#so going to lean fully in just getting a better hang of paper/screen to pen til going back to that

[notllorstel]

1st wave of left hand speedrun art~

Started this to get back in the groove since way way behind my left hand art batches (started in July 2018), but thinking of doing more waves til my sketching level is closer to my dominant hand (with bonus line art training). Aim to keep it under 30 mins per doodle (forbidden to go over an hour) and do as often as able (minimum a wave per a month).

Also while doing this, reminded me a friend got me a T-shirt with Coran face on it as a gift, but forgot due to it not looking at it cause it was a lil unnerving in its lineless and noseless style. So finally tried to fix that with a sharpie ;P

[thekingslover]

Jetski For Sale (Lokius fic)

He stops riding the jetski.

He keeps it on the small trailer at the end of his driveway beside his modest split-level home and covers it with a blue tarp.

Every morning, in his brown button-up pajamas and a bathrobe, he walks to the end of the driveway and collects the morning paper. He’s careful to hold his coffee mug steady as he leans down, but he always manages to spill a drop or two. His slippers are covered in tiny coffee spots.

He tucks the newspaper under his arm and turns back toward his house. He left the television on; through the window, the screen flashes with the bright white letters, Breaking News! Two houses down, his neighbor is already out mowing the lawn. Further away, a dog barks.

Though he lives alone, it’s a perfect life. Everything’s simple. His mortgage is affordable. His brown sedan is paid off. And the jetski...

He doesn’t remember buying it. He always wanted one, dreamed of it. He had a savings set aside for someday. Yet... his savings is still there, and he still has this jetski.

He looks at it now, at the way it bulges under the tarp. A shame to leave it like that. He should take it out again. But the last time he did that...

Shaking his head, he walks back to the house. He drinks his coffee and reads his newspaper. He goes to work, comes home, goes to sleep, and does it all again the next day.

“Something’s different about you,” his sister says on the phone, their weekly call. “You sound different.”

“Same old me.” He’s good at keeping back his feelings and pushing forward the cheer.

She knows, though. Older sisters always seem to. “Are you sure you haven’t been seeing anyone lately?”

This sends him laughing. “A secret boyfriend? Come on, you have quite an imagination on you.”

“Laugh all you want,” she says, stern. She’s not backing down, though her voice does soften as she adds, “It’s only that you... Well, you sound... heartbroken.”

“That’s...” He should deny it. He hasn’t dated anyone in a good long while, but, well, now that she mentions it... He’s had his heart broken before, long ago, and it felt a little something like this. Like something crucial is suddenly missing. Like you spent so much time learning someone and adapting to them, shaping whole parts of your life around them, and then they are just... gone.

There’s a person-sized hole in his life now, but he can’t quite remember their shape.

No, that can’t be.

“That’s crazy,” he says, thinking, maybe I’m crazy.

“Why don’t you come visit us for a while?” she says. “The kids would love to see you.”

“Yeah,” he says, shaky. “Yeah, maybe that’s a good idea. Tell them I love them. Love you too.” Then he hangs up.

*

That night, he lays on his back in bed and stares at the ceiling, afraid to look to his right. He used to sleep sprawled across the entire width of the bed, a true bachelor enjoying his bachelorhood. When did he start picking one side?

He turns over, facing away from the barren expanse of the rest of the mattress, but the bookshelf offers little comfort. Most of his books are about history, biographies on interesting characters from the past. There’s a couple of jetski magazines wedged in, too. But what catches his eye... He remembers buying it, knows he did, the morning after watching a documentary on the perception of time and space. The documentarian had written a book. The Mobius Strip.

Frowning, he doesn’t find any sleep that night, no matter how many long minutes he closes his eyes, or how many sheep he tries to count in his head.

Mobius.

It’s a mathematical theory. Not a name. But it wedges between his ribs and stays buried behind them.

He’s not even a maths guy! But he can’t shake it. It feels heavy, too important.

He tosses and turns. He reaches out to the other side of the bed, realizes its empty, and snaps upright, dread overtaking him for one sharp moment before he remembers that its supposed to be empty.

This is normal. This is his perfect little life.

He flops back into bed and runs a hand down his face. Maybe he should go visit his sister, before he fully loses his mind.

*

His hands shake the next morning when he walks out to get the newspaper at the end of the driveway. Half his coffee spills when he leans to pick it up, but its fine. Maybe he should give up coffee entirely. Maybe too much caffeine is his problem.

He doesn’t know what’s wrong with him.

Turning towards the house, he spots the jetski, there under the blue tarp. The mysterious jetski that he doesn’t remember buying. The one, when he’s out on it, he sits too far forward, like he’s making space for someone behind him. But there’s no one there. There’s never anyone there.

The jetski, he decides, was the start of his problems. Maybe if he... If he...

Storming back into the house, he leaves what’s left of his coffee in the sink and the newspaper forgotten on the counter, and hurries into the office. He rips off a long sheet of dot matrix printer paper. Biting off the cap of his pen, he scribbles on it in large block letters, all caps, FOR SALE.

Back in the driveway, he removes the chocks from behind the wheels of the trailer, and flips off the tarp. He wheels the trailer and the jetski to the end of the driveway, right up against the road.

He must look like a mad man, out there in his brown button-up pajamas and coffee-stained slippers. The neighbor’s mowing the lawn. The dog’s barking further away. Everything’s perfect in this perfect little neighborhood, this perfect little life. But he feels like he is going insane.

He slaps the for sale sign on the front of the jetski, and starts back for the house. The sooner that thing is out of his life... Maybe... Maybe things would go back to normal.

His heart pangs in a way he doesn’t understand. Heartache. So much heartache. Why?

Does he even want normal?

But if not that, then what? What is he missing?

He’s at his front door, hand on the doorknob, when someone politely coughs behind him. He pauses a moment, there’s no way someone is there... But when he glances over his shoulder - yeah. Someone’s behind him, only a few feet away.

Not just someone. The most gorgeous person he has ever seen, wearing a sleek black suit and a pair of sunglasses. Long dark hair is slicked back and pushed behind their ears.

He should probably feel self-conscious, standing there in his brown pajamas in front of this god of a person - probably a model - but he doesn’t. Strangely, he feels more at ease now than he has in weeks. His whole body relaxes like he finally exhaled a held breath.

But that doesn’t make sense. They’ve never met. He would remember.

He would never forget a face like that.

“Hello,” the person says, and the word tremors slightly.

“Hello.” It tremors when he says it too.

There’s no car on the road. No bicycle on the sidewalk. However this person got here, it’s like they dropped down from the sky.

The person clears their throat. “You’re selling the jetski?”

“You...” He blinks. He knew jetskis were popular - hell, they are the best - but he hadn’t expected an offer before he even got his pants on. “Yeah. You interested?”

“Yes, I...” They drop their head a moment, taking their time to think. When they lift their head again, their shoulders lift too, like they are preparing for a battle.

He supposes negotiations can be seen as a battle, but he can’t bring himself to match the person’s pose. He’s ready to give up the jetski for free at this point. Whatever gets it gone.

The person asks, “What’s wrong with it?”

“Nothing’s wrong with it. It runs like a dream.”

“Then why get rid of it?”

His heart hurts, so he laughs through the pain. It’s silly, but he can’t help feel his sister was right. This person wouldn’t know either way, so he finds himself telling them, “I’m heartbroken.”

The person goes very still. Their mouth opens and they take in a shaky, noisy breath. When they say, “What?” the word is bone dry and crumbling.

“It’s something we did together... I think.” He’s making it up, but it feels right. So he keeps talking. “And now. Well. It kinda reminds me of... I’m pretty sure I forgot a lot of things, but I can’t forget that. There’s supposed to be someone else. And I can’t... I can’t...”

He’s not making any sense, but the person is hanging on every single word.

“Anyway,” he says. “I’ll let it go cheap. Too many memories... or... I don’t know, feelings?” He sighs. “Just make me an offer, okay? I have to get ready for work.”

He wants nothing more than to keep this beautiful person on his doorstep, but... well, life isn’t always about getting what you want. This person wants a jetski, he has one. A transaction will occur, and this person will move forward like he never existed.

He’ll be left behind again.

Again?

Now, he’s the one to stand a little straighter. “Do you ever get deja vu?”

“Deja vu?”

“You know, where you feel like you’ve lived an exact moment already, once before. I’ve been reading this book about mobius strips and...” There’s that pang again, in his chest. A subtle ache that is swelling. He wants to ignore it, like he always has, but he’s finding he can’t really anymore. “Don’t you think that’d be a cool name? Mobius. Mobius M. Mobius.” He laughs, and it hurts. It hurts.

The person doesn’t laugh. Instead, they take a small step back. “I shouldn’t have come here.”

His laughter dies quickly. It wasn’t real anyway. “You don’t want the jetski?”

“I do,” the person says with naked longing. “More than anything.”

“Then its yours.” He shrugs. “You know, it kinda feels like it was already yours? Like, maybe its just been waiting around for you to show up and claim it.”

The person shakes their head. “It’s better off without me. It finally has a chance to... to... live the way you - it deserves...”

“I mean, that’s a nice thought. But in practice... wouldn’t it be better for jetskis to decide for themselves the kind of lives they want? Whose to say that their life before was all that great? Because let me tell you, this perfect little normal life I’m living? Kinda sucks.” He doesn’t really understand what he’s saying, but the words still fall out of him, like ripping a scab off an old wound and all the blood starts running again.

The person takes another step back, but this time, he follows, taking a step forward. Somehow, it feels crucial that he not let this person leave him behind again.

There, another again. What is he not remembering?

“There’s something terribly wrong with all this,” he says. “I’m forgetting something important, but whatever it is - whoever - I don’t think I can be happy without them. Not really. Not in any way that matters.”

“Mobius...” the person says, soft, under their breath. Stronger, “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

And the dam breaks.

“I know exactly what I’m saying, Loki.” The name, that name. How could he forget that name?

The person - Loki - exhales again, watery this time.

“Maybe if we never met, this would be enough. Maybe it was once. But not anymore. Never again. Not since you. And not even your little mind hocus pocus could change that.”

Mobius takes another step forward. This time, Loki does not move back. They stay just as they are and let Mobius close the distance. Mobius lifts his hands to Loki’s face and slowly removes those sunglasses. Loki’s eyes have always been the most expressive - the easiest to read. No wonder they would try to hide them. Because now they shine with sorrow and regret and... love. So much love.

And that, Mobius knows, is exactly what he’s been looking for when he reaches out to the empty space beside him on the bed. When he sits in his kitchen and stares at the pulled-out chair across the table. When he rides his jetski and turns, ready to laugh with the missing person behind him.

“I’m not angry,” Mobius says, tossing the sunglasses aside. He takes one of Loki’s hands in his. Loki grips hard onto his fingers. “I understand why you did it. It’s kind of flattering really, to know you’d give up your own happiness to try to give me mine. But there was a very big problem with this latest Loki scheme.”

“What’s that?” Loki asks in a whisper.

Mobius gives them a smile. The first real one since they parted. “You’re unforgettable.”

Loki laughs once, a burst, like they’ve been holding something in and now its escaping. The hard lines of their face smooth out. And they look less like a frightened, broken shadow and more like themselves, god of mischief, with a small but growing smirk. “Of course. I suppose I should have considered that.”

“Big flaw. Ruined the whole thing, to be honest.”

Loki leans closer. “I hate to admit to fault, but I fear there was a second issue that I had not considered.”

“Oh, yeah? What’s that?”

“Your absolute stubbornness.”

“Stubborn? Me? You should look in the mirror, pal.”

Loki closes their eyes a moment. Mobius studies the planes of their perfect face, and wonders how, in all the infinite timelines, he ever forgot it. 

“Loki,” Mobius says. “Do me a favor, though, huh? Don’t do this again. I... uh, well. It wasn’t the most fun for me.”

“Me, either.” Loki presses their forehead to Mobius’s. “I regretted every moment, but I... The TVA stole you from your life. I wanted to -”

“I know, I get it. I’m not mad. But communication is key to a relationship, yeah? So maybe next time you want to do a grand gesture of love for me, we should talk about it first?”

Loki leans back. They blink. But it’s not the love that trips them up, it’s, “Relationship?”

Mobius runs his hands along Loki’s arms, up to the shoulders and back down to the elbows. “Yeah. I mean, we’re partners, right?”

“Partners.” Loki doesn’t say the word with disgust, more... intrigue.

“Boyfriends?” Mobius tries.

“Boyfriends.” Loki frowns at that one.

“Lovers?”

Loki’s eyes are bright and full of wonder. How they could look at Mobius, someone so normal, like that... well. Loki makes Mobius feel like a god himself, no wonder he couldn’t go back to his old life.

“Lovers,” Loki says and kisses Mobius. Mobius smiles against their lips. Lovers, it is, then.

Kiss turns to kisses, and they linger. It’s right, so right that it further amplifies how wrong everything else was before. Mobius belongs here. Right here. With Loki. Forever, if possible.

When they break, they both laugh, and it’s light and true this time, for both of them.

“Hey, Loki,” Mobius says. “Want to buy a jetski?”

Loki pulls an annoyed face, but its all an act - Mobius sees right through it, and Loki’s not trying that hard to hide it. “I believe I’m the one who acquired that jetski for you. You have no right to sell it.”

“It was a gift,” Mobius says.

“It remains a gift. One I insist you keep.”

“Alright, alright,” Mobius laughs and Loki kisses him at the corner of his smile. “But only if you promise to keep me.”

“Oh, dear Mobius.” Loki brings their mouth to Mobius’s ear. “I hope you appreciated this display of selflessness, because I will not be repeating it.”

“Good.”

“I am a selfish god.”

“Uh, huh.”

Loki’s arms grip tightly around Mobius’s waist. “And from here to eternity, I will be keeping what’s mine.”

The last remaining knots in Mobius’s chest untangle. “And the jetski.”

“And the jetski,” Loki says and kisses him again.

[miastideclock]

Stray Kids Reaction To Their S/O Being Shy About Their Singing-Talents

anon asked:

Can you do stray kids reaction to their s/o being a good rapper and singer but they get shy and have low confidence? - 🐻💙

Of course love! I hope you like it x So sorry for the wait! While we're here, I just wanna say I'm sorry for the length difference of the individual reactions! * y/n/n is what i use for your nickname btw

Word Count: 3.5k-ish

Bang Chan

Silence. At least for the most part. You clicking the keyboard of your computer, Chan humming slightly as he clicked around on his own, as well as twisting and turning the dials on his audio mixer, connected to said computer. The sounds had sort of blended into the silence though, so neither of you really noticed it at this point.

A click louder than all of the others soon came from Chan's computer, meaning he was going to connect his progress to the speakers of his studio, so he could fully take in the track he was working on. He had played it what seemed like a million times already, but you didn't mind. You were already so phased out that he could be announcing the break up of Stray Kids', and you honestly wouldn't even catch it.

The familiar beat of their upcoming title track boomed through the speakers, and as if on autopilot, you sang along. You had heard the beginning of that very song so many times now, the lyrics were as good as engraved into the inside of your eyelids.

Once the first verse and chorus were over, the song stopped, as did you. It was when the song didn't play again you finally snapped out of your computer-trance. You shifted your eyes from the screen over to your boyfriend who was sitting on the other side of the room.

"Y/n."

You then realized you had been singing along, and probably not as quiet as you had thought. "Oh! I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to distract you. I'll keep quiet." You quickly apologized.

You were hanging out with your boyfriend, yes- but he was still at work, and you'd hate to be the reason for him switching out of his creative-mode.

"No! No, no, don't worry. You're just so good? How come I have never heard you sing before?" Chan grinned as he turned his spinny-chair to face you and fell back into it, looking at you with admiration.

You had been sitting on the floor with your back against the seat of the couch, so the coffee table by the mentioned couch had your laptop at shoulder-height, meaning you had to close the screen of your computer to see your boyfriend. Once you had done so, you moved your hands up to your face, covering your cheeks.

"I don't like the attention. I hate it when people look at me like- exactly like you're doing now, stop!" You giggled when Chan leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He decided to mess around with you and started staring you down. You laughed and begged him to stop, but the more you did, the more intensely he stared at you- until he eventually cracked, sending you both into fits of laughter.

Lee Know

"First things first rest in peace Uncle Phil."

The music blared from your headphones straight into your head, being the only thing keeping you motivated as you did some housework. Seeing as you were mopping when the J.Cole song started playing, you figured the handle would prove to be the perfect microphone.

"For real, you the only father that I ever knew." You continued, singing and rapping along while shaking your butt and cleaning the floor. Maybe not the world's most efficient cleaning strategy, but my-oh-my did it get the job done.

Due to the loud volume in your headphones, you didn't hear the front door open and shut, as your boyfriend came home for the day.

Minho didn't even get the chance to put down his bag before his attention was completely wrapped around you having a concert in your living-room. He quickly recognized the song and let his head bob along to the beat, even though he could only hear you rapping, and not the song itself. He kicked off his shoes and placed his things on the ground before he slowly made his way into the living-room, doing a little boogie as he did so.

It wasn't until you finally turned around almost a minute later you saw your boyfriend joking around, dancing to your rapping. You instantly dropped the mop and let out a little scream as he startled you, covering your face with your hands once you saw it was just him.

"Minho! What are you doing?" You cried out in embarrassement after removing your headphones. Minho couldn't help but chuckle at you before he came closer and gave you a kiss-hello.

"Y/n, I never knew you had such voice-control! You've never rapped in front of me before, why?" He asked when he pulled away, his arms still wrapped around your waist, but his face a few inches away from yours.

"Because you're an actual rapper in an actual band!! That's like showing Michelangelo your drawing!" You argued back, a massive smile on your face. Minho then continued to shower you in compliments, making you hide your blushing face from him by burying it into his chest.

Changbin

The kitchen had all kinds of different smells as you were stirring the pot of soup you had on the stove in front of you. The kitchen-window was open, letting in a fresh spring breeze, and the radio was playing a familiar song.

"Hold me close and hold me fast The magic spell you cast This is La Vie En Rose." You softly sang along, your body swaying back and forth to the tune. You continued to sing along as you used the wooden-spoon to stir around, making sure it didn't burn.

(bro, i think i fucked up my sOUP)

"Hey, Y/n/n." It suddenly came from the doorway to the kitchen, instantly causing you to stop singing and spin around. "Hi, Binnie." You gave him a smile and then turned back around, squeezing your eyes shut, only for a second- as if you were trying to erase the past ten seconds. You hoped the radio was louder than your voice, but that hope soon came crashing down.

"No, why'd you stop?" He asked as he placed a few sheets of paper on the table and continued over to you. You started smiling like an idiot for a second before you raised your hands to cover your face. Chanbin noticed and chuckled as he came up behind you and wrapped his arms around you. "Don't be shy!"

He then spun you around so you were facing him, but your hands still covered your face. This made Changbin just chuckle even more. He tried to jokingly pry your hands from your face, but you just shoved your head into his shoulder so he wouldn't be able to grab you properly. You either couldn't help but chuckle as you messed around, but quickly stopped once you remembered you were cooking.

You turned around to keep stirring your soup, Changbin never let go of you. "But tell me, why have I never heard you sing before when your voice is THAT good?" He asked, but you ignored him.

"For real?" He tried again, but you pretended he didn't say anything.

"Would you like some soup?" You asked him, turning slightly to look at him. He seemed amused, but he just nodded, accepting your choice of lunch.

Hyunjin

Hot water poured down your back, the whole shower smelling like your body wash. You had just gotten back from a run and decided to clean up a bit before Hyunjin came back from work. So after getting out of your leggings and hoodie, you had grabbed your speaker and headed for the washroom.

Knowing Hyunjin wasn't home, you qued the best of the best from your playlist, getting ready to absolutely shred the imaginary rap battles you were about to have. Banger after banger played as you sang into your microphone. Your mic being an empty shampoo bottle you had yet to throw out.

You were mid-shampoo when Streets by Doja Cat played, and you almost slipped and fell while hurriedly reaching for your microphone.

"Damn, papi, you a rare breed, no comparing." You borderline yelled, as if you had just gotten out of a failed relationship where you still loved your partner, when in fact that wasn't your case at all. You were very much in love with your boyfriend, and you were on great terms- but for the sake of your rap battle, you had to get into it.

"When other chickens tryna get in my coop 'Cause you're a one in a million There ain't no man like you!" Not to toot your own horn or anything, but you could confidently say you absolutely bodied that verse, and you were soon let know you weren't the only one who thought so.

(I don't actually think he is the one to cuss, but this is simply because I cannot think of another way to say it, so for the lack of a better word:) "Fuck it up, baby!" You heard Hyunjin hype you up on the other side of the bathroom door, making your stomach drop for a second.

"You're not supposed to be home yet." You answered him after turning off the speaker, and the shower. You stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around you, then went to open the door.

"Well, I had to hurry home when I heard the rap God themselves was having a concert in our bathroom." Hyunjin chuckled once you opened the door with almost a shameful face. "Should I talk to JYP about getting you a rap-audition, or..?" He dragged out the last word, kind of he was taunting you, but in the most loving way possible. Feeling your cheeks grow hot, you closed the door back up and locked him out.

"I'm never leaving this bathroom." You announced as you covered your face, even though Hyunjin could no longer see you.

"Y/n/n, I was kidding! You were great though, I might actually talk to JY-" He started again, but you cut him off by groaning, causing the both of you to break out laughing.

Han

Clicking of a pen. Gentle tapping of a foot. Frustrated hair ripping. You had seen these symptoms before- that's right, Jisung was in a slump.

You were at the studio with your boyfriend, and you were both seated in the sitting group, Jisung leaning his elbows on the table, head in his hands, tugging at his hair as if it would activate his creative juices. You had tagged along just to get out of the house, and maybe Jisung needed moral support, and wouldn't you have guessed- that was exactly what he needed.

"You good?" You asked him after he let out the umpteenth sigh in the past hour. He then finally confessed he just couldn't get the ending of the second verse down. "Why don't you sing it, so you can hear what's missing, rather than just reading it?"

He did as you suggested and sang through it. When he came to the part he was talking about, you also heard it. Something about it was just kinda.. off.

You tilted your head to the side as you were thinking of ways to better it, to try and help him. An idea popped into your head, and maybe it could work- after all you were no song writer. You tried your best to explain to Jisung what it was you were thinking, but about half-way through, you could see he was as lost as that one time Chan and Changbin had accidentally left the two of you behind at IKEA.

"I'm so sorry, babe. I don't fully understand what you mean." He confessed, and you nodded, knowing well that was him being sweet about the fact that you sucked at explaining things. So in the spirit of making it easier for him to understand, you just sang it. You sang through the song and added the part you had tried to explain.

"Did that make more sense?" You asked when you were done, looking from the sheet of paper up at your boyfriend, who was sat there, his lips slightly parted as his jaw hung lose. "Jisung? Babe?" You tried to snap him back to reality as it seemed he had zoned out, but only for a moment.

"Wait, that was so good? Since when were you that good?" Jisung suddenly lit up like a Christmas tree, smiling and almost bouncing in his seat. He continued to shower you in compliments, making you feel like a turtle trying to get back into its shell.

"Stop. If you ever mention me singing again, I will throw myself out the window." You said, both humor in your tone, and being dead serious at the same time.

"Okay, dramatic much?" Jisung joked back, making you shove his shoulder as you chuckled alongside him.

Felix

A car zoomed past you as you walked on the pavement on the side of the road, admiring the spring at its full bloom. You were almost a bit disappointed when you reached your home as you wanted to continue to look at the flowers, but that thought soon fell right out of your head. As you walked up the staircase to your apartment, you heard a constant noise grow louder and louder. You were about to turn the key when you realized the noise was more rhythmic than you originally thought, and that the music was coming from inside your apartment.

Curiosity completely consumed your body when you finally opened the door, and was met with a wall of noise. You took a few steps in and shut the door behind you, protecting the outside world from the sight you had in front of you.

Felix was using a hairbrush as he jumped around both on the floor and in the couch, crying out the lyrics to a song you didn't quite recognize. You laughed at your boyfriend as you kicked off your shoes and hung your coat in the closet.

Felix finally spotted you and quickly pulled out his phone that was connected to the speakers, and changed the song. The familiar intro of your favorite song soon played, and it didn't take as much as a second before you were as hyped as Felix were. You began jumping around and dancing with him, matching his energy.

Felix screamed the lyrics into the hairbrush before he swiftly tossed you the brush, letting you pop off as well. You rapped the words perfectly into the brush, standing on the couch as your concert evolved.

The song eventually came to an end, causing the both of you to fall breathlessly to the ground, heaving for air- massive smiles on your faces. The ground was cool against your now sweaty backs. A few seconds passed before Felix spoke.

"I don't think I have ever heard you rap before." He admitted. You kept staring at the ceiling, ignoring the boy at your side for a few seconds before you decided to answer him.

"And you will never hear it again."

Both you and Felix could back the claim that he had never moved as fast as he did when you said that. He had jumped up so he was on his elbows, facing you with wide eyes.

"No!! Please! You were so good!" He cried out, making you laugh at him. You just gave him a wink before you got to your feet and went to get the groceries you had left in the hallway.

Seungmin

"How about we go in there? Maybe I can find you a shirt?" You spoke after pointing to a store.

You were currently out shopping with your boyfriend, Seungmin. He had asked you to get him an outfit, not for any special occasion of anything, just for shits and giggles. It was your favorite type of dates, the ones where you don't really plan anything, you just end up doing fun and silly things.

Seungmin nodded and you soon dragged him into the store. The layout of the shop was like any other, so you soon made your way to the back where the mens clothing was.

As you were casually roaming the racks of clothes, the speakers soon started playing one of your favorite songs, making it impossible for you to not hum along. You kept looking at the different items of clothing on your left, Seungmin behind you, looking through the clothes on your right hand side.

Soon, the song picked up, you quietly jamming along, allowing yourself to softly sing along as there were no other customers near you.

Your hand suddenly slid over a material that caught your attention. It was a green oversized tee, with some colorful and funky letters on the front. You cut yourself off to turn around and show Seungmin the shirt, asking him what he thought about the item.

You held it up, but no reply. "Seungmin?" You tried again. It was odd seeing as he was looking at you with a slight smile, yet he was not replying to your question. You then lowered the shirt and waved your hand in front of his face, snapping him out of his thoughts.

"You okay?" You asked him once he gently shook his head to re-focus his eyes. He nodded gleefully.

"Sorry, your voice was just so good that I completely forgot where we were." He admitted, giving you a look. You pursed your lips and spun on your heel, so he wouldn't see your burning cheeks.

I.N

Date night! You and boyfriend Jeongin had just been at a local restaurant for a cute night out. Nothing overly fancy, just a chance to enjoy each others company, since you both had been busy lately.

After you had paid your bill, the two of you went for a walk to enjoy the warm, evening air. With nowhere in mind, you just casually wandered down the street, your hands intertwined as you swung them back and forth, pulling and pushing at each other in a joking manner.

"Woah, when did this get here?" Jeongin suddenly asked as you passed a building with a bright neon sign hanging out front. You looked to your side to see what it was he was talking about.

Karaoke, the neon sign read. You turned back to your boyfriend and gave him a smug smile, hoping he was thinking the same as you. He returned the smile and suddenly you were being shown to a private room by the hostess.

The first few songs were just the two of you messing around, screaming ABBA into your respective microphones. At one point while picking the next song, Jeongin saw a song he really wanted to do, but as you didn't know the lyrics, you decided to sit this one out.

He belted his heart out to the tune you found unfamiliar, but you enjoyed it nonetheless. Jeongin was after all a singer in a world-renowned band- boy had talent.

The song came to an end, resulting in you giving him a standing ovation as he playfully bowed repeatedly.

"I'm your biggest fan!" You raised your hands to your mouth and pretended to be yelling it at the 'stage', like he just held a concert for thousands. You both laughed at yourselves before Jeongin announced it would be his turn to sit one out. You took that as you cue to get up from the couch and pick a song.

You were no singer, never was- never will be, at least not in public. So when you had to pick a song, you didn't care if it didn't 'fit your range', or 'suit your voice'. You picked a song you liked and ran with it.

The melody started, and you raised your mic to your lips, singing the words that were showing on the large screen in front of you. You found it wasn't as fun to sing without your boyfriend, but got through the song anyways.

As most things do, the song came to and end. You placed the mic on the table and turned around to grab a bottle of water from the fridge. Mid turn, you saw your boyfriend like you never had before. His eyes were wide and his jaw was lose.

"What?" You asked him, uncapping the water bottle and taking a swig.

"Where did that come from?" He asked, eyes still wide as dinner-plates. You raised your eyebrow in a questioning manner, as if you were asking him to elaborate. "You're an amazing singer! How have I never heard that before?"

You felt your cheeks grow hot, and your eyes instantly found the ground, suddenly too shy to look at Jeongin. He chuckled at your reaction, and leaned forward so he could reach your hand from where he was sitting. He then pulled you back so you fell to the couch, crossing your arms over your chest, your shoulders up to your ears by now.

"We have to do this more often so I can hear you sing more!" He stated as he poked your arm, trying to get you to be less shy- and somehow it worked.

Hope you liked it! Feel free to request again!

-bentley

[outofsstyles]

AU | Famous!Reader x Fashion student!Harry

☁️ FIC PAGE ☁️ PART 1 ☁️

word count: 20.3k

warnings: language

//

Sweet tea in the summer

Cross your heart, won't tell no other

And though I can't recall your face

I still got love for you

- Seven, Taylor Swift

//

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s nice.” Alice nods.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Can’t tonighttt got something...

Juls: what’s something

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

Juls: no :(

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Course.”

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

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

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

“Us?”

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

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

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

“So you want me to lie to her?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Looking back at it now, it makes sense.

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

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

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

“Were you scared?” 

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

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

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

You smile, and he smiles, too.  

//

“Why can’t we just stay in tonight?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her face lights up. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, sure, I’ll chat with him.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

H: Found this cutie while browsing todayy

H: Looks familiar? ;)

//

“That’s definitely too much.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Told you it would work out.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ouch.” Harry pouted, attempting to pull his puppy eyes to get you to budge, but you simply raised your brows at him, chewing your inner cheek to prevent a smile from growing on your face. He started to lean down to press his lips on yours but he could barely move before the doors leading outside slid open again, startling both of you, causing Harry to quickly step back.

Your sister’s face peeked up curiously from her spot at the door frame, a juvenile smile teasing at her lips at the scene she’d just interrupted.

“What do you want, Ly?”

Lyla shot you a condescending look from your harsh tone, “I’m not here for you, dumb face.” She took out her tongue, and you rolled your eyes — sometimes she’s too much of a thirteen-year-old. “Auntie Sue said you were done and Harry promised to help me with a project.”

“A project?” You raised your brows, glancing at the boy next to you who was already adorning a guilty smile on his face.

“I did promise that.”

“It’s a secret project!” Lyla’s voice raised to a higher pitch.

“Okay, then.” You sighed, looking between the two of them before setting your eyes on Harry again. The pout is clear in your voice as you speak up,

“Seems like your presence is being required.” You nod towards Harry’s vibrating phone that sits on top of the table behind the two of you.

“Oops, sorry.” He shoots you a guilty smile before reaching over his shoulder for the device.

You avert your eyes as he glances down at the screen, focusing on the sunrays that peek from between the leaves of your green fence, painting the tips of the grass gold. It’s been just over a month since your first coffee date (you only call it that for lack of a better word) and, with summer just around the corner, the days are beginning to stretch longer. The sun is still bright and proud as the afternoon meets the evening. There’s a warmth that’s not yet too insufferable, but more like welcomed after months of endless drizzle and sharp winds. 

It’s perfectly fitting for a nice lazy day like this one. 

This is the first time you got to properly have him around for the day. Despite Harry having wrapped his term just about a week ago and your agenda keeping you in London for the next few months, both your schedules only seem to have gotten tighter. You spend most of your time during the week inside the recording studio — the sessions dragging into the evening hours more often than not, as you find yourself too caught up with them. Meanwhile, Harry’s back to working his regular working hours now that Act One has officially started working on the productions for the summer season.

Surprisingly, though, you fell into a routine of sorts quite easily. You still chat every day, not limiting your communication to texting alone (though you still love receiving Harry’s random pictures throughout the day), but also making phone calls most days once both of you have finally settled in bed after long working hours. And it’s not like you’re not able to see each other with these scheduling complications, it’s only that those hangouts are limited to either weekends or early evenings. 

On the two-week mark, after you met again, you could finally take him to the proper coffee hangout that you’d promised. The cafe in question is one you’ve been going to for over a year now. A friend recommended it, and you instantly loved it for how hidden it is, and most frequented by an older audience — which means you’re able to sneak in and out with no hassle. You took Harry there on a Sunday morning, and it surprised you to find that the place is actually much closer to his flat than your house. So, after cups of iced coffee and shared muffins, you two walked all the way to his place, enjoying the laziness that allows people to sleep in as the week reaches an end.

That was one of your favorite days with him. It had been a long while since you allowed yourself to simply relax during a walk; forgetting how it feels to be aware of every corner you turn. That’s the easy thing about being with Harry, you’ve found the simple concept of relaxing. He allows you to let your guard down, to enjoy those things you’ve once taken for granted. The ones that bring a sense of normalcy that can easily be overlooked by those who don’t get to experience the other side of it. It’s something you’re sure Harry doesn’t even realize he’s brought back to your life, but you still show your silent gratitude in any way you can.

It’s what made you invite him to your house for lunch in the first place. It didn’t go unnoticed to you how most times you end up back in his flat and, as much as he repeats how he enjoys your presence there, it doesn’t stop you from feeling the slightest bit self-conscious about it. 

“Shit.” Harry mutters under his breath, his fingers tapping swiftly on the screen, a frown deepening on his face.

Raising your brows, you wait a second before speaking up, afraid of interrupting whatever it is that has him alarmed, “Everything alright?”

“Julia’s making dinner tonight.” He replies, eyes scanning the device in his hands before sighing. “Completely forgot.”

“Oh. Is it, like-” You pause, glancing down at your phone that’s left forgotten in your lap, pressing the home button to check the time. The screen lights up, letting you know it’s just around six, meaning Harry’s been over for just about seven hours now. “Shit, I’m so sorry, didn’t mean to keep you-”

“Don’t apologize.” He locks his phone, shooting a reassuring smile your way. “My fault, really. Just completely slipped off my mind.”

You nod, watching him gnawn at his bottom lip, brows meeting in a frown as he gets deep in thought. Parting your lips. You don’t let any word out at first, afraid that if you do, he’ll remember it's time for him to go back. There’s a selfish voice in your head that wants to ask him to stay a bit longer, to not part ways yet, to just call off on this dinner. But you know better than to say any of it out loud, opting to suck in your lips instead, as if the words could just slip out without your consent.

Harry sighs, and you can’t help but let your shoulders fall, knowing what’s coming. “I should get going.” He picks up his empty glass, pocketing his phone as he stands with a huff. “Julia’s not very happy that I’m late.” He chuckles. “Again.”

