#like the only thing missing from my business casual today was a stamp saying

[pecanwriter]

LADS I'M A FOOL I GOT COCKY AND FLEW TOO CLOSE TO THE SUN I took my silicone belly on a grocery run and met a coworker but not just any coworker oh no the one that sits face to face with in an open space office. I think I'm dying but also why am I smiling----

[cheri-translates]

[CN] Victor’s Leaving Traces Date

🍒 Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers for a date, 留痕之约, which has not been released in EN! 🍒

[ This date was released on 28 April 2021 ]

MC (phone call): I found your study room. May I invite CEO Victor to state his next instruction!

Victor (phone call): There’s a black file on the third shelf of the bookcase, closer to the right side. Do you see it?

MC: Third shelf... to the right... I see it!

Victor: Mm, open and check it for me.

I tap on the hands-free function, place the phone on the table, then carefully retrieve the file.

Today is the sixth day that Victor is on a business trip, and he gave me a call asking me to help him find a document.

Even though this is for an “official purpose”, being in this room filled with a familiar scent and hearing his voice feels pretty wonderful.

Flipping open the file, what enters my vision is the cover page of a contract.

MC: Is there an investment contract for a public educational welfare program inside?

Victor: That’s right.

When I see the date stamped at the bottom, my lips involuntary curl upwards.

MC: The public welfare program you invested in last year is going to have a charity gala in a few days... Someone keeps claiming that he isn’t a philanthropist, yet does quite a number of things in secret which reap zero returns.

Victor: Actually, it doesn’t count as zero returns. This program offers public welfare courses and training in universities. Each year, there are graduates who choose to work in LFG. The value they create is a form of return.

MC: Do all investors like such long-term strategies? Snatching up investments quickly, but only obtaining benefits after a very long time.

Victor: It’s also possible that there wouldn’t be any benefits. Since risks can’t be avoided, why not shoulder the greatest risk, and find that biggest “fish”.

MC: ...that’s what someone strong and capable would say.

I turn around, storing the file into my bag. Catching sight of Victor’s spectacles on the table, I pick them up, holding them in front of my eyes.

After adjusting to the slight dizziness from the spectacle degrees, I hold the spectacles and scan the surroundings.

MC: Victor, I’ve always been curious. Does the world you look at differ from other people?

Victor: How do you think it’d be different?

MC: For example... can you see the shape of time?

My imagination roams uncontrollably. If I could see time, and even adjust its speed, I might become the second Victor...

However, a sigh at my ear very quickly interrupts my daydream.

Victor: Even if I could see it, it wouldn’t be the way you imagine it.

MC: ...

Victor: If I remember correctly, a certain someone still has the job of broadcasting LFG’s charity gala. If you want to do a proper job, don’t place your hopes on shortcuts.

Hearing his cool voice, I purse my lips.

MC: You’re putting emphasis on efficiency again. You’re really skilful in managing your time... In that case, could I look forward to you returning early? With CEO Victor supervising me personally, my mentality at work will be even better.

Victor: I find that you always have a hundred reasons for not doing honest work.

MC: That wasn’t my main point...

Perhaps hearing my grumbling clearly, Victor laughs.

Victor: But you can look forward to it. Do what you have to do properly, and wait for me to return.

-

The next day, I send the document Victor needs to the office. After that, I take a taxi over to conduct a pre-interview.

Aside from preparing for the charity gala, I’m also doing a documentary with the theme of “Craftsmen of Time”. It records people who are able to maintain their craft despite having a fast-paced life.

Today, I’m visiting a boutique for custom-made suits which has been in business for several decades. It’s hidden in a small alley in the downtown area, and it’s as though time has stopped at a corner.

The boss shows me around the store while giving me introductions. After making one round, he lifts his head to look at his watch, then turns to me apologetically.

MC: Miss MC, I’m sorry about this, but a customer has made an appointment for a fitting, and will be here soon. We do a one-on-one service here. If the customer is unwilling, you might have to step back for a while.

Just as I’m able to wave my hands to express my understanding, the sound of the door being pushed open drifts from not too far off.

What follows is a familiar voice -

?: She doesn’t need to leave.

I turn my head. As expected, I see Victor walking in.

Boss: Mr Victor.

MC: Victor!

The boss and I speak in unison, then stop at the same time.

Seeing the slightly shocked expressions on both of their faces, I’m a little embarrassed as I scratch my cheek.

MC: Ooh... erm. Welcome.

Victor: Mm, thank you.

A few employees behind chuckle softly. However, Victor is unaffected, and he walks over to look at the notebook in my hand.

Victor: You’re working?

MC: Mm, I'm here for an interview. What are you doing here?

Victor: Didn’t you hear it earlier? I have an appointment at this timing. I’ll be interrupting you for a while, but it won’t take too long.

I shake my head to show that I don’t mind. Only then does Victor turn his head towards the boss.

Victor: Today’s the fitting, isn’t it.

Boss: That’s right. The clothes have already been hung in the changing room for you.

Victor: You’ve worked hard.

Victor walks into the changing room. I hold onto his outer coat while sitting on a chair at the side, waiting. Once again, I look around at the suits displayed in the shop.

Before, I used to tacitly agree that formalwear were more or less the same. Today, I realised that there are many differences when it comes to the details.

They can also be custom-made according to various settings and personal preferences, to become a form of personalised “fashion”.

Not following the crowd and not being set in stone is indeed very appropriate for Victor’s style.

After a moment, Victor pulls open the door and walks out. The boss immediately steps forward to check the measurements.

I stare directly at Victor in the mirror.

Even though the suit isn’t finished, the superior quality and lines have already made the person before me appear even taller and more capable.

It’s just that...

Boss: It’s been a long time since I last saw Mr Victor. It seems you’ve become much thinner recently. The suit will be done in a few days. To be safe, we’ll take your measurements again today.

Victor: I’ll have to trouble you then.

I flip the notebook open as a guise, but my gaze never leaves Victor.

The employee measures his neck. Victor lifts his head, and I realise that his lower chin has become thinner. When he’s expressionless, he looks even more solemn.

The measuring tape extends and retracts on his body, leaving light wrinkles on his already-fitting vest.

Ever since we met, it seems like his appearance in my mind has never changed.

A serious expression, wearing a well-fitting suit, always with people clustering around him... just like the sight before me right now.

However, in contrast to the usual, the Victor of this moment is a little different.

What the boss said is correct. He has indeed lost weight. But only a week passed - how could there be such an obvious change?

I recall how he looked before he left on the business trip. For a moment, I find that he was different from the way he is now. In the next moment, I find that he was the same as the way he is now.

I finally realise that before this, I never even noticed that he had grown thinner...

Wanting to look at him more carefully, I narrow my eyes, only to suddenly meet Victor’s gaze.

Victor: Looks like you learnt quite a lot today.

MC: What? 

Victor: Are these numbers needed for work?

Following his gaze, I look at the book in my hand, and realise that I had subconsciously recorded down many numbers.

These numbers seem to be the measurements taken by the employee...

MC: T-this is just an accident!

Seeing that the employee has finished taking measurements, I hurriedly shut the book, stuffing it into my bag.

Boss: We’ll make some adjustments, and will contact you in a few days to collect the finished suit.

Victor: Thank you for the hard work.

After saying this, Victor walks over to me. Pretending to be professional, I shake and open his outer coat, helping him put it on.

MC: Is the new outfit for the charity gala?

Victor: Yes.

MC: When the time comes, I’ll remind the director to do more dashing close-ups of CEO Victor!

Victor: You’re still so proud despite using your professional capacity for personal gain.

Victor casts me a sidelong glance. Since I have nothing to fear, I give him a smile.

MC: Oh yes, why didn’t you tell me that you returned early?

Victor: Didn’t I promise you over the phone last night?

MC: But it’s still too quick... Did you board the plane right after hanging up?

Victor: It just shows that the timing was just right.

As he mentions this casually while fastening his buttons, I can’t help but ask him a question that I should have asked from the start.

MC: So was this chance encounter also a coincidence that was “just right”?

Victor: This wasn’t a chance encounter. You shared your location with me in the taxi earlier. You don’t remember?

MC: Ah, my fingers must have slipped...

Victor: You can maintain this habit. I guessed that you had work to do, so I didn’t send you a message. But I remember that a certain someone mentioned wanting me to supervise her at work, so I came over to have a look.

Victor appears to be in a good mood, and he pats the top of my head.

Victor: I’m done with my task here. You can continue with what you were doing.

MC: Wait!

Seeing that Victor is about to leave, I hurriedly take a step forward to stop him.

MC: I’ll go with you.

Victor: Are you done with the interview?

MC: Today’s portion has been done. Give me a moment.

I blink at him, then run swiftly to the boss to make an appointment for the next collection of materials.

Even though I did hope that he’d be by my side to “supervise me at work”...

When the person I’ve been yearning for day and night appears in front of me, my train of thought is unable to remain entirely on work.

-

It’s rare for Victor’s to have a free schedule, so I urge him to return home to rest.

The sun sets, and the clamour of the city gradually goes away. Life seems to return to its original rhythm in this tranquil room.

I’m leaning against Victor as I tap on the keyboard, yet can’t help but peek at him from time to time in secret.

I watch as he wears the spectacles that were in his study room before, and the curiosity that I shelved aside from the previous night surfaces once again.

MC: Victor, do you still remember when you first stopped time?

Victor: I can’t remember clearly. Back then, I didn't think of deliberately stopping time. I just had a blurry wish.

MC: That’s really nice...

Victor: You seem to really like this ability?

MC: Anyone would be envious. Being able to stop time is both cool and useful. To take it even further, if you want to, life can even be extended.

A soft chuckle drifts from the side, kneading into the sound of flipping paper.

Victor: It isn’t that easy to control time. Simply stopping it for a while doesn’t change any outcome. The time that’s “stolen” isn’t very meaningful either. Instead, why not watch time flow by and see what it can bring?

After hearing his words, I stop typing.

MC: As expected, when it comes to the topic of time, you’re the person with the most right to speak. You really won’t consider letting me add an episode featuring an exclusive interview with you?

Victor: Rejected.

MC: You rejected so quickly... hm?

Just as I turn my head to look at him, a slight sharp pain drifts from the back of my head.

Thinking my hair is trapped on something, I reach out to look for it, and bump into VIctor’s hand accidentally.

Lowering my head, a few strands of hair spread over his fingers. The tips of my hair brush against my hand, and finally fall back into his palm.

Was he... tangling my hair earlier?

This action doesn’t seem to fit with Victor’s style. I glance at his slightly unnatural expression, controlling my laughter as I ask him a question.

MC: Victor, what are you doing?

Victor: ...I just realised that your hair has grown a little longer.

MC: It does seem like a while since I went to the salon.

I smoothen my hair in front of my chest to take a look, but don’t find any obvious changes.

MC: I can’t tell, but it’s definitely a little longer than when I had it cut.

Victor: Of course you can’t tell if you see it every day. But it’s much more obvious when looking at it after a period of time. Yesterday, you asked if I could see the shape of time. It probably looks like this. It isn't difficult to find proof of time’s existence. You can see it too.

Victor smoothens my hair a little clumsily, the corners of his lips lifting upwards.

I suddenly recall my hug with him earlier, and how I felt that his waistline was evidently thinner.

Time is constantly flowing, leaving numerous, subtle traces on our bodies.

And these little discoveries after reuniting are a form of compensation, enabling people to see the things we’ve grown accustomed to in a fresh light.

Lifting my head, I reach out to prop up his spectacles.

MC: So this is the time in your eyes.

Victor: What do you mean?

MC: In the past, I used to think that the passage of time was something a little sad. It seemed like many things fade away and vanish with time. But maybe this isn’t the fault of time. It’s just that we neglected those things because we’ve grown accustomed to their existence beside us.

Victor: Not a bad thought.

MC: See? There are benefits to occasionally deviating from habits! At the very least, I discovered another side of “Victor”.

Victor: A dummy being able to enlighten herself counts as a form of improvement. But based on the number of anniversaries you commemorate, some things are difficult to ignore.

MC: ...just treat it as a periodic review!

Victor: So at this current stage, what do you want to review?

MC: Right now...

I turn my body towards Victor. While thinking about this question, I subconsciously scrutinise Victor up and down.

His washed hair is no longer restrained by hair gel, and the eyes beneath his fringe are warmer and brighter.

I can’t recall when he started looking at me with that gaze often.

How many days and nights have we spent together? There are probably so many that I wouldn’t be able to segment them into “periods” soon.

But no matter which anniversary it is, or which moment I wish to inscribe, my feelings are the same.

MC: I thought of a poem I once read in a book - “Now is the time for drinking!” Being able to discover new surprises from a life one is accustomed to... Right now is the best time.

Victor glances at me, then turns my hand over, making a stamping gesture.

Victor: I approve of this “periodic review”.

-

After a tight schedule of preparations, the day of LFG’s charity gala quickly arrives.

In previous events like this, I’d remain backstage, constantly rushing around.

Even though I'm sitting with the distinguished guests this time, I take occasional peeks at my phone, paying attention to the happenings backstage.

The first half of the soirée goes smoothly, and many people make use of the intermission to rest and relax.

Just as I think of searching for Victor, my phone vibrates. I hurriedly slip away to the corridor of the venue to answer it.

MC: Willow, did something happen?

Willow: Boss, some issues cropped up with one of the auction items for the second half. Come quickly and have a look!

I check the time, realising that there are only twenty minutes before the second half of the soirée starts.

With no time to hesitate, I rush to the props room immediately.

-

People are bustling around backstage, and only the props room is unusually quiet.

Willow leans towards me, quietly explaining the situation before me.

Willow: When preparing the props earlier, we accidentally bumped into Auction Item No. 4 and it fell somewhere. The item’s too small, and we haven’t been able to find it. The person responsible for No. 4 has a bad temper, and is stopping us from working until we find the auction item.

I pat Willow comfortingly.

MC: Don’t panic. Our colleagues are always watching the props room, so it shouldn’t be lost. First, tell the director that this item will appear later in the evening. Pick a few meticulous colleagues to look for it. The others can handle the props as soon as possible. Leave the person-in-charge to me.

Willow nods, and very quickly attends to the matter. I suck in a soft breath, walking towards the person-in-charge who is not too far off.

MC: Hello, may I know if you’re Mdm Zheng? I’m the producer of this soirée...

While I’m conversing with the person-in-charge, my colleagues hastily deal with the props.

And that “missing” Auction Item No. 4 is finally found in between several large paper boxes.

After the person-in-charge checks it personally, she rushes to send it to the stage at the very last minute.

-

Stepping into the house, the phone which has been vibrating for the entire evening finally returns to silence.

The second half of the soirée was more or less spent coordinating the auction issue backstage.

By the time I finished replying to all the messages accumulated in my phone, the car had already reached the house.

I watch as Victor minds his own business and hangs both of our outer coats properly, and doesn’t seem to have an intention to probe. Clearing my throat, I follow after him.

MC: Cough cough. Isn’t CEO Victor going to ask what I was busy with this evening? 

Victor: I heard all about it. You resolved a big problem.

MC: ...you don’t sound very surprised.

Victor: You think I don’t know what you’re busy with? Also, this is something you’re already capable of doing.

MC: Hmph, whatever you say makes sense.

Despite my words, the corners of my lips lift upwards involuntarily.

Victor glances at me, then pulls me towards the cloakroom suddenly.

By the time I return to my senses, he has already settled me down onto a soft chair.

MC: Whats wrong?

Victor doesn’t respond. He squats down in front of me, pinching my ankle.

Victor: After busying yourself for an entire evening, are you tired?

MC: I’m pretty okay. I usually run around like this too. I’m the type who’s good in both books and martial arts!”

Victor seems to chuckle. He lifts my left foot and places it on his lap, then helps me untie the numerous shoelaces.

MC: !

My heel presses against his newly made trousers. I freeze for a moment, subconsciously wanting to retract my foot.

As though undisturbed, Victor continues holding on to my ankle, studying the knot tied to my calf.

Victor: Looks like making you take on a few large-scale events is quite meaningful. I still remember how you used to get nervous when meeting people who were the slightest bit famous. Also, when faced with trouble, you’d first lose your head and panic. After resolving it in a roundabout manner, you’d even ask me for praise.

MC: You actually remember such embarrassing things...

Victor: It’s meant to show how much you’ve improved.

While saying this, Victor tugs at the shoelace, brows furrowing slightly.

Victor: Why are these shoelaces so complicated...

Glancing at his somewhat perplexed expression, I chuckle as I pull on his hand, guiding him in untying the knot on my leg.

MC: Knowing that CEO Victor was attending the event in splendid attire, I had to work hard to dress up as well. Aside from improvements in work, don’t you find that my aesthetic sense has also improved?

Victor removes my shoe for me, rubbing my toes gently.

Victor: These shoes suit you, but they don’t fit your feet adequately. Your toes are swollen, and you didn’t feel it?

MC: Isn't this what happens when wearing high heels for a long time?

Victor: Things that are truly suitable will be comfortable no matter the circumstances. Although there are improvements in certain areas, there isn’t much progress when it comes to taking care of yourself.

After saying this, Victor once again lowers his head to untie the shoelaces on my right foot. 

Staring at the top of his head, I can’t help but find this situation a little abrupt.

The person who was receiving the applause from an audience just a few hours ago is now voluntarily taking care of me tenderly.

Not only that. Even when I’m unaware, he’s always paying close attention to me.

Even when it comes to details I don’t realise, he takes note of them for me.

In this instant, a faint, stinging emotion is in my heart, urging me to blurt out my genuine thoughts.

MC: The reason why I haven’t made progress is because you’ve been taking such good care of me, isn’t it? CEO Victor may be an investor in other areas, but in this area, you’re a big philanthropist.

Victor: Are you blaming me?

MC: I’m complimenting your conscientiousness and patience, and how you’re willing to spend time taking care of a dummy.

Victor chuckles, and I feel warm breaths faintly on my skin.

Victor: Looks like this dummy hasn’t realised that I didn’t help you this time.

MC: Hm? Are you referring to the soirée?

Victor: Mm. From planning to execution, including the sudden incident, I didn’t provide any advice. Do you know what this means?

MC: It means... that this was a test?

Victor: It’s just a periodic test. Not bad. You passed.

MC: In that case, do I get a periodic prize?

Victor: From now onwards, I can give you the right of choice. You can judge for yourself if you want to accept the programs I give you. Whether it’s a request from other businesses or from LFG. As long as you give me a clear and logical reason, you can reject them.

I’m stunned, and it’s only after a long while before I blink my eyes slowly.

MC: But rejecting CEO Victor’s goodwill sounds like a wastage of natural resources...

Victor: How do you know that everything I give you is “goodwill”?

MC: Huh? 

Victor: I said that I'd let you judge for yourself. There aren’t many good things that fall from the sky.

MC: In that case, if I simply feel tired and want to take a break, could I reject them too?

Victor: If it isn’t because you’re being lazy, you can.

MC: What if it’s because I’m giving the opportunity to our competitors?

Victor: You’ll bear all the consequences yourself.

MC: ...as expected, you’re still an investor.

Victor: If you aren’t happy about it, you could become an investor yourself and confront me.

MC: That’s even more absurd!

Victor laughs, glancing at me.

Victor: The quantitative and qualitative changes will require time. You can get used to it slowly. But the next time you take on several jobs, remember to change into a comfortable pair of shoes. Don’t make others worry.

With a gentle brush of my leg, the shoelaces of my right shoe loosen.

My ankle relaxes, and I subconsciously lower my head to look at Victor, suddenly thinking about something.

MC: Victor... I have one more question to ask you. Is the reason why you’re giving me this reward because of sympathy or because I’ve really improved? 

Victor: The latter of course.

MC: But I can’t really sense any changes in myself. You mentioned it earlier too. What happened tonight was something I should already be capable of doing.

Victor: When I said that you could do it, I was referring to the you of right now. The mistakes you made in the past didn’t surface, and the issue was resolved very well. Of course it’s an improvement.

I scrutinise his serious expression, and the corners of my lips gradually curve upwards.

MC: Is this an assessment criterion CEO Victor made specially for me?

Victor: I treat everyone equally when it comes to work. But this reward was indeed prepared specially for you.

MC: Thank you for the special care, CEO Victor! On a certain level, such improvement should also count as a trace of time.

Victor: That’s right. In that case, I’ll look forward to seeing more time on a certain person.

The final shred of doubt at the bottom of my heart is smoothened out. I cradle Victor’s cheeks, giving him a quick peck at the side of his lips.

MC: T-this is a “stamp of approval”! From now onwards, CEO Victor has to mentally prepare himself for my “rejections”.

After saying this, I try to seize this opportunity to retract my foot, but Victor catches me firmly.

Victor straightens up, looking at my expression with interest.

Victor: You seem to really like this method of “stamping”.

MC: [blushing] Well... After all, this is a tiny special privilege that I have.

Victor: Even though you know that it’s a privilege, you still use it so guiltily. Your face is as red as a tomato.

MC: [blushing] ...

Hearing the teasing tone in his voice, I feel my face becoming even warmer. Slightly embarrassed, I duck my head backwards.

Victor chuckles softly, a hand propped against the cabinet behind me, blocking my way out.

Victor: Don’t forget that this is a “contract” that both parties have to sign. Before I “stamp” it, you still can’t refuse.

The unique scent of the person in front gradually encases me, as though wanting to return in full the warmth of an evening spent apart.

As the distance gradually closes, even the lights are unable to come between us.

My vision begins to blur. It turns out that being at a close range would render one unable to see the person before them.

Yet, I am very certain that at this moment, even if we’re very close, we will still be able to see each other.

The corners of our lips meet gently, and a familiar temperature is branded on my skin.

The subtle ticking of the second hand drifts to my ear, as though penning down this memory.

In the very long time we share, one more stroke is written.

👠 Phone calls: First l Second

👠 Support the cafe by dropping by the tip jar!

[missperfectlyfine13]

Could This Be Something Real? (Chap. 7/8)

Read Below or on AO3 

“So, let me get this straight, you guys aren’t breaking up anymore?”

“Nope.”

Beca and Chloe had waited a couple weeks after getting together to tell Beca’s team. They didn’t want them all up in their business in the early stages of their relationship.

“And you’re actually a couple now?”

“Yup,” Beca can’t help the megawatt smile that spreads across her face.

“Well thank god, it’s about damn time,” her manager chuckles.

“So you’re saying we were the only blind ones here?”

“Oh definitely, but I’m happy for you two Beca, I really am.”

Beca spins around to look at her anxious girlfriend, who is perched on the edge of her bed.

“Ok they know,” Beca smiles, sliding her phone into her back pocket.

“And they’re ok with it?” Chloe asks immediately.

Beca nods, “They’re happy for us.”

“Good, I mean nothing could have kept me from you, but it’s nice to have their stamp of approval anyways,” Chloe smirks, reaching out for Beca’s hands, “you’re stuck with me Mitchell.”

“And there’s no where else I’d rather be,” Beca lets her girlfriend grab her hands and pull her down onto the bed next to her.

Chloe leans over and quickly captures her lips with her own. Beca eagerly kisses her back, she’ll never be over the feeling of Chloe’s lips against hers.

“I love you,” Beca whispers when Chloe finally pulls away.

“I love you too Bec.”

************

Beca is certifiably insane.

She’s only been dating Chloe for real, for about 3 weeks, but yet here she is…ring shopping. She holds the small, but brilliant diamond between her fingers, trying to picture how it would look on Chloe’s hand.

The thing is, this has been a long time coming for them. She knows Chloe better than anyone else in the world. They’ve practically been together for 6 years now, they just never labeled it correctly. Beca knows that Chloe is the only one for her and she knows that the red head feels the exact same way. Why wait any longer? Neither of them are getting any younger and Beca knows that she wants Chloe to be her wife.

Beca can barely believe she is at this point. If you had told her two months ago that she would be buying a ring for her best friend, her best friend she’d pined over for years, she wouldn’t have believed it.

Beca finally leaves the jewelers an hour later, with a beautiful engagement ring for Chloe and a ring for herself as well. She’s starting to doubt herself though, that swipe of a credit card and the bag burning a hole in her pocket, she’s starting to worry that maybe this will scare Chloe. What if she’s not in the same frame of mind as Beca? What if she’s no where near ready? They don’t even officially live together yet, they’ve only had sex like 5 times (Beca would prefer for that number to be higher but her schedule has been unbearable, so 5 times is pretty good considering).

Maybe she should start dropping marriage into their conversations casually and see how Chloe reacts. That seems like a safe option before just popping the question.

************

Beca stares nervously over at Chloe, who is curled tightly into her side as they watch a movie. Chloe came over as soon as Beca got back from the studio that afternoon. She’s at Beca’s more than she’s at her own place but this is the first night Beca has had free for a while and she plans to use it wisely.

“Hey Chlo?” Beca tries not to let her voice waver, even though her nerves are running high.

“Yea?” Chloe turns to look back at her, her baby blues sparkling.

Beca swallows hard, “So how do you feel about marriage?”

Beca could kick herself, so much for being subtle.

“Oh, um well I would definitely like to be married someday, why?” Chloe looks a little thrown off at the question.

“I was just curious,” Beca says quickly.

“You know I do see it being you…I hope that doesn’t scare you,” Chloe’s cheeks turn a subtle shade of red.

Beca shakes her head no, “Of course not…I see it being you too ya know. You’re it for me Chlo.”

Chloe abruptly pulls Beca into her, smashing their lips together. She must have said the right thing. Chloe kisses her so passionately, yet so tenderly, it makes Beca’s head spin.

Beca finally pulls back, when the need to breathe overcomes her, “Would it freak you out if I said I see us married in the near future?”

“Beca Mitchell…is this your way of asking me to marry you?”

“Uh well this isn’t how I saw it happening but,” Beca fumbles around to come up with an answer that doesn’t give it all away.

“So you’ve thought about it?” Chloe raises a curious eyebrow.

“Yea,” Beca squeaks.

“How long have you been thinking about this?” Chloe asks softly, grabbing her hand.

It’s Beca’s turn to blush furiously, “For a couple weeks.”

Chloe places a soft kiss on her cheek, “If you ask…you know my answer is yes.”

This isn’t how Beca planned it. She wanted to do something big, grandiose, something that Chloe will remember forever. It was going to be a surprise, but something about right now, right here on this sofa seems right. This is the moment.

“Fuck it,” she whispers, standing up off the sofa.

Chloe looks at her quizzically, “Bec…what?”

“I’ll be right back,” Beca turns on her heels and runs up to stairs.

She grabs the little velvet ring box from her dresser drawer and races back downstairs. She’s a little out of breath by the time she’s standing in front of Chloe.

“I wanted to do something more special than this…believe me, but I can’t wait,” she pulls the box from behind her back so Chloe can see.

The red head gasps, her hand coming to cover her mouth. Beca kneels down in front of her girlfriend, her hands shake as she opens the lid.

“Chloe Marie Beale, will you be my wife?” Beca looks up at her hopefully, pulling the delicate diamond from the box.

“Yes,” Chloe chokes out, her eyes shimmering with tears, “of course I will.”

Beca grabs her hand and slides the ring onto her finger. She can’t help the wave of emotion that crashes over her at the sight of the diamond on Chloe’s hand. She feels a couple happy tears roll down her cheeks as Chloe pulls her up off the floor and right into her lap.

“Yes, I’ll be your wife,” Chloe whimpers before kissing Beca with everything she has.

************

No one is particularly surprised at Beca and Chloe’s recent engagement. According to their friends, families and the rest of the world, they have been dating for months. It only really knocks the wind out of Beca’s team, but ultimately, they understand.

“So Beca, tell me about this,” the morning TV talk show host points down at the diamond on her ring finger.

She came onto the show to promote her upcoming album, but she knew these questions would come.

