#so i slept for a few hours and when bea got back out there it was 'storming' so maybe i just needed to sleep

[thestarmaker]

9 WEATHER TYPES??? 😭😭😭

[puck-luck]

new beginnings | july 29 - august 4

note to the masses: this is a big week for honeytrev. don't let the fact that it's the shortest chapter yet (19.4k) fool you. enjoy ;) always looking forward to hearing y'all's feedback

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64:90 – HONEY

If Trevor has noticed that Honey is weirdly silent today, he hasn’t mentioned it. Part of that is probably based on the fact that they’ve been hanging out with the group all day, so Trevor is doing the thing that she asked him to do a couple of weeks ago– leave her alone and not make it so obvious that they’re together.

Honey’s staring is obvious. She’s been elbowed by Bea twice, with a hiss from the girl to “stop looking at him so much!” Honey has also been poked by Quinn, who will pointedly look from her to Trevor, then back to her, and shake his head. 

She can’t help it. There’s a lot on her mind and Honey feels a little bit like she’s losing control of herself. She’s become completely aware of herself in the wake of what happened yesterday, but she’s not… freaking out. Yet.

Honey hasn’t told Bea what happened. She knows she should, but she can’t say it out loud. How embarrassing is it to say that after she’d gotten thoroughly fucked, and Trevor had tucked her head into the crook of his neck, she’d caught a whiff of the sweat on his skin and kissed it, all before clocking the way she’d thought God, this is so great. He’s so great. I love…?

‘I love’ is as far as she’d gotten because she’d cut herself off, realizing how that sentence was about to end. 

That is too far. Here’s why: (1) Honey doesn’t even like Trevor like that. (2) She’s only known Trevor for two months. (3) Trevor is leaving at the end of the summer. (4) Trevor has no plans to come back, which means that barring some psycho coincidence, Honey will never see him again after August 25th. She does not think that about Trevor. She will not think that about Trevor.

Now, they’ve ventured out on their own. It’s a Monday, so Trevor and Honey are at the fruit stand, like always. She’s resolutely trying to ignore her thoughts and her feelings– actually, she’s trying to push them away… and failing.

Honey has one slight problem when it comes to Trevor, other than the one that she’s been lamenting for the past twenty-nine hours. The problem right now is that Trevor is very pretty. 

It starts with his hair. Honey has been looking at it a lot more since those interviewers asked Trevor about his routine and how he gets his hair the way that it is. He’s lucky. All he does is run his fingers through the hair, almost compulsively, and it falls perfectly. Honey has to tame her hair, but Trevor has it easy. She hopes that their kids get his hair.

That. What is that? Honey demands of herself, wishing she could reach up and slap herself across the face. Unfortunately, Trevor would have a problem with that. He would be very confused and Honey would not be able to explain herself. She doesn’t even want to try. They aren’t even dating– do you know how crazy she’d look if she started spouting shit like “I love you” and “I hope our babies get your hair?” She wrenches her eyes from Trevor’s profile and focuses on the pile of melons in front of her.

Their fruit stand shopping today is like Bea’s favorite term for when she and Honey hang out and do nothing together– ‘parallel play.’ Honey is silent, looking at the fruit in front of her. Trevor is silent, looking at the fruit in front of him.

It’s difficult to keep her eyes from his profile for long. Honey sneaks a glance and catches a glimpse of the ridge on Trevor’s nose. It’s such a straight and strong nose, very Greek, except for the curve at the top. That’s got some Romanness to it. Honey loves that nose. The few times that they’ve actually slept over together, Honey will wake when Trevor twitches in his sleep and she takes the time to admire his profile then, too. Ugh, now that she thinks about it, it’s that kind of indulgence that got her here.

Sweet, perfect Trevor. Patient, caring Trevor. He has no idea what’s going through Honey’s head. He has no clue that she’s over here thinking about how much she likes him, and then reminding herself that she can’t like him. 

Honey is starting to come around to Bea’s thinking, now that she’s feeling… what she assumes Bea is feeling, too, even though she hasn’t said it back to Quinn yet. She doesn’t fight it when he says it– Honey absolutely would fight it if Trevor said ‘I love you.’ 

Like, there’s no way, right? They’ve known each other for two months. Two months. Sixty days. No one should be allowed to love anyone, here. It was absurd when Quinn said it and it’s still absurd when Honey thinks it. 

But then, she looks at Trevor again, and her mind quiets. She likes to look at him, she likes to be with him, he smells nice, he’s kind when he speaks, and he’s good in bed. What more could she ask for?

Thomas used to be like that, too. 

At the thought, Honey stalls. She feels a bit sick to her stomach. It’s true– Thomas used to be just as amazing as Trevor is. She thought about their babies, once upon a time. Wanting to tear herself away from the thought of Thomas, before it ruins her day even further, Honey turns back to Trevor. She’s about to reach for his hand, but they’re full.

He holds two baskets in his hands, pursing his lips and alternating the baskets like he’s weighing them. Honey doesn't even know what is in the baskets– his fingers are covering the contents. She’s staring at the shadows that his eyelashes cast on his face.

“Hmm, I don’t know,” Trevor says. He looks up and turns to her, soft smile on his face when they make eye contact. “What do you think, Hon?”

I like the way you say my name, Honey thinks. She blinks, feeling her face flush. She absolutely cannot look at Trevor’s eyes anymore– he’ll recognize the look on her face and think something about it, and then he’ll say something about it, and then she’ll have to explain herself, and there are no words to describe what’s going on in her mind.

She finally looks at the baskets in his hands. Raspberries or blueberries. “I don’t know,” she supplies uselessly. “They’re both good.”

Trevor shifts them in his hands so he’s holding both between his fingers. “Okay. Both it is.” He digs his wallet out of his pocket and hands it off to Honey. “Can you get my card out?”

Honey swallows hard, feeling discomfort crawl up the back of her throat. He’s so comfortable with her. He just hands his stuff over like it’s nothing, like they share everything with each other. “Yeah, sure.” She plucks the wallet from his fingers and flicks through the pockets.

“Do you want me to get you some peaches?” Trevor offers, sliding the baskets of berries into her mesh bag, which he's been carrying over his shoulder ever since they got out of the car.

A possessive feeling washes over Honey. That’s her bag that he’s carrying. She wants to remind him that she doesn’t need his help– the other half of her, the part hidden deep in her chest, wants to leave everything as is. Everything is going so great with Trevor. But, for some fucking reason, Honey just can’t give into the desire at the pit of her heart.

“No, I'm okay,” she says.

That catches Trevor’s attention. He catches her eye. “You love peaches. You were telling me last night that you'd run out.”

Honey feels slightly trapped. She did say that. Shit. “I mean, we can look at the peaches,” she mumbles, ducking her head.

Trevor furrows his eyebrows, although Honey is too busy staring at the cracks in the sidewalk and misses it. “Honey, are you okay?” He asks.

Honey sighs and rolls her eyes. “I'm fine. Let’s just look at the peaches.” She shoulders past Trevor and picks up one of the better looking fruits. 

Trevor’s fingers prod at hers like he wants to hold her hand. “Baby,” he says. “What's wrong?”

Honey snatches her hand back and snaps, “Don’t call me that.”

The look on Trevor’s face stings a lot more than Honey wants to admit. He physically recoils, like she’s slapped him, and the deepest pits of Honey’s chest are screaming at her to take it back. She wants to. She wishes she could rewind five seconds and let him take her hand, to avoid the look on his face if nothing else, but Honey can never seem to avoid sabotaging herself.

Honey can’t believe she loves Trevor. It’s not that he’s not lovable– evidently, she feels as though he’s very lovable. It’s just that... isn’t she past this? She went into this summer so certain that she’s not looking for what Trevor is giving her, and now she’s fallen headfirst for it. This is against every plan she had for herself over the past five years. The plan was to avoid feeling the way Thomas made her feel, and now Trevor has Honey’s heart in the palms of his hands, and everything is out of Honey’s control. She can’t even control her own feelings.

She’s blindsided. It crept up on her and now she’s reeling from the fact that she loves Trevor, without making a conscious decision to love him at all.

God, you get fucked on the pool table one time, and your whole life changes. What is in the water at that damn rental house?

Honey wants to scream in frustration. She wants to throw this peach at Trevor’s head because it’s his fault that she feels like this. He had to be fucking perfect. She wants to start bawling and wrap her arms around his neck and hide and be comforted by the way he smells. There are a hundred different things she’s feeling, none of which she wants to be feeling, and her brain is short-circuiting.

Trevor rubs over the back of his neck, his eyes meeting Honey’s sporadically and never for more than a second. He’s taken a step back from her and Honey thinks that he looks a little… afraid. “Did I do something?” He asks. He clears his throat, then clarifies, “To upset you?”

Honey’s brain goes with the third option. She wells up and rubs the heels of her hands over her eyes, having long since dropped the peach back in the pile. “No,” she admits miserably. “I’m being stupid. I just– everything seems like a lot right now. Too much.”

“You’re not being stupid. What’s too much?” Trevor asks. “Other than everything. If you could narrow it down.”

“This,” Honey tells him tearfully, gesturing between them. “It’s a lot.”

His lips press together in a thin line before he speaks. “Good or bad?” Trevor pushes, closing the space between himself and Honey. 

She wants to grab his shirt and tug him even closer, but her arms only rise to cross over her stomach in a tense hug. She shrugs, her chin wobbling a bit. “Both,” Honey whispers. Her eyes burn and she sniffs, looking towards the brick wall of the grocery store.

Trevor nods, calculating his next move. She can see the wheels turning in his head. “Why don’t we go home?”

Home, Honey repeats in her head. How can he call her place home? How can she love him?

Trevor talks on. “We can sit in silence and I’ll just cuddle you a bit, if that’ll help.”

Honey’s lower lip juts out. Sitting in silence and cuddling is what got her into this mess. “I don’t know,” she replies, voice cracking embarrassingly. It registers that Joan is not-so secretly watching this whole event unfold. Honey swipes her thumbs beneath her eyes and covers her mouth with one of her hands.

“Sweetheart,” Trevor tries, but he shuts his mouth abruptly when an indignant whine leaves Honey. That’s no better than ‘baby,’ even though her stomach usually flutters when he uses both terms. Trevor takes a deep breath and shifts her bag to his other shoulder, reaching for the car keys. He holds them out to her wordlessly, so Honey takes them.

She starts the car while she waits for him to pay for her fruit. A sinking feeling creeps over her when it computes that he’s paying for her, again. He’s taking care of her. Again.

It’s another minute after Trevor returns to the car before he speaks. “Can I just sit with you?” Trevor asks. “I just– I want to be there if you need me.”

Honey hides her face in her hands. She doesn’t know how to respond. 

Yes, of course, please sit with me, I do need you there. No, I don’t want you to see me like this. You deserve someone who doesn’t have to fight an internal battle just to love you. 

The thoughts joust in her head. “I don’t want to decide.” She sounds pitiful. “I don’t want anything. But I don’t not want anything. I don’t know.”

“Let’s just drive around for a bit,” Trevor suggests. “We’ll go down the parkway. You don’t have to decide yet. We can ignore everything for a minute. Is that... better?”

Honey shrugs. She really feels helpless and unsure. Not even ignorance is an appealing feeling. This has been eating at her since yesterday and it’s just about consumed her entirely. “I guess?” She asks.

Trevor holds eye contact with her and quirks his lips in a dissatisfied, but well-meaning smile. He looks sympathetic. “Let’s just get you home. I think you might feel better if you’re in your bed.” He starts the car and drives out of town, toward her house. 

The drive is silent. When they get to Honey’s house, she heads upstairs and he puts her fruit haul away. Trevor has started to learn what her system is, after doing this a couple of times, and it’s another thing that reminds Honey how much she likes him.

She goes upstairs and burrows in her bed, already feeling comforted by the warmth of the covers and the soft pillows around her. 

Trevor climbs the stairs to her room and peeks his head in the door, laughing fondly at the sight of Honey. She pouts at him, then Trevor walks across the floor and leans down to kiss Honey’s forehead. “I’m going to go,” Trevor tells her, speaking under his breath. He presses another kiss above her eyebrow. “It doesn’t seem like it’s helping… to have me nearby. I think I’m making you more anxious. Can you promise me something? Before I go?”

Honey nods.

“You’ll call me.” Trevor smooths Honey’s hair behind her ear. His eyes are a clear and earnest green, shining with admiration.  “If you need anything, promise you’ll call me?”

Honey nods a second time, trying to lift the corners of her mouth in a convincing way. 

“Whatever you want,” Trevor continues, bumping the tip of his nose against Honey’s cheekbone like a gentle, tender headbutt. “Even if it’s not me. If you need Bea, then you give me a call and I’ll drag her out of Quinn’s bed for you. I’ll drop her off on your doorstep, wearing nothing but his bedsheet. Does that sound okay with you?”

Honey tries and fails to hold back a laugh, imagining how annoyed Bea would feel and how silly she’d look. All in all, it would make a hilarious scene in a movie. Honey might just take Trevor up on that. Still giggling a bit, she nods a third time– it’s a much more confident movement this time.

“I’ll see you later, okay?” Trevor asks with a tiny smile on his face, proud of himself for drawing a laugh from Honey. He cups Honey’s cheek and meets her lips in a chaste kiss.

His final kiss feels a lot like ‘I love you.’

Honey wishes she hadn’t thought that. Now she can’t even promise to see him tomorrow. She pulls the covers over her head and listens to Trevor chuckle before he descends from the loft and leaves her alone.

65:90 – TREVOR

Trevor barely slept last night. He was tossing and turning, checking his phone every few minutes in case Honey needed him. He wanted to burn the world down when she’d gone quiet and hugged herself. She had looked so small and insecure and Trevor never wants to see her like that again. He wants to take all of her problems and bury them deep in the dirt, where no one will ever find them.

But there was nothing that he could do. So he left.

He didn’t want to. For a minute, Trevor had stood at the bottom of the loft stairs and thought about staying. He could’ve sat on her couch silently until she appeared, venturing out for dinner or something, and then they could’ve talked about it. 

After taking pause, Trevor had shaken his head and moved along. Honey probably would not have liked to walk down the stairs and be surprised by Trevor, who she had told to leave a few hours earlier. So, he left the house and drove down the parkway for a little while on his own, trying to decipher what very little Honey had said.

Trevor doesn’t feel any better about it, even after running through every possible scenario in his mind. He’s not quite sure what upset her, or what caused the regression and confusion, but it seems like going away from her was the best option. She’s not upset anymore.

On the other hand, she’s not exactly talking to him. It’s not an intentional ‘I’m-ignoring-you-and-I-hate-you’ silence, but Trevor feels disjointed nonetheless. He’s adhering to her ‘Let’s-not-make-this-obvious’ rule although he’d like nothing more than to throw his arm over her shoulder and walk alongside her under the fluorescent, jarring white lights of this Target in Winston-Salem. 

That’s how Bea and Quinn are standing. His arm is over her shoulder and her elbow is bent so that she can hold his hand, even though the angle is awkward for her. They didn’t even amend their position when a fan came up to Jack and asked for a picture with him, which he declined, but it did stroke his ego a bit. That’s good, because now he’s in a good mood. Trevor was surprised that Bea and Quinn didn’t inch apart when the boys were recognized– Honey certainly would have sprung away from him. 

He understands, though. Honey’s whole life was derailed by some photos and some gossip. It’s not like he can offer her the most private existence, but he thinks he can keep her mostly away from prying eyes if that’s what she wants. She doesn’t have to jump away from him. 

Surely they won’t hide their relationship forever, right? Eventually, Trevor will be allowed to flaunt her and show Honey off like she deserves. 

It’ll be really awkward if Trevor is the only one doing the first dance at their wedding reception because she doesn’t want to be seen by the public. There are very few things that Trevor won’t budge on, but a big party after the wedding with all of their friends is one of those things. 

“Litchton should have a Target,” Bea says, running her hands over a rack of dresses. “I miss the vibe in stores like this.”

Inviting the boys to Target had been Bea’s idea, according to Quinn. It’s not that Honey didn’t want them to come, but Trevor knows that this is a thing that she and Bea do together. They’ve gone to Target together on this day every year since leaving Charlotte because it’s the anniversary of when they finished apartment shopping. They’re very sentimental over things like this– the girls have all these little traditions that they allow the boys to experience. It’s nice. Trevor enjoys being around them.

He wishes he could be closer to Honey, though. She’s looking through the racks of clothes and she’s got a little crease between her eyebrows.

“Wouldn’t be Litchton if there was a Target,” Honey replies, eyes flickering up to look at Bea in the mirror. “You don’t like the Food Lion?”

“You know the Food Lion has a different vibe than this,” Bea laughs.

Honey scoffs out a laugh and begins to rifle through the hangers again. She shakes her head as she laughs, then the frown returns to her face as she evaluates the clothes. 

It would be so nice to stand behind her and wrap his arms around her middle. Trevor doesn’t care about the clothes. He just wants to hug his pretty girlfriend and get rid of that line between her brows.

Trevor pulls his phone out of his pocket and composes a message. 

You want a coffee? He texts Honey. I can go grab one for you.

She doesn’t check her phone right away. It’s a few minutes until she does, after Bea and Quinn went to go look at makeup and Jack and Luke went to look at the beer. Cole is looking through a stack of t-shirts and Honey finishes up with the rack of clothes she was on. Trevor is standing next to Cole, at a safe distance away from Honey, but he’s watching her.

The corners of her mouth twitch upward when she reads the text. 

No, but you’re sweet.

Trevor is quick to reply, hoping to catch her before she slides the phone back into her pocket. 

Taste sweet too. Will I see you later? ;)

The wink is to make her laugh. It works, but only barely– instead of laughing the way that she probably wants to at Trevor’s comedic props, she side-eyes him and types a very short reply:

LOL.

Then, she puts her phone away and disappears around the back of the aisle.

Trevor turns to Cole.

He holds up a pink t-shirt with a unicorn and a rainbow on the front. “Do you think this would look good on me?” Cole asks.

“Yeah. I’ve always said that you seem like the kind of guy to wear a crop top,” Trevor says. “The pink with the unicorns and the rainbows would really work for you.”

“Yeah, I think I’ll get a matching one for Honey,” Cole says with a nod to himself. “Do you know what size she is?”

Trevor blinks in surprise, then has to school his reaction. Cole asked his question so nonchalantly that he was probably just wondering aloud. 

“I don’t know. Maybe just get her a medium to be safe. Take a receipt when you buy it so that she can return it if she hates it. You know she’ll probably hate it,” Trevor tells him.

“Yeah, I know. But she’ll like it ‘cause it’s our thing, like how Bea and I watch the same dating show because it’s good and funny. Honey and I will have the same shirt.”

“What if she returns it?”

“Meh, she won’t,” Cole replies with a shrug. “She actually likes us a lot more than she says. I don’t think it was Bea’s idea to invite us to come to Target.”

Trevor furrows his brow. “You don’t?”

Cole shakes his head. “Quinn and Bea take credit for a lot of things, but I saw the texts on Quinn’s phone. Honey said, like, ‘If you guys want to come you can’ and that was it. I’m glad, too. It’s been a while since I was in a Target like this. I feel like we’re back at NTDP shootin’ the shit and being annoying kids.”

“Yeah, we’re like a real friend group,” Trevor laughs, speaking somewhat sarcastically. Of course they’re a real friend group. They’re together for the entire summer. “Imagine that.”

Cole shrugs again. “I just think it’s nice. I miss Michigan and being home for the summer, but this is really nice. I think we should come back next year.”

“I don’t know if Jack will let us kidnap him again,” Trevor says. 

“He won’t have a choice. Quinn will want to see Bea again and I think all of us will want to see both of the girls. If Jack doesn’t come, though, maybe the girls can come to Michigan.” Cole balls the shirt, and Honey’s matching one, up in his fist. “Let’s go find the dudes.”

As they continue shopping, Trevor mulls this over in his mind: he’s not the only one who wants to come back to Litchton and continue to hang out with these girls. Cole and the other boys, Quinn by name, have been thinking about it too. Trevor might just call a rental house family meeting and broach the subject.

66:90 – HONEY

“Let’s go outside,” Trevor proposes. He pinches Honey’s bare sides with his spindly fingers and kisses over the curve of her breast. “We can go look at the stars.”

“Trevor, dear, you’re the one laying on top of me,” Honey points out, teasing him with the pet name and tweaking his nose between her knuckles. “I couldn’t get up if I tried.”

“Well, you’re also under the covers, so I’m not the only thing keeping you here.” Trevor catches one nipple between his teeth and bites, then switches to the other and repeats the same action, then rolls to Honey’s side and reaches for the t-shirt that he’d dropped off the side of the bed before he and Honey had made good use of their nakedness. He pulls the t-shirt over her head and squeezes her hips before he throws the covers off of both of them and goes to find his own clothes.

Honey tucks the covers underneath her armpits. “I feel like I’m in a movie,” Honey says. “I’m one of those one night stands who wears your sheets like a strapless dress.”

“You’re not quite a one night stand,” Trevor replies with a laugh. He pulls a shirt over his head and ruffles his hair once it springs free. “But if it makes you happy, then you can keep pretending, baby.”

Honey doesn’t correct him this time– she probably never will again. After a day or so of freaking out over the whole “I love you” thought, Honey decided that it was a nonissue. So long as she never admits it or allows herself to think that again, everything will be fine. Therefore, Trevor is still allowed to call Honey ‘baby’ and ‘sweetheart.’ 

Honey swings her legs over the edge of the bed and leaves her hookup-bedsheet-dress on Trevor’s mattress. His t-shirt falls over her hips, but she still needs shorts. She reaches past Trevor and digs through his underwear drawer to find a pair of cute boxers, which she’ll steal for a while.

Trevor sidles up behind her and wraps his arms around her middle. “You don’t really think you’re a one night stand for me, do you?”

He kisses her cheek right as she shakes her head and says, “No, Trev. You know I don’t think that.”

“I don’t know much of what you think at all,” Trevor says, pouting slightly. “I know we’re hooking up. I know that I think you’re my girlfriend. I don’t know where you stand, Hon.”

Honey rolls her head back onto Trevor’s shoulder. “Do we have to talk about it now?” 

“I just want some confirmation that you like me,” Trevor teases. He kisses down Honey’s neck and blows cool air over her clavicle. “Since every time I show you affection, you laugh at me.”

“Trevor,” Honey complains. “That’s just not true.”

“Okay, fine, last time when I said you liked me, you kissed me. But I want to hear you say it,” Trevor whines. He squeezes Honey a little tighter. “Tell me!”

Honey giggles and wiggles away from Trevor. “Absolutely not.” She sneaks to the door and listens to the hallway, waiting for any noise from the boys. She’d gotten into Trevor’s room without any trouble, but getting out is another story. 

“Anyone out there?” Trevor asks. 

“I don’t think so, but you’ll have to go first.” Honey puts her hand out, which Trevor takes. He kisses the back of her hand when he nears the door, then swoops in to take Honey’s lips. 

“Meet you in the car?”

“Yeah, give me three minutes.” Honey puckers her lips and pecks Trevor’s mouth. “Then I’ll join you.”

“And you’ll tell me that you like me?” Trevor asks. “While I chauffeur you around and find a pretty place to look at the stars?”

“In your dreams,” Honey says. 

“We do a lot more than talk about how much we like each other in my dreams,” Trevor replies. “Unfortunately you and I already did the other stuff in real life, so I’m just waiting on those three words.”

“Don’t get your hopes up,” Honey tells him. If only he knew just what she was thinking– Trevor would be over the moon. She likes him so much that she dared to discover that she loves Trevor, in this bizarre turn of events. Maybe Trevor’s asking Honey if she likes him because he, somehow, has figured out that she’s in love with him. Ughhhhhh.

Trevor slips from the bedroom first, giving himself a head start. Honey primps her hair in the mirror above his dresser while she waits her three minutes, which gives Trevor enough time to start the car and get the AC running before she joins him.

They escape from the house without running into the guys, although Honey can hear them talking in the distance. They probably look out the window once Trevor starts driving down the road that leads up to the house, but Honey shields her face from the window so they can’t see her even if they tried to be big snoops. 

Cole especially has a problem with snooping– he texted Honey from Quinn’s phone yesterday. She’s not sure if he read all of their messages, but she’d glad that they hadn’t been chatting about Honey and Trevor’s relationship that day. It would have been very weird for Cole to read messages about Honey and Trevor being together and all mushy when they regularly refer to themselves as 'Zegras Haters.'

It takes them all of ten minutes to drive to the reservoir where they spend their lake days. Trevor parks in the same lot where they always park, but instead of going down towards the boat piers, Trevor slings his arm over Honey’s shoulders and walks toward the swimming piers. 

It’s dark out and night has fully fallen, so the piers have been closed for ages. There’s no one around. 

“How romantic is this?” Trevor bumps Honey’s hip with his own. “This date is so much better than dinner.”

“This is a date?” Honey asks. “But we already fucked. Why am I buying the cow when I already got the milk for free?”

“Because you’re a wonderful farmer who enjoys animal life,” Trevor says. He drags Honey down when he sits, his feet dangling over the edge of the pier. “I think you’re a very benevolent owner. I am never afraid of you sacrificing me to make burger patties on a whim.”

“You’d make a very tasty burger,” Honey assures Trevor, patting his cheek kindly and settling down against his side. Her feet dangle over the water as well.

Trevor leans over to kiss her and Honey redirects him, clasping his hand with both of hers and looking out onto the water.

“It’s nice out here,” Honey says. “It’s still. The water is.”

Trevor lets out a half-chuckle, smiling with a dipped head. “It is nice out here.” He leans against Honey, pressing his thigh against hers. “But I think it’s the company that makes it nice, not the weather. If it started raining right now, I’d still want to be here with you.”

Honey awws internally. He’s a sweet boy– so sweet that it rots her gut and makes her heart thump. He’s got a rocky exterior, although Honey managed to penetrate that within seconds, even despite her better efforts to keep Trevor at an arm’s length. He’s so good to her.

“I have to tell you something,” Honey says suddenly. 

“Oh, yeah?” Trevor asks, quirking his eyebrows. “Sharing a big secret with me?”

“Mm, huge,” Honey says. She grins at Trevor and pinches his chin between her thumb and index finger. “Come closer, I can’t say it out loud.”

Trevor’s smile widens. He shuffles closer, leaning in so he’s about two millimeters from Honey’s lips. “What’s up, baby?” Trevor whispers. “What’s the big secret?”

“I…” Honey trails off, touching Trevor’s waist. 

“You…?” Trevor questions, tilting his head and eying Honey’s lips.

“I like…” Honey continues to tease him, balling her fingers in the fabric of Trevor’s shirt. 

Trevor wiggles his eyebrows. “You like… me? Is this the big reveal?”

“I like… the idea of going for a swim,” Honey announces with a big shove.

“Hey!” Trevor goes flying off the edge of the pier and swallows a mouthful of water while exclaiming at Honey. He splutters when he resurfaces, shaking his hair out of his face like a dog.

Honey’s laughing aloud, clutching her stomach. “Oh my God, the look on your face, Trev,” she giggles.

“Oh, you’re funny,” Trevor says. “You’re very funny, Hon.”

In a flash, he fixes his fingers around her ankle and tugs her into the water with him. Honey is submerged in cold, nighttime water. Her clothes are saturated with the water immediately and Honey can feel her socks, and her shoes, grow heavy.

“Trevor!” Honey shouts. 

Trevor swims closer and wraps his arms around Honey, treading water and keeping them afloat. “What, baby? You said you liked the idea of a swim. I wasn’t going to be the only one in the water.” Trevor finishes his sentence with a kiss, palming Honey’s ass over his soaked boxers.

Honey frowns. “Trevor,” she complains. “Ugh, you’re so mean to me. You got my shoes all wet.”

“You started it,” Trevor tells her. He nuzzles against Honey’s neck and kisses up to her mouth. 

“Ugh, but now I have to put my shoes in the dryer,” Honey says. “Maybe I’ll use the dryer at the Nook so that I don’t break my own, but I bet Ada would get mad at me.”

“I don’t know how Ada could get mad at your pretty face,” Trevor murmurs. 

“I don’t think she cares about how pretty I am,” Honey replies. She kisses him briefly, then swims back to the pier and pulls herself up. “Neither will you when I drip all over the interior of your car.”

“Nah, you’re always pretty to me,” Trevor says, paddling after her. “I think I’d think you’re pretty even when you’re deathly ill.”

“I hope you never see me when I’m deathly ill,” Honey scolds, cutting her eyes at Trevor. “I’m notoriously grumpy when I’m sick. Bea hates it.��

“Bea doesn’t like you as much as I do.” Trevor pulls himself onto the pier as well, then whips off his shirt and wrings it out. “That’s just a fact.”

“I don’t know, Trev. She’s known me longer.”

“Not quite as intimately,” Trevor says. He pulls Honey closer, looping his wet shirt over her shoulders and dragging her forward. He bends down and kisses her. “Wanna sneak back into the house and spend the night with me?”

“Maybe we go straight to my house instead?” Honey asks.

“I don’t have clothes there,” Trevor points out.

Honey eyes Trevor. “You don’t need clothes at my house, Trev.”

“Oh!” He exclaims. His teeth glint under the moonlight, smile wolfish. “If you want me naked, just say so.”

“I will claim no such thing.”

Trevor hums. “You don’t have to say it out loud. I know the truth. You need more milk from your cow.”

Honey laughs. “That sounds so gross when you say it like that,” she groans.

Trevor draws Honey’s t-shirt up as much as he can before she shoves it back down, covering her stomach and the underboob that Trevor exposed. She glares at him, but all Trevor does is grin. 

With his hair all wet and stringy like that, and his nose dripping with water droplets, and his skin glimmering under the moonlight, Honey can’t do anything but take back her glare and kiss him again.

67:90 – TREVOR

“When do you guys leave?” Honey asks, reaching into the communal pile of laundry and coming up with a t-shirt. “Whose is this?”

“Mine,” Luke says.

“We leave tomorrow,” Quinn adds. 

Honey folds the shirt and hands it to Luke to put in his pile. She frowns. “What about–”

“We’re not leaving until after the softball game, don’t worry,” Bea assures Honey. “I already signed the boys up to play, anyway, so we can’t miss it. Earl wouldn’t be happy with us if we left early and took three of his players.”

“I’m surprised you’re going to Michigan with the guys,” Trevor tells Bea offhandedly, folding some of Cole’s socks into a little ball and launching them at the boy. “Are you ready to hang out with Ellen and Jim while the boys are on the shoot?”

“I don’t think I’ll be hanging out with them that much,” Bea laughs. “Q said I could come to the shoot if I wanted.”

“Big Jim will take you golfing, probably,” Cole says. “He’s finally got someone he can beat.”

“He’ll be sorely disappointed when I turn him down,” Bea replies. “I’d rather tan at the pool.”

“You can do whatever you want at the house,” Quinn says directly to Bea. “Don’t let Mom and Dad pressure you into doing something you don’t want to do.” He pats Bea’s behind before grabbing another article of clothing from the pile.

Doing communal laundry has become a once a week thing. It’s easier for them to do laundry together than to each do laundry for themselves– plus, this way, there are at least five people doing the folding. The pile of clothes disappears much quicker when they’re all helping out, rather than when Trevor would do his laundry alone.

“What’s the schedule like for the shoot?” Honey asks.

Jack shrugs. “We’ll be there all day, probably. We have to do a lot of media so they can stagger the release. Then Quinn and Bea are coming back on Monday so that Bea can go to work–” He pointedly side-eyes Honey, who shrugs with one shoulder and smiles to herself. Trevor presumes she made a big deal out of Bea missing a week of work to hang out in Michigan, not that it truly matters. “And Luke and I will hang out at the house with Mom and Dad until next Thursday.”

“We’ll be without you for a whole week?” Honey laments sarcastically, grabbing Jack’s left hand with both of her own and holding it close to her chest, like she’s clutching at her pearls. “Whatever will we do!”

Jack pulls his hand free and sneers at Honey. “Fuck off.”

“He’s excited to go home,” Cole says, grinning widely and reaching over to punch Jack’s arm. “Jack might never come back, actually. You know it was a big fight to get him here in the first place.”

“I’ll come back,” Jack groans, lips tilted down like they always are when people start to poke fun at him. “It wasn’t that big a deal when we first got here.”

“We had to triple-belt you in the backseat,” Trevor says. He snorts out a laugh and grabs a pair of Jack’s underwear from the pile– they’d all decided separately that they’d do their intimates on their own time, but Jack seems to have missed the memo. Well, that, or he just doesn’t care.

“You didn’t have to,” Jack grumbles. “You just did it to piss me off. It’s like how you made me take the first shift driving, even though I’d just woken up.”

“Technically, it wasn’t the first shift,” Trevor corrects. “After all, Coley and I had to drive down to N.J. to pick you up.”

Jack’s face stiffens and sours. “I don’t want to hear about your technicalities,” he says.

Trevor shrugs, smug because Jack can’t manage to form a proper reply… likely because Trevor stated only facts and Jack can’t be delusional when faced with facts.

“It’s okay, Jacky. I’m not so emotionally repressed that I can’t admit when I’ll miss someone,” Honey tells him in a sickeningly sweet voice, petting over Jack’s shoulder. “I’ll say it enough for the both of us. We’ll miss you so much while you’re gone for one whole week. I mean, what’s Trevor going to do without you?”

To seal her joke, Trevor makes a kissy face at Jack. 

Jack doesn’t take the joke well, even though everyone else is chuckling at the unfolding events. He curls his lip at Trevor, looking judgmental and offended. 

The conversation lulls after that. The pile is down to the last ten items– all pairs of Jack’s underpants– and everyone disperses.

Cole and Bea disappear upstairs to make some bowls of ice cream for the group, Honey and Luke head off to the foosball table to compete in something new for a change, and Quinn sits down in the middle of the sofa and kicks his legs up on the coffee table in front of him. He whistles as he sits, the opposite of intimidating, so Trevor decides to join him. Jack is still folding his own laundry.

“Hey, man,” Trevor says, knocking Quinn with his elbow as he hops over the back of the couch and settles down on the cushion next to Quinn.

Quinn side-eyes him. “Hey.”

“What’s up?”

“Why are you talking to me,” Quinn replies in a monotone voice.

Trevor rolls his eyes. Can’t he talk to his friend without a fight? “Because you’re so approachable,” he tells Quinn sarcastically. “No, really. I was going to ask you about going to Mich.”

“What about going to Michigan?” Quinn asks, narrowing his eyes.

“Are you excited to go back?” Trevor asks. His questions start easy– he doesn’t want Quinn to refuse to answer him right away. He gives himself four questions before Quinn frowns and leaves the couch.

Quinn looks at Trevor. “Yeah. Michigan is fun.”

Well, he’s responding, but he’s giving Trevor absolutely nothing to work with. Trevor might as well cut to the chase now and evict Quinn from the couch with his questions.

He will refrain– Trevor wants to get full use of all four of his questions.

“Did Jim get the boat ready for y’all?” Trevor asks. 

“Y’all,” Quinn repeats with a scoff. “Careful, Z. You’re starting to sound like Honey.”

“Not Honey,” Trevor says with a look over his shoulder. He wants to make sure no one is listening in. “I’m just picking up the colloquialisms of the locals.”

Quinn’s eyes widen and he laughs. “The colloquialisms? We’ve gotta get you out of here. You’re starting to sound smart. That’s against nature.”

Trevor rolls his eyes. He’s smart. He reads books. It’s not Litchton’s fault that he seems intelligent. “Well, did he?”

“He’s been keeping the boat warm all summer,” Quinn says. “Just because we aren’t there doesn’t mean Jim and Ellen can’t enjoy the water. They’re still doing all the normal shit, just without us.”

“Bro, you’re so dry,” Trevor complains. “I’m just trying to talk with you.”

“No, Trevor, you’re trying to butter me up so I don’t walk away when you ask me about Bea. Go ahead and ask. I know you want to.”

How does he know? Is he a psychic? A mind reader? Does Trevor hate Quinn– possibly. He gets closer and closer to saying yes every day. Just when they make headway… they stop.

Fine. Three questions is enough for Trevor.

“Why did you invite her?” Trevor asks, trying not to sound as blunt as the question is. 

“To Michigan,” Quinn clarifies. “Why did I invite her to Michigan?”

“Yeah,” Trevor says.

Quinn starts to laugh, loud. “Because she’s my girlfriend, Trevor. Yeah, I’m going to take her home with me and my brothers.”

Trevor checks over his shoulders. Honey is watching him, one eyebrow raised. Everyone else is minding their business– everyone else being Luke, as Jack has gone upstairs to put his laundry away and Bea and Cole have not returned yet.

“Yeah, but, like, you’re breaking up,” Trevor says. “Why would you take her home if you’re breaking up?”