Laughing, you get up from your chair as well, patting the back of your thighs as you feel your skin a bit sore from sitting for so long. Before you can answer him, however, your attention snaps towards the opened door leading to your kitchen, as a small figure comes rushing towards you. You feel the soft fur against your legs before you can properly register the pup circling you. Once you realize what’s going on, as the familiar black spaniel greets you, you freeze in your spot, glancing from the dog that now jumps excitedly on Harry’s legs to the door where he came from.

“You didn’t tell me you had a pup.” Harry smiles, his voice getting a higher pitch as he kneels to pet behind his ears. “Hey buddy, where did you come from?”

“I don’t.” You reply, walking towards the house as you search for the owner who’s likely already found her spot in the kitchen.

“Huh?” You hear from behind you as you stride towards the house. 

Surely, as predicted, you spot her hiding halfway inside your fridge, back turned to you. You notice how Bella’s blonde locks are way shorter since last time you saw her — now stopping just above her shoulders. As surprised as you are, you don’t comment on it, simply staring at your intruder of a friend as you try to figure the situation in hand. 

This isn't exactly how you’d planned to introduce Harry to your friend group. Well, shit.

Bella doesn’t pay any mind to you at first, but certainly senses your presence as she speaks out from over her shoulder. “Hey, did you not buy any more greek yo- Oh.” She stops as she turns, just in time when Harry walks in with the dog cradled in his arms. Her eyes jump between the two of you as she pushes the fridge’s door to a close. “Hi.”

“Hello.” You shoot her a look.

Harry puts the pet down, “Hi.”

“Uhm,” You stand awkwardly, playing with the rings hugging your fingers. Bella raises her brows in a silent question and you sigh. It’s not like you can do anything now. “Harry, this is my friend, Bella. Bella, this is Harry.” You motion your arms between them as you introduce one another.

Harry clears his throat. And you can only suppose how confused he must be, considering you mentioned nothing about a friend visiting today. But it’s not like you were aware of it, either. Bellas and you are at that point in your friendship in which you don’t find the need to announce your visits anymore, simply making yourselves at home every time both of you are in town.

He glances at you for a second, before nodding at your friend. “Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.” She grins politely. There’s a beat of quietness that no one really knows what to say next, and you can feel a silent pressure for you to break it. When you don’t, Bella points vaguely to a spot behind her, “Uh, I can come back tomorrow…”

Your lips part as you try to stop her, but before you can do so, Harry beats you to it.“You don’t have to, really. I was just leaving, actually.” He scratches his nose. “I don’t mean to intrude on anything you two have planned…” 

“Oh, no, that’s not it!” Bella rushes.

“We have nothing planned.” You assure him, glancing between your friends. “Bella just comes to visit whenever she’s in London.”

“Yeah, I was the one interrupting.” She backs you up, clicking her tongue. “Should’ve called first.”

"That's okay.” You tell her.

“Well, I hope you two enjoy the rest of your day, then.” Harry nods, eyes meeting yours as he mutters, “I really need to get going.”

“Oh, yeah, of course.” You say, “I’ll take you to the door.”

With one last wave to Bella, he follows you as you guide the way towards the front door. You open it for Harry, allowing him to step out first before you let it close behind you — as to avoid the dog from running out. Leaning back against it, you shoot him a small smile.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know she was coming.” You point back. “She has the keys so…”

“That’s fine.” He reassures, hands hiding inside the pocket of his jeans. There’s a second of silence, as you two just enjoy each other’s presence for a little before having to bid your goodbyes. You can’t help but let your eyes fall to his shirt once again — although being a simple white tee, the words I spread like strawberries embroidered to it have been haunting you all afternoon. Once your eyes move up again, you don’t find his, as he glances down at his shoes, a cute reddish tone painting the apple of his cheeks. When he speaks up, he peaks up at you from under his lashes, “I had a lovely time, as usual.”

“Me too.” You bite down a smile, tilting your head. “As usual.”

He nods, looking over his shoulder before back at you. Chewing down the side of his lip, he asks, “I’ll see you?”

You try to think of a date to give him, knowing as summer progresses your schedule will only get tighter with the studio sessions. “Uhm, probably sometime at the end of the week, maybe? I’m a bit busy, but I’ll let you know.”

“Alright.” He nods, staring for a second before stepping forward to embrace you into a hug. “Take care, love.” His words come out a bit muffled as he squishes his face on the crook of your neck.

You giggle as the strands of his hair tickle the side of your face. “You too, H.” 

Pulling away, he steps backward, pointing at you in a playful warning. “Still owe me a lemon tart.”

“Gotcha.”

Taking a deep breath, you watch for a bit longer as he walks away, waving a last goodbye before disappearing back inside your house. You give yourself a moment to prepare for the wave of questions waiting for you as soon as you step back into the kitchen. 

You find Bella twirling on a stool propped next to the island, spoon in her mouth and an open package of greek yogurt sitting on the counter. As soon as you walk in, she stops, pulling the spoon out as her brows shoot towards her hairline. She doesn’t wait a second before questioning, “So…” A smirk grows on her face and she points vaguely with her spoon to a spot behind you. “Harry?”

You groan, taking a seat next to her. “You were not supposed to walk in on that.”

“Well, I’m sorry! How was I supposed to know?”

“I don’t know, maybe try calling?”

“I never call before coming here.” She challenges, and it’s true. Picking a spoonful of yogurt and shoving into her mouth, she watches you for a second. You simply glance back, aware of her expectant stare attempting to pry you to speak up first. You watch her swallow, lips quirking as you refuse to give what she wants. She raises her brows again, this time voicing her question, “Is he…?”

You shake your head at her implication. “No, he’s… A friend.”

“That was a pause.”

“Well, he was my ex before he was my friend.”

“An ex? Is he-” Bella frowns for a bit and you can almost see the wheels inside her head turning. “Holy shit! Is he The Harry?”

Now it’s your turn to form a crease between your brows, confused. You don’t recall ever mentioning Harry to her. “Don’t know what you mean by The Harry, but, yes, he was my first boyfriend.”

“You’ve told me about him before.”

“Have I?” You blink at her. “When?”

She thinks for a second before pointing the spoon in her hand at you.“Yes! It was in one of your Halloween parties- actually, right after it.” She looks over at you, only to find a confused expression still settled on your face. “The one we had a sleepover, and I broke your lamp.”

“That was two years ago, yeah, I remember.” As much as your Halloween parties have a tendency of meshing together in your memory (as they’re mostly the same apart from one or two remarkable occurrences), this one in particular you remember quite well as it was the first time Bella slept over at your house. In the middle of the night, she knocked on your room to ask you if she could sleep with you. Her words were coming mumbled because of the alcohol still affecting her bloodstream. The two of you barely slept a tick that night, as you spent hours whispering stories to each other and, at one point, she got so excited as she was telling you about some sort of vacation she had taken (you don’t remember it that well) that she elbowed your lamp causing it to shatter as it fell. You try to rack your brain to find any recollection of mentioning Harry that day, but all that comes to you is the two of you falling into a fit of giggles when you told her about a past hookup of yours. This only causes your frown to deepen. “The party, I mean. I don’t remember mentioning Harry.”

“You were drunk.” She shoves her spoon inside the yogurt as she speaks. “Was sitting at one of the patio chairs, scrolling down on your Instagram page and you saw a picture of him, think you said it was his sister’s profile? I don’t know. But you were whiny for like an hour because of it.”

“What?” So it was at the party? You have a flash of panic, wondering who else was there to hear you whine over your ex boyfriend. “I have absolutely no recollection of this.”

“It was cute, really.” She tries to comfort you, still focusing on her pot of dairy. “You didn’t say much- you weren’t making a lot of sense, really, but I remember you saying he was the first person you were in love with. Didn’t know he was your first boyfriend.”

You fall back into your seat. “Yeah… That’s him.”

“How long were you together?” Bella glances back at you, brows peaking in curiosity. 

“Almost four years.”

“What?” Her eyes bulge. “How come you never told me that?”

“Don’t know, was a bit of a sensitive topic, I guess.” You know it was. The only reason why you refrained from mentioning him to anyone for a long time was because of the tightness in your chest that followed the sound of his name. “But yeah, we started dating right after his fourteenth birthday.” The memory comes to you as a smile. “His birthday’s in February and he asked me on Valentine’s day, was really cute. I don’t think anyone thought it would last that long at the time.”

“That’s super sweet.” She whines, her shoulders falling as she huffs. “Ugh, I hate love.”

You chuckle. “Same.” 

“So you broke up when you were, what, eighteen?”

“Yup.” 

“Was it because of distance and stuff?”

“Pretty much, yeah.” You think back to the time you two started drifting apart, a thought you haven’t revisited in a long time. “We were already very distant even when we were together.” Shrugging, you try to push back the heaviness in your chest. “Guess we were just meant to go different ways.”

"That's poetic.” She nods. You assume she’s noticed the way your voice has taken a lower tone, as her own grows a pitch, shoving you as she tries to cheer you up. “But now you’re together again!”

Breathing out a laugh, you roll your eyes slightly. “We’re friends.”

“Right.” She doesn’t sound convinced. “But, you know, you went each your own way and somehow crossed paths again. Do you know what that’s called?”

You close your eyes, already familiar with your friend’s antics. “Bella…”

“Fate.”

“Oh my god.” You shake your head at her, hoping she doesn’t notice the blush that creeps up your neck.

“I’m just saying, if I were you, I wouldn’t let this opportunity escape.” She bites down her empty spoon to hide the smirk that grows on her lips. The way her brows wiggle before she says anything allows you to prepare for what's to come. “I mean, with all due respect, he is very fine.”

“I knew it was coming.” You pucker your lips to avert from smiling, trying to seem casual before confessing, “But yes, he looks really good.”

“The long hair? The tattoos? Girl!” Her eyes widen. “If he wasn’t your ex, I would’ve been saying some really inappropriate stuff right now.”

You groan, hiding your face behind your hands. “Please, don’t.”

“I said ‘would’!” She emphasizes the word as she tries to pull your hands away from covering your eyes. “I’m only thinking about it, relax.”

Rolling your eyes again, you nod towards her half-empty pot. “Eat your yogurt.”

//

The air inside the flat somehow is warmer than the outdoors. The large windows opposite the kitchen are wide open to have some sort of breeze flowing around to relieve the heat coming from the stove. A generic scent of fried dough dances around the small space with it. It’s one that Harry recognizes from past times that Julia’s made the dish, and it makes his mouth water as soon as he steps inside.

Julia’s at her spot in the kitchen taking care of the food, her back turned to him as she bumps her hips along with the beat of a song he doesn’t recognize. Next to her, Harry recognizes Mitch’s back reaching for the small pile of plates inside the cabinet with Blake standing right behind (he assumes because she’d asked for his help with the task, considering she usually has a hard time reaching the last shelves). 

Their voices mesh together as they seem too lost in their conversation to notice Harry’s arrival. Right as the door clicks closed, however, Blake takes the plates from Mitch’s hands, turning to catch Harry right as he toes-off his shoes.

“Look who’s decided to show up!” She speaks up, calling the attention of both friends that still stood oblivious of the boy that now sports a guilty smile. Blake raises her brows at him, setting the plates on top of the island counter. “For what do we owe this honor?”

“Finally!” Julia barges before Harry can even start with the apology he went over in his head during the entire tube ride. “I was completely outnumbered in this discussion. Tell them that our plates are nice!”

He stops right by the edge of the kitchen tiles, furrowing his brows at his friends’ request. “What?”

Harry tries to search for an explanation from Mitch, who simply leans back onto the counter with his arms crossed, and an amused smirk painting his lips as he nods towards Julia.

The girl has turned back to the stove, a colander spoon in her hand moving the pastries around inside the pan filled with oil. She huffs before she explains, eyes trained on the stove, “They’re being incredibly rude, calling our plates tacky!”

Without even looking at the plates in question, Harry chuckles. “Oh, is it the floral ones?”

He confirms his assumptions when glancing at the dishes set on top of the island counter. The collection was sent by her parents around the new years after her visit for the holidays — she’d told them about how they cracked most their dishes at the edges and they sent in a full set as a replacement. And, as much as both of them found the action heartwarming ly thoughtful, they both had a good laugh upon opening the box when it first came in. 

Because they were, after all, a bit tacky. 

Each has its edges painted with a different color, with matching roses circling around it. To make matters worse, the center of them have each a different phrase. Harry couldn’t make sense to them at first, as they’re written in Portuguese, but from what Julia’s translated it doesn’t go far from those catchphrases you can find at the Live, Laugh, Love side of Pinterest.

That’s something Julia very openly makes fun of her parents about; what she says is their lack of taste for just about everything. And Harry was very aware of the fact, not only by the way she teases them to no end about it but also by her choices of presents to send back home (for instance, that god awful umbrella -- may it rest in pieces). With their time together as flatmates, it’s almost become somewhat of an inside joke between the two of them. 

But, as much as both of them have taken the piss about it before, they still have a fondness heavily attached to them. So it’s understandable Julia’s annoyance at their friends’ tease, especially when both bark into laughs at Harry’s question.

“You’re not helping!” Julia throws him a look from over her shoulder.

“I’m sorry, I just wanted to confirm!” Harry raises his hands in surrender as he watches the girl roll her eyes before focusing back on the pan in front of her. He pulls one stool next to the one Blake’s taken for herself, sitting on it before glancing down at the dish in front of him. He spins it slightly with the tip of his finger, watching the yellow roses move with it. “But Jul’s right, stop attacking our plates.”

“I wasn’t attacking them, if I have any right to a replica.” Mitch moves from his spot to take the stool in front of Harry. “If I recall correctly, I even said they were very charming.”

“Your sarcasm doesn’t impress me, Rowland,” Julia replies from her spot, not looking back. “Just say they're ugly already! Since you guys hate them so much!”

Blake shoots Harry a knowing look, a smile poking at her lips from being too used to her girlfriend’s dramatics. She pushes her stool back, standing before she walks over towards the grumpy girl who’s now focusing on taking out the pastries and laying them on a trail that’s covered with napkins. Embracing her from behind, she presses a kiss between Julia’s shoulder blades before whispering something just for her to hear.

Harry watches them for a second, not helping the part of him that wishes he could have someone like they do. It verges a tragedy, he thinks, to be a hopeless romantic and not be in love.

"Food is ready!" Julia speaks up, her voice this time taking a higher pitch. Harry doesn’t miss the look the couple exchanges before finding their seats across from each other.

Julia sets the trail in the center. The pastries take a half-circle shape and are organized neatly in two rolls, their golden crust looking very appealing, making Harry realize how hungry he actually is.

“So, explain to me,” Mitch begins, nodding towards the dish. “What are those guys?”

“These, my dear, are called pastel- you know, like the color shade,” Julia explains, picking up one of them. “They’re basically, like, a pastry. You can stuff them with anything you want, really. I made the most common ones which are cheese- the ones on this roll- and meat.” She points to the rolls showing where each one line. “We usually have them as, like, a snack, but I was really missing them so I made it for dinner. And we also eat it with sugarcane juice, but y’all don’t have it here,” She shakes her head. “Tasteless.”

“Sugarcane juice?” Mitch raises his brows.

Julia goes into one of her rants that Harry’s heard about a hundred times before by now — the ones that come up every time she talks about her country, which he finds rather cute how passionate she gets when talking about her culture. His head shuts off for a bit, though, already knowing the information by heart, as he focuses on his groaning stomach. 

For a moment, they just eat while having more of a casual chat. Julia rambles for a good portion of it about her life back home, and, soon enough, they all share their own experiences that make them miss their hometowns. It makes for a nice bonding experience, four people from different spots in the world that found themselves in London at the same time. All sharing a meal as they recall the parts of them they left behind when they choose to leave. For a moment, Harry forgets all about the apology he’d rehearsed on the way back from your house. 

It doesn’t even slip into his mind how he escaped any sort of immediate interrogation about his whereabouts. He’s even naïve enough to think that maybe Julia’s even forgotten about it as well, thanks to the plates’ discussion. 

Harry soon finds himself to be wrong, though. And the worst of it all, it catches him completely off guard.

The group has just quietened down from a story Mitch’s told from back in the days he used to work in a pizza place. Blake’s just offered to clean up the dishes, standing from her stool as she collects the plates. Harry hands her his, glancing at her as he mutters a quick ‘thank you’. He doesn’t notice the way Julia stares at him, eyes narrowed and lips puckering, as she leans into the counter. It only calls his attention once she speaks up, her words coming out slow but almost calculated, as if she’s been thinking about voicing them for a while, “So, H, are you gonna tell us what’s up?”

He doesn’t realize what she’s referring to at first, only furrowing his brows in his confusion. “Huh?”

“Don’t ‘huh’ me, Styles, you’re hiding something.” She points at him and that’s when he realizes, breath hitching on his throat. “And I think that something’s actually a someone, so spill.”

He hears Blake chuckling from her spot at the sink. “Guess we’re going straight to the point, then.”

Harry tries to even his breath, holding back the urge to bite down at his bottom lip as not to show he’s nervous. “What makes you think that?”

Julia grins as if she’s been waiting for him to ask that. “Well, should we go over the list? You suddenly have a life outside, barely stay at home, you’re almost always late to hang out— and that’s coming from me, a Brazilian- oh! You’ve also been baking?” She puts out a finger at each topic on the list, emphasizing the last word as if it’s the most absurd concept to grasp. “And I caught you taking a selfie the other night, which would be odd on itself if I wasn’t sure that you sent it to someone right after.”

Harry nods slowly. “Okay. You kept a list.”

“So?”

“I-” He feels himself panicking, not knowing how to explain himself. On one hand, he hates lying, especially to people he loves. He also knows how upset Julia gets when people lie to her, considering honesty is one attribute she values the most in a person. So the prospect of not only going against one of his own principles but also letting down one of his closest friends, almost makes him sick. But he gave you his word that he would not tell anyone until you were ready to do so. And he wants to keep his word and respect your wishes, knowing that if he doesn’t, it could mean losing everything he’s gotten back these past months. It could mean losing you. So for a moment, he stays there, lips parted but not saying anything. There’s gotta be some sort of middle ground.  “There’s… Someone, and-”

A loud thud comes as Blake drops one plate inside the sink, turning around with wide eyes and soapy hands. “What?”

“I knew it!” Julia slaps her hand on the counter as she exclaims, her mouth dropping in the shape of an ‘O’. “I knew it! How do you get a girlfriend without mentioning it to me? I thought we were friends?”

“I don’t have a girlfriend.” Harry blurts out.

“How could you keep this from us?” Blake comes to stand behind her girlfriend, her face still wide in shock before she turns to Mitch. “Did you know about this?”

“I did not have any involvement in this, no.”

Julia continues her inquiry, “Who is it?”

“Jul-”

She interrupts Harry before he can properly form a word, “Is it that girl from work? The one that had a crush on you? What’s her name again-”

“Julia, please.”

“Alice!” She snaps her finger, her grin widening as she looks at him as if she just solved an enigma. “It's her, isn’t it? Did you finally make a move? Oh my god.”

“I- It’s-” Harry’s fully panicking now, eyes moving quickly between his friends as they stare at him, waiting for a confirmation. Is this the middle ground he wanted? No, he thinks to himself. This will only make things worse. He should just say he wants to keep it private for now. It would annoy them, sure, but they’d have to understand, right? It’s the rational thing to do. But Harry’s not working with rationality at the moment, and his mouth works before his brain does, “Y-yeah, it’s her.”

Blake gasps. “Harry!”

“I can’t believe you!” 

He needs to fix this. “We’re not dating.” 

“Yet.” She points before squealing, reaching a hand over her shoulder to hold Blake’s wet ones while placing her other over her heart. “Look at you! They grow so fast…”

“Please, don’t.”

“Babe, let him breathe for a bit.” Blake breaks her hand from her girlfriend’s grasp, reaching for a napkin and using it to dry her hands. She smiles at him, “I would like to see a picture of her, though.”

Before he has the chance to answer, Julia’s already talking, “You should’ve invited her to come today! There’s enough food-”

“No, it’s… Uh, it’s not like that.” Harry tries to come up with something to explain himself as not to dig a deeper hole than he already has put himself in.

Blake frowns. “What do you mean?”

“Just-” He pauses, glancing between his friends. They all show different stages of confusion. “We’re taking things slow.”

Julia rolls her eyes, “Harry, you’re already the slowest person I know.” She states as a matter-of-fact, shaking her head at him. “With your pace, we’re getting this relationship announcement in five years.”

He huffs, the insistence annoying him a bit. Maybe it’s because he knows the more they keep this subject, the deeper the hole he can get himself in. So he simply avoids feeding more into it, choosing to ask her instead,  “Why are you so obsessed with the idea of me in a relationship?” His eyes meet Blake’s in a silent plea for an intervention.

“Because I want to have cute double dates!” Julia whines.

Mitch deadpans, “What’s this, then?”

“Okay! We have desert!” Blake seems to find her cue to barge in, clapping her hands together before continuing, “And it’s made of chocolate!”

Harry smiles at her, shooting her a look of gratitude. “Chocolate sounds perfect.”

“Sounds marvelous,” Mitch adds.

Julia, however, is not dumb. She narrows her eyes slightly. “You guys are changing the subject.”

Her girlfriend barely bats an eye at her statement, though, only squeezing her shoulder gently, “Babe, why don’t you tell Mitch about brigadeiro? I’m sure he’ll love to hear it.”

The girl sighs, shooting Harry another knowing look before giving up on the subject for the time being. He only gives her a small smile, watching as she begins to tell Mitch all about desert. 

Well, he really dug himself a hole with this one.

//

Harry loves Sundays.

This is funny enough of a statement, considering how he used to despise it when he was younger. Back when he knew it meant that he’d have to be up early the next day to walk the cracked sidewalk leading to his school, fighting to keep his eyelids halfway open. The entire day would feel like a countdown (just eight more hours until the weekend’s over!). The only thing that made the day the slightest bit enjoyable was that he used to visit his nan every Sunday right after breakfast. He still remembers how he and his cousins would sit in front of the telly with their toys scattered around them, the entire house adorned with the scent of vanilla.

He’s not sure exactly when the switch of opinion for the day happened, but he knows that you’re one of the main reasons for it. Sunday’s were your days. They were the only days in which you were sure to be free from babysitting duties with your sister, hence why there was a silent agreement that settled between both of you to spend it together. So you reserved Sundays for the two of you. And Harry’s sure some of his fondest memories with you happened on a Sunday.

So it was hard not to love the day when it brought you to him every time.

Although years have passed, his attachment to the day hasn’t faded. Especially now, when you seem to fit back into his Sundays just as perfectly as you used to. 

The cafe smells just like his nan’s house used to when he first walks in - the only major difference being the scent of coffee that meshes with the vanilla in the air. It’s the third time he comes with you here and, just like the previous ones, there’s a surprisingly low movement for it being mid-morning. Most of the customers that frequent it, as you’d informed him the first time you took him there, are elders. There’s a couple right at the door enjoying the cloudless day at the chess table that’s carefully prompted just outside the cafe that bids good morning as the younger pair passes by, not paying much attention to them. Meanwhile, inside, the other four or five customers that sit scattered around the armchairs barely bat an eye towards them as they walk in, focusing only on their newspapers or crossword magazines that sit in front of them as they quietly sip on their drinks.

Despite you not sharing loads with him regarding your public image, from what he could gather, it’s clear how much you value your privacy. So it’s easy to understand why you enjoy coming here, as your presence comes and goes as just another one. 

And he quite enjoys it too, especially noticing how carefree you get in a space you’re comfortable with. Usually, on other few occasions, the two of you go out to public spaces that you’re not as used to, it’s clear how alert you are, even if you’re enjoying yourself. You limit yourself to plain clothes to not call any attention, always with what’s become your signature big sunglasses shielding part of your face -- you even wore them when you went to the cinema to which, although Harry understood the reason for, he didn’t refrain from teasing you about it. 

But today, you abandoned the hoodies and large shirts in various shades of grey. Harry knows the riskiest part of your day in being recognized would be the short walk from his building to the cafe. Still, that thankfully didn’t stop you from going back to your usual wardrobe. Instead, you’re wearing a white dress with red stripes lining along your curves, the skirt flowing all the way down your calves, showing the white sneakers covering your feet. The sunglasses are still present, of course, but you quickly push them up as soon as you walk inside.

Harry watches for a second as your eyes scan the menu written on the wall behind the counter, chuckling to himself as he knows you’re still going for the same order as usual. Before you can step closer to voice your order, however, he says, “Go find a table, I’ll get your order.”  You glance up at Harry, brows shooting up, challenging. “Medium iced coffee and a chocolate muffin.” He grins proudly as he recites your order. “Anything else?”

“No, that's it.” You bite back a smile. “You’re not paying for me, though.”

Of course, you’re insisting, he thinks, already shaking his head. “You paid last time and the time before that and, if I recall correctly, you didn’t let me have a say in it when I tried to intervene in either of them.” Harry pokes your side, nodding towards the table area. “So, go get a table. I’ll be right there.”

Narrowing your eyes at him, you stay silent for a beat, clearly debating whether to keep insisting. “Fair enough.” You sigh, walking backward as you point at him. “But I’m paying next time.”

Chuckling, he keeps his eyes on you for a tick longer to catch where you’ve sat, his face warming the slightest bit once you throw him a wink as you settle back in the chair. Once he places the orders for the both of you, he notices some drawings stuck to the wall behind the counter as he waits for them to be done with. They all have a clear childlike trace to them, some more than others, and Harry assumes the more abstract one must’ve been done by a younger child. He smiles to himself, finding it an adorable addition to the place, even if it could easily go unnoticed by an inattentive eye.

“They’re from my granddaughter.” The barista smiles at Harry as he places two cups on top of the counter, nodding back towards the artwork that caught his attention. “Just turned eight. Loves drawing.”

“They look lovely.” 

“This one, actually,” The barista points to one that seems to be more recent, as it’s stuck on top of the others. It shows what looks like two girls holding hands; a smaller one holding a heart on her free hand, and a taller one with a star on top of her head. The man nods to a spot over Harry’s shoulder, “It’s her and your friend, she’s a big fan.”

“Really?” Harry’s lips part in surprise. “That’s very sweet.”

“It’s how I found out she was known.” The man lets out a low laugh, opening the display to reach for a muffin. “Millie was proper mad that I didn’t know who she was when she came to visit, but your friend was a sweet thing, signed her shirt and everything.”

Harry smiles at the story. “Sounds like her.”

“Sure does, seems like a lovely lady.” The man’s attention gets called as the front door opens with a ding. He shoots Harry one last smile, “Duty calls. Enjoy your coffee.”

Harry reaches for the cups with one hand, picking up your pastry with the other. “You too, have a good one.” He feels the words slip before he can register them and, as he realizes his mistake, he quickly turns to head for the table, eyes wide and a blush tainting his cheeks.

You lock your phone, setting it down as soon as Harry approaches the table. He sees a grin twitching on your lips as you glance up at him and he avoids your gaze, knowing it’ll only worsen the warmth on his face.

“What’s got you all flustered?” You ask, your voice verging a laugh.

“Stop.” He scratches his nose in a nervous tick. “Just told that man to enjoy his coffee.”

“Oh, no.” You burst into a fit of giggles and he peeks up at you, holding back a laugh himself as he shakes his head — he loves making you laugh. “C’mon, H, everyone does that. I’m sure he didn’t even notice.”

“Still embarrassing.”

“Just a bit.” Biting down at your bottom lip, you squint your eyes, pushing the muffin towards him. “Here, have a bite, you’ll forget all your problems.”

He breathes out another laugh, reaching to pick a piece of the sweet before shoving it into his mouth. Soon enough, his embarrassment gets lost in conversation, the rosy tone on his cheeks no longer making themselves present from shame but from laughing too hard from something you say. You two get lost in your little bubble for a good while, taking your time sipping on your drinks. Every so often, Harry steals a bite from your muffin — at first, he does it just to have a piece, but once he gets a reaction out of you, eyes narrowing at him adorably as you scrunch your nose in feign anger, he does it just to watch you.

There’s no better way of learning about you than watching, he’s found. One of the biggest changes that he noticed upon getting close to you again, is how you seem to have closed up in a way. And it’s difficult to catch on. He figures that someone who didn’t know you years ago probably doesn’t even realize how much of yourself you keep bottled up. You’re a rambler, that much is easy to pick up. But Harry’s realized that as much as that part of you remains intact, your chatters become much more superficial. You talk about specific events and memories but always narrate it as if you were a mere expectant. You rarely go into detail about your personal life all that much.

Apart from the day you were drunk on his bathtub, he’s barely got a glimpse of feelings regarding him. 

So, he resorts to picking up those bits and pieces you let escape without realizing. He enjoys noticing you (and he’s aware that’s a bit creepy of him, but he can’t help it). How you mention you light a candle before going to sleep cause it helps calm you down. How you refer to your friends with the fondest smile picking up on your lips (but also how you let slip out you only have a person or two that are close to you because getting to know new people makes you anxious). How you always smile at dogs whenever you are — sometimes you even wave at them. How you have the habit of circling your drink in your hand when you’re comfortable, much like you’re doing right now.

The last one always warms his chest. He’s realized you only do it when you let your guard down, allowing yourself to get lost in your world without having to be alert all the time. For all you know, the world outside this small table could’ve stopped spinning and neither of you would notice.

Maybe it’s why you don’t pay any mind to the two teenage girls that enter the cafe. Not until both of them stand right next to the table.

It’s the call of your name that snaps you out of your head. The girls barely blink as they stare down at you, their mouths agape in shock as they hold each other’s hands. “Is it you?”

Harry thinks there’s a flash of panic in your eyes, but it’s gone as soon as it comes. You smile as you stand, and he doesn’t fail to notice the way you turn your body slightly to shield him. “Last time I checked, that would be me, yes!” You chuckle. “What are your names?”

“I’m Lauren.” The taller one speaks up, her hand clutching her phone so tightly her knuckles are almost white. She looks down at the other one who simply stands there, wide eyes not leaving your figure for even a second. Once the other says nothing else, Lauren answers the question for her. “And she’s Georgia. She’s a bit nervous cause she’s a big fan.”

“That’s very sweet, thank you so much.” You tilt your head a bit. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“You too,” Georgia says, her voice trembling and the hold on her friend’s hand. “Uhm, do- could we- if it’s not too much of a bother, could we get a picture with you?”

“Uhm, I don’t think it’s the best time right now, I’m sorry, loves.” Your voice is soft as you talk to them, but it quickly takes a more joyous tone as you suggest, “But I’d love to sign something for you if you’d like?”

“Yeah, if you can! If not, it’s okay, really.” Georgia nods, the words all but stumble out of her mouth. “Sorry for bothering you.”

“It’s no problem at all! It’s a pleasure to get to meet both of you.” 

Harry tries to watch discreetly as not to call any attention to himself, recalling what you once said about not wanting headlines of the two of you. So he only peeks up when you turn to fetch a pen from inside your bag, meeting your eyes for a second before you turn your attention back to the young fans. You chat with them for a little as you sign their phone cases, and he can’t help the tug in his heart at seeing you being so attentive to them.

“There we go.” You say as you hand Lauren her phone.

“Thank you so much!” Georgia exclaims, and even from his spot, Harry can make out a glossiness in her eyes. You pull her into a hug. “You’re really, like, one of my favorite people.”

“I’m honored.” You giggle as you back away, giving her friend a hug as well. Softening your voice once again, you keep a gentle hold to the girl’s shoulder, “Just one more thing, I’m sorry to have to ask you that but, would you mind not posting about this location?”

“Of course!” They say in unison, and Georgia is quick to add, “I wasn’t planning to!”

“Thank you for understanding.” You nod with a smile. “It was really lovely meeting the two of you! Hope we get to see each other again. Enjoy your day.”

The girls bid their goodbyes to you, and you give them one last wave before retaking your seat. Harry observes how you keep an eye on them for a beat longer before meeting his gaze, an apologetic expression adorning your face.

“That was sweet.” 

You sigh, “That was unexpected.”

“Thought that kinda thing happened a lot.”

“It does, just-” You pause, frowning your lips slightly. “Never happened in here.”

You tap your fingers against the wood of the table in a nervous tick, bringing your other hand to your mouth as you bite down on the nail of your thumb. It’s clear how alarmed you’ve gotten now that the girls are gone, eyes scanning every bit of the room. Looking anywhere but to Harry’s own worried ones. He doesn’t need to be able to read minds to know that yours is probably rushing right now from a simple glance at your face.

He reaches for your hand on top of the table to call your attention. Once you snap your gaze back on his, you let your shoulders relax a bit. He gives your hand a gentle squeeze, “Are you alright?”

“Yeah! It’s just…” You try to brush his worry off, glancing back at the entrance before sighing again. “Do you think we could take this back to your place? Is Julia there?”

He shakes his head to your last question, “Of course, it’s not that far, anyway.”

“Thank you.” Your expression softens as you move to gather your belongings hanging from the back of your seat. “I’m sorry, I always do this.” Your shoulders fall, the edge of your lips frowning down.

“Hey, how many times do I have to tell you?” He bumps his arm against yours as both of you stand to get you to relax. “You don’t have to apologize, I understand.”

“I appreciate it.” You nod, but the crease between your brows doesn’t ease. “I just want to avoid a possible mob in case they end up posting about the location.” 

Harry tries to ignore the way his heart drops at your words. He wonders how many times you’ve been caught in a situation like this that ended up badly. “I get it.” 

The way back to his building is much different than when you were coming to the cafe a few hours ago. It’s noticeable that you’re tense as soon as you step outside, the sunglasses earning a permanent spot on your face for the time being. Even with your eyes covered, however, Harry still notices how you take in your surroundings almost cautiously. He tries to bump his hips against yours every time you do it, trying to distract you from your worries. It helps, as you shoot him a smile every time, bumping your hips back.

Screams from a nearby park call both your attention as you get closer to his building. As the day approaches the late hours of the morning, people have decided to enjoy the rare dose of sunlight that gave a break to the frequent rainfalls that cloud the city. On the other side of the road, children run around in a playground as their parents watch them from near benches. A few runners make their laps on the sidewalk lining the edge of the block as well as dog-walkers that take more of a stride sort of walk.

“Such a nice day.” You say, glancing down at the floor ahead to allow your hair to cover a bit more of your face. “It’s a shame we have to go back inside.” 

It breaks his heart to hear the way your voice takes a lower tone. He tries to meet your eyes, “Can tell you’re beating yourself up about things out of your control.” Harry pitches your arm, his next words coming out in a playful warning, stretching the word as to get you to smile.  “Stop it.”

“I can’t help it.” You let out a humorless laugh, coming to a stop at a corner to wait for a red light so you can cross. He looks down at you, but you keep your gaze trained ahead. “It is kind of my fault, you know?”

Harry frowns. “Except it’s not.”

“Thank you for trying to make me feel better about it.” You give him a small smile, shaking your head. “But in a way, it is. I know it is. And I don’t mean to complain about it or anything! Cause I’m aware of how privileged I am to get to live my dream and all that… It just-” You shrug. “It’s not always a field of flowers, I guess.”

