#only thing that would make it better was if it was bright falls blend coffee but what can ya do

[dep-uty]

there is nothing like playing alan wake 2 while enjoying a cup of coffee in the morning let me tell you

[kquil]

JAMES POTTER | 16:49 ⏤ FREE GOODIES

SUM. : you had more baked goods than you were able to sell and decide to give them out for free to the firefighters at your local fire station to say thank you

TAGS. : fluff ; modern au ; muggle au ; baker reader ; firefighter james ; james being a love sick puppy ; he hides it well though ; remus and sirius begin scheming ; everyone knows james is in love ; it's obvious to everyone but you

LENGTH : 1.6k

NOT PROOFREAD OR EDITED

“No! Don’t tell me!” you giggle as the man behind the counter grins widely and laughs along with you, his hazel eyes carefully watching as you bring up a brown paper bag and a steaming take-away cup of coffee, “Our special BLT sandwich and a dark roast, cocoa blend to go,”

“All ready for me, huh?” James teases as you smile innocently. He pays for his order and goes to inspect the contents of the brown paper bag as you move behind the cash register and file away his notes, “And a mini treacle tart!” James’ voice lights up in cheerful surprise when he sees the unexpected treat but hurriedly goes in search for more payment in his wallet. 

“Don’t you dare, James,” you scold light-heartedly, “it’s on the house,” his movements stop and he meets your eyes, ready to retaliate. However, sensing your seriousness, his shoulders slacken and his expression eases into a grateful smile instead. 

“Thanks, you’re an angel,” of course, he couldn’t help but send you a wink. His words spread a heat across your cheeks but you pay it no mind, hoping that any signs of your flustered state can be ignored as long as you didn’t draw attention to it. 

“I know I am~” 

“Take care, angel,” with a toothy grin and a wave, James turns and leaves, his day already looking as bright as could be. 

James has been visiting your little bakery and cafe for the better part of a year now; he’s become one of your beloved regulars, maybe one of your most beloved. He was just too handsome and charming for his own good, cute and sweet and always gentleman with you. His uncontrollable dark curls and round glasses gave him this boyish appeal that you couldn’t help but fall for. His voice is smooth and comforting, his eyes a mesmerising hazel, his lips a pretty shape—

“Hey!” snapping out of your daze, you turn to your co-worker in shock.

“Wh-what?”

She smirks and wiggles her brows at you, “I knew you had a thing for him,”

“Oh shush Leona!” you huff and fold your arms but burn hotter in the cheeks when she laughs at you. 

“No need to deny it, I can see why you’re so head over heels~”

“Is that any way to talk to your boss?” making your way over, you playfully nudge her side as you plant yourself beside her and help with the cupcake decorations. 

Gasping, Leona grasps at her chest in mock offence, “I never believed you were that kind of boss! I was tricked—!” her mock ramblings were cut off with another nudge to her side that sent the both of you into a fit of giggles. 

“What should we do with all this?” you ask with a huff, staring in disappointment at all the leftovers in your display cases. Most would only end up in the trash and it broke your heart to see such goodies go to waste. 

“Why don’t you donate them at the local police station or fire department?” Leona suggests with a smile as she wipes down surfaces, “The fire department isn’t too far from here so you can go there first and do the police station on another day we have extra leftovers,”

Smiling brightly, you nod and get to work, “Brilliant idea Leona! How come I’ve never thought of that before?” 

“Maybe because you’re too busy all the time?” with a light-hearted pout, she faces you and presses on about how you need to consider yourself as a priority for once and actually go home on time. She had a point; the bakery was consuming your life. But you worked hard on the things that mattered to you and that was always a trait you were proud of. Every day you return home with pride and fulfilment in your heart; you loved that feeling despite the ache in your limb. Sighing, your enthusiasm slows considerably but you keep on packing up a random selection of baked goods, “Just think about it at least, boss,” Leona comes up behind you and gives you a quick but heartfelt hug, “we want you to be our boss forever so you have to stay healthy,” just like she always does, she brings a smile to your lips and slowly helps you with packing up the rest. 

With the bakery closed up, you head out with your packaged leftovers piled high in the passenger seat of your car and wave goodbye to Leona before pulling away. She was right in saying that the fire station wasn’t too far, it was a short five-minute drive from your bakery with parking close by too. 

It was a little unnerving. You had never done this before. And, even though you knew there was nothing wrong with doing this, your nerves still caused a stir in your chest and stomach at the thought of facing such brave and dedicated workers. However, it was that simple thought that pushed you forward. These men and women deserved free baked goodies and more for all of their hard work, there was no need to be shy about it. Balancing the stacked packages in your arms, you push the front door open with your back and carefully turn around as you step into the space. 

“Whoa, you need help with those?” someone calls from your left and you turn to see a handsome brunette, standing tall with an almost invisible dusting of freckles on his nose and a faint scar across his cheek and jaw. 

“Good afternoon!” you chirp happily and sheepishly accept his kind assistance, “I— umm, I wanted to give you guys some of the baked goods from my bakery. We made a little too much today,”

He grins widely as he appraises the tall stack of packages before turning to you with gratefulness in his eyes, “So that’s what smells so delicious,” the two of you share a laugh, “Thank you so much for this, it’s very kind of you,” a warm heat coats your cheeks as you shyly wave off his praise, which he shakes his head at discreetly but still maintains his happy grin, “come,” he tilts his head to one direction, “lets go feed everyone,” 

Remus introduces himself as he leads you down a hallway to the lounge room, where he suspected most of his colleagues congregated to. When you give your name in return, he tilts his head and mutters something unintelligible under his breath.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” 

“Oh nothing,” he chuckles softly, “I just thought it sounded familiar,” you had questions but shrugged and shrugged them off as unimportant when the two of you finally made it into the lounge area. Entering the space, you see the firemen scattered around the wide room, a group were playing cards around a table with several spectators, one or two were reading a book while another small group stood by a small kitchenette with steaming mugs, chatting between themselves. 

“Remus!” a dark haired man with a visible neck tattoo walks up from where he stood observing the card game, just so he could sling his arm over the brunette’s broad shoulders, “Who’s our cute guest?”

Remus introduces you and the purpose of your visit but his voice slowly fades into the background as soon as you meet eyes with a very familiar pair of hazel pools. 

“James?” blinking in surprise, you tilt your head and observe the man in his fireman uniform, minus the heavy jacket, leaving him in a black compression shirt to showcase his muscles. It made your cheeks heat up again but hotter. You had no idea how brawny he was with his soft charm and sweet face. But this was a very pleasant surprise. 

The man in question stands up, staring at you as if in a trance and makes his way over as Remus and his raven-haired friend step away with devious grins on their faces. They weren’t the only ones however, everybody else in the room looked on with a similar grin stretching across their lips, slightly leaning forward in their interest. 

“Wh-what are you doing here?” he sounds like he’s choking on air, breathless and in complete disbelief at the sight of you. 

“I uh– there were some leftover goodies at the bakery so I thought I could give them to you guys…as a thank you for all your good work,” you admit softly, staring up at him with timid eyes and watching with a gradually racing heart as a toothy grin takes over his features. His eyes sparkled with mirth under the fluorescent light and your heart skipped a beat in your chest. How does he do that? 

“You’re really too kind,” and so perfect James wanted to finish, ignorant to his friends’ snickering. Please be mine! It was a desperate wish and one that he had been making for a long time but he needed to keep his cool. He understands how overbearing and clingy he could be at times and didn’t want to frighten you.  

“You guys deserve it,” you return and silently hold up your packages with a smile. Happily, he takes the load and leads you to a table where he helps spread them out for his friends and colleagues to take as they please. Everyone around you gushes at the array and sings your praises in between their gratitude for the kind gesture. Amongst all the chatter, you also manage to hear soft whisperings that didn’t quite fit the rest of the words at the forefront of surrounding conversations. 

“That’s the cute baker Jamesie has been gushing about for months now, huh?”

“Seems so. Finally, we can put a name to the face,”

There was some laughter, “He looks like a love sick puppy,”

From the corner of your eye, you observe James and the goofy grin on his face, trapped in a daze as he stares down at you with adoring eyes and a soft blush on his cheeks. In your head, you make a mental note to visit the fire department more often. 

A/N : it just feels right that James is a firefighter, right? i'm not the only one who thinks this? nevertheless, i hopefully managed to convince you lovelies otherwise hehehe~

NAVI.

TAGLIST : @melinajenkins @aastonishment @until-i-found-you @corp0real @sageskisses444 @celestcies @lovelydoveval @inlovewithremusjohnlupin @calums-betch @futurecorps3 @hihihi1112 @simpingforthe80s @yrluvjane @chaosofmanyfandoms @storyofaromance @loving-and-dreaming @somewereinthegalaxi @fortheeeefics @cassandra-nerezza-black @stray-bi-kids @ttkttt @notasadgirlipromise @ghostgardn @rosalyn-s @seungtelevision

[ghostykapi]

i need some lo-o-ove

minatozaki sana & fem!reader

she’s so pretty what if i cry

when you ask for attention from a global superstar, you already anticipated the answer of a half baked apology

still hurts though

sitting down in a cafe, surrounded by too much noise and people is not a good thing to be at. not when you can feel the bitter disappointment rising up your throat, mixing in with the coffee you probably just gulped too fast.

it’s your usual, a spiced spanish latte. the sweetness blending in with like probably two shots of espresso with a kick of cinnamon that sends your nerves into a state of buzz that you don’t know if you should accept to enjoy it or not

regardless, you should have still known better. you should have known better that you would savor your coffee this time, known better than to expect a quiet cafe during the afternoon rush, known better for your girlfriend to come in on time

you stare at the cup, arms crosses and face set in a pensive expression. the ice slowly melting away like your own expectations you have learned to built over the course you have been taken by her. each passing second making you more and more anxious to the inevitable answer of your repeating question

princess are you not coming?

princess you told me you would come this time

princess sana?

those messages have been sent over to 15 minutes ago. 30 minutes you have been sitting there, and the waiter has already returned for the 4th time

“still a no go?” the waiter is nice, a little flirty, but ultimately nice. her enthusiasm reminds you of the time when you first met sana

“sorry” you want the ground to eat you up, but you have to push through it you even want to go with your day “i’ll just pay for the coffee”

“don’t worry” perplexed, you try to still pay, but the waiter beats you too it “really, please don’t worry, it’s been paid. on the house”

“but-“

“i insist” the waiter stops you again “really, it’s no big deal”

“well” you stand up, letting the waiter guide you outside despite it not being her job, you can’t say no, not when she held out her hand with a smile “thank you for that”

“it’s sucky i know” you never really got her name yet you got how her eyes slightly closes a bit more when she smiles. you wonder if this is the universe telling you to try “but it gets better i swear”

“thank you” you smile, and she smiles back, slipping a number in your hand, before she turns around and gets back to work

so you stand there, with a number of a pretty girl. a pretty girl that made you feel seen, made you feel like your time wasn’t wasted, made you understand that you deserve better.

she isn’t sana

so you walk back to your apartment, and despite the bright and sunny day, tears are falling from your eyes. people are staring at you

you can’t look at anyone right now. not when you feel like your heart is sinking and your body feels heavy. even when you get to your shared apartment, you sink on the couch, barely having energy to move despite drinking caffeine.

you don’t even know how long you stayed there, not even when the sun is beginning to set and your body is getting weaker by the minute. the lack of food due to the loss of appetite resulting in your lack of energy

all you know is when you hear the the front door, it’s the only time you looked up from the couch to see sana

you feel like your breath is taken away at how gorgeous she looks despite breaking you apart

sana feels her heart stop at the realization of what she just missed, with your puffy eyes and weak body movements a telltale sign of what just happened

so despite of what you think your relationship dynamic is, sana is on her knees. on her knees to beg for forgiveness, to try and persuade you to think differently of any negative thoughts that plague your head

“i’m so sorry princess” she’s too damn gorgeous on that damn floral outfit, but she must be a devil for knowing how week you can get when she’s kneeling while pleading with those love struck eyes “please please please let me make it up to you”

you can’t deny her, you can’t deny when you can’t even look another way that isn’t hers

you want to fight her. you know you should. after all who in their right mind would let their partner kiss them despite committing multiple fuck ups in a week

you apparently

“i know i know” she whispers in between kisses, the taste of her lipstick is always going to be one of your favorite “i’ll take care of you princess, oh i will”

sana knows you. she bets her soul that she does. she knows how much you love to play with her hair, how you love to kiss her cheeks after a hearty meal, how you always loved to use her perfumes when she’s away, how you cry when she fucks up.

she’s fucked up at least 5 times this week. it’s a thursday. she has come home for 3 tines and yet in her heart she knows she has broken your heart more than the nights she holds you close and pretends that she was the cause

she knows she has to make it up to you

so you get kisses, again and again and again until you realize what she has done

“my gorgeous gorgeous princess” her lipstick is now smudged against the skin on your neck, and she can’t help but smile in satisfaction of her artwork “i’ll remind the whole world who i belong to”

dazed and out of breath, you grip on her arms to regain a sense of control of your surroundings. the white button up you always wear to work now ruffled and stained with pink lipstick. you can barely even look at her without your eyes traveling to her lips, always craving for more

sana also always craves for more, so she kisses you again and again and again until she’s fully on your lap on the couch, your hands ruffling the fabric of her blouse, all you feel is her

but you can’t shake the feeling of betrayal off you

sana isn’t surprised when she feels you push her away. she is more surprised when she realizes despite when opening her eyes to you crying, she didn’t feel a hard force when you pushed her.

no words are exchanged, but she lets you hold her, afraid that tomorrow morning this night will all be a dream. she watches your tears fall when you try to memorize her, afraid of being cast aside again to forget who she is. she fights the tears that threaten to go down from her eyes, her only focus is you

“must you break my heart again my love?”

she's never looked away once, not even when you feel the tears falling down again, not even when you can’t stop the sobbing, not when she sees it all.

she finally sees the full extent of how much damage she can do

“will you still look at me even when we are old?”

she understands the warnings of her members, of how too much of her job can consume her. how bring so focus on her job, she forgets to spare a glance to you

now she’s looking at you, maybe she can fix it

maybe she can make you understand again that no one can compare to you, no one can replace you, no one can deserve her love but you

no one but you

always, inevitably you.

“i’ll always” sana holds the your hand on her cheek and kisses it’s palm “choose you”

wiping away your tears, she holds you close, whispering new promises she plans on keeping, whispering how much she loves you, whispering how she’s going to fix her mistakes and be better, whispering how much she is so grateful to have you.

“it’s you who i want to love for eternity”

after all

who else would she want to propose to in your next vacation to switzerland?

[partyofwords]

For a request - having tea with Jakurai? Possibly romantic, afab reader.

Summary: Jakurai harbors feelings for you. What better way to confess than over tea?

Pairing: Jakurai Jinguji X Fem!Reader

Genre: Fluffy Drabble

Word Count: 867

Warning: N/A

Masterlist

A/N: Thank you so much for your request! I love getting HypMic requests and this one was so cute! I hope you like it! I really enjoyed writing it!

It was Jakurai's idea to invite you over for tea. He had gotten a lot closer to you in the past few weeks and he really wanted to get to know more about you. Of course, when Hifumi caught wind of the doctor's plans, he tried to plan the whole affair. But Jakurai was firm in his insistence that he would handle this little tea party on his own. Though he pouted, Hifumi did ask to be filled in on all the details afterwards, which he agreed to as an attempt to pacify him.

Before you arrived, Jakurai made sure his apartment was spotless. He picked the best dishes, made tasty little treats, and brewed his best blend of tea. A wave of anxiety rushed over him and he wasn't quite sure as to why. Eventually, he chalked it up to just being anxious over spending time with someone he didn't know a lot about and wanting to make a good impression so they could continue their relationship.

When you knocked on the door, he warmly welcomed you. You returned his greeting with a bright smile that seemed to glow in the afternoon sun. Your smile and your gorgeous spring dress made his heart skip a beat. That's when he realized where the anxiety was actually coming from. He was interested in pursuing a romantic relationship with you, and today's meeting would decide whether or not you'd be compatible with each other.

You complimented his apartment, mentioning how you liked the decor and how welcoming the atmosphere seemed. He thanked you and directed you to where you would be having tea. You perched on one of his easy chairs, and Jakurai couldn't help but imagine you always sitting there, claiming it as your spot. You were sitting in the perfect place where the sun softly shone on your hair and you could see everything in the room without too much effort. It was the optimal spot for comfort and functionality. He wanted you to use that chair every time you came over.

After pouring you a cup of tea, you complimented the taste and smell of the brew. He explained how he got such a fragrant and sweet tea by combining his favorite tea leaves and getting the right measurements to make the perfect cup of tea. You listened intently, even leaning in as if what he was saying was the most fascinating thing in the world. He couldn't help but become completely enamored with you. He knew right then and there, he was sunk.

Eventually, the topic of conversation moved on to your work and how things were going at your job. It was Jakurai's turn now to listen to you with fascination. He found he wasn't bored with what you were discussing, even if you yourself did. He liked the sound of your voice. It was pleasing to the ear and just the right amount of animation. He was truly smitten by you and he didn't want this lovely tea party to end.

It wasn't until the sun was getting low in the sky that you decided to call it a night. Halfway through the tea party, when the tea had run dry, you both switched to coffee. While Jakurai himself wasn't a fan, he was pleasantly surprised to see you liked both coffee and tea. Though it wasn't that big of a deal, to him it felt like an intimate detail about you. He now knew how you took your tea and your coffee, meaning he could make you a drink and know exactly how you liked it. 

Now, Jakurai is a gentleman, so of course he insisted on walking you home. You only lightly protested, but allowed him to nonetheless. Again, the two of you talked about anything and everything under the sun as you walked to your apartment. He loved engaging conversation. You always knew exactly what to say. He couldn't help but wonder if this was what falling in love felt like. Regardless of if it was or not, he knew he never wanted to let go.

When you reached your apartment, you shyly bid him good night but did not go in. It was as if you were waiting for something. And he was waiting for it too. So he came right out and said it.

"My dear, would you be willing to go out on a date with me next week?"

"Why, Dr. Jakurai. I thought you'd never ask!"

With that, you pressed a soft, pleasant kiss to his cheek, bid him good night once more, and slipped into your apartment building.

Jakurai, on the other hand, was frozen on the steps. His hand went to his cheek to lightly trace where your lips had just been. He didn't expect that. It seems you were still full of surprises with him. And he wanted to experience all of the surprises you had to offer for the rest of his life.

So with a self-contented smile, Jakurai began to walk back to his apartment, thinking of all the different date spots he could take you. And of course, as soon as he arrived home, he told Hifumi and Doppo everything.

[the-masked-ram]

Falling for Frogs- Chapter One

CW: NSFW, Slow burn, chubby!reader, fem reader, original female character (paired with Haley), side ships, mental illness, anxiety attacks, smoking, bdsm, loss of virginity, online bullying (not in anyway involving seb) A/N: so I've been planning this fic for years >.> ---- Chapter One: Pan!c at the Con

Sebastian both hated changes in his routine and yet looked forward to them. He hated it when people would force it on him with no chance to say ‘no’, minimal notice, or if it forced him to take part in one of the ridiculous festivals around town. Yet, the change for today wasn’t so bad.

He and Sam stepped out of the beat-up van into a day far too sunny for Sebastian, that had him squinting and his fingers itching for a cigarette. However, he forced the desire down. He’d just finished one after all. Instead, he focused on spinning his ring around his finger and touching the piercing on the corner of his lip with the piercing in the center of his tongue. The fidgeting helped, especially as they moved further into the crowd of Zuzu city.

It was funny, the thick throng of people usually didn’t bother him, but today it was worse than usual out on the streets. Likely because of the convention. The convention he and Sam were headed straight towards. Fuck, he hoped it wasn’t this bad at the actual site.

“Dude, wanna stop at the café with the maple bars?” Sam tilted pointed toward the place.

Sebastian blinked, considering it for a moment before nodding, “Yeah. Coffee sounds good.”

Caffeine always sounded good to him. He had even gotten a good night’s sleep, having pushed himself the two days before to finish his recent gig early and his client had been extremely pleased. Even though Sebastian had only pushed so hard for selfish reasons, he wanted to be as well rested as possible for today. Though he wasn’t about to say that.

Even with a good eight hours under his belt he still felt sleep deprived, and thus coffee sounded good. Chronic insomnia does that to a person though.

Stepping in through the doors was like finding an oasis in the desert. Except the desert was the outside, where people pressed so close together their elbows dug into each other, and the already muggy city air was thick with the scent of sweat and too much perfume. Sebastian took a deep breath as soon as he realized the predominant smell here was roasted coffee beans and sweet, buttery pastries.

He just had to make it until they reached the hotel. It should be better there. His fingers flicked over his thumb ring nervously.

A register was already open and waiting, so while Sam went to find a table, Sebastian went to order. He knew Sam’s order off the top of his head after all, and despite how good of a friend Sam was, he never knew how Sebastian would take his coffee in a café. After all, it changed depending on the place.

Sebastian’s eyes skipped to the side as a flash of glaring green caught his attention. A frog backpack, something a child would probably have, hung over your shoulders. You were small, he had maybe four inches on you, maybe more. You looked soft, with thick thighs, wide hips, and bright eyes as you talked animatedly to the person behind the register.

He looked at your hands, a set of fingerless, striped knit gloves held onto a wallet in the shape of some sort of merch from Cave Saga. He thought his heart might have kicked at that. The colors you wore were muted except for the pop of your bag and the little choker around your neck. You would easily blend in if it weren’t for those things. Yet you didn’t seem worried about that, not like he was. He swallowed.

“Excuse me, are you ready?” the worker in front of him asked and Sebastian felt a burn rise to his cheeks.

“Yeah,” he nodded, shaking himself into the present and focusing on the task at hand.

He put in his order while his hand worked his ring at warp speed. When he turned to head over to Sam you were gone. Oddly, he would normally feel nothing but at that moment he felt disappointed. His eyes scanned the café, checking just in case you had lingered. But when he saw no green or purple he just brushed it off as one of the many missed opportunities in his life. What would he have said anyway?

Sebastian fell quiet as he waited for Sam to finish his donut. Sam didn’t point it out and likely assumed it was due to his usual ‘moodiness’ as everyone called it. Sebastian wouldn’t deny that he did the brooding e-boy thing well, so they weren’t necessarily wrong about him being moody occasionally. This time though his mind was merely caught up in a fantasy, about what he would have said to you.

---

Your eyes were so wide you swore they had completely dried up. You consciously blinked several times and then squinted up at the wide screens that spread across the many booths. This gaming convention was going to be so amazing. It would give you so many ideas for next year. For your own booth.

You grabbed your notebook as you slipped between the thinning crowd. Out on the streets the number of people had been nearly suffocating, but now it was just enough to make it feel like you might be able to disappear underneath it in the best way.

Women still weren’t the most welcome in the gaming world, especially as developers for the type you were planning to release. In fact, you were releasing it under an alias for that exact reason. Many people assumed you were masculine online, and you just thought it was best not to correct them. This game was your baby after all, you’d been working on it for ten years. Pouring your blood, sweat, and tears into it, and to be honest, the only thing you needed was some voice actors before you could release it for some trial runs in beta. You pursed your lips, maybe you would find some VAs, lesser-known ones who still hit the mark, here.

You bobbed through the crowd, feeling like you were swimming through water as you tried to slow down at one spot but got distracted by booth. Eventually you found yourself in front of a video game start up for Solarian Chronicles.

Your heart jumped excitedly, “Oh my god! I saw this on Kickstarter!”

You gushed, swiping through the tablet. Someone cleared their throat beside you and that was when you realized that someone’s hand was already hovering over the tablet you touched.

“Oh…,” you squeaked and instantly your stomach squirmed, embarrassment flooded through you. “I’m so sorry. So sorry. Oh my god.”

Anxiety roiled like a beast, hungry and gripping onto your fractured thoughts, instantly you dropped your gaze. A pair of combat boots, black jeans, and a spiked belt came into view. You refused to look further up, you refused to make eye contact. They turned though and quiet huff came from their direction.

“Not a big deal,” they said.

And Yoba the voice, deep and rich, with a bit of a growling rasp. You weren’t sure if was vocal fry or something else.

They cleared their throat again, “Is the floor really that interesting?”

You thought you were going to die, just burn up into ash from the way you were squirming on the spot and the way the shame ate you alive. You shook your head, still focusing purely on their shoes.

“You can look up, y’know?” they said it like you weren’t melting into the floor, like you weren’t hoping they’d turn around and you could just slip away.

Maybe you’d leave the con all together now, you couldn’t focus anyway. Not with those vicious little thoughts poking at everything you did wrong today.

“Umm,” you swallowed and slowly, so slowly, you looked up.

Did Yoba make humans? Did Yoba sculpt them with Their own two hands or was it just this one? Because even with the baggie hoodie hiding him, with his sleeves pushed up to his elbows to expose twisting black vines inked into his right forearm, you swore this man before you was a gift from the God.

Whatever embarrassment you had before lurched into overdrive as you realized you were staring. Eyes flicking over the way his piercings on his lip, his ear, and his eyebrow caught the light. The way the black fringe fell into his face and in an effort to see you easier he tilted his head, making him seem a little softer. And his eyes were a mix of blue and green with flecks of brown, underneath the fluorescent lights it showed every swirling color within them, even though they didn’t give even a fraction of a glimpse of his emotions.

You hated yourself. You hated that you got too pulled into your bubble. Too excited, too focused, too everything that wasn’t normal, so you pressed your notebook against your chest and whimpered. Yoba, you fucking whimpered in front of him. And you weren’t sure if it was the way his lips pulled into a smirk when you met his gaze or if it was from the sheer amount of negativity bombarding your brain.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled one last time before slipping through the crowd once more.

“Wait!”

You heard his yell, but it was too late, you were already deeper in the crowd than you’d ever wanted to be and already rushing toward the door. You could always watch some influencers’ videos later. You could always find voice actors the old-fashioned way. You weren’t missing out on much.

Tears began to sting at your lash line and all you could think about was how this always happened in Zuzu and maybe you needed to take up your best friend on their offer to visit them in the valley.

[fallen-in-dreams]

Wide Awake At 3 A.M.

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Also on AO3. Pairing: Sasuke/Hinata. Summary: Sasuke didn't believe in fate but serendipity seemed to be working overtime when she walked back into his life. Written for SasuHinaMonth 2023 on tumblr. Prompt: Day 27 | "I’ve loved you for a thousand years, I’ll love you for a thousand more.” Rated: T. Words: 9,245. Status: Complete. Author note: I love SasuHina. I don't love writing Sasuke's POV. I think I write SasuHina better from Hinata's perspective. But this had to be Sasuke's perspective so please bare with me. I did my best to make him IC/relatable, even though it's AU. Let me know if I succeeded. :) Also: The italic sections are flashbacks. But don't worry, they're not long sections. For the record: Yotsuya Uemura is a real restaurant but I've only seen it on Google so I don't know if it 100% matches how I describe it here so just pretend it does, okay? Enjoy. ^_^ Tags on AO3: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Coffee Shop AU, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Light Romance, Romance, POV Uchiha Sasuke, Uchiha Sasuke-centric, Pining, Pining Uchiha Sasuke, Unrequited Love, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Sasuke has it bad, Past Hyuuga Hinata/Uzumaki Naruto, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending

It's late but before the cut-off time,  for SasuHinaMonth 2023. Thank-you to @sasuhinamonth for the amazing fest and the chance to write for it. :) .

It was a dreary November morning when Sasuke Uchiha had realised that he was in love with Hinata Hyuuga.

The red-crowned cranes were enjoying the winter in the nearby marshes, visible to the hundreds of students at Konoha High School, the beautiful display of their black and white plumage blending in with the falling snow. The setting was perfect. It was beautiful. Sasuke liked winter best, despite being born in summer. And maybe in spite of it.  It was a dreary reminder of the angsty, emo boy within. It was also the only thing worth paying attention to at the school.

Until he started paying attention to her.

She was his best friend’s girlfriend. Hinata had stalked Naruto for years, hiding behind poles and doors and teacher’s desks to avoid being seen; and everyone except for the dobe saw knew she was doing it. All throughout elementary school she was a ghost to the blond idiot; the shadow he saw in the corner of his eye that disappeared the moment he turned around. The sound of a thump, indicating she’d fainted was the only evidence she’d been there because he was too stupid to investigate further.

The three years of middle school went very much the same except Hinata didn’t hide so well anymore. Naruto finally noticed her. She would “eep” and faint again and he just chalked it up to her being the weird kid he’d never understand. He thought she was new to their school so he cut her a break. Having been Naruto’s friend since neither of them could walk, Sasuke could only roll his eyes at his obliviousness.

Then came high school and everything changed. Something had happened during the holidays because, come April, she had grown a spine. She still looked light-headed in Naruto’s presence but didn’t faint. She started talking; responding with small, stuttering sentences when he turned his bright, obnoxious personality on her. She was a person to him now. More than just weird.

Sasuke however, was content to just keep seeing her as the annoying girl who liked the even more annoying boy. Until the annoying people started dating and Naruto began including Hinata in their everyday activities, whether it had anything to do with her or not. He hated it at first but like an extra slice of tomato on his fried egg breakfast, she grew on him. She was a person and had likes and dislikes and hobbies and things that made her laugh or cry. He began to enjoy her voice and found himself looking forward to school. And like the red-crowned cranes that grazed in the freshwater marshes next door to their high school, Hinata became a thing of beauty in Sasuke’s eyes. By virtue of existing in an area that he couldn’t ignore.

And he both loved and hated her for it. Strong feelings were never a good thing, in any direction. Itachi had long since told him that their family had a history of letting emotions rule their lives. It was best to keep them away from the world - Sasuke's words, not his brother's. But there was only so much he could contain and control when it came to her.

And he was the selfish bastard who let it ruin everything.

.:.

Sasuke Uchiha was having multiple problems.

First problem: the hole-in-the-wall cafe he normally frequented at this time of night had closed down without warning for the foreseeable future. It had been the perfect place to hole up in for a few hours while he worked on his laptop, earphones in and fingers dancing over the keyboard. Quiet, no-one staring at him, and with waiters who respected his personal space. Company policy allowed him to stay and work as long as he made it worth their time. Now, he wasn't so sure about this new place.

Second problem: it had taken him the better part of two hours to find this newer restaurant his good-for-nothing friends had recommended to him over WhatsApp after he'd ranted calmly about the predicament, in true Uchiha style. He officially hated that app. His night was wasted walking up alleyways and hopping on buses, with the presumption of a second coming of the holy hole-in-the-wall cafe. Wasted.

Third problem: this new cafe was less hole-in-the-wall and cosy, and more ostentatious with fake wholesomeness. The promise had been for a quiet, out-of-the-way, old-fashioned service. The reality was anything but, at first glance. It was definitely off the beaten path, but he wouldn’t describe it as peaceful or discreet in any way. It made his eye twitch.

Fourth problem: he had nowhere else to go at such short notice and lots of work to catch up on.

The neon signs above the restaurant leered down at him and he did not want to go in there. He wanted to go home, put his feet up, drink his instant coffee and procrastinate as a form of protest. But the sensible side of him had Sasuke moving forward slowly, reminding himself that he couldn't keep putting this particular project. It needed to get done. So what if this restaurant wasn’t the cute little traditional Japanese hole-in-the-wall (or even a sushi or ramen stall) in the middle of bustling Tokyo that he had been promised? He told himself it didn't matter that it was high-end and in the middle of bustling Tokyo. He tried in vain to ignore that it was mocking him; lights blinked at him and he scowled at the ugly sight and he couldn't look more out of place in his casual, everyday clothes. He was surprised a butler-like person hadn't run out to shoo him away.