She can’t help the way she starts to smile, thinking about Chloe and their upcoming wedding, “So, as you might have seen around the good ol’ internet, I proposed to my girlfriend Chloe 2 months ago.”

“Congratulations! Any idea when the wedding will be?” the hostess beams back at her.

Beca looks behind them, at the screen which is now displaying a picture of her and Chloe. She instantly recognizes the picture, Beca posted it on Instagram a few weeks ago. It’s a selfie of the two of them, Chloe is pressing a kiss to the brunette’s cheek, her hand resting on Beca’s shoulder, her engagement ring sparkling, clearly in view.

“We’re not sure yet, it was a quick engagement and we just want to take our time and enjoy what we have right now,” Beca finally manages to pull her gaze away from the picture of her and her finance.

“Well I think that’s great and I wish you and your fiancé all the best,” the host replies happily.

“Thank you,” Beca couldn’t erase the smile off her face even if she wanted to.

When Beca finally gets back to her hotel room that night, the first thing she does is pull out her phone to start a video chat with Chloe. She hates been across the country from her girlfriend, but she still has a job to do. New York is a little bit farther from California than she’d like though.

It only rings a few times before her phone screen shows her fiancé, smiling back at her.

“Beca!” Chloe squeals excitedly, “how was your day?”

Beca flops down on the bed, “Busy, tiring, but good.”

“I saw you on Good Morning America, you were great.”

“Oh my god, I did so many interviews today I almost forgot I was on that,” Beca chuckles tiredly.

Chloe looks at her sadly for a moment, “I miss you so much Bec.”

“I miss you too, two more days and I’ll be back,” it’s only been three days, but she misses Chloe so much it hurts.

“That’s too many days,” Chloe whines.

Beca stares back at Chloe longingly, they don’t talk for a couple minutes, just happy to be in each other’s presence, even if it’s through a screen.

“I want to get married before your tour starts,” Chloe says abruptly, breaking the comfortable silence.

Beca’s album drops in a week, and two months later she starts her world tour. It would be a lot to try and throw together a wedding before then but Beca is willing to try.

“Are you sure Chlo? That’s only like a couple months away,” Beca gently reminds her.

Chloe nods, “Yes. I want to be your wife and I don’t want to wait a year. We’re both going to get busy and I just don’t think I can wait that long.”

“I don’t want to wait forever either…but do you think we can pull it together that quickly?”

“I may have been working on some things already…especially with you being gone this week,” Chloe smirks, pulling a binder of paper into view, because of course she would.

Beca laughs, “You’re crazy…and I love it.”

“You better love it, because you’re stuck with this crazy.”

[a-spectacle-in-the-morning]

“Right in Front of You” -- Rafael Barba

Because I’m in the mood for some sweet stuff here’s a date with Barba that doesn’t go as anticipated, incredible street food, and Barba being the grumpy gentleman that he is.

Notes: This is a *sort of* follow up for this fic (not a necessary read for this one!) since people had very kind things to say about it despite all the grammar errors. Not that this is in any way free of grammar errors. Is this a weird jump in the relationship from the last one? Perhaps. Are you suddenly and inexplicably more sardonic in this one? Mhm. Did I give myself the time or have the energy amidst all my school work to fix these discrepancies? No, not really. In other words: apologies in advance.

--

It takes you a while to decide what to wear when you go out, and that decision is only worsened by the fact that your nights are usually unpredictable as a professional bar hopper. It’s a science, really. The block you start on, the weather, the friends you’re with; all factors. Tonight, however, you know exactly what to wear.  

Mostly because Barba sent you a very detailed itinerary for the evening. Dinner at a ridiculously expensive restaurant, Broadway show at six thirty, and home by ten. You both have work tomorrow and that means an early bedtime. After sorting through your pile of button-ups and dress pants there was really only one option.

It’s a gamble of an outfit and could easily be over the top, but it’s the most expensive thing you own. And if you’re being honest with yourself you’ve been hoping for an opportunity to wear it.  

Despite how incredible you look on the outside you’re a complete bundle of nerves on the inside. By the time Barba rings the doorbell to your apartment you feel like you’re going to throw up. Who takes a raincheck on drinks and turns it into dinner and a show? The kind of man that waits outside your building in a three-piece suit with flowers, apparently.  

“Hey,” you say, nodding your head towards his suit. “You look nice.”

“That was going to be my line,” he replies, standing a bit stiffly. He holds the flowers out for you to take.

“Thank you, sir.” You take the bouquet from him and press it up to your nose. “I’m a little afraid to ask how you knew that I like dahlias more than roses.”

Barba reaches up to scratch at the back of his neck as he says, “You just seem like a dahlia kind of person.”

“What? A little spiky but with beautiful and deep coloring?” you joke.

“Something like that,” he smiles and relaxes a bit.

“I’m gonna run these up and put them in a vase. Do we have enough time?”

“You’ve got five minutes,” he says, fiddling with his watch like he’s going to set a timer.

“I’ll be back in four,” you nearly yell over your shoulder as you rush back up to your building. “I ran cross country in high school!”

You’re back in seven and out of breath, but Rafael wasn’t really counting. He just grins when you return and the two of you begin the walk to the restaurant. When you get about a block away you start to worry.

“Is that a line for the place we’re going?”

“Probably, but I made a reservation weeks ago.”

So that’s why this date was so delayed.

When you get indoors Rafael goes up to the hostess and confidently says, “I have a reservation for two under Barba.”

The woman scrolls through her tablet and shakes her head. “Sorry, nothing under that name.”

Barba presses his brows together. “Oh, well, they should have been made around two weeks ago.”

She shakes her head again. “Sorry, sir. I don’t see anything here.”

He nods curtly and thanks her, turns, and leads you back outside by the small of your back. Once you’re on the sidewalk again he starts to rub at his right temple.

“I’m sorry. I thought I made the reservation. Damn it...”

He starts to mumble something about Carisi and intrusions so you grab both of his hands and squeeze.

“Don’t worry about it. It happens to everyone.”

When he nods his head but doesn’t respond you add, “That was nice of you not to badger the hostess. Harvard douchebags have a tendency to do that when things don’t go their way.”

He shakes his head at your quip. “I’ve worked plenty of part time jobs. I know not to be an asshole when someone doesn’t deserve it.”

“But you were an asshole to me the first time we met,” you shoot back.

“Exactly.”

“Hey! I was perfectly-”

“I know, I know. There's another place I’m thinking of, but it’s in the Bronx. We’ll have to take a cab.”

“Lead the way.”

In under half an hour you are once again following Barba’s lead as he swiftly presses through the streets. He walks like everyone you pass is trying to get in his way even though the foot traffic isn’t particularly bad tonight. The smell of garlic and spices suddenly overwhelms you and your stomach grumbles.

“I hope that smell is coming from wherever we’re going and I hope it’s close,” you whine a bit exaggeratedly.

He laughs. You’ve never heard Barba laugh enthusiastically. It’s kind of beautiful. “Right in front of you.” He points to a food cart across the street.  

La Kubanita, you read. There’s a short line, but nothing like the one from earlier.  

“How do you know about this place?” you ask, making some conversation as you wait.

“I grew up a few blocks from here. My mom would give me some money every once in a while and I would bring her back tamales.”

You give Barba a sideways glance. “I didn’t know you grew up in the Bronx.”

“Well, that’s because I didn’t tell you,” Barba says sardonically. “And nobody ever asks.”

“Rafa!”

Rafa?

“Dios mío,” Rafael mutters. “Cómo estás, Isabel?”

You look up a bit to the window of the truck to find an older woman absolutely beaming at Barba.

“Tú sabes que estoy bien. Quién es?” she asks, pointing in your direction. “Por fin conseguiste una cita?”

“Stop it Isa,” Rafael lightly scolds. “This is my coworker.”

“Alright,” she relents with a grin. “You want the usual?”

“Por favor,” Rafael responds.

You’re handed a couple take out boxes of warm food within minutes and you thank Isabel with a smile. You find a picnic table to sit at nearby and open the food to find three steaming hot and perfectly wrapped tamales.

As he opens his own box Barba says, “I’m not a huge fan of street food-”

“Shocking.”

Barba squints at you then continues, “But, I love this cart. I even brought some of their arroz con pollo home to my abuela once and she gave it her stamp of approval.”

“Alright, that is really high praise. I don’t think my grandma has approved of anything I have ever cooked or bought her. Or really anything I’ve ever done. You should have seen her face when I told her I wanted to work in law enforc-”

“We can unpack that later,” Barba interrupts, “but right now you’re going to stop thinking about your problems and try that tamale in front of you.”

You throw him a look, but pick up your fork and dig in. It is, undoubtedly, the best tamale you’ve ever had.  

“You win this round, Barba,” you concede between bites.

He looks up from his food. “I wasn’t aware this was a competition.”

“It’s always a game with you.”

“Is it?”

You pause, trying to decide if you want to maintain your nonchalance or admit something a little more personal. Fuck it.

“You’re tough to keep up with sometimes. Everything is in order. No nonsense. You’re effortlessly and brutally sarcastic- which is very sexy, by the way. Every conversation is a mini battle. I’m not saying that’s a bad thing. It’s just new. I’m not used to guys like you.”

You hold his gaze for a second longer, then busy yourself with unwrapping your second tamale.  

“Very sexy, hm?”

You snap your eyes back up to him to catch his shit-eating grin. “Really? That’s what you picked out of that?”

His smile somehow grows, and you can’t help the one spreading on your own face.  

“You should know after today that I don’t have it all put together,” he says, going back to his meal.

You gently kick one of his feet under the table. “Yeah, I finally have some proof that you’re human.”

“Aside from the fact that I’m fueled entirely by coffee like the rest of you?”

“Yes,” you nod in agreement. “Aside from the coffee.”

The two of you finish your meal while making casual conversation. When Rafael returns from throwing the garbage out he stops to look at his watch.

“It’ll take us about 30 minutes in this traffic to get back to Manhattan. We should probably head out. Are you ready to go?”

“Damn. I was just starting to get comfortable being totally, inappropriately overdressed. Maybe we should just skip the show.”

Barba rolls his eyes but holds out his arm for you to take. “I’ll leave you here if that’s what you want. I’m not missing Anastasia.”

You laugh, taking his arm and walking out towards the street to hail a taxi. As you wait you notice the sun is beginning to set and is casting the loveliest shade of yellow over everything. You catch Barba looking at you with an entirely contented expression and a slight smile ghosting his lips.  

That look alone is better than all the whiskey in the world.  

--

Here’s the thing folks, I haven’t written anything in Spanish in probably three or more years. I know there have got to be mistakes. I apologize. Blame my senior year Spanish teacher for making us watch soap operas more often than actually teaching us anything. And the name of the food cart is borrowed from a real Cuban food cart that I have never been to. I wasn’t creative enough to think of my own.  

Hopefully this was a decent follow up for “Woeful Wins and Whiskey”. I’m trying to get more confident with writing Barba. Trying being the key word. I’m always happy to read feedback, comments, and criticisms. And if anyone wants a third part let me know! I’m thinking more shenanigans with the SVU, maybe some struggles with defining the relationship..... 

[gustafsnightangel]

Shattered Lives Ch 11 Pt 2

He crawled back into bed and finally settled, watching the short video of them in bed before he left over and over again, that laugh, her smile, the way she looked at him.

“See you in my dreams love.” He whispered into the night.

He thought of their day today, the smiling faces, Sildie so happy as sleep took him under.

Sunday was a blur. He didn’t have time to think about calling Sildie let alone actually call her. By the time he fell through the door to his hotel room he just wanted to shower and pass out. He sent her a quick text on the car ride to the hotel saying exactly that. Her quick text back was one of understanding and a picture of the kids on the couch making faces at him. He was beat to hell but it made him smile.

Tomorrow was a travel day so there would be some time off to at least take a damn breath. Press junkets were brutal and that was his life for the next five weeks. Travel, interviews, sleep, rinse repeat. At least he had Daisy to keep his mind in work mode.

He’d slept like the dead and felt better for it. Standing in a towel he smiled at the incoming text from Sildie that simply said “text me when you land”. There could be no doubt the woman loved him and he needed to stop trying to find it. He needed to stop doubting her feelings for him and stop doubting himself. The photo with the text must have been taken this morning which showed the kids ready for school and Sildie in a suit all lawyered up for court.

“Damn woman you make me so fucking hard.” He muttered as his cock twitched.

He smirked and took a quick photo of himself in the postage stamp sized towel wrapped at his hips, still dripping wet from his shower and sent it to her.

Now that’s just playing dirty.

Her text read.

He smiled while he dressed, texting her back.

You started it when you lawyered up. You know what that does to me.

Yes I do

She giggled as she stepped into court.

He sat for meditation, feeling the calm wash over him he let all the anxiety from the past week bubble up and release. It would take more to release the pain from Ana but he had five weeks to work that out of his system. He was determined to get rid of it before setting foot back into Sildies life. The exercise session he had planned for this afternoon would deal with that side of things. He had to get his anger and emotions under control again.

Seated on the plane next to Daisy he pulled out his notebook and started to write. An old habit that had helped him through some of the worst times in his life. It was mainly mindless crap that buzzed around his head, he needed to get all these thoughts out so he could process them. Writing made it easier, it also made the time go quicker. Keeping the mind as well as the body busy was key.

Daisy and Gustaf went straight from the airport to the interviews as the schedule was tight. He only had time in the car to text Sildie to say he’d landed. There was no answer as she was more than likely still in court. It was one of those times where their schedules wouldn’t align.

It was the usual whirlwind of questions regarding the show, fans outside screaming, cameras in his face. He was used to it and it didn’t take long for his mind to focus on what he was here to do.

He was tired when he finally stepped through the hotel room door. Normal tired which was better than the emotional exhaustion he’d felt over the last few days. He casually dumped his bag on the bed and stopped dead. On the small table was a single yellow gerbera and three daisies in a slim vase. His mouth twitched into a full on grin. She’d sent him flowers, it had to be her.

He moved to the table and ran a fingertip seductively under a petal of the gerbera as if it were her chin. His heart lurched, she was trying to cheer him up and all the emotions he felt for her got stuck in his throat. His gaze fell on the envelope propped up against the vase, her own elegant handwriting calling to him. He looked around the room expecting to find her standing there.

“Don’t be a dumbass.” He chuckled, smiling. “She’s not here you fool.”

He pulled the tiny card out of the envelope and it simply read

I miss your kiss.

“You undo me love.” He whispered, his emotions choking him.

Never had anyone sent him such a gift, it floored him. Something so simple yet so thoughtful.

He looked at the time back home and realized she’d still be at work. He texted her a photo of the flowers with an “I miss yours too”, and he did, he missed kissing her. Missed everything about her, about the kids. He took out his wallet and placed the note in the back sleeve. He needed to keep it close, keep her close.

The week went by in a flash. He’d barely had a moment where he could text Sildie let alone skype with her. Even the weekend consumed him and before he knew it four Fridays had come and gone and he’d not Skyped her or the kids once. So much for his plan, their schedules didn’t jive, and their careers were determined to keep them apart.

Texting her and sharing photos was one thing but he’d promised her and the kids he’d call and he hadn’t. Four weeks, four different cities, four sets of flowers and cards waiting for him and he hadn’t done shit for her apart from a few texts and photos here and there. He’d done nothing for the kids and that weighed on him heavily, he felt like shit, like he’d let them down or didn’t care which wasn’t the case.

“Fuck!” He scrubbed his hand over his face as he stared at the fifth card after just landing and entering his hotel room.

I miss your voice love.

It was late and he knew she was probably asleep but he opened his laptop anyway and hit dial. He toyed with all five cards she’d sent him.

I miss your kiss.

I miss your touch.

I miss your smile.

I miss your voice.

I miss your arms around me.

“Don’t tell me I’ve fucking blown it.” He muttered quietly as the line kept ringing. “You idiot, you fucking idiot.” He spat at himself, that uncontrollable rage sparking within him.

After a long moment her face appeared on the screen. He’d woken her up, he could see that clearly. The barely awake look, the dark circles under her eyes telling him she hadn’t been sleeping well, and her robe hastily pulled on.

“Hey.” She smiled a tired smile and yawned.

“I woke you up I’m sorry love. I’m so sorry, I got caught up, it’s been madness and it’s no excuse I should have called you sooner.” He was so angry at himself.

“It’s ok, I’ve seen your schedule, it’s a wonder you have time to breathe. Are you ok?”

Her voice held no anger, just concern, she knew his schedule and be damned if she was going to be the needy whiny bitch that made him feel bad for doing his job. That wasn’t who she was and she wouldn’t become it now just because she was lonely without him. A guilt trip was the last thing he needed.

“I’m better now seeing you, hearing your voice.” He smiled and her face lit up. “Thank you for the notes, it was sweet of you.” His smile made her face light up. “I see you and Daisy have hit it off well.” He chuckled knowing full well it was her that had set it up on his end of things.

“Don’t be mad at her, she’s been a great partner in crime and shenaniganry.” Her giggle made his heart swell.

“Partner in crime huh? What else do you have planned?”

“You’ll have to wait and see.” She paused and studied him for a moment. He looked tired but he was more relaxed now the anger at himself had dissipated, maybe it was her that made him anxious, was he better off without her she wondered? Not a thought she wanted to dwell on or even entertain.

“I’m sorry I haven’t called for our Friday tea dates I know we had planned to do that too.” His fingers itched to graze against her cleavage that was barely covered. She hadn’t noticed but he sure had.

“Gustaf it’s fine. I’ve been balls to the wall with this case and nose deep in reading, I’ve barely had time for the kids myself. Life happens, we’re making it work in our own way.” She wanted to reach through the screen and touch him, hold him, reassure him. “Our schedules just don’t line up love.”

“I just...” He blew a breath out. “I just thought I’d fucked this up, us up, you know?” His voice choked.

“Look at me.” She murmured. “You haven’t fucked anything up.”

“But the kids.” He blurted out, he felt like shit for that alone. “I promised I’d call.”

“The kids are fine. They love the photos you send of all the different places you’re visiting and I explained to them the time difference and your schedule. They get it, we get it, and we’re not going anywhere.” She smiled at him and saw the relief.

“They’re looking forward to seeing you when you get back. It’s all they talk about most days. The twins are marking it off on a calendar.” Her laugh lightened the burning guilt he felt. “They’re looking forward to double birthday pancakes by the way, I hope you have time Wednesday to come around in the morning.”

“I’ll make time for birthday pancakes, it is Lilys birthday as well after all.” He studied her and saw the grief just below the surface.

“I know it’s going to be a tough week for all of you that week so on Friday I’d like to take everyone out for some fun.” He said and watched her closely. He didn’t want to step over a line. “The kids have the day from school right?”

“I think that’s brilliant. We’ll all need a little fun by then.” She had no clue how she was going to handle it. She had a sort of plan but to be honest with herself she was winging it. “And yes they’re home Wednesday through Friday.”

“Have the kids been skiing or sledding?” He asked and started to make notes.

“They used to I think. I can ask? A fun day in the snow?” She asked, that beautiful smile beaming back at him.

“Snow, fun, ice cream, hot chocolate, maybe a snowman or four.” And a snowball fight he thought, the boys would be down for that.

“Sounds perfect.”

“No, perfect would be you, me and a cozy fire where I could make love to you all night.” He said in that low tone she loved.

“You’re right that does sound pretty perfect.” She yawned.

“Damn I miss you Sildie.” He said softly and looked at her.

“I miss you too. There’s an ache in my chest that won’t go away when you’re not here.” That ache had lodged itself in there as she watched him drive away from the hockey rink.

“Then I’ll have to make it go away when I get back, as long as you make mine go away too, ok? I feel it too love and it’s killing me.” He murmured.

“I think I can manage that. One week left right?” She asked gently.

“Yes, thank fuck. I’m ready for it to be done and back with you and the kids. At least it’s closer to home and only a two hour flight to get back.”

“Back Monday still?” She had her fingers crossed as this was all tied into her plan for his first night back.

“Monday yes.” He knew she was up to something and was looking forward to seeing what she had planned.

“You should go back to bed love.” He murmured as she stifled a yawn. “I’m sorry I woke you out of my fucking mind.”

“You can wake me anytime love.” Her smile sincere.

“Go and sleep.”

“Don’t want to.” She snorted. “The only thing I have to do tomorrow is read and get the kids out of the apartment for a few hours so they don’t drive me stir crazy. I might take them to the park for a bit they like it down there.”

“Go and sleep love. I’ll try and call tomorrow.” He urged. “I don’t like seeing you so tired.”

“I’ll be ok but yes I need to go and sleep even though I want to stay up and stare at your handsome face a little longer.” His grin was wide and shy.

“And I’ve embarrassed you.” She chuckled.

“You’re beautiful Sildie.”

“Only to you love.”

“Goodnight.”

“Night, go sleep.” He disconnected the call and blew out a breath.

He stared at the gerbera and toyed with the cards some more. He’d make it up to them, even though she was ok with it deep down he wasn’t, he still felt he’d let them down. He slipped her cards back into his wallet where they lived and opened his laptop. He sent flowers to Sildie and a few smaller things to the kids. They would get them before he planned on calling them tomorrow. He knew gifts didn’t make it better but it was all he could do right now.

Even though it was late he headed to the gym and worked the bag. He felt as if he’d made progress these past few weeks dealing with his Ana issues but knew it was going to take more work when he got home. He’d been lax in that department since meeting Sildie and he couldn’t let it get to that point of losing control again.

Her grief was one thing but his baggage with Ana was another, and he had to fucking deal with it to move on with Sildie. At least he’d reigned in the anger and anxiety and got it under control. He’d need that going home and into a week of grief. He came back to his room and showered feeling much more relaxed and found sleep took him easily.

He called the kids on Sunday morning as one of his interviews had been rescheduled for Tuesday. He got to hear about everything they’d been up to, lots of laughs and smiles. He apologized for not calling and it seemed to be a non issue. As Sildie had said, they got it, they understood. Toys and flowers had arrived as planned and it made his day brighter seeing them happy.

He came back to the hotel Monday evening irritated. Ridiculous questions about sibling rivalry, it was getting old. He knew he’d been short with the reporter but when you’ve been asked the same fucking question for years the response of just google it had become his new standard answer.

He sat at the table and after taking his shoes off he noticed a new, larger card resting against the vase. A smile tugged at his lips. He’d have to give Daisy a bonus for this.

He carefully pulled the card from the envelope and groaned. It wasn’t just a card it was a 3x4 black and white postcard of Sildie. But not just any old portrait, no that would have been nice, sweet perhaps, this was fucking gorgeous and erotically wicked.

It was a boudoir shot of her sprawled on a bed, face down, legs bent up at the knees, the black lace crop top and g string a stark contrast against her skin. All her curves on display, the swell of her ass, those long legs sheathed in thigh high stockings and heels crossed at the ankles, arms out in front of her, hands fisted in the sheets. Her face tilted to one side toward the camera, eyes looking soulfully down the lens, that halo of copper artistically sprawled, lips slightly parted. His hands ached as he flexed his fingers, he knew the feel of those curves, the touch of her skin, he would sell his soul to the lowest bidder to touch her right now.

He’d need a cold shower in a moment or take care of business himself he was so hard for her. It was one thing to look at a boudoir shot of a woman, it was another to look at that shot when you knew what it felt like to be inside her, hearing her come, feeling her body against yours.

“And that’s just how I’m going to fuck you when I get home kitten.” He murmured, all his previous irritation of the day gone in a heartbeat.

He knew she was busy with work and kids so a text would have to be enough.

That’s not playing fair love.

She grinned as she heard his text tone. He would have seen the photo no doubt. She giggled as she read it.

“Wait until you get a load of Sunday’s photo.” She murmured.

Who said anything about playing fair? I think you started it by texting me a picture of you in a very skimpy hotel towel.

He laughed. “Well now, game on I guess.”

You might get more than you bargained for. And for the record, you started it by texting me a picture of you all lawyered up. You know what that does to me.

“So might you love.” Her smile was playful.

I sure hope so and I was going to work. Not my fault you have dirty thoughts when you see me like that.

“Be careful what you wish for.” He grinned.

Will you be wearing pictured outfit Monday?

She nibbled her bottom lip and smiled.

Perhaps.

“Such a tease.” He muttered and the grin widened.

You’re such a tease.

She had to pause for a moment to go and change Lily and get the kids to bed. This conversation was making her horny and she’d have to satisfy herself tonight if it kept going.

He stripped and made himself a tea while he waited for her to reply. It was around the kids bedtime so he knew she had shit to get done. With tea made he sat naked on the one seat staring at the photo with a raging hard on.

“Oh you love it.” She giggled.

And you love it.

“I love you sweet lady, so very much.” He smiled.

Shall I tell you what that photo makes me want to do to you?

She bit her bottom lip and groaned as the words appeared on her screen.

It makes me want to straddle those long legs and have my hard cock brush your thighs, rest there taunting you. To kiss a trail up your spine and bite that one spot on your neck that makes you tremble for me. It makes me want to pull that pair of panties aside and stroke my finger along your pussy to feel how wet you are for me. To part your legs slightly so I can plunge into you, feel you tight around me. It makes me want to fist my fingers in your hair and fuck you hard. To make you come again and again until you’re screaming my name.

“God.” She choked out, that was so fucking hot she found herself breathing hard and her pussy aching for him to touch it, take her over the edge. What made it hotter was she knew he’d growl it in that low timbre that made her pussy quiver.

Now who’s teasing.

“I haven’t even started yet.” He chuckled. “But I’m about to see that you’re satisfied tonight love.”

I’m only just getting started. Are you alone?

Yes

Kids asleep?

Yes

What are you wearing?

I’m lawyered up as you would say.

Even better. Do you know why that makes me so hard?

No.

Because I know what’s under it. Your body bound in black lace. It’s a fucking turn on.

She could only imagine the smirk on his face, that mischievous glint in his eyes.

Close the hall door.

It’s closed.

Good, now do exactly what I tell you to do.

He grinned as he typed.

Sit down on the couch.

I’m sitting.

Undo the top three buttons of that see through blouse I know you’re teasing me with. Brush a finger over a nipple and pinch it through the black lace. I long to feel your breasts in my hands again, suck that nipple into my mouth. Unzip those suit pants I know you have on and spread your legs wide love, just as if you were straddling me. Slip a hand down between skin and lace and dip a finger in to feel how wet you are for me. Stroke that finger over your pussy and let it sink inside you. Let your other hand find its way to your panties, let a finger circle your clit as a second finger joins the first in your pussy. Find that rhythm that makes you tremble, makes you quiver for me.

He pictured her there on her couch bringing herself to orgasm. Shirt half undone, hands busy between those thighs where he should be. He stroked his cock keeping himself hard. He would find his own release in a moment.

Slip another finger inside, feel it stretch you. Thrust them deep as you circle your clit feeling that pleasure ripple thought you. Let your hips buck and grind, I ache to grip your hips and fuck you hard. Come for me love, come for me hard.

She closed her eyes and remembered the feel of him, the smell of him, that clever mouth as it destroyed her. Remembered his cock pounding into her, the way it stretched her. With a soft cry of his name she came hard. Six weeks was way too long to be away from him.

She sat there and got her breath back keeping an ear out for the kids, nothing as usual.

You’re evil.

His laugh echoed around the hotel room.

Ahh but are you satisfied?

If you meant did I come yes, satisfied, no, because you’re not here touching me.

Well we have to make do with the situation presented to us.

I hate to do this but I have to get my reading done before bed.

Go read, go work, because when I’m finally home Monday and we’re alone, I’m going to ravage you until you can’t walk.

And that was the truth. He wanted that Monday with her, only her.

Tease.

“Oh kitten I’m not teasing. It’s a promise.” He grinned.

Goodnight love, and I’m not teasing.

Goodnight, I’ll have to return the favor tomorrow.

