herself?' Swiftly, both Sherlock and Y/N, went to the morgue to confirm the body of Mrs Ricoletti. The person Mr Ricoletti saw before he died could not have been his late wife. She was definitely dead. In the meantime, while they were investigating, Sherlock felt deep down that being with Y/N was right. Like it was meant to be. He wanted it to be like that all the time.

The next day, Sherlock and Y/N went to visit a manor located two miles outside Central London to investigate what appeared to be a copycat crime to the Ricoletti case. Whilst searching throughout the house, they saw an array of apparitions of the dead Emelia Ricoletti. They chased the apparition down to see who was behind all of this. Just as Sherlock was about to catch the ‘ghost’, he felt an agonising hit to the back of his head. Everything went dark.

Sherlock awoke on the ledge of a cliff. Emelia Ricoletti was standing right next to the edge. Still dazed from the hit to his head, Sherlock gradually stood up to confront her. In slow motion, she turned around and lifted her veil. It wasn’t Emelia Ricoletti after all. It was Moriarty.

In a fit of rage, Sherlock grabbed hold of him, demanding to know how he had survived. Moriarty just laughed as they fought on the cliff ledge, seconds away from falling to their death. Suddenly, Moriarty had gained the upper hand and was holding him over the edge of the cliff. Then, out of the blue, Sherlock heard a gun click and the sound of his partner, Y/N’s, melodic voice from behind them.

‘Let him go, Moriarty.’

He had no choice but to with the gun pointed at him. When Sherlock was safely back at Y/N side, Moriarty spat out in disgust.

‘It makes me so sick seeing you two together being all cute and saving ‘each other’.

Y/N ignored him, just wanting to get the hell out of there and back to safety. They turned away from Moriarty to face Sherlock. That was their first mistake. It all happened within a matter of seconds. Moriarty jumped off the cliff ledge, dragging Y/N down with him. Sherlock raced forward as they fell, screaming in terror, reaching his hand out to them. But it was too late. Their fingertips just about brushed against his, but it wasn’t enough to grab a hold of. Sherlock had lost them.

The next thing he knew, he was back in the aeroplane, sobbing uncontrollably. He knew it wasn’t real, but he couldn’t help feeling this deep sadness at the loss of Y/N in his drug-induced trip. What did this all mean? All this time he had been ignoring his true feelings for them. He had been in love with them for ages. They were only friends but now he knew he wanted more. After this realisation, a slurred voice came out of nowhere. He couldn’t quite make it out just yet.

‘Sherlock! Oh my god, Sherlock! What have you done?’

His vision was blurry as he opened his eyes. This time he was actually awake from his trip. Y/N was kneeling down beside him, checking his pulse and making sure he was okay. Without realising it, he had enveloped them into a hug

‘I love you.'

[blueeyedgeorgie]

Scandalous(2)

An infamous Influencer that is known for getting into drama befriends ImAllexx, George doesn’t trust them one bit. 

Gif cred. @sdmngifs​

Pairing: George Memeulous x Reader

Word Count: 2.7k+

Pronouns: They/Them

______________

A few days had passed since George and Alex had talked about Y/n coming to the UK. Only in an hour or two, George would have to go out with Alex and a few other friends to meet Y/n for the first time. There was no point in lying, George was still a bit nervous about them, how could he be sure Y/n wasn't going to try and pull something on them? 

The brunette found himself standing in front of the mirror in the bathroom. He wore a simple black t-shirt and jeans, a faded mark sat on his old school Vans, he had tried to get it off when it first appeared, but only had it fade so the mark had become not as noticeable as it used to be. George had just spent the last thirty minutes working on his appearance, if he was going out for drinks, he wanted to look good. And with a touch of cologne, George made his way out into the living room. Alex sat on the couch scrolling through Instagram, he had messed with his hair, making it look a bit neater than usual. 

The blue-eyed male made his way over to the side of the couch,"Are we going soon, or not?" A denim jacket was tossed over the arm of the piece of furniture, he picked the item of clothing, beginning to put it on.

"Yeah, I was just waiting for you," Alex tucked his phone away into his pocket as he stood up.

"Do we have to pick up Y/n, or are they going to get to the bar on their own?" George made his way over to the front door as his roommate had turned of the last light that had been left on. 

"They said they'll just Uber to the bar, so we won't have to worry about picking them up."

The car ride to the bar was quiet, George had gotten lost in his thoughts as he stared out of the passenger's window. The dumpster fire could only happen so soon, Y/n wasn't a good person. He had seen their name in too many scandals, if they somehow ended up dragging him or his friends into something that could end their careers, he'd be absolutely livid. 

As soon as they had entered the bar, both of the boys had received a text from Will, telling them he could spot them from the table. After taking a moment to have his eyes glaze over the scene, Alex's eyes landed on Will and his girlfriend. They sat at a decent-sized table, there would definitely be enough room for everyone.

Once George had taken a seat and started a conversation with his friends, the problematic YouTuber had disappeared from his mind. It felt good to get out with friends again, it had been a while since the last time he had been out. Just then, George had noticed Alex was on a call. Maybe he was talking to Y/n. If he was talking to them, a million different things could be happening. George had flickered his eyes away from his roommate, trying to keep him from noticing he was watching. 