But this place was the last food establishment along the palisades of this busy Tokyo area that was still seating patrons (the rest were packed to the rafters), and if he went home now it would take over an hour. By the time he got home, Sasuke would be too exhausted to work. It would be annoying. Even more than actually stepping into this poor excuse for a hideaway. Sasuke debated the pros and cons over and over again for a moment before allowing himself to be carried by the line of people waiting to be seated. Decision reluctantly made, Sasuke hugged his four thousand yen Vaio laptop to his chest, waiting his turn to be seated. It looked like the kind of place that required an appointment and a line of lawyers to get in, but a sign to the left distinctly said otherwise. He guessed they would reach their occupancy limit soon and he’d be turned away.

Please turn me away.

It would remove any responsibility on himself to make the decision on whether or not to keep walking forward. He checked his wristwatch as the line moved forward again. It was just after midnight. He sighed, swallowing his anxiety as the hostess bowed to the middle-aged couple in front of him and then extended her arm to them to take their seats. 

Last chance to make a break for it.

He really was being a drama queen, but Sasuke couldn't help it. He forced himself to calm down and accidentally caught the stare of the hostess. Her soft but excited voice called over to him a moment later and he stepped forward once more.

"Irasshaimase!"

The restaurant hostess bowed respectfully before looking at him properly. Her double-take, which she covered up with a light cough and a fake smile, made Sasuke’s eye twitch. Again.

Don’t tell me…

“Mr Uchiha?”

Don’t they teach manners in this place?

The woman's face looked flushed with excitement. She’d recognised him. Even without an entourage or sign above his head, Sasuke Uchiha was easily identifiable as such. It was why he preferred quieter places and dark corners. There it was; it was either a stomach ache or an ulcer. It churned inside of him and he winced. The Mr Uchiha title always made him think of his father. He loathed being recognised for his family. He was no longer the idiotic teenager who got off on it. Nursing heartbreak and lashing out had turned him into an arsehole who flaunted his superiority. But not anymore. The way the hostess was raking his body with her eyes was both unprofessional and unwelcome.

Someone behind Sasuke cleared their throat. He was holding up the line. Or rather, she was. Sasuke still had two choices: neither or which would have a happy ending.

What would Itachi do?

He’d be polite and suffer for a few hours to make others feel better.

Idiot.

Sasuke sighed deeply, nodded to the hostess, and grimaced at her juvenile reaction. “Table for one, please. Work table, out of the way.”

Hopefully, she got the hint he’d pay extra for it if necessary. Seemingly gathering herself and remembering she was on the clock, the hostess nodded and bowed again, extending her arm the way she’d done for the couple before him. She took the lead this time, however, making him cringe outwardly again. The table she chose was everything he’d wanted it to be and he offered her a small smile in gratitude. Thankfully, she didn’t make a big deal of it this time, giving him a much shorter once-over before politely leaving him alone.

His table was almost like a cubicle which suited him just fine. From ramen restaurants to Yakitori and Kare Raisu, he’d tried all the ones that Tokyo had to offer. All the good ones anyway. No matter the setup, privacy was always his top priority. He settled down, placing his laptop on the table and his bag on the chair next to him, leaving space for food and a drink. Already his mind was going over the project he had to finish tonight; Sasuke had a few hours before the final bus of the night would be running through these parts. But if he had any trouble, an Uber wouldn't be a problem. Not preferable, but not really a problem.

But first things first.

There were waitresses taking orders as well as a front counter but Sasuke didn't want to deal with either one of them and instead chose to use the QR code on the table to order on his phone. The first time he’d heard of this method of ordering it had kind of freaked him out initially, but since it would help him avoid having to interact with a potential fangirl masquerading as a professional waitress (for longer than necessary, anyway) or stand behind people or in front of someone with no respect for his personal space he would do it. It cut out the middleman, so to speak, and allowed him to get down to the important business of the night.

As he waited, Sasuke woke up his laptop and opened Atom. After about five minutes, and as expected, his drink came first. Sasuke always wondered about this; was the drink delivered first to keep the customer from leaving during the extended wait time for the food or so that when he did finally eat, he would feel compelled to order another drink to wash it down with? Or some combination of both?

The sounds of the restaurant blurred into the background and became white noise as Sasuke worked, glasses on and eyes glued to the CSS Script. He only knew it only took forty-five minutes for his meal to be delivered because he checked the time before and after. When the Okonomiyaki was finally placed in front of him and the aroma invaded his senses his stomach growled. Sasuke nodded to the waitress as she bowed to him, a slight tinge of pink on her cheeks before leaving with a Cheshire grin on her face. He just rolled his eyes. Sasuke had just finished cutting up his Okonomiyaki, preparing to eat it with chopsticks in one hand so he could continue working when something familiar caught his eye.

He didn't believe in fate but serendipity seemed to be working overtime tonight.

His heart was racing, belied by the calm on his face as he almost choked on his saliva. Sasuke coughed a few times before reaching to down the last of his ice water. He cleared his throat and looked back over at Hinata Hyuuga. Even after the passage of all these years, he would recognize that long dark hair of hers anywhere (even tied back in the mandatory style for workers of this restaurant). This entire time, in the corner of his eye, and in another seated area, had been an achingly familiar form; those slim but not stick-skinny hips with legs that rested with knees turned slightly inward, and breasts that screamed for attention without being obnoxiously in his face. Yes, he remembered the curves and the tones of the body that came with being from a martial arts enthusiastic family.

The one he'd fantasised about like a love-sick puppy when his hormones still ruled his life.

He inhaled deeply, absentmindedly stabbing his Okonomiyaki with the end of a chopstick, then let his breath out in a shuddering sigh. The sweet, innocent face that had haunted his dreams until he'd succeeded in forcing his school memories into a mental box labelled "do not open, even in the event of an apocalypse" was turned to a customer but he could still clearly spot the trademark lavender-white Hyuuga eyes. They lit up with her smile.

Sasuke didn't care that it was unbecoming of him and continued to stare as he inattentively picked at the Okonomiyaki before grabbing a bite-sized portion of the now-diced savoury dish and shoving it in his mouth. The cursor at the end of the last line of code he typed blinked at him. He ignored it. And he paid no attention to the fact that his glasses had slid down his nose an inch; they were for reading on a computer screen and had made the near-distant objects fuzzy, which he blamed for not having noticed her sooner.

Her presence begged more questions than he was willing to ask himself. But at the very least, what the fuck was the oldest daughter of Hiashi Hyuuga doing working in the service industry? It was beneath the uptight clan. He knew Hinata was not stuck up like her father but surely there were more Hyuuga-like jobs she could do? He remembered a girl who was determined to follow her own path but constantly worried about disappointing her father. Sasuke had presumed she'd find something that filled both desires. Not that there was anything wrong with the retail and hospitality industries. He'd had his own stint in them, so he knew they weren't the jobs of losers like his own father had kept saying years ago.

I'm just very confused how she got here.

This was not a future she'd contemplated and he'd know: she'd once spent an afternoon indulging Naruto in the topic when the blond idiot was whining about having failed the standardised test to get into the university of his choice. She's humoured him with all the alternative career paths, and this wasn't one they'd decided on. But that was life, he guessed, even though it made him painfully curious as to why she wasn't working as one of the many father-approved ideas she'd mentioned as she'd apparently planned.

Sasuke’s stomach churned and did somersaults as he watched her, unable to look away.

What is she doing here?

Sasuke cleared his throat and shook his head, forcing himself to look away; though she was still there in his peripherals and his traitorous eyes desperately soaked her in, from afar. He tried to focus on his work, finishing off the black coffee he'd ordered, to wash down the Okonomiyaki he'd consumed without realising during his staring spell.

I'm as bad as those fangirls.

He tried, he really did. But nothing was working. Sasuke couldn't stop wondering about her. He hadn’t thought of Hinata in a long while. Years. No, not in a long time. He’d successfully purged her from his thoughts. From his wants. From his needs. Buried her down in his mind, underneath the childhood trauma and repressed heartbreak. It had been almost like a breakup; Sasuke had gone through a period of emotional upheaval and consumed hobbies and alcohol in order to forget her. He’d moped and sulked and all those cliche things, in his own way.  She was behind him, and not in the way he wanted her to be.

Sasuke had been on the road to recovery and was able to put that part of his life into a locked box in his head.

Until now.

Maybe she didn’t remember him. Maybe he could finish his work and she’d never even seen him. One could only hope it would be that easy. But no. He couldn’t risk it. He had to leave. Sasuke almost packed up his stuff and left right then and there. He had no desire to play catch-up after all this time. To hear about how good things had been since she'd lived her life with the dobe. Jealousy burned in his gut and he grabbed the carry bag for his laptop by the straps, clenching his fist over it tightly. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to force the old but familiar feelings away. He'd done such a good job at ignoring them for so long. How could he possibly have predicted this strong of a reaction after all these years? Weren't high school love interests meant to dwindle over the years? Why the fuck did he still feel this way?

His self-flagellation was interrupted by an angelic sound. Her laughter. The melodic sound drifted over to his table and he paused. His heart was racing once more and his hands were clammy. Even now, five years later, he was still such a sucker for her. Where was the dobe? Had they married? Did he even want to know? There was a reason he didn't know. He remembered Hinata as a stuttering but determined, beautiful mess. But now, looking at her confidently interacting with strangers like she was born to it, he felt a warmth spread through his body. It wasn’t the coffee working its way through his system. This was different.

And it doesn't even matter. She wouldn't care.

Resigning himself to the inevitable, Sasuke packed up his laptop and left the restaurant without looking back. Except for that moment when he could've sworn she was looking around as if just realising she'd forgotten something. She didn't see him pause and gaze at her one last time. But those distinctive eyes seemingly searched for him anyway. In his dreams.

He hadn’t seen her since high school. He was never supposed to see her ever again.

.:.

Nobody ever accused Sasuke Uchiha of being magnanimous, sweet, or kind-hearted in any way. They didn’t confuse him for his brother no matter how much they might look alike. While Itachi was off helping the local homeless center and being the perfect Uchiha heir, Sasuke was smoking pot - or whatever had been shoved under his nose this week - and availing himself of his fangirls. Everyone came to assume he was the troubled child who acted out because he didn't get the attention from his parents that he wanted. Nobody ever accused him of being fair and altruistic to others.

Except her.

She got in his head. Hinata Hyuuga thought that because he was Naruto’s best friend that he should be hers as well. She was adamant but gentle in her attempts to woo him into her good graces. As though friendship was the most wonderful thing in the world. He wasn't an arsehole, not really. Sasuke had a heart. He just kept it hidden away. As far as he was concerned, getting emotional was embarrassing. It was for children . So pushing her away wasn't just about avoiding spending time with the girlfriend of his best friend, who he happened to be in love with, but also to keep himself from doing anything stupid.

He thought he could do it. It only took him a year to fall in love. They had two more years of high school left together. He had to do it. His father would never understand why he had to switch schools so suddenly. He wouldn't care. It would be unthinkable. Rumours, lies, or truth, would follow him and make Fugaku look bad. He was not an understanding nor forgiving man. Sasuke had to pretend: for his own sanity. Hinata was his new best friend.

So he let her greet him at the bus stop after school. He let her hug him "hello" her breasts pressing up against him every time. And on the rainy days when he was feeling particularly friend-like about the whole thing he let her borrow his second, backup umbrella. He'd started bringing a spare one because she seemed to have no idea how to check for the weather. She'd thanked him and then started humming.

"What are you doing out here, in the rain?" He'd ask her every time.

“Waiting on Naruto-kun,” she would say, and he'd go quiet to avoid hearing her gushing about the dobe in question.

That was their routine in the rainy season, which he'd grown to love almost as much as her. Except for the one time he forgot, it seemed the gods had answered his unasked question on how to change up this habit and Sasuke genuinely forgot both umbrellas. And she remembered. She'd remembered. And it kind of killed him inside. She offered to him and he was tempted to ignore her. To start off this change with abruptness and see if he could break her into going along with it. But he couldn't.

He sighed and took the umbrella gently from her hand, making sure to avoid brushing against her hand. When she shifted her hold on it, their skin grazed and she blushed at him. He dared not look her in the eye after that. Those soft, curious eyes were boring into him and he knew what she was thinking. The poor rich boy that she wanted to be okay with her relationship with his friend; why was he so rude? What did she have to do to help him be okay with her?

He didn’t know why it mattered to her.

Sasuke didn’t bother saying, “thank-you” as he stepped out into the rain and walked away with her umbrella without looking back.

He couldn’t do this anymore. He had to run away. And she let him go.

.:.

That weak, love-sick part of him was back with a vengeance.

Sasuke was determined to return his life to the humdrum existence it had been before she’d walked back into it, unknowingly throwing him into emotional chaos. He couldn't go back to his usual hole-in-the-wall but there were others out there. Others he'd walked past that night due to laws involving occupancy limitations; and a festival at the time, he'd realised in hindsight, which explained a lot. There were a number of small hidey-holes he could disappear into. They matched his aesthetics better and really, it was for the best. He'd avoided her for five years, never googling either of them, and never interacting with anyone who used to know anyone he'd gone to school with. He could move on to another cafe restaurant. He tried them all.

But none of them felt right anymore.

So, Sasuke gave up, just staying at home to work and doing his best to recreate the coffee shop ambiance in his kitchen. He threw open windows and let the noise of his neighbourhood blast into his home to simulate the busy Tokyo Yotsuya Arakicho district. His favourite pastime was walking. He normally walked for miles every day. He decided to double that and start earlier. It woke him up better than coffee some days. It envigorated him in a way that sex hadn't for a while. And it gave him time to think about his day while also distracting him enough to not let his mind wander too far.

But it wasn’t the same. There was something missing. He knew what it was and now that he'd gotten a sneak peek the idea wouldn't leave him alone. It left a gaping hole in his psyche. Therefore, his resolve to avoid Yotsuya Uemura Restaurant and the serendipitous siren only lasted a week. He couldn’t help himself. Like an idiot teenager in love and doped up on hormones, he lay in bed at night remembering her smile, her laugh, and replaying every moment of his up-to-date memory of her in vivid detail. Sasuke could distract himself for a while. With both his imagination and the cold comfort of his hand. But ultimately, his own fixation was his undoing.

He couldn't go on like this without closer. There was no avoiding her now. He was going back.

.:.

She was looking at him.

I should’ve known that would eventually happen.

So why wasn't he more prepared for it? His heart skipped a beat and if he didn't have such good equilibrium he might've stumbled. The hostess was leading him to his table - which turned out to be the same one as before - and he'd searched the busy restaurant with his eyes, hoping to spot her sooner this time. He hadn't expected for their eyes to lock on one another, and especially not this early into his night. He also hadn't expected the initial shock on her face to drop into a soft smile.

He forced himself to look away as the hostess drew his attention to his table, but the weight of Hinata's stare remained. He unpacked his laptop as he'd done last time, trying very hard not to look over and give the impression he was desperately seeking her attention. He forgot to pull out his phone to make his order via the QR code and instead just slowly got comfortable; or as comfortable as he could, knowing she was still watching him. But eventually, he couldn't help himself and Sasuke looked up. She turned away immediately, clearly embarrassed at having been caught looking at him. He allowed himself a small smile at that.

And the weight of her stare left him.

He swallowed heavily as he mentally berated himself. He glanced over at her again just as she looked back for a few moments seeming to remember she had a job to do.

As do I.

One of the waitresses for his section walked by and without thinking, Sasuke raised a hand to grab her attention. “Sumimasen.”

The woman bowed to him. Hyperaware of the Hyuuga still visible from across the confines of the restaurant, he raised an eyebrow at the silent waitress who was staring at him, thoroughly nonplussed. She bowed again, said, “shou shou omachi kudasai,” and then rushed off, leaving him feeling childish.

She hadn't taken his order.

It only occurred to him once he was alone again what he'd just done. He spared an unimpressed glare at the back of Hinata's head as she happily took the order of a small family. She was throwing him off. Next thing he'd know, Sasuke would be singing and dancing out his love confessions. He snorted at himself. At least now he could use the QR code instead. Maybe. He didn't make a move to grab his phone, instead frowning after the waitress who'd disappeared into the back. This was more nerve-wracking than he'd anticipated and Sasuke debated just packing up his things and walking out. He looked over and noticed Hinata had disappeared as well. He breathed a sigh of relief, despite himself. He just needed a few moments to get his act together before deciding what to do next. He opened Atom on his laptop and began the arduous process of inline coding, occasionally glancing to the side without moving his head, to see if she'd come back out onto the floor. She was still in the back, it seemed. As he typed in a few line breaks, his mind drifted to Hinata's reactions to him. Perhaps she was as curious as he was. Maybe his arrival had stirred something in her too.

He stops working when he notices her move onto the floor, now weaving her way between tables. His breath hitches when it becomes obvious she's headed directly for his table. He almost gasps out loud when she stops right in front of him. Hinata blinked a few times before addressing him.

“S-Sas–” She cut herself off and cleared her throat and then bowed slightly; not too low and not too high. “Have you decided what you w-want to order?”

Do I make you nervous?

Somehow that possibility gives him courage. Maybe it's because that's the part of his personality he likes best: making others uncomfortable. Even Hinata. He likes that he has an effect on her. How insignificant would he be if she was apathetic to his presence? Sasuke cleared his throat and ordered a black coffee and onigiri with a side of kimchi salad, tells HInata, “I don’t like beans” and silently bemoans his inability to not look like some kind of an idiot in front of her. She just smiles, all professional despite the twitch of her fingers that told him she ached to grab something. She hesitated for a moment, her eyes raking in his form and Sasuke stiffened at the perusal.

Why is she doing that?

And then it was all over and Hinata Hyuuga was moving away from his table, presumably heading out the back to pass on his order. She didn't stop or slow down.

Fuck.

There were so many questions in his head and he'd heard them all before. He can’t concentrate on his work. Sasuke stares at the screen as he waits for his food, his fingers poised over the keyboard and his eyes unmoving. He lived in a surreal world. Everything was happening so fast. But unlike the last time he came here, he had it coming. He'd hoped to get some answers but it felt too weird to try to talk to her, not just because she was actually working and it would be unprofessional of her. Sasuke blinked heavily, checked the time, and then his notes and references before returning his fingers to the letters on his keyboard. Letters, brackets, parentheses, and integers. He pursed his lips, trying to focus. He managed to get some work done in the time it took for Hinata to come back. He wasn't sure why she was serving in this section, but his brain refused to care to figure that out.

She stood in front of him, clearly unsure about how to talk to him, but she carried on nonetheless.

“Douzo.”

“Doumo.”

Sasuke . raised an eyebrow at her when she looked stunned that he'd replied. He supposed it was strange to hear him being polite. As Hinata bowed again, hesitated for a moment (again), and turned to leave, Sasuke inhaled deeply, just watching her go. He sat back and looked down at his hands, which had started shaking slightly. He fisted his trousers to stop them. This had been a mistake but there was nothing else to do right now but just eat his food. He ate his onigiri like a crazy person; with a fork. He waited for the rice and seaweed to stick better so it wasn’t messy but instead of picking it up with his hands, as it was designed to be eaten, he jammed the fork into it and dumped it on his kimchi salad. Sasuke forced himself to return to focusing on his work, digging holes in the onigiri and salad every few minutes, taking a few sips of his coffee, and scowling.

All awhile he was very aware of the lavender-white eyes watching him from the other side of Yotsuya Uemura Restaurant.

.:.

Sasuke returned to the restaurant but Hinata never came to get his order again. And for that, he was grateful. He could continue to ignore her, do his work until the late hours, reorder something to eat or drink every now and then (using the damn damned QR-code instead to avoid any more awkward moments), and pretend he was still in that hole-in-the-wall, that had started this mess by closing down in the first place. Two hours of peace. And then 3 A.M. would roll around and he’d start packing up slowly, languidly, as though his life didn't depend on leaving before she clocked out and got it into her head to come to say "hello" again. And despite his bladder kicking him from the inside because of all the coffee he'd avoid the restroom and call an Uber because Tokyo bus lines had stopped by then.

And he’d still be wide awake.

He got into this habit and it served him well for four weeks. A month of the now strangely alluring atmosphere of Yotsuya Uemura Restaurant. It still felt weird that this was the best place to go to where his brain would actually focus on work, even with her there. But he got complacent with their unspoken rule of ignoring each other. At least he presumed they had an agreement. It would be typical of her to break that non-agreement right when he'd let his guard down.

Sasuke spotted her heading toward him after his final cup of black coffee of the night. He licked his lips and put the cup down, watching her with an almost detached fascination. It was a strange but welcomed feeling. And suddenly she was standing in front of him with only the table and his belongings between them. She didn't speak immediately, licking her lips in a similar manner to what he'd just done. She started twiddling her thumbs and a rose-coloured flush spread across her cheeks as he continued to stare silently back at her.

Why is she here?

Her shift had clearly ended; she held a bento bag over her shoulder while the standard apron uniform and her name tag were notably absent. She had to be on her way out.

So why is she here?

Maybe she thought... no, he couldn't think of a reason. Well, perhaps the kind girl he used to know actually had unfinished business with him. Whatever that might be. He debated leaving early; his eyes went to the time on his laptop, noting it was only ten minutes before 3 A.M. so it wouldn't be completely out of character. As much as he enjoyed the view, he was not enjoying the anticipation. But when she smiled at him, in that warm, soft way he remembered, Sasuke couldn’t bring himself to leave.

“Sasuke.”

Her voice was melodic and he found himself leaning forward to rest his chin on his hands, entranced. And no suffix? Interesting. He remembered Hinata as one who’d been a stickler for politeness. How times had changed.

He nodded shortly to her. “Hinata.”

As though that had been permission, she slid into the chair opposite him. But the bento bag remained on her shoulder. “So you do remember m-me?”

Sasuke could only nod, his confusion masked by feigned indifference.

“I wanted to come over to say ‘hi’ s-sooner,” she said, her smile now more timid as she laced her fingers together. “The timing just never seemed r-right.”

Sasuke leaned back in his chair, forcing himself to calm down. He could do this (just this once). It was like riding a bicycle. Except he'd never actually learned to do that.

I’m definitely going to have to find another coffee restaurant now.

He had no idea what possessed him to continue coming here. This was just a recipe for disaster. It was far too awkward and he had work to do. No, wait, work was over. Or just about. Now he had to go home. Still, he didn’t have time to hash things out with old friends or crushes from high school. Memories belonged in the past. But he couldn’t help himself; a part of Sasuke still needed to know. He had to know. He had to. Or so he kept telling himself. There was only pain and heartache in memories of watching Hinata being happy with Naruto. There was no ring on her finger but not every married couple did that. Or she could’ve removed a ring while working to avoid losing it. There were a million different reasons she looked single.

How does one look single, really?

“How’s the dobe?”

What the fuck is wrong with me?

Other than the obvious.

Fighting an internal battle on whether or not to slap himself, Sasuke tried to focus on pretending he wasn't fighting with himself. He didn’t really want to know how Hinata's life with Naruto was. His mouth just seemed to have a mind of its own. Sasuke could imagine all kinds of things she might say and how he might be doing. He didn't need confirmation. As she squirmed in her seat, he blinked slowly. A hard swallow was the only sign that this conversation was making him uncomfortable.

Her smile was sad. “I wouldn’t know.”

Sasuke’s eyes widened. Why wouldn’t she know? Why wouldn't she... And then suddenly his stupid mind clicked all the pieces into place. “You’re not with him anymore?”

She shook her head.

“I thought you were looking forward to the 2.5 kids with him.”

Hinata sighed and stopped fiddling with her hands. “I’ve grown up.”

He gave her a quick appraisal, without lingering on any part of her body. Hopefully, it didn’t come off as invasive or creepy. But his mind was whirring. He nodded absentmindedly, but his heart was pounding against his rib cage. Dare he ask if she’d found someone else? Dare he poke the sleeping dragon?

“Are you–”

“I’m… s-single.”

Was she blushing? Sasuke couldn’t stop the smirk from gracing his face if he tried. The muscles responsible for twisting the side of his mouth into a smirk felt stiff though. He suddenly felt like a weight had been lifted from his soul. His body was lighter and his cluttered mind cleared. He sighed in contentment. At least for that part of her revelation.

A different kind of anxiety now slammed his heart against his chest.

They sat in awkward silence as Sasuke ordered a new, different drink. The doors would be closing soon so he had to do this quickly. When the milkshake came, he took a sip and then pushed it lightly, in her direction. If he drank any more coffee there would be no going to sleep tonight but this was too sweet for his tastes, normally. He already desperately needed to use the toilets. Unfortunately, it wasn’t socially acceptable to ask complete strangers or staff to watch his stuff while he used the facilities, so Sasuke would usually be gone by now, on his way home, and to that sweet porcelain of relief.

He eyed Hinata tentatively. “You seem different from the shy girl who always followed Naruto around.”

She reached out and ran a delicate finger along the condensation on the glass tumbler that held the liquid temptation. “I’ve grown up.”

Yes. And no stuttering this time. But some things clearly still stayed the same: she still loved strawberry milkshakes. (And this one had a cinnamon stick in it to boot.) She was eyeing off his drink in a slightly ravenous way but the nervous habits he remembered from high school were also still present; she was twiddling her thumbs and clearly too polite to just take his drink. These were parts of the reason he’d fallen so heavily for her in the first place. She was adorable in her weird mix of social graces and anxiety. He knew a little about social anxiety himself. He’d never cared much for how others perceived him, but adulthood had taught him some hard-learned lessons on why it would never get him anywhere in life to carry on as though nobody else mattered.

Yet so much about Sasuke had not changed at all.

Still a selfish bastard.

He wanted and he got. At least where it was possible.

Sasuke raised his eyebrows at Hinata in what he hoped was a challenging look. She sat up straighter and licked her lips before her eyes dropped to his drink in understanding. He remembered from his few years in this industry just how ragged one could feel at the end of a long shift. He hadn't had to worry about the nine-to-five bullshit for so long but some things were just unforgettable. This drink was an offer more than a challenge: was she thirsty enough to take him up on it? How much had she really changed? She'd never have taken his drink back in school. Now she had an open but silent invitation.

Hinata pulled the drink toward herself, stopping it in the middle of the table before leaning over it to take the rim of the glass between her lips. He watched in erotic fascination as she lifted the glass and pursed her lips against it. He fixated on her mouth as she gulped it down. His eyes were drawn to every distinct and enthralling move she made. Not to mention how when she’d leaned over it was too bad her uniform wasn’t more revealing but it did give his inner pervert ideas.

"Watch my stuff?" He asked and she distractedly nodded, continuing to enjoy her drink.

He decided the strawberry milkshake was a fair price to pay in return for her watching his belongings. It was her fault he wasn’t on his way home yet, after all. Sasuke didn’t like public toilets but with the very single and beautiful Hyuuga sitting in front of him, smacking her lips together after a long guzzle of her favourite drink, and her eyes fluttering closed in pleasure, he found he didn’t care about that. He was just glad he hadn't run away every chance he got, since the first time he entered Yotsuya Uemura Restaurant.

When he returned she was still sitting in her chair but had angled her body to peak at what he had on his screen, her delicate eyebrows raised; she was either surprised or impressed.

Yes, he was very glad indeed that they were both still here.

.:.

It became a habit. Sasuke would arrive around midnight, take his usual spot in the darkest corner of the brightly lit restaurant, order using the QR code, and then unpack his laptop. He would spend the first forty-five minutes sipping on his water (or black tea; either of which would later be replaced by black coffee anyway) and working on his project design and immersing himself in every edit. When the food came he would pick at it while still working and occasionally peeking over the top of his laptop as Hinata worked in the distance. The way her fringe bobbed as she smiled brightly at a customer, even if they were monopolising her time with their order. He found a new appreciation in just gazing at her.

And as was a habit, Sasuke would be finished with his food within the hour, ordering the first black coffee of the night. If he was still hungry, he’d grab a side salad or Spicy Ahi Poke around two o’clock, when his battery would start to wind him down, even with the coffee. Web coding was a far slower and more tedious skill set than most people realised. Depending on the job, it could take him months to finish, and these weren’t the cheap, easy pages of online website builders that anyone from his grandmother and borderline illiterate next-door neighbour could use to create their own site. He tested his static preview several times before deciding to stop and stretch out his tired muscles.

Then the cherry on the top: Hinata would clock off at 3 A.M. and join him at his table. A new strawberry milkshake bribe and she would heroically protect his belongings as he used the toilets and when he returned, she would regale him with stories about her family and friends while asking him questions about his own. He knew the shy, bumbling Hinata of his youth was not completely gone when he asked her more personal questions and she flushed; a lovely shade of pink he had never thought to cherish until now. Sasuke did not ask about past relationships because he was enjoying pretending she hadn’t been with anyone since Naruto. She did hint to it a few times but he shut that down quickly, not wanting to hear about her dating other men.

And in kind, it would be hypocritical of him to talk about his own sex life. Not that she would care about that.

It wasn’t the healthiest take on relationships, but it was what he had to offer.

After a week of this habit, Sasuke was disappointed to see the weekend painfully arrive. It meant her days off and he couldn’t bring himself to go to the restaurant knowing she wouldn’t be there. He almost asked her if they could meet up on the weekend but didn’t want it to feel like he was being needy. Or coming across too strong. The weekend dragged on with familial obligations and friends who were determined to get him drunk or laid. Or both. He ignored them all. Then Monday came again and Sasuke spent the day the way he spent every weekday since Hinata came back into his life; anticipating the night time.

What a boring life I lead.

He’d sunk low. Sasuke had spent years being content with his romantic isolation. No-one, no matter how many times he dated, could ever compare to the first person he’d fallen in love with. But he’d been fine with that. Until now. Now he was looking forward to being close to a beautiful woman who didn't annoy him. The very person he could never completely move on from.

Though he was scared at the thought of asking her if he was the only one feeling anything.

The second week of this habit changed everything. He was waking up with a smile on his face. He was going to bed content and peaceful. It wasn’t like Sasuke had never looked forward to things; he anticipated the weekend, the end of the night after another one of his mother’s forced family get together’s, the change in the balance of his bank account after finishing a project for a client. Even the occasional date or romp in the sheets (he used to indulge in) allowed him to release the stress of the week even though they were always temporary fixes. And of course, running. Sitting at a computer for hours didn’t do his body any good and he had gotten into the habit of jogging for over an hour every early in the mornings.

Habits.

But it was time for this new one to break. Because he hadn’t done much other than jog or work since remeeting Hinata. He needed more from her, not just the moments so late in the night that it would be inappropriate to invite her back to his apartment. And he needed to know that this was okay with her. He’d lost out years ago but there was no Naruto-dobe to get in the way this time. He wasn’t the hot-blooded and assertive type. He didn't get riled up and led on. But that was another habit he was intent on breaking - for this instance, at least.

He “hn’d” his way through his first night of the week with her before becoming more obvious. He didn't have much experience flirting anyway. When he passed the milkshake to her his fingers lingered and he stared into her eyes, delighting in the way her breath hitched and her lips parted. She would place a shaky hand on the glass tumbler, wrapping her hand around it delicately and waiting for him to let go. his fingers would deliberately brush against hers and she swallowed heavily. The dynamic had changed. She would drink with less vigour but still finish every last drop.

They shared his side of hot potato chips, which were always too much for him anyway, and he was reminded of those cartoon dogs who shared pasta. The urge to kiss Hinata would resurface whenever his mind drifted and he had to push that down. For now.

“I think it's time to leave,” she said, blushing slightly. "They're closing up now."

They were indeed moving furniture and changing signs.

“Hn.”

Hinata was bold when it mattered; she reached over with a napkin and wiped at the side of his mouth. Her shy smile grew wider when he didn’t move away and he couldn't tear his eyes away from her. His lips parted and his eyes dropped to her mouth when she licked her lips. Was the air dry for her too? He felt like a sudden heat wave had set on them both. But when she was done wiping at the sauce on his mouth the moment was over. She pulled back and averted her eyes nervously.

Maybe she’d been expecting me to kiss her?

He had no idea. But it couldn't hurt to find out. Sasuke started the habit of packing up his belongings as Hinata sighed in resignation and slowly stood.

Once upon a time, when he didn't have a choice - when his life wasn’t his to dictate - Sasuke had bemoaned his future. Now he realised he was regaining something inside himself that he’d never known was actually possible.

A future with her.