“God, you guys are all obsessed with me and Bea breaking up,” Quinn groans. “It’s not the end of the world. We’re on the same page– her and me. That’s it. We’re the only people who need to know about our relationship.”

“That’s fine, I just don’t get it,” Trevor concedes, frowning at Quinn. “I’m asking because I want you to explain it to me.”

“I don’t know why you need to know so bad,” Quinn deflects.

Trevor shakes his head in frustration and leans in close. “My girlfriend cares a whole lot about Bea’s happiness,” Trevor hisses lowly. “So, yeah, I need as much information as I can get. For her.”

“Don’t act like you’re asking this for Honey,” Quinn says. “You’re nosy, bro. You’re asking this for yourself.”

Trevor pauses, staring at Quinn. “Look, I know I get on your nerves, man. I get that you would hang with any of the other guys over me,” he informs Quinn in his lowest, deadliest voice. “But we’re still buddies. We’ve known each other forever. I’m allowed to ask about your life. So, really, Quinn. Why did you invite Bea to the lake house?”

Quinn’s eyes drift over to the aforementioned girl, who is now bounding down the stairs with two bowls of ice cream in her hands. She beelines for Honey, handing over the bowl in her left hand, and begins eating one of the scoops in her own bowl. Her eyes are rapt on the foosball table and Quinn’s are stuck on her. He smiles slightly and Trevor thinks that he’s forgotten about the question.

“We just want to spend as much time together as we can before I go,” Quinn replies.

Trevor looks over his shoulder, following Quinn’s gaze. Bea has turned to them and sticks her tongue out at Quinn, a bit of ice cream still coating the muscle. She smiles wide.

Next to Bea, Honey’s got a look of determination on her face that is unrivaled by any of the competitive men in the house. Her lips are pressed together, teeth gnawing at the inside of her cheeks, and her knuckles are nearly white against the rods that control her foosball team.

God, she’s gorgeous. They spent nearly twenty-four hours together yesterday– and into this morning– and Trevor still hasn’t quite gotten his fill of her. They should go upstairs. They should go upstairs, to Trevor’s bed, and never leave it. They’ll teleport back to Anaheim together and Trevor will only teleport out of bed to go to the rink for practices and games, otherwise he’ll be stuck to Honey’s side like gorilla glue.

Quinn’s words make a lot of sense. It’s the first of August. They’ve only got twenty-four days left together. Why wouldn’t Bea go to Michigan with the boys? 

“Yeah,” Trevor breathes out. He nods, but it’s mostly to himself. “I get it.”

When Luke gives up on foosball and runs to take his own laundry upstairs, Trevor gets up from the couch and joins Honey. 

“Are you free tonight?” Trevor mumbles, tugging on her belt loop discreetly as he adjusts the pronged scoring unit on the end of the table. He straightens out the goalie so that he’s standing tall.

“Are you trying to come over?” Honey replies.

“I thought we’d try again on the whole ‘I like you’ thing,” Trevor teases. “No lake this time. Just you, me, and my tongue on your pretty pussy. How many times do you think I can make you come before you say that you like me?”

Honey blanches and looks around the basement. “Someone could hear you, Trevor.”

Trevor looks down. “Do you think we could tell them sometime?” He’s fiddling with the foosball players now, rounding the other side of the table and taking two of the rods in his hands. He’s sheepish when he continues and as quiet as he can be without anyone other than Honey hearing him. Cole has finally returned downstairs, as has Jack. “I want– I miss touching you.” 

Honey makes a soft noise in the back of her throat. “We can… talk about it. Later. Saturday. When everyone’s gone.”

“Cole won’t be gone,” Trevor points out, but he’s smiling. Honey is willing to have a conversation about going public– that’s a good sign.

Honey stares at him with a reproachful eye. 

“I’ll dispose of him,” Trevor amends, trying to hide his smile from the girl. He doesn’t want her to know how excited he is that they’re moving forward in their relationship. If he can just get her to admit that she has feelings for him, then they’ll be golden.

“Good,” Honey tells him curtly. “Now drop the ball– I’m gonna kick your butt. Whoever loses has to pay Griffin for the weed we’ll consume while the Hugheses are gone.”

68:90 – HONEY

“Stop heckling me!” Jack snaps. His head turns towards the bleachers so quickly that he might have given himself whiplash. He points the end of the bat at Bea and Honey, glaring ferociously. “How do you expect me to bat when you’re yelling constantly?”

“Aren’t you an athlete?” Honey calls back. “You can’t handle a little heckling from the audience?”

“My audience is always behind the glass!”

“Stop making excuses!” Bea shouts, shaking her fist above her head. “Hit the ball!”

“Yeah, hit the ball!” Cole echos from second base. 

“You guys should be ejected,” Jack grumbles with a scowl. 

“We’ve been coming to these games a lot longer than you have, Jack,” Honey tells him. “You’re just some eye candy for the ladies. Right, ladies?”

Scarlett hoots next to Honey, clapping enthusiastically. 

Litchton’s annual softball game usually goes one of two ways: not enough people sign up to play and they dissolve the game after three innings or…

Well, they’re in the fifth inning now and the concession stand– Sarah and her husband’s traveling bar cart from the wine shop– is almost out of alcohol. Honey, Bea, and the ladies practically monopolized the shooters that Sarah brought. The seven of them had finished all thirty of the shooters by the time the third inning ended. It’s not as crazy as it sounds, to be fair. It was only four shots each, plus an extra for Honey and Bea. The founding ladies of Litchton had claimed that they were too old to take the remaining shots… even though they had been the ones to choose the stronger drink before the game started. They could’ve had wine or beer, but Scarlett had moseyed behind her daughter’s cart and nabbed the entire pack of tiny vodka bottles for the price of “Sarah, I put clothes on your back and food on your plate for the first two decades of your life, these drinks cost less than that did!”

A lot of the game’s success can be attributed to the boys. It’s not that the other players aren’t good, it’s just that they know each other too well to be competitive. 

Earl can’t run anymore, so he’s the permanent pitcher. He stands on the mound and trash-talks every person who comes to the plate, especially the people in town that he’s known their whole lives. The best part is that he always knows exactly what to say to piss those people off and break their focus.

Some of the outsiders– specifically Quinn, Trevor, and Cole– are able to escape Earl’s teasing. They brush it off easily. Quinn handles the jibes about Bea well, chuckling and shaking his head before choking up on the bat. When he hits the ball to the back corner of the field, where Sacha’s husband stands every year despite needing a cane in the winter months, Quinn blows Bea a kiss as he jogs through the bases. Earl doesn’t bring Bea up after that.

Cole escapes because he’s Vera’s favorite– Honey is nearly certain that she’d told Earl something that morning, banning him from talking bad to her Sweetie. Honey can hear it now, imagining Vera taking out her curlers and eying Earl in her vanity mirror, saying, “Now, I better not hear you talk bad to that young man on the field today. He has been nothing but kind and sweet to us, helpin’ with inventory and unloadin’ things for the store. You oughta treat him with some respect.” There’s no confirmation that Vera actually said anything to Earl, but the man only grunts with a stink-eye when Cole comes up to bat. Vera claps and hollers each time he hits the ball and Cole runs through the bases like Rocky, arms raised above his head.

Honey will admit that she was nervous when Trevor came up to bat. Earl knows about her and Trevor– the same way that, apparently, he knows about Bea and Quinn. Her heart was racing when Earl opened his mouth, but all he’s been doing is spouting trash-talk about Trevor’s appearance: his tattoos, his hair that’s too long (well, Earl is an army man and a boomer, so…), his short shorts, and that stupid athletic brace he’s wearing around his ankle. She’s glad that Earl isn’t saying anything, but she also knows that he could. Honey didn’t ask him to keep her relationship hush-hush. All she’d done was say that she didn’t know if Trevor really felt… all that way about her.

Maybe her hesitation had been enough of a sign for Earl to keep quiet. Honey has always liked him and he’s always liked her, in his grumpy old-man grandfather-figure way.

Jack and Luke are a different story. Luke blushes too easily and always greets Earl sheepishly, ever since he’d been called out for chopping his own wood instead of buying some at the hardware store. That makes him an easy target. Jack is too darn cocky for his own good, which is perfect for Earl. With the help of the girls on the sideline, who find it hilarious to giggle about Jack until he’s pouting and shouting in their direction, Earl is able to get under his skin and strike him out. It’s been that way for the last three innings. Jack hasn’t had a good hit since the ladies on the bleachers stopped drinking.

He’s winding up and glaring at Earl again, probably ready to claim that he didn’t hit the ball because the sun was in his eyes, when Bea lays herself down along the bleachers and puts her head on Honey’s lap.

“What are you going to do while I’m gone?” Bea asks conversationally.

Honey brings her hand to Bea’s hair and traces it absentmindedly, leaning back on her other palm and lifting her face to bathe her features in the sunlight. It feels nice, like a physical touch, but that’s probably only because Honey is tipsy. “Look at your picture and cry, probably,” Honey teases. “Because I’ll miss you so much.”

Bea’s lips curl into a soft smile, her eyes glinting with affection. “I love it when you’re sweet to me,” she decides. “Sometimes I really think you’re tired of me by now.”

Honey snorts. “I don’t think I could get tired of you, Buzz. If I could, I think we’d know it by now.”

“Where are you going?” Rosalind asks Bea, leaning forward and patting her knee. “You didn’t tell us anything about a vacation when we were knitting this week.”

“It’s a recent thing,” Bea says, waving her off. “I didn’t know I was going on Tuesday. The brothers and I are leaving for Michigan tonight, they have a couple of appointments for their jobs and they wanted to visit their parents. Quinn asked if I wanted to come, so I said yes. We’re heading out after the game.”

“Are you flying?” Sacha asks. “It’s a bit late to be flying, sweetheart. You oughta be on your way if you’re driving down to Charlotte.”

Bea plasters a big smile onto her face. “We are driving,” she says. She pulls her lips back into a grimace, but there’s still a hint of excitement in her expression. “It’s a little over 9 hours and we’re leaving after the game. The boys are going to drive about three hours each and then Q and I will split it on the way back.”

Perhaps Honey and Bea don’t talk enough, or Honey doesn’t ask the right questions, because she had no idea that they’d be driving. Bea’s going to be exhausted on Tuesday when she gets back to work and for once, it won’t be because she was up too late in bed with her boyfriend. 

“That’s a long drive,” Honey says. “Are you going to be okay coming to work after that?”

Bea laughs. “Baby-Honey,” she says as if she can’t believe Honey’s concern. “I’ll be fine. Q and I planned the road trip perfectly. We’ll be back at, like, 7:30 on Monday. We’ll get a full night of sleep and everything.”

Honey wants to sass “Oh, you will?” because she knows that Bea and Quinn have never been very committed to a full night’s sleep, but she won’t say that in front of the ladies. Instead, she just nods and watches Luke switch places with Jack– he’d struck out yet again. 

“Oh! You girls might tell me,” Gillian says suddenly. “All Emma-Kate said was that her date was ‘good.’ She won’t say anything else! Where did they go? What did they do? Was Luke kind to her?”

“He is a sweetheart,” Bea tells Gillian. She sits up from Honey’s lap, turning to face the elderly woman. Her back is to the game now, but Honey is still watching. Earl has already made Luke turn bright pink and he swings and misses the first pitch.

“C’mon, Lukey, you’re better than that!” Honey calls, cupping her hands around her mouth to amplify her voice.

Luke glances her way, but doesn’t interact. 

“Stop heckling!” Jack shouts again, from the dugout this time. “Don’t make me come over there and eject you myself!”

Honey sticks her tongue out at Jack before returning to the conversation around her.

“...then they got ice cream at Sweet Scoop, duh, and they hung out at the rental house for a while. I think they watched a movie,” Bea tells Gillian.

Gillian quirks an eyebrow. “They hung out at the house? I know what you kids mean by that these days. My Emma-Kate is too young for that sort of thing.”

Honey titters, pressing a hand to her lips to cover her mouth. Emma-Kate has been in college for two years and even before that, when she would hang out with Honey and Bea while she visited Litchton in the summers, she was very interested in the romantic lives that the girls lived. She was enthralled with Bea’s ability to date guys casually and feel so confident in herself and she was captivated by the way Honey felt perfectly fine without male attention. Emma-Kate has been capable of making her own romantic and sexual decisions for a long time– at least, it feels that way. She’s 20 years old now, but she’s been asking questions since she was 15. Honey is pretty sure that Emma-Kate has ventured into that world by now.

“All we know is that they held hands after getting ice cream,” Honey tells Gillian. “I didn’t see him kiss her and Luke is a gentleman. He probably wasn’t doing all of that with Emma-Kate, especially not the first time he met her. They’re both smarter than that.”

“Okay, I wouldn’t say it’s about being smart,” Bea jumps in, turning her head and frowning at Honey.

Honey rolls her eyes. Of course Bea takes issue with her words, even though Honey has never insulted Bea’s intelligence. She’s a very smart girl. So what if she sleeps with people– Quinn– the first time she meets them? “This isn’t a slight at you,” Honey tells her. “I’m just saying that Emma-Kate and Luke probably didn’t rush into it.”

“Probably not,” Bea agrees. She looks at Gillian. “He might’ve kissed her goodnight when he dropped her off, but I wasn’t there, so I can’t tell you.”

Gillian continues chatting, as do the ladies around them, but Honey and Bea fix their attention on the softball game. Luke managed to hit a single, so he’s on the first base. Cole is on third. Quinn and Trevor are on the field this inning, but they’re due to switch soon. Trevor is in center field and Quinn is on first base, playfully blocking Luke from stealing 2nd base. Jessie’s husband Tyler strikes out, which is the final out of the inning, and then they switch.

Thus starts the sixth inning. They’ve been at the game for what feels like forever, since the morning. It takes time to choose the teams and the positions and, in the many years that they’ve been doing this, no one has made a move to make teams beforehand. Every year, the town swears they will and every year, they forget. It’s been long enough that Honey is starting to wish she was out there– she used to play softball, way back when. She could show these guys a thing or two.

“Actually, I have something I want to ask you ladies about,” Bea says suddenly, swiveling around to straddle the bench and face everyone. 

Honey turns to her, intrigued. She eventually turns all the way around so that she, Bea, and the ladies are forming a circle. Her back is to the game, but she can hear Earl chirping Trevor for his white crew socks, now riddled with dirt. 

“I’m not asking this because of anything,” Bea clarifies seriously. “So don’t go assuming and don’t go talking to anyone else about it.” She points a finger at each of the ladies, waiting for them to nod before she continues. “How long did it take for your husbands to say ‘I love you?’ Or did they even say it first? How did you feel about it?” 

Honey feels like her blood actually runs cold. Obviously, Bea is asking this because of the things that Quinn has been saying for a few weeks. After deciding the whole ‘I love you’ thing was a nonissue, Honey hadn’t even told Bea about her thoughts. 

But she knows now, because as soon as Bea finished asking that question, she made eye contact with Honey to come to a silent understanding about her question– which Honey understood the implications of without making eye contact with the girl. When Bea looked over, though, she caught the way Honey’s eyes widened, her cheeks flushed, and her body tensed up. It wasn’t a voluntary reaction, but Bea caught it nonetheless. Since she can read Honey as well as Honey can read Bea, she seems to immediately know what Honey’s reaction signifies.

Bea narrows her eyes at Honey and parts her lips as if to say something, but she snaps her mouth shut and furrows her brow even tighter for just a moment before turning back to the women, who have started talking.

“I don’t think I have a good answer for you, since Earl and I were married after two months of dating. He says he knew since the moment he saw me, but I don’t think we actually said we loved each other until the wedding. He just wanted to take care of me in case he died during the War,” Vera says with a laugh. “It was a very controversial relationship at the time. We were the talk of the town.”

“I remember that!” Rosalind says. “We all thought you were crazy for marrying him. I don’t care if you both grew up in Litchton, you were crazy for marrying a man so soon! Especially not that grump, he’s been the same since he came into this world.”

“He’s a man of few words, not a grump,” Vera corrects.

Honey stifles a smile, dipping her head and looking at her knees. Earl is a grump. Vera’s been using the same statement to defend him for fifty years.

“Did you say it back?” Bea asks.

Vera nods. “It was our wedding. I mean, I felt like I loved him after that first dance at Scruffy’s. God created us for each other and He decided to put me and Earl together at that exact moment. God chose Earl to walk alongside me and help me grow, and when you meet that person, you know. It’s not just fate, you know, it’s God’s grace.”

She means well and Honey knows that Bea can understand what she’s saying, even take it to heart. The problem is that Honey doesn’t believe in the power that Vera, Bea, and the other ladies do. Nothing brought Trevor to her– it all just happened. By chance, he came here. By chance, he ran into her at the fruit stand. She’s not sure why Trevor chose her– not when Bea is right there and so much easier to deal with than Honey is– but he did. And he continues to do so. 

Honey’s chest grows a little tighter. 

The ladies are nodding solemnly. Bea hums, but her eyes slide over to Honey. She’s always been really good about this– steering the conversation away from religion when Honey grows too uncomfortable. It reminds her of the past. 

She used to believe. She really did. Honey went to church with her parents and knew Bible stories, even verses. She would pray. All of that changed when the rest of her life turned upside-down. Before she came to Litchton, Honey felt like she was crying out into a void, with nothing but her own voice echoing back at her. Her calls for guidance went unanswered and the silence was suffocating… and Honey’s belief was completely shaken. 

In the first year, Bea tried to reassure Honey with the typical phrases: “God has a plan,” “Everything according to His will,” and so on. They’d gotten into a screaming match one night in Honey’s house, in the dead of winter, and Honey had finally broken. It’s one of her worst moments, one of those things that happen that you immediately regret. She doesn’t even remember what she said– something about how she told God she needed him and he was radio-silent, unwilling to take away her pain– but Honey remembers the look on Bea’s face and the way she’d dissolved into tears, hugging Honey and apologizing for the hurt, unable to let go. Bea always cries during a fight, and even when she has to confront someone in a calm setting, but that was different. Bea never tried to sway Honey about that again, and Honey has never tried to convince Bea that she’s right.

Honey wishes things were as simple as divine intervention. Maybe then, she’d be able to give Trevor all the things he wants without questioning herself. It’s just… more complicated than that.

“What about you all?” Bea asks, looking around. “You didn’t get married after two months. You didn’t know right away, did you?”

Scarlett laughs. “God, no. Sammy didn’t catch my eye until we’d grown up and gone to college and gotten our jobs back here. I’d known him my whole life, but I never thought for a second that I’d love him. Our dating was very casual, you know, because I had to see my options.”

Bea nods very seriously, which makes Honey want to laugh. Scarlett and Bea are two peas in a pod, just born in different generations.

“I think once we started going steady, I started to fall in love with him. He said it first, but it was about… golly, I can barely remember. Six months, maybe? We’d been together for a little while, and he was always slower than me and I sure as hell wasn’t going to say it first, so I think it was about six months. That was a good day,” Scarlett says. “And I did say it back to him, after he’d finally grown the balls to do so.”

“I think William told me he loved me around six months, too,” Sacha adds. “It wasn’t a big deal. We were talking on the phone after dinner one night because he was on a work trip in Philadelphia and I was in Charlotte still, working as a secretary, and he said it when we said goodbye. Casual as can be. I said it back and then I hung up and then I realized what happened and I called Vera– ‘cause she was the only married one of us at the time– and we talked about it all night long.”

“Oh, that was so fun,” Vera says. “I felt like we were gigglin’ at a sleepover and Ma was about to come in the room and tell us to be quiet, or else.”

“Ma loved that ‘or else,’” Rosalind laughs. “That’s what I had to say to Doug. We’d been datin’ for almost a year and he still hadn’t said it, so one day I put my fork down at dinner and I said, ‘Doug. Do you love me?’ and he said ‘Yes, ma’am,’ ‘cause you know Doug is all proper and respectful like that given how his mama was, and I said, ‘Well, you better say it more or else I’m leavin’ you for someone who will!’”

Honey laughs at the way Rosalind delivers the lines, looking out at the field and catching Doug’s position at shortstop. He’s one of their regular customers at The Reading Nook, now that he’s retired from his job as a dentist and found himself with too much time on his hands. He’s always reading James Patterson books. They keep having to order new ones so that he doesn’t run out or reread the same one twice. 

“And he’s said it every day since,” Rosalind finishes with a grandiose smile.

All eyes turn expectantly to Gillian. 

“I’m not retelling that story again for y’all to laugh at me,” Gillian complains. “You’ve beaten that thing like a dead horse.”

That is definitely not the saying, but Honey isn’t going to correct her.

“C’mon Gilly,” Vera says. “It’s not that bad. We only laugh because you’re still embarrassed over it.”

“What happened?” Bea asks, lips splitting into a smile. “Is it bad?”

“No,” Gillian replies. “It’s not bad. I just happened to say it first. And Art was asleep, so I got away with it. The girls will never let me live it down.”

“Because you packed up all your stuff and high-tailed it over to my apartment to hide from him!” Sacha laughs. “You came all the way to Charlotte just to escape three little words that your boyfriend didn’t hear you say.”

“But he could have,” Gillian argues. “And he would probably think I was crazy!”

That piques Honey’s interest. “Why would he think you’re crazy?” She asks.

Gillian sulks, snapping her mouth shut.

“They’d only been datin’ a month,” Scarlett reveals, patting Gillian’s back and rubbing it. “But it’s fine, because we all trip up and we all make mistakes and you’re still together to this day.”

“Because he didn’t hear me,” Gillian insists. “I’ve never been so lucky that construction tires that man out. His head hits the pillow and he’s done for the day. We hadn’t been dating long enough for me to know that. I was just going into his room to say goodnight– I was staying over because the kitchen in my apartment had caught fire in the middle of the night and I was scared it was going to happen again, I wasn’t sleeping in the same bed with him like you girls do nowadays– and I said, ‘See you tomorrow, Art. Sleep well. I love you,’ like some damn fool!”

“I’m surprised you didn’t wake him up with all that noise you made, running away,” Vera says. “But you’ve always been very lucky, so it’s alright.” She turns to Bea. “I know you said no assuming, so I’m just asking you a question.” She raises an eyebrow. “Is this about a certain young man who comes to church with you every Sunday?”

Bea smiles, then zips her lips, locks them, and throws away the key. 

The ladies cajole about it, saying that that’s not fair, they told their stories so Bea ought to too… but Honey is elsewhere. She chuckles to herself to save face and make sure the ladies don’t notice that she’s stuck in her own head. 

She watches Trevor on the field– they must be in the next inning by now, since he’s back in the center of the grass– and can’t seem to string anything together into a coherent thought. Her head is full of fuzz and fog, thoughts crowded so closely together that she can’t distinguish a single letter, word, picture, or idea. 

Bea bumps Honey’s shoulder. “You okay?” she asks quietly. 

“Yeah,” Honey answers. “I was… caught off guard by that.”

“Because…?” Bea trails off, her eyes flickering over to Trevor.

Honey shakes her head. “Nothing happened with him,” she says. “I don’t know.” She grows quieter, although Honey knows all of the ladies at least suspect that she and Trevor are an item. “Even if it did, he’s… he lives in California.”

Bea exhales at her words, closing her eyes for a moment. When she opens them again, she touches Honey’s knee. “Yeah. That’s about where I’m at, too.” There’s a pause, then her lips quirk into a smile. “With a few notable differences.”

Like the fact that he’s already said it, Honey thinks to herself, but she doesn’t say it out loud. She knows that’s what Bea is thinking. They continue to look out at Trevor, who’s standing in the field with his hands folded on top of his head, elbows pointed out from his body. He’s standing very casually. The other team is a group of high schoolers, middle-aged dads, and Jack and Luke. Trevor seems very assured that nothing will reach him.

The crack of the bat says otherwise. Trevor’s arms drop to his sides and he seems to wake up, looking skyward. Honey and Bea jerk their attention towards the space between first and home base, where Jack is running. He points at them as he passes, shouting, “See what happens when you’re not heckling?”

69:90 – TREVOR

There is a lawn mower running in Honey’s backyard. It wakes him up. Trevor knows it’s not Honey who’s driving it because he’s got his arm wrapped around her waist and his lips are smushed against the back of her shoulderblade. There’s a bit of drool pooling in the corner of his mouth, probably cooling against Honey’s skin, but Trevor can’t be bothered to move. Honey is warm against his front and he likes that they’re both naked in bed. 

“Who’s that,” Trevor questions, although the slurred and sleepy words fall flat when they leave his mouth.

“It’s Griff,” Honey replies. Her voice is as thick as Trevor’s and, to his dismay, she starts to shuffle out of his arms. “He told me he was coming today.”

“No,” Trevor drawls, elongating the word and rolling flat onto his stomach as he occupies the space where Honey was. “Don’t go anywhere.”

“I have to go pay the guy, Trev. He doesn’t mow my grass or supply me with weed for free, I’m not Bea,” Honey says. She sits on the edge of the bed for a second, legs curved over the side of the mattress. She takes a big deep breath before she stands, like she’s bracing herself for the day.

Trevor cracks an eye open and watches Honey pull on those old boxers she loves, then a tiny white tank top that does nothing to hide her nipples. He moans into the pillow, annoyed that their day is apparently starting and that Honey is planning to go talk to a man in such scant clothing. If this guy is her weed dealer, he’ll probably look at her tits, too. “Put on your robe or something,” Trevor complains. “I don’t want this guy to see your tits.”

“Griffin doesn’t care about my tits, babe.” Honey scratches gently over Trevor’s back, soothing him with her nails. 

Trevor moans more softly this time, muffled against the pillow. He can feel his cock stir against the mattress, just from Honey’s touch. “Just come back quick, I wanna go back to sleep. Can I put my cock inside you while we sleep? You’re so warm.”

“Mmm… let me think about that. Probably not this morning,” Honey says. “Stay here while I talk to Griffin, okay?”

Trevor pushes himself up onto his elbows. “Wait, is this the same Griffin who’s the cop?”

“That’s the one!” Honey replies cheerfully. She leaves Trevor alone in the bed, traipsing down from the loft with quiet steps. 

Trevor buries his face back in the pillow, Honey’s pillow, and wraps his arms around it. It smells like her– all vanilla and laundry detergent. She washed her sheets on Thursday. She’s almost militant with her bedsheet schedule; she washes them on the 1st and the 15th of every month, normally. She’s had to wash them more often since Trevor has been around, given that her sheets usually get sweaty and wet when he’s around. 

Not that he’s bragging. It’s merely a fact. 

He dozes off while Honey is gone, only coming back to full consciousness once the bed dips and Honey tucks Trevor’s hair behind his ear. “I’m going to have to douse one of my shirts in perfume for you before you leave, aren’t I,” Honey teases softly. “I wasn’t even gone ten minutes and you’re holding onto my pillow for dear life, Trev.”

“Missed you,” Trevor sighs. He stretches, holding onto Honey’s pillow with one hand as he rolls onto his back and spreads his arms to the side. “Cuddle me.”

“So needy,” Honey laughs. She pulls the tank top over her head and tosses it to the foot of the bed, then discards her boxers. Trevor bites his lower lip as he takes her in, then Honey climbs back into bed and curls up into his arms. “What do you want to do today?”

“I want to go back to bed for now,” Trevor replies. The clock on Honey’s nightstand says that it’s not even 8:00. “We can sleep ‘til whenever, but I don’t want to leave this bed until, like, ten.” He kisses over Honey’s face, even as she giggles and tries to push him away. “And then we can do whatever you want.”

Honey groans. “Ugh, I don’t know if I can fall asleep again. Usually, once I’m up, I just get up.”

“Well, that’s okay, we can go make breakfast if you want,” Trevor offers.

“No,” Honey says, pressing her palm against Trevor’s bare chest. “No-no. We’ll take a little nap because it’s what you want to do, and then we’ll smoke a little bit because it’s what I want to do. Griffin brought the goods over this morning. The mowed lawn was just a perk.”

Trevor snuffles out a laugh. “Do you think it’s weird that you get drugs from a cop?”

Honey frowns. “No. Griffin can’t smoke it, and it’s not like they can burn it, and the old guys don’t know how to get rid of it. They just let Griff take care of it. It’s not like there’s a lot of weed running rampant in Litchton, so this is a luxury.” Honey puckers her lips and waits for Trevor to kiss her before continuing. “Plus, we have texts from him about selling the weed. So if he ever arrested us, we could literally prove that he was the dealer. He’d be caught up in it too.”

“You’re evil,” Trevor tells Honey, although he doesn’t mean it. “Blackmailing a cop.”

“We’re not blackmailing, it’s a mutual understanding,” Honey says with an eyeroll. “He’s a friend. Hey–”

“Hey,” Trevor interrupts, grinning stupidly when Honey cuts her eyes at him.

“–Speaking of friends, do you think Cole is going to be lonely without you at the house today?” 

“I think he’s okay,” Trevor says with a laugh. “When I left last night, he was in the hot tub with a beer. He’s probably doing just fine. He lives alone most of the time, so an empty house is probably very refreshing.”

“Hmm, I’ll believe you,” Honey decides. She narrows her eyes suspiciously at Trevor for a moment, then cuddles even closer to Trevor. She plants a kiss securely between his pecs, along his sternum– right over his heart– and rests her head there. She closes her eyes.

Trevor pulls her closer and falls back asleep.

The next time they wake, Honey’s head is tucked into Trevor’s neck and she’s laying with her leg over his hip. Her tits are pressed up against Trevor’s torso and, really, how can he be blamed for having half of a hard-on whenever she’s around? She’s making little noises against his neck. They’re not quite snores, but that’s the closest comparison. Her arms are wrapped tightly around his waist, preventing Trevor from going anywhere. Not that he would.

With a look at the clock, Trevor can see that it’s past 9:00. He reaches over to the nightstand and finds his phone, which he hasn’t opened since he got to Honey’s house last night. He’d actually turned it off– if Cole needed anything, he’d have to call 911 or one of the Hughes boys. As Trevor turns the phone back on, the messages start to roll in.

And they keep. Coming.

Message after message comes in. Trevor watches them appear, watches the tiny red bubble at the corner of his message app grow and grow. At first, he’s concerned that something happened. He waits for the messages to stop popping up, then enters the app to check the damage. 

His mind goes in a number of directions– something happened at home, something happened to his family, someone died, he got traded out of nowhere, he’s going to have to move to another city and cut his time in Litchton short…

Save for four texts, which are from his mom, Jamie, and Cole, every message is from Bea.

One hundred and twenty six messages.

All from Bea.

Trevor presses his lips together in a thin line, clicking on her messages and scrolling to the top.

As he reads through the barrage of messages, Trevor feels like he’s seeing red. Every message is from Bea’s stream of consciousness– he’d be fine if Bea had sent over a hundred messages about “oh the car broke down,” “we have a popped tire,” “i think we have to stop for a hotel because xyz happened”... but all of them… every single one… is a complaint, question, or thought about the car ride.

To name a few:

Jack won’t vacate the front seat :( I can’t even hold hands with Quinn so unfair

We’re on potty stop #3 and it’s only been 2 hours THIS IS SHIT

We r never going to make it to Mich

omg Luke just started driving and I think I am afraid for my life

Why does Jack skip every song on the playlist after like 1 min…

Trevor they are SO LOUD I can’t even fall asleep how do u deal with these fuckers

Also why aren’t you replying :( 

I know you’re with Honey, u guys should save me from this :((

Quinn fell asleep I’m bored

Ohio is the worst state in the world to drive thru

I don’t like the merge lanes

Ok now Jack is driving and NOW I’m scared for my life… if I don’t text you that we made it, assume that we didn’t.

ok we made it TTYL give Honey a kiss for me

Those are just a few. The rest of the messages are similar or the same– and Trevor knows that being on road trips with the Hughes brothers is hard, especially when it’s your first one and it’s nine hours long– but this is not what he wanted when he and Bea exchanged phone numbers.

“What are you reading?” Honey murmurs, lifting her head and craning her neck to see his phone. 

Trevor is doing his very best to stay calm, but he feels a lot like a pot of water that’s about to boil over. He knows that his reaction is irrational and over the top, but Bea sent him more than one hundred messages overnight. He thought he was getting traded. He thought someone died. He thought that he’d have to leave Litchton– leave Honey– to deal with whatever big news had overtaken his phone. Instead, he had gotten worked up and anxious about nothing. It was just Bea. Just Bea! 

Bea, who is Honey’s best friend but a constant thorn in Trevor’s side. He can’t deny that she’s a nice person, or a good friend, but she seems to derive some sick sense of pleasure from annoying him and it’s too much. He didn’t sign up for this. He doesn’t want to be Bea’s middleman. He doesn’t want to be the person she texts when she’s annoyed with the brothers, just because he’s known them his whole life. He doesn’t want to have to hand over his phone to her when Quinn is away so that they can call.

Trevor shoves the phone into Honey’s hands. “I know she’s your best friend, but I can’t fucking do this,” he tells Honey. He detangles himself from Honey’s grip and leaves the bed, finding his own boxers and a pair of sweatpants. “This shit can’t be happening. I don’t care enough about what Bea is thinking to tolerate a hundred and twenty-six messages about nothing of importance.”

Honey raises her eyebrows in surprise, holding Trevor’s phone delicately in her hand. She blinks at him, then brings the phone to eye level and begins to scroll. Her brows are pursed as she starts reading, but occasionally she’ll smile or laugh or roll her eyes in reaction to a text. 

Trevor just stands there, breathing hard and trying to hold onto his temper. The silence is awkward, and Trevor feels silly about his stance. Honey is laying comfortably on the bed, toying with her hair with one hand and moving through the texts with the other. The covers are sliding down her body and Trevor can nearly see one of her piercings, just a breeze or a shift away from being revealed, and that is doing nothing to aid his continued frustration. He is determined to hang onto this irritation, but it’s getting harder with each passing minute.

Finally, Honey removes the phone from her eyeline and looks at Trevor with an amused smile on her face. “Not liking my best friend is a dealbreaker, you know,” Honey says.

Trevor almost immediately deflates. “I like Bea just fine,” he groans, rolling his head back and running his hands through his hair. “I just hate it when she blows up my phone.”

“Baby, how often does she blow up your phone?” Honey asks, starting to laugh. “I’m sure she was only texting you because she wasn’t going to say these things out loud with all of the brothers in the car. She hates confrontation.”

“But I’m the only one with her number, so she only ever texts me, and she’s not shy about it because she doesn’t care if she’s annoying me,” Trevor explains, feeling childish even though it’s true. “And I hate it.”

“Why are you the only one with her number?” Honey scrunches her nose up in confusion. She sits up and reaches for her tank top at the foot of the bed. 

“You’ll have to ask her,” Trevor says. He’s momentarily distracted by Honey’s chest and the way her breasts move when she pulls the shirt on. “It’s stupid. Like, she won’t give her number to Quinn because then Jack will want it. If Jack wants it, Cole wants it. If all of them have it, then Luke feels left out. I was her middleman at the beginning of the summer, but like… it’s not like she has to organize hookups now.” His voice turns to a grumble and Trevor looks down at the ground, a little embarrassed by his complaint. “She could give her number to Quinn, at least. He could keep it a secret from Jack.”

“Quinn doesn’t have Bea’s phone number,” Honey repeats, her voice flat and full of doubt. She scoffs. “They’re dating.”

“That’s what I’m saying,” Trevor says. He crosses back over to the bed and sits across from Honey, crossing his legs like he used to in kindergarten. 

Honey blinks at Trevor, thinking hard. She purses her lips. 

Trevor would pay buckets of money to know what she’s thinking right now. “I guess it’s not that big a deal,” he says after a minute. He leans over and presses a kiss to her lips, pretending like her pursed-thinking was an invitation.

She bats him away. Again, she picks up his phone and goes to unlock it, but she stops short at the wallpaper. 

Oh, yeah. He’d forgotten about that.

“When did you take this picture?” Honey asks, voice controlled and neutral. There’s no way to know which way this will go.

It’s an image of the trail where they did their first hike, after they’d gotten to the peak and she’d started to let down the guarded, exterior walls that kept her safe. It was the first day that she’d really told him about herself– that her favorite movie was 13 Going on 30 solely because of the scene where Billy Joel’s “Vienna” plays, that she’d gotten the job at The Reading Nook because Ada had known her since she was a kid exploring Litchton on her own, that she didn’t talk to her parents anymore and she left Charlotte because of “something that happened” (which Trevor now knows), and that she learned how to play pool from a bunch of the dads in town. In the picture, she’s a few yards ahead of him, surrounded by greenery. She’s standing on a tree branch, one they’d crossed to get over a ditch, and her hair is tied into a knot at the base of her neck.

“On our hike,” Trevor answers. “When Ada made you hang out with me because you were mean to me when Jamie left.”

Honey looks up at the ceiling and sighs. “Oh, Jamie. I miss that guy.”

