#plus a couple short scenes hastily trying to explain away what's left

[acerikus]

Finished umbrella academy season 4. What the fuck

[stereksecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, callofthemoon!

For @callofthemoon​. Have a very merry Christmas, with this themed fic!! <3 I hope this story is a good read for you (: I hope you like it!!

Read On AO3

*****

Suitcases and Snowglobes

Letting his eyes drift over the interior of the loft, Stiles felt his brow furrow. The walls were bare, the few pieces of furniture sparse and far between.

Derek sat on the threadbare couch, his back hunched as he faced away from the teen. The moment was short, but Stiles felt his mouth tug down at the corners as he saw, for a split second, how life for Derek was whenever the rest of the pack wasn't swarming the loft.  Alone .

Feeling his hand flex slightly around the plastic bag he was holding, Stiles cursed as Derek looked over to him and the noise of crinkling plastic, his face expressionless except for his mouth: downturned in a frown. Stumbling forward, Stiles offered him a crooked grin, choosing to bury his previous thoughts at the present, deciding he'd mull over it when he left.

"Merry Christmas, Sourwolf!" He said, his forcibly jovial voice echoing loudly off of the bare walls.

Derek glowered. "Don't call me that."

"Sourpup? Wolfenstein?" He ventured, backing away hastily when Derek made to stand up. "Never mind," He added, dumping the bag onto the counter behind him.

Letting out a drawn-out sigh, Derek gave him another withering glare.

Just as Stiles finished fishing through the contents of the bag, pulling out a bag of Cheetos triumphantly, Scott and Allison entered the loft, arms heaped with gaudy presents wrapped in crinkling paper.

"Hey guys ," Stiles said cheerfully, ignoring Dereks look of disdain as he opened the bag of Cheetos, spraying a cloud of fine, orange dust into the atmosphere.

"Merry Christmas!" Scott chirped, dumping a pile of wrapped gifts on the chipped counter with a thump, immediately turning to envelop Allison in a hug, no doubt the hundredth in the time they'd seen each other that evening.

Stiles watched, inwardly rolling his eyes before he remembered the melancholy thought he'd had about Derek earlier, his eyes flitting to the Alpha still sat on the couch. Derek's eyes were blank once more, also fixed on the couple, but Stiles had learnt to interpret the nuances of the different types of "blank" the alpha displayed. He was upset, seen in the slight grimace and how he was clenching his teeth- the downwards tilt of his eyebrows as he struggled to look ambivalent to the situation.

Feeling his cheeks heat up, Stiles turned away as Derek's eyes turned to him, catching him in the act of analysing his expression. "Right," Stiles said, clapping his hands on his knees and delving into his Cheetos once again. "-lets put on a movie, I'm thinking Home Alone, but suggestions are welcome," He rambled, going over to tug Scott to the couch, giving an amused Allison a cursory glance and a smile.

He grabbed the remote, raising his eyebrows as Derek sighed, indulgently moving to the far edge of the large sofa when Scott and Allison sat down, immediately entwining into a comforting hug at the opposite end. Stiles pressed the remote into Derek's hand, waggling his eyebrows. "I trust you to pick a suitably cheesy Christmas movie, are you up to the task, o' great Alpha?"

"No," Derek said flatly, his hand lax around the remote as he fixed Stiles with an unimpressed glare.

"Knew I could count on you!" Stiles said gleefully, his hand going to pat Derek on the shoulder, then thinking better of it as Derek fixed his hovering hand with an incredulous look.

Just as he headed to the small kitchenette, the loft door opened again, this time for Lydia, Jackson, Erica and Boyd. The previously subdued quiet of the loft rose in volume again when the pack began to interact, Jackson trying to persuade an indignant Scott to let him and Lydia have the spot on the couch as Erica put on a sweet voice as she tried to persuade Derek to let them erect a Christmas Tree in the loft, claiming "-it's not like you don't have space! Plus, you said we needed to bond as a pack- this could be bonding!"

The hubbub washed over Stiles' as he fished in one of the many bags the pack had dropped off containing enough food to feed a large army...or a small wolf-pack. He found the packets of microwaveable popcorn, rifling through them in search of the buttered popcorn, grinning in triumph when he found it. After slamming it into the ancient microwave that sputtered to a start with only a small sizzle, he jumped onto the counter, letting out a drawn-out sigh and closing his eyes as the noises of the pack washed over him once again.

"Stop sitting on my counter."

Stiles jumped, eyes flying open with a start as not even thirty seconds later, Derek stood before him with a suitably chagrined expression on his face. The popcorn let out its first pop, as Stiles turned from the sizzling microwave to Derek again, before reluctantly sliding off of the counter.

Derek stood there, fixing Stiles with an unreadable expression, as Stiles fiddled with the loose hem of his plaid shirt. "Did you...find a good movie?" He asked, for lack of a better comment. The alpha nodded towards the TV, where the silky tones of Hugh Grant filter through the noise of the settling pack.

"If you look for it, I've got a sneaky feeling you'll find that love actually is all around...."

"Love Actually, really?" Stiles grimaced.

"Lydia's choice," Derek explained, Stiles nodding with understanding. The two stood in silent companionship in the kitchenette, whilst the pops of the popcorn began to peter off, the mouth-watering smell of buttered popcorn wafting towards them.

As they stood, Stiles thought about how Derek had gradually eased up as the loft became fuller, as the pack littered themselves and their belongings around the room and lounged across the furniture. Eyeing the bare walls, he found himself unsurprised that the dull interior wasn't a place of solace for Derek.

And then, in the way that inconvenient thoughts often do, one came to him, and wouldn't leave until he took the time to think about it. What if he made the place look a little more liveable? Just little by little, not anything  too  obnoxious or noticeable, he could just...make it a safe place for Derek. One that he could be  happy  in.

Absentmindedly, he got the popcorn out of the microwave, hissing as the bag burnt his hands, nearly dropping the inflated packet until Derek intervened with a sigh. Stiles grinned at him, observing the tiniest uptick of a smile on Derek's face.  Progress.