"Yeah, no problem, I'll be out in a minute." George could hear Alex faintly as the music in the background almost drowned out his voice. Just as the brunette turned to George, Alex placed his phone into his back pocket. "Hey, James is outside with Aria. He dropped their keys so I'm gonna go and help them out. Watch my beer." He now raised his voice, making himself loud enough for George to hear him.

"Alright, I'll keep my eyes on it," George flashed a small grin. Part of him was a bit happier knowing Y/n wasn't here yet, but the other half of him knew any minute they could show up.

As soon as Alex had disappeared from his sight, it had only taken a moment before Will had spoken up. "You ready to meet them?"

Pulling his gaze away from where he last saw Alex, George turned back to face his other friend. "Not at all, I'm just gonna try and keep my distance for the next couple of days."

"Hopefully they don't end up screwing us over," Will took a sip of his beer, taking a moment to look around for any sign of Y/n.

"Exactly why I'm going to try and stay as far away as possible from them," the blue-eyed man replied, he began to stare off into nothing. 

"I've heard Y/n has slept with plenty of people," Will shook his head as he placed his beer back down. "I hope Alex is stupid enough to end up in bed with them."

"I doubt Alex would do something like that, he's smarter than that." George's eyes landed on a pair of familiar faces approaching the table. James and Aria had finally entered the bar. 

"Hey guys," James grinned as he came into earshot of the table.

"Hey, is Alex with you?" George had noticed his flatmate hadn't followed Aria and James in. Or maybe George just hadn't seen Alex yet in the crowded building.

"He's still outside, Y/n showed up."

This was the big moment,  he was finally going to meet the scandalous influencer. He could tell he had become a bit more nervous. It felt as though something in his stomach tied up into a knot. 

"I stole a glance at Y/n before walking in and they're much prettier in person. They looked like a model," George overheard Aria speak to Mia. He continued to keep an eye out for his flatmate, waiting to spot him anywhere.

His blue eyes finally landed on a 5'7 man walked alongside someone else. Y/n and Alex were approaching the table as they smiled, each spoke to one another as they were already close friends.  As their head turned, Y/n's eyes met George's, and just for a short moment, Y/n smiled at him and waved. Y/n was quite attractive just as Aria said, but George knew he had to be wary. 

'They're only here to screw us over,' George averted his gaze from Y/n as he thought to himself. 

"Hey guys!" As soon as Y/n came into earshot of the table, they spoke with a smile on their face. One by one, they introduced themself to each person. A handshake to Will, a hug to Mia, a side hug to James, a hug to Aria, and George... Y/n stuck her hand out with a smile, only for him to hesitantly shake her hand with a small, fake smile plastered on his face. As soon as introductions were over, Y/n took a seat between Mia and Alex, sitting across from George. 

Once again, they made eye contact. Something shot down George's spine this time when he looked Y/n in the eye. 'They've seen your identity, you're gonna have to hang around them for the next couple of days... what if there's any chance Y/n snaps a picture of him?' George took a sip of his drink, his mind starting to race with thoughts as he tried to find some way to distract himself. Staring up at the ceiling, he had started to pay so much more attention to the roof decor.

But as the night rolled on, George had continued to steal glances at Y/n. he found himself worrying every time they pulled out their phone. Every now and then, Y/n would make eye contact with George, only to give a small wave and an awkward smile. One thing George noticed was how Y/n hadn't bothered to consume one drop of alcohol. They had started the night off with water, only to get a virgin margarita at some point. 

"you're acting like a nonce with the way you look at them." Will had leaned over, making sure to whisper in George's ear to keep Y/n from overhearing him. "Y/n doesn't seem that bad as people make them out to be. Relax, George." 

You've only know them personally for 2 hours," George scoffed quietly. Y/n's gaze turned to the pair of men sitting across from them.

"You alright, George?" 

"Just peachy," he replied, taking a sip of his beer as he looked away from Y/n. 

"Just stop acting like a hardass, try and be more open and nice to them. You're the only one acting bitter at this table."

George had been handed a cell phone, Y/n stood in front of him with a sincere smile. "Hey, I was hoping you could take a photo of me with the group? I thought it'd be best if I asked you, after all you are hiding your identity..."

"Uh, yeah. Sure," George took a step back as he lifted the cell phone. Quickly he snapped a few shots of the group before handing the phone back to Y/n. 

"Wow, thank you. These are really good," Y/n smiled down at their phone as they swiped through the few photos George had taken. 

"George did great," Alex had snuck a peek of the photos from over Y/n's shoulder. 

"Hey, Y/n can you send some of those to me?" Mia spoke up before taking a sip of her cocktail.

"Me too!" Aria added on.

Eventually, one by one everyone made their exit. Mia and Will had left together, so did Aria and James. Y/n had decided they would just uber back to their hotel after paying for their drinks. 

"You know, we wouldn't mind dropping you off," Alex spoke as the trio walked out of the bar.

"Are you sure? I wouldn't want to take up any more of your time tonight."

"It's fine, Y/n. You're our guest, we wouldn't mind one bit," Alex replied, implying that he was speaking for both himself and George. George didn't say anything as his flatmate continued to speak.

The car ride was quiet. Y/n sat in the back of the car as they stared out the window. Something inside Alex was worried Y/n had found the silence awkward, when really they found it peaceful.

"How does the time difference feel for you, Y/n?" Alex broke the silence as he looked through the driver's mirror at the other influencer for a brief moment. 