Your photo is enough, or it will be here shortly. You’re beautiful Sildie.

Only to you.

He needed release after that. Turning the shower on he stepped under the hot spray. Leaning a forearm against the cold tile he gripped his erection and pumped his hand up and down his shaft. Between the photo and their texted conversation he was ready to find release quickly.

His thoughts drifted to the feel of her, the way she gave her body to him to pleasure, to find his own. With a few loose grunts and a long groan he came hard.

Tuesday he came back to the hotel later than he wanted, but dinner with certain people had to be observed. There was no getting out of it. When he walked through the door he was tired.

He smiled at the simple note propped up against the vase.

Five more days to go.

They’d gone from five weeks to five days, home stretch.

“It can’t go fast enough.” He muttered and he texted her the same message.

He was at his hotel room late again Wednesday. He changed as soon as he got in the door and went down to go a round or two with the bag. He was preparing himself for next week and the emotional stability he needed to find to be in full control.

He showered and scrubbed the day off before making tea and setting it on the table beside another note and a small package. He smiled, Sildie had gone to great lengths to orchestrate this little seduction.

I miss your body next to mine.

He opened the tiny package and laughed, his grin wide at the black lace g string inside with its own note.

These are from after you rocked my world from afar Monday night.

“Oh love you are too much.” And he felt his cock twitch.

It was too late to call or text her now, but his dreams would be filled with the vision of her pleasuring herself on the couch.

Thursday he came back to another photo, equally as breathtaking. She was in a black lace teddy, thigh high stockings, and heels. That alone got him hard. She was laying on the bed, those beautiful long legs stretched up the headboard, crossed at the ankles, arms above her head, hair tumbled around her.

The camera angle was everything, shot as if he was looking at those legs from the top of her head. Straight down her body, over cleavage, over her slightly arched torso, the dip to where the teddy sat, and those legs, they stretched all the way up. He’d always loved those legs.

“You’re giving me all sorts of ideas on how I’m going to take you love.” He said quietly, letting his eyes feast on her figure.

He sat there with his tea and let his mind wander before letting sleep call him to bed. A few more days and he’d hold her again.

Friday was a difficult day, his schedule crammed because of what he had put off for the hockey game. It was a necessary evil, but he’d missed their tea date. He collapsed into the single seat in his hotel room at around midnight and let out a single chuckle. He smiled as he opened her note.

Two more days love.

“Yes indeed.” He breathed.

Saturday was a later start so he phoned the kids. They were there with Alice which meant Sildie was out. He felt a little deflated at missing her.

“Ama had to head into work for a while so she could get things ready for next week.” Brendan said filling him in.

“That makes a lot of sense. You guys doing ok?” He asked trying to get a feel on what he’d be walking into.

“We’re doing ok. We get Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday with Ama next week so it’ll be good.” Brendan was trying to be strong, he could see it.

“I’ll be home Monday Brendan, you guys aren’t alone ok?” He watched the kid carefully. “Sildie won’t be alone this time.”

He nodded and smiled a slight smile. “Thanks.”

“Anytime, that’s what I’m here for.”

“She needs someone like you.” Brendan said and Gustaf nearly choked. Was the kid saying what he thought he was saying?

“I need someone like her. I’ll see you Monday ok?” He said softly. “It’ll be ok B.”

“I know.” The kid smiled but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

They were already hurting.

He came back to the hotel Saturday to another note, he couldn’t deny it, he’d hoped for one this time.

One more day to get through love. I can’t wait to kiss you.

He texted and hoped it didn’t wake her.

I can’t wait to kiss you either.

There was no answer by the time he’d showered and settled into some meditation. He hoped that her working today would give her a little more downtime mentally next week. He thought about what Brendan said.

Was he telling him that the kids were ok with him dating Sildie? Being in their lives? His eyes snapped open.

“Well now, there’s a revelation.” He murmured.

Had she already talked with them about the whole staying overnight, dating, being in their lives thing? That was a question for Monday when they were face to face, but fuck he hoped so.

He plowed through the long schedule for Sunday and at around seven he almost fell through the door with relief. It was done. He could go home tomorrow morning and finally hold the love of his life. He’d survived, with a little help, and he was grateful to her for it.

He went to the gym for a long workout session and made tea after his shower. Sitting at the table there was a new note and he grinned. Another photo by the size of it.

He opened it and nearly stopped breathing. His lean, curvy woman in a black lace corset, g string, suspenders, thigh high stockings and heels, but this pose was one of her crawling on hands and knees toward the camera, like a large jungle cat stalking its tasty prey. He could see her looking at him like that as she was about to suck his cock.

He stared into those soulful but erotic eyes and had to contain his sudden excessive need to find release, he would save that for her tomorrow.

“You push me too far love.” He growled, her bottom lip was captured seductively between her teeth, that sinful smirk tugging the corners of her mouth.

Sildie was sitting at her desk at work when his text came in. Her giggle too much to contain.

One day love.

So you keep saying.

She bit that bottom lip as she waited for his response. She had no doubt he’d claim her tomorrow when he got home, but she wanted him to feel wanted, desired, needed. Because she needed him in her life.

I do, because you’re not ready for me to punish you like I want to when you torment your bottom lip like that at me.

Punish me how?

She knew she was pushing her luck.

You’ll find out one day love. Are you at work?

Yes

I’ll leave you to it then. I’ll see you tomorrow and get some sleep, you’re going to need it.

“My little sex kitten.” He added vocally.

Yes you will.

He woke at 3 am after a good four hour nap and packed his bag. He’d catch another nap on the flight home and maybe one while he waited for Sildie to drop the kids at school and day care. He would have time enough to change the sheets on his bed and freshen up before he had his way with her.

“Thanks Daisy, for the notes from Sildie. It meant a lot.” He said as they taxied on the runway.

“She seems like a wonderful girl and we had fun. She just wanted to see you smile, so did I.” Her smile was genuine as she closed her laptop for takeoff.

“She’s good for you Gustaf. She cares a great deal about you.”

“And I her.” He flipped his notebook open.

“It shows, you’d move the world for her I know, but she’d move the universe for you. Don’t forget that, and whatever you do don’t let her go.”

“Don’t intend to.”

“Smartest decision you’ve ever made. Apart from hiring me.” She laughed.

He fell into a car and couldn’t wish it to go faster if he tried. It was around eight when he finally walked over his threshold and closed the door to the outside world. He fished her g string out of his pocket and hung it in its rightful place with a smirk. It had been his touchstone for the entire trip.

[foxtophat]

hey i said i was gonna get this up today!!!!

so with this chapter's conclusion i can safely say that i've officially written everything that i set out to write with mercy!  this chapter was literally a skeleton that shaped eighty percent of the entire story, so i'm glad i could finally flesh it out and put it out there!!

there's still one more chapter to go, which will be more or less an epilogue for the main story. after that, i think i'll try to get a couple of other fandom fics going (ones that are ACTUALLY nearly done, not half-ass done like mercy was when i decided to start posting lmao) and then i can set up a schedule to write some more for this universe

anyway, for now i just want you to read and enjoy.  this chapter is all about john's ptsd, and it made me sad, so i hope it makes you sad too heheh

as usual, any likes, comments, reblogs, kudos, casual mentions in meatspace or idle daydreaming about different ways this chapter could go are ALL super welcome and adored. i love you guys, you've been so kind to me <3 i hope you enjoy this chapter!!!

the usual: below the cut is the full chapter text if you don't wanna go to ao3, but you should, ao3 is way easier to read on

Things around the Rye homestead have been pretty good as of late. Eight, nine months ago, Nick never would have expected to see the living room floor again, much less finish even half of the tedious repair work that he's managed to check off his list. The planters are already sprouting with what's going to be an early summer harvest, Carmina's hen-house is ready to go, and they've already bartered off some scrap for moonshine and extra ammunition for Carmina's blooming sharpshooter hobby. The house itself only creaks and groans in heavy winds, and a few additional supports outside have secured the second floor from crashing down in the middle of the night. For an old, blown-out house that's been through nuclear winter, the place is coming back together pretty well. Hell, another couple of years and they might be able to reconnect the septic system, and then they'd really be cooking.

Other people have noticed their good luck, too. Mostly friends, like Grace and Jerome, but the word's spread a bit now about the Rye's generosity, and they've gotten a few good trades out of it, although a lot of them are I-O-U's that maybe won't come to fruition. That's fine by Nick — they don't need the old fencing or the scrap plywood, and there are still two mostly-buried garages out back that could be broken down for some really prime salvage. If people want to give him free use of their future smokehouses or promise to help him find more gas for his truck, then that's more than enough payment. Anyway, that's what Nick tells people when they don't have anything to offer — it isn't like he's going to turn somebody away when they need help.

Of course, not all of their generosity is appreciated equally. John being around doesn't sit well with many of the people who come by, although it's never enough to deter them from doing business with Kim or Nick. There aren't many confrontations, even when John helps Nick load wood into a truck or remains lingering in plain view, although somebody usually has something to say about it. Unless they get really vulgar or violent, Nick usually lets them blow off steam in his and John's direction, and he doesn't take it personally when somebody takes a cheap shot at him for being such a soft-hearted bastard.

Their vitriol usually ends after a few minutes. Most of the time, John can handle it by himself, apologizing genuinely to each person who tries to curse him out. Nick hasn't heard the same regret twice, and even if John doesn't recognize every hateful face, he seems to remember his part in their trauma. It might not be what they want to hear, but John's serious, specific remorse usually puts the fire out of their fight. So far, there's only been two instances where Nick had to call Jerome out to mediate, and neither time resulted in anyone getting shot or knocked out. Sure, John might come out of an altercation with a couple of bruises, but that's usually it.

It stands to reason that something was bound to go wrong at some point. Nick's prepared for all sorts of catastrophes; he's got contingency plans for flooding, wild animals, and even ornery neighbors upset that he let John off so easy. There are a million little things that could go wrong out here, and Nick can only do so much to prepare for every eventuality, but he thinks he's got a pretty good handle on it.

That is, until the radio breaks. It's one thing that Nick hadn't even considered a possibility — they'd left the thing in its box until the apocalypse, and until they left the bunker, it'd barely seen any use at all. And yet, one day Nick tries to confirm a trade and the radio fails to catch anything more than static.

Cheap goddamn made-in-China crap, that's what it is, and that's what Nick tells everyone within earshot as he fiddles uselessly with the knobs. When he turns the radio around to get a look at the connectors, he ignores the stamped metal that reads "MADE IN GERMANY" in favor of hunting down the problem — but that's going to involve unscrewing the back and, well, Nick isn't exactly an electrician. He's not sure the best option here is to dig into the guts of his only radio willy-nilly like. He could go get the user's manual, but it's in a pile of boxes down in the bunker, and Nick really doesn't want to go rooting through trash for it.

Heaving a frustrated sigh that takes all the fight out of him, Nick grabs the flashlight and goes out back to let Kim know what's up. She and John are working in the garden, which used to be something John would avoid at all costs. Now, he doesn't even seem phased to be working in the dirt, barely acknowledging Nick's irritated venting about the broken radio as he pulls weeds. It's only when Nick mentions going into the bunker that he seems to take notice; he tries to be subtle about it, but Nick doesn't miss his head swiveling to stare briefly.

Of course, Nick is so used to John's cagey weirdness about bunkers that he barely notices, too busy

Kim looks sympathetic, but she doesn't sound it as she reminds him, "Nick, complaining to his ever-patient wife. "I'm just gonna grab the manual, maybe see if there were any spare parts in the box we missed. It's not like the thing gets used enough to break!" the radio is ten years old. Even expensive equipment can't last forever."

"If I don't get to sit down and give up whenever I want, then neither does the radio. It's not like we got any choice , here. If we don't have a working radio, we're going to have a bitch of a time reconnecting with everybody. And we've actually started to build something, you know?"

"At least you'll have a diagram to work with, I guess." Kim sighs. "John, have you... do you know where our bunker is?"

John smiles wryly. "I do," he replies.

"Oh, right," Nick sighs. "You probably know where everything is on the property, huh."

"Knew," John points out. "But yes, that was my job. I was as thorough as I could be." He chews his lip, standing after a thoughtful second. "I know where a lot of bunkers are. If you can't repair the radio... We could look for another one."

"Okay, of course you do." Nick waves for John to follow him, which he does, keeping pace as they head away from the wash, towards the opposite side of the hangar from their normal route. "What makes you think I wanna take a radio from somebody else ?"

"Not many of the structures put together out here were by any means safe ." John probably shouldn't sound so blase about it, but the guy's got a point. Doubly so when he continues, "I was suggesting we take one from someone who won't be needing it anymore."

Nick clicks his tongue against his teeth. "Well, it's something to think about," he agrees reluctantly. It sounds a lot like grave-robbing to him, but John's right. It's the smartest option, and somebody's going to have to do it eventually. It might be better for everyone if it's them, and not some opportunistic drifter who won't put the resources back into the community.

That's a problem for another day. Right now, Nick leads John around thick tumbleweeds that have gotten caught in the long grass, bringing them up just short of the bunker door. Covered with about two years' worth of dirt but not yet overgrown, the white hatch is only a marginal pain in the ass to pry out of the ground. John waits for Nick to ask for help, only to realize that isn't happening anytime soon, and wordlessly assists in coaxing the rusted hinges to work.

The bunker is dark and smells like a root cellar. Nick sure hopes nothing important molded. They'll have to get down here and clean up soon, before the mildew takes hold and ruins everything.

"Okay," he says, "You just wait here and make sure that thing doesn't close on me."

Nick half-expects some kind of joke about locking him inside, but John only nods obediently, standing a few feet from the opening with his arms folded across his chest. Nick rolls his eyes but does his best to ignore John's unease as he descends into the bunker.

He decides against testing the power — even if the generator down here still has some juice in it, they haven't operated anything in a while and Nick does not want to be engulfed in flames right now. Instead, he clicks on the flashlight and wanders through the narrow space. He doesn't linger on the drawings Carmina left on the wall or the unmade cots, passing by a pile of laundry that'll never get done and heading to the small utility closet in the back.

He finds the box intact, one corner suffering water damage from what looks like a cup of water that nobody ever picked up. Deciding against rooting around for anything else that might be useful, he takes the whole box back out to the ladder, chucking it up out of the hole once he's tackled the lower rungs.

John is trying hard not to show his nerves as Nick pops back up, shoving his hands into his pockets before changing his mind and folding them again over his chest. Bunkers are a tender spot for him, and Nick knows it, so for now he decides not to make a big deal about it. John's too fragile for Nick to be teasing him, even if he refuses to admit it himself.

Pulling the box apart, Nick scavenges the manual and a couple of accessories that he hadn't needed a decade ago and probably doesn't need now. The cardboard is mostly good, so Nick breaks down the box, chucking the useless packaging back into the bunker before foisting the supplies onto John.

Nick gets up and shoves the bunker door until it falls shut on its own weight. "Well, now I gotta spend the rest of my day reading that crap," he says, gesturing to the chunky owner's manual.

"Give it to Carmina," John suggests, "She's desperate for new reading material."

"And give her the chance to become more technologically savvy than me? I'll pass."

Nick spends the next few hours troubleshooting his way through the manual, vengefully ignoring the support hotline numbers plastered on every other page. Even if the service center hadn't been annihilated in a nuclear apocalypse, fat chance Nick would ever lower himself to call.

By dinnertime, Nick is frustrated but satisfied that he knows where the trouble area is. One of two pieces has given out, both designed to be replaced occasionally. On one hand, that's a good thing — it's supposed to be done by novices, which means the manual is painfully clear on the method. On the other hand, there are only going to be so many matching radios out there, and who knows how many will have the same issue?

"It'll be okay," Kim reassures him that night. "Plenty of people get by without a radio, you know."

"That doesn't mean I wanna be one of them," Nick grouses, turning to pin his hopes selfishly on John. "You said there were bunkers around, right? And maybe one of them has a radio we can use?"

"I didn't promise anything," John clarifies, "But that would be my suspicion."

"Maybe it'd be worth it to look. Who knows, we could get lucky."

Kim doesn't look sure about Nick's optimism, but he ignores her skepticism. If nothing else, it'll be good to use John's old cult knowledge to benefit them for once, and that alone puts Nick firmly in the "in favor" group. Even if it turns out to be a waste of time — well, at least they'll have tried everything. For now, Nick can let Kim think up a contingency plan for a no-radio life — Nick is going to rest all of his hopes firmly on the repair plan and hope that it works out.

Nick wakes up last the next morning, sleeping in an extra half-hour or so before finally peeling his eyelids apart to face the sun. Even as he gets dressed, he feels groggy and slow, dragged down by a long night of forgotten stress dreams. His brain probably spent all night running through every possible outcome of bunker-hunting with John — not that it does any good now, when Nick can't remember any of it.

He isn't the only one who looks like they could use more sleep. Carmina is yawning over her breakfast, eating like a sloth as she processes being awake. The bags under Kim's eyes are darker than normal, too, but she's bright-eyed and dressed for the day.

John is the only one who looks like he's coping with the morning at all, but that's probably because he's been up for a while now. Ever since he's been given free rein, John's sleep schedule has put him as the last one to sleep and the first one to wake. Nick doesn't mind too much, though, since he usually brews up some coffee right before anyone else comes down. He's been arguing with Kim for the last few mornings about going by himself to pull water from the river for the house, but Kim is holding tight to her buddy-system, and John isn't going to convince her to give it up that easily.

From the way Kim looks at Nick as he descends the stairs, they might be arguing about it already today. "What?" Nick asks, "What'd I do?"

"It's not you," Kim says. She gestures across the table at John, who looks like he's been waiting for Nick to come to his defense. "Maybe you can talk some sense into him."

"The radio is the same make as mine," John tells Nick, clearly expecting Nick to understand what he's talking about. Fat chance there, though, because Nick has no idea what he means. "It might not be the same model, but it's worth a try."

"Uh... which radio are you talking about, exactly?"

John tries hard to not look like he's suffering at the hands of fools. He fails, but at least he directs his exasperated look towards the ceiling at the last moment. "In my bunker," he explains slowly. "I had a radio of the same make."

"You said yourself it broke," Kim points out, clearly repeating an argument from before Nick's arrival.

"All the more reason to not worry about scrapping it," John replies. "The bunker is closer than any other structure, and it's guaranteed to be there. That is as much of a blessing as you'll get these days."

Nick wonders at first why Kim is so dead-set against going back to John's bunker. Sure, the guy refuses to talk about it, and sure, bunkers in general seem to fill him with unshakable anxiety, but it's still just a bunker. A bunker with a radio that could save their asses, where they won't be stealing from someone who might need it just as much. And hell, John doesn't even have to go inside!

Kim sighs and says gently, "I just don't know if it's... the greatest idea." She looks sideways at Nick, who knows from experience that she's holding back her opinion for John's benefit. She probably doesn't want to be the one telling him he's too fragile to handle it.

"I'm not asking for your permission," John says. "If neither of you want to come with me, I'll go by myself."

"Oh, come on," Kim huffs, "Not this again —"

"If I want to go somewhere, I have the right to do so," John exclaims. "We've established that I'm not a prisoner, and I certainly am not a child."

Carmina huffs loudly, but John pointedly ignores her.

"Okay, okay," Nick says, holding out his hands in a poor attempt to placate all parties. "Look, if you're really dead-set on this, and you really think that the radio's gonna help, well..." He sighs. "Then maybe it's worth going to check out."

Kim looks mildly offended that he's taking John's side, but Nick knows how to reassure her, at least a little. "But there are some ground rules," he says. "You can come with me, but I call the shots. No acting like you know better than me, or deciding to run off and forcing me to follow you. You get it?"

"Of course," John says.

"I mean it. If I decide it's not worth it when we get there, you're gonna have to respect that. I mean, there could be snakes living in there now. I don't even remember if I closed the hatch, it could be flooded from the rain earlier this year."

John nods, so quickly that Nick wonders if he's really listening. "Yes," he says. "That's fair."

"I can't believe this," Kim sighs, relenting at last as she rubs her forehead. "Okay. But you both need to be careful." She looks at John. "Especially you."

"I don't..." John cuts himself off, reluctantly changing tactics. "Okay. Fine." He stands up, leaving his chair wide open for Nick to take as he says, "I need to get ready," and excuses himself. What he needs to get ready for when he's already dressed, Nick has no idea, but that's not exactly Nick's problem. If John needs to go talk himself through the decision he forced on Nick, then it's a good thing he's not involving Nick in any of it!

Nick's real problem right now is the way Kim is staring at him. "What?" he asks, sinking into the abandoned seat. She doesn't respond, and Carmina glances skeptically at her dad from across the table. "What was I supposed to do?" he asks, exasperated. "It's not like he was gonna let it go."

"You could have put your foot down," Kim says. She sounds downright disappointed, and that stings more than Nick wants to admit. "You could have taken my side," she adds, aiming her heavy frown at the coffee cup in front of her.

"We've been waiting for him to want to talk about it," Nick points out. "And anyway, we need a radio. If he can help, we should encourage it. Right?"

Kim isn't keen on getting into a fight right in front of Carmina, so she only nods her head in response. It's enough, though, because Nick does wind up feeling guilty for siding with John. Right or not, he probably should have negotiated that better.

"Hey, I'm sorry," he says. "You're right. I've got tunnel-vision with this radio problem, is all."

"I know," Kim sighs. "I just... worry."

"Well, don't. I'll be fine."

Kim rolls her eyes. "It isn't you I'm worried about, Nick." She looks towards the stairs, listening to John pacing up in his room, then reluctantly turns back to her husband. "Just... promise me that you'll keep an eye on him, okay?"

"Yeah, sure," Nick replies. Kim doesn't look too reassured, so Nick reaches over and wraps her hand in his. "Really, I will." He glances at Carmina and tells her, "You'll keep an eye on mom so she doesn't worry all day, right?"

"Sure," Carmina says. Nick knows from the Kim-like tone in her voice that she thinks he's being an ass, but at least she's young enough to not call him out directly yet. All he has to do now is make sure that neither of his girls can rub his rash decision-making in his face when he gets back.

John is quiet as he and Nick make their way through the woods. The walk itself isn't too bad, less than a mile out from the edge of what Nick used to consider his property, but John is having a lot of trouble hiding how jittery it is, and it makes for a tense hike. He keeps speeding up and falling behind, as though he can't decide whether or not he wants to lead the way.

"You sure you're ready for this?" Nick asks eventually, unable to help himself. John answers with such a dirty look that Nick immediately goes on the defensive. "Hey, don't give me that. I just don't want you to, you know... start having nightmares about it or Joseph or whatever all over again. You're the one who's always been weird about it."

John scoffs but doesn't respond. From the way he glares at the ground, Nick figures he probably hasn't stopped having nightmares yet. That's... probably a good reason to keep him from climbing all the way down into the hole. Of course, Nick isn't sure that he'll really be able to stop John, never mind what John promised back at the house.

"What were you doing out here?" John asks after the silence grows out again. "When you found me."

"Oh. Well, I was sorta looking for places to put more traps, after I made them. And, you know, if there was anything left to salvage out here." Neither of those ideas had gone anywhere, although maybe now would be a good time to revisit them. "There's not much out here, though. There's that herd of deer to the north, and the river... we really haven't needed to expand so much."

John hums agreeably in response, although he doesn't have much to add to the conversation. Nick doesn't know how to keep it afloat by himself, so he doesn't, letting them sink back into silence until they finally reach their destination. Nick recognizes the spot by the shock of parachute fabric hanging in the trees, just a flash of artificial color behind the browns and greens of the trees.

Now that he has time to look around, Nick can sort of see where the land had been cleared for installation. Of course, the only remnant of the open circle now is the thinner layer of weeds over what looks like a thirty-foot rectangle. He doesn't remember anybody building out here, and he can't even fathom when they could have done it, but somebody came through here right before the apocalypse and made themselves a hidey-hole.

Nick doesn't wait to approach the closed bunker door, but John lingers at the imagined edge of the space as though facing a barbed-wire fence. He seems pensive and lost in thought, and Nick lets him adjust while he sweeps away dirt and scraggly tumbleweeds that have just started to cover the hatch. Just a bunker or not, it's got to be a lot to deal with, although Nick can't imagine why. No matter how terrible being alone had been, it couldn't have gotten worse than intense boredom. Hell, Nick's met two different people who had clearly let the cabin fever get to them, and neither of them could shut up about their damn bunkers.

Reaching down, Nick braces his legs on either side of the bunker door and pulls at the hatch. John is clearly holding his breath, even this far away, tension coiled in his shoulders and forcing his spine ramrod-straight. He doesn't offer to help, stuck in place like he is.

"Maybe you should stay up here," Nick offers.

Of course, John only scowls at the thought. "You won't know where to look. It would be faster if I went in alone."

"Yeah, Kim would love it if I let you do that. Don't be an asshole."

Nick heaves the door upwards. The rusted hinges scream in protest, as if they hadn't moved in years, but the door swings open after a few hard tugs on the handle.

John hesitates a second longer, then approaches the hatch. Nick goes over to the edge, crouching down so that he doesn't fall, and shines the flashlight down the ladder. The air is stale, smelling like rot and mold, and Nick can see a puddle drying at the base of the ladder. Well, that makes sense — there's no way the seal is still airtight. So much for closing the door from the elements.

"You ready?" Nick asks. John nods mutely in response, standing some feet away from the hole. "Really, John. You don't have anything to prove. Kim would probably be happy if you stayed up top."

John grimaces. "I'll go first," he says, his voice clipped.

This is a bad idea, and Nick knows it. A month or two ago, he'd probably have figured John was about to pull a fast one on him, but now he's more concerned that John is trying to pull something on himself. Confronting your fears is one thing, but as John climbs down the ladder and Nick gets a good look at his pale face and tight jaw, he worries that this is too much, too fast. Not that John seems to understand the concept of pacing himself — he seems more like the kind of guy to throw himself mindlessly at a problem until it shatters under the sheer force of his determination.

Nick hands John the flashlight before he gets out of reach, following him down the rungs as quickly as he can. They knock into each other as he reaches the bottom rung, and Nick turns to find John aiming the flashlight uselessly at their feet. Staring down the murky darkness that turns the bunker into a cave of unknown depths, John looks as though he might hear floodwaters in the distance.

Maybe he's just taken aback by how bad things look, even with only a little light to see by. The looming piles of garbage and years of refuse have turned the twenty-by-ten foot box into a narrow, craggy cavern. Nick can see a door at the far end of the gloom, cracked in the middle and left ajar in its frame, surrounded by a pile of overturned furniture. He spends a second or two trying to calculate the dark tally marks he can see covering the wall next to him, but there are too many and he can't keep track.

John takes a shuddering deep breath that turns Nick's attention back to him. "Hey," he calls, "You okay?"

"Yes," John replies, spitting the word out. He shakes his head heavily from side to side, just in case Nick missed the baldfaced lie for what it is, and takes a hesitating step away from the ladder. The breath he takes doesn't seem to give him enough air, and no amount of gasping can draw more in. He has a white-knuckled grip on the ladder, and it seems for a second to be the only thing holding him up as he visibly reels.

Nick hasn't been on the opposite end of a panic attack in a long time, but he's been through enough on his own to see that John is veering wildly in that direction. He's searching the walls, rapid-fire counting the lines, confusion breaking out on his sweaty, gray face.

"Hey," Nick says quickly, lifting his hands placatingly as he comes closer, "Hey, it's gonna be okay."

John shakes his head again, rapidly this time, abandoning any pretense of control. "No," he gasps, "No, I don't think it is!"

Goddamn it. Nick should have known better, he never should have agreed to this, he never should have let John come down here. He just — he hadn't thought it would be like this. He didn't know it could be this bad.

