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pinencurls · 4 years ago

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“I could just hold you and listen to your voice all night long.”

Hiii so this is my entry to @stellarboystyles‘s three year anniversary fic challenge! I’ve been busy with getting ready for classes starting and balancing other stuff so I wrote it on and off for a week and a bit but I hope you all enjoy! Feedback is so so encouraged and appreciated <3

Here’s my masterlist of some other stuff I’ve written x

Enemies (more like friends but oops) to lovers, prompt 9 “I could just hold you and listen to your voice all night long.”

14k+ :) Not read through sorry! pls let me know of any mistakes and I’ll correct them <3 (also i k n o w the title's bad but i couldn’t think of anything, pls feel free to leave any recs.)

- - - -

It isn’t that I hate Harry. He just makes me feel...insecure. He’s never said or done anything directly but it’s hard to feel good about yourself when all your closest confidants seem to compare you to somebody else, somebody they so clearly hold higher above you. There wasn’t a single day I could meet a mutual friend of mine and Harry’s and not have them sing his praises, and apparently everyone was a mutual friend. I’ve known Julia and Theo for years, we all met in uni when they first started going out but it wasn’t until a year ago that I somehow ended up finding myself a regular within the friendship group they’d formed when they both went into the music and fashion industries. They had ties everywhere and after a pure coincidence of running into them and their circle at a pub, almost all my weekends were spent in various art galleries or new restaurants owned by somebody’s cousin or the guy they met last night at a Fleetwood Mac concert.

I’d met Harry about five months into hanging out with the group. He’d known them a lot longer than I had, weaving his way into the little pockets of interesting people for years since the x factor. I was busy with work the first few times he was in town but after a while, Nick, the persistent party planner of the group who always managed to wrangle us together, insisted that I just had to meet him. . . . . .

Eleanor’s house is huge and buzzing with hundreds of strangers. I cling to Julia and Theo’s side, Nick and Eleanor are nowhere in sight - most likely playing host or drinking too much chardonnay in another corner of the house. These four are the only people I can say I really know here, sure there are a few familiar faces on the dance floor, either from having met them at any of Eleanor's past elaborate parties or just because of they’re not so subtle fame. That’s another thing, all the people sipping wine and dancing around me are fairly...well known. Either just within the industry or to the general public too, they’d all gain fairly high status. It was a fluke really that I got on so well with Julia when we first met on a fashion course in uni.

Julia had big goals, all of which she was on track to fulfil, that conflicted slightly with mine. Her goals consisted of runway show models clad in designer brands she might one day contribute to whereas mine were more...anti, that whole world. It took a few years to find a steady footing but eventually, I was proud of where I’d ended up: a comfortable little cubby in the fashion and sustainability columns of a handful of independent magazines. After a few nights out with Julia, I was pleasantly surprised to find her shared interests and solidarity in my work and ambitions of her own within the same ideology. But whilst that’s all well and good, I’m still very much the small indie journalist that slips through the cracks when it comes to small talk at these kinds of events. It became apparent pretty quickly that my latest articles on how fast fashion had begun its destruction of a liveable environment in developing countries weren’t as relevant or interesting to the people promoting Prada and Calvin Klein as the next met gala theme.

“Do you want another drink?” Theo asks from beside me, pulling my focus from my scan of the room.

“No thanks..I’m good.” I murmur, debating how long I have to stay before I can slip out and feel a little less awkward around all the people I have no clue how to talk to. “Think I’m gonna head off actually..”

“Look I know you hate networking, but this is just a chill get-together yeah?” Theo chuckles, squeezing my shoulder before taking another sip from his gin and tonic. “We’re in the same boat about these snooty things but tonight’s not like that, relax a bit will ya.”

Theo works mostly with small-time music artists, producing debut albums and such so we share the same deep discomfort for the many events we often find ourselves at. It’s how we got close really, week after week we’d trail behind Julia as she strikes up conversations with Hollywood elite...and he always makes getting piss drunk in someone’s pool house exceptionally fun.

Before I can further any excuses about getting home to start on the legitimate and ever-growing pile of work deadlines on my desk, a tall man in far too much Gucci to belong anywhere but in a room full of models and artists makes a beeline straight from the bar to our awkward party.

“Harry!” Theo shouts, embracing the slightly tipsy man in a hug he reciprocates.

“It’s been too long mate, how ‘ave you been?” Harry cheers, leaning back from the hug and grinning down at his friend.

“I’ve been good - busy, enjoying the free bar as always.” Theo jokes, motioning between his and my matching G and T’s. Harry’s eyes wander up from the drink, realisation dawning on his face as he smiles again.

“Ah and you must be the famous Olivia,” He reaches his hand out to mine and shakes it lightly. “Sorry I didn’t introduce myself, ‘m Harry, it’s good to finally meet you, love.”

“Likewise.” I smile, trying to suppress the blush his words of endearment tease. I can’t deny the natural charm and charisma everyone always talks about now that it’s hitting me straight on. There’s something about the way he doesn’t hesitate to hold eye contact just that little bit longer that makes the room go still for just a second. He’d got it down to a T.

“Aww I see you two have finally met!” Nick interrupts. My hand falls from Harry’s grip as he’s welcomed into another hug. “About fucking time as well, been trying get this one to take a night off for weeks!”

“I literally came out with you last Thursday!” I counter, not missing the smirk setting on Harry’s face as he watches Nick and I’s back and forth. “And the Saturday before, come to think of it I’m always out with you Nicky.”

“Not when Harry’s in town though n’ that’s a different kinda night.” Nick laughs, his beer sloshing slightly in his free hand as his other remains draped over Harry’s shoulders.

That was maybe the first sign of my slight resentment for Harry. All night I wandered around with Theo hearing little bits of conversations, all surrounding the star of the party. I understood this wasn’t his doing, his humility was clear in every one of his bashful attempts to turn the conversation away from his growing achievements and onto literally anything else. He was, however, a self-proclaimed narcissist. Every time somebody would swoon over him and insist he stay the topic of conversation, a smirk tugged at his lips and stayed there as he consumed the endless and animated praise from almost all the party guests.

I’d expected some of his qualities to be untrue, learning from the past never to believe blindly of someone’s pure character when you didn’t truly know them. Especially when they frequented the gossip columns. But it wasn’t him so much, he was true to his motto of kindness and courteous even as people fawned over him, it was more the attention that surrounded him. As the night went on it became clear what Nick meant even if he didn’t know it himself. A night out with Harry was different because everyone made sure to capitalize off how different he made them feel.

. . . . .

“Can I get you anything else M’am?” The young waitress asks as she clears up my empty mug and saucer. My eyes falter a little as they adjust from the blue light of my laptop I’ve been staring at for the last twenty minutes.

“Um- oh please could I just get a refill?” I ask.

“Sure thing - mint tea right?” She smiles, adjusting the mug in her hands to make a quick note.

“Yeah..s’perfect - thank you.” She’s gone before she hears my delayed gratitudes, definitely used to the throngs of bemused writers tapping away at their laptops for hours.

I turn back to my open google doc. So far it’s written in two parts I have no idea how to connect and my senseless rereading hasn’t resulted in any legitimate progress in almost an hour. I’d accept the rut I’m stuck in and work on something else for the day if I didn’t only have the day. Last night had been filled with plans of settling in early and finishing the last two thousand words on an upcoming sustainable clothing brand. That all went out the window of course as my phone buzzed off the kitchen counter with Nick’s insistence of yet another night out to celebrate ending the work week - his was quite different to mine. It was easy to ignore the persistent beeping of my phone as new texts and call notifications popped up every three minutes, but less so when the rhythmic bursts of noise were replaced by knocks on my front door.

Within 40 minutes of opening it to Nick in a silk shirt and jeans too skinny for someone pushing thirty, I was two drinks in and dancing to Blue DeTiger with a pair of hands on my waist that I didn’t entirely recognise. It was just the six of us: Me, Nick, Ellie, Theo, Julia and Harry.

He was hard to ignore, not that I was trying particularly hard. On the drive over, the limited backseat space in Nick’s car and close proximity had practically forced me into his lap. Even with thighs pressed tightly against each other, we hardly talked, a few polite hellos here and there and then silence as we listened to Eleanor recall her latest night with whichever blonde bassist was her ‘soulmate’ that week. The whole ride over, Harry kept his hands on the thigh closest to the door and leant his shoulders the same way as to touch me as little as possible - which was still quite a lot considering the packed five seater pushing seven passengers. It was fairly common knowledge we weren’t close and I got the feeling he wasn’t too keen on me, but he could at least not act like touching me would be the worst thing ever.

As the night went on he clung to Theo, ever the cuddly drunk, and I stayed more to the pleasant stranger I’d found on the dance floor.

No meanest was ever intended between us but I couldn’t help but watch the kindergarten like bitterness grow as everyone just loved him. We couldn’t go anywhere without a crying fan or two approaching the sweet and smiling man who always answered their questions affectionately and hugged them goodbye. The times he was out of town were always filled with comments about his absence, as if none of us were good enough without his added presence. I couldn’t help but wonder why they even bothered to bring me into their little group. The lack of closeness between Harry and I felt almost like a lack of closeness to the group as a whole, despite how much my individual friendships with everyone advanced.

Just as I thank the waitress - Alice, her name tag read, and take the first sip of my third tea (I had to switch after a particularly strong starter coffee) I notice a familiar man out the corner of my eye looking just as rough as me. Of course he’s wearing it better than I am.

Harry collects a drink from the counter and bows his head slightly in thanks, turning and catching my eye just as he’s on his way out. He waves with his free hand and shoots me a candid smile before making a quick change in direction towards my small table.

“Long time no see,” He pulls the chair opposite me out a little as he chuckles at his own joke. He perches lightly, temporarily. “How’ve you been?”

“A little hungover, I won’t lie..” I laugh, surprised by the whole encounter. “You?”

“Same, I might have had a shot or two too many,” I nod knowingly and shut my laptop softly. He sips what smells like coffee before going on. “Are ya workin? Sorry to interrupt.”

“Oh no- I mean I am but it doesn’t matter really, ‘ve kinda hit a dead end.” His eyes hover, waiting for me to go on. “I was gonna get it done last night but Nick had other plans..”

“Yeah Nick’ll do that to you,” He laughs, “What’re you writing ‘bout?”

He leans slightly forwards, holding eye contact and shuffling comfortably into his chair.

“Oh just this promotional piece on a new company, they’re hiring young women and training them to make these handmade clothes. They’re paying them above minimum wage and focusing on sustainability so this editor I’ve written for before offered me it.” I’m not really sure how sincere he is in his curiosity, he always seems to have time to listen when Julia has a new design plan or Theo’s found a new artist but that’s different really. I stop before I start to ramble, just in case.

“That’s so cool, what kinda stuff are they making?” He prompts, resting his chin on his fist, imitating the posture of an eager little kid.

“They've started stocking stuff by other independent artists but mostly dungarees and these cool cord trousers, they’d suit you actually, even got some 70s style ones.” Now that the two worlds are colliding in my head, I can’t help but imagine Harry in a pair of their forest green cords, the wide legs would almost bury his vans but a part of me is pretty sure he’d love them.

“Thanks, if they come at your recommendation I might have to get my hands on a pair,” He smiles, his tone’s a lot different to the usual polite cheer, it’s difficult to place where it’s landed before he’s talking again. “Reminds me of that show you took us to with the upcycled clothes, all those dungarees made of old quilts - remember?”

It’d been a small exhibit just outside of London I’d mentioned offhandedly and somehow ended up showing everyone around. It was nice to have them all in my world for an evening. Marcus, a friend of mine from college, had put it together and created a lot of the pieces. He and the others I’d met through my work were fairly shocked to say the least when Harry Styles came traipsing through the doors behind me. All night he quietly asked Nick questions, to which Nick only responded by motioning towards me and wandering off to the bar.

“I do - I’m surprised you do to be honest.” It slips before I can decide if it sounds passive aggressive or not. To be fair, it had been a surprise to me, meeting everyone at the train station and watching Harry and Nick scramble out a taxi and run towards us. He’d been dressed in proper gallery attire and seemed genuinely thrilled to be joining in on the rare night I actually played host.

“Course I do, it was a good night...I’d choose it over Nick’s tequila Tuesdays anyday.” His phone buzzes on the table, a text popping up in green. “Oh I- my manager’s waiting sorry.”

A sheepish smile is accompanied by a loose arm movement towards the door where, out on the street, I see Jeff. He’s shaking his head and motioning for Harry to hurry up. Had Harry sat down to talk to me whilst his manager had been waiting this whole time?

“It was good running into you, good luck with it all,” He stands. “See you friday yeah?”

I’d totally forgotten about his “Whenever I’m in town Friday film night.” until he mentioned it. I’d been twice in the past and stayed quietly to my corner of the sofa, only watching as everyone else laughed at whatever romcom had been chosen that night.

“I-maybe.” He shakes his head as I smile, not quite ready to commit a whole evening to watching Nick raid Harry’s wine cellar.

“You better, I’m gonna need to hear more ‘bout those cords.” He points his hand in a kind of joking reprimand/wave before he’s gone back down the aisle of tables to the door where Jeff ruffles a hand through his hair and laughs when his hands fly to fix the now birdnest of brown curls.

I open my laptop back up, skimming over the last few lines I wrote to get myself back on track. I take a sip and my tea’s gone cold.

. . . . .

“Are you coming to Harry’s tonight?” Eleanor asks down the phone, her voice chipper as she no doubt raids her closet.

“Maybe, I don’t know..I’ve got this deadline Monday morning that I’m nowhere near meeting.”

“Come on Liv, we haven’t seen you all properly together since last month, and last week doesn’t count it was too loud to actually talk!” She chimes in, the sound of clothes being tossed to the floor clear in the distant background. “Have you got a problem with Harry or something?”

“No Elle, of course I don’t-”

“Then why do you guys never talk? You hardly come with us when he’s around and when you do you barely even say hello.” Eleanor complains, she’s mentioned it in the past but it’s been easy to blow off with excuses of how busy he usually was making his way around the room to greet everyone or how we just hadn’t known each other that long and weren't particularly close yet.

“I just...I don’t know, I don’t think he likes me very much.” I pause. I still haven't decided what last Saturday was in the cafe. “We’re not really close and I’d prefer not to spend another night listening to people tell him - and everyone else - how great he is.”

“You’re saying that like he’s some arrogant twit, if you came out with us more you’d see what he’s really like around his friends. Or you know, you could actually talk to him when we’re together and see that he’s not a dick?”

It was a fair point. I haven’t made much of an effort over the past year to spend any time with him outside of larger gatherings or to have genuine conversations with him that went past the weather or a new jacket one of us had on. Maybe he really is a good guy away from all the pretentious crowds and watchful eyes he usually called to our group. He’d certainly seemed different in the quiet Saturday surroundings of Blondies Coffee Roasters in between sips of coffee.

“Okay, okay yeah I’ll see you there.” We hang up a couple of minutes later and I’m left alone in my kitchen again.

. . . . .

“Hey!” Harry cheers as the door swings open to reveal him in yet another pair of flared pants that hung comfortably around his waist. “Come in, come in.”

We all pile in through the doorway as he steps aside. Arms weaving through each other as we hang coats and jackets and Julia passes Harry the fruit platter she’d made (and scolded us all for picking at on the drive over.)

“Oh very appropriate,” Harry laughs as he uncovers the tray to reveal an array of sliced watermelon, strawberries and grapes, He sets the fruit down on the table in the lounge for us all to eat and shakes his head lightly. I look up at Julia for an explanation but she’s too busy claiming the comfiest loveseat for the night. “I’m never telling you anything again, Jules.”

Julia and Harry tease each other for a moment more until Theo catches my confused stares and laughs to himself.

“Harry wrote a song ‘bout fruit- another one actually,” Theo starts, tucking himself beside Julia and letting her take over before he can finish. “S’not just about fruit though is it H?”

Harry blushes slightly and settles his glare on Julia as he carries six wine glasses through to the table.

“‘S about watermelon, it just has some..” He clears his throat as he fumbles for his next sentence. “Other themes to it too.”

“As if mate,” Theo’s laughter booms, “ Basically Liv, he wrote this new song the other day all about how much he loves to-”

“Watermelon!” Harry yells, pointing an accusatory finger at Theo. “S’all about how much I love watermelons...I’m a fruit guy.”

“Oh are we talking about the pussy song?”

All heads snap round to see Nick, obviously having let himself in and now chuckling softly to himself as he leans against the archway into the room.

“Oh sorry H, were you tryna give an interview answer?”

Harry just slaps his palm over his eyes and lets his shoulders shake for a minute before he bounces back to host mode.

“Okay!” I can’t help but notice how flushed the tips of his ears are as he claps his hands together, desperately trying to move on from the conversation. “Who wants wine?”

Fifteen minutes later everyone is settled onto the sofas with an array of throws between us and a layout of fruits, crisps and other mid rom com snacks that make me feel bad I left my flat in too much of a hurry to remember anything but hummus.

“Okay - Sixteen Candles, When Harry Met Sally or Mamma Mia?” Nick calls out, waving the tv remote above his head to get everyone's attention. An outpour of votes follows - you’d think between only six of us we’d be able to sort out a process by now but still we fall into momentary anarchy as the room divides.

“Mamma Mia is a classic!” Eleanor protests as Nick’s shaking his head.

“And Billy Crystal isn’t?” He yells back, eyes wide and genuinely offended.

“Colin Firth is arguably more iconic, Nick really, come on.” Theo sighs. He accepts the high fives Ellie and I reach out to him and saluts us both.

“We’ve all seen Mamma Mia before though, we’ve never watched When Harry Met Sally all together,” Julia points out, winning a smirk and nod of approval from Nick.

There’s a beat of silence while Nick weighs up the votes in his head. He tilts to the side slightly and eyes Harry up, our gazes following.

“Harry?”

“Ellie?”

“Come on, you’ve got the last vote here, and I know how much you like Meryl.” Nick gasps a little, the mention of Meryl Streep as a wager to win Harry over to his opposing team was definitely foul play in his eyes.

“Yeah but he loves When Harry Met Sally...and he is a narcissist..” Julia offers into the debate, a few snickers follow her comment before we all turn to look at Harry. We’re all already half a glass in but I could swear for just a moment his eyes lingered over me, fluttering down to my smile before turning back to announce his decision to Nick.

“I’m afraid I am in the mood for a bit of Abba,” Cheers and not so subtle murmurs of frustration fill the lounge as Nick scrolls through the Romance bar on Netflix before clicking on the film of just over half of our choosing.

Everyone goes quiet as the film starts, breaking out into bursts of song only as the cast does. From the conversation in the car, it’s pretty clear everyone has just been through a pretty tiring week. We all tended to pile our workload a little heavy so it was always nice to escape for a few hours at the weekend and relax together.

Just as Voulez-vous plays through the room, a slightly tipsy Nick leans into Harry to serenade the singer with his own rendition. The duo sway slightly, both narrowly avoiding Nick’s wild limbs before there’s a crash and Harry’s cursing.

“Oh- H, Sorry!”

Nick’s wine glass that’d been balanced on the coffee table in front of him moments before now lays on its side. The, luckily white, wine trickles down onto the rug but most noticeably splashes into Harry’s lap. I’m not entirely sure how he managed it, it must have flown forwards when it was knocked but Harry quickly stands to access the damage.

“I’m so sorry Harry I-”

“Don’t worry mate, I’m just gonna go change and toss these in the wash..could you wipe that up for me?” Nick nods, looking a little less cheerful and a lot more guilty now as Harry makes it way out the room. He calls behind him: “Keep watching I’ll only be a second!”

Nick finishes wiping down the table and rug just as Harry jogs back into the room. I don’t mean to and I’m never one to check people out..unless very subtly, but I can’t help but let my eyes linger a little.

He’s still in his plain tee but instead of his fancy pants he’s found some soft wash denim jeans. The whole look paired with his thick rimmed glasses and how his hair's gotten tousled about by Nick throughout the night just made him look so...ordinary. Not in any bad way, anyone who met Harry knew he could never be ordinary, no matter how casual he dressed, but something about seeing him abandon the more dressed up looks and go for the comfortable option just made him seem different.

In a second his green eyes are complimenting the look too as he gazes down at me.

“Hi,” He mouths, nobody’s taken much notice of his return, yet another musical number taking everyone’s attention. It’s my turn to blush a little now. I avert my eyes quickly, anywhere really, before sneaking a quick look up at him to smile back.

Ellie had helped Nick in the “For fucksake save Harry’s rug it probably costs more than your car” mission and had stolen the seat beside him after they were done. It slipped my mind until Harry set the new bottle of wine on the table and sunk down into the space beside me, He curls one leg underneath him and slips me one more smile before turning back to the screen just as Donna and Sam start singing SOS.

. . . . .

“Ah shit, I think I left my book!” I curse just as we make it down the road to Julia’s car. Parking was shit so by the time we found a spot we’d ended up a good 15 minutes away from Harry’s house. “You guys go on, I’m only round the corner anyway.”

Theo and Julia were familiar with my stubbornness so let me go, yelling their goodbyes after a few hugs as they drove away, Ellie and Nick do the same as they clamber into a taxi. I turn quickly in the chilly air and make my way back down the street to Harry’s drive, punching in the familiar code at his gate before running up to the door hastily.

It was open - as always, so I let myself in. He was probably still cleaning the lounge up after we all got a little too tipsy.

“Hey it’s me...just left my book sorry!” I call down the hallway. It’s quiet despite the light Paul Simon playing in the distance so I make my way quickly to the sofas I’d spent most of the night on, praying to avoid an awkward run-in with Harry.

Although we’d actually shared some light conversation throughout the night and a handful of smiles, I’m not sure we’re quite at the stage in our friendship that me more or less breaking into his house wouldn’t be awkward to run into.

The lounge is empty when I get there. The side tables are still littered with wine glasses and tacky red rings on coasters but no Harry in sight. Or book for that matter.

I start pulling back the cushions carefully - god knows how much they cost. Despite scouring the one spot I’d pretty much clung to the whole night - incidentally beside Harry - I have no luck. Nick tossed the book back to me at some point in the night after reading it by my recommendation but knowing him it could have ended up anyway. I follow the breadcrumbs of our night down another hallway as I vaguely remember Nick talking about a certain plot twist as we searched Harry’s kitchen cupboards for the wine he’d sent us off to restock.

As I come around the white archway into his kitchen I catch a glimpse of him from around the kitchen island. He has his back turned to me but he’s leant forwards against a counter with ring covered fingers clutching the edge, a glass of amber liquid set slightly away from him.

“Oh, sorry I was just-” He jumps a little at my voice, turning quickly to face me with his now free hands coming up to hold his chest. When his eyes finally meet mine they’re red and it takes a second for him to register the tears still streaming from them before he replies.

“Shit, fu- what are you..are you alright?” His hands bat between tangling into his hair and wiping the tears from his cheeks, anything to avoid actually looking up at me again.

“Yeah, I just..um..left my book,” I mumble, taking a step closer to him when I notice how his hands shake as they move timidly around his face. “Harry, what’s wrong?”

“Uuuh um.” He wanders for a moment before slapping a palm lightly atop the counter and pulling out his infamous grin. “Nothing much, how bout you - find your book?”

“-Harry..” I take another step close, “I know we’re not, ya know..close. But you can talk to me.”

There’s a beat of silence when he keeps up the act, I’d almost believe it if it wasn’t for his bloodshot eyes and anxious fingers drumming against the tile.

“What’s wrong?”

He pauses for a moment, assessing whether or not to tell me whatever’s weighing so heavy on his shoulders. But the dam bursts.

“Fuckin’ everything Love” He laughs, rubbing his palms over his face. I try to focus on the matter at hand: Harry weeping in his kitchen. But that name’s only ever left his mouth directed at me a handful of times and it’s never made my stomach flutter quite as it did just now. “Just..Fuck I’m so lonely Olivia.”

I don’t really know any of the details but between conversation - mostly overheard, and the media frenzy, it was hard not to be aware of Harry’s break up two months ago. I can’t claim we were close enough to discuss it, having hardly ever talked beyond trivial issues, but I knew that despite them only being together two or so months, he’d been incredibly distant for the weeks that followed the break up.

“I hear about you and Aubre..I’m really sorry it didn’t work out for you guys-” Harry laughs almost, a pained sort of chuckle that told me I was way off with this one.

“It’s not..that isn’t why I..” He takes a deep breath before lifting his head up slightly to focus on where his fingers still tapped out a nervous beat on the counter. “I was lonely before her...and with her. I just, I can’t seem to get it right ever...feels like nobody wants to be with me for the right reasons.”