"It definitely feels different. It's only like 3 pm in LA at the moment." Y/n turned to look at Alex, "But I still need to get to sleep, I don't' wanna be sleep deprived tomorrow while we're doing stuff."

Soon enough, the car had pulled up to the Mandarin hotel. Stepping out of the vehicle, Y/n had thanked both George and Alex for a wonderful night before heading towards the entrance of the building.

George watched as Y/n disappeared behind the doors, leaving Alex to begin driving away from the building. As soon as they were out of the parking lot, Alex began to speak. "So what do you think of Y/n?"

"They seem fine, I'm just worried they'll fuck us over."  

"Y/n isn't as bad of a person as people make them out to be, George."

"You cannot be that stupid, Alex."

"You shouldn't be the one to talk, George. Have you been talking to them for months? Have you developed a good friendship with them? Why would they put so much time towards developing a friendship with me if they had planned to show up and screw me and my friends over?"

"You cannot know someone from only texting and FaceTiming."

At this point, Alex had nothing to say to George. The car ride back to the flat had been filled with tension for the rest of the time. As soon as they pulled into the parking lot, Alex got out of the car. George sat there for a moment as he thought to himself. He had begun to massage his temples for a brief moment. He just needed to recollect himself and apologize tomorrow.

Cardigan had played as Y/n found themself dancing around their suite in a bathrobe. Of course, they made sure the music was being played at a respectable tone, they didn't want to upset anyone. Y/n had just got out of the shower, after a long night that was just the one thing they needed. But before they knew it, their music ended. Y/n looked over to where their phone had been placed on a table. 

Bretman was calling. Picking up the phone, Y/n took a seat on the edge of their bed before answering the call. 

"You interrupted Folklore."

"damn alright bitch, I thought you'd be happy I called you."

"I'm always happy to hear your voice, Bret," Y/n let out a chuckle from their friend's sense of humor. "How's it been back at home?"

"Same old, same old I guess. It's just been a bit more boring."

"I didn't think you'd notice my absence."

"N/n, I come over to your house like eight days a week, of fucking course I'm gonna notice my best bitch isn't there." Sass could be heard in Bretman's voice as he spoke, "But anyway, spot. any cute guys yet?"

"Wow, asking about the guys before asking how's my day been."

"Oh, I'm sorry, how was your day, your highness?"

"It was alright, when I got here it was like five pm, it took me the whole day just to get over here," Y/n smiled, remembering how quickly the day seemed to pass by.

"How'd that go?"

"Smooth, as usual."

"That's good to hear, anyways... back to the guys."

Letting out a small laugh, Y/n leaned back, laying down on their bed now. "Well I don't really think anyone caught my eye. Two of the guys I met had girlfriends already, and Alex is just a friend." That was a lie. There had been one person that caught Y/n's eye as soon as they saw him. It was Alex's flatmate, George. He did seem quite closed off, but Y/n couldn't help but find him quite attractive.  

Y/n absolutely didn't want any way for George's name to get tossed around. Yes, he had over four million subscribers so he was already pretty well known, but Y/n didn't want there to be any chance of other people trying to find his identity. They knew a lot of snakes, Y/n just didn't want to be the reason one of Alex's friends could get caught up in a scandal. 

"Dam, that sucks babe. I thought British guys were supposed to be hot."

"It's fine, Bret. Anyways, I think I'm gonna go to bed now. It's late here."

"Well it's only 3:30 for me, so I don't know how you're gonna fall asleep."

"I'll find a way."

"Please don't hang up yet, Y/n. It feels like forever since we last talked," Bretman had resorted to whining over the phone. He just wanted his friend to stay on the call longer.

"Bye, Bret," Y/n cooed softly. As they hung up, they could hear Bretman's whining being cut off.

After a few moments of getting settled, Y/n found themself laying in bed. The curtains had been pulled back, revealing London through their windows. Lights had been shining throughout the city, pulling Y/n's attention away from trying to rest. 

They just couldn't find themself going to sleep anytime soon, their head was full of thoughts. George was stuck on their mind, he was so cold tonight. Even if it only hurt their feelings a small bit, they didn't show it. Y/n didn't want to ruin the night by being in a sour mood from how George acted. They could understand why he acted the way he did by the end of the night. 

He probably knew about how Y/n had been caught up in quite a few scandals in the past, he probably thought they weren't a good person. They just wished there was some way they could break through to George, they weren't such a bad guy at the end of the day. Alex had talked about his flatmate, George always seemed like a loveable dork. 

Before they knew it, they had been romanticizing the thought of being in a relationship with George. Y/n needed to remind themself; it's not going to happen. George was an incredibly private person, he would never even consider dating someone like them.

Y/n was just an infamous influencer who would get attention no matter where they were. George was a smaller influencer compared to Y/n, someone who wouldn't even consider filming a video outside of his bedroom. 

Letting out a sigh, Y/n turned to their side, closing their eyes. Maybe if they fell asleep they could get all of this out of their mind.

[namariea]

Devil’s Advocate | I

“So for argument’s sake... let’s just say Do Kyungsoo really is the boring square you say he is..” 

“Don’t you want to find out what makes him tick?”

Pairing: Kyungsoo x Reader

Words: 4.4k

Genre: Romance, Slowburn, Smut

It started with a knock on your door.

“Jongin is coming over tonight, that cool?”

