#pink tote lid moment

[thewitchoftherock]

Did that "Pink Tote Lid" thing on TikTok and thought I'd post the comic here. under the cut is talk of abortion, and a comic about childhood trauma. sooooooooo

[luveline]

PLS PLS PLS IM ON MY KNEES what about Remus with a sunshine reader? Like she comes around and is just so chatty and energetic and a much needed change of pace for our brooding quiet boy

Remus takes his earphones out the moment he sees you, but that's his secret alone. You barrel through the atrium to drape yourself over Sirius’ shoulder, meeting his smirk with a genuinely ecstatic smile before looking up at the others. “Hello, my favourite boys. Did you get dinner yet?” 

“No, babe, we were waiting for you. Sit down,” Sirius says. 

You beam and make directly for the chair next to Remus, though you could've sat with Sirius, or a little ways across next to the girls. “Hey,” you say, like he's the only boy you've ever wanted to speak with. James makes a knowing face behind your back. “What are you having?” 

“Remus doesn't believe in canteen food,” James says.  

“No kidding,” you say, still smiling, not even slightly put off by this nor Remus’ passive expression. It's not that he doesn't like you, the opposite, he just has a headache and he hates uni. You make it easier, a light in the dark. “What's not to like? Three quid for a slice of burnt pizza or five for a bowl of metallicy pasta. You couldn't get it any better.” 

“We'll go up to town,” Sirius suggests with a chuckle.  

“Let's order a pizza or something, they'll deliver in here, won't they?” James asks. 

You focus on Remus. “You don't like anything at all? The curry and chips is nice enough.” 

“It's not for me.” 

You nod appreciatively and let your tote bag fall from your shoulder into the crook of your arm. You rifle around and pull out a tupperware full of cut fruit, slices of banana, strawberries, blueberries, what looks like circles of pear. “We can eat this.” 

Remus could say no. He can't decide what's worse, saying yes or no, that is until you open the lid and put it between you both, offering to Sirius and James as well, and suddenly it isn't awkward at all, just something you've done. The pads of your fingers turn pink with strawberry juice as you tell him, “I was gonna put some tangerine in here but I keep getting super sour ones.” 

“They're out of season,” he says, fingers brushing yours as he takes a slice of banana. He swears, it zings. 

“I should know that. You know everything.” You leave a little strawberry print on the back of his hand, unnoticed, and he knows he's fucked when he lets it dry there in the shape of your finger. 

Somewhere between fruit slices and your chatter your chair grows closer to his, your knee pressed to knee without remorse, your elbow a whisper from his as you lean back in your chair. “So, bad day?” you ask. 

“What makes you think that?” 

You tap the space between your brows. He registers the gesture, nearly misunderstands, but eventually he relaxes the set of his brow and his tensed jaw. It's actually a relief. He hadn't realised he was doing it. 

“There,” you say, still smiling softly. “That's better. You'll get a headache, you know?” You sound genuinely worried. “It's not good to be so tense.” 

“Thank you,” he says. James and Sirius order a pizza on speaker across from you both, and, for fear you've missed it, he adds, “Thanks.” 

You needle into him with your elbow gently. “You're welcome. You're handsome when you smile.” 

“Not like you,” he says, “you're brilliant.” 

Your teeth peek out. His chest lifts, you look that happy, and when he smiles back it doesn't feel nearly as taxing as it usually does. 

[stylesonfilms]

ink & innocence - 16

word count: 5.0k

i've hidden some small things within my story that make up aspen and harry, have you guys noticed any? 🤭 where should i turn the story to from here? more dates, more intimacy, group activities, etc! let me know & thanks for all the support!

The next day, Aspen had cleared her schedule, wanting to use the free time for something meaningful. Her evening had been a whirlwind of laughter and warmth, spent with Isobel in her bed as they dissected every detail of Aspen's first official date with Harry. Takeout containers littered the nightstand, barely touched, because they were too engrossed in giggling over Harry's sweet words and Aspen's recounting of every look, every laugh, and every moment of connection.

Today felt different. There was a quiet kind of excitement humming in Aspen's chest, the kind that made her toes curl against the floor and her heart flutter every time she thought of surprising Harry. She'd been up early, not out of necessity but because the thought of doing something thoughtful for him gave her a sense of purpose she didn't often feel in her quieter routines.

Her plan was simple but heartfelt: bring Harry lunch. She'd realized, after observing how carefree and spontaneous he seemed, that he probably didn't bother with packing himself meals. He struck her as the kind of guy who either grabbed something quick or skipped lunch entirely. The thought tugged at her, making her want to do something about it.

Aspen had spent her morning channeling her rare bursts of culinary motivation into creating something she hoped Harry would love. The kitchen had filled with the warm, savory aroma of steak bites sizzling in butter, the citrusy tang of cilantro lime red rice, and the comforting, creamy scent of mac and cheese bubbling on the stovetop. Cooking wasn't something Aspen did often, but when she did, she poured herself into it entirely. Each stir, each sprinkle of seasoning, carried her thoughts to Harry—how he'd smile when he opened the container, the way he might tease her for going through so much effort, and how he'd hopefully enjoy every bite.

When the meal was ready, she carefully packed it into a container, sticking a pink sticky note on the lid. She spent longer than she'd admit debating what to write, eventually settling on a simple but warm message:

For my favorite person. I hope you love it! ❤️ —Aspen

The little heart at the end made her blush as she stuck the note firmly in place. It was bold for her, but she wanted to leave him with a tiny piece of her feelings—nothing overwhelming, just enough to make him smile.

Aspen slid the container into her light pink lunch bag, patterned with scattered white stars, and tucked in a bottle of water and a Redbull, knowing he might need the energy boost. Napkins and a fork were added as the final touches. Checking her phone, she noted the time—she had about thirty minutes before his usual break, just enough to pull everything together.

She dashed upstairs, her heart fluttering with a mix of nerves and excitement. After rummaging through her clothes, she decided on the grey flared leggings from the other night, paired with her trusty Converse. For her top, she grabbed the shirt she'd "borrowed" from Harry—it still smelled faintly of him, which made her cheeks flush as she pulled it on and tied it in the back to better fit her frame.

Aspen worked quickly, brushing her hair and pulling it into a simple half-up, half-down style. She swiped on a light coat of mascara, just enough to make her eyes pop, and dabbed tinted lip balm on her lips, giving them a subtle sheen. Glancing at her reflection, she smoothed the shirt over her waist, trying to quiet the small voice in her head wondering if she looked okay. It wasn't about being perfect—Harry had already seen her in her coziest clothes—but she wanted to feel confident and put-together.

With her tote bag and lunch bag slung over her shoulder, she took a deep breath, her heart thudding softly in her chest. The thought of surprising Harry, of seeing the look on his face when she handed him the meal she'd made with him in mind, made her smile. It was a small gesture, but one she hoped would let him know how much he meant to her.

As she locked the door behind her and stepped into the bright spring afternoon, the warmth of the sun seemed to echo the warmth in her heart. Today, she wasn't just thinking about Harry—she was showing him how much she cared, in her own quiet, thoughtful way.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

The bell above the tattoo shop's door jingled softly as Aspen stepped inside, her lunch bag clutched tightly in one hand. She paused just inside the threshold, taking in the space that felt both familiar and slightly intimidating. The red-accented walls were lined with framed artwork and sketches, a testament to the creativity that buzzed within these walls. Aspen adjusted the strap of her tote bag on her shoulder, her heart racing—not from fear, but from anticipation.

Zayn was the first to notice her. He was behind the counter, flipping through the appointment book, and his face lit up when he saw her. "Well, if it isn't little miss Aspen," he greeted warmly, leaning casually on the counter. "What brings you here today?"

Aspen offered him a shy smile, shifting on her feet. "Hi, Zayn. I, um... I'm here to see Harry."

Zayn's brows lifted, his grin widening with mischief. "Here to see Harry, huh?" His tone was teasing, but not unkind. He gestured toward the back of the shop with his chin. "He's in his office. Go on back."

Before Aspen could move, another voice chimed in—Niall, sitting in the nearby waiting area, sketchpad in hand. "Ooh, Harry's got visitors now? And bringing lunch, too? Look at him, living the dream." His Irish lilt made the teasing even more playful, and Aspen could feel the heat rising to her cheeks.

"Shut up, you two," came Harry's familiar voice from somewhere behind them. He appeared a moment later, his flannel sleeves rolled up, ink staining the tips of his fingers. His green eyes softened the moment they landed on Aspen. "Hey, love," he said, the corner of his mouth curving into a lopsided grin. "You didn't tell me you were coming."

Aspen smiled nervously, lifting the lunch bag a little as if to explain herself. "I thought I'd surprise you... I figured you might not have had lunch."

Harry's gaze flickered to the bag, then back to her, and something warm and unspoken passed between them. "Y'know me too well," he said softly. Then, turning to Zayn and Niall, he added, "Don't you two have something better to do than nose into my business?"

"Not a chance," Niall quipped, earning a laugh from Zayn. "You're the entertainment, mate."

Harry rolled his eyes but didn't bother responding. Instead, he placed a hand lightly on Aspen's lower back, guiding her toward the hallway that led to his office. "C'mon, let's get out of here before they make it worse."

Aspen's skin tingled where his hand rested, and she couldn't help but glance back over her shoulder. Zayn gave her a wink, and Niall mimed a slow clap, his grin wide. They exchanged a look between each other, surprised at Harry's sudden softness. 

She turned forward quickly, her cheeks flushing even more. "They seem... nice," she murmured. Harry chuckled, his voice low and warm. "Nice isn't the word I'd use, but they mean well."

When they reached his office, Harry pushed the door open and gestured for Aspen to step inside first. The space was small but cozy, with sketches pinned to the walls and a desk covered in art supplies and paperwork. A worn leather couch sat against one wall, and the scent of ink and faint traces of cologne lingered in the air.

"Make yourself at home," Harry said, shutting the door behind them. He leaned back against it for a moment, watching as Aspen set her bag down on the desk. There was something about the way she moved, so quietly yet purposefully, that tugged at his chest. And he would be lying if he said his eyes didn't wander lower, lingering on how her gray leggings hugged the beautiful curve of her ass. He looked back up with a small smirk when she turned back to face him.

Aspen glanced around, taking in the little details of his space. It felt so him—creative, a little messy, but warm. She carefully unzipped the lunch bag, pulling out the container and setting it in front of him. "I, um, made this for you," she said softly. "I hope it's okay... I wasn't sure what you'd like, but..."

Harry stepped closer, reaching out to lift the container's lid. The smell of the warm food hit him immediately, and his eyes widened slightly. "You made all this?" he asked, looking at her in surprise.

Aspen nodded, twisting her hands together nervously. "I thought... maybe you don't bring lunch with you? And I just wanted to, you know... do something nice for you."

Harry stared at the meal for a moment, then back at her, his expression unreadable. Finally, he smiled—a slow, genuine smile that reached his eyes. "You didn't have to do this," he said, his voice soft, almost reverent. "But... thank you, Aspen. Really."

Her heart fluttered at the way he said her name, the warmth in his tone making her feel like she'd done something right. "I just... I wanted to," she admitted, looking down at her hands. "You do so much for me, Harry. I wanted to do something for you, too."

Harry stepped closer, reaching out to touch her arm lightly. "You're somethin' else, y'know that?" he said, his voice low. His touch was gentle, grounding, and Aspen felt her nerves settle slightly under his gaze.

They stood there for a moment, the quiet intimacy of the moment wrapping around them like a blanket. For Harry, the thoughtfulness of her gesture was almost overwhelming. He wasn't used to people doing things for him, not like this—not with so much care. And for Aspen, the way he looked at her, like she was the most important person in the world, made her chest feel light and full all at once.

Harry reached down, his hand sliding gently along Aspen's arm as he leaned in, brushing his lips against hers in a soft, lingering kiss. It wasn't rushed or demanding, just a quiet moment that seemed to still the world around them. Aspen's breath caught, her eyes fluttering shut as her heart raced in her chest. When he pulled back, his gaze lingered on her face, his green eyes warm and filled with something she couldn't quite name but felt deeply all the same.

"C'mon," Harry murmured, his voice low and coaxing. He slid his hand into hers, guiding her toward the worn leather couch against the wall. Aspen followed, feeling lightheaded but blissfully so, her fingers curling around his instinctively.

As they settled onto the couch, Harry unwrapped the container she'd brought him, his brows raising slightly as he took in the meal. The sight of it—the steak bites perfectly cooked, the fluffy cilantro lime red rice, and the creamy mac and cheese—made something tight in his chest ease. She'd done this for him, thought of him enough to go out of her way. He wasn't used to that kind of care, and it both surprised and humbled him.

He took the first bite, letting out a low hum of approval. "Bloody hell, Asp," he said, looking at her with wide eyes. "This is incredible. You've been holding out on me, haven't you?"

Aspen's cheeks flushed immediately, her fingers twisting in the hem of her borrowed shirt. She ducked her head, a small, shy smile tugging at her lips. "I don't cook much," she admitted, her voice soft. "It's kind of rare that I actually feel like doing it."

"Well, I'm lucky you felt like it today," Harry said, taking another bite and savoring it. He glanced at her, his grin softening into something more genuine. "You're spoiling me, baby."

The word "baby" made Aspen's stomach flip, and she pressed her lips together to keep from smiling too widely. She couldn't help the warmth spreading through her chest at his words, though, or the way her heart seemed to skip every time he looked at her like that.

As Harry continued to eat, he threw in compliments here and there—about how perfectly seasoned the steak was, how the rice was better than anything he'd had from a restaurant. Each word made Aspen shrink a little further into herself, not because she didn't like the praise, but because it made her feel so seen. She wasn't used to this, to being appreciated so openly, and the intensity of it made her shy.

But as she watched him eat, a different thought began to creep into her mind, one that made her pulse quicken. She wanted to kiss him again. Badly. The way his lips curved into a soft smile as he spoke, the way he licked a stray bit of sauce from the corner of his mouth—it all drew her in, leaving her with a quiet ache she didn't know how to voice. The realization made her blush even more, and she turned her gaze toward the floor, embarrassed by her own thoughts.

Harry, ever perceptive, noticed the shift in her demeanor. He set the container down for a moment, leaning back against the couch as he looked at her. "Y'alright?" he asked, his voice gentle but curious.

Aspen nodded quickly, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her leggings. "Yeah, I'm fine," she said, though her voice was quieter than usual. She glanced at him, and the intensity of his gaze made her heart stutter. "Just... thinking."

"Thinkin' about what?" Harry asked, tilting his head slightly. He had a feeling he knew, but he didn't want to push her too much. He could tell she was feeling shy, and the last thing he wanted was to make her uncomfortable.

Aspen hesitated, her lips parting as if to speak, but no words came out. Instead, she looked down again, her blush deepening.

Harry couldn't help the soft chuckle that escaped him. "Asp," he said, reaching out to take her hand in his. His thumb brushed over her knuckles, and the touch sent a shiver up her spine. "Y'don't have to say anything if you're not ready. But if i's about me, I'm all ears."

Aspen bit her lip, her gaze flickering up to meet his for a moment before dropping again. "I was just... thinking about... how much I liked—" She broke off, her face flaming as she stumbled over her words. "Never mind."

Harry's grin widened slightly, though his tone remained soft when he spoke. "How much you liked what? The food? Or somethin' else?"

She groaned softly, hiding her face in her hands. "Harry," she said, her voice muffled but filled with exasperation. "You're making it worse."

"Alright, alright," he said, laughing quietly. But he didn't let go of her hand, and the warmth of his touch was enough to steady her nerves. He was patient, waiting for her to speak when she was ready, and that alone made her feel a little braver.

"I was thinking about kissing you," Aspen finally admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. She peeked at him through her fingers, her heart hammering in her chest. "And now I'm all embarrassed, so... yeah."

Harry stared at her for a moment, his chest tightening in a way he hadn't expected. She was so endearingly honest, even when it made her nervous, and he found himself falling for her all over again. "You're somethin' else, Asp," he murmured, his voice soft. He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against her temple. "Y'don't have to be embarrassed, love. I've been thinkin' the same thing."

Aspen's blush deepened, but this time, there was a small, shy smile tugging at her lips. "You have?" she asked, her voice laced with disbelief.

"Course I have," Harry said, his tone gentle but firm. "Who wouldn't?"

Aspen fidgeted with her hands as she tucked her legs beneath her on the couch, her blush still lingering as she glanced shyly at Harry. The words danced on the edge of her tongue, but she hesitated, biting her lip as if she wasn't sure if she should say them. He waited, patient as ever, his eyes soft as they studied her face. Finally, she took a deep breath and let the words tumble out.

"Maybe it's the whole... 'I have a boyfriend' thing," Aspen murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, "but I've been thinking about you more than usual. Like... a lot more." She peeked up at him from beneath her lashes, her cheeks burning with the admission.

The corners of Harry's mouth curved into a slow, warm smile. His chest tightened at her honesty, and a wave of gratitude washed over him. He knew how much it took for Aspen to open up like this—how much courage it required for her to let him in on the thoughts she usually kept to herself. That bravery was one of the things he admired most about her.

"Y'know," he said softly, setting the half-eaten container of food aside, "you're so brave, Asp. For tellin' me all this. For lettin' me in." His voice was warm, laced with sincerity, as he leaned forward to take her hands in his. His thumbs traced gentle circles over her knuckles, his touch grounding her in the moment.

Aspen looked down at their hands, her lips curving into a shy smile. "It's easier with you," she admitted. "You make it... safe. Like I can say anything, and it'll be okay."

Harry's heart swelled at her words, and a quiet sense of wonder settled over him. He'd never expected to find someone like Aspen—someone who made him want to be better, softer, more present. He gave her hands a gentle tug, guiding her toward him.

"C'mere," he said, his voice low and coaxing. Aspen hesitated for only a moment before letting him pull her onto his lap. Her hands instinctively went to his shoulders for balance, and his arms wrapped around her waist, holding her securely.

She let out a small, breathy laugh, her cheeks flushing again as she settled against him. "This is so unfair," she mumbled, though her tone was more playful than anything.

"Unfair?" Harry repeated, raising a brow as he gave her a teasing grin. "How's this unfair?"

"You're too... you," she said, gesturing vaguely as if that explained everything.

Harry chuckled, his hands resting gently on her waist as he pressed a kiss to her shoulder. His lips lingered there for a moment, and he couldn't help but take in the details of her outfit—the way the leggings hugged her legs, the way his shirt looked impossibly better on her than it ever had on him.

"You're wearin' my shirt," he teased, his voice a low murmur against her skin. His grin widened as he leaned back slightly to get a better look at her. "Didn't think you'd steal from me so soon, love."

Aspen's eyes widened, and she quickly tugged at the hem of the shirt, her blush deepening. "I didn't steal it!" she protested, though her voice was soft and her smile betrayed her. "You didn't mention needing it back, and it was... just there, and it's comfortable, so..."

"So y'stole it," Harry finished for her, his tone light and teasing.

She buried her face in her hands, letting out a soft groan. "You're impossible," she mumbled, though the warmth in her voice gave her away.

Harry laughed, his hand sliding up to gently pull her hands away from her face. "Impossible, huh? Guess that makes two of us," he said, his grin softening as he looked at her. His thumb brushed over her cheek, and he leaned in just enough to rest his forehead against hers.

For a moment, the world outside faded, leaving only the quiet hum of their connection. Aspen felt her heart steady, the nervous flutter settling into something warm and sure. Harry's presence had a way of grounding her, of making her feel like she could let go of the walls she'd spent so long building.

"You're somethin' else, Asp," Harry murmured, his voice filled with quiet reverence. "Y'know that?" Aspen bit her lip, her gaze meeting his. "I think you might've mentioned it," she said softly, her smile shy but genuine. Harry chuckled, leaning in to press a tender kiss to her temple. "Well, I'll keep sayin' it," he promised, his arms tightening around her. "Every chance I get."

Aspen’s fingers moved delicately along Harry’s shirt collar, their slow, rhythmic movements betraying the nervous energy coursing through her. She felt the soft material between her fingers, grounding herself in the moment, but all resolve slipped away when Harry pulled her closer. A small, involuntary sound escaped her lips, blending into a soft giggle as his lips curved into a smirk against hers.

Harry’s hands rested on her hips, his grip firm but reassuring. He tilted his head up to meet her lips, their familiar softness igniting a warmth in his chest. It had been too long—much too long—since he’d kissed her like this, and the moment felt like a long-awaited reunion. The cool press of his lip ring against her skin sent a shiver through her, its gentle nudges against her teeth a comforting reminder of their closeness.

For Harry, kissing Aspen always felt different—more intimate, more profound. Her lips molded perfectly against his, and the subtle gasps she made only fueled his desire to savor every second. It wasn’t just the act itself; it was the way she melted into him, the way her quiet trust was woven into every kiss.

Aspen slid her arms around his neck, her thumbs brushing lightly against the soft curls at the nape of his neck. The sensation made him hum low in his throat, the sound reverberating between them. Her touch was featherlight, reverent, and it made Harry feel cared for in a way he couldn’t quite describe.

Their kisses were slow and tender at first, each one a quiet confession of how much they’d missed this. But when Aspen tilted her head slightly, granting him better access, Harry’s lips parted. His tongue brushed against her bottom lip, and Aspen’s breath hitched. Without hesitation, she parted her lips, letting the kiss deepen.

The moment their tongues met, Aspen’s body instinctively leaned closer, her movements shy yet intentional. The languid motion of their tongues moving together sent a warmth coursing through her, spreading from her chest to her fingertips. Her thumbs brushed gently over the curls at the base of his neck, grounding her in the moment.

For Harry, it was as if time slowed. Every touch, every small sound Aspen made, was etched into his mind. His fingers tightened slightly on her hips as he sat up straighter, his head tilting to match the new depth of their kiss. The soft noise Aspen made from her nose—a quiet exhale laced with pleasure—sent a jolt through him. He didn’t want to stop, but the need to taste more of her overwhelmed him.

Reluctantly, Harry pulled away from her lips, but he didn’t stray far. His lips pressed gently to her jawline, tracing a line of tender kisses down to the side of her neck. Aspen tilted her head instinctively, granting him better access, her cheeks flushed with a deep blush that spread all the way to her neck. The warmth of his mouth against her skin made her dizzy in the best way, and she let her eyes flutter shut as she leaned into his touch.

Though this was only the second time Harry had kissed her like this, the intensity of it all overwhelmed Aspen in the best way. It wasn’t just the physicality of it—it was the way Harry’s touch felt deliberate, the way he seemed to cherish every inch of her. She buried her manicured nails gently into the curls at the back of his neck, her fingers tightening slightly as she let herself sink further into the moment.

Harry’s hands shifted, his fingers splaying out over her hips as they began to wander. He tested the waters carefully, his hands slowly moving toward the curve of her ass.

“This okay?” His voice was low, thick with want but tempered with care, his words murmured between kisses as his lips lingered against her skin.

Aspen’s breath caught at his question, but she nodded, her voice soft yet assured. “Yes,” she whispered, her tone trembling slightly but filled with trust. When Harry kissed that one particular spot on her neck, a breathy whine escaped her lips. “Yes, it’s okay,” she repeated, her voice barely above a whisper.

Harry hummed in approval, the sound vibrating against her skin as he kissed her again, focusing on the spot that had made her gasp. His fingers moved lower, trailing over the curve of her ass before gripping gently, pulling her closer against him. She fit against him so perfectly, it almost made his head spin.

“You’re perfect,” Harry whispered against her skin, his lips brushing against her collarbone. He pressed wet, lingering kisses there, his teeth grazing her lightly, just enough to make her shiver. Aspen’s hands tightened in his curls, her soft breaths quickening.

The next sound she made was different, not quite a whine but unmistakably a moan. It was quiet, shy, as if she hadn’t meant for it to slip out, but it made Harry pause for a moment.

She had moaned for him, on his lap, in his office, because of what he was doing. 

Harry groaned softly against her neck, his lips trailing wet kisses along her skin. The nip he gave to her sweet spot drew a quiet gasp from Aspen, followed immediately by a soothing kiss that made her body relax under his touch. She felt warm, wrapped in the cocoon of his arms, and completely consumed by the moment—until a sharp sound jolted her out of it.

Her eyes shot open, her ears now hyper-focused on the unmistakable sound of footsteps approaching the door. Panic shot through her like lightning, and her hands quickly slid down from Harry’s neck to his shoulders. She gave him a gentle but urgent push, scrambling off his lap and onto the seat beside him.

Harry blinked in confusion, leaning back against the cool leather as he tried to process what had just happened. His brows furrowed deeply, his green eyes clouded with concern. Had he done something wrong? The thought made his stomach twist uncomfortably.

“Asp?” His voice was low, tinged with worry as he studied her flushed face. “What happened? Did I—.”

Before he could finish his thought, Aspen shook her head frantically, her soft voice rushing out a series of breathless “no’s.” She was practically vibrating with nerves, her fingers twisting in the hem of his shirt when the door swung open.

There, standing with smug grins and bags of crisps in hand, were Zayn and Niall.

“We just came to check on how your homemade lunch was,” Zayn began, his tone dripping with mock innocence. His gaze flitted between Harry and Aspen, taking in their disheveled state. His grin widened. “But it’s very clear you need some alone time.”

Niall snickered beside him, not bothering to hide his amusement. Harry ran a hand through his wild curls, his face twisting into a scowl.

The picture Zayn painted wasn’t far off. Harry’s hair was a mess, his lips red and slick from their kisses, and Aspen’s face was a shade of crimson that matched the heat she felt radiating from her cheeks. They probably looked the part of being “busy,” and that only added to Harry’s irritation.

“Don’t you dipshits know how to knock?” Harry growled, his voice sharp as his glare bore into them. “Get the hell out.”

Zayn and Niall didn’t seem phased, their laughter echoing as they backed out of the room. They continued to crack jokes through the muffled door, their chatter trailing off as their footsteps faded.

The silence that followed was thick, broken only by the sound of Harry letting out a long, exasperated sigh. He leaned back and turned his head to Aspen, his expression softening the moment he saw her face. She was burning red with embarrassment, her wide brown eyes fixed on the closed door as if willing it to lock on its own.

Harry chuckled softly, the sound low and warm as he reached out to brush her hair behind her ear. His fingertips lingered against her cheek, his touch gentle and grounding.

“That was somethin’, huh?” he said, his lips curving into a small, apologetic smile. “Sorry 'bout that, love. Was what I was doing okay? Didn’t scare you off, did I?”

Aspen let out a shaky breath, her hands fidgeting with the hem of her shirt as she tried to gather her thoughts. Slowly, her eyes peeled away from the door to meet Harry’s.

Her gaze took in everything about him—his unruly curls, his lips still glistening and swollen from their kisses, the cool glint of his lip ring catching the light. He looked confident and composed, as if the interruption hadn’t rattled him at all. It was unfair, really, how effortlessly handsome he was, and the realization only made her blush deepen.