“Hey no..what about tonight? Your house was full of so many people who love you yeah? Maybe your bougie wine collection had something to do with it but still,” He laughs at that, peeking up from behind his fringe for just a moment. “They- we love you ‘k?”

“I know but, ‘clock hits the am and everyone leaves, it just gets...it gets so fucking lonely to see everyone in perfect pairs ya know?”

I don’t really know what I’m doing but I’m doing it - my arms wrap over his shoulders and lock with a hand at the nape of his neck. We’ve never hugged before beyond a general greeting but anyone watching wouldn’t know it, his face burrows quickly into my shoulder and his arms cocoon over my waist, holding me tightly and slipping under the thick layers of my jacket.

“I know exactly what you mean, H.”

The hug lasts longer than I imagined it might. He smells of vanilla and the coffee he brought back in bulk from Jamaica. He lets out a shaky breath and melts further into me, nuzzling my neck softly with the tip of his nose. His curls are soft between my fingers and I find myself shhing him, lulling us both into a tired kind of calm.

Another moment passes in the silence of his kitchen before Harry lets out an awkward cough and straightens up, pulling out of our hold and immediately covering his face with his palms again.

“I..sorry Jules and Theo must be waiting for you..” Harry murmured, wiping the last of his tears away and letting his hands fall and fidget by his sides.

“Oh no don’t worry they..um they already went I was actually just gonna walk.” I tell him, making his head perk up a bit.

“Wha-It’s past twelve Liv it’s not safe, how far do you even live?” He clears his throat and his voice is clearer now, it feels like a whole different world to the one we were in just a minute ago.

“It’s fine honestly, only take like thirty minutes walking - I’ve done it before-” I ramble, eager to put this situation behind me before I embarrass myself anymore.

“No - let me drive you yeah?” Harry shakes his head, adamant.

“Harry..we’ve been drinking all night, I think that’s more dangerous than me jus’ walking.” I laugh, holding his gaze for a second longer than I usually would - fuck, how do we usually act around each other?

Before I come to a conclusion, his eyes rest heavy on mine and I can see the cogs turning in his brain as he tries to work his way out of this one. Ever the people pleaser.

“Then stay.”

“Harry-”

“You said you know how it feels.” He cuts in, unwavering now as he doesn’t let my eyes fall from his. “So stay …’s safer anyway.”

. . . . .

“I can take the sofa, really Harry I don’t mind,” I reassure as he tosses me an old t-shirt and joggers to sleep in. “It’s comfier than my bed anyway.

His guest bedrooms had just been painted and were still pretty fume filled so the sofa or his bed were the only options. For twenty minutes now he’s tried to convince me to take his bed and leave him on the sofa, despite the fact we both know he’s a little too tall to sleep without his feet hanging off the end.

“But you’re my guest!” He protests again, coming up from his wardrobe to stand in front of me, hand on hips and an expression of concern on his face.

“And you’re almost six foot!”

“Hey, I am six foot.” He takes a deep breathe, exhaling through his nose in defeat before speaking again. “Okay, you can sleep on the sofa but if anyone asks I was the perfect host and you bullied me into this.”

I laugh softly, this whole new side of Harry had never been directed solely at me before and it was honestly refreshing. Usually Nick or another friend was the target of his jokes and playful demeanor and I only noticed it from afar but now he was right in front of me, hauling pillows off his bed and sticking his tongue out when he caught me staring.

“Are you sure you’ll be alright?” He asks for the third time since I agreed to stay the night. We’ve just finished setting up the sofa to sleep on and despite the duvet and many quilts far more lush than my own actual bed, he seemed unconvinced it was enough.

“I’m sure” I sit back into the pile of blankets and pillows, tucking my feet underneath me and looking back up at Harry. “If you’re really not, just come watch a film with me and see how cozy it is.”

The quick change in dynamic was a lot smoother than I’d imagined. Within an hour of being alone together we’d already talked more than in all our past interactions, not to mention how close we’ve gotten. He only nods his head quickly and he’s settling under a quilt beside me, rummaging around for a controller to pull up netflix again.

“Mamma Mia two?” He asks.

I chuckle a bit and nod. At the beginning of the evening I hadn’t quite seen it ending in a Mamma Mia marathon with just me and Harry.

He presses play and as the opening display begins we both lean back into the sofa and pull the blankets up over us. It’s only in the quiet of the first few scenes that I notice we’re matching. We’re both dressed fully in his clothes, grey joggers and t-shirt - his rolling stones, mine fleetwood mac. And it all smells of him. I pull the blanket a little higher over my chest and the faint, but now familiar, scent of vanilla and coffee fills my lungs and for a second all I can focus on is how desperately I want to be in his arms again.

. . . . .

“-ow” A groggy voice mumbles from above me and I feel myself being pulled forwards slightly against something hard - and warm.

I’m a few seconds from falling straight back asleep before I feel the painful ache in the side of my neck. I reach a hand up to gauge my current situation and feel my fingers plunging into soft hair - soft hair that ends too soon to be mine.

“Hi..” I recoil my hand quickly back to my side and push myself up so I’m sitting slightly. I look down and see Harry, half asleep still and hand still resting on my side.

“Oh-hey sorry,” What do you say when you wake up beside the guy you barely knew but simultaneously had been incredibly vulnerable with just the night before?

Harry seems to be waking up now and certainly more aware of our predicament as he pulls his hand away from where it was holding firmly onto the material of my - his - t-shirt and pushes himself up to sit against the arm of the sofa.

“We must have fallen asleep..sorry I didn’t mean too, ya know…” His eyes flutter between where I sit opposite him and the “Are you still watching?” Netflix screen.

“It’s fine, accidents happen an’ everything.” I smile, slipping out from the warm cocoon of blankets to stand. “I’m just gonna wash up quickly and I’ll be out of you hair.”

Before I can rush off to tame my hair and hopefully find some toothpaste to rid me of my morning breath, Harry clasps his hand gently around my wrist and tugs slightly to get my attention.

“Not in a rush Love, I’ll make us some breakfast.” He says it effortlessly, like it was a regular occurrence for us to fall asleep cuddling on his sofa. He stands, groaning as his knees pop appreciatively and lets my hand go before he’s disappearing into the kitchen.

“Okay…” I murmur to myself. “....okay.”

. . . . .

Alice is back at my table with my second refill before 11am. I thank her and take a gulp of the fiery ginger tea before reading over the last three paragraphs I just wrote. The spice licks my tongue as I tip the cup up for a second sip; it’s autumn after all.

In the last two weeks September had slipped into October and all the trees in London had received the memo. I’d been busy, hoaled up in the quietest corner of Blondies the whole time with coffee filling all my senses. I haven’t seen everyone together since that night at Harry’s. I grabbed lunch with Eleanor the Monday afterwards and told her nothing, preferring to avoid the texts my phone amassed over the fortnight. I've turned down all proposed group activities and focused on work instead. To be fair, I do have a lot to get done. There were always seasonal pieces in my to do list and with the weather getting colder it was time I got to them before it was Christmas already.

I haven’t talked to Harry either. He made us pancakes with blueberries and maple syrup in the morning and we haven’t even texted since; I’m not sure that we even have a private text between us. Eleanor and Julia have told me how much fun they’ve all had the times I’ve politely but persistently declined, I can only assume Harry’s in the mix with them all. He’s in town for awhile if I’m remembering our breakfast chatter correctly, it makes sense that they’re all hanging out together really when they don’t often get time together. Ellie’s phone calls keep me from sliding into thoughts of how easily I could fall right out of the group and not be missed, at least. I was just taking space for work. The fact that most of my afternoons at the cafe disappeared into me analysing anything I might ever have felt or said to Harry means nothing at all.

Neither does the heightened pace of my heartbeat when he walks through the stiff wooden doors of Blondies.

He orders what I assume is his regular black coffee, scans the room for a second and lands directly on me. He hesitates a little to hold my gaze, turning his head to look outside before looking back at me and smiling. He thanks the server and takes a few quick steps towards me, weaving in between the packed tables to my little spot hidden away in the corner.

“Hi,” He smiles again, although his toneos overshadowed by a slight anxious hilt. “Can I sit?”

Nodding, I close my laptop and pull my tea closer to me to make a space for him.

“Hi.” He repeats, smiling a little sheepishly.

“Hi,” I wait a second, nervous to start when I’m so unsure of how this conversation has already gone in his head. But he doesn’t say anything so I push through and bite the bullet against my better judgement. “Look, about that Friday I-”

“Can I just-” He cuts me off, leaning forwards and opening his hands out as he mulls over his next few words. “I’m sorry if it was awkward at all, I didn’t mean for anything to happen and I thought we were fine an’ everything but then I haven’t seen you in two weeks and Ellie keeps saying you’re not comin’ out. Did I do something wrong?”

“Oh god no,” I hurry, “You didn’t do anything it was just - I didn’t expect to wake up..like that...and it was just a really quick change because we’ve never really been close and suddenly it was just, us, like that.”

He nods, pushing a loose curl back a second later that broke free in the motion. He seems understanding as he looks down before leaning his elbows against the table so only the two of us can hear what he’s about to say.

“I know, I didn’t expect it either but, can I just tell you I’m glad that it happened?” He leaves a three second pause for me to flounder in confusion before continuing. “What I told you, ‘bout feeling lonely, it messes with my sleep all the time. I just get stuck in my own thoughts but the night you stayed over I slept fine - perfect even.”

Not sure what else to do with this new information, I nod for him to continue.

“I know we’ve never been close, but hanging out with you just really calmed me down.” He smiles, gaining confidence now in his vulnerability tucked away in our little hiding place. “Thank you for staying.”

“I get what you mean.” I mumble, slightly anxious any of the busy customers with prying eyes could overhear my confession. “I never really know when to stop working and I think I got the best night sleep on your sofa I’ve had in awhile, which really speaks volumes about how crappy my mattress is.”

He chuckles. Relief seems to settle in as he lets his shoulders relax and face soften.

“I was thinking - especially now that I know it was good for you as well, maybe it could become more of a regular thing?” He asks, his forefinger and thumb pinch together and twist one of his rings a little - a nervous habit, I’m sure.

“How do you mean?”

“Like..when we all go out, maybe we go home together, you know - so we can sleep better.” He moves down to focus on the metal rose he’s still fumbling at. “If..if you don’t want to or you think it’d be weird it’s fi-”

“I’d like that.” I reach forwards to comfort him, absentmindedly cupping my fingers around his. “I think it’d be nice, to get a good night's sleep I mean.”

“I’m glad.” He beams.

“..That and you make a mean blueberry pancake.” I tease, earning a light chuckle from Harry.

Just like our last cafe encounter, the ping of a his phone beats me to my new few words. He checks it quickly, shaking his head and glancing down the large room to the shop front where, once again, Jeff waits. He seems a little more agitated this time, waving vigorously whilst trying not to attract the attention of passersby, all rather unsuccessfully.

“Bollocks okay - I’ve gotta go,” Harry swears, collecting his coffee from the table and pushing his chair back quickly. “I’ll just - we can text before we go out next yeah?”

“Cool, yeah - wait a sec, let me just give you my number.” I reach up for him to hand me his phone but he doesn’t make any effort to move, instead he blushes slightly and stares at the floor. “..What?”

“I um, I already have it.” He fiddles with the hair at the nape of his neck before talking again. It’s hard not to remember how it felt when it was my fingers carding through his brown curls. “I got it from Theo awhile back when we were going to this thing, felt weird not having it. I hope that..okay and everythin’”

I nod, smiling up at him. The idea of him having a part of me for this past year without me even knowing is oddly precious. The fact that he felt odd about not having my number and going to the effort of getting it from Theo was unbelievably endearing.

“That’s fine, helpful actually.” I smile still, “Text me before we meet everyone and we’ll make a plan or somethin’”

“Okay,” He smirks, his slight cocky nature reemerging. “Will do, Liv. See you soon?”

“See you soon.”

Jeff flies a hand up to his hair like before but this time is met with a grinning Harry who doesn’t seem to mind so much.

. . . . .

Unknown Number

‘Hey! Is tonight good? We can slip off after drinks at the gallery. H x’

I look down at my phone. Caught off guard by the sudden text, I’d almost forgotten out arrangement. Julia invited us all to a gallery opening of one of her friend's new exhibits. Even as I flicked through my wardrobe for the right jacket, I hadn’t put two and two together and realised I’d be seeing Harry again for the first time since our chat at Blondies four days ago.

I save his number and I think quickly, not wanting to leave him on read when he knew I’d be leaving to see them all any second and most likely spend the whole tube journey on my phone.

‘Hi :) That’d work for me yh, just let me know when you want to leave and I’ll make an excuse. Liv x’

With another thought rushing through my head, I send a quick follow up.

‘Can we keep this between us right now? Might be a bit tricky to explain to the others.”

Harry

‘Read my mind love.’

‘See you in a bit :)’

I’m still not the hugest fan of the airy feeling that rushed through my stomach as I read over the pet name. He was just from Manchester, it was normal up there to call everything by casually affectionate little names. It didn’t mean anything at all.

. . . . .

“Livia!” Nick calls out when he sees me scanning over the faces at the entrance to the gallery. I smile instantly and make my way over, quickly falling into his arms as he rocks us for a second. “Haven’t seen you in an age!”

“‘Ve been working, we can’t all piss about Monday to Friday.” I giggle, smiling wide as he murmurs something under his breath and plants a big kiss on my cheek. “Is everyone here?”

I try not to look suspicious when I peak over around us, trying to pick a certain brunette from the crowd.

“Yeah, they’re just over there with Julia’s friend.” Nick points and I see him immediately. He’s dressed just as I expected - half gucci half grandpa sweaters. “I’m gonna get us drinks, meet you there?”

“Mhmmm” I hum, breaking out of his hold and slipping through the crowds to our small group of friends.

“Hi!” Julia smiles brightly. She hugs me quickly before stepping aside to give Eleanor and Theo their turns. They all whisper quiet ‘Missed yous’ in my ear as if I’ve been gone for years.

“Hey,” Harry appears by my side as everyone else turns their attention to the front of the crowd where it looks like the artist is setting up to introduce the night. “How’ve you been?”

“In the last four days?” I chuckle, “Good. Not been sleeping great, but I’ve got a lot of work done so that’s been great.”

He nods approvingly. A smile tugs at his lips at the mention of sleep, almost like some secret inside joke we’ve managed to form between just the two of us.

“Me neither. Jeff’s been buggin’ me what feels like every hour with deadlines.” I find myself squeezing his hand a little under his long coat sleeves so nobody can see. “Looking forward to just collapsing tonight, if I’m honest.”

“Me too.” I smile tiredly, tonight had been a big ask come to think of it. I've had work piled up twice my height all week and even having worked day in and day out I’ve still only made a crack in the mountain of final edits and emails to respond to.

Harry squeezes my fingers back and our hands linger in each other's hold until Nick emerges beside us and the artist begins her speech.

. . . . .

The comfortable chatter surrounding the booth we’d taken up a few hours ago died down as the clock ticked later and later. We’d left the gallery a while ago now in favour of the after party at a pub down the road but by now the heavy scent of beers and various gin based concoctions were giving us all headaches.

“I think I’m gonna call it a night guys,” Harry announces, a slew of groans following from the group. “Sorry, sorry! It’s been great but it’s getting late.”

Julia and Theo move out the way to let him out the booth. He slides across the red cushion to stand, pulling his coat over himself as he sneaks a quick look at me.

“I think I’m gonna head off too,” I smile, waiting for Eleanour to stand and let me out as another wave of complaints flooded me. “Sorry! I’ve got work and the tube’ll be hell any later.”

“Well if Harry’s going too couldn’t he take you home?” Julia suggests, looking between the two of us as we now stand slightly away from each other. “You drove right?”

“Yeah, I did.” Harry turns to smile at me, amused clearly by how our plan was being unknowingly encouraged by our friends. “C’mon, I’ll drive yeh.”

I nod, biting back a smirk. We say our goodbyes and wave as we slip out the heavy pub doors out onto the road outside. It’s started to drizzle slightly and I resent choosing the jacket without a hood.

“I’m just over here,” Harry points a little ways off. “Hurry, think it’s about to pour.”

We walk quickly down the street and through a metal gate into a car park when there’s a loud rumble of thunder and immediately the rain thickens.

“Fuck!” Harry laughs as he scrambles for his keys, we match each other's paces until we’re practically sprinting to his car in the far corner of the lot. The click of the locks sounds out and his lights flash red a second before we’re both pulling the doors open and throwing ourselves inside onto warm seats.

We catch our breath, chests rising and falling with uneven pants before our laughter settles and Harry slots the keys into the ignition.

. . . . .

“Do you want anything to eat?” Harry asks as he closes his front door behind us and we kick out shoes off in his hall. “I think I have some takeout menus somewhere..”

“I’m not really hungry, thanks though,” I cut off his search as he walks through to his kitchen and starts opening draws. “Kinda just wanna go to bed now.”

He nods and rubs a hand under his eye in silent agreement of my exhaustion.

“I’ll make us a tea, meet you up there yeah?” He calls over his shoulder, having turned quickly to retrieve various packets from his cupboards. “Chamomile okay?”

“Yeah chamomiles good,” I hover for a second in the archway leading into the kitchen, suddenly awkward to be alone in his house again. “Where um..where is it?”

He looks over his shoulder at me, slightly confused. His eye brows unfurrow when I motion behind me.

“Oh- just up the stairs and third room down the hall..on the left.” He smiles, turning back to the cupboard to look through his extensive mug collection.

I nod to myself, spinning on my heel and making my way up his stairs. I’ve never gone beyond the downstairs of his house before and even then I stuck to the kitchen, dining room and lounge. It felt odd to suddenly have access to something as intimate as his bedroom, I try not to overthink things as I push open the third door I see.

The first thing I see is his large bed, there’s probably enough room for three people on it and there’s definitely enough pillows to go around. The room as a whole is tidy, whether it’s always like that or only organised so precisely for my visit, I don’t know, but the thought makes my stomach flutter.

I walk up to the side of the bed with no charger on it’s table and set my bag down. We hadn’t talked about the logistics of our...arrangement, but I’d brought the basics to last me through the night. I plug my charger into the wall and take out my wash bag and a set of clothes to sleep in before sliding my bag under the table. I look around for a second. Somehow I hadn’t really thought through the fact that by the end of the night, I’d be in Harry’s bed. With Harry. In a completely platonic way with the only function to soothe our mutually crappy sleeping habits.

I hear Harry walking up the stairs just as I slip into the un suit to wash up and get changed. He’s humming a song under his breath. The clink of mugs being set down is followed by wardrobe doors opening and closing and a light thud of clothes being thrown on the bed.

I wait a few minutes to make sure I don’t walk in on him changing. Opening the door tentatively, I step out into the room in a large sweater and pajama shorts. Harry turns to look at me, he’s in the same t-shirt he wore last time and a pair of boxer shorts and the whole situation suddenly seems so amusing. After just one night of falling asleep on the sofa together, not having ever talked before, here we are standing at our most vulnerable about to cuddle in his bed together.

“Hi.”

“Hey,” He nods, looking down at himself. “Hope this is okay...I don’t want to make you uncomfortable or-”

“It’s fine,” I reassure him, “I didn’t really know what to wear either.”

His eyes flicker down my body and he smiles back up at me. He motions to the bed and we both nod a little awkwardly before making our way over to our sides. I climb in and instantly let a small groan out as my body sinks into the mattress, the pillows and duvet feel almost like a cloud as I burrow under and pull my tea up to my lips.

Harry chuckles from beside me, I peak over the mug to seem him grinning down from where he sits slightly taller in the bed.

“Sorry, you look comfy.” He laughs a little,

“I am, your bed’s insane.” I set my mug down and turn to him, bouncing slightly to emphasise the quality of his mattress that probably cost more than a year of my rent. “I really should start earning millions, feel like it’d suit me.”

He returns his tea to the bedside table and copies me, turning to face me with his legs crossed.

“It definitely would.” He smiles, bouncing a little before I let out a yawn. “Tired?”

“Exhausted.” I mumble, hand still covering half my face. Harry reaches behind him to turn to switch the lights above his headboard off before pulling the duvet back for us to slip under.

“C’mere,” Without hesitating, I shuffle back slightly until I can feel his chest behind me and an arm come up to rest around my hip. “‘This okay?”

“Mhmmm,” I hum, “What about our teeth?”

“We’ll brush ‘em in the morning,” I nod, groaning again as all the aches in my body subside as I sink into his arms and the foam mattress. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” I mumble, embarrassed to have let myself go so easily around him. “Your mattress is just unbelievable. Might have to make this a regular thing.”

I speak before I think, mind clouded with sleep and my eyes already fighting to stay open.

“That’s the plan, love.”

. . . . .

When I wake up, Harry’s arms are tight around my middle and his body’s like a furnace behind me. I vaguely recall pulling my sweater off in the night to cool down as I lay now only in a vest and shorts. I slept better than I have in months though, despite the warm breaths on my neck turning my cheeks flushed.

The mix of Harry’s company and his safe haven of a mattress made for the perfect night sleep. I push back slightly into his chest and feel his arms tighten around me and a low murmur of his voice in my ear. The clock on my bedside table reads 6:30. It’s a Saturday and I can quite easily imagine spending the rest of my day - weekend even, exactly like this.

I slip back to sleep for a little awhile before I’m woken up to a low groan behind me. Harry shifts slightly, burying his face in the base of my neck and squeezing around my waist again. He must still be half asleep to be this comfortable with me.

I’m proven right when it takes another fifteen minutes for him to poke his head up over my shoulder and mumble:

“Breakfast?”

. . . . .

Our routine works smoothly for weeks. After sleeping so well the first few times, it became a given that we’d pile into Harry’s car after every night out with our friends and go back to his. Sometimes we’d get takeout or watch a film, but it wasn’t so rare that we’d just stumble out of his car, or a taxi - depending what the night had entailed, and walk with eyes almost closed straight to bed.

I stopped bringing things every night about two weeks in when a new toothbrush appeared next to Harrys and an oversized t-shirt of Harrys found its way onto my side of the bed. We also ditched the awkward pleasantries. Spending two or three nights a week in his house, I’d become pretty familiar with it all. I sometimes brought us breakfast if it was a weekend, or left a coffee beside the bed for him if I left for work first, We had very easily slipped into an oddly familiar sense of domesticity. It was strange to never mention any of it to our friends, it made it special though. We helped each other, and it was all just between the two of us. Nobody else knew Harry taught me how to make coffee just the way he likes it, or that we share his lavender shampoo sometimes.

“Ols?” Harry calls up the stairs to me. We’re running late to Julia and Theos anniversary dinner.

“Coming!” I yell back, reaching into his wardrobe to snatch a jacket before running down the stares.

“Oi! Slow down love, you’re gonna fall,” He complains, holding his hands out at the bottom of the stairs to catch me as I skid a little on the wooden floors of his hallway. “Hey! This’s mine!”

He tugs playfully on the opening of his jacket. I pull the fabric from his grasp and smile up at him.

“Not anymore…” He scrunches his nose up and pulls me towards him. The sudden movement pushed the air from my lungs suddenly. “-Fine! Just for tonight...nobody’ll notice anyway, you only just got his one.”

He shakes his head, bringing his fingers up to tickles across my stomach quickly before letting me go and clapping his hands.

“Shoes now!” He points down at my sock clad feet, “Come on we’re late already.”

I sling my bag over my shoulder and slip my boots on before trailing after him to the front door. He’s pulled his large green coat off the hangar before he’s looking back down at me, brows pulled together in confusion.

“What’ve got yeh bag for?”

“Ah see Harry, I tend not to leave my stuff places I don’t actually live.” I laugh.

“You’re not coming back tonight?” The confusion’s not joined by a hint of sadness as his hands fall from the door knob and he turns to face front on.

“Oh I..hadn’t thought ‘bout that. I’ve gotta water my plants.” I haven't been home in two days, I spent the whole day at Blondies yesterday then headed to Harry's after a few drinks with him and Nick. We’ve hung out around his house all day, sleeping in and finishing our last few bits of work for the week. “I can let them go a little dry I guess-”

“Can I come to yours?” Harry cuts me off to ask. “It’s just, I haven’t ever seen it..and that way your plant’ll be fine.”

I stay quiet for a second. Our world of sleepovers and movie marathons and home made curries for dinner existed within his house. My flat was small in comparisons to the homes of our friends, who were all, delicately put, pretty well off. Not that I wasn’t, I’d just gone into a lower paying area of my industry. I lived alone anyway so there wasn’t much point paying thousands in rent when I didn’t need much space.

“It’s fine it you want a night to yourself I can just-”

“It’s not that, H, I just didn't really think about how we only ever come here.” I mumble the last part, “Come back to mine, I don’t feel like going back on my own anyways.”