Trevor goes to agree, but he remembers that Jamie kissed Honey before Trevor did, so he doesn’t. Instead, he narrows his eyes. “Do you?” He asks.

Honey pays him no mind, except for rolling her eyes and holding up her index finger to silence Trevor. She clicks around on the phone, then holds it up to her ear.

“What are you doing?” Trevor asks, leaning in so he can hear the phone ringing.

Honey shushes him and pushes him away. “Hi, Bumblebea,” Honey says sweetly. As she continues, her tone turns on its head. She snaps, “Stop texting my boyfriend. You’re getting on our nerves. You can text me all you want, but he’s tired of it.”

She continues on, ranting about how Bea is perfectly capable of giving Quinn her contact information, even if it means Jack, Cole, and Luke start texting her regularly. Trevor, though, doesn’t hear any of it. Honey called him her boyfriend.

He’s going to fuck her so good tonight.

Why wait ‘til tonight? He thinks.

Trevor touches Honey’s thigh, but she bats him away again and points a threatening finger in his direction. Even the glare on her face isn’t enough to deter him– he wants to be good, he does. He wants to be patient and put off the kissing and touching and fucking until she’s off the phone, but Honey said Trevor was her boyfriend and she has never said that before. 

He’s more insistent this time as he shuffles forward and fills the space between her neck and her shoulder with a messy kiss. His hands are on her waist and Honey leans back against the headboard, bringing her free hand to Trevor’s hair and yanks him away. 

She flashes him a warning glare and continues talking, telling Bea off through the receiver.

Trevor sits back on his heels, but he lasts all of a minute before his eyes drift to Honey’s naked bottom half. If he could just spread her legs a little bit, he could get right between them and… well, be a good boyfriend.

Honey closes her eyes and sighs, listening to something Bea is saying on the other end. Trevor seizes his opportunity, spreading her inner thighs enough to make room for his head. His thumb spreads her folds once and he nearly gets his tongue on her clit before Honey bops him on the head like a whack-a-mole.

“Ow!” Trevor exclaims, retreating and kneeling back on his heels like a scolded puppy. He holds the back of his head, wincing.

“Would you behave? I am on the phone!” Honey hisses. She sounds more like a mother being bothered by her child than a girlfriend receiving head from her boyfriend.

Trevor pouts, making his eyes nice and big as he continues to rub the back of his head. 

“No, I don’t know, Bea. He just tried to fucking eat me out while I’m on the phone with you,” Honey snaps, practically snarling into the phone. Her eyes don’t leave Trevor, keeping him in place.

Trevor is close enough that he can hear Bea’s laughter through the speaker. “Probably because you called him your boyfriend, silly,” Bea exclaims.

Honey’s eyes widen. “No, I didn’t,” she says, disbelief written all across her features. Trevor nods and leans in, but Honey places her hand on his chest and keeps him in place. 

“Yes, you did.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Is Trevor drooling all over you right now? More than normal?”

Trevor’s hands are on Honey’s thighs, palming the skin there and stroking it lightly with his thumb. He’s staring at her, eyes fixed on her pretty mouth. That’s the mouth that just confirmed that they’re boyfriend-girlfriend. Trevor thinks he might paint a picture of it and hang the picture up in his apartment back in California, so that he can look at her lips every day. He’s going to need something to look at if she’s still in Litchton during the season, but he might be able to convince her to visit once a month…

“Not– more than normal,” Honey replies, but her voice is a little shaky and high, like it is when she starts to lie. She’s bad at lying.

Trevor rolls his eyes and takes her free hand from his chest, bringing it to the back of his head. He pouts at her, patting her palm over the place where she smacked him. Honey’s fingers tighten in his locks like a reflex, scratching his scalp in a satisfying massage. Trevor sighs, then leans forward to kiss Honey’s neck again. Boyfriend. Girlfriend. He likes that.

“You definitely called him your boyfriend. Trevor can vouch, I wasn’t the only one who heard that. Ask him.”

“I did not call him that,” Honey insists. She glances to Trevor for confirmation.

He does not give her the answer she wants to hear. He’s too giddy with excitement, feeling like he could jump as high as the moon. His smile, and the kiss that he slathers onto her collarbone, are answer enough for Honey. 

Her hand drops and she ends the call, cutting Bea off in the middle of a sentence. It’s only a moment before the phone starts to buzz again, but they both ignore it. 

Trevor even tosses it across the room, not caring if the screen cracks and breaks. Honey is his girlfriend and he’s her boyfriend. Trevor kisses over her neck again, humming against her skin. He’s just about to say… something, although he’s not sure what, since his head is full of excitement and too overjoyed to properly think, but Honey speaks instead.

“Wait,” Honey says, her throat sounding tight. Her voice seems a little strangled. “Stop.”

Wait. Stop.

The joy falls to the back of Trevor’s mind immediately, and his thoughts flood with something else. Wait. Stop. He pulls away, really pulls away, and sits all the way on the foot of the bed. 

Honey pulls the blankets over herself and covers her face with her hands. She takes a deep breath and swallows hard, then scrubs her hands over her face. She continues to cover her mouth, but Trevor can see how her eyes are somehow dazed and moving with thoughts, like she can physically see everything going through her head, and she’s unable to focus on one thing.

Normally, Trevor is okay with handling Honey’s anxiety. She can calm down from a touch or a soft question, but… he doesn’t know what to say. Wait and stop, said in that choked voice, echo through his brain. Over and over. Wait. Stop.

Honey’s eyes finally fix on a point in front of her, slightly to Trevor’s right. She stares at one spot on the floor, near her dresser on the opposite wall. She takes a shaky breath, still covering her mouth with her hands, and closes her eyes. Her eyebrows draw together, creating that wrinkle that Trevor always wants to kiss away, and she shakes her head.

Trevor feels like there’s cement in his throat, drying quickly and unable to swallow. 

He doesn’t know how long they sit like that.

But it’s a long time.

“I don’t like that word,” Honey says quietly, after all that time has passed, her voice barely more than a whisper. Her hands leave her mouth and cross her chest, hugging herself. Trevor can see goosebumps on her arms. She turns her head and one shoulder moves upward, kind of like a shrug. “It’s… it’s what you are, but I don’t like that word.”

The edges of her lips turn down and Honey meets Trevor’s eyes. She steals a glance at his expression, then her gaze falls to his hands. They’re clasped in his lap. He’s squeezing his thumb to try and ground himself. She looks like a cornered animal, like one of those scared dogs in the shelter. 

Trevor just– he doesn’t know what to do.

The confirmation is there. She’s not denying what she said. Honey admits that Trevor is her boyfriend, but there’s no pleasure in hearing her say it this time. In saying it, she seems to lump him in the same category as him. The other one. The one who ruined everything.

“I’m never going to do that to you,” Trevor breathes. His voice grows a little louder. While Trevor was serious before, now his tone is grave. He continues, and it’s more than a promise or a swear– he’s pledging. “I will never try to hurt you. He and I, we’re not– we’re not the same. I might, y’know, be stupid and make you upset but I’d never– not on purpose. And nothing like that.”

Honey sniffs and nods. “I know,” she says. “I–” She cuts herself off and shakes her head, taking a deep breath to center herself. She raises her hands and wipes under her eyes, removing the line of moisture from her waterline. When she speaks again, Honey’s voice is much stronger. “I know you’re not him.” She presses her lips together.

Trevor waits for more, but nothing comes. Instead, Honey meets his eyes and she wells up again. Her frown turns into a pout and she holds out her arms.

Trevor collapses into them and falls back on the pillows, keeping her close to his chest. He kisses over her face, on all the teardrops that managed to escape. He’s so– so happy. His heart is bursting at the seams and he really wishes he could tell her how much he loves her, but that’s probably a bit much for her right now. Calling him her boyfriend and having to reply to a declaration of love? She’d start convulsing and breaking into sparks like a malfunctioning robot. But he does– he does. He’s relieved, and happy, and he’s holding Honey in his arms, and it’s okay.

Boyfriend and girlfriend. August 3rd might just be the best day of Trevor Zegras’ whole life. Honey is his– she said so.

After he’s done peppering her face with kisses, he holds her tight. He listens to her breath and strokes her hair, letting her take all the time she needs to process the change.

“You asked on Thursday if we could tell them,” Honey says eventually.

“Mhm,” Trevor hums, confirming that he remembers.

“I don’t, um.” Honey’s voice falls to nearly a whisper. “I don’t think I’m ready for everyone to know just yet.”

The only thing about her sentence that disappoints Trevor is the way Honey says it– like he’s going to be angry with her. God, he’s elated that they’re even together. If Honey isn’t ready to tell, then they don’t have to. Trevor can’t imagine telling her no, or fighting her on this, after she took such a big leap today. 

“That’s okay,” Trevor says. “We don’t have to tell them yet.”

“Just give me a couple of weeks,” Honey says. “I think I can–”

“No rush,” Trevor interrupts. He kisses the top of her head. “Take your time. Just don’t change your mind about today. I really, really want to be your boyfriend.”

Honey blushes and hides her face in his chest. “Fine,” she mumbles, voice muffled by his skin. “I’ll consider keeping you around.”

Trevor laughs and kisses her again. He really hopes she’s up for that Very Good Fucking he’s planning to give her tonight, maybe after a romantic dinner that he cooks just for her. Plans for the day be damned– all Trevor wants is to be with his beautiful, thoughtful, brave, sexy girlfriend, no matter what they do.

70:90 – HONEY

“No, put your hands on my boobs,” Cole commands with a huff, grabbing Honey’s wrists and pulling her into place. “This is supposed to be weird, Honey. I want you to touch my tits.”

Honey bites down on her lower lip to stifle a laugh. She presses her face between his shoulderblades. 

This morning, Cole had gifted her a pink shirt with a unicorn and a rainbow on the front, then produced a matching one for himself. Since then, they’ve been taking pictures in the shirts. Honey knew she should’ve been more suspicious when Trevor texted that Cole was asking for Honey to bring her polaroid over. 

“Why are you laughing?” Cole demands, whining a bit. “The picture is supposed to be serious.”

It’s a version of a prom pose, but Honey is standing behind Cole. As per Cole’s request, her hands are on his pecs. His hands are on top of hers, keeping them in place. They’re standing sideways, so that Trevor can capture an over-the-shoulder gaze from the pair. He’s sitting on the couch, so the angle is low and looks up at them, making them seem taller.

“You are so strange,” Honey tells him. 

“Smile for the camera,” Cole replies pointedly. “No teeth.” He straightens his spine and rolls his shoulders back, smiling so that his dimple deepens. 

“Yeah, c’mon Honey, give us a smile,” Trevor quips from behind the camera. 

She plasters on a fake smile, but her glare is still deadly. 

Trevor snaps the picture anyway. 

Cole snatches the developing polaroid from Trevor, bouncing with excitement. “Hey, this is nice,” Cole says once the picture is clear enough. He hands the photo over to Honey and grins. “What do you think?”

She has to stifle a laugh again. Trevor managed to capture a moment that is steeped in absurdity. Cole stands tall, smiling thoughtfully. He’s proud, eyes glinting. His stance is secure, as is his grasp on Honey’s hands.

Honey, by contrast, is clearly not in the mood. Her lips are pressed together in a tolerant line, although her gaze is annoyed. She looks like she’s just putting up with Cole– to be fair, they’ve been doing these poses for the better part of an hour, and this is one of the saner ones. They did the Titanic pose (Honey was Jack), one where Cole lifted Honey onto his shoulder and knelt down on one knee, then another where Honey was perched on Cole’s knee, a back-to-back smoulder, one where Honey had to dip Cole like they were ballroom dancing, and a number of others. She’s probably almost out of film.

“I like the pictures, Co, but can we stop doing this?” Honey asks. “I’m not, like, a huge photo person.”

“Okay,” Cole agrees easily. He gestures toward the stack of photos in front of Trevor. “Choose your favorites. You can keep them.” He wiggles his eyebrows and pretends to wipe tears from his eyes, continuing in a fake-weak voice. “To remember me by.” He recovers quickly and claps Honey on the shoudler. “I’ll take the rest. I’m going to go take a dump.”

As he walks toward the stairs, Honey turns to Trevor and makes a face. “He’s so–”

“We like to say that he’s expressive,” Trevor interrupts with a smile. “He’s very good at overexaggerating his feelings for comedy.”

Honey laughs. “That’s– yeah, that’s actually a good way of saying it.”

Trevor reaches forward and picks a photo out of the pile. It’s the one of them standing back-to-back, giving intimidating glares to the camera. Their lips are puckered “like they’re in Zoolander,” as per Cole’s instructions. “I think this one is my favorite,” Trevor says. He hands the picture to Honey. “You should keep it.”

Honey takes the picture and studies it. Her eyes flicker up to Trevor, who is unabashedly watching her. “Oh my God,” she groans when she catches him, rolling her eyes and dropping her arms to her sides. She’s trying to sound serious, but there’s a smile trying to fight onto her face. “Stop.”

“Sorry,” Trevor apologizes, shit-eating grin on his face. “Can’t help it.”

“Fix your face,” Honey tells him, still trying to prevent herself from laughing. He’s positively helpless when it comes to Honey. He’s been staring at her every chance he gets since yesterday, when she’d accidentally called him her boyfriend. 

“Cole’s going to be in the bathroom for ages,” Trevor says, reaching out and looping his fingers through Honey’s belt loops. “He’s taking a shit, it’ll be a while. C’mere.” He pulls Honey onto his lap and kisses her, sliding his tongue into her mouth and making a soft noise of content.

Honey returns the kiss, shifting on Trevor’s lap so that her knees bracket his thighs. She brings her hands up to cradle his jaw, thumbs caressing his cheeks gently. When she pulls away, she complains, “You guys always tell me things that I do not need to know. Cole’s bathroom habits are one of those things.”

“Do you want to know about my bathroom habits?” Trevor asks, knowing that it’s going to bother her based on the way he’s chuckling.

“No,” Honey decides, squishing Trevor’s cheeks between her hands. “I am very against learning your bathroom habits. In fact, I would prefer to be blissfully unaware of all of your trips to the toilet.” Honey smiles and pecks Trevor’s lips. “This should be our last conversation about it until there’s, like, a medical emergency.”

Trevor laughs and leans up to peck Honey’s lips in return. “Okay, baby. Whatever you want.”

They kiss again, and Trevor pushes his hips up against Honey’s core. It makes her giggle against his mouth– he’s not satisfied after the previous evening? He didn’t get his fill after drawing five orgasms from Honey throughout the night, using everything he could to bring her over the edge? Honey couldn’t even walk by the end of the night, and her legs were a little bit sore this morning. She’d stretched after getting out of bed, trying to regain total control of her limbs. 

When Trevor pulls away, his head falls back onto the couch cushions. He admires Honey, pure content on his face. His hands slide to her behind, fingers sliding into the back pockets of her jean shorts and staying there.

Honey smooths his hair out of his face and returns his smile. Her eyes are hooded and she tilts her head to the side as she looks at him. As much as she hates the word, there’s still a thrill that runs up her spine when she remembers that Trevor is her boyfriend and how delighted he was when she’d stood by what she said.

“Can I take a picture of you?” Trevor asks sweetly, blinking up at Honey. “You look so pretty.” He reaches up and touches a bruise at the base of her neck, which she’d explained away to Cole in a terrible, stammering ramble. Luckily, he’d bought it. “Especially with this,” Trevor adds.

Honey tenses slightly, shrugging her shoulder and displacing Trevor’s hand. “I don’t know,” she says. “That’s kind of… y’know.”

She doesn’t really have the words to explain it, but Trevor’s request sends a shiver up her spine, the same way she shivers whenever she thinks about the misuse of her image in the past. She tries not to remember how it felt to have her photos, and videos that she and Thomas took, spread throughout the community that surrounded her. Trevor’s community is much larger than that, given that he’s famous, and all. Maybe without the hickey, she’d let him. I mean, it’s small… and from this angle, you can’t really see it. She could. Honey is trying not to let all of her fear consume her because, really, Trevor isn’t like Thomas.

Trevor doesn’t let her hesitation bother him. “That’s okay,” he says, bringing his hand further to touch her cheek. “I don’t mind. I’ll just take a picture of you in my mind, if that’s okay.” He pinches her behind, nonverbally telling her that he’s teasing. Trevor even winks.

Honey laughs. “It’s not that I don’t want you to,” she tells him, bringing her arms to his shoulders and twining them around his neck. She plays with her fingers behind his head, pinching the skin as she tries to explain herself. “I like that you want to take pictures of me because you think I’m pretty, but there is the whole ‘Thomas’ element.”

Trevor nods along, understanding as always. 

“I’ll let you take a picture if you pinky-promise to burn it when we break up,” Honey decides, pulling a hand back and sticking her littlest finger out.

Trevor’s jaw drops. “When we break up?” he scoffs. “What are you planning? I’m not pinky-promising you until you take that back.”

“Oh my God,” Honey laughs, rolling her eyes and turning her head to the side. She sticks her tongue into her cheek and looks back at Trevor. “If we break up,” she amends, overexaggerating the opening word. 

“I still don’t like it, but that’s better than ‘when,’” Trevor teases, finding Honey’s pinky and looping his own around it. He kisses the intertwined fingers and then puckers his lips for her to meet, only briefly. “I promise to burn the picture in the very unlikely event that you break up with me. Because I…” He holds up a finger before Honey can interject. “Do not have any plans to break up with you for the rest of our lives.”

Honey laughs again. “Would it kill you to be subtle?”

“Uh, yeah,” Trevor jeers. “I’ve got the world’s best girlfriend, I’ve got to make sure she knows how I feel about her.” He sticks his tongue out at Honey and grins, kissing her again.

“I hate you,” Honey tells him between kisses.

“Oh, I bet,” Trevor replies, voice dripping with sarcasm. He takes hold of the camera at his side. “Gimme a big smile, baby.”

Refusing to give him what he really wants, just to reinforce that Honey does in fact “hate” Trevor (probably one of the bigger lies she’s told him, if she’s being realistic), Honey looks down at him with the tiniest quirk of her lips. She’s certain that her eyes are not nearly as unimpressed and menacing as she wants them to be, rather, tinged with the affection that she can’t hold back for the boy. Her lips curl further into an amused, knowing smile and her cheeks flush, almost aching with soreness from how often she’s been laughing and grinning when Trevor is around. 

Trevor takes a minute to snap the picture and Honey is pretty sure she knows why. He wants to get it just right, so that he can remember this moment exactly as it is. Her look, and this picture, is the kind of thing that is worth the suspension of time, to him. He’s so… good to Honey. There’s a connection between them that can’t be defined. It’s quiet and persistent and irresistible, no matter how hard Honey tried in the beginning of the summer. She’s fallen for him harder than she thought she would for any person, given her history. And he– well, he’s not ashamed about telling her how much he feels for her.

“I’m going to put this in my wallet,” Trevor announces once the polaroid has printed, flapping it in the air and blowing on the image.

Honey catches his hand. “Don’t do that,” she complains. “This is a modern polaroid camera, not an old one. It’ll develop just fine without waving the picture around.”

“But it’s more fun this way,” Trevor replies.

“But you might ruin the picture this way, and you’re not carrying a warped picture of me around in your wallet,” Honey insists, wrenching the photo from Trevor’s grip and setting it down on the table in front of them. 

“Let’s do one of us kissing.” Trevor changes the subject, lighting up at the idea. He wiggles his eyebrows. “I’ll keep that one in my nightstand.”

Honey draws her eyebrows together in faux-offense. “Right next to the lotion and the tissues? I don’t think so.”

Trevor heaves out a sigh. “Fine, I’ll just have to rely on my memory.” He drops the act immediately and starts to smile again, pulling Honey forward at the waist and catching her lips. 

They kiss for all of one second before Cole starts to bound down the basement steps again and Honey has to scramble to the side, smoothing a hand through her hair. She makes herself comfortable on the couch and kicks her feet up, while Trevor grabs the remote and turns on the television.

“Oh, sick, what should we watch?” Cole asks, rounding the couch and stepping over Honey’s legs so that he can plop down between the pair. He ruffles Trevor’s hair with his right hand, then extends his arms over the back of the couch behind both Honey and Trevor. He makes himself right at home and seems none the wiser that Honey was just on Trevor’s lap, lips locked and tongues meeting. “I just started watching Arrested Development again. You good with that, Hon?”

“Mhm,” Honey agrees, covering her lips with her thumb and staring at the TV.

“Cool.” Cole wrestles the remote from Trevor’s hand. “Gimme that,” he says, just before wrenching it away and navigating through the pop-up keyboard on the screen. He leans forward, squinting at the TV and choosing letters carefully.

Honey sneaks a peek at Trevor and finds him already looking. He winks and she has to hold back a giggle, knowing that Cole will press her for more information if she starts to laugh. She looks back at the screen and pinches at her bottom lip, still feeling the phantom touch of Trevor’s mouth. He’ll probably be a gentleman and walk her to the door when she leaves, although Cole might try to join them. If they’re alone, Honey will be sure to steal another kiss to tide her over until the next time they see each other.

[rosaliepostsstuff]

Week by week || F.W.

pairing: Fred Weasley x fem!reader

summary: Unexpectedly, you turn out to be pregnant, being in a relationship with Fred.

word count: 7309 (easy to divide into chunks to read in parts)

warnings: pregnancy, mentions of food, eating, nausea, illness, mentions of sex (nothing explicit), nudity, swearing probably (if I missed anything, please let me know)

a/n: feedback means the world to me, I'd love to hear anything from you if you read this! if there are any typos I'll prolly fix them at some point

tags: @catching-the-train-to-hogwarts ; @izzyyy-1 ; @amourtentiaa ; @dumb-bea ; @slytherclawbitch ; @famdomhideout ; @mollenniumfalcon ; @bamboozledflamplant ; @freddie-weaselbee ; @onlyfreds ; @skarlettmikaelson ; @nyaon ; @daedreamss ; @pandaxnienke ; @harrysweasleys ; @ickle-ronniekins ; @hotchnerz ; @weasleysprofessionalhoe ; @henqtic ; @thisismynerdyself ; (I hope the tags work, if they don't, let me know too)

masterlist | taglist form

Week 3

The weather was nice; the warm, fresh air hit your face upon stepping outside of the building. Normally, you’d take a walk home in weather like this, but there was some fatigue hanging over you. A regular day at work seemed to have drained more of your energy than usual. Perhaps the next day would be nice, too, so you could take that walk.

The inside of your flat was very welcoming; your “outside” clothes slid off of you without protest, to be replaced with comfy sweats and a t-shirt. The inside of your fridge mischievously wouldn’t offer anything that you were craving, and a feat for the grocery shop seemed like too much of a task for that time. Some leftovers reheated, then a nap would suffice.

You got woken up by the sound of an owl, tapping its beak against your living room window, waiting on the outside sill. It took you a moment to come to your senses, but then you recognised that it was Fred’s owl. The bird always seemed to share his owner’s temper - as soon as you got up, his assault on your window only amplified. “There, there…” you muttered, opening the window, and the owl jumped in swiftly, putting the rolled up piece of parchment it was holding on the table. You grabbed a snack from the container you always had at the ready, then paid for the service.

You read the note, in which Fred described how his day went while being nudged in the hand by a small beak all the while. It seemed that your boyfriend had had a nice, productive day, and the shop was doing as great as ever, after its grand reopening a couple of weeks prior. Scribbling a note back, there was not much for you to report. Most of it was going on about how you couldn’t wait to see him the next afternoon.

Week 5

Clinging onto the cold sink in the public bathroom, you took a deep breath after breath, hoping nausea would go away on its own, without forcing you to kneel over the toilet at work. You were able to drink some water a few minutes later, while your mind was racing, wondering what could’ve made you sick.

You slept at Fred’s, and you had breakfast with him - could it be that? Or the lunch you two had when you visited him during your break?

The sky was grey and awful as you walked through Diagon Alley. The weather was irritating lately, only gloom and rain, with a few hours of sun out, specifically when you were at work. You were about to storm into the shop, but seeing Fred through the front window changed your mind. It was all okay again.

He smiled at you from above the crowd, and you quickly ran through all the people to get to him, spreading your arms wide.

“Hey, pretty,” he greeted, before giving you a kiss. “Hi, Freddie,” you replied, hugging him tightly in the middle, so warm and welcoming. “Someone’s missed me,” he teased with a cheeky smile, wrapping his arms loosely around you. “I’ll bite,” you threatened in return. He chuckled. “Let me wrap this up and we’ll head upstairs, okay?”

You hummed, releasing your hold. “How are you feeling?” you asked. “...Alright?” Fred replied a bit puzzled. You hummed again. Upon thinking for a moment you supposed your stomach must’ve been just more sensitive than his. Fred being Fred, he probably must’ve eaten many weird things growing up, maybe his stomach was just more durable.

“One for me…” Fred mumbled, putting a tiny chocolate cookie into one of the bowls, “...and one for stinky…” you listened to him divide the snacks after you called a new jacket he’d bought for himself, ‘ugly’.

You looked at him, thinking of how much of an idiot he could be sometimes, and yet he was your idiot, one you loved the most. You thought of how much you loved him, and not knowing when, you felt a lump in your throat as your eyes started watering.

You didn’t understand why you got so emotional and you certainly didn’t want to explain it to Fred, so you stood up and headed to the toilet quickly. “...Y/N/N?...” he called after you, unsure, seeing only your back. “Y/N, you’re not stinky..!” you heard, closing the door behind you, then footsteps following. “You smell very nice,” he said quietly through the door. You chuckled out loud, looking at yourself through the mirror, as a tear rolled down your cheek.

“I love you..!”

Week 6

It seemed to have become a new custom, that you came home from work exhausted. Sitting at a window in your living room, you watched people out on the street, trying to collect your thoughts.

You were worried. Your feeling unwell has been happening too often, for too long. You thought your fatigue may have been caused by some change in the quality of your sleep; therefore there were days where you felt better. But there were also days where you found it incredibly hard to eat because nausea would just not allow it.

You were worried there was something wrong with you. An illness. You worried it was something serious. But there was also another thought that crossed your mind.

It was unlikely for you. Surely not. How could it have happened? Yet, between those two options, it was definitely the less dangerous one. It wouldn’t hurt to check. And if you were wrong, you’d simply have to go to the hospital. You could not go on like that any longer, hoping things would just get better on their own.

A muggle test - an odd contraption, yet quite simple in the way it worked. You thought you were convinced of what the result would show, yet your hands seemed to shake, and your heart thump, as you followed the instructions carefully, then waited.

You thought of Fred, and got nervous. A pigeon flew past your window, making you think it was an owl. Fred had noticed your malaise as well, he suggested you should take some time off work to rest. You did not know, whether the same possibility had crossed his mind too. He certainly did not mention it.

The clock barely moved. Your lip hurt from biting on it. You noticed you started feeling a bit hungry - meaning you’d maybe be able to have a meal without any discomfort.

Five minutes. It’s been five minutes, right? - you’ve definitely checked the time before leaving the bathroom, but did you check right?

You were wrong. You weren’t ill at all, just pregnant. It was hard to believe, you tried to think of how it could have happened when you and Fred always made sure to prevent it.

Pregnant. Luckily, you weren’t a smoker. And you were pretty certain you didn’t have a single drink in a while.

Food. You should have some. You needed the energy, and lots of it.

Fred. How would you tell him? How would he react?

Later week 6

“Are you feeling sick?” asked Fred, looking at you spaced out on his living room sofa after dinner. “Hm..? No, no I’m not,” you replied truthfully. You’d been distracted ever since you arrived at his place, and trying not to show it was not going well. “You look… down,” he noted concernedly, sitting down by your side. You looked in his eyes and saw a young man who was not ready to be a father.

No, a young man who was not prepared to be a father. Who didn’t plan to be one, so early. “I’m not, just… a tad bit tired after a whole week, you know. But I’m with you now, so it doesn’t matter,” you told him, smiling reassuringly.

“They’re gonna work my poor baby to death,” he said pitifully, wrapping an arm around your shoulder to rub your arm comfortingly. “I sure hope not,” you muttered, before Fred made a mocking face and brought his other hand to tickle your side.

You were the first one to lay in bed. You waited for Fred to arrive after a shower, feeling sleepiness take over you already in his soft, comfy bed. You waited for him to be in bed, before falling asleep, so you welcomed the sound of the door opening.

Fred slid into the sheets and his hands found your waist immediately, brushing his fingers over your skin. He began to press kisses, down, from your cheek to your neck. His hands travelled up slowly, pushing up your shirt, making you certain what kind of lullaby Fred had had in mind. You were too distracted, unable to think about having sex.

And even though it was hard to see the humour in your situation yet, a thought crossed your mind - that exactly this was what put you in your predicament in the first place.

“Freddie, love, I’m sleepy,” you whispered, brushing your fingers through his hair. You heard a gentle sigh in return, before he fixed your shirt and lifted himself up a bit. You could almost hear his thoughts as his eyes said, “too tired for even just one time?”, but he kissed you on the lips.

“Goodnight, Y/N/N,” he said, then got into his position of the big spoon.

Any other night, you’d have simply drifted off in his arms. Tonight, the feeling of his hand gently resting on your lower abdomen made you irrationally nervous.

It’s not like there was any baby bump there yet. But it got you back to thinking of how you could share this news with him. Would he want to have this baby? Surely, he would...

One thing you knew for certain, after a few days of knowing you were pregnant, was that you did.

Week 7

After a whole week of hiding the fact that you were pregnant from Fred, you figured you were not going to find any greater, magical way of letting him know, and no better moment would come - you’d just have to tell him.

“I’m not getting dumped, am I?” Fred tried to joke, unamusing you, after hearing your “We need to talk.” You just couldn’t find a better way to start off.

Seeing the face you made while trying to find the best words, he got concerned. “I… I’m not?” “No, stupid,” you replied frustratedly. “I… have to tell you something,” you started, avoiding eye contact. “Good news or bad news..?” “Uh, good news and… hopefully, good news..?”

“I’d like the good news first, then, please,” Fred requested, sitting himself comfortably in an armchair opposite you. “Okay then… I found out why I’ve been tired all the time lately, and why I got sick so often,” you started positively. “That’s the good news.”

You saw Fred’s face twist in confusion as he tried to put the pieces together. You looked at him, and after a deep breath, you took the plunge. “I’m pregnant,” you announced, trying to be positive, yet sounding uncertain.

Fred’s eyes turned opened to the size of galleon coins. “With my baby..?” he asked dully. “Of course, with my… I didn’t mean-… uh..” he stammered in shock.

He looked neither happy nor unhappy. Upon noticing how you waited on the edge of your seat, he got up to sit down next to you. “C’mere…” he said softly, wrapping his arms around you. You clung to him, still not knowing what to think. “How..?” he asked, in a tone almost as if he was talking to himself. You chuckled shortly, knowing Fred had the how part well mastered. “I mean, I know... but we…” he muttered. “I know, but… I guess it just happened,” you said. “I’d love to know what you have in mind…” “What do you mean..?” “...Are you happy, or-?” “Yeah, of course I am, love,” he replied automatically, pulling away from the hug to look at you. “I mean, granted I didn’t think it’d happen so soon,” he admitted frankly, “we’ll figure things out.”

The rest of your day went on as usual. Fred did seem a bit unlike himself, but you supposed it was just the shock. He’d space out, or glance at you sometimes - seemingly processing the information.

“I didn’t even ask,” he said to himself with a scoff, later in the day, capturing your attention. “How… far in are you..?” he asked, unsure of his choice of words. “Oh, uhm-… I’m in my seventh week..? I think, based on when I last had my period…” “Seventh?!” he asked, looking at your stomach again as if he was expecting a fully grown baby to be in there already. “Yeah, why are you so surprised?” you chuckled. Fred sat down next to you. “Seven weeks is a long-ass time. Though it does feel like you’ve been constantly puking for ages…” “Hey!” you interrupted, “you think it was fun for me?!” “No, that’s not what meant… that-” he sighed, placing his hand on your back. “It must’ve been difficult, I-” “You should probably learn a bit more about pregnancy. I wouldn’t mind finding out more, too.” —————⁛—————

“Though you're carrying the weight (literally) of having a baby, there are many ways your partner can share in your pregnancy. The more bonding you do before the baby comes, the better equipped you'll be to handle the challenges of caring for a newborn together,” you read from a magazine for parents-to-be, glancing at Fred sitting opposite, as he was finishing breakfast. “I’d say we’re doing alright with bonding…” he shrugged his eyebrows. “...yeah, whenever I’m not nauseous. My libido is supposed to be higher,” you slid your foot up his calf underneath the table, continuing to read.

“They’re the size of a blueberry,” you said with a smile. “A blueberry?” he asked in a tone of surprise, and you nodded. “That’s tiny…”

You hummed, scanning the page for more useful information. “We should go for a first check-up soon,” you pointed out, gently suggesting that you’d like Fred to be there. He looked at you from above his mug of tea, then put it down on the table. “Sure, just… make the appointment and let me know when I should take the time off.”

Week 8

Fred’s presence was even more of a support than you’d have previously thought. There were a couple of tests that had to be done, where he’d waited outside, but just knowing that he’s right outside the door made you a little less nervous, going through that totally new experience.

He was very serious that day - probably more serious than you’d ever seen him. Not in a way, that meant he wasn’t smiling at all, but rather in a calming - fatherly - way, making you feel that everything was going to be alright, no matter what.

And once you were about to go through that one check-up you were waiting for the most, to see your future baby for the first time, you clutched his hand for dear life. When it was over, you regretted not being able to look at two things at once, because staring in awe at the screen yourself, you only managed to catch a glimpse of Fred regarding it with fascination, and the tiniest smile on his lips.

“You’re not going back to the shop, are you?” you asked in a small voice, hopeful, as Fred closed the door to your flat behind you two. He turned to you with a guilty smile. Your face fell a bit, and without meaning to, a small pout appeared there. Fred’s face became more serious, thinking. “I was hoping you’d take the whole day off…” you admitted. “Mmm, I thought you would,” he said quietly, coming up to you and stroking your cheek a couple of times.

“Okay,” he smiled after a sigh.

A bit of time passed as you changed into more homey, comfy clothes. Fred made tea for you both and you sunk into the couch, for some much-needed rest, after all that.

“How’re you feeling, angel?” asked Fred, sipping from his steaming mug. “Pretty good, just tired,” you replied, letting your head fall back for a moment. “Thanks to Blueberry?” You hummed. “I don’t think it’s blueberry anymore, actually,” you noted, sparking up a bit and pointing to the magazine you’d read last time, lying on the coffee table.

Fred grabbed it, flipping through and scanning the first pages, before getting to one titled, in bold letters, ‘Week 8’.

“A raspberry,” he announced, raising his eyebrows. “It says here that you need your boobs massaged,” he continued in full seriousness after reading a bit further. “Oh, does it?” you asked with a chuckle. “Mhmm, yes…” “Well, a must is a must. Later, though.” “Of course,” he nodded compliantly. “Anything else important?” you questioned, warming your hands on the mug in your hold. “Mmm,” he scanned the next page. “Eat lots of fruit.” “Got it.”

“Freddie..?” you started, a while later. He turned his head to you, listening clearly. “We should probably think about our living situation,” you suggested gently.

Fred and you never discussed living together before that. Not because either of you didn’t want to, but neither ever pushed to move in together either. You both knew that you would, eventually, but living apart was convenient, until now. Fred was close to the shop in his current flat he shared with George, while you didn’t want to cramp in that tiny space with both of them.

But the thought of Fred living with you and the baby, once they were born, seemed obvious. “...Because you will be living with us, right..?” you continued. “Yeah, of course,” he replied matter-of-factly, right away.

Week 10

“Freddie, I think this is the one for me…” you whispered, hoping he’d share your opinion. “You think..?” Fred asked, having another look around. “I like it, so if you do… there’s just one thing to do,” he noted, smiling at you, before walking off to talk to the owner.

After discussions, the two of you decided that it would be best for you to find a new place to live. Fred would’ve hoped to buy a house, but - since him starting a family sprang up much sooner than he’d expected, you settled on a flat, for now.

Thinking of how you’d decorate the place to make it feel like home, already, how you’d organise your things - and where you could fit all that you would need in about 7 months time - brought excitement. You could see a baby mat spread out in the middle of the living room and yourself tripping over colourful toys. Yes, it all fit together.

You were still feeling giddy when stepping through the door the Fred and George’s shared flat. “Put your pants on, we’re back!” Fred called out, closing the door behind you. George was in the lounge room. “Hi to you, too,” he said with a stoic expression, and you waved, grinning, then sat down next to him. You leaned back, expression still the same, making your ever-so-slightly growing middle show.

“You got something good?” George asked, smiling back at you. You nodded quickly. “We got the one,” Fred replied, stepping into the room. He sat down next to you, resting his arm on the backrest behind you. “It’s got two bedrooms, a bathroom, an office and open kitchen/dining/living, and a small balcony,” you described happily. “That’s nice. So where do I sleep?” George asked casually. “On the balcony, of course,” you replied without missing a beat.