“You’re allowed to not love every second of it, doesn’t make you ungrateful.” He argues, his hand meeting your shoulder as he gently turns you to face him. “Especially when it comes to all this privacy stuff, you deserve to have your space.”

“I know that but...Well, I signed up for it, you know? I knew my life would never be just mine once I started getting big.” You adjust the glasses on your face. Harry’s close enough that, if he focuses, he can see your eyes under the dark lenses. “And in a way, I’m used to it now, I’ve learned how to live with it.” You sigh, frowning at your lips. “What makes me uneasy when stuff like this happens- what makes me want to keep a low profile when we’re out, it’s not to protect me. It’s to protect you.”

Him? “Me?”

“Yeah…” Your voice is small, almost shy as the confession leaves your lips. Clearing your throat, you avert your eyes down as you quick some loose pieces of concrete from the sidewalk. “It’s the same with my parents or to Lyla or anyone that doesn’t have a life like mine.” You explain in a rush, trying to cover the timidity that warms your cheeks. But when you continue, it’s still clear in your tone, as the words come from your lips in almost a shame, “You don’t deserve to be exposed to all of it just because you’re part of my life. It’s not fair to you.”

It takes Harry a second to let it sink in. To understand the whole reason behind your uneasiness when going out. Why you’re so adamant about keeping your ties to him a secret. Why you try to separate him from your public side.

All this time. You’re doing it to protect him.

There’s no denial of how the confession brings a tightness to his chest. He knows it’s not what you mean to do. But he can’t help it when you sound as if you could be a burden in his life — when, in reality, it couldn’t be the furthest away from the truth. So his shoulders lump as he watches you keep your gaze away from his again, lips frowning down as he uses every ounce of self-control within himself to not pull you to him.

Instead, he ducks his head, trying to find your eyes under the lenses of your glasses. When he speaks up, his words are soft, to embrace you in a way he can’t physically, “Is this why you get so stressed about going out in public? Why you asked me to not tell anyone?” You look up at him at the question and he adds, “To protect me?”

“Of course.” You reply as if it was obvious all along. “W- Did you think it was… Something else?”

“I-I don’t know.” From his peripheral vision, he can see cars coming to a halt as the streetlight turns red, but neither of you makes a move to keep walking. The world around doesn’t matter right now. “I think I just assumed you didn’t want the media assuming…” He motions vaguely with his hand. “Anything.”

“Well, yes, to protect you from that.”

“You-” He shakes his head incredulously. There’s no denial of the bouquet of butterflies that bloom on his stomach at the prospect of you wanting to protect him. At how you say it as if it’s obvious that you’d do it in the first place. Almost treating it as if it’s your duty to do so. But he also can’t help but feel the slightest bit of guilt from it, knowing how this is the main reason that gets you anxious when you’re together. His hand reaches for your shoulder again, caressing it in silent gratitude as his expression softens, “You don’t have to do that, to stress yourself because of me. Do you know that?” 

“But I do.” You’re quick to argue. “You don’t know what it’s like, H. People are brutal. I won’t have them pestering you. I won’t have that.” There’s a clear quiver in your voice at the last few words, and Harry has to fight back the lump on his own throat at the sound of it.

“Love-”

You push up your sunglasses so you can fully glance up at him, “I’m serious.” Your eyes are set, stern, as you lock them on his. But they’re also getting glossy at the edges. “I won’t let them get to you too.” You whisper.

“It’s not your duty, love.” Harry insists, hating how you’re clearly beating yourself up for it. “I can take care of myself in case anything happens.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” The smile that tugs on your lips is weak, and you shake your head. “If you knew what it would be like...” You trail off.

“Is this why you don’t have any friends with- uh, a regular life?” Harry cringes at himself but doesn’t know how else to word this without making you feel abnormal.

You nod. “Pretty much, yeah.” 

“I understand where you’re coming from.” He says, eyes trained on yours as he wants you to take in every word that he speaks. “I do, but you maybe you shouldn’t allow those people to dictate your happiness.”

You give him a sad smile that twists his heartstrings. “That’s not what it is.”

“It’s what it seems like.” He argues, desperate to get you to understand where he’s coming from. 

The more he takes in the way your eyes water and your lips twist, shoulders falling almost in defeat — as if you’ve accepted the responsibility that you’ve weighed upon yourself — the more he has to hold back his own emotions. It’s clear the toll that this position takes on you; you’ve told him about it before. You’ve told him how you barely have anyone that you consider close — those in the industry being too worried about building their own careers on top of each other’s backs for you to be comfortable sharing any meaningful exchange (apart from very few exceptions). And now he knows why you don’t find these ties with people that have a life outside the spotlight.

 “Doesn’t it get lonely?” He questions out loud.

“All the time.” You let out a humorless laugh. “People don’t realize how lonely it can be to have a career like this.” It comes as a vent and you take a deep breath, your hand quickly coming up to wipe the sides of your eyes though there’s yet a tear to fall. “Like, yes, you have this big team with you, and everyone fawns over you everywhere you go, but-” You pause, exhaling. “After the shows, and the lights, and all that...In the end, when you go to bed, it’s just you and your pillow.”

Harry doesn’t stop himself now, taking the step to close the gap between the two of you, arms circling around you as he pulls you to him. “I hate that you have to feel like this.” He mutters into your hair, feeling you melt into him. Angling his head a bit so his voice doesn’t get muffled, he whispers, “From now on, you have me, yeah? If you ever need anything- anything, I’m just a call away.” 

You hug him tighter at the assurance, your own words coming in a breath that could have easily been missed if they weren’t spoken so close to his skin. “Thank you.”

//

“You should probably get that.”

Jack, your producer, nods towards your phone as it begins to vibrate on top of the wooden table again. You sigh from your spot on the couch, cursing silently whoever’s been blowing up your phone for the past ten minutes. Mondays in the studio are already hard enough to concentrate as it is - especially as you and Jack have been trying to get the guitar riff just right for the past hour - so to add your buzzing device to the mix feels like a cherry on top to your stress cake.

You shoot him an apologetic look as you reach for it. You wanted to wait until you were done to pay attention to whatever’s been going off so as to not lose your focus, but it seems like whoever’s been trying to reach out has been very adamant about your attention.

So you step outside, letting your eyes fall closed for a second as the outdoor breeze relaxes your senses a little. Jack’s balcony right outside his home studio is quite small and doesn’t stand very tall from the second floor, but you love how you can still have a view of a park close enough that the sunset in the back paints the full leaves of the trees gold. After a moment of peace, you sigh as you’re reminded of your duties once the phone in your hand vibrates once again.

Your brows all but meet as you take in the notifications on your screen. There are two missed calls from Sonia, and a couple of messages, not only from her but from your publicist as well. Opening up the chat, your tired eyes just give a quick scan over the words before falling on a link attached to them. Just before you click on it, you can feel your heart sink as you realize it’s a The Sun article.

“No, no, no, no, no.” You mutter to yourself as you wait for the page to load. When it does, you can feel every ounce you get cold as your dread shows itself to be true. What calls your attention first are the pictures, ones taken yesterday as you recognize your white and red striped dress. And you recognize the look of adoration in a click, perfectly timed when you took off your sunglasses. And worst of all, you recognize Harry, holding you close at the corner just before his building.

When you finally remind yourself to read the headline, you’re not sure how you don’t drop your phone all the way down at the words that stare back at you.

NEW ROMANCE? This year’s favorite breakthrough artist is spotted on a coffee date in London with a mysterious brunette!

//

AAAH It’s finally here!! I’m so sorry for taking so long with this one but I got very busy very suddenly at the end of the year but I promise next one will be here sooon!! As usual, if you enjoyed it please reblog and leave some feedback, I’m very excited to hear what’s everyone’s thoughts!! 

[halcyonstorm]

The Girl at the Library Chapter 1

Short Fic - Levihan

Themes: College AU, Library, Fluff, Slow Burn, Falling in Love, Female Hange Zoe, Student!Levi

Word Count: 5730

Chapter: 1/3

Warning: Mild Language

Read on Ao3 - The Girl at the Library

Summary: Levi is a college student who needs help on his research paper. Luckily, Hange is a book worm and works at the library. 

Levi was stressed and annoyed, mainly because he was in college. Of course with college comes infinite amounts of homework assignments, 100-question exams with astronomical amounts of topics on them, unnecessary research papers, and staying in a dorm room with a kid that happens to have no problem inviting his friends over every night to hang out and party with no regards to his sullen roommate.

Levi had a paper coming up. He had to come up with a topic, find sources, and finish his paper by the end of the semester. With three weeks left to go, he decided he’d rather get it over with. He began his brainstorming in the study lounge at the center of his dormitory floor. He was starting to stress. He sat on the big yellow leather couch in the way-too-bright study lounge with his laptop in his lap. He tapped his pen against his head as he tried to think of an idea. 

“You have to write about a topic related to your major,” The professor explained. “This is the one and only paper you will have assigned this semester. I suggest you get it done as early as possible.”

If only it were that easy. He had the rubric pulled up in one tab, and a ton of “How to pick a research topic” websites in others. His major was pharmaceuticals, a field he was inspired to take on because of his mother. She was very ill when he was very young, so they were in and out of hospitals. He was sitting on the edge of his mother’s hospital bed when a nurse came in the room to administer her medications. 

“This is…” His memory was blurry. “This medication will help… and make you feel better.” And it did. 9 year old Levi was fascinated. This one little pill or bag of what looked like water helped his mother feel better. Within hours, his mother’s skin went from pallor to beige. Her hands were warmer. She looked more awake, more alive. She didn’t wince at Levi’s touch. She was in less pain. She got better, like the nurse predicted.

Since then, Levi always asked questions whenever they visited the hospitals again and again. “What kind of drug is that?” “What does it do?” “How long does it take to take effect?”

Levi recalled the memory with a deep sigh. He missed his mother. She was at home, not too far away. Levi never had the time to travel the hour through the big city to visit her. When he did have free time, he spent it studying or sleeping. He felt his heart twinge at this. She had sacrificed everything to help him attend college and to give him a good life.

Now with his head cloudy, he went to reach his water bottle in his backpack. He opened the lid and took a sip. At that moment, he could hear some obnoxiously loud students throwing tennis balls back and forth to each other. He recognized these kids too, they were some (of many) of the lovely visitors his roommate had over most nights. Suddenly in the blink of an eye, Levi’s water bottle spilled all over his laptop, a tennis ball on the floor next to him, and some worried voices approaching him. Within seconds, the laptop started to steam and the screen went black.

His laptop was fried, he determined. He felt heat start to rise inside of him. 

“Oh my god, man. I am so sorry,” One of the kids said, trying to hold back a laugh. 

“Yeah, man. We didn’t mean to.”

Levi took a deep breath and stood up. These kids… were gonna pay.

He closed his broken laptop and stood up. These kids were much taller than him, but looked to be easily intimidated by Levi’s presence. 

“Do you have the money to pay for this?” He sneered, getting very close to their faces. 

“Eh… no, but we have jobs! We can pay you back over time,” One of the kids trailed off. They seemed to be intimidated by the short man. “You live in 112 right?”

Levi nodded, his face heating up with anger. “This laptop cost me a lot of money.”

“We get it, man! We said we’re sorry,” the other kid explained. “We’ll pay you back or whatever.”

“Tch,” Levi clicked. He was extremely pissed. These kids should not be throwing balls at each other in the hallway. Also, they spilled his water which made a mess. “Which room are you both in?” They responded with 118. The one kid explained they get paid on the 15th and 30th of each month. Luckily, their pay day was 4 days away.

“I’ll stop by Tuesday, the 16th,” Levi decided, before gathering his things and heading to the stairs. He began to walk through the campus. Fuck, now where was he gonna go? How was he gonna find his topics? His computer was fucked. Putting it in rice wouldn’t have helped. He was so occupied having a debate with himself about where to research, he almost missed it. If he looked the other way or even blinked in that moment, he wouldn’t have seen it. It was the campus library. No, not the campus library, but a campus library. It blended into the surroundings, hidden from the passerbyers. There was a sign in the window “We’re Open!”. 

The library was small, to say the least. It was old fashioned, which contrasted the modern aesthetic of the university. It was a small, dark brown, wooden building with four-pane windows. The door was a lighter shade of brown. He decided it was easier to check out this little library instead of walking another 10 minutes to get to the main library. He didn’t have time to waste. He had to get started with his paper right away. He walked up to the door and opened it. When he did, a little bell rang at the doorway. 

“Just a minute!” A woman’s voice called from the back. Levi decided to wander around. There were many books crammed on the shelves. There were two computers on each side when he walked in. They looked out of place, considering they were very modern compared to the architecture of the library itself. The books were all shades of bright, vibrant colors. It was strange. From the outside, it seemed creepy and gloomy. Once he walked in, it was very cozy. The dark walls of the library contrasted the beautiful colors of the books.

Then, he saw the woman come out. She came up to the desk. He expected an elderly lady with her glasses on a chain, but he assumed this woman was a student. She was a young woman who wore thin oval glasses and her brown hair thrown up in a messy half-up-half-down ponytail. 

“Hi!” The woman said. “How can I help you?”

“I want to use a computer, please,” He announced. He glanced at her nametag which hung like a necklace around her neck. “Hange” was the name on the tag. It was strange and unordinary, but it had a nice ring to it. The name seemed to suit her.

“Sure! You are allowed up to two hours a day,” Hange explains. “You can choose whichever computer you’d like.”

The computers were unoccupied. In fact, the entire library seemed vacant except for him and the employee. 

“Does anyone actually come here?” Levi asked, setting his stuff down next to a desk, and looking her way. She looked like someone who would work at a library. 

The brunette chuckled. “You are my third visitor today!” She exclaimed proudly. It was already about 3pm. He remembered the sign in the front says “12pm-6pm weekdays”. 

Levi chuckled silently, air huffed out his nose. “How do you stay in business?”

“Well, the university thinks it’s good to have a small library in the outskirts of the campus so students have access to books and computers because the main campus library is in the center of the plaza. Sometimes we get about ten people a day, and sometimes they don’t even take anything out. Sometimes I wonder how…” She began to ramble now. She definitely has not had anyone else visit her today.

She was starting to get on his nerves. It’s been 20 minutes since he arrived, and she was still talking. He zoned out until she caught his attention.

“Hey,” She said. “What’s your name? I have to track whoever comes in to use the computers.” 

Why? No one else comes in. He noticed her clipboard with the sign-ins was blank.

“Levi Ackerman,” He announced. She scribbled his name down. “Okay, it’s 3:30 now, so you have till 5:30 if needed.” She pointed to the clock with her pen as she explained. He nodded and proceeded to walk towards the table with the computer he claimed. He sat down and began working.

-

He was an hour into his research when he finally threw his hands up in the air in frustration. He still couldn’t think of a topic. He groaned aloud.

Hange was leaning against the main desk, her nose stuck in a book. “How Trees Communicate” was the title. When she heard the young man groan, she looked up. 

“Is everything okay?” She asked, peering over her book at him.

“Yeah, yeah,” He mumbled. “Fine…”

Hange raised an eyebrow. She placed her bookmark at her spot, then strolled around the desk and walked over to him.

“What are you working on?” She asked, sitting in the seat next to him and put her hands on her knees, looking at him curiously. He scoffs. It was none of her business, he thought to himself. And it’s an invasion of privacy.

He was frustrated and desperate. Hoping for a miracle, he managed to tell her anyways.

 “I need a topic for my paper and I can’t think of any…” Levi began. “It needs to be based on pharmaceuticals, my major. It also needs scientific evidence to back up my research…”

She was fully absorbed in what he had to say. She was bored, so helping Levi would’ve been something to do at least. Besides, Levi was in luck. She was an avid reader, always reading about anything and everything. She was studying plants and botanicals, but she found herself frequently taking out books about cooking; religion; war; animals; and medical topics including surgery, pathophysiology, anatomy, and pharmaceuticals.

“What about how diuretics affect blood pressure?” Hange suggested. Levi was taken aback. His eyebrows furrowed, and he shook his head in confusion. “Or if anti-alzheimer drugs actually help slow the progression of Alzheimer’s? Why do you take different medications during certain stages of Alzheimer’s disease? Or how do anti-seizure medications work? That is something I ask myself all the time. You take this little pill and BOOM! You’ll be fine, no seizure! Oh, oh, oh! Or, how certain medications cause certain adverse effects? How come so many medications cause anxiety?” Her eyes started to light up as she talked. They were a dark brown, but when she started to talk, they seemed to morph to a captivating hazel. He felt he could see every color in her eyes. He saw brown and green and the little lines of her iris. Hange’s hands would move as she talked, and her smile grew wide. She couldn’t keep still. She was getting excited by coming up with all these ideas. She seemed so passionate and so willing to help; he was overwhelmed by her.

Levi was in shock. His day started off horrible. Now, he was almost glad his laptop was fucked. This woman was making his mind race with ideas. 

“Are you okay?” Hange asked for the second time within his visit there. Levi nodded slowly. “I am just… How do you know all that? Are you a med student?”

Hange chuckled and waved her hand at him. “No… I am a bookworm! Also, my mom is a nurse, so she used to teach me about nursing stuff all the time. Oh! You could write about the pathophysiology of anticholinergics! Or beta blockers! Or how the body reacts to the use of long-term steroids?”

Levi took a deep breath. He felt euphoric. He had been casually trying to think of topics since last week. All of a sudden, this woman can just ramble off hundreds of ideas? Levi smiled visibly.

“Actually… I really like the final topic you suggested. About steroids.” Levi admitted.

Hange smiled back at him. “Great! I can try to help you find some sources or books.” She directed him to open a new tab and to go to a certain database. “This is where you can find reliable sources. Over here,” She pointed to his screen at the left side. “You can add filters. You can change how old or new you’d like the sources to be, filter out certain words or phrases, et cetera.” She had been closer to him now; she scooted her chair closer so she could explain the database to him. It was hard not to look at her as she explained. She was captivating.

Levi began to type in words for his topic.

“Steroids”, “Long-term use”, “Cushing’s Disease”, “Addison’s Disease”, “Addisonian Crisis”, “Pathophysiology”.

He felt like he was finally getting somewhere. He was finally making progress.

-

As Levi was walking home, he couldn’t get his mind off that girl. He decided to brainstorm about his topic in his room once he got there. The thing was, though, he couldn’t think of any more ideas. He found it funny. Of course he was full of ideas and inspiration when he visited that library, but now he’s void of any.

-

Levi’s weekends were no different than the weekdays. He made it appoint to visit the library again the next day, Saturday. It was a sunny, cool Saturday morning. Levi had inspiration to write. He needed a computer and Hange’s ideas. When he arrived, it seemed busy. There were three other patrons at the library.  He recognized Hange right away, helping a tall blonde man with a big nose. He wondered if she was the only employee there. The man she was helping was taller than her, so she had to reach up on her toes to point to items. She was an average height, but this action made her seem shorter than she actually was.

Hange looked his way and greeted him with a toothy smile. Levi waved at her and started to head down one of the aisles of books. He was in the nonfiction section, but was lost. For now, he just casually browsed the section, but quickly got impatient. He needed Hange’s help to find books for this paper. He heard her laugh with the patron. Maybe he’s a friend, he thought to himself. Her laugh was airy and full of heart. It seemed genuine and passionate. Levi felt an urge to make her laugh, too.

She finally made her way over to him. Levi was looking down at a book when she caught his eye. “Hey, stranger!” She greeted him with a wave. “Whatcha looking for?” She placed her hands on her hips.

“I’m trying to find some sources for my paper. Steroids is the topic,” Levi explained.

“Oh, right. I remember! After you left last night, I tried to look for some books for your topic,” She said. She was trying to help me? Levi thought to himself.

She curled her finger in a “follow me” gesture and he did. She brought him to another aisle or two over from where they were. “These are the 600’s, where you’ll most likely find what you’re looking for. I found a book or two about Addison’s disease, but it’s more of a memoir. You can look around though if you’d like. Anything in the 610’s should be right up your alley.” She explained as if she was going to leave, but she didn’t. Hange looked for books with him. 

After a moment, she made a noise. “Look at this!” She exclaimed. She reached next to him to reach for a book. She was on her toes again. “Mmmm,” She moaned as she tried to reach. “Actually, I’m gonna get the step stool. I don’t think I can reach it.” Quickly, she left and came back with the stool. It looked unreliable, but Levi was sure he’d be able to prevent any accident from occurring. Hange placed it on the ground and stepped up on it, grabbing the book with ease. She stepped down with the book in her hand. This book had a white cover with a blue label and was titled “Coping with Prednisone”. Levi was surprised she even knew what prednisone was. 

“Here!” She reached it out for him to grab. He took it and looked at her face. She had that same look in her eyes. “Did you want to use the computer?” He nodded and she led him towards the front of the library. The library was small from the outside, but very deep inside. It reminded him of a forest. 

“I got your name, don’t worry,” She said, clicking her pen and writing his name down on the sheet. 

“Oops!” Hange made a quick grimace. “I added an ‘e’ at the end. I’ll just cross it out.” The statement sounded like it was addressed to herself rather than to anyone else. She crossed out the extra letter.

“Ackermane”. Levi was gonna attempt to make her laugh.

“If you thought I looked like a horse you could’ve just said so.” 

Mane, horse mane. Get it?

It felt like forever before Hange responded. She looked up at him, starting to laugh. It was a short but audible laugh. Her head nodded back and she smiled. Her cheeks turned pink and her eyes lit up for a moment. It made his heart skip a beat. It was a bad joke yet she still laughed. She chuckled. Giggled? No. Laughed lightly. Chortled? Maybe that’s the right word. Whatever it was, he wanted to do it more, maybe even more than that.

He followed her to the computers. The blonde guy she was helping earlier was on one computer. She led him to the two computers across from the other ones and sat down in the chair next to him.

“What are you doing?” Levi asked, placing the book she found for him on the table.

Her eyebrows raised, and after a moment she reacted. She waved her hands in front of her.

“I’m sorry! I thought you may have needed help. I should get back to work anyway. I gotta go through a new box of books that just came in.”

Levi looked up at her. Is she blushing? he asked himself.

“I’ll let you know if I need help.” Levi responded. She smiled at him before quickly walking away.

-

He started to find some evidence-based practice articles about how steroids can cause long-term side effects, especially if stopped abruptly. He made sure to keep the tabs available. He’d have to cite them later. Levi’s mind was racing with words and sentences and ideas. He had to get them down on paper. He opened Documents on the computer and started typing away.

The clicking of the keyboard soothed him. He was a pretty fast typer, he didn’t make many mistakes either. The library around him began to become quiet as his typing got louder and he got deeper in thought. Before he knew it, his two hours were up. He felt someone approach him from his right.

“Hey,” Hange said, gently tapping the table next to him. “It’s 2pm. I gotta close up.”

Levi snapped out of his focused trance with a quick head shake. “Right. Sorry.” He pulled out a flash drive from his backpack and plugged it into the computer. He transferred his document. “I got the first page done.”

Levi asked himself for a brief moment why he was sharing this information with someone he just met. Maybe since she helped him, he felt she should know.

“That’s great! It seemed like you were really focused,” Hange said, walking away to shut off some lights. Only then did he notice the white noise of the overhead lights quickly dissipate. The room buzzed with silence now. Levi and Hange were alone in the library. Suddenly, Levi felt nervous. He watched Hange walk around the room frantically, making sure to shut off all the lights and computers. She grabbed a bag. The bag was a fabric material with a patchwork design that had a long strap that hung on on her shoulder. Maybe she made it herself. She grabbed her big mess of keys and walked towards him.

“Ready?” She said. He nodded and walked outside, holding the door for her. She thanked him, locking the door behind her. They began to walk down the street slowly. 

“Want to grab lunch?” Hange asked, looking at him. Levi looked back at her. She looked pretty.

“Sure, I can eat.” Hange chuckled at that. He didn’t try, but it made her happy for a brief moment. He seemed nervous but she was too.

They decided to eat at a cute restaurant on campus called “Life in Paradis”. It was a small, dainty place with a green and yellow checkered awning. The building was made of yellow brick, and the door was bright green. There were flower pots outside on the windowsill. Again, this place seemed totally out of place in the modern aesthetic of the university. 

“This place is adorable!” Hange exclaimed. “I love the food here. You’ll love it too. They have all kinds of food here.” Levi felt a smile grow on his face. The way she talked made his heart flutter. She was always so passionate. They entered and got a table for two. This is not a date, Levi kept telling himself. Then why were his cheeks red?

They sat down and looked through a menu. Levi wasn’t extremely hungry even though he hadn’t had anything but tea this morning. He peered over his menu to look at the girl. Her hair was different today, he determined. Today all her hair was in a ponytail, and it was higher on her head. She wore a light yellow button-down with a long, light blue cardigan. Hange caught him staring at her and blushed.

“What would you two like to order?” The waitress asked him first.

“I’m gonna get a sandwich, I think,” He said, crossing his arms across his chest. “Turkey sub.” “I think I’m gonna get a chicken caesar salad,” Hange said. He nodded, grabbed the menus, and walked away.

Hange began to talk about how beautiful the flowers outside the restaurant were. They were all variants of pink, purple, yellow, and red. She described the petals and the leaves, the flowers’ origins, and all the meanings of the flowers. Levi wasn’t annoyed by her tangent this time. He actively listened to this girl talk about what fascinated her so much. He found it soothing. It made him wonder how her brain can contain all the information she was spewing at him. He enjoyed watching the way her eyes lit up when she talked. The beautiful green that blossomed at the bottom of her irises when the light hit her eyes at the right angle. The way her lips curled into a big smile when she talked to him. Her cheeks flush to a light pink when she describes the petals of the flowers or how flowers were used to express feelings when words cannot. It made his heart race. 

“Levi,” Hange said. Her affect was the opposite of earlier when she was rambling. She wore a frown on her face, feeling guilty.“I’ve been rambling… sorry. It’s such a bad habit of mine. I can talk for hours and hours.”

“Don’t apologize, four-eyes,” Levi replied, leaning his elbows and forearms on the table in a crossed position. Hange smiled at him. Levi meant it. She shouldn’t apologize for talking, especially if it’s about something she loves. The food had arrived at the table. They ate. Levi felt the need to open up to her about something. He already learned so much about her, and her presence made him feel like he can open up. 

“I like to run,” Levi said abruptly. Hange looked at him intently, chewing on a forkful of salad. “I don’t do it competitively or anything, but I enjoy running. I try to run once or twice a day.” Hange’s eyebrows raised and she nodded in agreement.

“That’s awesome!” She smiled again at him. “I like to run too. I’m really slow and get tired easily, but I enjoy feeling the wind in my hair and feeling my heart pound.” She took a bite of her meal again. Levi nodded and began to eat too. This sandwich was really good.

-

After talking some more about hobbies and school, they both finished their meal. The waiter brought over the check. Hange reached into her pocket for her wallet.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Levi asked. Hange furrowed her brows.

“I invited you out to lunch. I will pay,” Hange determined, her wallet now in her hands.

“No,” Levi said too quickly. “I will pay. It’s the least I can do. You helped me with my paper after all.”

The bickering lasted a very long minute. Before she got to think of the idea, Levi grabbed the checkbook and shoved his card inside before handing it to the waiter. Hange looked surprised. She sighed, putting her wallet away.

“Thank you, Levi. But you really didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to.”

In all honesty, Hange didn’t have much money. She worked at that library four times a week, but the money she made went towards paying off her tuition. She really wanted to treat this man, her new friend. She wasn’t sure if he thought the same way about her. Did he consider her his friend? She felt slightly embarrassed. She did most of the talking and felt like she was annoying him. Maybe he just wanted to pay so she would lay off. 

But the truth is, Levi felt the opposite way of how she was thinking. He was interested to hear more from her. He was addicted to the way his heart raced when he saw her. 

-

Over the next couple of days, Levi would go to that library whenever he was available. He knew it was closed on Sunday, so he went Monday and Tuesday to the library. Fortunately, he got his first batch of money from the brats that fried his computer. He received $100. Of course it was not enough, but it was a start. Wednesday the 17th came around. This specific day was a wild card. The weather was unpredictable. Levi entered the library just in time; it had started to downpour. The little bell rang as he entered the library. To his surprise, Hange was not working that day. There was a boy behind the counter who was tall and had a brown bowl cut hairstyle.  He almost thought about turning around and leaving when he realized she wasn’t there. The rain charged towards the earth viciously, so he decided to seek shelter in the small library. It almost looked like a hurricane. He felt his mood change into a bad one. He didn’t remember to ask how often she worked. 

“Hi there!” The man said. His name tag read “Moblit”. That’s a dumb name.

“I wanna use a computer,” Levi muttered, walking up to the main desk.

“Okay. Name?” Moblit grabbed the clipboard and a pen.

“Levi Ackerman.”

“Oh, I see you’ve been here before. A lot, actually.” Levi scoffed and rolled his eyes at his comment. He turned around, picked a computer, and sat down. He felt really stupid to not ask her about her schedule.

The two hours he spent working on his paper was incredibly slow. He didn’t get much done that day. He had writer’s block. He was almost done, so he didn’t worry about it too much. He didn’t know Hange’s schedule. He knew she worked Friday, the day they met; Saturday; Monday, and Tuesday. Maybe she only worked four times a week? Before he knew it, he asked Moblit aloud. It was almost an accident.

“Uh, she’ll be in on Friday,” Moblit replied. He probably couldn’t give out that information to some creep who began visiting daily with an attitude. He muttered a “thanks” before finishing up and heading out. The weather was holding up for now, so he decided to make a run for it. He didn’t say goodbye to Moblit.

He didn’t have an umbrella. The sun was trying to shine through the dark, eerie clouds. It wasn’t trying hard enough. He heard thunder rumbling in the distance.

Levi realized that this girl was all he thought about the past few days. Something about her enticed him. Something about her eyes and her presence drew him towards her. His heart skipped a beat whenever she’d graze his hand on accident, or even when she just talked to him. She made him happy. He hadn’t had too many friends in college. Although they just met last week, he felt a deep connection with her. 

Suddenly, the sun poked through the clouds for a brief moment. The world lit up. It was at that moment he recognized a familiar face. Hange. She was walking towards him. She grinned when she saw him. She wore a fitted black t-shirt and baggy, light blue jeans. 

“Levi!” She exclaimed. “I forgot my jacket in the library, so I came down to get it.” 

“You didn’t tell me you weren’t working today.” Is all Levi said. Once he said it, he realized how creepy it must’ve sounded. A man she just met happens to go to this library to work on his project every day, who happens to come up with multiple reasons to interact with her. Maybe she thought he was a perv.

“Ehh!” She sighed. “I’m sorry! I thought I told you I was off today.” Levi shook his head. The comment itself may have sounded rude, but it wasn’t. She genuinely felt bad. “Walk with me.” Levi followed. Guess not.

“I don’t work Wednesday’s and Thursday’s. Well I’m not supposed to be,” Hange explained. “Mobilt, one of my co-workers, is always calling out sick. So I basically run the place.” They walked towards the library again and entered. 

“Hey, Moblit. How’s it going?” Hange said in a normal tone, heading towards the back of the library. Moblit responded briefly, following Hange. Levi decided to hang back, he figured it was a secure area. He looked around awkwardly.

“Hange, you didn’t tell me you had a boyfriend,” Moblit said, following her towards the back. 

Hange chuckled nervously. “He’s not my boyfriend,” she said bluntly. “He’s just a friend.” Moblit scoffed, rolling his eyes. “If he’s not your boyfriend, how come his mood entirely changed once he saw you?”

Hange found her jacket, folding it over her forearm. “Huh?”

“He was, like, in a bad mood when he came in. He used the computer but he seemed to be pissed or something. Now that he’s with you, he seems… tolerable.”

Hange laughed, feeling her cheeks blush. “It’s nothing like that. People have bad days, you know.”

Hange rolled her eyes and smirked, then headed towards the front of the library. “Ready?” Levi nodded and turned around.

“See you Friday,” Moblit called out. “See ya.” Hange replied.

The two started walking down the street. The air smelt of rain, and the ground was wet from the rain earlier. “Which building is your dorm in?” Hange asked. He was a bit surprised she asked him that, and she was so direct about it.

“Saint Maria,” He replied. She smiled. “Me too! I can’t believe I haven’t seen you around!” The wind picked up and the sky turned darker than before. They both looked up. “If you can’t make it to the library, you can use my desktop in my dorm room,” Hange offered. Levi’s cheeks turned bright red. 

“Thanks, maybe tomorrow I can stop by,” Levi said. It was more of him thinking aloud than a statement. It was too late though, Hange already heard him. He could’ve sworn he didn’t say it aloud.

“That’s fine! I only have a class early tomorrow morning. Come by around 11, okay? My room number is 506.” Levi nodded. Thunder rolled and sounded closer now. They were almost at the dormitory building when it started to downpour. The rain was forcefully coming down on the two. Levi groaned in annoyance. He hated being in the rain. He hated being wet; he hated the wet socks and how gross he felt when it rained. He would’ve started to run to the building to seek cover, but he was taken aback by his new friend.

She was soaked and embracing it. She lifted her head up to face the sky and she laughed. It was loud, happy, genuine, and it took Levi’s breath away. Hange reached her hands out wide and spun around. He saw a strike of lightning light up the sky. He stared at her in awe. His heart swelled. Levi smiled big. After laughing, Hange looked at Levi and shared the look that he wore just a few moments ago. She loved his smile. She wished to make him smile more. She was also determined to make him laugh, too.

She grabbed his hand. “Let’s take cover!” And she pulled him into the dormitory hall. Saint Maria’s hall was beautiful. It had ceiling-to-floor glass pane windows that were always crystal clear. There was a big black modern chandelier that hung from the ceiling. It contained visible light bulbs. Hange secretly loved it. There were the same big, yellow, leather couches in the living room as there were in the study area on his floor. They both wiped their feet off on the big rug in the entryway. 

“I love the rain,” Hange deduced, turning her head to look at him. As if Levi couldn’t tell. Her hand was still holding his. Levi looked up at her. “I like it, too.”

[jennandblitz]

Ok just ur talent is just kjhogdhjfdjjg and I’m just so astounded by you!! So I’m sorry if this prompt sucks but I love me my low key jelly sirius, so 41 for wolfstar😂😂

41. “You’re going out dressed like that?”

This one got a touch out of hand 😂 Sirius in a big mess of feelings is truly my favourite. Thank you for the prompt Len, enjoy!

——— 

It’s round about now, Sirius realises, that he needs to fully face the truly, horrifically shit situation he’s ended up in. It’s not the fact he has a paper on the impact of Frida Kahlo on modern feminism due on Monday that he’s written one whole paragraph for, or the fact he hasn’t done laundry in a few weeks and is down to one shirt and possibly two pairs of underwear, or the fact the cigarette he’s trying to roll is going abysmally and his jeans are covered in tobacco dust.

It’s the fact that Remus Lupin is going on a date.

Remus Lupin is going on a date and it’s not with him.