Nick puts off berating himself, at least until John's panic passes. For now, he focuses on damage control, guiding John's free hand to grab hold of the ladder, which is at least haloed in enough light to keep the worst of it from immediate view.

"It is gonna be okay," he insists. "Here, let's — let's get back up top. Get you some fresh air, okay?"

For a moment, it looks like John doesn't understand the concept, but his fingers eventually curl together on one rung. "I didn't know," he says unhelpfully, but at least he doesn't resist as Nick ushers him slowly up the ladder. He moves so slowly, paralyzed by each step, but Nick's only concern is making sure he doesn't fall on his way out.

The sun is right overhead as John slides out of the bunker, crawling on his hands and knees and collapsing several feet away from the opening. Nick hesitates on the last rung, knowing full well that they can't just leave now that they're here, but he has to deal with John first. The radio has waited this long — it can wait a little while longer.

John gasps for air a few more times, barely catching his breath. He doesn't look at Nick, but he offers him a miserable apology, mumbling, "Sorry," halfway into the dirt.

Nick crouches beside John, awkwardly shifting his weight on his feet. He's not sure what he's supposed to do here — he isn't used to being on this side of things, and Kim is so much better at calming people down than he is. The worst of the attack has passed, but Nick's not good at damage control.

"Hey," he says at last, "It's okay. Take your time."

There's not a patient bone in John's body, so it's a small miracle when he listens obediently, struggling until his breath evens out enough to ease the panic.

"I thought I could handle it," he sighs at last, his voice heavy with resignation. "I handled it for seven years, I thought..."

Nick doesn't think what he saw down there counts as handling it by any means, but he's not about to say as much. Truthfully, he doesn't know what to say.

"We should go," Nick says. "This isn't worth it."

John looks offended at the mere suggestion. "We came all the way here," he rasps. "Give me a minute. I'll — I'll go back —"

"Like hell you will," Nick snaps. He doesn't mean to, but damn, is John really such a masochist? "Look, just — let me go find it. You keep watch up here."

There's barely any hesitation before John nods miserably in agreement. He tries not to let it get to him, but he's already shaken by the underground and he's in a suspiciously fragile state himself. He hopes to God that he can find the radio on his own, and that it works enough to make this trip worth the trauma. If this doesn't work out, Nick is going to feel even worse about it than he already does.

It's not the best idea to leave John alone, but Nick forces himself to go through with it anyway. Armed only with his flashlight and empty backpack, Nick descends as quickly as he can, taking one last breath of fresh air before disappearing into the bunker.

God, there is blood everywhere. Nick's not sure how many of the streaks on the walls are meant to be counted with the rest of the tallies, scratched into the walls with what Nick hopes to God was anything other than John's fingernails. Everywhere Nick shines the light, he finds another smear of crumbling red blood, each one painting a different image of John's scars and scabbed over tattoos. The garbage is honestly overwhelming, with a decade of waste piled up openly on top of sealed trash bags, cans spilling across the floor, dirty clothes and ripped fabrics clumped together in haphazard nests that have molded and mildewed into an inseparable mess...

There's more room to walk than Nick originally thought, although there aren't many places entirely free of trash. Still, he hesitates to step outside of the ring of natural light above. After all, nothing about this bunker is safe. Looking past the garbage and the wreckage that John has left behind, Nick sees rust starting to form along the seams, and his first step feels uneven, as if they hadn't leveled the ground properly before installing and just couldn't be assed to fix it.

Jesus Christ. It's a miracle that John didn't die down here. It's surprising enough that it circulated enough air for him to survive. How the hell did he make it as long as he did in this death trap?

It's not a question Nick can answer, and quite frankly he doesn't think it's safe to spend much time down here ruminating. As a matter of fact, the less time he spends down here, the better. It's hard not to take note of the damage, though, especially as he searches for wherever John might've kept his radio. Lord, with the way everything seems to have been torn apart, who knows if it's even going to be in one piece? Or even somewhere accessible? Nick really doesn't want to go poking through the destroyed couch or the bags of trash heaped in confusing piles across the bunker.

He heads all the way to the back of the space, circling around an overturned table and seeing at last a small desk wedged into the corner, facing the ladder. The radio microphone hangs from its cord over the edge, and Nick has to repress a delighted shout when he sees that it's still in one piece. There's a crack along the plastic case, but other than that, Nick can see that it's a model very similar to the one back home — older by a couple of years, maybe, but hopefully not so old that it's no longer compatible.

He struggles to be careful as he loads the radio into his bag, but all he wants to do is get the hell out of here. It's only once he's pulled the heavy backpack back onto his shoulders that Nick takes stock of the position that he's in. Standing here, facing the ladder, Nick can see a definite barrier that John must've formed at some point — the table, the desk, even the broken down automatic washer, all of it has been set up as though John were planning to hunker down against an enemy attack.

On the ground, behind the table, Nick sees a book with a white leather cover. The gilded Eden's Gate emblem has been mostly rubbed clean off, but Nick has seen that book too many times not to recognize it for what it is. It's bloated with water damage and stuffed with ripped addenda that have filled the binding to burst, lying on the cement like an undetonated grenade.

Nick grabs it before he can think better about it. He immediately regrets it, mostly because the bottom cover has become slimy and the whole thing feels like it's going to come apart in his hands. Not knowing what else to do, he drops it onto the empty desk, wrinkling his nose at the squelching slap of wet paper on wood. He goes so far as to pinch the first few pages under his finger, ready to flip it open to some random verse — but even touching the cover leaves Nick feeling uneasy and watched. Honestly, just looking at it fills Nick with a sense of distant dread, the same hazy fear that came along with the first time he got a face-full of Bliss.

Fuck that, he decides. Whatever John's left in the book, it's not for Nick to look at. He already got what they came for, and it's been about five minutes; Nick can't leave John waiting much longer, and frankly he doesn't want to. With one last grimace in the book's direction, Nick beelines for the ladder. He stops trying to tabulate how many days John kept track of, stops wondering when or if he ever lost count, and focuses entirely on getting the hell out of the goddamn deathtrap.

It's probably just his imagination, but Nick can smell floral sweetness in the air as he finally escapes the bunker. He takes a deep breath once he's out, tipping his face back to gratefully meet the blue Montana sky.

John waits until Nick looks at him to ask uneasily, "Did you find it?"

"Yeah," Nick replies, shifting the backpack so that he can pat it reassuringly. "I think it'll work. I didn't check for the parts — I figure we can do that back home."

John nods a few times. "Good," he mutters, "Good," as if maybe he doesn't think it's such a good thing at all. He falls silent, and Nick realizes he's waiting for Nick to say something about what he saw down there.

Nick wants to say something. He doesn't know what, though. His own thoughts are scattered and confused. "Uh... you mind if I close it up?" he asks.

John shakes his head mutely in response; the clang of the door rises up through the air like a stricken bell, scattering some birds that had been resting in the treetops.

"So... uh..." Nick rubs the back of his head, trying to decide what to say before deciding lamely to go with, "Do you... wanna talk about it?"

The fact that John doesn't immediately reply tells Nick all he needs to know. When John finally says, "No," Nick knows it's a lie, even if he's not sure what to do about it. Nick's positive that they do need to talk about it. But he doesn't know how he can force the issue, and he's sure he's not the man to do it. John needs a licensed psychologist, or a goddamn priest, someone who can absolve him of whatever the fuck that all was down there, not a hick aviator who can hardly handle his own trauma.

"Are you sure?" he presses. "I mean..."

John stares at the dirt, his hands curling into tense fists. Nick moves immediately to rescind the question, but John beats him to the punch. "I didn't know it would look like that," he tells the weeds matted under his boots. "I didn't think it would... be like that."

Nick wants to ask how John avoided noticing the mess spiraling out of control around him, but there had been plenty of evidence down there that proved John hadn't been in a clear state of mind.

"There... were issues with the power early on," John admits, clearing his throat roughly. "I would have to... prioritize. Switch on the lights, switch off the ventilation system. Switch off the lights, switch on the ventilation. Eventually, I stopped switching on the lights."

He swallows a few times and tries to bring his eyes to Nick's, but he can't seem to manage it. "Really," he mutters. "We don't have to talk about it." But before Nick can agree, because he suddenly wants to hear as little of the story as possible, John continues briefly onward, staggering the words as though he's throwing them off a cliff. "I've been locked in the dark before," he says. "I thought I could handle it. But I... I couldn't."

Nick doesn't know what to say. He stares helplessly at John, waiting for Kim to materialize out of the wood and point out the obvious emotional cue for him to take, but there's nothing but John's uncomfortable expression and a quiet forest all around them. He should reach out, maybe. Offer him a sympathetic hand, or something.

"That's all I want to say about it," John says at last.

"Uh. Okay." Nick clears his throat, tries to think up a good joke to lighten the mood, and fails completely. He tries to come up with something to say that would share his sentiment but nothing comes.

"Kim will start to worry," John mutters.

Kim's gonna worry no matter what, but Nick doesn't bother to tell John that. If he thinks he can hide his emotional distress from Nick's wife, then he is welcome to try. At least that'll be more fun to watch than the slow implosion happening in front of him now.

Nick waits until the silence between them on the way back doesn't feel so thick, then tries to distract from John's deeply pensive mood. "I'm not looking forward to reading more of that manual," he says as they trace the path back towards the house. "But I also don't wanna screw up our only chance at replacing it. It's a real tough situation."

"I assume the pictures aren't clear enough for you," John replies. It's a joke insult that stings mostly because of John's brisk delivery, and he ducks away as soon as the words leave his mouth. Nick considers taking it personally for a second, until John wearily mutters a sincere apology into the air between them. "I didn't mean that," he admits roughly.

"It's fine," Nick shrugs. After all, Nick's used to being a self-defensive dickhead; he can't exactly take offense.

Casually brushing it off seems to be the wrong thing to do. John comes to an abrupt halt behind Nick, thick tears gathering and spilling over his closed eyelids. At first, when Nick turns, he can't comprehend the sight in front of him, watching John's face slowly turn red. John sucks in a wet, heaving breath, which only makes things worse as it turns into a sob midway. It seems to mortify John, but he can't stop, and all at once he's just — crying, and Nick is left standing there while John covers his face in humiliation and sucks in deep, horrified breaths. Words try to form between the sobs, but all Nick hears is desperate wailing.

"Shit," Nick says, setting down the backpack, "Okay, hold on —"

"—Didn't know what to do," John's saying, the words tearing from his throat. "I got trapped, I didn't —"

"Hey," Nick tries, "Just — take a breath."

John sobs, dropping to his knees in the mulch. "I lost track of it," he gasps, "I don't know what's real, Nick. How much of this is happening — I keep thinking I'm not — I'm not ever getting out of here, and I —"

Oh, Nick knows he fucked up real bad now. John's cries tear through the scar overlaying his heart, as though twisting a knife that's rusted over in his chest. Nick thinks back to the muttering, the distant looks, the unsettling nightmares, and now he kind of sees them for what they are. Deep, visible wounds on John's psyche that he should have caught sooner. Signs of a collapse much bigger than the one that put them in this world to begin with. Clear indications that John wasn't ready to go back.

"Please," John gasps. He doesn't ask for anything, so Nick doesn't know what he wants, but he repeats the word like it's the only one he knows. "Please."

"God damn," Nick sighs, coming to John's side. "You are a real piece of work."

He can't help but try to deflect, even as he reaches out to grasp the dented curves of John's shoulders. He knows there are deep, claw-mark scars under his hands, even if he can't feel them through the flannel of John's shirt. He thinks he understands where they came from now, although the concept is more horrifying than Nick is willing to consider; all he can do is be better than John had been to himself, and hope that's enough.

Nick barely pulls John in before he's being grabbed, desperate claws sinking into Nick's back as John scrabbles for a secure grip. He's shaking so badly that Nick feels it rattling his own bones. There's nothing for Nick to do but hold on while John desperately tries not to fall apart at the seams, struggling to form coherent words. Nick only catches some of them, as John tries to explain the barriers, the tallies, the scarred over spaces where he used to have tattoos, but he doesn't need to understand the words to see the wounds that are being uncovered.

"Alone," John cries into Nick's chest, "I was alone, the whole time, he said I wouldn't be alone —"

"Okay," Nick consoles, "It's okay."

John eventually calms down, although it's anybody's guess how long it takes for him to finally catch his breath. Even when he does, his gasps finally leveling out, he keeps a tight grip on the back of Nick's shirt. Not even Carmina has clung to Nick so terribly, and despite the fact that John has a couple of years on him, Nick manages to feel desperately protective in the moment. He can't help it. John keeps talking like he can't tell up from down, and he'd been trapped down in that hole for who knows how long without power, and from the chaos he'd seen, it's clear John has been trying to protect himself for a long time.

"I've got ya," Nick says after John lets out a heavy sigh, finally losing the strength to hold on so tightly.

John's sweaty face is pressed into Nick's shoulder, but the words are still clear. "I need this to be real," he admits quietly. "I can't go back there."

"You don't have to," Nick says. He's rubbing John's back now and he doesn't know when he started, but the guy seems so desperate for the contact that he can't bring himself to stop. "You're not making me up, you know?"

John huffs. There might be a laugh somewhere in there, or Nick might be imagining it. "I know," he rasps. "I wouldn't be so kind to myself."

Oh, man. Nick sighs, patting his back gently. "Gotta work on that, I guess," he says. "We'll get you there."

John's fingers curl briefly against Nicks back. "Thank you," he mutters. "God, thank you."

Nick lets the situation lie like that for a minute or so. John is the first one to let go, his arms falling away from Nick's sides as he leans back and takes a deep, steady breath of air. Nick lets him go with a heavy pat on the shoulder, relieved to have the space if only because it means John isn't about to collapse again.

"Kim was right," John admits, saying aloud the thought that's been repeating nonstop in Nick's mind. "I should have listened to her."

Nick gets to his feet. "Yeah, probably. Thank God she isn't the type to say 'I told you so,' huh?"

John sits back, scrubbing at his face with the back of his sleeve. "I hope so," he says.

"I think I know my wife pretty well by now," Nick chuckles, holding his hand out for John. "C'mon, let's get home before she comes looking for us."

For an awful second, Nick thinks John is going to cry again, but he only grits his teeth and takes Nick's help to climb to his own feet. He dusts off his pants as though his face isn't warped by drying tear tracks, wiping belatedly at the wet skin under his eyes as they start onward again. Nick doesn't let him trail behind too far, but he doesn't force John to keep pace either, leaving enough space so that John doesn't feel self-conscious when he starts sniffling again.

They haven't been gone that long, but Kim is still waiting for them outside when they get back. She and Carmina are reading on the porch, but as soon as Nick and John reach the driveway, Kim drops the pretense entirely. Nick hears John take a deep breath behind him; he looks back, but John's expression is too troubled to get a good read. At least he doesn't seem likely to bolt.

"We got it!" Nick shouts as they walk across the drive, lifting the backpack up triumphantly.

"Oh, thank God," Kim sighs, relief flooding her expression. "Nobody got hurt?"

Nick looks back at John, then shrugs. "Nothing we can't fix," he suggests.

John takes a breath. He looks like he wants to spill everything right then and there, but he boils it all down into a simple admission. "I'm sorry," he mutters.

Stunned, Kim asks, "Are you okay?"

"No," he quietly replies. "You were right."

Kim shakes her head, glancing briefly at Nick before putting a gentle hand on John's arm. He sighs shakily at the contact, but thankfully he doesn't collapse into another crying wreck. Kim looks like she's expecting something like that, but John manages to surprise them both.

"We can talk about it later, if you want," Kim tells him, patting his shoulder.

There's relief in John's voice as he suggests, "I'll need a strong drink before I accept that offer."

Kim shakes her head, laughing a little. "It's as good a place to start as any," she tells him.

Carmina, who's been standing on the porch looking increasingly bored, finally gives up waiting for attention. "Hey, dad," she calls, lifting the radio's manual up in the air, "Can I help with the radio?"

"So much for my technological superiority," Nick sighs, raising his voice to tell Carmina, "Sure!"

"I couldn't help it," Kim replies. She has a smug expression that tells Nick a different story, but he can easily forgive her for deciding to make their kid smarter out of spite. It's better than trying to poison him or running off with Hurk and his raider gang. "I cleared off the table for you," she adds, "And I brought out the radio so you could get a better look at it."

"I guess there's no better time to start than now," Nick says. He offers John a lopsided grin and asks, "So, uh, how much do you know about electronic repair?"

"About as much as you," John replies. He gestures his arm towards the house, saying, "It can be a learning experience for us all."

As if this whole year so far hasn't been one big learning curve. Nick shakes his head, leading the three adults up to the porch. Carmina disappears inside, triumphantly waving the manual in the air, leaving Nick to chase playfully after her inside the house. He catches sight of Kim talking to John on the porch, but Carmina is squealing delightedly in his arms so he can't quite make out the conversation. Later on, he can tell Kim about what happened, but for now, she seems content with whatever John is saying, patting him again on the arm before leading him inside. She shuts the door behind her, and for the first time in almost a year, Nick feels as though he's finally home, surrounded by people on the same page as him for once. This, he thinks, could very well be his new normal, and that's not so bad at all.

[self-proclaimed-chaotic-good]

This old Coffee Shop I Love so Much | Cassian Andor x Reader (Oneshot)

Setting Prompt: Coffee Shop AU

Words: 1838

Fandom: Rogue One (Star Wars)

Warning: Not much, mostly fluff and mutual pining

Summary: You develop a crush on a regular customer who, unfortunately, works for a man that wants to shut the cafe down. Title inspired by Falling in Love in a Coffee Shop by Landon Pigg

-

There was a man that frequented the cafe, Rogue One, where you worked alongside your two friends, Jyn and Bodhi. The cafe was owned by the most amazing bosses you could ever have, Chirrut and Baze, who claimed that the sign was supposed to be Rouge One, but the sign maker got it wrong. Chirrut liked the sound of Rogue and kept it. This man, however, seemed to be a close friend to the cafe owners.

The first time you’ve encountered him, he had walked in with wind tousled brown hair and a brown scarf tucked under his chin, a long overcoat covering his figure. He smiled at you, a hint of a dimple on his cheek, and gave you his order. You had to snap your jaw shut and input his order into the system using shaky hands.

“You’re new here,” he said smoothly, his voice making your cheeks heat up.

“Um, yeah, I, uh, started several months ago,” you said, trying to get the stubborn cash register spit out his receipt.

“It’s fine,” he assured you, “are Chirrut and Baze in today?”

“Yes, I think they’re in their office upstairs. Do you want me to-”

“It’s fine,” he said again, taking out the latest smartphone and started to ring someone, “Thank you.”

After that, he would come in once every month, then once every other week, then weekly, then every other day. Jyn, who had worked at Rogue One longer than you, said that it was unlike him to stop by this often.

“Who is he, really?” you asked her.

Jyn’s face scrunched up in distaste. “He works for an asshole called Draven who’s been wanting to shut the cafe down in favor of a more mainstream coffee chain,” she growled.

“But it’s not his fault,” Bodhi piped in, “He’s got his marching orders.”

“He doesn’t have to follow them,” Jyn mumbled under her breath before continuing on with her task.

“He seems nice, though,” Bodhi said optimistically, “Chirrut and Baze would have driven him off if they didn’t like him, and, like Jyn said, it really is odd that he’s here more often. Do you think Draven is close to closing us down?”

“I will start a rebellion before they could take Rogue from us.”

“Enough!” a stern voice called from the kitchen. Bodhi jumped and went back to his sweeping. “Mr. Andor is coming back later today and I don’t want my employees gossiping when he gets here.”

“Sorry, Baze,” the three of you muttered.

Like clockwork, the man, Mr. Andor, came over and gave his usual order. Jyn had you take over for her while she went to get more pastries for the display. You smiled at him and readied his order, doing the usual small talk that the two of you had every time he visited.

“How’s your paper going?” he asked.

You looked up from the Espresso machine with wide eyes. “I didn’t think you’d remember that. Um, it’s coming along,” you said with a shrug. “How’s your new dog, Mr. Andor?”

“Please, call me Cassian, and he’s actually very easy to train but he does have an attitude.”

You hummed. “Maybe you can bring him over the next time you visit,” you suggested.

“I will.” You handed him his drink. “Thank you. You know, you’re the only one that makes it perfect.”

Your cheeks heated at the compliment. “I don’t know about that…”

“It’s true!” Cassian insisted, taking a gulp for emphasis. Your eyebrows shot up, knowing how hot the drink was. He sputtered, turning away and wiped his mouth.

“Um… are you okay?” you asked slowly.

Cassian waved you off and gave a thumbs up. He straightened up when he heard footsteps walking down the stairs. Chirrut walked down steadily, his hand running along the railing.

“Mr. Imwe,” Cassian addressed him, standing at attention like a soldier.

“Please, Cassian, it’s been years. Using my surname implies that you bring grave news,” Chirrut said, “Do you?”

Cassian hesitated, his eyes flickering towards you then back at Chirrut. “May I speak with you and Malbus somewhere private?”

Chirrut exhaled slowly through his nostrils and nodded. As if he heard everything, Baze emerged from the kitchen, setting down a rag and his apron on a counter. Baze nodded over at Cassian then gently guided his husband back upstairs.

You watched as the men went upstairs without sparing a glance towards you, wringing your apron until another customer came in to occupy you. After you dealt with that customer, you saw Bodhi cleaning tables with a deep frown on his face, his lips drawn into a thin line. You could tell that he had seen the interaction and most likely shared your worries.

It had been an hour when they came back downstairs with solemn expressions on all three of their faces. Cassian said his goodbyes to them and walked out of the cafe. You’d be lying to say that you weren’t bothered by Cassian not saying goodbye to you, but with the current mood, your feelings weren’t much of a priority.

Jyn stood next to you by the counter, setting down a tray of freshly baked goods and waited for the news. Even Bodhi stopped his cleaning and made his way over to the two owners.

Baze regarded the three of you and sighed. “Cassian came here to tell us that unless we increase our sales in the next few months, Draven will shut us down and replace us with a coffee chain.”

“What?” Jyn shouted. “He can’t do that! We won’t be able to make that much in such a short amount of time. There must be another way, right?”

“Unless someone else beat Draven to it while also allowing us to keep Rogue One, I don’t see another way.”

“Don’t worry,” Chirrut said calmly, “All is what the force wills it. It will be alright.”

Baze grimaced. “I wish I shared your optimism, no matter how delusional it can get.” Chirrut slapped his shoulder and went to sit in the back office. Baze placed his hands on his hips and turned to the three of you. “We can start thinking of ways to increase sales. Maybe special events, reward systems, anything. Until then, continue as normal. I don’t want any customers knowing what’s behind the scenes.”

“Of course, Baze,” Bodhi said. Jyn looked like she wanted to say something, but nodded instead, going back to the kitchen to busy herself.

“Is Cassian coming back?” you asked quietly as you continued to wring your apron.

Baze gave you a sympathetic smile. “I don’t know.”

-

Rogue One tried everything from stamp cards, to limited time recipes, holiday specials, and even open mic. Sales were certainly going up, but just shy from the needed threshold that would save the cafe. Cassian hadn’t come back since the day he gave the news and your friends knew that you were saddened about the turn of events. You knew it was foolish to have a crush on someone you only saw in the cafe, so you tried to turn your focus on work and school.

You finished your shift and stayed at Rogue One to study, taking up a table in the corner with your laptop open and your books open. Jyn plopped down on the seat next to you and shoved a newspaper on top of your notebook. You grimaced at her, trying to push the newspaper away.

“No, look,” she insisted, pointing at the headline.

It was a couple, Leia Organa and Han Solo, that ran a business together called “Rebel Republic” that went around helping indie businesses by investing and giving them financial support. They had saved several indie bookstores and comic book stores as well as mom-and-pop stores around the cities.

“We could get them to help us,” you agreed. “But how?”

“Hm, maybe we could-”

The door chimed, signalling another customer. Jyn immediately stood out of habit, readying to go into customer service mode. She frowned when she saw who it was.

“Didn’t know you’d show up,” Jyn remarked.

You looked away from the newspaper towards the newcomer. “Cassian?” His name escaped your lips.

He smiled sheepishly and nodded. He looked good, more like a businessman. Unlike his previous casual but still professional attire, he wore a suit that fitted him quite nicely, his brown haired slightly combed.

“I’ve, uh, brought some friends over who I know you’d want to meet,” Cassian said, gesturing to the door.

A small woman with neatly braided brown hair and a tall rough looking man with a roguish style brown hair walked through the door. The woman smiled at the homely atmosphere and turned to Cassian.

“You were right, Cassian, this place is quite cosy,” she said.

Jyn’s eyes widened, looking at the couple, then down at the newspaper. “You’re, you’re, oh my god. You’re Leia Organa and Han Solo!” Jyn said.

Leia smiled at her. “Cassian has been telling us about this lovely coffee shop that he’d frequented. When we heard that Draven was planning to get rid of it, we had to step in, so we got Cassian to show us the place.”

“For me, it’s more to spite Draven,” Han said, then flinched at the slap Leia landed on his arm.

“Why are you helping us?” Jyn asked Cassian, hands on her hips.

“I quite Draven’s company and went to work for Leia and Han,” he said, “I’m sorry for the way I’ve left things the last time I was here, but I want to make it up to you guys.”

“Thank you,” you told Cassian. He smiled, the familiar dimple smile that you can’t help admitting that you loved and missed so much.

“I’ll go get Chirrut and Baze,” Jyn said, “Sit anywhere you like.”

Leia looked between the two of you and smirked, dragging Han away to the other side of the cafe to give you privacy. Cassian shyly gestured to the seat next to you, which you pulled out for him. He sat down slowly, as if giving you time to change your mind.

“I’m not mad at you,” you said, seeing him visibly relax at your words.

“I’m sorry that I didn’t speak to you before I left the last time I was here. I wasn’t sure you’d wanted to speak to me after knowing what was going on. I’ve worked under Draven for a long time. I was good at what I did and I couldn’t see myself doing anything else. Why would I when it paid well? The guilt selling small business away was something I thought I had to get used to, something I had to numb myself with, but I was wrong. Chirrut and Baze were very kind to me and saw right through me. When I went to see Leia and Han about Rogue One, they saw my potential and I was finally able to leave Draven’s company.”

“I’m glad that you’re back,” you said, grabbing his hand and squeezing it.

“Me, too.”

[nightingaleandtheredredrose]

Starting Off the Day

Word Count: 2,451

Characters: Lynette, Silas

Trigger Warnings: Blood, Murder (It’s not very graphic, but just in case)

A/N: This is just a short fic I wrote in order to get a better grasp of my characters’ personalities! I hope to include more of the canon characters of Ozmafia into my writing later on, but for now this focuses more heavily on my OCs w/ brief mentions to some canon characters! I hope you enjoy! (⌒▽⌒)

Lynette

She starts off her day at the dead of night. It sounded odd, but Lynette had a commitment to fulfill at the brothel and she couldn’t be late.

After strapping her daggers to her thighs, Lynette quietly locked her bedroom door behind her and fled across the bookstore’s cobbled floors. She stopped by the coat rack in order to slip on an oversized trench coat.

Before Lynette made it out the door, she glanced back in the direction of the private chambers of the store. Surely Silas would still be fast asleep by now, so she didn’t feel the need to wake him just to tell him she was going out. Lynette thought about leaving him a note, but decided against this as well. He would be able to figure out where she had gone; he was a smart boy after all.

Lynette gave a sheepish smile as she turned the knob to the front door. “Sorry, Silas. Guess you’ll have to start off the morning without me.”

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

Lynette hated this.

Her vacant expression belied any emotion she was feeling as she drove her dagger through her victim’s heart one last time. He had stopped struggling a while ago (and stopped breathing a few moments after that), but she had to make sure he was dead. Dorian wouldn’t hesitate to punish her if Lynette let another prostitute escape the room.