.:.

The final nail in this coffin was a wake-up call.

His friendship with Naruto was ruined. When she touched the idiot, Sasuke imagined she was touching him. When she kissed the dobe, Sasuke imagined those were his lips she worshipped. Her hands were on his, her body pressed against him; her moans, his groans, and their pleasure. Sasuke was plagued with images and what-ifs. Naruto had his future with Hinata figured out. Sasuke's life was over. It didn't matter that he loved them both, even though in different ways. It only mattered that every smile was killing him. Sasuke didn't believe in real souls, not really. But if he did have one, the other half of it was being torn away from him.

Naruto asked Hinata to marry him in the middle of the high school graduation ceremony, disrupting the flow like the baka he was. And while the principal yelled at him, the blond made a public menace of himself as the school graduates rallied to his romantic gesture.

Everyone but Sasuke. And nobody noticed.

He couldn’t handle it, seeing them together all lovey-dovey and declaring they were meant to be. The whole school cheering. The lights glared down and closed in on him as his vision blurred. It was too much, even for him, Mr. Ice-box anal arsehole with a reputation for not giving a shit. He should’ve seen it coming but until Hinata said, “yes” and let Naruto sweep her into the most affectionate and disgusting kiss that Sasuke had ever seen, he hadn’t thought it would happen. It couldn’t happen. She was better than this. The fates were kinder than this. Naruto was notoriously slow on the uptake. Surely he would be too lazy or unreliable to think of such a permanent change in his life.

But apparently not anymore. He was serious. They were engaged. They would be getting married.

And all Sasuke wanted to do was scream in frustration and rage. He was done putting up with this! It felt selfish to do but he had to. There was no emotional outburst - that would come later, in the privacy of his own home - no. He was a picture of calm as he started to back away from his cheering graduation class.  He took one last look at the chaotic scene Naruto had caused, snatched up his own diploma, and turned away. He was soon to be enrolled at Tohoku University. He was moving away from this backwater town. Far away from everyone he knew. To Tokyo.

Alone.

Sasuke left all of his friends behind and cut off all contact, ignoring their attempts to find him. And hers.

And he never saw his best friend again.

.:.

She tasted like strawberries and lavender.

Sasuke finally broke his habit three weeks after their fated reunion. (Now that he was contemplating that maybe fate was a thing.) Packing his laptop away, he’d reached for a second bag that had been sitting on the chair next to him. He’d known it was likely to rain so Sasuke brought two compact umbrellas with him with plans for them both to get used. He’d contemplated just bringing one large, oversized umbrella but didn’t want to make Hinata awkward with the presumptuous closeness. She seemed skittish with surprises. So now she stood with him under the awning that decorated the front of the restaurant and he was suddenly very grateful for bad yet predictable weather.

“Sasuke?”

He looked down at the woman in his arms. Gone was the facade that this was anything other than a blossoming relationship. He'd taken her hand and stood proud as a peacock when she squeezed his hand in return. She let him pull her closer, their umbrellas overlapping above their heads as they stared into each other's eyes. She'd let him lean in closer and duck his head under her umbrella to breathe in her sudden intake of air. She was anticipating this too, he knew. This situation was familiar, though he was determined to have it play out differently. Maybe she didn’t remember that day in the rain, so long ago when he'd wanted to kiss her after she'd let him use her umbrella. She’d never tracked him down to get it back and he'd never offered it back. Or maybe he’d intimidated her too much for her to retrieve it.

“Hinata…” His free hand cupped her face and he took in every inch of her face, his eyes memorising every detail. The flush of her skin, the plumpness of her lips, the way she tilted toward him instinctively. “I want to kiss you.”

What was it his father had once said? Never ask for permission. Sasuke knew Fugaku’s approach to women was toxic. His mother’s issues were proof of that. But there was a little part of himself that had wanted to just take those succulent-looking lips between his teeth before she had the chance to pull away. However, he respected her too much for that. He needed to know she wanted this too.

Hinata smiled and nodded. “Okay. I want to kiss you, too.”

(No more stuttering.)

And that was his permission. When he lowered his mouth to hers he was already slanting his head in anticipation for the tilt of their faces as they embraced each other. Full-mouthed, energetic, uncompromising; he grasped her almost too tightly as her parted lips allowed him entry. Sasuke devoured her mouth. Their eyes closed, his body pressed so intimately against hers; the pouring rain faded into the background. There was only her. Only them. And when she moaned and returned his vigour, he finally felt like he'd come home.

.:.

[limitlessscion]

It was a futile comfort at best, a dangerous indulgence at worst. But all of Suguru's initial reservations had flown out the window and into the brilliant view of the bright cityscape, the moment he set foot in the lavish apartment. Everything, from the organized chaos on the countertop to the arrangement of non-alcoholic drinks at the mini-bar, spoke of Satoru's presence — and though it did not feel homely, it certainly had Suguru's heart clench upon seeing him again.

Their truce was consummated after a lengthy argument about popcorn, while some movie served as ambience. Before he knew it he was sat in his lap, hastily undoing his shirt buttons and peppering his face with kisses. The intensity of his touch covers up the first ring, and a soft whine follows the second. But when Satoru's phone rings a third time, Suguru shoots up with a huff, silky hair falling all over that flustered babyface he so covets.

Usually he would know better than to pry but there's that thought that persistence implies familiarity, so… Who's calling him like that? A note of suspicion finds his gaze when he leans back, not yet dismounting but reaching for the phone dumped on the coffee table behind them.

❝ Tell them you're busy. ❞ It's unceremoniously thrust in Satoru's face while he tucks some thick bangs behind his ear and shoots him a sultry smirk, confessing his intention to keep messing with him while he's on the phone.

Satoru hadn't known what a home felt like until the first three years he'd lived in transitory accommodation on campus, and he hasn't again since. He'd put pieces of himself in the spaces he inhabited as all people do, but his essence was cold and emptiness and that was all those spaces could ever reflect; like the quiet refuge of an ancient library his younger self once claimed.

This felt like home, he realized with a pang as the warmth of Suguru's presence seeped its way into the floorboards with every step, into the lavish leather of the sofa as they lounged and then into him, through the weight on his lap and the hands at his chest and those lips upon his face. Satoru was not a man who knew regret and what small threads of doubt he'd had about this endeavor were burned away by the enthusiasm with which he was greeted. This love was real and he reciprocated with equal fervor, pulling them together and showering his own affections upon Suguru's body.

He'd dismissed the rumbling of his phone entirely, blended into the same realm as the movie still running in the background. By the third occurrence, he was ready to kick the damn thing to the floor to join his discarded shirt. Nothing else in the world mattered more right now than indulging in Suguru's company, and he whined as the other pulled away from him so suddenly.

He cracked his eyes open to stare at the screen suddenly thrust in his face. The number was familiar, but he couldn't recall from where. He knew it wasn't someone from leadership, or one of the Windows that he usually worked with, so it wasn't a job. With a grumble he took the phone, hoping whoever was on the other side would just give up the moment before he hit the answer button.

"I'm bu—"

"This is about Megumi." The voice on the phone was exasperated, the abrupt rudeness coming through making it clear that he had not appreciated having to repeat the call. Satoru recalled that the number was that of Megumi's school in the same breath as when Suguru made good on his promise, their bodies pressed together again and Satoru near bit through his tongue to hold back an involuntary gasp.

"M—Megumi?"

"Your son? He got into a fight with a classmate—" Satoru was only half listening to the extensive complaint continuing to drone on, freezing in place as he became extra aware of Suguru's face right next to his; there was no chance those words hadn't been overheard.

The weight of responsibility crashed through this beautiful fantasy they'd built. He grew cold, leaning back to catch his breath lest his voice gave out on him.

"I uh— I can't pick him up right now. Uh-huh. Yeah. His sister— uh, can walk him home after school. Yeah, of course. I'll talk to him about it. Okay." He hit the end call button at the absolute first millisecond he could get out of the conversation. He regretted letting slip the existence of Megumi's sister the moment it left his lips, a growing panic seeding in his chest as he felt her very existence chafe against the ideals of the man he currently held in his arms.

"He's not my son," Satoru clarified immediately to get ahead of any questions. He dropped the phone carelessly off the edge of the sofa —a deliberate show— and hooked his arms over Suguru's shoulders to drape down his back. "Just a young sorcerer I'm sponsoring. It's not a big deal."

He threw a leg up onto the sofa and pivoted, falling back and pulling Suguru down on top of him. Maybe a good distraction could prevent unwanted inquiries.

[messrmoonyy]

Remadora first date please !

So I did this as sort of them after half blood Prince. Like their first ‘date’ after that Debacle. Also I fuckin love this one???. Enjoy.

Pairing: Remus lupin x Nymphadora Tonks

Warnings: none

It was pouring with rain as Tonks slipped though the busy crowds of central London’s Saturday lunch time rush. She didn’t know why Remus had picked today to see her. Or why he thought the busiest area of London was the best location. Well, crowds, he’d said. Easier to hide. To blend. Death eaters were brazen but not enough to curse them both in the middle of a heaving crowd of London muggles.

She was a bit pissed about the weather though. She usually quite liked the rain. She liked to think it helped clear her mind, make her think better like it was washing away any stress. Or confusion. Or worry. But not today. It just made her agitated. Her hair sticking to her face and socks soaking from stepping in a puddle, the water seeping though a hole in her boot.

She just wanted to go home if she was quite honest. The thought of flopping into her bed back at her flat, a cosy pair of socks and her pyjamas was calling her. But this was important. So she had to go. And maybe she could convince Remus to go home with her anyway. Watch a movie or… something. Anything but sit in rain soaked clothes with the impending threat of a deatheater jumping them.

Maybe she should’ve just suggested her flat in the first place. But no. Remus wanted it to be… what had he said? Proper. A real date. It was silly in her opinion. It felt like a hopeless attempt to claw back any remaining dregs of her forgiveness for walking out on her all those months ago. But they’d already had that conversation. They’d already discussed that. She had forgiven him, well there or there abouts anyway.

She didn’t think she’d ever completely understand his reasoning and therefore she’d never truly get it. But she tried. It was just Remus… being Remus. Some half ditched attempt making himself feel better for falling in love with her. Maybe a punishment. Either way this was the final chance. And he knew that. She’d made sure. He’d be hexed into the next century if he pulled that shit again.

Maybe it was a foolish thing for her to have done. Maybe she was letting her feelings get the better of her, the practical blaring warning sign telling her to back off just muffled noise to her. The pounding of her heart that pumped only for him, simply blocking out the sound.

Maybe she’d regret it one day.

But for now? She simply regretted forgetting her umbrella.

She pushed her way through the muggles on their lunch breaks, all smart suits and overly made up faces for people that sat at a desk all day, trying to find the cafe that Remus had picked out.

She found it just past the main crowds, down one of London’s many side streets bustling with life. The type of place a tourist would bypass for the bigger things, but a local would be known by name with their regular order memorised.

He was waiting for her at a table in the far corner, he looked exhausted. She could tell that even from the doorway. His entire body was bowed and hunching in on itself like he was afraid of taking up too much space—the entirety of him just like one big apology for even daring to exist. He’d always been the same though. Though.. maybe a little more now. Clearly the camps had been rough. But she’d told him they would be, she’d begged him not to go. She bit her tongue in preparation of stopping herself from saying I told you so.

The cafe was relatively busy. Cutlery clanging on plates and the coffee machine whirring loudly as one of the staff went about making a drink.

When he spotted her his demeanour changed a little. His shoulders slackened and the wrinkles on his face from frowning eased. His eyes almost… bright? A happiness radiating off of him growing stronger as she drew closer. He looked nice. A brown knitted jumper that very much looked like one of Mollys creations, the sleeves pulled over his hands. He’d cut his hair whilst he was away, that little bit at the front that used to fall on his forehead and into his eyes was gone. Though his hand did occasionally reach up to move it still. Maybe it was habit.

“ wotcher “ she said as she peeled off her soaked coat, hanging it over the empty seat beside her and sitting down opposite him. She gave a quick glance around before magically drying off her hair, the drowned rat look wasn’t what she had planned on going for today.

“ you look lovely “ he said as she pushed her purple hair behind her ear and started to pull at a loose thread on her glove. There was an air of awkwardness. She didn’t like it.

“ thanks “ they sat in silence for a few moments before he stood up and told her he’d get them a drink. Her eyes followed him as he walked to the counter, squinting a little to read the chalked menu on the back wall. He needed his glasses. She brought the slightly rain soaked sleeve of her jumper up to her mouth, nervously chewing on the material as she watched him. Why was it so weird.

Because this isn’t you. You don’t do this. You don’t go or dates.

They’d never been on a date before now. She’d known him nearing three years now. Had loved him for almost the entirety of that. But they’d never been on a date. It wasn’t their thing. Had never even come up. They… sat in the library all day and he’d read to her. They went on walks and she’d tell him about her work day. They made out against every flat surface and usually ended up fucking on it too. But they’d didn’t date.

It wasn’t them.

Remus returned after a couple of minutes, a tea for him and a coffee for her. She gave him a small smile of thanks, wrapping her food hands around the mug and then the silence returned.

“ why are we doing this? “ she asked after another excruciating minute. Remus sighed and looked down into his own mug for a second.

“ I’m trying to do something normal “

“ but we’re not normal Remus “

“ I know- “

“ we’re the farthest you could ever possibly be from normal “ a Metamorphmagus witch and her werewolf wizard boyfriend, it felt like a joke to even attempt to call them even remotely normal.

“ but you deserve that… normal. You deserve a normal life, a normal boyfriend that takes you on dates and… I’m trying “ he reached out across the table and took her hand. She couldn’t help but give a little laugh at that.

“ what ever made you think I want normal? “ he looks up at her then. She’d missed those eyes. Missed the way they always looked at her as though she were the most beautiful creature he’d ever laid his eyes on “ I don’t want normal “ she shook her head and held his hand in both of hers “ I want you. I want what it was that we had before you left. Reading to me in French when I literally don’t understand a word you’re saying, but I listen because it’s you. You listening to me go off about how much of an arse Fudge is or the limited edition Weird Sisters shirt I found in the ministry lost and found…. The way you kiss me. The way you look at me. The way you’ve never once asked me to morph something different for you. I’m not normal. You’re not either. And that’s okay. But all I want is you. Merlin knows why at this point. You hurt me. You really fucking hurt me Remus. But it doesn’t change for a second, the amount of love I have for you. So if you are so set on normal, if normal is what you want… then walk out now. Go now before I let myself get hurt again and this time don’t come back for me. Or stay. And let’s just be us. None of this “

It had sort of come out a little ramble-y. She hadn’t entirely planned on it and hadn’t entirely known how to stop it. And part of her regretted it and was waiting for him to actually get up and walk away. But he didn’t. He leant over the little table between them, his hand reaching for her face and he kissed her.

He usually hated even standing too close to her in public, constantly concerned that he might be recognised and people would know she was dating a werewolf. But no one in that cafe cared. No one knew them. No one even glanced their way.

“ I hope that that’s a satisfactory answer to your questions “ she was ever so slightly stunned as he sat back down, his anxious energy and awkwardness from earlier seemingly dispersed. She was mildly dumbstruck by the entire thing. But she feigned calm and lent back in the chair a little.

“ yeah it’ll do “ his lips pulled up into a small smile and looked back at his mug of tea again. His hands fidgeted a little, his fingers restless. He might have been acting calm but clearly their was still something on his mind. Or maybe he was realising what he had done. He looked almost like a corned animal wanting to escape “ shall we go back to my flat? “

“ yes “ she downed her lukewarm coffee in one and stood up, grabbing her still drenched jacket and pulling it on with a frown. He gestured for her to lead and she scooted through the still crowded cafe and out into the street. It was still raining. The rain didn’t hit her for long though, Remus appearing at her side with an umbrella.

“ thanks “ they huddled together under the umbrella as they made their way through the crowds. He was hunched ever so slightly to ensure the umbrella was closer to her head but he didn’t complain. They took the tube home, Remus knowing of her slightly secret love of muggle transport. Thankfully her flat wasn’t that close to central London, so the crowds dimmed down quite quickly.

She noticed as they stood close together in the train car, that his shoulder was damp. He’d had the umbrella tilted over her the entire time. But not complained once. This man.

They got off the tube, the station was only a few minutes walk from her flat. It had stopped raining by then thankfully.

“ I’ve- It’s not exactly tidy “ she said with a slightly nervous scratch of her head as the stood in front of her front door

“ your never really been one for tidiness. There’s nothing new there love “ she scoffed at that and opened the door. She hurried around picking stuff up and kicking stuff under the sofa in hopes he wouldn’t see “ Nymphadora “ she waved her wand and a scattered pile of books went back onto the shelf “ Nymphadora” His hands were on her arm suddenly, turning her to face him “ for someone who wanted normal… you’re not acting it “ she sighed and ran a hand over her face.

She wasn’t. It was stupid. She was being stupid. She didn’t know why. It was like having him back in her flat again had made her feel like that first time he’d been there again. Their time apart had been too long. It felt a bit odd now. She hadn’t expected it.

“ sorry “ he turned her around to face him more, his fingers nudging her under the chin so she’d look up at him.

“ I think normal is going to take some time “ she nodded and silently wished it wouldn’t. She wanted to go back to that day before he’d left. Do something to make him not go. Anything. Of course that was useless now. It was done. It had happened. And now they were starting over again. It was never going to carry on as I’d it had never stopped.

But she was constantly worrying in the back of her mind. Worrying that… what if they couldn’t get back to how they had been? What if his time away had simply made him realise he didn’t need her. Or didn’t love her anymore?

“ yeah. Time “ she closed her eyes for a minute and decided that now was a better time than any to be honest. There was no point keeping secrets anymore“ I’m just scared “

“ I’m not going anywhere Nymphadora “ he said before she could even tell him why she was scared. He knew her well.

“ you did once…. You managed without for all those months “

“ we’ve talked about this… “ his hand slipped around to cup her face gently “ you didn’t leave my mind once. Not once. I thought it would be safer for you… my ideas were misjudged. All I want. Is to be with you. Be here with you “

“ I love you “ she said softly, it slipping out before she could stop “ I love you and I don’t want you to go again. I can’t do that again. Remus I can’t “ she felt a little bit stupid, pathetic. But she was tired.

“ I’m going no where. I promise “ his words were gentle, soft. Washing over her and chasing out the chill from the rain, warming her from the inside out. His face dipped closer to hers, his nose brushing her own “ I love you “

He kissed her again, softer than in the cafe. The type of kissed that warmed her bones, made her feel like absolute jelly in his arms. She practically melted into him, making up for the months she hadn’t been able to kiss him.

Their date hadn’t gone to plan. But she didn’t care.

[syllvane]

breakfast- natahsa romanoff x reader

a/n: this was requested by anon! this is 4.5k words.

You still haven’t gotten used to the quiet that comes with half of the population being gone, but you can’t quite remember what it was like before either- you vaguely remember the hustle and bustle of life before the Blip, but that's all it’s become. A memory, one that seems to become harder to recall each and every day.

“What are you doing here so early?”

You nearly dropped the groceries that you had been holding, startled by Natasha’s voice in the hallway leading into the kitchen.

“You scared me- you’re lucky I wasn’t holding the eggs or something.”

Natasha looked at you somewhat amused, making her way into the kitchen and leaning against one of the counters.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

You glanced at her, smiling before turning back to where you were unloading the groceries.

“I was going to surprise you with breakfast, though I suppose it was silly to think I could surprise a spy.”

You didn’t miss the small smile that appeared on her face as you started unloading the groceries anyways, getting ready to cook.

“Silly, maybe, but also sweet. What can I do to help?” Natasha asked and you shook your head, pointing at her with the plastic spoon you had grabbed.

“Sit down, you’ve been doing a lot these past couple months- too much, I would argue. Let me do something for you.”

“You’re selling yourself short. You’ve been doing a lot around here as well,” Natasha protested and you gave her a pointed look before going back to cooking.

“If you really want to do something, then you can make us coffee. But nothing else. I want you to relax.”

“Coffee, I can do that,” She mumbled, springing into action, her arm brushing against yours as she filled up the coffee maker with hot water.

The next time you try to surprise her with breakfast is a little under a week later and when you walk into the Avengers compound, you are met with the smell of freshly cooked breakfast.

Damn her.

You walked into the kitchen, still carrying groceries, to see that Natasha had cooked what could only be described as a feast.

She looked at you, proud that she had one-upped you.

“How did you know?” You asked her, simply setting the groceries to the side.

She looked at you as if she was considering whether to lie or not.

“I didn’t,” She said honestly and almost a bit sheepishly. “I cooked every morning hoping that you’d show up one of these days. I know it’s silly.”

“It’s not, it’s…” You looked over the different plates of food as if one of them held the right words. “It’s incredibly sweet. I’ll make the coffee?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

Breakfast becomes a regular occurrence for the two of you and although half of the universe had to disappear for the two of you to grow closer, you don’t mind it as much as you should.

“Hey,” Natasha said, drawing your attention as the two of you washed dishes side by side, your arms touching each other. “I’m going to have to cancel our breakfast date on Thursday. I think I may have a lead on Clint and so I want to go and see it for myself.”

“You want company?” You asked without hesitation and she looked at you.

“I don’t want to bother you and besides, I don’t think anything will come of it.”

“Okay well, one, you could never bother me, and two, even if nothing comes out of it, you shouldn’t have to do it alone.”

She didn’t say anything, though a small smile appeared on her face as she loaded the last of the plates and bowls into the dishwasher.

Though the prospect of you coming with seemed to make her happy for reasons she didn’t quite understand, she pushed you away.

“I’ll be fine alone, I promise.”

“Okay, if you promise,” You said, flicking a bit of the soapy water at her.

She stopped moving and looked at you incredulously.

“I can’t believe you just did that.”

“Did what, this?” You asked, doing it again, more boldly this time

She looked at you and though everything about her face screamed ‘serious’, her eyes were alight with playfulness.

She stalked back over towards the sink and although you backed away and lifted your arms to protect yourself, she splashed you nonetheless.

Grabbing the nearest ingredient towards you, you lifted a hand full of flour and aimed it towards her.

“You don’t have to do this,” She said, walking towards you slowly with her hands lifted up as if she was surrendering. “Just drop-”

Before she can finish her sentence, you threw the flour at her.

Her face is covered in flour, clumps of it sticking to her face where you had splashed water previously and she stared at you in surprise, a smile still on her face.

Before you could even process what she was doing, she had her own handful of flour and threw it onto you, the flour coating your clothes and face, as well as the counters and the floor.

You lunged for the flour but she caught your wrist, your eyes meeting hers.

You reached your other hand towards it and she caught that as well, pulling you close to her, closer than you had ever been to her.

“Don’t,” She said softly, her eyes bright. “Don’t start a fight that you can’t win.”

“And where’s the fun in that?” You asked and she let go of your wrists, letting your hands fall back to your side and taking a step backwards.

“We should clean this up- Steve’s going to throw a fit if he sees this mess.”

“You have a meeting in a little bit, you can go. I got this.”

“Nonsense, I threw just as much flour as you. You take the island and the counters, I’ll take the cabinets and floors. It’ll get done quicker this way.”

“Nat-”

“Just… let me help you. Please.”

“You’re impossible,” You said but didn’t protest against her helping any longer.

As Natasha pointed out, the kitchen was completely clean in half of the time that it would’ve taken for your to clean it alone, leaving Natasha more than enough time to change her clothes and to get any remnants of flour off of her face and out of her hair before her meeting.

Well, almost all of it.

“Nat, wait!” You yelled, running after her before she turned the holographs on.

She turned and looked at you, concerned.

“What is it?”

“You just had a little…”

You got close to her and using your thumb, you wiped some flour off of her face that she hadn’t noticed.

“Thank you,” She said softly and the two of you just stood there like that for a couple of seconds before you pulled yourself away.

“Right. Have a good meeting, Natasha,” You said before turning away, not waiting for her response.

That’s the last time you have a full conversation with her before she goes looking for Clint.

You’re almost done making breakfast when she enters through the front door, looking worn out and exhausted, dropping her bag onto the floor.

She continued into the kitchen, blinking when she noticed you staring at her and the food that you had already set onto the table.

“How did you…” She sniffed, wiping her nose, searching for the words.

You turned the stove burner off and closed the distance between the two of you, pulling her into a tight hug.

She hugged you back just as tightly as if you were a lifeboat and she was drowning in the middle of the ocean.

“I don’t know who he is anymore. I don’t… I don’t recognize the man who did those things.”

“I know, Nat.”

“And he acts like we didn’t lose everything as well. We lost everything as well and yet, we continue, no matter how much we’ve lost, because we don’t have the luxury of playing vigilante. Some of us have a world that we’re trying to put back together, you know?”

“I know,” You said softly.

She doesn’t say anything for a while, just stands there in your arms.

“I miss Yelena. I miss Alexei and Melina. I miss them so much it feels like I’m just drowning in it. Like it’s just going to swallow me whole one day.”

“Tell me about them.”

And so she does.

She tells you about Ohio and about life in between her time in the Red Room. She tells you about the destruction of the Red Room and about Yelena buying and giving to Natasha the first item of clothing that she had ever bought. She tells you about forest stars and photo booths and blue hair dye.

She tells you more than she has ever told anyone else, more than she will ever tell anyone else.

And eventually, she lets go.

Her face is red from tears, but neither of you point it out, both of you sitting down at the table and eating breakfast.

“I think this is the first proper meal I’ve had in days,” She said and you frowned at her, your eyes narrowing.

“You need to take better care of yourself. When was the last time you slept?”

She looked away from your eyes, back towards the plate of food.

“Haven’t since I left,” She said quietly, her eyes flickering back up towards yours to see your reaction.

The creases by your eyes deepened.

“Natasha-”

“In all fairness, I was going to go to sleep as soon as I got back, but someone surprised me with breakfast,” She said, punctuating her sentence with a forkful of food.

“Okay, but we’re going to sleep right after you’re done, okay?”

“‘We’?” She asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m tired too,” You said sheepishly and in her tiredness, she did not push you further on it.

She pushed her plate away from her a little, standing up and taking your hand.

“We can do dishes later. Let’s go to sleep,” She said and you stood up, letting her lead you to her bedroom.

She pulled you onto her bed and you fell asleep in her arms, which was somehow only the second most romantic thing you had done with Natasha Romanoff.

The first was, of course, falling in love with her.

If someone had asked you to point out a specific month or day that you had fallen in love with her, you wouldn’t know where to begin.

Months of friendship blended together with something more and you weren’t quite sure where your feelings for her began and where they ended, where they had transitioned into something more, something greater.

It didn’t really matter, you supposed- months passed since her return from looking for Clint and things continued on as normal, with breakfasts and small touches, gestures from her that could be easily misconstrued as something more than friendship.

You didn’t mind the closeness though, the way her hands always seemed to graze over yours when reaching for the same thing or the way her arm would touch yours when the two of you did the dishes.

You didn’t mind it, just wished for more of it. Wished that she would just take your hand outright one day.

“Are you sure you’ll be okay? Dinner is a little out of your wheelhouse,” Natasha joked and you rolled your eyes.

“I’m sure I’ll manage. Is it just Steve that’s coming tonight or are we getting the whole gang back together?”

“Just Steve, I’m pretty sure. Banner might come as well, but Pepper and Tony aren’t coming for sure.”

“Well, at least that minimizes the chances of a fight breaking out.”

“I can start throwing punches if needed,” She offered and you looked at her, a small smile on your lips.

“Appreciate the offer, but I think we’re good.”

“Well, if you change your mind…”

“I’ll let you know,” You smiled. “Now are you going to help me make dinner or not?”

The two of you easily fell into a rhythm while you cooked, anticipating each other’s needs before the other even said anything. Natasha would open her mouth to ask for a knife to find that you were already setting it down beside her.

“You know, I think we make a good team,” You said, your hands on your hips as you looked over all the hard work that the two of you had done.

Natasha wiped her hands on a towel before standing beside you, nodding.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen this kitchen used before, not like this,” Steve noted, standing in the doorway behind the two of you.

Though both of you were well-trained in stealth and surveillance, you almost jumped when you heard Steve’s voice.

“Don’t sneak up on us like that!” You scolded Steve and before you even asked for it, Natasha handed you the towel that she had been holding and you threw it at him.

He held his hands up in defense, the corners of his eyes creasing as he smiled. He caught it with ease and set it down on the island.

“Now, there’s no need for violence. It smells great in here, I didn’t think I’d ever see the day where she would be cooking,” He said, motioning towards Natasha.

“She’s working on it,” You joked and Natasha gave you a pointed look, suddenly wishing that she still had her towel. She settled for swatting at your arm with her hand. “Hey! Like the old man said, no need for violence. I was just joking.”

“What, I’m five minutes late and you guys are already fighting?” Bruce asked, walking in the front door.

“You came!” You smiled widely, walking over to the scientist and hugging him.

Steve looked back at Natasha.

“Can you believe that? He gets a hug and I get a towel thrown at me.”

Natasha let out a breathy laugh.

“You startled her, that was your first mistake.”

Steve smiled as well before grabbing one of the various dishes that the two of you had made and bringing it to the dining table.

Natasha started moving the dishes as well, giving a small, cursory nod to Bruce as he sat down.

You swatted at Steve’s arm.

“Dude, you need to sit down. You’re a guest.”

Steve looked at Natasha, pointing at you.

“Do you see this? She’s going to injure me.”

You shot him a playful glare before helping Natasha with the rest of the dishes and the silverware, setting plates down in front of everyone and taking a seat next to Natasha, across from Steve and Bruce.

Dinner started off lighthearted, the four of your digging into the food.

You talked of past stories and past missions and science and of everything but the unavoidable present, the reality that everyone had been stuck in for more than a year now.

It seemed crazy when you thought about it like that, that half of the population had been gone for over a year, a full rotation around the sun without some of your favorite people.

It was dark outside when the conversation shifted.

“So, how have you guys been with… everything?” Natasha asked and a hush fell around the table.

“I don’t know if it’ll ever get any easier,” Steve said honestly.

“I don’t know how it could get worse,” Natasha retorted, though everyone already knew the answer.

“Another year. Another two, another ten,” Bruce said solemnly before taking another sip of the water that was in front of him. He checked his watch and blinked, realizing for the first time how late it had gotten. “Sorry to leave on that note, but I should get going, guys. Didn’t realize how late it was.”

“I’m glad you came. It was nice seeing you again,” You said genuinely, standing up from the table and walking over to hug him.

He hugged you back, giving Natasha a little wave and Steve a pat on the back before you walked him out of the kitchen, towards the front door.

“You two make a good couple, you know. I didn’t realize the two of you were even dating, but you two seem to make each other very happy.”

“Thank you, but we’re not dating,” Natasha said, her lips pressed together in a tight smile.

Steve raised his eyebrows.

“Are you sure? Because with the way the two of you were looking at each other, I would’ve sworn otherwise.”

“Positive,” Natasha said, trying to stop herself from blushing.

“What are you two talking about?” You asked, walking back into the room.

Steve stood up from where he was sitting and you narrowed your eyes at him.

“You’re leaving us too?”

“Like Bruce pointed out, it’s getting late. It was so nice seeing both of you.”

You stood there for a minute before walking to where he was standing and hugging him.

“Don’t be a stranger, Steve. You are always welcome here,” You said before taking a step back.

He smiled back at you.

“I would hope so- I still technically work here, right?”

“Did Tony ever rehire you?” You wondered out loud.

“Did he ever rehire you?” He shot back and you shrugged.

“Fair point.”

“Drive safe, old man,” Natasha said before Steve hugged her as well.

“Goodnight, to the both of you.”

He walked out of the front door and you began cleaning up the dishes.

“Steve said the funniest thing earlier, when you were walking Bruce out.”

“Oh?” You asked, making it clear that you were listening even if you weren’t looking at her.

“He thought we were dating.”

You stopped what you were doing, turning the water off and setting the plate down.

“What did you say?”

“I just told him the truth, that we weren’t.”

“Why did he think that we were?” You asked, trying your best to seem as if your heart wasn’t pounding.