“We’ll get the keys and can move in, in a few weeks,” Fred concluded. You rested your hands on your lower abdomen, contently. “Is that a baby bump I see?” asked George. Apart from you and Fred, he was the only one that knew about your pregnancy. Fred glanced at your belly suspiciously - he saw you so often now, he hasn’t noticed a change, but you had been scanning it in front of a mirror for a couple of weeks now, even if you told yourself there’s still plenty of time. “I think so… Apparently, my uterus is now the size of a grapefruit,” you explained, and both Fred and George nodded with an expression that has become tied with learning new facts about pregnancy. “And the baby..?” George questioned further. “Strawberry,” Fred answered casually, making you smile at how cute that was. “I’m craving strawberries now…”

Week 12

A great amount of consideration went into deciding who you were gonna tell about your pregnancy first. Would it be more difficult to tell your own family, or Fred’s? Would going to the Burrow first prove a good test-run for going to see your family later? Or would it be the other way around?

You did not come to any conclusions, and yet it just so happened, that you were standing outside the Burrow with Fred. Wondering whether you’d be facing the full Weasley household or if some of Fred’s siblings were not coming for dinner that day - meaning you wouldn’t have to endure everyone’s reactions at once.

Fred opened the front door like thousands of times before and you stepped inside together. Molly ushered you further inside immediately. You felt your hand being squeezed reassuringly, by Fred.

It seemed like it would be just Fred’s parents and Ron, Hermione, Ginny and Harry today.

The visit went on as per usual. There was still a bit of time left before the dinner, while the food was slowly preparing itself in the kitchen when everybody but Molly and Arthur went upstairs.

Making a grand announcement in front of many people made you nervous, so in a split moment, you decided this was the time. You nudged Fred, stopping him from following the rest up the staircase, looking at him with a message. You thought you could see shock in his eyes for a second there, before he smiled at you, taking your hand in his and leading you back towards the living area.

“Mum, Dad, can you sit with us for a moment?” Fred asked. Molly looked at him suspiciously, while Arthur looked intrigued from above his newspaper. Fred lead you to a sofa and sat down to make a point, and you did the same. “What is it?” Molly asked, almost worried, putting a kitchen rag away and sitting at the edge of one of the armchairs. “Why are you so nervous right away?” Fred asked her, trying to relieve the tension, yet his voice wavered a bit and he forced a chuckle. “Well go on then, what are you waiting for?” she urged.

Fred glanced at you one more time, then, clutching onto your hand, said, “Y/N are going to have a baby.” You forced a smile, trying to read their reactions. They both seemed in great shock, like they wanted to celebrate but they weren’t quite sure if they should. “Really?” Arthur asked. You nodded, finding it hard to speak up, and before you could know it Molly was crying silently. It was quite scary at first, she wasn’t even smiling, but she went up to you and hugged you before you heard a sob. You rubbed her back, feeling odd being the one seemingly comforting her, while Arthur walked up to his son, exchanging a one-armed hug with him.

Suddenly, you didn’t even know when, you started crying too. Fred’s facial expression was showing emotion close to panic, and Molly finally let go of you, having stopped crying herself.

“Are you… upset…?” you asked in a squeaky voice trying not to cry, as your vision went blurry. It took you a moment of reassurance from Fred’s parents, and Fred’s warm hugs before you calmed down completely and the four of you were sat facing each other once more, after the emotional rollercoaster.

“Did you… plan this?..” Molly asked the question that was forcing its way out of her from the very beginning. “You’re not even-”

Married - she was gonna finish, and Fred knew it very well when cutting her off. “No, we didn’t,” he said simply, making it clear that the pregnancy being unplanned made no difference whatsoever and further discussing it was pointless. This simple sentence coming out of his mouth in such a way reassured you more than anything.

“...We found a flat in London where we’re gonna move in a couple of weeks. Y/N is just at the end of her third month,” he continued more positively, glancing at you with a smile once more. “Well, that’s lovely!” Arthur noted, looking at Molly and she agreed, “Wonderful!”

Fred chuckled quietly. “Well, it’s been real, we’ll go hang out upstairs now,” he said, getting up and waving at them once, then lead you away and upstairs.

“How’re you feeling?” asked Fred once you were alone in his and George’s old bedroom, sitting next to you on his bed. “Alright,” you replied, nodding. “A bit jittery.”

He wrapped an arm around your shoulder bringing you closer to his chest, hugging his cheek to your head. His other hand, he placed on your belly, stroking it gently a few times, then rested there.

Breaking the news to your family was simultaneously easier and more difficult. You knew them well, so you knew more or less what to expect. You could read their expressions, instead of worrying about what they might be thinking. However, the moment made you nervous anyway - you were still young and wouldn’t be surprised if your dad hoped Fred kissed you goodnight, every evening you saw him, and went on his merry way.

Fred wouldn’t dare be the one to tell them. Instead, he sat next to you being the best version of himself and more - something he didn’t do even while meeting your parents for the first time.

Week 13

“What’s more, that spike in libido might have some health benefits for you and baby, since pregnancy sex can speed up postpartum recovery by tightening your pelvic floor muscles and improve your sleep and mood,” you read while resting, as Fred continued packing up some boxes you’ve started, in your kitchen. “See?” you glanced at him from above the magazine and he gave you a look, before getting back to work. “Don’t overwork yourself with those boxes,” you said vaguely.

“some women (particularly those who have been pregnant before) may start to feel those telltale movements when baby’s at 13 weeks - so I’m not crazy!” you exclaimed, more to yourself. You’ve recently felt some flutters, and, since you’re going through the experience for the first time, you weren’t sure what the feeling was. Could it be your baby’s movements you’re feeling from the inside? “What?” Fred asked, a bit confused. “I think I can feel them moving around a little already,” you admitted, still unsure.

He looked at you with fascination. “When am I gonna be able to feel it?” “That comes a bit later, I’m afraid,” you said, sympathetically. You couldn’t wait to feel your baby’s stronger movements on the outside, either - though you’d probably regret that later, when they kick at your insides with the same strength.

He sighed, walking over to you, to stroke your belly affectionately with a pout. “Cool that you’re getting a baby bump already,” he noted. It was true, your lower abdomen has started getting rounder now.

Week 14

After putting a muggle repelling charm on the windows, unpacking wasn’t such a difficult job with a bit of magic to help out. Your pregnancy symptoms have faded away, making you nausea-free and energized, especially with the excitement of organising your new home space.

In just a day, you and Fred have managed to make the flat very much liveable, with just some bits left to organise - and you’d probably need some time to figure out what works best, anyway.

You’d expect Fred, after a job like that, to lay flat on the sofa, roll onto his stomach and pass out, until you inevitably wake him up so that he doesn’t hurt all over afterwards. Instead, he surprised you, inviting you to a dinner out.

He looked tired, though he tried to hide it from you. Tired, but happy, which you always loved to see.

“Thank you for taking me here, Darling,” you said, smiling at him adoringly. “Anything for you,” he replied, smiling too. “I’m glad we were able to unpack everything today,” you mentioned.

“You did a great job,” he told you, stroking your hand reassuringly. “Actually, there is one more box to open,” he began and you gave him a puzzled sort of look. “But, yeah… better do it at home.”

You looked at him suspiciously once more, then shrugged at his antics.

Waiting for dessert, he stretched in his seat, suppressing a yawn. “You know what you need?” you started, feeling more positive. He hummed. “A babymoon,” you declared excitedly, knowing how Fred felt about taking time off work. With the baby on the way, he seemed even more determined to overwork himself, though you’d never heard him say that out loud.

“A babymoon?” he repeated unenthusiastically. “Yes! That’s when couples, who are expecting, go on a vacation as, sort of, their last time before the baby comes, you know… And we’ve never actually been anywhere together, just the two of us. I think it would be very nice…” you explained, taking his hand in both of yours.

Fred opened his mouth, about to say something, but didn’t. He sighed, before shaking his head. “When would you wanna go?” he questioned, not entirely convinced. “Sometime soon would probably be the best. Apparently, the second trimester is the best time for that,” you said. “Come on, Freddie…” “Okay, okay…” he agreed, right as the waitress was approaching you.

It felt odd to be coming back home to this new space - this, and the feeling of sharing it with Fred you’d have to get used to. No matter how comfortable and at home you’d felt at his place and he at yours, it was different. This was your shared home.

Happy about convincing Fred about the trip, with your tummy full of delicious food and dessert, you collapsed on the sofa contently. The moment that Fred sat down next to you, was when you remembered him talking about some box.

You looked at him, and in his eyes, you could see that he was thinking of it too. He had a weird look in his eye, entirely unfamiliar to you.

You decided to not say anything, to see what he was going to do.

He sat with his elbows on his knees, holding his hands together, and wet his lips, looking at the floor.

“I… promised you another box to open, so…” he began, reaching into his pocket. “...Here you go,” he said softly, handing you a small, simple box.

With shaky hands and a straight face, you took it. You glanced at him before opening the lid and he was waiting. In the box, was a simple, beautiful ring.

“I-... you know…” he cleared his throat, before starting again. “Since… the timing is what it is, I feel the need to say, that-... I knew I would do it for a long time, and… from the beginning, of our relationship, I mean, I couldn’t see it any other way. Now, since we’re having a baby, I thought there’s no reason to wait.”

He paused, taking a breath.

“I love you, more with each day. So… Y/N, will you be my wife..?”

You couldn’t find it in you to get a word out, and you’ve long since stopped paying attention to tears welling up in your eyes. You nodded, still holding the little box in your lap as it were.

Fred smiled with true happiness. He brought his hands to your face, wiping your tears away with his thumbs, before pouring all his feelings for you, in a kiss.

He chuckled, seeing the box in your hands, and took the ring out, then slid it onto your finger. “There,” he said in a low voice before clearing his throat, trying to hide his own emotions. “It’s beautiful,” you said frankly, looking at the ring adorning your hand.

Stroking his cheek gently, you asked, “ready for the first night in our new home?” “Soo ready,” he replied with a small laugh, in a heartbeat.

Week 17

Vacation with Freddie - your fresh, new fiancé - was even better than you’d hoped for. You worried that half his mind would have stayed at the shop, but instead, you had your Freddie, who constantly made you feel what it’s like to not have a care in the world. You were enjoying your trip and sightseeing, by all means - but all that relaxation and holiday atmosphere resulted in you two enjoying your intimacy a lot, too.

You went on a week-long trip abroad, to a warm, seaside country, and you’d been promised another week-long staycation after that.

You woke up early for some reason, not feeling sleepy at all anymore. The sun was starting to rise and you could feel the warm, gentle wind on your skin, coming from the window wide open, that you were facing. Messily and partially covered in thin covers, with Fred’s chest pressed against the skin of your back, and his arm over your waist, you were content.

You held his hand, resting on your belly, in yours, stroking it absentmindedly. As you got more and more awake, you wished your fiancé was awake, too, for you to talk to, but you didn’t have it in you to disturb his blissful sleep just yet.

A bit more time like that, and you would still have refrained from waking him up, had you not felt the sensation in your belly.

You stirred quite a bit, placing your hand firmly on your bump, by habit. Fred moved, took a deep breath as he was waking up, then started mumbling incoherently.

“Freddie, I can feel them move..! This time for sure..!” you whisper-yelled. Since the last time you mentioned it, you haven’t really felt any movement. Some sensations, you couldn’t quite be sure what they were. It was still early then, but reading up in your magazine, you knew that it was around this time that you would start to feel your baby’s movements.

“Oohmm…” he mumbled, waking up a bit more, lifting himself a bit to look at you from behind you.

You focused on the tiny kicks for a moment, cherishing the feeling. You turned around to face Fred, seeing him in his glorious, sleepy state. “Are going back to sleep..?” you asked in a whisper. “I guess… not,” he replied groggily, rubbing his hands on his face. “Well then… good morning, honey,” you said cheerfully.

He chuckled hoarsely, still trying to open his eyes fully without being blinded by the sunlight.

“I love you,” you said, bringing a hand to cup his cheek, “so, so much.” “Mmm, I love you too,” he replied with a sleepy smile, turning his head to kiss your palm.

“Freddie, I’ve been meaning to ask… have you got any names in mind yet?” He looked at you in silence for a moment, thinking. “I… nothing, really... It was odd, thinking about it myself,” he admitted. “I know which names I will definitely not allow,” he quipped, making you chuckle.

“I… was thinking about a few…”

Week 24

“FRED!!!” you yelled at the top of your lungs, even though he was just in another room, forgetting any and all pet names.

“What??!” he ran out of your bedroom, shirtless, not having finished changing after work. “They’re kicking! So hard! I think you’ll be able to feel it..!” you announced, holding your own hands over your belly, watching it closely.

Over the last weeks, you’ve gotten used to feeling the baby’s movements and kicks, better and better. You talked to them whenever you were alone, knowing they could hear you now. You knew when they slept and when they were awake. That they got excited whenever Fred was talking to them, or when he came back from work, just as you did. Continuing to get stronger, today, just as you were on your way to put the kettle on, you could’ve sworn you felt it on the outside.

Fred stared at you in disbelief for a second, before his legs brought him to you. “There…” you took his big hand and placed it right where you felt the kick. Right then, it happened again, making you giggle with glee.

He waited for that for so long, you knew he did. And when it finally happened, he couldn’t get a word out.

“You’re happy daddy’s finally home, aren’t you?” you said, stroking your bump, around Fred’s hand, still resting there.

He got on one knee to be more on-level with it, before speaking. “Heey, little one… you know daddy’s gotta go to work to make money for you, right? Just as mummy is, and he’ll have to keep doing that when mummy won’t be able to. Believe me, I’d love to stay at home with you two.”

He looked at the bump for a moment longer, then planted a kiss and held his face there, not wanting to tear himself away.

“C’mon, love, I’ll just make myself some tea and we can cuddle,” you said softly, brushing your hair through his hair, not wanting him to kneel on the floor like that.

Week 28

“Come on in, sweetheart, come on in..!” Molly ushered you with her arms. “Thanks, mum,” said Fred, walking beside you. “Oh, you know I’m always happy to see you, whenever you do decide to visit your own mother,” she told him, “but I don’t get to see enough of my beautiful daughter-in-law while she’s pregnant!”

She led you to an armchair, which you were thankful for, as your legs were killing you that particular day.

“Do you want something, love?” Fred said, bending over to you while stroking your hand. “Not right now, thank you,” you replied, and he left to talk to some other family members. You, in the meantime, were being chatted up by Ginny and Hermione.

“Do you have a name picked out, yet?” Hermione asked curiously at a point. “We do, actually,” you smiled at them cheekily. “I take it you won’t tell us?” Ginny asked in a flat tone. “No, I don’t think I will,” you answered with some degree of satisfaction. “Figures,” she scoffed, glancing at Fred at the other side of the room.

“How are you feeling, now?” Hermione questioned, not having much much experience with pregnant people before. “Umm… I’d say great, in general. I mean, I took maternity leave from work, already, but most of the time I feel good, I can do everything myself,” you explained. “And I try to, as much as I can, but the look on Fred’s face - and his general demeanour - when I ask him to do something for me, is almost worth it,” you admitted. “Aww,” Hermione gushed, while Ginny clearly didn’t know what to think about her brother acting this way in a new role.

“So, can you actually feel the baby inside of you?” Ginny asked. “Yeah, all the time,” you replied and she looked a bit surprised. “You get used to it.” “D’you think I could feel them right now?” she asked, fascinated. “You might, they’re moving around a bit. Go for it,” you said, sitting up a bit straighter to turn your belly towards her. She placed her hands there, gently, and it was well visible on her face, when she felt the kick.

“Yeah, remember me, buddy. I’m the aunt in the sea of uncles,” she spoke to the baby.

Week 30

You walked back to the nursery, with a bottle of water for yourself, to see Fred still struggling amongst the pieces of the crib and with the rest of the furniture waiting in boxes.

He glanced at you. “I never quite mastered this kind of spells…” he said, scratching the back of his neck. When he waved his wand another time, the screws actually made their way into the holes, but nothing else happened.

You looked around the room once more. It was starting to shape up, yet it was missing the most important part - maybe after the baby - the furniture. You were hoping to set them up that day, so you could start organising everything - baby clothes, nappies and all. Most importantly, so you could buy cute decorations without the guilt of not knowing where you could put them.

“Maybe try-...” you started, turning back to him again, yet it seemed that at that exact moment, he got it. All the crib pieces connected together neatly and securely in place. “Oh, that worked,” you noted, walking up to him to pat him on the back. “Easy,” Fred scoffed, getting up. “Looks lovely, Darling,” you said, pulling him down to kiss his cheek. “Now’s there’s just the rest left.”

It was a nice day, spent on assembling and moving around furniture, then deciding where all the essentials were going to be.

“Good job, Weasley,” you said to Fred, giving him a slap in the ass. “Anytime,” he replied, shooting you a wink. “How about a movie now? I think we’ve earned it,” he suggested, already walking in the direction of the living room.

You talked Fred into watching a romantic comedy, but in the end, you were also convinced that he enjoyed it. You got a massage from him, helping relieve the pain in your legs and feet, and you cuddled. It made you ask yourself, why you two haven’t lived together before the pregnancy. It just made life so much better.

“Look at us, adulting the whole day and ending it with a movie and cuddles,” you commented, once the movie was over and you turned the lights back on with a flick of your wand. Fred gave you a look, smiling. “We’ll keep doing that after we’re married, won’t we?” “No, you know marriage means no cuddling or sex,” Fred replied seriously. “Right, right… Well, we’d better use the time we have left,” you pointed out. “We’d better,” he agreed.

Week 39

It started in the evening. You felt the contractions, but you brushed it off at first until you noticed, they were regular. You predicted it would still be long before the proper labour began - you even debated not telling Fred at first, so he could get as much sleep as he could - but told him eventually. But he was much calmer than you predicted.

He waited until you fell asleep, though you did not get much rest. He was able to sleep eventually, too. You went to the hospital after 16 hours from your first contractions.

It was like a whole new level of love has been opened for you after seeing how great of support Fred was to you as you were giving birth, and then again - when you saw him holding your baby. It was the same for him - seeing you bring them to the world.

They were so tiny in his arms. So delicate. And the look on his face was unlike anything you’ve ever seen. You were so happy, he was the father of your child.

You awoke from a nap, to see him holding them again. He kept staring at them with the most radiant smile on his face, then brought a finger to stroke their tiny cheek, so smooth. You hadn’t moved, and looked at them.

“I love you,” you whispered, “both of you. So, so much.”

He looked up at you, with pure adoration. “I love you too,” he whispered back, “both of you.”

[straightlikewetspaghetti]

A chaotic story that just as chaotically appeared in my head. It's much longer than I normally write, but I hope that doesn't bother you.

Fake It Till You Make It

Poppy x MC (Bea Hughes)

Warnings: None, except for the possibility of errors.

Walking through the grounds of Belvoir Bea witnessed a rather comical looking scene: Poppy was gesticulating very animatedly towards two adults, presumably her parents. It was the first time Bea had seen such rage in the blonde's movements. Curious and attracted by the possibility of Poppy's humiliation, Bea decided to get closer and see what was going on.

When she was close enough, she hugged Poppy tightly around the waist and clung to her with her whole body, nearly knocking the air out of her lungs. "Good morning, Kitten." she purred into her ear, loud enough to be sure the other two heard her as well.

Poppy's face went pale as a hospital wall, and her hands fell involuntarily along her body at the sound of the nickname Bea said in her peculiarly sexy, low accent.

The man and woman standing in front of them looked at each other and then swept their eyes over Bea. The woman nodded her head approvingly, and her eyes lit up. The man spoke first: "You're that famous Poppy's fiancée?" his voice was husky and expressed all manner of disapproval, but before Bea had time to bite her tongue, she nodded. "Where's the ring then?"

"Come on Piers, who cares about some shiny things." the woman's voice was much more pleasant.

Bea knew that what they were thinking was wrong and she should set the situation straight. "I don't..." she began embarrassed, but was silenced by a firm pinch on her bottom that was the equivalent of a snake bite. She looked accusingly at Poppy, but the blonde was only smiling falsely.

"Yes, this is Bea my fiancée. Bea, these are my parents, Ana and Piers Sinclair." the blonde pushed the girl slightly towards them.

The brunette shook hands with Piers and he nearly crushed her hand. She wasn't sure if he had intended it, but he made his warning very clear to her. Ana, on the other hand, hugged her tightly with a grace worthy of a queen herself. Poppy was the perfect blend of their characters.

"It's nice to finally meet you." chirped Ana pulling away from Bea. "We were slowly getting worried that Princess made it all up to make it easier to get our wealth."

"Princess?" Bea sneered under her breath, resulting in an immediate meeting of her ribs with Poppy's elbow. She grunted hastily putting a fake smile on her face. "No, no. What we have with Princess is the real thing." the brunette hugged Poppy around the waist again, feeling her small figure bubbling with inner rage.

"Then let us invite you to dinner!" Ana communicated contentedly, clapping her well-groomed hands. "We would love to get to know more about the person who tamed this untouchable girl."

"Mother." Poppy cut short Ana,  measuring her with the kind of glare that could kill people. To her displeasure her mother didn't seem to mind, on the contrary, she looked like she enjoyed teasing her daughter. It could be a family thing. "That won't be necessary, I'm sure you're tired after your trip."

"Nonsense my dear." Ana waved her hand dismissively. "I insist." although her voice was gentle, there was a hint of force hidden in it. Her mother did not seem like someone who took well to words of objections.

Ana slipped her hand under Piers' arm and together they started walking towards the car. Before they drove away, however, the woman smiled broadly "Tonight at 7 p.m. at our favorite restaurant. Dress appropriately... As long as you wear clothes when you're next to each other ." her laughter Poppy and Bea could hear long after the car drove away, leaving the confused girls alone with their thoughts.

"What was that?" first spoke Bea, looking at Poppy with obvious amusement. She really enjoyed seeing the state of embarrassment Poppy was in.

The blonde let the air out of her lungs and shook her head. "I panicked."

"That much is obvious," sneered the brunette. "We've slept together a few times, but marriage right away? There are easier ways to get a woman, princess."

"Just... Shut up. Let me think." Poppy nervously paced around breaking her mean girl exterior. Her mind raced and no logical answer wanted to emerge. The only rational solution is to continue this charade to the delight of her parents. "Do you have any clothes worth more than a pack of chips?"

Bea choked on air hearing the blonde's words. "Yes, I have clothes that are worth more than you."

The blonde just rolled her eyes and ignored the brunette's insult. "Come by the sorority house an hour before dinner. I expect you to dress decently." With those words, she left Bea with no way to refuse.

A punctual hour before dinner, Bea stopped her beloved Pick-up in the driveway of the Zeta sorority house. Even though it didn't show on her, she was nervous. Her palms were sweating and she nervously tapped her fingers against the steering wheel.

The door of the sorority house opened and there stood Poppy, dressed as elegantly as ever, but something about her appearance knocked all the air out of Bea's lungs. The brunette jumped out of the car and was at the passenger door in a flash.

Poppy unhurriedly walked up to the girl and spun around letting the material of her dress float freely with her movement. The sight was mesmerizing to Bea and she became very aware of how much she wanted to kiss her fake fiancée now.

The blonde ignored the butterflies in her stomach, which began to cheerfully flutter their wings under the influence of the brunette's adoring gaze. Even if her reaction was sincere, she couldn't forget that this was all one big farce for her parents.

Their journey passed in absolute silence, each was absorbed in her own thoughts. When they arrived at their destination five minutes before the appointed time, they noticed that Poppy's parents were already waiting for them.

Poppy jumped out of the car first before they could figure out any tactics. If Bea had been nervous before, the sight of her parents compounded that feeling, making her feet grow into the ground.

After a mental pat on the back, Bea stepped out of the car and stood next to Poppy. Her hand casually went to the blonde's waist and pulled her tighter against her. Poppy stiffened for a second before melting into the comfort the brunette's closeness gave her.

"Look Piers, how well they fit together. Almost like us." Ana said excitedly, kissing her husband. "Show your fiancée some love Poppy."

Bea chuckled and looked at Poppy's reddened face, the look expressing every level of embarrassment. She pulled the blonde closer to her and asked with genuine concern: "You okay there?"

Poppy shook her head, muttering under her breath. When she noticed the girl moving closer to her, she placed her hand carefully on the brunette's chest, alarmed that her parents were watching. "You don't have to..."

"I didn't have to pretend to be your fiancée either, and look: here I am." she whispered holding the blonde's gaze. An unspoken emotion passed between them, and the next thing they knew, Bea's lips were pressed against Poppy's in a rather unsure kiss.

The dinner went off without a hitch, and Poppy's parents didn't seem to suspect anything. The fact that the girls lived on the same campus made it very easy for them to create a colorized story of their first meeting and their entire relationship.

Poppy was strangely calm and they never once jumped down each other's throats during the entire evening. Bea got the impression that the blonde was even enjoying herself. She caught herself thinking that this was even what her life could be like. With her by her side.

Somehow Ana had talked them into slow dancing. She and her husband on one side of the dance floor, while Poppy and Bea preferred to be in a less visible place. Their bodies swayed in unison, no words needed to be spoken for them to understand each other in that moment. It was a magical moment shared between them, a peace that was not meant to exist.

"Have you thought about children yet?" asked Piers bluntly when they decided to sit at the table for a while longer after the dance.

Both girls almost died of embarrassment. Bea slowly began to panic that their lie had taken hold all too well. Under the table away from prying eyes Poppy grabbed the brunette's hand and squeezed it tightly. It was so unnatural for her that Bea's face flooded with a blood-red blush.

"Of course there is adoption or other unconventional methods in your case, but..."

"Excuse me for a moment." Bea said feeling an invisible force squeeze her. She escaped from there at an alarming rate, stopping no sooner than she reached the front of the restaurant and took a gulp of the cold night air.

It was too much even for her. The honesty and openness with which Poppy's parents welcomed her made her feel like a monster.

"Here is a runaway bride" laughed Ana stopping next to Bea. "I was convinced you'd drop out earlier, but I have to admit I admire the stubbornness."

Bea's face went pale, and her heart pounded like a hammer. It's impossible for Poppy's mother to know. Or...

"Don't look at me like that child, I'm her mother after all." she smiled sympathetically, then her expression changed to a slightly more serious one. "Aside from your charade, I can safely say that there is something between you two."

Bea sighed quietly and looked at the woman beside her. "How did you know you loved Piers?" she asked boldly, even though the next second she was biting her tongue for her lack of tact. The silence she was met with was so awkward, that she was ready to apologize for her insensitivity, but Ana just smiled and shook her head.

"Piers is a wonderful husband and father..." she began with a hint of nostalgia in her voice. Her gaze flickered ahead and she probably didn't even realize that she was involuntarily playing with her wedding ring. "I love him, as much as I can, but he is not the love of my life."

Ana fell silent to let Bea digest the information she had received. Various emotions were painted on the girl's face, but curiosity took over: "I don't understand?" she said, hoping the woman would continue the topic.

"When I was your age, I met a man." Ana involuntarily smiled radiantly at the memory of her beloved. "He was a wonderful man. If he could, he would have saved the whole world with me by his side."

Bea began to notice a slow change in the woman's tone that foreshadowed a sad end to this story. She moved closer to Ana, offering her mental comfort.

"After several years of relationship, Poppy, my greatest treasure, was born. I don't often remind her of it, but she's the apple of my eye. Her father also loved her more than life and would do anything for her." the woman's eyes began to well up with tears, though she meticulously tried to hide it. "But his calling conflicted with raising a child in one place. One day, he simply disappeared leaving a letter. A letter... As if it would change anything."

"I'm sorry..." Bea whispered, moved by Ana's story.

The woman straightened up and blinked a few times, chasing away the tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. "Piers was lovely enough to accept me and Poppy. Not to mention his fortune." she giggled and in a split second, her face no longer expressed her earlier sadness. The smile however she put on did not reach her eyes, which was very noticeable. "Sometimes I wonder what would happen if I decided to leave with him and Poppy. Would our lives be different then?"

"I'm... I'm not really in a position to answer that." Bea replied slightly embarrassed, scratching  back of her neck nervously. She wasn't ready to emotionally support an adult because she herself didn't understand what was going on in her life and heart.

"Of course." Ana smiled cheerfully, this time the smile was genuine. "Thank you for letting the old woman talk about the old days."

This time, they both laughed, making the earlier discomfort evaporate. Bea couldn't tell how much she and Poppy's mom had stood outside the restaurant like that, but the street lamps had managed to light up, immersing the city in a soft bright glow.

She wasn't sure what Ana was trying to convey to her with her story. After all, she and Poppy don't love each other. And if they don't, why did the thought of it sting her heart so much?

"There you are." Piers' voice snapped the women out of their reverie and the man wrapped his cloak around his wife hugging her close. Even if he wasn't the true love of Ana's life, they were both happy having each other and it was admirable.

Poppy stood next to Bea, not quite sure how she should act. To her surprise, the brunette preceded her and covered her shoulders with her jacket. In a second, a delicate scent entered her nostrils and she realized that it didn't bother her at all. On the contrary, she could get used to it.

The blonde turned her head gently to look imperceptibly at Bea's face, but Bea already had her gaze fixed straight into her. Her eyes glistened in the lantern light, making Poppy's legs try to refuse to obey her. Reflexively, her face began to move closer to Bea's, only to have a grunt snap them out of their trance shortly before their lips touched.

"Thank you for this, oh so lovely dinner." Piers' voice was soft, although slightly suspicious and both girls blushed awkwardly, avoiding each other's gaze.

"Come on honey." interjected Ana correcting her husband's already impeccably placed bow tie. There was pure joy in her voice compared to his. "We'll have to do it again sometime."

Poppy's face darkened and she said an express goodbye to her parents, almost forcibly shoving them into a cab. In all the confusion, Bea caught Ana's gaze, which sent shivers down her spine. It was like a silent consent, but also a warning.

As the cab pulled away, Poppy slumped against the restaurant wall with a dramatic sigh, burying her face in one of her hands. Bea looked at her with newly aroused curiosity. "It wasn't... Bad." she concluded, thrusting her hands into the pockets of her pants.

As if smacked with a whip Poppy rose to her feet, reminding herself of the brunette's existence. She poked an accusing finger into her breast. "What were you thinking, leaving halfway through!"

Bea carefully caught the girl's perfectly manicured finger and lowered it, smoothly sliding her hand into Poppy's. They fit together perfectly. "I wasn't thinking."

Slightly taken aback, Poppy lifted her gaze from their entwined hands. "Of course you weren't thinking! You never do. Even if your life depended on it."

"That's true." the brunette admitted calmly, slowly drawing circles on the blonde's cool skin with her thumb. It was like a trance she wasn't even trying to snap out of.

Poppy's face twisted in fury. "Why are you so damn calm!" her voice reached higher octaves every now and then, slowly drawing the attention of nearby passing onlookers.

"I'm tired." Bea sighed and without breaking eye contact, she cupped Poppy's face in her hands. Her cool skin, was like salvation to the blonde cheeks hot with rage. "I'm tired of not understanding what's going on between us. I'm tired of not being able to tell you how I feel about you." with each sentence she spoke, her voice faded in her throat and Poppy's face changed expression from angry, through surprised to confused. The blonde finally gave up and relaxed her posture, allowing Bea to move closer to her. Their foreheads touched and their hearts pounded in unison. "I don't know if it's love..." the brunette continued once she was sure Poppy wasn't ready to scratch her eyes out. "But I'd like to explore it. With you."

A treacherous grin crept across Poppy's face, making the knots in Bea's stomach loosen and in an instant she felt several times more light than she had a second ago. She was ready to take a chance and by the blonde's reaction, she got the impression that she would share her opinion.

Without waiting any longer Bea shortened the distance between them and kissed her. It was not one of the kisses they had shared so far. This one was slower, calmer, yet more sensual and emotional.

Poppy pulled away first and sighed contentedly. "We've done this so many times before, but this one seemed like a first." she remarked, with a newfound hunger in her eyes as her gaze wandered across Bea's figure.

"Think of it as a promise of what's to come." the brunette laughed, embracing Poppy around the waist and pulling her close. "Then what will it be, Princess? Will you marry me?"

[pricemarshfield]

personal problem

A Lexi x MC cheating AU, requested by @hizzieluthor​. Chapter 3/22. Read the chapter on AO3 here, or the full fic here. Rated E; minors DNI.

After an hour with a vibrator and some very vivid fantasies, Bea's worked out almost all the tension from a day spent around two of the hottest women at Belvoire, equally unattainable, both attained. Three, if you count Zoey, who greets her in the morning with a knowing smirk.

"So how'd your meeting go with Kingsley? I didn't think I'd see you until tonight."

"We got interrupted," Bea groans, sitting on one of their barstools, elbows on the table like her parents always told her not to do, head in her hands. "But she promised we could talk about it! Since I had to deal with Lexi."

"Right, such a difficult thing, to make out with a hot professor you can't get in trouble for kissing because she's not at this school," Zoey says with a little shake of her head. "Honestly."

"Oh, no, not that! God, okay, so--" Bea starts to recount her time in Ina's office, flirting with her and kissing her for like a second before the Dean fully walked in and interrupted to ask if Ina would spare her for Lexi? Like, what the fuck. Zoey gasps at all the right places in the story, especially when Bea talks about flirting with Lexi, too. "And then we made out, and guess what?"

"Dean interrupted again?"

"No! Ina called me."

Zoey's laugh is half-disbelieving, half-impressed. "Your life is completely wild, what the fuck, you've been here for less than two months! God, so did you let it go to voicemail?"

Bea knows this next part crosses the line from fun, gossipy drama to probably morally wrong, but it's Zoey, what's she gonna do, not tell her? "So I actually...picked up?"

Zoey's mouth drops completely open, and she stares at Bea like she's just said she stole the Mona Lisa. "You what?"

"No, I know, thinking back it's really dumb and honestly, kind of mean? No, not kind of. It's mean. But it seemed like a good idea? And it was really hot."

Zoey fans herself. Bea can't tell if she's joking or not. "It does sound hot. But are you, like, flirting with Lexi to get under the professor's skin or? Are you interested in her too?"

"Physically, sure," Bea says with a snort. "But as a person? No, she sucks. Ina..." She starts to smile, sees Zoey's expression soften in response. "She feels...real, you know? Like, completely outside of all this drama with the rankings and the T and Poppy."

"And also she's hot."

"So hot, oh my God."

"Okay," Zoey says. "Can I give you some possibly harsh advice?"

Bea pauses. She'll definitely deserve it, but she's not sure she wants to hear it here, in the early morning space where everything still feels light and easy and consequence-free. But it's Zoey, so. "Sure."

"If you want Ina as a partner, as more than a hookup, then you should probably stop messing with Lexi. Or with anyone--don't think I didn't see the kiss with Carter--"

"--that was mostly to mess with Poppy--"

"--and Lexi's mostly--yeah, some weird mindgame, or whatever, I don't always get you. But Ina doesn't know, right?"

"No," Bea says in a voice that comes out quieter than she meant it to.

"If you want this to work, if you really want a relationship and you're not just chasing her because she's a hot professor, you've gotta actually commit to her. And to the fact that you'll have to hide your relationship, and the fact that you'll have to be very, very careful to avoid it getting toxic. Honestly? I...nah, that's too harsh."

Bea tries to grin, keep everything funny. "What? You're on a roll, don't stop on my account."

Zoey looks at her for a long moment. Bea wants to duck away but she holds her ground. "I don't think you should date Ina. If you want to, I'll support you, because you're my best friend and I love you."

"Wow, gay," Bea mutters.

"I am literally talking you through two inadvisable relationships with two older women you shouldn't date that you seem keen on dating anyway, so glass houses. But I think you should think long and hard before you do."

Bea valiantly holds herself back from making a 'long and hard' joke and nods. "I see what you're saying. I don't necessarily agree with all of it, but I get where you're coming from, at least." After a long moment, where she can feel Zoey judging her, she adds, "Okay, I see what you mean about Lexi, I'll...stop. I mean, I won't be nice to her, but I'll stop--you know."

"Good!" Zoey says with a grin. "Then you should probably check your phone, because Kingsley's been blowing it up."

Bea glances at it, and sure enough, she has three new texts from Ina Kingsley.

Bea, I'm free whenever you are today.

We should discuss some things.

There are also some quizzes to grade. I'll be in my office for a few hours before my office hours begin.

The texts are drier than Bea after any amount of time talking to Michael, but after being interrupted by the actual literal Dean and Lexi planning on staying on campus, she gets that she wants to be careful. Besides, that's what Zoey was telling her. She has to get used to hiding some things if she wants Ina.

And she does. She really, really does.