Looking up from your laptop screen, you stared at your roommate who was leaning against your doorway. Blinking slowly, you processed her words.

“Jongin is coming over.”

“Yes, that’s what I just said.”

“And will Mr. Kim be staying over?”

“That would be a correct assumption, yes.”

“Sleeping in your room.”

“Why, did you want him to sleep here with you? Not what I was expecting, but I’m all down for polygamy.”

With a sigh, you saved the document you were working on and began to close your laptop. Collecting the various papers and books scattered around you, you began to tuck them away neatly into your backpack. Sliding off of the bed, you walked the length of the room and began to rifle through your drawers, pulling out some clothes.

Frowning, Jennie walked over to you and looked over your shoulder as you began refolding them and putting them in a gym bag.

“What are you doing?”

“I have a paper I need to finish proofing for tomorrow and I highly doubt I will get any work done with the two of you going at it like animals.”

Jennie didn’t even look fazed at the comment, shrugging non committedly while throwing some pajama shorts your way. Rolling your eyes you passed through the joined bathroom and threw in your toiletries. As you were zipping up your bag a knock came at the door causing you to pause.

Well, that was fast.

Turning around, you looked at the brunette behind you with raised eyebrows, and only then she had the decency to look the slightest bit sheepish.

“Have I told you how much I love you today?”

With your roommate trailing at your heels blabbering about how you are the greatest roommate ever and how she owes you a life debt, you opened the front door and were greeted with Jongin holding what appeared to be a party sized bucket of KFC. Before he could open his mouth you stuck out your hand, waiting.

Blinking down at your outstretched palm, he gave you a confused look.

“Keys. Since you are kicking me out of my bed I’m taking yours”

Jennie snorted behind you as Jongin’s face split into a wide grin.

“You know, I always knew you were a great person.” fishing out his keys from his pocket he handed them to you.

Slinging your bag over your shoulder, you gave the couple a wave of your hand and began to make your way down the hall. You were halfway to the elevators when Jongin's loud voice stopped you.

“Oh by the way, Kyungsoo isn’t around tonight, so feel free to raid the fridge before he gets back.”

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Jongin’s presence at your apartment wasn’t a new occurrence.

In the beginning, it was just him coming over during the day to help Jennie with her design assignments. Which was ok, amazing actually, since it helped her out a lot and saved you dealing with her stress meltdowns.

Then it progressed to Jongin appearing at your dinner table every Friday to partake in Chinese takeout nights. Which was fine, again, since he picked it up on his way over and pitched in. He also somehow was able to sweet talk the old woman who owned the store and managed to get extra egg rolls. Can’t go wrong with that.

It wasn’t until Jennie gave you the look while the older boy excused himself to use the bathroom after one said dinner that you took the hint.

Now, Jongin occasionally stays over during the weekends, where you would find him in the living room at ungodly hours watching the Pirates of the Carribean all the while eating a family sized package of oreo’s. Which was mildly perturbing on two counts. First, was the fact that this was probably the 5th time you’ve seen him watch that movie, and second, those were your oreos.

The final straw was not until the weekend that just past where you were woken up a loud banging. It was not until you were  halfway to Jennie’s door in a frantic scramble that your sleep deprived brain caught up with you and realized it was very much not a violent murder taking place in the room over.

Animals.

It was then you all agreed to establish some sort of door-sock system.

Which in essence was - if Jongin was coming over, it was probably best to just find somewhere else to crash.

You didn’t actually mind leaving as much as you thought you would. Jennie was one of your closests friends and it was clear as day that Jongin made her happy. You didn’t even mind hanging out with the guy, he was fun and always brought snacks in return for practically living at your place. Even if his tastes in movies were highly questionable.

It was just sometimes - like right now where you had a Business Ethics paper due at 7AM - where you needed all the quiet you could get.

Reaching the apartment, you slotted the key into the lock, you pushed open the door to Jongin and Kyungsoo’s apartment. Stepping through the threshold you were greeted by darkness.

Flicking on the lights you took in the apartment. You had been in the apartment a handful of times when Chanyeol threw parties, but this was the first time you had been there on your own, literally.

From the neatly organized coffee table to the dust-less surfaces as far as the eye can see, the state of the apartment very much reflected that of the other owner - there was no way anyone would believe the human tornado that was Kim Jongin lived here otherwise.

Speaking of the other owner -

“Kyungsoo?”

Thank goodness for small mercies.

Do Kyungsoo, best friend of Jongin and probably the biggest enigma you've ever met. Not only was he more reserved and mild tempered in comparison to his flatmate, but he was the only one in your mutual friend group that you couldn’t bring yourself to get close to.

It wasn’t for a lack of trying, mind you. And to Kyungsoo’s credit he has never been rude to you, though you wouldn’t necessarily call it friendly either. Cordial at best...maybe. His deposition towards you, and apparently anyone who didn’t know him before the year 2015 was polite but distant. He was so different from the rest of his friends that one day Jennie had asked Jongin how he and Kyungsoo even lived together.

“We met freshman year-”  Jongin said while spooning a mountain of orange chicken onto his plate.

“We were paired up as roommates and we just clicked - Kyungsoo is a great guy, he’s actually pretty hilarious”

“Really?” Jennie leaned in, abandoning her lo mein to gape at the man next to her.

“Its true!” Jongin said defensively at her expression, “how do I explain it-"

"You kind of have to approach him first, and then see how he responds. He just needs time to warm up to you, you'll see."

