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anystalker707 · 8 days ago

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Catch me when I fall

Pairing: Hayden Christensen x [gender-neutral] Reader Summary: Being stuck in a small city with barely any service during the business rush of the holidays feels like hell when you're an agent of a great company. Tags: very generic, cliche, cheesy christmas plot / very very very sweet / comfort / decorating christmas cookies / watching christmas lights / ice skating / christmas activities

requested by ms rain the queen herself @bimbo-baggins17

MASTER LIST

Christmas wasn’t important. Well, actually, it was, when it came to numbers. Profits went high, people and sales everywhere, and you’d usually always be the one going on business trips for the company, going around to sign contracts or take pictures shaking hands with people to seal business deals and keep the appearances.

Business kept your mind busy during the holidays, set on what needed to get done, away from distractions. The November-January period was busy, much like June-August, so the main difference was simply the weather and decorations.

This year’s destination seemed nice—a little, cozy city that made its profits mainly during the holiday season because of tourism, and encouraging small businesses was the company’s great aim this time. The pictures of you with the mayor and other local authorities were everywhere by now for the new campaign.

Everything was going great. Maybe a little too great to be true.

“The road’s blocked?” You blinked a couple of times, taking a deep breath.

“Well, you see…” The driver cleared his throat and coughed, looking away, looking at the cars that eventually passed down the frozen streets, though there weren’t many. Not in such a small city. “The weather was too intense, so the bridge’s under maintenance. It will take a while to fix since we gotta make sure it’s safe ‘n all, y’know. Gotta have a good weather t’work.”

Something felt like it was about to snap inside you. There was going to be another important meeting in two days. “What about the other exit? Plane? Boat? Helicopter?”

The driver flinched a little more with each word. “Look, Mx., I really believe the best’s t’wait. M’bad, but safety comes first, y’know? ‘N the city’s small. No other exit.” He shrugged as he leaned back against the car, but quickly fished his phone out of his pocket with a sigh. “Look, Mx., I really gotta go. Y’got my number ‘lready. Y’gonna know when the bridge’s fixed, then y’can call me. Uh—” He paused before he answered his phone. “There’s a lil’ inn there, good prices.”

He didn’t spare another word, pressing the phone to his ear and getting in the car before he slammed the door shut, and the car sped away with a rhythmic sound of something loose, leaving you standing alone in the cold streets with your suitcase. Fuck. You had planned to stay in a hotel in the state’s capital, not… there.

You finally found the sign hanging from a large building, black letters on light brown wood saying ‘Donna’s inn’ in cursive. The wooden building seemed cozy, surrounded by dark green pine trees and deep red decorations that matched the ornaments along the light posts that decorated the street, with the touch of accumulated snow. It hadn’t snowed so much since you arrived in the city by the morning, but it was noticeable the weather had been harsh lately. Now that you think of it, the drive into the city took longer than expected, and the line of cars seemed explainable now, given the bridge’s situation.

A sigh escaped your lips. It is what it is.

The nice smell of gingerbread cookies and cherry pie greeted you the moment you stepped past the door, welcoming you with a warmth that gave your nerves a break from all the trembling—a little piece of heaven in the middle of nowhere. Small cities felt claustrophobic when you were used to big centers.

You inhaled to call for someone when an old lady showed up behind the counter in a red dress and a dark green apron with a nice print of white polka dots around the edges, which matched her mitten. “Oh, hello, dear, good afternoon! What can I do for you?” She adjusted her glasses with her free hand.

“Oh, hi,” you said with a nod, observing the flour fingerprints on her lenses for a moment. “I’d like a room. Uh, until the bridge’s fixed. However long that takes…” You sighed.

A crease showed up between her brows, and the lady sighed. “Everyone knew that was going to happen. I—” A clanking sound came from the kitchen, along with a patterned beeping. “Give me a moment, dear, I’ll fetch your keys. Make yourself comfortable, huh?” She smiled warmly before walking through the door, which you presumed to lead to the kitchen, leaving you alone in the reception.

The room was cozy and warm, with a fire, an armchair, and a couch. Christmas decorations hung everywhere, a nice jar with some flowers sat on the side table, and the carpet seemed to be picked out for the holiday season as well. Red, white, and green were practically everywhere, aside from when they gave place to the golden wallpaper. Whoever took care of the place did it well.

You left your suitcase near the counter to step closer to the window, observing the darkening sky, the snow accumulating on top of trees and houses—

“Fuck!” Your heart almost jumped out of your chest when a figure emerged outside, making you take a step back, but damn, it was just a man. He had a few layers of sweaters and a hood on as his gloved fingers tried to untangle a line of Christmas lights. The dumbass— Fuck, he didn’t even notice you standing there, almost having a heart attack as you held your chest and gripped the window sill with your free hand, trying to catch your breath.

Blue eyes glanced at you once, then twice, before they widened in realization. “Did I scare you?” He mouthed, letting out an awkward chuckle when you nodded. “Sorry.”

The man leaned forward to look at the counter through the window before he let the Christmas lights down, and the next thing you knew was that he was walking through the front door, exhaling as he brushed the snow off his shoulders and took the hood off, tucking it somewhere behind the counter along with his gloves.

Now that you took a better look at him… Fuck, if he had a sharp suit on, you’d easily mistake him for one of the great businessmen you didn’t even dare to look at directly. Tall, handsome, and intimidating even in his gentleness.

“So…” He cleared his throat, grabbing a book from behind the counter. “A room?”

You blinked a couple of times and looked past him, but the door to the kitchen was still closed. “You work here?”

“Maintenance guy. A little bit of everything, really. I fill in when Mrs. Lee is busy in the kitchen,” he said with a shrug as he grabbed a pen. “So?”

Reality dawned once more, making you sigh for the thousandth time of the day, rubbing your temple. “A room. Until the bridge’s fixed.”

He raised his eyebrows and tilted his head, eyes raking over you swiftly. “Oh, shucks, big city kid.” Something in it sounded like mockery, but you left it at that, only watching him grab a key that hung on the wall and check the number on the tag before writing something in the notebook. “Uuh, sign your name here, also write down your number,” he said as he turned the notebook towards you, handing you the pen. “Room number twenty-five. Very Christmas-y.”

You furrowed your eyebrows, shaking your head to yourself. As if it had to do with anything. Irrelevant. After checking your information a last time, you handed the pen back. “Is there any fee?”

“Nope,” he said. “As long as you don’t run away during the night.” A chuckle escaped his lips, but you didn’t share the humor, and he didn’t mind it, simply taking the notebook back and nodding to himself. “Come on, I’ll show you to your room.” He walked around the counter in long strides and reached for your suitcase, not caring that you were already holding the handle. “Leave it with me, sweetheart. You seem tired.”

His gaze held yours for a longer moment, blue eyes warm. His hand covered yours to squeeze it gently. The touch was so warm and caring, and fuck, did he call you sweetheart? That— Damn, you were supposed to—

“Sweetheart?” He called from the hall, and you cursed yourself while rushing after him. He stopped in front of a door, the frame lined with red and white decorations that made you think of candy cane and holiday profits off decorations. Your suitcase was by his feet as he unlocked the door. He was so annoying, suddenly. Something about the way he stood, spoke, talked to you…

“Do you have a name, or are you just the maintenance guy?”

Maybe the bitterness was easy to notice. He raised his eyebrows lightly as he looked at you and handed the keys over. “It’s Hayden.” He smiled softly. “Uh, dinner’s from seven-thirty until nine. Self-service, with pretty much all kinds of options. No extra fees charged. Breakfast is from seven to nine, and lunch is from eleven to one,” he said before he paused, rubbing his chin lightly. “Just a tip, but since you’re staying until the bridge’s new again, then maybe you should check the city lights at some point. If you need me, ‘m just down the hall, sweetheart.” Hayden winked before walking down the hall, probably going back to fixing the Christmas lights or anything.

Damn. He looked so… Ugh, you weren’t supposed to pay attention to those things. Reality barged in again within seconds, preventing you from just stupidly standing there while looking at where Hayden had disappeared.

The mess hall was quite cozy, making it feel like a big family was eating together despite the different tables. A sweet smell of something being prepared for later came from the kitchen when you walked past the door, catching a glimpse of the old lady—Mrs. Lee—with another younger woman with aprons and bowls. And yeah, they did a great job. Hayden wasn’t lying when he said there were a lot of options.

Quite a few other guests had lunch at the inn, enough to fill the mess hall with quiet chatter and the clinking of ceramic against ceramic, but still, not enough people to fill out all the tables, leaving a four-seat one free for you.

Your phone rested beside your plate, ever loading, unresponsive with the bad signal that’d been pestering you ever since you woke up. Those dark clouds in the sky didn’t seem promising at all, though.

“Oh, look at who’s here!” The sudden voice made you look up to see Hayden approaching with a plate of food to take a seat across from you. “Didn’t see you during breakfast.” He raised an eyebrow, picking up the cutlery.

You raised your eyebrows, tilting your head. “I had gone to check if the bridge was fixed, or if I could find another way to leave,” you exhaled, pushing your food around the plate a little before finally taking another bite.

Hayden hummed as he nodded slowly. “Not successful, I presume.” He only smiled at the glare—that damn smile. “Why the rush? Going back home to see family for Christmas?”

“No!” You scoffed. As if you’d go back home right at that time of the year when business is so agitated. “I have an important meeting in two days. It’s important for the company, and I can barely get enough signal to let anyone know that I’m stuck here, though, hopefully, the bridge’s news will reach them.”

A crease showed up between Hayden’s eyebrows as he looked at you, swallowing before he could speak up. “What could be that important that you couldn’t enjoy Christmas with your family?” He paused and cleared his throat. “Sorry, that sounded too intrusive. I mean—” he paused. “What could be so important that you would rather work than enjoy Christmas?”

After a moment of staring at Hayden—at that stupidly handsome face—, you took a deep breath. “How else is the market supposed to keep running if people like me weren’t active during the Holidays? I mean, things can’t just stop completely.”

Hayden raised his eyebrows as he hummed slowly, that attitude from the first day coming back already. How entertaining could it be to mock you? Honestly… “Not so lucky, it seems.” And you sighed, about to say something when he looked at you. “However, you’re actually lucky to be here to see the city’s Christmas festivities.”

You shot him the same mocking look. “How productive.”

A hint of exasperation crossed his face before Hayden shrugged. “Better than just sitting there, since you can’t work or anything anyway.” And a small, fake apologetic smile crossed his face because he knew exactly how much of a low blow his words were, then proceeded to go back to eating as if nothing had happened. He even had the audacity to look at you with an inquiring gaze, blinking a couple of times as he still smiled, munching on his food, and you had to hold yourself back from wiping that look off his face. Whatever it took…

Most of the guests left after lunch to explore the city or anything else related to Christmas, but there was barely anything you could do when the signal was so bad and the bridge wasn’t fixed yet. After being trapped in your room for long enough, you decided to lounge a little in the reception, given the warmth of the fireplace and the snacks in the glass jars, but you found yourself standing by the window and watching sparse snow fall. Being trapped in that city made you think of all the reports you could be writing, all the e-mails that must be flooding your inbox, the missed calls, unanswered messages…

“Oh, you’re still around, sweetheart,” the voice cut through your thoughts. Was Hayden everywhere? Though you didn’t mind seeing him, even if he wore that ugly sweater, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and an apron much like the one Mrs. Lee and her helper were using. Where did all that charm come from? “Got nothing to do?”

“No.” It sounded heavier than intended, but the frustration was real.

“Maybe you could help me with decorating some cookies?” Hayden raised his eyebrows a little. “Mrs. Lee left last minute and said I could decorate this batch, and since you’re around so melancholic like that… ‘Could be a good way to pass the time.”

Cooking was far from the reality of paperwork, meetings, and screens that filled your life, and that reality only hit you now that you imagined yourself in a kitchen, decorating cookies. Christmas cookies.

“It’ll be fun, I swear,” Hayden said before you could overthink, and maybe it worked, because he soon had an arm wrapped around your shoulders while guiding you behind the counter and into the kitchen, also decorated in a Christmas theme, wide, with enough apparel to attend the demand of three daily meals for the inn’s guests. The surface of the island’s stainless steel counter was covered in cookies. “We have gingerbread men, trees, snowflakes, and icing in different colors,” he said as he grabbed one of the aprons that hung on the wall. Dark green, polka dots details. “There we go.”

Hayden slipped the top part around your head and stood behind you to gently tie the straps around your waist, fingers brushing against you gently. “Well, aren’t you just cute?”

Cute? Out of your element and dressing something like that? But he said it in such a smooth voice and genuine appreciation. How even were you supposed to feel about that? The embarrassment and confusion must’ve been evident, given the chuckle you earned from him.

“Uh, thanks,” you muttered with uncertainty, trying to move past the situation as you washed your hands in the sink.

“Let’s start with the gingerbread men, how’s that sound?” Hayden clapped before he grabbed one of the bags with icing and pulled the closest cookie closer, glancing at you with those pretty blue eyes.

Focus. You took a deep breath before adjusting the icing in your hands, trying to find any position that made it feel more natural, or at least… less difficult to decorate those cookies and make something that didn’t look ugly. Unfortunately, measuring the pressure and coordinating things was a little too hard, making you curse under your breath when the white icing started falling off the side of the cookie.

Hayden looked at you once, twice, then hummed before rushing over. “Oh, fuck, it’s okay, sweetheart. Happens to the best of us,” he said before he moved to next to you—a little too close, but not unpleasantly. He took the cookie from the counter, wiping the extra icing off the counter with his free hand before he licked his fingers clean, his lips wrapping around his middle and ring finger…

Blue eyes met yours, and Hayden raised his eyebrows lightly. “Tastes good,” he whispered as if it were a secret before licking the white remnants off his lips and wiping his fingers on the apron. “Well, the thing is, you have to hold it like this and do not apply pressure on the bottom, okay? Not a lot, at least.” He set the ruined cookie aside before wrapping his arms around you, hands over yours ever so gently, his face next to yours, so close you could catch a faint hint of cigarettes in his breath. “Careful, sweetheart. We want pretty cookies, hm? I’m sure you can make some as pretty as you.”

And you didn’t know whether it was Hayden or you actually doing the thing because your brain could barely process anything but every point where your bodies touched, and his words still swam across your mind. Nonetheless, you still had to put some minimum effort into it so that you didn’t look like a complete fool.

“There we go. This one looks cuter, don't you think?” Hayden tilted his head before his eyes met yours. So close. “I knew I was making a good choice by asking you to help me. Well, let’s go back to work. Try not to waste anything, okay?”

Even out of your element, even if you’d laugh if someone told you yesterday that you’d be doing that today, decorating the cookies with him, it gave you some sense of home, even if you never grasped the concept properly before. It felt like a glimpse of a life you’d have if things had gone differently in the past. Living in a small city, being married, doing the simple things, it all felt so distant.

“You okay there, sweetheart?” Hayden’s voice cut through your thoughts before you nodded, finishing organizing the cookies so that the icing could dry before they were put in jars. There was a clear distinction between the ones you decorated and the ones Hayden decorated.

You nodded. “Yeah, just lost in thought,” you said softly, giving him a small smile, a forced one, for the sake of the moment. He smiled back with an understanding nod, and none of you really seemed to be truthful.

“Well,” Hayden took a deep breath as he nudged a cookie into place before placing his hand on top of yours. “I know you’re very frustrated. Being stuck in a city like this, nothing like what you’re used to, away from a lot of things, it might feel at least,” he paused, seeming to think for a word, “claustrophobic, but it doesn’t have to be totally bad.” He glanced down at your joined hands before nodding with a hum. “Anyway,” he cleared his throat, “I’m very thankful for your help. We were a great duo today.” And you couldn’t even continue your overthinking, not when he sent you that smile.

Everything was organized again, back into place or put away, aside from the cookies that waited for the icing to dry. Having the moment slipping through your fingers gave you a weird sensation in your chest, almost an ache.

“Let me help you,” Hayden said softly, and his hands grazed your back again as he untied the apron, always so caring and attentive, with some sort of tenderness that only seemed unreal until now. How real could it be, though? “Do you want to go with me to the rink someday?” He always interrupted your thoughts in the best-worst moments, as if he had a sixth sense or something. “Ice skating can be boring when you’re alone, y’know.”

“Ice skating?” You furrowed your eyebrows. Far from your usual activities. “What if something needs maintenance by then? Will you just be away, ice skating?”

“Normal humans don’t work the whole time, I’m not sure if you know that.”

You blinked slowly, glaring. How could someone be so annoying and nice all at the same time? Far from your usual conversations. “And what if there’s service before we can go? Maybe the bridge’s already fixed by then.”

Hayden scoffed. “Yeah, no. This is no New York—”

“New York isn’t—”

“—so the best you can do is really just wait patiently. You may not see how you can make it better, but making it worse won’t help either,” he said slowly, holding eye contact. Part of you wondered where all that patience came from. Surprisingly, he didn’t sound patronizing, but caring instead.

Despite how annoying it was to admit it, Hayden was right. Just staring at the ever-loading circle on your phone or laptop screen while stressing every second that went by didn’t seem so helpful, and even if the bridge did happen to get fixed and service suddenly came back, you wouldn’t be able to solve everything in a snap of fingers either. Damn it. Rationality felt like defeat, even if there wasn’t anything to lose.

A hand rested on your shoulder, thumb rubbing circles into your skin. Intentionally or not, Hayden did a good job at comforting you.

You had to use every ounce of strength to avert your eyes away from his, trying to find something interesting in observing all those colorful cookies, anything that didn’t show his reaction. “When’s the rink open?” You asked, voice strained through all those feelings.

Hayden’s approval simmered in the air before his voice replaced it. “Uh, this weekend, if I’m not wrong.”

“What?” You widened your eyes at him. “It’s Monday!”

Despite your panic, he laughed. “You overestimate some things ‘round here.”

You rubbed your forehead, observing the fire flicker in the fireplace, trying to think about anything other than checking your phone. Your brain melted like the marshmallows in the cup. “Now, what’s this again?”

Hayden sat on the armchair beside yours, ankle on his knee, hanging out with you in the inn’s lounge while Mrs. Lee cooked in the kitchen to the sound of cheerful Christmas songs on the radio. The inn wasn’t so agitated during the afternoons, the space between lunch and dinner always filled with a nice calmness, even if everything still gave you a small sense of unease. Some of your emails had been delivered through the night, but service was still too slow to let you check all the updates properly. At least someone knew you weren’t dead or something.

“Chilling.”

You feigned a smile. “Uh huh, wow.”

“Do you like the hot chocolate though?”

“Well,” you tutted, “it's not bad.” Giving in was hard, but you didn't want to be unpleasant either. After all, Hayden was just being nice so far, despite the attitude… “What's this? A streak of Christmas activities? Christmas to-do list?” You grabbed the mug from the small side table, taking a look at the exaggerated Santa Claus design. “Is everything over here Christmas-themed?”

Hayden looked around, from the ceiling to the floor, before looking down at himself, then at you. “Uh, I suppose you aren't Christmas-themed.”

“You’re so funny.” You sighed and sipped on the hot drink.

“Thank you.” Hayden tilted his head, his eyes scanning your face for a moment. His tongue darted out to lick his lips before he spoke up. ��Any success contacting your company or something?”

“Actually, yes!” You replied a bit too fast, but he smiled. “It seems like my email was sent! I received a few, but they won’t load, unfortunately. At least they have time to rescue me or send someone else in my place.”

Hayden nodded slowly. “That eases part of your stress, right? Now that they know, you don’t need to keep observing your phone your whole time.” His hand found yours before you could grab the phone, warm fingers enveloping yours and giving your hand a reassuring squeeze. “Come on, staying here isn’t all that bad, you’re just…” He paused, shrugging. “…not used to slowing down like this,” he said each word carefully and nodded after noticing you didn’t complain, but how could you think about anything other than how nice his hand felt around yours? His thumb gently tracing your knuckles in such a nice, loving way.

“Hayden?” Mrs. Lee showed up from the door to the kitchen. “Think you can buy me some more sprinkles, deary? I need those.” She adjusted her glasses, squeezing her eyes while bringing up an empty wrapper. “The red and green ones. Silver or golden will do just fine if it’s sold out already.” She waved it a little, compelling Hayden to stand up with a soft sigh and retrieve the plastic bag, letting the cold air replace the warmth of his hand around yours. “You know they opened the Christmas expo near the glass house, hm? You should take your partner with you.”

Hayden glanced back at you, your eyes meeting for what were just seconds but felt like an eternity. His partner…? You couldn’t afford to have a partner, no matter how appealing the idea sounded. Despite the shared look, he just nodded at Mrs. Lee before he pocketed the wrapper and made a motion for you to follow as he walked to the door, seeming pleased when you stood up. Well, it was no use arguing with Mrs. Lee over something so insignificant, right?

Gentle hands helped you into your coat, delicately adjusting the lapel. “Let’s go.” Hayden waited for you to make sure you were ready before he held the door open. “She’s probably preparing donuts. You gotta try them on, even if you’re not into donuts.”

You hummed with a nod, watching your breath turn into steam in the cold air, before avoiding slipping on the frozen part of the sidewalk became your new focus.

“Easy there,” Hayden said as his hand immediately grabbed your upper arm until you were steady enough for his hand to drop to your waist. “Good, sweetheart?” His hand pressed firmly against your waist, and you couldn’t help but gravitate to his side. After all, Hayden was so warm, and his presence gave that sense of protection. Comfort. Naming it was hard.

“Yeah,” you said softly, glancing at him. He didn’t let go of you, and you didn’t push him away either.

The walk was silent, and you didn’t do much besides following Hayden around the little convenience store and accepting the warm cup of coffee he bought for you, and another for himself. A shiver ran down your spine as you two left the store, leaving behind the muffled talk with a background sound of distorted voices among the TV’s white noise and warmth, replaced by the silence brought by the snow accumulated on the streets and steam rising from the coffee cups, their warmth pleasantly penetrating your glove. Mrs. Lee’s sprinkles were safe inside the pocket of Hayden’s jacket, leaving his hands free for you and the coffee.

“Let’s take a different way back.” Hayden’s hand went from your waist to your hand to guide you into the street you would’ve otherwise walked past, and you followed with a light groan when your coffee almost spilled over. “They always decorate the square nicely. Last year, the decoration was a little… weird. The angels— They were supposed to look like angels, but were more like ghosts,” he said with a chuckle, grin widening once he noticed your smile.

“Oh? That’s…”

“I don’t think the decorator thought it through,” he said, clicking his tongue, that charming smile still across his face. Fuck, he made you feel such things. “But it’s beautiful this year.” He sipped on the coffee, finishing it before he tossed the empty cup into a trash can, and you did the same. Appreciating the decoration would be better without the coffee to worry about.

Golden and silver lights lined the trees and light posts, fading out a little until they became bright again, giving a cozy vibe to the square. Just like Mrs. Lee had said, there was, indeed, a building with big, glass windows, lined with lights as well. The Christmas tree was made out of golden LED lights with a pretty star on top, and there was a tunnel of silver lights and stars hanging in it… Everything was far from the extravagant decorations you were used to, but something about it gave you a comfort you’d never felt. It was scary, overwhelming, like it would burst out of your chest, explode, and…

“It’s beautiful,” Hayden said as he walked through the tunnel with you, his hand down your arm until his hands found yours then gently intertwined your fingers, grip firm and caring. “I’m glad it’s beautiful this year, so you don’t have a bad impression about our town,” he whispered.

Your gaze averted to him briefly, and you nodded faintly, unable to look away from the stars that hung in the tunnel of slowly twinkling lights for too long, accompanying Hayden in unhurried steps. Everything is so different, and it didn’t feel like you’d expected it to be—like you’d feared. You stopped by the end of the tunnel, afraid that magic would disappear if you stepped out of it, so you just stood there, by the end, a step away from all that daily stress, anxiety, and bullshit.

“You know, it is so—” The words escaped your grasp when your eyes averted to Hayden, and he was already looking at you. Something about his gaze made your heart skip a beat. He offered a smile, but it only helped your brain malfunction more, and the only thing you could give in return was to squeeze his hand back after his fingers tightened a little around yours. You exhaled, trying to look at anything other than Hayden, maybe at the… mistletoe.

Hayden’s eyebrows raised as he followed your gaze, eventually noticing the mistletoe, which seemed like the most important thing in the world until your eyes met again, hesitant, expectant, something like that. How could you ignore the pull? The sweet gaze that seemed to look right through you…

How it happened didn’t matter, not when Hayden’s lips pressed to yours, and only now did you notice how much you’d wanted it to happen, now that his arms wrapped around your waist and your body molded against his so perfectly, and no kiss had ever felt that good, never made your heart beat like that.

His lips were as gentle as they appeared, making you feel better than any good millionaire deal made on Christmas ever could, and it felt pathetic now to think that your Christmases had been filled with that until now. Felt stupid. Was that how everyone else saw you? As someone stupid? Because it didn’t feel very wise to have spent all that time drowning yourself in work, just work, not even enjoying all those places you’d traveled to, and fuck. No, no, that was your life. You couldn’t throw away all those years because it wasn’t stupid. A few kisses wouldn’t keep money running, people employed, and money in their accounts.

It hurt when Hayden’s lips sought after yours after you pulled away, but it was needed. You hadn’t gotten so far—dedicated so many years—just for that, but you couldn’t help letting your hands linger on his chest before finally stepping back and looking away. Falling in love was too far off the question, too much for someone like you.

Not much was left to be said.

“Oh, honey, good morning,” Mrs. Lee said as soon as she saw you by the main table to grab some breakfast, adjusting the thick glasses that made her green eyes seem a lot bigger, but in an endearing way. “Has Hayden told you?”

Just hearing his name made your heart skip a beat, making you thankful you weren’t holding your mug with hot coffee. It wasn’t like you did anything wrong. Get a fucking grip. “Uh, told me about what?”

“The bridge, honey!” She clapped her hands together. “It’s fixed!”

“Fixed?!”

“You can go home!” Mrs. Lee seemed happier than you, patting your shoulder before she rushed into the kitchen as soon as a beeping sound cut through the chatter and clinking of porcelain. Not that it was too hard to be happier than you—or anything at all more than you—given the mess of sentiments swirling inside you like… Ugh, not everything is like something else. Maybe all those feelings were starting to take up food’s space, making your appetite vanish, but you still grabbed a cookie, since Mrs. Lee could be watching. That cookie looked awfully familiar.

Focus. The bridge. You had to find that driver’s card somewhere in your things.

“Gonna pack up, sweetheart?” Hayden almost gave you a heart attack, standing there when you turned into the hallway, and you wanted to smash his face when he chuckled at your reaction.

“I mean, the bridge’s fixed.” It took you a long moment to gather your thoughts, take them away from how loving and gentle he is, and the kiss was so perfect— Get a grip. “Can’t waste time.”

Hayden took in a breath to say something, but he ended up replacing it with a sigh when you walked past him, shaking his head to himself. “Well, let me drive you to the city, then?” He followed. “I can take you there in a second, no charges.” And it was easy for him to take long strides to stand between you and the room’s door.

Seriousness swam in blue irises, like you’d never seen before, sending a shiver down your spine, and the silence it created was heavy and oppressing. Hayden made you feel weak, but not like the powerful, grumpy bosses would—no, that was like hell, but this? You actually wanted more of it, more of him. If only it didn’t mean putting so many things at stake. Damn him, for seeing right through you with those beautiful eyes and charming smile.

“What?” You asked as if your tongue was made out of lead.

Hayden gave you a look, and you didn’t know whether you wanted to throw yourself in your arms or run to the capital without even getting your bag back from the room, and that same indecision kept you rooted on the ground.

“I don’t want to force you into anything,” Hayden said softly. “But I really don’t want to lose this. You know what I’m talking about,” he continued, despite how you looked at the ceiling, thankful there wasn’t another mistletoe around, but his sigh made your heart ache. Giving up seemed easy until things started slipping through your fingers. “At least keep your promise? The rink opened today.”

Low blow. How were you supposed to resist that voice tone? Not even risky deals had your stomach doing flips like that. Damn. Work.

“I don’t…”

“Will some hours really make a difference?” Hayden moved into your sight. His gaze always carried that softness and intensity at the same time, perfectly balanced. “I mean, it’s okay if it does make a difference, but I want to make sure.” A heavy pause. “You showed up out of nowhere and made Christmas feel different for once in a lifetime. I just…” Maybe you weren’t the only one who had a lot going on. “I can’t just let this go without even trying first. I— You know what I’m saying. Or at least trying to.”

It felt like forever ago, uselessly arguing with that driver while he pointed at the inn, and you had been doing everything and going everywhere with Hayden ever since, sometimes just sitting there and watching him do something as mundane as fix the heaters. It had been such an experience. Worrying about anything other than deadlines, calls, e-mails, signatures. Nonetheless, Hayden had never looked that vulnerable during all this time; he was always strong and caring, as if he was smoothly encouraging you through what seemed to be the most difficult terrain ever—standing on thin ice as if he belonged there while you walked over pointy rocks, preferring the comfort of the wounds you already knew.

“I don’t know how to skate,” you muttered quietly. You’d dealt with so much shame for not having done such trivial tasks during these past days, so admitting it didn’t feel like punching through a wall anymore.

“I will catch you.” The promise meant more than just for skating.

Taking Hayden’s hand felt like stepping into the darkness, but his words from earlier still rang through your mind, and he was right. You didn’t want this to end in regrets, either.

The rink was crowded, with people gathered in small groups while kids ran around and Christmas songs played in the background, ones you’d grown familiar with lately. Warm Christmas lights reflected on the snow, illuminating the place, despite the moon already being high in the sky. Hayden made sure to keep an arm around you, protectively guiding you through the people. He was so caring and gentle while helping you put the skates on, chuckling warmly at the messy waddling toward the rink, but you had to pause when you finally reached the ice.

Hayden stood there so confidently, holding your hands in his. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t need to for you to know he would be patient and take care of you. Catch you if you fell.

You squeezed Hayden’s hands, finding the exact safety you looked for when you looked into his eyes, and you tried not to think much before you finally stepped on the ice.

“It’s okay,” Hayden reassured as he adjusted his hands around yours, slowly moving back as you moved forward. “Try to keep balance,” he said as he moved to your side, still holding one of your hands despite how one of his arms wrapped around your waist for leverage. “Don’t look down so much or else you’ll lose your balance, okay? Keep firm, sweetheart.”

With a certain notion and Hayden’s tips, you tried to glide instead of taking steps. And fuck, it wasn’t so easy, far from being as easy as people made it seem. You could end up falling on your face, breaking your nose, your teeth, being away from business for so long— Your heart skipped a beat when you lost grip on the ice, but firm hands did hold you firmly, just as promised, slowly helping you regain your balance while everything still spun around you, your chest heaving up and down.

Hayden’s face came into sight, in front of blurry lights, with concern in his eyes. “Are you alright, sweetheart?”

You nodded slowly, trying to catch your breath. You didn’t fall, nothing happened. Everything was alright. You held his hand tightly before wrapping your arms around his neck, craving his warmth, trying your best not to lose balance. “Never let me go, please,” you whispered, and he knew you meant it beyond just letting you fall on the ice.

“Of course not, sweetheart,” Hayden whispered, kissing your temple, your cheekbone, gently coaxing you to turn your face until his lips met yours again. It felt like coming home—finding home.

︶⊹︶︶·𖥸·︶︶⊹︶

#hayden christensen #x reader #x female reader #x male reader #gender neutral #sam monroe #anakin skywalker #james kelly

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ghostpebble · 4 days ago

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SONIC MOVIE 3 SPOILERS AND RANT BELOW :)

SOBBING. SOBBING. SOBBING. WATCHED IT YESTERDAY AND I WAS CRYING THE WHOLE MOVIE BECAUSE THEY USED IT. THEY USED LIVE AND LEARN. AND NOT JUST ONCE. A MOTIF. THEY GAVE SHADOW A LIVE AND LEARN MOTIF. I AM EXTREMELY INDESCRIBABLY HAPPY. LET'S FUCKING GO

PLUS: EGGMAN'S MOTIF!!! IT WAS HERE!! THEY USED IT!! AND IT WAS ORCHESTRAL. BEAUTIFUL.