It’s Saturday night, and he and Peter are staying in to do work, when James is off probably doing something Sirius doesn’t want to think about with Lily, and Remus is going on a date with someone from his Lit class.

Surrounded by a moat of books and notes, Sirius’ laptop is forgotten to the side as he rolls a cigarette with shaky fingers—finally manages to get it to tuck under properly, Jesus—and listens to Remus singing along somewhat loudly to The Jam in his room. Any minute now, Sirius knows he’s going to walk out of his room, looking so stupidly, ridiculously attractive that Sirius will probably let his smoke fall out of his mouth and burn a hole in his jeans… again. Grumbling to himself and pushing aside a notebook to grab his lighter, he sparks up and takes a long drag.

If there’s one thing Sirius does well, it’s talk himself in circles. He’s so thoroughly convinced, and has been since that second term of first year, when he and James had moved from halls into a shared flat with Remus and Peter, that Remus is uninterested in him. He’s not even sure Remus is queer, though he does have a bisexual pin on one of his beanies, and they did all go to Pride that past summer before they went home, but what if he’s just a damn enthusiastic ally? Or even worse, truthfully, what if he is queer, but it’s Sirius that’s the problem?

Right on cue, the music in Remus’ room shuts off, and a moment later he appears in the doorway that Sirius studiously tries to ignore but fails miserably at. Shit, and he looks unreal. Remus is usually in oversized sweaters and jeans too long that bunch up around his ankles atop his brogues. The beanies and the wallet chain are usually the only real thing that gives away the complete punk riot that appears when he’s three beers deep into a night out. Tonight though, a night out Sirius supposes, but not with him, Remus is in skinny jeans so tight that Sirius has to not stare pointedly at the curve of his arse, and a Distillers shirt that hangs loose and exposes the pointed tip of one collarbone around the neckline, a studded belt visible beneath the ragged hem. When Sirius drags his gaze up, Remus’ hair, sandy blonde with the remnants of teal dye clinging to the tips, is all mussed and in his eyes, and those eyes are ringed in smudged black, and Sirius can’t breathe. 

“Alright Sirius?” Remus asks, his footsteps resonating over the hardwood floor in those studded creepers Sirius would steal if Remus’ feet weren’t woefully smaller than his.

Sirius realises at once that it’s absolutely happened again, and his cigarette burns his fingers, then leaves a smudge of ash and ember on his jeans as he snatches it up and curses his inability to keep it together around Remus fucking Lupin when he looks like that. Sirius wants to push his paper aside, stand up, grab Remus around the waist and throw him against the wall. He wants to grab the front of that shirt and haul Remus in to mark his mouth with kisses, wants to tell him to stay here, fuck the gig, stay here and let me make you scream. He wants it so bad he sees it when he blinks just before answering.

“Yeah, Jesus, sorry—distracted by the idea we might be back in 2005 with that emo fringe. You’re going out dressed like that?” Sirius quips, tugging his laptop back into his lap to hide the fact every millilitre of blood in his body is rushing south.

Remus snorts a laugh and flips him off. “Please, as if you haven’t walked out of a Led Zeppelin biopic at any moment.” 

Sirius rolls his eyes, but he can’t retort; one because it’s true, and two because Jesus fuck, Remus walks towards the door and his arse could launch a thousand ships.

“Want any merch from the gig?” Remus asks, pulling Sirius from an extended metaphor about Helen of Troy or Adonis or Pygmalion.

“Nah,” Sirius hums, shaking his head as he relights his cigarette and tries to steer his mind towards something truly vile so he can concentrate on anything but kissing the living daylights out of Remus. “Have fun with… who is it?”

“Iain.” Remus shrugs on his bomber jacket, a flash of something alighting over his face that Sirius doesn’t recognise. Well, he’s queer then, huh? So it’s Sirius that’s the problem. “From my lit class.”

“Oh yeah. Have fun with Iain.” Sirius tries to keep the disdain out of his voice, really, he does.

Remus chuckles lowly as he pulls open the door to the flat. “Bye Pete!” He calls, and after a shout from Pete’s bedroom, glances through that teal-tinged hair and says, softly, “Bye Sirius.”

With a groan, Sirius pushes himself from the sofa to go and make coffee, and resolutely not think about Remus and Iain at the gig, all pressed close and sweaty, dancing together…

It fails miserably, of course, but thankfully Sirius is passionate about the subject of his paper, so he loses a good few hours in there. Feverish motivation tends to descend on Sirius rather often, and so when the door opens again, he jerks his gaze up and realises it’s dark but for the light of his laptop screen, and it’s late. Pete is snoring softly from his room. Remus is silhouetted in the doorway by the stairwell light. Sirius shifts and pushes his hair back from his face with one hand.

“Alright Remus,” he says, his voice hoarse from an evening of disuse, too many cigarettes and endless coffee.

For a horrid moment, Sirius thinks Remus has brought Iain the Date back with him, but he’s alone and lets the door swing shut behind him. “You’re up late.”

“Hanging out with my best mate Frida, of course,” Sirius drawls, gesturing to his laptop. Remus looks even better now, his eyeliner smudged, a rip in the knee of his jeans. Sirius wants to drag him to bed, to hell with it all. In a fit of impulsivity, he pushes his laptop aside and sits forward.

“Right. I got you a patch, for your jacket, by the way,” Remus tells him as he toes his shoes off by the door and pads over. He looks so earnest in the blue light of Sirius’ laptop, as if this nowhere between time and space exists only for them.

“Thanks Rem.” Sirius tries not to think on whether Remus told Iain the Date he’s buying a patch for his friend, and whether that’s kind of weird. “Have a good date?” He can’t resist asking, as if he likes twisting the knife deeper, or maybe he’s hoping it was an awful date.

“Date?” Remus laughs as he moves one of Sirius’ notebooks aside to sit on the other end of the sofa. “If it was a date neither of us knew that.”

Sirius’ brow furrows. “It wasn’t a date?”

“Why would it be a date?” Remus’ voice is painfully soft now, his eyes wide as he stares at Sirius.

“Because…” Sirius licks his lips. His fingers itch with the urge to bury them in Remus’ hair.

“Because the lad I fancy is a moron,” Remus murmurs, not looking away from Sirius, on the edge of a moment. “A complete moron who I’d quite like to kiss me right now.”

Sirius shoves away the rest of his notebooks with a little scuff of a laugh. “Come here,” he tells Remus, reaching for his wrist and tugging him closer. Remus obliges, shuffling closer, avoiding Sirius’ tobacco and a handful of highlighter pens until Sirius just gives in and hauls the man into his lap. “A complete moron, huh?” He says, as he leans in and kisses Remus like he’s been thinking of all night. Remus hums a little affirmative into the kiss, and it tastes so sweet.

Send me a prompt, if you like!

[cutegirlmayra]

I love your jealous Sonic and I think the most canon one is boom, so may I ask for Boom!Sonamy with jealous Sonic? If you need a more specific idea maybe Amy gets a pet like a puppy that takes up all her attention so Sonic feels left out and in competition and feels the dog doesn't like him and doesn't want to share Amy.

You can find me talking about this prompt at 21:16 on the Pajama Blogs!

Hehe, jealous Sonic, it would be more canon in Boom, you’re right. I agree and share your opinions lolol but I think this would be cute and I hope I do it justice!

PROMPTS ARE ON SHUTDOWN! Sorry, you missed the grand opening and will have to wait till next time :( You can still ask questions though! But they need to be in accordance to the blog rules~<3

Prompt:

Comedy Chimp was in a hysteria of panic, the news had just announced the most popular celebrity pet: Tinkle Dipples, to be housed in Hedgehog Village while preparing to shoot a cameo in the famous Tommy Thunder movies.

Eggman and Amy compete in a tournament/competition to win the right to take care of Tinkle Dipples for the shooting, since his manager is going fangirl over Tommy Thunder, she doesn’t want to care for him and instead, has Amy--the winner of the tournament--sign some legal documents and take off to pursue her hero.

Sympathizing a bit with the manager but more excited about the cute, idol puppy, Amy takes her job very seriously as Eggman whines and complains about his loss and plans to do something about it..!

“I knew I should have played Dynamite Dalmatian but she had Rover Clover on the field, you can’t EXPLODE ROLL WITH MAXIUM LUCK ON YOUR OPPONENTS TEAM!” he wept and tossed his arms about as they wacked against his bed.

Orbot and Cubot just looked to each other, unsure how to comfort him. “Sir, perhaps scheming against Sonic and his friends while one of their prominent members is distracted could prove useful and make you feel better?” Orbot stated, as the two held up a pen and some graph paper, “Scheming always puts you in a better mood for evil...” He encouraged again.

Collecting himself and rubbing his massive hands under his glasses, he sniffled as he took the paper and started sketching. “Ohh...hoo... hoo...oh-ho? Oh ho! Oh-ho-ho-ho-wha-hahaha!!!” with soft cries that suddenly turned manic with evil, he scribbled more furiously and immediately cranked his back and threw his arms to an angle in his signature laughter.

Sonic, Tails, and Knuckles were playing beachball when Sticks poked her head out of the local garage dump, “Heeeey, wait a minute!” she threw a banana peel off her head a second, “Volleyball and Beachball are the same things! Why are they called differently!? Do they respond to the same name!?”

“Guess you could call it Beach Volleyball.” Tails shrugged, “Though, technically, beachball is the thing you use to play volleyball...” As he continued, Knuckles spiked and knocked him down while he was contemplating it.

“Haha! Snooze you loose!” Knuckles mocked, throwing his arms down to point at Tails.

“Grr... Knuckles! We’re on the same team!” He spat out sand and dusted himself off.

“Oh.” Knuckles then gestured to himself, “Well, then I was awake and quaked!���

Tails shook his head, “Sonic, do you have to play on your own team?”

“What? I’m fast enough for two!” Showing off his amazing speed, Sonic zipped around the court to where it looked like Sonic was literally playing by himself, “I could even play all teams!” He snatched the ball from the ground and pushed--or lightly placed--Knuckles and Tails out of the field to then play the game by himself.

“Still seems a bit unfair, though.” Tails pouted, folding his arms.

“No, no. Shh!!! I wanna see which team wins!” Knuckles became excited, “Woo! Go, Left field Sonic! Ah! No! Watch out, Right field Sonic! Nooo..!!! Oh, phew... Wait-Sonic!” Knuckles went through typical spectators reactions, gripping his head, tugging on his hair, before cheering yet again, “Yeeeahhh! Good forward arm there, Left field Sonic! Rooted for your along! ... Hey, which one’s Sonic again?” he looked to Tails.

“At least you got the fields right.” Tails side-commented before stepping back up to Sonic. “Is this because Amy wouldn’t come down to the beach today?”

“Yeah, we can’t help it if I’m too good for the two of ya.” He twirled the ball on his finger, “Besides, Amy can’t--and won’t--part with that Tinkle... Dinkle... Winkle... whatever his name is!” Sonic fanned a hand out, masking his own opinions on it. “Amy’s obsessed with that thing...”

“Huh, I always thought Amy was obsessed with y-” Tails seemed to panic and jumped up to cover Knuckles’s mouth.

“Knuckles-!” he cried out, then lowered his voice to whisper down to him, clinging to his head and shoulder. “We’re supposed to pretend we don’t know anything about that...”

“Anything about what now?” Sonic was still doing tricks with the volleyball.

“N-nothing!” Tails waved his hands out and flew a moment in the air. “An-anyway, I don’t think I’m really in the mood to keep playing. I’ve got uh... some... some engineering stuff to work on! Bye, Sonic!” He waved and took off.

“Engine-erring!?” Sticks spat out a flat tire that had been thrown away that she was gnawing on to find the trapped gerbil that she believed made the car’s wheels turn and free it from it’s imprisonment at last. “Oh no, you don’t!” she jumped out and rushed after him, barking as he flew up and in a bit of surprised fright, tried to dodge her but she jumped and grabbed his foot. “You aren’t making nothing to torture these gerbils anymore!”

“W-wha-what are you talking about!? Le-let goooo!!!” The two flew off and seemed to crash somewhere.

“I-uh... better check on that.” Knuckles saw Sonic offering to share the ball with him but decided to check on his friends first. “Sticks! Wait! I’m sure that nice village of Gogobas are still safely in their pity parties!”

Sonic sighed, “Oooh...” And let the ball go to kick it, letting it roll as a Eggman spybot was hit out of a bush and flew up.

“Guess I’ll check on Amy then...” Sonic took off towards her house.

“Hehehe-huhuhu...” Eggman rubbed his hands together, sitting happily in front of his screen in his evil lair. “There we go... I’ll snatch Mr. Tinkle Dipples the second Amy’s distracted by Sonic!” He roared confidently in laughter. “My machine is almost complete! Orbot! Cubot!”

“Yes, Doctor?!” Cubot nervously saluted as Eggman turned around to face the two in his spinning chair.

“Make sure my robot pooch is fully operational!”

“Yes, doctor!” The two took off...

Sonic raced to the door, but before knocking, looked himself over in the reflection of a window and adjusted his quills, then tightened his bandana. He choked, loosening the bandana again and grumbling to himself something but the only audible line one could hear was--”Never learned to tie a tie...” before rushing back to door and knocking this time.

“Busy!” Amy cried from within.

His entire confident air deflated, and he drooped forward with his arms hanging down, “Oooh... Uh, it’s me! Sonic! ... Sonic The Hedgehog!” He puffed himself up just a little bit more, calling and leaning more towards the door. “Hero extraordinary! ... So much better than a puppy...” He folded his arms and mumbled the last bit to himself.

“Oh-oh... C-coming!” Amy seemed to scramble but Sonic could hear multiple layers of locks, chairs, wooden-door stoppers and more start being cleared away like a construction site. She peeked open the door, “Come in!” she chimed, “Quickly, quickly, quickly..!” She then rushed him in and put one single lock back on the door. “Eh, I’ll take of that later.”

“Woah, what’s with the, uh... high-end security arrangement, Ames?” Sonic thumbed-back to the door but Amy rushed over to a stool with a soft pillow on it, making the little puppy look like royalty as his tongue hung out and he drooled.

His eyes grew intensely large like in anime and shined, trying to such Sonic into his cuteness as Sonic felt the pull but leaned away.

It shone with heavenly aura as it’s eyes kept growing bigger but Sonic about-faced and turned to Amy, “Uhh... How’s the pooch-sitting coming along-” he was surprised to see she was completely captivated by the puppy and already squatting by the stool, gawking and taking pictures as her own eyes looked bigger than normal.

“Aww, cute puppy! Sweet boy! Look over hereee~” she cooed and coddled as it continued to pant, it’s eyes normal to Sonic now. “Who’s the cutest, wutest, sweetest, squishiest cheek boy ever?~” she then scrunched up his cheeks and played with them as they jiggled and wobbled to her touch, spraying drool everywhere...

“Oh.” He realized he was being ignored. “Alright, no worries, just the most dashing man of the hour in your house... No need to over-celebrate.” He frowned and pushed his arms straight down again. “Dumb dog.” he muttered under his breath.

“WHAT DID YOU SAY!?” Amy’s big, sparkling eyes went right into his face, as though a brainwashed-slave to this puppy as he shook his head in intimidation at her creepy smile.

“N-no-nothing! Just how cute the puppy iswh! Is-!” he almost mimicked Amy’s baby-talk on accident. “Ehem, Amy, I normally would never do this under typical and honorable circumstances but in this case-” He shoved her hands to his cheeks, “I think you see my point.” he beamed.

“...Uh, I guess?” Amy took her hands off his cheeks, “You hungry or something?”

He deflated yet again, his eyes just saucers of white. “N... No.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“...Yes.” He shrugged down, and as she went to the kitchen, he glared and clenched his jaw at the puppy. He zipped over to it, “Listen you, I don’t know what fame has done to your head or anything, but I’m not here to stand for your pompous treatment of my friend!”

The dog continued to drool, one eye blinking.

“But I’ll have you know that I’m the big shot in these parts! And Amy just happens to be madly in love with me!” He pointed to himself and then picked up the constantly panting dog. “Not you. So you can wag your little tail and stick out your tongue somewhere else!” He dashed to one of Amy’s bird cages and shoved the dog in, causing a minor yelp from it but it wasn’t hurt, just surprised as Sonic tarped it and headed back to Amy.

Sitting at the counter, he then crossed his legs, “So-ho-ho~ Amy~ Have I told you about the one time I-”

“Yep.” Amy continued to work on the food.

“I-I didn’t even say it.” Sonic squinted his eyes in suspicion at her.

“Uh-huh.”

“...Are you even listening to me?”

“All done!” she poured something into a bowl.

“Awesome! You’re cooking, might I say, is way better than Meh Burger when it comes to the ol’Sonic engine!” he rubbed his stomach and licked his chops before Amy swiped the bowl away from him as he went to bite down. “H-huh..? What just happened...” he spoke with his mouth open, mid-bite again, before he saw the puppy had mysteriously wound-up on the pillow stool again, Amy bringing the deluxe dog food over to him.

“Here you go, Mr. Tinkle Dinkles~ Yes, who’s hungry? Who’s the biggest star in Hedgehog Village and the world? And the whole wide wittle world? You are~ You are, you good boy~” she petted him as he leaned his head back, thumped his leg at her praise and loving scratches, and then flopped over her lap to gorge himself in her home-prepared dog food.

Sonic leaned against the couch, narrowing his eyes at the sight as he muttered more curses for the dog under his breath...

He had a thought bubble that then showed a chibi-version of Amy and the pooch, her scratching his belly and loving on him but the dog faded and a Chibi-Sonic replaced it. Snickering and cackling as Chibi-Amy continued her smothering but the Dog was now whining with it’s tail between it’s legs, trapped in a Meh Burger costume with a sign that read: ‘Will pee for attention’.

Sonic continued to snicker to himself before the doorbell rang again.

“Oh?” Amy lightly placed the dog back on his stool and used a finely made napkin with ‘Fuzzy Puppy Buddies’ logo on it to clean up his mouth before heading to the door. “Who could that be?”

While Amy was distracted, Sonic sped over to the dog, grabbed it, pulled back the window and tossed the dog with a under-handed swing out the window. It hung in the air a moment before going, “Oof?” like a little woof and fell straight down...

Into Eggman’s hands...

“Hehehe, hohoho..!” Eggman placed a mechanical dog down, doing the exact animations as the dumb little creature in the first place. “Now you’re coming with daddy sweetie~ Who’s a big, bright, beautiful star? You are~ You are Mr. Tinkle Dipples~ Uncle Eggy has a nice place set up just for you~” he wiggled his finger to the puppy and continued to adore it secretly while sneaking away.

“I’m gonna miss Metal Pooch.” Cubot wiped an imaginary tear from his eye. “Such beautiful destruction he caused...”

“Yeah... The steel heart mends, Cubot. Give it time to rust.” Orbot patted Cubot and helped turn him away from the sight.

When Amy closed the door again, she turned around with a shriek, panicking and tearing her house up looking for the dog. Sonic tried everything to get her to turn her attention to him, even momentarily throwing away his pride and setting up a floor-lounge with candle-lit setting with a rose in and across his mouth,... but she was too busy searching to see.

He spat out the rose and it hit her on the back of her head, “Ah! Sonic! We don’t have time for-...” Her eyes shrunk at the scene, and it might have been enough as their eyes met and romantic music started playing as he lifted up his foot and clicked a radio with his heel.

“Who’s a good boy..?” he flirted, but suddenly...

“BARK. BARK. I AM BARKING LIKE A CUTE, WITTLE BOY. BARK. BARK.”

“Oh my stars!” Amy raced to the window, “Mr. Tinkle Dipples!? What are you doing out here?” she had big, anime eyes again... as though love was blinding her from seeing the fakeness of the dog.

She cradled it in her arms after reaching down the window to get it.

“BARK. BARK. I AM THE GOODEST OF BOYS.” It’s robot voice was a dead giveaway, but Sonic was amazed to see that Amy kept caring for it, spoon-feeding it as it took the food but lifted its tail to dispel it out the other end.

“Ohh~ Did Tinkle Dipples make a wittle present-mess-le?” Amy put her hands to her hips as Sonic couldn’t take it anymore.

“HE’S A ROBOT!” He spindashed the Eggman robot as it powered down.

“Ohh... Goodest of b-b-boys...” and shut down.

“NNNOOOO!!!” Amy freaked out, crying and holding him in her lowered arms.

“Amy! Snap out of it! It’s a decoy!” Sonic put his hands on her shoulders and shook her, and her eyes returned to normal. “H-huh? Sonic? When did you get here?”

He lowered his eyes in agitation, but then the news came on.

“This just came in, T.W Barker is suing Amy Rose for a violation of her contract, that’s right, MR. TINKLE DIPPLES IS MISSING! AHH!! THAT POOR, INNOCENT BOY! AHH! AHH, THE AGONY! Amy’s reputation is ruined by the way and the world will never forgive her awful crime of LOSING THE MOST ADORABLE PUPPY IN THE WOR-RL-RLD!!!” The eagle was losing himself in his grief, as Amy’s eyes twitched and she brought out her hammer, looking ready to murder Sonic.

“Wait!” He dodged, “Amy, listen to me! YIKES!” he had to dodge Amy all the way to Eggman’s, where they defeated him to get the puppy back, who was still as still and in a loop-animation as ever, but wagged its tail and licked Sonic’s face when successfully brought to the manager.

Amy’s reputation was spared and Cubot and Orbot got Tails to fix Metal Pooch, leaving him to a happy life with Mombot.

She sat and stroked him, “THERE. THERE. WHO’S THE GOODEST BOY IN THE WHOLE WIDE WORLD BESIDES MY TWO OTHER EVIL BOY SONS?”

Metal Pooch continued the animation cycle, “I AM. I AM GOODEST BOY OF YOUR TWO EVIL SONS. BARK. BARK.”

Eggman frowned, watching from a window, “Ohh... Wait, how’d he end up there!?”

Cubot still visits to give him screws as a treat.

Amy looked to her friends, “Huh, I guess the moral here is to not let celebrities take over your lives and make you forget about your real friends...” She opened her arms up to everyone but instead, T.W Barker popped up, shocking everyone.

“And always keep your contractual obligations~” he winked to the camera with a sly grin. 

“Evenwhenabluehedgehog,that’sbeentheloveofyourlifeforwhoknowshowlong,isflirtingwithyoujustbecausejealousyisapartofacopingmechanismoftennotprescribedwithourcompany’sproductremembertobrushyourteethandsayyourprayerssuckersthisistotallylegitmarketingschemes.” 

he muttered under his breath as though the legalities at the end of a radio or t.v commercials.

END.

[harrysgoldenline]

Can’t Help but Love Him - Part 2

Hi!!! I’m so glad you all liked the first part of this story! Here is the second :) Sorry if it’s kinda messy, I didn’t fully proof read because I just really really wanted to get it out to you guys! Let me know what you think! <3

Part 1

Tags: @harriemelonsugar 

WORD COUNT: 4,235 

“How was staying at Harry’s last night?” Sarah teased once Y/N sat down across from her in the booth of the tiny cafe, “Did you guys cuddle?”

“Shut up.” Y/N groaned, rolling her eyes, “this whole getting over him thing is not working, the party should have made it easier but then he took me home instead of that girl, and to answer your question, no we didn’t. He slept on the couch.”

Sarah let out a long coo, causing Y/N’s cheeks to turn bright red covering her face with her hands, her friends hands coming across the table and playfully hitting them away, giggling as she sees Y/N’s rosy cheeks.

Sarah was the only person who knew about her crush on Harry, of course not on purpose. Sarah found it on her own, after seeing the two interact she thought that something was already happening between the two after closing observing their behavior when she came to visit Harry on tour. Sarah would always see the two laughing, Harry leaning into her ear and whispering different jokes and stories, as well as the two messing around on the stage together before and after the show.

Harry and Y/N met awhile back, running into each other in the studio back when Y/N was just starting her own career as a singer. She of course, then and now, still has not reached his level of fame, but she was currently in the works of planning her first solo world tour, something Harry has really helped with and supported, which she of course really appreciated, but she often felt guilty by. With his high profile reputation, just going out with Sarah can cause headlines and she never wants any of them to feel like she is using them for her own benefit, which leads them to this moment of going to small hole in the wall places. Y/N, also like Harry, preferred to be more private, working around personal interview questions and posting any kind of photos having to do relationships.  

“You two are the cutest.” Sarah giggles, both of them thanking the waitress as she comes by and drops off their drinks and takes their orders, “Seriously though, I wouldn’t worry about that girl from the party. It was random and like you said, he took you home and took care of you. Clearly cares about you a lot more.”

“He just felt guilty” Y/N laughed, “that girl literally dragged him away right in front of me and he ignored me all night until Nick showed up.”

“Oh yeah! He was so cute!” Sarah exclaimed, the thought also being a forgotten memory from that blurry night of too many drinks, “like really, REALLY cute. Mitch said you guys exchanged numbers, have you texted him?”

“No, I’m so embarrassed.” Y/N grumbled, covering her face with her hands again, “he came up to me because he saw me sitting alone, blankly staring at Harry as that girl was practically on top of him, he profanely just felt bad for me.”

“Oh stop.” Sarah demanded, slapping her friends wrist, “why are so convinced that no guy could actually like you? You’re hot, you’re sweet, you’re talented, you’re the whole package!”

Y/N shakes her head, staring down at her drink, swirling the straw around her cup, watching the ice spin, “I just… I don’t know. I mean… Nobody’s ever liked me before.”

“Oh c’mon, that’s not true.”

“It is, Sarah…” She softly admitted, shyly looking up at her older friend, her fingers still stirring the ice with her straw, “I’ve never been in a relationship, like ever.”

“What? But what about Be-“

“Nope… nothing happened… just can this stay between us? It’s so embarrassing.”

“That is nothing to be embarrassed about, sweetheart.” She frowned, reaching across the table and squeezing her friends hand, “And yes of course! Does Harry not know? I thought you told each other everything?”

“He doesn’t know this and the… more obvious secret.”

“Of course, but please don’t feel bad about this how about you and I-“ Sarah explains, stopping once her phone goes off, pulling out and talking a bit before putting back and her purse and smirking at her, leaning closer to her friend, “Let’s text Nick.”

***

“Fuck, that was really good. Can we run that again?” Harry asks, standing in the middle of the studio with Mitch, whom he gets a chuckle and a nod from, starting the new song from scratch.  

The sounds of Mitch’s guitar fills the room, Harry closing his eyes as he drums away on his lap, humming a tune to himself, scribbling some words messily onto the notepad in front of him.

The two have been working on a new song, Harry calling him to get over to the studio as soon as possible after Harry had a sudden spark of inspiration, so for the past few hours they have been working on that.

“I’m hoping they go just as crazy for this one as they did for Medicine.” He smirks, loving how crazy he can make his fans go. He knows just how to mess with them, loving to rile them up by preforming unreleased songs.

“Based on these lyrics” Mitch chuckled, looking over the explicit lyrics and setting the instrument next to him and slowly rising, going to the mini fridge in the studio, “They’re gonna lose their minds.”

Harry arrogantly smirks, catching the water bottle Mitch throws at him and giving him a quick thank you, taking a quick drink before scribbling more on the paper, crossing things out, drawing arrows, trying to make his vision clear as it all comes together. When Harry starts writing, all he can think about is writing and hardly anything can pull him out of his trance as he transforms himself into a new word. So much that Harry didn’t even his phone ring, Mitch watching comically as it rang out, neither of them reaching for it and the mystery person being eventually being sent to voicemail as Harry never sets down his pen, his other hand rubbing at his bottom lip and pinching it together as he sat in focus.

So focused in fact, he doesn’t notice the phone ringing again, only after a few brief moments of silence. Harry still scribbles away, pulling back and rubbing at his temple as his eyes scan the contexts of his paper and Mitch things he notices the ring as he looks away and to the side, only to grab the water and take a quick drink, scribbling away for a few more moments, the phone going back off as the mystery person is sent to voicemail, causing Mitch to let out a laugh.

“Wha’ you laughing at me for?” Harry chuckled, throwing one of his pencils at Mitch who quickly swats it away.

“Your phone rang twice, Rockstar. Didn’t even flinch. Whose calling you up?” Mitch taunted, trying to peak over at the screen and see the name, “Is it that girl from last night? Mallory?”

Harry looks over at his phone, clicking the side button and the screen light up and he reads the name, “Yes, actually.” He nods, raising the phone to his ear and listening to the voicemails she had left for him, hearing her request for the two to meet up tonight.

Mitch sits quietly, observing his friends behavior and he tries to carefully listen in to what the message the girl left behind. Mitch was also torn, of course wanting Harry to find the person of his dreams. Yet, he wanted Y/N to be with Harry. He didn’t know ‘officially’ about Y/N’s feelings for Harry, but he caught on quickly, not needing a word from her or Sarah… but he had listened in to some of their conversations when Y/N had come over to their place, thanking the stars he had never been caught, yet he sometimes (all the times), wishes he could be invited into girl talk… just once.

He watched as Harry takes the phone away from his ear and back down into his hands, typing away for a few moments before he set the phone back down, his focus going directly back to his pad of paper, a pen going between the man’s pink lips as he stares at the page blankly, his focus seeming to have evaporated and Mitch isn’t sure which of his friends that reaction is better for.

“What’s going on with you two?” Mitch asks, trying to act casual by picking up his guitar and strumming at random chords, “You two like a thing?”

“Hm? Oh, uh… Not sure, what we are right now.” He shrugs, “asked me if I wanted to get together tonight.”

“Well? Are you going to?”

“Just texted her if you and Sarah could come, make it a lil double date” He shrugged, making eye contact with Mitch as he sits across from them, “if you want of course, just casual. We could just hang out at my place.”

“Sounds fun, I can call Sarah right now. She’s with Y/N- You wanna ask if Y/N wants to come?” Mitch suggested, already digging through his phone and going to favorite contacts, ready to press on Sarah’s number.

“That would be really fun…” Harry nodded, scratching the back of his neck, “I just don’t want her to feel left out, ya know?”

“She could ask that Nick guy if he wants to come. She got his number, right? Before you swept her away from him back to your place.” Mitch teased, throwing his pencil back to him and hitting Harry square in the chest.

“She needed to get home, she drank too much, anymore and she would’ve been puking all night. I was just taking care of her.” He nonchalantly explained, “Needed to make sure she got home safe.”

“How’d Mallory feel about that? You two disappeared for a while.” Mitch smirked, raising his eyebrows at Harry, causing him to laugh, “What were you youngsters up to?

“Shut up.” Harry spoke, cheeks turning a bit red, “Don’t worry about it, can we finish up this last verse please?”

“Alright, alright.” Mitch laughed, “Let me call Sarah first and then we can, when should they come to your place?”

***

“Thanks again for coming, sorry it was kinda last minute.” Y/N started, smiling up at Nick as they both walked into Harry’s house, “And once again, I am so sorry about the other night. You made some really good drinks and I guess you I didn’t eat enough.”

“Don’t worry about, Y/N.” He laughed, his arm resting on her hip as they walked in the front door, “I have seen a lot worse, trust me. You’re not even a bad drunk, just a good dancer.”

“Oh god!” She giggled, covering her face with her hands, which he quickly pried away, “That is so embarrassing, I am so sorry you had to see that.”

“I enjoyed it.” He teased, “but to make it up to you… I will show you my dance moves tonight if you want me to.”

“Yes please!”

The pair laughed, entering the living room seeing the other couples sitting around laughing together. Sarah and Mitch sitting next to each other on the loveseat as Harry and Mallory sitting across from them on an armrest, Mallory wearing a tight black dress as she sat on Harry’s lap, an arm around his neck and making her feel extremely underdressed, even though she was the only one dressed for the occasion. Everyone else wearing a variation of jeans or joggers and different graphic tees and band shirts.

“Y/N!” Sarah smiled, seeing the pair walk in the room, kicking the couch next to her and signaling them to sit, “Hi Nick! What’s up guys?”

Harry looks up, squirming a bit in his seat and moving Mallory to the side and he quickly stands, walking over to his friend and pulling her into a tight hug, “Y/N, I’m so glad you could make it!” He smiles pulling back before looking over at Nick holding his hand out to him which Nick takes, “Nice to see you again Nick, thanks for coming, would you two like a drink?”

“Thanks for having me!” Nick smiles saying his hellos to the others, “and yeah that’d be great!”

Y/N agrees, both of them giving their orders to Harry and he nods, giving them their orders before he gives them a thumbs up, going back to the kitchen, “Can I have another, babe?” Mallory calls for him, “Same thing please!”

“Sure thing!” He calls out, and she smirks towards the kitchen, her plump, deep red bottom lip between her perfectly white teeth, “anyways, hi you two! We were just talking about Harry’s album and tour!”

Sarah hides behind Mitch’s back, making eye contact with Y/N and rolling her eyes before taking a long drink before turning back toward Mallory. Both her and Nick notice and they giggle to themselves, his arm going around her shoulder as they both relax into the couch, his other hand softly resting on her knee.

He leans into her, using his arm around her shoulder to pull her closer, “Was I supposed to dress black tie?” He chuckled softly into her ear, and she blushes playfully slapping his arm and gigging, her eyes widening after hearing a throat clear above her.

“Oh sorry.” Y/N blushed, “thank you for the drinks.” She added, looking up at Harry and giving him a soft smile, Nick also giving him a quick thank you.

He nods and smiles, walking back over and sliding back onto the armchair, Mallory crawling quickly back into his lap and pressing a kiss onto his cheek, arms going back around him as she continued to talk about Harry’s tour and all the places going to be, telling stories of some places that stuck out to her from previous modeling shoots.

He smiled and laughed along, nodding when she would turn to look at him, but then he would turn his attention back to Y/N, watching as he sat diagonally from him as she looked up at Nick laughing at a story he was telling her and he could almost see the star in her eyes, but he couldn’t help but feel the looks coming from across him. Sarah was staring deep at Y/N watching her friend and now being invited into the conversation with her and Nick. Mitch, although was staring at Harry, pretending also to listen to the conversation as he gave Harry a weird look, trying to read his friends mind.

“So, Nick! Tell us about yourself!” Harry explained the second Mallory paused, his eyes glued on Nicks hand who he swore was an inch or two higher on her leg then it was now, “You bartend right?”

“Yep!” Nick smiles, “Bartender at night and an actor during the day, mainly doing commercials and smaller TV roles right now, nothing as exciting as a world tour.”

He adds, subtly making fun of Mallory causing everyone to let out a laugh, except for Mallory who she thought was praising her and Harry, and Harry who also didn’t laugh, trying more to analyze his every word.

“No, that is exciting!” Sarah encourages, wanting the new man of the group to feel more comfortable, especially after noticing Harry’s intense stare, “Really cool actually, I think acting is so cool, you get to be so many people! Do you have a favorite kind of role?

She looked up at him as he explained, a smile covering her face and her heart skips a beat, a feeling she hasn’t felt in a while with someone other than Harry and she looks down at her lap, biting her lip and trying to hold back her smile as she sees his hand on her thigh. She slowly looks up, being met with Sarah’s wide smirk and wiggling eyebrows and Y/N rolls her eyes back at her before continuing to listen to Nick explain.