“Something about the way we look at each other,” She said as if she hadn’t committed the words to memory.

“Natasha-”

“I mean, it’d probably be a bad idea, with us working together and all.”

“Natasha.”

“And neither of us are really used to it either and-”

You turned around, taking a couple of steps so that you were only a couple of inches away from her.

Your hand hovered above her cheek.

“Can I kiss you?”

Her breath hitched.

“Yes.”

And you kissed her.

You kissed her that night and you kissed her the morning after, as her girlfriend, and you kissed her while she made breakfast and you kissed her again and again and again.

You kissed her on your six-month anniversary and you held her when she woke up from the nightmares she’d tell you about and the ones that she would never speak of.

And you keep on kissing her, until six months becomes a year and a year becomes two, until you can’t imagine a world that exists without her love.

“I’m still mad at you for getting out of bed so early,” You grumbled, looking over the breakfast that she had prepared for the two of you.

She nearly jumped when she heard your voice before she smiled warmly and pulled you into a tight hug.

“Morning. How did you sleep?” She asked, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek.

“Good. Would’ve been better if I could’ve slept a few more hours.”

Natasha rolled her eyes, though she seemed uncharacteristically anxious.

“We can go back to bed after, okay? Breakfast first.”

“This looks wonderful,” You said, wiping your bleary eyes and looking over the table more carefully before looking back at her. You poured coffee for the two of you. “You seem like you’re on edge.”

“I’m not,” She said, though you weren’t fully convinced. “Let’s eat.”

You sat down across from her, starting to eat when you became keenly aware of the fact that she was carefully watching you as you ate.

You set your utensils down and she nearly jumped out of her seat.

“Nat, what is going on?”

She blinked.

“Nothing, I-”

“You are a surprisingly bad liar, for a spy. Nat, just tell me what is-”

“Can you just… try the pancakes? Please?”

You stared at her for a couple of seconds but when her face remained unchanged, you sighed and cut a piece of the pancake and put it in your mouth.

You started chewing and you bit something hard.

“Did you leave eggshells in this or… oh.” You spit the bit on the napkin and upon closer examination, you could see what you were biting.

A ring.

You stared at it for a couple of seconds before looking back at where she was sitting to see that she was no longer sitting at all, but kneeling on the ground in front of you, a huge smile on her face and tears welling up in her eyes.

You laughed, covering your mouth.

“I’ve always known that you’re a hero. You’ve always shown such great care for everyone around you, whether they be your team members or civilians. You’ve saved so many people and I didn’t realize this when you first came over here and made breakfast for the first time, but you were saving me as well. From my grief, from loneliness. From myself, at times. You saved me and then you kept on saving me and kept on tearing down these walls that I had put up. I am not perfect and I will never promise you anything of the sort, but I am promising you that I will love you with everything that I am. I am promising that I will try to love you in the same way that you have loved me. I’ve never believed in marriage- I’ve never believed in a lot, if we’re being honest. But I believe in you. And I want to marry you, if you’ll have me.”

You didn’t say anything, tears in your own eyes before you burst out half-laughing and half-crying.

“Natasha, look in your coffee cup.”

She looked slightly confused but she did as you said, moving the coffee cup slightly so that she could see the bottom.

Her free hand rushed up to her mouth before she started laugh-crying as well and you got up and the two of you hugged tightly.

“I think that was the worst pancake I’ve ever had,” You mumbled into the crook of her shoulder, still laughing.

She began to laugh even harder, the two of you rocking in the kitchen.

After the two of you broke apart, she fished the ring that you had placed in her coffee out, admiring it.

“You never said yes, you know,” She pointed out and you looked at her, cleaning the ring she had given to you.

“Yes, I’ll marry you. I’ll marry you today or tomorrow or in a million years.”

“My answer is yes too. Though preferably not in a million years.”

A million years may have been a more reasonable time than you had thought- the two of you originally set a wedding date in the winter, though it was interrupted by a string of killings committed by Clint.

Turns out, he is good for more than making Natasha upset by not coming to your wedding, he’s also good for upheaving your wedding day in its entirety.

You reschedule the date a couple of months later, only for a couple of Widows to call for Natasha’s help in saving one of their own. She can’t refuse and you would never ask her to.

“I don’t know if it’ll ever be the right time,” Natasha said softly, laying next to you in bed, a couple of nights after returning from the mission.

You turned over so that you were facing her.

“For the wedding?”

She nodded.

“I don’t think it’ll feel right if everyone isn’t there with us. I know that you’ve been really busy planning for it, but-"

“Nat, I don’t care about a wedding. I don’t need some ceremony to tell you how much I love you. If you want to stay like this, if you don’t want a ceremony or anything, then okay. All I need is you.”

“How did I get so lucky?”

“You’re really good at cooking breakfast,” You mumbled back and she laughed.

“I love you.”

“I know,” You said sleepily, barely able to keep your eyes open. “I love you too.”

The bubble of peace that you had managed to create for all these years remains for another, until Scott Lang shows up at the front door to the Avengers Compound.

From there, the bubble completely popped, not that either of you minded much.

This was what you both wanted, right? Everything back to what it was before.

Now, with Tony’s plan, everyone seemed to be running around the Avenger’s Compound again, everyone anxious to do something useful after all of these years.

“I still don’t like that he’s here,” You said begrudgingly and Natasha sighed. “He isn’t the Clint either of us knew.”

“I had to go after him. He deserves a chance at forgiveness,” She argued quietly, careful not to be overheard. “You’ve forgiven me for everything I’ve done. Why can’t you forgive him?”

“Because everything you’ve done since you left the Red Room has been in service of clearing out your ledger. He was killing people a couple of days ago.”

She didn’t say anything at that, thinking.

“Do you trust me?”

“Of course.”

“I’m not asking to invite him to our wedding, I’m just asking you to trust him.”

You looked at her, unable to stop the smile that started on your face.

“We can finally get married- we can have our families at our wedding,” You said softly and she nodded, a small smile appearing on her lips as well.

“God, I can’t wait to introduce you to my family. I can’t wait to meet yours. I think you and Yelena are going to get along a lot.”

“Okay,” You said after a while. “I trust him.”

The two of you started walking towards the main open floor, where the machine that Tony had dreamt up had been constructed.

The others were already waiting there in their suits, waiting for your conversation to finish up.

“Okay. It’s Vormir, right? Where you and Clint are going?” Natasha nodded, her forehead leaning against yours. “Okay, well, you’re going to have to tell me all about it when you get back. I wish I was going in space.”

She smiled, kissing you on the forehead before proceeding to pepper your entire face with kisses before landing on your lips.

You don’t think you’ll ever be able to kiss her enough.

“Yeah, you only get to time travel,” She smiled. “I’ll tell you all about it, I promise. I love you.”

“I love you too. Come back home, okay? I’ll have breakfast waiting.”

“Okay,” She said softly, stepping back. “I’ll make the coffee.”

“You don’t have to do anything, just be there. Just be there, Nat.”

“I will,” She said, beaming. “I promise I will.”

In the last moments you’re with her, she looks the happiest that you’ve ever seen her.

[redpandaramblings]

The Art of Blind Dates. Deku x GN! Reader

This piece was written for @rat-zuki 's the deku agenda escapes no one collab. Happy Birthday to our favorite broccoli.

Content warning- This fic rated PG-13. Aged up characters, Allusions to sexual activity, swearing, gender neutral reader.

“You know, we really have to stop meeting like this.”

You jumped, the spray can you had been using left an unsightly streak of bright red across your masterpiece. You scowled behind your mask as you turned to face the man who had spoken.

“We do. You keep making me mess up my hard work!”

You smirked, pleased with yourself as you saw Deku, the number one pro hero, recoil at the sight of your mask. It had taken a few weeks to convert the All Might mask into an ahegao face, but it was worth it if it horrified your number one pain in the ass. Izuku blinked a few times, sighing and bringing a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose. He was clearly choosing to ignore your choice of disguise.

“I wouldn’t have to mess with your work if you chose to do things that were, you know, actually legal? You’re talented, Brushstroke. You could get paid to do murals or something instead of…” Deku gestured towards your latest creation. You were rather proud of it. It had taken a good amount of planning to manage to paint a fifty foot tall mural of pro hero Dynamight mooning the city with the bold caption ‘The Hero Commision can kiss my ass.’ It would be perfect if not for the red streak from where Deku had startled you. With a contemplative hum you shook your spray can and quickly turned the offending mark into a cartoonish lipstick print. Midoriya sighed heavily. “I’m standing right here, you know.”

“I know.” You grinned behind your mask. The voice distorter you used did nothing to hide your chipper tone. “I also know you like it. And you can’t tell me Dynamight wouldn’t love it. He literally said that on live interview!”

“Yes, but not with his pants down to his knees.”

You bent over, throwing your cans of spray paint and climbing gear into your duffle bag. It wouldn’t do for your nemesis to get his hands on some of the tools you used. Mei’s stamp was all over it.

“Which is such a shame. The man’s got cake for days.” You chuckled as Deku pulled a face.

He observed you, hands on his hips. “And where do you think you’re going?”

“Away, obviously.” You said as you threw the strap of your dufflebag across you.

“And I’m just going to let you go?”

“Oh no. You’re going to chase me like you always do. And I’m going to escape like I always do. And it’s going to drive you crazy because you can’t figure out how I keep doing it.” You began stretching, exaggerating each movement.

“A teleportation quirk isn’t that hard to figure out.” Izuku began stretching as well, rolling his shoulders and popping joints.

“Guess again.” You sing songed, bouncing on your toes.

“Wouldn’t have to guess if you just told me.”

“But that’s no fun. Unfortunately, I do have to be going. Catch you later, hot stuff!” And with a sprint, you raced to the side of the building and jumped off before activating your quirk.

Time slowed around you. It was like you were hovering in the air instead of falling. Freeze Frame was a quirk you had learned to perfect over the years. Between the quirk and the assorted gadgets in your bag and on your person, it was definitely enough to baffle the number one pro hero. Speaking of, you better work quickly before your quirk wore off and splatted you across the sidewalk.

Freeze Frame was named after what your quirk looked like from the outside. It was as if you teleported, or you had frozen time around you for everyone except yourself. In reality, you were a speedster. When your quirk was active, you were able to move at speeds so fast you were undetectable to others, and to you it seemed like everything was paused in time. You probably could have been a phenomenal hero or villain if you wanted. But currently, it was much more fun to thwart a certain green haired man.

With a press of a button, you deployed a grappling hook, snagging it on the building across the alley. You swung over, keeping a countdown in your head. Would you be lucky enough and have time to…? Yes. There! A balcony door was cracked open slightly. You gracefully landed on the balcony and used the door to slip into what appeared to be someone’s bedroom, thankfully unoccupied at the moment. Taking no chances though, you slip into the closet just as the effects of your quirk wear off. The other reason you had never turned to heroism or villainy- no matter how much you trained, you could only keep your quirk activated for ten seconds at a time. It wasn’t a lot. Plus you could only activate your quirk a couple dozen times a day without getting seriously ill. But it still was usually more than enough to be able to give any law enforcement the slip. Just like now.

Deku curses as he runs to the edge of the roof. You’re nowhere to be seen. “Brushstroke! Get back here, you damn brat!” He shouted, running a hand through his hair in frustration. One of these days he was going to figure out your quirk and how to counteract it. And when that day comes he was going to take you over his knee and… No. He shook his head, blushing to clear his thoughts. What to do with you. Well, he wasn’t sure yet. You weren’t a villain, really. More of a public nuisance. The murals you did showed a lot of talent and a good chunk of the population agreed with the social commentary behind them. But that didn’t change that you had painted ten foot tall asscheeks on a building without permission. And, technically, it was within his job description to apprehend you. “Brushstroke!” Deku called again as he made his way down to the ground. There was no sign of you anywhere. Invisibility quirk maybe? Though it would be unusual if you could turn all the stuff you had been wearing and carrying invisible as well.

Meanwhile, as Izuku was getting lost in thought, you were getting naked. You stripped out of your gear and paint covered smock, moving as quickly as you dared while still remaining quiet in your hidden location. Just because the bedroom had been empty doesn’t mean the rest of the place was, after all. You shoved everything into your dufflebag, pulling out a clean set of clothing from a zippered pocket. Getting changed was a simple affair, as was ruffling your hair, messily getting it to look like a different style. One of your favorite tricks happened when you pushed a hidden button on the edge of your duffle bag. The previously dull gray bag quickly morphed into a loud riot of tye dyed color. Chameleon bags, Hatsume called them. Still in a prototype stage, your friend and employer would probably make a mint on them if you put them on the market. After a final brush off and deciding you looked acceptably civilian, you peeked out the closet door. The bedroom was still empty. You crept out slowly. The balcony wasn’t a feasible exit anymore. Not without the gear you had had to store away. You were going to have to sneak out the front door. You activated your quirk, feeling a little queasy at having to use it again so quickly in succession. It was simple to race through the apartment and out into the hall within your short time limit. In fact, with your speed, you were easily able to exit the entire apartment complex. You still had a few seconds to spare when you shot out the door. You grinned at seeing the number one pro hero standing in the middle of the street. You knew you shouldn’t do what you were thinking. Instead you should use your last few spare seconds to put some distance between yourself and the large, green haired man. Instead, you quickly dug around in your bag and found your tube of lipstick. You applied a nice thick coat as you waltzed up to him. With a giggle, you planted a firm smacking kiss on his cheek, leaving behind a clear and perfect lip print. With a grin, you hurried back to the apartment complex. It was easy to make it seem like you were just coming out of the door as time snapped back to its proper speed. You watched, hiding your smirk as you observed the clearly frustrated hero scanning the crowds for any sign of you. His eyes passed right over you, barely giving you a glance. You almost felt hurt that he thought your normal look was that unremarkable. But that was the point, after all. As Deku continued to call out for your pseudonym, you turned and walked away, blending into the crowd. You were almost out of earshot when you heard a loud cursing exclamation that would have been more in character for a certain blond hero. You bite your knuckle to muffle your laughter. Someone had informed Deku of the lipstick mark.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You sipped from a bottle of water as you watched Mei work her magic. It was strangely relaxing to watch her in her element. Though it seemed chaotic the first few times you had witnessed your friend work, there was a clear method to the madness if you just knew where to look. And you knew exactly where to look now that you had been working with her for the past three years. You were simply listed as one of her assistants. Most days that involved a random jumble of cleaning, paperwork, schedule management, and coffee making. The real reason Hatsume loved having you around however, was days like this.

“Okay! Set!” She chirped happily. “You good to go now?”

You nodded as you slid down, and walked into the testing area. “Remind me what I’m looking for again?”

“Well, obviously the usual. Make sure it’s not lethal, of course. And then I want to make sure the grid is deploying at the right time. Should be about a quarter second after detonation.”

“As long as everything looks good, want me to be full blown dummy this time?”

Hatsume tilted her head, and considered a moment before nodding. “Yeah, should be fine. Have the explosive levels where they should be. If anything messes up it’s going to be the grid deploying too soon or too late and not restraining you right.”

You gave her a thumbs up as you got into position. She counted down, though that didn’t matter much to you, honestly. One of the best perks of your quirk was that it gave you insane reflexes. You waited until the moment you saw the detonation begin to happen and activated your quirk.

As usual, it felt like time slowed to a crawl around you. Hollywood directors would give a kidney to have access to the detailed slow motion you could experience every day for free. You walked around the device, looking it over. It was meant to be a capture aid for pro hero Cellophane, a small explosive that would shoot nets of tape in all directions. It had to be safe and effective. Better to have a few civilians stuck to the walls than to risk letting a villain escape, after all. You peered into the explosion that was slowly rippling outward. Everything looked good so far… Yep, there were the grids starting to deploy. Sure that everything was safe, you deactivated your quirk and instantly were thrown backward and stuck to a padded wall of the testing room.

“Looked great!” You called as Hatsume entered the room. “I think you’ve finally got it!”

While she cheered and began praising her baby for performing so well, you tried wiggling. No luck. You were stuck rather firmly. Apparently she had upped the strength of the adhesive. After a minute, Hatsume finally noticed your struggles.

“Oh good!” She chirped. “Looks like the new formula is holding up nicely. I mean, I still need to test it out against, like strength and fire quirks, but looking good so far.”

“Little help, please?” You ask, giving her a look.

“Maybe in a bit.” She said, turning her back and leaving you there, pinned. “Want to test how long it holds. Besides, I have some questions about your last escapade and how my babies held up.”

You let out a resigned sigh. Of course. Your friend had found out about your after hours hobby about a year and a half ago. Instead of discouraging you, it hadn’t surprised you that much when she blackmailed you. She wouldn’t tell the police or heroes…. If you used some of her experimental babies on your future excursions. You had been dubious. Hatsume’s babies could be a little dangerous in the prototype stage. But it ended up working great! Your pieces went from small tagging jobs to huge fifty foot murals. Though that had caught the attention of a few public figures, including a certain green haired pain in your ass.

“I didn’t use anything directly against Deku this time.” You sighed, going limp to test if the tape would hold your weight. It did. “Grappling hook works great. The painter drones are okay for filling in large areas, but aren’t able to do clean lines well. The gecko boots continue to be amazing, but the gloves need a lot of work. The control for when they release still isn’t great.”

Hatsume nodded, quickly making notes about everything you said. There was a bit of a quick back and forth where she asked questions and you answered. Though ten minutes passed and you were still stuck to the wall. She eventually sets her notes aside and turns to face you fully. “So,” she drawls. “You saw Deku again.”

“I always see Deku nowadays!” You groan. “I swear Mei, if I find out you’re tipping him off or something...”

“Aww, come on! He’s nice! Would you rather be dealing with Dynamight?”

You frowned, not meeting her gaze. “I mean, the variety might be nice?”

“You like that with the help of my babies you’re able to out fox the number one pro hero, admit it!”

“It might be a little satisfying,” you mutter.

“And it doesn’t hurt that he’s hot either! Heard you two get all flirty during chases. The tabloids loved the kiss mark, by the way. Enjoy finally kissing him?”

“Hatsume!” you groan. “Subject change, please! Anything else!”

“Anything?” she grins at you.

“Oh god, I’m going to regret this.”

“It’s not that bad, I promise! Just, would you be interested in a blind date?”

You blink. “A date?”

“Yeah! One of my friends from school has a lot of trouble meeting people organically. You know how the industry is. Ridiculous schedules, maintaining reputation, trying to make sure they like you for you and aren’t just a fan.”

“Yeah… I guess I can understand that.”

“Well, I just think you and him would be a great fit! He’s a huge nerd in a lot of the same ways you are, but a real good guy once you get past the awkward. Plus,” Hatsume dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper “I happen to know for a fact that he’s a fan of Brushstroke’s work.”

You sighed, rolling your eyes. “You know it’s extortion to try to get me to agree when you have me literally taped to a wall.”

“I know!” Hatsume chirped happily. “So are you going to agree? I made the adhesive pretty strong this time. Who knows how long it would take to wear off on it’s own?”

“Bitch!” You can’t help laughing. “Alright, alright, I’ll go. Just get me down from here!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You fidgeted with the ring you were wearing as you stared at the building in front of you. Maybe it wasn’t too late to bail? You don’t know exactly what you had been expecting when Hatsume had told you about the somewhat shy, nerdy man she had set you up with, but you hadn’t expected him to choose the fanciest restaurant in town as your date location. You were wearing your best and still felt underdressed. Well, if the date was a disaster, at least you knew what building you were going to spray paint next. The glistening white exterior would make for a great canvas. You chuckled quietly at your own thoughts.

Squaring your shoulders, you took a deep breath and marched in. You could do this. You were an infamous tagger. You faced off against the number one pro hero regularly. Your day job was working with Hatsume. You’ve got this. With an air of newfound confidence, you gave your name to the maitre d. It was a surprise when you were led through the restaurant to one of their private curtained rooms. This guy you’d been set up with was apparently going all out. Maybe you were going to like him after all, you thought as you were ushered in. Then you looked up.

Fuck.

Standing to greet you with a stupidly flustered look on his damn stupid handsome face was your nemisis. The number one thorn in your proverbial side. The giant broccoli himself.

That BITCH had set you up with Izuku Midoriya!

You froze. In the back of your mind you were aware that your mouth was hanging open. The green haired man shifted his weight from foot to foot. “Hi,” he said quietly, scratching the back of his head.

You continued to stare.

He cleared his throat, glancing to the side. “Sorry about the secrecy, but I think it’s understandable.”

You nodded weakly.

Izuku bit his lip. You realized with a start that he might be even more nervous than you are. As much as you planned to murder Hatsume later, this wasn’t Midoriya’s fault. You could get through this date at least. Eat some expensive food, drink the best wines, make some meaningless conversation, say your goodbyes, and then go home to plot the demise of your former best friend. Long, slow painful demise. Good thing about being an artist, you had lots of traps, so clean up should be easy. Looking at the worried expression on Izuku’s face, you realize with a start that you still haven’t actually said anything to him. You open your mouth to offer some sort of generic greeting. But what comes out is-

“I’m going to fucking murder Mei!”

Izuku blinks. Blinks again. Then he starts laughing loudly. He leans one hand on the table as he cackles. You stare before starting to chuckle yourself. Soon you’re both wheezing with laughter. You both slump into your seats, trying to collect yourselves. Midoriya speaks first.

“Yeah, I… I get that. I’d think that’s a common emotion when hanging around Hatsume.”

You can’t help your smile. “Only at least half of the time. But that’s what makes it fun. No one else like her.”

“That’s for sure.” Izuku leaned back in his seat, looking you over like he’s studying you. “So, I suppose we should actually introduce ourselves. I’m Izuku Midoriya. I do hero work.”

You laugh. “Y/N Y/L/N. I work for Mei and freelance art when I can.”

“Art, huh? What kind of stuff do you do?”

You’re briefly interrupted by the arrival of the first course. After the waiter leaves, Deku apologies. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to order for you, but this is one of those places where you pay them and they tell you what you’re going to eat.”

“It’s fine.” You say as you stare at the delicate wisp of some sort of thinly shaved vegetable with a dollop of strangely colored foam on top.

“You were saying what kind of art you do?” Deku cautiously was poking at the tiny fancy appetizer.

“A few different things really, but my passion is mural work. Latest job was in a maid cafe. They wanted something cute and floral, but they let me do what I wanted within that theme.”

The night continued on and was surprisingly easy. The food was delicious, the wine was better, and you were pleasantly surprised by the company. Maybe it was the wine softening you up, but as you looked across the table where Izuku was animatedly talking about how influential All Might’s example had been for him, you admitted to yourself that the green haired man was very handsome. And funny. And interesting. And you were trying very hard not to think about the way Midoriya’s large scarred hand wrapped around the delicate wine glass. It was a surprise when the final course was finished and Izuku was quietly taking care of the bill. He escorted you out of the building and you both stood awkwardly outside. Deku cleared his throat.

“If it’s not presuming too much, I’m not quite ready for tonight to end. Is it alright if I walk you home?”

“I’d like that. Like that a lot, actually.”

He smiled at you, and it was like the sun. You walked and talked animatedly. The conversation was so easy and fun, and a little flirty. Somewhere along the way your hands brushed together and holding hands became the most natural thing in the world. Time flew by as you walked together, your true destination long forgotten. You were only brought back to reality when out of the corner of your eye you saw a massive mural of pro hero asscheeks. When Izuku saw what you were looking at, he groaned.

“Could you please not check out my friend’s ass while we’re on a date?” He joked, gently elbowing your ribs. You laughed.

“I mean, you can’t blame me. It’s hard to miss.” You made a mental note to tell Mei that her paint formula was holding up beautifully.

“It’s a little embarrassing. Brushstroke is talented and all, but every mural is a time I couldn’t catch them.”

Maybe it was the wine still buzzing through your system. Maybe it was the thrill of it. Maybe you just wanted to see those beautiful green eyes widen. But you couldn’t help the next words out of your mouth.

“Well you might have an easier time if you ever actually figured my quirk out.”

“Yeah I…” He stopped. Stared. “You…” He stared harder, pulling away slightly as he looked your figure up and down. “You!!!”

“Surprise?” You laughed, and grinned at him. He was always so handsome when he was angry. You weren’t scared at all as he hauled you close.

“Do you have any idea how infuriating you are?”

“Pretty good idea, actually.”

“You’ve been leading me on goose chases for months!”

You grinned “Yes, will be our anniversary soon.”

Izuku groaned as he wrapped his arms around your waste. “You irredeemable brat!”

You would have replied, but in the next second he was fiercely smashing his mouth against yours. The kiss started harsh and desperate. The results of months of teasing and flirting. It gentled as the two of you stood there in the night, soft and sweet and full of affection the two of you had yet to put into words. The thought occurred to you that you’d have to thank Mei later. Your eyes opened as the two of you pulled away for breath. You started giggling almost immediately. Izuku pressed his forehead against yours.

“What’s so funny, darling?”

You smirked. “I never thought we’d have our first kiss while being mooned by Dynamight.”

Izuku groaned loudly before sweeping you up into his arms. You squawked and clung to him.

“That’s it.” He rumbled. “I’m going to spank you when I get you home, you fucking brat.”

“Promise?” you giggled.

You didn’t mind in the least when he shut you up with another kiss.

[outofsstyles]

AU | Famous!Reader x Fashion student!Harry

☁️ FIC PAGE ☁️ PART 1 ☁️

word count: 20.3k

warnings: language

//

Sweet tea in the summer

Cross your heart, won't tell no other

And though I can't recall your face

I still got love for you

- Seven, Taylor Swift

//

“Can you bend your arms one last time, please?” Harry quickly angles his arms, holding them at chest height to show Marcus what he’s referring to.

He stands in front of Harry, dressed in his full Gaston outfit for the last fitting before opening night. The atelier has gone hectic again now that everyone’s gotten back from their lunch breaks, a mess of fabrics and papers taking over every surface in the room. There’s a low mesh of voices blending with Moyra’s playlist playing on a speaker that’s probably lost somewhere by now. Someone rushes across the room in a speed walk and almost bumps into Harry, muttering a quick apology before disappearing behind the doors leading to storage. 

As the week approached, Harry was warned by pretty much every single one of his coworkers about the chaos that it would be. After all, it’s the last week of rehearsals, and the first time the actors would get in characters with their full costumes. All arrangements have to be done by Saturday morning, is what Lisa said with her stern voice the previous Friday, with no space for wardrobe malfunctions. She meant it as a warning, but Harry took it as motivation, knowing he works better under stressful situations — which is not the healthiest working ethic, he admits, but it gets the job done.

On top of it all, your unprompted visit has surprisingly given him the boost he needed to finish up most of his work with an entire day to spare. 

It’s only been two days since you appeared on his front door with a Brit statuette and a promise to make up for the years lost in each other’s lives. Your suggestion to go out for a coffee quickly showed itself to be a bit more complicated than both of you thought it would; as neither of you expected the conflict in your schedules when making those plans. This was a busy week for Harry and an even busier opening weekend. The only time he’ll actually be able to catch a breather is by Monday, which, coincidentally, is the same day you’re catching a flight back to America.

Still, none of you seemed to want to wait another week to meet again. So he proposed to meet after his Friday shift. Which is why he spent the entirety of Thursday inside the costume studio, being the last one to leave just so he could wrap everything a few hours early to meet you back at his flat — by your request.

Even with a day cut short, however, there’s been barely enough time for him to focus on anything other than measurements and fittings. It’s a good thing when it comes to his nerves; the tight schedule giving him no space to let any butterfly drift on his belly. Without the anxiousness on the way and work to keep himself busy, it’s as if the clock has gone with a leap. He sewed back details that had fallen off an extra’s costume while swallowing back the salad he’d brought for lunch, made sure Lumiere’s candleholders were fixed in place, and that no feathers from Plumette would sweep around the stage. Now, after having to make an adjustment to Gaston’s shirt - thanks to an unexpected problem with the stitching - he’s finally able to allow his shoulders to relax a bit.

Marcus mimics the movement shown to him, keeping his arms still as Harry takes a step to examine the character’s signature red shirt with his fingers fiddling with the tip of the measuring tape hanging around his shoulders.

“Does it still feel tight around your chest?” Harry asks, noting how the stitching on the sides is not stretching anymore. “Or under your arms?”

“Nope,” Marcus answers with a pop, relaxing his arms back down when Harry turns to write something down. “Fits like a glove, mate.”

He clicks his pen down on the table. “Then we’re all good.” 

“So, I’m free to go?” He jumps down from the platform, loosening the black leather belt that’s fastened around his waist.

“You’re free to go,” Harry confirms after a double-check at the file sitting on the table, making sure there’s no other change that’s needed on his costume. “Just put everything back in the bag and hang it on the rack.”

“Yes, sir.” Marcus shifts with the curtains of the changing room before disappearing inside of it.

“And make sure the label is still stuck to it!” Harry calls over his shoulder, listening to the mumbled response before turning back to the files on his hands. 

While he waits for Marcus to return, he gathers everything he needs to leave. A quick look at his phone that was left forgotten on top of a roll of blue-dyed camel tells him it’s around four, meaning he’s just in time. Checking the pages he’s been focusing on, Harry walks to the rack, selecting the two bags carrying the costumes he still needs to make adjustments on, placing them carefully over his work table before making his way to fetch his backpack.

As soon as Marcus is out, he gives a double check to see if the label is still stuck to the bag he just hanged - not entirely trusting the cast’s attention to those details - before collecting his belongings and heading for the door. He bids his goodbyes on his way out, catching the attention of Alice, who’s standing on a platform near the door while Moyra works on the skirt of her yellow dress with a few pins placed between her lips.

“Going already, H?” She asks, her eyes big as she looks down at him.

He stops in his tracks with a hand on the door handle gnawing on his inner cheek as he turns to face her. 

As soon as he meets her gaze, he notices the subtle tinge of pink painting over her cheekbones. It’s something that Harry’s gotten used to by now when speaking with Alice. 

He could tell she was shy from the moment he got to meet the entire cast, always standing quietly to the side reading her script, keeping her chats restricted to the same two people (which is funny enough of a contrast with her stage persona, considering she has the main role). But with Harry, she’s always been especially timid, and it didn’t take too long for him to learn from Moyra that the girl had taken a fancy on him — if the blushing wasn’t a big indicator.

It’s sweet, he reckons. She’s lovely enough, from the limited amount of conversations they had, and Harry finds it that maybe if she opened up a bit it would be nice to get to know her. Julia’s the one that always pesters him about it, though urging for Harry to make a move from the moment he told her about the girl’s crush on him. She says his romantic side gets especially annoying when he’s lonely, and he knows she’s right, but would never admit it to her face. So he just brushes it off, saying he’ll take the time to talk to Alice.

Except now. Harry knows he’s on the clock if he wants to make it in time to meet you. The last thing he wants is for you to have to stand on the street because he got caught up in her mutters. 

So he keeps his grip on the handle, hoping it’s enough of a hint for the conversation to be cut short, as he motions his arm that holds the clothes’ bags at the crook of his elbow. “Yeah, I- Lisa let me work on these at home.”

“So you’re not having a drink with us tonight?” Alice rushes out, eyes darting up at him, and her blush gets a shade stronger. When her lips part again, her voice comes out a bit lower,  “It’s the last one before opening night, and you haven’t gone in a while...”

“Harry’s too cool to hang out with us.” Moyra barges in the conversation, glancing teasingly at Harry from over her shoulder as she takes the last pin from between her lips.

“Shut up, Mo.” He rolls her eyes slightly, grip tightening on the door as he prepares to leave.

Before he can do so, Alice speaks up, her eyes falling again to her fingers that poke at her nails. “You know, bringing work home sometimes can cause stress… And stuff.” She peeks up at Harry, shrugging slightly. “I read about it somewhere, anyway.”

“I think I’ll be fine, really, but thanks.” Turning the knob, he cracks open the door.  “Just got something today.”

Moyra doesn’t waste a second before blurting, “A date.”

“Don’t.” He warns with a sigh. “I’m seeing an old friend.”

“That’s nice.” Alice nods.