SONIC'S ESCAPE FROM THE CITY PLAYED, TOO, BUT NOT AS CONSISTENTLY. BUT ALSO, WHOEVER WROTE IN HAVING SONIC SAY "FOLLOW ME" UH HUH. I SAW YOU. YOU DID THAT ON PURPOSE AND I LOVED IT

I WANT THE DONUT LORD SWEATER. THAT NEEDS TO BE MERCH. I DONT CARE HOW MUCH IT IS. IF SOMEONE MAKES IT DM ME I WANT ONE THANK YOU

SPEAKING OF DONUT LORD. I KNEW THEY WOULDN'T KILL HIM OUTRIGHT BUT OH MY GOD WAS I CONFLICTED. BECAUSE ON ONE HAND, OH MY GOD. SHADOW JUST BROKE LIKE ALL OF TOM'S RIBS. NO PLEASE NO. BUT ON THE OTHER HAND... OH MY GOD. YES. THIS WILL BE PERFECT FOR SONIC AND SHADOW'S PARALLEL.

AGAIN, SPEAKING OF: PARALLELS, SPECIFICALLY THE TIME HOPS IN SHADOW'S MEMORIES OF MARIA. BRUTAL. CRIED THE WHOLE TIME. THAT RECORD PLAYER ONE REALLY GOT ME. GOD DAMN. PLUS, THE PARALLELS FROM TOM'S HEART TALK THE ENTIRE MOVIE AND ESPECIALLY THE MOON SCENE. CRYING. I KNEW IT THE WHOLE TIME BUT STILL. CRYING.

ALSO, OPEN YOUR HEART. SPEAK WITH YOUR HEART. WE'RE WINNING

DAMN: WHY DID EGGMAN GET TO SAY DAMN BUT NOT SHADOW

AND ALSO, NO FAKER! THERE WAS THE CONVO ABOUT WHY DO YOU LOOK LIKE ME, BUT NO FAKER :(( MAYBE NEXT TIME

I MIGHT BE REMEMBERING WRONG, IT MIGHTVE BEEN FROM THE KNUCKLES SERIES I WATCHED BEFORE, BUT OH MY GOD. THE WACHOWSKI KIDS' BEDS. KNUCKLES AND SONIC IN THEIR CARS ARE CUTE, BUT OH MY GOD TAILS AND HIS AIRPLANE.

OSSIE!! MORE OSSIE!! LOVE OSSIE. THANK YOU

CHAO GARDEN! AGENT STONE BEING A BADASS CONSISTENTLY. I LOVED AGENT STONE THIS WHOLE MOVIE. HE REALLY GOT A LOT OF DEVELOPMENT. LOVE HIM. ALSO A LITTLE SAD SONIC DIDN'T END UP WEARING A SPEED OR DARK CHAO MASK TO LOOK LIKE HIMSELF OR SHADOW, MISSED POTENTIAL :( STILL FUNNY

WALTERS' DEATH WAS UNEXPECTED TO ME NGL, JUST BECAUSE IT WAS SO ABRUPT. LIKE... OKAY. I GUESS. COOL. MAN'S DEAD.

THE MARIA BEING PULLED BY SHADOW ON SKATES. EVERYTHING MARIA. EVEN WITHOUT THE ILLNESS, THAT WAS THE PERFECT MARIA AND SHADOW DUO. YES

TBH, I LIKED THE GERALD AND IVO DUO. IT WAS SILLY. THEY WERE THE COMEDY IN AN OTHERWISE VERY HEAVY MOVIE STILL SOMEWHAT AIMED AT KIDS. SOME THINGS HAD ME LAUGHING BECAUSE IT WAS SO WRONG, LIKE THE SPANKING AND HOW GERALD JUST GOT ZAPPED LIKE A FLY IN AN ELECTRIC SWATTER. ALSO, EASY TO EXPLAIN GERALD'S AGE, HE KEPT LICKING SHADOW'S QUILL, WHICH IS LIKELY WHAT KEPT HIM ALIVE SO LONG. SO YEAH. I DIDNT THINK IT WAS BAD, MAYBE A LITTLE WEIRD, BUT THATS THE ROBOTNIK FAMILY'S THING

SHADOW'S "BOO." ENOUGH SAID

DID SHADOW REALLY HAVE TO SLAM SONIC'S FACE INTO THE GLASS LIKE THAT LMAO

ALSO SHADOW KICKED TAILS!!! THE STREAK CONTINUES

IT IS NOT LOST ON ME THAT SONIC'S POV BEGINS AT HIS B-EARTH-DAY PARTY. FUN REFERENCE TO GENERATIONS

LIVE AND LEARN. STILL HAPPY. JUST WANTED TO SAY IT AGAIN. THE WHOLE DOUBLE SUPER SCENE AND THEIR OWN FIGHT AND THE FIGHT AGAINST THE BOTS. EVERYTHING. PERFECTION. SOBBED. THE SUN RISE AND LOVE STILL EXISTING EVEN AFTER THE SOURCE IS GONE LIKE THE LIGHT. STILL SOBBING

THE WAY THEY HAD ROBOTNIK LEFT ON THE STATION LEAVES ME TO BELIEVE THEY LEFT IT OPEN ENDED ON IF HE LIVED SO THAT JIM CARREY HAD THE OPTION TO COME BACK, AND THATS FINE BY ME :)

PISSED ON THE MOON AND THE BROADCAST?? AND IT WAS A BROADCAST FOR STONE SPECIFICALLY??? WE ARE SO FUCKING BACK

SHADOW'S INHIBITORS. YES. HIM FALLING TO EARTH, ALTHOUGH DIFFERENT FROM THE GAME. YES. YES. YES.

1ST POST CREDIT OF METAL SONIC AND THE MISS AMY ROSE. HELL YEAH. IM SO HYPED. METAL LOOKS ABSOLUTELY AMAZING AND AMY IS SO CUTE. WONDERING HOW THAT'LL LEAD INTO THE NEXT MOVIE THOUGH?? WHO KNOWS

2ND POST CREDIT WITH PARALLELS?? WITH SHADOW LANDING ON EARTH IN A FIELD ALL ALONE FOR A SECOND TIME, THIS TIME MAYBE AMNESIAC AND HAVING TO ADJUST TO EARTH AGAIN?? OH MY GOD?? I WAS SO HAPPY THEY DIDN'T END UP JUST KILLING HIM OFF, ALTHOUGH IT WOULDVE BEEN REALLY GOOD. IF HE HAD DIED THOUGH, HE PROBABLY WOULDVE GOTTEN A LAST WORD IN TO MARIA ANYWAY, BUT STILL GLAD HE'S IN IT TO WIN IT

PLUS SHADOW SPIN OFF SERIES!! AND NEXT MOVIE IN 2027. THANK YOU KEANU FOR MAKING OUR FIRST MOVIE DREAMS COME TRUE, THANK YOU SONIC MOVIE TEAM, THANK YOU ALL CAST

THIS WAS MY TED TALK THANK YOU FOR READING

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svthub · 1 year ago

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welcome to the disco! choose your partner for a whirl around the dance floor to the grooviest tracks today. get funky as you boogie the night away.

This collab will contain a combination of SFW and NSFW works. See each individual fic for tags and warnings.

Join the 70s;teen taglist!

dancing queen ~*~ @duhnova

[NSFW] smut, fluff, tiny bit of angst ~*~ disco club owner!choi seungcheol x performer!reader (fem)

the stage is where you felt the most comfortable, letting go and singing for everyone that would sit and listen. but it was hard making a living in america, every corner you turned there was trouble waiting for you because you were too comfortable with your sexuality for the public’s liking. so when you stepped off the ship that took you to your new life in paris, you were surprised to collide with a disco club owner who was in a similar boat as you.

every summertime ~*~ @lovelyhan

[NSFW] smut ~*~ jeonghan x reader

you're not really interested in the run-down record shop back in your hometown. but people aren't oblivious to the way you keep trying to get into the owner's pants—not even the owner himself.

curse the stars ~*~ @shuadotcom

[NSFW] smut, fluff, strangers to lovers au, 70s au~*~ salesman!joshua x starlet afab!reader

meeting someone at the disco to take home for the night is customary for you, especially in your line of work. but meeting this man on this night at this disco feels more like fate as joshua becomes much more than just your routine one night stand.

do re mi ~*~ @onlymingyus

[NSFW] fluff, smut~*~ junhui x wife!reader

synopsis: you were from different worlds. he was responsible, frugal, and sensible. you were a child of the times, a free spirit. the house had problems and it was small, but at the end of the day it was home…you were home.

with the band ~*~ @the-boy-meets-evil

[NSFW] band!au, smut, angst ~*~ drummer!soonyoung x journalist!reader (afab)

you’re fresh out of college with big dreams about changing the world with your words on a page. the last thing you expect is to end up covering a tour and you certainly don’t expect to fight falling for the drummer. what happens on tour, stays on tour, right?

rogue ~*~ @smileysuh

[NSFW] strangers to lovers, slow burn, smut ~*~ wonwoo x afab reader

“lay back,” he instructs next. “I’m going to take your panties off.” your heart races in your chest as you realize what he’s about to do, and you fall onto your elbows on the hood of his car, breathing heavily as wonwoo leans down and begins to press kisses up your bare legs. his fingers hook in your panties, and he drags them down, exposing your hot core to the cool evening air. You can’t help the gasp that leaves you, and as wonwoo positions your thighs over his broad shoulders, you think you might actually faint from the tension.

all about that bass ~*~ @angelwoozi

[NSFW] fluff, smut, band!au, neighbour au ~*~ bassist!jihoon x reader (afab)

the first time you meet your neighbour, it's when he is rolling up to his driveway for the first time, the cheapest skates with him. after that, you always try to get a peek of him when you hear his door slam, because oh my my he is so cute. little did you know that your cute neighbour can also work a crowd like he owns it, all with his bass and his presence.

manhattan sunrise ~*~ @seokgyuu

[NSFW] detective!au, criminal minds! au, crime, exes to lovers, angst, smut ~*~ detective!seokmin x fbiagent!reader

lee seokmin is a very successful and admired detective in the NYPD. pp until now he has had no trouble catching the bad guys. but when an especially horrific serial killer starts roaming the streets of new york city and he faces perplexity for the first time in his career - his superiors send a unit from the FBI trained to profile serial killers, which contains none other than you - seokmin’s high school sweetheart.

tight laced ~*~ @drunk-on-dk

[NSFW] fluff, smut, roller rink au ~*~ shop clerk!mingyu x afab!reader

it was kim mingyu who sold you your first pair of roller skates. regardless of the fact you were born with two left feet, a tired student, and were running low on funds, the charming clerk somehow convinced you it would be worth every penny. maybe it would be worth it to join your friends for midnight skates rather than being cooped up studying on weekends. however, the main selling point? skating lessons were included

darling i’m a nightmare dressed like a daydream • @dkakapizzaboy

[NSFW] crime, mystery, suggestive ~*~ conman! minghao x fem! reader

minghao has had a pretty easy life…partly due to his sharp looks, but mostly due to his even sharper mind. his day job, you ask? oh, just your average little joe conning wealthy women out of thousands of dollars …until he meets you.

aretha franklin and otis redding ~*~ @wonwussy

[SFW] angst, fluff ~*~ seungkwan

your brother had been labeled mia soon after he left for the war. three years later, the war has ended, and you know he's not coming home. maybe this stranger can help you find a little peace.

remember when ~*~ @multi-kpop-fanfics

[NSFW] fluff, comedy, angst, suggestive, childhood friends to lovers to exes to friends ~*~ vernon x fem!reader

growing up in the suburbs of athens during the seventies was turbulent to say the least - but is it turbulent enough to break the backyard trio friendship? only time could tell.

mood rings, drive thru theaters, and the latest issue of tiger beat ~*~ @bitchlessdino

[NSFW] angst, smut, fluff ~*~ lee chan x college student!reader (afab)

when you fall in love, it can feel like you’ll be with that person forever, that there isn’t another being in the world you rather be with. This case is just as heavy in your youth, tutoring a boy you’ve only ever walked circles around, while you wear a mood ring from his parents souvenir shop so you could feel closer to him. When it happens, you don’t expect things to crash harder than the way they do.

#svthub #svthub.collab #70s;teen #svthub: masterlist

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equallyshaw · 11 months ago

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to regain what once was | oc hughes sister x hughes brothers.

background: Abigail 'Abby' Marie Hughes - now known best by her stage name: Gail Marie is a 21-year-old professional theater actress, having been performing professionally since she was 7 years old in Toronto, Ca. After Jack and Luke followed Quinn to Michigan she ventured off to NYC to live with her grandparents, which was supposed to only be a temporary summer stay, for an intensive she'd book a year prior. After that, she booked a chorus role in Annie the Musical, then booked youngest Fiona in Shrek! the musical in the NYC run before landing the pristine role of 'Matilda' in Matilda the Musical. Therefore, her grandparents took the initiative of becoming her legal guardians in order to keep her in NYC and her pursuit of claiming Broadway by storm. All the while, her brothers never dared step out of their hockey gear and come support her, as she had back in TO as much as she could in between her hectic schedule, student by day; and professional by night. So when the drafts came and went, as well as debuts came and went, she stayed in New York not daring to celebrate them when they hadn't been there for her. What hurts the most is that she yearns for the way they speak about each other in the media as well as how her parents spoke about them, because that's all she wanted more than anything in life.

Yes, I know the queen ellen and jimmy would never allow this but this is obvious fiction.

italics are flashbacks. Non italics takes place after the passing of their grandfather, unless otherwise marked. little brother is translated to, ach sheli.

warnings: swearing, family member passing.

word count: 7.8k.. longer than i anticipated lol

After:

It was not always like this, Gail thought as she swirled around her pre-show honey lemon tea. Peonie flowers stood tall on her dressing room counter, freshly delivered before the show by her now-late grandfather. She winced biting back tears as she thought about the past week and all that it had entailed; fights, tears, slammed doors, breakdowns, and broken hearts. Five individuals had come back into her life right as it was truly becoming special, though warranted; she absolutely hated having them in her home. Her home which had been for some time now, was with her grandparents. It was never with the home she was born into, never with those siblings and doting parents who spoke highly and sweetly about one another in the media. It was never with those who had never reached out to her on her own milestones and wins, never those who came to see her wished her happy birthdays or cheered her on when she learned how to skate, or the ones that let her score on them over and over again before she realized she hated the sport and everything that came with it. She hated the sport of hockey for taking away her brothers, and her supposed best friends, hated that it took away her parents, and hated that it had stolen everything she had known. She lost her childhood to the sport and her family.

The Hughes family sat around, listening to the will being spoken out loud. It was a bright and sunny, cool 75-degree day in New York City. Gail stared at the brown wooden desk in front of her, her leg shaking up and down like a manic. Her mind raced with thoughts, raced with notes from the night before, and raced with the last few fleeting moments she had had with her Pa. She hadn't heard her Ma call out for her, "Gail!" Her grandmother said from across the table. She swallowed, looking around at who was supposedly her family, and then she looked towards the lawyer. "You are left with 45% of..." She tuned him out and waved her hand not caring to listen. The meeting came and went, Gail the first one out of the room. She pushed the door open to the law office and took in the fresh air of Greenwich New York. She sighed, running her hands through her dirty blonde almost brunette hair. The past month had been hell. She'd lost her out on a leading role that she had worked her ass off in auditions and callbacks, one that would have surely set her up for a Tony nomination, she had lost out on a role in an upcoming musical movie and this. This. She'd lost her best friend and Pa, her most trusted and adored father figure. "Sweetie." She heard Ellen walk out of the law office reaching for her daughter, but she quickly moved out of reach. Ellen had been having a hard time coming to terms with how distant she was being towards her and the rest of the family. It was hard for the family to come to terms, and accept that Abigail was no longer Abigail, and she was no longer a pushover. "Its fine Ellen." Jimmy said walking out, and the two of them plus the brothers watched Gail begin to walk down the street.

_ Ellen, Jimmy, and the brothers had just arrived at The Hughes estate in The Hamptons. Gail was nowhere to be found, as she had been in the middle of a matinee when she got the call that her Pa was growing fainter. "Do I fly? Do I drive?!" She said as she whipped off her wig, wincing at the glue tearing off. "You can drive." Her Ma answered, and Gail quickly went to call her longtime boyfriend, Nick. She made it three hours later, her leg fidgeting up and down like a manic. "He's gonna be there." He reassured her over the course of the ride, but she had a hard time believing it. By the time she had made it to the estate, she didn't bother to look in the direction of the three boys who were out on the lawn chatting. She jogged inside the house, whipping open the door and trying to see if she heard any voices. "Ma?" She called out, walking into the kitchen. Luckily that's where her grandmother was, along with Jimmy and Ellen. "Ma." It felt like the world fell off her shoulders, seeing her grandmother. It felt like Ellen had been hit by a freight train. "Gail." Her grandmother said wrapping her arms around her granddaughter, "Pa is upstairs." And now it was Jimmy's turn to feel like he had been hit by a freight train.

•

Gail hummed, warming up her voice, going through her pre-show rituals. She hadn't been this nervous for a show in years, but there were a few people here tonight that hadn't been since, it's honestly too sad to think about how long it's been. She heard a knock on her door, "You good G?" She heard her co star, Casey question as he leaned against the doorframe. Gail nodded, saluting him with a smile and the mug of her lemon honey tea. "Break a leg." He called out before he ran off for places. She set down her mug, looking at herself in the mirror and did a once over, before deeming that she looked good.

She made her way out of her dressing room, and walked down the hall, the wooden floorboards creaking beneath her. She continued her pre-show hum and made her way to her place for the top of the show. She looked up at the ceiling, saying a little prayer towards her Pa, and then closed her eyes. The music began, and the crowd immediately relaxed and clapped along to the beat.

•

"Gail?" Ellen asked for confirmation and the girl nodded. "How long?" She questioned, and Gail genuinely had to think about it. Ellen could tell it had been for some time, "About 8 years." Gail responded, and Ellen sniffled. "So much has changed." She hummed, and Gail snickered. "You could say that Ellen." She snapped, and Ellen quickly looked towards her. "Why are you calling me that?" She questioned and Gail rolled her eyes. "You think that after you dumped me at Ma and Pa's house 10 years ago that I'd still call you that? You think I'd call you 'mom' when you sure as hell haven't been one for over 10 years?!" She questioned, "You dropped me off and never looked back. Too worried about their precious careers?! What about me? What about my career Ellen, huh? What about me, what happened to me!" She said raising her voice, both of them shocked at the words that were coming out.

Ellen stood up as the peanut gallery listened intently from beside them, "You forgot about me, your daughter, incase you forgot!" Gail said through strained tears. Ellen felt her own tears begin to form but was subdued due to anger.

"You think I don't regret it? Do you think I don't regret not being more involved? Y-" Gail cut her off, "You signed the papers! You're the one who signed your rights away!" She said fully screaming now. "You think I don't know? You think I don't know what you guys did?" She said furiously in a strained voice. "You think I wouldn't hate the very people who brought me into this world, only to get rid of me when I didn't follow in your footsteps? You think I would have sat idly by?"

•

Gail and Casey walked toward one another before turning towards the audience, as they performed their second-to-last duet - crazy rolling. The two ended on a high note, holding one another in their arms, and were met with enormous cheers and claps. They had no time to spare and were quickly off the stage. Quickly changing for the finale, the two took a brief moment with one another before getting to their spots. "oh my god Gail!!!!" Casey said bringing her in for a hug, realizing just how emotional she was. She was on the verge of tears before their final duet, which would result in her character's death. It would also be her final performance on this stage with this incredible cast and crew before she headed off to a faraway place and one that held such promise for her and her career. "You're gonna absolutely kill it Gail, I promise." Casey encouraged as he pulled away to embrace a tiny bit. She nodded, not looking at him directly. "No need to cry now." he teased and she giggled, knowing she was about to sob on stage. She nodded, looking up at Casey and giving him a smile. "Thanks for being the best partner this run." she beamed and he smiled widely, pulling her in for one last run. "Now move so I can fix my makeup." she joked, pushing him away. He playfully saluted her before running off to the other side of the stage, for his final position. Casey walked on first, as Gail followed suit into their positions. The opening music for the reprise of your song, began.

"Look at me Satine..why else live for love?" Casey spoke, as Gail began to sing. She turned a bit, looking back at Casey and felt the tears beginning to fall. Casey gave her a look of encouragement and gloom while staying in character.

•

Gail turned towards Ellen and everybody else who stood there stunned by what she had to say, "The minute you walked into my house, the very home that I have grown up in the past 10 years, yo-you act like nothing has changed. You act as if I am still the 10-year-old little naive Abby! Im not and haven't been since you put me on that train and never looked back." Gail said through stubborn tears, feeling her heartbeat thud in her temple. Ellen went to say something, but Gail held her hand up. "You act like this prodigal mother and parent in the media and in life, but you- you and him are so far from it." She finished, walking out of the living room away from everybody.

•

She jogged onto the stage, hugging Casey tightly at the top of the stage, before taking their bows. Casey stepped in front of her, bowing and earning a chorus of applause. He turned back towards her, holding out his hand and she smiled widely taking it. He took a step behind her, letting her have this moment. This will never get old, she thought. She bowed, giving a kiss to the crowd before bowing once more. Gail stepped back, connecting her hands with Casey and another actor, and they all did a bow together. Casey and David who plays the Duke in the show, pushed her in front of them once more for her to have a moment with the crowd. A Producer on the show walked out from left stage with a bouquet of roses and Gail quickly brought her hands up to her mouth in shock. She clasped her eyes shut, feeling tears rush out. "Thankyou!" She sobbed, pulling the producer in for a hug. Turning back to the crowd now, Gail placed a hand on her chest saying the words 'thankyou' to the crowd over and over again, and then towards the cast. She shook her head when the director came on stage with a microphone and desperately tried to flee toward the rest of the cast who only shook their heads.

"We have been incredibly lucky to have Miss Gail Hughes grace our stage for the past year, putting everything that she had into every performance. We couldn't be more thrilled and excited, to see what she has been tirelessly working on and prepping for. It'll be a joy to watch her from this side of the pond, gaining the hearts of each person to see her do what she does best. Gail, good luck on your next journey and break a leg!" the director said and she smiled widely, pulling him in for a hug. She waved a bit more to the crowd, and then the curtain came down.

•

"You knew Q?" Jack questioned after Ellen and Jimmy explained everything. Once Gail had left the house with Nick, the two were swarmed with questions from Jack and Luke. Quinn shrugged, and their parents turned towards him. "You knew?" Ellen asked and Quinn nodded timidly. "Wh-when?" Ellen asked, and Quinn smiled. "When she was nominated for her role in Matilda at the Tonys. She was 13 at the time, but she knew who her parents really were. Grandpa and Grandma." He responded, and Jack began to pace. "And then, she said in an interview with Andy Cohen that they were her parents, not you guys. She said that she had been living with them for years at that point, that was I wanna say in 2020 before Covid. But she said that she hadn't seen you guys in years. Then everything clicked." Quinn expanded and Luke's mouth was agape. "You didn't want to say anything?" He asked stunned. "You guys don't know the full thing." Jimmy said, and Jack was furious.

"What the fuck?" Jack said walking into the connected living room, hands dragging through his semi long locks. "In order to benefit her career and her future, she came to live with grandma and grandpa. It was meant to be temporary as we got you boys settled in, and then things just worked out the way that it was and, then she got Matilda and we couldn't take her away. She needed to stay." Jack cut her off, "You shipped her off in order for you guys to focus on us? What kind of fucked up shit is that?" He asked, angry.

Jimmy held his hand up, "We did it to benefit all of us. And grandma and grandpa welcomed the idea and believed in it enough to do it." Jimmy explained, and their grandmother shook her head. "Don't Jim." She began, and all the boys whipped their head towards her. "You did what you believed to be best for her, but you really didn't know. You didn't know that she needed her parents. But why wouldn't we say yes? What would happen to the life she had just begun to build herself? What would happen? We couldn't let her passion, talent and love of theater go down the drain to watch pucks after school." She paused beginning to walk out of the kitchen, "If you think we welcomed it Jim, you are mistaken." She finished before disappearing upstairs to check on her husband.

•

As soon as Gail exited the stage, she turned towards a few of the ensemble cast members who had become close friends the past year and pulled them in for a huge hug. "I can't believe it's over." Gail sobbed as the other girls wiped their tears. The girls and Gail, slowly made their way over towards her dressing room. "One last post show picture!" Martha one of the dancers gushed, and Gail giggled softly. She sat down in her chair as a hair and makeup artist, came behind her and gave Gail a small frown. "Don't you start crying Matilda!" She scolded causing the room to laugh. Matilda slowly began to take off her wig while Gail took off her jewelry. "Oh can you grab my phone, Marie?" She questioned and as soon as Gail turned on her phone, she was flooded with messages. Her brothers and her now had a group chat, and they texted her during the intermission and now after the show finished. "Im gonna kill them!" She growled, and then showed the girl's the pictures they had taken throughout the second act. "I even told them, they couldn't do that!" she mumbled, texting them back. She then texted Nick, that in 30 minutes that he could bring her brothers and parent's back stage. In the meantime, she'd be doing her rounds of goodbyes.

Around 45 minutes later, Gail walked back to her dressing room and heard the familiar laughter of her brother, Jack. She walked through the doorframe, and everybody's heads turned towards her. She saw flowers in her dad's arms as well as Quinn's. "Oh my goodness, you didn't have too!" She said bringing her hands to her chin in surprise. "Ofcourse we had too!" Quinn grinned, wrapping an arm around her shoulder, to which she turned into a full hug. "You absolutely killed it dog." Jack smiled widely, pulling her in for a huge hug. "Thankyou." She smiled, and then turned towards Luke still surprised by how much taller he was. "Amazing, amazing job." He smiled pulling her in for a bear hug. "Thankyou." She beamed. Her parents brought her in for hugs and then found her spot next to Nick's, as it was second nature. "You make your rounds?" he questioned looking down at her, and she nodded feeling tears prick her eyes once more. He noticed and placed a soft kiss to her temple, and he could feel her relax a bit. "Are these from grandpa?" Luke asked softly, and she nodded. "He would send them every week when he came for the Sunday Matinee, and he made-made sure to do one for my final performance." She said through tears, looking at the grand bouquet of peonies. "They're gorgeous." Ellen smiled, "He gave me my love of peonies at a young age, and he's never let me down all these years." She hummed thinking back to all the times he had waited for her in the lobby after every show he had come to. His matinee show was a tradition he started dating back in 2012 with Annie. "He started to bring them with Annie, every week when he'd come for a matinee, even through Covid he came." She said smiling softly and looking at the flowers. The Hughes family all looked at one another, and again realizing just how much they'd missed out on her life and blossoming career.

•

Gail sat outside on the private beach, that lined her grandparent's backyard. Her knees were pulled into her chest, as she looked out over the Atlantic Ocean. She hadn't been up here since she took a week off back in March for a small vacation. It had been four months since then, and it seemed like a lifetime ago. Between auditions, workshops, and every show she did during the week it seemed like a blur. She didn't hear footsteps behind her, but she felt the sand that lightly brushed her as somebody came up behind her and sat down next to her. She looked over, not believing her eyes. Her eyebrows creased, "Quinn?" she questioned softly, and hearing her say his name for the first time in years made Quinn's eyes swell with tears. "Hey lovie." he whispered, and pulled her in once he saw tears swell in her eyes. He wrapped his arms around her, as he pulled her into his chest. He silently cursed and berated himself, as he thought about how much of a coward her was for not reaching out to her. She had Instagram, he knew where she lived most of the time and could always contact their grandparents. "Im sorry." He said as his voice cracked, and she sobbed even harder. "Im sorry I never said anything, im sorry I never reached out. Im sorry I let you down when you didn't deserve to be. You didn't deserve any of this, and I hate myself for allowing all of this to happen." he said through tears. Gail cried harder, into his chest as she heard the words she had begged the universe since she arrived at her Grandparent's house. "Quinn." she said softly, she pulled a bit back to look at him. She placed a hand on his cheek, trying to get him to look at her. "I don't think I can ever forgive myself, Gail." He sobbed, clasping his eyes shut. Hearing those words, broke her heart.

"Quinn." she said softly again, and he reopened his eyes. She swallowed, "I have hated you and the three of you since you didn't come to my first opening night. I have wished you three nothing but pain and loss because that was how I took it as a child. A fucking child, who all she wanted in the whole world was her brothers again. Yet, she never got them. She got brick walls, unanswered birthday messages, no invites to the lake house, and congratulations on my own milestones as a child." She paused ripping her hand away from his cheek, and Quinn swallowed tensly. "I have waited for those words since I was 12 years old...but now? I deserve a whole hell of a lot better, than that. Than this. You expect me to forgive so easily, after being ghosted all these years? My life and childhood have never been mine and now that im an adult? That's mine, all mine. My peace and healing do not deserve to be rocked because somebody wants to be a big brother now." She paused once more standing up. "I expected way more from my best friend growing up, but I've learned to live with disappointment because I was given disappointment from a young age." Gail finished before beginning her descent down the shoreline. Quinn watched through bouts of sobs, that ripped through his whole being.

•

Before Final performance. (August, 2023. One month after passing.)

"So..this is you really leaving?" Jack questioned softly, as he and his two brothers walked into the NYC apartment that she had shared with Nick the past year. Gail nodded, as she finished taping a box shut. The brothers couldn't believe that she was finishing her run in New York, and then heading out to West End to begin production in Hadestown. She would be originating the role of Eurydice in the first run in London, from February 2024 through August 2024 with the possibility of an add-on of dates. "Yeah, it's been a long time coming actually. We've been itching to get out of here for a while, and then London opened up and we couldn't jump at the opportunity quicker." She smiled as Nick smiled from across the room. "Oh wow." Luke said. Jack and Luke had been hoping that they could have built a relationship with her while they were in Jersey. "Yeah." Gail said awkwardly, "Congratulations though. You're gonna do amazing." Quinn encouraged and Gail gave him a small smile. "Well uh, did you guys get the tickets I sent over?" She questioned, picking up her glass of ice water. The brothers nodded, "Good good. They were hard to get so im glad you guys can come." She said with a grateful smile. "Anybody wanna get some pizza? Could use a break." Nick interrupted and Gail gave him a thankful look, and the brothers nodded. "Good, know a spot just down the street." Nick beamed, grabbing ahold of Gail's and then they were out.

•

It was only a few days later when their grandfather passed. Gail had been asleep on the all-year-round porch couch, with Nick. Ellen came down frantically, and Gail knew as soon as she was shaken awake, that she knew the reason why. She quickly cried out, as Nick sat up and pulled her into his chest. Ellen found Jim in the kitchen, as they listened to their daughter - who really wasn't their daughter in a way - cry out bone-shattering cries. The three brothers all made their way downstairs at the sound of her cries and then found their parents in the kitchen consoling each other. Gail stood up pushing herself from Nick and wrapped her arms around her self. Trying to give a slick of comfort to herself. Nick placed a soft hand on her arm, but she pushed him away. "NO!" She screamed, anger flaring from her. Nick took a step back, not appreciating the look of hatred in her eyes. But he knew it wasn't personal. Gail flung open the door that led to the kitchen and living room and hurried past her siblings and the parents she no longer considered hers. "Ma!" She called out, jogging up the stairs, and looked for her Ma. "Gail dear!" She heard from Ma and Pa's room. "Don't go in the extra room please, don't go in there." her Ma whispered, as she pulled the dirty blonde to her chest, who at this point she considered a daughter. Gail sobbed into her Ma's arms, as her Ma continued to whisper those few words. She didn't need the young girl to see her father figure being transported away from the place that they had called home for over ten years now, and one that she considered her childhood home.