Conversation goes on from there, bouncing from person to person as each start sharing different stories and experiences that they’ve all gained throughout knowing each other, trying to get Mallory and Nick more familiar with their dates friends.

“Harry, baby, can you help me get another drink please?” Mallory smiles, batting her eyelashes up at him, thumb running over his cheek.

“Sure thing, let’s go.” Harry nodded, soon standing and she quickly grabs his hand, intertwining their fingers and giggling as she begins dragging him through the door and into the kitchen.  

The pair soon disappear and the remaining four all release a sigh of relief, the room feeling much more light now and the four begin a much more casual conversation, feeling much more comfortable as they start telling funny stories and jokes, being able to poke fun at one another, soon turning up the music in the room as they all begin messing around.

“Can I see those dance moves now?” Y/N smirked as they both stood up, downing their drinks and giggling, “please please?”

“I guess.” He chuckled, hands falling on her hips before moving a hair out of her face, “Just because you’re cute.”

Her face turned bright red, heart rate picking up as he leaned in a bit, winking before pulling back pressing a kiss in her cheek before jumping backwards and suddenly dancing wildly. Y/N, Sarah and Mitch all laughed, watching the man jump around and do a very over dramatic air guitar, Mitch jumping in and doing the same.

“C’mere!” Nick shouted over the loud music, reaching out his hand and quickly grabbing Y/N’s quickly spinning her into him and rocking them back and forth before spinning out again, “Don’t worry, I know I’m very advanced, just follow my lead.” He joked, doing childlike dance moves as he finished the last drink of his beer.

“You want another? I’m out too, I’ll grab us both another and then you can teach me some moves.” She giggled, grabbing her empty cup along with is bottle, “Be right back.”

“You sure Harry won’t mind? Feel bad taking all of his alcohol.”

“He’ll be fine.” She giggled, “Be right back.”

She blushed as she flashed him a smile, turning back and giggling as she watches Mitch and Sarah start copying his moves, her heartwarming at the idea of the four of them hanging out again. She forces herself to turn away, and ignore her heartbeat picking up speed as she wonders where this night will all take her with Nick, especially considering they’ve only known each other a couple of days at this point but she really thinks she’s starting to really like him.

She smiles to herself, looking at the floor as she pushes the door into the kitchen, opening a garage door and recycling Nicks bottle before going back to the bar area, taking her cup with her to refill. She quickly pushes the door open, turning up the dimmed lights and squinting as her eyes adjust, not expecting her heart having to.

She lets out a gasp, seeing before her Harry sitting on the couch in lounge, Mallory straddling him as she can practically see her tongue going down his throat as she grinded her hips into him, her dress seeming to ride up farther, before both of them adjust to the light. The pair jumps, Mallory quickly trying to fix her hair before sending an innocent, yet devious smile towards Y/N as Harry clears his throat, sliding the model off his lap.

“I-I’m sorry I didn’t mean to, um I didn’t know you guys were-“ Y/N stuttered, both her heart and mind going a million miles a minute, “I didn’t mean to intrude, I was just t-trying to get Nick and I another drink.”

“It’s okay, sweetheart!” Mallory smiled at her, “Would you mind making me a rum and coke?”

“Sure” Y/N replies, scurrying off to the bar behind them, letting out a quiet shaky breath that thankfully was drowned out by the sound of Mallory telling Harry another story.

Y/N tried to ignore, staring at the back of her head and making awkward eye contact with Harry as he kept staring back at her, the uncomfortable tension filling the air that only 2 out of the 3 people in the room could feel.

That’s when she hears Harry stop her, asking if they could rejoin the party outside as he was going to help make more drinks, feeling bad that they left everyone. She lets out a whine before agreeing, giving him another hard, long kiss, making Y/N grimace and force her eyes away, looking down at the drink she was making herself causing nausea to fill her.  She soon hears Mallory’s heels click away and soon she felt the strong presence beside her, Harry standing shyly off to the side as he watches Y/N grab another beer and a can of coke.

“Here let me.” He muttered, taking the coke from her hand causing they’re fingers to brush, making the drink for Mallory himself, “I’m sorry, Y/N, I didn’t mean to um... sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize for kissing your girlfriend.” Y/N deadpans, avoiding eye contact focusing on making a drink for Sarah she knows she will want, “I’m sorry I walked in, I figured you went upstairs.”

“Are we still on for tomorrow?” He softly asks, referring to the studio session they’ve had planned together.

Y/N and Harry have always loved writing and recording together. Of course, they’ve never released a song together, but they have always found a great deal of comfort of having the other person there when recording on a new project, especially Y/N. She felt like Harry had been there for her throughout so much of her career, helping her record, write, with interviews, red carpets, everything. Harry taught her everything she needed to know, he was the one that helped her learn how to come into her sound and truly become the artist she has always dreamed she would be.

“I don’t know…” She started, trying hard to think of an excuse, “I might go see that new movie with Nick.”

“Are you serious?” Harry bitterly chuckles, “You’ve known me for how long and you’re just going to ditch me for this random guy you hardly know?’

“That’s awfully rich coming from you, Harry.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Y/N slammed down the cup, a few drops spilling on the counter and she finally looked up at him. She could feel her hands shaking and she clenched her jaw tight, squeezing her eyes shut to hold back from releasing too much emotion.

“I came here to New York on my time off to hang out with you and the first thing you do is-“ She started; each word spoken more bitterly then before.

“You love New York.” He interrupts, his face softening, “I thought you would want to come and explore with me like we used to me.”

“Let me finish!” She desperately cries out, “Please… And the first thing you do is talk to me for 5 minutes before you literally let her drag you away from me. I met Nick because I was sitting all alone at that party, if it wasn’t for him, I would’ve been alone all night. So, don’t talk to me about ditching a friend.”

“Y/N, please. I’m sorry-“

“I think I’m going to go home.” She whispers, setting the drinks down on the counter and sniffling a bit, forcing herself to keep it together as he was still around.

Harry quickly stops her, grabbing her arm and turning her to look back at him, “Y/N please, I am so sorry. I just got so caught up in the moment and the party… Please, how can I make it up to you? Do you want me to tell everyone to leave? We can order a pizza and I got Disney Plus because I knew you would want to watch it… It can be just us if you want.”

All she wanted to do was say yes.

In her wildest dreams she would on him, pressing kisses all over his face and tell Mallory to leave, tell Nick she’s sorry and tell Sarah how much she really, really likes Harry and how excited she was to spend the night with just him. Just the two of them.

But she couldn’t.

If this did happen, he would tell everyone to go, making her feel guilty. Then they would stay up just the two of them and she knows, although nothing was going to happen between the two of them, that she would cherish every single moment and think about it as she lays awake at night. How she would call Sarah the next day and tell her everything, and then they could go to the studio together and write a beautiful song.

But all of these things will only get her worse. She would only fall in love with him more, ruining her for any kind of future relationship will come her way. She knew Harry was just being friendly, not asking her to stay because he was interested, but because he felt guilty for what he did and since he was such a people pleaser, there was no way he wouldn’t offer.

So, she knows what she has to do.

“Goodnight, Harry.”

[ninnodesu]

The New Matriarch, ch 7.

AN: Prrrffffttt... Here we go.I feel like the small introduction to the story is now over and done. Let's see if we might get a small-time skip next chapter, who knows? I don't! This chapter is mainly just some porch cuteness with Tommy to ease the transition from Stranger to Part of the Family <3

From now on, the writing is probably going to change a bit, not a whole lot, but a small bit. I’m also starting school at the time this chapter is uploaded, I’m gonna try and get some writing in though so don’t worry! 

Have fun guys, and thanks for reading! 

You

Hands… sweaty, sticky hands traveling over your body. Leaving disgusting burning sensations where they’ve been, groping, pulling, pinching… invading. A breath of alcohol, a tongue running over your cheek.

You wake up with a silent scream, a sheen of sweat covering your already hot body.

A dream, it was only a dream.

Your breathing is heavy, your entire body is shaking. You need air, you need to get out of bed, you need to leave. A sudden urge to escape starts building in your whole body as you get up on shaking legs, anxiety and panic wreaking havoc inside you. The room you’re in seems to start shrinking, pushing you close to hyperventilating. “I need to get out of here.”, you start to panic even more and rush to pull Thomas’ shirt back on and hurry outside as fast but silently as you can as to not wake up the cacophony of snoring you hear on and close to the main floor.

Finally reaching the main door you pull it open with force and throw yourself at the screen door, slamming it a little harder than you intended.

Outside, you feel a sudden wave of nausea overcome you, making you clutch at your stomach to prepare yourself to vomit, though nothing ever happens. You brace yourself on the railing and try to steady your breathing as your body starts registering the fresh air that surrounds you.

“Oh god… Oh god… Breathe.”, deciding to focus on everything around you, you look around to ground yourself. The sun is starting to rise in the horizon and you figure it’s either really, really early or the sun rises early here. No one else is up and you didn’t bother checking the time on your way out. Closing your eyes you focus on the feeling of the wooden railing under your hands, grabbing the railing harder to feel the hard material, the dampness of morning seeping into your palms. The chilly air of an early morning grazing your exposed legs making your skin pebble. The sound of a fox somewhere, a bird. Something moving in the grass close to the house.

Slowly you feel your pulse starting to relax, your breathing even out, nausea ebbs away. You let out a sigh at some point and feel your whole body relax.

Suddenly, you hear a small huff behind you and you turn to your right to see a large man standing in the doorway looking at you. Somewhere deep inside you, something flickers to life.

Happiness. There he was, your beacon of light. “Hi, Thomas.”, you whisper. “Did I wake you up? I’m sorry if I did, I…”, you trail off as you see him half shrug and make an “Eh, kinda”-movement of his head. He didn’t move much from the doorway, only taking a step out to close both the main door and screen door, seemingly at peace leaning up to the door frame.

You turned your attention out on the yard in front of you again. The floorboards started creaking behind you before a low grunt was right behind you, turning you saw Thomas had sat down on the bench behind you, realizing this is the closest you’ve been to him since the incident in the barn. Being in a better state of mind you saw how huge he actually was, the bench almost disappeared under him.

Then he surprised you; he motioned you over to sit down next to him. You couldn’t read his intentions, but you didn’t feel any hostility from him, but he did seem shy and timid. Like he wasn’t entirely sure what to do either, or what he himself was doing even. But you accepted, and curled up into a ball next to him, making sure to not take up too much space so he could be as comfortable as possible on the small bench.

It’s quiet for only a minute or two before you speak up. “Do you know… what time it is?”, you looked up at him after finding your own comfortable position, resting your head on your shoulder. He seemed to think before first holding up three fingers on one hand, one the other, and five straight after. You just hummed while trying to decipher his makeshift way of telling you the time. “Oh… fifteen minutes past three?”, you asked when you figured it out, and he nodded. “Oh, I’m uh… I’m sorry for waking you up. I just... “, he cocked an eyebrow at you, nodding to continue. “I had a nightmare.”, you chuckled lightly at how childish you sounded and tried hiding a small bit of embarrassment. “I panicked and had to get some air.”, he nodded again, again surprising you when he seemed to try and… comfort you. He gently patted your arm with two fingers, as if he was scared of touching you. But you just smiled at him, appreciating his gesture. “Thanks.”

You both fall into silence for a while, you just listen to his muffled breathing as you sneakily stole glances of him. He had his eyes closed, head leaning back against the house, exposing his wide neck, one quick thought of what kind of sound he would make with your lips on it raced through your mind before you felt your cheeks warm-up and you shook your head to delete it. You doubted he was actually asleep, probably just enjoying the outdoors. You traced the shape of his uncovered face, trying your best to get any kind of sneak peek under his mask, the only thing you saw was a bit of his mouth, lips seemingly chapped but thick and soft to the touch. Your eyes traveled down his chest, his apron was gone but he had the shirt and tie you’ve seen him with. The tie was loose around his neck, his sleeves rolled up exposing muscular arms covered in scars, the sight broke your heart.

Oh, Thomas… Don’t tell me you did that…

Out of nowhere, your thoughts are interrupted as Thomas suddenly stands up, and you jolt. “Wh… what’s wrong?”, you look up at him but he motions you to stay put with his hands and holds up one finger “One minute” . “O...okay.”, you’re dumbfounded as to what just suddenly happened and you just sit there looking around as he goes inside.

It takes a few minutes for him to return, this time with a worn-out notepad and a pen, he seems to smile behind his mask as the corners of his eyes crinkle slightly. He sits back down next to you and starts scribbling something on the piece of paper and hands it to you. “What’s this?”, he points down to it and you guess he wants you to read it. “Kit?”, you look up and are confused, having no idea what he means by that three-lettered word. He nods excitedly and points to himself first. “You’re Thomas, yes…”, then he points to the note and to you. “And I’m… Kit…?”, you raise an eyebrow while the cogs in your brain turn. “Are you… giving me a name, Thomas?”

A smile, and a nod, before he takes the notepad back and starts writing again. His handwriting isn’t the best, his spelling and grammar are a bit off as well, but you figured it’s because he left school at an early age. But it’s both readable and understandable.

“ You need a name. Canot walk round without 1”

The notepad leaves your hands again, one last sentence is written down.

“You are family now”

---------------------------------------------

Thomas B. Hewitt

Thomas scratches the back of his head as he’s heading back down to sleep after a visit to the bathroom, he glances at the clock.

Three. Three more hours of sleep, nice.

He cuddles up on the bed again, hugging his pillow and nuzzles into it. It smells like absolute shit, but he doesn’t really care at this point as he drifts off to sleep again. It feels like he’s been asleep for no time at all as he’s awoken by a slam coming from upstairs.

Whu… Who left now?

He groans and tries to ignore that annoying feeling of curiosity that’s growing inside of him as sleep is starting to escape him. He turns over to his back and just stares at the ceiling in pure annoyance.

Fine! he thinks to himself as he throws his hands up in defeat.

He drags himself out of bed and buckles his mask back on, he shoves his feet into his boots and trudges up the stairs carefully as to not wake his brother and uncle. Through the window out on the porch, he sees a figure hulking in the railing, head hung low, shoulders heaving. As he gets closer he starts to recognize the hair that’s resting on the figure's shoulder, one strand falling forward.

Kit…

He slowly opens the screen door but decides to keep on standing in the doorway, letting out a quiet huff to let her know easily that he’s there. His heart rate goes up a tad when she turns to look at him. She has a certain look in her eyes he can’t fully place. She seems… happy to see him, but it’s not the… usual happiness his mama gives him. There’s something else in her eyes. “Hi, Thomas.”, her voice is low. “Did I wake you up? I’m sorry if I did, I…”, Thomas just gives her half a shrug and cocks his head to the side.

Yes, and no. I had to pee, anyway. But why are you up…

He just watches her stand at the railing, she turns from him and looks out to the yard. He follows her eyes and watches as the landscape becomes lighter by the second. He lifts an eyebrow in her direction, something about this doesn’t seem alright to him. He steps out of the doorway and closes the main door plus the screen door and leans up to it at first, but quickly decides to shuffle over to the bench behind her, cursing the stupid floorboards that give him away.

He lets out a low grunt as he sits down, this bench is so goddamn low compared to him. She turns and watches him.

What? I wanted to sit down with you, come on.

He motions to the seat beside him, hoping she gets what he wants her to do. And she does. He makes sure that there’s enough room, cramming himself to the armrest, making his right arm hang over the bench instead of pinching it between his fat thigh and metal armrest. She seems to do the same, curling into a ball, leaving a big gap between the two of you.

Look, I’m not going to bite you.

It’s quiet for only a minute or two before she suddenly decides to say something, making a part of him relax. “Do you know… what time it is?”, Thomas glances over at her, trying to figure out how to tell her, when the idea strikes. He lifts three fingers on his right hand, one on his left, and then five straight after the one.

Three fifteen., he tells himself internally like she could read his mind, his little charade making him feel like an actual idiot when she just looks at him as a small hum leaves her throat. “Oh… fifteen minutes past three?”, he nods. “Oh, I’m uh… I’m sorry for waking you up. I just…”, he raises an eyebrow and nods at her, wanting her to continue.

You didn’t, go on.

“I had a nightmare.”, a small smile tug at the corner of his mouth out of view from her as he sees her trying to hide her embarrassment. “I panicked and had to get some air”, Thomas nods again and feels a sudden urge to comfort her come over him. He slowly reaches out to her, but right before his hand lands on her arm, he retracts it, deciding to only pat her arm with two fingers. The smile she gives him makes his heart jump a bit.

“Thanks.” A part of him was surprised that she didn’t run away after he had touched her, even if it was only two of his fingers patting her slightly. But she seems content, relaxed. The air between Thomas and her was calm, the silence and occasional animal sound started to lull him into sleepiness again, and he leaned his head back against and closed his eyes.

I’m just gonna rest my eyes…

After a few minutes, his eyes shoot wide open and he almost jumps off the bench.

SHIT! NOTEPAD! PEN!

He starts to head inside before he turns to the girl and motions her to stay right there before he runs inside to rummage around the kitchen to try and find a notepad. “ Come on, come on…”, he mumbles quietly until he finds what he’s looking for and grabs a worn-out notepad and a stumpy little pen, and heads out again. He smiles big at the girl as he sits back down and starts writing out the name he had given her. His writing is so shaky this time, he’s nervous.

I hope you like this name.

He looks it over once and then hands it over to her. “What’s this?”, he lets out a silent huff and points to it.

Read it…

“Kit?”, she seems confused, she has absolutely no idea what he’s talking about, and it shows. So, he nods first and proceeds to point to himself. “You’re Thomas, yes…”, then he points to the note, and up at her. Hoping she’ll understand now. “And I’m… Kit…?”, he sees in her eyes that she’s figuring it out. “Are you… Giving me a name, Thomas?”

Yes!

He smiles and nods towards her, and takes the notepad back to scribble down something else, and that’s when he realizes that his handwriting, spelling, and grammar are… worse than he thought. Usually, the only writing he does is dating on meat packages.

“ You need a name. Canot walk round without 1"

When he notices she’s finished reading, he takes it back again.

“ You are family now"

[artificialqueens]

Gigi Has an Intelligence Kink (Crystal x Gigi) - A-tresia

Life gets a little bit more interesting when Crystal fully embraces the fact that Gigi has a thing for her brain.

In the same universe as Slow Hands. But you don’t need to read it to get this.

The first time it happens, Crystal thinks it’s just Gigi rewarding her for a job well done.

Crystal is obsessively refreshing her Twitter feed, waiting for an announcement that the MCAT scores have been released.

Refresh.

Nothing.

Refresh.

Still nothing.

Refresh.

“Crys.”

“Hmm? What?”

Gigi gently takes her phone off her fidgety hands. “Just turn your notifications on, hun,” she says, doing it herself.

“But –“

“I know. It’s been a month and they’re scheduled to release today,” she repeats what Crystal has been telling her for the better part of the day.

“It’s been a month and they’re scheduled to release today,” Crystal sighs.

Gigi pulls her in closer and sets her phone under their pillow. “Now, try to concentrate on this instead,” she suggests, motioning to the laptop where an episode of Gigi’s new favorite TV show has been paused. Crystal nods in agreement, hits the space bar, and snuggles in closer.

It takes another episode and a half for Crystal’s phone to vibrate, making them both sit up quickly. If Gigi’s being completely honest, she’s just as nervous as Crystal. And she didn’t take the damn test. But she makes the conscious effort to be the calm one here. One of them has to. And it surely won’t be Crystal.

Gigi hits the space bar to pause the show while Crystal gets up from bed to pace while she loads her account. She watches Crystal, jaw slack in apparent shock, stare at her phone before she gets up on her knees to take a look herself. The torture is killing her. She pulls on Crystal’s shirt to maneuver her closer to the bed so she can peek to see.

521.

“Is that good?” Gigi asks.

Crystal hands over her phone to Gigi, still in quite a bit of shock.

“Crys, is this a good score?” Gigi asks again before looking through the lines and numbers on the screen.

Crystal points to the bottom of the screen. “I would hope so because a perfect score is a 528 and this score is in the 99th percentile.”

When she realizes what this means, Gigi drops the phone on the bed to jump on Crystal who stumbles backward, barely catching her. “Your brain, it’s amazing. I’m so proud of you,” she says in between dropping loud wet kisses all over Crystal’s smiling face. “It’s enough for your dream school, right? With your GPA?”

“More than enough, I hope,” Crystal says.

“Is Crystal happy?” Gigi brushes a thumb over the apple of Crystal’s cheek.

“Crystal is still in shock but Crystal is very, very happy.” The pride in her voice makes Gigi’s heart swell.

Gigi takes Crystal’s face in her hands to give her a proper kiss on the mouth — slow and wet and full of tongue and obviously leading to something else.

“Okay, med school talk later.” She slowly slides off Crystal, gently planting her feet onto the floor. She walks them back to the bed, pulling Crystal down with her when the back of her knees hit the edge. “I think you deserve a treat,” she says reaching up underneath Crystal’s shirt.

“I’m not a dog, Gee,” Crystal laughs.

“Shut up, don’t ruin the moment.”

The next time it happens, Crystal thinks it’s just Gigi being her usual clingy self.

She’s on the floor, as usual, three videos deep into her cadaver dissection videos, her anatomy atlas splayed open on her lap, and drowning in paper and pens and colored pencils. She’s struggling to draw and take notes and memorize all at the same time. Maybe, she thinks, she’s bitten off more than she could chew.

Crystal’s muttering anatomic structures under her breath when she hears Gigi whine her name from behind her. If she wasn’t busy, she’d drop everything she was doing to attend to that very needy whine. But she’s too busy, too tired to even think about doing anything other than studying. She doesn’t even have time to sleep. So she ignores it.

“Crystal,” Gigi calls out again. It’s longer. And breathier. And needier.

Crystal turns to look at Gigi, comfortably nestled on the other end of the couch, making grabby hands at her.

“Sorry, babe,” she says before turning back to her work. Her tone is regretful. The smile on her face is tired. But the feeling at the pit of her stomach is telling her to just go for it. It’s Gigi. And she can’t ever say no to Gigi.

“I don’t want to have to deal with things on my own,” Gigi huffs.

“You know what to do with your hands.” She continues this conversation without looking up from her drawings.

Honestly, she doesn’t know why Gigi is even here in the first place. She knows it’s a busy night. She could be home catching up on sleep or hanging out with her friends. But she’s here. Doing what?

“Crystal.”

“Can I make it up to you tomorrow? Please?” She really doesn’t have the patience for this right now. She looks at the time on her phone, it reads 11:27 PM. “Look, I have less than 12 hours until this test and then I promise I’m all yours. I’ll come straight home after. I don’t mind if you do it right there on the couch if you really have to.” Gigi pouts at her so she reaches for Gigi’s hand to kiss her fingers. “Sorry, really. I am.”

She turns back to her notes before Gigi can make a face that she can’t resist. Suddenly, the dwindling time until her test gives her tunnel vision. Nothing else occupies her mind but this, Gigi’s whining is long forgotten.

Crystal doesn’t know what she expects Gigi to do while she studies. Scroll through her socials? Watch a movie? Online shop?

She doesn’t know what to expect.

But she didn’t think it would be this.

Not Crystal being pulled out of focus by the sound of Gigi’s moaning.

And that moan sounds like she just finished.

Crystal slowly turns her head towards Gigi, looking at her with narrowed eyes in disbelief. When she said she didn’t mind, she didn’t think Gigi would actually do it. “Gigi motherfucking Goode, did you just –“

Gigi looks at her smugly, raises a brow at her as she wipes her fingers on her shorts. “Yes. Yes, I did. You said you didn’t mind.”

“Really, Gee? Did the cadaver video do it for you?”

Gigi scrunches her nose at Crystal. “No, that’s gross. It was you studying and being smart.”

“What?” Crystal chuckles.

“It’s hot, okay? You’re hot. It makes me feel things.”

“What?”

“When you’re being your normal smart self – it’s a turn on, okay?”

“What?”

“Shut up!”

It happens again on Gigi’s birthday and Crystal thinks Gigi is losing her mind when she directs Crystal’s hands to her pussy and asks to be fingered while telling her about the cardiac cycle she was studying earlier today. Crystal thinks this request could have quickly pulled her out of the mood but oddly enough – with her whispering in Gigi’s ear, with her fingers inside Gigi, and with Gigi writhing and moaning and babbling against her – she finds that it makes her feel things too.

Life gets a little bit more interesting when Crystal fully embraces the fact that Gigi has a thing for her brain. Once in a while, when they’re bored of just moaning and groaning and panting their way through having sex, Crystal would look at Gigi – hair fanned out on the pillow, red in the face, chest heaving and sweaty – and lean closer to her ear and indulge Gigi in her ridiculous idea of dirty talk. She’d count the number of ATPs produced in the citric acid cycle, explain to her the mechanisms of action of cephalosporins, run down the cardinal movements of labor, practice on her techniques for a thorough physical examination.

When she passes major exams. When she aces her boards. When she graduates medical school with high honors. When she gets accepted to the surgical residency program of her dreams. Gigi is there – willing and ready and able to reward her, generously, for a job well done. Going as far as buying a new strap, saved and used only for occasions like these.

Crystal is in the middle of her orthopedic surgery residency training and there’s barely any time left for alone time. So Gigi takes what she can get. Even if it’s just a night out for drinks at the bar a couple of blocks away from the hospital with Crystal’s other doctor friends.

She listens to Crystal and her friends (Jackie, a urology resident, and Widow, an anesthesiology resident) exchange stories from their day in the operating room. Gigi is perfectly fine absorbing the excited energy they all seem to have; perfectly fine holding Crystal’s hand under the table; perfectly fine being close. She doesn’t mind that they go into graphic detail; doesn’t mind that they use medical jargon; doesn’t mind that they seem to have forgotten that they have a non-medical person in the group; doesn’t mind that all she is there is present.

When Jackie and Widow get up to get the next round of drinks, Gigi slips a hand up and in between Crystal’s thighs. Crystal catches her wrist before she can go further. “What are you doing?”

“I’m just playing,” she shrugs.

“I know. I meant, why?”

Gigi shrugs again. “You know shoptalk gets to me.”

Crystal knows but she still raises a brow at her. “That wasn’t too graphic for you?”

Instead of answering, Gigi takes Crystal’s hand and positions it underneath her skirt, letting Crystal trail her fingers upward, toward the seam of her underwear. Crystal’s fingers brush over a particularly damp spot. “Already?” Gigi nods like it’s nothing out of the ordinary. And Crystal thinks it really isn’t, at least for Gigi.

“I bet you are too.” And Gigi’s right; she’s always right.

Crystal looks up to see her friends walking back to the table so she signals that they’re going to the toilet. Jackie nods at her so she pulls Gigi up onto her feet and towards the back. It’s a one-person toilet and Crystal wants to thank all the gods looking down at her that it’s empty.

The door is barely locked when Gigi pushes Crystal against the wall and connects their lips and bodies together in a movement that’s demanding and hungry and contagious – hands tangling in hair, lips and tongues desperate to connect with the other, bodies arching and pressing.

“Listening to a story about me pounding at metal and bones got you this hot?” Crystal asks when she pulls away for a breath.

“I want you to pound me instead,” Gigi says, latching her lips onto Crystal’s neck and worming her hand into Crystal’s pants. Crystal moans and drops her head onto Gigi’s shoulder when she feels Gigi slip a finger into her. “But you can do that later.”

Gigi’s thankful Crystal isn’t wearing jeans; her slacks are loose enough for her hand to move freely. She slips another finger in and angles her hand so Crystal can grind against the heel of her palm while she pumps in. And out.

And in.

And out.

Faster.

And harder.

She nips at Crystal’s earlobe. “I expect a good pounding at home.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Crystal pants, head now resting against the wall, eyes now glazed over, breath now ragged, hips now following the pace that Gigi has set – slow enough that it builds, fast enough that it’s not frustrating.

Gigi concentrates on pumping and rubbing and kissing and licking and biting and making Crystal hum and moan and whimper. She feels Crystal’s body tense against her, feels Crystal getting wetter, feels her fingers slipping easier. Her muscles are strained but she speeds up the movement of her hand and Crystal speeds up the movement of her hips against Gigi’s palm.

“That’s it,” Gigi encourages as Crystal squeezes her closer and tighter, gasping and shaking as she comes. Gigi keeps a slower, gentler pace, shifting so she can rub her thumb against Crystal’s clit to drag out her orgasm.

She pulls Crystal in for a languid kiss as she waits for Crystal to stop trembling. When she does – it takes a little longer than a moment – Gigi pulls her hand out of Crystal’s pants and holds it up. Her hand is glistening in the low light, covered in Crystal’s slick. Crystal looks up in time to see Gigi lick her fingers, sucking them into her mouth with a sound so needy, Crystal is sure she needs to take care of it. Right now.

“Home time?” Gigi suggests as she straightens up Crystal’s pants.

Crystal manages to shake the clouds away. “There’ll be more later but I think I can get one out of you now,” she says, turning Gigi towards the sink and bending her over with a hand between her shoulder blades. Crystal leans over her to keep her bent, makes sure she’s braced herself on the sink, and slides a hand down the length of Gigi’s back to the curve of her ass, slowly lifting her skirt to expose her now soaking panties. “Missed you this week,” she says, dropping a kiss on Gigi’s jaw while she lets her fingers slip underneath the wet fabric.

Gigi wants to say she missed her too; wants to say she’s happy to have her at home for the next two days; wants to say they should just leave their friends so they can continue this at home. But Crystal is already on her knees behind her, not caring if the floor is dirty; already moving her underwear aside – one Gigi isn’t sure why she even wore in the first place; already burying her face into the heat between Gigi’s legs.

She puts both hands on Gigi’s ass to grope and fondle and squeeze and spread while she licks and nips and sucks at her folds. She feels Gigi squirm; arching and pressing back into her mouth, encouraging her to do a little more. A lot more. All of this is exciting and overwhelming and extremely naughty – a far cry from the white coat wearing, scalpel yielding, professional front Crystal puts on just two blocks away.

Crystal keeps her mouth on her clit as she presses two fingers into Gigi and lets her control the pace, lets her rock back and forth to chase her own pleasure. She feels Gigi contract around her fingers and she thinks it’s time to change things up.

Yes, Crystal thinks to herself, the bathroom of a bar you’re a regular at is the best place to change things up.

She licks long and hard from her clit to her hole, around her fingers, up her perineum, and over her asshole – something she thinks Gigi doesn’t know that she knows Gigi secretly likes. Crystal feels her freeze for a split second before reaching behind her to grab Crystal’s head to keep her in place.

“Fuck, Crystal,” she pants.

Gigi’s rhythmic movement is now jerkier and erratic and Crystal knows she’s close. Very close. Crystal continues to lick and pump and rub while Gigi continues to moan and rock and chase. She hangs her head between her arms and whines and pants and shakes as she comes.

Crystal gets up and leans over Gigi’s body, fingers still pumping inside – prolonging and intensifying. She’s wrapping her free arm around Gigi’s torso, nuzzling her nose into her hair to kiss the back of her neck when she feels her mewl and tremble and shudder into another one – unexpected but highly welcome.

“Love you,” she whispers into her ear.

Gigi turns her head to Crystal – her eyes are glassy, her forehead is sweaty, her cheeks are flushed. “Love you too,” she whispers back before catching her lips for a kiss.

They take their time straightening up; not worried about a line possibly forming outside, not worried that they’ve been gone from their friends for too long.

When they make their way back to the table, she sees Widow look at them with a knowing smirk. And Crystal can’t find it in herself to make up an excuse – there’s no excuse for being gone that long and they’re all adults here anyway. So they gather their things, say their goodbyes and see you laters, and rush home to give Gigi what she promised.

When Crystal graduates from residency, of course, she bags the outstanding resident award and the best scientific paper. All on top of being chief resident in her final year. Because of course, Crystal doesn’t do anything half-assed. Gigi decides, when they’re both stripped off their gowns and heels from Crystal’s hospital graduation dinner, that it’s an important enough occasion to use their special toy – there’s really nothing special or different about that strap; Gigi just uses it particularly on days when she wants to celebrate Crystal. It’s Gigi’s turn to prove that nothing in this house is done half-assed.

Gigi gives Crystal one final lick before trailing up her torso with wet open-mouthed kisses, lingering momentarily on her breasts, taking a nipple in her mouth – licking and biting and sucking. She drops herself onto Crystal’s side, hooking her legs over Crystal’s, and kisses her way up her neck, across her jaw, skipping her lips, and bumps their noses together, “Congratulations, baby.”

Crystal reaches up to cup her cheek and pulls her in for a kiss, tasting herself on Gigi’s lips. “You know I couldn’t have done all of this without you, right?”

“Nope, all you,” she says, nuzzling her cheek against Crystal’s palm before taking Crystal’s hand in hers and kissing the rings on Crystal’s finger – the rings she only usually wears around her neck when she’s at work are now on her left ring finger, where they’re supposed to be. “This is all you. I was just there. I’m just here.”

Gigi gets up to step into the leather harness – fastening the straps and adjusting the cock, all while watching Crystal rub at her clit, flicking back and forth lazily. There’s a satisfied smile on Crystal’s face that Gigi wants to keep there forever. She leans over Crystal, peppering her face with kisses, whispering how immensely proud she is of her, how she loves her dearly, how lucky she is to have her. She braces her arms on the bed, resting the length of the cock against Crystal’s wetness, just content with being skin to skin.

“What’s taking so long?” Crystal whines, breaking the little tender bubble Gigi created.

Gigi chuckles at Crystal’s impatience and decides, yes, okay, tonight is about her. She sits back on her heels and realigns her cock, settling the tip at Crystal’s entrance. With steady pressure, she presses inside; one hand guiding the dildo, the other stroking gently over Crystal’s clit. She stretches over Crystal, letting her weight rest on her when she’s buried deep inside. She pulls back a little and gently slides back in, hooking Crystal’s leg over her hip as she goes. Gigi keeps a slow rhythmic pace, hoping to stretch this out the whole evening.

Sure, the slow thrusts are good. Satisfying, even. But Crystal knows she could take more. And she knows Gigi could give more.

So.

Much.

More.

“This feels lovely and all but I need you to fuck me.”

Gigi thinks for a beat and reminds herself again that what Crystal wants, Crystal gets. At least tonight.

And Crystal will get all her favorite things.

“Up,” she instructs as she pulls out.

“What?” Crystal is confused at the sudden emptiness.

She pulls Crystal up from the bed and pushes her on her knees on the floor. Understanding dawns on Crystal’s face as Gigi steps forward, gripping the base of the cock – still wet with Crystal’s slick, guiding it towards Crystal’s mouth.

“I want to see you take it all.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Crystal murmurs, her eyes locked onto Gigi’s as she takes the dildo inside her mouth, slowly working her tongue along its length. Gigi groans at the sight of Crystal taking a silicone cock all the way to the back of her throat without gagging. She remembers asking Crystal why she likes doing that. All she got was a vague answer about liking the force. Whatever that means.