“No, no…” Aspen’s voice was soft, barely above a whisper as she tried to convey her feelings. “It was good. I liked it. Really… liked it, H.”

Her words were sincere, and though her tone was laced with shyness, it carried a weight of gratitude. She appreciated how Harry always checked in with her, how he never took her silence or hesitation as anything but a reason to ensure her comfort.

Harry’s heart swelled at her honesty. He knew how much courage it took for her to open up, and every time she did, it felt like a gift. His lips curved into a small, lopsided grin as he hummed in approval.

“Mmm.” His fingers wrapped gently around her ankle, tugging her closer with ease. “Yeah?”

Before Aspen could process what was happening, Harry guided her down onto the seat, coaxing her to recline fully. She felt her heartbeat thunder in her chest, each pulse so loud she swore it echoed in her ears.

Her breath hitched when Harry nudged her thighs apart with his knee, settling himself between them. The closeness made her head spin, her fingers instinctively reaching up to tangle themselves in his curls at the nape of his neck once again.

Harry’s grin widened, playful and teasing as his gaze roamed over her. “Good,” he murmured, his voice low and tinged with amusement as he kissed her shoulder and worked his way slowly up the side of her neck.

“’Cause I wasn’t done.”

[ladamedusoif]

Cookies (Tim Rockford X F!Reader)

A Merry Fic-Mas - December 26

Pairing: Tim Rockford x F!Reader

Word Count: 1455

Rating: Explicit; 18+ MDNI

Warnings: Established relationship (Reader is Tim’s wife); workplace sex; fingering; unprotected but safe PiV sex (Reader is on birth control); no use of Y/N; no physical descriptions of Reader; strong language; when we say “fuck the police” this is what we mean

Part of A Merry Fic-Mas: A Pedro Boys Holiday Fic Calendar - click for masterlist!

Follow my writing blog @ladameecrit and turn on notifications to keep up with my work.

Tim kisses you on the cheek as he heads down to the precinct on Christmas Eve, overcoat in hand.

“I hate leaving you all, baby, but…”

You wrap him in a tight embrace and return his kiss. “Tim, you’re a good man. I’m sure Corinna appreciates you taking the Christmas Eve cover, so she can be at home for her baby’s first Christmas.”

Your husband’s ears pink up a little at your praise. “I guess. And older cops did it for us, too, when the kids were tiny.”

He looks over your shoulder into your mother’s kitchen, where your daughters are excitedly asking their grandma whether the Christmas cookies are cool enough to decorate. You turn and smile at the scene.

“I love you, Detective Rockford. We’ll save you some cookies. Come home safe.”

***

The cop at the front desk is thanking his lucky stars as he sips his umpteenth cup of filter coffee. It’s almost midnight on Christmas Eve, and - other than a couple of minor call-outs for the guys out in the patrol car to break up bar fights - he hasn’t had to book a single person into the cells.

It’s a goddamn Christmas miracle.

And then the door buzzes. He sighs in exasperation and checks the CCTV. A woman, wearing a winter hat and carrying a tote bag. He presses the button to let her in.

“Hello there, ma’am. Now, I have to warn you, as it’s Christmas Eve we don’t have a full complement of officers in tonight and - oh! Hi there, Mrs R!”

You smile as you take off your hat and scarf, and hand him a small tin. “Hey, Bryan. Tim in his office?”

“Sure is. Hey, these some of your famous cookies?”

You’re already climbing the stairs to your husband’s office. “Maybe. Open it and see if Santa thinks you’ve been a good cop this year.”

***

Tim’s at his desk, shirt sleeves rolled up and tie slightly loose, flipping through some papers with his glasses on. The desk lamp bathes him in a warm light, highlighting his handsome features, and you pause for a moment to take him in before you knock on the door.

He looks up in surprise before a broad smile spreads across his face. “Hello there, miss. What brings you to the precinct on a Christmas Eve?”

You carefully close the door and turn the little lock on the handle, before pulling down the blind. You reach into your bag and produce another cookie tin, sauntering over to Tim’s desk and placing it in front of him.

“So, everyone was tucked up in bed at home, and would you believe it? I met Santa Claus, leaving gifts for the girls.”

Your husband chuckles and pulls you onto his lap. “That so?”

You nod. “The man himself. And you know what he said?”

Tim shakes his head, eyes twinkling. You lean in and kiss him softly.

“He said that Tim Rockford had been a particularly good boy this year, and he should get an extra special gift.”

Tim’s eyes turn to the cookie tin. “The cookies?”

You shrug, reach for the tin, and open the lid. “You could say that, I guess. They’re part of the gift.”

He bursts out laughing when he looks inside and takes out a gingerbread man perfectly decorated to resemble - well, him. White shirt, black pants, dark hair and moustache, tie, and even a pair of shoulder holsters.

“Your handiwork?”

You throw your head back and laugh. “Damn right. Why wouldn’t I make cookies that look like the most delicious man I know?”

He eyes you up suspiciously, but a smile plays on his lips. “You said the cookies were part of the gift.”

You stand up and move his paperwork out of the way, clearing enough space on the desk so that you can sit up on it. “The other part is under my coat.”

Tim’s eyes widen as he reaches for the buttons on your knee-length woollen coat, unbuttoning them eagerly and pulling the coat open.

His mouth falls open. “Holy fuck, baby.”

“You like what you see?” You fight against all the anxieties and insecurities that haunt you about your body, focusing on the look of astonished desire that’s burning in your husband’s eyes.

Tim’s eyes roam over you, taking in the dark red bra and matching, high-waisted panties trimmed in black lace, the sheer black stockings. He carefully eases off your coat and throws it to one side, running his big hands gently over the soft skin of your shoulders as he slips down the straps of your bra.

“I love what I see.” His voice is a rapt whisper.

He slips his hands to your back and waist and pulls you tight to him as he kisses you deeply, moaning as you twine your fingers through his dark, grey-streaked curls. You bring your hands to his belt buckle, working it open and undoing his pants so you can palm his cock, already hardening under your touch.

Tim brings his mouth to the side of your neck and begins to softly bite and lick the sensitive skin, working his way down to your breasts as one hand holds you in place while the other tugs aside the lacy fabric that covers your pussy. “I fucking love what I see,” he grunts, pulling down the cups of your bra to expose your breasts. “I love you. My sexy fucking wife.”

You whine as two thick fingers trail across your folds before settling on your clit, working it steadily in the way only he knows. “I’m going to get you good and wet for me, my love,” Tim murmurs, encouraging you to lift your hips so he can ease off your panties.

“Mmmm… and then what are you going to do to me, Detective?”

He slips his fingers into your cunt, pulling a delighted gasp from you. “And then, Mrs Rockford, I plan on fucking you hard right here on this desk. But only if you come for me first.”

A hook of his fingers and you’re squealing with pleasure as Tim spreads you out in front of him, standing between your thighs as you continue to stroke his dick. He fucks you over and over with his fingers, watching you writhe and buck as you near your climax.

“C’mon, baby,” he whispers, eyes locked on yours. “You look so beautiful like this, all spread out and ready to come on my fingers. Can’t fuckin’ believe you’re mine, sometimes.” Your pussy tightens around him and he knows you’re about to come.

“Tim…Tim, fuck, I’m - oh, fuck, baby.” He keeps fingering you through the orgasm, sucking on your nipples as he extends the wave of pleasure running through you.

You reach up and undo his tie and unbutton his shirt, hitching up his under vest so you can feel the soft, warm skin of his belly against yours as he pushes himself inside you and begins to fuck you. You hitch up your legs around his waist to hold Tim in place, slipping your hands under his shirt and gripping his broad shoulders firmly as he takes you on his desk.

“Feel good?”

“Fucking incredible, Tim - you?”

He leans his head against your chest and flicks his tongue over your nipple. “Baby, you always feel amazing but this - fuck, this is so fuckin’ good. Feels so tight and wet for me. Listen to that.”

For a moment the only sound in the office is the lewd wetness, skin on skin, and your pants and moans.

“Can’t believe you did this for me, baby,” Tim grunts, speeding up his rhythm and making you whine, arching your back. “Came down here in nothing but lingerie, ready to fuck me…fuck, you’re incredible.”

You giggle a little. “Got lonely at home, my love. Needed to have my man.”

Tim’s faltering rhythm tells you he’s nearly there as he buries himself deeper inside you. “You’ve got him, baby. All yours. All…”

And he’s there, spilling inside you as he collapses on your chest.

***

Cleaned up but still a little dishevelled, you sit on the floor of the office and eat some of the cookies, accompanied by weak coffee.

In the distance, you can hear chimes signalling the hour.

“Hey. It’s midnight. Merry Christmas, Detective Rockford.”

Tim kisses you, tasting of ginger and sugar and spice and all things nice.

“Merry Christmas, Mrs Rockford. And thank you for my extra-special gift.”

[fledermaus-mainblog]

Pink Tote Discussion: My Personal Experience with Parental Trauma

I've been seeing a lot of "pink tote lid" moments* on TikTok today and it has given me pause to think about the things I've experienced with my own parents. My parents and I are, for the most part, on at least somewhat better terms now, but they're still bullies and it doesn't erase the experiences I had as a child.

*For those unaware, pink tote lid refers to a TikTok video where an individual recounts their experience with emotional abuse from their parents, wherein the mother screams at their child because she wanted them to get the pink tote lids out of the bathroom.

Trauma manifests in many different ways, and it can be hard for an individual to tell what exactly their trauma stems from. In my case, the main issue with identifying my trauma was the fact that I have memory issues. It's a vicious cycle — Between having ADHD and mental illness, my memory is very poor. That coupled with the fact that as you grow with little perspective of what others' upbringings are like, you grow comfortable in the idea that it's just normal behavior.

For the longest time when I was a child, I had an issue with food insecurity.

I don't know the true source, but my guess is that I wasn't fed enough. My family members tell me that I was being fed constantly, but then again, they are also responsible for my trauma. Not exactly reliable to my narrative. I remember that I often ate small amounts, but very frequently. I couldn't stomach a full meal, and instead liked snacking throughout the day.

My parents... Did not like this. I remember being hungry rather often because they didn't want to accommodate my appetite needs. Perhaps this is the reason I started food hoarding.

I think this behavior started around when I was five years old. I would sneak out of bed during the night or early morning and raid the fridge as well as the cabinets, often taking sugary snacks back to my room. Sometimes I would pick dried scraps from dinner off of the stove. I would discard the wrappers and containers under my bed or behind my dresser. When I was caught, I would get a beating. Eventually, they started locking the fridge and cabinets.

At one point, they locked me in my room for the night so that I could not sneak food again. When I woke the next morning, I had to pee very badly. I banged on the door for what felt like hours — My parents slept at the other end of the house. They couldn't hear me. If they did, they didn't care. I banged, and banged, and called. Finally, I couldn't hold it any longer. I ended up wetting myself because they had locked me in my room. I don't think I got a beating that time, but I was yelled at.

I was beaten once because I was suspected of eating a container of leftover sauteed mushrooms from the fridge. I hadn't. I tried to convince my mother of this, and she refused to believe me. I got the belt for it. Only later did my mother realize that my father ate them. She did not apologize to me.

Sometimes, I think to myself that I was not abused. And perhaps I wasn't. But man, sometimes it doesn't feel like my parents wanted me at all.

[tarzinnia]

Surface Tension

This is for @littlewhispersofsolitude OTP Prompt: Kisses

"Kissing each other as tears well in their eyes because they're not sure if/when they'll see each other again. Wrapping their arms around each other, pulling them closer to feel every bit of them in case it's the last time they get to."

A/N: I hope I credited the prompt properly. Please correct me if I need to change how I did that.

Pairing: Peter Parker x OC or Peter Parker x Reader

Warnings: Angst maybe?

She was sitting on a small blue blanket near a tree; it wasn't their tree since this was Central Park. Their tree, where they usually shared lunch, was in a park in Queens, much closer to each of their apartments but she had asked to meet him here, near her office. She said she needed to finish this project before she left tomorrow but he knew it was to keep the moment impersonal somehow. Easier.

As if anything was easy.

As if anything was.

As if anything.

As if.

He didn't approach her. Not yet.

She hadn't started searching for him amongst the people dotted here and there like a painting by Seurat. People walking, lounging on the grass, tossing a frisbee.

She was motionless, however, her face turned slightly away. His eyes followed her gaze to a brown-haired young man and a slender woman each holding the hand of a small boy between them, lifting the child up every so often and swinging him, his bare arms taut while his little legs bicycled through the air.

He didn't care to examine the emotion that descended from his throat and twisted somewhere in the vicinity of his heart at the vignette displayed on the grassy lawn. Him watching her watching them. What could be. Whatever there is. Whatever...

As if.

Her raised arm indicated she had spotted him and he strolled over to the tree that wasn't theirs.

"Hi."

"Hi." She was smiling at him but her eyes were not. The word inscrutable came to mind but he didn't normally use fancy words like that.

"I bought sandwiches, I hope that's okay?" She gestured at the paper sack from a deli near her workplace and pulled two water bottles from her ever present tote with I read banned books emblazoned on the side. He gave her that tote last October, when they sat under their tree, its bare arms reaching up. Reaching out. As if.

He didn't want to sit near this tree. He didn't want to sit and catch the scent of her perfume. To sit and watch her delicate fingers brush her hair from her eyes as the breeze blew wisps about her face. To sit and see her wistful smile as she watched him eat. Reaching out with her fingers to brush a crumb off his cheek. As if.

They ate in silence. The words were knotted in the tangles and twists of a timeline that began at their tree and ended at the tree that wasn't theirs. They sat together, watching as the couple with the little boy tossed a kite in the air. Watching as it danced clear of the open arms of nearby trees, reaching for the sky. As if.

Him watching her watching them. Until she caught his eye and cleared her throat, and began to gather their empty wrappers and napkins, sweeping them into the tote. Inscrutable, he thought.

His hand closed around the pink bottle in his pocket and he slowly withdrew his hand, turning away slightly so she couldn't see as he set the bottle on the blanket and twisted off the lid. Two wands. After the very first time at their tree he added the second one just for her.

He turned toward her, drawing a wand out and lifting it to his lips so that the bubbles came around them like a cloud. Floating towards her, floating into open arms reaching towards his, floating towards the sky. As if.

"Peter." Her voice caught on his name. Her arms wrapping around him, holding him tightly while the bubbles floated around them and above them and vanished one by one.

She kissed him as if afraid the memories would vanish like bubbles. She kissed him as if their arms would forever be empty, she kissed him as if it were the easiest thing in the world to love him.

She kissed him as if she would never see him again.

As if.

"I'm coming back, Peter. I love you. You know that. I promise I'm coming back."

He looked at her face, no longer inscrutable; reaching out with love.

As if it were a kite, his heart lifted toward the sky. As if.

END

[chilewithcarnage]

seeing these pink tote lid moment tiktoks...let me kill your parents baby. please let me murder your parents ruthlessly & violently.

[chr0nicallycautious]

my mother

pink tote lid moment; the experience of being belittled or demeaned by one’s parents, in some cases even physically abused.

i think my whole life has been one big pink tote lid moment. from the moment i could walk, talk and follow basic instructions, i have been my mothers slave. i was always at her beck and call. whenever she needed me, i was there and always willing to do what she asked of me. i dont know why i gave up my life and devoted myself to such a women.

she always talked about how i deserved more; i deserved to be loved and treated with respect, never talked down on, cherished and cared for so deeply, which completely contradicts her behaviours towards me.

my mother is not a good person and i dont think she ever has been. she had her first child at 18/19, had her second at 24/25 and me a year later and proceeded to have two more after me. it always confuses me as to why she has so many kids when she has such little respect for them.

she was so willing to let go of my older brother when i was just a baby, leaving him with my nanny. her negligence towards him strained the relationship between me and my older brother. and then my other older sibling, gave them an ultimatum in which they could not uphold one of the options and was thrown out of the house.

i keep waiting for this moment to happen to me. for her to throw me out despite everything ive ever done to her. i cook, clean, and care for my younger siblings. i do her favours, expecting nothing in return and work tirelessly like a dog for her.

my mother is not a good person. she loses her temper and when she flies into a temper its like walking on eggshells; a bomb about to explode. you hold your breath waiting for her wrath.

my mother claims she was never physical with us and hates physically disciplining up. tell me why most of the memories i have from when i was younger are of her and my father threatening us with physical violence.

"if you dont do ____ ill rattle your backsides"

"ill smack you so hard you wont be able to sit for a week."

"if you dont stop crying ill give you something to cry about."

the threats always slipped so easily from their tongues, it makes me wonder if they actually felt bad or not. we werent bad children. we were jsut children. children refuse to tidy their rooms, the procrastinate on chores, they act out, they have bad behaviours. i know this from working with children. but at the end of the day, theyre children. they dont know right from wrong. they need to be taught to do these things and given a reason why. threatening them isnt going to do anything other than scare them and make them fear you. and this is how ive felt about my mother my whole life.

i always did things for her out of fear. always did my chores, did everything she asked. i became her best friend so she wouldnt target her anger towards me but in the end it was directed to my younger siblings for their disobedience but in the end it just made them loathe me because i was close with the person who was hurting us. i remember so vividly the fear that struck me after my older sibling was kicked out; every time my mother came up the stairs, i would believe she was coming to kill me. the impulsive thoughts got so bad that i was riddled with anxiety for months and ive never recovered and live in a permanent state of anxiousness.

my mother has been detrimental to my mental health. i cant live in this house. im suffocating. im afraid. what child should be afraid of their own mother.

my most recent pink tote moment is when i woke up to her shouting at me, saying if i didnt clean my room, take down the rubbish and dishes then she would send my best friend - who was staying for the weekend - home. but i knew that it wouldnt stop there. she'd gut the room herself and all my personal belongings would be taken to the tip. she'd make my life a living hell and for what reason?

i never felt like i had a loving mother figure in my life ever. because what mother would treat her child with such little respect.

every child deserves a mother, but not all mothers deserve children. and my mother is one of those.

[entinullbutno]

Ik this is a tiktok trend but my pink tote lid moment was having finally cut my abuser off in middle school, feeling horrible about it, trying to tell my parents about the manipulation that was being thrown at me by her and her family and them blaming me for it and calling me a villian

[roosterbruiser]

𝐋𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐝𝐞 ☾☽ 𝐂𝐡. 𝐈𝐕

☾☽ 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐲 "𝐑𝐨𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫" 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐰 𝐱 𝐅𝐚𝐲𝐞 "𝐂𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫" 𝐋𝐞𝐝𝐠𝐞𝐫

���☽ 𝐃𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧: It’s been almost three years since the accident that took half of her, and Faye “Clover” Ledger seems fine, really. She loves her old house, she has a perpetually expanding vinyl collection, she’s got a job she likes on base, and she is only a short drive from the beach. She’s grounded--literally. Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw feels like he’s been homesick his entire life. He’s always on the move;  jumping from one squadron to another, living one mission to the next. Somewhere in between losing both his parents and carving a successful career as a Naval aviator, he’s never found himself a home. When a call to serve on a high-priority mission with an elite squadron brings Rooster back to Miramar, he finds that home. Except it’s not a house that he finds--it’s the former backseater that observes and records the mission for the Official Navy Record. 

☾☽ 𝐋𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

☾☽ 𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐛𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

☾☽ 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐅𝐨𝐮𝐫  𝐉𝐮𝐥𝐲 𝟏𝟕𝐭𝐡, ����𝟎𝟏𝟗

“You’re all dismissed,” Maverick says, still looking between Rooster and Hangman.

The two men are like animals: a slinky feline rubbing up against the grated door of a caged feral canine. Almost untouchable, taunting. 

Hangman breaks past Rooster and starts sauntering toward the exit behind me, his eyes half-lidded and a partial smirk snagging his lips. He moves slowly and deliberately, like he’s about to rub up against my legs and and purr for some scraps of chicken. 

I’m standing, gripping the sides of my temporary desk, the invisible string connecting Rooster and I taut. We had both jumped up at the exact same moment, coming out of our chairs abruptly like we’d been bitten by something. We moved in tandem the way Maggie and I used to--unbuckling our seatbelts, spitting our toothpaste into the basin, ejecting from a burning jet. 

My cheeks are pink, but not red-hot like Rooster’s are, his chest heaving desperately. Each place on my body that Rooster touched the night before is smoldering. The four freckles on my throat, the three points of contact at the beach, and my right cheek are glowing white-hot. 

Hangman catches my gaze as he walks past me. His pretty face is even prettier when he smiles, teeth pearly and eyes glimmering. I do not smile back, just very lightly shake my head, my jaw slack. I have never seen a pilot talk to another pilot that way, not ever, not once. Now he’s just strolling on by.

“Cat got your tongue?” 

He whispers it so quietly that it takes a moment to register what he’s said to me. Then before I can say anything else--there it is again. That wink, almost too fast to catch, the kind that only the intended sees. 

When the heavy door closes behind a lones Hangman, Rooster storms out in the other direction, not even going back to his chair for his bag. Hastily, I clear my desk and pack my leather tote, trying to measure the puffs of air out of my nose.

“What the Hell just happened?” Payback says, his voice echoing in the silence of the room. 

The rest of the squadron slowly meanders back to their seats to collect their belongings, each with a mystified look on their faces. What the Hell did just happen? Everyone’s eyebrows are furrowed and their mouths are twisted. Maverick is collecting his papers behind the podium, his face solemn and downcast. He doesn’t look up, doesn’t even acknowledge Payback’s question. 

“It was bound to happen,” Coyote says, shrugging, “both of them at each other’s throats all the time.”

Phoenix scoffs, one strap of her backpack hanging off her shoulder.

“Hangman jumped Rooster,” Phoenix bites back, “and we all know it.” 

Bob is standing silently beside Phoenix and turns his face towards me, his eyes wide, his face pale. He hates confrontation. He left the room every time Maggie and I disagreed, even if it was about the difference between pure vanilla extract and imitation. 

I’m still gripping my desk, but my fingers are damp. I kind of shrug my shoulders, my chest tight and Bob nods to Rooster’s bag stull crumpled in his seat. 

I look at Rooster’s former seat for a long minute, at the suede bag that holds his wallet, phone, keys. He can’t get home without it. Bob nods again, eyes wider. He wants me to take the bag to Rooster. I nod, one time, just for Bob. 

When I release my desk, there are finger-shaped stains of perspiration on the varnish.

Maverick stares down at his hands now. He doesn’t register me when I walk past him, towards Bob and Phoenix. Phoenix is huffing as she says something lowly to Bob. The rest of the squadron is filing out of the room, meandering to see if Maverick will say anything to them. But he doesn’t 

It’s only the four of us now: Bob, Maverick, Phoenix, and myself. 

“--a fucking asshole. He knows what buttons he’s pushing.” 

Phoenix’s voice is harsh and low. Bob is standing beside her, his brows pulled down. He nods along with her words and glances up when I find my spot at Rooster’s chair. It still smells like him over here, like there’s a vaporized silhouette of him lingering. 

Phoenix turns around to meet my gaze, squaring her jaw. 

“Can you believe him?” She whispers, shaking her head, “I mean. That was low. Even for him.”

I nod. 

The way she’s speaking, spewing her words like venom into the air around us, she sounds like Maggie. Navy men frequently lit Maggie’s fire--especially pilots. She had a quieter approach--draining them of their ego and energy like a tick draws one’s blood. By the time she hopped off them, belly full from their hot insides, the men had holes in their bodies and felt dizzy when they walked.

“You know why they call him Hangman?” Bob whispers. 

I do know. I’d listened to their conversations during drills on the comm. I shake my head, though, and Phoenix bites her lip. 

“Because he’ll always hang you out to dry,” she finishes, not whispering now. 

If Maverick can hear her, he does not show it. He has not looked up from his paper stack. He’s pale, grief-stricken almost. I think about his heavy hand on my shoulder when I wept before my sister’s portrait.

I pick Rooster’s bag up and sling it over my shoulder. I’m weighed down by his bag and mine, my shoulders sloping towards the earth. Phoenix glances at me, at Rooster’s bag, and nods. 

“You know where he stormed off to?” 

“I have an idea,” I whisper. 

She nods and Bob smiles softly at me. 

“If anyone can calm a pilot,” he starts, teasing, “it’s Clover.”

“Lots and lots of practice,” I smile.

“Rooster is just…” Phoenix sighs, “he’s good, you know? Hate to see him pushed to the brink.” 

Phoenix and Bob start at the door together. Bob glances over his shoulder and notices that I haven’t moved from my spot. He nods for me to follow them, his eyebrows furrowed and I shift my eyes to Maverick one time before meeting Bob’s eyes again. He looks at Maverick, too, just for a moment. This is our language.

Then he nods before opening the door for Phoenix. 

I am alone with Maverick.

“Captain,” I say quietly, approaching the podium. 

Maverick glances up from the papers he’s looking at and I know his glazed eyes have not truly been reading anything. They are the kind of far-away eyes that are capable only of staring off and blinking back tears. 

“Lieutenant Ledger,” he returns, “you’re dismissed.” 

I nod.

“Yes, I know. I’m on my way out,” I start, “but sir?” 

He blinks at me, nods once, a little crinkle between his brows. 

“Yes, Lieutenant?” 

He swallows, his throat rippling. His eyes are glassy and heavy-lidded. 

“There’s nothing we could’ve done,” I say. 

I don’t say anything else. I know that he is not upset about the tiff between the two pilots. I know he isn’t upset about leading the mission, about having to train, about having to pick. I know that he doesn’t want to let Goose down. I know that he feels like he let Goose down. I know what it feels like to slowly float down to earth and know the person you love most in the world is lying on the ground, waiting for you, dead.

He is staring at me. I nod once, twice, then start for the door, too.  He does not call out. He does not ask what I mean. He keeps standing behind the podium, looking at the empty air I occupied moments ago.

Even though it is the late afternoon, the building seems to be entirely empty except for me. There is no evidence of the squadron--all dispersing to the parking lot and revving their engines. The air conditioning rumbles, the fluorescents buzz and flicker above me, people talk lowly in their offices--but all that noise, that sweet unimportant noise, is drowned out by the thud of my shoes hitting the tile. 

I’m nearly running--hitting that sweet spot between walking and the former. I know I’m going to have blisters, can feel the stiff leather of my loafers withering away the skin of my heels. A wetness gathers there.

My hair is falling out of its bun, my blouse is untucking itself from my skirt. My teeth hurt from biting down so hard. My chest is tight with a distant anger. 

Anger. I cannot remember the last time I felt true unadulterated rage, let alone the pissy way I feel now. I forgot how it aches in my throat, the way it makes my jaw fasten tightly, like it’s sewn together with a tapestry needle. Even the scar on my jaw is throbbing. 