•

Gail had been outside on the swing for hours that her Pa had put up as soon as she came to stay with them, all those years ago. She swayed slowly as the wind came off the ocean, with much curiosity and bitterness. Her brothers and parents had watched from the living room with her Ma and Nick, for hours now. Waiting for her to come in and say something, or grab something to eat. But she sat there, much to their dismay. "Im going out there." Jack announced as he stood up, annoyed at the fact that nobody had attempted to get her inside, besides Nick who failed miserably. She wouldn't let him five steps past the door. Jack opened up the door and shut it as softly as he could. Gail turned her head to her side but did not look back to see who was there. Wary footsteps came toward the girl, and Gail looked up as Jack came up next to her. "Hey, Gail." He said softly, and she sighed turning to look back at the pool, garden, and the ocean just past their white gate. "Can I sit here?" He questioned, to the spot next to her on the ground. She didn't give him a response, which he took as a win.

"Do you wanna know when the first time we noticed you weren't there?" He questioned, looking at the girl. She did not respond, and to be frank she could give two shits. "Well, I was 15 and Lukey was 12. You would have been 14, and finishing your run with Matilda. Lukey fractured or broke his finger, I can't quite recall and I remember watching him go down from the bench, it was a little scrimmage we were doing with some of the neighborhood kids and the first thing that Lukey said to Ellen was, "Where's Abby?" and he kept repeating that, even as we brought him home. All he wanted was his sister, and to be honest- so did I. I wanted you to be there because I wanted somebody to give me a hug and remind me that Lukey was going to be ok. I had to settle for Q who just so happened to be visiting from Vancouver. But all Lukey wanted was to hear your voice, and to reassure him that he was going to be ok. He never said it nor any of us did, but you were all our favorite sibling. You were our sister, whom we wanted to protect. We still do, but he wanted his favorite protector and the one person who knew exactly what to say. And when Ellen went to call Grandma, she was already calling Ellen. You had cracked your head open, after falling on some ice in Manhattan." And now all Gail could do was flash back to that moment, when it had happened. She didn't remember the ambulance ride but she remembers waking up in the children's hospital with her Pa, who was holding her hand, and her Ma was outside calling Ellen. She remembers crying out for Ellen, all she wanted was her mom in that moment. All she wanted was her mom, dad and her brothers telling her that she was going to be ok. That her 9 stitches on her temple, were gnarly and that they had had many over the year with out her. She remembers vividly crying into her Pa's arms that night, wishing that she was with them. But she knew deep down, that she was with her grandparents for a reason. Her parents no longer wanted her, she thought for the first time that night. For the first time in a year and a half, she felt abandoned by her parents and her brothers. She no longer felt welcomed or loved by the ones who gave her her name, and existence in this world.

"That night I wept. I wailed and I sobbed and I screamed to the universe, in that exact living room." She began turning towards Jack, who now had looked at her. "For the first time that night, it had sunk in that my own parents and brothers had abandoned me. They had cast me aside because I didn't skate or play hockey. For the first time, I felt as if I had no family of my own. It was the first time that Ma and Pa had become terrified, and believed that I was never going to calm down. Which believe me, in that moment of realization I believed I would never stop crying, or screaming. But do you know the first things you said?" She paused, waiting for a response. He shook his head and she made a tsk noise. "You said and I quote, "Do you wanna know when the first time we noticed you weren't there". The first time are the two key words Jack. It took you over a year to realize that I was gone, missing.!" She screamed at the now frightened boy. She stood up, "For over a fucking year, I waited for two birthday wishes, I waited for a phone call or a response to the messages I sent through grandma and grandpa!" She screamed again, and Jack felt tears sting his eyes. "And YOU! YOU don't get to cry!" She screamed, lowering her face towards his, as he wiped away his tears. "From what I recall, YOU were the selfish one! You were the selfish one who made us move!" She screamed at him, and the peanut gallery inside were frozen in their spots listening to her. Jack continued to look at Gail, with his features full of guilt. "I hate you Jack, I hate you! I hate you for making them give me up! I hate you for asking to go to Michigan! I hate you I hate you I hate you!" She screamed as her chest rose up and down, quickly. Rather too quickly for Jack's liking. "You did this Jack, all of it." She finished, before making her way toward the gate door and she was off to the beach.

•

Gail stood at Laguardia Airpot with Nick, and the two were saying goodbye to her family and a few of their friends. Jack was the first one to pull her in for a hug, whispering a few words of encouragement. Luke was next doing the same and lastly, it was Quinn. Quinn pulled her in tightly and whispered, "You're going to do amazing Lovie, we can't wait to hear all about it." and then the two pulled away. Next was Ma, and Gail had been dreading this moment, "I love you so much Ma." She whispered through tears and her Ma sniffled. "I know sweetie, Ill be over as soon as I can." Her ma whispered back. She pulled away a few inches, and her Ma pinched her cheek just a bit and then kissed her forehead. Next was Jim, who pulled her in for a bear hug. And for the first time since she was a child, it felt warm and inviting. "Break a leg, Gail." he hummed causing her to smile softly. "Thankyou, dad." She responded before pulling back and then shifting towards Ellen. Jim wiped away a few tears, as Ellen pulled Gail in for a hug. "Im gonna miss you so much sweetie, I'm always here if you need anything." Ellen spoke softly and Gail nodded, "Thankyou, Mom." she whispered back and Ellen's heart broke at the word. Ellen sniffled, pulling back to look at Gail. She placed a soft hand on her daughter's face, and Gail nodded through tears. To which Ellen broke down, she pulled her back in tightly, and now both females were crying. Jim looked towards his boys who also had tears in their eyes, as they watched Gail and their mom hug. "I'd like for you and dad to visit as soon as you can, I'd love to show you London. It's quite the city and - and I'd love it if you two could come for my opening night." Gail said softly and Ellen nodded profusely, she'd be doing everything in her power to be there and would make sure her sons would be there as well. To hell with the season, Ellen would argue. "We'll be there, I promise." Ellen said as they pulled away, and Gail nodded. Before Gail could step away, Ellen wiped her daughter's tears and Gail sniffled. "Well, uh we should be going." Gail said looking back at Nick and he nodded, "Have a safe flight!" sounded around them as the two waved one last time. Nick took ahold of Gail's hand as he rolled their carry on suitcase and her carry one bag into the airport.

•

Last but not least, it was Luke's turn to attempt a breakthrough for Gail. Nick was currently loading up their car, getting ready to go back to New York. She was currently standing at the edge of the backyard, looking out at the waves coming in. She did not know when she'd be back, and was savoring each and every moment she got with the ocean. Luke stepped up next to her, and Gail looked up at the tall giant. She caught his eye and she quickly looked away, swallowing hard. They stood there in silence, and for some odd reason, she felt as if she had to be the one to say something first. She looked up at the curly-haired boy and hesitated for a moment before speaking, "Ach sheli." she began with an old Hebrew nickname she used to say as a child. He looked down at her, and she saw the instant tears in his eyes. "Lovie?" He questioned softly, and she couldn't take it anymore. She pulled him in for a hug, and he stood there stunned for a brief few seconds before wrapping his arms around her. The two of them sobbed with one another, holding onto each other for dear life. Jack was not wrong about Luke having once felt that way about Gail, and how she was everything and more he looked up to and looked to for everything he did in life. "I know I should have said something, all of us should have. I know they'll never be an excuse for what we did, ever. Truth be told, you should never forgive us because of what we did. We turned our backs on you when we should have fought them to bring you home. Even if you would have been home 2 weeks out of the year, we should have screamed and jumped and thrown every tantrum under the sun to bring you home. We should have brought you home, and we didn't. We passed up every opportunity to do so and ignored you for years because we were cowards and naively thought you were better off without us. Nobody to bring you down or take time and attention off of you." he paused sniffling, as she sobbed into his chest. "You deserved so much more, and im sorry none of us ever said a thing. We knew it to not okay, but it was our fault for not saying anything. You don't know the number of times we begged mom and dad to bring you home. And them never listening, and us not understanding why, so we fought even more." she pulled back, "Wait what?" She questioned softly and his eyebrows crinkled, "What?" He questioned back. "You-you guys fought? But why didn't you call me back? Why didn't -" Luke cut her off by pulling her into his chest again, "Because we were stupid, we were young and so immature, that we didn't think twice about calling back. Like I said, Jack and I specifically were idiots. We should have said something, we should have. And im sorry we did not." He said wiping his tears away, and she pulled back looking at the grass beneath them. She pulled back completely, her arms coming to her chest. She looked up at Luke once more to find him staring down at her, "I - I have to go Luke." She said stepping back and then began her way towards the car where Nick was waiting. Luke watched her go, feeling his chest ache as she walked out of not only his but the rest of the family's life once more.

•

It was a week later, when she heard a knock at her and Nick's Condo door. She stood up from the couch, and made her way over and without looking through the peephole she swung her door open. She did not expect to see Ellen and Jim at her door, let alone a week later. She swallowed harshly, and felt tears begin to sting her eyes. "Hi Gail...can we talk for a bit?" Ellen asked hopeful, and Gail breathed in heavily before opening up the door further. The two walked in, inspecting the industrial-looking two-bed room and two-bath condo in lower Manhattan. "We uh, we thought we'd come by before the reading of the will tomorrow." Ellen announced and Gail shrugged, heading over towards the kitchen to make another coffee. "What's with all the boxes?" Jim asked looking around the living room. "Oh. Im uh, Nick and I are leaving for London in about a week. My final performance is two days before that." She said and the two of them were confused. "Ive taken a lead originating role in London, rehearsals start in a month and then premiere in the new year." she explained with a slight shrug. Ellen and Jim looked at one another, "Would you like any water, tea or coffee?" Gail offered and the two shook their heads. Gail nodded, adding some creamer in her cup and headed towards the small den, off from the kitchen and living room. "SO, what can I do for you guys? she questioned, sitting on the plush chair that stood next to the window. "We uh wanted to come by and talk, we never really got a chance while up state so we wanted to check in with you." Jim said and Gail nodded. "I uh I am not sure where to start but we want to apologize to you. We know there will never be enough words or the right words to truly say how much guilt and regret we feel. We knew how much the boys missed you as kids, and for awhile there we thought it would get easier not having you there with us. We truly believed that at the time it was the right call, I know your Ma would agree. The original time period we sent you was what you needed to grow your craft, but you should have come straight home after that. Or one of us should have come to stay with you for your runs. To see you this weekend, so broken and so angry and full of hatred broke my heart. And as a mother, you never want to see your child feel that and especially not have it be directed at them. Im so sorry sweetie." She said beginning to cry, and Jim quickly put a hand on her back to comfort her. Gail felt herself begin to feel bad and did not like the fact that she was crying in front of her.

"If we could go back and change things we would, we would do it in a heartbeat." Jim said and Gail nodded. "Yet it doesn't change the fact that you weren't there and you didn't know how much I needed you. I needed you and you weren't there. And I wish you could go back and change what you did, you betrayed me and gave me up when you didn't have to!" She said growing irritated, "You didn't have to sign guardian rights to them!" She added setting down her coffee on the table before her. Shaking her head, she stood up and stood in front of the window. She heard Ellen sob quietly as guilt, and despair coursed through the older woman. "My childhood as never mine. It was taken away early on and now, this is my time. I have healed from many things but I still have so much to sort through still, and heal from it." She paused turning around and facing them. "And as much as I hate myself for saying this, but I think I need you guys to heal that part of me. Heal my childhood wounds that haven't been fixed because I needed you guys with me to do it. Even if it's from half way across the globe." She finished and Ellen quickly stood up to hug her daughter. Gail was stunned for a brief few seconds before returning the hug. A few seconds later, Jim stood up and Gail quickly opened up her arm for him to join. Pa would be incredibly happy, Gail thought.

•

The next few months were hard work, but in the end they would prove to be worth it. Her brothers and her had a heart to heart before she left for London. They added her to the brothers only groupchat and the family one, and had plans to come out to London before the show ended next August.

February 10th, 2024 could not have come quick enough Gail thought. Now here she was backstage getting ready for opening night, in her dressing room. She could not wait for the audience to see the show, it was truly one of the most magical casts she had been a part of in her career thus far. She knew for certain that Nick, Ma and her parents were there, and she was incredibly happy that they were there, to begin with. They had kept their promises to come.

The lights went out and Gail felt like she could finally breathe, as she leaned into her costar and love interest in the show. The two of them hugged one another as the curtain closed, and she felt bittersweet tears fall. "You okay?" He questioned as he heard her sniffled and she nodded. "Yes and no, but it's the first show that my Pa hasn't been at and it has really sunk in now." She said through a small chuckle. Her costar pulled her in for another hug for some extra comfort, before the two of them were heading off stage to get their hair and makeup off. As soon as she entered the dressing room, she saw a grand bouquet of peonies sitting in front of her mirror. She let out a small sob, as her hair and makeup artist came to help her take her wig off. "You okay Gail?" She questioned pulling the girl in for a hug, somebody had gotten her peonies and she wasn't sure who.

She breathed a sigh of relief when she stepped into the lobby and was met with many cheers by some family and friends of the cast, and the cast members themselves. Her understudy came up and hugged her tightly. She was grateful to have this particular actress understudying her because she knew the show was in great hands. "Oh my god, thankyou!" She said taking the bouquet of roses into her hands and hooked them into the crook of her elbow with the other bouquet. "Thankyou for a fantastic first show, it was such an honor to do it alongside you guys." She beamed looking around at the cast. After a few minutes, all of them began to disband and make their way either out of the theater or towards, their loved ones.

Gail looked around for her family and was shocked to see big foot with curls standing there. her eyebrows creased when she recognized the two others who were standing with her parents and Ma. Luke noticed her first, his face lightening up which caused everybody else to turn towards her. She brought a hand to her mouth to cover her shock. "Oh my god, hi!" she said as she was pulled into a hug by Jack. Nick took her flowers from her, and Luke pulled her in for a hug. Next was her dad, mom, Ma, and finally it was Quinn. "Oh my goodness, not more flowers!" She said taking them from her Ma. "We had too! We couldn't come empty-handed." her mom mused. "Im still trying to figure out who might have sent these, there was no note." she said referencing the peonies. "It was us." Jack spoke up and her eyebrows furrowed, "Wait! But don't you guys have games...." She trailed off remembering. "That's why I saw posts saying you guys were going to be absent for a week.. I should have known!" She said realizing that they had taken time off to see her show and spend a few days with her before flying back out. "Ofcourse we had to see you perform Gail, we've missed out on way too many openings and closings, so we had to be here, and with Nick's help, we were able to get tickets." Luke said and she turned towards Nick who only shrugged. She turned back toward her family, something she thought she would never call them again.

She never thought she'd be standing in the same vicinity of them again. Yet, here she was and she was truly grateful. She couldn't believe that they had gotten this far together, and only wished her Pa was there to witness it all in person.

@gailmarie: to the one that helped make all my dreams come true, to the one that came to my matinee each week and to the one that made me a Hughes- Thankyou for everything my Teo.

89.2k likes, 1.4k comments.

oh my god.....if you've read this till the end I love you 🫶🏻 pls like and reblog if you enjoyed, it would mean the world !!

also this has been sitting in my drafts for a month now, and thought it would never see the light of day lol

#luke hughes #quinn hughes #jack hughes #new jersey devils #vancouver canucks #nhl #hockey #hockey blurb #hockey fic #nhl fic #nhl imagine #nhl blurb #hockey imagine #luke hughes fic #jack hughes fic #quinn hughes fic #quinn hughes imagine #jack hughes imagine

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leviathans-watching · 1 year ago

Text

Breaking the Ice

includes: diavolo x f!reader (she/her & you/your pronouns used, no physical body description)

wc: 14k | rated t | m.list | crossposted on ao3

warnings: cursing, more raunchy than my normal stuff (implied/fade-to-black sexual content), past raphael x reader

huge huge huge thanks to my three amazing betas for this @jeschalynn, @hyperfixat, & @fickleminder, you all seriously elevated this fic and i'm so grateful to you!!

a/n: i have been (slowly) working on this since NOVEMBER. you can't imagine how good this feels to finally post 😫😫. here's a guide to the boys' positions & numbers if you're interested and also where i go over some of the hockey terminology used within this fic! please remember to reblog/comment/etc., it's really appreciated! also blah blah blah creative liberties and suspension of belief. i'm also not a hockey experts so mistakes should be expected 👍

“Say,” he begins, “I couldn’t help but notice you had on a general jersey tonight. I’m surprised you weren’t repping Simeon’s number.”

“And have more rumors about our relationship spread? I don’t think so. Simeon hates when people think we’re dating, which happened for a bit with the CC Chols. Says it gets in his way when he’s trying to find a date.”

“In that case, how about I send you one of mine?” he offers, and you blink up at him.

“A jersey?”

“Yeah, how about it? You could wear the ‘C’ off of the ice.” His dark eyes are even more shadowed and immensely alluring.

“I suppose that’d be okay,” you agree nonchalantly, though your heart is pounding in your chest. You can’t believe the captain of the Devildom Dogs is flirting with you!

∙

Following your childhood best friend across the country after his trade to the Devildom Dogs—one of the most prolific AHL Hockey teams in the business—hadn't been the plan, but you can't say you're not liking it. Especially because the handsome and charming captain of the team, Diavolo, seems to be making it his new season goal to break the ice between you and get to know you better.

“And now,” the announcer’s voice echoes over the arena, egged on by the cheers of the crowd, “we welcome the Devildom Dogs out to the ice!”

The sounds of blades scraping on ice fill the air, and the raucous cheering only grows louder. It should be no different from your old arena, your old team, and yet it is.

Well, except for one thing. Person. As he skates out onto the rink to warm up, Simeon catches your eye, giving you a quick wink that’s barely visible through his helmet. You sigh good-naturedly, and he smiles.

You and Simeon have been friends for as long as you can remember—since birth, if your mothers are telling the truth—and when he’d been traded from the Celestial City Chols all of the way across the country to the Devildom, you hadn’t really seen a reason not to go with him. Your work was completely virtual, and there hadn’t been anything really tying you to the Celestial City after your engagement had been called off. Honestly, though it kind of sucked that Simeon got traded to the biggest rival of the CC Chols, you have high hopes about this new city and team.

A puck slams into the glass just in front of your face. You don’t jump. The boys on the CC Chols had always loved to mess with you and you were long used to things flying at you at what seemed like a million miles per hour. But it wasn’t one of the CC boys who’d sent that puck flying, and as you scan across the ice, you see it was one of the forwards, number one. Simeon had been kind enough to give you the down low on all of his new teammates, and you’d spent a fair amount of time pouring over the roster and memorizing stats, so it’s not hard to put a name to the number. Face. Whatever.

Mammon, starting forward for the season, gives you a smirk then turns away, all flashy footwork and dexterous control. You pause to admire the way his jersey stretches across his back, and then the jersey itself. Damn, he looks good. The jersey looks good—you had designed it after all.

You hadn’t always wanted to be an AHL jersey and logo designer, but through a combination of hard work and dumb luck, you are now the hand behind a myriad of teams’ looks, including the Devildom Dogs and the Celestial City Chols. Not that many people know about the person behind the designs. The average person is typically a lot more invested in the person wearing the jersey, not the one designing it, which is just fine with you. With the amount of money you’re getting, you honestly don’t need recognition.

That paycheck allowed you to purchase the highest level VIP season tickets for the season, managing to snag the seat closest to the home team benches, meaning you’re only a few feet from the team. Simeon had laughed when you’d told him this, but you hadn't cared. Now you can make sure he heard you when you yelled at him for his playing.

As you wait out the warmups, you try to compare this rink with that of your old team. The biggest difference that you could sense was the vibe. Back at the Chols’ rink, the air had been light, filled with more excitement than anything else. But here, it’s different. There’s a bloodthirsty undercurrent running through the crowd, a cutthroat competitiveness that’s completely new to you. The fans are already bothering the opposing team, hurling taunts and insults their way, with the mascot of the Devildom Dogs, an iteration of Cerberus the three-headed dog, whipping the fans into an even crazier frenzy.

And it’s not only the fans that are different; the players are, too. Even within the League, the Dogs have a reputation for playing fast and dirty, masterfully bending the rules without breaking them. You’ve always been impressed by them (not that you’d ever admitted it before, as doing so would have been treason to the Chols), but you’re kind of excited to be able to openly study and praise their skilled playing. Especially since you hope this will give Simeon the team that he needs. It had been clear to you, that he was a cut above the rest in the Chols. Not that that was a bad thing, but now you hope he can be matched, have the room that he needs to stretch his wings and fully use his talent without his team falling behind.

Before you know it, warmups come to an end. The non-starting players file back into the benches and you’re proud to see Simeon remaining on the ice. He’d been traded during the off-season, so it had completely taken you both by surprise to hear he’d be a starter, considering all of the veteran players on the team.

You stand for the national anthem, then finally, finally, the puck is dropped. The team they’re playing against today is one you’re not all that familiar with, and honestly couldn’t care less about, so you focus your attention more on watching Simeon play than you do the game as a whole.

Due to the proximity of your seat to the benches you’re able to hear the chatter of the players, the coach barking orders, and even the signal to change lines. It’s a whole new experience. When you’d go to watch the Chols’ games, you were in the VIP lounge, which, while pretty fancy and awesome, was removed from the ice and the actual grittiness of the game.

Plus, you never got a moment to yourself. All of the other wives and permanent girlfriends had always wanted to chat, and while they were pleasant enough, sometimes you just wanted to lose yourself to the game, yell and scream with the rest of the crowd.

Simeon is on a line with Solomon, who’s a forward, and Leviathan, who’s a left-winger. He’s playing hard and well, proving he deserves to be on this team. You egg him on from your seat, making an effort to have your voice heard above the crowd. The Dogs are playing fairly clean tonight, and you wonder if it’s because it’s opening night.

Or maybe it’s because they don’t need to play dirty. It’s clear they outclass the opposing team in every way, their insane training schedule paying off. The boys are blurs on the ice, and hardly ever on your side of the rink, as they’re pushing hard to keep the puck near the opposing team's goal. At least you’ll be able to see better when they switch sides in the next period.

Simeon returns to the benches and gives you a grin, chugging water. You flutter your fingers in a wave, mouth twisting with a smile. Solomon, following his gaze, locks eyes with you, and you flick a glance between them before turning back to the game, determinedly not looking over. Your eyes are drawn to Diavolo and Lucifer, the defensemen currently on the ice. The other pair you’ve seen tonight, Barbatos and Belphegor, are good, but these two… they’re something else.

They move in perfect formation, seemingly able to anticipate one another’s actions. You remember that Simeon had said they’ve been together since the Q, even were drafted together which is practically unheard of, and now you understand why. They’re menaces of black and red, and it would be a complete shame to separate them. There was even talk of Diavolo moving up to the NHL at one point, but after he became captain he chose to stay down.

You watch as Diavolo steals the puck from under the opposing team’s nose, sending it neatly toward Lucifer, who delivers it right to Asmodeus. He, like the rest of the team, is incredibly talented, but unlike the others, he relies on speed and agility rather than brute force. You’d read somewhere he’d taken a fair amount of figure skating classes to improve his balance and form, and it’s really paid off.

Asmodeus takes the puck all of the way down to the other end of the rink, passing to Mammon, who scores. You’re on your feet with the rest of the arena before you can think, cheering loudly. The boys do a quick celly then get right back to business, switching out with Simeon’s line.

The players on the bench all slap Mammon on the back as he takes his seat, casual as can be.

“You should have sent it to me,” Satan grumbles, barely audible over the din of the crowd and you unashamedly eavesdrop, not even bothering to hide your stare. Around you, the other superfans are still celebrating and their enthusiasm is infectious.

“Whatever,” Mammon shoots back. “I got it in, didn’t I?”

Asmodeus laughs, light and airy. “Barely.”

“Can it, dipshit.” Mammon leans over and smacks him on the shoulder, and you notice he’s taken off his gloves. You smother a chuckle, then return your attention to the ice. The opposing team’s fighting pretty hard, but they’re clearly fighting a futile battle. Any time they manage to get the puck near the Dogs’ goal it’s quickly sent back across the ice, and the few rare times they do manage a shot, it’s easily stopped, mostly by the d-men or the goalie. It almost seems like the Dogs are toying with them, letting them get close to scoring and then removing the chance completely, then repeating the action.

Frustrated, one of the players on the opposing team lashes out, dropping his gloves and rounding on Simeon. He dodges the clumsy blows easily, putting him in his place with a clean uppercut. The ref finally gets between them, taking longer than normal, something you’ve noticed from watching the Devildom Dog’s old games is pretty usual for their arena. They tend to let them go a little longer, which gives the Dogs a better opportunity to beat the shit out of the other players with beautiful brutality. The Chols had been all about good sportsmanship, so fights were a lot less common with them than the average team.

You wish you had been filming, but no doubt there will be videos online depicting the fight thanks to some other fan uploaded within the hour.

Simeon is unscathed, but the other player spits blood across the ice, glowering at him. You let out a long whoop, and he half turns towards you, lips curving up in a small, feral smile. You can already see it—this change is good for him.

They both get a few minutes for roughing, but Simeon looks all too happy to be in the sin bin. You can’t help but snap a few pictures, throwing them on your story. The game resumes with more energy, with both the players and the crowd whipped up into more of a frenzy. The fans want blood, or at least for crushing defeat to be delivered, and it seems like the team’s hellbent on delivering. It’s a fantastic game, wilder and more energizing than you’ve seen in a long time, and you can’t help but be excited for the upcoming rest of the season.

As the game draws nearer to the end, the opposing team pulls their goalie, but quickly puts it back after the Devildom Dogs score yet another goal, increasing the already sizable score gap. When the buzzer finally goes off signaling the end of the game, the away team looks utterly defeated while the Devildom Dogs celebrate. You catch a few curses and middle fingers shared between teams, and again, have to laugh.

You stand and cheer with the rest of the crowd, reveling in the thrill of the win along with the team. Simeon’s in the center of it all, receiving congratulatory slaps and fist-bumps, and you know without a doubt he’s been accepted as one of their own. You’re a bit relieved—he’d been worried about not getting along with the others. Not that it’s necessary at this level of playing, but at his center, Simeon likes being liked and had been worried about how he was being received.

Around you, fans start making their way out of the auditorium, and you follow, knowing Simeon’s going to go out to celebrate with the rest of the team. You feel eyes on you as you leave. You look over and make eye contact with the team captain, Diavolo, who gives you a half genuinely warm, half inquisitive smile. You tilt your head and smile back, slightly teasing, then turn away.

∙

The walk back to your and Simeon’s shared apartment isn’t far, but it is a bit chillier than it is this time of year in Celestial City, so you’re grateful when you’re able to close the door behind you. You send off a quick text to Simeon telling him you’d made it safe, then just pause for a moment, digesting the game. The boys had played great, your jerseys had looked fantastic, and you were pretty sure you’d already caught the attention of some of the players. You’ll get to know them all eventually, or at least that’s what you assume since you’d been so familiar with the CC Chols, so you’re not too worried, but the image of that smile the captain had sent you plays in your head. It’s unusual for fans to be given attention like that, so you wonder if Simeon’s already said something about you.

Shaking yourself, you start your bedtime routine and change into more comfortable clothes. You won’t actually go to sleep for a while, perks of making your own hours and being a night owl, but starting it early never hurts. You also need to stay up for Simeon, as you know he’s going to want to tell you all about the game from his perspective. You’re excited to hear it, as well as excited to hear what hanging with the guys after is like.

Time passes, and with no word from him, you begin to get a little worried. It’s not unheard of for him to come home late. If he were with the Chols, you wouldn’t be worried at all, but he’s in an unfamiliar city with unfamiliar guys, you’ve heard about the hazing horror stories. You uneasily move around the apartment, trying to convince yourself that you’re overreacting. Suddenly your phone rings, that familiar ring-tone carrying through the air, and you hurry to answer it, raising your phone to your ear.

“Simeon?” you ask breathlessly.

“Uh, not Simeon,” an unfamiliar voice says, and you jerk back, checking the caller ID. It is Simeon’s number. “My name is Diavolo, I’m captain of the Devildom Dogs hockey team, the one that Simeon recently joined. I’m not sure what all you know or who you are, but your name is favorited in his contacts, and I think Simeon needs to get picked up. I would drop him off myself,” he adds regretfully, “but I’m a little buzzed and don’t want to get behind the wheel.”

“Totally understandable,” you assure him. “Is Simeon okay? What happened?”

Diavolo sighs. “Solomon and Asmo happened. They’re two other team members and they love welcoming the new team members with open arms. And lots of booze.”

“Are you saying he’s drunk?” you ask, finally catching his drift. “Simeon doesn’t typically drink much.”

“Asmodeus can be very persuasive. And not like, black-out drunk, but definitely feeling it.”

“I see. Well, what bar are you guys at? I can swing by to pick him up now, if you’d like?”

“That would be great,” Diavolo sighs with relief, and his warm tone sends butterflies through your stomach. He gives you the location and you realize it’s only a few blocks from your apartment, easily within walking distance. You’ll walk there, and if needed, call a rideshare back.

“I’ll be there in like, fifteen minutes,” you say, already pulling on your shoes. You look like crap, but honestly, you’ve never been one to care about things like that. If Simeon’s drunk enough that you need to pick him up, you really don’t want to waste time.

“Okay, thank you. And I’m really sorry about all of this,” Diavolo says earnestly. “I’ll be having words with Solomon and Asmo both about this.”

“Don’t be,” you reply, a smile tugging at your lips. “It’s only natural they’d get rowdy after a win, and I’m sure you have your hands full with everyone else. I totally get it. As long as it’s not a repeating occurrence. I can’t come and get him after every game.”

Diavolo laughs, deep and warm. “Yes ma’am. See you in a few.”

You hurry to the bar, hand wrapped around your pepper spray. Though Celestial City has been pretty safe, you know that the Devildom is less so, but there are enough people still out that you don’t feel too sketched out. When you arrive at the bar, you walk in, scanning the room for the team. They’re easy enough to spot, and you make your way over.

“No more autographs,” someone groans as you approach, and you realize it’s Belphegor, the d-man who plays beside Barbatos.

“I’m not here for that,” you say, and everyone looks over. You only have eyes for Simeon, who’s slumped over in a booth, tapping away on his phone. “Get up,” you demand, poking him in the side.

While he struggles to sit up properly, sluggish from the booze, you lean over to Diavolo.

“Hi,” you say, clearing your throat, “I’m MC. We spoke on the phone earlier.”

“You’re the chick who was at the game,” Mammon crows, pushing himself next to you before Diavolo can reply. “It’s nice to meet ya!”

“Yes, it’s nice to meet you too,” you say, taking him in. He’s tall and muscular, but nowhere as near as broad as Diavolo, who is honestly, a hunk of a man.

“Thank you for coming,” Diavolo says gratefully. “I’ve been giving him water to help him sober up but he’s still tipsy. You got here quickly.”

“Yeah, well, our apartment is only a few blocks from here,” you say with a shrug, pulling Simeon up to his feet.

“You live together?” Out of the corner of your eye, you see a flash of honey-blonde hair and Asmodeus as he speaks up. “Are you two married?”

Before you can reply, Simeon laughs, and it seems like he’s starting to sober up a little. “No. Lord, no.” He continues to laugh, shaking his head.

You roll your eyes and clarify, “No, Simeon and I are childhood friends. When he got traded to the Devildom Dogs I decided I was sick of the CC Chols and followed. And it’s a good thing I did,” you say severely, turning your scolding to Simeon, “because look at the state you’re in.”

“Please,” a smile tugs at the edge of his lips, “if you’d been here you’d be way worse off than me and we both know it.”

Well, he’s got you there.

“Hey,” Simeon says, and it’s like a lightbulb has gone off over his head. “I just had the most genius idea. MC, let’s stay here for a bit so you can meet everybody.”

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” you say doubtfully, and the boys all begin talking at once.

“No, no, sit down!” Diavolo encourages you, and after another moment of hesitation, you sit. Simeon slides back into the booth, scooting further over so you have room, and you make sure to jam him in the side with your elbow ‘accidentally’ as you’re settling. He pinches your side in return, but since you’re in public you can’t retaliate like you would at your apartment, or even back with the CC Chols, who were familiar with your relationship. Starting the night by getting into a hissy slap fight isn’t the image you want to start off with.