“Yeah.” He takes a step out, being painfully aware of how he’s a second away from being late. “Uhm, I gotta get going then.”

The girl looks up at him fully then, giving a small wave. “See you tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow, yeah, for sure.” He calls over his shoulder as he’s out the door.

The tube’s just starting to get filled again with people like Harry, who are likely on their journey back home. Shoulders tense and frowns scrunching their faces, they barely pay any mind to him as he finds a spot opposite to the exit doors — preferring to stay closer to them as to get off quicker. He leans against one of the many metal rails that outline the inside of the train car, his vans bouncing nervously as he adjusts the bags at the crook of his elbow, feeling as if today it’s traveling slower than usual. 

Picking up his phone to check the time once again, he’s met with a text. It’s not from you, as he’d hoped, but from Julia. A picture of her and Blake, faces squished together as they force a smile a bit too big for the camera, their hairs meshing together in a mix - Julia’s darker curls tangling with Blake’s shorter blonde locks - and Harry can just about make out the outline of a bright orange sofa from Blake’s living room behind them. The message that reads under it is short, yet playfully demanding.

Juls: impromptu movie night!!! bring chocolate!!!

He smiles down at the screen, but it quickly turns into a frown as he realizes that he won’t be able to make it. Biting down his bottom lip, his thumb hovers above the keyboard, not sure how to respond. There’s not a chance he can fully tell the truth to her, not over text. Even if he brushes over it, he knows his friend, and how nosy she can be sometimes — which has never bothered him before until he found himself in this position. He contemplates lying. A white one, there is. Just say he got caught up with work or something along those lies. Something he knows she’d understand. But the simple thought of it makes him feel guilty; as if he’s leaving her out.

So, he opts for the ladder, pushing the responsibility for his future self to deal with the interrogation afterwards when he sees her again. Maybe if he finishes the tv show she’s been nagging him to watch in time, it’ll be enough of a distraction so she won’t ask him many questions. His answer comes a bit slower than usual — not only due to his internal battle but also for finding it a bit tricky to type with one hand. By the time he clicks the send button, Julia has already sent enough interrogation points to cover half of the screen.

Can’t tonighttt got something...

Juls: what’s something

I’ll tell you later, send Blake a hug for me.

Juls: no :(

With a chuckle, he pockets his phone,  noticing he’s just a couple of steps away from his own. Once he’s out of the station, just a couple blocks away from his building, the bundle of nerves he’s been avoiding all day sweeps in. They’re not overwhelming, they don’t make his chest tighten or his palms sweat, no. They’re the nerves that give him a spring to his step, that make him take deeper breaths, and that speed his heart just the tiniest bit.

It’s a strange feeling to be going home with the sky still shining a clear blue, instead of the purple-pink that comes just before the sun hugs the horizon. A cloudless day. Thanks to the previous streak of rainfalls that washed away the angry greys. The colors painting his surroundings seem somehow more vibrant, more welcoming. The greens of the trees greet him with a gentle breeze. The maroons of the bricked buildings warm under the sunlight. Even the yellow and the pink of his dirty vans feel a bit brighter as he strolls around the corner of his block.

It’s almost like it matches the way he feels. And Harry knows that from now on, with spring at its peak and summer becoming more present, the weather is bound to become even more pleasant. He hopes it’s some sort of sign. Maybe the universe is getting gentler with him. He’d like to think that.

Part of him still dwells on the feeling the slightest bit, finding a strange sort of uncertainty over how quickly you’ve got at the palm of your hand again. He barely got any sleep after you left his house just thinking about it, actually. There’s no denying that your presence again has brought back the fondest memories of his teenage years. Ones he tried too hard to bury as to ease the ache in his heart that came with them for a long time. But now, having you back, it’s as if they’ve taken almost a hopeful feeling. The reminders of how close you used to be came crashing into him like a wave, enveloping him. That was the first time he ever opened up so fully to someone, after all. And that comfort of having someone that knows him better than he knows himself is something he craves so deeply within himself that, as soon as even the slimmest possibility of having it once again presented itself, he grasped it so quickly that now he’s afraid he’s letting himself dive too deep.

He’s so inside of his head, thoughts rushing inside his mind, that he almost glances over you when he finally approaches his building. 

Paying little to no mind to your cream trousers as you kneel on the sidewalk, a paper bag propped under your arm and a disposable cup holder in your hand hugging two paper cups, you focus on a collie that’s enjoying your hand caressing the fur down its neck. A gold pendant from your necklace reflects the weak rays of sunlight, glowing in a contrast with the black of the short-sleeved turtleneck you’re wearing, tucked under your trousers. 

It’s only when he lets his eyes focus on the company you have that he immediately recognizes the pup, as well as the older lady holding the leash while smiling down at you interacting with her pet.  

Margaret is one of the oldest residents of the building, taking a permanent spot at the very first apartment on the first floor. She was the first neighbor he got to meet, bringing him homemade jelly tarts on his first weekend at his apartment. They chatted for an afternoon and, after admitting he’s not the best cook, she vowed to bring him some of her dishes every time she could. And true to her world, around twice a week she knocks on his door with a warm trail and a sweet smile. Harry likes to visit her as often as he can, knowing she lost her husband a few years before he moved, and has no children to keep her company — that is, apart from her collie, Duchess.

“Harry!” Margaret is the first to acknowledge him with a grin, her voice causing your head to snap up from where you kneel. “You’re early today, my love.”

“Actually, I’m a bit late.” He chuckles, glancing at where you’re standing up while sweeping your trousers. “Sorry about that.”

“Oh! No worries, I just got here.” You brush it off, finding a place next to him before gazing back at Margaret. The older lady attempts to look discreetly between the two of you, brows arched, and Harry knows from the look in her eyes he’ll probably have to face another interrogation later on. Though, in this case, he’s sure she’s oblivious of your public image. “And, thankfully, I bumped into these lovely ladies who kept me company.”

“Stop that! You’re a very lovely lady yourself, darling.” Margaret reaches for Harry’s wrist as she smiles at you, giving it a squeeze, and he quickly nods, agreeing with her. She looks up at him, lips tight in a grin that’s enough for him to realize her assumptions about why you’re here, and, from the way you’re holding back a laugh yourself, he’s sure you’ve noticed, too. He clears his throat, gazing down at his shoes, trying to cover up the warmth that creeps up his neck, and that seems to be enough for Margaret to take a hint, letting his wrist go with another gentle squeeze. “I’ll leave you two be, Duchess and I still have to grab groceries before it gets dark.”

Harry scratches his nose in a nervous tick. “‘Ave a good day, Marg.”

“You too, Lovie.” She gives his hip a soft pinch before turning to you. “It was lovely meeting you.”

“Right back at you!” You answer excitedly, waving back as the older lady starts her stroll. “Have a nice walk! Bye, Duchess.”

For a second, you quietly watch the duo walk further away from where you stand. A faint hum of car engines can be heard, being cut only by the high-pitched voices of two children, seeming not much older than ten, as they appear at the other side of the street. The peek over your shoulder is quick before you turn your back to them, turning fully to Harry with a slight smile tugging at the side of your lips. 

He clears his throat again, adjusting the bags he’s still holding. “Hi.” 

“Hey.” You answer in a beat, nodding towards him. “Your hair is down.”

“It is, yeah.” His voice comes lower than he intended, the warmth still present on his cheeks, and he quickly motions towards the front door. While fiddling with the side pocket of his backpack in search of his keys, he picks up as you lean into the bricked wall next to the entrance.

“It looks great, really! Wasn’t expecting it to be this long.”

“Yea, I- Thanks.” He shoots you a look once he fetches the keys. “Have been growing it out for a few months now.”

You give him a knowing hum. “Any reason for it?”

The click of your boots against the wooden steps echoes around the narrow walls of the building’s staircase. Harry leads the way up, climbing the steps in a bit of an awkward position as he tries to look back at you.“Uh, not really, no.”  He shrugs. “Just having fun with it, I guess.”

“That’s how it’s supposed to be!” You exclaim. “It really compliments you, I mean it.”

“Thank you.” He rubs his nose, coming to a stop as both of you reach his front door. “You- Uh, I- You look very nice, as well.”

“Oh!” You look down at your outfit with a chuckle. “I rarely go around this fancy, but I had a meeting today.” You brush it off. “Which is also not an excuse for me to dress up but I didn’t know most people there so I had to make a good impression, or whatever.”

A dimple pokes at his cheek as you ramble, a habit you seem to haven’t lost. He unlocks the door with ease, pushing it in and motioning for you to walk in. “‘S nice, very pretty, I- I mean, your trousers are very pretty.”

Your smile grows as you support yourself on the wall while toeing off your shoes. If you notice the blush on his cheeks, you don’t mention it. “Thank you! Means a lot coming from you, you know?”

“Yeah?”

“Well, you’re the fashion student, after all.” He’s not sure why your answer comes in a bit of a letdown, almost as if he was expecting you to say something else. “By the way, I got us some goodies on the way. Didn’t know how you like your coffee, so I just took a wild guess. Here, try it— If you don’t like it you can have mine, it’s a cappuccino, very sweet.” You worry your bottom lip between your teeth, watching for his reaction as he sips on the hot beverage. “So...?”

“It’s perfect.” He takes another small sip of the cup you handed to him, trying not to make a face at the slightly bitter taste that comes with it (he’s still not the biggest coffee fan, if he’s honest). He makes his way to lay the bags that now have slid down his elbow at the arm of the couch. Noticing you’re still standing awkwardly by the front door looking around, he points at the counter next to him, quickly sweeping his arm over it to brush the stack of papers to the side.  “You can set everything in here, please feel at home.”

This is the first time you properly get to have a look around his place, which is weird enough of a concept when you take into consideration it’s not the first time you’ve come here (and the flash memory of that night alone is enough for you to fight back a cringe). You recall the path to your right leading towards the bathroom where you spent an hour sitting inside his bathtub before having to answer a not-very-pleased Sonia calling your phone. The rest of the place, however, is a bit of a blur in your memory, so you take this moment to take in his home.

Surely, the space itself is quite modest, but it doesn’t mean there’s not a lot to take in. From your position across from him, the island separating the two of you, you can still scan most of his living room. 

You like that it’s not completely tidy (those sorts of crystal clean homes always freak you out a bit). Upon a first glance, it’s clearly the residence of an undergrad. A couple textbooks pile on top of a center table. A shut laptop sitting next to the cushions on the navy blue couch. Even a few houseplants amongst picture frames spread on shelves and stands. It’s cute, you think, but you barely sweep your eyes over those details.

What calls your attention are the glimpses of the life you’ve missed on. It’s the magazines decorated with sticky notes. It’s the rolls of fabric peeking out from the couch arm. It’s a box of yarn tucked in the far corner, on top of other boxes that are shut closed. Those details seem to have replaced his canvases and paint sets. It makes you wonder if he still keeps them hidden somewhere. If there’s still anything left of the life he had the last time you saw him. 

Oddly enough, you smile at the thought. Somehow glad that he found his passion, even if you weren’t there to support him through it. And it brings you back to why you’re here in the first place. Make up for the lost time.

“Thank you for agreeing to do this here.” You speak up as you focus back on taking the sweets you so carefully picked out from inside the bag (you weren’t entirely sure of his dessert preferences now, which caused the slightest rise of panic as you tried to decide on what to pick from the vast array of options). “I know it’s weird to ask you to, like, have me at your house instead of just meeting at a cafe, but the one I usually go to is closed for renovations and I get a bit wary at, uh, public places.”

“It’s alright, I don’t mind having you here.” A small grin tugs at his lips, and it’s hard for you to ignore the warmth that comes to you with it. 

You clap your hands together, gazing around quickly before focusing back on him. “So! I finally get to properly see your place— sorry about that the other night, by the way, I don’t know what I was thinking.”

He chuckles. “It’s really okay, like I said, don’t mind having you here.” He repeats, clearing his throat. “It’s, uh, not that big but-”

“I love it, seems so cozy.” You interrupt before he can go on any further, hating the way he feels the need to apologize to you for something like the size of his home. “And it’s a perfect place to have just for yourself.”

“Actually, I-” His lips stay apart for half a second before he continues, blurting the next words out as if it’s a confession, “I have a flatmate.”

“Oh!” You blink in surprise, taking a second to process the information. 

Of course he does. Why did you even think otherwise? Most people share flats these days. Despite that, the possibility of him living with someone didn’t even cross your mind. It’s hard to ignore when it comes to you the riskiness of it. Whoever this flatmate is, you don’t know them, and the possibility of them spilling anything makes you a tad uneasy. It could easily ruin any possibility of a friendship with Harry before you can even get close to him again. 

There’s a wave of anxiety that hits you with the prospect of being the cause of his face printed on the cover of money-hungry tabloids, but, before you get deeper in your own nerves than you already have, you sum what’s left of composure within you to ask,  “Do they... Have you told them about-- well, me?”

He tears up a piece of banana bread, picking at it as he shakes his head, clearly unaware of your change in moods. “Not, really. She’s at her girlfriend’s for the week, so I haven’t been able to see her.”

You try to hide the way your eyes widen the slightest bit with the information that said flatmate is a she. “Is she a fashion student as well?”

“No, she’s a journalist. She works— well, interns for a music magazine, actually.”

Of course she’s a fucking journalist. When you think it couldn’t get any worse. “Anything that would ring a bell?”

“I don’t think so, they’re quite small.” He shrugs, sipping at his coffee.  “Don’t even have an office, they do most of the work online.”

“That’s interesting.” You nod, nails picking at a few crumbs dotted around the counter. Scrunching your lips, you try to consider how to word what you’re about to say. Knowing this conversation would have to be brought up eventually doesn’t make it any less awkward for you to have it. You peek up at him from under your lashes, only to find his oblivious state as he smiles back at you. “Harry… Can I ask you for a favour?” 

“Course.”

Inhaling deeply, you attempt not to let your voice come out as calculated as the words that roll out of your lips are. “Could you… Just for a bit, not mention anything about me to her?”

Harry’s expression falls to a frown. “What do you mean?”

“Just--” You pause, resting your cup down before turning to face him fully. “Just for a little while, I-- You have to understand that I would like to be a bit more private… About us?”

“Us?”

“Our friendship… I-” There it is again, the gust of panic. It makes you spit out the words before you can even process them,  “I wouldn’t want any headlines.” 

This only seems to worsen everything it seems, as Harry sits back on his stool, putting more space between you two. He shakes his head, “Julia would never do that.”

“I’m sure she wouldn't!” You rush, attempting to fix it. “It’s just… She could mention it to someone, and-- I don’t know, these things get out of hand really fast.” 

“So you want me to lie to her?”

“Not lie.” You chew at your bottom lip, sure that you’re a word away from getting kicked out. “Just, not to mention it… Just for a little while, it’s not like it can be a secret forever.”

“Right.” He slowly starts to nod, falling quiet for a beat too long. “Sure, yeah, okay.”

You exhale in relief, softening your expression. “Thank you.”

A silence falls between the two of you and, for the first time since your reconnection, it’s not much of a comfortable one. You have to swallow back the guilt that threatens to take over, knowing the awkwardness is mainly your fault for dealing with your request in such an awful way. Of course, you would have to have the privacy talk with Harry eventually, ideally being sooner rather than later. But asking him to lie and insinuating that his friend could use you to sell her magazine is most certainly the worst way you could’ve chosen to go about it. And there’s nothing to stop yourself from feeling completely stupid while picking at the brownie in front of you.

There’s a part of you, one that comes a bit louder now, that ponders if even bother continuing this in the first place; if it wouldn’t be better to spare him the burden that the simple association with you will bring into his life. You know it would be easier, better for him even, if you just collect your stuff now and walk out the door to never contact him again. If you excused this meeting as a lapse of rationality on your part. And just like that, you could let him go on with his regular life, having to come to terms with him painting a picture of you as another arrogant celebrity that just toyed with him for a bit before she got bored. It would hurt, sure, but this part of you tries to reason that it’s the best you could do for him.

Another part, though, a more selfish one that is, can’t bear the thought of standing up from your stool and just simply turn your back to this as if it never happened. No, you can’t bring yourself to do that. Not when meeting Harry again has brought you a sense of comfort you hadn’t even realized you’ve been lacking for months now. Not when he feels like the only person who doesn’t have an image of you shadowed by this big bright monster of fame — one that calls everyone’s attention before they can even take a proper look at you. You know he doesn’t need that, because of all the versions you present of yourself, he’s one of the few people that know which is the real one. 

This part of you makes you act thoughtlessly, letting your emotions speak louder than your brain. It makes you want to follow the immediate sense of relief that comes in knowing there’s no need to change anything to fit an imaginary narrative someone has made of you. There’s no need to do that with Harry. You’re so desperate to keep that ease that comes with being in his presence, that any thought of how it’ll eventually come crashing down on you is pushed to the back of your mind.

Worrying your lip between your teeth, you risk a glance up at him. To your relief, there’s not a crease between his brows like you expected. He doesn’t seem upset about your question anymore, his shoulders relaxed while he focuses on tearing a piece of the banana bread and shoving it into his mouth. The realization makes you straighten your posture, a sudden rush of determination flushing through your body. You’ve come here to get to know him again, and you’re not letting a poor start weigh you down. And, as your gaze falls to the costume bags lying across the couch arm behind him, an inquiry that has been floating through your mind comes back to you.

“So…” You clear your throat, leaning your elbow to rest on top of the counter as you rest your chin on your palm. Harry’s eyes shoot up at you, and you grin a bit as you point to the spot behind him. “Are you going to tell me a bit about that?”

His brows frown for a second as he looks back, finding the bags that called your attention from the moment you saw him on the sidewalk.  “What would you like to know?”

“Well, last time we spoke you were talking about working in a gallery.” You circle your cup in your hand, bringing it up to your lips but not yet taking a sip.  “And now, I have the information that you dropped out just a wee after; how did that happen?”

"It took a while for it to happen, actually.”  He crosses his arms on top of the counter, leaning in slightly. “Dunno if you remember but, uhm… This might be a bit awkward.”

Your brows raise towards your hairline, his words only enhancing your curiosity. “It’s okay, whatever you feel comfortable sharing.”

“I don’t mind it, just- well, after we broke up,” He starts, clearing his throat as his gaze searches for yours, eyes flickering between your own in search of a reaction. He was right. This is awkward. You try to remain a calm expression, nodding in encouragement for him to continue — although you want nothing more than to flinch at the words. “I was, uh, well, sad.” He lets out a quick chuckle. “A friend of mine- James, dunno if you remember them- they recommended a knitting group class kinda thing that they were in every Wednesday, told me it was quite therapeutic and calming, and stuff.”

“That’s cute.” You comment, trying to brush off the way your chest tightens at the brief mention of his feelings post-breakup, knowing how hard it was for both of you.

He smiles at you before continuing, “Got the hang of it pretty fast, actually. James was right being therapeutic. After a bit, I started going twice a week.” He reaches to brush his fingers over a napkin. You watch as his fingertips slide gently along its edge. “The lady that taught it, Laura- you’d ‘ve loved her, used to bake us biscuits every week. She had graduated in fashion, actually owned a boutique for a good fifty years.”

“Holy shit,” Your lips part in awe. “Can you imagine doing something for that long?”

“‘S exactly what got me thinking.” He peeks up at you, lips twitching up. “Around that time I was so confused about what to do with an art degree, and I realized it wasn’t really something I saw myself doing for decades on end.” 

Understanding, you give him a warm smile, toying with the lid of your cup as to not reach for his hand. Even though you weren’t around anymore at the time the events he’s describing took place, you still remember how confused he was right from the start. Harry’s always had an artist in him, and that’s something that wasn’t hard for anyone to see, but it was clear then how he wasn’t completely satisfied with his path. Back then, before you two parted ways, you recall thinking he was still adjusting with uni, and that eventually, he’d find his passion within the arts. It never occurred to you he might not be in the field he loved, after all. 

Looking back at it now, it makes sense.

“Laura helped me a lot during that time. She was the one that even introduced fashion as a possibility for me, we would talk for hours.” It’s hard to miss the fond smile that tugs his lips at the memory. “She even started inviting me for a cuppa outside of class hours, answer all my questions- even the stupid ones, she was really patient. Was almost like a mentor of sorts.” 

“She sounds like an awesome human.” Your voice is gentle, admiring how the words come out of him with an admiration that makes you warm all over.

“She was.” His eyes fall to his hands. Your expression softens, suddenly noticing how he’s been using the past tense when talking about her. “She told me once that sometimes making a career out of a hobby is not always the way to go, you know? Takes away the fun of it if you feel obligated to do it. It was then when I decided to switch.”

“Were you scared?” 

“Terrified.” You two laugh. “I was choosing a path that I’d never even considered before. It was so new, I was so scared I wasn’t making the right decision. It scared me that maybe fashion wasn’t also my thing, you know? Cause if it wasn’t, then what?”

“I get that.” You risk resting your hand next to his, sticking your pinky out to brush against his. He quickly interlaced them, smiling down at the gesture. “I’m glad it worked out, and you found something you’re passionate about.”

“Me too.” He replies, mimicking your position as he brings the hand that’s not enlaced with yours to rest under his cheek.

You smile, and he smiles, too.  

//

“Why can’t we just stay in tonight?”

The question leaves your lips in almost an annoyed huff. The third one in the last five minutes. Aya doesn’t spare you a glance this time, her eyes focusing solely on sweeping the white eyeliner over her eyelid as she finishes the last few touches of her makeup.

Her apartment is lit up with a golden glow, the lights having been lowered and the flame of a couple of green lavender candles helping set the relaxing energy of the room. It’s the primary reason you love staying at Aya’s; her place is always cozy, no matter which house of hers you’re in (even though you have a softer spot for her New York apartment). And it helps to have company, since your place has been uneasily empty lately. 

The original plan was simple: make dinner while catching up with the last Game of Thrones season. You’ve been looking forward to it all week. After days of hopping from long meetings to recording sessions, only to go home to your cold bed, reuniting with Aya was the one thing that kept you from catching the first flight back to London as soon as your errands were dealt with. So, it’s hard not to express your disappointment about having to attend some dinner party a good thirty minutes away from her warm apartment.

The thing is, the suggestion didn’t even come from Aya, but rather a surprise guest you weren’t even expecting to be here at the same time as you, Claire. 

And it’s not like you don’t like Claire, you do, well, you try to, which is the best you can do for now. She's been friends with Aya for a couple of months and, with Aya, it’s not that hard to become friends with her, if you’re honest. So you never really bother to keep track of the ones that come and go as quick as the pendulum of a clock. It’s something you’ve grown used to with the years of friendship. But unlike most of them, Claire seems to have stuck like an annoying piece of gum at the bottom of your boots.

In reality, you know it’s unfair to her to be annoyed when she’s really done nothing wrong. The sole reason for you two not mashing that well is more of a conflict in personalities than anything else. Usually, you manage to ignore that in order to keep at least somewhat of a friendly relationship with her during nights out -- more for Aya’s sake than yours. And sometimes you even enjoy her presence! When she’s not surrounded by big groups of people  (rare) and doesn’t feel the need to be obnoxiously loud for no reason, at those times when it’s just the three of you, she’s actually quite nice to talk to.

But now, you honestly wish you could glue her lips together and quite literally kick her out the front door. As she rushes around the place, - from the walk-in closet to the bathroom to the bedroom and so on - her voice so loud in attempts to speak over the playlist she put on just over two hours ago. The mesh of noises is so much you’d be sure no one heard your complaint if it wasn’t for Aya’s reply just a minute later.

“We stay in every day.” You watch as she bends over the sink, getting closer to the mirrored wall as she applies her lipstick carefully. With a smack of her lips, her eyes meet yours in the reflection. “I think it’d be good for you to go out.”

“Just two months ago you were complaining about how much I go out, and now you complain that I don’t go out enough?” You arch your brows, fully aware of how whiny you sound.

“Well, not my fault you don’t know how to balance your social life.” She focuses back on herself, opening a product you can’t make out what it is and tapping it against her cheekbones. “It’s either going out every single day to the point of no sleep or becoming a hermit inside your house.”

You pout. “I’m working, you know tha-”

“It’s cause she only goes out with her LA friends now, Meme.” Claire blurts out as she appears from inside the closet, holding one of Aya’s transparent coats. You keep a straight face as you turn to look at her, trying not to cringe with her nickname for Aya. She seems oblivious of your annoyance, though, making her way to lean on the archway leading to where Aya’s finishing getting ready. “Now it’s all about Dora and - what’s his name?”

Aya interrupts before you have the chance to bite back, “It’s not even that, C, think she’s found something more interesting keeping her in London.” 

The smirk she shoots you from over her shoulder makes you avert your eyes, a blush creeping up your neck, warming all the way to the tip of your ears. The knowing look on her face could almost make you entirely flustered, as if she knows exactly the reason you’ve been so comfortable staying in London by yourself — especially now that the sole thought of being alone sends a tight grip to your chest. But you know there’s no reason for you to be nervous about it. You haven’t told a single person about your reconnection with Harry yet, somehow feeling an odd sort of protectiveness over it. And you’re not sure why this new flame of happiness still feels so fragile to you, so delicate, that a simple, outspoken word to the wrong person could take it away from you. 

And oh, how scared you are of it being taken away as quickly as it came to you.

So you’ve kept it within your grasp for as long as you can. Away from prying eyes and greedy hands. It’s the one thing that you have now that feels just yours, the one part of you that no one else knows about. That’s the sole reason you even asked him to keep it a secret in the first place.

Still, that doesn’t mean that people around haven’t noticed the sudden change in you — as small as you thought it was, it surely didn’t go unnoticed by those that know you so well. Sonia was the first to mention it. When you couldn’t keep yourself from checking your phone every five minutes during a studio session, she had teased you about it. You brushed it off, and she made no more comments about it, thankfully. But you didn’t miss the looks she gave you every time you excused yourself to make a phone call.

With Aya, though, you know it won’t be as easy to get her to disregard your behavior. You hoped she hadn’t caught on when earlier in the afternoon she nudged you about being all smiley while reading a text (Harry had just sent you a picture of Duchess wearing a knitted vest he’d made for her and you had it open when Aya peeked from over your shoulder to see what you were looking at, so you just said it was a message from your sister before quickly locking the screen). 

However, after her comment, you’re sure she’s clearly aware that something’s up. And, knowing Aya, you’re aware she won’t drop this subject until you tell her exactly what it is that’s keeping you in London. Before she has the chance to poke further, you’re saved by none other than Claire, who did not pick up on Aya’s grin shot towards you. Barely registering the meaning behind her words at all, actually, as she makes her way to sit at the foot of the bed. “Well, whatever it is, I think I might have something to keep you here with us.”

Thankfully, Aya drops the subject, only widening her eyes slightly at you, almost in a warning at what’s coming. “Here it comes.”

You frown, glancing from your friend that stands opposite you to the girl that’s scooping closer to where your legs rest. “What do you mean?”

“I know you’re still having a hard time after Noah.” The words spill from her lips and you almost choke on your own saliva at her bluntness. There was a sort of silent agreement between you and Aya about not mentioning your ex by name. So hearing it being outspoken without expecting it surely comes in a bit of a shock. But Claire still seems oblivious of it, only reaching to grip right under your knee in what’s supposed to be a reassuring gesture, you guess. “But it’s been so long now! Maybe you need a little push with, like, getting over him.”

“A push.” It’s hard to keep the affronting expression that tugs down your lips.

“Someone.” A squeeze to your knee. You want to push it off. “There’s this guy-”

That’s it. You close your eyes with a deep breath. “Claire-”

“Before you say no, listen to me!” She holds out her hands, in a habit of gesturing her words when she explains herself. “There’s this guy, okay? He works with my brother at NYT and I met him a couple of times, and- Just listen! The whole time we were talking, I could only think of you! I was like ‘oh my god, she’s gonna love him’ cause he’s totally your type!”

You scoff, glancing over at Aya who’s clearly trying to keep herself occupied. “Is this why you’re dragging me out tonight?”

Her deer-in-the-headlights eyes meet yours in the reflection. “Hey, I have nothing to do with Mr. Perfect here. As I said, I just think it’d be good for you to go out.”

“Just meet him, okay? You don’t have to go out on a date or anything just-” Claire brings your attention back to herself. “Just talk for a bit, see if you click. I think it’ll be good.” Her voice gets softer, shoulder dropping. “I’m just trying to help.”

There’s not an ounce of you that wants to engage in any sort of small-talk filled conversation, having close to no patience in getting to know someone new at this moment of your life. The prospect of having to sit and pretend whatever this man is going to tell you about himself interests you for god knows how long is enough to make you want to swim all the way back to England in your stilettos. But it’s clear that Claire’s intentions with this are far from malicious in any way, and you can’t help but feel bad for lashing out at her. So you just sigh, letting the words fall from your lips before you think about it enough to regret them,  “Okay.”

Her face lights up. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, sure, I’ll chat with him.”

She squeals. “You’ll love him! I’m telling you-”

“Claire,” You interrupt before she can get ahead of herself. “You sound like you’re envisioning a wedding already. I agreed to chat. That's it.”

“Chat. Okay, it’s a start.” She nods, a smile too big for her face before squealing again, throwing a look over her shoulder. “Right, Meme? Don’t you think it’ll be good for her?”

“Please, I’m just the audience in this conversation.” She calls back, turning to face you after a second to motion to the coat sitting on Claire’s lap. “Is this the coat you chose?”

Claire jumps from her spot in the bed at the mention of it. “Yes! What do you think? Wait- I’ll try it on, see if you can still notice the pink details on my dress.”

The girl bolts towards the walk-in closet where there are larger mirrors she can see herself better on and, just as she turns her back, Aya shoots you a wink before following her. 

You relax back into the arrangement of pillows, another sigh leaving your lips as it comes to you what you’ve just agreed on. Sometimes you wish you weren’t so easily persuaded by a pair of puppy eyes, knowing the consequences of it almost always have to do with you doing something you’re not too comfortable with. Your eyes shut close and you have to refrain from rubbing your face as not to ruin the makeup Aya applied so carefully. The night has barely started and you already feel exhausted mentally. Not wanting to dwell on it further, you make a mental note to yourself: learn how to say no.

Turning your face, you pick up the phone that was left forgotten next to you during the chat with Claire. To your surprise, the screen lights up showing a text from Harry received just about five minutes ago. You try not to sit up too suddenly, as not to call attention to yourself, while you swipe your thumb over the screen to open the message. 

A smile tugs on your lips before you can even read what it says, simply reacting to the picture attached to it. The first thing you notice is his hair, poking out of his head in a messy mesh resembling somewhat of a mane. You bite back a giggle at the thought. His face is lit up, mouth parted in an open smile as he gives a thumb up to the camera. You take a moment too long looking at his face until you realize what the picture is meant to show. You. Next to him, on the screen of his telly, grinning with the blue sunglasses you wore to the music video shoot.

The text under it is short, but it causes the most beautiful flowers to bloom under your chest.

H: Found this cutie while browsing todayy

H: Looks familiar? ;)

//

“That’s definitely too much.”

You glanced back at Harry as your eyebrows shot towards your hairline, challenging. His own face mimicked your expression, peeking down at the cup of flour in your hands before meeting your eyes again. With his locks being pulled up with your hair tie, it’s hard to take him seriously after you’d teased him about resembling a sprout when he first walked into the kitchen, ignoring his protests to playfully sweep the tiny bouquet of curls with your finger.

“How many times do I have to tell you, this is the exact amount?” You replied, trying to keep a straight face.

“How do you know? You’re not even measuring it!”

“It’s a muffin, Harry, how difficult can it be?” You rolled your eyes in feign annoyance, turning the cup into the mixing bowl before he could protest it. “I can do it by eye just fine.”

“This is chaotic.” He scrunched his nose, shaking his head in disbelief at the cloud of flour that floated through the air at how abruptly you threw it. “Making a bloody mess, you are.”

“Yeah, yeah, now tell me what’s next.”