Letting one end of his headphones dangle down the front of his shirt, Stiles hummed tunelessly as he walked along the aisle, hunched over the shopping cart as he scanned the rows of produce. Slowing to a halt, he eyed a particularly beat-up looking eggplant, the skin dented and bruised, spying a label peaking from the side of the vegetable, he let out a triumphant " aha !" and grabbed the eggplant, nodding in satisfaction at the thirty cents off. Another win for his dad's cholesterol.

Rounding the aisle, he spotted a bedazzled stand, the gaudy letters spelling out " Christmas in Beacon Hills! ". Drawing closer, Stiles grinned as he spotted the snowglobes. He squinted at the little scene inside, an aerial shot of the small town and the surrounding forestry. Blocky letters proclaimed a Merry Christmas to all in Beacon Hills, making Stiles raise his eyebrows, as he stared at the mini figurines of the streets, houses and trees where so many supernatural disasters had occurred. Without a word, he picked a snowglobe up and tossed it into his cart, moving on to the tinned goods aisle.

"Where did this come from?" A confused voice came from behind the couch, making Stiles twist to see. Derek was holding the snowglobe, giving it a cautious shake as though it was going to explode any second.

"Found it whilst grocery shopping" Stiles replied nonchalantly, turning back to the weathered bestiary and flipping to the next page, sighing at yet another page of Archaic Latin. Time for Lydia to step in.

The others looked over inquisitively, Jackson rolling his eyes. "Why is it here?" Derek asked slowly, his tone unimpressed as if he was talking to a particularly slow toddler.

"Decoration?" Stiles shrugged. Derek paused, then slowly put the snowglobe back down, staring as the fake snow settled over the small, fake town. Maybe it could stay.

"Okay, so you fold the first section over the other half, then flatten that down-"

"Why are we doing this?" Jackson demanded, Lydia elbowing him in the ribs without taking her focus off of the origami tree taking shape on the table in front of her.

"Best one gets a prize" Stiles prompted, pushing his phone forwards, a cheerful woman explaining how to turn a piece of paper into a 3D Christmas tree.

"Is it food? 'Cuz we'd get the food anyway," Isaac interjected, making Stiles sigh and chuck a piece of paper at his head that he smoothly caught.

"It's the  principle  of the food, plus, if you win, you get the whole pan of brownies for yourself, you don't have to share," Stiles said smugly, watching as the pack looked up in succession, suddenly far more interested in winning than before.

"And you're baking them?" Jackson asked stiffly, Stiles nodding. "I guess I'll have to beat these untalented fuckers, not that there was any doubt anyway," He sniffed, making the others complain, their babbling rising over each other as they fought for their spot as victorious origami-creator.

With only a few mishaps, there was a group of 3D Christmas trees lined up on the counter in front of Stiles an hour later, a row of teens standing hopefully behind them.

Letting out a hum, Stiles turned to the figure behind him, Derek, stood watching the display with a disbelieving face. "As Alpha, I feel like it's your responsibility to judge which one's best," Stiles said lightly, beckoning him forwards. Derek sighed, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"I'd better hurry, then,"

Stiles set the two overflowing bags onto the counter with a grunt, Derek staring at them in confusion.

"What,"

"Decorations," Stiles said, flashing the 'Were a grin. "Be prepared, 'cuz Erica's arriving with a tree in five,"

"We didn't agree to this,"

"We didn't agree to me holding you up in a pool for eight hours but we both liked that outcome a lot, didn't we?" Stiles said cheerfully, rifling through the bags and unearthing a seemingly neverending string of tinsel, wrapping it around Derek, who snarled in response. Stiles only laughed as he fished out his speaker, humming along as the jovial tones of Mariah Carey filled the room.

As Stiles promised, Erica soon arrived with a tree, and half of the forest along with it, covered in dirt and a maniacal grin, the others sheepishly following after.

This place has some feeling to it.  Stiles thought with satisfaction.  He was getting somewhere.  

The evening was still, the afternoon heat diminishing for a fresh night. Stiles laid against the window of the loft, eyes closed as he tried to visualise the Archaic Latin in the book.

A luna sicut lupus in caritate-

A love like a wolf to the moon.

"There are some cardboard boxes, under my bed," A voice spoke,

Stiles jumped, eyes flying open as he banged his head against the window, glaring halfheartedly at Derek who stared on, unmoving. " Jeez, warn a guy! Next time I fall through this window, I'm blaming you " He grouched, rubbing his head before the 'Weres words caught up with him. " Wait, whats in the boxes ?"

Derek let out a slight sigh, capturing Stiles' full attention. He looked at the Alpha, whose shoulders were slumped, face tired and unguarded.

" Under my bed, " Derek repeated, before slumping onto a bar stool nearby, " -there are some decorations I salvaged from the fire, you should- " He let out another breath, the sound rattling in his throat. " You should see if any are worth putting up. "

Stiles stared, lost for a moment, shocked at the vulnerability Derek was showing. For a second they stood, staring at each other silently before Stiles spoke. " Yeah! God, yes! Derek, I'll definitely do that, thank you, for letting me ," He said, the words catching as he tried to mask his gratitude and shock. Watching the downward slope of Derek's shoulders, Stiles' mind reeled as he thought about the trust Derek was giving him, making a small part of him light up, the warmth settling behind his ribs.

Stiles eyes slowly tracked to Derek's bed, seeing a dusty cardboard corner peeking out under the handknitted woollen cover- a gift from the pack. Looking back to Derek, he realised the Were was staring at the box too as if the contents might leap out and kill him if he got too close. Maybe that was why he wanted Stiles to look through it. Because he couldn't.

As Stiles reached the box, he heard a sharp exhale from behind him and turned in concern as Derek stood up, the bar stool screeching against the concrete floor. " I'll be outside if you need me,"  His voice was stony, making Stiles nod. Derek walked out, the door closing heavily behind him. He wanted the decorations to be out, but he couldn't handle doing it himself. Stiles sympathised, gently opening the cardboard box as he thought back to how long it took him to be able to bite into a pierogi dumpling from his mom's cookbook without a feeling of nausea overwhelming him.