“Um, congratulations on the game,” you say. “You all played very well.”

“Of course we did,” Mammon crows, “we’re the fucking Devildom Dogs!”

“Mammon, be polite,” Lucifer, Diavolo’s d-man partner says, and Mammon makes a face. “Thank you very much,” he says, turning to face you directly. “I’m Lucifer, and this is…”

Lucifer introduces everyone around the table for you, and you do yours when they’re finished.

“So, MC, what do you do?” Satan asks.

“I’m a logo designer,” you reply. Simeon rolls his eyes at your vague response but doesn’t spoil your fun. “I run a small design business out of our apartment.”

“You must be pretty good to be able to afford those seats,” Solomon points out slyly. “That is if you’re a season ticket member? I guess you could have just bought it off the actual member for the night.”

“So, you’re not successful?” Belphegor asks.

Simeon shakes his head. “No, she is, but she’s also really humble.”

“Sure, humble,” you agree wryly.

“Is there anything you want to drink?” Diavolo cuts in, leaning over the table to be heard better, but you shake your head regretfully.

“Sorry, not today. One of us has gotta be able to manage getting us home.”

“Next time, then?”

A handful of men have pursued you in the past, but he’s definitely the most charming, you think as he gives you a look both guileless and expectant. And you’re not opposed, so you laugh and agree, “Sure, next time.”

“MC, was it?” Asmodeus purrs, and you turn to him. He knows damn well what your name is. “Are you seeing anyone?”

“Ah, no,” you reply, and your mind flashes back to your ex-fiance. Your relationship with Raphael had been fun, but it was clear that neither of you were really interested in marriage, but the pressure took its toll. Honestly, your decision to move to the Devildom was a really good opportunity to start fresh. You were glad you didn’t have any reason to really see him anymore. “I broke off my engagement recently and I’m still trying to get back on the dating scene.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Asmodeus says a bit awkwardly. You wish you’d given him a little less of the truth.

“Don’t be.” You give him a bright smile. “It wasn’t a bad relationship, we just realized that we weren’t compatible long-term and it was best to part ways.”

“Kudos to you for having the balls to break it off, then,” Diavolo speaks up suddenly. “That must have been difficult.”

“It was difficult at first, yeah,” you reply, “but it was the best choice and I don’t regret it.”

“Enough of that,” Simeon cuts in, throwing his arm around your shoulders. He can sense your reluctance to fully jump into talking about your failed relationship. “I think MC wants to know more about all of you.”

“That’s true,” you agree with a laugh. “A girl can’t help but be curious about the most notorious team in the AHL.”

“What do you think of us so far?” Satan asks, raising one neat eyebrow.

“You’re all a lot nicer than the rumors say, for one,” you begin, and Mammon laughs.

“Well, that’s because we like you so far. Believe me, if we didn’t, you wouldn’t be callin’ us nice.”

“I’m almost offended,” Solomon says, putting a hand on his chest. “I’ve been described as a lot of things, but nice’? I deserve more credit than that!”

“Well damn, okay,” you say jokingly, holding your hands up innocently. “I wasn’t trying to offend. I guess you’re all also a lot funnier than I thought. In my experience hockey boys usually aren’t quite as witty as you’ve been tonight.”

“Was that an insult to hockey players?” Beelzebub grumbles to Belphegor, who nods seriously.

“I think it was.”

“Well not to you,” you say exasperatedly, and the honeyed laugh that you get from Diavolo feels like a win.

The night goes on with info and chirps being swapped back and forth, and by the time it’s time to pack up and all separate, you feel like you’ve gained a lot through this experience. Your worries are mostly assuaged; you’ve gotten to know all of the boys at least somewhat, and everyone now knows you.

“Well, we’re this way,” you say to Diavolo, who walked you out. Simeon is still inside, paying his tab, so it’s just the two of you under the entrance lights. The city is dark yet still busy, and you’re glad to see the nightlife is what had been advertised, lively and entrancing. “It was really nice to meet you. Thanks for letting me hang out and meet everyone.”

“We enjoyed your company,” he says smoothly. “Thanks for giving up your evening to spend time with a bunch of nice, witty hockey players.”

“Oh my god,” you groan. “You guys are never going to let me forget that, are you?”

“Nope.” His teeth glint in the light, standing out against his dark skin. He has a nice smile, you think to yourself before you realize you’ve been staring.

He doesn’t seem to mind, though, if the interested expression on his face is any indication.

“Say,” he begins, “I couldn’t help but notice you had on a general jersey tonight. I’m surprised you weren’t repping Simeon’s number.”

“In that case, how about I send you one of mine?” he offers, and you blink up at him.

“A jersey?”

“Yeah, how about it? You could wear the ‘C’ off of the ice.” His dark eyes are even more shadowed and immensely alluring.

“I suppose that’d be okay,” you agree nonchalantly, though your heart is pounding in your chest. You can’t believe the captain of the Devildom Dogs is flirting with you! “You can just give it to Simeon whenever it's convenient for you.”

“Oh, no,” he disagrees, “I think I’ve gotta give it to you directly, you know, to make sure it gets to you safe and sound. How about you swing by one of our practices next week? I can give it to you then.”

“I’ll have to check my schedule,” you say, knowing you’re definitely free. “I’m a busy woman. Popular, too.”

“I don’t doubt that,” he recipes silkily, but before either of you can add anything else, Simeon appears, his suspicious eyes glancing back and forth between the two of you.

“MC, stop your flirting so we can get home,” he instructs, and you laugh.

“As if you’re not the reason we’re still here. See you, Diavolo.”

“I’m holding you to that,” he calls as you walk away. “Next week, okay?”

“We’ll see,” you return without looking back. You both know that means ‘yes’.

∙

Cracking your back, you push away from your desk, finally finished with work. The Devildom Dogs reached out to you and asked for a Veterans Day design, so you’ve spent the whole day brainstorming potential ideas for the jerseys.

You were glad they contacted you, especially since they were asking for a rush job which meant you were able to get them to sign a contract that would pay you a lot of money. Man, you love your job. And money.

“Done with work?” Simeon asks, poking his head into your room. Your apartment was pretty modest so your workspace was in your bedroom, and honestly, though it was kind of cramped, the setup was pretty sweet.

“Yep,” you say, and he walks fully in, sitting on the bed. “Management of the Dogs reached out, they want Veterans Day jerseys.”

“What do you have so far?” he asks, and you spend a few moments looking at the designs you’d thrown together.

“I really like that one,” he says, choosing his favorite, and you make a mental note of that. Ultimately, it comes down to the people you’re working with with the Devildom Dogs, but Simeon has pretty good taste and is usually right about which design will get chosen.

“How was your day?” you ask. They didn’t have a game or official practice, but you were pretty sure you’d seen him heading out to the gym earlier in the day.

“It was good,” he says, flopping back onto his back, “but I’m tired. And I don’t want to cook.”

“I don’t either,” you admit. “Takeout?”

“My trainer’s going to kill me,” he grumbles but opens his phone and starts scrolling through the delivery options.

“You rarely go off of your diet plan,” you dismiss. “Once in a while won’t hurt.”

Within a few moments, Simeon’s placed an order at some sandwich place nearby. “Should be delivered within the hour.”

“Sweet.”

When the food comes, the two of you ignore your table to sit on the couch, putting on the shows you’ve been watching. You take a moment to snap a picture of him, the TV, and the food, and put it on your Instagram story.

It’s only a few moments before your phone buzzes and you see someone’s swiped up.

Diavolo_14: Is that meal trainer approved?

MC: What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him lol

Diavolo_14: I guess at least it’s sandwiches. Could be worse.

MC: And I convinced Simeon anyway, so blame me not him

Diavolo_14: Oh, I have no doubts about who’s responsible. What are you watching?

MC: Some dumb sitcom. IDK, Simeon and I just make our way through shows together for something to do

Diavolo_14: Jealous.

MC: Of the food?

Diavolo_14: Of Simeon. I want to watch dumb sitcoms with you.

“What—or who—has you smiling like that?” Simeon asks, leaning over to look at your phone. You turn it away from him, sticking out your tongue.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“It’s Diavolo, isn’t it?” he asks, and you roll your eyes.

“You better not try to warn me or him off, okay? We’re both adults and—”

“I literally do not care.” He gives you a sideways glance. “Unless he breaks your heart, of course. But other than that, do whatever you want.”

“Thanks for the heartfelt sentiment,” you say sarcastically, and he laughs. You’re so glad Simeon’s never been the overprotective type, as you’d definitely chafe under it. Over time, the both of you have mostly been a listening ear, only giving advice when asked, and it’s a system that works really well for the both of you.

With a start, you realize you’ve left Diavolo hanging, and go back to the DM thread.

MC: Is that so?

Diavolo_14: That is so. Now, when are you going to come to practice to get that jersey?

MC: Well, I was going to surprise you tomorrow…

Diavolo_14: And now I’ve ruined the surprise, haven’t I?

MC: Yeah lol.

Diavolo_14: Well, you should still come tomorrow.

MC: Alright, alright, see you then

Diavolo_14: Looking forward to it, MC.

His words send a flutter through your stomach, and you have a hard time focusing on the show for the rest of the night, too busy thinking about one, handsome captain of the Devildom Dogs. Simeon chirps and needles you for it, something you let him do because you probably deserve it.

“Whatever,” you finally say, standing up. “I’m going to bed.”

“Oh, yeah, get that beauty sleep,” he replies. “You need it.”

Grabbing a throw pillow, you chuck it in his direction, making a hasty retreat to your room.

It’s hard to fall asleep, but once you do, you have good dreams and wake up well-rested. Even though you’re really looking forward to Simeon’s practice, it’s not until the afternoon so you keep busy working on the Veterans Day jersey designs though your mind drifts more often than you’d like to admit.

You’ve only known Diavolo for a few days, but things are just so electric with him. Sparks truly do fly between the two of you and his flirting makes you feel giddy, but your last relationship wasn’t been filled with lots of laughter so you feel like you’re entitled to it. You wonder if he feels this way too. Does he feel the connection? What does he want with you? Before you can linger on the thoughts, you stand, forcing yourself to switch gears.

“Ready to go?” Simeon asks when you walk into the living room, and you nod. You have your laptop just in case you get bored (which you doubt will happen) and you put it in the backseat of Simeon’s car.

“This is so exciting,” you say, only half-kidding. “Behind the scenes with the Devildom Dogs. Do you think the others will mind me watching?”

Simeon shakes his head. “Nah, I don’t think so. Everyone likes you and this gives them a chance to show off.” Laughing, he says, “I think they might like you more than me.”

“That is so not true,” you argue with an eye roll. “They’ve only met me once. And how could they? Everyone has always gotten along better with you than me anyway.”

“Yeah, because I’m not annoying as hell,” he says nonchalantly, and you send him a glare.

“You’re so lucky you’re driving,” you threaten. “I don’t know why everyone always thinks you’re so angelic. You’re such an ass to me.”

“It’s deserved,” he points out, and okay, you have to agree.

When he pulls into the parking lot behind the ice rink they use for practice, you waste no time gathering your shit and hopping out of the car.

“Nervous?” Simeon asks, and you scoff.

“As if.” It’s a half-lie. Maybe nervousness isn’t the right word. It’s more like… anticipation.

Simeon leads you through the back doors to the rink, and you look around, taking everything in. You’re assuming it’s open to the public when it’s not in use by the team and that theory is backed up by the presence of a skate rental sign pointing down another hall.

“You can hang out on the stands,” Simeon says, pointing like you don’t already see them. “I’ll tell everyone you’re here and they can do whatever they want with that info.”

You sit near the rink, but not directly in the front row, and mess around on your phone for a few moments. You’re expecting people to approach you from the ice so when someone taps your shoulder, you jump, looking behind you.

“Sorry, sorry,” Diavolo says, holding out his hands in a peace gesture. His grin is easy and just as attractive as you remembered. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“You’re good,” you say. “I was just waiting for you to skate over to me, not walk.”

“What I’m hearing is that you were waiting for me.” He does something with his eyebrows that comes off as insanely attractive and you wonder just how desperate you are.

“Well, yeah,” you say. “I was promised a gift.”

“That you were,” he agrees. “And I’m afraid you’re going to have to wait a little longer for it. I left it in my car and since practice is starting so soon I totally don’t have time to go and get it. Darn.”

“Is this your way of asking me out after practice?”

“Well, it was my way of asking to give you a ride home, but hey, that works too,” he chuckles, eyes sparkling with some positive emotion you can’t quite pin down. “As long as Simeon won’t get mad. I know you’re close friends.”

“Him?” You laugh. “He won’t be, first of all, because neither of us really cares what either gets up to romantically, and secondly, even if he was, it would be none of his damn business. I’m a grown woman with my own agenda and I’m glad he’s always recognized that. Even when we were younger,” you say with a sigh, “he’d let me get myself into all sorts of scrapes and situations, then just smugly tell me it was my own fault. Nothing serious, of course, but out of the two of us I’ve always been rasher and he definitely uses that for his entertainment.”

“Seriously?” Diavolo questions. “He seems so kind and nice. I have a hard time believing that.”

“That’s because he wants you to think that,” you tell him darkly, and the laugh you get in return is glorious, full-bellied and rich.

Not noticing your sudden stupor, he sighs, catching his breath. “Well, I better get on the ice. Duties of being a captain and all of that.”

“What, actually having to show up to practice and set a good example? So hard.”

“You get it,” he says, and you shake your head, unable to stop your smile.

“Watch me on the ice?” he asks, beginning to walk away backward.

“Obviously,” you say, “but Diavolo…”

“Yeah?” he begins to reply, then trips over a bench, stumbling to the ground.

“...there’s a bench behind you,” you finish, and the gobsmacked look on his face is one you endeavor to remember, pressing into your memories.

The boys waste no time getting into the swing of practice, though you receive a few looks and waves. Their drills are intense and difficult looking, but they make them seem easy. Watching them makes you yearn to get back on the ice, a feeling you haven’t had in a while. Maybe you should see what days the rink offers open skate and pull yours out of your closet.

Watching them makes you feel oddly nostalgic. Both for the Chols and for the rec league with Simeon. You’d played hockey with him through school, quitting in college when he’d been scouted directly to the Chols. You’d been the forward to his right wing, and though you’d never had the same amount of sheer talent as him, you’d been no slouch.

But as time went on, you’ve been satisfied with just watching. Marveling at the feats the Chols were able to do on the ice, rather than rush to attempt them yourself as you might once have.

You’d been on the ice with the Chols a few times, but after the first year, the novelty had worn off. You’d shifted to the stands after your engagement, sticking with the other girls, and again, while that had been fun, you’re realizing now that you truly, sincerely missed the feeling of skating.

The coaches hardly pay you any attention, and while you’d thought that maybe your presence would have distracted the boys, they’re all business, showing you a much more serious side than you’d seen so far. Discounting that first game, of course.

Before you know it, the practice is halfway over. It’s going by way too fast!

“Hey,” Simeon calls from the ice, grabbing your attention. “We’ve got a five-minute break. Come down here!”

You roll your eyes but stand, crossing the short distance to the edge of the rink. He’s out of breath and sweating, clearly working hard on the drills.

“What do you think, huh?” he asks, putting a hand on the board.

“Yeah, I want to know!” Mammon cries, skating over and almost running into Simeon. “Cooler and better and more awesomer than the Chols?”

“‘Awesomer’ isn’t a word, dimwit,” Belphegor says, clearly listening in on the conversation, and you laugh.

“Way awesomer than the Chols.”

“Glad you think so,” Diavolo says from behind you, and you jump. Again. Man, he’s really got to stop doing that. Or maybe you need to be more attentive; you hadn’t even seen him get off the ice! He’s sweaty too, hair sticking down slightly on his forehead, but unlike with Simeon, you drink the sight in. God, this man gets more and more attractive every time you see him. “Did you see me out there?”

Honestly, he was pretty much all you could look at.

“Of course I did.”

“Was it impressive?”

Mindful of Simeon, Belphegor, and Mammon (whom Diavolo doesn’t even seem to care about), you choose your words with care. “Don’t fish for compliments.”

He grins, opening his mouth to speak, but before he can, the coaches call everyone to the ice.

“Stop your flirting, Captain!” Mammon cackles, and Diavolo sighs.

“I barely even got to talk to you!”

Your heart flutters. “Well, I’ll be here after practice…”

“That you will,” he says dorkily, looking all too excited. How can this man go from unbelievably sexy to cute so quickly?

The rest of practice flies by, and when it’s called to an end, anticipation bubbles in your chest. Diavolo nods towards the shower, and you give him a thumbs up. Simeon shakes his head with a laugh, and you can’t help but flip him off.

You pack your things slowly, or maybe it’s that Diavolo showers quickly, because he walks out of the locker room at the same time you approach it. And lord, if you’d thought sweaty Diavolo was attractive, then what was post-shower Diavolo? Off the fucking charts is what. His shirt, slightly damp, sticks to his chest in a way that makes you want to drool.

“Ready?” he asks, taking your laptop bag from you before you can protest.

“Of course.” You gesture for him to lead the way. “I’m excited to see this jersey after hearing so much about it.”

“And I’m excited to see you wear it,” he replies smoothly, and your cheeks heat up.

“Sweet talker.”

“Honest,” he corrects amusedly, holding the door for you as you exit the building into the parking lot.

His car is nice. Much nicer than Simeon’s well-loved and well-worn sedan, it’s sleek and expensive looking. Too bad you’re not much of a car girl, otherwise you’d definitely appreciate it more. You notice it’s also clean and smells good when you buckle in.

“Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m hungry,” Diavolo says, sliding into his own seat. “Burned off a lot of calories at practice there.”

“What about your meal plan?” you question, faux-innocently, and he raises his eyebrows.

“What my trainer doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” he replies, repeating your earlier words back to you. You can’t help but giggle.

“Well, I’m hungry too, so I think lunch is a great idea,” you say. “I’m obviously new around here so I’ll let you choose. Now, I want to be impressed.”

“Yes ma’am.” He starts up the car and smoothly exits the parking lot. “How about my favorite brunch place?”

“Isn’t it a little late for brunch?” you ask, and he shrugs.

“Eh, they serve brunch all day.”

“That sounds good to me,” you say, and he grins.

“Good, because it’s literally right down the road.”

∙

Once you’re seated inside, Diavolo takes the menu from your hand and sets it aside. “You won’t need this,” he says. “Trust me.”

“Oh, I didn’t know I was dining with an expert,” you joke. “Fine, I’ll trust you. But if you get me something I don’t like, get ready to pay the price.”

“If it’s you—” he waggles his eyebrows devilishly “—I wouldn’t mind getting punished.”

You shake your head, trying to clear the thoughts and images that had arisen from his words, and take a long sip of water. “So, um, what do you like to do?”

“Play hockey.”

You wave a hand. “You know what I mean, dipshit.”

“Fine, fine. Let’s see… I enjoy running, especially at this park near my place. The sunrise is super pretty. And I spend a lot of time with Barbatos and Lucifer too.”

“You do?” you ask, surprised. They were pretty close for a professional team but you hadn’t known it was that close.

“Yep. Been friends with them forever. Barbatos, for as long as I can remember—I’m pretty sure our parents introduced us in the hospital—and Lucifer and I met at a camp years ago. It’s honestly pretty crazy we made it to the same team.”

“Wow,” you say, remembering reading headlines of the unexpected draft pick for both of them, “that is crazy. I’m glad you guys are all so close.”

“Well, most of us have been on the team for at least a season,” he replies. “I’m glad Simeon’s growing closer with us too. He seems like a really cool dude.”

“He is,” you reply, “but don’t tell him I said so. He’d never let me live it down.”

Diavolo winks, miming locking his mouth with a key. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

The waitress comes to take your orders then, and you leave it all to Diavolo. He gets the same dish for the both of you, promising it’ll be worth it.

“I hope so,” you say. “I’m kind of nervous. I’ve never heard of a dish called ‘Hotter Than Hot Toasted Sandwich’. It’s a good thing I like spicy food. What would you have done if I didn’t?”

He looks sheepish then, rubbing at the back of your neck. “I asked Simeon just to be sure.”

The thought put into it touches you, and you look down, then up at him through your lashes. “I see.”

The conversation drifts, moving from one topic to another with ease. And that’s what things are with Diavolo. Easy. He’s kind and funny, attentive to your feelings, and seems to find you just as appealing as you find him.

That is, if you’re reading the signs right, but honestly it’d be kind of hard to interpret his actions otherwise.

Your food arrives, and thankfully, it’s as delicious as he’d promised. You both finish eating at around the same time, and as if she’d been waiting, the waitress comes and drops off the check. Before you can move, Diavolo has his card out, a shiny black Amex, and sets it on the table.

“I’m not going to argue,” you say with a laugh, and he smiles.

“Good. I want to treat you.”

“Careful,” you warn playfully, “or I might get used to it.”

He leans forward, a little more serious. Those eyes burn into you, making you breathless even though he hasn’t said anything. “And what if that’s what I want?”

You blink at his sudden bluntness. It’s almost hard for you to believe what you’re hearing. That a man like him is interested in a girl like you. Not that you’re not a catch, but damn, he’s out of this world. “Well,” you finally say, “I guess you’ll just have to keep taking me out to prove it.”

“If that’s what it takes,” he says lowly, “then I’d be happy to provide. Let’s get out of here.”

The waitress had apparently grabbed his card and returned it without you noticing, so when he stands, it takes you a second to follow. He leads you back to his car.

“Do you need to get back to anything or can I steal you for longer?” he asks, and you consult your watch.

“Unfortunately, I do have a work meeting in like an hour,” you reply reluctantly. “That's not enough time for us to really do anything.”

He frowns. “That’s unfortunate. I wanted to show you around the Devildom since I figured you hadn’t had much time to explore.”

“That’ll just have to wait until next time,” you say airily, and he shakes his head.

“You really do know how to wrap me around your finger.”

You give him the address to your apartment, and all too soon he’s pulling up outside of the building.

“I had fun today,” you say earnestly. “Thanks for taking me out.”

He reaches into his back seat and pulls a piece of fabric forward. The jersey, you realize, as he presses it into your hands. A smile blooms on your face.

“I had fun today too,” he says. “And I better see you wearing that to the game tomorrow. That is, if you’re coming.”

You unbuckle, throwing his door open. “Oh, I will be. Coming, that is. And wearing your number.”

∙

The season continues. You wear Diavolo’s jersey to the games, cheering for the Dogs with wild abandon, and they continue to win. And win, and win, and win.

(“It’s all thanks to Simeon,” Solomon faux-whispers to you at one celebratory post-game hang. “He’s way better at being my right than Asmo ever was.”

“Rude!” Asmo returns, jostling into Solomon’s side. Everyone laughs, and you easily join in. These boys, they’ve become a part of you, like you’ve become a part of them.)

Off the ice, you and Diavolo grow closer. You get familiar with his life outside of hockey, staying overnight at his apartment here and there when you both have the time. You haven’t put a label on it, something Diavolo seems to sense you’re not ready for, as the ended engagement with Raphael is still a little fresh, but it’s clear to the both of you that this isn’t some passing fling.

Before you know it, months have passed, and it’s playoff season. The Dogs obviously make it, having a perfect season thus far, as do the Chols, who had a rocky start to the beginning of the season, probably due to the changed dynamics without Simeon, but quickly redeemed themselves to finish strong.

(“We bring home the Calder Cup all of the time,” Belphie says with an eye roll. “How is this season any different?”

Mammon grins slyly. “It’s different for our dear Captain. After all, he’s finally got someone he wants to win the cup for.”

Diavolo’s hand, where it’s wrapped around yours, squeezes lightly.)

Diavolo offers to fly you out to the West Coast for the championship game, as somehow, the Chols made it into the final two. They never quite managed that when Simeon was on the team. You decline, not because you’re not going, but because you can fly yourself.

The bonus from both teams’ championship jerseys is sitting nice and pretty in your account right now.

You’re a bit nervous on the plane. Not because of the flying, but at the thought of seeing the Chols. Especially since this wasn’t any old game, but the championship one. It’d be a hard loss, for whoever doesn’t make it, and though at this point, your loyalties lie entirely with the Dogs, you don’t want to make anyone on the old team feel betrayed.

It’d also be your first time seeing Raphael in a long time, and the thought makes you a little scared. But you’re also hopeful. Hopeful that you’ll get to see people who were once your world again without it being too awkward.

Although, considering the rivalry between the teams you’re not sure how feasible that one is…

When you get off the plane, carry-on in tow, you text Diavolo that you’ve landed safely, not expecting his reply to come right away.

Diavolo_14: I’m glad you made it

Diavolo_14: Still not sure why you wouldn’t fly in with us though :((

MC: I told you, I had it covered. You can spoil me some other way, on a trip that’s unrelated to your games

Diavolo_14: Is that you saying you want to travel with me in the off-season? After all of this postseason stuff is completed?

MC: Yes but you already knew that.

Diavolo_14: I suppose I may have had an idea.

Diavolo_14: Anyway, don’t get in a taxi or anything, our hotel is within walking distance.

MC: I already had reservations somewhere else!

Diavolo_14: Reservations Simeon canceled

Diavolo_14: I was hoping it’d be a nice surprise but if you’re uncomfortable with it I can get your old room back.

MC: It’s not bad, and I am surprised. I just don’t want to distract you before such an important game.

Diavolo_14: Pssshh, this game is nothing. And you’re never a distraction <3

MC: Liar.

MC: Remember when I made you late to practice last week?

Diavolo_14: Oh yeah. Anyway, if you’re really fine with it you’d be sharing with me

Diavolo_14: It’s got a jacuzzi tub………

MC: You spoil me. Yes I’m fine with it.

MC: What’s the name of the hotel so I can walk there?

Diavolo_14: You should be able to see it if you go to the east entrance and look up.

MC: Oh, good, I’m near there. Hold on

Diavolo_14: Yeah just look up and over by the sign for the shuttle, then slightly to the left.

You do as he directs, eyes widening when instead of a hotel, you see a familiar head of red hair. He waves, and you cross the street in a hurry.

“Hey!” he greets, wrapping you in a hug. “You sure it was a good surprise? I was worried it’d be too much, but I really wanted you with me. If I went too far, seriously, tell me. I know we haven’t really talked about where we are but I really like you and it seems to be the same for you so I’d hoped it would be alright. Plus, Simeon said you’d like it. And yes, I’m totally throwing him under the bus right now in case you don’t,” he adds, trying to alleviate some of the seriousness.

You laugh. “I like it. And I like the idea of a jacuzzi tub. I’m all gross from the plane. And I do like you, a lot, so you have nothing to worry about there. It’s a sweet gesture.”

Diavolo leans in to kiss you then, something you return, pleased. Though it’d only been a few days of separation, you’d found yourself really missing him. Almost too much, you worried.

Once you break apart, Diavolo takes your bag from you, slinging it over his shoulder, and you can’t help but smile up at him. You twine your fingers through his, relishing the feel of the west coast. Though it was winter, the balmy beach weather was much nicer than the frozen streets of the Devildom. And to think you once considered this weather cold.

Diavolo and you mosey out of the airport and down the street, not in any particular hurry. When you do get into the lobby, you’re instantly greeted by half of the team, who’d apparently been stalking the two of you from the expansive windows.

“You made it!” Asmo cheers, eyes sparkling. “Now we can really have some fun!”

“Sorry, sorry, but I’m afraid I’m going to be keeping MC all to myself for the time being,” Diavolo says, not sounding very apologetic. “We’ve got a date with the jacuzzi tub.”

“We?” you say, giving him a look. “Who said anything about ‘we’? I said that I wanted a bath.”

Simeon laughs, shaking his head, and you share a smile with him.

“No, no, come on,” Diavolo begs theatrically. “Don’t deprive me. Of the wonderful jacuzzi jets, of course,” he adds hastily, seeing your unimpressed look.

“You’d better be nice to him,” Lucifer warns you, in a tone you’ve only recently begun to recognize as his joking one. “I already gave up rooming with him for you, and I don’t need him complaining to me. Not when I now have to deal with rooming with these nitwits.”

“Hey!” Mammon and Simeon protest.

“It’s not like I said your names,” Lucifer says drily.

“Yeah, but it was clear you were talking about us,” Mammon responds, and their squabbling fades into the background as Diavolo pulls you to the elevators, mashing the ‘Close Doors’ button before anyone else can get on.

“You didn’t really mean that, did you?” he asks, turning to you. “You’re going to let me in the tub, right? If you don’t it might cause me to not play my best and lead to the Chols winning the cup tomorrow. You don’t want that, do you?”

“Oh, we’re threatening now, are we?” you laugh, and he shakes his head.

“Not threatening, just informing.”

“I see,” you say. “Well, since I have a vested interest in seeing the Dogs take this game, I guess I’d better do anything that I can to ensure a win.”

“Anything?” Diavolo asks, eyebrows waggling, and you give him a sly smile.

“Anything.”

∙

“Are you getting hungry?” Diavolo eventually asks, and you roll over to better face him. He looks like a dream, hair spread across the pillow, dark skin beautiful against the white sheets. “Lucifer just texted; apparently some of the Chols want to meet up at a bar, do a little pre-game catching up. They really want to see Simeon.” He hesitates. “But if you don’t want to do that, we can grab food somewhere else by ourselves.”

“No, no,” you say quickly. “I’m not going to deprive the team of its captain. And, I have missed the boys. I’d love to see them. I’m just a little nervous.”

“Because of Raphael?” he asks gently. You’d filled him in on your past with the other hockey player, in bits and pieces, and Diavolo's been fully understanding, sharing his own stories of past love in return. You’d only grown closer through honesty, and you’re glad you’d been open with him, as now you don’t have to do any awkward explaining or suffer through any misunderstandings.

“Some,” you admit honestly. “Well, mostly because of him. But I think it’ll just be weird to see them all. The Chols were my life at one point, you know, so it’s just going to be bittersweet. I do want to see them, though,” you add firmly, making up your mind, “so let’s go.”

“Are you sure?” Diavolo reaches over, brushing across your cheek. You lean into his touch, nodding.

“I’m sure. Now, stop touching me, because I need to actually get out of this bed and get ready.”

“You already look perfect,” Diavolo insists, and you bat his hand away, sitting up.

“Flatterer,” you reply cheekily. “But I’m pretty sure you’re the only one I want to see me like this. So let me get ready, alright?”

“Fine, fine,” he says. “I guess I’ll shower. Unless you want to join?”

“No!” you huff with a laugh. “Stop tempting me. And, we just took baths.”

“Well, I need a shower if we’re going to leave this hotel room,” he says meaningfully, and though your cheeks heat a little, you remain strong. Seeing that, he sighs, then stands, heading for the bathroom, leaving the door open as he dramatically turns on the shower, sending you enticing looks over his shoulder as he does so.

Once he finally gets in, you pull yourself out of bed, moving over to your carry-on. Thankfully, you’d packed a couple of outfit choices, not knowing what to expect. Choosing the most suitable, something casual and yet attractive, you get dressed, then realize you’re going to need the bathroom to fix your hair and do your makeup.

“I’m coming in,” you call, toiletry bag in hand. It only takes a second for his head to pop out from behind the shower curtain, excitement diminishing once he sees you’re dressed.

“Oh,” he says. “I thought you meant into the shower. But I guess not.”

“Stop it, you,” you say, turning on the sink to wash your face, and he laughs.

You’re almost finished with your makeup when the shower turns off, Diavolo stepping out a moment later with the towel low on his hips. You studiously ignore him, applying mascara with more focus than necessary. He doesn’t let that slide, wrapping his arms around you from behind.

“You better not get me wet,” you warn, switching to your setting powder.

“I won’t,” he says, and you turn your head slightly, giving him a look from the corner of your eye. His chin rests on your shoulder, and when you turn, your faces are mere inches apart. Diavolo hugs you tighter, kissing you, and you’re glad you haven’t applied lipstick yet.

“Alright, alright, get off of me,” you say after a moment, a small smile crossing your lips. “Unless you want to have to take another shower.”