Sounds good, Professor. I'll see you soon.

--

Bea doesn't dress up in her nicest outfit, but she is wearing her nicest non-lingerie underwear underneath it when she knocks on the door to Professor Kingsley's office. She pulls it open right away, dark circles under her eyes like she hasn't slept. She pulls Bea right in, locks the door behind her--ooh, finally a breach of propriety--and says, "I'm so sorry about Lexi."

"What?" Bea says, having completely forgotten about anyone other than the woman in front of her. "Oh, right. It's really okay, I'm okay."

"Are you sure?" Ina asks, hand on Bea's face all of a sudden, when did that happen, holy shit? "I don't...it'll be a little risky, if I fight to keep you--" Ooh. "--as my TA instead of hers--" Slightly less enthusiastic ooh. "--but I will, if you want me to. I don't--like seeing you with her. I know you kissing her was the kiss cam, and avoiding suspicion of any anything untoward with me, but...I hated it."

"Were you jealous?" Bea asks, hands twitching as she resists the urge to hold Ina's hand on her face even longer.

"Yes," Ina admits, quickly and easily. Bea could swoon. "Yes, I was jealous. I think...had she not been there, or if I could've stayed on our date instead of having to leave for the call from the Dean, I wouldn't have been able to say that. But Bea, I don't want anyone else to have you. And I--I understand I can't ask that of you. It's your life, and you would have to hide--"

Bea puts an arm around the back of Ina's neck to pull her in for a kiss, and Ina just fucking goes for it, pinning Bea to the door with her whole body, pressed together in as many points as possible. The kiss is deep and passionate and perfect, and it's only the fact that they're right against the door that prompts Bea to bite back a moan.

After a couple minutes of this, Ina pulls back, but only to rest her forehead against Bea's. Bea smiles up at her. Ina, miraculously, smiles back, no sign of wanting to cut and run at all.

The moment only lasts a second, though, and then Ina clears her throat, pulls back a little. "We should...talk about this."

"What's there to talk about?" Bea says. "I get that we have to keep things secret, I get that it's risky, but I want this and you want this, so what's the issue?"

Ina clears her throat, looking at Bea with so much emotion that it's almost uncomfortable. "I don't...Bea, if you want me--"

"--I do--"

"--then you'll still want me after you think through the consequences."

Bea groans, pushes Ina back until the professor's back hits her own desk. "Ina. I have thought this through. I have. And I'm all in. The question is, have you?" (She has thought it through. That's what that conversation with Zoey earlier was about.)

"Of course I have," Ina says, more a hiss than calm, casual discussion. "Bea, I've thought of nothing but you since the speakeasy. How could I not? Our conversation, you on top of me--" She clears her throat, face flushed. "But you don't want--"

"Hey, how about you let me tell you what I want? I'm an adult, I can make my own decisions."

Ina looks at Bea's face, and Bea tries to keep it nice and not angry about being pushed away again. She seems to come to a decision, and she presses a quick, chaste kiss to Bea's lips. Bea grins at her. "If you're sure, Bea."

"I am," Bea says. "No one else I'd want to be with but you. Promise."

Ina's eyes go a little darker at that, and Bea could tell Lexi to fuck off a thousand times without any flirtation whatsoever and it'd be worth it for the look on Ina's face. "Good."

"Good," Bea repeats, and kisses her one more time. This one's sweeter, less let's-fuck-on-this-desk-right-now and more I-really-really-really-really-really-really-like-you. "I want nothing more than to stay right here, right now."

"...but?" Ina asks. Bea's disappointment at having to leave is mostly soothed by Ina reading her well enough to understand what she's getting at.

"But I'm pretty sure I'm supposed to meet up with Lexi to TA," Bea grumbles.

"The one good thing about that wretched woman being interested in me is at least it means I know she'll leave you alone," Ina says, and lets her go.

Bea laughs, a little awkwardly, but Ina doesn't seem to pick up on it. "Right. Uh, before I go, though, we are--right? We're us?"

Ina nods. "If you want to be. And you were very insistent about the fact that you do."

"I do!" Bea says, smiling dopily at her. "Okay, good, I just wanted to be sure. I'll see you later?"

"I'll text you," Ina says. "I do actually have all these quizzes to grade."

Bea hates to leave her with that glum expression, so she kisses her and says, "I'll make it up to you later."

Then it's heading back over to Lexi's office, glancing at herself in the windows to make sure she isn't so obviously mussed up. She's certain that Lexi wouldn't expose her and Ina's relationship, if only because it would sabotage her chances of dating Ina.

It's not stupid to flex, just a little, right?

She knocks on Lexi's office door, hears the other woman call a disinterested, "Come in," and opens it. Lexi's at her desk, looking at something on her computer that she slams shut as Bea walks in. "Hughes. I've plenty of work for you to do to keep you away from Ina." Bea smirks at her, and Lexi's expression goes stony. "What, are you looking for a repeat performance of yesterday? I'm not exactly interested in bending you over and punishing you for your insolence right now."

Uh, damn. Bea blinks a couple times, shakes her head as if to physically clear the images of that. "No. Just letting you know that, uh, I win. So sorry, but you were barely even competition."

"You--" Lexi's eyes flash, and Bea thinks for a second that Lexi might throw something at her. Instead, Lexi sits back, and says, "Alright."

"See, I--alright?"

"Yes," Lexi says, voice weirdly calm. "I've still got work for you to do. And I have business to attend to."

"Leave her alone, she's not--"

"My business doesn't involve Ina at all, Hughes," Lexi says with an eyeroll. "But you need to go through and put all this--" She taps a stack of papers on the desk with a single finger. "Into a spreadsheet. Okay?"

"I...okay?" Bea says, too confused to put up a fight right now. Lexi passes her without a sideways glance and leaves the office.

That...wasn't what Bea was expecting. She texts Ina a quick working on some busywork, she's already left and Zoey a girl i have SO much news but don't worry i took your advice about Lexi and posts a picture of herself in a nice office to her Insta, then gets to work. The whole time, she's left thinking about what Lexi has up her sleeves, because there's no way she's actually that calm about losing Ina to her.

Not that she's going to get Ina back. Not that she's going to get Bea back; she's happy with Ina. She is.

[pawprintsmoon]

The dust settled around him, and he wore it like glitter.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/29724879

“You’re not the one who slagged off the crown and your own family in the emails that everybody in the world has read. I’ve got to handle that on my own before you come back over.”

-page 384

It was two days after Henry had been cuddled awake in the Queen’s Bedroom, tangled up in fuchsia sheets and Alex’s legs. After an international flight, two sleepless nights, and a whirlwind of damage control, Shaun dropped him off for therapy. 

As he walked from the car to the clinic, he thanked God for his PPOs and empty parking lots. Paparazzi on his way to therapy would’ve been just too much. In his state of constant apprehension, he noticed the creeping chill of autumn air forecasting the upcoming Presidential election. For the past few days, he had felt like he was burning through the sky at the speed of light, but apparently the world was still turning at its normal pace.

He sat down on the sofa in Shanon’s office gingerly, because his body ached as if he’d just run a marathon. Mostly he’d just been pacing in his bedroom.

Shanon sat down in her chair across from him and said, “So, I hear you’ve had a bit of a week, huh?”

“You could say that.” Henry’s breath was shallow, as it had been ever since they’d been outed. “How much do you know?”

“Henry.” She gave him that therapist look. “You know that I try not to read news about you. I just saw that the whole world knows about you and Alex, and I know that can’t be easy for you. That’s all. I want to hear what you want to tell me about it all.”

“Right, I… well.” He wasn’t sure if he was ready to hash through it all, but he knew he could try. Despite the excess of cortisol that had been tensing him up into a knot of adrenal fatigue, he knew he was safe in Shanon’s office. He had been going there for an hour every week for the past four years. The familiarity of twinkly lights dangling in her potted tree and the meditation cushions in the corner encouraged him to speak.

“The entire world saw my insides.” He looked at the twinkly lights and took his time telling the story. “They took a picture of us through a windshield, you know, after the er, date with June. They took another through my bedroom window, but it was grainy. They didn’t publish it because it wasn’t enough to prove anything, but still. I haven’t opened my bedroom curtains since. It’s been rather dark in there.”

“They invaded your privacy,” Shanon said, understanding. “It was wrong, and it makes sense to feel vulnerable.”

“Yes, well. Then there’s our emails.” He stops and tries to take a deep breath. It doesn’t work.

She gives him some time before gently prompting, “Your emails?”

“Yes.” He was glad he got to tell her this himself and that she hadn’t read the news. It gave him back an ounce of control. “All of them. Every… every word. They were published and anybody in the world can read them. The things I said, I… That was for him. For us.”

“Wow.”

“It’s too much.” His throat was dry and his temples pounded. “It’s worse than feeling vulnerable… it was violating. Obscene.”

“Super violating, yeah. That’s a lot.”

“Indeed.”

“So, how do you feel about all of it?”

“I’m… er.” It’s odd how easy it is to spill every part of him into his writing, but as soon as he tries to talk, his stiff upper lip takes over, even with his therapist. He looked up at the feelings wheel poster on her wall to pick out some of the right words. “I feel… angry, apprehensive, overwhelmed, kind of helpless. Er… stupid for getting caught too, I suppose. Definitely experiencing some bursts of hysterical panic. I’ve been eating Jaffa cakes, and took a couple lorazepam, and Bea hasn’t left my side. So that helps.”

“Well yeah, this huge thing happened to you, completely out of your control and without your consent. Of course you’re overwhelmed.” She must know the gravity of the situation, because Henry very rarely used his ‘just in case’ benzodiazepines. “And you’re effectively using some of your coping mechanisms, so that’s admirable.”

“Thanks, yeah, I’m playing a lot of piano too.” Despite the list of negative feelings, Henry felt the corners of his lips twitch up. “Lots of Elton John.”

“You’re smiling,” she said, mirroring with a small smile of her own. “I know this smile. It’s an Alex smile, isn’t it?”

Henry actually laughed a little in response with a shrug in confirmation. His shoulders relaxed a miniscule amount. She knew him so well.

“So you’re scared and overwhelmed and angry, but what else are you feeling?”

“You see, that’s the thing. I also feel absolutely amazing.”

“Amazing! Tell me more.”

“I’m, well… I’m free. It’s exactly like Bea said, they already know everything, so I don’t have to hide anything. I kissed Alex in front of people! And I introduced him to my mom. As my boyfriend.”

“That’s amazing!”

“Shanon, it’s… I haven’t faked a smile in days.”

They sit there, just grinning at each other. That shortness of breath? Sure, it was the crippling anxiety of his secrets laid bare. But it was also the sweet flutterings of lovesickness, clear as day.

“In some ways,” Shanon said, “this is the happiest I’ve ever seen you.”

“I think you’re right. I’m...” He was positively giddy and he shrugged again letting his thoughts be nonlinear. “Well. There’s also the public support. You know I hate the spotlight, but, well. I’ve never felt so… like England loves me.”

“Your country matters to you.”

“Well, yes.” He nodded. “And I always thought the only way I could be their Prince and fulfill my duty was to be what Philip and the queen wanted. But now I don’t think that was ever my duty at all. See, I try to avoid social media because it’s all too much. Way too much. But Bea keeps showing me anecdotal stories of how I’ve helped people come out. Poor, rural teens. It feels good.

“You see, I could go to pride this year, and wear a bloody rainbow cape. I can tell everyone that my dog is named after Bowie. I could geek out about queer history -to the press! And that picture they dug up of me from uni? I looked so gay and I was embarassed and hid it, but now I’m thinking… I can look like that if I want. Hell, I could wear eyeliner if I wanted! I mean, I won’t, obviously. But the point stands.”

“That’s really exciting.”

“Yeah. It is. And bizarre. See, also, I had completely forgotten about Lord Ivar Mountbatten, my third or fourth cousin, once or twice removed? He married his husband a couple years ago and he called me yesterday,” he continued. “He’s not, like, an heir, and most people don’t know who he is, but you know. He called and it made me realise, even though this is a huge deal, even though we’re putting a dent in history, it also isn’t so big of a deal, is it?”

“Two seemingly contradictory things can be true,” Shanon agreed.

“I know,” he nodded, remembering the basics of dialectical behavioral therapy. “Like, it’s empowering to be dealing with everything on my own for once, but I also just wish I was with Alex again. I can’t seem to breathe when he’s so far away.”

She hummed, nodding.

“I’m trying to put it all together, set up the formal courting thing, adjust to mum’s new found investment in my wellbeing… it’s a lot.”

“It sounds like you’ve been really brave, deciding to come back to England alone to take care of everything,” Shanon told him. “But it’s really hard and I can tell you’re holding a lot of tension in your body. Being outed like this… it’s traumatic.”

Henry looked at his shaking hands. He hadn’t thought of it that way, but he knew she was right. “I just… we wanted to do it on our terms. Like we talked about. And now I just, I haven’t slept in days. I just feel all of the feelings and my brain won’t shut up.”

“I know,” Shanon said, voice full of compassion. “Would you like me to guide you through a body scan meditation? Then perhaps we can set some specific goals and action steps, once you’re de-escalated a bit.”

Henry agreed. His parasympathetic nervous system could use a little wind down. So she led him through a meditation and his body relaxed. After that they were able to walk through how he would relate to his mum, to the press, and to his new future. They talked about how much he loved Alex. And Bea, Pez, June, and Nora. How he was proud to be able to tackle the royals on his own, and how he was so grateful to have his support system. By the end of the session Henry’s shoulders hung heavy, and his breath deepened and slowed.

“Thanks, I’ll see you next week,” he said as he left the office.

“I’ll see you next week, Henry.” They shook hands as usual. “You got this.”

He nodded, believing her. On his way out to the car he snapped an exhausted selfie to Alex with the caption: ‘You got this.’

Within seconds Alex responded with an equally frazzled smile. ‘Love you.’

So, his steps were long and the autumn air did not spook him with it's implications of their very public future. His world had exploded and now the dust was settling around him. He would wear it like glitter.

And maybe he’d take a nap.

[offtopicoverload]

Bad at Sleeping Alone

A late night ficlet for the real Queen B, Zoey, that I didn't actually write at night this time. But here it is anyway, since I couldn’t get it out of my head.

Starts at Chapter 10

Zoey x MC (Bea Hughes)

~3k words

Zoey and Bea are bad at sleeping alone. Like, really bad at it. Like, so bad that they just... can’t. Not unless there’s someone with them. But that someone can only be each other, mind you. And the weirdest part of it? They’ve never had this problem before, never needed someone there, one person specifically. And, actually, maybe the weirdest part is that it really didn’t even start happening until the whole Benji incident took place. 

Bea had been shaken to her core after it happened, glassy eyed and numb to the world as Zoey hugged her and comforted her, turning on her favorite movies and shows, ordering pizza and her favorite snacks, and burying Bea in a mountain of fluffy blankets on the couch. They’d stayed up all of that night, to the point that Zoey was almost falling asleep in her classes the next day while taking her notes.

Zoey had spent the night laughing at the bad movies they always loved, and Bea would force a smile whenever Zoey glanced at her, but not a single one of them reached her eyes that night. Zoey had gorged on sweets and snacks all night, nearly making herself sick on pizza and ice cream, but the most Bea managed was a single slice, only taking bites when Zoey asked if she was feeling okay.

The night was long and odd, and Zoey tried her best to make it normal, but it just couldn’t be, not when Bea still had a haunted look in her eyes and refused to let Zoey turn off even a single light; it was like she was suddenly afraid of the tiniest amount of darkness. But Bea Hughes wasn’t afraid of anything, least of all something so trivial and childish as the dark.

But Zoey obliged all the same, she even went around and flicked on every single light in their dorm, even ones they couldn’t see when night fell, the darkness seeping through the windows that Bea checked were locked three or four times before sitting down. Every time she sat down. If she got up to the bathroom she turned on her phone’s flashlight, even with every lightbulb on its brightest setting, and made her rounds of every window and the front door, checking and testing the locks until she was satisfied.

And to make things even weirder, Bea didn’t even want to sleep when Zoey asked, shaking her head furiously and stumbling over an explanation, an excuse that she was just having fun. So neither of them slept a wink, even though they were sat directly next to one another the whole time, Bea inching closer as the hours dragged on.

---

Zoey offered to binge whatever Bea wanted the next night, too, but Bea refused, saying she should get some sleep, so Zoey conceded. She went to bed easily, wrapped up in her comforter and sheets as Bea sat down the hall, laying in bed with as much light as she could create and staring at the ceiling blankly, until she couldn’t take it anymore. She sat up, grabbed her phone and earbuds and blasted music until she couldn’t hear anything, until she could scroll her phone and get lost in social media and pointless rivalries that kicked her while she was down.

When the sun started to rise, she dragged herself from under the layers and stalked into the common area, settling herself in the corner of the kitchen, back to the counter so she could keep an eye on the entirety of the massive open space until Zoey woke up. And she did, after an hour or so, joining Bea in drinking coffee with a smile.

Bea forced a smile back, finishing off her third cup of coffee quickly, and left to get ready for the day, automatically feeling better with Zoey nearby. Maybe it helped because Zoey had threatened him with stilettos and kitchen knives numerous times, and of all people, Zoey was most likely to actually go through with it on Bea’s behalf.

The cycle repeated itself the next night, Bea attempting to drown out and hide from the shadows that her worst nightmare could be lurking in while Zoey slept soundly in the same dorm. Bea downed five cups the next morning, grabbing more throughout the day to get through her classes and keep her mind sharp enough to avoid the devil incarnate and her mindless minions.

On the fourth day, Bea planned to continue her routine, even if the bags under her eyes had been begging for release from under pounds of concealer. Except for one thing, one disastrous thing: Cutiepie had gotten her earbuds and destroyed them. Both pairs, too, bluetooth and wired.

She sunk to the floor, staring at the mess of wires before her and felt pressure building at the back of her eyes, the last few days finally catching up to her, finally feeling real and scary and like she was hopelessly, absolutely, without a doubt alone. A few tears slipped from the corners of her eyes, sliding down her cheeks before she wiped them away with her sleeve.

It was already late, she had stayed on the couch with the TV on as long as she could, letting cheesy television fill the room until the empty space became too much to bear and she bolted for her room, praying she hadn’t woken Zoey with how panickedly she slammed her door. And now her one defense has been ripped to shreds by her stupidly cute dog.

She sniffled and wiped at her eyes, banishing the tears away and struggled to her feet. She dusted herself off, already dressed in pajamas since she got home and knew she didn’t want to leave, not unless she has to, and slipped under the covers. She wanted to sleep, she really did. But she felt as if it would make her so vulnerable, being unaware and unconscious. She felt as if it would make his job easier, that he could slip in and she’d never see, that she’d die alone, not even with her own thoughts to accompany her.

She curled in on her side, pulling the comforter over her head as she tried to block out the world, but when she opened her eyes, it was so dark beneath the fabric. Too dark. She threw the comforter back, the lights of the room bathing her in yellow, yellow she never wanted to be without. She took a deep breath to calm herself, searching the room for anything out of the ordinary. And, satisfied that there truly wasn’t anything, she fell back to her pillow, snuggled into the sheets, and stared at her wall, her hammering heart slowing in her chest the whole while.

Crash.

Something fell or was smashed or broke or Bea didn’t even know what, but something loud exploded, and it sounded like it came from right outside her window. She jumped out of bed, nearly slipping on the floor as she glanced around wildly, looking for the source of the noise. She didn’t find anything, though whether that was because of her blurred vision or the fact that there was nothing, she wasn’t sure.

That was it, she couldn’t do this. She couldn’t try to sleep and she couldn’t be alone. She just couldn’t do this.

She huffed, ran her hands through her hair, and squeezed her eyes shut tight, willing something to change. Maybe if she squeezed hard enough she’d open her eyes and find out nothing had ever happened, that he didn’t exist or she never even went to Belvoire in the first place. No, that’s stupid, because then she never would have met Zoey.

Zoey. That’s been her lifeline, right? That’s who was always there for her, even when she had no reason to be? Oh god, Bea’s a nuisance, isn’t she? A pest, unwanted and irritating.

But she had no other options, not anymore, not when she’s scared out of her skin and exhausted, not when even copious amounts of caffeine hadn’t been able to keep her coherent and fully awake these past few days.

She heaved a deep sigh, grabbed a blanket off her bed, and trudged out of her room in the direction of Zoey’s own. She steeled herself before entering, heaving another deep sigh and turned the handle, nerves eating away at her.

---

“Zoey?” A quiet voice called out into the dark, small and worried as it floated over to the sleeping woman wrapped in her sheets.

“Hmm?” she hummed, shifting and pressing her face further into her pillow, sleepy and not even a quarter awake.

The voice grew bolder, louder as it echoed in the dark, “Are you awake?”

Zoey forced her eyes open, finding darkness ahead of her. She blinked into it, working to clear her sleep-induced haze, and turned over her shoulder, finding a shadowed halo of Bea with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders standing in the doorway, mass amounts of light filtering in the room. “Bea?” she called into the dark.

The shadow nodded, “I’m sorry, I just…” she took a deep breath, “I can’t sleep,” she whispered into the dark, pulling her blanket tighter around herself and dipping her head.

Zoey sat up, shifting to face Bea better, “How come, babe? What’s wrong?” Her voice was worn down by sleep, but she still forced it out.

“It’s… I haven’t been able to sleep since the whole... thing,” Bea murmured quietly.

Zoey’s mind whirred as her awareness grew, eyes nearly bugging out of her head as she did the math, “It’s been four days! Bea, have you not slept in four days?!” she couldn’t help the incredulous from her voice.

The shadow nodded, the light from behind it shifting with it. Zoey balked into the dark, bewildered and confused about how Bea could go four days without sleeping, and even more confused how she could go four days without telling her.

“Can I stay in here tonight?” Bea’s quiet, small, wavering and nervous voice called into the dark again, the shadowed figure shuffling awkwardly in the doorway.

Zoey had to stop herself from laughing in pure disbelief, “Yes!” She wrangled her volume, “Yes. Of course. Are you kidding? Get over here,” Zoey shifted across the mattress, leaving plenty of space for Bea to crawl in beside her.

And she did just that, slipping beneath the covers as Zoey held them open for her, laying on her side to face Zoey in the dark, the door still open. But Zoey knew enough not to comment, and simply wiggled closer, throwing her arm across Bea’s side.

She cuddled into Zoey, her head pressing into her chest as Zoey’s arm tightened around her, holding her tighter and softly combing through her hair, the shifting rhythm of Bea’s breath raising her chest with each inhale. Zoey glanced down after a long moment, only to find Bea’s eyelids shut and her breathing slow and steady as she dozed off.

---

Then it started happening more regularly, Bea slipping into Zoey’s room in the middle of the night, nudging her awake until she let Bea in. Until Bea stopped asking, just crossing to the other side and cuddling up to a fast asleep Zoey. And Zoey didn’t mind those nights when she went to sleep alone and woke up to Bea beside her, because Zoey found it a little amusing and Bea needed it.

Zoey knew it helped, that she felt better being with someone, that it was probably the only way she could even sleep for a while. But she also knew that Bea didn’t want to talk about it, not when the conversation would inevitably circle back to why she couldn’t sleep on her own in the first place. So Zoey never brought it up, simply got out of bed and started her day, greeting Bea in the kitchen after she slipped out.

Except one night, after maybe three weeks of this routine, Bea didn’t sneak into Zoey’s room, didn’t slip under the covers, and didn't wrap herself around Zoey quietly. Zoey woke up to cold sheets, red flags flying before her eyes before she was even fully conscious. She glanced to her alarm clock, 3:06 printed in red block letters on it.

She slipped out from under the covers, padding across her room and out the open door until she reached Bea’s room, carefully pulling the door open. Bea was stretched out on her comforter, head buried in her arm with textbooks and papers strewn about and Cutiepie sprawled at the foot of the bed.

Zoey sighed, stepping further into the room and walked to the bed, gathering papers and textbooks and set them on Bea’s desk until the bed was cleared, save for Cutiepie and Bea. She pulled the sheets back from beneath Bea, pulling them over her sleeping form when they were clear of her body.

She turned, scratching Cutiepie on the head before leaving the room and walked back to her own, slipping under her covers. She faced the dark ceiling for what felt like an eternity, urging her body to just slip from consciousness. It didn’t work, her mind wide awake, even as she forced her eyes shut and tossed and turned incessantly.

She huffed, sat up and stared into the dark in frustration before she left her room for the second time tonight, right back to Bea’s, too. She scratched Cutiepie on the head again as she passed him, stopping on the opposite side to Bea. She crawled under the comforter, squirmed close to Bea, and buried her face in the loose hair haloed around her head, falling asleep sooner than she did earlier in the night, exactly as she expected.

---

And so it continues, Zoey and Bea switching between their rooms every night, adding the couch on weekends when they spent hours staring at the television screen. They always woke up in different positions, their limbs tangled together from their sleep.

Bea curled into Zoey’s side seemed to be the most common, their arms flung around each other and draped across laps. Sometimes Zoey was leaned against Bea, her head on her shoulder and arms wrapped around her bicep tightly, a vice grip on Bea. Sometimes one of their heads landed in the other’s lap, fingers combing through their hair until they drifted off. Sometimes they woke up stacked on top of each other, Bea curled up with her head on Zoey’s chest or Zoey with her face buried in the crook of Bea’s shoulder.

One time Zoey had fallen asleep stretched out on the couch before Bea got home, the TV still playing faintly before her as she faded off, wrapped tight in a blanket. She woke up in the middle of the night to Bea sitting in front of the couch, her head dropped back against the couch cushions in front of Zoey’s chest, her mouth hanging open as she slept. Zoey stuck her finger in her gaping mouth until Bea woke up and started gagging while Zoey laughed hysterically until she couldn’t breathe.

The next time it happened, Bea’s mouth was shut, her side against the front of the couch as she slept with her legs bent at the knee and arms curled before her chest. Zoey had woken up in the early morning, the sky just beginning to lighten as she blinked the sleep from her eyes and sat up. She glanced around, looking for something to keep her occupied and decided on playing with Bea’s hair to wake her up, gently this time,  so they could get their weekly Saturday breakfast.

---

The week after Poppy’s sick and twisted human sacrifice, neither Bea nor Zoey got any decent sleep, and most of what they did manage was simply the result of pure exhaustion and frustration. At one point or another, each of them stood outside the other’s door in the middle of the night, contemplating turning the handle beneath their palm. But Zoey didn’t want to give in and Bea didn’t even know what to do if she did turn it, so they both turned away and slunk back to their own room.

After the first few sleepless nights, Bea starts spending every night on the couch, praying she’ll catch Zoey somehow and miraculously find the words to tell her how sorry she is and how stupid she was for thinking she would have had time, for thinking things would turn out okay at that godforsaken party. She sits with Cutiepie in her lap, scratching his belly and working through all the papers she needs to grade for Kingsley or all her stupid assignments that just keep piling up.

But not once does she spot Zoey, does she find an opportunity to weasel her way back into her life. And every time she thinks about it like that, she can’t help but feel like a pest again, and then all she wants to do is apologise profusely for everything and leave Zoey alone for good. But she actually has to figure out how to say all that, as well as find her chance, and so the cycle repeats, a vicious, cruel, constant cycle.

To make matters worse, Zoey knows how to avoid her, even if she hates doing it, even if she hates that she has to, and even if she loathes that she’d gotten to the point where she couldn’t even sleep without Bea being there. She spends most of her time in her room, studying even though she doesn’t need to, scrolling her phone and noting a clear absence of anything Bea-related, and binging shows that were on her and Bea’s combined to-watch list.

Zoey knows Bea’s schedule, knows her classes and how early she leaves every morning. She knows when she sneaks back into the dorm thinking she’ll catch Zoey out of her room, knows what classes she’s willing to skip if it means finding Zoey sitting at the kitchen counter.

She knows everything about Bea, even the bad and annoying things, like how she hates raspberries and won’t drink hot coffee. How she mumbles in her sleep and refuses to wear socks to bed even though her feet are always freezing. Zoey knows Bea and Bea knows Zoey.

Bea knows how to crack at her walls, knows the stupid little things that warm her heart, like leaving an iced coffee for Zoey before she leaves every morning and pinning notes to Cutiepie’s collar about how sorry she is whenever Zoey agrees to watch him. And she knows how to win Zoey back, too. She knows to shriek along to a boombox in the courtyard to prove herself, and she knows to hug Zoey tighter than ever when she finally lets her.

Bea knows everything about Zoey, even the embarrassing things, like how she sings musicals in the shower and screams at every single scare in horror movies, even the ones that aren’t scary. She knows that Zoey hates spending time getting ready but loves the finished product, she knows that screaming along to the radio while they do their hair and makeup always makes it better.

They know each other inside and out, better than anyone else on the planet, and at times more than they know themselves. They know each other, and they know to fall back into their previous routine after the fallout, to order pizza and pour wine and laugh at stupidly awful movies until they pass out, Bea’s head on Zoey’s shoulder, with her own on top of Bea’s.

And they know just how bad at sleeping alone they are, how much they hated it and how much they never want to do it again. They know how easy it’s been to fall back into their routine, sneaking into each other’s rooms when it’s dark and leaving as the sun rises, a walk of shame with no reason to be ashamed.

They know it’s slowly changing, too, that they’ve started sneaking in earlier and earlier to talk and vent and just stare at the ceiling together. And they’ve started talking about it, joking in the mornings that Bea doesn’t bring breakfast in bed to impress and apologise for the thousandth time. Some days they don’t even sneak, they just stride into one of their rooms together and collapse on the bed, talking and talking until they decide to get changed and go to sleep, words still filling the space between them until they drift off, wrapped around each other every single night, because they are really, really, really bad at sleeping alone.

[bookandcranny]

Beatrice - Chapter Three

On a table in what she supposed was the dining room there was a floral centerpiece, dead and rotted. Freesias and baby’s breath were shriveled with blight and yet the dead petals remained frozen in place, refusing to fall. Gianna wondered if they’d somehow been preserved that way intentionally. She couldn’t imagine why, ugly as they were.

Soft footsteps padded across the tile behind her, and for a brief moment the anxiety resurfaced, seizing at her throat.

“Gianna?”

She took in a deep breath, letting floral sweetness flood her senses. “It’s me, Bea.”

Gianna was too stubborn to call out of work in the morning, but stubbornness only got her as far as until the gallery manager saw her flagging at her station and urged her to go home. The fumes from the conservators’ delicate chemistry could be dangerous on a good day if you weren’t careful, she reminded her, nevermind if you were already feeling sick. She wasn’t sick, just tired. At least that’s what she was telling herself. Still, she stopped by the drugstore just in case the faint nausea and light-headedness were indeed early signs of some bug.

On impulse, she also picked up some hair bleach and a box of dye. She hadn’t done anything new with her hair since before moving and her brown roots were starting to look more like branches. Normally this wouldn’t have bothered her except, well, for the first time in a long time there was someone she really wanted to look good for. If she was going to ask Beatrice out, first she needed to be in an attractive state of mind.

All her vanity was in vain however; by the time she’d arrived home whatever sickness had grabbed a hold of her was setting in in earnest, leaving Gianna feeling weak and off-kilter. With the last of her strength she managed to force down a couple painkillers along with a cold glass of water before collapsing into bed. 

When she woke up from her addled fever-sleep her skin was clammy and cold. She wrapped the blanket around her shoulders and forced herself to sit up, squinting in the dark of her surroundings. Something had woken her. The sound of that finicky overhead light blowing out after she’d passed out with it still on. Somewhere in between the passing out and now, night had swept over the city, but as was its nature, faint fluorescent light still streamed in from the world outside her window. She hobbled over and pried it open.

Though the breeze made her shiver, it also brought with it the sweetness she’d come to recognize as the combined scents of the Rappaccinis’ garden. The familiar smell revitalized her somewhat. Actually, she felt remarkably improved after just a few short minutes of sitting by the window. Maybe all this was just chemical fumes messing with her head. She’d never had a problem with it before, but she’d been working longer hours lately. That combined with the recent stress, of course it would leave her feeling poorly, she thought. 

Down in Casa di Rappaccini there were lights coming from every window and shadows moving before them. Gianna had never even entertained the idea of the family having company. Dr Rappaccini really didn’t seem like the kind of man to throw a house party in the middle of the week. 

Gianna pushed up the screen and went to climb down to her usual spot. It was only when she was hovering with her hands on the railing and her blanket still slung around her shoulders like a cape that she realized just how bad an idea that was. She was liable to break her neck or worse trying to climb down in the dark with a fever, and Beatrice certainly wouldn’t be gardening at this time of night. She was probably inside, socializing and having fun, impressing their guests with her vast horticultural knowledge and reciting poetry in Latin or something. Though it might get her attention, lurking around outside her party on the fire escape was not the way to get a woman to like you.

She returned to her apartment and to her bed, pulling the pillow over her head as if to guard against any more bizarre dreams. After a time, she managed to drift back into uneasy sleep, while violet eyes kept a watch on her window from below.

In the morning Gianna roused to a concerned call from work, but her groggy reply was more than enough to secure her another sick day. She went back to sleep for another couple hours, woke, forced down some more pills and some leftover stir-fry, slept, and finally woke again feeling not quite recovered, but at least somewhat rested.

She staggered to the bathroom and washed her face. Her skin was oily to the touch and her eyes were bloodshot but otherwise she didn’t look too bad, she thought. Recalling the night before, she went to sit by the window and indeed the fresh air made her feel worlds better. Whatever it was that was slogging through her system, she reasoned, couldn’t be too bad. Probably just some twenty-four hour flu or something.

As she leaned her head out the window she caught sight of Beatrice working in her garden as usual and she was out and shimmying down the ladder before she could remember her decision not to.

“Hey,” she called, her voice still slightly rasped with sleep.

Beatrice looked up and beamed at her, although her smile faltered slightly to see the loose curls plastered to her brow. 

“How are you feeling?”

“Oh, is it that obvious?” she huffed, trying to pinch some life back into her cheeks. “I’ll be alright, just a fever or something.”

“That’s why you weren’t here yesterday. I looked for you.”

Something in Gianna’s gut twisted hotly. “You missed me?”

“Of course I did.” 

It was a much more frank answer than she’d expected, and Gianna felt herself blush. No need to worry about her color after all.

“I was worried, I guess. You were acting sort of strange the day before. I thought I might’ve done something wrong.”

“No way,” she assured. Wow, I really am that obvious. “I was just sleeping this thing off most of the afternoon. I sorta thought you’d be too busy to notice, with the party you were having.”

Beatrice rolled her eyes. “My father was having one of his dinner socials. I couldn’t have gotten away for long either way but believe me, I would pick you over any one of his colleagues in a heartbeat.”

Gianna raised her eyebrows. “Isn’t that kind of thing hard on him? With his health, I mean.”

“He hires people for all the preparations and cleaning up after. Father can’t get out very much because of his condition, so this is how he… connects, I think. Otherwise he wouldn’t talk to anyone at all.”

“We all need to connect I guess.”

She nodded, looking away again. “He has his colleagues bring people for me too. Sons or nephews, you know. Boys he thinks would make a good match for me.”

“Oh. That’s… oh.”

“It’s sort of old fashioned, I know. I don’t really-- I don’t like any of them that way. You’re right though, we all need to connect. I used to think I didn’t need anyone else, but lately…”

Cautiously she met her gaze. Her brows were knit together like she was trying to piece together some puzzle in her mind. Gianna thought she should say something, offer some reassurance, but the image of Dr Rappaccini and his equally decrepit associates presenting her with an array of their eligible legacy offspring turned her stomach so sourly that she had to bite her tongue to keep from spewing something venomous.

Luckily or not, before either of them could speak there came a call from within the house.

“Beatrice, come here, girl!”

Gianna bristled but the young woman only turned and said sweetly, “Coming, Father!” She gave Gianna an apologetic glance and then added in a low voice, “There’s something important I want to talk to you about, but I don’t think I can do it here. Come over tomorrow?”

“You mean… like, in person?”

“Yes! Tomorrow my father is going to be out of the house from two to four o’clock. That doesn’t give us long but it’s the only time I can do it.”

Do what, she wanted to ask, bewildered and enticed all at once. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to just get coffee somewhere?”

“The code for the door is 5214. Meet me here. I promise it’ll be worth your time.” She fidgeted her hands together. Her eyelashes fluttered. “Maybe I can even show you around the garden.”

Something about the way she said that made Gianna suppress a shiver. 

“Of course I’ll be there,” she said. She hated to miss more work than she already had, but she doubted they would suspect anything. Even now her fingers trembled and some of that clamminess was returned to her skin, but oddly enough, she was feeling better than she had all week.

-----

The name placard next to the buzzer read G. Rappaccini. It didn’t sit right with Gianna, the conspicuous absence of the apartment’s other occupant.

