#maybe not comfortable enough to tell him about the conversation with glitchy but enough to just try to talk to him

[beeholyshit]

pt 3 "who you are"

[beautifulletdownfics]

The Nearness of You - A Harry Styles One Shot

A friends to lovers one shot feat. birthdays, pining and stolen purses.

Hello, please enjoy this fever dream fic that came to me a week ago and is now somehow 13.5k and gracing your eyeballs. I’ve never written a one-shot of this nature before and it was quite a refreshing distraction from my usual, long-form fics. Thank you to Anne @oh-honey-styles​ for the encouragement (bullying) and for posting the pic that inspired it all. To everyone else, read on x katey *Because this is quite lengthy, I’d recommend opening in a browser because the Tumblr app can be glitchy*

My masterlist Chat to me here

“When you're in my arms And I feel you so close to me All my wildest dreams came true” The Nearness of You, Ella Fitzgerald & Louis Armstrong

++

You love the cold.

London in February isn't everybody's cup of tea, but you feel positively giddy walking down the icy Soho street in your new & Other Stories snow boots. The hard, black leather is already making your toes ache, and they're rubbing against the heel of your left foot, but they'll stretch to size, and you can tell these are going to be Your Signature Boots. The wind whips against your cheeks, red flushing them as you cross the laneway and push open the door to the chic little restaurant you've followed on Instagram for years but never had an excuse to try. Figures Harry chose it for tonight. Sometimes you wondered if the coincidences were a little too … Coincidental.

"Hi," you smile brightly to the maître d', "I'm uh … I'm here for the birthday? For Harry?"

Do I need to say his surname? You think to yourself.

"Can I have your name, please?" The suited man pulls a piece of paper out of the reservations book and waits for you to identify yourself. Your chest is rattling from the cold and the flurry of nerves you're all too familiar with ignoring.

"Y/N," you say your full name, taking in the dark floor of the restaurant, the flickering candles on the tables and lining the bar that takes up the entire left side of the room. The whole place is beautiful, just like you've double-tapped online; all deep reds and burgundies, vintage posters, and mismatched, dark wooden furniture. A jazz record plays just loudly enough to fuse the conversations at all the tables into one comfortable sound. It would make for a sexy place for a date, you decide, stolen touches under the table would feel thrilling and seductive.

The maître d' nods, you're on the list, "Back in the private dining room," he says, "Follow me this way."

You push your evening bag further up your shoulder and walk half the length of the bar, your eyes adjusting to the darkness. You catch the bartender watching you as you go, he's cute, and you give him an awkward little wave before calling out ahead of you.

"Sorry, excuse me," you get the attention of the man leading you through, "Can you point me to where I need to go? I'm going to get a drink to take in first if that's okay?"

"Just there," he points to the doorway at the back, next to the kitchen pass, "The curtain on the right."

Thanking him, you watch as he walks back to his station by the front door. You turn to the bar and rest your hands on the cool wood. They've stuck the pages together of old Little Golden Books for the drink menus, but you'll be ordering what you always get on birthdays, so don't take in the beverage options as you flip through The Tawny Scrawny Lion. You remember it from when you were a kid.

The bartender moves to stand in front of you, a gleam in his eyes and flirtatious smirk on his face, "Pretty good read, that one. You have to order a drink though, this isn't a library."

You laugh, he's laying it on a bit thick but probably just after the tip, "I was more a The Poky Little Puppy sort of girl."

He gives you a grin of approval, flipping a napkin up onto the bar in front of you, "What can I make for you?"

"I'll have two Old Fashioneds, please," you lean forward onto your elbows to give your feet a rest as he pulls up a second napkin and then two crystal, lowball glasses. "They're pretty," you comment without thinking.

"It's all about the glass," he confirms quickly, dropping brown sugar cubes into each one and then shaking bitters on top. Your eyes focus on the way the squares dissolve and fall in on themselves as he speaks again, "I'm Jack."

"Y/N," you give your name for the second time, throwing a brief smile his way, "I've never actually watched someone make these before."

Jack pauses and gives you a teasing look, "Do you want me to stop so you can get something to write this all down?"

You laugh and roll your eyes at him as he goes back to making the drinks. You're stalling. You know when you go through the curtain in the back there'll be a dozen people who're all dressed nicer than you, with more impressive jobs than you, who have funnier, more outrageous stories about the birthday boy than you. You'll need to stand awkwardly in the doorway for a few moments too long before Harry notices you, and then your greeting will be watched by all his cool, London friends.

You know better than to let any of that dull your shine—you really do—but you've had a rough few months, and if you're honest, you'd like your first time seeing Harry since the summer to be a little more low-key than this. So that's why you're wearing the new boots that hurt and might not suit the dress code because they're new and you feel good wearing them with this outfit. It feels a little special to be out celebrating Harry's (belated) birthday in a semi-new ensemble. You managed to fluke getting your hair and makeup just right, and yes, your legs do look pretty fantastic in these tights with the short, roll neck, knit dress, thank you very much.

"Here you go," Jack brings your attention back to him, you can smell the citrus twist in front of you, and the crystal glass deflects the light from the candles, "Can I put this on a tab for you? You're with the birthday?"

"I'll pay," you tell him, already digging for your card and holding it out to him.

"Oi!" You hear a very familiar voice call out from the far end of the bar, the hairs on the back of your neck stand up and you shiver, "What're you payin' for? What's she—don't take her money!"

You keep your arm out steadily to Jack and raise your eyebrows at him, "Take it," you urge him quickly, feeling him pluck it from your fingers just as you turn towards the voice you know so well.

That familiar Tom Ford cologne hits your nose just as Harry hurries up and deposits himself heavily against the bar, right up in your personal space. His broad frame blocks out the room to you, and he's lit softly in the dim light and looking radiant from within, as per usual. He's got his crazy eyes out—accusing you—and his eyebrows are pinched together slightly, but he looks good. Happy. Rested. Pleased to see you.

Harry's always pleased to see everyone, you tell yourself, Hold it together.

He pulls you into his chest for a hug. Your cheek presses just below his pecs, and you feel the way he's grown more defined since you last saw him. The material of his t-shirt is soft and smells clean. It's a tight squeeze he gives you, one that you resist reading into. Was it healthy for there to be so much comfort in a simple hug? Was your whole body allowed to tingle and fizz from the embrace of a friend? Was it pathetic to have been carrying around in your ribcage the same crush from when you were thirteen?

Affirmative. Without a doubt. Yes.

You haven't seen Harry since mid-September, the last time he was in London. Well, the last time he was in London and had time to see you. You're sure there were probably business trips, Christmas definitely. And going off Instagram, you think he might've flown into Manchester and spent a long weekend with Anne back in October, but if it was any of your business, it would've been your business. You needed to be grateful simply for what you got; intermittent texts about books he'd read or maybe a happy drunk voicemail if he thought of you at the right time. He sent an email at Christmas with a charitable contribution in your name instead of a gift.

"It's so good to see you," Harry says as he pulls away, all crinkled eyes and broad smiles. You don't know your grin has launched his heart into space and that despite having just gone to the bathroom, Harry feels due for a nervous wee. He thinks you look fucking gorgeous tonight. Knowing you've done your hair, and eyeliner, and picked that dress to come out and celebrate his birthday … It sends a jolt of desire straight to his groin—beauty blooms in front of his eyes in you.

Tell her, you idiot. Twenty-seven could be the year.

"Hi," you chirp at him happily and pick up one of the glasses in front of you, "I got you a drink."

Harry watches you fondly and then dramatically looks off to the side, lets out a little huff, "Typical Y/N, buying her own drink … You really think I wouldn't have one here for you?"

Nevertheless, he says a quiet thank you, takes the glass from you and deliberately sniffs it as if he's not sure what's inside or if he'll like it. You smack his arm lightly at the show and pick up your own glass, chinking it to the side of his and watching him over the rim as you both take your first sips. The familiar taste and view fill your tummy with gurgling happiness that sits high in your chest. He's dressed almost exactly how you expected him to be—smart, high-waisted dress pants and a printed t-shirt. You're glad you didn't go too formal, the restaurant is nice, but it's not Hatted or anything, not like the place he took you in LA that time, where you felt like the biggest idiot in the world for not realising beforehand, was properly fancy.

"Fuckin' delicious," he rumbles slowly, bringing you back to the cocktail, "A classic."

"Happy birthday," you tell Harry sweetly, thankful for what's likely to be your only quiet moment with him all night, "Sorry I couldn't make it to the LA party."

"Ah," Harry waves you off, "Your job's much too important here."

He means it. Harry's beyond proud of you. He's always telling people you work for the NHS, saving lives and keeping the country going. The party in LA was thrown together by some people at the last minute, and even though most of the friends he left in the backroom when he went to find the bathrooms a few moments ago were able to fly across for it, Harry's not the least bit put out by you not being able to. Would've been a big trip for you to do on your own and he knew there's no way you'd miss his London celebration. And you sent over a gift, which shouldn't have surprised him. His actual birthday was spent in LA, and that morning a parcel arrived from you—two new notebooks and a novel Harry read the back of and instantly knew he would love. It's what he read on the flight home to the UK.

Trust you to want him to have the gift on his birthday—go to all that trouble of packaging it and sending it over—when you were going to see him in London ten days later anyway. Harry could do worse than a friend like you.

"I just need a bit more notice than four da—

—Please," Harry's shaking his head at you, hating watching you apologise for something he really doesn't care about. "I'm glad you're here tonight," he tells you genuinely, fingers reaching out to brush your bangs away from your eyebrow briefly and—did the room just spin around you?—get a glimpse of the bronze sheen over your eyelids, "I haven't seen your new hair in person, looks lovely."

Lovely? he scolds himself, Lovely is a nice jam scone, lovely is a hug from mum …

"Oh," you coo, automatically sending your own fingers up to where Harry's had just been to reposition your newish bangs, "Thanks, still getting used to it, wanted to do it forever but wasn't brave enough to I guess."

"I like your natural hair colour, too," he continues slowly, eyes running over your whole head, "I mean, I loved how it used to be … But I like this a lot."

Shit, Harry's already failing to adhere to the strict series of pep talks he's given himself over the last couple of days. He's babbling, and he's probably just made you think he's not liked how you've had your hair for the previous twelve years. Is he buzzed from the cocktail or from the way your cheeks have gone a little pink since he touched you? His compliment made you squirm, and Harry wants to do it again and again until what he's feeling makes sense.

"Just, you know, feels like a throwback to the old days," he mumbles through another sip of the cocktail you both love, a glint appears in his eyes as he continues, "When you had Barbie overalls and would spend half a day plaiting your whole head in those tiny little rat tails."

Your mouth opens into a horrified O, and you let out a single laugh, "Rat tails? They were cool. And I was eleven when we met, I'd definitely already outgrown the Barbie overalls."

"Whatever you say," Harry smirks at you, signature dimples appearing on his cheeks, "I just remember those little beads from the ends of them ending up all over the bottom of the pool."

You smile at the memory. You remember duck diving with Gemma to collect all the beads so they could be put back into your hair the next day. Nearly drowning from laughing so hard at Harry and the other boys trying to stand on your backs in the water. Summers with Harry were always spent laughing. The local pool and skate park saw all your adventures. When Harry's dad moved in next door to your family after his parent's divorce, you and your brother hung off the fence, peering into the backyard to see if any toys or a trampoline might appear signally new kids next door. They didn't, and it wasn't until the summer when Harry and Gemma arrived for their holidays that you jumped the fence with ice lollies and offered yourself up as a new friend.

"Simpler times," you muse to yourself, looking up and catching the perplexed look Harry was giving you, "Spaced out a bit, sorry."

"I've missed my little weirdo," he grins at you affectionately, angling a little closer and levelling his head down to yours as he bit his lip and frowned, "Are you doing alright though?"

You let out a little sigh and avert your eyes to where Jack, the bartender, is busy making trays of drinks for different tables. Harry observes you carefully, a twinge of guilt forms for causing the sad look that's come over your face, but also for not having asked the question weeks ago. Gemma told him at Christmas, an off-handed comment about you being newly single. When he heard the evil gremlin in him was fucking relieved, just like he always was.

"I'm fine," you try a smile out and pull your lips up higher when you don't think Harry buys it, "Better. Had my crisis haircut and drank myself to tears with my work friends. Just a normal break up, really. M'getting used to them at this point."

A small, white lie.

Each breakup bruises you deeply. Talking about it afterwards fills you with a shame that makes you feel naked, like everyone else can see what's wrong with you but you. As though it's obvious why nobody's picked you yet. You don't ever want to talk about it afterwards, (especially not with Harry) don't want to draw attention to it. Prefer to let the disappointment and loneliness pool in your tummy and sit there heavily, weighing you down, waiting for the One Day someone spectacular might come along and be buoyant enough to float away with you.

You're looking for your forever. You want the cheesy romance, and the love, and marriage, and kids, and the whole stupid thing. You want to be wanted and loved and cherished. That's what you're ready for. You just can't find anyone who's ready for that with you. So, you date, have mediocre boyfriends who rarely make it to the first anniversary, then pick up the pieces and try again.

Wash, rinse, repeat.

"Well," Harry swallows, reaches out for your arm to make sure you look at him, "You look beautiful tonight. And it's his loss, he's clearly a monumental idiot."

You give Harry a noncommittal hum in response. Just as you're about to say something you shouldn't—get into details you bet Harry really isn't that interested in knowing—you catch the movement of someone appearing from the doorway behind Harry and then approaching you both.

"Harry, mate," you don't know the guy who's recognised Harry's back and is calling out for his attention now, "Thought you might've fallen in."

Harry snaps around quickly to the voice, blocking your view. You take another sip of your drink and pull in a deep breath. Not fitting into any of Harry' groups socially has its downfalls. If his sister wasn't around, you tended to have to make friends at anything Harry invites you to. You're not part of his Holmes Chapel crew or his LA friends, and you definitely don't fit into the London group. Over the years there have been faces you've come to find familiar, but you're still the singular, hanger-on friend from Harry's second childhood home.

Peering around Harry's shoulder, you catch the end of a look between the two guys you think alludes to this new friend gauging whether Harry needs rescuing from you. You briefly wish the ground would open and swallow you whole. You know that look well.

"Aiden, this is Y/N," Harry raises his arm and angles to pull you around in front of him.

You hold up your drink, awkwardly, "Hi."

Aiden gives you a hesitant smile, "Hello," then he raises his eyebrows at Harry, "Harry, you coming back in, mate?"

Harry bites his lip and chuckles, reading the look on his friend's face, "You're a prick, I don't need saving. Known Y/N since I was twelve, we were just catching up."

You feel yourself go bright red, and you're thankful for the forgiving lighting. This isn't the first time this exact scenario has happened to you. You've been on the receiving end of that uneasy look before—his friends checking if the girl who isn't there with anyone else is supposed to be there at all. Backstage at the O2, a member of Harry's security once hauled you to the tour manager's office to check your VIP credentials were legitimate. You'll take that story with you to the grave.

Aiden deflates slightly and waves a hand your way, "Shit, sorry, thought he'd been cornered by a fan again … I mean, a pretty fan to say the least but …" he coughs into his hand when Harry gives him a glare you don't see, "Great to meet you."

"No worries," you wave it off like it's nothing. The truth is your brain has short-circuited at Harry's palm resting on the small of your back, he's not moved it from when he first brought you forward. Friendly touches weren't strange between you, but this lingering, comforting hand is burning a hole in you tonight. You haven't been out and had anyone touch you since your breakup, and Harry is setting off all you nerve endings. You tilt your weight onto your other foot to pull back from him slightly, but Harry's hand travels with you. "We should go back, I might use the loo first though, is it that way?"

Harry watches you point in the direction of the bathroom, you're flustered and he really wishes he could tell Aiden to buzz off so he could just take another few minutes with you. Brief you on who was in the room you were about to go into. You wouldn't know any of them, and Harry always appreciated that you came to things on your own, particularly when you wouldn't know anyone aside from him once you got there. He should have invited his sister so you'd have a buddy. Or told you to bring a friend. Not a boyfriend, though.

He watches you take the final drag from your drink and put the glass down on top of the bar, "Thanks Jack, t' was dee-lish," you catch the attention of the bartender, throwing him a beaming grin. And Harry watches the way the guy's features light up at being called on by you. Envy rumbles in Harry's gut, he recognises the dumb smile and dopey nod of Barman Jack's head. Has felt it a hundred times himself when he's been on the receiving end of your quirky humour.

You walk away, and Harry feels Aiden watching him, "She's fit," he comments, trying to get a rise out of Harry, reading the room perfectly.

"Fuck you," Harry grunts at him.

++

Harry sits opposite you at the long table in the private dining room.

You nurse a glass of rosé and eat the food slowly, savouring it. You deliberated over the menu for a long time before settling on what to order, you've seen photos of most of the dishes online, but there were several new ones too. Harry goes off your recommendations but spends a lot of the dinner talking to the people sitting beside him. He knows if he tried talking to you right now, he'd just get lost in you, which is both rude for a birthday party and bound to be too conspicuous.

You insert yourself into a conversation with the girls sitting next to you and pretend you're good at making friends. They spend most of the meal talking about something that was on the telly the night before. You were on shift so missed it, but pretend to be interested or like you might've seen it—anything to not stick out like a sore thumb.