“Cruel woman,” Diavolo bemoans, but does as you say, disappearing into the other room to get dressed. He returns a moment later, in dark jeans and a t-shirt, one that displays the Dogs’ logo.

“You can’t be serious,” you say as he combs through his hair with his fingers.

“What?”

“Team merch, really?”

He cracks an attractive smile, mirth dancing in his eyes. “Of course. I’ve gotta represent, you know.”

You can only shake your head.

As you’re putting on your shoes, there’s a knock on the door. Diavolo answers it, revealing Barbatos.

“Oh, good, you’re both decent,” Barbatos says mildly, and you give him a glare. “We’re all headed downstairs.”

“We’re ready,” Diavolo says and you stand, making sure you have your purse. You all walk down to the lobby, Diavolo��s hand in yours the whole way.

“How are you feeling?” Simeon asks at one point, voice quiet.

“Nervous,” you reply honestly. “You?”

“Nervous,” he echoes. “But I think it’ll be fine. I’m excited to see Raphael and the others again.”

“I am too,” you agree. “It’ll be nice to catch up. Especially before we kick their asses tomorrow.”

Simeon laughs. “I like the way you think.”

As you get closer to the bar where you’re all meeting up, you can’t deny that your hands get a little sweaty and your stomach starts to knot. You know the worst thing you'll find is a shit-ton of awkwardness (or at least that’s what you really hope), and that once you see it through it’ll ease, but you’re still not super keen on putting yourself in the situation.

Ten minutes, you tell yourself, then things will be fine. Plus, you’ll have Diavolo and Simeon by your side and all the other boys to make distractions and break the ice.

Diavolo squeezes your hand as you enter the bar, and immediately, your eyes find the familiar sight of Raphael’s ash-colored hair. You gulp; there’s no turning back now.

“Hey!” Mammon calls out easily, and the boys turn. You recognize some others aside from Raphael, and thankfully a few have brought their wives, making it less awkward that you’re there and also giving you a breath of relief because you were familiar with them.

Raphael’s eyes lock onto yours, then sharpen on you and Diavolo’s linked hands. There’s no animosity in them, just that same awkward cautiousness you feel, another relief.

“Hey, come join us,” Raphael says, gesturing to the rest of the table. The bar staff, or maybe the Chols, had pushed a few tables together, making a monster table to fit the mishmash of people. You pull out a seat between Simeon—who’s across from Raphael—and Diavolo, who lets go of your hand as you sit. You smile at the girl across from you, not recognizing her.

“Hi,” you greet the table at large, among various other greetings being given. “It’s nice to see you all again, and nice to meet you, those I haven’t met yet.”

The girl across from you smiles at that, introducing herself as Thirteen, the main goalie’s sister.

“So, uh, how goes the season?” Raphael asks Simeon awkwardly. “You miss us yet?”

Simeon laughs. “Miss your snoring? Nah, not really. And the season’s going great, obviously. I’m glad you guys made it this far too, it’ll be fun to put you in your place.”

“Starting the chirping already?” Diavolo asks him, throwing an arm across your shoulders. “Careful, Simeon, I think we’re outnumbered here.”

“You’ve changed, Simeon,” Raphael says. “I think the Dogs are rubbing off on you. Anyway, MC, how have you been? Business going well?”

“Oh, yeah, your designs for this season are killer,” Thirteen adds before you can answer. “I mean, the font change for the Dogs’ numbers was such a good touch.”

“Oh, thank you,” you laugh. “I’m surprised anyone picked up on that! It’s such a small detail but really impacts the overall vibe of the Jerseys.”

Awareness dawns on Diavolo. “Wait. Are you talking about the team jerseys? As in, the jersey designs?”

“Bingo,” you say slyly. “My job: designing jerseys for sports teams. Mostly hockey teams.”

“I forgot you guys didn’t know,” Simeon says. “Yeah MC’s like, totally in charge of the jerseys. Remember the Veterans Day design? I helped with that.”

“Barely,” you snort.

“You’re serious,” Diavolo mumbles. “How did I not know that?”

You shrug. “Well, I didn’t mention it when we first met and it hasn’t really come up since. Anyway,” you turn back to Raphael, unable to hide your amused smile, “yeah, business is going well! Thanks for asking. How’s that knee been?”

“Oh, you know,” Raphael shrugs. “I’ve been more careful this season since I don’t have someone to nurse me back to health.” His ears steadily turn red as he realizes what he just said, and you’re sure you’re no better.

“Well,” you begin, but thankfully Simeon cuts in.

“You were always lucky with that. Lately, MC just throws an ice pack at me. No sympathy, I swear!”

“That’s because your injuries are all your fault,” you criticize. “Never stops when he should, this guy.”

“Yeah, yeah. Anyway, I’m getting something from the bar. Raphael, you want something?”

They both head for the bar, and you sigh, slumping in your seat. Diavolo leans over to you, eyes concerned but also accusing.

“I guess we’ll talk about the jersey thing later,” he says, quirking his lips slightly. “I’m sure the team will be very interested to hear. Who knows, maybe they’ll have some design input.”

“Oh, god,” you say quickly. You hadn’t even considered that. “You’d better not tell them, I swear! I’ll kick your ass if you do.”

“I don’t doubt it,” he assures you, laughing. “But seriously, I can’t believe I’ve never known that. Now I feel like a bad person for not knowing something so basic. And also kind of like an idiot. I guess I just thought you were acquainted with the upper staff through me when it was really through your own work. Self-centered, much?”

“Really, Diavolo, it’s fine,” you assure him. “I was aware you didn’t know, even taking care to avoid bringing it up at the beginning. Now you do know, so you can stop feeling bad about it. And I’m sorry if you feel betrayed, that wasn’t my intention.”

“No, no,” he hastens. “It just reminds me how much I still have to learn about you.”

“Well, there’s lots and lots of time for that,” you reply, and he smiles, something in his eyes easing. You really hadn’t intended to hurt him with this and now just feel like an asshole. “And I have so much to learn about you, too. But I’m looking forward to it.”

Realizing how rude you’re being to Thirteen, perhaps at the same time, you and Diavolo turn back to her. So lost in your own world, you hadn’t realized Solomon had taken Raphael’s empty seat, now engaged in some fiery debate.

“Let’s stay out of that one,” Diavolo murmurs to you, as Solomon starts using four-syllable words he only pulls out when he’s trying to academically shame someone, and you nod.

Instead, you and Diavolo split up, talking to various people around the room. It’s nice for you to check in on the Chols’ players and their wives and partners, and they seem just as happy to see you. Any worries of tension (to you or to Simeon) disappear quickly, and you find yourself interacting with them just like you used to. One look at Simeon shows he’s faring well, surrounded by teammates old and new.

Warmth expands in your heart and you grab another drink from the bar, just happy to be with the people you love and care for.

(Your eyes find Diavolo as you think that, and though you don’t particularly care to dig into the sentiment, you find yourself comfortable with it all the same.)

Raphael finds you, eventually, offering another beer as a peace offering. You take it, looking at the man you used to love so dearly. You still love him, but only as a friend. Something settles in your chest at the confirmation of what you’d been suspecting: any lingering feelings for him have fully dissipated and you’re ready to move on. Fully.

He seems to realize this, and you suspect that he feels much the same way. The memories between you will hold a special place in your heart forever, sometimes even hurt, but you don’t regret the time you’ve spent with him. You only regret that you hadn’t met Diavolo sooner.

“You’ve got yourself a real catch,” he says, a little sleepily in the way you know to mean he’s slightly inebriated. Not too much, of course, but socially, as are most of the players. “I’m glad to see you’re doing well.”

“Thank you,” you say. “I’m glad, you’re doing well too, Raphael. Congrats again on making it this far this season. Your playing has been incredible.”

“You’ve been watching?”

You sigh softly. “How could I not? Especially at the beginning of the season, when all I was doing was missing you. Guys. You guys. The Dogs are great, of course, but I can’t lie. They were a little intimidating at the beginning.”

He laughs. “You should see them on the ice.”

“Oh, I can imagine.”

A silence, soft and fragile like an early spring day falls between you two, and you give him one more smile. “I’ll see you around, yeah? Don’t be a stranger.”

“I won’t,” he promises, and you both exchange one more look, laying it all to rest, before you float off to find Diavolo, who’s conversing with Lucifer and one of the rookies from the Chols.

“Everything alright?” he asks, pulling you into his side, pressing his cheek to the top of your head.

“Yeah,” you say, leaning into him. “Everything’s alright.”

∙

Excitement bubbles through your veins as you take your seat, one similar in position to the one you have at the Dogs’ home rink, basically on the ice and near the team box. The only difference is that you’re on the away side instead of the home, allowing you to continue to sit near the Dogs.

As a personal guest of the Captain, you’d been offered a plush VIP box but had declined, preferring to get down and dirty in the thick of things as you always had.

Diavolo’s name sits proudly across your shoulders—his real jersey, not a replica sold to fans—and you inhale the spicy scent of his cologne (yeah, you’d asked to borrow it to spray on the jersey, so what), reveling in the electric feeling filling the arena. Though many of the fans are in the white and light blue of the Celestial City Chols, quite a fair amount of black and red can be seen throughout the crowd, showing the many diehard fans who’d made the trip across the country. The only similarities between the teams’ color schemes are the gold accents, glittering and shining under the harsh overhead lighting.

Everyone is excited for this game. Not only is it the last deciding game in the finals, the one that will determine who will take the freaking Calder Cup home, but it’s also between two rival teams. Two rival teams that are both determined to work themselves to the bone, pouring blood, sweat, and tears into winning (though not all of it their own, knowing the Dogs). It’s going to be a game that’ll go down in AHL history.

The minutes tick by and finally both teams take the ice for warm-up. The boys wave and smile, Mammon taking care to be an ass and send a puck right towards your face, as has become his pre-game ritual, but you really only have eyes for Diavolo.

Diavolo, who looks hot as hell in your championship jerseys (white, with red, gold, and black accents), who blows you a kiss as best he can around his mouthguard, who looks like he’s ready to lead his team to a very satisfying and devastating victory.

You would swoon but instead settle for yelling and screaming just as loud as the rest of the arena.

After the starting lineup is announced, with much more pomp and circumstance than the other games, and the national anthem is finished, you sit on the edge of the seat, watching as the ceremonial puck is dropped. It’s very nice and all, but you’re ready for the game to begin.

After what feels like forever, it finally does, and you watch as Raphael and Simeon face one another, kitty-corner. It’s surreal, after so many seasons of watching them play the same line. Diavolo and Lucifer aren’t far behind the forwards, and every member of both teams is completely and utterly focused on the puck.

The arena is so silent you could hear a pin drop as the music fades, and in a clatter of skates and sticks on ice, the puck is dropped. The Chols gain possession, the center sending the puck back to the left d-man, who sends it to the left winger smoothly. The Dogs don’t take that lying down, and chase after the puck. Levi gets there first, and manages to take the puck, passing it to Solomon, who forges a blazing trail down the ice. Amidst the various cheering and booing, you think, perhaps delusionally, you can make out Thirteen’s unique tone, screaming out her displeasure.

The Chols d-men are frustratingly persistent, and what follows is several minutes of back and forth, with both teams failing to make a goal. Shots are attempted by both sides, but are all blocked by the goalie or intercepted by other team members, and when Beel finally gets the puck in his glove, you let out a sigh of relief that they’re all able to take a break. You watch as the players all assemble for an end zone face-off, one that the Dogs win. Both teams are playing viscous and dirty, with checks rattling the boards all around.

“Get it out of there!” you scream, as yet another attempted goal shot is made, and as if they hear you, the forward line, which is now Mammon, Asmo, and Satan, push back towards the Chols’ goal. A brief scuffle near the defending line takes place, and the ref whistles, calling offsides on the Chols.

The first period passes without any goals, despite both teams' desperate pushing. Though neither side scores, you know it’ll only be a matter of time in the second, as the Dogs have been gaining momentum as the night goes on.

You whistle at the boys as they make their way from the bench to the locker room and Diavolo grins up at you, pulling off his helmet. He’s sweaty and out of breath, but handsome as all get out, and you’ve never been prouder to be bearing his name on your back.

When the teams finally return after the break, you’re back on your feet, cheering as they take the ice. The Dogs gain possession of the puck in the first face-off, heading the opposite way than they had been previously due to the goal switch, unstoppable. Asmo, who has the puck, leaves the other team in the dust, zipping through and shooting in the blink of an eye. It goes in, as you’d hoped, prayed, suspected, and the roar of the crowd is thunderous. You can’t help but imagine what it’d be like in your home arena, in your home city.

And it's odd. Sometime, over the course of the season, the Devildom had truly become your home. It’s not a shocking thing, by any means, but serves to make you cheer that much louder and clap that much harder.

With a goal under their belts, the Dogs have a new fire lit beneath them. But the Chols aren’t giving up easily, and once Raphael checks Simeon hard across the boards in front of you. He’s a fearsome one when it comes to that, known even during his rookie days for his painfully-placed and technically legal elbow placements, and you wonder if the smile that had been shot your way was purposeful. Simeon skates it off impressively, though you know he’ll be aching later.

Diavolo does a great job staying on top of defense, and you’re aware of that same ease between him and Lucifer that you’d picked up on during their very first game together. You’d gotten to know Lucifer well during the season, and you make a mental note to yourself to take extra care when making his ‘good job on winning the Cup’ basket, to thank him for being such a great friend and partner to Diavolo.

When the two of them go back to the bench, switched out by Barbatos and Belphie, Diavolo waves at you in between great big gulps of water, and you make sure to take lots of pictures when you can tear your eyes from the game.

The CC Chols score as well during the second period, tying them up as they go into the third. Though you’d think they’d all be quite tired, neither team is flagging, both playing and pushing hard. The Chols get another goal in, unfortunately, when Beel’s just a tad too slow, and you’re once again aware you’re in the fan minority as the crowd goes wild.

They stay in the lead for several heart-pounding minutes, and apparently fed up with the tension, Mammon drops gloves, firecracker personality on full display. He gets the Chol player into a headlock, raining punches down onto him until he’s pulled off by the refs, much to the crowd’s disappointment. That gets him a few minutes in the sin bin, and you groan, knowing what a disadvantage the Dogs are at. The last thing they need is to be two down in the final period!

Diavolo rallies the team, showing his incredible skill and prowess as a captain, and thankfully, the Chols are unable to use the power play to their advantage, and Mammon skates back onto the ice like a hellcat.

Gameplay is stopped again after elbowing is called towards a Chols player, and you cheer as he gets some time in the box. Unlike the Chols, the Dogs score on their play, tying it all back up. Satan manages to scare and gets piled on by the team, and for once, he’s not pushing them back, a rare smile lighting up his face.

The end of the period draws nearer and nearer, and yet neither team pulls ahead. Anxiety and excitement are racing through you, and you continue to scream out your support, even as your voice grows hoarse.

Will this game go into overtime? That almost never happens in a finals game like this!

But as you resign yourself to the possibility, Simeon takes possession of the puck, passing it to Solomon, who goes to take a shot, and upon realizing he doesn't have a clear one, gives it right back. Simeon doesn’t hesitate, finely honed instincts taking over, and delivers it into the net with only a few minutes left of play. You scream, cheering as loud as you can, and the celly that follows is almost disrespectful, lasting a bit too long.

Though the Chols don’t give up, they're unable to get another point before the buzzer sounds, and you can hardly believe it. The Dogs won! Your team won the fucking Calder Cup!

The boys celebrate in the ice, hefting Simeon up and onto their shoulders and Diavolo takes the cup and delivers it right into his waiting gloves. Simeon hefts it, grinning and crying, and you feel yourself crying too, unable to believe how far he’s gotten, the monumental feat he’d just completed.

Diavolo’s eyes find yours, and hastily, he skates for the bench, fitting on his skate guards sloppily. As if he expected it, the door attendant pulls open the door to the dating section, still blocked by the metal gate, and you reach for him through the bars, glad they’re wide enough for you to pull him close by the pads and kiss him long and hard. Fans around you boo and scream, but you’re lost in your own world, lost in him.

“I love you,” Diavolo says as he pulls away, breathing heavily. He’s crying too, but his smile is ear-to-ear, and you pull him in again, peppering kisses all over his cheeks, nose, and forehead, overwhelmed by your joy.

“I love you too,” you say, and finally, someone opens the gate between you, and Diavolo lifts you up into a hug, kissing you again. You hear camera shutters and see flashbulbs go off and have no doubt your image will be all over articles and social media posts by tomorrow, but can’t bring yourself to care. Eventually, Simeon joins you, and you break from Diavolo to hug him tightly, both of you breaking down fully into sobs.

Diavolo lets you have your moment with your best friend, but Simeon’s soon stolen away by members of the team and you’re all shepherded out of the stands and off the ice so the boys can do their post-game photos and interviews and the like. Diavolo hesitates to pull away, but you shove him along, smiling.

“Go,” you say. “I’ll be right here when you’re done.”

“I love you,” he says again, a little helplessly.

“I know.”

How did you get so lucky, with this man, this team, this life? You watch the boys, heart bursting, and can’t wait to support them for their next season as well.

Although, not before you and Diavolo do everything you want during the offseason, including traveling and exploring, putting some of both of your accumulated wealth to good use. You’ve heard the Maldives are pretty this time of year, and nice and relaxing for Diavolo to recover. And private, you think with relish. The hotel you pick will be private. Very, very private.

leviathans-watching's work - please do not copy, repost, or claim as your own

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piggybacktail · 5 months ago

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#carl shipman #stereo hi-fidelity #tones of stereo #1994 #slam city skates

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warhead · 2 years ago

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#beastie boys #mike d #mike diamond #ad-rock #mca #rough trade records #rough trade #slam city #slam city skates #grand royal #london #hiphop

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idesofrevolution · 2 years ago

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Be Like Me

You didn't really know him. Back in the day, perhaps you knew Nick Kessler, but as far as the "Nicky" Kessler he is today... He might as well have been a total stranger. You lived in the same town, you grew up together, you were in the same classes, you even were known to have hung out on occasion. But as things do, life has it's own plan. You sort of faded into the background, and he to the forefront. He Nick was quiet, reserved, even awkward at times- a stark contrast to the boisterous, playful, rambunctious little degenerate he became.

He started to come out of his shell, hang with different people, started skateboarding and discovered he was quite good. His new friends were all popular, so he became popular. Thus, you watched from afar the blossoming of Nicky Kessler, your former friend, as you stayed the same. That isn't to say that he was rude, mean spirited, a bully like some of his pals. When you passed him in the halls, he always wanted a high five, or a noogie, or to mime punch like all stupid skater dudes do. But you always felt abandoned and left alone while he skyrocketed.

After high school he seemed to make his own way, posting a lot on Tik Tok and YouTube, eventually graduating to a very successful and you imagined fairly lucrative OnlyFans. It would be fair to say you admired him, living life on his terms, dressing the way he wanted, acting the way he did... being happy the way he was. Thus on that tepid day in town, as you walked down the street, the familiar chilled out (likely stoned) young twenty-something skater immediately gave you pause.

In the back of your mind, you wanted to avoid him. You didn't want him to see you like this, the way you ended up. Some square, vanilla normie that no one would pay notice to or even think of. Admiring from afar was safe, it was anonymous. Though in your heart of hearts, you desperately wanted to be Nicky. It was never meant to be, you thought, as you quickly turned to jettison back into the safety of the sidewalk crowd. Yet, as it does, life has it's own plan.

"Ayyyy no way!" The toked out tenor timbre of his voice soared over the chatter of the city, smacking the back of your head like a lead pipe. "Is it my boy over there? Can't be!" You sighed, knowing full well your cover was blown. Turning around, your eyes met. He grinned his dopey grin and jumped to his feet, running over to wrap you in his tight hug. Nicky was a pretty lean, almost lanky guy, but years of skating and partying had him surprisingly fit and able to nearly knock the wind out of you when his slender body slammed into you.

"Heh... Hey Nick. How's it going?" Your words fell out of your mouth with the heavy weight of anxiety. He released you from his bear hug, rustling your hair through his sweaty hands.

"Ahhh, you know me man! It's Nicky to you, my dude." You looked down at your feet, chuckling to yourself. Did you know him? "I just finished up at the skate park, got a sick Airwalk on film and was gonna head home to edit it. Gotta keep up for my boys, am I right?" He slapped your shoulder with a jovial snicker. You nodded silently and smiled, unsure of what to even say. For a moment there, the silence was deafening, uncomfortably so. You could tell he was waiting for how you were doing, but your mouth had completely clamped shut. Thankfully, the silence was broken. "Ay, you got my number, right? We gonna hang sometime soon, I gotta hear all the crazy shit you been up to!" He pulled his phone out, air dropping his contact info before you even had a chance to respond. "Hit me up in a couple hours or so, yeah? Might film a little somethin' somethin' for OnlyFans, you know what I'm sayin? See you later, bro!" He slapped your back yet again, sauntering back over to the bench to pick his board up and roll away down the sidewalk.

The lingering scent of his cologne and unmistakable waft of sweat hung on you like draperies. He was known in high school for that musk, blowing off any anal retentive teacher which bothered to comment on it after he rolled into class. "I mean, teach you like it too am I right?" He'd always say, getting a chuckle out of the classmates as he plopped down in his seat up front. Everything always seemed to be so unserious. Any criticism, hate, or insult that was thrown his way just rolled off his baggy sweatshirt as if it were nothing. Each time you saw it, you were in awe. How nothing could get to him, how life was a party. Even today.

You made your way back home, taking the short route to avoid any more unexpected run ins. You shut the door and look around your apartment. It’s clean, it’s tidy, it’s indescribably boring. That smile and smell still hanging heavy on your mind, you look down at your phone. His number sat waiting for you. For the first time in forever, you throw your caution to the wind, and send him a text. Just one with your name, nothing more. You hit send and put your phone down, getting ready to go make your dinner. Less than one second passes, and you hear the ding.

Were you surprised? Yeah a bit. A guy like Nick was always up to something, you didn’t expect him to be quite so vigilant with his phone. Though as you inched closer to your phone, another ding. And then another, and another. Quickly you pick it up and unlock it.

Nicky: FUCK YEAHH DUDE! So glad to have you on the phone, man.

Nicky: Bruh, check these sunglasses out dude. A guy I collabed with left em here, hot as fuck.

Nicky: I’ll let you try em on when you get here dude. The boys are gonna think you’re me haha

It was as if your best friend was chatting you up, as if you’d been hanging out your whole lives. Nick was social alright, but you could really feel the excitement through the text. He was happy to hang out with you, not just happy; he wanted to hang out with you. You wiped the look of confusion off your face and replied asking the basic when and where.

You: Sure, what time? And where am I going?

Nicky: Just come on over, I’ll send you the address!

The ping of an address pin on your map showed him not too far away. A five minute walk at most. You wasted no time, grabbing only your keys before you walked out the door. The walk was indeed merely five minutes; before you knew it, you were standing outside the apartment building. Reading the text once more for brevity, you confirmed that Nick lived in apartment 3G. Meandering through the halls and up elevators, you did your best to quell any anxiety or preconceptions regarding your former best friend. Fighting the impostor syndrome which plagued you far beyond the social conundrum you found yourself in that day, you took a deep breath before stepping in front of the door marked 3G. Mustering your strength, you gently knocked on the door three times.

Almost immediately, the door swung open, and before you grinning from ear to ear, eyes covered by the stupid sunglasses he reappropriated and stifling his chuckles under his breath was Nick. He waved you in, and you were met with the sight of an adequate one bedroom apartment. It'd certainly been given the landlord special on more than one occasion, with a thick application of white latex paint covering switchplates, hinges, and miscellaneous fixings on the walls. The place had a certain musty smell to it. You could only compare it to cigarette smoke, freshly ground marijuana, and dirty laundry. Looking around the place, you could see where the scent emitted from all around the room. A still-smoking bong on the cluttered 1990's side table, an ashtray filled with cigarette butts on the kitchen countertop, a pile of dirty laundry shoved up against the wall next to either nine or ten pairs of beat up AirJordans.

The place was a mess, for certain. But as Nick sluggishly plopped down onto the old corduroy sofa, kicking his massive feet up onto the coffee table, it definitely fit the vibe which Nick radiated. Laid back, messy, but comfortable. You wandered over toward the sofa.

"My dude, did I not say these were fuckin' dope?" He flashed his face from side to side, showing off the stupid sunglasses.

"Yeah, man. They look great. Lucky you found them in here." He lounged back, grabbing the bong in his hand.

"Sorry bout the mess. I been goin' and goin' every day makin content, I haven't had time to pick up, you know what I mean?" He ignited the bowl, puffing out a large cloud in your face. Patting the seat next to him, you blushed ever so slightly as you sat down next to him. He smiles as he tosses his arm around your neck as he prepares to pass the bong to you. "So, my dude. What have you been u..."

Suddenly, the bong slipped from his hand, landing on your left thigh and spilling the brown bongwater all over your pants, shirt, and shoes. There was a moment of complete silence which fell over you two, before Nick began to burst into laughter. You, on the other hand were less than amused.

"Shit man, my bad. I've been hitting this for too long huh?" He laughed and slapped your shoulder. "I'll borrow you some clothes. Better than lookin' like you wet yourself, hah!" He jumped up and trudged over to the pile of laundry, ruffling through it. From over his shoulder, Nick tossed an old tee shirt, a grey sweatshirt, a pair of old blue Jordans. You look down at them with a quiet grimace, the dampness of the fabric betraying just how 'dirty' his laundry was.

"Looks like I'll be wet anyway..." You mutter under your breath, the wet scent of summer sweat and masculine musk wafting from the threads into your nose. Nick laughs jovially, shoving you to your feet and guiding you to the bathroom. His smile was sincere as the door shut behind you; despite his wild success and weirdly stunted mental age locked at 21 forever, he still maintained that genuine charm that you couldn't help but crave more of. In a way, he was the exact same Nick that he was in high school: endlessly lucky and effortlessly fun. Looking down at your stained clothes, you decided it would be rude to deny this gracious gesture and began to shuck your shirt and pants. Alas, even your underwear had to go- the stench of hash and fermenting bongwater had permeated even through your jeans. Looking around, you see Nick's used zebra print thong on the sink, huffing as you try to stifle the stiffy which had slowly been growing harder and harder as you breathed in the radiating musk.

Sighing, you snatch the thong off it's perch and slide it up your thighs. Nick was a slender guy and luckily for you, outside the wet G-string, he wore baggy clothes. You hope they'll fit better as you struggle to shove your hardening member into the small pouch. You look down at your hands, shiny with your best bro's sweat. As if moving altogether on their own, your sticky fingers approach your nose, as you take a big whiff of damp skater funk and tangy leftover spunk which coated the inside. You shudder, every huff releasing endorphin after endorphin. Not only was the smell growing on you... you were starting to feel as if you needed it.

You smile as you pull up his stained, baggy Carhartt workpants, laughing as they hang off your waist like two stovepipes, held up only by your plump but tight peach in the rear. You paw at your sizeable bulge, a sticky spot of pre slowly manifesting through the tightly woven denim. Maybe Nicky had the right idea with this whole street-casual thing, as you slipped on his dank old tee shirt the slightly cool moisture which slid across your skin like melted butter felt as if this was the way it was always meant to be: au naturale. Your long, slender arms found their way into the grey sweatshirt which draped across your skinny frame quite nicely. You couldn't help but smile- you looked fucking fantastic. That tanned, smooth skin you pride yourself on just felt at home in your bro's threads.

You sit down on the tile floor, shoving your feet into the massive Jordans, savoring that slimy, sticky sensation as your sole presses against the broken-in, comfy insole. Feeling Nicky's foot funk penetrate into every crevice and pore on your size 13 feet. You vaguely recall a memory from back in the day, where after skating, the two of you were roughhousing at his place and being the dopey lil punk he is, he would relish in his inevitable victory of shoving his smelly, beat up Chucks onto your face. Even more vague and dim was the memory of you tossing the fight to get just one more huff. You two had always been close, the best of friends really.

Though you didn't intend to, you couldn't help but accessorize, slipping on various pieces of Nicky's jewelry to tie it all together. Sharing is caring, and the look required it anyway. Smiling, you pull out your phone taking a snapshot of your new fit, as if you hadn't borrowed his clothes on the reg.

You whip around after one final grope of your throbbing and leaking bulge and saunter out of the bathroom. In the back of your hazy mind, you feel as if you haven't felt this good and authentic for a long time. Confusing, as you and Nicky hang constantly- you're basically attached at the sweaty hip. It's not as if you haven't raided his closet before, haven't felt his sour-saccharine sweat enveloping your lithe body. Walking into the living room once more, he sat stretched out on the couch, smiling from ear to ear.

"Ayyyyyyy look at my boy! All comfy and lookin' fine as fuck." You two fist bump as you collapse onto the sofa next to him, feeling his arm around the back of your neck. You snag the bong from the table, taking another rip from the 'chill machine' as you two know it. Mid exhale, you feel a pair of warm lips press against the nape of your neck and hear Nicky's soft whisper in your ear. "I got a present for ya. A lil' treat." A thump rings out in the room, his worn, beat up Jordans had hit the floor, and now resting on the tabletop among the various clutter were his sticky, sopping wet feet. The tsunami of moist heat bellowing from the shining sweat on his wrinkled soles thrust into your nostrils, a fervent reminder of your favorite 'friendly' pastime with Nicky. He chuckled under his breath as he swung his huge feet onto your lap, prodding your chin and the tip of your nose with his big toe.

You parted your lips, taking in one of those hot-as-hell toes into your mouth, sucking it until you felt him smile again. You were a foot fetishist's dream come true, and once Nicky had found out about that, he was always more than happy to oblige your filthy desires that he shared. His sweaty, stinking toes would go straight into your mouth, and when you finished...you'd get another. And another. Oh yes, and another!

"Mmmm," Nicky moaned as you sucked his toe clean. "Brooooo. You always looked so cute with your face smothered in my feet." You lapped up every drop of slimy footjuice, as he pressed his feet firmly against your head, teasingly massaging and pinching your skin between his toes. With his other hand, he reached down towards the bulge in his crotch, jerking his cock off as he watched you lick his feet. He pulled away, your skin seemingly stuck against the skin of his sole with glue. Nicky smirked with a cocky rise of the corner of his supple lips, watching as your face stretched and warped between his toes. It snapped back to place, ever so slightly sharper in definition. Whenever Nicky started playing with your body, sculpting it to his whim, you were thrilled to see the result.

You two were always finding new ways to explore the kinky needs each of you desperately desired. A new face whenever he willed it. A new body whenever he willed it. Waiting for the right match to finalize his perfect partner. Until then, you'd be forever changing. Forever being molded. Forever being broken apart. Forever being put back together. His cock twitched inside his pants, making a soft squelching sound as he wanked himself.

"I gotta say bro, I'm likin' what I'm makin' tonight. Might have to keep this one around for a while." He ran his fingers through your lengthening hair, feeling your sweaty locks fall gently against your strong shoulders. Your tattoos glistened and shimmered under the beadlets of sweat which had all but covered your entire body within his ripe threads. Nicky laughed, licking his lips as he stood up. He planted a kiss on your thin lips, his tongue exploring your mouth, happily chirping as the flavors of his own footsweat and your sweet saliva mingled on his tongue. He gripped his large, heavy balls, squeezing them together as he shot his load, shooting thick ropes of cum onto your face.

It dripped down your cheeks and your lips, dripping from your chin as it oozed over your sharp jawline. This was your life. An airheaded stoner skater who would do anything to keep his fantasy alive. You'd never let anyone else have such control over your body or mind apart from him. You loved it. You lived for it. And now, with Nicky's cum still dribbling down your chin, you smiled at him, showing him just how much you loved him. The two of you stood up in a huff, smirking in lust as you entered the bedroom and shut the door.

---

The next few weeks were full of huge changes for you. You moved into your boyfriend's grody apartment and quit your dead end job to join him on his OnlyFans and livestreams. The money was more than enough to sustain you and Nicky, even if you had to take on odd jobs to make ends meet. You were always horny as hell, and Nicky would never turn you down. Whether you were bent over a table, lying on your stomach on the bed, or sprawled out on the floor, he was there to give you the dicking down you desperately needed. He was there to dress you up in his musky street clothes, or to make you wear his skimpy little thong before he took you out to the beach. You'd never been happier, and you were sure Nicky was too.