The box was a treasure trove. As Stiles sifted through the contents, they clinked softly and rustled, their fragility constantly at the forefront of his mind. Old fashioned glass ornaments, their surfaces painted dusty-pink or emerald green with intricate patterns on their frail surface. Creased Christmas cards from family friends, the edges singed and the words yellowed and faded. Clumsily made pottery, obviously shaped by children, in the abstract shapes of angels, stars and hearts. And under it all, wrapped in cloth, a crudely carved wooden ornament, the surface worn and smooth, the Hale Triskele.

Feeling himself let out a sigh, Stiles carefully rewrapped the triskele and gently laid it back in the box, it was beautiful. He ached for Derek, thinking of the memories he'd missed, the heirlooms and pictures, burnt now to a crisp. It was an easy decision, deciding to put the ornaments on the tree, and one Stiles was truly honoured to do. Derek  trusted  him.

Looking under the bed once more, Stiles squinted, seeing a large shape. Pulling the object out, he found it to be a clunky suitcase, leatherbound and cracked. The material was stained, and a small T.H was engraved on the corner. Talia Hale?

Looking over to the door Derek had exited from, Stiles spent a second debating his curiosity, but it outweighed his dubiousness as to whether he was allowed to look inside.

Cracking open the lid, he grunted as it swung open with a puff of dust. The suitcase was old, and the contents were covered by a soft, creased blanket. Tracing it slowly with his fingers, Stiles felt again the pang of sorrow he did whenever he remembered the monstrosities Derek had suffered. Pulling back the cloth, his breath caught in his throat as his hand brushed over a photo hidden just under the blanket.

It was a blurry photo, dated in the corner for well over a decade before the current date. There are eleven people in the photo, all hugging in front of a homey mansion, presumably the Hale Mansion. The light falls gently on the people, evidently taken at dusk as the people in the photo smile sunnily at the cameraman. Looking closer, Stiles stares in shock at a familiar figure sitting in the front of the picture. It's Derek, only younger and more carefree than Stiles had ever seen him. He's reclining lazily against another girl, who glares playfully at him, the signature Hale eyebrows a striking feature on her face.

Just as Stiles goes to flip the photo over, Stiles jumps as the door to the loft opens again, Derek entering the room. His head was bowed, until he shot up, staring at Stiles, his eyes slowly tracking down to the trunk lay open beside him, and the photo in his hands.

Stiles sprang back, letting go of the photo and apologising profusely as Derek rapidly approached, no words coming from him. His face, though, was murderous. Stiles went still, as Derek grabbed his shoulder, his grip tight enough to leave bruises. Derek rapidly strode back across the loft with Stiles in tow, stumbling across the floor.

"Get. Out." Derek growled, his features turning feral and his eyes beginning to glow as Stiles felt pinpricks of claws in his shoulders.

"Derek! I'm so sorry, I know it was an invasion of privacy, I just wanted to help-!" His words died as the door was slammed in his face, leaving only a distraught feeling of  wrong  and the throbbing of his soon-to-bruise shoulder.

Fuck.

"I've tried calling him over a hundred times now, Scotty, he hates me," Stiles said mournfully, as Scott huffed, cradling a meowing kitten in his hands as he brought it over to the examination table at Deaton's.

"Why are you so bothered about this, Stiles?" Scott asked, putting the small kitten down and gingerly unwrapping its bandaged leg. "Not to be a dick, but Derek's  always  pissed at you,"

Stiles scoffed but didn't say a word, because...yeah, he kinda was, and he had a point. It was a tale as old as time. Stiles had been pissing Derek off since the dawn of time. "But it's different this time," He wheedled, banging his head against the wall in defeat and then wincing at the dull pain it caused.

"Why, because you've realised you actually like him?"

"No, I just don't want things to be awkward-"

"Or you realised you have a huge crush on him," Scott countered.

"I do  not -"

Oh. Shit.

Scott stared smugly as Stiles gaped, starting to freak out a little. When did this happen? When did he start to see Derek as someone he wanted to get to know more, to get to know the  best ? Fuck.

"Look, dude, pack meeting's tonight, talk to him, apologise, tell him how you feel!" Scott deftly fastened a new bandage to the kitten's leg, who mewled in protest.

"Easy for  you  to say, Allison practically fell into your lap!"

Scott fixed him a stare, making Stiles shift guiltily, because...no, she didn't.

Fuck.

Stiles approaches the loft door, the others looking suspiciously at him as he heard his heartbeat drum through his ears. Jackson pushed it open, sauntering through and the others following suit.

"Remember, apologise," Scott said sternly, making Stile nod, secretly pleased at the sudden positive turn Scott had had towards Derek's wellbeing.

Walking into the loft, he shuffles to one of the couches and perches on the end, fiddling with his sleeve as the meeting progressed. As the others spoke on the current matters, he stayed silent, tensing slightly whenever he heard Derek speak. As the formalities drew to a close and the others turned the TV to a Christmas movie and brought out snacks, Stiles sighed, and finally got up to get a drink, the uncomfortable-ness prickling at the back of his throat.

Filling a glass, he let out another sigh, letting his eyes wander. They came to rest on a photo frame, holding a familiar photo. The family picture. Squinting at it, he felt a shock course through him. Why had Derek decided to put it up?

Feeling a throat clear behind him, he tensed again, turning to see Derek staring at him, impassive.

"I-" Stiles started, ready to begin his apology speech.

"Don't," Derek said, shaking his head. "I know you're sorry, and I'm," He struggled, seemingly not able to find the words. "I'm glad you found it. O hadn't seen it in years, and now, I want to see it," He admitted, making a small smile curl at Stiles' lips.

"I'm glad," Stiles returned, smiling at the Alpha, who reluctantly smiled back. A silence lapsed between them as the noises of the jovial pack filtered through to the kitchen.