Harry watches you out the corner of his eye the whole time. You've shrugged off your jacket, and he recognises the gold necklace you've got around the collar of your dress, sitting over the black fabric on your chest. He's pretty sure it was a gift from Gemma a few years ago, you wear it all the time. Harry makes a note to get you something that compliments it for your birthday coming up. You're chatting to one of his mate's girlfriends and Lisa who's been on his publicity team for years. Those would've been the two he'd have introduced you to first as well. He can't stop watching the way your lips turn up every time something funny is said, or one of the girls makes eye contact with you. Watching you try with his other friends always makes Harry feel warm and giddy for some reason.

Fuck, he's missed you. And he berates himself for the fact he never seems to remember that until he sees you again. (It's strategic usually, his heart doesn't take your company well when he knows you're going home to someone else) You're so engaging and kind and unintentionally charming, and you always have time for him. Harry knows he's not an easy human to be friends with; he constantly ducks in and out and is never around for the big things, let alone being available to call on a random day to just hang out with. The friendship is always on his terms, and he knows it makes him a selfish prick. You definitely could've done with a call a couple of months back when you had your heart broken. Like always, he missed it, and by the time he was sending you a message about an episode of Midsomer Murders, he felt as though the moment to console you had passed, and Harry didn't want to draw attention to the fact he wasn't around for it.

"Harry?"

"Hmm?" His head snaps back around to the person next to him, thoughts still on you across the table. He agrees with whatever was said and does his best to catch up.

Harry's got to stop thinking about how you're single at the moment. He really does.

++

A few hours later, it's the girl sitting to your left, Lisa, who first mentions the idea of kicking on.

It's after dessert—after everyone sang happy birthday to Harry over a round of espresso martinis—and you're starting to think that if you leave now, you'll be home before midnight, which means the tube won't be too deserted to feel safe. You're also at a comfortable place to wake up without a hangover in the morning. Two cocktails and a glass of wine over dinner, because any more and you're scared you could say something stupid to the wrong (right) person.

Harry's face lights up, and he looks around the room, eager at the idea of going to a bar or two for more drinks. He's not been out in London for the longest time, and he's happily buzzed enough to not be too worried about running into people. Feels like this group of friends have gelled well together. How often does he get to have a night like this in London? Hardly ever.

"Yeah, let me sort out the tab and then we're good to go," Harry says, pushing his seat back from the table and standing up, his hands hunting his pockets for his wallet and phone, "I'll be right back."

When he goes, you decide now's as good a time as any to split. You pull your coat on and say goodbye to the friends you made over the meal. Lisa gives you her business cards as if speaking to you had been part of her job, you slip it straight into your coat pocket and can already picture it at the bottom of the garbage in your kitchen. You revisit the bathrooms, and when you come back out into the main restaurant area, Harry's still leaning against the front desk, chatting to the maître d' from earlier.

He feels your small hand land on his back and jolts upright at the contact, your gentle voice calling his name softly, "Harry, I'm going to head home."

He spins around, and you catch the fall of his face, "What? No … No. You're the one I want to hang out with the most," his bottom lip juts out and his brows furrow. "Y/N."

"Thanks a fuckin' lot, mate," you hear a male voice laugh at your back, they slip behind you and out into the chilly air, and Harry flips them the bird. You were pushed closer into his chest as they jostled past and he steadied you with his arms latched onto your forearms. Still watching outside, you see a cigarette lighter flare-up on the footpath and the end of an orange butt glow spectacularly in the night. When you glance back at Harry, he's not looking happy.

"Don't pout," you tell him lightly, you reach up and press the skin taut between his eyes smooth again, "Can't wrinkle that rockstar face of yours."

His face lights up, and his skin heats where you made contact, "You can't go yet."

"Harry," your features tangle into something like a grimace, "You'll have a better time without me. Everyone seems to be pretty tight—"

—Y/N," he gives you a final, pleading look, "Please come."

You make out like you're stomping your foot in defiance, "Fine."

"Score!" Harry cheers under his breath, shrugging his jacket up over his shoulders and saying a final round of thank yous to the staff. When you're out on the street at Harry's side somebody mentions the name of the next place and points the direction of it, Harry places a hand on your shoulder as you start to walk and leans down to your ear, "I just have one condition for you coming."

You pull back and look at him, "I don't think you get conditions when you've begged me to be here."

"A birthday condition then," he edits, pressing his lips together and smiling at you with his eyes, "You have to promise to do what I say before I ask it."

You narrow your eyes at him, "I suppose you only turn twenty-seven once. You can have a single wish from me."

Harry laughs and slips his fingers under the strap of your evening bag, "Give me this."

You think briefly he means to carry it for you, which is a strange thing for Harry to request. But then he unzips it in front of you and starts rifling around inside it, slipping your phone under his arm so he can move around the lipstick and tissues and emergency Galaxy bar to eventually pull out your small purse.

"Harry! What are you—

—Ah, ah!" He holds it all away from you and reminds you of the promise. "This is mine for the night," he says, slipping your purse into his coat pocket. "Otherwise you'll end up buying too many rounds."

You try to sneak your hand into the pocket after your wallet, "Don't be stupid. It's your birthday, I'll buy every round if I need to."

"Exactly my point," he steps away from you down the street, and you skip to be back at his side. He's stolen your money and your chocolate bar.

"Harry, give it back."

"Nope," he pops the 'p' and hands you back the bag, the Galaxy bar hanging from between his teeth, still in the packet, "You promised. Now hurry up and walk, and I might give you a bite of this. 'm freezing my balls off, we are not in LA anymore."

So that's how you end up in the next bar, your handbag a little lighter, squished into Harry's side with a pleasantly sour cocktail he paid for between your fingers. The booth is so far into the back wall you're not even really sure which direction the front door is anymore. Somehow, you've managed to sit ten people around a booth probably designed for six, but nobody seems to be bothered.

Your whole right side is on fire, though.

You can feel Harry from the top of your shoulder all the way to your ankle. His hip sits neatly next to yours, Harry's left elbow rests just above your right thigh, and your knees press together every time he gets excited when he speaks and unintentionally opens his legs up. If Harry's bothered by it there's no way you'd know, he's hardly looked at you since you all sat down, much less uttered a word of discomfort about the seating arrangements. Makes no sense really, when he seemed so desperate for you to stay out with them.

(Next to you Harry's felt like he was high most of the time, he's flashing in and out of the conversations around him. Because he can smell your perfume—Stella by Stella McCartney, he'd know that fragrance anywhere, you've been wearing it since you were seventeen—and you're warm and snug beside him. He feels completely insane. But he also feels inflated with a heart-crushing joy at having you so close. He's trying his best not to draw attention to it or to you because what he's always liked most about your friendship is that you're just his. God, he needs to do better at seeing you more often, talking more, being more. Each breath as he's touching you is like a crack of electricity through his chest that aches beautifully. Nobody else feels like this. Even when he's dated, what he's felt with them can't hold a candle to his boyhood crush on you.)

You sip your drink and laugh at the embarrassing story that's being told about Harry, oblivious to his torment. Oblivious to how Harry feels your forearm brush his leg and has the overwhelming desire to deposit his palm on your thigh and keep it there, probably forever.

It strikes you that the last time you saw Harry was before the current anecdote about him in Italy happened, and at the table, it's being spoken about as though it was ancient history. You wonder what historic classification your memory of thirteen-year-old Harry would get, that time he attempted to bleach his hair with lemon juice. He ended up with second-degree burns on his forehead from the acid reacting with the sun.

Or the time Gemma stayed in Holmes Chapel for the summer because she had her first boyfriend, and so you spent six weeks learning that maybe you'd been wrong about who your favourite Styles child was. Maybe the boy who, when you were eleven, didn't impress you much, suddenly at thirteen, demanded all your attention. Made that summer become the first where you considered your outfits and whether your mum sending you next door with homemade snacks made you look lame.

"… And of course, Harry can't walk away from a dance floor when he's on the tequila …" everyone around the table laughs. Harry peeks at you to make sure you are too, but he's not very good at it because you notice, a smile flares on your lips.

You're used to long periods of not seeing each other, it's how it's always been. Harry and Gemma spent the summers with their dad and then returned to Holmes Chapel for real life. Sometimes that's what it still felt like, as though each time you saw either of them you were acutely aware there was a foreign Real Life they would go back to without you.

Harry in particular. You were used to not seeing him for months on end, usually the whole school year. Just a few messages over MySpace and birthday cards, and then, when you were out of school, invites to parties Harry couldn't come to anymore—'I'm in Australia, how insane is that? Sorry, I'll miss your 18th …' or 'I can only stay until the 8th, could you maybe graduate a week earlier? ;)'—and emails every other month with a new mobile number for you to overwrite his contact in your phone with. You're not saying you feel hard done by in your friendship, you don't. It's just always very take-what-you-can-get with Harry.

"You've got your thinky eyes on," he's pivoted his whole body towards you, hips twisted in an entirely uncomfortable looking position. Harry's got his resting elbow on the table right next to where your hand holds your drink, and he's looking down at you with careful eyes, "Where are you?"

"The pool a dozen summers ago," you answer easily, pursing your lips together and running a knuckle along your hairline, "Thinking about your ah, burn incident."

Harry's face explodes in a grin, and his eyes roll up to the ceiling and then capture yours again, "For fuck's sake, you're never going to stop bringing that up, are you?"

"You were a horrible blonde," you remark quickly, "If you ever so much as blink in the direction of a packet of bleach you have to call me, okay? I'll have no issue telling you, categorically, you should never dye your hair."

"Categorically," Harry mimics you childishly, "Alright, I get it, you went to uni. No need to use words with fifty syllables to make me feel stupid."

You bring your glass up to your lips, "Come off it, Harry, you're ten times smarter than me."

His forehead raises, "You're the cleverest person I know. Don't make me call Gem to confirm it."

"Don't bring your sister into this, Harry," you deadpan.

He goes to reply but holds back, something unnamable travelling across his eyes as he watches you lick your lips after taking another sip of your drink. Harry's leaning a little closer than he might usually, and despite the fact he's a few drinks in he still smells only of Tom Ford and clean clothes. He's just about to ask you what you're doing the next day when he gets hit in the side of the head with a coaster.

"Hey," he cries out, pulling back from you and frowning around at the group trying to figure out who the culprit is," 'M the fucking birthday boy, watch it."

Lisa is the girl directly across from Harry and yourself, and she's is the one who threw it. She's giving Harry a coy smile and holds up her empty glass to him, a not so subtle request makes the drink in your hand feel like a concrete brick. Something dirty you don't like having. She's got captivating blue eyes and straight blonde hair—exactly Harry's usual type. Your heart sinks as he slides out of the booth next to you, laughing at her flirtatious request and taking a tally of who else wants a new drink.

"Y/N?" Your name is delicate on his lips, and it makes you want to cry. Why is it so easy for you to make things feel like they mean more with him?

You direct your smile his way, "I'm good, thanks."

His head tilts to one side, "You sure?"

"Positive," you nod, feeling your cheeks burn as everyone watches the exchange.

"Okay," Harry taps the table with the corner of his phone, "I'll be right back."

After a few moments, you sneak off to the bathroom, happy to see Harry's beaten you back from the bar when you return. He's sitting in your spot, deep in conversation with the person beside him who you recognise from the radio. Tentatively, you slip in next to him, careful not to touch him this time. Harry's got his hand casually resting on the table, turning your glass forty-five degrees one way and then back the other way as he speaks. You think about reaching over and pulling it out of his hand gently (you're losing your buzz, and Little Miss Bombshell across the table has made you feel silly and juvenile) but it looks to be an almost serious conversation, so you don't. With a smile plastered on your face, you look around the table, resisting the urge to pull out your phone to check if either of your flatmates has text you to meet up with them somewhere.

It's a delicious whiff of your perfume behind him that turns Harry's head. You're back from the bathroom, although nobody was able to confirm that's where you went when he got back from the bar and asked after you. Harry pushes your drink over and gives you a smile, taking note of the fresh layer of lipstick and messy oomph to your hair that perfectly shows off the new style and bangs.

Golden, he thinks, As always,

"Your new hair really does look beautiful," Harry tells you, the bar stilling around you as his face becomes all the world is for you at that moment, "Next time, don't wait for a dickhead to break your heart before doing something to make yourself feel good."

You swallow down the thickness in your throat, "Thanks, Harry."

++

Walking to the next bar, Harry can't stop himself from asking.

"What happened?"

You kick your foot out as you wait at a set of traffic lights, half the group ran to cross, but you, Harry and a couple of others were too slow, "What happened with what?"

Harry watches his breath fan out in front of his face, "With your ex, with …"

"Tim."

"Tim, yeah," he turns to look down at you, hands tucked into his coat pockets, "What happened with Tim?"

"Nothing really," you start strong, then shrug one shoulder as you think about it. It's safe to cross so you wait until you're stepping up over the gutter and onto the opposite footpath before you continue, "Probably a lot of little things but … Always felt like he thought I was asking for a bit too much. I guess in the end he just didn't like me all that much."

The way your voice drops kills Harry, he's not detecting self-deprecation but something far worse. He's detecting acceptance or acknowledgement or like you're confessing some truth that should have been obvious.

"Y/N," he stops walking and halts you as well, lets Adrian and Lisa walk around and out in front of you, "If he didn't like you very much then he's got some kind of chemical imbalance. I mean it, this guy's not worth a second of your heartache."

It's not like Harry's a dickhead about it, not like he thinks you should date people with more money or status or who are more impressive. A person isn't their job or what car they drive, he knows that. Harry's not about judging anyone, but you really do seem to date guys not worthy of you. He hasn't met many of them, but Harry knows this to be true because if they were worthy, you simply wouldn't be single right now. If you dated someone half-decent, there wouldn't be a chance in hell they'd let you go. You're beautiful and thoughtful and intelligent and funny—so funny—which means Harry knows without a doubt that this Tim guy was an absolute fuckwit.

"It's not necessarily about the guy," you start and Harry can hear the thick emotion in your voice, "Is it? It's about the idea. The disappointment is more about not getting the fairytale, not finding my person. Not getting the whole package everyone else seems to have found. I know Tim wasn't right—truth be told I didn't end up liking him very much either—doesn't stop me from being sad that I still haven't found it."

"'It'… That's what you're looking for?" Harry asks, eyes out front where the rest of the group are all stopped waiting at another set of traffic lights.

They're laughing and chatting loudly to other people on nights out, and hanging off street poles to get funny pictures. He doesn't want to catch up to them, not when the two of you are in the middle of this conversation that's making his heart race and his hands sweat. He starts taking smaller steps.

"Yeah," you breathe out, almost sounding ashamed of yourself, "Don't seem to be looking in the right places."

Look over here, Harry thinks.

"But I mean, each breakup I end up getting something out of it," you've flicked your positivity switch, "This time I got these boots and bangs," you kick out your foot and watch Harry take note of your footwear, "Last break up I got four houseplants and a new watch … It's not all bad. What about you?" you turn it back on Harry, "Are you seeing anyone at the moment?"

It's hard to tell with Harry. You either find out from his sister or sometimes, social media. Although that's all usually trash. Generally, when Harry's seeing someone, you'll hear it confirmed from Gemma, and the next time you see Harry, it'll be something you're assumed to know. You haven't seen Gemma since Christmas time though, for your annual festive get together, and she didn't mention anything. Tim had ended things with you a few days before, so that was the main topic of conversation.

"No," Harry confirms what you'd already deduced—and hoped—in your head, "Not for a while now."

"Got your eye on anyone?" You quiz faux cheekily, your smile a little too wide.

Yes, you, he says to himself as he looks at the side of your face.

You hope he's not got some girl in LA he's into. Just like you'd hoped his answer to the previous question. But the hope was silly, something that bloomed in your chest each time you saw him and died again before you were home in your bed, alone.

"I'll let you know," he says aloud.

You think you see something else there in his expression, but you know you can't have. Your mind is swirling, and you're feeling a tingling sensation all over that you know you shouldn't. It'll only leave you disappointed when you part ways tonight and don't see him for another few months. The tiny bits of maybe mores and perhaps are dangerous to things to cling on to now, they'll all turn into Nothings very quickly.

Someone steals his attention away from you when you get to the next street corner. Most of the group are gathered there, and you're not sure whether to believe it when Lisa says they missed the green man to cross the road because they were talking. She sides up to Harry and starts waving her hands around in an animated story about something or other. Harry crosses the street with her, and you give him up for the night.

But he's acutely aware of what's happened. Harry's not stupid—he's emotionally intelligent, and spent enough time with Lisa on nights out before—and he can see that she's deliberately pulled him aside. He likes her, quite a bit, but she doesn't make his insides flip, or his toes curl. She's firmly Just A Friend. Harry hasn't spent countless hours over the years thinking about her, lying to himself about how he's completely fine when she starts dating someone new. He's never thought about an alternative life, one where he stayed at school and went to uni and got a regular job and maybe (definitely) ended up with her.

He's imagined that life with you—more than once. More than a dozen times, if he's honest. For years now, Harry's bitten his tongue and smiled through the pain of not being able to have you. And sure, most of the time it's a dull ache, deep in the recess of his mind, that needs to be called on or conjured to really be felt, but it's always been there. He's always had an (Astronomical) Soft Spot For You. Ever since that summer you broke your arm falling off the back of the ramp at the skate park, and he first saw you cry. At fifteen he didn't know what the hollow but sharp pain through his heart was as he rushed to your side, but now he knows that was the first sign he didn't see you as just a mate. Would never again see you as just a mate.