Now, you weren’t sure if Kyungsoo had ‘warmed up to you’ yet, but you definitely saw the man’s look of disgust as he caught you making kraft dinner in the microwave that one time during finals last semester.

Hot tip - never make microwave kraft dinner in front of a Culinary Arts major.

Checking your watch and noting it was half past ten, you settled down cross-legged at the coffee table in the living room. Pulling out your laptop and notes, you organized it all in front of you before rolling your neck and flexing your fingers.

“Now, where was I-”

After what seems like the hundredth time going over the same words over and over again, desperately making sure you didn’t have any spelling mistakes and that your citations were all correct, you finally hit save for the last time. Tapping the screen of your phone you brought it up to your face as you leant back against the couch, squinting as the time appeared.

2:35 AM

Stretching, you lifted yourself from your sitting position and began packing your laptop and papers away.

Exhausted, you crawled your way up onto the couch, pulled the Captain America themed throw blanket over your tired body, and closed your eyes, waiting for sleep to take you.

Which should have been an easy task.

Except Jongin apparently decided to buy the cheapest couch in Ikea.

No wonder the man lived on your sofa, he has never known true comfort.

Huffing, you sat up begrudgingly, groaning as your body objected to the movement. You glanced down the darkened hallway and pursed your lips.

Taking your bags you began shuffling down the hallway and stopped in front of one of the doors that was ajar. Slowly pushing it open you hesitantly stuck your head in. The sight of the various Mangas scattered on the floor confirmed that you had found the right bedroom.

I mean, there are worse places to sleep.

Making your way further into the room, you kicked the door closed as you made quick work of stripping out of your clothes and changing into your pajamas. You all but dove into the bed, not caring that it was unmade or that you probably should have changed the sheets. A content sigh escaped you as you sank into the mattress, sleep taking over.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Waking with a start, you were momentarily disoriented as you took in your surroundings. Blinking blearily around, it took a few seconds to remember where you were and why your bed smelled like Old Spice.

Ah, right.

Groaning, you glanced at the window and took in the darkness still.

You tried to close your eyes in hopes that you would be able to catch a few more minutes of sleep. However, instead of slipping into blissful sleep you found yourself tossing and turning, body restless in any position you put it in.

Pressing the heels of your palms into your eyes you lay there for a few moments. Blindly reaching towards the side table you fumbled with your phone, squinting as the screen illuminated your vision.

5:50 am

There is no God.

Finally accepting that you were not going to get any more sleep, you begrudgingly slid out of bed. Stretching, you began to make your way to the door, stifling a yawn as you opened it.

And immediately screamed.

“WHAT THE F- Kyungsoo?”

Standing in front of you was a hooded figure, looking just as startled as you were. Hand grasping the handle leading to the room directly across the hall, Kyungsoo had turned at the sound of Jongin’s door opening and his eyes widened almost comically at your presence.

As the fuzziness of sleep was lifted you realized that it must have been the sound Kyungsoo entering the apartment that woke you up. And judging from the incredulous look he was giving you, Jongin must not have told him you were there. Taking in his baseball cap and casual attire, you felt your eyebrows furrow.

Did he just get back?

You watched as his eyes slid down and you were suddenly very much aware of the lopsided bun that had come half undone in your sleep and the thin material of your pajamas. His eyes then darted from your own to the bedroom and back, eyebrows furrowing.

Your eyes widened at the silent question glinting in those dark eyes. Your hands immediately flew up as you began sputtering.

“It's not what it looks like!“ you began frantically and he only lifted a dark brow higher in a silent bid for you to continue. “Jongin was staying over at our place last night and I came here to give them privacy, you know how they are, it’s like National Geographic except nobody asked for it”

He shot you a bemused look.

You felt yourself flush and looked at the space of the wall next to his head “And well, I didn't get kicked out of my own bed to sleep on a couch… So I slept... in here" gesturing to the bedroom behind you awkwardly.

There was another beat of silence.

Great. Fantastic. Realll smooth. It seemed that without fail, every time you are in the immediate presence of the man across from you, you feel yourself suddenly tense up. Which is stupid, considering the fact that you are friends (distant acquaintances), and have been around each other for months now and got along great (cordial at best), surely by now you can have a normal conversation at the very least.

Speaking of conversation, you also become hyperaware of the fact that the other person in the hallway has yet to say a single word to you. Palms beginning to sweat, you began to scramble to think of something - anything - to cut the silence. As if your insane ramblings weren’t bad enough. He probably thinks you’re even more of a raging lunatic, compounded with what happened last semester. Why, why, of all things why did you have to crave Kraft Dinner for fucks sake-

“I see.”

Your inner monologue was cut short by a low reply. it seemed Kyungsoo deemed your answer acceptable, nodding slowly to himself.

You almost felt your body sag in relief, shifting your weight on the balls of your feet.

As another beat of silence passed, you fidgeted again as you were regarded by the dark haired man. Kyungsoo had yet to make any move towards his own room and you suddenly didn’t know what to do with your hands.

Someone kill me.

You cleared your throat, “Umm...so now that that's cleared up… I’m just going to... go over...there” gesturing to the bathroom. You didn’t even wait for him to answer you as you powered your way past him and slipped into the bathroom, pressing your back against the door as it closed behind you.