Staring into his glass, Stiles shrugged, turning to go, but before he could leave, Derek enveloped him in a tight hug, making Stiles freeze.

"Thank you," He mumbled into Stiles' chest, clinging onto him. Feeling his mouth open in shock, Stiles clung on just as tightly.

"Anytime, big guy" He smiled.

The two stood like that for a few minutes, breathing each other in and feeling everything they couldn't say.

Finally, Derek stepped back, his cheeks flushed. "Would you want to go out sometime?" He asked bluntly, Stiles blinking in shock.

"Like...on a date?" Stiles asked hesitantly, wondering if he should celebrate just yet.

"No, on a murder mission," Derek replied flatly, Stiles taking a second to recognise the sarcasm before huffing a laugh.

"Fuck, Derek, I'd love to," He answered honestly, watching as Dereks face broke out into an honest-to-god  grin .

And that is how Derek Hale and Stiles Stilinski embarked on one of the best adventures of their lives, and one they'd find to be very enjoyable. One they would never ever regret.

[mintyvan]

only ones who know

notes  This is a Van fic by a really good friend of mine who is testing the waters on reactions to her work. If you could message me with any feedback you have, that would be amazing, and I’d relay it back to her. I also wanted to take a second to give my opinion (and I have her permission to do so). 

This fic fucking hurts. It’s real. It’s raw. It gnawed my chest and tightened my heart the whole way through. I’ve never resonated with any fanfic like I’ve resonated with this piece of writing. It split my heart into a million fragments, because it described exactly how I’ve been feeling; with any lack of self control, or any test of temptation, I could very well end up like this girl. I’ve never felt so broken by a piece of literature. Reading this felt as if the author had been spying into my cracked little heart this entire time and wrote a piece to rip me wide open. It’s one of the best things I’ve read in the time I’ve been a part of this CATB fanfic community, genuinely. This is what I want to read... Real, ugly, cutthroat emotions. Pain. Jealousy. Anger. “So much for my happy ending”-s. Despite how it ends in tragedy, it’s refreshingly daring in that it reopens old wounds and reminds me that I’m human. Please enjoy. 

______________

Can I stay with you for a bit?

The question was simple enough. Van turned up on your doorstep after not seeing him in three months with a duffle bag and a large suitcase. He explained over tea that his shared apartment with Larry was being renovated and he’d only gotten the notice when he returned from tour that morning.

“Why not stay with Larry? Or one of the boys?” You asked as you poured milk into your cup. He shrugged with one shoulder and leaned onto your counter.

“You’re cleaner. Smell better. Plus I’ve missed ya.” You smiled slightly into your tea, your heart constricting. “Why do you ask? Are ya sick of me already?” You quickly sputtered in disagreement and he laughed, coming around to your side of the counter and wrapping you up in his arms. “Whaddya say? Will ya put me up?”

You agreed hastily, for which you kicked yourself for not considering the consequences. Before Van started living with you it was easy to hide the feelings you’d been harbouring for him for the last five years. You and Van had been friends since you were fifteen when he and Benji mobbed you in the photo lab and demanded you take pictures of them for their first photoshoot. They offered to repay you in cigarettes and booze. It was Larry’s idea for Van to wear the dress.

It wasn’t until you were twenty that you realized that the love you had for Van was deeper than friendship. You were crammed into the back of a car between Van and Bob. It was after a show that Catfish had absolutely smashed and Van was exhausted from throwing himself around on stage. He’d passed out with his head in your lap, snoring lightly against your thigh and you felt your heart burst with love and adoration for the brunette boy with crooked teeth and questionable hair. Ever since then you followed him around like a lost little puppy. You listened to every song he recommended to you a hundred times and fell in love with them, even the songs that weren’t in your taste.

Controlling your feelings around Van was easy when he wasn’t in your space. You could adore him in secret and then return home and sprawl out on your bed listening to his music and pretend he was singing about you. Having him in your space was dangerous and gut wrenching. You were convinced he was trying his hardest to make you fall deeper in love with him. Van had an innate ability for functioning highly on a limited amount of sleep, so you’d often awake before the sun had risen to the sound of him strumming the guitar and singing softly from the living room. He’d bring you tea in bed and lay next to you on top of the covers and you’d talk about anything and everything. He also had a tendency to walk around with little to no clothing on and brush up against you while he reached for a box of special K on the shelf behind your head. It was maddening. Living with Van was simultaneously a dream come true and self inflicted torture on your poor little heart.

It was a Saturday night and you were out with the boys. It amazed you that they could spend so much time together and not get sick of one another. The bar was crowded and rowdy and everyone was drinking, even Bob. You loved drinking with Van because he got clingy and you were more often than not the object he was clinging to. You spent most of the night tucked under his arm. When you went to order another round of shots he kept his arms around your waist and ghosted his lips against the back of your neck and you felt good. Whole. It was nice to be in his arms, to be wanted. Your body fit up against his like puzzle pieces, and you wondered if he could feel it too. If he could feel how easy it was. Like breathing.

You got your answer the following morning. You’d left the club with Bondy and Bob before the rest of the group to get food and returned back to your house. Drunkenly you ate samosas and paneer on the living room floor with your head resting against Bob’s knee and Bondy’s feet on your lap. They both passed out on your couch and you retreated to your room, passing out on top of your covers. When you woke you emerged from your room, rounding the corner into your kitchen when you collided with a figure and stumbled back. Your lips parted to scream out of shock but the girl was staring back at you with just as much surprise.

“Oh!” She squeaked, shaking her hands. 

“I’m sorry!” You took a step back and looked at the girl. She was... stunning. She had dark, rich skin, huge brown eyes, full lips, and long curly hair that hung in tight rings around her frame.

“Who... What the fuck?” You blinked at her a few times. She was tiny, only up to your shoulder, Van’s The Streets sweatshirt hanging around her petite frame. The sweatshirt that you bought him. She had a pair of leather peep toe heels in her hand and was seemingly sneaking out. The walk of shame had never looked so good.