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s-brant · 1 year ago

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Over Again

As a socialite in Manhattan, Y/N had the perfect life— wealthy parents, a tight-knit group of friends, and talent as a world renowned figure skater. But, everything changed when she decided to end her life after witnessing a traumatic event. Someone pulled her back when she tried to jump in front of an oncoming train. Newly released from inpatient psychiatric care, Y/N gets more than she bargained for when the man who saved her life reappears. (or the fake dating figure skating au)

22k (18+)

Warnings: strong language, suggestive themes, mental illness, depictions of obsessive compulsive disorder, described suicide attempt, described murder, described anxiety-induced starvation, and substance use.

June was the month of suffering.

The open, fresh air—well, as fresh as it could be in the city that never sleeps nor picks up garbage—was a shock to her system. Two weeks passed since she last got the chance to be outside and breathe fresh air, and it was even more overwhelming than she imagined it to be.

The facility is two miles from her apartment building, so she didn't let them call her a cab on her way out of the door. No, she walked out onto the street with pap bags filled with her personal belongings hugged to her chest and refused to look back. That proud bravery quickly dwindled the closer she came to her apartment, and now...

She stands frozen at the front steps of her building.

No one prepared her for how hard this would be. Not truly. Simply being able told, "The adjustment back to being home may cause some breakthrough anxiety," was not enough. Even as she forces her feet to take one step after next to the front door, she doesn't know if she'll ever be ready.

Familiar faces pass in her periphery with polite smiles pasted onto them on the trip up to the apartment that has been paid for by her parents in the time since she ditched her job a month ago. A month. Such a short span of time yet an eternity in the prison of her fractured mind. June was the month of suffering. July, however, has yet to reveal the full extent of its plans for her.

The unlocked door to the two-bedroom apartment slams shut with a kick of her foot against it, and she is instantly hit with a heart-clenching wave of pain at the sight of the home that is little more than a tomb to her in June's aftermath.

"In and out," she reminds herself.

All she needs to do is drop her clothes off on her bed, change, and leave to go to the pharmacy in a matter of moments. Knowing how brief her time here is might be the only thing keeping her from turning right back around and going back to the facility she just left.

So, she makes it quick.

She doesn't even bother with putting away the old clothes her father brought to her. She cannot resist the urge to toss them in the trash.

Ruined, ruined, everything is ruined—The wastefulness brings a grimace to her face, but it's not like she can help it. What happened in here, in these rooms, and these clothes...wastefulness be damned, she'll do what she wants.

Her hair, still damp from her earlier shower, is quickly swept from her face in a clip to keep the summer heat from consuming her when she leaves for the local pharmacy whose address she gave the doctor for her prescriptions. She paused for a second before the mirror to consider her appearance, but what she finds is almost unrecognizable.

Her skin has paled in the weeks she spent in purgatory, starving and half-wild with madness as well as sleep deprivation. It leaves the dark circles beneath her eyes far more visible to the naked eye. Those lovely, once full cheeks of hers have gone gaunt, likely from the weight loss, and she can hardly stand to look at herself long enough to dot some concealer under her eyes and turn to go to her dresser.

These clothes, she thinks as she dresses in a simple pair of navy shorts and a white eyelet top, are good. They're safe, not ruined by her wearing them in the four weeks she suffered like so many of her pajamas and other comfortable clothes are.

With that, she slips into her sneakers, picks up her purse, grabs her sunglasses, and flees the rotting tomb before she can allow it to spread its deadly touch to her again.

CVS is surprisingly packed with people for a Friday morning when most of the population is either working or sleeping off the night shift.

She walks between the aisles, picking up random objects and setting them back down on her way to the pharmacy in the back of the shop. The small cart cradled to her side is filled with all manners of things—little trinkets, stuffed animals, face masks, and snacks that she doesn't need but desperately wants to provide herself with a much-needed dopamine rush.

She secretly prays for a long line, but once she turns the corner at the last aisle, she is only met with disappointment and anxiety.

No line.

Her chest sinks with a sigh as she steps up to the counter and unloads her cart. The worker behind the register doesn't greet her, he simply asks, "Are you here to pick up any medications?"

"Um, yeah," she says. "Full name is Y/N L/N. Date of birth-"

There's a lull of quiet during which she stands and watches him type her information into the computer. The sound of his fingertips tapping the keys is all there is to fill the silence back here.

"So, it looks like you have Prozac, forty milligrams, Seroquel, fifty milligrams, and Vistaril, fifty milligrams. Is that correct?"

Shame curls in the pit of her belly like a wriggling eel. Her eyes turn down to watch the carpeted floor, not wanting to meet his gaze.

"Yeah, sounds right."

"Copay is five bucks," he says in answer.

The small black Prada bag slips from her shoulder and into her waiting hands to allow her to search for her wallet inside, but the sight of her right wrist halts her in her tracks. There it is, that blue and white plastic bracelet with her name, birthday, and further personal information inscribed on it.

Oh.

She forgot to take it off. After having it stuck to her wrist for two weeks, she didn't notice its presence upon exiting the threshold of the facility that became her home and salvation. It's ripped off and stuffed into the pocket of her shorts in a matter of seconds.

"You said five bucks?" she asks, hoping to distract the employee from her fumbling embarrassment.

He hums, which she takes as a yes and holds out a crinkled five-dollar bill plucked from her wallet.

"Here you go."

As soon as the rest of her items are ringed up separately, Evan, whose name she noted from the tag on his shirt, scurries off to the back presumably to search for the various medications waiting for her. With him out of view, she reaches into her right pocket for the wristband she stashed there a moment ago and tosses it at the trash bin behind the counter. Except, right when she throws it, Evan is coming back around the corner with three paper bags stapled together with side effect pamphlets. The plastic wristband hits the dead center of his chest. His eyes follow from where it rolls onto the ground up to the woman who threw it at him.

All she can do is shut her eyes for a long two seconds as if not seeing his perplexed expression will somehow remedy the conflict and stop her from flinging herself from the top of the nearest tall building.

Her eyes flutter open, and she says softly, "I was aiming for your trash can."

He deadpans at her.

"Sure."

Taking the medications from him and putting them in the bag with the rest of her purchases, she offers a quick, "Sorry," and practically runs out of the store.

The people walking the streets of the Upper East Side of Manhattan are, mercifully, uninterested with her frantic face and swiftly moving feet. They're far too engrossed in their conversations, walks, and work phone calls to spare any energy for a frazzled young woman such as herself.

She makes it all of ten steps before her phone's shrill ringtone interrupts the symphony of passing cars, mindless chatter, and chirping birds. With one hand, she unzipped her purse and fishes the device out, but, of course, it slips out of her hand and clatters on the sidewalk before she can answer it. Her head tilts back to face the vibrant cerulean sky, decorated sparsely with clouds, and a heavy sigh falls from her.

There's a second or so where she considers letting it go to voicemail and finding herself a nice, tall building, but the name on the screen indicating who's calling is too alluring to ignore.

She crouches down and picks it up, sliding her thumb across to accept the call.

"Ella," she says by way of greeting. "How'd you know I got out already?"

The sound of her best friend's giggle makes the smile on her face a little less fake. Ella is the only one of her friends that she told about where she went for the past two weeks, if not because she trusts her with her life, then because she would've gone insane without a friend to call amidst the boredom.

Y/N spent a half hour on the phone with her once she was on the better half of her recovery and stifled a giggle when one of the nurses scolded her for staying on the line for more than ten minutes. Needless to say, she didn't hang up. She just pressed her back closer into the wall of the alcove where the phones were mounted to beige cinderblock walls quite reminiscent of a college dorm.

"Your dad texted me," Ella says as though it's obvious.

This causes Y/N to take a second of pause.

"Wait," she says, brows furrowing even though her friend cannot see her expression shift. "Did he put you up to something?"

The silence on the other end of the line speaks volumes.

"Ella!"

She can practically see the bright smile splitting open Ella's face by the specific sound of her deep belly laughter, finding it much harder to fake annoyance in the wake of it. This is always how it's been—Ella and her dad conspiring together to find a way to brighten her darkest nights.

"We may or may not be going to a male strip club with Anna and Rosemary to celebrate your freedom tonight," Ella whispers as if she fears her best friend jumping through the phone to chase her around her apartment.

She asks, incredulous, "My dad told you to take me to a strip club?"

The following gasp almost makes her face crack into a smile much like the one that crossed Ella's face seconds ago. God, she missed her so much. Just the sound of her voice erases the bad June memories that haunted her on the way out of her building.

"Absolutely not." There's the sound of her husky barking for attention in the background. "He just told me to host a girl's night to welcome you back to society." To answer the question Y/N is sure to ask, she says, "Don't worry, they don't know. I told them you went on a long vacation."

"Long vacation, my ass"—this draws out another boisterous laugh—"more like I went fucking crazy."

"Eh, they don't need to know that."

The trees planted in the small, iron-wrought cages along the sidewalk are lush with hues of green, in full vivid bloom in the mid-July climate, and she can't help but notice how the heat makes her throat close up. Fall, spring, and winter are far more preferable in her opinion. All that the sweltering summer heat does is keep her trapped and nervous, looking over both shoulders in search of the phantom hands that hold her hostage. Then, there's the new, open wound that was June, and it provided her the ultimate negative association with her least favorite season.

On one hand, going out with her friends sounds inviting. On the other, she has to be back on the ice training with Coach Godnev and Chris, her partner, in two days. Perhaps it wouldn't be the best idea to spend what little time she has partying.

"Okay, I'll go," she says, "on one condition."

"And what is that?"

"You let me sleep over tonight."

Needless to say, Ella has managed to drag Y/N, complaining and yawning due to her nighttime dose of meds, out to meet their other friends at a hole-in-the-wall male strip club. It's ten at night, and she pulls at the short hem of the dress her best friend picked out on her behalf in hopes to potentially "entice a hot stripper for the night." All that was given in response was a scoff.

The club opened thirty minutes ago, so, as far as the crowd filing into the front door goes, it's rather small. Which, she supposes, could also be a result of it not being a popular strip club. Part of her wonders how Ella even found this place.

To its credit, it's quite clean, the staff has been friendly, and the virgin jalapeño "margarita" clasped in her hand wasn't too pricey. Not that it matters much to her. Having lived her whole life in this city, even staying behind when her parents retired to Charleston, South Carolina to live a quieter life without their freak daughter, she is accustomed to outrageous prices for cocktails. Although, now she doesn't have to worry about it seeing that she cannot drink on her meds. Some people at the facility said they do so anyway, but her stubborn brain takes anything it's given as a hard rule, so she ordered herself a virgin cocktail instead.

Fluorescent purple lighting bathes her hot pink mini dress in its bright tones, leading everyone's eyes down the length of her legs.

That's another thing about her—she has never had issues with getting men to hit on her. It's not as if she ever truly invited them to do so. She, much to her parents and Ella's dismay, has never had nor wanted a boyfriend. Sure, she's made out with and done a little over-the-clothes touching with men before, but it has never crossed that line into sex or a real relationship.

A high-pitched squeal rips her from her thoughts to notice Rosemary running at her, full speed, with her arms out while Anna trails behind her, smiling. Her bottle blonde hair bounces effortlessly around her gorgeous face on the rush over, and Y/N is nearly tackled with the force of her embrace once Rosemary reaches her.

"I was gone for two weeks," she exclaims through a giggle, "not two years!"

Rosemary, most affectionately called "Rosie" by Y/N, pulls back and cups her face between her hands, plump lips pulling back to reveal her straight teeth in a wide grin that could warm the coldest people to the bone. The cool texture of the gold rings decorating her fingers is a stark contrast to the summer heat that chased them inside.

"And it was still too long! You know me, I'm a clinger. You can't leave me for that long."

Rosie stands at a height significantly shorter than most and stands up on her tip-toes to press a kiss to her cheek. It leaves behind a lipstick mark that she doesn't dare wipe away within her bubbly friend's line of sight. No one would ever dare to shun a lovely woman like Rosie's public display of affection, especially not her.

A long arm curls around the shorter woman's shoulders and tugs with a gentle force that brings Rosie's full cheek to Y/N's breast, and her willing captive makes no attempts to escape from the loving half-embrace.

She reassured her, a lump forming in the base of her throat, "I'll make sure my next vacation is just a week long."

This earns a hum of approval from Rosie, who slips out of her arm at the insistence of a pair of prying hands belonging to none other than Anna Romanus. And where Rosie and Ella come from new money of their parents' own hard work and making, Anna, much like Y/N, comes from a family whose fortune runs a century deep. But with Y/N's ancestors having founded an upscale department store chain, Anna's were oil tycoons, so her wealth is practically bottomless when compared to that of her friends. She fits the title "socialite" far more than the rest of them, and she knows it too.

She takes pride in her parents making lists in Forbes magazine and breaking barriers in businesses long owned and gate-kept by upper-class white men and, more recently in history, women.

Y/N's smile is radiant as she extends her arms to beckon her other friend into a hug, saying, "Come on, bring it in."

Ever the portrait of class and poise, Anna doesn't tackle her in an embrace as Rosie had, but she would not judge their friend for it. That is something she adores about her—her open, kind heart that doesn't pass judgment on others the way many others with her class and social status would. Her lips, coated in lip gloss rather than lipstick, kiss one cheek at a time as they wrap their arms around one another. A lingering sigh of her mother's French heritage, perhaps.

"I missed you so much," Anna pulls back to look her in the eyes as she says it.

"And I missed you. Remind me to call more the next time I leave the country."

This causes Anna, Ella, and Rosie's matching grins to widen, and the latter of the three takes her hands in her well-manicured one to drag her in the direction of their reserved table with their friends walking by their sides.

Rosie squeezes her hand and says, "I need to see pictures! I wanna help you plan your photo dump."

Her stomach drops into the pit of her abdomen.

Fuck. How had she not thought that out? Who goes on a vacation, even a solo one, and doesn't take a single picture of where they went? Her thoughts begin to race as she searches for something, anything, to say as an explanation for why she didn't take a million photographs as she always does no matter where she goes. They're going to know. They're going to put two and two together and figure out about her illness, about what happened two weeks ago when she—

"It was a spa retreat, actually," Ella swoops in to offer an explanation with unwavering confidence. "They take your phones and computers. It's supposed to connect you with nature and increase productivity or some shit like that."

The weight of the entire world is lifted off of her shoulders at this. Thank God for Ella. Who knows where she'd be without her quick wit and warm disposition? All she can do is nod along with a stupid smile on her face and pray that it's convincing enough to fool the people who know her best in this world. It feels slightly wrong, like not telling them about such an important event in her life is somehow a great betrayal they may never forgive her for should they discover it.

Once again, shame threatens to eat her alive.

"Come on," she says, jerking her head in the direction of the reserved table. "Let's go have fun, ladies."

That's all that needs to be said for Rosie to continue dragging her along, weaving in between the tables near the front of the small stage. The girls urge her to take the seat directly in front of where the men will dance once the lights dim down more and the show begins. Once they're seated, the three of them catch Y/N up on everything she missed on her "no technology allowed retreat", most of it consisting of petty family drama and someone who went to their private school that announced their pregnancy online. And, of course, she does her best to listen and nod along as though any of it matters to her, but she can't bring herself to truly care.

Before what happened, she loved going out and gossiping over drinks with her friends, but, now, she feels removed from it. Despite hearing and responding to everything being said, she could quite easily fade away from existence and disappear into the night without putting up much of a fight. But what else can she do except sit and allow it to occur? It's not like she can do anything to help it at this point. Her intake appointment for outpatient care is scheduled for two days from now, so she'll be at the mercy of her swaying moods until then.

She does pick up on the tail end of Rosie's story, though.

"...and I told him I didn't do that kind of thing. Like, I'm not a side piece, and if you're gonna disrespect me by assuming I'd be down with that, then fuck you," she says, shaking her head and raising her drink to take a sip. "Why the fuck would I take part in you cheating on your girlfriend? Who raised these men?"

Y/N offers a quiet, "That's fucked up," at the same time Ella says, "Not their dads," which makes Anna laugh so hard, she needs to stop drinking her Cosmopolitan.

"Oh, you're right. They were technically raised by mommy who thinks they're a perfect little angel who can do no wrong, but they're actually raised by the nanny who tries their best to teach him to be a good person, but all the money and privilege gets to his head and makes him think he can do whatever the fuck he wants—"

Rosie's rant on pampered, upper-class men is abruptly cut short by the music that turns louder from the DJ booth across the room. The lights dim so the only lighting is that of the fluorescent purple LEDs, and there's a chorus of high-pitched cheers from every table in the building, including the table they sit at. For the sake of entertaining it and pretending to be having a good time, Y/N cheers alongside them enough to convince them before settling back down into her seat and taking a swig of her virgin cocktail to soothe her as though it's an alcoholic one.

Another thing about the past month that has sucked: her sex drive is non-existent. Coming to a place like this or even watching pornography does nothing for her. Her mind is far too concerned with its various fixations and anxieties to allow her to feel something as trivial as lust right now, but, for tonight, she doesn't mind pretending for the sake of making Ella feel better about her current state of mind.

Behind the curtains hiding backstage from the patrons of the club, she sees the movement of multiple feet scuffling on the floor, then, a second later, a man comes through. For a split-second, the cheering and clapping from her friends almost makes her smile as he walks down the stage to where they're seated, but she can't. Her face goes still, frozen in time, when she sees him up close.

She'd remember that face anywhere.

The curve of his nose, his pink lips, and sea-foam irises that were burned into her memory when she first saw them two weeks ago. Not just his face either but the tattoos; patchwork style down the length of his bare arm, the arm that reached out and—

Those familiar eyes meet her gaze, and she can sense the recognition in them. Oh, God, he remembers. He remembers, and it's going to ruin the whole night if she doesn't

"Bathroom," she blurts out and stands from the table with a shy, placating smile to keep Ella from following her.

Somehow, she doesn't know why, it works. It works well enough that Ella gives her a single nod and allows her to turn on her heels to walk off toward the restrooms that, conveniently, are placed beside the front entrance to the club. She pretends to be the calm, confident woman she once was before her little death, meeting the eyes of everyone who looks her way, until she turns around the corner and allows herself to break down. The expression on her face falls the second she is out of view of her friends, and she doesn't bother to answer the bouncer who asks her what's wrong on her way out. At this point, everything else around her has collapsed and turned to debris that clutters her mind to an extent that prevents her from thinking clearly.

The fresh air hardly even helps because it's too hot. It's stifling. It wraps around her throat and puts pressure on her windpipe, sucking the air from her lungs until she's sobbing and heaving in front of the innocent passerby's that stare in horror at her freakish display. One hand braces against the brick wall, not even caring in the midst of her panic that it is very likely dirty, to keep herself from slumping over into it as her balance begins to waver.

Anxiety is as much a physical thing as it is an emotional one for her. Her chest muscles tighten up involuntarily and feign the feeling of not being able to breathe, her body flushes with heat, and her stomach churns with discomfort. It opens its bloody maw and tries to swallow her down, bones and all, but she has refused to let it. Other than the one time she tried to surrender to it, she has been steadfast in maintaining her resistance to it and will do anything to escape. She'll claw her way out until she has fangs and talons suitable enough for the job, and it won't destroy the feeling, but it surely will abate it.

She hasn't a clue how many minutes have passed by the time she begins to breathe deeply, purposefully making them last three seconds on each inhale, pause, and exhale as she'd been taught at the facility. Whether it has been ten minutes or ten hours, she isn't sure, but it had to have been some decent length of time because of whose hand reaches out to tap her shoulder.

Y/N whirls around, stumbling a little, and finds the man on stage looking at her through furrowed brows and concerned eyes. Fully clothed.

"I—"he falters on what to say at first, then offers, "M'sorry. I didn't mean to startle you, and I know I'm probably the last person you wanna see right now. I just wanted to know if you're okay. We have water inside. I can take you in through the back so your friends don't see if that's what you're worried about."

Her head is spinning. She doesn't even know what may come out of her mouth, but all she knows is that he's right.

He is the last person she wants to see right now. Every glance she makes at him brings memories rushing back; the sound of the train's whistle, the toes of her sneakers hanging off the edge of the platform, people too far away to stop her screaming in shock, and, at the last second, a pair of strong arms wrapping around her waist and hauling her to safety. The body to which those strong arms belonged was so warm against the frail frame of her body that often shivered from the extent of her malnourishment. And only once the train passed had he loosened his grip and allowed her to turn to see him, to take in the unforgettable face and tattoos that identified him tonight.

Right when most people would've screamed or swung at him for ruining everything, she just stared. She started with wide, watering eyes until her knees gave out beneath her and sent her body forward into his to seek shelter. His hand cradled the back of her head, rested on his shoulder, as she sobbed hard enough that both of their bodies shook from the sheer force of it. And he didn't only allow it to happen, he made an effort to soothe her. The hand holding her head to his chest stroked her hair as he murmured soft words she can no longer remember.

There's a lightning strike of anger within her sparked by the sight of his face, but her words don't match her feelings. The need for safety, for the same security she found in his arms two weeks ago, outweighs her will to be stubborn by far. Humans are programmed for self-preservation above all, so when she sees him standing there, she can't do anything but nod. He holds his hand out to her the second she does.

And she takes it.

The man who saved her life guided her around the back of the strip club with his hand in hers. Harry—he told her his name—asked before he took her hand, but the contact was still as jarring to her as it would've been had he not. The reason he was holding her hand, he explained, was to get her into the employee area without security stopping her, assuming she was following him inside. Which, he said matter of factly, had happened to workers here before.

At first, when she allowed him to lead her down the dark alley between the two buildings, she almost began to question her judgment based on her mom and dad's teachings for her to be vigilant and always prepared for men to take advantage of her, but, she figured, he saved her life. If he wanted her dead or worse, he probably would've done it already. It was proven by the time that he opened the back door to the club and held it open for her that he wasn't, in fact, an axe murderer.

Nobody stared, either. When he walked by hand in hand with her, none of the other men getting ready or resting between dances looked at her tear-stained face or make faces at the sound of her panting breaths. They simply kept doing what they were doing without paying them any mind, providing them with privacy as he led her to a more secluded part of the room.

It's an alcove with a comfortable lounging chair fitting perfectly into it, and she sighs in relief as she sinks onto the cushion, taking the bottle of cold water he procured from thin air in the short time it took her to sit down.

"Take small sips and keep breathing. The cold helps a lot, I've found," he says as he pulls a stool up in front of her chair and settles down onto it. Those unforgettable eyes remain fixed on her, watching the rise and fall of her chest even out. Watching her take a tentative sip from the chilled breath plastic bottle that soothes her nerves to hold, let alone drink from. "Good. Just like that."

She doesn't know if it's because of what happened the last time they were together or not, but the sound of his voice relaxes her tense body. It crawls along the muscles of her chest and wills them to stop contracting, and they do. They listen to his request, providing her with a sense of relief now that the worst of the panic has been overcome. Still, Y/N slips her bag off her shoulder and finds the pill she dropped inside, just in case, to take with the water given to her.

There's a beat of silence, then—

"Um. Y'can stay here as long as it takes to feel better. I have to get back out there in ten minutes, but I can leave you alone now if you'd like."

Despite how badly she wishes to respond with words that will chase him to the other side of the room, her mouth will not cooperate. She cannot bring herself to banish him when he's being so kind. Not to mention, even though her mind urges her to isolate, his presence alone is calming, so it couldn't hurt to keep him around for a little while.

"It's okay," she says, "You can stay. Thank you..."

From his perspective, she doesn't look much different than she had two weeks ago. Her hair frames her face with a beauty that verges on being otherworldly. A weeping angel, he thinks to himself before it can be helped. It's the same thought he had when she sobbed in his arms on the subway platform, wondering how the poor girl ended up in a situation like that. Right now, she hugs her knees to her chest like she had once hugged him, trembling like a leaf in the wind and using him as her lifeline. Her sole remaining connection to the universe she once thought had forsaken her.

The sound of her voice speaking again so soon stuns him to silence.

"I can't believe it's you." She looks at him without balking from his gaze this time, head tilted to the side a little, and he can feel himself surrendering to her in response to the commanding presence that emanates from her. What he doesn't know is that she too is shocked by her honesty. "I don't even know how to thank you for it. Sometimes, I don't even want to." Her head shakes at this as if the action will clear the negative thought she voiced. "Sorry, that was dark. You're not my therapist. You don't need to hear these things."

He's already shaking his head.

"No," Harry says, eyes softened with a sympathy she interprets as pity, "I mean, I almost saw you do it already. Hearing about it doesn't bother me." A pause. "And y'dont need to thank me."

To this, she scoffs.

"You literally saved my life, how could I not thank you for that?"

His response stuns her to silence this time.

"And y'said yourself that didn't want me to, so you don't have to thank me. I don't need you to. If you wanna hate me for it, that's fine too."

Y/N shrugs.

"Sometimes I do, sometimes I don't. I haven't really decided yet, but I guess I must wanna be here if I haven't done anything like that again," she says softly, then glances up from the floor to look at him.

"Good."

There's a strange, built-in sense of honesty and vulnerability already established between them due to the nature of how they met, and neither of them knows how to feel about it. There's a level of comfortability that shouldn't exist between total strangers, yet here they are, bonded together by the trauma she inflicted on the both of them, and he can't seem to blame her for any of it. Nor can she blame him for deciding to stop her from jumping. It's not something you blame or thank someone for, it's a moral responsibility.

The sounds of the other men talking around the corner bring her out of the haze the eye contact with Harry has put her under, and she realizes, after everything they've said to one another, that she never formally introduced herself to him.

Her arm extends to offer him her hand.

"Y/N L/N."

For the first time since they've met, his lips curl into a smile at her. His hand is warm in hers when he takes it in his larger one, fingers wrapping around the side of her palm to give it a shake.

"Harry Styles."

Their hands go up and down even as she tilts her head in curiosity. It hasn't even clicked with her that he's succeeded in distracting her from the overwhelming panic she initially felt when seeing his face. No, she's far too caught up in analyzing him to pick up on it.

"Interesting name," she says, then corrects the hypocrisy before he has the chance to do so himself. "Although, I don't know any other Y/N's. The same could be said about me."

Still shaking her hand, he says dryly, "We could start a club."

"We could, couldn't we?"

At last, their hands drop back to their laps, and they're stuck this way for another few seconds before snapping out of it again.

He stands from the stool and picks it up in one hand to move it to the side, out of the way of her path should she get up to leave in his absence. Her eyes track every movement. They pick up everything from the subtle flexing of his biceps when he moves the chair to the way he fiddles with his rings once his hands are free again. His foot taps to the beat of the song thumping in the front of the club too, and she blurts out the first thing that comes to mind before she can stop herself.

"Do I make you nervous, Harry?"

Based on the expression he makes alone, she guesses he didn't expect her to notice. Or, at least, he hadn't expected her to comment on it even if she had. His brows are raised enough to bring a crease to the middle of his forehead as he looks down at where she sits, perched on the chair with one leg now crossed over the other. That stare lingers a touch too long on her legs, but she pretends not to notice. That is something she will let him get away with. That is something she doesn't want to get into because she will lose the upper hand if she does.

He laughs nervously, shaking his head. A tendril of wavy brunette hair falls onto his forehead with the jerking movement.

"No, you don't."

A lie. They both know it. He knows she knows he knows it.

Y/N then stands from the chair, smiling at him, and squares her shoulders as if in preparation. Their height difference when she stands shifts the power dynamic that lived between them while he stood and she sat. He's one inch taller, so with her standing, neither of them truly has the advantage, and with how she's put him on the spot, he can't deny how intimidating she is. It's intriguing, to say the least.

"Well, good," she says. "Cause I need you to walk me back to my table and pretend to be into me so my friends don't suspect anything." In response his brows raising after he'd just relaxed his face, she explains in an uncharacteristically soft tone, "Only one of them knows."

The bold request catches him off guard, so much so that he cannot do anything other than nod and lead the way to an entrance that isn't the one to the stage.

As they pass through the door, he takes her hand in his not only to guide her but to play into the facade she wants to put on for her friends. It causes her stomach to flutter with butterflies even though she knows it's all pretend. She's human, after all, and he's an amalgamation of every lovely trait and feature human beings can have. She knows, due to her celibate and secluded nature, that her friends will be too excited to see past their careful performance.

He feels her hand squeeze harder with every step they take toward her table and turns his head to say to her, "Relax. Just go with it."

And, somehow, that works.

The walk to where her friends sit is shorter than she expected, so when he steps her a few feet away, she's too overwhelmed to do anything but follow his lead.

Harry drops her hand to cup her flushed face in his, and her breath hitches in her throat at the cold feeling of his rings digging into her cheeks. Their faces are close enough that she can feel the heat of his exhales, their noses almost brushing as she instinctively leans into the warm, solid body in front of her, and he's kissing her before she can get a single thought in.

The music goes in time with the thunderous beat of her heart that is pushed into a swift pace the second their lips meet. His mouth tastes of mint, gin, and citrus, likely from the drink he was indulging in backstage before he left to check on her. Beyond the pleasant flavor coating his lips, as well as the tip of the tongue that pokes out to prod teasingly at her full bottom lip, it's one hell of a kiss. The only other time she's been kissed was with a boy from school, and she didn't quite like that, so Harry is the defacto winner without having to try.

Y/N chases his mouth without meaning to when he pulls away, and he is quick to offer another peck to her lips before pulling back from her entirely, holding her at a distance with a casual strength that pleases her more than she'd like to admit. Her eyes open to see his face a few inches from hers, and he smiles. It's a sensual smile. The kind she's never gotten from a man and taken pleasure in rather than resented until this very moment. Looking into his eyes, she doesn't even remember that her friends are sitting at the table nearby. Her blood echoes the feeling of the kiss with each pump of her heart that brings it flowing around her body. She feels it everywhere.

His thumb brushes over her lips in a calculated move that aims to show a certain degree of intimacy to their audience, and he says, "I'll see you Wednesday."

She nods along like the dumb, hopeless fool she is and tries not to regret asking him to do this for her. It seemed a great idea backstage, but with a kiss like that and a face like his, her friends will never stop hounding her about the handsome stripper who broke through her previously impenetrable heart in less than fifteen minutes.

Blind to the three women gawking at them behind her back, she waves him goodbye and says, oblivious to the fact that she has now lost the upper hand, "See you Wednesday."

"Tell me!"

Y/N groaned at the sound of Rosie's voice, begging her for what must've been the thousandth time, to relay every detail of what happened between her and Harry.

Shortly after she sat down, they all pounced on her and asked millions of questions that she said they could talk about later. Well, later arrived and she still didn't know what to say. How would she explain to them how she went to the "bathroom" and ended up going backstage with him somehow? The story made no sense as she thought it over, but they bought it nonetheless. She forced herself to wield the confidence she felt in every other aspect of her life to spin a lie that wouldn't unravel under the slightest bit of pressure.

"I was coming out of the bathroom and almost got run over by him," she said. "He helped me up and let me sit backstage for a few minutes 'cause he felt so bad about it."

Anna leaned forward with her pillow clutched to her chest, anticipating some great rom-com moment. And she gave her one.

"We hit it off, and he asked me out on Wednesday." It's said that lies are most believable when there's a hint of truth to them, so she tested that theory out. "I definitely didn't see that kiss coming but I'm not complaining about it."

The thing is, she hadn't expected the kiss at all, nor was she feeling the urge to complain about it.

But one thing was clear to her as she tried to fall asleep beside her friends in Ella's bed: she needed to keep up the facade she created with Harry to have a cover for why she isn't working or skating full time, yet has a busy schedule every week. The intensive outpatient program she had her virtual appointment with this morning is going to be three days a week from nine in the morning to three in the afternoon, so she needs an excuse, and a new boy toy is the perfect one to distract them.

With her therapy program beginning soon, she needed to get to work at securing her alibi quickly. It needed to be believable, so she made a list of things that needed to be done in her head, and the first thing on that list was to find Harry again.