Crystal makes a show of licking and sucking and deep-throating. The way the harness rubs against her is not enough to tip her over the edge but it’s there and looking at Crystal taking it all oddly makes Gigi feel like this appendage is hers.

Gigi groans a she watches Cyrstal swallow the full length of her cock. “God, baby. That’s so fucking hot.” Crystal responds by making sure she’s tugging at the base harder so whatever part of it that’s brushing against Gigi is hitting her right. She grits her teeth and buries her hands into Crystal’s hair as Crystal slips a thumb beneath the harness to press on Gigi’s swollen clit.

“You’re going to make me come,” Gigi breathes out.

And she does.

Her body really doesn’t give her a choice.

When Crystal presses particularly hard on her clit, her thighs tremble and she thrusts forward and tightens her grip on Crystal’s hair.

And Crystal is quick to grab onto Gigi’s ass, clutching and pulling, keeping her there – nose pressed against Gigi’s pubic bone – as she rides it out.

Gigi pulls back quickly, aware that she’s cutting off Crystal’s air supply. She looks down to see Crystal reluctantly let go of her cock with an exaggerated slurp, looking up at Gigi with needy eyes and pouty lips, blinking away involuntary tears.

She helps Crystal to her feet and kisses her senseless, not minding that saliva has dribbled down Crystal’s chin.  Crystal grips Gigi’s side for balance as Gigi walks her backward against a wall.

Crystal is startled out of her daze when Gigi grips her waist and turns her around, effectively disconnecting their lips and pushing her flat against the wall. She looks over her shoulder to see Gigi squat, suddenly she’s very aware of the very aroused state of her pussy.

“Always so wet for me,” Gigi says, running a finger over Crystal’s lips. Crystal bites on her lower lip as she resists the urge to quote WAP lyrics and for good reason – Gigi hates that song. She, on the other hand, secretly loves it – the OR nurses may or may not have caught her attempting to do the dance in the dressing room.

Gigi spreads her lips apart, a moan stuck in her throat when a string of clear juice dribbles down her finger and onto the floor.

“Crystal, you fucking just dripped on the floor. Jesus fucking – “

Crystal shakes her ass in Gigi’s face. “Please, fuck me. Please.”

And Gigi gives her what she wants. Gigi gets up and slides the full length of her cock easily inside Crystal in one quick fluid motion. She’s rewarded with a deep moan and expletives begging for more.

Crystal’s pussy clamps down on the dildo when Gigi moves to give her a short quick thrust. “Yes, more, like that.” She isn’t sure where this savage need to fuck Crystal like this is coming from but she decides to embrace it. So she grips Crystal’s hips tighter and slams hard repeatedly, making them both grunt. She would have been worried that she’s being too rough if Crystal hadn’t instantly pushed back against her with a very enthusiastic, “Fuck, yes!”

It’s a pace they’re both surprised they both can keep up with. And they’re both determined to keep going. The jumbled words and incomprehensible sounds coming from Crystal’s mouth spurs Gigi on – orgasm after orgasm stealing her words from her.

Gigi is getting frustrated trying to chase an orgasm of her own. With a yelp from Crystal, she pulls completely away and flips Crystal around so her back is against the wall. She hikes a leg up, hooking it over Gigi’s hip. Crystal reaches between them to guide the cock back into her pussy and encourages Gigi to keep on pounding into her. She coos in Gigi’s ear, her hands groping Gigi’s breasts, her lips busy kissing Gigi’s face and neck. Soon, their sounds turn into whimpers and pants and sharp moans as they both race towards another orgasm.

Gigi gropes Crystal’s ass hard and leans to bury her face in Crystal’s neck as a strangled moan works its way from her throat. She thrusts one last hard thrust up into Crystal before she comes. Hard. Leaving them both trembling against the wall.

Gigi shifts to help Crystal regain solid footing, letting the cock slip wetly out of her, scattering kisses over her neck and shoulders.

“God damn,” Crystal breathes out.

“That was intense,” Gigi muses, holding on to Crystal tightly, still leaning themselves against the wall.

Crystal with her vision still cloudy and marked by black spots, pushes herself upright and pushes Gigi back into bed, and crawls over her. “No more for me,” she says trailing a series of wet kisses down Gigi’s body. “Your turn now.”

Crystal takes her time – So. Much. Time. – to let Gigi know how she’s wrong. How she wasn’t just there. How she isn’t just here. How the past almost ten years with school and training was because of her, for her, and with her.

[yeetingmyfeeling]

Express Part 1 (Brian)

I have a feeling this may get taken down, or something of the sort. I warn, this is very, very dark. So head my warning, if you are sensitive to triggering topics, do not read.

Such as: self harm, suicide, child abuse, paedophilia, eating disorders, transphobia, homophobia, abliest.

I let out a jagged breath, my shaking hands carting through my hair, gripping the ends. I swallowed heavily, forcing down a painful sob. Tears cascaded down my face, landing on my thighs with little splats. I sat on the edge of my bed, my toes gripping the carpet beneath my feet. I leaned over and grabbed my phone. One in the morning.

I wiped my arm over my eyes, sniffling loudly. I just needed to calm down, before my dad heard me and yelled at me. He looked around my dark room, finding a box of tissues, I started to wipe at my face. I found a water bottle and took a good few gulps of the cold liquid.

Eventually calming down, I now lay under the covers, having a gentle throbbing in my head and my body. At least I just cried this time. My phone vibrated with a message, so I quickly checked it.

Moo: Hey dude, you up? I really need someone to talk to.

I bit down on my lip, breathing through my nose. I was quick to respond, knowing my friend, my crush, was upset. Around four in the morning, he went to sleep. I stayed up, plagued by my thoughts. At seven, my alarm went off. I went to school, having no choice. Brock didn’t show up.

~~~~~

We were hanging out at Tyler’s house. It was a Saturday, and everyone happened to be free. So Tyler offered, and everyone came. We all squeezed into his living room somehow, and everyone was doing their own things. 

Evan, Jonathan, Tyler and David were all playing Mario Kart. Loud shouts and screaming was heard. They took up the couch, all of them leaning forward so they could see the screen better. Marcel and Scotty were sharing an armchair, Marcel half in Scotty’s lap. They were laughing at the four idiots. Antony was leaning over the couch, annoying the gamers. Brock was laughing, trying to get Anthony to stop.

I sat on the floor, almost in the corner. This always happened. I did try, I swear I did. I always tried at the start to join. I was loud, happy, smiling, making funny voices. Then Tyler called me annoying, and said I was too loud. David told me to shut up, saying I wasn’t funny.

No one else stood up for me, most even agreed. Even Brock said I was getting kind of annoying.

I looked at my friends around me, feeling pain build up in my chest and a burning in my throat. I stood up slowly and made my way out, knowing no one noticed. I went to the bathroom and sat on the floor just trying to control my breathing and calm my mind.

I don’t want to be here anymore.

I stood up and made my way out, my chest getting tighter and tighter. I was right, no one noticed me leave. “I’m gonna go guys,” I spoke, just loud enough for them to hear over the yelling. The only response I got was a salute from Brock.

~~~~~

“Ashley!” My dad growled, making me look up in confusion. We were having a normal conversation, why is he suddenly angry?

“Can you do anything right Ashley?” Mum asked in a yell. I looked at her in confusion. “Don’t give me that fucking look!”

I went to say something, but was interrupted by mum again. “Are you talking to that boy again?”

“That boy…?” I asked in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

“That pedo,” Mum explained in a sigh. “Craig.”

I looked down at my lap, tears welling up in my eyes. I hate when they mention him. It was a mistake. I tightened my hands into fists, my bitten off nails digging into my palms. 

“Well!?” Mum yelled. I just shook my head. She stepped forward and gripped my shoulder, pushing me back and pinning me against the couch. My eyes widened in fear. “Answer me you fucking disgrace!”

I swallowed and shook my head quickly. I could feel the tears threatening to fall. “N-No mum!” I croaked out. “I don’t talk to him!”

“What about the others?” She asked, still gripping my shoulder. It was starting to hurt.

“No,” I said again, avoiding her eyes. She sighed and pushed away from me. She left the living room, going back to the kitchen to cook.

Dad stood up, coming over to me. He held out his hand. “Phone.”

“Wh-What?”

“Give me your phone, brat!” He yelled, making me flinch. “Then get your computer, and whatever other shit you have. Bring them to me or I’ll fucking break them, then you!”

~~~~~

I sat at the desk, we were in class. It was a test, as the school was going through test week. I sat, staring at my paper. My leg was bouncing, and my hand gripped the pen tightly. It was just a maths test, but my brain couldn’t work anything out.

When I stared at the paper, the words and the numbers would start blurring and mixing together. I had to blink to get everything to go back to their spots, but even then it didn’t make much sense. A headache was starting to build up, one that made my whole head hurt.

I nervously looked around the room, feeling like everyone was staring at me. No one was looking at me, everyone was focusing on their test. I looked over at the teacher just as he looked at me, making me look away quickly. 

I breathed out heavily as thoughts swam through my brain. I tried to focus on the words on the page. 

If Sally had five oranges, and Tim had seven…

Dumb. Stupid. Not good enough.

Find the value of X in…

Idiot. Retard. Brainless.

If you put these two numbers together…

Useless. Unneeded. Unlovable. 

Subtract twenty-six from…

Ugly. Fat. Whore.

It took Amanda eight minutes to get to the train station…

He never loved you. He was a liar. A pedophile. 

What is the formula for…

He is going to find you.

What do you get when you…

You are a monster.

I finished my test reasonably quickly, and before anyone else, like I usually do. I raised my hand, and the teacher came over. I gave him my finished paper then left to go to the bathroom. I needed to relax, calm down. To stop thinking about it. Stop thinking about him.

~~~~~

I don’t remember what happened, and I don’t fully recall how I managed it. But here I was.

A sat on my bed, blankets and pillows strewn everywhere. The rest of my room was an even bigger mess. There was trash and dirty clothes laying everywhere. As well as empty, or even half full, cups, bowls and plates. Through the smell in my room, I knew I left something with milk in here. There were papers and school work thrown everywhere, as well as broken objects and cables. A few books lay scattered on the floor as well. 

I don’t remember much of the past three weeks. They were all such a blur. All I remember is the gentle hum of my brain working too quickly. All I know now, is I’m on my bed, only in my boxers, and my bodies a mess. 

I stood up shakily, my body nearly giving out. I grabbed my phone from it’s current spot on the floor. Four in the morning. I staggered over to my mirror, turning my lamp on along the way. I risked a glance at my body.

My face was pale, with undertones of red and yellow. My eyes bright red, and my cheeks shiny from my tears. I stared at my chest, feeling more tears well up. I averted my eyes to my arms. I had thin, red lines across my upper arms and wrists. Some deep, some shallow. Some red in agitation, some still bleeding. I had the words ‘shut up’ sharpied down my arms. My thighs were worse. There were more cuts, all of those deep, some still bleeding. Words were sharpied from my hips to my knees. Insults, comments, statements. 