A chill ran down her spine as she remembered how dark Dorian’s usually amused gaze had become when he received news of a bloody, half-dead prostitute limping their way through the mansion, hoarsely calling for someone, anyone, to help them. Manboy had intervened and finished him off himself, but that didn’t save Lynette from the punishment that was to come. Dorian didn’t allow her to return to her bookstore for a week, giving her one ridiculously tedious task after another in order to keep her within the establishment. It was her first offense, so the punishment wasn’t as harsh as Dorian initially made it seem, but Lynette didn’t want to take any chances of receiving a second strike. She had really worried Silas too, and she didn’t want to upset him anymore than she usually did.

‘This was simply a job,’ was what she tried to convince herself of. Lynette kept a firm grip on her knife handle, watching her victim’s blood seep through the spaces of her fingers with darkened eyes. She was being pathetic. Lynette was a hitwoman, a cold-hearted murderer, it was a simple as that. She wasn’t allowed to get emotional over this; she would just seem like a hypocrite.

Her gaze eventually traveled to her victim’s face. This was a mistake.

This guy… He looked familiar for some reason. Lynette’s brow furrowed, trying to remember where she had seen him before.

Without warning, one memory flashed after another into her mind. Ah, yes. He was at the bar that one day, laughing and chatting with friends as business ran slow at the brothel. This was also the boy who always tried cheesy movements to flirt with the customers. Some of the other workers would roll their eyes whenever he dramatically dropped to one knee to kiss a woman’s hand, but Lynette had found it cute. He had visited her at the bookstore on one of his off days as well, his eyes shining in wonder when he saw the giant oak tree that was situated in the center of the library. He comically raised his head to take in the whole sight, the tree having grown through the ceiling and out into the open air. The boy had told her he had never seen anything so magnificent. He had introduced himself… His name was…

William.

Lynette felt something warm roll off her cheeks. It took her a couple seconds more to realize she was crying. She had crossed a line she wasn’t supposed to in this job; she had humanized her victim and the overwhelming sense of guilt she felt from this caused a dam to burst. Lynette lowered her head a little lower as she attempted to force her tears to stop. He was so young. If only he hadn’t gotten sick… If only…

But if he had lived he would have continued to work at the brothel. He would have remained a bird stuck within this filthy cage. Was death any better than such a fate? No. Lynette shook her head and tried to regain her composure. She was just making excuses to quell her shaking conscience.

Regardless of what it was, Lynette withdrew her knife and stood up. She didn’t have any right to say this, but she couldn’t help but murmur, “I’m sorry, William. I’m so, so sorry.”

Silas

He started off his day wondering where the hell Lynette could have possibly went. The girl had an irritating habit of not leaving any kind of notice of her leave. She had told him before that he was smart enough to figure it out, but sometimes it was hard to tell.

One day, for example, Silas thought Lynette had just gone out for some grocery shopping, noticing that there was no food in the fridge as he chugged his morning milk. He was sorely mistaken. Later in the evening, Lynette stumbled into the bookstore with a weary smile, a cut on her cheek, and dirt spattered clothing. She had helped a farmer wrangle up some escaped chickens, and it took longer than expected. Silas then asked if she had at least gotten groceries while she was out, and he received a blank look in response. They didn’t eat dinner that night.

As Silas passed by the coat rack to flip the store’s sign to “open”, he noticed that the trench coat was missing. He grimaced. Lynette only took that coat whenever she went to her job at the salon, explaining that she wanted to remain as inconspicuous as possible. Although, if he were being honest, the sight of the small girl wrapped in a large trench coat waddling up the steps of the mansion was one of the most suspicious things he had ever seen.

But Silas wasn’t one to judge. Really, it wasn’t as if he could either. The two had an unspoken agreement between each other. As long as Lynette didn’t ask about his past then Silas wouldn’t try to figure out what her job at the salon actually was. It was as simple as that, and Silas preferred it that way.

He made his way to Lynette’s bedroom and pulled a spare key from the pot of a fern next to her door. He never quite understood why she was insistent on locking it whenever she left the store, even going as far as to hide the key in a different place every week. He just chalked it up to her reading too many mysteries involving robberies in the past month, spotting a stack of these books on the stand near her bed. Lynette was easily influenced by her surroundings after all.

Silas shook his head disapprovingly as he pulled out the top drawer of her stand. “Miss Lynette would be crap at anything that involves suppressing her emotions,” he muttered to himself. “Ah. Found it.”

He withdrew a book from the messy drawer. It had no illustrations nor writing on its covers, but the words, “A Shot in the Dark” were written in gold along the binding. This dark green hardback appeared like nothing special; it was near identical with dozens upon dozens of books in the store.

But things aren’t always what they seem.

Silas opened the book (ignoring the sticky note Lynette had attached to the front cover; “STOP STEALING THIS BOOK, SILAS. DAMMIT, JUST ASK.”) and took out the shotgun that had been stored within a deep cutout of the book’s pages, checking to see if it was loaded.

Lynette had told him that there was no need for him to carry weapons inside the store because she believed she could defend the both of them “easy peasy”.

But since she was gone for the day… Silas placed the gun back into the book, closed it, and casually tucked it under one arm as he headed over to the register.

Just to be safe.

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

Business was slow today. He folded his arms upon the counter and laid down his head, releasing a heavy sigh.

The only eventful thing that’s happened this morning was Silas having to chase Ande off with a broom. The don had been banned from the bookstore ever since she had accidentally dropped a flaming match near one of the book towers during a “trial demonstration”.

Well, that and the incident where Ande knocked several people off of the bookshelf ladders while running through the store, but the match thing was what really set them off.

Silas raised his head to glance at the front door for any potential customers. His gaze lingered at the doorway before slowly shifting to the coat rack that was next to it. The absence of the trench coat moved him to think of Lynette.

Sure, she could be annoying as hell and would sometimes never shut up about one thing or another, but he kind of… missed that noise. No matter what she talked about, she always spoke with purpose and with an unfaltering smile on her face.

Silas laid his head down once more, hearing the monotonous ticking of the store’s clock. He stamped his foot twice in frustration. He would have traded the constant ticking of that damn clock for that annoying bird’s chirping anyday.

At the End of the Day

Lynette stood outside the door of her bookstore with the sun setting behind her. She took an exaggeratedly large breath and let it out. Then she slapped her cheeks twice. Ok! Back to normal life! She had to be all smiles! All smiles!

She caught sight of her reflection on the glass of the door and cringed at how abnormally large her grin was. Ok… Take a step back. We’re not trying to be like Silas here.

After making a series of faces at the door glass, Lynette decided on what she hoped was the most natural looking smile before reaching for the knob.

Much to her surprise, the door swung open, seemingly of its own accord. Lynette jumped back, and her hands shot instinctively to her daggers. She let her hands drop as soon as she recognized the person in front of her. “Hey, Silas! How’s it going?” Lynette cheerily asked.

Silas raised an eyebrow and replied, “Miss Lynette, you do realize that the doors are made out of regular two-way glass? What were you trying to accomplish by making all of those grotesque faces outside the store?”

Lynette sheepishly laughed, sidestepping past him in order to make her way back into the bookstore. “Practicing my smile? You should try it sometime, Silas. Your customer service smile still scares off the elderly.” She heard a sigh from behind her as well as the ringing of a small bell as Silas shut the door.

“I don’t think Miss Heidi counts as the elderly, Miss Lynette,” reminded Silas, still a bit haunted by the incident.

Lynette shrugged and snatched a donut from a plate Silas had set out on the counter. “I mean, all of the members of the ruling class have been alive for hundreds of years, so wouldn’t we count as the elderly?”

“Well… Not exactly-”

“Ah! That’s right! How were sales today? Sorry I couldn’t help out; that bastard Dorian Gray had more than one thing for me to do at that hell of a brot- I mean, salon.”

“Sales were-”

“Ooooo! Are those the books we ordered last week? Damn, and here I thought they were never going to arrive!”

As Lynette ran over to the stack of boxes in the corner, Silas was left to helplessly follow after her. It was tiring seeing how flighty she could become sometimes, but he more or less learned how to put up with it over the years.

If she talked for a long enough time, Lynette’s speech will start to slow down with pauses just lengthy enough to squeeze in a word or two in response. On the other hand, if Lynette entered non-stop talk mode, it would be wisest to just shut up altogether.

Watching Lynette fawn over the new books, Silas took advantage of this rare moment of silence to speak. “Sales were fairly slow today, so I had no trouble managing the store by myself,” he reported.

Lynette nodded, humming in thought. “Well, it is a weekday, so that’s to be expected. Glad you didn’t need an extra hand though. Anything exciting happen today?”

“I had to chase Miss Ande away from the store.”

“Did you use the broom?”

“As you requested, yes.”

“Good. That has more reach than the feather duster we used before.”

“Why did we even begin with that in the first place?” muttered Silas, more to himself than anyone else.

Regardless, Lynette heard him and shrugged once more. “I’m used to close combat, so I kind of, y’know, thought of the duster as a dagger when fending her off. However, you’re more used to long distance weapons of which would include-” Lynette formed a gun with her thumb and index finger and turned it on Silas. “The gun that I specifically told you to stop stealing from my bedside table. Bang, bang.”

Silas immediately placed his hands over his heart and responded in a deadpan voice, “Ah. You got me, Miss Lynette. Caught me red-handed.”

Although she couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic or not, Lynette always appreciated whenever he played along with her bad jokes. She grinned and stretched her arms over her head. “Aaaa~! It’s good to be back at the bookstore!” she exclaimed as she walked towards the kitchen. “Come on, Silas! I’ll cook you something to make up for abandoning you this morning!”

He answered her with an “okay”, but hung back for a bit, casting a glance at the trench coat that was hastily tossed back onto the rack and at the empty plate Lynette had stolen from. Messy as always.

Despite this, Silas couldn’t help but feel as if the very atmosphere within the bookstore changes whenever Lynette returns from an outing. It was as if the store itself had sprung to life, every molecule within the building straining to greet her hello. Even the ticking of the clock had faded to the background, Lynette’s absent minded singing drowning out the sound and echoing all around.

He smiled. The bookstore began to feel like home again.

A/N: On another note, HBD to my Oak Tree son, Silas! (I chose June 21 for him b/c I learned that oak trees are associated w/ the summer solstice and just kinda went: “Eh, why not?”)

[justpeachyshua]

part time

pairing: joshua x female reader characters: joshua hong, kwon soonyoung rating/warnings: teen+ for language; no warnings au: convenience store workers, college/university word count: 4,549 summary: “Working at a convenience store is about as easy a job as you can get. People come in and out, stopping on their way to bigger and better things, getting gas or food. Never did I think that working at a job like this could be remotely fun. Not until I began working alongside a guy so gentle, thoughtful, and oh so gorgeous. The only thing is, I don’t know his name.” 

note: hey guys!! this is my first one shot and svt fic in general, so i hope you enjoy it! i am fairly new to the fic community on tumblr, though i’ve had my ao3 account for a while and i’ve been working on a the boyz chat fic on there. i decided that i wanted to try to open up a tumblr dedicated to one shots and shorter fics and other things about my faves, so here it is! just about everything i post here will be on my ao3, but i might include some bonuses or extras here. anyways, on to the fic! 

Locking my phone and tossing it onto my bed, I let out a groan at the realization that this night would truly be one of the most boring nights of my life.

“I need you and the new guy to watch the store tonight. I’ve gotta take my son to the orthodontist at 5 and I don’t think I’ll be back in time to close the store. It’ll just be a few hours so I hope you guys don’t burn the place down.”

While in the middle of an intense Mario Kart race with my roommate, Soonyoung, I received that text from my boss and almost immediately wanted to fling my body into the sun. After quickly collecting myself and sending a polite yet casual response saying that of course I’d look after the store and of course I’d try to stay out of the break room and of course I’d be sure to card anyone looking to buy liquor and just about every precaution I could imagine, I settled back into my spot on the floor.

“Work?” My roommate muttered, eyes unmoving from the TV.

“Yeah,” I sighed. “He wants me to come in tonight because his son has an appointment. I guess we have to cancel movie night.”

“This is the third night you’ve cancelled though!” He set the controller down after finishing in 8th place. “Can he get off your ass? I swear you’re always out working.”

“Well, I mean, if it wasn’t clear from the fact that our fridge contains only juice boxes, milk, leftover pizza, and half a container of butter, we need money.”

He chuckled, turning the Wii and TV off. “Fine, fine, go. But bring me back some ice cream, kay?”

“I’m not gonna steal from the store just so you can have some mint chocolate chip ice cream.” I checked my phone and saw that it was already 4:30, then grabbed my coat and headed for the door. “Nice try, though.”

Soonyoung called out to me, stopping me before I left. “Wait! You gotta promise me you’ll actually talk to that guy today, okay? It’s been weeks.”

I rolled my eyes. “Sure, sure. I’ll try. Just go back to playing Mario Kart and let me go to work.”

As I made my usual trek to the bus stop headed for the store, I thought about Soonyoung’s words. There was, indeed, a new guy at the store and a fairly cute one at that. He had joined as the only other employee just a few weeks ago and was still a bit inexperienced and shy. He never spoke much in the store other than simple greetings and questions like “Have you stocked the chips yet?” and “Do you have the key to the cigarette case?” Still, he was definitely a nice guy. Whenever he could, he did a little extra cleaning and always made sure that his area of the store was completely organized before clocking out.

Even though we’d been coworkers for a while, we still hadn’t properly introduced ourselves to each other, partially because the store was so hectic the day he joined, what with our boss’s wife going into labor with their second kid that day and leaving the store in our hands for the first time. Since then, there just hadn’t been a good enough moment to ask without it being awkward. I liked to speculate what his name could be, especially when I brought the subject up with Soonyoung. While I thought he looked more like a Tae, Soonyoung stood by his belief that he was a Jae, especially after getting to see him in person while visiting me at work.

“Even if he isn’t a Jae, I’m telling you he’s a J guy,” Soonyoung stated with confidence and a mouthful of cookie when we got home that day. “I can feel it in my bones. Like a sixth sense or something.”

“I think that’s a sugar high, Soonyoung.”

Whether or not Soonyoung’s “sixth sense” was anything to go off of or not, I did feel the urge to finally start talking to this kid. Surely Soonyoung was tired of hearing me talk about how this guy was “pretty cute” and nothing much else so, if not for my sake then for his, I decided I would learn more about this kid. It definitely had nothing to do with the fact that I had to prove to Soonyoung that I was right about his name and it most definitely had nothing to do with the fact that any moment in the store not spent lazily milling around was spent staring and daydreaming about him. Absolutely not.

The bus ride to the store took only about 25 minutes, so I entered with a couple of minutes to spare which I used to scan for the best spots I could stock while avoiding the most customers later on. Mr. Han, the boss of the store, interrupted my search, telling me to put my vest on so he could go. I heeded his words and headed to the back of the shop where we kept employee goods like an old TV and DVD player and a couple snacks. The new guy was already there, sliding his own vest on and staring down at his phone. Without a word, I grabbed my vest and quickly went back out with the new guy trailing behind me.

“Alright kids, you pretty much already know how to run the store. I won’t be back for the rest of the night, but be sure to lock up before 10:00. I don’t want to keep you guys here for too long on a Saturday night and there shouldn’t be too many customers anyways.”

We nodded along.

“Well, I’m off. Good luck and make wise choices!” He waved goodbye as he let the glass door shut behind him, the sound of the chimes above trailing off as well. Almost immediately, we went to our usual posts - me by the register and him milling about the aisles. We were completely silent for the most part. We stayed to ourselves, like usual, letting customers flow in and out every few minutes and attending to them as necessary. The store wasn’t particularly busy, though we were kept working long enough that we still hadn’t found the time to say a single word to each other by the time the clock struck 6:10, about an hour later.

I swiped the credit card of the last customer in line and handed him his bag of snacks. As he walked away, I was worried that another customer might enter and delay mine and the new guy’s introductions - maybe even causing me to lose the opportunity altogether - but no one came in. The store was quiet for a minute or two then. Awkwardly quiet.

With nothing to do, I realized I had my chance to talk. “So… what’s up?” I clumsily sat on the wooden stool behind me. Smooth...

I watched as the new guy paced around, poking at the shelves of ramen and mac and cheese. His long sleeve shirt wasn’t quite his size, so his sleeves came up to his palms as he extended his hands to the various boxes thoughtlessly. It was honestly pretty charming. “Not much. Missing out on a couple boring documentaries at home, but otherwise not a whole lot.” He picked a box up, shifting it around. “You?”

“Well, I could be with my roommate watching shitty horror movies and playing video games, but instead I’m here watching the store with some guy.”

With a box of Kraft in hand, he clutched his chest. “Just some guy? I’ll have you know I have a name.”

I smiled at his attempt at humor so early into the conversation. “I’m sure you do. But do you even know mine?” He looked down at the Kraft box as though it would give him the answer. “Ah, so you don’t.”

“I mean, neither of us has really asked,” he pointed out.

“Fair. Well, guy, I’m Y/N.” I stuck my hand out across the counter, which he strided over to in order to complete the handshake.

“Well, Y/N, I’m--”

“Mommy, can I get the Oreos?!” We both turned our heads towards the door which had just begun to chime at the entrance of new customers - those customers being a couple and their daughter. The mom looked stressed, the daughter hyperactive, and the dad fairly indifferent.

The mom grabbed the daughter’s arm, leading her away from the snacks aisle. “No, sweetie, we’re only going to be here for a short time, okay?” The little girl huffed and continued to tug at her mom’s arm.

The dad approached me and calmly asked where the bathroom was. I pointed him past the ice cream refrigerator and he briskly walked away. I made eye contact with the new guy once he left and shrugged my shoulders before walking around the counter to “inspect” some of the bottles of nonprescription medicine. Soon enough, the little girl was making another fuss, this time stamping her feet on the ground as she begged her mom for the Oreos. Among the loud shouts from the girl and the sound of little boots hitting the floor, the mom was clearly trying to quiet her down. This quickly proved to be unsuccessful when the loud thud of a large box falling resounded throughout the store, immediately followed by the sound of small items scattering across the floor. I rushed over to the aisle the two were walking through and noticed the jumbo box of cereal spilling out and the mother holding her daughter up off the floor.

“I am so so sorry! I was trying to take her away from this aisle and she pulled the box down. Oh my gosh, I am so sorry, I’ll clean it up.” The mother began to profusely apologize, her daughter sitting in her arms looking passive.

“It’s alright, don’t worry about it.” I politely smiled, already reaching for the broom and dustpan in the corner of the store and beginning to sweep up the colorful pieces of cereal. “It was cheap anyways,” I reassured her.

She ran her free hand through her hair in frustration and took out her wallet. “I’ll pay for it up front, I promise. I feel so bad for making you sweep this up.” She rushed to the front counter and the new guy quickly met her there, ringing up the price of the cereal and accepting her payment. As I finished sweeping up and hid the cereal box where I could find it later and reminded myself to check the seals on the other boxes, I watched him carefully count out change for the mom. His hands lingered over the tray in the register and delicately picked out the appropriate coins before he handed them to her, letting them fall from his fingers.

He walked around the counter and plucked a lollipop from a display we had set up, bending down and handing it to the little girl. She immediately quieted and a grin spread across her face. “I know it’s not Oreos, but, in my opinion, they’re just as good,” he smiled. He looked up at the mom standing beside her. “Ah, don’t worry. These things have basically no added sugar in them, they’re as clean as you can get them.”

The mom gave a tired smile. “Thank you so, so much. Again, I’m sorry for causing you two any trouble.”

“It’s no problem at all!” He beamed. He looked down at the little girl again. “Now, make sure you thank your mom for letting you keep the lollipop, okay?”

The little girl nodded enthusiastically in response and her father finally returned from the restroom and thanked us. As they left the store, the girl turned back and waved. “Bye bye, pretty man!”

I scoffed as I tried to hold in my laughter and I could see the new guy’s eyes widen in shock, caught off guard by the innocent compliment. I walked back over to the counter and perched myself onto the stool again. “I hope you know those things are packed full of sugar and preservatives.”

He sighed while he watched the chimes above the door slow to a halt. “I know. I just told her that so she wouldn’t get too upset over the lollipop. It’s pretty clear that girl wasn’t going to stop without getting some kind of candy.” He rused.

My eyes traveled over to the chimes as well. When they finally fell back into place, I looked back at him. “I see you’re good with kids.”

“I guess I am. I mean, back home I used to babysit the neighborhood kids a lot so I guess I just got used to being around children.”

“And where’s back home?” I inquired, leaning my elbows on my knees.

“Los Angeles. Cali boy in the flesh,” he gestured over himself.

“L.A., huh? That’s kinda fancy.” I looked him up and down. “I mean, now that I really take a look at you, I can totally see it.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean the carefully-messy hair, the ripped jeans, the sun-tanned skin, just the way you talk - it’s sooo ‘Cali.’” I put air quotes around the word, mocking his use of it.

He stood up straight, making himself just taller than me when sitting on the stool. “You know, I bet you’ve never even been to California.”

I sat in thought for a second before hopping off the stool. “Hmm, you’re right. I haven’t. But that doesn’t mean I don’t know how L.A. boys act. I’ve done plenty of research.” I wandered the store again, eyes traveling over various sweets.

“Research?”

“You know, movies, shows, dumb YouTubers with cult followings, good sources,” I joked.

He chortled. “Oh, please. I promise I’m not like that.”

“Mmhmm, we’ll see. Next time I see you, you’ll have dropped a diss track on Soundcloud and I’ll have to pretend like I don’t know you, right?” I called back at him as I pulled a bag of cookies off the shelf for myself.

“Yup, and it’ll be entirely about you. I’ll be dropping hot bars on how the girl at the convenience store’s been taking shots at me,” he played along.

“See, the sad part is I can totally see you doing that.” I walked back towards him, opening the bag and pulling a chocolate chip cookie out. “Want one?”

He nodded, taking the cookie out of my hand and making me realize just how cold my hands were in comparison to his which were incredibly warm. I don’t know what I was expecting, but the warmth of his hands seemed right considering how warm he looked. A warm sweater, warm brown eyes, warm laughter, warm smile on warm pink lips. His lips, when I looked at them closely, were really endearing, curling up at the corners like a kitten’s. Seconds passed and I realized I had been staring for far longer than acceptable.

Looking away, I stuttered, “So, uh, what do you do? Besides work here, I mean.”

“Well, I go to university, study, and attend parties I shouldn’t really go to.”

“You local?”

“Actually, I go to Korea University.”

“Are you a genius? How the hell did you manage to get into KU?” I gaped.

He shrugged. “Just worked hard to get where I wanted, I guess.”

“Are you in any clubs or anything?”

“Hmm, not really, but I play music with friends every now and then. Nothing serious, just casual gigs at house parties.”

“What do you play?”

He hesitated quickly before settling on his answer. “Just guitar.”

I quirked an eyebrow. “Just guitar? I doubt that.”

“I sing too, sometimes.” I began to speak when he interjected, “I’m not gonna sing now, though. Not happening.”

I snickered. “I wasn’t going to ask that, actually. I was gonna ask if you’d take me to one of those house parties. For the experience, you know.”

He looked taken aback by my question and took a moment to think before responding, “I’ll consider. I don’t even have a way to reach you, though.”

“Is this you asking for my number?” I joked.

“Is this you suggesting that you’d give it to me?”

I looked up at him, seeing his eyes move around the room in what seemed to be nervousness. They landed on me for a moment and I swore I saw a hint of uncertainty in his look.

“Are you flirting with me right now?” I stepped closer to him.

“I-”

The light sound of the storefront chimes sounded again. My eyes cast down and I took a step back. I could vaguely hear him mumble a frustrated “Again?” under his breath before he stepped out from behind the counter, changing face to become the polite store employee he normally was. I turned to see who was entering the store and saw a group of about seven teenagers flooding in through the door. I sighed and took my spot behind the register, disappointed at the lost moment.

The kids wandered about the store in their little group and chattered to themselves. After a couple seconds, I pulled my phone out and began scrolling through Twitter to pass the time. Soon enough, someone was standing in front of me and I looked up to see one of the kids, a girl with clearly bleached hair.

“How can I help you?”

“Can I get a pack of Marlboro Silvers?” She asked, looking me in the eyes.

I furrowed my brow. She was clearly a high schooler, probably not older than a junior. “I’ll need to see some ID.” She swiftly pulled a card out from her pocket and handed it to me. Upon close inspection, I saw a small corner of the card peeling up. I ran my finger over it and put two and two together: it was a fake ID, and a poorly made one at that. I quirked an eyebrow and slid the card over to her. “I can’t get that for you.”

“I think you should take a better look at it.”

“You should get a more convincing ID before you suggest that.”

She huffed and angrily took the card back. I rolled my eyes as she walked back to the group, shaking her head. Mr. Han had advised us to ID everyone but I didn’t think anyone would actually try to buy cigs illegally. It just seemed dumb, walking up to a store clerk as if you aren’t obviously an acne-sprouting teenager and trying to convince them that you’re a legal adult. But then again, people do dumb things to get what they want all the time.

I looked around the store. In the corner, the kids were looking through various refrigerators, picking out sodas and ice creams. Just a few feet away, the new guy stood, wiping down some of the refrigerator doors that didn’t need wiping down. I could tell he was just giving himself something to do while those kids were around, not wanting to particularly interact with them. I almost wanted to laugh at how obviously he was wasting time, doing such a useless task. To be fair, I did it all the time, but I noticed he was especially distracted as he looked back at me every now and then.

In the midst of watching him move the towel over the same spot for the tenth time, he whipped his head and shouted. “Hey, what are you doing?!” I jumped, thinking he was talking to me, before I realized he was looking directly at the group of kids. From where I was standing, I could see one of them was carefully putting something into her backpack and I realized it was a large bottle of, presumably, alcohol. As soon as they heard the new guy’s exclamation, they bolted for the door and, by the time I could even process what was happening, he was already chasing them out of the store. I rushed out to see where they had gone, but all I saw was the guy, about five yards away, hunched over and out of breath. Scanning the area, I concluded that the kids were already long gone.

“You okay?” I called out to him.

He turned around, continuing to huff. He seemed like he was going to have an asthma attack at any second, so I jogged over to him and placed my hand on his shoulder. Upon contact, he stood back up and nodded. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.”

“They ran,” I said awkwardly.

“I know.” He shook his head. “If I was just a little faster, maybe I could’ve stopped them.”

“I mean, at least they’re gone now,” I offered. I motioned for him to follow me back into the store. “I’ll pay for the drink, it’s no big deal. How much was it?”

“Fifteen, I think. I don’t know, I’m just disappointed that I let them go like that.”

“It’s not your fault,” I insisted, dropping a ten and a five in the register. “They’re just a bunch of hoodlums.”

He chuckled. “Hoodlums. Haven’t heard that one used since the 20s.”

“It’s just what they are, man. Kids these days have no respect!” I exclaimed, pointing a finger in the air.

Laughing, he said, “We’re only, like, a couple of years older than them.”

I lowered my finger. “Still, I don’t associate with them.” He only continued to laugh and soon I was smiling and giggling too. His amusement was just so infectious and I couldn’t hold back. At some point in his laughing fit he let out a loud snort and I knew at that moment that I was way too enamored with him.

After calming down and catching my breath I picked my phone up once again, unlocking to check for any notifications. My eyes lit up as soon as they landed on the first notification, reading:

“Hey! We just got out of the appointment. Sorry it took so long, he ended up getting his braces put on today. You guys should probably go ahead and lock the store up now that it’s getting late. Hope you guys held the fort down well. See you Monday.”

I looked up at the time displayed at the top of my screen, seeing that it was already 9:46.

“What?” The guy asked, noticing my eyes glued to my phone. “What’s up?”