“Sorry!” She blinked her sparkling eyes at you and shot you a sweet smile.

“I’m Simone. Uhm, sorry, who are you?” You swallowed thickly. Where and when did Van meet this girl? You’d never heard of her before and Van left the club only an hour after you had. Did he really manage to get a gorgeous girl to come home with him in under an hour?

“I’m Y/N. This is my house.”

“Oh. Van didn’t mention he had a roommate.” You swallowed thickly. Van didn’t mention you. A more rational part of you said that Van was just drunk and charming and trying to get a girl in bed with him. 

“Hope we weren’t too loud.” That fucking stung. There wasn’t any undertone of bitchiness, just a genuine concern that she perhaps was being rude. You crossed your arms over your stomach and shrugged, forcing out a smile.

“Not at all. I knocked out as soon as I tucked those two in so,” You chuckled awkwardly, jerking a thumb over your shoulder at Bondy and Bob who’s legs were entangled on the couch. “No worries.”

“Good,” She nodded, and you wondered if her cheeks ever hurt from smiling so much.

“Uhm,” You wiped your palms on your sleep shorts. “Did you want tea? I make the boys breakfast after nights like this, you’re more than welcome to stay.” You figured you’d be nice and invite her banking on the fact that she’d say no. You thought it was a one night stand. You thought she’d politely decline and slip out into the mid morning, never to be seen again.

Instead she graciously accepted your invitation and freely walked into your kitchen, sitting at the breakfast bar, her shoes on the counter. You nodded and gathered your hair up in a messy bun before walking into the kitchen behind her and setting the kettle.

Simone was, in essence, the greatest person you’d ever met. Not only was she fucking gorgeous, but she was also going to school to be a pediatric cardiologist. In her very little free time she volunteered at a fucking animal shelter and fostered any dogs that were on the euthanization list. As you talked to her you wanted to hate her, but for one girl hate wasn’t your thing, and two, it was fucking impossible. She was so sweet and kind and generous and bubbly and magnetising, you understood why Van would bring her home. You probably would’ve taken her home yourself if Van didn’t have you so whipped.  

Half an hour later the devil himself emerged from the guest room annoyingly beautiful and distractingly nude. His face lit up when he saw Simone perched in your chair, smiling so wide and slinging his arm around her shoulder, fitting her right up against him like you were last night. He pressed a kiss to her forehead and whispered into her beautiful hair. You swallowed the scene like hot rocks down your throat and focused your attention on the pancakes in front of you.

A few minutes later Bondy and Bob walked in and joined Van and Simone at the counter. They introduced themselves, visibly charmed by Simone’s personality and startling looks.

“For something so little,” Bondy sipped from the mug you’d placed in front of him. “You sure know how to make some noise.” The guys laughed and Simone ducked her head in embarrassment. You wanted nothing more than to escape your home but you offered her a sympathetic grin and slid pancakes onto the plates in front of everybody. Simone’s existence in your life was a sobering slap to the face in regards to your and Van’s relationship. There was no need to wonder now. It was clear that you two were friends, nothing more, nothing less. Van’s hands on her waist made you want to puke, a real, guttural nausea settling over you. After everyone was eating you excused yourself to the bathroom to empty your stomach. You convinced yourself it was just the hangover. It was comforting to see the pain as something that would go away in a couple of hours.

Your run-ins with Simone became annoyingly frequent as time passed. More often than not you’d return home from work to find them on your couch, watching movies on your netflix account, eating your food. It was uncomfortable to you how quickly she’d managed to become a fixture in Van’s life but you knew that was how he rolled. He loved and trusted people so deeply and so quickly. You were sure that Van would’ve told Simone he loved her right there against the kitchen counter if it was more socially acceptable. You didn’t want to admit it but you felt like you were being replaced. Before Simone it was you and Van and the boys against the world and now... you weren’t sure you knew where your place was anymore.

You went out with the lads and her but you could feel yourself retreating. You barely spoke anymore but hey, at least Simone was there to fill the spaces you left.

It’d been two months since that first run in and you were celebrating Bondy’s birthday at his apartment. You were trying your hardest to restore yourself to how you lived pre-Simone but you could feel the jealousy eat it’s way through your body with each passing day. You weren’t taking it out on anyone but yourself. Van and Simone arrived at the party about a half hour after you did. Before they arrived you were able to convince yourself that you were okay. You were doing body shots off of Bondy and posing for Bob as he snapped pictures of you. Then you saw Simone’s mane of curls and it was like someone flipped a switch. Your demeanor went from technicolor to sepia as you excused yourself from the table, but not before swiping the mostly full bottle of tequila and escaping onto the balcony.

You smoked and took swigs from the bottle, allowing the tears to roll down your cheeks as you stared out over the city. Envy burned through your veins like battery acid and you considered your options. The first; Tell Van. That would alleviate the weight that was crushing your existence but he’d be out of your life. He’d laugh in your face, shake his head and tell you “No.” Option two; Keep smiling and pray that you’d miraculously stop loving Van. It was becoming unbearable to hold your love and want in your chest. It was killing you. Option three; Disappear. You could sneak off in the middle of the night with a bag packed and vanish. Go to America. New phone, change your hair, maybe go to California and fall in love with someone attainable. Forget about Van and Simone, leave your unhappy life behind you and get gone. You liked the idea of that.

You’d started to look up flights when the sliding door opened and shut and someone leaned onto the railing next to you.

“How long have you been in love with him?” Simone asked softly, her eyes on you. You sniffed and sucked on your cigarette, flicking the butt onto the street below.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” You said, completely unconvincing. She cocked her head to the side with a look that said Bitch, stop acting, we both know the truth. You smiled beneath your mascara streaks and lit up another smoke, looking up at the sky. “Five years.” She let out a long, low whistle. “Is it that obvious?” She lifted her shoulder in a half shrug.