I smile a little, unsure of where we stand on the whole admitting we’d grown pretty dependent on each other’s presence, front. He smiles back, twisting the door open and holding it for me as I slip under his arm.

The car clicks unlocked and I settle into my seat. I reach over to push my seat belt in as Harry pulls his door shut and the car rumbles to a start.

“Can’t believe Jules and T have been together so long.” He sighs as we pull out onto the main road.

“Tell me about it,” I gaze out the window as rain dribbles lightly. “Feels like the year just went straight by.”

“They seem so happy still, like they’re still honeymooning,” Harry hums.

“I remember when they just started going out in Uni, even then it was obvious they’d end up together.”

“I like those kinds of people. The ones who make each other just completely themselves, ya know?” He glances over at me before turning back to the road.

“Yeah...they’re proper soulmates aren’t they.”

. . . . .

“Okay but seriously, what the fuck is up with you and Harry?” Eleanor bursts out as soon as we reach the bar. We’ve been sent off to get the third round whilst the others stayed at our favourite booth of the pub we frequented.

“Wait what?” I yell over the loud chatter of the pub, “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean!” She’s still waving her hand out for the bartender when she glances down at me again. “You’re tryna say you’re suddenly so close and nothing’s happened between you?”

“We’re not that close.” I quip, “We’ve just talked a bit more lately, I guess.”

“And nothing’s happened?” She raised a brow at me suspiciously. “You guys have left together every night for the past few weeks, just admit you have feelings for each other.”

“No, nothing’s happened.” I sigh, unsure if I sound convincing or not. “We just live close and it’s too cold now to get the tube back so late, he’s just being nice. You know Harry...he’s like that with everyone.”

Eleanor laughs a little, shaking her head. She places our order with the bartender when he makes his way to our side of the bar before turning back to me with her arms crossed.

“He’s nice to everyone, but he’s not just being nice to you.” She smirks, “And he usually doesn't give just anybody his clothes.”

She reaches out and rubs the fabric of my - Harrys - jacket between her thumb and forefinger. She looks up and quirks her brows up a little again. Before I can splutter out an explanation our drinks are being laid out on the counter beside us and Eleanor is pointing to the ones for me to carry and turning back to our booth.

A surge of anxiety washes over me as I follow Eleanor back to the group. My breaths feel unsteady and I can’t help but dart my eyes to get a quick glance at Harry to see if he’s experiencing the same kind of interrogation. He seems fine though, laughing at something Nicks said.

Soon we’re at the booth, slipping back into our seats and setting the drinks out in front of everyone. Harry’s eyes hover on me for a few seconds, brows raised a little in question. I smile and shake my head - everything’s fine.

I don’t miss how Eleanor glances between us throughout the whole night. Especially not when a different two get up for the next round and Harry and I are pushed next to each other when they climb back into the available seats. Harry seems a little suspicious too. He clearly hasn’t noticed Eleanor’s strange behaviour - or doesn’t care - because he’s kept gazing down at me every now and then since we came back with drinks hours ago. When I stop looking up at him, nervous Eleanor might question me about his constant and slightly nervous glances when we’re alone, he reaches his hand under the tables and pulls mine into his lap. He squeezes our hands every now and then. He’s always a touchy, cuddly drunk. Normally it’s a bit more obvious; he’ll wrap his arms around one of us on the dance floor or lap his head on a shoulder, nothing too intimate. Just friendly. But now he’s stroking his thumb over my knuckles and tapping out the beat of the current song playing with his foot, his knee bumping mine.

Julia and Theo are the first to go. Relief settles in me at the idea of not being the first two to leave for once. There’s no way Eleanor wouldn't’ve have noticed me and Harry sneaking the other a glance like we usually do to signal we’re ready to go, without some kind of distraction.

“It was so lovely guys, feels like we haven’t just sat down and talked in so long!” Julia smiles, leaning into Theos side tiredly as they say their goodbyes.

“I think I’m gonna head off too, it’s getting pretty late,” I smile, waiting for Harry to speak when Theo pipes up before him.

“Livs, you want a lift?” Theo looks down at me.

“Oh Olivia, that’s a good idea, you were just saying how it’s too cold for the tube.” Eleanor beams, smiling cheekily as she knows I’m the only one who’ll understand her subtle teasing.

“Oh I-” I stutter before Harry’s squeezing my hand again and looks up at Theo.

“I was actually gonna take her home, we’re only 10 minutes apart so it’s just easier.” He smiles politely, if I couldn’t feel his foot hooking over mine I’d believe he was just being nice and helping out a friend.

“Yeah but you’re gonna stay a little while aren’t you?” Julia countered, “We’re pretty close, it’s fine really.”

I nod, motioning to slide out of the booth. Harry lets me by, dropping my hand before anyone else could see. Julia, Theo and I say goodbye quickly and head out to the car park. As soon as we’re all strapped into their car, I pull out my phone and click Harry’s contact.

Meet me at mine x

Harry

Okay - what was that about?

I’ll explain when u get here, just something w Eleanor

U might have been right about the jacket :/

Theo pulls up outside my flat and I jump out the car, thanking them quickly and waving them off. I climb the stairs of my building and click the keys in my door, pushing it open and kicking my shoes off the second I get in. After a fifteen minute frantic clean, the place is looking slightly better. There’s no time to perfect it as I hear my phone buzzing on the counter, a dorky photo of Harry in one of his infamous sweaters all sprawled out on the sofa and sticking his tongue out at me flashes the screen.

“Hello?”

“Hey, I’m just outside,” He talks softly, “What number are you?”

“24, wait a sec and I’ll buzz you up.”

I tread quickly to the button by my front door and let him up, hearing a quiet thanks over the phone and a “See you in a sec�� before the line goes dead.

A minute later there’s a quiet knock at my door. I open it and see Harry, he looks a little more tired than when I left him forty minutes ago, he rubs his knuckles under his eyes and sighs softly.

“Hey, come in.” I pull the door a little wider, stepping aside to let him inside. He walks past me, eyes watching the floor whilst I lock the up behind us and turn to face him. There's an awkward tension in the air that I haven’t experienced with Harry before, maybe a little that first night when I walked in on him in his kitchen, but nothing like this since we’ve gotten closer.

“What happened?” He asks quietly, lifting his head with an uncertain look on his face.”You barely even looked at me.

“I..” I stumble over what to say, I’ve been thinking I could just explain what Eleanor had said and have it done with but now I know we’re not going to be able to just leave this. If somebody’s going to find out about our arrangement then something would have to change. “Ellie thinks there’s something going on with us and she kept staring all night. I just, I couldn’t give her anything to be suspicious about.”

“S’that what you mean about the jacket?” I nod, “What did she say?”

“Just that we seemed closer, talk more I guess.” I sigh, “She didn’t believe anything I said.”

“What did you say?” He presses. His tone is unclear, he seems less hurt now and more focussed on getting answers from me.

“I just, I told her nothing’s happened.” I mumble, “She asked about us leaving together and I told her it was just because we lived close and it’s easier than the tube.”

Harry bobs his head a little, taking in what I’ve just told him before laughing a little. He shakes his head and brings his palms up to his face, cursing under his breath. We stand in the quiet of my hallway before he speaks up again.

“Can we still do this?” That catches me off guard. Of course I knew we’d have to stop sometime when one of us started dating or a friend found out, I just hadn’t thought seriously about it happening anytime soon. “If she does find out, would that be the worst thing in the world?”

I shake my head, taking a step towards him to close the gap between us that’d been building my nerves throughout this whole exchange.

“I don’t wanna stop hanging out.” I confess. Harry quirks his lips up a little, obviously relieved as he pulls me to his chest. He wraps his arms around my shoulders and rests his chin on my head as we breathe together for a moment. All the while we’ve been spending nights at his, there’s been no serious moments like this. We’ve opened up about vulnerable subjects and confessed more than we probably should have to each other, but never anything like this. There’d never been a time I thought I could lose him.

“What if something did happen.” He whispers into my hair.

“Like what?” I murmur, voice a little muffled by his jacket.

“Like..” He trails off a little and I’m pretty sure I hear him inhale a little and smell my hair. “Like what if I kissed you..or something.”

“Or something?” My chest tightens, stomach fluttering suddenly.

“Mmhhhmm,” He hums, “What would happen then?”

“Eleanor would have a field day.”

Harry laughs, shoulders shaking a little as he giggles above me. He loosens his grip on my and pushes away to create a little space to see me again.

“Oh yeah?” He teases.

“Uh huh,” I smile, “She’d never let us forget it if she knew she was right.”

“And what would she be right about?” Harry lifts his hand to cup my face, tilting it slightly to make sure I’m staring right up at him.

“..Something..happening.” I whisper, “Having feelings for eachother.”

Harry grins, cheeks a soft rosy between the outside cold and the new blush. He strokes the pad of his thumb against my cheek and beams down at me.

“Oh yeah?”

“Uh huh…”

“Really..she’d be right about that?”

“I’m pretty sure-”

Before I can tease anymore, Harry’s leaning down to press his lips against mine. I inhale sharply, closing my eyes and looping my arms around the back of his neck to hold us in place. His hand still holds my face firmly, thumb fluttering over my cheek a couple times before he pulls away and we both breathe in deep.

“She’s definitely right.” He smiles, tone turning serious for a moment. “I really like you Olivia.”

Butterflies surge through my stomach for the millionth time since he walked through my door. Blushing and happy, I tighten my arms and push my face back into his shoulder.

“I like you too H….just a little bit.”

“We don’t have to tell anyone, just want this to be ours for a little while.” I can hear the smile in his voice as he leans back down to whisper into my ear.

“I want this to be ours forever.” I hum, words quiet and part of me hoping he doesn't hear my honest confession.

A comforting quiet settles over us. I remember how tired I really am as I melt further into Harry’s body, breathing in the sweet cinnamon and vanilla scent. His breathing lulls me half to sleep as I let my eyes flutter shut and bury my head further into his neck. I feel him lifting me up as my body relaxes against his and I catch his last few words before I he’s shifting me into his arms and walking us up the stairs.

“I could hold you ‘n listen to your voice all night long, love.”

. . . . .

“Oh my god!” Julia yells out, unravelling a long shawl from pristine white tissue paper. “Okay whoever got me, thank you so much!”

She continues to squeal a little as he wraps it over her shoulders and presses the end to her nose, inhaling the lavender scent of her favourite designer brand.

I’d only spent one Christmas with the whole group before but it was clear secret Santa was a bit of a tradition. Between the six of us we all had other friends, family and mostly, relationships. Organising a secret santa within our group just relieved some of the stress of present buying - and it was fun.

We’re all sitting around Harry’s living room, it felt the homiest to us after all. The kiddy advent calendar I bought for him hung by the fireplace reading December 21st. We’ve all finished our egg nogs, meaning it was officially present time. Over the next few days we’ll all be driving up and down the country to visit family, meaning today’s the last day most of us will be seeing each other. Harry had whined about me leaving, begging me to stay another day with him or better yet - spend christmas with his family up north.

It was when I told him my own parents were spending the holidays visiting my sister and her kids in New York that his campaign started. We kissed almost three months ago now and have been on a slew of dates since. Between all the secret dinners out, brunches and farmers market trips, we haven’t found time for the talk. We had no official title. I’ve heard Harry refer to me as “m’girl” a couple times when I’ve wandered into the kitchen and overheard him on the phone to mitch, but nothing he’s told me himself. Despite this, he still insists I have to come and spend christmas with him and his close family. The idea of me hanging out with my young cousins and distant relatives apparently doesn’t satisfy him.

“Are you serious!” Eleanor gasps as she unwraps her own present. Everyone had picked the perfect gifts for each other this year. In a pure coincidence, I ended up with Harry’s name after Nick made me trade because he’d already bought Julia’s present for her. I’ve been nervous about it all evening, I was sure he’d like it, a little too sure. That was the problem. One night, wrapped up in Harry’s bed, he’d recalled his latest tragedy to me: He’d taken shroom with Mitch on his last trip to LA and subsequently decided to skinny dip in the sea, losing his favourite mustard cords in the process. The only times we’ve seen everyone else has been with the both of us present and , to my knowledge, he hasn’t mentioned this to anyone else. The brown paper package that sat on the coffee table could invite a few more questions that I was prepared to answer.

“Harry, you’re next!” Ellie grinned, hugging her present to her chest.

Thanks to our early secrecy, there’s been no opportunity to tell our friends we were dating. Eleanor hasn’t stopped her constant questioning but we’ve kept up a pretty good front of excuses. It was still freezing out so it made sense for us both to climb into his car together at the end of the night. Nobody had to know we would be going home to the same house where we’d climb into the same heavenly bed and scramble eggs together in the morning.

“I’m going, I’m going!” Harry laughs as Ellie tries to hurry him up, playing perfectly into her role as the youngest in our group.

He pulls the first fold of paper back with his ringed fingers and immediately looks up at me as the mustard fabric shines up at him. He grins wide, beaming back at me before pulling the rest of the paper back and laying the trousers out in front of him.

“No babe...where did you find them?” He’s running his fingers down the cord, in awe to have his favorite trousers back - or at least a copy.

I don’t miss how Eleanor and Nick’s heads turn to share a look of shock as the pet name tumbles out. Before I can put anything together, Harry’s standing and leaning over the coffee table. He wraps his arms around my shoulders, pulling me into a hug and whispering his thanks in my ear.

“Wait I dont - how did you know it was h-” Julia pipes up, before she can finish she’s cut off by the joint gasps of Nick and Ellie as Harry plants a wet kiss to my cheek - then my lips, and laughs at our friends reaction.

“I knew it!” Ellie yells, pointing frantically between the two of us, Harry now having stepped over the table and come to sit next to me, pulling me into his side.

“What was-” Julia stammers, “Since when!”

Harry’s eyes flutter down to my face. He giggles quietly when he catches on to my glare. This wasn’t exactly how I’d imagined the evening going.

“Have you just been lying to my face for the past three months?” Ellie asks, crossing her arms over her chest and pouting her lips.

“Five,” Harry mumbles, almost just as an inside joke for the both of us to enjoy. I slap my hand against his shoulder to shut him up but the damage is already done.

“Five months!” Even Theo’s joining in now. “How didn’t we know?”

“It didn’t start out like this honestly, we would’ve told you.” I try and explain, eager for this to quiet down so we could get to the roast dinner waiting for us in the oven.

“How did it start?” Nick pokes, drawing Julia and Ellie’s attention as the same puzzled expressions adorn their faces.

“Unimportant,” Harry brushes off, standing up to tower over us all and reaching a hand back for my own. “We better get dinner, we wouldn't want burnt potatoes.”

Harry pulls on my arm gently, leading me out the room before anyone can object.

In the kitchen, he picks up a tea towel and starts to check on the food, prodding at the parsnips. I roll my eyes as he ties his lavender apron around his waist and tentatively pulls the potato tray from the oven.

“Harry..” I sigh, trying not to laugh as he turn to face me, spatula in hand.

“Yes dear?”

“What was that?”

“Oh - You’ve gotta shimmy a little spatula under the potatoes or they’ll break apart-”

“No, obviously not that,” He makes it so hard so stay stern, a giggle leaks out as he lifts a hand to rest on his hip. “Why did you do that?”

“I want them to know.” drops his utensils, tone sincere as he takes another step towards me. “I want our friends to know how much I love you already, and you remember about my mustard cords so..it felt like the perfect time.”

“What?” I stutter, looking up at him from where he’s pulled me into his chest. His hands rest on my waist, rings a little hold against my exposed skin.

“You remembered the trousers I lost last month in LA -”

“You love me?”

His eyes go a little wide, a smile peaking through as the sides of his mouth quirk upwards. Realising what he just said, he lifts a hand from my waist to rest it against my face and lean down a little.

“Of course I love you.” He whispers, his voice a little croaky and I can see tiny droplets gathering in his eyes that make my heart flutter.

“Love you too..” I mumble. I wipe a thumb over his cheek before pulling him down into a kiss. I feel his smile against my own, and everything’s perfect for just a second.

“So you’ll come to Christmas with me?”

. . . . .

Hiii I hate the ending :)

Tysm for reading !! pls leave a like or reblog (it rlly helps <3) if you enjoyed it x

#Harry styles writing #harry styles fanfic #stellarboystyles3years #“I could just hold you and listen to your voice all night long.”#dani's masterlist #dani's writing #fan fic #harry styles #nick grimshaw #reader #idk #what do u even put in tags #christmas vibes?#friends to lovers

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jemej3m · 4 years ago

Note

hi i love love love your writing! sorry if people have been asking this but ive been looking for a part three of your lawyer!andrew and neil is on trial for killing his father and I wasnt sure if I missed it or if you haven’t continued it. Just wondering thank you ❤️

well GUEsS WHAT MY FRIEND

its here!!!

(p1 / p2)

Andrew didn’t like to drag things out, but the prosecution did. They always did. It was their only joy in life, especially in appeals: tease every possible fraying strand of a case till they were three weeks into the trial and the jury was dead on their feet.

And yet, here he was, on the second day of his closing. He’d never made it to a second day: once he’d finished a closing in five minutes.

Neil had grown progressively more antsy over the three weeks, desperate for a resolution. Every time he was scanned into court, Andrew took his favourite key and slipped it into his pocket. Every time he left to be escorted back to his temporary holding cell in Baltimore’s central policing station, he gave it back for safekeeping. Andrew would hold it, the metal still warm to the touch, the teeth of the key worn with how many times Neil would run the tips of his fingers over it.

Professionalism, Betsy had warned him.

But damn it all to hell: Andrew was gone.

“Mr Minyard, if you would continue where we left off last night?” the judge drawled. Andrew could read people better than books: it wasn’t looking good. This was his last chance.

He stood up, shoved down the strange anger that had simmered beneath his skin every time the prosecution slid their pompous gazes over him, and closed his laptop. His briefcase. Put away his notes and hooked his thumbs into the pockets of his slacks.

“Your honour,” he said, with as much grace as his perpetually bored tone allowed. “This case is beyond that of my client. That much we can all agree upon.”

He waited for an answer.

The judge cocked her head. “Yes, Minyard.”

“It is a gruesome story of a luckless, loveless marriage, made for the sakes of alliances and blood money. Mary Wesninski paid that price with her life, when her husband took his favourite weapon - a cleaver - to her throat. My client was 17 when that happened. He was a minor. A child.”

He turned to the jury. “Over and over, I have rebutted the prosecution’s solitary and feeble argument that my client is Nathan Wesninski’s son. The very Nathan Wesninski who earned his name, the Butcher, through bloody campaigns and fearmongering. That Nathaniel Wesninski was destined to follow his father’s path and continue his legacy.”

“If it weren’t for his mother, perhaps he would have,” Andrew said, rocking back on his heels. “Without intervention, there’s no doubt that Nathaniel Wesninski would have been a carbon copy of his predecessor, and just as bloodthirsty. But that man -” he pointed at Neil. “That man is not Nathaniel Wesninski. Not in the way his father wanted him to be.”

“We’ve seen the pictures of my client’s torso. The bullet wounds and gruesome knifings that he earned whilst clawing desperately to free himself from his father’s iron grasp. Worse still: we’ve seen the proof of a tormented childhood, skin torn off by a hot iron, stitches from misplaced butter knives at the dinner table when Junior, seven years old, didn’t sit still enough. A crooked nose, broken three times before he managed to escape.”

He looked to the one woman who he knew would recognise this pain, this trauma.

“You should have no doubt in your minds that this man here, my client,” Andrew said, voice lowered down. “This man was simply fighting for his life. He was running from his worst nightmare, clawing desperately for freedom when all he’d known was pain, chains and despair. He fought against what his father wished for him, every step of the way. In self-defence, he rid the world a serial killer. A rapist. A man who had committed every atrocity known to humankind. If anything, we should be thanking him.”

The room had gone deathly quiet.

“Ask yourselves,” he said, taking a deep breath. “Is purging the world of a monster that monstrous of a thing to do?”

He turned back to the judge.

“My client has served his time. He’s done twice as long as he should have for manslaughter, which is the true nature of this crime. Repeatedly, my client has expressed his willingness to comply with parole measures and prove himself a functioning member of our society. If you have any humanity left within you,”

He looked over his shoulder at Neil. The man held his gaze, blue eyes so intense that Andrew nearly lost his train of thought.

“Any humanity at all,” he continued. The judge looked down at him, face blank. “You would grant his mother her dying wish, and finally let this injustice rest.”

He returned to his desk. “That’s all, your honour.”

It took her a few moments to clear her throat and call: “Court adjourned.”

Two policemen came and cuffed Neil’s hands behind his back. Andrew had done everything he could: it was out of his hands now. He mightn’t ever see Neil again, if by the afternoon the jury had decided Neil’s pleas were worthless and had him sent him right back to maximum security.

“Thank you,” the man said, just before he was turned away. “You were amazing.”

Andrew remained very still until the courtroom was empty.

Now all he could do was wait.

“The ‘dying wish’ thing was intense,” Matt commented around a mouthful of falafel. Dan flicked a crumb off his tie, looking at him with an irritated fondness. Both of them - Wymack too - had sat in for both days of his closing. Dan because she pretended she had any sense of authority over Andrew, Wymack because he was Andrew’s boss, and Matt because he was fatally friendly and had never missed a closing of any of his coworkers, even Andrew.

“The whole thing was intense,” Dan grumbled.

“I bet the sexual tension was off the charts,” Allison called out, kicked up her feet onto her desk as she ignored Renee’s unsubtle shushing.

Andrew ignored them all.

“We’re just waiting for the verdict?”

“We’ll be called in when the jury’s ready.”

“It’s been two days. They’ve dragged this on long enough.”

The phone on his desk started ringing. He shoved it against his ear and said “What.”

“Mr Minyard? This is Amy Johnston from the Post, I was just wondering if you wanted to comment on the outcome of your most recent case -”

He slammed the phone back down onto the receiver, jolting his coworkers out of their idle chatter. He was going to kill Nicky for letting the press through. His cousin was useless, and the press were even worse: there was no outcome. The jury had been silent for 2 days, and at this rate, it’d probably go into three.

Wymack texted him. I know you’re still at the office. Go home.

Andrew didn’t need to be told twice.

He careened his ludicrously expensive car into the driveway of his small home. Being a lawyer did have its perks, even if his fellows were curious busybodies and he got attached to impossible cases. He’d crack a better whisky tonight and herald in the news of him impending failure half drunk.

He was never taking a case like this again. Of course, there was no case quite like Nathaniel Wesninski’s, but the point still remained.

He unlocked his front door, stepped inside, and immediately stilled.

The heater was on.

His briefcase, blazer and tie came off, thrown haphazardly in the general direction of Andrew’s study. When he entered his kitchen, he skidded to a stop.

“Hi,” Neil said, skin far more bronze without the gaudy orange jumpsuit. Andrew just stared. The man ducked his head down, lacing his fingers behind his back. “I - uh, I got Wymack to call you in sick for the verdict. Wanted to surprise you.”

“You knew,” Andrew said. “You knew the outcome?”

“Of course,” Neil snorted. “Had to do something with the bloodmoney. Don’t worry, it was only two of them. The rest you had hooked.”

“I don’t know why I’m surprised,” Andrew said flatly. Neil’s grin flashed, but he was clearly way out of his depth here. Free and nervous about it. Here, because he thought that Andrew would be the only one that cared.

And he did. For the first time, he did.

The man gestured at his ankle. “18 months parole. It’s a bit heavy but I’ll get used to it with time, I guess.” He rubbed the back of his neck, curls bouncing. “Gotta find somewhere to live, I suppose. Figure out how normal life works. I’m applying for a name change: the first random name generator on Google gave me Josten, so that’s probably what I’ll go with.”

“You’re a disaster,” Andrew managed, fighting every urge not to reach out and comb his fingers through the man’s hair.

“What else is new?” Neil joked.

“You said you’d go to law school.”

His eyes widened slightly. “You’re holding me to that?”

Andrew shrugged. “It’s your life.”

“I suppose you’ll regret taking me on when I end up stealing your cases,” Neil teased, leaning a little closer.

Andrew reached up and tugged on Neil’s collar. “I don’t believe in regret. But I sure as hell will give you the challenge.”

Neil’s lips quirked up at the side, warping his scars and making Andrew’s chest ache.

“Stay,” Andrew said, softer than he intended.

And, now that he could choose to, Neil Josten, freshly minted and definitely real, whispered: “Okay.”

wow only months later did i finally figure out what i wanted from this

srry its so short!!