Even though she knew she was expected, she felt compelled to announce herself. She pressed the buzzer and after a moment a quiet voice came through the intercom.

“Hello?”

“It’s me,” she said.

“Oh.”

She frowned. “Is that still okay?”

Beatrice let out a sigh. It sounded thin and tinny through the crackle of the speaker.

“Yeah, of course, come on up. Do you remember the code?”

Gianna punched in the numbers and made her way to the apartment. At least this complex had an elevator, saving her the strain of the climb. She was feeling less shaky but at the expense of her appetite which had vanished and made her wary of taking on too much additional strain. Her heart was pounding as it was, watching the floor numbers slowly tick by and thinking about how soon the two of them would be in the same room for the first time. 

Beatrice had never been too eager to meet up with Gianna outside their customary rendezvous, which Gianna had always attributed to her not wanting to leave her father alone for too long. She’d never analyzed her motivations too closely because doing so would mean having to take a serious look at her own.

The truth was, Gianna was scared. This thing she had with Beatrice was different than any relationship she’d had before, for reasons she couldn’t confidently place, and she was afraid that somehow breaking out of the pattern they’d established between them would change things, would tarnish the magic of it somehow.

Too close now to turn back, she stepped into the apartment. Right away the high ceilings and lavish spaciousness inspired a pang of envy. The furniture was antique, yet in pristine condition, everything so clean and crisp that it looked like something out of a catalogue. Not exactly homey. There were several signs of life however: books piled up on an end table in the living room, dishes drying in a rack by the kitchen sink, a stack of empty boxes piled up next to the garbage can. 

There was no TV or telephone, though she supposed that wasn’t so uncommon anymore. But paired with the furniture and the sterile environment it gave Gianna the feeling of being cut off from the modern world entirely. The very idea was stifling to her.

On a table in what she supposed was the dining room there was a floral centerpiece, dead and rotted. Freesias and baby’s breath were shriveled with blight and yet the dead petals remained frozen in place, refusing to fall. Gianna wondered if they’d somehow been preserved that way intentionally. She couldn’t imagine why, ugly as they were.

Soft footsteps padded across the tile behind her, and for a brief moment the anxiety resurfaced, seizing at her throat. 

“Gianna?”

She took in a deep breath, letting floral sweetness flood her senses. “It’s me, Bea.”

Beatrice looked different. Most notably because she was wearing canvas coveralls that seemed to be too big for her, the sleeves rolled up to her elbows to make room for a thick pair of gloves. For all the times she’d watched her working in her garden, Gianna had never seen Beatrice actually dress like a gardener. It made her feel a little silly for dressing up herself. She’d, perhaps optimistically, assumed that the first time they met face to face without the span of the alleyway between them would be a special occasion worth dressing up for. Maybe Beatrice didn’t see it that way.

“Are you still feeling sick?” Beatrice asked. “You don’t look so good.”

Gianna forced a grin. “Don’t worry about that. I’m just happy to be here.”

“Here, sit,” she beckoned. “I wasn’t even thinking. I’ll make you some tea.”

“That’s okay, really. I’m not much of a tea person.”

“You’ll like this tea, trust me.”

Gianna found she didn’t have the energy to protest and soon she was sitting in the kitchen holding a steaming mug. It was far from her drink of choice, especially in the summer months, but she gave in and took a sip for politeness’ sake. 

It was good. More than good, it was delicious! As soon as it was cooled enough she drained half the cup in one go. Almost as soon as she had, she found herself feeling better. Her headache was gone and nausea abated. In fact, she was starting to feel hungry.

“Good, right?” Beatrice smirked. As if she had read her mind, she fished out a box of cookies from the cupboard and slid them across the counter to her. “It’s a family recipe, made with herbs from the garden. Everything that grows there is medicinal. You just have to know how to handle them.”

“That’s incredible,” she said between bites. Now that her appetite was finally back it seemed to be making up for lost time.

Beatrice flustered prettily. “It’s not hard when you get to know the plants like I have. The garden was my father’s before it was mine, we grew up together.”

“So the flowers are kind of like your siblings,” Gianna joked.

She beamed. “Exactly like that. Drink your tea. You have to drink all of it for it to really work.”

Gianna did so.

“I know I didn’t say it before,” Beatrice murmured. “But I’m really glad you’re here too. To see you, really really see you, I can’t… there aren’t words, Gianna. It probably sounds crazy but sometimes, when I couldn’t see you, when I couldn’t speak to you, I started to worry you’d disappeared and I would never find you again. Sometimes I even worried you were never real at all. That’s why I… I was afraid to invite you over here. I was afraid to break the illusion, to lose you.”

She stared, speechless, her mouth gone dry. 

“I know how that sounds, I just-- for so long my world has revolved around taking care of father. I didn’t think I could have this, didn’t think I’d even want this. Not as much as I do, at least.”

“Beatrice,” she whispered breathlessly. “I know how you feel.” She reached across the countertop to touch her gloved hand. “I know what it’s like to want something and feel like you shouldn’t. I know what it feels like to be stuck in the shadow of parents who don’t understand you. I promise, you’re not crazy, and you’re not alone.”

The girl made a wounded noise, half gasp and half whimper, and clamped a hand over her face. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what--”

“It’s okay.” She threaded their fingers together. “It’s okay.”

Beatrice shook her head. “Gianna, I have to tell you something. Something important. Before we get in too deep or you hear it from someone else, I want you to hear it from me. I’m not normal.”

“I know, you’re not like anyone I’ve ever met.”

“No!” she cried, frustrated. “I’m not--”

The door creaked open and she spun around, pulling her hand away. Standing in the doorway was the hunched form of Dr Giacoma Rappaccini himself.

“Ah, good,” came the rasping voice of the elderly doctor. “You made the tea. I trust you’re feeling better now, Ms Alexander.”

Gianna tensed, unsure of how to respond.

“Father, you’re home early!” Beatrice chirped with false cheer. “I’ll make you a cup too then.”

“No need,” he said with a dismissive wave of his leathered hand. He set down his bag and shut the door behind him. “I had some this morning, remember? Ah, you might’ve been out in the garden then. You have been busy today.”

She shrunk back under the weight of his stare.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, sir,” Gianna said stiffly with a hand outstretched. “I’m--”

“I know who you are.” His laugh was the sound of dry reeds in a breeze. “Gianna Alexander. I’ve been keeping an eye on you ever since you started to show an interest in my daughter. I was curious to see how things might progress between you two, but considering the circumstances I decided it might be time to intervene.”

“Father--”

“Beatrice,” he reproached. “Going behind my back? Making secret meetings? You know better than that. Apologize to our guest.”

After only a moment’s hesitation she turned to Gianna and said, “I’m so sorry, Ms Alexander.”

Gianna balked. “What? You don’t have anything to apologize for.”

“I’m afraid that’s where you’re mistaken,” said Dr Rappaccini. “You see, there are proper steps to be taken in situations like this. My daughter should’ve spoken with me so I could arrange a proper interview. We could’ve had dinner. It would’ve been so nice.

“Instead, I had to find out what you were doing and pretend to leave my own home unawares just to get us all in a room together. I’m getting too old to play these games with you, Beatrice. It’s disrespectful to me and it’s disrespectful to our guest.”

“I’m sorry, Father.” Her voice had become empty, almost robotic, and she cast her eyes to the ground. Gianna felt a dawning sense of dread at the sight.

“Now then,” The old man pulled up a chair and sat with his hands folded over his lap. “Shall we get down to business? Beatrice, as you know, is a very special girl. In fact she’s the product of years and millions of dollars of research. 

“I’ve dedicated my life to studying the medicinal properties of plants and cross-breeding exotic species to develop into natural pharmaceuticals. Eventually I realized that no amount of remedies I could create in my lifetime would be enough to fix every inherent flaw of humanity, so I shifted my focus. Instead of searching for the perfect cure, I decided to create the perfect human being, one immune to mankind’s deficiencies. From my experience with altering and combining the genetic structures of various plants, I crafted a new, superior breed of human. Beatrice is the product of those tireless efforts.”

Gianna’s head was swimming. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Dr Rappaccini smiled ruefully. “I’ve long accepted that I likely won’t live to see my quest come to fruition. It took trial upon trial just to bring Beatrice into the world, and she’s only the first step. More accurately, the first generation.”

He put his hand on his daughter’s shoulder. “Someday, my Beatrice will be the mother to a brand new species, a new humanity. With their drastically increased lifespans, immunity to disease and disorder of the body and mind, and overall genealogical superiority, my creations will rapidly become the dominant species on earth, replacing the feeble excuse for intelligent life that exists now. And, well, with all that revealed, it’s obvious why I couldn’t let this little game of yours continue, isn’t it?”

He looked at Beatrice with an expression that was as a mockery of compassion.

“Socialization is fine, even healthy. I don’t blame you for that. It’s my own fault really, for not providing you with more enrichment and opportunities for companionship here at home. I’ll be more mindful of that going forward. In fact, if you want to continue these little play-dates I am in full support, as long as they’re supervised from here on out. Not for a while though, of course. That’s just what happens when you break the rules, my girl.”

Gianna stood up, slamming her hands down on the counter. “Are you completely insane? This is a person, your daughter, not a pure-bred show poodle!”

Dr Rappaccini spoke to her calmly, a faint amusement in his wrinkled features. “I don’t blame you for your anger, Ms Alexander, because I know it stems from ignorance. Beatrice is special but she also has a volatile, toxic nature the likes of which you can’t comprehend. She needs a guiding hand to help her control herself and make the right choice. Isn’t that right, Beatrice.”

“Yes, Father.”

Gianna stared at her friend in horrified awe. “Beatrice, you can’t possibly be okay with this.”

She didn’t move, she didn’t speak. She gave no indication she’d even heard her. It was as if she had been hollowed out, only the fragile husk of her remaining.

“You can throw as big a fit as you want,” Dr Rappaccini said snidely. “But as long as you are a guest in my home I have to insist you abide by my rules.”

Gianna glowered. She spared one last furtive glance towards Beatrice. Her chest ached. “Then I guess I’m leaving.”

--

next chapter

[mimiswitchywrites]

Not A Burden: Chapter 11

TW: SH references, attempted s****de and references, child/s***al a**se references (not graphic but enough that could be triggering).

Period typical h***ph**ia and internalised, alcohol mentions?

Master list or read on AO3

2.4k words

If you want to be tagged for updates, message me or comment!

---------

Merlin left soon after Gwen, face void of emotion. Miriam tried to stop him before he left, wanting him to explain what she had done wrong, but he shrugged her hand away and walked, head forward.

She went to bed early, blowing out the candles and hiding under her blanket. Dreams plagued her – she saw the faces of every woman she had slept with. They laughed at her, threw stones, dragged her to the noose. And yet, she couldn’t find it in herself to be upset by this.

She deserved it.

She woke before the sun, throat tight, heart racing, mind numb.

The kitchens were quiet that day – there were no meetings with the King scheduled and so they were just preparing the usual meals of the day. Bea made small talk with her occasionally, but Miriam noticed that the cook was be short with her. Maybe Gwen or Merlin told her what happened last night.

She kept her head down and avoided people as much as possible – clearly, she had done something wrong, and she had no desire to make matters worse by saying something to the wrong person.

That it, until the after-luncheon break rolled around.

She was exhausted, sweat pooling on her forehead and chest. Her eyes were heavy from her restless sleep and she still couldn’t piece together which part of last night had led to such animosity within the kitchens. She couldn’t help but worry Bea wouldn’t want her working there formally and so, with little care left, Miriam did something terrible.

Juliana – a twenty something laundrette that was popping in for her own lunch – approached Miriam with a quizzical expression. She recognised Miriam after Lancelot pointed her out in the courtyard a few days prior and she could tell the woman was in distress. She walked towards the woman with trepidation – not wanting to spook her in her riled-up state. She was practically an arm’s length from her before she noticed.

Juliana was beautiful, that was the first thing Miriam thought. Not like Gwen, no, but the kind of beauty that one knows they have, the kind that one uses in their favour. Her cheek bones were high and fierce, eyes passionate. Her lips were rouged and plump – they reminded Miriam of this one apprentice she had worked along side almost five years prior.

“Hello.” Even her voice was attractive: soft and melodic but an undertone of something else. Something sensual. It brought a blush to Miriam’s cheeks.

“Hello yourself. Do you work here?” Juliana shook her head, mouth curving into a smile which Miriam found herself mimicking.

Juliana took another step forward, Miriam standing her ground. She lifted her head to look up at the stranger. “I work in the laundry. My name is Juliana.” She leant down, mouth brushing Miriam’s ear, “What’s yours?”

Miriam felt herself shiver at the sound, pulse racing. Her legs clenched at the tingles sparking between them. “Miriam.”

“Well, Miriam,” Juliana stepped back to look into Miriam’s eyes, “it has been a pleasure to meet you, but I must return to work. Unless you wish to do something else, that is?” Her smile was sly and knowing, eyes with a mischievous glint. Miriam found herself nodding before she even processed the question. She took Juliana by the hand and lead her through the kitchens, keeping an eye out for Bea who had disappeared outside for some fresh air. They arrived at the back of the long room, next to a small door: a storage cupboard. With one last glance behind her, Miriam pulled the pair inside and closed the door.

--

Gwen rubbed her eyes. Surely, after all that transpired last night, she was mistaken. She refused to accept that Miriam, the woman who tore her heart in half (whether knowingly or not) was taking Juliana by the hand and leading her towards the back storage room.

And yet, even after shaking her head, taking a deep breath, and rubbing her eyes again, that is exactly what she was seeing.

And oh, how it hurt.

After gathering all the food that had been requested and setting it neatly onto three separate plates, Gwen found her eyes drifting towards the cupboard again. She had tried with all her might to shut her eyes off to the sounds of pleasure emerging from inside as she grabbed rosemary from the hook beside the room, but she was still forced to hear more than she had wanted. Despite her anger, her pain, Miriam’s voice was clear, and it did things to Gwen’s body that she truly wished it wouldn’t. Even when moaning Juliana’s name, Miriam had a tremendous affect on the young serving girl.

Gwen hated it.

With tears in her eyes and a heart of lead, she balanced the plates across her arms and made her way towards the Lord’s room.

Luckily, Gwen bumped into Merlin before she got to her destination. He caught the trays (Gwen pretended she didn’t see the glow in his eyes) and, after straightening themselves out, he noticed the look in her eyes. The ways her eyes shook with tears and she was biting her lip – brows pulled taught. He immediately softened, shoulders relaxing to comfort her.

“What’s wrong, Gwen?” His voice was soft but laced with concern. It broke her. The flood gates opened and tears streamed down her face. She did her best to prevent herself from sobbing aloud – they were still in the corridor and she was meant to be on duty. He pulled her to the side as some Lady walked past, and gently wrapped his arms around her, placing the plates on the floor first. She sagged into his chest, shaking.

He rubbed his hand in circles over her back, whispering sweet nothings into her hair.

With a hiccough, Gwen pulled away, tears finally running dry. She wiped her nose on her sleeve and pushed the balls of her hands into her eyes to get rid of the wet. Her shoulders still shuddered slightly, and her breathing was irregular.

“I’m sorry, that was unprofessional of me,” she bent down, reaching for the plates to set on her way, “I shouldn’t have done that, I have work to do.” Merlin intercepted, grabbing her wrists softly.

He pulled her up to standing again, shaking his head at her. “Gwen, it’s okay, you don’t need to do anything. I am sure whoever was after food has ordered someone else to get it for them by now.” She bit her lip harder at this, hating the way it sounded like she had failed her duties. Hated the fact that she had failed them.

Sensing her train of thought, Merlin started up again, “You didn’t do anything wrong; you needed a break – it was a hard night. I’ll explain it to Steward if he asks, you’ll be fine.” She nodded, still unsure.

“Thank you, Merlin.” Her voice was thick with phlegm and tears.

He nodded, smiling down at her. “Now come on, let’s go sit down somewhere.”

“What about…?” She gestured to the plates.

Merlin shrugged, grinning mischievously, “Arthur hasn’t eaten yet, how about we eat like Lords and Ladies for the afternoon?” She gasped, eyes growing wide, before coughing out a laugh. She nudged him, nodding, and picked up two of the plates, leaving the third for Merlin to pick up.

They set off towards Arthurs room in silence, bumping into each other every few steps playfully. Gwen’s head hurt from crying so much over the last few days, but she was happy to know Merlin was still there for her. He always would be, she was sure of it. Her heart still stung from last nights discussion, and her whole chest felt like it was imploding as she played over what she saw and heard not even an hour before, but she had her friend with her and that was as good a distraction as any.

They arrived before she knew it, the walk a blur. Merlin barged in, as usual, and Gwen followed with as much dignity as she could draw together.

Arthur was sat behind his desk, hands together with chin resting on top. Her looked frustrated at the paper in front of him, but his face broke into a smile at Merlin’s arrival.

And then dropped slightly upon seeing Gwen. Or, the rational part of her mind interjected, at her puffy eyes and damp cheeks.

“Guinevere?” He looked over to Merlin, eyes racking over his face for answers, “What happened?”

Merlin set his plate on the table and took Gwen’s from her hands. She was frozen in spot, looking between the King and the floor. She was biting her lip again and beginning to taste blood. Without her noticing, Arthur approached and lifted Gwen’s chin so he could look into her eyes. There was so much pain in them, he noticed. He pulled her into a hug, chin resting on the top of her head. She sighed, out of tears.

“What happened, Guinevere?” His hands squeezed her arms in a comforting manner.

“She – Miriam – I--” She broke off, voice thick again.

Arthur pulled away, thumb rubbing over her cheek lovingly. Merlin watched from beside the table, looking just as concerned.

Gwen groaned, rubbing her hand over her face. She pulled back from Arthur and sank onto a chair with a thud. Merlin and Arthur quickly followed.

After devouring a hand of grapes, Gwen cleared her throat and began again. “Either last night was a total lie, or she is a hypocrite, and I truly can’t tell which.” Merlin stretched a hand across the table, rubbing hers. He nodded for her to continue. “I went to the kitchens to grab luncheon for Lord and Lady Tyrine and their daughter and while I was waiting for the meat to finish being cooked, I saw—” She took a deep breath, “Miriam and Juliana,” she couldn’t help the bitter way she spat her name, “sneak into the back cupboard. Yes, that one.” She directed the last part at Merlin who was shooting a questioning look at her. He nodded slowly, knowing exactly which one she meant but not quite sure he could accept it.

Arthur, who had rarely set foot in the kitchens, interrupted, “What is so important about this cupboard?” Merlin made a series of nods and eyebrow raises before Arthur took a deep inhale, piecing it together. “Oh, right.”

Gwen spitefully tore into her roll.

“But she said…”

Gwen nodded, “I know exactly what she said and yet, judging by the moans I heard, she either doesn’t believe any of the shit she said, or she does, and she is messing with Juliana’s heart.” And mine, she added to herself. She sighed; this was all just too much for her to handle. She had been barely holding herself together after Morgana and now this? She truly wasn’t sure if she would be able to cope with another interaction with the girl. The beautiful, funny, kind girl.

They sat in silence, absently picking at their food.

--

Miriam straightened Juliana’s skirts, getting off her knees and wiping her mouth on the back of her hand. Both their faces were flushed, chests rising and falling quickly as they tried to catch their breaths. Turning around, Juliana took a strawberry from the box behind her elbow and places it between Miriam’s lips.

“So people don’t go smelling me on your breath.” She pulled the leaves away, replacing them with her own mouth and stealing a kiss. Miriam’s hands found Juliana’s waist and she pressed them both against the shelves again.

Slowly, she stepped back.

“It was nice to meet you, Miriam.” Juliana whispered, before poking her head out the door and stepping out, raising her hand is a brief wave and disappearing.

Miriam leant back, head resting on the wall. She groaned. She knew she shouldn’t have done that but when she had seen Gwen at the entrance to the kitchens, she couldn’t stop herself.

Oh, how she wished she’d stopped herself.

She brought her hands up to her face, rubbing her fingers in circles over her temples.

“Fuck.” She whispered to herself.

She took a deep breath, rolling her shoulders and putting on a pleasant smile, and stepped out into the kitchens. Thankfully, no one seemed to see her leave and she returned to her station seconds before Bea came through the door again.

She kept her head down for the last few hours of work, picturing Gwen’s face the whole time. She didn’t think the girl had noticed them but what if she had? Could she apologise? Did she even need to? Gwen was obviously upset with her for what happened last night (she was no closer to putting together what that actually was) and so maybe it was best not to interact for a little while?

By the time she was let off work, she was practically shaking with unanswered questions. She stumbled up the stairs and through to the courtyard for some fresh air but stopped when she heard drunken shouts.

Drunk.

Gods above, how she wished she could be drunk right now. With a contemplative sigh and a hand running through her hair, she set off towards the lower town in search of a tavern or inn. She didn’t intend to drown her sorrows, merely dull them enough to get to sleep without dreams. She hated the dreams. Not just the nightmares (though she certainly hated them too), but the mundane dreams. The ones where she woke up next to a woman – someone kind and gentle and happy – and kissed her shoulder and cheek before getting out of bed. The ones where she would make them both breakfast and they would eat in bed and wash the pans before setting to work in the field while the woman – her woman – would sit behind the spinning wheel. The ones where she was happy.

The ache in her chest after she woke from those nights lasted all day.

Sometimes she would even forget her reality, confused for a moment upon waking, wondering where her woman had gone to, before realising that it wasn’t true.

She knew it should be a good thing that it was just a figment of her imagination, that she hadn’t attached herself to a woman like that, but it still hurt. And then with Gwen, someone who she wanted to be attached to like that…

She sighed.

[laceymorganwrites]

birthday fic <33

A/N: this is a birthday fic for lovely @miyaniacs!! I hope you have a wonderful day today and are celebrated just like you deserve!

Word count: 1,970

Pairings: Gojo x Bea, Getou x me (I couldn´t help myself ehehhe), no tags since it´s just for you anyway <33

Another A/N: okay ever since we had that talk about Gojo being an embarrassing boyfriend and double dates...I just HAD to (tho I wish I could´ve executed those ideas better also the ending sucked cause I literally had no idea how to end it, BUT I still hope you can somewhat enjoy it <3333)

YOU´RE AMAZING; THANKS FOR BEING MY FRIEND; I CAN´T WAIT TO MEET YOU!!!

It was still early, the sun just rose, painting the sky a beautiful rose gold.

Getou was already up, he enjoyed the silence of the early morning.

Everything seemed to be at peace in those moments, no matter how little they lasted.

It didn´t matter to him anymore, he was at ease with Ace next to him.

His boyfriend´s presence calmed him down immediately and somehow the small boy always knew how to put a smile on his face.

They were like two popcorn kernels in a pot, nobody ever had any expectations for them but still they managed to exceed them, working harder than most people would recognize.

Working on yourself was always harder than it should be, but it was work that needed to be done.

Gojo was really proud of him for doing so, being afraid of what would happen to his friend if he didn´t.

Ace arrived at just the right time to give him the light he wanted to shut out of his life so bad.

Getou was glad he didn´t.

He found his missing puzzle piece and he´d never let it go, he had sworn to protect him at all costs.

The man stretched a bit before slowly getting up, careful not to wake the sleeping figure next to him.

It was routine at this point. But he liked it. Both men needed structure and routines in their life to be able to function. Even though they got better at being spontaneous, it was still hard to do overall.

Getou and Ace had the same sleeping pattern, preferring to go to sleep early and having the most energy in the early afternoon.

They also both had trouble sleeping, always waking up after a few hours and being unable to go back to sleep. It was easier now though, it was nice to know that there were always arms ready to hold. It was nice having someone there when you went to sleep and woke back up, it was the warm touch that was missing in both lives.

Getou prepared some coffee for himself and already cooked some breakfast. Meanwhile he was updating their grocery list and checking if anything else needed to be done.

Today was a big day, it was Bea´s birthday and Ace was beyond excited. It had been a while since they had last seen her and Gojo.

To be fair, Getou always tried to avoid double dates since Gojo could be quite exhausting.

After a while Ace slowly woke up, groggily sitting up in bed and yawning and stretching thoroughly.

“Good morning, love” he smiled from the kitchen counter as Ace slowly dragged himself to sit next to him, laying his head on his shoulder. “Morning, baby” he mumbled tiredly and slowly started eating his breakfast and drinking his tea.

Getou had helped him wrap his presents for Bea just yesterday since Ace´s wrapping skills were quite underwhelming to say the least.

The two talked for a bit and once they finished eating, they started cleaning the apartment, getting groceries and everything else they needed.

After a while they were done and just enjoyed the last few quiet minutes before the other couple would arrive.

The morning routine in the Gojo residence looked quite differently.

First of all, Gojo didn´t have a residence, he just liked calling his apartment that since there would be no way in hell a sorcerer of his caliber would live in an apartment building with others, normal citizens nonetheless.

However sorcerers didn´t get paid that well, no matter whether or not they had the six eyes. Gojo always had the little conspiracy that the elders cut his paycheck extra short.

And somehow he got off on it, he´d prove them all wrong anyway. He didn´t need them, he didn´t need anyone.

Only that the last one was a blatant lie.

He didn´t know he needed anyone until Bea came into his life.

She was quite something, so beautiful, made him laugh like no one else ever did. With her he didn´t have to hide anything, he could be himself.

And more than that: he could finally find out who that even was, he had time to think about those things now and not push everything aside like he did usually.

No, he wasn´t perfect like everyone thought, like he told everyone so that they´d leave him alone.

He was just a man.

A damn lucky one at that, being able to have her by his side.

Bea was new to the sorcerer world, but she had great potential, he took it upon himself to train her, though it really was just an excuse to get to know her.

She had her own issues, he could tell. But he wasn´t an asshole to pry on them.

Instead he asked her out immediately, because yes, he was one to rush things, following his heart.

To this day he asked himself why she said yes.

Somehow they got along incredibly well, so well in fact that he got to take her home.

Gojo never believed in falling in love but she just made it way too easy.

But it scared him, he never had been in love, not this way at least, never truly.

It was always a game to him, someone he´d hook up with and then never see again.

It was fun while it lasted and then left a burning, aching hole inside his heart that was just too sad to look at so he drowned himself in alcohol and did it all over again.

Bea was the first one he went on multiple dates with, the first one he tried to be a decent human being with.

Since both didn´t want a relationship in the beginning, both being too scared of rejection and hurting, they didn´t put a label on it.

They just fucked, went out, sometimes she stayed over at his place, that was nice. And sometimes she´d even laugh at his dumb jokes, that was even nicer.

Nice wasn´t the word to describe her though.

It was so much more than that, an incredible kindness and warmth that he only felt with her.

She made him feel special in a different way than all the others did and for the first time in his life he believed it.

Gojo wanted to make her feel the same way too and so he tried really hard, he tried to come up with exciting date ideas, take her to places she´s never seen before and show off like he always did.

But he always had this hopeful look in his eyes that she really saw what cool thing he did (which in reality was just dumb, but in his world it was cool).

And she gave him compliments.

Damn, did he love them.

He knew he was somewhat attractive but despite showing off he never really paid much mind to it.

But when the two of them were alone in bed, her tracing her fingers all over his body, those irresistible eyes looking down on him, that damn smile as she told him: “You´re so fucking beautiful, do you even know that?”.

“Right back at you” he´d grin, averting all of his attention to her so she wouldn´t comment on the fact that he was blushing.

They had quite the different relationship (once they finally admitted their feelings and called it that, so far everything went more than just perfect) than Getou and Ace, theirs was more fun, Gojo said.

Bea and Gojo always had the most fun, they always teased each other and could laugh a lot, as well as tell each other their darkest secrets without being judged.

“This isn´t a competition, you know?” Getou commented on that, but Gojo just grinned, to him it always was. And he always won.

He thought that Getou should be more grateful, after all he hooked him up with his boyfriend.

Gojo didn´t like Ace. He was so quiet. He didn´t like that about people.

However when Bea was around it was like he bloomed, suddenly he wouldn´t stop talking.

And that was annoying too.

Which is why Gojo always wanted to avoid meeting him.

But for her birthday he´d try to get along with him. For her.

The two of them had been on a mission yesterday and slept in now since they got home pretty late.

They somehow always woke up at the same time though which was more than just convenient. Gojo was mesmerized at how cute and pretty she looked even in the morning, he himself of course always looked dashing.

“Good morning, birthday bunny” he grinned, kissing Bea lazily but still taking her breath away.

“Why bunny?” she laughed, Gojo would always give her some cute nicknames that were quite random at times, but she never got used to it.

It was weird, having this affection without any intentions, just because he loved her.

“It fit” he grinned, he would embarrass himself in front of her a thousand times if it meant seeing her smile for only one instance.

She shook her head giggling and buried her head in his chest, his warmth was so comforting to her, she never wanted to get up.

“By the way… wanna have your first present?” he smirked, hands wandering down to her hips as he leaned closer to her to give her some neck kisses.

“Let´s wake up the neighbors, shall we?” he husked.

Meanwhile Ace was checking if the cake was already cold enough to decorate, which to his luck it was.

Ever since meeting Getou he baked more, they also baked together a lot.

Decorating wasn´t his forte, but Getou helped with that, he had steady hands and a good eye for those things.

“You know, wrapping a plushie isn´t as easy as I thought it would be” he laughed slightly. Ace loved his laugh, he was one of the few people who ever heard the real one.

“I´m sure you did great” he grinned and stood on his tiptoes to give him a quick peck.

Indeed the presents looked amazing, Getou even put on a little bow on the wrapping paper. Ace got Bea some manga volumes, a plushie and some other merch he hoped she´d like.

Now it was time to wait.

An hour later the other couple finally arrived.

“Sorry we´re late, we had important adult stuff to do, you two wouldn´t understand” Gojo announced grinning as he entered your apartment.

“Satoru! Shut up” Bea blushed and playfully punched his shoulder.

Getou just sighed and shook his head, why was he like this?

“Happy birthday, Bea!” Ace rapidly stood up from the couch and greeted her with a hug.

He gave her her presents and they talked about all sorts of things while their partners were in the kitchen to slice the cake and prepare the plates.

“I don´t want to hear it” Getou sighed. “Huh? I haven´t even said anything!” Gojo pouted, albeit feeling caught. Of course he was going to taunt his friend about his relationship, he of course never spared enough details to hurt anymore, but just enough to make everyone just a tad bit uncomfortable with embarrassment.

He couldn´t help himself, he had the best girlfriend in the world and everyone should know it.

The rest of the day wasn´t anything special, after all in the current situation you couldn´t do much.

But still, it was nice to meet up with friends, eat cake and have nice conversations.

They all ended up on the couch watching some movies and being too full to order proper takeout.

Though that was the fun in it, Bea was happy, she wasn´t alone like Ace feared, that was all that mattered.

He hoped her next birthday would be more eventful.

[hms-chill]

Charred Senses

Summary: Henry is in London, he's in pain, and Alex is stuck an ocean away.

By the time Alex hears the news, Henry is in a London hospital. Bea's been hurt. She was on her way to a parliament meeting with her mom, in a car that was supposed to be carrying her grandmother. Something went wrong, an act of terrorism or some sort of sabotage or just bad luck. Alex isn't sure of the details; he'd stopped listening the minute Cash told him that both Bea and Catherine were in the hospital. They crashed. Catherine is expected to make a full recovery, but Bea's side of the car was hit much more directly. She's in critical condition.

Henry was in the air when it happened, coming back to the U.S. for a big gala supporting the Brooklyn youth shelter that night. He'd turned around the minute his pilot heard what happened. He's in London now, probably sitting by himself, waiting for Bea to get out of a surgery that she might not survive. Pez was somewhere, Australia or South Africa or China or Antarctica, and he'll be in London eventually, but not for a long time. Henry is sitting in a room, alone, scared to death, and with no one coming to keep him company for hours. He just has to sit and hope all by himself.

And he's told Cash not to let Alex leave until after the gala.

They're supposed to give a speech together; a welcome speech for the gala they were supposed to host together. It's their biggest annual fundraiser by a long shot; it's what supports at least a dozen scholarships of one form or another and often leads to a massive uptick in sponsorships, a program where someone with money covers the costs of housing one of the kids who desperately needs it. And Henry told Cash in no uncertain terms that Alex is not to leave the country until it's over. Nora, June, and Raf are all coming to help him, but he has to be there, and he has to give the speech.

He goes home between class and the gala, when he should be going to the airport to pick Henry up, mostly because he's not sure where else to go. Home feels wrong; it's empty and awful without Henry there, taking a nap on the couch to beat jet lag or making Alex go over the speech again. Alex had been all ready for him to come home. He'd cleaned the whole house and started a nice lunch and everything. Now, coming in by himself just feels wrong. He tries to pack, since he'll be going to London the second Cash lets him, but he can't focus or think about anything but Henry, sitting alone in a hospital. Eventually, he just sits on the floor with David, surrounded by half-packed clothes, pretending to watch Parks and Rec as it plays on the TV in front of him. He's texted Henry a few times, to no response, and he's trying not to overthink what that might mean.

Nora comes, her hair and makeup done and her dress in a bag so she can be there until the gala. She helps him pack and gets out what he should wear for the night, then she brings him a plate of food and sits on the bed behind him, combing her fingers through his hair and trying to reassure him. It doesn't work, exactly; she's rambling about statistical outcomes at a speed his brain is too muddled to follow, but it's better than being alone. When Henry doesn't answer his calls, she can remind Alex that he's probably just overwhelmed. When Pez texts that he's delayed by a storm somewhere around Paris, Nora can reassure Alex that Henry will be okay, that he's got Shaan and some PPOs he trusts to look after him. He has people there to help until Pez gets there.

But when Pez finally, finally gets to the hospital, he doesn't have much time between comforting Henry and finding out what's wrong. He manages a few short updates, just enough to keep Alex glued to his phone like his and Bea's lives depend on it. The updates come in slowly.

Bea's out of surgery after a few hours. She's in critical condition.

Catherine is okay, but unconscious. Phillip is with her.

Time is passing, and Bea is unconscious, and Henry is hurting, and Alex isn't there.

He calls that night, on his way to the gala, but it goes to voicemail. He leaves the longest message the phone will let him, just telling Henry over and over that he is brave, and tough, and that Alex will be there as soon as he can. When he finally runs out of space on the voicemail, he has a text from Henry, his first in hours:

"My senses are charred. I shall feel again as soon as I dare, but now I must not.” — Owen to Sassoon, October 1918

Alex just closes his eyes, leaning back in the seat. He'd fought June and Nora about his sitting in the middle seat, but now he's glad as June pulls him into a hug and Nora rubs his arm. They remind him that Henry is going to be okay, that he has Pez with him and that Alex will be there for him by England's morning. It doesn't help. Henry, his Henry, is an ocean away, his heart breaking and Alex's falling apart right next to it.

The rest of the drive passes in a blur. They get to the gala, and Alex feels Nora and June at his side, the speech folded in his pocket. Somehow, he makes manageable small talk for almost an hour while people find their seats, the girls helping take over when he gets overwhelmed. But he can thank people for coming and encourage them to interact with the kids from the youth shelter who've come out for the night, deflecting from himself however he can. If he focuses on the kids, he can keep at least half his brain busy with that. That only leaves half his brain to worry about Henry.

Finally, finally, it's time for the speech. He's just introducing the shelter and MCing for the night, but he's supposed to be doing it with Henry. He goes on stage anyway, trying to ignore Henry's absence as he spreads the speech Henry wrote out on the podium in front of him, resting his hands on the side of the podium so they don't shake.

"Friends, Romans, countrymen. Lend me your-- sorry, that's... that's the wrong speech." There are a few scattered laughs, and Alex looks up to say, "Sorry, Henry wrote that. I told him it wasn't funny, but he wouldn't take it out. Don't blame me."

That gets more laughter, but it also reminds Alex that Henry's not there. He's spent the night explaining why he can't be for everyone who asks, but it's different to stand in front of all of them alone. It's been so long since he gave a speech without Henry there to support him, doing it now feels almost like presenting in his underwear.

Henry's absence is a constant ache for the rest of the night. When he sits backstage and texts Pez for updates instead of listening to Raf's speech, Alex is missing Henry. When he goes out to introduce different groups of kids to perform in a talent show, he misses Henry. And after the show, after everything is over, he misses Henry, but Cash says he can't leave. June and Nora promise to help him, but he misses Henry so much he thinks he might die.

From Pez's texts and what Cash has heard, Bea's not in good condition. Catherine is awake and stable, but she's on a lot of pain meds. Henry's chased his grandmother out twice, and Phillip has been in once and tried to help, but he's mostly busy keeping his mom company. Mostly, it's just Henry and Pez watching Bea suffer, and Alex wants nothing more than to be there. Not even seeing Raf and Professor Westbrook from his constitutional law class hitting it off is enough to pull him back to the event at hand, though he does take note of it for later.