I almost have to dig my heels in the ground to halt myself when I reach it: Memorial Hall. And he is there, just like I knew he would be. It’s only been a few minutes, minutes that were fleeting, but crucial. His cheeks glow red in the distance and his chest is heaving. He’s standing before his father’s portrait, his flight suit now unzipped to his belly, his arms limply by his sides as he clenches his fists. 

I don’t say his name, but I slow down. I found him. No haste necessary.

He doesn’t turn to face me when I step beside him. We just both catch our breaths, both our cheeks radiating heat. He even smells angry--like his sharp cologne is drowned out by the stench of sweat and salt.

He’s staring very intently at Goose’s portrait, but I know that he probably isn’t seeing it, not really. Not the way he does when he’s getting in a morning run, when he’s saying goodnight, good morning. 

My shoulders ache. I hold tight to our bags, though. 

This morning, my temple throbbed. It felt like there was cherry wine in my veins. I was still warm, even with my ceiling fan on high, even with the window-unit blasting. My house was quiet except for the naked sound of a record waiting to be flipped. It felt like he was nestled in bed beside me, in the dark, even though he had left me on my doorstep at midnight.

“Missed you this morning,” I whisper to him. 

He swallows. 

“I dreamed about you.”

I want to grin, but I don’t. I lightly drop Rooster’s bag by his feet. He doesn’t look down. 

We’re still just breathing. 

Then he does it. He moves closer to me, shuffling to his right just slightly, and rests the right side of his body on mine. His weight sinks me slightly, but I plant my feet on the tile and straighten my spine. I am holding most of his weight, all those precious pounds and ounces, and his shoulders are falling. His fingers are unclenching. His eyes are watering. 

“I’m sorry,” he chokes and I know the dam is breaking, cracking, tumbling. 

“Don’t be,” I say, “I’m not.” 

Then we stay like that for a long, long time. He watches his father’s portrait and we both pretend that fat, frustrated tears aren’t racing down his ruddy cheeks. I steel myself and hold all the weight he gives me with ample graciousness.

July 19th, 2019

Bobby: Come to the Hard Deck!!

Tramp: Come to the Hard Deck, honey!

Unknown Number: Coooome to the Hard Deck!!!!!

Penny B: Come to the Hard Deck! First drink on the house…

Tramp: Can I call you honey? 

Bobby: A little birdie won’t stop talking about you…

Bobby: It’s Rooster. 

Unknown Number: It’s Phoenix btw :) 

Tramp: Lavender limeade w/ tequila coming up !

Tramp: Honey! (?) (unclear)

Tramp: I’m a little tipsy .

Phoenix: Sausage party here! SOS!!!!

The night is a sacred kind of hot. It still feels like high noon, even at 9:30 when the moon is looming above the crashing waves and the stars look like needle pricks in a sheath of black fabric. 

I have to park unusually far away from the entrance, the parking lot jam-packed. The Bronco is parked next to Bob’s old Subaru. I’m sweating the moment my Mary Jane’s hit the grainy pavement. My thighs start sweating first, kissing each other inside my rust colored skirt. Corduroy was a bad idea, even if it’s a mini-skirt. Already my thighs and hips are suffocating. 

I’m only nine, eight feet away from my front door when it swings open suddenly. Light pours out into the night and the night swallows it whole. Bon Jovi is playing within the humble building, the very end of Livin’ On A Prayer. 

Take my hand / And we’ll make it, I swear / Livin’ on a prayer

Just as suddenly as the door opens, it swings closed and the music is thumping from inside quieter now, muffled. It’s almost too dark and I’m almost too far, but I still know who it is on the porch. They’re standing under the flag, tall and broad. 

“Clover Ledger,” Hangman drawls slowly, squinting in the dark, “is that you? Or am I just drunk?” 

“Oh, you are drunk,” I say, stepping into the light finally, “and it is me, Bagman.” 

Hangman sighs, a sloppy smile on his lips. His eyes are shining. 

“They got you in on that, too, huh?” 

All day on Thursday and all day today, the squadron unanimously referred to Hangman as Bagman. Slightly in retaliation for his comments on Wednesday, but mostly because his ego necessitated an immediate check. 

I smile at him. We are only a few feet apart now. He smells like the thick cardstock designer brands put in big magazines, doused in expensive cologne. Almost there, but not quite. His hair is still gelled impeccably, his face unusually symmetrical. He turns, his broad chest facing me now. 

Then his eyes drop to my bare legs, my bare arms. 

He whistles lowly. 

“Lieutenant,” he croons, “you tryin’ to make an honest man out of Bradshaw? Lord help him!” 

I hear Texas in his voice suddenly, slightly slurred. He crosses his arms and grins at me, lop-sided. 

“Why?” I whisper, “Jealous, Bagman?”

He is groaning, a hand over his heart, when I let the door fall shut behind him. I’m blushing, but I’m also giddy. Hangman would fuck anything with a pulse, but it still feels good when a beautiful man notices you. Is this what Maggie felt like all the time, when men saw me as more of a shadow than a person? When she was the one the boys wanted?

The bar is busier than it was last Friday. I am almost six feet tall with my heels on and I can only see the group of aviators in their usual corner when I stand on the tip of my toes and fully extend my neck. 

The Man Who Sold the World by David Bowie is playing.

I can see them, though. Bob is shyly sitting in a chair by the pool table, munching on sunflower seeds and politely spitting them into an empty plastic cup he probably asked Penny for. Phoenix is shooting in pool, her usually slicked hair loose around her pretty face. Her lips are puckered in concentration, a little crinkle sits between her brows. Coyote, Fanboy, and Payback are playing darts. They’re laughing very loudly, covering each other’s eyes, hitting the abused wall surrounding the dartboard. Rooster suddenly appears beside Bob and he’s looking down at his phone. He looks golden. He looks drunk. 

My phone vibrates. 

Tramp: I want to tell you anout my dream

Tramp: about**

He looks up from his phone and says something to Bob that makes them both grin. I’m muscling through the crowd, excusing myself when I have to brush up against someone’s back or front. It smells like whiskey and beer and cigarettes. 

Finally, I break into their corner, my chest loosening at the familiar sight of them all there. No one looks up at first and when I’m this close, I can see how drunk everyone looks. Filmy eyes, painted cheeks, bitten lips. 

“There she is,” Bob shouts suddenly, pointing to me, “our Lady Tequila!”

There is a small chorus of greetings, everyone sounding equal parts drunk and excited. If I close my eyes, it almost feels like I’m back at The Hard Deck with Maggie. We’ve just come back from a taxing assignment. Maggie takes a long time getting ready and we are the last ones to arrive. The party-starters. Jukebox royalty. 

But here I am, with my eyes open, by myself. This time I took a long time getting ready, trying to follow Maggie’s meticulous checklist of shower, makeup, hair, outfit. All categories with subcategories and subcategories with separate columns. If this is what she felt like, magnificently perfumed and glittering beneath the yellow lights inside the bar, I understand why she did it every time we went out. 

“Honey,” Rooster croons, eyebrows deeply furrowed and mouth ajar, “you’re so cruel to me.” 

Rooster walks towards me, blue jeans hugging his thick thighs and a faded Led Zeppelin t-shirt straining against the thickest parts of his arms--his biceps. He’s grinning, but I can tell that is isn’t his usual shit-eating grin. No, no--there’s something looser about the one I see now as he swaggers up to me. 

He stops when we’re toe to toe. He looks down at me, his eyes gleaming. They look brighter than I’ve ever seen them--like grass or the leaves of a palm tree. 

“I’ve been waiting on you all night,” he shouts over the music, “you trying to kill me?” 

His hands have found my own. He tolds them in his and his hands are dry, steady. He brings them up to his mouth and kisses the top of each of my hands, his breath very hot. If my thighs weren’t sweating before, they are now. 

 “Sorry to keep you waiting,” I say, pretending like his lips don’t deflate my lungs, “Bradley. Honey.”

He pulls me towards him, effectively crushing the tiny bit of vacant air that was once between us. His body is like the air outside; a sacred kind of hot. Each of his muscles unfolds beneath his skin and strains to just hold me. His arms are around me and he’s pinning my body to his, almost squeezing the air out of me. 

“I love you in this skir--no, I love this skirt on you,” Bradley says, his chest rumbling when he speaks, “you’re a real knockout, honey!” 

Rooster’s breath smells like one of the beers Penny keeps on tap, one that the young pilots always drink. He smells like he doused himself in that sweet human scent, like he keeps a bottle of Himself on the bathroom counter.

“You’re making me blush,” I say back, trying to sound like Maggie. 

“Let me get you a drink!” He calls, suddenly letting go. 

The air is cold without him holding me. 

He nods towards the bar and presses one more kiss to the fingers of my left hand. 

Bob’s eyes are wide. I’m not sure whose face is hotter; his or mine? When I fall into the seat beside Bob, he fans me playfully. I bat his hand away. 

“How come I already feel drunk?” I ask, smiling. 

Bob laughs. 

“You do really look gorgeous,” he says, nodding at me. 

What he wants to say is that I look just like Maggie. I know that I do. I followed her routine--which she followed devoutly, like it was her religion, like she prayed to a hairdryer, like she was visited by visions of lipsticks and eyeliners--and I’m wearing her top. It was one of her favorites; a cropped square-neck tank with stripes all the colors of the rainbow. I’m even wearing a perfume of mine that she always stole a few sprays from. I do look like her. And I smell like her and I’m trying to sound like her. 

“I stared at myself in the mirror for, like, thirty minutes before I left the house,” I tell Bob, “just, like, looking for a flaw. None! Followed her routine. She really had that down to a science, didn’t she?” 

Bob nods, impressed. Before Bob can respond, we are eclipsed, a shadow looming over us. We look up at the same time and three men are standing before us in their Navy uniforms. 

“Clover, right?”

I nod, readjusting to face them. 

They break out in identical grins. It feels like Bob and I are front row for a toothpaste commercial, like we’re surrounded by teeth and hair gel and Axe. 

In unison, they reveal their open palms to me and each of them are holding a handful of quarters. Not this shit again. I groan, but they’re already nearing, insisting that I take the money from them. 

“She’s retired,” Bob tries, but the boys do not listen. 

“Get this party started,” the ringleader says before winking. 

They’re gone in a blink and I suddenly have $4.75 in quarters in my lap. They reek of aluminum and sweaty palms.

“Shit,” Bob says, “I can track them down and return it all?” 

I stare down at the quarters and think about the 1992 quarter the Junior had given me the week before. It had been Maggie, absolutely it had. What had she meant? That it was okay for me to keep living a tradition without her, even if she was the heart of it? That I am going to be okay? That she wanted me there at The Hard Deck? I close my hands around the quarters. 

“No, that’s okay,” I tell him, “why don’t you play pool? Phoenix is devouring.” 

Bob glances at the table then back to me. Then his eyes shift to beside us and I wonder if there are more men approaching, their sweaty fists closed around coins. But it’s only Rooster, grinning. He’s holding a plastic black platter full of brimming shot glasses on one palm and a lilac-colored drink in his other hand. 

Somehow the squad sees him the same time I do and everyone meanders over to him, grabbing one or two shot glasses. Bob and I stand, but before we can approach Rooster, he glides to us. He hands the glass of limeade to me, winking, then nods to Bob. 

“Save the lady two,” he says, “she’s playing catch-up.” 

“A pilot and a gentleman,” Bob teases, taking one of the shot glasses gratefully nonetheless. 

Rooster grins at me. There are three shots on the platter. 

“All yours, sweet thing.” 

Honey. Sweet thing.

I take just one and he places the platter on the chair I was sitting on. The sting of the tequila already finds my nostrils, even if I’m just holding it at chest level. The quarters are in a plastic cup I’d found near the chairs, probably sticky with cheap whiskey now. 

“To Top Gun!” 

It’s Coyote that leads the charge. 

“To Top Gun!” We all echo, even the people not in our corner. 

Drinks rise in the air then bottom out in our hollow cheeks. The tequila burns and I soothe it by choking back half of my limeade. Bob grins at me before he cuts the floor to join Phoenix at the pool table. Everyone resumes their activity before, stumbling slightly in their steps. 

It’s just Rooster and I by the cracked window. I strain to hear the ocean but cannot.

Rooster is handing me another shot and I take it with a sense of pride, our fingers grazing. I raise the glass to him. 

“To anger?” 

He laughs, nodding. 

“To anger!” 

I throw the shot back by myself and cut my grimace short by finishing my limeade. My belly is already starting to feel full of liquid, sloshing like a water mattress. 

“And this one?” 

I hold the shot in my hand, squinting at it. 

Rooster thinks for a moment. 

“To mini-skirts!” 

I want to take him on the peanut-shell covered, beer-bottle infested floor. Instead, I bottom out the shot.

“I’ll drink to that,” Hangman says suddenly, standing beside Rooster and I with his arms crossed. 

Rooster’s smile falters but does not dissipate completely. 

Hangman is grinning, eyes crinkled. 

“Gotta buy yourself a shot first,” Rooster bites. 

Hangman doesn’t fumble. 

“Can I buy you one, too?” 

Hangman is looking at me. Rooster is still smiling. Their dynamic is a strange one; friends, not friends, competitors, teammates.

What would Maggie say? 

“Make it two,” I call.

Hangman glances at Rooster and claps his shoulder before he starts for the bar.

“You two okay now?” I ask. 

Rooster shrugs, rolling his eyes. 

“Hangman is Hangman,” he slurs. 

“And you’re you.” 

Already, the tequila tickles my toes. I swallow my thick saliva and come closer to Rooster. Like he’s been waiting for me, his palms are up and I am holding them lightly. So solid beneath my fingers, like sheets of rock. I wonder if I felt solid like that whenever he laid his weight on me on Wednesday. I almost get dizzy just thinking about it. 

I am measuring this touch unlike the first hug Rooster gave me. It embarrasses me to think about the squadron watching us, especially Bob, who I know will text me incessantly about it later. Except, Bob will not be bold enough to just say it, so he’ll dance around the fact for a few hours before I cut him to the chase.

I release him after a moment but allow him to keep his left pinky locked in mine.

We had not been out together since the night on Flat Rock Beach. We met almost every morning in Memorial Hall, each of us getting to base before the sun rose, even though it was an unspoken ritual. And when we didn’t see each other there, he would somehow ‘get lost’ and end up at my office door. Then he would linger, index finger dragging over the photographs and knick-knacks in my office. And then the touches--so small, so understated that I had to rack my brain at the end of each day to assure myself I didn’t miss any. Fingers brushing as I handed him paperwork, the ghost of a palm over the small of my back when he held a door open for me, even a puff of air on the side of my face when he was close enough to breathe on me. When there weren’t those minuscule touches, there were the glances. He was always catching my eyes, always flickering a bewildered look to me during training, sometimes just flicking his eyebrows when he knew I was looking at him. 

“When I call for you, will you come?” 

Rooster pulls back from me, smiling faintly. 

“Of course,” he says. 

“Three shots for one Miss Clover Ledger, Backseat Supreme.” 

Hangman is holding six shots and sets them on the ledge of the pool table. Phoenix scowls at him, but keeps playing. 

Psycho Killer by The Talking Heads is playing.

I detach my littlest finger from Rooster, cheeks warm, and meet Hangman at the pool table, biting a grin. He is pretty--maybe even prettier than I am right now, even with his hollow eyes and overly-wet lips. 

“Up for a little friendly competition?” He calls to me, leaning down so he hovers the shots. 

I mirror him, feeling Bradley’s eyes on my thighs, where my skirt is rising dangerously. I think I can hear him stiffen, can hear the tiny groan in his throat when his breath catches. 

“Always,” I say, even though I have never wanted to compete for anything in my life.

“I finish mine before you, I win. You finish yours before me, you win.” 

I narrow my eyes, my vision feeling soft and fuzzy. 

“And what exactly do I win?” 

He pretends to think. The rest of the squadron’s interest is piqued. They are starting to form a small posse around us, smiling half-smiles and crossing their arms. 

“A weekend with my baby,” Hangman says, “the Jag.” 

There are a few whistles within the group and then mumbling. 

I nod. 

“Okay. And if you win,” I say, leaning in closer, “Bagman?”

He leans in, too. We are almost nose-to-nose. 

“One date,” he says, dropping his eye in a less-subtle wink, “deal?” 

The group is holding their breath. I glance at the shots. Tequila shots are like water to me. Maggie made it so. But my palms are sweating. 

“You’re on,” I challenge. 

We shake hands and Hangman squeezes my fingers. 

“Fingers are cold,” he taunts, “nervous?” 

“Half-dead,” I say. 

Rooster stands between us, smiling like something is funny. The group has closed in around us. My head feels thick and my knees like they’ll buckle. 

“Clover v. Hangman,” Bob calls, “my money’s on Clover!” 

My chest expands with a sigh. Bob sends me a grin, pointing at me. You’re my girl.  

“Oh, you’re on,” Payback laughs, “Hangman practically has gills!”

Rooster leans down, kneeling on the floor so he’s level with the shot glasses. Hangman and I are still leaning over them. His icy eyes are peering into mine, a cocky grin on his lips. I wish I could have seen Maggie wreck him. 

“Ready player one?” Rooster asks, looking at Hangman. 

Hangman nods, cocking his eyebrows. 

“Born ready, Bradshaw.” 

Rooster looks at me, amused. 

“Beat his ass, honey.” 

I salute. 

“Yes, Lieutenant!”

When Rooster slams his hand on the table, I bottom out the first shot in less than two seconds flat. With no recovery time, I empty the second and swallow it harshly, my nose burning from the inside out. My eyes are screwed shut when the third empty shot glass hits the pool table. I open my eyes just in time to see Hangman finish his third, his face unusually vacant. 

The squadron erupts in cheers, save Payback and Fanboy, who stare at Hangman in utter dismay, their jaws slack. Bob grabs one of my hands and raises it in the air, pointing at me. 

“Lady Tequila!” He shouts, pumping our joined hands. 

“Yes!” Rooster cackles, pointing at Hangman, “we have our loser of the night! One Mister Jake “Hangman” Seresin!” 

Hangman blinks at me a few times--partly in disbelief and partly in, what I think, is amazement. I wipe my mouth with the back of the hand Bob just dropped. My ginger-red lipstick stains the back of my hand in a smeared kiss. 

“And we have our winner! One Miss Faye “Clover” Ledger!”

Another round of cheers. Payback and Fanboy are doling out cash to Phoenix, Bob, and Coyote. Bob shoots me a thumbs-up. Good job, kiddo.

“Atta girl,” Rooster sings, hands on my shoulders. 

He’s in front of me and I think, looking up at his pretty face, that I’m just drunk enough to close the distance between his mouth and my own. I want to feel his mustache tickle my skin, my lips, my thighs. 

Rooster’s face changes; his eyes come screaming back into focus and his lips twitch into a calmer smile. He’s scouting my face, my drunk fiery face, and I think he might be the one that kisses me. But Hangman appears behind him, his grin fading. 

“Let me shake the winner’s hand,” he tells Bradley. 

Bradley blinks, like he was dazed before, and steps so there is empty space between Hangman and I.  

“Hey, Bagman!” I call, stepping closer to him, my spine straightened, “can you dance?” 

Hangman quirks a brow. He looks drunker than before. I probably do too. My cheeks ache when I smile. His hand, which he raised to shake mine, falls onto his thigh.

“What’s it to you?” 

His breath smells like mouthwash and tequila. Rooster is watching us with a partial grin, reaching inside my empty glass and bringing them to his parted lips before crunching them, his jaw throbbing. 

“I won,” I say, “and I don’t care about cars.” 

Pretty boys like to dance and they’re usually good at it--even if they aren’t, they are. 

Hangman is grinning, probably because he gets to keep his precious Jaguar, maybe because Rooster is watching us so closely. He glances at Rooster, who is still watching from beside us. 

“Better watch out,” he simply says. 

I know already, maybe from the invisible string, that Rooster is not jealous. Maybe he understands, because the string, that I am asking Hangman to do this task with me so Rooster won’t have to. Even if he would, I wouldn’t ask. Hangman is pretty in a way Rooster isn’t--Hangman looks like a Ken Doll and Rooster looks like a G.I. Joe. Both are plastic, but one feels more real than the other. Being the first to dance with a dead party girl’s only living sister is a job only a pretty, pretty boy can do.

“You’re on, sugar.”

When I drop the first few quarters in the jukebox, Hangman stands beside me like he’s guarding me. He’s leaning his hips against the machine while I file through all the songs. If I don’t blink often enough, the titles start to blur together. 

My belly sloshes with tequila. But there is a pit in my chest--one filled with flower petals--a happy one.

“You’re from Texas, right?” 

Hangman glances at me and nods a few times. 

“Before you ask--yes, everything really is bigger in Tex--!”

I cut him off when I bump him with my elbow. 

“I was going to ask if line-dancing was a graduation requirement,” I say, “or is it square dancing?” 

Hangman chuckles, shaking his head. 

“You know,” Hangman starts, “if I wasn’t me, you really would’ve emasculated me back there.” 

“Oh yeah?” I shout back, glancing at him out of the corner of my eye. 

He’s nodding, eyebrows raised casually. 

“Yeah. Such a turn on.”

I shake my head, laughing, warm. 

“Just being honest here,” Hangman defends, pausing before adding, “does honesty turn you on?” 

I turn to him, mouth agape. Even my teeth feel drunk when I run my tongue along them. I point a crooked finger at him. 

“You’re relentless.” 

He grins, shrugging. 

“It’s in my blood.” 

120. I crank the volume. The resounding sound of a gong fills the bar. Conversation stutters. And five seconds later, the beat breaks in--a real groovy one. Usually, when I would turn around to dance, Maggie would be waiting for me. But when I turn around, abandoning the plastic cup of quarters on the jukebox, Hangman is grinning at me. 

My Thang by James Brown is playing. 

A brand new funk / A brand new funk

And Hangman does maybe the hardest part of it all. He grins and starts to sway to beat, extending his hand to me. I take it immediately--a hand on an empty dance floor is a lifeline. Then we are closer, moving back and forth with the beat, grinning at each other.

“This is the worst part,” I whisper to him, my speech blurring with the song, “this was my sister’s gig.”

Hangman, in a moment of sudden sobriety, stares down at my face. I wonder if his face is going to contort to pity, that awful pity-face, but he smiles softly at me. 

“Gotta do right by her,” he says. 

He drops his hands to my waist and turns me so my back is against his front. I know what he’s doing almost immediately. I cross my arms over my front, like I’m hugging myself, and keep the beat with my foot.

“Make some room,” Hangman calls. 

If I wasn’t drunk, I would be panicking. My fingers are toasty. My chest is warm. 

People are looking at us now, but their faces don’t mean anything to me. Everyone looks the same to me when I’m focusing on the radiant smile I can feel Hangman chewing. 

He swiftly releases me and like a wind-up toy, I spin out away from him. There is a few callers from the crowd, some friendly laughter, a holler or two. I lean back far enough so my hair touches the floor, my leg extended in the air. Then Hangman pulls me back in to him and we laugh. 

“Gimme,” Hangman croons, “gimme my thang!”

“Whatcha say,” I mock back, arms lazily slung over his shoulders. 

And it’s only a minute into the song before other people are joining us. The three quarter donors are among the firsts, bobbing their heads and coming up behind Hangman and I. 

I turn when one of them taps my shoulder and Hangman holds my waist softly, chest still rubbing against my back as we dance. 

“She lives,” the ringleader says, “jukebox royalty!”

“Long live the Queen,” his friend proclaims. 

“Long live the Queen!”

Like a call to action, the dance floor suddenly floods. Almost every patron in the bar is here now. Tears of relief nearly pepper my eyes. The dance floor swallows Hangman and I, stuck in the middle. We are sweating, but still moving. I imagine that Maggie is there, in the middle and she’s dancing, wearing my perfume, her eyelids painted blue. 

“I’ve heard stories about you,” Hangman tells me, his cheek against mine as he talks into my ear, “it feels like meeting a celebrity!” I want to ask him if it was really me he heard stories about or if I was just the unknowing left side of my sister’s body. If I was just an extension. If I was unuttered, really, on accident. 

When I pull back to look at him, he does not look cocky, not like he usually does. He looks like he’s having fun--pure, unsullied fun. The smile that eats his entire face is not one that exudes the ego we had deflated the day before. His eyes are shining, crinkled by his grin. 

“Royalty,” I correct.

I don’t ask him about the stories. I don’t know if I want to know.

I squeeze his shoulder and nod to the jukebox. 

“I’m gonna go que some music!”

96. 55. 39. 

I lean against the jukebox after pressing the numbers, face impossibly hot, and watch the crowd move. Everyone is a sea of beer and cigarettes and uniforms and sweat. But everyone is dancing and smiling. Maggie would’ve been at the center of it all, the heart of everything that beat and pumped blood. 

The beauty of this tradition is that no one can dance. Maybe a few people can keep the rhythm and pump their shoulders to an exuberant tambourine or girate minimally, but for the most part every single person is an equal. It is a silly thing to do--and everyone knows it. 

Get Down On It by Kool & The Gang thumps the speakers. 

Hangman breaks through the crowd suddenly and offers me his hand. He looks drunk and happier than I’ve ever seen him. His face is screwed up in pleasure and he’s bobbing, lips puckering as he rolls his shoulders. He can keep a beat, but even if he couldn’t, he’s pretty enough that it doesn’t matter.

“C’mon,” he calls, “I’m gettin’ lonely over here!”

I take his hand and he pulls me back into the crowd--it feels like being submerged in a pool of marmalade, swimming through the hot and thick air. I almost feel like I have to propel myself by pushing the atmosphere around me. But Hangman is shouldering through the crowd for us. 

“Over here!”

Hangman and I look up at the same time; Rooster is waving at us through a hallway of bodies, right beside Phoenix. They’re both stepping to the music, smiling, drunk. 

“Tally two,” Hangman whisper-shouts to me. 

I bump him and he laughs.

“I guess our time’s up,” Hangman says, sighing, “anything you want to confess? Proclaim? Declare?”

I tap my chin, pretending to think. 

“You’re a pretty good dancer,” I confess, proclaim, declare. 

Rooster and Phoenix have always reached us. Bradley’s hair is shining under the lights and I have that strange sensation fall over me, the same one I had when he stared up at the waxing gibbous. How could anyone leave him alone in this world? Even if it wasn’t on purpose? I think if I loved Rooster and he loved me, I would stay alive through sheer devotion. Maybe even sheer affection. 

“Get down on it,” Rooster is crooning, his body red-hot when he comes to move it against mine. 

Hangman and Phoenix are dancing together now, not as close as Rooster and I. 

“You did this,” Rooster whispers in my ear, pointing to the crowd. 

It makes me almost shiver. My first time coming here and returning to the jukebox since Maggie’s death. All by myself. Twins are never supposed to be halved. I was never supposed to be alone--not in the big ways that count.