You waited with baited breath as you heard silence from the hallway. Eventually after what felt like an eternity, there was a shuffling of feet, and the clicking of a door closing from down the hall.

Silently making the motion of bashing your head against the door, you let out a deep breath. Shaking your head you flicked on the light and picked up Jongin’s papaya face wash.

I mean, that could have been worse.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Making your way across campus, you faltered slightly as a yawn made its way through you. After submitting your paper to your professor's dropbox you had spent the day catching up on the never ending tasks you had on your to-do list. You had holed yourself up at the campus library and it wasn’t until your stomach decided to do its best impression of a Harley Davidson that you decided it was probably best to call it a day.

Pulling out your phone you pulled out a delivery app and started browsing the menu for the greek place a block down from your apartment. Flicking through the menu, you contemplated between the Pork Souvlaki or the Chicken gyro...maybe Jennie would be willing to go half and ha-.

You halted on the sidewalk.

Right.

Jennie.

Jennie who is currently still at your apartment.

With Jongin.

Well, shit.

Switching to your messages you sent a text to Jennie.

You: All clear?

You watched with bated breath as the three dots appeared at the bottom.

A sock emoji.

Lovely.

Sitting down at a nearby bench, you began sending out a barrage of texts.

After about 20 minutes of asking around you found out that Jisoo was out of town seeing her parents, Rose’s apartment building was apparently being fumigated for the second time this month and Seulgi was having Irene and Wendy over and you didn’t think you wanted to be part of whatever freaky party those three were going to have.

With every text that came in you felt yourself slowly deflate more and more. Placing your hand in your jacket, you grasped the keys that were in your pocket. They felt heavier than they should be.

There was one other option.

Grimacing, you flushed as you remembered the painfully awkward conversation you exchanged with a particular dark haired man this morning. There was no doubt in your mind that he would be home if you went over now, and you didn’t even want to begin imagining how this interaction will go.

You bit down on your bottom lip in worry as you brain tried playing out the various scenarios in your head. All in all, Kyungsoo didn’t seem to care all that much this morning, but then again when have you ever seen Kyungsoo care about anything.

Come on, think. Well, what do we know...

He is a mutual friend (questionable), for starters. If you both are able to get along with the dumperfire that is your friend group you have to have something in common.. Right?

You stopped fiddling with the keys in your pocket as the realization hit you.

Pulling up your contacts you scanned down the list before pressing ‘call’.

“Oi, Jongin. Does Kyungsoo like Greek?”

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Turns out no, Kyungsoo does not, in fact, like Greek.

According to Jongin, Kyungsoo is obsessed with this weird hole-in-the-wall Italian place that had handmade pasta. What was supposed to be a 10 minute walk ended up taking 45 minutes as you got lost 3 times, and once you finally found the store the doors were locked. What restaurant shuts down from 3 to 5 on a Friday?

Hipster pasta makers, apparently.

It was lost to you what the appeal was, but if there was anything that you learned in the years as a young adult living on their own, it was that there were two sure-fire ways to bond with someone:

Get drunk

Eat good food while drunk

The latter was not necessarily limited to ‘good’ food - after a few shots to you a McNugget is like a Michelen meal. However you had a gut feeling that Kyungsoo wouldn’t be too welcoming if you showed up with tacos and tequila.

So did you wait around for an hour and a half just to order something you could have bought as Lean Cuisine?

You bet your ass you did.

Because nothing says I’m sorry I know we barely know each other but our friends are banging so were kind of stuck together quite like overpriced spaghetti and meatballs.

Adjusting the paper bag in your arms you walked up to the familiar door. Fumbling with the key you finally managed to wedge it open and stepped through the threshold.

Unlike the last time you entered the apartment, this time you weren’t met with silence. The lights were already on and the sound of the TV filtered throughout the apartment. Toeing off your shoes and arranging them neatly next to the pair by the door.

Arms full of take out you were all of a sudden nervous to turn the corner.

You are once again reminded of the fact that you are very much not close with this man and this will probably be the first time you ever said more than 4 sentences to him in one sitting. And now you are about to have dinner together, alone.

"You kind of have to approach him first, and then see how he responds. He just needs time to warm up to you, you'll see"

Kim Jongin don’t you fail me now.  

Kyungsoo was sitting on the couch looking at his phone when you entered the living room. He immediately looked up and you watched his eyes widen marginally at your presence, clearly not expecting you back.

“I…” The mini speech you had been preparing during the 12 minute walk to the apartment died in your throat as you made eye contact with the dark haired man in front of you. The look he gave you left you momentarily thrown, it was a look that instantly made you think that he was annoyed with you with the way his eyebrows were drawn and the slight frown tugging at the corners of his mouth.

It wasn’t until you saw Kyungsoo’s eyes slide to the bag in your arms briefly, and the slightest flicker of curiosity gave you the courage to push on.

“Jongin is still my place,” you offered, and watched as his eyes flit back to meet your own.

“So,” you continued, shifting the bag in your arms, “I brought some dinner, as a peace offering of sorts, I guess. I hope you’re hungry, because they gave us enough garlic bread to feed a small Italian village.” you let out an awkward laugh.

Kyungsoo looked at you as if you had grown a second head. You didn’t blame him, but you were too far gone to back down now, even if the man was giving you a shoulder so cold it could freeze Sahara.