After leaving Ella's place, she took an Uber and arrived at the front entrance to the strip club. Not wanting to be caught she walked around through the small alleyway between buildings and found the back door he escorted her in through the other night, and, now, she's summoning the nerve to knock.

The wind blows her hair gently from her shoulders, a cool kiss brushing against her skin to combat the summer heat that closes in on her. It provides the push she needs to raise her clenched fist and pound on the metal door hard enough to alert anyone inside of her presence. Her hand keeps banging on it for another twenty seconds before it swings open into the hallway to reveal a tall, muscular man with a scowl worn on his face.

His arm props the heavy door open as he asks, "Who are you?"

She smiles.

"Y/N. I'm just here to talk to Harry. We have a date that I need to reschedule."

The door slams in her face.

Her feet automatically shuffle back a few steps at the sound of it hitting the door frame. It's a booming sound that seems to echo despite the fact that she's presently outside, camped out waiting for a man she hardly knows in the alley behind his place of work. And though she has no right to feel such a way, disappointment floods her at the rejection. Why was she being so stupid? Of course, none of them would let her in. It's not as if they know her, and even if they do recognize her face from last night, they don't know whether Harry wants to see her again or not.

The sun beats down on her from overhead, and, while she turns to walk away, she pulls her hair away from where it crowds her face and ties it up with the scrunchie on her wrist. Much better. At least it won't stick to the back of her neck with sweat like this.

She makes it all of five steps before the sound of the heavy door opening halts her in her tracks, and when she hears his voice coming from behind her back, her lips twitch into a slight smile.

"Don said y'were asking for me?"

When she turns to look at him, she is struck by memories from that day on the train platform. His arms around her, his body pressed to hers, the sound of him yelling at her to stop before he intervened—she shakes her head as if it'll help dispel the sinking feeling that comes along with her recollection of that day. Instead of making this internal distress apparent to him, she plasters a polite smile on her face and walks back to the opened door he holds open with one tattooed arm.

She steps up as close as she can without invading his personal space, head nodding in confirmation of what he was told by his friend/coworker/whatever. Stray strands of hair dangle down to frame her face. In the sunlight, he notices how her hair seems to glow.

Her hand holds tighter onto the strap of her purse for support as if it'll do anything to aid her in navigating this odd situation.

"Yeah, I was. I wanted to talk to you about something..."

Harry's brows furrow just enough to form a crease in his forehead between them.

It takes a lot longer than she expected to work up the courage to purpose her plan to him. Not only is it an audacious idea, but he also intimidates her a little bit now. She'd never tell him that or allow him to pick up on it, but there's no denying that the man who saw her at her lowest point and deemed her worth saving is someone she wants to like her. How could she not? Even if he hadn't been the one to save her, she imagines he'd be overwhelming all the same. It's something about him—the persistent eye contact, the easy-going flow of his voice from one word to the next, or the type of work he does. It requires a confidence and thick skin very few people have.

She avoids his gaze for a second by looking down the alleyway, then to her feet, then back up at his face. Rip the bandaid off, she thinks. That's the only way to have these potentially awkward, embarrassing conversations. When she locks eyes with him again, she forces herself not to look away again.

"I wanted to thank you, actually," she says. "You really helped me last night, and I couldn't have made it believable without you. My friends won't shut up about it, so good job."

The confusion on his face regarding what she came here to discuss melts away at her appreciative words, but when he opens his mouth to tell her there is no need to thank him, she strikes again and sends him reeling.

"That's why I came here to ask you to come out with us on Thursday night. As my date."

Immediately, his head begins to shake as he tries to comprehend what's happening. He steps out into the alley completely, leaving the door to slam into its frame and offer them privacy from his coworkers listening inside. The metal is scorching hot against his back. Enough so that he can feel his skin tingle from the burning sensation before he steps away from it.

"Listen," he starts, eyes softened in a way they only are when delivering bad news. "It's not that y'aren't gorgeous, and cool from what I've seen of you, but I didn't mean the date thing literally. I have someone." Upon seeing her raised brows, assuming he cheated when he kissed her, he corrects the miscommunication. "Well, no, not someone someone. Just someone I like, and it's complicated, so, no I can't."

At first, she simply stares at him.

Here he is rambling and being apologetic while trying to let her down easily, and she stares as though she can see right through his body. What's going through her mind should be evident to him based on her face alone, but he's too wrapped up in his thoughts about Lola now that she's been mentioned to notice. Ever since he can remember from the time he met her to now, Harry has pined for her. It never mattered that she was always in another relationship with a guy completely different from him. No, all that mattered was that he loved her, and, sometimes, in the rare instances when she was single, she would do or say something that'd give him hope that she'd reciprocate that love.

Almost every girlfriend he had became jealous of her, not because he did anything to betray them, but because of how he looked at her whenever they were in the same room. And, just like clockwork, they would break up with him and cite their reason as his obvious infatuation with his friend. It was that infuriating type of repressed feeling that was strong enough for his girlfriends to sense it but not to outright accuse him of any wrongdoing. So, he hasn't had a girlfriend in months because of this. Every woman who has tried has failed to rip his attention away from her, and he has begun to suspect that he'll never feel this way about anyone but her.

Breaking him out of his daze, Y/N scoffs and makes a strange expression at his attempted rejection.

Her arms cross over her chest, head tilting to the side, and she asks, incredulous, "You think I wanna date you? I hardly even know you."

All of it—his thoughts of Lola, the memories of the day he saved Y/N, and the awkwardness felt in the wake of having to reject a beautiful woman for no reason other than his stupid, persistent crush on his friend—stops. He can't help but offer her the same strange, confused expression she gave him now that he's had a few seconds to process what she said. Harry is silent, looking at her like he'll be magically granted the ability to read her thoughts if he does it long enough, then speaks.

"Y'just asked me out..."

To this, she just shakes her head.

"No, I didn't ask you out for real," she says, almost sounding offended that he'd think she's desperate enough to track him down and beg him to give her a chance. "I don't date. It makes things too messy."

"Messy?"

"Yes, messy. Someone always loves the other person more, and it creates this weird power dynamic thing that keeps the other person trapped. Not to mention, all relationships end. Who would willingly put themselves through that just for the person to leave them in the end?"

He cannot keep himself from showing how appalled he is by her take on love and relationships. Being a romantic at heart who has believed he is destined for the one woman he's never been able to stop thinking about, he refuses to allow this to pass without debate. He simply shakes his head at her the way she had at him and leans back against the brick building, careful to avoid the metal door.

"That's bullshit," he counters. "All love ends 'cause we end. Some people stay together until they die. And, even if they don't, that doesn't mean the whole thing is pointless. It's better to have felt it at all."

She lets her head fall to avoid his gaze, and when she lifts it again, there's an amused smile spread across her face. It enrages him. To have his thoughts on love treated like they're childish or naive, like she somehow knows better than him despite never opening her heart to the experience. Those arms crossed over her breasts, clad in a thin, cropped shirt for the sake of keeping cool in the heat. Her hands smooth down the shorts she wears the second they leave her chest.

"Well, okay, we can just disagree, but let's get back to the point. I don't wanna date you because I don't date and you don't wanna date me because you have feelings for someone else. That's great!"

He stares at her with an utter loss for words.

"M'so confused..."

Her head tips back with a frustrated groan, and she steps up close to him in order to grab him by the shoulders to force him to keep his eyes on her.

"I want you to pretend to be with me."

Before he can open his mouth to ask why, she begins speaking again.

"Only one of my friends knows what happened to me this summer," Y/N, her voice quieting when she speaks of the incident that caused their paths to cross. "None of them but her know, and now I have to attend this therapy thing three days a week when I'm not busy training, so I need an alibi. Last night, you kissing me stopped all their questions about where I've been lately, so we should keep up the act."

Part of him wants to retort something snarky at her for just assuming he'll be willing to drop everything to be her fake boyfriend whenever she goes out with her friends or goes to therapy, but the kinder side of him hesitates. This woman is the same person he held on the train platform, who refused to let go of him when the paramedics arrived to the point where he had to tag along in the ambulance upon their request to keep their patient as calm as possible. In the end, the petty urge to talk back wins.

"That arrangement sounds perfect for you, but what do I get out of this? Some of us have to work for a living, and I have actual important things to do other than being at your beck and call. Just 'caused we kissed doesn't mean y'have to get attached. Find someone else."

His harsh words strike her where it hurts, but, more importantly, at the current moment, they set her blood on fire with fury. How dare he insinuate that she has grown attached to him, like she's a pathetic little girl with a crush, from what happened last night? The ego of this man needs to be studied by psychologists and neuroscientists.

She drops her hands from his shoulders and takes a few steps back to create a comfortable distance between them.

"First of all, I'm not attached to you. I know you're a romantic, but one kiss didn't make me fall in love with you. Secondly, I wasn't going to offer you nothing in return." Her eyes flicker back and forth between the entrance to the alleyway and him as though she is plotting her escape already. "If you have to work every day, I can pay your bills in exchange for your time. I have money, I won't pretend that isn't true, so I can cover your expenses while we keep up the ruse, okay? It's an economic proposition, not a relationship."

Right when she expects him to calm down, he surges ahead at full throttle, looking like he's ready to punch a wall if he were the type of man to do that. His cheeks are flushed with color as he shakes his head and turns to knock on the back door to be let in again. Before any of his coworkers can answer, he meets her gaze and speaks the words that damn her to find another excuse, another lie to push onto her friends to prevent them from knowing the truth of what happened this summer.

"I'm not a product. You can't buy me, Y/N, and I'm honestly offended that y'think you can." The door swings open behind him, and he walks through, only stopping to say over his shoulder, "Don't come back."

The brutal rejection she faced when trying to enact her fake boyfriend plan with Harry left her in a sour mood all night. No matter how many times Ella tried to cheer her up, she wouldn't budge. It took her best friend putting on her favorite movie, bribing her with snacks, and offering to let her rant about it to bring her down a few notches. Eventually, after talking it out and spending the night laughing alongside her best friend, what Harry said to her held little power over her mood. Her friend had been quick to say that he had a point, which he did, that she wouldn't deny, but she couldn't shake the feeling of unease.

This morning, however, she didn't think of him much at all.

Executing her typical morning routine before a day of practicing on the ice helped soothe her nerves, making her return to it feel less like an event. It didn't feel the same as it used to, however, and, as she made herself protein pancakes for breakfast and listened to Ella rambling about her latest workplace drama, she began to fear that it never would.

This strange headspace she was pushed into by what she witnessed in early June feels permanent. It feels like her life could be divided into two distinct categories—before and after. It has been difficult as of late to grapple with the knowledge that nothing may be the same again. Grieving for an old version of yourself is nasty work, and it's lonely as well. Sometimes, she feels like she's standing alone on the edge of the universe, teetering there to see how far she can push it before she goes over.

The rink's low temperature soothes her now as she bends over to lace up her skates. Her throat can't help but tighten up at the familiar feeling, and she feels like an imposter as she goes through the motions of what her life used to be. Coach Godnev is already on the ice waiting for her with Chris standing with his back to Y/N, gesturing with his hands as he speaks, likely regaling the two-week break they've been forced to take due to her hospitalization.

She stands up and enters the rink through the propped-open door.

It feels strange. That's a fact she cannot deny as she floats across the ice in the direction of Godnev and Chris as though she never left in the first place. Outwardly, no one would ever think she took time off, but, on the inside, she could never let herself forget it. That voice in the back of her head, the one that is always nagging and scolding over the smallest things, whispers to her that she isn't worth it. That if she's not better now, she never will be. But, she tries to ignore that voice. It's a little bit easier knowing that she has hours of focused exercise to do as well as people to talk to. Where most people pry and ask questions, Godnev allows her space to breathe.

Being a stoic, strict ex-figure skater from the era of the Soviet Union, she tends to keep personal questions and details of their lives out of things. She focuses with tunnel vision on the work, on the artistry, and Y/N has never been more thankful for that than right now. The only time she ever showed emotion toward her was when she was sick during a competition as a child, sniffling and suppressing coughs every other moment. When asked if she was okay, Y/N nodded and refused to let the illness get her down, and she could tell how proud her coach was of her resilience.

That is why Y/N doesn't worry about what the older woman may ask. While her parents, therapists, and Ella may treat her like a delicate glass vase that will break under the slightest pressure, Talia Godnev has unwavering faith in her ability to overcome whatever obstacle is thrown her way. And that feels good. It feels nice to know that someone in this world has faith in her. God knows she doesn't.

"Sorry," she says, projecting her voice at where her two collaborators stand without her. The cool air blows against her face, yet it doesn't disrupt the hair she meticulously styled into a bun with gel and pins. The last thing she needs is to have her hair come out when she's doing jumps. "I didn't mean to be late. I missed the subway and had to wait like ten minutes."

Coach is the first to greet her. The smile on her face is wide enough to create wrinkles around the edges of her eyes, and she opens her arms in an invitation to hug her—a rare display of affection on her part—so Y/N wastes no time skating into her embrace. Thin but toned arms curl around her shoulders, squeezing tight for a good five seconds before releasing as a silent way of telling her to pull away.

"I'm so glad you're back," Godnev says.

They both pull back from each other enough to maintain their typical areas of personal space, and it isn't until she detached herself from her that she realizes she skated right past Chris without greeting him.

"Oh shit, Chris, I'm so sorry," she says, turning around, "I blew right past you—"

Her heart drops into her stomach at the sight of the man standing before her.

"Oh."

The word leaves her before she can stop it. Her body freezes, her chest tightening involuntarily in panic and her shoulders tensing up.

The first thought she has is that this shouldn't be happening.

It feels inherently wrong, like whoever controls her universe has played a sick joke on her by taking a person from one, separate area of her life and dropping him off into another. Why would she have expected to see Harry here instead of Chris? Chris has been her partner for years. They were paired when she was eighteen, so why would someone else be here in his place? And, more importantly, why would the man who stopped her from jumping in front of a train be his replacement?

Despite this internal debate waging war within her, she is stunned to silence and cannot do anything but stare at him in awe. At least, she thinks with some semblance of relief, he looks equally as shocked as she is.

Godnev, likely sensing the energy shift but not wanting to acknowledge it, puts a hand on the small of her back to comfort her, rubbing up and down like her mother once did to her as a child when she became nervous about competing in front of people. It's the type of thing only she could get away with doing to Y/N. Not because she holds any special power over her but because she has always been a secondary mother figure to her since they first began working together.

While she and Harry stare at one another in abject horror, Godnev decides to explain what everyone other than Y/N must already be aware of.

"I wanted to tell you before today, but Chris thought it would be best to let you settle in once you got home..."

Y/N's arms, raised with goosebumps both from the chill and situation at hand beneath the sleeves of her Lululemon jacket, cross over her chest. It takes less than two seconds for her to look back and forth between the two people in betrayal. Because, to her, it is betrayal. Even though her coach couldn't possibly have brought Harry here on purpose, the reminder of what happened to her, what she's always trying to flee from, hits her like a punch to the gut.

"What is this?"

There's a certain look in Harry's eyes when their gazes meet, almost as though he's trying to communicate with her through it somehow, but she is quick to look away.

She asks again, this time more demanding, "What the hell is this? Where's Chris?"

The mere mentioning of his name seems to rattle Godnev, and she has to take a breath to steady herself before answering either of her questions. That's the odd thing about having a breakdown and going into inpatient psychiatric care. To her, the world stopped spinning. Everything became confined to the limited space she was allowed to traverse in the hospital, and, without her phone, she had no connection to the outside world. But the world didn't stop spinning for everyone. Just her.

Those deep brown eyes soften at the mixture of emotions smeared across Y/N's face, and she says, gently, "Chris is back with his family in Norway. His mother is sick, and he said he didn't want to waste his time here...he wanted to be the one to take care of her."

They both pause to carefully monitor her face for a reaction.

"So what does that have to do with him?" she asks. The news about Chris saddens her beyond belief, but it's impossible to ingest the information without questioning Harry's presence. Deep down, a part of her recognizes where this is headed, but she doesn't want to believe it. Not truly. "I"—she shakes her head—"And, I mean, how am I gonna compete without a partner?"

The looks Godnev and Harry respectively give her confirm the suspicion that was lying in wait in the back of her mind like an asp readying to strike.

No.

"Harry's partner quit a few weeks ago for personal reasons, similarly to Chris, so when his coach reached out to me for advice, I offered to make him your new partner," she says. A second later she goes on, "He's very good. You know that I wouldn't waste your talent on someone who isn't."

"We have to compete in a month to qualify for nationals...I'm sorry, but this is crazy. After all these years, all this work and trust built with Chris, how am I supposed to just let it go?"

And although Chris would have quit anyway to care for his mother, she blames herself. If she hadn't taken time off to recuperate from what happened to her, from what she saw June 1st that sent her down this road, perhaps none of this would've happened. No amount of logic can stop her from blaming the chaos of last month for this as well as everything else that has gone wrong since then.

"I know it's a big adjustment, but I've already begun training with him. You two just need to practice and work through the routine." Before she has the opportunity to interject, Godnev pushes further. "Now, let's go. We have a lot of work to do."

Having to pretend that she's never met Harry before today's practice has been unbelievably difficult. It's not like their coach would pry, but she'd likely make a comment on it if they seemed familiar with one another already, so they came to a wordless agreement to pretend they'd never met when formally introduced to one another. They shook hands and exchanged polite smiles like they hadn't kissed days before. And now that they're working together, they haven't said a word to one another. Not with Godnev lingering within earshot.

Thankfully for Y/N, their coach had been training with Harry for a few weeks, and he already knew the basic choreography of the free dance she practiced with Chris all year. So, they ran through the program countless times, excluding the lifts, to get a rough idea of what skating together would be like. The song she chose for it, (I've Had) The Time Of My Life by Bill Medley, has been played enough times with the paired movements of the dance that it didn't take long for her body to snap back into it, give or take a few mistakes.

It's a passionate dance. A romance based on one of her favorite movies.

Due to the nature of being someone's partner, she and Chris spent all of their time together, and even though he hated Dirty Dancing, he gladly let her make it the inspiration for their free dance for the sake of seeing her excitement. With him, the dance was fun and carefree. Although they didn't have feelings for one another, they were able to lose themselves in the routine and feign undying love for the duration of it.

Oftentimes, they'd have a difficult time not smiling ear to ear at one another and giggling throughout the whole thing, especially the part at the end where they end with their lips a hairs-width apart to symbolize that happy ending of the lovers they portrayed. The thought of them kissing had been hysterical, and it took Godnev scolding them countless times for them to take it seriously.

With Harry, it couldn't be more different.

For one, they hardly know each other and have never skated together, so the first few times they ran through the routine were fumbling and awkward in a way she hasn't been since she was a teenager. Then, of course, there's the history between them. Having to pretend to fall in love with the man who fought with her in the alley behind a strip club the day before is an impossible feat.

No amount of pretending can hide that they are uncomfortable touching each other and almost kissing at the end of the program, but they try because they have no other option. Both of their partners quit on them around the same time. The fact that their coaches managed to pair two people of equal training and talent was a miracle in and of itself. Neither of them wants to be the first to complain about what would otherwise be a gift from the universe if it weren't them specifically.

In the middle of the song, Godnev pauses the music, and they're both sent reeling, trying to stop turning for long enough to look to the older woman for guidance as to what went wrong. When Y/N meets eyes with her, she already knows what she is going to say.

"You will have to get more comfortable together." She shakes her head. "Take a five-minute break. You dance with her like you're dancing with your grandmother."

That's all she leaves them with before she spins around and skates toward the propped-open door to the rink, disappearing somewhere to get a quick drink of water or snack before the break is done. With her gone, neither of them says a word.

It's funny. The entire time they practiced up until now, she wished their coach would leave for a moment to allow her to say everything she's imagined since yesterday, but now that they're alone, they're terrified to break the silence. They feel that if they do, they'll be forced to confront reality and accept that this is real. That their lives will be intrinsically entwined as a result of this partnership from here going forward.

In the end, it's he who ends up speaking first.

"I didn't know it was you," he says after a moment.

It almost sounds like he's going to continue after that by the deep breath he takes at the end, but he doesn't. Instead, she is left to find the words on her own and find a way to make this the slightest bit professional despite, well, everything. When it comes out, it ends up sounding the polar opposite.

"Neither did I. I mean, I thought you were a stripper who moonlights as an undercover suicide prevention worker," she says with a shrug, "so I never expected to see you here."

To her surprise, despite the bad start they got off on yesterday with her offering to pay him to be her fake boyfriend, he laughs, and it's a beautiful sound. It's a sound that makes her lips twitch up with the urge to smile, which is far too rare for her as of late.

He stands a foot away, his hand on his hip, and doesn't balk from her stare as he ceases his laughter to continue speaking.

"I strip to pay rent and for this." A knowing look is cast in her direction before he turns to the direction of the door Godnev left out of. "It's an expensive sport, and not all of us are living off daddy's money."

She scoffs.

Soon, she's approaching him from behind and following him off the ice to where his water bottle is stashed alongside his tote bag, watching as he takes a sip. From his peripheral vision, he can see her sizing him up like prey, and he wonders briefly if anyone has ever spoken to her like this before. It wouldn't surprise him if they hadn't. A beautiful, rich ice dancer. Not many people would want to get on her bad side if they could help it. With people of her social and financial status, he has noticed that most people who leech off of them never say the word no.

The instant he swallows the mouthful of water, she's retorting, "Okay, first of all, the wealth is from my mother's side of the family, you sexist prick"—he laughs at this too, knowing that she is only joking to get back at him—"Second of all, I'm not ashamed of being privileged in terms of wealth. We donate every year to charities, and I'm not the kind of trust fund kid who pretends they came up the hard way."

Harry flicks a bit of water at her much like a little boy teasing girls on the playground, tilting his head in analysis of her as she leans back against the boards.

"And by we, you mean your parents, who get a nice tax write-off for all of their philanthropy, right?"

"Oh, at least play fair," she hits back in the same, childlike way he had. "So giving back to my community doesn't count cause I get tax write-offs?" Her brows raise at him in question. "I volunteer at a shelter for LGBT kids who are on the street because of their shitty ass parents. All of the prize money I get when I win goes to them, so get off your fucking soapbox and give me a break."

There's a stretch of heavy silence, then—

"You're right, I don't know you," he says softly, then meets her gaze again, "M'sorry."

This makes her pause for a second. It makes her mindful of what happened yesterday now that she has time to reflect...

"I'm sorry too."

"For what?"

She hadn't expected him to concede. Most men she's met and argued with, albeit playfully, refuse to back down no matter how backed into a corner they are. They are correct no matter what. Even Chris was like that sometimes, but, she must admit, there's something admirable about someone who will admit when they're wrong. It's a behavior she could practice more than she currently does lest her pride not get in the way.

"For trying to pay you to be my fake boyfriend. You were right. I didn't think about how insulting that must come across since I met you at your club," she says, then tries not to shudder at how she misspoke. Technically, she didn't meet him at the club, and they both know that, but he'll never correct her for avoiding such a painful memory. "I didn't mean it like that. I was just desperate."

The entire room is quiet save for their conversation. With Godnev off doing God knows what, there's no one here at the private rink to eavesdrop on their conversation. It suddenly hits her as she looks at him, struck by how he smiles with his two front bunny teeth, that being alone with him doesn't make her nervous like it does with other guys. Every guy she's met on Hinge, or who has hit on her on a night out, has made her viscerally uncomfortable, but he doesn't. It could have something to do with how they broke the ice the first time they met. Or it could be him. Maybe he's the type of person who sets others at ease without ever trying to.

It's easy to tell that he's about to say something in response, but the sound of their coach coming back into the room silences him. It causes his mouth to open and close like a fish, then open again to say to her at a low volume, "I'll do it."

This time, it's her turn to act confused.

"Do what?"

He watches for Godnev out of the corner of his eye to make sure she isn't watching, then leans against the boards beside her to allow them to talk in secrecy. They don't have much time before they're back on the ice, so he doesn't waste it.

"Date you," Harry says, and she thinks he's fighting back another smile when her eyes widen. "Your friends will know I'm your partner soon anyway." He shrugs. "Might as well."

It takes him and Godnev calling out her name to get her back on the ice and out of her trance after he leaves her there, speechless, on the side of the rink.

Balancing hours of therapy with hours of practice with Harry has been a challenge, not only because of the physical exhaustion she feels when she comes home and falls into bed beside Ella every night but because of the emotional exhaustion too. Every time she leaves the building where she spends most of her day listening to clinicians teaching skills and trying to work up the courage to talk about what happened to her in process groups to no avail, she feels as though she just ran a half marathon. But she can never rest. No, instead, she has to spend the rest of her day with Harry on the ice, pick up dinner on the way home, and try not to wake Ella when she enters the apartment.

Her leg bounces up and down incessantly as she waits for her clinician to come back from the bathroom for their one-on-one session while the rest of the patients are in an art group.

She busies herself by inspecting the small office. Framed photos line the walls, and on top of the desk are a multitude of fidget toys and plastic eggs of kinetic sand for patients to borrow. By the time the clinician, Tara, comes back to the room, Y/N is already paying with a pocket-sized container of putty.

"Sorry about that," Tara says with a smile, "I just wanted to make sure I didn't have to get up in the middle of the session."

Her high-pitched, lilting voice with a concerning about of vocal fry helps to soothe her nerves, coaxing her bouncing left leg into a slower pace as she watches her take a seat in the rolling chair. Blonde hair, highlights, perhaps, falls to the curves of her waist. It's the first time she's seen her with her hair down rather than the usual bun. Considering the brutal summer heat and humidity, it's not like Y/N can blame her for not wanting a blanket of hair running down her back.

"It's fine."

Tara's long nails tap away at the keyboard of the desktop computer, quickly documenting that they are meeting like they're supposed to.

"So, I know we've talked a bit, but I'm just gonna ask how your first week home has been so far?"

Those soft blue eyes never stray from her face now that their full attention is on each other. Eye contact like this would typically freak her out, but not this time. Not with her. They have talked once or twice, that's true, but they have yet to sit down and work through everything that haunts her. Until now.

Y/N shifts in her seat, crossing her legs to get as comfortable as possible while trying to do the unthinkable—open up to someone. It isn't by coincidence that Ella is the only one she told about this, or that she has never been able to have a romantic relationship. Every time someone she likes too much gets too close, her mind defaults to panic. The idea of someone knowing her, truly knowing her, the way she knows herself, is her biggest fear. It's so primal, rooted deeply in her system, that the urge to isolate herself and ghost anyone new who tries to care for her is something she acts on unconsciously.

But, with Tara, she has no other choice but to sit with that visceral discomfort rather than flee. If she ever ghosts her and skips program, they'll do a wellness check on her and send the police to her apartment, which is the very last thing she wants.

Not having a choice, Y/N says, "It's been a lot. I can't stand being in my apartment because all I feel when I'm in there is fear. You know, that was my prison. That was where my body shut down, and I stopped eating and sleeping."

The whole time she speaks, Tara nods along, only looking away to jot down a note. Her white and gold pencil gleams in the afternoon sunlight coming in through the window as it glides across the blank page. Once the note is taken, she allows it to slip out of her hand and onto the notebook, rolling until it becomes wedged in the divot between pages.

"Do you think it would help to go in there with someone you trust and try to tolerate the fear?"

She shrugs.

"Maybe. I don't know. I went back once to get my stuff and have been staying at my friend Ella's place."

"And is Ella a big part of your support system?"

"Oh, a huge part. She's the only one other than Harry who knows."

Tara's head tilts in curiosity at the mention of Harry, someone she nor any of the other clinicians heard her mention in the few groups she speaks in. Obviously, if he's one of the only people who knows about her breakdown, he must be someone of significance, and that isn't wrong. Although they hardly know each other, he may be the most important person in her life. She wouldn't be here without him, and whether she loves or hates him for it, she doesn't know.

"Who's Harry?"

A heavy sigh escapes her in the wake of that question. In preparation for what she's about to tell her, Y/N focuses on the putty being kneaded in her hands to avoid eye contact. She fears that if she looks at her when she says it, the words may evade her.

"He's the one who stopped me from jumping," she says, then shakes her head through a nervous laugh. "And now that my ice dance partner quit, he's my new partner. Isn't that so fucked up? Like, if there's a God, I wanna bare-knuckle box that fucker for doing this to me!"

For the sake of making her feel at ease, Tara chuckles softly at that last comment, and she's thankful for it. It's precisely what she needed to avoid allowing the discomfort to consume her. No more being treated like she's made of glass. Like she's broken. That's the best part of being here, she thinks. The staff and patients have all heard and lived through hellish things, so nothing can surprise them anymore.

Her leg begins to bounce at the same speed and intensity it had before. It's all she can do to release the anxiety bubbling up within as she is brought closer and closer to revealing the parts of herself she can't even share with Ella.

"Do you mind if I ask what triggered this whole situation to begin with?" Tara asks with the pencil back in hand. "It's okay if you aren't ready to, though. We can do it next time."

The following silence seems to echo in her head.

June 1st. The second-worst day in her twenty-four-year existence.

As a melodramatic teenager, she couldn't imagine anything being worse than the day she and her high school best friend ended their years-long friendship. At the time, that felt like the greatest tragedy she would experience, but, now, she would relive that day twenty times over rather than relive a single day of June. The most persistent obsessive thought she has relates to that. It wouldn't matter what the circumstances were. If she had to endure it again, she would make sure there would be no one to stop her from jumping from the train platform this time. And that terrifies her. The power these memories hold over her is immeasurable.

Y/N's head drops to let her stare at her lap as she tries to work up the nerve to say it out loud for the first time since being discharged from the hospital. The faint sound of screams, buried deep into the recesses of her mind, resurfaces more quickly than she is comfortable with. She had never seen a panic like she had that day in the bodega when she stopped in to purchase a bottle of water and found herself saddled with a lifetime of trauma.

"I was walking to catch the subway to the rink where I train, and it was hot, so I wanted a water bottle," she explains. At first, it sounds steady. Strong. Then, her voice can't help but soften once she gets to the hard part. "Someone was arguing with the clerk, but I didn't think anything of it. None of us in there knew what was gonna happen until it did, and, unfortunately, I turned around just in time to see him pull his gun." Her eyes glaze over with the imminent threat of tears. "He killed him. Shot him in the head two times, and I hid behind one of the fridges before he could see me. But, he didn't want any of the customers. He just shot the guy a few more times to make sure he was dead, took the money, and ran out."

The expression on Tara's face, torn between shock and secondhand heartache, tells her that she hadn't expected that to be the story told today. People's minds and bodies can shut down like hers had for many reasons, whether they appear big or small, but this was serious. This was something that she'll never be able to forget witnessing, and they both know that. Their only hope is that maybe, once time has passed, it'll be easier for her to live with. It already is to an extent. Now that she has been put on medication and attends therapy for the illness she ignored her whole life, she can eat and sleep again. Not exactly as she had before but close.

She sniffles and wipes her nose on her hand to avoid having anything drip out of it in the presence of another person. Most of her crying over this has been violent in its vehemence. Snot-oozing, head-pounding, full-body sobs that left her shaking where she lay with her legs curled up to her chest.

"At first, I thought I was okay, and I was for the first night. I went to practice after that, but I don't even remember being there. It was the next day that it all started. I wasn't able to leave the house, and I became so anxious, so obsessed with the idea that I wasn't safe, that I stopped eating. I went to the ER because I thought there was something wrong with me." She takes a deep breath, trying not to let her bottom lip quiver as much as it wants to when pausing between words. "I suffered in that room, starving so much that it hurt, for two days." A tear slides down her cheek, and she has to wipe it away with her fingertips. "The people treating me told me there was nothing physically wrong with me. They told me it was psychosomatic and sent me home."

It's a period of time she couldn't forget if she tried, and she did try. She tried so hard, but whenever she lay in her bed or tried to eat something, anything, her mind took her back to those two days. It was the reason why she stopped sleeping. Whenever she would jolt awake to the darkness of her bedroom, she wasn't awake enough to know where or when she was.