Eventually, it's late enough and enough people have left that Cash will let Alex slip out the back. Nora and June both have massive hugs for him, and then he's going, going toward Henry as fast as anyone will take him. He calls again from the plane, and he's about to leave another message when Henry's shaking voice says, "Alex?"

"Baby. I'm coming. I'm on a plane; I'm on my way. I love you."

"I... I love you. Please hurry?"

"As fast as I can, I swear. I could have been there now, but you wanted me at the gala. Cash wouldn't let me leave."

"How... how was it?"

"Are you sure--"

"Distract me, please. Pez went for breakfast half an hour ago."

So Alex talks about the gala, and about the kids, until Pez comes back and Henry says he's alright and it only halfway sounds like a lie. After he hangs up, Alex texts Pez again, and Pez tells him that Bea's stable now, but it's a fragile stability. She's nowhere near out of the woods. Alex wants to scream. He wants to yell at the pilot to go faster, even though he knows they're going as fast as they can. He wants to be there already. He wants to warp or travel back in time so that he can already be holding Henry close and telling him it will be okay.

He barely lets the plane stop before he's at the door, barely waits for the steps to be locked down and the door opened before he's making a beeline for the waiting car. It's 9 AM London time, meaning it's 4 AM in New York. He hasn't slept, so he should probably be tired, but he's too stressed for that. Henry is so close now; Alex could swear he can feel him. They pull up to the hospital as he's reviewing the directions Pez sent, and then he's all but jumping from the car, leaving Cash to get his bag as he finally runs toward Henry.

The hospital is bigger than he'd expected, but between Pez's directions and the signs on the walls, he manages to find the room. Shaan opens the door for him before he says anything. He sees Pez first, napping on the couch. Then Bea, in the bed, and finally Henry, in the chair beside her, legs pulled up to his chest as he stares at her. He's wearing all the stress and fear of the past sixteen and a half hours on his face, but he looks up as Alex comes in. He lets out a bit of a whimper escape and holds out his arms, and Alex is there to scoop him up and hold him close. Somehow, he gets Henry in his lap in the chair, holding him tightly as he wraps his arms around Alex's neck and sobs into Alex's shoulder.

"I love you. I love you. I'm sorry I wasn't here sooner. It'll be alright; I love you. I'm sorry," Alex says softly, holding Henry close and trying not to think about the pit inside of him, the way that every bad thing will hurt that much more. He tries hard not to think about how Bea is the one who helped him understand how things hurt Henry, or about how she might be the only person who understands everything there is to know about Henry and the only one who has always loved him unconditionally. Bea has always loved Henry with everything in her. And now, she's lying beside them, and no matter how much Alex knows she's alive, it's hard to believe.

Henry's sobs eventually die down, slowly but surely replaced by quiet snores. He seems so precious, suddenly; Alex has to take a moment just looking at him to process it. The tears on his cheeks, the mussed hair, the crumpled shirt covering a heart that refuses to stop beating even in the face of the worst the world has to offer. All these little things that make Henry strong in his fragility, tough in his pain, indomitable even in tragedy. Alex isn't sure he's ever been so desperately, heartbreakingly in love. He's not sure what to do other than to pull Henry closer, to press a kiss to the side of his head just above his ear and hold still so he can sleep.

So Pez naps on the couch. Henry sleeps in Alex's lap, slowly but surely making Alex's legs fall asleep, too. A nurse comes in, and Alex finally gets to ask the million questions that have been building up inside him since he got the news. The answers turn out to be the same ones he's been getting from everyone else, but that uncertainty somehow feels better when it's coated in professional jargon. Cash appears when the nurse leaves, a coffee with cinnamon in his hand to help Alex stay awake, keeping a quiet vigil over the three sleeping Brits.

Eventually, Pez wakes up and steps out to get an update on Catherine and bring them a meal that's probably lunch. Alex promises to stay awake, looking after two of the toughest people he knows. He's on his third coffee and still fighting sleep when the steady beat of the heart rate monitor changes. At first, he's sure he imagined it. But it is faster, he's sure. He's trying to wake Henry up gently when he sees Bea's hand shift, and he looks up to see her eyes open, a soft smile fixed on the two of them. Alex can't believe it.

"Bea?"

"Hello, love."

"Bea! Henry, H, Baby, you've got to-- he was awake for ages, I swear, he-- Bea's awake." Henry's awake now, too, blinking before nuzzling back into Alex's shoulder, only to pull back so quickly that he almost falls out of the chair when he processes what Alex has said. Alex keeps him safe, laughing a bit as Henry turns to grab Bea's hand and ask, "Bea? You... you're okay?"

"I'm okay. Or I guess... I guess maybe 'I'm going to be okay' is a better way to phrase it. But I'm alright. I'm here. Oh, Hen, it's okay. I'm not going anywhere, I promise."

He's pulled her into a careful hug, crying, and she rubs his back. She makes eye contact with Alex and gives him a little smile, and he says, "We're glad to have you back with us. You gave us quite the scare."

"Is... have I been out long? Is Mum..."

"She's alright. Still recovering, but alright. And it's... it's been just shy of a day since the crash. I... I think you've been out the whole time; he wouldn't let me come right away. He said I had to give a speech at a fundraiser for the youth center first." Bea laughs a bit, giving Henry a little squeeze. He's not crying, but he doesn't seem to be planning on moving away any time soon, either.

"Selfless to a fault," she says softly, like the beautiful thing it is. Henry gives her another gentle squeeze, then pulls back, fresh tear tracks on his cheeks but a smile on his face. Bea gives them both one of her punk-rock grins, and in a moment of clarity, Alex knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that they're going to come out of this stronger than ever.

On AO3

Notes:

I saw this Wilfred Owen quote, written a month before the end of WWI and only a few weeks before Owen would die, and I knew I had to write something with it. So I went, "what would hurt Henry the most?" and I decided this was it. - A massive thanks to Maggie (@bibliosoph) for helping me title things!

-

If you liked this and want to/are able to buy me a ko-fi, I’d appreciate it a ton! 

[ssincielo]

in the mood to talk abt lourdes’ CHILDHOOD + HOME so hey. tw for: mentions of dr*gs, a lil’ light violence, and the fact this got kinda lengthy ‘cause i got carried away and couldn’t focus on one topic so i just talked abt everything.

lourdes grew up in a public housing complex in east harlem — a three bedroom apartment, floor seven door F, once occupied by lucia and her older sister elise, until elise moved upstate and gave the place to lucia when she’d gotten pregnant with ramone. plus, she clearly needed the space more anyway, considering how many times alonzo spent the night. or hid out at their place.

at first, it was just lucia and ramone living there after he’d been born. alonzo was in and out, super non-committal, had other girls he’d been entertaining and a street to run. it wasn’t until he’d gotten another fling of his, jennifer, pregnant with beatrice — then put jennifer in a situation where she took the fall for him during a drug raid, did lonzo actually take full responsibility for beatrice and move in with luce. talk abt trifiling.

by the time lourdes was born, albeit a few weeks early and after some time in the NICU (which, her birth story is a whole tale within itself. long story short, alonzo’s exes had bad blood and jumped a heavily pregnant lucia on her way home from the train station. cue early labor. cue luce sending her cousins to beat the bitches in question up in retaliation.), ramone was eight and beatrice was four. (and fully adopted by lucia, since she actually got alonzo to calm down and he actually decided to marry her.) for a while, ramone and bea had their own rooms and lourdes slept in a crib / toddler bed in lonzo and lucia’s room until she was around four or five herself. at that point, they just bought a cheap little day bed and shoved her in beatrice’s room since they were both girls and closer in age.

first and foremost, home was switzerland for alonzo. he never liked having people in and out of the house that he didn’t consider to be family, blood or otherwise. never conducted business where he laid his head, designated areas where he and his boys would meet and do drops. and since he was known to have an unpredictable ass temper in the streets, nobody dared to actually cause some shit where his kids and his old lady lived at. (that’s not to say that there weren’t a few rivals and enemies bold enough to try something, but they learned their lesson rather quickly and often walked away with a few fingers and teeth missing. if they were lucky enough to walk away at all.) so growing up, the santino kids had little to no exposure until they either came of school age hanging around other kids or happened to be out in the street with alonzo when shit popped off.

by the time ramone was about fourteen, he was fully aware of his father’s status and dealings, and decided he wanted to be the man just like him. there were efforts to sway him, obviously, but alonzo was still kinda trifling and didn’t try very hard to resist his first born son following in his footsteps. he still tried to get him to pursue other interests, but ramone knew that to actually get off the block rather than simply working nine to fives, you either had to trap or you had to ball. so he gets jumped in behind lucia’s back, made to be an errand boy for a little while, then started peddling dime bags of weed and some pills between school and parties. beatrice is ten and about to enter middle school cheerleading, lourdes is six and under her mother all the time after a few bad colds and hospital scares.

ramone is eighteen, fully immersed in making friends with the bangers who loitered in the courtyard of the apartment day and night, and has a few bands stashed in his bedroom. beatrice is fourteen & just entering high school, smitten by her older brother’s cute older friends, and gets caught up in pushing a (much older) boyfriend’s drugs that she gets cuffed at home and given house arrest. lourdes is ten, starting to come of age, and curiosity and nosiness is more or less her first exposure with all that goes on. she also develops her irrational fear of heights after beatrice tries (and nearly succeeds) to push her off of the seventh floor terrace. like, the siblings were great whenever they got along, but when one annoyed the other...yeah. usual sibling shit. just they would full on beat each other’s asses occasionally.

at a certain point, ramone up and leaves the apartment — he doesn’t exactly move out, because his bedroom still held all of his shit and he was always at the apartment come nightfall, but he’s pretty much in and out by the time he hits his twenties. only really came around for dinner, or to walk lourdes up the block on her way to school, or god forbid, when he needed a place to duck out until things cooled off. beatrice is coming up on sixteen and seventeen herself, and despite lourdes still sharing a bedroom with her into their teenage years, she’s...not exactly around much, either. still caught up in her boyfriends. still caught up in emulating her mother. lourdes, having already been made to properly fire a weapon by alonzo at this point, spends most of her nights going to sleep alone and being woken up in the middle of the night by either ramone sneaking home or lucia screaming at beatrice because she’d been gone for hours and she nearly called the police. (and while the santino kids were never explicitly kicked out or told they needed to leave at a certain age, there were still rules to follow under their roof! so every so often, their big grown asses would just be in and out of the apartment throughout late teens and twenties.) things start getting tumultuous, and it’s around this time that lourdes is hiding her brother’s drugs under her bed, coming home to beatrice curled up crying in her bed from time to time, lucia and lonzo arguing that they need to start backing away from this shit, and lourdes pretending that Everything Is Fine and trying to do normal high school girl shit to cope.

after ramone gets shot and killed outside of the building while on his way home, literally everything goes to shit. beatrice stops coming home, alonzo nearly goes to prison, lucia is trying to run her clothing shop and be a parent and mourn her only son at the same time, and lourdes is just. fucking angry — at her brother dying, at her father, at being made to actually shoot a person and having to wash someone’s blood off of her hands when she was supposed to be planning her prom dress and senior year. eventually she, too, falls victim to the lifestyle and gets herself jumped in because she thinks it would make everything go back to normal, and she drops out to stay at home, take up some job as a clothing store cashier, and trap full time. lourdes literally lives in her and beatrice’s childhood bedroom until she’s twenty, entertains then drops a few boyfriends that offer to move her in or some dumb shit, and when alonzo finds out she went behind his back to go work for the oversacces, he (completely against lucia’s word) gives her one bag to pack and throws her out for disrespecting him / not being loyal to family. cool cool cool.

aside from like...all of That, lucia and alonzo still live in that same apartment complex. beatrice comes around from time to time, having gotten engaged to her longtime boyfriend (again, an affiliated guy she met through ramone’s clique). alonzo bought out and owned a junkyard when lourdes was like, fifteen, so that’s his little hobby while lucia still owns her own tailoring & clothing store. there’s a huge mural for ramone on the side of the apartment building, because he was a social butterfly and often helped a few tenants out and old ladies loved him for some reason, and lourdes is literally on the proverbial ‘do not allow to enter’ list. i mean, the last few times she tried to get into the building, she’s getting her ass whooped by the rotation of old affiliates that still hang out and smoke in the courtyard. one of these days, alonzo might soften up and let her back in their life — but he’s stubborn. and a man. and often times, doesn’t even wanna listen if you were to bring lourdes up. so you can assume how that goes. lucia, however, mails lourdes some of her stuff and her old stuffed animals from time to time, and during christmas especially, sends her shit off of her amazon wishlist with a take out container of tamales and a slice of her famous dulce de leche cake. lucia > alonzo.

it’s worth noting that not everything was bad, though. there were birthday dinners, big parties for holidays like fourth of july and thanksgiving, lucia blowing money on giving the girls their quinceañeras, summers riding bikes and roller skating around the block, spending all their change on mister softy’s and coco helados up at the corner, getting lit up on the terrace and reminiscing with her siblings, sneaking in crushes (and eventually getting caught). lourdes has more good memories than bad, for what it’s worth, and they were actually a rather normal family unit most of the time. plus, her parents were overly affectionate as fuck, they were well fed and well clothed, moderately spoiled. like shit was all good!! so you’ll never catch lourdes speaking down on her family, or about the community she was brought up in.

[lemondropsssss]

Jaskier spends what feels like an eternity wrapped up in Geralt’s arms. He hadn’t expected the embrace to last so long, but each time he goes to pull away Geralt makes a glorious growling sound and tightens his grip and really, how is Jaskier supposed to argue with that? He feels safe for what he realizes is the first time in a long time. Geralt’s scent hasn’t changed, is still the same leather-sword oil-horse-musk that is somehow intoxicating. So he tucks himself under his Witcher’s chin and just breathes, and to his amazement Geralt lets him- no, wants him , is holding him as if he’s important, and it warms him from the inside out.

“We should get back to the house,” Geralt says eventually, voice rumbling in his chest as he pulls back and looks the scant inch down at him. Jaskier steels himself for whatever pity might await him when he meets his gaze but there is none. Just a kind of calm fondness Jaskier hasn’t seen before. “I don’t like leaving Fiona alone for too long.”

“She’s fourteen, I think she can handle a hot mug on her own by now,” Jaskier mutters, not caring that Geralt can absolutely hear him, but he steps away all the same.

Geralt grunts back, but Jaskier can tell he’s smiling. It’s all in the eyes crinkles, after all. “C’mon, say your goodbyes so we can go.”

Jaskier rolls his eyes but does go give Roach one last pat, reminding her that she is practically perfect in every way and such a good horse and better than Geralt and it’s not as if he actually walks anywhere, unlike some very good horses I could name. Geralt’s smile grows to almost-visible-to-the-naked-eye, but he soon pulls Jaskier away with a muttered, How many times do I have to tell you to stop trying to fuck my horse, and the exasperatedly fond look on his face makes Jaskier’s stomach swoop.

He’s still angry. Still sad. Still doesn’t believe him, is still waiting for the moment Geralt will turn around and leave him alone in the dust like so many times before. It will hurt when he goes, surely, but at least this time Jaskier will be prepared for it. He’s built himself a life outside Geralt, his world won’t come to a screeching halt when he leaves. And maybe if Jaskier proves he can handle himself without his scary Witcher around, said scary Witcher would be more inclined to visit. But he does like this feeling. Walking side by side again, shoulders brushing companionably, how achingly familiar it all is.

The front window is vacant when they pass, and Jaskier assumes Ciri’s gone up to bed courtesy of Bea’s sleepy tea. He’s surprised then to find the teen sat up on the countertop, potato in one hand and paring knife in the other. She has a look of fierce concentration on her face as she works carefully, the tip of her tongue clenched between her teeth. Bea is close by, up to her elbows in flour and wrestling with a shaggy bread dough while still keeping a close eye on both Ciri and the pot bubbling over the hearth; the woman is a master, and Jaskier stops to watch her with a smile on his face.

“Geralt!” While he’d been distracted by the domestic scene, Geralt had come in behind him and was now crossing the room with the softest look Jaskier has ever seen on his face.

“G’morning, cub.” Geralt presses a kiss to her temple, and Jaskier has to stop himself from staring; both at the pet name and the very public display of affection. Public being only two other people of course, but that was still rather public to Geralt of Rivia. Ciri must be used to the attention for she pays it no mind, which confounds him even more. “Julian said you didn’t sleep well. More of the dreams?” He tucks an errant lock of hair behind her ear and it’s the thoughtlessness of the motion that stands out to Jaskier.

This is a kind of casual and easy affection he’d only seen- well, that he’d only seen with him. Usually in a liminal time; in a shared bed some fuzzy between awake and sleep, or after the sixth ale of  a long night, pressed together in a dark corner of a tavern. And Geralt would sweep a hand across his, or press their knees together under the table, or curl a protective arm around his waist while they slept. Seeing that affection here, in the bright light of morning is something he wasn’t prepared for, and he takes a seat at the table lest his legs fail him.

Ciri and Geralt are oblivious to his confusion; she’s showing him how her knife skills have improved, and he’s watching her with a kind of fond fascination Jaskier’s never seen before but finds he quite enjoys. He looks up suddenly, their eyes meet, and Geralt’s expression turns to something more Jaskier can’t even begin to place. This man who gives affection freely and without pause is not the Geralt familiar to him.

It isn’t long before Bea finishes setting out a proper morning meal, and Jaskier can’t help but feel a crippling domesticity as they sit down to eat. Their breakfast is porridge with honey and cream, sausages, and the good brown bread that Bea has refused to ever share the recipe for, no matter how much coin Jaskier offers her. She doesn’t sit to eat, which doesn’t surprise him, but she does continue to work on whatever lunch is going into the pot over the hearth.

It’s a good breakfast, and good company. Ciri does wonders towards greasing the conversation, and Geralt says more than a few grunts in passing, which Jaskier considers a monumental feat. But they came to him for a reason and needs must, so Jaskier steers the conversation back towards the business that brought them to his doorstep.

“When you came to me at the University, you said you needed help. What kind? Money, clothes, food?” It’s blunt, but Jaskier would rather know now what the price for this visit will be.

Geralt looks thrown for a moment before he answers. “All of the above. We’re heading North, towards Kaer Morhen. We need,” He clears his throat, clearly uncomfortable with the actual asking part of asking for help, “Money, yes, and winter clothes. Another mount. Fiona needs a better disguise; cutting her hair, dye maybe- maybe even for both of us.” He makes a face at that and Jaskier wants to laugh; Geralt always did love his hair. “We stand out, it makes us too easy to track. Nilfguaard is-” He cuts off, worried gaze wavering over Ciri, which she huffs at and continues in his place.

“Nilgfuaard is hunting us. Me, technically. They’ve been tracking me since Cintra. And they’ve killed everyone who’s tried to help me.” She doesn’t meet either of their eyes. “They’ll hurt anyone to get to me. Geralt is taking us to Yspaden to meet Yennefer, and then to Kaer Morhen together where we’ll be safe.” Ciri is somber and serious for a girl her age, and Jaskier notices she tucks her hands into her lap out of view.

His compassion for her is quickly overtaken by the creeping feeling of something cold sliding down his spine. Poor stupid little Julian who never learns, the voice inside him taunts, He has his child, has the great mage herself, what use is a washed up old bard to a Witcher? All he needs from you is money, he said it himself. That’s what this morning was, the idea twists around inside him and it hurts, physically hurts him to think it but he can’t stop, Nothing genuine, just a way to keep poor stupid little Julian on his leash. He doesn’t- couldn’t actually care for you.

“Right well, ah-” Jaskier’s voice is hard to his own ears, so he clears his throat before trying again. “That shouldn't be any trouble. We should ah-” His mouth runs dry and he’s just trying to get through this as quickly as possible so he can flee and maybe hide from his houseguests for a good few hours in the tub. But no, he is a mature and reasonable adult who is pleasant to his houseguests and who does not cry in front of them. Geralt is watching him closely with an odd look on his face, and Jaskier feels uncomfortably seen. “We should armor you too, you’re no use to anyone at all as a Witcher with no armour and only one sword.”

“Of no use to anyone at all?” Geralt rumbles, one annoyed eyebrow raised in Jaskier’s direction.

“The last time I checked you can still bleed, O Great and Mighty Witcher, and that shirt you’re wearing wouldn’t stop a butter knife.” For a moment they sound like they used to, and it doesn’t shatter his heart at all to hear. He clears his throat, trying to force down the hard lump of familiarity threatening to choke him. “We can get you a mount easy enough. I assume you’ll want one more Fiona-sized?” He winks at Ciri and she grins. “That shouldn’t be an issue, I have friends at the horse market who owe me a favor. Or several, as the case may be. As for clothes, we can go today to the seamstress on-”

“Pardon, Master Julian?” It’s Bea, a few paces away from the table. Jaskier knows she wouldn’t interrupt without cause, and gestures for her to continue. “You may want to dress the child down in things that look more travel-worn as to blend in. Fresh made clothes might fit well, but they’ll draw attention off the beaten path. I still have some of my Piotr’s things, I could fit them to her size easy enough. They’re a bit battered, but well made. She’ll need a new cloak though, I don’t think his will be warm enough for where you’re going.”

“Bea, you are a blessing from the Gods,” Jaskier beams, mentally kicking himself for not thinking of that. Of course they shouldn’t buy new things, fresh clothes are like a beacon to bandits on the road. Stupid, stupid Jaskier. “Auntie, do you have anything we can dye Fiona’s hair with?” He sends Ciri a reassuring smile across the table. “Your hair is beautiful, little one, but your Witcher is right; it draws too many eyes to you.”

Bea considers for a moment before she nods. “I’ve got a walnut dye that should do for her, aye.”

“Grand, you see to that, and I’ll go see a man about a horse. Huh. For the first time, possibly ever, I actually mean that.” He’s out of his chair and halfway across the room before he’s stopped by an oh-so familiar growl.

“I’ll go with Julian.”

“No,” He’s saying before he even turns around,  “You’ll stay here with Fiona and get your hair colored.” Geralt looks like he’s about to argue so Jaskier beats him to it. “Or do you not remember that everyone on the continent is looking for you? If you’re not seen by a Nilfguaardian, you’re seen by a spy, or an informant, or some sad random asshole looking to score the reward purse. So you’ll be staying here, and getting your beauty treatment.”

There’s a stunned little look on his face that makes Jaskier more pleased than it should. He leaves them there, sure Bea will keep them on track and out of trouble, and starts the walk down the street towards the horse markets.

Jaskier wraps the heavy knitted scarf- a present from Bea on his last birthday- around his neck to keep out the first chills of autumn, but that does nothing to keep the ice from his heart. It began as a cool pinprick during breakfast, Geralt is taking us to Yspaden to meet Yennefer, and then to Kaer Morhen together where we’ll be safe and has shifted into a sharp spike of Yennefer, Kaer Morhen, safe that he doesn’t know what to do with.

He remembers the first time he’d asked where Geralt went in winter. He’d been twenty-two, or maybe twenty-four, and as with most stories they’d been drunk. He had wanted to invite Geralt back to Oxenfurt with him, but then Geralt had told him of the crumbling Witcher’s fortress, and the brothers he met there each year. He understood, when Geralt said it was the Witchers sanctuary and not a place for troublesome bards; when they were out in the world, Witchers could never relax, never take a deep breath for fear of killing or being killed. Of course they would need a place without humans, without others, where they could be free for a few months a year. Jaskier was never hurt that Geralt did not share that place with him- if anything, he loved that Geralt had somewhere safe and warm to rest his weary bones each year.

And Jaskier is a grown ass man, he will not begrudge a child being allowed to her father’s home but. But Yennefer. Jaskier knows about the sacking, he knows the last mages to set foot in Kaer Morhen were the ones who brought it crumbling down. If Geralt is bringing Yennefer that must mean they’re together. It will be Yennefer Geralt presents to his brothers, Yennefer who will walk the halls, explore the library, spend months curled up with her lover and their child and-

The honey-colored memory of their early morning embrace is souring in his mind; like black ink spilled over the image and corrupting it until there is nothing left but the acrid feel of Geralt’s arms around him and the burning knowledge that he was going to be left behind again. The promise of the morning means nothing now- Geralt will leave him for Yennefer like he always does, and Jaskier will let him like he always does, and the status quo will remain ever stable.

Jaskier should learn to say no when old not-friends show up at his doorstep, he really should.

He quickens his pace- if he hurries the sale, he might be able to convince Filip to take an early lunch and they can get spectacularly drunk in the hayloft like stupid teenagers instead of doing their actual jobs.

-

here are parts one two three four five. and the full story is on ao3 here 

[streetharmacist]

in other words | bea & felix

Time: Dawn after Bea’s resurrection. Summary: After the night of Bea’s resurrection, there’s a knock on Felix’s door. Warnings: Death mention With: @beatrice-blaze

It took her hours to orient herself, but even as she sat getting her feet patched up, Bea knew that she had to see Felix. He was one of her only memories as a ghost; tears and trying to hold each other. She couldn’t remember what they said, but she remembered the ache. She remembered how much she wished she could touch his hand. It was near dawn as she limped her way up to his apartment. She knew he would answer the door for her, even though it was late. Nell had told her that Felix knew it was happening tonight. It was comforting to know that Felix knew about the resurrection. She wouldn’t have to explain anything unpleasant. The exhaustion she felt immediately after being brought back hadn’t gone away, but she needed to see him before she slept. She had spent time after the hospital scrubbing her skin raw. She had seen how she looked in death and couldn’t help but still smell it on her. She couldn’t see Felix smelling like death. Her fist hit against his door heavily, her shoulder leaning against the doorframe, crutches sliding uncomfortably under her arms. “Felix,” She rasped, trying to speak as loudly as she could and achieving not much more than a normal talking volume. A sword going through her throat and five weeks of no use could do that to a voice, she supposed. Her hand readjusted the scarf he had gifted her as a wave of nerves overcame her. She knew he wouldn’t stare at her scar and think something ugly. All the same, she wanted to seem as put together as she could, even if she couldn’t manage to dress in another nicer than sweats.

He hadn’t considered sleep. Not when what life might bring back meant more to him than what any dream could conjure. Felix couldn’t stay still. With Carnegie in his arms, a presence to ground him, he paced. Nell had told him the possibility of it going wrong. They could all die. She had mentioned that one. It had been a few days since he had done lift with Luce, but the love and anger were still alive. If he looked at the ceiling long enough, he could still see that blush pink sky they sat under. When a fist rapped against his door, he jumped. Carnegie gave a small squeak of protest when the fae set him down. Initially, Felix rushed to the door. And then he slowed. Stopped. Set his hand against the wood. His forehead. With each slow breath, he considered who or what might be on the other side. Headlong into fear, he would go.

He opened the door.

It wasn’t fear that he met the eyes of. It was Bea. Not intangible, untouchable Bea. But Bea. Whole. Alive. The scarf he had given her was around her neck. His eyes slipped away from hers, down to her bandaged feet and the crutches. Fates, had she come all the way…? Without another thought wasted, he went to her with her name on his lips. He wrapped his arms around her and brought her close.

“Can I carry you, Bea? You don’t gotta walk anymore, okay? I got you.”

Bea had felt so distant since she came to, like she was still floating by as a ghost. She could barely touch her sisters, as broken and battered as they were after it all. Now she was being held. It broke whatever weak dam she had set up while sitting in the hospital room with her sisters. Letting out a broken noise, she held onto him tightly, the crutches forgotten as her arms flew around him. “You can carry me. I know you have me,” She whispered to him. Leaning back for a moment, arms still around him, she looked at him through teary eyes. She wanted to say sorry, but she didn’t know what she was apologizing for. She wasn’t sorry she died, not when she saved her sister, but she was sorry she left him. She was sorry that she apparently told him so much as a ghost. She was sorry she couldn’t remember what happened between them. Instead, she leaned her forehead against his. “I’m back, Felix. I’m alive.”

The crutches fell and Felix ignored them as they clattered to the ground. He could get them later. Bea was alive. She breathed. She spoke to him, her voice raw. But it was hers. He held onto every word, much the same way that he held onto her. It occurred to him that he might not have been able to. He sucked in a gasp of a breath. Tried not to squeeze her too tight. His hand drifted towards her face when they parted slightly. When his fingertips touched her skin and felt the warmth of it, he smiled. Small. And then her forehead was against his. He breathed again, his eyelashes wet.

“You are, doll,” he said gently. “Hell, you are.”

It was hard to grasp what to say but he could grasp her. Grasp that she was alive and that she had made her way there. Fates, why had she…? Carefully, he wrapped his arms around her and lifted her. Guided her tired legs around his waist to bring her into the apartment. She had crawled her way back through death itself. She was incredible, Miss Bea Vural. How lucky was he? How lucky were any of them.

“I was so worried, Bea,” he said as he carried her to the couch. The one they had sat on, unable to touch or hear each other. How alive she was with him now caused his swirling heart to stutter. “But you’re here. Fates, you’re here.”

Sitting in the hospital room had been easy. Bea had waited to hear that her sisters were okay, at least stable, before finding her way out. She had been glad to be alive, it had apparently been her only goal for the last five weeks, but she couldn’t process the rest. Morgan had told her it was fine to take her time, to settle and wait, but the longer she had sat in that room alone, the more unsettling it was to recognize how numb she felt. She was alive, breathing, she didn’t even need to hold her head up. She knew she was meant to be ecstatic, but that feeling never came to her. Instead, she was still stuck in some kind of limbo, good and bad pulling her. Her sisters were maimed or nearly dead, how could she celebrate that? But she was alive, she could feel and be heard, how could she not?

She held onto Felix tightly, head dipping to lean against his shoulder, breathing him in. The ache she felt from the last time she had been here lingered in her chest. “It worked, but it nearly didn’t,” She admitted, the image of Luce in her hospital bed seared into her mind. “My sisters…” Her hands tightened against him then, voice breaking. “They both nearly died.” She hadn’t broken in front of them, shock from being back and the conflicting emotions that stirred in her. Tears finally began to slide down her face as she took in deep breaths. “And I don’t even feel real. Like this all may be a twisted trick and I’ll be back alone again.”

Felix could feel the way the breaths shuddered through her. Alive enough to bear the pain of being so. His antlered head dipped. His breath slowed. For all he could say, he was intent to listen to her. To simply hear her as she worded everything she felt and had felt when she was...not there but there. He could sit and listen to her until buildings crumbled. Until civilization became a memory forgotten. It could happen on the very couch he settled back into as he gently unwound her legs from around his waist so that she could settle as she pleased. The dim lights of his true eyes looked at her.

“They were going to get you back, Bea,” he said quietly as his thumb traced the line of her jaw. After having met their eyes, in grief and anger, he did not doubt the Vural conviction to see things through. “One way or another. They’re gonna be okay and you’re--” His throat closed and cut him off. Three years wasn’t much in the spans of a lifetime that extended beyond mere centuries. But when he looked at her, time had a way of stilling. Rewinding itself. The magic of her wasn’t just in her fingertips or the palms of her hands. “You’re real, doll. And if you...” His tongue wavered. If she went somewhere, to that place far away where shadow and light faded away to the beyond, he didn’t know if he could follow. With him what he was and her what she was.

“Not a trick, Bea,” he said to her with a voice suddenly urgent. “It can’t be. Not with you here. You’re not gonna be alone, okay? You’re not.”

As the couch fabric pressed against her leg, Bea remembered being here clearer. The edges of clouded thought sharpened and the ache in her chest widened enough to threaten to consume her whole. The last time she had been on this couch, she had merely mimed sitting on it. Just as she had mimed holding Felix’s cheek. He had seen her, spoken to her, but death was more than a veil that separated them. Death was a force, unrelenting and uninterested in those who attempted to bend the rules, even if they simply wished to hold the other’s hand. Her heart raced, she couldn’t understand why she didn’t know everything that had occurred that night. She simply got to learn the true extent of the heartbreak that had transpired on this couch. She settled against him slowly, unwilling to give up their contact now. She hadn’t realized how much she needed touch until now, until she had lost it.

“Luce’s heart stopped, Felix. And Nell… God, I can’t even describe what happened to her.” She hadn’t understood at first what had happened to them. It wasn’t even until they were at the hospital where she saw the full extent of Nell’s injuries. She would never forget the image her sister had created holding a once white jacket now stained red with her blood. Tentatively, she found his other hand and laced her fingers with his. It’s real. How long would it take until it felt real? She tightened her grip, grounding herself. She could feel the air rush into her, she could feel her heart race, she knew this meant she was alive. “I feel wrong, Felix. I’m cold. I was never cold before.” She knew that death would mark her. She was a life owed to death and it would collect eventually. But before, she had never thought if she were to come back, it would make her feel like a stranger in her own body. Closing her eyes, Bea forced herself to rely on touch for a moment. The sense that had been stripped from her as a ghost would ground her now. She pressed herself closer to him then. “I’m not. I can feel you and you can hear me.” I am not dead anymore, she tried to remind herself.

Underneath the faint touch of his fingertips, Felix could feel Bea’s pulse thrum. In the faint sliver of skin over where she had tied off the scarf. He had a notion of what might be underneath and it didn’t bother him. Not in the slightest. Not when he could feel her breath and her fingers twined with his. She was his best friend and in the most simple of terms, in so little words, he loved her. Fates, he loved her. Loved her before she passed through death’s door and then walked through again. Loved her before she spoke to him through his old writing. Yet it had never felt so warm on his tongue. Absence made the heart grow fonder, yes, but also wearier. And they were weary.

To Luce and Nell, he was indebted. As precarious as that position could be for a fae, he accepted the possibility. He could with the palm of Bea’s hand pressed against his. It was not so different from when they held hands before and yet, it was. Everything had changed. He didn’t fear. Not with her near to him as she was. His hand squeezed hers, pulsed against it. As she spoke to him, his eyes traced her face. The line of her jaw and the sharpness of her cheekbones. His free hand followed the path of his eyes before his hand ran down and then up her arm. If she was cold, he would have to find something to burn. The town if need be. She was whole again and yet, her eyes were sad as he looked into them.

“If they need anything…” He said, the implication there in what went unsaid. “You’re not wrong, Bea. Different? Sure. But wrong? No.” How could she be? His hand drifted to hold her face again. “What can I do for you? I’ll do it. I will. It’s...It’s you. Fates, it’s you.”

As he traced her face, Bea’s breath caught. She never had doubts that he would want her there, but to be touched like this so soon after coming back. Not even a day ago she had looked alien, wrong, and twisted. Now he caressed her face. The trail of his fingers grounded her. He knew that she had the effects of death on her and he didn’t hesitate to hold her and make her feel safe for the moment. The love between them had not been instantaneous. It had taken years of rambling at each other at the cards table. Trust had been built. It was slow, sure, but their foundation was solid. It was what kept her there, even as broken and empty she felt. It was what let her feel safe enough to let him see what she showed no one else.

She held his gaze, the words heavy in the air. Tears slipped from her eyes again, knowing that was not something he gave easily. Knowing that he was willing to put himself in that position because they brought her back to him. She leaned forward then, brushing her lips over his lightly, words unable to convey just how much meant to her. She knew that this act was love. Any doubt she had ever had about his feelings for her thrown away. She knew that this was love. Telling him she loved him wouldn’t be enough here.  She flexed her fingers, the motion a mesh of familiar and strange. “I am different now,” She agreed softly. “Hold me. For now, I just need to be held. Until I can hold myself together.”

His thumb traced along her cheekbone and gathered her tears. On the pitch dark of his skin, it was starlight falling. If she were to fall, he would catch her and hold her close. And Felix trusted her to do the same for him when the time came. Trust, a word he rarely considered. Just as he made to speak, to promise her, her lips against his quieted him. His eyes shut for a moment. When she parted, he looked at her. Eyes slightly wide in surprise as they fluttered open. If color could reach his cheeks, it would have. A silly thing that kindled a smile. The hand he held had spelled out I love you before. And now, as he met her eyes, he read it there too. He could only hope that his own said the same. He nearly bled with it.

Tentatively, he rose to kiss the corner of her mouth. Then her cheek, her forehead. Smiled against her hair before he pressed another light kiss to her lips.

“Being different ain’t so bad,” he said softly as he wrapped his arms around her, his head against her shoulder as he finally spoke. “You got it, doll. I’ll hold you as long as you want. You tired?”

The weight of the last few weeks still sat heavily on Bea’s chest, but it lightened as she sat with Felix. They didn’t magically disappear. No, Felix took her burdens and helped her hold them. He made it bearable. As he kissed her, she wondered if this was what it was like to be revered by someone. She had thought that she had been loved before, and perhaps she had been, but it hadn’t been like this. There had been conditions and expectations. Now though… She was sure that she could tell Felix anything and he would accept it. Dying and coming back was not something most people found easy to swallow, but he had pulled her towards him and took care of her. He accepted her without a second thought.