He exhaled a chuckle, secretly enjoying your antics, before turning to check the open recipe book that sat on the counter. His finger followed the words written in instructions, and you observed with amusement the crease forming on his face as he attempted to decipher your nan’s handwriting. It took him a second before he clicked his tongue, “We should’ve mixed the wet ingredients first.”

“Does it make a difference?” You bit back a smile, knowing your words would get a reaction out of him.

And, as you predicted, Harry’s face turned into an appalled expression. “Does it make a difference?” He repeated your question, astounded. “Of course it makes a difference!”

You giggled, reaching for the milk carton. “I’m sure the muffins will be fine if I put in the milk after the flour, they won’t even notice.”

“Christ,” He shook his head again, a few curls falling loose against his forehead with the motion. “Baking with you is going to make me go gray by the time I reach my twenties.”

This time you let out a full laugh, mouth falling open in fake offense. “You’re so dramatic!”

Harry smiled, then, both dimples poking deeply into his cheeks as he reached to take the carton from your hands. You two finished mixing the batter, taking a bit too long to get it inside the oven as you enjoyed pestering Harry in the process a bit too much. Every so often someone walked into the kitchen to pick up some drinks or leave dirty dishes by the sink, checking in on the both of you with that smile adults always give you when you’re with Harry (usually followed by some corny joke about young love that made you roll your eyes).

It was the day of one of the barbecue parties your parents always threw at the beginning of summer break. They would invite their closest circle of friends to spend the day in your back garden, usually followed by a ‘luau’ (as your dad called it, even though it was definitely not a luau) once your parents got tipsy enough to bring out the guitars and light up a fire. 

When everyone was a tad lethargic from lunch, relaxing back into their chairs as the sun felt hotter as it shone proudly on the cloudless sky, you had the idea of baking your nan’s recipe of blueberry muffins.

Usually, the tradition of baking a dessert to be freshly served in the afternoon was left to your mum and sister -- who was almost passing the age in which she wanted to have a hand in everything to call attention to herself. But you were faster this time, volunteering to do the task, and dragging Harry with you, as you were eager to have some time alone with him without having someone interrupting to ask him yet another football question that left you bored out of your mind.

So, you take advantage of having the kitchen to yourselves, bumping your hips against his as you two swept the counter quietly, cleaning the mess you’d made earlier. Your aunt had just left the kitchen after making one of those comments regarding marriage that are meant solely to embarrass both of you, and a faint blush was still visible on his cheeks. It made you want nothing more than to reach up and press your lips to them, only to feel the spot of his dimple deepening with a smile.

The air was smelling sweeter when you threw the dirty cloth inside the sink, leaning back into the island as you watched Harry crouch to peek inside the oven. You couldn’t help the grin as you noticed the muffins spilling out of their cases as expected. 

“Told you it would work out.”

“I don’t know how you do it.” He stood, resting a hand on the counter next to you, leaning into it. “Do absolutely everything wrong but still manage to make it work.”

“Hey!” You giggled, pushing him softly with your hand as you dragged out the word. “I did absolutely everything right just… In my own way.”

“Yeah?” His finger twirled on the hook of your jeans, pulling at it as he moved to stand in front of you, keeping a hand resting on the counter next to your waist. “The world bends its rules for you, it seems.” Pressing a peck at the corner of your mouth, he mumbled, lips close enough that you could feel every word caressing your skin, “Don’t blame it, though.”

You chuckled. “Oh? Do you bend your rules for me too?”

“Of course,” His nose tickled the apple of your cheek, causing you to shrug your shoulder slightly. You felt his warm breath as he exhaled a laugh, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek. “Would never let anyone else butcher a batch of muffins in my presence like you just did.”

“Harry!” You cried out, shoving him off playfully. “I’m never baking for you ever again, you can starve during lunch from now on, see if I care.”

He laughed again, leaning down to bite the tip of your nose before you quickly tried to push him away. “Stop, baby, you know I’m just joking.”

“Too late now, you already lost your dessert privilege.”

“Ouch.” Harry pouted, attempting to pull his puppy eyes to get you to budge, but you simply raised your brows at him, chewing your inner cheek to prevent a smile from growing on your face. He started to lean down to press his lips on yours but he could barely move before the doors leading outside slid open again, startling both of you, causing Harry to quickly step back.

Your sister’s face peeked up curiously from her spot at the door frame, a juvenile smile teasing at her lips at the scene she’d just interrupted.

“What do you want, Ly?”

Lyla shot you a condescending look from your harsh tone, “I’m not here for you, dumb face.” She took out her tongue, and you rolled your eyes — sometimes she’s too much of a thirteen-year-old. “Auntie Sue said you were done and Harry promised to help me with a project.”

“A project?” You raised your brows, glancing at the boy next to you who was already adorning a guilty smile on his face.

“I did promise that.”

“It’s a secret project!” Lyla’s voice raised to a higher pitch.

“Okay, then.” You sighed, looking between the two of them before setting your eyes on Harry again. The pout is clear in your voice as you speak up,

“Seems like your presence is being required.” You nod towards Harry’s vibrating phone that sits on top of the table behind the two of you.

“Oops, sorry.” He shoots you a guilty smile before reaching over his shoulder for the device.

You avert your eyes as he glances down at the screen, focusing on the sunrays that peek from between the leaves of your green fence, painting the tips of the grass gold. It’s been just over a month since your first coffee date (you only call it that for lack of a better word) and, with summer just around the corner, the days are beginning to stretch longer. The sun is still bright and proud as the afternoon meets the evening. There’s a warmth that’s not yet too insufferable, but more like welcomed after months of endless drizzle and sharp winds. 

It’s perfectly fitting for a nice lazy day like this one. 

This is the first time you got to properly have him around for the day. Despite Harry having wrapped his term just about a week ago and your agenda keeping you in London for the next few months, both your schedules only seem to have gotten tighter. You spend most of your time during the week inside the recording studio — the sessions dragging into the evening hours more often than not, as you find yourself too caught up with them. Meanwhile, Harry’s back to working his regular working hours now that Act One has officially started working on the productions for the summer season.

Surprisingly, though, you fell into a routine of sorts quite easily. You still chat every day, not limiting your communication to texting alone (though you still love receiving Harry’s random pictures throughout the day), but also making phone calls most days once both of you have finally settled in bed after long working hours. And it’s not like you’re not able to see each other with these scheduling complications, it’s only that those hangouts are limited to either weekends or early evenings. 

On the two-week mark, after you met again, you could finally take him to the proper coffee hangout that you’d promised. The cafe in question is one you’ve been going to for over a year now. A friend recommended it, and you instantly loved it for how hidden it is, and most frequented by an older audience — which means you’re able to sneak in and out with no hassle. You took Harry there on a Sunday morning, and it surprised you to find that the place is actually much closer to his flat than your house. So, after cups of iced coffee and shared muffins, you two walked all the way to his place, enjoying the laziness that allows people to sleep in as the week reaches an end.

That was one of your favorite days with him. It had been a long while since you allowed yourself to simply relax during a walk; forgetting how it feels to be aware of every corner you turn. That’s the easy thing about being with Harry, you’ve found the simple concept of relaxing. He allows you to let your guard down, to enjoy those things you’ve once taken for granted. The ones that bring a sense of normalcy that can easily be overlooked by those who don’t get to experience the other side of it. It’s something you’re sure Harry doesn’t even realize he’s brought back to your life, but you still show your silent gratitude in any way you can.

It’s what made you invite him to your house for lunch in the first place. It didn’t go unnoticed to you how most times you end up back in his flat and, as much as he repeats how he enjoys your presence there, it doesn’t stop you from feeling the slightest bit self-conscious about it. 

“Shit.” Harry mutters under his breath, his fingers tapping swiftly on the screen, a frown deepening on his face.

Raising your brows, you wait a second before speaking up, afraid of interrupting whatever it is that has him alarmed, “Everything alright?”

“Julia’s making dinner tonight.” He replies, eyes scanning the device in his hands before sighing. “Completely forgot.”

“Oh. Is it, like-” You pause, glancing down at your phone that’s left forgotten in your lap, pressing the home button to check the time. The screen lights up, letting you know it’s just around six, meaning Harry’s been over for just about seven hours now. “Shit, I’m so sorry, didn’t mean to keep you-”

“Don’t apologize.” He locks his phone, shooting a reassuring smile your way. “My fault, really. Just completely slipped off my mind.”

You nod, watching him gnawn at his bottom lip, brows meeting in a frown as he gets deep in thought. Parting your lips. You don’t let any word out at first, afraid that if you do, he’ll remember it's time for him to go back. There’s a selfish voice in your head that wants to ask him to stay a bit longer, to not part ways yet, to just call off on this dinner. But you know better than to say any of it out loud, opting to suck in your lips instead, as if the words could just slip out without your consent.

Harry sighs, and you can’t help but let your shoulders fall, knowing what’s coming. “I should get going.” He picks up his empty glass, pocketing his phone as he stands with a huff. “Julia’s not very happy that I’m late.” He chuckles. “Again.”

Laughing, you get up from your chair as well, patting the back of your thighs as you feel your skin a bit sore from sitting for so long. Before you can answer him, however, your attention snaps towards the opened door leading to your kitchen, as a small figure comes rushing towards you. You feel the soft fur against your legs before you can properly register the pup circling you. Once you realize what’s going on, as the familiar black spaniel greets you, you freeze in your spot, glancing from the dog that now jumps excitedly on Harry’s legs to the door where he came from.

“You didn’t tell me you had a pup.” Harry smiles, his voice getting a higher pitch as he kneels to pet behind his ears. “Hey buddy, where did you come from?”

“I don’t.” You reply, walking towards the house as you search for the owner who’s likely already found her spot in the kitchen.

“Huh?” You hear from behind you as you stride towards the house. 

Surely, as predicted, you spot her hiding halfway inside your fridge, back turned to you. You notice how Bella’s blonde locks are way shorter since last time you saw her — now stopping just above her shoulders. As surprised as you are, you don’t comment on it, simply staring at your intruder of a friend as you try to figure the situation in hand. 

This isn't exactly how you’d planned to introduce Harry to your friend group. Well, shit.

Bella doesn’t pay any mind to you at first, but certainly senses your presence as she speaks out from over her shoulder. “Hey, did you not buy any more greek yo- Oh.” She stops as she turns, just in time when Harry walks in with the dog cradled in his arms. Her eyes jump between the two of you as she pushes the fridge’s door to a close. “Hi.”

“Hello.” You shoot her a look.

Harry puts the pet down, “Hi.”

“Uhm,” You stand awkwardly, playing with the rings hugging your fingers. Bella raises her brows in a silent question and you sigh. It’s not like you can do anything now. “Harry, this is my friend, Bella. Bella, this is Harry.” You motion your arms between them as you introduce one another.

Harry clears his throat. And you can only suppose how confused he must be, considering you mentioned nothing about a friend visiting today. But it’s not like you were aware of it, either. Bellas and you are at that point in your friendship in which you don’t find the need to announce your visits anymore, simply making yourselves at home every time both of you are in town.

He glances at you for a second, before nodding at your friend. “Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.” She grins politely. There’s a beat of quietness that no one really knows what to say next, and you can feel a silent pressure for you to break it. When you don’t, Bella points vaguely to a spot behind her, “Uh, I can come back tomorrow…”

Your lips part as you try to stop her, but before you can do so, Harry beats you to it.“You don’t have to, really. I was just leaving, actually.” He scratches his nose. “I don’t mean to intrude on anything you two have planned…” 

“Oh, no, that’s not it!” Bella rushes.

“We have nothing planned.” You assure him, glancing between your friends. “Bella just comes to visit whenever she’s in London.”

“Yeah, I was the one interrupting.” She backs you up, clicking her tongue. “Should’ve called first.”

"That's okay.” You tell her.

“Well, I hope you two enjoy the rest of your day, then.” Harry nods, eyes meeting yours as he mutters, “I really need to get going.”

“Oh, yeah, of course.” You say, “I’ll take you to the door.”

With one last wave to Bella, he follows you as you guide the way towards the front door. You open it for Harry, allowing him to step out first before you let it close behind you — as to avoid the dog from running out. Leaning back against it, you shoot him a small smile.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know she was coming.” You point back. “She has the keys so…”

“That’s fine.” He reassures, hands hiding inside the pocket of his jeans. There’s a second of silence, as you two just enjoy each other’s presence for a little before having to bid your goodbyes. You can’t help but let your eyes fall to his shirt once again — although being a simple white tee, the words I spread like strawberries embroidered to it have been haunting you all afternoon. Once your eyes move up again, you don’t find his, as he glances down at his shoes, a cute reddish tone painting the apple of his cheeks. When he speaks up, he peaks up at you from under his lashes, “I had a lovely time, as usual.”

“Me too.” You bite down a smile, tilting your head. “As usual.”

He nods, looking over his shoulder before back at you. Chewing down the side of his lip, he asks, “I’ll see you?”

You try to think of a date to give him, knowing as summer progresses your schedule will only get tighter with the studio sessions. “Uhm, probably sometime at the end of the week, maybe? I’m a bit busy, but I’ll let you know.”

“Alright.” He nods, staring for a second before stepping forward to embrace you into a hug. “Take care, love.” His words come out a bit muffled as he squishes his face on the crook of your neck.

You giggle as the strands of his hair tickle the side of your face. “You too, H.” 

Pulling away, he steps backward, pointing at you in a playful warning. “Still owe me a lemon tart.”

“Gotcha.”

Taking a deep breath, you watch for a bit longer as he walks away, waving a last goodbye before disappearing back inside your house. You give yourself a moment to prepare for the wave of questions waiting for you as soon as you step back into the kitchen. 

You find Bella twirling on a stool propped next to the island, spoon in her mouth and an open package of greek yogurt sitting on the counter. As soon as you walk in, she stops, pulling the spoon out as her brows shoot towards her hairline. She doesn’t wait a second before questioning, “So…” A smirk grows on her face and she points vaguely with her spoon to a spot behind you. “Harry?”

You groan, taking a seat next to her. “You were not supposed to walk in on that.”

“Well, I’m sorry! How was I supposed to know?”

“I don’t know, maybe try calling?”

“I never call before coming here.” She challenges, and it’s true. Picking a spoonful of yogurt and shoving into her mouth, she watches you for a second. You simply glance back, aware of her expectant stare attempting to pry you to speak up first. You watch her swallow, lips quirking as you refuse to give what she wants. She raises her brows again, this time voicing her question, “Is he…?”

You shake your head at her implication. “No, he’s… A friend.”

“That was a pause.”

“Well, he was my ex before he was my friend.”

“An ex? Is he-” Bella frowns for a bit and you can almost see the wheels inside her head turning. “Holy shit! Is he The Harry?”

Now it’s your turn to form a crease between your brows, confused. You don’t recall ever mentioning Harry to her. “Don’t know what you mean by The Harry, but, yes, he was my first boyfriend.”

“You’ve told me about him before.”

“Have I?” You blink at her. “When?”

She thinks for a second before pointing the spoon in her hand at you.“Yes! It was in one of your Halloween parties- actually, right after it.” She looks over at you, only to find a confused expression still settled on your face. “The one we had a sleepover, and I broke your lamp.”

“That was two years ago, yeah, I remember.” As much as your Halloween parties have a tendency of meshing together in your memory (as they’re mostly the same apart from one or two remarkable occurrences), this one in particular you remember quite well as it was the first time Bella slept over at your house. In the middle of the night, she knocked on your room to ask you if she could sleep with you. Her words were coming mumbled because of the alcohol still affecting her bloodstream. The two of you barely slept a tick that night, as you spent hours whispering stories to each other and, at one point, she got so excited as she was telling you about some sort of vacation she had taken (you don’t remember it that well) that she elbowed your lamp causing it to shatter as it fell. You try to rack your brain to find any recollection of mentioning Harry that day, but all that comes to you is the two of you falling into a fit of giggles when you told her about a past hookup of yours. This only causes your frown to deepen. “The party, I mean. I don’t remember mentioning Harry.”

“You were drunk.” She shoves her spoon inside the yogurt as she speaks. “Was sitting at one of the patio chairs, scrolling down on your Instagram page and you saw a picture of him, think you said it was his sister’s profile? I don’t know. But you were whiny for like an hour because of it.”

“What?” So it was at the party? You have a flash of panic, wondering who else was there to hear you whine over your ex boyfriend. “I have absolutely no recollection of this.”

“It was cute, really.” She tries to comfort you, still focusing on her pot of dairy. “You didn’t say much- you weren’t making a lot of sense, really, but I remember you saying he was the first person you were in love with. Didn’t know he was your first boyfriend.”

You fall back into your seat. “Yeah… That’s him.”

“How long were you together?” Bella glances back at you, brows peaking in curiosity. 

“Almost four years.”

“What?” Her eyes bulge. “How come you never told me that?”

“Don’t know, was a bit of a sensitive topic, I guess.” You know it was. The only reason why you refrained from mentioning him to anyone for a long time was because of the tightness in your chest that followed the sound of his name. “But yeah, we started dating right after his fourteenth birthday.” The memory comes to you as a smile. “His birthday’s in February and he asked me on Valentine’s day, was really cute. I don’t think anyone thought it would last that long at the time.”

“That’s super sweet.” She whines, her shoulders falling as she huffs. “Ugh, I hate love.”

You chuckle. “Same.” 

“So you broke up when you were, what, eighteen?”

“Yup.” 

“Was it because of distance and stuff?”

“Pretty much, yeah.” You think back to the time you two started drifting apart, a thought you haven’t revisited in a long time. “We were already very distant even when we were together.” Shrugging, you try to push back the heaviness in your chest. “Guess we were just meant to go different ways.”

"That's poetic.” She nods. You assume she’s noticed the way your voice has taken a lower tone, as her own grows a pitch, shoving you as she tries to cheer you up. “But now you’re together again!”

Breathing out a laugh, you roll your eyes slightly. “We’re friends.”

“Right.” She doesn’t sound convinced. “But, you know, you went each your own way and somehow crossed paths again. Do you know what that’s called?”

You close your eyes, already familiar with your friend’s antics. “Bella…”

“Fate.”

“Oh my god.” You shake your head at her, hoping she doesn’t notice the blush that creeps up your neck.

“I’m just saying, if I were you, I wouldn’t let this opportunity escape.” She bites down her empty spoon to hide the smirk that grows on her lips. The way her brows wiggle before she says anything allows you to prepare for what's to come. “I mean, with all due respect, he is very fine.”

“I knew it was coming.” You pucker your lips to avert from smiling, trying to seem casual before confessing, “But yes, he looks really good.”

“The long hair? The tattoos? Girl!” Her eyes widen. “If he wasn’t your ex, I would’ve been saying some really inappropriate stuff right now.”

You groan, hiding your face behind your hands. “Please, don’t.”

“I said ‘would’!” She emphasizes the word as she tries to pull your hands away from covering your eyes. “I’m only thinking about it, relax.”

Rolling your eyes again, you nod towards her half-empty pot. “Eat your yogurt.”

//

The air inside the flat somehow is warmer than the outdoors. The large windows opposite the kitchen are wide open to have some sort of breeze flowing around to relieve the heat coming from the stove. A generic scent of fried dough dances around the small space with it. It’s one that Harry recognizes from past times that Julia’s made the dish, and it makes his mouth water as soon as he steps inside.

Julia’s at her spot in the kitchen taking care of the food, her back turned to him as she bumps her hips along with the beat of a song he doesn’t recognize. Next to her, Harry recognizes Mitch’s back reaching for the small pile of plates inside the cabinet with Blake standing right behind (he assumes because she’d asked for his help with the task, considering she usually has a hard time reaching the last shelves). 

Their voices mesh together as they seem too lost in their conversation to notice Harry’s arrival. Right as the door clicks closed, however, Blake takes the plates from Mitch’s hands, turning to catch Harry right as he toes-off his shoes.

“Look who’s decided to show up!” She speaks up, calling the attention of both friends that still stood oblivious of the boy that now sports a guilty smile. Blake raises her brows at him, setting the plates on top of the island counter. “For what do we owe this honor?”

“Finally!” Julia barges before Harry can even start with the apology he went over in his head during the entire tube ride. “I was completely outnumbered in this discussion. Tell them that our plates are nice!”

He stops right by the edge of the kitchen tiles, furrowing his brows at his friends’ request. “What?”

Harry tries to search for an explanation from Mitch, who simply leans back onto the counter with his arms crossed, and an amused smirk painting his lips as he nods towards Julia.

The girl has turned back to the stove, a colander spoon in her hand moving the pastries around inside the pan filled with oil. She huffs before she explains, eyes trained on the stove, “They’re being incredibly rude, calling our plates tacky!”

Without even looking at the plates in question, Harry chuckles. “Oh, is it the floral ones?”

He confirms his assumptions when glancing at the dishes set on top of the island counter. The collection was sent by her parents around the new years after her visit for the holidays — she’d told them about how they cracked most their dishes at the edges and they sent in a full set as a replacement. And, as much as both of them found the action heartwarming ly thoughtful, they both had a good laugh upon opening the box when it first came in. 

Because they were, after all, a bit tacky. 

Each has its edges painted with a different color, with matching roses circling around it. To make matters worse, the center of them have each a different phrase. Harry couldn’t make sense to them at first, as they’re written in Portuguese, but from what Julia’s translated it doesn’t go far from those catchphrases you can find at the Live, Laugh, Love side of Pinterest.

That’s something Julia very openly makes fun of her parents about; what she says is their lack of taste for just about everything. And Harry was very aware of the fact, not only by the way she teases them to no end about it but also by her choices of presents to send back home (for instance, that god awful umbrella -- may it rest in pieces). With their time together as flatmates, it’s almost become somewhat of an inside joke between the two of them. 

But, as much as both of them have taken the piss about it before, they still have a fondness heavily attached to them. So it’s understandable Julia’s annoyance at their friends’ tease, especially when both bark into laughs at Harry’s question.

“You’re not helping!” Julia throws him a look from over her shoulder.

“I’m sorry, I just wanted to confirm!” Harry raises his hands in surrender as he watches the girl roll her eyes before focusing back on the pan in front of her. He pulls one stool next to the one Blake’s taken for herself, sitting on it before glancing down at the dish in front of him. He spins it slightly with the tip of his finger, watching the yellow roses move with it. “But Jul’s right, stop attacking our plates.”

“I wasn’t attacking them, if I have any right to a replica.” Mitch moves from his spot to take the stool in front of Harry. “If I recall correctly, I even said they were very charming.”

“Your sarcasm doesn’t impress me, Rowland,” Julia replies from her spot, not looking back. “Just say they're ugly already! Since you guys hate them so much!”

Blake shoots Harry a knowing look, a smile poking at her lips from being too used to her girlfriend’s dramatics. She pushes her stool back, standing before she walks over towards the grumpy girl who’s now focusing on taking out the pastries and laying them on a trail that’s covered with napkins. Embracing her from behind, she presses a kiss between Julia’s shoulder blades before whispering something just for her to hear.

Harry watches them for a second, not helping the part of him that wishes he could have someone like they do. It verges a tragedy, he thinks, to be a hopeless romantic and not be in love.

"Food is ready!" Julia speaks up, her voice this time taking a higher pitch. Harry doesn’t miss the look the couple exchanges before finding their seats across from each other.

Julia sets the trail in the center. The pastries take a half-circle shape and are organized neatly in two rolls, their golden crust looking very appealing, making Harry realize how hungry he actually is.

“So, explain to me,” Mitch begins, nodding towards the dish. “What are those guys?”

“These, my dear, are called pastel- you know, like the color shade,” Julia explains, picking up one of them. “They’re basically, like, a pastry. You can stuff them with anything you want, really. I made the most common ones which are cheese- the ones on this roll- and meat.” She points to the rolls showing where each one line. “We usually have them as, like, a snack, but I was really missing them so I made it for dinner. And we also eat it with sugarcane juice, but y’all don’t have it here,” She shakes her head. “Tasteless.”

“Sugarcane juice?” Mitch raises his brows.

Julia goes into one of her rants that Harry’s heard about a hundred times before by now — the ones that come up every time she talks about her country, which he finds rather cute how passionate she gets when talking about her culture. His head shuts off for a bit, though, already knowing the information by heart, as he focuses on his groaning stomach. 

For a moment, they just eat while having more of a casual chat. Julia rambles for a good portion of it about her life back home, and, soon enough, they all share their own experiences that make them miss their hometowns. It makes for a nice bonding experience, four people from different spots in the world that found themselves in London at the same time. All sharing a meal as they recall the parts of them they left behind when they choose to leave. For a moment, Harry forgets all about the apology he’d rehearsed on the way back from your house. 

It doesn’t even slip into his mind how he escaped any sort of immediate interrogation about his whereabouts. He’s even naïve enough to think that maybe Julia’s even forgotten about it as well, thanks to the plates’ discussion. 

Harry soon finds himself to be wrong, though. And the worst of it all, it catches him completely off guard.

The group has just quietened down from a story Mitch’s told from back in the days he used to work in a pizza place. Blake’s just offered to clean up the dishes, standing from her stool as she collects the plates. Harry hands her his, glancing at her as he mutters a quick ‘thank you’. He doesn’t notice the way Julia stares at him, eyes narrowed and lips puckering, as she leans into the counter. It only calls his attention once she speaks up, her words coming out slow but almost calculated, as if she’s been thinking about voicing them for a while, “So, H, are you gonna tell us what’s up?”

He doesn’t realize what she’s referring to at first, only furrowing his brows in his confusion. “Huh?”

“Don’t ‘huh’ me, Styles, you’re hiding something.” She points at him and that’s when he realizes, breath hitching on his throat. “And I think that something’s actually a someone, so spill.”

He hears Blake chuckling from her spot at the sink. “Guess we’re going straight to the point, then.”

Harry tries to even his breath, holding back the urge to bite down at his bottom lip as not to show he’s nervous. “What makes you think that?”

Julia grins as if she’s been waiting for him to ask that. “Well, should we go over the list? You suddenly have a life outside, barely stay at home, you’re almost always late to hang out— and that’s coming from me, a Brazilian- oh! You’ve also been baking?” She puts out a finger at each topic on the list, emphasizing the last word as if it’s the most absurd concept to grasp. “And I caught you taking a selfie the other night, which would be odd on itself if I wasn’t sure that you sent it to someone right after.”

Harry nods slowly. “Okay. You kept a list.”

“So?”

“I-” He feels himself panicking, not knowing how to explain himself. On one hand, he hates lying, especially to people he loves. He also knows how upset Julia gets when people lie to her, considering honesty is one attribute she values the most in a person. So the prospect of not only going against one of his own principles but also letting down one of his closest friends, almost makes him sick. But he gave you his word that he would not tell anyone until you were ready to do so. And he wants to keep his word and respect your wishes, knowing that if he doesn’t, it could mean losing everything he’s gotten back these past months. It could mean losing you. So for a moment, he stays there, lips parted but not saying anything. There’s gotta be some sort of middle ground.  “There’s… Someone, and-”

A loud thud comes as Blake drops one plate inside the sink, turning around with wide eyes and soapy hands. “What?”

“I knew it!” Julia slaps her hand on the counter as she exclaims, her mouth dropping in the shape of an ‘O’. “I knew it! How do you get a girlfriend without mentioning it to me? I thought we were friends?”

“I don’t have a girlfriend.” Harry blurts out.

“How could you keep this from us?” Blake comes to stand behind her girlfriend, her face still wide in shock before she turns to Mitch. “Did you know about this?”

“I did not have any involvement in this, no.”

Julia continues her inquiry, “Who is it?”

“Jul-”

She interrupts Harry before he can properly form a word, “Is it that girl from work? The one that had a crush on you? What’s her name again-”

“Julia, please.”

“Alice!” She snaps her finger, her grin widening as she looks at him as if she just solved an enigma. “It's her, isn’t it? Did you finally make a move? Oh my god.”

“I- It’s-” Harry’s fully panicking now, eyes moving quickly between his friends as they stare at him, waiting for a confirmation. Is this the middle ground he wanted? No, he thinks to himself. This will only make things worse. He should just say he wants to keep it private for now. It would annoy them, sure, but they’d have to understand, right? It’s the rational thing to do. But Harry’s not working with rationality at the moment, and his mouth works before his brain does, “Y-yeah, it’s her.”

Blake gasps. “Harry!”

“I can’t believe you!” 

He needs to fix this. “We’re not dating.” 

“Yet.” She points before squealing, reaching a hand over her shoulder to hold Blake’s wet ones while placing her other over her heart. “Look at you! They grow so fast…”

“Please, don’t.”

“Babe, let him breathe for a bit.” Blake breaks her hand from her girlfriend’s grasp, reaching for a napkin and using it to dry her hands. She smiles at him, “I would like to see a picture of her, though.”

Before he has the chance to answer, Julia’s already talking, “You should’ve invited her to come today! There’s enough food-”

“No, it’s… Uh, it’s not like that.” Harry tries to come up with something to explain himself as not to dig a deeper hole than he already has put himself in.

Blake frowns. “What do you mean?”

“Just-” He pauses, glancing between his friends. They all show different stages of confusion. “We’re taking things slow.”

Julia rolls her eyes, “Harry, you’re already the slowest person I know.” She states as a matter-of-fact, shaking her head at him. “With your pace, we’re getting this relationship announcement in five years.”

He huffs, the insistence annoying him a bit. Maybe it’s because he knows the more they keep this subject, the deeper the hole he can get himself in. So he simply avoids feeding more into it, choosing to ask her instead,  “Why are you so obsessed with the idea of me in a relationship?” His eyes meet Blake’s in a silent plea for an intervention.

“Because I want to have cute double dates!” Julia whines.

Mitch deadpans, “What’s this, then?”

“Okay! We have desert!” Blake seems to find her cue to barge in, clapping her hands together before continuing, “And it’s made of chocolate!”

Harry smiles at her, shooting her a look of gratitude. “Chocolate sounds perfect.”

“Sounds marvelous,” Mitch adds.

Julia, however, is not dumb. She narrows her eyes slightly. “You guys are changing the subject.”

Her girlfriend barely bats an eye at her statement, though, only squeezing her shoulder gently, “Babe, why don’t you tell Mitch about brigadeiro? I’m sure he’ll love to hear it.”

The girl sighs, shooting Harry another knowing look before giving up on the subject for the time being. He only gives her a small smile, watching as she begins to tell Mitch all about desert. 

Well, he really dug himself a hole with this one.

//

Harry loves Sundays.

This is funny enough of a statement, considering how he used to despise it when he was younger. Back when he knew it meant that he’d have to be up early the next day to walk the cracked sidewalk leading to his school, fighting to keep his eyelids halfway open. The entire day would feel like a countdown (just eight more hours until the weekend’s over!). The only thing that made the day the slightest bit enjoyable was that he used to visit his nan every Sunday right after breakfast. He still remembers how he and his cousins would sit in front of the telly with their toys scattered around them, the entire house adorned with the scent of vanilla.

He’s not sure exactly when the switch of opinion for the day happened, but he knows that you’re one of the main reasons for it. Sunday’s were your days. They were the only days in which you were sure to be free from babysitting duties with your sister, hence why there was a silent agreement that settled between both of you to spend it together. So you reserved Sundays for the two of you. And Harry’s sure some of his fondest memories with you happened on a Sunday.

So it was hard not to love the day when it brought you to him every time.

Although years have passed, his attachment to the day hasn’t faded. Especially now, when you seem to fit back into his Sundays just as perfectly as you used to. 

The cafe smells just like his nan’s house used to when he first walks in - the only major difference being the scent of coffee that meshes with the vanilla in the air. It’s the third time he comes with you here and, just like the previous ones, there’s a surprisingly low movement for it being mid-morning. Most of the customers that frequent it, as you’d informed him the first time you took him there, are elders. There’s a couple right at the door enjoying the cloudless day at the chess table that’s carefully prompted just outside the cafe that bids good morning as the younger pair passes by, not paying much attention to them. Meanwhile, inside, the other four or five customers that sit scattered around the armchairs barely bat an eye towards them as they walk in, focusing only on their newspapers or crossword magazines that sit in front of them as they quietly sip on their drinks.