“To me, yeah. The boys, I don’t think so.” She shook her head, laughing lightly. “That first night, at the bar?” She started, leaning her forearms. “I thought you two were together. Van was all wrapped around you and the way you looked at him...” The expression on your face made her stop. The pain she was inflicting on you was excruciating. All want. No possession. “But then I saw you leave without him and, I don’t know, I just gravitated toward him. He’s... incredible.” You nodded in agreement. “You know where he took me on our first date? The aquarium. Spent the whole time talking about how bad he felt for the fish. He’s the best person I’ve met in my life.” You hummed.

Simone sighed and turned towards you. “I love him too. It’s impossible not to I think.”

You finally looked at Simone’s face. Her full lips were smiling softly at you and she looked almost apologetic for being happy. You didn’t want that. “I’m not going to say anything to him. Not my place.” She opened her arms to you and you stepped into them despite having to crouch down to be her height. “He loves you. It might not be the type of love you want but... You’re such a big part of his life. He talks about you all the time. I’d feel threatened if it wasn’t Van.” You wept into the fabric of her peacoat as she rubbed your back. She held you until you were all sobbed out and you stepped out of her arms, sniffing. She held your face and wiped your cheeks with her thumbs. “It’ll be okay.” You nodded, looking into her brown eyes you understood why Van felt the way he felt. “But you can’t keep on repressing these feelings or you’ll just end up miserable.”

The door slid open as you hugged Simone again, Van backlit from the light emanating from the house. “My girls,” He grinned, stepping forward and wrapping his arms around the both of you. His chin rested on your head and you met Simone’s eyes. She nodded and mouthed it’ll be okay.

It fucking wasn’t though. Over the next month you began imploding. Sure Van had girlfriend’s before that he got wrapped up in but this was different. He was consumed with Simone. And if she wasn’t physically at your house she was still there. Van had written nine songs about her and played them constantly on his guitar. You started to change. It was subtle at first. You’d take a couple extra shots when you went out. Let strangers slide their hands up your leg. You avoided being at home as much as possible. You went a week without seeing Van and he lived a hallway away from you. You were sure he didn’t notice.

Then it started to get worse. You were drinking before noon. Thank God you worked for yourself otherwise you’d be fired. You’d black out most nights. You started sleeping with anyone who reminded you of Van. This boy who had Van’s nose. That girl who shared his sharp cheekbones and long eyelashes. It deteriorated into sleeping with anyone who approached you. You were trying to fill the Van shaped hole in your heart with people who didn’t fit. You lost weight. Your eyes got purple circles under them that wouldn’t disappear. You couldn’t look Van in the eye anymore and if Simone was home when you were around you’d lock yourself in the bathroom and attempt to drown out the noise of them together with the shower. You didn’t respond to the texts that the boys would send you asking where you disappeared to.

You overheard Van and Simone talking about you in the kitchen one night.

“It’s like she’s not here anymore,” Van stressed, and you could imagine him tugging at his hair while Simone rubbed his back. “She won’t talk to anyone. She won’t talk to me. I think I need to call her mum cause this is getting out of hand.” Simone was quiet for a moment.

“Just give her some time, Van,” She spoke softly. “She’s going through some things and she needs space.”

“And the fact that you won’t tell me what’s goin’ on drives me up the fuckin’ wall, Sim.”

“It’s not my business to tell.”

After your eavesdropping event you began acting. Plastered smiles on your face, wore extra concealer, responded to text messages with an amount of emoji’s that Bondy deemed “annoyingly excessive.” You convinced the boys that you’d just had a mental health situation, and in some ways, you did. You didn’t want them worrying. They took it at face value because nothing like that had ever happened before with you. But Simone saw right the fuck through you. She’d text you nightly asking if you were alright despite being in the other room. She didn’t bring it up around Van because she’d kept her promise. She wasn’t going to expose your feelings to him. And in your fruitless effort to hate her you didn’t, and that made you want to even more.

You felt a growing ball of resentment begin to swell up in your gut at the sight of Van. It sat hot and heavy inside you to the point where you couldn’t be alone with him in a room anymore. You didn’t recognize yourself. You didn’t recognize him.

Larry texted you and asked if you wanted to get drinks with him and maybe one or two of the boys. No Van. No Simone. He said they were going on some big, fancy date. With that information you grabbed a bottle of wine and started getting ready. You were drunk by the time the uber came to pick you up. You collapsed into Larry and Bondy, giggling and loving. You were happy drunk. In a state of mind that wasn’t dangerous. A state that numbed the anger and sadness into a dull throbbing but didn’t make you sick. It was good. You were feeling good. The three of you made your way into a booth at the bar and you sat next to Bondy. He kept an arm around your waist as you rested your head against his shoulder. From across the bar you locked eyes with a man who’s crystal blue eyes looked just like Van’s. Your eyes flicked to the girl who he had in his arms who had a devilish smile curled across her lips. She was beckoning you over with her eyes.

Bob and Benji arrived at some point between your fifth and sixth shot. You stumbled over to the couple despite the boys protests and they introduced themselves. Mona and Sean. You wouldn’t let Sean look you in the eye. Mona grabbed your hand and pulled you out onto the dancefloor, Sean holding your hips with his palms. You were sandwiched between them, your lips smacking wetly against Mona’s as Sean sucked at your throat. You took the drink from her hand and dumped it down your throat. Between the two you opened your eyes at the exact moment that fucking Van and fucking Simone walked in looking extra fancy. Van had on his thick grey wool coat and a soft white cotton shirt. His hair was beautifully tousled. Simone had half of her hair up in a bun and was wearing a dress that hugged her slim body so perfectly it looked like it was painted on. Your eyes met Simone’s over Mona’s hair and she looked displeased. Good. You pulled the couple back towards an exit that opened into a dark alleyway. You didn’t know what you were doing. Maybe trying to make Van jealous? Evoke some sort of reaction out of him that wasn’t fucking pity. Sean held your face in his hands as Mona sank to her knees in front of you, head disappearing under your skirt as she hitched your leg over her shoulder and started to work her tongue against you. Sean pulled a little plastic baggie of white powder out and dumped some of it onto your collarbone before tucking the baggie into your skirt pocket. The powder was gone with a sniff and then his mouth was back on you, arms looped around your waist keeping you upright as Mona’s fingers plunged inside of you. Your knees were shaking, on the verge, when the exit opened and Simone stepped out into the air. Mona’s head popped out from under your skirt as Simone stormed over and grabbed you by the forearm, wrenching you away from the couple as Mona whined and fell back onto her ass. You went to protest but the look on Simone’s face silenced you.