Making your way into the kitchen you placed the bag on the counter and began taking plates out of the cabinets, trying to keep your trembling hands busy.

Stupid, stupid, this whole idea was stupid.

As you were transferring the food from the containers you heard a slight rustling behind you.

You almost turned around when you didn’t hear anything else, but then a deep voice spoke up, albeit hesitantly.

“Is that from Giulietta’s?”

Stiffening a smile you did not respond to the man immediately when he materialized at your side.

Humming in affirmation you handed him his plate, which he took slowly, eyeing the food suspiciously.

I swear, this guy.

It wasn’t until you had dished out your own plate that you turned to him finally and gave him what you hoped was a friendly smile.

“So, have you watched the new season of Great British Bakeoff?”

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

“Have a nice weekend? Actually don’t answer that, I really don’t want to know.” You didn’t even look up from your laptop as Jennie slid into the seat next to you at your morning lecture.

“Jongin has been doing ballet for years, I swear I never knew a body could bend like-”

“Ew. Gross Jennie, it’s 9AM”

“I have no concept of time anymore, the man wouldn’t let me sleep-”

“Jennifer, please, this is a sacred place.”

“This is Introduction to Environmental Science, most of the people here are too worried about cleaning baby ducks with Dawn soap than to eavesdrop”

Groaning you buried your head in your hands and took a deep breath. You really should have stopped by the Cafe next door and got some coffee, you aren’t nearly coherent enough to deal with this.

“Hey,” Jennie started, pulling you from your thoughts.

“Thanks again for stepping out and giving us the apartment for the weekend, I really appreciate it”

“You’re lucky I like you.

“Oh please-”

“-I barely got out of there alive.”

“Come on, it couldn’t have been that bad.”

It wasn’t, actually.

Last night you and Kyungoo had sat in their living room and watched the Great British Bakeoff while you ate your dinner. You thanked whatever higher power there was that Kyungsoo was not a stickler for eating at the dinner table. Or maybe he was, but also thought this situation was incredibly awkward and also wanted some sort of distraction to avoid having to make small talk.

It wasn’t wholly unpleasant, you actually found yourself mildly enjoying yourself. He was a man of a few words but every now and again he would sprinkle in some choice commentary here and there, making noncommittal noises when a contestant added a new ingredient.

Odd fellow, this one.

He was polite enough to stick around for a couple of episodes before standing and offering to take your plate.

“Would you like something else? Jongin keeps ice cream sandwiches in the fridge”

“Oh...no, I’m ok thanks”

You were absolutely going to have one later.

Giving a curt nod, he walked back to the kitchen to wash the dishes. After a few minutes he returned to the living room, shifting uneasily on his feet. He had this thoughtful, intense expression, almost searching. For what, you had no idea but it made you fidget nonetheless, breaking eye contact and pick at imaginary lint on your sweater.

You were about to make some excuse about needing to go back to the library - because you sure as hell weren’t going to stick around here -  when he mumbled something about having papers to grade before disappearing down the hall to his room without another word.

A few more moments passed before you let out the breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

Well, that’s that I guess.

“It went fine. He was...nice”

“Nice.”

“As nice as you can be with a stranger invading your space unnanounced.”

“So dramatic, it’s not like you two are strangers.”

“I don’t even think he knows my name.”  

“We have all hung out loads of times before-”

“I have spoken to him more in the last 12 hours than I have in the last 12 months”

“And who’s fault is that? If anything, that's progress, you should be thanking me. Kyungsoo’s a hoot”

You leveled her with a look.

“...have I told you how much I love you today?”

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

A/N: Had this in my drafts for over 2 years. Hoping by posting I’ll be motivated to actually finish it~

[mings]

Some context...

...in relation to that last post. This is a lo-o-o-o-ong read, so feel free to skip right by if catharsis bores you.

This starts way before I joined tumblr; in fact, long before tumblr was even a thing.

Twenty years ago, we lived in a huge house backing onto the English Channel. We moved there from Scotland, which turned out to be (probably) the biggest mistake of my life. 

Within nine months of buying the place, the company I’d moved to work for nearly folded. I and most of the workforce were made redundant. That set in motion an existential battle with our mortgage insurer, which refused to pay out because I “must have known” when taking out the insurance. (I didn’t, and they eventually caved in after destroying my credit record, but that’s another story.)

Work wasn’t immediately available; none that would at least cover the bills. We got inventive, wrote a business plan, obtained finance & bought a franchise. It went pretty well for the first three years, but we had to bust a gut to make the required income. It wasn’t easy. Eventually, the franchise operator messed up relations with several key players in our insurance market. Within three months, we lost 75% of our revenue. I had to close the workshop & find part time work to make ends meet. Ultimately, we decided to close the business, sell the house and downsize to something more manageable.

What’s the relevance of this? We tried hard to keep our precarious financial state form the kids. Maybe we didn’t do as well as we thought. Our son had already become withdrawn. He’d fallen in with a group of local lads about whom we had grave misgivings. Of course, there was no discussing it. We were “over-reacting” and unreasonable. It was around that time that he decided to jack in his education. I couldn’t criticise; I’d done the same. I pulled some strings and got him a job at our local Royal Mail delivery office.