#andreil #lawyer!au #htgawwm au #kinda #part 3!!!!#out of 3 probably srry #:(((#unless someone inspires me ;;)#all for the game #aftg #neil josten #andrew minyard #the foxes #boppity boo heres content for you #pls bear with me i have like 4 wips all 15k plus but i cant stay on track with anything

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publickoccurances · 4 years ago

Text

Headcanon: Companions on a night out with Sole at The Third Rail (romanced and just friends).

Cait: Cait spends the night doing shot after shot, between each she’ll have a pint of whatever is on tap. Usually some musky beer that is no ones business to be drinking. But it’s cheap and gets you pissed so why the hell not! She acts as Sole’s wingman, trying to get her buddy laid any opportunity she gets. Hell she might even get herself some action. Though that opportunity goes straight out the window as she’s being escorted out by Ham and ten guys from the Neighbourhood Watch. All because she broke some guys hand after he grabbed her arse? Sole tries to sweet talk Ham into letting Cait back in but when that fails ‘Fuck it! Screw ya shitty boozer! Come on Sole, I know a party we can crash!’ And of course, this so called party will be in fact crashing into some random persons hotel room and inviting the rest of the guests in for a drink/drug fuelled night.

Cait (romanced): Now Cait sometimes misses the single life when her and Sole find their way inside The Third Rail of an evening. But all it takes is a few drinks and to find herself staring at that perky arse of theirs and she’s game for the night. She’ll spend the night having a good few drinks, laughing as Sole tries to keep up with her. She had always warned them that you should never try and keep up with an Irish. It never works. But she always stops them before they take it too far. Because how are they gonna have their fun in the alley at the end of the night if Sole can’t even stand up?

Codsworth: Ah yes, The Third Rail. Not Codsworth’s place of choice. Yes he’d much prefer they spend the evening at somewhere with... well somewhere a little bit cleaner perhaps? But Sir/Mum wish to spend the evening socialising in this... quaint?... bar. Then Codsworth would certainly try his best to be positive! Though, the comments from Whitechapel Charlie were not helping. Somehow being called as soft as buttered scone does somewhat dampen ones spirits.

Curie (for the sake of it Synths can get drunk): Curie was always up for experiencing different human social interactions. A very popular one seemed to be going to an establishment and consuming a beverage which was actually poison to the human body? So she shall try! It doesn’t take many drinks for the buzz of the alcohol to go to her head. And before anyone knew it she was prancing around the place befriending the many drifters that were dotted about. Even offering some free medical advise if she liked them well enough! Of course Sole had to keep a close eye on her. They would feel extremely guilty if anything were to happen to Curie while drunk. Though in the moment Curie didn’t quite understand why her friend was trying to stop her from dancing on top of the table?

Curie (romanced): It was a different story when Curie had her loved one to keep an eye on while in this rowdy establishment. She would stick to non-alcoholic beverages for the evening. She just wanted to make sure Sole was safe and well. Though it did make her giggle at how affectionate Sole would get after a few drinks. She couldn’t complain about the gentle kisses pressed to her cheek, nor the sweet nothings whispered in her ear. No, she was quite smitten on her tipsy lover. But no sex while under the influence of alcohol, she would stick to her guns with that. She was far too responsible.

Danse: The Paladin was not one for letting himself loosen up. Not even for an evening. So when his good friend drags him into The Third Rail he is none to impressed with the state of the place, nor the people in it. He sticks strictly to water for the evening. Keeps interaction with the patrons to a minimum. Though he can’t help but be ever so slightly mesmerised by Magnolia as she sings her set for the night. Now she was quality entertainment. And easy on the eyes. But despite the encouragement from Sole, he would stick to his seat and not approach her. But the thought would cross his mind more than once.

Danse (romanced): It would take many days of Sole pestering him before Danse would agree to a night out in The Third Rail. When there he is extremely defensive of Sole, shooting a look that could kill at any patron he thinks may be showing any kind of interest in his lover. Half way through the night it would become too hard for him to hide his jealously anymore. So he would take Sole firmly by the hand and march them back to wherever it is they have decided to spend the night. And Sole of course knew this was exactly how the night would end, that’s why they made a point of being a bit flirtatious with strangers. They loved how it would wind up Danse, and how it would result in their cheek pressed firmly against the mattress more than a few times for the remainder of the night.

Deacon: Deacon was no stranger to The Third Rail. Oh yes. He’d spent many a good night in this place. It was definitely a good thing that a few of the regular patrons were no longer able to recognise him. Though it didn’t stop him from trying to seduce them all over again. What? It was in his nature! Part of who he was! Or that’s what he was trying to tell the disgruntled ex-lover who actually did see past his disguise this time. He walks back over to Sole, stupid grin on his lips despite the fact he’d just been splashed with a glass of vodka. “Yeah. Maybe we should head somewhere with fewer people that have seen little Deacon.” He’d joke. However, maybe it would be best if they hit another joint for the night.

Deacon (romanced): Oh a night with Deacon would end up a blur. The amount of times he would suggest body shots was terrible. But the amount of times Sole agreed to do them was even worse. Eventually Ham would have to kick the two of them out for essentially being naked in the middle of the bar. Not that it bothered Deacon, because he swiped a bottle of whiskey on the way out and he intended on them drinking it, even if they did end up on the curb for the night.

Hancock: Of course the Mayor of Goodneighbour would know The Third Rail well. He and Whitechapel Charlie were good ‘mates’ at this point. Which meant free drinks for Hancock. Which meant free drinks for everyone because he was the mayor of this damn town! Fuelled by a mixture of drinks and chems Hancock would keep the party going until the sun rises. And by the time the sun did rise, he was far too gone to realise and so the party would carry on right into the next evening. It wouldn’t be until he finally passed out of exhaustion that the party would end. And god damm, where the hell did he leave his hat???

Hancock (romanced): Goodneigbour was his town. So as far as he was concerned, The Third Rail was Hancock’s fine establishment. And that meant it was Soles fine establishment. So when he ordered everyone to leave so he and Sole could have the dance floor to themselves for Magnolias set, that meant everybody would leave. And the couple would spend the night being surprisingly tender, dancing slowly to the music.

Macready: Macready had spent so much time in this damn bar he was over it. Every night out he had there Sole would be pulling him off some cocky Gunner who had come in running their mouth. Whitechapel Charlie wasn’t exactly a fan of the Gunners himself, so he never called Ham down to break up the fights. In fact he would sneak Macready a free drink for the entertainment. To which Macready would tilt his hat and let out an accomplished sign. Ah yes, what a life.

Macready (romanced): Macready is a bit more easy going when out drinking with his lover. Though sometimes when he looks at Sole (usually after a few glasses of whiskey) he’ll tear up ever so slightly. Though he would never say it, it’s because Sole has the same eyes as Lucy. Kind eyes. Eyes filled with hope. And damn did it make him emotional. But this moment of weakness never lasted long, he’d usually excuse himself for a cigarette when it gets too intense.

Nick (again for the sake of it Synths can get drunk): It had been a long time since Nick had allowed himself to have some fun. Work as a private eye was demanding. And god did he know it. He was still as mysterious as ever when he had a scotch in his hand. Swirling the liquid around the glass ever so slightly as his eyes scanned the room, hat tilted. Life was good right now, quiet. He liked it when things were quiet.

Nick (romanced): Now Ol’ Nicky wasn’t one for public displays of affection usually. But when the clock struck midnight and there were a few glasses of scotch in the system, how could he not admire his lover? Nick was smooth in the way he spoke to Sole, poetic almost. He liked to keep up his mysterious detective bravado even with his love. Though Sole saw straight through it. And when Sole stole his fedora at the end of the night, Nick just lets them. Hell, that’s love right there surely?

Piper: Piper loved The Third Rail. It was the easiest place to get people to talk for the paper. A few drinks made everyone loose lipped. Including herself. It took three or four vodkas mixed with Nuka Cola for Piper to be stumbling over her words as she tried to compliment Magnolia. God damn it, why couldn’t she just ask her if she wanted a drink?? Every single time she came in here she tried, and every single time she bottled it at the last minute. But all the embarrassment was forgotten when she’d look over and see her best buddy Blue challenging a local to a drinking competition. Well she had to watch this. ‘I’m gonna put twenty caps on the other guy!’ She’d shout as she walked over. ‘Sorry Blue... but look at the size of him. I reckon he can handle his liquor better than you’.

Piper (romanced): Piper really was one for letting herself go all out when on a night out with her Blue. She knew she didn’t have to worry. Blue would keep her safe, and she’d make sure they were safe. And god she just loved the way they looked as they danced to the music playing. Damn it they just looked so good in that dumb vault suit. She’d of course join her lover in the dancing. And drunken dancing always resulted in drunken kissing, which always resulted in drunken touching, which always resulted in them stumbling back into their hotel room for the night. She loved the way her back would hit the mattress as Blue would kiss all over her. It was the best way to end the night for sure.

Preston: Preston was more of a sophisticated drinker. Being a Minuteman was a 24/7 job. Despite whether he wanted to or not, he knew very well that he couldn’t get wasted every time Sole convinced him to accompany them at The Third Rail. He’d always limit himself to a glass of wine, keeping an eye on his friend. Preston would always make sure to wonder up the stairs every half hour and check in with Ham to make sure no flares had been set off in close proximity. To which Ham would always reply ‘we’re in Goodneighbour pal, you really think these folks are gonna be asking for help from you lot?’

Preston (romanced): God damn a drunken Sole would stress Preston out. He found himself repeating ‘drink water for the love of all that is holy’ at least five times an hour. But despite how fed he sounded, he actually quite enjoyed looking after his drunken lover. After all, it made him feel rather manly when he’d have to carry Sole to bed at the end of the night. And he always knew he could have his fun when the hangover would hit Sole the next morning, he thoroughly enjoyed teasing his hungover lover.

#fallout #gaming #piper wright #bethesda #fallout 4 #fanfic #paladin danse #Macready #hancock #curie fallout 4 #thethirdrail #fallout companions #fallout companions react #companions react #fallout headcanons

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rotzaprachim · 4 years ago

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For the 3-sentence: I'd love to see Nile and another member of the Old Guard discussing some form of pop culture. (Unrelated but I feel like Joe would go really hard for Star Wars while simultaneously calling all other sci-fi nerdy and bad.)

thank you so much for this prompt! doesn’t have too much.. discussion as i always seem to lean more toward exposition i guess! (AND yes i agree strongly about Joe and star wars. he has Strong Opinions about every star wars film!) hope you enjoy

essential listening (768 words, G, AO3 here)

(And a link to every single song/artist mentioned on spotify here- it’s 1hr 46 minutes instead of 9 but u can just look through)

Joe wanted to do a cassette, but Nile talked him into a Spotify playlist, and by the time they’ve compiled the bare essentials in the last three hundred years of music, shuffled into a vaguely chronological order, the playlist stretches into the six hour mark. Wild how what was once pop culture can become, if canonised, a classic worthy of academic attention, Nile thinks as she slots in Frank Ocean after Fairuz and Fabrizio De André, wonders how the music of her own time will go down the years- although there’s long been a power attached, even in the long term, to whiteness, maleness. Put a white face on the record cover and that’s the version that hits the top one-hundred. It’s the original version of Universal Soldier by Buffy Sainte-Marie Nile adds to the list, rather than the one most people seem to know, the cover by Donovan. Odetta’s God’s Gonna Cut You Down over Cash’s.

Joe has his own opinions, additions, Souad Massi and Donna Summer and Bruce Springsteen and the Star Wars opening theme which, Nile argues back, is pointless without the context of Star Wars itself, which when they’ve tried to explain it to Quỳnh has caused more confusion than the actual moon landings or satellite TV. But how much music exists without the context of its time? Nile flicks through the list. Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the lord. It ain’t me, it ain’t me, I aint no senator’s son. Una mattina, mi son svegliato, e ho trovato l’invasor. We shall overcome. Go tell the rambler, the gambler, the backbiter, tell ‘em the almighty’s gonna cut ‘em down.

Nile looks to where Quỳnh’s wiping down her set of 11th century Damascene watered steel knives with nail polish remover while she dedicatedly watches the tv, eyes swallowing news, history, turns of phrase and culture. It feels presumptuous and strange, in a way, to be doing this, three hundred years to a woman who’s seen five thousand, has known and forgotten more ballads and lullabies and folk songs than Spotify has on its server. Music is language is context, and how could she, even Joe and Nicky, ever even vaguely understand the worlds that wrote those songs? Quỳnh, like Andy, came millenia before "quel Nazzareno," before "the man from Galilee," although Nile’s never asked either of them about it, not sure if she really wants the answers.

“Calice, Chico Buarque and Milton Nascimento.” Nicky says when he returns, and she adds it, a song with context if there ever was one. “Cancion por el Fusil y la Flor. Mercedes Sosa.” He hands her breakfast, a salteña and a cup of hot, sweet coffee, and organises away his other findings with a military efficiency: medical gauze, unmarked magazines, a fresh pair of cheap-ass plastic sunglasses for Joe. Nicky calls out other suggestions. Má vlast. Sinnerman. Arturo Márquez - Danzón No. 2. Goran Bregović. They never take any songs off the playlist, only add others on. Seven hours, eight. “Essential” means something different to everyone on earth. “Exactly how much Sanremo did Joe suggest be put on there? Oh, and add the Star Trek theme.”

Andy returns from scouting while Joe’s replacing the lisence plate on the car. Nile downloads the whole thing onto a freshly air-gapped phone. She needs to stop ribbing on Joe’s old-man cassette-and-tape-deck ways, or Nicky’s even-older-man preference for vinyls- at least those don’t come with the threat of a digital footprint, the chance of being caught over some road trip jams. Joe packs everything into the trunk of the car while Nile checks the route and writes down the key highways and intersections onto a napkin. Maybe it’s a universal in all families, even immortal ones, that the youngest person gets to be the navigator when digital maps are involved. She gets to ride shotgun, at least, climb in in front next to Nicky. He’s absentmindedly tapping out a melody on the steering wheel. She doesn’t recognise it.

“My education begins,” Quỳnh says from the back. She always has a glint of humour in her eyes, a joke- Nile can never quite tell when she’s being sardonic or serious. Nicky pulls away from the curb. Nile queues up the playlist. Hadyn’s Cello Concerto in C. And then the Star Wars Cantina Band song. Maybe she didn’t do quite as good a job at organising things as she thought she did. Nine hours, final cut- long enough to make it over the border to Peru, at least, allowing for some pauses for periodic arguing over directions, getting lost, and roadside snacking.

“Yeah.” Nile presses play. “Let’s get started.”

#the old guard fic #the old guard #nile freeman #my writings #this ended up being---way more than three sentences.... but yeah prompt me if you have anything!#this leans into the genres i vaguely know something about and is very american. apologies #anyway i could make a playlist of everything mentioned here?#thinking about that scene in c@ptain @merica with star wars/trek marvin gaye thai food

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artificialqueens · 4 years ago

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A New Kind Of Freedom (Branjie) - Enescudoh

A/N - first ever fic so all crits and comments gratefully received! Thank you to Mia Ugly for a wonderful email telling a complete novice how to do this part. I’ve left this open ended - haven’t decided if I’ll come back to it or not yet.

Fic summary: A little ways down the road, some things have changed, others have stayed exactly as they are. Brooke and Vanjie can only avoid each other for so long before tequila combined with what should have been a great idea from a French drag queen make them question how much they’ve really left things behind them.

Non-AU, but canon-divergent in that Brooke never moved out of Nashville to LA.

‘Another round of tequila for my best bitches!’

The dancers that have taken over this West Hollywood bar cheer as Brooke seems only to want to get them drunker, perhaps to disguise how drunk she’s getting.

‘Think you want to take it easy for the night? Maybe have some water?’ Nicky asks, as she tries to clamber onto a table. Six foot three before her heels were on – that’s going to be a long way down if she falls. Nicky goes up to steady her and instead Brooke raises her hand like she’s a boxing champion.

‘Everyone give it up for Nicky! She’s the fucking best. Nicky, you’re the fucking best, you know that?’ Brooke takes her French co-star’s face in her hands and pecks her on the lips. She laughs it off, enjoying the moment, before helping them both off the table.

‘Nicky’, Brooke says, when their feet are back firmly on the floor, ‘we have just done a motherfucking global tour.’ She slams her arms on the table with every word. ‘We have just finished a motherfucking week long run in fucking Los Angeles. When, tell me, is a better time to get so drunk you forget your own name, than right motherfucking now?’

‘And that’s the only reason?’

There’s something about the way Nicky asks her that makes Brooke temporarily lose a single layer of the alcohol shield she was using to protect her emotions.

‘I hoped he might have come to a show. Or just, like, said hi. While I was here. Cos, I mean, he knew I’d be here. But he didn’t, and the show’s done now, and as far as he knows that’s me out of town and… it sucks that he didn’t even want to say hi. It’s like, a tiny bit that. But mostly just the celebrating our motherfucking show part.’ Brooke sees Nicky look at her with pity and immediately starts up again acting the type of drunk she wants to be tonight, as if that will speed up it arriving in real life.

‘I’m fine! Honestly – I’m so happy right now. Come on – tonight’s for dancing, not for talking, let’s get back out there, mademoiselle!’

Truly, that’s all Brooke wants. To get so euphorically drunk she forgets her own name, and to kill these night time hours in Los Angeles before this place that was so thick with memories makes her do something stupid. To deny that part of her that wishes she’d seen him while she was here, until she can get back to real life, where she could get him out of her head by telling herself there was, at least, no good excuse to be prompted to think about him. Most of the time.

—

‘C’mon Nicky, let me stay for one more round, I’ll buy everyone another round!’

‘Brooke, you can barely stand up. I’m getting you an uber, you’re going home where there’s a bed. You know, a place for sleeping that’s not a leather couch in a bar?’ Nicky was hardly stone cold sober, which made it challenging to scroll back through their conversation, trying to find the address of Brooke’s AirBnB. She’d taken her stuff there this morning after they’d checked out of the hotel the tour was putting them up in, using the next week for meetings she could usefully do while in town. It had made so much sense in the daylight. Now Nicky curses that she doesn’t know where to actually book her Uber to.

She finally loses patience trying as Brooke appears to have passed out on her shoulder. Nicky takes her phone from her pocket and holds it to her face to open it. Luckily it’s used to recognising her in drag. She opens the app – and right there is a saved address of an apartment nearby. Nicky makes a mental note to rip Brooke a new one for how stupidly organised she is, before booking a car, just about managing to manhandle Brooke into it, and going back into the bar for another round of shots. Just because Brooke was out of it, doesn’t mean her night has to end.

—

The buzzer drags Jose out of bed, rubbing his eyes and his spiked up bed-hair. He checks his phone. 3:15am. Serves him right for thinking he might actually get some sleep one night this week. The buzzer carries on sounding as if someone was leaning on it.

‘Jeez, I’m coming already Mary’, he grumbles. ‘What is it?’ He asks into the intercom.

‘This is Ali, uber driver – ‘

‘Child, ain’t no one here ordering no uber at three o’clock in the god damn morning.’

‘There is woman in my car, this is her address to take her to, but I cannot wake her up, she asleep in my car.’

‘Silky I swear to god if this is your idea of a prank – ‘

‘Please take sleeping woman from my car, thank you sir.’

Jose is rapidly starting to think this is the strangest dream he’s ever had but he plays along, puts his door on the latch and goes downstairs to investigate.

And sure enough, passed out on the back seat of a Prius, snoring like the moose he knows, is Brooke Lynn Hytes.

Jose sighs. There isn’t enough good karma in the world to pay him back for not even entertaining the idea of getting a video of this. He hands Ali a tip and begins to gently coax his ex-boyfriend out of the car.

—

After Jose has helped a barely sentient Brock into his building’s elevator, out of drag and make-up, and onto his sofa, under a pile of blankets of varying thicknesses and softnesses (because he knows that when Brock’s drunk he’ll switch randomly between freezing cold and boiling hot in the middle of the night), sleep doesn’t exactly come back easily. For one thing Brock’s snoring can traverse walls. But he’s also trying to piece together what’s happened. He knew Brock was in LA. He’s been running different routes every day for the last fortnight just to avoid the posters. Did Brock want to come and see him, try and build up some Dutch courage and take it too far?

‘Get out of your head, child’, he whispers to himself. ‘He don’t think about you like that no more, you know that.’

He tosses and turns and before he knows it, it’s light outside.

—

Brock wakes early, turning and stretching. He needed more sleep but knows he only wakes up feeling this uncomfortable when he’s tried to cram his tall frame onto a sofa for the night. He curses – was he really so out of it he didn’t even make it to the bedroom of his own AirBnb last night? As he prises his eyes open, and casts the two blankets off his body to join the several already on the floor, he realises this isn’t the same place he came to bring his suitcases yesterday. Is it? It feels strangely familiar.

Before he can work out where he knows the apartment from, or why he’s there, the smell of strong coffee hits his sinuses, and the whirring of a Nespresso machine sounds up. He groans.

‘Mornin’, sleeping beauty’, calls a familiar voice from the kitchen. And suddenly how he knows this apartment falls into place.

Brock stands up and steadies himself on the sofa before walking through to where the voice came from.

‘Hey stranger.’

Jose turns around and smiles at him. Usually something that bright would shatter him into pieces on a hangover like this. But when it’s Jose’s smile, whatever he’s feeling, it only makes it better.

‘Coffee?’

‘Like you even have to ask.’ Brock sits – carefully – on a high stool and sinks his head into his hands, taking it out only when the steaming mug is put down in front of him. He examines it as he drinks.

‘You still have this tacky tourist mug from Chicago?’

Jose freezes at the counter. He won’t let Brock see the warmth that washes over him with memories of that trip.

‘Uh, yeah, I guess I do. I can get you another one if –‘

‘No, it’s nice. It’s nice that you have it.’

Brock meets Jose’s eyes as he says it, much as he’d rather look away.

‘Your tour finished last night then?’

‘Yeah, uh-huh.’ Brock desperately tries to think of something to say to stop what he knows is about to come out of his mouth. ‘I hoped you might come see me while I was here.’

‘I hoped you mighta asked me to.’

Brock swallows as he’s caught off guard by Jose’s honesty.

‘So I don’t remember running into you last night, where –‘

‘You wanna tell me how you ended up here?’

They start talking at the same time and trail off, when Brock’s phone starts vibrating.

‘This ought to give us some idea,’ he says as he answers it. ‘Hey Nicky.’

‘Ah! She lives!’ Jose busies himself in the kitchen, trying not to overhear anything. He doesn’t want to know, really. It doesn’t matter. It didn’t mean anything that Brock showed up here last night, just as he was beginning to… no, not beginning to anything. No beginnings. Everything ended a long time ago. He couldn’t afford to think otherwise.

Anyway, there’s nothing to overhear, as Nicky is regaling Brock with everything that happened after she’d gone home.

‘Honestly, it’s a miracle I managed to get you into that uber when I did –‘

‘Wait, you put me in an uber?’

‘Yes honey – a stroke of genius, I might add.’

‘How did you find… um, where to send it?’

‘It was your nearest saved address – thank me over brunch, bitch, you still good to meet in that café in an hour?’

Brock’s been pacing around the living room. He leans through to check Jose is out of earshot before replying, ‘I think today’s more of a duvet day hangover than a brunch hangover. Sorry my love, I’m gonna have to raincheck this one.’

‘Ugh, fine. I guess I’ll just go flirt with the cute waiters by myself. Bye, bitch.’

‘Well, that’s that mystery solved’, Brock says as he re-enters the kitchen. It seems almost too simple. Too… prosaic. Like it should have been fate, or destiny, or some grand force beyond his control that brought him to Jose’s door, and instead it was a French drag queen with a bad memory after a few drinks.

Jose laughs to himself, and to the floor, as Brock explains. ‘You ain’t changed this address out in three years? How many times you been to LA since then?’

‘Honestly, not that many. And I’m just going to meetings, back and forth, and I don’t stay in the same places…’

‘Alright, Miss Thing, we get it, you in demand.’ He starts to relax. He was worried that Brock showing up meant something, something too big for him to be able to protect himself from. He just has to get through the morning, maybe only another hour, and then Brock can waltz back out of his apartment just as quickly as he showed up in it. Not waltz. Crash, or tiptoe. Brock doesn’t really have any mode between those two extremes.

‘So, uh, I guess you remember where the shower is, and then, as long as you actually know which apartment it is you’re going to this time, we all good here…’

Jose can hardly bring himself to look at Brock as he potters around looking for a towel, but he knows Brock’s eyes are following him all around the room. Can’t he at least pretend it’s as difficult for him to see Jose as it is for Jose to see him?

‘I don’t know, since I’m here…’

‘Since you here what?’

‘I’m just saying, it’s been ages. I hardly talk to you any more. It’d be nice to reconnect with my friend. You got plans today?’