And now, hearing you use the word 'it'. You say you're out there dating idiots trying to find it and Harry's just unwaveringly sure he that could be him. He wants to be it for you.

You've pulled out your phone and fallen behind, face pulled down as you type away furiously. Harry watches you out of the corner of his eye, half just to watch you and half to make sure you don't get separated entirely from the safety of the group.

"Y/N," he calls out, unable to keep up with Lisa's story and unwilling to try to tune back into it. She stops short, and annoyance flits across her face, but Harry still turns to you, still crosses his arms over his chest and gives you his best scolding look, "It's the oldest trick in the book," he goads you. Lisa sighs behind him, and he ignores it.

Your head slowly comes up and takes in Harry (and Lisa sulking behind him), "What is?"

"Fallin' behind so you can peek at my bum."

You point at the long coat Harry's wearing that goes to his knees, "Can't see half of you under that thing."

"Ah, ha!" He calls out, his pointer finger floating in the air right in front of your face, "So you've tried."

You shove his shoulder and step around him, trying like anything to act neutrally. You're aware Lisa is still watching on, and you're not used to your friendship with Harry being quite so carefully observed. You know your face has gone red and you're really not going to involve yourself in a pissing contest with her. It's not classy and certainly not your vibe.

As you walk away, boots clip up behind you, and Harry heavily drapes his arm right across your shoulders, pulls you into his side, "Was just teasin', love."

"I know," you respond quietly, not upset, not really.

"Though I might've made you sad," Harry continues solemnly, "Know you get embarrassed in front of people."

Your face cracks into a smile, "Opposite of you, hey, you're practically an exhibitionist."

He should flirt because you've led him to a pretty easy window into a dirty joke, but something has Harry hanging onto his regret, "I mean it, shouldn't tease you …Should be old enough to use my words, tell you what I think."

You've got no idea what he's on about, "Harry, the teasing was fine. Where's this bloody bar though?"

Up ahead, everyone's standing on the footpath in a clump. Harry can feel the next words on his lips but has to hold them in when his mates turn and see he's finally caught up. They're waiting a few minutes for a table, someone explains, then they'll be able to go in. Harry thinks how little he feels like another drink at another bar. A few people walk away from the group to share cigarettes. You're standing a little bit away, under the sign for the butcher next-door and kick your foot back against the wall like the slight movement might warm you up.

As he steps up to you, Harry watches you get distracted by the group of people spilling out of the bar you're all about to go into. He doesn't want to take advantage of knowing you're newly single also doesn't want to let this opportunity pass. You're always dating someone, or he is, or there's some other reason not to. There's always a reason to hold back from you and Harry refuses to believe it's the drinks he's had nudging him into this. Neither of you is drunk, he wouldn't even say he's tipsy anymore. Just warm and contemplative and less inhibited than usual.

"C' mere," he calls softly, the tips of his boots landing right in front of yours, your bodies a hands' width apart. He wants you closer.

"Harry—

He opens up his coat to you and when you don't move—your brain is busy short-circuiting—he acts for you and winds his arm around your shoulder to encase you in the warmth, "Get in," Harry says, "You're shivering."

You're shocked by the contact, at him being so close and inviting you in and then just taking you in his jacket. He's wrapped the lapels around both your bodies and forced you against his chest. He hums against you, but you're feeling incredibly awkward with your arms hitched up against your chest and pressed rigidly into his shoulders. You've not been in a hold like this before and certainly not with Harry.

He pulls back and digs around for your wrists, "You've gotta put them around me," he stretches his arms behind his back, taking yours with them and instructing you to really settle against him. "There, that's better," he wraps the jacket back around you, and the two of you stand like that—hearts pressed together, scents converging and your whole frame shaking against his—for what seems like far too long for it mean nothing. Right? Your thoughts ricocheted around inside his jacket and go nowhere, solve nothing in your mind.

Over your shoulder, he sees the rest of the group have gone into the bar. He's not surprised none of them called out, Harry's angled you both away from the door and with his head ducked down against yours they probably (hopefully) missed you both there.

It's Harry's twenty-seventh birthday, and maybe that's made him sullen or introspective. Made him think about the passage of time and how another year has passed him by, yet here he stands in the same place as ever—wanting you. Wishing for more, or waiting for a moment that feels right, or hoping something will happen. With growing older comes a sense of regret and an acceptance that twenty-six has happened and anything he wanted to achieve by that age but didn't he never will. There's only the future. Only the things he can do. And the mix of all that with the cocktails has Harry feeling as though he has to act on this. Every birthday he thinks maybe by the next one the Somethings or the Maybes might have happened, and you won't be standing in front of him as just his friend.

"Always had a thing for you," Harry says, his chin resting against the crown of your head while his arms link around low on your back, holding you against him, "I've always liked you more than I should."

Oh god, you think, your chest freezing in place, I'm hallucinating.

"What?" Now your heart is really racing. Or maybe it's completely stopped, seized up and fallen out of your chest onto the salt-covered footpath.

His voice comes out evenly as he repeats himself, "Feels bigger than a crush, but I guess that's what it is … Since we were kids."

(Oh, how those words have been his best-kept secret for all these years but now, in less than two seconds, he's let go of them more easily than almost anything else he's ever done)

"Y/N?"

Harry thought he'd be scared. Thought this would be a moment of panic. Every time he's imagined this he's thought 'and I'd be absolutely shitting myself because what if she doesn't feel the same way?' but now that he's said it he's almost completely calm. The only reason he's worried is that he can feel how hard your heart is beating—even through the layers of clothing—and surely that quickly can't be good for your health.

You're speechless, and he leans back so he can see your face and, oh your eyes. Why on earth didn't he say it to your face, so he could be looking in your eyes? Watch his words project across your expression and settle into your mind.

You look worried, and Harry's transported back to that time he had you on FaceTime when he was somewhere on tour with One Direction. He was telling you about how management was going to let them fly friends out on tour, bring a little bit of home along and give the boys some needed space from each other. You were nodding along and so excited for him but sure Harry was talking about someone else, that this was just news and he'd called up to tell you how he was inviting the boys he went to school with in Cheshire or people he met through X-Factor. Of course I'm bringing out you and Gem, you idiot, he'd told you when you were surprised to get an invite, Who else did you think I was talking about?

He kind of loves watching the look on your face right now, the cogs turning in your head and wheels spinning, furiously trying to figure out what Harry means.

Why isn't he terrified of what you're about to say?

"Why … but you've… and I've…"

Your hands have moved to his hips so you can see him properly, and Harry's encouraged by the fact you haven't pulled away or pushed him off you. You're watching him with a puzzled look on your face and a burning heat across your cheeks.

He brings his forearms up to rest on your shoulders and smiles at you, "I wasn't brave enough to act on it … Guess I didn't want to fuck it up. Didn't want it to not work out. Couldn't stand you becoming an ex."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"Right." You don't seem capable of more than one word at a time.

"You feel bad for yelling at me about the chocolate bar now, don't you?" Harry's narrowed his eyes playfully.

That does it.

Your eyes snap back up to his face from being fixated on staring at his neck, "Chocolate bar … No, what the fuck, Harry."

He laughs. A real laugh that comes from the base of his tummy and squeezes his eyes shut and crinkles his nose. His head falls back, and it's a deep, uninhibited laugh, "Don't stomp your new boots at me," he eventually says, crooking his head down to be almost pressing his forehead against yours. "You've been my favourite girl for years, I've always been a pansy idiot who didn't want to wreck the friendship."

"Oh, and now you don't mind wrecking it?" You bark back sarcastically, unsure why you're angry at him but you are.

"No," Harry says softly, moving through your emotional responses seamlessly, "I don't think it's going to wreck it, do you? Think twenty-seven has finally given me the balls to pursue it. To tell you how I feel. How I've always felt."

Your eyes instantly ball with hot tears you weren't prepared for, "You're an idiot."

"I am," he agrees readily, fingers playing with the ends of your hair.

"Why have you told me this now," your voice is small, unsure.

Harry frowns, now he's starting to panic, "Do you … Do you not feel the same? Or do you not think maybe you could?"

Oh, if only he could have been in your head every time you saw him these last few years. Heard you talk yourself down and away from anything more than platonic, from any thoughts that might elevate you in his eyes. You've spent all this time trying to convince yourself to believe you were nothing more than a friend to him, and now this.

"Harry, are you sure you—

—I'm sure," he insists quickly.

"I just—

—I'm sure."

You're suddenly very embarrassed by the conversation the two of you had earlier about your ex. The conversation where you basically told Harry you're incredibly desperate to settle down and find The One. He's so achingly cool, and you feel like a little tinned tomato, thin-skinned and persistently flustered.

Tinned tomato? Really? You berate yourself, Case in bloody point.

"Y/N"

You scratch roughly at your forehead and grimace at whatever thoughts are going through your mind, "I'm just …"

Harry brings one hand up to fix your bangs, carefully sweeping the hair back across your forehead evenly, letting the pads of his fingers dust over your skin, "I think if you didn't feel the same you'd have said No by now."

His words steal the air from your lungs, "Harry, you've just always …"

"I've always?"

"I never thought …"

The smile comes up over his face gently, "It's me, Y/N, please finish a sentence. I'd really like to kiss you, but you haven't yet said anything to imply you'd be open to that …"

You pull your lips together like a reflex you can't help, you've rarely let yourself fall that deep into imaging things with Harry, but your body reacts to his words in an instant, "Promise you're not kidding …"

"I promise I'm not kidding," Harry said sincerely. "I'd never kid around about this, Y/N."

You believe him, and ten seconds of bravery comes over you, "I was thirteen."

His eyes narrow slightly, trying to figure out what you mean, "Thirteen?"

"My thing for you," you continue quietly, heart racing as adrenaline swamps your legs, "Started the summer I turned thirteen."

Harry hears the slight shaking to your voice and almost misses what you've said. Then it hits him.

"Oh yeah?" He squints at you and pulls up his nose with a smile, a secret little smile that will never belong to anyone but the two of you. The Smile that happened just before Harry leant down and kissed you for the first time, pressed his warm lips against your cold ones and really breathed you in.

He holds it like that for a moment, your lips touching but not moving. Then his hands come up to cup your face, and Harry moves his mouth to one side, just a touch. You open up to him, and he has the brief thought that this is probably the Most Important Kiss Of His Life. His insides curl in on themselves as he gets completely lost in you. Completely lost in how perfect this moment feels and how much finally kissing you feels like a relief.

You can't believe this is happening. You're still tucked into Harry's coat—warm and safe—but now you're joined at the mouth, and Harry's a really really good kisser. He's got his thumbs pressed into your cheeks and his fingers laced through the hair around your ears. When his tongue first licks your bottom lip and then goes searching for yours, you don't think you've felt yourself flicker On so quickly. A soft moan escapes your lips, and Harry's kiss somehow becomes harder, his nose bumping yours where he'd been good at keeping things smooth until then. As quickly as it intensifies, Harry takes a slight step back and drags his mouth away from yours.

"Y/N," he breaths out your name, sealing your lips with one of his thumbs as he pulls back. Harry's taking stock of your face (hopefully) getting used to being this close to you. Noting the way your eyelashes kink out at an odd angle right at the corner of your eye, and the freckle that's so close to the edge of your mouth he's never noticed it before. Harry's can feel your heart has slowed down, and the expression on your face right now is content, but curious. He's also sure he can see fear under it all.

"Well," your voice shakes, because Harry's looking at you like you've only dreamed and now that you're here you're not really sure what happens next. You kissed Harry.

He clears his throat lightly and his hands both fall to hold either side of your neck, "There's no way I'm going back to not being able to do that whenever I want."

Then, he kisses you again. You feel yourself melt against him as Harry's chest presses back against yours. You link your arms around his waist, clutching the back of his shirt between your fingers as Harry leads the kiss with a hand on your neck and the other holding your chin carefully. You've picked up right where the last one let off, hungry and exploring and a little bit desperate (perhaps a lot desperate) to have more of each other.

But then his phone rings in his trousers pocket, right against your hip, and you jump away in surprise.

"Shit," Harry mutters, pulling the stupid machine out, cursing the universe, "Sorry … It's Aiden," he tells you with an eye-roll.

And then you're back to reality. Your drinks have all worn off, your feet ache, your ears are freezing, and you've just made out with one of your oldest, best friends. Shit.

"Oh," you take a hearty step back, hands slipping out from Harry's coat and your body bracing the full brunt of the cold night, "Yeah … That's—

—Aiden," Harry barks the name of his mate down the phone while at the same time hooking his free arm around the back of your neck and pulling you close again. He's not giving up touching you that easily, and he doesn't care, quite frankly, about giving you any room to start internalising or retreating from him, "No, we've gone to get some food … I'll see you during the week sometime. Tell everyone thanks for—Yes, I'm serious … I don't care, saw all you lot last week … I'm hanging up now. Bye."

You listened in on the conversation because it was really all you could do. Aiden was obviously inside the bar, and they were all wondering where Harry got to. We've gone to get some food, Harry told him, so they'd know he was with you. (You supposed he was hardly going to say, 'oh yeah we've been out the front making out') Bits and pieces of the other end of the conversation, you were able to pick up on, but not enough to truly know what was said. By the end of the call, Harry was smiling though, you could hear it in his voice.

His nose found the shell of your ear and Harry leant into you, "Come back to mine, or we can go to yours … Watch a movie, play Scrabble, anything … Just wanna be with you."

"It's two o'clock in the morning, Harry," you murmur, your mind struggling to make sense of what's just happened. You're outside a club in Soho held against Harry's chest with lips that know what he tastes like and a body that's on fire.

"I'm not tired," he shoots back, "Are you?"

"Well, no but—

—Great," Harry turns towards the road, takes a few steps to the curb (you trot along with him under his arm), as he flags down a black cab. "Mine or yours?"

His question is simple, he prompts you to answer by calling your name as he opens the door for you and gestures for you to hurry up and get in.

"Yours," you say.

Harry doesn't speak much in the cab, you figure it's about privacy. You hope it's about privacy. The thirty-minute drive out of the city and to his place feels much longer. Halfway through he reaches over for your hand and gives you a reassuring smile across the back seat. You thought the journey might make you sleepy, the sitting down in a warm car would bring the haze over your eyes and bring the long day to a close in your mind. But you could never feel sleepy with Harry's fingers playing with yours, or when he leans over and kisses your cheek for no reason at all.

At his house, Harry tells you to make yourself at home while he turns on the kettle for a cuppa. You kick your boots off in the hallway, and your feet start throbbing in relief as you follow his retreating form. It's certainly not the lusty, hurried entry you imagined you might have. Which only plants doubts in your mind about what's actually going on between the two of you.

"I'm just going to use the bathroom," you call out ahead of you, turning back to the stairs and taking yourself up to Harry's second storey.

Upstairs you don't take long. You're looking a little worse for wear—who wouldn't at 3am—but you're not really in the mood to try to fix yourself. Even if you did Harry would notice, and that felt like something you wanted to avoid. As you walk back to the landing, you wriggle your toes in your socks and happen to look back down the upstairs hallway. You've been in this house dozens of times before but this time feels different. It feels quiet and intimate somehow. Just as you're about to go down the first step, you see Harry's bedroom door is open on the opposite side of the stairs to the bathroom, and you notice something that makes you stop.

The book you got him for Christmas is sitting on his bedside table.

You're standing over it before you realise that your legs have started moving, looking at a picture of Anne, Gemma and Harry, a bottle of water and the book. You pick it up, the cover a little bent and the spine cracked to where he's read. Harry's using the birthday card you send along with the gift as a bookmark. The top of the familiar design sticking out the top of the pages, you can't even really remember what you wrote inside. Something generic probably. Platonic.

Happy birthday, old man! Have a wonderful day, sorry I can't be there in person. Love, Y/N.

The floorboard at the top of the stairs creaks and you turn around to Harry looking surprised to see you standing over his bed. He's got two cups of tea and a family-sized Dairy Milk bar under his arm. Something churns inside you, this was Harry as you'd always known him. Except now you looked at his lips and wondered why the hell you weren't kissing him.

"Oh, yeah, I've been reading that," Harry sees the book in your hands and walks towards you, "It's excellent, unsurprisingly."

A smile starts on your face, "You doubted my selection ability?"

"Never," he returns quickly and then raises his eyebrows at you, "Looking for anything else?"

You feel your cheeks heat and you drop the book back into its place, "No, sorry, I was coming down the stairs and saw … I'm sorry."

Harry passes you a tea, "It was really kind of you to send something over. Was fun having something to unwrap on the day."

"I'm glad," you smile and take a sip of the tea. It's sweet, and you screw up your face, "This is yours."

Harry watches you with a strange expression on his face as the two of you swap mugs. He's worrying his bottom lip, obviously weighing something up in his mind. You see it when he decides what he' going to do about it.

"I've got something I want to show you," he tells you finally, tilting his head back to the door. "Wanna come see?"

"What is it?" You ask automatically, but Harry's already walking out the door, and you have to hurry to catch up.