She shoved you into the bathroom and pointed a finger at you. “What the fuck, Y/N? What are you doing?” You didn’t have an answer. You yourself didn’t know. “You need to go home. You’re an absolute mess.”

“Why do you think that is, Simone?” You sneered, feeling all the repressed emotions bubble up in your chest. “Does it have to do with the fact that the man I’ve loved for five years found the perfect girl for him and it’s not me? Maybe the fact that he loves you more than he’ll ever love me. Maybe it’s the fact that you two are so fucking perfect for one another that I can’t even pretend to hate you and it’s fucking killing me. You don’t even know what it feels like to watch you two parade around my fucking house day and night like some less tragic Romeo and Juliet.” You shook your head and looked at yourself in the cracked mirror. You looked like a ghost. Van was right when he said you weren’t there.

“I’m sorry he doesn’t love you, Y/N.” Simone said, making eye contact through the mirror. “But that’s not my fault or his fault or your fault. It’s no one's. It’s just how it fucking is. I’m sorry that this is affecting you this deeply but I love Van and I’m going to for a very long time so you need to suck it up.” You turned and leaned towards her, your noses inches from each other.

“Go fuck yourself, Simone.” You stormed out of the bathroom and back to the booth where the boys were chatting awkwardly. Van jumped up when he saw you and immediately began scanning the room for his Simone. You fell next to Benji in the booth and pulled out the baggie.

“Jesus,” Larry said, leaning forward. “Is that fucking coke?” You watched in your peripheral vision as Simone approached slowly and shook her head at Van who pulled her under his arm and watched as you cut four lines of powder on the table using your credit card. You pulled a straw from Bob’s drink and sniffed up two lines back to back, tilting your head up and pinching your nose. You felt... surprisingly better. More at ease. Excited. Your stomach didn’t feel like it was trying to eat itself anymore.

“Yeah,” You answered Larry’s question. You bounced in your seat as the boys stared in horror at your actions. “Anyone want a bump?” You asked, holding out the straw. They all quickly shook their heads. Bob looked terrified. You turned towards Van, finally looking at him for the first time in weeks.

 “Van?” Your tone was antagonistic. You were trying to start a fight. He quickly shook his head. “Awh, don’t act all brand new now that your girl is around.” You nudged Benji. “We’re all very familiar with how crazy you get on tour.” Your grin was slightly manic. Larry’s jaw hung open. 

“Fine,” You shrugged. “More for me.” You leaned down to snort up the other two lines but before you could a clear liquid was washing the powder off the table and onto your skirt. You jumped up with an exclamation and scowled at Simone who was now clutching an empty glass.

“Knock it off, Y/N.” She commanded, jerking her chin back towards the booth. “You’re acting like a child, throwing a tantrum ‘cause you aren’t getting the thing you want.” Your eyes momentarily flicked to Van’s face who looked confused. 

“Sit down and act like a fucking adult.”  You stepped up to her, glowering and gritting your teeth. Van squeezed her tighter, the movement a warning for you.

“You don’t know a fucking thing about me,” You growled, your hands turning to fists at your sides. Miraculously no one outside your booth was paying attention to what was going on.

“Y/N, calm down.” Van’s voice was low, and when your eyes met his, you could physically feel your heart snap. You stepped back, eyes still pouring into one another and you could feel the tears start to well up.

“Fuck you both,” You whispered, wiping at your eyes before the tears could slip out.

“Y/N, hey,” Bondy said lowly and got out of the booth, walking towards you with his hands up, trying to show you he wasn’t a threat. “Let’s go outside, yeah?” He went to wrap an arm around your shoulders but you slipped away from his grasp.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” You seethed, teeth grinding together.

“Y/N, stop,” Larry said, sighing. You grabbed a beer bottle off the table and chucked it at the wall, watching the rest of the boys dive out of the way to avoid the shrapnel. You knew what you were doing wasn’t cool and you wanted to apologize but you were drunk and high and heart broken and the way everyone was talking to you made you feel ganged up on so instead you crossed your arms over your chest. They looked at you like you’d gone absolutely insane, and there was a real possibility that you did.

“Fuck all of you,” You gritted out. You could see two security guards making their way towards you. “I don’t fucking need this, I don’t need any of you.” You made sure to look Van dead in the eye as you said that. You fled before security could get to you, ducking out into the sleazy alley. Exposed in the night, you made yourself walk three blocks before letting yourself cry. With your back against some random deli and your palm pressed to your mouth to muffle your sobs your chest felt like it was caving in. You were giving a new meaning to the word implode. A half an hour later you called an uber and cried on the way home. You smashed two more glasses in your sink, somehow managing to cut a gash into the webbing between your thumb and pointer finger. Not bothering to tend to your injury you locked your bedroom door behind you and collapsed on top of the sheets. You were grateful to have pain in your life that was physical instead of internal for a change.  

The next morning you woke to a silent house. Your hand had scabbed over but your sheets were stained with blood and you knew you weren’t going to be able to get the stain out. Emerging from your room you listened for a sign of life but were met with the buzzing of the fridge. You creeped around your own house like a ghost, cringing if you made a noise above a whisper. Your head ached and your nose was burning. You set the kettle on the stove and turned it on, grabbing your pack of cigarettes off the counter and the red throw from the back of the couch. It was cold outside, the sun had yet to rise over the tall trees in your backyard and burn off the dew. You tried your hardest to keep your mind clear, trying not to think and failing. Your mind wouldn’t fucking shut up. It screamed at you for loving Van, for acting like a child, for saying those mean things to people who didn’t deserve it, for allowing yourself to collapse into a person you didn’t recognize. You were sad, yes, watching Van be with someone else was painful and miserable, but it was even worse knowing that you were hurting Van and the boys. I’m sorry he doesn’t love you. Your eyes welled up and you freely let the tears roll down your cheeks as you chewed your thumbnail and watched a squirrel climb a tree.