Jose feels his feet become rooted to the spot. It’s so tempting – to spend the day with Brock, patching up the hole he’s felt over the last couple of years without the Canadian in his life. Maybe he’s wrong – maybe it is better to have him as a friend, to have some of him, than to have to completely cut himself off from this force of nature, this beautiful, magnetic person. To think of himself as lucky that someone like that wants to spend time with him, wants to be his friend, rather than dwell on all the things Brock doesn’t want with him. He sighs.

‘Sure. I mean, nah, no plans. Sure, we can hang out.’

‘Yeah? That’s awesome!’ Brock is starting to feel human again – he can tell by the way his speaking voice is slowly crawling out of the bass register.

—

As Brock turns the shower off, he hears a voice on the other side of the wall. He allows himself a smile to think that even when Jose was trying to be quiet (as he could tell he was now), his voice still carried across rooms.

‘I’m real sorry, I know it’s shitty, it’s just this once, I promise – I just… I got an old friend show up in town. I’ll try see you some time this week, ‘kay? OK. OK… OK. Bye.’

Brock doesn’t realise he’s been holding his breath until he lets it out. He counts to five in his head before he unlocks the door, one towel around his waist, another tousling his blonde curls.

‘Hey – give me 15 minutes then I’ll be ready to head out. OK?’

Jose looks up at him. He tries so hard not to flinch as he does. It’s just muscle memory, he tells himself, brain pathways and stuff, that once they’re there, don’t go away. That’s the only reason looking at Brock’s body makes him feel like this, because he did in past, not because he does now. Anyway - he’s made a decision, the least he could do is see it through. ‘Sure.’

—

It’s remarkable how quickly they slip back into each others’ company. They hardly notice that they’re going to their old haunts, stop to get in their heads about if that means anything – they just know the places they enjoy, how they spent so many days happy and relaxed in this neighbourhood. How they don’t even think about how much hard work it is, trying to keep each other out, versus how natural they feel.

‘So how’s Nashville been treating you?’, Jose asks over an iced coffee.

‘It’s been good actually!’ Jose suppresses a snicker, but doesn’t do so well to keep himself from raising an eyebrow halfway up his forehead. Brock seeing Nashville as a means to an end that he wished he could leave had been a common theme of conversation between them.

‘I’m serious! I mean, my lease came up and I actually got really close to moving out here, but then… some stuff changed. I realised there was a side to Nashville I hadn’t got to see much of yet, so I figured I’d sign on for one more year.’

‘Sides like… what, everybody be discovering their local parks for the first time in quarantine, shit like that?’

Brock looks up from the table. ‘I met someone. It didn’t work out, we’re not still…’ He’s careful not to trip over his tongue as he gets that out. ‘But it was nice. Having a relationship while we both literally couldn’t go anywhere, you know, it helped to turn the everyday into a bit of an adventure. For a little while.’

‘So lemme get this straight. You actually willingly had a relationship with another person, in the same city as you, no breaks, no passes, no long distance shit, for…’

‘Uh, five months.’

‘For five months, without losing your god damn mind over it?’

Jose is chuckling, he’s taking it better than Brock had ever imagined he would, whenever he’d pictured Jose finding out about it. Part of the reason it had ended with Max after five months was precisely because he found himself wondering how Jose would react to everything he was doing, and somehow picturing doing all of the coupley things he’d previously never entertained with Jose tended to make him happier than actually doing them with Max. He wasn’t an expert in relationships, but he didn’t think that was how it was supposed to go.

“What about all that shit about “freedom”, about that being the most important thing to you in the world?”

Brock pauses. He’s been having enough trouble articulating it to himself.

“Say what you want about a pandemic. But it’s pretty good for making you… re-evaluate… what it actually is freedom means to you. When a lot of it gets taken away, I mean. Freedoms you never thought you’d have to live without. Suddenly, you can’t travel, you can’t perform to crowds, you can’t go to bars, you can’t hug your family… maybe, it starts to make you think that those are the freedoms that matter to you… and that in the scheme of things… freedom to flirt or to have sex, I mean, to involve other people in your freedom, and wish for it not to be personal… I don’t know, maybe that’s not the kind of freedom I found myself craving all that much on the other side of this. And maybe having one person who cares about you enough to look out for you, whose emotions move in sync with yours… maybe that’s a kind of freedom too.”

There’s a pause. Most people would misinterpret the face that Jose’s making as him trying to understand what Brock’s just said. But he knows better. He’s seen that face before. That’s the face of Jose’s heart breaking.

Brock wishes he could take back the words. He knew they’d sting, that’s why he hadn’t talked to Jose the minute he’d had that realisation. How could he have just shown up, years later, as if now he was finally ready for everything Jose wanted, as if nothing would have changed for Jose in the meantime? So when Jose finally opens his mouth to ask him that, says softly ‘how many months were you gonna sit on that before you said anything to me?’, Brock answers honestly.

‘I figured you’d given me too many chances already.’

#rpdr fanfiction #brooke lynn hytes #vanessa vanjie mateo #branjie #canon compliant #angst #slow burn #enescudoh #concrit welcome

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cryhardanddanceharder · 4 years ago

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Happy holidays Abby @moonlightandromache I’m your andromaquynh secret santa and this next one shot is my gift for you. I tried mixing what i know you like, soulmate and mermaid combo. I hope you like it ♥

Also, thank you @lilolilyr for being my beta in this and helping me with my english ☺ And thank you @thirst-teenth for organizing this!

_____

An ocean between our love (it won’t keep us apart)

All mermaids, mermen and tritons are immortal and have a soulmate.

Yes, mer folks are not just a myth, they are real. Quynh knows this because she is a mermaid.

Since she was little she had been hearing stories about soulmates. How you would feel your soulmate’s injuries like they were your own and how you would dream of each other.

She started dreaming of her soulmate when she was fourteen years old.

But, the thing about her soulmate it’s that she’s different. She is a human, a mortal. Because of this, many of the other mers often made fun of her. How would it be possible for a human and a mermaid to be together?

“How does it feel to know your soulmate?” She asks her friends.

“It’s the best thing that can happen to you” Nicky tells her honestly.

“There’s no one who could understand you or love you more, you just connect” Joe says, looking at Nicky with heart eyes.

“Look at us” Nicky says proudly. “We came for families who hated each other, and still our love prevailed” He explains.

She doesn’t need the explanation though, she had heard the story too many times. They are lucky, they’ve been together since forever. Just like Nile, Dizzy and Jay.

All her friends had met their soulmate already and that kinda hurts. She knows it’s probably impossible for her to ever meet her own soulmate. She likes dreaming about her, but feeling her injuries not so much, because it worries her. Her soulmate is a warrior, so she always has something in her body that it’s hurting. And she could use a lot of words to describe her, like beautiful, brave and kind. And also loyal, smart and strong.

“You know there’s the story of this merman who had a human soulmate just like you?” Nile asks her, bringing her attention back to the present.

“Yes, I think I heard about him, but I thought it was just a legend” She answers thoughtfully.

“Well Jay knows him, I can take you to meet him so you can talk and share your feelings” Nile suggests.

“That would be great” She accepts.

No one had ever told her that Booker’s story was real. So, she’s excited that she is going to meet him. Maybe he could tell her how to find her soulmate. Her family never helped her with that topic, not since she told them that her soulmate is a human. It’s like most mers think that she must be cursed or something similar, because isn’t a mermaid like them.

Booker it’s bitter and he is drunk. But he let’s her speak and he tells her stories about Lykon, his soulmate.

“So you never met him?” She asks, feeling heartbroken.

“No, he died many years ago” Booker answers sadly.

“But, you only have one soulmate in your life” She expresses her agony.

“I know” He nods.

“How do you keep living without it?” She asks, her voice breaking.

“I’m not sure I do” He says, using his cup to toast for him.

After that conversation, Quynh is left feeling entirely wrecked. How is she supposed to live her immortal life knowing her soulmate is going to die someday?

She tries to hang on to the dreams of her soulmate, to pay attention to where she is so she can look for her. But she’s always on land and there’s never a beach near her.

And then, the day she has been fearing comes. Her soulmate dies. She’s been betrayed by her own people and they killed her with spears in battle.

“Are you okay?” Joe asks her, very worried because she has been in agony, shouting and sobbing for long minutes.

“My soulmate, she died” She answers with tears in her eyes, unable to say anything else.

She starts feeling the heartbreak of reality hit her as the worst pain she ever felt in her life.

She’s devastated and suddenly breaks down crying in full force.

Joe hugs her and holds her in his arms until she falls asleep.

But, something she hasn’t been expecting happens. Her soulmate comes back to life. Her injuries are gone and there’s no more pain. At first she thinks she might be imagining it, but then she dreams about her again. And she is alright, she is alive and she is as strong as ever.

After that, Quynh dares to hope again. If her soulmate is immortal, then maybe they can finally meet someday. And now the injuries are temporary. She only feels pain for a short time. Still, feeling her die is the most painful thing she has ever felt... and her soulmate dies a lot of times.

Quynh starts traveling all the oceans, trying to find her. Joe, Nicky, Nile, Dizzy, Jay and Booker decide to go with her, to help her in her search.

But years and years keep passing by, and they still never find her soulmate.

All she learns in her search is that her soulmate's name is Andromache and she is the best human warrior that has ever existed. Even mer folks start telling stories about her at some point, because they like telling human stories. All the stories about Andromache are about her battles, about how she’s special because of her immortality, how she’s always fighting for what she thinks it’s right and trying to help people.

She wonders if her soulmate dreams of her too, if she ever thinks of her and if she ever tries looking for her.

But hundreds of years keep passing and they never meet each other. All Quynh feels is emptiness and loneliness. Yes, her soulmate is alive and is immortal, but she’s still human and they don’t have any chance of being together. And that hurts.

She starts feeling that her family is right. To have a human soulmate it’s a curse.

So, she decides to give up. She stops the search.

And then, suddenly, another unexpected thing happens that changes everything once again. Her soulmate is drowning. And not just for once, it’s constantly. Quynh is in permanent agony for her. Feeling her dying all the time is exhausting. How is it possible? And then, she dreams of her again and she finally understands. Andromache is trapped in an iron coffin at the bottom of the ocean. How the hell did that happen?

“Quynh, we heard the stories about Andromache” Nicky informs her.

“What stories?” She requests to know.

“The new ones” Nicky answers.

“How can there be new stories when she’s constantly drowning?” She asks, confused.

“Because they are about that” Joe replies. “Apparently she was in England, saving women from witch hunts. Finally the people from church trapped her and sentenced her to die, so they hanged her.” He explains calmly.

“Because she couldn’t die, they took it as proof of her being a witch” Nicky intervenes, feeling that it’s an important fact.

“Yes” Joe agrees with him. “So, they locked her in an iron coffin and threw her to the sea” He ends the tale.

“I need to find her. She’s drowning and suffering constantly, I can’t take it” She expresses her feelings, she always feels safe doing so with them.

“We should start with the North Sea, the Celtic Sea and the Atlantic Ocean; those are the ones that surround England” Nicky suggests.

So, that’s what they do. They travel those seas, looking for her.

It takes them almost one hundred years, but they finally do. They find the iron coffin in a part of the Norway Sea and all she can feel is relief. They prey open the coffin and, finally, Andromache is free and right in front of Quynh.

When she comes alive she looks scared and ready to fight. She starts hitting them until she drowns again.

Quynh grabs her and takes her to the superface. In the time it takes her to get her to superface, Andromache drowns three more times. But those times she doesn’t fight her. It is as she recognises Quynh, her presence helping her to relax even when she dies again.

“Hey” She greets her, once their faces are above the ocean and the other has revived.

“You’re the mermaid of my dreams” Andromache says, looking at her with an astonished expression.

“I am” She agrees. “My name is Quynh” She introduces herself.

“I thought mermaids were a myth” Andromache says, still staring at her, like she can’t believe she’s real.

“I thought immortal humans were a myth, too” She bites back and Andromache laughs. Damm, her laugh sounds so beautiful.

“Touche” Andromache accepts. “I’m Andromache the Scythian” She finally introduces herself.

“I know” Quynh nods with a knowing smile.

Andromache suddenly starts coughing and spitting salt water from her mouth, and that scares her. Quyn realises in that moment that she should have tried giving her mouth to mouth breathing like she heard in some tales about humans, instead of letting her die.

“I should have given you mouth-to-mouth breathing” She says, thinking out loud.

“What?” Andromache asks, confused.

“While I brought you to the superface, I should have given you mouth-to-mouth instead of letting you drown” She explains, in an apologizing way.

“Don’t worry about it” Andromache dismisses it, like it is not a big deal. “Don’t feel bad, it was just what? Three more deaths? You did save after all” She expresses her opinion.

It seems like her humor is a little dark and Quynh finds it endearing.

Andromache coughs again. She probably needs clean water and food after spending so many years without having anything.

“Come on, you must be exhausted, I’ll take you to shore” She proposes.

So Andromache climbs on her back and Quynh starts to swims. Quynh does it carefully, making sure to never dive deep so Andromache can keep breathing. It’s a hard and tiring task, it takes her a long time of the day, but the effort it’s worth it if it means her soulmate is safe. She takes her to the nearest desert beach. She leaves her on the shore, and then gets ready to go back to the depth of the ocean.

“Wait, please wait” Andromache calls her, when she realizes the other is starting to move away.

“What?” Quynh asks.

“Can I see you again?” Andromache requests.

“Why?” She asks, surprised about the request.

“Well, we dream about each other. I think that must mean something” Andromache tries to explain her point of view. “Don’t you want to figure it out?” She asks.

“Are you sure you want to see me again? Aren’t you scared of mermaids? l thought humans tell stories about us hypnotizing people with our singing and drowning them” She says, a little unsure about the situation.

“That’s sirens, not mermaids” Andromache corrects her. “What about you? Aren’t you scared of me? I’m the eternal warrior. There was a time I even was worshiped as god, you know?” She questions, in some kind of teasing way.

“No, I’m not scared” She denies.

“Then prove it” Andromache challenges her.

“Fine, we can try” She accepts.

So they try…

Andromache builds herself a house on the beach. They see each other on every sunrise and every sunset. The rest of the day they continue with their normal lives.

Quynh hadn’t thought it was possible to love Andromache more than she already did… But she starts realising she was very wrong. Spending time with Andromache is the best thing that has ever happened to her and she starts falling deeply in love with her, certain that she would love her even if they hadn’t been soulmates. She loves her with every fiber of her being, in every possible way.

Every moment they spend together is magical.

Like when Andromache teached her arching.

“What is this?” She asks, looking at the objects the other is holding in her hands with wonder. She knows them, she has seen humans using them before, but she doesn’t remember their names.

“Bows and arrows, I'm going to teach you archery” Andromache answers her.

“You are?” She asks, surprised.

“Well you said you didn’t find sword fighting that much fun, so i thought maybe you would like to try something new” Andromache explains her idea.

“How am I supposed to do this when I can’t stand up like you?” She requests to know, still unsure about the idea.

“You do it sitting down” Andromache says with confidence.

Andromache spends all morning teaching her, until she can hit a target. She has to admit it was really fun. And some days, after practicing a lot, she learns to love it.

Another magical but unexpected moment, it’s when Andromache asks her to cut her hair.

“Are you sure?” Quynh asks, picking up the scissors nervously.

“I am” Andromache nods.

“Why do you want to cut it?” She needs to know, because she doesn’t want to do something the other may regret later.

“I’m tired of it, it’s so heavy and impractical. I want a change” Andromache expresses the reason for her choice.

“Fine” She finally agrees. “But if you don’t like it, I won't take complains” She warns.

Quynh cuts her hair in the way the other has requests. When she finishes she’s astounded by how the hairstyle looks on the other. She’s so breathtakingly beautiful. She encourages herself and plays with it a little.

Another wonderful moment is their first kiss.

“I have a gift for you” Andromache tells her, with a smile on her face.

“What? Why?” Quynh asks, confused.

“Because you said that today it’s your birthday” Andromache reminds her.

“Ohhh…” She has forgotten humans have the habit of giving each other presents for birthdays, when for mer folks the habit was the other way around.

“Close your eyes” Andromache requests. “Do you trust me?” She asks, after they spend a long minute staring at each other.

“Yes” She nods.

“Then close your eyes” She repeats.

Quynh closes her eyes and waits for her present. Suddenly she can feel Andromache very near, invading her personal space. She takes a moment caressing her shoulders, her neck and her cheeks. And then, she is kissing her.

Kissing Andromache is incredibly magnificent. It’s as if their lips were made just to be kissed by each other. It’s like they already know their moves, their tastes and what they like. It’s like breathing air for the first time.

Another splendid moment is when she calls her “Andy” for the first time.

“What?” She asks a little annoyed, the other has been staring at her for like a whole minute and never continues the conversation they were having.

“You called me Andy” Andromache finally says.

“Ohh, it’s just a nickname, like in a affectionate way” She tries to explain. “If you don’t like it…”

“No” Andromache interrupts her very quickly. “I like it, you can call me Andy wherever you want” She assures.

So she starts calling her Andy after that.

And so time goes by. And before they know they have spent decade after decade doing this, being together and apart in this way.

But, of course one day it has to come to an end. She should have known, she should have been ready… After all, how could it be possible for a human and a mermaid to be together forever?

“Have you ever heard of a goddess called Atargatis?” Andromache asks her.

“Her name seems familiar, but I don’t think so” Quynh denies.

“Well, legends say she was the first mermaid. She’s a goddess of love and female fertility. They said that there’s an oasis in the middle of Sham desert where there is a temple for her and whoever is brave enough to sacrifice themselves in the search of it, the goddess would grant them a wish” Andromache relates her the story.

“I thought you didn’t believe in gods or goddesses” She says, surprised about the type of conversation.

“Well maybe it’s time I do, so we can be together” Andromache tells her.

“What do you mean?” She asks, confused.

“I can go there, I can sacrifice myself in the search because I’m immortal, I can wish for us to have a way to be really together” Andromache explains to her what she has been planning.

“I don’t think that’s smart, for you to go there alone” She expresses her disapproval. “What if you got hurt, or the goddess wants to remove your immortality as payment or is just not real?” She asks, not wanting to get excited about what it could mean.

“But what if it’s real? Don’t you think we are worth trying it?” Andromache questions her.

“I don’t know” She says sadly. “Don’t you think we are already good as we are?” She asks, fearing the negative possibility.

“We are good” Andromache assures her. “But we could be better, we could be together forever, every time of the day, with nothing keeping us apart” She insists.

“I…” She doesn’t know what to say. The idea of not seeing Andromache for the time it takes her to do the quest hurts too much. “Andy don’t go” She asks.

“I have to. You may not believe our love is strong enough to survive this, but i do.” Andromache argues, very stubbornly. “Once I finish the quest, I’ll come back here.” She promises her.

Andromache gives her a kiss and then she’s gone.

Quynh is scared she won’t ever see her again and doesn’t know what to do without her. But at sunrise, Andromache is there, at the beach, once again.

“I thought you had left” Quynh tells her.

“I packed my things, but I wanted to say goodbye first” Andromache explains to her.

“Do you really have to go?” She asks, sadly.

“I do, this may be our only chance” Andromache answers. “I need you to trust me” She requests.

“I do trust you” She assures her. “But, I don’t want to be apart from you” She expresses what troubles her.

“I don’t want to be apart from you either, that’s why I have to do this” Andromache insists, believing her decision is the best option they have. “I’m gonna be back as quick as I can” She promises her.

Andromache gives her a long kiss goodbye. One that tastes like salt because of their tears. Is bittersweet and leaves her wanting more, but she lets her go.

All Quynh can do is wait. She waits and goes to their beach on every sunrise and every sunset, waiting for Andromache to come back.

While she waits she realises she’s scared. She fears Andy would find a mortal who would love her in all the ways she can’t. She fears Andy would die a lot of times and would suffer alone. She fears Andy could lose her immortality.

Another thought creeping into her mind is that Andy might not really accept her the way she is and will try to take away her mermaid form... she knows that Andy might want to join her in the sea instead, and she doesn’t believe that her love would change her without asking her first, but she can’t silence the thoughts entirely.

She dreams of her and with every dream her fears turn off a little. Andy is really strong and she is trying to do this for them.

She dies five times in the desert. But like she sayed, it doesn’t totally matter. Not when she comes back to life again every time.

It takes a year… And then, finally, Andy is back, at sunset time. She jumps directly into the sea and greets her with a passionate kiss.

“Hey” Andromache says quietly, pressing soft kisses to her neck.

“Hey” Quynh says back.

“I love you Quynh” Andromache confesses, looking right to her eyes.

Andy loves her and knowing it makes her the happiest she’s ever been in her long life.

“I love you too Andy” She says, exploding with happiness and love. “I’m glad you are back” She admits, feeling relieved to be in the arms of the other woman again.

“Did you ever doubt I would?” Andromache asks, kinda teasing her.

“Maybe a little” She answers honestly. “So? How did the quest go?” She finally asks the important topic.

“Well, I found the oasis, and the goddess conceived my wish” Andromache answers her, looking her intensely in her eyes. “You know why?” She asks.

“Because you gave your life founding the oasis” She answers, remembering the tale Andy had told her before going on the quest.

“Yes” Andromache nods. “And because apparently we are soulmates” She adds, looking at her intensely as she was trying to read her.

“Ah, that...” She trails off.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Andromache asks curiously, without judging her.

“Because I didn’t want you to feel obligated to love me just because we’re soulmates” She answers genuinely, thinking it sounds a little silly now that she’s saying it out loud.

“It would be impossible for me not to love you” Andromache tells her with so much confidence, that she believes her in every part of herself.

“So… how does the wish work?” She asks, bringing the conversation to that topic because she doesn’t want to get emotional.

Andromache looks at her with a tender smile, and then removes the pendant she’s wearing around her neck and gives it to her.

“What does it mean?” She asks confused, checking the pendant.

“It’s a magic amulet, it’s made from cintamani and it grants a wish to whoever wears it” Andromache explains to her.

“What the wish would be?” She requests to know, still a little unsure.

“Well, I think it obvious, for the one of us who is wearing it at the moment to have legs on land and mermaid form on sea” Andromache tells her with confidence.

“You don’t want me to stop being a mermaid?” She asks, really surprised.

“No, of courte not, I love everything about you” Andromache assures her. “I just want the chance for us to be together” She adds, caressing her cheeks.

Quynh kisses her. She hasn't thought it would be possible for her to love this woman more, but every time she thinks that, she is quickly proven wrong. It feels like everything Andromache does, it just makes her love her more and more.

She feels so happy. She doesn’t know how to contain all those feelings in her body, so she just shows them. She kisses and caresses every part of Andromache’s body.

When she feels satisfied, she puts the pendant around her neck. Then she grabs Andromache’s hand, so they can get out of the water.

The first time she feels her legs is very strange, and she would have fallen if it wasn't for Andromache’s grip on her.

Andromache teaches her to walk, takes her to all her favorite places and shows her everything about the mortal human world. Then they travel around the world together, meeting new places and sharing their love.

In return, Quynh shows her all the magical places and fantastic treasures the ocean hides in its depths. She teaches her to swim in her mermaid form and do different pirouettes. Also she introduces her to her friends and family.

Andromache has been right. To be together this way is even more wonderful. Thanks to the amulet Quynh can have human form at land and Andromache can have mermaid form at sea. This way they can share both of their worlds and always be together.

So, yes. Maybe it is hard for someone like her, a mermaid, to have a human soulmate. But it is not impossible. They had found their way to be together and now they will be for all their eternal lives.

You can read it in ao3 too: here

#AndromaquynhSecretSanta #andromaquynh secret santa #andromaquynh #andy x quynh #immortal wives #tog one shot #the old guard #soulmate au #mermaid au #long post #my writing #tog fanfic

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it-was-all-a-beautiful-dream · 5 years ago

Text

Mr. I want suck your blood - Pt 4

Warning: Mentions of violence and Swearing

Word count: 2,451

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In stories, Soulmates were meant to be the real deal. They were forever. They were two individuals who were brought together by the universe so their lives finally made perfect sense.

You'd never heard of Soulmates ‘Taking a break’ or ‘Splitting up,’ it wasn't something that happened. That’s not what happened in the stories.

Thats just the thing though. Life isn't a story. Life’s a bitch.

Y/N POV

It had been 1 Hour 19 minutes and 45 seconds since Carlisle shattered your world. 1 Hour, 22 minutes and 23 seconds since you had ripped out your IV line and stormed out of the Cullen house. 1 Hour, 28 minutes and 15 seconds, since Carlisle Cullen, your SOULMATE, decided to call it quits.