He leads you into his study, and you hover in the doorway as Harry sets his tea and the chocolate down on the desk. He pulls Bananagrams out of the draw and places it next to the mug.

"We're actually going to play Bananagrams?" You ask.

He looks back at you, "You'd prefer actual Scrabble?"

"I didn't know what you meant by—I guess I …"

Realisation dawns on his face, and he widens his eyes, "Oh, you thought it was a euphemism."

"No!" You snap back quickly, feeling the heat rising to your cheeks (for the record, yes, you thought 'a movie or Scrabble' was a thinly veiled way of Harry suggesting … something else), "No, I just … I just don't think I'll be able to spell words right now."

"I didn't think you were still tipsy" Harry states, shit-stirring.

"I'm not!" You squawk at him. "I'm… I' m—You kissed me!"

He grins, loving the fact he's driven you a little crazy, "Yeah. Want me to do it again?"

Harry's playing with you. He's teasing. And you know it but what you don't know is how he's so confidently jumped to it. Not when you feel like you've been left on the street outside the bar trying to figure out what the hell this means, and what's going to happen tomorrow when he stops looking at you like that. You don't like to think this whole night could've been him playing with you, you don't know Harry to be that cruel. But there's a tripwire in your mind you keep getting snared on.

It's Harry.

"C' mere," he reaches his hand down across the room between you both, "C' mere and kiss me again. You don't seem to be getting it."

"Getting it?" You're cut off by Harry taking two big steps toward you and then planting his lips on yours again.

His palms find your hips, and you hold him in the same spot. It takes a moment for the two of you to find a rhythm, and even then, you're too in your head. You're struggling to remember what little Harry's said about this whole thing. You know he said he had a crush on you and you've gotten the distinct impression he wasn't too fond of your ex. But for all you know Harry's been kissing his mates like this for years but just never gotten around to kissing you. You might've been next on the list. He's a friendly guy. Maybe a crush isn't what it used to be. Or maybe—

He pulls back from your lips with a huffy expression on his face, "Y/N," he says quietly, "I'm a man with an incredibly fragile ego, whatever you're worrying about is really getting in the way of kissing you."

"I'm just—

—Let me show you what I brought you in here for," he interrupts you, takes your hand and tugs you towards the window. Then, he puts a hand on each of your shoulders and directs your attention to the wall.

It's lined with record sale plaques for singles and albums over the years—double Platinums and Gold-Somethings. Harry watches you eyes run over them all, a proud but unsure look in your eye. You're not sure why he's showing them to you, he knows that. He hopes you're not intimidated by them, he's certainly not showing you to try to score any points. There's a sweeter gesture behind it. He points to one leaning against the wall, not hanging. He's got it resting on the bubble wrap it was sent over in.

Stepping up closer behind you, Harry rests his chin on your shoulder, "That one's for you."

"What?"

"I want you to have it, been saving it for you … If I ever got brave enough."

The question falls from your lips before you really think about it, "Why would you want me to have it …"

Harry waits to see if you'll let on you've figured it out, he thought it was pretty obvious really, but you've never been one to elevate yourself or assume, and Harry knows that about you. So, when you don't keep talking, he confirms it for you, "That song is about you."

You just blink, eyes on the framed plaque taking in the name of the song and hearing it in your head.

It's about me? You think you want to hear it, you need to Google the lyrics and make sure you have them right in your head. Harry wrote a song about you. Harry wrote that song about you.

"When … When did you write it?"

"You mean why?" Harry raises his head and steps to stand next to you, he observes your face carefully.

"No, I mean when." You're starring at it like the plaque might answer the question, "When did you write it?"

Harry runs a hand over his head as he thinks, "A few years back, after that time you came out to LA … Didn't record it until this year though …"

Harry watches your face expand in surprise and then crumple back down to confusion. You really don't get it. He's not sure how to make you in one night. He supposes he can't. So he trails his hand up the back of your arm and then around your back, tilting his head down and waiting to see if you'll pull away. When you don't, he kisses the corner of your mouth and then opens his wider to take you lips in his properly.

It's different to the kisses outside the bar, now that you're both out of your outer layers Harry can feel your body against his in ways he's only dreamed, and it's sending everything straight between his legs. Harry's hands explore your back and the curve of your hips, thumbs almost reaching the underside of your breasts but not quite. It's a little awkward when he senses you've felt him hardening between you. Usually, lust clouds that moment, and Harry doesn't mind intimate partners being acutely aware of how they're affecting him. But with you he's a little hesitant, he senses the awkwardness on your side. Friends don't feel those body parts on each other, friends don't… He almost groans when your mouth leaves his without warning.

You think he'll probably change his mind about all this.

"Have you changed your mind?" You ask, not able to stop it.

Confusion colours his features, and his lips smack together, like he's savouring tasting you, "Wha—

"About wanting to be kissing me," you clarify.

"What? No." Harry's eyebrows have shot up, and he's shaking his head, "I barely even started! Didn't I just say I wrote that song about you—why the hell would I—want to do more than just kiss you—You think I'm gonna change my mind?"

You shrug, "Maybe. I don't know."

"Well," he stands up straighter and pins you with his stare, "I'm not. I promise I'm not going to change my mind. And I promise I'll never make you feel like you're asking for too much. Ever."

"Now you're trying to make me cry," you say, hearing him repeat back to you the insecurity leftover from your conversation about your ex. You're half kidding with your words but also not. You believe him. You trust him.

Harry grimaces, sways your bodies together gently, "I really hate seeing you cry, could you not? I had other plans."

You sniff through a laugh as Harry wraps his arms around your middle tighter," What plans are those?"

"Well, I literally thought Scrabble," he tells you through a smile, trying his best to make you laugh, "But I'm open to whatever dirty things you were thinking as well."

"You'll win Scrabble."

So, Harry instructs you to bring your tea and your sore feet back into his bedroom. He gets you a fluffy pair of hiking socks and tells you to take yours off, and your tights, and get comfortable on the bed with him and the block of chocolate. You've polished off a family size together before, the sugar going straight to your heads and always leading to a giggly night of reminiscing and Almosts.

This time though, you only get halfway through the tea and Harry pushes the chocolate off the bed onto the floor in favour of you straddling his hips. It started with a stolen kiss against your temple, and then another on your cheek, and one close to your lips, and then you captured his face in your hands and really kissed him. Within a few moments, Harry was dragging you over to him. His hands settle on the swell of your backside as it sits against his thighs and your lips trace the line of his jaw. This was really happening. You'd really let him peel off your dress and flick off your bra. His shirt was somewhere with the forgotten snacks, and you seemed extremely eager to keep feeling his hardness pressed between your legs.

"I swear to god, I never dreamed this would happen," he murmurs, hissing when your hips pressed into his at a different angle, "Was sure I'd be going to your wedding one day, completely miserable and probably end up drunk and causing a scene. Embarrass you so badly you'd never want to see me again, and you'd just run away with your stupid husband."

You pull back and watch Harry ramble, your bare chest rising and falling against his, "You're a real glass half full kinda guy, aren't you?" you smile at him.

"I just," his eyes drop to your chest, nipples puckered for him, and he scrunches them shut then drops his forehead onto your sternum with a big sigh, "This is fucking unreal, and my brain is just struggling to comprehend—you're breathtaking, and I feel like my chest is gonna explode."

"It's also 4am, so there's always the potential your brain is just plain tired," your index finger is drawing circles on the back of his shoulder as Harry leans against you, you pause and run your hand over the back of his head, "Maybe we should sleep for a little … I'll be here when you wake up," you say in response to Harry squeezing his arms around your waist tightly as if you were going to disappear. Or worse, leave.

His indescribable green eyes find yours in the light from the bedroom lamps, "Will you let me hold you while you sleep?"

"Yeah," you nod, although somehow that question seems more intimate than the lack of clothes between you at the moment. You're distinctly less dressed than Harry, who's still got his trousers on, you're only covered by your underwear.

"We don't have to rush this, right? Got all the time in the world now," still, as he speaks his palms trail up your back and then down again, skimming the sides of your breasts, "Just don't wanna miss anything is all."

"I promise I'm incredibly boring in my sleep, won't miss anything," you tease, "Might be the only time you get any peace."

Harry tightens his forearms around your back and finds the soft skin below your ear with his lips—once, twice, three little kisses—"I feel pretty at peace right now, just having you here. Feels like I'm living a dream."

You don't reply for a moment, but you let your body rest against Harry's in a comfortable hug, your voice is quiet, "You really wrote me a song?"

"I did."

"I've always loved that song."

“Well, it's been yours all along."

"Nobody's ever written a song about me."

"I should hope not."

"Are you going to write another one?"

"Without a doubt."

++

Chat to me here

[czarojay]

LONG POST

Someone please stop me from writing the ghost tubbo idea i had a month ago to procrastinate on the dreamon au

Because like i had this AU and maybe if i write about it here it will stop me??? I can’t actually find the conversation on discord where i talked about it so i’m probably just gonna throw stuff here from memory and change half of it

Feel free to write a fanfic inspired by this, but 1. tag me 2. i’d appreciete if you credited the idea or at least said i inspired you ^^’

Ok so Tubbo died during the Festival. Like I don’t care if in this a Respawn!AU or Permadeath, irl or whatever. Tubbo doesn’t respawn and dies in Tommy’s arms. 

Assuming it’s a world with Respawn, Tommy just waits for Tubbo’s body to disintegrate or whatever the bodies in this AU do, as Techno massacrates people in the background, he just repeats to himself something along the lines of “C-come on Tubbo! Respawn already!”, but his friend stays limp in his arms, growing cold. 

In the end, they need to flee, like they did during the festival. Feel free to make Wilbur even more insane or evil whatever you prefer and make him leave the body saying either don’t take it, he’s a traitor, just like Eret or just it’s going to be a dead weight (ha, a pun!) (that was so inappropriate to the scene sorry ignore this), so they leave the body and it’s buried in the Manburg just like in the later Tommy’s stream where he zoomed onto the grave with a sign saying that here lies the traitor Tubbo. 

But you can also make Tommy carry his dead friend’s body all the way to Pogtopia, anger and grief clashing, still in the denial stage, hoping Tubbo will come back. Like Tubbo dies all the time! He’s just such a clingy, clumsy big man right? He will come back, right?! Tommy rests Tubbo somewhere in the Pogtopia on a makeshift bed hoping it will make the healing faster and as Techno and Wilbur talk ‘downstairs’ he realizes something. Tubbo isn’t coming back. He would be back by now normally. 

He’s shook to the core with the realization and shakingly goes down to Techno and Wilbur. The pit happens, but at the end, even after Techno’s speech about the language of violence, maybe Tommy snaps? Maybe Tommy yells how Tubbo isn’t coming back? Maybe the older men, practically brothers to Tommy, realise that Tubbo is nowhere to be seen? Maybe they realise the boy, the spy, the victim of the situation is dead? Maybe Niki stares and gasps in horror in the background and is the one who goes to Tommy first to comfort him and help him with the wounds from both the pit and the whole today? Maybe Wilbur stares in horror at his fists, realising he’s the one who put Tubbo in danger? He wanted Tubbo to do the speech, he made Tubbo run back and forth between the two leaders, maybe if he didn’t pressure Tubbo as much, Schlatt wouldn’t have noticed. Wilbur falls to the ground and sits with his head between the knees for a long time, wondering about what he did wrong. 

Technoblade?  He’s awkward and we all know it. He may be a god of PvP, the best farmer in Minecraft, but he’s still awkward. Of course he wants to comfort his little brother, but what can he really do? He’s at loss and still hasn’t fully accepted what he’s done. He killed Tubbo, but he had thought he’d respawn/survive(I really went at the beginning and said this can be also for permadeath au and then wrote it all about respawn au but whatcha gonna do huh). 

Overall the tension in Pogtopia is high, but to be fair, so is Manburg. People didn’t know about the execution and (you know what im just gonna keep going as if the respawn au was planned) the brush with death, even if they respawned, was never pleasant. It’s even worse when they somehow find out Tubbo didn’t respawn. Some people are happy with the fact, others are in shock and grief. 

And here can end chapter 1! Or at least it feels natural for me to cut off somewhere here! Idk really it all depends on your writing style. I'm not gonna dictate how you’re supposed to write idk myself neither. 

Assuming Tommy took the body with him, he later goes on to the only place where Tubbo found peace. Where Tubbo went during the war, the only place where he wasn’t bothered, where he was safe and truly free, without a leader or a dictator over him. Tommy went to Tubbo’s jungle base. 

He took the body with him, not letting anyone of Pogtopia know where he’s going, not wanting a Wilbur or a Technoblade, especially a Technoblade with him. He felt as though he needed to do this alone. He needed to make sure his friend, at least posthumously, gets the treatment he deserves. So he buried his best friend as he would bury a king. 

Tommy spends the night at the jungle base and awakes at night, by a greenish blue light. It’s not too strong, but it’s just enough to be felt. He rubs at his eyes, trying to awake himself, to see if he’s not seeing this, but there it is. A will-o-wisp floating in the middle of the building. Tommy gets up, picks up his sword and carefully maneuvers around the wooden beams with a collapsed floor, he gets to the centre. 

He gently cups his fingers and let’s the ember fall on his hands, but as soon as it touches them, there’s a bright flash and Tommy falls to the floor momentarily blinded. When he regains his sight he looks up and sees a ghost floating above him. Its back is turned to him, but he can tell it’s as confused as he is. But wait… He recognizes that shirt. It may be more bright and glowish, but… 

“TUBBO” he screams in the dead of the night, the nature suddenly quieting. The spirit turns around with phantom tears in their eyes “,Tommy?” they whisper and that was the moment both of them were sure of each other’s identity. 

Tommy rushes, tries to stand up and hug Tubbo, but he simply passes through the boy. 

As disheartening as that was, Tommy is still overjoyed to see Tubbo alive. Or at least here, as they soon agree that he is in fact dead. Feel free to put a flashback here, a new paragraph or whatever maybe a new chapter from tubbos perspective.

 The last thing Tubbo saw was a grim grin from Techno and a flash of blue and red fireworks. Here is a “how creative can you get” test! You can put somehow afterlife looks like, maybe something comes for Tubbo to go on, but he refuses? Maybe he sees nothing or everything is a blur? Maybe it was the last thing and the first thing he saw was Tommy’s crying face? Here is your free chappy for all the angst it can fit! Have fun go wild, turn on some sad music and let it ALL out! 

Tubbo and Tommy talk for long and Tommy tells Tubbo the fallout of his death and Tubbo tells Tommy what happened from his perspective. 

But here’s the funny thing, because I don’t know what you think, but… ghosts aren’t actually bound to places! They’re spirits they can go wherever they please! So Tubbo decided to stick around to Tommy. And as they travel and reach Pogtopia, they find out, Wilbur or Techno don’t see Tubbo. From a brief moment, where Tommy was sleeping and Tubbo broke away and went to see Manburg after the festival on his own eyes, he meets Schlatt and as he stops his breathing (he doesn’t need it, he’s dead, he just does it for comfort or out of habit), he’s scared, he think he’s noticed and waits for insults or a surprise or a sorry or a laugh, he feels something phase through him. Schlatt didn’t see him. Schlatt can’t see him. 

After a number of tests Tommy and Tubbo settle it. The leader can’t see the spirit. 

Niki can see him, it’s settled pretty much the day after Tommy came back, with a shout of fear and surprise and later happiness. 

Quackity can see him as it’s settled, when Tommy meets him in the forest and Quackity aside from being scared shitless by a teenager with netherite armour, he sees a disoriented, glitchy ghost behind the teenager, floating creepily, lighting up the forest around them in a sickly cyan light. 

Everyone can see Tubbo, but the people who caused his very death.

AND I’M DONE HERE. I DON’T KNOW WHAT HAPPENS NEXT. I CAN TRY TO THINK OF SOMETHING IF YOU ASK ME, BUT RN AS I’M WRITING THIS DOWN I DON’T KNOW. 

Reminder, if you want to write this plz credit the idea <3 Also holy shit this hit 1831 words how.

[nebula-starlight]

Sepsis (Pt. 16: A Story Told)

She… She hadn’t done it! She hadn’t murdered that Healer in cold blood. She wasn’t a monster! It- It was all the fault of that voice in her head. The one who constantly growled and glitched and made the last few months of her life a living hell without Nethreis there to keep it subdued. She couldn’t give the Other its satisfaction of a name. Names had power after all and her only goal at the moment, besides running for her life, was to prevent that… thing from having any more influence than it had already accumulated. So she ran, taking flight in the dead of night towards the nearby towering Northern Mountains to seek out a place to reside away from those who no doubt wished for her death. There was simply no way she could make them understand that it hadn’t been her who committed the heinous crime. 

When she finally landed, Versila slid over the fine layer of snow and nearly lost her balance before grabbing hold of a frosted over boulder and clinging to it until her hind claws dug into the frozen ground with enough purchase to the point that she would not fall. Her eyes flickered around, taking in the bleak landscape and she sighed, wings pressing tight against her side as a bitter chill made her long for the warmth of an open fire. That luxury was one she could not afford now, much to her dismay, but she shoved off the longing and started making her way through the snowy terrain as best she could. Hopefully she had a far enough head start that any who tried to follow would have to struggle to catch up with her before the night’s shadows got too thick to safely traverse the landscape. 