“Mr. Han said we can lock up and head home now,” I explained, shoving my phone into my back pocket and making a beeline for the break room and shrugging my vest off. “God, I am so ready to get back to wasting time at home.”

He, too, came to the back of the store with me, taking his uniform off and gathering his belongings. “What, did you not like hanging out with me for the last four and a half hours?”

I smiled to myself as I grabbed my bag. “No, quite the opposite actually.” I turned back to face him. “I had a pretty good time.”

“I had a good time, too.” He paused for a few seconds, remaining looking at me. He cleared his throat. “Let’s head to the bus stop.”

“You ride the bus, too? I always see you walking the opposite direction.”

“I thought I’d speed up the ride home,” he excused. I squinted, not totally convinced, but let it slide anyways.

We walked side by side in silence until we reached the bus stop, only a few blocks away. We stood there for a while, a foot apart, comfortable. I looked up at him and saw him staring into space, lost in thought. I tapped his shoulder. He looked at me with wide, curious eyes. “Hmm?”

“Earlier, before those kids came in, I asked if you were flirting with me. What was your answer going to be?”

“Ah, that.” He looked away sheepishly. “What would you do if I was?”

I paused to consider my response. “I think I would like it.” He turned back to me, shocked. “And I would probably flirt back and ask if you wanna hang out someplace other than a dingy convenience store.”

He nodded, looking away again. “Nice, nice. Well now I know for future reference.” I smiled at his awkwardness. “I’ll be sure to let you know if I’m ever flirting with you. So you know, of course.”

The bus pulled up a few moments later, signalling the end of this long night. I began to walk towards the bus, but he, for the first time in the past four and a half hours, wasn’t trailing behind me. “You coming?”

“Oh. Uh, I don’t actually ride the bus home. I only live a couple of minutes away, but maybe I wanted to walk you to the stop and talk for a couple of minutes more. Potentially. Hypothetically.”

“Then thanks. Hypothetically.” My grin stayed glued to my face as he ran through his explanation. I knew the bus would be leaving in only a few seconds more, so I had to turn and step on, but I didn’t want to leave this guy at all. Reluctantly, I started to take the first few steps on board. I turned back at the last second. “Wait, you never got to tell me your name.”

“It’s Joshua! Josh, for short, whatever works for you.” That kitten-like curl of his lip happened again and I wanted to melt. Joshua, of course. I don’t know how I could’ve expected his name to be anything else. It was sweet, gentle, and charming. It fit him perfectly.

“Well, Josh, I’ll see you Monday.” I waved while the bus door closed behind me and I made my way to an empty seat, sure that he was waving back at me. I thought about his earlier words - his semi-confession - and I could tell my face was heating up. It was almost childlike, the way I was getting so flustered. I sent a quick text to Soonyoung a few minutes before my arrival at the stop.

“Hey Soonyoung, I’m almost home. Go ahead and start making some ramen so we can pick a movie as soon as I’m in”

He responded within seconds.

“Lol you got it.”

I hesitated before sending another message.

“Oh and Soon? I learned his name today”

“It's Joshua”

The next couple of messages were sent in quick succession, each one in all caps and containing a variety of keyboard smashes, including one very long “I TOLD YOU SOOOOLKHJLKGDJHLK.” I chuckled to myself and shut my phone off, putting it away in my bag. The rest of the ride was short and sweet as I reminisced on the events that had unfolded. The spilled cereal, the little girl, the lollipop, the cigarettes, the alcohol, the flirting, the laughter - it all felt like a dream. The night was so simultaneously long and quick and all the best parts consisted of interactions with him - Josh. It felt odd knowing his name finally, but I never wanted that name to leave my mind. I wanted to remember it for as long as I could.

[ride-a-dolan]

“Trust” (Grayson Dolan Blurb)

——————————————————-

Warnings ⚠️: cursing

Hope my anon request enjoys 🤙🏻💜

——————————————————

“Aw, Christ. Not this fucking show again.”

I giggled. “It’s my turn, Ethan! We just watched hockey for two hours. I get to pick now!”

Ethan shook his head, clasping his hands over his eyes. “Yeah, but Christ, Y/N. I can’t stand reality shows.”

I curled my legs under me, settling into a more comfortable position on the squashy leather couch. “Not even…Man VS Food?”

“That doesn’t count.”

“And neither does this one! Please?” I drew out the “eeeee” part of please and fluttered my eyelashes, knowing Ethan would cave in.

Grayson was at the warehouse catching up on a editing. He’d been gone for the better part of the day, leaving me alone and bored. So I called Ethan over to hang out. With Ethan, however, everything was a game, even watching television was a game. I loved being with him, being around his infectious laugh, good humor, and our casual friendship. Dating Grayson was amazing in itself, but getting to know his brother was another benefit entirely. I had hit it off extremely well with Ethan, who shared my energy. Ethan finally caved to my puppy dog eyes. At least for a minute. Then, while I was engrossed in the show, he lunged at me. I shrieked, caught off guard and ready for the worst, but only felt the remote control being ripped from my hand.

He laughed gleefully, flipping to another network.

“E!” I pounced on him, scrabbling for the remote, but he pushed me off, easily overpowering my efforts with his muscles. I sat back at my end of the sofa, sulking.

Ethan ignored me pointedly for several minutes, before swearing again. “Fuck it. Fine, Y/N, you get this round.” He flipped the network back to the show I’d been watching.

I cheered. “Thanks, E!” I said, scooting closer to him on the couch.

He laughed, handing me back the remote. “Just this once. And only ‘cause Grayson practically deserted you today.” That was the last thing I remembered him saying. I woke up when the room was dark, except for the television airing a different show. I sat up quickly, realizing I had fallen asleep on Ethan’s shoulder. Ethan himself was slumped forward, leaning against the armrest, with his mouth hanging slightly open. I blinked, looking for the remote to turn off the television.

“Looking for this?”

I heard Grayson’s voice and looked up, smiling excitedly. He was home!

But when I saw his face, I froze. He was holding the remote in his hand, but his face was a wall of ice, and I realized that his tone of voice was as well. I felt something clench in my gut. I’d never seen Grayson actually angry, but obviously, this was it.

I blinked again, looking at myself, and realizing what he had walked in on. Or rather, what he had thought he had walked in on. “Gray, it’s not–”

“We need to talk.”

My voice died in my throat. “Grayson, please.”

“Not now, Y/N.”

I stood up, and Ethan awoke with a start. He glanced at me and smiled, and then saw Grayson.

“G! Hey—” he also cut himself off when he saw Gray standing with his arms crossed over his chest, eyes narrowed dangerously. His eyes slid back to me, and his eyebrows rose in surprise. “Christ, Gray. We didn’t–”

“Get out, Ethan. This is between Y/N and me.”

Now Ethan stood up, still glancing worriedly between Grayson and me. “Bro,” he started, but Grayson silenced him with a look. Ethan ran a hand through his hair, his brown eyes looking away at the floor. He left without a word, shutting the front door quietly behind him.

“Grayson, you have to listen to me,” I said quickly.

“What the fuck are you playing at?” he asked. He was now advancing towards me.

I held my ground, though I was beginning to feel panic in my stomach. “Gray, stop!” To my surprise, he did, though he lowered his curled fists to his sides. I ignored his aggressive stance and continued. “Look, before we start to argue, can we agree that we’re going to tell the complete truth? Right here, right now?”

He didn’t say anything for a moment. His jaw seemed to be stuck closed. “All right,” he said finally, the words coming out in a rush. “But you better start explaining right now.”

“I am,” I said heatedly. “If you’d just let me talk. First of all, nothing happened.”

He snorted, and I crossed my arms. “If you don’t want to believe me, then there’s no point in having this argument,” I said, my voice rising.

“The point is, I come home after editing videos to find you two curled up in some after-fuck position on the couch!” Grayson yelled.

“It wasn’t!” I hurled back, stamping my foot. “We were watching TV, and we fell asleep!”

“Why was he here then? Just how much time have you been spending with him?”

“Well, you weren’t here! You wanted me to play house, to stay here while you went off to edit, and I was bored! I needed a friend!”

“So you go and fuck my fucking brother?”

“We didn’t fuck!” I screamed. “You’re the sexy one, you’re the one to worry about, with fans flashing their tits and shit at you every minute of every day? How do you think that makes me feel? How do I know you’re not fucking one of them behind my back, when you can’t even let me hang out with your brother without thinking I’m fucking him? It’s called trust, Grayson! Trust! I trust you every minute of every day that you’re gone, even on that fucking tour, and you can’t even trust me for a day!” I couldn’t take him anymore. I turned on my heel and stomped into the bedroom. I turned away from the bed, unwilling to remember the love made, the words whispered, the embraces held there. I slammed the door and sat on the chair, my head in my hands. I didn’t know if I could do this. Everything about being Grayson’s girlfriend was wonderful. Everything about being Grayson Dolan’s girlfriend was stressful. The hate, the paparazzi, the constant fear of replacement…it was hard. And now, if he couldn’t trust me…what reason was there to remain?

I heard a soft knocking on the door. I didn’t answer, but the door slowly creaked open.

“Y/N…” I didn’t look at Grayson as he entered the room, shutting the door softly behind him. He hesitated by the doorway. “You’re right,” he said finally. I kept my gaze on the floor in front of me. Gray crossed the room and knelt down in front of me, his hands resting on my knees. “Y/N,” he said again. “You’re right. I was wrong not to trust you.”

I finally lifted my eyes to meet his, letting him see the single tear rolling down my cheek. “That really hurt me, Grayson.”

“I know.” His voice was so soft it was almost inaudible. His deep brown eyes were wide with concern. “Babe, I don’t know what came over me. I just missed you so much, all day…when I came home, I just wanted it to be you and me. I lost it, and I was a stupid, stupid idiot. I’m so sorry.”

I swallowed hard, not sure if I could forgive him or not. “Grayson… why would you ever think that? We’ve been together for a whole year without a problem. Why would you ever think that I would betray you like that.”

Grayson reached up to stroke my hair back from my face. He was shaking his head; now his eyes were the ones that were moist. “I don’t know, baby. I always trusted you, but a part of me always wonders. Because you’re so beautiful, and so fun to be around, and such a nice person…a part of me always thinks that you’ll find someone better than me, someone really worthy of you.”

I bit my lip, now clutching Grayson’s wrists. “Never say that, Gray. I would never think that. Never.”

He tipped his head forward, now laying it in my lap, his face turned to the side. We said nothing for a long time. At last I lifted my hand and placed it on his head, lifting it so he could look into my eyes. His expression was still worried, penitent. “I forgive you, Gray,” I said. He cupped my face in his hands and kissed me deeply. I let him lead me to bed, where he slowly, gently, declared his love.

When I awoke, Grayson was gone. I wasn’t worried, knowing his busy schedule. I got dressed and looked around the bedroom for a note, the kind he usually left.

Instead, the bedroom door opened. To my surprise, Ethan entered. “E!” I exclaimed. “Oh. Maybe you shouldn’t be here–”

“We talked. We’re good now, me and him,” Ethan said, and his face split into a genuine smile. “Go sit on your bed.” Then he held up a piece of paper that read “Will” in elegant script.

I stared at the paper, confused. “Go sit,” Ethan said. Bewildered, I sat on the edge of the bed. Ethan moved so he was standing in front of me and to my left.

Another knock and the bedroom door opened. Cameron poked his head in, grinned, and came into the room.

“Cam! What are you doing here?” She said nothing, only held up a paper that read “You” in the same elegant script. Before I could ask, Sean entered. He smiled broadly and held up a paper that read “Marry” . I clapped my hand to my mouth. Lisa opened the door, now holding a sign that said it “Me?”

Then Grayson came in, and knelt at my feet. I still held my hands over my mouth, my eyes wide, unable to speak.

“Y/N, I love you more than I can bear. I want to know that you’ll be mine for the rest of my life. Will you marry me?” The tears welled in my eyes for the second time that day. I clasped my hands around Grayson’s shoulders and pulled him to his feet, drawing him into a tight embrace. I kissed him hard, harder than I ever had in my life.

“Yes, Grayson, yes!”

[anothergracekellyblog]

GRACE KELLY - HER BIGGEST GAMBLE (PART 2) by Maurice Zolotow

THE AMERICAN WEEKLY - April 21, 1956

Can a shy girl who became a movie star carve out a new career - as a princess? 

Photo by Howell Conant

SOURCE: Newspapers.com

PART 3 here

Click Keep reading for the full article. 

PART II

The position in which Grace Kelly finds herself today must be intensely painful to her. For a long time, she has desperately avoided being the center of attention. She has been elusive. She has been secretive. She has kept to herself. Being a shy and sensitive person, she likes silence and solitude.

Even though she has been compulsively driven to seek success in a profession which swarms with lovely lunatics who are fond of doing and saying bizarre and unconventional things, this lean and intense blonde has persisted in her withdrawn pattern of living.

Her reserve, which is actually a disguise to mask the insecurity she feels with other people, has been interpreted as aristocratic hauteur. Her timidity has been called serenity. Her long silences when interviewers probe her inhibitions about divulging the dimensions of her bosom or the length of her long, lean legs, are described as manifestations of a snobbish disdain for the manners and morals of Hollywood.

So now, this girl who has always tried to shun the glare of publicity has become a focus of international excitement from the principality of Monaco to the principality of Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer. If the future wife of Prince Rainier III, His Serene Highness, the Prince of Monaco, Baron du Buis, Duc de Valentinois and Marquis des Baux, carries out her threat to retire from motion pictures, it would cost her studio at least $10,000,000 a year for the remaining four years of her contract.

The triumph of Grace is one of the most astonishing reversals in the whole saga of Hollywood. Four years ago she was in several unsuccessful Broadway shows. Then, almost within a year, she catapulted to the heights. She won the Academy Award for her portrayal of the tortured wife of an alcoholic in The Country Girl. In her two upcoming films, The Swan and High Society, her qualities of subtlety, wit, emotion and human understanding will be displayed in even more sharpness because she is constantly polishing her technique as an actress.

One morning between scenes during the shooting of High Society I sat in Bing Crosby's dressing room. He plays the ex-husband of a girl named Tracy. Crosby remarked, "This Tracy character that Grace is doing, well, it's the most. It will be a whole new Kelly. She starts out being a little held down and then she breaks it up. She gets real high. She even gets drunk in one scene. Man, this girl achieves a real coup d’état.

"You see, first she's untouchable and then she breaks down and becomes a real woman. She kind of broke down a little in The Country Girl but in High Society she breaks down all the way. I think what happened is her being in love and that this romance with the Prince, old Rainier, helped to bring out this gal's warmness. And isn't that something about Monaco putting her picture on a postage stamp? I also hear they're putting her on a coin. It sure will be the best looking piece of change in the world."

To come to know Grace Kelly even casually, as I came to know her for a few brief days, is to realize that physically and spiritually she is quite unlike most of the characters she has portrayed so elegantly in the movies. It is proof of what an extremely gifted actress she is that when you are about to come into contact with her you expect to meet the chic and elegantly voluptuous creature who flirted so outrageously with Jimmy Stewart in Rear Window, who resolutely went on the make for Cary Grant in To Catch a Thief, who passionately kissed Clark Gable in the rain in Mogambo, and who broke William Holden's heart in The Country Girl.

That afternoon, as I plodded through the crowds in the Metro commissary, I was filled with misgivings because I could not see the enchanting blonde goddess anywhere. I thought for a moment she might have forgotten our appointment. But she was sitting at one of the tables against a wall.

The reason I did not see her was simple: she doesn't look like an enchanting blonde goddess. She was wearing her glasses, but that was not the reason. She was wearing an azure-colored blouse tied with a string around her slender neck. She was wearing black bolero pants and ballet slippers.

She is unusually tall for a woman almost five feet eight inches tall but she does not carry the weight that ordinarily goes with this height. She is about 110 pounds in heft give or take a few pounds. Her eyes, which are large and deep and extremely penetrating, are a lovely sky-blue color. Her hair, which is soft and straight, is worn long, almost to the shoulders. She has strong eyebrows, a delicately shaped nose, a small but firm chin, an alabaster skin that is translucently clear, beautifully formed ears and thin but very expressive lips.

Through some fortunate chemical interaction, Miss Kelly and I happened to hit it off almost immediately. I felt comfortable and happy with her, and I believe she also felt at ease with me. For this reason, I was able to catch a glimpse of her that few outsiders have known.

This aspect of her personality only comes out during one of her upswinging moods that usually follow the finishing of a movie or any satisfying experience that makes her feel good about herself. She then becomes playful, whimsical, gay, high-spirited. In this mood, she loves to tease people, giving play to an almost childlike mischievousness.

During her New York years, for instance, she once lived in an apartment with very little furniture. She used to startle young men who called for her by dressing up in a long black dress, letting her hair hang wildly over her face, and sitting crosslegged in an empty room, lit only by one candle in a bottle.

When I visited her house and started to light a cigarette, she said, handing me a pack, "Use these matches from Monaco."

I looked impressed. I saw the big word "Monaco" on the folding matchbox. I lit my cigarette and remarked, "Isn't that nice the Prince sending you matches from Monaco. How thoughtful!"

Seeing I had been neatly fooled, Miss Kelly broke into spasms of girlish delight.

"Read it again," Miss Kelly said.

I did. The matchbox cover read: "The Monaco Grocery and Delicatessen. Imported and Domestic Food Products. Finest Wines. 8513 Santa Monica Boulevard at La Cienga."

But her prevailing mood is one of introverted detachment from her surroundings. She can get lost in her own thoughts and emotions and she will sit by herself for hours, silently knitting or looking out a window.

For at least three hours a day, she must be by herself. During these interludes she retraces the events of the day, analyzing the motives of the people she has encountered, wondering which of her actions she might have altered.

One of her friends told me, "She has a secret life in which she finds peace."

Her circle of really close friends is very small and they are all New Yorkers. They include Rita Gam, Broadway producer Gant Gaither, her Music Corporation of America agent, Jay Kanter, and his wife Judy. The members of this group have a secret signal three bird whistles in rapid succession so they can identify themselves over the telephone. But even with her closest friends, Grace will be bashful. Few of them have heard her play the piano, although she is a tolerably good pianist.

It seems peculiar that somebody with such a character should plunge into the profession of acting, acting, and the answer to this riddle is a complicated one that takes us deep into her psychology and into her inner conflicts. But first, we must clear up two misconceptions Grace Kelly is not a debutante and she does not hail from the "Main Line" of Philadelphia society.

She was born Grace Patricia Kelly on November 12, 1929. The family then lived and still does in the East Falls of Schuylkill neighborhood of Philadelphia, a solid, no-nonsense, bourgeois neighborhood. The Kelly family is not in the Social Register. Nor is her father, John B. Kelly, worth $20,000,000.

Some years the John B. Kelly construction company, one of the nation's biggest contractors in the brick-masonry line, has done that much gross business. But Mr. Kelly probably is not worth more than a small handful of millions and he is certainly not one of the richest men in America, as he has been inaccurately described.

None of the Kelly children was reared in the lap of luxury. They ate sturdy, simple meals and they were not tended by retinues of nurses and governesses.

Another misconception about Grace Kelly's life, it seems to me, is that she had a blissfully happy childhood. The sadness and loneliness that Grace Kelly projected as Mrs. Elgin in The Country Girl could have come out of her experience as a human being. She understands loneliness and misery.

Both of her parents are strong, unusual personalities. Mrs. Kelly, who was Margaret Majer, comes of German stock. As a girl, she was tall, blonde and beautiful. She was a fervent suffragette and physical culturist. In 1914, when she was about 13 years old, Miss Majer went to the Philadelphia Turngemeinde, a gymnasium and social club for gymnasts, to practice high diving. She was introduced to a tall, handsome, broad-shouldered man, 10 years older than herself, who had come to play handball.

That man was John B. Kelly, a lusty young Irishman, with a keen mind and tremendous ambition. When he met the future Mrs. Kelly, he was a bricklayer's apprentice six days a week and an athlete in his spare time.

Jack Kelly was a great basketball player and a good boxer. He fought in army bouts during World War I in the heavyweight division and knocked out a man who later gave Gene Tunney a lot of trouble. He probably was the best all-around oarsman this country has ever known.

Politics, business and athletics are the three goals of his life and of these the most important is athletics. To Mr. and Mrs. Kelly, athletics is almost a religion. Of their four children, three fitted into the pattern beautifully.

The oldest child, Peggy, born in 1925, was a swimming and diving champion. She is married to George Davis, the owner of the Philadelphia Ramblers, a hockey team. Their nine-year-old daughter, Meg Davis, finished second in the Junior National Figure Skating meet in 1955. She was younger than most of the other competitors.

John B. Kelly, Jr., was born in 1927. From the time he was five, his father had him out in a boat and was drilling him in the technique of rowing, John Jr. has won the U. S. sculling championship six times, the Canadian championship five times, England's Diamond Sculls twice. He won the European championship in 1949.

During World War II he did some boxing in the Navy as a lightweight. He met his wife, Mary, at the 1952 Olympic Games. She was a member of the American swimming team.

The youngest Kelly child, Lizanne, was born in 1932. She was captain of the girls’ basketball team at the University of Pennsylvania and is married to Don LeVine, who is a broker with a stock exchange firm in Philadelphia.

By a strange fluke of biology, into this family of boisterous gladiators and Amazons, there came a quiet, sensitive, artistic, gentle creature - a girl named Grace.

Next week Mr. Zolotow tells why this shy girl became a great actress and why he thinks she fell deeply in love with Prince Rainier.

[irish-nlessing]

Merry Christmas Abby

Series page

Niall dragged his tongue across the last envelope and collapsed back into his couch cushions. He reached over to scratch at Abby’s belly earning a muffled groan and languid stretch from the pup.  

“Yeah cheers Abs, you’ve really helped a lot here.  See if I stick your mug on the card next year.”  

Abby nuzzled further into the plush blanket she was curled up on, her paws tucked under Niall’s thigh.  The Christmas cards had been his management’s idea, putting Abby on them had been Niall’s.  Tara had argued that putting his dog on the card meant they weren’t technically a business need and that’s how she got out of sealing 250 envelopes shut.  After that loophole Niall had set a calendar reminder for himself that next year he was going to spring for the peel and stick envelopes, cost be damned.

After the envelopes were stamped, sealed, and stacked in a box Niall shuffled through the few extras he had left over.  He ran his fingers through the dark fringe of his hair and tugged on the ends as he mulled over the tiny thought flickering in his brain.  He hadn’t seen Cate since his birthday.  The last time he walked away from the newsstand he had been determined to ask her out the next time he saw her.  An impromptu trip to his house in LA to write and a few radio shows in the states had side lined that plan.  Now, here he was, nearly three months later with not even a Cate-sighting to speak of.  

How would he manage to get a card to her anyway?  He didn’t know where she lived, didn’t even know her last name.  He could probably get Tara or someone on his team to find out for him but that would invite….questions.  “No fuckin’ way.  Not happening.”  Niall shook his head and spoke into the empty room.  If he really wanted this to happen he was going to have to bite the bullet and hand deliver it.  He swallowed harshly and grabbed a wayward sharpie marker from the coffee table.  He scrawled across the back of the card, “Dinner soon?” and then left his mobile number is his loopy handwriting.  He stared at it briefly trying to decide if it was the right mix of casual and interested.  He shoved the card back in the envelope and hastily  printed her name on the back in large black letters.  “Well let’s see if I can pull this off without getting papped and turning the whole thing to shit.”

He stood up and gathered the box of cards, his wallet and grabbed his coat from the closet.  The sound of the metal clasp of Abby’s leash clanging off the hook on the door had the dog up like a shot and scurrying around the couch until she was sliding to a stop at Niall’s feet.  Her tail brushed back and forth frantically while her tiny white paws clicked and clacked in excitement against the hardwood floor.  

There was a harsh bite to the air as Niall rounded the corner of the quaint block where Cate had her newsstand.  He’d dropped the box of cards off at the post box and nad tucked the card for Cate safely inside his jacket. The cafe he loved so much had long since stacked up their patio chairs and there were festive snowflakes pasted in the windows. Niall could see three or four people perusing the stand and caught a flash of red from Cate’s heavy woolen hat popping out from behind a stack of papers. He couldn’t help but smile to himself at her rosy cheeks and long brown waves poking out from underneath the droopy hat. He scooped Abby up and tucked her into his jacket to pop into the cafe. Technically there were no dogs allowed inside but with her bundled in his coat he didn’t think anyone would say anything.

The barista behind the till smiled brightly when she saw him and shook her head lightly when she saw the furry white and chestnut tail sticking out the bottom of his coat. “Well well well long time no see!”

Niall chuckled and shrugged casually.  “Nice t’be back.  Missed this place.  Can I get uh, an Irish Breakfast tea and a hot chocolate please?”  He fumbled with his free hand for a tenner and slid it across the counter.  “Keep the change.”

The barista smiled as she slid the two drinks across the counter.  “Cheers Niall, thank you!”  She furrowed her brow slightly and observed, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you have two drinks to go Niall.  What’s the occasion?”  Niall’s head jerked up and he could feel Abby’s tail thumping against his leg impatiently.  A hot prickle of sweat cropped up across the back of his neck.  Without meaning to his eyes flicked to the window where Cate was crouched in front of her stand rearranging one of the displays.  He looked back at the barista to find a knowing smirk on her face.  She pulled the cup of hot chocolate back towards her and popped the lid off.  “Cate likes extra whip with a drizzle of caramel on her hot chocolate.”  She fixed up the drink and slid it back across while Niall stared at her, mouth agape.  “Go on then, good luck!”  Without another word she shooed him away from the counter and spun around to grab a wash rag.  Niall swallowed harshly and maneuvered Abby to the ground quickly and grabbed the two cups.  They stepped outside into the cold and Abby shook out her fur and snuffed up at Niall, waiting for him to move.

“Don’t look at me like that.  M’gonna do it…just gotta take a minute ok?  Christ you’re pushy.”  He stretched his neck and checked for cars, then tugged lightly on Abby’s leash.  She trotted easily next to him, her head held high and her tongue lolling happily from her mouth.  Cate looked up from behind the counter at the sound of Abby’s jangling tags.  Her face broke into a wide smile and Niall felt a warmth bloom inside his chest at the sight.  She leaned forward and rested her chin in her hands.

“Hey stranger!  It’s been a while!” She stood up straight and clapped her mitten-covered hands together.  “To what do I owe the pleasure?”  Niall smiled sheepishly and commanded Abby to sit.  Her fluffy bottom plopped down immediately onto the sidewalk.  Niall praised her and then held out the paper cup of hot chocolate towards Cate.

“Hadn’t been to the cafe since I’ve been home.  Wanted to see if you were working today.  Brought ya something to warm you up.”  Niall was convinced that he saw the red in Cate’s cheeks deepen at his words.  His confidence was bolstered by her blush.  

“Niall that’s the sweetest, thank you so much!”  She brought the cup to her lips and her eyes fluttered shut at the sweet warmth of the cocoa.  She let out a satisfied moan and Niall’s knees almost gave out.  He decided then and there to make it his mission to hear that sound again.  He reached in his coat pocket and pulled the envelope out.  He could feel the tips of his ears heating up just outside the flap of his grey paddy cap.  Her eyes sparkled back at him as she placed the cup on the worn counter.  Niall held out the white envelope for her to take, his eyes darting back and forth between his hand and her furrowed brows.

“Uh, here.  Brought ya a Christmas card.  I didn’t know your address and I didn’t want t’be a total creep and try to find it and I figured it would be nice to see ya anyway so yeah, here I am with it.”  Niall finally managed to shut his mouth and stop the word vomit currently flowing out of him.  Cate had her lip tucked into her mouth in a terribly disguised ploy to stop herself from giggling at him.  She slid her finger under the flap and pulled out the thick cardstock.  At the sight of Abby in the Santa hat she let out a squeal and a delighted coo.  