Rooster’s belly is pressed against mine and beneath his shirt, I feel the expansive plane--it’s solid like an oak tree, like the ground we stand on right now. His arms come around to hold me and if he wanted to, he could squeeze me until I died. He is so achingly strong. 

“Where’s Bob?” I ask Rooster, moving away from him for a moment. 

Rooster takes my hands and spins me, just like he had when we were alone in the Hard Deck listening to Van Morrison. He’s grinning something fierce and watching my face as I smile and watch him. 

“Couldn’t get him up,” he says, “not for lack of trying, honey.” 

I can see Bob now--cowering against the wall, his grip on the sunflower seeds fierce. 

Instead of telling Rooster to follow me, I hold his hand. He grips my fingers as soon as they’re interlocked, like I’m going to try and lose him in the crowd, like he would rather do anything else but let go. 

It’s my turn to muscle through the crowd and as I do, people are smiling and clapping me on the back. A few people clap Rooster, too, and he devours the attention, but does not let me go. 

Bob is still by the pool table, eyes soggy and mouth dry. He’s looking out into the crowd and spots us immediately. 

“I knew you’d weasel your way back over here,” Bob laughs. 

The only person that could get Bob to dance was Maggie. 

“We’ve come to rescue you,” I call, offering him a free hand. 

Bob shakes his head. 

“I want these people to respect me tomorrow,” Bob argues. 

“We will,” Rooster tries, “or, we will by Monday. When everyone forgets.” 

I’m biting a smile when the opening notes of Boogie Shoes by KC & The Sunshine Band start. 

Bob registers the song and looks at me, mouth agape, shaking his head. 

“Oh, you so don’t play fair,” he whines. 

I’m dancing in front of Bob now and Rooster is dancing behind me. From far away, maybe we look like a couple trying to embarrass our surrogate-son. Maybe we just look like a couple in general--his hands on my hips and my hands cutting through the air.

“Girl, to be with you is my favorite thing,” I sing to Bob, coming closer to him. 

Bob wildly shakes his head, looking around to make sure no one is watching me serenade him. I’m getting closer to Bob and Rooster is reading me, assimilating. He falls beside me and we approach Bob in tandem, like choreographed dancers.

“I can’t wait ‘til I can see you again,” Rooster says, infinitely louder than I had. 

A few stragglers by the pool table are watching us, amused. 

“Tell him what you wanna put on, honey!” Rooster calls out. 

I lean down so Bob is very close to my face. He still smells like a freshly-washed baby.

“I wanna put on my-my-my-my-my boogie shoes,” I croon to him. 

I know my breath smells like tequila and that maybe there is perspiration gathering on my lipline, but Bob watches me with a grin plastered onto his face. 

“Just to boogie with you!” Rooster echoes. 

I hold my hand out and Bob takes it. 

We dance for a long time--every single person in the squadron. We are all equally drunk, grinning like something’s funny, rubbing up against each other and strangers alike. Everyone is loose, too, especially since Bob made his debut on the dance floor, pecking the air. Songs shuffle through the jukebox and the crowd sings along, no one really caring about embarrassment. 

Hangman is the center of his own world, surrounded by a bachelorette party. He dances close to them, but never too close. He takes his turns charming them; dipping them, spinning them. They’re in stitches because the prettiest boy in the Navy is dancing with them. Phoenix and Bob are dancing together and, just like Maggie would, she’s trying to teach him a simple two-step dance. Bob still fumbles as he tries to dance. Payback and Fanboy are lingering on the outskirts, grinning, while Coyote dances with a few lucky ladies.

Rooster dances close to me, body pressed against mine, but never overshadowing me. He and Hangman are different kinds of dancers: Hangman is the kind of man who knows how handsome he is, the kind that loves the attention on him. Rooster, though, he likes to show me off. He spins me, dips me, picks me up. There is an endless supply of butterflies in my belly. My fingers are almost numb by the time Play That Funky Music by Wild Cherry is playing. 

“Water,” I shout to Rooster. 

He searches my face with his brow furrowed, maybe wondering if I’ll be sick or something. But I just smile up at him. It’s so hot in here and his meaty thigh in between mine is not helping. 

“I’ll come with you!”

When we are at the bar together, Penny finds us with an impressed grin on her pretty face. 

“I haven’t seen the place like this in years,” Penny calls to us, reaching across the bar to give my arm a squeeze, “like the good ol’ days in here!” 

I’m leaning against the bar, with the ledge just under my breasts. My head is heavy, so I hold it with a flat palm, elbow resting vertically on the varnish. My hair feels like a weighted blanket on my back. I know my cheeks are ablaze and maybe my throat, too. 

“I know,” I smile, “Hangman really put in the work.” 

“It was all her,” Bradley interrupts, pointing to me. 

He’s standing beside me, facing me, his elbow resting on the bar, too. He watches the side of my face as I talk to Penny--I can feel his eyes rise and fall from my chin to my forehead. 

“I’ll bet it was,” Penny says, “water?” 

“Two, please.” 

When Penny turns around to grab the waters, I just smile into my palm. I don’t even know what time it is. It’s the first time I’ve been out this late since, what feels like, the dawn of time. My bones are tired, but it feels like every one of my muscles is shivering underneath my skin. Adrenaline courses through me at the same rate as the tequila. 

Without a word, Bradley suddenly bunches my thick hair in his hand and pulls it up so it rests on my head. He holds his hand there to pin it to me, then fans the back of my neck with his other hand. 

“You’re burning up, baby,” he smiles. 

I clench my thighs, not trusting my voice. If the music wasn’t so loud, maybe he would’ve heard the strangled noise that just occurred deep in my throat.

He’s still fanning me, wooshes of warm air hitting the back of my neck and hair, when Penny returns with the waters. She is smiling in that secretive way, silently setting the waters in front of us before sauntering off to let us be. 

“Go ahead,” Rooster calls, nodding to the water, “you need it more than I do.” 

“You’re not as drunk as me?” 

Rooster shakes his head. He falls in place behind me and his hips press against my bottom. My eyes flutter closed on pure instinct, body vibrating, waiting for his next move. He leans down and, ever so softly, presses a kiss to the back of my throat. His lips are plump and warm and it would take a million years of fanning the back of my neck if I wanted to cool off.

“I’ve been sobering up,” he tells me, “how else am I gonna take you home?” 

I open my mouth to answer, my tongue thick with excitement but my cheeks dry, when the man steps behind Rooster and casually looks at me before startling. 

“Maggie?” He yells over the music, eyebrows raised. 

He is older than Rooster and I. He’s tall and lean, his skin brown and smooth. His hair is neatly combed and curled, his chest hairs poking out through his partially-unbuttoned shirt. He’s wearing nice, nice shoes, too. Leather. 

“Oh, no, I’m not--!” 

We used to get mistaken for each other when she was alive--it was simply the life of identical twins, especially when we had almost the exact same career. Only people who didn’t know us very well mistook us for each other. This man, this pretty man, either did not know Maggie very well at all or praying at Maggie’s church was too fruitful. 

“I’ve been trying to call you for, like, years! Where you been?” 

I swallow thickly. I don’t know what to say. Is it possible that some people, people like this man, really don’t know about what happened to her? How can someone have her phone number and name, and be able to recognize her years after seeing her last, but not hear about her demise? Is it possible that in-between people like that exist? 

“I’m not Maggie,” I yell, “Maggie’s my sister.” 

Rooster doesn’t know what to say. His hand has fallen to the curve of my back and he watches me speak to the man with his eyebrows pulled together. My face is hot. 

The man furrows his eyebrows, looking me up and down, and shakes his head. 

“You’re really gonna do me like that?” 

My mouth is really, really dry. 

“She’s telling the truth, man,” Rooster speaks up, “Maggie never told you she had a twin?” 

The man squints--looking from Rooster to me a few times. He racks his brain, tapping his temple with an ineffective index finger. Before he can say anything else, I reach into my purse and grab my wallet. I quickly grab my ID and slide it to him on the bar. 

“Promise,” I say weakly. 

The man looks down at the ID without touching it, angling his chin to the floor. My belly aches. His eyes wash over it again and again, probably rereading my name. Faye Leona Ledger. Not Maggie Palmer Ledger. 

“I’m so sorry,” the man says, looking up at me soberly, “you look just like her--well, of course you do. You’re twins, right?” 

I nod one time. Rooster slides my ID back to me. 

“How’s she doing?” The man follows up. 

I could throw up. Rooster is watching my eyes, but I’m looking at the man. He’s truly wondering. I can tell that he cares.

“You didn’t hear?” I whisper hoarsely and he shakes his head in confusion, “she died, sir. In October of 2016.” 

Maybe Rooster is waiting for my knees to buckle, the way he watches me, intensity radiating off him like body heat radiates off me. 

The man’s face falls and he almost gasps. He stares at me, his mouth fallen open, and tries to stutter a response but nothing is coming. I have only had to tell a few people that my sister is dead. I guess the good thing about us being in the Navy together is that they do the notifying. This man before me--he looks like he’s about to cry. 

“What happened?” 

I can appreciate when people get to the point of things instead of telling me how sorry they are. 

“A freak accident,” I say, my voice wavering, “parachute malfunction.” 

Then, suddenly, I can’t look at this man anymore. I scramble to put my ID back in my wallet and gulp the rest of my water. Rooster is turned to the man, saying something I can’t hear, and I start for the door. I know Rooster will follow me. 

Bennie And The Jets by Elton John is playing as I step outside. 

The world is so quiet out here. I slip my Mary Jane’s off first, angling my chest towards the sea. Inside, I know Rooster is cutting through the makeshift dance floor to find me. It is still so hot outside, but the air is thinner out here. It’s the kind of thin air I used to cherish in the sky, when I wasn’t afraid to sit in the back of an F-18. 

My first step in the sand, the bottom of my foot sinks deep into the earth, until the sand goes from warm to wet and cold. I’m still drunk. Everything feels good, but numb. I think of the man’s face as I walk towards the water. 

The moon is high in the sky. Even if I am drunk, I still know that it’s a waning gibbous. I wonder if I should tell Rooster that. I wonder if he cares. The waves are calm and smooth. They do not reach very high on the shore, but the air is permeated with salt. I sit near the waves, close enough to breathe in their smell, but far enough away so that I won’t get wet--I think. 

I lay down, shoes and purse discarded beside me, and don’t even care that sand is getting all over my skirt, my shirt, my skin, my hair. 

It feels like Maggie is close, like she’s sitting in the bar next to the sad stranger and apologizing for not getting back to him sooner. It is hard enough already to live everyday after seeing what I saw when she died. Those twelve hours, lying on the snowy floor of foregin woods, holding her body close to mine--they are always lurking, always threatening the small box I’ve built for myself to stand on. It’s worse, though, when I think of the abruptness of the end of her. Maybe it was better that it was quick because it was so horrifying, so dark--but maybe I wish she would have survived the initial fall. Maybe I wish she would’ve talked to me for a few hours, telling me whatever she needed to tell me, before she died. Or maybe that would have been worse because she would be scared to die and I would be scared she was going to die and have to lie and tell her that she was okay. But now I’m here, all these hours and days later, and her life just stopped. It just stopped.

I don’t know that I’m crying until I have to gasp for breath and make myself dizzy. But then I’m able to reign it in. No. Maggie would hate it if I cried right now. One mention of her in a bar and I lose it? C’mon now. Buck up, baby.

I grip the sand with weak fists and let the breeze dry my tears. 

I know Rooster is here the moment he’s in my radius, walking towards me with his Converse in his hands. I sniffle a final sniffle and wait for him.

He sits silently beside me, warm. He gathers my shoes and purse and places them with his shoes, trying hard not to let sand invade everything. Wordlessly, he lifts my head, and lays it back down over his thighs. His fingers tangle in my hair and I don’t care about the sand and sweat--not when he touches me. 

We sit silently for a while, my face angled at the stars and his at the sea. His fingers pick strands of my hair and slide over them from root-to-end, over and over again. He’s breathing quietly. 

He won’t ask about what happened inside--at least not yet he won’t. He’s good in that way. 

“I never told you about my dream,” he whispers finally. 

I glance at him and he’s smiling down at me. 

“Fire away,” I whisper and in my voice, he can tell I’ve been crying. 

He doesn’t say anything about that either, though.

“Well, we were in my childhood home. I dream about that place a lot--I feel like I still know every nook and cranny of it,” he whispers, “anyway, we were there. And instead of it being empty, it was full. It was full the way I remember it being when my dad was alive. Everything is warm and happy, my dad is making pancakes, my mom is drinking coffee at the table.”

I close my eyes and try to picture these things. It’s hard to picture Goose living and breathing instead of just a portrait. 

“And everyone is older. Like if my parents didn’t…” he clears his throat, “and I’m sitting at the breakfast table, just watching my parents. And then from the living room, a song starts to play. It’s the one that’s like doo-doo-doo.”

Rooster starts humming the song that was playing when he stepped into my house for the first time. Sound and Vision. 

“And then I feel hands on my shoulders, even though both my parents are in front of me. And that’s when I knew it was you. The music was playing so loud, I should’ve known it was you from the get-go,” he chuckles, still fingering my hair, “it was very peaceful.” 

I am choked up. I am still drunk. I am still reeling. 

When I look up at Rooster again, my face is flaxen, though my cheeks still burn.

“What a nice dream,” I tell him, “but I’m not really a fan of banana pancakes.”

Rooster smiles. His hand comes to my face and he holds both my cheeks again, thumbing away a few tears before he rests his hand on my throat. My freckles tingle. 

“How about I take you home, honey?” 

☾☽ 𝐚/𝐧: I am literally baby

☾☽ 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫

[kentos-filmcamera]

10 times, 1 occasion - Inumaki Toge

10. Date

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Of course, with your heart fluttering on your sleeve, you had said yes to the proposal. The smile that arose from Toge’s flustered cheeks was enough to make you melt. He threw himself onto your arms, and pecked your cheek with his lips a couple times, being very noisy. I love you.

“What are you doing there?!” Nobara shrieked at you laying on your bed, the day of. “Get up!”

You only grunted. You were disheveled, and in truth, scared. Very much scared. Even though you spent all the time together, what if he thinks you’re not good enough for him and just stops talking to you right there and there? Now you moped in your bed, overthinking since almost 4 AM last night.

Maki rolled you out of the bed, but you only went limp in her arms. She just sighed and threw you over her shoulder like a sack, taking you over your bathroom.

She set you down and forced yourself to look at the mirror “Look at you” You looked over at her and groaned “You’re a talented, amazing, beautiful, unique, incredible person and today is going to be great. Go have a shower!” She pushed you into the shower and left the bathroom.

You breathed in and out carefully and nodded decisively, taking in your friend’s words. You showered with a whole new mentality, but still feeling the regular anxious turmoil in your stomach. You took your time as it was a wash day, wanting to have clean hair to style it as you pleased. You heard Nobara even interrupt as you showered, walking in grumbling about the time you were taking, claiming you had taken too long and it didn’t “fit your schedule”, whatever that meant, since you clearly didn’t have a planned out schedule for the day.

You dried your hair as you exited the bathroom, done with your skincare routine.

“So we have picked three different outfits, what do you think?” Nobara ambushed you almost immediately, dragging you towards your bed to look at the fit exposition. You hummed and peaked outside, it was a slightly windy day, so the skirt was a no-no. It was a bit chilly outside so walking around in beach clothing wasn’t happening either, so that let you on your final option. It was a sage green checkered oversized pant with breathable fabric, a cropped tight white tee, and a sage green cardigan, with a pair of black platform ankle-high Converse and a tote bag.

You nodded to the option and ushered them out “I’ll let you in when I’m done!” You threw the door behind them, hearing the structure above you rumble a bit. Oops. You breathed in and out, taking in the solitude you so needed at the moment. You hummed to the music still playing from the bathroom and headed towards your drawers, taking out your underwear before fitting the clothes. You checked the outfit from every single angle, even on camera, and gave a happy little noise of approval to the ensemble. You then sat down and started to pull some simple makeup; black smudged liner on your top waterline and lid, and on your bottom waterline, you added some shimmery olive green. Your base was soft and glowy, making your blush and highlight look similar in style. You gave your brows and hair a final brush before applying some chapstick and checking your breath. Just in case.

“What do you guys think?” You opened the door to face Nobara and Maki, the latter looking unamused at her friend’s antics, as she squealed and gave you twirls to show off your outfit.

“You look perfect!” Nobara concluded, brushing off some dirt from your shoulders. “Oop, it’s almost time. We’ll leave you, good luck, love” And so they both trotted off somewhere else.

You waited by the door, as the time Toge promised was nearing by around two minutes. But somehow, they were the longest minutes of your life. You fiddled with your thumbs, tapping your foot up and down while looking at the floor, anxious.

“Kelp” You heard a tiny voice from the end of the corridor, and a smile from ear to ear spread across your face. Toge was wearing straight-cut blue jeans, a white sweater layered with a navy blue varsity knit vest. He was wearing a navy blue fabric face mask, as he usually did when he was around non-sorcerers or it was just a special occasion.

“Hi, Inumaki-kun!” You beamed unintentionally, feeling a bit icky inside, in case that came to sound very clingy of sorts. But all those worries washed away when he lowered his mask to smile back in the same fashion, cheeks flushed. He offered his hand for you to hold, as an invitation to proceed with your adventure. You bowed your head lightly before holding it, walking off with him towards the exit of the school.

You skipped through the streets of Tokyo in happiness after you exited the train, walking hand in hand with Toge, who rather than observing everything around him, was observing you. The way you chuckled at him unapologetically, the way your eyes glimmered when you looked through the windows of a shop. You bought some boba and sat in a park for a while, talking quietly between the two of you, watching the sunset. But the real view before him was you; how your hair was highlighted by the sun, the way the rays caressed your soft skin and even the way you almost choked on a tapioca pearl of your taro root tea seemed poetic, since he got to enjoy your laughter for at least twenty minutes. I love you.

He checked his clock once it hit 7 PM, and the city became alive as it started to light up. “Tuna tuna” Toge tugged on your sleeve as he got up. You caught on immediately and went towards the recycling bins, sorting your trash appropriately.

With his arm around your waist, and yours around his shoulders and walked on par towards your destiny; a café in Shibuya. Inumaki avoided a certain detail that made you squeal, just because he wanted to see your surprise; it was a fairyland café full of cats. You hugged him tightly by the surprise, nuzzling your nose into his pale neck, to which in his mind, he replied with an I love you, but wrapped your arms around your torso instead.

You practically melted inside when an orange cat jumped on your lap and started toying with your hair. You chuckled, petting the friendly little fella, not realizing Toge was taking a video, but you soon noticed when a cat knocked his phone out of his hand and jumped off the table to play with the device by tossing it around. Toge seemed angry, but the soft eyes the cat gave him when he forcibly took his phone away made him want to cry. You enjoyed a light dinner in the café, eating your favorite pastries, snacks, and lunch box cakes with coffee or hot cocoa. Once the date seemed to be coming to a close, you realized Toge’s hand was shaking as he pets the Siamese cat sitting right next to him.

“Everything okay?” You asked, slightly concerned, putting down the spoon you were using to eat the square of strawberry shortcake. He just shook his head, embarrassed, and reached to find something in his pocket. He slid a pink Post-it in the shape of a heart towards you. You didn’t even get to flip it before a flustered Inumaki yelped and hid his face between his hands, unable to look at you.

You slowly flipped the note for the handwriting to face you specifically. You read it once, you read it a thousand times, trying to comprehend what the words meant, but it was all so clear:

‘Would you like to be my partner?’

[pretendingboyfriends]

A/N: it’s finally finished!! after over a month!!! i’m so sorry this has taken so long but y’all know me, i’m terrible at time management and i’m mentally ill so nothing is ever consistent <3 BUT it’s here now and it’s finished and i hope u love it. thank you to @sunflowers-styles​ and @friendlyneighborhood-mendes​ for beta reading and giving me ideas for when i was stuck. i’m nothing without my betas <3

Warnings: explicit language & sexual tension

Word count: 6.5k+

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Your heart is racing in your chest with every lingering moment that passes as you watch Deidre finish getting ready for the day. Her plan is to spend the afternoon with Jeffrey and then the two of you would meet back up and have a movie night (plus Harry, if he’s up for it). And you, well, you have your own plans.

“Do you think this looks good?” She asks, spinning herself around in front of the vanity mirror in the corner of the bedroom. 

You glance up from the book in your lap to see that she’s wearing a loose, white spaghetti strap dress that reaches just below her knee, pastel pink bikini peeking from beneath the fabric. You smile, “I think it looks great! What shoes are you wearing?”

She bends down to the floor, quickly grasping a pair of tan, strappy sandals. “These?” 

“Yeah,” You nod. “Those are perfect.”

“Okay,” She smiles, leaning down to slide her feet into the sandals and strap them securely onto her feet before she grabs her tote bag from the bed with a sigh.  “Okay, I’ll see you later! Meet back here at 5:00?”

You nod in confirmation, giving her a small smile and wave as she nearly skips through the bedroom door and down the hallway. As soon as she’s out of your sight you freeze, waiting for the familiar rumble of Jeffrey’s car to take off down the road with Deidre inside. Once the glorious sound kisses your ears, you’re leaping from the bed, frantically tearing the sweatshirt and sweatpants you’ve been wearing from your body to change into a tank top, loose-fitting jean shorts, and a pair of Doc Martens (bathing suit underneath, of course). 

You’re brushing a few coats of mascara onto your eyelashes after taking a record breaking 2 minutes to change into your clothes and shoes when you sense his presence in the doorway. 

“You look nice.”

You slide the applicator into the mascara container and screw the lid shut, turning your head to look at Harry as he leans against the doorframe with his hands behind his back. His hair is still slightly damp from his shower, framing his face and shoulders in thick, shiny curls. Your eyes travel south, dropping to his floral, short sleeve button up, unbuttoned partially to expose his inked chest and then flickering down to his skin tight, black jeans and tan chelsea boots. “You don’t look so bad yourself.” 

He smiles in response, dimples sinking into his blushing cheeks. “You ready to go?”

“Yep,” You sigh, grabbing your bag from the floor and walking towards the bedroom door. He allows you to pass him, following closely behind you through the house before tugging the front door open for you and beckoning you outside. The air is warm and humid as you make your way towards Harry’s car, the wind whipping against you gently. 

Once you reach the car, Harry quickly beats you to the passenger side to open the door for you, flashing you a gorgeous smile as you slide into the seat. The expensive leather of the seat immediately sticks to your bare legs from the heat and humidity and you huff, lifting your legs to peel them from the material. 

Harry slides himself into the driver’s seat, immediately cranking the car and fiddling with the air conditioner knobs to blast cool air into the stuffy, hot vehicle.

“So, where are we going?” You ask once he pulls onto the empty road lined with palm trees. 

He keeps his eyes trained to the road, one hand on the wheel and the other on his jean-clad thigh. “I was thinking we could get coffee first and then I could take you to a bookstore I saw on my way in. But only if you’re okay with that,”

You smile to yourself, “I’m more than okay with that.”

A soft blanket of silence falls over both of you as Harry drives and you allow your gaze to wander his figure, from the god-like curve of his jaw to his perfectly chiseled hands. The sparkling glint of his rings in the noon sunlight catches your eye and you tilt your head slightly to get a better look at them. On his left index and middle finger are two silver rings, one with a rectangular, teal gem embedded into it, the other with a line of tiny dancing bears carved into the metal. Then, on the middle finger of his right hand, a lone silver ring with the word “peace” etched directly in the middle. They are simple pieces of jewelry, but enticing nonetheless.

Your mind wanders as your gaze does the same, falling to the curve of his plush, pink lips. It’s been a few days since you’d kissed him on the beach, tumbling into the sand like children, and you’re slightly embarrassed to admit that you haven’t stopped craving his lips since you parted ways that evening. The agreement you had made was to wait until after at least a few dates to kiss again (mainly to keep yourselves as contained as possible) but both of you are finding it increasingly hard as the time goes by. You just can’t seem to stay away from each other.

After a bit of light conversation and a 10 minute drive, you’re finally pulling into the parking lot of a little coffee shop named “Bikini Beans”.  

You chuckle as Harry parks the car directly in front of the small building. “Quite the name, huh?”

He breathes a chuckle to himself. “It was the only coffee shop I could find within 30 miles of the beach house.”

You sigh sarcastically, “I guess it will suffice,” Harry shuts off the engine, pulling the keys from the ignition before jogging around to your side of the car to, of course, open the door for you. You smile at him as you step onto the pavement, tugging your bag from the floor of the car and slinging it over your shoulder. “Thanks.”

The two of you step into the quaint coffee shop, your senses immediately overwhelmed by the pungent odor of freshly brewed coffee mixed with a hint of sugary baked goods. Taking a moment to observe your surroundings, you find that the shop is nearly empty, save for the girl sitting in the back corner typing frantically at her laptop keys, brow furrowed, hair up, coffee cup empty. You follow Harry to the register where a young boy stands, waiting for the next customer to approach the counter, which just so happens to be you and Harry. 

“Hi, welcome to Bikini Beans, how can I help you!” He smiles, placing his hands on the edge of the register as he looks up at you. 

You smile back at him, shaking your head and motioning to Harry. “He can go first. I still need a moment to decide.”

He nods and looks at Harry. He clears his throat, “I’ll just have a small, iced black coffee,” The words roll off his accented tongue like a sugary glaze. “And a blueberry muffin.”

The boy takes a moment to type his order into the register and then looks up again, “Will that be all for you today?”

“That’s all for me, but make sure you include her order with mine.” He specifies, reaching into his back pocket for his wallet. 

You smile to yourself as you peruse the menu, quietly mouthing the names of the different kinds of coffees and treats before deciding on what to get. “I’ll have a small cold brew with almond milk, sweetened with vanilla, please.”

“Is that all?” He quickly types your order into the register before glancing back up at you. You nod and he presses a few more buttons. “Alright, so I’ve got a small, iced black coffee; a blueberry muffin; and a small cold brew with almond milk and vanilla sweetener?” He looks back up at the two of you and both of you nod to confirm. “That’ll be $9.23.” 

Harry – having already taken a few bills from his wallet – hands the boy a crisp $10 bill and then promptly shoves another $10 into the tip jar beside the register. The boy smiles and thanks him for his generosity as he gives Harry his change. Without hesitation, Harry drops the remaining coins into the tip jar, thanks the boy, and stands to the side to allow the people behind you to step up to the register and order. 

“Trying to impress me?” You smirk, nudging your shoulder against his. 

He smiles, “Not if you don’t want me to.”

You chuckle and shake your head as you follow him to the end of the counter where another barista quickly prepares your drinks, sliding Harry’s muffin towards him. 

You turn to him,“I’ll go save us a table, okay?”

“Okay.” He smiles, watching you walk off towards the small table by the window, dropping your bag into the seat across from you to save it for him. 