Unfortunately the cold did not prevent that ever-present glitchy voice from growling once again, seemingly irritated about something or another. And while it wasn’t entirely audible, or at the very least she didn’t focus too hard on it, the fact that it was still present left her feeling…. bitter. It wasn’t entirely the bitterness of rejection or the pang of jealousy but it was enough of a sensation that she stopped where she was for a moment and lifted her head to see the clouded night sky. They were better off without her in their lives. He…. No she couldn’t cast him aside even though he had left her alone for months while he went off and did the various killings commanded of him by those infernal Councilmembers and their pompous leader. Magnus had, after all, been the one to put the charge of her father’s death on her and then bind her soul to Nethreis’s in some sick twisted scheme to plant a sense of control over the kind, gentle spirit that had once saved her life in ways she hadn’t even gotten up the courage to tell him. 

“Please…. If there is one who watches over us… please spare him from the horrid fate I fear those vile leaders have planned for him. He does not deserve such misery after all he has…” She trailed off, hearing just over the wind the faintest echo of a very familiar bellow. It couldn’t be. He wasn’t scheduled back for another few days at the very least according to the last letter he had sent her some weeks prior. 

The voice in her head snarled angrily, glitching with enough force that Versila winced, feeling it ripple through her body from the force of the apparent hatred. Had the Other ever expressed such disgust of what was hers? For whatever reason she could not seem to recall and that thought brought her a sense of deep sorrow. Shaking her head, she was about to move on when some sense she could not name made her look back the way she had come so far through the snowed mountainous land. If he followed her… Was he still obeying those orders that had been drilled into him by Magnus? She knew of the secret meetings, though unaware of what was discussed, but saw how weary her mate appeared each time she comforted him in their home afterwards. It was as if there was an energy depleted from him after each of his meetings with the Councilmember and her concern had only grown the less he seemed to share with her about these interactions. Why was he acting as if these conversations were private? Was she not his mate and bound to his soul as he was to hers? 

Another pang of a glitch made her even more uneasy and again she looked back behind her. For a split second she swore amongst the blackness she saw a flash of distant crimson. Why did she feel in the depths of her soul that something was very much wrong? Surely it was just her overly heightened paranoia making her incredibly skittish about the whole situation from when she fled during the night to avoid being arrested for yet another crime that was not her fault. To be honest she was becoming very tired of the sheer persistence of this unknown being who seemingly had taken up refuge in her mind, probably without her awareness even. It might have been her father’s cruelty that had awoken it but now she was determined to ignore the presence to the best of her ability. 

She jumped, wings beating against the ground as dimly she heard what sounded to her like a very familiar chuckle, however it was much lower than she had ever recalled hearing before. Something was definitely wrong now. Every sense of self-preservation she had left was screaming at her to run. It was a hunt and she was the prey. Worse she had no idea where her assailant was coming from or even who it- Actually she suspected by now she knew who it was. There was every possibility that this had been planned from the start with those secretive meetings. It seemed entirely like something Magnus would do. He had been against her from the very beginning. 

From the snow around her, Versila shrunk back, seeing the sudden appearance of a smoky gray mist that slowly swirled around her. She bit back a growl and bolted, taking to the air even as the shadows exploded right underneath her and a large dark figure slammed into her from below, talons tearing against her chest as she screamed. The Other howled in fury, glitching violently to the point where her body contorted and she fell, somehow spinning during her descent and landing on her side in the snow once all the momentum left her and she rolled to a stop. Her wounds stung, already oozing ink that slid down her graying scales as she whimpered and struggled back up on her feet. 

That wasn’t her Nethreis. Not anymore. He was replaced by an unfeeling monster who had caught up to her and would surely attempt to make this mountainside the spot where her life would end. Versila spat out some sparks warningly at him, daring him to try for another strike. Her attacker landed gracefully some feet away after circling around, his gaze little more than a jaded, stone-cold glare of eerily flickering red. It was an utter abyss around her now, all traces of the earlier dusk having proceeded onward into the darkest of night. Had she not been actively trying to gauge how he would respond next, she knew she would have otherwise been seeking out an isolated place to bunker down until dawn rose next. Now she was forbidden even a sliver of a guarantee that she would still be alive to welcome in a new day. Nethreis had yet to address her and that knowledge was growing ever more concerning the longer the silence between them went.  

“Silskiva.” His use of her last name alone made her flinch, the tone so eerily reminiscent of Raymos’s that for a split second she thought maybe somehow her deceased father had found a way to punish her once more out of pure spite. “Versila…. Silskiva.” 

“...Love?” Her voice caught in her throat, barely resisting the urge to retreat away from his imposing presence. “Nethreis… it… it’s me. Your beloved. I know you recognize- Eep!” 

His stance posture shifted, lowering ever so slightly at her words, though not in a sign of recognition. She knew that shift as a conditioned habit of his calculating mind affirming the plan he had decided upon. As he slipped further into a crouch, her breath hitched, stepping back as he bared his stained fangs at her directly. Versila started to turn to run but the Other violently glitched again, forcing her to confront her wayward lover who had not said hardly anything to her since arriving. 

It wasn’t her lunging at him. Versila wanted so desperately to scream at him in warning but she found, to her horror, that she wasn’t seeing through her own eyes anymore. It was as though something had taken all control away from her and she was being forced to watch as Nethreis rose to meet the advance. She tried to stay focused on what was happening but she was strangely suddenly hit with a wave of sheer exhaustion. Going to sleep would be so easy…. He was here, he would keep her safe. Her most precious…. mate.  

How she would be protected under his wings. Protected…. forever.  

[secret-time-is-here]

Double stitched - Rewrite

Chapter 23

Previous - First - Next

Dream paced his office, thinking over the last two conversations he’s had. First with Glitch, and second with Ink.

For someone who knew nothing of what happened, Glitch’s words struck far too close to home. It was impossible for him to know, for anyone to know. Those who do know are long since dead or far too old to remember, Dream aside.

“HE kEEps mE sanE, HE HELpEd mE wHEn nO OnE wOuLd OR knEw HOw TO.”

They kept him sane too, in the early years of JR when Dream was confined to his office, stressed out of his mind. They pulled him from his less than proud coping habits. They were the only one that could pull him out of his office and get him to sit down to eat and relax.

They also helped him, someone to lean on and feel safe enough to fall asleep next to. They held more hope and positivity than Dream, and he’s the guardian and embodiment of positivity. All of it was too close for comfort. Down to the detail of Strings being in the infirmary.

Dream’s mind kept the ever flickering image of Ani. The memories old and fuzzy, but he refused to let go. After years, decades even, he still mourned over the loss. Regretting not telling them how much he loved, and still loves them. To this day, it still feels as if Ani is with him, watching over him. The presence is unseen, and not always there, but most of the time it is.

When he gets far too worked up, he can feel phantom arms wrapping around his waist, little Ani much too short to wrap their arms around his shoulders. When something bad is about to happen, he feels a strong breeze tugging at his arms, even if he is inside. When he just needs someone to hold onto, when his own wings hugging him isn’t enough, he can swear that a hand snakes its way into his. Clasping tight and holding on.

Even a guardian needs a guardian apparently.

His mind continued to think of Ani as he thought over Ink’s argument. Ani had also had similar values, and for a moment, he could see the meaning and proof of Ink’s argument. Ani would’ve never been able to shine as they had, helped as much as they did, if they never stood on that rooftop. If they had never wished for an angel to save them, and Dream helped them away from the ledge.

Dream would’ve never felt so happy to have Ani if he never feared he’d lose them. After all, it was Ani who first told the kids in the orphanage years ago: “Only when you’ve felt the lowest of lows, can you feel the highest of highs.”

Maybe there was some truth to Ink’s dispute. Now that he looks back on it, all of this was for not. Even if he did kill Nightmare and himself, there was no telling if it would work. It would do more than letting Nightmare live, the multiverse is for the most part stable, any serious negativity can be treated. JR can capture criminals just as extreme anxiety can be helped.

Suddenly, Dream stopped pacing, a small tugging at his sleeve. No one was in the room with him. Ani was altering him. The guardian searched through the room, just in case, letting his wings and eyes flare bright magic. A hint of blue in the shadows.

“Aww, you caught me.” A sing-song voice drawled out, “I was hoping to admire the view a little longer.” The other’s head tipped a little, smiling innocently. His fawn hair shading his eyes, giving them a glowing effect in the magical light.

“You can admire the view of a jail cell if you decline to leave, Blue.” The guardian snapped, well done with dealing with the pest. He had many more important things to get back to now that he had thought through his little problems.

“My my Dreamy, how rude~ ...it isn’t like you to snap at people. So unprofessional.” Blue used exaggerated body expressions as he talked, trying to hit a weak spot in Dream. “Funny enough, a lot of the highest members have been unprofessional lately… Ink, you, and of course, our little Glitchy.”

“Dare I ask?”

“Oh my dear, you don’t need dare, for I can simply tell you: Glitchy has been stealing away moments with Strings behind you back.” The guardian raised a brow, “It’s true, I was unlucky enough to catch the two being love birds in the infirmary… Ya’know, perhaps if you let me, I could do the same for you-”

“Not happening.” Dream turned away from the intruder, going back to his desk and back to work.

“H-HEY!” Blue sounded exasperated for once someone not paying attention to him and flat out ignoring him. Blue’s lips pursed, and he rose from his shadow, strutting over the Dream’s desk and making a newly cleared spot on it.

The guardian continued to pay no mind. Blue leaned back, pulling a wing to wrap around himself. “...Is there a reason to why that’s not happening, dear Dreamy?”

Still no response. Blue carefully moved himself to sit on one of the armrests of Dream’s chair. “Perhaps someone who’s stolen your heart from me?”

The silence mocked him. He rested his head on Dream’s shoulder, nuzzling into the bare neck, “Someone that you still miss? Someone that made that little trinket you wear so preciously around your neck?”

A wing knocked him off, and the air went icy, all of Dream’s magic pulled back. The sudden lack of positivity suffocating.

“Have I struck a sore spot?” The guardian’s eyes slanted, daring Blue to go further. “Do you really care for someone that’s been dead for nearly a century?” The little magic in the room pulsed, a second warning. “Ani isn’t that good anyway-”

In the blink of an eye, Dream was out of his chair and had Blue pinned to the wall. His famous claymore barely pressed against Blue’s neck. The taller’s glare was intense, and suddenly Blue regretted opening his mouth. All of his confidence was gone.

“Give me one valid incentive not to tear your throat like a worthless chicken.”

Dreamswap and Ani belongs to @onebizarrekai

Dream and Nightmare belong to @jokublog

Underverse belongs to @jakei95

Error belongs to @loverofpiggies

Ink belongs to @comyet

Blue belongs to the community

[ofthelabyrinth]

Instructions: Always repost with the rules, answer the 11 random questions left for you and leave 11 more for the people you tag!

TAGGED BY: @moonwoken​

TAGGING: be gay do crime

questions i am answering

1. how are things going?

They’re going, man! They’re...going. I have the next two weeks off work which I’m not thrilled about (I actually love my job) but like...my bestie and I keep trading silly little gifts back and forth, so that’s cool. I think I’m mostly still reeling from the blow-out of a breakup and like...feeling like I don’t belong anywhere? Maybe my depression’s just kicking into high gear again but I feel like I’m not wanting/don’t belong anywhere but maybe work. Like everyone and everywhere else just tolerates me. IDK man.

2. if you were someone else’s muse, how would your mun describe you?

Depressed, spontaneous, fickle, lacking in self-esteem but always available to build others up, loves too quickly and too easily, book smart but so fucking stupid otherwise. :/

3. if you could only recommend me three songs, movies or books to get to know you better, which would they be?

Ooooo, this one’s kinda tough! Well, for starters, my go-to movie is The Rocky Horror Picture Show, and I feel like knowing it’s my favorite movie (and having seen it at least once, lol) really explains a lot of my personality. What Rocky Horror can’t explain, my favorite novel probably can: Ray Bradbury’s Something Wicked This Way Comes. I really am haunted by this book. My recommendation for a “song” would actually be the whole Beetlejuice: The Musical album, but I think “No Reason” and/or “Say My Name” nicely encapsulates either my split opinions (former) or my energies (latter).

4. what was it that first inspired you to write? what inspires you today?

My sixth grade English teacher. He was very supportive of my writing and became a touchstone for inspiration in my life. I really started down that track after his class, and even though I’m not doing what either of us ever thought I would, his words still ring true. I don’t really know if I have any inspirations today, though, per se. Performers, I guess. Most of my strongest muses/writing have been born out of my fascination with the performer/s I’ve used for their FC’s.

5. if you had to put together a team of 5 fictional characters plus yourself to save the world, who would you choose and why?

Captain Katherine Janeway, Q, Commander Spock, Doctor McCoy, and Charles Xavier (PatStew). I’m going to be honest here: between Janeway and Q...we don’t need anyone else. Q’s powers and Janeway’s moral compass in combination with Janeway’s leadership and Q’s simp status will solve the problem on the then and there. I just happen to like both Spock and McCoy and think they would contribute a lot of flavor to the adventure, although we’d need Xavier to mellow shit out when all those hot heads start to collide--in particular, Patrick Stewart’s Xavier, since he fits the Star Trek vibe and would thereby have a little more sway with Q than otherwise.

6. what is your favorite fictional trope? least favorite?

My favorite...ever? Period? At all? In all of tropedom? Dark circus/carnival. The exact flavor of the circus/carnival/other travelling show as well as the degree of darkness doesn’t matter, I just always end up drawn in and stupefied by it. I think it’s a combination of the tonal juxtaposition (the light, bright, fun, easygoing, smoke-and-mirrors sensation of the show juxtaposed to the darkness and the horror) and my unending fascination with performance and performance spaces being used outside of their “traditional”/majority context. Backstage mysteries have the exact same effect on me, as do haunted theatres. My least favorite was formerly the misuse of the Persephone myth--twisted by modern, romantic minds into a love story where one isn’t existent in the original mythos--but it has since swung back to that of the unaware Mary Sue/Gary Stu. It’s a trope that can be fun when the writer is self-aware enough to perceive it, but it’s otherwise irritating beyond belief.

7. what unpopular opinion do you have toward the rpc or tumblr?

Soft-blocking is an exercise in pointlessness, as it rarely actually results in the blocked party staying away. This website is too glitchy to make that kind of thing work. Have conversations with the people you’d rather soft- than hard-block about the offense they’ve caused or just hard-black them, myself included.

8. if you could spend one day with your main muse (or your muse of choice), what would that be like?

Look, I’ll be real. My muse of choice? Very much not advertiser-friendly, as they say on YouTube. The things we would do would horrify people unaware of my sex drive and wild attraction to him. A night of debauchery on all levels--because we’d spend a night, not a day, that’s just the way his canon rolls--and if unreleased canon has anything to tell, it’s that I’d end up pregnant with his son and then probably die but it might have been worth it, especially if we can skip the reality TV show in the middle. So let’s just pretend I said I’d spend a day getting high with Jareth and wandering around the Escher room tripping the most balls ever.

9. if you found yourself in one fictional universe of your choosing, which would it be and why?

................. I’d either end up in space on Star Trek because I’m a lonely space gay or I’d end up in a creepy gothic castle singing and dancing--is it Rocky Horror or Labyrinth?--and perhaps legitimately feeling like the siren I long to be as people compliment my voice.

10. a character you’ve always wanted to write?

Mirror!Spock. I wrote him once and I loved it and I would love to write him again, but I don’t use AOS canon so finding people to write with is often difficult.

11. what are five things that spark joy for you?

Space, Rocky Horror, singing, my pets (did I tell you about my new dog?), Renaissance Festivals.

.

my questions for you

1. how have you been holding up lately?

2. what are three surefire ways to make you smile/happy?

3. who is your comfort character and what are they like?

4. explain your URL!

5. what is one article of clothing you love above all others and why?

6. what is your favorite kind of thing to write? what about your least favorite?

7. what is one belief you hold but do not often share?

8. if you could choose one person (alive, dead, or fictional) to spend the day with, who would it be and what would you do?

9. what is one piece of media that continues to hold your attention?

10. what drew you to writing on tumblr?

11. what is one thing you wish you got to talk about more often?

[itskateak]

Oceans and Stars - Chapter 8

Story Summary: A story of how Bucky Barnes falls in love with oceans, stars, and the woman who gave him the reasons to.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Velika Dante King (Fem!OC)

Chapter Summary: Bucky's life isn't easy without her, but he's getting by. And he's getting better. 

Words: 3.2K 

Warnings: Mentions of war, mild language, PTSD, Relapsing, Anxiety, canon typical violence, some fluff, harassment

A/N: I know the words of the song are the same as the last chapter, but that's because that section repeats. 

Masterlist

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𝓛𝓲𝓿𝓮 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝔀𝓲𝓵𝓵 𝓵𝓲𝓿𝓮. {𝐿𝒾𝓋𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓌𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝓁𝒾𝓋𝑒}

Bucky glanced at his gloved hands, fingers laced as he rested his elbows on his knees. The waiting room was silent except for the receptionist taking calls from other patients. A diffuser puffed intermittently, spraying oils into the air. He recognized the smell of chamomile and lavender. It was meant to calm and relax people as they waited. Instead, it just made him more anxious.