“Niall!  This is the cutest thing I’ve ever seen!  I’m impressed you got her to sit that way.  Honestly, this is so adorable I think my heart hurts.”  Niall let out a breath he’d been holding as she pushed back and came out the little side door of the newsstand.  Without hesitation she wrapped her arms around Niall’s neck and gave him a hug.  He was stunned for a beat then managed to wrap his arm around her back, careful not to spill tea down her coat.  His eyes closed for a moment trying to commit the smell of her hair and the feeling of her body to memory.  

As she started to pull away he managed to stutter out, “On the back, uh, there’s a-”

“Cate!”  

Niall’s words were cut off by a deep shout from the nearby corner.  A tall, dark haired man was waving and jogging towards them.  Niall watched as Cate’s eyes lit up as the man got closer.  She immediately exited Niall’s space and took with her all the warmth Niall had been feeling up to that moment.  The man reached Cate on the sidewalk and immediately wrapped his arms around her in greeting.  He reached into the pocket of his parka and pulled out a small leather case.  “You left your glasses on the bathroom sink when you left this morning.  Thought you might need them.”

Niall’s face suddenly felt blazing hot.  It occurred to him that if she was to turn over the card at this moment and see that he’d basically asked her out and left his number, it was very possible that he would die of sheer embarrassment.  He took a step back, tugging the leash to get Abby to follow him.  She cocked her head to the side and held her ground, keenly aware that she hadn’t received her customary biscuit from Cate.  Niall dropped his voice to a low whisper.  “Abby!  Come on.”

Cate’s eyes shot up and she grabbed the man by the elbow and pulled him over.  Niall knew he was caught out.  There was nothing left to do but stand here and take it.  He steeled himself for the inevitable let down.

“Niall!  Meet Giancarlo, we live together.”  Niall automatically shuffled his tea to his other hand and stuck out his palm for a handshake.  Giancarlo leaned in and gave him a firm handshake with a nodded, “Cheers mate”.  Niall could only nod robotically, the tight feeling in his chest taking over his entire body.  Cate had knelt down next to Abby to scratch behind her ears and she looked back up at Niall, obviously aware of how his demeanor had shifted.  Her eyes searched his face and he did everything in his power not to make eye contact with her.  His gaze kept flicking to the card in her other hand and she finally caught on to where he was looking.  To his absolute horror she chose that exact moment to flip the card over and see his words scribbled on the back.  Her lips twitched for a split second and then her eyes shot up and went between the two men in mild panic.  She stood up and grasped on to Giancarlo’s sleeve, tugging him closer to where she was standing so he could see Abby clearly.  

“Giancarlo, this is Niall’s dog Abby.  Doesn’t she look exactly like Scout?”  Giancarlo’s eyes widened and he laughed.

“Yeah she does - spitting image actually.  I haven’t thought about that dog since we were what, eight?  Remember how mad Mrs. Malone used to get at us for trying to get her to learn the wrong commands?  God, I thought Granny was going to go apoplectic every time she yelled at us for it.”  Cate let out a rolling laugh while Giancarlo bent down to scratch at Abby’s ears.  Niall’s jaw was hanging open in confusion.  Cate stood up in front of him and smiled.  Niall searched her face for answers, his heart pounding in his chest.  Giancarlo stood and gave a little wave to Niall, with a “nice to meet you” and a “see you at home” to Cate before he turned and loped off down the sidewalk again.

“Giancarlo’s my cousin.  And my flatmate.  We used to spend afternoons at our Granny’s flat after school.”  Cate tucked her lip into her teeth again and smirked at Niall as her words found purchase in his brain.  The tension seeped from his body and his entire body relaxed.  His face felt hot with embarrassment and he cleared his throat.

“I thought….I thought you and he were…together.”

Cate giggled and pressed her palm to her forehead.  “I kinda figured.  Thought I should probably clear that up after I saw your note.”

Niall smiled and toed at an invisible crack in the pavement with his boot.  “Yeah about that, uh, no pressure, just thought it might be nice or whatever if ya want-”

“I’d love to have dinner with you.  I’ll text you with my number.”

Her words spilled out, cutting him off mid sentence.  

Niall broke into a wide smile, and nodded enthusiastically.  “Yeah brilliant.  Um, definitely do that.  And yeah, let’s do something soon.  Maybe Thursday?”

Cate scrunched one eye shut as she thought, then nodded.  “Yeah Thursday is good.  How about Japanese?  I know this great sushi bar by my flat.”

Niall thumped his hand against his heart and let out a laugh.  “Ahh Cate, a woman after me own heart.  Next thing you’ll tell me is you like to golf.”

Cate crossed her arms and chuckled, giving her shoulders a quick shrug.  “Well not to toot my own horn, but I can get around a green pretty handily.  Nothing like you Mr. ‘I play off nine’, but I’m not bad.”

Niall’s mouth dropped open and he said the first words that came to his head.  “Christ Cate, might have t’marry ya.”  He immediately wished he could fall into the center of the Earth as the words left his mouth.  He was going to cock up the entire thing before it even got off the ground.

Cate just laughed, her head thrown back and her dark waves falling off her shoulders.  She tipped forward on her toes and poked at Niall’s chest lightly.  “Let’s get through the first date, shall we?”  She left him with a flirty wink and spun to walk back into her little stand.  Niall was using every cell in his body to control himself from jumping up and pumping his fist into the air in triumph.  Instead he gave her a cheeky wink and started to walk off down the sidewalk.  Before he turned he looked at her pointedly and shouted, “Enjoy the cocoa.  I’ll be waiting for your text - see you on Thursday!”

[robronsecretsanta]

Fanfic: and all our friends want us to fall in love

to @tryingtokeepthingssimple, love from your secret santa

Robert sprawls back under the midday sun. It’s hot, too hot - Aaron’s turning a ridiculous shade of pink, and it’s going to hurt later, but it’s worth it just to see Robert shine golden tanned.

“Me and Bex ended,” The older man says casually, like he doesn’t care that his relationship is in the gutter. He grins, pearly teeth and danger. “Doesn’t matter, though.”

His eyes are glinting in a way that scares Aaron a bit. “Why?” He asks, even though he isn’t sure he wants to know the answer.

“Because I’m havin’ a go on Chrissie again,” Robert laughs in that careless way of his. He stretches his arms above his head and his t-shirt rides up. Aaron can’t stop his gaze drifting to the soft skin of Robert’s belly. He can’t stop his face from heating up, either.

He can’t help but mutter, “Prick,” either. It falls from his lips before he has the time to stop it, and for a second, he feels stricken. But then he thinks about what he said and lets it hang. He meant it.

Robert turns his head, mouth dropped open in shock. “What did you call me?”

“You heard,” Aaron says, voice low. Robert may be his best friend but the way he treats people is disgusting. That’s why he said it. Well, that and the other thing.

“What is wrong with you?” Robert breathes, quiet and angry. He places his palms flat on the ground and pushes himself into a sitting position, eyes boring into Aaron’s. “Every time I mention someone new, you have a go!”

“Is it any wonder why?” Aaron snaps. He goes to stand, but Robert’s fingers curl around his wrist, pulling him back until he’s sitting opposite the younger man. He crosses his arms over his chest instead. “You treat people like shit, Robert!”

Robert smirks, and it’s bone-deep and unsettling. “It’s not just that, is it?” He counters coolly, face masked into a hard expression.

Aaron’s vision tints read, hands curling into fists. “No, it’s because you know how I feel about you, and you don’t care!” He spits. The words hang awkwardly in the air, and Robert’s wide eyes trace his face like he’s reading them again.

“What?” He asks, barely above a whisper. His hand falls from Aaron’s wrist, hangs by his side like he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

“Forget it,” Aaron says. That was a mistake, his brain screams at him. And he knows that, feels it settling under his skin. He stands, and this time Robert doesn’t stop him. He turns, and this he time he doesn’t look at Robert. He walks, and this time he ignores Robert’s calls.

“Aaron!” Robert yells after him, but he’s not chasing him. That’s fine. He can block out the voice, ignore Robert’s existence.

He breaks into a sprint, feet burning and lungs aching, and when he gets back to Smithy cottage, he throws up bile so violently it makes his head pound.

.

Things are awkward - and even that’s an understatement.

Being in the same room as Robert is possibly the last thing Aaron wants right now, so he does the mature thing and avoids him like the plague. If they must pass in the street, he circles around the older man. If Robert comes into the cafe, he’ll swallow the rest of his coffee and leave.

Mature, obviously.

It’s fine. He doesn’t miss Robert, or the cadence of his voice, or the way his face shines in the moon light. That’d be boring.

And it’s not like Robert seeks him out, either - he’s just as bad, giving the garage a mile-wide berth, sitting at the opposite end of the pub. He doesn’t miss Aaron.

So they’re both in silent agreement. Aaron just wishes his heart would get the fucking memo.

As for Victoria, god - she wouldn’t get the hint if it punched her in the face, and Aaron’s tired of it.

She corners him in the cafe one morning, before work. Robert’s up at the counter, and Aaron can just about pick the tone of his words above the rest. “You and my brother aren’t speaking,” She says accusingly, pointing a finger into the centre of his chest.

“Great detective work, Vic,” He sighs, letting the sarcasm drip from his voice. He doesn’t have time for this - not today, not tomorrow, not ever.

She stabs her finger a bit harder, and he winces away. “Are you going to tell me why?” She asks, more of a demand. Aaron resulotely stares at a spot over her shoulder, and keeps his mouth firmly shut. “No, thought not.”

“Why ask?” Aaron bites back, trying to slip around her and make a dash for the door.

Victoria blocks him again, palm pressed against his t-shirt. “Worth a try,” She says with a shrug, but then her eyes light up in a way that tells him she’s up to something. “Oh, me and Rob have a free house this weekend. Party Saturday night.”

He shrugs, bored, and watches her frown deepen. “Busy,” He says shortly, and tries to shoulder her out of his way. She stops him though, with the hard stamp of her foot onto his shoe, and he swears loudly, not missing the glare that Bob sends him.

He doesn’t apologise. That’s a little (a lot) out of his comfort zone.

Instead, he quietens his voice, and asks, “What the fuck, Vic?”

“Right,” She says firmly, straightening her shoulders. She’s just a kid, really, but she’s intimidating and fierce and something in Aaron’s chest tightens with pride. He knows she’s gonna go far. “I don’t know what’s going on with you and Robert, but I’m sick of it. It’s awkward and uncomfortable. So you’re coming Saturday, whether you like it or not, and you’re going to sort this out. Got it?”

There’s no way out of this one, and Aaron knows it. “Fine,” He says through a long-suffering sigh, and Vic finally steps aside to let him go.

He feels eyes on his back, a burning gaze, and something fluttering deep in his stomach tells him it’s Robert. But when he turns and glances over his shoulder, the other man is talking to Bob like nothing ever happened.

Maybe Aaron’s just dreaming.

.

Saturday arrives too fast for Aaron’s liking.

“Maybe tonight’s the night, man,” Adam says, a smirk on his face that’s too wide to be anything more than a lopsided smile. He straightens his shirt in the mirror and reaches over for Aaron’s aftershave. “Maybe Vic will finally see that we’re meant to be!”

He sprays enough Joop to kill a cow, and Aaron’s half choking on it before he manages to stagger over to the window and open it. “Or maybe tonight’s the night she comes to her senses and stays well away,” Aaron suggests with a teasing slap to his friend’s shoulder.

“Senses?” Adam snorts, turning to Aaron. “I think she lost those when she decided to get with you!”

“And look how that turned out,” Aaron says, but he doesn’t mean anything by it. He’s accepted it, now. He’s gay and that’s that - can’t change anything.

Robert had helped more than Aaron cares to admit, but that thought stirs bile in his stomach so he shuts it down.

Aaron drags the next hour or so out as much as he can. He convinces Adam to have one more can at Paddy’s kitchen table, then shuffles over to the Sugden cottage slow enough that they’re late (“Fashionably late!” Adam cries. Aaron doesn’t have the balls to tell him why).

“Finally!” Vic huffs when they fall through the door in a mess of limbs and laughter. Aaron’s cheeks are flushed from the cold, hands stinging from carrying the freezing cold beers, and it’s all enough to forget about the situation, until-

Until he sees Robert.

The older man glances at Aaron, just briefly, but enough to have his nerves singing and his heart thudding. He looks disinterested - bored - but Aaron knows him. He knows it’s all just a front.

But Robert still turns away, back to a girl with perfectly bouncing hair and a figure-hugging dress.

So. That’s that.

It hurts Aaron more than it should.

.

It takes five cans and a bottle of vodka swinging loosely in his grip to make him feel a little less on edge. It’s still there though, in the background: in the ends of his hair that’s standing on end and the goosebumps on his skin.

“Spin the bottle!” Vic cries, words slurring together as she throws her arms up. She’s probably on the wrong side of drunk by now, and Aaron would keep an eye on her, but he knows Adam is - and Robert is watching them both like a hawk.

The party forms into some kind of misshapen circle, empty bottle in the middle. Aaron hates this kind of stuff, but Vic has a forceful hand pressed onto his shoulder, keeping him in place.

Robert is sat opposite, but- that’s easy to ignore. He stares resolutely at Holly, on the older man’s left and pulling faces at him.

The bottle spins and spins, and Aaron feels sick every time it slows down, but it doesn’t land on him. Not the first time, or the second, or all the times after, until-

“Aaron!” Vic screams, throwing her arms around him. She presses a sloppy kiss to his cheek and he struggles away, taking a swig of the vodka as Adam spins the bottle again.

It blurs into a circle of white, until Aaron can’t stand to look at it, so he closes his eyes.

That’s why he doesn’t see who it lands on.

It’s Adam’s loud guffaw of laughter that makes him look up, and he follows the line of the neck of the bottle to… to Robert, who’s sitting deadly still, glaring at the floor.

“Seven minutes in heaven!” Vic coos, both hands shoving at Aaron’s arm in an attempt to make him stand up.

“Vic,” Aaron says, quietly. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

She doesn’t listen though - never does. “It’s perfect! You can sort yourselves out!” She says, loud enough for Robert to look up.

“Can’t hurt,” Robert mutters. It’s low enough that Aaron has to strain to hear it, and it’s dark enough that he can only just make out the blush staining his cheeks.

It’s enough for Aaron to move, though.

He staggers to his feet and follows Robert, into the cramped cupboard under the stairs. The door shuts behind them and the noise of the party resumes – drunken cheers and the clinking of glasses – but it’s silent between them.

It’s dark, too; only an inch of light seeping through a crack between the door and the frame, but it lights up Robert’s features and shines in his eyes. Aaron can see every twitch of his face.

“So,” Aaron says, knees knocking against Robert’s as he sits with his back against the wall. He opens his mouth to say something else – maybe something about the weather, something sarcastic – but Robert shoots him a look to cut him off.

“Small talk?” Robert says, voice lilting at the end. He raises an eyebrow teasingly, but it feels more patronising. Something punches Aaron, low in the gut and uncomfortable.

“Not like I’ve got anything else to say to you,” The younger man snaps, turning his head. The din of the drunken teenagers continues, and Aaron focuses on picking out words from the shouts.

He can feel Robert’s eyes on him though: studying him, drinking in every little detail. “I’m sorry,” He says suddenly, voice small and nothing like him. “I shouldn’t have acted like I did.”

“Not your fault,” Aaron mutters, even though it definitely is.

“I get it,” Robert continues, barely listening to Aaron. His fingers inch closer and tangle with Aaron’s, resting on the younger man’s knee. “But I was scared. I didn’t- I couldn’t put it into words.”

“Put what into words?” Aaron asks, tongue suddenly dry. He feels confused, right to his core – like he knows what Robert’s saying, but doesn’t want to believe it.

“How I feel about you.” Robert says simply, staring at Aaron head-on. There’s no escape from his gaze, and it’s overwhelming, but Aaron can’t look away. He just lets his chest tighten and his breathing hitch, and looks back at Robert.

It gets too much, blue on green, sky meeting sea, so he tears his gaze away and looks at their tangled fingers. “How?” He manages to ask, words choked through his thick throat.

Robert just looks at him: blinks once, twice, then exhales and tightens his grip on Aaron’s hand. “I love you,” He says, voice rough but soft. “I didn’t know… I mean, I’ve always felt it, but I couldn’t work out what it was.”

“You’re with Chrissie again,” Aaron blurts out. He can’t even stop himself – it feels a lot like he’s hell bent on ruining this before it’s even begun.

The older man shakes his head though, and leans forward. Their foreheads brush from the proximity, noses knocking. “Not anymore,” He whispers, all raw honesty and heart wrenching truths. “I ended it. As soon as you told me, I was done. I don’t want anyone else.”

It’s too much – Aaron’s dreamt of this, wished for it even, but he never expected it. He never even thought Robert could swing that way until he came out, let alone fall for someone like Aaron. Something wraps itself around his lungs, squeezes the breath out of them. It spreads through his veins and burns his skin, explodes behind his eyelids.

“Do you mean it?” He whispers, barely a breath.

“I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it,” Robert says, a slight snap to his voice. He cups Aaron’s face in his hands, warm pads of his thumbs stroking along each side of his jaw. “You know me better than that.”

Aaron lets his eyes fall shut lazily, tries not to melt into the touch. Easier said than done, really. “Say it again,” He begs – demands.

Robert sweeps forward another inch, nudges their noses together and settles on his knees when Aaron’s legs fall open. “I love you,” He says, words full of things that he doesn’t show: desire, truthfulness, desperation.

“Okay,” Aaron says, a sigh of relief falling from his lips. He traces his fingertips feather-light under the material of the older man’s shirtsleeves, ruffles the fair hairs on his arm.

“Aren’t you going to say it back?” Robert says, amused, thumbing under Aaron’s eyes so he opens them.

When he does, he sees Robert’s eyes, sparkling with happiness while his brow is creased with concern. “You’ll have to find out, won’t you?” Aaron teases back. He can’t help it – it’s how they’ve always been. Easy and unhurried.

Robert takes the cue though, presses forward until their lips are brushing. It’s a simple kiss, gentle and dry, but it feels like it lasts forever. Aaron doesn’t dare breathe until Robert pulls back.

“I love you,” The younger man murmurs, words spilling out before he can stop them. It feels right – more than it did that time in the field, more than it did whenever Aaron had dreamt about it – and the brilliant grin that beams from Robert’s face makes it all worthwhile.

The door bangs open with a loud crash against the wall, but Robert doesn’t jump away like Aaron expects him to. He just turns his head with a raised eyebrow, and glares at the interruption.

At Vic and Adam.

“Your seven minutes is up!” Victoria cries, so drunk that she’s barely recognising what’s right in front of her. Her eyes are glazed and it looks like Adam is taking most of her weight.

Adam sees it though, and laughs, loud enough to get the attention of several kids in the room who turn their heads to look. “Looks like you sorted things out!” He cackles, arm slung around Vic’s shoulders.

Robert doesn’t bite hard like he usually does whenever Adam makes a crack, just glances back at Aaron with a sweet, secretive smile on his face. “Yeah, well,” He says, eyes trained on the younger man. “Sometimes all you have to do is talk.”

It’s enough of a dig that Adam blushes and pulls Victoria away, mumbling something about giving them a couple more minutes. Aaron’s grateful, even if he thinks that Robert could’ve handled it better – he knows he would’ve.

“This lot are probably gonna be here all night,” Robert whispers, closer than Aaron had realised. His lips brush against the shell of the younger man’s ear, breath warm against his cheek.

“Could always come back to mine?” Aaron suggests, curling his fingers around the ball of Robert’s shoulder. He holds on tight and sways upwards, catches Robert’s mouth with his own.

“Guess I could,” Robert smirks, and pulls Aaron to his feet.

Tonight, they share Aaron’s bed. It’s nothing that they haven’t done before, nothing that hasn’t been a regular thing since they were kids, but this- this is different.

This is Robert folded into the contours of Aaron’s body, forehead resting against the younger man’s temple. This is Robert’s arm curled over Aaron’s stomach, fingers tangled together. This is Robert, kissing him awake in the morning and making breakfast.

This is them. This is exactly where they’re meant to be.

[double-bagging-adventures]

The Nature of Things

The place my folks took me to, they call it a zoo but it’s as fake as Disneyland. I’m 17, turning 18 in October, still under my parents’ roof and under their rules and therefore forced to go on this vacation I didn’t want to take.

The place is called “Animalia Extravaganza” and it was a tourist trap in the middle of Nowhere, Idaho. It was a sad and strange place that was part animal reserve and part carnival and low budget all over. They’ve got exotic animals that have no business being in the Midwest and crappy souvenirs for bored families on the highway who need to stretch their legs on road trips.

Nobody ever really wanted to go to Animalia Extravaganza and that includes the visitors, the employees, and the animals. Despite this, it somehow stayed in business. It was practically a landmark at this point; a testament of how little there is to do here.

I didn’t want to go and I told my parents so. Pops got pissed. Ma got distant. It’s like a reflex action for them now. I knew two things about my folks at 17: that they loved me and were also profoundly disappointed with me. They didn’t want a son who wears nail polish and bright, colorful hippie clothes. They didn’t want a son who gets called a faggot on the streets, in the hall, on the way to class. But I’m what they got and we all made due.

I wasn’t really rebellious as much as I was honest. I like wearing make up because it makes me feel pretty. I wear big genie pants and sarongs because they’re really comfy. I like boys and girls because I think they’re sexy in different ways. This is just how I am, just the nature of things, and you may not agree with it but I can’t help that. So when I told my folks I didn’t want to go to Animalia Extravaganza it was another item in a long list of things I couldn’t fix for them.

If I’m being honest I knew what it was about. I was about to move out on my own and would be seeing them a lot less. I had a buddy in Denver who said I could move in with him as soon as school ended. My folks said they were happy for me but you could tell they were scared too. So they took me on a vacation suited for 7 year old me not knowing that he’d been gone for a decade. What they really wanted was to tell me how much they’d miss me and that they wanted one last day with their little boy. Why couldn’t they just tell me that?

In the car, I stared out at the flat, dead landscape rushing by.

“You excited to see Animalia Extravaganza again, pumpkin?” my Ma asked. She reached her hand behind her seat and wiggled her fingers.

I took her hand in mind and squeezed, an old ritual of ours. “Yeah, Ma,” I lied.

“When was the last time we visited?”

“I don’t know, Ma.”

“Don’t take that tone with your mother,” said Pops. Good ol’ Pops. A knight in shining armor with no dragon to fight. Always rushing to fix the problem that wasn’t there.

“But Pops,” I said. “I didn’t-“

“Don’t talk back to me,” he said and I didn’t.

The family motto: Don’t talk back. I once asked my father why I never allowed to have an opinion in arguments. He said it was because “he’s the dad”. I grew up both hating and loving my parents and often fearing my father. His temper was unpredictable and, on a few occasions, violent. We drove the rest of the way in silence.

When we arrived at Animalia Extravaganza, it looked just as sad and old as I remembered. I don’t think it’s ever been new, it’s just always existed as this perpetually sad and old roadside attraction. We parked in the vacuous parking lot and walked towards the main gate with the faded and chipped welcome sign. I could see some little kids in a petting zoo with a zebra (a zebra in Idaho for Christ’s sake) and a wailing kid on top of a camel. This place oozed unhappiness.

We spent some time looking at exotic birds and I made Ma laugh when I said the emu looked like Aunt Reese. My mother had a beautiful, amazing laugh and I always beamed with pride on the rare occasions I could pry a chuckle out of her. Pops was struggling to get the audio tour guide to work and failing. It made me smile to see his brow furrowed, making stabbing motions at the iPod and it made me love him even more despite everything.

We went into the reptile house while Pops waited outside. He was deadly afraid of snakes even though he didn’t like to admit it. Ma and I stopped to admire the boa constrictor which flicked it’s tongue at us.

Ma said, “I’m gonna go find your father.”

“That’s cool,” I said. “I’m gonna hang here for a minute.”

“Ok,” she said. “Want to meet us by the primate house in 20 or so?”

“Sure.”

“Ok, Pumpkin.” She smiled at me. “Let’s circumcise our watches.”

It was something my grandpa used to say. Instead of saying “synchronize” he’d say “circumcise”. I could never tell if he was trying to be funny or if he was genuinely confused on the meaning. I was bored of looking at reptiles. I saw a “staff only” door and casually slipped in. You’d be surprised what you can get away with if you act like you’re supposed to be there. I was in the area behind the cages. The air was rank with animal smells and random hooting and squawks. I took out a pack of Marlboro Reds I wasn’t supposed to have and began absent-mindedly slapping the pack on my palm. I’ve never understood why smokers do that but I’ve always seen it in movies.

A door to a break room opened and an Indian guy in a employee uniform walked out. I did my best to look like I belonged there. Behind him, a gorilla followed him. The Indian guy opened a cage door, took out his wallet, and gave the gorilla 20 bucks.

“Good work out there today, man,” the Indian guy said.

The gorilla snorted, took the money, and lumbered into the cage. After the employee had secured the door, he looked up and saw me.

“Oh shit,” he said. And then, “Hey, what are you doing back here?”

“Why’d you give that gorilla 20 bucks?” I asked.

“I asked you first,” he said.

“I asked you second,” I retorted.

I saw his name tag. It read “Mowgli”. I said, “Hey, like in the Jungle Book.”

“Yeah,” he sighed. “That’s me.”

“Wait,” I said. “You’re actually Mowgli from the Jungle Book?”

“Yeah.”

“Cool.”

We stood there staring at each other for a beat.

“Wanna cigarette?” I held one out.

“Shit, yeah.” He took the proffered cigarette.

I lit my own and then handed him my lighter. It had a cartoon cowboy on it and said “Honky Tonk Hank”. We sat on a couple of fold-out chairs.

“Cowboy killers,” I said, trying to fill the silence. “I pretend I don’t know my ma still smokes and she pretends not to know I steal them.”

Mowgli blew out blue-gray smoke and stared at me. “What’s your name?” he asked.

“Paul.”

“Don’t tell anyone about this, ok?” We’d be in a shit ton of trouble is anyone ever found out.”

“I always thought the animals here were a little too willing,” I said. “Has it always been like this?”

“Basically, yeah,” said Mowgli. “The animals promise to make themselves interesting for folks and we give them a share of the profits. Worked pretty well so far.”

As we were talking, two more employees walked in. One was a tan and muscular surfer-looking dude and the other guy had blonde hair and a 50’s looking haircut. He was dripping wet.

“I’m telling you, man,” said the wet guy. “The trout are little bitches. They’re always looking for a bigger cut.”

“Yeah, well,” said the surfer dude. “At least it’s better than Sea World, right? I hear Shamu is an asshole.”

“Shamu’s dead, man.”

“Oh yeah. Well, I hear he was an asshole.”

They were about to walk into the break room behind us when they finally registered what was going on. The surfer dude looked at me and then said to Mowgli, “What the hell is this?”

Mowgli took a drag and said, “It’s cool, man. Kid’s with me. This is Paul.”

“Hey,” I said. “You’re Tarzan. And you, are you Aquaman? Who’s next, Dr. Doolittle?”

“Nah,” said Mowgli. “It’s his day off.”

“Does he know?” Aquaman asked Mowgli. Mowgli nodded and Aquaman said, “Goddamn it, we gotta start locking that door.”

“What the hell is this?” I asked. “You guys are like big deal fictional characters. What are you doing in Idaho in this shithole?”

Tarzan and Aquaman pulled up fold-out chairs and sat opposite me and Mowgli.

“It’s an ok gig, man,” said Tarzan “The pay isn’t great but at least it’s steady. And we haven’t been ‘big deal’ in a long time. When was the last time you read a Tarzan story?” When I didn’t say anything, he said, “Exactly.”