Within five minutes, Harry is walking towards you with both your drinks in one hand and the giant mountain of a muffin in the other. 

“Was not expecting this muffin to be so big,” He chuckles as he hands you your bag and slides into the seat across from you. “You wanna split it?”

You take a sip of your coffee through the straw, the sudden grumbling of your stomach interrupting your train of thought. You hadn’t realized how hungry you are. “Oh, sure.”

He nods, slowly peeling the paper cupcake holder from the edges of the pastry before attempting to break it in half with his hands. “I guess that’ll do.” He chuckles at himself, dusting the crumbs from his fingers.

The silence that falls between the two of you is filled with nervous glances and flustered smiles as you sip your coffee between every few bites of the muffin. Your hands graze against each other occasionally when both of you reach for the muffin at the same time, causing breathless giggles to emit from the backs of your throats.  

After a brief moment of silence, you drop your hand on the table in front of you with your palm facing  up. “Give me your hand,”

“Quite demanding there, babe.” He chuckles, taking another sip of his coffee.

You roll your eyes at him, ignoring the flutter in your tummy that’s caused by the casual use of ‘babe’ in regards to you. “Just- I wanna look at your rings, so can you please give me your hand?”

He smiles, placing his large hand into your palm which allows you to lean forward and take a closer look at the rings adorning his long fingers. “Where’d you get them?” You ask as you gently brush your fingers against the cool metal. 

“Mm,” He grunts, squinting his eyes in thought for a moment. “A few friends have gifted some to me, but I also bought some myself.”

You nod, humming in acknowledgement. “I would’ve never guessed when we were younger that you’d grow up to be a jewelry guy,”

He chuckles, “And why’s that?”

You drop your hand away from his, leaning back in your chair, “I don’t know. I mean, I thought you were cool, but I didn’t think you were really capable of being this type of cool, you know? I’d always known you as just ‘Harry’, my best friend’s kinda dorky older brother who’s also good at singing.”

“You thought I was cool?”

“Yeah, sorta. You were cool in the sense that you were always so kind and loving towards Deidre, even when you were trying to be annoying. But then you became famous and this whole new level of cool happened that made me kinda sad, if I’m being honest.” He frowns at that, sipping his coffee once more. “I mean, it wasn’t necessarily a bad type of cool, but it just made me realize that you weren’t just my best friend’s older brother anymore. You were Harry Styles, heartthrob of the century, everyone loved you and nearly everyone knew who you were all of the sudden.”

“Do you think I’ve changed a lot?” He asks after a brief pause. 

“I thought you did for a while. I’d see tabloids about you every week talking about how much of a ‘lady’s man’ you were and who your newest ‘fling’ was and I didn’t know whether to believe them or not because from my perspective of you, you weren’t like that, but I also hadn’t seen you in quite a long time so I thought that maybe it was possible that you really did change that much.”

He shakes his head. “I hate how they’ve portrayed me. I hate that they’ve made me out to be some bloke who’s only in it for the money and the girls because it’s really not true. I especially hate that you’ve had to see me like that because I don’t ever want you to see me that way.”

You smile to yourself slightly, “Don’t worry, I don’t see you that way. Not anymore, at least.”

“Good,” He sighs, smiling shyly as he takes the last piece of muffin from the plate in between the two of you and pops it into his mouth. 

“I do think you’ve got a bit of an attitude problem, though.” You hum sarcastically, watching his expression twist into feigned shock.

“An attitude problem??”

“Mhm,”

“I resent that.” He huffs, pressing back against his chair and crossing his arms over his chest. 

“There it is!” You giggle, tilting your head to the side in a mocking manner.

Harry rolls his eyes playfully, holding back a smile as he stands, snatching his coffee cup from the table along with the plate where the remains of the muffin you’d just shared lie. “Come on, let’s go. I’ve got more planned for us.”

The soft jingle of a bell sounds as the two of you step into the small book store wedged between a consignment shop and a beach souvenir shop. The song “Yesterday and Today” by Yes plays quietly in the overhead speakers as the lone employee places new books on the shelves, humming along. She looks up from her place at the shelf and smiles at both of you shyly but doesn’t say a word when you smile back, opting to continue her restocking. 

Your eyes flit around the small space that’s cramped with shelves, overflowing with books and you begin to wander aimlessly. Harry follows behind you quietly, watching as your fingers trace the spines of each book you pass. 

“Do you read a lot?” He asks as you slide a paperback book from its home on the shelf just slightly above your height. 

“I try to,” You hum in response, gazing down at the open book in your hands. “But it’s difficult most of the time.”

He nods, “I understand,” He watches your fingers sift through the delicate pages of the book, the bold, typewriter text of each page, melting into each other to form a jumbled cloud of letters. “What book is that?” He asks, stepping closer to you to get a better look at it. 

“The Philosophy of Andy Warhol,” You smile, glancing up at him as you flip the book over to its cover, displaying the iconic red and white soup can design. 

His eyebrows raise in surprise, “Andy Warhol? Really? Wasn’t he a terrible person?”

You chuckle, “Yeah, he was the worst, but he’s dead now and I like to think we can separate the art from the artist, don’t you?” 

“I guess so...” He nods in response, shrugging slightly. “I’m assuming you’ve read this, then?”

You shake your head, “Not fully, just bits and pieces. I can’t really afford to buy books for pleasure at the moment.”

He frowns to himself at that but doesn’t say anything else, just watches as you place the book back onto its home on the shelf and begin to step further into the depths of bookshelves. Harry doesn’t move from where he’s standing, though, he watches you step further away before he takes the book you had just showed him from the shelf and casually holds it behind his back as he steps closer to where you are. 

He follows you around the shop as you slowly and silently observe various different books, occasionally expressing your desire to read them after flipping through each crisp page. And, again, with each book you touch, he takes them from the shelves and collects them in his arms without a single word, hoping and praying that you stay distracted enough to not notice the growing pile of books in his arms. 

Finally, the two of you have made your way through the entire store and are now standing near the register as you bury your nose into another book. Harry mumbles something to you about buying a book that he wants and you barely even acknowledge him, too engrossed in the words that flow across the pages. It isn’t until he’s back by your side that you finally lift your head to look at him, finding his dimpled, mischievous smile reflecting back at you. 

“Ready to go?” He asks, eyebrows lifting in question.

You look up at him with a smile and a nod, closing the book in your hands and placing it back in its home, completely unaware of the paper bag he’s holding behind him. He leads you out to his car, subtly tossing the bag into the back of his car without you noticing before sliding into the driver’s seat and taking both of you to your next destination. 

Eventually, you find yourselves on the beach, sitting comfortably on a blanket Harry provided along with a few containers of food from a local restaurant. There’s a decent amount of people walking around you, yet no one seems to notice Harry. Too caught up in their own vacations to notice the literal celebrity in their midst. You aren’t complaining, though, because after a few girls approached him with a request for a photo and a hug, you’ve started to grow a little jealous. But Harry doesn’t need to know that.  

“How far d’you think I’d have to swim until my feet can’t reach the bottom?” 

You turn your head to him as you stab your plastic fork into a particularly juicy piece of orange chicken. “Mmm, I’d say about-” You glare out at the people in the water, holding your hand over your eyes to shield them from the sun, “five feet past that guy in the lime green shirt.”

He turns his head to look at where you’re referring to and tilts his head to the side. “I think it’d be a little further than that, I’m pretty tall.”

You shove the piece of chicken into your mouth as you continue to stare out into the water and shrug. “The only way to really find out is if we go out there,”

He turns his face back to yours, “Let’s go, then.” 

Immediately you drop your fork onto the blanket, frantically tearing your tank top from your body as you stand and begin to unbutton your shorts. “Race ya.” You breathe through a grunt, kicking your shorts off of your bare feet and legs to reveal your black bikini. He scrambles to his feet at that, nearly ripping his shirt from his body, but you’re already taking off in a sprint towards the water. 

Harry is quick to catch up with you after a brief moment of struggling with his jeans to reveal his tiny, yellow swim shorts. He tackles you into the water, quickly wrapping his arms around your waist and taking the both of you under in one giant splash. 

“Asshole!” You screech through a giggle once you resurface, swatting at his bare chest as he cackles. You turn around with a huff, trudging forward through the water with Harry hot on your tail. 

“Hey!” He calls after you, nearly hopping through the water to catch up with you. “Hop on my back, it’ll be easier.”

You smirk, turning to face him as he stands almost waist deep in the water. He crouches down to allow you easier access to wrap your arms around his shoulders and you roll your eyes at him, giving in to his persuasions nonetheless. 

Once your legs and arms are wrapped around his waist and shoulders, he stands fully and starts walking forward again. The feeling of your warm breath against his neck causes goosebumps to litter his bare, wet skin and he tries in vain to ignore the feeling of your breasts pressed directly against his back. 

“Feet still touching the bottom?” You ask, leaning your chin against his shoulder. It comes out much shakier than you’d intended, breathed directly into his ear and you can feel Harry shutter beneath you. 

“Uh- yeah, yeah, but it’s starting to get a bit deeper.” 

At this point, you couldn’t care less about the bet you’d made with him, too distracted by the warmth of his muscular back against your embarrassingly sensitive nipples. You can tell he’s partially lost interest as well, judging by the way he grips your thighs tightly as he wades further into the water.

You’ve passed the man in the lime green shirt by now, the water slowly inching up to his shoulders which indicates your possible victory. But suddenly, he takes one more step and the water is at your own shoulders and nearly over Harry’s head completely. He’s sputtering dramatically as he stumbles backwards, finding his footing once again.

“There’s a fuckin’ drop off!” He growls, bringing his hand up to wipe the salty water from his eyes. 

You’re giggling uncontrollably as he coughs and grunts, hands leaving your thighs so that he can push his hair out of his face. You slide off of his shoulders and onto the sand beneath the water, cackling to yourself at his grumpy frown. 

You smile up at him. “I win.” 

He frowns, “Well, that’s not fair! How was I supposed to know there’s a drop off?”

“Doesn’t matter,” You tease, drawing out your words as you turn back to the shore. “I still won!”

He grumbles to himself, turning to follow you. You glance back at him, chuckling at his creased brow and arms crossed over his bare chest with his bottom lip protruding into a pout. “Still don’t think it’s fair,” He huffs in frustration. 

“Okay, well, if you really want a way to redeem yourself,” You start, turning back to him and waiting for him to catch up to where you are. “Race me back to shore.” 

His frown melts into a devious smile. “Oh, you’re on.” 

Immediately, both of you are diving into the water head first, swimming as fast as you can until the water is shallow enough for the two of you to stand and bound through the water that splashes around you. Luckily, Harry’s not much of a swimmer so you’re automatically a few feet ahead of him once you start running and before you know it, you’re crashing into the towel the two of you had laid out earlier, sand kicking up in clouds all around you. 

“And she wins once again!!” You cheer, sprawling out on the towel as he trudges towards you in defeat. 

It’s nearing 4:00 pm once the two of you return back home, stumbling through the doorway giggling and playfully nudging each other with your elbows. 

“I’m gonna go take a shower before Deidre gets home,” You sigh, tossing your bag on the couch and turning to saunter towards the bathroom. Harry catches you by your hand before you can walk away, though, tugging you back to him gently. The suddenness of it nearly knocks the breath out of you as he pulls you into him, one hand coming up to cup the side of your face. 

“I had a really good time today,” He hums, eyes flickering between yours and your lips. 

You take a deep breath, taking a moment to glance down at his lips before speaking. “Me too.”

“S’it alright if I kiss you?” 

“Yeah,” You breathe, taking another small step forward so that your chests are pressed together. 

He smiles at that, leaning in and slowly capturing your lips between his own. His other hand finds its place at the base of your spine, holding you against him as your arms wrap around his shoulders. 

The kiss is slow and gentle, his lips suckling yours ever so softly with each tilt of his head. Small, labored puffs of air leave your nose as you stand pressed against each other, each kiss building the fire within you. 

Finally, Harry pulls away, breathlessly grinning down at you and gently brushing his thumb along the skin of your cheek. You smile back, taking a long, shaky breath in an attempt to regain your thoughts before leaning in once more. 

He meets you halfway, tugging you into him again with a surging passion as he presses his lips to yours. He starts walking forward towards the wall, causing you to trip on your own feet a few times before he has you pressed firmly against it, knee wedged between your bare thighs.

“Wanted to kiss you all afternoon,” He breathes between kisses, fingers digging into the supple flesh of your hips.

You whimper quietly. “Why didn’t you?” 

“Didn’t know if you wanted me to,”

“I always want you to kiss me,”

He pauses at that, pulling away to look at you with a smile. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” You nod, biting back a smile. “Haven’t stopped thinking about the other day on the beach.”

“Me neither.” He huffs, lunging forward to capture your lips again. 

He kisses you for just a moment longer, both hands cupping your cheeks gently as your own hands grasp his wrists. Then, he stops, slowly allowing his lips to part from yours and stepping away from you with a smirk. 

“Don’t take too long in the shower, I wanna take one too.” He winks. 

You watch him walk away after that, acting as if nothing had just happened as he disappears down the hallway. You’re breathlessly leaning against the wall, mustering every bit of strength inside of you to push yourself off of it and walk on wobbly legs to the bathroom. 

What the fuck?

It takes nearly everything inside of you not to scratch the proverbial itch of desire whilst your hands wander your naked form, but you only intended on taking a quick shower and you don’t want to raise any suspicions. So, reluctantly, you rinse yourself off beneath the steady stream of hot water before turning off the faucet and stepping out of the shower to perform your skincare routine. 

Soon, you’re scurrying into your bedroom with a towel wrapped tightly around your body, calling: “Shower’s open!” to Harry before slamming the door shut. 

As you’re pulling an old t-shirt on, you notice a brown paper bag sitting on your bed and you frown, reaching into it. It’s filled with books. A smile brims at the corners of your lips as you take each book from the bag. Every single one of them is a book you’d talked about wanting when the two of you had walked through the bookstore earlier and you can’t help but feel a small tug at your heart at the prospect of Harry actually listening to your ramblings and taking note of all the books you’d talked about wanting. 

You tuck the bag away with your things before tugging a pair of sweatpants on and stepping out into the hallway. You find yourself wandering into the kitchen, swinging the fridge open and grabbing a soda from the shelf before swinging it back closed. Just as you crack open the can of soda, the door opens and in waltzes Deidre, tossing her bag to the side. 

“Shit- Is the shower open? Really need one,” She says to you, running her fingers through her damp hair with a huff. Her dress is thrown over her figure haphazardly, damp from the wet bathing suit beneath it, indicating that she must’ve just returned from the pool or beach. 

“Harry’s in there right now, but I’m sure he’ll be done soon,” You shrug, taking a sip from the can of soda. “Did you have a good time?”

 “I had an amazing time,” She smirks as she tugs her sandals off and lets them tumble onto the floor. “I’ll explain everything later, though.”

Your eyebrows raise in surprise. “Oh?”

She wiggles her own eyebrows suggestively, snickering with a devilish smile before disappearing into the hallway. You saunter over to the couch, taking a moment to grab the TV remote before collapsing into the cushions with your legs tucked beneath you. 

The steady stream of the shower comes to a nearly screeching halt and 5 minutes pass before the door to the bathroom swings open and out comes Harry, soaking wet with nothing but a towel wrapped loosely around his waist. 

“Y’lookin’ for a movie to watch?” He asks, fingers gliding through his sopping curls as he stands in the doorway. 

“Uh-” You swallow the lump in your throat, trying in vain not to let your eyes wander to the loose edge of his towel. “Yeah. Got any requests?”

He shrugs, “I love a good Rom-Com, but I really don’t mind anything.”

You nod, “Alright, I’ll keep that in mind.” 

You watch as he steps into his bedroom, shutting the door behind him quietly and leaving you alone in the living room. Moments later, Deidre bounds out of your shared bedroom and into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her with a snorted giggle. 

Scrolling through Netflix on the TV, you land on the Rom-Com section, taking a moment to look through it. Harry’s door swings open and he walks through, towelling off his long, wet hair as he saunters into the living room. He’s wearing a tight, black t-shirt and a loose pair of shorts that allow his tiger tattoo to peek through ever so slightly.  

“Find anything yet?” He asks, wrapping the towel around his neck before plopping himself down on the couch beside you.

You shake your head, glancing in his direction briefly before continuing to click through the limited options. The smell of his shampoo wafts into your direction and immediately you’re overwhelmed with the urge to tackle him on the spot, smothering him with your own mouth against his. His presence brings an animalistic side out of you and it takes everything in you not to give in, especially with the way he’d kissed you only just an hour before.

“You alright?” He interrupts your lustful train of thought, nudging his shoulder against yours. 

You clear your throat quietly, shaking your head a little. “Uh- yeah, sorry. Got distracted,” 

He smirks to himself, staring straight ahead to hide his tickled expression. “You gonna choose a movie or am I gonna have to take that remote from you and do it myself?” 

You whip your head in his direction, gaping at him as a smile tugs at the corners of your lips. “I’d like to see you try.”

He giggles and lunges forward, grasping for the remote in your hand but you move quickly, yanking your hand back behind you as you scramble to the edge of the couch. You giggle obnoxiously, kicking your feet at him to keep him as far away from you as you can, but his reflexes are just as quick as yours and soon he’s grasping one of your ankles to allow him just enough leverage to tackle you. 

“Harry!” You squeal as he shoves his arms beneath you in search of the remote in your hand. He chortles down at you with a devilish smile when his nimble fingers find your wrist. Immediately, you tear your arm away from his fingers, throwing it above your head with the remote grasped tightly between your fingers. 

“Fuck- you’re fast,” He grunts, taking a moment to shake his head in defeat. His tone and words prick a familiar nerve within you and you restrain yourself from squeezing your thighs together, bottom lip slipped firmly between your teeth. 

“That’s what she said,” You retort, snorting loudly at your own joke. He rolls his eyes, pushing himself up more so that he can reach your hand, but you outsmart him once again, kneeing him in the hip and causing him to topple off of the couch and onto the carpeted floor. 

“Fuck’s sake, babe. M’gonna be black and blue by the end of this,” He groans, sitting up as he rubs his elbow with a pout on his lips.

You roll your eyes at him. “Oh, please, I was barely even trying,” You allow yourself to relax back against the couch, scrolling through the movie options once again as Harry lifts himself from the floor but before you can even process what’s happening he’s swiftly yanking the remote from your hand and plopping himself beside you. “Asshole!” You gasp, reaching back for it frantically. 

He’s chuckling devilishly under his breath, holding his long arm away from you and moving it every way you reach. “Gonna have to try harder then, I guess,” 

You clamber over him, both knees landing on either side of his legs as your fingers grasp the remote over his hand. The compromising position the two of you are in is admittedly the last thing on your mind as you scramble for the remote, but when his free hand falls to your waist, gripping you gently, a breath catches in your throat and you pause. You make eye contact with him, your faces merely inches apart and suddenly the remote doesn’t really matter anymore. 

He smiles a little, licking his lips when his eyes flicker to yours. The hand holding the remote falls onto the armrest of the couch, causing yours to fall with it. 

“Are you gonna kiss me or just keep staring at my lips?” You mutter, bringing your hand up to the side of his neck. 

“Gonna let me have the remote if I do?” 

“Fuck the remote.” You grunt before charging forward, lips colliding with his in a searing kiss. 

His arms are quick to circle your waist, pulling you flush against his chest as you hold his face between your hands, lips moving together in a symphony of uncoordinated movements. One of your hands slides down to grip his t-shirt, desperate to have him as close as possible and then suddenly, the bathroom door swings open and you’re sent leaping off of Harry, scrambling to the other end of the couch. 

Both of you are breathless and flustered as Deidre walks in, whistling to herself and completely oblivious to the way you and Harry are practically shivering at each corner of the couch. 

“Did you guys pick a movie yet?”

You clear your throat before sighing shakily. “Uh- no, not yet,” 

“Jeez,” she scoffs, “been in the shower for at least 10 minutes what the fuck have you lot been up to?” 

Heat crawls along the apples of your cheeks and you glance in Harry’s direction with a panicked look on your face. He’s flushed bright red, giving you a sheepish smile before you turn away again. Luckily, Deidre has wandered into the kitchen making herself a snack of some sort, oblivious to the way you two are looking at each other, flustered and slightly shaken by what she’d interrupted. 

“I’m really in the mood to watch The Notebook,” Deidre calls from the kitchen, popping her head through the opening and raising her eyebrows at the two of you in question. 

Harry shrugs, “I’m down,” 

“Yeah, same,” You agree, clearing your throat awkwardly as you tuck your legs beneath you. Both you and Harry are suppressing sheepish grins, barely glancing at each other out of the corners of your eyes. 

“The Notebook it is, then.” He concludes, clicking through the Netflix menu to find it. 

When Deidre returns to the living room, she comes bearing a bag of microwave popcorn, a bag of cheetos, and three cans of soda (per Harry’s request). Of course, with your luck, she decides to plop herself between the two of you, leaving you and Harry to give each other subtle looks of distaste from across the couch. And, once the movie starts, you’re forced to act as if you hadn’t just been making out with your best friend’s older brother right on this very couch. 

The movie goes by fast since it’s nearly your 4th time watching it, and for the entire 2 hour film you’re forced to sit across the length of the couch from Harry when all you want to do is cuddle into his side. A few spare glances are shared throughout the time and judging by the way his eyebrows lift, his feelings are similar to yours. Nevertheless, you persevere through the movie until the credits are rolling and tears are streaming down your face.

“You guys are seriously crying? I know you’ve both seen this movie more than once,” Deidre scoffs at both you and Harry as she turns the TV off.

“How are you not crying?” You sniffle, wiping the moisture from underneath your eyes with your hands. You glance in Harry’s direction to see the tears welling up in his eyes as he stares at her in disgust. 

She looks at him and rolls her eyes. “Oh, fuck off, you’re both just big babies,” She stands from the couch, yanking the empty popcorn bag from the coffee table in front of the couch, huffing, “I’m going to bed. You two are ridiculous.”

You watch as she walks to the kitchen, chuckling to herself before you turn back to Harry who’s laughing through his own tears. 

“We are pretty pathetic,” He snickers, pushing his hair out of his face and shaking his head. 

“No,” You huff. “We just aren’t heartless like she is.” You stand from the couch, crossing your arms over your chest and sauntering down the hallway to your bedroom. 

You find yourself getting ready for bed, brushing your teeth and performing your nightly routines just as you would every night. This time, however, the only thing on your mind is Harry. The way his hands held you so gently, lips drawing kiss after kiss from your own effortlessly as if he’d memorized every little thing that makes you shiver. The way he says your name when he speaks to you and maintains eye contact throughout every conversation, making it apparent to you that he’s listening to every word that leaves your lips. He actually cares about what you’re telling him and he speaks to you in such an attentive, selfless way. He makes you feel like you’re the only person he’s ever wanted to talk to. And, as much as you haven’t wanted to admit it to yourself, you’re beginning to think that this is more than just a crush. 

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[kissinginkitchens]

You Bring Me Home—Chapter Nine: Friday

a/n: happy friday lovies!! I am soooo excited for y’all to read this one bc it was my favvv chapter to write and I still get emo over it :’) also I think I should maybe let you all know that we only have two more chapters left in this series, and I can not thank you enough for all of the love and support you have shown it. It has been such a blast hearing your thoughts and sharing Halani with all of you lovely people, and I can’t believe the fun is almost over :( BUT we still have some time before we have to think about that soooo without further ado here is the next chapter, I hope you enjoy it :) Much love, Mel <3

Pairing: Hawai’i!Harry x Original Character (Halani <3)

Warnings: swearing, some suggestive humor

Word Count: 9.5k

catch up on parts one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, and eight

Monday

Harry takes a deep breath and raises his arms above his head, feeling every vertebrae stretch as he lies flat against the surfboard. The beaming sunlight warms him down to the bone and it threatens to lull him to sleep, but his attention is too occupied with the various sounds coming from each direction. Out of his right ear, he hears the waves lapping against the shore and the faint sound of children’s laughter. From his left, Mitch and Tom engage in a serious conversation about sharks. He lets one foot slide off the edge of the board and wade into the water below, all the while resisting the paranoia that he will be the next victim of Jaws thanks to his friends’ discussion. 

“I’m gonna go switch out the camera.” Paul says beside him, already swimming back to the shore. 

Harry gives a thumbs up in acknowledgement and lets the back of his hand rest against his forehead. He floats for a moment longer before swinging his other leg into the water and sitting up. His feet gently tread below the surface and he studies the area for any fish sightings, but his shoulders slump in disappointment when he doesn’t find any. 

“I just think,” Mitch defends, legs crossed on his own surfboard. “That I would survive way longer than you,”

“It’s not a fuckin’ zombie apocalypse, survival rate depends on how severe the attack is,” Tom shoots back. 

“Not if you’re smart,”

“Right, good thinking, mate. Just yell the Pythagorean theorem and swim away while the bloody thing tries to solve it,”

“You just don’t get it.”

“Stop bein’ a coward, then, and put your feet in the water.”

Harry shakes his head in amusement and continues scanning the scene for something else to occupy his attention. His eyes momentarily land on a couple in the distance, the pair facing each other on their shared surfboard and laughing. He smiles softly and glances back to the shore where his group has set up camp for the afternoon. Squinting, he tries to determine the time of day using the sun’s position overhead, but quickly gives up and swims back to the beach. The sand clings to his wet toes as he jogs over to his bag and digs inside for his phone. The time reads 2:37–Alani’s shift will be over soon. 

She stifles another yawn and punches in her customer’s order, re-typing it when she realizes that it’s littered with errors. Her mind had been in a permanent fog since she woke up at 6:45 this morning. Harry had already slipped out by the time she reached over for him, but he left a note on his pillow this time. 

GOOD MORNING SWEETS!

SORRY I HAD TO JET SO EARLY :( I’LL SEE YOU AFTER WORK.

 H ☼

P.S. ALREADY MISSING YOUR LITTLE SNORES ♡

As if on cue, Alani’s phone vibrates in her back pocket and she slips it out to read the new text. 

Harry: Meet me at Honoli’i after your shift? 

She really wants to, but she’s also in desperate need of sleep. 

Alani: Gonna take a power nap first, but I’ll be there 

Harry: Can’t wait xx

********

In the distance, Harry hears The Cure blasting from a car in the parking lot. He hums along and picks at his bowl of fruit, saving the kiwis for Alani who once said they were her favorite. Jeff and Paul laugh about something between the two of them before the director catches Harry’s attention. 

“How long you planning on staying here?” he asks. 

Harry checks his phone again and the time reads 4:35. He wasn’t entirely sure how long Alani’s nap was supposed to last, but just as he’s about to answer, a text comes through. 

Alani: Heading over. See you soon, sunshine💗

He smiles softly and shuts his phone off. “I actually have a surfing lesson at five. But I’ll meet you guys at the house after.”