You didn’t jump when you heard the front door open and you didn’t turn when the back door slid open and Van sat down next to you. He smoked for a few minutes, not saying anything as you cried silently.

“We need to talk, Y/N.” The concern lacing his voice made your throat feel thick. For a moment you wished that Van wasn’t a good a good person. It would be so, so much easier if he was an asshole. You could move on. You’d done it a hundred times before. But it was Van. Van who cared and loved so deeply and so strongly it was impossible not to love him with the same intensity. “What you’re doing is scaring me, Y/N. It’s fucking scaring all of us. We’re worried about you.” Your stomach wound itself up into knots. “Can you please tell me what the fuck is going on so I can make it better?” His arm curled around your shoulders and no matter how much you wanted to resist you wrapped your arms around his middle and shriveled into him. You sobbed into his chest as he kissed your hair and rubbed your back. He rested his chin on your head as you ruined his shirt. “I miss my best friend.” It made you weep even harder.

“I can’t, Van,” You wailed, gripping his shirt. You wept like the world was coming to an end, harder than you ever had before, harder then when you’d discovered that your grandad died. Your words were garbled and choked and almost impossible to understand but Van did.

“Please, just, tell me.” He was begging. You couldn’t see it but his eyes were welling up too.

“I can’t be your friend anymore.” You choked out. He tensed up beneath you. “I’m in love with you, Van, and it’s killing me.” He inhaled sharply through his nose, you shoving him away like he was a ticking time bomb, which, in essence, he was. You wrapped your arms around your middle in an attempt to keep your body from falling apart. The confession sat, sizzling in the air, and you couldn’t help but feel a little bit better. The thing that you had been keeping a secret for so long wasn’t taking up space in your body anymore and you felt like you could breathe easier.

“You love me? You’re in love with me?” His voice was low, shocked. You were bracing yourself for the laughter.

“Yeah, Van.” You lifted your shoulder in a half shrug. “How could I not be?” From the corner of your eye you watched as Van wiped his palms over his face like he did when he tried to sober up. You’d just dropped a bomb on your relationship, something he couldn’t very easily wrap his head around.

“How long?” You don’t respond, just picked at your nails and pretended he didn’t say anything. “Fuck, Y/N how long?” His voice was getting louder, you could feel him staring at you.

You inhaled through your nose and looked up at the blue sky. “Five years.” There was a beat of silence before Van slammed his hand on the railing he was leaning up against.

“What the fuck Y/N!” You jumped at the sudden burst of energy, watching him as he stood and paced back and forth in front of you.

“It doesn’t matter Van, just,” You sighed. “Just forget it. You’ve made your choice.” He stopped moving and looked at you, slightly bewildered.

“Choice.” He repeated the word like it was foreign to him. “I didn’t even know I had a choice!” He put his hands on his face and groaned. “And here I’ve been, parading Simone around like a fuckin’ dick in front of you.” He removed his hands and bit his lower lip, looking tortured. “Why didn’t you fuckin’ tell me?”

You pulled your blanket tighter around you and chewed on the inside of your cheek, your face burning from the salt of your tears. You couldn’t ignore the irony of the situation, that your own secrecy and precautions would be the cause of the fallout. You took a deep breath in. “I didn’t know how to tell you.”

“Bullshit,” He spat. “You tell people you love them, simple as that. It’s not that fuckin’ hard.” You chuckled darkly and shook your head. Of course Van would say that. He wore his heart on his sleeve, he didn’t bottle things up. He made sure everyone knew how he felt, there was no secrecy with Van Mccann.

“I’m not you Van. I was scared.” He kneeled on the step in front of you and held your face in his hands. He was crying too.

“But it’s me, Y/N. We tell each other everything.” You jerked away from him like he’d slapped you and stood.

“Okay Van,” You nodded. “Let’s say I did tell you sooner. Would it have changed anything?”

His blank expression speaks volumes. One question turned the tables as you asked Van to consider something he’d never thought about before. You and him, together, really. It was a foreign and new realm that he’d never entered before. You’d tossed him into water to sink or swim and he tried to come up with a viable answer that would satisfy everyone but couldn’t.

You nodded, the silence ripping through your heart. You had your answer.

“See?” You sniffed. “It wouldn’t of mattered if I told you a month ago or five years ago. You don’t feel the same. And that’s fine. I can’t force you to fall in love with me.” Van’s lips parted to speak but you kept going. “I don’t blame you. My fault for catching feelings.” You wiped away your tears with the back of your hand. “Uhm, I’m gonna go stay with Bob for a bit.” You went back inside the house, Van hot on your heels. Calling your name. You locked yourself in your room and packed a bag. When you opened the door Van grabbed the strap and held you in place.

“Y/N,” It sounded like a beg. He was defeated. “I’ll go. I’m not gonna kick you out of your own home.” You shook your head.

“It’s my problem to deal with, not yours.” He held your chin in his hand until you looked him in the eye.

“I’ll see you soon?” He asked, voice hopeful and you closed your eyes.

“Probably not. I can’t be around you two and I’m not gonna force you to pick. That’s not fair of me.” He dropped his hand and took a step back.

“So you’re saying we can’t be friends?” Your bottom lip quivered and you had to bite it to get it to stop.

“Not anytime soon.”

You fled from the house like a bat out of hell and sped over to Bob’s. You’d told him. It was all out on the table. But you didn’t feel strong or confident or powerful. You felt heartbroken and bitter. You banged on Bob’s door until you were greeted with his sleepy eyes and collapsed into his arms, a weeping mess. You told him the whole story and apologized for the previous night but he said he understood. He put you up and followed your instructions of not letting Van in.

Simone had lied. It wasn’t okay. And it wouldn’t be okay.