He hated waiting in the open like this. He was lucky there wasn't anyone else in the waiting room with him and he was seriously considering leaving without even holding his appointment. The diffuser huffed out another dose of the anxious elixir. 

Steve had offered to come with him, but he didn't want his best friend to see how broken he actually was. In some ways, Steve glossed over the cracks and believed the front Bucky put on when he was having a rough day or week or even month. It had been especially worse now that Velika hadn't been around. 

"James Barnes?" A dark-skinned woman in a pair of jeans and a blue knit sweater called for his attention. She had a pair of thick-rimmed glasses pushed up onto her crown, holding her unnaturally colored box-braids back. Her eyes were a soft brown, which matched her soft and friendly smile.

Bucky stood slowly to not startle her and gave her the kind of smile people give when they hold doors open for others. 

"I'm Doctor Naomi Winters. It's nice to meet you, James." Naomi extended her hand to him in a manner that didn't pressure him to return it. He did, though, and shook her hand.

"Bucky, please." He kept his left arm at his side and still. 

"I'll make a note of that because I'm sure I'll forget in the next five minutes. It's been a long week. Come on back." Naomi rolled her eyes at herself and gestured with her head.

Bucky followed her down the hall. The walls were painted an awful beige color that reminded him of the sun-faded flour sacks he hauled down on the docks. Random paintings and pictures were hung between offices. Some were of plants and flowers, others were what he thought were meant to be inspirational quotes but really just sounded condescending.

Naomi opened a door to his right and invited him in, shutting it softly behind him. The room was a cool grey with paintings hung on one wall. A black bookshelf filled with various medical journals and alternative books was pushed into the corner. A plush rug in black was laid out across the floor, one edge of it hidden under a desk with a couple of computer monitors in sleep mode. A comfy looking grey couch was under the paintings and a chair by an end table sat opposite it. A deep red blanket was thrown over the back of the couch and a pair of decorative pillows sat against one of the arms. The room was dim, lit up by warm fairy lights in plastic jars. 

"If there's anything you need to make you more comfortable, please let me know," Naomi said, grabbing a file from her desk and sinking into the chair. 

Bucky nodded and sat cautiously on the couch, unsure of himself now that he was actually in the room with her. She picked up a pen and made a note at the top of the first page.

"Do you need a few minutes to get used to the room?" She asked, pulling her glasses down to rest low on her nose. She looked at him patiently over the top of them.

"I'm okay." He responded, voice much gruffer than he intended. He winced slightly and cleared his throat. "It's fine."

"Okay, Bucky. I glanced over your file and there's a lot to cover. We can start wherever you want and I won't push a subject if you tell me you don't want to talk about it in that session. I want this to be helpful to you and at your own pace," Naomi set her pen down and picked up a steaming mug on the table beside her. She wrapped her hands around it and took a sip.

Bucky nodded hesitantly. Where would he even begin? He furrowed his brow and dropped his gaze to the floor, eyes flickering over the threads of the carpet. There was a lot to cover over his life and finding a place to pull the thread without unraveling the carefully woven web he'd created was more difficult than he expected.

"Alright, I have an idea. I can see you're having a hard time trying to find a place to start. We can start with the intro survey you filled out and talk about each section. This will allow me to help diagnose you properly." Naomi spoke softly and with an evenness that was already loosening the tension in his shoulders.

"Okay." Bucky nodded again, lacing his hands together again. 

"You checked most of the boxes for the anxiety parameters. Let's talk about that first." Naomi set her cup aside and took her pen up again. 

Bucky took a deep breath. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad.

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"You okay, Bucky?" Steve checked in with him, putting a hand on his shoulder. They were between meeting people as the groups were being switched out.

"Yeah, why?" Bucky glanced at him before smiling to a fan who had called his name. He waved in the direction of the shout. The sea of people in line didn't let him pinpoint exactly who had said his name.

"I'm just making sure. It's a big crowd and it's a lot of people," Steve said, taking a step away as the next group of people were brought in.

"I'm okay. Promise." Bucky gave him a reassuring smile and had his attention diverted by one of the convention's staff. He greeted the person in front of him, making casual conversation and giving them a hug when they asked. He smiled for a photo, a warm feeling in his chest. 

People had been wary to accept him at first. He hadn't attended public events like this often. He would sit on panels and do interviews, but other than that, he never did meet and greets. After attending therapy for a few months, he had felt stable enough to attend a short one.

A small boy, maybe ten, approached him with wide eyes and a smile. His mother stood behind him, a hand on his shoulder. 

Bucky opened his mouth to say something when he noticed a pin on the boy's shirt. Immediately, he kneeled to be on the boy's level and pulled his sleeves up to the middle of his forearms. 

"Hi!" Bucky signed.

The boy's eyes widened further in surprise. Even his mother seemed a little surprised. They had expected Clint Barton to know sign language since he was hard of hearing, but they really didn't expect Bucky Barnes, the ex-Winter Soldier, to know sign language.

"Hi!" The boy beamed.

"How are you?"

"Excited and happy to talk with you. How are you?"

"A little nervous. My sign is rusty. But happy to talk with you, too. What's your name?"

"My name is James."

"My first name is James, too. But everyone calls me Bucky." He tucked a piece of hair behind his ear. "What's been your favorite part about the con so far?"

"Meeting you." James ducked his head sheepishly. "Your arm is so cool! I really liked the-" James broke into a flurry of signs that Bucky couldn't keep up with. 

"Hold on! Slow down, please. I can't understand at that speed." Bucky chuckled at his enthusiasm. It made his heart swell.

"Sorry. I got excited. I talk fast when I'm excited. I really liked the red star on your silver arm, but I know it was tied to really bad things in your past so I'm happy for you now that it's gone. Your new arm looks really, really pretty! I love the gold designs." James' enthusiasm wasn't dulled even with the slower signing. He was nearly bouncing on his feet.

"Thank you. I didn't design the appearance but I really like it, too. Shuri was excited the whole time she was fitting it. It's not as glitchy as the silver one, which means less time I have to spend around the compound missing an arm." Bucky wrinkled his nose up in mock disgust before chuckling. "Did you see anything cool today or buy something from the vendors?"

"I got this replica of your .... and meeting all of you guys was really fun!" 

Bucky furrowed his brow and looked to his mother, repeating the sign he didn't understand and asking for its meaning. 

"Oh! Motorcycle. That's not a sign I've seen before. I usually fingerspelled it. Would you like to take a picture?"

"Yes, please!"

"Do you mind if I use my phone to also take a photo?" Bucky verbally asked James' mother but signed as well so James could understand him.

"Go ahead!" 

A staff member took Bucky's phone from him and he wrapped his right arm around the boy. He held his left hand up with the sign for I love you and smiled. 

James' mother counted down with sign and snapped a few photos. The staff member followed her lead. They handed Bucky's phone back to him and he nodded to them in thanks.

"Can I give you a hug?" James asked with a shy smile. Bucky opened his arms up and nodded. James threw his arms around his shoulders, squeezing tightly. Bucky squeezed him back, rocking from side to side slightly.

James' mother tapped James on the shoulder and signaled it was time for them to move on. James pulled back and waved, thanking Bucky. 

"I love you, James. You're a superhero."

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Bucky wandered through the bookshelves, head tilted inquisitively as he read the titles. His hands were sunk into his pockets. He'd discovered this small bookshop with Velika on accident. They had been wandering through New York's downtown areas when the rain had suddenly started to pour down. They found shelter in the family-owned bookshop tucked between a thrift store and a business office.

He pulled a book that had caught his attention from the shelf, reading the synopsis curiously. He'd been reading a lot more, finding it enjoyable again. Usually, his mind would wander while reading, and his thoughts would be completely unrestricted. Now, he could read for hours and be uninterrupted by his intrusive thoughts.

The synopsis wasn't as intriguing as he'd hoped so he put it back in its place and continued down the row.

A scoff behind him interrupted the quiet calm of the shop, but he paid it no mind. He did step closer to the shelf in case it was someone wanting to pass behind him. He took up a good amount of space in the small aisles and didn't want to be a bad person.

"I see you're letting anyone in here." The voice was muffled, and obviously feminine, but he heard it clearly. Blame his superhuman hearing.  

"What do you mean, Loraine?" The owner, a kindly old Jewish man, asked in a gentle voice.

"You let a criminal in here." She whispered. "He deserves to be in jail. Not browsing your shelves."

"He has done no harm and he is quite kind. You would know if you talked to him. He's a hero. He saved my mother from certain death when he was a Howling Commando. This bookshop wouldn't exist if not for him. If you are going to continue, then you will leave." The owner's voice was firm and the door slammed closed shortly after. "I'm sorry about her, Mr. Barnes."

"You don't need to be sorry, sir. It's completely alright. I'm used to it." Bucky rounded the end of the shelf with a soft smile.

"But you shouldn't be. You should not be judged on the actions you could not control but rather the actions you did. That is what makes you the man you are." The owner extended his hand to Bucky.

"I have never asked your name." Bucky shook his hand firmly and smiled.

"Mendel Belenky. It is a pleasure to truly meet you, Mr. Barnes." Mendel said in a wistful tone.

"Please, just call me Bucky. Would you like to talk sometime about your mother and the war?" He offered, shoving his hands back into his pockets.

"I would love to, Bucky. And know you are always welcome in my store." Mendel's warm eyes crinkled up as he smiled. 

"Thank you."

"Now, I haven't seen that lovely woman that is usually with you in awhile. Did you two break up?" Mendel asked.

"Ah, no. We weren't dating. We're just friends. Velika is currently fighting on the frontlines of a war between her homeland and her birthland." Bucky explained, face flushing lightly.

"I do hope she comes home. And you finally ask her out." Mendel winked and returned to the counter. 

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𝓖𝓻𝓸𝔀 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝔀𝓲𝓵𝓵 𝓰𝓻𝓸𝔀. {𝒢𝓇𝑜𝓌 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓌𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝑔𝓇𝑜𝓌}

"So, how has the last week been?" Naomi asked, settling in her chair with a sigh. She flashed him a genuine smile as she picked her ever steaming mug of tea up.

"I didn't have any nightmares. At all." Bucky grinned, a feeling a pride spreading through his chest. 

"That's great! That's really good!" Naomi's smile grew and she wrote it down on the notepad. "How many times did you feel overwhelmed or anxious this week?"

"Twice. I went on a mission Monday to Wednesday, so I was nervous beforehand. The second time was after I got out of the shower. I was thinking too much and it just hit me." Bucky stretched his right hand against his left, gloves tucked away in his pocket. He'd stopped wearing them as much in public.

"Any progress made is good. You were overwhelmed and anxious five times at the time of our last visit and you had two nightmares. I say that you're definitely getting better with every week." Naomi made another note. "Let's talk about fears this time since you mentioned feeling like you have irrational fears last time we met. Can you tell me more about that?"

"It sounds ridiculous, but I'm terrified of falling. Heights don't bug me, but falling? It scares me." Bucky sighed, leaning back against the couch. "Ever since I fell off the train and into that ravine, I just...I dunno."

"It's perfectly rational, Bucky. You fell something like five hundred feet. Anyone would be scared to fall after something like that," Naomi said.

"Jeez, you sound like Velika. She nearly said something identical to that a couple of years ago." Bucky smiled fondly at the memory.

"Tell me about that, then. And tell me about her."

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"Bucky, there's two on your tail!" Nat shouted from across the room before swinging herself around a guy nearly twice her height.

"Copy that." Bucky turned and engaged with the two men who had followed him. They weren't anywhere close to being a match for him. He continued towards the main server room, hand on the top of the pistol strapped to his right thigh.

"You guys have five minutes to get back out here before the charges go off. Get a move on!" Tony ordered through the coms.

"Yeah, yeah. We're movin' as fast as we can." Bucky ducked into a hall, firing rounds off at the people coming at him. He heard someone approaching from behind him but he wasn't concerned. 

A round went off behind him and an exasperated sigh followed. "Barnes, you nearly just got your head blown clean off. What the hell was that?" Natasha asked.

"I...thought Velika was here again. Thought she had my six." Bucky admitted in a quiet voice. Nat's expression changed and she patted his arm sympathetically.

"I know, Bucky. We all miss her."

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"You son of a bitch!" Sam howled, nearly coming across the kitchen table in rage.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Did you say something, Wilson? I couldn't hear you over the sound of all this money." Bucky dramatically fanned himself with millions of dollars worth of Monopoly money. He had a shit-eating grin as he watched Sam turn red in rage.

"He cheated. He had to have cheated." Tony threw his money onto the board in frustration.

"That's it. You're banned from playing Monopoly with us ever again." Nat threw a handful of popcorn at Bucky and he started laughing.

"Sleep with one eye open, Barnes. You're gonna pay for taking away my win." Sam fumed, crossing his arms.

"Whatever you say, Wilson. Whatever you say."

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𝓢𝓲𝓷𝓰, 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝔀𝓲𝓵𝓵 𝓼𝓲𝓷𝓰.

Bucky leaned his head back against the seat of the couch, emotionless gaze staring at the grey wall. He hadn't slept for the last two days and he was exhausted both physically and mentally. He'd been doing so well and suddenly it all fell apart. So here he was, sitting on the floor of his therapist's office.

Naomi settled next to him, reaching over his legs to set a mug of tea on the solid floor. She held her usual cup in her hand, sitting cross-legged and facing the wall with him. He wasn't ready to talk. He felt numb. Shattered. His arms laid limply in his lap and he stared blankly ahead.

"If you need anything, you just have to ask. When you're ready to talk, I'll be here. I've cleared the rest of my schedule so you can be here as long as you need." Naomi quietly broke the silence.

"You didn't have to do that," Bucky muttered, voice gravelly and hoarse. His gaze didn't waver from the grey wall.

"I didn't, but I felt it was the best option for you. I felt it was what you needed." Naomi took a sip of her tea. "I will be here whenever you're ready."

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Bucky felt his phone buzz in his pocket and he pulled it out to check the notification. Rain tapped against the window, breaking through the soft jazz music playing from an old record player. He unlocked his phone and navigated to Instagram. A memory had popped up from two years ago. He clicked on it and couldn't stop the smile that spread across his face.

The photo was of him and Velika on the fallen tree above the river. She had her braid pulled over her shoulder, a bright smile on her face as she leaned against his shoulder to be in frame. His left eye was squinted because they were facing the sun, but he was smiling as well. Today's adventure included nearly falling into a river because that one wanted to sit on a tree above the water.

"Let me see her," Mendel said, shifting his glasses further down the bridge of his nose. Bucky looked at him with mild confusion. "Oh, don't pretend it isn't her. I know that smile when I see it."

Bucky turned his phone around to show him the photo and Mendel smiled with a nod. "She is beautiful. An angel, yes?"

"You have no idea."

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Bucky laid on the roof with his left arm under his head, watching the stars. It wasn't the same without Velika, but it brought him comfort on the nights he couldn't sleep. He played with her dog tags as he stared, a slight smile on his lips.

"I love you, Velika," He whispered to the moon.

𝓨𝓸𝓾'𝓵𝓵 𝓼𝓲𝓷𝓰. 𝓨𝓸𝓾 𝔀𝓲𝓵𝓵 𝓯𝓵𝓸𝔀.

Taglist-

[bonnieisaway]

i got so brave, drink in hand

sneeze i’m sorry this is so late i- i just couldn’t work on this chapter. i promise the next one will be better..

chapter 1 | chapter 2 | wattpad link

Aiura knew that red strings were common in people.

Sure, a little pointless since, as far as she knew, she was the only one who could see them, but common. The problem was out of the eternity of PK Academy she'd only seen three.

And she saw the third on the day (L/n) transferred to her class.

°·.¸.·°¯°·.¸.·°¯°·.¸.°·.¸.·°¯°·.¸.·°¯°·.¸.

Saiki and (L/n) both sigh as they set their bags next to their desks and sit down. Saiki turns to see (L/n) yawning before turning to Saiki. Bags lined the underneath of her (e/c) eyes.

"Oh...hey Saiki.." She smiles drowsily. Saiki feels his face heat up at the cute action but is eliciting to ignore it. Nope. Not happening at all. He's not sure what you're talking about.

"How late did you get home last night?" He asks.

"Around 10.." (L/n) shrugs. "I stopped at a store on my way home and then I was up doing homework for while... But it's alright! I had some...caffeine earlier.."

"I'm sorry." Saiki apologizes. He wasn't even sure why he was apologizing. For keeping her out late? For making her take care of him?

"Nah, don't apologize. It's alright." She gives a heartwarming smile and Saiki- for once- thanks god that Teruhashi has joined the two to interrupt the conversation.

"(Y/n), are you okay?" Teruhashi asks worriedly. "You seem tired."

"Yeah." (L/n) nods. "I just..got to sleep a bit late.."

"How late?" Teruhashi asks.

"Ehehehe.... 4am...?" (L/n) laughs awkwardly. Teruhashi looks unamused.

"(Y/n)..!" She begins to reprimand.

"Kokomi!" (L/n) mocks her tone. "I had a lot of homework."

Teruhashi sighs and shakes her head. "You need better time management. How much of that did you spend playing on your phone?"

"..Ehheheh.." (L/n) begins to awkwardly laugh again. The poor girl obviously needed sleep. School started at 7am, she probably barely got 2 or 3 hours of sleep.