She let out a soft laugh,“I feel like I haven’t slept in five weeks.” A hand went to his hair, stroking it as he held her. She could sleep like this. The prospect of sleeping had been daunting at first, she feared waking up as a ghost once again, but she could face it with Felix. She could do it with him holding her. “It’s pretty late for you too huh?”

“I guess you haven’t really, huh?” Felix said as he brushed the hair away from Bea’s face. The corner of his lips twitched upward. They had touched each other before. A graze of fingertips there. Her hair on his shoulder when she leaned over to look at his hand of cards or when she made him laugh so hard he hid behind her, as if only she were allowed to see the way he cracked. Light touches but with her looking at him the way she was, the same way he most certainly looked at her, each touch felt heavier. It felt true. All it needed was the words to set it free. The feeling he had swallowed down was there again and he pulled her in close, buried his face into the scarf he had given her. An odd thing for him to cling to so much light. She wouldn’t burn him. Although his voice was muffled, he spoke. “Tell...Tell me where you don’t feel real and I’ll try my darndest to show you otherwise, Bea.” He said, his voice low and soft. In the language of his mothers, he murmured his love into the red around her neck. He lifted his head to look at the bronze sliver of light that peaked through the dark curtains.

A watery laugh came out of him.

“Told you I’d sit through the sun for you,” he said as his eyes drifted back to her. “I think we could do with a little sleeping in, don’t you? I don’t think Carnegie’ll mind if you take his side of the bed. Too much.”

Closing her eyes, Bea savored the feeling of this moment. It was heavy, shrouded in sorrow, but lightened by the prospect of new beginnings. Bea had been given a second chance at life. They were being given the opportunity to finally dive in, head first, with each other. As she felt him against her neck, she reflected on the fact that she had never expected to let someone touch her like this so quickly. She trusted him, even with how fragile she felt. A small huff left her as she took in his words. She didn’t feel right everywhere, but movements with her head felt foreign at this point. Her hands felt like gloves that were both a size too small and too big at the same time. Like she had infinite movement, but her skin was tight. The feeling of breathing was unexpectedly strange. Her soul hadn’t truly settled yet. She could feel it in a strange way, flexing through her, trying to find the spot that it had had before all of this. It reminded her of waking from a nightmare and trying to get back to that perfect sleeping position. But this bed was different now. There was no getting back to where she was before. Her hands flexed. “My hands are the worst and then my head, if you can believe it.” The joke fell flat, even to her ears, but it was easier to joke.

God, she heard those words now, relieved that moment when he told her that he loved her too. She did, now, what she had wanted to then and leaned forward to kiss him softly again. They had so much time to catch up on. “I love you,” She breathed, emotions making her voice even rawer, but her eyes were fierce as she told him. She understood the ache in her chest now. Why that night had been so awful for them. “I’ll make sure he has enough room to get comfortable,” She told Felix with a soft smile. “I wouldn’t want him to feel left out.”

He had loved before, but it was a love hidden in the difference of a single beat of wings. Mired in stolen touches and whispered thoughts that no one else could be made privy to. Wings that Felix didn’t have and had lamented until sorrow turned to bitter ash on his tongue. It weighed heavy. Prohibited him from voicing what it was that sat in his head and his heart. When Bea had looked at him, as bare and honest as any fae could be, it was like he had finally, finally spat out that last bit of ash. She had accepted him for the difference that had nearly made him into a shadow on any old wall. The fact that death had touched her didn’t mean a damn thing to him.

He laughed dryly at her joke, tongue poked against the inside of his cheek. They were a funny thing, he thought, as he ran his fingertips across hers. Magic just underneath their skin. Magic. The pin he had most feared to drop into her hands. And yet because of it, they were made possible. Hands twined and breaths mingled. Real. They were funny, the witch and her shadow, but fates...They were painfully and wonderfully real. He brought their hands together between them and pressed his mouth to the tops of their crossed thumbs. Then her own when she leaned back into him. Any doubt that had made a home in him scampered out the front door.

“I think you and I got this whole loving thing in common, doll,” he said lightly with a shake of his head, a smile on his lips. As heavy as it all had been, near-crushing, it lessened in the space between them. Just as carefully as before, he carried her through the open door of his bedroom and set her down gently. Carnegie would get there in his own time and as Felix settled, tired eyes on Bea, he didn’t feel the need to move. His hand reached for hers again. “This okay?”

It was rare that quiet surrounded these two. Both were ramblers, people who enjoyed the sound of their own voices. They had spent many nights in the smokey hall of the Stacked Deck chattering loudly, being their boisterous selves, drowning out all the others around them. There was no need for that here. They had no one to put a show on for. Bea didn’t worry about how perfect she seemed to him. Anxiety didn’t claw at her throat when she thought of being around Felix without the armor her makeup gave her, anymore. She wanted him to see these parts of her, the ones that weren’t stage-ready. The ones her mother would have never approved of. She considered herself by no means a brave woman, but she had needed courage to do this with anyone else. With Felix, it was turning out to be as easy and natural as holding his hand was.

She couldn’t help the soft laugh that bubbled out of her,“You know this isn’t how I imagined getting carried into your bedroom.” She had experienced this before, this feeling of being able to traverse the serious and then slide into moments of joking again. He made it easy for her. He made a lot easy for her it seemed. She nodded. This was okay. It was perhaps the first okay thing that she had had in weeks. She wasn’t waiting for the other shoe to drop here. It was simple. There was nothing she had to plan for, no backup arrangements just in case. She was tired, ready to be taken into sleep as she was held close by the man she loved, and for the first time in a long time, she wasn’t scared of what came next. At least for the moment. “Let’s dream of something sweet. We deserve that.”

[chasseurdeloup-retired]

Fairy Contentious  || Morgan and Kaden

TIMING: Current LOCATION: Downtown PARTIES: @mor-beck-more-problems and @chasseurdeloup SUMMARY: There’s nothing awkward about finding a dead body between sometimes friends

Try as she might, Morgan still missed her humanity from time to time. Zombie personhood was alright, more than alright on some days, but in the heat of July, she missed the sweat on her back, the tanning and freckling of her skin, and the sharp, palpable comfort of a dive into cold water. She missed dollar soft serve from Whataburger. She missed spiked slushies. She missed having more of the world to share in. Lately it seemed like death had taken more than just her heartbeat, but was eating away at the world she had left too. There was Bea, and the human her sisters had sacrificed to bring her back. There were all those guards at the Ring and the woman whose body had turned shallow and empty beneath her hands. There was Erin and whatever she was getting up to her head in. There was the mummified pixie at the carnival. And then there were all the people she knew, people she loved better than most others, with blood on their hands. Was there any escaping it? Morgan turned down another block downtown, thinking more of her momentum than what shops she was nearby, aching for a burn, for something outside of herself to remember life being good and free and in her reach. What she saw instead was Kaden. Morgan stopped in her tracks and locked eyes with him. This is what she got for using binary words in her thoughts, wasn’t it? Morgan’s hand lifted in a hesitant wave.

This whole ordeal with Regan was more than taking its toll on Kaden. Maybe less the ordeal and more the lack of sleep that came with it. Closing his eyes brought nothing but worse case scenarios and for the most part, when he tried, he still couldn’t find sleep. Not to mention, the less he slept, the more hours in the day he had to try and find her. He’d searched plenty around her place and that had been a bust. So had the locator spell. So had all the hunters in town. So many leads and nothing concrete. Wandering the town was as good an attempt as anything else. Granted, he had no idea how long he’d been walking by now, if he had even seen her at all or if he was even paying attention anymore. He was so lost in thought he nearly ran into someone. “Sorry,” he mumbled, not meaning it. As he shuffled out of the way, he saw Morgan just behind them. Of course. “Hey,” he said flatly. Even if he’d wanted to convey any emotion, he couldn’t pull out any energy to display them. Funny he ran into a zombie while he felt something like the walking dead. At least what he assumed it felt like. Pretty numb, a lot of pain. He wanted to make a biting comment or five but he was just too tired to find any worth saying. “You good?” was all he could manage to say.

Morgan couldn’t remember the last time ‘you good’ hadn’t been a loaded question. She folded her arms over herself, fiddling with her sleeves as she tried to come up with an answer. She still didn’t feel completely right after what happened at the Ring. She would do it all again, but the weight of death was different than the weight of the retribution she doled out from time to time. “I’m fine,” she said at last. “You?” It was pretty obvious that he wasn’t doing so hot. There were shadows around his eyes thick as a ditch and a wasted, hangdog look, sunken and tired. “Looks like it’s been a heck of a time.” Normally she would have asked if she could do anything to help, but the words caught in her throat.

“I’m fine.” The words spilled from Kaden’s lips before he had a second to think about his answer. He was really fucking far from fine but he really didn’t want to explain it. Least of all to her. With a sigh, he ran his hand through his hair, pushing the mess out of his way. Of course she caught onto him quick. “Haven’t slept much this week. That’s all.” Sure, that was true, but he was holding back the real reason. Part of him wanted to get this over with, but he also wanted to know if she was ever going to fucking acknowledge what had happened in the woods the other day. What had really happened, not the fairytale ending bullshit version she was harboring. Right. Doubtful. He should just fuck this and walk away, cut his losses. He needed to find Regan. This was just a waste of time. Then again… Putain. He sure as shit didn’t want Morgan’s help right now. But it was selfish and stupid not to get all hands on deck at the moment. “Regan’s missing. And also about the size of a pixie.”

It took all of Morgan’s willpower not to snort with laughter. This was a real pickle for Kaden and his distress was real. Also, there was a chance that Thumbel-Regan would come out of this traumatized in ways your average licensed therapist wouldn’t know how to cope with. But Stars, a tinkerbell sized medical examiner? Did she have a tiny lab coat? Or a tiny turtleneck? Morgan couldn’t help but snigger in the back of her throat. Mad as she was with Kaden, it wasn’t enough to kill the image in her head. “That uh, does sound like a wee problem, yeah,” she said, working her face into a more serious expression. “Do you know, uh, if she can fly? You guys didn’t happen to work out a hand clapping signal by any chance?” She cleared her throat. The universe was offering her a gift and she definitely didn’t want to turn it away. “Where have you looked so far? Maybe we could try by the butcher? Or the farmer’s market? Maybe she’s following her death spidey senses.”

Kaden rolled his eyes the second he caught that all too familiar look. The one that meant biting back laughter. He saw it on Blanche’s face enough the other day to recognize it. Granted, Morgan was doing a better job at reeling it in than pipsqueak had. It was annoying as shit all the same. “Fucking hilarious. Yup. It was fucking hilarious. Less so now when birds and squirrels are trying to eat her. But fine. Whatever, Morgan. Guess you only care when zombies are in danger.” He’d had no intention of actually mentioning the incident with whats-her-name the zombie but it sure fucking spilled out anyway. “Are you going to fucking help or are you going to keep making--” Before he could finish snipping at her, she brought up some decent suggestions. “I don’t know where I looked anymore. I just keep watching the ground. She can hover a bit so I guess I should look everywhere.” He rubbed his face. He was so stressed and so fucking tired, he wanted to just collapse into it, but he was determined to not give up. He could stop when Regan was safe. “I’ll look there. Fine.”

Morgan’s grin faded. “Seriously? I help save your ass in a diner, tell you what I am, help you with your denial girlfriend, and you think I only care about myself? Or my species? Is that a real thing or do you really just not get what it might’ve been like to see you cut into a woman just like me like she was a rabid animal? After, may I remind you, I pulled her off you, told you to run, and let me handle it.” It was like they hadn’t seen even close to the same thing. Like they hadn’t even been in the same place. Morgan shook her head. Kaden could be incredibly decent, often enough that she bristled uncomfortably at her initial distaste for him and the fear, the bitterness, she still held in some shrunken part of her. But this was not one of those times. This was the kind of moment that made her wonder why she didn’t just plant that bitterness and let it grow over everything else. Still, she straightened herself up as tall as her tiny body would allow and pointed in the direction. “You wouldn’t find a cheese fry if I jammed it up your nose with that much sleep deprivation. I’ll help clear that area with you.”

Kaden ground his teeth as he held back a comment about a good chunk of that sounding like self preservation. Whether that was true or not, he didn’t have the fucking energy. He was not going to waste what he had left on her. Until she kept going. “I cut into her like a rabid animal because that's what she was!” he said, reeling back to face her. “She was gone! There was nothing left! She was going to kill me! It nearly did! A few times! And you did not have it handled! If I ran, what the fuck was to stop her from killing whatever human walked by next? Or do you even care?!” So much for not wasting his breath. One thing he could say was the anger jolted him with energy. Mostly he just wanted to use it to punch something. Or storm off. But it didn’t seem like it was going to work because she was insisting on following him. “I told you I’m fine. But if you want to come I can’t stop you. Public fucking place.” That wasn’t quite true, he could stop her. Just not in any way that was remotely acceptable.

Morgan had turned to lead the way but no. That would just be way too easy and make too much sense. She clenched her fists at her sides. There were things that mattered more than this. Hypothetically, these things included Thumbel-Regan. But Kaden’s words cut into her fresh, reminding Morgan what had been so awful about that day beyond Ashley’s ruined body. “She was just starving. And I was trying to help both of you, dumbass. If you didn’t have your head so far up your arsenal, you might’ve figured that out.” She stormed ahead of him, fists clenched, and started for the butcher’s. This was a mistake; she should’ve just stayed home.

“She was just starving?! There’s no just starving from zombies. Starving gets humans killed.” Kaden continued as he followed after her. He really couldn’t figure out what about this was so hard for her to understand. Even if she did have noble goddamn intentions, she didn’t have it handled. That zombie was going to kill someone, even if it wasn’t him. “And you met her before, right? Seems like she didn’t want your fucking help.” He was considering telling her the same right now. But she wasn’t wrong about him being exhausted. Maybe not about the rest of it, but she had that much correct. He was ready to collapse. He almost wanted to ask if they were there yet.

“Of course that’s all you care about,” Morgan grumbled. She kept walking, fists clenched, trying not to think about how right Kaden was about the last part. Ashley had been lucid when she ran away from her and Rio. All those animals wouldn’t have lasted very long, but enough for her to do...something. She could have dug up a fresh body from the cemetery if she was desperate, or pounced on a deer. The smell from the woods was intoxicating sometimes, it would have been impossible to miss. So why had she been back at square one so soon. You shouldn’t have done that, that’s what she’d told Morgan. But Kaden couldn’t know that, right? Morgan pressed on ahead, crossing the next block, when she caught the smell. Death. Still soft, ripe death. Morgan came to a stop. They were still downtown, what was she smelling, some unlucky bird? “Wait.” she said. “Maybe…” Regan would be pulled to it too if she was nearby, right? “Do you smell that?” She looked around them, feeling a familiar sharp twist in her stomach. It couldn’t be too far.

“Oh, not dying? Other people not fucking dying? Right. What a fucking terrible thing to care about.” All of Kaden’s hopes for an apology were shot to hell. Not that he was holding out too much to begin with. Why the fuck she wanted to spend so much time defending a monster, he didn’t understand. Sure, she was a zombie, too, but not like that. And if she had tried to help earlier and failed… He had to wonder how many other people were in danger or if this had happened before. How many times had someone pitied a zombie only for them to slip back and take a human life? Was it only a matter of time until that was Morgan? Fuck. Not what he wanted on his mind right now. He stared ahead as he followed her. The scent hit him before he saw anything. That was death and decay alright. No mistaking it. “Of course I smell that. Hard to miss.” Especially with human senses, he thought. Still, there was no denying that carcasses and cadavers were siren songs to a banshee, in a way. “You can sense death, too, right? Not the same way but you know,” he asked as she guided them towards the source of the stench.  

“We’re people too,” Morgan grumbled. But of course Kaden wouldn’t see it that way. Maybe Deirdre had been right all those months ago. Maybe telling Kaden she died really had been stupid. She couldn’t help but smirk dryly at his question. “If you mean sense it the way I used to be able to sense fried chicken and waffles from two blocks away, then yeah, sure.” It wasn’t the same kind of comforting, soul-pulling call she understood the banshee death pull to be. A dead body called to Morgan’s insides like it wanted to devour everything she was and claim her for itself. Ravaged, held, and erased into a relief that came from no intelligence whatsoever. Morgan salivated as she turned down an alley and peeked around a dumpster, a common enough spot for finding felled birds and-- “No. Fuck...fuck, no, no…” She turned around and started to walk right back out the alley, clutching her stomach, but she couldn’t get the sight out of her head. The scales on the girl’s arms were scraped raw and crusted with blood from the mangled mess where her hands were supposed to be. And her face...her face was a ruin of burns and iron. Morgan had only been able to tell from her hair that it hadn’t been Mina. Morgan clamped a hand over her mouth, grimacing as her insides reached back for the body. She sank to the ground and dumped the contents of her bag, trembling. She had a snack in there somewhere to keep from eating roadkill in public, but she couldn’t make her fingers work the tupperware lid. She couldn’t stop seeing that girl. She had one eye, overexposed from her melted lids and staring up pitifully, dead and empty towards the street, towards the river that might’ve been her home. Morgan’s eyes filled with tears, too thick to see through, and let everything in her hands fall.

Kaden’s stomach churned at the thought of comparing decomposing flesh to food. And the combination of chicken and waffles. There was no reason any of those things should go together. That’s not what churned his stomach when they turned the corner. There was no mistaking that was a dead body sprawled out in front of them. It was strange to find one downtown and without Regan nearby, at that. Unless, she was. He paused to listen for any small screams or calls out to him. But he heard nothing but Morgan’s muttering as she turned away. Kaden stayed in place, finally allowing what was in front of him to really sink in. That wasn’t a human body, it was something else. Inhuman, the scales alone gave it away. His mouth pulled into a thin line as he assessed the situation. He looked for webbed fingers but couldn’t find her hands. The slits on the side of her neck were still easy enough to see. “A nix,” he said. A very mangled, very tormented nix at that. He crouched down to get a better look. Marks where iron instruments had surely burned into her, lacerations covering her body, and it looked like whoever did this had tried to split her legs again. It was hard to say how long the body had been there, not too long if he had to guess. Still, it was cold, it’s not like they’d missed the moment by mere minutes or anything. His cold assessment of the facts were easier to process, they were there, unchanging. What it all meant, how he felt about it, that was harder. Something he didn’t want to touch. The sound of something hitting the pavement made his head jerk back to see Morgan again. She’d dropped.. tupperware? Odd. “You alight?” he asked as he stood and turned to face her.

Morgan was gritting her teeth, trying to hold her body still. Snacking usually helped, gave her appetite something to fixate on, but she wasn’t usually this upset when she passed death during her every-day life. She tried breathing, maybe that would be a good distraction. “Need...food,” she said. “She’s...I can’t...after what she’s been through...I can’t…” Couldn’t destroy her any further. Couldn’t treat her like stuff. There was nothing natural about what was left of her body, nothing balanced about a death like that. Tortured, butchered for parts, left with the garbage to be...what? Ignored? Mistaken for someone’s film class final? Morgan sat back, banging her head against the side of the building. That wasn’t doing much good. “Can you open it? It’s not human, I just need…” Some relief. To not feel herself wanting for the soft candy of her insides. Stars, it was probably sweeter than anything she’d had yet too… And if she hadn’t been brutalized, Morgan wouldn’t have been able to imagine them with half as much detail. She grimaced and dug her shaking hands into her knees. “Just do it, just open it!”

It took a few seconds for the pieces to click together as Kaden watched her. Shit. Dead body. Zombie. Even after arguing with her back and forth about zombie rights and how often she took sheer glee in reminding him of what she was, he sometimes still forgot. Had to wonder if it was on purpose. Likely was. “You can’t what?” His brow furrowed as she explained further. Shit. He had to go over there. Open the container for her. He took a deep, shaky breath as he steeled himself to follow through on her request. There wasn’t much out there that scared Kaden. Truly scared him. Being bit or turned by anything undead was one of them. But he had to trust his friend. Bolting and running sounded easier, even in a dead end alleyway. Still, he walked forward and reached out for the tupperware, hand shaking as he pulled it towards him. He fumbled for a second as he tried to rip the lid open. This was fine. They’d both be fine. This was probably unwarranted fear. He held the container out to her for her, trying his fucking best not to look at what was in there. Even if it wasn’t human, he didn't want to know.

Morgan took the tupperware and shoved her dead flesh salad into her mouth by the handful. The flesh slid down her throat easily, offering its subtle flavor between the bits of diced brain. Her stomach settled and with the animal rage in her stomach had settled down more into an agitated grumble, she could make more room for what she’d seen, for trying to figure out what to do. They couldn’t just leave her there with the garbage, right? Then again, they couldn’t exactly call this in to the police. Regan was the size of a pixie and the number of incorrect to dehumanizing conclusions she might manage to come to were enough to make Morgan feel sick all over again. She couldn’t take her home, at least not by herself. She barely had the restraint to walk away and keep herself from making a meal out of her body. Morgan tried to breathe, tried to make each bite last longer. Distraction, that was the thing. As long as she could distract her body, she could be okay. “Thank you,” she said at last. “You didn’t manage to...I don’t know...notice if she had any stuff with her, did you?”

Kaden let out the breath he hadn’t intended to hold as she ate the contents of the container. It was fine. She had control. They’d be fine. There was no need for this to turn into-- It was fine. Kaden rolled his shoulders back and shook off any of the nerves he had before, like he could will his pulse back to a normal, steady rhythm. If only it were that simple. The distraction she offered to everything going on was more than welcome. “Any stuff? Uh, no. Not sure. I didn’t check.” He walked back over to the body and it all hit him again. Different this time. The more he saw it, the harder it was to just focus on facts. His mind tried to piece things together, make connections, as much as he wished it wouldn’t. He bend down and tried to feel around her clothes where there might be pockets, something left behind. It made him feel less like a hunter or even a cop and more like a petty thief. His stomach sank like a pit as the reality of this hit him a little deeper. This was a dead nix. Yes. He knew that. And on another level, what was this? A dead fae. Alright. But what did that mean? It meant someone killed a fae. Didn’t just murder them, no. Tortured them. Her. Putain. He was jumping to conclusions, there was no way to say this was a hunter who did it, but it was hard not to wonder. And if it was a hunter, that likely meant that it was a warden. And if it was a warden and they were nearby. And if Regan was nearby. And if they found her before he d-- Kaden realized he was sitting on the ground next to the body no longer searching it, just trying to keep the world from collapsing in on him as his breath quickened, shallow and ineffective. Calm. He had to be calm. He had to think clearly if he wanted to help or be useful or fucking anything. Why couldn’t he do that?

Morgan waited. And waited. She couldn’t remember what the nix had been wearing, it had to be something right? Maybe she at least had a wallet stuffed in her back pocket, something to give her a name, that could help them treat her like a person again. Then again she wasn’t, not anymore. The person was gone, this was just her remains, her body, her story. That wasn’t the same, but it wasn’t nothing. It deserved some dignity, some small, stupid scrap of respect. Morgan chewed slowly. “Kaden?” She called. “Kaden--? What did you find?”

Morgan’s voice snapped Kaden out of his panic. A little. It was still a bit of a struggle to keep getting air into his lungs. But he needed it to reply. “Nothing,” he managed to push out between shallow breaths. “Nothing yet.” Okay. Alright. If there was a warden nearby he’d deal with it. Later. Right now he was examining the body. Like any of this mattered. Come to think of it, why was he doing this? Because she asked. Right. But why? How was this going to help them find Regan. This was just a dead fae, what did it matt-- A thought creeped into his head. One he had to push away. Desperately. He couldn’t even imagine that right now. This wasn’t Regan. It wasn’t even a banshee. The body in front of him, she didn’t matter. It didn’t matter. Finding his hopefully still alive fae girlfriend, that’s what mattered. But he had a sinking feeling if he didn’t try, Morgan would. To likely disastrous results. Alright. Looting the fucking body it was. He checked around for a purse or some shit like that, nothing. Front pockets of what was left of her shorts, also nothing. Fuck. He’d have to turn over the body. No time like the present. He swallowed back any disgust and pushed it over. There wasn’t a whole lot of solid flesh or scales left, like it was picked clean after a good bit of flesh burned off. He expected to find more of the same, may even more decay on the other side of the corpse. Shockingly enough, there was something in her back pocket still there. A phone. With a wallet attached to the case, one of those small things that held cards. He figured there wasn’t going to be much more useful than that. There wasn’t much else to identify her by anyway. “Uh got this,” he said once he walked back to Morgan, holding out the phone to her.

Morgan took the phone and flipped through the cards attached. She didn’t know much about hacking electronic passwords, that was more of a Winston thing. But she had a student ID from the university. Not another one of her students, thank god, but she was practically the same as them. Morgan pulled it out and passed it to Kaden. “Meet Coraline Adams. Would-be class of ‘23 at UMWC. Liked the Little Mermaid, maybe ironically--” she passed over one of her credit cards, which had a much faded sticker of princess Ariel in the corner, “And had a really nice phone. That’s it, that’s all that’s left of her.” She worried the slice of eyeball she was still chewing on as she spoke. This was so pitiful, practically nothing. At least with Emma there had been a funeral, there had been things  to do, there was the sad copy of her stories consigned at the local book store. But Emma had been human. Coraline wasn’t. “Do you know who might’ve done this?” She asked quietly. “Someone who’s capable of treating some poor college kid like this? For being fae?”

Kaden crossed his arms as Morgan went through the fae’s things. This was a far cry from any normal post hunt sort of moment. Or any time he came across a dead body on a hunt. If it wasn’t human, it got left behind, at best it was there to help inform them who or what had been there. Had to say, he kind of preferred that right about now. But this wasn’t a hunt. At least, not like that. Kaden shook his head at her question. “I don’t know any wardens in town, no.” He really should. Given, well, everything. But something about having to be two faced to colleagues sounded hard. Or shitty. Something like that. “I mean, can’t say for sure that it was-- But if I had to guess.”

“Yeah, well, they do make it their business to do a double-take at anyone with an Irish accent and cut down whoever makes their killer instincts go off,” Morgan said bitterly. “No matter how young they are, no matter how wrong it is. They see someone spooky and suddenly they don’t get to be a person anymore. I kinda figured that much out too. We don’t even know if this girl has a family who’s missing her right now, but it’s just another day at the hunter office.” She held out her hand to have the cards back. Suddenly, she didn’t like the idea of Kaden getting to hang onto them. “We can’t just leave her body there. Well, I can’t, but I also can’t get too close without...you know. But she shouldn’t have to stay there.”

Kaden let out a huff and shook his head. “Well then. Good to know how you really feel.” Why was it every time they were around each other lately, he questioned why he considered her  a friend at all. He couldn’t even begin to figure out what he was feeling about any of this, but he could feel the anger over her comments. And the exhaustion settling back in. The rest, well, he didn’t know what that was. He considered not taking the cards back. Fuck her, if he was just some mindless killer, why give them to him? Whatever, he took them, put them into his pocket. Which in hindsight, not a great idea. Regan may not be around just yet but he’d have to dispose of them before the medical examiner was back in full swing. Which, speaking of, the body. “We can’t. We can report it. Send her to the morgue. Not that Rickers or Regan will find the cause of death but it’s an option.” A shitty option. “Otherwise, we can burn it.” It was the safest option, really. One she probably didn’t like. “No matter what, we can’t do anything now. In broad daylight. Unless we’re involving the law.” Which didn’t sound like a great plan. But it was all he could figure.

“Is there something else I should be feeling about this too?” Morgan asked. She finally brought her eyes up to meet his. She’d never had the best control of her expressions at the best of times when she was alive, you would’ve thought dying might make it worse. But the face she showed Kaden was slack and impassive. Maybe it was the emotional exhaustion, maybe she was getting too used to this, but Morgan managed to stuff everything down. She wanted to dare him to tell her something different. To come up with one reason to justify any of this. “At least stash her for me, so she doesn’t wind up in a landfill. I’ll figure the rest out myself. You probably shouldn’t be too involved anyways with...everything you’ve got going on.” His job with the police department for one thing. His girlfriend for another.

“No, fine. Just jump to whatever conclusions you want. Can’t stop you. Every hunter’s a mindless killer with no fucking reason for any action they take. Of course.” Kaden was so sick of this kind of conversation. How it never ever seemed to sink in for any bleeding hearts seemingly ever. It wasn’t that he thought what happened there was okay. He didn’t. Torture wasn’t hunting. Neither was collecting trophies. Hell, he was pretty fucking wary of wardens himself as of late. But that didn’t give her the right to paint it all with a broad fucking stroke. Right to his fucking face, no less. That wasn’t the point now. “I’ll come back for her. Later. I’ll cover her up for right now. That’s the best I can do.”

“Can we put our bullshit aside for just five seconds, Kaden? This is not about Ashley, this is about a girl almost Blanche’s age whose remains are currently by a dumpster. I would take care of this myself if my stupid zombie body wouldn’t treat what’s left of her like a freaking happy meal, but them’s the breaks.” Morgan felt herself somehow getting more tired and more angry at once. She stopped, clenching and unclenching her hands and sighed. “Forget it. You have a tiny girlfriend who is definitely not in this area, otherwise she would be trying to perform an autopsy with a stick. You have a nice job you shouldn’t be risking, and you have no idea why I’m actually upset so just...give me her stuff and I’ll handle this. I’m sorry you got dragged in, but you can go now.”

“And I wasn’t fucking talking about Ashely either. But fine.” Kaden took the cards and phone back out of his pocket and tossed them at Morgan to catch. Fuck her. She didn’t know him at all or anything going on his head. Clearly. Apparently not breaking down right then and there or calling her out for her own words meant he had zero capacity for emotions. Whatever. It was always the same. “Right. Call me if you need something killed. Cause I’m sure that’s all you think I do. If you see Regan let me know.” He turned and walked out of the alley and back towards the city center. He wasn’t sure if he had it in him to stay focused on the actual reason he was there in the first place, but with a new threat of a warden wandering around, he’d have to fucking try.

[chilly-me-softly]

Last Friday Night • (Part 12)

Last chapter! Can’t believe I did this, I started nearly one month ago and was able to end it pretty good and in a short time too. Surreal. I really wanna thank you every single one of you because reading, reblogging and commenting and liking my work, made me happier first of all and I never lost my inspiration seeing how much you liked it. So thank you for your support, love you all xx

Chapter 1      Chapter 4        Chapter 7     Chapter 10 Chapter 2      Chapter 5        Chapter 8     Chapter 11 Chapter 3      Chapter 6        Chapter 9

Tag @lfcxlouise @mwdders @walkeers @brownforhereyesandherhair

"Did you ever want to get married?"

"What?" giggles the brown man coughing around the drink straw in his hand.

"Come on, like girls. Never imagined the woman of your dreams down the aisle, a beautiful white dress... Or is marriage just a woman's dream? You stand there grinning like amoebabas" she giggles to herself when she cripples the word.

"I do actually" the boy gets thoughtful looking her in the eye and turning the ice in the glass through the straw, not seeming at all bothered by Claire's long rant. "I think I imagined it when I was 12. Escaping the priest's question and being chased by everyone. Or was that Katy Perry" they laugh like idiots.

"I don't" she suddenly gets sad, "I never wanted a fancy ceremony and what's the point of planning a wedding if you don't want the white dress or be the center of attention"

Then things had escalated, "Let's do it, marry me" the two had laughed, stopping strangers in the middle of the dance floor screaming they were getting married.

The girl suddenly opened her eyes and found Bea's face staring at her. She sighs passing her hand over her face, "You fell asleep again"

"I had a weird dream" she yawns, capturing the attention of both girls in the room. "Actually, I think I finally remembered what happened that night"

"Oh my god tell us" the girl jumps up on the bed excited and Claire laughs, placing the pillow behind her head.

"While you were fucking James who knows where, I was talking to Ben about getting married. I was the one who started it, he just indulged my insanity"

Bea laughs, "I knew there was something wrong with beautiful people too!" she doesn't seem upset at all by what she told her about James, the story between the two of them in the past. At least that's what she says, after months she keeps disappearing for hours at a time.

"You know, I didn't think this story would surprise me anymore, but I was wrong... Oh I should write a book about it! Or a movie!"

"I'm glad my nonsense can bring you money" you roll your eyes at her jokingly throwing her a pillow. "Hey make-up"

"Makeup" you mock at her.

"Why now?" you ask yourself, hiding your face in your hands and sighing. "Why after all that's happened"

"That' s why sweetheart, it's part of your life now. You'll be the cool grandma who married a drunk football player"

"And then isn't it better to know?" Bec comes in after she's brightened up her hair.

"Maybe you're right"

"Come on now, get up, we still have a lot to do"

-

"Okay now I'm a little nervous" she admits when the car stops and she can see some people through the glass.

"I'd offer you a drink but we all know how it ended last time" they laugh and the air seems to lighten up instantly. "We're proud of you girl, always remember that"

One last look before the car door opens and a guy holds her hand. "What are you doing here?"

"Did you really think you'd do it alone?" he can see the moment when her eyes veil with tears, but he pulls her out of the car hoping she won't. He's pretty sure her friends might kill him if he ruins her makeup.

"You're gorgeous, but do you think you can postpone the tears till later? I'm pretty sure you'll have plenty of those all night" Claire giggles, taking a deep breath.

"Okay, I'm ready. Let's do this"

Who would have ever said it a few months before they would find themselves like that, facing each other in that room, impressing in their memory moments that would hardly go away this time. When Ben had put her in front of her a choice about where to take her, she had foolishly sighed Bea's and those minutes had been the most harrowing of her life so far. Ben had not yet completely stopped the car that she had already got out and run inside. She hadn't looked back, not once, because if she had, he would have seen the tears that had begun to fall on her face. Sobbing uncontrollably in her friends' arms that night, until she fell asleep exhausted.

A weight on her chest, her head spinning dangerously when she woke up that night and the memories of those months had come back overwhelming. As if she hadn't already ruined everything. And she understood, she understood that by now she was deep inside that situation and there was no point in hiding anymore. They were already married by law, and it wasn't supposed to be so exhausting to have feelings.

She hadn't bothered waking Bea up and asking her for her car keys, she hadn't bothered about having to travel a few hours in her condition, she hadn't bothered about what Ben would think when she stuck to the doorbell. Until his sleepy, slightly annoyed face opened the door.

She had remained silent, breathing breathlessly as if she had run all the way there. He was going to send her away? Well at least she'd try, she'd fight to the end for that boy she'd met in an unusual way but who'd come under her skin as if they known each other all their lives. She wanted to have everything with him, the bad and the good, happiness and sadness, a home, a dog, a family. And maybe she had made him suffer too much in the last period but she really hoped he felt something for her too, that he loved her. Because she was ready to stop running away if he'd let her. She was ready to live her life as a real married couple if he'd let her. No more pretending.

And Ben hadn't sent her away, he'd just stood there staring at her rambling on and on. He had struggled to keep up with all her talk at the time she showed up, but the key point was clear to him. And he had dragged her into the house, she had suddenly shut up when he pushed her over the closed door. And then he fucking kissed her.

Neither of them had slept that night, smiles and kisses and more. Ben was still incredulous, if he closed his eyes he was convinced it would all go away. But she was there the next morning, smiling and kissing him and calling him husband. And that gold wedding ring had never looked more beautiful on their fingers.

The notes of Last Friday Night resonate in the room, Ben and Claire laugh at the song choice. Very appropriate for a wedding, you know. They're on the beach, celebrating with friends, but not in a fancy way. To suit both their tastes.

There's a stranger in my bed There's a pounding in my head

Listening to the first words of the song, however, the girl's eyes open wide, a slight giggle comes out of Ben's lips before he approaches her again and leaves a kiss on her lips.

Pictures of last night ended up online I'm screwed, oh well It's a blacked out blur, but I'm pretty sure it ruled Damn

"Oh my God it's our song!" she whispers incredulously in his ear as he turns her around and brings her back to his chest right afterwards. "I guess so" he won't stop laughing, it's one of the best days of his life. He is surrounded by his friends and has married the woman he loves -again, but these are just small details.

They smile as if the world was theirs, as if there was no one around them and when the song ends he takes her by the hand. There's still one more thing to do.

James nods to Ben when their eyes meet for an instant. When he saw him walk Claire to him, his heart was filled with joy. He's so happy things have worked out between them, he must be afraid now when the two of them are in the same room but it worth it. Now it's his turn to return the favor.

They move away from each other a little, the envelope of paper that Claire is laying on the ground begins to open with the light wind of the evening, but soon, a flame envelops it. And the two of them remain there, in each other's arms, the contract slowly turning to ash and a new and inexplicable emotion inside them.

"So, Mrs. Chilwell, are you ready for this new life?" he kisses her gently on an exposed shoulder while she giggles. It was the postman who first called her Mrs Chilwell and his expression was indecipherable when she started sobbing uncontrollably in front of him.

"I've never been so ready, Mr. Chilwell"