“What about those Disney movies?” I asked.

Tarzan and Mowgli shuddered.

“Ok then what about Aquaman? You’ve still got comics and that new movie coming out.”

“Oh yeah,” said Aquaman, sarcastically. “I’m sure there’ll be lines around the block for that. Listen, I’m not holding my breath, kid.”

“But you’re a hero,” I said. “All you guys are; folk heroes. Everyone knows who you guys are.

“Nobody cares anymore,” said Mowgli, stamping out his cigarette. “We’re washed up.”

“So you guys just gave up making stories because it’s not the popular thing to do anymore? You’re just gonna deny who you are because of what other people think?”

“I mean,” Tarzan said. “Basically, yeah.”

I stood up. “That’s bullshit, man. You’re just like these animals: caged up. You should go and make new stories. Who cares what other people think? You gotta do you.”

All three of them were staring at me as I left. I didn’t look back. I met my folks at the primate house and we decided to go home. We got in the car and started to pull away.

“Did you have fun, pumpkin?” asked Ma.

I looked out the back window. A monkey was perched on the trunk. Pops yelled in the front seat as an ostrich pecked at his window. A parade of exotic animals streamed out of the parking lot amid confused families who could do nothing but stare. I could see a truck being loaded with various sized tanks filled with fish by Mowgli and Tarzan who had both turned their uniforms into makeshift loincloths. Aquaman was behind the wheel with green gloves and a scaly, orange shirt. He looked at me and gave a thumbs up. When the truck was loaded, it pulled out of the lot with Tarzan riding on top. He beat his chest and let out that classic Tarzan scream. A green-gloved fist pumped out the front of the truck and I heard “To the river!” as they passed us. The animals followed the truck in a grand procession down the highway.

“Yeah,” I said. “It was pretty cool, actually.”

[felidarachnid]

Secret santa

Happy Christmas to @angrymonster​ !! Sorry it’s a day late but here’s a little Secret Santa-themed fanfic for you. 

­­Junkrat reached a greedy hand back towards the plastic bowl of paper, flexing his fingers restively. Mercy covered it protectively and stared at him in consternation. “What are you doing, Junkrat?”

“Gotta pick again,” he said cheerfully, waggling the little scrap of paper in his other hand.

She smiled a little ruefully. “I’m sorry, that’s not how it works!”

Junkrat furrowed his brow. “But – I didn’t get Roadie.”

“That’s the point, you muppet,” sighed Tracer, already tucking her own paper slip neatly into her pocket. “Means you get to pick a present for someone you might not normally gift something to!” She tapped her pocket smartly with two fingers. “It’s fun, see?”

“Oh.” Junkrat looked at his paper and then back up at Roadhog. “Who’d you get?”

“No!” interrupted Mercy, slicing her outstretched arm between the pair. “You mustn’t share your Secret Santa with anyone. Not even close friends,” she added meaningfully, eyes sparkling.

“It is a Secret Santa,” pointed out Lucio, somewhat exasperated. “C’mon, Trace. I wanna catch the end of Hana’s stream before she goes offline.”

“Coming!”

Mercy ducked awkwardly out the way as the pair dashed out the room, narrowly missing knocking the Secret Santa bowl from her arms. She sighed. “Well, I’ll go and distribute the last names to Torbjorn and the others. Typical of them not to show up…” And she left in a flurry of motherly disapproval.

Now that he fully understood the concept, Junkrat found himself warming to the idea of this…Secret Santa thingy. It sounded fun, and he usually liked giving presents to Roadhog, so he couldn’t see why he wouldn’t enjoy this.

“What d’you reckon, ‘Hog?” he grinned, jogging to catch up with his bodyguard as he stomped down the hallway to their shared room. “I’m thinkin’ like…mebbe a toolset? I think I got some spare screwdrivers lyin’ around…”

“You’ve already forgotten who you have, haven’tcha,” rumbled Roadhog, and Junkrat knew he was rolling his piggy little eyes under the mask.

“No! Yes – shu’up!” Junkrat snapped defensively, surreptitiously sneaking a peek at the crumpled scrap of paper. “I know who I got – ol’ – ol’…Sym…Sym – metric…”

As he spoke, an image of a poised, beautiful young woman swam into his mind and he faltered a little. They had barely spoken but Junkrat had developed something of a crush on Symmetra these past few weeks and he blushed at the thought of giving her something so personal as a Christmas gift. Roadhog chucked to himself as he read the name over Junkrat’s hunched shoulders. “Gon’ be interesting to watch this play out,” he said teasingly, clapping Junkrat on the back and stomping off to their en-suite shower.

Once Roadhog was safely out the room, Junkrat shuffled over to his desk and began quietly digging through his pockets. He wrinkled his nose as he examined the handful of lint, sand, metal screws, cough sweets – and a single solitary coin. Morosely he picked it up and turned it in his long fingers. “Hey – Roadhog?”

There was an assenting grunt from the next room, steam emanating from the open door.

“What d’you think – I mean, like…just say,” Junkrat coughed, trying to keep the question casual. “ – like…d’you feel like another – y’know, another heist?”

After an awkwardly long pause, he heard the shower tap squeak and a damp Roadhog leaned through the doorway, still absurdly wearing his mask but with limp grey locks hanging loose around his head. “No.”

“Oh, c’mon!” Junkrat’s voice took on a wheedling, whining tone. “S’been ages, and you’ve been feelin’ restless too, I can tell it!”

“No,” repeated Roadhog, pointing at Junkrat with a loofah. “We’ve gon’ straight since joinin’ Overwatch. You know that.”

“But I’m bored as,” insisted Junkrat in the high-pitched, demanding voice that usually made Roadhog give in.

“Y’ain’t,” sniffed Roadhog, now wrapping his head in a fluffy white towel. “You just realised y’dirt poor and now you want some cash to buy a present.”

It didn’t matter how many times it happened, Junkrat always responded to Roadhog’s moments of surprising perception with shock and indignation.

“How dare you! A – fuckin’…present? Me?!” Tomato-red in the face, Junkrat was hurriedly pretending to be angry to cover his embarrassment. “You think I’m goin’ soft?”

“Nah, not soft,” admitted Roadhog genially. “Just tryin’ to crack onto a bird.”

“Fuck off!”

“I’m not helping you with this one,” insisted Roadhog. He hoisted Junkrat up by the back of his trousers and gave him a gruff pat on the head before chucking him into the corridor. “Go learn how to woo a lady the honest way.”

---

“ – I will, of course, pay you,” the woman said quietly, folding her arms tightly about herself. “For both your assistance and your discretion, you understand.”

“I want the money before tomorrow.”

“I can give you half in the morning, and half afterwards?” she replied somewhat doubtfully.

“Yeah…yeah, sure thing,” he hissed back in a terrible stage whisper.

She frowned at him. “Why are you whispering?”

“…I dunno, just seemed right.”

She cast the man a funny look and then sighed heavily. “I feel so…ashamed ….no offence to you, of course, it’s just…I shouldn’t have to resort to this.”

“Hey,” he shrugged. “Ain’t nothing wrong with getting someone else to do your dirty work.”

The woman shuddered and forced a smile. “Yes, well. Thank you for understanding. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Which was how Tracer and Ana found Mercy sitting at the kitchen table, head in her hands and steaming herself over an enormous cup of tea, and Junkrat whistling through his teeth as he –

“Are you washing up?” said Tracer incredulously.

Junkrat spun around, suds flying, and held up his rubber-gloved hands in feigned innocence. “What? No!”

Mercy gave a little shriek and sent her teacup flying across the table. “Ana! Lena!”

“Do I got to clean that up too?” said Junkrat slightly grumpily, indicating the tea-stained table with a sponge.

“No…no…” Mercy mumbled, flustered, and she began distractedly wiping the mess clear with a dishcloth.

“What on earth is going on?” asked Ana, who’d watched all this with a wry smile and a twinkle in her eye. “Angela, I thought it was your turn to do the dishes?”

“I know!” wailed Mercy with a suddenness that made Junkrat drop a plate in shock. “It’s just…I’ve been run off my feet! I’m so tired…I have so many chores to catch up on…I haven’t done laundry in a week…”She gazed up at Ana with brimming eyes. “I’m sorry…and it’s just…Junkrat was so willing to help…”

“Oi!” interrupted Junkrat, with all his usual lack of sensitivity. “For a fee, mind!”

Even more embarrassed by this, Mercy buried her face in her hands and groaned.

“Angela,” said Ana gently, sitting down at the table and putting an arm around the doctor’s shoulders. “You should have told us. We all know how hard you work…”

As Ana gently coaxed Mercy into unburdening herself, Tracer sidled over to Junkrat with a cheeky grin. “So…getting paid to do chores now, are ya?”

“Piss off,” he muttered back grumpily, rinsing the soap from a handful of forks.

“Bit different from your usual line of work, isn’t it?” pressed Tracer cheerily. “What’s going on?”

“I said, leave it!”

“You must be saving up for something reeeealllly special!”

“I said leave it!” snapped Junkrat, pointing at Tracer with a dripping yellow-gloved finger. “Nun’ya business. Now push off, I got stuff to do today.”

Tracer left him with a glimmer in her eye and a smirk that may have been slightly too knowing for his liking.

---  

After a long frustrating day,  McCree had been looking forward to ending it in front of the television with a cold drink in one hand. Which was what he’d been doing, at least until he couldn’t ignore the whispers at his open door any more.

“If yer gonna come in, come in,” he called testily. “Can I help you?”

Tracer and Lucio tumbled guiltily through the doorway, pushing and shoving each other in their attempt to not be the first.

“Sorry Jesse!” grinned Tracer, shooting upright. “Actually, we were looking for - ”

“Junkrat!” exclaimed Lucio, grinning from ear to ear. “What you doing in here, dude?”

Sitting next to McCree on the sofa, pathetically hunching his shoulders in a futile attempt to look inconspicuous, Junkrat was clutching a pair of jeans in one hand and a large needle in the other.

“Hm? Oh, I’m just gettin’ him to fix some of my stuff,” grunted McCree. “All my best jeans are plumb fulla holes.”

“Shut up,” growled Junkrat, studiously staring down and refusing to meet anyone’s eyes.

“I didn’t know you could sew!” said Tracer gleefully, planting herself firmly on the sofa between Junkrat and McCree. “Man of many talents, aren’t ya?”

“So what’s all this about?” asked Lucio, sitting himself on Junkrat’s other side. “Word is, you’ve been doing odd jobs for just about everyone in the Overwatch base.”

“It’s nothing,” snarled Junkrat, pulling a thread taut and snapping it with his teeth. “Mind yer own business.”

“I was right though, weren’t I?” grinned Tracer. “You’re so saving up for something.”

Blushing bright red, Junkrat shot to his feet and thrust the newly-repaired trousers back at McCree. “There. I’m goin’ to bed.” And he stormed out the room, stumbling slightly on his one good leg as he did so.

“I need someone to help me stamp mail for fans!” yelled Lucio at his retreating back. “I’ll come find you, yeah?”

McCree sighed and cast a mildly disapproving look at Tracer and Lucio, giggling for all they were worth. “You two are a nightmare, yer know that? Leave the poor kid alone.”

“But I know I’m right,” said Tracer insistently, leaning forward to help herself to a handful of Jesse’s crisps. “I was sayin’ to Lucio, I bet Junkrat is saving for his Secret Santa present. It’s the only explanation!”

“And what if he is?” said McCree with feigned nonchalance.

Lucio shrugged with insincere innocence. “Just means we’re curious about who he’s got, that’s all.”

“I bet it’s Dr. Ziegler,” said Tracer with a smug grin. “He definitely has a crush on her.”

“Just because you do, doesn’t mean everyone does,” snorted Lucio, giving Tracer a playful shove. “Nah, I reckon it’s Genji. I think Junkrat secretly likes him more than he lets on…”

“Yer both wrong,” said McCree, with an air of supreme superiority, allowing an irritatingly knowing smile to creep onto his face. Both Tracer and Lucio stared at him incredulously.

“Who is it?” they asked in unison.

“Well now, that’d be telling,” grinned McCree, tapping his nose. “Ain’t Secret Santa if I tell, now is it?”

“Then how do you know?” demanded Tracer.

“I’m jes more observant than you two,” chuckled McCree. “Blindingly obvious who he’s runnin’ around for, when ya see it.”

The other two could only shrug helplessly, and resign themselves to wait.

---

Roadhog awoke on Christmas Eve with a warm glow in his belly that he had not felt for quite some time. While the thick snow flurries outside and the mug of hot cocoa he was handed at breakfast were not his idea of a proper Australian Christmas, he still nodded his appreciation and took his seat at the crowded table, secretly delighting in the glitteringly festive decorations. Not that he wanted to admit it – he still had a reputation to uphold, after all – but he did really enjoy Christmastime. He’d even made a little extra effort with his Secret Santa – unconsciously he patted the little clumsily wrapped package in his pocket as he helped himself to hot food.

Junkrat shuffled sheepishly into the packed room a good half hour late, and surreptitiously took a seat at his bodyguard’s side.

“Here.” Roadhog shoved a plate of mince pies at him, and reached over to pour him a drink. “You alright?”

“Yeah…yeah, I just – got stuck in the Sellotape,” muttered Junkrat, moodily picking tape and wrapping paper from his fingertips. “Bloody stuff.”

“I’m proud of ya,” said Roadhog suddenly, thumping Junkrat on the back. “Just…never seen you work so hard for somethin’. You did good.”

Uncomfortably Junkrat squirmed and coughed. “Ahh…shut up, you donkey. Who’s goin’ soft now, eh?” But Roadhog could tell he was secretly rather pleased.

“So when you goin’ to give it to her?”

“Shut up!” hissed Junkrat, eyes darting furtively around the room as he hunched over his plate of mince pies. “Later.”

‘Later’, it transpired, really did mean much, much later. Mercy and Reinhardt had planned for the party to last all day, and presents were exchanged back and forth throughout the many meals and rounds of karaoke and dancing. Throughout it all, Junkrat remained stubbornly in his chair and Roadhog wondered what on earth he could be waiting for.

It was only much, much later that Junkrat finally found his opportunity. By this time, Reinhardt and Torbjorn were very drunk, and regaling the room with a spectacularly awful rendition of ‘Come On Eileen’. Symmetra had politely but quietly excused herself to a sofa in the adjacent room and was comfortably curled up when Junkrat found her.

She glanced up as he shuffled over, slightly pink in the face. “Hello. Are you enjoying the festivities?”

“Oh…um, yeah…yeah, it’s great. You not?” Awkwardly Junkrat hovered beside, evidently debating whether or not he should sit down.

Symmetra smiled slightly, evidently unaware. “Oh no, I am. Just that sometimes I prefer to enjoy them…from a distance, as it were.”

He nodded a little too vigorously. “I get that.” After a few seconds, Junkrat decided that it was better to sit down than continue towering over her like this, and he collapsed onto the cushions.

“Listen…I, er…” Nervously he scratched his neck. “This is kinda…silly…but…I mean – y’know…” He swallowed, and furiously wished that the words would just leave his mouth with the beautiful ease that she seemed to adopt.

“Everything at Christmas is about being a little silly,” commented Symmetra, with an amused smile that sent a warm glow through his chest.

“Yeah…yeah I guess so,” he grinned back. With some trepidation he withdrew a tidily wrapped package from behind his back and presented it to her, determinedly not looking at her face. “Um…Happy Christmas?”

He had already decided he didn’t want to watch her reaction, so when she took the gift in silence he could only guess what she was thinking. There was a gentle rustling and crinkling of paper and she complimented his tidy wrapping.

“Yeah…first try!” he coughed awkwardly, privately remembering the carnage of torn paper and tape that he’d left in his room after a full hour of failed wrapping attempts. At least he’d gotten it looking perfect in the end.

There was an agonisingly long pause and he was just working up the courage to turn to face her when he felt a sudden warmth accompanied by a breeze of fresh perfume, and Symmetra kissed him shyly on the cheek. “Thank you, Junkrat!”

In a daze he raised a hand to his face, probing the skin as lightly as though she had burned him. He was so shocked he barely saw Symmetra gently lifting the silver and blue chain from the box and looping it over her head.

She held her arms out, smiling a little bashfully. “What do you think?” The necklace glittered against her dark collarbone, a delicate chain of silver threaded through rough-cut blue crystrals the size of her thumbnail.

He caught his breath, unprepared for how well he’d chosen the colours. “…looks amazin’. Really.”

Delighted, Symmetra ran a finger over the jewelry. “It’s so beautiful, thank you! Where did you get it?”

Flushing even deeper, Junkrat gave her an embarrassed grin. “I – er – made it, actually.” Privately he reminisced on the stress of saving up as much as he could, only to find out how expensive nice jewellery really was. He’d clicked through pages of the perfect pieces, staring dejectedly at the price tags totalling several hundred dollars and more. It had been Roadhog who’d suggested that maybe he spend the money on some pretty stones instead – and how hard could it be to make them into jewellery himself, really?

Symmetra drew a breath. “Really? I’m – I’m impressed. It’s lovely, really.”

“Well, you make such amazin’ hand-made stuff, I just thought it might be a nice idea,” he said before he could stop himself.

“Oh…” Symmetra gracefully lowered her eyes, unable to keep a pleased smile off her face. “That’s…very kind of you to say.” She leaned forward and pulled Junkrat into an embrace, and he could feel her smiling into his neck. “Merry Christmas, Junkrat.”

He closed his eyes and breathed in her scent. “Merry Christmas, Symmetra.”

---

From the other room, Tracer and Lucio watched this tender exchange with some surprise, both elbowing one another and gleefully chattering. “I never would have guessed!”

“See?” said McCree, appearing suddenly behind them, unable to keep his face clear of a smug grin. “Told ya. Blindingly obvious.”

[lassieposting]

Romance head canon ❤️ in all the fan fiction I read its Valkyrie initiating the relationship/kiss👄 , her flirting. I read this piece and it was like from ghastly POV and he picked up on the way skul 💀look at her. Want some head canons of skulls POV. 👀

oho do i have some shit for you

seriously anon i think this might be the longest fucking post ive ever made

the way i read the books, skul starts to realise he’s in the process of falling for val when she’s 17-18. which is dodgy in some parts of the world, and idk where you’re from anon, but in my country the age of consent is 16 so i’m cool with interpreting it like that

the first instances of like, gentle flirting, from him are in death bringer and kotw. 

1. “You’re late.” 

“I’m beautiful.”

“You’re always beautiful.”

“I’m always late, too.”

skulduggery is from the 1600s, and flirting back then was not as obvious as it is today. this is roughly the time where he starts complimenting her regularly on her appearance. “you’re always beautiful” is a pretty safe compliment to give any girl, especially a girl like val who’s fairly vain and aware that she’s beautiful. i think here he’s kind of. testing the water? like not openly flirting with her, but more seeing whether she’s receptive to that kind of comment coming from him? whether he should bother to keep them coming? because if she’d responded here with an immediate awkward or disgust reaction, or if she’d kind of gone “that’s a little weird, skulduggery” i bet you none of the other semi-flirty stuff in the books would’ve gone down. he would’ve backed off, immediately

but she doesn’t. she just accepts it - we don’t get a physical reaction from her, but he keeps the compliments coming so there was probably some vaguely positive physical cue, i.e. she smiled at him or something, and says, “I’m always late, too.” The ‘too’ acknowledging that she knows she’s always beautiful. Thank you. Which let’s be real, is a response to half-flirty compliments that he’s probably used to from china. She’s not told him to fuck off, so that’s a positive.

And then he’s treated her to a gorgeous dress. 

2. “The dress was long and slinky, strapless, silk and chiffon. Her shoes were gorgeous”

I’m sorry, but if you see someone as a surrogate child, you don’t buy them a sexy dress. You just don’t, it’s inappropriate and wrong. And yeah, you might buy a dress like that for your platonic friend if you know that’s your friend’s style, but val isn’t a regular dress-wearer. so chances are, he bought her something he’d like to see her in, and hoped she’d like it. It’s not mentioned in the book, but it’s also possible he had to actually buy her underwear at this point. “Long, slinky, strapless” dresses usually require panties that don’t leave underwear lines, and strapless bras. Since val isn’t a regular wearer of slinky clothing or dresses, chances are she doesn’t actually own any suitable underwear for this dress. So either she went without, which would’ve been kind of uncomfortable for her during the whole nonsense with melancholia that went down at the requiem ball, or skulduggery bought her underwear to wear with the dress. 

how does he even know what size she is? either he asked ghastly, or he paid a lot of attention to that naked reflection. 

“I thought I’d spoil you,” he says. We know skulduggery spends a lot of money on the important woman in his life. China says he used to bring her priceless books and artifacts which would’ve cost him an arm and a leg, and it’s probably safe to say he bought her outfits, too, while they were together. He doesn’t seem to spend his money on people who don’t matter to him (as much). You don’t see him splashing out to get tanith a set of protective clothes, and he doesn’t so much as take elsie through the burger king drive-thru. Yet, I googled how much it costs to remodel a house and the answers I’m getting are all in like the £40,000 to £75,000 bracket, which might be out, but since I know nothing about house renovation, I’m gonna run with that. So he spent over £40,000 on doing up his house so val could essentially live there and spend more time with him. You don’t spend that kind of money on someone you’re not planning on having there long-term. 

He also implies that he would’ve gone to Ghastly to get val’s requiem ball dress if he hadn’t been so busy. ghastly’s clothes are implied to be expensive. it’s one thing for skul to buy val protective clothes - she’s his responsibility, and he wants to keep her safe, it’s an understandable expense. but splashing out just to buy her a fuckin expensive dress tailor-made by ghastly just to spoil her? dude got feelings

i mean let’s also take into account that that was what dudes did in ye olde days, right? they were the primary source of income. in 1600-whatever, the girl would’ve moved in with the guy, put her own touch on the home, and it would’ve been her husband’s responsibility to “keep” her; to pay for her clothes, her food, her entertainment, etc

What’s val done in the past few years?

“Moved into” skul’s house - not full-time, but it’s implied she spends a lot of time there, put her own touch on it via having it entirely fucking remodeled to suit her, what with having the bathroom, kitchen and bedroom put in, and spent a whole lot of skul’s money. he spoils her. in exchange, she makes his house into a home - probably just by being there, bc lets face it this is val and she’s no domestic goddess. but it mimics, i like to think, the way he would’ve treated his wife. money no object to make her happy

if you look at it like this, he’s basically treating her as though they’re in a relationship already. i doubt he’s actually taking that seriously and deluding himself that they’re a thing, but again, he’s testing it out. how does she react to him treating her like this? does she have issues with it? is she comfortable? and she’s totally chill with it, so another positive

There’s also this:

3. “Now she had her own bedroom, there was a bathroom with a huge shower and a kitchen with a fully-stocked fridge.”

So not only did he refurbish for her, but he refurbished with quality. Which, yeah, it’s skulduggery, he’s got expensive tastes, but tbh i think he let her pick out everything. which means she picked all this expensive shit that looks great but cost him a mint and he doesn’t care, bc this is how he shows affection

4. “sometimes she wondered how much money she’d cost him with her insistence on refurbishment”

So refurbishing was val’s idea. The fact that she wanted skul’s house changed for her probably came across as like. not flirty, exactly? but to him, she’s saying that she wants to spend more time here. more time with him. she wants his home to be her home. he probably saw that as encouragement, tbh, he was so happy about it? 

then in kotw, we have this:

5. “Remember that sorcerer who went missing?”

Valkyrie raised her head off the pillow even as she woke. For a moment she didn’t know where she was, then she recognised the house on Cemetery Road…

“Patrick Xebec,” Skulduggery said, standing in the morning sunlight that streamed in through the window.

he’s. in her room. while she’s asleep. at this point, they have no boundaries. skulduggery would’ve been raised that to come into a young lady’s room while she is abed is just. not done. the only woman it would’ve been appropriate for him to do that with would be his wife, or a lover - women he’d essentially share a room with anyway (don’t quote me on this, but i think a lot of couples in his era had separate bedrooms as standard? and then just slept together when they wanted to? because a lot of marriages were out of convenience and not love?). but im pretty sure there’s also another scene of him doing it again - coming into her room before she’s up and waking her up by talking at her - so either he’s just utterly lost his sense of propriety over the years or he’s so comfortable with her and she with him that they no longer have that boundary

6. “She took a quick shower, dressed, and Skulduggery had a bowl of cereal waiting for her when she emerged.”

so not only is he a-ok with coming into her room while she’s still in it, they’ve also got into a morning routine with each other. he makes her breakfast. it’s wonderfully domestic, a little gesture of affection in his very understated way. skulduggery is an over-the-top personality who doesn’t do emotions very well, and val has no subtlety. he’s treating her like he’d treat his significant other, but because he hasn’t actually smacked her in the face with a brick stamped with “I LIKE YOU” in big letters, she’s not picking up what he’s throwing out there

it’s also worth mentioning that like. in death bringer and kotw, he starts touching her a lot more. hugging her, or letting her hug him. that scene where he pushes her up against a wall and kinda feels her up to check if she was shot, even though she’s wearing protective clothes and so he knows none of the bullets would’ve hurt her. that bit in kotw(?) where she gets stuck in the hole and he has to pull her out. it’s pointed out on the skulduggery forums in the valdug thread that if you pull someone out by their underarms, like he tries to, you’re gonna touch boob. you just are. it’d be shockingly difficult not to. and again, no negative reaction from her, not even an awkward joke

again, for the most part of skul’s life, male-female physical contact was very limited. he didnt touch her very often for the first half of the series, and i think that had a lot to do with the fact that in his mind, it would’ve been inappropriate. touching is something you do with the girl you’re courting. so like, he’ll hug her if she needs to be hugged, or comfort her if she needs it or whatever, but there’s no casual touching. but in the last four books, he touches her an awful lot. because he is kinda courting her

kotw i think is the point where skul stops dodging around on the edge of flirting, and starts actually flirting. and tries to let her know he’s got feelings for her, because he’s a whole lot less subtle in this book. there’s this whole exchange: 

7. “It’s just, if you were feeling somehow…unattractive…”

“Sorry?”

“I don’t mean unattractive,” he said quickly. “I mean, if you were thinking that maybe you’ll always be alone -”

“You think I’ll always be alone?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

We know that when skulduggery was alive, he had a stutter. this isn’t a stutter, but he’s definitely nervous, and you can tell? i can count the number of times skulduggery was visibly nervous in the books on one hand. he’s a very confident, very self-assured man. but this is the first time he’s kind of made it obvious to val that he likes her. this is him kind of going, i’m an available romantic prospect, valkyrie. but she doesn’t let him get it out, she won’t let him finish. he phrases it wrong and loses his chance.

8. “I was only trying to be sensitive.”

she’s hurt him. she won’t let him talk, won’t let him tell her how he feels. she “doesn’t need him sensitive”. she’s kind of. pretty much completely dismissed that he’s also a person with feelings, and she’s hurt him.

9. “you can’t run from your feelings!”

“i can walk from them.”

he doesn’t deny that there are feelings to walk from. by now he’s picked up that valkyrie is dense as a fucking wall, so the flirting is getting a little bit more obvious. and even though she just hurt him, and he’s now kinda pissed at her as a result, he still acknowledges that he has feelings

and then, in lsodm, we get this absolute fucking gem

10 “tight trousers don’t count.”

he’s given up, everyone. this is outright flirting, it even sounds flirty on the audiobook, he knows he’s not fucking getting anywhere and now he’s just not even bothering to be subtle

and then, going totally outside of canon, i like to think that the Big Reveal is essentially skulduggery says something even more obvious than the tight trousers comment, and val kind of pauses and goes, “are you flirting with me?” and skulduggery is just like

HAVE BEEN FOR THREE YEARS NOW BUT THANKS FOR NOTICING