Before anyone else can reprimand the poor, sleep deprived girl, the teacher walks in the room, settling the students as they return to their seats.

"Good morning, class." The teacher begins.

"Good morning.." The class responds. Saiki only gives partial attention as she begins her lesson. He turns and sees (L/n) with her head in her hand and eyes half lidded as she drifts off. Saiki sighs as he nudges the girl under the desks with his foot. She snaps awake confused.

"Stay awake, idiot." Saiki reprimands, but there's a small grin on his face. (L/n) squints her eyes at him.

"Fine. Because you asked so nicely, Strawberry." She mutters under her breath, just loud enough for him to hear.

"...with that, you and your partner will choose a book from PK's library to report on.." The teacher continues to speak, as she writes on the chalkboard. "..due within two weeks from now. I have assigned your partners." Saiki feels the dread in his very soul. Ever since (L/n) showed up it felt like there were a lot of fanfiction cliches showing up and he wasn't sure how to feel about it.

The teacher begins listing partner pairs. "Kuboyasu and Kaido. Teruhashi and Yumerhara." She goes down the list of convenient pairs. "Mera and Hairo. Saiki and (L/n)." Ah, there's the cliche money maker. The teacher continues listing the names of background characters. Like Takahashi and Saiko. We don't care about Saiko in this fanfiction.

Anyway, (L/n) sleepily turns to Saiki as the teacher finishes her list and lets the partner pairs discuss. "So...what book are we doing?"

Saiki shrugs. "What kind of books do you read?" He asks. He's only doing this because its a normal conversation. With a normal girl. Who he is not growing fond of what so ever. Stop jumping to conclusions, reader.

(L/n) shrugs. "Any, really.." She hums for a second. "What was that one book..."

"Hm?" Saiki hums curiously.

"I don't remember the title.." (L/n) leans her head in her hand. "But I remember a quote. It was something like.. "'I see two lovers looking over the cauldron of hell. Are they contemplating a double suicide? This means their love will end in hell." I couldn't stop laughing.'"

Saiki thinks for a moment. He'd probably heard the line before due to telepathy.

"It's Kitchen by Banana Yoshimoto." Saiki responds after a minute.

"Yeah, that one!" (L/n) snaps her fingers. "Have you read it before?" She asks.

"No. I just.. I've heard of it, before." Saiki lies. No, he has not read it, he just used his powers to find the book for the poor girl.

"It's probably in the library, wanna do that book?" (L/n) asks. Saiki nods. "Cool..cool.."

𝕥𝕚𝕞𝕖𝕤𝕜𝕚𝕡

The homeroom bell rang and Saiki had no chance to go anywhere else before (L/n) starts dragging him by the sleeve to the library. "Come on! Better to start this now." (L/n) weakly beckons as they walk into the library. "Now where the hell is that book."

Saiki shrugs as (L/n) walks off to look for it. He could use clairvoyance and- yep, already found the book. Saiki walks over and grabs two copies of the book- one for him and one for (L/n).

"Alright, let's go." Saiki sighs. (L/n) snaps around with a 'are you fucking kidding me' face.

"I- oh what the hell. Let's go, Strawberry." (L/n) yawns, because clearly sleeping through the entirety of mathematics class was not enough for the poor girl. Saiki can't help but feel a small grin come across his face as the shorter girl takes a copy from his hand and begins walking to the librarian.

After the very rushed library trip begins a trek home with Nendo, Kaido, and Kuboyasu trailing along. Three annoyances and one tolerable girl.

"Hey, we should go get some ramen!" Nendo offers, as he does every day.

"Nah..I'm exhausted.. plus, I don't have money on me." (L/n) smiles.

"You want to get ramen every day, Nendo. Plus, I have homework and cram school." Kaido rolls his eyes.

"I've got to go...meet with someone." Kuboyasu excuses, which is code for "something that's entirely delinquent related that the author does not want to write."

"Damn.. okay. What about you, partner?" Nendo asks. Crap, he didn't have an excuse.

"I-"

"Actually, Saiki was gonna head over to my place so we could work on that book project." (L/n) excuses him, setting a hand on his shoulder as she looks up at Nendo. Saiki looks at her with adoration for a second- thank whatever God sent this girl to be the saint she is.

"That's not due for like, two weeks." Kuboyasu points out.

"We're not going to college for another year and Shun's still got his applications filled out." (L/n) comments.

"H-Hey! You know that's cause of my mom!" Kaido argues, face bright red. Saiki found the usual bickering to be quiet boring.. he figured he should entertain himself.

Hm.. maybe..

"Yeah, I know, I know." (L/n) grins. "Still funny."

Saiki looks at Kuboyasu. With boredom he's decided to see everyone's likability for (L/n). ..Huh. Solid 54. Not bad. He turns to Nendo next.

"Haha! Tell me, what college are you going to, runt?" Nendo asks. ..Hm. 58. Not too far off. He turns to Kaido.

"Shut up!" Kaido tries to elbow Nendo yet it does absolutely nothing. As per usual. ..94. Jesus. Saiki knew the two were close by some miracle but jeez. Only person left in the group was him, and he was confident in his emotions...

"Hey, this is where Saiki and I gotta split. See you guys!" (L/n) waves as they turn a corner.

"See you around."

"See you, partner!!! See you, friend!!!"

"Bye Saiki, (Y/n)!"

Saiki turns to the girl who stares off into space as they now walk quietly. Her (e/c) eyes were half lidded with exhaustion and she was beginning to fall asleep while walking she was so tired.

"Hey, Strawberry..." (L/n) starts, dragging out his nickname.

"What is it, (L/n)?" Saiki sighs.

"I'm tired... wanna carry me..?" She grins half-assedly. Saiki rolls his eyes.

"No."

"Come oooon."

"Absolutely not." Saiki refuses. (L/n) pouts cutely and crosses her arms for a second, deep in thought. 'Well, I could just..' Oh no. (L/n) falls out of Saiki's line of vision for a second but he isn't necessarily surprised when the girl just jumps on his back without warning. He sigh heavily as he stops walking.

"Hah, can't avoid it now, Strawberry!" (L/n) grins over his shoulder.

"I could just drop you." He sighs.

"Please don't."

Saiki rolls his eyes into oblivion and continues walking with the sleepy girl on his back. She's quiet but her thoughts roll on. 'Hm..his hair is soft. And he smells like vanilla."

Saiki's face warms up. For some odd, unrelated reason. No sir, not related to that at all. Not sure what you're talking about. Out of the corner of his eye, he spots a..number..?

Ah, that's right, he was using the likability to see how everyone felt about (L/n). The tracker floated in the corner of his vision, a solid "70" written on the board of it. Weird. The last person around (L/n) was only Saiki.

It must've just glitched out. Don't get happy here. His powers have just been.. wonky lately. That's it. As he continues to walk, dismissing the totally glitchy meter, the girl on his back slowly begins to drift off.

𝕥𝕚𝕞𝕖𝕤𝕜𝕚𝕡

When you woke from your sleep, not even realizing how comfortably you dozed off on the poor boy, he was standing in front of your apartment building. "Will you get off now?" He asks impatiently. You giggle and slide off his back, landing hard on your feet.

"Thank you for the Uber." You grin. He gives you a less then amused look and you can't help but laugh at the unamused face t̶h̶a̶t̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶ ̶h̶a̶d̶ ̶c̶o̶m̶e̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶a̶d̶o̶r̶e̶.̶ "Sorry, sorry. But really. Thanks for tolerating that."

Saiki thinks to himself for a second. "It's...alright. There's more annoying people I know." He sighs. You look at him for a second- did he just compliment you? Did Saiki Kusuo, the ever done-with-your-shit tsundere, just give you a backwards ass compliment?

No.

Don't lie to us, Saiki.

You smile at him after a second. "Well- I have to tend to..something. I don't know. I probably have work to do, so.. bye!" You smile, waving as you walk into the building. He waves slightly before walking away. You climb the stairs up to the second floor, and unlock your door, popping in and kicking off your shoes. You drop your bag at the door.

"OH my god FINALLY." You scream to yourself. Yes, you lived alone, parents...parents and siblings long gone. You shook the thought of them from your head as you wandered through your apartment to your kitchen as you hummed some American song from the 2000s to yourself. Opening the kitchen cabinets revealed..

..well, not much. Shit. You sigh to yourself. You hadn't gone shopping in forever, which, was a given since you'd found yourself so busy. Life seemed to become hectic since you met Saiki but that was alright. You thought he was cool. You pause as you close your cabinets.

The thought of his eyes crossed your mind. They weren't special, if anything bland, but there's nights where the purple color is all you can see in your head. You weren't necessarily sure why. His eyes were just.. pretty. You should tell him some time. You shake the thought from your head as you walk to your bedroom, choosing to change out of your school uniform.  

After having chosen a comfortable outfit that fit your style, you grabbed your keys, wallet, phone and put on your shoes. It's shopping time, baby. There was a convenience store you usually went to about 20 minutes away from your apartment. So you went down the stairs, nearly falling on your face quiet a few times, and exited your apartment building and began the trek to the store.

As you walk, your thoughts begin to wander. You'd never think before that at 16 you'd be living alone in your own apartment. Thinking back to the events that lead you here...

Well, you didn't like to think of it much. The thought that truly, you were the last person in your family alive. In some fucked up way, it could remind you of that one game...What Remains of Edith Finch? You push the thought from your head, chosing to hum whatever song comes to mind first.

You didn't really like dwelling on the depressing things of it all. Of course, sometimes, it couldn't be helped, but if you had the choice..

You enter the store as you clear your thoughts, arriving at your destination finally, and hopefully avoiding the author's shitty monolouging. You walk through, grabbing the necessities, and by necessities I mean junk foods that would definitely disappoint Hairo if he saw this. But he is not here, so you are free to grab an extra package of coffee jelly and an extra box of pocky.

You check out with only a slight judgmental look from the cashier and begin your trek home. We're just speeding through this chapter! As you walk along you feel something soft brush against your leg. You look down and what do you see? A cute little cat!

The white cat has violet eyes that cant help but remind you of Saiki and a collar with the label 'Sai.' You bend down, setting down your two bags, and pick up the cat. "Why, hello there!" you smile.

Sai stared back deadpanned. "Well, you remind me of someone I know an awful lot." You snort, setting the cat back on the ground and petting its head before picking up your bags and continuing to walk. After about 5 minutes, you notice the cat is still following you. You stop to turn to it for a second as it stares back up at you.

"You're awfully persistent, huh?" You smile. "I'm sorry, kitty, my landlord doesn't allow cats." You continue walking.

..And so does this damn cat. He's persistent and every time you tried to lose him in a doorway he'd dart in seconds before the door shut and nearly scared the shit out of you every time. Which is why he is now sitting patiently on your living room couch.

°·.¸.·°¯°·.¸.·°¯°·.¸.°·.¸.·°¯°·.¸.·°¯°·.¸.

Okay, look, first of all, Saiki has a PERFECTLY good explanation. And second of all, this is not his fault. At all. He wasted his precious time to turn into a cat because Amp was bothering him once he got home. Shenanigans happened, and Amp got mad at him and he lied that he was going home, and that he didn't live at his house, so that Amp would stop bothering him. Amp would not believe him so to sell the story he just followed (L/n) home because she wouldn't kick a cat to the curb. Thankfully, she didn't but now Saiki is here.

The problem is that (L/n) won't take her eyes off him so he can't just teleport and she's not opening the door any time soon. Which is an issue because Saiki would like to get home and play his game. But no. He gets stuck in this situation. Fuck you, Author.

(rude.)

(L/n) turns and picks up Saiki, or should I say Sai, and he can't help but sigh and curse Amp for leading him into this situation. He can't move much because he can't control his strength well like this and generally it'll just end badly. So he can't.. really do much as (L/n) sets what she assumes to be a normal cat in her lap and pets him gently. All he can think right now is 'please kill me.'

"Hm.. you've gotta belong to someone. I haven't seen you around before, kitty, are you lost?" She asks, as if the fucking cat would respond. Saiki is very bitter right now. And does not want to be pet. He squirms out of her grip and winds up across the couch. "Yikes, okay, I got it."

She sighs. "God, I can't go finding some cat owner.. I've got homework and shit.." (L/n) runs a hand through her hair as she turns around. Fuck it, that's all he needs.

°·.¸.·°¯°·.¸.·°¯°·.¸.°·.¸.·°¯°·.¸.·°¯°·.¸.

You turn back around. "We- What the fuck?!" The cat was gone. You snapped your head around, he didn't even seem to be in the apartment before. What- what the actual fuck?? Were you hallucinating??

..Yeah.. We'll call it hallucinating. You sigh as you flop at your kitchen table. You had homework.. and commissions.. and you were supposed to reread Kitchen. You glance at the book tossed to the side on your table. You'd read it once but that was years ago, when you were practicing Japanese. You were, simply put, stressed and tired as hell. It'd be another late night for you and just..

You'd think that through later, you told yourself, as you pull some bullshit math worksheet from your bag, pencil tapping as your eyes scan the problems. You were stressed but life was good. It was odd...

This stretch of happiness couldn't last long.

__________________

tl;dr, go read kitchen. 

[spaceskam]

31 and 70 from the prompt list for Rosabel

“Your brother won’t stop making heart eyes at my sister, it’s grossing me out.”

“I’m sure Liz says the same thing about me.”

Rosa gave Isobel that smile-that-wasn’t-a-smile, but it wasn’t a frown so Isobel took it as a win.  Isobel was still trying to navigate the large walls that surrounded Rosa Ortecho.  Sometimes it’d seem like she’d found a hole to weasel her way inside, but then a gate would shut and she’d still be on the outside.

Sometimes it drove her insane.  Sometimes she enjoyed the challenge.

“Hey, uh, after I get off, do you wanna go to a movie?” Rosa asked while somehow avoiding eye contact.  She was usually overwhelming with it.  Not today.  Isobel found herself smirking.

“Absolutely.”

*

“Oh my god, Izzy!  You-you’re too much!”

Isobel took a step away from Rosa.  She’d come to the roof of the Crashdown to see her, only to find her hysterically sobbing.  She didn’t really know how to handle this, especially since every time she tried to comfort her, Rosa would push her away.  She didn’t know what she did wrong.  All she knew was that they were fine one day and then Rosa was ignoring her the next.

Isobel happily skipped over their almost-kiss goodnight in the preservation of her own ego.

“Do you want me to go get Liz?” Isobel offered.  Rosa clearly didn’t want her there, but Isobel wasn’t about to leave her this all by herself.  The closer she looked, the more she realized Rosa was probably strung out.  She felt even more compelled to go get Liz.

“No!  No, I don’t want you to get Liz!” Rosa screamed, her hands going to her hair and pulling as her voice echoed in the empty space.  Isobel slowly took a step towards her once again.

“Okay, I won’t.” Rosa nearly jumped out of her skin when she realized Isobel was close again.  “Do you want me to leave?”

“Izzy!  Just-just stop!  Stop talking to me!” she shouted.

Isobel stared for a moment, watching her pull at her hair and pace wildly.  She debated if she should just listen.  As worried as she was, she also wasn’t wanted.  She was scared she was just going to make it worse.  As much as it hurt, Isobel decided she had to back off.  She wasn’t helping, she was hurting.

Isobel didn’t want to hurt her.

“Sorry.  I’ll leave you alone,” Isobel said softly.  However, she could barely take a step away before Rosa tightly grabbed her arm.  Rosa’s eyes were frantic with emotions even she couldn’t read, her pupils blown beyond recognition.

“Don’t leave me.”

Isobel nodded slowly, “Okay, I won’t.”

*

“Liz is leaving, my mom left, every fucking friend I had left once I got clean, now you’re leaving to?  Jesus Christ, am I that hard to be around?”

Rosa was high.  She said she was clean, but Isobel had spent enough time around a clean Rosa to know this wasn’t her.  Still, she stayed quiet about it as they laid close on the rooftop.  Pointing it out only upset her.

“No one is leaving because of you,” Isobel said, hesitantly reaching out to touch her arm.  She never knew what was okay and what wasn’t.  Rosa changed her mind every time they hung out.  Today, she was okay with arms touching.

“Really?  Because it feels like I chase everyone away.  Hell, I’m even losing you and you’re the most persistent person I’ve ever seen,” Rosa laughed.  Isobel pulled her hand away and turned to face her.  Was that what she was?  Nothing more than a persistent person?

Isobel made a mental note to talk to Max about what to do when the person you like is completely oblivious.  He had more practice in that area than she did.

Rosa looked at her when she took her hand away.  They laid there, staring in silence for a while.  They did that a lot.  Rosa moved closer, her eyes flickering across her face.  Isobel prayed her face didn’t betray how flustered that made her feel.

“It’s just college,” Isobel whispered, “You haven’t lost me.”

Isobel didn’t have much time to enjoy it when Rosa surprised her with a kiss.  It lasted maybe seven seconds, half of which Isobel spent in shock.  When Rosa pulled away, an involuntary part of her pushed her to try to follow for more.  Only, Rosa sat up and left her feeling more pathetic than before.

“You’re a good friend, Izzy.”

*

“How do you know if someone is gay or bi or… open to same-sex trysts?”