I sniffled and looked for some sweatpants, only finding a dirty pair. I slipped those on, as well as a clean jumper I found. I climbed into bed and set my phone up to my speaker, playing some soft music. Rolling over. I slowly fell asleep. 

~~~~~

I stared down at my dinner, feeling my throat start to burn. It smelt so good, and it looked like it would taste amazing. Yet, just the taste of eating anything made me feel sick. I felt like the second I put a forkful in my mouth, I would instantly start throwing up.

I took a quick glance down at my body and cringed. My thighs were large, taking up so much space. My hips sticking out, and I could see my stomach over my pants. I looked up, seeing my mum look at me.

I swallowed down my insecurities and gave her a smile as I started eating. It was pasta, I love pasta. This tasted like ass, even though I know my mum is an amazing cook. I just couldn’t eat.

I ate half of my dish, soon getting full. My dad gave me an earful for not eating all my food. I put my plate out in the kitchen, then went straight to my room and to my bed.

No notifications. Sounds about right.

I roll over in my bed, staring at the wall. As always, my brain goes back to him. 

I wonder how he’s doing, is he alive? Does he still think about me? He moved on pretty quickly. He probably lied to that other guy, like he lied to me and everyone else.

I wonder if he ever did actually kill himself? 

I should. I should do it before he finds me, and does to me what he did to his cousin.

Craig made a promise. 

Even if he’s a liar, sometimes pathological liars tell the truth.

And a promise is a promise. 

[markrees]

Sunflower - Mark Lee

Mark is sweet. And gentle. And comfortable to be around with when he isn’t causing you to almost hyperventilate. 

category: au!college Mark / i live for college student mark ;; f l u f f  / shy mark, flustered mark, sweet mark, mark in general 

word count: 11.5K sorry 

warnings: none, just a lot of fluff really. 

a/n: this took me weeks to finish :( i hope you like it! 

Everything seemed to happen in a whizzing blur because right now you were still unable to fully comprehend what had just happened. One second you were walking to your next class, traipsing along the grey concrete of your university campus and the next second you found yourself on the ground, a painful sensation shooting up your right arm as you scrunch up your face in agony. You absentmindedly stare at the cast being applied carefully to the affected arm from the impact of your fall, eyeing the doctor’s fluid movements as he expertly does his task with major ease. To your left, you feel eyes burning holes on the side of your face, shifting his stare between your side view and your broken arm.

Mark Lee, also known as the cute boy in your advanced anatomy and physiology classes always hidden behind the rims of his round glasses, black hair and in the comfort of his hoodies, was standing just at the edge of your hospital bed watching you and the doctor quietly. Mark Lee, also known as the very person responsible for your dazed-like state resulting from the effects of the pain medications you had received earlier to manage your misery.

“The cast will have to stay on for six weeks,” the doctor says, snapping you out of your hazy thoughts as he finishes up. “You have to keep it dry at all costs but if you feel something isn’t right or if it’s too tight, come back to us straight away so we can fix it.”

You absentmindedly nod and examine your new arm and its new weight. The only thing you can move now were your fingers, left free at the end of the constriction. “Thank you doctor.”

With a smile and a nod, the doctor steps out of your cubicle, leaving you and Mark in silence. Oblivious to you, Mark had been paying much more attention to everything the doctor had said given the fact that he was more in tune with his surroundings while you were in a dizzy state. You’d momentarily forgotten Mark was there with you and you nearly flinch when you hear him speak.

“I’m really sorry, this is all my fault,” he says, guilt dripping from his voice and steps closer so that he can lean on the edge of your bed beside you.

You shake your head weakly, offering a small smile in hopes of reassuring him. “No, it’s alright. It’s no one’s fault. It was an accident.”

Mark rubs the nape of his neck as he stares into the wall opposite the two of you, replaying the earlier events and how he had knocked you off of your feet when he lost his balance on his bicycle.

“I shouldn’t have been cycling there in the first place, so really, it was my fault. You’d still have a perfectly working arm by now if I didn’t wake up late and wasn’t late for class.”

You laugh at his words and fiddle with the material of your cast. It was the first time you felt so light for the day and Mark eases at the sound of your laugh, loosening up his tense shoulders because of the guilt that had been eating him alive.

“It’s okay, really. It doesn’t hurt anymore so I should be okay,” you say and turn your head slightly to your left only to be met by a still guilty looking Mark. You raise your left hand and pat him gently on the back. “Mark, it’s fine. My arm is okay. I’m alive.”

He tears his eyes off the wall and cranes his neck slightly to look at you, a small smile forming on his lips as an appreciation of your consolation. “Is there at least anything I can do to make it a bit better?”

“Mark you really don’t have to—“

“I insist Y/N.”

You grow silent for a while, blinking at him.

“Anything at all. Don’t be shy. It’s the least I could possibly do,” Mark adds, determined to make it up to you.

You come to a conclusion that no matter how much you assure him you were alright, he would never not be guilty because honestly if you were in his shoes, you’d probably be basking yourself in utter guilt right now. So you decide to make it easier for him knowing what he’s feeling right now won’t vanish in a glimpse just from your words alone.

“Okay,” you finally say. You shift your gaze to your broken arm, an idea finally popping in your mind.

“Y-you can—” you start and you feel your chest tighten slightly when you catch Mark staring intently at you, silently prodding you to continue with warmth radiating from his big brown orbs.

“Bring me home?”

—

Week one.

Having a broken arm was more inconvenient than you had initially thought and to make matters worse, it was your dominant hand that just had to snap in two. Blowing a raspberry, you walk into your first lecture of the week ever since the incident, your face scrunching involuntarily as you recall how much of a struggle it was to get ready for university this morning. You walk along the large lecture hall and find your usual seat in the middle of the room that you had always opted to sit on; not to close to be noticed by the professor and not too far to be unable to see anything clearly. It isn’t long before the hall gets filled with bustling students, a lot of them clinging onto paper cups of hot beverages to keep them fuelled for the long day ahead.

You catch sight of the professor emerging from the door and takes his place on the podium to the right corner. With much struggle, you manage to take out your usual materials for class, mainly your anatomy and physiology notebook and your favourite black pen that somehow managed to make early lectures more bearable. The professor begins to speak coherently with the slides displayed on the huge screen and when you’re about to reach for your pen, realisation hits like a truck. You couldn’t write. And you groan in frustration upon the reminder, earning a few looks from the students not too far away from you. Luckily, it wasn’t loud enough for the professor to hear who continued to switch from one slide to another. You let out a sigh as quietly as you could, trying your best to hide your disappointment. So you sit back instead and attempt to listen to everything the professor taught, absorbing as much as your brain allowed so that maybe, you could type up your own notes later. It felt weird not to be writing because it was always something you did in every class. There’s anxiety bubbling up in your chest when your thoughts inadvertently fly to the remaining classes of the day— how were you going to survive?

You end up missing half the things said in your anatomy class because you were too focused on worrying about how the next six weeks would pan out. So when the professor dismisses your class, you rise from your seat with another groan, stuffing your untouched belongings into your bag with a huff. This day was not looking bright and it was only the first class. You can only imagine how difficult it would be to mentally prepare yourself for the rest of the day.

When you exit the hall to make your way to the next one, you stop in the middle of your tracks when your names echoes in between the walls of the building.

“Y/N!”

You turn around and find Mark lightly jogging up to you. He’s wearing yet another hoodie with black jeans and glasses sitting snugly on the bridge of his nose. You smile at him when he reaches you soon after, unknowingly forgetting about how horrible your day was unraveling.

“How’s the arm?” He asks, securing one of the straps of his backpack on his shoulder.

You raise your right arm and wave it slightly in front of him. “Still broken, I think.”

Mark chuckles at your reply and you find yourself smiling along. “Yeah about that I’m really sorry.”

“Mark I was joking. And it’s fine, I promise,” you say.

He purses his lips and nod in defeat. “But still,” he starts and stops himself from apologising again. “Anyways, here.”

You look down and see pages in his hands being extended out to you. You glance back up at him. “What are those?”

He prods you to take them from his hands and you do so, scanning through the handwriting sprawled everywhere on the first page. From the corner of your eye, you see Mark rub the nape of his neck again, a bashful smile playing on his lips.

“Well since uh.. I figured you can’t write because of your arm,” Mark says and you pick up on how shy he’s suddenly become. “So I took notes for you from today’s class.”

You scan the remaining pages and true enough, Mark had taken down everything that was discussed in the class earlier, even drawing mini diagrams with labels here and there and you smile when you see him add his own little notes and reminders on the sides of the pages in a different coloured pen. Mark’s writing wasn’t the neatest and you know it’s because of how fast paced the anatomy lectures usually were and how much of a struggle it was to actually keep up with the professor’s words. But what impresses you is that he’s managed to write everything down in such a short span of time, something you couldn’t do, always missing a few important bits.

You couldn’t help but feel a weight lifted off of your shoulder.

“I know it might not be as good as the notes you usually take but—“

You didn’t realise how happy a bunch of pages put together made you until you find yourself jumping up to envelop your arms around Mark’s neck. Maybe it was the fact that you were so convinced you’d have a horrible day ahead and the fact that Mark had come to rescue you from a fraction of your misery without him knowing but right now, you were just happy and you wanted to hang on to the positive things to help you through the long classes waiting for you. It was a small gesture from Mark. But to you, it was more than enough. 

“Oh my goodness this is perfect. Thank you so much. You didn’t have to—“ You stop midway when you realise the position you had gotten yourself into and immediately peel yourself off of Mark who didn’t get the chance to fully comprehend the actions you had just exhibited.

You find him blinking rapidly behind his glasses when you step away from him. You feel heat creep up on your cheeks along with the embarrassment taking over every cell of your body and before he could open his mouth to say something, you cut him off.

“I will study these notes well! Thank you!” You say with a smile, “I’ll see you around then Mark!” You continue quickly and turn on your heels to walk away before he could notice your face that by now is probably as red as a tomato.

-

Week two.

After a week of adjusting, you were slowly getting used to using one good arm and compromising with the other. Basic tasks such as washing the dishes, taking a shower and brushing your teeth was still a challenge but everyday seemed to get easier. Instead of writing notes physically during lectures, you found it easier to type as you listened, given that your fingers were functioning just fine. Though it felt weird not to be using your favourite pens and turning the pages of your notebook and staring at the bright screen for hours, you felt calmer knowing you kept track of everything you had to study.

The only physical notes you had from the previous week was Mark’s. And there were times you’d discover yourself staring at the pages a little longer, studying not the material, but every stroke that he produced on the page. You had found fascination in the way he wrote his words and even though you’ve studied his material countless of times, you couldn’t help but revise all the information squashed into the reams over and over again. You’re convinced you’ve memorised the nitty gritty of how the human kidneys worked at this stage.

You don’t see Mark after that encounter. After all, you only have once class together and it only occurred once a week. But you’re surprised with how much you’ve been thinking about him. It isn’t until today that you see him again, walking up the stairs of the lecture hall, scanning the room for a seat until he stops just by the row you always sat yourself in. You were early today and so you took comfort in the emptiness and silence of the hall that was yet to be filled with students you really didn’t know. You catch his eyes just as he stands by the edge of the row of empty seats and smiles at you then before scooting himself inside until he’s standing over the seat next to yours.

“Hey,” he greets. “Is this seat taken?”

You glance down at the chair and then back up at Mark, shaking your head lightly. “No, it’s not.”

He smiles at your response and proceeds to sit on the empty chair, placing his backpack just underneath the table.

You blink a couple of times, quite taken aback that the person you’ve just been thinking about (and all week) is sitting right next to you. He’s wearing another hoodie today, a red one, and his dark brown hair is falling just on top of his glasses. You don’t remember ever sitting next to Mark, your memories of him only ever consisting of the boy who sat near the back, in the corner beside another student whom you didn’t know the name of.

There’s silence echoing in the huge hall and you try to rack your brain for things to talk about. Mark seems to be thinking the exact same thing because you both speak at the same time when a topic comes to mind.

“How are—“

“The notes—“

You both chuckle shortly after and Mark gestures for you to speak first. He’s smiling and you notice little sparkles in his eyes. You give yourself a moment to come back to your world after being momentarily lost in the way that his nose crinkled whenever he laughed.

“The notes from last week,” you start. “They were really good. I studied well, thank you.”

The smile on Mark’s lips widen. “Yeah? I was actually worried they didn’t make any sense. I’ve already broken your arm, I don’t want you failing this module too.”

You let out a hearty laugh and you don’t see the way Mark watches you with contentment. “No no. They were actually better than the notes I usually write. So I’m pretty sure no one’s failing anytime soon.”

Mark nods in satisfaction and he pushes his glasses further up the bridge of his nose as he leans forward to rest his clasped hands on the table.

“Well then, leave today’s class up to me,” he announces, watching students come in the lecture hall at the bottom of the room.

You stare at his side profile and tilt your head a little to the side. “It’s okay Mark, I can type my notes today,” you reply and tap your laptop sitting on the table.

Mark glances at the device for a second before shrugging. “No. You relax. I got this.”

“Mark, really it’s okay. You don’t have to—“

He turns to you then and he catches you off guard slightly when he leans forward towards your direction. He’s smiling at you, never breaking eye contact.

  “I don’t have to. I’m doing it because I want to.”

-

Week three.

You can’t focus. And you’re not paying attention to the things you should be. You didn’t even know what the topic of today’s lecture was. The professor’s words seem to drown out of your head completely because you’re staring at the figure beside you writing notes down profusely. You watch Mark repeat his cycle; craning his head towards the front where the lecturer stood before dipping his head down again. There’s a set of pages for you and a set for him and it was only then that you realised how hard he had to work because now he was writing not just for himself but for you too. And no matter how many times you’ve fought to take your eyes off of him, you can’t. And you didn’t know why.

It’s only when Mark looks up some time after and turn his head to you that you’re forced to look away. But when you do, you’re sure he still caught you staring. You feel Mark’s eyes linger on you for a while and you wonder if there was anything on your face for him to do so. When he does resume to focusing his attention to the lecture, you exhale a breath you weren’t aware you were holding.

Lectures were always long but today felt painfully longer than usual. And you think it’s because of the fact that everything being taught didn’t seem to implant themselves in your brain. You couldn’t be more relieved when you see the word conclusion appear on the wide screen indicating the end of anatomy and physiology that felt like centuries later.

“Are you not tired?” You ask Mark curiously as you get up from your seat and prepare to leave.

“Mhm?” Mark hums in response, stuffing his belongings into his backpack. “I got eight hours of sleep last night so I’m good.”

You smile to yourself at his words and follow him when he begins to make his way out of the hall. “Well that’s good. But I meant like, taking down two sets of notes? You were literally on fire in there.”

Mark chuckles as he holds the door open for you, allowing you to exit first with him following closely behind. “No, not really. I’m okay.”

You raise a questioning brow. “Sure?”

Mark nods, “Very sure.”

You feel yourself flinch when Mark’s fingertips graze your shoulder lightly, tugging at the only strap of your backpack that clung onto you before finally letting it fall into his fingers and into his grip, swinging it over his free shoulder.

You blink at him before frowning, noticing the burning sensation of where his fingers were. “What are you doing?”

Mark only smiles sheepishly at you. “Walking you to your next class. Lead the way?”

You try to hide the smile that’s desperate to form on your lips as well as the heat climbing up on your cheeks as you stand your ground.

“Mark my legs are fine to walk. It’s my arm that’s broken, remember?” You say, waving your cast-wrapped arm.

“I know that,” Mark simply replies, amused.

You didn’t want Mark to walk you to wherever your next class was because you feel you’ve had enough of him for the day. Enough of distractions.

You’re reaching out for your bag as you insist, “So you don’t have to walk me anywhere—“

You don’t finish your sentence when he swerves his shoulder away, leaving your arms hanging midair. He smiles at you again and he shrugs when he does. “Just let me.”

“But why? There’s really no need—”

“Because I want to.”

So here you were, weaving in and out of the sea of students in the corridors as you reach for your destination, Mark walking right beside you. You hadn’t spoken to him since, not really knowing what to say when he was so insistent and didn’t want to take a no for an answer. And because you were at a loss for words. He doesn’t speak either. But continues to smile instead.

When you do reach a door similar to the one you had walked into for your first class but on the other end of the building, Mark doesn’t hand you your backpack. He takes it upon himself to move closer to you to put it on your shoulder, taking the time to ensure it sat there snugly. And all you could do was watch.

He steps back a second after and rummages in his own bag to retrieve something. His hands emerges then with the notes he had taken earlier and extends them out to you. “Notes for this week. I hope they don’t disappoint.”

You smile at him gratefully before reaching your good arm out to take them from him. “I’m sure they won’t. Thanks.”

Mark zips his bag closed and swings it over his shoulder. “I better get to class. I’ll see you around?”

You nod. “Of course.”

He’s about to turn on his heels to walk away when he abruptly stops and turns back to you again. “Oh— I almost forgot. Do you like coffee?”

It takes you a moment to answer, taken aback by the random question. “Uh, I think I like hot chocolate better.”

Mark nods firmly then and waves a hand before walking away for real this time. You blink at his retreating figure and when he turns a corner and disappears completely, your eyes fall to the pages in your hand. You raise it closer to your vision when you find a small green sticky note stuck to the corner of the first page. And for the first time ever, you feel your pulse skip a beat.

“Study hard! But not too hard!”

- 

Week four.

You never thought you’d see the day come where you would be excited for a Monday. You hated Mondays, truly. Mondays were long and tiring and you were always exhausted by the time the day finished and there would still be four days left of the week to hustle and bustle. But today was different because you were stepping on campus grounds with a smile on your face, not a frown, but a smile. The sun is shining so bright overhead and you can’t help but feel yet another bubble of happiness explode in your chest. You find it weird to be feeling this way at half eight in the morning because you would usually be walking into the building with a huff, contemplating and questioning your life decisions.

And you’re startled when you find Mark standing just by the door of the lecture hall you both shared every start of the week, because the way that your heart picks up its pace doesn’t go unnoticed by you. Mark is kicking at the floor lightly, glueing his eyes to the motions of his limbs and you stop dead in your tracks to just observe him for a while without his knowledge.

When Mark looks up to see you, he smiles like he usually does and you struggle to keep your insides calm because if you were being honest, he looked absolutely breathtaking. There’s something different about him today and when you let your eyes follow his movements as he walks towards you, that’s when you realise that for the first time he wasn’t hidden in his usual comfortable hoodies. Today, he’s wearing a white shirt half tucked into the material of his light blue jeans and finishing the look with a pair of clean white converse. His hair bounces with every step he takes and when your eyes fall onto his face, you can see his brown orbs radiate clearly under the stream of the sunlight in the absence of his glasses.

“Good morning,” he greets. “For you.”

It takes you a few seconds to fully register his words and when you finally do, you see a cup enveloped in his hand being offered to you.

“What’s this?” You ask confusedly, shifting your gaze from the cup to his face.

Mark smiles and forces the cup onto your left hand before leaning in slightly to tug at the strap of your bag just like how he did last week. Growing uncomfortable by the way your heart was hammering against your rib cage, you swiftly lower your shoulder so that Mark can take the object from you easier because you knew that the longer his fingers grazed your shoulder, the longer you were going to feel the knots in your stomach. You train your eyes to the floor just as Mark places your bag onto the opposite shoulder his own bag sat on.

“Hot chocolate,” Mark says, bringing your attention to the warm beverage now wrapped beneath your fingers. “Let’s get to class?”

So that’s why you were elated to face your Monday; you get to sit beside Mark and watch him diligently scribble perfect notes as he spares glances at you here and there accompanied with a small smile, as if to silently let you know that he was paying attention to you too. And contrary to last week, you didn’t even look away whenever he caught you already looking at him. You wanted to, but you simply couldn’t. And the way he takes the time to smile at you every now and then makes you feel it’s okay to do so, that it was okay to fixate your gaze on him while continued on with his task.

Your thumb fiddles with the cup of the hot chocolate that rests on your lap, thinking to yourself the possibility of falling for this boy. Because you could feel it. In between the hushed whispers in class, the unnecessary crinkle of his nose whenever you said a lousy joke and in the way your breath hitches whenever he got too close. You catch yourself falling in awe because four weeks wasn’t even that long to be harbouring feelings for someone you recalled to be a stranger who blended in well in the background just like you. But that’s when you realise that Mark never blended amongst the crowd like you. To you he was always a conscious presence, a presence you felt compelled towards but never really got the opportunity to uncover. And you think it’s because of his quiet demeanour that shielded many things underneath the comfort of his oversized hoodies that leaves you wondering and pondering what he could possibly be like.

You smile because you discover it for yourself. You get to experience what he’s really like. Mark is sweet. And gentle. And comfortable to be around with when he isn’t causing you to almost hyperventilate.

“Why are you smiling?” Mark asks in a whisper, leaning slightly towards you as the professor’s voice continues to boom throughout the hall.

You shake your head silently with a shrug of your shoulders. “Just because.”

Mark continues to stare at you (your lips), his pen in his hand and ponders for a few seconds.

“I like it.”

Your eyes widen slightly and you don’t get the chance to throw him a questioning look because he’s already turned away to resume on catching the professor’s words on paper.

Once the hour is up, Mark is walking you to your next class again, allowing his memory lead the way through the corridors. You traipse along with him, the now half empty beverage being the only thing you were carrying as he refused not to carry your belongings for you earlier. You drown into small conversation with him, relishing in the feeling of being calm for the first time since meeting Mark today. You laugh at something he says, your hearty laugh echoing in his ears that encourage him to laugh with you. He places your bag on your shoulder again, just like how he did last week when you both reach the familiar entrance of another hall.

“I put the notes in your bag,” Mark says as he runs a hand through his hair when it gets caught in his eyes. “Enjoy class.”

You smile gratefully at him though feeling sad on the inside with the thought of not seeing him anymore until next week. “Thanks. I really appreciate it. I’ll see you next Monday then?”

Mark is rocking on his toes and he averts his eyes from yours, training his gaze to the ground for a second or two before looking up at you again. He rests his hand on the strap of his bag while the other flies a hand to the nape of his neck, a gesture that reminds you of the very first day he wrote your material for you.

“Actually, I wanted to ask if you’re free this Friday?” Mark asks, a shy smile eminent on his lips.

You can’t help but smile at the sight, an inkling of hope sparking in you that he might be feeling the same way you did. Not wanting to assume so soon, you muster up the courage to clarify his intentions.

“Friday?”

Mark drops his hand from his neck and opts to stuff into the pocket of his jeans instead, his little bashful gestures tugging at your heartstrings.

“Yeah. There’s a café that recently opened nearby and I wanted to ask if you’d like to come and check it out with me? I heard they make really nice hot chocolates,” he explains and you take note of the tint of rose spreading across his cheeks.

You pretend to think about his proposal, not wanting to sound so eager when in reality, you’ve already made up your mind even before he even got to ask.

“I finish at six that day, is that okay?” You say after a while, feeling giddy and excited at the thought of spending your Friday evening with the cute boy in the white shirt.

Mark’s face lightens up and the grip on your cup involuntarily tightens because of how happy he looked with your reply.

“Of course. That’s great,” he says, grinning.

You fumble at each other’s phone then to exchange numbers with the promise of Mark texting you before he walks away to get to his own class. You enter your lecture hall not too long after and settle in your seat. When you come across the sight of Mark’s familiar handwriting on the pages that are neatly tucked away in your book, you curiously take it out of your bag and examine the newly jotted notes, growing more and more accustomed to your routine with him.

You don’t fail to notice yet another green sticky note plastered on the corner of the first page and you feel yourself completely crumble altogether.

“You have a really pretty smile.”

—

You’re huffing and puffing when you feel your legs grow weaker by the second. There’s a burning sensation coating your lungs but you don’t stop running. It was approaching thirty minutes past six and you were late. The thought of Mark waiting for you sent guilt running up your spine. You finally round a corner and find him waiting patiently outside the said café. He’s wearing a dark grey sweater today, hair slightly tousled because of the wind that had just blown, staring out into the street in front of him.

“Oh my God I’m so sorry I’m late,” you say in between your heavy breaths once you reach him, your approaching figure catching his attention. You’re leaning slightly forward and clutching your chest with your broken arm to catch your breath.

As if on instinct, Mark takes the book you’re holding on to so tightly in your hand that you had failed to stuff in your bag after rushing to get here when your last class ended later than usual. He proceeds to take your bag from you too, something that felt too natural now.

Mark only smiles at you when he takes your belongings and holds them as if they were his. “It’s alright. No worries. I didn’t wait much.”

You let out a huge breath. “How long have you been waiting?”

Thirty minutes. Mark shrugs his shoulders, “I just got here.”

Not buying his lie, you walk past him and enter the café first, the bell signalling customers had arrived. “Okay, I’m paying.”

Mark frowns just behind you. “No. I asked you to come. I’m paying.”

“Yes but I was late so I’m making up for it,” you retorted and find a table by the corner. You slip into the seat as Mark settles on the seat opposite you.

“Y/N—“

“Mark, I’m paying.”

Sighing dejectedly, Mark slumps his shoulders in defeat. You smile victoriously and take the time to appreciate the coziness of the place you had just entered. Dark wooden walls enclosed the area, round tables spread generously throughout the space with little light bulbs hanging from the ceiling, emitting a mellow glow of yellow all around. There’s soft jazz music playing in the background and you’re immediately enthralled with how warm it makes you feel on the inside. You weren’t one to opt for cafés usually but this one was definitely on the top of your non-existent list.

“I like it here already,” you perk up, attracting Mark’s attention who had been focused on the small menu set on the table.

Mark smiles in content. “Yeah? I’m glad.”

A few minutes of deciding after, Mark rises and walks to the counter to order and you take this opportunity to fix yourself up, patting your hair down from the frantic running earlier. It isn’t too long before you see Mark emerging to reach for his seat again. When he sits in front you, you recognise the way he isn’t wearing his glasses again and you’re reminded by the shining of his eyes. You feel conscious under his stare because he’s leaning on the table, resting on his crossed arms and you try to shy away from it by looking elsewhere.

“Rough day today?” He asks, concerned.

You momentarily close your eyes and release a sigh before opening them again. “Very. Today felt so long.”

“Yeah?” Mark asks as if to confirm, a habit of his you found somehow captivating. “Tell me about it.”

So you do. You ramble on about how each class seemed to dragged on forever and how your merciless professors are piling up work on top of work with no hesitation. You vent out all your frustrations because the stress was getting to you. But you don’t tell him about the excitement of meeting him that kept you moving forward to survive the horrible day. He didn’t need to know that one.

“Oh— I’m sorry, that must have been so boring to listen to,” you cut yourself off in the middle of another sentence when you start talking about the frustration of working in a group with students who weren’t as dedicated on putting in work as much as you were.

You expect to find Mark dozing off at your ramblings, but instead, you find him in the same position he was earlier, leant forward, smiling at you and nodding to every word that left your mouth.

“No it’s not. Keep talking,” he assures. You’re oblivious as to how he finds fascination in your voice.

You’re about to protest when the waitress comes to deliver what Mark had ordered earlier. She carefully sets two hot chocolates in front you followed by slices of blueberry and chocolate cheesecakes. You thank the waitress along with Mark and that’s when you notice she’s unmoving in her spot, taking a good look at Mark. She looks about your age, long black hair tied loosely past her shoulders. Mark is slower to notice her attention and you feel queasy when there’s an unfamiliar feeling forming in your gut.

You see Mark shift in his seat uncomfortably when he thanks the waitress again. She mumbles a quick welcome before walking away, cheeks tinted. You smile in amusement when Mark regains his composure, tugging at his sweater.

“I think she likes you,” you point out, stirring your hot chocolate with the small spoon.

Mark chuckles lightly and shakes his head as he follows what you’re doing. “Nah, probably not.”

“Her stare says otherwise,” you prod, surprised by the way your tone sounded rigid.

“Doesn’t matter,” Mark dismisses and looks at you as he wraps his slender fingers around his mug, nodding his head at your mug . “Try it and see if it lives up to your expectations.”

You divert you eyes to your hot chocolate before lifting the mug and letting your tastebuds become coated with the warm liquid. It brings you waves of calm and you savour the sweet taste, forgetting about the eventful day that sent you to unimaginable stress. When you let the mug down in its original place on the table, you hum in contentment.

“Okay that’s really good,” you say, using your tongue to remove the excess that had managed to stay on your top lip.

Mark follows suit and takes his first sip, agreeing with you when he gets a taste. You lose yourselves into your conversations then, swapping your cakes with each other in between so that you can both challenge who had the better cake. You learn about Mark’s family and his love for instruments and anything that had to do with music; something he said no one really knew about. He learns about you in return and your family that lives miles away in England. You tell him how much you miss them, especially your little brother who’s just three years of age and Mark empathises with you when he tells you his family lives in Canada. Both of you jump from one topic to another, discovering more similarities than you would’ve thought and challenging each other’s views on certain subjects that required a lot more thought. Regardless, every single conversation is smooth flowing and there’s an abundance of laughs in between transitions. You grow to like the crinkling of Mark’s nose when he laughs while Mark on the other hand, revels in how light your laugh makes him feel. And even though the place is filled with the distant chatters of other people sipping on their coffee, both of you take no notice of them, heavily engaged into whatever you were talking about.

You feel a newly uncovered connection with Mark and you wonder if he felt the same way.

It’s a little past nine when you both call it a night and rise from the table you both had grown comfortable in. You walk towards the counter with the intent to pay only to be notified that everything has been paid for already. You turn to raise a questioning brow at Mark who only smiles sheepishly at you.

“I told you I’d pay,” you say once you exit the cozy café.

“No. I asked you to come so it’s only right that I pay,” Mark defends. “Besides, it’s an excuse for me to see you again. You can treat me next time.”

You grow silent at his reply and internally surrender when his words sends your heart in a frenzy. Mark walks you to your apartment situated ten minutes away from where your university was. It’s as if you two never the left the café because you’re still laughing during your conversations even at the cringeworthy puns Mark makes every chance he got. You can’t remember the last time you’ve laughed this much, only ever basking in the feeling of longing you had for your family back home. You weren’t the type to make friends either, hence spending the majority of your time by yourself. However being with Mark felt like a breath of fresh air. He made interacting feel easier which was a surprise to you because it’s always been something you’ve struggled with.

You reach your apartment building just as you finish chuckling at something he said. He hands you your book and the bag he had claimed before leaving the café earlier.

“Thanks for today, I had a lot of fun,” you say genuinely, adjusting your bag with your good hand.

Stuffing his hands into the pocket of his jeans, Mark smiles with a nod. “Me too. I’ll see you Monday?”

You nod carefully and you take this as your queue to head inside but the way Mark is smiling at you endearingly, eyes forming crescent moons screams at your insides to do something else. All the rationality in your system seem to fly out the window when you’re taking a step towards him, leaning on your toes to reach up and plant a quick kiss on his cheek. You’re embarrassed by your actions but not as embarrassed as Mark who’s blushing like mad and training his eyes to the ground in vain attempts of hiding the heat that’s spreading across his face.

“See you on Monday,” you say with a satisfied smile.

—

Week five.

Five weeks with a cast around your arm and you were living completely fine with it. Tasks didn’t bother you anymore, applying your own know-how’s on how to handle such chores. The only thing bothered you was when the skin under the hard material itched so bad you could literally only writhe your fingers in hopes of consoling yourself until you realise it doesn’t work and silently hope for the discomfort to end instead. Mark texts you right after you part from him that Friday night. Even thought it was a mere good night, sleep well it was more than enough for you to grin like an idiot as you reread the message over and over again. You furtively dread seeing him today as the sun rises, indicating another start to your work after burying yourself in work during the weekend, never leaving your room, because you remember that risky kiss you had impulsively planted on his cheek. You prepare yourself for the worst; Mark avoiding you and hiding himself because of what you did. But mentally argue with yourself; he texted you that night so that might mean you didn’t scare him away completely. Regardless, you silently wish you hadn’t been so irrational and let your emotions take over.

You walk in the building, half hoping to see Mark wait for you by the door you entered together for the past few weeks now. And you know you’re in deep trouble because you’re already expecting to see him first thing on a Monday morning; an unconscious confirmation of your desire to spend at least an hour with him.

You pick up the way your muscles relax unintentionally when you catch sight of him already looking towards your direction with his usual smile. He’s wearing his glasses today and the sight of his round specs make you realise you kind of missed them. When you reach him, he extends out the familiar cup of hot chocolate in his hand and extends his other free hand in place for your bag. You roll your eyes playfully, butterflies reeling in your stomach as you trade.

“I really don’t understand why you have to carry my bag. I’m perfectly able for that task,” you say when you’re hopping along the stairs of the hall, careful enough not to spill your beverage.

Mark chuckles behind you and follows you carefully as you shuffle into your usual row. “And I don’t understand why you protest so much. I told you before, I’m doing it because I want to.”

You sit yourself on the chair after you unfold it from its original state and give Mark an inquiring look. Mark follows suit and settles both of your bags below where he usually places them. “Why? Do you not like me doing it?”

You purse your lips as you try not to melt. He’s genuine with his question, feeling worried you might have developed a distaste for his actions. You shake your head, wondering if you wanted to be one hundred percent transparent so early in the day. But Mark is asking you with his eyes and you feel the urge to show an eighth of how you’ve been feeling.

“It’s not that,” you start. “It’s just I don’t want to get used to it and this,” you say as you raise the hot chocolate within his view. He glances at it and shifts his gaze onto you almost immediately, encouraging you to continue with a nod. “My cast comes off in a week Mark, and I don’t want myself to expect you doing these still when it does because I’m slowly growing used to all of this.”

Mark blinks a couple of times and you’re instantly regretting being so honest. You take a sip from your cup to comfort yourself in the sweet taste and to distract yourself from the words you had just let go of. You avoid Mark’s eyes which you can’t read at the moment.

“You really think I’m doing all of this because of your cast?”

You snap your head towards his direction. “Aren’t you? And because of guilt maybe?”

He stays silent after and you take the opportunity to emphasise your opinion.

“I’ve already told you it’s okay. My broken arm wasn’t anybody’s fault and that there’s nothing to be sorry for—“

“I know that. And I took your word for it,” Mark interrupts, his eyebrows furrowing in the middle, an expression you’ve never seen on him before. “Which is why I kept telling you that I’m not doing it out of anything— not out of guilt, not out of obligation. But because I simply want to.” Mark inhales a breath and runs a hand through his hair.

“And I’m going to keep doing it for you, your arm broken or not.”

And that’s it. You finally melt. And the the crescent of his smiling eyes with the emergence of his chiseled cheekbones when he smiles doesn’t help the butterflies in your stomach calm their whimsical wings, tickling you ever so lightly.

Mark doesn’t speak anymore as the class begins and you’re left alone with your haywire thoughts. And you grow even more embarrassed for the rest of the day when you read your note for the day, presenting itself in the usual green sticky note attached to your notes.

“You look really cute when you’re flustered.”

-

In the middle of the week, you find yourself seated on a bench overlooking the wide green football pitch as you skim over Mark’s notes, revising the topic you hadn’t paid much attention to during the actual lecture. It’s one in the afternoon which meant that you had an hour for lunch so here you were, finding solace in the silence under the shade of a tree to protect yourself from the sun. You trace your fingers under the ink as you read every bullet point, occasionally looking up to stare into the distance to mentally repeat what you’ve just read to check how immersed you were in your study.

You feel your phone vibrate just beside you and you reach for it, eyes unwavering from the page. You read one more sentence before switching your attention to your phone. Mark’s name displays on the screen, indicating a new message from him.

Did you have lunch yet?

Your thumbs tap on your device in a fluid manner hitting the send button not too long after to tell him no and that you weren’t feeling hungry. You don’t get a reply within the time frame that Mark usually replies in and so you set your phone back on the bench, eyes travelling to your notes once again. A few minutes later, a pair of shoes appears just in front of you and slowly, you peel your eyes away from Mark’s handwriting to see who your company was.

Mark is smiling down at you just as he leans down slightly to settle a brown paper bag just on the unoccupied space of the bench beside you. You smile in return, happy at the sight of him.

“What are you doing here?” You ask curiously when he stands back up.

Mark is rocking back and forwards on his toes again. “I was walking by and I saw you. Figured I’d say hi.”

“Well, hello,” you answer playfully.

Mark grins bashfully, running a hand through his hair. “I actually have class now so I have to go.”

“So you came to actually say bye,” you tease, a playful eyebrow raised as you cross your arms across your chest.

“Trust me I don’t want to say bye but I have to get this degree,” he says, playing along with you.

You chuckle and he mirrors your actions. “Alright,” you say and wave a hand. He turns on his heels then and leave you alone again in your silence. When he’s no longer in view, your eyes fall to the brown bag he had placed before you earlier. You pick it up and rip the familiar green sticky note off of the thin material of the bag, finding Mark’s writing etched on it.

“Please don’t skip your meals ㅠ ㅠ Studying is good but not when you’re missing food.”

You smile to yourself and find a sandwich hidden inside the bag with a bottle of orange juice. A chuckle escapes your mouth when you pick up yet another sticky note that’s plastered on the sandwich.

“This isn’t much but it’ll do for now. We’ll get proper food this Friday. If you’re up for it.”

Mark was sweet. As always.

—

It’s Friday. And you’re walking alongside Mark along the streets of the city, allowing your eyes wander all around the buildings you happen to pass by as you savour the taste of the vanilla ice cream sitting perfectly on your cone. Mark upheld his suggestion in taking you out for dinner once again and after losing yet another debate on who pays for the meal, you suggested to buy him ice cream instead, insisting until he finally caved in and gave you what you wanted. There’s a smile playing on your lips when you see Mark indulge in his watermelon flavoured ice cream. He wasn’t carrying your usual backpack today. Instead, he slung your small handbag across his shoulders and let it rest slightly above his hip.

“So where would you like to go next week?” Mark suddenly asks after licking his dessert.

“Next week?” You ask inquisitively.

Mark nods, eyes ahead. “Is there anything you’re craving?”

You narrow your eyes at his side view, not really sure if you wanted to ask the question burning in your mind for the longest time. But you decide against it and decide to go along with his suggestions instead.

“Not that I can think of, no,” you simply reply.

Mark purses his lips in thought. “Hm. How about burgers? Pizza? Pasta?”

You take another lick off your ice cream as you consider the variety of food mentioned. “Burgers sound good.”

Mark nods proudly, biting into his cone. “Burgers it is then. I’ll look for good places around.”

You chuckle when he gets some ice cream on his nose and you don’t for one second hesitate to reach out and wipe it away with the tissue in your free hand. He merely watches your moves and blink right after you succeed in wiping his face clean. “Is this food hunt a weekly thing now?”

You don’t notice Mark stiffen and regain his composure as he trails his eyes ahead, obviously taken aback by your touch because as far as he could remember, he’d always been the one on the giving end, except for that one kiss you had given him. He clears his throat then and proceeds on focusing on his dessert to distract himself from the warmth spreading across his cheeks.

“It could be. If you want,” he says.

You nudge his side playfully, “It could be if you’d let me pay.”

Mark quirks a smile. “I let you pay earlier didn’t I?”

You roll your eyes playfully at him, causing him to emit another chuckle. “That was dessert. I mean like a proper meal.”

Mark takes a step closer to you unknowingly. “I’m the one asking you out on dates. So it’s on me.”

Your head whizzes towards his direction and an eyebrow shoots up immediately. There were times you’d wonder if the last Friday and today were considered as dates. But you never dwelled on it and opted to treat them as two friends hanging out and checking out cozy places but now that Mark has said it himself, a new set of questions seeped into your mind.

“Dates?”

Munching on the last bit of his cone, Mark nods with a smile, slightly amused at your incredulous face. He stuffs his hand in his pocket and meet your eyes. “Dates. What have you been thinking all this time?”

You continue to blink at him, unmoving, not realising you’ve stopped walking, people weaving around you. Mark stops with you and waits for your reply.

“I- I don’t know,” you say truthfully. “I thought we were just grabbing food together.”

Mark chuckles lowly and lifts a hand to rub the nape of his neck, a shy smile forming on his lips. “I’m sorry. I was wrong on my part. I didn’t make myself clear enough, did I?”

Your mouth is now hanging slightly open.

“Okay,” Mark says when he sees you still confused. “I want to take you out on a date next week. Let’s get some burgers?”

You finally snap out of your trance when a stranger’s shoulder bumps into yours, making you lose your balance slightly. Mark is quick to reach out to you and grab a hold of your arms to stabilise you, his touch sending surges of electricity through the fabric of your sweater.

You try to laugh off your embarrassing faces just now as you begin to walk ahead, wiping your hand that had been dripped on by your melting ice cream. “We’re not even dating,” you say in a light tone in attempts to hide the erratic beating of your heart.

Mark walks until he’s beside you, close enough that his shoulder touches with yours.

“Yeah? Maybe we should start dating then.”

—

Week six.

Mark’s words eat at you the whole weekend that passes and it isn’t helping that he’s smiling at you more often now, his nose crinkling and his eyes disappearing. Nevertheless, you can’t shrug off the light weight settling in your chest whenever he momentarily shifts his eyes from the notes he’s writing to you only for his lips to curl upwards into a small smile. There’s another hot chocolate sitting at your desk and you feel it tastes even sweeter today. When Mark brings you to your next class, his gaze lingers on you a little longer and you’re tempted to cower away so that he doesn’t see you becoming flustered because his eyes spoke too much and it was enough to terrify you; you feel yourself losing to him. His notes are in your hands and the small green in the corner catches your eye immediately. He doesn’t leave though, staring at you, silently encouraging you to read what he had written for you today.

Go on a date with me?

And when you look back up at him, he’s just smiling, hands buried deep within his pockets and balancing his weight back and forth his toes.

Lunch times were no longer spent on your own because Mark made an effort to cross from his building which was all the way on the other end of the campus to yours just so he could eat with and talk to you. It’s Thursday and you’re watching him curiously as he twiddles with the marker in between his fingers, twirling it skilfully, another habit of his you had picked up whenever he paused from writing. Your casted arm is laid on the table just below him. He had asked you earlier if he could write on it since it would be coming off this weekend and you agreed without hesitation, giddy at the thought of having a part of Mark with you.

When you happen to glance at the time on your phone, you reluctantly take your arm off of the table, Mark following your every move.

“I’ve class. I have to go,” you say simply as you gather your things. “Still can’t decide what to write?”

Mark shakes his head and gets up from his chair when you do, stuffing the last of your things into your bag and grabbing it to swing on his shoulder but just as he’s about to do so, you grab his arm and stop and him.

“You stay here. I can walk to class on my own,” you assure him.

“Are we going to do this again? I want—“

You halt his words with a firm nod of your head, your lips quirking up into a smile. “I know that.” A soft chuckle leaves your lips as you reach out and plant a pink sticky note on his forehead.

Mark stares at you on confusion, his face adorable.

“I’ll see you this Friday then?” You say with a wink before walking away to leave.

Mark watches you before raising his hand to pluck the sticky note off his forehead.

I would love to go on date with you.

—

Mark surprises you once again when he holds out a bouquet of fresh sunflowers to you hiding behind a bashful smile shielded with the crescent moon of his eyes and cheekbones as prominent as ever. There’s heat creeping up on your cheeks as you take the flowers from him.

“Sunflowers?” You ask curiously, taking in the beauty of each one. The sight of the bright yellow alone is enough to make you happy from the inside.

Mark smiles shyly and runs a hand through his hair. “Umm,” he starts, obviously hesitating. You take your eyes away from the flowers and encourage him to continue with a nod of your head and a smile on your lips. “It’s going to sound so cheesy but... you remind me of sunflowers, that’s why.”

You can’t help the smile on your face from reaching one ear to the other, melting slowly by his sheepish confession. “It’s not cheesy, Mark. It’s sweet.”

Mark grins, his eyes smiling along.

“And thank you, I love them.”

And just like the previous Fridays, you block the whole world out as you and Mark talk about life, memories, people and the world. You get a better understanding of Mark and you let yourself open up to him knowing it was exactly that he wanted you to do. And it feels light. It feels weightless. Exposing your worries, concerns and dreams with Mark doesn’t feel hard to do because you feel your secrets are safe with him. You feel safe with him. Every word that leaves your mouth registers in Mark’s mind without missing a syllable and he makes a vow never to forget a single one because if anything, you sharing everything that was kept under your façade was all he’s ever wanted you to do. So that you don’t have to carry the burden alone. So that you didn’t feel alone. And Mark does his best to make you feel like you aren’t, in the way he responds to you, in the way he never takes his eyes off of you and in the way he reaches out to wrap your hand under his when the words get caught in your throat.

Mark doesn’t let go of your hand the whole walk home. You expected to feel your heart jump right out of your chest the moment he took your hand in his and effortlessly intertwine his fingers in between yours, but instead, the moment felt all too natural, and you felt calm, comfortable even. Mark feels warm and you instinctively lean closer to him when a gush of wind blows and you’re oblivious to the way he smiles above you when you do.

“Today was something else,” you mumble when you reach a familiar building.

Mark smiles at you, not ready to let go of your hand just yet, your bouquet of flowers nestling in his other arm, “Yeah. It was.”

Mark is rubbing circles with his thumb on the back of your hand and you momentarily wish that you could stay like this for a little longer. “Thank you for today. It was the best first date I could ever ask for.”

“Yeah? I’m glad. I had an amazing time too,” Mark replies, cheekbones evident on his chiselled face. “I always do, with you.”

You frown at him as an attempt to mask your frustration away. This boy was definitely something. “Right. Well, I should get going. Thank you for bringing me home.”