Paul, the two Jeffs, Mitch, and Tom bid Harry farewell and decide to take a drive along the coast before heading to dinner. They mention the name of the restaurant they plan to go to, but Harry knows he’ll probably skip it and take Alani somewhere else. He sits back on his elbows, watching the palm trees sway in the breeze, when suddenly his vision goes dark when he feels hands over his eyes. 

“Guess who,”

“The Queen of England?”

“Yes and I’m here to colonize your land and steal your jewels,” Alani jokes in a posh British accent.  She leans over his head so they partake in an upside down kiss before settling into the sand beside him. 

“You’ve already had my family jewels,” he teases with a suggestive wiggle of his brows. 

Alani scoffs, rolling her eyes. “You are so insufferable sometimes, I swear to God,”

Harry lies back and rests his head in her lap with a shit-eating-grin plastered to his face. The damp locks along his hairline are curled and Alani twirls the pieces between her fingers. 

“Saved y’some kiwis,” he informs her, nodding in the direction of his tote bag. 

“Aw thanks, baby,” 

“How was your day?” 

Alani removes the lid and pops a slice of kiwi into her mouth. “Long, boring, tiring. A lot better now,”

“Feel the same way,”

“How’s your project going?” she questions, curious about his recent, mysterious whereabouts. 

He shrugs. “S’fine, yeah,”

“What exactly is it, again?”

“It’s a,” Harry starts slowly. “Video thing… kind of,”

Alani narrows her eyes and lifts another piece of fruit to her lips. “Meaning?”

“It’s like—following uh.. the album ‘n stuff,”

“Ah the elusive album,” Alani nods. “Will I ever get to hear any of it?”

“Yeah,”

“When?”

“Dunno,” he blinks. “When’re you gonna let me read that article of yours?”

She smirks and taps her fork against her lower lip. “When it’s ready,”

“Then I’m withholding my thing ‘til it’s ready too,”

“That’s not fair,” she objects. “My article is contingent on your music,”

“One song,” Harry bargains, holding up his index finger. “In exchange for one paragraph. Seems fair to me,”

“Deal,”

He sits up suddenly and opens his mouth as an unspoken request for a kiwi. Alani tosses it in his direction and to her surprise, he catches it effortlessly. 

“You really are a freak of nature,” she marvels. “What can’t you do?”

“Stay away from you, apparently,” 

“Ditto,”

“D’you wanna head to the water for a bit?” Harry asks, his eyes landing on the board cast to the side.

Alani nods. “Sure thing,”

She strips down to the pink two piece underneath her clothes and accepts his outstretched hand. They shuffle through the sand, joint hands swinging, but Harry stops and scans her face when they reach the edge. 

“What?” Alani asks, already dipping her toes in the water. 

He runs his thumb over hers and starts hesitantly. “I know the water is kind of…”

“Oh,” she finishes when he trails off. “Yeah. I mean, for the most part I’m okay with it. Last time was just—I wasn’t expecting it,”

“I’m really sorry for that.” Harry apologizes with a somber look in his eye. 

Alani reaches her free hand out to his cheek and offers a comforting smile. “No, it’s okay. I actually used to be pretty good at surfing,”

“Oh?”

“Haven’t really done it in years, though. I’m probably really rusty now,”

“Well maybe it’s time to get back on the horse,” Harry urges, pressing a gentle kiss to the inside of her palm before leading them further into the waves. Alani gets up on the board first and it's clear that she’s a natural despite the lack of practice. Her muscles fall into a mesmerizing rhythm as they repeat the very motions she had done thousands of times before her accident. Harry’s eyes carefully study the precision of her determined arms slicing through the water and the way her feet gracefully meet the board once she’s found a strong enough wave. She glides back to the beach and revels in the familiar feeling of the ocean breeze against her skin. Harry whistles from the distance as she reaches the shore, turning back to him with a wide grin and two thumbs up. 

“Your turn,” she calls, paddling towards him on her stomach. 

Harry replaces her on the board and winces. “Maybe I should’ve gone first,”

“You’re gonna do great,” Alani insists. “Tighten your core muscles. Oh! And bend your knees, not your back. Just trust your instincts and follow through,”

He follows her advice and to his surprise, does well, though not nearly as graceful as she had. Despite this, Alani cheers from the side as he glides back to the beach. Harry takes a bow once his feet have safely met the sand below. 

“I knew you could do it,” she beams when he swims back to her. 

“Couldn’t have done it without my amazing coach,” he shoots back, leaning down to press a salty kiss to her lips. 

With Harry’s help, she swings her leg over the board and sits so that they face each other. Their legs paddle gently below the surface and his hand finds the top of her knee, giving it an affectionate squeeze. 

“You were incredible out there,” he muses. “Can’t even tell that you’re out of practice,”

She wrings her hair out and fastens it into a low bun at the base of her neck. “Guess it’s like riding a bike—the muscle memory and all that,”

“You’re a great coach, you know. Cause I usually just wipe out,”

“That’s normal,” Alani nods. “You have to get used to falling. And wait for the right wave,”

Harry admires the way the afternoon sun sets her aglow, skin shimmering and golden under the rays. “How d’you know when it’s the right one?”

“You just feel it I guess. It’s like a gut instinct that you have to follow. And no second guessing yourself, either, cause that’s when you mess up,”

“What if you do go for it and you still wipe out?” He questions, something besides surfing in the back of his mind. 

Alani sighs. “Then you wipe out,”

“You just have to trust?”

“You just have to trust,”

Harry hums as he considers this. Three burning syllables bounce around in his skull, but he suppresses them for the time being. Carefully, he lifts himself to his feet and motions for Alani to do the same. It takes them a second to find their balance on the board, but eventually they do and Harry brings her closer with a protective hand on the middle of her back. 

“D’you trust me?” he murmurs. 

Alani studies the different shades of green in his irises and feels a flutter deep in the pit of her belly, so she decides to take her own advice and presses a soft kiss to his warm lips before responding. 

“Yes.”

Carefully, Harry takes a step back and twirls Alani before pulling her flush to his chest and swaying to the music stuck in his brain. As best they can, the pair dances on the surface of the board but Harry’s foot gets caught in a slick spot and he tumbles backwards, bringing Alani with him. When they emerge, his heart races in worry, but the knot in his chest eases when he hears her laughter.  

“Y’okay?” he checks. 

“Yeah,” she assures him, her legs snaking around his torso under the water. “I’m alright.”

The sky turns pink as they continue to wade peacefully in the water, and the entire time Harry finds himself fixated on the weight of the three little words nagging at the back of his brain. 

********

Tuesday

“Say it again,”

“No,”

“Please?”

Harry shoots Alani an unamused look through the corner of his eye. “Dunno what’s so funny about it,”

“Just say it one more time,” she pleads with a mischievous glint in her eye. 

“Tuesday,”

“Chews day,” Alani mimics and Harry rolls his eyes. 

“You’re so clever,” he huffs. “Really, a true comedian,”

She giggles and leans over in her seat to press a kiss to his cheek. “It’s cute!”

“Yeah, whatever,”

“Okay, just one more—”

“Alani,” Harry chuckles, more endeared than irritated. “Don’t make me turn this car around,”

She pouts playfully and returns to watching the trees and passing cars. “At least I’m not asking you where we’re going,”

“You are so stubborn,” he shakes his head. “I told you we’re almost there,”

“I just don’t understand what it is with you and keeping secrets,”

“It’s about the mystery, darlin’, it’s romantic! Just trust me, okay? Have I ever steered you wrong?”

Alani nibbles at the skin on her lower lip and folds her arms. “No,”

“Okay, then,” Harry says finally. “Now change the song. I let you have fun with one Taylor, but it’s getting old,”

“Hater,” she grumbles, shuffling through the rest of her playlists before settling on Madonna. 

Harry’s finger taps along to the beat against her thigh and his lips turn up when he hears Alani singing along. Her eyes are focused on the road ahead of them as she pretends to be in a music video of her own, creating hand gestures and choreography to accompany the lyrics. The chorus builds and she belts out the words as if her life depends on it. 

“I’m crazy for you!”  She performs, squishing Harry’s cheeks between her hands. “Touch me once and you’ll know it’s true. I never wanted anyone like this, it’s all brand new. You’ll feel it in my kiss,”

Alani presses a slobbery smooch to the side of his face and he groans, laughing when she continues melodramatically. The song goes on for another minute and Alani sings passionately out of tune, but it makes Harry’s heart swell. He briefly considers joining her, but decides to let her have her moment, too amused by the way she’s caught up in the emotion. When it’s finally over, she slumps down in her seat with a dazed look in her eye. 

“Gotta love the 80s,”

“Maybe I should let you join the band,” Harry suggests. 

“Really?

“No,”

Alani gasps in mock offense, her eyes wide. “Hey!”

“Yeah,” he smirks. “Doesn’t feel so good, does it?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she dismisses offhandedly. “I’m a sweetie,”

“A sweet pain in my arse,”

“Arse? Did you really just say arse?”

“I take it back, you’re just a regular pain.”

The two of them drive for another forty-five minutes taking playful jabs at each other and watching the lush greenery whizz by. Harry had been characteristically cryptic in his instructions the night before, an idea suddenly popping into his mind when Alani reminded him of her day off. He had told her to wear something comfortable and practical, nothing that could flow easily in the wind. Furthermore, he revealed that he would pick her up at exactly 7:00 a.m. which made her eyebrows shoot up. 

“Seven?”

“It’ll be worth it, promise,”

“Can we at least get McDonald’s hash browns for the road?” Alani had bargained. 

Harry chuckled to himself, too excited to deny her. “Sure thing, sweets.”

Welcome to Waikōloa Beach, the sign read and Alani wondered what could possibly have possessed Harry to drag her out of bed and across the island at the crack of dawn. Her question was quickly answered when they turned onto Keana Place where a lot full of helicopters were lined up and waiting. 

“‘Big Island Tours’,” she reads aloud. “Wait a minute, we’re not—”

“Surprise!” Harry beams, reaching behind her seat for a bag. 

Alani scoffs, her mind still trying to process. “Are you trying to kill me?”

“Come on,” he pleads. “Been dying to do it since I got here,”

“So bring Mitch! Or Jeff, or Tom or literally anyone else,”

Harry gives her a pout and bats his lashes. “But I’d rather be with you. Please?”

“Harry,” she sighs, taking another glance at the helicopters before her. They did seem secure enough, enclosed on all sides, and he had driven an hour and a half just to surprise her with something fun and totally outside of her comfort zone. 

“Trust me?” he asks after a minute, kissing her knuckles gently. 

Alani takes a deep breath and nods. “Fine.”

They exit the SUV and Harry takes her hand, slinging his bag over his shoulder. There’s a short, stocky man with dark sunglasses standing in front of one of the helicopters with a clipboard. He checks his watch when he sees the two of them approaching and reaches out a hand. 

“Mr. Styles?”

“Harry,”

“Nice to meet you Harry, I’m Matt,” the pilot says with a firm handshake. “Is this your guest?”

“Alani,” she greets. “Is this…”

“It’s very safe,” Matt assures her with a warm smile. 

Harry squeezes her hand gently and looks over their mode of transportation. “How long’ve you been doin’ this?”

“Almost ten years,” the pilot explains. “I was a commercial pilot for twenty-five and then started this when I retired,”

“I’m sure you’ve had your fair share of nervous fliers, then,” Alani speaks up, attempting humor to mask her jitters. 

Matt nods with a knowing smile. “Oh yeah. Plenty of anxious girlfriends who kick their boyfriends for dragging them into it, but they always enjoy themselves in the end,”

Alani’s cheeks warm at his assumption of their relationship status, but neither her nor Harry address it. Instead, Harry clears his throat and asks his next question. 

“So when can we go up?”

“Whenever you’re ready,” Matt offers. 

Once the three of them have settled into the aircraft, he hands Harry and Alani each a headset and goes over the basic safety rules. Her heart races and stomach turns, but she takes a deep breath and wills herself to give it a chance. Beside her, Harry is enthusiastically chatting up Matt and being his usual charming self; his confidence is reassuring and she finds herself sinking deeper into his side for comfort. He drapes an arm over her shoulders protectively, sensing her nerves, and presses a firm kiss to her temple. After a few minutes of discussion with the air base over the radio, Matt gives them a thumbs up and signals that they’re ready to go. Another deep breath and they’re off, the ground growing smaller and smaller below. They skim over Waikōloa Village and head west to Waiulua Bay where the water is so clear and blue, Harry has a hard time believing it’s real. Alani peers down at the tiny people all along the coast and in the water and her throat goes dry. She feels Harry nudge her shoulder lightly and looks over to where his finger is pointed. 

“Down there you can swim with dolphins,” he says. “Looked it up last night,”

“And we’re not doing that because...?”

Harry flashes a dimpled grin and laughs softly to himself. “How are you not enjoying this?”

“I am,” Alani insists, which is steadily becoming true. She watches in amazement as they hover over the expanse of the lush, green landscape along the coast. 

Over the headset, Matt points out some key landmarks and answers more of Harry’s questions. They pass over an active volcano and Alani momentarily feels a rush of terror, but her curiosity takes over as she snaps a photo of the molten lava below. She captures another one of Harry looking out his window before flipping the camera to selfie mode and making a peace sign. He turns to tell her something, but flashes a cheesy grin and presses a kiss to her cheek when he notices the camera. Alani writes a mental note to make it her lock screen later. 

After half an hour in the air, Matt points to the cliff on their right hand side and says they’ll be landing there for a bit as part of the tour. A 200 foot waterfall feeds into a small pool and he lands them on a ledge across the way. The three of them exit the helicopter, but Matt says that he needs to check in with the base and lets them explore the site alone for a few minutes. 

“This is incredible,” Alani marvels, looking over the edge. 

“Knew you’d like it,”

She turns to him and snakes her arms around his shoulders, leaving a small peck to his lips. “Thank you,”

While she had been almost one-hundred percent sure that she would never enjoy a helicopter ride, Alani is glad that she was wrong. She is even more grateful that Harry had encouraged, but hadn’t pushed, her to try it. If Alani had been absolutely against the idea, she knows that he wouldn’t have pressed it any further and would have taken her to do something more her speed, hence the dolphin back up plan. It sometimes felt like they were from entirely different worlds, Harry being more sure of himself and adventurous while Alani was careful and preferred to have things planned. But he made her feel brave and spontaneous without pressuring  her to change anything about herself. Harry had seen something special in her and wanted the whole world to see it, too. So he encouraged her to break out of her comfort zone and let her true self shine, but only at her own discretion. Over the course of the past few weeks, Alani had noticed herself opening up to new experiences and loving every minute of it, but this transformative feeling was far from one sided; because of their relationship, Harry learned the value of trusting his own instincts. For so much of his life, he felt like a member of an overcrowded democracy allowing himself to go with the majority rule even if it didn’t particularly please him. From their earliest moments spent together, Harry was inspired by Alani’s determination and self-confidence. He had always cared deeply about other people’s opinion of him and felt that it was his greatest weakness, but she seemed so unapologetically herself at all times. And though Harry sometimes worried that he was simply playing a part for the rest of the world, he never had to question who he was with Alani. She understood him, she grounded him, and amidst all of the unfamiliarity in his new life, she felt familiar and safe. 

“You deserve it,” Harry says gently. “To see beautiful things.”

Alani presses their foreheads together and studies his emerald eyes like they’re the rarest gems she’s ever seen. “Well I’m looking at the best damn view right now,”

“Although, I wish you would’ve told me we were going to Jurassic Park, I would’ve prepared my Laura Dern outfit.”

Harry laughs softly and slots his lips between hers, those three, pesky little words nagging at him again. Not yet, he thinks, but almost there. 

********

Wednesday 

Alani takes an extended lunch and heads over to the recording studio with food for Harry and his friends. He had warned her beforehand that there would be filming, so they agreed to pretend, just for the afternoon, that she was his assistant. However, their true relationship was as much of  a mystery to the both of them as it was to everyone else. Alani had considered, on many occasions, asking him to officially be her boyfriend. She didn’t know how else to refer to him when her mom had started inquiring about the Range Rover mysteriously parked across the street every morning. Each time Alani had gotten up the nerve to ask, however, she secretly worried that it was too soon, or worse, that he would say no. Much to her oblivion Harry had also wrestled with this question, and many others, but also feared her response. What they shared was undeniably strong and completely foreign, so they had independently decided not to put too much weight on the situation in fear of bursting the bubble too soon. Neither of them were prepared to deal with the fallout if it all came crumbling down. 

“Lunch is here!” Jeff calls from the doorway as he escorts Alani inside. 

He motions her over to the table in one corner of the room and helps her lay out the food, thanking her warmly when she declines payment. 

“It’s on the house,” she reassures him. 

The crew all take turns grabbing their lunch, Mitch ruffling Alani’s hair in a display of gratitude while he swipes his burger, and settle into various chairs and comfortable spots around the studio. Harry is the last one to claim his food and he lingers around the table as he does so. 

“Thank you, Ms. Hale,” he offers politely, itching to give her an appreciative kiss. 

She nods and returns the professionalism. “You’re very welcome, Mr. Styles,”

“How’s the weather?”

By now, Alani has come to recognize this as his go-to inquiry when he’s really asking for her attention or affection. 

“Full of sunshine,”

“Glad to hear it.” he smiles softly. The casual slip of his nickname isn’t lost on him. 

“Hey Harry,” the director calls. “Show Jason that Bob Dylan thing you were doing—watch, you’ll love this.”

Harry musters up a pleasant smile and quickly glances at Alani, wanting nothing more than to escape with her for the precious few moments she has left to spare. 

“Occupational hazard.” she shrugs as her cue of permission. His fond look turns apologetic before he saunters over to the rest of the group. 

Alani watches, amused, as he lifts a guitar and starts strumming a tune that she hadn’t heard before with a Dylan-esque lilt in his voice. The crew all laugh and encourage his impression, but she still wonders what the song is and reminds herself to ask later. After a few moments with the rest of the group, Harry’s eyes wander to Alani munching on a french fry and scrolling on her phone. Jeff notices this too and decides to help his friend out.

“Hey Alani,” he calls. “Come sit with us,”

She looks over to Harry and he grins eagerly, making room on the couch between him and Mitch. 

“Alani makes the best smoothies in the world.”  Jeff comments to the film crew. 

“It’s true,” Mitch adds. “Harry loves ‘em.”

A subtle glare radiates from the singer, but Mitch simply winks in response. 

“Well, you guys are my favorite customers,” Alani offers. “But don’t tell the others,”

The whole team makes Alani feel welcome and she’s endlessly thankful for it, making an effort to engage every crew member in some sort of small talk as evidence of her gratitude. Harry enjoys her presence among his friends and how easily she fits in. It serves as further proof of what his gut already knew: she was a missing puzzle piece in the image of his ideal life slowly coming together before his eyes. Alani checks the time an hour later and starts bidding farewell to the group, much to their disappointment. As she slips out the door and over to the Bronco, a familiar accented voice calls from behind. Before she has time to respond, a pair of warm lips meet hers and she hums. 

“They’re all goin’ out  for dinner at 5,” Harry explains gently. “Come back to the studio then, I have somethin’ I wanna show you.”

********

It’s 5:10 when Alani makes her way back to Napua. Harry had texted her beforehand to say that the door would be open, so she lets herself in and scans the quiet room. She hears the soft keys of a piano, but the room is dim and she has to get closer to see that it’s Harry seated there. Candles are perched around the room and Alani watches her step, reaching a hand to Harry’s shoulder when she reaches him. He stops playing and flashes a soft smile, inviting her to join him on the bench. 

“Digging the ambience,” Alani remarks lightly, not entirely reading his mood. 

He shrugs. “Just felt right,” 

Harry’s fingers return to the keys and he starts with a somber chord that makes Alani’s breath hitch. His vocals are raw and gritty, but stronger than she had ever heard him sing and it nearly moves her to tears. She hangs on every word and burns them into her mind for safe keeping, though she doubts that she could ever forget this moment even if she tried. Harry picks up into the chorus and leaves nothing behind, diving straight into the wave without fear of wiping out. Alani tries, but she can’t contain the tears that spill over her cheek. It’s as if every ounce of apprehension and anxiety, every doubt and moment of insecurity is cleansed from her soul right in this very moment. When the song comes to an end, she immediately wishes to relive it and tries to find the right words in response. 

“That was incredible,” Alani clears her throat. “What’s it called?”

“Sign of the Times,” he responds. “Not really sure about it,”

She furrows her brows in confusion, but quickly realizes that he’s being honest and not fishing for compliments. 

“Why?”

“It’s… different,”

“Than?”

He thinks for a moment and chooses his next words carefully. “Anything I‘ve ever done before,”

“And why’s that bad?” Alani questions with a comforting hand weaving its way into his hair. 

“Dunno,” Harry sighs, leaning into her touch. “I just don’t wanna get it wrong,”

At this moment, “it” isn’t just the song. Everything about his new solo career, and his life in general, is a toss up, and one that he isn’t sure will land in his favor. Alani has no doubts, though, not when it comes to her faith in Harry’s abilities. 

“Are you happy?” she asks. 

He looks over to her and thinks that he couldn’t possibly be more content. “Yeah,”

“Then you’re already succeeding. If you’re happy with what you’re doing, then no one can tell you that you’re not successful,”

Harry feels his own wave of emotions pooling at the bottom of his lash line and he’s grateful that the low lighting conceals it. He closes the gap between their lips, palm secure against the side of Alani’s face as he keeps her close. 

“There’s somethin’ else I wanted to talk to you about,” Harry says gently and Alani feels her heartbeat pick up. 

“Okay,”

He isn’t sure how to approach the subject, despite the fact that it’s been the only thing on his mind for days, so he decides to trust his gut and speak from the heart.

“These past few weeks with you,” he starts slowly. “Have been the best of my entire life. When I’m with you, it’s like nothing else in the entire world matters, and nothing bad could ever happen to me because there’s you,”

Another tear rolls down Alani’s face and Harry wipes it away with the pad of his thumb. 

“All I asked for was a chance,” he continues. “And it feels like you’ve given me the entire world. Do you remember the day when we saw that rainbow?”

“Yes,” Alani nods, voice small. 

“You told me to wish for something, and I did. I wished for a home. I didn’t know why, but that word wouldn’t leave me alone after you said it. But I think I understand it now, because I’m in a place I’ve never been before, physically and in my life generally, but you make it feel like home. You bring me home,”

Alani feels as if all of the air inside her lungs has been sucked out, and her grip on Harry’s wrist tightens because she worries that if he lets go, she’ll float away like a helium balloon. 

“I know I’m not perfect,” Harry continues, voice wavering. “But this thing we have feels like it could set the world on fire, and I’d gladly walk in the flames for you. So would you please say you’ll be mine and let me prove it?”

“Yes,” Alani breathes, tears of relief and joy still streaming down her face. “But I need a moment to compose an appropriate girlfriend acceptance speech,”

Harry grins and presses their lips together as if she’s the only source of air. 

“Seriously,” Alani chuckles when they pull apart. “Cause how the fuck could I top that?”

“Y’don’t need to. Saying yes was all I needed,”

She unclasps her fingers from his, draping her arms around his shoulders instead, and takes a deep breath. “You’re everything, you know that? You’re the sun and the whole universe revolves around you.”

“And you’re the most heavenly moon,” Harry responds thinking back to the meaning of her name. “Mahealani.”

********

Thursday

When Alani’s father had asked for her help setting up a wedding that was taking place at the resort this weekend, she jumped at the chance. It wasn’t often that she got to be involved in the events at Honu, but she adored the luxurious five star hotel and all of its amenities. She had helped her dad cater numerous events over the years and weddings were her absolute favorite, especially because of the beautiful gowns and all of the blissfully happy couples. It felt like a privilege to glimpse into the most special moments in the lives of strangers she would probably never see again. Alani had been tasked with meeting the bride and collecting any last minute meal cards or notes of dietary restrictions from guests. The wedding was to take place the following night, but all the food prep would begin that afternoon in order to adequately prepare. 

“I think that’s all. There were just a few last minute adjustments,” the bride, Mila, says pulling out an envelope from her bag. 

“No offense,” Alani starts. “But shouldn’t you be resting? I mean isn’t the maid of honor supposed to do all this? Or a wedding planner?”

Mila sighs, an embarrassed smile spreading across her rosy lips. “I know, I’m just a bit of a control freak. I like things done a certain way,”

“Totally understandable,”

“Like the music thing,” Mila rolls her eyes. “It was my fiancé’s idea. He said that DJs were boring and wanted to let the guests choose their own songs, instead. So that was my compromise. I’m trying,”

Alani offers a chuckle and shuffles the last of the cards into her stack. “Sounds like you’re already mastering this whole marriage thing,”

“Are you married?” the bride asks, curiously. 

“Oh, no I’m not,” 

“Got a boyfriend?”

Alani’s cheeks warm and her lips curl. “Yes,”

“Knew it,” Mila comments with a knowing smirk. “You’re too pretty to be single. And you’ve got the look,”

“What look?” Alani questions. 

Mila flutters her lashes and sighs. “The ‘I’m in love and I don’t care who knows it’ look. Like a Disney princess,”

Alani laughs shyly and focuses her attention back to the envelopes in front of her. 

“What’s his name?” the bride pries. 

“Harry,”

“That’s a good one,” Mila considers tapping her lower lip. “Like the Prince of England. Maybe you will be a princess, after all,”

Alani is amused by the irony of her statement, but she chooses not to disclose the fact that her boyfriend actually is British, albeit, not a Royal. Instead, she chooses to deflect the attention back onto the bride. 

“And what’s your lucky guy’s name?”

“Chad,”

“Like the country,”

“Yeah,” Mila giggles. “Like the country,”

“And what’s he like?”

Mila rests her chin in her hand and a dreamy look settles into her hazel eyes. “Funny. He wanted to be a comedian, but he became a lawyer, instead. That’s how we met— law school,”

“What kind of law do you practice?”

“Ironic enough,” Mila chuckles. “Family and divorce law. I never thought I’d get married, I mean I literally hear about people falling out of love every day. But the thing about love is that it’s effort, and a lot of people aren’t willing to put in the work. It doesn’t feel like work when it’s the right person, though. Just feels like ‘how can I be the best possible partner to this human that I love so much?’”

Alani considers this, her mind immediately wandering to Harry and all of his thoughtful gestures. “Makes sense,”

“Chad is a patent lawyer,” Mila continues. “He’s the more creative, outgoing one, I guess. He makes things light when it gets too heavy, you know? It’s good to have someone like that,”

“Yeah, definitely,”

“What’s your guy like? What does he do?” Mila asks with a flirty grin. 