Despite you not sharing loads with him regarding your public image, from what he could gather, it’s clear how much you value your privacy. So it’s easy to understand why you enjoy coming here, as your presence comes and goes as just another one. 

And he quite enjoys it too, especially noticing how carefree you get in a space you’re comfortable with. Usually, on other few occasions, the two of you go out to public spaces that you’re not as used to, it’s clear how alert you are, even if you’re enjoying yourself. You limit yourself to plain clothes to not call any attention, always with what’s become your signature big sunglasses shielding part of your face -- you even wore them when you went to the cinema to which, although Harry understood the reason for, he didn’t refrain from teasing you about it. 

But today, you abandoned the hoodies and large shirts in various shades of grey. Harry knows the riskiest part of your day in being recognized would be the short walk from his building to the cafe. Still, that thankfully didn’t stop you from going back to your usual wardrobe. Instead, you’re wearing a white dress with red stripes lining along your curves, the skirt flowing all the way down your calves, showing the white sneakers covering your feet. The sunglasses are still present, of course, but you quickly push them up as soon as you walk inside.

Harry watches for a second as your eyes scan the menu written on the wall behind the counter, chuckling to himself as he knows you’re still going for the same order as usual. Before you can step closer to voice your order, however, he says, “Go find a table, I’ll get your order.”  You glance up at Harry, brows shooting up, challenging. “Medium iced coffee and a chocolate muffin.” He grins proudly as he recites your order. “Anything else?”

“No, that's it.” You bite back a smile. “You’re not paying for me, though.”

Of course, you’re insisting, he thinks, already shaking his head. “You paid last time and the time before that and, if I recall correctly, you didn’t let me have a say in it when I tried to intervene in either of them.” Harry pokes your side, nodding towards the table area. “So, go get a table. I’ll be right there.”

Narrowing your eyes at him, you stay silent for a beat, clearly debating whether to keep insisting. “Fair enough.” You sigh, walking backward as you point at him. “But I’m paying next time.”

Chuckling, he keeps his eyes on you for a tick longer to catch where you’ve sat, his face warming the slightest bit once you throw him a wink as you settle back in the chair. Once he places the orders for the both of you, he notices some drawings stuck to the wall behind the counter as he waits for them to be done with. They all have a clear childlike trace to them, some more than others, and Harry assumes the more abstract one must’ve been done by a younger child. He smiles to himself, finding it an adorable addition to the place, even if it could easily go unnoticed by an inattentive eye.

“They’re from my granddaughter.” The barista smiles at Harry as he places two cups on top of the counter, nodding back towards the artwork that caught his attention. “Just turned eight. Loves drawing.”

“They look lovely.” 

“This one, actually,” The barista points to one that seems to be more recent, as it’s stuck on top of the others. It shows what looks like two girls holding hands; a smaller one holding a heart on her free hand, and a taller one with a star on top of her head. The man nods to a spot over Harry’s shoulder, “It’s her and your friend, she’s a big fan.”

“Really?” Harry’s lips part in surprise. “That’s very sweet.”

“It’s how I found out she was known.” The man lets out a low laugh, opening the display to reach for a muffin. “Millie was proper mad that I didn’t know who she was when she came to visit, but your friend was a sweet thing, signed her shirt and everything.”

Harry smiles at the story. “Sounds like her.”

“Sure does, seems like a lovely lady.” The man’s attention gets called as the front door opens with a ding. He shoots Harry one last smile, “Duty calls. Enjoy your coffee.”

Harry reaches for the cups with one hand, picking up your pastry with the other. “You too, have a good one.” He feels the words slip before he can register them and, as he realizes his mistake, he quickly turns to head for the table, eyes wide and a blush tainting his cheeks.

You lock your phone, setting it down as soon as Harry approaches the table. He sees a grin twitching on your lips as you glance up at him and he avoids your gaze, knowing it’ll only worsen the warmth on his face.

“What’s got you all flustered?” You ask, your voice verging a laugh.

“Stop.” He scratches his nose in a nervous tick. “Just told that man to enjoy his coffee.”

“Oh, no.” You burst into a fit of giggles and he peeks up at you, holding back a laugh himself as he shakes his head — he loves making you laugh. “C’mon, H, everyone does that. I’m sure he didn’t even notice.”

“Still embarrassing.”

“Just a bit.” Biting down at your bottom lip, you squint your eyes, pushing the muffin towards him. “Here, have a bite, you’ll forget all your problems.”

He breathes out another laugh, reaching to pick a piece of the sweet before shoving it into his mouth. Soon enough, his embarrassment gets lost in conversation, the rosy tone on his cheeks no longer making themselves present from shame but from laughing too hard from something you say. You two get lost in your little bubble for a good while, taking your time sipping on your drinks. Every so often, Harry steals a bite from your muffin — at first, he does it just to have a piece, but once he gets a reaction out of you, eyes narrowing at him adorably as you scrunch your nose in feign anger, he does it just to watch you.

There’s no better way of learning about you than watching, he’s found. One of the biggest changes that he noticed upon getting close to you again, is how you seem to have closed up in a way. And it’s difficult to catch on. He figures that someone who didn’t know you years ago probably doesn’t even realize how much of yourself you keep bottled up. You’re a rambler, that much is easy to pick up. But Harry’s realized that as much as that part of you remains intact, your chatters become much more superficial. You talk about specific events and memories but always narrate it as if you were a mere expectant. You rarely go into detail about your personal life all that much.

Apart from the day you were drunk on his bathtub, he’s barely got a glimpse of feelings regarding him. 

So, he resorts to picking up those bits and pieces you let escape without realizing. He enjoys noticing you (and he’s aware that’s a bit creepy of him, but he can’t help it). How you mention you light a candle before going to sleep cause it helps calm you down. How you refer to your friends with the fondest smile picking up on your lips (but also how you let slip out you only have a person or two that are close to you because getting to know new people makes you anxious). How you always smile at dogs whenever you are — sometimes you even wave at them. How you have the habit of circling your drink in your hand when you’re comfortable, much like you’re doing right now.

The last one always warms his chest. He’s realized you only do it when you let your guard down, allowing yourself to get lost in your world without having to be alert all the time. For all you know, the world outside this small table could’ve stopped spinning and neither of you would notice.

Maybe it’s why you don’t pay any mind to the two teenage girls that enter the cafe. Not until both of them stand right next to the table.

It’s the call of your name that snaps you out of your head. The girls barely blink as they stare down at you, their mouths agape in shock as they hold each other’s hands. “Is it you?”

Harry thinks there’s a flash of panic in your eyes, but it’s gone as soon as it comes. You smile as you stand, and he doesn’t fail to notice the way you turn your body slightly to shield him. “Last time I checked, that would be me, yes!” You chuckle. “What are your names?”

“I’m Lauren.” The taller one speaks up, her hand clutching her phone so tightly her knuckles are almost white. She looks down at the other one who simply stands there, wide eyes not leaving your figure for even a second. Once the other says nothing else, Lauren answers the question for her. “And she’s Georgia. She’s a bit nervous cause she’s a big fan.”

“That’s very sweet, thank you so much.” You tilt your head a bit. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“You too,” Georgia says, her voice trembling and the hold on her friend’s hand. “Uhm, do- could we- if it’s not too much of a bother, could we get a picture with you?”

“Uhm, I don’t think it’s the best time right now, I’m sorry, loves.” Your voice is soft as you talk to them, but it quickly takes a more joyous tone as you suggest, “But I’d love to sign something for you if you’d like?”

“Yeah, if you can! If not, it’s okay, really.” Georgia nods, the words all but stumble out of her mouth. “Sorry for bothering you.”

“It’s no problem at all! It’s a pleasure to get to meet both of you.” 

Harry tries to watch discreetly as not to call any attention to himself, recalling what you once said about not wanting headlines of the two of you. So he only peeks up when you turn to fetch a pen from inside your bag, meeting your eyes for a second before you turn your attention back to the young fans. You chat with them for a little as you sign their phone cases, and he can’t help the tug in his heart at seeing you being so attentive to them.

“There we go.” You say as you hand Lauren her phone.

“Thank you so much!” Georgia exclaims, and even from his spot, Harry can make out a glossiness in her eyes. You pull her into a hug. “You’re really, like, one of my favorite people.”

“I’m honored.” You giggle as you back away, giving her friend a hug as well. Softening your voice once again, you keep a gentle hold to the girl’s shoulder, “Just one more thing, I’m sorry to have to ask you that but, would you mind not posting about this location?”

“Of course!” They say in unison, and Georgia is quick to add, “I wasn’t planning to!”

“Thank you for understanding.” You nod with a smile. “It was really lovely meeting the two of you! Hope we get to see each other again. Enjoy your day.”

The girls bid their goodbyes to you, and you give them one last wave before retaking your seat. Harry observes how you keep an eye on them for a beat longer before meeting his gaze, an apologetic expression adorning your face.

“That was sweet.” 

You sigh, “That was unexpected.”

“Thought that kinda thing happened a lot.”

“It does, just-” You pause, frowning your lips slightly. “Never happened in here.”

You tap your fingers against the wood of the table in a nervous tick, bringing your other hand to your mouth as you bite down on the nail of your thumb. It’s clear how alarmed you’ve gotten now that the girls are gone, eyes scanning every bit of the room. Looking anywhere but to Harry’s own worried ones. He doesn’t need to be able to read minds to know that yours is probably rushing right now from a simple glance at your face.

He reaches for your hand on top of the table to call your attention. Once you snap your gaze back on his, you let your shoulders relax a bit. He gives your hand a gentle squeeze, “Are you alright?”

“Yeah! It’s just…” You try to brush his worry off, glancing back at the entrance before sighing again. “Do you think we could take this back to your place? Is Julia there?”

He shakes his head to your last question, “Of course, it’s not that far, anyway.”

“Thank you.” Your expression softens as you move to gather your belongings hanging from the back of your seat. “I’m sorry, I always do this.” Your shoulders fall, the edge of your lips frowning down.

“Hey, how many times do I have to tell you?” He bumps his arm against yours as both of you stand to get you to relax. “You don’t have to apologize, I understand.”

“I appreciate it.” You nod, but the crease between your brows doesn’t ease. “I just want to avoid a possible mob in case they end up posting about the location.” 

Harry tries to ignore the way his heart drops at your words. He wonders how many times you’ve been caught in a situation like this that ended up badly. “I get it.” 

The way back to his building is much different than when you were coming to the cafe a few hours ago. It’s noticeable that you’re tense as soon as you step outside, the sunglasses earning a permanent spot on your face for the time being. Even with your eyes covered, however, Harry still notices how you take in your surroundings almost cautiously. He tries to bump his hips against yours every time you do it, trying to distract you from your worries. It helps, as you shoot him a smile every time, bumping your hips back.

Screams from a nearby park call both your attention as you get closer to his building. As the day approaches the late hours of the morning, people have decided to enjoy the rare dose of sunlight that gave a break to the frequent rainfalls that cloud the city. On the other side of the road, children run around in a playground as their parents watch them from near benches. A few runners make their laps on the sidewalk lining the edge of the block as well as dog-walkers that take more of a stride sort of walk.

“Such a nice day.” You say, glancing down at the floor ahead to allow your hair to cover a bit more of your face. “It’s a shame we have to go back inside.” 

It breaks his heart to hear the way your voice takes a lower tone. He tries to meet your eyes, “Can tell you’re beating yourself up about things out of your control.” Harry pitches your arm, his next words coming out in a playful warning, stretching the word as to get you to smile.  “Stop it.”

“I can’t help it.” You let out a humorless laugh, coming to a stop at a corner to wait for a red light so you can cross. He looks down at you, but you keep your gaze trained ahead. “It is kind of my fault, you know?”

Harry frowns. “Except it’s not.”

“Thank you for trying to make me feel better about it.” You give him a small smile, shaking your head. “But in a way, it is. I know it is. And I don’t mean to complain about it or anything! Cause I’m aware of how privileged I am to get to live my dream and all that… It just-” You shrug. “It’s not always a field of flowers, I guess.”

“You’re allowed to not love every second of it, doesn’t make you ungrateful.” He argues, his hand meeting your shoulder as he gently turns you to face him. “Especially when it comes to all this privacy stuff, you deserve to have your space.”

“I know that but...Well, I signed up for it, you know? I knew my life would never be just mine once I started getting big.” You adjust the glasses on your face. Harry’s close enough that, if he focuses, he can see your eyes under the dark lenses. “And in a way, I’m used to it now, I’ve learned how to live with it.” You sigh, frowning at your lips. “What makes me uneasy when stuff like this happens- what makes me want to keep a low profile when we’re out, it’s not to protect me. It’s to protect you.”

Him? “Me?”

“Yeah…” Your voice is small, almost shy as the confession leaves your lips. Clearing your throat, you avert your eyes down as you quick some loose pieces of concrete from the sidewalk. “It’s the same with my parents or to Lyla or anyone that doesn’t have a life like mine.” You explain in a rush, trying to cover the timidity that warms your cheeks. But when you continue, it’s still clear in your tone, as the words come from your lips in almost a shame, “You don’t deserve to be exposed to all of it just because you’re part of my life. It’s not fair to you.”

It takes Harry a second to let it sink in. To understand the whole reason behind your uneasiness when going out. Why you’re so adamant about keeping your ties to him a secret. Why you try to separate him from your public side.

All this time. You’re doing it to protect him.

There’s no denial of how the confession brings a tightness to his chest. He knows it’s not what you mean to do. But he can’t help it when you sound as if you could be a burden in his life — when, in reality, it couldn’t be the furthest away from the truth. So his shoulders lump as he watches you keep your gaze away from his again, lips frowning down as he uses every ounce of self-control within himself to not pull you to him.

Instead, he ducks his head, trying to find your eyes under the lenses of your glasses. When he speaks up, his words are soft, to embrace you in a way he can’t physically, “Is this why you get so stressed about going out in public? Why you asked me to not tell anyone?” You look up at him at the question and he adds, “To protect me?”

“Of course.” You reply as if it was obvious all along. “W- Did you think it was… Something else?”

“I-I don’t know.” From his peripheral vision, he can see cars coming to a halt as the streetlight turns red, but neither of you makes a move to keep walking. The world around doesn’t matter right now. “I think I just assumed you didn’t want the media assuming…” He motions vaguely with his hand. “Anything.”

“Well, yes, to protect you from that.”

“You-” He shakes his head incredulously. There’s no denial of the bouquet of butterflies that bloom on his stomach at the prospect of you wanting to protect him. At how you say it as if it’s obvious that you’d do it in the first place. Almost treating it as if it’s your duty to do so. But he also can’t help but feel the slightest bit of guilt from it, knowing how this is the main reason that gets you anxious when you’re together. His hand reaches for your shoulder again, caressing it in silent gratitude as his expression softens, “You don’t have to do that, to stress yourself because of me. Do you know that?” 

“But I do.” You’re quick to argue. “You don’t know what it’s like, H. People are brutal. I won’t have them pestering you. I won’t have that.” There’s a clear quiver in your voice at the last few words, and Harry has to fight back the lump on his own throat at the sound of it.

“Love-”

You push up your sunglasses so you can fully glance up at him, “I’m serious.” Your eyes are set, stern, as you lock them on his. But they’re also getting glossy at the edges. “I won’t let them get to you too.” You whisper.

“It’s not your duty, love.” Harry insists, hating how you’re clearly beating yourself up for it. “I can take care of myself in case anything happens.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” The smile that tugs on your lips is weak, and you shake your head. “If you knew what it would be like...” You trail off.

“Is this why you don’t have any friends with- uh, a regular life?” Harry cringes at himself but doesn’t know how else to word this without making you feel abnormal.

You nod. “Pretty much, yeah.” 

“I understand where you’re coming from.” He says, eyes trained on yours as he wants you to take in every word that he speaks. “I do, but you maybe you shouldn’t allow those people to dictate your happiness.”

You give him a sad smile that twists his heartstrings. “That’s not what it is.”

“It’s what it seems like.” He argues, desperate to get you to understand where he’s coming from. 

The more he takes in the way your eyes water and your lips twist, shoulders falling almost in defeat — as if you’ve accepted the responsibility that you’ve weighed upon yourself — the more he has to hold back his own emotions. It’s clear the toll that this position takes on you; you’ve told him about it before. You’ve told him how you barely have anyone that you consider close — those in the industry being too worried about building their own careers on top of each other’s backs for you to be comfortable sharing any meaningful exchange (apart from very few exceptions). And now he knows why you don’t find these ties with people that have a life outside the spotlight.

 “Doesn’t it get lonely?” He questions out loud.

“All the time.” You let out a humorless laugh. “People don’t realize how lonely it can be to have a career like this.” It comes as a vent and you take a deep breath, your hand quickly coming up to wipe the sides of your eyes though there’s yet a tear to fall. “Like, yes, you have this big team with you, and everyone fawns over you everywhere you go, but-” You pause, exhaling. “After the shows, and the lights, and all that...In the end, when you go to bed, it’s just you and your pillow.”

Harry doesn’t stop himself now, taking the step to close the gap between the two of you, arms circling around you as he pulls you to him. “I hate that you have to feel like this.” He mutters into your hair, feeling you melt into him. Angling his head a bit so his voice doesn’t get muffled, he whispers, “From now on, you have me, yeah? If you ever need anything- anything, I’m just a call away.” 

You hug him tighter at the assurance, your own words coming in a breath that could have easily been missed if they weren’t spoken so close to his skin. “Thank you.”

//

“You should probably get that.”

Jack, your producer, nods towards your phone as it begins to vibrate on top of the wooden table again. You sigh from your spot on the couch, cursing silently whoever’s been blowing up your phone for the past ten minutes. Mondays in the studio are already hard enough to concentrate as it is - especially as you and Jack have been trying to get the guitar riff just right for the past hour - so to add your buzzing device to the mix feels like a cherry on top to your stress cake.

You shoot him an apologetic look as you reach for it. You wanted to wait until you were done to pay attention to whatever’s been going off so as to not lose your focus, but it seems like whoever’s been trying to reach out has been very adamant about your attention.

So you step outside, letting your eyes fall closed for a second as the outdoor breeze relaxes your senses a little. Jack’s balcony right outside his home studio is quite small and doesn’t stand very tall from the second floor, but you love how you can still have a view of a park close enough that the sunset in the back paints the full leaves of the trees gold. After a moment of peace, you sigh as you’re reminded of your duties once the phone in your hand vibrates once again.

Your brows all but meet as you take in the notifications on your screen. There are two missed calls from Sonia, and a couple of messages, not only from her but from your publicist as well. Opening up the chat, your tired eyes just give a quick scan over the words before falling on a link attached to them. Just before you click on it, you can feel your heart sink as you realize it’s a The Sun article.

“No, no, no, no, no.” You mutter to yourself as you wait for the page to load. When it does, you can feel every ounce you get cold as your dread shows itself to be true. What calls your attention first are the pictures, ones taken yesterday as you recognize your white and red striped dress. And you recognize the look of adoration in a click, perfectly timed when you took off your sunglasses. And worst of all, you recognize Harry, holding you close at the corner just before his building.

When you finally remind yourself to read the headline, you’re not sure how you don’t drop your phone all the way down at the words that stare back at you.

NEW ROMANCE? This year’s favorite breakthrough artist is spotted on a coffee date in London with a mysterious brunette!

//

AAAH It’s finally here!! I’m so sorry for taking so long with this one but I got very busy very suddenly at the end of the year but I promise next one will be here sooon!! As usual, if you enjoyed it please reblog and leave some feedback, I’m very excited to hear what’s everyone’s thoughts!! 

[katzkinder]

London Bridge Is Falling Down

Envy Pair version of my Counting Sheep series! Himiko is my headcanon for the name of Mikuni's mother. Since Mikuni's name contains the character for "kingdom," I thought this name belonging to an ancient queen suited his mother well.

Mikuni is annoying.

That’s something Jeje has always known, ever since Mikuni was a child, ever since the first time he saw him, bounding around his mother’s skirts and throwing himself into Lily’s arms to be held and cuddled and fawned over while Jeje had slunk back to the cellars. Himiko had been so bright, back then, the rot of Envy not yet showing in a visible way, that tiny baby that would grow into his brother’s Eve gurgling happily in her arms.

Jeje was the one who had found him. Himiko had wept when she saw him, all the anger and hate leaving her at once, vanishing as if it never existed when she laid her eyes on the fragile little bundle, swaddled in soft fabrics with little gloves on his impossibly tiny hands. She had sobbed all the harder when she took the crying child from him, her hands shaking while she cradled him close, useless apologies spilling from her pretty lips. The body of the babe’s mother had rapidly been growing cold on the carpet, and little Misono… Would remember none of it.

(Jeje remembered all of it, though. He doesn’t think a single moment will ever fade from his mind, no matter how many eons pass)

As Mikuni had grown, with Jeje watching over him as a silent, imposing, guardian angel, always behind the boy’s mother while she had read bedtime stories to him, always so aware of those bright, bright, too bright eyes, Jeje had also become aware of a number of other things, and those things remained true into adulthood. Mikuni has all of his mother’s gorgeous looks (and some from his father, but admitting as such is just asking to be choked), her stubborn brightness, her sharp tongue and wit, but more than any of that...

Mikuni is annoying.

...Because he never listens to what’s good for him. Just like his mother before him, he had taken Jeje despite his warnings, and some bitter, sick part of Jeje had wanted him to. The same part of him that had given in to Himiko herself.

But, well, he’d always known Mikuni never listened, too.

He wonders if Lily knows, though he doubts that he’s aware, of those golden afternoons when Mikuni would sneak down to his hiding place and find him lurking near the boilers, the excited, terrified whispers of Lily’s children, his human children, chasing after the young heir as he confidently hopped down, step by step, into the “monster’s” lair.

They had talked. About nothing. About everything. Well, actually, Mikuni had talked, seemingly not caring that Jeje never said much back, incredible and beautiful and… Well, there was a reason everyone called Mikuni brilliant.

Jeje knew better, though.

***

The most annoying thing about Mikuni, in his opinion, is not how loud he is. It’s not his contrariness, or his capriciousness, or his constant, gnawing curiosity causing him to make mischief.

The most annoying thing about Mikuni was how badly he wanted people to think he was naturally good at everything.

See, Mikuni was smart. Jeje would give him that. But he was also very stupid. It wasn’t as if he lacked common sense, though sometimes Jeje wondered, but it was like Mikuni wanted people to resent him.

More than anyone Jeje had ever met, his Eve was a hard worker. Someone who hated owing others a single damn thing. It was that useless pride and sense of responsibility for things that couldn’t possibly be Mikuni’s fault, things Jeje suspected, no matter how much he denied it, Mikuni had learned, had internalized, from his father and from Lily, that was why Jeje refused to call Mikuni brilliant like everyone else.

...But he did shine. Like a candle in a darkened room. Like a beacon. Warm, and inviting, someone to warm himself beside, even knowing that that flame would burn him up, just like a moth.

The question was... Who would that flame melt into nothing first?

Jeje would be damned twice over if he let it be his Eve.

Turning away from way he had been watching the other man work late hours, hunched over Nod’s ledgers and planners and Mikuni’s own personal notebooks, where his pen scratched across the surfaces of each calculating profits, expenses, bills, new products and designs and promotions and planning trips, Jeje silently makes his way to their kitchen.

Burning the midnight oil just means you won’t have any left when you truly need it.

A snort, reaching for their cabinets. Of course, that’s what Mikuni had him for.

***

He’s gotten very good at brewing tea. Jeje isn’t much of a chef at all, but living with Mikuni for so long, it was practically guaranteed he’d learn to at least make a semi-decent cup, and thank god he had. He would have truly killed Mikuni by now if he hadn’t, he swears, the man is just as persnickety about his tea as Lily is with his coffee.

...He’s also gained a new appreciation for the stuff, but maybe that comes with the territory of spending hours upon hours listening to Mikuni’s one sided argument about the best ways to drink it. It’s hard not to be impressed with all the little details that goes into brewing what’s considered a perfect cup (by Mikuni’s standards, anyway), and even harder still to not feel a fondness for something that draws such genuine passion out of his once charge, now equal.

...It’s such an odd thought. He knows what people think. That Mikuni has always had a stranglehold on him. That Mikuni has always been in charge. That Mikuni has always been someone… Grown up.

Again. Jeje knows better.

He sets the temperature on their electric kettle, one purchased on one of their many visits to the British Isles, sits at their kitchen table, and waits. Thinks.

Mikuni has been grown up for a long time now. And he will continue to grow, and people will continue to think, no matter Jeje’s efforts, that he is a no good, conniving schemer who would sacrifice them all on a wish and a prayer and something like a maybe.

And, well, perhaps they aren’t wrong. Perhaps Jeje is a fool. But if he’s a fool, he’s a court jester, and as court jester he will make absolutely certain this time that the king does not make his mistakes without someone there to make fun of him for it, even if only behind closed doors, even if only between the two of them.

To everyone else, he is a dictator’s executioner, and that’s fine with him. Everyone else doesn’t matter.

His eyes drift to Mikuni’s favorite cup, one made of glass and painted with delicate, swooping strokes of gold, with lilies and a taupe lacquer surrounding all but a window through which one could admire the lovely colors of their favored drink. He takes it into his hands, so much larger than this tiny cup, and finds himself smiling as he turns the joint birthday gift from the Lust pair over and around, admires those intricate, fancy details that speak of quality and knowing down to the letter exactly what Mikuni’s tastes are.

Well.

Almost everyone.

***

The teapot has been warmed, the kettle filled with mineral water and piping hot, and by the time Jeje finishes steeping the loose leaf tea, their little kitchen clock, kitschy and cute and shaped like a cartoon chicken hatching from an egg, reads 2:17 in the morning.

Jeje picks up the cup, the container of melatonin supplements Mikuni has taken since he was twenty at his Servamp’s behest, and carefully carries both back to where he knows the other man will still be completely absorbed in his work.

True to form, Mikuni is still at it. The predictability of his late night, sleepless habits, of his need to do something with his time, makes Jeje’s frown deepen, ever so slightly.

He wishes Mikuni would just rest. Close his eyes, not do anything, just lie there and let Jeje guard him, just be still, be quiet, like did when he was a child.

… He knows better than to think a mind as stubborn and that moves as fast as his Eve’s could ever achieve that, but he can dream. He can also just sicc the Lust pair on him.

That’ll put him to bed real fast.

“What’re you grinning about over there?”

He startles, not having expected Mikuni to acknowledge his presence, and nearly sloshes hot chamomile with lavender onto the pretty little matching saucer that accompanied the cup. It’s a miracle it didn’t fall over completely. Jeje lets out a breath, so quiet it’s inaudible, and curses himself for forgetting that Mikuni can see him right now.

Then again, even if he was wearing his mask, Mikuni would have seen right through him.

He always does.

His Eve is watching him still, waiting for him to move, and then his eyes flick down to what Jeje has in his hands. His lips twist.

Jeje ignores it and continues to make his way over to where Mikuni had been peacefully working. They don’t speak a word to one another, and no sooner than Jeje sets his cargo down, he’s going back the way he came, knowing it’s useless to try and ply Mikuni with words or favors.

The man is annoying in his stubbornness, too.

He hears a sniff behind him, the scratch of pen on paper once more, but it isn’t long before that little noise stops again. A sigh. Jeje chances peering around the doorframe, smiling, just a tad, as a clearly frustrated Mikuni slaps his pen down onto the counter and picks up his cup, no doubt tempted by the smell of his favorite night time blend.

A swallow. Two.

Mikuni unscrews the lid on the melatonin gummies. Pops a couple into his mouth. Chews, and swallows. The tension leaves his shoulders. He allows himself to savor the warmth in his hands.

Jeje leaves him be and heads upstairs to their room, knowing Mikuni now won’t be far behind.

“Jeje,” Mikuni calls after him, voice soft in that way it sometimes, ever so rarely gets, so quiet Jeje almost misses it. “... You still really suck at this.”

Mikuni is annoying.

[spiderlilyserendipity]

Would you write a Jungkook mildly NSFW scenario where a paint night with his girlfriend turns into a paint fight?

Here it is! This one is called Prettier Than Any Art.

*Can be read as gender neutral*

WC: 600 words

Warnings: none

Genre: fluff, slight implied nsfw but no nsfw content

“How are you always good at everything?” You complain as you watch your boyfriend paint.

Jungkook laughs at the bitterness in your tone. It was his idea to have a paint night, a cute way for you two to spend time together. You love your boyfriend and his romantic little dates, knowing he’s the type to not say much but adore his lover’s company. You love being that person for him, but the truth is you’re just not a painter.

“Tell me this isn’t the dumbest sunset you’ve ever seen.” You tell him.

“I can’t lie to you, babe.” Jungkook says in a cheeky tone, batting his eyelashes for emphasis. Meanwhile, he continues to blend the beautiful colours of his own canvas.

“That’s it.” You say, picking a random tube of paint from the small basket between you two. “I’m turning this into something random. Sorry Uncle Bob, I still love you though.” You say to the paused frame of Bob Ross on Jungkook’s propped up phone on the coffee table. 

But before you can drop a random blob of paint on your canvas, Jungkook’s brush does the job for you. A big orange streak appears on the sunset you had spent the better part of an hour trying to blend.

“BABE!” You yell as Jungkook cackles.

“What? You said you were gonna ruin it anyway!” Jungkook retorts. For emphasis, he drags the remainder of the orange paint across your cheek. You snatch your paintbrush off the table, opening up the tube of paint in your hand. You wave the bright green paint at him, making Jungkook leap up.

“STILL YOU SHOULD’VE LET ME DO IT! I SPENT AN HOUR ON THIS!” You yell, running after him through the flat. Jungkook lets out a high pitched scream, causing you to giggle. He stops on the other side of your dining table. He makes a gesture like he’s gonna run to the left, then does the same to the right, which you mirror. Then, he darts to the right, towards the adjacent hallway. You know where he’s headed, to the bedroom to hide himself.

“JEON JUNGKOOK I WILL MAKE YOU FACE MY WRATH FOR THIS! HOW DARE YOU VALUE YOUR PAINTING MORE THAN ME一” You say, too consumed in following him that you don’t notice how one of the slippers you’re wearing is coming off. It isn’t until your ankle rolls that you realize you’re about to crash into the wall. A perfectly good beige wall, with a paintbrush of bright green paint in hand. You can almost see the look on your landlord’s face from here.

But you never fall, and paint never lands on the wall. Instead, Jungkook turns around at the last second and catches you. The brush drops from your hand and you fall into the wall back first, Jungkook on top of you.

The two of you are breathless from the chase. Jungkook’s pants fill up your ears, making your face feel hot. You have a feeling your own breathing is doing the same thing to him from the way his hands tighten possessively at your waist. 

“We both know you’re prettier to me than any art.” He whispers low in your ear, tightening his hold on your waist. “Don’t you know that, baby?” He says in a very earnest voice. You would believe it if his thigh wasn’t slotted between your legs. “Ugh, get off me. I need to wash my face.” You whine, pushing him off you.

Jungkook’s laugh follows you down the hall. “No, no, babe, let’s take a shower instead. Together.” He says like it’s the brightest idea in the world, even though the actual paint wasted wasn’t enough to need a shower.

His laugh only grows louder when you give him the finger.

[maracujatangerine]

Once more into the fray

Location: Yadalla Prime Capital

Irja sat down behind the desk with a sigh. This was the first time in many, many hours that she had had the chance to take a break, and her feet were relieved that she finally took the load off for a while.

It was late. The lights were dimmed. Overhead, the roof of the enormous domed tent disappeared into shadow. If she listened, she could hear the faint hum of the force field enveloping the tent from the outside, protecting it from the possibilities of falling debris. All around her, people lay on temporary beds, some fitfully sleeping, others tossing and turning, a few moaning quietly to themselves. When she closed her eyes, she could see the faces, pinched and drawn with pain, others crying, some slack with bewilderment at how fast their lives could change.

She had spent hours at triage, examining incoming patients, making quick decisions and passing them on to other teams that would treat their injuries. Now, sitting here at night, her recollection of their faces blended with others, from other disasters, years ago. Even from that very first time, when the danger had taken microbial form, rather than parts of falling buildings and rocks.