Mark nods but his hand remains unmoving in yours and you’re chuckling when you feel him give your hand a squeeze. Instead of prying his hold off you, you close the gap between the both of you and lean on your toes to plant a soft peck on his cheek. When you pull away with a smile, his grip on your hand loosen then and you take this opportunity to take your hand away along with the sunflowers. He’s blinking at you, taken aback by your actions just like the very first time you boldly kissed him.

“Good night, Mark,” you mumble bashfully and turn on your heels to walk away. It isn’t long before he’s calling your name again.

“Hey Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“Would it be okay.. If I go to the hospital with you tomorrow?”

You smile gives your answer away even before you could utter a reply.

“I’d love that.”

—

“You never got to write on my cast,” you point out as you exit the hospital. You’re flailing your right arm around slightly, trying to get used to the sensation you didn’t feel for six weeks.

You feel Mark shrug beside you, “That’s okay. I still have plenty of sticky notes left.”

This makes you laugh and you shake your head at him. “Whatever you say.”

It isn’t long before Mark finds your right hand and laces it with his left. “It feels nice to be holding this hand.”

You raise a playful brow. “So my left one isn’t as nice?”

Mark chuckles and gives your hand a squeeze. “I’m just saying I’m going to be doing this much more often.”

You challenge him, scooting closer, “Because?”

Mark doesn’t respond, caught in between your playful question. The sun is shining up so high in the sky and there are no clouds present to intervene with the bright light. There’s a bubble of happiness bursting in his chest and he smiles ahead, growing all too familiar with the sensation.

“I guess this is the part where I confess, right?”

You whip your head towards him in a heartbeat. “What?”

Mark is trying not to notice your furrowed eyebrows as he continues to stare ahead. “You know, I think it was a good thing I broke your arm.”

You blink at him, confused. “What?”

Mark cranes his neck towards you to look at you. “Because it finally gave me a reason to talk to you.”

“Okay I’m confused,” you say defeated, halting in your steps and unlatching your hand from his. You cross your arms across your chest and wait for him to explain.

Mark chuckles at your actions and you could almost guess what he’s about to do next when you see a bashful smile playing on his lips; stuffing one hand into the pocket of his jeans and the other flies up to rub the nape of his neck.

“Okay, here goes nothing,” Mark starts. “I’ve had the biggest crush on you Y/N ever since... Probably ever since the first time I saw you walk through our anatomy and physiology lectures which was what? Like the start of this year right? And I know I should have just manned up and talked to you right there and then but I couldn’t bring myself to. I think I got scared and.. nervous.” 

He pauses as he laughs awkwardly, recalling all the times he’d watch you carefully sit down in your favourite seat of the lecture hall. 

“I was really really curious about you, not in a creepy way, trust me. I just really wanted to know you but I didn’t know how. It just so happened that I was late for class one day and ended up knocking you down with my bike.”

“So breaking my arm was a ploy to talk to me?”

“Y/N that’s not what I meant, I—“

You laugh at his reaction, heart fluttering at his cute confession. Mark still looks flustered and he’s averting his eyes everywhere but you and you find him even more endearing then. That’s when you take a step closer and wrap your arms around his neck.

“Well then, I thank you for being late to class that day,” you whisper. “The past six weeks have been the easiest for me despite the broken arm.” You smile to yourself when you feel Mark’s arms wrap around your waist. “And I guess this is the part I confess too? I like you too, Mark.”

Mark doesn’t say anything. Instead, he tightens his arms around you and buries his head into the crook of your neck.

—

Week seven. 

Over the week, your texts and calls with Mark become more frequent and he no longer waits until Friday to take you out on dates, managing to squeeze in picnic dates in between free periods and staying back after lectures to study together in the library. If Mark was sweet before the confession, he was even sweeter after telling you how he felt about you.

I really really like you.

You look really pretty today.

Well— you always do.

But yeah, I can’t believe you like me too?

Like wow.

You give Mark an incredulous look when your eyes fall onto the set of green sticky notes he had plastered on your book in a span of two minutes. How could you even manage to study when he was being like this? Mark only smiles at you innocently before training his eyes onto his book again. Shaking your head in disapproval (even though you adored each one of his quick notes), you resume on typing your half finished essay. Not even ten minutes into your work, you feel Mark scurry to write another note on his small pad. Ten seconds later, he sticks it right on the screen of your laptop, right where you can see it straight away.

Scratch that. You’re beautiful. I hope you know that.

—

“I remember that one time, I dropped my pencil case in the middle of the corridor and you picked it up for me as you were passing by,” Mark says, adjusting your bag on his shoulder. “And even then, I couldn’t say anything to you.”

You laugh and play with the stem of the sunflower in your hand, one that Mark had given you after meeting you when your lectures ended. “But why? Am I that intimidating?”

“No,” Mark says. “I told you, I was just always so nervous around you.”

You laugh playfully and nudge his shoulder. “Are you still nervous now?”

Mark smiles and stops for a moment, “You have no idea.”

You sigh exasperatedly turning your whole body to face him. “Mark you’re making me flustered. Stop that,” finally expressing a fraction of how he really made you feel. 

“Stop what?” Mark teases.

“That thing you do. I don’t know what it’s called,” you say with hand motions. “Did you know you have a way with words?”

Mark shakes his head, feigning innocence, enjoying the sight of the pink shade on your cheeks. “That’s a first. But maybe because I’m with you?”

You close your eyes briefly to collect yourself because right now you were absolutely melting and it didn’t look like Mark was going to stop anytime soon. “You’re enjoying this too much aren’t you?”

Mark shrugs his shoulders, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You roll your eyes playfully at him as you hold the sunflower in front of him. This was the fourth sunflower of the week and although you loved every single one, you couldn’t help but be curious.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“Why sunflowers? I know you said they remind you of me, but I want to know how.”

Mark shifts his gaze on the yellow flower before fixating his gaze on you, eyes smiling.

“Sunflowers make me happy whenever I see them. And that’s exactly how I feel when I see you,” Mark replies straightforwardly, as if it was the one thing he was most sure about in the whole world.

You silently regret asking because you weren’t prepared for what he was actually about to say. You should know by now; Mark always always had a way with his words.

“Cheesy right?” Mark chuckles, mentally reprimanding himself for being so smitten by you to the point where this side of him shows involuntarily.

You shake your head, giving him a smile.

“It’s not cheesy, Mark. It’s sweet.”

[the-caffeine-hero]

To Hault An Icarus

Kurapika has never been one to waste time, even at his own expense. Perhaps a phone call from a friend can change his mind?

Cross Posted on AO3

The night was quiet as week-old death. The only semblance of noise was the click of a computer mouse and the squeak of a desk chair. How long had it been since he had gotten up? Hours? Perhaps even days? No one would be able to tell. The layer of dust around the room stood as a symbol of time past. In most situations, dedication of this magnitude would be considered impressive, even inspiring. The young blonde with undereye bags that seemed to overflow with more than just lack of sleep continuously scanned his eyes across the lit-up screen. His eyes momentarily darted to the on-screen clock only to see a stark 4:00 AM taunting him. The sun would rise soon enough. He leaned back in the chair while running a hand through hair that upon closer inspection had seen better days. Split ends, sporadic tangles, and a light covering of grease was a telltale sign of the young man's lack of care and loss of time. Time was a curious thing for the man as there wasn’t nearly enough of it. He didn’t want to waste a minute, there weren't enough seconds in the day for him to slow down.

Slender fingers lightly grazed the dangling red earring in his left ear. It was a traditional piece, crafted from the brightest ruby one had ever seen. The young man had very little left physically of his clan as they are long since gone. Even his clothing that fitted loosely over his body were that of a more metropolitan kind. His eyes trailed to the traditional Kurta clothing hung up gently in the closet which too carried a thin layer of dust on them. The young man could only think of the inevitable dust that the remains of his clan have become. His eyes clenched shut, his nose scrunching up as well before he shook his head before returning to the screen in front of him. He had not a single second to waste. Not when his clan had their seconds snatched away from them.

Before the young man could fully fall back into the seemingly endless void that was his research, a soft vibration buzzed against his thigh. He seemingly tried to ignore the sensation only to feel the vibrations over and over again. The young man took a deep breath, seemingly centering himself before begrudgingly pulling his phone out of his pocket and leaning back in the office chair, holding the phone above him as the light poured over his soft yet cracked features. The time was 4:03 AM and he had two missed calls from a certain med student. A small and almost sad smile graced the man's chapped lips. His arms slowly moved to his sides, about to slide the phone back into his pocket before that familiar vibration shook through his hand. Once again, the persistent med student called. The blonde stared down the phone with tired eyes. Who was he to answer? Did he deserve that right? Slowly the young man's fingers maneuvered into a tight fist, clenching tightly at his left side, seeming to ground him. He brought the same hand up to the phone in the other as it shook, hovering over the accept icon on the screen. If almost taunting the young man, just as his finger hit the screen, the call was dropped. The blonde's jaw clenched and his lips pursed into a tight line. The phone screen only showed another missed call and the time in a bright white reading 4:04 AM.

A new sound was the soft thump of his phone falling to the ground as he returned to the hunched position over the laptop in front of him. The screen had grown slightly dark from the lack of use over the course of just a few minutes. The top of the screen was littered with multiple open tabs with no discernible order. Each tab contained a news article or perhaps a local auction with even the slightest link to the coveted scarlet eyes. There wasn’t much on this version of the internet, yet it would be a waste not to try. Internet cafes closed and being tracked by a Hunter’s License really wouldn’t be the smartest move for anyone, nevermind a young man chained in a web of constant underworld doings and dangerous situations. As his eyes scanned the most recent news article, he reached for a scrap paper and a pen to write down a reminder to verbally pursue one of his many leads. There were many of these scrap papers littered over the desk, the handwriting varying from neat to nearly illegible. As he hurriedly wrote down a couple of words, a jarring and frankly generic ringtone rang through the air causing him to jump in his seat as his head whipped towards the phone taunting him from the floor. He quickly swooped the phone up and to his ear, pressing the accept symbol on the way up.

“Hello?” He answered with clear aggression laced in his voice.

“Kurapika, it's Leorio. Are you okay, man?” A voice responded seemingly not acknowledging the malice in the blonde's voice. For a moment, it was silent. Was he okay? He was alive and that was enough, right?

“I am. Is this an emergency?” Kurapika responded formally as he stiffened in place involuntarily preparing for the groan that was about to come from Leorio.

“I can’t just call to check up on you? You didn’t respond to any of us last week for your birthday so I personally think it’s reasonable for us to be a little worried.” Leorio said, each word growing in volume as if he was trying to drill the words into Kurapika’s mind. At the mention of his birthday, his shoulders dropped from their tightened position. He hadn't even noticed.

“My apologies for concerning you. I am fine. If that’s all you needed..” Kurapika began, responding as he always did to these types of calls before he was cut off.

“I don’t believe you. The last time I saw you, you looked like a walking corpse for God’s sake!” Leorio exclaimed through the phone, the volume causing Kurapika to pull the phone away from his ear slightly. “When was the last time you ate or slept? I know damn well you haven’t been keeping up with yourself hygienically either. Even if I wasn’t your friend, I’m gonna be a doctor one day. It would be insane for me to let you just kill yourself like this.” Leorio scolded over the phone, each word rushing out with the knowledge that the call could be ended at any moment. A slight wave of shame washed over the blonde. How long had it been since he ate? He wasn’t sure. That previous silence held in the air again, neither one knew how to respond. It was Leorio that broke the silence. “Listen…” he began, his voice unsure. “I know you like to do things on your own but you’re gonna burn yourself out. I’m not saying you need to stop. I’m just saying you gotta take a second to breathe.” He continued with a voice laced with a subtle pleading tone. “I don’t care how many times you try to push us away. Gon, Killua, and I care about you, man.” Leorio added on with a once again hurried voice. Kurapika stood silent, his eyes almost glazed over, as he felt his free hand twitching. He pulled the phone away from his ear, his eyes quickly scanning the phone for the time. It was 4:08 AM. His eyes trailed back to the laptop screen which has once again grown to the darken energy saver mode due to the lack of use. He was wasting time.

“Your concern is appreciated but not necessary. I am perfectly fine, Leorio. I will talk to you another time. Get some sleep yourself.” Kurapika mindlessly responded before hanging up the phone and returning to his seated position, quicking jogging the laptop awake. There wasn’t a moment to waste yet he continued to clutch the phone in his hand while trying to return to the task at hand. He couldn’t let the phone fall out of his hand again, it somehow was glued to him. Even as he maneuvered from website to website, the phone did not leave his palm.

It was 4:10 AM when he felt a buzz in his hand. It took only a moment but he pulled his tired eyes away from the laptop screen to see a text message from Leorio. It was long and had typos scattered through it yet the last clearly written phrase took him back.

“I know your revenge is important to you but don’t you think that your clan would want to see you live instead of just survive? The life you’re living isn’t really living, Kurapika.”

At first read, he felt anger building up inside him. The look of betrayal quickly flashing across his face only to quickly fade upon another text coming through.

“Don’t take it the wrong way man. I’m all for finding your clans eyes and kicking that Phantom Troupe into next week but what’s the point if you’re not alive at the end of it? I don’t want another friend to die.”

The anger that came from the first text was replaced with guilt. He wouldn’t die, would he? The blonde’s hands once again clenched his fists as he remembered how Leorio lost a friend due to something preventable. Was this the same thing? He looked back at the text for what seemed like an eternity. What would he say to that? Kurapika let out a sigh as he responded.

“You don’t need to worry, Leorio. I will take better care of myself. Thank you for your constant care.”

He hesitated to respond. Was he giving his friend false hope? Did he deserve to call Leorio his friend after all the worry he put him through? These questions banged in his mind as he quickly pressed send and shut his phone off in one quick motion. Kurapika sat for a moment. He glanced at the laptop. It was 4:15 AM. Perhaps, for tonight, he could go to bed early. For Leorio’s sake, if not his own. The blonde stared longingly at the laptop and its collection of open tabs before gently closing it before ghosting into the bedroom. The bed was still made from the last time he slept in it. It had been about a week since he generally would find himself asleep in the office chair after exhaustion took control. He looked around, catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror in the corner of his room. The person he saw looking back at him was tired. For the first time, he saw the unhealthy pale skin, under-eye bags, and unkempt hair. Perhaps tomorrow, he would take advantage of a day off.

As he changed from the same suit he had worn the past four days into actual sleeping clothes, he glanced at the clock. It was 4:30 AM and he could not escape the thought of wasted time as he pulled the covers up and slipped into his bed. Leorio’s text flashed into his mind. What would his parents say if they saw him like this? Was he doing the right thing? Would he even be able to sleep in this state? He gripped the comforter tightly as he tried to expel the thoughts from his mind. For just once, he shut his eyes and allowed his body to relax into the mattress, bringing the comforter around him tightly. It felt nice though the blonde doubted he deserved to feel any form of comfort. Those thoughts tried to force themselves further into his mind yet the embrace of sleep took the blonde over. No one could see but for the first time in months, the young man had a genuinely calm look plastered to his face. His quiet breathing was the only sound that could be heard in the room. This may only be a temporary stop on this Icarus-like man's journey but perhaps, if even for a moment, he could prevent his flight directly into the sun and just revel in the light.

[erintoknow]

leave no room for anything

Spiraling - A Fallen Hero: Rebirth Fan-fiction

You need cover, you need an alibi, and you need a place to plan and work out your next criminal action. What could go wrong from combining all that? [Survival]

[Read on AO3]

Another day, another spike of adrenaline courses through you as you dive feet first through a stack of boxes, sending crates of delicate electronic equipment everywhere. You can hear alarms sound around you as the factory goes into full alert, the clanging of barring gates. You grin under the mirror sheen of your helmet. That suits you fine, keep the small fry penned up and out of the way? You’re too kind.

The wall in front of you collapses into dust thanks to the nanovores and you tear through the office, grabbing at papers at random. What you take doesn’t actually matter at this point, compromising their records is the goal here.

Damage done, you refer to your map, dissolve another wall and follow your thread out, back to the main entrance.

The woman standing in your way gives you pause. You’d been psyching yourself up for a rematch against Chen, but no, its Lady Argent, hands at her sides and poised to rush you. A half-circle of rent-a-cop security goons behind her block you in. “A factory, Puppetmaster? What, they stop inviting you out to parties?” She smirks and hunches down, fingers lengthening into sharpened claws.

Your face twitches under your helmet. “Don’t read the papers, Argent? It’s Ghost.” You hiss. Your voice, filtered through your helmet has a hollow, flat sound. You take a quick count of Lady Argent’s back-up, who’s most pliable to tying up the rest. None of the officers seem to trust Argent. Good. That makes this easier.

The woman of steel looks unimpressed. “Can’t say I care what you call yourself.”

That does it.

One of the rent-a-cop’s guns goes off ‘prematurely’, firing wide to your left, the rest follow in blind panic as you dive to the side. Argent is too focused on you, but with the Rat-King’s help you’re able to pull the rest of the goof troop into your song, pulling their attention in random directions. One of the shots dings Argent in her shoulder, bouncing off to through ground and to her credit she doesn’t look for the culprit, making straight for you.

You run your hand along the ground as you move, leaving a split in the asphalt as the Nanovores chew through material. Lady Argent tries to cut you off so you encourage two of the goons to stumble into her way as you continue your circle around them. You can’t afford to move slow enough for a deep groove, but if this works as planned, all you need is to prime the cut.

If it works.

Argent huffs, shoving one of the men the side, only for another to conveniently take position between the two of you. “Get out of the way!” It doesn’t slow her down for long, but it’s enough for you to finish the circle. Under your helmet you grin, heart pounding.

All that’s left is the magic word. You give the Rat-King the command to pull the strings and yank everyone back in.

You dash forward and slide down, just under the swipe of her claws. She turns to stab down at you as you come to halt. You roll out of the way and kick her arm aside on your way back up.

You check to make sure everyone’s inside the circle you’ve carved through the asphalt. “Heads up.” is all the warning you give before an explosion rocks the ground under everyone’s feet. A furious Argent diving towards you finds only empty space underneath her, and you leap back as the asphalt caves in.

When the dust clears you risk taking a quick check of everyone’s mental state; a lot of fear and alarm, some pain, but the headcount is still the same. You think.

Hopefully.

You shake your head. Focus. Don’t get distracted. Stay in control. You watch Argent and the rest pick themselves up, clear rubble off their buddies. You have to harden your heart against it, remember who they are, what they represent. “Next time,” you call down, “remember my fucking name!”

Admittedly, Argent makes it easier. She’s staring up at you, a single silver middle finger outstretched.

You don’t like the way she’s eyeing one of the support columns. Can she climb her way out? You don’t intend to stick around and see, it’s time to make yourself scarce.

–––

Every super villain needs a secret lair. A base of operations. Somewhere you can plan your next move, keep mission critical materials. If Ariadne is going to be stuck playing retired civilian, it’s even more important to keep her as separated as you can from Ghost’s activities.

Eventually the day will come when you have to cast off that identity completely, but two years isn’t long enough to make you eager to resume a life of being actively on the run from a government agency. You need to gather more influence – and protection – if you’re going to ever unmask without it being an immediate disaster.

To that end… Ariadne needs a cover. She needs a job, co-workers, hobbies. A new wardrobe. You need Ortega to take a breather and ease off on trying worm her way in and fix every little aspect of your life.

So you’ll combine the two.

Technically a ‘Melissa Simone’ owns the computer repair shop you’re standing in front of. Ms. Simone also interviewed and hired yourself and the middle-aged lady with greying hair now manning the front counter.

You put a hand on the front door, hesitating. You keep putting this off but… guess you better ‘officially’ meet your new co-worker.

A bell chimes as you step inside. Old computer advertisements adorn the walls while parts and models are neatly stacked into three aisles across the open front half of the room. The building itself is on the older side. Hopefully a bit more use will get it looking properly run down enough to seem like it’s always been a repair shop here.

The woman at the counter looks up with a smile, a phone pressed to her ear. She holds a finger up as you approach.

You didn’t hire Marcie for her customer service skills. You hired her because she’s a terminally incurious middle-aged woman who fully intends to spend as much of her time talking to friends on the store phone or otherwise shirking her duties as much as possible.

Leaning an arm against the counter you wait for her to finish her current conversation, drumming your fingers against the wooden countertop. Watch the clock on the wall tick the seconds by. Finally she hangs up and turns back to you with a tired expression. “Alright, what do you want?”

You put on a sickly sweet smile. “My name is Ariadne Becker? Y–your um… co-worker?”

Marcie blinks, frowns, then flushes red. “Oh!” She hurries out from behind the counter, “Oh, I’m so sorry. I thought you were a customer.”

“I could tell.”

She puts her hand out and you give it a quick shake. “Are you really the only repairm–person here?”

“Eh.” You shrug, glancing at the beaded doorway to the back room. “If business ever picked up maybe it’d be worth hiring more.” Glance back to her, smile again. “For now, I’m it yeah. I don’t usually bother with – with um, the front entrance.”

“Well, if you ever need something from me, sweetie, you let old Marcie know, okay?”

You blink, not sure how to respond. She wasn’t this nice to Jane– ahem ‘Melissa Simone.’ “Uh. Y–yeah, sure. Thanks.” You cough. “Um… Ms. Simone gave you the – the rundown about the back right?”

Marcie looks at you, arching a skeptical eyebrow. “To stay the hell out? Yeah.” She leans in, “So… what are we fronting here sweetheart? Drugs? It’s drugs isn’t it.” She straightens her back with a dramatic sigh. “It’s always drugs.”

“I – what???” You stare at her. “W–we’re not – not ‘fronting’ anything!?”

She frowns. Is she… disappointed…!? “Oh? Really? Well. A job’s a job, I guess.”

“I… I just have a… very particular system. Okay?” You shove your hands into your pockets, looking away from her. Stare at the posters on the wall.

“Ah. You’re one of those.” One of those what? You can’t pick it up from her thoughts, just the sliding of her changing expectations. “Well, I’ll keep out of your hair, sweetie.” She steps aside, “It was nice to meet you Ariadne, dear.”

You walk past her in a daze. Push through the bed curtain into your ‘workshop.’ A central table has a pile of half-deconstructed computer cases, their silicon guts scattered haphazardly. A tool kit hangs from the wall alongside a clear plastic cabinet of replacement parts.

Hopefully the facade holds up. You don’t have much intention of actually doing computer repair work here. It’s more than a little concerning that Marcie of all people immediately jumped to the ‘criminal front’ explanation. Was hiring her a mistake? She doesn’t seem to actually care. Maybe you should go out of your way now and then to drum up business. Put some effort into looking legit.

Aside from the bathroom and breakroom, there’s one more room. Your actual workshop. The shop technically is built onto the side of an old warehouse. You’ve walled off most of the space, installed a hidden door, just inside next to the back door out.

You didn’t use up the entire warehouse. Just walled off a decent sized chunk. The rest has been dressed up. Mostly shelves of boxes full of bricks. Something that’ll pass at least cursory inspection.

The door slides open to your touch, keyed to your fingerprint. It springs back into place as you step past. The lights flicker on at low-power. Now here is where you can finally start to get shit done. Your armor is mounted to a secondary hidden compartment recessed into the far wall, next to a bed in case you need to crash or puppeteer Jane for a bit.

You’re particularly proud of the hiding place you’ve created for the Rat-King; an oversized lava lamp sits on the bedside table, a soft blue glow filling the room. Even if anyone breaks in here, anything of value will still be hidden. You’re not completely stupid.

One corner of the room is taken up by a bank of screens and a computer terminal. A system of motion detectors, CCTV, and trip alarms have been carefully set up over the past month in a two block radius around the shop. Nothing is coming near here without you getting some kind of record of it.

And then, last but not least, against one wall a full-length table stretches underneath a pristine corkboard.

Not pristine for long… You reach back into your pocket and pull out a wad of folded up, blood stained papers. The only thing you were able to salvage from the Marconi fiasco. Could have just pinned this while you were setting everything up, you guess.

But this feels more dramatic.

You grab a pin from the cork board and smooth out the creases with your other hand. Jam the paper to the middle of the board. A bill of sale for something called a ‘Regenerator.’ You don’t recognize the name of the buyer, but the listed seller is the personal assistant to Mayor Alvarez.

You pin a scattering of related articles next to the receipt, your prize from today’s factory theft. They’re all related to the sudden government take-over and closure of the regenerator’s parent company, PharmaCore.

What exactly is going on here; you have no idea. But it’s shady as shit, and that means it’s a point of attack. If you’re going to crack the damn city open, this is your starting point. You grab a pen and paper as you sit down at the desk.

You hum a tune under your breath as you work. Time to start planning out your next moves.

[anchorsandadderall]

Dolly

Sterek Week, Day 7: Halloween

Words: 2,629

Summary: Nothing in the Stilinski-Hale house is ever normal, of course. Not even birthday gifts for their son Herald.

Genre: Horror (sort of), Humor

If you do not yet know the tale of Herald, please go and view/read this absolute gem of the fandom here. Herald and his origin story belong to @spaggel and @grimm-times

Aside from the Sheriff, Cora was probably the one most unaffected when she met Herald. Derek and Stiles introduced them via FaceTime, because that tends to be the easiest way to introduce new, woefully unsuspecting people to him. They have the opportunity to hang up and swear the call dropped if it’s too much all at once. The amount of people who suddenly ‘lost signal’ when FaceTiming It for the first time is staggering. Scott swore he thought their kid was super adorable, he just lost signal while in a tunnel, despite the fact that he was calling them from a Burger King. 

It’s also helpful that electronics seem to malfunction around It a lot, and while sometimes the flickering screen has the same effect as the reveal of the girl in The Ring, a lot of times the static helps to… soften things. While sitting on the couch with Derek and It, Stiles bangs the side of his phone to try and sort out the heavy lines of distortion running up from the bottom of the screen, making everything wobble as it passes. That has to actually be making things look worse, surely. 

“Okay, now please remember that Herald is like… eight years old now, so he understands stuff that people are saying.”

Derek clears his throat. “He’s five.”

Stiles pauses and counts in his head. Time seems to go a lot slower when one is awaiting possible eminent death in ones own home all the time. “Five. But he can still understand you.”

“Sti- Stiles.” Cora’s voice jumps and doubles back as the screen wobbles. “The only danger here is you making me motion sick. Lemme see my nephew.”

Stiles sighs and tilts his phone to bring It into view. “Herald. This is your Aunt Cora.”

Herald takes the phone, grasping it in his knobby little fingers and stares at Cora’s flickering image. His eyes unfocus and the pupils drift apart slightly. Stiles braces himself for the hang-up but Cora just laughs.

“Hey, he’s got Derek’s eyebrows!”

***

The package arrives four weeks later, and it’s covered in red ink stamps and writing on the shipping label. It’s in Spanish, written in a dying ballpoint pen. But the mailman didn’t hang around to say there was extra shipping due or anything. Plus it’s from Cora, so it has to be fine. Stiles just cuts the box open and sifts through the balled-up newspapers.

And finds the doll.

The doll is some sort of cloth nightmare creation from Cora’s neck of the woods in South America. It’s rail-thin, the body wrapped in some kind of lacy doily to make a dress. The arms are too long, and the eyes are too big, bugging out of her head. For some reason the eyes are sewn onto black felt circles. Stiles thinks it’s supposed to mimic eyeliner, but the eyes are too high on the head and the circles form large, dark crescents under her eyes. 

Stiles shudders and stuffs her back into the newspapers so it hides those bulging eyes, grabbing the piece of folded cardstock that’s been rifled around with the papers. Cora’s messy scrawl is inside, written in red pen.

‘1 missed birthday present down. More to come. Love, Aunt Cora’

“Hey kiddo,” Stiles says automatically as he hears the front door open as Derek comes home from picking It up from kindergarten. He shoves the box aside so he can mail the hideous thing back to Cora and tell her to buy It a less creepy doll off Amazon if this is what they all look like where she shops. “How was school?”

“He didn’t bite anyone today,” Derek says, releasing It’s hand so he can wander freely around the kitchen while Derek hangs up his backpack. “His teacher is thrilled.”

“Me too, because that means he gets to stay another week.” Stiles presses a kiss to Derek’s cheek. “Our kid might learn those pesky social graces yet.”

“Can I see her?”

Stiles looks over at where It has perched himself at the edge of the table, staring up at the box without blinking. “What?”

Herald points up at the box.

“What are you talking about, buddy?” Derek walks over to the box and sifts the paper around, pulling the doll free. When he flips her over and the wiry black hair falls away to reveal the huge eyes, he startles and drops the doll… right into Herald’s waiting arms. 

“Your uh… sister decided to send that for Herald,” Stiles says, internally screaming. Herald has the doll, and looks quite pleased about it. Stiles is probably a terrible person if he gets rid of it now.

“Oh.” Derek looks down at it, a shudder running up his spine. “…Why?”

“How the hell should I know? She always had a weird sense of humor.” Stiles sighs. Time to foster good habits and all that parental stuff. “Let’s call Aunt Cora tonight and say thank you, okay?”

It turns his head slightly, not looking at anyone. Turning his ear towards the doll, maybe? Then he nods his head.

“She packed her too close to the strawberries. She didn’t like that.”

“Right.” It’s not the weirdest thing Herald has ever said. It’s not even the weirdest thing thing week. “Well, we don’t give people feedback when we’re thanking them for a present. So don’t say that to Aunt Cora.”

“Yes,” It says, and then departs with the doll. 

When Stiles is dumping out the newspapers to fold the box down, he finds a bag of candies tucked in the bottom of the box. There’s a smiling piece of red, round candy on the front of the bag, holding a strawberry.

***

The doll is called Amaia. Stiles takes note that It always just says that her name is Amaia, not that he named her. He likes to talk to her, which, again, isn’t all that weird. It talks to a lot of inanimate objects. And then he forgets to talk to his very animate parents for long periods of time. 

So he loves the doll and calls her his new friend and everything is great. Stiles can overlook the creepy factor since it makes Herald so happy. Hell, his kid has a creepy factor, who is he to hold it against a doll? But one does have to draw the line somewhere, and for Stiles, that’s at the front door. 

“Maybe you can take Amaia for the next show and tell day, okay?” Stiles offers after having successfully distracted It with Pop Tarts long enough to pluck the doll off the table. 

“She doesn’t like my teacher,” It says, watching the doll. “I want to show her that she’s nice.”

Ooookay, the doll is never going to show and tell. Ever. “Well, when you come home you can tell her all kinds of nice things about your teacher.”

It gives this a long moment of consideration. “Yes,” he finally agrees, and goes back to carefully biting his Pop Tart into the shape of an anatomically-correct heart. Stiles gives Derek a ‘dodged a bullet’ look of relief. Once Derek leaves to take It to school, Stiles stows the doll on top of the fridge so he doesn’t have to look at her creepy bug eyes all day. 

Stiles is working at the kitchen table at his laptop, tapping his fingers on the edge. He’s half focused on his screen, but something sort of... itches in the back of his head, but on the inside. A twitchy, uneasy feeling. 

“Derek, quit watching me,” he says, not taking his eyes off the screen. 

No answer. The prickling doesn’t go away.

Stiles sighs and rubs his eyes, breaking the spell of concentration with the screen (which wasn’t exactly helping him make progress). He turns to the kitchen doorway to tell Derek to stop being a creeper and make sandwiches or something.

The doorway is empty. The kitchen is empty. 

Stiles rubs the back of his neck gingerly as he looks around and confirms that... he’s definitely alone. The kitchen is quiet, save the slight hum of his laptop and the ticking of the clock that’s hanging over the stove. 

It’s cold. Well, Stiles thinks it’s cold, but there’s also the very real possibility that he’s just bored, and neither of those problems will be solved by him just sitting here. He gets up, trying to rub a little warmth into his arms, and heads out of the kitchen. A quick walk around the house, maybe asking Derek if he was hanging around the kitchen recently, grabbing a jacket if he needs to... then he can get back to work. 

When Stiles opens the door to the home office where Derek is working, he’s trying to pull a second sweatshirt over his first one. “Hey Derek. Were you in the kitchen?”

“Not recently, wh...” Derek turns to the door and fades out in the middle, eyebrows coming together as he looks Stiles up and down. “Are you okay?”

“It’s kinda chilly downstairs, don’t you think?”

“I-” Derek pauses as his computer begins humming louder, like it’s running harder. The screen dims. The lamp in the office dims, casting a brown tint on the walls. The bulb sputters, slight pops of yellow as it tries to fight back to full brightness.

Then it passes. The light comes back on fully, the cheerful orange light from the bulb radiating comfortably. The computer quiets back down. Derek immediately saves his work, just in case. 

“That was... weird. Uh, I haven’t been downstairs since I got home,” he says. 

“Oh,” Stiles says, for lack of anything better to say. He can’t very well insist that Derek had to be downstairs because it’s way creepier if he wasn’t. “Right. Well. I’m gonna go... get back to work.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Derek asks, leaning over his desk like he’s tryin to get a closer look at Stiles, but he’s already making a beeline for the staircase.

The kitchen light is off when Stiles gets back downstairs. So is his laptop. Everything is silent except the clock.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Stiles yanks his chair out, wondering how the hell he was gone long enough for his computer to go into sleep mode. Movement on the chair makes him glance down before he tries to sit. 

Amaia is on his chair. The force of him pulling it out has tipped her onto her side, one long arm falling past the edge of the chair. Bulging eyes staring at him. 

Stiles grabs the doll and shoves her into the freezer, slamming it shut. 

“Don’t make me call a priest,” he warns through the closed door. “You better not have screwed up my computer.”

***

It’s hard to be phased by much of anything after a life in Beacon Hills and now five years of fatherhood to the creepy little gremlin that is their son. Stiles and Derek just kind of take the first week in stride. Weird stuff happens when It is away at school. It usually stops when he comes home and Stiles returns custody of the doll to him. At worst, Stiles nicks his fingers on every knife in the utensil drawer while trying to find a wooden spoon. Messy, but not too bad when one’s mate has pain-removing powers.

Then It stays with his grandpa for the weekend. Stiles makes him leave the doll again, because hell if he’s sending that thing to his dad’s house. 

Amaia does not appear to like that. 

Stiles taps his fingers on his knees while the phone rings in his ear.

“Stiles.” Cora’s voice on the other end is groggy but suspicious. “Wha’s wrong? It’s... 5 in the morning.”

“1 in the morning for us. Cora, where did you get that doll you sent to Herald?” Stiles asks, tapping his fingers faster. 

“Is that Derek growling I’m hearing?” she asks. Stiles can hear rustling on the other end of the line as Cora sits up. The phone buzzes in his ear as the connection weakens. 

“Yeah, that’s Derek. There’s a little girl standing at the foot of our bed.” Stiles rubs Derek’s shoulder to try and keep him from launching himself at whatever is standing there and staring at them. “Or, I think there is. She’s suspiciously featureless in the shadows.”

“What the hell?” Cora sounds fully awake now, and Stiles will at least have the petty satisfaction of dragging her up at a horrible hour on a Saturday after all fo this bullshit.

“Yeah. The light has been unplugged somehow and there’s a little girl standing at the foot of our bed in the dark. Staring at us,” Stiles repeats. He can’t see her eyes, but ohh, it’s easy to feel they’re being stared down. “Presumably here to kill us because Herald is away.”

“What the fuck kind of doll did you send our son?” Derek growls, not taking his eyes off the still figure facing them. 

“I mean... it was just a doll,” Cora protests. “Lots of the women around here sew and make kids’ toys.”

“Are they all in a cult or something?” Stiles hisses, trying to toe the line of belligerence. He’s not sure if it’s possible to piss this thing off and he doesn’t really want to find out either. Not when he’s only wearing boxers and he’s carelessly moved his bat to the closet after It tried to use it to beat a hole into the wall. (He wanted to go into the crawl space. Stiles absolutely did not ask why.) 

“No. They’re just a bunch of old grandmas who make clothes and toys,” Cora huffs. “I know what a cult looks like.” 

“Then why is there a demon attached to the doll they made?” Stiles asks. Because they still have no explanation for what’s at the foot of their bed.

“I don’t know! I showed one of them a picture of Herald and said I wanted something he would like. That’s it, I swear.” 

“And... then what?” 

“She crossed herself. Which people do a lot when I show them a photo of Herald.” Cora sighs and Stiles can hear her tapping her nails on some surface as she thinks. “And then she sold me the doll. Simple as that.” 

“Great. I think your grandma friend was some kind of vigilante trying to rid the world of our creepy kid.” Stiles holds the phone away from his ear as the static hisses and distorts the line. 

The shadow at the foot of the bed flickers and appears on Stiles’ side of the bed. Derek lunges for her and the shadow makes a sound like static on a dead television channel that makes Stiles’ ears hurt. 

“Oh, thanks Cora! Send me the replacement doll so I can burn this one,” Stiles says loudly into the phone. 

The shadow shrieks angrily and vanishes just in time for Derek to pass through her and land on the floor. 

“Stiles?” Cora’s voice is faint as Stiles drops back against his pillows and sighs in relief. “Stiles, what doll? What are you talking about?”

“Where did she go?” Derek snarls, eyes blazing blue in the dark room, whipping his head around. 

Stiles groans and rubs his face. “Bye, Cora,” he says, hanging up the phone. “Come back to bed, babe.”

“What the hell are we supposed to do about that thing?” Derek growls, climbing back into bed. 

Stiles pulls the blanket up to his shoulders, hunkering down under it. He’s still getting his goddamn child-free night of sleep, and no haunted doll is going to stop him. “We order another creepy-ass doll from Amazon and use it to keep her in line until she gets too strong and we have to exorcise her. Obviously.”

[samsexualdeancurious]

Thanks For Listening | Chapter 1

Square: Free Space

Pairing: Sam x Reader

Words: 8,498

Warnings: hurt!Reader, pining, eventual smut, dirty talk, voice!kink, unprotected sex.

Summary: Sam hosts two podcasts - a secret one for hunters called the War Room and a public one with fellow hunter Y/N called Criminal History. Y/N and Sam have never seen each other, let alone met, but that doesn’t stop Sam from worrying when Y/N suddenly goes missing.

Betaed by @manawhaat 

Written for @spnkinkbingo

Header by me and Mana

Masterlist - AO3

--

You rest your elbows on the cheap motel table, leaning on it as you speak into the microphone. "Chief, you've heard my thoughts on this. What do you think?"

There's a pause, the same little dramatic one Sam does every time, and then that rich voice you adore says, "I think he's guilty as hell."

You can't suppress a small laugh at Sam's straight-forward statement. "Well, folks, the Chief has spoken - and the jury has, too. Guilty. As. Hell. Keith Hunter Jesperson, A.K.A. the Happy Face Killer, was sentenced to life without parole and is currently housed in Oregon State Penitentiary. If you want to hear another side of this story, I recommend the podcast Happy Face, which is hosted by Melissa Moore, Jesperson's daughter. Anything else you want to add?"

"Definitely check out that Happy Face podcast, guys. It's a great one."

"Thanks, Chief. Until next time, then, folks. This is Criminal History. Thanks for listening."

You sit back from the mic, both you and Sam leaving a moment of silence where Sam can later cut the recording and add in the outro music.

"How was that?" you ask. "Think we need to go again?"

"No, you were great," Sam assures you. "You always are. You know that."

Your cheeks warm at the compliment. "I know," you say, putting on a little bit of a playfully cocky tone. "I just like hearing you say it."

Sam laughs and your stomach does happy flips. "Fine," he teases. "I see how it is. You're just using me for my voice."

"You caught me," you say with enough playfulness in your voice to hopefully combat the heat in your cheeks, even though Sam can't see that.

You find yourself staring longingly at the computer screen, wishing for the hundredth time today alone that you could see Sam's face. But, unfortunately, voice recordings are easier on shitty motel WiFi than video calls are.

“If you think we’ve got everything we need, I’m gonna stop my recording,” you continue, pushing past your wandering thoughts.

“We’re good. Go ahead and stop the recording.”

You do just that, saving the file and uploading it to a file sharing service Sam found. “File’s uploading now. We’ll see how long it takes on this motel WiFi. I’m surprised we didn’t have any connection issues. The WiFi really sucked earlier.”

“Gotta love motel WiFi. What episode number is this?”

“47 according to my notes,” you reply. “We’re not even to 50 and you’re already losing track?”

“I’m running two podcasts. There’s only so much my brain can handle.”

“What? Sam Winchester’s brain has a limit? Alert the media.”

You can practically hear his eyes rolling. “Ha ha. You still chasing that vamp nest?”

“Unfortunately. I’m gonna meet up with Allen Burton tomorrow. He caught wind of the nest moving south past Moab.”

“Allen. I’m not familiar with that name. He’s experienced?”

“Not as experienced as I would prefer but everyone else is caught up in something or on the other end of the country, and I’m not waiting around for these bastards to kill anyone else.”

Sam makes a soft, displeased sound. “Be careful, okay?”

Your heart warms at the concern in Sam’s voice and you try to play it off with a little joking. “Always am.”

Sam doesn’t fall for your change of tone, though. “Y/N. Please. Vampires are no joke.”

“I know. I’ll be careful,” you promise, suddenly eager to reassure him.

“Call or text me when you’ve got the nest wrapped up?”

“Of course.”

---

Sam is reluctant to end the call. He always is. Y/N is just so easy to talk to, which is part of why they make such good co-hosts. Recording their weekly episodes are one of the highlights of his week.

He reaches over and flicks the switch on the wall behind his desk - the one connected to the “Quiet Please. Recording in Progress” sign and the red light above his office door. This was his own special addition to this room and the wiring was a giant pain in the ass but it was definitely worth it to minimize the sounds in the hall outside. 

Someone knocks on the door as soon as the sign and light are turned off. “Come in,” he calls, saving his own audio file to a folder he’ll download Y/N’s to once it’s uploaded.

“Ya done in here?” Dean asks, poking his head in.

“Done with Criminal History,” Sam tells him, spinning his chair around. Another worthwhile investment, his nice desk chair. “Still gotta record an interview for the War Room.”

“I’m Sam Winchester,” Dean says in a gruff voice, stepping fully into the room. “Welcome to the War Room.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “I don’t sound like that.”

“You totally sound like that.”

“Do you have a reason for being here or are you just being annoying?”

Dean holds up a plate Sam didn’t notice he had. “Dinner.”

“Have I really been in here that long?” Sam asks, happily accepting the plate to find that Dean made chicken and rice with chipotle green onion gravy.

“You sure have. You and Y/N must’ve been a coupla of old Chatty Cathy’s today.”

“Yeah, it took us a while to get going,” Sam admits around a bite of food.

“What’s she been up to?”

“Still tracking that vamp nest. It’s moved into southern Utah now and she’s gonna meet up with another hunter, some guy named Allen, to finally take care of it. Well, that’s what she’s hoping for, at least.”

“You two gonna hang out once she wraps that case up?”

Dean shoots Sam a wink and Sam responds with a glare. That only prompts his brother to laugh.

“Seriously, Sammy,” Dean says. “You’ve been digital pen pals for over a year. It’s about time you finally meet.”

Dean’s right and Sam knows he is, but it’s his duty as the younger brother to never admit it. Truthfully, Sam’s dying to meet Y/N. As hunters, they’re both a little paranoid about new people and despite knowing each other for so long, they’ve never actually video chatted, let alone met in person. He trusts Y/N, though. He feels like he really knows who she is, after all their texting and phone calls pre-podcast, all the time they spend just talking ‘off the clock’, and the hours of recorded chat he sometimes edits down into bonus episodes.

In all honesty, Sam likes Y/N. He likes her a lot. He’d never tell her that, though. They’ve got a good thing going and he doesn’t want to ruin that with his own mess of feelings when it’s so much easier to just keep things to himself.

“We’ll see,” is all Sam gives his brother. He drains his water bottle washing down a mouthful of rice and shakes the empty container at Dean. “Can you go fill this?”

“I’m not your butler,” Dean grumbles even as he takes the water bottle.

“Thank you!” Sam calls after him, spinning to put his plate on the desk and really go to town on his dinner. It’s a simple recipe but a delicious one, if a little spicy.

Dean returns with the water bottle just as Sam is scraping his plate clean.

“You’re the best,” Sam says, happily accepting the bottle in exchange for the plate.

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean replies. “Don’t you forget it.”

“I won’t. Now get out so I can record.”

As soon as the door is closed behind Dean, Sam flicks his sign on again and swings over to his microphone. He drinks a little water to clear his throat, checks the clock to see that he has a few minutes left until his guest hunter calls, and hits the record button. A thirty-second wait for white noise and then he leans in a little closer to the microphone than he usually does for Criminal History.

“I’m Sam Winchester,” he says, unable to resist being just a little dramatic. “Welcome to the War Room.”

---

Y/N texts Sam right up until she and Allen are headed out to where they think the vamps are hiding, three days after they’d first met up.

She doesn’t text Sam after that.

---

"You've reached Y/N. I'm probably off having more fun than you are. Leave a message."

Sam signs, scrubbing a hand over his face as he enters the bunker kitchen. "Y/N, it's Sam. Again. Please call me as soon as you can." He hangs up, tapping his phone against his hand as he fights the urge to call again.

"She still not answering?" Dean asks from where he's standing at the stove frying bacon.

Sam shakes his head and shoved his phone in his pocket. "It's been almost a week. I'm getting really worried."

"Do you know where the nest was? Maybe you should go check on her."

"Somewhere in southern Utah. I don't know exactly where, though. Last we spoke she said the vamps had holed up somewhere not on a map." Sam slams one hand flat against the door of the fridge before running that same hand through his hair. "Shit, I should've gotten the coordinates from her."

"Hey, hey," Dean says, dumping bacon onto a paper towel and returning the pan to the burner. "I'm sure she's fine. She probably just lost her phone somewhere and hasn't been able to get a new one"

"After a week?" Sam shoots Dean an incredulous look.

"Just trying to think positively."

Sam slumps, leaning against the fridge. "I know. I'm just-"

"Really worried. I know. I can tell." Dean nudges Sam to the side so he can get a carton of eggs from the fridge. "Are there any hunters we know that are in the area and can check on her?"

"I don't know. I think Charlie was in Idaho."

"Well,” Dean says, cracking a couple of eggs straight into the bacon grease that still coats the pan. “Go give Charlie a call."

Sam feels a little better having something he can do right now and he immediately pulls his phone out. He realizes too late that Charlie is in a different timezone, but by some miracle Charlie is just getting back to her car after a salt and burn and answers after the second ring. She promises to head south and see if she can track down Y/N.

"I'll keep you updated," she promises. "It's almost a seven-hour drive, though, and I need a few hours of shut-eye before I get on the road."

Sam nods, stirring a bit of creamer into his coffee. "Do what you need to do. I don't want you putting yourself in danger."

"I'll text you when I'm on the road."

"Thanks, Charlie. I really appreciate it."

"Hey, man. After everything you've done for me? Checking up on someone is the least I can do. Plus, Y/N is a friend, too. But I know you guys are really close and it's not like her to be out of contact this long."

Sam leans against the counter, suppressing another sigh. It feels like he’s done that a hundred times in the last hour alone.

“Hey,” Charlie says gently, seeming to sense Sam’s distress. “We’ll find her.”

“Thanks, Charlie,” Sam murmurs. “I’ll let you get some sleep.”

They end the call and Sam turns his attention to his coffee, fighting to keep his mind from wandering.

“It’ll be fine,” Dean says from where he’s now sitting at the table, mouth full of eggs and bacon. “Eat some bacon and find something to distract yourself.”

“I’ll try,” Sam mutters, snagging a piece of bacon and heading off to his office.

---

Sam’s really glad they’re ahead on recording for Criminal History because he’s able to lose himself in editing and getting the episode uploaded. Then he gets the next episode of War Room ready to go. From there, though, all he has left is to edit more episodes of Criminal History and he just… can't. He can't sit in his office and listen to her voice when he doesn't know if she's even alive 

No. Don't think like that. He rubs both palms over his face, trying to scrub that horrible thought from his brain. She's alive. She has to be.

--

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--

Team Forever: @mrswhozeewhatsis @books-and-icecream @laughing-at-the-darkness @tumbler-tidbits @imsuperawkward

Team Sam: @saxxxology

Team TFL: @wonderfulworldofwinchester @kickingitwithkirk @muchamusedaboutnothing @ellen-reincarnated1967