“He’s, uh,” Alani thinks for a second trying to be as vague as possible. “A musician,”

Mila gives an approving nod. “Dreamy. Bet he writes lots of songs about you,”

“Maybe,”

“Don’t be shy,” Mila urges. “Come on, it’s just us girls. Spill,”

Alani thinks for a moment and imagines that the same dream cloud must be present over her own features.

“Well he’s kind, thoughtful, romantic, and wise. Really funny, too. I don’t know he just—he makes me wanna be a better person, really,”

“Wow,” the bride marvels. “Sounds like a hell of a guy,”

“He is,”

Mila leans in conspiratorially and Alani does the same. “Speaking as an expert, I think it’s gonna last forever,”

“You think?” Alani asks. 

“Oh yeah,” Mila assures her. “When you’re so used to studying fake love, you get really good at recognizing the real deal,”

Alani offers her an appreciative smile and nods. “Thank you,”

Mila’s eyes light up suddenly and she grabs Alani by both hands. “Hey you should bring him! Yeah, you two should come, I insist,”

“Oh, I—”

“Please, say you will! Maybe he can throw in some good music recommendations to offset the terrible ones,”

Alani chuckles and she knows immediately that Harry would leap at the chance to do so. “Okay, sure.”

“Yay!” Mila cheers, reaching into her planner and jotting a note down. “Harry and Alani at the lovebird’s table.”

********

“Hey, sweets,” Harry beams, pulling up to the front of the hotel in the Cadillac. “Waiting on your boyfriend or are you just in the habit of standing on sidewalks lookin’ cute?”

“The former,” Alani responds coyly. “He’ll be here any minute,” 

“And he’s got a pretty girl like you waiting outside like this? You should dump him,”

She shrugs and turns on her heel for a stroll while Harry gently eases off the breaks to follow. “I don’t know, I’m kinda fond of him,”

“S’that so?” he continues with a smirk. 

“Yup,” she sighs. “He’s kind of a dork, but I like that about him,” 

“Heyyy—”

“And he’s a good kisser. The best at cuddling, too,” 

“Sounds like a catch,” 

“He is. You two should meet sometime,”

The car comes to a halt and Alani slips inside, scooting all the way down the bench seat next to Harry. 

“Funny, you should be a comedian,” he quips.

Alani’s brow furrows and she shoots him a doe-eyed look. “What’s the joke?”

Harry laughs dryly, ignoring the pang of irrational jealousy that strikes him in the chest. “You’re a little too good at this bit, it’s starting to feel like we're not talkin’ about me anymore,”

“Oh, were we supposed to be talking about you?” 

His head whips over to Alani who clutches her stomach with laughter. “I’m kidding, baby, of course I’m talking about you,” 

“No, who is he?” Harry demands playfully with a deep furrow between his brows. “Tell me, I’ll hurt him,” 

Alani slots their lips together and his pout eases into a grin. 

“Hey what are you doing tomorrow night?” she asks, feeling the ocean breeze through her hair. 

Harry flashes a dimple in her direction. “Anything you want, s’long as we’re together,”

“Will you be my plus one?”

“To?”

“A wedding,” Alani explains. “The one my dad’s catering at Honu,”

His eyebrows raise and he smiles wide. “Are we crashing it?”

“No,” she laughs. “We were invited. I was hanging out with the bride today and she added us to the list,”

“‘Kay, but I’m still gonna pretend we crashed it,”

Alani drapes her arms around his shoulders and leans her head against his. “Where are we going?”

“Damn, I thought I had you distracted,”

“Boyfriend rule #1: You have to tell me where we’re going always,”

Harry narrows his eyes. “That’s not a real rule because surprises are romantic,”

“Too bad,” Alani shrugs.

“But don’t you enjoy my surprises?”

“Usually,”

“Then I’m adding a new rule,” Harry bargains. “The girlfriend can not ask the boyfriend to disclose the location of a date if they’re already in the car,”

“That’s not fair, I was already in the car when the rule was made!”

“Too bad.”

Alani pinches his cheek and slinks back into her own seat. She tells him about the bride and the groom, what she knows, at least, and about the decision to have their guests RSVP with a song of their choice to play at the reception. 

“D’you know what you’re gonna pick?” Harry asks. 

“Yeah,” Alani nods. “I Wanna Dance with Somebody by Whitney Houston, obviously,”

“Obviously,” he agrees. 

“You?”

“Dunno, yet. Have to narrow it down,”

Alani admires the heart-shaped glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. “Well you better make it good, cause Mila knows that you’re a musician and she’s expecting you to balance out her friends’ shitty music taste,”

“You were talkin’ about me?” he teases. 

“Well, yeah, how else do you think you got invited?”

“You have such a crush on me, s’cute,”

Alani playfully pokes his cheek. “We’re literally dating, dummy,”

“Don’t get defensive,” Harry jokes. “Cause I’ve got a crush on you too.”

“God, we’re so annoying.”

Harry grins and presses a kiss to her temple. They pull into the Port of Hilo and he magically produces a picnic basket from the backseat, a bottle of Moët et Chandon rosé peeking out. Alani slips her fingers between his and follows as he leads them to a sizable speed boat anchored and waiting for them. 

“The Carolina,” Alani reads, admiring the golden cursive on the side. 

“Like someone else I know,” Harry winks. 

He escorts her onto the vessel and she waits to see when the captain will join them, but confusion washes over her when she sees Harry poking around with the equipment. 

“What are you doing?”

“As much fun as it would be to eat at the dock,” he begins. “I think it would be more fun to take ole Carolina for a spin,”

“You mean you’re gonna drive this thing?” Alani questions, though she doesn’t know why she’s surprised by him anymore. 

“Pilot,” Harry corrects. “But yes,”

Alani blinks and tries to wrap her head around the idea of Harry piloting a boat. “And you’re allowed to do that?”

“Sure.”

“Wow,” she marvels to herself with an incredulous laugh. “I’m dating a sailor.”

Harry flashes Alani a wink over his shoulder and before she knows it, they’re heading away from the dock. She carefully stands from the lounging area at the back and sneaks over to Harry, arms wrapping around his torso with her chin propped on his shoulder. He steers with one hand and extends the other, recreating the iconic Titanic boat scene. 

“I’m flying, Jack!” he calls over his shoulder and Alani giggles, responding with her best improvised rendition of My Heart Will Go On. 

They sail out for a bit longer before Harry stops the boat and turns to her. “Ta da!”

“By jove, he’s done it!” Alani praises. 

Harry takes a bow and reaches over for the picnic basket, pulling out the rosé and two champagne flutes. He hands them to Alani and spreads their meal on the lounging area at the back: vegetable stir fry and noodles with chocolate covered strawberries for desert. 

“You did all this?” Alani muses. 

He takes each flute from her hand and fills them halfway. “It’s a special occasion,” 

“I feel like an asshole for not knowing what it is,”

“Don’t,” Harry chuckles, handing her the wine. “I mean it’s not really like—I just realized it,”

“What is it?”

Harry raises his glass and clears his throat. “Exactly three months ago, I got off a plane and I stumbled into a little café where the most beautiful and funny and smart waitress served me about twenty glasses of water until I nearly pissed my pants in front of her,”

Alani giggles at the memory, disbelief settling in when she considers how fast the time had flown. 

“And despite all of the embarrassing and idiotic things I’ve done since,” he continues. “She agreed to be my girlfriend, for reasons I have yet to understand. So today I celebrate her, and us, and all of lucky stars that brought our paths together,”

They clink their glasses together and Alani presses a cool kiss to his lips. “Cheers, baby,”

“There’s one more thing,” Harry says, holding a finger up. 

Alani scoffs. “It’s like fucking Pandora’s box in there!”

He pulls out a velvet box and her heart stops. 

“Wait, what are you—”

“It’s not what you think,” he explains quickly. “Sorry, maybe should’ve thought this through better,”

Harry opens the lid and lifts a gold chain with a crescent moon pendant and a smaller sun in the center. 

“Saw it in a shop this morning,” he says softly. “Seemed like fate, so I got it,”

“Harry,” Alani breathes, eyes already glossy. 

“D’you like it?”

“I love it! It’s beautiful,” she says, pressing a sweet kiss to his lips. “Thank you so much.”

He fastens the necklace for her and she admires it with gentle fingers. The sun and the moon, a piece of them cast in gold and resting against her beating heart forever. 

********

Friday 

“Wow,” Harry gawks, his eyes raking in Alani’s appearance. A baby pink tulle dress falls just above her knee with puffy sleeves and a sweetheart neckline, all cinched at the waist with a small bow. Tiny velvet hearts are speckled all over the dress, in true Alani fashion, and a pair of sparkling, pink heels accentuate her toned calves. 

“Wow yourself,” she counters, drinking in the peek of exposed skin behind his cream colored blazer. The blue dress shirt underneath is unbuttoned just above the butterfly on his stomach and a cross is nestled in the valley between his pecs. He holds out a bouquet of sunflowers between his ringed fingers and Alani accepts them gratefully, moving to the side so he can step into the house. 

“These are gorgeous, thank you,” she says, lifting them to her nose. 

“Welcome,” he smiles softly, swiping the pad of his thumb against her chin. “You are gorgeous,”

Alani presses her rose tinted lips to his carefully and pulls back to admire him again. “And you are so good looking it actually makes me mad.”

Harry laughs and pulls her closer for another sweet kiss before he hears the clearing of another person’s throat. 

“Have her back by midnight,” Pua teases with her arms crossed. “Or I’ll hunt you down.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Harry salutes before bending down to address Freddie. 

Alani passes the sunflowers to her sister with a kiss to her cheek before hooking an arm under Harry’s and heading out. They hop into the convertible and the sun catches the golden pendant around her neck, bringing a soft smile to his face. 

“Hope those are your dancin’ shoes,” Harry remarks. “Cause we’re goin’ full Dirty Dancing tonight,”

“Lift and all?” 

“Lift and all,”

She runs her fingers over the silver rose on his ring finger.  “You know, I think we’re finally gonna nail it this time.”

“Oh yeah,” Harry agrees. “They won’t know what hit ‘em.”

When they arrive at Honu, the other guests are shuffling from the parking lot and onto the private beach where the reception will take place. Alani plucks a card from her bag to drop into the box at the entrance while Harry pulls a medium sized box from behind his seat. 

“You got a real gift?” Alani questions, a light laugh erupting. “We don’t even know these people,”

Harry tucks the gift under his arm and shrugs. “I put your name on it too, don’t worry,”

“Well now they’ll have a giftcard to Ikea and whatever’s in your mystery box.”

“It’s also a giftcard to Ikea, but wrapped in a big box.”

Alani nudges his shoulder playfully and scans the groups mingling and flocking to the mini bar. She waves to a member of her dad’s kitchen staff attending to the hors d’oeuvres before they are greeted by the manager of the guest list. 

“Alani and Harry,” she says to the tall woman behind the podium. 

“Ah yes,” the woman responds. “The Lovebirds table, number 9.”

“Guess Mila wasn’t joking about that.” Alani chuckles lightly, taking both of their name cards. 

Harry locates their table and to his surprise, no one else is present yet, but he pulls Alani’s chair out for her and pushes it back in once she’s seated. 

“Champagne?” he asks, nodding to the bar. 

“Oui, s'il vous plaît." 

He plants a kiss to the top of her head and makes his way to collect their drinks. Alani’s eyes follow the stringed lights overhead and she quickly realizes that they lead to a disco ball hanging above the center of the dance floor. Well done, Mila. She thinks to herself with an approving nod. The colors, she gathers, are lilac and periwinkle, incorporated into all of the floral arrangements and cloth details. They match the color of the sky above and Alani knows that the bride must be ecstatic over this detail. Harry returns with their drinks and sets them down gently onto the white tablecloth. 

“None of our fellow lovebirds have arrived yet, huh?” he muses, taking a sip of his champagne. 

Alani shakes her head and brings the glass to her lips. “Must be too busy making out in the parking lot,”

“You told me we didn’t have time for that.”

“I’m not gonna ruin my lipstick before we’ve even arrived.”

Harry shakes his fist to the sky and Alani giggles. They both admire the view and the children in the wedding party who are testing how close they can get to the water before an adult drags them away. The sky turns to a shade of cotton candy above them and someone announces that the bride and groom are arriving. Harry and Alani stand and welcome the newly weds with applause and whistles. Mila and Chad share a sweet kiss and the crowd goes wild. One man, most likely a friend of the groom, shouts “I love you Chad!” and laughter erupts. They take their seats and the rest of the wedding party follows suit, which means that the rest of the guests are free to return to their chatting and socializing. 

“I’m beginning to think we were put in the time out table.” Harry jokes when they are still not joined by any other guests. 

A light laugh escapes Alani’s lips and she looks around. “Yeah I guess so.”

The servers arrive with their meal and the pair eat happily, exchanging witty banter and observations of the scene around them. Harry sucks a piece of linguine between his lips and turns to Alani with a mischievous smirk. 

“No,” Alani says, already knowing what he’s up to. 

“Don’t leave me hangin’,”

 “Eat your food.”

“Alaniii,”

She shakes her head gently and rolls her eyes, but decides to indulge him anyway. Their lips meet in the middle of the shared noodle and Harry smiles. 

“Always wanted to try that.” 

A few moments later, he notices a card in the middle of the table and lifts it. 

“‘Trivia,’” he reads. “‘Test your knowledge of the bride and groom and win a prize.’ Let’s play, shall we?”

“What’s the first question?” Alani asks, peering over to read the small font. 

“‘What year did Mila and Chad meet?” 

Alani hums, thinking back to her previous conversation with the bride. “They met in law school, that’s all I know,”

“2009,” Harry guesses. “Who said ‘I love you’ first?”

“Definitely Chad,” she replies firmly. “Mila didn’t think she’d ever get married,”

“I thought you said you didn’t know these people,”

“I guess I was wrong,”

Harry squints at the next one. “What are their zodiac signs?”

“I wanna say Virgo for Mila,” Alani suggests. “Maybe… Aquarius for Chad?”

“That’s my sign,” Harry comments, writing down her guesses. 

Alani’s brows raise. “No kidding. Makes a lot of sense,”

“What’s yours?”

“Taurus,”

“I don’t know anythin’ about astrology. Are we compatible?”

“Probably not,” Alani teases. 

Harry shoots her a disapproving look and reads the next question. “Where did they go on their first date?”

“The movies,” she predicts. “Safe bet,”

“‘Akaka Falls,” Harry writes. “That was ours,”

Alani’s head tilts. “We weren’t even dating then,”

“Yeah but I was tryin’ to win you over, so it counts,”

“Sneaky.”

“Who is the bride’s celebrity crush?” Harry continues. “Hopefully not James Marsden or this guy’s fucked.”

Alani laughs and she pulls him in for a playful kiss to his cheek. The pink sunset dims into a deep navy and the stringed lights twinkle above, setting the whole scene in a romantic, golden glow. Guests walk past their table holding strips of photo booth pictures and Harry’s neck cranes to search for the source. His eyes land on a small line at the other end of the beach and he stands quickly. 

“Let’s go,”

“Where?”

“Photo booth!”

To Alani’s surprise it’s an actual booth, curtains and all, and not just some poor sucker tasked with operating a polaroid camera the whole night. They stand in line eagerly behind two groomsmen and brainstorm poses. Once they’re inside, Alani settles onto Harry’s knee and watches as he operates the machine. The screen counts down from ten and they decide to flash a proper smile for the first one. After it’s snapped, Harry sticks his tongue out and Alani widens her eyes in mock surprise. The third one is a candid, slightly blurry one of them laughing after she accidentally poked him in the eye. A lipstick kiss is stamped to Harry’s cheek in the fourth one, but the pair innocently look away in opposite directions. The fifth and final image captures their affection mid kiss. They swipe the two sets of photos and Alani awes, admiring the black and white film strip. Before they make it back to their table, Alani feels a hand on her arm. 

“Alani!” Mila beams. 

“Hi!” Alani greets, pulling the bride into a hug. “You look gorgeous,”

“I’m so glad you came! I love your dress,”

Mila turns her attention towards Harry and gives him a warm embrace, too. “You must be Harry! So nice to meet you,”

“Thank you for having us!” he says over the music. 

“I see you guys put the photo booth to good use,” Mila comments. “Now go dance! There’s an ipad next to the stage, just queue up your songs.”

Alani and Harry bid the bride farewell, but before they leave, Mila leans into Alani’s ear and whispers “he’s a hottie!” with a wink. They set their photos down inside Alani’s purse and Harry leads her towards the dance floor. She punches in her request and he secretly types the song that’s been stuck in his head all week. Fantasy by Mariah Carey is already playing when they reach the floor, so they join in excitedly. Alani’s hips sway and Harry’s head bobs, both of them mouthing the lyrics. The song fades and Alani’s pick begins, which makes the crowd roar. 

“The people have spoken and they love Whitney!” she cheers. 

Harry twirls her and shuffles his feet. Alani shimmies and sings along, the lyrics falling from her lips like a prayer. 

I wanna dance with somebody

I wanna feel the heat with somebody 

Yeah, I wanna dance with somebody 

With somebody who loves me 

The dance floor is flooded with bodies jumping and swaying, and the disco ball shimmers above the euphoric scene. Alani and Harry spin, making their way through the crowd and letting the music sweep over them like a magical spell. Beads of sweat form at the back of her neck and she lifts her wavy locks to let the ocean breeze cool her down, but her feet don’t stop moving. Eventually, her song peters out and a familiar guitar fills its place. 

“I love this song!” Alani cries, immediately recognizing The Cure. 

Harry pulls her closer, despite the warmth radiating from both of their bodies, and presses a passionate kiss to her lips. They are surrounded on every side, but in this very moment under the full moon and shimmering disco ball, Harry and Alani feel like the only two people alive. Their foreheads meet and they sway gently, his hands secure at her waist while her fingers toy with the hair at the base of his neck. 

It’s Friday, I’m in love. 

[thelastspeecher]

Eggs and Pollywogs

This is the final ficlet I’ll be posting for my Nixie AU.  Not because I won’t write anything else for it or anything like that, but because I’m going to be focusing my writing attention for the Nixie AU into making a multichap!  I’m hoping to finish a couple of my WIPs before I start posting the Nixie AU multichap (which I’m titling “Amphibious Tendencies”), so it might be a little while.  But I’m excited to clean up and expand my lil ficlets and make it into a multichap.

But I was already working on this ficlet, and since the last one ended on a bit of a cliffhanger, I finished this up so that y’all could have some Quality Egg Content.  Enjoy.

—————————————————————————————— 

              Water splashed Stan’s face.  He sat up, spluttering.

              “Good.  Yer with us,” Fiddleford said flatly.  Stan wiped the water out of his eyes.  “Yer lil faintin’ spell made Angie cry.”

              “Fidds, that’s a lie!” Angie protested.

              “You cried.”

              “I have a lot of emotions right now,” Angie argued.  Stan got to his feet.  Angie reached for his hand.  She brushed her thumb across his fingers.  “You all right, darlin’?”

              “Yeah, I think- I think I am.”  Stan rubbed the back of his neck.  He swallowed.  “So, uh, the egg in the jar, it’s-”

              “Your offspring, yes,” Ford said.  At some point while Stan was passed out, Ford had obtained the jar and was looking intently at the egg floating within it. “Hmm.  I wonder if all nixie eggs are this cherry blossom color.”

              “Cherry blossom?  Ford, it’s fucking pink,” Stan said.

              “I was specifying the shade of pink.”

              “Whatever.”  Stan turned his attention back to Angie.  “Did you- did you lay it or something?”  Angie nodded. “That had to have sucked.”  Angie laughed softly.

              “It most certainly did.  I wouldn’t have disappeared fer so long fer no reason.”

              “I suspect that it should hatch in a handful of months,” Ford interjected.  “Shorter than the regular human gestation of nine months, but longer than the regular frog gestation of a month or two at most.”  Angie rolled her eyes.

              “I know how long it takes frog eggs to hatch, Stanford.  I’ve got a doctorate in herpetology.”

              “Thank god,” Stan muttered.  “We’re gonna need your expert smarts when the kid hatches.” He grimaced.  “My kid’s gonna hatch from an egg.”

              “I’m sorry,” Angie said quietly.

              “Why?”

              “Yer kid’s goin’ to hatch from an egg ‘cause I’m the mother.”

              “You being the mom is a good thing, Ang.  I’m glad I’m having a kid with you,” Stan said. Angie smiled.

              “Did you lay any others?” Ford asked.  Angie sighed.

              “No.  Just the one.”

              “Odd.  Water sprites like nixies tend to spawn.  Maybe you only laid one because it has a human for a father.  Or maybe because you aren’t a full-blooded nixie.”

              “Spawn,” Stan croaked, his voice cracking.

              “Okay, that’s it.”  Angie took the jar from Ford.

              “Hey!  I was examining that!”

              “‘That’ happens to be my child,” Angie snarled. “You can examine my baby when I say it’s okay.  And right now, my child, my boyfriend, and I are goin’ to find somewhere private. It’s darn difficult to have a serious conversation about us bein’ parents with ya interruptin’ every minute.”

-----

              Stan and Angie walked down the dock.  It was the middle of the day, so they weren’t alone at the lake, but they had decided it was still a better place to talk than the house.  They sat down at the end of the dock, their legs dangling over the edge.

              “Can I, uh, can I see the egg?” Stan asked quietly. Angie handed over the jar.  Stan removed the lid to look more closely at his unborn child.

              Not really unborn. She’s gonna hatch, so, unhatched, I guess.

              “Are you all right?” Angie asked, just as quiet as Stan.  Stan nodded.

              “Yeah.  I’m just, uh, trying to, y’know, come to terms with this.  I didn’t even know if I’d be able to have kids with you, since you’re a frog,” he said.  Angie chuckled softly.  “And now…now I’m gonna have a daughter.”

              “Wait.  Daughter?” Angie asked.

              “The egg’s pink.  It’s gonna be a girl,” Stan said, matter-of-fact.  Angie stared at him.  “You’ve heard of pink going with girls and blue going with boys before, right?”

              “I- yes, but I highly doubt that’ll translate in this way,” Angie said.

              “I’ve got a feeling about it.”

              “Hmm.”

              “My gut feelings are never wrong, Ang,” Stan said firmly.  “We’re gonna have a little girl.”

              “Well, there is a 50% chance yer right,” Angie said after a moment.  She reached for Stan’s hand and laced her fingers with his.  “Do ya have any idea what names ya like?”

              “Molly,” Stan said immediately.  Angie quirked a small smile.

              “Ya had that one locked and loaded.”

              “I’ve wanted to be a dad since I was a teenager. I’ve thought about what I wanna name my kids,” Stan said with a shrug.  Angie’s smile broadened.

              “I like Molly, too.  And if the lil one turns out to be a boy…”

              “It’s a girl.”

              “Ya don’t want to hear what I think we should name our son?” Angie asked.

              “I mean, it’s not necessary, but go for it.”

              “I was thinkin’ we could name him after you. Stan Junior.”

              “I- you- you wanna name your kid after me?” Stan croaked.  Angie leaned against him.

              “Our kid, darlin’.  Not mine.  Ours. Why wouldn’t he be named after his father?” she said tenderly.  Tears sprang to Stan’s eyes.  He brushed them away roughly.

              “Yeah,” he choked out.  “Yeah, that sounds- that sounds good.”  Angie stroked Stan’s cheek.  “I don’t think we should still be living with Fidds and Ford when the kid hatches.”

              “I reckon yer right ‘bout that.”  Angie’s eyes widened.  “Oh!  So, durin’ my time explorin’ the lake, I stumbled across somethin’ incredible.”

              “What?”

              “There’s some nice-lookin’ caves behind the falls. There’s plenty of room fer a full fam’ly to live there.  And there’s even some natural pools of water fer eggs or nixies to sleep in.”

              “Huh.”  Stan thought on that for a moment.  “We wouldn’t have to pay rent.”

              “Nope.”  Angie rubbed the back of her neck.  “I don’t know if it’s a good long-term solution, but I think it’s definitely a decent one fer right now.”

              “Yeah, and it’s better than living with our brothers…” Stan grinned at Angie.  “I think that we can live in a cave like frogs.”

              Angie beamed.

-----

              Stan watched anxiously as Ford removed the egg from its jar to examine it.  Every instinct he had was screaming to rip the egg out of Ford’s hands.  Ford gently set the egg into a bowl of water.

              “She’s getting very large,” Ford commented.  Angie rolled her eyes.

              “Really?  You, too?”

              “The egg is the color associated with femininity.”

              “Assignin’ pink ‘n blue to gender is a human construct, Stanford,” Angie said shortly.  She, Stan, and Ford were in the basement lab at the house, where Ford and Angie were making their regular observations tracking the egg’s development. Angie was the one who suggested that Ford track the egg’s development with her, an opportunity he jumped at.

              “I suppose we’ll find out when she hatches.” Ford carefully turned the egg over. Stan winced.  “You’ll need a larger jar to transport her soon.”  Angie sighed.

              “Here’s the thing.  I can’t find any bigger jars.  I think that this is the last time I’ll be able to bring the egg over.  From now on, it’ll have to stay in the cave pool.”

              “Nope!” a voice said.  Everyone looked over.  Fiddleford had arrived, carrying something.  He strode over to Angie.  “I whipped somethin’ up fer ya.”  He handed the item to Angie.  She looked it over doubtfully.

              “Uh, a tote bag?” Angie asked.  Fiddleford chuckled.

              “That’s just one of its uses.  It’s multi-functional, o’ course.”

              “Of course,” Stan muttered.  Fiddleford ignored him.

              “Think of it as a portable version of the tank I made fer ya.  When ya zip up the top, it’ll keep water in perfectly, without any spillin’.  Ya can carry it over yer shoulder, on yer back, or even on yer front.”  Angie looked up curiously.  Fiddleford beamed.  “That’s the best part, I think.  If ya wear it on yer front and tuck it under yer clothes, it’ll give the impression yer expectin’.”

              “That’s actually a great idea,” Stan said. “Angie and I have been getting a bit worried about people noticing we have a kid when she was never pregnant.” He waved a hand.  “Sure, adoption exists, but there’s no way the kid won’t have either my nose or Angie’s.  She’s gonna look like us.”

              “Thank you, Fidds,” Angie said.  She smiled.  “This really is great.”  Fiddleford’s smile broadened further.

              “Speaking of which traits your daughter is going to get…” Ford said slowly.  Fiddleford frowned.

              “What makes ya think the pollywog’s goin’ to be a girl?” he asked.  Angie sighed.

              “Stan and Ford are stuck on the egg bein’ pink.”

              “Stanford, that don’t mean jack.”

              “In my professional opinion-” Ford started, his voice rising.

              “What were ya goin’ to say about traits?” Angie interrupted.

              “I- ahem.”  Ford cleared his throat.  “I wonder which traits from which forms will pass down.”  Angie frowned thoughtfully.

              “Elaborate.”