A faint, exhausted headache pressed down on her temples. Irja reached down under the desk, took out a metal flask from her pack and unscrewed the lid. When she poured, the scent of coffee wafted through the smell of antiseptics in the air. She took a sip. It was still hot. Drinking her coffee, she reflected upon the fact that this time, thankfully, most of the people surrounding her would live.

Around the tent, staff moved quietly between the beds. Some administering painkillers or treatment, other scanning vital signs with faintly glowing tricorders.

A Yadallan nurse passed by her, looking as dead on his feet as she felt. Impulsively she reached out to him. “Nurse.”

“Yes?” Irja gestured at the chair next to the one she was occupying. “Have a seat. You have been working all night as well. You need a break too.” He hesitated, but sank gratefully down on the chair. “Would you like some?” She brandished her flask at him. When he nodded, she took one of the disposable cups on the table and filled it. He sipped cautiously, grimacing at the bitterness.

“What is it?”

“It is a mild stimulant. It is called coffee.” “Coffee”, he repeated, swirling the dark liquid in his cup to take a better look at it, then smiled. “Interesting. Thank you.” She smiled back.

“You are welcome. Take your time to enjoy it.”

She drained the dregs of her own cup and put away the flask. With a wink, she stood up. “Once more into the fray.”

As the doctor rose, a pair of dust-covered women burst into the tent. They both wore typical Yadallan attire (short skirts and floral dress tops were in this season), but the stark whiteness of their armbands marked them as volunteers for the emergency services. They carried a stretcher between them; two poles of metal with padded grips, joined by a piece of sturdy fabric. 

On the stretcher lay the cause for their haste; an unconscious man around fifty years of age, his silver hair stained by a thick streak of blood. Covered from head to toe in the same shade of dust as his rescuers, one of his arms was bound in crimson bandages, while the other ended in a pulped mass of blood and bone. One of the other patients, his head swathed in thick bandages, winced at the gory sight and averted his gaze.

"Doctor? Nurse?" called the volunteers, looking around for the on-duty staff.

”Coming!” Irja exchanged a glance with the nurse at the desk. “Keep an eye on things here, I’ll call you if we need you.” She tapped her combadge, thankful that it was temporarily reconfigured to interlink with the local communications system. “Dr. T'Mir?” 

Almost instantly, an older Vulcan woman’s voice answered. “Dr. T'Mir, here.”

“Prepare for surgery, we have another one incoming. Only one patient so far.”

“Understood.” 

Bright lights flicked on and spilled through a curtain in the far end of the tent. The muffled sounds of people moving around assured Irja that the team had jumped into action. She paused for a second to run her hands through the incandescent desinfector mounted on a stand next to the door before flicking on her medical tricorder and scanning the man on the stretcher. 

“Welcome.” She nodded to the two volunteers. “I’m Dr. Irja Niva. Where did you find him? Did you see what happened? Tell me what you know.” 

The rearmost Yadallan holding the stretcher, by far the younger of the two volunteers, flinched at the direct questioning. She looked to her partner at the fore, and the latter gave a little nod. 

"The Tower collapsed a few hours ago," said the elder of the pair, "and there's something in the rubble messing with the scanners. The other teams in our group are still digging through the ruins, looking for more survivors." she explained, trying to rotate her aching shoulder without jostling the patient.

“I see.” Irja snapped the tricorder shut, mentally tallying up the extensive list of injuries and the order they would have to deal with them in surgery to maximise the patient’s chances of survival. “Please bring him in through here.” She gestured towards the back of the room. 

"Yes, doctor." said the bearer at the fore, her compatriot nodding in silent agreement. Two skirts flared slightly as their owners moved sharply towards the back of the room, roused to sudden haste by the urgency in the doctor's voice. 

When the two stretcher bearers had passed her, Irja turned and followed them into the next room. She could feel the familiar sense of the world being left behind, all focus now on the work ahead.

End of Log

Lieutenant Commander Dr. Irja Niva
Chief Medical Officer

*

Some years ago I wanted to join a written Star Trek RPG with a character I called Dr. Irja Niva, a newly instated chief medical officer at a star base. The game and the group seemed nice, but it was too time-consuming for me to keep up with. I was happy with this little drabble introducing my character, though, so I thought I’ll let you all read it. Irja had been sent down to the planet as a part of a rescue mission after an earthquake.

[cowboy-like-mee]

a soulmate who wasn’t meant to be

summary: y/n deals with the aftermath of harry leaving her

warnings: angst af!!!! possible ED tw 

word count: 2k

a/n: i was really sad so i started writing this to try to relieve some of the emotions built up in my body :)))))) 

this is based off the song “a soulmate who wasn’t meant to be” by jess benko. lyrics are spread throughout this in bold and italics so hopefully it isn’t too confusing!!

masterlist

Nothing hurts more than pretending like everything’s okay, when you’re falling apart on the inside. When you want nothing more than to be with your love. Hold him in your arms and give him little kisses whenever you want. Dance around the kitchen and sing songs from your youth.  

Harry. Beautiful Harry. Your boy.

He’s not yours anymore. You have to remind yourself.

You’re miserable without him, but he’s better without you. The pain of being with you was much greater than the thought of leaving you. 

So he left. 

You’ll never forgive yourself. 

Everyday seems to get worse. The days blend together. 

You fall asleep, not sleeping well. You wake up, regretfully, tired from another restless night. The day drags on, never seeming to end. You walk around like a zombie. Daydreaming about going home to the love of your life, instead going home to an empty apartment and an empty fridge.

You can’t bring yourself to eat. You can’t bring yourself to even try to watch TV. You go straight to bed and stare at the ceiling till you eventually fall asleep. And then it repeats. And repeats. Again and again and again. 

You can’t even remember what day it is. You don’t know if you’re supposed to go to work or if you’re off. You wake up anyway. Anything to distract yourself from the never ending cycle of numbness and loneliness. Self loathing and empty stomachs. The nagging feeling in the back of your mind telling you things could have been different.

Maybe if you had done things a little different. Maybe if you had smiled a little more. Laughed at a few more of his jokes or hugged him a little bit tighter. Maybe if you had started accepting his offer to go on walks with him. Or watched a few more movies with him.

 If you could go back you would never say no to anything he requested. 

You would gladly sit through any of the god awful romantic comedies he’s obsessed with. Or drink the terrible black coffee he has every morning. 

But no. Things change and people change. You drifted apart. You’ll never have him again. The giggles and late night love making. Him singing you to sleep or washing each other’s hair in the shower. 

Sobs wrack your body for the first time in months. You hadn’t cried like this since the day he left. The memories seep back into your conscious, haunting you.

His bright green eyes flash behind your eyelids. His voice is ringing through your ears. You can feel his lips on your neck and his hands wrapped around your body. 

You stand up, shaking your head and pulling at the roots of your hair. Trying to rip the memories straight out of your brain. You’ve never felt this kind of pain. Pure anguish. The reality finally setting in that he’s gone.

He had finally had enough of you. What he once loved and adored, he loathed.

He was far too gone once you realized. You were far too selfish to realize the man you love was slowly falling out of love with you.  

“Y/N?” He had called your name gently.

“Hm?” You hummed, not looking up from your phone where you had been texting your friend for the last half an hour. 

He took a deep breath, trying not to snap. “Can we talk?”

This got your attention. You looked up, brows furrowed, and set your phone down on the couch. “What?”

“I-I...I think we should take a break.

Your heart dropped to your stomach. 

“Wh-what?” You whispered, feeling tear prick your eyes.

“I...want to take a break from each other.”

You stared at the man sitting in front of you. You noticed how different he looked from the man you fell in love with. He looked sad. He looked exhausted. You didn’t know at the time it was because of you. You thought maybe he was having a rough time with himself. But now it’s crystal clear.

 You changed. You weren’t the same woman he fell in love with. You two barely went on dates. You hadn’t had sex in months. You two hadn’t even been going to bed together. You would always go to bed first. He would sit in the living room, crying over his broken relationship. He would eventually crawl into bed, laying as far from you as possible. You hadn’t even noticed, being too caught up in your own life, not noticing your boyfriend slowly crumbling apart in front of your eyes.

So you agreed. You agreed to take a break from each other for two months. You wouldn’t date anybody or sleep with anyone, but you two had to stay apart from each other. It was easier for him than he hoped. He felt like he had freedom. He felt like he could breathe finally, not suffocating in his own home.

You had a different experience. You never realized how much you relied on him. The dishes piled up and your laundry was never washed. The fridge never got full of groceries at the beginning of the week. You had no one to cook you dinner or ask how you looked in a certain outfit. You missed him.

The two months was almost over and you had already planned out everything you were going to say. Your apology and your speech on how much you appreciated and loved him. You knew you fucked up and you knew you had to own up to your mistakes. Your negligence to him.

And then you got the call.  

Stranger, that's all I see

The piercing sound of your phone ringing cut through the silence of the apartment. You jumped in your spot on the couch, where you were folding your clothes. 

When I look into your eyes

Harry’s contact flashed across the screen. You didn't know if you should feel relieved or terrified. Did he finally have enough of this break and was ready to come running into your open arms? 

You hesitantly slid across the bottom of the screen to answer.

“Harry?” 

He cleared his throat. “Hey, Y/N.”

“Hey, I’ve missed you so much, Harry.”

He winced at the sentence, his eyes already beginning to water and his throat feeling tight. “Listen,  Y/N. I have something to tell you.”

A soulmate who wasn't meant to be

Your heart stops beating at the tone of his voice. “Okay...”

You heard his breathing over the line for a few heartbeats before he finally spit it out, “I’m moving back home.”

Your heart leaped put of your chest. “Harry! I’m so happy. I can’t wait to see you. I’ve reorganized a lot of our place. I’ve had a lot of free time-”

“No, Y/N. I’m moving back to England.” He cut you off. 

Your mouth hung open. A lump immediately formed in your throat. You attempted to swallow it down. “Oh.” You let out shakily, trying to hide the sound of the trembling in your voice.

“Yeah.”

You both sat in silence for a minute, not knowing what to say.

“So, when are you coming back?”

He tried to refrain from rolling his eyes. You were always so stubborn, and that was one of the things he used to love about you.

He sighed loudly, “I’m not coming back.”

“Are-are you breaking up with me, H?”

He squeezed his eye shut and shook his head. No matter how bad you are for him, he still loved you, and it still fucking hurts to do this. 

“Yes, Y/N. I’m breaking up with you.” He said as steadily as he could manage.

Stranger, who knows all my secrets

You covered your mouth with your hand to stifle the cries leaving your body. “I can’t believe you’re breaking up with me over the phone!” You yelled into the phone, unable to control your emotions any longer.

“We haven’t seen each other in months, Y/N! You should’ve known this was gonna happen eventually!”

“I thought this break was supposed to make us come out stronger, not tear us apart!”

“We’ve been torn apart for a lot longer than you think.”

You didn’t know how to reply. He was right. You just never realized it. He had been feeling this way for a long time. This was inevitable. 

“I’m so sorry, Harry. This is all my fault. I love you so much. You’re the only thing that holds me together. I know I fucked up and I ruined our relationship and everything good we had. Please, please, please, don’t do this. I'll do anything for another chance. We can take it slow. Anything. I can’t lose you, baby. You’re the love of my life. My light.”

He shakes his head and blinks away the tear threatening to spill over. “Y/N, no. I can’t keep doing this. We haven't been good for a long time. I‘m broken. I can’t keep going in circles. I need time for myself. We’ll find other people. I love you and I’ll always love you, but I can’t be with you anymore.”

You cried harder at his words. Nothing hurts more than knowing he’s leaving because you hurt him so bad. He still loves you.

The thought of Harry loving anyone else fucking hurts. The thought of him kissing another person and giving them the secret touches you used to share. You’re breathing is shallow and quick, sobs wracking your body.

“H, please. I-I can’t-”

“Goodbye, Y/N. Maybe one day in the future we can talk again, but I have to go. You’ll be okay.” He hung up. 

Can pull me apart and break my heart

You immediately tried to call him back, ready to plead with him to try again with you. 

The call didn’t go through. He blocked your number. You threw your phone across the room, hearing the glass shatter as it hit the wall then the ground. You dropped to the ground, loud cried of misery leaving your body. 

It went on like this for days, weeks. You eventually had nothing left to cry. Your mind going numb. Everything reminded you of him. His smell lingering in your once shared apartment. The stuff he ever bothered picking up still sitting around your apartment. Even looking at yourself in the mirror reminds you of him. The way he would compliment very feature on your face, making you develop the confidence he had instilled in you.

All of that leads to now. 

The empty apartment and the grumbling stomach. You can’t remember the last time you had a proper meal. Nothing wanting to stay down. 

So there you sit. In your empty home. Surrounded by long lost memories of the love you once shared with Harry. Your heart shattered into a million pieces. Feeling uncapable of ever loving again. Thinking of your lost love, thousands of miles away. Missing a piece of your soul, never to be replaced again. 

But you’ll be okay. He said you would be. 

A soulmate who wasn't meant to be

pt 2

[keilemlucent]

lavender latte: ii

(T (for now!))

hawks | takami keigo x reader

chapter 1   ||   chapter 3   ||   chapter 4

ao3

word count: ~3k

You and Hawks’s second meeting.

warnings: mutual pining, shy reader-ish, ooc hawks, the fun stuff, fluff ; ) 

|||||||||||||

You didn’t hear anything from Hawks for the next few days. 

It was a fleeting disappointment, but you took his lack of contact as truth and reality. Some big shot, pro-hero wasn’t going to waste time texting a no-name, nobody barista, no matter how mutually flirty of an interaction was shared. 

Prior to actually meeting Hawks, you had seen the tabloids that his name spilled over. Shady stories of midnight rendezvous with models and celebrities, sultry pictures of his own on magazines at grocery store checkouts were a lot of your knowledge of him. He was a very eligible and active bachelor, everyone knew it. 

You reminded yourself that you didn’t mean shit to him, and moved on.

Until about a week from your first meeting, late into the evening, your phone buzzed.

You thought it was one of the team from the teashop, asking another question about a new blend you had made. 

Your eyes widened at the text that you did see:

 [unknown number]: hey angel ;) do you work tomorrow? it’s supposed to be a cold one and i’d love to try another one of your drinks

 You stared at your phone screen for a moment, mouth going dry before typing out a reply. 

 [you]: is this hawks?

 The next reply came only seconds later.

 [unknown number]: the one and only ;))))

  He... actually texted me?

Holy shit.

Another message came in. 

 [unknown number]: don’t tell me you go handing out your number to folks at work all the time :^( you’re gonna hurt my :^((( feelings :^((((

 You deadpanned at Hawks’s texts. 

You couldn’t believe the number two, pro hero texted like a normal twenty-some year old.

It was endearing, if not at the very least comforting.

 [you]: nah, just you tailfeathers 😉

[you]: i work tomorrow morning, opening shift. 6 am. think you can handle it???

 You giggled at your own texts, unable to hold back when you saw Hawks continuing to type. You quickly typed in a contact name.

 [tailfeathers]: E

[tailfeathers]: Z

[tailfeathers]: i’ll be there bright and early ;)

 Part of you, the rational, realistic part, doubted that. Sure, Hawks had texted you, but he wouldn’t actually show, right? He was a busy, busy man. He’d probably get sidetracked.

Don’t get your hopes up. 

 You tried to remain practical.

But, you also liked pushing your luck.

 [you]: see u then!!

[you]: btw your contact name is ‘tailfeathers’ 

[you]: ;)

 [tailfeathers]: what if i told you yours is ‘barista angel’

 [you]: i’d ask if you saw my name on that conveniently small piece of paper i gave you

 [tailfeathers]: i would say yes

[tailfeathers]: but idk angel seems like a more proper title for u 

You felt your still and heat rush to your face. 

He can’t be flirting with you over text. What the FUCK.

 [tailfeathers]: only angels can make coffee as well as u 😇

 “What a bastard,” You shook your head, sighing. Part of you was glad he made it more clear your identity was tied to coffee and not affections. 

 [you]: u flatter me

 [tailfeathers]: i only speak the truth ;)

 You bit your lip as you typed out the next reply, well aware that the evening sky had darkened and you needed an adequate amount of sleep to actually make it to that morning shift. 

 [you]: i’m about to knock out so i can actually be alive for my shift, but i’ll see you tomorrow bird boy

 Hawks’s replied quickly as seemed to be a trend with him. 

 [tailfeathers]: bird boy!!!!! 

[tailfeathers]: i’m moving up in the world

[tailfeathers]: see u then angel 

 As you got ready for bed, going about your mundane routine and preparing the coming day, you had no idea that Keigo was across the city, cradling his phone to his chest with a wobbling smile on his face, a foreign sensation filling his chest. 

He was very excited to see you again, even if it took a few days to get that far.

 |||||||||||||||||||

 The next day was indeed, terribly cold. Despite bundling up in a thick, woolen coat and a knit scarf, you nearly froze on the way to work. Despite the chill, the rest of the morning crew made it in just a few minutes after you.

“I’ll be in back until there’s a rush, alright?” You called to the three openers, all silly college students from the local university. They were all sort of dense, but they were loveable.

“Okay!” One smiled as they flitted to the front counter and seating area.

The back of the teashop was a smaller commercial kitchen, all steel tables and cooking implements. Lots of tools to actually do your job. Though you were the maker of the tea blends for the shop, a lot of your work consisted of packaging and fulfilling orders as well as design work for the teashop’s online presence. Truthfully, you were more of a jack-of-all-trades type of worker, but nearly all of it confined you to the safety of the back kitchen. The lack of stimuli made it easier to work effectively, quirk activated or otherwise.

You tied your apron tight around your waist, adjusting a few of your buttons and smoothing yourself down. The back remained frigid in the mornings, and you could only be glad you were layered up for the day. You pulled out your company-issued tablet and began tapping away with the stylus as the shop prepped to open.

You were too absorbed in your work to hear the bell at the entrance, just minutes after unlocking the door. 

 Keigo? Elated. His last week of hero work had been all long hours and late nights. His wings had grown sparse with overuse, barely carrying him properly through the skies. When he saw that his office day at his agency was due to be particularly cold, he knew it was the perfect excuse to give you a visit.

You hadn’t been constantly on his mind. Rather, you perked up in his thoughts semi-reliably, but briefly a few times a day. Most affections were forgettable, he didn’t have time for anything other than whorish trysts with other heroes and those of higher society who knew how to keep their mouths (somewhat) shut. 

Part of him, the part that the Commission’s ruthless training created, hated the way how you were sticking with him.

Another part of him, the kinder, softer, very repressed one, recognized his feelings and hid them safely. Vulnerable things required heavy protection.

 When Keigo reached the teashop, early as dawn crept over the urbanscape, he pushed the door open and was greeted by the rolling smell of roasted coffee beans and black tea.

Only a few other patrons were there, eyes wide as the top ten hero gave them a trademark wave, waltzing to the counter with his signature swagger.

The workers (none of them being you) gawked at him, jaws half to the floor.

“Hawks?!” One of them exclaimed. “Oh my god, can I get an autograph?!”

 (Keigo carried a few pens on him for occasions like this.)

 The worker, a young thing with a shock of short blue hair, wrestled under the counter for a notebook. Another of the workers also attempted to wrangle a bit of receipt paper from the fussy machine, flashing him a nervous smile.

“Of course, autographs are a given,” He winked at the two of them, sauntering up to the counter. “On one condition, though. Could you tell me if (Y/N) is working?”

The morning shifts workers proceeded to gawk more. 

 You sat deep in concentration, thoroughly organizing yourself for the day with lists and plans. You were only startled from your work when one of the other baristas popped her head back, eyes wide. 

“Uh, (Y/N), I know you’re busy, but Hawks is here for you?” She stammered, saying his name incredulously and pointing a shaking finger out at the counter.

You could hear his silky laugh just beyond the precipice. 

Your mouth quirked up in surprise. 

I didn’t expect him to actually come.

It was a pleasant surprise though, one that made your heart stutter in your chest.

You put down the tablet, making your way to the front of the shop.

Hawks leaned down on the front counter, signing various papers and items that the staff and patrons of the tea shop had given him. His smooth voice echoed beautifully around the shop, mixing with the din of the soft music that provided ambient sound. 

Thoroughly absorbed in his fan interaction, you leaned against the door frame, watching him as he had yet to notice you.

(You tried to look nonchalant, but it was probably a bit of ogling.)

Hawks’s scarlet wings appeared sparse, but still twitched and fluffed every few moments. He was dressed in his hero uniform, visor pushed up into the feathery, front bits of his hair. With all of his typical regalia on, he seemed out of place in the slow din of the coffee shop. He seemed to shine so brightly, making himself a focal point without even trying. 

Without the protection of his visor, Hawks’ honeyed eyes seemed brighter, luminous from the inside out. Even from your distance, you could watch their topazine shine dance in the soft lighting. 

His gaze drifted to you and positively lit up. 

(You didn’t think that was possible.)  

Your stomach fluttered.

“Well, if it isn’t (Y/N)!” Hawks beamed you a smile that could’ve put the sun to shame. It made something deep in your chest thrum. “For a minute there, I thought you’d pulled my leg about working today.”

“Oh, never, ” You grinned, moving directly in front of him at the counter, your shocked coworkers parting for you. “I tend to work in the back if the rest of our lovely staff is present.

You gestured to your very starstruck coworkers who all gave various gawking looks before falling away, shyness obviously overtaking them. 

It wasn’t like you weren’t feeling similarly, but your nervousness was better hidden. Facades were, in fact, a trained skill in maintaining and god, if you weren’t a master.

But, Keigo had his own mastery in spotting cracks in people’s veneers. And, easily, he saw your tension and nervousness. For anyone with less trained interpersonal skills, they wouldn’t have noticed a damn thing. But to Keigo? Your anxiety was as clear as the light you added to a room. A few of his feathers twitched, picking up on the rapid beating of your heart across from him. 

“What can I get you?” You asked, speaking through any of your fears, cracking him a genuine smile.

Keigo returned it without thought, chest warming.

“Mmm... Surprise me. Something to help me get my day started.” Keigo loved the way your eyes lit up when he talked, a little bit of knowingness between the two of you sparking. 

“Same specifications as before? Hot and sweet?” You asked, already grabbing a cup, flashing him a cheeky grin. 

Hawks raised an eyebrow, batting his eyelashes at you in a way that you couldn’t not laugh. He rested his elbows on the counter and leaned over the top of it, regarding you with half-lidded eyes, “You remember my preferences? I feel honored.”

“You should,” You winked. If he was going to shamelessly flirt, you would right back. 

 Truthfully, your personal attention made Keigo swoon like a goddamn schoolgirl. He could feel sweat growing on his palms, making the leather of his gloves stick. Normally, the sensation would’ve ticked his more anxiety-ridden tendencies into overdrive, but he could hardly focus on them. He was too busy watching you flit around behind the counter.

 “So,” You began, activating your quirk and beginning your process. “Why so few feathers? Get roughed up?”

Keigo chuckled, flexing what feathers he did have left for emphasis, “Basically. I have to give them a few days to regrow. A couple nasty days in a row means a couple days recovery.”

You hummed, turning to the espresso machine. Before pouring the shot, you gave him a little smile with the cutest quirk in your lips, “I’m sure you more than deserve the rest.”

 Oh, that made his proverbial dick swell.

Someone, a very nice, stranger barista, angel, telling him he deserved something kind? And, there wasn’t an edge of dishonesty in you. If anything, there was an earnestness in your quirk-blackened eyes that made Keigo nearly scared of the amount of vulnerability you gave him so freely.

He wondered if you showed that to all of your patrons. 

(You didn’t.) 

 You turned behind the counter, quirk activated and swirling. The familiar blending of your senses made your teeth ache and head burn with the overabundance of stimuli, but you worked through it. You reached through the external sensations to manifest your idea and feeling into a conceivable reality. 

You dumped any number of syrups and shots into the cup, placing it (and a lid) on the counter in front of Hawks. Warm smells of cardamom and cinnamon tickled both of your noses as you nodded down, “Let that cool for a sec, then give it a taste. I need a comprehensive review.”

Hawks plucked off one of his gloves, taking the steaming cup in his hand, looking down at the foam. His gaze flickered around the two of you, noting that the few civilians and coworkers once surrounding him had left you two with a small bit of privacy.

“What’s the inspiration for this one?” Hawks gave you a downright sweet, knowing look.

“Take a sip and guess,” You nodded down to the cup again, idly going to wipe down the counters with a rag slung in your apron.

Hawks blew on steaming liquid, throwing back his head to take a decently sized sip. You had to tear your gaze from the bob of his throat. 

  Keep it in your pants. 

 While you were suppressing being horny for the number two hero, Keigo was suppressing being horny for a fucking beverage. 

The flavor hit his tongue and throat and danced. It was warm, like the last one, spilling hearth-like heat into his chest and extremities. But, this drink tasted literally spiced, like it had some sort of pepper in it (according to Keigo’s untrained, pitiful palette). His wings ruffled, feathers rustling and twitching with the taste of the drink. Despite the heat flooding his body, the hairs on his arms and the back of his neck rose as waves of subtle pleasure rolled through Keigo’s body. 

He placed the cup back on the counter, staring you down with incredulity.

You, cutely cheeky as ever, just smiled and crossed your arms over your chest, “Are you a fan?”

“It’s... spicy. How. Why. Is this even coffee?” Hawks asked. Despite his questioning, he took another sip, shuddering at the comforting heat it gave him. 

“There’s coffee in it, or, espresso,” You couldn’t help feeling a bit smitten with the way Hawks looked at you. Disbelief wasn’t an expression you saw many heroes wear, especially not one with a reputation like Hawks’s. Yet, there he was, in front of you, staring at his cup like you just served him battery acid and grass. 

“If that’s the case, gimme the rundown, angel,” Hawks peeled off his other glove, setting the pair on the counter. He surprised you as he shrugged off his lined jacket, plopping down in a nearby stool.

You hadn’t ever really seen this much of Hawks, not in his hero uniform anyways. Plenty of him was available for viewing due to his various modeling ventures, but seeing him in the flesh was far better. The black shirt of his hero costume stretched over the lean, sculpted muscles of his arms. He certainly wasn’t built in the same way other top heroes were, but from what you could see (read: drool over), Hawks certainly wasn’t lacking—

“See something you like?” Hawks raised an eyebrow while taking another sip,  devilish curl to his lips.

You really wished you had the bodily control to stop the red flush that grew on your face.

“SO —!” You laughed, diverting back to the drink at hand. “The drink.”

“Wonderful deflection,” Hawks set the cup down, still smirking. “So, the drink .”

Your fingers tapped at the countertop, living your blush down with a lack of eye contact. 

  He gets stared at all the time, chill out. 

Dude probably likes it, (Y/N).

 “The drink is a dirty chai, with some editions, of course.” You jerked your head back to the wall of tea blends, the familiar ebbing away from of your embarrassment. “We have a couple of different chai blends that I make in house. Several different chai concentrates too.”

“Forgive me, but a dirty chai?” Hawks teased.

“Wow, weak jab there, Hawks, ” You rolled your eyes. Hawks just continued to beam at you, swinging his legs behind the counter. “I gave you an oatmilk,  ginger chai with three shots of espresso and a few other secret touches. I wanted to make it warm again for you.”

 Keigo paused at your admission, (not-so) secretly reveling in your poorly contained embarrassment. Perhaps it was a bit cruel, but his job did carry some wonderful perks and he’d be damned to not enjoy them. 

“It feels like a different kind of warm, compared to last time,” Keigo took another taste to confirm. The spiced liquid flooded his palette again, skin pleasantly prickling at the taste. 

 You hummed, refusing to fully make eye contact with Hawks. 

Truthfully, you spent an embarrassing amount of time since the night prior thinking about potential sensations to emulate for Hawks. You were never sure of what type of vibe he would request, but having an arsenal of ideas made you feel more prepared to impress your new clientele. 

“I made it feel like dawn,” You replied, nodding to out of the fully-windowed front of the tea shop. The district you were located in was lit up by the golds and pinks of the early morning, stretching and awakening with the new day. “I wanted it to feel like how morning sun feels on your bare skin. All like... tingly, you know? Like... seeing someone you haven't seen in a long time. ”

 Keigo immediately noticed your bashfulness after you gave your description. In the same way as last time, the vulnerability of your manifested feelings left you warm and shy for him. 

You picked at a loose string on your apron, gaze directed down and away.  With his obscured view of your face, he could see the way you softly bit your lip, eyes occasionally raking him up and down and that retreating. Keigo could feel your pounding heart and slow, deep breaths. 

...

Keigo was whipped and he hardly knew you. He was so fucked.

You were too fucking cute. It was fucking illegal. It had to be. 

Keigo had been with sexy. He’d been with unattainable. He’d been with women and men who looked like they were crafted by gods as tempters and devils. It was all pleasure and Keigo knew it like the back of his hand. He got hedonistic bliss when he wanted it and he did so very, very well.

What Keigo was entirely unfamiliar with was the gooey, fluttery feeling in his chest as you finally looked up at him to smile and nod to the drink, “So, what do you think?”

Keigo’s brain fizzled, rendered into goo. If he didn’t have years of interpersonal training, he was sure he wouldn’t have been able to speak with his own revelations. Luckily, he was able to laugh off his internal stickiness, taking another greedy sip.

“Absolutely flawless, wonderful craftsmanship, (Y/N),” Keigo bowed his head dramatically. 

 You giggled at Keigo’s drama, missing the way how his cheeks lit up for you. 

Hawks dug in his pocket, pulling out a huge wad of bills and started to slide it across the counter, “This is a tip. All for you.”

You stared, horrified at the amount of money Hawks passed to you like it was nothing. Without thinking, you placed your hand on top of his, stopping his motion. Both of you stiffened pleasantly at the sudden, small contact. 

“That’s too much, Hawks, no,” You shook your head, but Hawks was a stubborn, insistent bastard. 

His wings fluffed up behind him, a feather moving quickly between your hands and pushing your up and away.

“What the fuck.” You half-groaned. Hawks fully passed the money across the counter, hiding his hands and feathers in his lap with a Panish smirk stretched across his face.

“Take it, or I tattle on you, easy trade,” Hawks shrugged, leaning his elbows on the counter and drinking deeply. He pulled away from his beverage with a relaxed-looking smile as you remained fluster.

(Holy fuck, you touched Hawks’s bare hand and it was so NICE—)

You could feel the eyes of your coworkers, staring at the money like some Olympic medal. You were well-aware that there was no way Hawks was taking back his money and you knew your coworkers would be too scared to ask for a cut. 

You gulped, taking the cash and tucking it into your apron pocket.

“You don’t need to bribe me to make you nice drinks, Hawks, it’s literally my job,” You told him gently.

Hawks raised an eyebrow, shrugging, “Accept it as a little treat on the side. A gift of my appreciation.”

You couldn’t argue with that, so you relented with a smile, shaking your head. 

And the two of your dissolved into easy conversation. Hawks told you about the most recent gigs he had been a part of. A modeling contract for a new skincare company and a sponsorship with a few other local heroes for a sports beverage were the most interesting. You were sure he was just humoring you, unable to tell you the nitty-gritty details of his life. Yet, he seemed happy to speak and listen besides. He chattered away, in the way birds do, sing-song, and free-flowing. 

Hawks was hardly a bird of prey, you realized. He was much more of a cockatoo type. 

You told him more about the tea shop, about your role and job. As you explained about the basics of different types of tea, you could literally see the far off way Hawks looked at you. It wasn’t of distraction, like spacing out, no. It was a look that hadn’t been directed at you in some time. You silently and quickly studied it and came to the nerve-wracking conclusion that the cute blush on his cheeks and half-lidded eyes and relaxed shoulders was fucking captivation, borderline adoration.

For.

You.

How the fuck were you supposed to deal with that?

(Keigo wasn’t sure either.)

 Luckily, neither of you planned on doing anything to stop your mutually budding feelings.