Michael slowly looked up from his comically large physics textbook with furrowed eyebrows.  Isobel stared at him helplessly, hoping he could play wise older brother.  She was lost, confused, scared, and slightly horny over everything that was Rosa Ortecho.  She was like a glitchy traffic light, one minute she was fine and the next she was freaking out.  To Isobel, it seemed like a massive sexual identity crisis and she didn’t know how far to push.

“Why?” Michael asked.

“Because there’s this girl I‒”

“No, I got that part, I mean why are you asking me?”  he clarified.  Isobel rolled her eyes and waited for him to laugh, but it never came.  She snorted.

“You’re, like, the resident queer-who-will-talk-to-me,” she explained.  He somehow looked even more confused.  “Oh, come on, Micahel, there is absolutely nothing heterosexual about the way you stare at Alex Manes.” Michael sunk down in his seat, but he was no longer confused about why he was the one being asked.  “So how do you know?”

“I mean, there’s not really a for sure way to tell,” Michael told her.  She groaned, her head hitting the table.  

“Well, how did you know Alex was into guys?” she asked.  If it was a slightly less serious situation, she might’ve laughed at his progressively reddening cheeks.

“Lucky guess?”

“Oh, so you are banging the MCR reject?”

Micahel’s eyes went wide, “We are not talking about me, we’re talking about your massive hard-on for Rosa Ortecho!”

“Hey, no call outs!”

“You literally just called me out!”

Silence rose between the two as they glared.  However, the glares were replaced by small smiles that grew into snickering once it settled in how ridiculous they sounded.  It didn’t help that they were literally sounded.  It didn’t help that they were literally in the Crashdown and the probability of the people they were talking about overhearing was absurdly high.

“Okay, for real, what do I do?” Isobel asked.  Michael leaned in closer.

“I know this might sound insane,” he started, “But maybe you should just ask her.”

“You’re right that does sound insane.”

*

“Can we talk?”

Rosa looked up, smiling when they locked eyes.  That was hard to decipher.  It could mean ‘let’s kiss under the stars for hours like last time’ or ‘you’re such a good friend’ or ‘touch me and I’ll scream’. She was truly a wild card.

“Of course.”

Isobel slowly sat beside her.  Rosa sat up and faced her, putting their knees together.  She was so confusing.  The confusion didn’t stop the heat from coursing through Isobel when they touched.

“I… I don’t understand how you feel about me,” Isobel admitted.  She hated how weak she sounded.  There was no way to bullshit her way through this conversation.  Boys were easy, they usually didn’t get confusing.  They either liked you or they didn’t.  None of this messy shit.

“Izzy,” Rosa said, smiling softly as she reached for her hands.  Isobel relaxed when she noticed this was sober Rosa.  This was her favorite version, the sweetest version.  “After all my bullshit that you’ve dealt with, you still don’t think I love you?” A smile twitched onto Isobel’s lips as she involuntarily leaned forward.

“But… as a friend, or…?” Isobel said softly, hoping she’d just fill in the blank.  Rosa leaned forward, resting her head forehead on Isobel’s and nudging their noses together.  Isobel’s heart leaped into her chest as her eyes fluttered closed.

“You’re so naive, Izzy.”

“That’s a new one.”

“Besides, I thought you were seeing Michael Guerin,” Rosa said.  Isobel’s eyes shot open in confusion.  Rosa looked dead serious.

“I’m sorry, you thought what?” Isobel asked.  She nearly pulled away, but Rosa grinned and put her hand on the back of her neck to hold her in place.

“Kidding.  I know he’s with my baby Alex,” Rosa laughed and Isobel somehow managed to relax into her hold once more.  This was the most Rosa had taken control in their entire friendship.  She was rarely ever the one to make the first move.  Now she was making almost all of them. It was insane and exhilarating and she wanted to explode. This was good. “I love you, Izzy.  Not like a friend.” This got better.

And she leaned in for a kiss.

[darkdeepend]

The Misunderstood

So after seeing the entire community on fire for a while now with everything Anti, I decided to write a short story. I hope this calms the fires some. This is a small story about an unlikely conversation between Jameson Jackson and the glitchy boy himself. Enjoy :)

Cold. That’s all Jameson can feel. He opens one eye to see his room in slight darkness, only lit by the moonlight coming through the window. He then notices how all of the blankets are still on the bed. If that’s the case, then why is it so cold? He quickly glances at the grandfather clock that stands against the opposite wall. The hands show the time being 2:38 in the morning. He then hears it. The sound can only be heard if the world around you is quiet enough. Frowning, he sits up to pinpoint the location as to where the soft disturbance is coming from. Moments later, he locates it - the window. What could be at the window that is making the soft crinkling noise? He gets out of bed which causes the cold air in the room to send chills down his spine. He decides against it and grabs the wool blanket at the foot of his bed and wraps it around himself. He then walks towards the window to see frost hinder his sight to the outside world. That doesn’t stop him though. He fully opens his window to welcome the bitter chill into his room.

He looks out into the dark to see frozen snow, falling from the sky. His breath hitches in his throat.

Snow.

It’s truly a marvelous sight to see - midnight snowfall in the moonlit night. It was tempting. Jameson held his hand out the window as the snow fell with some flakes brushing past his skin. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to step outside for a while, hm?

He turns around and walks to his wardrobe. He pulls out one of the drawers to get his usual: blue vest, slacks, and a white long sleeve shirt. It does not take long for him to switch from his night outfit to his daily. He then quietly opens the door to step into the dark hallway. Jameson sneaks towards the stairs, almost bursting with excitement. Snow! Actual snow! Soon enough he walks towards the back door, but instantly halts. The door is ajar. He silently gasps. Who could possibly be up at this hour? He then remembers that he himself is awake. He chuckles silently to himself. He grasps the doorknob and opens it slowly to see none other than the glitch himself, just sitting there on the steps in his iconic outfit, though wearing a black snow coat, looking outward.

At this, Jameson has an internal conflict - should he just go back inside and see the snow from his window or take the chance to see the snow closer than from his window and sit beside the entity that traumatized him on Halloween?

“Well? Are you just going to keep standing there or…?” Jameson jumps a bit when he hears the demon speak. Anti doesn’t even turn around to speak to him. He sighs, accepting the risk, and sits beside the glitch.

“Why are you awake at this hour?” At this, Anti turns to face Jameson with a deadpan expression. Before Jameson could have his old movie text slide appear above him with his answer, Anti tsked.

“I keep forgetting that you’re new. The baby ego. You haven’t seen snow before. Well-“ He extends his hands toward the untouched, white blanket lying before them. “Here ya go.”

Jameson chuckles as a slide appears over his head. “It’s beautiful.”

Anti just hums in response. Another slide. “Why are you up at this hour? I’m here to see the snow. What about you?”

He laughs at this, leaving Jameson with a confused look plastered to his face.

“It’s the only peace that you can get out of living in a house with eight people. And besides, no one else is up-“ He quickly glances to Jameson. “Besides you, I mean, and it just gives a sense of security in a way.” Jameson frowns at this. Security? From the stories that the other egos have told along with the event that occurred on Halloween, Jameson has always known Anti to be the intimidating, sinister alter ego that always takes the chance to torment the others. But here he is - sitting just beside him with a calm aura. No signs of sudden danger, just a “normal” ego.

His thoughts are interrupted by three words said by the glitch which causes Jameson to smile in return.

“You’re not afraid.” A slide appears.

“No. You just seem like a totally different person now than you do in the day. At night, like now, you seem like the type of person that I can be friends with. You’re calm. However, when day comes around, you turn into this… Beast.”

“Thanks.” Anti scoffs. Jameson shakes his head.

“That’s not what I mean. What I’m trying to say is that if this is your true self, why do you act like a monster during the day?”

Anti’s answer is just the movement of his arms. They move from being rested on his knees to being wrapped around his legs, resting his head on his arms. Silence.

“Not one to talk, all of a sudden?” Jameson gives a slight silent chuckle. No answer. Jameson just moves his gaze forward, towards to falling snow.

“That’s how people perceive me.” Anti turns to look at Jameson. “Do you want to hear a fact?” Jameson turns his gaze from the snow to Anti.

“I bet that if none of those guys-“ He points to the house behind them. “Told you those ‘stories’ about me, we could have attempted to try to be acquaintances rather than having a relationship built off of fear.”

“I’m trying to. But after Halloween, how am I supposed to move on and try to befriend you?”

“I wanted to see how strong your willpower was. See how strong you could fight something in your head. But of course, you had no idea. No warnings. And besides, you are new. You had no idea.”

“But why the sudden change?”

“I’m one of the eldest egos in this family, Jameson. My role is to be one of the big brothers. Of course, I decided to be the big brother that pesters everyone else and brings hell. Henrik is the one who provides love and care.”

“So you bring hell by trying to kill us all.” Jameson rolls his eyes. Anti just laughs in return.

“To a certain extent. Remember, I am an ego built off of the opposite of Jack. I am an evil entity.”

“And yet you haven’t killed me yet for sitting here.” Jameson has a skeptical look about him.

“You really want to know why I’m being ‘nice’ to you?” Anti glances at Jameson. “It’s ‘cause I may or may not be jealous of the praise that Henrik gets. Everyone loves him! I just want to have an actual brotherly ego. Someone who isn’t scared of me. Someone who isn’t afraid when I try to make a simple act such as placing a hand on one’s shoulder in a way to comfort.”

Anti reaches his hand out towards Jameson’s shoulder. Unfortunately, Halloween flashes through Jameson’s eyes which causes him flinch back before Anti could make contact with him. Anti sighs and pulls his hand back.

“See? You’re still scared.” Jameson looks down at his hands, until Anti clears his throat which causes Jameson’s gaze to move to see Anti. “I’m gonna tell you something that no one knows about. When you first appeared in the household, I thought that maybe, maybe, you might be the one that I could actually be the big brother that I’m supposed to be. You were different. From what I saw, you didn’t have powers like Marvin or Jackie. You didn’t have any medical characteristics like Henrik. You aren’t a father like Chase and as far as I know you aren’t a zombie such as Robbie.” Anti laughs, earning a silent chuckle from Jameson.

“You and I are more similar than you think, Jameson.” Anti smiles at him. Anti then stands up. “Well come on then. I don’t know how you aren’t cold without a jacket on.”

Jameson stands up as well, brushing off the excess snow from his pants. He then feels a hand on his shoulder. He then looks up at Anti, who gives him a small smile. “Do you want some tea? I could steam some right up.”

Jameson nods. Anti chuckles and turns to enter the house.

Before following, he stops at the doorstep. He thinks about what just happened. He pulls out his pocket watch.

“From what I saw, you didn’t have powers like Marvin or Jackie.”

Jameson then decided that he wouldn’t tell him about it. Not yet. He smiles at his watch before he places it back into his pocket and then continued to follow his big brother to the kitchen for some early morning tea.

[cloudysfluffs]

Have another prompt if you'd like! Don't wanna overload ya tho. You don't have to write this but I got a cute anti average idea. Okay so Anti likes to keep up the image of bein this badass totally evil demon but really he's just a big softie. Chase knows this. Anti was bein a cocky lil shit the whole day and when they're alone Chase tickles the hell out of him to remind him he's not scary to HIM 💜💜 (Again don't feel like you have to write this, but if ya wanna anti average idea here ya go!)

(PERFECT 👌👌👌)Anti had one weekness. Chase.Now, he wasn't gonna admit that to just anybody! Hell, he wouldn't admit it to Chase! But all it really took was a smile. That damn smile! Chase's, particularly. The warmth and comfort of his expression, the acceptance, the love. It was to much. Thats all it took, and Anti's red in the face and reaching for his boyfriend. Who, of course, complies, usually petting or giggling at his demon-boyfriend. He was so adorable. Anti had been one of the first of Jack's egos to appear, and very proud at said fact. That being said, he managed to cross paths with the first two egos of Mark. Warfstache, and Darkiplier. The three had formed an inseparable bond, to the point where Anti was excepted in their group. He would come to some of their meetings, or help egos with pranks, etc. But when Jack's egos started to multiply, Anti started dragging them along aswell.Now they were all seated around a table, conversing about channels while Chase absentmindedly tossed some paper into the trash across the room. The couple, Anti and Chase, shared fond glances at eachother through the meeting. It was to easy to distract them. But Chase began to notice some things.At home, Anti was this giant dork, making a mess and pulling pranks. He knew him as the person who loved to cuddle with him on Friday nights and watch movies, or the one who purred when you played with his hair. That was Anti. Who was this?This Anti was relatively...sophisticated. Now, of course, he was still Anti. Chase could tell from his dark jokes or his smile. But he wasn't the Anti he knew. He was scary. He was the one Chase feared and ran from. The glitchy nightmare sitting lazily at a desk. The monster that chuckled darkly at the mention of your name. That was Anti.Chase tried not to pay any mind, but when they got home, he had to bring it up.Anti strode into their shared bedroom, pulling off Chase's hat and throwing itt on the nightstand. He slung an arm around his boyfriend's shoulder, pulling him to the bed where they sat. Chase smiled softly, leaning against Anti's shoulder. His face dropped, when Anti's turned towards him."What's wrong, sweetheart? You havn't said a word since the meeting." Anti asked quietly, his face falling. Chase sighed."It's just-" Chase struggled for the right words."...Confusing.""What is? You can, uh, always talk to me?" Antu stuttered. He was bad at comfort words."You are." "I'm...sorry?""Nonono, I didn't mean it like that! Don't be sorry!"The two fell quiet. Anti chuckled, though there was no humor in his voice. Chase's heart sank."You...noticed. I'm sorry. Go on. Say it." Anti said quietly. He rubbed his eyes."Call me scary. A glitch bitch. Monster. Do your worst.""Anti that's not what I meant! You're- you're not like that!" Chase insist, poking Anti's chest. Anti's head fell, and he used his sleve to wipe his eyes."You're not scary. I'm not scared of you. And I won't be. I love you.""That's what they all said." Anti sang flatly."Went back on that notion pretty fast...""I'm...so sorry." Chase paused, then pulled Anti into him, his arms around his waist. Anti swallowed, nervously embracing Chase as well. Once he realized Chase wasn't going anywhere, he pulled himself in closer.Okay, Chase. Think. Make him happy. You can do it.Chase, lost in thought, began lightly tracing Anti's spine, smiling as he earned a small shiver from the other. Chase pulled away only slightly, just enough to manage to trace up Anti's spine and onto the back of his neck.Anti jumped, squeaking momentarily. Chase. Wouldn't. Dare.Chase's fond traces trailed across the back of Anti's neck, humming as if he wasn't aware of his actions. But Anti knew he was."Ch-Chahase..." Anti growled, cursing the hitch in his voice. He grit his teeth. "Quihihit...""Nnnnope!" Chase responds, his other hand prodding at Anti's right side. Anti tried in vain to squirm out of Chase's grasp, only managing to get himself pinned."No- nonono. Chase. Do not." Anti warned, attempting to curl up as Chase sat on his thighs. It, obviously, did not work. Chase smiled brightly, watching in awe as Anti's face turned a dark shade of green. Anti turned his head to the side, shutting his eyes."My only weakness!""Phhht, Only weakness?" Chase scoffed, tracing a finger across Anti's stomach. Anti tensed, pulling at his arms."Please! I know of one other weakness...""Chahahase no!" "Chaaaase yes!"Chase giggled, trailing his fingers to Anti's ribs, smiling even wider at the squeal Anti made."Chahahase, buhuhuddy, love, dohon't do ihit!" Anti pleaded on deaf ears."Say please and then maybe ill think about it.""In yohohour dreams!""You know what they say, Anti! Never give up on your dreams!"Chase released Anti's arms for a moment, his hands shooting down to scratch at Anti's ribs."CHASE! Ahahahaha no!" Anti laughed softly, glitching morso than before."Chahahase!""Mm'hmm. That's my name." Chase said with a shrug. Anti shot him a glare, though it faded almost instantly. Chase decided this wasn't going to get the smile he wanted. Times like this called for drastic measures. His fingers still scribbling at Anti's ribs, slowly trailed downwards...to his sides. Anti's eyes widened momentarily, before shutting as tightly as possible."CHAHAHAHASE!""Hmm?" Chase hummed, grinning amusedly."STOHOHOHOP!" Anti pushed at Chases hands, though to weak to actually manage to do anything. All he could really do was laugh."STOPSTOPSTOHOHOHOP! PLEHEHEASE!""Please?" Chase asked, mocking surprise."Did- Did the big scary Anti just say please? And to tickling no less!""SHUHUHUHUT UHUHUHUP!" Anti only managed to laugh harder as Chases other hand scratched softly at Anti's neck."PLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEHEHEHEASE!""Mm...Alright." Chase finally retracted his hands, lying down next to Anti. Anti took long, deeo breaths, trying to recover from that torture. His giggles were still prominent through his hands, which had been stapled over his mouth ever since he could calm down."You know. You're really hard to be scared of when you're giggling like this.""Shuhuhut up." Anti groaned playfully, rolling onto his side to embrace Anti. His after-tickles faded into Chases chest, causing him to laugh to."Hehey get your fahace of me you dohohof!" Chase giggled, softly pushing Anti away to embrace him as well. Anti smiled warmly, his eyes closing from exhaustion.Anti had two weaknesses. Chase. And tickling.Now, he wasn't gonna admit that to just anybody! Except maybe Chase, who had been using these to his advantage ever since this occurrence.Anti loves it.