"For the next two weeks, which felt like a month, I had to force myself to learn to eat again, and, at first, I was sleeping. But it was because my friend let me have some of her Xanax to take to help me at night. What I didn't realize was that my body would get used to taking it, and once it did, I couldn't relax. I couldn't let my guard down long enough to fall asleep," she says. "So, I started doing things, I guess compulsions, not knowing why I was doing them."

This time, Tara nods and writes something down on the page of the notebook with her lip bitten between her teeth in thought.

"What were your compulsions?"

Her mind flashes in a supercut of memories from June—her hands wiping down the kitchen counters, bottles of nail polish on her kitchen counter, and the sight of her hollow face staring back at her in the mirror every day. She's almost too ashamed to tell her, to go into what she was doing and why she thought it may help, but that's why she's here. The whole reason for being here is to work through it, so she does.

"Um." Her voice wavers. "Well, I started to clean my kitchen from top to bottom every morning. I didn't have a specific reason, but I think it was because I needed something to do to pass the time since I was too weak to skate." The eye contact she makes with the floor has yet to break, and she tries not to focus on Tara's purposefully subdued reactions in her peripheral vision.

Pretending like she isn't there, like she's telling this story to the empty room, makes it bearable. "When I was little, my mom used to put my hair in two braids on each side of my head when I was sick. It was just a simple style to keep it out of my face when I blew my nose and coughed, but she always did it. So, I started keeping my hair like that. I had to braid it like that every day, or else the day was going to end badly. I know that makes no sense, but it did to me."

The other woman is quick to shake her head.

"No, I understand," she says softly. "Every time you were sick, your mom braided your hair, and when you get sick, you always get better, so you did it to self-soothe."

It nearly makes her cry to hear her say that.

Most people without in-depth education about these illnesses would think her crazy for believing that braiding her hair could prevent things from going badly, but she gets it. The staff at the hospital, as well as the other patients she bonded with over countless card games, all got it. It makes her feel a little less crazy when people react like this. It's not as if she expected a mental health professional to act any other way, but she feared it nonetheless.

"I also felt like I needed to change my nail polish whenever something bad happened." She holds up her newly manicured fingers sporting almond-shaped acrylics. "That's why I went and got these. So I wouldn't be able to keep doing that now that I'm out. Also to stop me from picking at my skin."

The sound of Tara humming in agreement with the decision brings a sense of warmth to her chest. There's something about the clinician that disarms her entirely, bringing her down enough to lay herself bare before her with less difficulty than she would have with others. Part of it, she thinks, is that she knows no one else will hear what's said here. It isn't Rosie, Anna, or anyone she doesn't want to see her in a different light. It's someone meant to hear these things without any emotional labor given in return.

She goes on.

"The last thing I did, or I guess it's what I didn't do, was avoid the bracelet I was wearing the day of the shooting. I almost wanted to burn it."

Finally, she looks up and meets Tara's kind eyes.

"Why did you want to burn your bracelet?" she asks despite already having an idea of the reasoning behind it.

The softness in how the question was asked, paired with the unspoken understanding and never-ending compassion beneath it, makes Y/N break down at long last. Her shoulders shake with the cries she tries to stifle, wiping her nose and her wet cheeks as she shrinks into the seat like a scared little girl.

Her voice is so soft, so ashamed of the truth being spoken, that she barely hears it over the sound of her cries.

"Because I thought it was cursed..."

No one but the psychiatrist at the hospital, not Ella or Harry or her parents, has been told of this part. Because it's this that she is the most embarrassed of. If her mother were here, she'd tell her how illogical it is, and she knows that. It doesn't make any sense and never had, but she believed it regardless. Every time she passed by where it sat on top of her dresser, her face twisted into a grimace. On June 1st, hiding behind the refrigerator stocked with water, she remembers how she clutched the edge of it with her right hand to keep herself from falling to the floor, and she didn't look out at the killer or the deceased clerk again. Instead, she kept her eyes locked onto the bracelet given to her for her twenty-fourth birthday days prior and never looked away until the door to the bodega opened and closed again. When she wore it home, it sat heavy around her wrist, and when she laid in bed those two days, starving, she felt it brush up against the bottom of her pillow whenever she moved her hand.

The second she got home from the emergency room, she ripped it off and threw it on her dresser in a rage.

Y/N whispers, "I just felt so stupid."

She rubs her eyes with her hand as if that will do anything to stop the tears from falling, and when her hand falls back to her side, she notices that a box of tissues has been placed on the end of the desk closest to her. With a quiet, "Thank you," she takes a few to blow her nose, then two more to wipe her eyes before discarding the handful in the garbage bin.

"I know you already know this," Tara says propping her chin up on the palm of her hand, "but what you did is normal for people with OCD. Especially when you're undiagnosed and unmedicated."

Her face softens at the new tears falling from her eyes, now smudged with runny mascara that ruins the look she painstakingly crafted in the bathroom with Ella before practice for the sake of passing time.

"You weren't stupid, Y/N. You were just sick."

And, for once, it feels good to hear that coming from someone other than the people who have every reason to be biased toward her. If she were to tell Ella or her parents, they would shake their heads and tell her to stop being so hard on herself, but she has trouble believing them. When you love someone, you'll do anything to take the burden of pain off of their shoulders and onto yours. Hearing it from someone whose job is to be as objective and tactfully honest as possible is far different.

The sound of her sniffling as she begins to calm down, no longer wanting to take tissue after tissue to wipe her runny nose, is the only thing to be heard in the room surrounding them. No footsteps in the hallway, no group conversation getting loud and excited the next room over, and no judgments. Just sniffling and heavy breathing that soon evens out into a steady rise and fall of her chest.

It's ten minutes later that she finishes up with Tara and exits the room to see the rest of the patients leaving. A glance at her watch shows that it's three o'clock, meaning everyone but the clinicians who work until five documenting and talking to the others about treatment plans for their patients is free to go home and do as they please for the rest of the afternoon.

Y/N is the last person out of the building, and when she steps out into the sun, she feels a little bit lighter than she had before. The emotional weight of what happened to her was cumbersome to bear alone, and even though one conversation would never cure her, it does make her feel less alone.

Before she can overthink any of it, she's going through her contacts and presses Harry's number. They exchanged information on their first day of practicing together, both for the sake of their work as well as the ruse.

After three rings, he picks up.

"Hello?"

The subway is her least favorite part about living in the city.

Not only is it annoying to stand shoulder to shoulder with strangers, packed in like sardines, but it's unbearably hot down here, especially in the summer, and the heat worsens the anxiety she feels surrounding what's to come tonight. But with the anxiety medication she took before leaving Ella's place to meet up with Harry before the time they're supposed to arrive at the bar with her friends, it's easier to cope with. Rather than it being an overstimulating nightmare of panting breaths and frantic, racing thoughts, it's slowed down. The anxiety is still present, yet it doesn't hinder her ability to function.

Part of what she enjoys about this city, though, is that no one pays attention to her. There are too many people and too many things going on for anyone to bat an eye at what she is saying or doing, or if she appears to be anxious or not. It allows her to have a certain freedom within herself to dress however she wants and talk loudly, taking up space without fearing the reaction of others.

The bottoms of her thighs stick to the seat with sweat where they're exposed by her mini dress, and she keeps squirming around every few seconds in discomfort, trying to wipe the perspiration away to no avail. Beside her, Harry is messaging someone on his phone, so she tries not to look over his shoulder and gives him privacy until he's finished.

Once he is, she shifts in her seat to face him with one long leg crossed over the other.

"We need to make some ground rules."

He looks up from his phone with raised brows, his thumb pressing down on the button on the side to shut the screen off. The white shirt he wears is unbuttoned just enough for his chest tattoos to peek out from beneath the edges of the fabric, and she already knows that her friends will lose their minds when they see them together.

They were already told in the group chat on Instagram, titled dream blunt rotation with numerous celebrities that will never accept the chat invite, about her going out with the stripper they met over the weekend. She and Ella played it off well. They played into the shock felt by Rosie and Anna at the fact that Harry is her new partner. It's a small world, they all said. But Y/N knows that if they knew everything, it would appear even smaller.

"Like what?" he asks.

His legs are pushed together by the person next to him being careless with their personal space, stretching out as though they own the place, and he scoots a little closer to her as a result of it. Her bare thigh presses into the side of his clothed one.

"Well, I feel like the first rule should be that neither of us can talk about how we actually met."

He nods.

"Obviously."

Her arms hug her purse to her chest to free up some space beside her for him, giving him the room to comfortably relax his right arm without having to fold himself in to fit into the seat between her and the other man. When their hands brush, her breath hitches in her throat, and she prays that he doesn't notice. She may not be one to date people, but she isn't blind. Every woman sitting or standing near them steals glances at him, likely wishing they were the one pressed up against his side. Like it or not, there is a part of her that takes pleasure in being seen with him.

"Second rule..." she trails off, tapping her fingers against her knee. "We have to figure out what kind of PDA we're okay with."

He goes quiet for a second, then says, "I'm fine with anything."

Anything, her mind echoes in equal parts excitement and fear. What does he mean by anything? Apparently, it must be written on her face, because he is quick to explain himself.

Laughing, he says, "Calm down. M'not saying we have to go fuck in the bathroom or something, I meant holding hands and a kiss maybe."

This causes her to giggle nervously at first, but once the words are fully taken in, the smile on her face begins to soften. Kissing, holding hands, and touching are all things she can hardly stand the thought of doing. The first and only time she kissed a boy was in front of their school in the seventh grade. He had a crush on her and asked her out. Not being able to say no because she didn't want to upset him, she said yes and they were "dating" for a few weeks. One day before she had to walk home, she kissed him, and the moment their lips touched, she became overwhelmed with discomfort. All she could hear in the back of her mind was her parents saying she was too young, that boys will only want one thing from her, and she ran off without another word. Later that night, she texted him to end the relationship.

But, she realizes, this isn't real. If they're simply pretending to be doing these things because they have feelings for each other that don't truly exist, there is no reason to feel like she's doing something wrong. No one is taking advantage of the other in this situation, and she'll never have to introduce him to her parents as her boyfriend and endure the awkward tension with her overprotective father.

Y/N worries her lip between her teeth as she turns over the thought in her mind.

"That might not be a bad idea."

His head whips around to look at her again, his eyes widened in disbelief at what she's implying. It isn't until he's been staring at her for a good five seconds that she realizes the miscommunication.

"Oh, no, not like that," she says, "I mean we could pretend to go to the bathroom and make it look like we did something."

An elderly woman sitting across from them pauses what she's doing on her phone to side-eye them, but they don't pay her any mind. The rest of the people around them don't make it known if they're eavesdropping but, honestly, even if they are, she doesn't care. These people are strangers who are owed nothing by them, and if they want to judge them for the web of lies they're weaving for her friends, then so be it.

Harry runs his hand through his hair to push it back into place. The jolting movement of the subway knocked a few strands onto his face, so he takes the time to fix it for the sake of looking good when he meets her friends. Well, technically he already has met her friends, but this time will be different. It won't be a fleeting moment in which he kisses her to distract them, it'll be his formal introduction into her life as her "boyfriend". Even though he knows it's not real, he doesn't want to let her down. After all, he's her partner on the ice now, and that's reason enough to want her friends to like him.

Before he can respond, the sound of the next stop being announced brings their attention away from one another, and they both stand with one hand holding the pole for support.

From what little she knows about him, Harry was born and raised in northern England with his mom, but he came here to train with one of the best pairs ice dancing coaches the world had to offer and has lived in the city for four years. His previous partner was an up-and-coming favorite of many, but she quit the same week of the bodega shooting due to a career-ending injury sustained in a biking accident.

Once they ascend the stairway onto the street the bar is located on, he asks, "If these are your friends, why are you going this far to keep it a secret from them?"

Her heels click on the sidewalk as they walk, hand in hand in case her friends are walking in at the same time, down the block together.

The suddenness of the question, as well as the brutality of it, catches her off guard and silences her for the next minute or so. Truth be told, the decision not to tell Rosie and Anna about what happened wasn't intentional. After the shooting, she went to Ella for support, and she was far too distressed in the following weeks to reach out to the others beyond basic greetings and posts shared on social media. Now, it seems foolish to tell them. No matter how she explains it, she's certain it will hurt their feelings that she didn't go to them in her time of strife.

"Um, I honestly don't know," she says, staring ahead at the family walking before them. Anything to avoid the judgment she anticipates from him. "I didn't mean to lie, but I didn't tell them, and once I went into the hospital it felt like it was too late. It all just...happened."

Although distracted by watching the people around them, she can feel his eyes on her. It's hard to act casual when someone like him—someone so gorgeous and simultaneously critical in her recent life—is staring. And even though she knows this isn't real, that they aren't dating and everything is fake, she can't help how her heart races faster the longer he stares.

For the rest of the walk to the bar, both of them remain silent. The sole thing to steady her is the warm feeling of his hand in hers, and, even then, there's a degree of discomfort mixed into it as well. Her friends have teased her about her commitment-phobia and fear surrounding dating, so she expects the worst interrogation of her life upon arrival.

The bar Rosie chose for their first official outing as a "couple" is an exclusive rooftop one that her new boy of the month frequents. Her status alone would get her in, but with him at her side, there was no question as to whether or not she belonged among the rich and famous. It's this same exclusivity that causes Harry's eyebrows to raise as they're guided into an elevator with the bald bouncer.

He whispers to her on the way up, "I know I was taking shots at you for being rich, but I didn't know you were this kind of rich."

A soft huff of laughter leaves her, and she thinks she may see his cheeks flushing a deep pink color at the sound of it.

"My parents are this kind of rich, actually. But I get what you mean," she says and leans against the back wall of the moving elevator. "My family has always been wealthy, but I was an introverted kid growing up. When Ella and Rosie first met me and took me out, seeing places like this for the first time was pretty overwhelming."

The tidbit of information about her childhood makes him smile to himself at the thought of her all those years ago, content with standing on the sidelines and daydreaming about being on the ice while her peers played outside. It's strangely endearing. His first impression of her at the club was that she was an entitled, rich party girl who was used to getting everything she wants, and while part of that may be true, there are other qualities of hers that shine brighter.

Her hand squeezes his tighter when the elevator comes to a gentle stop at the top floor of the tall building.

This is it. Soon, they will be hanging out with her friends and lying to them, having to touch and flirt and maybe even kiss as though they're together. A small amount of dread rises within her at the thought of it. The concept of a man touching her and kissing her is both nerve-wracking and thrilling. She thinks that if it were another man, she wouldn't be able to stomach it, but it's Harry. Even though he's little more than an acquaintance, there's a sense of safety felt when she's around him. It could be a result of how they met that day on the train platform, but, either way, she's thankful to have him by her side.

The elevator doors open with a ding, and she's already shifted into friend mode. Her hand holds onto his tightly as she feigns confidence and drags him through the groups of people to the place Rosie told her to go. They enjoy hanging out by the edge of the building to the left of the bar where you can look out at the skyline.

He can tell by the looks on their faces that they hadn't truly believed they'd seen him here.

One of the friends he recognizes from the club, the one with pretty brown eyes and bottle-blonde hair, is the first to greet them. Rather than tackle her in an embrace as per usual, she gives them space seeing that they're holding onto each other already.

"Y/N, you look radiant! I love that dress," the woman says, then looks at him. "And you must be Harry?" He nods, and she holds out her hand to shake his free one. "Rosie. It's nice to meet the guy who's stealing allll of her free time from us!"

His throat bobs with a thick swallow as he remembers the true reason he's here. To give her an alibi for the time she spends at therapy during the week when she would otherwise be hanging with them.

He takes her hand and gives it a firm shake.

"Guilty as charged," Harry says.

The next friend comes up and offers her a hug with one arm, bringing her in close to cradle her head on her shoulder like a mother would to a child. Ella, he thinks without room for doubt. This woman is the only one who knows about Y/N's breakdown as well as their ruse. She doesn't feel the need to say anything. Words aren't needed with them. All they need is a quick hug to convey their feelings and thoughts to each other before pulling away to allow their last friend a turn with them.

Anna stops in front of them and reaches out for Y/N's free hand. Giving it a few squeezes, she can't help but smile and say, "I've missed you too much."

Her gaze then shifts to him.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," she says and looks back and forth between the two of them. "I never thought our sweet Fi would find a guy she'd go crazy for."

He was briefed on this too—the shock that'd be a common theme among the group of girls due to her never having shown an interest in dating before. It would mean they'd be protective too, he realized earlier today, so he tries to be as friendly and nonchalant as possible. The last thing he wants is to give them a reason to dislike him.

"It's nice to meet you too. She's told me so much about you guys," he says.

This seems to please them enough. From behind Anna's back, Rosie makes eye contact with Y/N and raises her brows in pretend shock at how much they like him. The sight of it makes him breathe a little easier as the seconds go by, knowing that the hardest part is over now that they've been introduced. All of them stare expectantly at them for the next few seconds, then Y/N breaks the silence.

"We're gonna go get drinks. Be right back!"

He's being dragged around again before he has the chance to wave goodbye to Rosie, who was waving excitedly at him like a puppy faced with a potential new friend. People move out of her way without anything having to be said, and he finds that quite intriguing. The power she wields without ever saying a word is wild to him. All it takes is a smile and a confident stride for everyone to make a path for the gorgeous woman in a little strapless dress. Its shade of midnight blue shimmers under the dim lighting of the bar, bringing out the subtle aspect of the glitter mixed into the fabric.

The line at the bar is merely a few people long, so it doesn't take more than a couple moments for them to reach it. Her fingers curl around the edge of the bar to steady herself against it as she leans forward to tell the bartender what she wants over the volume of people chatting throughout the room. Music plays over loudspeakers on the other side of the room, a DJ positioned behind a computer, and the song is decent. At least it doesn't make him want to rip out his eardrums.

Once she's finished ordering her virgin cocktail, a tap on his shoulder brings him out of his people-watching trance and back to her face. The coral blush brushed over her cheeks gives her a demure, coquettish look, and though his heart beats for another, not even he can resist the gravitational pull she has on everyone around her.

"Want anything?"

He shrugs.

This causes her to turn back around to face the man behind the bar and ask, "A Jack and Coke for my friend here, please?"

The second the bartender turns to make it, she leans back against the bar to face him and holds his hand in both of hers for the sake of appearing as couple-y as possible for her friends watching across the room.

"How'd I do?" she asks. "Was I even a little close to guessing what you drink? You kinda seem like a Jack and Coke guy."

He shakes his head.

"I don't mind Jack and Coke, but I'm more of a tequila man."

"Neat or on the rocks?"

"Neat."

She nods in approval, toying with the rings decorating the hand connected with hers. The softness of her touch is something he never expected to enjoy, but he does. Even if it isn't real, it feels nice after years of loving Lola from afar with nothing in return.

Without looking over his shoulder to check if the girls are looking in their direction, he steps forward to invade her space, one arm sliding around her waist to pull her body flush against his. He can tell by how she stiffens against him that she hadn't expected it, but she adjusts rather quickly and throws her arms around his broad shoulders like she would with someone she's actually dating. Their lips are inches apart, so close that they can feel the heat of each other's exhales.

Harry brushes his nose against hers affectionately, and it's such an intimate, tender gesture, she doesn't know what to do other than savor the thrill it sends down her spine.

"You're good at this," she whispers after a second. "I guess I should just follow your lead since I don't do this a lot."

Ever, actually. The correct thing to say would be that she doesn't do this ever, but it's far too embarrassing to admit it aloud. It's hard not to feel like a failure of sorts regarding her pathetic attempts at finding a romantic partner. At one point, she did try. She downloaded dating apps and met a few guys, but every time she wanted something real with them, she heard her mom scolding her in the back of her head. She heard her dad accusing her of being pregnant when she was fifteen because he caught her holding hands with her middle school boyfriend.

The differences between how she and her brother were treated regarding relationships and sex growing up affected her more than she thought it had, and it wasn't until she began talking about it in group therapy at the hospital that she realized there was a reason behind her discomfort with intimacy.

Sensing some sort of conflict in her, he says softly, "I won't kiss you unless you ask me to, Y/N. Don't worry." A pause, then a slight chuckle. "You don't seem like the making out in public type anyway."

The smile drops from her face.

"Is that a challenge?"

And, with that, the confidence evident in his expression slowly fades at the pressure of being put on the spot. Suddenly, he doesn't feel like the experienced one between the two of them. Y/N has a way of doing that, of making him flustered and bashful like a touch-starved virgin. He rationalizes it, though. He reasons with himself and thinks that it's merely a physical reaction to an attractive person, not anything real. It's nothing to feel guilty over. It's not like you can betray someone who isn't even dating you, so it's nothing to lose sleep over regarding his love for Lola. He's slept with plenty of people despite having feelings for her, so what's a little kissing?

Slowly, they begin to inch their faces closer and closer until she can almost feel his lips brushing hers. He's about to close the remaining distance between them and kiss her like he had at the club on Sunday, but the bartender taps her on the shoulder before he can.

"Okay, one virgin Pina Colada and a Jack and Coke," the man says, setting the two glasses down on the bar top. "Your total is forty dollars even."

Y/N turns around in Harry's embrace to face him, giddy at how his arms remain around her waist and his chin rests on her shoulder. Her friends don't stand a chance at all. He's laying it on quite thick, and it's a wonder she doesn't bust out laughing at the sheer absurdity of the situation.

If this is how Harry behaves around someone he's dating, his eventual partner is a lucky person. She has come to find through her friends' adventures in dating that so few guys are so open with their affection unless it's in a sexual connotation like dancing or grabbing a handful of their asses. He, however, doesn't grope her anywhere or push at the limits of what's decent. He just holds her, and she knows Rosie will never let her hear the end of it.

She holds out her credit card between her index and middle finger for the bartender to take with a polite, "Thank you."

They take their drinks and sip from them as Trent, if the name tag on his shirt is to be believed, swipes her card and slides it back across the countertop to her with the receipt folded around it. It's stuffed back into her small shoulder bag before she's too enamored with her drink to forget it.

The sweet flavor of the mocktail is heavenly on her taste buds, and she has to let her head roll back onto Harry's shoulder in overdramatic appreciation of it. Pina Coladas used to be her drink of choice when she indulged in substances. Anna would tease her for never switching up her order or trying something new, but she paid it no mind. She sat at whatever table or bar they went to and sipped it happily until she was giggling from being tipsy.

"I'm assuming it's good?" Harry asks sarcastically. "You're literally moaning."

She turns her head to look at him with furrowed brows, saying, "Yes, it is amazing, and you can't blame me. My love affair with this drink has been long and passionate. You wouldn't understand 'cause you go for straight tequila and don't like fun drinks like me."

The burning stares of her friends watching them from the corner of the room are felt by them both, and it suddenly hits her what they're doing. Is she a terrible person? Lying to them like this, keeping them in the dark, and bringing Harry into it too—does this make her morally unjust? It's hard for her to distinguish the line between self-hatred and criticism, so as she thinks it over, she can't help but batter herself bloody for doing something wrong.

From the feeling of her body tensing up in his grasp alone, he can tell that something is wrong, and without having the insight of knowing her thoughts, he fears that he's taken things too far. Maybe he should've eased up on the physical contact, maybe she hadn't fully thought it through. After all, she did say she doesn't date. What if this is making her uncomfortable?

He murmurs to her, "Are you okay?"

There's a heavy sigh sinking her chest.

"I guess," she says, "I just—Do you think I'm a terrible person?"

Everything—his train of thought, the hammering of his heart in his chest as he wondered what he did wrong, and how he sips on his drink—stops short.

"What are you talking about?"

The way she asked it snapped his heart in two. It doesn't matter that he barely knows her, or that he did, in fact, initially think she was a bad person after their interaction in the alleyway, the guilt present in her voice was heartbreaking. Suddenly, he feels the strange need to look after her. Not for any reason other than the fact that he can see how broken she is, and there's only one other person in her life who knows what's happening with her. She needs him, he realizes. She needs someone to talk her out of hating herself. Because if she continues on like this, if she keeps berating herself to the extent where everything becomes her fault, she'll revert right back into the state of mind that made her want to jump in the first place.

She ignored him for a second in favor of taking another sip of Pina Colada before saying, "I don't know. I wasn't just thinking about how I'm lying to them, and I don't know if that makes me a bad person."

Y/N takes this as her chance to wriggle out of his grasp to walk back to her friends, but he stops her. His arm around her waist tugs her back, and he doesn't let her leave until she hears what he has to say. If she asked for his opinion, then let her have it.

"Look at me," he says, and she does. Now that he knows he has her attention, he has no issues speaking his mind. "Don't do that to yourself. I know I don't know much about you or them, but it's not your fault that you were put in this situation. If they love you, they'll forgive you, even if you are a stuck-up rich girl."

This stuns her to silence.

It's hard for her to think, let alone speak, a response to this because of the unashamed honesty in the statement. It's the type of honesty only someone new in your life can have when speaking to you, and she's surprised to find that she likes it. He's not treating her any differently than someone unaware of her situation would, and she could kiss him for it.

She smiles softly.

"I may be a stuck-up rich girl, but I'm your favorite stuck-up rich girl, so I feel kinda accomplished there."

The sound of him letting out a huff of laughter widens the smile on her face, and he slides his arm out from around her waist to take her hand in his.

"Would my favorite stuck-up rich girl like to dance with me?" he asks, then his voice quiets for a second, a touch more serious. "Not because your friends are watching. Just 'cause we're friends and I want to dance with you."

The words echo in her mind on repeat. I want to dance with you. I want to dance with you. I want to dance with you—

Downing the rest of the Pina Colada in a few big mouthfuls, she sets the empty glass back onto the bar top and gestures for him to chug the rest of his drink as well. He does so without protest and tries to ignore the fact that he's not savoring the twenty-dollar drink. Although, it's not like she loses any sleep over spending twenty dollars at the bar. As she starts to pull him off in the direction of where people dance together, the empty glass is placed beside hers and left for the bartender less than a few minutes after he served them.

He follows her through the small clusters of people, and his eyes follow from their connected hands up the length of her arm, admiring the beauty of the bare skin exposed by her strapless dress. The song switches once they're midway to the area where a few couples and groups of friends are dancing, and the second Y/N hears the new song, she stops and faces her friends with a slack jaw.

She calls out to them from across the room and lures them over with her arms making grand, sweeping gestures begging them to come over. Rosie, as expected, is the first to follow them out to the middle of the room, and it doesn't take long before her other friends follow suit.

Madonna's voice croons at them over the speakers as the girls, with Harry standing behind Y/N's back, sing along and dance together. It almost makes him smile. To see her having fun and laughing with her friends is a gift. It's a long way from where she was when they met, if only for the moment. Tomorrow, she could easily revert to the state she was in a moment ago, but not right now.

"I close my eyessss," Rosie sings to Anna, face cupped in her hands, "Heaven help me!"

Anna sings the next lyric back to her, "When you call my name, it's like a little prayer! I'm down on my knees"—she sinks to her knees dramatically for the sake of making the girls giggle—"I wanna take you there!"

Ella holds Y/N's hands and raises them above their heads as they swirl their hips to the rhythm of the song, and he can't do much other than watch from behind her back. He reaches to grab onto her hips with his hands, but, before he can, someone reaches between them to tap her shoulder.

She whirls around to see who it is, and as soon as she sets eyes on the man standing there, Harry has a bad feeling. That wasn't a warm, inviting look. It was more of an, "Oh shit, I didn't expect to see you," type of thing. When Harry first sees him, he isn't intimidated. The man looks younger than him, as well as shorter, and has the overall demeanor of a high schooler with an overinflated sense of self-importance.

"Owen," she says with a noticeable lack of enthusiasm. "It's so funny running into you."

The other girls continue to dance, but they both can feel them eyeing him up out of the corners of their eyes. If the way they regard him has anything to say about it, Harry would wager a lot of money on everyone hating Owen. Those beady little eyes of his are locked onto Y/N's cleavage, and it becomes all too clear to him what the issue is without needing anyone to say it aloud.

If this isn't the perfect opportunity to prove himself as her fake boyfriend, he doesn't know what is.

His arm curls back around her waist and sits comfortably, his hand resting on the southernmost point of her back to the point where he's almost grabbing her ass. It's a gesture he saw many times with Lola and her ex-boyfriends whenever someone came over to check her out, so he figures it'll work in this scenario.

"S'nice to meet you," Harry says with a smile and extends his hand for the man to shake. "I'm Harry."

In her eyes, he can see the relief and the gratitude she has for him saving her from this. It tells him that she'll explain later, but thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

The other man doesn't even take the hand he offers, so he lets his fall back to his side without another word.

Owen says, "You're really going out with this dude? C'mon, you can't just lead a guy on and then ghost him."

On the tip of her tongue are the words she doesn't say, words telling him that the reason he was ghosted was due to that traumatic day in June. She wants to throw it in his face so badly, but she doesn't. Anna and Rosie are too close for her to do it without them hearing and asking questions, so she simply stares daggers at him for a second or so before deciding what she's going to do.

"Actually, I can."

She turns her back on him.

Two soft hands flatten against Harry's chest to push him away from where the other man stands until they're on the other side of her friends, who're all quick to build a wall between them and him. It makes him laugh when she ignores him so bluntly, not even deigning to offer anything more than those three words. But he doesn't get the chance to look at Owen's face for a reaction. His face is behind turned away by the guidance of a smaller hand grasping him by the chin, and he has little time to think before her lips are on his.

This time, he is the one who stands there in shock for a second before kissing back. Perhaps it's payback for the unexpected kiss at the strip club, but, even if it is, he enjoys it. He likes this form of payback more than she'll ever know, not because he loves her the way he loves Lola but because of what it's doing to Owen. Putting men like that in their place is always a delight no matter how the job is done.

The bridge of the song explodes into the joyous sound of a choir parroting the lyrics sung earlier during the chorus, and he quickly goes from standing still in shock to kissing her back. Fervently. His hands squeeze her hips hard enough to bruise the soft skin beneath the fabric and uses them to bring their bodies closer together. If she thought that the kiss at the club where he worked was dizzying, then she was in for a shock. That was the least of his capabilities.

She hears her friends, likely all of them if she has to guess, whooping and cheering as they kiss one another as though they'll die if they don't. His tongue brushes against her lower lip in a request for permission, and, just like that, her lips fall open for him. The flavor of the Jack and Coke lingering on his tongue as it invades her mouth is pleasant. It makes her kiss him harder and push her tongue into his mouth for a better taste, using it to pretend like she's desperate and needy for him.

They keep kissing, blind to everything around them, until long after Owen has left. Feeling her body pressed up against his stirs the sensation of arousal in between her thighs that she has never felt so strongly when seeking pleasure by herself. This is what inevitably causes her to force herself off of him, hands braced on his shoulders, to look over at the empty spot where Owen once stood.

As soon as they part, Ella and Rosie are grabbing them by the wrists and pulling them into the group to dance. Anna shouts over the thumping music to tell Harry how amazing it was to see someone put "the stalker" in his place for once, but he doesn't respond with anything other than a laugh she hardly hears. The other girls are too busy trying to dance with them to allow them a spare second to speak.

His hands never leave Y/N's hips as they sway and sing along together. Ella is in front of her, as per usual, and her arms are draped over her shoulders to dance with her from the front while he moves behind her. Smushed between Harry and Ella's bodies, she grinds her ass against him and matches her friend's movements flawlessly, which, she thinks, is one perk of being an ice dancer. She never fumbles when it comes to dancing with her friends on nights out.

She throws her hands up in the air as she chants to the song with the rest of them, "Just like a prayer, I'll take you there!" and allows her arms to then fall back around his neck. It keeps him from pulling away, not that he wants to, and he guides her hips to move similarly to how he's supposed to for the salacious choreography of their free dance.

At this moment, she smiles—a genuine, true smile—for the first time in weeks, and it's all because of tonight's success. Because of Harry and how well he's doing with her friends. So, she lets herself be happy for now.

Even if it is a lie.

Thanks for reading! Let me know if you enjoyed this :)

#harry styles #harry styles smut #harry styles x reader #fanfiction #one direction #tw suicide #tw mental illness

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