We moved to our new place. It was a stressful move. Trying to fit into a house that was literally half the size was never going to be an easy task. One afternoon, our son came home from work and soon after announced he was going out. “See you later.” Only we didn’t. He didn’t come home that night. Nor did he turn up for work the next day. Nor the day after. And nor the day after that. Within a week he was written up for unauthorised absence. We had no way of contacting him. His case was heard in the following weeks. I could offer no mitigation. He was sacked for abandonment of duty. That tag that means he’ll never work for them again. 

We still had no idea where he was. We only knew he was alive because we met a couple of his friends who couldn’t believe he’d not been in touch. Still no word. My wife was in shreds; I suspect any of you who are parents can identify with that. I was alternating between trying to prop her up and stay on top of my job, all the while under a constant barrage of barracking (Oh, we don’t mean anything by it, it’s just banter....)

About three months in I’d had enough. Sleep was a scarce resource so I rose at the crack of dawn and started on a trip, rousting one after another of the friends and acquaintances that I knew, following leads until finally I tracked him down to a sordid bedsit several towns and 40 miles away. At least he answered the door and looked sheepish. He offered no explanation or apology, and has never done so to date. He refused to come back home, but promised to keep in touch. 

We know he bounced from one sofa to another in the next few months. He spent time in some of the worst areas in the county for drug abuse. He fell into a relationship with a girl that looked promising initially and subsequently fell apart. Later, he surfaced in another town with another girl whom he subsequently married. She often spoke of his irascible temperament and moods. Ultimately the marriage was doomed; she was younger than him, found a new interest and moved out. One wonders now how much of that was her and how much she’d put up with before voting with her feet.

He’s stumbled from one financial crisis to another. Money just evaporates. It’s as though adulting is a mystery beyond his reach. I’ve lost count of the times that we’ve thrown money at him and I don’t want to even think about how much. It’s literally thousands, always a loan, yet he never, ever pays back.

He left his job. That was inevitable too; he worked for his ex-father-in-law’s company. Heaven only knows how long the writing was on the wall; it was pretty swift once she left. He drifted again. He chose to live in a squalid flat with no heating rather than move back with us. Absolutely his choice, not ours. 

We moved to Scotland. That meant all his stuff had to go into storage. Quick rewind - he moved all his stuff to ours when he gave up the house he & his ex lived in, but refused to move back home. I had to rent a storage unit to make space for all his gear & when we moved I shifted all his gear into the store, gave him the key & told him I’d paid three months up front; after that it was his to deal with. Apparently, he surrendered the store and moved all his gear into the flat...

Fast forward to a couple of months back. He’d run out of options at the flat. His flatmate was “really difficult” to live with. His ex had moved away, taking their son with her. He had nothing left to stay for and, surprise, he’d lost his job again so he couldn’t afford the rent. 

My wife convinced me we should give him one last shot, citing his fragile mental health. I agreed on the strict understanding that we are simply no longer in a position to support him. He assured us he’d be applying for work as soon as he got here. We rarely see him before midday...

We agreed the end of the first week in March. We knew he’d arrive with a ton of stuff so we had (again) to create space. That’s infinitely more difficult now we’re running a B&B, but we set to the task. Suddenly, two weeks sooner than we’d agreed, he rented a van and was on his way. No discussion, no warning. We only found out because he put something on FB. 

Finally, after trying to reach him most of the day, he phoned. Whilst we should have been relieved, instead we were treated to a barrage of abuse because all the petrol stations were shut. Of course they were. It was in a national lockdown and why would they stay open when there was no one on the roads? JFC, who embarks on a journey in sub-zero temperatures across some of the most inhospitable country in the UK without enough fuel? With a six year old child. Yes, not only did he forget to tell us about his change of plans, he forgot to tell us he was bringing his son too.

We drove south through the night for two hours to find him somewhere in the Cairngorms where he’d run out of fuel. No fuel meant no heaters at 1500 feet in deep snow. The ambient temperature was -5ºC/23ºF & with wind chill that was probably around -10ºC/14ºF. We found him & refuelled his van. No thanks, just another barrage of abuse, because he was tired. We took his son into our car & drove the two hours back in near silence. I think we knew then that it was an awful predictor of what was to come.

We’ve had row after row. He accused me of being passive-aggressive in the last. He actually ticks all the boxes for passive-aggressive behaviour. I’ve never been tagged with that before; if anything I’m too forthright, blunt even. That’s a failing to which I will admit. If by that he meant that I don’t talk about the elephant in the room, it’s only because we fear it’ll lead to another explosion.

He never saw the damage that we sustained during our fostering years. He was never there. Yet here we are, experiencing flashbacks to those traumatic incidents; the parallels are exact. We have the benefit of years of training. We recognise manipulative behaviour when we see it - we were trained by some of the nations best exponents - and we know divisive tactics implicitly.  What he doesn’t know is that he will succeed only in pushing us closer together and alienating himself even further.

There are clear and well-documented links between cannabis and mental health issues. He is allowing the drug to determine his life choices. Although I may be wrong, I think he’s cultivating skunk, which is nothing like the weed that circulated in my youth. The smell that pervades our hallway is instantly evocative of high strength Afghan resin. It’s also going to be acutely difficult to eradicate before we’re due to open.

We’ve endured 20 years of this treatment. I know that even if we have a ritual burning, it will only be a matter of time before we’re back here again. We’re old. We’re tired. And we’ve worked our socks off (and still do) to achieve what we have. Maybe somewhere along the way we missed something. But I’m at a stage where I’m so far beyond this I just want it to stop.