Carlisle’s words were still ringing in your ears. “It’s safer this way.” or “Now you can live a normal human life.” You felt numb.

-1 Hour, 19 minutes and 45 seconds ago-

You looked up as you saw Carlisle standing in the wooden door frame. You smiled and placed a hand on your fast beating heart relieved to see him unscathed. Bella had swiftly exited the room. It was just the two of you now. You could tell straight away that something was wrong. Your heart started racing again.

You sat there and listened, as Carlisle took your hand and proceeded to shatter your world. He’d decided that being together, it was too dangerous. He couldn't put you in danger again, couldn’t watch you bleed in his arms again. You both argued. It was his over protective nature, that was the cause of this.

“What about Bella and Edward? She’s still human?!” Apparently it was an invalid argument. Invalid my ass. He wouldn't budge. He thought some time apart would be for the best, even if saying it did secretly pain him.

You were angry, so angry that you ripped out your own IV, not without gagging of course. The screaming and arguing drew the attention of the rest of the Cullen household. Bella was trying to calm you down and stop your arm from bleeding, while Edward and Esme were talking to Carlisle.

You didn't care anymore. How dare he. How could he do this to you? You didn't ask for this life. You'd been dragged into it head first. You'd accepted him for all he was. Before all of this you WERE a normal teenager, with normal teenage problems!

You didn't want normal anymore. You wanted Carlisle, the Volturi, wolves and blood singers. You wanted it all, but just like that, he took it away.

You hadn't wasted any time running through the house, past Alice, Rose and Jasper and to your car. You say run, more like fast walked, your legs were still jelly from lying in bed the last couple of days. Alice had tried to stop you on the way out but Jasper told her to let you go, he could feel the pain and anger radiating of you in waves.

The first thing you did when you got to your car was check your glove box for cigarettes. You got in and slammed the door, you could see Carlisle fighting to try and get passed Edward and Emmett but they wouldn't let him out. You looked over to see Bella running toward your car. You waited. She jumped in the passenger side and neither of you spoke a word. You didn't have to. You started the engine and it came to life with a roar, you peeled out of the Cullen’s drive way with tears streaming down your face and a cigarette between your lips. You fucking hated Forks.

Bella had made you pull over halfway home, scared the tears were clouding your vision. She was probably right, the road ahead did look quite blurry. You traded places and carried on towards home. She was talking to you but you weren't really listening, just watching the trees speed past in a blur, you were sure you could see other objects moving beside you through the trees just as fast, but blinked and they were gone.

-2 weeks later-

Grand Piano by Nicki Minaj blared through the speakers on repeat, you sat staring blankly at your sketchpad, no inspiration, no drive.. nothing. It had been like this for two weeks. Bella had apparently been the same, but you just couldn't shake it. You'd shut yourself off from everyone. Only coming out of your room to get food and use the bathroom. You felt numb.

You could tell your Mom and Charlie were starting to worry. They'd tried to talk to you, find out whats wrong. All they knew is someone broke your heart bad. You'd started having nightmares the first night you were without Carlisle. They felt like more than nightmares though, so vivid, almost like premonitions. You'd wake up still screaming in a cold sweat clutching your chest and crying. Crying for everything you lost when Carlisle let you go. You'd never been in love before and if it felt like this then you never wanted to be again. You didn't think you could love again.

You were spaced out, the music was still playing in the background but your mind was somewhere else, another thing that had been happening since the accident. You just went places, like you were daydreaming, lost in a trance. This time was different though. It was if you were actually there, watching things unfold, only when you came to you were in your bedroom, your paints scattered everywhere, your sketchbook now covered in imagery. You gasped and flew back from your desk, the page awash with shades of vibrant red and black. You gagged. Blood….. and a symbol, it was an emblem of some sort. You shook your head and closed the book on the now dry paints.

What the fuck.

It happened a few more times after that. The spacing out, coming back to earth having drawn on something or once, even scratched symbols into your desk. You'd practically stopped sleeping. Too many thoughts in your head. Even Bella was getting worried, she knew what it was like to spiral and you were doing it at 100mph. She’d suggested talking to Carlisle but you shouted at her for even bringing him up. He left you and hadn't made any attempt to contact or see you. Why give him the satisfaction.

You'd decided enough was enough. You had to start living your life again, or at least thats what you tried to tell yourself. Today you were going to see Seth. You’d become quite close friends with Seth since getting involved in the whole supernatural side of life but you'd been shutting him out for weeks, he knew what had happened with Mr I want to suck you blood, but he didn't ask questions, which you were grateful for. You thought it would do you some good to get outside and breath in the fresh air. You couldn't wallow in self pity any longer.

It felt weird to be in normal clothes rather than ratty old pyjamas. You parked up, jumping out of your car, slinging your backpack over your shoulder. You had brought your sketchbook with you, you didn't know who to talk to about these things, so you were going to show one to Seth, just to see if he recognised anything.

You couldn't help but breath deeply as the air floated off the salty sea and toward your face. You smiled as you watched Seth running down the beach. His boyish grin was charming and his smile grew as he got closer to you. He wrapped you in a hug and you hugged back desperate for a bit of normalcy.

“Hey Seth,” You grinned, thankful for a bit of human, well in this case werewolf, connection. Yeah you had Bella.. and Alice had tried to stop by from time to time, but at the minute they were just a constant reminder of him….

“Y/N! I missed you, things have been so strange without seeing you around ya know!” You bumped his shoulder as you walked down the beach. It had been strange. You'd moved to Forks, got involved with Vamps and the supernatural and in all this time you'd never had any normal time to yourself, or with a friend.

“I’m sorry I’ve been so distant, you know the whole…. thing…” He just nodded his head. You didn't have to explain, he was just happy you were there now.

You'd spent hours just walking and talking on the beach. While walking you had bumped into some of the others as well, Sam, Paul…. You got along with them too, but they had never agreed with your relationship. They seemed somewhat more comfortable around you now. Catching up was good, you felt a lot lighter when you walked, your heart a little less heavy, he was still in the back of your mind though, as much as you tried to think about anything else.

There was an abandoned fire pit a little further up from where you'd been talking with the others, logs surrounded the ashy mound, placed out like small earthy benches. You'd been collecting odd pieces of wood on the way, expecting to find it there. Yourself and Seth pilled the kindling high and he started a fire, he didn't really need to because of his heat, but it was still fun. As Seth continued the fire you reached around and grabbed your leather backpack, opening the zip and fishing inside for your paint covered sketchbook. He came to sit beside you as you started flicking through the pages. You tried to glance at him from the corner of your eye to read his expressions.

“Y/N, these are pretty amazing, and… somewhat scary…” He looked at the book and then back at you. “What are they?” His finger traced the images and the symbols.

You shook your head and flicked through the pages more rapidly. “I don't know S, I…if I tell you something you have to promise you wont tell anyone, not even Sam, not even Jake….” You gulped and looked up at him. He looked confused. You faltered a little, getting nervous you shut your book and started to shove it in your bag. “This was stupid, I should go…” You stood up trying to leave but Seth grabbed your hand.

“I wont tell, you can trust me I promise.” You relaxed, still hesitant, you sat back down. You took the sketchbook back out and went to the first page, tracing the symbols and images, remembering how clearly you had seen them in your mind.

“I drew these. But I didn’t, at the same time.” Seth just looked even more confused now. “I think…. I think something happened to me when I was bitten S…. Something I cant explain. This symbol, I drew this, sat at my desk, one minute the sky outside was light, the next thing I knew it was dark, and the once blank page was covered in all these drawings!” You flicked through the book and sighed placing your head in your hands. He probably thought you were crazy. You sure felt crazy.

You felt his hand rest on your back as you hunched over sighing. “Y/N I’m a wolf, The Cullen’s are Vampires… crazier things have happened, i’ve just never heard of this crazy happening yet….”

You peaked at him from your hands. “Do you know what any of the symbols mean? I see them in my dreams as well, it’s like i’m watching a movie in my head, it’s like I'm there but no one can hear me or see me.. It feels so real.” You sit up, flicking through the pages, before you can turn to the next, Seth’s hand comes flying down stopping the process as he points to one of the symbols.

“Y/N, I’ve seen that symbol before… I think it’s something to do with the cold ones.. the Volturi to be exact.” You groan. This cant be fucking happening. Not only were you dumped now you were having freaky Volturi dreams as well? You searched in your bag for your cigarettes, you held the packet out to Seth and he surprisingly took one. You grinned.

“Wow Sethy never took you for the rebel type.” He ruffled your hair and you shoved him. “Seriously though what am I going to do, this shouldn't be happening i’m human, I didn't turn, Carlisle made sure of that.” You couldn't hide the bitter tone in your voice.

“I don’t know what it means Y/N, but I promise we will figure it out.. cant you talk to Cull…” You glared at him before he could finish his sentence. “Never mind, stupid idea, ignore me.” You laughed and you both carried on looking through the book. What the hell did this mean?

It was late now, Seth walked you to your car, his body still close to keep you warm, the sea breeze now icy cold on your skin. You sighed, part of you didn't want to leave, it was the first kind of normal you'd felt in a really long time, even before coming to Forks. Life in your old place had been really hard, You didn't fit in anywhere, you could count your friends on one hand and you had a strange relationship with your bio dad. You thought things would get easier, Forks had the smallest population and yet you managed to find yourself smack bang in the middle of all this drama, you'd thank Bella for that later. You thought it would be easier living here, maybe you were wrong.

You turned, looking at Seth as you reached your car, you were about to tell him you'd had a nice time, ask him if he wanted to hang out again soon, but you couldn't speak. The waves sounded louder, the air around you felt thicker and you couldn't breath. You could hear Seth’s muffled voice in the background somewhere and a pair of arms shaking you but in your head you were somewhere else entirely.

Cloaks of black floating across the white pearlescent snow, rivers of red blood flowing all around. Wicked eyes staring into yours, and then pain.

You screamed and grabbed your head, it felt like someone had jabbed it with a white hot poker. Images flashed before your eyes, Volturi, Snow, Red, Carlisle. You gagged, so much blood, so much pain. Then, nothing.

Your mind went dark, no images now, no sound, just the sharp ache as you feel your body shut down and hit the solid ground, then the coldness surrounded you.

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Hey guys! I’m sorry it took so long for me to post another part! Hope you enjoy reading x Please comment if you'd like to be tagged!

PT 5 -------- HERE

@sagittarius-flowerchild

@thechangingcolourswithinthewoods

@scream-kiwi79

@kettnerjanea

@caraboo15

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fox-sleeping-minyard · 5 years ago

Text

Neil had been gone for just an hour. When he left home for his usual evening run everything was normal, the house was tidy, the cats were sleeping and Andrew was sitting on the couch, scrolling through his Twitter feed on his phone because he had nothing else to do.

It was the last day of October, so Neil kept his run short, his lungs burning with every breath of cold air he took. He was greeted by the Halloween decorations in their front yard, not too much, just some skeletons and three little pumpkins sitting right by the front door that had been carved by Nicky and Erik’s kids when they were here to visit two days ago. There was the faint sound of music but Neil assumed it was coming from one of the neighboring houses. Maybe one of them was throwing a Halloween party.

Until he opened the door and suddenly the music was loud and clear - and weirdly familiar. Suddenly Neil was ten years in the past, sitting on the passenger seat of Andrew’s old Maserati, windows down and Andrew’s favourite music turned up as loud as the car’s sound system would allow, rushing down the highway to nowhere in particular. The smell of smoke hung in Neil’s nostrils like a memory and he blinked a few times to make his mind return to the present. The smell was gone - Andrew still smoked, but not nearly as much as he used to and definitely not in the house - but the music was still there. And the state the house was in. Dear God, the state.

Neil’s first instinct was panic. Had they been robbed? Did Andrew open the door for trick or treaters when there were criminals waiting? He rushed inside, almost fell when he tripped over a mewling cat and immediately stopped and stumbled back before King could slip outside. The cat glared at him with condemnation in her eyes before accepting she missed her chance and turning to go back to the living room.

“Andrew?!” Neil called out, frantically looking through every room only to find them empty. Drawers were left open, there was a photo album on the living room table that Renee gave them as a present once, the kitchen was mostly untouched. “Andrew?!”

“Yeah?” Andrew’s voice came from the first floor so Neil ran up the stairs, the first rush of relief coming over him at getting an answer. At least Andrew wasn’t lying unconscious somewhere. Or dead.

The bedroom door stood open, the lights turned on, so Neil ran there, out of breath from his run and from fear.

And then he stopped dead in the doorframe.

There was Andrew, sitting on the bed, looking perfectly untouched except there was an absolute mess around him. Boxes they had stored in wardrobes and the attic after moving in, filled with old clothes and memories from the past 15 years everywhere around the room, opened and ransacked, old books and pictures and clothes all over the floor and bed. Neil even spotted their old jerseys, now a faded orange and a grey-ish white, somewhere on the floor. But he couldn’t even focus on the fucking mess when Andrew looked… like that.

He sat in a pile of black shirts and sweaters and wore a shirt he definitely wasn’t wearing when Neil left but that he recognised. He used to wear that specific one all the time 15 years ago, when they were still students at Palmetto. It looked the part too, the print used and faded and Neil was pretty sure there was a big hole on the seam peaking out from his armpit as Andrew was holding up another shirt, obviously interrupted in examining it by Neil storming into the room. They were staring at each other, Neil with his mouth open but rendered speechless and Andrew with his brow raised in question, eyeing Neil’s panting and sweaty form sceptically.

“Andrew, what-....the fuck?!” Neil finally managed.

“What,” Andrew replied flatly, as if this was a normal thing to walk in on.

“Why are you-- Did you paint your nails black?!”

“Maybe.” Andrew grunted and lowered the shirt, curling his fingers into the fabric to hide his definitely painted fingernails.

“Is this a midlife crisis? Are you- are you having a midlife crisis? What’s happening?!” Neil’s voice was almost desperate. He didn’t understand what was going on. Everything was fine an hour ago and now he came back from his run to find Andrew in his old shirts he barely fit into anymore, his nails painted black and his favourite music from 15 years ago playing on full blast through the entire house. “I thought we were robbed!”

“Why would you think that?” Andrew huffed and Neil wasn’t sure whether he was talking about the part where Neil thought they were being robbed or Andrew’s potential midlife crisis.

Neil just gestured around the room, then at Andrew to make his point. Andrew mumbled something unintelligible in return.

“What?” Neil asked. He sighed quietly and leaned his shoulder against the doorframe. Now that the initial shock was gone, the fear for Andrew’s well-being being replaced with genuine confusion, he relaxed a little.

“My Chemical Romance have announced their reunion,” Andrew said, louder this time.

“......what.” Neil blinked at Andrew, speechless again for a couple seconds, before he could make himself speak again.

“My Chemical Romance are making music again. You know, these guys,” he said and pointed into the air. It took Neil a second to understand, but then he realised that it was in fact My Chemical Romance playing in their house. That’s why the music was so familiar to him, planting so many memories from times passed in his mind. Andrew used to listen to their music all the time when they were younger. Neil almost forgot about them - not that he minded their music, but he mostly listened to their songs because Andrew did and once Andrew moved on so did Neil.

“So all of this is….because your favourite band from when you were a college student came back together?”

Andrew scoffed at Neil’s words and his raised eyebrows and averted his gaze for a moment before staring back at him.

“....maybe,” he grunted.

Neil couldn’t not laugh. He wasn’t laughing about Andrew, he was laughing about the situation, about his ridiculous panic when this was just Andrew being excited for a band he used to love as a young man coming back together once more. It was cute, really.

He took a few steps inside the room and fell into the spot right next to Andrew with a relieved sigh.

“Right,” Neil said, as he pulled another one of Andrew’s old MCR shirts from under his butt, “But maybe we could just buy some new shirts instead of you wearing these old, faded, hole-y ones? Might be fun, haven’t been inside a Hot Topic for a good ten years now.” Andrew looked at him quietly and Neil smiled, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “And we’ll let Allison paint your nails. You did an even worse job than you did when you were 20.”

“Fuck off,” Andrew grunted, uncurling his fingers from the shirt and frowning at the black on his nails, “I think it’s fine.”

“Yeah you said the same 15 years ago and I still vividly remember Allison almost having an aneurysm when she saw your nails. Look, you’ve got the polish over the edges everywhere. You’re a 35 year old Exy Coach, Andrew, you have to look like a put-together emo now.”

“Oh fuck you,” Andrew said but couldn’t keep an amused snort out of his voice. Neil laughed too then and leaned his forehead against Andrew’s temple, placed a kiss on the spot just by his ear.

“You smell, Josten, take a shower,” Andrew said without any heat in his voice. Neil smiled. “You coming too?” He hummed, “You can keep the shirt on.”

“Shut up or I’ll fucking drown you in the shower.” Andrew and Neil laughed together, Andrew’s laugh loud and full in the air while Neil’s chuckles where muffled with his face pressed into the crook of Andrew’s neck. Neil smiled into his skin, listening to Andrew’s laugh mixing with the sound of Teenagers and quietly wished that back when they listened to those songs in the Maserati he would’ve been able to laugh like this too. But he remembered secret smiles and quiet chuckles between loud rock music and cigarette smoke, first steps into a better future. First signs of the person Andrew was today.

#aftg #andreil #ficlet #andrew minyard #neil josten #my writing #so i heard mcr are making a comeback #and i literally woke up laughing thinking about this fic #andrew would lose his goddamned MIND #this has been written in the course of like half an hour #don't judge

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mageicalwishes · 4 years ago

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Read on AO3: here

Summary: "If you get lonely," she says, "you can call me. Send up a flare, yeah? I'll feel it"

Years after that fateful night in the White Chapel, Simon fulfils his wish to go and visit Ebb’s grave in the Woods.

Inspired by Carry On Sparks, Week 12 - ‘Fire’ @carryonsparks

Tags: Post-Book 2: Wayward Son, Canon Compliant, POV Simon Snow, Heavy Angst, Bittersweet, Mental Health Issues, Simon Misses Ebb, Soft Tyrannus Basilton “Baz” Pitch

Words: 3,950

Simon

All my life, I never thought that I’d live long enough to see somebody that I loved die - To have to handle that grief. And in a way, I wish that I hadn’t. It probably would’ve been easier.

I’d been readying myself for my death since age eleven. That fate - My destiny - That was all I knew. And while it wasn’t exactly welcomed, it was inevitable. It was certain. The idea of it made so familiar to me, that I’d almost forgotten how to fear it (Almost). I’d accepted it long ago. So … I never thought that I’d have to know this pain - Never prepared a strategy for coping.

I’d imagined it time and time again in my nightmares, of course - Losing Penny, or Aggie, or The Mage - but I never truly believed that I’d be here to experience it. If things got that dire - If someone had to die; it would’ve been me (Or Baz, I guess. But I tried not to think about that).

So seeing it here, etched in cool grey stone is … Well, I’m not even sure what it is. Hollowing. Devastating. A nightmare come to life:

Ebeneza Petty. 1978 - 2015. Beloved daughter, sister, and friend.

Crowley. It doesn’t seem real, even now. Even when I’m standing right in front of it.

It’s taken me a long time to get here. Probably too long. (So many months. So many years). But … I couldn’t face it. Not before. (Probably not even now, really).

The first few years, I didn’t let myself think about Ebb much at all - Not the good, and not the bad. I made a promise to myself that I’d visit her one day, and that was that. Out of sight, out of mind.

It wasn’t even really a conscious choice; not like some of the things I don’t think about. I didn’t want to ignore her. I didn’t want to pretend that what happened to her, didn’t happen. I didn’t want to stop thinking about all the good - All the joy she brought me. I just … couldn’t handle it. Any of it. I was already so overwhelmed. Losing her - Really processing the fact that she was gone. That I’d lost her, forever. It would’ve shattered me entirely. Irreparably. So my brain just tucked her into a little ‘Do Not Disturb’ pocket, that even I couldn’t reach, and tried to move on.

My therapist says that it’s all right that I did that - That I ‘repressed’ it. I’m not sure that it is, really. But she’s been right about a lot of things, so far - Like trying to talk to Baz, and being kinder to myself in my head - So, I try to believe her. She’s the expert, after all.

I started seeing her again, consistently, about a year ago. But it was hard. So hard. (It still is, sometimes, to be honest. I’m not immune to the occasional session skive). I didn’t even really want to do it, at first. To sit there staring at her smiley face, while she pitied me - The sad little blur of pixels and curls in the corner of my screen. But it seemed important. It seemed necessary.

After everything that happened in America … everything that happened at Watford - What I’d nearly lost, and what I’d nearly given up - I knew that I had to do something. And going back to her seemed like the logical choice. (I even managed to convince Baz to talk to her, too, which I’m glad for. It’s good for him, I think. It’s good for us. And … matching with him in that way, makes me feel like less of a nutcase).

Anyway … I’m not sure when Ebb started creeping back into my mind, exactly. But it happened. Slowly at first, and then all at once - Once the dam was broken.

At first it was just the bad: Her cold, lifeless stare. The pool of crimson, dying the ends of her slick blonde hair red. The smell of copper. The heat of magic. ‘Don’t stop. Help her … Help her! She’s dying!’.

But the good came, too. Eventually: Her words of encouragement, summer evenings spent chasing after the kids, the way her face lit up that first Christmas I gave her a figurine (I’ve brought her another one today. A nanny and her kid grazing. They look at home, nestled amongst the sunshiney bouquets Baz April Showers’d for me).

And I’m glad that I’ve made it here, now - Back to her. Even if I am a few years late.

It’s a lovely place for her to rest. She would’ve liked it. In the woods. A soft mossy floor, and swaying willows overhead. Creatures, normal and magickal, scurrying around freely. A simple slate headstone, littered with flowers and photographs - Ebb beaming, surrounded by children I don’t recognise. Her and Nicky back at Watford. Her crouched beside an old woman, petting a Labrador. Tens of tiny windows into the life that was stolen from her.

I’d always wondered what it was like - Her life outside of Watford. Where she lived, and who she knew. And I’m glad to see that it was clearly one filled with love, just like I’d always imagined. Filled with family and friends, who hadn’t forgotten her. Who’d been there for her, even when I couldn’t be.

She should’ve had longer. She should’ve had decades more. She’d stepped away from the power she possessed, willingly - From the corruption of the possibilities it afforded her - and chose to live a quiet, simple life at Watford, where she was happy. Where she was safe. She did everything ‘right’ - Everything ‘good’ - and she still ended up dying in a fight that she had no part in. In a War that she didn’t contribute to. Nothing about that is fair. Nothing about that makes sense.

I’ll never forgive him for what he did to her. No matter what he was to me. No matter how I feel about the fact that he’s gone, too (Miserable. Miserable but guilty. I know I shouldn’t care - He was a monster, after all - but I do). It was him I should’ve been fearful of, all those years. But I was too naive to see it. Too blinded by playing son. And now Ebb is gone. My fault. All my fault.

A shiver runs up my spine, at the thought of it. My wings shuddering, involuntarily. Baz notices (Of course). Reaching out and taking hold of my hand - Stroking small loops against the side of my thumb. I’m here. It’s okay. I’ve got you. He takes my hand without asking, now. I'm better at not shaking him off.

“Alright, Snow?” he asks.

I just nod.

I don’t have the words.

————————————————————————————

I don’t know how long we’ve been standing here, just staring down at her grave, but everything is starting to get too much.

My throat pulled so tight that every swallow is a struggle - Air barely squeezing past the knot of emotion lodged there. My clothes suffocating me - Fabric far too constricting against my skin. I can’t move. I can’t - I can’t even breathe. And Baz is still holding on to me - Onto my hand. But it’s too clammy. All warm and wet and uncomfortable. Every slide of his skin, a demand on my brain. Focus on her, focus on him. The once soothing tracing of shapes, taunting me. Say something, Simon. Do something, Simon.

“Simon …?” Baz starts, unsure. “You look - Are you alright?”

I turn to him, on autopilot. And he smiles over at me - Small, and fake, and forced, and pitiful, and …

“Can you leave?” I rush, voice manic. “You have to - I need - I need you to leave.”

He looks a little surprised - Which I can’t blame him for. I didn’t even know that that was what I needed, before the words were spilling out of my mouth - but he doesn't complain (Baz rarely complains, even know. Sometimes I wish he would, though. So I could know what I’m doing wrong - What I can do better ... I should probably tell him that, to be honest. Maybe later).

“Alright,” he shrugs, dropping my hand. “That’s fine.”

He’s probably upset with me. He probably thinks I’m pushing him away, again (I guess I am, technically. But not in the way that he may think). He’s probably …

“Simon, love. It’s fine.”

It’s fine.

“I’m sorry. I just - I just need a moment alone. It’s not - I’m not bad. I just need …”

“Yeah,” he nods. “I know. It’s fine. Honest … Want me to go and wait in the car?”