              “In your native form, you are blonde, like Fiddleford,” Ford said, gesturing to Angie’s caramel-colored hair.  Stan rolled his eyes.

              “The guy who said my kid’s egg is ‘cherry blossom’ thinks Angie and Fiddleford have the same hair color,” he muttered.  Ford blinked.

              “They’re both blonde.”

              “Yeah, but in different ways.”

              “Stanford, ignore him,” Fiddleford said.  “Finish yer thought, please.”

              “Right.  As I was saying, Angie, you are blonde when in human form, but as a nixie, you have black hair.  I’m curious as to whether your daughter will have black hair or blonde hair as a human.”

              “Or brown hair,” Angie said.  Ford frowned.

              “Why would she have brown hair?” he asked. Stan cupped his hands around his mouth.

              “Dumbass, I’m the kid’s dad!” he shouted.

              “Ah.  Yes. Fair point.”  Ford looked at Stan with some concern.  “Are you all right?”

              “No, my genius brother is an idiot,” Stan retorted, crossing his arms.

              “Not-” Ford huffed.  “Your voice sounds…off.  Do you have a frog in your throat?”

              “That’s racist,” Angie mumbled.

              “I mean, I don’t have a frog in my throat right now,” Stan said.  Fiddleford and Angie turned beet red.  After a moment, Ford flushed as well.  Stan snickered.  “Nah, I think that I’m just getting used to living behind the waterfall.”

              “Why would that alter your voice?” Ford asked. Stan shrugged.

              “I mean, I haven’t been able to fully dry off since we moved there.  Don’t you get sick if you stay wet?”

              “Not necessarily,” Ford said.

              “He’s fine,” Angie said.  “Can we please finish lookin’ at the egg?  I’m eager to try this here bag Fidds made.”

              “Yes, of course.”  Ford and Angie turned their attention back to the egg.  Fiddleford joined them as well.  Stan leaned against the wall, deciding to observe from a distance. He uncrossed an arm to scratch his neck, unaware of the thin slime that briefly oozed from the itch.

-----

              “Stan!”  Stan looked up from his attempts to shave, using one of the cave pools as a mirror. Angie beamed broadly at him. “C’mere!”  Stan wiped his face clean, got up, and joined Angie at the pool she had designated for the egg.  “Look!”  She pointed at the egg.

              “Uh, what am I looking at?” Stan asked.

              “The lil pollywog is swimmin’ in the egg!” Angie gushed.  Stan sat down and leaned in to look closely at the egg.  His eyes widened.  Sure enough, the dark speck inside the egg was moving.  “I reckon it’s a bit like when someone pregnant first feels their baby kickin’.”

              “Yeah.”

              “I’d say that we’ve only got a couple months ‘fore the lil one hatches.”

              “Wow, that soon?”

              “Yep.”

              “Damn.”  Stan smiled as he watched the tadpole swimming around inside its egg.  “Holy Moses, I’m gonna be a dad soon,” he said quietly.  His eyes widened.  “I’m gonna be a dad, but I’m not married.”

              “Oh,” Angie said, sounding surprised.  “That’s right.  We ain’t married.”

              “We should probably do that at some point,” Stan said.  Angie laughed softly.  “What?”

              “I’m just imaginin’ my fam’ly gettin’ invitations to a wedding where they haven’t even heard of the groom ‘fore.”

              “Wait.”

              “Oh.  Oh no.” Stan and Angie stared at each other. “I never told my fam’ly ‘bout ya.”

              “We’ve been dating for months!  We’re gonna be parents soon!”

              “I- well-” Angie spluttered.  “Have you told yer fam’ly ‘bout me?” she shot back.

              “Touché.  But you talk to your family a lot more than I talk to mine.”

              “Yeah.”  Angie rubbed the back of her neck nervously.  “There’s just- a lot has happened very quickly.  We first met a lil over a year ago, ‘member?”

              “That was only a year ago?”

              “A bit more,” Angie corrected.

              “Still.”  Stan looked back at the egg.  “Damn. We moved fast.”

              “Apparently.”  Angie groaned, kneading her forehead.  “Oh, Lord. They’re all goin’ to blow their gaskets.”

              “Especially when you mention the kid,” Stan pointed out. Angie groaned louder.  “I wonder how easily we’ll be able to get the kid to look human…”  After a moment, Angie nodded.

              “Good point.  Maybe we wait to mention we have a child until that child can hide its gills.”

-----

              Stan scowled as he watched Lute stare at the egg. Angie had called her family to let them know she had a serious boyfriend about a month ago.  Earlier that week, her older brother, Lute, had showed up determined to find out Stan’s “intentions” with his younger sister. Before Stan knew what was happening, Lute had discovered Angie was a nixie, as well as the existence of the egg.

              And now, he’s in my home, gaping at my unhatched kid like it’s the star freak in a sideshow.  Stan cleared his throat.

              “All right, are you satisfied?” he asked tartly. Lute nodded, still staring at the egg. “Great.  Now-”

              “Is it s’pposed to be movin’?” Lute interrupted. Everyone looked over at the egg. Sure enough, it was rocking back and forth in the small pool.  Stan looked at Angie.  Her eyes were wide.  She quickly got into the pool with the egg.

              “Are you all right, honey?” she asked quietly, stroking the egg.  The egg rocked more violently as the tadpole pushed against the membrane.  Then, before their eyes, a tear formed.  “Oh my- oh my goodness.”  The tadpole slid out of the egg, into the water.  Stan fell to his knees by the side of the pool.

              “Holy shit,” he whispered.  Ford, Fiddleford, and Lute knelt as well.

              “I think we just watched our new niece or nephew get born,” Ford commented.  The freshly hatched tadpole, the size of a human newborn, was swimming happily around the pool.  Unlike Angie, whose nixie skin was green, the tadpole had mottled brown skin, and, like a regular tadpole, had a tail instead of legs.  “Angie, is your child male or female?”

              “I, uh, I’m not sure,” Angie said after a moment. She caught the tadpole with her arms, hugging it close.  “Determining sex of amphibians isn’t easy to do.”  Stan sat down and dangled his legs in the pool.

              “C’mere, Ang.”  Angie came over, still holding the tadpole.  Stan looked down at his child, tears pricking the corners of his eyes. Most of the tadpole’s features in nixie form were very similar to Angie’s.  There were a couple differences, namely that the tadpole’s nose looked like Angie’s human one, not her nixie one.  The only other difference aside from skin color, was the tadpole’s eye color.  Brown, not blue.  Stan smiled.

              The kid’s got my eyes.

              “Hey, kiddo,” Stan said quietly.  The tadpole looked up at him curiously.  “I might be a human, but I’m still your dad, got it?” The tadpole blinked.  “Good work, babe.  The kid’s just as gorgeous as you are.”  Angie chuckled softly.  Stan leaned over and kissed her.  The moment his lips touched Angie’s, a strange prickling sensation spread across Stan’s skin.

              “What in the-” Lute muttered.  Ford swore softly.  Stan broke off the kiss to look at their audience.

              “What, you’ve never seen a guy kiss his gal?” he demanded.  His eyes widened at the suddenly much lower pitch to his voice, as well as the change in tone.  Fiddleford and Lute’s jaws dropped.

              “Ya don’t sound like a smoker no more,” Lute said after a moment.  He gestured to Stan.  “Maybe it has somethin’ to do with whatever just happened to yer skin.”

              “My skin?”  Stan looked down at his hands.  His jaw dropped.  His skin was soft and slimy like Angie’s, mottled brown like their tadpole’s. “Uh…”

              “I warned you, Stanley,” Ford said.  Stan looked up at his twin.  To his surprise, Ford looked more amused than upset.  “I warned you that if you continued to interact with Angie in nixie form, you would become a magical creature yourself.”

              “That’s what just happened?” Lute asked.  “But he don’t look anything like Angie or the, uh, the pollywog!  His skin and voice changed, that’s all.”

              “Okay, I need to get a good look at myself,” Stan muttered.  Angie scooted away so that Stan could use the pool to look at his reflection.  Stan leaned over, staring at the water.  Like Lute had said, his features had remained the same, though his skin was now of the same texture as Angie and the tadpole. His face and the front of his body were a pale brown, with dark brown mottling around his sides.  “I look like the missing link between myself and Angie.” Angie snickered softly.

              “This is just an intermediate stage,” Ford said. “I have no doubts that you’ll soon complete your transformation into a nixie.”

              “Huh.”  Stan looked up at Angie.  “Guess you don’t get to hog all the fresh bait now.”

              “Pardon?” Lute asked.  Stan looked over his shoulder.

              “You’re still here?” he drawled.  Lute scowled.

              “Stan’s got a point,” Angie said.  “Would the three of you mind leaving us alone for some quality time with our little pollywog?”  Ford, Fiddleford, and Lute got up.

              “Ya best bring that lil one of ya over first thing tomorrow, okay?” Fiddleford instructed.  Stan waved a hand airily, noting absently that thin webbing stretched between his otherwise unchanged fingers.

              “Yeah, yeah.  Now, beat it.”  Their brothers left.  Stan looked at Angie.  He winked. “Hey, babe.”  Angie giggled.  Stan removed his clothes and slid into the pool with Angie.  Angie, still holding the tadpole, scooted over to be next to Stan.

              “Given your color and the little one’s color, I wonder if our kidlet might be a boy,” Angie said, stroking the tadpole.

              “Are you sure?”

              “No.  But it’s our best lead.  So until we have some other piece of evidence, should we call the kidlet our son?” Angie asked.  Stan grinned.

              “I’ve always wanted a son, so, I’m down for it.”

              “Hmm, or maybe you’re just happy because the name we came up with for a boy was Stan Junior,” Angie teased.  She kissed his cheek.  Stan felt another strange tingling, but this time, concentrated around his hands and feet.  He looked down at his hands.  They were now large and webbed like Angie’s.  “Whoops.”

              “Eh.  I’m gonna turn all nixie at some point,” Stan said with a shrug.  He looped an arm around Angie’s shoulders.  She leaned against him.  Stan stroked his son’s bald head.  “Junior, I’m glad you’re here,” he said quietly.  Angie smiled.

              “So am I.”

[valheri-a]

@adateur​  :   comes unannounced to her apartment, knocks until the door slides open and before she can punch him in the face for being a nuisance, a shopping bag is thrusted forward. shoebox, pink suede with some italian name written on the front lid. "got'cha a lil' something."

              THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS SHOWING UP to 𝐕’s loft completely unannounced.   complex security systems are triggered once an entity comes within seven feet of her apartment. additionally, intent to duck into her doorway signals an alert of motion a tiny overhead & side camera will flicker to life to identify who or whatever seeks out the front door giving its PROPRIETOR ample time to react to the occasion. 

𝐕 is alone for the time being, her daemons out completing THEIR ORDERS from a server room she’d designated after gutting a small fraction of armory. ( a perfected, ticking time bomb with intent to kill a cpu of a particular scale requires a slow & steady upload ! ) she waits & calculates her time to STRIKE.  

no later, optics pick up the live feed of a HUNCHING FIGURE with sandy-colored hair & a worn, tan trench coat draped over a pricey three-piece suit toting a bag.  ( kiroshi mk ii’s dissect them down its compounds: paper, rubber, polyethene, syn-leather, aluminum )  it is he who disturbs the peace & quiet, her calm before the storm.  after vision returns to an empty shot glass sitting between spider-thin fingers, she slides it along the table, flicking it over the edge & walks to a door that slides with a pneumatic hiss.

watches him, strange, enlarged irises gaze at him in a CRITICAL FASHION disguised with coated indifference.

❛ what you wan—— ❜ comes her voice, an arctic chill that gets clipped by dimitri’s abrupt motion, the pendulum swing of cardboard bag in her direction.  SERRATED at the top & frosted with gold foil & some foreign cursive of the brand front & back. lavazza.

her survival instincts ( irrational or not ) creep from the narrows of psyche. in this dystopian purgatory disguised as a neon-lit fever dream, falling for a con can cost you your life or your rep.  & a street-smart denizen of her caliber is hyperaware of these MICROCOSMIC intricacies.  for example, how much would a pair of beautifully crafted italian boots cost her in the long run.  at face value, of course, the gesture is very surprising.  even...warming for a fraction of a moment.

❛ ——don’t play with me, ❜  she SNEERS,  ❛ ain’t nothin’ free, & you’re an asshole, so what’s your angle?  you’re workin’ up for the long game, huh? ❜

she stands aside, allowing him to step inside the apartment.

❛ ——tell me what you want & i’ll decide if i won’t throw you into oncomin’ traffic. ❜

[skyemak]

Cater Gets a New Do

Cater stood under one of the various trees of the courtyard. His hands were deep in his pockets as he swayed heel to toe. As a cool breeze brushed his skin, the leaves above him rustled slightly. Again, Cater glanced around the courtyard, and looked behind the tree. With a sigh, he pulled out his phone from his pocket, both to check the time and to check for any Magicam notifications. Recently there hasn’t been much going on at Night Raven College nor at his dorm. It was about two days since his last post, which was unlike him. However, he felt a sort of creative block recently, and no matter how many selfies or pics he took, he didn’t feel they were up-to-par to post to Magicam.

“Oh, Cater-senpai, what’re you doing here?”

Cater glanced up from his phone, a relaxed smile appeared on his face when he saw his familiar underclassman. “Hiya Ace-chan!” He raised his hand by his face, making a peace sign. “Yuu asked me to meet her here after school—said she wanted to ask me something. I wonder what it is~”

“Heh, I think that’s obvious.” A smug smile grew on Ace’s face.

“Hm?” Cater dropped his hand to rest on his side. “What’re you thinking, Ace-chan?”

“Nothing~ Just get ready for a new confess tag to post on Magicam,” Ace chuckled to himself, strolling away.

Cater blinked and looked down at his phone screen before quickly shutting off the screen. He grabbed a piece of his hair with his thumb and finger as he stored his phone back into his pocket. “Heh, as if.” But his mind began to wonder.

This school is surrounded by boys, so it’d be no surprise if Yuu-chan got a crush on someone.

She hangs out with the Adeuce combo a lot, so I’d first guess she’d like one of them.

Ah, but they’re not the brightest crayons in the crayon box.

As a human, Yuu-chan would probably prefer another human so they’d be more compatible. At NRC, that would leave Heartslyabyul, Pomefiore, and Scarabia.

Pomefiore is kinda intense in their own way.

I heard a lot happen as Scarabia…

Well, a lot happened since Riddle’s overblot too…

Now that I think about it, Yuu-chan always smiles in the morning when she sees me. It probably isn’t much though since I’m always acting peppy anyway.

Cater used his index finger to lightly twirl his hair in thought.

…But if she did confess… What would I say?

His ears tinted pink as he glanced down. The beat of his heart quickened slightly.

Well, I admit Yuu-chan is a little cute.

Another breeze flew by, rustling the leaves of the tree he stood by. Cater glanced up the wood. Soon the season will be changing, which will probably give Cater better potential selfies for his Magicam account.

“Senpai!” a voice yelled in the distance. Cater immediately turned his head toward its source and saw Yuu running toward him. “I’m sorry for making you wait!” she exclaimed. Yuu approached, stopping a few feet in front of him, out of breath.  She slouched over with her hands on her thighs, trying to catch her breath. “Trein-sensei made me stay late since I did so bad on his last test…” she whined. Cater chuckled, “Heheh, Trein-sensei can be quite strict. I know all too well.”

After a few moments to balance her breathing, Yuu heaved a sigh and stood straight up. She looked directly toward Cater with a determined look in her eyes. “Anyway, senpai!” Cater flinched. Abruptly, he felt his chest tighten. He glanced away from her. “Y-Yeah?”

Yuu grabbed Cater’s hand and held it gently in both of hers. “Senpai, I need you!” she exclaimed.

“Huh?!” Cater erupted. “M-Me?” He couldn’t help but notice how soft her hands felt against his.

Is…Is she really gonna confess?!

Okay, she is more than a little cute now that I see her more closely.

We could also post couple-y photos on Magicam.

I can see the comments now. “OMG so cute!” “I’m so jelly I wanna boyfriend/girlfriend~” “You two look so cute together!”

Wait, I need to consider her feelings too!

Ah, but she would probably expect me to wanna take selfies together.

Wait again, what about when she goes back to her world?!

“Senpai?” Yuu asked innocently, still holding his hand. He snapped back to reality.

“Ahhhh! Fine! Okay! I’ll do it!”

“Yay! Uh, Senpai, why is your face red? Are you feeling okay?”

Cater covered his face with one hand, looking toward the ground. The sound of his heartbeat rang through his ears. “I-I’m fine…” he muttered.

“Great!” Yuu smiled. “Can we do it at your room then?”

“…Huh?”

“I think I could also use two of your clones for it.”

“What?!”

-----

Yuu opened a tote bag swung over her shoulder and began to set out various hairbrushes, a curling iron, flat iron, and other hair products on Cater’s dresser. Cater stood by, watching her bring the products out. He timidly put his hands together and covered his nose and mouth with them.

She… She just wants to practice different hair styles on me…

“Cater-senpai, would you sit here?” Yuu beckoned. Cater twitched a bit in surprise. He looked over and saw her gesture toward a chair, holding a salon cape. “Y-Yeah.” He stepped forward, plopping down on the chair.

“By the way, Yuu-chan.”

“Hm?” she asked, pulling the cape around him to clip.

“Why me…exactly?”

“Well,” she began, taking the clip out from Cater’s hair. “You have nice length hair and it’s easier to try different styles with your hair. Plus, your unique magic makes it so I can practice multiple hairstyles at once! Oh, I don’t need them yet though.”

“Is that so…” he trailed off. Yuu gently ran her fingertips through Cater’s hair. Each time the brushed his hair with her fingers, it felt soothing to say the least. She stepped toward the dresser to grab a brush. Without realizing, Cater let his lids fall as she brushed through his orange strands of hair. Her movements were so gentle and tender, any tension he felt in his body just oozed away.

“I’ll just start with something simple,” Yuu said, setting down the brush and grabbing a fine-toothed comb.

“Okay,” Cater briefly replied.

She used the end of the comb to separate the top section of his hair to carefully tie into a rubber band. Once in, she tugged a bit at the hair in the rubber band at the top of his scalp to add some volume. When satisfied, Yuu again used the end of the comb to section out a piece of his hair at the side of his head.

“Yuu-chan,” Cater spoke up as she began to braid the section of hair. His eyelids still shut.

“Oh, does something hurt or feel uncomfortable?”

“No,” he quicky said, “I was just wondering why you’re practicing hairstyles on me.”

“Yeah, hold on, lemme finish this braid first, Senpai... There, that looks good,” Yuu said, tying the braid into another rubber band. “Well, there’s a couple of hairstyles I wanna try for myself but I wanted to practice them. But there’s a few I wanted to try but hmmm… How should I put it?” She took her comb to section out another piece of hair at the other side of his head. She took that piece and combed it to looked less disorderly. “It’s hard to figure out how to do hairstyles that have the focal points on the back, or that are consistent throughout. I don’t have anyone to kinda help me with that, but I thought if I could try it on your hair, I can get a good idea how to do it for myself, I guess? Plus, I can practice more than one at a time because of your unique magic! So, it’s hitting two birds with one stone, you could say.”

Yuu took the new section of hair and braided it as well. “Ohh,” Cater said.

“Whatever is done to your clones doesn’t reflect your appearance when they disappear, right?” She rubber banded the section of hair.

“No, not really.”

“Good…” Yuu smiled to herself, combining the two braids to the first piece of hair she rubber banded earlier. “Ah, this one is looking cute.” She grabbed a pink ribbon to tie a bow around the three pieces of hair. “I thought it was gonna be easy.”

“What’s it look like?” Cater asked.

“I’ll take a pic,” Yuu said, taking out her cellphone Crowley had given to her not too long ago. She snapped a quick note before facing the screen toward him. “See?”

“Oh, that’s a cute look! It’d probably would look really cute on you, Yuu-chan!”

There was a brief pause. Cater felt his cheeks redden. He just said what popped into his head without realizing it. The man was grateful Yuu couldn’t see his face. Yuu pulled her phone away from view, and quietly replied, “You think so…?”

There was another short pause before Cater spoke up, “So, you said you needed two clones to practice?”

“Uh, yeah,” Yuu answered abruptly. It involves using a curling iron, so I wanted a backup for when I mess up.”

“Okay, Split Card!”

-----

“Hey, Yuu-chan,” said Cater copy #1, “you did good makin’ these wavy curls.” He shook his head joyfully, singing out the curled waves in his hair. “They’re so bouncy!”

“Oh yeah,” said Cater copy #2, “I have this nice braid crown going over my head.” He gestured toward the top of his head. As he said, a braid wrapped around his head, and a few strands of hair dangled from the crown. “Truly I am King Cater!”

“Which one is Yuu-chan working on now? Number 4?” Cater copy #3 said, rocking an orange mohawk.

“A-Are you sure you want me to shave it?” Yuu asked timidly to copy #4, hesitantly holding a pair of clippers.

“Yeah, sure, go ahead!” Cater copy #4 delightfully replied. “Doesn’t affect the original! Plus, it’ll make for fun selfies to put on Magicam.” The other copies shouted, “Yeah!” in unison.

“I don’t need my followers to think I changed my hairstyle 5 times in one day!” the original Cater spoke up.

Yuu had asked Cater to make two clones of himself originally, to have one as a backup, but found she only needed one try to figure out how to curl waves with a curling iron. Then she asked for another two to try the braid crown in case she needed a backup, and then it just snowballed from there.

“Cater, you want me to try shaving the side of your head?”

“Yeah!” Copy #4 said, “I always wondered about those asymmetrical cuts!”

Yuu glanced over at the original Cater. He just shook his hand as if to say, “Go ahead.” Like copy #4 said, it doesn’t affect the original.

“Okay, here I go…” Still unsure, Yuu turned on the clippers, causing a faint buzzing sound.

-----

Hard thumps could be made out in the Heartslabyul dorm hallway carpet. The dorm leader was gritting his teeth, his face red in anger. “What need would he have to make his clones and make such a racket?!”

“Calm down, Riddle,” Trey kept pace beside Riddle. Trey’s efforts were only brushed aside as Riddle trampled on, beelining to Cater’s room. As they neared, loud sounds of giggling and laughter echoed behind the door. Ready to cast his unique magic the second he opened the door; Riddle grabbed the doorknob with great vigor. The next second, Trey’s arm swooped in front of Riddle’s body.

“Riddle,” he said. His voice was gentle, but stern. “Let’s access what’s going on before doing anything drastic, okay?” Trey smiled reassuringly. Riddle took a deep breath in before heaving a heavy sigh. The red faded from his face. “Fine,” the dorm leader said, almost with a pout.

“Uh, Cater-senpai, er, senpais?” a female voice said behind the door.

“Don’t worry!” said Cater.

“We’re just having fun, Yuu-chan!” said what again, sounded like Cater.

“Yuu?!” Trey stated. His eyes opened wide in shock.

“That’s it!” Riddle forced the door open, stomping inside before yelling. “Cater!”

“Yuu, are you--?” Trey began but cut himself off.

“Oh, uh, hi,” Yuu awkwardly waved at the two. Not in any danger, but a bit tense, Yuu was sitting in the chair the previous Caters sat in before. Multiple Cater clones were pointing at her hair or held a piece of it in her hand.

“A fishtail braid would look great in her hair!” said the Cater with a braided crown.

“You know our sisters said we sucked at it growing up!” said the Cater with wavy curls.

“Well practice makes perfect right?!” said the braided crown Cater.

“I think a French braid is a classic. Plus, we were usually good at them growing up,” said Cater with a side-shave. His arms were crossed as he stared at Yuu’s hair in thought.

“Uh, Caters, maybe let’s not tug at Yuu-chan’s hair,” said the original Cater, his hair still with the braided back style.

“Don’t be so stingy,” braided crown Cater said.

“Yeah! I know you’d wanna do a fun hairdo with her too, since you could take a couple-like selfie with it!” said cater with the side-shave.

“Wha--? Why would I?!” the original Cater argued, but pink flushed his cheeks. He dared not look at Yuu’s face. What sort of expression she was making, he had no idea.

“’Cause we’re all thinking the same thing?” said Cater with the braided crown. “We haven’t posted anything on Magicam in a while anyway.”

“Uh, I kinda have some other homework I needed to get to tonight…” Yuu mumbled, looking as lost.

“I think we should try something new entirely!” slipped in Cater with a mohawk. In his hand were the clippers from before. With a smug look on his face, he turned them on. Yuu yelped.

“OFF WITH YOUR HEAD!”

Riddle’s signature collars appeared on all the Caters’ necks. Then, all the clones poofed out of existence, leaving just the original Cater, still in the collar.

“Oh, hi there, uh, dorm leader…” Cater mumbled, trying to avoid any eye contact.

“What’s going on in here?” Trey asked.

“Hair styling practice?” Cater hesitantly answered.

Riddle sighed. He crossed his arms and stood with authoritatively. “Cater, you’re making too much noise. Also, it’s past the allowed time for visitors. I won’t punish you for breaking the rules this time but be aware. I won’t be as forgiving next time.”  

“Y-Yeah, I’ll be sure not to let this happen again,” Cater said, bowing toward Riddle.

“Glad it wasn’t something major…” Trey remarked. His forearm leaned against the side of the doorway. “Alright, Riddle, let’s let them clean up.”

“Hmph.” Riddle turned on his heel and walked back into the hallway, Trey following closely behind.

“Uh, hey!” Cater said, running toward the door. “What about this collar?” A few seconds later, the collar vanished from his neck. He heaved a sigh and walked back into his dorm. Yuu was already packing up her supplies, and just about finished.

“Um,” Cater spoke up, gaining her attention. Yuu looked toward him, zipping her bag up and swinging the handle over her shoulder. He put his hand at the back of his head. For a few moments he stared at the floor, shifting his feet, before looking back toward the girl. “Sorry, I didn’t realize it’d get so…hectic.” He chuckled. Yuu looked toward her back, fiddling with the strap of it between her fingers. Cater took notice, lowering his hand from his head, staring at her expectantly. When Yuu finally spoke up, her eyes were still at her fingers. “We can…still take a selfie together…if you want.”

Cater jolted. “A selfie…?”

His chest tightened when she nodded timidly, a soft pink in her cheeks.

-----

Cater sat on the bench at the foot of his bed. His leg was bent with his foot on the bench, and his cheek squished as he rested his face on his knee. He looked idly down at his phone screen, swiping through his camera roll. He selected one of the selfies with Yuu recently, and chose to open it in an editing app. The default recommended filter was to add hearts around their faces.

He turned off the screen, setting his phone screen down on the bench. “I don’t really wanna post any of the selfies…” he mumbled. After a few moments, he vocalized a heavy sigh. Cater raised his other foot to the bench, then used his legs to launch himself backwards to fall into his bed.

“I liked the idea of a French braid on her…”