“No, it’s alright. Can you just - Can you just go home? Or somewhere else, I don’t know. You can go wherever you like, just not … here. I don’t know how long I’ll be, and I’ll feel bad if I’m making you wait. I won’t be able to concentrate.”

“It’s no hassle.”

“Yeah, I know but - Please.”

“Alright,” he smiles. I don’t know why he’s smiling. I’m being a complete fucking mess, right now. “Call me when you’re done, and I’ll come and pick you up, okay?”

“Yeah. Okay.”

I feel a bit better now. I don’t know. I don’t feel good, but I can breathe a bit again (I guess, technically, I always could - Otherwise I’d probably need an ambulance. But it didn’t feel like it). It’s still a little ragged. And my head’s all fuzzy. I just - I’m glad he’s leaving (Shit. That sounds awful. But I don’t mean it like that).

He turns away, to leave me alone, but before he does, he’s spinning back around on the heels of his posh leather shoes. A pained little grimace spread across his face.

“Snow, just … one more thing. When we were here, I used to go down and speak to my mother in the catacombs. You know, out loud … I’m not entirely sure, but I think that it helped me, a little bit. To talk to her. So I was thinking … maybe you could give it a go? With Ebb.”

I must pull a face, ‘cause then he’s laughing at me. (Not in a mean way. More in a ‘he thinks I’m being cute’ kind of way.) (It’s nice, his laugh. All silky, and warm, and deep).

“It’s just a suggestion, love. It’s up to you. I know you don’t really like using your words, so if you don’t want to say anything, that’s fine. You’re here. That’s enough. She wouldn’t mind.”

I scuff my foot along the ground, but then I just feel bad because I’m disturbing Ebb’s area. He’s probably right. But I’m not sure.

“I don’t know,” I mumble. “Maybe.”

Once Baz is gone, I sit myself down besides Ebb’s headstone, and let the tears come. Sobbing to myself as I trace the line between her dates. That’s it - That’s her whole life.

There’s nothing wrong with crying. Ebb taught me that. She always nurtured the softer side of me - The better bits (Not like the Mage. He only helped me grow what benefited him - My courage, my strength, my ability to ignore or delay every single fucking human emotion). ‘Allow yourself to feel, Simon. Let those emotions out of your heart, or they’ll drown you.’ That’s what she always told me.

I’m trying to listen. Trying to take the advice that she can no longer give. Trying to let myself cry, or talk, or scream, or crash about. To do whatever it is that I need to do, to get it out. To free myself of it, so that I can be me again. (I think that’s partly why I’m here today, actually. To face it. To loosen its grip on my heart, so that I can begin to learn to live with it. To allow myself to remember her - Who she was and what happened - so that I can try to move on).

I sit there and I cry. I cry, and cry, and cry. Until I can get the words out:

“Hullo, Ebb. It’s Simon. Simon Snow -” Stupid. She knows who I am. “Sorry I haven’t visited before now. I meant to, and I did try, but I just … couldn’t. I hope that’s okay … Baz says that I should try and talk to you - You’ll be glad to know that we’re not at each other's throats anymore. Not in a bad way, anyway.” I say, chuckling meekly. I think she may have suspected about Baz and I, to be honest. I was obsessed with him. “I - I don’t really have much to say. Just … I’m sorry about what happened to you. I’m sorry that you got dragged into it. You only ever wanted peace, I know that. But, thank you for saving Aggie, for me. That was my job, really. My responsibility. And I’m sorry I wasn’t there. I’m so sorry I wasn’t there for you.”

I suck in a breath and choke - Spluttering on the ground like a fool (I’m glad I sent Baz away, now, because this is just humiliating. My face must be a wreck - All wet and puffy - and I’m spitting all over the place. Which isn’t exactly the most alluring of sights. Not that he’d really care).

“Everyone says that I saved the World of Mages, and I kind of did, in the end. But … I know I couldn’t have done it without you. Without your help. I wouldn’t - I wouldn’t be half of what I am without you, actually. And I’m sorry that I couldn’t save you. I wish, more than anything, that I could’ve. And … yeah. Thank you for what you did - That day, and before. I can’t ever - You won’t ever know how much I appreciate you. How much you mean - How much you meant to me. But it’s … it’s nice to be able to tell you, finally. I wish I could’ve done it properly … before. But I think that you could probably still tell; even if I never managed to say it in so many words. I hope - I hope you knew how much I loved you. How much I still do.”

And after that, there’s nothing else to say (Nothing that I can manage right now, anyway). So I hang my head forwards, and let it wash over me. Let the words - My confession - lighten me.

I still feel like lead, though. Like I’m empty. Like I’m scorched ... I still ache. But I suppose that it’s a start.

————————————————————————————

BP (20:34): At the gate.

Picking myself up off the floor, I dust my jeans down and try to relax (I don’t want to make him to worry about me. He always worries about me).

“I’ll visit you again, when I can, Ebb,” I sigh. “I promise. Hopefully - Hopefully it won’t be too long … And I’ll bring another figure. As a gift. Maybe a sheep, or something. Sound okay?”

I don’t know why I’m asking her a question (‘Cause I’m a moron, probably). It’s not like she can answer. Even if she can hear me (Which she probably can’t).

“Alright,” I say, feeling disgracefully awkward. I don’t really want to say goodbye to her just yet, but it's getting cold. And dark. And I want to get back home soon-ish (We're all gonna watch Spider Man together). “Well … Goodbye. For now.”

And then I turn - Back towards Baz. Back towards the rest of my life.

I don’t look back - I can’t look back. But I’ll visit her again, someday. Someday soon.

When I get to the gate, Baz is clutching a paper cup, and beaming at me (I think he’s doing it to try and make me feel better.) (It does. A little).

“Doing alright?” he asks.

I nod, worried that if I try to talk, I’ll just start blubbering again (My hoodie sleeve is already uncomfortably sodden, from wiping at my face. So I’d really rather not). He doesn’t push it, though. He understands.

“Thought you might be thirsty,” he says, waving the cup in front of me. “Your favourite … I got you a brownie, too. If you want it.”

I don’t know what comes over me then, to be honest. One second I’m gawping at him and his stupidly sweet gesture, and the next I’m yanking him down into a kiss, by the back of his neck. Crashing against him roughly. Baz’s startled yelp, muffled against my lips.

I don’t normally like being touched much at all when I’m upset (Probably a residual hang up from the threat of going off), but I need him like this now. So I take it - Because I know he’ll let me. Because I know he’ll want me to.

He tastes like sugar, ‘cause of that stupid pumpkin drink he likes. But he feels like coming home.

I pull away, and Baz flushes, in a daze. My heart squeezing at the sight of him (In a good way, obviously). I still can’t believe that I get to have him like this, half of the time. He’s so lovely. And I’ll tell him as much, later … when I can (I like telling him the good stuff. He goes all gooey when I do - It’s ridiculous).

“Steady on, Snow,” he laughs. “It’s just hot chocolate.”

“No, it’s - Just … come on.”

We don’t talk most of the ride home; the only meaningful sound, droning out of his radio (He’s playing that Talking Heads violin cover he likes) (He can play this one himself, without sheet music, or anything. It’s proper impressive).

“Baz,” I mumble, gripping at his thigh. “Is there somewhere we can pull over. A field, or something?”

Grey eyes dart up to meet mine in the rearview mirror, panicked.

“Are you going to be sick?”

“No,” I groan. “Nothing like that. I just - I just need a favour … One that requires open space. A private open space.”

He grins over at me, then - Tongue pressing against his front teeth, cheekily (Prat. He should be watching the road).

“I warn you, Snow, I will not lower myself to dogging. No matter how much I may want to ravish you.”

“Fucking hell, Baz,” I snort, thwacking at his arm. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

“I know. You’re much too vanilla for that sort of thing, darling. Thank Crowley … But, I’m sure that we can find somewhere suitable for your … whatever it is that you’re planning. Do we need to get there quickly? I can cast a ‘Time flies’, if need be.”

“Nah,” I smile, shuffling back in my seat. “There’s no rush. Just … before we get home.”

We end up pulling into a field, just off of a roundabout, that fills all of my criteria. But I’m a little bit worried that we’re going to get yelled at by some farmer. Or bulldozed by a cow. (Baz assures me that we’ll be fine, though. ‘Country bumpkins and mooing blood bags, are no match for me, Snow.’ That’s what he’d said. The arrogant sod.)

Now that we’re here, though, I’m starting to doubt myself. Is this stupid? … Probably. I mean … there’s no real purpose to it. But … I can’t seem to get it out of my head - What she’d said to me that last time I saw her. Can she see? Will she feel it? I’m not sure. But I suppose that there's no point shying away from it now.

“Do you know how to spell a flare?” I ask.

“A flare?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?” He drawls, squinting suspiciously.

“I don’t know, I just - Do you know how?”

“Yeah. Should do. Hold on,” he says, fiddling with his cuff, and retrieving his wand. Pointing it skyward, before booming out an ‘SOS’.

Blinding hot fire, shooting from his wand - Lighting the sky a menacing shade of red, before falling and fading back to black.

It’s beautiful. And eerie (Kinda like a forest in the night).

Finally satisfied, I drop down to the floor. Baz following, wordlessly (Even though he’s wearing those fancy, light pink trousers, that’ll definitely stain). Sitting besides me, crossed legged in the grass - His knee bumping purposefully against mine.

“Another one?” he asks.

“Nah,” I breathe, tilting my head over to rest against his shoulder. It feels far too heavy today. “Not yet. It’s … it’s Ebb.”

I don’t really know why I feel as though I owe him an explanation - I mean, he hasn’t asked for one - but I do. He’s privy to all of my little secrets, these days. So he should be allowed to know this one too … I know he won’t judge me for it.

“What’s Ebb?”

He’s hovering his hand above my waist now - A question. I tug his wrist closer, and lay his palm against me - An answer.

“The flare,” I say. “Or, well … Ebb is why I wanted it. The last conversation we had, before I came to Hampshire. She said that I could send up a flare, if I needed her. If I got lonely. She said that she would feel it. I know - I know that it’s stupid. I mean, she can’t - I know-”

“It’s not stupid, Simon,” he interrupts, voice as soft as anything. “I understand. You don’t have to try and justify yourself to me.”

“Okay,” I smile, pushing myself up and pressing a kiss to the crest of his hairline. Fucking vampire. How he manages to make a widows peak look fit, I’ll never know. “Thank you.”

“It’s alright,” he says, laying himself out on the ground, and tugging me down with him. Grabbing a hold of my hand, and kissing the centre of my palm.

Feeling entirely safe, I close my eyes, and I let myself miss her - Her wise rambles, and her soft touch. Her unashamed tears. Her friendship. Her love. Her care.

‘You’re not alone, my lamb,’ she’d told me, the Easter holidays of third year. ‘Even if you can’t always see it, there are people here who love you. Who’ll always love you. Even if they can’t be with you, right now. And … I'm still here, aren't I? Whenever you need me, you just come a’knocking, and I’ll be there. Promise.'

She couldn’t keep her promise, in the end.

I can knock all I want … but nobody will come. Nobody will ever come again. Her shack is empty now. Abandoned. Forgotten.

But I know that she’s still there for me. In a way.

I won’t ever forget her words, or her lessons. The way she made feel - Happy. Accepted. Understood.

She’ll be there in my heart, always; whenever I need her. Along with the rest.

And … she was right about one thing - I’m not alone. I’ll never have to be alone again.

Because I have Baz - Who brings me my favourite foods, and holds me close at night. Who didn’t give up on me, when I pushed him away. Who cherishes me. Who loves me.

And Penny - Who is always there for me, fighting my corner. Who leads me forwards, and steers me right. Who wishes me every success.

And Shepard - Who indulges all my crazy theories like they mean something, and binge watches terrible reality TV with me.

And Aggie - Who sends me a text every now and then to check how I am.

I can’t ever replace what I lost in Ebb, but I can try and focus on what I still do have. Friends. A family. A home … Far more than I ever even allowed myself to want back at Watford.

And I think that she’d be happy if she could see me now - Could see us now. I hope that … she’d feel like her sacrifice was worth it - That she’d be content with her choice. Because Ebb deserves to find peace, more than anyone.

After all … that’s all she ever wanted.

#lowkey I'm sorry for this ... its a lil depressing #carry on #wayward son #snowbaz #snowbaz fic #my fic #my writing

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jemej3m · 4 years ago

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Pull To Talk

uhh heres a toystory au no one asked for

When Junior was picked up from the gutter, all he could think was: shit. He plastered on his neutral face and let his limbs go limp.

“Kevin,” a adult woman scolded. “Put that down!”

“Mom,” pleaded the kid. “It’s Junior! He’s limited edition!”

“Kevin,” his mother warned. “It’s probably someone else’s.”

“No name on the tag,” Kevin reasoned. “The whole story is that whoever finds him gives him a name and a story. But this one is blank!”

“I would rather you not bring home a doll covered in gutter gunk,” she said, though it seemed she knew she had lost the fight. “Fine. Make sure this one doesn’t get lost, okay? Like Jean.”

“I won’t,” Kevin said, opening up his backpack and depositing Junior within.

“Well?” his mother asked. “What do you want to name him?”

The boy hummed, and then said: “Neil.”

The boy’s room was miraculously neat: Neil had never been inside a child’s room before, but he’d done some calculated guesswork and Kevin didn’t quite fit in.

It wasn’t until he’d been positioned by Kevin’s bed. He had a window shelf dedicated to his toys, where they remained still and perfectly positioned. He didn’t have many and Neil didn’t recognise any of the models. None of them came from his franchise or line: that was a relief. He didn’t particularly feel like interacting with a Lola or DiMaccio anytime soon, especially seeing as he’d only just sewn his limbs back on a few days prior.

His story was simple: a comic surrounding his father’s midnight murders evolved into the story of a missing mother and her son. Whilst Mary’s narrative was well hashed out - a brother, a terrible decision leading to a violent marriage - running away with 5 million dollars - her son’s story was kept a mystery. Junior dolls were far and few between, seeing as he didn’t feature much in the Wesninski comics. The kids who purchased Junior dolls were meant to give him a name and a story. It wasn’t up to him.

That was fine by Neil, so long as he was kept well away from his father and his many cronies.

Kevin nudged over a plastic doll dressed up in hip-hop gear with a bandana holding back her short curls, positioning Neil against the window.

“Welcome home,” Kevin said. His mother called him to lunch, so he gave Neil a gentle pat on the head and darted off.

The doll beside him slumped immediately. “Jesus, does he have to put me in such difficult positions every time?”

“You can’t whine,” said a blonde Bratz doll as she kicked off her extremely tall heels and slumped to the floor. “Those shoes are a crime.”

“Are we all just going to ignore the fact that Kevin brought home someone new?” cheered a teddy bear, ambling over. He was a bit worn and thin, but the twinkle in his eye was just as bright as the rainbow ribbon around his neck. “Hi there! I’m Nicky!”

Neil just blinked.

“Don’t mind him,” said the hip-hop dancer. “He’s always like that. I’m an old DAN5ER model. Dan for short. It’s nice to meet you.” She held out her hand: her elbow squeaked as Neil hesitantly shook it.

“I don’t remember a looker like you on the shelves,” the Bratz doll remarked, hopping over on foot-less stumps. She pinched Neil’s cheek and looked into his eyes. “Hm. Real glass beads. Aren’t you just fancy?”

“That’s Allison,” Dan sighed.

A Madeline doll ambled over. She had white hair that a child - not Kevin, for it was far too messy - had coloured in with various textas and a pinafore dress. “I’m Renee. We’re glad to have you here. It’s been a while since Kevin has brought someone new home.”

“Why?” Neil looked between the curious faces of Kevin’s other toys. “Was it Jean? His mother mentioned Kevin losing him.”

By their reactions, he could tell he’d hit the nail.

“Cutthroat,” came a new voice. “How refreshing.”

Neil looked up and saw a small, blonde figurine, perched on top of a stack of books. His features were angular and he wore all black. Beside him was a toy identical to the first but obviously a different model: he had different clothes and hairstyle, and was wearing glasses.

The first blonde figurine hopped off the books and landed at Neil’s feet, standing up from his crouch with a slight stiffness to his knees. The sleeves of his jumper were pulled to his wrists, where he wore little black fingerless gloves.

“Where’d he find you, then? Garage sale? School? You didn’t come with no packaging.” A finger prodded Neil’s deflated shoulder. “A little worse for wear, too. Maybe he just saved you from landfill.”

“Andrew,” said the Renee doll. “He’s only new.”

“Right,” he said. Neil watched with horror as his head spun around, showing a secondary face etched into the back of the figurine’s head. Andrew’s second expression was a twisted grimace that looked more like forced laughter than genuine happiness. “Welcome! We’re sure as hell excited to have less space on the shelf, but at least there’s a new target for Riko’s twisted attention! Great to have you. Hopefully you won’t last long!”

Neil shot a look at Dan, who only rolled her lips into her mouth in response, turning away.

Andrew’s head twisted back around, his bored expression far more palatable than his false euphoria. He glanced at the Renee doll and jerked his head: together they jumped off the shelf, onto Kevin’s bed and then down the crack between the mattress and the wall.

“That was Andrew,” Dan said, sounding tired. “His twin, Aaron, is still up there.”

“Won’t you come say hi, Aaron?” Nicky called out. Aaron just shuffled away from the edge of the book stack in response, disappearing out of sight.

“Matt’s still not back,” Allison pointed back. “If he’s not here by the time Kevin gets back from lunch, the kid is bound to notice.”

“He’ll be back.” At Neil’s arched eyebrow, Dan explained. “Matt’s my boyfriend. He keeps watch just in case Riko comes over.”

Neil didn’t understand. He’d only seen Kevin and his mother here. Who was Riko? “What about Kevin?”

Dan cocked her head. “What about him?”

“We’re Kevin’s toys, aren’t we?”

The doll hesitated for a moment, as if she was trying to figure out what the right thing was to say.

“Kevin is a good kid,” she said, finally. “He only wants us to be happy, but he can’t always keep us safe. ”

Whatever she was talking about, Neil knew that he had to find a way out of here before it happened. He didn’t like being around other toys: for a while it’d been just him and Mary, but he’d been on his own for a long time. New names and faces were overwhelming him.

The hidden loop was cold against his skin. If you pulled it, he’d say my name is Nathaniel Wesninski, or I don’t know who I am anymore. He kept it hidden under his sweater, praying that no one would ever find it.

Whoever this Riko was, Neil would have faced worse in his time. These toys didn’t know what it was like, and for their sakes, he hoped they never would.

All he had to do was sit tight for a little while, plaster on a stitched smile and pretend everything was fine. When the moment was right, he’d run off again.

Just as his story intended.

whoops

#toy story au #andreil #all for the game #andrew minyard #neil josten #aftg #just...drake being that sid kid #renee being from a preschool #idk i have many feelings

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darkblueboxs · 5 years ago

Text

Holding On and Letting Go

Read here or on AO3

Andrew keeps missing his classes. Aaron shouldn't care, but watching his brother hit self-destruct on his own life turns out to be more difficult than expected.

Apparently, Andrew's protective streak runs in the family.

Andrew hasn’t left his room in two days, not that Tilda has noticed. Aaron’s homeroom teacher had flicked her eyes over the empty seat behind Aaron which he normally occupied, but Andrew’s absence had otherwise gone unremarked upon. The rougher kids still parted before Aaron in the corridors, either because they had mistaken him for his twin or because they knew what Andrew would do to them if Aaron came home with a black eye and their name on his lips.

On the third day, Aaron hovers outside the door to Andrew’s room, counting the minutes until the school bus is supposed to pass by. They’re meant to be doing a joint presentation on photosynthesis in their shared bio class, although “joint” is stretching it. The plan is for Aaron to talk while Andrew stands at the projector and, hopefully, switches the slides when Aaron prompts him. It’s a class Aaron usually enjoys, and Miss Woods is usually nice to him, but she had paired him with Andrew for the project in a misguided attempt to help them bond. Hopefully she will give up on the idea when she sees Andrew slouching over the projector while Aaron does all the work.

As much as his brother’s presence is unnecessary to the presentation, Aaron doesn’t want to do it alone, and the participation grade is all that stands between Andrew and another flunked class.

He knocks on the door. Predictably, there is no answer.

Aaron remembers, suddenly, vividly, the day that he pushed the door to his mother’s room open to find her passed out in a pool of her own vomit.

He swallows back the memory like bile, forces down the twitch of his fingers for something more, something strong enough to make the memories leave him alone.

He knows his brother keeps an iron grip on himself, perhaps stronger even than the grip he keeps on Aaron. Andrew is self-destructive in ways that Aaron will never understand, but they have a deal that Andrew won’t break no matter how much Aaron might wish he would by something so mundane as suicide. Nonetheless, the image of Andrew lying dead and forgotten on the other side of the door is a little too vivid for Aaron’s stomach, so he tentatively pushes the door open. Just to make sure.

The room is dark, the air stale. Unless Andrew has a stash of food in his room like Aaron has, he hasn’t eaten in some time. There’s a pile of covers on the bed and the outline of a body beneath them that might be human-shaped. The crack of light from the doorway slices across it like a clever, too dim to show whether it’s moving. The deathly stillness of the room is enough to make Aaron push the door further open until a square of yellow light sets the bed aglow.

He still can’t pick out the regular rise-and-fall movement of breath, which is the only reason he steps into the room. Andrew is prickly and volatile at the best of times, but Aaron learned the hard way that he has boundaries carved in stone when it comes to his personal space. Aaron doesn’t think he’s been in Andrew’s room since he moved in with them; the lack of personal artefacts leave the spare room indistinguishable from before Andrew moved in aside from a mess of dirty laundry scattered across the floor and a sweaty, teenage-boy musk that tells Aaron exactly how long it has been since Andrew opened a window.

There’s a fluff of blonde hair peaking out from the covers somewhere near the headboard, but still no sign of life. It’s the paranoia that pushes Aaron onwards, taking the corner of the comforter and pulling it down to expose Andrew’s face.

He doesn’t even see the eyes flashing open; it’s the instant clamping of a hand around his wrist that has a rush of air leaving Aaron’s chest as he flinches from the contact. Andrew’s knuckles are white around his arm, cutting off the blood supply to Aaron’s hand so brutally that Aaron feels like he’s about to amputate it.

“I’ll kill you,” says Andrew in a flat croak. It sounds like the first words he’s spoken in days.

“Fuck you.” Aaron writhes instinctively, but Andrew’s grip is steel. “Let go of me.”

Something in Andrew’s gaze shifts as he recognises his own features snarling back at him. “Get out,” he orders, relinquishing his grip.

“We have our presentation today.”

“Oh no.” Andrew’s eyes burn into him. “Miss Woods will be so disappointed. Just don’t offer her a shoulder to cry on. I’d hate to have to intervene.”

Aaron resists the urge to punch Andrew in his stupid, empty face. He hates how Andrew can read him like nobody else, can zero in instantly on any woman who holds his attention a second too long. He doesn’t know when being barred from a little staring during the duller parts of class became part of their deal and detests how much it feels like a one-way street. Andrew has never shown the slightest interest in anyone or anything, so it’s clearly not a huge loss on his end to cut himself off. Aaron, on the other hand, is a human being with actual feelings and desires, and the fact that Andrew expects him to behave otherwise is as absurd as it is true.

Aaron curses Andrew out again before leaving. He yanks the door shut behind him, not caring if the noise wakes Tilda.

Miss Woods makes a concerned sound when Aaron tells her Andrew is off sick, but Aaron won’t meet her eyes. He does the presentation alone.

When he returns home to find Andrew’s door still shut, he wants to be angrier than he is. Aaron is enough of a germophobe that he doesn’t get sick often anymore, but he remembers sweating under his sheets for days when he was younger, unnoticed and unacknowledged. Not that he would have wanted Tilda’s attention had she offered it. That being said, Andrew doesn’t do much to paint himself as a sympathetic figure, and Aaron is tempted to just leave him to stew. It isn’t like Andrew is really sick. Just sick in the head.

Tilda is, typically, nowhere to be seen, so Aaron fixes his own meal to take to his room. After a moment’s hesitation, he scoops half the pasta into another bowl. He only opens the door to Andrew’s room wide enough to scoot the bowl through it before shutting it after him.

He forgets about it until the next day, when he trips over the empty bowl abandoned in front of Andrew’s door. He picks it up, glances towards the closed door, and takes it down to the kitchen to wash up.

The next day, Andrew is back at school, and it’s as though nothing ever happened.

“You have to come to class.” Aaron wrinkles his nose as he yanks back the curtains. Andrew won the coin toss when they moved in with Nicky in Columbia, meaning his is the larger room with the south-facing windows which Aaron is convinced Andrew chose just to spite him. It’s no more personal than Andrew’s previous room, nor is it any cleaner. Andrew doesn’t move from under the convers, and Aaron belatedly remembers the effect his new drugs have on Andrew’s sleep patterns.

Aaron picks up a pillow and smacks it down on Andrew’s head before diving out of the way. Andrew bursts into life in a mess of swinging fists and manic fury before recognition clicks into place along with the usual glassy smile.

“Wrong room, Aaron! Did you get mixed up?”

“If your attendance keeps dropping, they’ll report us to social services and Nicky will lose custody.” Nicky, for all his good intentions, has been pulling nightshifts at Eden’s all week and sleeps through most of the day to recover. Each night, Andrew drags himself to the kitchen table and chatters vaguely about his classes as though he actually went to them, but it’s only a matter of time before Nicky notices something is amiss or the school phones home.

“I’m sick,” Andrew says. “Cough, cough.” His eyes are bright and there’s a little too much sway to his stance, but it’s indistinguishable from the normal side effects of his drugs.

Aaron has seen Andrew stubbornly sitting through AP math class with skin so white he looks seconds from fainting dead away, has seen him dive into the toilets between classes to gag like he’s bringing up his stomach lining, but has also seen him blow off a week straight of classes just to lie in bed all day staring at the ceiling. If there’s a rhyme or reason to Andrew’s sick days, Aaron has yet to figure it out, just like he still can’t tell when Andrew is ill or faking or when it’s just the drugs. Sometimes he hides the symptoms like a dog snarling to hide his wounds, while other times he rambles for hours about what the meds have done to his digestive tract, taking delight in grossing Aaron and Nicky out so badly that neither of them can finish their dinner.

Andrew flops back onto his bed with a dismissive gesture. “So much faith in the proactivity of social services. Your naivety is touching.”

Aaron looks at the prone body of his twin and resigns himself to the direct approach. “Are you really sick? Or is this…” He gestures vaguely. “You know. One of your moods.”

Andrew sends him a sharp, considering look. “I’m quite sure I don’t know what you mean,” he replies, his voice lilting up and down almost comically.

Aaron shakes his head, because of course just asking isn’t going to work with Andrew. He moves to put his hand on Andrew’s forehead. Andrew’s hand catches his arm in an instant, smile turning toothy and shark-like. “I would have thought you knew better by now, dear brother,” he says, half-way to that terrible, terrible laugh that means someone is about to die.

“I need to check your temperature,” Aaron says through gritted teeth. “If you’re really sick, I can pick up some medication on the way home. But I’m not buying you anything if you’re just being a fucking weirdo.”

Andrew slaps his free hand to his forehead dramatically. “Woe is me! I’m truly afflicted. Call the leach doctor!”

“If you don’t let me check then I’ll tell Nicky you’re sick and you can deal with him fussing all over you,” Aaron snarls.

“You’re telling Mommy on me? Low blow.”

Aaron flinches. Raw wounds tear open all over again. “Don’t call him that.”

Andrew stares at him for another long moment. Aaron knows better by now than to expect an apology, but Andrew’s grip on his arm loosens until his hand dangles around his wrist like a bangle. For a moment Aaron thinks Andrew is going to put Aaron’s hand to his forehead, but instead he pushes him off.

“It’s one of my moods. Call back tomorrow.”

Aaron huffs, but acknowledges that pushing Andrew any further will only end badly. He leaves Andrew grinning feverishly at his own ceiling and tries not to think about the horrific blackness beneath. Aaron remembers that space, the deep, empty pit of black that he threw himself down night after night with whatever drugs he could lay his hands on. He can’t imagine living there every hour of every day, nor being trapped there by legal mandate. He starts to wonder how Andrew ever manages to get out of bed at all.

Andrew is back in school before the end of the week, and Nicky and the social services remain none the wiser. Andrew always seems to know exactly how far he can push the system before it will break their “family” apart, but that doesn’t make Aaron any more comfortable with how he toes the line.

One more year; one more year of high school and he won’t ever have to think about Andrew and his sick games and his sicker head ever again.

Aaron bumps into Neil as they’re both leaving their respective dorm rooms. It’s been months since Neil and Andrew moved into a dorm together, but Aaron still isn’t used to it yet, how Neil will occasionally surface in one of Andrew’s oversized hoodies or vice versa. It’s too early in the day for Aaron to muster up the full force of his usual scowl, but they enter the elevator together in stony silence. It’s becoming rarer and rarer to see Neil without Andrew’s monolithic shadow at his shoulder, but Aaron doesn’t put too much thought into it until Neil turns up to practice on his own.

Neil answers Wymack’s raised eyebrow with a minute shake of his head which goes unnoticed by the others.

On the fourth day, Aaron watches as Wymack takes Neil aside, and they talk for several minutes with muted gestures and worried expressions. When Neil looks his way, Aaron pretends to be fixing his racquet strings. Andrew isn’t his damn responsibility anymore. He doesn’t need to care. Shouldn’t care.

The next day, Aaron pulls on a long-sleeved black shirt and a flat expression and sits in a stupor through several criminology lectures. Andrew’s lecturers know better than to bother calling on him, leaving Aaron mercifully undisturbed. What’s important is that a row of ticks appear next to Andrew’s name on their attendance sheets.

It’s Neil who opens the door to their dorm, so it’s Neil who receives the stack of notes Aaron dumps into his arms.

“Tell him to get his shit together,” Aaron says, leaving before Neil can respond.

* A week later, Andrew tracks Aaron down at the library. Mercifully, Katelyn isn’t with him; he’s in no mood to be preventing Andrew from murdering her nor himself from murdering Andrew.

“You have a strange definition of ‘letting go’,” says Andrew. He drops Aaron’s notes on the desk.

“I’m not going to sit back and watch you blow up your life for no reason. You’re a college athlete, not a high schooler. Stop handing your lecturers an excuse to kick you out.”

“For no reason,” Andrew repeats. “Is that still what you think this is?”

“I’m not a fucking mind-reader,” Aaron snaps. “You can’t keep playing your stupid games and expect the rest of us to figure out the rules. Why explain yourself when you can jerk the rest of the world around until we all run out of patience and you’re left with nothing and no one but your little fuck-buddy.”

“Language,” says Andrew, the closest thing to a warning Aaron is going to get. Aaron’s gaze flicks down. He’s still learning where the boundaries lie where Neil is involved, the ins and outs of Andrew’s protective instincts. He still isn’t used to being outside that circle, to standing on his own.

“It isn’t a game,” Andrew continues flatly. “I have depression. PTSD. A few other things besides, probably. Sometimes I get sick. Sometimes I can’t function. Sometimes I need a few days to myself. I’m not self-destructing, I’m surviving.”

Aaron stares. He knew his brother was fucked up in ways he could never imagine – the last year had been a brutal wake-up call to the depths of Andrew’s trauma – but he’s never seen it lain bare before, put down in proper terminology and honesty and acknowledgement. “So? Why should you get a free pass to do whatever just because of some shit that’s all in your head?”

“You’re going to make a terrible doctor,” says Andrew. Aaron clenches his fists, waits for the specific brand of murderous intent that Andrew alone can draw from him to pass. “Surely you know better than anyone how difficult it is to control what happens in your own mind.”

“Addiction is different. Addictive chemicals and-”

Andrew raises a finger to silence him. “Yes. Chemicals. Precisely.”

“Whatever.” There’s no worse feeling than when Andrew is right. It makes Aaron doubt every decision he’s ever made. “It doesn’t make a difference when you’re going to get kicked off the team.”

“Bee cleared my absences with the guidance department. Students with mental health difficulties get certain allowances.” Andrew pushes the notes towards him. “I don’t need your pity.”

“It wasn’t pity.”

Andrew raises an eyebrow. “It was something.”

Aaron remains silent. He isn’t sure what it was. “You’re getting help, then.”

Andrew’s gaze remains upon him for several seconds. “Like I said, you have a strange definition of ‘letting go’.” He leaves, knowing that Aaron has no response to give him.

The next day, Aaron and Neil bump into each other again outside their dorm rooms, both having a class that starts at the same time in the same building. Instead of greeting Aaron with his usual disdainful glare, he nods briefly. Aaron finds himself returning the gesture. The silence is less stony now, more…quiet.

“Will he be back at practice today?” Aaron asks bluntly, without bothering to specify who he is referring to.

“Tomorrow,” says Neil after a pause. “Probably.”

“Good.”

Aaron doesn’t acknowledge the way Neil’s gaze skates over him like Aaron has turned into a new man since last they spoke. The look of understanding that skates across Neil’s face sends an uncomfortable prickle across Aaron’s skin that he resists the urge to scratch away.

He and Neil reach an understanding that neither wanted nor sought out; they may be different in more ways than Aaron cares to count, but they’ve found their common ground in Andrew.

One day, Aaron might figure out what that means.

The patient sitting in Aaron’s consultancy room has long legs, spindly arms and a nervous tick when she speaks. The hood of her hoodie is still pulled over her head like she wants it to swallow her whole, the sleeves pulled down over her hands.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” she says quietly. The girl’s eyes haven’t left the floor since she entered. “I can’t make myself eat. I can’t make myself sleep. It’s like I don’t know how to act like a person anymore.”

Aaron nods. She isn’t the first patient to say this to him, and she won’t be the last. He’s had a lot of practice in learning the right thing to say.

“This isn’t your fault.” Bedside manner was not a part of the doctor’s skillset that came to Aaron naturally, but every so often there’s a patient for which he makes the effort. The ones who need it most. “This is a condition, and we are going to help you manage it.”

He glances at the photo of his family that he keeps on his desk and remembers that Andrew will be phoning him tonight. They will make perfunctory enquiries about each other’s partners, talk about their respective jobs, and if Bella is in a good mood Aaron might hand her the phone so she can warble disjointed syllables at her uncle for a few minutes.

“I can’t promise that it will get better right away,” Aaron says. For the first time since she entered, the patient meets his gaze. “But this is the start. Okay?”

She nods. There’s fear in her eyes, but there’s fight too. It’s a look Aaron is more than familiar with. “Okay.”

It’s a long road to recovery, but Aaron knows that better than almost anyone. He also knows what waits on the other end.

Thanks for reading, please let me know what you thought! Currently open to requests (lockdown, ammiright?)

#aftg #tfc #andrew minyard #aaron minyard #neil josten #my fic #i had so many other things I needed to do today and yet this is what I did #oops

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aelysalthea · 5 years ago

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Oh Nicky

Summary: Nicky hit his wall. An insurmountable wall. Germany had been a chance taken without thought and he didn't have any real hopes of it fixing anything. How could he fix the unfixable?

He'd never been more wrong in his life, and never happier for it.

Or, the moment Nicky met Erik and the life that was saved.

Rating: T

Warnings: Internalised homophobia, hurt/comfort

A voice resounded on loudspeaker overhead. It seemed to echo throughout the cavernous building, rebounding off vinyl floors and white walls. Had Nicky been consciously aware of the words it uttered, he might have whimpered at how utterly different the foreign, accented words were from the stilted syllables of his classroom.

Nicky didn't think such a thing. He didn't think much of anything as he drew his gaze around the sea of people clamouring through arrivals. It was difficult to think when he felt so much.

Fear was prevailing. Fear that bordered on terror. Alone, practically helpless, and fearful. A little miserable and self-pitying too, for though the flight had stopped over in North Carolina, it was a full twelve hours and counting from Columbia to Munich and he hadn't slept a wink in that time.

Scared. Exhausted. Kicking himself, most definitely, because what in God's name was he doing? When his teacher had posed the suggestion to him, Nicky had been hesitant because there was no way. Not a chance in any lifetime would his parents allow him to travel abroad for exchange.

But they had. And he did. And now Nicky questioned just what the hell he was doing so far from his home city, from his friends, from people that spoke a language he could fluently understand and respond to in kind. Why had fleeing the country sounded like such a good idea in the first place?

Because it can't be worse than home.

The thought filtered through the groggy mess in Nicky's head, the only thing tangible amidst the field of fear and misery. Grasping the strap of his rucksack with one hand, Nicky squeezed until the trembling all but vanished. He didn't want to be here, didn't want to be so far away from everyone he knew, but he wanted to be home even less. Nicky just didn't want. Period. So what was he doing standing in arrivals at Munich airports?

The voice from the overhead loudspeaker echoed once more, and though Nicky didn't listen any more this time, it nudged him into awareness slightly less hazy than that which had frozen him in place. Blinking, shaking himself with what was more of a shiver than a confident shedding of his nervousness, he squeezed his luggage bag with his other hand and continued through the gate with stuttering steps.

There were people everywhere. So many people and all of them unfamiliar. Shoulders tucked to his ears in what had little to do with the pervasive autumnal chill, Nicky darting his gaze over heads and beanies, hats and coats with collars flipped up around bare chins. Wheelie bags squeaked on the floor, nearly drowned out by the click of heels and the slap of business shoes.

Nicky tucked his own luggage a little closer to himself, picking up his pace to skitter towards the side of the flowing tide of arrivals. What am I doing, what am I doing, what am I…? The thought played on incessant repeat in his head, increasingly pitched and nearly hysterical. The panicked edge only spiked when, once more, the overhead voice relayed instructions in clipped words.

This time Nicky listened. Or he tried to. Gaze raised aimlessly in pointless search of the source of that voice, he strained his ears to make out the words where they were almost swallowed by the playback echo of the sound system. Flight number… what had it been? The speaker relayed it too quickly, words too skewed, for him to make out. Some flight, and going to – to Amsterdam, was it? He thought it was. He hoped it was. For some reason, that Nicky could make out the specifics of the words – "flight something to Amsterdam is delayed" – felt integrally important. Even more important in contrast to the words he couldn't understand at all.

"Fucking hell," Nicky croaked, his words low and quaking. "What am I even doing?"

He was good at German, wasn't he? Or at least his teacher said he was. Good enough that he could make his fumbling way through an airport to pickup, surely. Except that with each passing second, each step Nicky had taken from the tarmac, he'd become less confident in the skills his teacher so heartily believed he had.

What if he got lost? What if he never made it out of the airport? What if he couldn't find the family who was supposed to pick him up, never made contact, and had to somehow scramble his way back onto a plane and take the long haul back to Columbia? Back to his family and the drudgery of school. Back to what felt like literal hell and the daily exhausting grind of it, the pain of waking up every single day and feeling like shit, the fear that someone, anyone, would ask him about… would talk to him about…

Nicky knew his lip trembled, but he couldn't help it. He knew that his hold on his luggage and rucksack was too tight, that he might even develop lasting marks on his fingers with how tightly he was grasping the strap. He knew that he probably looked more than a little pathetic – a teenage boy, most likely distinctly American, standing like a lost puppy in the middle of the airport. And yet all Nicky could do was stare across the cavernous expanse of the yawning gate, the lights overhead becoming increasingly bright and painful as his eyes blurred, and struggle to breathe.

Just to breathe. Just to breathe. Just to… why bother? What was the point when he couldn't even -?

"Nicholas? Are you Nicholas Hemmick?"

The words struck Nicky like a much-appreciated slap in the face. It wasn't only because it was his name – his name? Someone that knew his name? – but because the words were in English. Accented and nearly as skewed as the overhead speakers, but definitely English.

Blinking rapidly in an unsuccessful attempt to clear his blurry gaze, Nicky spun towards the sound of the voice. It took him a moment to make out the trio of people wading through the crowd, barely a handful of steps away but previously unnoticed. It took another second for Nicky to recognise the faces of the man and woman leading the way; vaguely familiar faces only, but even vagueness was a welcomed lifeline in an instant of utter petrification.

Nicky had only seen the one picture of Mr. and Mrs. Klose, but he could recognise them. Thank God he could recognise them.

The blurriness wouldn't quite leave his eyes even as Nicky took a hesitant step towards the Kloses. He nodded rapidly, opened his mouth to answer their question, then resorted to more feeble nodding when words failed him.

Mrs. Klose offered him a smile as she drew before him. The slight lines on her face were more pronounced than they'd been in the picture, but it added to rather than detracted from the softness of her expression. "Welcome," she said, warmth thickening her words. "We weren't sure of the exact time your flight would be in."

"So we got here early," Mr. Klose added, drawing alongside her. "Probably a little too early."

"There is no such thing as being too early for a flight."

"If you are the one going onto the flight, yes. Picking up, though? Not quite so much."

"I would rather be early than late."

"Yes, yes. Of course."

Nicky glanced between them, switching back and forth as they spoke. The words weren't nearly as fragmented as he'd feared, as his teacher has warned him he might have to work his way through, and like their greeting, he grasped the comprehensiveness like a sacred gift.

"You're –" Nicky attempted, then paused as the word came out as little more than a strangled warble. Swallowing, cringing as the pair blinked at him expectantly and hoping to God his cheeks weren't as red as they felt, he cleared his throat. "You're Mr. and Mrs. Klose?"

"You seem so scared!" Mrs. Klose said, a smile tinged with sympathy rearranging her entire face. "There is no need to be, really."

"And you don't have to be so formal with us," Mr. Klose said. "Just Fred for me, and Leonie –"

"Yes, of course, you can call me Leonie." She smiled with that same sympathy radiating from her in waves. Nicky could feel it as though it physically struck him.

Suddenly it was too much to maintain his composure even. Or perhaps too much again, for Nicky wasn't sure if he'd been anything close to composed since he'd left the States. Not since he'd clambered out of his car at the airport and glanced over his shoulder at his parents. Not since he'd turned away from his mother as she gnawed her thumbnail, forehead crinkled into thick lines, or cringed at his father's parting words.

"Take the time to get yourself together, son. Use this as a learning experience, the Lord lighting your way, and you will flourish."

Too often of late his father's words lashed him like a whip with their unspoken undertones. Too often they echoed in Nicky's head on constant repeat, demanding and reprimanding even when the words themselves were anything but. How it could persist half a world away Nicky didn't know, but all of it, everything – the distance, the time, the exhaustion, and the flinch that afflicted him with every bad passing thought – became too much to handle.

Nicky's lip trembled and he couldn't make it stop. His eyes blurred once more and his throat clogged, a thickness in his chest tightening his lungs and making it nearly impossible to breathe this time. Through the blurriness he could see Leonie's face flicker into confusion then concern, saw Fred reach a hand towards him but not to touch.

"I'm sorry," Nicky said, forcing the words out in German with a hint of solemn respect as he took a step backwards. He raised a hand to scrub at his eyes but it did little good in relieving him of his tears. "I'm really tired. S-sorry. This is all just a little…"

"Overwhelming?"

Through his fingers, Nicky turned towards the third member of his host family's party. He'd barely noticed the other man – the other boy, even, for he couldn't be much older than Nicky himself. Blinking rapidly, Nicky got an impression of tallness, of dark hair and a crooked smile, before the boy was at his side and placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"It must be overwhelming," the boy said, his English just as accented as Leonie's and Fred's. "You're very brave to have come out here all by yourself, you know."

Nicky couldn't really see the other boy. He didn't know who he was, even if he could suspect, hadn't seen a picture of him and didn't even know his name. But at that moment, with the weight of a new country, a kindly family, and a gentle stranger heaped upon him, the few seams that still held him together dissolved.

How Nicky ended up sobbing helplessly in the boy's arms he didn't know. Why that boy didn't withdraw, didn't stiffen and flinch as Nicky dropped his forehead onto his shoulder, he didn't know either. The boy seemed instead inclined towards quite the opposite: a patting hand became a half embrace that all but held Nicky up as he sagged against him.

It was embarrassing. Terribly embarrassing, or it would have been if Nicky cared to acknowledge and feel the passing thought. It was also terribly wrong and would draw eyes and suspicion in the worst way possible. Another passing thought shivered to consider what his father would say, how his mother would shrivel at the sight, because God, if he was ever seen to do such a thing – but no. The larger part of Nicky could barely even consider his sinful actions as anything but the desperate clinging that they were.

"Hey, hey, you're alright, Nicholas," the boy said, rhythmically rubbing at his back with his gentle hands. "It's alright. You're alright."

Blubbering as he was, his eyes overflowing and chest hitching, it was all Nicky could do to utter a mumbled, "It's Nicky."

"Nicky," the boy echoed, and Nicky felt rather than saw him nod. "Okay. Hello, Nicky. My name is Erik. It's wonderful to meet you."

Nicky squeezed his eyes closed and buried his face. He wasn't quite sure what was so wonderful about it all, but he supposed this boy – this Erik – might be right. If only for the moment, leaning against someone who seemed more than capable of holding him up for as long as he needed felt pretty damn good.

***

"Calling all passengers to Flight 432 to Stockholm, that's all passengers on Flight 432 to Stockholm. Boarding will begin…"

Nicky barely heard the overhead voice in its cool, clinical tone as it echoed overhead. He barely heard the hubbub of voices that surrounded him either – the bubbly chatter of a young family, the crisp words of a man on his phone, or the burst of laughter from a woman as she hastened through the arrivals gate with her arm raised in a wave.

Nicky didn't hear and barely saw any of it. Hands gripping the strap of his backpack and luggage handle respectively, he hastened with as much speed as he could from the gate of his incoming flight. There were people everywhere, ducking and weaving past and around him, and Nicky found himself dodging with every ounce of the skill he'd gained from years on an exy court.

When the foyer opened into the wide, cavernous room of pick-ups, he increased his speed further. The echoing voices changed in tone, rising into the air like hot steam to weave between the beams of sunlight raining through the windows lining the roof. That light scattered spotlights in golden yellow onto the heads below and cast beaming faces and excited greetings into stark relief.

Nicky didn't really see any of that either - or he did, but only in the one instance that it mattered. Only of the one face that mattered.

"Erik!"

Abandoning his luggage, backpack slipping from his shoulders, Nicky bolted through the last of the sea of people. He all but flew the final steps, sweeping around a woman as she crossed before him, and leaped at Erik with arms wide.

Erik caught him. In a grasp as strong and tight as Nicky's own, he caught and held him against himself in a fierce embrace. Nicky's Erik, his shining, vibrant boyfriend, the one person who could have stood out like a beacon in the tumultuous mix of people clogging the airport. Nicky would swear that, like a lodestone, he could have felt Erik wherever he was and become magnetised with fierce compulsion. It was impossible to resist.

Clinging to him, Nicky pressed his face briefly into Erik's shoulder, arms squeezing around his neck to hold him just a little closer. It had been months. Months. Why in God's name had he left it so long? How could anything – exy, his studies, even his family – be more important than this? In that moment, Nicky couldn't fathom it, and when he drew away from Erik slightly, just enough to catch his eye and the spread of his beautiful smile, every possible reason and excuse dissolved into pointlessness.

Nicky caught Erik's face in his hands and captured his lips in a kiss. One kiss, then another one, because one simply wasn't enough. Erik's arms tightened around him and held him close, so close it was almost hard to breathe, and Nicky didn't think he'd ever felt happier to give up his breath in his life.

"Welcome back," Erik managed in the split second that Nicky released his lips before stealing them again.

"Mm."

"I missed you," Erik murmured against his lips.

Nicky squeezed his eyes closed briefly. "Mm-hm. Me too." He punctuated it with another kiss.

"How was the flight?"

"Long."

"How's your cousins?"

"Crazy as ever."

"And how are you?"

Nicky opened his eyes. As close as he was he could make out the fragments of green in Erik's eyes, the hair-thin lines around them that stood as testament to his loveable smiles and incessant good humour. Nicky drew his thumbs across them briefly as he cradled Erik's face. When he smiled, Erik met his joy with his own smile just as wide, and those little lines crinkled into wonderful delight.

"Right now, I'm absolutely perfect," Nicky said, and released Erik's face only long enough to crush him in an embrace once more. Erik tightened his arms around him in return, all but lifting Nicky off his feet. Though for a moment Nicky really couldn't breathe, he didn't want to be let go for an instant. Not even a little.

He would have to get his luggage before it got lost somewhere, but that could wait. They would be visiting Leonie and Fred that day, but that was later and could wait too. Nicky would have to call home, call Aaron and send an acknowledging text that he was still alive to Andrew, but all of that, every one of his duties, could wait.

Later. Later and after… this. Cradled against Erik, exactly where he would always want to be, Nicky couldn't bring himself to care about anything else in the world.

***

A/N: Thank you for reading. Nicky is such a sweetheart who’s been through so much and I wish more was written about him and Erik. I’d love to hear your thoughts if you have a second on my AO3 post!

#aftg #the foxhole court #fanfiction #nicky hemmick #erik klose #pre-canon #canon-compliant #hurt/comfort #internalised homophobia #mentions of emotional abuse

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